Bob Morris Earns His "I'm a Total Dipshit" Badge

Next thing you know, he'll be accusing them of planting "mind-control" devices in the Thin Mints! Moron!

Boehner Crying?

Been a Long Time (Since I Rock and Rolled)

It's been awhile since I've taken the opportunity to dust off my laptop and entertain the masses with my pathetic attempt at entertaining prose. LOL Thought I'd take a few minutes to reflect upon the good old days. Now, according to my teenage son, I'm so ancient that the "good ol' days" must surely involve large reptillian creatures roaming a newly formed earth, and such profound advancements in modern technology as "fire", and "the wheel". But, I can assure you as I jettison through my thirty-seventh year on Earth, that the most archaic inventions that I can recall in the hazy corners of my memory are "Atari" and "Cabbage Patch Kids".

I spent countless hours yesterday afternoon, trying to convince my son that somewhere between my nerdy years of high school and the mundane and practical years of today, there lurked an adventurous, popular, and. . .(dare I say it?), COOL, me. I was freakin' awesome! Totally beast! (Okay, okay....maybe not THAT great... but, at least I didn't wear my slippers to the mailbox!)

I used to stay out all night... now, I'm in bed by ten. I used to sing old Zeppelin tunes with the band... now I sing about good manners and the importance of friendship with Barney. I used to eat cold pizza and drink warm beer for breakfast... now, it's something tasteless and whole grain with a side of YUCK.

I've metamorphasized from my former self. The parts that were once smooth are now wrinkled. The parts that were firm are now saggy. I've transformed into this strange being that I hardly recognize from decades past. But, somewhere along the way, I've learned things...gained a wisdom that was once clouded in the midst of too much hairspray... lying dormant deep within myself until I was mature enough to truly understand. I try to tell my kids about the secrets I have learned; try to open their eyes to the realities of life before they have to experience the pain and disappointment of taking the wrong paths. But, they are young, and they know everything.... just as we all think we do at that age.

Somewhere between the after-school snack and an hour of "GuitarHero", I tried to enlighten my son with these words of wisdom:

1. You create your own happiness.... don't look to others to provide it for you.


2. Be yourself. If people don't like you for who you are, then they are the ones losing out.


3. Empathize with others.


4. Always do your best.


5. Listen to your conscience.

The list went on for several minutes, my son feigning attentiveness as he strummed on the plastic-video-game-controller-GuitarHero-thingie. I addressed every issue that I remembered ignoring when my mother spoke to me... many, many years ago.

It was then that I learned one of life's hardest lessons. You can't protect your kids from everything painful in life. It is the pain and disappointments in life, and the way you choose to deal with them that make you an adult. It is dealing with and learning from your mistakes that forms your character. It's something you can't teach. There are no lectures that will soften the blows in life. There's no way to cure every boo-boo with a band-aid and a kiss. You have to let go... even if it's just a little at a time. It's hard.

So, maybe there are countelss differences between my son and I. But, passing through my life...remembering my youth... I can see the similarities. So, yeah....it's been a long time since I rock and rolled. But, I haven't forgot the lyrics yet!

An Ode to Baloney

I was making my kids' lunch yesterday, and wondered to myself, "what exactly is baloney?" I assume it's some sort of meat mixture... a little bit of pork, a little bit of beef, possibly a bit o' chicken thrown in for good measure... some spices and preservatives added to make it more appealing. Everything chopped up, shaped and sliced into little greasy round disks. Mmmmmm.... sounds delightful, huh?!

I've relied on baloney for years to make a quick lunch whenever the kids get bored with grilled cheese or soup. I think that perhaps baloney hasn't received the attention it deserves for it's convenience and dedication to feeding hungry little children everywhere. Even the word "baloney" has come to have derogatory meanings and connotations. How is that fair in the world of cold cuts? Why should "honey chopped ham" and "oven roasted turkey" get all the glory?! Why has baloney... the pioneer of the deli department....become such an outcast?! Oh the humanity!

So.... in honor of baloney, I've written this little poem.



An Ode to Baloney

Baloney... salty, spicy meat
you smell of sweaty, unwashed feet
Within the bread you often sit
a greasy, salty slice o' ........... (I think you get the picture...)

