My Squeaky Clean Blog

Out of the Closet. (At Least Most of my Junk.)

2012-02-08T11:05:00.002-05:00

Yesterday, my productiveness was legendary.

I wish I had taken a before and after picture of our walk-in bedroom closet for you. But since I didn't, allow me describe it.

Not our closet...just a random pic online.
Ours MIGHT have been worse.

Before: stacked storage bins and miscellaneous items (purses, bags, dirty laundry) had toppled in the doorway. Therefore, the entrance to the closet was completely blocked. Literally.

The situation occurring past the blockage was pretty bad, too: garbage, books, CD's, etc. It was the embarrassment of all embarrassments, in the most spectacular way.

Generally, no one ever sees our room.

We keep our shiz together, like 75% of the time, in the area of the house that people will see if they stop by.

The door to our room remains closed to shifty eyeballs of those who are outside of our family unit, just waiting to judge us on the typhoon-like state of our bedroom.

Fun thing I found #1:
Halloween card from Chris sent
from Iraq.

We went to a Superbowl party at a house last Sunday.

This party made me realize that just perhaps, we weren't normal. And that at 30-something we needed to get some of our crap together. Most specifically, the crap most people would never, ever see.

(Gads, let me clarify: I KNOW we aren't normal in more ways than I can count on my two hands. This post just has to do with cleanliness.)

The living area of the house we visited was gorgeous and clean. But whatev, I can do that, too, when we have company coming.

The epiphany came at some point after halftime when I heard a squeal from Maggie.

She had found a cat.

Cats, because of allergies, are something that we are probably never going to own again and have never owned as long as Maggie has been alive.

In college and grad school we had two phenomal cats: Happy and Flipper. They were the best cats. EVER. Especially our tuxedo can, Happy, who I am pretty sure believed he was a dog.

Fun thing #2: Visitor's Guide.
We were hoping to see Greg Iles. We didn't.

They had grown up around small children and nothing really fazed them. They were our entertainment when we were really, really poor. We recorded them playing on the bed, playing in the bathtub, sleeping, eating....animal lovers know how it is, right?

We have hours of video of them. I'm sure we forced people to view the footage at some point in time.

So, Maggie usually does backflips when she sees a cat. And because of her unadulterated enthusiasm, the cat normally freaks out and hides under a bed.

This cat, however, allowed her to squeeze its face and hug it for quite some time. I learned later that the sad little thing was thirteen years old, and probably wasn't even able to run away like it truly wanted to.

And I felt bad about it.

#3 FLOPPY DISK!

The cat wasn't the epiphany, though. The cat was in these folks' bedroom. Which was IMMACULATE. It looked like a magazine.

Now, since we have lived in Florida, we have had tours of many houses. However, 90% of them were inhabited by retired/semi-retired folks.

And I sort of EXPECT that their houses/rooms would look like Traditional Home magazine.

However, these people had two small children. I had just assumed that everyone who had kids had trash and shiz lying everywhere.

Let me tell you: even their bedside tables were clutter free. And their bed was made. WITH THROW PILLOWS.

This troubled me and inspired me at the same time. It prompted me to action.

#4: $30 certificates to Bakers Square.
Are those even open anymore? Any takers?

I decided to tackle the most shameful area of my entire house: the master bedroom closet.

I took some advice, however, of a friend. She said, "no matter what you do, stay in the room you are cleaning ~as much as you can . If you need to throw items outside the door to deal with later, you do that."

This seems like such a simple little thing, right? Just stay in the freaking room!

Don't start the closet, then think about the dishwasher that needs to be emptied. Then distractedly notice that the floors are dirty and vacuum/mop them. Nor should I even allow the gobs of laundry mocking me inside the laundry room to even inhabit my mind. Not one teeny bit.

STAY IN THE DAMN CLOSET.

#5: .32 stamps.
What year were THESE from?

I have serious ADD when it comes to cleaning. I will start one project, drop it, then move to another. This is why things rarely are finished to par.

I was ruthless with my clothes. I took them out of the bins/off the hangers/out of drawers and inspected every one of them. No more of the sentimental crap that got me into this mess ~ literally ~ that I was facing yesterday.

I donated five garbage bags of clothes.

Really, I wasn't going to wear a mumu, as fun and as comfortable as I thought it looked. There was no way, if I wanted to stay married to my husband. For some reason, I think mumus would be the line in the sand and when I start wearing them, it might possibly be the end of my marriage.

I didn't need to keep panties that I wore BEFORE my husband and I ever even met (we've been together 13 years).

I threw those out, along with any g-strings from that area. Because...really. Who the HELL am I kidding?

So yesterday, I didn't make it out of my pajamas. That was the price I paid for digging into the monstrosity first thing in the morning. I didn't brush my teeth nor did I put deodorant on. I was FUNKY.

But I got the job done, pretty much. There is some tweaking here or there that needs to be done. I want to organize it a little better and maybe put some closet "systems" in there that make it look classier.

This is what we got, though. To some it might look cluttered, but it is a 180 degree difference from where it started. And believe it or not, it was about 7 hours worth of work.

I had these hooks in my garage for years and didn't know what to do with them.
THIS MUST have been a Pinterest idea; I don't come up with these ideas on my own.

Monday in St. Augustine

2012-01-23T20:03:00.000-05:00

We went to St. Augustine today; one of my favorite places!

I took some pictures and though I would share.

Somewhere on a side street.

Yummy mint chocolate chip.

Ice cream stop.

A church....

Cobblestone streets.

Flags.

I love red doors.

Semi-creepy water fountain.

I thought this was interesting...

Thought the light/colors were pretty.

Old building.

Pretty house.

Had a happy hour lunch/dinner at Pizzalley's.

The sky was so blue and it was 80 degrees today.

This one was for sale.

On the way home. It was cold by then and the top was off the Jeep.

Squirrels and Pinterest

2012-01-09T23:18:00.001-05:00

Today, I "liked" this picture of a squirrel.

I also "liked" a hamster on a swing and a meaty picture of Tim Tebow with no sleeves.

How did I find myself "liking" pictures of wild rodents and insanely popular football players (when I fiercely dislike neither of them)?

Allow me to explain.

Chris, continuing to save us $75 carpet removal fee.

Chris. Removing carpet. Saving us $75 on the removal fee.

We recently cancelled our cable t.v. service.

Granted, this was pretty much our only entertainment (aside from the Internet).

But we couldn't justify the cost. Our bill last month was a hefty $180.00.

And with THAT sort of cost, we could actually PARTICIPATE in some sort of entertainment; not just sit on our butts and watch it happen.

With Netflix streaming on our Wii, Maggie could watch "Dora the Explorer" AND "Fresh Beat Band" till her little heart was content.

(The Apple TV is still in my realm of consideration, as is Vudu.com. I already subscribe to Hulu.)

