For Today, I am Awesome!

Hi y'all!

I am guest posting today over at Tracie's at Stir Fry Awesomeness.

Yeah. That's right.

For today, I am awesome.

So, hop on over there to find me . . . and check out Tracie while you are at it.

She is one of the reasons why I have decided to invest in Depends. They come in so handy when you pee your pants from laughing, afterall.

Enjoy!

I Need a Charge!

I went to the car wash today to clean out and vaccuum my van. It was, of course, a disaster. (As if you didn't know!)

That industrial strength vaccuum sucked up crayons, petrified french fries, dried leaves, Krispy Kreme wrappers (OK. OK. That was me. I'm guilty. You know how I love me some Krispy Kreme donuts!!), candy pieces dropped by El, unopened band aids, straws, paper clips, and . . . well, there was more, but that is all that I can think of off of the top of my head. I estimated that we were there for about 15 minutes.

But, I may have been mistaken.

You see, when I went to turn on the engine, all I heard was a faint click.

That's right.

My battery was dead.

Which led me to 2 thoughts . . .

1) Was God trying to keep me at the car wash in order to prove a point to me? Did he want me to continue cleaning?? Is cleanliness next to godliness when it comes to minivans?

and

2) My husband was soooooo going to enjoy rubbing in the fact that my car was so stinking dirty that by the time I had cleaned it, I had drained the battery.


I contend that I need a new battery.


So, give it up . . . is your vehicle as bad as mine? Would you have had a dead battery after you cleaned your ride?

Something STILL is Missing!

I am joining up with Lee over at Headaches, Hormones, and Hotflashes today. She is talking about her hubs and I found this gem in the vault that I thought would fit perfectly.

Afterall, I love hubs dearly, but let's face it, there are times when he drives me crazy.

I am fairly certain that the feeling is mutual.

Smooches hub!

Something Missing (originally posted 4/8/09)

Ever hear of the missing link?


Well, I think that the missing link is missing from my husband's head.


It seems that we have the same conversation over and over and over again. Either hubby is getting selective Alzheimer's disease, or this repeat discussion is just some elaborate practical joke on me. I wouldn't put it past him. He does sooooo love a good laugh, and fortunately for him, I frequently provide him with great material. I mean, who wouldn't love to poke fun at a wife that consistently burns the garlic bread each and every time that she makes it? Or what about a vain wife that wears heels that are "too cute" despite the fact that they give her huge weeping blisters? Seriously, I deserve to be made fun of . . . at times . . . but this ongoing conversation is just a bit too much.


"Annie? Hon? Where is the parmesan cheese?"


During this installment of the discussion, I was perched comfortably in our rocker in the living room. Before I answered, I crept out of the chair slowly and peeked around the corner of the kitchen to see what he was doing. Hubby was standing, staring, mouth a bit agape at the open kitchen cabinet. His hand was holding the door ajar, but he was not moving. Just standing. Staring.


Finally I answered with a question, "Paul? Have you looked for the cheese?" I already knew what the answer would be.


"Yes! I am looking right now." Except he wasn't. I was spying on him, and I had caught him, not looking, just staring at an open cupboard. I tried my sarcastically, sappy voice next.


"Hon . . . have you moved things around or are you just staring at the open cabinet?"


He instantly flushed red, realizing that I had him. "Well . . . no . . ."


I calmly emerged from around the corner, walked over to the cabinet, moved exactly one item, and voila! parmesan cheese.


Then I just looked at him. Sheepishly, he said, "I know. I know. You think that I didn't look."


And that's the conversation we dance around. If it is not parmesan cheese, it is his blue school shirt. (Never mind that he has probably 50 navy blue school sport shirts. He needs one particular blue shirt, one that feels different.) If it's not an item of clothing, it is the broom. If it is not the broom, it is the nail clippers. If it is not the clippers, it is some random tool. You get the idea. It is always something, and I could go on and on and on.


It makes me wonder if my hubby is just search deficient, or is it men in general?


Hmmmmmm.


Interesting.


And, in case this is not enough for you to ponder about, I will pose my next quandary.


How is it possible for hubby to find a particular bowl or pot to use in the kitchen, but then, when the time arrives for the said bowl or pot to be put away, he mysteriously develops amnesia and "forgets" where it should go? His mental deficit apparently applies to looking for an item, and finding a location for an item. I can not count how many times I have uttered the words, "If you know where it is to use it, why can't you find the place to put it away?" as I put away a random stack of pans and dishes that are teetering precariously on the edge of the counter top. The stack that is obviously leftover after Paul has unloaded the dishwasher. The stack that he claims that he "doesn't know where they go!"


It has to be a joke. If not, I am sure to have this conversation many more times . . .
especially when hubby is diagnosed with dementia down the road.



If I'm lucky, I'll be diagnosed too.


That way, I'll forget why I am angry.

Venting . . . Venting . . .

5 things that you could do to get on my S*** List . . .


1. Eat my chocolate. I have a stash of very good and very yummy dark chocolate. My stash is for emergencies only (read - pretty much every afternoon around 3 o clock), and if I go to my secret hiding place and find it empty . . . watch out! I will hunt you down and hurt you with my chocolate deprived self.

