Warning: saccharine overdose ahead

We interrupt this snarky blog to bring you an "Aw, shucks," moment.

Kenny and I have a very regular date night. Once a week, we find time to go out, even if it's just to a movie. Sometimes we do over the top cool stuff (like Cirque du Soleil last week, SO cool!), but whatever we do, it's nice to have an evening out of the house with each other and no kids. My brother and his girlfriend watch the boys for us a lot, and we use babysitters a lot. And by a lot, I mean four times a month combined.

The other night Kenny asked James which babysitter he wanted.

"I have to have a babysitter again? Why?"

"Because your mom and I are having date night."

"Why do you have to go on so many dates?"

"It's important to me to spend time with your mom so she knows I love her."

James looked kind of bummed so Kenny asked, "Do you not like your babysitters?"


"They're okay. But every time I have a babysitter, it means that's only SIX days we all get to hang out instead of SEVEN."

Aw, shucks.

And that's why James is my Friday Favorite.


And also Kenny because he's so good about date nights.

Oh, and Baby G because he makes mischief look cute.

Rules to live by

Stuff I tell myself before Cub Scouts:

-These are all special children of our Heavenly Father
-Some of them are extra special
-It's great you get this time with your son
-They'll be fine today. They really will.

Stuff I tell myself during Cub Scouts:

-It is wrong to hit children.
-It is wrong to shake children.
-It is wrong to drag them around by their pointy devil ears.
-Breathe.
-Count to ten.
-Try twenty.
-Maybe thirty will do the trick.
-Note to self for the future: It's probably going to take until at least a hundred.
-Breathe some more.
-It is wrong to hit children.
-Little boys are super gross.
-And really loud.
-It is wrong to hit children.

Stuff I say to myself after Cub Scouts:

-James is not so bad.
-In fact, he's really, really good.
-I for sure am not trading him for anyone else's nine-year-old.
-Even when he teaches his little brother to burp.
-If I forget this, don't miss next week's Cub Scout meeting.

Please still hang out with me after this post.

My husband and I are sitting here and giggling like Beavis and Butthead and the giggles are gradually growing into Homer Simpson-esque guffaws. (Nancy, you may want to stop reading here. I'm warning you!)

Some random comment on someone's blog tonight got me thinking about words that sound like they're bad words but they're not. And I'm sorry, but that's a long and funny list.

Seriously, tell me that you can say more than three of these words in a row without a giggle escaping.

vascillate
undulate
uvula (even boys have one!)
fecund
rector
masticate
sinuous

And those are only the ones I feel like I can write down. There's a whole list of them that I can't include that sound totally dirty and they're totally not.

It's possible I'm a total prude.

Like even more prudish than a rector.

*Giggling madly*

I reserve the right to moderate comments vigilantly today!!!

Cheese!

Another gratuitous Mom shot:

Hope you don't mind. One thing that always made me laugh about my mom was how self-conscious she sometimes was about her smile. I know, right? It's gorgeous. But as she got older, she was more and more convinced that her teeth were ugly or she had too many fillings, or whatever. Judge for yourself:

So silly of her, I know.

You know what's funny?

I've developed the same quirk. I used to have straight teeth, but a couple of years after my braces came off, my wisdom teeth grew in and pushed them crooked again. I didn't mind since my overbite was still gone, but now in the last couple of years, they've gotten just a titch more crooked. The only time this ever bothers me is in pictures, which is why my profile picture is a close-mouthed smile. And my new Facebook profile picture. And most pictures I post publicly.

The reason the slight increase in crookedness bothers me is because of where my teeth got more crooked, so I'm going to show you:

Kinda gnarly, right? While I don't think my teeth look bad at all in person or in a mirror, in a picture, my right front tooth (your left as you're looking), is slightly farther back than it's twin. They're fraternal instead of identical. Anyway, that slight dip back sometimes catches the light wrong and suddenly I'm super Snaggle Tooth. Half my pics come out right, and half, well...see above.

But then I think about my mom. She always smiled big for her pictures. Her slight self-consciousness never stopped her from doing that. What if it had? I wouldn't have all these great memories to look back through. So...

I'm going to smile in my pictures. Big. Lots. Like I do in real life.

And just as soon as I get my wisdom teeth and a little bit of dental work done, I'm getting Invisalign!

And here's another gratuitous shot of my pretty mom, with me on her lap.

Dang, I miss her! She was the best!

You know what? Mel's just fine.

My mom used to call me Milly. I've never heard anyone else get that out of "Melanie", but she loved it.

I did not.

I thought it was the worst. nickname. ever.

I was wrong. The worst one would come much later.