Whenever there's no time to dine
a slice of baloney will do just fine
Tho' your taste doesn't leave us begging for more,
I guess that's what the ketchup's for!

(hey... I never claimed to be a poet!)

Until next time.... enjoy your lunch!

Fight to Lose the Winter Baggage

Well, folks, it's nearly bathing suit season again. (yikes!) Time to shed the extra pounds that won't seem to let go. Time to rid ourselves of our "muffin tops" and get ready to spend hours in a fitting room looking for an article of clothing that we'll probably only wear ten times or so. (BTW....a "muffin top" is that superfluous roll of excess body fat that hangs out over the top of one's pants....reminiscent of the way Play-Doh oozes through your fingers when you squeeze it in your fist.) Unfortunately, mine is more like an "exploding souffle" than a "muffin". And since my treadmill has inevitably become an overpriced coat-rack over the winter months, and the sheer thought of using it makes me want to become bulimic as an alternative... I can tell it's going to be a losing battle. (sigh)

So, here I sit... trying to mentally calculate the yardage of Lycra required to conceal my gelatinous rear-end. I glance over at my collection of workout videos, (some still sealed in their original plastic overwrap) and wince. My old friend, Richard Simmons, stares back at me from the cover of a video case, mocking me. I don't have the energy to "sweat to the oldies".... I don't have the stamina to "Get Down the Pounds"! I'm lucky if I'm not winded when I get back from the refrigerator during the commercial breaks!!

Anyway, being poor, surgery is not an alternative, and I have to think of something! Maybe I could add weights to my wrists when I dunk my jelly filled eclair into my extra grande Cappuccino ? Or perhaps I could order that thingy that Tony Little swore would melt my pounds away on that infomercial I watched last night? (Oh...that's right! I already have a coat-rack!) Perplexed, I reach for a bag of Cheezy Puffs. I always eat when I'm perplexed. LOL

After much thought, I've decided to just wear a T-shirt in the pool this year. (Just like last year...and the year before that....and the year before...)

Heck....I never really liked swimming anyway.

Happy Valentine's Day (Bah! Humbug!)

Well, it's Valentine's Day. Yippee. (Again, with the sarcasm...) The altered pagan Lupercian festival, and ancient Roman rite of passage, during which adolescent men would be randomly assigned a woman "companion" for the duration of the year. The "lucky ladies" names were drawn randomly, lottery style, and they would become the "playthings" of the young men who had drawn their names. (How very romantic!)

The Roman emperor Claudius II had forbidden marriage, because he felt that married men were poor soldiers, often unwilling or reluctant to leave their families for battle. So along comes Valentine, a bishop who encouraged young lovers to secretly come to him so that he may join them in matrimony. Claudius heard of this, and was impressed by Valentine's "ballsy" defiance, and tried unsuccessfully to convert Valentine to their pagan religion. Valentine was soon clubbed, stoned, and beheaded. (Doesn't that give you a warm, fuzzy feeling?)

Anyway, I hate Valentine's day... always have, always will. I hated Valentine's Day when I was a pudgy little first grader sitting alone in the corner consoling myself with a chocolate bunny (that my mommy gave me) crying because none of my classmates gave me a Valentine's card. I hated Valentine's Day when I was in my early 20s, when the guy I had been dating called me up (a couple hours before he was supposed to be taking me out to dinner) to tell me that his ex-girlfriend called and that they were getting back together. "Isn't that great?" Uh...yeah...sure... I even hate Valentine's Day NOW, because my well intentioned husband bought me a huge box of chocolates, while I'm in the midst of my mega-diet. (sigh...)

So, in honor of this crappy holiday, I've compiled a "Late-Show" style top ten list for your amusement.

Top 10 Things You NEVER Want to Hear on Valentine's Day:

10.) "It's not you... it's me."

9.) "I'm gonna be a little late picking you up tonight... I'm over at the free clinic getting that rash looked at."

8.) "I'm really touched that you got my name tatooed on your tush, but, my real name is Jake. I just told you it was Ross, because I'm like, a really big fan of "Friends", and I thought it was a really cool name... sorry."

7.) "You really need to get some new panties... those thongs tend to pull at my butt hair."

6.) "Those chocolates are guaranteed to get your digestive system running more smoothly in about... [looks at watch] ... ten minutes." Crap-tiv-ia!

