November 2008 Archives

Today, Ricardo and I are at the table eating by ourselves - a rarity. And so, I opt to tell him about this book I'm reading. I'm on Book Three.

I'm not all into the romance part so much as the vampire and werewolves parts. Because I have my romance. I have my Edward. He's perfect and he's not even a vampire - that I know of, yet. Total BONUS!

And since there's no kids to lead the conversation, I'm really elaborating, I don't even have to abbreviate or speak in code. I can tell him all about it. In my humble opinion, these books that everyone's all excited about - they have a great storyline - but they tend to drag on at points. So, I'm excited that it's finally getting good.

"I'm going to try to finish it tonight. The werewolves and good vampires are going to fight some bad vampires. And that's cool because historically, per this book, vampires and werewolves don't get along. But they are for the sake of this chick, and the fight. So it's getting good. I'm looking forward to seeing who comes out of the fight..."

And that's when I notice a smirk on my hunnybear's face. My sweet perfect "Edward" laughs and says, "Man, this must be what it's like for you when I talk to you about racing."

Well, he listened atleast. That was nice. Was there a race on this weekend? I can't remember.

That's how I roll.

And no, Mother, this is not the turkey you made two years ago, that I'm still trying to explain to the children when they start screaming, "MY EYES! MY EYES!"

Mostly, I'm thankful for the Thanksgiving binge. I'm thankful that I can produce such a feast, that it necessitates it's own schedule and it's own grocery list.

I'm thankful for Paula Deen's Sweet Potatoe Balls recipe.

I'm thankful for Ricardo - SUCKER!

I'm thankful for the family I was born into, and the family I married.

I'm thankful for my babies.

I'm thankful for my precious ya-yas.

I'm thankful for my dear friends.

I'm thankful for the people who laugh at my jokes. Especially the ones who have heard them multiple times, and still laugh genuinely on cue.

I'm thankful for health insurance, my marriage recognized by law, Farley the Wonderdog's health, that gas prices are down, my kids still seem to be somewhat potty trained, a refrigerator full of groceries, heat, running water, no debt, and my health. I'm thankful for my life.

But again, what I'm really thankful for, is the Thanksgiving binge. And I don't even have to purge afterwards. What a gift!

That's how I roll.

Perhaps these guys would be worth the money. Is that cowboy Leonardo DiCaprio?Last year, I swore I wouldn't sign the kids up anymore for sports. And this year, when Max started asking, I did the responsible thing, and signed them up. I figured we'd try it out on different teams this year. And it would be good for activity when the midwest arctic blows in. So, I completely lost my mind and my bank account and signed them up with the YMCA.

Since we're not YMCA members, it was double the price, and since it was the DAY after - just one measley day after the deadline for sign up- we got robbed. $160 for two six-year-olds to play ten games of basketball. Thank God we already bought their reversible jerseys and they're letting us re-use them.This better be good.

At the Y's defense, when I groaned at the price, they reminded me that I could coach and my kids cost would be cut in half.

"No thanks, I don't really like kids." Was all I could say while I wrote the check. The truth is, I love coaching kids. To teach them what seems impossible and then see the look in their eyes when they accomplish it. It's an overwhelming sensation. I've coached before. I was good at it. It's dealing with the parents that drove me to the brinks of coaching extinction.

So, I refuse to coach, and would rather pay double the price of extortion. Because really, even just $40 per kid is too much for what you get back. Sure, they have a nice little code they read every game - blah blah blah, teamwork, good attitude, yada yada.Nice attitude, and no skillz? Puhlease.

The practices they have make me hurt. The poor coaches can't get the boys to stop making farting sounds with their armpits, and the girls talking about their latest whatever. And the games are like herding cats, except you can't hid the kids with your car like you can with cats. Not as legally, anyway. So there's that.

Today I watched in horror. It was just awful. Sucky suckness. Although MY children are not the best, they are pretty good. And they seem to work on what we tell them to before the game. I'm sure the coaches appreciate our pre-game coaching. I try so hard not to coach during the game. But SOMEONE'S gotta do it. And I only scream at My kid.

