One Crazy Chick

For the love of CrackBerry please WORK!

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 20:24:00 +0000

While I've been, you know, BUSY and all it seems I can't get away from the computer, my cell phone, my email, my texts...the fact is, I am addicted to technology even if I ignore my blog.

The CrackBerry does not help.

In fact, that thing just adds fuel to the fire.

So, when you up and wash it, those faithful seconds where you search and can't seem to locate your lifeline, you do a quick backtrack because it simply cannot be the case that you have washed the darn thing, again.

Laundry, I was doing laundry. Oh sh!t. No it can't be. My husband is going to kill me. It has to be. No! it's not on the bed. Do not panic. Panic! Run for the washing machine. Search washing machine. No luck. It has to be. Damn it. I did it again!

And so, I sit, waiting to see if Popular Mechanics is right and that there is a possibility my CrackBerry can be saved. But, it is going to be days. Days! As in, quite a few DAYS! before I can attempt to turn it on!

You probably have absolutely no idea what this means because I know my dear readers are nothing if not reasonable people. It means, I am on hour number 1 without a cell phone and my right eye has started twitching, which after Googling such it turns out I may just be tired. Which probably the reason I washing the darn thing in the first place. I was trying to get some chores done when I should have been napping because apparently going to bed at 3am two days in a row only to be woke up at 5am by the puppies* can wear a girl out! I'm just sayin'.

On the upshot, maybe the good thing is that I'll start posting again...or you know, just spend all my time looking at my Facebook homepage waiting for someone to say something brilliant.

Either way, I'm sure I'll feed my addiction just fine.

* OMG, she jibblets, we have PUPPIES!!!! Yahoo! 4 toy fox terrier puppies who are weighing in at no more than 8 ounces. They are so cute they'll make your head explode!

Sometimes, it's just about SURVIVING

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Fri, 24 Jul 2009 15:47:00 +0000

Have you ever wondered how to survive your husband's Facebook Farm Town game addiction?

I have.

It seems copious amounts of booze and chocolate does the trick but I have a feeling there is a better solution. I think someone should write a book.

Maybe you've wondered how to survive working until 3am having your youngest child wake you at 5am only to have plans to be a the area's largest water park all day?

You haven't? Well, I have and I've survived. It's called caffeine. Maybe you've heard of it? Really though, there should be a book about how to go Ninja Mommy and get your child back to sleep.

Maybe you've wondered what to do in case you run into a Bigfoot on your local hike?

For that? There is a book!

"Before there were DIY blogs, how-to clips on YouTube or Facebook groups, the Worst-Case Scenario books were there to get you out of a jam. To mark the 10-year anniversary of the WCS guide, Dave Borgenicht and Chronicle Books have launched THE WORST IS YET TO COME campaign, featuring a new blog offering daily how-to's, tips and trivia about surviving the worst."

In honor of the launch of THE WORST IS YET TO COME, I am hosting a giveaway. Two lucky readers will receive a copy of The WORST-CASE SCENARIO Survival Handbook: Life.

To enter simply check out THE WORST IS YET TO COME and come back here and leave me a comment telling me your favorite entry!

Simply and straight forward.

Giveaway closes 7/29/2009 at 11:59pm. Winner announced 7/30/2009.

P.S. My favorite entry? How to Make Your Online Profile More Alluring. Check it out!

And now I can add Master of My Domain to my Resume

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Sun, 24 May 2009 15:39:00 +0000

Did you know Pirates took my blog hostage?

Supposedly my blog was traveling around Africa sometime late last week and the Pirates captured, held my blog hostage, and demanded large amounts of chocolates before they would even talk about giving my blog back.

They were ruthless.

And, I was a mess because I threw out all the chocolates when I started my diet. Okay, that's a lie, I ATE all the chocolate before I started by diet...two hours before to be exact. So, I had nothing to offer the Pirates. So, my only option was to figure out how to take it back myself without any negotiating with the chocolate hungry Pirates!

When I first discovered my domain had expired without my knowledge I was totally bummed. Where was I going to talk about all my issues? The Park?

But, after a day or so I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Relief that I no longer had to be witty or charming on a semi-regular basis which, let's be honest, is never a regular thing around here anyway but the pressure to be witty and charming is always there...looming in the dark corners.

After the relief wore off the panic set in. Day 3 of no blog. Epic panic. A panic so fierce the last time I remember this kind of panic I had just realized the only way out of my pregnant state was to let the alien out through a teeny tiny hole. The panic was intense and it crippled my ability to think clearly (as did the rum last night that I can still taste but that is neither here nor there).

After the panic wore off, determination set in. Come hell or high water I was getting my domain back and I was going to make my blog work even if it killed me and cost me a puppy or two.

The days wore on and I still couldn't get it to work. This morning I had all but given up and decided I was the Internet's bitch when I figured, what the heck, I'll give it one more go.

And hell if didn't work.

Apparently the only thing I needed to do was tell Blogger that I messed things up and then Blogger was all, Oh now I see your Domain.

And I was all, Who's the bitch now?

I Blame My Mirror

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Tue, 05 May 2009 20:50:00 +0000

If you've been hanging around my place for long it's no surprise that it seems I am always 10 pounds away from the perfect size.

In mid-January, I decided that enough was enough and this Summer I was going to dawn a Bikini if it killed me.

Flash forward to May 5th... Um...well.. I weigh exactly the same as the day I made that resolution thanks to a horrific bout with the stomach flu otherwise I'd probably be 7 pounds heavier.

Which is hilarious, really.

