Odontophobia...

So, this is a nice two-part, manic depressive post. In the first part I tell you all about the gripping fear I have of visiting that most common of human fears, the dentist's chair. But don't you worry, because I'm hoping the second part will be a fun roller coaster ride of hilarity.

They say (they, meaning wikipedia, the source of all internet research of mine) that odontophobia in severe cases is typically brought about by traumatic dental experiences that lead someone to develop a fear that makes them avoid the dentist at all costs. I guess I have that in my history. I wish I could seriously post a pic of how screwed up my teeth were circa 1988. I had a constant stream of dental, orthodontic, and surgical appointments to give myself a big old pretty smile. It started out ok and I loved my orthodontist, but somewhere between getting my braces off at 17 and becoming an adult who had to figure out how to PAY for my dentist check-ups I just...stopped going.

And then I got really scared, remembering the shame and admonishment I felt when the dentist told me I didn't floss enough or brush enough or visit often enough. So then it became a fear of just-what-the-hell-will-they-say-when-I-tell-them-it's-been-seven-years kind of anxiety.

But finally, things clicked into place. I was going to get married, I had insurance, and I wanted to look good for my husband. I found an ad for a brand new one-man dental practice that not only specialized in high-fear, sedation dentistry, but also had a coupon for a free teeth whitening treatment. When I called to make the appointment, my palms were sweaty and I was already breathing heavy. I nearly passed out when the receptionist said "oh, well, most people don't need sedation just for a cleaning and exam".

I couldn't have felt like a bigger freak of nature. I was literally crying on the phone. When she told me there were options and that they could certainly help me out, I at least made the appointment.

I was 10 minutes early and sat hyperventilating and crying in the office, with the poor receptionist watching me with pity eyes. (I wish I were exaggerating, but my heart literally speeds up and I have a physiological reaction to seeing the dentist) I was almost ready to bolt when the next words out of her mouth were a balm to my beating heart.

Nitrous. Oxide.

My life has never been the same. I now see the dentist at least once yearly, and if I remembered to make the appointments and he weren't nearly 40 minutes away, I'd go every 6 months. I'm no longer scared of the dentist. At least not mine.

And now, I'd love to share my stream of consciousness (what I can remember of it) from being happily sedated during my dental appointment today.Please, try to keep up...

"Is this lady ever going to stop talking? I don't care where her daughter works. Say Yes to the Dress is on...I hope it's Katiekate's episode. I've been trying to catch it. Damn, this mask is blocking the TV. What's he saying about North Carolina brides? I feel kind of like I'm on a tilt-a-whirl at the fair. Falling backwards. I'm going to crash...just kidding...there's my head again. Whooooooooooo. Wow, I'm gripping this chair pretty tight. Strange, because I'm super relaxed. Katiekate...hmmm...maybe that's her sister there. Oh well, I can't really see it. Hey, these chair arms feel weird...I must be making a face, because she keeps telling me sorry and 'you're doing great'. It feels like she's using a super duper high powered water pic to clean my teeth. But I'm pretty sure they just scrape them, unless they have some really high-tech stuff at this office. I'm never trying another dentist again. Wait, did she just say uh-oh? What if that's blood spurting out of my mouth instead of just water. OK, calm down. That's not blood. Or if it is, I don't care, because I'm falling again. Breathe deeper. Am I grimacing? She thinks this hurts me. I wonder if they're rougher on people with nitrous because they know we don't really care? Hmmm...I could never do this without laughing gas. I MUST remember Katiekate. I should write this down as soon as I get in the car. I don't have a pen. Maybe I'll ask if I can take one. Is that weird? Who cares. I wonder if this is what ether feels like. Cider House Rules was really not the best of John Irving's books, not by a long shot. "Not...at...all" as Jacob says. They really do call this laughing gas. I wish this lasted longer. I think she's almost done. I bet I'm the only high fear dental patient to ever wish my cleaning didn't end. Oh, did he say Outer Banks beach wedding? It's pretty indisputable that North Carolina is the best state ever. Damn. She's almost done. One more deep breath, one more ride on the tilt-a-whirl and....

And she switched me back to oxygen.

I'm counting down to March for my next appointment, with glee.

Sexy is Invalidated.

So, in honour of "V-Day" or that holiday that shall remain nameless (kidding, my husband is sweetly spending extra time today to drive all the way to my office to take me to lunch at P.F.Chang's, where we had our first date) I thought I'd bring up the rampant use of the word "sexy" lately.

I've noticed that it's become such a frequently used word in our lexicon that it seems to have lost it's value (kind of like "love" and "obese"). This morning I was listening to a fairly conservative radio talk show and they were discussing a visit to a military base and how "sexy" the young producer looked firing a grenade launcher. I mean, her older female and male peers were all calling her sexy left and right like it was old hat.

