Friday Fragments: 500 Posts!

This marks my 500th post. Keep reading to find out about a special opportunity I'm giving you, my readers, to celebrate this dubious achievement.

***

I am on my last day of wearing my glasses after my week-long adventure with pink eye. When working out, I would generally take off my glasses. I am so blind that I couldn't read the numbers on the treadmill. To add to the madness, I wore my ipod.

Thus, I was blind, basically deaf to outside noises, and sweating profusely.


I imagine that this is what it feels like to be Mickey Rourke.

I attempted to take a yoga class, and to keep my glasses from falling down with each Downward-Facing-Dog, I donned this bandana. Prepare yourself: Serious Dorkage Below.

I am so street. And yes, I am flashing West Side, yo. Because, apparently, it's still 1994. 

(I hope Tupac and Biggie work it all out.)

***

Speaking of yoga-type stuff, Owen was rubbing his face. He said, "My third eye is really blurry today." 

I've heard my yoga teacher talk about the third eye, so I've decided my son is very in-tune spiritually. Or perhaps he has three eyes. It has been awhile since he's had a bath. 

***

Joel is a Vacation Bible School drop out. He went for one day, and the best part of the entire morning for him was when his brother and his friend fought over him like a rag doll: 

I liberated Joel from the world of crafts and songs, and took him to his favorite place: the steps by the Italian restaurant.

He was much happier.

***

This is all it takes to make me happy.

***
I am so grateful for blogging. I get to express myself. I'm privileged to read your stories. I have met wonderful people. I've grown.

I want to thank you. I've created a contest, of sorts.

Leave a comment---you can ask me a question, tell me something you've enjoyed reading, or just say something nice.

Also, please tell me a charity that is close to your heart. (Please, no political parties or highly controversial charities).

I will use Random Number Generator to select the winner. That person's selected charity will receive a donation from yours truly.

I will pay a dollar per comment. So, fifty comments=fifty dollars to the selected charity.No duplicate comments, please.

Let's make this a good check! Tweet it, send your friends, and thank you, thank you for your support.

This runs through Tuesday, July 20th.

Thanks, as well, as always to Mrs. 4444 for hosting Friday Fragments.

Friday Fragments: Patches, Nipple Rings, and Toenails, Oh My!

Last week, Joel's eye doctor said that we may need to do some patching to strengthen his weak eye. This will all be determined after his next visit in a few months.

After making the mandatory pirate joke, which I'm sure, as a pediatric ophthalmologist, he's never heard before, he sent us on our merry way.

My friend sd, who has a daughter with similar issues, shared this website with me. These eye patches are so cute that I almost hope the doctor recommends the patching therapy.(Not really. Joel, after all, is almost two.)

***
The county built a new indoor pool, which is the best thing ever. At last, at last, I will be able to see the nipple rings and tribal tattoos of my fellow Southern Marylanders all year long.

I don't have a problem with any of it---to each his own and all that---but I saw a baby tugging on his father's nipple ring, and I turned away before it became a coming-of-age manhood initiation ritual.

***
Here's my awesome apron from June! Isn't it gorgeous? I love it. I would cook in it if wasn't Eleventy Billion Degrees outside. Instead, I made Peppermint Iced Tea, which is what Jesus would drink if they had iced tea back then. I also think Jesus was partial to Sangria, but that's just me.

Trust me, I am wearing clothes under this.

***

I know I've shown enough pictures of my feet to alert the fetishists, but I must do this as a public service:

DON'T LET YOUR PRESCHOOLER PICK YOUR TOE COLOR:

Thanks to Mrs. 4444 for hosting Friday Fragments!

I Promise I Will Not Quote John Denver

Okay. Take some beautiful mountains. Add a university. Mix in some dogs. Make that a freakin' boatload of dogs. Throw in some organic local produce and just a splash of legally-sanctioned-medical bong water. What have you got?

My parent's adopted hometown* of Boulder, Colorado. This, my friends, is where I spent this last week.

Thus, Friday Fragments, aka Sundays Fridays in My My Parents' City 

*In the spirit of total disclosure, my parents don't actually live in Boulder, because they also enjoy eating and basic medical care. It was either a Boulder mortgage or that, but not both.

***
I really feel like I could live in Colorado because I've always been a fan of dressing like I'm hiking all the time. In the airport alone, I saw hiking boots, several ponchos, and enough hemp necklaces to dock a large sailboat.

It doesn't take long to get sucked into this state's grungy web. This is what I looked like on my second day there:

I am in the bathroom of a REI, because that is what you do when you visit my parents. We visit REI and the Boulder Running Company.

