My Best Friend

I have the best friend ever

Because she’ll pick me up and drop me off the airport whenever.

Because she’ll totally bug me to buy plane tickets until I do.

Because she’ll let me crash at her place and then feel bad because it’s a mess (as though she hasn’t been messy from the moment I met her).

Because she feels bad her car is a mess when I arrive (as though she ever had a clean car all the time I’ve known her).

Because she’ll feel bad that she invited her friend I don’t know and expect me to be upset (which I wasn’t).

Because she’s always ready for a sushi dinner.

Because she’s crazy into Twilight and New Moon like me.

Because she understands my obsession with books.

Because she took it as her fault that I had digestive issues on my full day of vacation.

Because she felt horrible sending me on errands for her as she worked.

Because she insisted I nap, giving me her office key and the key to a private bathroom.

Because she was willing to watch New Moon twice.

Because she was totally cool going with a mutual friend and another girl she never met before.

Because she made me tea.

Because she felt horrible she missed my birthday months ago.

Because she took me out to breakfast.

Because she took me shopping at the bookstore.

Because she encouraged and insisted I get a planner so I can achieve my dream of being more organized.

Because when we arrived late at the airport and I nearly missed my plane, she wanted take full responsibility for it.

Because she’s totally cool with me crying, whining, ranting, complaining when I need to.

Because she knows me and will call me out on my sh*t.

Because she’s the coolest girl in the world.

I don’t think it’s the plague . . . .

But I’ve been wrong before.  Or maybe I have to stop reading books that talk about plague while the family is sick and I’m pregnant.

Evan has reduced his fever but is trying to cough out a lung, which he generously shared with me.  I spent the night alternating between chills, sweats, and dear-god-I’m-going-to-loose-the-baby.  I’m sure the last one is overreacting a tad.  Yesterday I sat on the couch like a zombie with a little drool hanging out of the corner of my mouth.  When the boys decided they only needed an hour and half nap, I packed up and went to my parents, which is something I’m selfishly contemplating right now.  Why is it when someone is the least bit sick, The Husband comes down with an illness that should have him quarantined or at least waited on hand and foot by his wife?  Escaping to the parents’ house is looking better and better.

There was this great post . . .

It would have been brilliant.  Ok, stellar.  Ok, entertaining.  But Evan is shooting toward a 104, which has sent The Husband into quite a panic.  Guess where he’s been for all the other illnesses.  Any ways, I’m playing doctor mom, though The Husband is questioning my credentials after I allowed Evan to sleep in his “hot” bath water.  But I assured The Husband that bath water at 99 was cool to someone running a body temperature closer to a werewolf than a little boy, who reminded me to call his teacher to tell her he was sick.  Then I also assured him that I was watching Evan closely, but that the poor guy was finally comfortable and exhausted.

With that said, I want to tell all my readers how honored I am that you still come around even though my writing has been a little sporadic.  Yesterday was the first day I didn’t feel sick.  Today is the same.  Let’s not jinks it until we’re a week out.  But to those who are making comments, you rock my world, even if I haven’t been replying as usual.  I assure you I’m reading you all, except I’m on my phone, so I’m not commenting on any one’s blog.  I’m so lucky to have such great readers and to read so many great blogs.

Stay tuned because  . . . Sean knows he’s in trouble the minute he does something . . . Evan knows the power of his own looks and intelligence . . . I’m opening the floor to discussing parenting other parents’ bratty kids . . . . And how The Husband went insane during the pregnancy with Evan.  Fun times.

Stupid Computer Magic

When my husband gave me a refurbished laptop for Valentine’s Day, I was upset over what he spent because we were suppose to be saving and I cooked him a turkey meal.  But soon that laptop won me over as I could customize the background, keep my desktop clean, write when he worked, and even enjoyed working in the dining room instead of the hot office.  I loved that computer.

Then it gave me a blue screen telling me that I installed some hardware wrong, but I hadn’t installed any hard ware.  Then last night it made some sort of knocking noise as it sat idle on the dining room table, waiting for me to return.  I tried to shut it down but ended up shutting it down by the off button because it wouldn’t listen to me.  Today it told me a file was corrupted and refused to move on to opening up any programs.

I’m depressed.  I’m angry.  I only had this computer for six months.  I had been meaning to copy the files.  I never did.  I needed to return to my craft blog this weekend, but now I can’t.

Yeah, I’m pissed. 

I’m so pissed that this is all the post I’m writing.  I’m turning to reading to cheer me up.

Oh, and Mom Blog Network.  You’re on notice.  You better start posting people’s posts, so I can vote for them again.

Congress, you’re on notice too.  Stop playing politics and fix stuff.  We know you can do it.  It’s what we pay you to do.

Pundits, you’re on my sh*t list.  Stop scaring everyone with stupid misinformation.  Obama’s an American.  They’re not setting up death councils.  There are too many real subjects to argue and debate about.  Try that.

Computer dude that built my computer, you better fix it for free. It’s been less than six months.

