18 thru 25 - It's Only Fair.

I think I owe it to my readers to finish my E! True Hollywood Story.

So, without further ado …

18. I've always wanted to stand up in the middle of an event, give a speech and have someone start a slow clap for me. Regretfully, there are a few things wrong with this scenario.

1. I don't like speaking publicly. As a matter of fact, while in college, I dropped Public Speaking 101 three semesters in a row.
2. I'm a mumbler. If my audience can't understand what I'm saying, it would probably leave my speech a little flat. Instead of clap - clap. I'd hear cricket - cricket. 

19. I'm a fraidy cat. Snakes, spiders, bears, bats (and other critters of the night), the post office after dark, public transportation, Nutella, sock monkeys, Black Friday shoppers wearing running shoes (because they mean business), America's Most Wanted, Oobi, female construction workers, quick sand, airplane turbulence, David Hasselhoff, potted meat, log trucks, crop circles, foreign objects found under my couch cushions, elementary school cafeterias and "Kick a Ginger Kid Day" are all on the list of things that could possibly trigger a heart attack one day.

20. I have an "Awww crap! … I sound just like my (insert name of smart elder here)" moment at least once a week.

• "Use your head for more than a hat rack!" 
• "Do you think I just fell off of the turnip truck?"
• "Turn off the light. Do you own stock in the electric company?"

21. I don't think that Lady GaGa or Ke$ha deserve radio air time. I secretly wish that they would go on tour together, the stage would collapse and they would land directly on their esophagus's.  This would knock out both of their careers in one fell swoop. Problem solved.

22. I think that the sound of children laughing is one of the most precious sounds in the world. Unless, of course, they are laughing at me. In that case, I think it's just plain obnoxious.


23. I know all of the prepositions … in alphabetical order … and I can sing them to the tune of Yankee Doodle. I performed this neat little trick for the entire family during Christmas brunch last year. I'm pretty sure that my face was the same shade as Santa's famous red suit. Note - don't gloat about your secret talents if you'd prefer not to be put on display (please refer to number 18 - section 1).

24. My Blackberry does make me feel slightly more important than you. Too bad the only time it beeps is when I receive junk e-mail or the alarm clock is going off.

25. I didn't learn how to use a plunger until 2004.

My E! True Hollywood Story. Not Really.

This blog is inspired by the popular Facebook game that many people play. You know the one … you write 25 things about yourself and then tag your friends in it. Then it's their turn to do it. Well, I feel like I should do a service to my fellow Facebook users and not make you participate in the nonsense of it all.

So, here are 25 things that you may (or may not) want to know about me. No strings attached. Read on.

1. I'm a murderer ... of plants. I wouldn't necessarily call it murder ... more like involuntary plant slaughter. I'm pretty sure that the Petunias and the Pansies are gossiping about me around the watering can.

2. I wish that I liked olives. However, I cannot. I try them from time to time just to make sure that nothing has changed. 

3. I like to watch Maury Povich's paternity shows. You know which ones I'm talking about. Maury says "When it comes to 3 year old Bob Jr … Bob Sr, you are NOT the father!" The crowd gasps, Bob Sr does the pop and lock and then a back flip, the mother runs off stage screaming like a 12 year old at a Justin Bieber concert and we are entertained. 

4. If I'm friends with you on Facebook (and only Facebook), I feel obligated to say 'hello' when I see you at Target. Instead, I just duck behind the sale rack.

5. Cameron wears his underwear backwards because he likes to let the tag hang out … and I allow it.

6. When I get home, I put my shoes on the steps. I walk up the steps 37 times a day and walk right past them all 37 times. Would it kill me to bend over and grab a pair on my way up? I doubt it. But, is it really worth the risk?

7. I fall down. A lot. My favorite apparatus is the stairs … and by 'favorite' I mean most often. Maybe bending over and picking up my shoes IS worth the risk.

8. Several years ago Captain Crunch came out with a cereal called "Oops! All Berries". This is one of the most delicious culinary creations of all times. I think that other companies should hop on this band wagon. Lucky Charms should make "Oops! All Marshmallows", Oreos should make "Oops! All Cream", KFC should make "Oops! All Skin" and postage stamp machines should make "Oops! All Out of Those Stupid Gold Dollars that No One Wants Because They Make Your Purse Heavy and They're Embarrassing to Use Because it Looks Like You Just Broke Into Your Kid's Piggy Bank".

9. I love Coach Handbags (and yes, I would marry them). I think that these beautifully crafted pieces of artwork add the perfect amount of class to my 7 year old Aeropostale sweat suit and peanut butter and jelly matted hair.

