Paige Kellerman - There's More Where that Came From.......

How To Almost Not Be On TV

2013-06-18T11:37:00.001-05:00

A great way to sell books is to have whatever TV station you're working with confuse you with a mass murderer.

Afternoon Readers,

Well, it happened. But just barely. While I sit here and eat bits of rotisserie chicken, I can't help reflect on yesterday's undertaking. And, while I could wax eloquently about my journey from coffee pot to screen, it's really better I put it in a list.

1.) Wake children up at ungodly hour. While same offspring are eating breakfast, try to do your hair. Realize that child is throwing up downstairs. Put hair in crappy ponytail.

2.) Convince all children that, although the sun's not up, it's time to get dressed and get in the van. Throw all things needed to get ready into the van. It's fine. You're still running on schedule.

3.) Drop all children off, get dressed, realize you are now running behind schedule, and you also have no idea where you're going.

4.) Ten minutes before you're supposed to be at the studio, call Husband and say sweet things like:

"I have no idea where I'm going and they're going to hate me."

"I don't know why I ever thought I could be a writer."

"What do you mean the GPS needs to be set to Missouri and not Kansas?"

5.) Relieved, you're back on track and the Garmin says you'll be there two minutes late. Not bad.

6.) Hit downtown Kansas City construction and freak out. Bad.

7.) Do makeup while trying to figure out if the people behind you are honking angrily or applauding your skill with foundation.

8.) Get call from producer wondering where you are, almost get hit by another car, desperately try not to weep as you realize your segment was supposed to begin, um, now.

9.) Find TV station, thrown on heels no one will see, sprint through door, and be greeted with, "You're on right now."

10.) Drop microphone down dress, plop down in front of room full of news folk, realize you didn't put on any eyeliner. Start talking.

And so it went. Hectic? Yes. But I loved every minute of it and I'm ready for Kathy Lee and Hoda whenever they'll have me. Oh, and in case you're wondering, they told me they don't post clips online anymore, so you'll just have to have faith I looked a hot mess in front of the Metro area.

Until Next Time, Readers!

A Little Off the Bottom

2013-06-14T10:34:00.001-05:00

"What do you mean it's too casual? These are my formal pigtails."

Morning Readers,

I know I just mentioned it on Facebook, but let the record show that pairing coffee and sea salt and cracked pepper chips falls somewhere around a horrible idea.

It's tastes like what you'd imagine a shipwreck in a coffee bean field would taste like.

Did I tell you I'm going to be on TV?

What?

Yes, that was the worst segue in the history of segues. Even worse than the time I moved from a conversation about pillows to a conversation about fly fishing with, "Sometimes the noble salmon is eaten because that's nature's way."

Regrettably, I won't be able to show you guys a clip because the producer said they don't post them online after the segment anymore, so you'll just have to trust me that I looked like an idiot.

At any rate, because I'll be talking about the book, and had no desire to do that while looking like the product of a Chia Pet mated with a Sham Wow, I called The Keeper of the Locks.

"Hi, Stephanie. I need to make an appointment."

"Paige? Nice to hear from you. It's been a while."

"Oh, not that long."

"What have you been up to?"

"I had a baby."

"I'll see you Thursday."

A bit difficult to put into words, the love I have for my stylist knows no bounds. Even on my most Ted Kaczynski-ish hair days, she's able to wrangle my ridiculous head of hair into something passably human. Highlights, cut, free Diet Coke, she can do no wrong. Not only that, she also has toddlers, so we can mutually share "My kids drew on my couch and my dreams" stories and feel better afterwards. Seeing as I only get my hair done once or twice a year, however, there's always a tiny bit of explanation in order.

Carefully, I let down my hair.

She gave me a once over. "Um, it's down to your butt."

Dejected in my swivel chair I'd be swiveling in if no one were there, I looked in the mirror and acquiesced. "With a well-placed bowl of fruit and chamber pot, I could be one of those carefully painted medieval women."

She inclined her head. "Let's get to work."

Insert casual chat:

"I wrote a book."

"I own this salon."

"We really should see each other more often."

Three inches gone and my roots discretely hidden away, I am a new woman, a bolder woman, a woman who also bought herself a new hair brush that's for brushing wet hair and is stunned at its capabilities.

That's right, I'm back to looking a little more pulled together, but still doing things like trying to eat cracked pepper chips with coffee. Unfortunately, The Keeper of the Locks doesn't specialize in fixing wonky food choices, but she could probably shampoo the crumbs out of my bangs for a small fee.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Fanmail Wednesday and The Hall of Cankles

2013-06-12T15:34:00.000-05:00

"Dear Justin Timberlake ....Thank you for bringing sexy back."

Afternoon Readers,

You know what I realized while I ate my flax seed waffle and peanut butter this morning?

Well, obviously. The word "flax" is just fun to say. Flaaaaaaax. But, no.

It occurred to me we haven't done a Fanmail Day in quite some time. I also said that the last time we did a Fanmail day, so I'm starting to think it's not so much I'm forgetting to do them, as the nature of the thing has become to only do them once a century. Yes. that sounds good.

Remember, kids. If you put a giant, shiny bow on procrastination, it becomes ingenuity.

That also sounded good and not accurate at all. Ok, where was I?

Ahh, yes. Time to answer your burning questions sent via Google search engine. In case you're wondering, I don't get offended you don't ask me in person. Queries submitted by inadvertently finding this website are just fine with me. That's what friends do.

1.) "At least my belly hides my cankles"

I'm so glad you asked. The book's doing great, was squeaking by Tina Fey in "essays" for Kindle earlier today, and was at #17 in "Parenting Humor," last time I checked. This is mainly because I have the best Readers south of the North Pole and north of the South Pole.

2.) "Where thatdeli"

We don't have a whole lot of delis around here, but you're probably talking about the Subway off 119th. It's ok. I mean, if you're looking for somewhere that looks the other way while a grown woman buys chocolate milk to go with her lunch, they're cool.

3.) “paper bag over my head”

It was one time. And, to be honest, remembering a decent makeup routine before you go on a date is extremely stressful.

4.) "Cheating on my hairstylist"

Yes, I did this in December, but you don't have to keep bring it up. My roots are doing that for me. But, since you mention it, I'm going to see The Keeper of the Locks tomorrow, so details on that later.

5.) Liz Taylor giant

Not to my knowledge. Although, her hair was pretty huge in those White Diamonds commercials.