But in the meantime, my mom would stand at the front door and call, "Milly!" when she wanted me to come in, and wrote "Milly" on the chore charts. That everyone saw when they came over. Grr. I begged her not to do it, but she liked it and that's what she called me.

Fast forward like, twenty-ish years. Some friends and I are crammed together in a car, wailing along with the Steve Miller Band classic, "The Pompitous of Love." The line come up, "I really love your peaches, want to shake your tree", and my friend Jen asks, "What does that mean?" I don't know if she asked this because she was blonde or because she was sheltered, but the question cracked the rest of us up. When our friend Jaime could draw a breath she said, "Peaches are your boobs, Jen."

"Oh...! Wait. I don't have peaches. Jaime has peaches. I have melons."

More hysterical giggling, because we were all in our late twenties and very mature professionals.

"Wait, wait!" Jen gasps. "If I'm melons and you're peaches, then what's Melanie?"

Now, let me just interrupt to say that I am not...uh...I don't have big...um...

The boys in the 'hood growing up called me C.P., for Coastal Plains.

Jaime hollered, "I got it! Melanie's got kumquats!"

More hooting. "That's what we should call her! Kumquats!"

I sniff.

"Oh, does that bother you? How about if we call you Princess Kumquat?"

And my answer doesn't really matter because that's what they called me. That's how my name showed up in their cell phones, in emails, etc.

But at least the damage was somewhat contained to the our squished little posse in the car.

I thought.

Until I was walking out to my car in the staff parking lot of the middle school where I taught and Jen's mom, one of the PE teachers drove by. She slowed, rolled the window down on the BMW and called, "How's it going, Princess Kumquat?"

Three other teachers en route to their cars stopped, turned, and stared.

It's going great, Lorraine.

Just great.

Here comes the beso!

Thanks for your kind thoughts and good wishes today.

I'm here to announce the winner of my blog giveaway for a MAC lipstick and gloss, but in so doing, a whole bunch of things came together and gelled at once.

I finally remembered why I was doing a MAC giveaway in the first place. Have you noticed the little widget in my sidebar titled Project Countdown? If you're like I am with most people's sidebars, probably not. But that little box is my word count goal and progress toward it on my current manuscript, The List. Recently, last Thursday as a matter of fact, I hit the halfway point to my goal. When I hit little milestones like that, I give myself rewards. This time it was a mani/pedi and I got my eyebrows taken care of. Finally. Because they were all overgrown and stuff. You know those obnoxious little garden gnomes that plague Mrs. Weasly's house in the Harry Potter books? I think some of those came out in the wax.

Anyway, since my work-in-progress is light, fluffy chick lit, it seemed like a good idea to give away a lipstick to share the celebration with you. That's why I decided to give it away. I knew I had a reason, even though I forgot it yesterday. One of my greatest flaws is that I get ideas into my head then I fixate on carrying them out, even if I forget the point after a while.

I digress, though. Which is another of my flaws. I prefer to believe that all the rabbit trails I follow are utterly compelling, but then Baby G pukes on me or something and I'm reminded of my utter humanity and vomit-scented boringness.

Wow, I digressed again.

Anyway, today I was working on my daily word count goal for The List, and it suddenly occurred to me why my mom has been so much on mind this week. It's because I have this character named Laurel, a really quiet girl, a really minor character, that I didn't quite understand. She's shown up in a couple of scenes but she never talked and I couldn't figure out why until yesterday when I found out she's deaf. *Smacks head. Deaf, duh. Like my mom. Excellent lip reader, great speech, but definitely deaf. I realized that Laurel is my mom, a pretty girl who loves Institute (Bible study) classes but doesn't say much to anyone and steers clear of the handsome boys who flirt with her because she's self-conscious about her disability in front of strangers. Her character grew out of my mom's stories I heard growing up. She was a total babe but super shy and the flirting and socializing at Institute were a high point in her memories.

And at some level, I have been subconciously trying to visualize my mom at that age, her mannerisms, her motivations, so I could infuse them into Laurel's character. I've had a great time writing Laurel. It's felt a little like visiting with my mom.

I think I'll still post a story or two about her next week, but I told you that she had a bald head and an angel smile. I have proof, in these photos taken outdoors on the Thanksgiving two months before she died and two weeks after my dad died. She would always wear her little white lace cap if it was cold and would never wear a wig because she said they made her itch and were only to make other people feel better. She felt she had quite enough discomfort without an itchy wig, thank you very much. She's got her hood up because it was extra chilly outside, but she loved her lacy white cap and wanted everyone to see that, too.

I really, really miss her. But seeing her smile, even if it's just a picture, makes me feel really good.

And so does giving away lipstick! Yay to Kimberly at Temporary? Insanity, who won this giveaway! She's one of the very first bloggers I discovered and has often helped me with the MOST inane blogging questions, and she's a fellow writer, so I'm quite delighted to send her the lipstick and see for myself how well she rocks the Viva Glam when we meet in April.

