Semi Wordless Wednesday

Her Future's So Bright,
She's Gotta Wear Shades.

THIS is how this works???

She's only 18 months.

A mere year and a half old.

But her young age that hasn't stopped the Little Lady from learning a very important life lesson: Grandparents will always give you what Mama won't.

Thanks to two bent rims, the Little Lady and I are still in Oklahoma with my parents. The first several days, the Little Lady would shyly smile and give good night kisses. . . and that was it. She was stuck to me -- I couldn't put her down, no one else (other from her favorite Auntie) could hold her, and NO ONE could hold her babies.

Now, the first thing she does in the morning is head to Papa's office, sweetly calling out his name. When she arrives, she gets to play with his pens, calculator, and books (all things that I was NEVER allowed to do, mind you).

Then, it is off to Gramie for grapes and sips of coffee. COFFEE! Are you kidding me? Since when does my mother give ANYONE (let alone a baby) some of her morning coffee?

Yesterday, every time I told the Little Lady "No," she went to find Gramie . . . taking her hand and dragging her to the food, drink, toy, rock (yes, rock), or some other random item that she "needed." And, each time, Gramie gave in to whatever my daughter wanted.

Even though she knew I had told the Little Lady "No!" Mom still would give in!

"I can't be expected to say no to her," she counters when I remind her I'd said no.

"Oh, you're making this so hard on me," my dad tells the Little Lady as she climbs up into his lap and begs for whatever it is she wants. That's all he says before HE gives in to the demands of his only granddaughter.


(the man even lets her double dip!!)


Sigh. . . if we ever make it back to Texas, the Little Lady is going to have a very, very, very rude awakening. 'Cause Mama has absolutely NO problem with the word "No."

How a Mole Got the Best of Me

subtitled: The One Where I Cried For My Mommy

If you need to know one thing about me it is this fact: I hate, loathe, despise, and abominate rodents.

All types.

All sizes.

Definitely the big ones.

ALL RODENTS are on my hate list, and, actually, they're the only things on my (imaginary) hate list.

Only a few days before Christmas, I showed my entire family how intense this hatred is . . . and how much of a Namby-Pamby I am. Which, incidentally, gave my sister, Hannah, the opportunity to teach the Little Lady how to say "Mama is a SISSYYYYYY!" (ugh -- you'd think the perks of big-sister-dom would still carry over into adulthood. She NEVER would have done that whenshe was a child)

It all took place this past Tuesday in my youngest sister's bedroom -- we are bunking with her during our stay with the family. I had gone into the room to change the Little Lady's diaper and clothes. As she laid in the floor, squirming and doing her little booty dance (as she does during each and every diaper change), I had no idea I was about to screaming harder than I had ever screamed before.

I lifted the Little Lady up from the floor and changed my own clothes for the day, leaving my jeans in a heap by the suitcase (keep this detail in mind for later).

At that VERY moment -- from underneath the bureau, mere inches from my feet and the spot where the Little Lady had been -- ran out a dark gray THING.

With the loft of a professional basketball player and the Little Lady still in my arms, I jumped over the toys, clothes, and suitcases onto the bed.

"MOM -- get IN here! I NEED YOU," I managed to yell amid the screams that were erupting from the back of my throat.

My mother, thinking that something tragic had happened to the Little Lady, ran into the room. Despite frantic breaths, I managed to let her know that my greatest fear, a small mouse, was in the room.

Without delay, my mother, a petite Amazon, pushed the heavy bureau from the wall, ready to kill the vermin. (and this is why I had screamed for HER instead of my husband)

But the Gray Shadow had disappeared. Completely gone.

At this point, my husband and two sisters entered the room. Amid fits of laughter, my husband helped mom look for my mouse.

I stayed on the bed. High above any possible mouse attack.

My sisters stood beside the bed. Not a good decision on their part.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. The Gray Shadow . . .darting here and there . . .in and out . . . of the jeans I had cast off earlier. MY JEANS!!!!

"There it is! There it is!"

At my exclamation, both sisters landed on the bed. Well, Hannah landed on the bed. Sarah out-screamed ME and jumped over the Little Lady to claim refuge.

Mom's answer to this information was to begin TAP-DANCING on my jeans!

Despite the shrieks of Sarah and the (now) hysterical Little Lady, Mom and my snickering Husband cornered the Gray Shadow.

Quickly grabbing the Little Lady's used diaper, my husband scooped up the Mouse. . . only to discover it was a Mole. That's right -- a mole. A blind animal. That should be outside. Not in my sister's room and NOT under my jeans.

And now, my husband makes fun of me. My sisters make fun of me (though they screamed just as much). My mom keeps sneaking up behind me an "goosing" me.

And the Little Lady has learned to say "Sisssyyyyyyy."

All because of a mole.

It's just a barrel of laughs over here.

Yep -- it's different (again)

I'm addicted to changing the look of my blog . . . in case you hadn't noticed.

I'm not really *trying* to keep the changes to a minimum -- maybe just once or twice a season.

(honestly -- if I had the time, I'd change it every week)

For several weeks, I contemplated what I wanted my "post-Christmas" blog to look like. I considered something modern and simple. I looked at layout with multiple-layers of papers and fabrics in the background. I even considered just going back to my semi-sexy shoe layout.

