AMomTwoBoys

Okay, peeps.  I’m super excited about today’s guest poster.  She was my first blog buddy, and although she’s hit the big time, she still comes here and visits.  She’s blog world famous for her animated posts, although this is the first post of hers I read and commented on.  You’ll see why that’s significant…read on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once upon a time Holly (aka HRH, aka texasholly, aka girl who can’t figure out what you should call her) started a blog.

Holly blogged and blogged.

Holly loved blogging. Holly’s mom read her blog. Holly’s mom told her great aunt to read her blog. Holly’s mom’s childhood friend read her blog. Holly’s friend read her blog.

Blogging is so much fun!

One day Holly went to her computer and found she had a comment.

A comment?

What?

Holly had talked to her mom.

Holly had emailed her friend.

Who in the world would leave a comment on Holly’s blog?

It was from someone called “AMomTwoBoys”.

Wow.

Who is this “AMomTwoBoys”?

What is with this comment?

*insert magical comment music here*

Holly followed the links back to AMomTwoBoys blog.

Holly read the blog.

Holly laughed at the blog.

Holly commented on the blog.

Holly continued to blog, but now she was hooked on the comment.

Would AMomTwoBoys come visit Holly today?

Sometimes Holly would post several posts in one day to lure AMomTwoBoys to comment.

It was kinda stalkerish. It was kinda fun. Oh, and a little creepy…

Then Holly realized that there were OTHER blogs in the world.

It wasn’t JUST Holly and AMomTwoBoys in the blogworld. There were others. Holly found JCK, Burg and Tootsie. And these blogs lead to other blogs and more blogs and more blogs and many more blogs and many, many more blogs…

AMomTwoBoys had opened Holly’s eyes.

AMomTwoBoys had shared a whole new world with Holly.

AMomTwoBoys was the gateway to the blog-o-sphere!

AMomTwoBoys should help other bloggers like she helped Holly!

Unfortunately, the story doesn’t end there. Holly continued stalking AMomTwoBoys. She continued to comment as HRH on AMomTwoBoys blog. She commented so MUCH that her initials took over the blog…

AMomTwoBoys was forced to move into the blogger witness protection program.

Well, that hasn’t happened...yet.

Oh, it’s been a fun few days, hasn’t it?!  AnyMommy announced her pregnancy, Mike shared the heartwarming story of when he brought his infant daughter to a bar, and now Marinka is going to talk to us about…well, I’ll let you see for yourself.  (But when you’re done here, remember to head over to Hot Mom Reviews…I’ve got a new review up with a GIVEAWAY!!!)

And I’m SO excited about getting to meet her tomorrow night that I can hardly contain myself.  I just won’t be EATING while we’re out. And rest assured that her mother will not be joining us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I always felt some anxiety about introducing the men that I dated to my parents. My parents are from the Old County, the Soviet Union, and while they are not old fashioned in the What are your intentions towards my daughter sense, they can be slightly eccentric. Like my father has the tendency to argue that heroin, crack and crystal meth should be legalized so that the users can get it at a reasonable rate. This will cut down on the crime rate, and if it should lead to an overdose or a million, well, he can’t be expected to solve all our social problems. My mother, on the other hand, has a deep dislike of dining out, which is fueled by being thrifty and the absolute conviction that restaurant employees ejaculate into every dish before serving it. Now that’s dedication to your job. I’m not sure how it started, but I can tell you that when a local superintendent was caught on camera entering a tenant’s apartment and masturbating into her Chinese food takeout, and the rest of New York City was vomiting sympathetically, my mother felt vindicated. Having the story appear on the 11 o’clock news was just icing on the cake. The kind of icing that comes with DNA, apparently.

As a result, when I met my pre-Husband, and it became obvious that he was going to meet my parents, I tried to prepare both sides.
“Please don’t say anything,” I begged my parents.
“Say what?” My father asked. “You are dating a non-Jew with a child from a previous relationship. What more is there to say?”

