I'd be lost without online shopping. Not to mention naked I guess.

There’s a really fancy mall not far from where we live. My husband and I have given up going there because we don’t like how it makes us feel when we leave. The stores are really high end. Stores that sell $3000 purses and $800 shirts. Places we could never afford. We used to go there to walk after our daughter was born. It’s really big and climate controlled and good for window shopping. But whenever we left, it made us feel sort of bad about our life. Like there's a big divide in our heads between the haves and the have nots. Which is stupid. Because our life is good. No, it’s great. And it’s just a stupid mall. Who needs an inferiority complex from a mall. Isn’t that what the rest of society is for?

On the other hand, we can’t stand shopping at the ghetto mall by our house either. See, if the fancy mall makes you feel bad about yourself, you’d think the ghetto mall would make you feel good. Only it doesn’t. It mostly makes me think I need a shower when I get home. The fact that I’m driving the nicest car in the parking lot doesn’t make me feel any less paranoid about the thugs in line ahead of me at the pretzel place. And there’s always an impressive selection of clear heeled stripper shoe stores. Which is odd because they also have a nice Barnes and Noble. Go figure.

I think I’m over malls in general. Even middle of the road ones. They always seem to be full of skanky looking 13 year old girls and annoying packs of boys that like to cut right in front of our big rig stroller. Maybe it’s the big stroller that annoys me not the mall. Wait. No, I’m pretty sure it’s the skanky 13 year olds.

I am an evil hag

My husband’s last semester is in full swing. Which is sorta awesome because it’s literally the last one. But he’s taking two classes so it feels like we’re two tiny little mules attempting to drag a three hundred million pound cart behind us. While taking care of two kids. But the semester is nearly half over already. So that’s sorta awesome squared.

On top of that, there’s like a big huge stressful project at work. Which typically, I have the innate ability to keep in perspective and never feel stress over. Except everyone at work keeps reiterating the monumental importance of the project so then I actually start to think maybe I should be stressed and experience occasional bursts of “The sky will fall if I don't get this done I don't know what I'm doing must keep working get it done now now now!” Thankfully, these moments pass quickly. I’m terminally low key.

I also have a stack of mail to go through, several phone calls to make, emails to return, blah blah blah. But who doesn’t? Which is why it baffles me when I’m the only one that can’t seem to keep up.

The mother of one of my daughter’s little daycare buddies keeps trying to set up a play date. Her kid moved to another daycare and the kids miss each other. Several notes and unreturned phone messages later, she probably thinks I’m some evil hag. Not to mention rude. My husband finally called her up and told her I’d been busy with him out of town and that I’d call her soon. That’s just sad. Maybe even sad squared. Maybe I am an evil hag. And rude.

To redeem myself I’m going to put that phone call on my list of things to do today. That’ll be like the 10th time I’ve put it on my to do list. But that’s beside the point. Because this time I really mean it.

Hopefully. We’ll see. See, there's the evil hag again.

Things my husband has actually said to me

While seated next to me at the dinner table, “Since, you’re up could you bring me the ketchup.” He was closer to the kitchen, too. Space cadet. We like to race to sit down now so we can ask the other person to get stuff. It's another fun game we play.

“Sometimes I don’t really need to look at your face.” Spooning versus the frontward cuddle.

Laying next to me in bed, “What’d you say? I wasn’t listening. I was pretending I was wearing headphones.” He's convinced I only come up with things to talk about during The Shield. He's against mid-Shield chatter.

“Get away from me. You’re no good at cuddling anymore.” Mid cuddle. Followed by smothering me with hugs and kisses for ten more minutes.


Updated 6/28: Context provided for each of his comments. I forget not everyone lives with him and knows how insane he is. He's extraordinarily sweet. But moderately insane. Not one of his comments offended me. I'll save the offensive ones for another post. Just kidding. Kinda.

Reading in the bathroom is not glamorous but few things about parenting are

Before having kids, laying in bed reading was one of my favorite activities. Big mound of pillows behind my head. Pillow top bed. Four hundred thread count sheets. Snuggled right in with a good book. Since having kids, I’ve discovered the bathroom is my best bet. Which is unfortunate because the step stool next to the bathtub while my kids bathe is a lot less comfy. So it goes.

I started leaving whatever book I’m reading on the back of the toilet. It’s as if I’m slowly morphing into my husband. He stores all his wordly reading material in the bathroom. The man even got himself a magazine holder to put on the floor next to the toilet at one point. He complains that I own four curling irons while he's busy amassing a small library of woodworking magazines next to the trashcan. As if.