The number of hours I've wasted counting points, craving sweets and generally wishing and obsessing over things I was not allowed to have is insane.

But, remember today is May 5th which in "Bikini Season" is practically D-Day.

Thankfully I live in Seattle and "Bikini Season" doesn't actually start until after July 4th which is still a good 8 weeks away, so I'm still okay...I think.

Where by okay I really mean I need to get serious yesterday.

Which, no worries, I did. Get serious, I mean.

Yesterday I totally started the Atkins diet, again. I know, I know. All the weight will pile back on if I ever eat another french fry.

But.

But, the thing is I have this problem with sweets...if I even look at one all I ever do is want one. And with those diets that allow you a "treat" all I do all day long is obsess about which one I am going to have and by the end of the day I realize I've eaten 5 treats. Which is so not the point of a diet.

So, it's cold turkey on the treats and anything else that triggers those cravings because I have gone mad with treats and if I don't get a handle on the treat ingestion in this household we are all going to be craving Fried Snickers bars for breakfast (which honestly I've never had and the thought makes me gag but it's a slippery slope my friends and that's where my addiction is headed).

So, my plan is to do Phase One for 4 weeks and re-evaluate my situation. Which means if I have stuck to my guns I'll be needing a new bikini. If not, I'll need a Mumu with a side of fries.

I suppose if you look closely at this post it really means I should spend less time worrying about my weight and more time talking to a shrink about my body image issues. Although, I would totally bring in a photo to prove my body image issues are not in my head, just look at that picture it has rolls and everything and in my head I look nothing like that.

And he'd agree the problem is with my eyes. Oh, or better yet The Mirror.

Too Much...again

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 15:36:00 +0000

So I need to know how much is too much.

I need to know.

Recently I fell ill with a stomach virus that has taken my intestines by storm and left me with nothing more than cramping and the need to be near a restroom (where by near I mean I have approximately 10 seconds to get my butt on a toilet.)

Honestly poop is a subject I can't help but talk about and it totally grosses my husband out.

My first bout with over sharing came when the nurse returned my call regarding Aspen. She wanted to know color, consistency, smell, frequency....she wanted the details. Of course, I obliged and then acted all embarrassed to be talking about it in the first place because, seriously, I know how to play it cool.

I think I played it off well and was able to talk in detail about our situation to someone besides my husband, who thinks talking about getting pooped on is disgusting. Um..hello? I actually was pooped on. Several times. And I need to talk through it.

Then things took a turn. I got sick. Which if you haven't any idea about the inner workings of our family is the equivalent to Batshit Crazy with a side of Oh My Gosh Who is in Charge of this place. Nuts...complete nuts.

As it turns out, my work schedule wasn't going to allow for much time off to recover. So, I took Monday off thinking that would be enough. Hoping, anyway. I called work and said I was sick. Which should have been enough.

Did I stop there? No.

I continued to tell my boss that not only was I ill, I was ill with a stomach bug.

Did I stop there? No.

My boss' response was something you'd except. "Stay the hell away from me!"

Except I thought I should explain that I was not throwing up.

Did I stop there? No.

I should have stopped there. Really, I should have. I can't even begin to describe the conversation that proceeded. All that I know is that I caught this bug on Sunday and it's Wednesday and it's worse than ever. Driving with diarrhea should be against the law.

So, how much information is too much? Where do you stop? Or, do you stop?

Who Knew One Day I'd Actually Consider Putting My Hand in a Toilet Full of Poop

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 16:58:00 +0000

The thing is that when I leave this place for too long coming back is hard and as the days wear on without writing, sitting down to write the thousands of entries saved in mah brain just gets harder.

So, today, I will write.

About what?

Poop.

What else?

When in doubt write what you know. Or whatever it is that they say.

I've been putting a half-assed effort into potty training The Baby (who by the way is 2.5 years-old and will forever be The Baby thankyouverymuchvasectomy!)

I've only been half-assing it because....I'm Lazy and I don't exactly think she's potty trained if I'm the one asking her a thousand times a day if she needs to use the restroom. No. I call that potty training myself. And, if you must know, I am already potty trained. Shocking, I know.

Half-assing it or not the kid is getting it. She is just a little lazy and hey let's be honest stopping to pee is just a pain in the rear when there are hundreds of Barbies who need haircuts. They are lined up around the block and The Baby thinks she is in beauty school or something.

Anyway.

Last week we were out running errands much of the day and The Baby had a bout of wicked diarrhea which is alarming to a mother who is Potty Training, never carries a diaper bag and might be able to find a few stray wipes underneath the her seat buried under miscellaneous shrapnel. In a word, FRIGHTENING.

Regardless, The Baby was handling it with poise. As soon as her stomach would start cramping she'd holler that the diarrhea was coming. Now! As loud as she could to make sure the guy who was hard of hearing two stores away could hear her. I'd quickly stop what I was doing and head straight for the bathroom. At a dead run!

I finally figured out that we were better off at home but not before The Incident.

I was meandering through Costco when I heard her. The Baby yelped and gripped her stomach which meant I had approximately 6 seconds to get her to a toilet before the explosion. I was in the back of the store approximately 2.5 miles from the bathroom. I ran as fast as I could telling the child to "Squeeze her cheeks together". Her response was to take both of her hands and squeeze her cheeks. "Not those cheeks, you silly! Your other cheeks. Your butt cheeks."

We made it the restroom with no pre-explosion a miracle of epic proportions.

No sooner had I gotten The Baby all settled on the toilet did I hear her crying.

"What? What is wrong?"

"The shoe. Shoe in the toilet."

"Uh. Oh."

