Do you have the fever for the flavor of House of Cards?

photo credit wikipedia

My husband has been out of town. Since Thursday. He gets home tonight and I can’t wait. It’s been so long. Ever so long. Just me and the kids and animated shows with catchy songs. I can’t wait for him to walk in that door….and watch some damn House of Cards with me.

It’s his own fault really. He was like some pusher, rolling up my sleeve and gently telling me it only pinches for a moment and then the high is so good, so smooth, and so very evil. Just like that I was addicted. When previously I would pass out around 9 pm after getting the kids to bed now I was sneaking down stairs for  secret rendezvous with Frank Underwood. And my husband of course. Just one I would say and my pusher would smile and nod knowingly…and hit play on the old Netflix.

At the end of the  episode we would sit mouths agape craving more. Just one more hit. Just one. And Netflix obliges. Sit back, they say, we’ll take care of the rest. House of Cards episode 21 beginning in 18 seconds…17 seconds…16.

One episode turns into three, then four and the suddenly it’s one in the morning and my children will be up before the sun and I am half baked pregnant and yet tearing myself away is difficult. Especially knowing that we have so few left to watch.

My husband and I promised we wouldn’t watch without one another. He’s on his way home. I can’t wait to see Frank again.


Are you watching? Want a hit?



Stop the wife shaming- You’re probably NOT making these wife mistakes.

I love this grown man, who is not a baby. And he loves me...even in yoga pants that have never been to yoga.

I love this grown man, who is not a baby. And he loves me…even in yoga pants that have never been to yoga.

Every so often one of those Five Ways I’m Failing My Marriage or Five Ways to Be A Better Wife posts come along and they always make me nuts. Now that I am pregnant and I can’t stand even the smallest amount of BS one popped up today and just made me furious. The common demonitator here is, of course, me. Why do these make me so insane? I really thought about it and then I realized what it is.

It is the insulting way we expect our men to be morons. Listen, I’m not saying they can’t BE morons or that we wives can’t BE morons. We’re human. We mess up. It’s okay. But we intruct our men that we expect so very little of them and yet we consistently pump out the posts guilting ourselves and our fellow women into feeling like we don’t do enough. Not so much the “daddy bloggers” with these posts, am I right?

Today’s As A Wife, I Am Guilty Of These Five Things ( AND YOU PROBABLY ARE TOO!) had a couple of true gems that just really pissed me off…and offended me on behalf of my husband.

First and foremost, submit to your man sexually no matter what mood you’re in or how your day has gone. Come on, is this 1942? Of COURSE I’ve rallied for my man when I didn’t feel like it, we all have. And you know what makes me want to rally for him the most? That time and time again he has said and shown that he doesn’t enjoy it if I don’t. That he gets zero pleasure out of my grinning and bearing it while he gets his rocks off. Not what he – and probably your husband too- wants. And if it IS what he wants? You to just shut up and take it? Then we have some more important issues to discuss. I do rally for my man and you know what? He rallies for me. It might not be sexually but I as a wife have needs too that must be fulfilled. It’s a two way street. Sometimes he rallies by putting away the ipad and listening to the minutae of my day. What happened in preschool, who said what on the internet. We discuss articles we’ve read and shows we want to see and talk all manner of House of Cards and it’s comparisons to MacBeth. I know he is tired after working a long day, just as I am tired after a day of toddler terrorist negotiations and OMG why did no one tell me that dealing with a 5 year old boy can be like dealing with a 13 year old girl? (The mood swings are terrifyingly quick.) I know he wants to zone out and kill Zombies on the ipad, but he sits next to me and gives me his attention. That’s rallying for me and it makes me want to rally right back.That’s sexy. Marriage is a two way street, baby.

And guess what if some nights I just can’t rally? He’s a grown man, he can handle it. He can. And if he can’t rally and just needs to shoot some zombies? I can handle that too.

