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.