Saturday, October 31, 2009

Trick or Treat, smell my feet...

...give me something good to eat. If you don't, I don't care. I'll pull down your underwear. (That last verse I learned from my son...)

I've spent the last hour rifling through my kids' trick or treating bags. Judging from the pile of wrappers laying next to the computer, I'm pretty sure I've eaten all the good stuff. Whoppers are awesome. KitKat bars aren't too shabby either.

I'm pretty sure I'll be sick in the morning. What a hypocrite. I make my kids pick out a few pieces each and then as soon as they go to bed, my husband and I dig through their bags, picking out our favorites. I wonder if my mom and dad did that. Probably. The benefits of parenthood. We aren't offered a health plan or lunch breaks, but we can eat as much candy as we want...

And so, the obligatory photos. Beware...painful cuteness ahead.

I know it's blurry, but I love this picture!

I bought her an angel costume (which is ironic) but of course, she decided she wanted to be a princess/fairy using the dress up clothes we already had. (And snow boots.) Of course.

The puppy, whom everyone thought was a lamb, Darth Vadar without his mask and the not-an-angel.

Mommy and the serious dalmation. I was going to dress up as a Geisha and had my hair up and the outfit on, but the makeup did me in. I just didn't have the time, nor the patience. Maybe next year...(That's my hubby in the back wearing his teddy bear blanket cape.)

My brother...official holder of the light saber, darth vadar mask, coats and hats.

I just liked the way these lights looked.

Hope everyone had a safe and fun Halloween!

Friday, October 30, 2009

What is a vampire's favorite holiday?


Ok, I promised another ghost story. And quite honestly, I don't know if I want to tell it. Thinking about it still makes me heart pound in my chest and I get a little panicky. I irrationally fear that telling the story will bring it maybe she's reading over my shoulder. Ugh. See, I just gave myself chills...

Here goes...

Last year, my parent's were in the market for a new house. They were just kind of browsing when they came across one they fell in love with. It was an old stone school, house built in 1900. They were serious enough about it to have the entire family come and see it when the realtor showed it.

The house was beautiful. Most of it had been remodeled. The basement was in it's original state and was...well, creepy. My brother and I wandered around it, trying to act like grown ups and be brave, but I could tell he was as weirded out as I was. The kids wouldn't come down at all. They preferred it outside. I kept trying to picture my mom and dad there, having holiday dinners, etc. and realized that I was very uncomfortable with that. For no apparent reason. But when we left, I thought nothing more of it.

That night I was home with the kids, my husband was working and I was getting the kids ready for bed. When Delaney was younger, she always went to bed easily, no whining, crying or complaining, but that night I could not get her to stop screaming. Everytime I'd go upstairs and she'd be standing in her crib, screaming hysterically and I couldn't get her to calm down. She actually threw up, she was crying so hard. I picked her up and went to carry her into my bedroom. I set her down in the doorway to talk to my son and she started screaming again and pointing to the top of the stairs.

"What is she doing here?" she cried.

"Who is she? Why is she here, WHAT IS SHE DOING HERE?!!?" She kept repeating and crying.

There wasn't anyone there and I told her I didn't see anything.

"WHY IS SHE DOING THAT? WHY IS SHE HERE?" she kept screaming, holding on to my legs for dear life. Delaney absolutely refused to take a step closer.

"Delaney, there's no one there," Nick said encouragingly and walked over the stairs. Delaney suddenly stopped crying.

"She's gone now. She left. She's gone," she said and walked into the hallway and into our bedroom, like nothing ever happened.

At that point I could barely breath. The fear in my daughter terrified me and frankly anything that terrified my daughter like that terrifies me. Ghosts don't scare me, but whatever made my daughter react like that does. I ended up getting all three kids in my bed and I went down the stairs to shut off the lights. Walking down the stairs was like walking into a freezer. There was about a 4 feet section of staircase that was ice cold and then it was gone.

I'm surprised I didn't have a heart attack, I was so terrified. I laid in bed with my kids, my eyes wide open, staring at the doorway.

