you can't make this stuff up.

From our local Craig's List: [my real-time thoughts are in brackets]

Free to good home:
1 1/2 yr. old pit mix needs new home.
Neutered, excellent with kids, very energetic!
Loves to chase our two cats throughout the house.
[Funny... though probably not for the cats]
Is extremely protective of his owners/family.
Knows a few tricks, stays when told, and comes when called by name or whistle.
Crate trained/potty trained.
[Sounds like a great dog!
Where do I sign?]
Our family situation has recently changed drastically and Rage needs more attention than we can give. [Say what now?]
This guy will make a family very happy if given the time and attention he so deserves! [Ummm... I have to go talk to a guy about a thing. I'll be back.]

A pitbull named Rage. Awwww, that's so adorable. Don't everyone offer to take him at once.


gender roles, schmender roles

Iris just spent the last five minutes carefully selecting items to put into her frilly pink purse. I asked her to bring it to me and show me what she found.

She pulled out a baseball, a Hot Wheels car and the TV remote.


that hollyweird gonna get to ya

A movie is totally being filmed on my street. This movie, to be precise. Check out that cast! And apparently they've been all over the area filming for the past couple of months and I've been too busy having emotional crises to notice. But whatever, the set is less than two blocks from my house and base camp is at a church two blocks west of there. If you buy me a pony I'll reveal my exact location. Or you could just drive through the general area and look for the massive vehicles and signs that say "SET - THIS WAY".

I took the kids for a stroll this evening to see what we could see, but the road was completely barricaded and there were semi trucks parked all over our narrow little street. White shuttle vans have been zipping back and forth between the set and base camp all day. I was relieved to discover they were a part of all the action because I was starting to think someone was casing the joint.

The kids and I were going to walk down to the ice cream shop but because of the barricades we couldn't get there without having to go way out of our way. I feigned aggravation but inside I was thinking how very cool this is. I haven't seen this much action in our neighborhood since we had to cut down a huge oak tree in our yard and a neighbor was so upset over it that she threatened to chain herself to the tree. Right before she called the police. Welcome to my little slice of crazy.

Anyway, I kind of had to restrain myself from storming base camp, asking for the famous people. The only thing really holding me back was my dignity lack of something to write on. I can see it now: "Hey, are you famous? Can I get an autograph? No, I don't have any paper. Here, just sign my baby's head. Yes, I'll get out of the port-a-john now. Gosh, famous people are so stuck-up." Awesome.


decade in review

Welp, I just wrapped up my first annual 30th birthday. Yes, I said first annual. Next year will be my second annual 30th, etc. Ocean got me a pan to make muffins shaped like sporting equipment. I told him I thought it was awesome, and he told me it was expensive. And I'm going sometime this week to get some dishes from Anthropologie so you know I'll be posting pictures later.

The last ten years of my life were pretty nuts. I lived so much life in that time and experienced more than I ever imagined I would at this age. I loved and lost and loved again, I experienced sorrow too great for words and exhilaration that can't be described, I brought forth life and witnessed the end of life. I travelled, I searched, I yearned, I wandered, I found my home and I made peace with myself. Overall I'd say it was a pretty good decade.

My goal for the next ten years is to not allow myself to age too quickly since the last year has pretty much turned me into a senior citizen. I'm totally down with the S.C.'s but I'm far from being one and if I'm not getting the discount, I'm pretty sure I don't want to feel like one yet. The next decade has the potential to be very draining so I'm determined to not let my joy be stolen, no matter what circumstances arise. It helps having friends who keep me laughing and dancing and playing. (Thank you, friends, of all varieties.)

Here's a birthday video Ocean and I made before he went to bed tonight. Biggest blessings... smallest packages. For sure.



My dear sweet friends took me out on Friday night to celebrate my birthday. Here is the progression of the evening in photographs.

Stacie, me, Jenny. Before the drinks.

Get a room. Geez.

Too... much... love...

Laughing. NOT puking.

Out. Of. Control.

I thought I should post these myself before the paparazzi tried to sell them to make money. Or before someone tried to blackmail me with them. It's not like I have a crown to lose or anything but you just never know who's out there with an axe to grind.

Seriously, I haven't laughed that hard in so long... the hilarity was unceasing, and I think all three of us really needed to let our hair down like this. Thanks for an awesome celebration, girls!


well-behaved female trains rarely make history

The feminist in me was totally appalled at today's episode of Thomas the Train. Here's a slightly abridged and extremely paraphrased version of what went down.

