The other day my husband I were driving home from our last trip to our house up north before selling. We had traded our minivan (and our kids) for my in-laws 4x4 truck - not a bad trade if you ask me. About halfway through our trip back home my husband asked if I could take over driving. His back had been giving him fits and needed to be able to fidget more than his current position allowed (and probably more than his was legally able to as well).
Annny way .... we pulled over, I hopped out and then hopped in (if a five-foot-seven (oh who are we kidding here - five-foot-six-and-a-HALF) person can hop into a 4x4 truck). I will admit I was a little nervous about driving such a large vehicle. Before this the biggest thing I had driven was our mini van. We pulled out onto the freeway and I serpentine through the construction maze that is US 127 near Frandor, passed 496, passed 96 and southward to much less congested traffic.
As my confidence grew, a thought crossed my mind. I was driving around a slight curve, while passing another vehicle (all within the legal driving speed limits I swear Jim!) when I said "It's funny how I can drive a big truck like this, but when I play MarioKart I am all over the place." My husband laughed, but it's true.
Because you see my friends, I am two-dimensionally challenged. I can not play video games. Even ones as simple as driving a car down a road - something I do every day (and without crashing in to walls or trees too). I am hopeless.
Now I am not going to go on some rant and blame my parents for not getting me Nintendo when I was young or anything. I had video games - on the computer. I rocked "Where in the World is Carmen Santiago" and "Oregon Trail." But the truth of the matter is I simply wasn't interested. Still am not. It isn't interesting or exciting. When I do play I am either dying every other minute or my car is ramming the left side of the screen, then the right side and then the left side again. I just don't have the feel for it.
Sure, sure, practice, makes perfect and all that. If I kept trying I might get good and I might enjoy it, but eh, no ... it's just not for me. I just don't think my brain is wired like that. Nothing wrong with it, nothing against it, just not my cup of tea ... I prefer coffee
My husband - who does like to play, and IS good - has had to suffer through my ignorance and complete and total lack of skill. We have tried to play - I just get frustrated. We have tried simple games - I can bowl and play tennis on Wii - that is about it. That and the "Price is Right" - but really is that considered a real game? Sure, it puts money in corporate's pocket, but true gamers would probably laugh in my face if I told them I kicked ass at "Wheel of Fortune" for Wii. (And I wouldn't blame them.)
But there is light at the end of the bleak tunnel of gaming in our house - the kiddos. Our kids have finally come to the age when they can start playing video games (age appropriate and fully supervised of course). So while I might be a lost cause, my husband can at least smash monster trucks with our oldest and race with Donkey Kong and Mario with our son. Plus they are better than me anyway.
One small consolation I will take from all this, is the response I got from my husband when we were driving home. "Well, if you are only good at one of them, I'm glad it's driving a car."
Thanks for the confidence hon, but if we pass by Luigi or Princess Pea we are in big trouble ...
When the kids out number the parents, some days you're the dog and some days you're the hydrant
Friday, September 27, 2013
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
Well begun is half done
I have been MEANING to write a post for two days now, but I keep getting interrupted. Interrupted with laundry, meal times, lawn mowing, grocery shopping, changing diapers .... the list goes on ... and on ... and on ...
While I DO have lots of things I'd like to post about I still need to find the time to post them ... Cause right now with three kids hollering at me and my creative gene is out on a coffee break - literally ... I just poured cup number three for the day.
So stayed tuned, I promise I WILL write about something vastly more interesting than my inability of write (and changing diapers).
Until then take a moment, close your eyes and enjoy the silence around you ... (if you are so fortunate to have silence around you) and think of me ...
While I DO have lots of things I'd like to post about I still need to find the time to post them ... Cause right now with three kids hollering at me and my creative gene is out on a coffee break - literally ... I just poured cup number three for the day.
So stayed tuned, I promise I WILL write about something vastly more interesting than my inability of write (and changing diapers).
Until then take a moment, close your eyes and enjoy the silence around you ... (if you are so fortunate to have silence around you) and think of me ...
