Archive | January, 2010

Some People Never Learn, Part II

27 Jan

Whine: I took two crabby cats to my local superstore to get antibiotics for them both. After all the hassle of parking in another state and waddling a cart through the throngs of other cheapskates, all the way to the pharmacy, they had the nerve to look me in my tired eyes and tell me they didn’t have the medicine. Because ear infections are rare conditions and it must be hard to acquire the exotic medicine required to treat them, right?

Cheese: Don’t worry, though, I didn’t leave empty-handed. Luckily for me, the Girls Scouts were standing at the entrance selling their crack cookies. I felt it was my civic duty to buy at least a few boxes. I don’t want to be a jerk to the Girl Scouts, do I?

In a recent post I highlighted that I am a slow learner. I might learn your phone number the first time I hear it and remember it for the rest of my life, or learn the name of every designer on all seven season of Project Runway, but when it comes to things that are actually useful, I tend to require extreme remediation. As is evidenced by the fact that I have on more than one occasion let my children run amok with bare bottoms and then had to clean up the consequences. Here are a few more things I wish I had learned the first time instead of the second, third or fourth:

#1) Markers should be put away in a cabinet that is way up high and cannot be reached by four year olds who prefer to express themselves creatively with body art.

Side note. The other day, during supervised marker time (I’ve finally learned), I turned my back for all of thirty seconds and she wrote all over her legs (because of course she wasn’t wearing any pants, we clearly don’t believe in pants in this house). When I scolded her, she began crying and rubbed her eyes. Dark blue marker streamed down her face; she looked like she should be singing lead vocals on Karma Chameleon.

#2) Do not serve spaghetti on the same day in which you have mopped your kitchen floor. You are just setting yourself up for an extra dose of Futility Frustration (which is in high enough supply when you have small children). It’s kinda like getting your car washed when the forecast calls for rain. I suppose you could also solve this problem by never mopping your floor.

#3) Some things should be left for people with actual skill. Like predicting the weather, diagnosing my kids’ various illnesses (just say NO to Google MD), but especially sewing. Straightly sewn lines evade me like the Holy Grail evaded King Arthur and his knights. I would save a lot of swearing and frustration if I would remember this before embarking on a highly-complicated project like sewing a pillowcase or cutting fabric into straight lines.

#4) Sugar is not my friend. A box of Hot Tamales is not the solution to my droopy eyes, and in fact is the cause of the other parts of me that may or not be droopy. A better solution to my droopy eyes would be to stop playing solitare after the 50th game and get my droopy parts to bed.

#5) Pregnancy makes me extra tired. Extra hungry. Extra weepy. Extra large. I am surprised by this every time. You’d think I’d have this down by now. When I am pregnant, I should know better than to: stay up past 10pm, eat a salad for dinner, look at baby pictures of my kids, or walk any distance further than the couch to the refrigerator. Yet I try one or more of these things every day and am shocked when I’m exhausted, starving, sobbing and out of breath (usually at the same time).

And as an additional word of advice (this one’s a freebie) one should avoid watching Steel Magnolias (or A Baby Story or telethons of any kind) during this time. Ocean’s Eleven, however, is highly recommended, especially when in labor.

#6) Whatever it is, it won’t last forever.  Kids eventually learn to use the potty, to keep their food on the table intead of under it, and to do things all by themselves. So the sooner I learn to laugh it off, the more I can find the good parts of stuff. Like learning to find the humor in the fact that I have to get off the phone with my sister because Lil’ Sis won’t stop pulling down my pants (darn you, elastic waistband!).  Or enjoying getting to see Big Sis explore her “mad scientist” alter ego even though it always involves lots of yarn, at least one roll of tape and tons of clean up because soon she’ll be headed to school, and I won’t get a front row seat to the inner workings of her unusual little mind anymore.  

And clearly I’ll never learn, as typing that last paragraph is enough to send my tired, weepy self on the hunt for a box of tissues, or Hot Tamales, whatever’s closer.

The spider has caught a lil' fly in her web. She's a mad scientist, I tell you.

Magnetic Personality

21 Jan

Whine: I woke up this morning at 6:30am because I could not stop sneezing. Why in the world did my nose decide after lying in  the very same bed all night, that all of a sudden it was a hotbed of allergens? Stupid allergies.

Cheese: Today Big Sis said, “I think you’re great, Mommy. Great and awesome.”  I was really touched, so I pretended like I hadn’t heard her and asked her to say it again. Then I wrote it down, made her sign it and got it notarized. She may need to be reminded of that someday.

