Work Space Confessions

Mrs. Taggart told my mom that my desk was messy.  She showed her all the incomplete worksheets, and complete worksheets, crammed into my pocket school desk.  I don’t remember or not if she dug out the love notes from Christopher or not, but they were in there, too.  I remember.  That was first grade.

Today, for the umpteenth time, I reassured a concerned and embarrassed parent that their child - guilty of cramming study guides and other such paperwork in the bottom of backpacks, leaving them strewn and tucked about in a classroom, or “accidentally” throwing them away before they had a chance to make it home - would be OK.  Once again today, I confessed my own history of congested administrative arteries.  My own paperwork circulatory system has long been crippled.

This is not the first time I’ve confessed these office sins here.  But, yet again, I feel the need to bare my truths. 

Truths, like this…

 

Go ahead. Click on it to dig deeper.  It’s quite revealing.

Just outside of this photo you might find other random items, such as: a used ink cartridge waiting for me to take to school for our corporate contributions drive, a spool of pink grosgrain ribbon, a bottle of nail polish, two bobby pins, two pen caps from the remaining MIA writing utensils after BabyGirl’s weekend round of oh-so-NOT-cute game of “Pen Bandit” (i.e. hiding uncapped pens all over the house, sending me into a mad panic as I franticly envisioning large pools of black ink on my upholstered furniture), a scratched pair of sunglasses I need to throw away (Never mind. Just checked that one off the list.), and – le pièce de résistance – a 3/4-inch plastic dog tail.  Not the dog…just the tail.

 

While I am an extremely cyclic person and tend to have bouts of neat & tidy organization followed by stretches of “I’ll deal with this later – bigger fish to fry today,” disarray, I have come to accept my piles.  It is a love-hate relationship I have with them.  I hate the actual piles and feelings of dissatisfaction and frustration I get from them, but I love the processes from which they result. 

1. Good intentions.  Look – I buy a book about organizing my space and my life…I read some of it…I get overwhelmed by the first week checklist telling me to get a minimum of 7 hours of sleep per night (I wish), jot a To Do list each morning (Have you met my daughters?), start a journal (check), limit television (check), schedule 2-minute breaks two to three times a day to “just be” (whaaa???), practice meditating (I’d love to…), schedule time to exercise (I try), schedule more “me time” (more than the six minutes per day???), eliminate energy drains on your life (You want me to retire and move away?), and “take control” of your time (This lady’s an idiot.)…ALL IN THE FIRST WEEK!!!  If I could do that in a week, why the heck did I need to buy this freaking 52-week guide to organizing my life???

2. Creative endeavors.  Cooking, sewing, writing, photography…This is the good stuff. I love these things. If those parts of my life leave evidence on my surroundings, so be it.  I will leave my mark happily.

3.  Thrift. On second thought, perhaps this should go in the “good intentions” category. 

4. Motherhood.  Ask me why I have pink grosgrain ribbon, a crumpled-up-no-longer-sticky post-it note with a butterfly drawn on it, random pen caps floating, a funky popsicle stick flower stuck in a wooden pot, a Lois Lowry chapter book, a sea green crayon and a Hello Kitty digital camera on my desk.  My babies.  I love my babies.  This is my life and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

One of my favorite quotes comes from an unlikely source.   

“Homes are for free expression, not first impressions.”

My piles are not a problem, they are a side effect of an alive and wonderfully diverse mind.

 

 

Now, my desk at work is a whole different story…but that’s another post entirely.

This post was submitted as a part of the {W}rite-of-Passage: Challenge #9. 

Cold.

Even in Florida, it has been darn right cold outside this week. The kind of cold that makes you crave pajamas. Sweat pants. Big, squishy, crew socks. Hoodies. Blankets and quilts. Blazing fires in your fireplace and hot cocoa -- or the “grown-up” version of cocoa, hot lattes.

My bed has taken quite good care of me each night; a quilt, and sometimes a throw blanket, layered on top of my coverlet. Even with the assistance of a crow bar, I would still struggle to pry myself loose from its warm embrace. My personal bed heaters, Bo and Daisy, have risen to the occasion beautifully. Bo dutifully curls up by my feetsies, keeping my sock-clad toesies warm. Daisy wads her balled-up self under my arm and, on occasion, moves to my pillow in the night, molding to the top of my head like a canine stocking cap.

