Love

One of my favorite aspects of blogging is the chance to "meet" a whole world of people. Now that I stay at home, my personal world is pretty narrow. My friends are either in Oklahoma or at work -- but, as a blogger, I have met new people to chat with each day. I absolutely love being able to connect with other adults during my days of sippy cups and diaper changes. Y'all are keeping me sane as I adjust to this new role of "staying at home!"

Two new bloggers that I've met recently have both encouraged me this week with their posts, comments and an "award."


This award is very sweet and I'm very appreciative. But, ladies, I appreciate your encouragement and advice more. This was a tough week for me and my girl -- a week that left me wondering what the heck I was doing and how in the world I was going to handle being with the Little Lady for every hour of every day. The words on your blogs and in your comments here helped my perspective. . . a LOT!

With that being said, thank you, JYL (of Mommy Gossip), and you, Elizabeth (of Parenting Pink)!!!!!!!

Captured

The Little Lady woke up Monday morning with a snotty nose (which she has thoroughly enjoyed playing with all week), diaper rash, and a cranky personality. That trifecta could only mean one thing: a new tooth was about to make an appearance.

I understand, Biblically, why child-bearing is supposed to be difficult and painful for women, but I've missed the passage that explains why mamas also get the raw end of the deal when it comes to teething.

From the diapers, drool, snot, screaming, whining, temper tantrums, and the constant need to be held, the Little Lady has made sure that everyone in our house suffers as much as she does. Even the simplest activities have turned into dramatic, Oscar-worthy performances.

Ever hour this week, I managed to upset her in one way or another. Sometimes her temper flared because I dared to insinuate a diaper change was necessary. The next time she cried it might be because I gave her the wrong sippy cup. Heaven forbid I try to change her clothes! Needless to say, the constant sound of hurt feelings became very wearing on my own emotional state!

There was, however, one moment where all seemed right with the world. Thursday, after a morning spent online researching "How To Become A Crafty Mama," I decided to purchase various art supplies and make play-doh for the Little Lady. Part of my intention, with the distracting array of glue sticks, markers and clay, was to postpone one or two chaotic meltdowns.

It didn't work.

Without fail, each item -- when handed to the Little Lady -- went right into her mouth. My attempts to stop the ingestion of possibly toxic substances were a direct assault on the Little Lady's sensibilities. No amount of calm, logical reasoning seemed to make things better for my one year old diva.

I didn't know what to do. I was getting frustrated and angry at my incompetence and inability to distract my daughter from her teething pain. Finally, at a complete loss, I grabbed her and headed to the kitchen. I sat her little body on the floor and then proceeded to clean. There was nothing else I could do and, I'm ashamed to admit, my "mommy patience" had worn thin.

Tick tock . . .tick tock. . . tick tock.

A few moments had passed before I realized the room was silent.

Not a sniffle. Not a snort. Not a sob.

It was completely quiet.

Looking down, I found my Little Lady in the same sunny spot where, in frustration, I had left her. The tears had ceased but not because of anything I had done. The sunlight streaming through the kitchen window had completely captured her attention.

I watched as she raised her little hands above her head, watching the sun bounce off her fingers. She laughed as the invisible warmth, softer and lighter than any soothing blanket I had tried, covered her. She lifted her head to smile at this new friend, pausing long enough to smile at me too.

Life was beautiful again.

Photo-Story Friday: Because The Eggs Went Bad

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

After my husband announced he would be bringing home fermented duck eggs (AKA "Balute", AKA "Disgusting", AKA "The Reason Why Rachel No Longer Eats Eggs At ALL"), I assumed this week's Photo Story Friday would document his ridiculous attempt to eat those things in MY house.

Then, he came home from work and told me there wouldn't be any Balute this week. Apparently, his source said they had "gone bad."

Really? REALLY? They went "bad?" And, how exactly does one know when Balute goes bad?

Ok, so I don't really want to know the answer to that question, and I'm not really complaining that there is no Balute this week. To be honest, even though I can hold a worm to my mouth, I cannot handle the thought of those eggs! Heck . . .I usually can barely handle the thought of eating normal chicken eggs!

Of course, after this week and my photo-research of balute, normal eggs are no longer a part of my menu.

Thank you very much, dear Hubby, for grossing me out yet again.

Fortunately, for his sake as well as mine, he doesn't always engage in disgusting adventures. Here are a few photos from our Alligator Camping Trip -- just a little proof that sometimes he really does take me to beautiful places. All of the photos are from a hike the two of us took: no baby, no sippy cups, no diapers to worry about. It was nice just to be a couple, hand in hand, walking together once again.

The One Where I Get Sick

Cultural Word of the Day (remember this as you continue to read): BALUTE

Balute [considered a delicacy in such countries as Malaysia, the Phillipines, and Thailand] is the partially developed fetus of a duck (or chicken in some cases) still in it’s egg, and then fermented. . . .The Balute peddler pulls from his bicycle basket a large earthen jar wrapped with towels and places it on the ground. He then carefully unwraps the towels and one by one, using a knife or spoon, taps a cirular crack around the topmost part of the duck egg and lifts off “the cap”, as it were.

It’s important to note that there are certain rules to consider when eating Balute.

1. Don’t look inside the egg before you eat it. You don’t want to see the very thing your going to eat looking back at you.

2. Don’t sniff or smell the contents of the egg before you eat it. This is also important for obvious reasons.

3. Don’t think about the contents of the egg before you eat it. Imagination is the man killer here folks.

(information taken from Ahoyhoy.org)

Yep, it's another Hubby post, and this one is a doozy.

The Setting:

Evening meal; family's yellow breakfast nook; black and white gingham curtains (hung incorrectly); rickety Duncan Phyfe dining table set with green and cream dishes; one dusty silk arrangement (shades of red) slightly off-center on table; one white baby-high chair; crumbs under baby's high-chair. A TV in the background blares random speeches from the DNC.

The Characters:
The Hubby (hair all poofy b/c the wife forgot to pick up his hair-gel when shopping. Bad wife.)The Wife (ratty t-shirt and jeans; no make-up even though its badly needed.)
The Little Lady (female child, approx. 14 months old; bread crumbs matted in her sparse hair)

Hubby: Wow -- this is good!

Makes audible munching noises while eating; wife's face registers disgust

Wife: I know; I found this recipe on the Weight Watchers site. I love the taste of the basil in it. I LOVE basil.

Hubby: Hmm-mmm.

Continues to produce very loud chewing noises

Little Lady: Bblbblbaaa! Bblbblbaa! Uh-Oh! Uh-Oh! Uh-Oh!

She bangs her tray with her hand, scattering bread crumbs.
Wife ignores the child's antics and poises to take another bite

Hubby: Oh, did I tell you what my coworker's going to bring me?

Wife: (shaking head) No -- what?

She takes a bite and looks up at the Little Lady, who is picking pieces of cheese off her shirt.

Hubby: Balute.

Wife looks at husband and shrugs shoulders.

Hubby: You know -- those eggs?

Wife: Oh good grief. You're not serious.

Husband grins and proudly nods head.

Wife: (putting down sandwich) I think I'm going to be sick. Why did you have to bring this up now? During dinner?

Hubby: (making poor attempts to hide laughter) I'm sorry; I'll stop.

Wife: I really think I'm going to throw up.

Hubby: Go in the living room and watch the DNC. Jimmy Carter's on-- he can take your mind off anything!

Wife buries head in hands and begins to rock slightly.

Wife: WHY do you want to eat one of those?

Hubby: Well, mainly because whenever people talk about Balute, I wanna be able to say "Oh, Balute? Yeah -- I've eaten that."

Wife: That's it? What do the girls at your work think?

