Mah Boo Bastille

Because lately I am indulging my fantasies of becoming a professional lip-syncer.

It is fabulous, having one's own blog, isn't it?

George Michael

If you make it through, say, 45 seconds of this video you should be given some kind of reward.

Oh, and it's water in the princess cup. Promise.

Figures.

Today I learned the following:

Jon Knight of New Kids on the Block is gay.

I have had exactly 2 (TWO) celebrity crushes in my life. The first, and most meaningful, being Jon Knight. It really burns my ass that I never really had a chance with him in the first place.

I have no idea why I am so pissed about this.  The only thing worse than this would be if Ralph Macchio is gay.  If he is, please don't tell me.  The 11 year old girl within simply cannot take it.

I PROMISE to start blogging again.  My life is gaining some modicum of normalcy these days, and I always find that reflection makes for good story telling.

Way to string me along, Jon Knight.

Overprocessed

Confession:

In as much as I know what beautiful photography is, I have been sucked down the hole of the trendy over-processed picture. I love them - and when I say love - I mean I can't get enough of them.  I was fiddling around with Picasa tonight and over processed some pictures for your viewing pleasure.  For more of my photo-diddling, go check out my Instagram blog. There is a link over there in the right sidebar.

Taken at Great Falls on the Maryland side. With my iPhone. Boom!

Taken at the Hirshorn. If you're looking for a good time, take Grant Steele to a museum of modern art, then sit back and enjoy the rolling commentary. I peed my pants and that's no lie.

Taken during a tour of the US Capitol. Lucy vomited all over me and herself.
Good times.

Supplementary Materials

(This is me)

Lucy is going to guest blog right now:

Add caption

h  th3o5yxio4 gfdgxjjdfgfkl gll; blfg ˆΩøksgj  hjjklkl;gh hsfgldfdf,¬˙ hvdfhxgxfdhkekhfeeuige i                   hbfuoduogutugjsjhggjjhjgjhkjklu;'

kghsq kSADHFJHSGK/;HJL"U

LK;R5YWYQRTUKFGUIKGIOJOPUPII[]

\\]Q]\\ILULRETYUP;O[]\]Q Cxxcvbvcm,bm,nm,.bm,.j/,;/?zXcbvmnvvm,



Wow. Thanks for that Lucy. I really like how she threw some Greek characters in there. This homeschool thing? It is totally working out for us.

Funny Girl

My girl. Feisty as a grizzly bear.

What I am Thinking About...

Dear Alex Clare,
I think I am too close to love you, too.  mwah.

One of Those Nights

You know those nights, right?

Nothing is quite right.

Grant is in our room, apparently dying with the flu.  He is moaning and wailing and probably gnashing his teeth.  I'm not sure about the gnashing part.  That is just speculation.

Lucy is wide awake in her crib singing "Dowa, Dowa, Dowa, dee Explowa!" over and over and over again.

Michael is crying about the possibility that I may suffer a premature death.

I wanted to make Apple Cider Donuts and have them ready when everyone wakes in the morn - but I don't feel so sweet or domestic to provide piping hot donuts upon everyones awakening. 

Tomorrow is Halloween.  I used to love Halloween and then I didn't.  I used to think it was harmless fun and then I thought it was the gateway holiday to Wiccanism.  I feel like tomorrow I am reverting back to my harmless days.  In fact, I want to go buy a circa 1950's house dress and wear red lipstick, pearls and heels just for irony. 

I found out today that despite my grammatical pretense - I have, in fact, been using the wrong form of 'its' for my whole life.  I know the difference between who's and whose, but I am humbled to realize that I have been an "its" offender.   What evs.

Do you notice how many "I's" are in this little rant?  I think I'll spare you any more.

Scenes from a Roadtrip

Is is wrong to love a bug?  Because I was smitten with this little jumper.

Nevermind the chocolate on the teeth.  After a long hike, nothing soothes the soul like an entire box of moonpies.

Self Portrait Artistes.

Mijas.

The End.

Self-Portrait Artists

When filing through our masses of pictures - there are two photographs you are sure to find: self-portraits of me and self-portraits of Ben. I find pictures of Ben's face everywhere: in my camera, in my phone, on our refridgerator, front and center on our Christmas tree every year. Of all the rotten things to inherit, he got my fondness for capturing the essence of my own face.

