Battle of the Boy Bands

A lot of my girlfriends have been going ga-ga for the new Justin Timberlake album and while I can appreciate JT as much as the next middle-aged housewife, I'm afraid my boy-band loyalties lie with Nick.

LOOK AT HIM.

He is so pretty. The kind of pretty that makes you want to make him apple pie and iron his pants.

I enjoy "SexyBack" and all that but I'm much more enchanted with something like "What's Left of Me" and I'm not even embarrassed to admit it.

Okay, maybe a little embarrassed but I'm all about some good PR for this gorgeous hunk of ManMeat that was led astray by you-know-who.

He just makes me happy. And smiley. And dreamy. So, so yummy.

Attention Target Shoppers, Extra Large Jugs of Patience Now On Sale

I went to Target yesterday to buy the new Tony Bennett Duets CD (which if you haven't bought already you should literally drop everything and go do because IT'S THAT GOOD and because it's on sale for a mere $10 through the 30th) and I'm checking out at the register. I hand the guy my card and explain that the magnetic strip is wearing down and he'll need to enter the number in manually. He looks at me as if I've just quizzed him on the chemcial makeup of the stuff brewing at Hanford and says "do you have another card to pay with?"

"No, I don't," I reply "and this one works fine, you just have to enter it in."

"Well, do you have a checkbook?"

"Um, yes but I want to pay with my debit card because it's so much faster" I say although I'm beginning to think that writing a check in Braille might be faster.

"Do you want to pay with cash?"

As Oprah would say, I'm starting to lose my pleasing personality.

"No, the card is fine. Just enter in the numbers and I'll get out of your hair" I say very nicely while smiling. I'm starting to overcompensate with kindness because I'm thinking of reaching over the counter and grabbing him by the earlobes but I don't want to have to explain my actions to my husband later while viewing the security tape.

"We have an ATM if you want to get some cash" he tries one more time.

"No, really, just please use the card. I know how difficult it is to punch in the numbers one by one and the physical strain it must cause to your poor hands, but I would really appreciate it. Maybe you can look into an L&I claim for all your physical work once I'm outta here."

Ok, so I didn't say all that last part but would it have been so wrong if I had??? He finally enters the card in as slowly as humanly possible and I make a mental note to check with Brad to see if they still teach 10-pad skills in high school BECAUSE THEY NEED TO. It was all I could do to make it out of there without my head exploding all over everyone's red shirts, but I did it, and I don't even think of myself as having rage issues. I'll have to do some soul searching on that one.

Non-sequitor leap here: as I'm getting my family out the door this morning, one member who is completely showered and dressed for the day ACCIDENTALLY crapped their pants on my couch. Ew. Fresh shower, fresh clothes, not so fresh couch.

I Don't Think We're In Kansas Anymore Toto

A few days ago, my friend Jen called and told me about a great video she had stumbled across on parenting. She said that it was old, dating all the way back to the eighties, but that she had found some of the suggestions really helpful and had already put them to use in her family. Thinking that it's always good to pass on great info, she was organizing a night for several moms to get together to watch it. Since I am always one step away from a CPS intervention, I desperately wanted to attend. We moved it to my house since Brad is at school Tuesday nights and so last night, with a freshly baked zuchinni bread ready to serve, I waited for everyone to show up.

A bunch of mommies arrived in their PJs and we settled onto the couch to be enlightend. The video, in its practically prehistoric state, was on a VHS of all things and I panicked slightly wondering if I could dust off the VCR and get it working. Turns out, I couldn't so this great night of parenting advice became an evening of chit chat among friends. Usually when this happens, it's one of my very favorite things because I love my friends and having the chance to talk to them.

BUT...

Here's what's weird: the conversation that took place over the next few hours was the STRANGEST OF MY LIFE. For starters, I think we spent a full 1 hour and 45 minutes on the state of health care in America, or more specifically, prescription plans and the evil spawn of Satan that is "The Drug Companies." I thought it was a topic we would touch on briefly, but it went on and on and on. I found myself looking at the other mommies and wondering if they actually found this interesting. Was I really sitting in my family room, I wondered, or had I magically been dropped into the middle of an AARP convention in Kansas? It was bizarre. The only thing missing was Wilford Brimley as our keynote speaker.