"Get it, Mommy."

"No way."

"My dolly needs her shoe Mommy!"

Flush.

"Honey, Mommy cannot get you a shoe full of poop for your dolly. We are going to have to get new ones for her. It's too dangerous for fish for dolly shoes in the toilet!"

And, like you would imagine she can't stop telling everyone about her dolly's shoe that fell into the toilet that Mommy flushed.

And the Winner Is...

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 18:11:00 +0000

Hey guys!

First of all I know I suck! I mean who in their right mind goes and hosts a giveaway and then just disappears? Who does that?

Um, me, I guess.

It's only because I have been in my left mind lately but my right mind is almost back with me. Almost.

Anyway, click on the video to see who won the giveaway!

Go on, you know you want to.

Just don't listen to my voice.

Or stare at my mole.

It's embarrassing.

All of it.

Okay, you lucky ladies. Go ahead and email me at zimkandace@comcast.net to claim your prizes!

Congratulations and thanks for playing. Like I mentioned in the video I have an incredible giveaway coming shortly! Ladies, you will not want to miss it!

All those who have lost their minds...

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 16:57:00 +0000

(If you are looking for the $25 giveaway it's HERE!)

...raise your hands.

Midge has decided to act out my feelings today.

Really I couldn't have said it any better myself.

Except maybe I'd tell you what has caused me to lose my freaking mind.

Facebook.

There I said it.

I'm addicted to Facebook.

And, I have no idea why. Except that maybe, I am little nosy. Where nosy is defined as TELL ME EVERYTHING AND DON'T YOU DARE LEAVE OUT THE DETAILS. And I want to see what people have been up to, except really, I do not actually care about those people.

So, it's crazy.

I am wasting time that I do not have on people I do not really care about. (I am not talking about YOU. YOU are people I care about. So if YOU and I are "friends" on facebook well then YOU and I are friends because obviously I talk to you more than once every 15 years.)

Which of course is completely logical given the fact that work has started to get a touch overwhelming and I love avoidance. I may, in fact, be a professional procrastinator. Which is why facebook and I are suddenly BFF's who sleep together and everything.

It's sick.

But, I can't stop.

Okay, so I can stop but I am not.

Yeah, it's a choice.

Totally.

I can stop whenever I want.

I swear.

Stop hounding me.

I don't need to explain myself to YOU.

(Come over and find me! Now!)

Giveaway: Nourish Your Inner Shopper!

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Mon, 30 Mar 2009 16:16:00 +0000

I am an Ambassador for the new Goldfish® campaign Fishful Thinking.

I am here to spread the word.

And I am spreading the word with a little scavenger hunt and a giveaway! Woo hoo! Hooray for free stuff!

The HUNT:

1. Go to Fishful Thinking and find the name of the doctor behind this wonderful initiative.

2. Take the Resilience Quiz and tell me your answer to question number 2.

3. Read this article and tell me what one health benefit to being optimistic.

The Rules (with more than one way to enter because I'm CRAZY like that):

1. Send me your answers to the scavenger hunt listed above to zimkandace@comcast.net subject FISHFUL so it doesn't get deleted. Each correct answer gets you an entry. (You'll notice one of those is a freebie.)

2. Leave a comment telling me you completed the hunt.

3. Get an additional five entries by linking to my giveaway from your blog or social networking site (make sure to tell me you did in the comments).

4. My followers get an additional entry. So, if you aren't a follower it would behoove you to be one now!

5. Click the fish. Big brother will tell me you did, so no cheating!

{That totals 9 entries possible for each person!}

Prizes:
1st Prize - $25 gift card to Macy's
2nd Prize - $10 Winner's Choice

Giveaway ends Friday night at 11:59 pm PST.

Winners will be announced Saturday in my first ever Vlog! You won't want to miss it!

{Don't forget to click the fish - nourish your parenting skillz}

P.S. Fishful Thinking is looking for mom ambassadors with kids between the ages of 4 and 12, if you are interested, email me for details... this is a great opportunity for us moms!

It's Finally Friday...

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Fri, 27 Mar 2009 15:45:00 +0000

Seriously, ya'll, it's been a week and all I can say is TGIF!
Yesterday we finally made it out of house to our favorite park.
Which bears a striking resemblance to this.
Because it is, only a little further down the road.

And the very thought of it makes the kids get all angst-y and weird.
Or maybe that's just the stir-crazy talking.Like always, someone has to go and get hurt. While wearing ski goggles. On his bike.

It's Friday do ya'll know what that means? It means that Candid Carrie is hosting her Friday Foto Finish Fiesta! Go Play! Happy Friday!

Was he raised in a barn?

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 15:51:00 +0000

This. Is. Disgusting.

Not that you needed me to tell you that. But, this is what I sat down next to at the computer this morning.

It is so disgusting, I had to share. Okay so I think that makes me equally disgusting but it bothered me so much I couldn't get past it to write what I had planned. So, there. Blog fodder. You're welcome.

Honestly, please tell me I am not the only one living with a man-beast. Please. Hello? Where did everyone go?

The Croup Coup

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Wed, 25 Mar 2009 16:00:00 +0000

Over the weekend we got some new chicks.

Honestly, I love chicks.They are just so freaking cute.

In totally unrelated news...

My kid has Croup.

Again.

For approximately the one-thousand-seven-hundred-and-fiftieth time. Okay so maybe that is stretching it, but it sure feels like that many times.

We were THIS CLOSE to making it through the cold and flu season this year without Croup.

Except, you know, when you have a child that gets Croup every single time he gets a cold - Croup is bound to get you...eventually.