Thanks for playing!

Happy sad.

I have picked up and put down so many words today, trying to find the right ones to string together. Every time I open my head and dump a few out, they just stick together in a big coagulated mess instead of lining up in a way that makes sense.

In their simplest form, they boil down to a single thought: I miss my mom.

I want to tell you about her purple shirt, and her bald head, and her angel smile, and I will. When I can get it right. A million little things have prompted me to think about her this week. Some weeks are like that, where she's forefront in my mind.

Maybe I'll post later today if I can get the words put together right. Maybe I won't. Maybe I'll just hold the memories close and enjoy them. I don't know.

Maybe I'll eat my oatmeal exactly how she made it and remember her and be happy. And sad. And thankful I had her.

I'm making kissy lips

You know how you walk in your kitchen and you're like, "Wow, that's a lot of dishes to clean up. I should get right on that," and then you go clean your blog instead? Because that's what I'm doing today. It's either clean my blog or clean my house. Like it's a contest. Whatever.

First, I'm giving away a MAC lipstick and gloss. Yippee! If you win, I'll send you the link to pick the colors you like but I suggest Viva Galm IV with the matching gloss. Why am I giving this away?

I have no idea. It sounds fun.

To enter, please tell me your favorite beauty product because I like to find new stuff. I finally found a mascara I love, but I'm open to more suggestions there. Shampoos, shower gel scents, eyeshadows....it's all good. If you're a dude and you want to win this lip business for your lady (or yourself but I'm totally judging), then you can enter by suggesting your favorite dude grooming stuff so that I might get an idea for what to get my husband.

And for those of you who couldn't care less about lip gloss or lipstick, I have a second giveaway. It's a tag that goes like this:

The first 3 people to leave a comment on this post will receive a handmade (or possibly store-bought) gift from me during this year. When and what will be a surprise. There’s a small catch though…Post this same thing on your own blog and then come back and leave a comment telling me you’re in. Remember, only the first 3 comments receive the gift!

This goes to the first three people who comment and then come back to let me know they've posted this on their blog to pay it forward. And even though it says when and what will be a surprise, I'll tell you the what. Pecan praline fudge, mint chocolate fudge or choclate covered cinnamon gummy bears as blogged about here. Who wouldn't want something that looks like this:

I used to console myself about my craft deficiences with the knowledge that I can cook. I didn't count on FOOD RELATED CRAFTS. So just know that despite the way they look, they're super yummy.

And if you don't want lipstick or handmade tasty bits, then how about a really cool food mandolin like the one my friend Jen is giving away on her Skinny Habits blog? I even post recipes I really like over there sometimes. And you guys thought I was just good for laughs. I'm good for laughs AND the occasional roasted red bell pepper and tomato soup recipe.

And if you don't want lipstick or handmade tasty bits or a really cool food mandolin, how about Josi Kilpack's book, Lemon Tart, being given away here? Huh? Huh? I want it. I'm entering.

And I was totally going to go off on a tangent here and explain about my no teeth pictures due to comments from Annette and Miss Heidi, but that would clutter my blog up and I'm trying to clean it. So maybe that will be tomorrow.

Whew.

And seriously, this is annoying, but after all that, I think I'm still going to clean my house.

When did I become a grown up?

Momentary interruption!

Hey! I finally made it in as one of the first three commenters on one of those homemade giveaway blogs! over at Kateastrophe's place. Yay!

So look tomorrow for a giveaway. I was going to do one anyway, but now I'm going to add the homemade thing on top of it. Yay, yay, yay!

My secret WWF obsession comes out...

I had no idea people loved the word doppelganger so much. Some of you find it delicious to roll around on your tongue. Me? It makes me giggle, especially because I refuse to say it without a fake German accent a la Mike Meyers in Sprockets.

Chaka is one of the people that luuurves him a doppelganger. He put me onto a cool site called Totally Looks Like. Hee, hee. And he said in yesterday's comments that if I did a post on doppelgangers, he'd follow my blog.

Done!

I really want to get to fifty.

Well, Chaka, I can go one better on you. How about a whole blog dedicated to doppelgangers? Specifically, my husband's doppelgangers. We thought of this idea in the fall and we haven't quite gotten it off the ground due to technical difficulties, but we (meaning I and my good-natured husband agreed to go along) started a blog called Guys That Look Like Kenny not to be confused with Guys That Look Like Kenny Rogers, another great way to spend an hour.

