Wherein I finally talk about birthdays.

WARNING: This post is going to be rather photo heavy.

We have a lot of birthdays in this family. Of course, this is to be expected when you have as many people in your family as we do (at last count, our personal calendar had 60+ family birthdays on it - that's not including any of the friends and coworkers who might make their way on there). We have a steady stream of them all year round, it seems, but fall and winter seem to be particularly heavy on the calendar. I blame New Year's (let's be honest: it's not a day well-known for the making of good decisions) and Lent (many in our family are Catholic ... and if you can work out my rationale behind that, then you have my sympathies). Jude celebrates in September, Scout's b-day is in October, and mine rolls around in January. Toss Thanksgiving and Christmas in the mix, and I've got myself a party to plan five months in a row, which is just the way I like it (and yes, I usually plan my own birthday party... and yes, I am pushing 30... and no, I don't care that I "shouldn't care" about my birthday anymore because I'm a "grown up" ... I care. I care very much).

Party planning, as many of you may not know, is an area of expertise for me. Picking themes, blowing up balloons, designing and/or making cakes, putting up decorations, planning menus, putting together favor bags ... I love it all. In 2010, when Scout turned 3, she wanted a "Peter Pan Pirate Party," so we dressed like pirates, went on a treasure hunt, walked the plank, passed the pirate parrot, listened to maritime music, ate Caribbean skewers, and drank grog (aka: root beer and ginger ale). She even had a little girly Jolly Roger on her ice cream cake. It was pretty much amazing. My biggest regret is that I wasted such an epic party on a three-year-old. She probably won't remember 90% of it by the time she's an adult.

Photographic proof that we are pretty much the best parents ever.

The pirate princess herself.

Of course we busted out the cannon at our three-year-old's birthday party. Didn't you?

What? You don't even have a cannon? What a sad life you must lead.

For Jude's first birthday party (earlier that year),we went to the zoo, and of course I made cupcakes for the occasion:

I might have stayed up until 1am the night before decorating these bad boys, but they sure were beautiful,

even after the sun made them a bit drippy.

Of course, after the epic bashes of 2010 (and Scout's equally-epic harvest-themed first birthday party, complete with hay ride and carved pumpkins spelling out her name), I had to aim high in 2011 to outdo myself. I have to hand it to my kids: they sure made it easy on me. Jude loves dogs. I mean LOVES dogs. He is madly in love with our dog Missy (who, to be honest, merely tolerates him). But his love is not limited to our dog. We see a dog anywhere, and he needs to pet it, talk to it, and otherwise love on it. So for his birthday this year, it was obvious that we needed to have ourselves a dog party. We sent invitations telling people to expect a "howling" good time. I made puppy chow, a pasta salad that looked an awful lot like Missy's dog food, hot dogs, and homemade corndogs and hush puppies. We served the food out of (new) dog dishes. B's mom made cookies shaped like dog bones. We made (and subsequently wore) dog ears and painted puppy faces. The kids got goody bags with "kibble" and puppy stickers and Scooby Snacks in them. There ended up not being any time for games, but we had planned for a rousing round of "Pass the Puppy" (basically a modified version of the aforementioned Pass the Pirate Parrot with "Who Let the Dogs Out" playing instead of the Pirates of the Caribbean theme). It was a great time.

Scout and her "Aunt" Kristi (who never misses a birthday, despite living in Virginia)

modeling their cute puppy ensembles.

I always make complicated cake orders (and have kids with weird names to boot), so I always dread delivery day, thinking I'll have to send pics to CakeWrecks ... but our local DQ always pulls them off flawlessly.

Hot dogs and hush puppies... no nutritional value,

but high in deliciousness.

Scout started planning for her birthday this year in August. She repeatedly told me that she wanted a "rainbow party ... and possibly also My Little Pony ... or Strawberry Shortcake." Sometime in the two months prior to the party, I introduced her to Friendship is Magic (I swear it's not just for kids!), and the party ideas came together to form the perfect storm: A Rainbow Dash Birthday Bash. We had rainbow EVERYTHING. Rainbow fruit skewers. Six different drinks. Tacos with the toppings arranged in rainbow order (tomatoes, cheese, lettuce, avocado, purple onion, etc.). Balloons. Everything. And our activity? Well, we tie-dyed, of course. What else would you do with a group of 2-6 year-olds at a rainbow party?

The birthday girl sporting her Rainbow Dash-esque hairpiece.

Drinks, plates, napkins, cups, silverware ... EVERYTHING was rainbow, you guys. We were not messing around.

The rainbow and the pony were made from hand-painted (by me) fondant.

Please also note that the candles are tie-dye. Because, seriously.

Oh,and did I mention that the cake was actually six different layers of color, so when you cut into it, it was AMAZING?

It would have looked about 20% cooler if I had used synthetic dyes, but Scout doesn't do Red#40 (yes,we are THOSE people),

so I had to use all natural dyes.

And of course we sent all of the kids home with crayons and Skittles.

So there's the birthday post I promised you several months ago. And then some. Let me know if you need some help with your kid's party (or your own for that matter - I'm not here to judge). I don't want to brag, but I am a veritable fount of party ideas. Sometimes I wonder if I'm in the wrong line of work...

I'll talk later this week about my own birthday. It seems slightly less exciting in comparison to all of these festivities; plus, I'm about out of energy for the night.

An obligatory post of yearly goals

I'm a few days late to this party, but I heard once that "it" (whatever it is) is better late than never, which has long been a saving grace of mine because I am almost never on time for anything (case in point: the promised blog post "on Monday" back in October with pictures of Scout's Rainbow Dash party. I like to tell myself that the problem is that I am too busy actually living life to blog about it, but the fact is that I have too much TV to watch and not enough work ethic to do things most of the time). With that being said, here are some (a few are more personal and, frankly, none of your business, internet) of my goals for 2012...

[A brief sidenote on the difference between GOALS and RESOLUTIONS: RESOLUTIONS are things that are set in stone - "I resolve to do this..." - whereas GOALS are much more flexible - at least, I consider them to be. GOALS are plans, hopes, dreams, things to strive toward. RESOLUTIONS often involve a complete changing of habits that will require action day in and day out for the foreseeable future. GOALS are more like one-time deals. I'm rambling. I think/hope the difference will become clearer in the following list.]