My kitchen, this week, has pumped out comfort food: crock-pot chicken with dressing, pork chops, chili, spaghetti, and, coming soon, asparagus & green pea risotto. For this weekend, I’m planning a roast, cooked over the course of the day. On Monday, we celebrated a successful first day back to “the grind” with a fresh batch of fudge brownies and tall glasses of skim milk.

Ironically, this week (by far the coldest week in recent memory) BigGirl’s homework included star gazing. Star gazing. In freezing temperatures. So, she and FireDaddy bundled up in their warmest winter gear, and spent time in the dark night yard, searching for constellations.  Orion, Cassiopeia, Lepus… The Lollipop. They shivered as they came inside, sporting red noses, rosy cheeks, and excited smiles.  They talked loudly and with renewed energy as they told BabyGirl and I their every observation.

Each night this week, the girlies have prayed for snow, wishing against all odds that the magic of inside-out jammies would bring a winter weather miracle to Florida. BigGirl has gone so far as wearing three layers inside out…an undershirt, and two layers of pajamas – all inside-out. Each morning, BabyGirl has crept straight from sleep, eyes filled with hope, to the sliding glass door to check for snow. Each day, these hopeful girlies have been disappointed only momentarily, realizing they can try again tonight, and maybe tomorrow will be different.

While much of me is tired of the frivolous annoyances brought on by the cold – covering plants, dripping faucets, the weight of extra coats, bundling up protesting children, searching closets, drawers and hampers for weather-appropriate clothes for the girlies, starting the car early each morning and carrying blankets to warm my Drama Princesses on the way to school – I must admit that much of me has enjoyed it.  In some ways, it is a fun, refreshing change of pace.  It’s fun to wear scarves and hats and gloves and tights and boots.  Create a new look, a new “cold weather you”.  It’s fun to cozy up in the big bed together, shivering between cold sheets.  It’s such a treat to enjoy a warm fire (especially living with FireDaddy…but that’s another post) and feel your heart flutter at the prospect of future flurries. 

The cold has returned pieces of my childhood to my mind.  The smell of snow.  Counting marshmallows in my hot chocolate.  Watching the way those marshmallows slowly soften and get bubbly as they melt into my warm treat.  My Mama relentlessly prodded and stoked the fire.  Daddy, in his Wellington boots, stocking cap, brown jacket and gloves, replenished firewood from stacks out back.  I remember how cold my feet were as they walked on the tile in our Texas home, and how, as I played outside, my fingers and face stung long before I confessed my chill to anyone.  A gray winter sky hung low above brown, dormant yards.  Barren gray trees stretching from cold red clay to touch heavy clouds.  Freezing cold air carried the smell of burning wood to my nose.  I hear the crunch of snow under my feet and remember stiffly walking in my heavy winter jacket and boots.  One year, the lake froze and I stood fearful on the safety of the back law, watching in awe as my crazy uncles walked out onto the ice, playing and goofing around like a bunch of overgrown boys.  One year, the unexpected sight of snow in the morning as I woke up at a friend’s house made me homesick.  You should be at home when it snows, I thought.  I missed My Mama and My Daddy and my brothers.

I’m a little homesick today at the thought of it all. 

Hello there, Winter.  I’ve missed you, too.

 

Photo credits:  http://www.flickr.com/photos/elifayse/ / CC BY 2.0

Weekend in the Kitchen

Having spent virtually my entire long weekend in the kitchen, I have little to share other than the history of a meal.  As I was slaving away over a hot stove, though, I fell in love with capturing the beauty of a working kitchen.  Really, the colors and textures of food and kitchen prep are quite unique. 

I thought I’d share with you a smidgeon of my photo journal from this weekend (because I’m sure you dying to see, right?). Some photos mark beginnings of the meal – dressing that begins with chopping vegetables, pies that are born from raw crusts, the baby white fluff of marshmallows before they’ve been baked to a golden brown.  There are photos of the process. Mushrooms sizzling in a pan for the homemade mushroom gravy in the Best Ever Green Bean Casserole.  Roasted pecans (the second batch – I got distracted and forgot about batch number one…fed them to le garbaage) for the sweet potato casserole.  Wild rice for My Mama’s Dressing steeping on the stove next to the cooling iron skillet in which my sweet corn bread baked.  And, finally, the reward.  There are many more, of course, but I chose not to include faces in this collection. You may insert your own, if you wish.