5.) "I'm pregnant... with your mother's baby."

4.) "I'd love to buy you that engagement ring... but, I'm afraid I'm already married!"

3.) "I'm gay... but, even if I wasn't, I wouldn't be caught dead with you! You needs ta do somethin' with that nappy hair, girl-frin!" [snap, snap, snap]

2.) "But, I thought you said you were into trying new things?!" [moo, cluck, baaaaa!]

1.) "Get out of my house before I call the police! I'm just playing with you, baby...get over here and gimme some lovin'. Touch me, and DIE! I want you, sweetie. I want you to DIE, you crazy freak! Oh...did I mention that I'm bipolar?"

Well, I hope you enjoyed the list. I gotta go. I've got a huge box of chocolates to eat before the kids get home. [drool] Crappy Valentine's Day! (nope...not a typo...)

Pareidolia... Really?

The term pareidolia "describes a psychological phenomenon involving a vague and random stimulus (often an image or sound) being perceived as significant. Common examples include images of animals or faces in clouds, the man in the moon, and hidden messages on records played in reverse." (source: Pareidolia. (2008, January 29). In Wikipedia, The free encyclopedia. Retrieved February 7, 2008, from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pareidolia)

I'm sure you've all heard of this phenomenon. There was the tortilla that supposedly bore the image of Christ...there was the toasted cheese sandwich that resembled the Virgin Mary. But, be it a Nasa photograph containing what appears to be a man-like creature, the spirit of the late Pope waving at us from a bonfire, or a potato chip that resembles Jay Leno...it all can be classified as pareidolia.

I've always thought of myself as a fairly logical person. My point of view is that most of these bizarre sightings can be scientifically explained away. Many, I'm sure could be attributed to a neuro-chemical imbalance, an overactive imagination, or hallucinogenic drug use. I must say, and I mean no disrespect, I've always thought that the people who brought forth these interesting observations, could probably stand to have a little psychiatric observation of their own. I mean, seriously...this stuff is just too out there to be entirely legitimate. Maybe a good conversational topic among close friends and family...but not necessarily something you would want to point out to society as a whole. (Unless you enjoy the soothing comfort of a padded room and a wardrobe consisting entirely of summer-white garments that fasten in the back.)

That's not to say that I have never enjoyed lying in the grass and looking for shapes in the clouds. My daughters and I have frequently done so. We'd find boats and dragons... houses and butterflies. But, I never felt that there was any "divine significance" attributed to our discoveries. Occasionally, I might make a pancake that vaguely resembles Scooby-Doo. I may have once spilled bleach on a load of darks and noticed the blotchy profile of John Lennon on my Levi's. (shrug) Purely coincidence, I say. Or...IS IT?!

Yesterday, I was picking up my daughters from school. I pulled up in line waiting for the little darlings to be dismissed. Then, in my rearview mirror I swear I saw it!! There, reflected in my mirror, I could see the windshield of the car behind me...and in the center of that windshield, was the frosty image of Peter Criss (the legendary former drummer for KISS) in full cat makeup!!! I got chills...really!! Especially since... at the exact moment I saw the image... the song Beth was being played on the radio!! (well, actually, I'm lying about that part... I was actually listening to my Peter Frampton cd... but, anyway...)

I couldn't help but continue to look back at the "face" on the windshield. It was almost like it was calling to me! As my rear defroster started kicking into action, and the remnants of frost started melting away from my rear window, it was almost as if the "face" was moving... like it was trying to talk to me (or sing for me).

I continued to watch...absolutely mesmirized.

Eventually my windows cleared completely...and much to my dismay, I saw that the image I had been staring at with such intensity...was actually a handicap "hang tag" on the visor of the car behind me... accentuated by the frost that I was too lazy to scrape before I left the house! (sigh!) (It really is quite amazing how a frosty handicap symbol can "magically transform" into a 70's rock icon under the right conditions.)

I really need to switch to decaf.

Well, folks, I really should be going. I'm sure if I go take a peek in one of those horrid food storage containers in my refrigerator... I might just be able to find a map of Atlantis in my moldy three-bean casserole. Could sell on ebay... you never know! (wink)

Coffee Calamity

Well, it snowed...again. School has been cancelled. Yipee. (Notice the lack of enthusiasm.) But, that's the least of my worries today.

