What's a Man- i-cure?

Morning Readers,

    Like most days, my morning routine found me having yet another staring contest with myself. I'm not weird, I simply enjoy holding onto the sides of my sink and locking eyes with the visage representing me for the rest of the day. As the information feed usually isn't that enthralling, I'm forced to do some simple maintenance so that anyone unlucky enough to knock on my door doesn't think they've accidentally ended up at Gary Busey's house. Brush teeth, apply last of deodorant stick, smooth out dark, forbidden forest that used to be my eyebrows, run hands through...uh oh.

Mountains Out of Mole Hills

Morning Readers,

     They'd been going all morning, but, like any other mom completely immersed in Yo Gabba Gabba   doing housework, I'd blocked out the beeps, metallic grinding and sounds of other men grunting at each other. It wasn't until I casually glanced out the window that I was prompted to send Husband this text message:

"Soo..it took me all morning to acknowledge the construction sounds next door. Turns out the entire right side of the yard is gone..hmm. " (I think the "Hmm" part of it may have been the trigger, but, like the Tootsie Pop, the world may never know.

Strike A Pose...Umm..No

Morning Readers,

     There was a giant commotion on my porch yesterday afternoon. Not being the type to ignore a giant commotion, I ran to the front door, flung it open and what did I find? Reporters, camera men, fashion scouts from Milan, and Mary Heart from E.T all wanting a picture of little, old me... Oh. Wait.... No, no... I'm sorry, that was the nightmare I had last night, which vividly embodied one of my uber fears. Because there's something about a lens pointed in my general direction that causes my hair to recede and my skin crawl in fear.  Unlike a sorority sister eight beer bongs in, I don't make love to the camera; I look for a Louisville Slugger so I may delicately "Ike Turner" it to death. Unfortunately, yesterday was a great reminder that I just may have to make piece with the Devil's instrument.

She Chose.....Wisely

Morning Readers,

     There's a scene in Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade where the crinkly, old Knight, seeing Rutger Hauer about to five-finger discount one of the grails, gives him a little pep talk/warning before he stashes and dashes. Something to the effect of Choose the right one and live forever; Chooses the wrong one and you'll turn into toast..and not cool toast like Melba...more like the little bits that live at the bottom of the toaster. The bad guy invariably turns into melty piles of Jello, leaving the Knight to field the one-liner of, "He chose poorly." Normally, I'm the one choosing poorly. I am Jello Lady. This weekend, I finally got to be Indie, and swipe the "holy grail of silence, book it past giant blades, and save my father...er..my manuscript..something like that..

Ants, Lenten Status Report, and A Facelift

 Morning Readers,

     Three main orders of business today. As each one is important in their own way, I've decided to work from "least" to "most" as they appear in my head. So without further ado, Friday's laundry list:

 1.) Ants

     While sitting in the middle of the living room floor this morning and pondering why Husband had put the pink, Minnie Mouse pajama pants on my son for bed last night, I saw it. Black and shooting like a jet plane across my wood laminate, a shiny, black ant made it's way to whatever ant-destination of destruction it was headed for. I hate ants. This one, silent messenger carried with it, warnings of ant troops to come, horrible, vile troops that with invade my kitchen, permeate my cabinets, and do everything in their power to make sure I look as crazy as John Goodman in arachnophobia (which has now given me visions of all the spiders waking from their spider beds..ugh). Along with decapitating chocolate bunnies, I'll be spending a good amount of time searching for the bug spray.

Mimes Need Not Apply

     I almost peed myself yesterday. Almost twenty-seven-year-old women should never be in danger of wetting themselves, but it doesn’t mean, when caught off guard by something fantastic, they can’t get the occasional hitch in their bladders. The source of my bowel excitement? Be still my dorkified mothers everywhere, for I’m about to dangle the proverbial carrot in front of your debit cards.

     Amazon.com…the name brings tears to my eyes. I’m so misty I can’t see my computer *pulls out paisley, invisible hankie*…ok, that’s better. If you, my Readers, frequent it as much I do, then you know the pure euphoria that courses through the pointer finger when one clicks “buy”. So obviously, when the time came to search for the dancing monkey floor show for the twins’ birthday, I had my Go To. Ok, joking about the monkeys. I’m actually a little terrified of monkeys (money hands, monkey feet, monkey ability to hold a grudge).

Who's On First Again?

Afternoon Readers,

     It's that time again. The weather's warming, birds are singing and I'm free to wander around my driveway with no shoes once more. Yes, spring is here, and along with the promises of  Easter, white pants, and backyard barbeques comes the one season that Husband longs for all year round, baseball. Don't feel too sorry for him; in the interim, he makes himself privy to sixteen games of football to sooth the ache for America's favorite pastime. And, like the wonderful wife I am, now that every, single night brings all four bases into our home once again, I sit and try to partake in yet another sports season. While this may seem charitable on my part, I'm pretty sure Husband gets the harder part of the deal because of questions like this:

Released Into Polite Society

Morning Readers,

     He was adorable. As he bounced up to my daughter, I couldn't help thinking this would be the start of her affinity for red-haired boys. And as he slipped his fat, two-year-old baby arm around her shoulders, my suspicions that my baby girl happens to be the cutest on the planet, were confirmed. I didn't have much time to dwell on this though. My son was ready to pitch himself from a "giant" slide and maim himself for life. This past Friday required my attention on a variety of levels. I didn't get a chance to write to you, my dear Readers, as I was deeply immersed in the timid blending of my children with other children in a public setting. Yeah, it's ok to start praying for the rest of the world now...