1. Keep a written record of each book I read. (Bonus points: Also keep a record of new movies I watch.) This way, I will be able to finally compile a year-end blog review like so many of my friends. Also, in my Type-A, grade-grubbing brain, I feel like this is a way to "prove" (To whom? you ask, not unreasonably. To everyone [but mostly myself], I quietly and shamefacedly mutter) that I have read all of the books I think I do in a given time period.
2. Related to # 1: Read at least 24 books this year (audio books count, which is why I already have 1 under my belt - The Life of Pi .... don't bother).
3. Blog AT LEAST once per week. Stop laughing, you guys. I can totally do this. Yes, I know that I'm hours shy of already failing in the first week, but I can change. I can totally change. I can totally do this.
4. Lose at least 15 pounds. I know, I know. This one sounds shadily "New Year's Resolution"-ish, but ... that's because it sort of is. However, it's not the typical, abstract, "I need to lose 15 pounds" thing that everyone says on January 1st. I was on Weight Watchers for most of last year (technically... let's just say I paid membership dues for all of last year, but I might have, kind of, sort of, stopped going to the meetings sometime in May. I think I went to three meetings in the entire latter six months of the year. Sad, wasteful, true). Anyways, I was on WW (if in name only), and at first, I did awesome. I lost about 25 lbs. And then ... life happened. I was out of town; B was working so I couldn't go to the meetings; my meeting buddy wasn't able to go, and I didn't want to go alone; it had been too long and I couldn't just go back now; etc. As a result, my life at this time can be summed up in two e-cards. I've gained back at least 15 of the 25 formerly lost pounds. I have perpetual muffin top, even in my "fat" pants. I can't even look at my "skinny" clothes. I'm especially grateful for the unseasonably warm weather because I literally can't button my winter coat anymore. This is not a typical, "skinny girl complaining that she needs to lose 10 lbs" thing. This is an, "I can't fit into my current clothes without fear of explosion, and I can't afford to just go buy new ones, so something's gotta give" situation. So there. I may or may not have purchased an inordinate amount of produce and a box of tea that has not been verified by the FDA to actually boost my metabolism and limit my sugar cravings (it hasn't been verified by me on that one either - I'd kill a man for a chocolate chip cookie at this point).
5. Actually open that Etsy store for all those crafts I make and then say, "I could totally sell this on Etsy if only..."
6. Actually get the sweet Ravenclaw tattoo I've been talking about for months. I've already made some progress on this one. I called the tattoo parlor this evening about a consultation and possible straight up appointment! Merry Christmas and happy birthday to me! (I've even started combining my own Christmas and birthday presents. Hooray for early January birthdays.)
7. Actually respond (or at least actually listen) to voicemails as I get them instead of four (or more) days later. This one is actually on my original, handwritten list as, "Be a better friend."
8. Go on at least one date per month, as opposed to our current 2-4 per year (a combo of any/all - thought usually not all - of the following: Valentine's, birthdays, anniversary).
9. If money ever cooperates and I can get a decent camera, start that YouTube channel I've been dreaming of forever.

Like I said, those are just a few of the goals; the rest are just between me and B and the Lord. So ... yeah. Expect to see a lot more of me in the coming year, in the form of blog posts, pics of my tat, and (hopefully, fingers crossed, oh I hope I hope I hope so...) even video. I'll aim to see you sometime in the next 168 hours. Maybe I'll finally post pictures of those birthday parties we talked about three months ago.

Snippets

Life is crazy busy in the fall, even after I quit school. (Did I tell you I quit school? Because I totally quit school. Long story short, I hated my life, I never had time for friends or my kids, I was LIVING in front of the computer, and my work performance was severely suffering, so I just ... quit. Right in the middle of a class. So there. I'll have to pick it up again later, but for now, I know that I have made the right decision.) Anyways, because of how busy things have been, I have no time to blog about all of the cute/funny/exasperating things that keep happening. Here are some snippets of our lives over the past few weeks...

• Jude's new favorite thing is to wedge himself between the bed and the wall in the office/guest room. Once he is sufficiently stuck, he immediately begins calling for assistance: "I thtuck! I help you?" (Interpretation: I'm stuck! Will you help me?) He apparently thinks it's a game. This is fine except yesterday, he wedged himself in there and then plainly called to me, "Mommy! Help me!" My heart broke a little. He's always said, "I help you," never, "Help me." I'm not usually one of those "If only they could stay little forever..." people. I much prefer surly teens to crying babies. I like kids who can do stuff, if you know what I mean. Kids who are out of the "lump" stage of life, who are able to make their own sandwiches and don't need help getting dressed. Don't get me wrong, I love my kids, and I love the imaginative stage of toddlerhood. I just think I'll enjoy them even more when we can have rational discussions about things we have in common instead of me hiding most of my DVD collection from them and trying to pretend I'm interested in the Wonder Pets. Anyways, I say all of that to say that while I do want them to grow up, I also very much miss those adorable turns of phrase they had when they were smaller. That first time they change from "their" way to the "right" way (Like Jude saying, "Help me!" or Scout saying "diapers" instead of "buppers"), my heart breaks a little. That is all.

Hey, self, remember when you said you don't have time for a long blog post? (Shut up.)

• Speaking of having things in common with my kids, I might have inadvertently on purpose turned them onto wrock music recently. And Owl City. And My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. Maybe.

• My daughter is the youngest person I know who can clog a toilet for reasons other than excessive toilet paper use. She is her father's daughter. She makes him proud. She also makes a huge mess of our bathrooms. A preschooler wielding a plunger is a terrifying thing to behold. Two words: Poop. Rug.

• Our small group has recently branched out/expanded to become two groups instead of one. At our new group, two weeks in a row now, immediately after someone says something very poignant, serious, or "real", someone has accidentally bumped up against a child's toy that plays "The Entertainer". There's nothing quite like someone saying, "My aunt just found out her 4 year old has cancer," followed by cheery ragtime music. Inappropriate and kind of horrible? Yes. But also hilarious. I am a terrible person.

• I recently have been marathoning Scrubs on Netflix streaming. Dr. Cox totally made that show. That's all.

• Speaking of shows/movies, I am 0 for 2 in my impromptu/unofficial "Halloween Movie 101" class with B. So far he has given both The Lost Boys and Donnie Darko a mere 2.5 stars, otherwise known as an "eh" rating. I am disappoint.

• Also speaking of disappoint, I finally got around to watching Coraline this week. The book was a hundred times better than the movie. I mean, the animation was great, but seriously ... the book was way creepier, more suspenseful, and all around better.

That's all I have time for at this moment because I have a ton of work to do for my job and in preparation for Scout's rainbow birthday party tomorrow (hopefully pics and a blog post to come on Sunday or Monday). It should be a blast. In the meantime, that's my October in a nutshell: My Little Ponies, clogged toilets, and creeptastic classics. How's your October been?

A conversation with my preschooler (because I totally have one of those now)

Scout started school a few weeks ago. It's just three mornings a week, but it gets her out of my hair the house for a few hours and presents an opportunity to develop some much needed social skills. Her teacher, Mrs. W, keeps telling me that Scout is doing great and having a good time, and I'm inclined to believe her since we never have tearful mornings or "I DON'T WANNA GO!!!" fits or anything like that, and she's usually smiling and happy when I pick her up after class. She loves to talk about her "best friend Paige" and the games she plays with the other kids. However, if you ask Scout directly, you will quickly discover that she is, quite literally, too cool for school. "How was school today?" someone will ask. "I dunno," she'll say, with a shrug and that face you make to indicate the same. Or you'll say, "Did you have fun at school today, Scout?" and she'll start out with a grin and say, "Ye-" and then she'll catch herself, become somber and say, "Well, yes, but not too much fun," or, "Only just a little fun." I'm not sure what this says about her future. I fear it means she's going to be a lot like I was as a teen. (Please, Jesus, I know I probably deserve it, but don't punish me with that.)