I thought about possible color schemes, debated the ol' Two Columns v. Three Columns argument, and wondered if I should just quit tweaking my layouts.

Then, I found the Woodland Elf graphics that you see before you, and visions of a dancing Elf-Baby (aka The Little Lady) began dancing before MY eyes.

Feverishly, I worked an entire day on the header and layout. Yes -- I wasted a complete day on this.

The result? I kind of like it and I kind of don't.

Likes:

The Colors - very bright and whimiscal
The Font I used for my Title

Dislikes:

It seems Busy.
The Elfin body below the The Little Lady's face
has the slightest hint of a BOSOM.

And that, my friends, is just something this Mommy is NOT ready to see. I want to keep the layout as long as possible, but I nearly can't stomach that womanly elf wearing my daughter's face.

Sigh -- especially since her rack is slightly better than mine.

More than just a LITTLE behind.

I must be the world's WORST blog award recipient. Why? Because I ALWAYS forget to announce them and pass them on. Sigh -- even though no one has given me a "You Suck" award . . . I do. :(

Here are several months (yes -- months) of awards that I have been fortunate to receive. (I also have a ton of MEME's to post . . . hopefully, I can get those done this week!)



Sheila at Ma Vie Folle gave me the Marie Antoinette Award.

Reneca and Kalisha, the two lovely ladies over at Mommy Lounge sent the "Fabulous" award! Woo hoo for MOI!!!

One of my new favorite bloggers, from Firefly-Shop, passed along an award that I had not previously seen: The Lemonade Award!

Jess of Nothing But Purple gave me the WONDER WOMAN award!!!!!!

Ohana Mama, a VERY busy blogger, gave me her "Aloha Award."

And, finally, Keely -- the genius behind The Un-Mom & A Letter to Xander -- sent me a BOATLOAD (well, she called it a "truckload") of awards"

In the Spirit of of our Holiday Season, I'm passing ALL of these on to each person who visits my blog. You have all provided such encouragement over the past few weeks -- you listened to my griping, my fears, my whining, and my tears. You've given me advice when it comes to my daughter's health; you've patted my virtual shoulder as I've continued to grieve the loss of our 1st child; and you've made me laugh with your comments and stories!!!!!

THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

BOTY: I Disgust Little Boys

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Preface: This final installment of my "Best of the Year" is not for the faint of heart. Seriously, if easily disgusted, you might want to move one. Consider yourself warned.

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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.

Originally published in August, 2008

BOTY: Can You Tell I Don't Drink Much Beer?

Preface: For my 3rd installment, you get to read about my poor attempt to cook a fabulous recipe. Why was it such a miserable time? 'Cause I don't got skillz.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

One of the perks of blogging is that you discover a ton of great recipes; there are soooo many bloggers that share their weekly menus, favorite dishes, or their own unique creations.

(I try to be one of them but I'm not really succeeding at it)

Today, I am making (it's still cooking and will be for the next 5 hours) Crock-Pot French Dip Sandwiches. I was over-the-moon excited when I found this recipe on Pennies In My Pocket. Seriously, aside from a homemade BLT, the French Dip is my favorite sandwich . . . greasy hands down.

This morning, after sleeping in till 10 (it was raining -- who's going to pass up an opportunity like that?), I scanned the ingredient list.

Roast -- CHECK (well, not the kind required but a roast is a roast, right?)
French Rolls -- NOPE
Beef Broth -- NOPE
French Onion Soup -- NOPE
Bottle of Beer -- NOPE . . . wait, CHECK

Yeah, there has been a bottle of beer sitting in our fridge for over a year thanks to a nameless someone who brought it as a "thanks for having me over to dinner" gift. Um -- thanks. That was a really good gift for us -- I can tell you know us well.

Anyway, I have a bottle of beer. "FAT TIRE" beer. Is that a good beer? I don't know, but it's certainly not one I've seen advertised. Is that a bad sign?

After a quick jaunt to the grocery store for the remaining items, I started making the dish.

Step 1: Open Broth (easy pull-top lid . . thank you, very much, Can Maker!)

Step 2: Open Soup (see above aside . . .and ditto)

Step 3: Open Beer

Step 4: Opening beer proving difficult; try twisting harder

Step 5: Stubborn beer lid/cap/whatever STILL ON! Get a little angry.

Step 6: Send desperate tweet out to twitter friends/beer drinkers. Beg for help.

Step 7: Misunderstand tweet from A Cowboy's Wife. BANG beer bottle against counter. HARD.

Step 8: Watch foam (or is it called "head") build inside the still closed bottle.

Step 9: Get worried about the foam and potential flying bits of glass hitting your eyeballs.

Step 10: Grab butter knife..

Step 11: Try to pry lid/cap/whatever open with said knife.

Step 12: RUN to the sink and hold bottle over as foam begins to escape from the bottle THAT STILL HAS ITS LID/CAP/WHATEVER ON!!!!!

Step 13: Silently curse the machine that created this child/light-weight proof lid/cap/whatever. Feel bad about cursing later.

Step 14: In last, desperate, teeth-grinding attempt, pry lid off and watch it fly across the sink.

Step 15: Watch foam splatter all over your daughter's high chair. Ignore the inappropriateness of that sight.

Step 16: Pour ridiculous beverage into the crock-pot and slam the cover on said crock-pot.