OH MY GAWD - I am that very parent! Lord strike me now. No, I'm not the awful parents who suck out all your practice time wondering why Johnny doesn't get to play as much. And we don't even scream profanities or anything. Just stuff like "ATTA GIRL LUCY! YOU ARE SO AWESOME!" Really loud like.

Even my perfect children get sucked into the vortex of the non-sense. This week, I made Max sit down and compose a letter of apology to his coach for not paying attention in practice.

The whole stupid thing is, there shouldn't even be this pressure to put kids in sports this early. Ricardo and I both didn't even start thinking about begging our parents to be on a sports team until we were in the fourth grade. It's so much to ask of them: Rebounding, double-dribble, boundaries, back court, guard the kid, but don't bear hug him please, you have to dribble when you walk, if you have the shot take it, but don't be a ball hog...It's too much. So much in fact that no one else really tells them that WHILE THEY'RE PLAYING anyways. So, what was it that I paid for again?

AAACK! No more formal sports teams until they are in fourth grade. That's it. It's best for the kids, me, my relationship with Ricardo, and the well-being of all YMCA directors to just say no to 6-year-old ballers.

And that's how I roll.

JulzHOLLA is having her third girl. They are so happy to have a healthy baby. I think they kind of want to know what it might be like to have a boy. So, JulzHOLLA, this one's for you.

My girl, Nikki the cakemaking diva, she's pregnant with her third as well. She has two girls, and although she wouldn't let me attend the sonogram, she did let me know she's having a boy! So, Nikki, this one's to uh, warn you...

Up to this point, having a boy has been so fun. All the kid needs is sports and cars. But now that they are six, they are both very perceptive, and Max particularly idolizes Ricardo. I guess in doing so, he watches his every move. Kids see all, hear all, and regurgitate all.

We were at the dinner table last night. Max lifted up his left-butt cheek, made a little grimmace, and farted. The pride and joy in his face that a) he just farted on cue and b) that he just mimicked his precious idol. Dear Lord. Even more alarming was that Ricardo was actually shocked that Max did it. A second later, Ricardo was beaming with pride. Then he caught my glance of "do not encourage this". And then was quick to tell Max, "Uh, nice one, but let's not do that at the table." I could swear that he muttered under his breath when I wasn't looking, "Atleast not while you're mom is around".

I taught Max how to cite the 80's campaign against drugs: "I learned it from YOU dad, I learned it from YOU!"

Have fun with that Nikki.

That's how I roll.

I'm not your average gal. Ricardo, stop laughing. I mean, aside from the fact that I'm really tall, I'm a stay-at-home mom slash comedian with absolutely no domesticative skillz at all, but one of my favorite things to do is vaccuum, I'm pretty normal. I think. Perhaps exceptional, when you consider my uterus of steel...

However, when God made me, he missed one little detail of womanness. Shopping. I hate it. I hate to shop. Particularly clothes shopping. I hate it. As a matter of fact, I don't do it. So, that's good. I went looking for a sweater, just something nice to wear to a romantic dinner with Ricardo the other day, and had to make myself try things on. I think I had a little bit of an anxiety attack in the dressing room. JulzHOLLA made me vow to try it on before I buy it. So, I held true to my promise and did so. But it's cold out, so I'm not good with unlayering. My hands are ice cold - always - and bound to touch my body when de-robing. Then there's the fact I have to see myself without clothes on. Never a fan of that. And ofcourse, there's always the worry that I didn't lock the door and someone will accidentally bust in, or that there's some security guy behind my mirror gagging on his bag of popcorn when it's my turn for the cheap show he's about to get. Either of the two people scenarios then run out screaming, "My eyes! My eyes! The horror!" Just the potential of said moment occurring pretty much keeps me shopping online, or not shopping at all. So, next time you see me in my 1990's clothes, just remember, that's the era I gave up shopping. Be kind to me.