Now, the previously mentioned technical difficulty with the blog is that I'm supposed to go up to people at Disneyland and other public places and say, "You look like my husband. Can I get a picture of you for a blog we have about that?" And technically, I think that's kind of creepy and I haven't figured out a great way to do that yet which doesn't sound, um, psychotic. So far, all I've got is a Google image of Stone Cold Steve Austin. Him:

Obviously, my husband is FAR better looking.

I'm just saying, Chaka might love him a doppelganger, but I REALLY loves me a doppelganger.

Insert Twilight Zone theme here. Or you know, something that's eerie sounding that came from this century and doesn't show my age as much.

Hey, if you don't want anyone to read your blog one day, and especially if you don't want them to comment, don't start your post with, "When Abraham Lincoln died...", even if the blog post is about what's in your purse because you're a total narcissist. Just sayin'.

I used up all my deepness yesterday, but here's a couple of things I've been wondering about:

This is Lisa from Away From It All, one of my favorite blogs. She's an American married to a Pole. As in from Poland, not as in something you dance on, although what they do in the privacy of their home is none of our business. But I think it's mostly brownie baking over there. Oh, and raising her kids with incredible wisdom. Anyhoo, they live in Poland and she blogs about that among other things, and she's funny and deep, and unabashedly spiritual, open, very giving in her comments to others, and shares great insights about life outside of the U.S. and the stuff you can't get in Poland that surprises me. Like you can't get mint extract or marshmallow creme, I think, so I'm not moving there.

This is Erin:

Is anyone else a little freaked out right now?

Why not?

Oh, you think they look alike because they're sisters?

But they don't even know each other. I don't think they even read each other's blogs. Erin blogs over at If You Give a Mom a Moment, a blog I'm new to but rather enjoying. She's also witty and blogs about a plethora of things. She's one of those slice of life type bloggers like, oh, say...me? I'm such a narcissist, apparently I will only hang out with people who write the same kind of stuff I do. Anyway, well worth the read.

The thing is, I've seen Erin around in comment trails for a long time. I've even seen them around the same comment trails.

And I've wondered...

I'm just saying...it's a little spooky, girls.

*Update: Since Lisa is concerned that I'm infringing on copyright stuff here by "blowing her up and making her look like she has gobs of stuff in her teeth" and I thi nk that's a direct quote from the comment trail, let me add a little here. I think it's nice that you look like Erin. I have a doppleganger, too. A famous one, even. Now, if you read Kristina P.'s blog (and if you aren't, WHY AREN'T YOU?), you'll know she gets confused with Beyonce, which as you can see in these photos I lifted straight from her blog, is understandable:

Oh, wait. Blogger is not cooperating on my photo uploads. Shocking. So check it out here. Just scroll past the guy with the hairy back. Anyway, I'm not so sure my doppleganger is as cool, but it's been said I look like:

That's stupid. Our bangs go opposite directions.

Anyway, not sure how I feel about that, but it could have been far, far worse...

Behind the faux croc curtain...

When Abraham Lincoln died, the contents of his pockets were collected and given to his son. Eventually, his descendants left the items to the Library of Congress in a box labeled, "Do not open." In the 1970's, however, in a moment fraught with breathless curiosity, the artifacts were revealed under the watchful eyes of Library of Congress curators.

The items provide an interesting insight into Abraham Lincoln and his character, but what they tell you depends on what you choose to infer. The box contained, among other things, a pair of eyeglasses held together on one side with a piece of string, a worn leather wallet lined in purple velvet that contained a Confederate five dollar bill stamped with Jefferson Davis's likeness, and some newspaper clippings Lincoln had kept that praised him, a rare occurrence during his tenure as president.

I know this, because I taught a weeklong literature unit on Lincoln every year and these little tidbits were part of it. To introduce the lesson, on the Friday before Lincoln's birthday, I had my students lay out the contents of their own purses or pockets on their desktops and infer what those items said about them. I would do the same, never editing my handbag's interior when laying it bare. As a mom, it made an interesting grab bag, with random Hot Wheels stored by my son for convenience mingling with my lip glosses.

It's been a couple of years since I followed that tradition, and I miss it. It's kind of fascinating to see what this examination turns up. Today, I'll turn out my handbag for you again, and you can infer what it says about me. This is a little trickier than usual because I'm between two purses at the moment, so I'll make them both open for analysis.

The first is my little Coach purse that I used for date with my husband on Friday. It currently contains:

1. a pink Sony camera
2. two tubes of MAC lipstick
3. one MAC lipliner
4. two tubes of MAC Lip Glass
5. my wallet with two driver licenses (one with my maiden name), three check cards, one credit card, Disneyland annual passes for my son and I, a movie ticket receipt (no title listed), my son's and my library cards, a Nordstrom gift card, a Costco card, and two super saver movie passes.

