I Understand Blonde Jokes...

A blonde goes to the post office to buy stamps for her Christmas cards.

She says to the clerk, "May I have 50 Christmas stamps?"

The clerk says, "What denomination?"

The blonde says, "God help us. Has it come to this? Give me 6 Catholic, 12 Presbyterian, 10 Lutheran and 22 Baptists."

Overheard Today In The Cleaver House...

"Can this place look like children do not live in it for at least one day?"

"Do not touch any of the Christmas ornaments... I did not put them up there for you to play with."

"Can we try to not look like White Trash Christmas this year please?"

"No, Santa Claus will not bring you any presents if you break Momma's Christmas decorations!"

"What do you think? That Christmas was invented for children? You are mistaken my friend, it is so moms can decorate their houses to look like Santa threw up all over the place!"

We are all decked out... how bout you?

They Don't Really Want To Play...

I am deep in the trenches of my search for a Wii system. It is like those Asian men on the commercial are just mocking me. "Wii would like to play." Sure, my children would like to play as well but I can't find you little Asian men anywhere! Why don't they come knocking at my door? Why don't they tell me where and when the next shipment will be??

I just love Christmas shopping. If only they wanted a Cabbage Patch Doll...

I Think I Talk About Poop Too Much...

Oh how I miss our big beautiful modern house in Nebraska. Our little house in DC is old and the water pipes are all connected, meaning the drinking water is the same as the toilet water, and if you turn on the tap right as someone is flushing... well I am not sure what you are drinking.

Another draw back to the pipes is the showering while flushing fiasco.

My children are not toilet flushers. I spend much of my days walking in and out of bathrooms flushing toilets that little people have somehow forgotten that they have to dispose of their waste.

I can walk up the stairs on any given day and take a whiff and proclaim, "WHO FORGOT TO FLUSH?" It is exasperating.

We apparently have a mystery pooper in our house as well. This mystery pooper sneaks into our home when we are not looking and takes a crap in the toilet and then walks away. When I discover this soggy mess I gather all of my children in front of me (I gather my children much like Captain Von Trapp did in The Sound Of Music. I have a whistle and everything.) Anyway, after they are gathered, I calmly ask "Who took a steaming crapola in this toilet and did not flush the terd down to the ocean?"

I hear a chorus of "Not Me!" I even get some " I have not even pooped yet today." or "I have not pooped at all this week!"

No, the only time my children will flush a toilet is when their dear ol' mom is in the shower.

Yesterday I was enjoying my daily shower as it is pretty much the only part of my day when I am not helping someone or holding someone or folding laundry or cooking something or disciplining someone or answering the phone to my husband's "Hey, can you go up in our bedroom and find that piece of paper I was looking at yesterday and read me the phone number off of it... it has the name Fred, or Gary, or Sheila on it." Of course, I do shower with an audience. The dog seems to think I may disappear down the drain with the water so she stands guard next to the shower and watches me much like a prison guard would watch an inmate showering for the first time after visiting hours are over.

Anyway, during this one measly shower, all of my children had to flush the toilet. A few of them must have brushed their teeth as well-which is amazing because my son tries to avoid brushing his teeth at all cost. I have to threaten bodily harm on that kid just to get him to put a pea size drop of toothpaste on his toothbrush and stick it in his mouth for a nano-second. Not yesterday, yesterday during my shower, he not only flushed, he brushed his teeth! My oldest flushed, brushed her teeth and decided to do her daily beauty regiment which involves the water running for no less than 45 minutes. The youngest flushed... twice (Her poop is sneaky, just when she is sure she is done and she has done the initial wipe, another poop decides to be dropped off at the swimming pool. It never fails.)

I miss the good old days when showering was enjoyable. When it did not involve scalding and scar tissue. When I could get a few quiet moments alone to ponder the important things like "less filling or tastes great."
When I did not have to worry about being boiled alive and the only one there to witness my torturous death would be the dog.

I Have An Excuse... I Promise

I promise to be back to blogging tomorrow. My husband has been using me as a sex slave and my legs are just too weak to walk to the computer.

That is a lie...

Our laptop is fried and I just can't get inspired on my children's Mickey Mouse ear'd computer.

I am drinking again tonight, so inspiration should be rearing it's head soon... fingers crossed!

Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving!

For The Love of God People... Clear The Roads!