Hubby: Oh, MAN! They are SO grossed out! (laughs loudly)

Wife: I can understand.

Hubby: Me and my coworker just keep talking about it and they keep trying everything to get us to stop.

Wife: So your primary reason is just to say you've eaten it, and the secondary reason is to gross out your coworkers?

Hubby: Yeah -- pretty much.

Wife: I'm still nauseous. (a beat) Please tell me you're going to eat it at work?

Hubby: (stalling) Well. . .

Wife sits up and stares at him

Hubby: I'm not sure where I'm going to do it.

Wife: You know you're going to throw up! You got sick the other day when you tried to drink the baby's juice.

Little Lady: JUS! JUS! JUS! Blblblablblabl. Jus!

Wife turns to the baby and hands her a sippy cup,

which the child promptly throws on the floor

Hubby: Yeah, that's why I think I'm gonna do it here at the house. You know -- that way, I can stop after the first bite if I need to . . . and you can have pictures for your blog.

Wife: A story and pictures for my blog? That's how you're going to bribe me to let you do this?

Hubby: Yep.

Stay-tuned for the next installment: The One Where Hubby Gets Sick

Reposting -- 'Cause I'm an Idiot

Earlier today, I wrote a quick "Help Me, Somebody HELP ME" post. Thirty minutes later I had successfully - unintentionally - on purpose - accidentally deleted the whole thing. It was a purely brilliant moronic moment.

Without going into the details of how it happened (I've heard a woman should always stay a little mysterious to keep 'em interested -- wait, is that just with men?), here's the "gist" of what I had written, with just a teeny-tiny bit of elaboration.

I have come to the realization that I am the Mommy of a TODDLER. No longer a baby, the Little Lady is quickly becoming an independent, energetic, willful, imaginative (and real) person. There's a personality emerging and developing each day. It absolutely amazes me to see the changes that are occurring daily. She picks up at least 3-5 new words and phrases each week. She can now sing along to 5 of the songs on the "mommy-doesn't-want-to-hear-anymore-screaming-in-the-car" CD. She even sings most of the Alphabet song. The Little Lady is only 14 months old and she can do all of this!!!!

And, she's doing it all on her own. My brilliant child is getting little help from me. Yes, we play and sing and dance and read, but I'm not planning activities or playtime that is meant to encourage her cognitive, gross, & fine motor skills. I'm not doing anything deliberately to help my child learn about her world.

How sad is that?

I was an educator who loved to develop student-centered lesson plans and activities that touched on all styles of learning and Bloom's taxonomy. I was the teacher that never wanted a wantonly inserted lesson for the sake of "filling up time." I researched, conferenced with other teachers, and evaluated each lesson -- I did everything possible to make sure my students were actively engaged in their learning process.

All of that and I don't plan for the early education of my Little Lady?

I don't want to be a Mommy that relies on TV, Internet, or video games to teach my child. I want to use my mommy-instincts, education, and skills to help my child develop into an active, inquisitive, and imaginative little girl. Please don't misunderstand my sudden urgency; I don't intend on being a hyper-driven parent who forces their 3 year old to learn 5 languages and play 6 instruments, all while kicking a soccer ball. No -- that's not me and it won't be me. I just want to be more involved and intentional with our time during these formative years.

Which, brings me to the point of my previous post (you know -- the one I stupidly deleted):

What do you do with your toddler to help their development?

Do you have music time? If so, what type of things are you doing?

Do you have a time for working on climbing or other gross motor skills?

Do you plan daily or weekly art projects? What are some of your favorite ones?

My list of mommy questions could go on and on. Ha, and I thought things would be a piece of cake once the colic and reflux stage was over! Who knew that the New-Mommy Syndrome continued past the 1st year? I certainly didn't!

"Someone help a sistah out!"

(as quoted from my previously deleted post)

Semi-Wordless Wednesday

The Darkest Hour Is Just Before Dawn.

Envision Photography

Kelly, from Neurotic Mom, has launched her new photography business!

Envision Photography

She is passionate about photography and creating beautiful, inspiring artwork. To celebrate her launch, Kelly is holding a giveaway on her Neurotic Mom site. The winner will receive one of her beautiful photos. Visit her site for more details!

Shout-Outs

Jenn of Happily-Ever-After-Land thinks I'm Brilliant (ha ha -- boy, do I have you fooled). She sent me the following award. She is now the 4th person to give this to me. Yay me! (wow, I sound like I'm fifteen right now).

AND . . .

Amy of Life of a Nguyener (Win-ner) sent me some more positive affirmation. This is the second time I've received this AND each time it's been from an "Amy." Hmmmmm.......

My mind isn't really working right now, so I will spend some time tomorrow picking some deserving people/blogs for these little lovelies.

Forgive the Mess

I'm in the middle of a site intervention construction. Things might be a little crazy around here for the next few hours as I move things around! But, hopefully, the new look will be much more streamlined and easy on the eyes.

I Disgust Little Boys

I learned something this weekend while camping. I, the Curly-Headed Mommy of the Little Lady, can gross out little boys. I'm so proud of myself.

These are the Little Boys.


They love camping. Well, actually, they love being stinky, hot, sweaty, and filthy. At one point in our weekend, one of the Little Boys, after an unsuccessful fishing expedition, proudly exclaimed "I'm too stinky to catch anything. They won't come to me!" Apparently, knowing that you smell bad is better than catching anything. This was news to me.

Being raised as good Southern boys, they are very proud little Americans. Being a proud little American boy means that, when camping, you have to hold your own version of the Olympics. With goggles. You can NOT forget your goggles.

For about 30 minutes, they splished and splashed to their hearts content, racing each other and having cannon-ball competitions. Then, they took a tanning break. Yes -- these Little Boys paused to work on a tan. Their own idea.

The hot days of our weekend went on like that. They swam, fished (which really just meant they held a fishing pole and yelled a lot, much to the annoyance of their daddies), and got dirty. They were the Princes of All Things Gross, until Sunday.

The rain that pummelled our campsite on Saturday left Sunday with very soft, soggy ground that was too wet to contain the earthworms. As we began our breakfast, the Boys -- thanks to observant uncles who actually found the worms -- put a couple of squirming treasures in a red plastic cup. They were now the proud owners of two long, purple-gray worms, which, the Little Boys decided, could be used to scare the girls in the camp. Since the two girl cousins, The Little Lady and Baby Girl, were too young, the Little Boys went around to the big girls (the mommies). When they came to me, I called their bluff.

LBs: (thrusting the red cup in my face and giggling) "Drink the worms! Drink the worms!"

Me: (I've never been one to back down from a little boy's challenge) "Ok -- hand it to me."

LBs: (still laughing and waiting for me to be disgusted) "You've got to really drink it!"

Me: "You think I won't?"

I raised the cup to my lips -- looking inside the cup, I could see the two worms writhing and coiling around each other. With my lips now embracing the rim of the cup, I looked at the Little Boys out of the corner of my eyes. They were in disbelief and each little mouth was in a perfectly shocked "O." With the cup now horizontal, the braver of the worms began inching its way out, peeking out of the cup and grazing the corner of my lips and my cheek. I began to "drink."

LBs: (screaming loud enough to gain the entire family's attention) "Ewww! Ewww! Ewww! She's really doing it! Look! See! EWWW!!!! EWWW!!!!"

I lowered the cup and slowly gulped.

LBs: (still in shock) "Did you really drink it?"

Me: "Of course I did -- ugh, I can still feel it going down" and I pointed to the base of my throat. "It kind of tickles."

LBs: "Ewwww!!!!!!"

Still yelling their disgust, they ran off to tell their respective Mamas what that gross big girl had done.

Little Boys: 0

Rachel: 1

I win.

