Mystery blog giveaway

I saw something today. I saw it, and I knew I had to buy it. I had no idea at the time who would be the lucky recipient of such an item, but it didn't matter. It had to come home with me. I've been pondering 2 things ever since:
1. which of my friends would enjoy this the most? And
2. why didn't I buy more of these?

I didn't buy more because I wasn't at dollar tree, and let's face it, times is tough. The first question, however, remains unanswered. That's where you come in.

To enter for a chance to win the mystery item, leave a comment telling me one person you wish you could meet, what you would ask them and why. Feel free to elaborate beyond these parameters. Before you start rolling your eyes at how lame that is, hear me out. This is not your typical wanna meet Sanjaya and ask him who inspires him.

Let's set a few ground rules. No obvious answers; creativity is 75% of your grade. We all wish we could meet Jesus and ask Him for a superpower. Mine would be the power to shoot lightning bolts out of my fingers. Because that would be awesome. Don't tick me off; I'll shoot you with my lightning bolts.

And we would all like to meet the President and ask him to please try not to look so arrogant all the time. Seriously. Wipe that smirk off your face. It's annoying. America resents you.

I think now that I might also like to know what your superpower would be if you could have one. So feel free to throw that in there at the end. Not mandatory.

So get creative out there. This thing ends whenever I say it does.

To be fair, I will submit the first entry as an example. And just so you know, while a famous person is an acceptable submission, you don't necessarily have to go that route. Case in point:

I would like to meet the person who owns the dog who keeps leaving giant piles of nasty on my front lawn. I would ask them why they thought it was ok to let their disgusting animal leave a giant pile of nasty  right where my 3 year old daughter and I walk every day. I would ask them if they knew how many times either she or I had stepped in the nasty and soiled a pair of shoes. Then I would hand them a bill for the following services:

Shoe cleaning
Poopy scooping
Carpet cleaning from where SB stepped in the nasty and then climbed into the car or went inside the house
Pain and suffering.

Then I would tell them that until they paid, I would be using their lawn/sidewalk to recycle the contents of Annie's diapers. If they couldn't come up with the money, I would give them the option to stand beside the highway all day wearing a sandwich board that said,

"I let my dog poop in other people's yards and don't bother to clean it up. Please throw rotten eggs at me so I smell like my victims smelled when they stepped in my dog's nasty. I deserve worse. Also, please don't text and drive."

Take the money and run

Today I asked SB to please clean her room. She said no thanks. I had work to do, and I hadn't really intended for the request to be optional. So I rephrased. "SB, you will clean your room today."

She disappeared into her room for a while, and I could hear her cd player blaring Tom Petty over the sounds of Annie not napping in her crib. A lovely soundtrack by which to work.

SB came in a few minutes later, excitedly proclaiming, "Mom, look! I found Wallflowers!" (Tom Petty's second album and one of SB's faves) I hadn't known it was lost, but I told her how happy I was that she had found it.

Me: "Wow, that's great! Did you find that while you were cleaning your room?"
SB: "Well, I don't really want to clean my room. Can we play baby instead?"
Me: "I have to finish this work for Daddy, and we aren't playing anything until your room is clean."
SB: "I can't clean it right now." She flopped down into her chair. "My back is really hurting and I can't bend over.

I rolled my eyes and sent her back to her room.

She went back to her room, but the wheels were already spinning, and I knew it wouldn't be long before she was back with another excuse. I was right. This time she was in a princess dress with a tutu on top. She was carrying a balloon and a dollar bill.

SB: "Here, Mom. I got you a present!" She thrust the bill in between my face and the computer screen, waving it frantically. "Just take the money, Mom. Please, just take it."

I grabbed it and said thank you very much, but have you cleaned your room yet?

SB: "Mom, I have a surprise for you. You want it??"
Me: "Is it a balloon?"
SB: "I'll give you the surprise, but then I don't have to clean my room. Does that sound like a plan?"
Me: "No thanks. You still have to clean your room."
SB: "Are you suuuuure you don't want the surprise? It's a really good one."