My mother was more tactful. “We are civilized people,” she reassured me. “We know how to behave in public. By the way, do you know that the ice you get in restaurants is just filthy frozen water? Really, you should let it melt sometime and see for yourself.”

“My parents’ English, she is not too good,” I warned pre-Husband, laying the groundwork for anything especially egregious to be blamed on “lost in translation.”
“Ok,” he said. Which is interesting because not once during the weeks when I fretted about our meeting each other’s parents did he mention that one side of his family were Jesus-loving, tongue talking fundamentalist evangelicals. Not that there is anything wrong with that, of course, and I know that in this country it can sometimes lead to high office, but a few weeks after he met my parents and I was mortified because my father went all neo-con on him, I was at a banquet hall for some future in-law’s wedding celebration and at one point everyone around our table leapt to their feet and started praising Jesus with their arms swinging over their heads. Not being fluent in tongue myself, I’m not sure what they were thanking Jesus for, but I can guarantee you that it wasn’t for all the delicious liquor that he provided for the reception, because, well, he didn’t. One of my future cousin-in-laws, seated at our table, caught my horrified eye and laughed, “Welcome to the family!” she chirped.

And suddenly? That low rent heroin that my father was suggesting didn’t sound that bad.

Wouldn’t it be great if this blog post ended with something pithy about how despite our families’ eccentricities, we’ve embraced everyone in a big family values hug and are living happily ever after? Why, yes, would be.

Today’s post is brought to you by my friend Mike. If you’ve been here before, which I’m assuming is the case, you know about Mike. If not, check out his blog. And wait in anticipation for Wednesday when his lovely wife Heather, my friend & business partner, will offer up some fun of her own.

And after reading this post you’ll know why they’re my kind of people.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There’s an awesome bar down the street from our place. It has sports on big screen TVs, video trivia, great appetizers, and, oh yeah, plenty o’ beer. Back in the day my wife, Heather, and I used to plow through a couple pitchers of beer and a crap load of chicken wings there while kicking everyone’s asses at trivia until the beer wet our brains so much that we couldn’t even remember the name of the handyman on “One Day At A Time.” (Schneider, of course.) Eventually we’d stumble home drunk and happy.

Once our beloved little angel Madeline was born last year, however, our trips to this bar stopped. Actually, they stopped even before that – when Heather got pregnant. Every once in a while one of us will go down there with a friend while the other watches the baby, but even those trips have been few and far between for a long while.

This all changed last night when Heather called on her way home and suggested that we go out for dinner. After throwing around the names of our usual “baby friendly” restaurants, Heather said, “Wouldn’t it be great it be great if we could somehow go watch the Dodgers’ game at our old bar?” This comment, after a few minutes of discussion, lead to me calling the bar and getting involved in this awkward exchange:

The phone rings until one of the female bartenders answers.

Bartender: “Hi! This is (Name of our bar)!

Me: “Yeah, uh, can people until twenty-one go to your bar as long as they don’t drink?”

Bartender: “I think legally, yeah, but we only card at the door, so we can’t have like, you know, a twenty year old in here ’cause if they ask for a drink and we give it to them we could get in trouble, you know?”

Me: “What if they weren’t twenty? What if they were like, uh, you know, young enough that you could tell just by looking at them they weren’t old enough to drink?”

BARTENDER: “Well, I’ve seen some teenagers who look twice their age. How young we talking here?”

ME: “Young.”

BARTENDER (growing frustrated): “How young?!?!”

ME: “A baby. It’s an, uh, baby.”

There’s a long, awkward pause on the line.

BARTENDER: “Let me ask the manager.”

Another long, awkward pause passes. Maddie suddenly starts crying loudly as the line is picked back up.

BARTENDER: “That the baby?”

ME: “Yeah, I need to feed her. So can she come to the bar?”

BARTENDER: “Um, uh, yes. The manager said that should be okay.”<

ME: "Great!"