There are entire HOSTS of television alternatives out there at this point in time, that cutting the "cable" umbilical cord hardly hurt.

The tile floors. They are made to look like hard wood.

Around this time, we ripped out the carpet of our family room downstairs and acquired a piano.

Done! This is ceramic tile! Amazing, right?

We decided to move the large television with the Wii upstairs for the children to watch. Ironically, we plugged our bedroom set into the wall and we still have network stations.

Anyway, because I don't want to take the long, arduous trek up the stairs to the second floor to watch the Netflix options, I have found new and fascinating ways to waste my time.

First waste of time: 8tracks.com.

8tracks is a service where people upload their music mixes from their collections and categorize them into playlists for the public to hear. There are "rock" playlists, as well as "pop," "indie," "chill," "study," "techno," and even "sex."

I am not sure why people would upload a mix called "sex." I guess that is what differentiates me (37) and the 20-somethings.

Here is a link to my own contributions to 8tracks.com. Brilliant, I know. That Bela Bartok piece on "Dark Matter" is almost like fingernails on a chalkboard....but in an interesting sort of way.

Some "almost after" photos. Still have more work to do, like something in that corner. And yea....that's Maggie sleeping in the chair.

From the foyer.

From by the front door....where you can't see all the dirty shoes.

I have been listening and listening....and listening to other peoples' mixes, as well as my own. Maggie hangs out with me and listens to the music too. Which MUST be better than Dora, with all her Spanish lessons and all.

She was bouncing pretty well with her hot dog to Offspring's "Get a Job," on a 90's mix that I found earlier this week at lunch today. (Upon listening to this again...it probably wasn't the best song for a 3 year old to listening to; I was all caught up in the nostalgia and memories of the 90's to hear the lyrics and the message of the song.)

Another time consuming activity I have found a website that rivals the thrill of Facebook, if that is at ALL possible: Pinterest.

I first heard about Pinterest at a Christmas party last month. As it was explained to me, it sounded really lame. And you had to ASk for an invitation, or had to be invited by someone already on Pinterest.

I received the invitation about a week later and tentatively began to play with it.

I pinned new recipes, neat organization ideas, fun photos, etc.

Like thousands of other housewives on Pinterest, I gathered together the photos of what I SHOULD be doing. However, instead, I was parked in front of the laptop putting the ideas together and organizing them into neat little files to use at some future date.

THEN, I realized how thrilling it was to upload a picture or a website I found on my VERY OWN and have someone you DIDN'T EVEN KNOW, RE-PIN it!!!

So, I have been trolling the Internet, looking for new recipes, exciting women's fashion ensembles and quirky photos to share with my Pinterest community.

It is like crack. Or Diet Coke, if I use a comparison that is in my WASP-ish lifestyle realm.

Which brought me to my squirrel.

And I had to ~ just HAD TO ~ click on the other entries to this contest. There were monkeys, lions, tigers and other rodents dressed in armor. Most of them clearly Photo shopped.

This little bugger, however, looks incredibly real. And really gets me thinking.. ...

Road Trip Misadventures.

2012-01-07T13:44:00.000-05:00

We just returned from a road trip to Minnesota.

The kids, the German Shepherd, Chris and I all piled in the sedan like clowns. We willingly headed north toward the prairie.

Let's backtrack.

The discussion of a road trip began when the Wisconsin Badgers landed themselves in the Rose Bowl.

I care nothing about sports, and bowl games only screw up the viewing schedule on network television. The husband cared, though.

He cares a LOT.

The more I thought about it, though, I was up for THAT sort of road trip: through deserts, mountains, and ultimately Orange County (which I have a bit of fondness for. It began before Real Housewives of Orange County. Honestly).

Orange County morphed into Minnesota.

A leap? Why yes, it is.

The last time they were together....

We would mooch off of family.

I began warming to the idea of Minnesota in JANUARY.

Then I dusted off my jeans and tried them on.

W.T.H.

Perhaps it was that I have worn elastic band pants for three years. Damn those evil elastic waistbands: they are so COMFORTABLE, yet they hide that one has put on 20 pounds in relative comfort.

I had NOTHING to wear.

And...a coat? What coat? We live in Florida. I sold them all before we moved here.

We set out, me in inappropriate clothing. Of COURSE a cardigan and a scarf would keep me warm.

I had blocked Minnesota cold out, much like one blocks out childbirth and colonoscopies.

We left Orlando after my brother's wedding on a Friday night.

Within ten minutes we were lost and screaming at each other.

The toll that was supposed to have been $1 turned into $4 as we backtracked. Our exit was missing because of road construction.

MISSING!

We tried again. The kids had found something to hit each other with. There were feet flailing. Someone accidentally kicked the dog. There was yelping.

This was a ROTTEN idea.

They eventually fell asleep. When they woke up, we were in the Midwest covered in dog hair.

Perhaps it was all of the dog hair, or the entire tub of Pringles that Wes ate in, like, TWO SECONDS. But somewhere in the Middle, we heard moaning in the back seat.

"I have a stomach ache."

"What," I screeched. "What kind of stomach ache," I demanded. "Do you have to go to the bathroom," I asked. Or, the horrible, horrible alternative:

"Do you have to throw up?"

"I think I have to throw up," Wes whimpered.

We opened all of the windows to get air moving, and at the next "safe" area, I pulled the car over.

We sat for several minutes with a ten year old dangling out of the back seat, unsuccessfully summoning the contents of his belly.

We tentitively continued on.

Not five minutes later I heard wretching. I looked back and Wes was bent over and throwing up on the floor.

Chaos ensued.

"Get a bag! Get a bag," I yelled. There was no bag. Anywhere.

I was swerving, hit gravel and flung stones at the startled minivan behind us.

I rolled his window all the way down.

"Throw up out the window," Chris yelled.

"There's a car behind us. He can't do that," I screamed.

Swerving.

More swerving.

"Throw up out the window," Chris repeated. Pathetically, Wes stuck his head out the window while vomiting.

Maggie was exhausted from the drive.

A portion of the vomit showered the car behind us, but most of it hit our car and flew back in all over Wesley's shirt, the back window.

Swerving.

Swear words.

Mass confusion in the minivan unfortunate enough to be directly behind us.

The drive to the next exit was interminable. As in, we drove at LEAST 25 miles in the middle of no where to find a gas station.

Chris walked in and bought paper towels, Lysol wipes and trash bags. The small town gas station attendant eyeballed us suspiciously from her place behind the cash register.

Wes stumbled out of the car covered in vomit. Chris handed him a change of clothing and a trash bag and ordered him inside to clean himself up. Chris, my angel, cleaned up the mess in the back seat.

We started on the road again a bit more defeated, knowing that our destination was still about 8 hours away.

Driving straight through always seems like such a good idea. The trip was about 25 hours total, and that included stops.