My new reading strategy is one or two pages per visit. Two or three pages while my three year old brushes her teeth. And a good solid fifty pages while the kids take a bath. Oh, how I love bath time. Oh, how I love any activity that keeps both of them happy and confined for longer than 3 minutes. They are welcome to use every drop of hot water in the house. They are welcome to fling water everywhere flooding the floor. Just, in the name of all that’s good and right in the world, stay there and play quietly so I can finish a chapter.

When a book gets good, I end up lingering in the bathroom long after activities have ended. Last night my husband caught me still sitting on the side of the bathtub long after my three year old put her Hello Kitty toothbrush away and cruised off down the hall. I was trying to finish up the new Sarah Mlynowski book Me vs. Me. I haven’t liked it as much as her other ones. But I think that’s because I really liked Milkrun. But this one’s cute.

I think I’ve had a hard time identifying with the main girl because she’s a total doormat. I’m all about being a nice person, too, but you gotta keep it real. Or at least learn how to turn your ringer off to avoid people. And if you're Jewish and your future mother-in-law buys you a six foot painting of Jesus to hang in your living room, stop trying to get her to like you. She's not that into you.

Pirate Master is dead to me and other good news

My mother's out of the hospital now. She’s staying at our house attempting to rest. I say attempting because my two children keep harassing her to read books and look at every toy we own. She’s like a sitting duck just laying there in the bed.

But there is naptime every afternoon and that’s quiet. Relatively. And during the week the kids head off to daycare for a few hours each day so that’ll be good, too. In case it’s not, I bought her the new Janet Evanovich book Lean Mean Thirteen to make up for it. I haven’t even read it yet myself. Nothing says thoughtfulness like letting someone else read a good book before you. Although, seriously, making someone wait for me to read a book first is like telling them to go buy their own copy. Because I am slow. And have small children. And my children don’t like me to read books that don’t contain pictures of animals.

They do however let me watch Pirate Master. Which is sad, because, man, is that show stupid. After missing it the week before, I watched a few minutes last week. Absence made my heart grow fonder for that show right up until it came on and the new captain mysteriously developed a British accent overnight. Dude’s not from Britain. Dude didn’t have a British accent until he became captain. Pirate Master is dead to me.

Plus, honestly, I can only handle so much 2nd rate reality television per week. What with the the Charm School season finale this Sunday, my week is all booked up.

I get a free pass

Yesterday, my husband tried to ask me nicely not to leave open bananas laying on the counter when I leave with the kids for the day. Something about attracting large numbers of flies. Something about please and he’d really appreciate it. Whatever. I’ve given myself a free pass on any and all criticism for the next two or three days. Because, for real, that’s my reward for running the house by myself for five weeks. Yes, the carpet's very dirty. Yes, the laundry is out of control. But everyone’s alive aren’t they? And the house didn’t burn down, did it? Let’s keep our eyes on the prize here, people.

Although, seriously, our carpet is insanely dirty. My three year old gave my one year old a container of orange jello-y stuff and he walked around the house slowly spilling it everywhere. And there was a marker incident in the living room. And dining room. And someone threw up in the hall. I’m thinking a dog but who knows.

Hopefully my husband doesn't drown

My husband arrived home late last night. I recall unlocking the door for him. I recall the dogs flipping out. And I recall his efforts to reclaim his side of the bed. I will throw the floodgates of joy wide open for him tonight though. Floodgates that include mandatory cuddling and delicate china doll crying. Right after the children get done using him as a jungle gym. Right after we get done eating the meal he's going to have waiting on the table for us when we walk in the door. Did I mention how happy I am that he's home?

I'm ready to get my cuddle on

My mother is still in the hospital but continues to improve. In fact, she improved enough to razz me about the selection of books I brought to keep her busy while she’s there. After eliminating everything she’s already read and everything she would consider mindless drivel, my bookshelves produced the first Harry Potter book, The Devil Wears Prada and East of Eden. East of Eden being the one that got me razzed. I’ll admit it’s not standard fluffy pass the time hospital reading. But my mom reads really fast. I figured I should produce a nice long book in case she flew through the first two. Of course, that was before I knew she has a 24 inch flat screen in her room to fall back on. I'm no longer worried about her getting bored.

In other less hospital related news, my husband is currently in the car driving home to me at this very moment. Sometime in the night, he will pull into our little driveway and restore order to the universe as we know it. It’s been a long five weeks. My excitement at his impending arrival is barely contained.