Oh, yes.  And, if you look closely, you’ll figure out my “oops” that happened on the day of our family meal…and have an idea for a Christmas present for yours truly. 

 

 

I hope you all had a fabulous Thanksgiving weekend.  ‘Tis the season for dishpan hands. :)

"Dinner" is a Dirty Word

Pain in my butt: it's what's for dinner.

Being a wife and mother has COMPLETELY taken all the enjoyment out of dinner. So much so, in fact, that I'm seriously considering banning it. Quitting dinner all together.

For real.

Some people quit carbs. Others quit meats. Why can't I quit dinner?

Nine days out of ten, all I'd really like to do for evening nourishment is grab a handful of wheat thins (or two), eat a bowl of cereal, pop a bag of popcorn, or scavenge for leftovers in the fridge. But, the world does not revolve around my needs and desires, I put aside my own wishes for the health and well-being of my family. (What? Even if it's McDonald's it's better than starving them, right? Hmmm...jury's out on that one...)

What's more, dinner is a pain in my butt before it is even TIME for dinner. It starts early in the day when, just for a moment, your mind wanders to the future tense. "What am I going to fix for dinner?" This question has plagued my existence since the day I said "I do." I'm 90% sure that I even murmur this in my sleep. In fact, I'm probably thinking about it WHILE I'm eating dinner!

Perhaps this problem is unusually severe for me because I bore so easily when it comes to meals I prepare. I had a friend growing up whose mother assigned a meal each day of the week. (Monday = meatloaf, Tuesday = chicken casserole, Wednesday = Taco night, etc.) The schedule NEVER varied. They even scheduled in a take-out night! I could NEVER do that. I need AT LEAST a few weeks in between repeating menus. (I'm the same way with my clothes...it's part of my neurosis.)

Additionally, FireDaddy has this odd preference for pork. (I blame his Tennessee and Kentucky roots for that.) I, on the other hand, being a Texan, strongly believe in beef (in all forms) as my "go to" meat. So, on the frequent occasion (I guess I don't learn quickly) that I, once again, ask him for dinner suggestions or preferences, his reply is predictably, "Something other than red meat." At that point I feel like throwing in the towel. You see, he also doesn't really "do" vegetarian dishes. If there isn't a meat, at least in a sauce or concealed in a noodle, it will be noted.

But, really, this is just one third of the problem.

Enter BigGirl. She could live off of chicken nuggets alone. That is ALL she EVER wants anymore. I take that back, on occasion she will request spaghetti (with meatballs or meat sauce).

Now, enter BabyGirl. She, in sharp contrast to her father and sister, is like a pint-sized vegetarian in training. She will eat EVERY vegetable and ANY fruit under the sun...but does NOT like meat. Any meat. With the exception of a chicken nugget or two (under intense parental pressure) and beef enchiladas (my girl), she manages to avoid meats at nearly every meal.

I am, however, determined NOT to raise lifelong picky eaters. I am also determined not to cook separate meals for everyone at the table. So, here's my philosophy:

1. If you come to my table, you will be pleasant.

2. If you want to have dessert or anything other than what is served (i.e. small snack later, etc.), you must eat some of everything on your plate. (Usually it at least one bite per years you are old.)

3. If you don't like what is served, you are not REQUIRED to eat anything. However, you WILL NOT spoil my dinner (which I alone worked to prepare, and I alone will clean up afterwards) by whining, crying, or fighting. You also will not have ANYTHING to eat until the next morning. Period. End of story.

This has been working "OK" for me. I understand I'm dealing with little people and nothing is going to be perfect at first. It takes time.

However, I'm about two seconds away from adding a number four to my list. This one applies to FireDaddy, too.

4. If I am the only one cooking and cleaning, then I am the only one who has input in what's being served. If you want input, you need to get your bootie in the kitchen (or even the grocery store!) and help out.

And, if you don't like it, GO SOMEWHERE ELSE AND EAT! I will be just fine left alone with my bowl of cereal, thank you very much!

Now that I've said it, I feel a little better. But, then again, dinner is over for the night. We'll see how I feel tomorrow night around 5 o'clock.