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Cleansing the soul ... with dish soap
Standing there in the aisle at the grocery store, I could almost feel the little angel and devil on my shoulder.
No, I wasn't deciding whether to get the bag of Oreos (always yes) or the pint of Ben and Jerry's (again, always yes).
No, this question went to the very core of my being - to my very soul (whereas the Oreos and Ben and Jerry just ends up on my thighs).
I was staring at the dish soap. Dish soap you might say? How would that evoke any kind soul searching question? I'm glad you asked! Let me share my over dramatized dilemma with you ...
As I stared at the various brands of plastic bottles in almost every hue of the rainbow, my eyes settled on the two bottles in which I have very mixed emotions. One a pretty light pink bottle - like that a rose or a big puff of cotton candy (my mind is never far from food). The other a deep blue - like the color of the ocean near a beautiful Hawaiian beach (or cotton candy).
Please tell me your dilemma over dish soap did not involve color you might want to say as you roll your eyes and you will be happy to know that no, color was not what had me standing like an idiot in front of the dish soap for five minutes. Nor was it the brand of dish soap, nor was it the scent of the dish soap (of which I discovered there is much more than lemon and none) or even the price of the dish soap.
No, it was what was inside the bottle that was the question and even past that, what the liquid inside the bottle would do. Curiosity peaked I hope ...
No before I go and tell you the reason why the simple choice of a dish soap has caused me to look inside myself and decide what type of person I really am let me give you a little back story. My family and I recently moved and in our new house there is no dishwasher. And while my husband is wonderful and does the dishes as well, I feel like I am constantly at the sink washing the many cups, mugs, bowls, plates and silverware that accumulate during the day. I don't like doing dishes (and I have yet to find someone who does) but it is a necessary evil.
Now, here is another fun little fact about me - because you were just dying to know! I have dry hands. A lovely little feature and as much as I have tried to curb the problem, no lotion has yet to bring me long term relief. And of course washing dishes every day does not help in the least.
So now here's my dilemma ... do I buy the dish soap with the lotiony (I know it's not a word) ingredient that is said to help heal dry hands while you're doing dishes, OR do I buy the dish soap with the cute little ducky on the bottle which says that for every bottle purchased a proceed with be given to help little duckies and seals and other birdies that get covered in oil during maritime oil spills.
Save the duckies, save my hands? Save the duckies, save my hands?
Seems like a over dramatisation of seemingly non-problem right? Well, maybe ... but this is a BLOG and not a meeting of Congress.
For those of you holding your breath to see what I chose you may now exhale .... I chose the duckies ... Saving animals from poisonous oil is MUCH more important than my silly old hands ... At least that is what the angel kept telling me ...
And just so you know, I HAVE thought of the alternative in which I could save the duckies AND my hands - washing with rubber gloves. And while I know that would help and it would keeping me from touching any of the food bits floating around the dish water - something that grosses me out to no end - I don't like having my hand smell like rubber gloves afters I'm done. To which the suggestion would be, just put on some scented lotion, silly. Yes, yes, you are right. You are much smarter than me and probably are a better dish washer than me too ... I think you need to come over and show me what I am doing wrong ... but be prepared - I am a VERY slow learner ...
No, I wasn't deciding whether to get the bag of Oreos (always yes) or the pint of Ben and Jerry's (again, always yes).
No, this question went to the very core of my being - to my very soul (whereas the Oreos and Ben and Jerry just ends up on my thighs).
I was staring at the dish soap. Dish soap you might say? How would that evoke any kind soul searching question? I'm glad you asked! Let me share my over dramatized dilemma with you ...
As I stared at the various brands of plastic bottles in almost every hue of the rainbow, my eyes settled on the two bottles in which I have very mixed emotions. One a pretty light pink bottle - like that a rose or a big puff of cotton candy (my mind is never far from food). The other a deep blue - like the color of the ocean near a beautiful Hawaiian beach (or cotton candy).