I quote  I often forget that my husband needs my attention, my encouragement and my admiration as much as, if not more than, my children. Ummmm what? I don’t know about your husband, but mine is a grown man. Sure, he needs encouragement. We all do. And I try my best to be his biggest cheerleader but he is a fully actualized human being- meaning he can acknowledge when he himself has done a good job and is motivated by things other than applause. Also? He loves our kids, he knows developmentally their self esteem is still forming and they are figuring things out. I can and do encourage my husband, he is AMAZING. He works crazy hard for our family and I know he gets dissapointed that we aren’t moving forward as quickly as we’d like, but I can encourage him with a hug, a kiss, a smile, a kind and specific word about what he is doing at work or at home. Why do we yet again expect our husbands to be more sensitive, needier, and more helpless than our children? My husband is able to quickly assess a situation and recognize that our child needs a bigger WAY TO GO!!! than he does. Because he is a grown freaking man. We can all do better to encourage our husbands and they can do better to encourage us. A kind word is always good…but to insinuate that they are such weaklings they need it more than children? Is insulting to them as men and to them as fathers.

Next up, control. We need to give them major props any time they do anything at home even if they attempt to instruct us on how to load the diswasher and should hold our tongues and let them feel manly for telling us how to do it. Listen. Dishes get clean people,  whether they’re loaded my way or his. Who cares? I can’t be bothered with this.The one and only thing I wish I could teach him is how to make a neat little dirty diaper envelope so everything is contained. He just tosses those bad boys in the container and we have a houdini dog and it makes me insane. He can’t be bothered. However, he wishes I would learn how to turn on the damn x-box kinnect so he doesn’t have too. Chances are he just hates doing poopy diapers and wants me to handle them and chances are I am lazy and just want him to play kinnect with the kids. And we are cool with that. And it doesn’t make him feel disprespected (because he is grown freaking man and knows what disrespectful really is) and I don’t feel disrespected either.


Not only are you failing at housekeeping, sex and basically everything else…also you’re slovenly. Oh the SHAME! My husband came home the other day and I was in leggings. He still wanted to get busy. I got all dressed up the other day. He wanted to get busy. I had the stomach flu and when I finally took a shower and put on some chapstick he told me I looked beautiful. I should make more of an effort in this department but not just to please him. I am in the trenches still with two little ones and one more on the way and nothing fits and just UGH. If I get dressed up and put on full make up, it’s for me…it makes ME feel good. Of course Zach likes it when I get dressed up just as I think he is dreamy when he gets all dressed and put on his cologne. No one smells better than my husband. No one. It’s really hard in this stage in life, we spend all day crawling on the ground with kids, fetching things, changing diapers…it’s easy and practical to wear comfortable clothes you can move in and let’s stop fighting that yoga pants aren’t everywhere? They are. And they’re comfy and practical and easy to wash. They’re also easy to take off. If he came home and I was all made up, wearing a pencil skirt and a nice blouse he would laugh his ass off. Not that he wouldn’t think I look pretty, he would just think it was a really impractical fashion choice for the tasks at hand. We can easily take 5 seconds to put on a little lip gloss, a statement necklace over that cute T and jeans makes it an outfit. Easy to do and yes, our husbands appreciate it.And they can at least try to keep their hands out of their pants while they watch tv. But you’re not failing at wifedom if he shows up and you’ve got Mac n Cheese dumped in your lap and you’re desperately trying to get your 2 year old to eat ANYTHING. If anything it’s good for him to see how hard you work, maybe you could use a word of encouragement too.


My problem with these articles is not that they want us to to get dressed or care for our husbands. That’s good advice. It’s the consistent babying of our men and the utter disregard for OUR needs. Marriage isn’t give and take; it’s give and recieve. I give encouragement- I recieve encouragement. I give love- I receive love.

But both my husband and myself are offended at the implication that he is some insipid fool who needs to be catered too.
Let’s stop mom shaming, wife shaming, woman shaming. Let’s stop expecting so little from our men. Let’s all encourage each other.

It’s hard to be two.


"we getting cookies?"

“we getting cookies?”

It’s just hard to be two. Sometimes you wake up – okay everyday you wake up- and all you want is milk in your damn red Lightning McQueen sippy cup. Not the black one, the red one. And every day your mommy will nervously hand you your milk in your red Lightning McQueen sippy cup and then OH MY GAWD SHE GAVE YOU MILK IN YOUR RED LIGHTNING MCQUEEN SIPPY CUP! So obviously you have to just toss it across the room and cry because of the indignity of it all. Then as mommy retrieves the sippy cup you have to give her the saddest look in the world and blink down some serious alligator tears because now she has the sippy cup and you want it. That worked! Now you have your beloved milk in your red Lightning McQueen sippy cup!