I've got big plans upon his return. First, I will subject him to mandatory cuddle time. When he tries to tell me we’re done, I will put his arm back around me and tell him we’re not. Then, I will make him watch my children while I go lock myself in the bathroom for a really, really long time. And I will not answer when people bang on the door or attempt to have conversations with me through the door. Finally, I will make him watch Who’s Wedding is it Anyway? with me and force him to offer opinions on the bridesmaid dresses. And then he will grab the remote and turn on Ultimate Fighter. And that'll be okay. Because I’ve missed him. Nothing is the same without him. And I'm okay with that, too. Because he’s almost back.

I'm practically a doctor at this point

My mother had a heart attack last night. She's fine now. I guess. I mean she's still in the hospital but I guess it wasn't that bad. For example her account of the night's events did not include falling to the ground clutching her chest or anyone shouting "Clear" and putting paddles on her chest. So I'm thinking that sounds relatively mild.

I feel qualified to make that determination based on years of ER watching. I also feel qualified to tell you that someone totally messed up on my mom. Because they didn't intubate her. And if I've learned nothing else from watching ER, I've learned that you need to intubate the patient when they get to the emergency room. It's like a rule or something. And you don't want a rookie doctor to do it because he could accidentally cut your vocal cords while he's at it. See. I'm practically a doctor.

So my mother is resting comfortably and recovering well. I guess. If nothing else she's got a 24 inch flat screen television in her hospital room. I know. What's that about? My house doesn't have a 24 inch flat screen television. And I can assure you I didn't get one during either of my stays in the maternity ward. The cardiac ward appears to be the pimped out Cadillac wing. They're probably serving fresh baked cookies after dinner, too and handing out monogrammed bathrobes.

I'm totally demanding a flat screen television next time I'm in the hospital. Right after I demand that they intubate me. Because, quite frankly, if you're not intubated, I don't even know why you're there.

Insanely well rested girl

I slept 10 hours last night. In a row. I feel like I could climb a mountain or something right now. Like I could just fling both of my kids into some sort of dual backpack carrier and haul them right up the side of the mountain with me. And forage for berries and build makeshift shelters along the way. Not that I would. Because I’m lazy. But I could if I wanted. But only today. Because I’m pretty sure I’ll be right back where I was tomorrow. Which is tired. And still lazy.

In honor of not being tired, I was completely devoid of any sense of urgency. Got up late, served cereal bars in the car for breakfast and rolled into my 9 to 5 job at noon. Like I care. Because I’m insanely well rested girl. And today rocks. I don't care if it's raining, my son's had a runny nose for a week, his bedroom reeks, and his sister is nuts. And I definitely don’t care that my desk is covered with a million things that had to be done yesterday. Don't care. Today rocks.

I should get this much sleep every night. Imagine all the stuff I could get done. Imagine all the thoughts I’d be able to hold in my head at one time. This is the most awesome Monday ever. Maybe. Sort of. Okay, it probably isn’t. But it feels like it is. Because I am insanely well rested girl.

I should go put insanely well rested girl to work now. She’s remarkably productive. And she does good work. I wish she could stay forever.

Everyone except me is clever

StumbleUpon continues to produce links I like. Here are some clever ones:

Clever Advertising. I'd totally wear the Fed Ex shirt.

Clever Vending Machine. I thought the chick was real for a second.

Clever Trick. I would so walk in the wrong door.

Clever Bench. Impossible not to notice.

The Opposite of Clever. Idiots.

My DVR is wise

Apparently my DVR did not think I should be watching Pirate Master either. Either that or I'm too stupid to program my DVR. But it's all good. Instead of second rate reality television, my DVR had the wisdom to catch the season premiere of Rescue Me, an episode of The Office I hadn't seen before and another new episode of The Starter Wife. I'm thinking early bedtime for frick and frack. I'm thinking wine cooler. I'm thinking lock the world's most annoying dog in the garage and turn up the volume. Score me.

My television viewing is hitting new lows

What does it say about the state of my summer television viewing that I’m looking forward to Pirate Master tonight. Pirate Master. I know. I should not even know what night that show is on let alone be looking forward to it. The problem is there’s nothing else on.