I don't consider myself a prude my any means, but I feel like calling someone sexy pretty much should be limited to myself and the hubby in the privacy of our homes or emails, and maybe reserved occasionally when referring to Marky Mark and/or Tim Thomas.

Do you feel like sexy is overused today? What about other words? I'd love to have a real discussion today!

MOM-Demonium!!!

I am spending a chunk of my week shopping/working our local kid's consignment sale. I know that in a lot of areas around the US, these sales can be hit or miss, but the one I'm talking about is Ginormous. Seriously. It takes up two buildings of our State Farigrounds, and is 150,000 square feet. Hundred thousand, you read that right.


As in, an eyebgall estimate puts the amount of play kitchens selling b/t $5-55 around 140. As in, I checked out a family of 4 yesterday buying their entire summer wardrobe. It was 78 pieces of clothing, they probably spent around $200 total. As in, 36 aisles of clothing for children ages preemie through 9th grade.


I love some consignment shopping, and when I'm there I always want to kick myself for buying something at a store, like "why would have ever paid full-price for a lifejacket, when I can come here and find one with tags for $7?" My other finds? A very clean and solidly built toybox for $25, a Kelty hardframe backpack carrier for $30, an Aquadoodle that looked like it had been used 3 times for $2, lots of books and CD's for just a few dollars.


And my favorite: the super-cool and retro Fisher Price cassette player that was just like the ones my husband and I had as kids.



The best deal I saw all day from checking others out? A beautiful vintage Strasburg ivory chiffon overlay dress for $2.


Another reason I love going to these sales are to see the "serious" moms. Now, I'm still pretty much a novice at these events myself...I've only been to three or four. I know enough to go for the big items first, pay and have them reserved, then hit the other rooms. I brought two of my own shopping bags to carry things in, but made the mistake of hitting the books/media room first. No biggie, I needed the exercise of lugging 20 books and DVDs around. It was after I found the Aquadoodle and adorable purple butterfly baby doll stroller that folded up just like a Maclaren that I started to struggle. Specifically, trying to keep track of all of that while shifting through a table of cloth diapers for my sister. Luckily, just when I hit my breaking point I found the Kelty and all was good.


Some of the veterans amaze me, while I secretly judge them for feeling so superior with their fancy home-rigged set-ups. Lots have clothing racks that they wheel around, often with bins duck-taped to the bottom and/or top to put toys. Most have strollers (sans baby) or at least the big plastic Step 2 wagons. My favorite are the ones with rolling trash bins.

And as I contemplate the clutter in my own home and why I feel the need to buy this child even MORE clothes and books, I often wonder if any of the shoppers there are hoarders. I wonder if their children have more stuff than they know what to do with because mom just can't pass up a $1 Gap t-shirt for no other reason than "it's so cheap".


But unlike me, they are probably not so lazy that they don't weed through their own stuff and purge for the sale beforehand, pretty much breaking even.


Sigh. I could get more organized if I didn't sign up to work these events, right?

This Proves My Legitimacy, Right?

You know, a legitimate wordsmith, reader, literary soul?

Two things: number one, I got a book reader for Christmas. How exciting is that? My mom just bought it for me without asking, and when I opened it she said "have you ever thought about getting one of those?" Well, not really, because they're so ungodly expensive that I just figured that was not something I would put on any list to ask someone to buy me. But now that I have it, I'm so excited for the possibilities.

It would have helped me avoid the debacle I currently find myself in. The one where I'm sitting at work, alone, for 2 hours because we got 8" of snow and apparently I'm the only person in my office that A) has a 5-speed Mazda that can handle anything, B) didn't make the boss' list of people to call to inform we were on delay, and C) didn't feel like digging around to find the emergency voicemail number to find out for myself.

Also, my secret plan was to escape for 2 hours by myself and read one of my new books (or a tabloid mag) at Barnes and Noble, Starbucks bought with a giftcard in hand. I really mean this was my plan, to show up at work, see if anyone was there, and then backtrack 2 miles to B and N and just enjoy my own company, ALONE, after the hubbub of the past 5 days.

Except that sitting in an iced over parking lot, phoning the bookstore to find out they didn't open until 10 threw a wrench into that plan, so that didn't happen either. Oops. So you get a long overdue blog post, totally on the fly, instead.

*Sidenote: to anyone who was actually reading my "12 Days of Christmas" posts, I do still intend to highlight a charity each week from now until I've run out of places to give my money to. I just assumed that no one was reading it due to lack of comments, and also my life exploded with work stress and Christmas prep all at the same time, so I kind of just lived blog-free for a while.*

But the second reason that proves I am bookworm? My son has my genes. Through and through. After receiving a myriad of presents, most of which light up and sing to him, including a mini 4-wheeler and a life-size tool bench, he cried at bedtime last night over one toy. A Book. My dear, sweet, 16-month old budding wordsmith cried because I would not let him take his new favorite book to bed with him.

It may have been the proudest I have ever been as a mother.