Ok, last order of business. In the next few days, I'll be starting a "Hall of Cankles" section right here on the blog. So, if you or someone you love (or like a little bit ...I'm not picky) have a picture of you or themselves reading a copy of the book, please submit it to paigekellerman@gmail.com.*

* I solemnly swear to only use them to show my overwhelming gratitude to you guys and for blatant self-promotion.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Lame Sandwhiches

2013-06-10T12:01:00.001-05:00

"I think she thinks I think she thinks I think they're great ...but they're actually not."

Afternoon Readers,

You've caught me in the middle of trying to decide whether to tote all the children to the petting zoo today or do housework. Try not to get chased by goats or vacuum the cracker piles threatening to start an ant colony under the twins beds upstairs?

Both are unsavory interactions with Nature. Then again, if I find enough ants, perhaps I can convince the children we actually went to the petting zoo.

As complex as that choice seems, however, it's nothing compared to trying to find things to make Husband for lunch. Yes, when I decided to embark on this housewifery gig, I decided I'd do my best to try and find sustenance for my spouse on a daily basis. He does, after all, split the body wash and toothpaste evenly with me, so why not.

The mustached part of the duo works much too far away to come home for lunch, so my lack of culinary skills and I try and try again to send scrumptious* things along with him.

*I promise never to use the word "scrumptious" again. It just didn't feel right.

Unfortunately, the lack of culinary abilities on my part tended to stand in the way of finding anything satisfying to throw in the old cooler. (Although, there are starving hermits the world over who would appreciate the finesse with which I can shot put a piece of bread, Pop Tart, and can of beans into a lunch bag.)

Crackers became "tiny, fancy pieces of toast."
Chips ...a main course if the proper optimism is utilized.
Beef jerky. The settlers called it the "breakfast, lunch and dinner of the prairie," and so can you.

When I found the pre-made deli sandwiches at the grocery store, I thought I'd found a winner. And so, I bought them incessantly. Husband couldn't pass me without getting a turkey, lettuce and tomato thrown at his head.

"Sandwich?"

"I'm in the shower."

"But it has Swiss and roast beef."

Up until Thursday, I lived in a world where my man was perfectly pacified with all sorts of deli delicacies. But that was the era directly before he turned his head toward me and whispered, "I really don't like those sandwiches."

I stared at him in shock and began to absently erase the diary entry I'd been working on.

~~Dear Diary,~~

~~Husband loves the sandwiches I keep buying him. It's so satisfying to know that~~

"What?"

He looked at me awkwardly. "I don't really like them. There's too much bread and this tiny slice of meat in the middle. It's just ..they're not that good."

"You don't like the sandwhiches?"

"I don't."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm telling you now."

Distraught, I searched for meaning in a sandwichless world. "If that's how you feel, I guess I'll stop buying them. You think you know someone, and then they crumple up your heart like a paper lunch bag. Do you even love me, or do I have too much bread?"

"It's just the sandwhiches."

"I simply want to make sure we're not living a lie."

So it's back to the drawing board for me. The good thing is I think I've found a few interesting ways to dress up those tiny, fancy pieces of toast.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Cankle Giveaway Winners!

2013-06-07T09:59:00.002-05:00

"I just love the new toaster I won. Oh ...it's a car?"

Morning Readers,

I'd like to start today by thanking each and everyone of you for making book release week a success.

Thank You! *Bows deeply while trying not to rip old, pink, butterfly pajama pants*

Cankles has stayed stayed steady in the top 20 for "Parenting Humor" on Kindle this week, and it wouldn't be there without you guys.

Now then, let's take a look at the winners, shall we?

Grand Prize: Jennifer Holweger (Enjoy that Kindle!)

Second Prize: Lori Gilgenbach-Larson (Enjoy that gift card!)

Third Prize: Dianna Scott (Read the first three chapters of your new book and be ready to lead a discussion here on Monday*)

Bookmark Winners : Teri B., Karen McCord, Carrie Sasville, Corina Pimentel, and Danielle Nelson (I hope you guys love bookmarks, because they're comin' your way!)

Congrats, everybody! Whew, this post really took it out of me. I might just reward myself by staying in these pajama pants all day. I love it when I plan Friday out ahead of time. In the meantime, you guys get back out there and enjoy your weekends.

*Please Note: Dianna is not obligated to start a book discussion. Actually, I'm really hoping I didn't scare her off. Dianna? Dianna, come back.

Until Next Time, Readers!

How To Enhance The Horror Movie Experience

2013-06-05T11:13:00.001-05:00

"Honey? Get a shoe. There's a spider in the lagoon again."

Afternoon Readers,

I'd like to start today by saying Thank You for all of the kind, enthusiastic, and downright awesome comments I received on Book Day. It took all I had not to drive to all of your houses and hug the daylights out of you.

The time it would take to sort out all those restraining orders kept me at bay. Always with the feet dragging, me and paperwork...

On the great news front, At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles is sitting squarely at #12 on Kindle books for "Parenting Humor," so I'm not only super grateful to you guys for making it happen, but I've also ingested about eight cups of coffee in celebration, so a high five for unstable hand motions all around. Also, if you haven't entered the super fabulous giveaway, click here.

Now then, if any of you can think of anything worse than being betrayed in your own bed, throw it at me.

What?

Yes, licking chips and sticking them back into the dip ruffles my feathers too, but no.

From my position under the covers, nose stuffed up, wondering why NyQuil didn't come in easy to open, twelve ounce cans, I watched Jennifer Lawrence fashionably sport an off-the-shoulder top while stupidly crawl into a hole in someone's basement.

Ladies, let's stop doing this. I don't care if there's a house at the end of your street making weird sounds. You can't change people. Stay out of the hole.

I wheezed and pulled the comforter over my eyes. "Jennifer, stop. There aren't anymore Academy Awards down there."

Too late. I heard her scream, and just as I poked my head back out to assess the damage, a black spot on the blanket caught my eye. Had that spot always been there? I made sure to wash the comforter at least once a year, but had I become that inept?

Through the dark, I looked at Husband and back at the spot. And back at Husband. And back at the spot.

It couldn't be.

The room was dark. Surely J. Lawrence's unnecessary accoustic guitar-playing scene had me spooked.

But, no.

It moved.

Lord, save us all.

Husband almost fell out of bed. "What are you doing?"

Clinging to the ceiling fan, I fumbled around for the light. "The light. The light. I can't find the light. There's a spider in our bed, and I can't find the light. What good is Edison's invention, if it isn't there in times of crisis?"

