Life With The Two...

New Hair

2011-11-21T12:43:00.000+01:00

I took my fear of hair cuts, and decided I wasn't going to let it bother me and got new hair. Not only did I get shorter hair, I have dyed my hair two different shades of brown in the last three months, and this is what I have decided is my favoite.

What do you think? Good?

PSA for my Children

2011-10-02T20:11:00.002+02:00

Dear Darling Demonspawn,

There are going to be a vast number of things you'll be able to get away with in your lifetime. I am not always the most observant person in the room. Heck, there are days I forget about the tattoo I have on my foot, and it's only been there a couple of months. I can look for a book, a kitchen utensil, or my wallet for an hour or more and not realize it's directly in front of me. I lose my glasses when they are on my face.

So that tattoo or navel ring you might decide to get when you are old enough to do so without my consent may go unnoticed. You will probably be able to sneak out once or twice and I will be none the wiser. Clean your room by throwing everything under the bed or in the closet? Yeah, that's gonna take me a few minutes to figure out.

However.

If you go from looking like this:

To looking like THIS:

Telling me you didn't think I would notice is not going to work.
I was born in the morning, but not THIS morning!

Love you even when I want to lock you in your room for forever,
Mommy

Hmmmm...

2011-08-09T23:01:00.000+02:00

Grief is itself a medicine. ~William Cowper

2011-08-08T02:55:00.000+02:00

Somedays, the only memories you’ll have are the happy ones.

Somedays, the only memories you’ll have are the sad ones.

Somedays, you won’t think about any of those memories and that will make you feel like a terrible person.

Occasionally, you’ll cry.

Occasionally you’ll laugh.

Occasionally you’ll wonder if you are supposed to be laughing yet.

From time to time, you might feel as though you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

Once in a while you’ll remind yourself that what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.

Once in a while, you’ll realize you would have preferred for it to have killed you.

Grief is hard.

People say it gets easier. That you can work through it. That one day, it won’t be nearly as difficult as it seems today. What people forget to mention is that there is no timeline set in stone for it. We go on with our lives, despite wishing we could go back and freeze time. To a time without goodbyes. Without that empty seat at Thanksgiving dinner.

We move onward and upward waiting for that day we’ve been promised. The day that it’s easier. Some of us cope by throwing ourselves into our work, our homes, our hobbies. Some of us cope by talking with a friend, or a shrink. And some still, they cope by not coping at all.

The day we’re waiting for? That easy day? It will come. And the day after that day, may not be as easy, but there will be another good day after that. Many, many days where the pain seems to leave. Days we don’t feel as if the world is crashing in around us with no one around to help dig us out of the rubble.

And eventually, over an indefinite number of days, weeks, months and even years, the breezy carefree days will out number the bad ones ten fold. The days when you just want to lie in bed under the covers blocking out everything around you will be few, and far between.

Grief is hard, and yet I cannot think about it as something inherently bad. For me, I can’t help but think the amount of sorrow I feel over someone’s passing is in direct correlation with how much joy and love they added to my life. That, my friends, is the reminder we sometimes need in order to find the days that it’s going to get easier.

Validating my "I'm a Dork" post label...

2011-07-28T19:00:00.001+02:00

There is exactly one turn required to get from Paul's grandparent's house to the store.
On one of my first visits, I went to the store under the impression that not even I could screw up the driving directions "And turn left at X street."

Guess what?

Thanks to mindless driving and listening to Dave Matthews serenade me, I did.

When I told Grandpa that I had missed my turn because I was listening to Dave and told him what song it was, he laughed at me. And then pretended it was normal.

So now? This will always be our song.

One Fish, Two Fish...

2011-07-27T22:14:00.001+02:00

As far as in laws go, I'm damn lucky.

It's a good thing they are all pretty great, because there's a lot of them. Life could be awkward and more stressful if they sucked.

I could name specific life events in which different members of the Paulo's family have not liked me (and rightfully so with valid reasons to feel that way), except for Grandpa.

If at any time I was on his bad side, I didn't know it. He just accepted me for me from day one. Over the last nine years, we've discussed power tools, fixing up boats, random events from the newspaper, sweet Vidalia onion salad dressing, and most recently how delicious a meal of beans and cornbread is.

Last month, he spoke at the funeral of his sister in law. While I didn't know Aunt Donna at all, listening to Grandpa talk about how that family accepts everyone and is always happy to make room for one more person, I cried. And I do not usually cry at funerals. After the funeral, I told him I was mad at him for making me cry. I also talked to him about a conversation many years ago, where he told the Paulo I was a bluegill. I know it means I'm a "keeper", but given my irrational fear of fish, had anyone else made that statement I would have been offended.

Six days ago, after complications during surgery on his back, one of the most amazing people on earth went home to be with Jesus. I don't think that devastated is a strong enough word to describe how the entire family is feeling right now. I am not even a blood relative and just thinking about him being gone is enough to take my breath away. I want to wake up tomorrow and have this week be some really terrible dream.

It won't. The best I can do is work toward handling the news with the same grace and innocence of Zoe. She said, and I quote:

"I know we'll see G-pa again when we get to Heaven, but I'm sure gonna miss him until then."

Me too, baby girl. Me too.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

2011-07-24T12:34:00.000+02:00

We're home. And no longer jet lagged.

Thank goodness.

Why I Keep Coming Back

2011-07-04T22:10:00.000+02:00

My three favorite entries in today's 4th of July parade...

The sign on the side says "Same Day Service since 1896"

"Protecters of the Corn"

Frohe Vaterstag!

2011-06-20T04:51:00.000+02:00

Before he was a grandpa, he was a lot scarier. Now? Well, this sort of says it all doesn't it?

Why Vonage's Transcribed Voicemail Service Is My Favorite...

2011-06-16T18:47:00.000+02:00

"Hey babe girl it's me Morrison you've been trying to call. I didn't know he's been trying to call. I'm sorry I missed call from Germany. Alright. I'm still in Marian. We will be we got of be in Allied the 30th. But Tina should retarded and we don't really know any airplane date. So at least Monday, shadow, I will be here if you're going to be able to find who you know freaking Mary awesome I love you Christine. I but I made by now if I go ahead and I so if he does not if I don't answer I don't have my charger. So I'm going to put it on better receiver mode because my treasure the hospital where I was because I guess she hadn't had a big boy but I love you very much. If I do not answer and okay sorry I haven't tried her about tomorrow bro which means that you called. I'll be booking I check my voicemail so I love you very much. Cheers then. Bye"

*****************************************************

This is the exact email the husband received from Vonage after my baby sister Bimley left a voicemail. Clearly, this is not what she said. Or maybe it is.

For 1, Her name is Bimley Louise, so she didn't say "it's me Morrison". Her lies are way more creative and elaborate than that.

Translation key:

Marian = Maryland
Allied = Hawaii
Tina = TMO
Christine = Sissy
and my second favorite:

Cheers then = see you soon

I Done Did It

2011-06-01T15:32:00.000+02:00

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote this post for Band Back Together.

About my fear. Of getting a haircut.

While it's not on the same rating scale as say, my fear of squirrels, feet, birds, or fish, it is enough to make it nearly impossible to ever THINK about making an appointment.

I sucked it up yesterday, and went from this...

To this...

And I didn't cry even once.

Take Two of These, And Call Your Shrink In the Morning

2011-05-18T09:52:00.001+02:00

It never occurred to me in 2007 to hide the fact that I was seeking treatment to deal with depression. It never crossed my mind that I was supposed to be ashamed of the fact that I had a disease that required medication to treat.

No one tells diabetics they should be ashamed of themselves for being sick. No one thinks it's taboo to talk about their gall stones, or their kidney stones. I can't think of a single person who would tell an elderly person not to talk about their arthritis because it's shameful.

And yet.

When I blogged about my situation, a dear friend of mine was contacted by a relative regarding my blog post. The woman was worried for her great grandchildren, and she told my friend not to allow me to watch her children anymore because I was being medicated for depression.

I've always wanted to ask her,

Isn't it better that I WAS medicated, rather than pretending there was absolutely nothing wrong with me?

My name is Sara, and I am the face of depression.

*********************************************

May is National Mental Health Month. If you have a story to share, or need support or to know you are not alone, head over and visit The Band. We've got an extra tambourine for you.

I'll Have Cafe Mocha Vodka Valium Latte to Go, Please

2011-05-17T22:39:00.000+02:00

The running list of things that have gone totally bat crap insane since my husband took his flippy floppies and got on a boat:

Last week I was running late picking up the brat from school and walked out the door without a house key.
Sunday, I grabbed my wallet to go downstairs for ice cream, but forgot to grab the key. I realized this 3 seconds before Zephy slammed the door closed.
Yesterday, I did a cartwheel while we were walking home from school and lost my house key in the grass. We cannot find it.
We've been late to school more times in the last 3 weeks than we have for the rest f the school year combined.
I went to take photos for a tee ball team, and left my camera battery at home.
I do not think there is any day my child has had everything she's needed for school with her. If it keeps up, I might see the ladies in the front office enough to get invited to Bunco. (WTH is Bunco anyway? I feel like I'm supposed to know this, but I don't.)
The mommy guilt I feel for my poor children, who are sad and angry that daddy is gone, makes me give in every time they ask to sleep in my room. This means I haven't slept in a month. They are violent "I will punch you in the face" sleepers.

and the kicker...

At 8:45 on Saturday night, Miss Zephy was having a dance party while jumping on my bed, and her face tried to make out with the corner of my bookcase.

We got home at about 1:30 from the ER where my beautiful daughter became the proud wearer of 8 stitches reaching from the corner of her eyebrow up about an inch and a half.

See?

I also learned that she has no idea who Bugs Bunny is.