I'm a Winner!

The lovely Helga over at My World (she lives in Iceland, y'all, check her out!) has nominated me for the Stylish Blogger Award. It's been a while since I've received a blog award, so I was very flattered and excited to participate in this one. I'm not sure how stylish I am lately, with my daily wet bun hairstyle and my over-eagerness at the chance to wear jeans to work 5 times this month, but hey, I'll take it! I did wear a skirt, tights, and boots yesterday, which is a major departure from my usual style and a step in the right direction!

Of course, these awards always come with a catch...this one being that I'm supposed to tell you 7 random facts about myself. Being that a blog is all about telling you about myself every day, it may be hard to find things that are interesting, but I will let y'all be the judge of that! I'm also supposed to nominate 13 people to pass along to, but with it being Thanksgiving week, I think I will skip nominations this time and just tell y'all about myself!

1) I used to say that I could live without the baby stage, and would be fine just adopting a 3 year old and taking the parenting from there. What did I know?

2) When we were little, I tortured my sister by telling her things like if she dropped a battery it would explode, or if she dropped anything down the central air vent our house would explode. I was not a very good big sister.

3) I have trouble with brevity. I tend to give people and overwhelming amount of info when I could just say/write one sentence.

4) I have a tattoo, I would say medium sized, on my back and want another one (really tiny) on the inside of my forearm or wrist but my husband says that would look like white trash, so I haven't worked up the courage to get a second one yet.

5) I introduced the man who introduced me to my husband to his wife. He was my best guy friend for a long time (we're still friends, of course, but 'couple' friends now) and we will always be grateful to each other for helping find a mate.

6) Growing up, even though I was 4 years older, my little sister was the bossy one and I was sensitive. It took us a long time to work through that. The only thing that explkains it is that I'm a Cancer and she's a Leo. If you believe in that stuff.

7) My birthday is July 7th. In college, I had a friend whose birthday was 7/7/77. I was jealous.

I Went Looking For a Thursday Blog Hop...

All morning, I scoured my friends' blogs for some way to make some new connections on the Interwebs. Thursday seems to be a good day for Blog Hopping, not sure why, but I still haven't found one that just seems to fit. Well, I hobbled over to my friend Angee's blog and saw she did a really neat one today:

I like when they come with nice, gentle, built-in prompts! We'll see how it goes this week.

Outside my window.. is a parking lot and gas station. Oh so thrilling...
The time is.. 4:07PM
Today I feel..hopeful for so many things.
I am thinking.. it's almost quittin' time!
At the moment, I am thankful.. for so, so many things. Mostly that I have a healthy child and a supportive family.
I am going..to pee when I'm done with this.

I am wearing..uncomfortable, too-big work pants, a too-short top, and a cardigan and cute scarf.
I wish.. that young children never had to die.
I am reading..lots and lots of blogs, with the Sunday newspaper and an occasional gossip mag thrown in.
I am working on..so many things I gave up for the rest of the day.
I am hoping..that my Scentsy party and Giveaway is a success!
I am hearing..the crappy easy listening station we have to keep on at work. Can't wait for my new mp3 clock radio to arrive.
I bet you didn't know..that this is the first year I haven't been to the State Fair in my whole life.
One of my favorite.. foods is Caprese (mozzarella, basil, tomato). Yum. I should have been Italian.
Weekend Plans.. Friday: some type of alcohol. Saturday: Dave Ramsey workshop. Sunday: the Scentsy party and hopefully some snuggle time.

Frugal, Fickle, or Felon?

You know those chicks in movies, magazines, and Hollywood who have a "signature smell"? Like, "I've been wearing Chanel No. 5 since 1986"? Not me. I like change, I like new, I like to be different and unique. So I wear different perfumes frequently.

And I have high standards for perfume. Nothing floral, it just smells like old lady on my skin. I go for the citrusy and clean scents in the summer and something a little more heady and sensual in cooler weather. I like the idea of smelling exotic or sexy. But, perfume changes over time and 4 hours later (or even 10 minutes later) smells completely different than when you first spritzed it on. Because of this, I always have to sample before I buy.

This used to entail going into Sephora and spritzing myself, then doing the rest of my mall shopping before deciding what I wanted to buy. (I buy perfume like once a year, don't get all excited thinking this is my Carrie Bradshaw shoe equivalent and I have a vanity covered in fancy perfumes bottles. I don't even have a vanity. I have a bookshelf leftover from college that just happens to fit in the space between my bathroom counter and the wall; that's where my girl crap gets stored.) But this didn't work well, because I usually couldn't commit after just one day. Perfume is, after all, a long term commitment, and that would be like moving with a guy you just met at a concert the night before.

So one time I asked if they had a sample, and lo and behold, the Sephora lady pulls out the drawer underneath the display and ::hallelujah:: there are thousands of tiny spritz bottles in there just waiting for her to fill with any of the hundreds of perfumes they carry. The first time, I didn't feel guilty.