"You've overreacting. Here, I'll just.."

"You killed it with your hand."

"I did."

"That's so manly. I find you so attractive right now, I feel like you should be on a calendar or something. Maybe an expensive block of Post It notes."

He sighed. "Bring me some toilet paper."

*Paige runs off to retrieve disposal supplies*

"You didn't have to bring the entire roll of toilet paper."

"You don't bring a knife to a gun fight."

"What?"

The important thing here, is that the spider's gone, but I've spent the last few nights learning how to trust again.

So, I'd like to remind all of you to remember to stock adequate amounts of toilet paper, and if you happen to watch The House At the End of the Street, it's really not that bad.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Happy Book Day! Those Who Love Cool Stuff, Gather Round!

2013-06-03T05:00:00.000-05:00

Happy Book Day, everyone!

I know I normally tell you "Good Morning," but, please know it's implied and I hope all of your mornings are currently being filled with perfectly-browned toast, over easy eggs that don't break when you flip them, and power bars that don't taste like chalk.

I love you all that much.

Initially, the excitement from today got to my hands and I almost produced a post that looked like this, "nuoghsdbvuhbbaowueh$5673nbnjvoampodv." (Of course there's a period at the end. I'm a professional.) But, I got them under control, and, thankfully, I will continue the rest of this entry in a composed manner.

....did I mention it's Book Day?

At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles: Mostly-True Tales of An Impending Miracle has hit the shelves, ladies and gentlemen.

"But, what's in it for me?" You say.

I see your point. What is Paige Kellerman, if not a shameless pusher of her debut work, bent on pushing her book shamelessly? ...A really decent juggler, actually. But that's another post for another time. Rings, scarves, a buried desire to joint the circus. It's all very complex.

So, here's the deal. I've got prizes. Let's take a look at the showcase. Bob?

First Prize: A new Kindle Paperwhite, a signed copy of the book, and a matching bookmark!

Second Prize: A 25.00 Amazon giftcard, a signed copy of the book, and a matching bookmark!

Third Prize: A signed copy of the book and matching bookmark! (I know it's not a Kindle or a gift card, but did I mention both your prizes match?)

Fourth Prize: Five additional winners will be sent bookmarks! (No, it doesn't match anything, but it might, if you buy the book. See what I did there?)

So, you see, there's a total of eight chances to win. I know. I counted. All you have to do is enter the conveniently-placed Rafflecopter, and faster than you can say, "IthinkIlikebookmarks," you could be a winner. This giveaway is open all week, my friends.

In the meantime, At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles is available in...

Paperback Here

Kindle Here

Nook Here

Thank you all for the overwhelming support I've received in the months, days, minutes leading up to today, and know that I'm truly grateful for all of my dear, dear Readers. Now, get out there and show Monday who's boss.

a Rafflecopter giveaway
Until Next Time, Readers!

Salvador Perez vs. The Raccoon

2013-05-31T11:28:00.001-05:00

Afternoon Readers,

I just killed my first spider of the day, and, although it was a little unnerving to hear, "There's a spider on the couch," while staring into space in the bathroom, the situation has been dealt with and Summer is really looking up.

Except for the rain.

Yes, we're still trapped inside, staring at each other, watching the same cartoons over and over, and eating lunch meat straight out of the plastic container. Ok, that's just me, but finding bread is so exhausting. Nod your head. You agree.

But, miserable weather is also an opportune time to tell tales of brave cats.

It is. Hush.

A perfect gentleman, Salavador Perez has settled into life around the Split level and been nothing short of a cat who kind of acts like a dog. But not our dog. Because that would mean he sleeps in my spot when he thinks I'm not looking and is dangerously close to being volunteered as a rescue dog for avalanche victims in the Alps.

No, Salvador is polite, loves attention, but also tells me my hair looks great, and I love that. He's also taken up residence on the front porch, or rather a hole under the front porch, to be more specific. It wasn't until he came flying out of that hole, late in the evening, that we realized there was a problem.

Husband backed in the front door. "It's a raccoon."

I clutched my Kindle. "Are you sure it's not a very small, lost pigmy goat?"

"I'm sure. And it won't get away with this. It's stealing the cat's food."

*Please note: Husband is extremely taken with the cat, and tends to side with him on most issues.

Admittedly, I wasn't entirely convinced it was a raccoon, until my sister spent the night and, the next morning, declared herself to be the winner of a thirty second staring contest she'd had through the window with the masked intruder.

As she put it. "I stared down your raccoon, last night."

And so, when our squatter showed himself the night before last, Husband was at the ready.

"What are you doing?"

He clutched the baseball bat. "I'm going to scare it."

"Will you be having the raccoon slow pitch to you?"

"Nope."

"Good. Because anything less than a curve ball, and they insult so easily."

At a moment's notice, everything spun out of control. There was a lot of screaming, a bat smacking the front porch, and a raccoon saying completely inappropriate things.

"He ran down the stairs."

"Maybe he thought you were trying to get him to join a little league team."

Husband has sworn his revenge on the raccoon, and I won't pretend that a set of beady eyes watching TV over my shoulder doesn't unnerve me. - After all, I'm just a killer of spiders - But we can't let poor Salvador be disenfranchised either.

Which is why I should probably just make another spot on my bed.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Quick Tips For Surviving the Mall

2013-05-29T08:16:00.003-05:00

"You wanna go to the mall, Marge?" "Only if we hit up the vodka and organic tea kiosk first, Bob."

Morning Readers,

I'm reporting to you live from the Split level, beet red, only in pain when Doc slaps my burned chest with his chubby little hand.

Sunscreen, I'm sorry I rejected you like exercise.

Fortunately for you guys, this post isn't about beaching myself out in left field and watching the Royals lose. Although, a woman as red as a lobster, sporting a maxi skirt, and using her spouse as a human shield against foul balls while she screams, "No, no, no," is a decent candidate for subject matter.

Memorial Day in Kansas turned into a small monsoon, and, not wanting to watch the children climb the blinds to see who could put their mark in the ceiling first and claim it as territory where we have no jurisdiction, Husband and I herded everyone into the van and headed to the mall, indoor mecca of all that is crowded and smells of pretzels.

So, in case you're headed that direction anytime soon, here are a few refresher tips before you jump into the fray:

Victoria's Secret Pink Store:

Take your baby in here. I found trying to push my stroller against the tide of nineteen-year-olds not only reminded me how old I am, but also that my idea of "medium" was their idea of a size that doesn't exist.

