Archive for March, 2007

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.



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.


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.