I woke this morning, brewed my usual pot of coffee, poured myself a nice steamy cup of sanity, and realized (gasp!) that I'm out of creamer. (stiffling a sob)

Now, I used to always drink my coffee black. Loved the stuff. But, then I discovered the wonderful world of flavored coffee additives, the blessed creations that they are. (swoon) I began to enjoy the smooth creaminess of French vanilla...the soothingly subtle hint of hazelnut...the blissfully silky tones of amaretto. (moan)

It's an addiction, really. A sinful, naughty addiction. A "spank-me-if-you-must-because-I-really-gotta-have-it" addiction. A "sitting-on-a-park-bench-homeless-with-a-paper-bag-from-Starbucks" addiction. A "pimp-me-out...please-just-gimme-a-little-taste" addiction. A "give-it-to-me-and-I'll-purr-like-a-baby-walrus" addiction. (whew! Is it getting warm in here?!)

Anyway...I'm stuck here with the nearest grocery mere blocks away...taunting me. I'd walk, but I can't take the baby out in this nasty weather. And, I certainly can't leave him here! I could just see the headlines: Baby Abandoned As Mother Seeks Coffee-Mate "Fix".

Oh...woe....woe is me!

I'd try to make some, but regrettably, I'm fresh out of Dipotassium Phosphate, and I'm running dangerously low on Silicon Dioxide and Soy Lecithin. What the heck have I been drinking for the past year!!! Weird ingredients aside...I MUST have it!!! I don't care if, months from now, I have a third leg sprouting out of my neck and an additional buttock! GIVE ME THAT SWEET CREAMY GOODNESS THAT I SO DESPERATELY CRAVE!!!!! (slapping myself) Snap out of it!

Well, anyway, I'm going to try to make it though a creamer-free day. (weep) Maybe...with the roads so slick and hazardous today...a Cremora truck might have a nasty little "accident" in front of my house. (I swear I'd be out there lapping the stuff off the sidewalk like a kitten with a saucer of milk!) (sigh)

Well, I gotta go for now. But, if you're in the neighborhood...I'd gladly pay you Tuesday for an Espresso Macchiato today. (grin) Thanks a Latte! (Yeah...that one was a bit corny...even for me!)

The Dessert Theory

I've been married for almost ten years now, but I have lots of relationship advice to give you poor young ladies who are going through all the trials of dating. Our society, through the media of trashy romance novels and Lifetime movies, has ruined any chance of a woman having a "normal" relationship. I like to refer to this "brainwashing" as "The Dessert Theory".

In a typical romance novel/movie, the plot usually goes as follows: 1.)Girl meets boy 2.)They fall helplessly in love 3.)They get "comfortable" with one another 4.)They begin to drift apart 5.)The girl at least has the satisfaction of knowing that the guy is pining away...wishing only that she would return to him. She is left with the comfort of knowing that he will be there waiting for her if/when she decides that she wants to "give it another shot".

Well, ladies, I don't think I'm alone in saying, "WTF happened to #5!!!"

This is where the "Dessert Theory" comes into play.

To men, we women are like their favorite dessert. For the sake of argument, we'll just refer to ourselves as "pie". Men really like pie. They probably try all different kinds of pie until they find their favorite. They like having their favorite pie more and more, until it's the only kind of pie that they want.

They like having pie. They don't want it at their house all the time, but they like to keep in on hand when they're in the mood for it. Pie is sweet, and they enjoy it's comfort.
Then, after awhile, they begin to realize that they're getting tired of pie. They don't really say anything, because, after all, some dessert is better than no dessert. Besides, there doesn't seem to be anything else on the menu. As the desire to have pie begins to wane, the relationship slowly dies. Pie is cast aside.

At first, he might think about pie from time to time...miss it occasionally. Then it happens. He meets Jello on the Internet. He can have Jello any time he wants, without the excess baggage that he had to carry around after having pie. All the goodness, without the guilt. Things were so complicated with pie...but in his life, "there is always room for Jello" (*registered trademark). Besides...he likes the way Jello wiggles when she walks.