"The tent and rug emporium is next to the map kiosk," I was informed.

The Food Court:

Buy one Chinese entree and distribute forks to all members of your family. Once there are four or more of you, it becomes a live re-enactment of The Hunger Games, and the other three hundred patrons will thank you for the entertainment.

"I've never seen a family vie for the affection of a Crab Rangoon like that. Their baby looked like he was going to stab someone with that straw. Can babies stab people?" - Mike's Pizza Employee

The Carousel:

Jam packed with ponies, swans, and other strangely-molded, sometimes-legless animals, the carousel is a great way to burn any extra cash you have laying around the ATM. While the rest of the family climbed aboard, Doc and I stayed on the ground and waived. Everyone had a great time.

Me: Thank for taking them. That looked like a lot of fun.
Husband: I feel sick. Next time, you're going.

If you're still looking for things to do, here are some additional suggestions...

Head to Barnes and Noble and spend the entire trip convincing your child the book she picked out is one she already has at home and reads constantly.
Ask the electronic cigarette guy to watch your kids while you sit and smoke for the rest of the trip.
See if cast off teething cookies are acceptable currency yet at the Gap.

Honestly, there's so much to do at the mall these days, I was slightly overwhelmed ...or it could've been all the fried rice I ate.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Simple Saturday: Simple Thoughts From the Split Level

2013-05-25T10:12:00.000-05:00

Morning Readers,

Just checking in on this holiday weekend to assure you that I did, in fact, get up at 6am today, and that, yes, it was as delightful as it sounds. As such, my cognitive function is running right around "zero," I just realized I drank the last of the dregs in the coffee pot, and I'm slowly coming to terms with the sad reality that I'm too lazy to go make more.

Lazy Paige. You are as sad as the sweatshirt you've been wearing for three days.

Luckily, I received an invite from Country Girl's Daybook to participate in her "Simple Saturday" link up. It requires simple words. Simple thoughts.

So, being the simple woman I am, here are some simple things rolling around the Split Level today:

1.) The twins keep bringing me dandelions and telling me, "Happy Birthday." It is not my birthday, but I love gifts, so I'll let the little charade play out.

2.) For obvious reasons, dollar breakfast bar I ate this morning far exceeded the fifty-cent breakfast bar I ate yesterday.

3.) Husband and I have plans to go to a small get together this weekend. This will require me to shower, which makes the entire affair a little more strenuous.

4.) Husband fed Salvador Perez, and didn't tell me 'Good Morning.' The cat will now be raising the children.

5. What else? Ahh, yes. Everything is in motion for the the book release on June 3rd. Nine more days, and the children will still be oblivious I'm an author, but will, I'm sure, keep up a consistent demand for candy before 9am.

Happy Memorial Weekend, everyone!

Don't Lick The Minivan: Leanne Shirtliffe Comes to Visit

2013-05-22T07:15:00.002-05:00

Morning Readers,

You know what's even more exciting than having a book come out in the future? That's right. A book that comes out today. Leanne Shirtliffe and I have slowly gotten to know each other over the last couple years, and now I not only leave inappropriate Canadian jokes on her Facebook wall, but she's gotten to the point she'll admit she knows me.

We're practically BFFs. And while I wait on the matching halves of our heart necklace to be forged at a very discreet Etsy shop, Leanne keeps me entertained with stories of her twins and husband. Her kids are a little bit older though, so I'm assured frequently how much more ridiculous my life is going to get.

So, I'm overwhelmed with pride to announce that Leanne Shirtliffe's first book (buy it only if you want to hear extremely entertaining stories) has been released today, and she's traveled all the way from Canada to give some thoughts on pregnancy.

Take it away, Leanne!

Top 9 Funny Pregnancy Tips

When my mom had babies, pregnancy was measured in months. When I had babies, gestation was measured in weeks. To keep evolving, women need to start measuring their time knocked up in minutes: 403,200 to be precise. Someone should write a song about that. A dirge.

That above fact was your bonus pregnancy tip, the prize in the box of Cracker Jacks. Without further ado, here are the Top 9 Funny Pregnancy Tips, as taken from my humor book, Don’t Lick the Minivan:

1. Avoid looking in the mirror during pregnancy. Denial is an excellent strategy that will help you once your child is born.

2. Misbehave during prenatal classes. Nothing is going to go according to plan anyway.

3. Measure the progress of your pregnancy with a walk–into–the–wall contest. ("Progress" being a very loose term.)

4. During pregnancy (or any other time), if your husband comments that you have the measurements of an NFL player, it's perfectly legal to throw a book at him.

5. Give bizarre names to your fetus. Like Cletus.

6. Record all the stupid things people say to you while pregnant. Stop after you give birth; you won't have enough free time to jot down the stupid things people say to parents.

7. Embraces fluctuations in your bra size; the fluctuations in your other sizes aren't nearly as fun.

8. Read the fine print and the non-existent return policy before you get knocked up.

9. Lying is an invaluable strategy for parents. Start practicing as soon as you’re pregnant.

What other pregnancy tips would you add to the list, facetious or not? What kind of advice were you given?

Leanne Shirtliffe is the author of DON'TLICK THE MINIVAN: Things I Never Thought I'd Say to My Kids. She’s also the mother of tween twins, a phrase that’s hard to say after two glasses of wine. She writes for the Huffington Post and Nickelodeon's NickMom.com and has been published by The Christian Science Monitor, The Calgary Herald, and The Globe and Mail. When she’s not wasting brain cells tweeting, she teaches teens who are slightly less hormonal than she is. She lives in Calgary because she likes complaining about the weather.

Buy Leanne’s book. Money will go to support her children’s therapy. Or her own.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Crying to Attain Maximum Drama: In Ten Fun Steps

2013-05-20T11:52:00.000-05:00

Afternoon Readers,

I hope everyone's weekend was satisfactory. Everything at the Kellerman house flowed smoothly. All children, pets and frazzled parents accounted for, and Husband I were only required to participate in three hundred games of, "I've got something behind my back that I found outside. Guess what it is."

Possibly the most terrifying game on the planet.

But we're not gathered here today to talk about children potentially gifting their parents with heart attacks in the form of a rock or two-headed toad. Nope. I want to throw a comp tutorial on how cry in the most dramatic way possible.

Why is this necessary?

First and foremost, it's essential to know how to tap into this talent because, one day, you may win an Oscar and need to draw as much attention to yourself as possible during the acceptance speech. Remember, it goes: Hug statuette, forget to thank your spouse, weep on Gucci ballgown.