11 Month Status Report

Morning Readers,

     It's been four days since the twins turned 11 months old, and like the terrible mother I am, I neglected to post about it and instead talked about poop, GPS systems and all the other minor things in life. A shame really, as Butch and Sundance are doing a spectacular job of becoming the two of most interesting people I've met during my life-treck. I say they're doing a great job because I'm starting to figure out that parents don't have as much control as they think they do when it comes to their children's developmental progress. Following, a list of notable things Laurel and Hardy have figured out, all before their first and auspicious birthday.

After Three Miles, Start Crying: The Art of Getting Lost

Morning Readers,

     She'd sounded like that girl. The one trying to steal your boyfriend. The minute we'd flipped the little switch and hit "Go", she'd purred to life and begun seductively telling us what streets to turn down, highways to avoid and how much better looking than me she was. Ok, that last part may be an exaggeration, but it didn't stop me from shutting off the "Tart" function and enjoying the quiet, purple line as it guided me from destination to destination. You hear that lady? This Eagle's gonna tell me where to go, so you can retire to your brothel.  Although it's a total hussy, our GPS is reliable and delivers us to our destination more often than not. This weekend, however, I was brought to question that reliability and wonder if it  had finally turned on me.

Letter From the Editor: Submissions Now Accepted and A Poor People Prize To Boot!

Dear Readers,

     This morning I looked in the cabinets and realized that my family is pretty close to starving. From a nutritional standpoint, half a jar of pickles and one Twinkie never did anyone much good, so it's up to me to pack up the kids, hit-up the grocery store and re-fill the freezer with frozen pizza. Unfortunately, that means no exciting story today. However, that doesn't mean I've left you with nothing.
     If you'll do me the great honor of looking upwards, you'll notice a new tab has been added, labeled, "Submissions". Starting with the month of May, I'll be posting a guest piece, once a month, from one of you lovely Readers, highlighting anything you'd like to share with the rest of the crazy community here.      
     Don't be scared. I'm a really nice person who won't call you in the middle of the night asking "Just what is this crap that you emailed me?" I swear. Any submissions will be an honor for me, and it means a truly random prize (the kind that poor people can afford) for you! In the meantime, I'm off to lug some babies through the frozen food isle....

Yours Truly,

Paige

The "Poo Can" and Other Things That Smell This Morning

Morning Readers,

     At present, I'm trying not to smack my computer with the banana I just retrieved from the kitchen. Besides being nearly too ripe to eat, the banana didn't do anything, but that doesn't mean I can't squash it in frustration. I just deleted my "Writing" playlist from i Tunes, and with it, a carefully constructed compilation (I'm not too angry to use alliteration, apparently) of songs that remind me of college, summertime, times I enjoyed dancing in large groups, and selections which cause me to spontaneously break out the "air piano" and do my best impression of Alicia Keys (sans corn rows and fedora). It's all gone. That stinks. You see how I did that? Talking about something stinking? And now we'll talk about the "Poo can", because Fridays at There's More Where That Came From are for talking about ridiculous things.

To Hair is Human: The Three Categories of "Mom Hair"

Morning Readers,

     Yesterday my sister came to visit. If you didn't know, nine-year old sisters are very honest. And by honest I mean they'll tell you things your husband's afraid to, lest he be shirked in his attempts to crawl to your side of the bed that night. Little sisters tell you things like..

"Paigey,  your bun looks funny."

" Funny? What do you mean kiddo?"

(Giggle) "Look at it."

Float Like a Butterfly, Sting Like a Baby Foot

Morning Readers,

     Today I crouch like tiger. Hide like dragon. I've decided that brushing up on my boxing, kung fu and any additional self-defense techniques I can get my hands on is a stupendous idea. Why? Well, let's see. In the past two days, I've narrowly avoided a black eye, broken cheek bones and three crushing blows to the jugular. I blame the nurses; They're medical professionals after all. When they excitedly handed me the twins and watched us strap them into the car seats, one of them should've taken me aside and said something like this.

What Book Did You Wander Out of Mam?

Morning Readers,

     Anyone who knows me, knows I love to read. Especially fiction. I tear it up. Right now I'm reading The Terminal Man, by Michael Crichton, a great story about mind control and all sorts of characters one is content to read about, but thanks the Lord don't walk among us in reality.

And yet...

After what happened to me the other day, I can't help but wonder whether the fictional characters, tired of being confined to the printed page, have decided to wander among us, haunting grocery lines, asking odd questions and forcing me to make random decisions for them.

If You Can't Change It, Charge It: How to Avoid Depression While Shopping

Morning Readers,

     We stood there desperately deciding whether to hold hands and take the first steps together, or split-up and try to act natural. Settling on something located in the middle of those two extremes, we grabbed a bag and stayed within a two-foot proximity. We'd made all the necessary preparations for this outing, but it still wasn't time to get crazy, run off, and leave each other in danger of matching nervous breakdowns. Yesterday was my first shopping trip post-pregnancy (nay) the first shopping trip since before I got pregnant. A frightening thing, to be sure, but I adhered to the Do's and Don'ts before I said "yes" to this particular trip. A few simple rules to ease the pain of shopping, the Do's and Don'ts are a must for any of you, my Readers, who are venturing into your favorite store with a different body than the last time you were there.