My parents are driving in tomorrow. You have to know that this is quite an ordeal for my parents... I mean, my father will have to get out of his chair and turn off the TV!

Road trips with my parents were always such fun. We always had to turn back 3/4 of the way to our destination because my father would forget things like the vacation money, his insulin, his heart medication, underwear, us kids. It was always my mom's fault too... I don't know why that woman never learned, I mean, it is not like my father is an ADULT or anything. He needs constant supervision.

A few years ago we lived in England. Mom and Dad came out to visit and we had a full schedule planned. We woke up at the crack of dawn and set out for Stonehenge. After the 4 hour drive my Dad realized that he had left his insulin in my refrigerator at home. We were able to see Socialism at work that day as my dad was able to not only see a Doctor and have a free exam, he was even able to get his meds for only $3 at the local pharmacy. He was ready to pack his bags and apply for dual citizenship. Who cares about freedom when you can have cheap meds right?

We were only able to hang our heads out the window and ohh and ahh a little as we drove past Stonehenge that day because we had spend the daylight hours at the free clinic. My dad, always doing his best to make meaningful memories.

I called my mom today to see what time they were leaving in the morning. I threatened to call and wake them up because if my mom says they will be leaving by 6 a.m. that means they will not be getting out of bed until 7 and they have to sit and have their coffee and toast before heading out. They will be lucky if they are on the road by 10.

I told her to not talk to any strangers along the way because people prey upon the elderly. Especially ones that walk with a limp like my dad does. I also told her that those little stores along the highway that say "Adults Only" should be avoided at all cost... no matter what my dad tells her is in there!

I have prepared the kids for another visit from Grammy and Papa. They have all hidden their Halloween candy because my diabetic father will eat it all, and they have brought out all of their puzzles and playing cards because my mom will sit for hours with them. The only thing my mother loves more than potato chips are her grandchildren and puzzles.

I can't wait to see them! I wish they lived closer so that I could make fun of them more often.

Who Are You and What Have You Done With Vince Vaughn?

My dreams were so much more fun before I had children... now I can't even get a moment's peace in my sleep!

The other night I was having a spectacular dream. Vince Vaughn was trying so hard to get my attention. He was flirting, he was handing out compliments, he was doing my laundry... and did I mention that I looked amazing (hey, I was asleep... I can't help it that my unconscious mind has not yet caught up with my conscious mind.) I had the type of long thick hair that you only see on Pantene commercials and I was skinny and tan. It was one of the best dreams of my life.

As the dream progressed, Vince was trying in vain to kiss me. He somehow kept missing my lips and ending up kissing my shoulder. It was weird.

This is where the children come in...

Every stinkin' time my dreams are starting to get good, one of my kids will some how just happen to saunter though the foreground, or they will come over and ask me for a light bulb or something. Then I go from amazing supermodel about to kiss Vince Vaughn to a slightly overweight mother with an elastic waistband and a "I Mother, Therefore I Am." sweatshirt.

I never end up kissing Vince Vaughn either because no matter who it is in my dreams, be it Vince, or Rob Estes, or Tom Cruise (I somehow forgive him for the whole "Scientology" thing in my dreams) they always morph into my husband Carl right before they finally plant that kiss that they have been trying all dream to do and I end up sitting at the kitchen table balancing our checkbook.

At least in my dream when I balance the checkbook I have long sexy flowing hair... that is until one of my kids comes in and cuts it off and I look down and I am pregnant again and my sister stops by for a cup of grass.

Like I said, my dreams were much more fun before I had kids.

Potato Chips Are The Work Of The Devil...

My mother loves potato chips. She loves potato chips more than just about any other food and rumor has it that I had a 3rd sister, but someone offered my mother a bag of potato chips in exchange for her youngest child and she took them up on their offer. That, my friends, is how much my mother loves potato chips.

I love potato chips too. I love them even more if there is dip to go with them. My favorite way to eat potato chips is scrunched on top of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It is safe to say that my love to chips is hereditary.

I never eat potato chips. NEVER! I never eat potato chips because I cannot stop myself at just a few. I end up eating the entire bag and then getting canker sores in my mouth from all of the yummy salt. It is safer if I buy pretzels. I do not like pretzels so I don't eat them. I sometimes buy those really awful "all natural" potato chips-the ones that taste like cardboard just so that I can "trick" my mind into believing that I am eating potato chips, but my taste buds are not fooled.