But, besides that, over-the-top crying works wonders when you're overwhelmed and need to feel sorry for yourself. Oh yes, for those of you who think I never cry, please note that this occurs while I'm pregnant, but also when I haven't slept.

I'm fairly sure I'm not pregnant, so I'm going to chalk this morning's breakdown up to only getting to sleep until 4:30am before it was time to get up for the day, courtesy of the baby, me not being able to fall back to sleep after feeding said baby, and the twins needing breakfast at 6am.

So, let's go through the steps, shall we? Because I simply can't have you all experiencing emotional breakdowns without the proper tutelage.

No, no. It's my pleasure. No trouble at all. I'm great at complaining.

Crying to Attain Maximum Drama: In Ten Easy Steps

1.) Wear ugly clothing. Anything less than a sweatshirt over a nightgown will give the appearance that you're not serious about committing to this bout of hysterics. Be dramatic. Be hideous. Be in gladiator sandals at the same time.

2.) Don't brush your hair. If you're brushing your hair, you're not directing all your attention to weeping uncontrollably. This is poor form and looked down upon by all others throwing sand on their heads and rending their garments.

3.) Remember that you are the only one who's ever raised children.

4.) Assure yourself that everyone else in the world always gets eight hours of uninterrupted sleep at night. Set your jaw so the lie doesn't slip out and sound ridiculous.

5.) Angrily unload the dishwasher. Don't cry on the silverware. This will require excess rinsing, and if we're rinsing, we're not ...? Altogether now. Fully committed to crying. Thank you.

6.) Rest forehead on doorway and weep.

7.) Put head in kitchen sink and weep.

8.) Weep while you check your email. (I didn't say this whole affair wasn't a First World problem, I simply asked you to commit.)

9.) I have it harder than anyone on the planet. Say it three times. Admittedly, this will come out more as a choke/sob, but we're really trying to sell here, so, work it.

10.) Drink some coffee. Eat some yogurt. Realize the baby is finally sleeping. Use this break to save up energy for more crying spells. Try not to be too disappointed that you're now blogging and distracted from crying.

Remember, you can't feel sorry for yourself, if you don't get the proper cry going. So let's get out there and be morose, people.*

*Exclamation mark left off sentence because this isn't your usual pep talk. Thank you.

Until Next Time, Readers!

The Evolution of A Question

2013-05-17T13:42:00.000-05:00

"Well, the neighbor said mom snuck out of the country, but left a number where she could be reached, so that was dumb."

Afternoon Readers,

Now is as good a time as any to take a break from making, what I can assure you are, less than angelic Angel Food cupcakes, let the smoke clear, and drink the last of this coffee ...the times it's been reheated are no matter. It'll probably melt my face off, regardless.

(Actually, it's kind of a miracle the cupcakes were made at all, considering the rate I'm being questioned these days. I can't say I was particularly ready to move into this stage of parenting, but you can't stunt their growth with horrible crock pot recipes forever.)

The twins don't nap anymore, which is great because now they have time to fill the day with all sorts of queries. Some I can answer. Others I can't hear over the clinking of the ice in my high ball. But the good news is they're developing and curious. The bad news is they rarely accept my answer to anything.

"Momma?"
"Yes?"
"Can I have dinner?"
"It's 7am. It's time for breakfast."
"I want dinner."

"Momma?"
"Uh huh."
"This toy won't work."
"That's because it's out of batteries. We'll get more later."
"But it won't work. See? It's not working."
"That's because it's out of batteries. They make it go."
"Mama? Why won't it turn on?"
"Because Mommy's will to drive to the store died with her last attempt to find clean pants yesterday."

"Why you sleepin?"
"Because I'm tired."
"Why you sleepin?"
"Because this comedy segment neatly scheduled in my life is exhausting."
"But why you sleepin?"

"What you doing in the bathroom?"
"Going to the bathroom."
"Can we come in?"
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"But what you doin in there?"
"Hiding."
"See, we got in. What you doing?"
"I'm done, actually. Who wants this copy of Style?"

By the end of the day, my hands are visibly shaking. This works out great for cocktails, but my grocery lists have seen better days. Husband has stopped asking questions altogether, and simply nods when he sees me hiding under a table or in a cabinet.

"Your dinner's in the fridge," I whisper from the coat closet.
"I take it you live there now."
"This jacket provides both shelter and warmth. The scarves have accepted me into their tribe."

At any rate, I know it'll pass. I think. In the meantime, I've got odd-looking cupcakes to eat and dinner/breakfast to make.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Dumpster Diving

2013-05-15T10:15:00.000-05:00

"All I saw was legs kicking and a lady screaming, "Is that a dead pheasant?""

Morning Readers,

Judging by the sudden switch from bitter cold to ridiculous heat, I'd say Kansas has officially skipped spring and declared us to be in an emergency state of summer.

Yay.

Honestly, I was tempted to turn on the ac yesterday, but, as we have our trusty attic fan up and working again, I couldn't really justify it. What I did justify was piling all the children in the van and heading out to do a midday car wash/ car vacuuming, because the Teddy Graham population had multiplied to such an extent, I found a petition on the steering wheel, asking that they be granted the area behind my seat as a preserve.

I hate being bossed around by cookies, so off we went, through the car wash and straight to the area designated for cleaning horror out of vehicles. The baby spent this brief journey recovering from the near death experience by giant, soapy brushes.

Luckily, he tried to stick his chubby fist in my coffee this morning, so I believe he's forgiven me.

Chocolate bears cleaned out, trash thrown away, it wasn't until I went to start the van that I realized we had no keys with which to bring our loan-laden carriage roaring to life. *This spot left vacant to insert necessary panic*

I looked at the children. "Where are the keys?" As I received nothing in response except for wide eyes implying I was an idiot, I began the frantic search. Had I eaten them while digging through the stray cookies? Did someone steal them and not the car? Had I ....

Son of a motherless goat.

What happened became abundantly clear as I stared at the covered public trashcan. I'd left my phone at home, there was no one to save me. And so, I dove, headfirst, into what can only be described as the place where all items that should never be touched live.

Me: Good afternoon, trashcan.
Trashcan: Mam.
Me: You don't mind if I shimmy under your foot-high covering and do some exploring, do you?
Trashcan: It happens more than you think.
Me: Really?
Trashcan: No. I was trying to make you feel better. Go ahead.
Me: It's so dark down here. What was that? Did that move? No, it was just an air freshener. Ok, that's either a wrapper or old toilet paper. That looks like a foot. Alright, I'm out of here.