Next up, cereal. No, not that one! What is brother having? Chex? THAT ONE! Right there. In the bowl. With milk today and the orange spoon. Has to be the orange spoon. No other spoon could ever spoon up that cereal. Wait…no. NO cereal! Quickly push cereal away and spill milk. This is so tiring, now you have to cry because somehow there is now cold milk in your lap!  You need to be consoled due to the freezing tragedy but mommy’s going on and on about not pushing the cereal bowl like that and time outs. Time out? Is she kidding? No, you’ll  just lay right here on the kitchen floor and scream for a while. She says that’s cool you can have your time out right there and how can she be cleaning up that mess and ignoring your cries when you’re clearly in need of cuddles? You shift gears.

Cue saddest sweetest voice in the whole world “mommy I want you.” That’s good. Stick out lower lip, reach up for her and when she picks you up hold on like a baby howler monkey. Make sure to get fluffy good smelling hair right under her nose and breathe on her neck. She’ll cave. Now, sweet smile and say  “anola bah peese?” despite protestations, mommy has switched us to organic honey sweetened granola bars. But they still have a few chocolate chips and they’re actually pretty good. “Sure baby”  she coos and sits you back down in your cushie tushie booster. Quickly hands you and your big bother granola bars. Totally unfair he gets to sit at the counter and you’re in this baby chair. Note to self: plot baby chair escape.

Recieve granola bar with big smile and say “thank you” this will get you far. Look at her beam with pride. It’s so easy. By the time mommy turns around to give brother his granola bar you break yours into three pieces. OH NO! Broken granola bar! You simply have to freak out, there is no other choice! Mommy will turn around utterly confused as to what could have happened in 2 seconds?? Silly woman. My bar is busted!!!

Brother says “No look Huckie! My bar is the same!” he holds up his granola bar, it’s in three pieces too! “We have the same, Boo! It’s cool!”

You look at your bar and it’s three awesome pieces, beam at brother and say “it’s cooo!”

Mommy whispers something to brother, something about how sweet that was and she’s so thankful and proud that he thought of  that on his own. Whatever. Brother looks at you with a big smile and takes a bite, now you Boo! he says.

You do the same. It’s pretty yummy. Take a swig of your red Lightning McQueen sippy cup and bask in the knowlege that you’re just like brother and that is so cool.

Man this morning was exhausting. Too bad you’ve decided to never freaking nap again.


Being two is exhausting.

The pressure of a 3rd.


From the moment we announced I was pregnant with our third baby it started. The comments. From anyone and everyone. Strangers who saw me at the store, good friends, family. “Oh! I hope it’s a girl. You want a girl, right?” “Trying for a girl were you?” “that better be a girl.”

Sure, a girl would be lovely. Different but lovely. A little scary, since I myself was no picnic as a kid and teen, but yes, I confess I dreamt of little shoes and dresses and such. But I’ve found that when I would smile and say the trite but true “seriously we just want healthy” people would nod knowingly and smile and couldn’t resist a “Of course! Still, a girl would be nice right?”

Only one person said “Three boys sounds like heaven to me.” and I held on to that because it sounds heavenly to me too. Three healthy babies xx or xy sounds heavenly to me. Sounds like something I know so many people would give anything to have.

I started to feel a lot of pressure, as if I would disappoint these people, these strangers in the store if I should fail to produce a female child. Everyone seemed singularly focused on a girl baby. This had to be a girl baby. It just had too. How would I face people, friends, family and random people about town with three boys? I was starting to believe I would almost feel embarrassed by it and that’s not what I want. Would we be moving on “gonna try one more time?” Because the answer is no. Boy or girl this is it. My children are my world and my world is large enough, thank you. Still it seemed like I would disappoint everyone. Finally I just started being honest. “You know I’m feeling like everyone is going to be disappointed if this is a boy!” People would laugh nervously and reassure me they wouldn’t be, but still followed up with one more “but the little ruffles!” or something of the like. As we grew closer to finding out my anxiety grew. With the ultrasound scheduled for the 24th I was surprised when the nurse from my OB called with results from my blood test from the previous visit. Everything was fine, right? She assured me it was but that with the broad spectrum blood test they had a 99.5% accurate gender prediction and did I want to know?

I did. Of course I did.

It felt a bit as if time slowed down, I sat in the rocking chair and prepared myself, either way I would be happy but I knew if it was a boy I’d better prepare some snappy come backs, because if it was another boy I would want him to know I was never disappointed. Three boys does sound like heaven. Loud, messy heaven.

