because I really can't get enough of myself

I'm going on a dream vacation to Italy. We leave thursday. And by we, I mean: myself, my pregnant sister and my mom. Because I decided that it would be awesome to go somewhere foreign and be oggled by suave Italian men while eating gelato in an outdoor cafe surrounded by some ancient naked statues (except we'd probably feel more comfortable sitting by the statues that have little fig leaves covering their crotches.) On this dream vacation we will all be effortlessly hot. And also speak Italian. Fluently. Because that's part of the deal. And it's all happening thursday. Because I said so. And that should be enough to make our dream Italian vacation a reality. Have I ever told you that I'm writing a book? (A dumb one.) Some days I sit down and write a whole stinking chapter thinking I'm the funniest person alive. And then I sit back down the next day to reread my funniness and instead of patting myself on the back I just end up smacking myself in the fore

You know how some kids will pretend to have an invisible friend? My six year old has had one of these for 3 1/2 years - the same friend. And not only has she stuck around to win an award for "longest surviving invisible friend" but we also know everything about her family. This invisible friend, Gootka, has a little sister named Geesie, and a little brother named Austen. I really don't know how Austen ended up being the only child with a normal name. Also, her mom is from Mexico, and her dad is a blond American. And when I was on bedrest with Number Four, Gootka's mom died. And then Gootka, Geesie and Austen had to go live in China with their grandma. But not the real China, just the one that's around the corner....is what I've been told. Once when Two Bits (my six year old) was younger, and Gootka was still new we had this conversation: Me: What are you doing? TB: Playing cricket. Me: Cricket? Really? TB: Yeah, this is the bat, and then I have to hit

I have a complaint. Which is wierd since I never complain. (It's easier just to play along...) Why do summer activities always involve camping? Family reunion? Oh hey, let's go camping. Ward activity? Oooh oooh, camping. Husband suggestion #247? CAMPING. Why the camping? Really? Who actually enjoys it? The way I see it, you drive until you hit a road that isn't paved. And then you keep going. So then your car gets completely covered in dust and/or multiple flat tires. Or, heaven forbid, you have to stop and then hike to your final destination. ( shudder .) Then you get there. And by there I mean you get to some land that is sort of flat-ish, hot-ish and totally bug-ish. And don't think that the mesquito repellent you brought is really going to keep all of those bugs away. So you can just plan on worrying about which of the mesquitoes that have sucked your children's blood were carrying West Nile Virus. Upon spraying every inch of every man, child or p

I'm pretty sure I'm vain. But not in a "look at me, I'm pain-inducingly beautiful, and holy cow my butt looks good in these jeans" sort of way. My kind of vanity is different - I think that people care. Let me clarify. A few days ago I was picking some stuff up at Costco. (Sans kids, which was glorious.) And as I'm waiting in the checkout line I see that they have big cartons of Viactiv caramel calcium chews. This is great because I was just thinking the day before how I should really be using something like this because milk and I don't really hang out that much, and seeing as I don't think Osteoporosis sounds like killer fun, preventative measures should be taken. So I take a couple side steps from my basket in line to grab a carton. And then I realize that at the top of each of the 972 cartons in the mondo Costco sized stack has a pink strip with the words: "New Breast Health Information!" And a crowded Costco full of people just saw me gr

So I have to admit that I just read my first Harlequin Romance novel. And first of all, I have something really important to say about it: I. WAS. DESPERATE. Clearly. And apparently the grocery store down the street is not the place to find good literature, unless you desire blood, crime fiction or sex. And I just wasn't in a blood mood (one can only read so many cheesy wannabe vampire stories and every other cover had some kind of dripping red artwork which didn't exactly call out "I'm wholesome and not at all disturbing, read me!") Oh, and the crime fiction? Not my thing, too real life-ish, I get paranoid, husband threatens tranquilizers. So I had a few choices for my first HQ novel, and I actually took the time to pick one specifically in an effort to at least get something with some sort of intellectual plot. (I'm not saying this book achieved the whole intellectual thing. Not that it was without plot, just that the plot was rather lacking until it came to

If there has been any doubt that someone should cart my children away to better homes (RIGHT AWAY) I have something to admit that can really send the CPS knocking on my door (or a couple of enraged old women.) Whenever my kids (or husband) asks what's for breakfast/lunch/dinner and I either don't know or I know the answer will envoke groaning, I always answer, "Poop on a stick." A horrible thing for a parent to say to a child, I know. (I can hear those old ladies cringing right now.) But it gets better. Yesterday I finally served it: At first I added the raisins for nutritional value (and because raisins stick great to peanut butter and taste better than cheezits in this particular combination.) Then I thought of a really great poop comparison for them. I must admit it's not my most mature thought. Are you ready for it? The raisins are flies (because flies love poop, you know?) Yeah, immature. Because serving my kids "poop on a stick" was the most adu

You know what's really awesome? PBS Kids laptops and foam swords from the dollar store (when not being used at attempted but highly unsuccessful mutilation of ones opponent of course.) Here are few other things that could make the list on any given day: -balloons -bubbles -squirt guns -Dora on DVD (and volume control to quiet her yelled commands) -while we're on the subject - PORTABLE DVD PLAYERS - oh yeah -string cheese -colored marshmallows -popcorn -a meal consisting of string cheese, colored marshmallows and popcorn -mega-absorbing diapers -mindless yet entertaining literature -an entire day free from children, work and chores (this one is hypothetical, of course, since I have yet to experience it) I'm sure I could list more, but the foam sword is no long magically interesting, and I'm getting multiple demands for colored marshmallows. So I'm just going to include one more of my favorite awesomes (which is a word when you refer to it as a noun - which I am): NA

I have 14.7 minutes to write this post. Because Husband turns THIRTY today, and we're going on a real live date. Dinner AND a movie. It's been awhile folks. So you know my son? Monkey? Yeah, him. He looks like a long-haired, sweety-pie, shnookums-poo darlin', no? HE'S NOT. We go outside. Out front. No fence. Two seconds into it Monkey runs full board into the street, and I'm holding a squirmy one year old on the grass. Thank goodness we live on a slow street. We go outside. Out front. No fence. Two seconds into it Monkey takes off in stealth. I find him on our neighbor's front porch, hanging out in a chair. We don't know these particular neighbors yet. I'm just wondering how many times he rang their doorbell before taking a seat. We go outside. Out front. No fence. Two seconds into it Monkey spies our other neighbor's ornamental lawn lights. He tries ripping one out of the ground. It starts wiggling before I can nab him and shove him