Photo credits: http://www.flickr.com/photos/lorna_carlson/ / CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Super Saturdays

I absolutely love Saturday. It is my favorite day of the week. It is the most optimistic of all the days, the most relaxed, the most free. The world lies before you on a silver platter. For once, I feel like I've captured a little bit of that elusive thing called "time".

I love to crawl out of bed before everyone else and steal a few minutes alone. My early rising companions, Bo and Daisy, often join me on the back porch to enjoy the pleasant morning breeze. Some days I read, or write, or talk on the phone to fellow early birds like Mama Dearest. Other days I may just enjoy breakfast in peace.

I love to lounge around for hours before getting dressed. The morning kids' shows with BigGirl and Littlest Princess, internet surfing and blog reading are all well and good, but mostly - it's just delaying the chore of getting dressed that I enjoy.

I love propping up on my bed after it's been made. My bedroom, gently lit by filtered sunshine, is a cool and relaxing place. It's even better when the house has a slight chill, making my throw blanket necessary for cozying.

And Saturday television is the best. Years ago, when it was just the BigGirl and I if FireDaddy was at the station, we enjoyed the occasional (OK, so maybe it was more "routine" than "occasional") PBS marathon. For years I was too cheap to pay for cable, so PBS was the best choice around for weekend viewing. We knew what time the cooking show marathon began and we'd memorized the lineup like pros. America's Test Kitchen, Fast Food My Way with Jacques Pepin, Everyday Food, Daisy Cooks!, BBQ U, and Julia child: Lessons With Master Chefs. We both stayed glued to the screen (and our seats) for hours. (Yes, I know that was not the best parenting move for my child's developing young mind. But, luckily, she doesn't seem to have been harmed by my negligence.)

Even as the day comes to a close, even if you realize you've completely wasted away the day, you've still got the hope and promise of one more day off. Sweet, sweet, Sunday...but that's another post.

Sadly, I cannot say I spent my day like this today. I did enjoy some early morning quiet outside with my doggies. I did spend a few hours, after returning home from necessary weekend errands, propped on my bed (even if it was behind my computer working on school stuff). I did get in some quality giggle time with my girlies (even if it was flanked by bickering and whining). And, best of all, I am, once again, putting myself to bed banking on the promise of Sweet Sunday. Tomorrow, I hope to never leave the house at all.

Pssst! This weekend, if you get a chance for some relaxing internet surfing and blog reading, be sure to stop by my buddy's blog. Even though she's in Portugal right now (and has posted some GORGEOUS pics of her vacation), she's hosting an anniversary giveaway. Just keep your paws off the coffee cozy. It's mine, babe.

Photo credits: Library of Congress photostream on Flickr

And I'm Not Even Catholic

I started a post last week about Earth Day.  Unfortunately, my skatter-brained self, amidst an extremely busy week ('tis the season for that kind of week in my little world), never made it back to the draft.  It's too bad, too.  I was going to toot my own horn a little about all the little things I've done this year to become more of a friend of the environment.  What can I say?  Green is the new pink?

But alas, that post may never see the light of day.  

Tonight, though, my mind overrunneth with words I'd like to share with you.  I'd like to share a few thoughts with you this evening about GUILT.  Some say it is a useless emotion...but it is strong.  It is powerful.  It is life altering.  

Some of us are more suceptible to guilt than others.  Take Catholics for instance.  I, personally, am a far cry from Catholic.  I have, though, had a plethora of Catholic friends during my life.  One thing I've observed that they all seem to have shared is their intense feelings of GUILT.  

I ask you, HOW CAN THEY NOT struggle with this???  The emotion seems to be a building block in the foundation of the religion.  Hello?...CONFESSION?  PURGATORY?  The very structure of the religion lends itself to creating a population of guilt-sufferers.

 

I, on the other hand, am apparently just one of the lucky few who are genetically predisposed to suffer from this so-called "useless emotion".  Take, for instance, my dinner this evening.

I've been making an effort to cook more dinners during the week.  I'm resolved to cutting the cord that binds my family to the convenient, yet unhealthy, fast food options that surround us.  As a cook, however, I bore easily.  I seldom make the same recipe more than twice, excepting a small selection of favorites.  I'm also trying to force encourage Fire Daddy and my little princesses to like fish.  So, this weekend, I dug deep into my memory and culinary "expertise" and decided I'd grill some teriyaki swordfish, with a side of Asian style rice and vegetables.  Sounds yummy, right?