Why I Can Never Live Alone Exhibit 4,576,981

2011-05-11T22:03:00.000+02:00

The other night, the girls were asleep and I was up late doing what ever it is that I do (mostly that means I was watching stupid reality television). I got up to go to the bathroom and discovered the door was locked. This isn't an unusual event in and of itself, until I tell you the door can only lock from the inside, and it must be closed to do so.

Since I knew *I* wasn't in the bathroom, and the girls were snoring loudly, there was only one very logical and reasonable scenario.

Someone had gotten a ladder, climbed to our third floor window, cut through the screen , and crawled through the very small window that is in there. All without making a peep. Or knocking down the candles from the window sill.

It took me 15 minutes to work up the nerve to unlock the door, and that was only after I grabbed a pair of safety scissors to protect myself from the menace who was most certainly waiting just inside the door for me to walk in.

Even after I wasn't killed or kidnapped right away, I had to make sure to check the tub (still with my plastic blunt edged scissors) before I was fully convinced I'm really just an over imaginative lunatic.

I really should stop being such a drama queen.*

*In my defense, I still have yet to figure out just how the heck the door got locked. the only screwdriver we have that can turn the lock from the outside was high up on a shelf that the girls couldn't have possibly gotten to. And I know they didn't because they have never in their lives put something back where it goes without me having to nag them.

She'll Look Pretty Kicking Your Butt

2011-05-02T19:53:00.000+02:00

At the beginning of the school year, Zeph got a shirt with a skull on it from The Children's Place. And she LOVED it. So much, that it wore out pretty quickly. So when I saw this polo, I just had to get it for her.

And then Ms Mandi found her a hairbow to go with it...

And last weekend, she talked me into getting her new earrings...

I love the contrast between her, and her little sister who loves any and everything that has to do with cupcakes.

One of those things that makes me laugh. And drink a little.

Proven Track Record

2011-05-02T11:00:00.000+02:00

On September 11, 2001, when that first plane flew into the North tower, I was asleep.

On May 2, 2011, when President Obama announced that Osama bin Laden had been killed, I was asleep.

I'm still not sure I'm awake enough to try and sort it all out in my head, so I'll steal someone else's words.

Beth said it best on Twitter.

"Yes. The best news tonight? Not the death of Osama but the safety of the military who carried out the mission."

We're Boring...

2011-04-29T19:39:00.000+02:00

This is seriously the only exciting things we've done this last week and a half.

And egg hunt...

And Zoe graduated to the next level of swimming.

Aren't you jealous of our exciting life?

Boxers, Briefs, or Does it matter if they were free?

2011-04-21T08:49:00.000+02:00

When the Paulo was deployed to Iraq many moons ago, we talked every day. Because we're incredibly spoiled, and he's the communications/internet guy. One day, during a phone conversation, he asked me to send him some new underwear, ASAP.

My initial thought was that maybe the ones he had taken with him were getting all sandy and gross and he just wanted some that might be a bit more comfortable.

Nope.

He needed new under-roos because his had been stolen from the washing machine. Just his unmentionables. Not his socks. Not his shorts. Not a thing was taken but the underwear. What perplexed me MOST though, is that they were stolen from the washer and not the dryer. Who steals things that are sopping wet? You can't just wisk them away and put them in your locker. You have to dry them and in my professional criminal opinion, makes it more likely to get caught.

The husband left a few days ago. In his duffel bag is this...

"In Case the Underwear Ninjas Strike Again"

Ohhhhhhh! I'm telling! You said a bad word!!!

2011-04-19T23:07:00.002+02:00

There is a word written on the white board in my dining room where I write down everything I need to remember. Groceries, random appointments, the 2,000 digit phone numbers of the people I need to call.

Today, there is actually a word on the board that I don't really want people to see when they walk in my house. Which means I have to run some errands ASAP.

The word?

c***cap n. A hat worn by military personnel who are wearing the dress uniform.

The "c" word is up there on the list of words I cannot stand. I don't recall EVER using it in everyday conversations.

And yet hilarious, because I realized I don't know what it's ACTUALLY called.

Thanks, Dad. This is 138% your fault.

Dude, We're Getting the Band Back Together

2011-04-09T23:04:00.000+02:00

You know how when the shit hits the fan, it usually seems as though there is not one single person in the entire world who could possibly imagine what it is you are going through? How you're ALWAYS alone, and why bother trying to explain it to someone who just won't get it?

I have google-able proof that you are wrong. (Although, I don't know WHAT I would google exactly. I just know I could.) That this terrible, horrible, no good, very bad way of thinking is a lie bigger than the Empire State Building is tall.

Sure, you could start a personal blog, and tell the world of your troubles, and you would end up with a support group of people you wouldn't have met otherwise, had it not been for the Internets. The problem with this can be that the Internets are full of trolls just waiting to gobble up anyone who goes trip trapping over any bridge they find trivial. You know the ones I speak of. The people who tell you to be lucky that you're MERELY experiencing Sucktastic Exhibit A, when there are people who are going through Horrific Exhibit 2, which CLEARLY makes your feelings invalid.

Instead, Aunt Becky recognized the need for a group blog that acts as an online support group. It's the kind of place that is NOT all sunshine, lollipops, and rainbows, but the people who hang out there are made of Grade A quality awesome.

It's regularly sprayed for ants, roaches, and repulsive trolls. A judgement free zone, where you can post a story, and wind up with more people in your corner than you ever thought possible. Even if someone disagrees with you. One place on the web that does NOT bring out the inner teenage drama queen in most people. Everyone there remembers that (for almost all of them) high school is over, and those weren't the best years of life for the general population.

No judgement. No lengthy comment sections full of anonymous postings about how "wrong" the original poster is.

Just love.

There are pages and pages of posts, and pages and pages with resources to help you get the physical help you need, while the rest of us offer a great deal of emotional support.

The band is getting back together. And you're more than welcome to join.

We need more cowbell.

They Should Be on Broadway

2011-03-31T16:27:00.001+02:00

You know how when little kids "sing" it usually sounds like they are scream unintelligible things? At a program yesterday, the kids sang a song, and since I couldn't figure out what they were saying, I am assuming (from the hand motions) that it was about having head lice.

Fillin' Up the Penny Bank

2011-03-28T19:42:00.000+02:00

Someone taught my kids that Euros are worth more than dollars. So now it costs me $1.41 to get the small child to clean out the space under the sinks and cabinets.

Totally worth it though. It's dusty and gross under there!

Mirror Mirror

2011-03-23T20:56:00.000+01:00

Without going into too much detail, as I have things I MUST accomplish for Band Back Together before they fire me, I have to tell you a little story.

When I was 19, I was terrified of being overweight. To the point that I was bulimic for 5 years. This is me in 2002. I weighed about 112 pounds. I didn't see the skeleton arms when I looked in the mirror. As a matter of fact, I didn't see the skeleton arms until I found this picture about a year ago. My "mom eyes" picking up on the fact that this girl is way too thin for her own good.

I've sworn up, down, left, right, backward and sideways that I've never had any kind of body image issues. I am a liar.

Today, I was trying to get a relatively good picture of myself for a biography for Band Back Together. After I snapped a million pictures with my webcam, I started to flip through the images. This one stopped me in my tracks.

Do you see my arm? It's not as thin as the one in the photo from when I was 19, but it's not that far off. It's not the arm I see when I look in the mirror. I barely recognize the girl in this photo. I know it's me, but it feels surreal. It's strange.

The girl in the pictures (minus one where it looks like I only have one nostril and half of an eyeball is missing) is pretty. And confident. And I like her. I hope she sticks around for a while.

************
Tomorrow, I'm telling you all about the Band. It's the bestest site on the interwebs right now. (AND it won a Bloggy this year!!! YAY!!)

Also, if you can stop by and give dear Aunt Becky some love and support, she can definitely use it right about now.

You Capture ~ Youth

2011-03-23T10:36:00.001+01:00

One day, when we pick out new wall stickers, my children aren't going to pick the sweet adorable fairies.

One day, I won't have to vacuum up 8 million sequins after the girls dress up in a mermaid costume.

One day, she's not going to suck her thumb during her afternoon nap.

And that day will be bittersweet. I sort of want their youthfulness to stay around forever. (Although, the day the mermaid costume stops shedding all over the house will be a slightly happy one!)

Visit Beth for more captures and next week's assignment!

A Knight in Shiny Armor. Or a Tin Foil Mummy...

2011-03-22T16:44:00.000+01:00

It's no big secret that I don't like old people.

There are a few exceptions, but as a whole, they are not my favorite group of people.

Today, I have to add another exception to the rule. An elderly gentleman and his wife walked into the burger place right in front of me. Of course he held the door for his wife, but he also continued to hold it open for me. When this kind of thing happens, I usually try to get a hand on the door and let the door holder go in front of me. This guy wasn't having it.

He looked at me and said:

"Miss, chivalry isn't dead just because most of the people who learned it are."

(This was even more awesome for me because of Heather's post last week.)

Spring is Springing!

2011-03-15T15:32:00.000+01:00

Some Assembly Required...

2011-03-12T20:55:00.000+01:00

(photo by the Paulo)

While it may only take one person to change a light bulb around here (me), it takes three people to put together a desk chair.

Though some of us did more work than others...

Hello Random

2011-03-11T20:18:00.000+01:00

This guy's name is Sebastian Schnuelle.

He's from Canada.

And this is the only picture that appeared during my Google image search where he doesn't look like a dirty hippy.

Why did I do a search for pictures of some random guy in a hat shaped like a Siberian husky?