I distinctly remember how much easier these marathons were for us in our 20's. We would drive and drive and bounce back.

The German Shepherd and the Norweigan Elkhound sort of got along....

We arrived home yesterday.

I loved every minute in Minnesota and was so happy to spend time with my husband's family. Not everyone can say that about their inlaws....but I am blessed beyond belief that I definitely can.

I was able to hold my twin nieces that I hadn't seen before, and watch Maggie play with her cousin. They are both three and fought like cats and dogs... both of them challenged by the concept of "sharing."

They sled together and played "house." They took videos and pictures of each other on the Mac's Photo Booth.

At an excellent Mexican restaurant. Somewhere in MN where they had mad accents.

The first night home, I crawled into my bed....so happy to be home. Only to be woken up by hacking and croupy coughing from Maggie. Then my husband kept waking me up to tell me to stop snoring. Each time I would wake up, I would be covered in drool; I was sleeping so deeply.

Chris suggested that this could be a yearly thing.

I looked at my hands that are chapped and dry, my sinuses were dry and are painful ~ my skin is flaking. I have cankles.

I think I need a year to recover.

We'll discuss it in 2013.

The divas: no photos!

Wordless Wednesday (Things that Made me Laugh This Morning)

2012-01-04T11:17:00.000-05:00

Dammit. When I got into the car, I was seriously intending on running stop signs and barreling over some pedestrians. But then I saw this message, and was reminded to.....not. (FYI, this was my sister-in-law's car. I had to take a pic.)

And, this is an old video, but I just saw it this week. And although it is pretty sad, it is hilarious at thesame time:
Drunk Guy in Store

Toilets, German Shepherds and 3 Year Olds.

2011-12-29T14:36:00.001-05:00

Because this face doesn't look ornery, at ALL.

I woke up this morning with the heat blowing on my face.

The outside temperature had hit somewhere around 45 and my husband's Florida blood couldn't bear the cold.

I also felt a wet spot by my shoulder and smelled urine. There was a foot in my face.

Maggie, 3, regularly wanders into our bedroom at night. She doesn't regularly leak on our bed.

I longed to stay in bed longer, but the circumstances surrounding me were not favorable.

Maggie has had some rough spots and has presented some interesting challenges to us. I.e.: how to clean her messes up.

We have moved past the poop smearing, thank GAWD. Everyone is pretty much potty trained and there are no more turds in the washing machine.

(I just want to give out a shout out to the LORD JESUS CHRIST for having a mostly potty trained 3 year old. I was dealing with that s**t, literally, far into the 4's with the boys.)

She found a inked dinosaur stamp somewhere upstairs last week.

She came down with blue hands and face and told me she had "decorated." Um, more like defaced three walls, the window sill and the flat screen t.v.

Two days ago, she flushed an apple down the toilet. Except the apple is stuck somewhere out of reach to us. We hope that it will soon decompose without to many creepy crawlies who show up to help in the decomposition process.

A lot of great ideas were presented to us on Facebook to take care of this apple problem, but so close to our impending vacation, Chris and I just can't gather the strength to take a toilet apart or call a plumber.

Instead, I had Wesley make a sign. He decorated it nicely and taped it on the toilet. It says "ABSOLUTELY DO NOT USE THIS TOILET" in neat, bubbled letters. He also drew pictures of a toilet and a plunger that were strikingly similar to the real things.

We have had an interesting, stressful few months in our house. I can only believe that the stress will get better. It MUST.

Our German Shepherd, Thora, is the source of a lot of our angst.

Both Maggie and Thora are growing up, though.

And I have high hopes for both of them to be ROCK STARS.

Soon.

I have wondered if we are cut out for German Shepherd ownership about ten thousand times since July.

She is now six months old and doesn't listen to us. When we give her a command, I SWEAR the bitch MOCKS us.

Stares at us. Like this.

We say "come," and she sits down and stares. I take this as a puppy equivalent of a "screw you."

I have read that she is testing us and we need to be consistent with her. I am rarely consistent with anything, except with my choice of boxed wines.

It is wearing on me having a staring contest with a six month old puppy EVERY time I want her to follow a command.

Two days ago, I had enough of her. I grabbed her by the scruff, flipped her on her back and held her down on her back for a minute, hollering "I'M THE ALPHA FEMALE! I'M THE ALPHA! I'M THE ALPHA!"

Ragnar is Thora's boy toy.

Anyone who has spent any time with German Shepherds knows that the majority of their communication consists of whines and cries.

On her back, Thora didn't just whine, she screamed. I know she wasn't in pain, she was just really pissed off at me.

I would hate for anyone to driven by and seen me "losing my crap"; however, since we live on a busy-ish road, I can't rule out the possibility.

Both of us were scratched and fought for dominance. It just HAPPENED that this occurred outside in the back yard in dirt and mud. I came inside completely covered in dirt from my face to my toes.

Things are going to change in our house this year. I'm going to be healthier, happier and dammit....we are all going to get along.

I'm going to be Alpha female.

With the help of my iron pills (I have been anemic for who knows how long...) and my vitamin B12 shots (I was crazy deficient in B-12) I will be superwoman. I just know it.

And since we canceled our cable service, we are going be more creative. As in, creative about how to watch Real Housewives shows via the internet.

We are going to talk to each other about our feelings.

We received a beautiful piano lately and we moved the television upstairs. We have a music room. There will be pretty much only music playing during the day, thanks to 8tracks.com and Pandora.

There will be a peace in our house, dagnabbit, even if there will be fisticuffs for me to achieve it.

It's An Accountability Thing

2011-11-10T12:58:00.000-05:00

I am a walking health disaster. It's embarrassing.

I feel like those people on the show Hoarders, but the "house" is my body. And the mess that I have been trying to keep hidden for so long has started to spill out and be noticable to everyone else around me.

If I were on the show for my house, at this point, the smell of putrifying garbage would be noticeable and the health department would be called.

But people don't generally tell other people that they are fat. Unless that person is a doctor or a spouse who is trying to be "helpful."

Most of the time, however, it is not helpful because the fat person already knows that they are fat. Heavy people are fighting their own battles internally ~ guilt, addiction, self-control battles, shame ~ and to have the outward manifestations of their battles pointed out causes more anxiety on top of what she is already experiencing.

I saw an acupuncturist this week. I have realized, however, I can only have so many things done TO me before I need to do things to myself.

I have been trying to incorporate at least 20 minute walks into my daily routine.

But... this 20 minute walk thing is really unnerving to me because it is SO far from where I have been.

I have been a runner, and the 20 minute walk thing is SO UNBELIEVABLY lame.

Like an ass, I tried to walk with no socks on a few days ago, and it created a blister on the back of my heel that now makes it impossible for me to wear real shoes, even WITH bandages and socks. Now I am hobbling like a cripple, let alone trying to walk a mile.