Woo Hoo -- I Am Kind!

Bridgette, from The Not-So-Blog Blog, passed on some blog love over the weekend.

I love Bridgette's blog; if you haven't found her yet, you definitely need to head over! She lives in New Orleans and is in love with her city. Right now, she is working on rebuilding the N.O. image to let people know that it's a wonderful place to visit.

As the Anniversary of Hurricane Katrina approaches, I decided that I wanted to do something to "Renew the Spirit" of my readers and show everyone what is RIGHT with New Orleans and it's lovely people!

Check out her site to experience tips about New Orleans and to enter fabulous prizes (made by New Orleans' artisans).

Yeah, Alligators Don't Work For Me

"I was made for air-conditioning."

Everyone needs to know that itty-bitty fact about me. I should have it tattooed somewhere on my body. It's the reason why I get incredibly angry when I sweat, incredibly irritated when my cheeks flush, and incredibly frustrated when my hair frizzes. When any of these three things begin to happen, you really wanna stay clear of me!

My husband's family, on the other hand, glories in being with the great OUT-doors. The hotter and more muggy it is, the better most of them enjoy themselves.


Even a little rain (or a lot of rain, as the case may be) doesn't dampen their spirits. Even ALLIGATORS roaming about, looking for some tasty, sweet morsel of human flesh, don't deter these people.

Wait -- alligators? Yes, I wrote "alligators."

This weekend, my husband's family (my family too, as of four years ago) gathered in Huntsville, TX for their First Great Camping Trip. What? Never heard of Huntsville? Well, it's known for it's prison and prison museum, the largest statue of Sam Houston, and the alligator infested state park. The alligator infested state park is where we stayed.

Oh, the menfolk "promised" there weren't any gators over 2-3 feet. "Really, they're harmless," I heard more than one man say (including my own man).

"Harmless?" Ha! I raise your "harmless" with a PSHAW!!!!!!! Don't you boys watch the Discovery channel? National Geographic? PBS??? Alligators are vicious, carnivorous, creepy pre-historic looking monsters! You expect ME to spend consecutive nights with only a mere few feet of land separating us?? Again-- PSHAW!

Our first morning, as the sun lazily rose over the lake, casting perfect woody reflections over the glass surface, we saw our first Alligator and it certainly was not only 3 feet long!!!



It moved slowly, smoothly creeping underneath the water, with only its angular, leathery gray head showing. The sight seemed surreal since not one muscle on tha alligator could be seen moving. It might as well have been a branch floating down the lake -- it didn't look real.



That, however, changed when it lunged toward us!!!! That's right -- it charged toward the bank at a startlingly quick speed. One moment, not a thing was moving and then the next moment we ALL were moving -- screaming, flailing away from that horrid creature.

Apparently, it wasn't really going after us but a poor innocent fish or frog at the edge of the shore. Poor animal -- at least we could see it coming, which gave all of us girls enough time to scream. Loudly.

The boys just laughed.

Whatever -- they were scared too. Unfortunately, I just wasn't quick enough to get a picture of that. Just wait till the next time. Wait, did I just write "next time?" Yes, I did. (sigh)

Photo-Story Friday: Committment

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Every morning, at 6:15 AM, my husband's alarm clock goes off, jarring each of us from our dreams. Bleary-eyed, we moan, sit up, Hubby falls out of bed and turns the alarm off, and then we both go back to sleep. That's our routine. We like it.

All summer long, we did this same thing every morning. Hubby would stay in bed until the very last minute, before jumping up and rushing to get ready for work. I spent the rest of this frantic scene with the thick wine-colored comforter pulled over my tousled curls, blocking out the sounds of being awake and productive. Eventually, several hours after Hubby left for work, I would get up and get around to the business of being a mom.

Last week, there was a change in the morning script. Hubby's part stayed the same but I was given different stage directions: I started getting up.

Now at 6:30, after 15 minutes of precious post-alarm sleep, I get up and blindly dress. What I put on never matches but it never matters -- I'm going to walk/jog/dream about running around the neighborhood.

This past Wednesday, my few mornings of playing the new active Rachel were put to the test. I opened our front door and found puddles in the streets, glossy grass, and dripping skies. It was raining.

"Ooooo," I thought, almost gleefully, "This means I can go back to bed!!!!" Sleep is always at the top of my to-do list, no matter what the occasion.

I turned back and shut our door. Hubby was prostrate on the couch, letting himself be distracted from thoughts of work by watching the local news. "It's raining!" I said the words in my best attempt at being pathetic and forlorn. I waited for him to agree that walking in the rain wasn't a good idea.

"This is where the real test comes," he tauntingly proclaimed, letting his eyes momentarily leave the TV screen. He looked at me, challenging me.

Well, darn. Now I HAD to go out -- I couldn't let him see me give up, not even for a day. With false determination, I popped my Ipod speakers into my ears and walked out the door to the sound of Chaka Khan singing "I'm Every Woman."

My first time to walk in the rain. The downpour had subsided into a very light, steady rain, but everything was still very wet. Tiny rivers were furiously flowing, currents heading downstream to the sewers.

I walked. It was a slow journey as I put one foot carefully in front of the other -- I wanted to avoid adding another fall to my "clumsy moment" record. I walked through puddles, through mud that had flowed like lava onto the sidewalks, and even through some dog poo. I blame my shoes for that misstep -- they should have been watching where they were taking me.

On the last leg of my journey, I had to walk underneath a giant crepe myrtle --its heavy, wet branches bending over to kiss the soggy ground. Also bent over, I shuffled under the pink laden boughs, attracting some of the tiny Pepto-pink petals. They left their home and joined me, resting on my the back of my neck, as I continued my quest to prove I was truly committed.

Later, as the opening strains of "Sweet Home Alabama" rocked my Ipod, the petals and I approached my house. I opened the door and walked across the threshold, ready to show my husband it had been a piece of cake.

My Life with Two Husbands

Sometimes, I feel like I'm living in my own Lifetime Movie. You know -- the one with the Oh-So-Dramatic title and the wanna-be (or used-to-be) actors and actresses. (*cue dramatic violins with thunder rumbling in the background)

I'm married to two men. (Dun, dun, DUM)

Fortunately, because I really don't want to go to prison, those two men inhabit one body. Wait, what? Yes, my husband has multiple personalities. No, the diagnosis isn't official, but I'm the one who proclaimed it so (therefore, it's true).

I've received comments (both written and verbal) about the Hubby and the dichotomy (bad hubby/good hubby) I present in my posts about him. How can he be the Perfect Daddy, Rambo (Killer of Rats), and the Toilet Lid Criminal all at the same time???? The answer, my friends, family, and readers, has to be multiple personalities.

It's the only way I can explain and understand it.

How ELSE would you explain a man who pours over the Joseph A. Banks catalog, ogling the crisp trousers and perfectly ironed, french-cuffed shirts . . . . but who also, just a few years ago, deliberately shaved off his goatee because he wanted to look like Nacho Libre?



How ELSE would you explain a man who complains that he doesn't do enough guy activities . . .
. . . but who also excitedly runs down the stairs to tell you that he's taught your daughter how to have a tea party?

How ELSE would you explain a man who tells you he wants to have a more romantic, more affectionate, more intimate relationship with you . . .
. . . but who also forgets that YOU are a girl and that YOU don't like to smell disgusting smells, gloat over disgusting sights, or laugh over disgusting jokes?

It just has to be multiple personalities.

Semi-Wordless Wednesday

Her 1st Four Letter Word

I had NO idea this would come out of her mouth at such an early age, but (I'm ashamed to admit it) I only have myself to blame.

