I decided to take my hiatus at precisely the same time I was tagged (she used “awarded” to make me think I was special or something). I swear, it was purely coincidental.

Two reasons I am doing this now:

  1. Jess is my alter-ego: sexy, strong, and has a take-it-or-leave-it attitude, and I want her to like me.
  2. The badge!


I’m now supposed to list 5 Addictions. The award does come with strings attached, dammit.

  1. Chocolate
  2. Blogging
  3. The sound of XBoy’s laughter
  4. The smell of ZGirl after a bath
  5. Sleep

There are some other rules as well, but seriously, it’s a meme. Whatchya going to do? Call the blogging police and take away my birthday? Pfft.


Can of Worms? Opened, with a vengeance.

I found the first two pregnancy sticks from the donor cycle. The generic dollar brand, with the date of the tests written on them with a sharpie: 11/10 and 11/11. Guess where I had hidden them?

In the ironing board cabinet.

Now I’m starting to see just a bit of the humor behind my “logic” in hiding these things away. Places no one in our household would ever find them.

I remember when I took those tests.  I didn’t pee on them in the laundry room. That would be messy. Instead, like a “normal” person, I used them in the bathroom and then, to avoid being caught by my husband for testing waa-aaa-aaaay too early, I would take them into the laundry room to stare at them under full fluorescent lighting, heart in my throat.

I even marked each test with a little dot where I thought  I saw a second line. Even now, I can make out that line, still so incredibly faint that I was sure at the time I must have an optical malady that made me think  it was there.

After I blew the dust off the tests, guess what I did with them? Tucked them right back into the cabinet. One of these days, I’ll gather them all together (I still have the four 1st Response tests in my bathroom cabinet) in a container that will eventually be filled with all of ZGirl’s little treasures as she grows up.

I imagine her reaction when in a couple of decades as we are going through each object and telling her the story behind her first hat; the baptism candle; the home-from-the-hospital outfit; and finally the pee-soaked pregnancy tests.

Yeah, I’m sure the little smile she may have had on her face will be effectively replaced with a grimace, and maybe even a “gross!” uttered as she lets the test drop out of her hands.

Ah, the sweet memories yet to be made. *sighhhhh*


So tonight I decided to make chili (chili and cinnamon rolls, doesn’t that sound yummy?…mmmmmmmm….). I was looking for the chili powder in my “spice cabinet” and in doing so had to move several jars and containers around to find it. Look what I found hiding in the far, top corner (by the way, blue moons and me cooking happen in about the same frequency):


And not just a sharps container. Look what was inside:


I can’t even begin to tell you the jumble of clusterfucked emotions I felt.

While, yes, I am grateful and happy that a year later I have a beautiful little girl, but I also felt some anger over the hell we had to go through to get here. A rather unpleasant reminder, especially since it was about a month ago I threw away a stash of extra needles and tried to push it out of my mind. I wonder how many other little bio-hazardous trinkets I’ll find in the nooks and crannies of the house?

Luckily, I’m sure I didn’t hide any with the cookies I keep in the pantry.


Here’s a note I posted on facebook during my “hiatus”:

I sent out 11 invites to XBoy’s birthday party coming this Saturday at the bowling alley. I’ve received one (1) phone call.

RSVP basically means “please respond”.

It does not mean, “please respond, if you feel like. I mean, if it’s not an inconvenience to YOU and all, but just, you know, if you have a minute or two to spare…”

I’m paying for your kid to bowl, to eat pizza and to serve treats, not to mention baby sit. Show some fucking courtesy.

I did end up getting three (3) calls in total. Guess how many kids showed up? 11. That’s ELEVEN 5, 6 & 7 YEAR OLD BOYS!!

I was the cake deliverer so I had ZGirl with me. Mr. DD was supposed to boy-wrangle. He pitched a fit that I wasn’t help him organize the boys by putting their names into the system even though I was busy dealing with the baby.

Finally, one of the other dads stepped in and took that part over. While I am helping him get the names of all the boys and separate them into three groups, Mr. DD comes back from getting every one shoes and asks, “Who’s watching ZGirl?”

I can’t believe he didn’t notice the dozen of bowling balls within my grasp that I could have easily lobbed at his head. By the time we got the boys actually bowling, I was on the verge of committing suicide by impaling myself on the bowling-name-adder-thingamajig.

To top it off, my husband thought it was in poor taste when I suggested we get a pitcher of beer. What a party-pooper.

Here, have fun doing your own virtual bowling. Make sure you put your score in comments. There might be a prize in store for you. Maybe not, but you never know, now do you? I’m crazy like that.


A letter came home with XBoy about a collection for his teacher’s Christmas/Birthday present.

I put $5.00 into an envelope – after I asked XBoy if he wanted to contribute – and put that into his backpack.

“Do you think $5.00 is enough?” asked Mr. DD.

“It’s plenty.”

“Well, she’s doing those reports and giving XBoy extra time,” he responds.

“I am NOT tipping his teacher for doing her job. So what if she has to spend extra time with XBoy? Parents shouldn’t have to slip her a $20 to make sure each of her students get the attention they require to succeed.”

“Damn. You’re crabby!” Mr. DD points out.

I confirm his astute observation by telling him to piss off.


Here’s what I realized during my pseudo-hiatus.

I talk to much.

I worry about what you will think.

I stopped having something interesting/pertinent/informative to say, oh…I’d say, never.

These lessons were learned when I posted a few shorties on facebook and just enjoyed the brain-dump.

So while I’ll continue with the tag line above expaining why “punch drunk”, I’ll let you in on a little secret from this point forward that if I could, I would add as a sub-tag line:

Lower Your Expectations.