But yesterday, after quietly asking "do you guys have samples?" for oh, I don't know, about the sixth time in three years, and then getting two to go, I did feel a little twinge of guilt, like I was ripping them off. (You can, too, all you have to do is ask nicely.) So, I'm considering buying Lavanila Vanilla Coconut if I get any money gifts at Christmas. It's quite lovely, actually, warm and sensual and I feel special when I wear it. That's what a good perfume should do. I highly recommend their line...it smells a little sweet out of the bottle, but give it a little while to settle in and it's not quite so cotton candy. It blooms very nicely. They also have a baby line...I'm thinking of trying it.

So, it's not stealing if they offer it, right? And to my credit, I always buy my perfume from there when I do decide to take the plunge. Hope this is a useful tip for any of you who have perfume-commitment issues like myself!

Tag...You're It!

So my friend Ingrid (and I can say that...we've totally Skyped) over at her adorably pink blog Avery and Me tagged me in a fun bloggy-buddy game to "get to know your fellow blogger". I think today is the perfect time to respond, since I'm kind of busy and emotionally drained. It's a quick recharge for me and I don't have to come up with a topic!

So here goes:

1. What's your favorite flavor of ice cream? I am complicated. It changes from time to time, but I will admit that twice in the last 6 weeks I have had a double scoop of Ben and Jerry's Bonnaroo Buzz and Chocolate Therapy. I think Chocolate Therapy says it all.

2. What was the worst job you've ever had? Although I'm cheesy and think every job is a learning experience, it would have to be selling Cutco Knives. You know, like, the door to door presentation/referral based business. It was kind of high pressure and cultish, and they didn't pay me my last commission check, which caused me to literally flip my lid in front of my brand new college suitemates. After that I became known as "the one who kicked her shoe through the window."

3. Best vacation you ever took? My honeymoon. Best decision we ever made was to stay stateside and visit San Fran, drive up Highway 1 along the rocky beaches, cross over to Napa and Sonoma, and end up in a very high end boutique hotel in Sausalito. AWESOME vacation, and we're considering a repeat for our big anniversary next year.

4. What's your dream job/career? My dream career does not exist. I would LOVE to be a wedding planner/florist/decorator. I would be SO AWESOME at it. I deisgned and made the flowers for my own and my sis' wedding. But unfortunately, I gave up working weekends long ago and I don't know many brides that want to get married Monday-Friday b/t the hours of 9-5, so it really is a dream job!

5. Who was your favorite teacher and why? I had some really great elementary teachers, but I have to say my high school drama teacher, Doug Patterson, made the biggest impression on me. He took me to the big apple for the first time and introduced us to really cutting edge theatre (back then) like Rent and Stomp. I directed a full-length play in high school with minimal faculty participation and just had a wonderful experience. I learned a lot about myself.

Now I'm supposed to nominate some people to participate. I'm going to go out on a limb here and actually nominate a NON-MOM-BLOGGER!

1) Melissa from In The Short Rows (if you want a glimpse into the life of a real farmer, here it is.)
2) Also, my newest reader who is responsible for introducing me to the Working Mommy Network, D from Dearinger Diary
3) Finally, Christine from A Mama Stork Knows, b/c OMG! You guys HAVE to click and go see this pic of 10 month old Rosemary...

Inspiration! Free from Working Mom Wednesday

So as you can see at the top of my blog, I recently joined the Working Mom Network of bloggers, and by joined I mean that I brazenly slapped my pic and link down on their list of blogs without asking, thankyouverymuch.

Every Wednesday, they give me a break by providing two questions to inspire a post. Based on the fact that I have been trying to worm my way over to this site since my lunch hour at 2PM EST, I'd say that it feels like the answer to question number one today should be the hour of 4-5PM, when I am frantically trying to wrap up a bajillion things at work, lock my desk, and oh yeah, spend 19 minutes banging out a blog post.

But, it's really not the answer...

#1. What is your most stressful time of day and why?

The absolute most stressful time of day for me is from about 6:50-7:20AM each morning, particularly Mon-Wed. Hubby and I carpool those days, and pre-bebe I was the type to sleep until 7:50 when I had to be at work by 8:15. So, getting up at 6:15 is as early as it EVER gets now. Most mornings, this is when I nurse Jacob and spend a wonderful quiet 18 or so minutes dozing, staring into my son's eyes, carressing his tiny little elbow, and in general just being relaxed, preparing to start my day. The instant he is done, I have between 10 and 40 minutes to change a diaper, get him dressed, shower, let the dog out, feed the dog, make a half-ass barricade to keep the dog in the dining room since she's taken to an afternoon crapper recently and I really will scream if I come home to dog poo in the living room one more time this month, make sure the dog is not chasing any of the people that like to run in our neighborhodd, yell at the dog to stay out of the kitchen while I fix bottles, label yogurt (yogurt that will likely get thrown out because they let Jacob fill up on vanilla wafers before snacktime at daycare), find and pack lunch for me and hubs, and run back upstairs to put something on. Sometimes hubby helps, sometimes he spends the entire time getting himself ready only to come downstairs while I'm still in bra and panties with my hair in a towel and say "did you find something I can take for lunch today yet?" (Don't get me started on how Monday morning he looked at me in the car and remarked, "wow, you really do look like you just rolled out of bed.")