Please tell me your dilemma over dish soap did not involve color you might want to say as you roll your eyes and you will be happy to know that no, color was not what had me standing like an idiot in front of the dish soap for five minutes. Nor was it the brand of dish soap, nor was it the scent of the dish soap (of which I discovered there is much more than lemon and none) or even the price of the dish soap.
No, it was what was inside the bottle that was the question and even past that, what the liquid inside the bottle would do. Curiosity peaked I hope ...
No before I go and tell you the reason why the simple choice of a dish soap has caused me to look inside myself and decide what type of person I really am let me give you a little back story. My family and I recently moved and in our new house there is no dishwasher. And while my husband is wonderful and does the dishes as well, I feel like I am constantly at the sink washing the many cups, mugs, bowls, plates and silverware that accumulate during the day. I don't like doing dishes (and I have yet to find someone who does) but it is a necessary evil.
Now, here is another fun little fact about me - because you were just dying to know! I have dry hands. A lovely little feature and as much as I have tried to curb the problem, no lotion has yet to bring me long term relief. And of course washing dishes every day does not help in the least.
So now here's my dilemma ... do I buy the dish soap with the lotiony (I know it's not a word) ingredient that is said to help heal dry hands while you're doing dishes, OR do I buy the dish soap with the cute little ducky on the bottle which says that for every bottle purchased a proceed with be given to help little duckies and seals and other birdies that get covered in oil during maritime oil spills.
Save the duckies, save my hands? Save the duckies, save my hands?
Seems like a over dramatisation of seemingly non-problem right? Well, maybe ... but this is a BLOG and not a meeting of Congress.
For those of you holding your breath to see what I chose you may now exhale .... I chose the duckies ... Saving animals from poisonous oil is MUCH more important than my silly old hands ... At least that is what the angel kept telling me ...
And just so you know, I HAVE thought of the alternative in which I could save the duckies AND my hands - washing with rubber gloves. And while I know that would help and it would keeping me from touching any of the food bits floating around the dish water - something that grosses me out to no end - I don't like having my hand smell like rubber gloves afters I'm done. To which the suggestion would be, just put on some scented lotion, silly. Yes, yes, you are right. You are much smarter than me and probably are a better dish washer than me too ... I think you need to come over and show me what I am doing wrong ... but be prepared - I am a VERY slow learner ...
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Take me out to the ball game
I like sports. I do. I like pretty much any sport. There is one sport however that I watch regularly. And that is baseball.
Actually I love to watch baseball. And my team is the Detroit Tigers. For all of you who don't like the Tigers I am very, very sorry that you have chosen your allegiance to a less awesome team because the Detroit Tigers are awesome.
I will say with all honestly that I haven't always been as fervent a fan as I am today. It was only about six years ago or so that we (my husband and I) started watching the team with any kind of regularity. But we most certainly do now. We watch at least some of almost every game that is on and when we can't see them play we try to hear them play - on the radio I mean.
I have had my Tiger, Alex Avila, for a few years now, my husband has had a few. And now that our kids are starting to get into the Tigers they each have picked their favorite Tiger, too. It's really cute. Our youngest, who is two, really has no idea what is going on so her favorite changes almost daily. Our son used to have two favorites, but now he has firmly decided on Torii Hunter and our oldest is an Austin Jackson fan. (Fun side note, our son for awhile called him "Awesome" Jackson because he couldn't say Austin.)
So, while I hope all of this build up has shown that I am a true blue Tigers fan and a fan of baseball in general there are a few things about this great sport that I find to be a bit peculiar.
And now before anyone goes ripping my head off (if anyone is even reading this), I will admit that I don't know everything about baseball or it's complete history. These are just a few of my observations I have made during my hours of watching the game.
They eat during the game. Yes, I know it's just sunflower seeds (I hope that is all anyway) but still ... They eat during the game. I have yet to see another sport - and I will admit I haven't seen every sport there is - where the players eat during the game. And it's not just in the dugout between at bats and heading to the field, it's while they are playing too. I recently saw Miguel Cabrera chopping on some seeds while he was manning third base. Seems a little dangerous to me. One line drive his way and he's gonna need the Heimlich. I'd hate to see a player go in the DL on account of choking on the field ...