I don't know how ghosts work, or where she came from or what it was. But it freaked me out. And it freaked Delaney out. I can't help but think that it had something to do with that house, which my parent's did not buy. It seems like too much of a coincidence.

And that's my story.

More cakes for your viewing pleasure...or not...

I've done a few new cakes!

Skull cake

Halloween cupcakes

Lions, Elephants and Alligators!

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

What is a vampire's favorite sport??

Casket ball!


As promised, I have returned with another tale of blood curdling horror. Are you ready?

When I was younger, I suffered from frequent nightmares. I had them all the time and they were always so realistic and gory. Which is why, I think, I had a tendency to write a lot of horror stories. The dreams were good inspiration, at the very least. But I did lose a lot of sleep because of them.

One night I was dreaming about bodies...decaying, rancid corpses. I can't remember the details, which is just as well, but I remember dreaming that I was asleep, laying in my bed and beside me was a rotting cadaver, the skin melting of the bones, the eyes lolling out of the sockets. In this dream I reached to push the thing out of my bed and I grabbed it's arm...I woke up then, to discover :


I screamed and tried to throw it across the room.

It just kind of flopped down at my side.

I jumped out of bed and was in flight mode, heading out the door before I realized what it was.

My left arm had started to tingle a bit and it hit me. It was arm-like. Because it was my arm. It had fallen asleep and was completely numb, so when I grabbed it with my sweaty right hand, my left arm had hung there like a cold, lump of dead flesh. And fresh out of my nightmare, I didn't have the wits about me to figure it out.

I can still remember the terror of those few moments. It makes me laugh now, but it's very likely that back then, I may have wet myself.

Ok, ok...not exactly the pants-wetting terror that I promised. But it's dark out and my husband is at a fire call and the kids are all sleeping. If I tell the other scary story, which is a personal ghost encounter, I won't be able to go to sleep, so this is what you get tonight. Tomorrow, I will try to get it posted. It still gives me the chills.

Seriously, this will make you laugh!

A great post by a very clever blogger, that you absolutely have to read.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

What does a ghost get when he skins his knee??

A boo boo!

In the spirit of Halloween I'm going to share some tales of horror and blood curdling terror. Terror, I tell you. Terror. You will run screaming to your mommies. You will turn all the lights on in the house. And then the electricity bill will be even more horrifying than any ghost story and you'll forget all about this one.

But until then, prepare to be frightened. Or at least mildly startled.


This is the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park. It was built in the early 1900s by F.O. Stanley who was known for creating the Stanley Steam Engine; a steam powered, horseless carriage. Although horror fans will know the hotel instantly as the setting for Stephen King's "The Shining."

Growing up in Estes, I actually had my Brownie/girl scout meetings at the Stanley. Looking back now, I realize that is kind of a cool thing to be able to boast. At the time, it was just what we did. You were a Brownie and meetings were held at the haunted hotel made famous by a horror novel. We were oblivious to all that, busily making turkeys out of pine cones and other assorted crafts, learning campfire songs. In later school years we had our choir and band performances there. And unfortunately, I never saw any of the reported ghosts. I do recall hearing the piano play one time we were there and supposedly there was no one playing it, but I can't be certain that it wasn't the overactive imaginations of a gaggle of giggling girls.

However, it is reported that for the grand opening of the hotel in 1901, F.O. Stanley presented his wife Flora, with a Steinway Grand piano. The same piano still graces the hotel's grand ballroom and apparently Mrs. Stanley still stops by in her ghostly state to play a little piano now and then. People have seen the piano keys moving, but there is never anyone there. On further investigation, it always stops.

Her husband, F.O. Stanley, is also said to haunt the hotel. It is reported that he prefers the Billiard room, but has also been seen in the lobby. Bartenders have reported seeing him behind the bar, but he always vanishes before he can be approached.

The 4th floor, which was the former servant quarters, is also said to have a lot of ghostly visitors. A Lord Dunraven is said to haunt room 407 and likes to switch lights on and off. People have claimed to have seen a face looking out that window, even though it was not occupied at the time. Room 418 seems to host several child ghosts. Past guests have checked out early because they were unable to sleep due to all the children playing in the hallway and then on closer investigation, found that there were no children checked into the hotel at the time. Stephen King himself apparently saw one of the child ghosts; a small boy calling for his nanny. Impressions are said to appear on freshly made beds and there are reports of strange sounds that come from the room.

