Ear drainage is a privilege, it seems, not a right!

All was settling down in post surgery land, and then buddy got sick! He is stuffy and pissed. There is yellowish orange junk coming out of his ear. I look at said junk, turning it into the light hoping it is a smear of animal cracker or something less sinister. Nope, it doesn't look so good. I call the surgeon and wait and wait, did I mention wait for a return call. I pass the time with a very shallow soothing bath for him. I stuff his tiny ear canals with Vaseline covered cotton(so foul) and dip him in. Before mentioned cotton falls into the hearty inch and a half of water. I pluck it out and noticed it is a lovely orange shade. Definitely not the color of animal cookies! In a panic I call the pediatrician. My trusty nurse friend instructs me to bring him in, love her. She makes me feel so justified in my obsessive parenting! Finallllllllly the ENT office calls. She said she would have gotten on the phone if she knew it was a medical emergency. I thought the description of congestion with ooze coming out of his ears was a pretty good indicator that I was not looking to set an appointment, I need answers! We exchanged some boring banter where I said I was taking him to Dr. Worldsgreatestpediatrician," good, he'll know more about the congestion then we would." My mind is spun a bit! WTF, they are an ENT office! Isn't it kind of their area. It's not like I'm inquiring about hemorrhoids or something. I hang up feeling a lot better about not going to see them, a bit worried they cut into my kid in the first place. Looking in the mirror it occurs to me that I have not managed to squeeze in a bath in two days on account of being the mother of two sick kids, did I mention the older one is sick too, just my luck. I ponder if I could get by one more day, my imagination trails off. I see me running into the doctors followed by a pack of wild dogs, what an entrance! Hazmat arrives to evaluate the situation, news crews arrive since hazmat always draws a crowd. Yeah, this will definitely require more than deodorant. Desperate, I go in the kitchen and I drop the him in the mobile baby containment unit AKA walker. I ask my daughter to keep him entertained so I can get in the shower. I make it to the bathroom with the nimble swiftness of a ninja. Get in ,splash around,eye the razor, no time I'll wear jeans. Then I hear crying. Followed by more crying, wait it's getting louder! I open the shower door and look directly out the bathroom door to find buddy alone in the hall outside the open door screaming. What the hell is going on?!?!?! I rinse off, jump out, and yell for the deserter! No answer. Now I am a little worried. Kidnappers came and stole her. They had to abandon the baby in the hall because I opened the door, my God she's in danger!! I run to the living room, no danger, she's watching sponge bob. Now she is in danger! It seems that the unfortunate crying of her delicious baby brother kept her from hearing the TV so she drug him to the other room. He wanted me anyway! So now she won't be hearing TV for a week. We arrive intact to the doctor. I will spare you the next boring hour and a half. In conclusion mom was right, he has another ear infection. Good thing we just put him through surgery to prevent this little issue. Dad is not happy, belligerent and irate is a fair description. Me, I am exhausted, clean but exhausted.

I used to wear lipstick...

This is one of the many things I once did according to my husband. His list is slightly more scandalous. Do you ever stop and wonder what happened? Like at what point in my life did wearing pants become a completely valid option compared to shaving? Hell when did I even start wearing jeans? It isn't that I have totally let myself go. I still make sure to be wearing eyebrows and to brush my teeth before leaving the house, but there is always some room for improvement. I fear that one day I will ride that miserable slip and slide into sweat pants. The worse part it will be the ones that don't really fit and I will top it off with a pair of crocs. Sorry to hurt any one's feelings but shoes are not meant to be rinsed with a garden hose. These are just facts people. Once upon a time I was fabulous( in my own mind). My clothes were clean, my hair was washed and my boobs were up where they belong. It was before the days of spit up and gravity. Now I am certain that if I ever ended up missing they would use the spit stains on my shoulders to identify my body. " Excuse me, Mr. Hanson what was your wife last wearing?"
" I believe it was a trix t shirt with stains on the shoulder."
" Now sir was it animal cookies or goldfish?"
"Goldfish!"
" Sir we've found your wife."
It will make it into those special circumstances reference guides. Crap, I truly believe there is already one out there dedicated to my family. Like it just goes into embarrassing detail all of my freakish medical dramas and bizarre anomalies. On the cover it will have a picture of me, no lipstick, just eyebrows.