And it has.

And my spaz-tastic kid keeps asking why we haven't left the house. Um, hello, because you are coughing your guts out and mama isn't willing to deal with the stare down of every mother everywhere just so you can bounce off the walls somewhere else thankyouverymuch!

The good news is, the medicine is FINALLY helping. Which means more bouncing off the walls with less cough which is good, right?

Yes, actually bouncing off the walls without hacking up his left lung is a welcomed site.

Treated, not Treated

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Tue, 24 Mar 2009 17:35:00 +0000

You guys I've caught the gardening bug.

I think it may be the fact that I have been doped up on Benadryl for days and the hangover is causing me to be delusional about weeding and all the actual work involved in gardening.

But, whatever. I'm totally doing it. Where doing it is defined as enrolling my husband to do most of the heavy lifting. Where heavy lifting is defined as the majority of the work.

(Wow, can you see how this post is putting me in the running for Most Wonderful Wife of the Year?)

But being the awesome wife that I am, I offered to actually get the materials from the Home Depot today - such a giver.

My mother in law as my witness the following conversation actually occurred between my husband and I regarding the supplies.

"Okay, you need to get 8 - 8 foot posts and 25 - 1 by 6 boards."

"What kind of boards?"

"The same boards that I used to make the benches outside."

"Yes, but what are those called?"

"Treated."

"So I need to get treated boards?"

"No. Not treated."

"Then what kind?"

"Red ones like outside."

"Yes, you said that. But, what are those called? I need to know the name. When I get in the aisle and everything looks the same I need a point of reference. You know, so when I seek help because lord knows I'll need help I'll need an actual name so the guy at Home Depot can actually try and help me."

"They are treated."

"Okay, so I need treated 8 - 8 foot posts and 25 1 by 6's?"

"No. Not treated. Well....treated but not treated. Just nice posts."

"Okay, so when I seek help I need to ask for treated not treated posts?"

"No...well, yes."

"So just ask the guy for treated not treated posts and you swear he won't look at me like I have a third eye?"

"Yes, but what I mean is you need the same kind I used for the benches. And those aren't treated but they are red."

"So, I need red boards?"

"Yes."

"So I need red boards that aren't treated."

"Yes, exactly."

Apparently, neither of us could actually think of the word stained.

I even have proof of the conversation!

Captions from top to bottom read (Click to enlarge):
[Croutons taste better spelled wrong! And also, form the basis of my daughter's diet!]
[The Shed]
[Scientific calculations!]
[Make sure not to spend too much!]
[Trying to make me fail by changing the quantity!]

Sometimes Your Jesus Moment Comes Even When You've Thought You've Avoided It

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Sat, 21 Mar 2009 07:00:00 +0000

Thursday afternoon while driving home from an outing with the kids I watched the car in front of me flip over several times before landing in the ditch upside down.

Five minutes before that, I thought about the last time I witnessed such an accident and how for weeks I couldn't sleep because the young woman dying in front of my eyes wouldn't let me. Why I thought of the accident that I hadn't thought about in months on the very day I witnessed an almost identical accident, I don't know.

After watching the accident, I called my husband and cried. I cried because watching something horrific reminds you life is fragile. I cried because life can be taken away in seconds. I cried because it could have been me. I cried because it could have been me and my children.

And then, I talked to my kids about praying. I explained why we pray, who we pray for, the importance of praying - something I had never talked to them about before. I explained that we needed to be praying for the driver of that vehicle in front of us.

I am not sure they understood.

But it was a conversation we needed to have.

To open the gates of communication about our faith and what it means.

The funny thing is, at the time of the accident I was supposed to be meeting with the Mormons but I chickened out. I had decided that I wasn't really open to what they had to say at the moment, at least not without thinking about Big Love, so I canceled and yet, there I was explaining faith to my kids anyway.

I am dumbfounded by all of this. It's all just, too much.

Regardless, tell your loved ones you love them every chance you get, mkay?

Is your attitude worth catching?

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Fri, 20 Mar 2009 17:00:00 +0000

Poster courtesy of The Foundation for a better life

Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement. Nothing can be done without hope and confidence. - Helen Keller

Have you seen the movie The Pursuit of Happyness?

Whenever I think life is handing me crap, I think of this story. The story of young, single, broke father who wouldn't let anyone or anything stop him from achieving his dream of changing careers and changing his life forever, including homelessness with a 4-year-old.

It's a very inspiring true story.

My favorite quote from the movie comes when Will Smith (Chris Gardner) is playing basketball with his son and after telling his son not to aspire to be a basketball player, he stops, looks at his son and says, "Never let anyone tell you can't do something, including me. Do you hear me? You can be anything you want to be. Don't ever let anyone tell you different."

Growing up I was told I could be anything and that I could do anything I wanted to as long I was willing to work hard enough to actually get there. I am not sure I ever really believed my parents.

At least not until I actually tried.

Let's take school, for example.

I knew I was smart enough to make good grades. I was even optimistic I would make good grades. But through high school I was only ever slightly above average never averaging better than B's. I was satisfied because B's were pretty good considering the amount of effort I gave, which was close to none most of the time. It wasn't until my junior year in college that I realized I was actually capable of straight A's. Had anything changed? No. I was still not the smartest girl in class but I worked harder and actually realized that school isn't about natural ability it is about learning new things. It's sad that it took 15 years of school to finally figure it out.

Who knew what my parent's had preached for ages was actually true?

I could be anything I wanted to be as long as I was willing to put in the effort, had the confidence to actually try and hoped for a better result.