Step 17: Glare at beer bottle

Step 18: Pick it up harshly by the neck and throw it in the trash.

Step 19: Wish you had something to drink after such an experience.

I'll let you know if the $*#@)($* sandwiches are worth it!


Originally published: October, 2008

BOTY: Don't Drink the Water

Preface: In this 2nd installment of my "Best of the Year," I am bringing back the favorite post of Nina and Gramie, the Little Lady's grandmothers. . . its also a favorite of mine simply because it is one of the few times I actually got the upper hand. Sigh, I love those moments.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I don't understand the fascination, the obsession.

I've told her it's disgusting, dirty, unsanitary, and gross. I've twisted my lips, wrinkled my nose and narrowed my eyes hoping that would help to convey the nastiness. I have even physically tried to stop her. But, she just laughs and continues to gulp.

My daughter is a bath-water drinker.

Nevermind the remainder of dinner (green beans, cheese, or bread crumbs) and grass that is floating in the water -- she just drinks and drinks and drinks. Last night, it didn't matter how many cute and thrilling toys I placed in the tub with her. She took turns ignoring them completely or using them to funnel water to her mouth. When they got in her way, she just bent over and lapped like a little puppy.

Why doesn't she listen to me? I am a sage, wise beyond my twenty-something years; I have taken a thousand baths in my day, taken biology classes, and watched the Discovery channel: I KNOW WHAT'S IN THE BATHWATER!

I tried to distract her by getting down to the business of washing. But, she promptly grabbed the wash cloth (she's freakishly strong) and proceeded to suck and slurp every drop of water out of the brown terry-cloth. Nasty little thing.

What's a mommy to do? Was there nothing I could do to stop this revolting habit? Then it hit me -- BUBBLES! If the water is covered with an effervescent foam, she won't be able to drink it. I AM A GENIUS!

She ate the bubbles.

It was time to retaliate. Childish spite rose up within me -- I was going to show her who was boss! I popped open the shampoo lid and gleefully watched the look of fear enter her eyes.

I began to lather her hair, which she hates. I ignored the whimpers and sniffles. "I'm the mama," I bragged, "I can wash your hair if I want to!" Scrubbing the thin whisps of hair and rubbing her scalp clean, I showed her that I was in control. No more water drinking in this bathtub!

Then, just because I was in a mischievous mood, I decided to prove one last time and give her a new hair-style. Just because I could.

See that expression? Oh, yeah -- she knows who's boss.

I win.


Originally published July, 2008.

BOTY: She's Following In My Shoes

Preface: Here's the 1st installment of my "Best of the Year" posts (personal opinion, of course). This was my first public post just a few short, 6 months ago, and it explains the story behind the title of this humble, little blog.

**************************************

I've changed the title of my blog (again). The last change was to commemorate the fact that I was a new Mama. Well, the newness has worn off. I'm an old, tired, worn-out Mama these days (who isn't when you have a toddler?).

Today was a rough day as a SAHM. the Little Lady was still cranky and restless from her shots yesterday AND it was our first day, in over a month, without something to do or someone at our house. She had gotten used to having personal entertainement (via Gramie, Papa, Nina, Poppi, Auntie Sarah or Uncle Seth) and her Mama had gotten used to have a break (via the same people)! The absence of these fine folk made today very, very, very long: I didn't get a break and the Little Lady was stuck with just me.

Several times today I became very frustrated; the Little Lady and I just seemed to have a lot of problems communicating with each other. She would obviously want or need something, and, 9 times out of 10, I couldn't figure out what that thing was. This little girl is getting to the stage where she wants and tries to communicate with us -- and quickly gets very upset and frustrated when we can't figure out what she wants. Little temper tantrums are starting to flare (an occurrance I never expected, given her easy-going nature of the past).

But, there were also some hilarious moments. the Little Lady really has a funny personality and a definite sense of humor. She loves to play games, sing silly songs, make silly faces . . . it really is easy to tickle her funny bone. Her laughter is one of the most beautiful sounds in the world and infectious! Hubby and I find ourselves giggling right along with her everytime she starts to laugh.

The Little Lady has become a mimic. She tries to repeat nearly everything we say or do. It's amazing how much she picks up. We've noticed her mimicking our mannerisms, body language, sounds, etc. I never realized how much kids, as young as she is, really do learn from watching those around them.

For example, at one point today, I went to the kitchen, telling the Little Lady that I was going to get a drink. I heard her little voice calling after me, "Dink . . .dink," which was my signal that she wanted a drink too. A few seconds later, I heard a shuffled clunking noise. I turned back toward the living room and saw my precocious little girl trying to wear (and walk in) the shoes I'd left beside the couch.

That image of a daughter wearing her mother's shoes is iconic and, almost, cliche: the idea of dressing up like your mother, taking on her clothing, mannerisms, voice, and personality. And, today, I got to see my daughter in her first attempt at dressing like me.

She's only one year old but she is already learning everything about being a woman from me. I'm the example she's learning from every minute. And, the question that came to mind a few weeks ago surfaced again: am I being a good example to her? Am I truly, every moment, showing her what it is that I want her to learn? The answer: no.

Today, I showed her impatience, frustration, anger, low-self esteem, etc. I don't want these emotions to be the first lessons she memorizes. I don't want my little girl to ever repeat what I told my husband today: "I hate the way I look." Yet, that's a lesson she's on her way to learning because it's what I show her.