He bumps into pie later. Pie foolishly expects that he has been craving her in his absence. But, all he can do is go on and on about how great Jello is! Pie calls him in a pathetic attempt to rekindle his hunger...but he doesn't return pie's calls. He has become totally loyal to Jello!
He talks about all of us to his friends on occasion...never anything good. "Pecan was totally nuts...Lemon Meringue turned out to be a tart...Key Lime was too bitter...and Mincemeat - I don't even want to talk about Mincemeat!"

But, Jello...in her light and simple perfection...was his ultimate choice.

Damn, I hate Jello!!

Cleaning Out The Refrigerator

It's been awhile. I've been really busy lately. (imagine that!) I'm sure you've all been waiting, rapt in feverish anticipation, for me to get to my computer and pound out yet another brilliant blog post. (Yeah...I know...it's a stretch.) Anyway, Here it is....hold your applause.

It's crazy, isn't it? I spend most of my life wishing I had more time to accomplish the things I need to do... but when I find a few minutes of unscheduled time... I can't really focus on anything, and I don't get anything done.

I need to clean out the refrigerator. I open the door and look inside. I see the stacks of food storage containers (oh, how I hate those blasted things!) and I shut the door. I know that the moldy Chinese from last month and the Mexican from two weeks ago should really go in the garbage. I know that the French fries from two nights ago (who really eats those things cold, anyway, ) and the Italian from Tuesday should probably be on the flip side of a Hefty bag by now. But, somehow I can't bring myself to disturb the cultural balance of my Frigidaire. Would clearing out my fridge be merely an act of good housekeeping, or could it be viewed as an unfeeling act of ethnic intolerance? (Pretty deep, huh?) After all, I have no intention of tossing out that perfectly good pack of Kraft American Singles.

Maybe I'm just putting off the cleanup because I dread scrubbing and cleaning all those hellish food storage containers. Who invented those gawd-awful things anyway? They always have all those intricate little nooks and crannies in them that hold onto the crusty remnants of "dinners gone wild" with uncanny tenacity. I just want to throw the entire container in the trash. But, I can't, because if I do, when my mom comes over for dinner she'll say, "you really should save this roast...where are all those cute little containers you had last time I was here?" Then I'll have to explain my unhealthy aversion to the little plastic buggers... and she'll recommend a good therapist... and I'll tell her I don't need a therapist... and we'll argue about my mental health.... and the whole evening will be ruined. (Sigh!)

Anyway... I decided to put off cleaning out the fridge.

So here I sit. Rambling on about virtually nothing to my virtual audience. Wow....how sad. Maybe I should get a goldfish or something?

Well, I think the baby is starting to stir from his nap. Finally, something for me to do that doesn't involve cleaning disgusting ooze out of little nooks and crevices! (SNIFF.....SNIFF.....eeewwww!) Well....maybe there will be "crevice cleaning" in my near future, after all! "I've got the Huggies, and I'm on my way, little darling!" (Sigh.)

Until next time...

Snowday!

Yesterday, our fair city was buried in crystalline seasonal precipitation. In other words...it snowed buttloads. I, with my unfailing faith in the street department, went to bed last night with the presumption that I would awake to "business as usual" this morning. The plow did manage to make it down my street...burying the same poor minivan that my teenage son spent two hours digging out yesterday afternoon. But...gotta give them an "A" for effort.

The hubby, and my infant son, woke me early this morning, as usual. So far, so good. I stumbled downstairs to get the coffeepot going (for me) and mix up a tasty bowl of baby cereal (not for me) and sat down to watch the news. There, on the screen, beneath the freakish perma-grin of the newscasters, was "The Dreaded Blue Bar". I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. It's the little strip at the bottom of the screen where they announce the school delays and cancellations. The little blue strip that means the difference between a peaceful afternoon, and complete and utter chaos.

At first, I kept my cool. After all, it quit snowing pretty early yesterday...so I assumed that everything should be back to normal. The names of schools and businesses began flashing at the bottom of the screen. No...that one's too far north...surely our kid's schools will still be open. No...that one's to the south of us...I'm not going to panic. Oooo...that one's a little close.... The list starts back through the alphabet. After several nail-biting moments, I see that our school district has issued a delay.

"That's not so bad", I think to myself. "The kids will sleep through most of the delay time, and then I can get them out of here before lunch." The list continues to flash. Life goes on. The hubby leaves for work...the baby slobbers on his teddy bear. The blue bar continues to flash.