They were jewelry during the game. I know that baseball is typically not a contact sport, unless you are sliding into a base so the chance that someone else is going to get tangled up in your neck ware is slim but still if someone was sliding cleat first toward me I'd hate to have something dangling from my neck. Sure, some of the necklaces they were are supposed to help their energy or their chi or something. To me, it's just seems like a hazard.
The managers where the same uniform as the players. Now before anyone (or either one of the two of you that will read this) goes all crazy on me, I know the reason why they do this. Way back in the early days of baseball, the managers wore the same uniforms as the players in case there were too many injuries or not enough players showed up or something and then they would play. OK, I get that. But I think it would be fair to say that the sport has evolved a bit since then and there is about as much chance of Jim Leland getting out there in left field as there is of a monkey flying out of my rear end. I highly doubt when Leland puts on that jersey every night he's thinking "tonight's the night I'm gonna play." Furthermore I have seen a lot of those managers and quite frankly if there was a circumstance when it would be necessary for the manager to play, I really don't think most of them should. And if that were to happen who would enter the line-up first? Manager? Pitching coach? Batting coach? There are about five different coaches all suited up ...
They still use a corded phone to call the bull pen. That just cracks me up.With all the technology we have these days, the pitching coach still picks up a corded phone to call for a new pitcher to warm up. What is funnier still is that those phones are being installed in the stadium. I could see if it was a older stadium that has been there for decades, but there are new stadiums being built all the time and these phones are being purchased and installed. Millions of dollars are spent erecting state-of-the-art baseball stadiums and they spend $9.99 on the phone to the bull pen. Where can you even find phones like that anymore?
Spitting. Oh, so much spitting. I don't think I have watched another sport where the players spit so much. My husband tells me they do a lot in football and while I don't watch the sport very much or for very long but in my limited viewing I do not think I have seen even a smidgen of the spitting I see in baseball. I'm sorry fellas, but it's gross. I know you think you need to, but I don't really think you do. I mean basketball players are running up and down the court working up just as much of a sweat as you and you don't see them hockin' any loogies do ya? I mean, I know they can't because they play indoors, but still ... every bit of saliva that is in your mouth does not immediately have to go on the ground. It is not attractive ...
Yes, all this may be too critical and yes, it is all a bit silly, but let me assure you, while I may find some aspects of America's past time a bit perplexing or nonsensical, it does not - I repeat, does not - take away from my love of the sport or my love of the Detroit Tigers. I assure you, I will be cheering them on tomorrow night as they take on the Kansas City Royals. Gotta keep that first place spot in the AL Central boys! October is coming soon!!
Go Tigers!
Actually I love to watch baseball. And my team is the Detroit Tigers. For all of you who don't like the Tigers I am very, very sorry that you have chosen your allegiance to a less awesome team because the Detroit Tigers are awesome.
I will say with all honestly that I haven't always been as fervent a fan as I am today. It was only about six years ago or so that we (my husband and I) started watching the team with any kind of regularity. But we most certainly do now. We watch at least some of almost every game that is on and when we can't see them play we try to hear them play - on the radio I mean.
I have had my Tiger, Alex Avila, for a few years now, my husband has had a few. And now that our kids are starting to get into the Tigers they each have picked their favorite Tiger, too. It's really cute. Our youngest, who is two, really has no idea what is going on so her favorite changes almost daily. Our son used to have two favorites, but now he has firmly decided on Torii Hunter and our oldest is an Austin Jackson fan. (Fun side note, our son for awhile called him "Awesome" Jackson because he couldn't say Austin.)
So, while I hope all of this build up has shown that I am a true blue Tigers fan and a fan of baseball in general there are a few things about this great sport that I find to be a bit peculiar.
And now before anyone goes ripping my head off (if anyone is even reading this), I will admit that I don't know everything about baseball or it's complete history. These are just a few of my observations I have made during my hours of watching the game.