Being the mother of a daughter is a heavier burden than I ever realized. Coming from a household of girls, I thought girls were easy -- a piece of cake. I've always scoffed at people who say "girls are harder to raise," but now I'm not so sure that I disagree. I suppose it would have been an easy job if I had never realized that her big, blue eyes are watching my every move and her little ears are listening to every word. But, as it is, I learned my own lesson today: I'm her teacher, I haven't finished preparing my lesson plans, and class started a year ago.

All of this brings me back to the topic of this post: she's following in my shoes. I wanted to remember this day, to remember this "mothering epiphany." And, so, I changed my blog title -- to always remind me of a petite little diva who is following in my path.


Originally Published June, 2008.

Best of the Year

How in the WORLD are we already at the end of 2008. When I was a child, years crawled by, irritatingly slow in their pace. Now, it seems as though I breathe in at the start of a year and all of the sudden, before I can exhale that same air, I'm getting ready for Christmas and New Year's Day.

This year was a year of lifestyle and career changes, as well as one little change that became way too addicting. This was the year I really became a blogger.

If you've looked at my profile, you may have noticed the "blogging since" date of 2005. Well, I may have started this blog back then, but I certainly wasn't blogging. Not really.

Back then, I rarely posted -- months would go by without a single post. Heck, 2007 alone only had THIRTEEN posts for the entire YEAR!

I was too busy then, caught up in the business of being a newlywed . . . and then caught up in being a new teacher . . . and then caught up in being a new mom. During those early years, I was as successful at blogging as I was keeping a physical journal/diary. As a kid, diaries always seemed fun, exotic, and cool. But after a few weeks, the diary would be tossed under the bed, thrown into the closet, or stuffed into a drawer. If I found it again, I would hastily write an apologetic message, promising my "Dear Diary" to be better in this relationship.

As introverted as I am, I'm not a "write for my eyes only" kind of person. Blogging only became fun this summer, when I went public and started to understand the communal aspect of being a blogger. It was only as I started reading other blogs and making connections that I began to enjoy this old blog.

Now, I'm addicted. Really, really addicted.

For me, it's not about becoming "famous," having hundreds of subscribers or followers, or 100 comments per post. I love writing for an audience. I love knowing that others will read what I write and relate to it, laugh over it, and leave advice that this new mommy needs.

Of course, over the past few months, I haven't been the best reciprocating the comments. Since starting Blog Candy Designs, I've barely had time to post. I had no idea that designing would take away so much time from my favorite hobby; I miss getting to read my "old" favorites and stumbling across new blogs. I miss getting to know new bloggers!

I only have two resolutions for 2009.

(1) Lose 50 lbs by the time of my sister's wedding. It NEEDS to be done.

(2) Make time to be a "true" blogger again --one who actively participates in the community.

This week, I'm on a "Design" vacation! No work and all blogging is something I need!!! I'm going to do nothing but visit blogs -- those I discovered six months ago and new ones yet to be discovered.

Nothing but "visit" blogs??? But, silly Rachel -- aren't you going to post anything?

Ah, now, don't fret. I'm actually going to follow the trend of every magazine, Talk Soup, and every other countdown. I'm going to re-post several pieces from the past year -- my "Best of the Year" posts . . . . all based on personal opinion, of course!

Some will be from my early days as a public blogger, before very many people were following along. Of course, there will be posts to celebrate (or poke fun at) Hubby and the Little Lady. And, just maybe, there *might* be a couple of posts that really reveal the type of person I truly am. Maybe.

So, if you're around this week, Merry Christmas and have fun reading my "personal best!" I'll be around reading yours as well . . .cause I know y'all have your best out every day!

Game Master Wanna-Be

I didn't grow up with video games. We were a household of girls with a girlie mama -- we had baby dolls, tea sets, and dress-up clothes. But, I always wanted a Nintendo system. I'd watch my cousins, whenever we visited them, jumping and rolling through the original Super-Mario. Oh, how I wanted to save the Princess!!!!!!

I am still without a gaming system, but I have tried my hand at video games from time to time.

Bottom line?

I suck.

Really, I do.

I NEVER get past the 3rd level of Super Mario, if I even get that far. Even Duck Hunt, yes -- the game with the stupidly annoying, laughing dog, kicks my butt.

So why did I agree to review a video game? Me? The Most Incompetent Game Idiot ever? Me? Someone who has never reviewed anything???

I love "The Princess Bride."

That's right, my friends -- someone (ok, specifically "World Wide Biggies" and "Elephant Entertainment") made a computer video game on "The Princess Bride" movie.

INCONCEIVABLE!

(sorry -- I had to throw in at least one quote!)

I still don't know how this company found my information; to my knowledge, I haven't signed up on any review lists. But, hey -- I don't mind. "The Princess Bride" is one of my favorite movies and I have a nephew who loves computer games. Hmmm . . .I'm thinking I have one less gift to buy!! :)

Last night, sitting next to my husband for video gaming support, I opened the CD and installed the game.

Thankfully, it was easy, and before long Fred Savage's Grandpa was sitting before me, telling me about the challenge of this game. It was up to ME to work my way through the farm chores, the fire swamp, the battle of wits, and Miracle Max's house. If I succeeded, I would be able to storm the castle and bring true love back together.

