The World is Better Because of this Freaking Blog

Good Ol' Fashioned Bloggie Blog

2011-05-11T19:37:00.000-07:00

I don't understand it.

After all this time. After all those "When are you going to blog?"s.

After remaining silent during the royal wedding.

After remaining silent during the great Christmas 2010 illness that had me tethered to the ladies room.

After remaining silent after hearing the news that I'm having another granddaughter. (Go Lisa! Go Lisa!)

After remaining silent after taking up knitting.

Remaining silent after Thanksgiving in St. Louie.

Remaing silent after many world class freak shows were witnessed by me, Mommacita.

Remaining silent after the Navy Seals reminded me that Dubers and his friends used to play Navy Seals Training in High school and stand there and torture each other with face slapping episodes to prove their toughness while I stood there and wondered what the heck.

And last but not least, remaining silent after the Great Pinkie Toe Break of May 2011. No Picture to follow even though I took one. I don't know how to upload it from my iphone. Just so you know it hurt like Crikee. You don't ever want an appendage to be perpendicular to the thing it appends from.

If I examine too closely the impetus for coming back to this blog, then I might have to become my authentic self. (By the way, if I hear the term authentic self one more time I might become inauthentic in order to spite the authentics. And then it would be requisite for me to take up spitting out the car window. I've seen it done alot and I think I could do it if need be.)

So yes, ladies and gentlemen, here is my reason to stop my TV watching and express myself to the world. Here is my need. Here is my desire. Here is the wind beneath my upper arms that sufficeth for wings. This is what moved me. This is what caused the stirring of my heart. My breathing in. My waiting to exhale. This is it. Here it is. Finally. The Reason:

Dear Doggie People,
If you are going to dress up your doggiechild in humiliating doggiechild skirts, and if you are going to go to the Subway drive through, and if you are going to let said doggiechild prance around in the back window and then after the prancing is finally done you let your doggiechild stand in your back window with it's rear end to the driver BEHIND you, then please please PLEASE PLEEEEEEZE put some underpants on your doggiechild. Today I felt like I was looking up someone's dress through your back window.

And that goes for all kittiechilds as well. Girl or Boy. No matter. Just don't want a tulle frame around all that stuff.

Good Night and Thank You to all who when they want to wear a costume, they wear the entire ensemble. Its the only decent thing to do. You know you feel the same.

All is Well in Wellsville, or, I Think I Found Stars Hollow

2010-09-06T19:09:00.000-07:00

Can you hear it?
Wait for it.......Waaaaaaaait for it....... YES! There it is! Can you hear Andy of Mayberry whistling the theme song? And can you see Opie kicking up dust with his fishin pole over his shoulder? And can you smell Aunt Bea's blueberry pie comin' right out of the oven? And hear Barney Fife shooting himself in the foot? Yes? ME TOO!

Because I was there in person today: Mayberry RFD. I was coated in retro. This morning Jaqueostinky's family and I headed off to Wellsville (real name) for a 'Founder's Day Parade" even though it is really Labor Day today.

(ps. There's loads of low quality pictures to come....I was so excited by what I saw that all I did was point and shoot. Aesthetics be forgotten..... Lighting be dar ned.....)

First, the po-lice started off the parade with a bang. Please note Gracie and Sophie off to the left side, not so impressed with them, holding their WalMart sacks waiting for the candy throwing to begin. And That Girl in the pink and white striped shirt? Lets be keeping it real and say that she was strictly a kid from 2010. She kept gathering candy in her space and then would run over and steal what had been thrown to my two little angels. I wanted to kick her real hard and that was not very Mayberry of me.

Next we see the satisfied face of an assertive child who problem solved by running up to the candy throwers and flashing her dimples. How very Grandma Margaret of her.

Next we have a larger woman being pulled by a smaller pony. I'm just sayin. It might have been too hot for this.

Next we have a softball team and one girl dragged her barkalounger up on the truck. I know there is a sign that advertises a raffle, but that thing looked like someone's dad had already put several miles on it during 7 or 8 consecutive March Madnesses.

Here we have the Wellness Community Band. Most of it's Participants were over 65, not that there's anything wrong with that. My biggest regret of the day was not snapping a pic of the 85 year old woman

that was banging on the bass drum.....Don't you just kick yourself when you miss the golden moment?

ps. There were alot of suspenders in the band.

Band Enrapture

Wellness's Oldest Sweethearts. So MAD about the blur because they were the cutes.

The UNREAL homemade glazed donut that I bought from one of Jaqueo's scouts

The Preston Idaho High School Marching Band. Remember? It's Napolean Dynamite's alma matar

SO EXCITING!

Pedro is the student body president AND plays the trumpet

Socially Concious Demolation Derby-ists

Socially Unconcious Home Care Givers who make their Patients ride in a parade

Members of the A.M.R.S. (American Medieval Re-inactment Society). A particularly poignant quote from their flyer: "A Kingdom for a stage, Princes to act, and Monarchs to behold the swelling scene. . .

- Shakespeare, Henry V

If you join, there are CAMP OUTS!!!!

Please do not be offended by the next two pictures. I just pointed and shooted like the camera said to do.

So now you've got yer wild ones, that at first glance have gotcha wondering:

"Are they or aren't they???"

.....And then you see the two blonde ones with red goo slathered on them and there's no more doubt.

Just lots and lots of confusion and an urge to cover up your grandchildren's eyes.

For those of you who think my blogs are too long (you know who you are Glitch), you may find it rather noteworthy that I did not include pictures of Wellsville's Oldest Citizen which included a man in a straw hat, my grand kids bearing down on the candy throwers, the Queen of 1856 who really might have been THE queen they are talking about there, a ninn-compoop wearing a real bearskin and a real bearhead on his head, a float that celebrated the Golden Spike that had a woman who left her dentures at home, two tweens carrying a flag that announced the Excess Material Disposition Crew who were really just people who scooped up horse manure, a cowgirl in sparklie tight pants, and a float carrying princesses that was covered with so many silk flowers that the first thing that popped into my head was "40% off coupon at Michaels."

So yeah....I edit.

If You're Not Family, You Probably Won't Be Interested in How Beautiful my Grandchildren Are, But if You ARE Family, then Buck Up & Act Interested

2010-08-30T22:00:00.000-07:00

For a look at some BEEEEEEEEEEautiful Grandkids, click on this link:

LINK

and then leave me some unbelievable comments. Grandma Margaret, I Hope that you understand that you take the mouse arrow, position it over the word "link" that is just above, and then click. When you get to the page, then scroll down until you see some beautiful blondies in the orchard.

And then you will sigh and say: Mommacita, darn but you're blessed.

Birth of a Texan Sized Goal

2010-08-19T13:11:00.000-07:00

Today I went to the park with my grandson Henry. He is 21 months old. We walked the two blocks to the park, and when he finally saw it he yelled park Park PARK and took off running. He climbed and slid and swung and hung and crawled through tunnels. When he had the playground equipment out of the way he hunkered down to the sand.

He squatted on his haunches, knees up like a grasshopper, and sifted his fingers through the sand until he found a Popsicle stick and a tiny rock. The Popsicle stick was old and nasty dirty, and looked like it had once been stuck forever in a grape Popsicle. The rock was small and gray, and had sharp edges. One hand grasped the stick, the other, the rock. And those two hands weren't letting go of them for anything.

I watched that kid sit down on the sand and examine his finds. He used them to poke and dig and write. Then he laid down on his back and compared them to the sky. Then he flipped to his stomach for more sand moving. Then his back. Then his stomach. Then sand was in his hair. Then his shirt. Then I realized it was down the back of his pants. Then the front. Then his shoes and socks were filling up because there was some foot shuffling going on. Nobody but me seemed to care about the disgusting stick, or the sharp rock, or the sand seeping into every crevice.

At that moment, I had to ask myself: Exactly what things in my world would I be perfectly willing to roll around in the sand for? There was no delay in my answer: Absolutely NOTHING. I never want sand down my pants again. Ever. Ever, Never, Ever. For any reason. And I have decided after today, that this is one of my goals.

But in case you are mistaken, let me be clear: I HEARTILY enjoy the fact that there are people in this world who can, without a blink, pick up a stick teaming with bacteria and not flinch. And not only do they not flinch but they obviously see some value going on there that others don't see. And I love that there are people who can without angst pick out one rock from a million rocks and dub it as THE ROCK worth keeping, and then, on top of that, these people continue to party on, even though sand is collecting in their underpants that just happen to be moist.

I envy something in that. I really really do.

PS. Just in case you're wondering. I draw the line at bandaids. Nobody played with, or licked any bandaids in the making of this blog. In fact bandaids were treated with disdain and people were made to feel shameful and embarrassed and guilty if bandaids were even longingly looked at. And if that stifled anybody's growth, creativity, or ability to learn in the future, then so be it. I'm absolutely secure with my position.

The St. Louis: Pics and Pans

2010-08-14T15:53:00.001-07:00

I've been to St. Louis for a spell, and right before I left, I told a woman at church that I was spending a good deal of the summer in St. Louis with the Duber-ers. She did not miss a beat, and there wasn't a change of expression on her face (which could or could not have been due to botox...I am a professional speculator) as she retorted "You will hate it."

Geepers. Way to support. I tried to massage away the awkwardness with a smile and some self deprecating humor as I slunk off to be with the 3 year olds who are supportive of my life choices.

Now that my stay in the Lou is over, I've come up with this list of Pics and Pans. You know...a list like they have in some newspapers on Fridays in the editorial section, where the Pics would be something that the editors love, like say for instance, gun control after Columbine. A Pan would be something that they hated, like, George Bush throwing up on the leader of the Japanese nation. Comprend?

BTW, I loved my experience there....both the positives and the negatives, the pics and the pans. So lady at church, guess what? I didn't hate it at all. Take that. And here, take my list of Pics and Pans put it in your oversized handbag.

PIC #1

There's this Pizza Restaurant there called PI. Not only is the name clever, the food was so good we went back twice and dreamed about it in between. The deep dish pi was made with a cornmeal crust and the toppings were done in opposite order: cheese on the bottom, then toppings, and this chunky tomatoey deliciousness on top. The crust around the edge, you know, the part you usually leave on your plate and toss??....the best part. Delish.

Like to hear about the Milkshake bar at PI? You would? The S'mores Milkshake came with the following pretties on top: a chocolate disc with the pi symbol on it, a bucket of whipped cream, chocolate bits, a couple of homemade graham crackers, a skinny skinny wood skewer with a freshly toasted homemade marshmallow on the end, and two paper straws with green and white stripes around them. I apologize for causing you to froth.

PAN #1

Everywhere in St. Louis, and I mean everywhere (CHURCH, (and I put church in capital letters because it was particularly heinous to me because, hello, you're trapped there for 3 hours) the grocery store, the mall, Nordstroms, any restaurant, the beauty salon where you have to drop a payload to get your hair done,) absolutely everywhere you go, the drinking fountains provide water that IS NOT CHILLED. And like a sucker I fell for it every time.

PIC #2

Everything is free, and everything is grand. Zoo? free. Art Museum? Free. Thomas the Train Exhibit and Playland? Free. Natural History Museum? Free. Shakespeare in the Park? Free. La Dee Freakin' Free!!!! I Love.

PIC #3

Everything is Family Friendly. The People are Family Friendly. The activities are Family Friendly. The people you meet and greet are family friendly. The Owner of PI danced with Sawyer in the aisle of the Restaurant because that's just what you do when a darling baby is groovin to your music. And then he gave him a free 'gooey butter cookie' fresh from the oven and he gave us one too. I'm telling ya. Family AND Friendly.

PAN #2

Can't they do something about that humidity thing?

PIC#4

Everything you want is within a stone's throw. Temple? 10 minutes. Pretty great Mall? 10 minutes. Other even better Mall? 10 minutes the other way. Church? 10 minutes. Trader Joes? 5 minutes. Viewing the sun glinting off the ARCH at sunset? OK. 15 minutes. Maybe 20 tops. It was quite breathtaking I might add. The material the arch is made of is silvery and clean and shining. I was surprised that I liked it as much as I did because I'm not much of a touristy gal. Plus I was eating Peanut Butter M&Ms at the time which may or may not have added to the experience.

PAN#3

I mentioned the humidity, right? It deserves an honorable mention.

PIC#5

Lightening. AND Lightening Bugs. Both SO fun, right?

PIC#6

Warm puddles of water. When you're walking along and the rain is pouring down on you (what I really meant to say was dumping down on you) and you are trying to get from Fedex to your car and you accidentally step in a puddle in your new sandals and the water is bathtub warm, well, I've just got to say it was a lot better than it being cold.

PAN#4

It rains a lot for the summer and while you'd think I'd be used to a fair amount of rain, I found that I DO expect the sun to be out in the summer.

Let's review. I like convenience, stuff for free, a good family friendly atmosphere, delicious beautiful food, and I hate anything that makes me uncomfortable.

Any questions?

Class Dismissed.

For the Other Grandma

2010-08-08T09:30:00.000-07:00

Announcing:

(with everything underlined because I have no idea why and I'm ready to say bad words which is something I don't do)

Tanzen Margaret

and her blonde blonde hair

She wakes!!

She delights with her delicate delicateness!!

Her brother has turned to the ways of the rock music

Not really, he's been really sweet

As is this little piece of pie.

And let's not forget, MY sweet baby. As long as I'm living my baby you'll be.

You know you are SO wiping away a few tears right now.

They've Multiplied, They've Replenished

2010-08-04T15:54:00.000-07:00

First, I have no pictures to share and I am sorry. I left my camera battery at Dubers'.

But I DO have a news flash: Sneebers and Matt have added a pink little bundle to their family, born on August 3rd** at around 11:30 am., 7 lbs, 11 oz, 21 inches long.

She has all her fingers and toes and they are LONG, plumbing is working, eyes are light, hair is blonde for now, skin is flawless.

Name: Tanzen Margaret Williams.

Social Security Number: 529-yum-yum

**Grandma Margaret celebrated her 87th birthday on this very day. Her response to having a great grandchild born on her birthday and semi named after her? I'll give you two to choose from...they both were uttered:

"Mommacita, when are you coming home? I need a pedicure."

"Margarets are jewels"

They are Margaret, indeed, they are.

The Best Little Non Graduation Ever, or Bitter Much?

2010-06-19T19:33:00.000-07:00

My Mother-in-law dug out her guilt stick and has beaten me senseless with it every chance she gets because I have not posted since the Olympic season. What is there to blog about when Bob Costas is not a fixture in your life? Like, I mean, C'mons

Hey. Have you ever noticed that BLOG and BRAG are spelled almost the same?

Cue:

"Pomp and Circumstance." Played by the high school band. With the brass section a little off key. And it's pouring down rain because it always pours down rain for graduation.

Enter:

One of your Children. In a graduation robe. With a DOCTOR hood on it. It's one of your children, filing into an auditorium, that is stuffy and hot, but you don't care because your son is wearing a graduation robe with one of those DOCTOR thingies on it that only people who study really really hard and become DOCTORS get to wear.

Feel:

The magic. Because you birthed that DOCTOR who is filing in down there, you birthed that DOCTOR waiting to get his diploma. You birthed him, and raised him, and made him stop sassing you, and you feel the wonder of it all. How could this be, you ask honestly? He finally made something of himself if it was the last thing he did.

Magicmagicmagic you keep hearing someone whisper in your ear....

Hear:

The sound of the record needle screech (for those you that can remember the sound of a record needle screech.)

For those who were born after 1982, a record needle screeching symbolizes my little graduation scenario careening off the road, down the cliff, rolling head over tail, bouncing off rocks and splatting upside down in the deepest part of the ocean. With no survivors. You have just heard the sound of no survivors.

Enter:

Reality. There is no graduation ceremony. There is no music. There is no robe. There is no robe with a fancy smancy hood on it. There is no magic. There is no waving wildly from the stuffy bleacher hoping people will click their tongues and say wow, did she really raise that smart DOCTOR type because he looks like he might have been a sassy pants in his day? Wowzers She's AMAZING!!

OK. OK. In all reality there IS a diploma. And there IS a DOCTOR. But because of some dumb opportunity in some dumb other state, and because they had to be there by June 21st, someone robbed their mommacita of the glory that is only derived in a stuffy bleacher. So instead I bring to you, (my mother-in-law, my only reader left):

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The Final Teeth Cleaning:

(please, out of respect, hum the Pomp song)

First, instead of a cap and gown and hoodie, we have scrubs that have been washed 1000s of times filing down the aisle, bearing a smile and searching the crowd for the woman who made it all possible by letting him cement 2 gold crowns in her mouth.

Next we have the putting on of the ceramonial final-teeth-cleaning rubber gloves. Almost as good as a Dr. Hood but only if this is all you get.

Next, we have a close up, of the million dollar specs that won't likely be needed in the world of Orthodontia. Sassy Pants Payback.

Seriously

What mommacita would be worth her salt if she hadn't taken a picture of herself, in her son's dental chair, with his hands in HER mouth? Can you believe how on point I am? If the people in the bleachers only knew about me. And my nostrils.

My feet in my own sassy son's dental chair. Gloria, you might not be able to tell, but my shoes are purple patent leather.

Final proceedure in dental school: all done. ALL DONE ALLDONEALLDONEALLDONE.

The graduate next to us was jealous that Dubers has such a wonderful mother.

Last paper work of dental school.

You'd think you'd get a ceremony when that happens.

My Chair Hair, and My Finger. Which by the way has nothing to do with the accomplishments of the graduate.

I found this on the counter in Duber's new kitchen. It is mail, received in his new state. You might have noticed the DOCTOR by his name. It's real baby, it's real

(You might also have noticed that this is a bill. Cue: self righteous little harumph)

Text Messages to My Kids that Quite Frankly Crank

2010-02-15T14:37:00.000-08:00

Hidee Ho there kids! Tis the Season! I can't just sit here and watch the Olympics without thinking about my swimming ex boyfriend who took that Olympic oath about not doping. A sorrow that has not healed, even if Subway thinks that we've forgotten.

I'm cuddled up on the leather couch with my hand crocheted afghan and Mitch's mono-infected pillow that is filled with those little pellet thingies so you can punch it or swing it about during speed skating. Since I lack anyone to high five when the moment calls for the high five, I've been texting the kids like crazy. Since I have to pay 5 cents for every text, I thought this might be cheaper:

Olympic text #1

Dear Everybody,
You know those white cushioney maybe made out of leather or possibly pleather couches that the freestyle skiers sit on after they compete? Well I think they are heated. And they look really comfortable. So yeah, I think I'd be liking one of those for Christmas for my bedroom. Just in case you were wondering what I might have on my wish list.

Much Love,
Your Adoring and Deserving Mommacita Who Happens to be a Widow

Olympic text #2

Dear Pregnant One,
I think it would be more than OK if you wanted to possibly use Apollo as a middle name. It would work for a boy for sure, and a girl if you added 'ette' (as in Danette) or you could just tack an 'a' on the end (as in Roberta, so it would end up Apolloa) or 'anne' (as in Larryann). Your dad always liked boy names for girls.