Because apparently, my daughter should start betting on dog sled races. It seems that she chose to root for this guy during the Iditarod because he has a funny name (though this is similar to how I pick my favorite baseball team), but he's actually really good. Yesterday he was in 7th place, and as of 15 minutes ago, he was in the lead.

I wonder if there's a racetrack around here?

*****************************************
Random of the Day: I saw a guy get a ROOF thrown at him. He narrowly avoided being hit by it, but I still want to know what you have to do that is so horrible you make people throw parts of BUILDINGS at you...

The Lesson I Hope They Learn From All of This

2011-03-08T17:43:00.001+01:00

The struggles make you stronger,

And the changes make you wise.

And happiness has it's own way of

taken it's sweet time.

Life ain't always beautiful, but it's a beautiful ride.

~ Life Ain't Always Beautiful by Gary Allen

Lazy, to the Millionth Degree...

2011-03-05T11:04:00.000+01:00

These two photos were taken at just about the half way point between our house and the school. That is our apartment building just past those trees. And the building we drop Zephy off at is just beyond that green speck of a jungle gym.

Some mornings, we drive. And I can't decide if I feel bad about that or not.

I Like Nonsense, It Wakes Up Brain Cells

2011-03-04T10:18:00.001+01:00

If you're going to go to school dressed as a character from a Dr Seuss book, Random Who 3rd from the right seems like the perfect one to me!

Flashback

2011-02-27T19:29:00.001+01:00

~ Insert Wavy Fingers ~

Like an Endless Episode of Kids Say the Darnedest Things...

2011-02-26T19:22:00.001+01:00

Zephina: Mommy, did you know that the place where all the headstones are is a graveyard?

Me: Yes. It's also called a cemetery.

Zoe: ZOMBIES come from cemeteries. Great, now you got zombies in my head and I'm going to have to dream them out!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zoe (while wielding a plastic butter knife) Sissy! Come here!! I want to cut you up into a chicken!!!

It Was Easier Last Time

2011-02-26T07:08:00.006+01:00

The last time their daddy went anywhere, the big one wasn't even 3 yet.

And the little one hadn't turned 2.

This time, they're big.

And they understand that Daddy is leaving.

The big one is mad. I can only tell her I understand.
The little one keeps making me reassure her he is not going to the place with the war. Thankfully, I can do this.

And the mommy is starting to feel horrible that her amazing kids were born into this life. They didn't choose it. I did. Daddy did.

I can't stop thinking about all military children. We ask so much of people who are so little.

Bad Mommy, That's a Very Bad Mommy...

2011-02-25T18:24:00.000+01:00

She asked me for help standing up, and since I am mean, I told her no. Said she could do it herself.

I'm now unsure whether I feel worse about saying no, or laughing hysterically for two minutes before I helped her free her hair that was in a bun and had gotten stuck in between the slats on the back of the chair.

Ooops!

I Don't Look Good In Stripes.

2011-02-22T18:47:00.001+01:00

I've got to make a confession.

I am amazed that I do not have some kind of police record. Although every crime I may or may not have committed in my youth would be Class C misdemeanors, IF I had committed any, I shouldn't have been lucky enough to not get caught.

My driving record? I've got a couple of speeding tickets. But before I turned 21 I had been pulled over 15 times. 13 of those were for running the same stop sign. The SAME stop sign. Why was I never given a ticket? (I say that, and now I'm sure I will totally be getting a ticket the next time I drive to my dad's house.) I'm not saying I wish they had given me tickets. I'm just saying my luck has NEVER been that good since then.

As for my clean police record? Well, I'm willing to give that up. I would totally commit a felony for any of the following:

Steak n Shake french fries and a vanilla water. (This has been down graded. A friend on Facebook commented she ate there, and then had an upset stomach. I'd go as high as a Class A misdemeanor.)
A shopping trip to Target.
A peanut butter smoothie from Jamba Juice.
Milk that didn't cost $4.50 a gallon. (And actually came in one of those plastic milk jugs. Man I miss those!).
A place to live that is NOT up 3 flights of stairs. I'm not complaining, but I'm complaining.
Wall to wall to wall to wall carpeting. Hardwood floors are of the devil.
An oven that could actually hold my muffin tin, AND had temperature settings in a unit of measure I could understand. And that can cook a whole chicken in less than 2 1/2 hours.
Wendy's french fries and a Frosty. (Though, word on the sträße is we're getting a Wendy's sometime soon.)
A shopping trip to Kohl's.
A Container Store near me. Online shopping just isn't cutting it.
An Old Navy near me. (See above)
And plenty more things I won't think of until I hit publish and think "DUH! How did I forget THAT?!"

Hide and Go Seek

2011-02-20T15:11:00.000+01:00

Somedays, you just have to hide.

Or at least attempt to.

She's Not Serious Is She?

2011-02-17T13:05:00.005+01:00

This morning I sat down to do some blog reading before taking the Zephy to school and clicked over to see what Loralee was talking about today. (If you don't read her blog, you are seriously missing out.) Today, the post she needed to write led me to be the most pissed off I've ever been before 8 am in my life.

This is what she read in the Annie's Mailbox column from yesterday:

Dear Annie: My son showed me the Facebook page of a 20-year-old acquaintance who is expecting a baby with her boyfriend. An ultrasound showed that the baby was seriously brain damaged and would likely die at birth.

This gal named her unborn baby and created a website journal of her pregnancy. Some of the entries were about her doctor appointments and shopping for a funeral home. Others were rants about fights with her boyfriend and his forays with other women. Her page includes professionally taken photographs of her lifting her shirt to expose her very pregnant belly.

I was appalled at the publicizing of such a heart-wrenching, private situation. Am I just old-fashioned? -- A Private Person

Let me bullet point my anger at this letter for you:

This woman is upset that an unborn baby was NAMED even though they know the child will not be born alive. I seriously hope she didn't even consider naming her son until he was born and she knew he would live. Otherwise? Hypocrite.
She has a problem with a woman journaling about her pregnancy because she knows this child will not live. She's not allowed to talk about her doctor appointments? She shouldn't be reaching out for support for having to pick out a damn funeral home for her UNBORN child? It's not fair for a parent to outlive their child. It's EXTREMELY not fair for a parent to not get to take a child home from the hospital.
She cares that this woman posts things about her relationship to her PERSONAL blog? A little corner of the web where she goes to reach out and help herself deal? I hope she's never complained about her husband/significant other to any of her friends. It's the same thing as blogging about it.
What woman (myself exempt) DOESN'T take pictures of their (GASP!) bare, very pregnant bellies? At least she was wearing a shirt. I've seen ones that are completely topless. Also? Who gives a rip if they are professional photos? Is she not entitled to spend her money in whatever way she sees fit?
Will someone please explain to me why this situation HAS to be private? Or is it the fact that it's a VERY heart wrenching story that offends this lovely piece of work. She wants the internet to only be full of sunshine, lollipops, and unicorns shitting rainbows? Oh how I wish that life was ALWAYS unicorns and their rainbow poop.

Dear Private: The fact that something so personal is put into cyberspace and broadcast to everyone is, unfortunately, a common occurrence these days among young people who have no concept of privacy (or good taste). What used to go into a locked diary is now fodder for the world. However, this girl is going through a sad and difficult time, and sharing her story undoubtedly brings her comfort.

And again, watch my bullet points of fury...

Blogging is "unfortunately" a common occurrence? Clearly, you don't realize the amazing powers of the internet and it's citizens who don't try to eat goats trip trapping over their bridge.
I get the no concept of privacy. I know very well that there are people who really DO post too much to the web, but now the young people have NO TASTE? It's tasteless to talk about a truly devastating part of life?
NO TASTE?! Sorry, maybe this offends me very much because I probably fall into that generation of young people. I'm not quite 30, but obviously not a teenager. I resent the fact that this "advice columnist" is stereotyping a very large group of people. I'm pretty sure if this woman ends up in a nursing home, all of her care staff will have a facebook account, and MANY will have blogged in their lifetime. It's usually best to try to avoid pissing off the people who one day will be administering your medication and wiping your ass.
Why does it have to go into a locked diary? Part of the problems from the past stem from the fact that families didn't used to talk about the difficult things. Everyone had to keep it to themselves. I'm pretty sure it's why a vast majority of Americans have standing Prozac prescriptions. Blogging is WAY cheaper than pharmacy co-pays.
I'm not sure that this woman can truly understand that it's not JUST going to bring comfort to this lady. It does do that, but it will also prove to her and OTHERS going through the same situation that they are not alone. I'm sure everyone can agree that it can feel like you are the only person in the world going through tough things, and it's so amazing to find people who is dealing with the same thing. It's like going to a support group, except there's no bad coffee and stale donuts. (Well, unless that's the kind of thing you keep in your house.)

What I truly think the response should have to been to this letter is:
Dear Private,

Yes. You are old fashioned. This young lady has EVERY right to talk about her extremely difficult story to any corner of the internet she deems right for her. Be that Facebook, a blog, message boards. It's her choice, and you can't expect her to censor herself to keep YOU from being uncomfortable.
You do not have to visit her sites if you do not approve of what she is posting. You can click away and forget you ever read about this woman's story. That is the beauty of the internet. There's a place for everyone. Including the douchebags.

Happy Valentine's Day from the Zs!!

2011-02-14T08:48:00.007+01:00

What's In a Name?

2011-02-11T11:27:00.000+01:00

I have a friend from high school who once forgot her own name.

Yes. Seriously.

During a marching band rehearsal, the choreographer asked her her name, and she said "Shaquetta". He looked at her and say "No, your real name."

She gave him a blank stare, and had to think for a minute to remember her real name.

I'm afraid my children will be in a similar situation at some point.

I almost never call my children by their real names. With Zoe, her nickname is derived from her name. We've always referred to her as Zo-Zo, and that morphed into Bo-Bo. Not too random of a thought process. At least, not for ME.