The game is Rated "E," which I learned (from reading the back of the game) means it is suitable for everyone. "Woo hoo," I told my husband, "I may actually be able to win this one!"

The game started easily enough. I was faced with a series of chores, milking cows, feeding chickens, pulling flowers -- all while having to deal with the FREQUENT interruptions from Buttercup.

The Battle of Wits was a piece of cake -- I'm a genius, after all. Actually, the questions were very simple. The game would be good for elementary aged kids, as the questions centered around vocabulary, anagrams, and sentence endings.

It was the Fire Swamp that nearly did me in. Remember how I mentioned Super Mario gives me problems? Well, the Fire Swamp had many of the same challenges: jumping away from fire, killing creepy ROUS's, climbing vines, etc., etc., etc.

Even in the world of imaginary swamps, I have horrible reflexes and poor athletic ability. I had to give the game over to my husband. Seriously. He had to get us (by us, I mean Wesley and Buttercup) through the Fire Swamp. Sigh.

Eventually, I had wracked up the points and gathered the necessary items to storm the castle. WOO HOO -- the wedding was interrupted, Inigo got his revenge on the count, and Wesley verbally abused the weak Prince. Oh yeah -- Buttercup and Wesley were able to FINALLY hook up. (in the rated G sense, of course)

While this was a fun game for the "Grown Up Gamer" because of the movie scenes and quotes, it is definitely geared for little gamers. On the website, the designers highlight the fact that each "episode" helps teach a skill.

• Episode 1 – As You Wish Time / Click Management
• Episode 2 – Battle of Wits Inconceivable Trivia Challenge
• Episode 3 – The Fire SwampTeamwork Puzzle Platformer
• Episode 4 – Miracle Max Hidden Objects & Potion Mixing
• Episode 5 – Storming the CastleCollect & Assemble Inventory

The game is only $9.99, available at the World Biggies Store or at Best Buy. I'm very excited to give this to my Nephew. I'm totally going to be the favorite aunt this Christmas!!!

Chi-chi-chi-CHIA!!!

One side affect of my lovely case of insomnia is late night television. For hours and hours and hours, I am privy to the worst commercials and "paid-for-programming" that the Western Hemisphere has to offer;

Luckily, my husband doesn't stay up with me; if he did we'd have every exercise video currently out, every piece of Ronco equipment, and the Magic Bullet. Yeah, he's a little susceptible to televised advertising. . . which is why, in college, he purchase a series (125 CASSETTE TAPES) on "Speed Reading."

They brought in a whopping $1.25 at a garage sale a few years later. Great investment.

Last night, while it was still early (a mere 11:35 pm), I saw a series of Chia commercials. You know, Chia of the "CHIA PET???"


Seriously, the Chia pet is STILL around???? Now, I'll be the first to admit that I REALLY wanted one of these when I was a kid . . . back in the 1980s!!!!!!!!

Apparently, the Chia pet has progressed from the Ram, lamb, and Homer Simpson heads I remember. Now, you can get an entire herb garden. Or a Chia "Cat Grass" set -- "for the cat lover."

Ummmm -- yeah. Cat grass? On a Chia Pet?

I'm sooooooooo glad Hubby wasn't awake last night. I know he would be sneaking off to buy those.

He's weak like that.

(Only when it comes to the TV, though -- don't want any nasty internet rumors to get started)

Semi Wordless Wednesday

"But, you don't UNDERSTAND!
This IS a true emergency --
my hair has gone ROGUE!"

Something truly miraculous happened this week -- it turns out the Little Lady's hair can hold a PONYTAIL!!!! (insert the mommy-happy-dance here)

Do you know how long I've waiting for this moment?

As I fashioned her first ponytail, she squirmed as I pulled and twisted her tresses. "Ow! Ow! Ow," she said in her baby voice. "Too bad," I muttered through the rubber-band I was holding in my lips. "You'll get used to it."

Saturday was a happy, happy day. . . . until she pulled the ponytail out. The little Rat! Every time I turned around, she was reaching to the top of her head & looking for the bow and band. A stern look from me was all it took for her to sheepishly lower her hand. Oh, yes -- I've got that Mommy look DOWN!

Then, suddenly, I was distracted. It was such a brief moment but it was enough. Out came the ponytail. Unfortunately, she thoroughly succeeded in undoing the cute look and showing us her special talent. Her hair MAINTAINED the updo, albeit a sadder version of that shape.

Do you know how hard it is to keep this toddler looking adorable in public, especially now that I know what her hair is truly capable of? STRESSFUL!

The Green Light for Eggs & Bacon

Apparently, the Little Lady is too little. Wayyyyyy too little.

Since we brought her home from the hospital, people have always commented on her petite size; she was in premie clothing for the first 8 weeks and didn't really fit into 3-6 months clothing till she was 7 months old. Even now, at 18 months, she wears 6-12 months clothing.

On one hand, its been nice that her clothing lasts FOREVER, but I do get tired of the "good grief -- she is little!" comments.

Here she was, around 2-3 months old, sitting next to a friend who is about a month older. Do you SEE the size difference??? (And, before you ask -- that particular bow was NOT that big. I promise!)

It's still like this -- my daughter, now an active toddler, is still the smallest kid in the room. Today at her appointment, she stood next to a little boy as they played with a toy. That child was TALLER than her and he just turned 1. WHAT THE HECK????????