I made her tell me three times, not believing her. “I have two boys so I just want to make sure I really hear it.” She was so patient and happy for me. She laughed with me as I tried to process, something I am still doing. What I didn’t share with her is that I felt a little relief when she said “it’s a girl!” Relief that people wouldn’t be disappointed. Relief that I wouldn’t have to constantly tell people I was happy to have three little boys. I find that as I allow myself to get excited about a daughter I also find myself mourning a little bit for the little boy I was prepared to defend simply for being. My two boys are such good friends I know a third would have just added to the fun. But they are so excited for a little sister, it’s what my oldest has been requesting since his brother was 6 months old. I’m starting to really look forward to the girl stuff..whatever she decides that entails. And my boys are excited too.


But I’m going to be double and triple checking on that ultrasound on the 24th.

and here I was wearing stilettos.

Philip Seymour Hoffman passed away and it has caused a great rift in our world. Perhaps because he didn’t cross most of our minds on a daily basis. Sure, if we saw him we thought oh man, he is amazing in insert everything he ever did here.Perhaps it’s because despite the fact that we as a whole never really connected with HIM we certainly did with his work. Each character he played he embodied fully, each one breathed differently, it was almost as if he was able to change himself on a cellular level to bring life to them. He was evil then goofy, then a master manipulator, then a man whose every dream dissapointed him and he himself showed up to awards ceremonies looking as if he barely bothered to look in the mirror and we loved it.  He certainly was a transcendent artist and like so many before him, he struggled. It’s a misnomer to say that addiction targets those of the brilliant artistic mind, those tortured artists. 26 people died from heroine overdoses in Philly in January and nary a one was a world famous tortured artist. But addiction’s jaws snatched one of the great artists of our time this week. And while we mourn the loss of each character that touched us, that infuriated us, that connected us, we also mourn the might have beens.

We will never know what he would have brought us in the next 20 years. Much like we still mourn the loss of Heath Ledger and what he would have brought in the next 20 years. Another brilliant artistic mind. Another one addiction stole too soon.

Hoffman left behind a girlfriend Mimi O’Donnell, of 20 years and three children, the oldest of which is ten. Heath Ledger left behind an ex, clearly still loved and a daughter so young none of her memories of his voice will come from anything other than a movie.

One of the great things Hoffman’s career did was make us feel as if we are not alone. His characters in their struggles they knew what we were going through. That is the single greatest thing art can do, I believe, connect us. Make us feel not alone in this wide scary world. Sometimes you feel all alone, no one can understand what you’re going through and then art can show take your hand and walk you through it. This is why it is noteable that in real life Michelle Williams reached out to Hoffman’s partner. Williams knows all to terribly well what Ms. O’Donnel is going through. I can only imagine how comforting it is to have someone know exactly what you’re going through at a time like this. Even while wishing no one did.

Thankfully, Page Six not only reported that she came to visit but what she wore. In this case, an olive drab jacket and fleece lined duck boots. Because that is important information that warrents being above the scroll (which is the new above the fold). And truly,  the wrong condolence shoes can make or break a greiving process. I suppose it might have been newsworthy should she have arrived in her stunning yellow Oscar dress resplendant with jewels ( as I sidenote if I owned that dress I would be like that one stand up comic in the 80’s who wore her wedding dress all the time. I’d wear that thing to Costco, Target, Little League Games, to vaccuum) but what is important in this story is that people who knew him loved him. They took the time to visit his loved ones. To share memories that I wish I was privvy too, the stories of working with him, of knowing him. His art connected people, his life connected people and now sadly his death connects people.

And page six? No one gives a crap what they wore.

tossing out the kids lunch was a “mistake”

Tiny me. I cut my own hair. Hide your suprise.

Tiny me. I cut my own hair. Hide your suprise.

I can’t stop thinking about these kids in Utah- I’m sure you’ve heard about it- the ones who were either out of money on their lunch cards or had a debt and although they had a tray of food in their hands it was taken away and they were told, basically, “no lunch for you”. They were given milk and fruit, the calories of which I am sure were burned quickly away by the humilation and shame of the experience leaving none left for science or math.

