grasping for objectivity in my subjective life

YooHoo Friends Giveaway: Milly The Pinkest Kitten.

2010-07-30T04:00:11-07:00

Ashley and I took Ali and AJ to the mall the other day, and while we were there, let them enjoy their traditional play time at the toy store.

Of course, as they always do, they immediately went for the YooHoo and Friends display first, and began playing with all of the different adorable and furry creatures. There’s something magnetizing about all of their cuteness, for sure!

YooHoo and friends are made by Aurora World Inc., who just released a new and super-girly friend: Milly, The Pinkest Kitten:

The super-soft and cute Milly comes several different varieties, all certain to thrill any little girly-girl.

Milly Wannabes are dressed as a Princess, Fairy, or Ballerina, Milly Birthday Girls are holding a cupcake or a balloon, and Milly Cupcake Carriers come with their own scented basket to carry Milly around in:

All of these can be bought in Aurora’s gift shop.

If you would like to win one of two of these adorable pets for a girly-girl in your life, simply comment here to enter!

You can earn up to four extra entries if you:

Become a fan of Yoohoo and friends on Facebook or Twitter

Subscribe to OR Follow my blog

Follow me on Twitter OR Facebook

Tweet, blog, OR Facebook about this giveaway

(be sure to leave separate comments for your extra entries.)

Best of luck! This giveaway is open until Monday, August 9th. The winner will be randomly selected and posted on my giveaway winners page on Tuesday, August 10th.

Disclosure: I received a review product for this giveaway. I did not receive any other compensation for this giveaway, and my opinions are always my own.

The First Step is Admitting That I Have a Problem.

2010-07-28T13:00:00-07:00

If you are a Mom like me that has found quite a bit of lethargic pleasure in renewing your love of coloring thanks to having a coloring-aged-kid (even if you are also, like me, a serial crayon breaker), THEN YOU MUST GO TO TARGET RIGHT NOW. You have no idea the level of satisfaction – nay, ecstasy - that awaits you.

In their school supplies section, Target has these awesome pocket folders in various designs at the very-affordable-for-the-hours-of-~~obsession~~-entertainment-they-will-bring-you-price of 2 for $1.50:

Not only are the designs totally coloring ready,

but the texture of that hard, slick, thick cardstock colored on with a pack of Crayola skinny markers is simply and indescribably glorious.

You just might spend two days, coloring feverishly, until your folder looks like this:

And you put down your obsession for a time (to do things like feed your child, do the laundry, and bathe), even though you can hear back side of the folder, calling your name and beckoning you to come enjoy your coloring pleasure…

And even the inside flaps.

But alas, you need to let your bruised marker-holding-finger rest.

The best part of this addiction is (unlike my last addiction of the Angry Birds iPhone game which HAS to be the most addictive app substance on the planet), your kid will THINK you’re doing all of this coloring to spend time with them, and will be glad to color with you:

And your husband may even join in the fun:

But, of course, your coloring needs may last much longer than said child or husband’s, so husband will go back to playing Angry Birds (because it takes husbands longer to beat the game than it does us wives), and your child will entertain herself with other things, like trashing the entire house…

Or working on subliminal messages…

(No, that doesn’t say “Bad Mommy”. . . . it says “Daddy Mommy” – it’s just that two of the D’s are stacked.)

(I hope.)

So. Go. Now. Fulfill your destiny as a colorer. And if you don’t already have them, pick up a pack of skinny Crayola Markers while you’re there. You’ll thank me later…with your bruised fingers.

NO, this post was NOT sponsored by Target or Crayola. Just by my bruised fingers.

The Lion of Her Skirt: Case Closed.

2010-07-27T13:00:02-07:00

I really thought we would never solve the mystery.

But, since every child’s goal is to be as entirely unpredictable as possible, it was solved in less than 24 hours of my post.

My parents stopped by on Monday for a little while (apparently they were going through Grandkid withdrawals), and since they had read my blog post the day before, they asked Ali about it.

(I rolled my eyes at their naivete, seeing as how I had already thoroughly interrogated my child on multiple occasions.)

“Is Daddy the Lion of your Skirt?”

“Yes! He IS the Lion of my Skirt!!”

“But what does that mean?”

And then, in the exact same exasperating way that Ali walked for the first time for them, despite our months of desperate attempts and in-depth training that she completely ignored, she gave a perfectly clear and precise response.

“Because sometimes, he takes my skirt, and puts it on his head, and pretends to be a lion.”

As she said this, a vague memory surfaced in my mind…one night, about a month ago, during play-before-bedtime, Chris took Ali’s beloved Tutu,

and placed it around his face, giving him a full head AND mane of sparkling tutu hair, and proceeded to pretend to be ... a lion.

Roar.

Her Daddy is, indeed, the Lion of her Skirt.

The Possible Dawn of the SUVan?

2010-07-26T13:00:01-07:00

About a year ago, I wrote an open letter to all car manufacturers.

I asked for something that didn’t yet exist, but that was desperately needed for us new (and somewhat egotistical) generation of Moms - an SUVan.

Just like those that grew up in station wagons didn’t want to buy a station wagon when they became Moms (hence the rise of the Minivan), many of those of us who grew up in minivans shudder at the thought of owning one ourselves.

I know that not everyone feels this way, and I have the utmost respect for those who can rise above the minivan-gag-reflex (because the minivan, without question, most definitely has amazing superpowers that I am positively jealous of), but I am sure that I personally would instantaneously age by 10 years the day I drove a minivan off the showroom floor.

(Although does ANYONE actually drive a car off the showroom floor? It seems rather fraught with liability issues on the car dealership’s part…but it sounds really exciting.)

ANYWAY, just when I thought that none of those car manufacturers paid me ANY attention at all (a terrible tragedy of injustice), a new automobile started to catch my eye: The Ford Flex.

The Flex seems to have everything I requested in my letter: low to the ground like a minivan but without losing the definitive shape of an SUV, a minivan-length interior, and a definite edge to it that would make me feel like I was not compromising my anti-minivan convictions.

Granted, I’m not typically a Ford-Type girl (I tend to be attracted to the Honda/Toyota types), but if Ford is the only one that pays attention to me, well, flattery gets you everywhere.

Maybe all of this car interest is because I’m finally nesting. After all, a Mom’s nest-on-wheels is quite as important as her nest-at-home.

And, Chris can’t really get onto me for nesting, because he is absolutely overcome with nesting-for-his-male-child plans, and has already given me a schedule of which I must make room-decor decisions so that he can paint the walls of the nursery for me before the full advent of football season.

So, I mentioned my newfound interest to Chris, who, unbeknownst to me, had also been paying attention to the Flex – because he found them to be quite the most ghastly new car on the road.

Oh.

And I realized: This is the type of vehicle that is so new and so different than anything else out there that it is bound to be polarizing. Everyone is going to hate it or love it.

So what do you think? Hate or Love?

Is it the answer to those of us who quest for a Non-Minivan Minivan?

Don’t worry about my feelings – I’m certainly not buying one anytime soon.

(Unless Chris pushes me too much on that room decor schedule…)

I’m thinking a nice Mediterranean Blue would be nice:

Although I think Ali would have other plans:

Okay. Besides the Fuchsia, love it or hate it? Cast your vote – after all, it might help shape the further revolution of the SUVan.

A Peel Off The Old Onion.

2010-07-25T15:15:59-07:00

Chris is known for his deep and sometimes murky analogies. They’re easy to get lost in, but if you find your way through their maze, you will find yourself stunned at their depth, and at how all of a sudden, they can actually make sense.