10. When I'm dining at a fancy restaurant, I know which fork to use.

11. While in a deep slumber, I once shouted "Someone get me a turkey baster ... I put oil in the windshield washer fluid!!" Even in my sleep, I'm a problem solver.

12. I feel a sense of pride when I see a Geico commercial because I AM saving boatloads on my car insurance.

13. When I leave Wal-Mart at night, I'm one of those weird paranoid women that puts her key in between her fingers in preparation for an attack. (Note - if you see me at Wal-Mart after dark ... don't sneak up on me. You're likely to get a key in your eye socket.) I also check my back seat for intruders. "Safety first" is kinda my motto.

14. After the birth of my son, I had to have a shot in my butt before I could be released from the hospital.
      #1 I thought that a shot in the butt was a myth.
      #2 It isn't.
      #3 I felt a teeny bit violated.

15. I only like to drink coffee in the cold months. Let me re-phrase that (since I really don't like coffee very much) ... I only like to drink cream and sugar with a hint of coffee in the cold months.

16. I consider it a great injustice that my husband, my daughter and my son have long beautiful eyelashes and I do not. Thank you gene pool ... you could have at least tried to float down the long eyelash aisle. And while we're on the subject, the suntan aisle, the Pantene hair aisle and the smart aisle wouldn't have killed you either.

17. Per the norm, I start things and I don't finish them ....

18.

19.

20.

21.

22.

23. You get my drift .....

"As Seen on TV" - NOT!

The Big Top Cupcake! 

Our first (and possibly last) attempt at making a ginormous cupcake. 

It was a rainy Monday evening and Cameron says to me  "Mommy, I want a giant pink cake that looks like ice cream. I want an icing tower with blinkles and a cherry on top." 

I agreed. 

I told you that I don't play kitchen very well. Here's the finished product ...

It looks like the picture on the box, right? Baha.

Thank you, Cherry. You make this look sorta edible.

Cameron liked it ... and he bakes shirtless. Duh.

Dear Kids, Eat around the oooooze. Love, Mom

To Have and To Hold

Eight years ago today, I married my best friend. It sounds a little cliche ... but, it's true.

On a day like today, my mind is gushing with memories of that special day. I'd like to share a few highlights that I hold very near and dear to my heart.

You see, we're spur of the moment people. We decided to get married approximately one week before our actual wedding day. It has taken me longer to plan a trip to Wal-Mart than it took me to plan one of the most important days of my life. But, that's how we roll. We knew for a long time that marriage was in our future ... but we had never actually planned anything.

Our pre-wedding conversation went kind of like this ...

Alison - "Wanna get married next week?"
Tom - "Sure."
Alison - "You busy Sunday?"
Tom - "Nope."
Alison - "Cool."
Tom - "Yep."

Sunday, September 22nd 2002 - Our Wedding Day.

I woke up that morning in a bit of a Malibu Rum induced fog. But, I had a busy day ahead of me. I was getting married. I took a couple of aspirin and decided that it was time for me to get my booty in gear. I had a to-do list that was a mile and a half long. My list included things like decorate the church, press and deliver our daughter's dress, take a shower, get my hair done, slap on a coat of make-up and re-do my homemade pedicure from the night before (painting my toenails after cocktails wasn't the best idea that I've ever had. Not only did I have painted toenails ... I also had painted heels and ankles. I'm not really sure what happened there). Luckily, I had a huge posse of helpers working with me or I probably would not have been able to pull it all off.

6:52 pm -
8 minutes to go.

My Maid of Honor (Jennifer), Tom's Best Man (Danny), my Dad and I stood in our holding room waiting for my Grandma to come get us for our center aisle debut. A couple minutes later, she entered as planned. Most weddings are a little behind schedule. But, not mine and my Grandma made sure of it. She quickly hustled Jen and Danny out of the room and to the doorway of the sanctuary.

It was almost my cue. I stood in front of the full length mirror and gave myself a quick pep talk. I'm not good at public speaking. I get tongue tied and turn a pretty shade of pink. As I looked at my reflection in the mirror, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. Jennifer's bouquet. Oh nooooo! She forgot her flowers. I grabbed the front half of my dress and galloped (I was young ... my high heel wearing days had just begun. It was a pretty unique display of uncoordination on my part) towards the aisle with the fresh cut calla lilies dripping in my wind. I was yelling (in a whisper) for Jen to come back.  Jen was already half way down the aisle with Danny on her arm. She heard me yelling (in a whisper) and ditched Danny to come and retrieve her sopping wet flowers. The water surely would've ruined her burgundy gown. So, I gave the room a swift once over and noticed that a diaper bag was sitting nearby. What's more absorbent than a diaper? Nothing. Duh. I swabbed the long dripping stems with a powder fresh pamper and sent Jen back on her way. She rejoined an obviously uncomfortable Danny and they continued down the aisle to their designated spots at the front of the church.