Again, so LAME.

I am seeing a new doctor next week. He is doctor of osteopath, and he does adjustments. He is an hour away; I am willing to drive to see a good doctor.

I am looking forward to it....as if all of my problems ~ blood pressure, addictions, depression, could be solved by a spinal manipulation.

I am also dreading it at the same time.... because I have to see a new doctor who is probably going to be like, "What the HELL is up with your weight?"

I want to say "I don't understand what is happening to me, what is happening to my metabolism, my body and my mind have gone absolutely haywire."

My ultimate goal is to be off all of my medication. I think that a D.O. will get that more than my regular M.D.

I recently watched Forks Over Knives and I feel that it is possible with diet. I have "The China Study" coming to me in the mail.

I tried to eat a meat free diet yesterday, with beans, etc. I finally caved at about 9pm and inhaled several chicken tenderloins. I think back with clarity ~ as one does, always, in hindsight: I should have just gone to bed.

I wanted to write this because this is definitely my low.

I want to remember this week ~ put it out there and make my struggle public.

It's an accountablity thing.

Attacks on Children and Decency

2011-11-09T20:53:00.000-05:00

I feel like the entire world is going crazy.

No.

She's 17. Hell no.

If the ads are like this NOW, I am horrified to think about what they will be when Maggie, my 3 year old, really starts paying attention to clothing ads.

I think "Seventeen" will be permanently banned from my house.

There are 6 & 7 year old girls singing along to this song in their cars all across America. I admit, it's catchy. But I have started turning it off because the lyrics are disgusting.

S&M Lyrics: Rihanna
Na na naCome onNa na naCome onNa na na na naCome onNa na naCome on, come on, come on
Feels so good being bad (Oh oh oh oh oh)There's no way I'm turning back (Oh oh oh oh oh)Now the pain is my pleasure 'cause nothing could measure (Oh oh oh oh oh)
Love is great, love is fine (Oh oh oh oh oh)Out the box, outta line (Oh oh oh oh oh)The affliction of the feeling leaves me wanting more (Oh oh oh oh oh)
'Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at itSex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of itSticks and stones may break my bonesBut chains and whips excite me
'Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at itSex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of itSticks and stones may break my bonesBut chains and whips excite me
Na na naCome on, come on, come onI like it-like itCome on, come on, come onI like it-like itCome on, come on, come onI like it-like it (Na na na)Come on, come on, come onI like it-like it

S-S-S & M-M-MS-S-S & M-M-MS-S-S & M-M-MS-S-S & M-M-M

This is who little girls look up to. (She is HORRIBLE in concert, I have heard.)

I'm never letting my boys go into a bathroom by themselves ever again. Ever. Ever, ever EVER.

I am ready to lock my family up and never let them out of the house again.

I feel like decency and family values are under attack.

I have these little peas in my pod and I don't want any of this to reach them or affect them, but I know it will. It already has.

All I can do is pray for my own children, pray that God will keep them safe and that we make the best choices in life for them.

_____________________________________________________

Statistics regarding teen sexual abuse

While female teenagers are more likely to be sexually abused that male teenagers, cultural, racial and economic factors do not seem to have an effect on the likelihood of becoming a victim of teen sexual abuse. Here are some teen sexual abuse statistics:

1 in 4 girls (25%) are sexually abused by the age of 18.
1 in 6 boys (17%) are sexually abused by the age of 18.
Most teen sexual abuse victims (7 in 10, or 70%) know their abuser. It is generally a family member, or someone close to the family.
Of female Americans who are raped, 54 percent of them experience this type of sexual abuse for the first time before they are 18.
A victim of one incident of teen sexual abuse is likely to experience further sexual abuse.
Teenagers account for 51% of all reported sexual abuse
Teenagers between the ages of 16 and 19 are 3.5 times more likely than the general public to be victims of sexual abuse.
69% of the incidences of teen sexual abuse occur in a residence.
23% of all sexual offenders are under the age of 18
Female victims of teen sexual abuse while in grades 9 through 12 are more likely than others to experience eating disorders, suicidal behavior, pregnancy and risky sexual behaviors.

A report of child abuse is made every ten seconds
*More than five children die every day as a result of child abuse.²
Approximately 80% of children that die from abuse are under the age of 4. ¹
It is estimated that between 50-60% of child fatalities due to maltreatment are not recorded as such on death certificates. ³
More than 90% of juvenile sexual abuse victims know their perpetrator in some way. ⁴
Child abuse occurs at every socioeconomic level, across ethnic and cultural lines, within all religions and at all levels of education.
About 30% of abused and neglected children will later abuse their own children, continuing the horrible cycle of abuse. ⁵
About 80% of 21 year olds that were abused as children met criteria for at least one psychological disorder. ⁵
The estimated annual cost of child abuse and neglect in the United States for 2007 is $104 billion. ⁶

http://www.childhelp.org/pages/statistics

Hindsight is 20/20

2011-10-21T13:37:00.002-04:00

So, perhaps it wasn't the WISEST idea to get another dog when the one we have is out of control.

But we were completely enthralled and hence, snookered, by the adorable litter of German Shepherd puppies that smelled as sweet as a newborn baby.

And to be honest, we weren't really 100% aware that the dog we already owned was out of control, either.

We were too distracted by the destructive three year old who reminds me of the Tasmanian Devil.

Ragnar's rotten behavior was pointed out by the trainer we hired to come and help us "train" our new German Shepherd puppy, Thora.

This is Thora

The trainer had a litany of woes he bestowed upon us.

Because of the bad fortune we endured during his three visits to our house to "train our dogs," we ended the training sessions early. Because here is how it all went down:

He missed the initial consultation by an entire hour. During his visit, Maggie managed to dump out 1/3 of a gallon of paint on the bathroom floor and track footprints on the carpet and leave handprints on walls and paintings all over the second floor of our house.

Although I believe that our family would be incredibly difficult to forget after this, indeed he did. The second training session was a no-show. Our existence was off the radar and he didn't even realized that he had missed it until the next day.

#3. He showed up on time and it was just Maggie and me. When I thought she was quietly watching Caillou (the little turd himself; I hate that show) she was smearing the contents underwear all over our bedroom wall.

I am big into "signs" and I believe that all of these occurrences were the sign to find another trainer, lest someone burn the house down on his fourth through eighth training sessions.

He also pointed out our shabby furniture (asked if the dogs had done it). No, he wasn't coming back.

I believe that having a puppy is a lot like having a newborn in that you forget how difficult it is to actually have one in your house until you get it home and then listen to it squeal all night long.

German Shepherds are reportedly smart dogs, but I am not sold on this.

She whines quite often about nothing and is still pissing in the house. Not as frequently as in the beginning, but more than any other puppy we have ever owned.

She is still sneaking to a preferred corner in my bedroom and crapping on the floor. She has to be watched like a hawk because she has showed a deference to being able to swipe food out of the garbage.