Be Sure And Keep Down Those Vitamins,
Mommacitanne

Olympic Text #3

Dear Glitch (my favorite fashionistas),
Did you happen to catch Tom Brokaw's outfit on the night of the opening ceremony? Did you wonder if he forgot his sports jacket so he borrowed that gold thing from some BOTS (bum off the street)? Did you wonder why he paired it with that blue shirt with the white collar and cuffs? Could you just hear Tim saying "What man wears a shirt with white collars and cuffs?" Yeah, me too.

And Did you think that Tom picked out his tie in the dark because it was navy and red or maybe some other color I can't remember now because I've tried to purge it from my memory? Were you afraid that once you let your hair go gray that you would most assuredly loose your ability to coordinate your outfits, even the ones that are really really important because you are going to be seen by the world in them? Yes?

Me Too. We're twinners!

H&M-ly yours,
Mommacita

Olympic Text #4

Dear Jen,
Do you miss that Mo-Tabbie song from 2002 that swelled and peaked and made you just feel like you were king of the world? I know I do. Do you think you'd have time to learn it on the piano for my next visit?

No Pressure I'm Just Your,
Mommacitainlaw

Olympic Text #5

Dear Everyone,
Two things. First of all, I'm quite taken with freestyle skiing. Second, the guys who announce it? Have you listened to those guys? No? Well I did, and I'm passing on my newly adopted freestyle-skiing-cool-announcer-guy vocabulary to YOU! Work these gems into to your conversations at work, school or play and people will immediately want to be your best-ie. Here you go:

Blister, Cranking, Open Throttle, Bottom out, Boomerang, Dawg, Tight, Big, Minor, Huge, Roll by the tail, Buck, Ding, Off the top, Smokin' (not to be confused with smoking which is not at all as cool), Qualies, In the Zone, Outacontrol, Go large, Flow off the top, Clutch, D-S-Q'ed, Uncorked, Throw down, and my personal favorite: Put the hammer down.

All my uncorked Love,
Mommacitadawg

Olympic Text #6

Dear Jaqueo,
Since you are in the athletic world professionally now, could you please answer me this? What product is Shawn White using on his hair? I dig those Farrah curls that were not there at the last Olympics. Question: Can athletes get that stuff for free and still compete? Just wanted to know if I should take up snowboarding, because if there's anything that I consider synonymous with great hair, it's snowboarding. USA! USA! USA!

Inquiring minds, and all that,
Will-do-anything-for-freebies-Mommacita

Olympic Text #7

Dear Dubers,
So the US athletes seem to all have really really white teeth. Can you hook me up at the dental school? That would be huge. Don't forget to use that cool freestyle vernacular in everyday life. When you're root canaling the guys with the pony tails, they will Roll by the tail fo sho.

Your best patient,
Mommacitasmiles

Just a Regular Text #8

Dear Blogspot.com,
What is the dealio? I have not been able to download any pictures to go with this post. All I get is words. Don't you know that when you make fun of someone's outfit you HAVE to have a visual to make it major? Don't you realize that my text about Shawn White would have been smokin off the top with pictures? Now it is just ding. Blogspot, you are D-S-Q'ed in my book. It's time to throw the hammer down and blister your way out of this mess. Next time, I expect you to qualie.

No love here,
NotyourMommacita

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Thank You Notes

2009-11-25T22:27:00.000-08:00

Yes, I've been gone awhile. I could go on and on about why, but do you really want to hear it? You're probably not even reading this because you kept checking and checking for a new post and there never ever was one so you decided forget Mommacita and her non posting moods. Isn't it all tired and rusty for you? I thought so. However, we're 90 minutes away from the day of Thanks, and so darn it, let's be a thanking.

.
So moving on.... imagine me, Mommacita-lazyetera, hand in hand with Jimmy Falon, host of late night TV. I know some people (neice, daughter) who have crushes on this guy, so let me just state right here, right now, that the hand holding is purely platonic. I could never beat out those two beauties. Because they are cute AND funny.

Moving on again... On his show, Jimmy often writes thank you notes, (to people like Frebreeze (for covering up odor and grime so we don't have to wash something and have it really clean instead)) And so even though I am no Jimmy Falon, nor pretend to be, and I am only someone who would platonically hold hands with him, I'd like to send some thank you notes. Because, he has touched me, deep down, with his thankful ness. And Because, darn it, we should all be about the thanking this weekend.

So let's all be thankful:
.

Dear Guy Who Ran a Red Light in the Intersection of Kruise Way and Highway 217,
Thank you. Thank you for making me laugh out loud, as you ran that red light and almost hit me broadside while I was on my way to Trader Joe's. Thank you for leaning forward in your seat onto your steering wheel while you were doing it, because it really DID make it seem like you weren't running a red light and it really DID make you look like you were going really really fast. That leaning forward in the seat in times such as these really makes all the difference. And Thank you for those eyes of determination. I laughed out loud, because a good NASCAR reference is always a winner for me.
.
Very Truly Yours,
Mommacita

(and now please imagine me folding up the thank you note and licking the envelope only on the point because I can't stand the taste, just like Jimmy)

Dear Hersey Candy Company,
Thank you Hersey Candy Company for only making Minty M&M's at Christmas time and not all year round. Because I would be as big as a moose.
.
Very Truly Yours,
Mommacita

(folding, licking, only on the pointing)

Dear Trader Joes,
Ditto the above Thank you note but insert Peppermint Jo'Jo's for Minty M&M's.
.
Very Truly Yours,
Mommacita
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PS The chocolate covered Peppermint JoJo's are really sublime. Hows about a coupon sometime?

(ditto as well on the folding, and licking on the point. talk about wearing out a bit)

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Dear Henry,
Thank you little Henry, for twinkling your eyes at me. And thank you little Henry, for grinning at me through your pacifier. And Thank you Little Henry, for visiting me for a whole month. And little Henry? About letting me kiss your neck whenever I want? And going limp when I do it?
T-H-A-N-K Y-O-U. I just like watching you discover the world.

.
Love and Zerberts,
GranMommacita

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Dear Sawyer,
.
Thank you for letting me play "Fisher Price Christmas Manger Little People" with you all week. I never thought I'd say this, but singing Away In A Manger every time you pushed the button on the roof of the manger never got boring. All 48 times. Thank you for the dance each time the song played. Thank you for the jiggy attitude. And Thank you Soybean, for the neck kissing and the toe biting. And the generalized snuggling. You smell good.
.
Zerberts and Love,
GrandMommacita

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Dear Gracie and Sophie and Ben,
Thank you for taking your medicine and getting better. I HATE dirty swines and their flu. I refuse to thank them. Thank you for talking to me on the phone and singing me a song or two. Thank you for those 3 pairs of blue eyes. I can't wait to see them. Soon! SOON! And Ben? Get ready, because I'll be a running my fingers through your hair. There might even be blogging about it. It's been known to happen.
.
Love and Zerberts Times 3,
GrandMommacita

Dear Ginormous Big Screen TV that Tim showed up with that one Saturday,
Thank you for hanging on this long. You know I love ya. And thank you for not taking those disparaging remarks made by Glitch that were aimed towards you personally. They tried to double team me into replacing you, but I stood true. I am thankful that you continue to give. If an inanimate object happened to feel cold, I would make a quilt for you just in case you might be sitting there all the time feeling chilly. But they don't, so I won't bother.
.
Very truly Yours,
Mommacita
PS Could you give me a sign when you're about to die so I can shop the sales?

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W.I.Y.W.C.E.???

2009-10-15T00:06:00.000-07:00

Tonight, with Mitch and Gloria, I decided to play "Who is Your Worst Celebrity Ever?" I had to come right down here and tell you about it..... Because I've been gone along time (more about that later) (and Limon is a lonely bachelor who's comment made me want to blog again...don't get all excited you goofballs...it's not like that....he's like 26 years old and he knows my kids....but he has a funny blog....and I like to read the precious gems that are 30 months apart...) ANYWAY

So, guys, let's play "Who is Your Worst Celebrity Ever?" (Make that sound of the crowd roaring right NOW)

Mommacita: Mariah Carey

Because:
she wonders why I am so obsessed with her, and because I'm sick of her tight clothes. When I say I'm sick, I mean I want to throw a brick through the TV because there is nothing clever about a way too tight pink tank top and a pair of way too tight jeans and high heels. Yes, Mariah, we SEE you. Wish we could just HEAR you. And by the way, that was the only picture I was willing to publish of her because of her sleazy little outfits that she buys at Maripoza. Meee-ow

Mitch: Tyra Banks

Because:
She is annoying. And because everything that comes out of her mouth is dim-witted (I inserted the word dim-witted for his actual word, because I found his real word offensive to those who are actually this way. You can count on me to save you from anything unpleasant, disagreeable, or impertinent. You're welcome)

.

Gloria: Tom Arnold

As you can see, there is no picture. I just couldn't bring myself to download one of him. Honestly, when she said Tom Arnold, I thought to myself, "Why didn't I say Tom Arnold?"

.
Because:

Oh, Wow, Because of everything. Because of the movies he is in, because of what he says, because of EVERYTHING that is Tom Arnold. (this is not verbatim, however, I think I caught the upshot of what she really feels about T. A.)

So now you know what I did tonight. Limon, I hope I have filled the emptiness.

All You Ever Need To Know You Can Learn from Project Runway

2009-09-11T00:39:00.000-07:00

Yay!!! More TV Blogging!! Double Yay!!!

Last night as I was watching Project Runway on Lifetime's channel for women, and in the midst of my gratitude for it being back, it struck me on how much we as a people can learn from Runway. I had to grab a hankie, because there were tears.

I love the Runway, (how can they sew so fast?????) and there are messages to help us that come from the Runway. This is not as good as reading your scriptures, but almost.

Message #1

Life is better if you have developed some skilz.

Message #2

If things aren't working out for you (on Bravo) then run to the nearest woman ('s network called Lifetime), and she will guide you to the promised land. Your life will be better, there won't be as many potty mouths around, and you'll get to live in Sunny California.

Message #3

Always look for a friend like Tim Gunn: Someone that will tell you the truth, and if you fail, they'll say just the right thing and give you a hug while your heart is breaking.

Message #4

Work Work Work. Nobody wins if they don't know how to make it work.

Message #5

Be nice. Even if mean people make it to the top, remember no one ever wants to share a room with them

Message #6

Beautiful things can happen in 24 hours. Out of NOTHING!

Message #7

When all else fails, remember that things always sound classy with a German accent. Even alveedersaine.

Message #8

If your needle breaks don't be whining about it. Nobody likes a crybaby.

Message #9

Never do anything in bad taste. You'll get creamed for it every time.

Message #10

Choose a good (role) model. It all comes down to the (role) model.

I never knew the runway was so profound. I guess this just goes to show you that

You never know what you've got 'till it's gone. ~Bob Dylan. Or maybe Joni Mitchell.

.

.
Mommmmmmmmmm-acita. Waxing philosophical.

I See Red People

2009-09-09T18:11:00.000-07:00

I write a post, I wait, I check to see who comments, I wait a couple of days, I recheck, then I search my life for something ridiculous to write about again and to waste your time again, so that maybe my children or others will comment. This is my purpose. This is my destiny. The hard part is, my life is not that interesting. Oh yes, I do have the occasional guy in a loin cloth speed by on his bike, but for the most part, I'm stretching the envelope. Trying beyond trying to get attention from the 6 people who read this.

Writing a blog makes you examine what you do in your life, what you think, how you perceive the world. I'm not so sure that's healthy for me. Like for instance, I don't like this about myself:

Today I'm at the market. Minding my own bizzness. This couple, maybe in their 40's saunters by me and they are holding hands, wearing this

And this

BOTH of them. Matching outfits. I'm a little dumbfounded and I can't stop looking at them. And these are my thoughts (as in my head, and please pray for me that I will never voice these in real life to real people.):

Question: Where did they get those pants?

Answer: Probably Disneyland

Question: Disneyland? Do they have Mickey Mouses on them? (because that might explain this because if you are going to spend the bucks on red Mickey Mouse pants while visiting Disneyland, (because you get all caught up in the Disney Craze as you are walking around), and you get home and then you are stuck with 2 pairs of red Mickey pants and you have to get your money out of them you might wear them to the market so as not to feel sorry for buying them in the first place)

Instruction: Catch up to them and check out the pants, to see if there are Mickey's on them.

Question: What? Have you lost your marbles? Is this the consequence of living alone? You DO NOT need to know if there are Mickey Mouses on their pants. What would that serve?

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Instruction: Do not go over there by those people and look at their pants. You are becoming weirder by the minute.
.

Observation: Red pants, Red Sweatshirts, wowzers, that's a lot of red.

Question: Who wears all that red?

Question: Are those Mickey pants?

Self Correction: ENOUGH. No more wondering about Mickeys on pants. It needs to be over.

Observation: But the red. BUT ALL THE RED.

Question: Should I blog about these red people?

Question: Are you kidding me? Do you really want to continue to be that girl that blogs about people she sees in the store?

Whiny Answer: I can't stop. I'm cursed with the noticing gene.

Question: Have I become this?

Answer: You certainly have if you go home and blog about the Red People.

Rationalization: But look at her. She's happy.

Question: Are you going to go home and blog about the Red People? Because if you do, You are enormously looserey.

Answer: No. No I am Not. I refuse to keep being that person.

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Apparently the receptors for resisting dessert and not blogging about people in the store are located in the same section of the brain and that section in me was damaged during the trauma of 2003. I'm sorry for any pain I may have caused you, the loyal reader.

.

Monkey Business

2009-09-06T21:10:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I started a quilt for Ben-erific, using some of these fabrics, in various colors

And a little of this in various colors

And some of this in two or three colors, (don't you love their jammies?)

And I fussy cut some of this

And I'm thinking that this baby/bigger baby quilt is going to be pretty amazing. I've never worked with a "fabric line" before, because I like to mix it up so's not to bore myself, but I think I like the decisions all being made for me right now.

But the baby/biggerbaby quilt is not what this blog is about. I just included that info so the biggerbaby's mother could see the fabric.

This blog is about, big surprise, TV.

I was trying to watch TV while sewing for the last 2 days. I usually enjoy trying to watch TV.

I have an announcement to make about TV. Here it is: TV during the Labor Day weekend is THE WORST. THE WORST. THE WORST EVER.

Now, I made this comment to two different people, (one being someone who I am related to and actually pushed through the birth canal), but they did not agree with me because they spent the weekend watching football games and they are madly in love with Labor Day Weekend TV. Whatever.

I repeat. Labor Day weekend TV is THE WORST EVER.

So here's the scenerio. I had just finished watching "Mr. Smith Goes To Washington." which I had previously DVR'd during TCM's Summer Under the Stars series in August (which I dearly miss by the way) And if your are a true American, and a movie lover, then of course you find that movie a little piece of amazing. Amazing Ala Mode in fact. It got a 5 star rating. I had never seen it before. Talk about the thrill of victory. I went from watching a 5 star movie, to having this for my choice:

Stop Your Anxiety and Depression

Slimming Jeans

Peter Papoff Prayer Line

Internet Millions

Paid Programming

More Paid Programming

Food Lovers Fat Loss System

Hypnosis for Weight Loss

Free Money

Your Baby Can Read

Christy Brinkley's Total Gym

(Really Christy Brinkley? Really? After Being a Supermodel, this is the best you can do? Really? Are you Serious? Really???)

Celeb Hair

Clean With Shark Steam

Look Younger

Talk about the agony of defeat.

After scrolling through the guide every half hour, hoping beyond hope that something magically would appear, I finally decided on TLC's "Truth Be Told" This episode focused on people who take their pets too seriously. One of the vignettes was about a woman who had a little doggie and she bought it expensive costumes (a Dennis Rodman one, (which included a pink wig), a Southern Belle one and Prom Queen costume) and then entered her little doggie (wearing the costumes) into doggie pageants. She took the doggie to New York for a pageant and her doggie didn't win. And then she got super depressed.

I am not exaggerating.

Another vignette was about a woman who had a pet monkey named Richard (which happens to be my dad's name so I didn't exactly appreciate her monkey having the same name as my beloved daddy) who she also dressed up and took with her everywhere she went. Well, at least she was TRYING to take Richard the monkey everywhere, but the city council was getting in her way. She hired an attorney to fight for her monkey rights. The case is still pending. At the end it showed her with Richard the Monkey and 2 friends at one of those photo studios where you get all dressed up in Wild Wild West attire and get your picture taken in sepia tones and you don't smile. The monkey, even though she brushed his teeth before they went, did not smile in the wild west picture. So it turned out pretty perfect for all the ladies and Richard the Monkey at the photo place.

I concluded from this show, that if you are dressing an animal up, you might be pushing the envelope a little.

And I'm not sure, but I've really thought about it, especially at church today, and I'm guessing that I watched this show because I was sewing on Monkey Fabric.

Yeah. It's never what you think it is, is it?

Reunionesque - A Life Lesson

2009-08-24T17:35:00.000-07:00

Dear Tim's Family,

In an attempt to bring to you pictures of our regional reunion, let's get the dirty laundry right out on the table. This website has been giving me fits today, and I've had trouble getting the pictures onto it. Since most of the pictures are pictures of crap and not people, that has doubled my frustration. I am in a terrible mood. I feel like ripping your head off right now and you didn't even do anything. I have already ripped my own head off and it is sitting over there in the entryway making a mess and mocking me. In an attempt to get into a zen place, let's start with a sunset, albeit a sunset on a cloudy day. I was going to end with this, but people, you're just going to have to work with me here.

Breathe In.

Breathe Out.

And Begin...

A week ago, we met on Rachael and Matt's house boat, or as I like to call it, the cutest little love shack ever. We left it littered with corn cobs on the back deck and glitter and s'more juice all over the kitchen table. We're sensitive that way.

We missed our family that had partied with out us in Ohio, partied without us in Arizona, and partied without us in So Cal. We missed you, but we had fun without you. We spent the day doing reunionesque things. Things like pairing up with a pixie and making boats for a boat race:

Eating more, and more and more with Grandma Loveit,

Fishing off the side of the houseboat before it was littered with corncobs:

Appreciating wildlife on the front porch

And my personal favorite, losing our personal identity by dressing alike

Since it was a cloudy day, and too cool to squeeze ourselves into swimsuits and have our pictures taken so we could be entombed in a swimsuit forever and ever on the internet, we thought up other stuff to do. We paired up randomly, in teams of two people, and we created 1 boat per team...because the first ever G-lock Regalia was to be held right before dinner. My, my, but don't the claws come out when a G-lock is competing. The teams had to build a boat out of supplies they could find, give it a name, and sail it in the G-lock Regalia.