Just as my desperation reached fever pitch, something shiny came into view, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Legs failing, I emerged,victorious.

So, remember, kids. Either leave those bad boys in the ignition or on the seat, because no one wants to think they feel a foot at the bottom of a trashcan.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Look What Came In the Mail ...June 3rd, My Dears

2013-05-13T10:18:00.001-05:00

Someone once told me a well-placed pipe in a picture lends more credibility to most authors.

Afternoon Readers,

I hope everyone had a fantastic Mother's Day, and enjoyed being pummeled in the head by multiple toddlers.

Besides the holiday, celebrating the twins birthday, and tracking down all missing parts to Mr. Potato Head and other birthday gifts, a light also shone in my mail box this weekend and I got my hands on the very first copy of the book.

So, today I'm popping in to assure you that At Least My Belly Hides My Cankles: Mostly-True Tales of An Impending Miracle is a real, tangible thing, and that you, my dear Readers, will be able to get your own on June 3rd!

...yes, June 3rd of this year.

And stay tuned, because the week before the release may just hold some semi-non-yawn-inducing things I'm giving away, so be prepared. Not fallout shelter prepared, but you know where I'm going with this.

Ok, I'm off to go make hotdogs and cut them into boring shapes because I'm not a fun mom, but I shall regale you with a story on Wednesday, or, as I like to call it, the third Monday of the week.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Three is the Magic Number

2013-05-10T16:34:00.000-05:00

"Is she still staring at us?"

Afternoon Readers,

I'd just to take a moment to state that the new Peanut Butter Toast Crunch tastes a little odd.

Now then, between bites of this slightly-off cereal, let's throw a group,"Happy Birthday" out to a pair of twins who are a constant source of fascination and interesting fashion choices.

Oh, wait. No, the Olsen twins aren't twenty-seven until June.

Well, that's ok, because it just so happens that Butch and Sundance turn three today. That's right, three years of semi-successful parenting, three years of random yet acceptable blog content, and three years of having the best kids in the entire world. I tend to be a little biased because they look freakishly like me and can make a mean Koolaid/ bagel swamp at mealtimes.

So, what advancements did they make this past year?

Butch:

Learned to speak in complete sentences and revealed that he's had a stunning inner monologue going since, roughly, 2011.
Proved that he can now clothe himself, and is, as it turns out, a fairly snappy dresser.
Can now fight with his sister about pretty much anything.
Has the endurance to fight with his sister for an entire day.
Loves Spongebob, Mr. Potato Head, drawing, and taking apart anything that has parts. The dvd player will be missed.
Is extremely neat, doesn't make messes with food, and insists all underwear should be worn backwards, respectively.
Still likes to cuddle with me, but won't hesitate to occasionally slap me on the butt because he doesn't yet value his life.

Sundance:

She's been speaking for a lot longer than her brother, but furthered her grasp of the English language by learning to talk back. To everything. She does earn points for articulation, however. And those will roll over into the next year.
She's also a snappy dresser ...in the sense that stripes, tutus, tights, mismatched shoes, shirts as skirts, my shirts as dresses, stray bras, jackets paired with underwear and high heels, and Little Mermaid purses worn as backpacks are the height of fashion.
Prefers water over milk.
Makes a mess at every mealtime, and is seen cajoling the dog into eating her dinner so she can move promptly on to dessert.
Learned that asking for something before bedtime will prolong said bedtime.
Has kept the Facebook page going with the fascinating, albeit, ridiculous things she's said to me this year.

Her final quote before turning three: "I love flowers because I'm a lady."

As of now, we're suiting up for a trip to the toy store. If anyone needs a Spider Man or a Little Mermaid with working tail, please let me know and I'll grab a few of each.

Until Next Time, Readers!

The Fan-tastical Attic Fan

2013-05-08T10:18:00.000-05:00

"When the fan broke, I set up camp next to this wagon wheel. Not much cooler, but there's lots of spokes emphasize the rustic quality of my button downs."

Morning Readers,

You know what I love more than Strawberry ice cream with chocolate sauce?

Nothing.

Ok, I'm kidding.

No, I'm not kidding. That gloriousness is the pinnacle of dairy confection perfection.

But, today, running a close second, is the attic fan. Do you have an attic fan? I'm not sure if they're like the noble salmon, migrating and enriching the ecosystem wherever they go, but I do know that these types of fans, snugly embedded in hallways ceilings, are extremely prominent in the Midwest.

Pulling cool air through one's home, the attic fan is the ideal compromise between turning on the air conditioning, or spending eight dollars on An Apprentice Sorcerer's Guide To Coaxing the Colder Air On the Outside of the Home to the Inside: Volume I.

With shipping, it can be kind of a rip-off sometimes.

Anywho, last year, ours broke with a grinding halt, prompting me to fall out of my chair and stop working on a blog post that was ten times worse than this one.

Husband stormed out of his room like a discombobulated rabbit who'd just had dynamite thrown down its burrow. "What's going on?"

I threw my hands in the air, dropping my ice cream spoon. "I didn't do it."

Sadly, Husband and I repeatedly clicked the switch back and forth, finally admitting defeat after the sound that came out suggested it would fall out of the attic and eat us. What would it cost to fix it? If we carefully lowered each other on top of it, could we sort out the problem, or would one of use be parenting with only one hand? No one knew.

Until last week.

With a bow, I let all three repair men in the door and led them upstairs. Sundance briefed them that the fan was, "broken and you need to fix it," while I pointed at the ceiling and prayed that none of them noticed the hole in the wall where the dog had gotten bored, or the damage to the bedroom door where the children had gotten bored.

Ninety-five dollars later and both hands still in tact, the fan is up, running, and cooling the house as I speak.

Enough with all the fanfare though (slaps knee because she's hilarious). Off with you. And enjoy your day. I'm out of Mike and Ike's, coffee, and socks ...it's getting a little cool in here.

Until Next Time, Readers!

If It Prospectively Fits, It Ships

2013-05-06T10:38:00.000-05:00

Susan was upset the floral-print blouse she ordered didn't compliment the monkey as well as she'd hoped.

Morning Readers,

It's only 10am, and I'm already out of coffee. Which only goes to show that letting your spouse have a cup on his way out the door is a terrible idea. This isn't some sort of half-way house. What am I doing handing out coffee like I didn't want to drink all eight cups?

Get it together, Paige.