If you would have told me at 15-years-old that I would graduate college with a degree in Mathematics I would have asked you what in the world you were smoking and then I would have bent over in hysterical laughter because that right there is some funny stuff. Me? Mathematics?

I suppose the biggest downfall to my parents telling me I could be anything is that I didn't have any idea who or what I wanted to be. And for the record I guess I still don't. Sure I want to be a good person and mother. A good wife and daughter. A good sister and friend. Is there really anything more important than that? I am still searching.

The optimism that I could be anything or do whatever I want seems to be fading as the years pass by.

But, my husband is a whole different story.

My husband is hopelessly optimistic with a whole lot of hard work and dedication to back it up. He believes he'll be as successful as he ever dreamed of being when he was just a boy back on the farm. And do you know what? He will be.

Optimism is remarkable. It is as remarkable as someones faith in the Lord. It is as remarkable as someone recovering from Cancer. It is as remarkable as someone beating the odds when the odds are stacked against them.

Optimism is something I want my kids to have.
___________________

Head over to The R Family Diaries and vote for this post or just see what others have to say about Optimism or Enter yourself!

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

I'm Totally Phoning This One In

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Thu, 19 Mar 2009 07:00:00 +0000

"Hey blog, how's it going?"

"Oh, you know. So, so."

"So, so?"

"Yeah. Traffic has slowed and, you know, it's been a while."

"Oh, right. But, wait. It's only been, like, two days."

"Yes, I've been lonely."

"Blogs get lonely?"

"Yes. Well, no. But, I like new stuff. Everyday. Like, you know, a normal blog."

"Who said you weren't normal?"

"No one."

"Oh."

"Well, it's just that I thought you had *tons* of new material."

"Blog?"

"Yeah?"

"This is our first conversation, I never told you I had new material."

"Yes, well, it's just that you've started 412 new posts since Monday and none of them are finished."

"Well, see, that's just it. I mean, I just can't seem to finish. Anything."

"Do you remember when you found your first blog?"

"Yes."

"And do you remember the constant refreshing you'd do all day desperately waiting for an update?"

"Vaguely. Google Reader has taken care of all of that, though."

"Yes, but readers still like reading."

"I know and honestly, I meant to finish something. Like the story about me taking Honorable Mention at the Mother of the Week Awards for the second straight week because I made my kid crap his pants. Not on purpose, of course... "

"Go on."

"But, because I was using the bathroom at the very moment of his urgent desperation. I quickly told him to use the restroom downstairs. But, no one ever uses that bathroom."

"You have a bathroom you don't use? Why on earth..."

"Koko the ferocious beast and her friend Cody use the bathroom as a sort of home and no one likes forgetting to put the tp up only to have to clean up an entire roll of tp which is in 1000 tiny pieces on the floor, now do they? I, for one, hate cleaning up teeny tiny pieces of shredded tp."

"And?"

"And, he pleaded for me to just get up. Except, just getting up would have made one hell of mess. So, I told him to run downstairs, let the dogs out and go. Tears welled up in his eyes, he turned and ran."

"I thought you said he crapped his pants?"

"I'm not finished."

"Waiting..."

"I thought for sure we dodged a bullet when he turned and ran. I remember watching the crucial minutes tick by on the clock while simply convincing the kid there was no way I could move. Kid, I said, the Leprechaun Oatmeal made me sick, too. Finally, he believed me. But, moments after I hear the dogs running amok my son appears in front of me (still totally perched on the toilet, Leprechaun Oatmeal is nothing to reckon with). Crocodile tears streaming down his face. Mom, he said, I pooped."

"No way."

" Yes. I have never in my life had to clean poop out of my kid's underwear and there he was in front of me crying, at four-years-old, because I couldn't move off of the pot. I took a deep breath and told him to start undressing. Slowly, very slowly. I warned him to be very careful because we didn't want to lose the the 'log'."

"No, losing the log would be bad. Very bad. And not mention, very messy."

"While he carefully undressed, I collected myself. I dismounted the porcelain pony and re-situated myself and braced for impact. While helping him out of his undies I noticed that there wasn't a 'log'. I was totally suspicious that we had misplaced the log in the kerfuffle. Kyan? Where is the poop? Mom? It was just sort of wet. But, I thought, you pooped. And, down he went into Downward Dog to prove the poop."

"So, he didn't poop?"

"No."

"He cried because he sh-arted?"

"Yes, he totally sh-arted."

"Have you ever seen Rob & Big?"

"Blog, you know I have. (totally singing, You're My Best Friend)"

"Well did you ever see that episode when Big wears a Manpon?"

"Blog you are gross but funny except I think Manpon's are reserved for men not boys who simply shart, once!

"Maybe. Just remember that boy you are raising will one day be a man."

"Thanks, I'll remember that nugget of wisdom." [click]

I am pretty sure my husband will be taking away my car after he reads this post

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Mon, 16 Mar 2009 22:03:00 +0000

Today I decided it was time to get my car an oil change.

Sounds so freaking simple.

But.

This is me. And, simple is overrated.

Just to be clear my car was 15,000 miles overdue for said oil change. The last time I changed the oil I was sweating. Not because I was actually changing the oil. No. But because it was 80 degrees outside and the dealership had no AC and it was a day that 150 other Toyota owners also wanted their cars worked on. Did I mention the sweat? So, since this is Seattle that was what? Over 6 months ago.

Normally my cheap ass takes the car to the dealership to save money. I know, right? Dealership, cheap? Yes. $19.99 for the oil change. It's approximately 1000 miles away from home but they offer free Starbucks, so it's totally worth it.