Some other highlights of the evening include one husband's battle with plantar's warts, the type of apples best used in pie filling and the conspiracy theorist Kevin Trudeau. So sorry you missed it.

I love my friends dearly, really I do, but if I have to go through another random night of crazy conversation, I might just call up one of those drug companies and order a lethal dose of OxyContin.

Put The Magazine Down and No One Will Get Hurt

Yesterday afternoon, while in the throes of ironing, I call my friend Tiffani only to discover that she is in the throes of folding laundry. A nice conversation ensues and we talk about a million different things like usual, and then we may our way back to our mutual task of housework, or more specifically, laundry and get into a nice debate about laundry soap.

"I'm so in love with Tide with Febreeze! It smells so good I want to drink it!" says Tiffani.

"I know. My whole goal in life is to be able to afford Tide on a regular basis and not feel guilty about buying the 80 load box when I could really buy the 140 load box of Arm & Hammer for the same price," I reply.

"At least Arm & Hammer isn't as bad as Sun detergent," she tells me. "Whenever I see someone with that in their cart I want to stop and set them straight."

"Really?" I say. "I didn't know that Sun was that bad."

"Well, Lindsay looked it up on Consumer Reports and found that it's the second worst detergent to buy."

I'm sorry, WHAT?

I was always taught that it was wise to consult Consumer Reports when making a bigger purchase, say a refrigerator or washing machine. Little did I know that I needed to consult it when determing what detergent to put into the washing machine. You learn something new everyday.

After I made fun of Lindsay for another four or five minutes we got off the phone and went back to our laundry duties. Sorry, Lins, but if you don't want people to know about stuff like this then you have to slowly back away from Consumer Reports. But before you do, can you tell me what was the WORST detergent to buy? I want to make a mental note so I can set everyone straight at WinCo.

Great News!

If you have been to my house at any point during the last four years, you may have noticed a blue truck parked outside along the curb. It wasn't parked in front of my house but because of where it was and the position of our house and driveway, it often made pulling out a bit tricky because it was hard to see oncoming traffic. Well, my husband has befriended a Pasco police officer and he mentioned said truck to him. The next day, there was a notice on the truck's window telling the owners that it would be towed if not moved within 30 days. (The truck was never used. It just sat there 24/7 so we aren't really being too picky here.) Anyway, the truck has now been moved and you can see so easily to back out of my driveway. It makes me very happy.

Ok, so maybe that wasn't great news but get this: I'm going to have that same Pasco police officer check into the Wal-Mart baby so I'll finally know the rest of the story. And when I do, I'll be sure to share with you.

Even better news: I just got a phone call from a friend telling me she's pregnant. But I can't say who, which is a bummer although I'm mighty tempted because she doesn't read my blog. Maybe I can give you a clue though; her name rhymes with Hegan....:)

Now Accepting Applications for Karen #2

Seriously. SERIOUSLY. I go out of town for a mere 24 hours and when I get back, I have two emails from friends telling me that they have created blogs themselves, and while I am happy to read about my dear friends, I feel even more pressure in the blogging world. I don't know if I can handle it.

Completely unrelated: I am still hemorraging.

Even more unrelated: I am still STUFFED from lunch yesterday at The Cheesecake Factory and am considering a hardcore self purge.

That is all.

Where's My $5000 Visa?

For the most part, I'm a pretty cute mom. I wake up everyday, shower, apply makeup, do hair, and find something decent to wear. Usually this involves me trying to shove my badonkadonk into some non-mom jeans and find a shirt that doesn't make me look like a walking advertisement for breast reduction but I do my best.