I like watching faces when he periodically teaches our Sunday School class – counting how many what-in-the-world-is-he-talking-about looks versus the wow-he-is-soo-deep-and-right faces, and watching them change back and forth…repeatedly.

His most famous (and made fun of) analogy is most definitely The Onion of Purity.

Although it made perfect sense to me (maybe that’s why he married me), our entire small group was completely and utterly befuddled by it, and never cease to tease him about his complex onion.

(Although some of them DID say that it made more sense after I translated it for them.)

(Maybe THAT’S why he married me.)

Anyway, it appears that Ali has inherited her Father’s gene for deep analogies, but her ability to explain them has not, however, grown in yet.

(Nor has my ability to interpret them.)

Ali walked up to Chris and, in the most I’m-telling-you-something-so-loving-and-genuine-that-it-will-change-your-life voice, said,

“Daddy, You’re the Lion of my Skirt.”

Chris thought he misinterpreted her three year old enunciation.

“What, baby?”

With loving and adoring eyes, she repeated, “You’re the LION of my Skirt!”

“I’m the Lion of your skirt?”

“Yes, that’s right. You ARE!!”

He looked down at the shorts she was wearing…. “Huh?”

“You know…you’re the lion of my skirt.”

Later, we asked her to elaborate…

“What does it mean that Daddy is the Lion of your Skirt?”

“It means that he just IS the Lion of my Skirt.”

“Right. What does that mean?”

“It means he’s the Lion. Of my Skirt.”

“That’s…so sweet, honey.”

I think they need to go ahead and let her start teaching Sunday School right away.

Inescapably Incompatible.

2010-07-23T07:00:20-07:00

Dear Grandfathers of Newbie,

In our child naming process, we both recognized that it was somewhat of a family tradition to name male children after their Grandfathers. You both did it with at least one of your sons, and I’m sure that you would have loved a Grandson to be named after you. And after all, we love and respect you both, and would be honored to pass that on through a naming homage.

And, although I know that you are both fairly easygoing Granddads, I wanted to give some sort of explanation as to why we didn’t represent you in the naming of our son.

(Granted, Dad, I know that James is one of your overly-ambitious count of THREE names, but every male in our family has the name James, so I figured you weren’t too touched by that gesture.)

Now. Back to your names.

You see, there was a problem.

You’re simply not compatible as Grandfathers.

If we had chosen each of your middle names as homage to you, our son would have been lucky enough to be named...Michael Vic.

At least he would lose the “k” at the end, but it's certain that people would still think of a dog-torturing football player every time they laid eyes on our son, instead of how amazingly adorable he will surely be.

But an even worse option would have been to combine your first names.

That’s right, our son would have been lucky enough to possess the double whammy of ALL boy names.

The be all and end all of cruelty in parenting.

The Big Kahuna, if you will.

He would have been…Peter Richard.

And no one needs to start off in life with a “Kick Me” sign on their back THAT big.

So I do hope that you understand our choices, and understand that it wasn’t us, it was you.

Sincerely,

Rachel, Chris, and a much happierly named Noah.

Turn Your Photos Into Masterpieces – Giveaway!

2010-07-22T06:56:14-07:00

I’m addicted to my camera, if you haven’t noticed. I love trying to capture the moments of our everyday lives. And, although of course the quality of my pictures doesn’t come close, the expressions and “naturalness” of my photos are often much better than would be captured in a photo studio, mainly because my kid is always going to be more comfortable with me than any photographer.

So, I take my pictures, then I use my minimal Photoshop talents to try and “fix” my lack of photography skills, which some may argue just mess them up more.

So I was pretty excited when I heard the idea behind a new site called Editingg: with very easy user interface and affordable pricing, they will take your home photos and make them look like they were professionally made.

They can remove distracting objects, blur the backgrounds to make the foreground stand out more prominently, deblur a photo, touchup and enhance faces, and in general make those edits that really make your photo stand out.

They have three levels of service – Basic for $6.99, Premium for $14.99, and Advanced for $24.99, depending on what you want done to your photo. After editing, they just send the photo file back to you, and it is yours to print or publish as you like with no copyrights involved, unlike professional photography.

Editingg has given me two packages of 5 Premium edits each to give away to two of you!!! Each package is worth $75, and is a great way to enhance your photos.

To show their capabilities, they took a few of my photos and worked their magic.

I loved this photo, but it is washed out and the background is too prominent:

When I tried to edit it myself, I ended up over-exposing Ali’s face by over-brightening the picture:

Editingg took the photo and made it perfectly balanced: a faded out background, Ali’s eyes bright, and her coloring as it naturally should be.

This family photo was taken of us at Easter, but it was very shadowy. No matter how hard I tried to edit it, I couldn’t get rid of the shadows without messing something else up:

I LOVE the version from Editingg – SUCH an improvement!!

I’ve always loved this pose and expression on Ali, but my refrigerator and messy dining room table always stood out to me more than Ali:

Editingg blurred the background, fixed the coloring, and made her image stand out much more prominently:

I’m really impressed with their work, and know you will be too!!!

If you would like to win one of two packages of 5 photo edits from Editingg, simply comment here to enter!

You can earn up to four extra entries if you:

Follow Editingg on Twitter
Tweet, blog, OR Facebook about this giveaway. If you tweet, please tweet the following: "I just entered to win free professional photo touchups from @editingg! http://bit.ly/editingg “
Subscribe to OR Follow my blog
Follow me on Twitter OR Facebook

(be sure to leave separate comments for your extra entries.)

Best of luck! This giveaway is open until Monday, August 2nd. The two winners will be randomly selected and posted on my giveaway winners page on Tuesday, August 3rd.

Disclosure: Editingg edited four photos for me for review purposes. I received no other compensation for this giveaway. As always, my opinions are always my own.

If Only I Could Have Put a Bag Over That Bag Over My Head…

2010-07-20T13:00:00-07:00

Here in Alabama, certain seasons change a lot quicker than the rest of the country.

For instance, our summers usually begin somewhere around late February….and football season begins somewhere in May.

Okay, maybe not for everyone, but Chris most definitely starts his preparations and excitement at the beginning of the summer…as if he can already smell the field paint and hear the Million Dollar Band.

Last year, his preparations began in May, when he began feverishly planning his new “state of the art” satellite system, which he finished in August.

This year, since he already has his satellite system, he’s not had nearly the outlet for his football energy, but, rest assured, it’s always on his mind.

(That is, when he’s not full-on nesting for his upcoming boy child…which is also getting quite out of hand. But I digress.)

Anyway, all of the football talk has had me reminiscing back to my Junior High days…

The Junior High group at our Church always had a big Alabama / Auburn party, and would have prizes for the best dressed attendee representing each team.

The idea of prizes sounded good to my seventh grade self (forgetting for a second that prizes bought to please a crowd of 75 junior highers rarely pleased any one particular junior higher), and so I asked Mom to help make me a costume.

At that point in my life, I’d probably never watched a single football game, but team spirit doesn’t always have to be about spirit, right?

So Mom, always up for a crafty challenge, had the perfect idea: make me into a giant, junior-higher-sized pom-pom.

That sounded like it would get me a prize, so I agreed.

We bought crepe paper rolls of red and white, gathered up a couple of now-obsolete brown paper grocery sacks, and set to work.