The second is a giant faux croc patent leather bag that doubles as a diaper bag and occasionally as a laptop case. It normally contains everything listed above, plus

1. left over Iron Man valentine cards from my son's school party
2. two check books
3. a fistful of clean but crumpled fast food napkins
4. receipts (Target, Costco, McDonalds, the mani/pedi place, an ATM transaction)
5. loose cash ($9)
6. two torn, empty envelopes
7. Weight Watchers points tracker
8. several grocery coupons
9. stubs from deposited checks
10. a week old Relief Society bulletin
11. a dentist appt reminder
12. a brochure about our city's centennial celebration
13. an old birthday card from my MIL
14. a brown cotton head band
15. one more MAC lipliner, two more MAC lipsticks, one other lipstick, four more lip glosses
16. a Borders gift certificate
17. two half full punch cards for the local LDS bookstore
18. my business card case
19. a movie stub (Slumdog Millionaire, I have no idea why it's R and am glad I was talked into it)
20. a faux croc wallet with the cards I don't use very often (insurance cards, Blockbuster, Game Stop, etc.)

And looking back over the lists myself, I can analyze myself perfectly: I spend too much money on books and lipstick. I'm going to have to think harder about what goes in my purse so that if it's one day opened in excitement by future historians, it will reveal that I was a woman of great depth and intelligence. From now on, I'm stripping it down to nothing but my driver license, a credit card, and pocket sized copies of a thesaurus, a dictionary, a copy of Great American Speeches, and my college transcript (except for freshman year). Baby G better hope nothing bad happens in his diaper when we're out and about because I can't put any Pampers and wipes in there and risk looking all human and stuff a hundred years from now, in case on any given day my purse is snatched and saved for posterity.

Nerd love

How I know I married the right guy (lifted from a conversation on Wednesday night as we watch the DVR playback of Leverage):

Him: Hey, that's Brent Spiner.

Me: Yeah, that totally is.

Time passes.

Him: Who's that lady? She looks familiar.

Me: (Squinting) Uh, I think it's Lauren Holly. She's had a lot of work done.

Him: Who?

Me: The redhead from Dumb and Dumber?

Him: Oh, yeah. That is her.

Me: I'm going to check IMDB, just to make sure. (I check). Yeah, that's her all right. Oh, and guess who directed this episode?

Him: Who did?

Me: Jonathan Frakes.

Him: Cool.

Me: (Can't believe my luck in marrying someone so cool, so I test it) You know who Jonathan Frakes is?

Him: (Surprised) Yeah, Riker, of course.

Me: I love you. Can I have more of your babies?

Him: You're the coolest girl ever.

Hypothetically speaking...

What would happen if I didn't blog for a day and spent it making chocolate covered cinnamon bears for my husband instead?

My talents end at sniffing the glue.

I went to a Mormon baby shower last night, so of course I feel bad about myself now.

Grr.

Crafts.

Double grr.

Uh, maybe this excerpt from my last manuscript can best sum it up for me:

I turned the rock over and over in my hand. It wasn’t as pretty as I remembered it. And the dried up carnation was just an old, dead flower. And the dozens of scraps of paper? Clutter. Worse, it was emotional clutter.

“I want to show you something. It’s arts and crafts night,” I said. Sandy snorted. We both hate crafts. Not doing them together is another way we’ve bonded. I waved the rock at her.

“What are we doing with that?” she asked. “Stoning Jason’s pictures with it? Let the healing begin!”

“No. I told you, it’s craft time. I need a Sharpie.”

She jumped up and grabbed one from the junk drawer in the kitchen. “Make it quick, sister. You know it was my craft allergy that finally drove me from Relief Society,” she said as she handed it to me.

“No, I didn’t realize that. I thought it was existential angst.”

“And that.”

Yeah, that's an instant where my personal opinions most definitely informed those of my characters.

I'm mature enough to admit that all the kvetching I've done about crafts in my life (and it's a lot) is rooted in a deep sense of envy because I'm just not so good at the craft thing. You know, it's like at girl's camp when everyone braided those plastic lanyard key tag thingies, and I'm working away at mine, and then the stake YW president walks by and is all, "Oh, you're doing something abstract! How neat! You're such an individual, aren't you?" Then picks it up and turns it over and says, "Okay, so you're making a plastic giraffe, right?" And I nod but really? It was just a plastic key thing that went really, really wrong.

So when I go to these baby showers, it feeds my massive inferiority complex. When we used to have baby showers at work, I was a star because my ONE craft skill is crocheting and after HOURS and NIGHTS and WEEKS, I would give the mom-to-be their baby afghan of choice, chosen from my favorite pattern book. Oooh...aaaah...you're so talented, Melanie.