The reason I get stuck at the doctors!

The singing siren! She is a bit sick and stuffy but still painfully cute! At least it downloaded this time.

Would you let him carry a gun?

Ah ha! We are getting closer to knowing names now aren't we? Here is my wonderful husband. He has recently been turning into Ted Nugent. A bit scary. By this I mean he has developed a bit of a gun, I wouldn't say fetish, but strong interest. He has been dragging us to countless army surplus stores in the ghetto. You know the kind that you actually require a pistol to safely survive the neighborhood. I will pretend it is enriching my kids life, yeah that's it. Sports warehouses? Know them like the back of my hand. This is odd since I am in no way out doorsy. In fact I don't run unless someone is chasing me. So here we are, house full of ammo. Shot gun hidden for protection(completely out of reach of my children!!!!! We aren't stupid), safe nestled with pistols. I am not certain how it all happened. We have had a 2 handguns for many years. I thought we were safe and happy. Then a few months ago the Montana in my husband began to surface. Now he has done a smashing job at stifling his inner hillbilly. Granted it does pop up by ways of beef jerky, strong love of explosive items, and automotive grease. Still, when I was married I thought he had it in check. 10 years later it comes out full tactical force. It was so fast I didn't have time to brace myself. One day it was a shot gun, a few weeks later it was his now beloved Desert Eagle. You know because shooting them isn't enough. We have rapidly progressed to the concealed weapons permit. I really want to meet the officer that was reviewing my husbands application. At what point did he look at this picture and think," Why sure! That man looks like he should be carrying a gun!" Did the idea of," maybe we should pass on this one" ever cross his mind? And does Bracken really need a concealed weapon. Seriously, if you ran into a guy looking like him on the streets would you mess with him, probably not. Now, I am truly fine with it all. As long as my children aren't in danger and he is entertained, whatever. In fact it has given me hours of comic material. It's like the icing on the making fun of my husband cake. I do question why he needs to be packing heat on a pleasant Sunday walk around the neighborhood, but he doesn't question most of what I do. I figure if I start pointing fingers he could easily point a dozen back in my direction. Besides I have to admit it's kind of hot when he comes in from shooting in the desert with a shot gun on his shoulder! Scrumptious!

I could eat him up in slipper socks!

Here is the picture of my darling buddy before his surgery. Delicious! So cute, so trusting, so unsuspecting.

I made it through D's surgery and he did great too!