Don't get me wrong, I love to shop - for food. It's practically a well-skilled hunt the way I get my food for my family. I love grocery shopping. I'm guessing the anorexic fashion-diva models fear the grocery store, just as I loathe clothing stores. Grocery stores are my domain. MY HOUSE! And I do like the occasional stroll through the aisles at Target. But when I need a particular item, it seems like exactly what I'm looking for is never there. And I pretty much never pay attention to details or sales.

So, when my Mother-In-Law called and invited me to shop with her on Black Friday, I faked it as long as I could before I finally had to fess up and ask, "Well, uh, hmm...what exactly IS Black Friday?"

"Well, it's the day after Thanksgiving." She explained very patiently. She's never surprised with me.

And, they have a name for the Day after Thanksgiving? I thought it was just the Day after Thanksgiving Sales. But no, it's BLACK Friday.

"Sure I'll go." What?! What was I thinking!?

Last year, I made MyDaph take me and show me her ways on the Day after Thanksgiving - woops, I mean BLACK Friday. I like how MyDaph rolls, we didn't have a list, just kind of relayed to each other what we might be looking for. At 6a.m. we hit the stores, and I was shocked to see sharks in a blood filled blood-shopping frenzy. People were mean and on a mission. It reminded me of the 80's when the Cabbage Patch Dolls came out and ladies were on the news in fist fights for the dolls. I watched that as a kid, knowing I'd never get the beloved doll because my mom wouldn't get it for me, nor fight for the doll for me. Of which, I'm proud of my mom for that. However, should Lucy get a Cabbage Patch Doll for Christmas this year - ahem - I might play with it while she's at school.

Still, last year, when I watched people fighting over the big sales, I realized that I'm not much for shopping, nor confrontation. I think I'd rather pay the regular price and maintain my dignity - for shopping atleast. The worst attitudes I saw were in the Starbucks line anyways. It was like Y2K - that Black Friday, the only store I wanted the good deals at was for my WallFlowers at Bath & Body WOrks, and the frenzy was so great, the lights kept going out. We're blowing circuits, say what? Isn't this many people in a dark store like this some kind of safety hazard?

I've gotta say though, trusting MyDaph with my first roll with Black Friday was genius. We had more fun laughing at everyone else, and we did find some deals. I got my WallFlowers.

This year, I plan to stock up on WallFlowers again. Other than that, I'm going for the ride, because I love spending time with these ladies. It's rare, and if I have to wake up at 4a.m. and hunker down in the trenches of retail shopping, I suppose I will. I promise to annoy people with my perky smile and goodwill - glad tidings of comfort and joy. As long as I have my coffee and my girls for back up, I should be okay. I just hope I don't expose myself and let my girls down when they realize what a sucky shopper I am.

That's how I roll.

There's a radio station here in town - "Your Christmas Radio Station" that's already playing Christmas music. I don't search for it. I was actually in the lockerroom at the ol gym and noticed some pep and festivity in the overhead speaker - and then it was ruined with (read like Janice from FRIENDS): "OH MY GAWD IS THAT CHRISTMAS MUSIC ALREADY. OH NO! THAT'S JUST HIDEOUS."

Really? Wow, did you just go visit your friend's new born baby and say, "OH MY GAWD, ALREADY? OH NO, SHE'S HIDEOUS!" Or maybe you're the same person who hates chocolate. You probably kick kittens for exercise as well. FUNHATER.

I don't care if you don't even celebrate Christmas. If you're Jewish, or Hindu, that's okay, but Bing Crosby singing White Christmas is fun. And you know it. Christmas music - according to Jim Carrey in The Grinch - is Joyful and Triumphant!

I do acknowlege that it's a bit early. It's too early for Christmas shopping and decorating, putting the tree up, too early for the stores to have their sales and decor up, and too early for Santa to be at the mall. But it's not too early for Christmas music. It's just in the nick of time. And no one should be forced to listen to such atrocities like Cheer and Gratitude. So, as I promised my cubicle neighbor so many years ago, I won't force it on anyone until after Thanksgiving. Then IT'S ON!