Sound stressful? It's much, much worse in person. Put it this way: I actually enjoy the commute because I can sit, finally. And because Jacob babbles the entire 4 miles.

#2. If you could have one day all to yourself, how would you spend it?

As I told my mom group today, AT A SPA. Preferably one with free saunas/steam rooms where I could sit around all day getting a massage, facial, pedicure, and reading gossip mags in nothing but a robe. But one big enough for me, istead of the ones I have to artfully drape over myself with a towel to cover the girly bits.

"Got My Mojo Working"

Um, or not...

Two of the things I've been surprised that I am enjoying as a woman no longer in her twenties are pop music and talk radio. These pleasantries are combined in my morning commute with the wonderful local morning show here in NC "Bob and the Showgram". The female DJ happens to be just shy of a month older than myself, 31, and this morning they were discussing how she feels that she "lost her mojo at the age of 31".

Now, the loose definition of "mojo" we are using here is that intangible thing that all women have at some point, that feeling of being attractive to the opposite sex. You know what I'm talking about: it's how a happily married woman gets flushed and giddy over the possible flirtatious banter of a male coworker, UPS guy, fast food employee taking your order, or in my case, the Hispanic landscaper that yells out "Si, Mami" as you are walking across the parking lot. (At my weight and breast-waist-booty ratio, the white boys barely look but I seem to be a total hottie to our more ethnic population.)

They were discussing how Kristen thought she was going to be hit on during a recent trip to New Orleans and the French Quarter, but came back feeling pretty unattractive despite the fact that she has a live-in boyfriend who adores her. They were asking callers to describe when we knew we lost our mojo.

I can actually pinpoint mine. I was 25 years old, on my way to work at 8AM, swinging by a coffee shop that I happen to love, that also happens to be adjacent to the very large University downtown. I was fixing my drink at the little counter with all the assorted spoons, napkins, straws, etc. when a fairly toned, tan, attractive male arm reached across my front side to grab a napkin. I glanced up and thought "hmmm, he's pretty good-looking" and then glanced down and realized he was wearing jeans, a tee, tennis shoes, a typical college sophomore outfit. Before my mind could even process the thought "you are way too old for him" he said, "excuse me, ma'am," and smiled. Not a sly, daring smile at all, or even a "you're hot for an older lady" smile, but the kind of smile that says, "oh, I really did just get in this old lady's space; that was rude," before carrying on with his day and forgetting that I existed.

Now, 6 years later, with a husband, a mortgage, a real job, and a beautiful child, the mojo is gone completely. As in, I don't even care anymore. I think I may have been hit on at work by a client today, but I barely noticed because all I could think was "geez, dude, hurry up so I can keep researching ride-behind bike trailers". And sitting here tonight, looking fairly bedraggled after coming home to find a sick dog (you know what that means I spent my first half hour doing, on my hands and knees with the Spot Shot), a clingy child, and getting stung by a hornet in the arch of my foot, mojo is a word that doesn't even exist in my lexicon.

I've got what I want. Right down to the toothpaste on my foot.*

*Google and the hubs both said this was the best home remedy for the sting, and they were right.

P.S. Don't walk around in your yard barefoot.

More About How Experienced I Am...

Last night, a younger friend dropped by to pick up some baby stuff for her sister that is visiting. We are loaning our infant carseat, stroller frame, bouncer seat, etc. to her so that she doesn't have to try to navigate the airport with her 4 1/2 month old son and assorted crap that comes with having a 4 1/2 month old. This, combined with the fact that her little sis is planning her wedding, made me think about how obssessed I have been over certain things in the past. We talked about all the wedding magazines and shows and bridal salons she has checked out, and it brought me back to that time when NOTHING WAS MOE IMPORTANT THAN ME PLANNING MY WEDDING! But that is a different story. Let me tell you about some baby things I no longer need to obsess over.

Baby food. Remember my tiny Sprout giveaway? Well, I became a fan of Sprout on facebook and they sent me a box of 6 assorted pouches. "Cool," I thought, and then immediately followed that up with, "what the hell can I do with this?" Too little, too late, for my child who ate baby food for about 2.7 weeks until we switched to a modified baby-led weaning plan. "Well, maybe I'll do another blog giveaway?" Then I remembered that out of everyone who reads my blog, only about 3 of them have babies eating baby food still, and I know two of them in real life. So lucky them! They each get 3 pouches of Sprout!