Maddie cries loudest yet as I hang up the phone.

That call may have been very awkward, and a bit too much like that scene in the Reese Witherspoon film Sweet Home Alabama (“You have a baby…in a bar!”), but it nonetheless lead to Heather and I sitting in a secluded booth eating chicken wings, drinking beer, and watching the Dodgers’ game as a happy Maddie hung off my chest in her baby bjorn and played with her toys.

Here’s the photo I sent along with my application to the “Father of the Year” committee:

I don’t think we’ll be taking Maddie back to the bar anytime soon, but it was a nice break from our usual routine of family restaurants. And hey…just think of all the street cred Maddie will have now when she talks to all the other babies?

Hi everyone! Well, today officially starts my vacation. I’m leaving in a few short hours to head to Santa Barbara to spend the night so we don’t have to get up TOO early to make our 6am flight to New York tomorrow. I’m excited.

This also begins my week of very exciting guest posts. And from what I’ve seen already, you’re in for a treat. So remember to keep checking back. There are some GREAT stories to read.

Like today. Today I bring you my dear friend Stacey. Known around the bloggy world as AnyMommy. If you don’t know who she is already, you must live under a rock are really missing out. She’s awesome. She’s witty, funny, intelligent…and, uh, I’m going to stop gushing now, because I’m SO excited for you to read her post. So, get on it. And come back tomorrow to see what my BFF Mike has to say. Once again he’s up to no good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Asshole Old Enough to Be My Father in the Red Audi Behind Me at the Stoplight Today,

Really?  Was it really necessary to honk your horn for the entire five minutes?  I got that you were unhappy in the first thirty seconds, actually.  I’m quite sharp like that.  I pick up on things like blaring, obnoxious horns easily.  Here’s the thing, the lane in front of me was backed up into the intersection.  Had I moved forward the eight feet that you so insistently requested that I move, I would have then been blocking the intersection of two major thoroughfares during rush hour in D.C.  I preferred to sit at the green light, yes, I did realize it was green, I’m good with my colors like that, until I had a clear exit from the intersection.  You, obviously, from your liberal application of your horn, would have preferred that I not do so.  Clear.  You have no time to spare sitting in the traffic that you sit in every single day of your pathetic, hurried, angry life.  The rest of us adore sitting in traffic, because we have no where to be, but you, now you need to move that eight feet in a hurry.  I understand.  I really do.  You were probably on your way home to dinner, right, after a long hard day, whereas I, I love sitting through a light several times.  In fact, I sometimes just sit at green light for kicks, waiting to see if a poor unsuspecting sap will hit me from behind, not expecting some vapid, directionless, minivan-driving mom to take a coffee break at a green light.  And actually, if you must know, I was on my way to Kmart and I was in a bit of a hurry, but not so much so that I would risk my three small children’s lives to appease your anger displacement and misplaced outrage.

Your karma is bad.  I hope it bites you.

Sincerely,
Anymommy

Dear Six Hundred Passengers on NW Flight 1272 from Minneapolis to Reagan National,

I’m sorry.  In case you are wondering, no they never do shut up.  They just keep talking.  Incessantly. All the time.  Sometimes, a fork in your eye helps.  And yes, they are capable of asking the same question nine hundred times.  I know I stop answering them and they just keep asking, getting progressively louder.  Until your brain just can’t take it anymore.  I really hope you all had headphones.  Oh and about the Potty Song to the tune of “If You’re Happy and You Know It” sung over and over at 1000 decibels.  I did teach them that.  I don’t know why they busted out with it at 15,000 feet.  I was powerless to stop them.  In my defense, it really helped with potty training.  No?  Not making you feel better?  Okay, how about this – I’m going to hell, where the Potty Song will play on repeat for all eternity.  Forgive me?

If you pee-pee in the potty you get:  M and Ms!
If you poo-poo in the potty you get:  M and Ms!

Oops, sorry, I was already going to hell so I had nothing to loose.