The first team consisted of Madison and Mommacita. They built a boat of Popsicle sticks and called it the "M & M". Because of the M's in their names. Get it? And they felt totally hip making gangsta "M" signs in their picture, although you can tell right away I'm over 50 because my gangsta M looks more like a claw.

And the blue and yellow theme of the "M & M"s? Forget about it! Others were jealous.

The next team was Morgan and Matt. Now I'm not a sore looser or anything, but Matt dragged Morgan off into his workshop and pretty soon you could hear sanders and saws and things were flying. I'm not offended or anything, but I don't think they used the gluegun I brought because I saw nails in their boat. And that sail you see? Real sailcloth. And are you wondering if that's a candle there in front of the sail that is meant to be a source of renewable energy for their boat "Light of the River"? You wonder right. OK. I'm just going to say it. Rachael, your husband is a competitor. Opps. Should have spelled that COMPETITOR.

Next we have the paring of Richard Carlos, who we will call Carlos from now on, and Lisa/Sawyer. Sawyer was clearly the brains behind the operation that produced the "Las Vegas Queen". I kept hearing the two of them say to each other something about not having any right brains. Sawyer, your superpowers saved the day. Look at that thing.

The next group was David and Abby. They read their scriptures together before they started and were inspired by the flight of the Jaredites in the Book of Mormon who built ships that were "tight like unto a dish". They hogged all the straws and sealed them in a base of tinfoil that was sealed up as tight as you can imagine. I saw the man who made me a gold tooth over there fussing over those straws and foil and I thought no fair. Abby brought her aesthetic sense to the operation, and between the two of them the aura of light was staggering.

The next pairing was Ruth and LaRene, whose creation "LaRve" was as happy and cheery as these two themselves. I Larve them.

Next, Amanda and Rachael decided to funkify with "G-lock Starry Night". It was a mind trip. One of those pictures within a picture within a picture situations. It had wind and fog and waves and real growing things. And it was made of paper plates. And they wore black glasses and sequins, while they did it. And they ran off to a corner of the houseboat where no one could see the masterpiece until it was done. Just look how happy they are.

Every family has a little dysfunction. Nathan and Margaret. Their plan was to put cotton balls in tin foil and light them on fire thus hoping that all the other boats would burn up. Why do I think that it never sunk into either one of them what was going on? I did like their name though: "Grathan". Like Branjolina only they chew Trident Fruit Flavor.

Lastly we have the "Fairy Flower" built by Pat and Debbie. They hogged all the Styrofoam. And silk flowers. And fun foam. And feathers and sequins and glue and jingle bells and ribbon and whatever else I threw into the bag to try and get rid of at the reunion. Thank you Pat. Thank you Debbie. "Fairy Flower" gave me an extra shelf in my hall closet.

So I bet you're dying to know how the race turned out. I know I would be if I were you. Awards were given. Tears were shed. OK. No tears were shed. But this is how it turned out

"Fairy Flower" by Pat and Deb won "Most Crap on it" or in other words "Prettiest".

"Grathan" by Grandma and Nathan won "Most Thrown Together" or "Best Teamwork" which was really a social commentary designed to encourage companies to never pair the elderly with the teenager mind.

Inside view of "Grathan". They never lighted it on fire and I for one was disappointed to my very core.

Rachael and Amanda's "G-lock Starry Night" won Most Creative. Like any great work of art, a photo does not do justice. Personally, I think they should have given a best use of tulle award. They would have been a shoe in for that.

"Larve" by Ruth and LaRene won "Most Columbia Worthy". Because of their use of waves. And things rising up out of the waves. BTW, LaRene's name is on the other side of the vessel. Just in case you thought Ruth was on a power trip.

Rick and Lisa's "Las Vegas Queen" won "Best Use of Neon Lights with out Really Having any Neon Lights". Coveted award. And that glob of gold sequins stuck right in the middle? Pretty sure that's Carlo's work and not Sawyers.

Morgan and Matt's intellectual "Light of the River" won "Most Inspiring use of Materials and Inspiring Craftsmanship and Inspiring End Result and Let's Face it We are Inspired" Award. I was watching Pat and LaRene's faces when they won this, and let me tell you, I've never seen parents more proud than at that moment. Smiles as big as the sky. FYI, when they first put it in the river, it flipped and sank and the contractor ran and put the pink floaties on the ends and it happily sailed away.

The "M & M" won best name. Woo Hoo.

The tight like unto a dish vessel "G-lock's Ark" won 1st Place, Most G-Lockie, and Most Spiritual. Let this be a lesson to all you kids out there. When heaven is on your side, you cannot fail. As soon as the Ark hit the water, it was as if a heavenly motorboat was propelling it out to sea:

It was the little ship that could. It went like the wind:

Further and faster it went, leaving the other sad little boats sitting in their puddles of sad sorryness. The crowd was going wild. whistling! yelling! stomping! That an actual G-lock was able to engineer a boat that actually floated was astounding! unbelievable! inconceivable! And you know who was up on the top deck snapping photos of every victorious moment.

When you finally take that cruise to the Eastern Carribean, and as you're standing there on the Leado Deck, with Captain Stubing and Gopher, and you see a little red and green boat that looks like it might be made out of fun foam out there on the horizon, that exact moment would be a good time to take a little personal inventory to see Who's on the Lord's Side Who. Because, my friends, we all want to be the little ark that could.

.

And now, I bring to you in all humility, the fate of the "M&M"

I know the scriptures are true.

.

PS This post is too long. Mitch will complain.

These Two are Related, Really Miss Their Days at Girls Camp, Are Sympathetic to Their Half Blind Dear Sweet Grandmother, and are Drunk with Sequins

2009-08-23T23:22:00.000-07:00

Stay tuned for more reunion fun to come. If you can stand it.

Whilst We Wait for Certain People to Send Me Pictures From the Reunion, (you know who you are), Chomp on These

2009-08-20T13:55:00.000-07:00

Deeeeeeee-lish.

For Larsa, and KitKat

2009-08-16T20:31:00.000-07:00

Saturday night as I was traveling home from a family reunion, I had a moment of self awareness.

It was about 10:00 at night, dark, I was alone, and I had left the radio off because frankly I needed the quiet of the car. I was thinking about the day, a day spent with a portion of my husband's family. Sometimes I have anxiety before such an event, because I never know what I'm going to feel in the midst of His People.

Don't get me wrong, I love them, and I enjoy them, but sometimes I notice his absence more than I would in everyday life. I like it when things remind me of him, but I don't particularly like to be blind sighted (or is it sided?) with emotion that has been placed on the shelf. I'm pretty good about that now days, but still. I like to be braced. As it turned out, I need not have given it a second thought....the day was filled with normalcy. And fun.

As I was zipping down the dark freeway, there was a semi truck behind me with it's brights on. Annoying. So I pulled over into the right lane. I immediately relaxed. My eyes, my hands, my neck, my back: all relaxed. And as I continued to drive, I said to myself, almost out loud: I really really like the right hand lane when I'm traveling alone in the dark.

I travel on that same road, at about the same time of night at least once a week. And I always find myself meandering over into the right hand lane. During the day I wouldn't be caught dead in the right hand lane. In fact, I spend a lot of time gunning past people in the passing lane.

But at night? When I'm alone on the road? When I'm more vulnerable? When I can't see the horizon off in the distance? When the path is dark and unfamiliar? I'm a right hand laner. All the way. The street light shines brighter on the right lane. There is an unbroken painted line just to the right to guide you. There is more protection, because no one travels on the shoulder that is to your right. You can move a little slower if you need to and nobody minds because, hey, who wants to travel in the right hand lane?? I feel safer with all that light and paint and protection and slowness around me. And it has just become my way. When I have people in the car with me, I don't move over there. But doing it alone? Well, it just feels better.

As I was thinking about how great the right hand lane feels in the dark, I asked myself if I was a right hand laner in other aspects of my life. The answer is yes. If I'm in the dark, I will always maneuver myself into a safer place, so I can at least feel relaxed in the dark. Traveling alone in the dark takes extra concentration, and because of the effort, you find yourself falling back on everything that has become a habit. The familiar is your go to. The familiar helps you inch yourself along as you proceed forward into the unknown.

Looking back at my times of right lane-ness, I appreciate that I was taught to travel closer to light. I appreciate that I was taught to look for the guide lines next to me, because since I was unsure of direction, I had to decide to trust that they worked. They did. I was glad I knew there was some sort of protection out there, just off to my right. A place where I could slow down or maybe park in, if I needed to regroup or ask for help. My habits rescued me. While in the dark, my habits, my familiar, became the catalyst to keep rolling forward.

I don't know why we have to have those times where we are forced into the right hand lane. But the one thing I do know is that we can do it. I definitely know that if required, we can travel there. And traveling in the right hand lane will still get us to our destination, as planned.

.

SoyJoy, Little Kid Furniture, and the Pressure of Living in a Blonde Environment.

2009-08-10T13:08:00.000-07:00

Lisa!

I said Miss LISA!

Hop on into the kitchen like a good girl and fetch me a brewski

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.

if only there were kitties to snuggle

why? Why? WHY????

2009-07-20T23:27:00.001-07:00

Tonight I watched the news. Our local newscast always has some sort of animal-ish story. All About Animals I like to call it. It's usually about doggies or kitties. Tonight's story was about a man who was fishing, and he found an osprey tangled up in fishing line laying beak down in the water. He gave it "mouth to beak" resuscitation. The bird, whose beak by the way was big and long and very very pointy lived and flew away. The resuscitator was on the evening news.

OK. I'm just saying that if I find a passed out osprey laying by the side of the stream someday, I'm not going to be giving it mouth to beak. I'm just not.

So yeah. I got myself out of bed, I'm sitting here with bare feet in my nightgown, so I can put this tidbit on my blog for who knows what reason.

If anyone out there knows why I am compelled to do such a thing, please enlighten me.

Really Big Show

2009-07-13T13:36:00.000-07:00

On Saturday I attended the Sister's Quilt Show in Sisters, Oregon with the quilting girls. I'm not sure I've ever blogged about the quilting girls, because,

a. I'm not so sure that they'd appreciate it,

b. there are hippa laws,

c. they might throw me out of the group for it, and

d. they were all there for me when Timmers was dying, so they deserve not to

be thrown under the bus.

I love them and I am guaranteed at least one big belly laugh whenever we get together. Saturday did not disappoint.

At the Sister's quilt show, on every second Saturday in July, the little cowboy community of Sisters, Oregon takes a ba-jillion quilts and hangs them outdoors and quilters (women over 45)come in by the busloads to walk around the streets of Sisters to look at them and act like girls who have finally been cut loose from the restraints of everyday life (lots of high pitch giggling, matching group vests/visors/hats/socks/t-shirts (that have things like "sewing chicks" embroidered on them )) I did a fair amount of sitting this year, and I am an observer by nature, and I am not making this stuff up.

It is now time for a blog visual.

This is the poster that advertised last year's event.

The water is a quilt. Clever huh?

Here is this year's

The woman is a quilter, feeling free from the restraints of life through quilting. And flowers. You can purchase this poster, and totes, and t-shirts and other marketing paraphernalia at the show. Along with kettle corn. Which I quite enjoyed, by the way, because Betti, (not her real name, however she happens to be one) who is one of the quilting girls DID purchase some hot fresh kettle corn and shared it with the group and I publicly thank her. Betti, as usual, you are generous.

I get sidetracked so easily. Anyway, if you are lucky, at the show you can see some nice things:

But like life itself, with the good, you sometimes get the bad and the ugly.

I don't know what the above is, was, or needs to be.... but what ever it is, was, or needs to be, It was oh so real, it was perplexing, and there were 2 of them. And people were walking a wide circle around them so as not to have any taint rub off on them.

One thing the quilting girls (not to be confused with sewing chicks....we have no identifying or embroidered clothing...) like to do together is go to quilt stores, so we traveled a little south of Sisters and went to 3 stores in Bend. As we were traveling along in the car, minding our own beeswax, this was the conversation that took place:

Boan: Hey! Look at that guy on that bicycle!! He's wearing a loin cloth!

Betti, Barol, Bancy, Bebbie, and Bommacita: What? Where?

Boan: Over there! THERE! (points to the left)

Boan: Barol! Turn the car around! Hurry up! There's a guy with a loin cloth on! We need another look!

Bommacita the realist: That guy doesn't have a loin cloth on. His shorts are just torn.

Boan: Yes it is! IT IS! Barol! Turn your car around.

Mind you now, we're all at least 50 years old. However, Barol turns the car around anyway. Great personal effort was involved. I continue to enjoy Betti's Kettle Corn.

Boan: Barol! Slow down! SLOW DOWN! He's got a LOIN CLOTH on I tell you! Betti! BETTI! Get a Picture of that!

Bommacita the realist: Oh My Gosh! That guy doesn't have a loin cloth on. His shorts are just torn.

Betti unrolls her window. Barol slows the car down. All six over 50 heads look to the right. Camera is put into position. I simultaneously hear the shutter click and see the guy.

The car goes slower. Necks are craned. Gasps are heard. Bommacita bursts, literally BURSTS into laughter. Other things almost burst right along with it.

It IS a loincloth. IT IS. It was made out of leather. Suede actually. It had a pocket. What is the thought process when you're making your loincloth that delivers you to the conclusion that you need a pocket on it? What kinds of stuff do you keep in your loincloth pocket? Wouldn't stuff in a loin pocket cause it to not lay smooth and flat? Isn't smooth and flat a loincloth goal that all loiners should keep in mind? Is that not critical for all those involved in the covering of one's loin?

Who does this? WHO?

I guess it doesn't matter who. But I'm lucky. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank the barefoot guy in the Mohawk from Bend for being so kind when he got on his bike that afternoon, to carefully tuckie his loinie around his seatie to make sure that Bommacita would not have to see anything more than a leg. And it didn't hurt to leave the pocket empty. Thank you guy in the Mohawk. THANK YOU.

.
But guy in the mohawk, please, in the future, if you need to feel free from the restraints of life, please just put on some pants, grab a quilt, and run through some flowers with the 3 Sisters Mountains in the background.

And please stay in Bend because you scare me just a teensy.

Adventures in Dysentery

2009-07-03T10:41:00.000-07:00

My goal here is to write a tasteful post about vomiting and diarrhea, as moronic as that sounds. There will, by the way, be no visuals. I wish to maintain my Mommacita self respect here. My dignity has been compromised enough lately.

Exactly one week ago tomorrow, I ate a little something that wasn't supposed to be eaten, and found myself in the land of the Purge. As I lay on the bathroom floor moaning, (being quick to jump up as per required), and in between thoughts of wanting to blow my brains out, I began to wax philosophical. It's times like these where the Teacher really pounds in those lessons, because the learner is paying attention like crazy. Finally.

So I, the learner, decided that if every lesson we were supposed to learn on earth was taught in such a manner (if you eat that salmon lying there on that buffet, you will pay and pay and pay right into your toilet bowl) then we might not go around learning and relearning what not to do. Case in point: I have learned my lesson. I will never again eat salmon on a buffet as long as I live. So-ooooooo not worth it. Well, I'm guessing it was salmon, because I'm not willing to rule out cake yet.

Anyway, I came up with a list of things that we as humans need to stop doing, things that should have the consequence of dysentery. I really think this would solve some of the world's greatest issues.

1. For the first item on my list, let's just include war, greed, man's inhumanity toward man, child abuse, murder, and every other crime that would end you up in prison. The bigger the crime the badder and the longer the dysentery. And I realize badder is not a real word. Anyway, our prisons would just be big huge bathrooms with a little cushion at the foot of the throne. And maybe the 'good behavior' prisoners would get a little cushion on the throne, to lay their aching head upon. Bernie Madoff, you would never leave the john. You too Ted Bundy.

2. Lying. If you tell a lie, then you are hit immediately. No waiting to get to the bathroom, just boom, there it is. There's no hiding it. Oh the lying in this world would decrease exponentially I tell you. And there'd be no more lying to yourself. When you tell yourself that your relationship with sugar is through, it would really be through. Or Boom....not so pretty. And just think of what this would mean for the newspapers, the politicians, the newscasters. We'd only hear reports on who is stuck in the men's room. Or ladies room. That might be fun.

3. Bad Music. Now this one is a little sticky. Because if you write bad music, not only you get hit with dysentery (man's inhumanity toward man) but everyone who hears your music would get hit as well. Bad music would be put to rest. A cosmic, natural censorship would take place. The world would learn self control. I'm for it.

4. Environmentalism. Now don't get me wrong. I love the earth, and I feel a personal responsibility to take care to it's beauty. But if people who litter were hit with the big D, then I wouldn't have to pay the 5 cent deposit on my cans. Yesterday I had to pay $1.80. And now I have to drag those empty cans back to the store. I HATE that. I hate saving them, I hate baggin them up, I hate loading them in the car, I hate putting them in the stupid machines and I hate the whole sticky process. As a plus, we would never have to listen to people argue about the environment. We'd just all do our part, to avoid the immediate unpleasant. And the intense cramping that goes along with it. Because believe you me, if somebody littered their can, and then they were hit with my consequence, then people would avoid the litterer like the plague. Oh a shunning would take place. And then there'd be more consequences. And more shunning. Until all the shunning and littering and polluting would stop forever. And I'd never have to bag up my cans ever ever again. Smiling just thinking about it.

5. You and I both know this list could go on forever. I think I have made my point. If you have more you would like to add, I'm open. But let's just say, that this whole experience affected me just like seeing the "Ten Commandments" did when I was a 10 year old child. I came out of the theater solemnly swearing that I would never ever commit another sin. Likewise, I would do anything to avoid another experience with Adventures in Dysentery. And so would all the liers, criminals cheaters, polluters and bad musicians out there.

And that's nothing but simple honest truth telling. And you can check me out on that . wink winkers.

.

Fairy Frost

2009-07-01T16:57:00.000-07:00

.

Dear Someone Out There Who Likes Me,

We all know that I have been known to mock the sequined, the sparkly, the bo-jangled, and the be-dazzled in the past, however I'd just like to take this opportunity to thank you, Thank You, THANK YOU from the bottom of my beating heart for the wonderful present you gave me last week. I loved the gift of being able to visit the fairy forest with my little darlin's Grace and Sophia. Little did I know that right across the street from me, the Fairy Forest has been in existence all these years. How come I never knew it? I'm pretty sure it has to do with not being able to hear the silver jingle bell from the Polar Express anymore either.

Anyway, Gracie and Sophie took me under their gossamer wings and showed me the magic of the Fairy Forest:

I told you it was fairylicious. We ate fairy lunch (flowers), walked from fairy room to fairy room (kitchens, bedrooms, baths), swept up with a handmade fairy broom (a stick with a palm frond), sat on fairy couches (logs) and listened to fairy chatter (them explaining it all to me). For a little bit, I got to be a real live fairy again. It is something that I've dearly missed.