I mean, I just listened to Nat King Cole sing me "O Come All Ye Faithful". When Nat King Cole tells me "O come let us adore Him" - I'm so cool with that. I have my favorites - anything by Nat King Cole, Harry Connick Jr. or Burl Ives.

The kids are mad at me. Their enthusiasm for the Christmas music ended the minute I refused to get the decorations out. I have my limits. We give thanks first, then we decorate for Christmas.

"But Mommy, why do you let us listen to Christmas MUUUUUUUUSIC, but not decorate?"

"Because that's how I roll!" And then I turned off the music and will wait for them to BEG me to listen to it again.

What's your favorite Holiday song?

Well, let me clarify. I in no way, shape or form think I am fat. I'm definitely happy though. And "Two pounds over the technical Weight Watchers life time goal mark and happy" Just wasn't as catchy, you know?

As mentioned before here, here, and here, I'm struggling a bit with maintaining my healthy weight. I fight with two to four pounds daily. The extra pounds win each day. Bully. So, how do you stop a bully? Ignore bully.

I hereby officially refuse to fight the pounds. I'll be good, don't get me wrong, I'm not signing off and going on a Holiday Binge or anything.

My problem is that I'm happy. I'm not complacent or anything, I'm grateful. Very grateful. And I find it necessary to know when you're happy, and know whether you need to get a pedicure or a therapy session. Or know when to hit the vodka. Who's with me!?

When I'm stressed, I guess I busy myself, and don't eat as much. But when I'm happy I cook and eat. Or maybe I cook and eat and that's what makes me happy. Hmmm. Whoa - that was deep.

Either way - happy + Leslie = laughs and eats. Period. So, I guess I'll just keep eating - it's a gift. And up the workout a bit. However, lifelesson number 483 - I've just discovered as a recovering athlete that the harder I workout, the more I raid the fridge. I crave starchy crazy high fat, high carb foods. I can't get enough. Life Lesson number 484 - I'm a RECOVERING ATHLETE - and I guess I don't HAVE to do my college workout. Perhaps I should do what works. When I lift and/or run, I gain weight. When I super power walk, I lose weight. That's hard for athletes to do - walk. Because we've been grilled to run, to hustle, get the effn ball or die. Walking's a new discovery for me. I'm going with it.

The other day, I was in the midst of a conversation with a lady about how thin people tend to be cold more often than heavier people. When I realized she was referring to me as thin, I was a bit shocked. And then I realized, the lady doesn't go with me and see my weight once a month. It's 2 pounds. I'm thin. I'm a walker. I'm happy. I'm goin with it.

That's how I roll.

This girl is wearing pink to support the Race for the Cure, I'm sure of it.

When we were at the Brain Cancer Foundation walk, I was walking with the kids to register us all, and noticed how many people were there to support a good cause: education, research and awareness for brain cancer. I noticed all the survivors, all the supporters. And then I noticed some dumb ass mo-fo smoking. Granted, smoking doesn't cause BRAIN cancer, so far as we know. In his defense the smuck was off to the side, away from the giant crowd of cancer survivors and all. That's nice. And also to his defense, he looked really guilty when I glared at him with my mommy look.

I got the family registered, found our people and had a great day. I kind of forgot about the guy smoking at the cancer benefit.

And then I went to the gym this week. I've been fighting the urge to louse up my highly respected reputation but I just don't think I can do it. I love my gym. And I like to believe my gym loves me. But...

Our gym does a bunch of fundraisers for Breast Cancer Research. They do the Raquet for the Cure, as well as many other benefits. And this week, they've had a giant silent auction for the cure. You can donate items to be auctioned. Or, you can bid on an item. Either way, you can support a good cause and help raise money to help find a cure for cancer and then walk 20 feet to the tanning beds.

Again, not a direct correlation: smoke to brain cancer; nor: tanning beds to breast cancer. But really, how about we auction off the tanning beds, and REALLY commit to a healthy lifestyle with less radioactive leathered-skin, and lease out some nap rooms?

Takes me back to the simple days of the guy smoking at the cancer benefit.

I'm just sayin.
That's how I roll.