Anyways, after picking her up at school today, we had to swing by Walmart to pick up a prescription and a few groceries. It was apparently "run into everyone you know" day at Ye Olde Wal Marts (one teacher and two moms from preschool, one girl from my high school, one sister-in-law, and one friend from church). Later, when we were back home and having some lunch, I asked her about one of the families we had run into.

Me: So, do you like Brinley? Are you and Brinley friends? Do you two play together at school?
Scout: Yes, I like Brinley, but I call her Kelsey.
Me: Why would you call her that? You shouldn't call her Kelsey. She probably doesn't like that; her name is Brinley.
Scout: Yes, but I call her Kelsey because I can never remember what her name is.

So matter of fact. As if she was saying, "Of course I just make up a random moniker for someone when I don't know their actual name. What would you do, Mother?"

Lord, help me.

Forget BEDA; I'm doing BODA

Have y'all heard of BEDA/VEDA? In case you are unfamiliar, it's Blog/Vlog Every Day in August. Actually, I think it was originally Blog/Vlog Every Day in April, and then someone realized that there are two A months, and thus BEDA/VEDA the Second was born. Anyways, as you can probably tell, I am not doing BEDA this year. I have never done BEDA. I like to tell myself I'm going to do BEDA in April of 2012, when I'm totally done with grad school and have had three

months to adjust to a textbookless, research paperless life, but let's face facts. We've all seen my track record. Remember that, "I am going to blog all the days!" promise I made a long time ago? And the time after that? And the time after that? I rest my case.

So, instead of BEDA, I am doing BODA: Blog One Day in August. That way, even if I don't write another post after this one, I have still succeeded at BODA. Go, me. Finishing something. For once. Woohoo.

So ... as you might have guessed, I'm back in school. Have been for six and a half weeks now. It's inarguably the worst class I have ever taken. Tons of busy work, rude professor, unclear assignment instructions ... it's really everything I've ever disliked about any class I have ever taken, but all piled into one eight week course. Its suckitude is beyond impressive.

What else can I update you on? Ah, the Ravenclaw scarf. (Don't look at me like that; we already knew I was a nerd of hopeless proportions.) If this is what it looked like before:

All in a 3-day weekend's work.

Then I'd say this is what it looks like now:

At this rate, I should be done by Christmas ... of 2015.

As you can see, I am making excellent progress.

Hmmm ... What else? Ah. The Host. Just finished reading that. It was surprisingly very good. If her name wasn't right there on the cover, I never would have guessed it was the same author as the Twilight series. I have two theories about this discrepancy:

Theory the First: Stephenie Meyer thinks teenagers are stupid... or at least she has no idea how to write for them. She apparently thinks that teens just want to read their own cheesy vampire fanfiction or something and that they don't understand complex things like plot and internal consistency.

Theory the Second: Stephenie Meyer is an evil genius who can actually write well, but who chose to slap together a piece of hackneyed crap because she knew it would make a bajillion dollars based solely on Angel Marble Cupcake Adonis Edward Sparklepire's twinkly good looks and creepy, borderline abusive charming personality. She didn't try at all when writing that series and is laughing her way to the bank while people try to dissect the "deeper meaning" within her glitter-filled Twinkies series.

So ... yeah. The Host. A good read. It was a little predictable, but there were no rip-my-hair-out, "Seriously, why are we still talking about this?", "Do you even understand how relationships work?", "No one would ever like this protagonist in real life" situations, gaping plot holes, or internal inconsistencies. The romantic relationships are still kind of weird/unhealthy, but nothing to the degree that Twilight's were. All in all, not bad for an alien-apocalypse-meets-romance novel. I give it one and a half thumbs up... or 3.5 stars, whichever you prefer.

So, that's it for BODA. Stay tuned. Maybe if you're lucky you'll get BOMTA (Blog One More Time in August). But I'm not making any promises.

Holy parentheticals, Batman!

What? Don't look at me like that. Yesterday counted as a non-weekday (and apparently Friday did too because when B called the garage about our brakes, they were out Friday through Monday). So ... there.

>:P

(Real mature, self. You're resorting to "neiner-neiner face" emoticons now? When this whole thing fails and all of your readers have left you, don't come crying to me ... who is also you... or something.)

Long story short, I was out having a nap fun-filled holiday weekend, and I don't plan on apologizing for it.

...

Yes I do. Please forgive me. All I want is for you to love like me and keep coming back here to read my inane blathering thoughts and witticisms and to be best friends forever and braid each others' hair and have sleepovers and pillowfights and make waffles in the morning and tell your friends that I am positively adorable and not at all crazy or RainMan-esque.

*pointing in the distance* What's that over there?

*Runs away*

*Shoves medicated clone with minimal social anxiety in front of the keyboard*

Ahem... nevermind; you can come back. It must have just been a squirrel or a mongoose or something (depending on where you live). What were we talking about? Oh, right. My unexcused absence. [Sidenote: That phrase always gives me flashbacks to high school gym class. I was ... shall we say ... not an athlete. Or coordinated. At all. I also had a "stinky attitude," as one of my teachers once told me. Thanks, Mrs. Dinger. I'll bet you were just trying really hard not to drop an F-bomb on the whiny, foul-mouthed, Goth brat who was throwing a fit about how "math class step aerobics is HAAAAARD!!!" Little did you know how that one innocuous, on-the-fly euphemism would provide more than 10 years of laughter.] So, I failed to uphold my strict "blog every (week)day" promise. Have you been here long? (If not, I can hardly blame you. This thing is updated so infrequently that [insert witty joke that I'm too lazy to come up with here].) You should know by now to neither listen to what I say nor do as I do... or something. Let's move on before we get lost in the seemingly neverending labyrinth of asides within sidenotes within parenthetical comments.

I know I promised pictures of the guest room/office remodel, but I only got everything officially "photo-worthy" this morning, and I wanted to take the pictures in the daylight so they turn out better, and I have this whole "work" thing that I have to do during the day, so ... maybe tomorrow? We're aiming for tomorrow.

Tonight I want to share with you a song. (Warning: Earworms Ahead) I heard this little ditty probably close to a month ago, and I just cannot stop laughing at (or humming) it. It's catchy; it's nerdy; it's got ukulele; it's everything I hope for in a YouTube song. Plus, as someone who used to have a MySpace (back in the day when facebook was still new and cool and people still Yahooed instead of Googling things... you know, way back in 2005 or something), I think the "inside" jokes are just hilarious. My favorite line has got to be: "I hope your cynical kids say, 'Holy crap! This is great!'" One of the best song lyrics of all time... or something.