Today, however, I didn't feel like that. My junk was begging for a much roomier trunk so I reached for some sweats, feeling slightly guilty that I may end up on the next episode of "What Not To Wear" but still willing to risk it. I can practically hear Stacey and Clinton lecturing me on appropriate 'errand wear' but since my dear Aunt Flo has been visiting every two weeks instead of her normal 28 days, I desperately wanted some comfort. (And yes, I have called my OB to see about getting in but he is booked until the end of November, so I will either continue to hemorrage until then or drop dead from simply being OUT OF BLOOD. I'll keep you posted.)

I rationalized my sweat suit choice because I wasn't planning on going anywhere today and needed to get some cleaning done, which is what I was doing until I realized that I was all out of wood polish and would need to make a quick run to the store. Off I go.

As I pull up to the store, I notice two women coming out of the store both wearing sweat suits similar to mine. That's oddly comforting, I note to myself. At least I'm not the only person running around breaking all the rules of mommy fashion. Then, as I'm getting the girls out of the car, the women across the way is doing the same thing while sporting her own cute little sweat suit. Feeling even more smug with myself than before, I head into the store.

As I make my way through the aisles, with a completely random grocery list of wood polish, cream cheese, Crystal Light To-Go packs and a cucumber, I encounter EIGHT more sweat-suited mommies. That's got to be a record of some kind.

So here's what I'm thinking: 1) the women of West Pasco are suffering from severe PMS like myself; 2) I somehow didn't receive the memo about Sweat Suit Thursdays; 3) we have all decided to thumb our noses at Stacy and Clinton and give into comfort over chic. Who wants to scrub toilets and chase kids in skinny jeans and kitten heels anyway?

Although that's probably what I'll be trying to do tomorrow...

It Turns Out I Actually AM A Nice Girl

After three full days of trying to walk around like an angst-ridden angry person, convinced that the world is full of losers, I am exhausted. Who knew that despair and self-loathing could make one so tired?

I'm happy to report that I am back to my old happily-ever-after self. No more pitiful songs, no more disappointment towards the people of Wal-Mart, nothing. Just a whole lot of love from yours truly.

I know Brit and Kev will be relieved....

An Update of Sorts

After suffering constant harrassment from you all, I called Wal-Mart to find out the rest of the story. And you'll never guess what they told me....

Absolutely nothing.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we can't release that information to the public."

What's weird to me is that a store that carries a stock as random as goldfish, motor oil and guns feels entitled to take the moral highground when concerning the saftey of a CHILD. Since when do they have a policy about anything other than making sure their diverse employees portray the image of quality that has made Wal-Mart famous? I don't get it.

I realize that there may be a police case involved and all that, but it wasn't like I was asking for the parent's social security number and address so that I could send them hate mail. I just wanted to be sure that the baby was okay. But you can't get answers like that from Wal-Mart. Oh no. They're too busy holding a seminar on how-to-talk-to-customers-when-most-of-you're-teeth-are-missing for their employees. They've got better things to do.

As Always, The People of Wal-Mart Come Through

I've gotten some grief over my last post because people are telling me that it's not REALLY how I feel about the general population and I guess their right. I am sort of an eternal optimist and I do true to give people the benefit of the doubt which usually ends with me looking like a naive idiot.

For example:

Part of me still thinks that those people who go on "The Bachelor" really are just looking for love and I always seem to think it'll work out happily ever after.

And what if Britney and Kevin really are madly in love and just grossly misunderstood? It could happen.

Perhaps Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan are just struggling with their own inner conflict about coming from dysfunctional families and not limelight lovin' shallow greedy whorebags. Right? It must be tough for them.

So it's not just a fascination with pop culture either, although my head is filled with the most random useless pieces of information. (See above.) My point, however, is that I want to believe that people are inately good.

HOWEVER...last night my friend Cindy and I are at Wal-Mart looking for infant decongestant. After checking the regular pharmecutical aisle and not finding it, we headed to the back of the store and the baby department hoping it might be there. As we enter the department, we both notice a grocery cart left unattended, which wouldn't be all the big of a deal except that strapped to that cart is a brand new sleeping baby boy. We both sweep the area with our eyes and realize that there are several people milling about who most likely belong to this baby. But no one claims it. We soon come to realize that all the people wandering around are waiting for this poor child's parents to come back as it's been left on it's own for quite some time. We flag down an employee and explain to them what is going on and she takes the baby to Customer Service to page the parents. Cindy and I agree to wait for the parents to return so we can tell them where their baby is and they can claim him.