No visit is complete without buying totally unnecessary athletic footwear:

These Keene shoes are waterproof, designed for trail walking, water-hiking, and for being a bad-ass. I wore mine to the grocery store this morning.

***
In Colorado there are running paths everywhere. As I ran, I saw adorable prairie dogs scampering on land specifically protected for their scampering needs. I also saw the state-of-the-art recreation center with a swimming pool and a free indoor playground and a climbing wall.

I determined that I desperately wanted to move to Colorado immediately.

Then, God sent me this little reminder:

This is my parents' backyard on Wednesday. Colorado people tell me that the snow doesn't last, and that it melts quickly and blah blah blah.

I'm sorry. Snow in May? Eff that.

***
The reason for this trip, besides visiting my family, was for Paul to run the Colorado Marathon in Ft. Collins.
Here he is, crossing the finish line:

He did well and enjoyed himself, despite the altitude. He already has plans to do a race next summer in Leadville, Colorado. This race is at 13,000 feet. This is insanity, in my book.

One may conclude that my husband is a masochist, but as long as it stays out of the bedroom, it's not my problem.

Here's the obligatory post-race family shot:

Do you notice that Owen has commandeered Paul's medal? He was telling anybody who would listen that he earned it by running really, really fast.

***
Just as I had determined that everybody in Colorado was disgustingly fit, we went to the movies to see Iron Man 2.

We went to an uber-shitty mall which seemed to sell mostly air and dust mites, because there were no actual stores. We saw lots of people looking like normal people, not like fitness models.

I must admit, it felt good to see that people in Colorado eat nachos too.

The movie was all that I had hoped it would be. Uninterrupted time to look at this work of art:

 Yes, I know that I already posted this picture.

***
The main gift of this trip was time for my boys to see their grandparents. Time for Paul and I to unplug and reconnect. Time to be a family.

In Colorado, plants grow where they can, despite the obstacles, despite the challenges.

Likewise, this time together helped us to grow as a family, despite the distance, or the obligations, or the distractions.

Our roots are still strong.

Thanks to Mrs. 4444 for hosting Friday Fragments and Unknown Mami for hosting Sundays in My City

Friday Fragments: With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility

Owen has really been into getting a dog recently. He announced over breakfast that he wanted "a nice dog with yellow hair like Joely." He added that the dog's name should be Splash.

"No, Buddy," I corrected him, "We've discussed this. The dog will be named Atticus if it's a boy and Scout if it's a girl. It's non-negotiable."

Owen shook his head fiercely and declared, "No Atticus, just Splash."

I sighed and put down my coffee cup. "Atticus is the awesomest name ever, son. I wanted to name you Atticus but your father wouldn't let me. What kind of name is Splash? Who do you know who has a dog named Splash?"

"Nobody," he said, shifting his eyes as he does when he's not being totally honest.

"Owen," I pressed, "Are you sure?"

He mumbled, "The guy on TV. The white haired guy."

I pondered. He doesn't watch much TV. What white-haired guy was he referring to? It came to me suddenly: "Do you mean Senator Ted Kennedy, Buddy?"

"Um-hm. The guy on TV!" Ah, it's clear now. The late Ted Kennedy was on a PBS kid's show, Ruff Ruffington.

My son cannot yet spell his last name, but he's already bought into the Kennedy Mystique.

Make no mistake, however. I will win this battle. The dog of our future will be named Atticus or Scout. End of discussion.  

***

Paul and I don't go to the movies very often. Like, ever. The last movie we saw in the theater was Iron Man.

We will be in Colorado visiting my parents at the same time that Iron Man 2 hits the screens. The symmetry is too perfect. We will see that film, and then we will not go to the theatres again for at least two more years.

It's okay. I have a massive crush on crazy Robert Downey Jr.

***
When I married Paul, I was excited to get the upgrade to the top of the alphabet. My maiden name started with a "M," and Paul's, of course, started with a "C."

I recalled many a time that I had to wait in school--for pictures or the Presidential Fitness Test (just to give two examples), until they got to the middle of the alphabet. Such agony! I wanted to be first! I hated waiting.

Sometimes, a teacher would switch things up, so Larry Ziegler got to be first and Lisa Armstrong was last. But guess who was still in the middle?

I really should have started a support group.

Let me throw out there that my maiden name was Mohrman, pronounced "Mormon." I have no issues with my Latter-Day-Saint friends and readers (Hi, y'all), but the Joseph Smith jokes got old. Yes I know: "If you're gonna bring 'em, Brigham Young!" Har. Har.