I'm the one who repeatedly said it in front of her. I said it when I was exasperated, mad, confused -- any little event was an excuse for it to fly out of my mouth! My father-in-law heard me once and warned that the Little Lady was going to pick it up. Foolishly, I laughed his comment off. I wish I'd realized her tiny ears really were paying attention.

Now, I can't get her to stop -- the Little Lady says it ALL TIME! We even had an episode of her obscenity yesterday in church. In CHURCH! I was so embarrassed. But, when she saw her Cheerios all over the speckled white and gray linoleum floor, she just couldn't stop saying it, her squeaky voice getting louder and louder each time:

"Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh!"

Yes, "our" new favorite word is "uh-oh," and I regret that I ever used that word in front of her. (Sigh) At first it was cute, watching her little rose-bud mouth contorting to mimic our older, fuller lips as we tried to show her how to say it.

"UH-OH. See Mommy do it? UH-OH. Can you say it? UH-OH."

Now, she has Uh-Oh OCD. If she voices it once, you can bet she'll repeat it at least 20 times before she's fully satisfied. Even now, as I type this, she's saying it over and over because I tossed a pen on the desk. She thinks it fell. I've told her "No, it's ok. It didn't fall -- Mommy put it there. Mommy wants it there."

"Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh!"

She doesn't believe me.

The uh-oh phase is driving me NUTS! Over and Over and Over and Over, it trickles out of her mouth, bouncing off of toys, off the table, off the computer and into my brain.

"Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh! Uh-oh!"

Mommy sooooooo needs a Dr. Pepper.

Aww -- Shucks.

Hooray for surprises! I logged in yesterday morning, low and behold, this blog has been given several awards!

First:
Petra, author of The Wise Young Mommy, and Elaine, author of Commotion from the Ocean of Life, both sent the Brillante Weblog award my way. I'm very honored as this is the 2nd (& 3rd) time I've received this. Thanks ladies!

Normally, this award is to be passed along to 5-6 other blogs, but this time I'm just passing it on to one: Elizabeth at Parenting Pink. I discovered this blog yesterday and she DEFINITELY needs this award. Not only does the maintain her Parenting Pink blog, but she also runs the Parenting Pink website, which is devoted to helping moms of girls raise strong young women!

Next:

Amy from Thoughts From the Mrs. gave me this lovely blog bling --

Thank you so very much!!! I'm honored, Mrs. Amy! I will be passing this along to a few blogs;

For those that receive it, the rules are simple:

1. The winner can put the logo on his/her blog.

2. Link the person you received your award from.

3. Nominate up to 7 other blogs.

4. Put links of those blogs on yours.

5. Leave a message on the blogs of the people you’ve nominated

I'm passing this on to the following bloggers:

A Daily Dose of Toni
A Day to Share with Tammy
What's That Smell

Just Add Laughter

Next:

The "Kick 'A' Blogger" award.

While the name surprised me a bit, I'm glad to know that someone enjoys what's going on over here. Thank you, Mama of Romance, for my newest blog award. The award originated on Mamma Dawg's site. According to her, this award is for bloggers that

"[have] incredible, original content . . . [are] overflowing with creativity. . .someone that helps [others] become better blogger[s] . . . a bloggy friend [that can be] counted on . . .someone who simply inspires you to be a better person... or someone else who sends you to the floor, laughing."

That's quite a range of descriptions! And now for the people to whom I am passing this award (and, ladies, please visit Mama Dawg's site for the instructions and the original award graphic):

Jennifer at Happily Ever After Land

Kelly at The Neurotic Mom

My sister, Hannah, at THAT Girl

Jenni at Jiggity Jigg

Jaime at Just Add Laughter

Michelle at Mommy Confessions

Each of these ladies have distinct perspectives and personalities, as their blogs clearly show.

Visit them and you'll soon agree!

It's Raining, It's Pouring, This Ol' Mom Is Meming

I know, I know -- the title doesn't rhyme, doesn't make sense, and is just, overall, ridiculously stupid. But that's all I've got 'cause Mama's got a headache that only caffeine can fix.

And. We're. Out. Of. cOfFeE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But, that's not the point of this post; I've been tagged, by Jessica, for a MEME! It's my first and I wasn't really sure what the heck a Meme is. Thankfully, Wikipedia did and proved that it is not, as I originally believed, a made-up blogging word. It's real -- a theory on how ideas, concepts, old wives' tales, etc. are passed in culture I feel smart now. Smart with a headache.

Oy ve.

Anyway, here are my responses to Jessica's Meme, "Six Random Things About Myself:"

(1) I don't have a favorite color -- I'm indecisive like that.


(2) When I was still teaching, I ROCKED "Nerd Day." Best day of the entire year.


(3) It takes an average of 2 hours to straighten my mane. 2 hours. I live in Houston. Straightened mane lasts 1 hour. Totally worth it.


(4) I'm self-conscious 99% of the time -- so much so that I avoid crowds, meeting new people, and parties. I'm self-conscious about talking, interacting, and how I look. But, I'm not self-conscious about my eyes -- I like them.

(5) I'm a nerd. Plain and simple. I'm a nerd about everything: I love computers, love documentaries, and I REALLY love reading. In fact, when I was a kid, I would get GROUNDED from reading. It was horribly traumatizing; I couldn't even read the back of the cereal box. Harsh.

(6) The sounds produced by the act of eating GROSS ME OUT! I don't care who you are, if I can hear you chew, swallow, slurp, sip, bite, then I temporarily don't like you. Sorry. Sometimes, this means I don't like myself. Yeah -- I have amazing hearing.

NOW on to tagging others for this Meme:

HANNAH (That Girl)

(mainly because I wanna know if there's anything I DON'T know about my sister).

Tricia (Life With My Boys)

Kelly (The Neurotic Mom)

Lindsay (Our Life in a Nutshell)

Amy (Thoughts From The Mrs.)

Dawn (Life's Little Miracles)

The Rules:

1. Link to the person who tagged you

2. Post the rules to your blog

3. Write 6 random things about myself

4. Tag 6 people at the end of your post and link to them

5. Let each person you have tagged know by leaving a comment on their blog.

6. Let the tagger know when your entry is posted.

HAVE FUN! :)

Just Because I Want to WIN

If you're a mom blogger, you've probably been around the new site, MomDot.com. They recently launched their site and forum with a contest bonanza. There are sooo many contests going on over there. Of course, with my luck, I haven't won anything . . . YET!

I'm vying for this bag. It's GORGEOUS, but then I'm a sucker for purses. The purse was created by Suzann at Simply Suzann. Check out her site -- she has such cute purses & bags.

Wish me luck!!! I haven't had a decent new purse in YEARS!

Getting My "New Thang" Groove On

I know you've been wondering what new thing I decided to try; come on, admit it! The question has been gnawing at the back of your mind for days . . . "I have to know what that crazy mama is going to do! How is she going to revolutionize her life? Oh! For the love of all that is good and holy, I must know!!!!!!!"

Ok, maybe you haven't been thinking that. Maybe you forgot all about my little decision (thank you TV commercial) to bring something new into my life.

Well, I didn't.

Thanks to Denise at Run, DMT, I decided to make RUNNING my new thang. Yes, I said running -- as in the act of smoothly and quickly putting one foot in front of the other for the purpose of covering any distance in a small amount of time. (definition provided by moi, thank you very much!)

Now, if my family is reading this blog, I'm sure they are laughing and chortling through their coffee, Dr. Pepper, sweet tea, and Pepsi. Well, laugh away, dear ones. Laugh away.

I'm doing this.

So what if I'm not coordinated or graceful or athletic or in shape? So what if I've stubbed my big right toe twice so far doing this? So what if my running style will never be likened to that of the graceful gazelle? I'm running.