EXCEPT THAT NO ONE COMES!

I'm trying to remain optimistic but my stomach is telling me that something is terribly wrong. Cindy and I both have a sinking feeling and we leave the area to try and find out what's going on. It was horrible.

I'm sorry to say that we don't really know the end of the story. We saw the employee who helped us on her phone and I believe she said something about the mom being in the bathroom (for a half hour!) and that the police had been called. I keep picturing that baby's face and praying that he is okay and that it really was just a huge misunderstanding but my belief in the good of people has definately been shaken.

So maybe I really do think that people are pitiful. All evidence aside, it's hard to find the good when people flaunt the bad so readily.

At least I still have Paris and Lindsay. They'll do something to restore my faith. I just know it.

Just When You Thought I Was A Nice Girl

This is how I really feel about the general population....

http://www.dohtem.com/yourepitiful.mp3

Uh-Oh, Stuck Again

Rest In Peace, Fatty McButterpants

The other day while I'm getting ready, I notice my husband standing in the closet staring at his clothes with a rather bleak expression on his face. In total Brad-speak, he says "seriously Karen, we need to hit it." Since I have been married to this man for 9 years now, I know that what he's trying to tell me is that it's time to stop playing the will they/won't they be fat forever game and finally get in shape.

After a fabulously fun summer of constant BBQing and a few too many runs to the border for a Crunchwrap Supreme, Brad has found himself with 15 unwanted pounds hanging around his midsection, making any possibility of comfort while wearing clothes a mere dream. This wouldn't be all that big of a deal if it wasn't added to the 35 pounds he was already sporting. He tells me to rid the house of all junk food (which is hilarious because you'd think that the house was constantly stocked with Big Macs and Krispy Kremes by the way we look) and sets a few goals for himself. I agree to start watching our calories and preparing healthy meals and support him in his weight loss efforts, all the while silently chuckling to myself because while I've been exercising regularly for quite some time now, it's like a whole new concept to him.

I'm happy to report that on Day Four of the Johnson Slim Down Program, Brad has dropped five pounds. And I say that I'm happy like I really mean it which on some level I do but how frustrating is it that once he decides to get in shape, the weight falls off of him as easily as it came on?

That's not how I do things. I like to chip away at myself like some Greek sculpture with a whole lot of blood, sweat and tears and after 11 months of constant diligence, be rewarded with 1 3/4 pounds of weight loss. It's okay though. I'm not bitter.

I know that positive thinking has a lot to do with one's results, so I'm here to say I'm positive that by Christmas time, my husband will look awesome and I will have peaked out at 3 pounds of weight loss. At least I can find comfort in the fact that I feel better physically even if it doesn't show.

Except that that's crap. I will perservere though. Fatty McButterpants is losing it's grip on me once and for all.

Aloha

I had just sat down at the computer tonight to check out the latest on Britney Spears' new baby when the phone rings. I check the caller ID and notice that it's my friend Kim. It can't be, I think to myself, because Kim and her husband Jeff are in Hawaii right now. Why would she call me? Maybe she left her phone with someone else.

It turns out it is Kim and she's calling me from The Cheesecake Factory (my favorite restaurant) from Waikiki Beach (my favorite place.) She tells me that their sitting outside on the patio and the weather is perfect and they're having the best time ever. I am so happy for them. And I hate them.

Not really, but it's like some sick type of torture to know that someone is sitting in the exact place that you wish you were. But they completely deserve such a fun trip and I am thrilled for them, even if I can't help being the teensiest bit envious.

I tell them what to order (Avocado Eggrolls, Thai Lettuce Wraps, Farfalle Pasta with Mushrooms and Roasted Garlic and plain cheesecake with cherries) and wish them well. I am so excited to hear all the details and re-live one of my favorite places with them. I'm also hoping I mature a ton in the next few days so I can stop being so jealous.