Zephy on the other hand. Oh poor Zephy. Not only do people rarely spell her name correctly (Her medical records have been for Zehina T. Longlastname, and are now for some kid named Zepina T. Longlastname) but I rarely call her anything other than Bean.

Maybe I'll get their real names tattooed on their arms. It'll make sure they'll have a permanent cheat sheet to that terribly difficult question of "What's your name?"

PSA ~ A Lesson In Etiquette

2011-02-10T23:36:00.000+01:00

Do NOT mess with the people who prepare or handle your food.

Ever.

This applies even more, when you are acting like an obnoxious tourist rather than a transplanted American in a country where the locals don't speak English as a first language. Here? YOU are the foreigner. Not them. They are the ones rolling their eyes and making fun of you in a language you don't speak.

Tonight, I witnessed a lady throw TWO fits in less than 10 minutes over her order at a restaurant that serves the local fare. First, she swore up, down, left, right, backward, and forward that the last time she was there someone took the mushrooms AND the mushroom flavor out of the Schnitzel gravy.

Hang on. I'm sorry. They took out the FLAVOR of the mushrooms? I really want to know how they did that, and then I want to make sure that person gets a raise. A BIG raise. And a promotion. That's some mad culinary skills right there.

After she decided to just get a wiener Schnitzel which has NO gravy, she sat down and I got to order my food. The minute I paid for my order, she came back up to the counter with her sodas, informing the girl that there was something wrong with the Coke. She ranted for a minute that she knows what Coke tastes like and that was NOT Coke in her glass. The gal taste tested the soda, and said it tasted fine to her, which caused the lady to turn around and yell to her husband who was sitting down.

She said...
†
"This girl is trying to tell me I'm crazy, I know what Coke tastes like, and there's no way this is Coke. She's trying to tell me the Coke is fine."

Dear sweet, ignorant, apparently illiterate woman. You did NOT order Coke. You ordered COLA. They only serve "cola" here. And since the Coke here does taste different than the stuff you're used to in the States, you really don't know what you are talking about. Five people in the back came out to test the soda, and all deemed it "normal".

Our friend the whiner? She yelled at them all that she wasn't crazy.

I'm scared to think of the amount of spit that ended up in her Schnitzel.

I'm Registered "Independent" because "Indecisive" Isn't an Option

2011-02-07T20:18:00.000+01:00

I in no way shape or form will ever claim to understand anything about politics. It's one area where I think people should just agree to disagree and then get over themselves. Having debates and listening to both sides is the only way we'll really ever make any kind of progress over anything anyway. There's a time and place for it. However, I also will never deny that I am not a fan of the most recent President Bush. This has nothing to do with the economy, the war, or any policy that was enacted while he was in office.

No. My dislike of Dubya lies soundly in a personal encounter I had with him. Well, not HIM, per se, but his entourage and cavalry that accompany him everywhere he goes.

A few years ago, he came to visit the Springs and speak at a NORAD conference or some such something. During his stay, he checked into a hotel on base. This makes sense to me. While there is a false sense of security on a base, the level of ACTUAL security is fairly staggering. I didn't care if he was staying in the hotel just down the road from my house. What DID bother me was that he decided to go out for a cheeseburger when I was trying to get home from the grocery.

The Secret Service and Security Forces shut down the three main roads between my house, and the commissary that was less than half a mile away. There was no way to, from, or around it. All of the roads were shut down because they didn't want people to know the exact route the caravan was going to take. Again, a safety precaution I totally understand. However, because the President wanted a cheeseburger, it took me 1 ½ hours to make the two minute drive to my house.

And that, Aunt Becky†, is why it is totally all his fault my ice cream melted.

(Also, this was the topic of my very first blog post, which is what started my blogging career. I randomly bring it up now, because Aunt Becky asked about it last week.)

I Love Ready to Assemble Swedish Furniture

2011-01-30T15:26:00.001+01:00

I have had three major purchases on my "Must Save Up to Buy" list for a while now.

One thing I always wanted, but never had room for, was a cubby type deal for an entryway. A beautiful place to store coats and shoes and random things that need kept by the door. ( We're a family full of people who forget where they put their coats and shoes.)

What I wanted was this...

The problem with this is two fold. It's huge, and we live in a tiny apartment (none of our other bigger houses had room for anything like this either) and it's $1,600. I am way too cheap for that kind of thing. Even if I do absolutely love it.

I decided that I needed to find something I loved just as much, but wasn't as pricey. So yesterday, my friend Mandi and I made an IKEA run. And I got this...

We'll add another shelving unit across the bottom soon, to act as a bench.

Much better than just some hooks behind the door. And the bins will hold all the hats and gloves and shin guards my children love to lose 20 minutes before they actually need them! And if I decide later I don't like it, or we move and don't have a place, the bookcases match Paul's desk, so they can be put in the office. I love versatile things like that! (Also? This was under $200. My bank account likes this one better too!)

Viva Las Vegas

2011-01-23T21:16:00.000+01:00

I thought my life was becoming normal. I haven't written much because nothing is really going on. So in typical fashion, something just as random as being mugged over some tapioca pudding. What has to be the world's worst Elvis impersonator handed me this at the commissary...

I really need to start going to a different commissary.

On second thought, if I did that, I might not have anything to blog about ever again.

If You Give a Sara a Thought...

2011-01-18T22:40:00.001+01:00

Update: This post is all Erica's fault. She made the reference to "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie". After she said it, I had to write the post.

*****************************************

If you give Sara a thought about her high school psychology class, she's going to remember that the teacher was also her US History teacher.

When she thinks about her history class, she's going to pause for a moment and try to remember if it really was a history class and not a geography one.

When she remembers it was not geography, she's going to remember she took geography in middle school.

When she thinks about her 8th grade geography class, she'll think about how the teacher would play tapes by a motivational speaker on Friday.

When she remembers the tapes, she'll think of a video that he showed during a section about the South.

When she thinks about the video, she'll remember it was the story about a boy killed during the civil rights movement.

And when she thinks of the boy, she'll remember his name, which she had tried to do yesterday but kept drawing a blank.

After she remembers the name, she's going to reach the end of the her thought process and a need a new thought to think.

When you give her a thought to think, she's going to remember a bunch of thoughts only slightly related to each other.

*****************************
And this my friends, is why my life is really nothing more than a never ending "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie" book.

Daddy Wears Pink Panties

2010-12-17T14:50:00.001+01:00

I must show you the main reasons why, in 6 years, I have never ever included a photo in a Christmas card...

Exhibit A:

Reason 8,954,231:

Don't tell Zephina, but I don't blame her for not wanted to be in a picture with whatever THAT thing is...

It's Like, Blackmail Worthy

2010-12-14T11:00:00.000+01:00

So last night, I'm sitting at my computer chatting with Holly, when all of the sudden she says, "I have big belly Sara pictures!"

I must say, for a moment, I did not believe her. I was pretty sure there was not a single photo of my pregnant belly in the entire world. And I liked that thought. I am NOT photogenic in the least bit, and in every picture taken of me, no matter how much I weigh, I have 12 chins. I'm pretty sure everyone on my mom's side of the family has the same issue. Even though we don't have them in real life, in pictures they are front and center.

After the initial shock of my little picture-less utopia being crushed wore off, I figured it couldn't be THAT bad. That, my friends, is a lie. I know I'm VERY critical of myself, but that's just how I am. I see the flaws no matter what. However, Miss Zoe DID just turn five two weeks ago, so it was fun for these pictures to surface when they did. So, in honor of today being the day Zoe was SUPPOSED to be born, I will share one of the photos with you.

Also? I have to share because none of my friends or family in Indiana ever saw me this pregnant. With either kid.

November 30, 2005
The day before Zoe made her debut. I was totally in labor when this was taken.

Consider yourselves lucky this isn't the one where my belly button looks like a giant third nipple in the middle of my belly. THAT is pretty gross. Also? Totally looks like I just shoved a basket ball in my shirt.

A Castle and a Quote

2010-12-11T00:53:00.000+01:00

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break. ~William Shakespeare

Traveling Without a Map

2010-12-05T10:38:00.000+01:00

For me, life isn't about the big moments.

Well, that's not true. Big moments are important. The better stories, however, tend to be the ones you never expect to tell.

Like how I know that there is a town in France with only one really tiny public bathroom. And it's in the building that's next to the French flag. Or the giant French fry. I'm still not 100% sure...

Daily Convo: 5 year old Edition

2010-12-02T19:38:00.001+01:00

The following is an exact transcript of the conversation that just occurred between myself and Zoe.

(I handed her a pajama shirt so that she could finish getting ready for bed...)

Zoe: But Mommy! I wore this shirt when I was FOUR!!

Me: Um, okay? Put it on!

Zoe: It's a shirt I wore when I was FOUR!

Me: Hush! Just put it on, it fits you!

Zoe: But!!

Me: You need to stop complaining about a shirt you wore TWO DAYS AGO!

Zoe: You need to calm down!!

She's been 5 for less than 48 hours, and already I'm wondering which one of us is the only one who will survive to see her 6th birthday...

Random Photos From France

2010-11-30T09:42:00.000+01:00

Thanksgiving. On a Tuesday. In June.

2010-11-22T20:55:00.002+01:00

I am feeling kinda guilty right now.

I am not doing a Thanksgiving lunch with the daycare kids this year. We're learning about the Pilgrims tomorrow, since we're out of Native American and turkey pictures to color. We've made our own apple sauce, and debated whether pumpkin pie or sweet potato pie is better. (No one won the debate. We've agreed to disagree.) Yet we aren't having turkey and stuffing and yams and cranberry and green beans, or any other Thanksgiving fare on our last school day before Thanksgiving break.