We spent countless hours gluing alternating red and white strips onto the two grocery sacks in heaps of shaking goodness, then fashioned one of the creations into a shirt, and the other into a headpiece that would put Cousin Itt himself to shame. We paired it with some red and white striped pants, and the stunningly dizzying outfit was complete.

The end result looked like the love child of Elmo and Barkley:

(Although I searched tirelessly, there are no pictures to document the actual outfit, most likely because there are very few pictures of me in the seventh grade, due to a raging awkward stage that my parents were merciful enough to only minimally record.)

We finished it mere minutes before it was time to leave for the party, and as I was trying it on, I remembered a very important fact about myself:

I despised – no HATED with every fiber of my twelve year old body – any and all attention on myself – especially in a large group of peers in which I was decisively NOT one of the cool kids.

And I panicked.

I told Mom I couldn’t do it – I just wouldn’t dress up.

And Mom panicked.

No WAY was she going to let me not go through with this – not after our long, hard hours of work, gluing each individual shaker petal on.

I begged.

I pleaded.

I promised to wash the toilet every day for the rest of my life.

No luck. With a cruelty that only a Junior Higher has the emotional capacity to feel, she made me wear it.

I walked into that room, shoulders drooping under my layers of streamers, and, as I feared, every head in the room turned.

There were no other gigantic pom-poms in attendance that night, and I most certainly stood out from the crowd of Cheerleaders and Football Players much like Cady Heron’s Zombie Bride moment in Mean Girls:
I hid in the bathroom as long as I could, and snuck in as the program started, taking the last seat on the back row.

As our Junior High director began the buildup to the winners of the costume contest, I began my prayers. Surely they’d be more effective since I was at church, right?

“Dear God, please let there be a huge injustice in the judging. Please let him play favorites. Anything. Please, please, PLEASE just don’t let me win. Don’t make me walk to the front of that room and have to stand in front of this entire group. Please. Make me invisible!!”

Of course, my prayers were for naught. I won that grand prize of useless football-themed crap and was clearly identified as the freak behind the pom-pom for anyone who was still unsure as to my identity, and bore the shame of the dreaded spotlight of attention being on my very, very awkward self.

And that, my friends, might very well explain my extremely complicated relationship with the sport of football.

Whirlwinds.

2010-07-19T13:24:38-07:00

So, last week.

I’m still trying to catch my breath from it all…

…returning from vacation and trying to get caught up on everything under the sun…

…finding out that I was going to be a Mom of a BOY child…

…picking out a name for said boy child much quicker than we anticipated…

…my dear husband’s birthday (which, by the way, I had his permission to spend the whole weekend celebrating his birthday with him rather than using it to write him an ooey gooey birthday post. But if you feel cheated by that, you can always read last year’s.)…

And, in the midst of all of that, I was also frantically trying to pull 67 tiny details together to be able to go to New York City in three weeks for Blogher!!

I know, I said last year that I would probably not go again this year, but…

I guess the “probably” caught up with me.

Here’s my official excuse list. You see….I got invited to an event at Ralph Lauren that I really wanted to attend, plus I got a partial sponsorship to pay for my trip, plus I’ve really been itching to fly off to a grand adventure one more time before I’m a) too huge to be allowed to fly, or b) the Mom of two kids.

Plus, as a really exciting bonus, I might get to have one of my best friends accompany me on the trip, AND one of our best friends who moved to New York last year might get to meet us and hang out with us, turning the trip into the absolute perfection of a girl’s weekend.

Which, by the way, if my friend CAN’T come, then I’m going to have a problem.

You see, I really want to wear a dress that I already have to the event I’m going to – it still fits, ThanksToReallyStretchyMaterial, but there is no POSSIBLE way that I can zip it up myself. Seriously – it needs a level torque that I just can’t obtain with my arms twisted behind my back.

(And believe me, I’ve tried.)

So, if my friend doesn’t come, I’m either stuck with

a) going to a Ralph Lauren cocktail party with an unzipped dress,

b) ordering room service and saying, “Thanks for the nifty little ketchup bottle. Oh, by the way, can you catch that zipper for me?”,

c) walking three blocks to the main Blogher hotel (with an unzipped dress), tracking down one of my blogging friends who happens to not be at an event of her own (still with an unzipped dress), and asking her to zip me up,

d) buying a new dress (of which, I don’t think I could take the horror of trying to find ANOTHER dress that looks halfway decent on my halfway to delivering a baby body.)

So, if any of you ladies out there are going to be in Manhattan on Thursday, August 5th, and could possibly zip me into my not-made-for-a-nearly-20-week-pregnant-woman dress, I’d really love to jot you down into my itinerary is Dress-Zipping-Up-Back-Up-Plan.

Oh – and while you’re zipping me up, maybe if you could just pray over that zipper so it won’t pop while I’m at Ralph Lauren – that’d be great.

A Newbie Naming Miracle.

2010-07-18T13:05:19-07:00

So, in an ironic twist of wonderful positivity that was wholly unexpected in the case that we would have to pick boy name, Newbie’s name negotiations were nearly over before they began.

It was a very peaceful council. There was no need for a cease fire… no need for marriage counseling…not even the need for begging, pleading, manipulation, or bargaining.

I’m especially surprised by this because I’ve realized in the last week that I just simply don’t like boy names. They don’t excite me, and there’s a very short list that even pique my interest. So when I got a name stuck in my head Wednesday afternoon (after our sonogram) that began to grow on me, I was surprised and intrigued.

Then, Thursday morning during my bible study, I spent some time praying about what God wanted us to name our child, and immediately afterward, I had a whole name in my mind, and it was perfect.

Noah James.

Noah is a great biblical name that, oddly enough considering how high it is on the popularity charts, neither Chris or I personally know anyone with that name. Plus, Noah never did anything REALLY bad. I mean, he got drunk and naked in his tent and therefore caused one of his sons to be cursed from laughing at him, but that's a WHOLE lot better than most of the guys in the bible.

And James, although it is a family name on my side, has an even deeper meaning. Our dear friend, James Price, was killed in a motorcycle accident two years ago. Chris has very much wanted to have James in his son’s name to honor his friend.

After I realized HOW perfect this name was, I immediately started hoping that God would go ahead and send an angel down to Chris, or at least make him unable to speak if he didn’t like it – you know, Zechariah-style.

Since I hadn’t heard report of an angel yet, I sent Chris a simple text: “Noah James”.

(Sometimes Angels come in the form of a text, right??)

And waited.

Finally, a response. “Is that an idea? The beginning of negotiations? A game of some sort? Just wondering…”

“Yes.”

(For this next part, I will need to remind you that Chris and I are totally over-the-top analytical geeks…although I don’t know how you could possibly forget.)

Chris: “Should we rate by numbers? As in, you send a name, my response, rather than subjective ‘it’s ok I’ll think about it’, be objective. Such as on this name, I say ‘8.0’. As in, out of 10.”

Me: “8 out of 10 is as good as it’s ever gonna get. So it’s settled!!! :)”

I was pretty thrilled that I got an 8 on my first naming suggestion, considering our vastly differing naming history, so decided to let him chew on the name for the rest of the day.

And, as I knew he would, he immediately set to work analyzing the name in it’s entirety…

Google searches, to see what else the word “Noah” could mean… Nothing terrible came up….and not even anything terribly interesting…with the possible exception of the National Organization for Albinism and Hypopigmentation.
Searches of a List of all people in history and all celebrities with the name Noah…No mass murderers, and, thank goodness, only one girl – Miley Cyrus’ little sister, Noah Cyrus.
Running it through his extensive criteria for a male name being manly in every way…
Coming up with any possible nicknames and analyzing them for possible trauma…

All of this was compiled, and he prepared a full mental Thesis of Nomenclature Analysis to share with me.