Ok, maybe it's not quite running . . .yet. But it will get there. It's definitely a fast(ish) walk. Sometimes, it's even a jog!! I'm serious, it is! (Oh, but I DO look like the girl in this picture when I walk jog run!)

I even have a running playlist to motivate my legs to move (I stole that idea from Denise too).

So, there it is. I'm officially a quasi-runner. Maybe someday I'll be promoted. When that day comes, I'll celebrate with an ice-cream sundae. With whipped cream. And a cherry. Two cherries.

Definitely runner's food.

A Week in Review

My one goal this week was to get back into a spiritual routine: pray, read my Bible, and meditate. While I was teaching, I really let my daily time with God sit on the back burner. I was so caught up with lesson planning, grading, teaching, and my students lives (not to mention life at home: new baby, cooking, cleaning, etc.) that I would put reading/prayer off till "later." It didn't take long for that "later" approach to become "never." They say it takes 21 days for something to become a habit; I didn't keep track but I know that it didn't take long for me to lose my habit.

The realization that an important part of my life was no longer an important part of my life hit a couple of weeks ago. The summer was winding down -- we were through travelling, through celebrating the Little Lady's birthday. . . basically, through with all of the chaotic excitement that was June. And, I couldn't find my Bible -- I had absolutely no clue where it was and I couldn't even remember the last time I had seen it! I ticked off possible locations from my mental list: no, I didn't leave it in Bermuda because I didn't take it; no, I didn't leave it in Oklahoma, because I didn't take it; no, I didn't leave it in Medina because I didn't take it; no, it can't be at church because I haven't been taking it . . . .

Anyone see the obvious pattern?

My husband discovered it in the back of the car, where it had been thrown up on the rear-window ledge. I don't remember putting it there, yet it had to be me; I was the only one who ever sat in the back seat with the Little Lady.

And, that's where I had relegated God -- to the backseat of my life. I went to church, but I really didn't engage in the services. I prayed, ever so casually, little one liners throughout my day, but I really didn't communicate with Him.

I had become one of those Christians talked about in Paul's scathing letters to 1st century churches.

Monday was my revival day, so to speak. I was the only one in my house who attended, but that's as it should be. I didn't need the Little Lady there and I didn't need the Hubby there. This was between me and God; this was my time to come before Him, alone -- without distractions.

I'm now on day 4 of my 21-day habit forming mission, and I'm enjoying it. It's not easy -- I have to remind myself each day to focus on praying, listening, reading. I have to remind myself each day to thank my Creator, to praise Him, to acknowledge Him. Wow, seeing those words makes me so sad; I can't believe that I let myself get to the point of needing "reminders." But, it won't be this way for long. Each day, it becomes more automatic, more habitual, to spend quiet time with Him. It becomes more automatic to pray through out the day. And, it becomes more habitual to share Him with my daughter, teaching the Little Lady about the fabulous, magnificent God who placed her in my life.

Today, we prayed together and she said "Amen."

She's learning to talk to God -- and if that's the only thing she's learned this week, I'm satisfied.

Photo-story Friday: The True Story About The Little Lady's Daddy

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

There once was a West Texas Boy, a single, un-married and un-attached boy. The poor thing, without mother or girlfriend nearby, soon began to look like this:

Yes, he looked like that! Sad isn't it? Well, this un-married and un-attached Boy met a girl woman -- a classy, put-together, working woman. They soon got married, because, despite the looks of this picture, the Boy was really a very sweet and wonderful boy who had the makings of being a sweet and wonderful Man.

But, he stayed a Boy a little while longer, because that's what most boys do when they're Newlyweds:

Then, something changed. The Married Boy became a Little Lady's Daddy:

And, over the next year, the classy, put-together, working woman (the Mommy, by the way) watched the Boy become a sweet and wonderful Man.

After being a Daddy for 14 months, the Mommy realized that her Boy-turned-Man was the perfect Daddy for their Little Lady. How did the Mommy recognize this? She watched him, during the course of one ordinary August day. And during that day, she saw him do little, ordinary, every-day things for his Little Lady

He let the Little Lady sweet talk him out of his sweet tea & he didn't complain about sharing.

Instead of sleeping on the couch or watching internationally televised sporting events, he let the Little Lady (and her Mommy) talk him into setting up a splash pool:

During her splash pool time, when the Little Lady was frightened by the water splashing in her face, the Daddy came to the rescue:

Yes, he came to the rescue and got in the splash pool -- just so he could could dance & be silly with his Little Lady.

Why was this Boy-turned Man-turned Daddy willing to do all of these silly things?

Because, ultimately, more than food, sports, and being silly, the Daddy loved this smile:

And . . .this smile:

And, that's the story of how one Mommy realized her Little Lady had the Perfect Daddy.

Rachel Has Left The Blog

Visit The Neurotic Mom! Kelly asked me to be a part of the Neurotic team and I'm posting there today!

My Husband, Killer of Rats

Even after nearly 5 years of marriage, I am STILL amazed by what impresses a man.

Today's example: my husband came in from the detached garage, eyes excitedly dancing, bursting with his news: he had found 5 rats in our garage and managed to kill one with his machete.

WHAT????????????????????????????

First of all, why did he tell me that there are rodents on our property? He knows that I absolutely hate mice, rats, opossums, etc. I am soooo scared of them. I can handle bugs, even lizards (somewhat), but NOT mice/rats. Those creatures freak me out! I DON'T WANT TO KNOW THAT THEY ARE PRESENT.

I had a hard time today, when the Little Lady and I went grocery shopping, going into the garage. I sang, remotely honked the car horn, made all KINDS of racket, hoping my mish-mash of chaotic noise would keep any beady eyed vermin away. I wanted to run to the car, but, you know, that plan really doesn't work well when you are carrying a toddler that has to be strapped in. Ugh -- I was scared the whole time I stood buckling her in. I just KNEW that one of those nasty things was going to run across my foot.

Second -- what made him think that I wanted to know the details of his attack??? I don't want to know about them! PERIOD! I don't care if they're dead or alive -- don't tell me anything!!!!! Let me continue my world of make-believe, where no one has ever heard the word "rat."

Of course, I offended him by telling him all of this; he couldn't believe that I didn't want to hear of his adventure, that I didn't want to absorb every little gory detail of the ONE rat he managed to kill. (sorry, honey, but I don't really care that I offended you -- there are just some things I DON'T WANT TO KNOW!!!)

Then, that BOY had the nerve to ask if I wanted to go BACK with him for "Hubby v. Rats, Round II." Me?????? ME???????? Are you seriously asking ME THIS?????

And, again, I offended him by refusing to go out there.

Big baby.

Semi-Wordless Wednesday

Who says being scared isn't funny?

Today's picture is of my adorable, absolutely terrified nephew when he was around 3. Poor kid -- he LOVED to be scared; one of my sisters hid in the hallway, waiting for innocent Isaak to come along, and snapped this pic at the PERFECT moment!!!!!

After four years of seeing this picture, it STILL makes me laugh!

Yesterday, Isaak turned the big 7 -- only, as of last night, he didn't feel 7. Not yet. Of course, Gramie hadn't made it home with his birthday cake yet. Birthday cake fixes everything, including how old you feel.

Let's hope that this December a birthday cake makes a certain curly-haired Mommy feel 22, because I certainly don't want to feel 30!!!

Happy Birthday, Isaak!

Oooo! Quick Addition: my dad just sent in this pic of the Birthday Boy, playing "Chop Sticks" at his summer camp Talent Show last week!! Just like his aunt, he's of the mind that sticking your tongue out helps you play better. :)

I've Been Burned

I joined Feedburner last week. I know, I know -- I follow the trends as they are placed before me. What can I say? I'm weak like that.