Who taught this kid how to negotiate anyway? Just yesterday she was trying to convince her friend to play with another toy so SB wouldn't have to share the one she was playing with. I overheard her saying, "Nita, isn't that a great dollhouse over there? I bet you would just LOVE to play with it." When Nita continued to quietly share the dollhouse that SB was playing with, SB decided no more Mr. Nice Guy. "Nita, here's the thing... I don't want to share with you, so..... can you please play over there?"

SB has been in and out of her room, which is still not clean yet. In fact, she has managed to disorganize the living room that I just straightened. Blankets, crayons, coloring books strewn about... I can hear her keyboard blasting a beat in her room. No doubt she is practicing her pirouettes back there. But I do also hear loud thumping noises - an indication that she is throwing her toys across the room into her toy box. And an indicator as to why Annie is still screaming back there instead of sleeping.

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times

Don't you just love your birthday? I know I do. I recently had one; thanks for remembering. It's always the very best day of the year. Promptly followed by the worst day of the year, when nobody cares that you're one year older. One day, everything is great, the day is all about you and what you want. Attention, presents, phone calls and texts. What's not to love, right?

But the next day, the party is over, you go back to being just like everyone else, and everybody forgets how great they thought you were just hours earlier. That's why I do not like to go to sleep on my birthday. Because I know when I wake up, the magic is gone.

I like to make the most of the day. Since Jack was working, I slept in until Annie woke me. She insisted on being fed first. So selfish, I know. I skipped my morning meeting with the elliptical machine because everyone knows that birthday calories don't count.

Later, the girls and I had lunch with my parents and enjoyed a long skyped conversation with Meredith and Madeleine. I kept trying to get little M to say my name, but all she would say was "pampers." Her new favorite word. I wasn't too offended. I knew she really meant "happy birthday Aunt Emily."

Jack came home with an impressive bouquet of flowers and poured me a birthday sized glass of cabernet. He somehow knew just what I wanted.

We had dinner with Jack's grandparents and uncle. Jack's grandfather was celebrating his 80th birthday the same day, but he was kind enough to share some of his octogenarian birthday glory with me. And Jack's grandmother even got my favorite kind of cake. Caramel. It was delightful.

When we got home, we still had 2 hours of birthday left, and I was determined not to let the day end until I passed out from birthday exhaustion. (exhaustion / wine, toMAto / toMAHto)

Jack was putting SB to bed while I got Annie down. Annie turned out to be slightly more difficult, but that's another post in itself. After I had freed myself from Annie's grasp, I decided that Jack and I would round out the day with Mad Men, one of our new favorite shows. Then I found poor Jack asleep next to SB. In a selfless act of birthday kindness, I let a sleeping Jack lie.

I didn't even pout the next day, as Jack is well aware of my post birthday depression syndrome. But he was well prepared, and when I woke up, he announced that this year, the day after my birthday would also be my birthday.

What a wonderful idea! I celebrated with a piece of caramel cake for breakfast. By the way, my weight loss plan has been going great. A few days ago, I noticed that I was down to my pre pregnancy weight. I'm pretty sure that during my 48 hour birthday, I regained most of what I lost. Someone needs to remind my scale about birthday calories.

We celebrated again that night by having dinner with friends and more caramel cake. The perfect end to a perfect birthday(s).

I have a sitter coming today to keep the girls while I go to a baby shower.To combat the post birthday depression, I'm seriously contemplating dropping off a present, grabbing a latte from Starbucks and enjoying it while having a mani/pedi.

Don't laugh. PBDS is a very serious condition. I'm in a fragile state and must take care of myself today. I wonder how long my babysitter can stay. Maybe even a little shopping would be good for me. And of course, some caramel cake.

SB, Why is Annie Crying?

My dear, sweet three-year-old was holding her sister this morning. They were both very happy until I turned around to reach for my camera. In the split second that my back was turned, Annie began to cry. After holding her for a minute, she was all smiles again. SB was anxiously awaiting another turn, so I plopped Annie back down into SB's lap. Again, I turned to pick up my camera from the table beside us, and again, Annie began to cry. Very suspicious. So I asked SB why Annie was crying. Did you pinch her?