Meanwhile, I was busy trying to convince Ali that this was the perfect name.

(Which was going to be a mighty hard task, seeing as how she was already quite settled on “Prince Charming” for a first and middle name, and was not planning on budging.)

“What do you think of naming Newbie Noah?”

“That’s such a SILLY NAME!!!”

“Why is it silly?”

“Because Noah was an old old old old man!! Newbie is a little baby!!!!”

Then I immediately thought of her only context for the name Noah…

I guess Newbie WOULD look silly with a long gray beard.

So. Back to Chris’ Thesis. We discussed his fully analyzed findings at dinner Friday night, and reviewed both of our iPhone iPregnancy app picks from the top 1000 boy names, just to make sure that we weren’t missing anything.

He finally told me, “I thought about not telling you this because I was afraid it would get your hopes up too much…but when I put in that we were having a boy in my iPregnancy app, the name that the app picked from my list and defaulted to calling Newbie was, indeed, Noah.”

And so there you go. The angel spoke through his iPhone after all.

Top 10 Great Things About Having a Boy.

2010-07-16T13:35:30-07:00

So I’ve been quite busy processing the whole I’m-about-to-be-a-Mom-of-a-child-of-the-Bizarre-Male-Species thing this week.

It’s not that I was opposed to the idea, it’s just that, after 3.5 years of parenting a girl, I somehow had it in my head that we were a sort of “girl-child” family…but no longer.

But, I’ve thought of some benefits of our upcoming new experience, so I compiled them…

Top 10 Great Things About Having a Boy.

10. I might actually get to use that jumbo-sized box of band-aids in my bathroom cabinet that is taking up way too much room, seeing as Ali’s one occurrence of “Blooding her knees” (that she still talks about on a regular basis with great remorse) didn’t really put a dent in them. I could totally use that space for more makeup, after all.

9. I now don’t feel nearly as disturbed at the alarming rate of my body hair growth and regrowth. I can totally blame it on Newbie and his raging boy hormones that are quite unfortunately seeping into my follicles. Also, my odd craving for buffalo sauce makes a lot more sense now….which means that Chris will be QUITE proud of Newbie’s taste buds.

8. Ali won’t have the “I MUST love Alabama Football or my Father will feel like a failure to his precious team” pressure looming over her head. Newbie can pretty well handle that, I bet.

7. I don’t have to feel guilty about the fact that I REALLY wanted a new baby bedding set…whether it was a girl or a boy.

(They’re kinda like maternity clothes – you REALLY get tired of looking at them after a year or two.)

6. Ali will quit being so horribly traumatized when she accidentally catches a glimpse of “boy parts”.

5. I’ll get to buy those nifty Pee-Pee TeePees. I’ve always wanted to need such an awesomely practical tool.

Although I find the Santa Hat ones a little more than disturbing…

And the Wiener Dog ones even scarier…

...but I bet Chris could totally write a whole guest post on ideas for Pee-Pee TeePee designs.

4. Ali’s Thomas Trains will get properly loved and beaten up, as her slightly short-lived and very coddling love affair with Thomas didn’t really give them the love that they deserved.

3. Ali will not ever have to get mad at Newbie for stealing her clothes and jewelry. I really hope.

2. We can totally treat our two kids differently and completely unfairly, because we will have the excuse of “Well, he’s a boy…it’s different for him” or “Well she’s a girl, it’s different for her.”

(Of course, that COMPLETELY cramped my style as a teenager when my brother got to stay out 3 hours later than me (even when I was riding with him and he would have to take me home THEN go back out), but I totally plan on taking advantage of it.)

And the number one great thing about having a boy…

1. When we’re out in public, it will FINALLY be Chris’ turn to do ALL public-restroom-during-potty-training duty.

And that reason alone makes it OH SO TOTALLY worthwhile to have a boy.

NOVICA.com $100 Giveaway!

2010-07-15T13:03:09-07:00

I cannot tell you how excited I am about doing this giveaway. I am absolutely obsessed with this company now!!! When I got an email from them asking if I’d like to do a giveaway, I immediately fell in love with the idea of their site, and then proceeded to quite accidentally spend the rest of the afternoon browsing all of their products.

So this is a disclaimer – prepare to be totally enthralled (for the next few hours) when clicking on these links!!!

NOVICA is a fair trade artisan website that works with National Geographic to identify and give artisans around the world a chance to sell their products online - so they serve as a bridge between artisans around the world and the internet, giving them an opportunity to grow in their art and share their art, something that they might have never otherwise been able to do.

What I really fell in love with about their site were the personal touches. On each item you go to, you are introduced to the artist of that product - both in picture and by their personal story. This site allows you to shop as you would if you were locally visiting their village – with access to their products AND the opportunity to get to know them. It’s absolutely a stunning experience!

NOVICA sells many different product lines, including Home Decor (including some amazing clocks, crosses, and hammocks that I fell in love with), Sterling Silver Jewelry, Earrings, and Necklaces.

A lot of the jewelry is made with precious and semi-precious stones, but the prices are much lower than I find in jewelry stores here. In my searches, I fell in love with the Peridot Jewelry, and ordered a necklace and bracelet, both from India.

I was beyond myself with glee when they showed up in these amazing boxes:

And even more excited when I opened them up and found how beautiful they were:

There was a booklet with each piece of jewelry telling about the artist and products used to make it, and a postcard with a handwritten note from the artist:

Luckily for me, someone also translated their note:

The jewelry is of amazing quality, and I am even more thrilled with it because of the fact that by getting it, I was able to support an artisan in a third world country!

If you would like the chance to win a $100 gift certificate to be used for any product on NOVICA’s amazing site, go visit their site and come back and tell me what you might buy with it! I promise – you’ll be AMAZED at what you find!!!

You can earn up to four extra entries if you:

Tweet, blog, OR Facebook about this giveaway
Follow NOVICA on Twitter or Facebook
Subscribe to OR Follow my blog
Follow me on Twitter OR Facebook

(be sure to leave separate comments for your extra entries.)

Best of luck! This giveaway is open until Monday, July 26th. The winner will be randomly selected and posted on my giveaway winners page on Tuesday, July 27th.

Disclosure: I received a gift certificate that partially paid for the products that I ordered from NOVICA so that I could review their site. This did not affect my opinions in this post – they are, as always, my own.

Newbie Revealed.

2010-07-14T12:13:27-07:00

I promised Ali that she could tell all of you Newbie’s secret…

What…you can’t read that? Have YOU tried to get a three year old to hold a sign and smile at the same time?

Okay…let’s try again…

It is indeed a boy!!!

But don’t mistake her happy expressions for being thrilled with the outcome… that pitchfork-shaped Y was her special touch.

She’s actually quite busy plotting as to how to turn Newbie into a girl.

“When can we go see Newbie on the tv again where she is a girl?”

“We can’t, because Newbie is a boy.”

“But WHEN will she be a girl??!!”

“Um…she won’t.”

“But I want her to be a girl!!!”

I also let Ali call my Mom to tell her the news, and apparently either my Mom is getting quite hard of hearing in her ancientness, or my iPhone speakerphone isn’t so great after all.

Mom: “Hello?”

Ali: “I have a baby brother!!”

Mom: “You got a baby Rabbit?? Seriously?!?!”

Me: “Tell her again, Ali.”

Ali: “I have a baby sister!!”