However, we gather here today to talk about shopping online, that dangerous yet exhilarating pastime akin to rolling the dice or asking Helen Keller to trim your bangs. Perhaps you don't enjoy it as much as I do, but, due to my current station in life, getting out to actual stores usually presents a problem.

What was that? No, I'm only doing one Hellen Keller joke today.

Let's not get sidetracked. As much as I adore jumping on Amazon and clicking on the next thing to be thrown at my doorstep, I tend not to have the best luck with clothing, or rather, sizing.

Do I ever read the sizing charts?

No!

Do I distinguish between European and American sizing?

Sometimes!

Is there a chance I see my body one way, and order things to fit this mirage?

Always!

I mention my finely-honed shopping skills only to showcase that I actually had a success this weekend. That's right. After employing twine and a measuring tape from Husband's tool box, my dimensions were carefully calculated and ordered accordingly. Hips, waist, length from joist to crossbeam, all accounted for.

So, when this little gem arrived, I didn't have to plyer and crowbar it over my form.

By the way, this post is not sponsored by these dress people. I'm just really excited I finally made a purchase I don't have to send back, turn into hamster bedding, or cut in half and make different yet complimentary potholders out of. And the reviews are in...

"It looks nice." - Husband

So there you have it. If you take measurements, there's a good chance you'll end up with something that's not just a monetary donation to one particular business or another.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Random Saturdayness

2013-05-04T07:32:00.000-05:00

Morning Readers,

Just popping in to tell you the breakfast bar I just ate was fabulous. And it was only a dollar?

Thrift deliciously dipped in peanut butter and chocolate is what I say.

Anywho, I was remiss in not telling you all yesterday, but I spent all Friday over visiting my friend, Kelley of Kelley's Break Room. If you like sitting in orange plastic chairs next to vending machines, and listening to me talk about stuff like sports and chili, well, head on over.

Oh, if you missed it this week, you can continue reading my randomness in the form of terrible baby shower gifts, and the moment I seriously considered moving because of the SNAKE the twins found in the backyard.

Also, I was super excited to pop up over on Nick Mom yesterday.

Ok, I've got to go scrub Coco Puffs and chocolate milk off everything. Sundance has decided to eat cereal mostly with her hands lately, so there we are.

Until next Time, Readers!

Why'd It Have To Be Snakes?

2013-05-02T10:54:00.001-05:00

"I don't care if you starch your shirts. What I need is a man who can punch snakes in the face."

Morning Readers,

Forgive me. I meant to fill you in on all things Kellerman yesterday, but, you see, I was still letting the shock wear off.

Shock from what?

False security, that's what. "Send them into Nature*," Husband says. "There's nothing out there." "What are you so afraid of?" "Sharks don't live in really deep puddles."

Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah

Readers, you all know myself and the outdoors don't get along. As in, don't take me camping unless you want to carry me around on your back the whole time, and accept the possibility I will climb you like a tree frog at the first sign of danger. But, lately, I've been trying hard to not to pass my paranoia to my offspring and let them cavort outside, communing with all things dirt-caked and bark-covered.

Big mistake.

For, just as I'd begun to throw my arms wide and wave pleasantly at passing ants, Butch and Sundance marched up to me and presented ...a snake.


Event as it is recalled by me.

As the sudden realization that the two-foot-long, black, inch-in-diameter horror was not a toy set in, I did what any rational person would do, and started screaming things that didn't make sense.

"Mama. Look what we found."

"Drop it. Drop it, right now. Drop it before we all get rabies, the house caves in and we all die."

"Look at it mama."

"Children. Put down the snake. Snakes bite. Oh Lordy, they're coming for us. Board up the windows. Board up the windows, I say!"

The snake, which I'd by then calculated to be roughly thirty feet long with venom dripping from fangs, was promptly dropped in the grass, the twins whisked inside to be thoroughly washed down, and careful observation of the specimen commenced from the kitchen window.

We were never going in the backyard again. Who owned a backyard? Not the Kellermans.

Thankfully, Grandpa showed up just in time to declare the beast dead, tag it and bag it. After a careful investigation was conducted, the following facts were extracted from the twins:

Flea brought them the snake.
The snake was talking.
The snake wasn't moving when they picked it up.

I've decided that two out of three of those things is probably true. But you're still not going to see me go camping.

*Nature is capitalized on this blog because it scares the crap out of me.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Top Ten Worst Gifts to Give at a Baby Shower

2013-04-29T09:46:00.000-05:00

"Diapers? No, I thought this dog in a sweater would be a better gift."

Morning Readers,

How was everyone's weekend? I hauled the twins around in a little red wagon until I thought I was going to have a heart attack.

It was the longest three minutes of my life.

But enough about my fit and active lifestyle. Also worth mentioning is the baby shower I dragged Doc to on Saturday. One of my best friends in the entire world is expecting and is just silly enough to assume I won't steal her adorable newborn and raise it as my own, so she invites me to her social events. It was a fantastic time, even though Doc was standoffish as usual, prompting some to ask...

"Does he always growl like that?"

"We don't get out much."

"Why's that?"

"I blog."

"I didn't know you were Swedish."

Milling around and loading up on free food aside, I feel as though I should share some wisdom I've gathered from the many baby showers I've attended and taken advantage of dozens of free cupcakes at. I've put together a quick gift-giving guide for that special, swollen, haven't-seen-her-because-she-lives-in-the-bathroom lady in your life.

Top Ten Worst Gifts to Give at a Baby Shower

'Dry clean only' baby outfits
Diaper cakes you shellacked so they'll stay that way forever (it took a lot of time to balance those Luvs, especially because the margaritas made everything all wavy).
"I'm 99% sure he's my daddy" onesies
Solar powered baby monitors
"Do It Yourself Baby Blanket Knitting Kit: Needles sold separately"
"My Baby Can Draw!" permanent marker set
Diaper Genie refills you made yourself after finding a tutorial on Pinterest.
Baby bathtub made from upcycled milk jugs and whatever's left from the Diaper Genie refill project
Lowrise, hip-hugger jeans emblazoned with, "Mommy" on the back pockets
A sleep mask and dream interpretation journal

To my knowledge, no one gave my friend any of these things, but, to be fair, that seventh cupcake was a little distracting.

Until Next Time, Readers!

How to Potty Train Twins: In 10 Easy Steps

2013-04-24T12:05:00.000-05:00

Afternoon Readers,

What did I spend all last week doing? Let's jump right in...

1.) Go to the liquor store. Buy all the liquor.