All the best from Hades,
AnyMommy

Dear Northwest Airlines Janitorial Service,

About the eight million teeny stickers in row 22 last Thursday, I am really, really sorry.  I know they were stuck everywhere.  The seats.  The windows.  The trey table in the locked and upright position.  The floor.  I know you are still cursing the sticker family a week later.  I don’t blame you.  I had all three babies all by myself, you see, and the stickers made them really happy and really quiet for an entire hour.  That may not seem like a good trade off to you, since you had to scrape them all off of your airplane, but let me tell you, it was worth it.  They took a break from screeching the Potty Song and you have no idea how much I wanted them to stop screaming that song.  I take full responsibility for your hatred.  Curse me at will.  If it’s any consolation, I walked through National Airport covered in stickers.   I owe you one.  Okay, two, because I am totally letting them cover everything in stickers on the way back to Washington State.

Apologies in advance for the second sticker coming,
AnyMommy

Dear Dad,

Remember on Sunday at dinner, when you asked Gee if he liked the zoo?  And he said yes.  And then you asked him what his favorite animal was and he said “the elephants because they had big balls.”  I should have told you the truth right then, Daddy, but the look on your face was priceless and I couldn’t do it.  I let you flounder and choke and nod at him, speechless.  I let everyone laugh at you.  That’s what you get for not coming with us to the zoo.

Dad, the elephants have enormous balls.  Rubber ones.  To play with.  They kick them around the enclosure and bat at them with their trunks.  The kids loved it.  They like balls.  Toy balls.  Bouncy balls.  God, this isn’t working, everything I type is dirty and you’re my dad.  He’s your grandson and he was talking about elephant toys, not elephant family jewels.  Oy vey.

Love you, Stacey

Dear K-mart Check Out Clerk Who Didn’t Speak English,

I love you.  I mean it.  You are the nicest, most compassionate K-mart check out woman whose register I have ever had the good fortune to stumble across.  You could have made fun of me.  You could have said something snide or rolled your eyes.  There I stood, with a year-old baby in a stroller and two three-year-olds wreaking havoc on your check out aisle, paying for a pregnancy test and you were kind.  You smiled conspiratorially.  You said good luck, softly, as I walked away.  I hope good things happen for you.  I hope you win the lottery or write the next Oscar-winning screen play.  I hope your dreams, whatever they are, come true.  Kindness from strangers can be rare.

Thank you,
AnyMommy

Dear Universe,

Thank you.  I know it really has nothing to do with you and it’s just random biology and luck, but still, thank you.  I know I don’t deserve it.  I know I have three beautiful children already.  I know it’s selfish and greedy and crazy, but I wanted it so badly.  I wanted this baby, this one, last, beautiful, miraculous baby, so very badly.  My last.  My youngest.  Our fourth and final.  I am older and it was not a sure thing and I am grateful beyond belief.

Namaste, AnyMommy

Dear Me,

Congratulations!  Do yourself a favor?  Slow down.  Enjoy it.  Savor.  This is it.  The very last.  Don’t blink, my love.

Love, Me

Dear Me Again,

Are you insane?  Do you know what you have done?  In eight months, if all goes well, (knock everything in sight), you will have four children under four.  For later, keep in mind, you wanted this so very badly.  Nutcase.

Love, Me

Dear Meghan’s Readers,

Hi!  Meghan rocks.  I can’t believe she asked me to guest post.  It made me feel all shy and thrilled and fluttery.  I had written a very long, serious post on a deep and troubling issue, but then this happened and well, I can’t do cognac when I’m all floaty with champagne bubbles.  Thanks for letting me shout this into the wind before I exploded and told my parent’s mailman or something.  (I’m staying with my parents in DC right now.)  And, also, if you don’t mind, shhhhhh.  I won’t post it on my blog (where my MIL reads every single day) for weeks.