Computer fairies, please fix my laptop.  I’ll leave you cookies.

Taking the cake

Remember way back when I had Evan’s birthday party, and I broke my camera, but I promised to show pictures of that cool cake my mom made?  Yeah, I forgot too.  But since I’m spending the next couple days busy with the BFF and then driving I figured I would post those cake pictures.  I REALLY have to find time to do my craft blog again.  Stupid trips.

Mmm. Cake. My mom rocks.

 

Those cake decorating skills are not genetic

Picture This

Inspired by Gibby over at LOST in Suburban Bliss, I took this picture a couple weeks ago, where my car bakes outside the garage, where my husband’s car basks in the coolness.

Welcome to Hell. But at least there's no humidity.

I took this after five minutes of driving to my parents’ house.  I think we found the solution to global warming.  Now if the governments of the world would just pay for gas, car upkeep, and time, I’ll be happy to drive around, cooling the earth.  Don’t thank me; just build many statues in my honor and pay me a comfortable salary when I erase a hundred years of warming.

Wow. Now it's so much cooler. Almost enjoyable.

So, Gibby, a 100?  I feel so sorry for you.

 

I’m Leaving on a Jet Plane

This Saturday my brother is strapping on the ball and chain and repeating sacred words outside in 40% chance thunderstorms at a place that he is paying too much to be at.  (Lady K, if you read this, I’m not judging; I was just more laid back and uncaring about my wedding.)  Where is this blessed event taking place?  I’m glad you asked.  It’s in New Hampshire.  It’s a four hour plane ride, which starts at 11am, stays in Dallas two hours, and then gets us into Boston at 9:30 pm.  Then we have an hour and a half drive to our hotel.  I’m going on the record to say The Husband is responsible for the flight arrangements, or really his admin assistant is.    

The admin assistant is also responsible for the seating arrangements as well.  The first leg will be The Husband and Evan and Sean and me.  From then on it will be the boys and I; while, The Husband will be a row in front or behind or two rows away.  I wonder how much it would cost for me to upgrade.

Not that I’m worried.  I used to fly with Evan all the time before Sean was born.  I’ve got a portable DVD player, DVDs, and earphones.  I have books, coloring books, sketch pads, crayons, pencils, food, toys, prizes.  Yup, I’m one prepared Mama.  Woe to the flight attendant that tries to separate my bag from me.  So if you here about a plane doing an emergency landing because of a mom beating the crap out of a flight attendant, that’ll be me.  I’ll totally do a shout out when I’m interviewed on the morning news.

“Well, Diane, I had everything I needed to keep my boys occupied when the flight attendant told me she would stash it to the rear of the plane.  I was reading a couple of my favorite blogs at the time like Bad Mommy Moments, Lost in Suburban Bliss, Inktopia, Parenting by Dummies when the flight attendant took it when I told her no, thank you.  I had to stop reading The World According to Me to tell the woman my kids will tear this plane up if you don’t give me that bag. “

Hmm, I have a REALLY LONG favorite blog list.  Maybe I’ll just repeat my blog roll.

Apparently I can also take as much juice, water, and milk with me because I’m taking a toddler.  Or at least, that’s what the FTA website says.  I wonder if they’re going to be real hardasses like they are at the OC airport or the Maui airport.  (Maui, four security checks; like anyone flying out of Maui wants to die.)  So if you here about a mom arrested in Boston or Tucson airport for security reasons, that’ll be me. 

“Well, Chris, I told the security officer that I was allowed to bring juice.  I showed him the guidelines that I printed out from the FTA website (not to self, totally print out those guidelines).  Then I told them that there was no way it was anything explosive because it would have eaten through the cardboard.  I should have been more polite, but I was trying to get through so I could read Mothering, Not Drowning, Naptime Writing, Unruly Helpmeet, and The Momoplex before I got on the plane.  In hindsight I wouldn’t have screamed ‘Do you really think if I wanted to bomb a plane I would do it with my own kids on it especially since I have medic-crap I forgot to take it today.’”

I really have to work on my shout outs.

Because we’re lugging two car seats, two boys, a huge diaper bag, a wimpy umbrella stroller, a backpack Evan’s suppose to carry, two monkey leashes, I figured I should leave the laptop behind, since The Husband is bringing his.  Unfortunately, he’ll be working on his when I would normally be blogging.  I have my Blackberry Storm, which I will use to read you all, but I probably won’t be able to comment unless I drug his tea with sleeping pills.  Just think of me as a guardian angel watching you or maybe more like one of the fifty readers who never comments.  Since I’m totally anal about my responsibilities (or I just can’t bare to see my stats drop), I plan on scheduling posts.  My problem is I’ll miss you all.  I’ll miss you so much I’m debating on taking up Twitter just to hear you all talk.  My bff is begging me not to go to the dark side.

Now I’m off to read before I have to pack and clean and run and get the Lunchables I left in my parents’ fridge.  If you have any advice, please leave it.  I’m totally planning on checking my blog Just One Last Time before we leave for the airport tomorrow.