But, much like Twitter a few weeks ago, it leaves me in a state of befuddlement. I understand how it works: people subscribe to me. Seems easy enough.

Then, how did I go from having 3 Glorious Subscribers on Sunday to ZERO on Monday? Did my 3 Glorious Subscribers suddenly get ticked off at me and cancel their free subscription? Did my change from cute green shoes to (one) slightly sexy green shoe offend their sense of decorum?????

To my 3 Glorious Subscribers: my most heartfelt apologies are extended your way. Please return. I don't like feeling like a Feedburner Loser everytime I check stats and see the great big ZERO by the word "subscribers."

The Tale of The Battle That Was Lost

(The Little Lady in her new car seat: that's right, folks, she's FINALLY big enough to be out of the infant carrier)

Have you seen the You-Tube classic, "Mom My Ride?" It's a hilarious spoof where a mom's brand new minivan is given the "Mom" treatment: spilled milk, scattered crumbs, stickers on the windows, coke in the stereo system, and a few nice dents in the side provided by a soccer ball.

Well, I thought it was hilarious. . . then it happened to me.

During our first year as parents, we managed to keep the car from looking like the stereotypical family vehicle. It didn't smell like stale fries, no children's cd was playing on a loop, and certainly no bumper stickers were bragging about our Baby Einstein on the back. No -- we proudly kept ourselves free of all that. WE were going to be different. WE were going to stay adults and drive an adult car. WE were not going to let a munchkin control "how we roll."

Yeah, Munchkins are smarter than I realized and capable of brilliant tactics and strategy. Seriously, my daughter may grow up to be a 5-Star General.

It started on Friday; the Little Lady (all of 14 months) recently decided that riding quietly in the backseat was no longer her cup of tea. Instead of our sweet quiet rides of yore, she now would transform into a howler monkey once the car seat straps were snapped in place.

After a few days of this, I broke down Friday and allowed multiple toys to be put in the backseat: her Glow-worm, two babies, a ball, a balloon, a blankie, and her Fisher Price Animal Sounds toy. It looked like Toys-R-Us had exploded all over the smooth black leather seats. All of that commercial fun was just waiting for the Little Lady. But she was not impressed. The Howler Monkey returned after just a few moments of casual play. Deafening screams and growls ricocheted off the windows. Oh, she was good.

Music was my next defensive move; I purchased two (gasp) children's CDs. TWO! Soon, a chorus of happy-go-lucky children were telling flies to "Shoo, Fly, Shoo," proclaiming "The Bear Went Over the Mountain," and bragging about knowing "John Jacob Jingle Heimer Schmidt." (By the way, WHO the heck is that guy and why is he so cool to know????)

My plan worked -- the Little Lady returned to her sweet self and simply kicked her feet in time to the music. I remember smiling, full of pride, right before I looked back at her in the rear view mirror. She was smiling too -- as she turned her bottle upside down and shook out pearly white drops of milk, gleefully watching the drops turn into rivers that cascaded down to the floorboard.

And just that quickly, the battle was over. As the day progressed, the Houston sun beating down, my car began to smell of rotting milk, happy annoying children continued to sing, and my daughter threw toys around. My car had been "mom'ed."

Mom My Ride -- the video!

Awww -- I Was a Hero(ine) Once.

My sister had a flashback today. Fortunately, I saved her. I rock (well, I did)

Who's Got Your Back?

My deep, dark secret at that time, when I was all of 12 years old: I had NOT had any 1st Aid training.

My great heimlich manuever probably came from watching TV. Probably Murder, She Wrote. And, probably, it wasn't even a real, honest-to-goodness heimlich. I probably (anyone tired of repetition yet?) just punched her in the stomach.

Television saves lives.

Can You Hear My Contented Sigh?

The Little Lady must have felt her Type-A Mommy's body tightening from blogger's tension, because (bless her little heart) she decided to take TWO naps today.

What's so great about two naps?

Those two naps allowed me to get completely caught up on comment returning/blog visiting!!! The Little Lady ROCKS . . . as does everyone who commented on my previous "freak-out post." THANK YOU for your comments -- I really appreciated all of the encouragement. It's a relief to know that the whole blog world won't collapse if Little-Ol-Me can't keep up. :)

During the Little Lady's naptime (which sounds like it is about to end) I also played around with my layout and came up with something new (thanks to Simply Fabulous Designs). But, since I'm "wonderfully" indecisive, I can't decide if I like the new layout or the old layout better.

So, I ask for help:

which do you prefer -- the new layout that's here now

OR my OLD LAYOUT?

A Sorry Blogger I Am

How in the world do all of you make time for blogging? I'm finding myself sinking in a swirling mass of forums, stats, discovering new blogs, readers, card droppers, feed burner, tweets, and my own blog posts.

How's a girl supposed to keep up???

Currently, I am FOUR DAYS BEHIND in returning comments. FOUR DAYS! And, there are forums that I haven't checked in days or weeks, as the case may be. I feel like there's something I missing, something I don't know, or something I am just not doing correctly. I feel as though I'm in slow motion while everyone else is speed racing around me.

Surely there is an easier way to be involved in the blog world. Should I keep a schedule? Should I write all of my posts for the week at once and then spend the rest of the week returning comments and participating in forums? Should I do what I'm doing now -- stay up past midnight just to attempt getting caught up on Entrecard??

I've seen so many successful, popular bloggers (some of whom are very, very new to this) and they don't seem to have a single problem posting each day, returning comments, attracting new readers, and having fun. What is it you gals are doing? I need tips!!!

I guess it's a good thing that there are not a ton of people stopping by or I might never have the chance to get caught up!

The Unthinkable Happened Yesterday

I had hoped our family would avoid the tragedy that occured yesterday -- that we would be spared. Over the past year, I've tried my best to dodge any situation that would result in such a harrowing experience. But, it seems my efforts were in vain.

Of course, looking back, I can see it was only a matter of time; I should have realized we couldn't avoid it forever; I just wish that, at the very least, it could have been post-poned. I wasn't ready for this. I'm still not ready.


Yesterday morning, the Little Lady fell in love.


With Elmo.



And, Mommy can't STAND Elmo . . . or his creepy voice! But the Little Lady doesn't care what Mommy thinks.

The attraction was instantaneous. She was standing next to our coffee table, playing with her "lap top," barely registering the noise emanating from the TV as I flipped through the channels. Out of deference to the fact I have a child, I paused on PBS, thinking that I would be a good mommy and have some good old fashioned children's programing (instead of my usual fare of Murder, She Wrote and Monk). BIG MISTAKE.

"Elmo likes to ride. . .Elmo likes to ride . . . Elmo likes to ride. . . Riding in the Park!" A United Nations Children's Choir swayed behind the shaggy red monster, singing in their wavering innocent voices. Elmo too was swaying, as he rode through a computer animated park -- black & white eyes bugging out and his mouth wide open in what I can only assume is meant to be a smile. Creepy smile.

The Little Lady froze when she heard the song. Then, like one of the possessed children singing, she too began swaying, be-bopping along to the chorus. A frenzied fire began burning in her eyes and the loudest squeal she has ever made streamed from her mouth! With a wide grin, she began to speed up her dancing, making wild, erratic movements with her legs, arms, and booty. Oh yes, she was booty dancing.

If I was a really good Mommy Blogger, I would have grabbed the camera, but I wanted no preserved memory of this bloodcurdling escapade.

The only thing that would have made the situation worse was if it had been Winnie the Pooh. I loathe Mr. Pooh . . . but that's a whole other story.