So, Person Out There Who Likes Me; I just wanted you to know I appreciated walking on the heels of magic for one afternoon with my granddaughters. It was pure delicious fun. I will never never NEVER EVER forget it. You deserve a pat on the back for this one.

Very Truly Yours,

Mommacita,
Former Fairy in another life

Couzzes ala Bumbo

2009-06-26T22:53:00.000-07:00

Can't think of anything witty to say because of my drool.

Left to Right: Ben, almost 7 months; Soyboy, almost 6 months,

All neat and tidy in my very own backyard.
In matching bumbos.

I love.

Do You Remember the Time? (this is a really clever title if you think about it a minute)

2009-06-25T23:01:00.000-07:00

Jaque-o and his family have been visiting this week. More to come.

Anyway, today we went to the beach. We walked in the door around 8:15, and I checked the computer. I don't know why...maybe it was because of the habit I developed long ago when kids were overly tired and they had to get ready for bed and I tried to run and hide somewhere. It didn't work then, but it's really working for me now.

I digress... I check the computer. The King of Pop was dead. I yelled out to the household (without regard for the feelings of others) MICHAEL JACKSON IS DEAD. Gasps ensue. And then I read the article that accompanied the headline. It stated that people would remember this day forever, that they would remember exactly where they were when they heard that the King of Pop had died, like unto when JFK was assinated.

So I thought I might share. I did a poll. This is where everyone was when they found out Michael Jackson, the King of Pop was dead:

Mommacita:

In front of the computer hiding like a baby.

Jenny:

Running up the stairs to fetch jammies

Ben:

In the bumbo.

Gracie:

Laying vertically on the stairs, moaning about how she didn't want to put on her pajamas and that she would just sleep there. Her head was on a different stair than the rest of her and was cocked to the left so it would fit on the stair. You know, like a pillow. (Just for the record, I had just asked the two girls if I could help them by doing eveything for them (all they had to do was lay there) and wailing ensued. Thus the hiding.)

Jake:

In the kid's bathroom, with Vulcan grip on a screaming Sophie trying to force her to brush her teeth.

Sophie:

In the kid's bathroom, in her father's Vulcan grip, squeezing the bubble gum flavored toothpaste as hard as she could so that there was a soft serve sized blob of toothpaste running down the side of the tube. Oh yeah, and she was vehemently defending her right to do it herself.

So yeah. That was where we all were when we found out the King of Pop was dead. And I kind of wanted to document it, even though I'm sort of ashamed of myself.

It appears that MJ loved purple AND kitties. Booyah.

So ya. I'm dying to know, but only because it's like unto the JFK assasination. Where were you?

PS. Tonight we sat around the TV and watched MTV's continuous looping of Michael Jackson videos. We had so much fun remembering our lives as each song brought up memories of what was happening when the particular song was popular. I loved watching him move. He was a truly talented and gifted soul. Rest In Peace MJ, and teach Timmers to dance by the time I get there, would you?

Oly Power

2009-06-05T21:28:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I received a phone call from a guy I know who works at the High School that all my kids graduated from. He was calling to ask if I would be willing to come to their Senior Awards assembly and give out a scholarship that the Athletic Booster Club sponsers in memory of Tim. Now I was aware that they gave out this scholarship because the year Mitch graduated, (the June after Tim's death), I had presented it. What I was not aware of, was that they have kept it going every year since.

I was heartened and touched that people other than our family are taking steps to keep alive his memory. I said yes, I would be honored to come, however as I said it I was kicking myself. I had been going through my files about 3 months ago, ran across the talk I gave 5 years ago, and thought, wow, remember this? Too bad I don't need it anymore... and I chucked it. So much for being inspired.

My kids have asked about what I said yesterday, to the entire school, and the parents of the graduating seniors. The stadium was full. So kids, here you go: the community was refreshed about your dad with this.... (I've deleted a couple of insignificant things..)

ps. I want you to remember these things too

"Tim grew up in 35 miles NW of here, graduated from Law School, and was a trial attorney here in town until he lost a fight with cancer in November 2003. He and I raised 4 kids, who all graduated from here. Tim was athletic his entire life, and played from his childhood to just a few months before he died. The chemotherapy left him with residual numbness in his feet, but he still managed to move them on the tennis court with his friends. Athletics gives you the kind of friends who will invite you to play even it your feet might move a little slower because you are sick.

Tim not only played himself, but coached each of our kids as they grew up. I think he coached various teams for 13 years running. Along with the coaching, he supervised the Sky-ball Organization for several years, training other coaches, and covering our dining room table with schedules and brackets.

Tim was a rabid Oly fan. When our son was playing football, we would have the offensive line over for breakfast on game day. At 6:00 in the morning on that day, I would walk into the kitchen and discover that Tim had written on the orange placemats “Beat the Dirty Rotten Saxons” to get the boys pumped. When the team went to the state tournament, I would look around and there was Tim with all the other moms painting signs on someone’s garage floor. He was a member of the Athletic Booster Club for 10 years. At any athletic event, there was Tim, wearing orange garb that border-lined on the embarrassing.

I asked one of my sons how many kids that Tim had coached had gone on to play professional sports. The number was 2. I then asked how many had graduated from a 4 year university. We figured around 90 %. You can decide what you want about that, but I think that Tim knew how athletics teaches kids skills they use far beyond the court or field. He wanted his kids to have that, so he made it happen, enjoying life along the way.

I thought about what Tim would want to tell the student that is receiving the Athletic Booster Scholarship that bears his name. It came right to me, and this is it: Take these funds, and use them to help you learn every thing you wish. And when you have achieved your academic goals, take what you’ve learned, couple it with your standards and beliefs, and use that to build a better family. A happy family is what drove Tim to do anything he did. I hope that it drives you as well."

5 bucks to the person who can identify who had a Nyquil Hangover

PS. She got 1,000 bucks. Go O's.

Random bits of Freakishness

2009-06-03T15:15:00.000-07:00

So I just have a few ribbons of thought that are twirling around in my head and may not be important to you, but I, on the other hand must like them because I'm throwing them at you like a tabloid throws information that you never needed, never wanted, and never asked for.

1. Speaking of tabloids, have any of you had enough of these two?

I am so sick sick SICK TO DEATH of being assaulted by their shenanigans when I am paying for my groceries. Quit the show and get your stinking stuff together and Pah Leeeeeeeze leave me out of it.

2. Speaking of groceries, a few days ago I purchased two of these

I purchased two of them because I was attracted to the giantsizedness and the freshness of them. They did not disappoint. I cooked them both together, thinking I would save one for the next day. They never saw the next day. Delish ee moseo. I suggest you go out right this second and get a giant sized artichoke for your eating pleasure.

3. Speaking of pleasure, I have a good one for you. Is Blogging Narcissistic?

Because I'm getting kind of sick of talking about me me me. My thoughts. My ideas. My world. My chocolate messes. My broken feet. My My My. Why should you care? I'm not so fond of the narcissists of the world. So now, am I one... because I am so self absorbed that I thought you would care about the fact that I don't like narcissists, even though now I might be one because I write this freaking blog? When I went to find the above visual on google, a bunch of sites came up about how to tell a narcissist on Facebook or MySpace. I learned just from reading the blips that Narcissists always put glamour shots of themselves on their pages. Well. That made me feel better, because 1st of all, I don't own a glamour shot and second of all I try like the dickens to keep my picture off this thing, for certain reasons that will remain unknown to you so I don't look like a narcissist.

4. Speaking of Dickens,

Today I was rummaging around in a closet, doing my favorite pastime of chucking stuff, and I came across a book entitled "The Complete Works of William Shakespeare"

I think to myself, "Hey Narcissist, you could probably profit from reading this book.People you admire have been know to quote this writer." And then I think "Where did this book come from anyhow, because I don't remember buying it?"

I concluded that one of my kids hit the jackpot when they married because they married someone who actually owns a book of this type, who actually travels with this book, and the in-law probably left it here on purpose maybe when they might of had a child born here under this roof, and they left it here to try and help me. Kind of like the Gideons and the Bibles in the hotels. When I read the book, I might be able to write more better, (see two sentences ago) and think more better (see content of this entire blog). But I'll still probably be a Narcissist because now that I realize that blogging might be narcissistic and if I continue blogging then that will mean my involment with this Freaking Blog makes me a you know what.

Geez, it's a lot of work being me sometimes.

Hippa Smippa

2009-05-30T18:35:00.000-07:00

Last week I had a mammogram. My favbrit. But apparently I got an "F" on it because they called me this week and scheduled me to come in and have a redo, along with an ultra sound.

So much for my new years resolution to stay out of Dr.'s Offices, thus not having to pay them.

I didn't let myself get too worked up about it, because I've been through this before.... while Timmers was having chemotherapy. It was a cyst then, so let's all conclude that it's a cyst now, right? I slept through the night with that thought rolling around my head. Along with this thought creeping around the edges: chemo by yourself...what a blast that would prove to be.

Yesterday I went in for the redo rodeo.

OK. I'm just telling you right here, right now, when you go in for the redo, the object is to smash you three times further with twice the grip. I seriously thought that when I stepped back from the mammography machine that I would look at the plate and I would be seeing my smashed mammo-grified part sitting there without me...like a skin tag removed with clippers. Mister, just thinking about that can smart like the dickens. Makes your spine curl, don't it?

Anyway, so as not to worry you any further, I got an A- on the redo, along with the ultra sound. I am fine.

Physically.

However, I didn't realize how worried I might of been about it until I woke up this morning with a headache. (And now you know TWO pieces of Hippa information about me.) It was one of those post stress headaches, the kind that you get when you are carrying around too much baggage

So I've kind of been babying myself today. Laying on the couch, watching TV, and I even treated myself to some chocolate covered almonds, because we Sisters deserve the Chocolate after having had double the mammograms in one week. It's the Mommacita rule.

Around 4 o'clock, I talk myself into going to the grocery store. I think I need strawberries. So I drag my headachy self to Winco. As soon as I get in the store, I discover I have to visit the ladies room. So off I go. As I'm washing my hands I look in the mirror, and in my reflection, right above the V in my V necked t-shirt I see a two bruises.

I'M BRUISED!

I AM BRUISED FROM A MAMMOGRAM!!!

THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS!!! I'M BRUISED!!!

Well I am just furious. I don't think we should go around bruising our Ladies there.

So I very lightly touch one of the bruises. As I run my finger over my skin, I notice that the bruise follows my finger. In fact, it was a bruise that transferred to the bottom of my finger. It was one of those transferring bruises? Wha?

It's Chocolate. Melted Melty Chocolate. I've been walking around in public with an ink blot stain made out of chocolate on my chest. And let's not even be discussing how an ink blot shaped chocolatey schmear was tattooed on me, front and center. I have endured enough trauma.

I am admitting I am far too ridiculous to ever again talk in a disparaging manner about people who frequent Walmart. Even if they have digestive issues and are standing by me in line.

And Schneebers, after hearing this story, I think you just might prefer that I wear my pajamas in public. You know. Instead of the plethora of alternatives.

Getting Real

2009-05-25T21:43:00.000-07:00

Memorial Day.

I tried to give you a chance.

Today was a beautiful blue sky day, perfect temperature, and gentle breeze. I had just been to my parent's house. There they had a basement full of Mums...every color imaginable. They had been purchased and nurtured to be placed on an abundance of graves, to honor those who had gone before: Mothers, Fathers, Brothers, Sisters, and always a little arrangement for an infant daughter, my only sister. I grew up with this tradition. Every memorial day, our parents took us to the cemetery before we'd get together with cousins. It was the ultimate day of family, past and present.

When I got married, this tradition was erased. Tim's dad had died when he was 8. We never visited his grave, except for one time when we had only 2 kids left at home. That visit was on a beautiful day like today. The view was spectacular. At the time, I didn't understand Tim's way, but I was more than willing to go to the beach or the mountains or Grandma's for a Bar-B-Que whenever memorial day rolled around. I would have been willing to visit graves too, however, since he didn't seem to want to, I was more than happy to oblige.

This would probably be a good time to let you in on the fact that I have hardly ever visited Tim's grave. It might be for a number of reasons. The first time I went was a few days after his funeral. It was the grayest, rainiest, windiest, coldest, most horrible day ever. The grass on top of the grave was dead, and the funeral flowers on top of that were shriveled and dead as well. It took about two seconds for me to draw no less than two thousand parallels.

Another reason might be that I hate the marker. Tim insisted on the cheapest one. I would do it differently now if I could. Another reason is that I don't know what to do once I'm there. Where do I walk? Where do I stand? It is so awkward. Should I speak? Where do I look? If I look to the left I see the headstone of that girl that died 2 years ago on her prom night. Her parents spared no expense: there are at least 15 pictures of her engraved in the granite. To the right I see 3 siblings, younger than eight. More pictures of someones babies they had to let go of.

So when I got home from my trip last night, I noticed that 1 lone Calla lily had reached its peak in my front yard. I decided to take it and lay it on our headstone. (yes, ours, my name is on it, which maybe is another reason I can't get the visiting thing down.). This morning I cut the lily, giving it a big long stem, I brought it inside and tied a bow of white tulle about a quarter of the way down. I put it in water and drove it to the cemetery. I was going to pay my respects like all the other grown ups out there.

Even on a blue sky day, with perfect temperature, and a gentle breeze, and even after 5 1/2 years, I still do not like the cemetery. I left sad.

For me, if I want to talk to Tim, or feel him near, I go to one of our Church's Temples, for it is there I am reminded of the eternal nature of each soul, and the possibility of a forever family. When I go there, I always leave with hope, and gratitude, and a heart that is full of love for a Savior that would make it possible for Tim and I to be together again. There is no sadness in a Temple. I can always count on that.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XLXYxmaHWQs

Memorial Day, I gave you a shot. Tomorrow, I visit the Temple.

Weekend Update. Like it's Only Been a Weekend Since I Posted

2009-05-24T16:12:00.000-07:00

I just got home from a weekend with the parental units. Me Madre flew me down for me Padre's birthday party:

When the Queen Mum turned 85, she got a bunch of stamps to celebrate

Dad, sadly did not, even though he deserves them. I was hoping that my sister in law would email me the pictures of my Dad blowing out his candles, but I haven't got them yet. He was the cutes, sitting there in front of his ice cream cake, blowing out his candles. You never get to old to have fun blowing out your candles. Think about it for a minute, has there ever been a time in your life when you haven't felt special blowing out your birthday candles? I thought not. I loved sitting there watching my 85 year old Daddy, feeling special on his special day. LOVE him.

I stayed at my childhood home the whole weekend. 30 years ago, my parents turned my room into a TV room the second I was married because, hello, I wasn't coming back. I like their confidence. The first night there, I sat in the blue bean bag chair and watched Murder She Wrote on the Hallmark channel with my mom.

I'm not such a Murder She Wrote kind of gal. But Mom is. So we watched. And you can go ahead and imagine me watching Murder She Wrote if you like, because that would mean you will be imagining me being so tolerant, so selfless, so giving. Which might be a new experience for you.

The opening scene had Angela Lansbury with yellow rubber gloves on and her hair tied up in a red scarf'; and she was cleaning her oven like a demon when the Murder She Wrote phone call came in and she had to drop everything and get going to solve the mystery dejour. And no, it was not quite believable, thanks for asking. The show had a western theme so I was doubly b.o.r.e.d. what with the dust and the wranglers and the twang.

I had to keep pinching myself to make sure that yes, I WAS in my childhood bedroom watching that show.

In a vinyl bean bag chair.

The next night I got to go to dinner with these two:

They are just as cute as a year ago. Except Mitch needs a haircut. And I think I mentioned it to him a couple of times, so he might have been happy to drop me off back at my childhood home. It's weird to have your child leave you at your childhood home. Just sayin.

We went to Ruth's Dinner, which is a spot up the canyon that I used to go when I was in college. Ultimate comfort food. I'm still thinking about the Chocolate Malt Pudding that we topped the meal off with. I'm a big ol' fan of pudding, especially if there is real whipped cream on top. And Ruth's was yummeristic.

I really really loves me that pudding.

Mitch also took me to the hospital to see Jennifer, of Blogging for Jennifer Wahlquist Day fame. (I can't get the link to work...so just scroll down three posts....)

I KNOW! I am so lucky! We walked in, and as I gently hugged her teeny little self she whispered in my ear: "Thank you, thank you so much". It was so tender, that I then had to fumble around for a tissue to wipe my eyes. I just love her so much.

So here's my report on Miss Jennifer:

Spirit: STRONG

Determination: STRONG

Love for her family: STRONG

Appreciation for her family: STRONG

Hair: Coming back STRONG

Attitude: STRONG

Typical Jennifer.

I know when adversity slaps you in the face as it has slapped Jennifer, you have to do alot of searching in your heart to make sense of it. You have to decide if everything you have ever believed in is what you will continue to believe in. As we conversed, I could see the direction of her heart is fast and true. And STRONG

Jennifer, if you're reading this, I'm high fiving you right now. On the side. Down low. Too Slow. With a Pickle. Tickle Tickle.

And Jennifer, have those hospital folks bring you in a cake with some candles on it from me.

(PS I know I shouldn't say this but just try and hold back your amazement of the kittie world and the people who live to document it)

About Being Invisible

2009-04-30T17:34:00.000-07:00

When I was younger, skinnier, blonder, I remember sitting around my Mother-in-Law's dinner table and the subject of being invisible came up. I learned that day, that when you grow older, you become invisible to the world. It was an interesting concept, being this: that as you age, no one notices you anymore for your beauty, smarts, or stylin' attitude. Since I am a person that is happy with blending into the wallpaper, (hello, it is why I blog...no one can see me...) it was a fascinating idea to me. Do people really stop acknowledging that you exist? Do they eventually look right through you? When I'm over 50 I am no longer? Oh, but t'were it true.

However, today invisibility happened. And I'm not complaining. Well I sort of am, but you will see why.

Case in point #1
I'm in Costco. I'm looking at Carter's kid's pajamas. I'm digging for styles and sizes. I hear these 3 women across the table from me talking. They all have a stroller, which means they all have a baby. Which means they all have a birthing story. And let me ask you this: If you had a birthing story that included the words pain, yell, crown, push, gush, water, burst, etc. etc. etc, would you want some old lady putting that in her blog? You don't? Then for heaven sakes don't be yelling it around in Costco.

People! Invisible people can hear you.

Case in point #2
I'm in the Walmart, standing in the customer service line, returning non smear highlighter pens that smear. I'm standing behind 4 young people, probably around 18. One of the girls, the Blondie, had on some 'skinny' jeans which is another word for too tight, too low, and too creepy. She bent over a couple of times and it was not exactly what I would have chosen to see. But that's not the bad part. She and one of the boys, were playing "I can slap your face, no you can't yes I can" the entire time. And I was right behind them. I, the invisible female immediately behind them got to witness the slap giggle grab slap giggle pull up pants that are almost showing my woo hoo slapslapslap party that was a foot an a half away. I'm gagging a little right now just thinking about it.