(Drinking game idea: Go back through this post and take a drink every time I say "...or something." [For you hardcore lushes players, go back a second time and take a drink every time I start a new parenthesis, bracketed comment, sidenote, or interjection.])

So, without further ado, I give you "My Hope" by Molly Lewis (YouTube account sweetafton23):



If you like this song and/or Stephen Fry as much as I do, you'll also want to check out her "Open Letter" song for him on her channel. I prefer the version where she performed it live for him at Harvard. I've never seen a gay grown man look so flattered and embarrassed at the same time.



*For those of you playing the drinking game at home, you might want to call yourself a paramedic because by my count, you've just consumed 17 shots of alcohol, and that is one shy of a Dylan Thomas.

Useless internet connection is useless.

I had big plans, internet. Great, big plans. I was going to tell you all about our guest room/office remodel and include a bunch of reveal pictures... but then our internet connection decided to party like it's 1999... by which I mean it decided to act like a dial-up connection instead of the high speed, broadband, wi-fi that it is. Lamesauce. Considering the fact that I've been trying for 30 minutes to load a two-minute YouTube video, I'm guessing that a picture-heavy post would be sort of like Tolstoy sending War and Peace word by word via Pony Express from Russia to Miami (let that one sink in for a minute). In other words: It's not happening. Does this count as a blog post? Let's pretend it does because B just got home, and I haven't actually talked to him yet all week.

It's been a long day, so all you're getting is a crappy list.

The title pretty much says it all, so let's just jump right in, shall we?

1. We began our day by tidying up Jude's mohawk. I cut his hair into a 'hawk back in March or April, and because his hair grows inordinately quickly, I have already had to trim it at least three times. It should have been four because this last one was WAY overdue. (Sidenote: If any of you were wondering, I have discovered the secret to the perfectly straight, perfectly centered mohawk. Take a washable marker and draw "borders" on the head. Only shave up to the border markers. Wash the marker out when you're finished. Bada bing. You're welcome.)

2. I babysat my youngest niece on a whim this morning while my sister-in-law (this one, not this one) went to the dentist. She (my sister-in-law, I mean; my niece is an infant and not able to work, even in countries with no child labor laws) paid me for my "efforts" (I use this term loosely because the baby napped 2/3 of the time she was with me) with Sheetz MTO coffee. I was more than pleased with this form of currency.

3. I went to Chuck E Cheese for the first time in my life this evening. My oldest niece (who also belongs to the aforementioned sister-in-law) turned 7 last week, and B's mother set up a party with The Mouse (this one, not this one) for her family and ours. B had to work until 9:00, so Cara came in his stead. We ate pizza, played skee ball (and a bunch of other games, but let's face it: skee ball is the best), climbed on things (okay, the kids climbed on things - the adults supervised), and cashed in our tickets for some dollar store quality, Grade A crap prizes.

3. a. Scout is TERRIFIED of all things in costume (I need her to get over this by the time she is 7 because my lifelong dream is to take the kids to DisneyWorld for Christmas when she is 7 and Jude is 5), so during the big birthday song and dance, wherein Chuck himself graced us with his presence, she clung to me like a baby spider monkey and cried, begging to go hide in the bathroom until he was gone.

3.b. My niece made out like a bandit at the prize counter, primarily due to her special birthday girl status (which raked in something like 700 tickets without her having to play a single game), going home with a jewelry making kit, an arm full of bracelets, and a pocket full of candy. My kids? Well, they're a bit below the typical Chuck E Cheese demographic, so they didn't do as well. Scout snagged herself a rainbow Slinky (which she promptly tangled in her balloon string before we had left the parking lot), a mini-box of Tinkerbell crayons, and two small plastic frogs (I'm sure she would have gladly traded all 340 tickets for 17 of the frogs if I'd let her). Jude walked away with a temporary tattoo and some Smarties. All in all, it was a lovely time for them (except for that whole "giant, terrifying mouse" business... although Jude did just fine and was actually boogieing down with him at one point).

4. Before the party, my sister-in-law, my tiny humans, and I all went to Michael's for a few much-needed (and a few much-wanted) crafty items. While we were there, Scout happened to spot a FABULOUS Charlie and Lola pop-up book, in mint condition, in a clearance bin for $5.99, so we snatched that up faster than you can say, "Soren Lorenson." I also snagged some yarn to make scarves for my kids (I know, I can't even make one scarf, so why am I stocking up on supplies to make three? I have no excuse other than the fact that hoarding runs in my family.), some supplies for our kids' traditional Father's Day gifts, and some new embroidery hoops and stamps (because I can never, ever resist the $1 stamp bin at Michael's).

5. Any day that starts with drawing on your kid's head with magic marker and ends with a trip to Michael's and Chuck E Cheese is a good day. It's also a long day, which is why this is so late and why it's all you get for today.

The end.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzz...

Okay, about that "every day" business

Let's be honest. I don't turn on my computer most weekends (except to do homework, which, as you know, I will not be doing for another five weeks). To keep my weekends free to party (and by "party" I mean "nap" and "take my kids to the farmer's market and/or library"), I'm going to revise my previous "I will blog every day" statement. I will blog every WEEKday. It seems more manageable and gives me time to recharge my wit over the weekend so that I can regale you with tales of hilarity and/or woe throughout the week. Besides, don't you have better things to be doing with your weekends too?

So ... this is the part where I'm supposed to regale you with a tale of hilarity and/or woe, huh? Let's get down to business, then.

So, Friday afternoon, the kids and I went over to visit B's grandma (who is also our next door neighbor, you may recall). We decided to take the "road" (read: circular driveway) instead of walking through the grass because it had rained half the day and Grandpa had just mowed, so there were clumps of wet grass everywhere. We had a lovely visit and then, because I was feeling frivolous (Guess whose husband got a job! What up?) and it was just me and the kids for dinner, we decided to go get Chinese takeout. We placed our order (chicken and mixed veggies for me, chicken lo mein for the kiddos) then went next door to the grocery store for some beverages and dessert (skinny cow ice cream sandwiches for me, popsicles for the kiddos). Scout was ecstatic because she got to push the little cart (I tell you , it is the highlight of her LIFE). We got a lot of "Oh, isn't that just darling?" looks, and everyone was freakishly kind. I later realized it was probably because I recently purchased these headbands, and people probably thought I had cancer because my hair is so short you can hardly see it when I have them on. Morbid? Perhaps, but I have a feeling it may come in handy if I ever have 21 items in my basket and need to use the express checkout lane. Who is going to begrudge a young, tumorous mom one measly extra item? That's immoral. I digress. (I also meticulously count my items if I plan on using express checkout because I am terrified of being "that person" and the prospects of someone confronting me about my abuse of the 20 items or less lane. I digress from my digression.)