I took a deep breath and caught my Grandma's eye. She gave me a nod and took her seat next to my Grandad. My Dad and I took our places in the doorway. Everyone stood and "Here Comes the Bride" began playing on the organ. Gulp. This was it. My last few minutes of being a single gal were about to come to an end. And off we went.

We got to the alter and the minister said a few words. It was then time for my Dad to give me away. (For the record, I don't really like that phrase. I kind of hurts my feelings a little bit. I don't want my parents to "give me away" ... just let Tom marry me.) My Dad kissed me on the cheek and started to walk behind me to take his seat beside my Mom. Instead he tripped over my train and used my veil to catch his balance. This flipped my neck into an awkward backwards position causing me to have a teeny bit of whiplash.  The crowd gasped. I know that my Dad felt horrible about it (not to worry Dad ... you gave me good blogging material.) I assured our guests that I was okay with a painful smile. I then gave my veil a toss into the congregation and the ceremony continued. Aside from a weepy Maid of Honor and a few mispronounced vows, the rest of the ceremony went off without a hitch (well, except for the actual hitching of the bride and groom). After the "I do's" we floated back down the aisle as husband and wife.

We took a few pictures and then headed to our short (but sweet) reception. As we danced to "our song" (not really, we danced to whichever slow song was playing when my Mom ordered us to dance), Tom felt a tug on his ankle. It was baby Aubree. She wanted to dance with us (or so we thought). He picked her up and we danced together as a happy little family. This lasted for a grand total of 2.6 seconds. That's when our beautiful daughter turned into Chucky (you know, the evil little red headed baby doll in the horror movies) and started slapping and punching both of us in the face. We put her down to cease the beatings. She then began rolling around on the floor and kicking us in the shins. The abuse continued until my Mom came to our rescue. She scooped an angry little Aubree up off of the floor and let us finish our dance.  Throbbing shins and a near bloody nose made it quite difficult to finish busting a move. But, we smiled and we danced anyway.

We did the rest of the normal wedding reception things. A few toasts were made and we cut the cake. Our friends were outside "decorating" our car in the pouring down rain. Did I mention that part? There was a hurricane going on outside (not Hurricane Katrina or anything ... just a super heavy, ground soaking, flash flood creating down pour). I didn't realize that I still had my garter and my bouquet until several guests had already left the party. So, I decided to toss my husband the garter (I'm pretty sure that he still has it and keeps it in his tool box) and I tossed my brother's girlfriend (now his wife, their 5th wedding anniversary is in 3 days) my bouquet. I grabbed my new husband and we skipped away together ... hand in hand ... into the rain.

And that is what memories are made of. It was an amazing night and I wouldn't change any of it. Happy Anniversary, Honey! I love you and the beautiful family that we've created together. Here's to you and to many more years of wedded bliss.

Holy Exploding Water Heater! Almost.

I was under the impression that when the water heater breaks ... you just lose your hot water.

Wrong.

When the thermostat in your water heater breaks you get a fire-breathing shower head, humidity that can only be compared to a muggy day in a tropical rain forest, condensation that leaves more than just a ring on the coffee table, a menagerie of multi-colored mold in your basement and in undetected cases ... an explosion.

With a stretch and a yawn, I hit the snooze button and rolled over to try and snatch an extra five minutes of unconsciousness. Midway through my roll, I noticed that my husband was stooped in the hallway inspecting the floor boards. They were wet. Actually, they were soaked. What in tarnation is going on here?

The plumber had recently been over to "repair" the faucet in our bathtub. (We see our plumber pretty regularly. Let's call him "Jim" ... he's a main character in this story. Plus that's really his name.) We presumed Jim had tinkered around in the wall and created a slow leak somewhere. So we scheduled for him to come over the following morning for repairs. (Which happened to be Cameron's first day back to preschool. For future reference ... please note that the front door of Cameron's preschool is only a stones throw away from our front door.)