She has chewed up an acoustic guitar pick-up, an Apple laptop charger, and the appendages off of various toys and action figures that were unfortunate enough to be left in her wake.

And did I mention that we introduced an exchange student into the mix?

I mostly think he believes that we are out of our minds. He's from Spain and likes Target and Lady Gaga a lot.

Because I am trying to create a facade of a bit of normality for him (and for the fam, of COURSE), I have been stellar in making dinner every night. Which has caused me to add a little more poundage. Because HELLOOOOO seconds, and sometimes thirds.

I'm going to have to get cracking with the exercise and diet, because this was me last weekend. In the hospital with chest pains.

This was at 2 a.m., mind you.

I honestly thought that they would look at me and send me home. But no. They had me stay.

Although I was hooked up to machines that monitored every little blip of my body and had to pee in a bedside toilet, I became very excited about the food that was brought to me. IN MY ROOM! IN MY BED! I could eat in bed and not be hassled about it by Chris. It was pretty fantastic.

I was sent home, however, to the dogs. Who have new delights that include ~ but are not limited to ~ digging holes in my flowers and ignoring me when I call them.

And home to the children. Who are crazy and funny and disgusting all at the same time....as they stick their fingers up their noses and then stick them up their noses before I get a chance to stop them.

But how can you resist Batgirl? And a girl who plays super hero instead of Barbies. And who hits hard and plays rough. And who is teaching Thora, the German Shepherd, true tolerance.

I love this family.

Kate Plus Pfffffffffffffttttttttttttt........

2011-08-15T20:30:00.000-04:00

Awwww.

I don't know if I just heard a collective sigh of relief or sadness, but the series that began with the birth of the Gosselins' sextuplets in 2004 was given the axe by TLC.

I never cared for the show, because ~ much like Supernanny ~ I can't handle the kids' screaming and crying. It hits too close to home and I get a twitch.

Also, sometimes Kate reminds me of the rag I ~~most of the time~~ sometimes can be.

And she sort of terrifies me.

Me no likey.

And all those kids. Oy.

I only tuned in for that short time to watch the Jon debacle.

Will he stay in the house? Will he bring his sleazy girlfriends on the show? Will Kate emasculate him on the show again? Can it be any more possible to feel sorry for someone and cheer for him at the same time? Can he look any more pathetic?

Because I like to watch a good train wreck.

I would probably participate in one if I could, but since I am now in my late 30's, I really don't particpate in train wrecks personally any more.

This is pretty merciful, I guess, because when I watch Housewives of New Jersey it seems to me that those ladies' lives look pretty exhausting.

And at this point in my life, I'm a low energy person.

But I like to WATCH other people's drama. Something about it is deliciously satisfying.

Our family is creating its own drama, though. (At least according to my mother.)

We got a German Shepherd puppy, in addition to our 1 year old dog, Ragnar. We named her Thora. She's 8 weeks old.

My husband put together a playset in three days. He's sort of like Superman. Because I saw how many pieces of wood that went into the "before."

We are getting a fence to enclose the area around this area this week. So the dogs and children can frolick. Can't you just see it? (Minus the dog turds?)

Oh, and we are also considering hosting an exchange student.

Because why the heck not?

The 10 Year Old Vogue Model...And How Gross I Think This Is

2011-08-04T19:47:00.000-04:00

I know the fashion industry sometimes has so very little sense, but this really seals it.

These are some of the photos of a spread in French Vogue earlier this year. The model is 10 years old.

As a mother of a little girl, this makes me so freaking ill.

I dread those days that I know inevitably will come when creepers will eye Maggie inappropriately...and a couple of times ~perhaps it has been the paranoid mom in me ~ I feel as it may have happened already.

There are sick people out there. A little bit of my heart dies at the news reports of child pornography rings that are discovered around the country...and it makes me WANT TO BARF that some of those involved have jobs like teachers or caregivers.

Jaycee Dugard, anyone? Elizabeth Smart? Does everyone have such short memories? Go to the BandBackTogether.com and read some of the stories of women who have been affected by sexual abuse.

Why can't kids be kids? Why do they have to be rushed to grow up? The world is a big, bad place. This girl should be catching bugs, bedazzling crap and playing with puppies. NOT POSING TOPLESS!

I don't think Americans are prudish...I think that we just want things to be "right." I don't think this is right. I think it is incredibly "off" and the girl's best interests aren't at heart.

Didn't anyone watch "Run, Baby, Run?"

Disgusting.

Is it Wordless Wednesday Already?

2011-07-13T10:52:00.000-04:00

Teen TRX and Moaners at the Gym

2011-06-27T22:08:00.002-04:00

We signed my 16 year old up for TRX this summer.

It was a class offered at our gym and is exclusively for teens. It meets Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays in the afternoons.

I figured this would serve a couple purposes. First, it would get him out of the stink chair he has claimed in front of the XBOX.

Second, I thought it would keep him in shape over the summer. For those of you who have done TRX workouts know they can about kill you if you let them.

Here is an overview video of TRX. These ~~bitches~~ ladies make it look crazy easy. It's hard freaking work.

As I was looking for a video to share with you, I found several videos from Mr. Universe, 2009, who does some uber sick moves with the TRX straps to make him look like the Incredible Hulk.

I personally do not find this look attractive. Personally, I like men who are subtlety muscled. The ripped look makes me think "seedy" and "oily." But if you look up "Mr. Universe 2009 TRX," on YouTube, you can see what this workout will make of you if you take it to the extreme.

Today when I dropped him off at TRX, I decided to stay.

I hadn't exercised today and my dinner last night of hushpuppies, chicken nuggets and shame still sat in my belly from last night.

Oh yea, as well as my lunch from Taco Hell, which BY THE WAY which still rumbled like a thundercloud, releasing gaseous waste products that begged to be expelled from my ass.

Not the best idea to go to the gym and get on the treadmill.

I hopped on the treadmill with the best of intentions and since the cardio room was practically empty, I burped and eek out a couple of unladylike farts.

I was feeling miserable, but I had an entire 50 minutes to kill while Cal was in class, and there was NO WAY I was getting in my car and going home. Three miles was my goal. But I was starting to get a stomach ache, and I was starting to feel like there was something more substantive coming behind the toots.

Then a groaner hopped on the treadmill next to me. I looked around the room and there were NO MORE machines being used. She got on the one DIRECTLY next to me. WHY? Seriously? I know there are urinal rules; shouldn't there be treadmill rules too?

The treadmill next to me was a crappy one. Perhaps she wanted to watch the show on the television in front of it. I don't know. What I DID know was that she was in my space and HER weird noises were rudely moving in on MY weird noises.

She was cramping my style.

And I was having serious issues. I was at about 1.25 and I was hurting, yo.