2. Wash my clothes without asking. I know. I know. On the surface, this sounds as if it would be a chore that I would love to have help with daily. And, I would. Love to have help that is. What I do not love is finding piles of clothing that have been washed by someone who shall remain nameless (hubs . . . I am talking to you!) that have items in them that are either not supposed to be washed in the washer or not supposed to be dried in the dryer. I am now down one cashmere sweater, and I am also now the proud owner of one shrunken, but still beautiful, spring blouse. Hubs . . . please do not help me anymore.

3. Wake me up from a sound sleep. Since becoming a mother 8 years ago, I have estimated that I have lost approximately 7,000 hours of sleep. I am seriously sleep deprived people. I daydream about when I can sleep. I crave it like I crave a BLT, and that is saying something since bacon is one of my favorite food groups. So, if you have a need to talk, don't call before 9 am or after 9 pm. I may not be asleep, but . . . I might be. Also, if you are having a nightmare, need water, or have the pukes . . . please stop by hubs side of the bed first. Just sayin'.

4. Drive on the road when you can't see over the steering wheel or remember who was president when you were born. Enough said.

5. Let your kid act like an idiot at the park. News flash: parents, when you take your child to the park, you still have to parent them. Putting your head in a book or texting on your blackberry do not count as parenting. If you choose not to parent, know that I will parent your child when they choose to throw sand, beat up kids younger than them, and/or use foul language. Also know, that if you choose to stick your head in the sand when it comes to your child's behavior, you will be on my list (as well as other parent's lists). We will be waiting for karma to bite you in the butt in a few years. Don't get mad when we laugh.



Thanks for letting me vent. I feel much better.

Lyrically Speaking

********I am linking this to Travis' Memoir Monday. He's a hoot! Go check him out. Go on. Do it!



If you catch me at a stoplight, I am usually doing one of two things.

1. Checking my rearview mirror to make sure that Ellerie is still in her seat.

or

2. Singing to the radio at the top of my lungs, much to the chagrin of my children and probably my fellow drivers with their windows down.

So, I was singing along the other day, when a new song popped on the radio, it was by a person or group named Young Life. I didn't catch the title, but one of the catchy lyrics made me laugh out loud. It was, "Call me Mr. Flintstone, cause I will make your Bed- Rock!!"

No.

I am not kidding.

After enjoying the laugh, I quickly changed the station to avoid another birds and bees conversation. But, then I got to thinking . . . are the kids really listening to the lyrics? Because, truth be told, when I was their age, I certainly wasn't.

If I had listened to the lyrics, I probably would have been a bit embarrassed when 80's band Frankie Goes to Hollywood sang, Relax . . . Don't Do It, When You Wanna Come. I was already married to my husband when he clued me in to the fact that they were talking about sex and orgasm. Who knew? Apparently, everyone but me!

Or what about when Madonna's Like a Virgin debuted? I remember I was in the fifth grade, and my mom had a very stern discussion with me and my sister about how we were not to sing or talk about that song when grandmom came to visit. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why, especially since I knew that grandmom was super religious and prayed to the Virgin Mary all of the time. I figured, why would she care if we sang about being like the Virgin Mary? I did wonder, though, why Madonna rolled all over the floor in lingerie. And, just why did she have that big cat in the video, hmmmm?

Yes.

I know.

Duh.

I was a little more with it when the 90's song, I Touch Myself was released. I figured out all by myself that it was a tribute to being master of your domain. What I couldn't figure out was why a girl was singing it. Of course, I figured that only boys took part in that kind of self pleasure. Truthfully, I am pretty sure that I didn't even know that women could be masters of their domains.

I know.

I know.

I obviously had a wealth of sexual education knowledge.

After re-reading this, I am amazed that I ever even got pregnant. At least I knew that it took more than running into one another in the dark, naked.


So . . . give it up . . . what lyrics were you clueless about when you were growing up??? Or were you so savy that you were the one explaining it to kids like me?

My March Madness

I need some advice. Or sanity. Or both.

My problem?

Simple.

Ellerie will not sit in her car seat.

Now, I know that some of you out there will just say, "Strap her in! " I, too, am OK with that approach if it weren't for the fact that Ellerie can undo the buckles. And, not just any, run of the mill seat belt buckles, mind you. These are tough for me to get undone without some concentration. The girl could probably figure out a rubik's cube if it meant that she could get out of her car seat. She is a flipping Houdini, I tell you!

Maybe she has a future in magic?

Hmmm.

At least I know that she won't be into bondage.




Any ideas to help? Duct tape?? Bungee cords??? I am pretty open to anything.

In the Pits . . . An Apology

Dear Man in the Blue Chevy Truck in the CVS parking lot,

I am sure that you think that I am crazy.

And, really, let's be honest. On most days, I am.

But, on Monday what you witnessed in the CVS parking lot was particularly nuts, even for me. For that, I apologize.

You see, there is a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why I was shaving my armpit while sitting in the driver's seat of my van in the CVS parking lot. I was on my way to the gym when I adjusted my rearview mirror. It was then that I noticed that my armpits resembled a forest growing rampant. Holy yuck!! There was no way that I could go to the gym and show off those prickly hairs now could I? So, rather than go all the way back home to shave, I stopped at the CVS on the way, bought a pack of disposable razors, and took care of the problem in the parking lot.

Perfectly reasonable! So you see, I am not crazy in the least.


I am just a very creative and resourceful woman . . . with cleanly shaven armpits.

Sincerely,

Annie

PS I wholeheartedly appreciate that you did not take a video of my madness with your cell phone and post it on you tube. I checked. :)