Anyways, we came home and ate, and after dinner, the kids were covered in MSG and popsicle residue, so I decided to plunk them in the tub. They splashed; I scrubbed; we drained the tub (a mini-poem, just for you). As I was lifting Scout out of the tub, I saw what I thought was a freckle under her chin. I thought, "Huh... How is it possible that I have never noticed that freckle before?" Upon slightly closer inspection, I decided it didn't look like a freckle so much as a scab. I thought, "That's weird. How did she get a scratch on her neck?" Then I did what any normal person would do: I scratched at it. (What? Don't act all affronted. I'd like to see you resist the siren call of a mystery scab.) It didn't come off. At this point, I was totally confused, so I had Scout lay down across my lap and tilt her head back so the light from the bathroom vanity would illuminate the mystery spot. I peered at it. I peered closer. And then, I saw what no mother wants to see...

The spot had legs.

Blogger keeps shrinking my images, making the text difficult to read
(and making all of my hard work on the non-magnified parasite
completely worthless). Lame.

Eight, horrifying legs. This is the part where I totally impressed myself. I simply said, "Scout, I need you to lay (Lie? I have a degree in English, and I still don't know the lay/lie rule.) right here and wait for me. I'll be right back." Then I calmly walked out of the room and called my sister-in-law. Since Handsome, her husband, is a firefighter/EMT, and they are both "outside people" (unlike me, a strictly inside person), I figured they'd be able to tell me what to do. It was very cool for me to be able to interact with Handsome in that capacity. I got a tiny glimpse (or earful, as the case may be) of him on the job, and he was totally in his element. I half expected him to call me "ma'am" or something. He didn't even say anything remotely terrifying to try and freak me out (which rarely if ever works anymore because I am totally used to his antics). He confirmed that it was, in fact, a deer tick on my child's jugular and told me how to go about removing it. He also suggested that I keep it in case we needed to take it to the doctor (which is why I have a Ziploc bag on my fridge that reads, "Scout Deer Tick 5/20/2011, Do Not Open or Throw Away," and every time I look at it, all I can think is, "Dead Dove. Do Not Eat." Love that show). Equipped with this knowledge, I went back to the bathroom armed with tweezers and the parenthetically aforementioned Ziploc and set about trying to remove the nasty little parasite.

At this point, I should mention that Scout fears the tweezers more than death itself. Once she realized I wanted to use them so close to one of her major blood vessels, she kind of, sort of, freaked out a tiny bit lot. While she kicked and screamed and flailed and I tried to remove the tick without puncturing her artery, I managed to pull the body off, but the head remained in her neck. When she kicked at me again, I noticed that she had another one on her thigh. Abandoning the disembodied head, I decided to try for the one on her leg instead. I'm not sure how, but I managed to get that one out completely without severing her femoral artery. When I tried to go back for the remnant of the one under her chin, she clung to my neck shrieking, "I'm scared! I'm scared, Mom! I'm a-scared of the tweezers! I'm just SCA-AARED!!!" At which point, I am pretty sure my heart looked like this:

Contents may have shifted during delivery.

She broke it right into a million, zillion pieces. It was heartbreaking, that's why. So I returned to the phone to ask my sister-in-law if it was imperative that I get the head out and/or if this was emergency-room-worthy (since we live in Western PA, where "deer tick" often equals "Lyme Disease"). She consulted Handsome, who did not seem to think so, but they agreed to call his mother (a nurse) and get her to call me. A few minutes later, she rang to say that we could wait until Monday to call the doctor, and she was pretty sure the remaining head would come out on its own, but she had a few tactics I could try to get it out without tweezers. (Both were a bust. Sorry, Leah.) In the end, I got Scout to settle down, put her and Jude to bed, and we all went about our weekend with Scout telling anyone who would listen that she had two deer ticks on her (cue the serious face) and it was very scary (insert gravely emphatic nod here).

I took her to the doctor this morning, where she was a total champ (probably because no tweezers were involved), and they put her on a round of antibiotics just to be safe. She's not running a fever and her bites haven't turned rashy, so I'm thinking she's out of the woods (both figuratively and literally; we don't need her going in there and getting more of those little bloodsuckers on her). The part that has me the most confused is where on earth she picked them up in the first place. Although I suppose when you're 38 inches tall, even walking into the as-yet unmowed yard to pick a dandelion could land you with them. Who knows? All I know is that this has firmly reinforced my "inside person" status.

Crocheting is nothing like riding a bike.

Hello, long-neglected readers. You know that old adage, "It's just like riding a bike," that's supposed to mean you never forget how to do something? First of all, let me tell you that while you may never forget how to ride a bike, you will lose a lot of your bike riding skills if you, like me, go for nearly ten years without mounting a bicycle (haha - mounting I'm 12). When I was a kid, I biked all the time. My sister and I would ride our bikes for hours up and down the street in front of our parents' house. As we got older and our biking parameters were expanded, we would go on long trail rides or bike to friends' houses several miles away. I wasn't about to join the Tour de France or anything, but I was a proficient rider. I knew when to change gears, I could pedal up steep hills, and turn from a paved road onto gravel without wiping out. I loved to see how fast I could go down hills or on long straight stretches.

Fast forward to the present. I haven't been on a bike in nearly a decade. Last summer, I thought I would start biking for fitness with a friend of mine. I weebled and wobbled and huffed and puffed... sure I could keep the bike upright, but I was clearly out of practice. If I surpassed about 3 miles per hour, I felt like I was careening out of control. Forget sudden moves - I locked my elbows and was afraid to make any moves at all on the gravel. I could barely make it up a gradual incline and then rode my brakes the whole way back down ... I was a real embarrassment. Crista, if you're reading this, I'm sorry I put you through that whole charade and forced you to be seen with me (even if we were only seen by B's grandparents).

All of that to say, after ten years away from the banana seat (haha - banana seat I'm 12), you might not forget the basics of how to ride a bike, but you're not going to be any good at it either. Well, let me tell you this: Crocheting is nothing like riding a bike. Shocking, I know. You're reeling from this information. I'll give you a moment.

...

Okay then. For you skeptics, allow me to demonstrate the ways in which these two activities are different:


You know another way in which these two activities are nothing alike? You can totally forget how to crochet. ("Why didn't I add that to the table?" you ask. Well, because I already converted the Word document to a Paint image and then closed the Word document without saving it, and I don't want have time to go back and create another one with this information.) Last night I thought I would get started on my totally nerdtastic Ravenclaw scarf. In my mind's eye, it was going to look something like this:

I'd say this is drawn to scale, but that would be one wide scarf.
Actual scarf would be much longer in comparison to width. You get the idea.

There were a few problems I knew I was going to encounter with this project: First of all, I have never worked with multiple colors of yarn in one garment before. Second of all, I have only ever crocheted one thing (a tiny scarf for Scout when she was 15 months old), and that was nearly three years ago. Third, the person who taught me to crochet (Shout-out to Kristi! Holla!) still lives in VA, and we have since relocated to the North (cue sad banjo music). Still, I felt confident. I thought my only real issue was going to be learning how to graft the two colors together. Oh, self from yesterday at about 9:30pm, how misguided and overly optimistic you were.