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Back to our regularly scheduled post:

I think Lil’ Sis’ feet might just be cute little magnets for excrement. Another case in point: The other day we went to play in the backyard at a friend’s house. We headed out and did a preliminary check for any doggie <ahem> remnants. The coast looked clear and I set Lil’ Sis free to roam.

Then I heard shrieking from inside the house. Using my highly-tuned Screamometer, I determined that the shrieker (Big Sis) was in actual, physical pain (as opposed to the usual Extreme Emotional Trauma), so I went running inside the house to discover a boo boo on the knee that required immediate kisses and hugs.

When we all settled down and headed back outside, I realized that my delicate Lil’ Sis was wearing her brown shoes again! Except the ones I dressed her in that morning had started out pink. How she found a pile of grossness (again) where none previously existed and trailed it into a path (again) is beyond me. All I know is that for the second time in a week, I was cleaning up poop, which in my opinion, is two times too many.

As my friend and I sanitized and sterilized our way through the yuk, we tried to hold a conversation to distract ourselves from our grim task. At one point we realized how ridiculous we sounded, two grown women talking like cartoon characters because we were both breathing only through our mouths. I hear that skill is very valuable when you live with boys, though, so I guess I’m glad for the practice.

Some People Never Learn

18 Jan

Whine: I’m totally getting sucked in to 24, even though I know I don’t have the emotional stamina to make it through 24 episodes of world-on-the-brink-of-disaster tension.  I’ll have to quit around Hour 10 and read about the rest online. But I may stick around to see more of my favorite bad guy, David Anders. (Mr. Sark sure makes the rounds, doesn’t he?)

Cheese: We rented Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs this weekend and had spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. Big Sis thought it was the best day of her life, a dinner of her favorite food followed by a movie about her favorite food?? She doesn’t have to know it was a complete coincidence. 

On Saturday my Facebook status read, “I am very thankful for neurotic people who ask for (and get) steam cleaners for Christmas, then happily lend them to you when potty training goes terribly, terribly wrong.”

Knowing that not everyone is as amused by potty humor as I am, I was planning on leaving it at that.  But then my awesome readers, who obviously share my love of scatological humor, or perhaps just really love hearing stories of my misery, clamored for more details. So if you don’t think poop is funny, you should probably stop reading now.

I hate to state this on the record, (because if I have learned anything, it’s that as soon as you write something on your blog, you are sure to jinx it) but I am potty training Lil’ Sis. Actually I should say, she is potty training herself.  After spending the last two years of my life sitting next to the toilet waiting for something, anything to happen, I was not about to start that again with another stubborn kid (they get that from their father’s side, of course.) But when Lil’ Sis started asking to use the potty and then actually using it for things other than washcloths and cell phones, I figured I wouldn’t stand in her way. Besides, anything shorter than two years will be a bonus.

So the other day, Lil’ Sis told me that she had to go. Then she went. And there was much rejoicing. And candy. A few minutes later, she told me she had to go again, so I put her back on the potty and waited. Since this whole potty training thing was her idea, I wasn’t about to force her to sit there for long, so when she wandered off, I let her go. Besides, I was trying to put on my makeup. Even Mommies like to look halfway decent sometimes.

Then the phone rang. I answered it, chatting and putting on the last of my mascara. I don’t remember much of the conversation, but I distinctly remember saying, “I guess I should see what Lil’ Sis is doing, since she’s running around the house commando. But it’s probably not a big deal since she just went potty on the potty chair.”

5. . . 4. . . 3. . . 2. . . 1. . .

Lil’ Sis walked in and made a beeline to the potty, stark naked except for her brown shoes. Wait a second, I think, I didn’t put shoes on her. The horrific realization began dawning and I sputtered into the phone, “OhmygoshIgottagothere’spoooooop!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” and hung up.

Using my heightened Mommy-senses, I followed the trail of disgusting little footprints (why couldn’t she have used breadcrumbs like Hansel and Gretel?) to the source. It was an ugly scene. I hosed off the kid, secured the perimeter (i.e., put a diaper on that bottom), rolled up my sleeves and got to the cleaning up. But at least I had my makeup on.

And do you want to know the worst part ? That whole scene was déjà vu. I lived through the same horror two years ago, down to the ironic “I wonder what Sophie’s up to running around the house naked” phone conversation. When am I going to learn to put some pants on these kids?

 Some people never learn.

 And apparently I am one of those people.