2.) Resign yourself to the fact you won't be leaving your house for a week. It's ok. You bought all the liquor. Every night, you will be drunk and talking to the wall.

...Yes, I think it's adorable you think you won't. *smooshes your cheeks*

3.) Make sure you have twins. If you don't, please refrain from taking someone else's. The rest of this list isn't fun at all.

4.) Buy a small potty. Explain to the little potty it won't really enjoy its existance from here on out. Position potty in front of TV.

5.) Throw out diapers and Pullups. Run back to the trashcan, crying, and yank them back out again. Set aside for night time. Stop crying. Seriously.

What?

We've been through this. Go read step one again.

6.) Put both children in underwear and confine them to a surface that's not carpet. Do not leave them unsupervised, no matter how bad you want to adopt them out to the hermit neighbors down the street and go look at funny cat pictures on the internet.

7.) Spend the next 24-48 hours cleaning pee off everything you own. You love that hand-embroidered pillow with your wedding date on it? Too bad it got peed on. Throw it out.

8.) By day three, your twins may be making it to the potty. They also might be watching Sponge Bob while they pee on the floor.

9.) Day four, people are both watching cartoons and making it to the potty, seventy-eight percent of the time. By this point in the week, you've cleaned more excrement than the inmate who drew the short straw on Career Day.

10.) Congratulations, your twins are potty trained! Except for the times they forget to go to the potty, have an accident in the backyard, strip down, and run around naked for a while.

Oh, and they also have to wear a pullup at night.

Also, you may want to put them in one when you go out, because peeing on their Grandma's chair probably wasn't an isolated incident.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Fancy at the Grocery Store

2013-04-22T10:59:00.000-05:00

"After this, let's go buy graham crackers. I don't want to feel like I put on a slip for nothing."

Morning Readers,

Is it possible to drink so much coffee in twenty-four hours, you feel like you're being stabbed in the kidney?

Just curious.

Anywho, how was everyone's weekend? If you're like moi, you thought outside the box, showered, and got dressed. Trust me, it took a lot of planning and a couple listenings to some old motivational tapes, but, eventually, I ended up in a matching outfit, styled hair, and some makeup.

Ok. Fine. It wasn't my idea. I had to go to a fund raiser to hear this lovely lady talk, but after the entire thing was said and done, I decided to take advantage of the fact I looked like a real person and head to the grocery store.

Because that's what one does when one looks fancy. She goes and buys formula and sale items, like four-for-a-dollar yogurt. (I know. Sometime days you wake up in the morning and think you won't be able to purchase moderately-priced dairy. And others...)

Right, so there I was, all boots, black outfit and sparkly earrings, cruising the aisle, picking up Coke like it was on the list, when it hit me. I was way too fancy.

Now, I always daydream about it, breaking out of this joint with my hair styled, and picking up the toilet paper with neatly manicured nails. Oh, I have dreams. But no one tells you how unnatural that feeling actually is when it happens.

Passing moms in yoga pants.
Bedraggled women in wind suits.
A one-eyed hermit who emerged from her cave to buy peaches in bulk.

As I swam against the tide of shoppers, I realized I'd turned my back on my own kind.

"Who needs to wear boots to buy salad," they whispered. "Where's she taking it? Some type of boot salad party?"

"Huh, a clean shirt. If she wanted to show off, why didn't she just send the maid?"

"Those earrings are gaudy."

The last one was actually me, because those things are a little over the top. So big, you could bludgeon a small rhino or an extraordinarily large parakeet, I swear.

With these thoughts in mind, I had just enough energy to scream, "Stop looking at me," at everyone behind the meat counter, and hoof it back to the car.

Grocery stores are for yoga and sweatpants only. Let's take a moment to internalize this and then go get the week, people.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Link Love

2013-04-19T11:26:00.003-05:00

Afternoon Readers,

"I feel like I put on these fuzzy slippers and crawled up on this pedestal to tell you something. Oh, yeah! Guest posting!"

Today I'm over visiting my lovely friend, Wendy Nielson, talking about "Mom Hair" ...so get your riveted selves hence.

What's that?

Oh, well, if your in the market for some good reading after that, you could...

Check out my friend, Jill's book here.

Explore a craptastic yet hilarious day with my (in my opinion, saintly) friend, Grace, here.

Peruse two more fab Scary Mommy posts here and here.

Meanwhile, I'm heading back into the fray that is potty training ...more on that next week.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Order Up

2013-04-17T10:43:00.001-05:00

"But you don't even know how to play chess." ..."I realize that, but if I fake it, maybe my kids will stop asking for things."

Morning Readers,

You know what I love about spring in Kansas? Nothing. Because it's never coming. That's right, people. We're knocking on May's door, and it's still freezing, which means the children and I are in close quarters.

Staring at each other.

Ok, I'm going to back up and erase "staring." That word implies things are quiet and people are stationary. Not so. The fact is, the last seven months of winter have taught me that I'm not just a mother. Blindsided, I have also found restaurant-style employment.

Excuse me, one of the guests has demanded her hands washed and dried. Hold please.

Ok, I'm back. The good news is I was complimented by two of the patrons, on the PB and Js made from hamburgers buns they were served before this posting. The bad news is I have to go change this morning's viewing from Beauty and the Beast to Curious George.

So, as I was saying, the feeling of being a waitress is pretty heavy right now. I scratched down a few examples for you guys, which I will get to as soon as I get someone a drink of water. It could take a while because it's always "This isn't my glass" this, and "But this one doesn't have the right character on it," that.

That's too much water.
That's not enough water.
I wanted milk.

If I were the type of person who goes insane, I tell ya, I would. But the voices said to just cool it, so I guess I'll get back to telling you all about this waitress thing I'm going through.

Right. Examples. I have them. Because I write things down like a good writer, when I remember. And I'll go grab that note pad in a minute. The baby just ordered a bottle. Which is actually really convenient because his room is on the way to the bathroom, where I need to go ...but not before I get the kids some crayons and paper.

Ok, they need another drink, so I'll run by the kitchen, grab the drinks, crayons, paper and make a bottle. Someone just mentioned the restaurant's bathroom is out of toilet paper, which is good because I was going to swing by there on the way to the baby's room. I'm just not sure how I'm going to hug everyone at the same time.

Two orders for hugs and new one for snacks just came in. I guess those examples I had for you all will just have to wait.

After this shift's over, I'm going to go walk around outside and look for spring. Maybe it needs a bottle and a hug.

Until Next Time, Readers!