Please Let Me Know, I'm Curious.

1. There is a mosque (a place where Muslims go to worship) near my home. I drive past this mosque on a regular basis. Sometimes, ever so briefly, I find myself daydreaming about camels (yes, camels). I have a pretty unique (and perhaps, ridiculous) question. When a mosque has an event, such as Vacation Koran School (I assume this exists), do the directors bring camels at the end of the week?  You know, like a treat for the kiddies. If anyone has attended Vacation Koran School, please let me know. I'm curious. 

(I'm also curious where one finds a camel-for-hire. My son's 4th birthday is quickly approaching. Camel rides would surely put Cameron at the top of the "Best Aladdin Themed Birthday Party" list.) 

2.  Milk. It has a "Sell By" date tattooed on the container, right? No duh. We all know that it does. But, what good does that do us, the consumer? Seriously. Why doesn't the tattoo say "Drink By"?

Dear Cow-Aide Makers,


How long do we actually have before the calcium rich liquid turns into an undrinkable solid? Come on guys ... at least tattoo a description of what kind of a smell we can expect once it becomes undrinkable. 


Sincerely, 
A Curious Consumer

If anyone out there knows the translation for the "Sell By" date, please let me know. I'm curious.

3. While driving to one of our local Wal-Marts (I know, I know ... you might be a redneck if your town has more Wal-marts than it does Starbucks), we were behind a firetruck and an ambulance. Both emergency vehicles had their lights and sirens in full weee-ooooh-weee-oooooh force. I assumed that they were speeding to the same emergency. However, I couldn't help but wonder .... What if they were not heading to the same emergency? Who has to pull over? The firetruck ... or the ambulance. If any hometown heroes have ever been in this situation, please let me know. I'm curious. 

4. The microwave setting called "POPCORN". I don't like popcorn very much. I like the way that it tastes, it's those obnoxious kernels that I'm picking out of my bicuspids for the next 3 hours that I don't fancy. However, I have two children that rely on the buttery snack (well, actually just one … the other has a shiny set of braces on her teeth). My microwave has a convenient "POPCORN" button on the control panel. I put the popcorn in, press said button, wait until the microwave dings, remove the bag and open it, only to find that my popcorn (which I patiently waited 1 minute and 40 seconds for) is burnt. Why don't the manufacturers of microwaves just take 10 seconds off of this setting?

Sometimes, I cannot help but to feel as though the button is taunting me.

Button - "Push me! Go ahead. You know you want to!"

Me - "Ooooh … That's handy. Thank you, Button."

Button - "Good Luck!"

Microwave - "Beeeeep. Beeeeep."

Me - "Crap. Hold on Cameron, it's burnt. Let me try another bag."

Button - "Bahahahaaaaaa ….. Suckerrrrrrr!! You fell for it … AGAIN! You're so lazy. Is it that difficult to just stand beside me and wait 1 minute and 30 seconds? The bag warned you. When you hear 2 seconds between POPS … your food is done. Better luck next time, loser."

Me - "Shut up, Button."

So, if you are Mr. Maytag, Mr. Kenmore or Mr. GE … why don't you just take 10 wimpy seconds off of the "POPCORN" button setting, please let me know. I'm curious. 

I'm a Good Sharer.

First.

I'm sorry.

I've been on hiatus for far too long. I've actually lost one fan from my Facebook Fan Page (quitter). I'd like to extend a huge 'thank you' to those of you who decided to ride this thing out.

Anyhoo …

The problem is this … I'm lazy (shocking, I know).

The solution is this … Guest blogger! Why didn't I think of this sooner? (There are a couple other funny ladies that I'd also like to guest blog … as soon as I can find good blackmail material … they'll make their debut.)

Let me give you a little background history before you read my guest blogger's post (without the history … you might be left with a humongous HUH??).

A dear friend of mine (and one of the classiest, funniest and most entertaining gals that I've ever known) wrote a blog for me … errrm you. When questioned what she would blog about, a Facebook conversation ensued.

Read on.

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      J-Bro oooooooooooh!!! what topic can we discuss? love? bunny rabbits? sex? toothpics? drano? (drano, because i recently used it and i think it's amazing shit.)
      

      4 hours ago ·  ·  1 person
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      Nen You pick...I'll read!!
      

      4 hours ago · 
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      J-Bro ahahaa! okie dokie...let me put on my thinkin' cap.
      

      4 hours ago · 
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      Me I vote drano. I'd kinda like to see where that goes. No, wait … I'm fairly certain I already know where that goes.
      
      How about 2 bunnies … in love … doing "it" … while chewing on toothpicks … in front of a plumber. ANNNNND … GO!
      

      4 hours ago · 
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      Nen Ohhh good one Al!!! Love it :)
      

      4 hours ago · 
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      J-Bro you gals know that my wheels are already turning, right? i already have their names picked out. the bunnie's only. i'll work on the plumber's alias.
      