Let me point out I grew up minutes from one of the Mormon temples. I always had to tell Larry Ziegler that no,  my family does not sing in the choir.

By the way, my name actually means "Black Man" in German. And that is awesome. 

Anyway, I married Paul and figured that I could handle a few lame jokes about soup. After all, I would be one of the first names called.

Yesterday, I got the snack list for Owen's T-Ball and found out that I was first to provide snacks. I had minimal notice, yet threw it together. All because of the C last name.

I'm learning that with great power comes great responsibility.

*** Happy Friday, everybody! Thanks to Mrs. 4444 for hosting!

Friday Fragments: Belly Shirt Edition!

I am having a friend and his family over for dinner tonight. I thought I hadn't seen him since 1993, so I told the Facebook universe (since these things must be shared) that I would wear my burgundy Doc Martens and Pearl Jam T-shirt so he would recognize me. 

He corrected me, reminding me that we last talked at a wedding in 1999. Undaunted, I googled "Fashion in 1999" and corrected my status, stating that I would wear my low-cut jeans and a belly shirt.

Yes, ten years and two babies later, a belly shirt would be a grand idea. I didn't even like them the first time around. After all, I'm not a boy, nor am I fourteen.

***
I am testing myself today. I believe that one of the reasons that people don't have others over is a preoccupation with appearances. One cannot entertain without sparkling floors, fresh-cut-flowers, and a gourmet dinner with artistic garnishes.

It's a totally unrealistic standard, unless you have a staff.

So, to test myself, I am leaving things imperfect on purpose. I am sweeping the floor, but not mopping it. I am leaving the backyard in its normal, toy-strewn disarray. And, I'm moving the laundry baskets into a bedroom, and closing the door.

I must admit, I have a compulsion to stop writing this and over-clean, but I am choosing to relax for awhile. Perhaps my calm demeanor will spill over, and my children will not put his children into headlocks.

***
It's official, friends. I am doing a mini-triathlon. It's eight laps in the pool, four miles on a bike, and a 1.4 mile run. I've got a posse of girls doing it with me, and I am seriously excited. Do you want to know what I'm most excited about? Getting a number on my arm written in black Sharpie. Because, that, dear friends, is officially bad-ass.

***
It's spring, and that means that Paul is power-washing. There is no drug more addictive, and no high as powerful as the sight of gleaming white siding and a grime-free deck.

***
Owen's T-ball practice kept getting in the way of the massive, ten-foot dirt volcano he was constructing in the infield. Every time the ball would be in play, he would sigh, run to the next base, and construct another Mt. Distraction.

I can relate. There's that moment when bowling totally gets in the way of one's drinking. Talk about harshing my mellow.

***
Thanks, Mrs. 4444 for hosting Friday Fragments!

Friday Fragments: Paging Mr. T

For Owen's first four Easters, we either skipped the egg hunt altogether or filled the eggs with Cheerios.

He didn't know what he was missing, it was a lot less expensive, and I've never seen a kid come down from a  wicked Cheerio high.

Well, the genie has been released from the bottle for sure. On Thursday, he had two Easter Egg Hunts back-to-back (for preschool and at a friend's house). He had Chocolate! Jelly beans! Nerds! Peeps!

I believe that an eggful of Cheerios at this point would be the Easter Bunny's version of a lump of coal.

Well, we had a good run.

***
Another residual of these hunts is that Owen got his first candy necklace.

Those who know me understand that I have very weird, specific rules about jewelry. I've always hated necklaces to the point that I would cry when forced to wear one as a child. I didn't get my ears pierced until I was in high school. I can't drink wine out of a glass if it has a charm on it.

I know, it's quirky.

Paul bought me a black pearl on a silver chain when he was in Hawaii. I love it because it comes from him, so I'm willingly wearing a necklace for the first time in my life. Still, it's hard. I'll feel it around my neck and I'll panic, as if I'm choking.

Anyway, it goes without saying that I cannot abide jewelry on men. It was a deal-breaker back in my dating days.

You know where this is going. Owen LOVES his candy necklace. He wears it everywhere.

I'm trying to be cool about it, because if he catches wind of my bizarre little phobia, he will choose to look like Mr. T when he's in middle school.

***
Regardless of your personal political views, I think that most people can get behind the idea that Michelle Obama is an attractive lady. I've declared this summer to be My Summer of Michelle---I will have her arms, her sundresses, and her cute cardigans.

I've been working on the arms, and I bought two skirts at Old Navy yesterday.

I fear, however, that the look I am rocking is more extremist religious sect and less classy, carefree chic.

There's one thing I didn't know about wearing skirts. Skirts=Inner Thigh Chub Rub.