Plus, not posting was KILLING me as I have soooo  much to tell you!*

By the way, the snow stays until WordPress discontinues it. Suck it up.

* No, I am not pregnant, but I’m pretty sure I’m only one of three bloggers out there right now that is not.

This Is What Happens When I Assume You Can Read My Mind

Just a quick note since no, I have not been guilted into blogging here any time soon. Your pleas and bribes have fallen upon deaf ears (unless of course you WANT to plea or bribe…).

Instead I need to clear up a misunderstanding about the card exchange.

While in the past, Pru would take all the names and addresses and in OCD-like fashion, organize them into a nifty spreadsheet and then send out the spreadsheet to all the participants who would then be responsible for sending out cards to their assigned bloggers, that is not the case with mine.

Remember, I am lazy.

Simply put:

  1. You send me your address
  2. I send you mine
  3. You send me a card
  4. I send you a card

So, erm, that’s it.

I feel like an ass for not making that clearer. Knowing that, I promise next year to be more on the ball and try to organize a Bloggers Across the Earth Card Exchange or something equally grandiose and impossible.

I figured that if you wanted to reap the rewards of receiving a bunch of cards that you would sponsor your own card exchange, which is why I created the button, and when I didn’t hear any one had, I just figured you were all a bunch of Scrooges. Apparently, I am the Scrooge.



I’m taking one.

For no reason in particular. For an unlimited number of reasons.

When I’m done feeling sorry for myself, I’ll be back. It could be by Monday. It may be next year.

Yes, I’m still going to BlogHer, and yes I’m still participating in the card exchange, and yes, you’ll still see me occassionally update Flickr, Twitter and Facebook, but I just don’t feel I have much to offer here right now.


So many things I want to tell you about, but I find it easier these days to hold my cards close to my heart. I can’t explain why. Maybe I’ll be able to break it down into bits and bites when I don’t feel so overwhelmed by just about everything around me.

One of the rather neutral topics I wanted to follow up on is BlogHer. Oh, sure, you probably are thinking I must be all full of myself to think I “belong” at what is typically, and probably quite accurately, viewed as a Mommy Blogging Orgy of Self-Adoring Asshats. But heh, aren’t all bloggers just a little too much into themselves or else why would they even blog?

I'm Going to BlogHer '09

I’ve always wanted to go (“always” being since 2007) because I live here, in the puckered and pimpled ass of the US. I love Nebraska, but I am constantly flummoxed on how I can live smack-dab in the middle of this nation and yet still be as far away from anything remotely exciting and new as if I was the mate of a lonely polar bear afloat on a 10×10 slab of ice.

Ooh, the similies. They are a’flowing like…

never mind.

Back to BlogHer. It’s in Chicago. The drive to the airport takes longer than the flight. It’s a chance to meet a few of you I’ve only had the pleasure of either blogging, flickering, twittering, or facebooking with. I’ve been lucky in the past and have met a handful of bloggers, including Mollywogger, Suz, Alexa, Jennifer and Enat. But I’m selfish. I want to meet more.

I’m not going under the guise of mommy blogger (MB), either. Instead, I will always be a dyed-in-the-wool IF blogger. SIF blogger, if you want to get technical, which seems to be the in-thing to be nowadays (for those of you who were  SIF, isn’t it funny how times have changed?). I can go in under the cloak of MB, infiltrate the ranks easily with talk of teething (oh, yes, she is – god help us) and breastfeeding with the new parents and even speak the language of the parents who have elementary school children and how their teachers suck and how poop and fart jokes somehow NEVER get old.


My heart belongs to IF. The first time I hear some knowitall talk smack about ART, I’ll be all over them like flies on shit. However, I will try to keep it civil since one of the few lessons I learned from my dear, sweet, bitter mother is, “Be nice the first time. If they don’t get it, then  you can be a bitch.”

Also, I am not deluding myself into thinking that by going I can effectively “increase blog traffic”. Punch Drunk? She has peaked. I know that. I just need to look at my stats and see that the most hits I ever got before the birth of ZGirl was when I miscarried Wolf. I’m sorry, but no amount of traffic will ever make me want to go through that emotional insanity again.

I just want the chance to meet those I may never get to again. It will probably be one of the first times in almost two years that I get to do something JUST FOR ME. No husband who won’t even go to the mall with me because of all the snarky comments I make about shoppers, which he swears they can hear me say even though they are 10 yards away. No kidlets waking at 6:15 on a Saturday just to ask if they can watch Nickelodeon or to let me know that ZGirl’s still asleep.

Just me, me, me…and hopefully, some of you. And for those of you who suggested bunking up, it’s time to put your money where your mouth is. I want to get this bitch booked.


(FYI: this post will probably take a while to “load” due to the sheer number of photos within)

Seven years ago, my son gave me something no other person could have. He made me a Mother.

When I started blogging, he was on the long side of three. By my rough estimate, I have been blogging for half his life.

Here’s my 4th Birthday dedication, his birth story.

The 5th Birthday dedication was my first and only attempt at an online slide show. I’m pleasantly surprised to see that the link still works.

And last year, when he turned six, his Birthday was an inkling of things to come: his rebellious nature; my early pregnancy with ZGirl. 

Now I just want to share some of my favorite baby/toddler pictures of him. I marvel at how he’s changed and I catch glimpses of the toddler child still within, and even of the young man he too soon will be.

12 days new 3 weeks12902-max-asleep-5343302-flexing-muscles-84242402-onsie-on-head200206-in-highchair-i0802-bubbles-on-the-lawn92902-waving10502-lil-spook111602-mad-max12503-making-faces21703-toybox-n-book3303-bathtime52603-sunning-a72703-in-his-bandana