This past weekend, I hung out with my new pal in the sisterhood-of-tattooness, Rachel, who was talking about these books she's been reading. Then Rachel kept talking about it, and then MyDaph jumped in about it. Then they got together and superfreakshowed about it, yapping about this and that. Typically, when people around me start talking about the latest books they've read, I mentally check out. Because I think reading is totally overrated. Except for this blog, ofcourse. VERY IMPORTANT TO READ IT.

I suppose my take on reading is a bit ironic considering a lifetime goal of mine is to write a book. I should probably be more supportive to the whole cult-like following of "readers" and all.

Still, they kept saying how much I'd love these books, and it's so fun, and they've never been more glued to a book before, and it's like "Crack". You just can't get enough.

Wait, did you just say it's Crack? I'll try crack. It's legal right? I'm in.

But then Rachel went off about how obsessed she is and she checks the writer's website everyday to find out when the new book is coming out. And then she said, "I dream of the day when I find my true love vampire."

Say what? I'm out. No can do. At the risk of reading it and becoming that crazy, I can't risk that. I'm doing fine maintaining my own level of crazy, just fine.

And then, today, I'm walking with Julz(Holla!) and she starts talking about these books that Cake-making-Diva gave her to read. And it's a series and

"Wait, is this that Vampire chick."

"YES!" she says.

Maybe it's the way she presents things to me. Because I told Ricardo ain't no way I'm trying Indian Food EVER. EVER! And then Julz(Holla!) got me to try it and I love it. And now, here we are, I left the gym and went to get the first book. Supposedly I won't be able to put it down. We'll see.

It's the Twilight series. I'm a slow reader, so don't go expecting a review tomorrow. I'll see what I can do. I saw the author on a talk show - this whole series started from a vivid dream she had. She simply started journaling about it, and so, that's kind of cool.

I'm definitely a good test as to whether this book is as good as everyone says. I fall asleep every time I read. Supposedly the Cake-Making-Diva, MyDaph and Rachel stayed up til the next morning reading it. We'll see how good this crack is. We'll see.

I'm off to jump on the Twilight bandwagon. Wish me luck on this whole "reading" thing.

That's how I roll.

Don't be jealous, but this guy thinks I'm hot.

Yesterday I busted butt to mow the lawn and get all the yardwork on the curb for pick up because it was trash and yard waste pick up day. I like adventure, so I mow on the DAY OF pick up. I'm crazy like that.

I finished the yards and went in to warm up with some coffee. Then the trash guys came by. Then the yard waste guys. I suppose SOME PEOPLE in this neighborhood think I just sit in the window and watch the goings of the day. Really I don't. I sit in front of the tv all day. But at the moment the yard waste guys came by, indeed, I WAS watching their every move. And it's a good thing too. Because - now a 6'3" female Columbo - it was just as I suspected.

I've been dodging trash cans on trash day due to what I thought was the wind blowing them out in the streets. But today wasn't windy, and I watched JoeTrash guy (a distant cousin of Joe Plumber, I'm sure) empty HALF of the leaves out of my cans and drop them...IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET. Really? I looked up the street and the ones they got back on the curb, they'd thrown so, they were on their sides, easily accessible to roll into the streets.

I gave them a few seconds to see what they'd done and correct it. But NOT. So, I waltzed out there in my awesome lawn mowing attire. They were a few houses down, but saw me and waved. I motioned to my garbage cans and then waved with a slight tone of "eff you" and then started walking the cans back up the driveway.

And that's when one of those son of bitches CAT CALLED me. What the heck just happened. Then they all laughed and drove away.

It's been a while since I'd been cat-called. So, later, I got a good giggle about it. But at present, I was still mad- because I am pretty sure that was a sarcastic cat call! Not a "hey lady, you're smokin hot" but more of a "we're going to whistle at you and then laugh" type of a deal.

I showed them. Idiots have their number on the side of the truck in like 3,500 pt. font. And since I can read and all, I went in and called and told on them.

Nanny nanny.
That's how I roll.