Later that night, we decided to brave the basement to see if there was any signs of a leak there. Perhaps we would even find the leak and be able to impress Jim with our boundless knowledge of plumbing. Instead, we noticed 12 inches of water on the floor and water gushing out of the water heater. Our Christmas decorations were elegantly floating in a glittery pond that once resembled our basement. (Not really ... but, it makes the story more spicy. There was only about a half an inch of water on the floor and nothing was actually floating). We also noticed an abundance of green mold that somehow looked pretty when paired with all of the red ornaments. Tom waded through the tinsel and soggy nutcrackers to turn off the water. My initial thought was ... "Whatever do you mean there's no water until tomorrow morning! What if someone has to go number 2?" I'm a pro-flush kinda gal. You could even crown me Honorary Courtesy Flusher. Luckily, I was just borrowing bowel trouble. No potty breaks were needed that night.

It was time to get up and get Cameron ready for school. I had just finished brushing my teeth when I heard a knock at the door. Jim and his little worker bee had arrived. I quickly finished getting Cameron ready and grabbed my camera (It wouldn't be the first day of school without official mommy photos. My children know this and dread it. But, they oblige). I had just plopped Cameron onto the sofa to watch a new episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse when we heard screams coming from a seemingly distraught plumber.

"Oh My Gaaaawd!! Hit the breaker!

 It's about to explode!!"

There was steam billowing out of the basement door. The worker bee sprinted towards the breaker box and I immediately gathered Cameron and his Lightning McQueen backpack and scooted them out the door. I thought that this was the perfect opportunity for Cameron's "first day of school" photo shoot. This was my attempt to save Cameron from harm and possibly capture the explosion on film. I was multi-tasking. I snapped a few prize winning photos (minus an explosion) and then we got the "all clear" to return inside. There was no explosion. But, I couldn't refrain from singing the SNL's "Cool Guys Don't Look at Explosions" song for the next few hours.

I'm glad that no one was hurt ... but, I will admit that it sounded pretty exciting for a moment. AND it definitely would have solved the mold dilemma.

If that wasn't enough entertainment for one morning ... it gets more interesting.

We then heard extreme horn honking coming from outside. We went to investigate. We found our 97 year old neighbor laying on the horn of his shiny golden Buick. He was using this tactic to get Jim the plumber to move his van out of the middle of the road. Jim reluctantly agreed and moved his van about 4 feet. He was still blocking the road so, the neighbor continued to honk. Jim told him that he wasn't going to move and he'd have to call the police. The annoying beeping continued for about 15 minutes. There was some cursing and then the old guy pulled out a can of mace and allegedly "threatened Jim's life" with it. Jim was pretty shaken up and decided to call the police himself. (In my opinion ... Jimmy was in the wrong. He should have just moved his van and let the man through. But, I stayed quiet. Except for a few giggles that I let slip. Seriously? A death threat? It's just mace, man.)

As I watched this all unfold ... complete with lights and sirens ... I realized that it was time to take Cameron across the street and drop him off at preschool (also a United Methodist Church). Cameron was pleased with the light show. However, I was mortified. Talk about your first impressions! Every teacher, mom and dad had watched the drama that had occurred at our place. I'm pretty sure that they prayed extra hard for our blued eyed boy and his family during Chapel that day.

In conclusion ...

The plumber and his worker bee fixed the thermostat on our water heater.

Service Master removed all of the mold and dried everything.

Our holiday decor is no longer swimming.

Jim moved his plumber van. (I'm pretty sure the police officer made him feel like an idiot.)

The old man wasn't charged with any crimes that day. (Evidently, you're allowed to carry mace and use it if you feel threatened.)

My house did not explode. (But, I had my camera ready just in case.)

Yogurt. A Brief - but valid - Complaint.

Yogurt makes me gag.

I like yogurt. I don't really have a problem with the way it tastes. There's just one teeny tiny little detail that gets me every time. 

"Live and Active Cultures" 

Have you ever seen these words displayed on your yogurt container? They advertise them like they are a good and healthy thing. For me, it is guaranteed queasiness. In my mind, it's like discovering a fly in your pizza and then eating him because someone says that he's "good for you". (Which has actually happened to me ... sorta. I found an unlucky fly baked right into my cheese pizza from Ci Ci's. FYI, I didn't eat that either. Who would?)

I have a very vivid imagination. In my imagination, I imagine that "live and active cultures" look like those charming little animated characters on the Nerds candy box. I also envision them doing Tae-Bo on my tongue until I swallow the busy little fellas. That's the part of the vision where the heaving begins and my appetite is surrendered.

My children love yogurt (and admire the Trix rabbit on the label). Cameron alone can devour 4 individual containers in one sitting. I suppose he can have a free pass ... after all, he can't read. Unfortunately for me, sometimes he likes to share. It's not uncommon for him to come charging at my face with a gunky spoonful of (hiccup) yogurt. The worst part is that he actually expects me to eat it. And I do because that's what momma's do. We eat random food that our preschoolers (force) feed us. Sure, he won't share his Thomas the Tank Engine with anyone ... but yogurt ... he'll share. Go figure.