Yes, that is a Pull Up on her head. That explains a lot, doesn't it?

Last Hurrah! (for now)

14 Jan

Whine: I caught Lil’ Sis throwing a washcloth into the toilet. When I reprimanded her, she scampered away beyond the bathroom door, poked her around from the other side, then said “Bye!” as she shut the door and took off. There’s something to be said for a kid who knows how to make a quick getaway. 

Cheese: I bribed the children to help clean up the kitchen after dinner tonight. I can’t say it made the process any more efficient, but if I’m not raising them to be my own little labor force, then why am I having all these kids? Besides, there’s nothing quite so cute as the toddler who still thinks helping mommy “put away” the silverware is fun, little does she know it’s only the beginning of a lifetime of servitude.

Two months from now (give or take a few days depending on how big and/or stubborn this baby is, which, if his sisters are any indication will be VERY) my life as I currently know it is going to stop. My current existence of eating regular(ish) meals, sleeping most nights, and occasionally wearing something other than my gigantic grey sweatpants is going to look downright luxurious compared to what’s coming.

Upon realizing this, I did what any intelligent woman with a looming baby sentence would do. I went on vacation.

A very, very, very dear friend of mine* was kind enough to go ahead and diligently work for several years and get her Master’s just so she would have a reason to throw a big party just so I would have a reason to escape one last time before having my third baby. Pretty impressive planning on her part, I would say.

So anyway, this friend, let’s call her Kel, invited me to this FABulous party to celebrate her milestone, and being the loving, supportive and sacrificial friend that I am decided I would put aside all the very important toilet-retrieval and other sweatpant-related goings-on in my life and head out to Arizona for a weekend.

The day of the blessed vacation finally arrived and Mr. Dad and the kids dutifully shuttled me to the airport, terminal C, just like it said on my Itinerary.** I said my goodbyes. Lil’ Sis shed a few tears and Big Sis barely looked up from the cartoon she was watching on Mr. Dad’s cell phone to say goodbye. I gave Mr. Dad a big “I-can’t-believe-you’re-so-nice-to-let-me-leave-you-with-them” kiss and we went our separate ways.

As I headed inside, I checked my text messages only to discover that my flight would be departing from terminal A. In an airport like ours, getting yourself from one terminal to the next very quickly requires a passport and some bribe money, so I ran back to the curb in hopes that I could catch Mr. Dad before he got very far.

So then I’m running in high heeled boots, with no coat in the sub-freezing wind, pulling a pink polka-dotted suitcase and trying to call him on my cell phone. I can see the taillights getting farther and farther away. After six unsuccessful phone-call-while-running attempts, a few awkward almost-falls and the back end of the car disappearing around the corner, I decided to call one more time before giving up.

Finally my Knight answered and assured me he would be back around to retreive me in just a few minutes, which he was. On our journey to the other terminal I discovered that my many phone calls were unsuccessful because Big Sis was watching her cartoons on the phone and didn’t know (or did she?) about call waiting. But it was no matter at that point because I was getting to the right place after all.

Upon exiting the car a second time, I gave all the requisite kisses, and Lil’ Sis, like the sweet and appropriately-attached child she is, did her requisite crying. Not too much crying, but just enough to let me know that I am a valuable part of her daily life. Big Sis, again, barely acknowledged my exit.

But then, just as I was about to shut the door, she shouts urgently “Just a minute, Mommy! I need to tell you something!!”

I poke my head back in. “Yes?” I ask, waiting for her to melt my heart. “What is it?”

“Mommy,” she says, “don’t call again. I’m watching a movie.”

And with that, my trip began. At least I didn’t feel guilty for leaving her. . .

The trip itself was luxurious. Fantastic. Relaxing. Fun.

I met another very, very, very dear friend*** of mine at the airport, let’s call her Jo. We spent the whole flight catching up and making plans for the weekend. We arrived with no hassle, and I marvelled at the ease of this novelty called child-free travel. I realized it’s been a LONG TIME since I did that. I really should do it more often. But, I digress.

One of the reasons that I love these two very, very, very dear friends (besides the blackmail) is because I met them at the height of my nerdiness (freshman year of college, the year the oversized flannel shirt met the permed hair and fluffy bangs) and not only did they NOT turn and run the other way, they embraced my nerdy ways, possibly because they are also nerds. Our nerdy fun back then included, but was not limited to, Michael W. Smith sing-alongs, dressing up in various costumes for no reason and cavorting through the dorm, and kidnapping other people’s action figures and holding them for ransom (hey, we weren’t allowed to drink or dance or even buy lottery tickets, don’t blame us).