Photostory Friday: Edouard and The Little Lady

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Our first tropical storm of the season landed this week. The local weather personnel were all in a dithering state of busyness preparing all of Houston for what might become of Edouard's visit. Each news station was declared "Hurricane Central" and vowed to be with us every step of the way. After our experience with Lady Rita, no one wanted to take T.S. Edouard lightly.

Then, he arrived, quietly and without too much fuss. It began raining early in the morning -- fluctuating from soft, gentle drops to fat, round water bombs that plummeted our sidewalk. It was the perfect day for sleeping in.

But, we didn't sleep. The Little Lady awoke to the sound of thunder overhead. Since this was only her 2nd rainstorm of the summer (it's been unusually dry here), she wasn't quite sure what was going on. While eating her oatmeal, she kept pausing between bites, her mouth shaped in a perfect "O" as she heard the unfamiliar racket clattering on our roof. After breakfast, I opened the door to show her the water streaming from the sky.

She loved it.

Each drop and pattering sound amazed and excited her, while the scent of rain-washed grass reminded her mama of a long ago childhood spent on a farm. We sat for nearly thirty minutes, faded red door flung wide open, to greet Edouard. Pointing to the sky, the Little Lady "Ooooh'd" and "Ahhh'd" and said "Wow" nearly a thousand times. She truly was experiencing rain as only a child can -- with pure, joyful amazement at God's creation.

I haven't seen rain in that way in a very long time. More often than not, I'm frustrated or bothered by rain -- it upsets plans, ruins my hair, and makes Houston traffic all the more ridiculously dangerous.

Thanks to The Little Lady, I was able to see the rain through her eyes and see it for what it really is: proof of God's wonder.

Am I a Great Photographer? I think NOT!!!

My daughter's cute. Yes, I said it. She is -- and, to be honest, it could be argued that there isn't a single little one-year-old-going-on-twenty who is cuter. She's just freaking adorable.

(This untouched pic is already 6 months old -- I think I'll go cry now)

Because of her overwhelming cute factor (and the fact that's she's our 1st child and we're amazed by every little single thing she does), I take a lot of pictures of her. Wait, that's an understatement. I take TONS of pics (although, even that doesn't fully express how many pics I take of The Little Lady). She became quite accustomed to the blinding flash of a moment frozen in time on her very first day in the world. When we came home from the hospital with her, after signing all of the adoption papers, we (me and all the family members with cameras) began downloading our digital images. THERE WERE NEARLY A THOUSAND PICTURES taken over a 4 days.

Yeah, we're sad.

But, the real point of this post is to share what camera and editing programs I use. I'm flattered that people are asking for questions and tips. But, dear readers, it also makes me feel like a fraud. You see, in reality I take crappy pictures.

Really, I'm not a good photographer, even with such a cute daughter. Thankfully, I have learned the trick behind a great looking picture: EDIT, EDIT, EDIT!!!!!!!!!!

I've had several people leave comments or email requesting this info. Here, in my
1st Blog Q&A

(I feel so official), I am answering those questions!

Question from Tammy: What software do you use with your pictures? The colors are so vivid. Hint Hint...I could use tips.

Answer from Rachel: Currently, thanks to my ghetto fabulous computer that refuses to run any photo editing software, I am using an online editor - - and I LOVE IT! It's called Picnik; I discovered it on OhMommy's blog. It truly is fabulous and it's FREE!!!!

(Same photo, tweaked on Picnik.)

It has great and easy to use features which allow you to crop, play with color/exposure, etc. You can also add text, frames, additional graphics, vignettes, and so on. I also used this site to make all of the buttons/labels on my page.

I've also learned, through a year of snapping photos of the Little Lady, that natural lighting produces the best pictures. When I set up her monthly "photo shoot," I always take them outdoors. The colors are great, the detail is better, and the lighting/shadows are beautiful.

Question from Mekhismom (Cutie Booty Cakes): I am in the market for a new camera, what type do you use? If it is some professional type of camera you can just forget I asked!

Answer from Rachel: My current camera is relatively new and I'm still learning how to use it. Hubby bought it online in April. I believe it was around $200, which was more than I intended to spend on a camera but I wasn't the one doing the shopping. The camera was a "surprise."

It is a Canon Power Shot A720 IS. It has great zooming and facial recognition. There are tons of settings that I still haven't learned to use. Basically, it's a great camera for the amateur photographer/mommy.

And, that ends The Great 1st Q&A Session of Following In Her Shoes. I would say tune in next time for . . ."fill in the blank," but that would be a bit presumptuous of me. I may never again have an opportunity to act like I know something! ;)

Blog the Recession

Because I'm a "follower" in the bloggy world and because I check my stats/comments ALL THE TIME, I present "Blog the Recession."

The premise is simple: help your fellow bloggers through our current economic situation (Like What's That Smell, I have to ask are we really in a recession? As my finance major husband would say, "that's debatable". . . but, I digress).

Blogger Kristen, of Motherhood Uncensored (by the way, emphasis on the "uncensored" part) is the originator of this concept:

The premise is simple. If you read blogs, then for the month of August,
make the “pledge” to click through from your feed reader. No obligation to leave a hilarious comment or send a long stalkerish email (although both, within reason, are always lovely). Just click through to the blog (not on ads unless you are so led) and if you’re feeling generous, click around to their older posts.
Just those extra page views can make a big difference for bloggers who could really use the help, or in my case, where page views don’t matter so much, a big fat ego boost.

That's it. So, as you spend your child's naptime, coffee in hand, browsing throught the lives of others (Or, is that just me???), use your feed reader, links, blogroll, twitter, entrecard, etc., to visit some blogs!

This helps in two ways -- (1) people who have monetized or set up ads will recieve funds based on the extra page views, and (2) people like me who have not monetized will get a big ol' "ego boost" from all of the people who stop by to visit.

But, wait! There's more!!!!

Kristen is giving away GREAT prizes for all who participate (that 3-in-1 Carseat is MINE -- just sayin'). Click on her link or the image above to get started!

Semi-Wordless Wednesday

Everyone has a different perspective.

Who Knew a One-Year Old Can Have Fashion Sense?

I've definitely raised the Little Lady to be a girly-girl.

Thanks to her Neena and Gramie, who have kept her supplied with baby dolls, frou-frou clothing, and tights, this little girl knows how to look good. In fact, pretty is one of her favorite words! It did not take long at all for her to understand and use that word. After she started walking and was protesting the conformity of shoes, if we told her that her shoes were "pretty" and that she was a "pretty girl," she would grin and point down, showing off those pretty shoes and leaving them on her fat feet.

Now, she absolutely adores shoes and wants to wear them all the time. The Little Lady even wants her Mommy and Daddy to wear their shoes, as she proves by constantly bringing our shoes to the correct owner. Of course, there really is a hidden agenda behind this act -- she knows that when we put our shoes on it means we're going outside. She likes to help us out with this since it means she can go see the puppies.

Since I've transformed into a "stay at home mom," my daily appearance has changed as well. I no longer worry about flawless make-up, carefully ironed clothing, or glossy curls. Whereas I used to shower every morning, these days I'm lucky to even wash my face! It's so sad and so far from where I used to be.

Yesterday, apparently the Little Lady decided I had dressed down long enough. Personally, I don't think my appearance was utterly atrocious, but it probably would have warranted a visit from Stacy and Clinton had anyone secretly video-taped me. You see, I was wearing (gasp) one of my husband's old t-shirts!

I admit, I probably raid his side of the closet more often than I should, but his shirts are comfortable and I don't have to worry about them. The Little Lady decides to smear blue-berries over all the world? No problem -- I'm wearing Daddy's shirt.