Baby legs. Thank GAWD I never gave in to this obsession. I got my baby steals email today and nearly shuddered at the thought. Why was I so concerned with these? Seriously? Leg warmers for babies? I do give myself credit...it was winter, and diaper changes were tough enough as he started wriggling and squirming. Now it's summertime, 90+ degrees every day, and the most laughable thing I can imagine to put on my son are freaking leg warmers.

Baby toys. Because once we hit standing/cruising status, I realized it doesn't matter. I could fill his toybox (okay, he doesn't have a toybox, which is something I should put on his birthday list) with empty water bottles, old pans, toilet paper, the dog's tennis balls, and anything he can "drive" across the floor like a car and he would never know that those huge exersaucer/jumper/sports center monstrosities even existed. Come to think of it, if I just emptied out our large cooler that would make a perfect toybox, because that's his favorite household item at the moment.

Assorted diaper bag crap. I forget to pack a bib half the time. I forget to pack diapers sometimes. My kid only has one sippy cup and it's usually dirty (after hummus and baked beans dinner last night I get the heebie-jeebies to think about it's status right now...and I'm kinda worried it's where the dog can get to it, so he may have 0 sippy cups when we get home tonight). I think his burp clothes and receiving blankets are long gone. He only poops once a day in the AM, so I rarely have more than 3 wipes on hand. Honestly, I don't even know what else we used to keep in that thing.

What have I replaced these things to obsess over with? Well, you know there is always something!

Baby shoes! He got his first 2 pairs about a month ago, and it was love at first sight for all of us. So far he's a Robeez baby, but we are expecting these in the mail any day (thanks again babysteals.com). Now, I was following the hippie standards with the "barefoot is best" mantra for a while. But then I got tired of having the dirty-little-feet baby out in public. And Jacob got really tired of not being able to get down and boogie in public. And my husband got tired of me letting our son crawl on the dirty floor in public. So we have shoes!

Birthday parties. Now, anyone on any mom website with any child between the ages of 6-12 months knows that this is the hottest. topic. ever. I'm not that mom. This will not be a debutante ball, coming out party, or showcase for mom. My kid will not have a separate "smash cake outfit" or $25 cowboy hat to wear in pictures. In fact, he will only have a smash cake because Harris Teeter will give him one free. He will likely be naked or mostly naked when we put the cake in front of him. I am making his real cake/cupcakes. I am ordering his invites online for cheap. (I need to get on that, actually). I will buy paper plates and silverware at Wal-Mart or Target. Despite how much I love what some of these Etsy sellers are doing, I'm just not paying a ridiculous amount of money for all this specialized paper crap that I will have to set up and tear down anyway. Just grilling hamburgers and hot dogs in a local park with a playground. But that doesn't mean I'm not getting excited about the "theme".

Yogurt. Seriously, do you know how hard it is to find full-fat Greek yogurt?

Big boy pajamas. He wore his first pair last night, and when I went to get him at 6:45 AM, my "baby" was leaning nonchalantly in the corner of his crib, smiling at me with his elbow propped on the rail. How have we gotten here so soon? He is now the oldest kid in his baby daycare room. He's going to move up any day now, we're only waiting for a space at this point. His teacher told me this morning that she's started taking him over to "visit" because he gets bored in the little baby room. Sigh...no more onesies, no more footie pajamas. Walking will come any day now.

And I will have to start saying "I have a toddler".

Some Assorted News

So, I don't know why I've been so "secretive" for so long...I mean, I link to my blog on my Facebook page for goodness sakes, so it's not like I'm trying to hide from anyone. With that in mind, I finally put my picture and (ZOMG) my real name on this piece. Now you know something to call me other than "Cannonball" which has never been a nickname of mine except in the Blog-o-sphere. (Boochie or Ali-boo, however, have...)

And other than that, I am at a training this week and have limited internet access, even during our lunches, so I am on a bit of a sort-of blog hiatus. Except, keep your eyes peeled because I will be doing my first guest blogs this week. I'll let my fellow bloggers remain a surprise, and you guys just be on the lookout to see my crazy posts elsewhere! Of course, I'll try to linky so that you don't have to search too hard, but in case I'm busy, you can find both ladies in my blogroll to the right.

Have a great week!

This will just be a random stream of thought.

Because I want to blog, I really do, but I find myself uninspired. This is normal. Back when I was blogging a regular 3 times weekly, I would sometimes jot down blog title ideas or funny comments that I heard and wanted to write about. But now I don't do that anymore, and although I find myself inspired sometimes, it usually is just a passing thought.

So I guess this post is abouit blogging, sigh, and why I do it. I have always enjoyed writing. I find it therapeutic. Since I couldn't finish college and actually get any kind of degree that would allow me to write for a living, this will have to suffice. It's kind of like a journal, but I like that voyeurtastic feeling of people reading my thoughts. That's kind of weird, right? Especially because some of them I know, some I don't, and some I know but don't really know, like in person. I know I'll never win any awards or have one of those blogs that allow me to make extra money, but I like the idea that maybe I could, if I really, really tried hard at it.