Of course, when she was smaller, she had horrible reflux and was lactose intolerant. She ate like a bird back then. I was happy when she would drink a full 4 ounces of her formula. Now that all that is passed, she eats all the time. This girl LOVES her food -- there hasn't been a single fruit, vegetable, protein, or carb that she has turned away.

But despite all of her eating and eating and eating, she has dropped off of her weight curve and is no longer considered in a normal weight range.

Sigh. Now I feel like a loser mom. I have the ridiculously skinny kid -- the one that is too skinny -- the one that might have to see ANOTHER specialist if she doesn't start gaining weight.

Her doctor was sweet about it, trying to make sure I didn't feel bad. She said that we basically had to feed the Little Lady a diet that we, as adults, would turn away . . . a diet of high fat, high protein. That's right, Hubby, your daughter has been given the go ahead to eat all of the bacon, sausage, eggs, and peanut butter she wants.

Of course, I completely freaked out in my head and headed for the grocery store after we left the appointment, trying to think of every high fat/high protein food I could.

How do you plan a high fat, high protein diet without resorting to "Spaghetti O's" and hot dogs???

HELP!!!!! Seriously, if ANYONE has had to deal with this or has sure fire idea, please send them my way.

(Mama needs a Dr. Pepper)

Not Moi

I did NOT cry about turning 30 and I did NOT realize how ridiculous I really am.

I did NOT make my husband take me to dinner on my birthday, even though he had already "officially" taken me on a birthday-dinner-date the previous weekend.

I did NOT go on that 2nd birthday date bra-less because I am NOT that tacky.

I did NOT make three trips to the Chinese buffet bar and I did NOT make my husband go for me (twice).

I did NOT tell my daughter "too bad" when she said "Oww" as I pulled and twisted her hair into her first pony-tail.

I did NOT get my big hiney stuck in the Church nursery's toddler club chair because I did NOT attempt to sit in it.

I did NOT eat my daughter's cheerios during church because I was NOT hungry.

And. . . I certainly did NOT punch my husband in my sleep when the Little Lady started crying in the middle of the night. I do NOT remember doing that.

PSF -- The Little Lady and the Mall Santa

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

We did it. The Little Lady and I went to the DMV. Just us and the stroller. Oh, and her Baby Leap-Frog.

She did beautifully -- read her books, sang along to the Leap-Frog, and only took her shoes off twice. It was a good day, until the DMV lady told me I couldn't keep my "20-something" license photo. Grrrrrrrrr. I'm not looking forward to getting this license in the mail.

But, I was prepared. I knew that I would be taking a bad pictures. Which is why, afterwards, it was off to the mall for a date with SANTA!!!! It was time for the Little Lady to have her own bad picture. Mwah ha ha!

It had been 3 hours since her last meal. 5 hours since her last nap. She had endured the crowds of the DMV and driving through Houston traffic.

I KNEW my daughter would be in a bad mood once we hit the mall -- perfectly primed for a screaming, ranting photograph. YAY!

I didn't count on the fact that the Little Lady is smart. Possibly smarter than her mother.

SHE DID PERFECTLY FINE WITH THAT BEARDED OLD MAN!!!!!!!!

What? WHAT? No red faced toddler? No streaming tears? No open mouthed, back of the throat showing scream?????

What kind of a Mommy-Petty-Moment is THIS?

She just sat there; she wasn't smiling but she wasn't upset. She just sat there, waving to everyone who passed by the Santa stand.

Sigh -- that's the last time I deliberately plan a bad picture for my daughter. Serves me right. I get a bad picture on my license for the next 8 years and she gets a (relatively) happy picture with Santa.

Anticipating the Unavoidable

Today is the day I get to experience my worst nightmare: visiting the DMV with an 18 month old Diva.

Oh yeah -- and it's my last "official" act as a 29 year old.

Yay for me.

I'm not sure where I'm supposed to go, not sure what I'm going to wear, and not sure how well behaved the Little Lady will be.

Will there be a tantrum?

Will there be spilled milk and soggy cheerios all over me?

Will she scream bloody murder when I can't hold her during the actual photo process?

(is it odd that I'm hearing a resounding "YES" to all of this questions?)

Scary times ahead, my friends. Definitely scary times ahead. Feel free to think of me today while you go about your normal day with your normal jobs, normal children, and normal (clean) hair and clothing.

I think to top it all off we'll go visit the Mall Santa. The Little Lady F-R-E-A-K-S out when new people hold her.

Hey, if I have to have a bad picture then so can she. I'm gonna make sure of that!

Semi Wordless Wednesday

With every holiday or special day, I become nostalgic thinking about how much the Little Lady has changed since the previous holiday.

This morning, as I get things ready for a home-made holiday photo shoot, I browsed through some of last year's Christmas tree pics. A few thoughts popped up:

1) GOOD GRIEF! Was she really that little just one year ago?

2) GOOD GRIEF!! Could I have made that bow any bigger?????

3) GOOD GRIEF!!! What did I do to cause that startled expression?

Bringing Sexy Back

That's right -- I'm talking about all things sexy today. So, get the Ricardo Montalban voice going in your head. What? You need to practice a bit first? Ok, say it with me . . . Carrrrrne Asada. No, no, more sexy like Ricardo. Carrrrrrrrrrrrne, carrrrrrrrrrne.. . .

