Kooky Google fun

Okay, if you're bored...no, even if you're not. Do this:

Go to Google.

Type in "asshole" and hit "I'm feeling lucky"

Then turn it up, dude.

Okay, even if you're conservative, it's still kinda funny. And hey man, if you can't laugh at yourself (or who you voted for), then who can you laugh at? :)

The Wee Prince

Since I'm sharing, I want everyone to see all this cuteness. HG sent the sweater. :)

The Drama Princess

Hey, it beats yelling "sing out Louise".

Feminism? Out the window.

Girlchild wanted to play beauty shop this weekend. I was already getting made up to go out, so I sat her up on the bathroom counter and gave her the royal treatment. Being a girly girl myself, I loved applying makeup and curling her hair. She did look stunning. Of course I'd never let her leave the house looking like that, nor would I even approve had we had any people in the house except me, Jer and the baby. I may have fun with the pretty little thing I created, but Pageant Mom I am not.

Then we tried on the Easter Dress. Which, since we don't attend church is also the birthday and summer event dress. Shoes and headband, too. Stunning. Of course, I must follow my compliments with how very funny and smart she is, as well. Don't want to send the wrong messages, right? :/

She looks at completed makeover in the mirror. Puckers lips, big smile. First thing out of her mouth? Mom? Can we call Porter and have him come over??

Dear God. A siren, a vixen, a woman honing her "wiles". And not quite five yet.

I think I will put my hands over my ears, rock and sing to myself until she passes her teen years.

Better yet, I will refuse her razors until she's 20, make her wear out of fashion footwear, and only play her Indigo Girls albums.

Who am I kidding? She'll still grow up coy, charming, and flirtatious. She'll just be a lesbian.

Le Sigh

My son has decided it is time to wean. This makes me a bit happy and a bit sad. I wanted to make it to a year with him, as I had so many problems nursing the Girlchild that we stopped at six weeks. And I will probably technically make it to a year with him, since we're still going through the motions twice a day, just to do it slowly. So as not to cause undue pain on either of us.

I thought I'd be rejoicing when this day came. I mean, soon I can start wearing REAL bras again, ones with NO snaps, clips or other weird release mechanisms. I am no longer the sole food provider, and maybe I can sleep a bit better, what with no leaking and no bricks on my chest should he miss a feeding. I even heard that once you stop nursing you may lose that extra five pounds evolution gave you to keep your milk supply up.

But it also means my baby boy is growing up. He'll be eleven months old next weekend, and I can't quite wrap my brain around the fact that this is the last time I'll have a nursling. A baby that *needs* me this much. Oh, they will both need me, for years to come and even into adulthood (Hell, I called my own mom today and whined about all kinds of things). But he will never look at me quite this way again. As *thee* one. The best one, the only one, the one he must have to live and breathe. And that makes me sad.

But he'll always be my baby boy.

And no woman will EVER be good enough for him.

EVER.

Gee thanks, honey.

Lying in the tub last night, in my every other night ten moments of privacy to bathe and read a book, my husband comes in and sits down on the toilet lid, and just looks at me.

Looking up from my book, I ask "did you want something?" (Read: why are you bothering me, when I have all of ten minutes to myself every day?)

He answered, no. Just hanging out.

Fine, so I go back to reading my book.

Two minutes later, I look up. He's now staring at me. Somewhere in my middle region, below the eggplant boobs and above the mess of stretchmarks below the navel.

Alright, so the bathroom lights aren't the most flattering. And I'm all squished down in the hot water, leaving my head, this bullshit-it's--nine-months-up-nine-months-down belly, the aforementioned ruined breasts, and my knees, which may be the only part of me NOT affected negatively by having children, above water. The glisten of the water somehow magically illuminates the Relief Map of Asia I have permanently etched into my midsection. Also? All that fat there? Creates this weird cavern that fills with water. I used to call it a belly button. Now it's become the "swimming pool" that the Girlchild likes to "dive" her fingers into whenever she visits me whilst trying to bathe in peace.

"What you looking at, hon?"