About ten minutes of peaceful acceptance pass. I begin to notice more and more of the blue bar messages contain the word, "closed". But, I don't stress about it. We live in a big city. Surely our district will remain open. Only the smaller towns around us lack the manpower to get the streets cleared in time. Our schools, although delayed, will still attend later this morning. The thoughts continue to scroll through my mind as the list continues to scroll across the television screen.

Then I see it. As horrific as it is factual: My Area Community Schools -- CLOSED.

Nooooooooooo! It just can't be! Surely there must be some mistake! I watch in disbelief as the list makes full circle. My worst fears are confirmed.

Please wish me luck as I embark on the first Snow Day of this school year. I certainly can use all the luck I can get!

Well, I'm afraid I must go now. The first of my "little angels" are awaking. If you don't hear from me in the next few days, don't hesitate to call the authorities. Just make sure that the press doesn't use any flash photography when they find me in a fetal position beside the water heater with clumps of my own hair (which I most certainly have pulled out in frustration) surrounding me.

Till then, don't eat the yellow snow. ;)

Pre-Christmas Woes

Well, folks, it's just about that time again. I've spent the last couple weeks staring disdainfully at the boxes of Christmas decorations stacked precariously against the back wall of my dining room. Is it wrong to consider changing religions just because you're too lazy to decorate? Perhaps I should have listened more carefully when those frighteningly friendly Jehovah's Witnesses stalked me....er.....I mean visited me last month. I don't remember reading anything in the Watchtower about twinkling icicle lights or giant inflatable snowmen...

Anyway... here I am, trying to think of a really good reason not to shove Santa's little plastic butt back in the closet. Last year we did a wonderful job of decorating. We had everything lit up and sparkly in less than forty-eight hours after Thanksgiving. This year, I lack the motivation. I don't feel like perching on a wobbly ladder for three hours to give the illusion of beautiful icicles illuminating our front yard. If our portly local weatherman would've been more accurate in his recent prediction of a foreboding ice storm... I might have been able to "fake it" by dangling a flashlight out of the window to accentuate the natural sparkle of authentic icicles on my porch. But... I digress...

I have acquired a new found respect for the people who leave their Christmas lights up year round. Sure, it may look a bit absurd to see the unlit cords strewn from window to rafter in the middle of July... but just how hilarious it must be to the casual passersby to see my giant, half-frozen rear end balancing on one foot atop a shaky ladder, threatening a Styrofoam Blitzen in a desperate effort to enhance my home's holiday curb appeal. Those wonderfully intelligent beings who had the forethought to leave their decorations up, now have the "last laugh". They simply dust off a few extension cords and plug everything in. It frees up plenty of time to make hot cocoa (with marshmallows) and watch from their windows... mocking me... as I try to finish my decorating.

Well, my friends, I must go and try to tackle this daunting obstacle so that I may pave the way to holiday bliss. Wish me luck. And, if you need a really good laugh, you can always brew up a thermos of hot cocoa and drive down my street tonight. :)

Back to the Grind (a transitional post)

Well, I managed to make it through Thanksgiving. I even struggled through a week-long menu plan to blast through the abundant leftovers. After surviving turkey casserole, turkey and noodles and turkey "surprise", we'll finally be able to enjoy a meal that didn't previously "gobble". (A big, greasy cheeseburger sounds pretty good right about now...) The cow goes, Mooooo! (Have I been spending too much time playing with the baby's "See 'n' Say"?)

Things have finally got back to normal. (What did you say "normal" was, again?)

The hubby is back at work, the kids (thankfully) back to school. My daily chores have returned as I tackle the perpetual laundry pile. I am again thrust into the elements of the reluctant domestic... left helplessly at the mercy of my needy and unappreciative family. (Did I mention lately, that I love being a mom?)

The baby naps between episodes of "Go Diego, Go" and "Blue's Clues", and I try to finish off my lukewarm cup of coffee between folding a load of towels and mopping the kitchen floor.

I contemplate dragging out the boxes of Christmas decorations, but my sanity returns (along with my tendencies to procrastinate) and I quickly reconsider. Right now, my short term goals include changing the baby's poopy diaper, finding the television remote, and trying to squeeze in a quick shower. (Mama always said I was a dreamer!)