My parents are coming out for Thanksgiving and when I was at the grocery store the other day I walked down the chip aisle. I was met with a very interesting quandary. Do I bend to my mother's addictive behavior and buy the potato chips so that she can eat them all and turn the bag inside out just to lick the remaining salt, or do I put my foot down and say NO to the war on hip fat that these chips has waged with me.

I thought of all of the things my mother has done for me, like make me wear my older sister's hand-me-downs all of my life, demand that I only eat baked chicken legs 5 nights out of a week for my entire youth, make me play the saxophone in band all through my Freshman year just so that I was labeled a "band geek" and my hopes of becoming Homecoming Queen forever squandered, and make me drive around in a powder blue van for all of my high school days in order to let everyone know that I was in no way cool.

I decided to pay her back for all that she has done for me and buy a family sized bag of chips. I cackled out loud as I thought of my mother eating every last crumb of the potato chip bag only to regret it when she tried to get her favorite pair of brown pants buttoned.

(Rubbing my hands sinisterly) Yes, the time has come mother for my revenge!

My evil plan would have worked if I had not been so tempted by the stupid chips just sitting in my cabinet wreaking havoc on my will power.

I opened the bag today. I ate a peanut butter, jelly and potato chip sandwich and consumed one pound of French Onion dip. CURSES! Foiled again!

I just love how Thanksgiving brings families together!

Communication Is Key To A Good Marriage... I SAID COMMUNICATION IS KEY TO A GOOD MARRIAGE!

Over the years, I have come to understand my husband's caveman grunts for what he needs. It took me some time, but I have cracked the code. Here is a cheat sheet to help any wives out there to better understand their caveman... I mean husband.

"Are you hungry?" translation: "Will you make me a sandwich?"

"Do I have any darks clean?" translation: "When are you going to get the laundry done?"

"Is there anything in the washer that you don't want me to shrink?" translation: "Why don't you just do all of the laundry, seeing as you are my slave."

"What time are the kids going to bed?" translation: "Can you put the kids to bed so I can watch my TV show?"

"Did you do something to your hair?" translation: "There is something different about you, but I can't tell what it is because I am not paying attention so I will just go with the obvious questions here."

"You look nice." translation: "You look like my mother."

"You look fine." translation: "You look like your mother."

"You look good in that." translation: "You look like a whore and I like it!"

"Have you seen my keys/cell phone/wallet/brain?" translation: "Please stop whatever it is you are doing to look for my lost item post hast!"

"Do you want me to go get the baby?" translation: " I don't really intend on getting the baby, but I will offer so that it looks as if I would."

"How much did you spend?" translation: "Oh Good Lord, will this woman every stop shopping and spending MY money!"

"Are you going into the kitchen?" translation: "Bring me back a snack."

"Let's go to Mass on Saturday night." translation: "I want to go golfing Sunday morning."

"Let's go out to dinner." translation: "Let's go to that Sports Bar I like so that I can watch the game while you sit there and eat in silence."

"Are you tired?" translation: "Let's have sex."

"Are you going to bed?" translation: "Let's have sex."

"Do you still have the flu?" translation: "Let's have sex."

"Where are the kids?" translation: "Let's have sex."

"You got your Victoria's Secret catalog today." translation: "Let's have sex."

"I washed the car." translation: "Let's have sex."

"I mowed the lawn." translation: "Let's have sex."

"I am so tired tonight." translation: "But not too tired to have sex!"

So there you have it. I hope I have helped. Remember that the key to a good marriage is communication... that and a lot of alcohol.

My Husband Is Like The Postal System...

My husband is coming home from his trip today. I always like this day. Years ago when we were dating, my husband was going to school in Arizona and I was going to school in Indiana. Carl was driving home for Christmas and was stopping by my school to pick me up. I expected him on Saturday, but he showed up on Friday because he had driven straight through to see me.

I remember sitting in my dorm room and hearing my name being called over the speakers in the hall telling me that I had a visitor (we didn't have things like telephones in our rooms, so if you had a visitor or had a phone call, your name was called over the loud speakers for all to hear.) I had not even showered yet. I may have even had the smell of stale beer on my breath from the night before and I was confused as to who may possibly be visiting me at 10 a.m. on a Friday. I walked down the stairs to see Carl standing there.