Mom: “You do!?!??!”

Me, cutting in panickingly, “NOO!!! Ali, tell her right!!”

Ali: “I have a baby brother!!!…….okay I’m done now.”

But despite Ali’s unsureness of a baby of the male gender, I’m excited! It will be a new experience, and I’ve always heard that little boys have a special connection with their Mothers.

On second thought, maybe THAT’S why Ali’s not too excited…jealousy is an ugly thing.

Newbie or Newbette?

2010-07-13T04:00:11-07:00

Tomorrow is The Big Day. The day that we finally get to find out whether I’ve been toting around a boy or a girl for the past 16.5 weeks.

On Ali’s big sono day, being that I was a new and nervous parent, I was slightly more anxious about making sure that everything was all right and in place than with what exactly was in place “down there’.

Although I was absolutely delighted when they told us she was a girl and I could clearly see her very healthy looking self, towards the end of the sonogram, I still had to nervously ask… “So … is everything okay with her?”

And at that exact second, Ali gave us a thumbs up, and held it resolutely (and quite convincingly) for the rest of the sonogram:

“Well, there’s your answer, huh?”

And so began my all-too-typical parenting assumption that my kid HAD to be THE smartest kid in the whole world, EVEN 20 weeks before her birth.

Obviously, Newbie has a lot to live up to on Wednesday. And for the rest of their livelong days.

But more importantly, what is this kid gonna be?

This is your official chance to submit your guess…Is it a Newbie or a Newbette? Or is it just a Newb because he/she decides keep his/her legs firmly crossed in an absolute refusal to let us see the goods, in which case he/she will be grounded for the duration of his/her in utero stay?

Here are the facts as I know them so far:

The Intelligender predictor predicted a girl.
The Chinese baby chart predicted a girl.
My cravings are about half and half same/different than I had with Ali.
I felt unbelievably worse with Newbie than with Ali (I think I can finally safely say that The Period of Misery is over, by the way).
I think I’m carrying Newbie rather low (although I’ve never understood how to tell at this stage, but I can assure you that Newbie is just about to twist my bladder in half, thereby making me have to pee at least twice a minute. Anyone have an extra catheter laying around? Preferably not previously used.)

AND to make the guessing a bit more fun, I’ve even got a prize hanging around: if you guess correctly in your Newbie/Newbette/Newb-ness, you’ll be entered to win a $50 Restaurant.com gift certificate! I’ll pick a random person from the winning group tomorrow and post it on my Giveaway Winner’s Page.

Also, feel free to give any name suggestions you just feel that you MUST share…as I have procrastinatedly delayed The Conversations as far as it is absolutely possible that Chris will allow me to…so they shall commence tomorrow night.

Please send chocolate.

Communal Beach Living.

2010-07-11T15:21:11-07:00

I’ve realized something during our vacation this week: our society has it all wrong. We’re making this parenting thing much harder than we have to. We need to go back to the days of communal living, whenever that was.

Because you know what? Parenting three children with four parents is a WHOLE lot easier than parenting one child with two parents.

So, I haven’t told our friends this yet, but we’re moving in with them.

Here are the top 5 reasons that this co-parenting thing rocks:

5. The kids: they’re endlessly more entertained. I know, I know, I could accomplish this by having more kids. But non-siblings always get along a lot better than siblings anyway.

4. Shift parenting AMAZING. After going to the pool Saturday, we had this miraculously working system WITHOUT any prior organization:

A. Chris Showered, Ashley bathed the older girls, I cooked the older girls dinner, and David fed Tessa.

*** TRADE OFF ***

B. I showered, Ashley managed the older girls' dinner, Chris fed Tessa, David showered.

*** TRADE OFF ***

C. I finished the older girl’s dinner supervision, Chris STILL fed Tessa (she likes eating French-style - very leisurely), Ashley showered, and David cleaned up.

Can you even imagine how much time we saved?? The efficiency was mind-blowing!!!

3. It’s not as lonely. You can split up when splitting up is called for and still have someone to talk to that doesn’t just want to talk about Princesses and Mickey Mouse continuously.

2. Your kids don’t talk back and whine NEARLY as much when their best friend’s parents tell them to do something as when you do.

1. You get to play with new kids at different ages, and aren’t always stuck with your same-ole same-ole kids all the time.

So, if I have my way, here’s our new family unit:

See how happy we all look together???

Not that it has ANYTHING to do with being on vacation or anything...

Now for all of the shameless photos of our trip…

Ali and I got dirty looks at the pool, a three year old and a pregnant woman sharing a “fruity drink”:

I’m going to invent bar cups that say in big, bold letters, “This is a VIRGIN Daiquiri, people, so quit your judgin'!”

In some ways, Ali was braver than I thought she would be in the pools, totally willing to swim without holding onto us (her bravery had nothing to do with her fruity drink - scout's honor)…

But her “jumps” into the pool still looked like a 90 year old lady carefully and achingly stepping into the bathtub.

She and AJ got matching goggles, which got used much more in their efforts to look like their favorite Imagination Mover than in the pool…

The girls had an excellent time pretending and making up games all weekend, including one night at dinner when it was taking an exceptionally long time to get our check…

In an elaborate assembly line, AJ poured the pepper into her now-empty cup…

Passed it across the table to Ali…

Who would then use this building material to build “Pepper Castle”…

And then pass the cup back to AJ for another load.

And we, being the good parents that we are, made the judgment call for the restaurant that they would rather lose this much pepper,

And then a topping of salt, a flag of cracker and a moat of ketchup,

than have two kids running around their restaurant desperately searching for alternative entertainment.

I DID try to teach Tessa a few things, like swimming…

And how not to make such a ginormous mess while eating…

But really, she and I were ultimately way too busy relaxing on vacation to learn anything new.

All of the girls did great together, having fun all the way up to the last minute of luggage packing…

even though they knew that the end was imminent.

But that’s okay – because once we all move into our commune, every day will be vacation!

….errr....right?

The Innocence of Childhood.

2010-07-08T19:32:14-07:00

We arrived at the beach today, and due to some last minute mix-ups, we ended up with a major condo upgrade, thanks to our very hard-working rental agent, who I’m pretty sure did nothing for the last 24 hours except try to get us settled. When we arrived to the 19th floor of our amazing condo, Ali immediately ran to see the view from “the highest I’ve ever been in my whole life!!!”

We ran out to our balcony to see what the condition of the beach was, and were thrilled to see non-oily, albeit algae-ey water, and just a few splotches of oil on the beaches. When we looked again in an hour, the beaches had been completely raked and were spotless:

The girls loved the condo,

loved the pools,

loved each other,

and absolutely loved the beach.

Ali said that this is “the most beautifulest beach I’ve ever, ever, EVER seen!!!”

And really, I couldn’t disagree with her.

I know that my last post about the beach was pretty tragic, but Ali helped me see things from a different perspective today.

Yes, there may be oil, and yes, swimming in the ocean isn’t the best idea right now (although the daily status can be checked to make sure you’re not missing out on any fun), but our beaches are still gorgeous - they’re just as awesome to look at, walk on, and enjoy as ever.

And our favorite beach places to eat at and visit – they are all still there, as memorable as ever, and needing us more than ever.

Cliché though it may be, sometimes a profound perspective can be found to simply look at things through the eyes of a child and enjoy every minute, regardless of what’s looming off the coast.

Chauffeuring Royalty.