In a perfect world "live and active cultures" would be secluded to Krispie Kreme doughnuts, ice cream sundaes, double fudge brownies and other foods in the "Yep, that's going straight to my rear end" category.

Thank you for listening to my yogurt rant.

Please note that this blog (admittedly, not my best work) was only published to tide you over until I finish the other blog in my draft folder ...

"OMG! It's Gonna Explode!"

Stay tuned. But don't hold your breath ... you've seen how often I post new reading material. ;o) 

Just a Thought ... or Six.

I have this nagging voice in the back of my head. It's shouting "Blog woman!!! ... there are people out there who are actually reading this stuff!" The problem is, I've come down with a case of blogger's block. Self diagnosed of course. (I tend to do a lot of self diagnosing. I truly believe that WebMD is the enemy. I have had Tumors, Attention Deficit Disorder, Bone Spurs, Kidney Stones, Pink Eye, Mercury Poisoning, and Osteoporosis. That was just last week.)

Since I have no idea what kind of ramblings to ramble about this go round, I'll just spew a few completely stray thoughts that have been rattling around inside my head.

My first thought. The phrase "Do you want the good news? ... or the bad news?"

This is a horrible combination of questions. I choose neither. I would also recommend putting on your ear muffs as soon as this phrase leaves the lips of the news giver. Inevitably, the bad news is going to be the knock you off your feet devastating kind. Anything after that is obviously going to be slightly better news. The consolation prize, if you will.

Bad news - Your baby just got eaten by a Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Good news  - The McRib is back.

Bad news - A UFO beamed up your grandma, then crashed into your house and burst into flames.
Good news - Food Lion has Toaster Strudels on MVP.


Bad news - Sarah Palin was just elected President of the United States of America. 
Good news - There's a Mork & Mindy marathon on TVLand. Nanoo Nanoo. 

My second thought. In the 1800's was everything in black and white (sepia at best)? Because in my head ... it was.

I'm pretty sure that color was invented in the early 1900's. No need to look it up ... it won't be in the history books. You don't have to ask your 110 year old great great grandmother either, as I'm sure she already forgot. Besides, it's not like you're going to get a logical answer out of her anyway.

My third thought. Sunbeams shooting out from behind the clouds remind me of Jesus.

This is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. When I'm lucky enough to witness it, I stare in adoration for a few minutes seconds (it's too bright to let my eyes linger for too long) and I think thank you Jesus for this moment. Thank you Jesus for this life. Thank you Jesus for showing me your pretty rays despite the fact that the mere thought of waking up before noon on a Sunday makes me cringe.

My fourth thought. Skinny Jeans.

What a misleading little trick that the fashion industry has played on us oval shaped women. The optomistic woman thinks the title says "Wear me ... I'll make you look skinny". Reality says "Hey butter butt ... these jeans are for Olive Oil. Not you." 

Seriously, those things should come with a warning label.

*WARNING* - Do not use if you are over 85 lbs. Do not wear if you have cankles (it takes an act of congress to get these inappropriately named jeans over your calves and ankles). Breathing problems may occur. If you're pregnant or trying to get pregnant please ask your physician before use.

My fifth thought. I've come to the conclusion that my 9 year old daughter is a better chef than I am.

Lately, Aubree has been doing a lot of tinkering in the kitchen. Within the last 48 hours she has delighted us with frosted brownies, lemon squares and even chicken marinara. All of which were not only edible but absolutely delicious. Her brownies were the perfect batch of chocolatey, unburnt, chewy edged, beautifully frosted, non-stick bliss. Her lemon squares reminded me of Pledge on a warm summer's morning. Her chicken marinara would've given the Iron Chef a run for his money.

Ho hummmm ... This is the part where I extend a heartfelt apology to my husband. I'm sorry dear. I cannot cook. I am the queen of take-out. Pizza Hut is the closest thing to gourmet that you're ever gonna get out of me. Aubree definitely takes the cake. Or makes the cake rather. Heck, I have to call my mom to get the recipe for hard boiled eggs. (It's true. Ask her. Every Easter she gets a phone call.)

My sixth thought. Macaroni and Cheese flavored breakfast cereal.