Nice to meet you all,
AnyMommy

Dear Fellow AllMediocre ‘08 DC Attendees,

I am heart broken about the sangria.  I don’t know what else to say.  There are no words.  I still absolutely can’t wait to meet you.  Hopefully, my not-more-than-one (two?)-glass self will not be too excruciatingly boring.

See you next week, AnyMommy

There.  I said it.  You’re all gasping, aren’t you?  It’s a shocking revelation.  Especially given the current American trend to applaud the apparent “normalness” of the Presidential & Vice Presidential candidates.

And you know what?  I don’t think you’re smart enough to be Vice President, either.  Did that hurt your feelings?  No?  Good.  Because it shouldn’t.  Running the most powerful country in the world isn’t something that should be left up to everyday Dick & Jane’s.  I went to college.  I have a degree.  So do most of you, I assume.  So do a lot of people.  And that’s great.  That’s what we encourage.  That’s what America’s all about.

It’s being celebrated that Sarah Palin is “just like me!”  But I don’t want a Vice President that’s just like me!  Frankly, that scares the ever loving shit out of me.  I don’t WANT to vote for someone that I can high five in the feminine products aisle at WalMart*.  I don’t WANT to vote for someone who finished at the BOTTOM of their class at the Naval Academy (The Naval Academy that they were accepted to because of their family’s Naval heritage.).  I don’t WANT to vote for someone who finally graduated college (University of Idaho) after 6 years and five different schools.  And that’s not a smack to the University of Idaho.  I went to UCSB, so I don’t have room to talk.

But, REALLY?  Is THAT what we’re suddenly celebrating and praising?  When did we get away from encouraging our children to excel?!  When did we get away from wanting our President & Vice President to be brilliant, to be mentally superior to us?!  To have an inherent, innate grasp of the economy, foreign relations, the fundamentals of the country (and I’m NOT referring to the American worker), or really anything else for that matter?!

I read this a few weeks ago and laughed at the first paragraph.  By the end, I was nodding emphatically in complete agreement:

Stop voting for people you want to have a beer with. Stop voting for folksy. Stop voting for people who remind you of your neighbor. Stop voting for the ideologically intransigent, the staggeringly ignorant, and the blazingly incompetent.

Vote for someone smarter than you. Vote for someone who inspires you. Vote for someone who has not only traveled the world but who has also shown a deep understanding and compassion for it. The stakes are real and they’re terrifyingly high. This election matters. It matters. It really matters. Let me say that one more time. This. Really. Matters.

Then I came across this Newsweek article and the subject came up again.

The point is that she comes to us, seeking the second most important job in the world, without any intellectual training relevant to the challenges and responsibilities that await her. There is nothing to suggest that she even sees a role for careful analysis or a deep understanding of world events when it comes to deciding the fate of a nation. In her interview with Gibson, Palin managed to turn a joke about seeing Russia from her window into a straight-faced claim that Alaska’s geographical proximity to Russia gave her some essential foreign-policy experience. Palin may be a perfectly wonderful person, a loving mother and a great American success story—but she is a beauty queen/sports reporter who stumbled into small-town politics, and who is now on the verge of stumbling into, or upon, world history.

And later:

Ask yourself: how has “elitism” become a bad word in American politics? There is simply no other walk of life in which extraordinary talent and rigorous training are denigrated. We want elite pilots to fly our planes, elite troops to undertake our most critical missions, elite athletes to represent us in competition and elite scientists to devote the most productive years of their lives to curing our diseases. And yet, when it comes time to vest people with even greater responsibilities, we consider it a virtue to shun any and all standards of excellence. When it comes to choosing the people whose thoughts and actions will decide the fates of millions, then we suddenly want someone just like us, someone fit to have a beer with, someone down-to-earth—in fact, almost anyone, provided that he or she doesn’t seem too intelligent or well educated.