2010-07-07T15:22:10-07:00

If you can hear my gasping for breath through this post, it’s because I’m running around the house trying to frantically finish up packing because my hubby has vacation fever and wants to leave tonight instead of tomorrow (which does have the benefit of no-during-nap car rides, so I’m not complaining a bit).

We’re headed down to our beloved, albeit oily, beach with these three princesses:(Ali’s BFF AJ, AJ’s little sis Tessa, and, of course, Ali.)

So there’s sure to be plenty to blog about in the very near future.

(And yes, the parents belonging to the other two Princesses are joining us too. We’re not THAT brave.)

If you’ve been reading long enough, you already know that THIS particular Princess and I…

Have quite the connection.

And to keep up my Baby Whisperer reputation, I absolutely MUST to teach her something new and impressive and quite advanced for her age on our trip.

How to walk?

How to swim?

How to sing Supercalafragalisticexpealladocious?

How to do long division?

(Okay, not that last one, since I’m pretty sure I couldn’t remember how to do long division if the world’s fate depended on it.)

At any rate, we MUST learn something new. I’m open to suggestions, as is she.

What amazing skills should we learn?

Chiggeremedies and Chigger Pie

2010-07-06T13:00:00-07:00

To help make Chiggerade out of our Chiggers, Ali and I made Black&Blueberry Pie with some of our pickin’s…

Ali was especially proud of her butter pat pattern placement:

And, since it’s the first time I’ve ever made a pie quite like this and I changed the recipe around a bit, I didn’t know if I’d royally screwed it up when it came out of the oven looking as bumpy as if it had been bitten by a few chiggers itself:

(And really, there probably were a few chiggers baked into that pie…but what can you do.)

THEN, while it was cooling, it started ~~bleeding~~ losing all of it’s juice. Afraid that I was going to end up with the world’s driest pie, I put a reservoir system in place:

And then drizzled the juice back over the top of my now even more questionable looking pie:

Once I cut it open, though, I realized it was leaking for a reason: it was TOO full of liquid.

Oh well, you live you learn

But, despite the the end affect was QUITE delicious.

There’s really nothing like freshly picked and baked blueberries and blackberries popping in your mouth...and now I need another piece.

(I’ll try to get the recipe up on B-Sides tomorrow.)

Back to Chiggers.

Chiggers are full of lore in the South. Everyone has their opinion, and everyone has their solution.

Although Ali’s doctor just recommended to treat the symptoms with Benadryl, Calamine, and Oatmeal and dismissed any further “treatments” being needed, the rest of the non-doctoral-degreed world has quite another opinion.

It seems that everyone believes (whether true or not, I don’t know) that to get rid of Chigger bites, you must first kill the Chigger.

Chiggers are nearly microscopic little bright red arachnids that live in grass, waiting for their destiny to be fulfilled by a blood-bearing organism walking by. Then, they hop on board, scamper to the warmest spot they can find, and bore their way into their new host’s skin, feasting on their deliciousness as they dig deeper and deeper.

So, according to this theory, you can treat the itch, but unless you kill the bug, it’s going to last until the bug finally engorges himself to death with your tasty flesh.

The most popular theory is to cover the bumps with fingernail polish – supposedly, it suffocates Chiggers like no other.

But there are other theories as well.

There’s a product on the market called Chigarid that supposedly provides superior suffocation of tiny red bugs. But the ingredients of Camphor, Phenol, and Menthol didn’t exactly sound pregnant-woman friendly…or three year old friendly, for that matter.

But everyone has their theory.

My Dad’s suggestion was to pour gasoline on the bites, light them on fire, wait for the chiggers to run out, and stab them with an ice pick.

All of a sudden, Chigarid didn’t sound so bad.

But the most fascinating theory came from one of Chris’ co-workers. Chris was telling him that Ali and I had Chiggers, and his eyes lit up. He got all excited and said,

“Oh. There’s NOTHIN’ in the WHOLE WORLD that feels better than scratchin’ out a chigger!!”

“Uh…what?”

“Scratchin’ one out!!! You get at it with a good fingernail, and you scratch and you scratch … you probably will make it bleed some, but you keep at it. You dig and you dig, and if you can’t get to it good enough (editor’s note: remember that Chiggers especially like warm places), you get someone that really loves you to do it for you. And you KNOW the second you got that chigger out, because it immediately quits itching, and it’s the best feeling of relief in the whole world!! It’s like how good scratching an itch feels, except times a hundred!”

Although I’m intrigued by the idea, just because you CAN do something doesn’t mean you SHOULD. The 80’s taught us this lesson with the “amazing invention” of dying shoes the same color as Bridesmaid Dresses.

But I’ll let you know if I get to scratchin’ and can’t quit until I scratch that chigger right out. I’ll just try and have an ice pick handy to finish the job.

How to Act When They’re Expecting.

2010-07-05T13:00:01-07:00

There’s something about being around a pregnant woman that makes some people lose all sense of proper manners, including (and sometimes especially) strangers. Maybe it’s the pregnancy pheromones wafting through the air….I don’t know. But it’s uncanny, and it only gets worse as the pregnancy continues.

Being only 15 weeks along myself, my level of make-people-rude-pheromones hasn’t gotten high enough to start experiencing major reactions quite yet, but I expect it to kick in any day now.

But, based on my conversations with other pregnant Mommas and past experience, I thought I would write a quick guide, for all of us, of proper etiquette around pregnant women.

If, when around a PW, you start to feel that dizzying feeling of pheromonal attack and feel the need to say completely inappropriate things, just remember this post. Recite the rules. Breathe deeply. And bite your tongue. As hard as possible.

The Rules.

1. Rule of Response to Baby Names: Lie.

Many PW are opting for the “secret baby name” these days. The reason: They’re afraid.

Because people seem to have forgotten the unbelievably important Rule of Response to Baby Names: PW do not, in any way, shape, or form, really want to know what you actually think of their future baby’s name.

All they want to hear is this: “Oh, that’s a great name! I love it!”

If it’s true, awesome. If it’s not true, say it anyway.

I’ve heard of all too many pregnant Mommies that have been tortured – nay - AGONIZED, over the things that people have said about the names that they worked so hard to come up with….

“You’re going to name your kid THAT??”

“Do you not know what rhymes with that name?”

“Oh, my Great Uncle who killed my Great Aunt’s Mother-In-Law was named that. It’s a bad name.”

Or the more subtle… “That’s….an interesting name. It must be a family name?”

People, this is unacceptable.

So let’s practice. You ready?

“I’m going to name my baby Beelzebub if it’s a boy, and Gomer if it’s a girl. They’re both biblical names!”

Now you insert here: “Oh! Those are beautiful names! I’ve always had a fondness for boys named Beelzebub!! And Gomer…that just brings back wonderful Mayberry memories!!”

2. The Just-Because-She’s-Pregnant-Doesn’t-Mean-Her-Personal-Space-Disappeared Rule.

In fact, the PW may desire more of it.

Unwarned and unpermissioned belly rubbing or touching is completely uncalled for. Especially if she doesn’t know your name, or you do a sneak attack where she all of a sudden feels strange hands touching her abdomen before she can associate a face with said hands.

Not cool. It kinda feels like you’re a baby-snatcher-wanna-be.

3. The No One Wants to Be Told They’re Fat Rule.

First of all, there seems to be a phenomenon where everyone’s memory is erased as to how big a belly actually gets at 40 weeks, and so they start asking a PW if she’s “going to pop” or “swallowed a basketball” or “11 months pregnant” at around 25 weeks.

She isn’t, didn’t, and will never be.