Case in point #3

Still in Walmart. I'm standing in the pharmacy line. This guy and his adult grandson are sitting on the bench. Grandpa has on a soiled white (maybe beige) t-shirt. It is soiled all over the area where his belly protrudes underneath the t-shirt. He has on suspenders that go over his t-shirt. They are bright yellow, and are made to resemble a yellow tape measure. This guy is older than me. Why is he not invisible to me? Why am I trying to read the tape measure that goes from the front of his pants to the back of his pants to see what the measurement is? Why aren't I following the invisible protocols? Why?

Case in point #4
Still in the Walmart Pharmacy Line. Guy in front of me starts talking about swine flu. On and on and ON with the swine flu. 1,000's are going to die. Like in 1918. And in 1968. ...Wha? More and more on the swine flu. And even more. I am certainly not invisible to this guy. Not one bit.

Case in point #5
Still in the Walmart Pharmacy Line. Grandpa's adult grandson is talking on a lime green cell phone. Let's call him Limey. Limey is pacing back and forth. Talking loud. I'm trying to be invisible what with not wanting to encourage Swine Flu Guy any more. And then I notice that Limey has developed a flatulence situation that is going on and on. And then there was a curtain call and an encore. How lucky am I? Swine Flu Guy rips his head around and looks at me like he's my best girl friend. I thought his eyes were going to pop right out and tumble into my palms. Absolutely NO invisibility saving me here. What is the deal?

So yeah. This invisible notion. Here's the real skinny: After 50, the perks of invisibility never go your way. You're invisible when you don't want to be, and you're visible when you pray to be invisible. I've proven it to you five times. Perhaps I have to wait to turn 65 for perks.

And now, I don't want to think about today any any more.

You Should Not Blog about Some Things

2009-04-27T11:06:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, I was sitting in the children's meeting of our church. It is called 'Primary'. I'm sitting there, singing along with the kids, and I look up and notice that one of the 3 year olds who is sitting on the front row is wearing a tiger mask. It is one of those foam ones that grandmas make with their grandkids.

She's sitting there with that mask strapped to her face singing her little 3 year old heart out about Jesus. And nobody cares.

Nobody tells her to take it off. Nobody asks if it is pinching her head. Nobody tells her that tigers don't belong in church. Nobody tried to take it off of her and put it on themselves. Nobody laughed at her. Nobody compliments her on it. Nobody says it doesn't match her outfit. She was just allowed to sit there looking through two holes that had been punched through orange foam. It was messing up her hair.

Last night, when I was getting ready for bed, as I took off that undergarment that only we ladies wear I noticed it was probably getting time for me to go in and get measured and fitted for a new undergarment that only we ladies wear.

And I heaved a big sigh.

My neighbors could hear it.

I hate new undergarments that only we ladies wear. And here's why:

1. They are expensive. I believe in quality undergarments that only we ladies wear, because, hello, we wear them EVERY day, ALL day. There are no breaks except for the days we stay in our pajamas. You get what you pay for in undergarments that only we ladies wear. And Hello. Economy Eblonomy. It's a problem I tell you.

2. After wearing old worn out undergarments that only we ladies wear, breaking in a new undergarment is like walking around in a band aid that is pulling at the hairs on your arm. You are noticing it all the time.

3. Your old worn out undergarments that only we ladies wear are like old friends. You have to say goodbye. And they can't even go in the Good Will bag because they flew past that point 2 years ago. They have to go in the garbage. Which brings me to another question: Are we supposed to put them through the shredder? Because you could find out alot about me by examining my old undergarment that only we ladies wear.

4. There's the awkwardness of the dressing room fitting. I don't care how non threatening the sales clerk is, and I don't care how pink they make that measuring tape.....Having someone measure you there, WRITE IT DOWN, and then bring you in a bunch to try on (waving them around through the store shouting "these are for Mommacita"...OK they don't do that but it almost feels like they do) and they burst through the door with them while your standing there half neked with mirrors 360 degrees around you....it is not my finest hour. I do not throw my chest out and declare Come to Mama. I cower in the corner and suck my thumb and humbly apologize for offending the pink measuring tape.

5. I do not wish for anyone to try and sell me Spanx at any time, in any thing or in any place. Especially while buying undergarments that only we ladies wear. No, this did not happen to me, but it might have gone through my mind when I thought about the salesperson bursting through the door.

I am loco, no?

So back to last night, when all of the above went through my head when I took note of my undergarment that only we ladies wear, I wondered why I have to conform. If some people can wear tigermasks whenever they want and get away with it, why do ladies have to wear undergarments that only ladies wear? Who decided this expensive, constrictive rule? Aren't I happiest in my pajamas? Is this the reason? Is someone trying to restrict my freedoms? Did I just have an Aha moment?

And right then, right as I thought I might be having an Aha moment, someone in the cosmos who loves me very very much warned me that I was getting awfully close to wearing purple and a red hat.

Enough said cosmos.

Today I will make an appointment for a fitting.

And I will not be blogging about it.

Blogging for Jennifer Wahlquist Day

2009-04-22T13:25:00.000-07:00

It's Blogging For Jennifer Wahlquist Day...Did you know?

Well it is, and I'm down with it. Downtown and all around.

The title "Blogging for Jennifer Wahlquist Day" kind of reminds me of a show I would watch on afternoon TV when I was home from school sick. It was called "Dialing For Dollars". They would show an old movie and during the commercial breaks they would have this big bin with every body's phone numbers in it and a guy in heavy rimmed glasses would roll the bin, pull out a number, and call that person on the telephone, and if they were watching, they won some dollars. They never called me. Or my house.

Jennifer is my niece-in-law and I love her. And I love her husband Todd. And their 3 amazing kids. And I love Todd's wonderful mother: Tim's sister Diana, who has helped keep the household running during the last 8 months. Since September, Jennifer's life has been in a Dialing for Dollars bin, spinning around and around and some random be-speckled weirdo has been pulling out all kinds of wrong numbers:

Bone Marrow Transplant

Graft Vs. Host Disease

In the Hospital

Out of the Hospital

Out

pneumotosis

enterobacter aerogenes

streptococcus viridans

third colonoscopy

hook up antibiotics to the IV port in your vein

feeding tube out of her nose.

in her nose

out of her nose

gram negative rods, a nasty kind of bacteria

IVIG infusions

high dose steroids

skin rash

"D" word.

I lifted these terms from their blog, which has kept us all posted, with love, humor and a touch of sketchy politics. No offense Charlie T.

Now I admit that putting all these nasty terms in one blog is not their way, (too negative) but I did it, because collectively, over the months, these are the words that have manipulated their lives. And I'm proud of them for not backing down to them.

So to celebrate Jennifer Wahlquist Blogging Day, I propose a new list. A list that is fitting to what I have seen happening to the hearts of Jennifer, her family, and all who know her. Drum roll, fanfare, and three handfuls of gold and silver sparkles in the air if you please:

Faith

Courage

Quick to Pray

Grit

Introspection

Desire

Perseverance

Togetherness

Love

Humor

Fun

More Love

Even More Love than Before

Support

Kindness

Sacrifice

Serving Gladly

Warmth

Knit Together

Family

Abundance

Grace

So Yeah. They're Awesome. And Taryn, I heartily raise my hand.

PS. Jennifer, Todd, Clara, Amelia, Charlie T., Diana, Brent: I heart you, I love you, and my prayers are with you every single day. Keep on keeping on. You can do this!

Dimples and Bunnies and Me. Never Thought I'd Want to Say That

2009-04-16T14:09:00.000-07:00

Somebody (Benjamin Timothy) is a Chub-a-Lub, and there are dimples involved. First, there are dimples on both knees. I've heard of dimples on both knees, but I've never seen dimples on both knees. Here is a knee dimple in case you've never experienced it either: (towel strategically placed and you can thank me later Benniebob)

Next there are dimples on the right hand

And then there are dimples on the left hand (although this is a right hand picture too, but I'm banking on the facts that

1-- you know I'm all about artistic license and

2-- I was left with two right hand pictures after wrestling wiggly naked baby)

Next there are dimples (2) on the left elbow.....

And then there are dimples on the right elbow (got both pictures this time and this looks like it might be something else, say on first glance, but guess again because I'm not that kind of Mommacita so look to the left of the picture and you will see a face and remind yourself this is an ELBOW dimple and that will orient you.... you're welcome......)

Are you in dimple heaven? Yeah. Me too. I tried to fill the dimples in with kisses but they were too numerous and they were too deep.

And if that's not enough to blow your mind, here are some little girl with bunnies shots (which can rivel kittie pictures in some minds):

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First, a bunnies-make-my dreams-come-true bigger girl:

And next a smaller but inwardly awestruck girl (who happened to think it was her birthday when she got dressed that morning):

I stood in line 30 minutes at Baby Animal Days just so bigger and smaller girls could have a crack at holding bunnies. Dimple Baby sat in the stroller like a perfect dimpled angel.

I also was just as excited as they were when they got to ride ponies Chip and Misty. And I was even more excited that they sprayed each helmet with lice spray inbetween riders.

Yep. Grandma of the Year. And I'm not ashamed to toot it.

Go ahead and leave all kinds of comments about how lucky I am.

I Love Orange Juice

2009-04-16T11:59:00.000-07:00

OK. I am not really going to write about liking orange juice. I just wanted to see if you'd keep reading. The real working title of this freaking post is "A Glimpse of the Inner Corridors of the Mommacita Mind." Or something.

I visited with family over Easter. It was Deee Lux. Which means good. Glitch (formerly known as Mitch and Gloria) took me out to dinner on Monday for by Birthday. (I just miss spelled Birthday and accidentally wrote Girthday and gave myself an accidental chuckle because54 is pretty girthy.) Glitch is darling, and fun and cute.

I visited with me Madre-Padre and they are pretty good for 82 and 85 respectively. One has a brain for somethings, the other has a brain for the other things so they are working it out. dawg. Yep I speak Idol.

This weekend my mom gave me a couple of books that were hers as a child, and she gave them to us to read as we grew up. I must of read and reread and reread them a million times. I loved these a books. I wanted to marry them. The copy rights are in 1927 and 1934. I LOVED them:

This is the first one. It is a book to teach kids to have good health.

Here is an excerpt from it:

"One day Teacher Squirrel sent a note to Mother Squirrel. The note said, "Dear Mother Squirrel, Bettie Squirrel does not weigh as much as other little squirrels who are as tall as she is. She should drink more milk. Mother Squirrel said, "Dear me! This will never do! Bettie Squirrel must weigh more. She must drink more milk every day. She must be strong and healthy."
.
The story goes on, with Mother Squirrel all up in Bettie Squirrel's grill about how much milk she drank that day. Then once she gets appropriately revved up, Mother Squirrel gives Bettie Squirrel both guns:
.
"You must drink more milk. You must drink milk at every meal. You must drink milk between meals. It will make you weigh more. You must weigh as much as the other little squirrels who are as tall as you are."

.Bettie Squirrel fires back: "I do not want to drink milk all the time. I am tired of milk. I like candy and cake. I do not like milk."
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So Mother Squirrel climbs on her power wagon and yee-haws:
"Let me tell you something, Bettie Squirrel. I shall not let you go to any picture shows until you weigh as much as the other little squirrels."
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Bettie Squirrel knuckles under:
"I like to go to picture shows. I do not want to stay at home when the other little squirrels go. I think I will drink some milk. May I have some milk now, Mother Squirrel?
.

Who Knew????

(Perhaps we have it all wrong nowdays? Perhaps we should be encouraging weight gain in females? Perhaps we should power struggle about more fat instead of less? Perhaps this is why I never was interested in starving myself? Perhaps?)

As I read through the book again, I found this picture, and I was instantly swept away to my childhood.

I know it is hard to see, but this is a chapter where Bettie and Bobbie Squirrel's Mother gives them red and blue drinking cups to take to school and they were instructed NEVER to let anyone else EVER drink out of their new red and blue drinking cups. (nasty nasty GERMS!)
.
You can see that it drove me crazy that the cups were not colored in. I distinctly remember looking both ways, running to get a pen and a red pencil and sneaking back into my room, shutting the door, hiding between the bed and the wall and coloring in those cups, even though I knew I shouldn't. Proof that Mommacita herself once was a child. I love that little girl.

Never was caught either.

Here is the other book:

This is a simple story, about two kids, a brother and a sister, who lived on a farm, and there was a tree on it that had a squirrel family living in it. They played so much under the tree that their dad built them a table and benches for underneath the tree and they got to help paint them. And there was a birthday party involved with a cake that had walnut decorations. Oh! Oh! Oh!.... and a big storm that almost killed one of the baby squirrels.

I read it to Gracie and she was mesmerized. I love that a story published in 1927 can still capture the heart of a child in 2009. I hope you can see this illustration enough to enjoy it

And now you know why I was infatuated with squirrels and health habits until last year. Well, actually I still kind of like health habits.

And milk.

This Could be a Waste of Your Time and Mine

2009-04-15T19:06:00.000-07:00

Give me an S.
Give me a Lacker.
Whassthat spell?
The World is Better Because of this Blah Blah Blah ditty Blah?
Yep.
That's Right
You got it
Uh Huh

Hey.
When you've got nothing to say, whatdaya supposed to say?
My neck hurts?
I like orange juice?
I think I might start swimming, only I'm not a strong swimmer?
Should I stop wearing earrings?
I could go for Cold Stone right now?
Why do I wear so much black (duh. slimming.)
Why did my daughter have to tell me not to go in public in my pajamas even though I never did and all I did was get the mail in them not that it's any of her business?
Yet another post about how much I wish the Gilmore Girls would return?
People I know went to Tea Parties?
My neck again?
I turned 54 and I want to rub it in?
I found out why I really did love the cute squirrels until last year?
I ate a McDouble and it grossed me out?
How when hamburger meat is described as soggy then you kind of choke on it?

Yeah. I've got to work on some blog bits. And you agree, but you're just to polite to say so.

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We're Thinkin' of You Mister.

2009-04-06T17:27:00.000-07:00

Thank you Sawyer Timothy and Horse for remembering Tim's big day. Gotta love the Bumbo, and a child that carries with him Tim's love for the comfortable.

Now everybody out there have a piece of German Chocolate Cake in honor of the birth of the Tim-o-tee. I know I will, because it's tradition that's why. insert smiley faces, glasses toasting, and confettie throwing here.

And blue ballons because he loved blue.

In Defense of Loving the Kitties

2009-03-26T12:24:00.000-07:00

This is dedicated to my neice Annie. Because, like you, she just loves the kitties. ESPECIALLY nursing kitties. OK, I'm guessing on that one, but I'm pretty sure because who doesn't love the nursing kitties? Annie just had a baby girl on the 13th. So she's a nursing kit-kat herself. She MIGHT have sounded (in her comment on my last blog) like she didn't like kitties, but I say C'MON. You know you're loving on the kitties. 'Cause who can resist a good kittie makeover? And the people who document them?

Annie, since you're a new mom, AND you love the kitties, I thought you would appreciate all that the internet has to offer on the subject. Pretty sure your mom will like this too, 'cause everybody just loves the kitties. and the people who document them.

(In the real life, the blue edge and words in the above picture sparkled and danced. I'm sorry that was lost in the translation, because I know you would have liked it equal to the amount you like kitties.)

And now my kittie lovin' readers, let's get to the 'kitties' and 'nursing' documentations, that are out there floating around on the world wide web. Unbelievable, I KNOW!

(Warning, Warning: Little Kittie Treats in Store!!)

First, we have a 'Hello Kitty" nursing boppy. Yum!

Second, we have the "Hello Kitty Boppy in Action". With Asian subtitles.

Third, there are cuddly stuffed toys for Ruby and May to reinact the kitty nursing experience. However Annie, you might have to explain why only one of the kitties looks like the mom. I cannot vouch for anitomical correctness or uncorrectness.

Fourth, you may need to keep an eye on the kids. After playing with the Kittie and Nursing Kitties toy, Ruby and May may wish to give something new a try, because those nursing kitties are just so dang cutsie wootsie

Fifth, there are any number of outstanding arts-es that you can purchase and hang on your walls that will remind you of the wonderful cycle of kittie life.

Sixth, a reminder that discreet nursing is pleasant nursing. Which makes you just love kitties. and the people who document them.

Seventh, Kitties can not only nurse, but they can REHAB. Pretty great for someone who's stuck in a glider 24/7. What's not to love there?

Eighth, In the spirit of true entrepreneurial-ship, Kitties can strike up lucrative deals with other kitties and market products that are most like mother herself. Gotta love that!

Ninth, Kitties and the people who document them can give us all hope when we are facing those pesky post-partum body image issues.

Tenth, I don't really have a reason for this one. All I know is that some people who document certain things have lost their minds.

Elevator Stories

2009-03-25T14:56:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, while in the back of an elevator, I was minding my own beeswax. The elevator stops, and a group of people get on, filling up the elevator. The person that stood in front of me was about 5 inches shorter than I, and so as the door was closing, I realized that I had a birds eye view of her head.

First of all, when I'm on an elevator, my opinion is that people have to stand a little too close to one another for my taste. Too much heat, too many accidental touchings by strangers, too many close up views of some body's mole or wart or whatever that thing is that is growing out the side of their neck. And I don't want to smell anyone's Jovan Musk even for a minute and a half.

I can't believe they still make that stuff.

Anyway, back to my elevator story, I'm standing there, looking at this lady's head. Then, because I have nothing to do because I'm on an elevator, and when on an elevator, certain people (me) try to avoid eye contact, I try and find somewhere for my eyes to go, so I start to examine her hair. And here is a very detailed description of her hairstyle: gray, short, poodle perm.

So my mind starts to wander concerning the poodle perm. I know that no one on this earth goes through life with only the poodle perm as their hairstyle, so I start wondering in what scenario a woman eventually goes into her hairdresser, sits down in the chair, and says, "Cindy, let's go with the poodle perm style today, and not only today but for the rest of my life."

I really want to know... Do you evolve to that point? Do you poodle perm only the top for a while and then you just give up and say "ah heck , let's fry up my whole head with teensy eensy Brillo pad curls?" Do you just get sick of styling your hair, so you decide that all those curly curls will trick you into thinking that you have styled your hair when in fact you have not? Do you have a poodle and so you are attracted to the look? Even if you can't get away with it? Have you always liked poodles? Does your man say to you, "Hey honey, why don't you start looking like a poodle now?" Does anyone out there know?

Because I am a woman who is never going to be able to pull off the poodle look. I do not have enough hair, and it is the wrong texture. And my face is round and it's never going to work for me in any lifetime.

I have some concerns on how the poodle look eventually squeezes past a woman's beauty filter. When you grow older, do you not only loose the filter from your brain to your mouth, but do you also loose the one that goes from your eyes to the mirror to your brain? This is of concern to me.