So if nerdiness is one of our common bonds, I am sure that they will appreciate the fact that I took the liberty of illustrating our time together in the form of a pie chart.

If you knew how long I spent making this, you would laugh at me.

But although I am a NERD of the highest order (see above), I am not equally gifted in all areas of nerdiness. I am generally lacking in Technology category (see above). If you wish to view the pie chart in all it’s glory, just give it a click and take it all in.

Basically, what the chart so neatly illustrates is that we haven’t changed much at all. We like to eat, sleep, shop and waste vast amounts of time doing stupid things. But most of all, we like to talk. We spent an entire day’s worth of hours just talking. Some of it was very deeply impacting, particularly the part about how addictive my chocolate chex mix was (covered in powdered sugar, how’d I get that through airport security?). But most of it was just about life. About jobs, families, being codependent with your dvr, etc. . . And that’s really why we’re friends. Because in the end, your friends are the ones who are willing to talk about the pros and cons of expensive high-heeled boots because it matters to you. (And because they might want to borrow them sometime.)

So thanks for a great weekend girls! Thanks for giving the bed to the pregnant girl. Thanks for making a list of all the Important! Things! we would do, then checking them off one by one, like any proper Type A. Thanks for letting me take a break from Mommyhood and rest up before this next stage of my life begins. And thanks for breaking bread with me over a table full of shrimp and shrimp-related items.  But most of all, thanks for liking me the way I am, pie charts and all.

Hopefully this makes up for all those other photos of us. . .

*By very, very, very dear I mean she has photos of me from college which would show me in many comprimising fashion/hair positions.

**When I say Itinerary, I don’t mean the thing you print out with your tickets. I mean the thing that Jo makes with each and every detail of the trip. You know, like contact info, addresses, gates and times for all travelers, etc. But then she also includes the a chart with the weather, a title for the weekend, a cute picture pasted on top and a google map of all relevant locations. Speaking of nerds. . .

***Yeah, she’s got photos, too.

Remember That Thing I Said About Compassion?

14 Jan

In my previous post, I talked about the many different ways that people in my life have seen my pain and jumped in to help. Then I challenged all of us to find a way to do the same for someone else.

Here’s your chance.

The capital city of one of the poorest countries in the world lies in ruins today. People who on Tuesday morning began with very little, by Tuesday evening, had lost everything. Their world is in chaos and uproar.

As I watch the coverage from the safety and comfort of my couch, I’m tempted to change the channel back to Wheel of Fortune or something less hopeless. But I stay in the moment, in the misery, because the people running for their lives, searching for their families and desperate for hope are exactly that. They are people.

President Obama came on this morning and gave his statement on the situation. I was particularly struck when he directly addressed the people of Haiti. He said to them, “I want you to know that you are not alone. The American People stand with you.”

I pray today that you will stand with the people of Haiti. With your prayers and with your checkbooks. I know many of you have already done this, but if all you need is an opportunity, please visit one of the sites below and find out more about how you can show mercy at this time of devastation.

World Vision  

Compassion International

Red Cross (via text message)

I Feel Your Pain

8 Jan

Whine: My psychic dream was partly true. At my actual dr. appointment, I did gain my fair share of weight this month. Enough, in fact, to put me at 30 weeks where I ended up last time at 41 weeks and shortly after gave birth to a nine and a half pound baby. I’m pretty sure the one in there is not weighing in at nine and a half pounds yet. So I’m probably carrying a nine and a half pound food baby along with my three pound actual baby.

Cheese: I ended up on the bottom of a kiddie dog-pile yesterday. All three of my kids managed to land on top of (ok, one of them was inside of) my belly. Guess it’s a good thing I have all that extra padding. Although the padding was not as helpful when I tried to get up. I writhed around like a topsy-tury turtle until Big Sis stopped laughing at me long enough to lend me a hand.

As much as I hate to admit it, I need other people. As much as I’d prefer to say that I can handle my life by myself, anyone who has read this blog knows that I wouldn’t make it very long without someone stepping in and lending me a hand. In fact, I’m pretty sure most of you wonder how I make it through a day unsupervised, what with all the getting stuck climbing in windows and lost with no cell phone in strange towns in the middle of the night and accidentally lighting things on fire (that’s a story for another time.)