They eat during the game. Yes, I know it's just sunflower seeds (I hope that is all anyway) but still ... They eat during the game. I have yet to see another sport - and I will admit I haven't seen every sport there is - where the players eat during the game. And it's not just in the dugout between at bats and heading to the field, it's while they are playing too. I recently saw Miguel Cabrera chopping on some seeds while he was manning third base. Seems a little dangerous to me. One line drive his way and he's gonna need the Heimlich. I'd hate to see a player go in the DL on account of choking on the field ...
They were jewelry during the game. I know that baseball is typically not a contact sport, unless you are sliding into a base so the chance that someone else is going to get tangled up in your neck ware is slim but still if someone was sliding cleat first toward me I'd hate to have something dangling from my neck. Sure, some of the necklaces they were are supposed to help their energy or their chi or something. To me, it's just seems like a hazard.
The managers where the same uniform as the players. Now before anyone (or either one of the two of you that will read this) goes all crazy on me, I know the reason why they do this. Way back in the early days of baseball, the managers wore the same uniforms as the players in case there were too many injuries or not enough players showed up or something and then they would play. OK, I get that. But I think it would be fair to say that the sport has evolved a bit since then and there is about as much chance of Jim Leland getting out there in left field as there is of a monkey flying out of my rear end. I highly doubt when Leland puts on that jersey every night he's thinking "tonight's the night I'm gonna play." Furthermore I have seen a lot of those managers and quite frankly if there was a circumstance when it would be necessary for the manager to play, I really don't think most of them should. And if that were to happen who would enter the line-up first? Manager? Pitching coach? Batting coach? There are about five different coaches all suited up ...
They still use a corded phone to call the bull pen. That just cracks me up.With all the technology we have these days, the pitching coach still picks up a corded phone to call for a new pitcher to warm up. What is funnier still is that those phones are being installed in the stadium. I could see if it was a older stadium that has been there for decades, but there are new stadiums being built all the time and these phones are being purchased and installed. Millions of dollars are spent erecting state-of-the-art baseball stadiums and they spend $9.99 on the phone to the bull pen. Where can you even find phones like that anymore?
Spitting. Oh, so much spitting. I don't think I have watched another sport where the players spit so much. My husband tells me they do a lot in football and while I don't watch the sport very much or for very long but in my limited viewing I do not think I have seen even a smidgen of the spitting I see in baseball. I'm sorry fellas, but it's gross. I know you think you need to, but I don't really think you do. I mean basketball players are running up and down the court working up just as much of a sweat as you and you don't see them hockin' any loogies do ya? I mean, I know they can't because they play indoors, but still ... every bit of saliva that is in your mouth does not immediately have to go on the ground. It is not attractive ...
Yes, all this may be too critical and yes, it is all a bit silly, but let me assure you, while I may find some aspects of America's past time a bit perplexing or nonsensical, it does not - I repeat, does not - take away from my love of the sport or my love of the Detroit Tigers. I assure you, I will be cheering them on tomorrow night as they take on the Kansas City Royals. Gotta keep that first place spot in the AL Central boys! October is coming soon!!
Go Tigers!
Monday, September 9, 2013
Stuffed with crazy
Like anyone who has small children - or even one child for that matter - my house has been over run with stuffed animals, baby dolls and the like. (See, I told you I was going to write about my kids a lot.)
Stuffed animals are a great go-to gift for relatives or friends at birthdays or holidays. They can also mysteriously pop up in your shopping cart during a trip the grocery store when your little one looks up at you with his or her big doe eyes and says "pullll-ease!" How can you say no to that? You can't, well I can't anyway - not a day when they have been exceptionally good or I have been exceptionally grumpy. And at my house there is a about a 50/50 chance of it being one of those days.
Now after three children and three sets of doey eyes looking up at me, our house is littered with stuffed animals of various size and baby dolls (mostly naked) and even some combination of the two. Some end up on the kids' beds, a few special ones have been placed up on shelves or dressers, but the majority are buried in bins I have purchased in an attempt to contain the ever increasing number of stuffed arms, legs, paws, hooves, wings etc.