My darling baby did so well with his surgery. I think I am the one that really needed to recover. It was so stressful. I have spent the past week making myself, and my husband, crazy. Wed. was the longest night. I lay in bed not able to sleep, wishing it was Friday already. Knowing that soon I would need to drag my delicious little boy from his snugly sleep and traumatize him. In reality it went pretty smoothly. Not as my wandering imagination had portrayed it at all. We arrived super early at the surgery center. He and our daughter where in delightful moods. He didn't even seem to notice the gnawing pit of hunger under his pajama top. A man came out into the waiting room and spoke to a waiting father while looking back and forth in my direction. He mentioned taking the baby first, to which I responded " are you talking to me too?" He laughed like I was a moron and said not to worry, it will be fine and strolled off. That is the strangest anesthesiologist I have ever met. I look at the father,since the doctor didn't really answer my question," Was that confusing to you?" He agreed that he wasn't sure what was going on since he was kind of talking to him but looking at me. I told him I was just waiting until someone actually called my kids name. Good idea I think. Name called! Darling D and I go in the back where I change him into a tiny hospital gown. Very disturbingly cute I must admit! They also give him red slipper socks that are more like thigh highs on his pudgy legs. Adorable! About this time the fore mentioned anesthesiologist comes in our little changing closet, the room was filling me with claustrophobia, and starts going over how many ear drops to put in his ears after the procedure and blah blah. I ask about pain relief since my daughter was given codeine after having her lip done. Hey throws his hands in front of his body,"no,no... that's not mine! I'm only doing tubes. He's not my patient!" He starts walking awkwardly backward away from me, " See I'm not crazy! That's why you weren't making sense to me in the waiting room", I call out to him. No response, he retreats to the hall, embarrassed I hope! The nurse comes in and I mention that the wrong doctor keeps coming in to talk to me, I am getting worried, wouldn't you. She says he is the other ENT. I mention he seems really nice ,internal thought " for a doctor that doesn't know his patients". I know I was surprised I didn't say it out loud too. I, my friends,am growing up! Now it is a waiting game since our real doctor is always late. It is almost compulsive! During the next hour the actual anesthesiologist comes in. He is a jolly guy that promises not to stick the buddy with needles, my new best friend. We go over the ridiculous family history and he compliments my thoroughness. I am never sure if it is truly a compliment or just drawing attention to my compulsive behavior. I then dance with the baby and sing to him. This activity is broken up by nurses coming through and playing with him, my boys a lady killer! They love to play in his fluffy mohawk. Finally he arrives! He calls out, " Who wants to go first", I yell,"Me" beating out the other two waiting families. Keep in mind I was prepared to wrestle for the position. Ok I do realize we were first since he is the youngest and I am the most annoying mom to keep around. Still I would have welcomed the distraction. Then the nurse wraps him in a blanket, I kiss him, he says my name and touches my face. Next time I see him he will have a fresh set of tubes and an enormously bruised lip.I manage to walk on rubber legs out to the waiting area. I sit through the longest 20 minutes of my life, choking back tears. The presence of my daughter does help since I don't want her to worry. The call out his name and I am up and running at the door. She asks if they are with me, who? Oh the rest of my family, forgot them! I nod, I think, " can they come too?" She says yes and starts giving some parking directions to my husband, something about a doorbell, who cares!!! Where is my baby??? I kind of push forward, " I'm sure he'll figure it out he's smart". I have tunnel vision. I hear her talking but have no clue what she is actually saying. My eyes are on a smiling tall lady holding my boy as his eyes go in different directions and his sweet head bobs around. I rush over. He puts his little arms out with slight coordination and lets out a raspy, "Mama"! I tear him from that ladies arms and hold him. I think I finally took a breath. We go into a group recovery area. She asks if I have any clear fluids for him or if I need juice. I tell her I intended to nurse. " Oh he will like that, let me get you a private room." Hmm, I like her. We settle in our private double closet and I nurse. He goes at it like he has never eaten, then he starts to scream! His lip is so swollen/numb/awkward he can't latch on right! He keeps trying, same frustrating result. He cries like I have rarely heard. I must look anxious because miss nice nurse looks in his file and tells me, " He shouldn't be in much pain. I checked and they gave him a suppository for pain relief. I think he's just disoriented." Or maybe he's pissed that you guys made him take a nap and stuffed something up his ass! My God they will do anything to you in surgery! She goes over discharge info, mentioning Tylenol. I look at the howling heap of baby in my arms, I think we will need more than Tylenol. I tell her the Dr gave baby girl Tylenol with codeine. She seems nervous," well I looked and it doesn't have anything else. I guess I could ask the doctor( while her eyes say please, don't make me do this!!!!)" " Thanks! I would really appreciate that" I am such a pleasant bitch. Lucky for her I saw him first and had the same conversation. He said "it would be his pleasure". See he's nice! He doesn't want my kid to hurt. Either that or he doesn't want me calling the office all day. So after a scream filled drive home we settled in. I put him in bed with me where he finally calmed down a bit and was able to nurse. He slept for two hours and woke very sweet and swollen. He looks like a little Jolie baby. He was still a bit disoriented and crawled into things but very pleasant. He is happy, medicated, but happy and so am I. Then it happens I talk to my sister. I mention the horrible suppository incident. I recall my vision of him in his little hospital gown and large socks sleeping unawares. Then they rip open his diaper and cram this thing up his tiny bottom! I shudder a bit. She laughs at me, " you know he was naked" NO HE WAS NOT!!! HE WAS IN A TINY GOWN, THAT'S WHAT THEY ARE FOR!!!!! More laughing at me. She by the way is a paramedic, but not a surgery technician so it's not like she really knows anyway! She asks her partner(at work, not a life partner. I would actually prefer she had a life partner then the guy she is married to though) what you wear when you have surgery. " Was he put to sleep?" She replies yes," Then nothing!" Lies all lies!!!! Why,why! She couldn't leave me in peace. I suppose the point of this story is that Baby D did fabulous, I barely cried, and watch your bottom in surgery!