Until I found myself thinking about the sustainable seafood guides I'd seen recently....and Happy Feet...and Earth...and I began to wonder how my dinner rated on the "eco-friendly" scale.  

Turns out, according to the Monterey Bay Aquarium's seafood guide, chances were 4 out of 5 that my fish was at least OK -- environmentally speaking.  I felt the need to air my own dirty laundry, though, so I made this tweet on twitter on my lunch hour.

All I wanted to do was air my guilt, right?  Confess and you shall be forgiven.  I'll learn from my mistakes and do better next time.  

My "Cyber Cuz" thought differently.  

He proceded to send me a virtual barrage of guilt-inducing tweets in reply to my pitiful plea for forgiveness and understanding.  One tweet even included this link, which I proceded to watch and become even more depressed as a result of my own, self-inflicted guilt and the unexpected discovery that orange roughy is has also been black balled in the world of seafood.  

Gee. Thanks, Cuz.  I totally appreciate your furthering my guilt.  Got it.  Lesson learned.  I know I should be thanking you for educating me (thanks, really...no joking), because I did learn something,  but can I just tell you (and everyone else reading this) that the stinkin' fish didn't even taste good!?  

Before I got home this evening, I thought about tossing it - scrapping my dinner plans (especially after I read about the mercury risks...Did you know it's recommended that women and children do not eat swordfish at all and men eat it only a maximum of once per month??) and coming up with a more Ecologically Correct "Plan B" for dinner (a.k.a. leftovers). 

That is, until I thought of all the starving people in this world....(I would say China or Africa or somewhere else like that, but then I feel guilty for overlooking the poverty issue in the United States) and I decided I'd better not waste it.  The damage was already done, right?

Ha!  Our fish this evening was palatable at best.  

We ate it.  

It sustained our life for a little longer.  

But, let me confess:  I, for one, did not enjoy it.

...And I'm not even Catholic.

Gettin' Groovin'

Recently, I wrote about the bad habits I've discovered in myself once again.  Perhaps it was the reflection, perhaps it was the number staring back at me on the scale, perhaps it was the not so cute "muffin top" sprouting around my waist, or, perhaps it was the humiliation accountability of publishing such habits in a medium as public as the World Wide Web.  Whatever the reason, I've been making a DAILY which is really good for me because I "don't do daily" effort towards getting my groove back.  

What does that mean?

Well, put it this way...did you know you have muscles on the back side of your ribs???  Wow.  Neither did I, until the past few weeks, at which time I've become PAINFULLY aware of their existence.  Thanks to Tracy, my Wii Fit trainer gal.  

Would you believe that home-cooked meals REALLY DO taste better than fast food or restaurant meals?  And did you know that a classic, homemade fast food (peanut butter and jelly sandwiches) costs less and has LESS CALORIES AND FAT (especially when made with reduced fat peanut butter and on light bread) than more modern fast food "healthy" meals (a.k.a. grilled chicken from Chick-Fil-A or Mickey D's)?  Another startling re-discovery around the neuroclassy household recently.

Or, how about this one, did you know that Weight Watchers Online now has a MOBILE site...suitable for Blackberrys!!!  And there's more, there is even a gadget for my iGoogle!!! Woo-hoo!   My prayers have been answered!

Accompanying these recent positive discoveries, unfortunately, some reveals have NOT been quite so happy.  

For instance, when you get to the gym before 4:30 AM, you're tired by the time you get yourself dressed, your kids dressed, everyone shuttled to their respective locations and, finally, settle into your desk for your morning prep time at work at 8:30. 

When the time changes, you can no longer rely on the sun to tell you when to feed your children dinner, give them their baths, or put them to bed because you're completely obsessed with completing your workout routine on the Wii Fit.  (Must...unlock...one...more...yoga pose....and then trying it a few times before I done...and then I'm really quitting....I mean it this time.)

Drinking a gallon or more liquid per day in addition to my triple venti skinny vanilla latte and Diet, Caffeine Free, mind you, Coke is resulting in a ridiculous number of quick potty breaks.  I can hardly keep this up - and by this, I'm referring to my pants!

