Win with me on Blingo.

Do you use Blingo?

Do you know what Blingo is?

If you use it, good for you. If you don't even know what it is, well, let me tell you. It's a search engine. Powered by Google (and we all know what Google is, right?)

Blingo is different than Google in that every time you use it you get a chance to win something. That's right, you can win something. So far I've only won free movie tickets, not that I'm complaining. Free is always a good thing to me! But you do have a chance to win cash, like $1000 or even $5000. They also give away lots of $25 gift cards for Amazon. Oh, and iTunes gift cards too. Not too shabby, if you ask me.

What's the catch? Well, none, that I can see. You do have to sign up for it and then use either the Blingo home page for your search, or do like I did and install a Blingo toolbar so I can search quickly and easily. It is brought to you by the Publisher's Clearing House people, but, eh, they're not evil.

So sign yourself up. Click that button right there to the left of my page and sign up as my "friend." That way, if you Win something, I win something too. And sharing the wealth is a very good thing.

(Oh, and if you are the luckiest person alive and win all the time, know that you can only accept two prizes per month. So choose wisely.)

I'd like to fling something.

This weekend is the annual Spring Fling here at the kids' elementary school. It's a fundraiser put on by the PTA (or some-such like that.) It has a couple of blow-up bouncy thingies and each classroom has a "booth" that the parents volunteer to man for half hour time periods. (They call them booths, but they are mostly just long tables set up with games and things like that.) Let me go on the record as saying that I HATE THESE THINGS.

Last year I volunteered my husband for the hot dog cooking "booth" and he did a dandy job, even staying longer when they needed extra help. So this year when the form came home for volunteers, I was all set to sign my husband's name up until I saw the name of the booth for my son's class: Fingernail Painting. Man, way to ruin my plans! Now I had two choices, I could either volunteer myself, or I could just not volunteer at all and pretend I never saw the form. As tempting as feigning ignorance sounded, I actually signed myself up.

So I figured that was that and promptly forgot all about the second child who is now also in school and would need to have a parent volunteer at her booth too. I forgot, that is, until the room mom called me and asked if we could help out. They didn't have enough people signed up yet and needed the help. Well, shoot, I thought. So I signed us up. Us being me or my husband, hoping I could get him to fill in for me because I HATE THESE THINGS.

My daughter's classroom booth is Go Fish, or something like that, which I figured would be fine for my husband to work. And he doesn't mind. He's good at these sorts of things. I'm not. I hate the crowds and all the noise. Mostly, I don't like the crowds. And the thought of sitting there painting little girls' fingernails, hand after hand after hand of them, strikes fear into my heart. It really is not my cup of tea. And I kind of feel sorry for the girls because my fingernail painting skills are sorely lacking. What do you think the odds are that I can teach my husband to paint nails before Saturday? Yeah, that's what I think too.

Did I mention I HATE THESE THINGS?

Pictures!

Because I am in the throes of allergy-related hell, I give you pictures (!) and not much else. But they're of the kids (!) and guineas (!) so try to contain yourselves and check back with me tomorrow.

I am three and I don't play nicely with others.

So...

You know my husband bought a new motorcycle. And I was okay with it. I mean, it's not like he just came home with it one day and surprised me. We had gone to look at them and he had asked me what I thought. I was kept abreast of all of his motorcycle shopping actions. Yet still it came as almost a shock to me that he actually bought it.

I was very hesitant about spending the money. And I told him so. In return, he told me exactly where the money to pay for it would come from. (And, no, 'out of his ass' was not where it was coming from, even though it seemed to me to be the only place he could find money in our budget.) Yet I still saw it as a frivolous purchase, and figured he would come down off his 'high' to see it as such too. But he didn't.

And I told myself I would not be jealous. I told myself I would not be bitter about him spending the money. I told myself I would be an adult. But, in fact, I am not an adult. I, apparently, have the emotional maturity of a three year old because now all I can think about it is: what about me?

I want things too. I have lusted after things and have been talked out of them because we just didn't have the money right now. I have put desires on the back burner. I have even kept my job to be sure we had money to pay off some of our medical bills. And now some of that money is going towards the motorcycle. The motorcycle that I don't even like to ride. (You'll never ever catch me on the back of that thing.)

So there it is: my jealousy. My bitterness. And I was in such denial about my feeling that way that it took me several days of being grumpy and down in the dumps before I finally put together all of my feelings and realized that I was feeling jealous. And I won't lie to you, I am ashamed of feeling this way. I cannot believe that I would begrudge someone else their happiness just because I wasn't equally as happy. Yes, yes, I am three and very selfish indeed.