Life in The 'Hood

I'm in my kitchen this afternoon, minding my own business and making lunch for the kids when I suddenly hear the familiar "click" of the side gate. Knowing that Hannah, Aidan and Nadia are in the backyard playing, I'm understandably alarmed. Before I even have a chance to go outside myself, a face appears in my kitchen window.

"Hey there, how are you today?" says my neighbor Jim like it's the most normal thing on the planet to be in my backyard and not some scene from a 20/20 documentary about child abduction.

I'm frankly so surprised to see an uninvited grown man in my backyard that it takes me a moment to stammer "hi."

"Does your husband have any metric allen wrenches?" he asks.

"Uh, I don't think so" is my reply.

The look on his face says two things: one, he wants me to check which I refuse to do and 2, if I won't check he at least wants me to call Brad and ask him and I won't do that either.

"Well, alright then. Thanks." And off he goes, back out through the side gate.

This is bizarre to me on several levels. First, I have a front door, on the front of my house, which is used by visitors all the time. Second, I also have a phone, which he knows firsthand because he has had to use it on several occasions to track down his wayward wife since she cut off their home phone line and it's apparently never occurred to him to get another one. Third, who in the halibut goes into people's backyards unannounced? So, so weird.

I try to be kind to Jim because his life stinks. He is missing most of his teeth which makes me think that his troublesome behavior is really a result of starvation because how does one eat without teeth? And even more stressful than that, things have really taken a turn for the worse since his wife's boyfriend moved in with them. It must be hard to get a good night's sleep with three grown adults in the bed.

Really, he's not weird, just hungry and sleep deprived.

She May Be Delayed, But At Least She's Cute

It occurred to me that I never really talk about Sienna in my blog which is silly because she is one quality chick. Since I was adding pictures of the other two I found this one of Sienna and it's perfect. Here's why:

You know how when you have your first child, you are all over those baby books that tell you the ages and stages your child should be at at any given time? I remember with Spencer literally cracking out Chapter 33 of the Parenting Guide for Idiots titled "Your Child's 117th Week of Life: Developmental Milestones to Look For" and going through that chapter like it was some lost section of the Koran, absorbing every word and making sure that Spence was indeed doing everything that he was "supposed" to.

Well, along comes my third child and I can't remember a single age or stage of anything. This came to my realization last weekend when my step-mother-in-law was visting and she ever so kindly pointed out that Sienna should be talking more by now. Really, I thought? She's only 14 months! Doesn't speech come along when their like 3 years old? I had no idea. So now I'm afraid that I am raising a mute and we've been working on oral language all week long.

Sienna likes to walk all over the house (something she's been doing since she was 8 months old by the way so at least she's gifted physically) and get herself in the oddest places. When I saw her wedged in the picture above I said "Sienna, are you stuck?" And she looked at me and said "stuck!" Woohoo, my child's a language rockstar! Now she walks all over the house saying "stuck" and I don't feel like such a loser anymore.

Even more impressive, when she dropped her cracker yesterday, she leaned over and said "uh-oh." Can I count that as one word or two? I'm trying to keep track of her oral language now so I can make a notation in her baby book under the section "Proof That My Mama Loves Me As Much As The Other Two."

And to all those baby experts who waste time concerning themselves with ages and stages, I have only two words for you: 'Stuck' Off.

A Different Kind of Dancing For Hannah

Spencer's First Day of Driving The Ladies Crazy (AKA First Grade)

It's All Fun and Games 'Til CPS Comes A Knockin'

I was just talking to a girlfriend about our awesome parenting skills and she relayed a story from her own Mommy Hall Of Fame Handbook:

Concerned about her daughter's cleanliness while eating, she tried several different approaches in helping her become a neater eater. When nothing else worked and this little one was headed to first grade and a cafeteria full of students, the mom finally said "if you keep eating like that, you're friends will think you're disgusting and no one will want to play with you."

And I thought I was bad.