The long and the short of it is that in my life I have been on the receiving end of millions of acts of compassion, both teeny tiny, almost unnoticeable ones, and blow-your-mind, over-the-top generous one. Compassion is a funny word. When you see my sorry, pathetic state and feel sorry for me (after you stop laughing)- -that’s not compassion. That’s pity. And that’s ok. But when you see my sorry, pathetic state, feel sorry for me (after you stop laughing) and feel so moved as to lend me a hand- -that’s compassion.

Like the time when I went to Subway to order some dinner after a hard day at work (that was before I had my own children and knew what “a hard day at work” could really mean) and the friendly sandwich artist kindly asked me how my day was. To which I replied “Horrible.” and burst into tears. There was something about the genuine way in which he asked the question, the first touch of humanity I’d experienced that day, that undid me. And then he was so gracious as I sobbed/ordered my sandwich, handing me the highly-coveted Subway napkins (have you ever noticed how stingy they are with those things??) to dry my tears, and nodding as I tried to explain my awkward outburst.

Or the time my freshman year of college when I was happily sleeping my way well into morning after a long night of studying, and my sweet grandpa-aged German professor called me on the phone to remind that the final I had been studying for was, in fact, happening right then. To which I loudly swore, in English, it was only German 101 after all, and began throwing clothes on and running out the door. Oh yes, I almost slept through one of my first college finals. Had it not been for sweet, compassionate Herr Ziefle, that A- in German would have almost certainly been a much different letter.

Or the time when the man in the mall parking lot changed my tire because I was obviously out of my league. Or when some anonymous person gave me a large check because things were not going so well for me financially. Or when a friend sent a bag of peanut m&ms and a case of diet coke, just because I was having a hard time.

But sometimes, as much as we might feel someone’s pain, there’s not a lot we can do. Like when I’ve decided that instead of a woman I’ve transformed into a hippopotamus (ok, that was yesterday.) No one can make those pounds disappear for me, right? But a good friend might feel my pain and tell me that she, too, turned into a hippopotamus once upon a time and that her life didn’t end. In fact, she might say that she managed to lose all the weight after all, and that I, in fact, do NOT look like a hippopotamus.

Kind words can go a long way. I remember agonizing over a relationship with a friend, always feeling like the biggest loser (and not in the NBC primetime kinda way) and worrying about my potential for being perpetually annoying. Another friend had the kindness to say to me, “Well, Sarah, it’s not a sin to be annoying.”  which made me giggle, and is actually quite true. She may have also mentioned that she personally didn’t find me annoying, and that helped, too.

A few years ago, I was freaking out over my (lack of) health insurance coverage. I sent out an SOS email to a few close friends, detailing my woes. Amazingly, none of them had an extra $5 grand lying around to send me. And none of them had a cousin named Tony who could go up to the insurance company and break some knees. But each and every one of the emailed back that day with a hilarious response, most of which are not appropriate for mass internet publication. Let’s just say in one of the emails I received this picture. It’s a long story as to why, but in short, it made me feel better.

I try to be a compassionate person. I’m not likely to be the one changing your tire or writing a huge check. I’m more likely to show my compassion through a homemade raspberry-fudge torte or an aptly-timed Hallmark card. I’m probably not going to show up pull you out of a window or give you directions (with my sense of direction, that would just be mean). I’ve got to stick with what I have to offer, with who I am.

I’m reading a new book right now, called Simple Compassion. In each chapter the author (a Wheaton grad!) details a different aspect of compassion. And the first chapter, oddly enough, is about the power of a well-timed word. At the end of the chapter, she challenges her readers to spend the week looking for an opportunity to show compassion by simply saying something. Something encouraging, something challenging, something loving. 

So now I’m challenging you, my awesome readers, with your own personality and circle of influence, to feel someone’s pain this week and take a minute (or two, or three) each week out of your hectic January to think about how you can make a difference to them. And if you’re really, really brave, I’d love to hear your stories! Leave them in the comments or email me at alittlewhineandcheese AT gmail.com.

If you’re curious about this Compassion Challenge, which is going on all over the internet with the release of the book, check out some of the other sites below.

Admissions of a Suburban Philosopher
Be Your Best Mom
Bell Whistle Moon
Blog Tour Spot
Book Nook Club
Carlybird’s Home
CommuniKate
Deus E Fiel
Fearfully and Wonderfully Made
i don’t believe in grammar
J’s Spot
Lighthouse Academy
Mary’s World
Musings
Musings by Lynn
Paper Bridges
Ponderings by Andrea
Real Women Scrap
Scraps and Snippets
The 160-acre Woods
The Prairie Maid
The Unadorned Book Review
The View From Here
Word Up Studies
Writer for a Reader

Big Time

3 Jan

Whine: I had a dream that I went to my OB appointment and had gained 10 pounds in a month. Based on the fact that all my pants are currently cutting off the circulation in my belly, I’d say that either my dryer likes playing cruel jokes or I’m a psychic.