Ok, ok - I'm done. Let's get back to my sexy post.

I bought something for the FIRST time yesterday. And, after the experience I had with it, I can't figure out why in the world I didn't make this purchase sooner in my life.

It took me awhile to find the perfect one -- I stared at the selection, trying and trying to find one not too big, not too small. It was like I was Goldilocks -- just a little less blonde and a little less naive. And, definitely not in a Bear's house.

Then, I spotted it -- one the shelf, seemingly winking under the garish store lights and seductively purring, "Come over and pick ME. That's right, baby -- I'm the one for YOU."

So, I did it. I reached out and grabbed it. Ready for a new experience.

And that luscious piece of Fennel did NOT disappoint.

Yes! I cooked with fennel last night! FENNEL! An exotic piece of vegetation that I've watched all the good Food Network stars use in their picture perfect, gourmet dishes. I couldn't believe the citrusy-licorice aroma that wafted up to my nose as I cut into the white bulb. I instantly rushed over to my lazy Hubby, who was lounging on the couch, oblivious to the heavenly rapture in the kitchen.

"SMELL THIS!"

He was impressed, albeit not as much as I was. Silly boy.

Ahh, say it with me now: Fennnnnnnnnel. Fennnnnnnnel. Don't you just want let it roll around your mouth? It's joined my favorite word list, right under "Cacaphony." Lol, that word makes me laugh everytime I see it! If you want to laugh as well, try showing Cacaphony to a bunch of 9th grade students. Oh, and then throw out the word "Asinine." Good times.

Anyway, I used fennel last night. With crisp basil and a seductive piece of salmon . . . and freshly squeezed lemon. Ahhhh. Bellisimo.

Fennel rocks and so do I.

D@mn Hallmark!

Thank you, Sunday night's Hallmark TV Special, for giving me a headache (courtesy of all the crying) and ruining my mascara. And . . . for making me miss the world of Teaching.

It was the sweetest story about an elementary teacher, Mr. Cohen, who was a fabulous teacher living with Tourette's. Not only did he have fabulous lesson plans, not only did he inspire every student, and not only did he reach the "hard to reach students," he became Georgia's New Teacher of the Year. Yeah -- hard not to keep from crying. (Hey -- it's ok if I cry a little; I still remember my 1st year and I certainly didn't have to deal with such an obvious disability).

And, in addition to all of that, he also lost one of his little students to cancer. Yeah -- try not to keep from crying when that happens.

But, it wasn't these things that elicited my random act of cussing.

It was the commercial, advertising their cards. Specifically, it was the card commercial discussing a card for someone who has gone through miscarriage. . . written by a woman who had also gone through the loss of a baby. She talked about her reasons for making this particular card.

"People always say 'You'll get over this' or ask 'Why haven't you gotten past this'." What they don't realize is that, even though it may have been a short experience, you still fell in love."
(paraphrased)

My husband turned to me, trying to tell me how sweet that was, but he found me in tears.

That woman had it exactly right. Five years ago, I was only a mother for a few short, short weeks, but I fell in love --head over heels in love.

When the Little Lady joined our lives, the pain of inferility was silenced. While I didn't forget my 1st daughter, I forgot about the frustration of not having a child. I was happy with my child, who came to us in a miraculous way.

But, the past couple of weeks have been hard again. My infertility has been at the forefront of my mind. I want a second baby -- a little sister for the Little Lady. But, we can't afford a second adoption right now and my body doesn't want to work. (D@mn ovaries)

I shouldn't be upset; I shouldn't be depressed over this. I have an amazing daughter -- a bright, energetic, beautiful child who make me laugh each and every day. God blessed us a thousand times when He gave her to us. So, why am I not content? Why am I, once again, dealing with this desire, frustration, and anger? Why am I wanting another child -- when I have one?

Why doesn't it just end? I DON'T understand why I can't either get over it all OR have a body that works. If I'm going to be stuck with infertility, why can't I deal with it? Why do I have to continue on this roller-coaster? Where's the fairness in that?

How do I move past this?

I'm serious with this question -- I want to know how I move past this, once and for all. I don't want to be upset when I hear of pregnancies. I don't want to hate my ineffective body. I don't want to be sad. I want to enjoy my family, without the "if only's" floating around in the back of my mind.

How do I move past this?

The Reason Behind My Silence

The insomnia has finally caught up with me. Apparently, staying up till 3 or 4 am (and, sometimes, beyond) results in a Mommy feeling like complete and utter . . . .

CRAP!

I hate being sick. Yeah, yeah -- I know. EVERYONE hates being sick. But, I'm the one sick here, so we're going to talk about me at this pity party.

(don't worry -- this won't be a long post)

My throat hurts. I mean HURTS!!!! Of course, everyone here (and, by everyone, I mean my HUSBAND) is pushing the Thera-Flu, and (as we all should know) I hate, loathe, despise, and abominate Thera-Flu.

Thank the Lord for my visiting In-laws. I was given the luxury of sleeping in till after noon. That's right -- noon. NOON. Do you know how long it had been since I'd had that kind of glorious sleep? It was long before I was a Mommy, that's for sure.

And, I haven't had to change a diaper all day. ALL FREAKING DAY!

I know I may be in the minority, but my Mother-in-law can visit any time she wants!!!