It would have been a completely and utterly romantic moment if I had fresh breath and clean underwear on... but I was totally impressed by the devotion that he had, and the fact that he was so whooped that he would drive 30 hours straight (with his head sticking out the window to stay awake) just to see little ol' me.

There is no better feeling in this world than that of being wanted. I mean, here I sit with baby spit on my shoulder, crayola paint in my hair, loads of laundry piled up behind me, smudged mascara, stretch marks on my tummy, hair on my legs (ahh, it would be nice to shave them before he gets home... but I don't live in a fantasy world), and a Barbie sticker on my butt and my husband is pressing on, rushing home to see me.

I am the luckiest girl in the world.

Just What Are They Teaching You At This Preschool Of Yours?

Some days I truly wonder what kind of values I am teaching my children.

Last Friday I talked Emma into skipping school. She really wanted to go, but I was that bad friend that talked her into ditching and going to the movies. The movies are so much more fun than preschool anyway.

I remember when I was a kid and in high school, my friend Jackie and I decided to ditch school after lunch. We had English after lunch with Mr. Lemon. We hated English with Mr. Lemon, so we decided to make a run for it! We stopped at the local deli for a couple of sandwiches and as we were enjoying our first meal of freedom who do you think decides to get a sandwich at the same exact deli at the same exact time as us? MR LEMON! Oh the injustice of it all! Needless to say, we were back in school and in English class that day. Our plans to become juvenile delinquents was thwarted! I continued on the road to rightdom and Jackie took a U-turn and headed straight for the life of a school ditcher and boyfriend stealer. She ended up stealing my boyfriend because she would what I wouldn't and who knows where she is today. Probably in Hollywood.

Anyway, this was a big deal for Emma to not go to school. She loves school, but I thought it would be more fun to have a family day. When you are a homeschool family and you work hard all week to get a little reward on Friday, there is nothing worse than having to bend to the "man" and having to keep the rigid schedule of preschool. Sheesh.

On Monday Emma was all in a worry as to what to tell her teacher about her not being at school on Friday. I was all "Don't sweat it chick, preschool is so not worth this cramp in our style." and she was all "I AM GOING TO JAIL!"

Finally I convinced her to tell her teacher the truth... that we were at the local nursing home visiting sick elderly people for charity.

I don't know what it is about this kid but she refuses to lie.

In the car on the way to school Emma was nervously planning out exactly what she was going to say. She was going to tell her teacher that her mother, the same one that smashed her finger to bits the other day, insisted that she skip school and go to the movies. She was going to throw in that she didn't really enjoy the movie that much so it was so not worth missing painting and singing at school. She wanted her teacher to know that she would never again listen to her mother when she tried to get her to do bad things and that she would promise to lead a life that was exemplary to say the least.

I was in the drivers seat gagging.

As we pulled up to school we realized that it was a holiday-Veteran's Day-and there was NO SCHOOL!!!

Emma was so relieved that she didn't have to explain her delinquency to her teacher and I just looked in the rear view mirror and said, "Don't thank me sister, thank a Vet!"

God Bless America!

CONGRATULATIONS!

To Kasia over at the ClamRampant who just got engaged to her Canuck!

Way to go Kasia... don't pay attention to anything I have said on this blog about marriage and motherhood. It is fabulous I promise!

Everyone loves a wedding~

OBVIOUSLY...

Your Inner European is IRISH Sprited and boisterous!You drink everyone under the table.

Who's" Your Inner European?

The Art Of Carb-Free Pooping...

I've started a new diet. It is similar to the South Beach, only I like to call it the South "Bitch." It is like the South Beach in that I use the same book as the South Beach and I have cut out all carbs, anything fun, things colored red, sugar, and of course my sanity. I like to call it the South Bitch because that is exactly what I AM while on this diet from hell... a Bitch, and I keep the word "South" in it not to offend my friends to the South, but to refer to South Chicago where I grew up near and so my "South Bitch" does not have any "Y'all's" involved, but some "You better get yo punk ass out my face biatch!" type of Bitch in it.

I have done this South Bitch diet many times before (OK, only once before) and it really works, if you can tolerate the mood swings and the nightmares about Canadian bacon that is.

The last time I did this diet was after I had Emma. I lost 18lbs. and thought I was Wonder Woman. I even bought the outfit to wear around the house while I vacuumed. I had the golden truth rope and everything.

There is one downfall to this diet that I had forgotten.