I can no longer use that line at target!

When my sweet lovely daughter was younger she hated to use toothpaste. You know the kind of hate where I have to straddle her in the bathroom and scrub her teeth while she cries. Don't judge me, I am well prepared to pay her therapy bill one day. Besides it is just a glimpse of the things she'll be laying on a leather couch about. So we went to target with said toothpaste hater to let her pick out new flavor of sand ingrained tooth polish. This was not a happy occasion for the little miss. We discussed how important the junk was to keep her tiny teeth pretty and healthy. She is not concerned. Fast forward to the check out. My husband and I notice a very audible speech impediment of the cashier in the line we chose. I assume she is perhaps hearing impaired, my husband who is closer flat out thinks she's retarded, hey his words not mine, back off! Then my precious little angel blurts out, " WOW, lady!!!!! You're missing a lot of TEETH!" My lord the room grew dark, apologies fell out of my mouth in delirious cession! The woman was very nice about it(still possibly on the handicap side I think).She said it was fine and told her it's because she doesn't have good health insurance. Ok, politely settled one would assume. NO!!! Somehow I managed to pick my foot up and jam it straight into my big fat mouth! Still covered in sweat I point out to my daughter, recollecting the ideas we were trying to instill in her earlier, " See that's why you need to use toothpaste". Apparently not the best place to forward this little lesson to her because the once understanding cashier rages out, " I brush my teeth!!!!!". I sheepishly try to back out and explain the origin of our trip. I think I even drooled a little. I look to my husband for salvation. He is desperately trying to get through using his debit card while pretending he is not with us. As if she will assume he is some stranger taking pity on us and paying for our goods. We finish and my cheeks have the scalding burn of shame. My husband looks laughs at me and asks, " What was that, just couldn't shut up could you?" I try to apologize to him. He keeps laughing and informs me if his card wasn't already in the machine he would have walked away. For better or worse my ass!

My blog friend rocks!

I wanted to let everyone know that my fabulous blog friend, find her at : http://www.aleryan.com, has taught me how to allow everyone to leave comments on my blog. So now you can comment without having to be a blogger member. So show the love and type away. I have to approve your comments before they post, so be patient. Thank you all for the support and remember if your friends are interested in crazy rantings send them my way!

Baby D goes under the knife

We are quickly approaching the day (2 left) that my sweet little boy gets surgery. Ok so it isn't anything serious, he's getting tubes and the frenulum on his upper lip cut, still it is heart wrenching. I feel like I have been eating stomach acid. I went through this with my daughter twice. It is horrible. They come in and take your starving screaming baby from your arms. She was grabbing at me screaming my name all down the hall. I stayed strong until the sounding slam of the doors and fell in the chair crying. I am certain it was a pretty dramatic scene but this is my baby we are talking about here!!!! I am pretty sure that Baby D's operation will go about the same. Me crying hysterically in the surgery center. It might make the news, splendid indeed. I have tried to figure a million and five ways to get the little buddy out of it but none are truly valid. He received a stay in Nov. because he stopped breathing on Halloween. Apparently they don't like to use anesthesia on babies a week after their mommies resuscitate them. I think it's in their insurance or something. So, I'm not religious but I will pretend it was God's intervention.(please note I am such a heathen that I spelled GOD wrong three times before typing if properly, not a good sign by any means) I would not like a similar intervention since I still have flash backs of his blue little face, but can't the center have a fire or something simple? What about burnt popcorn in the microwave. You know how it gives off that toxic scent. Then they can peacefully evacuate. That would be very nice. Instead I will be getting up too early on Thurs. ripping my drowsy baby from his warm crib and ushering him off to a group of strangers. These people will poke prod and make him hurt. Baby Buddy will not understand why his Mommy is letting that happen and why the hell she just doesn't stop crying, he's the one in pain. Plus he will be extra upset since he cannot drink his morning milk yet and is full of crummies in his tummies. This will all be contained inside the swirl of my daughter moving about singing loudly to everyone that is in earshot while my husband yells at her to knock it off. It will be a jolly affair indeed.