Oh... but before you call the marriage counselor to try and save my poor husband from his life of misery brought on by his selfish wife, know that I will not take it out on him any more. No, I'm sure he got the message when I broke down in tears and told him how I felt. Yet in the confusion of the moment, it somehow translated into him having to get me a new dining room table right the hell now. Which wasn't really the point, but I'll take the new dining room table anyway. No, I think the point was that I had just realized how I felt, and I wasn't proud of it. And it'll just take a little less motorcycle talk on his part when we're together for me to feel better. He'll have to treat me like the jealous older sibling whose family has just received a new baby. He'll have to give me a little more love and attention until I grow the hell up.

And I'll take any furniture he's willing to buy me.

Monday 1 - Me 0

Today has totally kicked my a**. And it's not even lunch time yet.

How does taking care of four stuffy, coughing, crabby children sound? Oh, and add diarrhea to the mix for the youngest. Sound fun? Exciting? If so, you need to get yourself on over to my house. And then I will promptly take myself far, far away from my house.

I woke up this morning in a lovely mood. We had rearranged our bedroom and it just feels better in there. It's not totally cleaned - who brought all that clutter? - and it's still kind of dusty in there. But the flow of the room is much improved. And there really is something to be said for having a room that almost looks like a real grown-up's bedroom. But it went downhill from there.

My husband had one of the worst mornings ever, and the mood is kind of infectious, if you know what I mean. It's as if the power of a bad mood can suck all of the cheerfulness out of you and leave you feeling, well, bad. He didn't intend to infect with his mood, but it did. I hope his day has vastly improved.

So once he left the house, I felt bad. Less cheerful, more grumpy. And it hasn't improved much from there. Bah!

Later I will tell you about the battle of furniture and why it is I feel like the little lost soul who can't get anyone to listen to her and gets lost in the shuffle.

(Also, maybe I'll tell you about me being the biggest whiner on earth. Or maybe not!)

TGIF (Thank Goodness It Fits)

It's Friday! I've been looking forward to this weekend for a very long time now. (All week, in fact.) And it's been a looooong week. Last weekend my husband was at his motorcycle safety class for the entire weekend, so it never really felt like we had time off together. And while I did enjoy - oh how I enjoyed it - the time with my kids, it felt strange to be out without B there too. So it's been 12 days of non-stop week around here. We're ready for a weekend!

This weekend I have to go out and buy warm weather clothing. For me and the kids, and maybe B too. The weather has suddenly turned warm, and it looks like it'll stay that way for a while now. Like until October or November. (Darn the South and it's heat!) I got the box of shorts down from the kids' closets yesterday and had them try everything on. Luckily, there were a few that still fit. Although, even those were just on the edge of being too small. And my summer clothes, well, they suck. My drawers are full of ill-fitting khaki capri pants and t-shirts with the ghosts of stains still visible. Last year I went through the summer feeling uncomfortable in my clothes, but figuring I could just get through it. This time around I think I may just fall into a big weeping pile of woman if I have to try and get through it with these same clothes. (Also, I may just be hormonal. Maybe.)

And saying that I am so worked up over clothes makes me feel like a big crybaby. A whiner. But I have discovered the power of well-fitting clothes. You feel so much better when what you are wearing something that fits, is a good color for you, and is comfortable. And I don't necessarily mean clothes that are dressy, - goodness knows I don't ever have a need to dress up for all these kids! - I just want some good shorts, something besides khaki capris, and a good pair of sandals or two. But what I hate is the amount of effort that goes into finding these good clothes. The other day when I bought a pair of pants, it tried on upwards of twenty pairs to find just one. (I totally ignored the five item rule in the fitting room. I was not going back and forth, darn it!)

Oh, but anyway, I totally got off subject. I was talking about the weekend! And how much I look forward to it! How excited I am that it's Friday! And that's really all I wanted to say. (!)

That girl.

My daughter has the ability to drive me completely insane. Both of my kids have such different personalities, and while my son will does not bother me (for the most part,) my daughter can drive me up the wall in a measly ten minute time span.

Is that the case with those of you who have more than one child? (Or maybe even your one child?) Are their personalities very different? And does one of them have the type of personality that can just get to you? Please tell me I'm not alone...