My shirt was riding up. I had a wedgie. I couldn't hold my belly in like I usually do to give the illusion a smaller waistline.

No.

Everything was hanging out and I didn't have the wear-withall to hold myself together. And she was directly next to me, moaning...and one time said "Oh, YEAAAAAA."

What the frick was this? The honeymoon suite?

A mile an a half was all I could take. I pushed the emergency stop, gathered my belongings and hustled quickly to the elevator.

Yes, my gym has an elevator. AND stairs. But I would have to walk past the front desk to get to the stairs. And there was a desperate look to me.

I took the elevator up to the more private bathrooms which were, mercifully, unoccupied.

I gathered my belongings again, took the elevator back down ~ feeling like a NEW WOMAN, I cannot lie ~ and dropped my belongings next to the moaner. I hopped back on and did another 1.5....which met my goal of 3 miles.

It was a rough 3 miles. A little painful. I won't eat pintos and cheese and a burrito supreme again before I try to jog again, I think.

Just a little life lesson that I will file away for a rainy day.

Wordless Wednesday (Twisted Comics)

2011-06-22T21:33:00.001-04:00

300 Ponies and Pokemon by Flick-the-Thief

Fire and Ice Cream by Glen Brogan

The Situation Room, Marvel Style

The Super Kiss by Daniel Irizarri Oquendo

Sleeping Naked on Frog Toilets. And Vonnegut.

2011-06-17T11:25:00.000-04:00

My daughter is currently sleeping naked on her toddler toilet.

Her toddler toilet is a frog, and it is placed in front of our regular toilet in our bathroom. Her head is resting on the toilet seat in front of her.

I would take a picture of this, but since she dropped my IPhone in the toilet about an hour ago, I am not able to do so.

And I am wondering how other mothers do this. Like the Duggars. Extreme example, I know...but I'm totally serious. Or people with three toddlers at once.

I have a friend with triplets. How did she do it without drowning herself?

I losing my marbles...trying to be patient all the time. Because being patient is definitely not in my nature.

It takes every little thread of effort I have within me sometimes to even be NICE. I don't think of myself as a particularly nice person.

The poop smears and crying is the threshold at which I am about to jump and fall...fall...fall... I'm cracking.

I'm reading Kurt Vonnegut books, and he is starting to make sense ~ he may be brilliant even. Why yes....mirrors could be "leaks." Time travel certainly could be possible....why not?

I've been out in public lately with eyebrows done in purple eyeshadow. I thought it was brown. No one said anything.

I made it through most of the day with one dangly earring. No one said anything.

I forgot to put deodorant on one armpit yesterday. I was in Target and I smelled this horrendous stench and I became really angry.

Body odor makes me really angry...like crazy angry. Because it is so avoidable. I mean, MIND YOUR FUNK, people. Then...I smelled my right armpit and realized the stench was coming from ME. ME!! I got my dinner items and hustled home quickly.

I wanted to go to Zumba this morning, but I have a kid sleeping on the toilet.

And as she fell asleep, apparently, she dropped my IPhone in the toilet.

"I want to stand as close to the edge as I can without going over.

Out on the edge you see all the kinds of things you can't see from the center."

Kurt Vonnegut

Prey and Zumba

2011-06-14T14:07:00.000-04:00

Everyone left the room about a half hour ago and I just realized that Yo Gabba Gabba is still on. Such is my life these days.

I'm trying to gather the strength to shower. I returned a while ago from the gym, where I did a horrendously embarrassing, floppy hour of Zumba. I'm waiting to air dry.

We need to go out and buy a mouse for Wes's ball python.

This ball python eats live mice...in case you are wondering. If you buy your snake from a place like "politically correct" store like Petsmart, it will eat frozen mice. And apparently, if you tell them that you are buying a mouse from them with the intention of feeding it to a snake, they may refuse to sell it to you. Because doing so is not humane.

But I don't understand...what about the freezing part? I think death by freezing would sort of suck, too. Whatever.

However, this snake does not eat frozen mice.

The mice cost about 1.75, which is pretty cheap to feed a pet.

When we buy them, they put them in a little box with plastic film lining and small holes in the top for air vents.

Last week's mouse was uber crafty and mostly chewed through the box by the time we got home.

I didn't notice that it was doing this. **I** thought that it was trying to get out through the air vents, so I ordered Calvin to put a book on top of the vents as he held the box in his lap.

Little did he know...the little shiester was chewing his way out the bottom. Can you IMAGINE having a loose mouse in the car as you are driving? I cannot. ~ I would die, I think.

Horrible creatures, although they ARE very cute and I feel a tiny bit badly about feeding it to Bucky. But not this guy....I practically threw him in the snake's cage.

I started Zumba a couple of weeks ago. The only thing that I have really lost are the baggy t-shirts. I hate looking like the newbie in the class...and even the fatties are wearing tank tops. So...a tank top it is.

I've also started logging on to MyFitnessPal.com. I did WeightWatchers.com for about a week and I had so many error messages that I canceled. And MyFitnessPal is free. I like free. And it is sort of like Facebook; I'm all over that. You can add friends, and comment on people's stuff. It's up my alley.

Anywho, to the shower I go because a mouse I have to get. Don't be so jealous. You know you want a ball python that eats live mice, too.

I HEART my Mom

2011-06-13T00:21:00.000-04:00

I'm going to buy this for Maggie and make her wear it.

She is still learning how to speak clearly, so people can't understand most of what she says.

She can't express "my mother is a bitch, " or that she ranted and raged today as she cleaned up all the cups lying around because no one uses the same cup twice in this house. And there were no less than 20 lying around. And we run an entire dishwasher load per day of CUPS. OMG!!!!!!!

Or that "she freaked out about the poop smears all over my various toilet seats all over the house....because... you know: A "bowel movement" can't be a normal even in our house and has to span across no less than two days.

I'm going to make her wear the "I love my Mom" shirt. Because I can and I'm bigger than she is. And when she is in therapy for issues with her mother....well...she can read this blog.

And tell the therapist how "I tried."

Transformers 3 and Megan Fox

2011-06-05T22:03:00.000-04:00

Transformers 3 is releasing at the end of June and I am super duper excited.

The first Transformers came out when Chris was in Iraq. We all went to see it when he came home in August of 2007. I was newly knocked up and didn't even know it yet.

Transformers 2: Meh.

But I am holding out hopes for this one.

I heard it's better than T2 and that is all I can hope for. And Megan Fox is gone.

Who, for some reason, bugs the crap out of me .

"Aw, she's probably jealous of Megan Fox," you are thinking.

And you know what? You may be right. I was tagged on some beach photos on Facebook today that were pretty horrifying. Bad angle? Bad bathing suit? Um, no.

It's the casseroles, Asiago and wine. Everything is freaking DELICIOUS.

Nevertheless, she still bugs me.