Oh, and, thanks to Tracy, my very professional and devoted Wii Fit gal, getting up and down when I make those quick potty trips is much harder than it used to be.  

But, as we've established before, I guess I'm just shallow enough to make it all worth it.  

And with that, I'd better get back to groovin'.

Author's Note:  Oh, the photo?  Yeah...um...that was TOTALLY ME...back when I was a blonde.    Hardee har har....

A Dash of Bitterness, Tempered With a Sprinkle of Gratitude

I shared an engaging conversation with my Big Brother (we'll call him Abner) last night. (By the way, this is someone whom I hope to, one day, invite to write a guest post.) Our conversation ranged from hopeful gratitude to resigned bitterness. This conversation was on my mind for a while afterwards, and still today. So much so, in fact, that I've decided to take a few moments to wallow in a bit of bitterness and gratitude.



Bitter To the Bitter End




I'm not bitter about much, but there are a few things that really chafe me, a few things of which I just cannot let go. Here are three off the top of my head.




1. Badly behaved stars who STILL make millions of dollars on each movie/album. (Side note: I have no idea if it is appropriate to refer to them as "albums", since NO ONE that I know of produces vinyl anymore. I considered calling it a CD, but then I realized that many people skip those now and download straight to the iPod. So, forgive my ignorance and insert whatever it is you call a collection of songs nowadays.) I mean, please, people. Think about Tom Cruise's embarrassing behavior towards sweet, cute, smart and simply wonderful Matt Lauer a while back. Doesn't he deserve to be dropped down a notch on the Pay Scale o'Super Stars after that embarrassing display? Or, for another example, Brittany Spears. What a disaster! Don't you agree her "albums" should be placed in the Bargain Bin after such a rediculous series of events? Russell Crow's repeated outbursts and anger fits. Lindsay Lohan's drunken and drugged escapades. Naomi Campbell's temper tantrum and cell phone throwing. Come on, people...are there no consequences in this world?




** I'm sure you can understand why Tom Cruise, in particular, ticked me off in this clip. As a former sufferer of post-partum depression..and currently require said psychiatric drugs to function in life, I beg to differ with his opinions. Besides the fact, Brooke Shields is my girl.


2. Calories in chocolate. PLEASE, PEOPLE! Chocolate should be considered PHARMACEUTICAL and, therefore, CALORIE FREE! I mean, scientists can clone sheep, concoct triple cocktails to sustain life with HIV, make seedless watermelons...but you can't muster up the brainpower to take the calories out of chocolate??? I feel certain there is a demand for it. Perhaps I should start selling brown, magnetic ribbons to put on the back of our cars in support of Calorie Free Chocolate Research. (Please note, I do NOT in ANYWAY intend to belittle the need for supporting other, very valid and important causes, such as Breast Cancer or Autism. I just think the Calorie Free Chocolate Movement deserves respect, too.)


3. The Fall of 80's Dance Moves. I know you've heard the phrase "white men can't dance". HELLO??? In the 80's, EVERYONE COULD DANCE! Now, don't get intimidated, folks. I'm not necessarily referring to the slightly more tricky moves, such as the Roger Rabbit, the Running Man, or the Robot. Nor am I referring to the complex, specialized form of dance referred to as "Break Dancing". That stands alone in a class of its own. I'm talking about the classic bounce, clap, side-step combo that allowed every man, woman and child acceptance on a dance floor. If we can just bring those moves back into popularity, Fire Daddy may actually dance with me in public (without having a pitcher of a certain brewed adult beverage first).


Gratitude: It's a Good Thing.


Readers, I know we all have stress in our lives. You don't want to read a blog filled with such depressing negativity. In an effort to leave you on a positive note today (I couldn't bear to lose one of my eleven, precious followers) I feel compelled to demonstrate my gratitude for the good things in life. Of course, I could go on for days about how grateful I am for my family, friends, children, home, country, blah blah blah...but that's a given, right? You already know how eternally grateful I am for the Pink Lady, the Hornet, Starbucks workers, and my drug-induced sanity, so I won't bore you with those details again. Here, though, are a few items I think you might appreciate.