I would feel a little more guilt about this, except I just looked at the menus for the next two weeks and discovered we're having "Thanksgiving" in two weeks for lunch. Because we can. And I remembered that this ended up in the menu rotation in August.

I was providing care for lady who used to do what I do, and when I showed her my menu to gather info on her picky eater she saw "turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, milk" listed for lunch on one of the days. And she accused me of being dedicated and awesome for cooking all of that for the kids.

So I confessed. It's not REALLY as amazing of a meal as it sounds. While it IS a crowd pleaser, it takes no more time than browning up some ground turkey.

What it really should read is:

Ground turkey mixed into a box of Stove Top, a can of sweet potatoes nuked in the microwave and sprinkled with cinnamon and brown sugar, and a can of cranberry sauce plunked into a bowl.

There is never any leftovers, and while I should feel guilty about the easy prep food, I don't.

I wash 14 plates, bowls, cups, forks, and spoons every day.

Basting turkey is up there on my to do list with having bamboo shoots jabbed under my fingernails.

Things That Cheer Me Up

2010-11-18T13:20:00.001+01:00

Here's a list of things that made me smile recently:

On the way home from school the other day, Zoe was walking really slow, and then suddenly yelled "Mommy! I have told you and told you 600 times. Do! Not! Lost! Me!"
A song came on Pandora today and there was a line "Are you nuts? It's frenulum."
In the book "Giraffe and a Half" by Shel Silverstein, there is a line "...and he left the fat dragon cause his wagon was saggin'" I
I got an email earlier with the phrase "What the fiddle pu is a trifle bowl?"
Miss Amelia saying hello to her merry band of pranksters made cry happy tears.
And last but not least, I always have to smile when the daycare kids all randomly scream "NO! Robin's a bird!" after they hear this song:

I Must Know...

2010-11-14T01:16:00.000+01:00

I have a very important question.

It's one of those things I just can't go on living if I don't have the answer.

Am I the only woman in the world who cannot buy a pair of pants to save a freakin' life?

Last weekend I tried on no less than 10 pairs of jeans.

Either they were too short, or too tight, or too baggy, or too mom jean-y.

Is a pair of normal rise jeans in a LONG length (and an AVERAGE size!) that hard to sew? Really now. I'm pretty sure those 5,000 pairs of size 0 short length pants are going to be the biggest seller of the holidays. So long as there is a shortage of pants at the Baby Gap.

This Is My New Theme Song

2010-11-13T19:24:00.000+01:00

I heard this again at just the right time this week. I think I'm officially pulled out of my funk.

Not Much to Say

2010-11-08T23:07:00.000+01:00

I have been having a completely horrendous week. And month. And actually the whole year has been pretty suck-tastic.

I'm working hard to get over it, and get back to normal. So, with this one temper tantrum I will be done being whiny and pouty and as horrible as a 2 year old who was told they can't have a cookie.

I WANT MY MOMMY DAMN IT!!!

And now? Now I am all better, and hopefully will be back to normal very soon.

This is Serious Business, Didn't You Know?

2010-10-30T23:57:00.000+02:00

Every time I hear about crazy parents flipping out and beating the crap out of each other at Little League games, I loudly roll my eyes. I always have said that there is no way I could ever get that angry at a GAME involving my children. Also? Hello, can we get a positive role model or two? That would be nice.

We just wrapped up the 2010 Pee Wee Soccer season. All this season, I've said that the parents on our team have got to be the WORST soccer parents in history. Our kids show up, but we don't keep secret the fact that we may or may not have been hoping all day that a game or practice would be rained out or cancelled for any random reason. Add that to the fact that we may or may not have made comments about how our kids need to knock over some kid on the opposing team, or kick them. I mean, kick the ball. Yes. Kick the ball.

However, we ALSO are the only team parents who do the "High Five Tunnel" at the end of every game for BOTH teams. We cheer for BOTH teams, and call a good play no matter who makes it. At our last game of the season, we almost turned into those parents who attack the parents of the other team.

In this case, the other team's coach.

One of our kids (one who is known to be a little overly dramatic) fell, and was being carried off the field. The coach of the other team told his players to take a knee. No biggie. That is the respectful thing to do.

However.

Our kids? They don't know what "take a knee" means. They DO know what "time out means. They DO know to STOP when someone says time out.

The other coach? He yelled at our kids to take a knee. And pretty much physically made one of our players kneel down.

For a moment, we almost turned into THOSE horrible little league parents.
Because apparently, Pee Wee sports are SERIOUS. BUSINESS.

Hallowieners

2010-10-30T23:32:00.001+02:00

A vampire, a tap dancer (or magician, she couldn't make up her mind what she was), a bride (or a Jodi if you ask HER), and the cutest dinosaur I've ever seen!!

Happy Halloween dudes!!

Day 26: Highlights

2010-10-23T22:00:00.001+02:00

This month...

Is it sad that I'm checking Facebook to see what exciting things happened this month?

I was officially inducted into the Soccer Mom club. I had to bring snacks for after the game for the first time. I went with S'mores popcorn. (Popcorn, chocolate chips, mini mallows, and Golden Grahams.)

I stole a picture off of Facebook from my cousin. She's an amazing artist. I hate her. (Not because of her talent, but because she's prettier than I am.)

I changed the name of my daycare/preschool.

I finally got the packet I needed in order to get my CDA, and promptly decided it was too much work to actually do. I gave up. Then I decided to act like a real, live grown up and actually do the work.

Zeph got glasses.

I almost fell off our 3rd floor balcony trying to hang Halloween lights. (This may or may not be a slight exaggeration.)

We went to the pumpkin patch.

And I will be closing out the month by running the Red Ribbon 5k. Which is fitting, since my mother was the Just Say No coordinator when I was young.

Day 25 (Which is really Day 9,785 at the rate I'm going...)

2010-10-23T21:22:00.001+02:00

My favorite Bible verse.

Hmmmm.

I know most people pull the inspirational verses out as their favorite. Most people will quote Psalms or Proverbs. Me? My approach to my faith was shaped and molded by a guy who wore a suit that is half purple and half black. (And full of awesome really.) So I can't say that my approach to my faith is what one would consider normal.

I have a favorite book of the Bible. (Habakkuk)

I don't know if I have a favorite verse. The one I think of most often, the one that reminds me personally that actions can be much more important than words.

As the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without deeds is dead ~ James 2:26

Day 24: Now I need to watch Armageddon...

2010-10-16T23:57:00.000+02:00

Today's challenge post is "You're leaving on a jet plane. Where are you headed and why?"

Considering at this moment driving to England is a viable option, I would have to say if I am leaving on a jet plane, I am headed to the States. Which state, I don't know.

I obviously would want to be going to Indiana to visit the relatives. It's been 16 months since we've seen family, and that's a record. I think 13 months is the longest we've gone without taking a trip to see the fam. And I hate that it's been that long since I've seen my BFFs. It makes me a sad panda.

I also desperately want to go to Colorado. There will always be a big chunk of me that considers Colorado Springs home. Bits of my soul that can only be soothed by breathing in air void of oxygen and using Pike's Peak as a compass. (And the fact that most of very first friends I made as an adult are still there is a big selling point as well.)

And yet, given an option, I could head to Memphis or Miami. Places with amazing family I have yet to meet. Places full of relatives I really would love for my girls to get to know.

Too many choices. Maybe I'll just drive to France for coffee instead...

Day 23: Traditionally Untraditional.

2010-10-14T10:18:00.000+02:00

Other than not allowing my children to decorate the living room Christmas tree, we have no real traditions.

Unless you count the tradition of catching pot holders on fire.

It only happens at Thanksgiving and/or Christmas. Although, we've skipped the last two years, so I guess it's not so much of a tradition anymore...

Little Big Top Preschool For Future Felons...

2010-10-13T09:10:00.001+02:00

Here at the Little Big Top Preschool for Future Felons, we want to prepare your little juvenile delinquent for their upcoming life of crime.

In order to do so, we make sure they learn to take fabulous mug shots, where they seem to appear sorry for the crime they have just committed. So that the jury cannot be influenced to believe they are not remorseful by an overzealous prosecutor.

We also teach the fine art of making sure that any potential witness isn't sure if they saw the crime being committed or not, thus leaving the prosecutor without damaging eye witness testimony.

And also how to carry out those pesky community service sentences. Learning to pick up trash on the side of the road is not a skill you are naturally born with...

And we teach them the ABCs and 123s, days of the week, and how to tell time so they can countdown the days until their next parole hearing.

Day 22: It's All Fun and Games, Until Someone Gets Run Over by a Car

2010-10-12T08:56:00.000+02:00

I don't think I had ONE favorite game or activity growing up. There was always SOMETHING to do in my neighborhood. Always someone outside playing.

I think the one thing I remember most, is when we were finally old enough to be allowed to play in the street and use the neighbor's mailboxes and curbs for our baseball or kickball bases. The bases never changed, and I'm pretty sure are all still there if you were to take a peak at the street I grew up on.

Plus, I don't think we ever broke a window or anything, which has got to be some kind of record for a street full of hooligans, right?

Day 21: Random High School Memory

2010-10-11T08:17:00.000+02:00

This is me the Sunday after junior prom. The prom where my date was my Tamara, and we went to dinner at Chuck E. Cheese before hand. The baby belongs to BDrum. Who is the minister that performed my wedding 5 years later.

How's that for random?

Day 20: Before I Kick the Bucket

2010-10-10T12:17:00.000+02:00

Five things from my bucket list...

I don't actually have a bucket list. I probably should make one. For the main reason that I have a terrible memory.

So I'll start with 5 things.