I feel their humilation. Although this exact thing never happened to me, growing up I remember all to well waiting at the check out of the grocery store as they scanned my mother’s check. Would it go through or would we have to leave the food there and go home empty handed? My mother worked hard, she was tough and resourceful, she made it look like we had way more than we did and she made sure I never missed an opportunity I wanted. Not that I appreciated it then, I was so messed up I have a lot of guilt over the sacrifices she made and how I wasted those opportunities. But even working hard we were frequently paycheck to paycheck. Or worse. As soon as my mother took out her check book I could feel my face growing red, feel the anxiety ball churning in my stomach, lowering my head but keeping my eyes on that tell tale screen. Approved? Denied? I’m sure it took less than 30 seconds for all the information to be transferred back and forth but it felt like ages. Approved meant a deep breath and a feeling of repreive. Declined meant I wanted to die. Usually meant I’d throw up from nerves right when I got home.  All these years later I can see it as if I am right there, right now.

And my mother was not lazy or a freeloader. She worked so hard, like so many Americans barely making it.

There were times when kids from my school were at the store too, and that made it so much worse. I knew they knew, even if they didn’t…I felt like they did. And they judged me for it.

How must these children have felt to have food literally taken away from them in front of their friends? Try as you might in school there is a gap between the haves and have nots. How will this affect their self esteem? Their school work? Their friendships. If money is owed take it up with the parents. If it’s a constant problem, set up something, even telling the child no more food, but PRIVATELY.

When did adults begin acting so horribly towards children? I supposed they always have. Now the principal of the school says it was a “mistake”, a mistake. Yes, it is always a mistake to humilate children isn’t it? I’m certain there is a better way to handle this. School, especially elementary school is supposed to be a safe place, for some kids it’s the only safe place.

It’s such a simple thing and yet so devastating. And it didn’t have to happen if only the adults had thought. Kids aren’t freeloaders. They’re just kids.  I guess that’s why I am so upset about it. What do you think?



I entered what I thought was my password and said a quick prayer…

I entered what I thought was my password and said a quick prayer and it worked. I’m in. Oh wordpress dashboard you look exactly the same. I thought that in three months perhaps you might look different but you don’t. Same old same old.

I swear as I opened the laptop the hinges squealed like an old attic door and the apple logo brightly shone illumintating all the dust in the  newly disturbed air.

It’s not that I haven’t wanted to write, or even that I had nothing to say, I did and I do. Sometimes the minutae of life can seem so big, so overwhelming that I am easily paralyzed by it. There were holidays and family visits and good news and bad. All of it just swamped me and suddenly it’s been ages and how do you jump back into blogging?

I suppose you just do it.

I’m pregnant. Again. At a ‘certain age’ and oh! I am exhausted! Thankfully I am in the second trimester now and although I am still nauseous, my HG has lessened and I know longer am in danger of throwing up so much I land back in the hospital. I had morning sickness with Max and Huck but lucky me I was diagnosed with Hyperemis Gravidum. Vast amounts of Zofran and a combo of Unisom/B6 has kept me moving. Barely. I was introduced to an HG forum on line and I was so very thankful that despite my feeling as if I might die (and honestly we went to the emergency room once because I truly thought I was) my case of HG was mild compared to some. Now I wake up with energy and a million plans but by 11 am the fetus has sucked out all my energy and I stare at my bed longing to cocoon myself in and snuggle up with Detectives Benson and Stabler who always seem to be solving one crime or another. They’re like Lester Holt. Never a day off.

I had grand plans of an adorable photo with my two sweet boys announcing a baby on the way but this is what we got Christmas morning.


Fitting isn’t it? It should be known that Huckleberry isn’t a nose picker usually. Honestly! I think I’ve seen him do this a total of two times. And one of them is immortalized forever (in our family anyway)

So I guess this is me jumping in. Back into blogging.


Sometimes an Only Child isn’t an Only Child.


My mom says there were plans to give me a sibling, but when my dad was killed when I was 18 months old that sort of put a stop to that. The hot air and memories of Texas drove my mom out, to higher, drier ground. To Boulder, Colorado. I was 3 and so once we were settled in a cute little house with the previous owners hunting dogs and ducks curtains I was enrolled in Boulder Montessori School. Such a simple thing to do, enroll your kid in preschool. Sometimes I think “what would have happened if mom chose a different preschool?” Thank God she didn’t.  In choosing that school I was given the greatest blessing; a sibling.