I have been watching The Starter Wife. But I haven’t decided if I’m sold on it yet. The first episode was cute but now the Pond’s product placement is starting to annoy me and I’m not sure how bad I feel for her. She’s rich, pretty and was making out with a hot dude on the beach just days after her husband dumped her. Yeah, it totally sucks your husband ditched you but let’s keep it in perspective, shall we? Although, hot dude on the beach turned out to be homeless and weird. He had this little living area on the beach. It looked sorta like a studio apartment. Except the floor is sand and there’s no roof. He even had a bookcase. With books in it. I guess it never rains in Malibu. Or maybe his books are waterproof.

Pirate Master isn’t completely stupid though. I mean it is reality television which by definition means it’s slightly stupid. But it doesn’t suck. They pick a captain for the ship and he gets lots of money and special treatment while the crew gets nothing. He’s sitting around eating steak and eggs and they’re swabbing the deck and eating gruel. Oh, and they appear to be giving the captain a steady stream of rum. I’m sure it will eventually lead to drunken arguments but so far the captain's mostly kept to himself. Which, honestly, just helps the bitterness and resentment build up in the crew so he should definitely keep doing that.

I pray I will someday need an alarm clock again

A LeapPad Alphabet Bus three inches from my ear woke me up this morning at 6:27 a.m. It was singing about letters on the bus. And there was a three year old girl attached to it giggling and singing along.

She knows all the letters already. I know this because I heard her correctly identify all of them. That might make you think we don’t need to play the letter game anymore. Except you’d be wrong. Because the letter game is fun and plays music and is awesome. Way more awesome than sleeping. She told me so.

For fifteen minutes I attempted to convince myself that I was tired enough to sleep through anything. Which is insane because, dude, that thing's loud. So loud I'm convinced there aren't any actual parents working at LeapPad. Because a normal parent would have told them ix-nay the oud-lay.

My one year old thinks it's loud too. He told me so. Right after the letter game woke him up, too. At 6:47 a.m. Beautiful.

I'm not passive or aggressive but I enjoy people that are

My new favorite random website is Passive-Aggressive Notes. This note is my favorite. I want to work in that office. Specifically, I want to sit next to the person that taped the milk carton to the door because if that doesn’t say fun to hang around I don’t know what does. Three days after I found the Passive-Aggressive site, I moved to a new floor at work. The move was part of the new assignment I recently got. My first day on the new floor I go to throw my TV dinner in the freezer and there's my very own passive-aggresive note about ice tray ettiquette:

I love that it's literally inside the freezer. Next time I throw a baby shower, I swear I'm taping the flyers up inside the freezer just to join in the fun.

I laughed at all of these

Last week was wacky photos. This week I'm posting five things that made me laugh. Or smile. Or whatever. All found via StumbleUpon:

Dollar store dress code. Good to know.

E-cards. R-rated but way funnier than Hallmark. I love that they have a break up category.

K-Y Jelly. Took me a second to get it.
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Air carrier music video. If the Navy was smart, they would use this as a recruitment video.

Problem solving flowchart. Good solid problem solving advice.

Mosquitoes Suck

My three year old has Cellulitis. That's a fancy medical term for really, really infected bug bites. We got the bug bites at a nifty new playground. A new playground I now hate with a passion. Because I don’t care that it’s been raining for weeks now and I led my children through the grass rather than on the sidewalk and didn’t use bug spray. It’s clearly the playground’s fault not mine.

So I’ve discovered that Cellulitis can be serious. I guess it can be painful and some kids get fevers. Ours just has swollen body parts and general unwillingness to let anyone other than me look at them. She's on antibiotics. She thinks the antibiotics are awesome. I like to think I contributed to this.

On the way to the pharmacy, I told her she was getting medicine and that it would taste like her favorite candy. And she said, Strawberry? And I was all, Duh. And she was all, Yeah! And then, talk about lucky, the medicine did taste like strawberries and now she keeps asking when she gets to take more. Today she was licking the outside of the medicine dropper like a lollipop trying to get it all off.

I'm okay with that. Because it’s important to find things your kids like. Not to make their lives happier or anything. Although, technically, I’m not against that either. But finding things they like gives you leverage. What started out as medicine has now become a piece of cheese to dangle over her head to get her to clean up her room and go to bed on time. Maybe Cellulitis isn’t so bad after all.

Chicken nuggets should not make you cry

Today was a better day. I knew it the moment I opened my eyes. Isn’t it weird how that happens? I just knew it. Nothing special going on. No big events planned. It just felt different and better.

My one year old immediately jumped up and started babbling happily when I opened his door and came in. See, even he knows it’s going to be better, too.

I got everyone into the car without incident, the world’s most annoying dog went into his crate the first time I asked him and I didn’t forget anything. I made jokes, didn't care that I got to work late and made cheery small talk with everyone that crossed my path in the office.