Visit the Coliseum in Rome.
Go to Ocktober Fest in München. (Hopefully next year!)
Host a reunion of my amazing Colorado friends.
Learn to make pie crust from scratch.
Hang 100 pictures in my home that I have taken. No professional portraits other than school pictures of the girls.

What about you? What do you want to do before you die?

Day 19: In Pictures

2010-10-09T10:33:00.000+02:00

Saturday lunch. Massaman curry.

Day 18: Accomplished

2010-10-05T19:30:00.001+02:00

My biggest accomplishment.

To explain why getting my daycare license reinstated is the biggest accomplishment of my life, and why it is the thing I am most proud of (after being a mom of course) I have to tell you a little story. That starts out...

What had happened was...

After I became a licensed daycare provider, I had 12 months to complete 12 modules that are for training purposes. They teach you how to work with kids, and all that jazz. Module number 3 is one about the daycare environment. It covers things like having multiples of popular toys to avoid fights, what kind of blocks you should have, how to set up a room, yada yada yada. It also covers the types of play food you should have for your pretend kitchen. And this is where the story gets sad, and hilarious.

The trainer came into my house, and we were making a list of the toys that I had. She looked at me and asked "I see you have an African American child in your daycare. Do you have pretend fried chicken? I know that is something they eat."

(I'll pause while you pick your jaw up off the floor.)

This Hispanic lady, with a LOT of training in Early Childhood Education, said that I needed pretend fried chicken because there was an African American child. Because it's "what they eat". I wanted to laugh. I didn't think she could really be that dumb. I really didn't. Instead, I asked her not to make such racist statements in my home.

After I told a couple of people what she said, mostly because I couldn't BELIEVE it was said, she was angry. Sending me emails informing me that she is NOT a racist, and cannot be because she is Hispanic and her husband is white. (I'm still not sure how that is a valid argument, but whatever.)

Months went by, and she began to stop coming to my home to observe. Or if she did come by, she would be 30-45 minutes late, and only able to stay for 20 minutes or so. Which is not long enough. And then she told powers that be that *I* had stopped doing my trainings. (Which I had actually completed, and could have handed in had she asked for them.) They took my license. Paul's supervisor at the time informed me that he would not help me petition to get it back, because everyone in charge of the daycare providers out ranked him, and he was new to the base and didn't want to cause any problems.

It took two years, Holly, and a lot of yelling and swearing on my part, but I was able to fight to get my license back. I had to go before the powers that be and tell them that it was NOT 100% my fault that my license was pulled, that I would like to start over with the entire process. I told them that I stand behind my statement of the original trainer's racism (which they had not heard about but the coordinator told them that that wasn't what happened though she wasn't there when it did) and that I would not hesitate to make a statement like that again in a similar situation. But I also said I would play nice. The new trainer also told them that while bits of the original situation were my fault, I could not force the original trainer to stay in my home, or come by, and that she (the first trainer) should be held responsible for her own actions in the "incident" as I now refer to it.

Clearly, my license was reinstated. I have since finished all but one of the trainings, and I will be getting my Child Development Associates in a very short amount of time. Hopefully I will also be accredited by the NAEYC (National Association for the Education of Young Children) by next summer.

And when I tell my girls this story when they are older, I hope they realize that you have to stand up for yourself always, because you can't always count on someone else.

Also? I still stand behind the fact that that woman is a racist. Whether she knows it or not.

Day 17: ShopStyle.com

2010-10-05T17:44:00.001+02:00

If I were to describe myself using only articles of clothing, this is what I would say...

Camisoles by Delia's
Pumps by D&G

What? Could it be?

2010-10-05T13:38:00.002+02:00

If you go here, there might be a new post...

Day 16: What I Read

2010-10-02T06:44:00.000+02:00

Watch me play catch up today!

***********************************

Today I'm supposed to tell you what my favorite book, magazine, and poem.

Hmmm...

I like a lot of books. I don't know that I have an absolute favorite.

There is one book, however, that haunts me. I have read it from cover to cover probably 8 times. And each time I bawl my eyes out. This is not a big enough deterrent, because I keep reading the book over and over.

"First They Killed My Father" by Loung Ung.

My favorite magazine is Women's Health, though from looking at me you'd never know that.

(I'm going to pretend my abs look like that!)

My favorite poem by Shel Silverstein. It's not profound. It's not deep or meaningful. It's just plain fun. And there's nothing wrong with that.

Oh, I'm being eaten

By a boa constrictor,

A boa constrictor,

I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor,

And I don't like it--one bit.

Well, what do you know?

It's nibblin' my toe.

Oh, gee,

It's up to my knee.

Oh my,

It's up to my thigh.

Oh, fiddle,

It's up to my middle.

Oh, heck,

It's up to my neck.

Oh, dread,

It's upmmmmmmmmmmffffffffff .

Day 15: Trying to be cool, You look like a fool to me...

2010-09-29T12:00:00.000+02:00

This song takes me back to a simpler time. Back when I was old enough to be held accountable for my own actions, but not quite a grown up.
And a parking lot of a Piggly Wiggly in Windsor, Ontario.

Day 14: They Said WHAT?!

2010-09-28T10:46:00.000+02:00

The worst advice I've ever gotten?

This is going to be really really trivial. I don't believe I have ever gotten really horrible life advice.

Someone once recommended I get my hair done at a Toni and Guy salon. They said I would be happy with the service and my hair.

The service? It was great.

The haircut? Was some sort of modern mullet.

That took 6 months to grow out.

Day 13: Dear Abby...

2010-09-27T16:16:00.000+02:00

The best piece of advice I've ever received came to me during my premarital counseling.

B. Drum told us:

You don't have to like each other every day and you don't have to love each other every day, but you have to make the conscious decision to do one or the other. Every. Day.

Day 12: Ultimate Comfort Food

2010-09-27T11:19:00.000+02:00

Only one comfort food? Since this was my idea, I guess I can't complain too much, right?

If I had to pick, just one, I would have to go with chicken and noodles over mashed potatoes.

However, I have not eaten them in a very very very long time. (Mostly, because my intestines have decided that gluten is of the devil) When I think about my childhood however, I remember the containers of noodles in our freezer. The ones Grandma made from scratch. And even the ones she made with noodles from the frozen food section.

Noodles have always been served at Christmas and Thanksgiving in my family. And Easter too. So they remind me of a time when everything was perfect, and it seemed as though my family was very functional.

I look back now and see that really, we're just functionally dysfunctional. But we eat well. So it's all good.

Gone, but Never Forgotten

2010-09-26T21:14:00.001+02:00

There is a club whose mere existence makes me weep. An exclusive club that no one is clamoring to join. One that exists, but should not need to. It angers me. I look upon it's members in awe. And sadness.

A Gold Star mother.

The mother of any person who has given their life in defense of a nation they love. A soldier. An Airman. A Sailor. A Marine. A member of the Coast Guard. Someone who said they loved their country so much, it was worth risking life and limb.

These mothers did an amazing job of raising such selfless individuals. It doesn't take a Hero to order men into battle. It takes a Hero to be one of those men who goes into battle. These women clearly raised heros.

As a military wife of nearly 7 years, I should be greatly affected by the lose of many friends, and some family. The country has been at war for 9 years. I married into it. I should know people who have received the dreaded knock on the door. Some how, I have avoided this. With the odds stacked against such a thing, I only know one Gold Star mother.

On April 27, 2007, my former boss Rhonda, lost her son, while he served a tour of duty in Fallujah. He was barely 20 years old.

So tonight, in honor of Rhonda (and her entire family) and in memory of PFC David A. Kirkpatrick, I light a candle.

And in honor and memory of every Gold Star mother and their children.

They may be gone, but they will always be loved and never forgotten.

Day 11: How Nice Of You to Ask...

2010-09-20T17:29:00.000+02:00

My day was a little boring.

Some work. Some reading.

Some cold medicine. Some orange juice. Some Sprite.

I'm actually still working, because some people I know have really icky jobs who do things like make them work 12 hours shifts for no real reason. It stinks.

But dinner is cooking, and I don't have to go to the store tonight. So.

Yes. Today was lovely. Thanks for asking. Even though you really didn't.

Tag Zehn: Fill In the Blank

2010-09-17T21:53:00.000+02:00

Right now I really want a _warm pepsi, bottle of antacids, and a nap_.

I have had some crazy heart burn the last couple of days. Even after eating nothing but flavorless food, and half a container of Tums.

I haven't had heartburn this bad since I was preggo with Zephina. And at least that was productive heartburn and let me know she was going to be born with an awful lot of hair!

Day 9: Embarrassing High School Moments...

2010-09-17T07:48:00.000+02:00

Okay, so, I kind of feel like all 4 years of high school were one big embarrassing moment. I can't really come up with one specific thing where I feel like I wanted to just crawl into a corner and hug myself.

I can think of two specific times where I remember thinking "Oh my crap, this is not okay..."

1) When auditioning for drum major senior year, I counted the tempo in 4/4 time, and didn't realize it was supposed to be 3/4 time until two bars later, and then I got so flustered, I made the room of 75 musicians playing The Star Spangled Banner mess up. And that's a hard song to mess up, because everyone knows it, and it's hard to lose your place.

Needless to say, I was NOT made drum major.

and

B) (Again, a band related incident.) Although I did NOT make drum major, I was named band captain, which meant I was a part of the group that would represent the band and accept whatever award we happened to win. At the time, I had waist length, super straight, incredibly big hair. When I would put my hat on for competitions, it took some pretty amazing feats to get all of the hair tucked into the hat. At one particular competition, I had put my hair into two messy buns, directly on top of my head. No one could see them, so it wasn't a hairdo I would normally sport in public.