Well, I've donned my most attractive bio-hazard suit, and I've got the diaper wipes in hand... I guess this is goodbye for now. :)

Thanksgiving

Well, it's that time again. The time of year when tom leaves his hen and little poults (turkey chicks) behind to make his way to our dinner table. Blissfully ignorant as he chows down on feed throughout the summer becoming the perfect specimen for an autumn feast... unaware that the diner shall soon become the dined upon. As he stares down the axe, his little snood quivering in mortal fear, he secretly wishes that he'd scored higher on his SATs and finished business school. Being an accountant would surely be better than this! (Well, maybe.)

Anyway... the turkey will somehow make his way into the roaster, the little giblet bag successfully removed (I hope) and replaced with herb-seasoned breadcrumbs... basted in butter and seasonings. His juicy, delectable goodness will become the centerpiece to a giant feast. He will find himself surrounded by platters of freshly steamed vegetables, piping hot side dishes and sinfully sweet pies and desserts.

I dread the cooking. I normally love to cook, but I find myself intimidated by the massive quantity of food. And, it is mind boggling to plan a meal that is prepared to perfection, and timed in such a way that everything is still hot and delicious when it reaches the plates of our guests.

I'll probably be exhausted before I even get out the first pan. I've been trying to prepare the house for our guests. I've steam-cleaned the carpets... successfully removing wads of bubblegum out of my daughters' bedroom carpet. I've managed to get the long forgotten baby formula stains out of my recliner. I've dusted in the deepest recesses of our home... chasing out "dust bunnies" who thought they would eternally be munching on "dust carrots" while I turned a blind eye. I really don't look forward to this holiday.

And, if the extra cooking and cleaning aren't enough, there's the fact that the ten pounds I just lost are hiding around the corner, giggling and pointing at the areas of my thighs that they plan to resettle. I'll have to stay on the treadmill until Christmas Eve just to break even! (Cursed pie!)

Then I'll have "THE CLEANUP". (Yeah, it's bad enough to rate quotation marks AND capitalization!) Everyone will be finished eating in less than a half hour, and then I'll get to spend about three hours and a half-dozen soapy sinkfuls of water to wash the dishes after scraping the leftovers into an assortment of food storage containers. (Oh, how I despise food storage containers... but that's a topic for a future rant.) And, of course, everyone else will be sitting on the sofa, pants unbuttoned, watching football... Ah...Thanksgiving. (I'm thankful it only comes once a year!)

Well, my friends, I probably won't be posting to my blog until after the holiday. I'll need time to recover. In the meantime, I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving, shared with family and filled with love. ;)

An Introduction

Somehow, between changing dirty diapers and locating missing math homework, I've managed to find some time to create a blog. Anyone out there who has "more than the average" number of children, can understand what an awesome accomplishment this can be. It ranks right up there with successfully finding the car keys after a heated twenty minute search, just to realize that they were in my hand all along.

When people find out that I have four children, one of the first things they usually ask is, "how do you do it?!" I usually just calmly respond, "well, first, the male sperm cell begins a perilous journey up the fallopian tubes in hot pursuit of the female egg...." But, seriously, it takes a lot of patience, a good sense of humor, and a doctor who's not afraid to prescribe a hefty dose of Valium.

I love my kids, though. They truly enrich my life. They have all inherited my stinging sarcasm and wit. Unfortunately, they have also acquired my lack of self-control, my unfailing tendency to procrastinate, and my total lack of organizational skills. But, they are really great despite their few flaws. I wouldn't change a thing.

I recently celebrated my thirty-fourth birthday. Yay. (note the sarcasm.) Birthdays are just a measure of how much closer I am to single-handedly funding the college education of countless pharmaceutical company stockholder's offspring. One day closer to menopause and Boniva. One week closer to liver spots and Botox. Just seconds away from a Metamucil cocktail and a successfully cleansed colon. I can almost feel myself slipping into a Geritol coma. Ah, yes...birthdays are indeed a reason to celebrate!

Well, I hope you've enjoyed this small introduction... a mere peek into the frazzled mind of "the irritable intellect". I hope you'll visit again. Until then... eat your vegetables. ;)