Another Day of Quality Parenting

After dropping my son off at school this morning, my mom and I decided to brave the elements (AKA shopping with two small girls) and head out to find my daughter some shoes. Hannah has the largest feet on the planet for someone who is almost 4 and finding shoes for her is a chore. And she grows out of shoes with lightening speed so I never want to pay very much. We headed to Fred Meyer first because we'd already looked at Target, Famous Footwear and Wal-Mart. Hannah was in rare form this morning, crying over everything from not liking her yellow shirt to finding her "baby" too heavy to carry. I should have known then what I was in for but I soldiered on.

We are in Fred Meyer for about 17.9 seconds before Hannah starts crying, and then screaming at the top of her lungs. She doesn't want to try walking in the cute new shoes I found for her because she's afraid her heel will come out. No amount of reasoning will soften this child's screams and I am frankly ready to leave the store without her. It was unreal. She would not stop. In a completely stellar parenting move, I grabbed her face on both sides and told her in that hushed but extremely stern voice that all mothers have mastered "if you don't stop it RIGHT NOW you will regret it with every fiber of your being." Watch out CPS, here I come.

We managed to finish our shopping excursion with minimal bruising and are now back home with no new shoes. In my six and a half years of parenting, I have never had a child do that to me in a store and I feel a whole new range of sympathy for all those other parents who can't control their children and whom I used to feel superior to. Looks like we're in the same boat after all.

Let Me Explain...

I've been getting some flack over the fact that I called a vaccum "one of the best gifts I've ever been given." I understand where you're coming from, but hear me out.

My last vacuum literally had a mind of it's own. Whenever it decided it was done working, it would stop without warning. It didn't matter if I had guests coming over in a few minutes or if my son had decided to eat popcorn in my bedroom; it would simply stop performing it's only function which was to clean my floors. IT DROVE ME CRAZY! Last Thursday I was vacuuming the house because we had a bunch of family arriving later that evening and my vacuum decided it needed a little vacation in the middle of my staircase. I couldn't turn it on again for over four hours! Not at all an incovenience. It sucked. Well, actually, it didn't, which was part of the problem.

As someone with a mild case of OCD, a handy cleaning tool is a real necessity and a dependable vaccum is at the top of my list. So that's why I was over the moon with my new Dyson. Alright? Everyone feel better? Good.

How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count Thy Dyson

My husband. A nearly perfect human being. Excellent father. Fantastic husband. Great friend to everyone he meets. One of those people that everyone loves and you always feel better after spending some time with him.

Not a huge romantic.

In our early marriage, faced with the undaunting task of providing me with a memorable Valentine's Day, my husband came up with the incredible idea of getting me a heart shaped pizza for dinner. (I know) If that wasn't delightful enough, he purchased said pizza with ingredients on it that I don't even like. (Seriously) And for the real kicker, he ate that pizza with some friends of ours before I got home. (Really, I know)

Since that humongous error in judgement, my poor husband has suffered a ration of crap from everyone who knows of that hilarious story. Whenever we spend time with our friends The Goode's, Stan invariably brings up that story much to my sweet husband's chagrin. I always get a chuckle out of it, although I DID NOT find it so funny on that particular Valentine's Day.

But today, my husband made up for it BIG TIME. Today is our 9th wedding anniversary and my husband surprised me with a brand new pink Dyson, AKA The Machine of My Dreams. I know what you're thinking; getting household appliances for an anniversary is almost as bad as getting a heart shaped pizza for Valentine's Day (sorry sweetie, I couldn't resist) But not to me! This vacuum is the coolest thing I have ever been given. I have already vacuumed my entire house, including the kitchen and bathrooms and I wish I could keep going. And because he is extra thoughtful, he bought me the pink Dyson because $40 from the sale of it goes directly to breast cancer research. I KNOW!

I have teased my husband relentlessly over the years for not being as romantic as I would like, but I can say now that I will never again bring up the pizza fiasco or any other lapse in romantic judgement. He truly is a perfect human being and I'm so happy that I get to be his wife.