amendment

It has been rather humorously brought to my attention that perhaps my depiction of other mommies is lacking and somewhat unfair. I now plan to make an amendment to it by creating a subsection I will call: " Moms in Capri pants". This is the group of moms that I tend to really get along with. They are casual but maintained. Even though I have noticed this group does tend to go by ways of comfy undies, they tend to be the funniest group on the playground. These are the moms with the best jokes and the dirtiest e mail forwards. On the surface they look all vanilla, did I mention they also wear a large amount of neutral colors with said Capri pants? Inside they are the ones you would let watch your kids or trust with lives most intimate details. These are the ladies I consider my friends and I am very sorry if I left you guys out. Without you I would just be lonely weirdo color coding m&m's.

Blanket or Dishrag, you be the judge...

When I was pregnant with my daughter my mother in law was completely involved. She was at at every ultrassound(all 9) and drove me to every doctors appointment. She spoiled her rotten with a crib, clothes,toys, and savings bonds. To this day she still spoils the girl. One would specualte it is because she is a girl. Here is the kink in that theory, when we said she was a girl the woman cried because she wanted a grandson. She is just that kind of considerate person, talk about a mood killer. So despite the vagina thing she spoiled this little girl and made her a beautiful blanket with rows af crochetted hearts. My girl loves this blanket more than anything she owns. It is her safety, it smells like her and is a ratty as all hell.

Fast forward to my baby boy. NOTHING! This child is so neglect by this woman you would think he was a bastard son or something. She buys him things she picks up at garage sales and as you saw, cowboy clothes. She has not been invloved in his life. The little boy won't even go to her when she is around. She didn't visit him through all of his hospitalizations. The whole descrepency in affection pisses me off! This is where the ridiculous "blanket" comes in to play. As his first birthday approaches she shows up at my house, obviously noticing the clock ticking against her. After a bit of small talk she says she wanted to drop off his Blanket she made. Reaching into her little plastic grocery bag she begins the explaination," I didn't want to make it like 4 ft. long since he's crawling all over. I was afraid that he would get hurt dragging it around if I made some huge thing." Possibly valid. Then she presents the smallest scrap of patterned yarn I have ever seen. I feel my lips part as I blurt out," Oh my grandma gave up!" She sheepishly laughs at having been called out on her failed "attempt". Who am I kidding, this is no attempt! The thing isn't blocked, is edged on one end and doesn't even have the loose yarn weaved in. WTF! I later measured it to be a wonderous 23"x21".

(that is a ruler NOT a yard stick and a cat not a panther)

(OK I just noticed the cat was in the picture and had to comment on her fluffiness. That cat will make a fine pair of slippers one day)

I am in shock that she would even try to give this to him! Did I mention insulted. Nothing says I barely love you like 2 dozen rows of yarn. My husband said that he was going to donate it but I think we need to hold onto it for evidence. Perhaps I come off as ungrateful, granted I have no gratitude for this blanket, but I truly am not that way. I try hard to instill good values in my kids. I want them to be appriciative of the small things but I think 23x21 is a little too small to appriciate.

The crazies are getting in again!

Apparently there is a hole in my weather stripping again since the crazies have managed to pour in this week. It has been a dizzying whirlwind of relative insanity. Like actual relatives. Now I am not singling out one side or the other. My husband and I come from a gifted group of people with peculiar going ons. I would write specifics but you would never believe me. I am trying to keep this blog honest and I fear that divulging the details would lead one to speculate that I must be a fiction writer for surely these things don't occur in normal peoples lives. See that is the key. The word "normal". None of my relations truly fall into this category, not even myself. Most of those flowing in my and my husbands genetic circle (crap one technically doesn't even have the DNA), are in desperate need of a Dr. Phil intervention and one episode away from a Springer special. I have offered to make the phone call a few times but had no takers. I am certain it would be a two part topic. I guess the silver lining in having family with such peculiar lives is it makes all of my idiosyncrasies seem Minuit and trivial. Oh, crazy girl doesn't eat in public and color codes her M&M's, yes but wait till you seem what her mother in law has been up. Hmmm, my loathing of blue pens doesn't seem so important anymore does it. Now I am not going to promise that I won't fall upon talking details at some time. Each on there own are going to make splendid blogs some day, but you my friend will have to check back if you want the dirt. I will also be accepting calls at $2.99 a minute to sell the secrets. Maybe not.