Pooping with no carbs in your body whatsoever makes for liquid fire.

It is like my intestines are crying out for a slice of Wonder Bread, Oatmeal, a Ritz Cracker... anything to get a little solidness to the situation.

Another drawback is the frequency of this liquid fire. I eat, I poop, I eat, I poop, I eat, I poop... and so on. There is no reprieve. I eat, and then I poop... liquid fire.

This schedule puts a serious cramp in my day let me tell you. I cannot eat anything 20 minutes prior to going anywhere or I will have to either a) find a gross employee bathroom to crap like a dragon, or b) poop my pants. Those are my options.

This weekend was very tricky for me. Aaron had a baseball tournament south of us and so I could not eat before we set off for the hour drive, I could not eat while at the baseball games for the entire day, and I could not eat until we were on our way home. By that time I was starving and so I waited until we were about 20 minutes from home and ran through the Wendy's drive-thru. I was starving so I decided to forget about the South Bitch and ordered french fries.

I quickly learned that if you have not put any carbs in your body for over a week and then, all of a sudden, with no warning, you decide to send down some greasy fried carbs... your body will have to get rid of it within 5 minutes.

It was one of those situations where I knew if a police man tried to pull me over for speeding he would have to chase me all the way to my house and I would end up crapping my pants on the evening news while he handcuffed me and read me my rights.

And you thought Supermodels smelled like perfume and money... they smell like poop I tell you! POOP!

It is so exhausting being Gaw-geos.

The Emergency Room Is Our Home Away From Home...

As is tradition when my husband is out of town... we had to go to the emergency room. It usually snows when he is out of town and I have to do all of the shovelling as well. That guy must have a mole in heaven that lets him in on all of the disasters and catastrophes that are about to take place in our home and he makes sure he is on another continent when it happens. That way I can't really blame him right?

Anyway, yesterday was the day I had to run to the emergency room with my children.

We were having a homeschool haircut day. This means that a really nice lady comes into my home and cuts all of the homeschool heads of hair within a 20 mile radius. There are people coming in and out of the house for 3 solid hours. What used to be a clean house with toys put away and floors clean quickly turns into a house that looks like Santa Clause threw up in it. There are toys everywhere and little people running rampant.

At one point I was on the phone with a friend giving her directions to my house. I had the phone in one hand and the baby in the other. Emma came up behind me and decided to sit down at my feet. I did not see her there. When I turned to walk away I tripped over her.

It was as if my feet were bound with leather straps and I hit my knees first. One knee hitting the hardwood floors and the other knee smashing one of Emma's fingers to bits. If you want to know what the inside of a finger looks like, just ask me. To date I have seen the insides of Aaron's fingers and now Emma's. Nice.

After my knees hit the floor, the rest of my body was on a path for destruction. I dropped the phone which shattered and then my elbow collided with the floor, and then, yes Dear God, Mary Claire's head hit the floor.

It was awful. I instantly scrambled to pick her up and she was crying. Emma was crying as well-or actually, it was really a bloody scream that Emma was doing.

I quickly walked away from all noise and held my baby and prayed instant prayers of pleading and begging.

I kicked everyone out of my home and loaded my van up with my kids. We were off to the ER. When I walked into the garage I discovered that our dog (who was locked away in the garage because there are kids in this world who are afraid of little 10 lb. dogs who will lick all of the snot off of their noses and eat the snack out of their hands) decided to rip up the kitchen trash bag that I threw in the garage just seconds before the first haircut rang our doorbell. There was a mess in the garage but I had no time to clean it up. I would have to deal with the dog later. I let her into the house and started tearing down the street toward the hospital.

By the time we got there Emma had calmed down and by the time we were finally led into a room Mary Claire was cooing and Emma was doing cartwheels down the hall, so as most of my ER visits go, I looked like a crazy woman who had children who were perfectly fine. I am sure the nurses were told to put me on psychiatric observation because my children seemed completely normal. Not a thing wrong.

We had x-rays done on both kids-one of Emma's finger (which is just smashed but not broken) and one of Mary Claire's head (which gave me a clue as to when those little teeth of hers are about to pop through). Both were fine. Nothing broken, nothing fractured, nothing cracked, and nothing life altering.

We returned home to find that the dog had pooped twice in the house because of all of the trash she had eaten.

Today Emma had the pleasure of telling everyone that would listen that her mommy smashed her finger.