Immediately I met Heather. Our parents joke that we were twins born 3 months and 1,000 miles apart. They’re not wrong. I believe strongly in twin ESP because although Heather is not my twin we have always been able to read each others mind, finish each others thoughts, feel when one is hurt. There was a time in college when we went our ways, no anger or anything, it’s hard to find out who you are when who you are is half of a whole. Whenever we met back up at home for Christmas we would find out we were working in the same store, taking the same classes, living the same lives…it was weird and awesome.

I had a single mother, Heather’s mother was my mother’s best friend. Her father was on his own journey so at the time of our growing up he was mostly gone. Unless we were giggling late and night and woke him up. That my friends, was the scariest thing ever. So Heather and I met our mirror images and I think so did our mothers. We made our own family. Hannukah at Heather’s house, Christmas at mine. Yeah, Heather and I like to make it easy on mom by actually putting our pillows on the tree skirt and sleeping under the tree. Sorry mom. I don’t have many childhood memories without her. I don’t have many memories in adulthood without her. When she moved to LA and we were all together it was perfect. I’ve never been so happy. Then we got pregnant at the same time and it was like every childhood Let’s Pretend game ever. My nephew is 6 days older than Max. It couldn’t have been more perfect. We moved away from Heather when Max was ten weeks old. I prayed until the last minute that something would save me. It’s the hardest thing I have ever done, our kids were supposed to grow up together like we did. We were supposed to have family dinners every week. Heather told me that she, Ammar and Isaiah had been looking to move into the same neighborhood we were in before we moved.

I am still heartbroken. I still can’t believe it and I still think someday we will all be together again.

But life goes on. Our first month apart Heather and I texted over 500 times. We quickly moved to an unlimited texting plan. Eventually I gave into the fact that I actually live here, away from her. I like it here, I really do and it’s better for the my kids here. But living without my sister is hard. I always say I have a sister, because I do. I may not have been born to her family or her to mine, but she’s more than a best friend. She is my sister.

Today is her birthday and I am not there. I’m not there to go to our favorite cheap-o LA nail place then hit Aroma Cafe or Poquito Mas for lunch. I’m not there to make her a cake or give her her present. I’m not there to tell her in person how I can’t live without her. How much I love her. It hurts a lot.

There’s a big party in her honor, as there should be! She’s amazing, she’s perfect in my eyes. I won’t be at her party. I won’t get to raise a glass to her turning 29 (again) But we’ve been sisters long enough for me to know that even though I am not there in person she knows I’m there. 

I miss you Heather, I love you, I can’t live without my sister. I hope you have the happiest birthday ever and when you blow out the candles I hope you get whatever your heart desires.

Happy Birthday. T.S.I.S.

(BTW this picture is from my 8th(?) birthday. Please note how lovely and put together Heather looks. I am a hot mess.

photo (2)

It so that way.


That time I had to re-set my WP password. Alternate title: hello, it’s been a while.

 “I dont want to say I’m pissed that you haven’t written – but I’m kinda pissed you haven’t written.” My friend KG.


It’s not that there hasn’t been anything to write about. There was the time Max went to a birthday party at a stable and his horse got spooked. Nothing like the terrified screams of 20 parents as a horse gallops away with your five year old hanging upside down by one stirrup. Lesson I learned: a spooked horse may only gallop with your five year old hanging upside down by one stirrup for approximately 25 feet but it feels like 25 miles.


Max was terrified, but shook it off and got right back on that horse. Literally. Lucky for me I was able to drown myself in birthday cupcakes.

(Tell me that is not one BEAUTIFUL birthday girl.)


Mini Nate Archibald and Chuck Bass. But with much better morals. And much less money.


Max’s BF Jake. Heartbreaker.

We spent the warm fall at farms with good friends and bonfires and firewords. Not too shabby.


(Max’s best bud Isaac. Every time I can get this kid in front of the camera, I do. )

PicMonkey Collage.jpg

Max has been spouting off some seriously epic ‘Stoner or Preschooler’ sayings and I kept thinking “I should blog that” and yet, I didn’t.  Suddenly it was halloween and we went  trick or treating with Boss’s besties. Which means Zach and I got to hang with ours. It’s wonderful when awesome kids have awesome parents and then everyone gets to have a rocking good time. We had hot chocolate to keep us warm and (ahem toasty? toasted?) for trick or treating and it was just a dang good time.