I am MOM

I sit at times with my lovely daughter on my lap, by "on" I mean draping her gangling legs all over the place and hanging off of me since she is almost the same size as me, and think is this real? She has been in my life for seven years and still I feel like it is some dream. Like at any moment someone will step in and say, nope, your done babysitting. As if it this world of mine is just pretend. I don't feel old enough to be a mom, even at 30. Not that I am not mature or able, that is not the point. I just always imaged being a mother would feel different. Like I would get this tiny little person placed in my arms and suddenly be wise and aged like wine. I do occasionally feel a bit fermented, but I don't think that's what I'm going for either. I see other moms at school and think, I am not like any of these people. Typically they fall into two categories : That woman that shows up in the kitten heels, crisp button up shirt and perfectly coiffed hair or her counterpart: sweat pants, half slept in pony tail, being trailed by three crying kids in which she somewhat pretends are not hers at the moment. I stand on the blisteringly hot asphalt looking down at my converse, leading up to my low rise jeans, past my decorative belt buckle, and resting at my sesame street tee shirt. No, I am not like these woman. It makes you feel a bit awkward at times, but I can't change who I am. I watch " what not to wear" and think,"hmm, maybe they could turn me into a presentable mom". I consider it deeply. In the end I know in my heart that I can't walk in kitten heels and can't stomach the sweat pants. So I can only be what I am. These other moms can choose to love me or leave me. In the end it's more like stab me in the back. Still I try to fit into a role that I embrace with all of my being, even if I am the puzzle piece that will never fit in right. The one you contemplate throwing out, then just push in real hard. After a good push you will see I too fit in better than you thought I would.

The Gifted One...

As I mentioned my daughter is literally gifted, with this comes special traits, or as I occasionally call them "abilities to annoy mommy into an aneurysm". Don't get me wrong, I love that my daughter is so intelligent and creative, but there are days when I wouldn't mind to dumb her up a bit. She started talking at five months and hasn't stopped. I am not talking about little coos and babbles. It was Mama, Daddy, kitty cats. By 7 months she was chasing the cats through the kitchen in her walker screaming, "Go kitty cats, go". By her first birthday she was embarking on full sentences and had master the art of holding ones breath in protest, lovely. It was around that time that the singing began. It started off innocently enough. We would sing old McDonald and she would see us out with an "EIEIO". Then it was "ABCDP on me". This sweet little talent turned in to a Juggernaut. She is known as the singing girl everywhere we go. We have yet to leave a public place without a full melodic performance. Granted it is adorable and I am painfully proud of her, but when you have spent 2 hours in the doctors office with a sick baby the last thing I want is to make the rounds so she can go caroling to the nurses station, front office, and lets not forget the billing office. Then I have to somehow manage to grease up her head to forcefully squeeze her ego out off the doors. Her little performances do seem to have sometimes substantial perks, more than an extra lollipop which she realllllllly does not need. Have I mentioned the ADHD. We have received easier appointment setting, discounts at the dentist, cookies, cupcakes, toys from the secret special box, and tons of extra one on one time. While she is busy bewitching the staff and doctors I manage to squeak in a few dozen extra questions. Plus it is really easy to overlook the crazy demanding Mommy when her kid is so damn cute. So although it is odd to find her singing on the toilet(by odd I mean weird, not uncommon), I wouldn't change her for the world.

I attempted to download a video of the little siren in action but after waiting for over an hour I cancelled it. I know I can be a bit free with words at time, but seriously over an hour!