(Taken at the Stanley, picture found on

Ooo...spooky, dontcha think?? Want to book a room?

Monday, October 26, 2009

Say you missed me...please.

Due to technical difficulties (aka: not paying the internet bill) I've been off line for nearly a week. A week! It nearly killed me. Against all odds, I pulled through (all condolences/flowers/donations can be sent directly to me) and I am back up and running. I am, however, extremely far behind on reading and commenting. But I still love all of you. And never fear, I will get caught just might take awhile.

Monday, October 19, 2009


I woke up this past Wednesday morning, my stomach a twirling pit of nerves. I felt like I used to feel when I had an oral report to do at school.

I did a quick rundown in my head of the things I had to do that day, trying to find the source of my anxiousness. I was going to have to wake up my 3 year old...that's scary, yes, but not the source. At eight am, I had that interview/conference call with Uma Thurman...yes, I was going to talk to Uma Thurman! The beautiful, classy, talented Uma Thurman! On the phone! About her new movie!

A bit nerve wracking, yes, but not the source. Then it hit me...

I was helping out at Nick's school that morning. It was me and a room full of kindergarteners. My stomach heaved. Yep. That's the source.

Never fear, I will post soon on the Uma Thurman interview. She's amazing, by the way, but this post is all about me (because isn't it always?) and my fear of kindergarteners.

Scolionophobia means fear of school, although I think in my case, it's more like Pedophobia, which is fear of children. And I do fear them. Especially other people's children. They're always so honest and they dart around like moths. They're unpredictable little creatures and I have a hard enough time coping with my own children. What would I do in a class full of five year olds?


I shook at the thought.

So, after a nice tall glass of orange juice fortified with calcium and vodka, I went to school. I turn down the wrong hallway, but eventually find my way to his classroom. Apparently, it's reading time and all the kids are sprawled on the floor listening to the teacher read the book. Until I walk in, anyway, then all the kids are sprawled out on the floor and staring at me.

I awkwardly stood in the corner until they finished their book. (Which was about pumpkins, in case you were wondering.) Then I was assigned to "help" at Table 3.

"Sure," I say, smiling brightly, frantically looking around for Table 3. 25 pairs of eyes stare back at me. I'm wishing I had a paper bag to breath into.

They are all assigned tables and the teacher tells me to grab a chair and join them. So...I look around for chairs. There! Against the wall! Little, teeny, tiny chairs... I grab one and sit at Table 3 where we are doing "Letter Wheels". And I spent most of my time poking holes through paper so they could get the little clips through. And dare I was fun! I had fun. I learned a lot of things. For example:

"Mumble, mumble," Vincent says to girl next to him.
"Vincent said a BAD WORD! He's cussing," says the girl.
"Vincent, that's not nice. We don't need to talk like that," I say, in my best grown up voice.
"Yeah, well my mom and dad cuss at each other all the time," he tells me.


"We used to have two cars, a big one and a little one, but my mom busted the little one."


"My dad never plays Playstation with me."


"My bike is broken and no one will fix it."

Kindergarten is very educational. So educational, in fact, that I volunteered to go back again.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Child stuck in an experimental aircraft

Local news... Rescue attempt

To my mom...

The best thing in life is giving birth to your best friend.

When I graduated high school my mom gave me a silver locket inscribed with those words. That sums up our relationship perfectly. My mom is always the first one I call when I have exciting news or I need someone to talk to, or when I need a shoulder to cry on. We talk daily, sometimes twice a day. The day just doesn't feel right without that phone call. My brother and I have this strange way of accidentally calling her at the same time. If the phone is busy, it's because my brother got through first. I can only hope that I have the same relationship with my children when they are grown. My husband talks to his mom maybe once a month, my brother and I talk to our mom daily.

I can talk to her about anything and everything. There isn't anything off limits. She is the kind of mom that I strive to be.