I'm not in love with this development.

***
Paul was in a four-car car crash Wednesday morning. Nobody was seriously hurt. Paul is fine. We just found out that the car will be repaired, which is a surprise. We were sure it was totalled.

Occasionally, that thin veil between safe and dangerous, life and death, joy and despair becomes a bit more transparent. Thank God Paul stayed on the safe, alive, and happy side of the veil.

***
Until next time, may all your cars be safe, all your candy necklaces in place, and your eggs filled with the best Cheerios money can buy.

Thanks Mrs. 4444 for hosting Friday Fragments

What Would Have Been Friday Fragments if I Wasn't So Lazy

I love the fact that Owen has a secret life, where he learns things outside of our bubble of influence.

For example, the other day, he was washing his hands in the bathroom, and we heard him singing, "Oh when the germs/Go marching out/Oh when the germs go marching out!/That's when you wash/With soap and water!/When the germs go marching out!"

The song is both germphobic and contagious, which is kinda perfect when you think about it.

***

How do people wear cute shoes? I decided the other day to celebrate the sunshine and wear little red canvas slip-ons.

I think it took the distance from my doorstep to the car to get a blister on each heel.

Some people go to shoe stores and have shoegasms. My feet twitch and quiver, fearful of another whupping.

I may feel young at heart, but I have the feet of a crone.

***
Joel has his eye-appointment next week. They upped his prescription, and if it doesn't improve the lazy eye, the doctor is considering bifocals.

My baby is going to look like Ed Asner.

I would tell you how baby bifocals work, but I wasn't listening. All I heard in my head was "Bifocals, bifocals, bifocals."

****

That's it for now!

Bloom

Well. This is what 35 looks like, I guess:

 

Many years ago, on March 5, 1770, The Boston Massacre helped spark the American Revolution. Of equal importance to the American Way of Life, I was born in Phoenix, Arizona on March 5, 1975. 

I am 35 years old.

I already said that, didn't I? 

I guess I'm wrapping my head around the idea. 

***

Last night, I heard Owen and Paul talking and scheming in the bathroom. There were furtive whispers and the crackling of paper. Finally, Owen emerged and said, "Mommy, I'm not supposed to talk to you about the surprise flowers."

Paul laughed. "Nice secret-keeping, Buddy."

This morning, Owen pulled this out of the bathtub for me: 

My sweet boys. 

***

I bought this a few months after Joel was born in an attempt to kick my postpartum self into shape:

Jillian Michaels snarls a lot, and she's not there to play. 

I think I did this DVD twice, and was subsequently distracted by cheese popcorn and the most recent episode of "Kendra."

A little over a year later, Owen discovered the DVD and asked if he could do "The Shred." 

We set it up, and gave him some Lego weights. 

Here is he doing squats. 

Here's some push-ups.

He really likes it. He has asked to do it every day. I joined him the other night:

I like that it burns off some energy.

I'm not sure I'm as fond of my preschooler snarling, "Pain is just weakness leaving the body."

***
I believe that plants are always the perfect gift. Always. My friend dropped off these sweet little flowers for me:

 

A question for my green-thumbed readers: Is it okay to plant these in a Mid-Atlantic March? I really want to put them in the ground and watch them bloom. 

 

After all, isn't that what people do? We bloom. We grow. And every year gets better and better. 

I believe that. I hope you do too. 

Thanks Mrs. 4444 for hosting Friday Fragments! 

Friday Fragments: Cupcake FAIL

It feels like FOREVER since I've settled down at the ol' Friday Fragments feedbag. Thanks, as always to Mrs. 4444 for hosting!


***

What in the name of all that is dunked in Old Bay and served with longnecks happened here?

Oh, right. The snow. The Snow-Snow-Snowtorious Clusterfall of 2010 has started to melt, unearthing the broken branches, fallen trees, and dearly departed mailboxes left in its snowy wake.

I can't even show you the pictures of my shrubberies and cactus. It's too painful.

***
Owen had his birthday on Sunday, and we did a family party this year. I don't know what it is about my children and the passage of another year, but I always suffer the delusion that I am a cast member of Ace of Cakes and consequently attempt to create adorable homemade cakes for my children.

It's never pretty. For an instant self-esteem boost, read about Joel's first birthday cake.



Owen wanted me to make cupcakes that looked like sheep. "Just like in the picture, Mom!" he declared, brandishing a Mommy and Me cookbook.

Those cookbooks always make me suspicious. They are often penned by women named "Sandi" who have rock-hard abs and unnaturally bright eyes.

So, with my mother's help, we made the cupcakes.