Rhinestone Cowboy

My Darling baby boy had his first Birthday on Sat! Yippee!!! This is a very important milestone since he was born premature and we almost lost him. Our tiny little fighter arrived home after 10 days in NICU. He was released early for good behavior.He then decided to set us on a roller coaster of emotion and hospital stays for the next four months. Now at one he is plump, delicious and mischievous. I can not keep up. So, said little boy has birthday party, of coarse. Everything is going very well in fact I marvel at how organized I managed to make the whole affair. We nestle in the fabulously carpeted( I'm sure I'll tell more about my carpet later one day, I just love it) great room to open gifts. It is the standard gifts. Lots of plastic and loud things in need of batteries. And then it happens, we get to Grandma's gifts. Lord have mercy I can not exaggerate this enough!

First the woman has an odd way of "wrapping" things. I have never seen anyone use a plastic grocery bag as tissue paper before, but what the hell we're unconventional. She buys gift bags and then completely tapes them shut with packing tape. Fabulous! Now to the magic! I tear barbarically through the heavy layers of packing tape affixed to the bright x mas red gift bag, which I am fairly certain I gave her for said holiday. I pull out the first bundle of paper (apparently she had some so now I am really perplexed about the shopping bag?!!?!) . I unroll it to find the oddest pair of overalls complete with long sleeve button up shirt in blue lasso print. On the leg of these beauts is a cowboy figure that seems to be wearing only a belt and chaps on his lower half, splendid. I can only laugh and pretend this is a joke. Package 2, my guests are wide eyed in anticipation. I see a glimpse through the paper and all I could say is "chickens"! Goodness it was another set of fine overalls this time with a delightful farm motif complete with barn and chickens on the shirt. Gleaming proudly on front of this denim masterpiece, a tractor. Tears well up in the corners of my eyes as I question my mother in laws sanity, verbally actually. She seems offended. A few months ago I would have tried to politely act as if I liked the gift, but that was a few months ago and a lot has changed. She pouts a bit, marvelous. My sweet hearted daughter creeps over and mentions, " it's the thought that counts Mommy". Hmmm, I am a good mother, confirmation absorbed, and I continue to laugh. This generosity is topped off with a lovely tan long sleeved button up with lasso print and dare I say it, fringe.

( Now, seriously red cotton cuffs on the bottom of these pants? Very slimming.)
So if you ever see a plump delicious little boy out dressed in these wonders feel bad for him because, well his parents shop at the second hand store since I am donating this shit!

Disclaimer!

I don't actually drink, but there are many moments in my life that it seems like it would be a very pleasant hobby. Not to say that I live some desperately plagued existance. In fact I am completely content with where I am in my life and most of those surrounding it. Come on we all have those crazies that creep into our homes and lives that we can't get rid of. Typically thay are called family. Occasionally it's that friend you have known forever and can't break from. You know that person you always keep a little bail money on hand for. Yeah, those people. So if I live in such a content place why blog? Well I am a writer, go figure. Along with that I am a terrified writer. Perhaps this will give me some exposure and strenght to go where my heart, not always my tummy or nerves, know I must go in order to feel complete. So if you are reading this and are an editor or sleeping with one, feel free to give me plug. I would return the favor, or at least bake something yummy for you.
Oh my, this is where the drinking comes in! As I tippy tap away blissfully at these keys my daughter is pushing a popping lawn mower about. Why as parents do we buy toys that we know without a shadow of a doubt are going to piss us off one day? Oh great now she has transitioned to the xylephone as she loudly sings melodies from " Little Orphan Annie". Glory be! I am lucky.
If I could concentrate I would thank you kindly for reading my page and promise many attempts to steal away and write about my some what pointless, but occasionally comical going ons. I will do all I can to keep you entertained, yet warn that I can be a bit crass at times. I am unconventional and quirky. I am painfully domestic. I am ADD and jump my topics, but in the end it will some how make sense. I pledge to be out going and tell you how it is, even your jeans make you look fat. I am that kind of friend. I was born without that part of your brain that says, " hmmm, probably shouldn't say that out loud". In summery I will do my witty best to be the best blogger I can be. And I was serious about the editor part, brownies anyone?