And I know some of you are going to raise your hands and object to what I’m saying.  You’re going to say, “But I want the people who represent ME to be like ME!  To understand what I’m going through.  What my life is like!”  and I GET that.  I totally understand that.  But can’t they GET you and your life and STILL be brilliant?  Can’t they GET what your life is like and still understand how the economy works, be able to think on their feet and not lose their cool if they get ticked off about something?

I saw this post yesterday, by none other than Judy Blume (Yes, THAT Judy Blume), and it brought tears to my eyes.  Here’s a small snippet, but go read the whole thing.  It’s really beautifully written.

Whoever is elected in November is going to face a daunting challenge. No one person can clean up the mess it took 7 and ½ years to create. That’s why I want the calm, thoughtful candidate I believe will surround himself with the best and the brightest. I believe the decisions Obama makes will be made based on what’s best for this country.

I want a president who can make us proud as Americans. How great would it be after 7 and ½ years to have an articulate leader, an eloquent speaker, one who is not only willing to talk, but to listen? I believe Obama will be that kind of president. Plus, he has a sense of humor. He has two young daughters and a working wife. He’s smart. And let’s not forget the magic. Nothing wrong with having the ability to connect with people around the world –young, old, and in-between.

And why won’t Sarah Palin talk to reporters?  Why won’t they let reporters near her?  What are they so afraid of?!  The liberal media “attacking” her?  Or her opening her mouth and saying something along the lines of “In what regard?” or “I’ll try to find some and I’ll bring them to you.”

Is she a delicate flower that needs to be protected? If (god forbid) she becomes Vice President, are they EVER going to let her have her own thoughts or words, or will she be constantly monitored and made to stick to talking points?!

And don’t even get me STARTED on the debates.  McCain’s ploy yesterday totally threw me for a loop.  Until I saw that the plan was to try to have the Presidential debate moved to next Thursday in place of the VP debate.  And, HELLO, light bulb moment!  That gives the McCain camp extra (undefined) time to keep her out of the spotlight.  To keep her from having to, you know, TALK.  WTF?  I just don’t understand what they’re so afraid of.  Lord knows that if she stumbles & screws things up, they’ll just cry foul and garner sympathy from their supporters over the “unfair” treatment of her.

*UPDATE* I struggled with this graphic, because it’s seemingly opposite (as Heather pointed out in the comments) to the point I’m trying to get across.  Who’s really the elitist?  The Republicans have been screaming from the rooftops that Obama’s an elitist.  But HOW?  Because he’s incredibly smart?  Yes.   Because he lives an insanely wealthy life?  Uh.  NO.  If elite means intelligent, GREAT!  If it means out of touch with how “normal” American’s live their daily life, I’d have to give that title to McCain.

*UPDATE #2* I thought, briefly, about using this clip as my entire post.  But I really wanted to put all of this together, so I couldn’t bring myself to erase it.  So I’ve just added it here.  I don’t, honestly, even have anything to say about it.

Watch CBS Videos Online

*I’m not saying I don’t want a female vice presidential candidate.  There’s nothing wrong with a woman being vice president.  There’s just, in my opinion, something wrong with this woman being vice president.

Dear Grandma’s:

I’m entrusting you with my children this coming week.  And, as I’ve mentioned previously, I’m a nervous wreck about it.  Not because I don’t trust in your abilities to care and provide for them.  Because I do (really!).  But because, as you’re both well aware, I don’t leave them all that often.  Uh, like, ever, really.

There was that time in January that we spent in Palm Springs.  I didn’t sleep well.  There was also BlogHer weekend in July.  Although while I was on that trip, the boys were separated, so you were one on one, as opposed to having to watch both of them TOGETHER.

So here we go with some tips and tricks that will hopefully make your time with the boys easier.