Growing up, of course things weren't always smooth going. Fortunately, I have a terrible memory and I can't remember most of it. However, she does claim that I didn't speak to her for an entire year when I was about 13. Apparently if I had something to say to her, I would tell me dad. I must have been a beastly child. When I imagine myself as the mom and my daugher as that 13 year old, it breaks my heart. Mom, I'm so sorry.

As a teenager I thought she was completely unreasonable with her 2:00am curfew. Now, I think that was pretty generous. I get a little nervous thinking of my children out and about into the wee hours of the morning. I think their curfew is going to be closer to 10:00pm.

I remember being so embarassed when we had the safe sex talk. Now, I'm so thankful that she was able to be so open and trusting. I now know that's how I want to approach that subject with my children.

She didn't yell when I came home from a date with my shirt on inside out.

When I was 18 she made herself perfectly clear on how she felt about me dating a man 10 years older than myself, but never forbade me leaving the house to met him.

She told it how it was and let me decide whether or not I was going to listen and take her advice.

And eventually, I did.

She's a fun grandma...

And a beautiful woman...

And I'm so lucky to have her. She's made me the woman and mom, I am today. Thanks mom! :)

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Guest Blogger!!!

Today I have a guest blogger! Neva from Mostly Flummoxed has kindly written today's post! She has a great blog, and if you don't already, you should go read it.

So welcome Neva!

Do you have kids? Yes? Well, then answer me this, do your kids have these weird quirks? I know, silly question. Of course, everyone’s kids have them. And as a mother, we are the keepers of quirks. Those quirks that are alive and well and those that have faded away, “we are the keeper of lost” quirks (sorry I had to borrow Jewel’s line from Pulp Fiction).

So as I was fixing my girls cereal this morning, I had a flashback to a previous quirk my oldest daughter had. It was such a strong flashback that I thought, “Wait, I shouldn’t have poured the milk in her bowl!” Then I remembered, oh yea, she drinks milk now. See as a baby she nursed like a crazy person, then as a toddler she drank cows milk like it was going out of style. Then she developed some sensitivities, we thought it might be to dairy so we switched her to soy milk. Well, no it turned out it wasn’t milk but something else that was the problem. But by then she didn’t want cows milk. She said she was allergic! She refused milk. All milk. Even soy. Oh, but she would drink CHOCOLATE milk (imagine that?).
No milk on her cereal, dry please. No cheese on her sandwich, just meat. And then one day, poof! She was drinking milk again, not in great quantities mind you. But at least it wasn’t a big deal anymore.

Now my youngest, she had a period o f only wanting to eat turkey sandwiches. Morning, noon, and night. “What do you want to eat, Zo?” “Tuah-keee samitch!!” For like, a year and a half turkey. We could pass off ham and deli chicken as turkey too, thank goodness.

Now, thankfully that phase is long gone. I mean, she was starting to sprout little feathers on her elbows!

Lets see…what else? Oh, Zo is a particular dresser. It was ONLY dresses for her for a looong time. And they had to be long, like to the floor. Then it switched to jeans with embellishments. I can hardly keep up!

My oldest, B, likes mismatched socks. Do NOT, I repeat, do not give her a pair of matched socks. She even prefers one short and one long. Hey, it makes my mornings easier, most days I just grab two socks and chuck ‘em at her.

And for those of you who have nursed a baby into toddler hood…did you have a child that preferred one side over another? My B would get angry if I suggested she nurse on my left at certain times of the day.

“Whoa! Hey kid, THESE are mine! Get it?” (Of course, I only said that in my head, if I said it out loud it might anger the baby, and you do NOT want to anger the baby!)

And how about the time that my baby would only allow us to change her diaper while she stood up! Come on Moms, give me a show of hands…How many of you can change a diaper on a standing, wiggling, poop covered ba by? Right on! Put that on your resume one day.

We have also had the I LOVE PEANUT BUTTER. I love pickles. I love and only love my princess nightgown/day dress. I love my Easter high-heeled sparkly shoes. I love my bathing suit and wear it all day. I only want non-spicy, pink toothpaste, then I only want baking soda toothpaste. All lovely quirks in their own right.