James, Diesel and Percy are all trying to get to the washing station which Emily is parked in front of. James tries to intimidate her by getting up in her face and yelling, "Move, bitch!" Emily doesn't move. 'Atta girl. Then Diesel gets all handsy and ends up pushing her. Still, Emily is all, "Screw you, Diesel," and pushes him back, and maybe even kicks him in the crotch. It was hard to tell. Either way, way to stand your ground, mama. Finally, Percy swaggers up to Emily and turns on the charm. "Hey baby, if you really loved me you'd back that thing up." Emily giggles, bats her eyes and moves out of the way.

"NOOOOO! What are you teaching our daughters, Emily?!" I screamed, scaring the Jeebus out of my kids.

Supposedly it was a lesson in being polite, but whatever. I'm totally going to burn my bra.

And also I've had way too much caffeine this morning.


it's all fun and games until someone totally bites it

Despite it being so, so freezing today, we ventured out of doors to dominate some sidewalk chalk. Ocean and I played a vicious game of hopscotch and he got a little overzealous with the hopping. I'm not sure exactly what happened, but somehow he launched himself about a foot into the air, got his right foot caught on his left ankle and came down flat on his face. I scooped him up and evaluated the damage. Even though it seemed like his face should have been in the worst shape, he was holding his hands in the air and crying, "My hands got burned!"

Me: Oh, I'm so sorry you're hurt! It looked really awesome, though.

Ocean: Waaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!

Me: Is it just your hands that hurt?

O: Yeahhhhhhhh! I burned them!

Me: I think you scraped them.

O: Yeah, I scraped themmmmmmmm!

Me: Well that's okay. Mommy can fix them.

O: *sniff* With scissors?

Me: No...

O: With crayons?

Me: Huh?

O: Oh. With boots.

Me: Am I being Punked?

He was fine once we went into the house and then, as further evidence that he has inherited my dexterity, he fell over backwards trying to take his coat off.


why twitter is not for me.

I was talking with a friend over the weekend about the joys of Twitter, and it got me wondering for a nanosecond how my life would be enriched if I joined the millions of you who are much more hip and savvy than I. It didn't take me long to decide that Twitter is quite possibly my worst technological nightmare. Here is a brief explanation of why.

From my limited observations and understanding of this phenomenon, truly successful, productive Twittering requires frequent updates on what you're doing throughout the day. But I really don't get online as much as one might assume I do based on the amount of blogs I own and my complete lack of any sort of life, so I'm not sure when I would update. It would have to wait until the kids were in bed, and then you'd get a hundred million Tweets from me between the hours of 9pm and midnight, all of them super insignificant. Then you would all block me for being annoying and then what would be the point?

But assuming I chose to leave my high-maintenance children to their own devices and fully devoted myself to keeping you abreast of my whereabouts and activities throughout the day, what would these updates say? "I'm microwaving my full cup of coffee for the sixth time in an hour." or "I changed another diaper. The blueberries finally made their way through." or "My kids have been in a perpetual timeout today, and I've added a bit of vodka to my orange juice." I just couldn't bear the thought of you all knowing how dull and repetitive my weekdays can be. I'd rather have everyone operate under the false pretense that my life is all glamour and glitz. I mean, isn't that what I'm getting across here? Hello? Anyone?

Additionally, and perhaps most importantly, I already have issues with people knowing exactly where I am at any given time, as in I like my privacy and I'm sort of neurotic about everyone having instant access to me whenever they want (and now you also see why motherhood is a bit of a challenge for me). After realizing that the entire human race migrated from real life to Facebook and now operates solely on that interface I begrudgingly joined. I knew I'd be missing out big time if I didn't get on board, so I slapped that barcode on my forehead and called it a day. And now, every time I write anything on my page or anyone else's EVERYONE can see it. Am I the only one who finds that to be sort of creepy and invasive? It's kind of like the Patriot Act, but with willing participants. Twitter is pretty much the same thing. No... it's exactly the same thing. I'm not going down like that. At least not without some good old fashioned peer pressure.

So... to those of you who aren't completely turned off by my absurd neuroses, and are emotionally balanced enough to actually Twitter, tell me what you like about it. What you don't like about it. If you don't Twitter, why not? And if you can recommend a therapist who can help me work through these immensely important issues I will say to you "Tweet, tweet."

(That's as close as I'll get to Twitter.)



Iris. Oh, Iris.

Lately she has started choosing her outfits. We open her drawers in the morning and she selects whatever she is into that day by holding it up and declaring, "Pretty!"

However, she must have recently realized that other people have fun fashion options in their dressers as well so this was the hook up of her choosing yesterday, from multiple sources. Her monkey jammies, my bra, puppy rain boots and Ocean's sweatshirt.

Rock star.