Except, no one reminded me to take them down when it was time to go on stage. So I stood in front of a few hundred people with a hair 'do very similar to this...

I really hope all the real photographic evidence has been destroyed.

Day 8: Quotably Annoying

2010-09-16T12:17:00.000+02:00

In the same way that I didn't have to think very hard to come up with my favorite quote, I certainly don't have to think to come up with a quote I despise so much it makes me feel very stabby.

"The only man who is worth your tears, will never make you cry"

Who came up with that? And can I get some of whatever they were on?

Seeing as this is a quote clearly directed at girls/women it is an inherently flawed ideal. Sure, no one wants to be with a guy who makes them cry all the time, but more often than not don't all girls cry for no apparent reason?

I mean, sure, anyone "worth your tears" should probably try their best to avoid making you cry. I'll give you that. That is a very good quality to look for in a partner. It is not, however, always something the other party does on purpose. Paul has made me cry before. Never out of spite mind you, but I cried just the same. Many times, he doesn't even know WHAT he did to start the water works. That's not his fault.
That's just how girls and guys are wired. I'm wired to cry if he tells me what I made for dinner tastes like licking the inside of a dumpster, and he's wired to not understand that it's not that really the dirty socks all over the floor that is upsetting to me. It's an underlying issue that's making my mascara run.

Also? I know more girls who cry harder when they are happy than they do if they are sad, hurt, or angry. So if you follow the logic of this quote, if your guy proposes at the top of the Empire State Building and you burst into tears of joy, you should tell him no, because he's "not worth your tears". I know that's not the spirit in which this was written, but it's a very valid argument anyway.

Anyway you look at it however, I'm really sick of hearing it. It's Dora the Explorer levels of obnoxious.

Day 7: Quotably Quotable

2010-09-15T11:57:00.001+02:00

I love quotes. Mostly, because I can usually find someone else's words for something I can't say myself. There is usually a perfect quote for every situation.

I came upon my current favorite quote a couple of years ago. Through some random search of the Google. When I stumbled upon it, I can't say I thought about it too much. Just a fleeting thought of "that's so true", and I didn't think of it again until September of 2008. When my beloved grandmother passed away.

Even then, I didn't remember it right away. It wasn't until my phone rang while I was in Gram's apartment taking a few of her things as mementoes that Bill Cosby's words crossed my mind again.

The caller asked me what I was doing.

I don't think "pillaging Grandma's house" was the expected answer.

With that, I give you the quote that has since bolstered me through many many things.

Through humor, you can soften some of the worst blows that life delivers. And once you find laughter, no matter how painful your situation might be, you can survive it. ~ Bill Cosby

Day 6: This Is a Given...

2010-09-14T10:35:00.003+02:00

It took me NO time what so ever to figure out what TV character I am most like.
And if you have read any other entry in my blog, you will not be surprised.

The character I am most like?

Phoebe Buffay of course!

Day 5: 525,600 Minutes

2010-09-12T20:01:00.003+02:00

What year of my life would I relive, without changing anything?

I'm really not sure. There are so many little things I would like to change, but it wouldn't be necessary.

So, I'll go with this year.

I THINK it was 1985. I was approximately 3.

I just realized my dad is smiling in that picture. Pretty sure this is the ONLY snapshot of him smiling prior to 2004 when Zeph was born...

Looks like it was a good year.

Day 4: Perfection...

2010-09-11T21:57:00.001+02:00

What would a "perfect" Saturday look like for me?

Well, pretty much like today. Without the headache I currently have. Or the heart burn.

So, like this...

(That little girl in front of Zeph? She scored the first goal for our team, when she was the ONLY girl on the field, and then took a ball to the face but got back in the game 5 minutes later. Five year olds amaze me.)

First game of the season. The Red Dragons vs The Green Dragons. Since we don't keep score, I can't tell you that we lost. 4 to 3.

Germany, the place where you carry an umbrella because it looks like rain, and end up using it to keep the sun out of your eyes.

We spent the rest of the afternoon at the park, and then came home for lunch and a nap.

Sheer perfection.

**Again, this is the only way I can write about my feelings about September 11, 2001.**

Day 3: Funny haha? Or Funny weird?

2010-09-10T00:18:00.001+02:00

I don't think anything funny happened yesterday.

At least not anything that would make for a funny blog post.

Today however, during daycare, I had Pandora on. I have a "Daycare Radio" station, and it plays all kinds of non-annoying children songs.

Some of these songs are songs from Broadway musicals (Annie, Lion King, Beauty and the Beast). Because of this, I got the BEST surprise when I heard "Dammit Janet" from The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Neither of the kids heard it, but I laughed for a good half hour, because when that was over, this played.

I love how Pandora thinks.

Day 2: I'm strong. Can't you see my muscle?

2010-09-09T13:45:00.001+02:00

My strengths are pretty much equal in number to my faults.

Actually, my biggest strengths are also my biggest faults.

1) I am brutally honest. I am mean. I will tell you that that outfit does, indeed, make your butt look big. I will tell you that I want to punch you in the face for being stupid. I won't lie to make you feel better about yourself. And? If I talk about you "behind your back" I will most certainly tell you the exact same thing to your face.

and

B) I stand up for other people more than I do myself. If I am wronged, or am being treated unfairly, I may or may not let it go. Usually depends on the situation. I'm too lazy to argue a lot. If you mess with the people I love, or someone who is not able to defend themselves, I will come after you with everything I've got. It will not be pretty.

The rest of the list can be summed up with bullet points.

I am independently dependent. I do not rely on my husband for the "manly" things around the house. For two reasons. He's a computer guy, and I give him enough tech support work to do, the least I can do is pull out the cordless drill and fix that piece of broken furniture, and also? 6 month deployments. 'Nuff said.
I have patience. Not a whole lot, but enough that I can spend 10 hours a day with 6 children 5 years old and younger.
I'm determined. Don't tell me I can't do something. I'll do it just because you said not to. (That should probably be listed as a flaw too.)
I love. Everyone. Except for the general public. The general public has too many jack wagons in it for me to love it.

Day 1: Flawlessly Flawed

2010-09-08T23:59:00.006+02:00

Erica and I really liked doing the first 30 day challenge, so we brainstormed up another list of 30.

Day 1 is today.

Topic: My Flaws

I am so full of flaws it's really hard to find a place to start.

I am the flakiest person I know. I always seem to
I procrastinate. A lot. (That would be why this post is two days late.)
I always THINK I can do more than I really can, thus ending up to the flakiness.
I am overly emotional. And not just in the "cries for no reason" way. When I am happy, I am very happy. When I am sad, I am very sad. When I am angry, someone should probably secure bail money.
I am brutally honest.
I will stand up for other people, but rarely do so for myself.
While I am not lacking in the self esteem category, I am lacking in the self confidence one. I am convinced everyone already "knows" I am going to fail, so I end up failing in some weird subconscious way of proving them right. (I rationally know this is false. Thus, I can recognize it as a flaw.)

I am sure there are many more things I could add. It's probably not a good idea to go ahead and list them all. I have dishes to do and a kindergartener to pick up soon, so we'll just stop here.

************************

The topics for the month are these if you would like to join in!

1. What do you feel are your biggest flaws?
2. What do you feel are your best strengths?
3. What funny thing happened yesterday?
4. What would your "perfect" Saturday look like?
5. If you could re-live one year of your life, without making any changes to it, which year would you choose?
6. Which TV character do you think that you are most like?
7. What is one of your favorite quotes and why?
8. What is your least favorite quote or saying and why?
9. What is something embarrassing that happened to you in high school?
10. Fill in the blank. Right now I really want a ___________________.
11. How was your day?
12. What is your ultimate comfort food. And yes you can only pick just one.
13. What is the best piece of advice that you have ever received?
14. What is the worst advice that you have ever received?
15. Some songs bring us back to a moment. Share with us a song and the moment it reminds you of.
16.What is your favorite magazine, book and poem?
17. Go to Shopstyle.com and make or choose an outfit that best represents your style. Post it.
18. What do you feel has been one of your biggest accomplishments?
19. Take a photo today and share it with us.
20. What are 5 things on your bucket list?
21. Share a random high school memory.
22. What was one of your favorite games or activities when you were a kid?
23. What is one tradition that you do with your family?
24. You’re leaving on a jet plane. Where are you headed and why?
25. What is your favorite Bible verse?
26. Share some highlights from the month.
27. Tell us about a concert you once went to.
28. Kids say the darndest things. What is something silly a child you know has said recently?
29. What superpower would you most want to have and why?
30. What is your favorite thing to either cook or bake?

Day 30: One Last Moment...

2010-09-05T00:00:00.000+02:00

As this 30 day challenge ends, I thought I should share with you the moment that "technically" is the reason I started this here blog in the first place.

The moment I put on a beautiful dress, fixed my hair, and descended the staircase of the church I grew up in to do this...

...is the moment that, unbeknownst to me, this blog would begin to write itself. Without it, there are no Zs, there is no Germany, there is no sending of my husband off to war, and there technically isn't the me I have become.

Day 29: Aspirations

2010-09-04T13:20:00.000+02:00

I aspire to be many things.

I'm not sure how to put it all into words short of:

I want to be the best wife, mother, daughter, friend, and teacher I can be.

While I doubt that most days I am on the right track for that, I know one day, I will be.

If not only because I hate to be told I can't do something.

Day 28: Things I Miss...

2010-09-03T17:48:00.000+02:00

Okay, this is one of the easiest topics for me. Living in Europe is awesome, but there are many conveniences from the States that I miss like crazy.