I should know by now I won't get a "you're so beautiful", or hope to hear "sexy" or "hot" from his lips. I can't even expect a "Sorry I knocked you up twice and turned your body into a wasteland, I love you anyway". But I really wansn't expecting this:

"Your belly button. It's not really there anymore, is it?"

"GO AWAY."

Serious.blog.funk.

I promised myself that today I would not utter the name of the Chimp, nor the name of the case I discussed below. I also would not bitch about my kids, my husband, or my weight. Not even in writing.

So, um, my life must be pretty damn boring, because I have nothing else to write about.

Help?

Just when I thought I couldn't hate the guy any more...

Per today's news: President Bush will return to the White House on Sunday to be in place to sign emergency legislation that would shift the case of a brain-damaged Florida woman to federal courts, the White House said Saturday.

That makes me SICK. He can find all of an hour for the 9-11 hearings, takes more vacation and does fewer press conferences than any president in history, and yet he does THIS? For PR, man. And to pay back a few prolife Jesus Freaks.

Honest to God, is 51% of this nation really that blind to what is happening to this country?? What happened to the Republican stance of "less Government" and being hands off in personal affairs?

Abe Lincoln would be so proud. :/

Issues, Issues, everyone's got them...

This living will question is huge right now. So is gay marriage, the environment, and freaking gas prices. I'm up to my neck in issues. The current administration seems to see exactly 180 degrees from where I see things, but whatever.

The other hotspot since last year is the abortion thing. I'm one of those "pro choice" people who wouldn't have an abortion if it came down to it. I think that ultrasound I saw about four and a half years ago cinched it for me. But if my best friend wanted one? I'd support her right to do so, go and hold her hand, and be here to cry on afterward. Like most of the personal issues on the docket right now, I think it should be up to the individual and his/her God to sort out. The government needs to keep it's dirty paws off it.

Where is this going? Oh hell, I wouldn't be the DQM if I didn't ramble a bit before getting to the point.

I have been cast in a show this spring. Called Keely and Du, by Jane Martin, it is the story of a young woman who was raped by her ex and is seeking abortion. On her way to the clinic, she is abducted and sealed away in a basement by a rightwing Christian group, who will keep her and force her to go to term with the baby, as a politcal statement about children of rape and abortion. She forges an unusual relationship with the motherly woman who is to be her nurse/captor/companion throughout the pregnancy. Amazing roles for women.

Not light fare, by any means. I love so many things about doing this piece.

1. It will be a reach for me as an actor. I need to dig pretty deep to find the motivations and sort out the emotions this woman goes through during the course of the show. Many long monologues, the scale of emotions, from panic to rage, to fear, to laughter.

2. The playwright does an incredible job not picking sides of this incredibly polarizing issue. You will walk away not knowing the author's stance on it. IT shows both "sides' equally.

3. As a rabidly pro-choice Christian mother...well...I look forward to the challenge. It will question my morals and my belief system. It will help me rethink and re-examine my thoughts on this issue, especially. It will also help me become more thankful for the strong marriage and beautiful kids I've been blessed with.

Anyway, no matter what your feelings on the issue, if you're in Indy in mid-May, I invite to you come and examine them. Details forthcoming.

Happy Dancing all day long

My mom decided to give me my birthday present early.

Hello, Angel Season Five. Six DVDs full of Spike-y goodness.

I'm complete now. :)

Road Rage in Pictures

So the girl drew me a picture today.

A truck, behind a car, sitting at a stoplight. A quite accurate depiction if I do say so myself. Asking what this was supposed to be, I got this answer:

This is you mommy, driving in daddy's truck. You're behind this car here and the light turned green. You're saying "GO Grandma!! That's your GO!!"

If I could have made it to the 22nd...

...it would have been a whole year since the last wet bed I cleaned up at 3:30 in the morning. Please note the time of this entry. Then go back to my March archives from last year and read all about it. At least this time I'm not 8 months pregnant. I have spent the last half hour laying in bed, trying to get back to sleep, to no avail.

The washer is running, so is the dryer. Guess a pee accident was what it took to get my laundry started this week. And dammit, this was the first night all week I got to bed before ten thirty, praying for 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep.