PicMonkey Collage.jpg

I could and probably should have written about how Max was bullied at school…by a TEACHER and how beautifully his school handled it. Also how he (and several other kids) were bullied by a kid at school, including a lovely bite mark. That kid doesn’t need braces by the way.  Again, the school handled it really well. I think sometimes things are just to real for me to process. Also as Max gets older I wonder, as many of us do what to share and what not to share. All I know is my kids kick ass, full stop.

So, I’m thinking of giving this blogging thing a go again. You know….like I do every so often. Thanksgiving will be here so soon and then we are off to Tennessee for a trip and then BAM! Christmas! I do love the Holidays!

tied up with strings…and whaaaa?


This post quite possibly will make no sense. But that’s life sometimes, right? But stick with me…cause there’s some funny.

 My mind is a jumble lately, I keep thinking of things to write and then I sit down and just…eh. I took Huck to the mall yesterday to enjoy our newfound four hours of freedom while Max is at school and naively thought oh hey! maybe I’ll grab a new iPhone while I am there. Silly girl. After waiting in line for the golden ticket and not getting one, because obviously, we grabbed some Starbucks and did a little tour. I wandered into Urban Outfitters, and quickly snorted dericively “86 dollars to look HOMELESS?No thank you!” then I hitched up my depends and waddled out of there pushing my walker with the tennis balls on the front. Walked in to JCrew and just breathed in the happy. At least when you spend 80 bucks there on a sweater it looks like 80 bucks. Not that I do spend 80 bucks on a sweater, but I like to look.

It never fails that on the day I don’t wear make up and you know, nice clothes, that’s the day I run into someone. Sure enough as I went to return some clothes for Huck (I bought him 2T which was ridiculous because he is just now getting into 18 month. So just in case you’re all yay! two kids, the same sex and born in the same season! You might still end up with nothing for the littlest one to wear. Sigh. But, can I just say? Huck in skinny jeans? So damn cute.) I run into that friend, you know the one who ALWAYS looks put together. I actually saw her once just after she ran a race and she looked like she was in an ad for running a race. Also, who are all you runners? Where did you come from? I remember gym class. None of you loved running and we were young and energetic then! I’ll cheer for you, from Facebook while drinking Starbucks because I’m a giver like that. Anyway, there she was with her two adorable girls, her hair like a perfect wave of chestnut. My hair? Day two messy topknot. So shopping turned into a little impromptu play date. Huck just loves her girls and they are so sweet. Love it!

Zach’s birthday is coming up and so I went on the hunt for his gifts, I ordered something on line….but I have a bad feeling about it. Must remember to call the bank and make sure no one in Croatia is ordering electronics in my name.

After cruising into every store in the mall I’m extremely vexed that so far I cannot find the perfect pearl necklace to wear to a birthday party this weekend. I need it. The birthday girl is my biggest fashion fan and my biggest critic. She is also turning 5.  She is having a pony party and why yes, I do have an outfit in mind and yes it does need a pearl necklace! If she likes my outfit maybe she will let me play with the Rapunzel fashion styling head I got her. Sister Dub and I loved that dang Barbie one when we were little and this one is awesome. Hair for days, Rapunzel has.

Pinterest is my relaxing last thing before I go to bed activity. I like to look at all the pretty things and fill my imaginary closet. Am seriously considering changing the fabric on my headboard for the winter. Why yes, I DO change my room for winter vs. summer. This is why I love white bedding, I can change everything around it cheaply. Our room is in a constant state of re-do and this primarily has to do with the fact that we share a house with my in-laws and I believe I have painted everything they will possibly allow. Someday they will come home and the wall paper in the foyer will be gone. Mark. My. Words.

But I digress. Sometimes I dream of starting a new Pinterest account just to comment on pins with things like “Don’t wear that.” Or “please don’t put that on your baby.” Or “This should not be worn by anyone over the age of 5.”

“Preppy and Lady-like fashion”

You and I have vastly different definitions of ‘classy’ and ‘ladylike'” and then a link to the definitions.

who would have thought a beer case could be fashioned into such a good looking hat? so fun and such a GREAT #gift!!

Such a great GIFT! You guys, how can I register for one of these? Coors Beer box cowboy hat? WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE?!


But this will  accomplish nothing but be snotty. Even if sometimes I want to. I won’t. I’ll just blog it here. Such a saint.



Obviously this post will be a BlogHer Voice of the year.