Also. PW don’t mysteriously morph into non-female creatures who don’t mind their weight gain or hugeness pointed out.

PREGNANT WOMEN ARE STILL WOMEN.

Before you say anything regarding size, shape, weight gains, or any sort of reference to a whale, an elephant, or a mountain sticking out of her abdomen to a pregnant woman, ask yourself this question: “Would I say that same statement to a non-pregnant woman?”

Because underneath that gargantuan belly is a non-pregnant woman’s heart mixed with a pregnant woman’s emotions. A mixture which eerily resembles nitroglycerin.

And finally, a few last guidelines.

4. Don’t comment on how much a PW eats. She knows it.

5. No need to tell her she’s sweating like a pig. She feels it.

6. Yes, pregnancy can, in fact, make you waddle like a duck. Pretend you didn’t notice.

7. What? There’s food all over her shirt? There’s a biscuit sitting atop her belly? That’s because pregnancy makes you clumsy. No need to point it out.

8. No PW in the WORLD wants to hear about your nightmarishly painful birth story. Or your third cousin’s horrifying delivery. Or anything with “trauma” and “birth” in the same story. Save those stories for post-menopausal women only.

9. If I’ve left you no safe topics of conversation with PW, then I suggest phrases such as “you are just glowing”, “you look magnificent”, “You don’t even look pregnant!!”, “You don’t have an ounce of weight on you that isn’t baby!”, or “Wow, pregnancy just suits you so well!”

So there you have it. Breathe deeply, Bite your Tongue, and remember The Rules..

Because that huge belly you’re commenting on? She can and will use that thing for a weapon, if need be.

Bumptastrophe.

2010-07-04T14:40:37-07:00

Yesterday morning, I noticed some red bumps on Ali.

Due to where they were, I assumed that it was a heat rash due to our hour and a half of blueberry picking in the extraordinarily hot Alabama sun the day before, but decided to keep an eye on them.

By last night, they had quite rudely spread further, and were starting to look raised. Being this this morning was Church, and other parents, in general, frown upon bringing children to Sunday School with communicable diseases, I mentally noted to do a full body scan again before we went to church.

This morning, it was a definite diagnosis of no Sunday School. Now some of them were raised and had yellowish pus in them and very suspiciously looked like….The Pox.

Chicken Pox, that is.

Ali had gotten the vaccine for that unmentionable disease, but I knew it wasn’t foolproof. I called several “experts” (i.e. my Mom and my nurse friend Lydia), and everyone agreed that it did indeed sound like The Dreaded CP.

I called in to the nurse on call, and she also, much to my chagrin, agreed.

Normally, I wouldn’t mind a case of the Chicken Pox. I mean, it’s not something I look forward to, but it’s workable, and somewhat of a rite of passage of childhood (and parenthood).

BUT. We’re supposed to go on vacation at the end of this week. With another family. With small children. And swim in pools. With even more people. People that, I’m sure, frown on seeing communicable diseasy rashes on other kids swimming in the pool with them.

So the Chicken Pox would mean certain Vacastrophe.

AND, I’m pregnant, and although I got a (very nasty) case of the CP when I was a kid, I have some itchy bumps myself that I thought were something else but if they weren’t…it’s quite dangerous to mix Pregnancy and Chicken Pox.

So the Chicken Pox could mean potential Pregastrophe.

SO, with these concerns and the confirmation of all of the experts and the fact that our doctor’s office will be closed Monday for the holiday, we decided to do the Dreaded, the Unmentionable, the Eternity of Wait: take Ali to the after-hours clinic. On a Holiday.

We called to make our appointment, and you would have thought I had said “Swine Flu” – or “bomb” in an airport. They told us to call when we arrived BEFORE we came inside, and they would take us through the side entrance so as not to darken the door of the waiting room.

Sure enough, they sent an escort to meet us, who whisked us away.

THEN, to really drive home the point that we were potentially carrying a Biological Weapon disguised as a three year old, they made Ali wear a mask.

And when I say “made”, let’s just say I’m glad Chris was with me, or it wouldn’t have happened.

After he wrestled it onto her, she wouldn’t look up, she wouldn’t talk – her spirit was broken.

You would have thought we’d just put her in the cone of shame.

(And no, I didn’t take that photo of her for this blog out of the cruelty of my heart – I took it trying to cheer her up and show her how she looked like Daffy Duck.)

(It didn’t work. Nothing could overcome The Mask of Shame.)

The nurse agreed that it definitely looked like The Dreaded CP, warned me that I needed to call my Obstetrician the SECOND Ali was diagnosed to prevent Pregastrophe, and then exiled us to wait for seven years, hoping I’m sure that it would have cleared up by the time we saw the doctor.

Finally, around the time of Ali’s tenth birthday, the doctor arrived. She very kindly examined Ali, talked through everything, and decisively diagnosed her (and, therefore me)…

With Chiggers.
…from the aforementioned blueberry picking.

I had actually suspected my itchy bumps were chiggers, as I’ve been the feast of Chiggers before (55 of them to be exact, while being a camp counselor for our Church Junior High group, which to smother them and prevent them from further boring into my epidermis, I covered all of my bites with bright pink Junior High fingernail polish, thereby making myself look like a prime candidate for a girlfriend for someone in the Blue Man Group), but Ali’s sores looked COMPLETELY different.

Luckily, the doctor was an expert.

Apparently, children’s chigger bites look totally different than adult’s – eerily like the Chicken Pox, in fact.

So, for the first time in my life, I was thrilled to hear the word “Chigger”.

Yes, they itch like crazy. Yes, it’s disgusting that bright red arachnids are still boring into our skin. But it’s not the Chicken Pox, so life can go on. It may be a bright pink fingernail polish covered life, but it’s our life.

Giveaway - $100 Shopping Spree from CSN Stores!

2010-07-02T04:00:00-07:00

CSN Stores is a great online shopping destination – they have over 200 stores that specialize in every item imaginable – from toys and games, to shoes, to furniture – they even have a whole store devoted to dining room sets!

Their whole listing of stores can be found here, and you’re sure to get lost in the endless possibilities! They have great brand name coverage, an awesome rating and review system, and great tools to help you find exactly what you’re looking for.

You may remember that I had a giveaway for them not too long ago – and they were so happy about the number of you that wanted to try out their stores (over 500 entries!) that they offered to repeat the giveaway!!!

So, if you would like to win $100 to spend at any of CSN’s 200 stores, simply leave a comment here with what you’d like to go shopping for!

You can earn up to four extra entries if you:

Tweet, blog, OR Facebook about this giveaway
Follow CSN Stores on Twitter or Facebook
Subscribe to OR Follow my blog
Follow me on Twitter OR Facebook

(be sure to leave separate comments for your extra entries.)

Best of luck! This giveaway is open until Monday, July 12th. The winner will be randomly selected and posted on my giveaway winners page on Tuesday, July 13th.

Also – an extra hint – I have ANOTHER CSN Stores $60 Gift Certificate giveaway going on my other blog, Alabama Bloggers – feel free to enter to win that one as well!

Disclosure: I received no compensation or review products for this giveaway. My opinions are always my own.

Random Pregnancy Updates, and Life Lessons from Glee.

2010-06-30T13:09:06-07:00

For all (none) of you that have been waiting with baited breath to hear the exciting outcome of my doctor visit, my doctor did indeed have an Otoscope (thank goodness, no Torture Pappy Device needed), and said that I had a lot of pressure in my ears, but no infection. The cure he prescribed was Sudafed.