Every night I spend time picking up these animals and dolls to return them to their home. But unlike the Legos and Hotwheels I carelessly toss into their perspective bins, I can't seem to bring myself to toss the seemly hundred of stuffed toys into bins. I know it sounds crazy, but I can't. It just feels wrong to throw a naked baby doll into a bin and pile a bunch of other toys on top of it.
Does that make me weird? Maybe,but I was weird anyway so I guess this quirk doesn't really tip the scales ...
I also can't bring myself to carry babies around by their legs or heads. It just feels so wrong. Maybe I have some amazing maternal instinct or something ... nah ... just feels creepy. And given the choice between weird and creepy you gotta pick weird right?
Look, I know these babies aren't alive and when I leave the room they aren't going to spring to life like in Toy Story, but ... I don't know, there is still this very small child-like part of me that doesn't want to give up of the sliver of a chance that they might and I don't want any toys talkin' smack about me ...
A few weeks ago I set up a small pup tent in the basement for my kids to play in. Later in the day I went downstairs and was horrified to see, not only the mess that lay in front of me, but a stuffed bear hanging by it's neck from the inside of the tent. Now I am sure that this wasn't meant to be some sort of torture device for the bear, it was an accident. Maybe the knot got too tight and it couldn't be untied by a six-year-old's fingers, but there it was.
I couldn't help myself I rushed over, untied the poor bear from his noose (I am guessing the bear is a he - he was wearing brown) and proceeded to give him a big hug. Then a carried him around for awhile like a baby and laid him down gently before tackling the mess that was my basement. Weird, sure, but don't go crinkling you nose at me - it's not like I gave him mouth-to-mouth of anything (or would that be mouth-to-snout?).
I know treating dolls and stuffed animals this way doesn't really make much difference in the big scheme of things (except to secure the fact that I am a little coo-coo), but it sure makes me feel better. And if there is any way I can ward off being a victim of one of those Chucky dolls, you can bet I'm gonna do it!
Stuffed animals are a great go-to gift for relatives or friends at birthdays or holidays. They can also mysteriously pop up in your shopping cart during a trip the grocery store when your little one looks up at you with his or her big doe eyes and says "pullll-ease!" How can you say no to that? You can't, well I can't anyway - not a day when they have been exceptionally good or I have been exceptionally grumpy. And at my house there is a about a 50/50 chance of it being one of those days.
Now after three children and three sets of doey eyes looking up at me, our house is littered with stuffed animals of various size and baby dolls (mostly naked) and even some combination of the two. Some end up on the kids' beds, a few special ones have been placed up on shelves or dressers, but the majority are buried in bins I have purchased in an attempt to contain the ever increasing number of stuffed arms, legs, paws, hooves, wings etc.
Every night I spend time picking up these animals and dolls to return them to their home. But unlike the Legos and Hotwheels I carelessly toss into their perspective bins, I can't seem to bring myself to toss the seemly hundred of stuffed toys into bins. I know it sounds crazy, but I can't. It just feels wrong to throw a naked baby doll into a bin and pile a bunch of other toys on top of it.
Does that make me weird? Maybe,but I was weird anyway so I guess this quirk doesn't really tip the scales ...
I also can't bring myself to carry babies around by their legs or heads. It just feels so wrong. Maybe I have some amazing maternal instinct or something ... nah ... just feels creepy. And given the choice between weird and creepy you gotta pick weird right?
Look, I know these babies aren't alive and when I leave the room they aren't going to spring to life like in Toy Story, but ... I don't know, there is still this very small child-like part of me that doesn't want to give up of the sliver of a chance that they might and I don't want any toys talkin' smack about me ...
A few weeks ago I set up a small pup tent in the basement for my kids to play in. Later in the day I went downstairs and was horrified to see, not only the mess that lay in front of me, but a stuffed bear hanging by it's neck from the inside of the tent. Now I am sure that this wasn't meant to be some sort of torture device for the bear, it was an accident. Maybe the knot got too tight and it couldn't be untied by a six-year-old's fingers, but there it was.