It went as well as you could imagine.

My mother is crafty and made cute, baa-ing little things:

 

Mine were rocking the "Serial Killer Chic" look: 

 

I gave up and decided that I would make Sea Anemone Cupcakes instead. 

 

Just wait until late July!  When Joel turns two, you'll see the next installment of Cake Wrecks: Home Edition, courtesy of yours truly. 

***

At Owen's school, the birthday boy gets to wear a birthday crown. 

 

He didn't take this off until eight PM. And then, still, VERY GRUDGINGLY. With extreme grudge, one could argue. 

***
 

Ummmmmmmm....boys are weird. 

***

And that's all she wrote! Happy Friday, everybody!

Starts with a TMI, but it gets better....

I'll start right off with the TMI and get it out of the way:

This morning, I was sitting on the throne, re-enacting "I Didn't Know That I Was Pregnant," (except that I gave birth to a turd, not a surprise baby).

I wiped, as you do, and gave a little peek. Nothing. I wiped again. Nothing.

Ninja shits. They're stealthy. They come, do their dirty work,  and leave no evidence.

Talk about a Friday Fragment:


(Thanks Mrs. 4444 for hosting. And....sorry).

***
Speaking of grossness, I love getting a big chunk of earwax out of Joel's ears. It's so satisfying. It's also horrifying how quickly the stuff builds up. Earwax is like my Blog Reader. You've gotta keep that stuff under control, or it's a big ol' mess.

***
I heard Owen rummaging around the kitchen in the wee hours of the morning. I pulled myself out of bed, and saw him with a block of Colby cheese and a corkscrew. "I'm shredding cheese, mom!"

I was glad he had the corkscrew out. Mommy needed some special grape juice that morning.

***
I haven't left the house today, and I probably won't until at least Sunday, because we're being hit by yet another snowstorm. I'm not wearing a bra (which doesn't make a difference to the girls---they're petite), and I have yet to take a shower.

However, I am wearing lipstick. I always wear lipstick.

***
I have a song I sing to the boys, "I love my little Owen/Joely boy/He is his mommy's pride and joy/I love my little Owen/Joely boy." Then, I squeeze them twice. My mother sang this song to me, except she didn't call me a boy.

That would just be weird.

***
Owen also expressed himself musically this morning, singing, "Happy Merry Valentines Day!" Then, he complemented himself, "That's a great song, Owen!"

Indeed it is, Buddy.

Happy Friday, everybody!

Friday Fragments: The Lost Treasures

When moving large pieces of furniture, such as pianos and beds, one often unearths all sorts of treasures, or fragments of a former life. 

Thus, my Friday Fragments...otherwise known as "Lost Treasures." 

(Thanks for hosting, Mrs. 4444)

***
I found a duffel bag full of clothes. Perfectly nice clothing, in my size no less. I had packed these items away during one of my pregnancies, and in my postpartum haze, forgot all about them.

Because I've been known to get into I'm-throwing-shit-away manic moods, it wouldn't surprise me in the least that I tossed bags of functional clothing away.

Just the other day, I had to be talked down from tossing my wedding dress. I said, "What, should I save it for Owen or Joel to wear?"

My friend said, "You could always make a pantsuit."

Another friend was quick to add, "If Joel plans to wear a shiny ivory pantsuit, I'm taking my daughter off the table." (You do that, don't you? Plan the nuptials of your respective children with girlfriends so you can have a really good wedding reception with your best friends?)

Anyway, long story short? Next time I feel the need to shop, maybe I should just look under my bed.

***
I also unearthed some photos:

 

Here I am in my sons' future shiny pantsuit. God, I was young. 

Here I am being French-kissed by a baby kangaroo. This happened in California. Naturally. 

***

Finally, I found this treasure: 

NERD ALERT! I bought a magazine dedicated to LOST. For six dollars. Oh my God, I might as well write fan fiction and go to conventions dressed as Hugo Reyes.

It had a poster, which, for a goof, I placed on my fridge. I know this photo is awful.

But wait a minute...what's this?

 

Benjamin Linus. Does ANYBODY think he's hot now? Anyone?

I am very excited about the season premiere on Tuesday, but I still feel that I haven't completely succumbed to the dark side. Why? Because I did not think, even once, that I needed to own these...

...official Lost action figures! 

After all, I can buy the magazine, watch the show with religious fervor, read the recaps and the fan forums online, and come thisclose to dressing my baby in a Dharma Initiative Onesie, but...buying action figures? That's just dorky. 

And Lord knows I'm not a dork. If you don't believe me, I'll curse you out in Klingon. 

Happy Friday, everybody!