Other than that, I'll just grace the 50 or so of you with these thoughts:

My old UPS guy was Filipino and really, really hot. His name was Joe.

Speaking of, my husband and the last 3 boyfriends before him all had names that started with 'J'.

I love Indian buffet. I just ate it for lunch (instead of the chicken pot pie from home I should have had) because it has been almost a year since I've had it. I devoured it like a starving person. I shut my office door so no one could watch.

At 9 months, I am mounting a new effort to build my supply again. Although it's been sufficent to nurse on the weekends, my boobs hate the pump and I've been supplementing the daycare bottles for months. I just used up my last formula checks on a 23oz container and I am dreading having to pay full price. So I'm doing whatever it takes: fenugreek, mother's milk tea, pumping 3-4 times a day again, to hold out these last 3-4 months.

I judge people that parent differently than me. I never say anything and I try to hold it all in and deep down I understand that we're all just doing the best that we can to get to the end result of a happy, well-adjusted child, but I still judge.

It bothers me that my husband tries to label Jacob as advanced. I think he's just normal, and normal has such a wide range at this age that I just want to let myself be impressed when he masters a new skill, no matter how long it takes.

Maybe I just don't want him to be walking by 10 months.

Some days I feel closer to my online mom group than my real friends. This makes me sad, but the truth is it's just easier to communicate at my own convenience than trying to schedule events around 2 or more nap and work schedules.

I have two good friends that I really, really want to call right now.

But I have to go back to work.

I think I'm going to walk to the gas station next door and buy a Dr. Pepper. I haven't had one in a while.

Luckily, I don't have enough cash for a candy bar, too.

All Part of Growing Up...

I have to make an admission. I have been a cyber bully. .::sigh::.

Not in the same way as the teenagers who torment their classmates so much to drive them into depression and worse, but in that kind of silly way that a grown-ass woman should not be taking part in.

Part of my quest in life is to grow: to grow in my rediscovered Christianity, as a mother, and as an adult. I can admit when I've made a mistake. In this particular case, I do not think my actions have hurt anyone, but the point is that they could have. And it's kind of a shame that I have acted this way.

I'm a small, small part of a well known online community of message boards. At any given moment there could be anywhere from fifty to five hundred of us online: mothers of all ages, shapes, experiences from all around the world. And sometimes we talk about what we're there for: our beautiful children. But a lot of times we turn there out of boredom, and that's when things can turn sour. Usually it involves someone making fun of someone else, or decrying another mom's parenting choices. I have taken part occasionally in this behaviour, and I'm not proud.

I think what the internet and it's various forms of free expression (facebook, twitter, blogs, message boards) invite is that feeling that we can say anything we want. And sometimes we feel the need to be more brutally honest than tact and common sense allow us to be in real life, so we forget that somewhere at another computer sits another new mom just as happy and stressed and overwhelmed and emotional as we are.

So I'm trying to turn a new leaf. Sure, I'll probably roll my eyes in my head when I read something that I find asinine. I'll just try keeping the non-constructive comments to myself the same way I would if I were standing there face to face. Sometimes we all need a good reminder.

A Tradition even I can Stand Behind!

For the most part, I am proud to be from the South, and specifically from North Carolina. Don't get me wrong, I am well spoken and fairly intelligent, and I am slightly proud of myself when I have to correct someone who thinks I'm "not from around here". But the older I get, the more I think that North Carolinians are a misunderstood breed, because most of the ones I know are good, solid people.

However, I do not follow those customary "rules" of the South. Or specifically, the Southern Baptists. I lived with my husband for years before we got married, a fact that is still secret to his very internet-unsavvy grandparents and certain other family. I wear white whenever I want (which really is never because, honestly, it's not the most flattering color I can imagine anywhere near my bottom half). I breastfeed IN PUBLIC and make my own baby food. I shop at the Farmer's Market and use reusable grocery bags. OK. In our defense, there is a misconception among the Yankee hippie population that think they started all this "local, slow food" stuff. My roots are deeply planted in the South, and I know that there are a lot more farmers in the South and Midwest than the big cities out there, and we've always gotten our food as fresh as we could. I spent lots of time as a kid at pick-your-own farms with my grandmother. We just also like a Big Mac now and then. (Also, how many southern grandmas do you know that don't recycle their grocery bags? Haven't you ever seen one of them wind-sock looking things homemade out of some leftover quilt material and drawstring that Mema always shoved all her plastic Wal-Mart bags into so that whenever she gave you leftovers, she could pull one out to tie them all up in?)