I need to call and make sure they spell my name correctly on the "Mother of the Year Award" that I am sure to get from this. I mean seriously.

6 Months Today...

A Baby is God's opinion that life should go on...

~Carl Sandburg

I Didn't Know We Were On Strike...

I am not going to do a post today because apparently there is a writers strike going on. I wish someone would have told me.

I have figured out my list of demands:

1. Oprah needs to call me. I have mentioned her name several times on this blog and she has yet to compensate me.
2. Britney Spears owes me money too... but that was for a dance I did on MTV with her.
3. Bill Gates owes me a few posts due to Microsoft errors that have caused perfectly good and brilliant moments of clarity to be lost forever.

That is all... I will see you rot in hell before I bow down to the demands of the blog world.

Oh who am I kidding... I will be back tomorrow. I have too much to do today (laundry, dishes, dusting, toilet scrubbing.)

You know what, scratch everything I said. I just want someone to teach my children how to put their shoes in the closet instead of in front of the door so that I trip and fall each and every mother loving time I walk in this house. I will write forever if you can give me that.

See you at the negotiations table my friend.

Thanks, But No Thanks... Really.

Something happened last night that has never happened in my 17 years of being with my husband...

Someone hit on my husband when I was sitting smack dab next to him!

I am not blind or stupid, I am aware of the fact that my husband is freakin' hot, but I did not know how to react to the type of attention he was getting.

I have to tell you that I have had other women flirt and chat with my husband whilst I am around. They get no where with him and they usually end up with my foot up their ass...

But this time it was different. This time it was our WAITER!

We sit down at a table at one of our favorite eating establishments and are greeted by the waiter. "Hi, my name is Dave, I'll be your server tonight." I looked up and realized that we have had Dave wait on us before, so I mention this. "Oh, hello. We have had you for our waiter before." To which he replies, "I know... I recognize him." And he looked at my husband with a sort of Ooohh La La feel about it. He then proceeded to sit down across from us (because we were sitting next to each other, not because we were being romantic, but because we were at a Sport's Bar and the Oklahoma game was only on the TV in front of us. It we had sat across from each other one of us would not be able to see the game.) Anyway, Dave sits down across from us, well, more across from my husband than from me, and he puts his elbows on the table and rests his chin in his two hands gazing at my husband.

My eyes must have been as big as saucers and my husband suddenly became very uncomfortable.

He offered to tell us the specials, but I was afraid of the specials so I cut him off and sent him on his way.

I think my husband did the best he could to make it clear that he was not interested. He guzzled beer, cursed, burped 7 times, farted 3 times and yelled "HERE'S TO HONOR!" and smacked me on the rear and called me "woman" as we were leaving.

After that display of manliness I can see why poor Dave was so turned on by him. He is pretty irresistible.

Don't Tell Anyone You Are My Mother...

Emma goes to preschool three afternoons a week. This is a very good thing for her as she can run and play and hold other little girl's hands and do something on her own without being in the shadows of her older brother and sister.

This is also a very good thing for me because I get to miss her a little bit. It is hard to miss a little person when they are with you 24/7 and they ask you things like "Mommy, why is your butt so big?" or "Mommy can I have a snack/drink/toy/pot of gold?"

I truly do miss her while she is gone and I am very excited to see her when I pick her up. At her preschool they do not want all of the moms traipsing in and out of the building asking question, looking at art work, or even making suggestions like "My Timmy is ready for multiplication. Do you think you could introduce multiplication to the preschoolers... somewhere between wiping their own butts and blowing their noses on a tissue and not on their arm?" Instead, all of the moms get to stay in their minivans and line up waiting for their child to come out to the car with a teacher and off you drive, never having to compete with the other preschool moms for the best parent award in the hallway.

Each day when I pick Emma up I am very animated with my greeting. I happily sing "HI EMMA! DID YOU HAVE FUN? I MISSED YOU! I AM SO HAPPY TO SEE YOU!"

I am a good parent and I want the teacher putting Emma in my car to recognize this. I imagine her walking away from my car thinking "Goodness that June Cleaver is such a good mom-look at how thrilled she is to see her precious child. She is a shining example for moms everywhere."

Well... the jig is up. Emma called me out on my "phony" greetings.

She told me I needed to stop being so happy to see her. Basically she said I needed to take a chill-pill. Then she made me practice my greeting to her so that it was to her satisfaction. Now I am only allowed to say "hey Em, how ya doin'" Just like that.