• If Zach starts crying and Dylan immediately says “I said I’m sorry!  But I said I’m sorry!  It was uh accident.”  It was NOT uh accident.
• No matter what Dylan says, how many times he says “Pleaaeease?”, or how badly he insists he “needs” it, please do not allow him to have chocolate milk more than once a day.  And really, he doesn’t get it every day, so even giving it to him once a day is treat enough.
• Be ever aware of the fact that Zach is part monkey.  If he THINKS he can climb it, he will.  And more often than not, he gets himself into a precarious situation from which you will need to save him.
• Dylan lies.  I don’t know where he learned it, but he’s working on mastering it.  Be aware.
• Speaking of lying, he DOES NOT get a bunch of candy every time he poops on the potty.  One mini gummy worm is plenty.
• If he calls you into the room he’s in to “come see sumthin” try to figure out where his hands are before you approach.  If they’re “down there” chances are he’s going to try to show you his penis.  Please do not laugh.  You’ll only encourage this behavior and we’re trying to teach him that pulling it out and showing it to people is highly inappropriate.
• If Zach cries, he’s either hurt or tired.  Those are really the only two reasons.
• Or he might cry if you won’t give him the remote.  In which case he might also try to hit you.  This is also something we do not encourage.
• If all else fails, Dylan will eat Dinosaur Chicken.
• Zach will not.  But he will eat banana, peaches or cheese, so go with that.
• Macaroni & Cheese is also a pretty safe bet for both of them.  There’s some Trader Joe’s brand in the freezer.
• Pancakes are a big hit in the morning.
• NO butter for Dylan (unless you want him to freak out), Syrup is okay
• I don’t put Syrup on Zach’s.  He doesn’t know the difference, doesn’t need the sugar & will have it in his hair in a matter of seconds.
• No matter what Dylan says, he is NOT allowed to put the key into the car’s ignition.  (see above re: lying)
• Be prepared to hear “I want to do it mahself” over and over again.  From making his lunch to brushing his teeth to getting settled in his car seat.  Plan on having every chore take an extra minute or ten.
• Zach will most likely melt down by 11am or Noon.  So plan your day around being home for a mid day nap.
• If Zach’s glasses go missing, just ask Dylan.  He probably knows where they are.
• If he doesn’t know where they are, tell him you’ll give him candy if he finds them.
• That will serve two purposes.  You’ll find Zach’s glasses & Dylan will be busy for 5 – 10 minutes.
• If Dylan refuses to eat dinner, don’t give him dessert until he eats.
• Because then he’ll eat his dinner & won’t have a crazy sugar high afterwards.

And finally, DJ wants to add a warning.  Zach will get physically voilent if you have the audacity to eat something out of a bowl and not offer to share it with him.  This applies to ANYTHING, so be aware.

Good luck.  And don’t think I’m crazy if I call you constantly to check in.  I’m going to miss my babies something terrible.

I’m going to admit something right now.  Some of you might not like it.  Some of you *DJ* might make fun of me.

I cried the other night as I watched the last game being played at Yankee Stadium.

I wasn’t sobbing, but there was definitely a tear or two running down my cheek.  It was emotional.  That’s the stadium that holds my memories of being a kid and going to baseball games.  That’s the stadium that was home to my favorite baseball player, Bernie Williams, for his entire career.

He hadn’t been back in two years.  I’ll never get to go back.  And that made me sad.

But the new stadium has a Martini Bar, so that makes it a bit easier to handle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On another end of an era type note, Zach is so close to walking it’s scary.  He even took a few steps yesterday, between the ottoman & chair at Grandma Pam’s house.  It was impressive, save for the fact that I think it was merely coincidental that he picked his feet up.  Time will tell.

And given the fact that I’m leaving in a few days for a week, there is NO DOUBT in my mind that he’ll start walking while I’m gone.  It’ll be a big “F-You for leaving me Mom!” moment.

I wonder if he’ll learn to give the finger at the same time?