Cheese: I’m starting out 2010 with a clean junk drawer. Which, by it’s very name suggests that having it cleaned out is a significant accomplishment. Based on that, and the fact that I took a 2-hour nap today, I think 2010 is shaping up to be a pretty good one.

New Year’s Day, 2010, I  awoke to a head butt. Followed quickly by the feeling of having a snotty little nose wiped on my pajama shirt.  Before I could counter, a pair of tiny little lips were blowing a gigantic, slobbery raspberry (or zerbert) on my exposed belly. You know, there are worse ways to start a new year.

Speaking of good starts, I’m sitting on my living room couch and there is not even a hint of Christmas left in this room, (unless you count all the sugar cookies and eggnogg I’m wearing around my middle). The decorations are packed and stowed. The oodles and oodles of new toys have somehow found hiding places. I’ve even mostly slept off three weeks of constant activity and sleep deprivation.

I mention all this not to make you wish to stab me with an ice pick, because that is my general reaction to people who are done with Christmas before February. No, I mention it because as far as my mommy memory can tell, it has never happened to me before. And, based on the fact that my personality has a lovely procrastination/overcomitting/sitting-around blend and I’m about to have another kid, it will probably never happen again. So I would like to mark this momentous occasion with a moment of silence. Or computer solitare. Or a giant rootbeer float. Or feet up on the couch watching Return of the King. Who am I kidding? I did all three tonight. (By the way, do you think when they cast the role of Aragorn(the king) they were specifically looking for someone who looks really good with greasy hair and a stubbly beard? Cause boy, they found their man, didn’t they?)

I like this feeling of not living in total chaos all the time. Don’t get me wrong, I’d be a little bored without some chaos. Why do you think I keep having kids? But total chaos 24/7 wears on even a hype-junkie like me. So I’ve thought of a few new habits I’d like to try out for Janurary: like battling the dirty dishes on a daily basis instead of letting them set up their own colony in the sink; remembering to feed myself a breakfast not comprised entirely of Little Debbie snacks before I leave the house; doing laundry when the basket is full instead of when I have to choose to run to the store to buy more clean underwear or wash some clothes.

We will call these things “healthy life habits.” We will NOT call them resolutions. Because we all know that the quickest way to not do something, is to make it your New Year’s Resolution, right? In light of that fact, I do have a few New Year’s Resolutions to make. In 2010 I resolve to gain lots and lots of weight. To not sleep through the night at all. And to be a mean and crabby person. See? Now I’ve guaranteed that I will be skinny, well-rested and kind at least in 2010. I’m glad that’s taken care of, especially with that new baby coming and all.

So now I’m feeling pretty big time, you know. Doing things (er, I mean planning to do things) that most other people do without needing a round of applause (or rootbeers). But I can’t help it. I’ve got a lot going for me. Mostly that, after taking almost two years to completely potty train one child, the other one seems both (gasp) ready and (gasp, gasp) interested. I’m not claiming she’ll be potty trained in one day (it’s already been a week) or even a month, but at this point, anything’s better than two years.

And for Christmas, I received the sweetest present from Mr. Dad. He went out and found a tiny little sterling silver whine wine bottle for my charm bracelet. And not because I get tipsy every night. He tried really hard to find a tiny little cheese charm to go with it, but was unsuccessful. Isn’t that sweet? He not only tolerates my blogging habit and all it entails, he actually reads my posts and is sweet enough to make me feel like a real, live writer by buying little wine bottle charms for me, cause that’s what makes you a real writer, right?

And finally, I feel really, really BIG TIME because I now have my own website.  It looks exactly the same but can now be found at www.alittlewhineandcheese.com. So bookmark it, highlight it, frame it,  forward it, throw it a party.  We are official now!! I’ve got some “healthy blogging habits” I’d like to put in place (NOT resolutions), but we’ll talk about that next week. . . (I told you I was a procrastinator.)

I’d like to leave you with a picture of one more of my big time accomplishments from this week. A birthday cake for my niece who really likes Snow White (and by “my niece” I actually mean “her mommy”).

Snow White's Chocolate-Coated Cottage