So. Note to my kids: In the future, if I come walking in your front door with a poodle perm, it's time to sit me down and take away my car keys because I have finally lost my filters and my marbles.

I went from looking at hair that was non of my business to finally loosing my marbles before I got off the elevator. I will obviously do anything to avoid eye contact.

Because you know you all love poodle haired kitties.

Today, While the Blossom Still Clings to the Vine

2009-03-22T22:00:00.000-07:00

Today I gave what I thought was a beautifully prepared church lesson to 5 year olds. Towards the end of the lesson the most well mannered child in the class said "Are we ever going to do anything fun in here?"

Today a five year old asked me how old I was. I said 53. "Is that almost a hundred?" He asked. Yes I said. Yes it is.

Today I went to the home of a kid from the class to drop off something to color. It was my first time to meet him. He opened the door and announced: "I'VE GOT A VIRUS". I took a step back. "I"VE BEEN POOPING EVEN ON MY CHAIR." I couldn't stop myself from thinking: Wait just a minute here, you don't even know my name.

Today I was invited to someones house for dinner at 6:00. I was languishing on my bed all afternoon, because I'm almost a hundred, I'm not that fun, and I've been exposed to a virus, an alarming virus that carries potential to dismantle furniture. Amidst my languishment, I made sure to keep my eye on the clock so I would not be late for dinner. I realize that being too lazy (a couple of weeks ago) to go downstairs and dig out the Phillips screw driver so I could undo the back of the clock to "spring forward" has come back to bite me once again.

Today I was watching the wrong clock.

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Economy Eblonomy Part III

2009-03-21T19:03:00.000-07:00

Today, while I was visiting a 6 year old boy (whom I am teaching at church), his sister came from her bedroom decked out in one of these

She stood between him and I, in her fancy smancy gown, with one of the shoulders slipping down to her elbow, swishing from side to side, grinning from ear to ear, waiting for me to notice the finery. "I'm going to a birthday party!!" she finally blurted out. Her brother put his hands over his eyes.

I know I'm going out on a limb here, but I just want to say, it's OK for you to wear sparkly costumes if you are 3. Especially if there is a party involved. Especially if your older brother is getting all the attention right at the moment. And Especially if Economy Eblonomy is making me not buy plane tickets to see these two.

Single tear.

Oh heck. Why be strong? Buckets and Buckets and BUCKET LOADS of tears.

PS English Teachers who belong to my family, (and you know who you are) what is the rule for who and whom? I think I don't know.

Economy Eblonomy part II

2009-03-09T18:17:00.000-07:00

I might tire of this economy themed post scheme before it's time. Maybe it's that I'm tired of the economy. And I heard today that Economy Eblonomy is going to be around until 2012. Knife through the heart.

But I must press on. I'm trying to regroup, rethink. In fact, today I consulted the Mommacita Think Tank For Ideas On How to Save Cash. The Mommacita Think Tank was recently formed (10:00 this morning) and is made up of a volunteer who was available once a gun was put to her head.

Because you're craving more tips from the tip list, here you go.

Economic Tip List ~ Tip Number 2

"Eat what is already in your cupboard"

FYI, I kind of stopped eating cereal in the mornings, in favor of a more protein based meal to start out my day.

Just so you know, back in the day, when there were 4 kids and an athletic man living here, I couldn't keep food on the shelves. Now that everyone has gone, I have become labeled by my kids as that toothless shifty eyed lady who likes to have outdated food everywhere in her house (and since she likes to have outdated food in her house you better be on guard every single second you are with her because she is plotting to make you eat it and kill you and your loved ones).

They all think they are getting away with checking the dates on the food when I'm not looking, but I'm here to tell you they're NOT getting away with it. I see them doing it. I live in fear of them finding outdated food in my house because, one, they mock me for it, and two, it's embarrassing. So when they come to visit, or STAY, I go out of my way to put food with a "good until 2011" stamp on it right out there on the front of the shelf. And then I hope, they don't look beyond the first row.

Anyway, because of this, and because for the last 30 years I got in the habit of buying 2 or 3 of something when something was on sale, I might have too much food.

So I just inventoried the cereal, because while I don't eat cereal anymore, apparently I still buy it. Because you never know when I might start eating it again. This is what I found:

Kelloggs Rice Krispies

Kelloggs Frosted Mini Wheats

Wheat Chex

2 boxes of Post spoon sized Shredded Wheat

Post spoon sized Shredded Wheat 'N' Bran

Kashi Go Lean

Kashi 7 whole grain Puffs

Quaker regular oatmeal packets

Quaker Fruit and Cream Oatmeal Packets

a Giant box of Life

Trader Joe's Oatmeal Complete packets

Trader Joe's Shredded Bite Sized Wheats

Trader Joe's Twigs, Flakes and Clusters

Trader Joes Triple Nut and Flakes reduced Sugar Cereal

Trader Joe's Organic High Fiber O's

(My findings made me uber cranky by the way.)

In case you didn't count what's up in that list, let me inform: there are 16 boxes of cereal up there. So I'm going to start eating up that cereal. Even if I don't like it. I KNOW. Character building. And judging from the high fiber content of most of it, I may not have time to post tomorrow.

To my kids: if you find me dead because I willfully ate cereal with a 2008 date on it, then buy the cheapest coffin you can find and bury me next to your dad.

Economy Eblonomy

2009-03-08T20:54:00.000-07:00

How cute is this little viking?

I KNOW. That's my Henry R. And he's looking at his Gram. See the adoration? And get a load of the chin. I KNOW!

Switching gears....

People.

There's an economic crisis going on.

And we need to discuss because it has hit the Mommacita. So I've been trying to come up with ways to stretch my dolla bill. And please know, that if you have a shred of decency in you at all, you will share your economic crisis tips with me as well.

This may or may not be a threat, but if I become poor, then you will have a needy widow on your hands and then poof, there goes your wide variety of choices in life: You will feel strongly compelled to help me. And then you might resent me. But every day, when you read your scriptures, the compelling need to help the lonely widow is going to hit you again and again in the face and in your heart of hearts you'll know you'll have to lift up my weary arms that hang down and pick me up out of the gutter. And then you'll be tired and you might find yourself complaining about that and you'll say to yourself, "Why doesn't that pathetic Mommacita do something to help her own bad self???

So in order to keep our emotional health uncluttered, let's start a little economic crisis tip list.
How's about we call it the "Economic Crisis Tip List"?

Start the Dance Music.

Economic Crisis Tip List Number 1* (or ECTL for short (I'm a big fan of using initials and then slurring them together to form a new word. ECTL would be pronounced eek-tell. See? it's fun!))

1. Make and then reuse your own ice cubes. This will save you $1.49.

I've started making my own ice. I can do this because excellent water flows from my hometown tap, AND there's an economic crisis going on. I still love the store bought stuff, but I'm saving $1.49 on every bag of ice. So I think ahead and make myself 2 trays of ice, and then when I need a beverage I fill the glass TO THE TOP (very important component) with delicious homemade ice and pour in my beverage, drink it, (always using a straw) and then I put the glass and the used ice back in the freezer. Then when I'm thirsty again, I get my glass out and repeat the process. Except for I always treat myself to a fresh straw. They're cheap.

Yep. I'm reusing ice. And if this makes me a bag lady then so be it. I have found that you can reuse your ice up to 4 or 5 times. After that, you take a good long look at what you're doing, you get a little sick to your stomach, and then you tell yourself that $1.49 or not you need to make yourself stop and get some fresh ice.

I have never suffered any effects of dysentary or vomiting.

I do it all for you, people.

OK. That's not the whole truth. I do it all for you, and I do it to try and control the universe.

So enjoy your $1.49 After you've reused enough ice to equal 6 or 7 bags of ice, you can treat yourself to a movie. You can probably do it in as little as 4 months. That's 3 movies in one year. You can make it 4 or 5 if you go to the matinee. Hot diggittey.

*You know there will be more.

Travelmony. Since it's the First Monday of the Month.

2009-03-02T13:43:00.000-08:00

Bueno Bueno.

I have been gone for 2 1/2 weeks, and I tried to trick you all by writing blogs about Family Feud. I was in the Bahamas, visiting my little man Henry R. SnugglieBaby. I didn't want anyone to break into my house and steal my giant TV from 1985 so I didn't broadcast my absence. I don't have anything worth stealing (no jewelery, no electronics, no cash, but a lot of bags for good will) but it is kind of the principle of the thing. I don't like uninvited people looking at my outdated food in my cupboards.

I've pretty much been laying on my bed, my luscious luscious bed, (which if I were a thief, I would notice that it is the only thing of value in my house but who wants somebody else's bed with all their sluffed off dead skin all over it) anyway, I've been laying on my bed since I got home, eating cheese and grapes and English muffin bread toast and watching all the stuff that DVR'd while I was gone. Jet lag recovery I like to call it, so's not to feel guilt or shame. Not that I would. Well, I might.

So if you're bogged down in snow, sleet, ice, rain, wind or the like, I testify to you that there IS a place on this earth where the temperature hovers around 70 degrees, the ocean breeze whispers across your sunkissed cheek, the evening causes you to run to the window and watch the sun set over the ocean, (the prettiest shade of pink causes an ever so slight coo), the people warmly say hello to you when you and a baby stroller pass them on the sidewalk, and you don't have to wear even a sweater ever ever ever. Unless you want to for your outfit.

Just so you don't feel super bad, I didn't put a real picture up there. It's a painting on velvet that I found on the Internet, which should cause repulsion and gagging instead of longing and sadness.

Don't ever accuse me of not being plugged in to the feelings of others.

You're welcome.

PS I was never bored even though I might have hinted before that I was. Just keeping it real.

Bored is as Bored Does

2009-02-23T12:35:00.000-08:00

Do you ever just get really bored? Like really really super duper bored? And then when you're bored, in a self preserving effort to become un-bored your mind just starts going from one thing to the next until you find yourself somewhere where you wish you'd never gone because it is a really dumb place?

Well, today I watched Family Feud. Let me preface with I'm not much of a Family Feuder, but today I was vulnerable because of the boredom. Plus I was at someone else's house...so I became a Feuder. I'm good at fitting in. And I kind of liked being a Feuder today because today was Celebrity Look Alike Day on the Feud. SO COOL. David Letterman, but not really David Letterman was on, and Jennifer Anniston, and Martha Stewart, and Nicole Kidman. The Jennifer Anniston was a dead ringer. And It got me thinking. Are there people running around that look like me out there? Chances are there are. There's a fake Mommacita out there walking around, probably wearing really bad outfits just to embarrass me. And she's probably skinny without even trying. But before you think ha ha ha Mommacita, just think about it for a minute...if there's a fake me out there, then chances are there's a fake you as well. So ha ha right back at you.

After becoming a Feuder that fits in with others, I went on line to look for a visual for a Celebrity Look Alike Family Feud themed blog, and that was the beginning of the deterioration of my well being. People. There are not only people out there who look and act just like us, but I learned that there are animals that look like us as well. Doesn't sit so well, does it?

Keep going. There's proof. You've always got to have some proof if you want to make yourself nuts.

This one is supposed to look like Paris Hilton. I don't think this one would ever make it on the Pets Who Look Like Celebrities Edition of Family Feud. It's just not close enough for me.

And because you really really love kittie pictures:

This one is supposed to look like Yoda. Are those horn thingies real? You never know with Photo shop and stuff. I think pet people can become weird sometimes if they let themselves. Just a friendly little heads up to you pet folks out there.

So Yah. Today I wasted some time. And now I've done it to you.

Now that I think about it, It was sort of fun wasting your time. All the pleasure, none of the guilt. Kind of like spending other peoples money. And just for visual effect, I think I'll waste some space at the bottom of this blog.

See you next time.

An Annoying Song is Stuck in My Head

2009-02-21T14:10:00.000-08:00

This morning I had a dream when I think I was supposed to be waking up. This just goes to show you, when you're supposed to be doing things like waking up, you have no business laying there in bed floating back into dreamland.

In my dream that I had no business having, I had just finished a delicious meal at Original House of Pancakes, not to be confused with an IHOP that serves that Rootie Tootie Fresh and Fruitie business. I was leaving the restaurant, and I somehow picked up on the fact that I was mentally ill. Being mentally ill, I tried to bum a ride home from two couples who , were complete strangers. This is how I knew I was mentally ill because I thought "Mommacita you are crazy to ask strangers for a ride." They said no, because their car was full. I totally got that they wouldn't want me in the car with them, (for a myriad of reasons including I had not showered) so I talked them into letting me ride on the hood of the car which turned out to be quite comfortable. I'd ABSOLUTELY do it again under the same set of circumstances.

It's been 7 hours since I woke up and I still can't stop thinking about the Original House of Pancakes.

I order the pecan pancakes alot when I go there. If I have to think of this all day then so do you. And yes. I totally own that I am deeply flawed.

Song For a Beautiful Day

2009-02-17T13:02:00.000-08:00

Right after Tim had his kidney removed. at the beginning of the cancer saga, and after they told me he had a 99% chance of surviving his little bout with cancer, they wheeled him into his hospital room all reved up on painkillers. I was with my friend Miss Kitty, (thank you again for spending that day with me) and there he was, tubes coming out of everywhere, however Tim was lucid enough to have a conversation. It was a Tim torked up on painkiller conversation but never the less a conversation. Miss Kitty and I kept giggling at him, because he was pretty drunk, and since we had never seen him thus, we were enjoying his ridiculous-ness. He inquired about the weather, to which we replied: " It was a beautiful sunny day today, with blue skies and no clouds."

He sat there and thought a minute, and, unprovoked he slurred out a reply: "I married a beeeeeeeautiful girrrrrrl on a beeeeeeeautiful day like tooooooooday." We laughed until our sides hurt at him, and whenever Miss Kitty and I are together on a pretty day, and we notice the beauty of the day, one of us pretty much always repeats Tim's drunken quote.

The thing is, even though I laughed that day, I had an instant thought come to my mind and this was it:

Here is a man who has been told he has cancer, is looped out on drugs, has just been though major surgery, has lost a kidney, and even in the state he is in, his instinct is to make me feel loved and beautiful. And that is pretty much the way my life was everyday. And it was bliss.

I know some people don't understand why I am still so connected to my deceased husband. It's true, I am. But in my belief system, my religion, we believe, that love and marriage are eternal...and I can't reconcile putting my memories in a box and taping the lid shut. I want to remember him, because he was worth remembering, and I know that at some point in time we will resume counting our anniversarys again.

On February 17, 1977, Tim and I started a life together. We created a family out of thin air, we loved, we laughed, we disagreed, I got mad, he acted perplexed, we made up, we had babies, we raised them, we slept, we ate, we traveled, we stayed home, we worked, we discussed and discussed and we decided how we wanted things to be for our little corner. We had fun. And we created a life for 4 other people. Which has turned into 5 more people. Is it me, or is this not all worth staying connected to?

All of that leaves me on this note, which is a note I sing, loud and unashamed, for the world wide web to hear:

Happy Anniversary my Timmers. 32 years ago today was the most beeeeeeeeeeeeeeautiful day of my life.
(sorry about the cancer.)

PS. Happy Anniversary Schneeberwitz and Willie. Love you both!

PSS Happy Birthday Miss Kitty! You know they say that 50 is nifty.

Who Throws Away a Bowling Ball?

2009-02-15T11:28:00.000-08:00

I've decided to take this opportunity to discuss my neurosis with you, my captive audience.

(However, judging from the number of comments from the last two posts, I'm not so sure I have an audience....especially since the comment on the VERY last post was from my daughter, and it was clearly a pity comment, one that I appreciate, yet a pity comment just the same.)

So back to my neurosis. I have a couple thousand of them, but I can't flood you with them all at once, because then I won't even get a pity comment. And goodness knows I'm all about the comment.

I was having a conversation with some people last night...OK, family members.... and I was accused of throwing away their stuff, and when I tried to defend my actions I was told (and I quote) "It's just so hard to have a couple of extra things around." Did you catch the sarcastic edge there? Yah. Me too.

Let's get something straight here before I really get going. This post, could in reality go on for eternity if I let it. When I went in and repainted my kid's rooms after they left home, and threw away their treasures, (absolute crap....and trust me, I don't use the word crap lightly because I know people who are squeemish with the word crap and I don't want to offend, but it really IS the only word that can be used here..), I threw and threw and threw and threw. And I didn't feel guilty. In fact I felt free. I FELT FREE, YES FREE my fellow brothers and sisters of the human race. And it was then that I discovered that I have an aversion to other people's stuff. It stifles me. It makes me feel closed in and worried, and cantankerous. I love walking into a hotel room and knowing that no body's stuff is in there. I love opening a closet door and having it be empty. Especially if it is in my house. I don't have a problem if I go into someone else's home and it is full of their stuff...That's not the problem. The crux of the matter is that I just don't want to be responsible for a lot of stuff. I don't want stuff. Yet I continue to buy stuff, which accounts for my worriedness and cantankerousness. I hate that I buy stuff. But I have fun doing it. I just don't have fun living with it. You see the neurosis here? Yep. I'm a case

But before you judge too harshly, here's a glimpse of a VERY small portion of the junk that I have been know to throw away, to not "keep around because it is just too hard."

First, I might have thrown away candles from Chile

Yeah, I know, seems pretty heinous. but let me just let you know that they were in coconut shells cut in half and stunk like 3rd world country. Or mold. You decide.

Second, I definitely threw away a shopping bag full of tags

You think I'm kidding. I'm not. You think there were only a couple of tags in there. THERE WERE MILLIONS. Case closed.

Third, I might have thrown away a CD of Russian Music, In Russian, That sounded like Nothing

I just have nothing more to say about the CD. I refrain from gratuitous use of the C-R-A-P word.

Fourth, a Bowling Ball. Yes. You heard right. I threw away a bowling ball.

I'll be honest. This is the item that elicited the "It's too much trouble to keep crap" comment. It was a present, to a child, from someone who probably was hoping that their wildest dreams would come true and she would marry them because of the bowling ball. I knew the minute I saw that thing being carried through the front door that it was going to be trouble. I saw that child go on a mission for our church. 18 months I kept the bowling ball. I saw her go back to college. Still the bowling ball at my house. I saw her date lots more boys. Still the ball was rolling around in my spare room. I saw her get married. At each step I would say, "do you want this bowling ball?" Only by the time I said it for the last time I probably put a stupid in front of the bowling ball. I couldn't see that ball going anywhere but with me to the grave. I gave it to Good Will. So arrest me.

Fifth: You might dub this the "shoe portion" of this event. I most assuradly threw away Red platform sandals that were never worn, never will be worn, except for a talent show where someone (one of my kids) might be trying to look really stupid.

Guess what? I think these originally came from Good Will and they went right back to the mother ship for more non good times

And Last, I tearfully thew away a pair of Homer Simpson Slippers.