Obviously this doesn't exist. But, I think it should. My son, Cameron is a die-hard mac n' cheese loving maniac. It doesn't matter what time of day it is, Kraft Mac N' Cheese is what he wants. He marches down the steps around midnight (almost every night for the past 2 weeks) to ask for a bowl full. He wakes up in the morning with the same look in his eye and orange drool on his chin. It's just weird to eat the stuff at 9am. I'm thinking about pitching my idea to a big cereal company.


Dear General Mills, 
I'd like to take a moment to pitch a new cereal flavor to you. Macaroni and Cheese flavored Cheerios. Before you stick your nose up to the idea, remember that you already ruined the integrity of these tiny O's by making them fruity and then chocolatey. Try cheese. It can't hurt, right? It's usually the "why didn't I think of that" ideas that are the best sellers. Not to mention that you would make my son an extremely happy kid. Try it. If it doesn't work out, trust me I'll understand - I won't be eating the crap. Do it for the picky eaters. Do it for the kids. Do it for me. 


Please and Thank You. 


Your friend, 


Alison 
Mommy to a cheese obsessed breakfastless preschooler. 

Well. My brain hurts. So that will bring today's thought session to a close.

Until next time ....

My Blog is Equivalent to My Weight Loss Plan.

I started this blog with full intentions of keeping up with it everyday, publishing it, having it placed on the Best Seller's List, featured as one of Oprah's Book Club selections and then turned into a movie starring Jennifer Aniston as myself (not because we look alike ... but because I like her and Angelina stole Brad and then trapped him with half a dozen orphans. I think she needs me).

Unfortunately for my blog, motherhood has taken over and not allowed me the uninterrupted time it takes to put this stuff in writing. I've been busy doing other things.

Some of the "other things" include ....

- Cleaning up a finger paint disaster. NOTE - don't walk away from a 9 year old, a 3 year old and paint. You'll end up with an entire bottle of bright yellow paint splattered on everything ... except the paper. I was frantically spraying 409 and Resolve on the table, chairs, walls, wood floor and area rug (I'm pretty sure it was in that order), swabbing Cameron with a nearby baby wipe and piling gloppy paint bottles into the garbage can. God bless washable paint and an uncharacteristic amount of patience during that catastrophe.

- Singing the ABC song with Cameron ... who thinks that the song goes like this (despite my efforts to teach him the correct lyrics) - "L O L O P  L O L O P - Sing with meeeee" and repeat.  We've been singing this song a lot lately. Every three year old should know this song forward and backward. Well, I guess not backward ... no one can do it backward. Not without whispering it forward 26 times to figure out the next letter. That wouldn't make a very good preschool song.

- Trying to help Tom (via text messaging) get Slime out of the couch cushion. While shopping for school supplies that are cool enough for a newborn 4th grader, I get a picture message on my phone. It looks like a slug got in a fight with a booger ... caption reads "Cameron was driving his Matchbox cars through this. How do I get the stain out of the sofa?" YIKES. We exchanged a few more texts involving warm water and Resolve (our miracle cleaning agent) and a final text to celebrate Tom's victory. He should be awarded a medal with the National Anthem playing in the background. Thank you Tom, micro-suede fabric and the furniture salesman (who we originally thought was fibbing when he told us that the micro-suede was kid-proof. I believe him now).

My Silverfishes long lost brother.

- Tracking, squishing and killing a Silverfish that had entered our house from I don't know where.  For the record I hate those things. Have you ever seen one? They have a worm like body, 648 long legs (that's not an exaggeration ... they really have that many legs), and they look like they have pinchers on their face and butt ... you can't tell if they're coming or going. Finding and killing this creature made me happy. I felt accomplished. Like I had saved my family from danger. I was having a full on Sheera moment until I realized that all I had done was squish a strange bug ... nothing heroic had actually happened. Oh well, it was a nice thought while it lasted.

I also started a weight loss program with the same kind of intentions as I had for my blog. Only with slightly different outcomes ... like achieving a nice set of 6 pack abs, becoming the spokesperson for P90X, landing a photo spread in Women's Health Magazine and then winning a home makeover on Extreme Makeover Home Edition (not because it has anything to do with weight loss, but because I think it would be neat to have someone on the show that didn't have a devastating illness, a tragic accident, or toxic mold).

Unfortunately for my belly fat, I bailed on P90X on day 3.  Per the norm, I should have known that I would be amped in the beginning and then my enthusiasm would fade along with my ability to walk up a flight of steps without wincing. Anyone who has tried P90X would agree that it is indeed a form of torture.