Then fast forward to any Mormon baby shower I've gone to EVER, and you know that's eleventy million, because hey, we're MORMON and love us some kids, and then I feel like a total loser because crocheting is basically remedial crafting. Say what you want about how the shower is about that growing baby. Whatever. It's a craft show.

I might still feel bitter and inferior.

*I can't discuss...you know. She-who-shall-not-be-named. T*****a. I wish AI had a number for voting people OFF. I think I'm going to get an aneurysm.

A hill of beans

Mexico owes me, y'all. I'm saving their economy one bean at a time.

Seriously, I'm really glad James has the teacher he does this year or I don't know what I'd do with all my extra free time. I mean, today alone I ran around to three different stores because I got the following letter on Friday:

Our class will be creating individual Bean Mosiacs of a California Mission. (Which is super weird because we live in Ohio--not!) This is a graded project. Please bring

• One bag of black-eyed peas died blue (and that is not MY spelling mistake)
• two bags of medium beans (2 colors). Brown, red, or white.
• One bag of black beans
• One bag of dried peas (green)
• One large container of Elmer's glue

So I, like all the other dutiful fourth grade parents, went out to find the beans and to make sure that the Mexican farmers can rest easy during this recession, and that at least, I feel good about. But like locusts, the hordes of parents stripped the grocery shelves bare and also...what the heck is a medium bean? There are bags labeled "small beans" and "large beans" but no "medium" bean. Look at that! This whole issue has forced me to engage in the egregious overuse of quotation marks. "Medium" beans. I dare you to find them at your grocery store next time you're there. Go on, I dare you.

Anyway, I slogged through three additional stores until I found the stupid beans, making my best guess on "medium." Imagine if I didn't get to drag two children all over town in search of beans, though. I might have just sat home and done a bunch of time wasting stuff, like, I don't know...cleaned? Cooked? Washed laundry? Bathed the baby?

So, thank you, Mrs. Fourth Grade Teacher.

Thank you.

*Btw, if Tatiana makes it into the American Idol semi-finals and my fellow citizens vote for her, I'm moving to Canada. Kym, do you have an extra room?

Identity crisis

I get all stymied every time I have to fill in the "occupation" box on a form. The way I see it, I have three choices: housewife, stay-at-home-mom, or homemaker.

I don't like housewife. I think it has a negative connatation and has no real descriptive value, so that's easy to eliminate.

The other two...well, it's more of a challenge to choose. Stay-at-home mom has its upside. It's a handy phrase that people can wrap their brains around. It also seems to be the descriptor du jour. And there's the added bonus of it being so true sometimes that it makes my teeth ache a little. Some of you know those days; the ones where chaos reigns supreme inside the walls of your house and nothing short of a federal evacuation order could induce you to take that show on the road, even to the grocery store. Especially not to the grocery store. But it's an incredibly limited label in many respects, too, like on days where the last place I find myself is home because I'm running all over the place tending to errands that ultimately tend to my family. Or I'm running my child to one of his four weekly activities or trying to do Cub Scouts or whatever. There's nothing stay at home about that. And the mom part...Do people understand that "mom" implies chauffeur and therapist and activities director? At the minimum?

Then there's the third label of homemaker. The drawback to me is that I think it kind of shortchanges women who choose to/need to work outside of the home to apply this label only to non-wage earning mothers. Can't a mother have a career and still make a happy home? Yeah, because I did it for five years. But the upside is that "homemaker" is the one that rings the most true for me because it is what I'm trying to do: make a home, a place of warmth and love and peace and safety.

Here's the thing. Did you think I would have a resolution here? I don't. I told you it's an identity crisis. So my current plan is to avoid any forms that have that blank to fill in until I become a published author and then I can just stick "writer" in there and be happy that my kids know who I am and what to label me. Just plain old glorious Mom.

Is it too much to ask?

Dear Old People,

Please stop talking to me about your innards.

I'm delighted to discuss anything else with you. The weather fifty times, last night's Wheel of Fortune, your child rearing philosophy (again), your neighbors, your general health.

You heard me. I'm glad to hear about your health, even the achy bits. As long as it's on the outside of your body and nothing that would make me blush. Sciatica? Bring it on. Arthur-itis? Lay it on me. Macular degeneration? Hit me, baby, one more time.

But I swear, if I hear one more thing about your "prostrate", intestinal function, liver issues, or anthing involving other squishy interal organs, I'm not hanging out with you anymore, even if it means giving up those really cool World War II stories. Oh, and I'll boycott you if it's an outside part but involves any type of fungus, gangrene, or gout.

I adore you, old people. Your stories, your wit, your fortitude. But not so much your horrifyingly detailed rundowns of anything that happens inside the neck-to-knee boundary lines. Can we please stick to the hilarious rants about kids these days and your endless stream of advice? Because I love those. I know most people don't, but I totally dig it. I learn a lot. It's why I hang out with you guys.