"No," SB sighed, "Maybe she just has a little attitude."

"Are you sure you didn't pinch her or maybe accidentally pull on her arm?"

"Mom. Have I ever steered you wrong?"

Also, I know I've posted SB's prayers before, but last night had me giggling again. Jack and I were trying to put SB to bed, but he and I were also discussing something when SB loudly interrupted:

DEAR GOD! Thank you for my mommy, who feeds Annie. Thank you for my daddy, who tickles. Thank you for me, who laughs. Aaaaaaand thank you for fans, dressers, cups and straws, trash cans, hair and eyeballs. Amen.

Hi Mary Beth! Read in Reverse. Updates posted at top

Never mind I figured it out. Although the phonetic plural pronunciation is more like CHAY koze. But what do I know. So I see they are just sandals. Not very cute either. And holy moley at the price tag on those suckers!!! CJ, where are you getting that kind of money to blow on ugly sandals?? Can I borrow some money?



OMG! I just google searched "chock ohs" and the top google result was my blog! This is so exciting. I'm going to be famous....hey CJ, how do you spell chock ohs?



Once upon a time, there was a girl named Mary Beth, but she called herself CJ (side note: MB used to go up to strangers and tell them her name was CJ, but that was ages ago, like 3 years at least). So CJ was at a restaurant with her friends one night when suddenly a guy walked in the door. Something about this guy caught her attention right away. Maybe it was his cute smile, maybe there was just an aura about him....or maybe it was the fact that he was dressed in the same outfit as her. I'm guessing it was the latter. They were both wearing a blue polo shirt, khacki shorts and something called Chock-ohs (shoes, I'm told). So she commented on his "cute outfit," and they traded phone numbers to coordinate a shopping trip later. One year later, they are totally in love but each keep a separate wardrobe. The moral of the story is, sometimes it pays to crossdress.
Also, what are chock ohs? forgive me, I'm just a stay at home mom who rarely gets out of her pajamas, so today's fashion escapes me. You crazy kids with your crazy keds...I mean chock ohs.



Ok I have to go put my kids down for a nap. But don't worry I'll be back with something to tell you about Mary Beth. wait with baited breath.....



EDIT/DELETE/REORDER.....got it? It's all just so complicated. Maybe she will explain it again?



Oh Maria, I'm so happy to be of service to you. If you're really bored, you should ask Mary Beth why her email address is elbowpopper.


doooo da doooo! how much do we all love software programs????
let's sing a song about it.
dooo da doooo!
Hi mary beth's friends! Glad I could entertain you for a little while.

No Rest for the Weary

We've been going full steam ahead lately, and a full nights sleep has been hard to catch. Splitting time between SB and Annie, it seems night time is the only time I have to catch up on housework. After preparing and serving dinner (don't think I'm cooking every night because I'm not. But we have to eat something, even if it's just a sandwich), I bathe SB, feed Annie, put Annie to bed, then put SB to bed. Then it's time to clean the kitchen, wipe down the dining room table and sweep up half of SB's dinner. It's usually about this time that I remember that load of laundry that I put in the washing machine early that morning but never moved into the dryer, so I run downstairs to do that. When I get downstairs, I realize that I also forgot to feed the dogs, so I do that and hopefully remember the laundry when I come back inside.

When she hears me coming up the stairs, SB calls out because she suddenly has to potty real bad and then needs me to tuck her back in because she is afwaid of the dahk, even though the lamp and the nightlights are on in her room and the light is on in the hallway, and it's brighter at midnight in her room than it is outside at high noon. It seems to make her feel better that Hopscotch is in her room with her, so she usually ends up talking to her for the next 2 hours or so. We usually have to deal with her again at some point because when she gets lonely, her ear/leg/pinkie/ SOMETHING is hurting and she needs a bandaid. And she's thirsty. So, so, SO thirsty. "And mommy, we didn't brush my teeth." It's ok. We will do it tomorrow. "But my teeth will be dirty and they will fall out!"