Here we go, another bullet list post.  Strap yourselves in, it might be a bumpy ride:

• One week from this moment we’ll be in New York City.
• I’m so excited, I might pee myself.
• I lie awake at night FREAKING out about leaving my kids for a week.
• Are you aware that they’re totally more likely to be kidnapped or suffer some horrible accident while I’m gone?
• I’m not sure that’s AT ALL true, but in my brain at 2am, that’s totally the case.
• Dylan said to me the other day: “Stop talking to me like that.  You’re going to go to your room.  You’re driving me crazy.”
• To which I replied: “…?”
• Zach’s gained 1.5 pounds in the past month.  He’s on some sort of freakish growth spurt (for him at least)
• Zach’s developed some serious attitude in the past month.  He’s on some sort of freakish “not a baby anymore” spurt.  *Sigh*
• I passed up on buying a gorgeous coat at TJ Maxx yesterday.
• It was $39.99 and I’m hoping they still have it on Tuesday when I go back.
• I passed up on buying a gorgeous purse at TJ Maxx yesterday.
• It was $169.99 and it was a tan, leather Michael Kors bag.
• I’m hoping they DON’T still have it on Tuesday when I go back.
• I’m so excited for the Grey’s Anatomy premiere on Thursday that I can hardly stand it.
• ABC is fucking genius for having an @ABCGreysAnatomy handle on Twitter.
• Zach just started screaming, seemingly for no reason.
• When I picked him up, there was blood in his mouth.
• No idea where it came from.
• He’s fine now.
• When I was getting Zach a glass of milk, Dylan said “Oh, fuck.”
• Kinda like he did here, way back when I didn’t have many readers.
• Which is significant for 2 reasons.
• 1) It was Grandmaother’s first comment (and you can see why she’s called Grandmaother)
• 2) It reminds me to remind you how excited you should be about my guest posters while I’m out of town.
• Zach has his own form of baby crack lately.
• Do you snort crack?  Because it needs to be something you snort.
• So maybe it’s baby heroin?
• Do you snort heroin?
• God, I’m such a loser when it comes to drug knowledge.
• Anyway, I’ll share it with you soon.  I need to get video of it.
• I’ll leave you with some recent photos.
• You’re welcome.

Okay, peeps.  Prepare to be amazed. Or slightly concerned for my sanity.  I’ve joined the Blogger Football League.  You can visit our benevolent, trash talking leaders Insta-Mom & Amy in Ohio for more information.  I’m pretty sure all I’m supposed to do is list my picks for who’s going to win every week.  And by picks, I mean my guesses.  Because I don’t really follow football.  The winners are high-lighted & bolded.  I added my reason, if I had one beyond eenie-meenie-miney-moe:

Arizona @ Washington (Arizona is on my list)
Carolina @ Minnesota
Houston @ Tennessee  (Houston could use some love)
Miami @ New England
Oakland @ Buffalo
Cincinnati @ NY Giants
Kansas City @ Atlanta
Tampa Bay @ Chicago (HATE the Bucs)
St. Louis @ Seattle
Detroit @ San Francisco (Detroit?!)
New Orleans @ Denver
Pittsburgh @ Philadelphia (Who doesn’t love a cheesesteak?)
Cleveland @ Baltimore
Jacksonville @ Indianapolis (I heart Peyton Manning)
Dallas @ Green Bay
NY Jets @ San Diego (Favre is an idiot & the Chargers have to win eventually)
Combined Final Score: 38

Keep your fingers crossed for me.  Hopefully I can hold my own in the land of the competitive, trash talking BFL bitches.

Head over to Insta Mom’s to see who else is playing, and to check out this week’s competition.

Dear Middle Aged Guy,

I know you think you look great.  And I know this because you decided it was appropriate to go shirtless at the mall yesterday.  I’m aware that it was a gorgeous day, but that’s really only appropriate, for someone with your…physique, when you’re at the beach.  And the beach was 8 blocks away.  So, please, spare us all and keep your shirt on when you’re shopping.

Thanks,

Meg

Dear Hot Young Guy,

Thank you for being shirtless at the mall yesterday.  It made my day.  Keep up the good work.

Love,

Meg