I thought I'd start by looking up some "patterns" on Google. (Did you know that a crochet pattern is all text with no pictures and is written entirely in Granny jargon? I didn't. I'm still trying to figure out what a yo is, besides a slang term that I overuse in daily conversation in a desperate attempt to appear younger and hipper than I really am.) I finally found a site that included pictures of the steps necessary to incorporate the new yarn into the project, so I bookmarked it and sat down to begin. I held my crochet hook in my right hand. I passed it to my left. I picked up my blue yarn. I put it down. (This is riveting stuff, self. You're going to be the next Dickens, I can feel it). Suddenly, I realized that I had no idea how to start. I thought I knew what to do once I got started, but I just could not remember how to start that first stitch (stitch? chain? yo?) . Then I had an epiphany. I would find a YouTube tutorial on crochet! That would solve all of my problems! Oh, self from yesterday at about 9:35pm, how earnest and overly optimistic you were. I loaded the video and began to watch... After about 15 seconds, the woman was still adjusting her zoom angle on her hand and talking about holding the yarn at precisely the right tension between her middle finger and her thumb. By the 20-second mark, I was scanning the list of recommended videos in the sidebar and had Googled "how to start crocheting" in another tab. (Did I mention that I have a doctor's appointment this morning to determine whether or not ADD medication might be appropriate for me?) Finally, I felt ready to begin. I sat down on the couch and began to work, carefully counting stitches/chains/yos, and telling myself how proud of me Laura Ingalls would be (when in doubt, I ask myself, "WWLID?"). After about 35 minutes, this is what I came up with:

Roughly half the size of the actual product . In addition to crochet,
let's add drawing crochet projects in MS Paint
to my list of "Things I Cannot Do."

Just like when I went on that attempted bike ride with Crista, I felt like a total embarrassment. Where had that strange lump on the bottom come from? Why was the scarf getting narrower with each row of chains/yos/stitches? Where was a Finch when I needed one? (Kristi learned at the feet of her mother, who is a true artist with a crochet hook.) Would Laura Ingalls still want to hang out with me? I knew I had gone horribly awry when I tried to just pull the yarn to unravel the whole thing, and it got stuck on a giant knot about halfway through the scarf mess.

Sometimes, I think that I think I'm craftier than I really am. It's one of my biggest flaws (right alongside crippling social anxiety and flat feet). So... that's the story of how I wasted my evening. If you made it this far, I'm impressed. If you didn't, I can't blame you. If you know how to crochet or know of a good online tutorial, please leave a comment so I can figure out what the heck I'm doing instead of wasting six weeks' worth of evenings on the scarf that was not meant to be. Save me from myself.

Hey! Remember when I told you all those things?

Of course you don't. Because I haven't told you things in ages. Because I am a terrible bloggess who neglects you. Can you ever forgive me? I got my eyebrows waxed just for you! (Okay, that's not true. I primarily did it for me... but it's still a public service, much like putting on foundation and eye liner. I'm doing my part to keep Pennsylvania beautiful.) I have these aspirations and dreams, in which I write every day and become a really good bloggess, like my sister-in-law, whom I adore. And then ... I write one post in five months. I'd call it baby steps, but I'm pretty sure it's just laziness.

I inadvertently ended up not taking a class for the first half of this summer (long story short, it starts with my procrastination habit and bad memory and ends with some late paperwork and a less-than-pleasant email from the registrar), so I am hoping to put some of my newfound "free time" to good use (if you define "good use" as "redecorating the guest room to double as an office space," "crocheting a Ravenclaw scarf for my nerdy self," and "finally watching all of those episodes of How I Met Your Mother on my DVR"... oh, and "blogging more"). I'm going to try and start small. Maybe I'll only get a paragraph up every day. Maybe it'll just be a crappy list. Maybe it'll be a picture of something ridiculous my children got into. Whatever. In the words of a random blog commenter whose name I don't remember now, "You'll get whatcha get and you won't pitch a fit." (Way to go, self. You're really endearing yourself to the neglected readers, making them want to stick around. Keep sellin' it.)

For today, to start small, we're going with a list. Here are some things I think are super-cool.

1. Florence and the Machine

Some people think she's presumptuous, trying too hard to be "artsy," a Lady Gaga wannabe, or just making a ballyhoo. I think she's brilliant.




2. Coke Zero

Anyone who has known me for pretty much any length of time knows about my near-addiction status with this beverage. I'm also discovering that as I get older, I am becoming one of Those People. You know, Those People. Don't know what I'm talking about? Allow me to set the scene. You're in a restaurant, and the server has just asked for your drink order. Those People ask, "Do you have Coke or Pepsi products?" and if the server says, "Pepsi," Those People say, "I'll just have a water." I swore I wouldn't become That Person. I scoffed, "I might have preferences, but I am not going to become a snob about it." Well, neglected readers, I am a lying liar who lies like a lazy dog wearing an ill-fitting wig on a cheap rug because I am (slowly, but surely) becoming That Person. Lord, help me.

3. WheezyWaiter, Charlieissocoollike, and the Vlogbrothers

In my opinion, these are the three (technically four) most talented vloggers on YouTube. A lot of people think that YouTube is just for Family Guy clips, cute cat videos, and movies of sick skateboarding tricks, but that is just not true. YouTube is like television for busy, thinking people. There are a lot of original content creators out there (someday, I'd love to be one of them. I think sometimes that I'd be much more likely to vlog than I am to blog), putting out lots of funny, creative, intelligent stuff. I've discovered more bands, learned more science and history facts, kept up with current events, and given more money to charity because of YouTube than I have because of TV and regular newspapers combined. I am telling you this: YouTube is the future of media. You have been warned. Below I have highlighted some good "starting-point" videos from each of the aforementioned content creators:

Craig Benzine (aka The Wheezy Waiter) tells you why you'll never be original:

Charlie McDonnell sings a duet... with himself (WARNING: You will hum this song for days):

John and Hank (aka the Vlogbrothers) explain what it means to be a part of their community:

I realize that was an exceptionally short list, but I feel like I've inundated you with enough crap for one day. Maybe tomorrow I'll actually have original (but not really) thoughts or words of my own to share. If you're not bitter about my bad blogging skills and neglect, leave a comment and tell me about some things that you think are super-cool.

Stories from my Three-year-Old: Volume 1

Scout is a master storyteller. Here's one she shared with me just a moment ago. I should point out before we begin that Scout hasn't entirely grown out of her l/r speech impediment (she's good with most words, but a few still give her trouble), so everywhere she says wolf it should be pronounced as woof. Also, as an added challenge, you can try to guess which Bible story is being allegorically referenced in parts of the story. Without further ado, a tale of some noses, some bears, and a wolf trying to cross a river...