Now don't get me wrong, I love her with all of my heart. She is funny and sweet and happy and generous and smart and a lot of other amazing things. In fact, sometimes I think that she's very much like a part of me - the part that annoys me - and that is why it bothers me. I think that she and I have more in common than you'd think.

But just when I think I can't take it anymore, she does something like she did last night. She told me she had a secret to tell me and delicately moved my hair away from my ear, tucking it back. She then whispered something completely un-important and not very secret-ey. Once finished whispering, she pulled my hair back over my ear and gently patted it down with her lovely little hand. "I just want to keep that between you and me," she said, "so I closed the secret inside your head." It's times like those that make me remember the sweet little girl who used to cuddle up in my lap and pet my hair.

Of course, she then proceeded to tell me that she didn't want me to sing her a goodnight song last night because my voice is "not that great." Hmmph.

Motorcycle madness.

Ever since my husband bought his motorcycle, it's been all he can talk about. His excitement is palpable. You can feel the waves of pure "happy" coming off of him when he is telling someone about it. Often times I can see him go deep into thought, only to have him say something regarding his motorcycle a few minutes later. And I can't help but grin to myself, knowing that his every though is occupied with this motorcycle, this piece of metal that is one hundred percent un-necessary and one hundred percent pleasure for him.

This weekend he attended a motorcycle safety course. It took up his Friday night, all day Saturday and all day Sunday. It sure was a different weekend for us - to not have him around - but as tedious as it was for him to sit and listen to the basics about clutches and mirrors and gears, he emerged a man able to go to the DMV and get his license. And that makes him happy. And me, also, because I feel like he'll at least be a little bit more knowledgeable about riding. Anything that helps to keep him safer is something I'm all for.

And speaking of safety, almost every female that I've spoken with about him getting a motorcycle has said something akin to the famous "You'll shoot your eye out, kid" line from A Christmas Story. They've said, "Tell him to be careful," or "Those things scare me." And the guys have run their hands along the bike and said, "Man, that's cool," or "I want one."

If ever we need verification that the sexes differ, there it is.

His metal and chrome baby.

Do you see that? That, that...thing up there? Well, that is now an official member of my household. It came home yesterday, after my husband lovingly loaded it into a trailer and hauled it from the dealership. And last night my husband couldn't even finish his dinner, he was so excited to go out and ride. I've never seen a grown man so giddy before. And if it takes a motorcycle to make the man that happy, then so be it.

Oh, what kind is it? Eh, I have no idea. It's a Honda. That's as much as I can tell you.

Also, it would take furniture to make me that happy. Just saying.

New fish.

We had promised my son a pair of Heelys and my daughter a fish. Well, he got a pair given to him, and so we set out to get her a fish at the pet store on Sunday. Here are pictures:

Wait, that's not a fish tank!

Is that some sort of rodent in there?

Yes, yes it is! It's a guinea pig. And her name is Daisy. Daisy is timid and spends most of her time in her igloo. (What, you didn't know guinea pigs lived in igloos?)

And because Daisy is so timid and lonely, we went a bought her a friend. Can you see her in there? She's black and white and about twice the size of Daisy. (Sorry about that Daisy.) Her name is Daffy.

Say hello to Daisy and Daffy. What, you can't see them? No, neither can I. For, lo and behold, we now have two guinea pigs that are timid and spend all of their time in their igloo.

Tuesday nights.

Last night we was a night full of sadness. We went to my husband's cousin's wake. It was so odd, almost surreal, to be there and see everyone. There was such an air of grief, yet there were also people greeting each other and asking about children and even smiling at something someone said. I didn't know what to do with myself.

I found myself asking, "How are you?" when I saw people, and then immediately chastised myself. I knew how they were; they were sad. Yet I didn't know what else to say. I'm not one of those people who says the right thing at the right time. Instead, I'm one of those people who will immediately, upon speaking to you, put my foot directly into my mouth. Or I will be very quiet. And then there we are, standing in awkward silence. Last night I remained silent, awkward or no, just so I didn't say the wrong thing. I spent most of the night standing just behind my husband while he spoke with family and friends.

We were late getting home, and the kids - who were not at the wake, but at their cousin's house playing - didn't get to bed until after 11:00. I think they will suffer today because 11:00 may as well be the middle of the night as far as they are concerned. My kids are totally staying up late if their heads do not hit the pillow until 9:00, nay 8:30, and so 11:00 was foreign to them. My daughter was so broken down by the time we stepped foot into the house that she immediately began to cry. My son kept exclaiming, "I can't believe we stayed up so late!"