And this whole "the sex symbol thing is NOT ME!" and "too Spice Girl for Michael Bay?"

I'm not buying it.

The sex symbol gimick has made her millions of dollars. She has been on the "sexiest" lists all over the world of magazines since the Transformers debut in 2007.

What's the saying? "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

What followed were nasty comments from her about the film's director, Michael Bay, and a responding (scathing) letter from the crew members of the Transformers movies spilling details of Fox's tantrums and unprofessionalim.

Such drama!

But look! A Victoria's Secret model has replaced her!

So, Fox goes out and does an Armani underwear campaign.

Please, tell me she isn't comfortable with the "sex symbol status" with an underwear campaign and pictures like this?

Jealous?

Yes.

She still bugs me.

After you look at THOSE pictures, WTF is up with this one???

Don't Fall Asleep on The Beach. Bad Things Happen to You.

2011-05-30T11:52:00.003-04:00

Cal, 16, had his streak of "unfortunate incidents" continue on Sunday when he fell asleep on the beach and had his name written on his chest with SPF 70 sunblock.

(See Saturday's incident at Epic Theater at Town Center Here.)

The family was spending the day at Flagler Beach with friends when the teen fell fast asleep on a boogie board. After trying to unsuccessfully rouse him several times to suggest changing positions, his father wrote "Cal" on his chest with sunblock.

"There was some argument about what we should draw on his chest," said Chris. "Someone suggested a heart, or smiley faces. But I just wrote 'Cal.' "

The group was certain that the teen would wake up as he began to do this, but he did not. Cal continued to sleep for "about an hour."

They enlisted the help of several bikini-clad girls to help poke and prod him and call out his name in their attempts to wake him up.

"Cal! Cal," one girl named Jen yelled, poking him in the shoulder. She and her friend Chelsea were visiting from Virginia.

"He won't wake up," shrugged Jen, as she and Chelsea walked off.

The teen slept for a while longer before another girl, Rachel, poked him with a chair as she walked by. "Hey Cal! Nice chest," she said.

"I woke up, and noticed what they had done and I was so annoyed," said Cal. "I don't remember any of the other girls that tried to wake me up. When I'm sleeping, I'm sleeping."

Upon wiping the sunblock off, a bright "CAL" imprint was emblazoned into his chest.

A member of the group, Meghan, suggested he should attach a "Hi, my name is" sticker above the burn, then go stand in front of the cute female lifeguard who had just set up station one hundred yards away.

"There would hardly need to be any more words exchanged, Calvin. Just point to your chest," giggled Meghan.

"I didn't think that suggestion was funny," said Cal, as he turned over on his stomach and fell back asleep.

Boys Using the Ladies' Room

2011-05-28T22:44:00.002-04:00

Cal, 16, desperate to use the restroom on Saturday immediately after his viewing of "Thor," inadvertently entered the women's restroom at the Epic Theater at Town Center.

"I sort of noticed there were no urinals," said the teenager. "But I had to go to the bathroom so bad because I got a refill on that large Coke, and I couldn't go back out and find the men's room."

As the teen was in the stall, he said he heard "women's voices." It was then that the reality hit him that he was, indeed, in the women's restroom.

"I saw him go in the girls' bathroom," laughed his younger brother, Wesley, who immediately summoned his father.

They both were waiting with a camera and took this picture of Calvin exiting the women's bathroom.

When asked why he didn't leave the women's restroom once he realized he was there, he said he had already began to urinate.

"I was midstream, and I couldn't, like, just stop. You know."

Squeeeee! Clotildes and Souvenirs!

2011-05-26T17:30:00.000-04:00

Souvenir de la Malmaison is blooming! :)

Clotilde Soupert, Cl.

Clotilde Souperts, Cl.

Clotildes under the birdcage arbor....

And...sort of random , but I found this on Chris' phone when I was taking pictures of my flowers. Thought it was cool...it is Wes at the Marineland Beach, FL.

Semi-Wordless Wednesday, Aside from Comments That I Couldn't Help. (Disturbing Family Pictures)

2011-05-25T10:12:00.001-04:00

I'm curious who was REALLY on board with this. And who had to be coerced.

Acid washed denim and mullets! SWEET!

I'm not sure what this family is into? Can someone help me figure it out? Anyone? Anyone?

I sort of trust them. They look a little quirky.... Except the moody, hormonal one that is scowling in the front.

There are no words....I just want to see a "Where are They Now?" for the kids. No, for real.

Going to DisneyWorld makes me nervous because of people like this.

Who thought THIS was a good idea?

"One of these things is not like the others..."

She's holding the kid's hand, because it looks like it's ready for flight.

This is just unfortunate.

See the glee? Atta girl.

Boys are not to be trusted. At any age.

I'm not certain, but Santa doesn't look so jolly.

Let's wrap ourselves in dead animals and sit under hot lights for a memorable family photo, kids!

The ones on the right side must have been the ones with the idea. The ones on the left, particularly the one in the left corner, thinks the idea is shit. I would have to agree.

When the Smiths of West Virginia mistook their "small pet" for a really pissy cat.

Casey Anthony was such a crazy kid.

The cats look SO pissed.

Why the bathtub? Why the gun? Why the baby? Why the dog? I can understand the pink gun...because if **I** bought a gun, it WILL be pink.

Seasons Greetings from EVERYONE except little Susie. Because she hates your f-ing guts. And she would disembowel you, given the chance.

Five guesses at what this family's hobby is. GO.

On the online dating site, they bonded over the weaponry and parrots.

"It's just a phase, Gloria. Just a phase. He'll be back to those bow ties in no time."

(from Slightlywarped.com Except for the comments. Those are mine.)

Australians are Badasses

2011-05-24T22:05:00.001-04:00

A Facebook friend just posted this.

I am no expert on languages/accents, but this dude sounds Australian.

Australia has always been somewhere that I have wanted to visit. It intrigues me; yet it horrifies me at the same time.

It horrifies me, because several years ago, I read "In a Sunburned Country" by Bill Bryson. I would highly recommend it.

(I would recommend Bill Bryson's books, in general, too. He's awesome.)

This book was entertaining, but it contained the single most disturbing passage I have ever read in a book.

Like, ever.

In my entire life.

And here it is, for YOU. Let it disturb you, too. Let it mill around in your mind. Think about it.

And think about what bad asses Australians are.

"It (Australia) has more things that will kill you than anywhere else. Of the world's ten most poisonous snakes, all are Australian. Five of its creatures - the funnel web spider, box jellyfish, blue-ringed octopus, paralysis tick and stonefish - are the most lethal of their type in the world. This is a country where even the fluffiest of caterpillars can lay you out with a toxic nip, where seashells will not just sting you but actually GO for you.

Pick up an innocuous cone shell from a Queensland beach, as innocent tourists are all too wont to do, and you will discover than the little fellow inside is not just astoundingly swift and testy but exceedingly venomous.