Swine Sister

I took one look at this lovely pig and I thought, "Yeah. I know where you're at, honey."
I've never felt sisterhood with a pig before. There is a first for everything.

If the TV Isn't a Babysitter... What the Hell Else is it For?

There are a few dearly held words of wisdom that I question, that have never made sense to me. Today I will isolate one that particularly stupefies me: Don't use the TV as a babysitter. Why on earth would you turn on the TV for your kids if not for a break for yourself? My problem? I am using my "babysitter" too much.

As seen in the past, this little blog becomes somewhat of a mini-confessional for me. It is a place where I can admit my wrongdoing in the hopes of going forward without committing the same ills. So with this admission of guilt, I realize that now I need to right my wrongs, I just don't know how right now. The weather has turned cold, Annie is fighting off some respiratory ailment, and I weigh 6-zillion pounds and have no desire for physical activity. None. Enter glorious television.

I remember when I was pregnant with Michael and facing the same malady, I confided in a neighbor. She was a loud Long Islander with definite opinions on all topics. I said to her, "I just feel so guilty for letting the kids watch TV so much." And she delivered one of my most quoted pieces of advice, "So WHAT!? Sometimes you just have to do what you have to do to get by." And so now I find myself in similar waters: same guilt, same aches and pains, same cable television crutch. No solution - just wondering what people mean when they quote that little babysitter barb. TV is neither constructive nor educational - it is a (sometimes necessary) brain-drain. Plain and simple.

The next quotable quote I intend to address goes a little something like this: Never drink to get drunk. HUH?? I need a few glasses of wine before I can adequately address this one. 7 weeks and counting.

Farewell Old Face... Hope to see you soon.

(Photo by Michael K. Steele)

Pregnancy has a way of mangling my face. And sure enough, the inevitable has begun again. So, I am pretty sure that I am going to put the kibosh on all photos (of me, anyway) until I can be photographed holding my sweet baby daughter.

Primitive Torture Devices

**********************************************************
Author's Note:
Welcome.  You have Googled "Primitive Torture" and I want to know WHY??  I wrote this silly little post a long time ago and it generates SO MUCH traffic to this blog that I am baffled.  Leave me a note.  Why, oh why are you researching "Primitive Torture."  It seems so scary to me.
**********************************************************

It is no secret that I have been feeling more than a little frumpy lately. Have I told you about my last doctor's appointment? Well, suffice it to say, I have gained more than my fair share of weight for this pregnancy and I still have about 3 months to go. I need a haircut, my nose is expanding, and my pants only fit when I wear them backwards.... don't ask.

So today, when I was trying to gussy myself up, I decided to go through my grandma's old jewelry to see if there was anything in there that might improve my visual status. In my collection of her treasures, I found a great pair of old emerald (looking) clip-on earrings. They were straight out of the 70's and they looked like just what I needed. Green is my happy color, by the way. I clipped those babies on and set off to tackle the day.

About an hour after I left, I felt the ache start to kick in. The clip-ons were starting to really pinch my ears. I didn't care. They looked great and I'd already received a compliment on them. I tried to ignore the pain. I found myself getting unnecessarily impatient with the kids. I looked down at one point and realized that I was going, like, 20 miles-per-hour over the speed limit. The pain had become too much. I pulled off the offending earrings and felt my happiness start to return. Those suckers hurt - and they were ruining my day!

And I started to think about all of the things that we (women) do in the name of fashion that are wildly uncomfortable, if not downright torture. Clip-on earrings aside, anyone remember nylons? Those sweaty, sticky, constricting pieces of synthetic fabric that I used to wear everywhere. They held in the lumps, they smoothed the bumps, and they left me hot and sweating like I was in my own personal hell. What about stilettos? I could go on and on. Eyebrow tweezing... bikini waxing... low riser jeans... thong underwear!!! Why?! Why!

And yet, complete comfort looks slovenly. I have no real desire for total comfort - I just want to preemptively reject any future fashion statement that has me barking at my children. And for now, I will stick to my grandma's circa-1980's bead necklaces. They are a lot more friendly.

Make New Friends...

