Wordless Wednesday... And a Party Horse Anecdote of sorts.

Daddy: Hey Punkie! Your horsie binkie is upside down.

Mommy: Horsie?!? That's a unicorn!

Things Found in a Room

I would like to start a new segment I have been threatening to start for a long time:  Things Found in a Room.

What kind of room, you ask?  Hotel rooms.  Residence Inn rooms to be more specific.  I will leave exactly which, where and who I get these from out of the stories.  Not because they have been stolen or otherwise acquired illegally, no.  It's because I don't want you insane lovely people going there and leaving odd things there so you can land a spot on my inglorious blog!  ;0p

First item up for your enjoyment.... VIM!  With the "EXTRA POWER OF LIME!"

Yup.  Dish soap in bar form. 

 I think? 

Pretty sure.

Found what I believe is their website.  Check it out if you wish. http://www.vim.ca/vim_eng.html Or not.  Not all that exciting.  Located out of Canada?  Sorry, but that doesn't look like Canadian to me. (English and French.  I'm being goofy, not stupid.  Although I do have my moments.)  I am not even going to venture to guess what language that is, because chances are, I would be wrong.    However, they tend to get a lot of  temporary residents from India.  Eh?  Maybe. However, on the website, no bars. I guess bars aren't popular for scrubbing pots and pans in Canada. Go figure!

That concludes my very first epi blog-i-sode of   "Things Found in a Roooooooooooom!"

(Bar available for sale. No really. Want it?  All proceeds go to aiding me in my coffee and choco addiction.)

Oh Soft And Cuddly!

Monchhichi!!!  You remember the thumb suckin' monkey doll from the 80's?  I try to forget.  Wanted one.  Never got one.   Was reminded today about the fuzzy thumb sucker and it brought up all sorts of scars in the process.  

Almost daily, (or less because I suck at doing anything "regularly") I check one of my favorite blogs: The Bloggess.  Occasionally, she posts links to other blogs that have bought space for their awesome ads.  Normally, I click on the ad, glance around and leave.  Today, the ad sent me to a blog that not only grabbed my attention, but made me stay and read entries for over an hour!  So, now I have yet another site I feel compelled to check out on a regular basis, keeping me on the computer that much longer.  But its ok.  Worth it. The blog is called Flourish in Progress and it's written a young lady (wow. do I feel OLD now) named Elizabeth.  Her blog (in short) is the "chronicle of (her) 30th Birthday Project"  of cutting back on her "needless spending."  While that's great and admirable and all, I'm just following her blog because she's FUNNY.

Ok, I can literally hear you screaming, what the HELL does this have to do with scars and Monchhichis!!!
Be patient.  I'm gettin' there.

So, I was pokin' around her blog, trying to get the basics with out being there all day, when one of the titles of her previous blog entries catches my eye: I Failed. Shit.  I had to read it.  It was here I came face to face with the elusive toy of my childhood.  The Monchhichi.  Basically, her blog entry was about how she "failed" in her project one day because she stumbled upon one, HAD to buy it and felt sightly guilty for her needless purchase. 

I left a comment.  I had too.  I felt her pain.  I would have bought it too.  Well... here's what I posted:

"Do NOT feel bad about your "set back." It's a Monchhichi for shit sake! It was a NECESSITY!! I would have done the same thing. Seriously. I wanted one as a kid too. Didn't get one. Got a generic grey (much bigger) thumb suckin' wanna-be. I loved it and pretended (sadly) that it was a Monchhichi, but it wasn't the same. That Chhichi scar is a deep one. You NEEDED to buy her. And lick her. ;0)


When I was 4, I had this fantastic Fisher Price castle complete with furniture, little people kings and queens and knights, horses and a cute little pink dragon. I loved that thing. My parents did the unthinkable and "donated" it to my preschool (with out asking me) thinking I had outgrown it or something. *eyeroll* I was bitter over it for years (when I would remember it was gone.) Eventually, I got over it... or so i thought. Last year, my Mom and I were at a children's consignment sale and there, among a bunch of Littlest Pet Shop Habitats, Bratz Doll Houses & newer Fisher Price Little People play structures... my castle. Complete with cute little pink dragon (and everything else.) My therapy cost (my Mom) $80!

It lives in my kids room. I play with it all the time."

Ok, not all the time.  Just when the kids are in school.  That's why we send them to school, right?  To play with their toys?   

That reminds me.  My daughter is turning 9 soon.  Maybe I should get her a Monchhichi for her birthday. ;0)

Ramblings of a Mad Woman

This will most likely make no sense. If you walk away and make a sandwich while I vomit the thoughts from my head, that's fine. I'll probably still be rambling when you get back.