If you are not stung or pronged to death in some unexpected manner, you may be fatally chomped by sharks or crocodiles, or carried helplessly out to sea by irresistible currents, or left to stagger to an unhappy death in the baking outback. It's a tough place."

Now, watch this father and daughter try to take care of this spider problem on the ceiling of their home. All by themselves. With a piece of Tupperware and a stool.

Badasses.

Perfect J. Lo Butts and French Fries

2011-05-22T22:41:00.003-04:00

We went to the beach today.

And this girl (see above) was next to us with two dudes.

The first dude was in a Speedo (RED LIGHT, RED LIGHT, RED LIGHT = not from around heeeyah). The other was pudgy and rotund. He, obviously, enjoyed the finer things in life.

(My interpretation.)

The dudes played ping pong in the surf.

We were with my friend Meghan, who puts notes around her house reminding her children how to brush their teeth and instructing them how to sit in time-out.

She also does TRX, kettlebell and weight training on a regular basis and could kick my husband's ass from here to China, just for fun.

She's even more tough because she from Boston, and she can be "mean." Like, crazy-eyed mean. I've seen this girl be "mean" when she wants to be. And it frightened the little Iowa girl in me, to see a Boston girl get "mean."

Midwesterners prefer the passive aggressive moves, but Bostonians get right in the face and tell it like it is. And it's scary.

Meghan is also the bikini queen; however, she is the one who took this picture. Because, yes, even SHE was impressed.

Because...I mean....LOOK AT THAT!

These are the reasons that this butt pisses me off:

1. I don't know if you can tell, but she is eating Cheetos. The BITCH.

2. I am not really sure I want to deprive myself that much. I really don't. Between skinny and an Angus burger and a large fries with extra barbeque sauce......meh? Meh....

3. I think that this butt was mostly genes, though. I am not certain that it was exericse. She stuffed her face most of the time time, like it was genes. Or Bulimia... (Case in point: the Cheetos.)

4. I'm sure she has never had a baby. And having three, I feel my time is over. All hope is gone. But, my time really never began, because I have always been fluffy. So...where does that leave me? Dr. Robert Rey, where are you?

5. No, for real.

Dr. Robert Rey...whatever happened to Dr. Rey? That was, like, the best t.v. show that E! TV had on it. Hands DOWN. I'd do a tummy tuck in two seconds flat.

6. I want to wear a bikini just once. Or at least a comfortable MAILLOT.

(My suit today was NOT COMFORTABLE. Nor was it cute. It was functional. It held my boobs in place, and it might have had a hole in the ass, as far as YOU know. There was much spandex and lycra.)

7. ...but I want to eat like a freaking heifer. Because everything is SOOOOO tasty.

8. That's why I despise her.

9. And it is so irrational.

10. She SOOOOO knew we took this picture of her.

Cliches and Diarrhea Fests

2011-05-22T13:16:00.003-04:00

This morning, I filled in for the praise director at church, which meant I had to whip mad piano skillz out of my butt for an hour.

The director/regular piano player was out supporting her husband, who is this Ironman triathelete that does these amazing races that involve running more miles than I can hold up fingers, bicycling, and swimming in the ocean at dawn.

There is no way in hell anyone is getting me in the ocean at at dawn. Because everyone knows (or SHOULD know, I'm telling you now) that dawn, and dusk, is when the nursing sharks come out.

She is just this amazingly supportive wife and is always there to cheer him on.

My husband doesn't participate in these events and neither do I.

And even if he did, I am not sure I would go to them and cheer for him because these races begin at some freaking ridiculous hour, like 6 a.m. Which means, wakey-wakey time would have to be, like, 2 a.m., which is downright OBSCENE.

I honestly think I would just lie in bed and wait for the text message and/or phone call to arrive with the results.

I would do my best to try to SOUND supportive ~ either with my voice ~ or with a lot of exclamation points, question marks and hearts made out of "less-than signs" and threes.

(Example: "Honey!~~!!!!!!! How did the race go???!!! <3<3<3 I LOVE YOU, my favorite GUY!!!! <3<3<3)

So, I was left to my own devices today, being pretty much the sole musician in the "praise band," and everything.

I usually play the guitar, but that didn't go too well last time (a story for another place and time). We do have a bass player, but a slew of P&W songs really can't be done with a lone bass player, I don't think. I could be wrong...

So, it was MOI, on the piano.

Which brings back ten zillion horrific memories of Things That I Have Been in Therapy for years and years. Because everyone knows that when a little kid is signed up for piano lessons, it not only includes the lessons.

Oh, hellllllz, no.

It includes Piano Recitals, where the child is scrutinized and graded and required to memorize pieces of music which are NEVER normal songs that a child would be enthusiastic about playing. They are always stupid songs, like "The Turkey Dance," or "Fugue in Boogie Woogie."

And although some children thrive off of this sort of shit, I did not. It made me ill.

I was a nervous child anyhow, and I had a nervous stomach. And I did not believe myself to be particularly gifted with playing the piano, and I effed up a lot. Which did NOTHING for the recital jitters.

So, for weeks before, it would be a diarrhea fest in my bathroom.

So, today, all these feelings came back to me. However, not only was I PLAYING the piano, I had to sing at the same time. Which I don't know if you know? But it sucks monkey butt...it is difficult. And singing is not my strong suit.

I would LIKE to think I was all "Alicia Keys" up there. But I. Am. So. Not.

And to be "sort of" in charge of a "band" is also really horrifying. Because you're "in charge." Sort of. And if there is anything I don't like being, is "in charge."

When I'M in charge on things, it is a bit of a free for all: As in, everyone for himself. Just do the best you can, folks...I'm trying to get through this experience without throwing the hell up.

A "real" leader of a band is much more concerned with the "ensemble" effect...as in "Are we all together?

In sync?"

Together?"

On the right beat?"

Are we all singing the right lyrics?

Right notes?"

I just want it to be over.

Because I feel like such a poser. And a bit cliche....as in,

"Who is at the piano?"

"Oh, that's the pastor's wife."

"The pastor's wife plays the piano?"

"Yes."

"That's a bit cliche."

"Why yes! Yes, it is!"

And I vowed to not be cliche when I married a pastor...yet here I am.

I suppose this is the part where I am supporting my husband in my own way.

I wouldn't get up and drag my ass down to the shark infested beach to cheer him on as he swam, or wave at him as he zoomed past on a bicycle me... or fling water at him as he trotted past me on the side of the road.

But I know him, and this is what is supportive to him. Having me there, and POSING as a musician when the "real" musician is away is important to him. At least I think it is....

Because I love him, I'll do it. And just DOING it and facing my fear is better than 25 years of therapy...

I'm convinced that these situations are exactly why ~~flasks~~ Xanax was created.