It was a sad sad day let me tell you. It was the day that I knew might one day come, but I didn't think it would come so soon. It was the day that I realized I am an embarrassment to my child.

I remember when I was a kid my mom was gong to chaperon a school field trip. I was horrified! The night before I made my mother go through her entire closet in order to pick out an outfit that would not embarrass me. You have to understand that for most of my childhood my mother wore two different pair of pants, one was a purple polyester pair with diamonds all over them and the other was a green polyester pair with brown stripes. My mom suffered from the same disorder that I suffer from... the one where your children suck your checkbook dry of all funds and therefore you have to walk around looking like an idiot in 14 year old jeans and a sweatshirt that you wore in college.

I would like to publicly apologize to my mother right now. I am sorry. Sorry for being a brat and thinking you weren't cool. Oh, and I am also sorry that I told you that you looked like a nerd the last time I saw you in those brown pants that you wear that are too short although I think you may think they are supposed to fit that way. They are not. Sorry for making fun of your hair too for those few years where you thought you would grow it out a bit... it didn't look good and I was only trying to help. I am really sorry for making fun of your eyebrows as well. They do need to be shaped... and not with a razor like you like to do it but with some hot wax and tweezers. Sorry...

Lord help me... my children are exactly like me. The only consolation I have is knowing one day Emma's child will look at her and say "Mother, please drop me off at the corner... and do you really think that blue eyeshadow looks good on you?"

Poo Happens, And It Happened All Over Me Today...

When I was a kid, my mom used cloth diapers on us all. I was seven when my little sister was born so I vividly remember my mom rinsing out poopie diapers in the toilet. She used to say that she was going to get nice long fingernails because of all dirty diapers fertilizing her hands.

My nails should be in the Guinness Book of World Records by now.

Today I had a plan, and as most moms know, when you have a plan... nothing is going to work out. I had told my older two that when little Emma was at preschool today I was going to take them to the MALL and buy new SHOES! This is very exciting to Hope, and to Aaron, this is code for "We are going to the MALL and buy PRETZELS!"

We spent the entire morning preparing for our trip to the mall. School was completed, the house was cleaned (OK, so the cleaning lady was cleaning the house... so what) children were bathed, the checkbook was balanced and we were ready!

As we were driving to the mall I started to smell something. I did a fart check (WHO FARTED?) to which no one claimed responsibility, so I knew it was the baby.

We pulled into the mall parking lot and I pulled Mary Claire out of her car seat to change her real fast before heading into the building where they sell new shoes and soft pretzels and discovered that she had a blow out.

This was not typical blow out where there is a little poo on her pants, no, this was an ginormous blow out. There was poo up her back, up her belly, down her legs, on her shirt, her pants, her jacket and her car seat. Oddly enough, there was more poo on the outside of her diaper than there was inside of it!

I searched the baby bag for more clothes and all I had was a tank top of Emma's, a summer dress for Mary Claire, a tampon and Kleenex.

What kind of mother am I???

I briefly considered stripping her naked and putting the dirty diaper back on her considering the diaper was about the closest thing to clean I had, but I just could not talk myself into putting a poopie diaper BACK ON my child, even though my options were scarce. I decided to strip her naked and wrap her in the towel I use to sit on. Why do I sit on a towel you ask? Because we have leather seats and I just don't like hot seats in the summer and cold seats in the winter... and because I have given birth 4 times and I may on occasion tinkle a little when I cough, sneeze, or laugh.

So, my day of money spending was brought to a screeching halt and I ended up rinsing poo out of clothes, off of car seats and out of a baby's hair. I had to give her a poopie bath in my newly cleaned tub and I had to change my own clothes because you know as well as I do that I was not getting out of this poopie situation without getting poo all over me as well!

My life is so glamorous that sometimes I just have to pinch myself!

Only The Strong Will Survive...

My kids weighed their Halloween bags this morning. They each received about 5 lbs. in candy.

If I were to eat all 5 lbs. of that candy I would somehow fall into a deep deep coma and gain 25 lbs.

If my children eat all 5 lbs. of that candy (and believe me, they will) they will be so hyper that they'll run around and bounce up and down and sing silly songs constantly and will ultimately end up losing 3 lbs.

Yet another blow to my dieting psyche.