Plus, the dealership never tries to up-sell me. I think I hate up-selling more than I hate cats, especially when I have no idea what they are talking about.

Let's take cars, for example. I can drive one. And that is where my expertise ends. Period. Do not ask me about anything. I am certain I couldn't even change a tire if my life depended on it. AAA, I love you.

So, when the local Lube Exchange asks me what service I want. I say, O-I-L C-H-A-N-G-E, nice and slow in case the young greasy man doesn't get why I came in today. And then the greasy young man starts.

The young man starts explaining things and saying things that I know nothing about. And when people start talking to me about stuff I know nothing about, I start to panic and no matter what, I try to remember to Just Say No, like my mama taught me.

Honestly, I think these places pray on people like me. They use scare tactics like the email supposedly from Toyota regarding engines in cars like mine that cease up. Holy crap, that about made me faint. But, I held strong.

"No, Sir just your Signature Service."

Then the young man starts in on the fact that my car's Radiator needed service and some other thing-a-majigy that was also due.

"Thanks, but just the oil change today."

Then he starts the lecture on how often I change my oil. Which, I suppose was totally warranted but it still pissed me off.

No sooner had I got the first young greasy man off my back, did another one come in bombarding me with what I thought was an oil filter. Apparently, it was dirty. But, I wasn't going to let this little shop win, no I wasn't.

So, I looked it over and said "No thank you!" Victory was almost mine.

But, then I got to thinking. That filter did look a little dirty. And, I do know I usually have the dealership change the filter every few oil changes. But, I stayed strong.

I paid my $30 (and that was with my coupon for $10 off) and left.

While leaving I felt a little uneasy.

Maybe those greasy guys were right, I thought.

Maybe I did need to switch to Synthetic, maybe I did need a filter change, maybe I did need stuff worked on.

So, I did the only logical thing.

I went t0 Schuck's.

I asked for some help and the girl acted like I didn't know what I was talking about. And, man, she was right. But, all be damned if those greasy guys were going to get anymore of my money.

I figured out that what that greasy guy was showing me was actually an Air Filter and not an Oil Filter. Simple rookie mistake given that they look totally different and do totally different things.

I bought one.

For my husband to install.

When he gets home.

He's going to be so happy!

And proud!

Except, when I read the notes on my receipt from the Lube place it says Filter in difficult spot.

Then I remembered the last time I did this to my husband he cursed and cursed me because the filter was in a very tight spot for his VERY large 6'4" hands.

And the result of that last experience was that I was to always have the Lube place install my filter.

But, by golly I totally won.

And totally saved $2.95.

And, VICTORY is mine. (Mwahhahahahaha)

Next thing you know the only food they'll allow is Lunchables (if that is even considered a "food")

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Mon, 16 Mar 2009 15:29:00 +0000

Did you know that I cannot even pack a peanut butter & jelly sandwich in my son's lunch for preschool?

I certainly don't want my kid to be the reason another kid goes into anaphylactic shock, but still. This just seems crazy.

And back in the day I was the weirdo kid with ALL the allergies.

Curses to those poor peanut free kids who make this mama pack things like Tuna and Egg Salad that without proper refrigeration could you know make my kid yak all over those peanut free kids.

Hope, Mormons and Other Random Crap

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Fri, 13 Mar 2009 14:52:00 +0000

Today is the last day of ski lessons...and I couldn't be any happier. While signing up for said ski lessons the adventure of packing two toddlers up the mountain one in full gear the other in full whine meltdown mode never occurred to me. Nine weeks of that craziness will give anyone a little perspective. Nevertheless, I'm signing up for next year. Mostly because I enjoy having something to complain about but also because the boy is actually skiing. Like, wow. He may actually be better than me which to be honest isn't all that difficult but still.

*****

The other day while driving in the car my son turns to me and says, "We shouldn't cut down trees."

"Oh," I said, "Why not?"

"Um...because Gummi Bears live there!" he exclaims.

Hmmm, I think the preschool we are attending is charging too much or maybe he just cares way too much about his Gummi vitamins.

****

Currently I have 21 books checked out from the library.

Send help!

****

It's the second Friday the 13th in as many months. Does this not scare anyone else?

****

Oh! The Mormons stopped by yesterday. And, the boys were very interesting. They are coming back next week.

When I told my husband, he says that staying home is ruining me.

I say, if you want to sit down and talk to me about interesting stuff for 30 minutes, I'll get the cookies and tea. I mean it's the least I could do, they are out here knocking on doors for two years. I'll throw them a bone and listen...even if I just want to hear another adult speak...wait...is 19 an adult? Yes? Okay. Good.

****

Have I ever told you what a sucker I am for solicitors? No? I have meat in my freezer, magazines in my mailbox, discount cards in my wallet, cookies in my cupboard and leaflets everywhere from solicitors. Each one I felt sorry for. And, guilt, is something I do very well!

****
Tide is doing something pretty awesome.

Check it Out!

And buy one of those cute vintage tees here. All proceeds go to Loads of Hope!

Old School Aerial Combat...

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 15:09:00 +0000

Lake Tapps, Washington.

A local photographer captures the hunt, the combat and recovery of a few local birds.
The little duck watches as the Eagle speeds straight at him at about 40 mph.

With perfect timing, the duck always dove and escaped with a mighty splash!
Then he'd pop to the surface as soon as the Eagle flew past. This went on for some time. It appeared the little duck would soon tire and that would be the end of the little duck.