I promised Carrie I'd do this. And don't go thinking when any of my other peeps die, I'm getting a tattoo. It's the point of my last conversation with her - that she wanted to get another tatoo before she got so sick. That she loved me and her tattoos. All that. I will never forget the look on her face. The energy and desperation it took for her to tell me I gotta do it. Just to say, "Absolutely". So, it's done. And I love it.

Thank you so much Rachel and Alicia - also Carrie's people - who helped me get to the right tattoo artist. Rachel and MyDaph went with me and held my hand. For the record, I don't care if its your first or your 40th tattoo. It effn hurts. I thrive, I am calmed and soothed by the sound of my own voice. I've proven this in labor & delivery, on the volleyball court, in testing centers, every place imaginable. But the location and my positioning did not allow me to talk, laugh, or sob. All of which I wanted to do. I'm sure Jay- the brilliant tatoo artist (Tell him I sent you) - was happy and slightly relieved that indeed, I couldn't talk. Or even make noise - not even moan. No fair.

It's fair to note that I can find an angle for anything. And I don't believe in coincidences. Jay is also the name of Carrie's brother who died while we were in high school. I don't think Jay was too mystified by my tattoo idea, but he obliged and took pretty good care of me.

So, now she's always got my back. I am closer to closure. I did want to get home and get a picture of it fast so I could email it to Carrie. It was just a quick instant and then a smile instead of shortness of breath. Because I know she'd love it. I sure do.

The kids said nothing of the tattoo. I didn't keep it from them, but didn't really sit them down to tell them that mommy was going in to get needles filled with ink injected into her body either. They saw the tattoo and didn't say anything at all, just went back to playing with MyDaph's kids. On the drive home, I talked to Yallison several times because while we were doing the walk, she was getting her tattoo for Carrie too. She got three hearts on her foot.

Even better, was when I was driving home and needed to do my Aquaphor rub down on my tattoo (per tattoo artist's care instructions) - so, I took off my shirt, relax mom, I had an undershirt on, and drove down the road while Ricardo took care of my tattoo. It doesn't get more redneck than that, except ofcourse, if I had one of the kids take care of it. Heh heh.
Still, Max and Lucy said nothing about the tattoo.

About thirty minutes left from our 10-hour drive, Lucy was practicing drawing stars. It's very important. She made big stars and small stars, and "Mommy, this is a very, very tiny star."

"Good job, Sweetie."

And then, "Mommy, this one has tattoos on her feet."

"What the....oh, yes, it's very nice. She must be an adult star to have a tattoo. Right?"

And then Max, who's been doing his homework and writing in his journal, chimes in. "Oh yeah, I'm going to write about your tattoo, Mommy!"

Oh God. Then Ricardo got pulled over and Mommy's tattoo took a quick second in journaling priorities to Daddy's warning from the Po-lice. Tattoos and Police Officers on the family vacation. I dropped the kids off at school today and now I'm just sitting here waiting for the school to call when they read their journals.

Carrie would love this.
That's how I roll.

Thank you to all of you who asked how our trip was. The walk was emotional and comforting. I think we're supposed to get together to raise money and awareness for brain cancer. We did that. But ultimately, my goal was to get back together with all of Carrie's people, friends and family. We only know our loved ones so much. So, to get to know people from other aspects of her life has been a great gift to me. I know Carrie would get a kick out of us all together like that.

I hope we can do the walk each year. I don't know how realistic that is, but hopefully we can do it, each year bringing more of Carrie's people together. It was a big weekend for me, I'd been looking forward to the walk and the tattoo, both of which I hoped would bring me closure and acceptance that Carrie is indeed, gone. Because, sometimes, I'm pretty sure, it's not exactly healthy to keep thinking she's still here, and then slip into a mild panic attack when I realize she's not. The walk, preparing for it, and getting to it, has helped me with all of that.

Ricardo and the kids walked too. I explained the walk as best I could to Max and Lucy. They were eager and happy to road trip it down and walk for Carrie. Problem was, once we got there, Lucy wanted to know where Carrie was. Uggh. And, cue the recurring heartbreak and lump in throat. I kept it to minimal explanation. But once she got her tshirt, she was totally cool. I cannot believe they walked 3.1 miles with no whiney pants. Not once! Too fun. Lucy did sucker, woops, I mean make a new pal with Rachel. So, that helped.