So what kind of kid quirks do you have to deal with?

Neva at Mostly Flummoxed

Thanks again Neva! You'll have to come back soon!

Monday, October 12, 2009

Forget the bad mommy...I'm a BAD WIFE!

I have always believed that if you don't have enough money to pay the bills, you may as well take what you have and go shopping.

Finally, my husband has come to see the logic in this and for the first time in 7 years, my husband and I spent a night outside of our house.

We took some of our meager funds and went up to Estes Park for the weekend with the kids. We reserved a room at a hotel with a pool, borrowed my brother's annual pass to the Rocky Mountain National Park and headed up the canyon.

I may have mentioned that I get carsick. And the drive up the canyon is horrible without my Dramamine. My husband stopped at a gas station and got me some and used to the chewable kind, I dump a few out, pop them in my mouth and chew them up. And immediately start wretching and gagging. Turns out they weren't chewable. And after the performance I put on, just try to get two little kids to take can't just stick the pills in a hot dog, shove it in their mouth and blow in their face like you can a dog. No. So, again with the candy bribery thing...several minutes later and lots of spitting, yelling and gagging we were on our way.

Of course, the baby, who is too little for Dramamine, throws up all over himself and the seat. Apparently motion sickness is hereditary. Fortunately, my car is full of paper towels, wipes and kleenex and I cleaned the poor baby up. (He's had a heck of a few days...) We hung around for a bit and since I grew up in Estes Park, I was able to bore my husband and children with stories of my long ago youth.

"See that movie theater? We used to tell my mom we were going to watch a movie and then, sneak quietly into the theater so we wouldn't disturb anyone and then watch the whole movie and there was never alcohol involved. Ever."

"See that Safeway? I was with some friends and we were kicked out of there once...because, ahem, um... lookie! Birdie!"

We watched elk, found some bighorn sheep then headed to the hotel for the evening. We ate a terrible, expensive dinner at the hotel because "Kids eat Free!" (they leave out the "kids eat free because we charge the parent's twice as much!" part.)

A very large,woman in a chef hat stood near our table, manning (no pun'll get it in a minute) the buffet table.

"LOOK AT THAT MAN!" Delaney says, loudly, pointing at her. Ignore it and she will stop, I think.

"LOOK AT THAT MAN!" she says again. I sneak a sideways glance at the chef; she's glowering at our table. Nick decides to be helpful.

"That's not a MAN, Delaney! That's a lady!" "Lady" goes back into the kitchen. We leave restaurant, quickly.

Then we swim and Delaney peed in the hot tub.

We decide it's a good time to head to the room where after much whining, hitting and complaining, I end up sharing a bed with Delaney and the baby, with Nick and daddy in the other. My husband and I share a romantic goodnight kiss across the room and off to sleep we go. I can't help but recall the last time my husband and I shared a hotel room. Our one year anniversary. The sleeping arrangements were, um, closer. And a bit more active.

More of the same the next day, bad food, more boring stories from me, more elk, snow, exploring...all together blissful.

Then at around noon, my husband looks at me.

"Do you realize that the day is half over and no one has mentioned my birthday?" he asks.

Oh. My. God. Oh my God. I forgot my husband's birthday. I forgot it.

Forget the bad mommy thing. I ROCK at being a mommy. I completely SUCK at being a wife.

Or at least, now I'm going to have to...

Which brings me to this:

The lovely Jennie Mac has bestowed this completely awesome award on me. You should go see her. She has one of the best blogs around. I will be handing this award out soon, but right now I have to plan a gourmet dinner for my husband, make some Tiramasu, dust off the lingerie...I'll be making ammends for this oversight for the rest of my life.

Friday, October 9, 2009

I'll show you!

I wanted to thank all the nice people that commented and reassured me that I'm not a bad mommy...

And now I'm here to prove you wrong.

We're trying to potty train my daughter. Ha. She's been in no hurry. Until yesterday. Then she decided to wear panties. As much as I hate diapers, they're so easy compared to the frantic panic of a three year old that has to pee NOW! And so, she had to pee NOW and in my hurry to get her to the bathroom, I forget to latch the gate at the top of the stairs. And the baby tries to follow us.