I couldn't help myself I rushed over, untied the poor bear from his noose (I am guessing the bear is a he - he was wearing brown) and proceeded to give him a big hug. Then a carried him around for awhile like a baby and laid him down gently before tackling the mess that was my basement. Weird, sure, but don't go crinkling you nose at me - it's not like I gave him mouth-to-mouth of anything (or would that be mouth-to-snout?).
I know treating dolls and stuffed animals this way doesn't really make much difference in the big scheme of things (except to secure the fact that I am a little coo-coo), but it sure makes me feel better. And if there is any way I can ward off being a victim of one of those Chucky dolls, you can bet I'm gonna do it!
Friday, September 6, 2013
Let's get it started!
Hello Bloggosphere! Welcome to the crazy little space between my ears!
This is my first time blogging so excuse me if I am doing it wrong - but hey! I'm new here, cut me a little slack! I'll get the hang of it eventually. And if I don't I'm sure the blogging gods will let me know and punish me by make me watch all the seasons of "Keeping Up with the Kardashians" on a continuous loop until I am bleeding out my eyes or come to my house, confiscate my computer and shake their finger at me in disgust.
But for now I am here and I plan on taking full advantage. Here are my thoughts people and you must read them! Or you can just click the little red X in the right hand corner of your screen too - it's entirely up to you.
If you do decide to stick around, first off thanks! And second you may as well know up front that I am going to write about my kids. A LOT. I am a stay-at-home mom (domestic goddess, housewife, homemaker ... whatever PC term we are using these days) and so my kids are in my face, and under my feet and in my space all day every day. Don't get me wrong I love it, even if it may not always come across that way, but this is my life.
So in turn, it's what I write about. So what makes me different from the millions of other stay-at-home moms, a few hundred of which probably have a blog just like mine? Well .... nothing really. I don't have some amazingly unique parenting style, or am amazingly crafty or am a gourmet chef who cooks only organic meals ... I am just your run-of-the-mill mom with three kids (six, three and two) who is desperately trying to get through the laundry and the dishes and the Legos ... Some days are fun, other days are trying and all days are tiring.
So if you like my style of writing and my attempt at being humorous stick around - there is more to come. If you don't, thanks for stopping by and reading to the end. It's been a privilege having you on my page. You are a very attractive individual too ... did you lose some weight? I love your hair that way too ...
This is my first time blogging so excuse me if I am doing it wrong - but hey! I'm new here, cut me a little slack! I'll get the hang of it eventually. And if I don't I'm sure the blogging gods will let me know and punish me by make me watch all the seasons of "Keeping Up with the Kardashians" on a continuous loop until I am bleeding out my eyes or come to my house, confiscate my computer and shake their finger at me in disgust.
But for now I am here and I plan on taking full advantage. Here are my thoughts people and you must read them! Or you can just click the little red X in the right hand corner of your screen too - it's entirely up to you.
If you do decide to stick around, first off thanks! And second you may as well know up front that I am going to write about my kids. A LOT. I am a stay-at-home mom (domestic goddess, housewife, homemaker ... whatever PC term we are using these days) and so my kids are in my face, and under my feet and in my space all day every day. Don't get me wrong I love it, even if it may not always come across that way, but this is my life.
So in turn, it's what I write about. So what makes me different from the millions of other stay-at-home moms, a few hundred of which probably have a blog just like mine? Well .... nothing really. I don't have some amazingly unique parenting style, or am amazingly crafty or am a gourmet chef who cooks only organic meals ... I am just your run-of-the-mill mom with three kids (six, three and two) who is desperately trying to get through the laundry and the dishes and the Legos ... Some days are fun, other days are trying and all days are tiring.
So if you like my style of writing and my attempt at being humorous stick around - there is more to come. If you don't, thanks for stopping by and reading to the end. It's been a privilege having you on my page. You are a very attractive individual too ... did you lose some weight? I love your hair that way too ...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)