But, as I said, she'd had enough of this yesterday. I was trying to load the dishwasher when I heard her little hot pink sandals click-clacking toward me. Looking up, I saw her little arm holding out one of my silky dress shirts that she had confiscated from the folded laundry on the couch. I thanked her for it before throwing it back on the couch. Several times over the next few minutes, this scenario repeated itself. The Little Lady kept going back for it, intent on bringing it to me. Finally, trying to end the game I assumed she was playing, I placed it on the kitchen counter. That didn't end things. She kept pointing, looking back and forth from the shirt to me, and saying her catch-all phrase, "Hmm!"

"I'm trying to do the dishes! I can't play right now!!"

"Hmm?"

"What? What do you want me to do?"

"Hmm?" She was still pointing at that shirt

"Do you want me to put it on? Will that make you happy so I can finish?" So, right there in the kitchen, I took off Hubby's ratty Texas A&M baseball shirt and pulled the dressy sleeveless blouse over my tangled curls.

I threw my hands up. "Is that better."

The Little Lady nodded, turned around, and clickity-clacked off toward her dolls. Her work was finished.

I don't know whether to be impressed or depressed by what happened yesterday. My baby is embarrassed by what I wear!

The Commercial Said to "Try Something New"

I hate change and surprises. I am completely a "Type-A" person; I make lists (preferably color-coded and in Excel), research everything, and plan/organize in advance, all the while unable to fathom why the people around me don't do the same. Throw something at me at the last minute and I will freak out (definition of freak out: sigh, move around at dizzying speeds, sigh, slam drawers, sigh, ask rhetorical questions, and sigh some more).

Today, while trying not to cry as I chopped the strongest onion in the world, I heard a cereal commercial playing in the background. "Try something new" was the mantra, repeated over and over by people of varying ages and backgrounds. "Try something new."

Easier said than done if you're this curly-headed perfectionist!

I can't even remember the last time I tried something new -- I doubt anyone in my family could remember such a time in my life. I never try new foods at restaurants; I know what I like and I'm not going to chance being disappointed. I reread favorite books over and over; it doesn't matter that I already know the outcome of the plot. I just glanced at my bookshelf and there are at least 15 unread books glaring at me, spines uncreased and jackets collecting dust. Embarrassing sight for a former English teacher.

"Try something new."

As I threw the pungent onion into my crock pot, I wondered what new thing I would try if I were a "fly by the seat of my pants" gal. Sky-diving is out of the question, much to the chagrin of my husband, thanks to a horribly strong fear of heights. Scuba diving is also out of the question, again to my husband's disappointment, thanks to intense claustrophobia.

"Hmmm -- so nothing that involves diving."

"Try something new."

I was lost. I had absolutely no idea of what I would do, could do, should do. "Wait -- 'should' do? When did my brain go from would to should? I'm not committing to anything here!" My hand firmly placed the glass lid on the crock-plot. Case closed and sealed.

"Try something new. Try something new. Try something new. . . new . . . new. . .new."

I swear that I was momentarily stuck in the Twilight Zone. The commercial replayed several times -- the young and old voices swimming in my brain, all chanting that annoying catch phrase.

Ok, so if I did try something new, and I'm not saying I will, what would I try? I could employ What About Bob's method of baby steps, starting my adventurer's pilgrimage with the reading of a few dusty books. But, is that really trying something new?

The thought of googling "how to try something new" ran through my brain, but I'm afraid of what would pop up with that query.

I don't know what I would try, but I'm at least committed to finding something new. Simply "finding" something new doesn't require action -- it's just research, and I've already declared my affinity for that. Whether or not I actually try out the new things I uncover remains to be seen.

Huh?

So, The Little Lady is either a genius baby, deliberately choosing when to listen to me, or takes after her father (in which case, she is definitely choosing when NOT to listen to me).

This week, it seems as though nearly every other word out of my mouth has been "Don't." This word is usually followed by an invisible exclamation point, but I know that there are those who frown upon the overuse of this handy-dandy piece of punctuation, so I am leaving it off. Hope you're happy!!

"Don't eat that."

("That" usually is referring to the dog food; she's obsessed with it! Oops -- sorry for the arbitrary exclamation point.)

"Don't you touch that."

"Don't put your hand in that toilet"

"Don't pull my hair"

"Don't lift up my shirt."

(this one has variations: "Quit lifting up my shirt." "Quit undoing those buttons." "Would you mind taking your hand out of my bra?" I do not understand her fascination with what lies underneath my clothing -- she wasn't breast-fed, so it's not like she's remembering pleasanter times.)

Each time any "don't" phrase frustratedly escapes my lips, the Little Lady smiles, laughs, pretends to cry, or just flat out ignores me and continues to do whatever bad/dangerous thing she wants. Lately, her most popular retort is "Huh?" or "Hmm?", as though reminding me that "she's only one and can't understand a single word I say, so how can I expect this little innocent one year old to comply with my harsh directives." (sigh -- is this what it will be like the rest of her life?)

But here's where I think I've caught her in her own game (or, this is where her genius self takes over): she has randomly picked up four new "tricks" this week.

1. She appropriately (and very cutely, I might add) says "Wow!" whenever she is amazed.
2. She can show you the location of her mouth.
3. She can show you her pearly whites.
4. She tells herself "Good girl" as she goes down our stairs the way we've taught her.

Now, I have not worked on any of these new tricks with her. I didn't teach her when to say "wow;" I haven't shown her where her mouth or teeth are; and I haven't prompted her to say "good girl."

Do I have a genius baby on my hands? Possibly. Or, the Little Rat really is listening to me: when I tell her she's a good girl, when I talk about her new teeth, when I say "wow" over something she has done. . . . .

If the latter is the case, then the truth is staring me in the face. My one year old diva is just like her daddy -- only taking in whatever the heck she wants to and ignoring my nagging.

I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Photostory Friday: Mama Learns a Lesson

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

The day started like any other. The Little Lady woke up and that meant I had to get up (which I really did NOT want to do -- I love my bed!).

Breakfast time! I decided to break out the wonderfully delicious box of homemade Baked Apple Oatmeal. Since the Little Lady has THREE molars all coming in at once, she refused to do anything but stay on my hip. So, Super Mama, with only the use of her baby-free right hand, pushed the microwave button boiled the water & dumped gently poured the oatmeal into the bowl

Problem: it smelled like Apple-Cinnamon Thera-Flu. I absolutely HATE Thera-Flu.

Solution: add more cinnamon. After that, the overly pungent, "mediciney" apple aroma was gone. This was going to be good.

But, it wasn't.

Too bad I didn't know that cinnamon can irritate the skin, specifically The Little Lady's skin.

I felt HORRIBLE! Mommy guilt coursed through me; how could I have done this to my baby? Why didn't I know about the dangers of cinnamon? Who knew there was a seedy underworld to spices, where evil grains of torture are disguised as sweet smelling additives?????

Thankfully, her raisins soothed her injured feelings and all was right with her breakfast world.

As the day progressed, the irritation subsided and the Little Lady played as normal, even smiling for a few pictures. She had forgiven me.

Or, so I thought. Did you notice that her grin in the previous picture has just a hint of diabolical plotting behind it? Yeah, she got me back. Those raisins she ate at breakfast? She swallowed them whole, saving them for later. Those of you with kids know what I'm alluding to . . . but I didn't take pictures of THAT!

Later that evening, I admitted my mistake to the Hubby.

"What? You didn't know that cinnamon can burn?"

My husband, who has always claimed to know nothing about kids, apparently knew that one fact, as he very grandly and learnedly told me.

(Grrrrr. . .)

Twitter Update

THANKS to everyone who emailed, twittered, and commented, I have worked out all of the Twitter kinks (well, they were really my kinks . . . not Twitter's).

Still, I am not completely "twitterpated" over this application, but I'll try it for a little while longer!