He fell down them. Of course. Fortunately, there are only two. Unfortunately, they are wood stairs that lead to a wood floor. And he hit his head on the gate going down. Bump on his forehead, bump and cut on the back of his head, skinned nose. Poor baby.

Bad mommy. Good thing my husband is an Emergency Medical I call him and he reassures me that it's fine, just to watch him, etc.

(It's also a good thing that my husband is so patient with his mental patient of a wife.

...although I'd never tell him that.)

Then...get this. I drop the phone on the baby while trying to hang it up. I drop it on him. Right on his face and it hits him in the eye. He starts crying again and now his eye is swelling up.

What did the poor kid do to deserve me?

Today, however, was uneventful. There was no school today, so everyone was home, but no one was wounded, bruised, maimed...not a single bandaid was needed.

There was a lot of crying, but I think it was mostly me.

And the winner is...

The winner of the Stonyfield Giveway...determined by the number generator:

One Chic Mommy who said "I love Yobaby yogurts I have been giving them to my kiddies since forever."

Yay! Congratulations!

Email me with your address and I'll get it sent your way!

Flashback Friday! Snow!

Since yesterday we saw the first snowflakes of the season, I decided that I would dig up a few photos of one of larger storms we've had. These were taken about 6 years ago and it was awesome...My husband and I didn't have to go to work for four days because we couldn't get down the road.

Of course, now that we have kids, that whole "trapped-at-the-house" thing might not be as much fun...

Charlie Dog

Hmmm...I could have sworn there used to be a road here...

Playing in the snow!

What truck?

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Beer, Candy and Karate! Oh My!

My husband likes to fill out those little "Win Me" cards that you see all over. In the mall you can "Win this Car!"! You know the ones. I don't do it because I used to work marketing in a mall and I know that no one "wins" anything. They take your name and number off your entry card and then the dealership comes and gets the loaner car. After seeing that, I've assumed that all those are rigged like that.

But my husband actually won something! Sort of. He won 2 months of free Karate lessons for our son. Yay! (I've since discovered that everyone who entered "won", but still...I don't know if I'll tell him that. Don't want to burst his bubble...)

Tonight was the orientation. My husband was working late and then had a meeting at the fire department, so I had to bring all three of the kids with me to the karate place. I thought it would be ok. I really did. It's just an hour. No problem.

The sensei gave a very serious speech about respect and distruption and decorum. So of course, the baby starts crying. I desperately dig through my purse for the goldfish. He immediately throws them on the floor. Ok, lollipop? There has to be one in here...rifling through my purse...AHA! The wrapper is kind of...well, it should be ok. Candy doesn't go bad, right? So I pop the thing in his mouth. Ah. Silence. Then the daughter wants one. I don't have one. But I do find a roll of smarties! Yay! Happy kids! I am able to watch Nick out there, kicking and spinning and having a great time. All the while I'm thinking about this post over at Let's Have a Cocktail. (Really...let's...) I am setting them up for life in prison. I just know it.

I'm wearing my crummy jeans that bag in all the wrong places, a long sleeved Wal-Mart shirt and an ancient black sweatshirt. My hair is twisted up in its customary twisty/bun thing. The mom sitting across from me if dressed in designer clothes, head to toe, black, heeled knee boots, holding her Coach bag on her lap. I can't help but think that the thing probably cost more than the stroller I'm aimlessly moving back and forth to appease the beast who rides in it. Even though I'm not the kind of person who would wear a sweater with the Guess logo emblazoned across my boobs in rhinestones, I can't help but Frumpy.

Then to make things worse for my already tender ego, the candy did not work long and I ended up spending the entire hour outside, in the 40 degree weather with my two youngest. The baby cried and screamed and beat on the windows. Delaney ran up and down the sidewalk in her slippers, shouting random things.

Yay for karate!

I was totally and completely "that mom" tonight. So, when orientation finally ended, I went to the liquor store. Next time I'm going before class. After all, isn't that what the cup holder on the stroller is for?