1. Completely immature comedies. I admit it. I am a BIG FAN of stupidity on the silver screen. I mean, one of the movies that made me laugh more than any other I can recall is Waiting (not to mention the fact that cute, adorable, funny Ryan Reynolds played one of the main characters). You would be hard-pressed to find more grotesque and inappropriate humor than that found in this movie. I also simply ADORE nearly any movie that Will Ferrell, Ben Stiller and/or Adam Sandler make. I am not so proper that I cannot laugh at bodily functions and embarrassing mishaps (that may, or may not, involve indecent exposure). For those of you who are, I say - get over yourself, lighten up, and live a little.





2. Music videos on the gym televisions. Are you ready for another confession? I do not yet own an iPod, or even a generic MP3 player. Yes. Me. Twitterer, blogger, Blackberry-addicted ME. I recently bought an 8 gig chip for my Blackberry, in hopes of using it as an MP3 player, but I've been experiencing some technical difficulties and haven't had a chance to drag my busy bootie into the phone store for technical support. So, in the meantime, I rely solely on Bailey's Gym TV. Thank goodness for that! Without this, albeit predictable, mix of Madonna, Avril Lavigne, Gwen Stefani, Olivia Newton John, and various other artists that I do not know by name (I'm horrible with names of famous people...until they're badly behaved and they make it to the black list), I would be stuck. Alone on the treadmill with muted Fox News, ESPN, CNN, infomercials (at 4 AM), reruns of X-Files, and various versions of cheesy law enforcement reality shows. I wouldn't make it past the first mile. Ever.


3. Mrs. Paul's, Tyson, Campbell's, and cereal. Aaaaah...how I love thee, let me count the ways. 'Tis better to serve junk than serve nothing at all, right? As a working mother, I cannot count the nights when I have been without resources, energy, or withitness to plan a proper meal for my pretty princesses. However, thanks to Mrs. Paul's, they can eat fish (in the form of a stick). Thanks to Tyson, let them eat chicken (nuggets). A hearty bowl of Disney Princess or Dora soup, on occasion, courtesy of Campbell's. And, when all else fails, Froot Loops it is.



I suppose I should have included Nabisco, as well, in appreciation of their breakfast options. Is it bad that my two year-old refers to Fig Newtons as "breakfast cookies"? They're filled with 100% real fruit....



4. Uniforms and Foreign Accents. Need I say much about this? Isn't it fairly self-explanatory? Either of these two attributes is enough to make nearly any man or woman a god/goddess of love in the eyes of the opposite sex. Let's just say...if I keep practicing my Mary Poppins accent with the Little Princesses, and happen to take up volunteering at a local hospital, I'd be beating them off with a stick!

Fear No Onion

I thought it only fair to come out of the closet right away. Or, perhaps I should say...the pantry?

I cannot stand chopping onions. I cry like I've just seen Gone With the Wind (again) at the slightest hint of onion fumes. I, a grown woman, married and mother of two, still ask my mother to chop onions for me whenever possible.

Well, that is, I did until last Christmas. My older brother and sister-in-law are, quite possibly, two of the best gift-givers I've ever met. I imagine they have some sacred notebook where they record every minute hint or remark one makes throughout the year. I can see them perusing their notes before the launch of their holiday shopping season each year.

Or, perhaps they have a secret vault, tucked neatly behind a false wall in a linen closet, where they store their collection of gifts throughout the year. As soon as a friend of family member makes an innocent, off-hand remark that sparks a gift-inspiration, they purchase the gift, wrap it perfectly, and carefully preserve its trimmings in bubble wrap before stowing it neatly away for the remainder of the year. Perhaps they have super cool video watches (like Diego?) on which they can relay critical clues to one another as they play Sneaky Shopper.

Regardless, their stealth in gift giving far exceeds my own. How do I know this? As I quickly unwrapped my portion of our holiday package this past year, I never expected what appeared before my eyes...A lovely, pink pair of Onion Goggles.

I am not alone.

This plight of excessive sensitivity to onion vapors is not mine alone to shoulder.

How on Earth they knew this, I did not recall. (Super sneaky shopper skills, I presume.) What I did know, was that my plight was nearing an end.

From then on, I knew I would fear no onion. I could boldly dawn my pastel eye gear and prepare a meal without tears and pain. (Yes, it really does HURT me, OK?)

I love them. And I love my Onion Goggles.