That's how I roll.

Yesterday, we headed to Texas for the Walk. We are professional roadtrippers - so, we had everything packed and ready to go for our ten hour trip. We've learned to carry a barf bucket. So, three hours into it, when Lucy started showing signs of Barf-a-Rama, I just whipped out my nifty barf bucket and handed it back. As much as I'm a professional roadtripper, my daughter is a professional barfer.

She just sat there, watching her movie, holding the bucket, ready for launch. We tried to find a place to get some Dramamine, but ended up making four stops, and getting off the highway in Kansas City apparently involves a commitment to getting lost and lots of windy roads and curves. Not great for the motion-sick girl in the back. I finally got her a children's dramamine.

It turns out though, Lucy has never swallowed a pill. It's been all about chewables, melt-a-ways, and nasty cough syrup. So, now, we've got a gagging, motion-sick kid, in a moving car, learning how to swallow a pill. Poor thing couldn't figure it out, so it sat on the back of her tongue- that aspiriny taste - while she's downing water, and gagging trying to swallow the pill. Ugh. She finally did it.

And then five minutes later, she barfed the pill up along with the blueberry pancakes and what the hell is that? DEAR LORD - ARE THOSE WHOLE GRAPES!? I tell Ricardo while Lucy is in mid-barf, "Baby, you've got to see this!"

Ricardo, remembering the time I shoved rotten milk in his nose and said, "Smell This" - he's not falling for it this time and just says, "I do NOT need to see that." And keep driving. Again, we have to get off the highway to dump the barf - windy roads. Poor kids.

Lucy finishes barfing and pushes the bucket away and says, "Here, show daddy."

"Baby, I don't think he wants to see it."

"BUT I WANT YOU TO SHOW DADDY."

"Fine."

I non-chalantly show Ricardo. He's a bit put off, and yet, like me, intrigued at the amount, the whole grapes, and the consistency of the barf.

I get Lucy another dramamine, and we hit the road, again. I check on Lucy and asked if she was okay, if she needed anything.

"I WANT TO GET OUT OF THE CAR."

And the loving, compassionate parents we are, we kept driving until the dramamine kicked in and she fell asleep.

Yet another day of cleaning up other peoples bodily fluids. Ahhh, motherhood - the good life.

That's how I roll.

Today I'm taking my family to go to Dallas (It's about 500 miles) and walk with Carrie's friends at the Walk for Brain Cancer Research. Personally, I think it should be called the Walk Against Cancer, but who needs technicalities? Cancer - I'm against it. Pish posh.

So, if you want to donate to a very worthy cause - other than the stock market which is now considered a non-profit anyways - to help fund research and potentially answer questions and save future amazing people like Carrie, please go here. Thank you to each of you who have already donated in honor of Carrie.

If you have the time, and are in the area, please come out and walk with us, bonded together by our late friend, http://www.momontherocks.com/2008/08/grey-matters.html.

That's how I roll

This is my favorite picture of this woman.

I used to love watching Jon and Kate Plus 8. It was a cute little show about a family who had twin girls who tried for one more baby, and got 6 more. And I was grateful they had their own show so that when a kid scurried off into the street or something, there was a camera man there to help out.

And then it snowballed into a freakshow and made me jealous. I suppose I'd have never closed up my shop had I known I could do this. But every time I turn on this show - it's just a new hand out that necessitates an entire show on how they get eight kids to and fro. Blah blah blah.

It's not even about the kids or raising them really. Each episode is like a Survivor meets Amazing Race meets SuperNanny show. Reality show my ass. "Okay guys, where can we send them for the next episode that will really challenge them? More than the snow suits episode when Kate lost it on the plane or the time they went to that play, or remember when we sent them to Hawaii? I know, how about China for the Olympics?!"

Somebody put a fork in that show, it's soooooo done.

That's how I roll.