And he asked if we were going to do this every Tuesday. And, Son, I sincerely hope not. I sincerely hope not.

Grief.

They say it comes in threes - the passing of loved ones. And that has certainly held true.

Last week my Great Uncle passed away.

Friday night the young son of a dear old friend passed away.

Saturday night my husband's younger cousin passed away.

I cannot fathom what it is truly like to have someone there one day and gone the next. I wish I could gather everyone together and hold them tightly while they grieve. I wish I could help. All I can do is grieve with them.

If there is a master plan to it all, it is way beyond my comprehension.

Everything comes in a spray nowadays.

A little boy came over to my house the other day with a spray bottle in his hand. It was a little bottle and he was spraying it into his mouth. At first I thought it was Binaca. Remember Binaca? Do they even still sell Binaca? But anyway, I asked him what it was and he told me it was candy spray. And sure enough, it said it right there on the bottle, "Push Pump Candy Spray." Huh.

So evidently you no longer have to bother with the hassle of eating candy. Nay, my friend, now you can just spray it directly into your mouth, no pesky chewing necessary. What's next, injectable candy? Soon will we be able to just put the sugar and artificial coloring directly into our veins, bypassing the mouth completely?

On a completely different note, I find myself oddly drawn to the spray candy. Maybe just one squirt...

This is so I won't let you down.

This morning my husband told me that I was letting my readers* down by not posting yesterday. I told him I didn't know what to write, so I just didn't write anything at all. I was in a fog yesterday brought on by a decidedly miserable night's sleep. My dear husband sleeps with CPAP machine for his sleep apnea, and the seal on his face mask had sprung a leak, so to speak. It was emitting a sound that went from high pitched squeal to full blown fog horn, and back again. He slept through most of it. I did not. So I lacked the mental fortitude to write anything. I couldn't even think of a full sentence, mush less an actual subject. He said I could write about him. I could write about how much I love him, how wonderful and supportive he is, and how he's so very manly. I told him I would write about him, all right, but it just may not be about the things he wanted me to write about.

Instead of telling you about his manly macho-ness, I'm going to tell you about his hurt leg. He managed to pull a hamstring, or strain a tendon, or just generally F-up his leg. So it was off to the sports doctor for him after he suffered for a while and figured out that it wasn't just going away by itself. But the trip to the doctor was highly disappointing, because the doctor just told him basically what I just told you - he managed to F-up his leg. But the trip was not all for naught, oh no it wasn't. The doctor prescribed Ibuprofen for him. Also, physical therapy. So now we have a bottle of Ibuprofen in our medicine cabinet that is so big, it towers above all else. Imagine the biggest bottle of vitamins you can buy at the store - you know, the mega-bottle - and double that size. That's how big this bottle is. And while I know you can buy Ibuprofen over the counter, it just felt like we had scored something major by bringing home this huge bottle. And it has a refill, so there's that.

He went to physical therapy yesterday and found out a little more about what to do for his leg. They hooked him up to an electrode machine and shocked him for a while. (Is this considered shock therapy?) They also iced him down. Which is how it came to be that he was lying on the floor last night with two of those cool packs on his legs. You know, the ones you use to keep you lunches cool. I was reminded of packing the kid's lunches and for a moment I imagined him as part of a huge lunch. And could you imagine the size of that lunch box?!? But I digress... They also told him no more elliptical machine and no more squats, leg presses, etc. Which is really not doing much for his psyche. He is a man who belongs in the gym. It keeps him sane, and in return, we are allowed to stay sane also. He is allowed to continue working chest and arms, so he'll at least have that.

So that's what's been going on around here. Try to contain your excitement. I know I am.

*As if I have "readers" - it's more like "reader"

Hello! Hello?

I've noticed a couple of new readers to my site. And I wanted to say hello. Also, I wanted apologize for the lack of real content at times. Oh, and the use of bad words. Because I happen to use a lot of bad words. In real life, though, I use very few. So that may make up for it? In some way? Maybe?

Anyway, welcome. Stick around for awhile and come back soon. Maybe by the time you come back I'll have something good to say about...something or other. Hell, I don't know. But do come back!

And also? A comment or two - or an email or two - wouldn't hurt. Just saying.

Big Crazy.