Which…oddly enough, I had started taking the night before for a minor cold that Ali had been so kind to pass on to me. The only problem was, I took it at midnight, thinking that it, like most cold medicines, would have that drowsying affect along with making my nose quit draining.

Then, as I lay in bed with my mind running completely wild and buzzing about in a million different manic directions at once, I remembered an episode of Glee…

…The one where Terri is the school nurse, and she’s trying to remember how she made it through high school so energetically so that she can help Finn…and then she remembers!! She took Sudafed! Aka PseudoEPHEDRINE.

So then she tells all of the students to take them – “They’re basically Ephedrine, except legal!” -and they’re all running around completely buzzed and getting tons of stuff accomplished with wide, drugged and crazed eyes…and of course Terri got fired.

Oh yeah.

No wonder I can’t sleep.

Mental Note: Must review Glee Life Lessons.

So if yesterday’s post seemed a bit manic and written after midnight, it was. It was written on a Sudafed Buzz.

(As is this one, since my doctor told me to take Sudafed three times a day. I’m not sure if the crazed speed I’m typing is coming across in the post, but believe me, it’s quite buzzy in my head right now.)

(But rest assured, I will NOT be taking it at midnight again.)

So, since I’m already on the completely narcissistic subject of myself and my pregnancy, several of you have asked how the nausea has been. It’s getting better, finally. I’m not sick every day, which is a welcome change, and since I’m only nauseous every two or three days, I can take Zofran effectively to treat it without The Unspoken Horrors of Side Effects being so Unspokenably Horrific.

But now that I’m progressing to the other side of the Nausea Train, I can appreciate the one and only benefit of being so sick that I could barely move for eight weeks….the hope of becoming (less) huge.

Here’s me on Sunday, 14 weeks pregnant with Newbie:

And here was me pregnant with Ali at 13 weeks:
On second thought, maybe I was just entirely and ridiculously GIGANTICALLY GINORMOUSLY DINASAURICALLY MASSIVE with Ali….

Or maybe I was so excited to finally be pregnant that I was sticking out my tummy every chance I got….

Or a combination of the two.

At any rate, to continue my long and meandering update, my sonogram is two weeks from today, when we finally get to find out if it is a Newbie or a Newbette.

…and yes, that’s as far as we are on the naming thing. Of course, Chris is STILL wanting to discuss names and I am STILL refusing. So instead, we have this discussion a lot:

Him: “You know you’re just delaying the inevitable arguments by not discussing it now..”

Me: “No, by waiting until after we find out whether it’s a boy or a girl, I am effectively reducing our number of arguments by FIFTY PERCENT, and you can’t beat that rate of return!!!”

…Because that’s the kind of logic he has to put up with since chose to marry an accountant.

How Ear Fluid Can Adversely Affect the Contents of your Refrigerator.

2010-06-29T13:00:02-07:00

My ears are driving me crazier than pregnancy is already making me.

They have been for three weeks, but they’re getting increasingly, and very quickly, worse this week.

So much so, that for 15 extra potential hours of relief, I moved my next OB appointment up by one day in hopes that he could fix my ears.

(Not until, of course, I checked with my OB office to make sure that OB doctors do, indeed, keep Otoscopes around for the occasional ear-looky and would not need to use the Nightmarish Pap Smear Torture Tool to pry my ear open to see what the problem is.)

(In case you’re wondering, yes, OBs do INDEED have the proper equipment to look in ears. Thank goodness.)

Anyway, so my ears have been popping constantly, especially when I leave the house, for some odd reason. And now they’re getting painful and making me dizzy.

So I’m always trying to talk to people, and my own voice in my head (the real one, not the crazy one) is coming in and out, softer and louder, poppity poppity pop, and driving me so crazy that it might CAUSE a crazy voice in my head to take up permanent residence by the time it’s finished.

And, as I suspected, the whole popping thing is causing some communication breakdown – I am apparently slurring some of my words.

Last night, right before Ali’s bedtime, I happened to be in the kitchen at the right moment to witness a very bizarre occurrence: I watched Ali purposefully take her sandals over to the fridge, open it up, gingerly place the left one on the middle shelf by the milk, and then move some things around on the top shelf to make room for a careful placement of the remaining right sandal.

I watched, completely puzzled by her apparent studiousness in this very odd activity, and called to Chris halfway through: “Hey baby…come watch what’s going on here.”

Ali was so focused on moving the contents of the top shelf around that she didn’t flinch at my request.

Chris came in, and being of much sounder mind than I (most likely due to not being pregnant and all), knew exactly what had happened and said, “Ali baby, Mommy told you to go get your JUICE and put it in the fridge, not your shoes.”

Ali and I proceeded to share a relieved duet of “OOOOOH!”

Let’s hope my baby doc can fix my ears today.

But in the meantime, at least I can take comfort in the fact that my daughter is unquestionably obedient…possibly to a very unsanitary fault.

An iPhone Apology.

2010-06-28T13:16:51-07:00

Dear Chris,

For all of those times that I marveled at why you were STILL playing on your iPhone even though much more interesting things were going on…

For all those times I snarkily laughed and rolled my eyes at all of the $0.99 iTunes charges on your credit card…

For all those times where I rolled over huffily in the bed, trying to fall asleep by the light of your iPhone…

I’m sorry.

Because now, I understand.

Since the delivery of my iPhone on Thursday, I have..

Played up to seven concurrent games of Words with Friends (aka Scrabble) with other iPhone users (I'm ObjectivityRach).
Figured out how to sync my Facebook friends with my contacts so that my Facebook profile pictures pop up when one of them calls me.
Set up my pregnancy to be tracked to the minutest details. On my phone.
Built a metropolis in Sim City.
Taken, edited, and published pictures, all from my phone.
Had a video conversation with Chris and Ali with the click of a button.
Spent a bit too much of a percentage of my life on my phone, but yet not talking on it.
Downloaded three free games for Ali, of which I’m not yet sure was a brilliant move or a rookie mistake.

And I haven’t even learned 1% of my new toy’s capabilities yet. Your input into my new obsession is quite welcome – favorite apps? Favorite features?

On a completely separate note, as you may already know, I like to get to know my readers. But there’s a couple of new commenters out there that your names don’t link back to your blog, if you have one. You may have it set that way on purpose, but I’ve found most people don’t realize it when that’s the case. So, if I haven’t been by to visit your blog and you like visitors, check and see – you can test it by logging out of Google, then clicking on your name on a comment on someone else’s blog.

Also – When I respond to comments, I typically do it via email if I already have your email address or if it’s linked on your comment. If you want to know how to do this, you can go to edit your profile –> email address. By putting an email address in there, it allows other bloggers to reply to your comments. Or, you could just email me your email address.

Of course, if you don’t want to do any of this at all, by all means ignore it. I just wanted you to know why I haven’t said “hey” if indeed I haven’t said “hey”.

Okay, enough housekeeping. My iPhone is calling me. What should I try next?

Cousins, Mud Puddles, and Philosophies of Life.

2010-06-27T12:34:04-07:00

There are two types of people in the world…
The type that jump into life’s mud puddles full force…

Embracing every drop of nasty gooeyness…
Without concern for fashion…

Or appearance…

And requiring a new transportation system to be invented to avoid their
completely organic embodiment….

And then there are the uptight.

That can play outdoors, in the mud, all day long, with mud-covered cousins, and sticks to splash with, and still come away with less than half a dozen specks of dirt on their person.

…But at least she comes by it naturally.