There was one day a bunch of noses. And there was a big, old wolf. And there was also a bunch of bears. And some of the bears were really ever so giant, and then there was a baby bear. And the bears were going to run, but the baby bear said, "No, Mom. I'm going to get at that big, old wolf." And the baby bear went down and said to the wolf, and the big, old wolf sat down and was quiet.

But then, the big, old wolf ... well, there was also a river. A really, ever so big river. And the big, old wolf, he went into it, and then he was going down it, and then he fell over a really so big waterfall!!!

At this point I asked, "And did the bears live happily ever after?" and Scout said, "Yes. And the bears went down the river, and they were happy."

The end.

My daughter thinks Jesus is Soren Lorenson

Have you ever seen the adorable Disney cartoon Charlie and Lola? It's based on a series of equally adorable children's books by Lauren Child (who has authored several other fabulous-looking books; I cannot wait until Scout is old enough to start the Clarice Bean series). Well, in the book, I Am Too Absolutely Small for School, Child introduces us to Lola's imaginary friend, Soren Lorenson.

Soren Lorenson is Lola's invisible friend. Nobody knows what he looks like.


Lola and Soren Lorenson have adventures together.


Sometimes, Soren Lorenson can get Lola into trouble.

Scout is kind of in love with Charlie and Lola. She loves the books, the show, the toys, everything about them. I've always loved them, too. In fact, we first brought Snow is My Favorite and My Best and But Excuse Me That is My Book home from the library a few years ago because I thought they were so painfully cute. What quirky artwork! How fun to read in a British accent! I found them all the more adorable when I saw the show, and when I first saw Soren Lorenson, I was in LOVE. (Part of this may have stemmed from the fact that I thought his name was "So Unlonesome" because of the funny way that Lola enunciates it. What a perfect name for an imaginary friend, no? Apparently not because ... that's not his name.) Thus Charlie and Lola were born into our lives and over time have practically become members of our family. They are our go-to books at the library. We DVR their show, and unbeknownst to her, Scout is going to have a Very Charlie and Lola Christmas (complete with talking dolls and, hopefully, the entire box set of DVDs - or at least the so-cute-it-makes-me-itchy Christmas special).

Jesus has also been a big topic in our house lately, what with Scout being a big three-year-old now, who can actually sit still for long(ish) periods of time and who has a little personality and thoughts of her very own. She loves to go to Sunday school and read her little picture Bible. She even insisted I buy her some Jesus stickers at the Christian book store this summer (which we then used as potty prizes, meaning she got to stick one on her little potty every time she "went," which her father deemed "a misappropriation of the image of the Lord"). Scout loves to talk to Jesus (incidentally though, if you ask her to "pray," she will flat out refuse. Ask her to "talk to Jesus," though, and she is all about it). Half the time, her "prayers" are more like a grocery list of things she did that day, just in case He might have missed something or forgotten. Last night's dinner prayer, for instance, was, "Jesus, thanks for the grub [at her Nonna's prompting]. And thanks for soap. And for washing my hands before dinner. And ..." until someone prompted her, "What do you say when you're all done praying?"

"Oh," she said. "Thank you."

"No," I said. "The other one."

"Oh. Aaaaaaaaaaamen."

It was darling, really.

At night, now, instead of B or me praying for her, we let her do the talking with just a few prompts.

"Would you like to tell Jesus some things you are thankful for today?"

This usually results in a list of things, sometimes crazy, off-the-wall things, like "the number seven" or "pancakes" (even if we haven't eaten pancakes in days).

"Would you like to tell Jesus some of the bad things you did today and that you are sorry for doing them?"

This response usually features such classics as, "I pooped in my pants again," and "I got out of bed and made a mess during nap," followed by the cutest, "Sorry, Jesus," you have ever heard.

"Can you ask Jesus to help you to be a good girl tomorrow?"

She usually ends up saying, "You be a good girl tomorrow, Jesus?" but we all know what she means.

"Can you ask Him to help you grow up to love Him and follow Him?"

[Insert an adorably botched version of the above statement here.]

"Now what do you say when you're all done?"

"Amen, Jesus."

That's the basic format. A few nights ago, after her birthday party, she was listing AAAAAAALLL of the things she was thankful for (it was a long list; it had been a good day). Then we moved on to the, "things I could have done better today" segment. She started out with the staples, then she suddenly said, "And, Jesus, I like graham crackers." When I mentioned it later, her Nonna said, "She has got to be one of His favorites." (Sidenote: We know He doesn't play favorites. We've read the epistles.) She's just so random like that, and we all love her for it.

So there's the praying and the Bible reading and the Sunday school going, and now whenever she misbehaves we ask her how she thinks Jesus feels about her behavior, and she apologizes to Him for making Him sad. It's all very cute and (hopefully) laying the foundation for a real and lasting relationship with Him in the future.

As long as the whole So Unlonesome Soren Lorenson thing doesn't get in the way.

"Wait, what does this have to do with Soren Lorenson?" you ask (not unjustly. I feel like I'm all over the place this morning. Trying to write while two small people vie for your attention is no easy task).

See, Scout seems to think that Jesus is like Soren Lorenson. He is her imaginary friend. No one can see Him but her. Occasionally, she will point upwards and say, "Jesus is up there, Mommy. He is up in [the sky/the clouds/my ceiling/my ceiling fan/etc.]." A few moments ago, she was looking out the kitchen window, talking to Jesus, who was apparently in the driveway, telling Him how happy she was that she just had a birthday and how excited she is for His upcoming one (Sidenote: Her obsession with birthdays is really going to pay off this Christmas, I think, when we talk about how it's Jesus' birthday ... even though it's actually not, but whatever).

Sometimes I worry that she will think she made Jesus up, that He is like "Eeny" (her imaginary "best cousin and also friend"). I don't know how to make her understand the bigness and realness that is God and Jesus and His plan for humanity. I worry that she's going to think He is this imaginary person she has conjured up or that we are going to create a "false god" and make her think He is a big guilt-monger by explaining to her that she hurts His feelings when she misbehaves. I hear these stories about people who were saved at the age of four and five, and I wonder, "How can I get my kid to that place? How can I get her to understand the concepts of personal responsibility and sin and redemption at so young an age?" How do I help her to understand that Jesus is not in her ceiling fan or some magical person in the sky that she has to spend half of her life apologizing to? What do I do to keep her from blaming Jesus for the things she does wrong (like when Soren Lorenson talks Lola into misbehaving)?

No, really. That's not rhetorical. How do I do these things? Anyone with older kids have any advice on how to take them from "Jesus lives in my ceiling" to "Jesus died for my sins?" I'd love to hear what others are doing/have done to move their tiny people toward a true relationship with Christ. I feel like this is one of those areas where it might be best to use the aid of a village to raise my child. Anyone with advice, please feel free to post a comment. Even if that "advice" is, "You worry too much. You should just relax and do another post about your eyebrows. I miss those."