I watch a lot of the food network. I know that there are others like me - who know who Alton Brown* is and who also love his quirky wit - because whenever I mention something about watching the food network they always chime in with, "Don't you just love that channel?" But I am also achingly aware of the fact that there are others out there who (gasp) do not watch the Food Network and think it is weirdly crazy for someone who rarely** cooks anything from scratch to watch cooking shows.

* I love Good Eats! I love Alton Brown! The man should sell T-shirts. I would buy one.

** By rarely, I mean never. Never ever.

I admit that I watch Rachel Ray. And even though I find her extremely annoying what with her "EVOO" and abundant use of the word(?) "sammy" when referring to sandwiches, I love the way she can throw a delicious and nutritious meal together in 30 minutes. (She's got talent people, talent.) (And I may be just a tinge sarcastic.)

I was watching her show the other day and noticed that she was saying the words "big flavor" an awful lot. A lot, like every time she mentioned an ingredient, a lot. It was all about "big flavor" and how much "big flavor" she could add. Also, "big flavor." So now it's stuck in my head and whenever I eat something very flavorful I'm repeating the words "big flavor" to myself. It's like a Pavlovian response. Kinda.

Today my "big flavor" was queso dip. Spicy Taco Bell queso dip eaten with Tostitos corn chips. I know, it's the epitome of high class around here, isn't it? So queso dip and corn chips while the kids nap and I sit here catching up on my email. And even though I am full of chips and dip, I continue to eat more because my tongue is just starting to really tingle and I like the whole so-spicy-my-mouth-is-on-fire feeling. (Yes, I am crazy. No need to tell me so.) All the while "big flavor" is rolling around in my head.

And now, folks, I am sweating from the spiciness and crazy from the Food Network.

Also, "BIG FLAVOR" could very well be the title of a drinking game. Double shots every time she says "EVOO".


Edited to add: Oh my God, y'all - he does sell T-shirts! Why Alton, you are so smart!

Links.

Amalah linked to this post yesterday over at Mom's Daily Dose and I knew I had to share it with you. It had me laughing my head off. So here it is: Lunch, by Miss Doxie. Go read. And for the love of God, if you aren't already a regular over at Miss Doxie, read her blog. She is funny, people. Funny!

I'm withdrawn.

I had such a nice weekend with my family. We were (mostly) feeling better and the weather was beautiful and we didn't have anywhere we had to be or anything we had to do. So we enjoyed ourselves. Which was nice.

I've been drawing back into myself lately - withdrawing, if you will. It's a process that will occur with me from time to time. Usually it happens during a time when things are stressful, but sometimes, like now, it's during a time when I'm trying to make a decision.

I've gone to both ends of the spectrum in my decision making thoughts. I though I had finally gotten a grip on myself and told myself to "buck up, camper," only to become fickle and decide the total opposite. I've gone from deciding I'm going to do it, to deciding that I'm not. And then back again.

When the decision effects more than just me, it becomes hard. When it effects others outside of my family, it makes it even harder. When I can place myself in the person's shoes who would be effected by my decision, it seems cruel to deny them. It seems like a personal rejection. But if I place myself in my family's shoes - or even another person who is in my situation - then it seems practical to decide not to do it. It seems like a very smart decision to make.

My problem is that I'm seeing it from both sides too often, and it's making me go back and forth. It's making me capricious.

My husband is truly sick of hearing about it. He's reached the point where he just wants me to tell him when I have finally made up my mind. He doesn't want to hear the angst anymore. Being the wonderful husband he is, he has made it very clear that he supports me whatever the outcome may be. "It'll be okay," whatever I decide.

But I think that all the support may have made it harder for me to decide. If I had someone pushing me in one direction, it would give me the extra oomph I need to either go with the pushing - or fight against it - thereby making a decision by default.

Sometimes I do just wish someone would decide for me. Because I'm scared of being responsible for making everything go bad. That's really what the problem is: I don't want to ruin it all.

Back from the dead.

We've recovered from the flu. Mostly. We've still got coughs and stuffy noses, but we're now upright and walking. And that's a good thing.

I haven't been posting, I've been toying with ideas instead. I've thought about moving out of Blogger and going on over to a regular old .com of my own. And I'd also like to do a little more with things. Do things differently, I don't know... I'm just toying with the idea, mind you. I could change my mind in the next few minutes because that's how I roll.

But I'll be back soon. I've still got to upload my daughter's birthday pictures from last week, and I think I've got a lot to tell y'all. That is, if I still remember any of it when I do finally get around to writing...