Day 1 - An hour of push ups and pull ups followed by a half an hour of sit ups. I rarely exercise ... and by rarely I mean once maybe twice every 2 or 3 years. Sad but true. During my hour and a half of torture I felt pretty good, a little thirsty, but good. I actually stopped mid-sweat fest to preheat the oven for a fresh batch of Peanut Butter Blossom cookies (only my favorite cookie in the entire universe). This should have been indicator #1 that my exercise plan would be short lived.

Plyometrics. Show off.

Day 2 - An hour of Plyometrics ... or for the couch savvy readers ... jumping. This comes almost 24 hours after the first routine had ended and 2 dozen cookies had been devoured (in my defense, there are 3 other cookie eaters in my house). My body felt similar to what I think a run in with a Mac truck would feel like. I could barely move. But, I was a trooper. I jumped like nobodies business ... for a total of 4 minutes. After that, my display of fitness was borderline pathetic. I jumped with almost no enthusiasm ... much like a suffocating fish at the bottom of a fisherman's boat.

Day 3 - An hour of back and arm exercises. I pressed play and listened to the obnoxious fitness guru, Tony Horton go on and on about getting in shape ... blah, blah, blah. This day was the turning point for me. I turned the stupid DVD off and sat back down on the couch to catch up on re-runs of Jersey Shore. That was the end of my run with P90X. I admire the folks that actually make it work and have amazing before and after photos. However, I am a wimp and my white flag flies gracefully in my kitchen right between the Peanut Butter Blossoms and the milk. 

In conclusion, I think that my comparison about blogging and exercising is a perfect fit. I start things and fail to finish them. My blog remains unblogged and my 6 pack comes up short by exactly 6.

I promise to try harder next time. 

Before and After. A Short Photo Montage.

 It's all fun and games ...

Until someone wipes out!

She has no clue what's about to happen ... 

Mouth full ... grass optional.

 Who has 2 thumbs and loves Ice Cream?

Yep ... this guy. 

It'll all be worth it in the end. 

See. 

I hope he swallows that juice ... 

 Eh ... Wishful thinking. 

Yes, I would like cheese with that.

It's been brought to my attention (per my brutally honest husband) that I am indeed a whiner. I'd just like to take a brief moment to try and defend myself.

Recent whines -

1. Bug bites. While on an evening excursion to get ice cream, I got bit by a hungry mosquito ... twice. My daughter, Aubree is allergic to mosquitoes and quickly develops golf ball sized welts on her skin when attacked by these annoying little creatures. She has a reason to complain. I, however, do not. Did I rush to the medicine cabinet and cake my itty bitty bites with anti-itch cream? Yes. Why? It itchessssssss!!  Okay, okay ... I'll take my cheese please.

Tom - 1
Alison - 0

2. Cold Orange Soda. I absolutely love orange soda. I'm not sure why ... maybe because it takes me back to my childhood. Or maybe because I like to have an orange mustache that comes from something other than my fake tanning lotion. I don't know. But, my thoughtful husband brought one home for me. Where did he put it? In the fridge. Sounds normal, right? Not for this picky orange soda lover. I like some of my beverages room temperature. You see, I have sensitive teeth. It hurtssssssssss.  Fine. More cheese for me.

Tom - 2
Alison - 0

3. Matchbox Car Landmines. My son, Cameron has an enormous collection of Matchbox cars ... actually, he could really use an intervention. That's neither here nor there. The issue is this - he leaves them strategically placed (not really ... it just seems that way) in the middle of our high traffic areas. I was leisurely walking through the living room and planted my bare foot right on top of one of what had to be the pointiest matchbox cars ever created. I dropped to the floor like I was in the middle of a gang related drive-by. I was rolling around on the floor whimpering as if I actually had been shot in said fictitious drive-by. Currently, I have a quarter sized bruise on the bottom of my foot. Put your toys away Cameron. And hold the cheese. This one's mine.

Final Score =

Tom - 2
Alison - 1

Alright,  I don't really think that I'll continue to relive more tragic events. I'll close by saying that it's a good thing that I like cheese. I'll just bow my head and retreat. But, not before I go whine to my husband that we're plum out of crackers.

Potty Training 101 - Neatly Wrapped

I know that I had mentioned in the previous post that I would refrain from any sort of potty talk until later down the blog road. Well, I lied. I have been engulfed in toilet training techniques for months. I think that it has earned it's shot at 15 minutes of fame.

My son, Cameron (3) is currently enrolled in Potty Training 101 (via home school). I am almost certain that we've finally made some real progress ... enough progress to consider him trained-ish. I added the "ish" so that you would not be alarmed  if my next post involves midnight sheet changes or taking a wizz down the candy aisle at 7-11. It's been a long and tedious journey.

Bad Luck? Could this be why it all went wrong?