But the potty talk has got to stop.

Love,

Melanie

P.S. I don't know where the never-ending hard candy supply comes from, and I love it, but I'd still come visit you even without it.

*I seriously do love me some old folks, so nobody better light up my comment trail.

I guess I'm kinda rude

Okay, three things:

First, I think I have bad blog etiquette. In the first instance, I know I do, because I forgot to link yesterday's post back to Sue for Very Funny Friday, so if you read the ridiculous series below, know it's part of her blog carnival. In the second instance, I'm not so sure. Question: is it true that I'm supposed to respond to everyone who leaves a comment on my blog? Either via email or in the comments? I don't mind doing it; I just didn't know I was supposed to.

Second, my friend Jen is doing a cool giveaway on her blog, just in time for Valentine's Day and to give your kids something besides candy for once. Check it out at Skinny Habits.

Third, uh...

I forgot. Let's just stick with two.

Lessons from public restrooms, #5 (Take 2)

*Uh...okay, dear readers. Sorry if you're seeing this twice but the only place lesson #5 is showing up right now is in Google Reader. I can't pull it up on my blog or my draft list. So I'm reposting it for any non-Google reader users.*

I hope you feel edified.

Okay, edified might be the wrong word here. Let's say that after these five lessons, I hope you feel...

Well, like you still want to come back here and hang around. I'm just trying to help, after all.

Lesson #5
Sometimes you have to change your baby's diaper bum in a public restroom. You might think that it seems like a good idea to hold your baby's bum up to the hand dryer and get it extra dry, because, hey--it's right there and it could be kind of funny. Don't do it. If you hold your baby's bum up to the hand dryer and turn it on, it might startle your baby. Enough that he'll wet his pants. Except he's not wearing pants. Or even a diaper. So he'll just pee on you. Then you'll have to use the hand dryer to air out your pee shirt. And p.s., the dryer doesn't help with that, either.

Lesson #4
The more urgent the need is, the harder the seat cover will be to wrestle from the dispenser. I think it has something to do with an anxiety sensor that some Super Nerd invented and installed with the automatic flushers just for giggles. Your anixiety is high, a little switch goes off in the dispenser and suddenly trying to get one of those things out starts to look like alligator wrestling. I mean, it's just a theory, but I think it's right.

Lesson #3
Any time you're in a store, but most especially when you're in Target, pay attention to the most annoying teenage girls in the store with you. Memorize their faces, study the details, because you will have a stomachache that causes you to rush for the restroom. This stomachache will cause you to suffer from loud sound effects that abuse the bathroom acoustics, and the quieter you try to be, the louder you will get. And when you finally do walk out from the stall, the only other people in the restroom will be those two girls, silent now, staring at you in fascination, memorizing your face, studying your details. And this will happen more than once. In fact, any time you are in a public place with obnoxious teenage girls this will happen, and yes, you are totally justified in suspecting you may have an allergy to them.

Lesson #2
No matter how tempting the acoustics are in a tiled public restroom, and no matter how convinced you are that you are all alone, this is NOT the time or place to bust out your Mariah Carey impersonation. People will hear you and they will wait for you to come out and then they will applaud. But it won't be the kind of applause that makes you feel good.So don't do it. Just saying.

Lesson #1
The people whose numbers are written on the walls of the stall? Usually don't want to be called no matter how bored you are.

Lessons from public restrooms, #4

Ha, ha, I'm leaving you speechless, I see.

Sigh.

Oh, well. We're nearing the end of the line.

Lesson #4
The more urgent the need is, the harder the seat cover will be to wrestle from the dispenser. I think it has something to do with an anxiety sensor that some Super Nerd invented and installed with the automatic flushers just for giggles. Your anixiety is high, a little switch goes off in the dispenser and suddenly trying to get one of those things out starts to look like alligator wrestling. I mean, it's just a theory, but I think it's right.

Lesson #3
Any time you're in a store, but most especially when you're in Target, pay attention to the most annoying teenage girls in the store with you. Memorize their faces, study the details, because you will have a stomachache that causes you to rush for the restroom. This stomachache will cause you to suffer from loud sound effects that abuse the bathroom acoustics, and the quieter you try to be, the louder you will get. And when you finally do walk out from the stall, the only other people in the restroom will be those two girls, silent now, staring at you in fascination, memorizing your face, studying your details. And this will happen more than once. In fact, any time you are in a public place with obnoxious teenage girls this will happen, and yes, you are totally justified in suspecting you may have an allergy to them.