Thought she was having a nightmare, but found her on the toilet, screaming in agony that she'd had an accident, and her jammies were all wet. Of course, that meant everything else was, too.

First thing on tomorrow's agenda? Waterproof sheet.

In case you thought they weren't listening...

Overheard by my girl this week alone:

"My bad"

"you big liarhead" (this said to Spiderman on Spiderman two, when he tells MJ he doesn't love her)

"are you turning, son??" (said to the car in front of us)

And my personal favorite: when I told her she couldn't have a muffin for breakfast because she ate all the muffins, she told me that she didn't eat "all" the muffins, using her first two fingers of each hand to make quotation marks in the air.

My God, I love that girl.

And *why* is we don't have sex that often anymore??

The man really has two chores in this house. Take out the trash and pay the bills. Okay, so he goes to work to make the money to pay the bills, but I mean actually write the checks and put the envelopes in the mail. Pay the bills. In the summer we add "mow the lawn" to the list, but since it's March first and snowing here, I don't see that as a chore he'll have to soon do.

Bills. They blow. Especailly on one pretty limited income. But I've been doing a good job watching what I spend, and cutting WAAAYYY back on frivolous spending. Of course my idea of "frivolous" is getting two pairs of shoes for the kids at Once Upon a Child in addition to the four or five uniforms REQUIRED by her school, whereas his frivolity includes computers and digital cameras, but whatever. I digress...

Since I've been watching that credit card spending in particular so closely, I opened up the bill when it came yesterday, just to congratulate myself. What the?? A finance charge?? And a $39 late fee?? But we pay our bill fully and on time every month!! But then I remember back to Thanksgiving, when the same thing happened. We went on vacation and the bills went out late, and I had to call the cc company and beg and plead to have it removed and please-we're-really-responsible-people-we-don't use-the-system-nor-shirk-our-responsibilities-can't-you-just-waive-it-this-one-time?

Sooo yesterday, here's me, calling the cc company AGAIN and begging off, proclaiming that our check was dated at least ten days before the due date, and damn that postman anyway, and what the hell is the matter with you people, this is twice now, and I think I should just cancel this card, blah blah blah. Basically blowing off steam at the poor customer service girl, then her supervisor, when actuality I HATE lying, and especially for my husband, who if he had his shit together, would have had this shit paid on time. Perhaps instead of staying up watching the scifi channel, or jacking around on the computer until 1am each night, he could, oh, I don't know, PAY THE FUCKING BILLS ON TIME???

Well, crisis was averted this time. They waived it, but not without the warning that this is the LAST time, and maybe I should start doing an auto check draw plan or something to prevent this from happening. I was *thisclose* to telling them that maybe I will have to look into bitch slapping my husband into doing his ONE of TWO jobs appropriately so I don't have $53.14 on my credit card bill...TWICE...that paid for NOTHING except his laziness.

Of course, this really doesn't make me feel better. What about the statements I haven't been opening this last year? I already feel that I take the lion's share of responsibility in this house. And really only since becoming a stay at home mom. Why exactly is that? Guilt that I don't actually have to DRIVE to work and he does? Because aside from the fact he wears suits while mine sit in the closet, that's where the differences in work end on a daily basis. Then five o'clock rolls around and my job just keeps going. So now I need to watch over the paying of the bills, too? All the while regularly being ridden like crazy about spending money that we don't have that much of on "frivolity"?

Oh hell no. It stops today. No more guilt. I can just add up my extra spending each month. As long as it doesn't equal $53.14 each month, I'll consider myself ahead.

Why Marketers have a special place in hell

Overheard just this week in my home:

"Mom! If we order the Zoobooks NOW, I get the Elephant issue ABSOLUTELY FREE!"

"We have to ask my doctor about Pediasure RIGHT NOW, so I can grow big and strong!"

"Mommy, can I have Chocolate Lucky Charms next time we buy cereal?" Okay, not so much marketing, but that's just disgusting.

Or perhaps I let her watch entirely too much TV.