Look at the photo closely (or double click to enlarge). A second Eagle joins the attack! The duck kept diving "just in time", so the Eagles began to dive into the water after him!*

After several minutes the Eagles got frustrated and began to attack each other. They soon began to dive vertically, level out, and attack head-on in a good old-fashioned game of high-speed "Chicken". Sometimes they banked away from each other at the last possible second. Other times they'd climb vertically and tear into each other while falling back toward the water. (The duck catches his breath at the right side of this picture.)

A terrible miscalculation! The luckiest shot of one photographers life caught this 100 mph head-on collision between two Bald Eagles.

One Eagle stayed aloft and flew away, but the other lies motionless in a crumpled heap. The lucky duck survived to live another day.

It's sad to watch an Eagle drown. He wiggled, flapped and struggled mostly underwater. He finally got his head above water and with great difficulty managed to get airborne. To the photographer's astonishment, the Eagle flew straight toward him, and it was the most wretched and unstable bird flight he had ever seen!

The bedraggled Eagle circled the photographer once - then lit atop a nearby fir tree.
He had a six-foot wingspread and looked mighty angry. The photographer was concerned that I might be his next target, but he was so exhausted he just stared at him. Then the photographer wondered if he would topple to the ground.

The photographer's half-hour wait was rewarded with this marvelous sight. He flew away, almost good as new.

_______________________________

* The guy on the tailgate is oblivious to the spectacle going on behind him.

This post was sent to me via email from someone who knows this photographer and I couldn't help myself, it was too good not to share.

Domesticity...You Are Mine...Mwhahahaha

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Mon, 09 Mar 2009 19:30:00 +0000

Upon starting to stay home over 6 months ago I suddenly was faced with two kids and no idea what in the hell to do with them for hours on end, everyday.

I was mostly scared, I'll admit it. I mean these two beasts could surely take me over in seconds and I'd be left wondering what happened while they were busy unraveling yards of toilet paper and flushing it down the toilet and purposefully grinding play-dough into the carpets, all while running around naked singing the theme song to Barney and eating all the chocolate I have stashed around the house. Honestly, I was terrified.

But, the reality of my situation was so much different. In fact it wasn't the theme song to Barney, it was The Wiggles. Other than that, I was dead on.

I'm kidding, we don't have carpets...we have hardwood. And, I hide the toilet paper where the kids can't reach it. And the chocolates are kept in the same drawer as my vibrator, far far away from from the kids.

So, my fears were really just fears. And staying at home with my kids is far more rewarding than a freaking office job where you get to talk to real people and get to eat your lunch while sitting down and maybe get to talk to someone or maybe just enjoy a book or, you know, maybe just enjoy the simple act of sitting while eating. I don't miss it, I swear.

In fact, I am having fun channeling my inner Domestic Diva. In fact, my inner Domestic Diva has gone bat shit crazy. Things that would never have interested me before are suddenly consuming all my thoughts.

Let's take play-dough, for example. I should hate it. But, I don't. It entertains my children for hours. I love it. Love! It!.

The Domestic Diva in me says I need to make this at home, you know, to save money. And! And, have the kids help. Which, is so much more exhausting than it appears.

But what makes this particular domestic aspiration even worse is when you actually make the play-dough and it fails. Because failing is not something I do well. And, certainly, I'd have to be an idiot to fail at play-dough making. I mean, it's freaking dough to play with, which doesn't involve yeast, which is the same as flour and salt, basically.

What does it say about me that I can't make freaking play-dough? It's simple. It means I fail at domesticity, of course. Fail! Epic! Fail!

And, who wants to fail at their job? No one!

But, I let my failure fall by the wayside thinking it had to be a mistake because certainly I couldn't be failing at my job. No way.

A few weeks ago I took the kids to meet some friends at a local indoor play place. At one point Aspen sat down at a craft table and one of the employees took it upon themselves to see if she'd like to play with some play-dough...of course! After seeing the play-dough I immediately picked it up and started examining it. It was amazing. The smell, the touch, the texture, the color, the sparkles...it was all so perfect.

I'll admit it, I had play-dough envy.

I found the employee and demanded the recipe. "I mean, how on earth did you make this play-dough so...decedent?" I asked. "Mine is so...disgusting compared to this." I bashfully admittedly. (Seriously, I used the word decedent to describe freaking play-dough? What is happening to me?)

She let me in on her secret...Cream of Tartar. It was like I was finally let into the secret club of domesticity with that little secret because do you want to know who made the most decedent batch of play-dough this morning?

Me.

And see, I totally don't fail at domesticity. Not that you care. Except, maybe you are keeping tabs at who is failing or something. And, totally man, it's not me...it's her. Yeah, she's failing. Not me.

God, what has happened to me?

The One Where I Almost Lose my Eyeball...Twice

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Fri, 06 Mar 2009 03:06:00 +0000

I spent my day locked in a board room. For 9 hours. Talking about minutea that is irrelevant to the case at this point at a burn rate of about $850 per hour collectively. (Glad that bill won't becoming to our office.)

The attorney on the case is so old I thought he might have a coronary right there in the middle of the pile of papers that were strewn about as if we were actually accomplishing something. I mean, maybe we were, but honestly. Honestly, I spent 9 hours daydreaming about actually being back in an office and wow didn't that feel great? Only to wake up to the same argument being tossed around and blood dripping from my eye socket because the pencil I had been jamming in there finally broke skin. (Okay, so maybe not on that last part but it sure felt like that.)

****
On one page of my notes I wrote: "My stomach hurts really bad. Oh my god. The cramping!...Someone....Anyone....Shoot Me!" That was immediately following lunch. See, I had to write that note to myself because if I didn't everyone wondering why on earth I was screaming out in pain. Also, good food makes me sick. Usually though, it is KFC and not some hip downtown restaurant.