This all being the polar opposite of yesterday. Yesterday being the day I cried on the phone with my husband while driving home rambling incoherently about how every toy we own is laying out on the living room floor and our children eat too many chicken nuggets and our daughter dumped all the clean laundry on the floor and the world’s most annoying dog took a nap on top of it. All perfectly normal things to cry about.

My husband took it in stride. First he reminded me to karate chop the three year old in the throat, beat her with a wire hanger, burn all her toys in front of her and send her to bed with no dinner. Then he pointed out that I was probably just tired and letting little things bother me more than I should. I think it was the chicken nugget related crying that really tipped him off.

I took a big blubbery breath and decided to believe him. And then I got 7 hours of sleep last night. In a row. And I woke up feeling different and better. And now I know he was right.

Somedays I wouldn't mind being the one in the liquor store drive thru

My husband has been out of town for 2 ½ weeks now. We have another 2 ½ weeks to go. I’m tired, overworked and rarely get a moment to myself.

The other day he called me from the drive thru line at a liquor store. They were headed back to the hotel for drinks by the pool. I was at home picking up an entire box of Q-tips flung everywhere by our one year old. Another day he called me from an all you can eat crab restaurant. The food is great and it’s become their new Friday tradition. I was at home microwaving quesadillas with two attention starved kids clinging to my legs still wearing my work clothes because I hadn't had time to change yet. That’s my new everyday tradition. And there’s always a crowd in the car with Scott laughing and joking. Not that my car isn’t full too. Except there’s more screaming in mine. And more people shrieking “Mine.”

It’s not my husband’s fault he’s off in another state. He got sent there for work. He had to go. And I know that he means it when he tells me how much he wishes he was home and how bad he feels that I have to bear the parental heavy lifting right now on my own. He is a good man. Kind and sweet and wonderfully devoted to his home and family. I know that he means it.

But there are days when the discrepancy between his daily routines and mine are hard to swallow. Days when I’m green with envy and it’s hard to make “Have fun!” sound sincere when we get off the phone.

I’m trying hard to rise above it. Trying hard not to make him feel guilty for something he can’t do anything about. But it’s hard. Being tired and overworked and rarely getting a moment to myself tends to make it harder. At least it’s halfway over. And at least Sam’s sells wine coolers and there’s a box in my garage to dull my senses occasionally.

All. By. Myself.

I dropped the kids off at my dad’s house Saturday so I could run a few errands. Scott is still out of town so anyone that wants to watch my kids while I grocery shop is my new best friend. When I got back from the store they were still at McDonalds for lunch so I grabbed my book and headed to the library near his house and sat and read for a whole hour. All by myself. Those are my three favorite words. All. By. Myself. In my mind, they’re synonymous with peace and quiet. Which is also synonymous with awesome.

I even finished my book while I was there. Which makes it seem like I’m super literate amazing reader girl because that makes two books in one week. Except I'm not. This book was just really short. Plum Lovin' by Janet Evanovich. A cute sort of abbreviated version of one of her regular Stephanie Plum mysteries. But no Joe Morelli. So if Joe is your favorite, prepare to miss him. I know I did.

Wacky photos found by Stumbling

I think I'm addicted to StumbleUpon. I've been stumbling around for the last two days and I've found no less than 12 sites I felt obligated to bookmark. I'm sure I'll eventually share them all but for now here are my favorite photos you have to see to believe:

Best Toilet Ever. I can't decide if I would use it or not.

Eggs. Like dominoes except way harder.

Mailboxes. Every single one of those people clearly has too much time on their hands.

Street art installations. My favorite is the guy whose head appears to be embedded in a wall.

Mouse Couch. I seriously wish I worked there.

Friday morning love

I love Fridays. I also love this video. Not as much as I love Fridays. But still quite a bit. It reminds me of Marky Mark in The Departed. Only it’s from Human Giant. It's funny despite the fact that it's on MTV.

And I also love the movie Love Actually which I got to watch last night courtesy of my beloved DVR. The movie apparently came out in 2003 but I only recently became aware of its existence. I clearly live under a rock. The rock in question being two small children. But it's really good. Which of course everyone else already knows but oh, well. Hugh Grant is so charming it still makes no sense that he'd need to hire a hooker. And I’d like it to be known that I'd be okay with Liam Neeson’s character adopting me. Just the fact that he’d race a little kid to the airport and then encourage him to run past security to say goodbye to someone says he and I would get along.