      4 hours ago · 

And there you have it … The beginning of a beautiful fable. Enjoy! 

**** Note ****

The Guest Blogger is not a bunny hater. She wishes no harm on innocent bunny rabbits. She is, by no means, trying to disrespect our bunny owning readers. And finally, she is a huge fan of all hopping things (she didn't say this … I'm just using my bosom buddy intuition)."Bah-dee, Bah-dee, Bah-dee … That's all Folks." 

So my dear friend, Alison, has offered was forced to allow me a spot on her blog since it had been some time since she’d had a chance to post and a few of the natives were getting restless.  Topics were thrown out there and though I have a plethora of true-life-make-fun-of-myself chronicles, I decided that I’d write a short fable instead (using the topics discussed – bunnies, sex, toothpicks and Drano.  I know Al knows all about my adventures (and has been there for many of them over the past 10 years), but I’m not sure you readers are ready for such vulgarity and adventure.  I’ll save those if I’m invited back again.  :)

2 bunnies in love  doing it while chewing on toothpicks in front of a plumber…A love story.

Once upon a time, Princess Wiggle Butt was hopping along in the forest (she’s a bunny, you see, though not an actual princess) when she came upon an old log cabin.  It’s lights were on and she could see inside.  There was an old lady inside.  She was stirring something on the stove.  Looking around through the window, PWB noticed there was a cage on a table.  Hopping to another window to get a better look, she saw that there was a bunny in the cage.  She was horrified.  She’d never have been able to be caged up like that.  She caught eyes with the bunny and at once, decided that she needed to help it escape.

PWB sniffed and wandered all around the cabin, every now and then peering in to see where the old lady was and what she was doing.  She found a spot she thought she could get through.  While she was searching, she decided that since it was getting dark, she’d wait until morning to try to get in.

She could barely sleep.  Excited for her mission.  Worried that maybe this bunny didn’t want to be rescued.  Pushing that thought aside (because who wants to be stuck in a cage), she was able to doze off for a bit until the sun coming through the trees woke her.  PWB hopped back to the spot she found to get into the old cabin.  Worming her way through, she popped through the logs and realized that she was safe from sight behind the old lady’s refrigerator. 

Listening, she realized that she might have gotten there before the old lady woke.  Perfect!  Peering around the fridge, she spotted the caged bunny.  Oh!  He’s very handsome, thought Princess.  Bunnies know just by looking at another bunny if they are a boy or a girl.  It’s a gift.  She hopped over to his cage and woke him.  “Psssssst, psssst.”  “Oh, hello.  How did you get in here?” the caged bunny asked.  Princess Wiggle Butt told him how she’d seen him through the window and found a way in to rescue him.  He thanked her over and over while she was opening the cage.  He hopped out and she asked him his name, figuring if she was going to help him get out of there, she should at least know his name.  He was hesitant, but after a few moments he replied “Bugs.”  Princess Wiggle Butt could not stop laughing.  What bunny rabbit is named Bugs?  I mean, really?  What about Zeus or Popeye or Diddy?  Bugs started back for the cage, head hanging down.  PWB hopped over apologizing for laughing.  He explained that his parents’ owners watched a lot of cartoons growing up and Bugs Bunny was the cartoon of choice.  Realizing that she’d hurt his feelings by laughing, PWB said she was sorry then realized they had to get out of there before the old lady woke up.  They scooted behind the refrigerator and out of the hole Princess had gotten in. 

Once outside, they found a spot behind the cottage and stopped to take a breather.  Princess Wiggle Butt and Bugs found that they had a lot in common.  Both liked carrots, had a million brothers and sisters and both enjoyed listening to old school R&B (New Edition preferably).  The two found some corn by the trash and shared a cob.  They found a few twigs and widdled them down to a point – making their very own toothpicks!  The corn they had just snacked on was stuck in their teeth.  PWB asked Bugs how he’d managed to get caught in a cage.  He explained that he and his old girlfriend, J-Lo, had been frolicking in the forest and both stumbled into the cages that the old lady had set up for bunnies.  The old lady enjoyed bunny stew.  Seeing the look in Bugs’ eyes, she knew that J-Lo had been in the pot that the old lady had been stirring when she was looking through the windows. 

Feeling awful for Bugs losing his love, she did what any girl bunny would have done.  She gazed into his eyes, gave him a peck on the cheek and scooted herself in front of him.  Looking back, she gave him a nod and a wink and he hopped on Princess Wiggle Butt’s back and did what bunnies do.  “It.”

In the heat of the moment, they didn’t notice the truck pull up.  Before they knew it, a man with a toolbox was standing over them.  He had on a hat that said Royal Flush Plumbing Service and a name badge on his shirt that said Woody.

The Princess Wiggle Butt and Bugs, obviously embarrassed, stopped what they were doing and asked Woody what he was doing there. 

J-Lo’s leftovers had broken the garbage disposal. :x

The End.

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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.