Target
Chick fil a
Home Depot
street signs written in English
screen doors
central heating
air conditioning
7 digit telephone numbers
American clothing sizes (I wear a Euro 38 which just seems wrong)
stores being open on Sunday
shopping malls
calculating distances in miles instead of kilometers
recycling because I want to, not because I'm forced to
110 electricity
prices being the "same" instead of having to try and convert from dollars to euros
only having one currency of money, and knowing most places will accept credit cards
being able to go to a website and not having it ask me what language I would like to view the page in
TV that's not seasons behind or on Hulu

And I also miss only being a day's drive from family. And being almost on the same time as family. This 6-8 hour difference is tough to remember some days.

I"m sure there's more. We'll call this the short list.

Day 27: Favorite Place

2010-09-02T14:24:00.000+02:00

I'm not sure if I have a single favorite place.

This is my favorite hotel. The Kurvilla Sickengen in Landstuhl.

My favorite outdoor spot is hands down Garden of the Gods in Colorado.

This is my favorite place to play Pooh Sticks.

And this is my favorite theater. For dance recitals, band concerts, plays. I've even been to a wedding here. There is nothing NOT to love about it.

How about you? What's your favorite place (or places)?

Day 26: Phobias and Freak Outs

2010-09-01T23:06:00.003+02:00

Fear.

In no particular order, I am afraid of:

squirrels
any rodent other than bunnies
birds
fish
the dark
spiders
snakes (or anything creepy crawly really)
geese

Day 25: A First

2010-08-30T13:40:00.003+02:00

I am always the first person to admit that I am accident prone.

I'm a Klutz. (With a capital K)

A day without me causing myself physical harm of some kind is rare. In fact, in the last two weeks, there has NOT been a day without blood, or bruise, or threat of losing an eye. I can't even make up good stories, because it's hard to make breaking a toe while getting dressed into a "good" story. One can only rescue kittens or puppies from a burning building so many times before people get suspicious.

Events in my life cannot be described as normal.

So, for my "first" for today, I will tell you about the first ever "no really, how'd that happen" injury.

I was in 7th grade. So, like, 12. Maybe 13. I don't remember. I was staying with my aunt and uncle for the summer, since my dad had to work during the week, and we weren't really old enough to stay by ourselves for long periods of time. I went into my little cousin's room to take a nap, and fell into a really deep slumber. When I woke up, I still had that foggy, should-still-be-sleeping thing going on.

The bed was a race car waterbed. The only reason this is important to know, is because the only way to get in our out of the bed was by the end of the bed. I stood up, took the two steps to the foot of the bed, and promptly managed to step on a fire truck.

Something like this...

And I ended up on crutches for the first time. With a sprained ankle. All because I woke up from a nap.

Day 24: What Makes Me Cry?

2010-08-30T06:00:00.000+02:00

Holy eff salad sandwich.

What makes me cry? Really I should tell you what DOESN'T make me cry. It's probably a shorter list.

I'll give you the short list. The things that ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS make me cry.

This music video makes me cry. An ugly cry, if we're being specific.

Having chocolate milk every August 24th in honor of Joe-Joe makes me weep.

Reading in the school newsletter that there will be a "Boo Hoo Breakfast" on Zeph's first day of kindergarten makes me get misty eyed.

Disappointing people makes me cry.

I also cry when I am mad.

The look my husband gives me when he's angry with me makes me cry. The problem with this one is, he has occasionally made the "serious eyebrow" look when he was NOT mad. So I cry over nothing as well.

When I schedule my life around the military, and then they change their minds and interrupt my plans, I cry, because there's nothing I can do about it. Complaining about things being unfair is useless around here and accomplishes nothing.

I also cry at weddings. But not funerals. Which, is a a little odd.

So, what I'm really saying, is that everything makes me cry.

Day 23: Cheaper Than a Good Defense Attorney...

2010-08-29T11:21:00.000+02:00

What makes me feel better?

As Heather put it, it depends on what has upset me that dictates what makes me feel better.

Chocolate makes me feel better.
Ranting (even though it accomplishes nothing) makes me feel better.
Feeling like someone understands makes me feel better, even if they don't really understand.

And sleep. I usually can "sleep it off".

Pretty sure that naps have saved me from having to come up with bail money on more than one occasion.

Day 22: What Upsets Me

2010-08-28T20:41:00.003+02:00

Zephina was born in Mississippi. My pre-natal care began in Indiana. The crossover from the civilian records into military ones was what can really only be described as a disaster. Also? The records were tampered with. For the most ridiculous reason I could ever imagine. (I mean that as in, it wasn't a doctor mistake or the likes, since that is why most people tamper with records.)

It was the form for genetic testing. The one that gives permission to check for genetic abnormalities so that I could be presented with all of my "options".

My father and my sister are both mildly mentally handicapped. We do not know if this is genetic, so it is listed on my medical history. When I was given the form during my initial appointments with an amazing midwife in my hometown, I checked the box kindly denying any testing. While I can understand people wanting to know if their baby is going to be "perfect" or not, it really doesn't matter to me. "Healthy" and "normal" aren't interchangeable in my vocabulary.

When I went to my initial appointment in Mississippi, the check mark I had made was scribbled out, and "yes" was checked. If THAT wasn't enough to make me upset, the doctor I was meeting with called in a genetic counselor, to try and convince me that refusing these EXTREMELY optional tests with my "history" was not a good thing to do. And then? She realized that I was two weeks too pregnant to do them. Because if they found something wrong, I didn't have any "options". She tried to talk me into doing them anyway.

Okay. For A) I declined the testing, being FULLY informed of what they were for. It didn't really matter to me. I didn't care. I wasn't just saying no for the heck of it. For 2) Why are you going to sit there and try to talk me into something I clearly don't want to do? It's not as though I appear as though I might change my mind.

It upsets me when people think that THEIR way is the only way, and if you don't do it their way you are clearly a horrible person who knows nothing.

Day 21: Another Moment

2010-08-27T21:19:00.001+02:00

I am not sure what moment I want to share today.

Really, it's the "moments" that make up your life. So many stories to tell. (Which, isn't that technically the point of a blog, right?)

I kind of feel like my entire life is one of those "you had to be there" moments. Also, many things I COULD tell you about require me to plead the fifth, as so not to incriminate myself. I don't know if I should go the serious route, or the silly one.

So I will tell you about the moment that just happened. (Also, I am exhausted and can't seem to write a good post.)

Zephina is sitting on the couch, covered up in her Barbie blanket, wearing her night gown, and watching A Kind of Magic on TV. For no apparent reason, she blurted out:

"Hola! Como estas?"

The worst part? I think she's talking to herself...

Day 20: This Month

2010-08-26T08:36:00.002+02:00

So, this month? You want to hear about this month? Okay. Here's a picture montage.

Cupcake dishtowels from Ikea

My Renee brought me a giant bottle of wein.

Some brat spilled Mandi's coffee all over the park.

New favorite restaurants were discovered.

Flowers started blooming, 3 months after being planted.

Zeph got new hair bows in the mail.

Zoe kept being evil-y adorable.

Soccer season started.

It got really really hot, and then really really cold. It rained. It was busy. And slow. And it's not yet over. There's still a kindergarten open house to go to. An in home visit with Zeph's new teacher, school supplies to purchase, and curriculum planning for my preschoolers.

Which probably will end in my being locked up in the looney bin.

Day 19: You're Gonna Regret THAT In the Morning...

2010-08-25T10:13:00.000+02:00

I don't have many regrets.

I can't think of any big event in my life I want to call a Mulligan on.

Pretty sure, however, that I regret every 2nd shot of tequila I've ever done.

Day 18: Alles zum Gut Geburtstag!

2010-08-24T22:36:00.004+02:00

My favorite birthday was my 20th.

Not the actual day. I don't think we really celebrated my birthday birthday.

My Tamara and my Amanda and I got tickets to see the Rangers play Detroit, in Detroit since we were only 4 hours away. The original plan was to see the game, stay in Detroit overnight, and then go run around Ontario for a day or two, mostly because we COULD. Plans changed though, as they usually do, and we decided downtown Detroit was NOT the place for 3 young white girls, armed only with small cans of pepper spray.

This lead us to do what is CLEARLY the most rational thing ever. We drove into Canada, got a hotel room, and drove BACK to Detroit for the game. This was the first time I ever left the country. A trip of 5 minutes.

The weekend was awesome. Somewhere, there is video taped footage of me ranting about FRIES at the TACO BELL. No thank you Canada, I would not like fries with my chalupa. That makes absolutely ZERO sense to me. (Although, now that I think about it, having a taco as your side item doesn't make much sense either.) Tamara rants about the Taco Bell having gorditas but not chalupas. Or something. On the video I also scream and yell about hearing that stupid "Complicated" song 975 times in one day.

We encountered a guy on the street who, as he passed, informed us he was from Norway. Tam and I legally ordered alcohol during dinner, and took a breathalyzer test that was in the restaurant lobby. (Only time I've ever done that.) We stopped at a Tim Horton's, which was wonderful. At some outlet shops we discovered, I bought a pair of red adidas pants that I still have to this day. We also attempted to purchase venus fly traps, but weren't allowed because you can't import plants to the US.

The BEST part however, is that our first morning in Canada, we awoke to a newpaper outside the door with the headline "Mad Cow Disease Strikes Canada!" What a GREAT way to start a vacation!

On the way home, Tamara's Jeep broke down, and we (and by we, I mean, Amanda and I) pushed it about a half a mile to the interstate exit. I don't remember where we broke down at, but I do know that we ended up in Ypsilanti, Michigan, and to this day we call it "Yippity Skippity, Michigan", because really? No extra vowel between the Y and the P? Come on now. How can you take that seriously?

I came home to some pretty intense drama, but I also came back with stories that can start out, "Remember that time we left the country for five minutes?" And that my friends, is priceless.