Random, that’s me

Some days you have to be random.  Today is my day.  Because really I’ve been random all week.  Like when I write and read.  I’ve been spending the week at my parent’s house during naptime, working on sewing a dress to wear to my brother’s wedding.  Every day brought a panic attack as I stared at the material, knowing I can’t cut straight or sew straight.  All I have to do is add the ribbon, the straps, and the zipper.  Then I can figure out a hairstyle for an evening, New England wedding held at a Victorian mansion.  Right.

Maybe some of you noticed there weren’t any July 4^th crafts.  That’s because I’ve been too busy planning for a birthday party July 5^th, which means I’ve been running errands every day like a crazy woman.  As it is, I held off present shopping as long as I could, hoping the husband would be in town to share in the joy.  No such luck.  Again today I’ll be gone during my normal blogging and reading hour.

I meant to write this all last night.  But the monsoons are here.  (Or at least what we call monsoons.)  I love thunderstorms.  It’s like God and sex rolled into one, and I can enjoy it fully clothed.  Last night while I tried to catch up on the blog reading after bedtime, I kept hearing the massive thunder rattling the windows, lightening flashing through the sky.  (Don’t worry I was on an unplugged laptop.)  The storm called to me, so I went out to see what was happening, only to find the world was holding its breath.  The storm flashed around me at a perfect three miles all around.  The Eye.  I watched for a half an hour as the storm just sat, flashing, hollering, being absolutely beautiful.

Now I really should go as breakfast is done.  The boys are running loose.  I have a room or two to vacuum, dishes to do, a shower to take.  Then it’s shopping.  Read ya all soon!

Spam, like flyers on windsheilds

I get spam here and there.  Not a lot.  Some is just gibberish from some computer in Eastern Europe or China.  Others are links to other site, trying to boost their internet rating (because for some reason I’ve got a really high Google rating.  Weird).  Surprisingly I don’t get a lot of Viagra or porn spam, which I find weird because I talk about penises an awful lot on this blog.  Perhaps, I talk too much about penises on this blog, but that’s really not my fault.  Evan is still potty training.  If you, like my husband, think I only talk about penises to get more clicks, I have to point out the crafts get WAY more hits than anything written in The Penis Rules. 

But all that changed this week when some how the spam computers picked up my post titled A Discussion of Rolls and Dresses, which must mean my readers and I are just dying to see nude celebrity pics. Dying. 

First off I’m totally off the radar when it comes to celebrities.  Sure, I know the big ones, but all those B-listers  (Yes, if you’re on a reality show, you are not on the A-list) just get jumbled in my head.  So I had to turn to the internet and my baby brother to find out who these people.

Kim Kardashian.  Who the hell is this chick?  I’m still not sure.  Why is she famous?  Why should I care to see her naked?

Rihanna.  I recognized the name only because she had a horrible hairstyle last week, and Yahoo had to show everyone.

Miley Cyrus.  Eww!  She’s a kid.  And those pictures are fakes.  No one is that stupid to throw away her career to do a naked shoot.  No one.

Daniel Radcliff.  Right, I never read the Harry Potter books or seen the movies, so I was like who.  Then I looked it up and realized “right, the kid did a nude scene on stage to break the Harry Potter stigma.  I wonder how that worked out.”

Then finally, I could click a link to see teen nude pics, which would be tempting if I wasn’t so sure these would be of Girls.  Even if it were Boys, then I would have laughed my ass off like I did when I say my first Playgirl.  Insert: reminiscing giggle.

So in conclusion: I took a moment to talk about nude pictures over penises; spam sucks; and I wonder which word cued the spam computers, discussion, rolls, or dresses.

A quick, oh so quick, note

A quick morning post to say that I have no idea if I’ll actually write a real post later.  It’s going to be 102 today.  One hundred and two degrees, people!  And my baby brother has invited us to take shelter at my parents’ pool.  (He can do this because my parents are still out of town until this afternoon.)  So I’ll be over there.  But first it’s time to do a little birthday shopping for the pickiest person I know.  Is it wrong to give your spouse a gift certificate when you know he’ll never remember to use it?  What?  We’re out of bread already!  But I just bought some . . . . Oh, it has been a while.  I might as well get the pound cake for the petit fours for the bridal shower on Sunday while I’m at it.  Oh a text from the BFF.  What’s she doing us so early?  Right, that pesky job thing.  Apparently she’s ordering me to the doctor’s today with the threat she’ll catch the next plane here to drag me to one if I don’t go on my own.  She’s right.  Nine days with a sore throat is too long, but honestly, I thought it was due to allergies at first.  It also goes to prove that I haven’t gotten The Look down yet.  Does any one have pointers?  Ok, I’ve got to vacuum before the boys destroy the main room, which by the sounds of it, they are nicely on their way.  How cute is this?  Evan woke me up with the doctor kit, trying to make me feel better.  Boy, I love stream of conscious writing.