****
An awkward exchange at the beginning of the meeting:

Dude standing over his computer is trying to explain some technical crap to the attorney.

A: Whoa, have you been working out?
Dude: No.
A: Well your triceps are poking out of your shirt.

Um, awkward silence fills the room.

****

By the end of the day, I am certain my eyes were crossed. I glanced over at my boss after the attorney left the room for the 300th time since returning from lunch because the cell phone call he was taking was "urgent" and quietly said, "He probably demanded that his wife call him every 10 minutes for the remainder of the day so he wouldn't have to commit suicide from boredom." I then proceeded to stab my eyeballs with my pencil. (Okay, so not really again, but yeah you get it.)

Considering I still have both cornea still intact I'd call my day a smashing success.

I think I am Losing My Mind

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 16:01:00 +0000

This is where I found the sour cream this morning. You'll notice that it's not exactly put away in the refrigerator as it should be. In fact, it is not anywhere remotely close to the refrigerator.

It happens to be placed directly above where I was preparing dinner last night. I don't remember doing this. I don't remember even touching the sour cream after I used it last night. If hard pressed I'd tell you I didn't touch the sour cream. I would even tell you that with 99% certainty that I did not touch the sour cream.

Except. Except that would be lying.

It is true that I do not remember touching the sour cream last night. But, (and this is where the whole losing my mind thing comes in) I am the only one who cleans up dinner, ever.

So, while I am 99% certain I did not touch that sour cream after dinner last night, I am 100% certain I put it away in the cupboard.

(Let's just pretend this is my way of helping the economy. One premature sour cream purchase at a time!)

Where is My Magic Poo Wand?

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Mon, 02 Mar 2009 20:49:00 +0000

Do you know what pisses me off?

Dog shit.

More specifically, dog shit at the park where the law requires you to pick that shit up!

Even more specifically, dog shit that finds its way onto my shoes and both of my children's shoes all in the same trip to the park where the law requires you to pick that shit up.

My favorite pair of shoes has been out of commission for six weeks because of said shit. Every single time I try to clean it off I gag. I gag so violently I have to throw the shoes far, far away so I can stop gagging. Every. Single. Time.

Plus, you know, there is whole issue of actually removing the shit. I mean do they make a removal tool for all those crevices? They totally should. But where would you keep you Magic Poo Wand? Under your sink? In the garage? In the garbage?

So yeah, dog shit sucks!

The Man in the Window

zimkandace@comcast.net (One Crazy Chick!) — Sat, 28 Feb 2009 16:26:00 +0000

The Library is a magical place. Go now. I have started reading again after a 4.5 year hiatus. Why did I wait so long? Oh probably because I didn't realize that the library is free and that you can place holds on the books you want and they just show up at the library. It's nuts.

I've pulled a piece from the archives for you today. I only had 4 readers when I posted this the last time so, Enjoy!

One Summer evening more than eleven years ago I found myself reading well into the early hours of the morning. That Summer I had discovered the joy of reading. So much so I couldn't let a night go by without clutching a book and sticking my nose between the pages. I would usually stay up until 4 or 5 in the morning reading. I loved to read and seriously I still can not believe it took me that long to discover the written word.

That night eleven years ago was no different. I went out with friends until ten or so then headed home, chatted with my mom for a little bit and then proceeded to read. Sometime after 1 am I needed to readjust my position and in doing so something had caught my eye out the window.

I froze.

My heart began racing.

OH.MY.GOD.

Was that what I think it was? A man staring at me through my window just two feet away.

No way, I thought.

My mind must have playing with me. I waited. The man, I think, was as surprised as I was because he waited and then checked again.

HOLY SHIT.

I was so scared I couldn't even scream because even in those brief seconds thoughts came flying at me.

If he wants to kill me and I scream I am going to die because that man is only feet away from me. So as my heart raced and my thoughts soared I had to make a plan. What was I going to do?

In seconds I had decided not to scream and to run for my door, once I was at my door I would run up two flights of stairs and wake my dad. I felt like I only had seconds because if this man was there to rob us and had a weapon he may use it on me if I feel the need to confront him.

So I ran. I ran to my door. I proceeded up the stairs, taking 3 stairs at a time, my heart racing; I have never ran that fast up the stairs in my life.

By the time I reached my dad I was out of breath, scared for my life and inarticulate.

"MAN.IN. MY.WINDOW", I said clearly out of breath.

After a few minutes I had calmed down enough to explain and although he could tell I was shaken he had a really hard time believing me. Even to this day I think my dad still brushes the event off. He thinks it was one of my brother's friends. I know it wasn't. I have that man's face burnt into my memory for the rest of my life. It was not a friend of my brothers, it was not some one from school.

It was a man, about 5'10", white blond with dark features, large eyebrows and no real expression. I could point him out in a line up even today, eleven years later.

I wish we had called the police. I mean what on earth was a person doing walking around our house in the middle of the night on one of the rainiest nights we had that Summer? Was he attracted to the light I had on? It seems to me it had to be deliberate because my parents house is neither on a main road or next to any other houses. Was that the first time? I know it was the last because the next day my dad took me to get blinds for my window.

After that I spent a lot of time sleeping on the floor of my parents bedroom. I never really felt safe sleeping by myself next to a window after that. The experience still shakes me when I am alone in our home or after I watch something scary. Talk about burning an image into my mind. Even writing this entry makes me shake. I hope I never have to face the man in the window again.