Anyway, you get the idea. Besides dealing with the usual, we've been busy planning a party for some friends who are moving. It was this weekend, and we had company in town for that. We stayed up late visiting every night, which was AWESOME. I loved getting to catch up with our dear friends, but the late nights and party planning stress have caught up with me. Jack offered to forgo our Sunday afternoon nap to listen for Annie so I could rest. Of course, as soon as I began to drift off, Annie woke up and was ready to eat. Yesterday was spent running errands all over Columbus, including a trip to the ped office to find out that SB has impetigo. So we're dealing with that and trying desperately to keep her off of Annie for a few days. Today I realized after finally getting Annie to sleep (after an hour of pacifier patrol) that I was about to collapse. So I stretched out on the couch at 3:30 and decided to take a nap. All was quiet as both girls and Jack were napping. Until I decided to join them.

About 3:32, I hear someone in the hall bathroom. I pray it is Jack. It is SB. She comes into the living room and whispers, "mom." I don't move or open my eyes. Maybe she will go away. Instead she inches closer and in a slightly louder tone, "Mom." Still nothing from me. Be a good little girl and play quietly in your room as mommy is obviously trying to rest. No such luck. She is now inches from my face and whispering as loudly as she can, "MOM." I crack an eyelid. She jumps at her opportunity,

"Mom can I have a cartoon?"
"No."
"but mommmmmm-"
"I'm trying to sleep."
"What about a cartoon downstairs?"
"If there is a cartoon on downstairs, you can watch it. Otherwise play quietly down there or in your room."

I know full well there is no cartoon on downstairs because I was watching The Bachelorette down there earlier while using the elliptical machine as Annie cried her head off in her crib...gimme a break I didn't know she was crying until I came back upstairs. But I digress.

SB runs out of the room and pounds down the stairs. A minute later, she is racing back up the stairs and into the bathroom. I pray she makes it on time, as we have been having trouble in that department lately. I was in no mood to clean pee off of the floor at this moment. I hear the sounds of success followed by, "Hey! Where's the toilet paper?? MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMM!"

I jump up and run into the bathroom before
A. She decides to forgo the toilet paper and/or
B. She continues to yell and wakes up Annie

I decide to make another attempt at napping, but it only lasts about 3o seconds, or however long it takes SB to flush and sanitize her hands.

"Mom, I'm hungry."

Always.

I tell her to go play until I am done with my nap. She disappears and so does the noise, and I am grateful. Then I hear the giggles and shrieks that mean only one thing. She has awakened her father and he is punishing her with a tickle fight. I hear crinkling in the kitchen. The noise indicates that SB has helped herself to some kind of snack. I yell at SB and ask what she is doing. Jack answers. SB has convinced him to get up and get her a snack because he is nicer than I am (and because he has already been napping for about 2 hours.) He takes her downstairs and turns on her favorite movie because he has to leave and feels bad that I'm so tired. As he is leaving, we hear the sounds of pure joy coming from downstairs. SB is laughing so hysterically at her movie that Jack and I cannot help but crack up ourselves.

I realize napping is futile and instead pull out the computer to blog. I knew it would make me feel better. Thanks for listening. I'm going to brew a pot of coffee.

H.O.O.B.

Funny thing about babies...they seem to be magnets for strangers with touchy hands. Every mom has been in this uncomfortable position before:

You're in wal mart, minding your own business when suddenly, two aisles down, a sticky-fingered stranger's baby seeking alarm goes off. And here she comes.

Ohhh, a baby!
yes, a baby.
My next door neighbor's cousin just had a baby!
what are the odds of that? Two babies born around the same time.
how old is he?
I'm sorry, what is it about the pink dress and butterfly blanket that screams 'I'm a boy'?
What a cute little baby!
At least you got that part right.