My early attempts at toilet training were unsuccessful. First, we introduced him to his very own potty seat. It was one of the cool ones that had a removable squishy seat - for his comfort, of course. I thought it was the Cadillac of miniature toilets ... Cameron didn't see it that way. He used the removable seat as a hat, a necklace, a lion's mane or any other form of headgear that he could think of. As for the potty itself ... that was his "washer machine". After he tinkled in his firetruck undies, he would take them off, shove them inside, close the lid, imitate a swishing sound and finish off the ritual with a swift roll of the hips. After that display, he would remove the wet undies and consider them "all clean". The Cadillac potty chair now resides in the back of the storage closet.

Our next attempt included a seat that fits right onto the toilet. To make a long story short ... it's in the back of the closet with the Cadillac.

By this point, operation pee in the potty was a complete failure. However, operation pee in a big yellow Tonka dump truck was a huge success. Go figure. He liked to call this dump truck his "potty truck".  I couldn't be too upset with him, he was peeing into something other than his underoos.

Later attempts involved lots of pee-pee dances, sticker prizes, M&M rewards and even the "you're in charge of your own pee/poo and cleanup" tactic. None of those things worked. We continued this mother - son power struggle for weeks. I was convinced that he was going to be wearing his Huggies indefinitely. Dramatic? Nah ... boys are harder to train than girls. I learned this first hand. My daughter was fully trained within a day ... I'd like to call that false advertising.

After a near mommy breakdown, a fellow stay at home mommy (and my lovely cousin, Kimberly) gave me an idea. Not just any idea ... the BEST idea of them all. Beautifully wrapped, yet untouchable, presents were neatly placed in a basket and strategically positioned within an arms reach of the toilet. You could only get one of these beauties if your #2's went into the you know where. It was kind of like Hanukkah ... only not really like that at all.

Downside - He's learned how to manipulate the system. He delivers the goods several times a day ... in small deposits. This means he gets between 3 and 5 gifts daily. Don't get me wrong, these gifts range from Matchbox cars to bubbles ... most of which came from the local $1 store ... but, my wallet is feeling the burn. And I thought that diapers are expensive ... pfffft!!

Upside - All of the number 1's and 2's have hit the water for the past few days. Bribery is a beautiful thing. I recommend this technique.

So there you have it .... Potty Training 101 - Neatly Wrapped. Or something like it.

Welcome to my world ...

My name is Alison. I'm a 30 year old (I only put my age because I thought that one day it may be relevant. Ever since I hit the big 3-0, age is a pretty touchy subject for me. I am exactly 9 months and 2 days older than my husband. Lucky him. Pffft. He reminds me of our slight age difference often.) wife and mother. My job title goes way beyond "Stay at Home Mom" ... I could choose a more fancy title like Peacekeeper, Ruler of the Little People or even Mayor of Crazy Town ... but for now, I'll leave it at "Stay at Home Mom". I have two wonderful children ... 9 year old Aubree, she's beautiful and brilliant. And 3 year old Cameron, he's my inquisitive little power house. They are great ... they eat all of the food, they can induce a minor headache, and occasionally pee and/or poo on things. Wait! Forget that I said that ... pee and poo are not classy enough for my first post. Stay tuned for future stories of that nature ... I have a 3 year old potty trainee. I've been married for almost 8 years to the love of my life, Tom. As corny as it may sound ... he's also my BFF (an acronym for "best friend forever" - for those of you without a 9 year old daughter). We live in a small town in northern Virginia. Both of us were born and raised here. Tom would pack up the family and move away if I gave him the 'okay'. Sadly, I'm not a huge fan of maps or foreign grocery stores. It'll never happen. I really do like it here. Besides, most of my family also resides here. Including my wonderful Mom ... you can call her Donna or SGT D for short. She's another one of my BFF's ... leaving her would not only break my heart ... it would also break my babysitter hook-up. What stay at home mom, in her right mind, would forfeit a babysitter for the great unknown? Not this one. 


I know that most folks have entertaining tales about their lives, however I'm pretty certain that my family goes above and beyond the call of duty when it comes to hilarity. Hence the newest member of my family ... my blog. You ask and you shall receive! Here it is ... the casual ramblings of a Supermom (sans cape). 

Was that good?? I'm new to this blogging thing, I'm not exactly sure what the rules are - if any.

Sadly, I have to go. My son just did a face plant into the floor while pretending he was a "horsey". He recovered from his sloppy dismount and slapped his sister ... she was giggling. Hello "time out chair"...

I look forward to the next installment of m'blog ... I hope you do too.