Tales from my Google search history

I search some random things on Google. Just this morning, I found myself typing, "Do caterpillars poop?" into my search bar. You see, I am antsy about this homeschool thing. I can't seem to stop myself, even though my kids are obviously too young for formal education (unless we lived in France or Japan, in which case, Scout would be right on target, starting preschool at age two). Anyway, because I am a giant nerd lifelong learner, when her Papa mentioned that he saw some monarch caterpillars in the cornfield yesterday and wondered if she might want him to bring one up to the house for her, I jumped at the nerdiness opportunity. We've been reading Eric Carle's The Very Hungry Caterpillar a lot lately (thanks, Kristi!), and I knew that this would be a great way to tie science and reading together, to really make the story come alive for her. Papa was kind enough to bring up the caterpillar in a peanut butter jar, and B picked some milkweed for the caterpillar to eat and a long stick for the chrysalis to hang from. I remember doing all of this when I was in third or fourth grade. What I didn't remember, apparently, was the poop.

Oh, the poop.

So much poop.

At first, we marveled over the caterpillar. (We really ought to name him/her/it so that I can stop referring to it so formally all the time, or at least use a gendered pronoun. However, knowing Scout, she will want to name it "Caterpillar" or something similarly vague, in the same way that she has named her pink stuffed elephant "Pink Elephant" and her small stuffed monkey "Small Monkey." I blame Blue's Clues, with it's Green Puppy and Purple Kangaroo.) We were fascinated by how quickly it ate through the milkweed leaf, how much it ate in one go. It was all very thrilling ... for about 15 minutes. Then, Scout being two, and me being me, we got bored and wandered away for a couple of hours.

ETA: We have settled on a name. Scout has decided it is a boy caterpillar, and his name is Fish. I don't decide these things. I just report them.

The caterpillar's Fish's jar is right beside the table where I do my work. I looked over a little bit ago and was terribly confused by what I saw. There appeared to be little bits of stick in the bottom of the jar. "Now, how did a caterpillar manage to break off pieces of the stick?" I wondered. "It has no thumbs or limbs of any kind, really. It has been on the leaf this whole time and has not even ventured onto the stick" (so far as I knew because I wasn't really paying attention, if I must be honest). Upon closer inspection, I decided that the "bits of stick" really looked more like mouse droppings. In fact, I thought as I held the jar right up to my face, they looked exactly like mouse droppings. "How did mouse poop get in there?" I wondered. "Surely that can't be from that tiny caterpillar! Some of those are 1/4 his size! That would be like a human pooping something the size of his/her arm! Besides, do caterpillars even poop?"

At about this time, I decided I needed to call upon the Google to help solve the mystery. You know what I learned? I learned that caterpillars poop. They poop a lot. Some people on message boards were bemoaning their need to clean their caterpillars' jars every two hours. Welcome to the rest of my week. Good times to be had by all. I just hope this doesn't affect Scout's potty-training progress. "Why should I poop in the potty, Mommy? The caterpillar Fish doesn't poop in the potty!"

Anyway, after Googling "Do caterpillars poop?" and thinking, "Gosh, I Google some crazy things!" I decided to take a look through my search history to see some of the other random things we've been curious about in recent weeks. The following is a(n obviously non-comprehensive) list:

1. "Who's playing Reed on season 2 of The Fresh Beat Band?"
There are so many things that I didn't know I would ever want to know until I had children. In case you also were curious, it's this guy. I don't like him as much as the old Reed. The least they could have done was pick another Irishman. They might be kids, but they aren't dumb. They know that this is a completely different man. (Btw, If you had told me when I was a teenager that I would one day have a preference for one children's show actor over another, I would have laughed in your face.)

2. "What is a wench?"
Scout wanted a pirate birthday party. I wanted to make sure this term was not, in fact, synonymous with smelly pirate hooker before using it on her invitations. Turns out I was right - It just means girl pirate. Unfortunately, I still think the common misinterpretation/connotation makes it unsafe for a children's party.

3. "Are there fireflies in California?"
I don't remember the context for why I wanted to know this. I knew/know that some states have them and some don't. I guess I couldn't (still can't, actually) remember which ones are which. All I know is here in PA, we've got tons.

4. "How did Salvador Dali die?"
Again, I think this one was mere curiosity. I was watching something which made me think of something else, which reminded me of Little Ashes; one thing led to another, and the next thing you know, I wasn't sure whether he'd offed himself or died of cancer. (Neither, in case you were curious. It was heart failure. He was 84.)

5. "Are Sarah Paulson and Monica Potter related?"
This one is easy to remember (because it was two days ago). I was watching Parenthood (Hooray! It's Fall! New TV is back!) Tuesday night, and I thought they looked and sounded so much alike (and even had similar mannerisms). I determined that they must be related. As it turns out, they are not. However, I did learn this fascinating bit of trivia.

A look through your Google search history just might provide a creepy (albeit intriguing) cross-section of your daily life. What does your search history say about you?

Sometimes, life is like Monopoly

I love board games. Some personal favorites include Trivial Pursuit (don't even try to beat me at the Disney version), Apples to Apples, and Risk (What can I say? I am a total nerd), but really, I love them all. Even Monopoly (or, as we liked to call it growing up, due to its length and repetition, Monotony). I'm a little rusty, but at one time, because I have played Monotony Monopoly so often over the years, you could show me the picture on a Chance or Community Chest card, and I could tell you what the card said and how much money I needed to spend/receive. A few examples:

Grand Opera Opening Night: Collect $50 from each player for seats

Receive for Services: $25

Get out of jail free

And a personal favorite...

Bank error in your favor: Collect $200

Why do I love that card so much? Something about the look on Uncle Pennybags' face has always made me smirk (sort of like the images on these warning signs), but that's not the only reason I like this card. I like this one in particular because recently, not due to a bank error, but due to my own negligence and general inability to do simple mathematics (let's just say that when depositing money into your account, it's best to add the numbers, not subtract them), I found myself with a very not-small sum of money that I hadn't realized I had. This makes me exceedingly grateful. This gratefulness (gratitude? I iz English majur. I iz smrt) has inspired me to compose a list of other things I am thankful for this week:

1. Pizza Pub pizza (which is just as delicious for breakfast and/or lunch as it is for dinner)

2. Jalapeno-infused queso dip

3. An upcoming girls' night

4. An impending haircut

5. Sam's Club

6. my mother-in-law (I should pause here to denote that this list is in no particular order and not in order of appreciation)

7. my husband (previous note applies)

8. Beth Moore (even if I do want to beat her up and steal her wardrobe every time I see one of her videos - Lord, help me. I think I might have struggles with envy.)

9. Coke Zero

10. yard sales and good friends who are willing to host/organize them so that I don't have to

This list is in no way comprehensive. I have much to be thankful for. Just thought I'd take a minute and give a shout-out to some of the things that are making me smile this week. What are you thankful for, readers?