These were a Christmas gift to my youngest who had size 13 feet and these were only a size 12. He stuffed his foot into them anyway and shuffled around on Christmas. Yep. He put his foot in Homer's mouth and we all laughed wildly as you do on Christmas when something ridiculous turns up. Despite the sentimental value, the warm and fuzzy memories, what am I supposed to do with a pair of Homie slippers the rest of my life? Look at them and cry? Look at them and wish they had a little spot in them I could push that said "doh"? I don't think so.

In conclusion, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I submit that my neurosis is one that I am comfortable with for now. I embrace it with the arms of the universe, and shout loudly and clearly, for all to hear and witness:

I, yes I, am someone who throws away a bowling ball.

Bring on the Government Intervention

2009-02-13T11:10:00.000-08:00

When we were dating, the Tim-o-tee used to say that when people got old, their blood was brown.

Really? Is this what you say to a beautiful girl to get her to marry you? Really?

He loved my horrified reaction. So he tried to think of more horrifying things to reel me in. Like this: I think the government should withhold food and medication from the elderly. I would giggle and then he would nod his head and then hold his mouth all serious and not blink. It was all a ruse to get me to touch him. I would give him a little push and then he would grab my hand and not give it back. Then he would say: Think of all the money that would save. BILLIONS!! He'd always say billions like it really was going to happen.

Really? I'm trying to get to know you, and now I know you want the government to kill old people? Really?

This last weekend I spent with Tim's siblings and his mother at the sibling rivalry reunion. The mother is getting old. The siblings are getting old. The one and only non sibling (me) is getting old. I noticed bad backs and gray hairs and bottles of pills. And I think I saw brown blood when I had a hangnail go bad on me.

It's so like Tim to go before his blood got brown.

I need to go sit on the couch now.

PS IF any of you out there are a future employer, please know the writer of this blog does not, nor ever will condone withholding food or medication from the elderly at the hands of the government of the United States of America or at the hands of anyone else including yourself. This blog has never been political, and never will be because I'm only about stupid things(exceot for the posts about my grankids, those are FAR from stupid). But, I just started thinking about that title up there, and then I started thinking about all you wackies out there who might read this thing and then I started thinking about how people might get the wrong idea and not know it's supposed to be a joke, A JOKE and now I find myself in the middle of this here big ol' disclaimer. Oh boy, now I'm just making myself even more tired and now I'm going to REALLY sit on the couch, and fall asleep with the remote in my hand and I'm going to cradle it in my arms like it is a little tiny baby with bright happy red blood.

hummmph.

Sawyer Timothy....Why Yes, He IS a Delicious Morsel. Thank You for Noticing

2009-02-03T20:01:00.000-08:00

Yep. That's me. And SoyBean. On Sunday, his blessing day. It was right after the event actually. In this shot, I was asking him if he had seen Grandpa Tim. (In heaven, or, ten minutes ago, I wasn't picky) He looked right into my eyes and smiled and then concentrated real hard and during the concentrating those little lips actually said "whao". Which we all know means: Yes most beloved grandmother.

And since we're on the subject of SoyBoy, today I saw the little Mister again. After he was fed, and burped and changed, I looked into his sweet face, and in an effort to entertain, I stuck my tongue in and out and in and out again. He looked right into my eyes, smiled, he concentrated real hard, and then lo and behold during the concentrating I saw that little tongue go in and out and in and out again.

Seriously. Be still my beating heart.

So Yeah. I'm totally clued into his learning patterns. And Yeah. Tim and SoyBean are definitely buddies.

A Sunday Evening Email from a Dear Friend AND a Bob Costas Update

2009-02-01T22:31:00.000-08:00

Dear Mommacita:

I think that is it time for you to move on and find a new boyfriend

Sorry about your luck.

Carol

Oh boy.

PS (this ps is not part of the email, it is merely me trying to make the world a better place.)

I didn't watch the Superbowl. This is my privilege as a widow. However, when I flipped on the TV this morning to catch my FAVORITE SINGING GROUP THE MORMON TABERNACLE CHOIR, the TV happened to be on the Pre Pre Pre Pre Pre a million times Pre Game show with Bob Costas. I said Duh-aaaaaaaaaang when I saw him..... ...even though

1. It was the Sabbath,

and

2. I was alone and it takes a lot for me to speak out loud to my own lil' self.

The Costas' hair was clearly 5 times as dark as it was during the Olympic Games. IT WAS. Holy Grecian Formula Batman. Did any of you notice that? Did you? Huh?

Then tonight while I was at Dubers and Lars', He was on the Post Post Post Game Show. His hair had lightened during the Superbowl. I had to stop myself from snorting.

I SWEAR to you this is true. And truth always makes the world a better place. It does. And you know it. And I'm talking to you, Mr. Michael Phelps. And you too Bob Ridiculously Fakey Hair.

Best Friends Forever

2009-01-24T12:24:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, whilst in the dental chair (I can show you more photos of people that were there if you want... What's that you say? You want?

Oh yeah. This guy was in his regalia in the waiting room.

Anyway, we're not about that today. Today we're talking about Nitrous. My best friend, Nitrous Oxide. I love it and want to marry it for whenever I am at the Dental School. In fact we did get married in a ceremony yesterday afternoon during a crown prep. And here's what our conversation sounded like. Totally in my head, but trust me, the nitrous was talking to me.

Nitrous Oxide: Knock Knock
Mommactia: Who's there?

Nitrous: The deliverer from evil.
Mommacita: Deliverer from evil who?

Nitrous: Deliverer from Evil Kneivel
Mommacita: That's not even the least bit funny. Snifffffffff

Mommacita: Hey wait a minute... I think it is.... Let me check.....Yep! It is So STINTKING FUNNY! You are Hilarious and now I must breathe deep. The gathering gloom. Wait. Doesn't apply.
Nitrous: Are you under yet?

Mommacita: Slobber Bauber Bo Bobber, Banana Fanna Feau Fadder, Me My Moe Mauber, SLOBBER.
Nitrous: Great. Now. You don't even notice your Dentist and his big ol' shot needles right?

Mommacita: Well. I'm noticing. But who cares? Not me me me me me me me. Oh yeah. Not me.
Nitrous Mommacita: Hey Mommacita. Let's try and remember everything you experience so you can use it for blog fodder.

Mommactia: OK . GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRReat Idea. Did I just say Great Idea? Because I meant to say GREAT IDEA
Nitrous Mommacita: (exhale) So what can you remember?

Mommacita: I think my legs have fallen off. But it's OK because I'm never ever leaving this chair ever again. Or my nitrous wytrous.

Mommacita: Hey wait. I think I can hear a conversation that is way over across the room. No. Wait. That's right next door here. But I can only hear every 3rd word. They're loud, they're soft, they're loud they're soft. They are talking about pizza. And teeth. Same diff.
Nitrous Mommacita: Not so sure that's happening Mommacita.

Mommacita: Sunday, Monday Happy Days.....
Nitrous Mommacita: Wha?

Mommacita: Tuesday, Wednesday, Happy Days.......
Nitrous Mommacita: Oh Boy.

Mommacita: Thursday, Friday, Happy Days! Saturday! What a Day! Rockin' all week with You! (do do doo do)
Mommacita: So I've got a question for you Nitrous Mommacita...

NM: Shoot
Mommacita: So when you have nitrous, are you supposed to pretend that you are lucid? Or can you shut your eyes and fly over mountains? If you shut your eyes, will they think you've gone byby? Because I don't want them to think I've gone by by and shut it off and make me have those grindings and pokings and pullings without my beloved mountains. A girl needs her beloved mountains for a crown prep.

NM: So you're wanting to know if you should fake enjoying the nitrius or not? Um, Wait. WAIT Danger...Will Robinson...Danger!! We're loosing cabin pressure. We're going down...DOWN

Mommacita: Sniff? SNIFF?? SNIFFSsniffSNIFFsnifffSNIFFF???? DR. DubersDIBIBLERS! The tank is empty...Switch the tank....Hello! THE TANK! THE TANK! HELLO! My Beloved TANK!!!!
NM: Good Save Mommacita. Good Save. It's things like this that make us evaluate the good things in life, and concentrate on just enjoying the here and now. How's about we do that for the rest of the crown prep?

Mommacita: You're right. You're so very very right. In fact a little drool right now would complete me. And that little drooley throaty sound that I learned from Homer Simpson? Done.

Mommacita: Man, I just love this stuff.
Nitrous Mommacita: Amen Sista

Andrew's World

2009-01-22T10:39:00.000-08:00

I opened my email this morning to find an article about this man, Andrew Wyeth, who died on January 16, 2009. An American treasure is gone. Many years ago I went to the big city, because a traveling exhibit of his controversial 'Helga' paintings was being shown in the museum there.

It did not disappoint. I remember being struck with the sensitivity that this man had to every bit of light and design and color. And his skill! I had never seen the likes of it! I almost felt like I knew Mr. Wyeth personally, because there his heart was on a canvas, explaining it to me. I remember 'Helga' taking my breath away, and I marveled at the capacity of mankind to do something magnificent. I went home inspired, hoping to do better at developing myself.

So, Andrew Wyeth, Thank you for your hard work and your dedication to your craft. And thanks for helping me to know that people can see the world in a beautiful light.

I love knowing what you felt and saw.

Goodbye Mr. Wyeth

Things I May or May Not Have Enjoyed Seeing in the Dental School Waiting Room Today

2009-01-20T21:59:00.000-08:00

I told you I was BACK. You didn't believe me. But you should have because Mommacita's endless dribble is BACK.

So.

Today, while other folks had a ticket to an inauguration, I had a ticket to the Dental school. Bless my heart. My dentist kept me waiting, and it's not the first time in 26 years I've waited for him. OK. Not that true, because he has been annoyingly on time most of his life. Except for today. While I was sitting in the waiting area, (where I'm sort of suspicious that there might be head lice on my chair), I saw some things that were blog worthy.

Oh Share SHARE Mommactia I can hear you say. In fact, I think I hear you being quite enthusiastic about me sharing my day with you. And it's quite flattering I might add.

So. Let's share.

Number 1:

OK. I know you are not fooled by the reenactor above. But trust me. I saw this dude for reals. It was not a costume on a halloween website, and trust me, there was hair involved. And some major jiggling. Not that I don't jiggle now and again, but I wouldn't let my jiggling show in a Dental School. I'm too klassy for that. Stop judging. If you had a blog, you would be forced to purge on it too.

Number 2, because I remembered that you just love little kittie pictures:

This is also a reenactor. A reenactor of a couple, a man and a wife. who were sitting on the same, hard, maybe lice infested chairs that I was sitting in. But they were totally asleep. With their spines and heads totally erect. BOTH of them. Side by side. Not touching. Stiff as a board. It was pretty incredible really. Maybe you had to be there.

Number 3

OK. This time the picture is a reenactor. There was this guy there that I did one of those double takes on. He was Sidney Poitier in the flesh. It really might have been him and you know it. Because maybe his son or daughter is in dental school too. And maybe he's a really good parent too. And maybe Sidney Poitier would do anything, ANYTHING, to help his son or daughter. Like allowing them to put sharp and pointy things in his mouth and wiggle them (the sharp and pointy things) back and forth. I have always loved that Sidney Poitier, but now, I so totally respect and admire him. We're sharing a wave length, and nobody can take that away.

Oh. Yeah. That's right. Mommcita's dribble is back and now she's taken away 3 minutes of your life you'll never get back.

Number 4:

I saw a girl in pink keds and she looked really cute in them. And I said to myself: "I haven't seen pink keds in a long time and dang if they aren't the cutes."

Number 5:

This one is actually an imaginary reenactment. The Dental School had this little laptop set up on a chair (that may or may not have had lice on it) in the front of the waiting room and it was showing the inauguration of our 44th President, Barack Obama, the first African American President ever. Well, I use the term "showing" quite loosely. The image on the screen was blurred and frozen, and so we (and when I say we, I mean me, Sidney Poitier, and the girl in the pink keds because we were the only ones in a waiting room of about 50 people who were close enough to even know the laptop was there. And plugged in.)

As I was saying, "we" just had to imagine what was going on. But I heard it. I heard history being made. And there was a picture of Nancy Peloski frozen on the screen the whole time so that made it even specialer. Actually, I'm imagining that it was Nancy Peloski. I couldn't really tell. I could tell the person was female. So I guess it could have been Hillary. Or Michelle. Or Maleah or Sasha. Or Laura Bush. Was she there?

So a Big Ol' THANK YOU to the Duber's Dental School, for making the effort so that I, along with Mr. Poitier and pink ked girl, could witness this historic occasion. er, uh, hear it. er, uh, imagine it.

I will never forget what I imagined happened, on this historic day, with Sidney Poitier in the room by my side.

MLK , I'm BACK

2009-01-19T13:26:00.000-08:00

I'm back. I'm back! I'M BACK I'M BACK I'M BACK!

No, I didn't say I'M BLACK, I said I'M BACK!!

So now that we've established that I'M BACK, but not BLACK, let's do some Martin Luther King Celebratin'.

I'm celebrating by being BACK . So I asked my kids how they were celebrating today, this federal holiday.......

Jaqueostinky said he was going celebrate today by shaking the hand of his favorite African American. Clever, AND timely.

Dubers said he and the Lars always watch a movie that celebrates an African American in some way. Clever, timely, AND fun.

When Schneebes was in college, she and her roommates would celebrate Black History by covering their living room walls with xeroxed pictures of famous African Americans. You know, Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King, Booker T. Washington. All the greats. And they would throw in a celebrity or two...The one I remember distinctly was this young man who pittied po' fools:

Now you younger folks may not remember, but Mr. T. was pretty big stuff in his hay day because of his pittying po' fools. And his gold chains, which were mighty popular with the ladies and gents. In fact. If Mr. T. were big stuff today, he'd have a jewelry line on QVC and you all would be wearing Mr. T gulden accessories. No, I didn't misspell golden. Gulden is my made up word for things that are fake golden. It's kind of a play on the word 'gullible' and the word 'golden'. A play on words that I'm feeling is pretty clever right about now because I made it up right this second as I was typing along. But tomorrow I'm probably going to look at it and figure out that it is pretty stupid.

Anyway, back in the day, Mr T was so big that he was honored with one of these

And to put it in perspective for you, I found this. This proves to you youngsters the hugeness of Mr. T

Yeah. It kind of makes you hold your breath and evaluate yourself and your country a little, doesn't it?

I didn't talk to Mitch about what he was going to do today. So I'll have to just share a little story that is in keeping with the day. In Middle School he kept coming home and telling me about his girl friend. I would quickly retort that he was too little for a girlfriend. Then the next day He come home would tell me more about his girl friend. By the way, every time I would tell him he was too little. But apparently he wasn't because he had this girlfriend. That I denied. Because he was too little.

Anywho, I don't remember the girl's name at the moment. Lets say it was Chelsea. So I keep hearing about this Chelsea. Chelsea this and Chelsea that. Chelsea Chelsea Chelsea. A month later I go to a choir concert and they announce that Chelsea, Mitch's ChelseaChelseaChelsea, is singing a solo. I'm all Whoa... this is my big break....I'm certainly going to be checking out this girl that isn't my son's girlfriend as soon as she sings her big solo. So, as soon as it was little Miss ChelseaChelseaChelsea's turn to sing, I watched a beautiful little African American girl walk up to the microphone and belts out her number. I thought to myself: With all the details that I've heard of ChelseaChelseaChelsea in the past month, wouldn't African American be one of the details that might have been included in the description? Along with brown eyes and pretty smile? Is it me?

And thus we easily conclude on this holiday for Martin Luther King:

Even in middle school, LOVE indeed KNOWS NO COLOR.

You know little kittie pictures are your favorite.

So Martin Luther King, wherever you are, thank you for helping our world be a better place. Thank you for the truths you taught and the way you taught them. The world is certainly a better place because of you. And you did it without blogging. Pretty dern fabulous.

Happy Martin Luther King Day Everyone! Now go out there and make the world a better place.

I'm BACK!!

P.S.

I know you were wondering about Sawyer Timothy.

He is sleeping for MLK Day. And with beautiful precision I might add.

P.S.S

I realize that I am not making the world a better place by putting my beautiful beautiful grandson and a Brittney Chia Head in the same post.

Tre

2009-01-07T20:12:00.000-08:00

Deja vu. Here we go again. Three peet. Opps I did it again. Repeat after me: I have finally met my grandson. The third of three. And HE IS A DOOSEE!! And I am in love with him. It shouldn't amaze me, but it does, that 2 months from yesterday I didn't know one of those three little boys, and now, they are my little men.

And so, for the third time in two months, I present to you a beautiful beautiful child, the first born of Dubers and Larsa.....

This is my favorite shot. He is having his hearing tested, but you can clearly see, the Mommacita chin lives on, yet again.

First bath, first family photo, first day home, happiest of parents

Sawyer has biliruben issues, but not to worry. He happily wears his glo in the dark blankie 24/7. Except for bathing. And swimming. And diving. Oh, and notice how he problem solves when it shines in his eyes. I think I smell a Valedictorian.

Self Portraits of Sawyer and his Dad. Self Portrait of Sawyer and his Dad in the middle of the night. Self Portrait of Sawyer and his Dad in the middle of the night when his Mommy is fast asleep. Self Portrait of Sawyer and his Dad in the middle of the night when his Mommy is fast asleep that is entitled "Glow Worm". I think it should be called Glow WormS. WORMS. As in Plural.

Imprinting.

This makes my heart all squishy and solft.

Hat Trick*

2009-01-03T12:44:00.000-08:00

Today, while I was giving Benjamin Timothy his bath,

I was able to tell him about his new cousin,

Sawyer Timothy

who was born last night, January 2, 2009, at 9:53 pm, and weighed in at at 6 pounds 13 ounces and measured 20.5 inches long. And a little bit of brownie blondie hair and mustache. Of course you know I'm just kidding about the stache. Dubers says he has his nose. We were hoping for a total Larsa because she is cute.

Now I have a long and skinny lil' dude to finish out the trifecta of Mommacita grandsons.

We are especially excited for the ordeal to be over for his mommy, who started the whole thing last year, on Dec. 31st. (insert the largest frowny face you can imagine here). However, last night before he was born we must admit that we did enjoy saying that Lars had been in labor ALL YEAR.

Sometimes I really crack myself up.

ps. I hate to be blunt, but experience has taught me that some of you are slow. That is why I only have a few readers. Because I insult them. Anyway, The above picture is of Ben. Not Sawyer. Or Henry.

*3 goals in a row in a hockey game. I don't mean to insult you this time, but I thought I'd better tell you the meaning of Hat Trick because 10 minutes ago I learned about it from the Jaque-o. And I only insult you on the things I know but you don't. Because this is my blog.