Make new friends, but keep the old.
One is silver, the other... blue and green camoflauge.

In my life, I have been very, very lucky in love. Each and every chapter of my personal history has a cast of characters who have been loyal, interesting, and loving. Some of these relationships have faded into history, some have ended abruptly and for a reason, and some have endured the tests of time and challenge. Today, one of my most cherished relationships ended - and I owe it to myself to pay homage to my loyal comrade: my blue and green camoflauge flip flops.

The story starts a long time ago. I was heavily pregnant with my daughter when I played host to my aunt and her son, my cousin. My aunt (you must understand this part of the story in order to comprehend the next) is the single most generous person I have ever met. She would literally give you the shirt off her back. While she was at my house she gave me a large can of professional quality hairspray, two bracelets off her wrist, brought all of the kids gifts and purchased all of our meals while she stayed. We had a nice week and before long, they were gone. When I went into her room after she left to change the sheets and tidy up, I found that she had left a pair of black flip flops under the bed. I slipped them on my feet and our relationship began.

We had a good thing going on for a while, me and those black flip flops. We went everywhere together. At first I felt so guilty for keeping them, I even went online to order my own pair and send the originals to their rightful owner. But, when I discovered that they cost more than $50 (they were flip flops, mind you) I justified keeping them by figuring that my aunt would probably just give them to me if she knew how much I loved them. Hey, she gave me her hairspray, right? Every time I wore those shoes I loved them more, but like anything that is not really yours, I felt a pinge of guilt when I wore them. When I looked at them, I wondered if they were missed by their owner. I didn't really care. They were soft and delicious on my tired feet.

Soon after I gave birth to my daughter, I paid a trip home to visit my family. Of course, I brought with me my ill-gotten shoes. They would be the perfect for travelling. I wore them boldly, brashly in front of my family always hoping that nobody would notice. On the last day of my trip, my aunt pointed to my feet and declared, "ARE THOSE MY SHOES?" I admitted it and painfully, heartbreakingly parted with my - her shoes. Yes, she took them back.

My heart was broken. My feet suffered. I had to wear my nice shoes on the trip home and I had no idea how I was going to proceed. When I got home there was a white grocery bag on my doorstep with a note, "You're going to love these." Inside were a new pair of blue and green camoflauged flip flops - and as if sent by heaven by way of my girlfriend - a new relationship began. But this time it was for real - these babies were mine.

It was love from the first try-on. These shoes feel like walking on marshmallows on top of pillows on top of clouds. They feel like going barefoot but better. They have never stretched out no matter how often I've worn them and I have worn them a lot. But unlike the fancy black flip flops my aunt reclaimed, these suckers aren't pretty. I have had to endure scorn and public ridicule for my choice in footwear. People with more fashion and more vanity that I have called me out. "Get some new shoes!" they scoff. Not until the soles of my feet are dragging on the ground.

And so my flip flops have gone everywhere with me. I have worn them elegantly with a sundress or functionally with socks under my jeans. They have hiked in the Shenandoah, sunned in the beaches of North Carolina and comforted me every step of my journey of life. To say that I treasure these shoes is to understate: they have become a part of me.

Lately my beloveds have shown signs of wear and I have feared for their demise. I have gone to various department stores to try and replace them, but to no avail. After a day or so of suffering through discomfort, I dig out my camo shoes and our relationship endures another day. But this weekend, the final straw. The places where they are ripped have started to drag on the ground causing me to lose my balance and trip - and when it comes to my own well-being, not to mention the well-being of my precious unborn child - well, the decision was made. The time has unfortunately come.

It was only apropos that it was drizzly and grey this morning when we set out for the shopping mall to find replacement shoes. We battled the rain and finally got to the destination where I had been assured that I would find a comparable replacement. I walked in tentatively, feeling a bit like I was perusing eHarmony after the death of my spouse. Slowly but surely I began to try on shoes and finally stumbled on a sweet pair of silver Mary Janes that gave me that same feeling of ahhhhh that lovers past have offered. My feet melted into them. I think this is the start of a wonderful relationship.

The sun was out when we left the shopping center. The rays glinted off the silver and especially sparkled when touched by the leftover rain from this morning's shower. Goodbye old friends, I thought. Goodbye.