Lesson #2
No matter how tempting the acoustics are in a tiled public restroom, and no matter how convinced you are that you are all alone, this is NOT the time or place to bust out your Mariah Carey impersonation. People will hear you and they will wait for you to come out and then they will applaud. But it won't be the kind of applause that makes you feel good.So don't do it. Just saying.

Lesson #1
The people whose numbers are written on the walls of the stall? Usually don't want to be called no matter how bored you are.

Lessons from public restrooms, #3

Lesson #3
Any time you're in a store, but most especially when you're in Target, pay attention to the most annoying teenage girls in the store with you. Memorize their faces, study the details, because you will have a stomachache that causes you to rush for the restroom. This stomachache will cause you to suffer from loud sound effects that abuse the bathroom acoustics, and the quieter you try to be, the louder you will get. And when you finally do walk out from the stall, the only other people in the restroom will be those two girls, silent now, staring at you in fascination, memorizing your face, studying your details. And this will happen more than once. In fact, any time you are in a public place with obnoxious teenage girls this will happen, and yes, you are totally justified in suspecting you may have an allergy to them.

Lesson #2
No matter how tempting the acoustics are in a tiled public restroom, and no matter how convinced you are that you are all alone, this is NOT the time or place to bust out your Mariah Carey impersonation. People will hear you and they will wait for you to come out and then they will applaud. But it won't be the kind of applause that makes you feel good.So don't do it. Just saying.

Lesson #1
The people whose numbers are written on the walls of the stall? Usually don't want to be called no matter how bored you are.

Lessons from public restrooms, #2

Lesson #2
No matter how tempting the acoustics are in a tiled public restroom, and no matter how convinced you are that you are all alone, this is NOT the time or place to bust out your Mariah Carey impersonation. People will hear you and they will wait for you to come out and then they will applaud. But it won't be the kind of applause that makes you feel good.

So don't do it. Just saying.

Lesson #1
The people whose numbers are written on the walls of the stall? Usually don't want to be called no matter how bored you are.

Lessons from public restrooms

You people give, and give some more. Snorts, giggles and belly laughs. Guffaws and chortles. BEST.JOKES.EVER. Woot! And as it appears I owe you again for your collectively ridiculous and sublimely hilarious jokes, I will now repay my debt with a five part series of wisdom I have learned from public restrooms.

I have stomach issues sometimes, and I'm in public restrooms waaaay more often than I'd like, usually for longer than I'd like, but I learn. All kinds of stuff.

Lesson #1
The people whose numbers are written on the walls of the stall? Usually don't want to be called no matter how bored you are.

You're welcome.

Lessons from public restrooms, #5

I hope you feel edified.

Okay, edified might be the wrong word here. Let's say that after these five lessons, I hope you feel...

Well, like you still want to come back here and hang around. I'm just trying to help, after all.

Lesson #5
Sometimes you have to change your baby's diaper bum in a public restroom. You might think that it seems like a good idea to hold your baby's bum up to the hand dryer and get it extra dry, because, hey--it's right there and it could be kind of funny. Don't do it. If you hold your baby's bum up to the hand dryer and turn it on, it might startle your baby. Enough that he'll wet his pants. Except he's not wearing pants. Or even a diaper. So he'll just pee on you. Then you'll have to use the hand dryer to air out your pee shirt. And p.s., the dryer doesn't help with that, either.

Lesson #4
The more urgent the need is, the harder the seat cover will be to wrestle from the dispenser. I think it has something to do with an anxiety sensor that some Super Nerd invented and installed with the automatic flushers just for giggles. Your anixiety is high, a little switch goes off in the dispenser and suddenly trying to get one of those things out starts to look like alligator wrestling. I mean, it's just a theory, but I think it's right.

Lesson #3
Any time you're in a store, but most especially when you're in Target, pay attention to the most annoying teenage girls in the store with you. Memorize their faces, study the details, because you will have a stomachache that causes you to rush for the restroom. This stomachache will cause you to suffer from loud sound effects that abuse the bathroom acoustics, and the quieter you try to be, the louder you will get. And when you finally do walk out from the stall, the only other people in the restroom will be those two girls, silent now, staring at you in fascination, memorizing your face, studying your details. And this will happen more than once. In fact, any time you are in a public place with obnoxious teenage girls this will happen, and yes, you are totally justified in suspecting you may have an allergy to them.

Lesson #2
No matter how tempting the acoustics are in a tiled public restroom, and no matter how convinced you are that you are all alone, this is NOT the time or place to bust out your Mariah Carey impersonation. People will hear you and they will wait for you to come out and then they will applaud. But it won't be the kind of applause that makes you feel good.So don't do it. Just saying.

Lesson #1
The people whose numbers are written on the walls of the stall? Usually don't want to be called no matter how bored you are.