I started this blog back in.... crap, I don't remember when I started this blog... a while ago. It just sat here! Had, maybe one post? Don't bother looking for it. I deleted it. But then, a member of my mom's group started blogging. Then another. I figured it was worth another shot. After all, I was spewing enough books on our mom's site, might as well re-direct my efforts to one place in the event I wanted to re-read them at some point or share them with non-mom-group-members. That and most of the mom's were scanning my rants at best. I was feeling bad about all the eye pollution I was creating there. I mean, it was usually on topic and only a a little self centered. ;0) But where else was I going to spew my brain spittle?!? So, ya. The blog made sense for my sake and the sake of my fellow mama's. (Note: some of them would be quick to argue and say my stuff was funny/well worded/on topic/blah blah blah... but they are my friends and pay them to say that. Others said it was skim worthy at best, so... You be the judge. Read my stuff and either follow my blog or leave "YOU SUCK" in the comments section and kick rocks. Ok, maybe not that last part.)


I like creative writing. However, my definition of "creative writing" doesn't seem to be the same as my previous instructors definitions, because my papers always came back marked up with mountains post-it arrows and miles of red ink pointing out all my grammatical, punctuational and spelling errors. (Not to mention lengthy run-on sentences) I mean, isn't it creative to manipulate punctuation, spacing and what not in order to write like you talk? I always thought so. Apparently, what I saw as "creative", they saw as just "wrong." This quickly sent my love of writing out the window. My love was rekindled as I started posting about my families adventures on the aforementioned mama's group, which led me here.

The problem with this whole blog thing, is that I get performance anxiety. I know that sounds stupid, but bare with me while I explain. I started this to unload the rambling thoughts out of my head and have them stored some where. Then I get here and feel the not so piercing eyes of would be readers. Not that I have many. But still! And it's stupid really! I want to do this for myself! What do I care what others think? Because I'm HUMAN! *eye roll* Now, if I was a cat, this wouldn't be the case. Cats don't care what others think. Especially humans! But then, cats don't have thumbs, so... that would be pointless. All my entries would be about tuna and lack spaces.

Speakin' of Tuna... back with that sandwich? Good! Well, don't let me stop ya. Munch on. I'm almost done.

So, what is my point with all this. Well, not sure if I have one really. Just trying to figure some things out for myself. Answer some questions. Like... Do I want to keep blogging? Does it matter if no one really reads it? Is it better if not one reads it? What if people DO read it? Will that bother me? Do I continue to write like I'm aware others will be reading or more like I am writing in a personal diary and from the heart? And if I do, do I attempt to be more correct in my creativity or just give in and be creative in my own interpretation of the word? Will I slave to a schedule? Do I sign up on blog lists and with blog groups? Or do I fly solo and let the flow of the internet wave take me where ever the tide of surfers see fit? To tell you the Truth, I know none of these answers. Yet. But I will! This was my first step. Now that I've typed this all out and have read and re-read it, it will be easier to mull over as one big picture and not just a jumbled mass of fragmented thoughts. Hopefully, I'll have an answer soon.

Done with your sandwich I see. Wow. Did I really ramble that long? Eh. Nothing new.

Oh great. Now I'm hungry. Good thing dinner is already in the oven. ;0)

Financial Woes

* Roof over our head? Check!
* Food in the fridge? Check!
* Car in the drive way still? Check! wait.... *checks* Ya. Check.
* Power still on? Check!
* TV too? Check!
* Phones? For now... Half a check.
* Clothes that fit? Check!
* Credit cards paid? Ya... no. Sorry guys. I know. Poor credit. I get it.
* Pocket change for misc. Ha! Ha ahaha aahahh a ahahahahaaaa!! *cough* No.

Misc. is short for: Mom I want that, I want coffee, the fee for that is, crap that broke, the bus for the fieldtrip will only cost you, we need milk again, Oh, you want that clean, then I need soap, what do you mean you lost your library book, crap THAT broke, that was the last roll, make your sandwhiches out of crackers then, brush your teeth with warm water, I don't need no stinking bandages.... wait, yes I do, seriously.. I want REAL coffee, Gas Again... Didn't you just fill up, you need WHAT for your class, suck in, get the shoe horn, stop growing, I just bought those, well, we DID have enough for the week, please-coffee-now, that wasn't under warranty, get the duct tape/stapler/safety pins/glue, again with the gas, How Much Is THAT Gonna Cost!

*sigh* I need coffee.

And a job.

Sometimes Love is Sweet, but Hard to Swallow

Yesterday morning, my 8 year old daughter surprised me with breakfast in bed:

Looks good, doesn't it?

That's 4 lightly toasted (aka still somewhat cold) blueberry toaster waffles each topped with a patchy layer of either peanut butter or Nutella and lightly drizzled over with maple syrup. (I added more before this pic was taken.) It was lovingly served on a paper plate and a plastic spork still in the plastic wrap (switched out for a real fork before pic was taken.)

Her reason? It was "Happy People Who Love Cats" day.

Isn't she sweet! And oh so pretty. My adorable little tree hugger.

Let's not share with her how "not so green" the plate and spork were. Or just how many glasses of milk mama needed to finish her breakfast. (3 tall frothy glasses & a cup of coffee!) We'll just keep those secrets to ourselves for now. Some day, I'll share this story with her as I beam over the pictures with pride and a warm feeling in my heart. Reminds me of the time I baked my dad a green grape pie, which he too ate every bite of. Ahhh, memories. '0)

Yup. Sometimes love is sweet, but hard to swallow.