What Two Women Might Do to a Really Nice Man's First Born Son

2009-01-02T10:00:00.000-08:00

Oh I have met him. I have sniffed him and touched him and put his whole tiny head in my hand. And I flopped his tiny head around with embarrassment because I was used to Other Baby's head and neck. But I adjusted quickly and he is DEE- EEE- EEEE- LICIOUS.

Emphasis on licious. But let's talk about THE HAIR. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh the hair. Never has our family seen the likes of THE HAIR. We talk of THE HAIR. We touch THE HAIR. We look at THE HAIR. We dream of the days that peanut butter will be stuck in THE HAIR. We can't believe THE HAIR. It is only fitting that I show you THE HAIR.

So I present to you, my couple of readers, THE HAIR:

I like to call this shot, depth and breadth.

Bed Head

Bjorn Head

Wet Head

Regular Look Head

Ed Grimley Head

Alfalfa Head

In memory of Tim, Pat Riley Head

Mohawk Head

(You knew I'd do a mohawk)

Conan O'Brian Head

Hope you enjoyed the really big show. I know I did.

Coulda Woulda Shoulda

2008-12-21T13:05:00.000-08:00

Let's just have a big ol' lookey lou at the huge elephant in the room.

I've been a slacker. A big time slacker. And it's not that I haven't had anything to blog about. I'm admitting it. I've slacked. Mommaslacker. Slick Slack Slackstereesta for those of you who speak Espanol. But today we're snowed in from church and there's nothing to do because the BabyDaddy is back and I am no longer in the Daddycita role. So I'm going to blog instead of get out of my pajamas on this snowy day. So maybe I'll write about something I could have blogged about if I had been a blogger in the past 21 days. Not that anyone was counting. Or caring. (Insecurity Binkie Anyone?)

Like I could tell you about the time I dragged a newborn and his mother to Costco and while we were in there it went from being a beautiful sunny day to getting dark and pouring down buckets of water and it was cold and I had no coat and the umbrella was in the trunk of the car and I left the newborn and his protector in Costco while I went to get the car only I couldn't remember where I parked it. So there I was, in the dark rainy parking lot walking to and fro, and to and fro in the wet wondering where my short term memory had gone. And I couldn't concentrate on finding the car because I could only think about feeling sorry for myself because I was getting soaked. So I went back into Costco and got a stupid Costco travel booklet that had pictures of people in their swim suits on the beach to use for a hat (no, I didn't fold it into a hat, because THAT WOULD MAKE ME LOOK STUPID. I just opened it up and held it there for a hat, wishing all the while it had a chin strap...because I would have used a chin strap, stupid or no, because the wind had kicked up) and so I went back to walking to and fro some more, this time concentrating on why does this junk happened to me which once again didn't help me find the car. So then I reached that point on the emotional thermometer that says DESPERATE and I actually considered running into Costco crying and asking the employees for help. I actually thought this. And in my thought scenario I saw myself running in there screaming like I had been robbed or stabbed. So I had lost not only my short term memory but my ability to reason, because I almost did it. Can you imagine? The only thing that stopped me was that I also imagined the Costco Employee Lunchroom filled with Costco employees laughing about me. And maybe blogging about me. Because employees love to pass along stupid moron stories.

So I gave myself a slap in the face and girded up my loins and found my stupid car. And my daughter admitted she had laughed at me while she was waiting there watching it all happen but was stabbed with guilt so then she prayed for me. And I'm sure that her prayer and my slapping incident happened simultaneously. It is Sunday after all and I should tell a Churchie story that will inspire you to live a better life.

Orrrrrrrrr, I could tell you how much I love babies. Babies that belong to my family. I could tell you how much of a pleasure it has been hold, cuddle, sniff, soothe, change, rock, pacify, bathe, lotion, massage, observe and run my lips over a baby's cheeks. And I could tell you how much I've liked watching his mother turn into a mother. It has been a joy. I've been taught my whole life that your posterity can bring you joy. It is the truth. I could also tell you how much I've appreciated the opportunity to live side by side with that mother and baby for the last six weeks. I could tell you what a privilege that has been for me. I could post about that.

But using my greatly honed ability to reason skills I decided that you needed a Churchie story.

How could I not fall in love?

PS. Me telling my absolutely true Churchie story is almost the same as me speaking in church so I think that maybe I should tell the leaders of my congregation that I had my turn speaking in church today so go ahead and check me off on the list. Oh, you know they're falling for it.

Pea-nut, Peanut Butter...........JELLY!

2008-12-01T15:18:00.000-08:00

The peanut butter 'n' jelly of the Mommacita trifecta is here!!! In case you didn't get that, the peanut butter 'n' jelly was a lame literary attempt to say the middle of the grandson sandwich has been born!!! Peanut butter and jelly being the middle of the sandwich. This kid is the middle of 3 grandsons. Get it? GET IT? I put the most important words in bold blue print for those of you who are slow.

Because apparently there was a couple of people out there that didn't get that last blog entry. (No body in this house is looking to Over eaters Annonymous for anything because denial denial denial is the lay of the land. It (the blog post) was all infantile satire. So snap out of it. Get it? GET IT?

Getting on with it:

To Jakeadoodlenoodle and his lovely perfect wife Jenkneeeshah a son was born today, weighing in at 7 lbs. 11 oz, and being 20 inches in length. His name is: BRRRRRRRRRRDT (that was a Gilmore Girls drumroll)

Benjamin Timothy

Happiness reigns supreme here and abroad.

Wish I had a picture. This will have to do.

Trifecta Mothers: Schneebes, delivered 11/6/08, Larsa, not too distant future, Jenkneesha 12/01/08.
Two down, one to go.

You Can't Change What You Don't Acknowledge

2008-11-29T21:21:00.000-08:00

Dear Over eaters Anonymous,

I'm a first time caller. Er, Uh, I mean I've never done one of these 12 step programs before. Is this a 12 stepper? Anyways, I'm a newbie. In every respect of the word.

Anyway, I've kind of started a new life here, but I'm finding that I'm running into a couple of problems. I used to be thin. Big boned, large noggin', yet skinny and scrawny in a lovable kind of way. But as life does, things have turned on a dime. I'm finding that I am becoming obsessed. With eating. And not only am I obsessed with eating, but I am gaining weight like you wouldn't believe. I took a tubby yesterday, and I noticed this

Yep. Back fat. SO disheartening. I kind of sat all floppy for awhile after that, and I'll admit it. I cried a little. Such a baby.

So I did some thinking. I can't go around with all this back fat, but right after I thought that I found myself distracted, thinking about this.

Yeah. I KNOW. Looks scrumpdillyumptious doesn't it? And then I had one of those light bulb moments. Yep. My first one. I, for the first time in my life, became self aware:

I AM OBSESSED WITH DAIRY.

It's all I think about. 24/7. I've tried humming my favorite hymn, but the dairy just keeps popping in there. I find myself wistful about this

And then without even noticing it I move onto this

Which naturally moves on to this

Which pretty much sums it up for me these days. Dairy. Joy. I think those two words have the same delicious meaning. C'mon. They do and you know it.

In my short little life, I already know they have the same meaning. Experience has taught me that when you fill up your empty belly with dairy, and you not only fill it but you fill it so full that you can't stand it anymore, that it causes you to throw your head back and shut your eyes and let you let your jaw just hang open like no one else is in the room and then you have to let out all the air in your lungs because there's no more room in your body for even air so that leaves you feeling what I like to call dairy drunk. You might even drool a little bit. And it is pure pure joy. That's what I'm talking about Mister.

Which brings us to this. I mean it. What about this? I was thinking about this the whole time I was telling that story about dairy drunk

This seems like something akin to paradise. I want to marry a Dairy Queen someday. Blonde. With blue eyes. Lover of Dairy.

Getting off track here. So the other night? When my grandmommocita was holding me, I was sleeping, and I was smiling. And then I laughed. And then I sighed. And then I purred. Yep. You guessed it. Can't even stop thinking about it in my sleep:

Look at all that dairy. A thing of beauty, no? I can't think of anything more lovely, or of good report. I can't think of anything. I dare you to either. I double or triple dog dare you because I just saw a commercial for Christmas Story.

I'll tell you what though. This here lady, she's lucky for a couple of reasons.

All the dairy she wants. AND IN A BUCKET! Someday. I tell you, SOMEDAY I'm going to take a ride on that there gravy train. Thinking about milk in a bucket right this minute, just in case you wanted to know.

See how bad it's getting? Here's more: the other day, I was in the Dr.'s office, and I innocently picked up a magazine. Before you knew it I had filled out and mailed in the subscription card for this

And I have no cash so it was tricky. And let's just say that Grandma is not so pleased because now her address is going to be sold to catalogues that sell cow stuff. Not great.

So I beg you. Take pity. On me. I got on the internet and I know you have things to help people like me.

Because for heavens sakes, when I'm not thinking about milk, I consuming it.

So hurry up. Because there happens to be all kinds of weird stuff on the internet that just is not true.

So if you have to, put this on your frig. Or on your bathroom mirror, where you will see it.

Thank you for understanding,
Very truly yours,

Henry R. SnugglieBaby

P.S. Oh, and since it's almost December, please have a Merry Christmas.

They Make a Cute Baby Sometimes

2008-11-21T21:48:00.000-08:00

Because maybe one or two of you begged for more, here is my favorite grandson. For at least another week. After that, let the duking it out for Grandmommacita's love begin.

I heart swaddling

For Out of Town Grandma. The Rest of You Might Wish to Move on to the Next Blog. Because Even Though I Care Deeply, I Can't Assume that You Do Too.

2008-11-19T23:36:00.000-08:00

Tonight, as I gave Henry a bath I counted 5 little rolls of fat on his leg. I'm pretty sure that's advanced as rolls of fat on legs go.

Stirrin' it Up

2008-11-17T13:10:00.000-08:00

Its a well know fact that these two do it.

Focus people. I'm talking about having a "family bed".

And since blogs are the confessional of the 21st century, let me just state, that my bed has been turned, right under my nose, into a family bed. Yep. Me, Schnerberwitz, and Snuggliebaby. All together from midnight to 6 am. I know, I know, this is a controversial issue. But the election is over, and it's time to bring up some pros and cons. Don't you miss them? Do you think Fox News will pick up this story? I have some things to say about Family Beds. They're weirds. As in plural weird. I've been looking up the subject and geeze lousie, I have some questions. Burning questions.

Like here's one. If you have a family bed, does it stop with just sleep? Or after you all sleep in the same bed, do you have to start eating in there too? Does it become the family slash bed slash table?
Because if you start up with the eating, then you're not only going to be dealing with the foot in the face issue, but you're also going to have to deal with the foot in the face with the toast crumbs issue as well.

And is there a rule that every single person has to be on board with the idea or it is a no go? Because I think that if I were forced by a young mother and her infant to be in a family bed, then that would be my rule. Because do you really want family members saying to themselves: "Am I a family outcast if I want my own room?" Besides, I don't think this chick looks too wild about being the baloney in her family bed sandwich.

And what about this: who do you allow in there? Where do you draw the line? I mean, families are big sometimes. And there's weirdos sometimes. Like, what if your dad is this guy? Does that mean you're sleeping with him?

Or what if there is a family pet? And it smells? Or what if he has his own bed? Does that mean you have to drag his bed up on to your bed so he will be happy and so it will truly be considered a family bed?

Or worse, what if THIS is his bed? Are you obligated to drag this monster up into your bed? I guess it could be done. You maybe could position that metal thing right over your head if you need to economize space. Then the doggie could still sleep with his bottom positioned in the fuzzy green thing right above your smeller.

And where does it stop?

Is Grandma invited in to the family bed when she becomes to infirm to care for herself? Because you know what that means. Say hello to installing side rails and having a bedpan handy. And you know she's going to bring along her C-PAP and there might be oxygen tanks just for kicks and giggles. KaBoom KaBlamm.

And what about the bed bug issue?

If you add more people, will there be more bed bugs? However, with regards to this issue, maybe you personally will get less bed bug bites. Because the bugs will be biting your kids instead of you. Now there's a plus.

I found that the family bed has become a cottage industry. For example, there are Bed and Breakfasts that cater just to families who prefer a family bed:

WooHoo... There's a vacancy.... Get going.....

And don't you just love it when you find a good children's book that will help you solve a problem that one of your children is having? Who knew there was sensitivity to this issue?

And there's junk you can buy to further junk up your bed with. Junk to keep your baby safe and secure. But one has to wonder... where is Daddy sleeping now?

And just to take the stress out of it, there are "Stay Dri" items you can buy to stick between you and your 800 thread count sheets. 'Cause you never know.

And not to worry. There are books designed to undo what you have done. You can find it all on Amazon.com. Amazing website. Love it.

Don't stress. If your child experiences trauma from you kicking him out of the family bed, it is perfectly OK for him to request that you make him a family bed birthday cake to help him cope.

And after reading the how to get the kids out of the bed book, and you just can't seem to make it happen, then just embrace your inner chi. Get yourself one of these floating family beds. "Keep your family bed pure" was the slogan on the ad for this baby. A good idea for the whole earth, I always say.

I don't know. After mulling this over, I did find one good idea. Get yourself one of these bad boys, and if everyone is bugging you, why just close that puppy up. Problem solved. And hey sports fans....it's a space saver too.

PS If you wanted an update on the little man, he lost his umbilical cord yesterday. Oh you know he enjoyed that warm water bath.

PSS. I apologize for any offense that may have been caused in the stirring up of this matter. Can't we just all get along?

What Two Grandmas Might Do to Someone Else's Baby when they find Someone Else's Camera Lying Around

2008-11-13T11:57:00.000-08:00

Mommacita's List of Favorite Things: Newborn Edition

2008-11-10T13:34:00.000-08:00

Do you tire of overbearing Grandmacita? Um. Too bad because I don't really care.

So with a grand flourish, a wave of a satin cape, a sound effect that sounds like magic and twinkly lights, (going to have to use your God Given imagination) and a handful of glitter tossed in the air all over you, here is

Mommactia's List of Favorite Things: Newborn Edition

In no particular order:

There really was a baby boy in there!

Baby Fuzz!

Baby Squeaks!

Baby Skin!

Snuggling accompanied with kitty sounds!

Smiling at Timmer's picture! (according to out of town Grandma, she showed him his picture and he focused and smiled. I bought it instantly. Like a sucker.)

Those lips!

That smell!

Teeny tiny ears!

Sniffing! His and mine!

Seeing the mothering instinct kick in instantly with someone who left her cabbage patch kid in the box! So Fun!

Repeat the one above!

Warmth!

The Name!

Sad crying!

Mad crying!

Whimper crying!

Lip quivering!

Any noise at all coming out of those lips!

Rooting!

Rooting on my neck!

Nursing!

Not being sore from nursing!

Hearing the Swallowing from across the room!

Wipie Warmers!

Minkie Blankets!

Flannel!

Cone head one day, perfect sphere the next!

Dad's brow!

Mom's nose!

MY CHIN!!! (I'm 3 for 3 on the chin, so I'm officially starting to groove on my chin. You wish you had my chin)

Moses Baskets! (thanks Gina!)

Friends bringing in dinners! (thanks friends!)

Fingers, precious baby fingers!

Same as above only insert toes as the body part!

The back of his head!

The back of his neck!

Eyelids!

Baby Tongue!

Free Pampers from the hospital!

I could go on and on!

and On!

How cute are they doing the man hands holding the idy bidy baby thing?

PS Today he decided he like his lime green Binky. That info was for out of town Grandma.

PSS He misses out of town Grandma.

Communication: The Key to Life

2008-11-08T21:43:00.000-08:00

Precious Perfect's parents have changed his name to Henry. I'm a little conflicted, because Precious Perfect was so fitting. And his initials could have been, well, ....something that is very important to a newborn.

Anyway, Precious Perfect, or Little Man, or Henri (when I'm feeling french) or YummyBaby is a delicious specimen. And do you want to hear a story? You do? About my grandchild? You do? Because you're interested? Because you love stories about other people's YummyBabies? Wow. You're kind. I might not be as kind as you are.

So here's a story,. It's called,

"YummyBaby Communicates to the Grandma's, but Not Until He Exerts a Lot of Patience, Effort, and Good Ol' Elbow Grease Do They Finally Get It."

The following is not a musical. But it is good enough to be on the Lifetime Network. And it's about women and women's stuff so it has a chance. However, the two men in this story are nice so that might work against it being considered. On with the reinactment.

Nurse: Schneebermoms, because you have just given birth to the YummiestBaby of all of 2008, you and your rear end win a free trip to the jacuzzi room down the hall. You might want to go on a date with your husband while you have two such loving Grandmothers to watch your YummyBaby.

So off they go, walking hand in hand, one walking more gingerly than the other, one walking slower than he is used to. Wish I had a photo to insert here. But not one taken from behind because a behind shot of a daughter in a hospital gown after birth is not what the Internet is for. Even if you're really really tempted.

Yummy Baby: Snort, SNORT

In Town Grandma: Let me jiggle you YummyBaby. You'll like that.

YummyBaby: Snortcryyowl, SNORTCRYYOWL!!

In Town Grandma: (Whispering) Don't make me look like a rookie in front of the Out of Town Grandma YummyBaby.

YummyBaby: Out and out crying. Lip quivering crying. HystericalBaby in a movie crying.

In Town Grandma: Maybe he needs to be changed. (Sets YummyBaby down on his mother's bed.) Proceeds to look for what is none of her business.

Yummy Baby: Mmmm-mmm, ZZZZZZZZZZZZ-zzzzzzzzz

In Town Grandma to Out of Town Grandma: Wha? Why did he stop? Do you think he smelled his mother in her bed? Do you think the smell of his mother comforts him?

Out of Town Grandma: Maybe.

In Town Grandma: Out of Town Grandma, do you want to have a turn?

Out of Town Grandma: YES!

Out of Town Grandma gently picks him up, all warm and swaddled.

YummyBaby: er er er......... YOWWWWWWWWWL. CRRRRRRRRY. WAAAAAAAAAAA

Out of Town Grandma starts jiggleing, rocking, singing, cooing.

YummyBaby: WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Breath
WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Breath
WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!

Schneebermomma and her date walk (a little less gingerly, a little more spry, thanks to the free jacuzzi) through the door.

Schneerbermom standing in doorway: Hi Guys.

YummyBaby: SnivelSnivelSniffSniff
YummyBaby: exhale
YummyBaby:
YummyBaby: coo.

Is not my Henry an impressive little dude?

You're Dying to Know this Actual Fact

2008-11-06T22:11:00.000-08:00

Precious Perfect Willeigh is here. Born this evening at 7:22 pm. 8lbs. 15 oz, 21 1/2" long with a head circumfrence of 36. Big Huge hands. No name yet. I'm too pooped to give you more, because I found myself pushing too.

Parents of Precious are Delighted. Soaring in fact. All three are very cute. But the baby smells better than Christmas.