At this point, the SFS (sticky fingered stranger) can no longer resist the urge to touch your newborn child. They always go straight for the baby's hands, which in turn go straight into the baby's mouth. Sometimes the SFS may even mention that they "just washed their hands" before they left their house. So it's totally okay that they're playing "gotcha nose" with your infant.

Oh, well that makes me feel so much better.

Let's see if we can get a quick list of what you have touched since then:
front door handle
car door handle
keys
steering wheel
probably your phone
and the WAL MART CART you are currently handling.

I'm sure there are no germs on any of those things. Please, touch away! Why don't you just let her suck on your wal mart cart while you're at it?

PLEASE PEOPLE!!! HANDS OFF OUR BABIES

I was at the pediatrician's office last week. We were just there for a regular check up, so we were in the "well child" waiting room. As opposed to the "sick child" waiting room. A clever division meant to keep the sickos from contaminating the non sickos. One lady in our waiting room didn't get the memo. But she wanted us to think that she had. Her son was hacking away in the corner, and she kept announcing, "He's not sick! He just has asthma." Right. I sat with Annie on the opposite side of the room, just in case his "asthma" was contagious. This did not keep this woman from yelling at me across the room.

"How old is your baby? Can I see him? (her) He's so cute! (she) I have four kids...." She went on and on, but I was distracted by her daughter who had crept up behind her and was eyeing Annie with itchy fingers.

She started by picking up Annie's stuffed animal rattle and shaking it in her face. Then she started adjusting her blanket and even picked up her pacifier. At that point, I suggested sweetly that she might not want to touch Annie's stuff because Annie spit up a lot and all of her things were probably covered in it. And I really didn't want this SFS to get spit up on her. That worked for about 2 minutes, and then she started again with the touching. It escalated to Annie's favorite hand, which promptly went into her mouth. At this point, I was ready to call in Seal Team 6 to come and extract this tiny terrorist from my baby's car seat.

I announced it was time for a diaper change and swooped in to rescue her myself. When we came back from a very long diaper change, I held Annie instead of putting her back into the car seat, sat in a different corner, next to the wall, and I barricaded us in with my purse and diaper bag on the chair next to us. I even pretended to be extremely busy with something on my phone. No eye contact, no conversation. The girl promptly moved into the seat next to the diaper bag, leaned across the chair between us, and started grabbing Annie's hands again.

I blame the mother, who was still yelling at me from across the room about how her son wasn't contagious; he just needed an antibiotic because he had asthma. She should have known better, as her daughter obviously did not. Finally, the question came. The one I had prepared myself for during the very long diaper change... "Can I hold your baby?"

The words just kind of spilled out, "Oh thank you, but I don't think so. But thank you so much for offering." Mercifully, her brother's name was called right then so they went into the doctor's office to get an antibiotic for his asthma.

So a message to strangers: If you see a baby, by all means, tell the mother how cute the baby is. But please refrain from touching. Think of a stranger's baby as a museum; it's something nice for you to look at while imagining an invisible red velvet rope surrounding the child. No touching and no flash photography.

SB's Prayer

Last night, Jack and I were in the bed with SB, trying to get her to go to sleep. Her newest stall tactic is to pray for a reallllly long time so she doesn't have to go to sleep. She made Jack pray first, then me, then she wrapped it up with a ten minute thank you / request list. I only hope I can remember most of it, as I had my head buried under the covers to stifle the giggles:

Dear Lord,
Thank you for my mommy, my daddy and my baby, my precious little baby. She is SO ADORABLE. Thank you for Gordy the pig. Please help my Mimi to get better. Please, please, PLEASE Lord, she is my grandma and she just HAS to get better. So just do it, Lord.

And please help my mommy to not say 'no more cartoons' because I LOVE them and I need to watch them every day and they're so good for me. Please help Annie not to cry so much so she won't wake mommy up at night all the time, and please don't let her wake up daddy or me so we can get our sleep too.

Thank you for our beautiful, big house and thank you for my gummies (fruit snacks). Thank you for God and Jesus and the Holy Spirit. Thank you for Oscar and Bob and Hopscotch and all my kids. Thank you for eyebrows. Amen....and cheese.