My Little Runaway

Yep, you read the title right. The Little Lady had her first all-out FIT today, which resulted in her trying to run away.

Is this normal for an 18 month old???????? Or, am I just in for it?

It was totally my fault. I wouldn't let her eat a tube of chap-stick. Awful Mother of the Year Award Recipient, right here. I took her new lollipop away, took the waxy pieces out of her mouth, and placed the tube out of reach.

EAR-PIERCING SHRIEKS immediately flew out of her down turned mouth. Good GRIEF, that girl can wail. She scared a lady at the grocery store last week, who promptly called her a sad little Mariah Carey. I don't think that was a compliment.

Since my in-laws are here, I tried to be very diplomatic with my screaming, red-faced, angry child. I tried to explain that chap-stick wasn't meant to be eaten. I tried to explain that I was saving her from a not-so-nice-digestion-situation.

She. Did. Not. Care.

She screamed and screamed and screamed. Then, she stomped her feet.

Oh HECK no!

I've heard you're supposed to ignore such behavior. Uh, yeah -- I'm still working on that reaction. My immediate reaction was a flare of anger just as intense as hers . But, you know, inlaws are here . . . gotta be a good mom . . . and a good wife. . . and a good cook . . . and a good housekeeper . . . and a good chauffeur.

Anway, Mommy decided to try and placate the Little Lady by offering blueberries. She scorned my offering.

I took her outside, normally her absolute favorite thing in the whole wide world. For a brief moment, I thought my brilliant parenting scheme had worked. She was quiet. I sat her down and smiled my "Encouraging-You-To-Be-Good" smile.

In turn, the Little Lady ground her baby teeth together, clenched her fists, and ran in place. Oh, yeah, and she screamed. She kept screaming as she turned around and tried to run into the garage, heading for the car.

Thank GOODNESS she didn't have the keys. I don't know that I can outrun a ticked-off toddler in a Mercedes.

Semi-Wordless Wednesday

December: Sleigh bells, Christmas trees, and Oranges. Oranges? Oh, yes -- at least here in Houston, December means Oranges.

Hubby and the Little Lady spent half an hour Tuesday afternoon, cleaning our tree, removing each bright globe from the branches. It wasn't long before the Little Lady was a sweet, fragrant, and sticky mess. But it was worth it! NOTHING beats a freshly picked orange!

Feel free to be jealous. :)

Ain't That a Kick In The Head

The Little Lady slept in this morning.

Ahhhhhhhh, the bliss of ALSO getting to sleep in is wonderful. Pure heaven. . . the cartoon version of heaven where all the colors are soft, where cute little birdies fly above your head singing their songs, and where you lazily stretch as you awake -- ready to start your perfect day. A beautiful, beautiful morning.

THEN, I stepped in a puddle of water.

A puddle of water in my hallway.

In case you were wondering, NO, water should NOT be there. Especially in puddle-form.

Well, crap!

I looked into the hall bathroom, expecting to see that Hubby had left water running. No such luck. With a feeling of dread, I looked up. What should my wondering eyes see? A great big water droplet streaming toward my face. Since it was morning, I didn't have all of my faculties at full-functioning capacity. So, yes -- the water hit my face.

After clearing the water out of my bleary eyes, I realized that there were MANY such droplets skimming the surface of our attic ladder. One by one, as their weight increased, they dropped to the puddle on the floor.

Well, CRAP!

There's a water leak in my attic -- I have a baby awake, now screaming in her crib since I've not gotten her out -- AND the attic ladder is broken, thanks to our April visit from Dish Network (who, by the way, has been promising for MONTHS to send someone out to fix it; none of their contractors ever show up as scheduled . . . but that's a whole other rant).

I pull on the ladder string and out pops our broken ladder, sending a mini-deluge of water down on my head. (this just keeps getting better and better) Expecting to be electrocuted, I turned on the attic light and instantly saw a fine mist raining down. As I craned my neck, straining to see into the recesses above me, I could see the water was originating from the top of our hot water tank.

SERIOUSLY????? What kind of crap morning is this????

After a frantic call to Hubby, a semi-frantic call to our plumbing company, and FINALLY getting the Little Lady out of bed, I had a cup of coffee and contemplated the start of my December. My last December before turning 30.

Is this craptastic morning supposed to be an analogy for something?

************************************************************

On a side note, I have a cute Elf Name!!! Thanks, Jen, for the fun link!

Your Elf Name Is...

Sassy Stocking Stuffer

What's Your Elf Name?

It Was a Dark and Sad Week.

The Mommy was busy -- with Turkeys and Shopping and Traveling galore. After hours of cooking, sweating and burning her fingers, there was little time left for blogging. For six and a half days, she never pushed the "New Post" button and never saved a draft.

The Busy Mommy nearly went CRAZY!!!

Then, all afternoon on a clear, chilly Monday, she pressured her husband to "drive faster, drive faster!" Without saying him saying a word, she knew that the husband knew the truth. She couldn't wait any longer to sit in front of the computer -- to hear the whir of the hard working computer fan -- to see the big orange and white B on her blogger screen.

She was hooked and there was only one way to get her fix.

Minutes after they pulled into the drive, and after making sure her cranky toddler was quiet (Thank God for String Cheese), the Busy Mommy plugged in her laptop battery, hands shaking in anticipation.

Her life was back to normal -- the blogger was back.