I digress...my point is, there are two traditions I do follow. I visit family on Sundays, and every year, I buy a new Easter dress. Even years like this one, when we're trying hard to scrimp and save, my husband, son, and I went shopping a few weeks ago and I spent way more than I had planned on a cute new dress for Easter. It's silk and brightly colored and has a little yellow bolero jacket to wear with it. And when I tried it on and looked in the mirror, I felt good! I did not feel like I looked like the size it said in the tag. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could tell I weigh almost ten pounds less than I did when I got pregnant almost 17 months ago. I believed my husband's grin as I left the dressing room and walked towards him.

It's been hanging in my closet ever since. Taunting me. Wanting me to wear it to work. But I won't. Because the other tradition I follow is that when you buy a new Easter dress, it must make it's debut on Easter!

Take Foot, Insert into Mouth...

I mentioned yesterday that I am attending a workshop for work (I'm on my lunch break people, no need to report me) and I am really enjoying it despite being sick as a dog.

It started on Tuesday. It's in the big city environment of Raleigh, and to get to the building, you have to go down a very busy four lane road with a median. It has small cut-throughs for the roads that branch off with office buildings, and people tend to drive very fast on the main road that goes through the center. The cut throughs only hold at most 1 1/2 cars, which tends to block up the lane behind if some is having trouble *cough*, "pulling the gun" and turning left across the two lanes of oncoming traffic. (I would draw a map, but it would probably just be even more confusing.)

On Tuesday I was behind one such car, with a sweet young lady driver who waited. And waited. And WAITED at the cut through for what seemed like hours to turn left. It was probably in reality about 96 seconds, but it felt like an eternity as I could see the cars piling up behind me. I pulled forward, kind of parallel to her to try to get my rear end out of the lane and let people pass, and as I did that I got a clearer view of the oncoming traffic. Or lack thereof. Seriously, I could have ridden a CAMEL through that turn with all the time she was waiting with no traffic in sight. Or led a gaggle of geese across.

So what did I do? I pulled this nifty move that I learned in Boston about 6 years ago when someone did it to me at a MUCH busier intersection. I pulled out and around her and went about my merry way. I think she got the picture then that she had enough time to get across the oncoming lanes, so she turned to. The closer I got to my building, the more the sinking feeling in the pit of stomach mounted.

There are like thousands of people who work in this complex of offices, so what are the chances that she is one of the 10 other people attending this workshop? You got it. I had to pull into the parking lot, park a mile away from the building, and wait until I saw her walk in before I would get out of my car. I did not want an awkward "you're that bitch that cut me off" encounter my first day of the workshop.

Crisis averted, but let's just say that I have been a much more conservative driver the rest of the week.

"They don't know how to drive in it down here."

Snow, that is.

If I have one more Yankee look at me conspiratorially (because at work I usually do a decent job of hiding my accent) and say that, I think I'm going to go on a rampage, gunning my engine as I fly down an icy embankment, taking out as many parked cars with New Jersey plates as possible.

What does that even mean, anyway, when someone says, "Oh, I know how to drive in snow." Seriously? The only technique I can think of for snow-driving is to use common sense, drive slowly if you are on top of a patch of ice, don't follow other cars too closely, don't slam on brakes, and if you skid, turn into the direction your car is floating.

And if you are proudly lauding your bad-weather driving skills in a two-ton four wheel drive monster of an SUV, then no, you really don't know how to drive in the snow. Because your car does it for you.

As for us Southerners, we will more than likely do the common sense thing after a snowstorm: stay home and wait for the plows to fix everything.

Mommy Brain -vs- Pregnancy Brain

Today is a busy day...my husband and I are going on our first alone date night since baby boy was born and we're very excited for hockey and beer. But I have time for a short story.

When I was pregnant, my husband went to a conference for work one morning where he could not be reached. This particular morning also happened to be the time that I thought my work keys were inside my purse, which was locked in his trunk. Since I had the car keys, I called my boss to let her know I would be late and hopped in the truck to try to drive around the parking lot of this hotel in Raleigh trying to find my car, and the sacred keys. Halfway there I realized how ridiculous this plan was, and then started really thinking things through. I could remember bringing my purse in the night before, so they couldn't be in the trunk, right? I turned around 10 miles in and decided to check at home first. Sure enough, when I opened the door to the house my purse was hanging on the banister. Keys inside...

I thought this could not be outdone as a pregnancy brain moment (keep in mind I was hysterical the whole time). Until yesterday.

My son is usually hanging out in his bouncer seat next to the shower when I bathe every day. Sometimes if he gets really upset, after I'm finished bathing I'll bring him in with me and let the water run over his back, which works wonders to soothe him. Well, yesterday I did this and got out of the shower, making sure to wrap him in his towel and keep him warm. After I took care of him and he was settled in a safe place, I started to get dressed, only to realize that I had never actually bothered to put a towel or robe on myself, and I was dripping wet. I seriously forgot to dry off! Who does that?

I guess it proves that once you have kids, you literally do not think about yourself anymore!