Monday, October 5, 2009

Bad Mommy Award!

Ahh...sitting here in the silence of a quiet house. The only sound is the keyboard clackety-clack and the clink of my spoon in my bowl of ice cream. (The second bowl of ice cream, but who is counting? I mean really? Besides me? I don't feel guilty. No, I don't. You were counting, weren't you?!) Anyway...yes. Two bowls of Schwan's Chocolate Chip ice cream.

I'm addicted to the stuff. It's so, so good. I told the Schwan's guy that I think they put nicotine in it so people keep buying it. He assured me that it's just the extra cream. He takes his job very seriously. Tonight, I couldn't wait for the kids to go to bed so I could have a bowl of the stuff. I'm like an addict, shaking, looking at the clock, sneaking around the kitchen, trying not to make any noise. Mmmm, mmmm good.

Then, BAM, the entire upstairs floor shakes. I jump up, my heart pounding. Earthquake? Tornado? Did our roof cave in?


The baby fell out of bed. Out of our bed, which is about 4 feet off of the ground. It sits really high and he just rolled out. I already know I'm a bad parent because I let him sleep with me...I've heard the lectures from the pediatrician and read the warnings in the books. But I like him sleeping with me...and he's never, ever fallen out before. Ever. After he falls asleep I will leave him laying in the middle of the huge bed and come down to write, or work on bills. (hahaha...) But he fell off the bed.

Why do kids do that? What kind of sense do adults have, that kids don't, that keep them from falling out of bed? Is it something that comes with puberty, that ability to stay in bed and not roll off the side? What is it??

So, I feel like a bad mom. I feel terrible. I'm sitting at the computer, stuffing my face with ice cream and my child falls out of bed. I'm lucky he wasn't hurt. Scared me though, because when I ran upstairs, he was just laying there. He didn't start crying until I picked him up.

Bad, bad mommy.

Blogging and ice cream will be my downfall. Oh, and DS Scrabble. I'm doomed.

Sunday, October 4, 2009


A house without books
Is like a room without windows...

I love to read. I love it. I love books. Big books. Small books. Medium books. Old books. New books. Middle age books. Books, books, books...My house is filled with them. The walls are lined with bookshelves that are overflowing with, well, books. I have books stacked on the floor by my bed, next to the night stand because the night stand is already wedged full of them. They are stacked next to the computer, on tables, chairs, the toilet. I have boxes of books in the basement that I do not have room for, but one day hope to . I have visions of the library I will one day have (after I win the lotto) cherry wood bookshelves, floor to ceiling shelves complete with those rolling ladders so I can reach the top. A heavy roll-top desk, big picture windows...sigh. Anyway...

My grandpa, "poppy", was also a book lover and before he died, he gave me all his books. I now have a huge collection of old collectible books, some worth some good money. I even have textbooks from the late 1800s/early 1900s that are still in the orginal wrapper and box that they were packaged in, which is amazing.

There are first editions, children's books, prayer books, school books, hymn books, books in German. There's a set of well-loved Zane Grey books that aren't worth the frayed bindings that barely hold them together, but looking at them make me smile. I see them and I envision Poppy's old, veined hands holding them, his face one of concentration.

Because of my love of books and the memories that they can carry, I'm boycotting the Kindle. Even if I could afford one, I wouldn't want one. There's just something magical about a "flesh and blood" book. Something tactile and real, something that technology just shouldn't mess with.

And now comes the point of this post...

My new addiction has taken me away from my love of books. It has stolen my soul.

I haven't read a book since I bought this game. I used to stay up after the kids went to bed and read. I used to read several books a month. Not anymore. I play Scrabble on my DS. The scary part is that the game keeps track of the hours that you play. I'm not going to say just how many hours I've played. I'm pretty sure that it's wrong anyway. It must take the actual hours you play and then multiply by three. Or five. Or six. But either way, that's a lot of hours I should have been sleeping. No wonder I'm so tired when the sun comes up. I can't even blame it on good literature.

I blame it on technology. What is this world coming to? Someone, help me, please, I beg you. Recommend the best book you've ever read. Order me to read it. Wrench me away from this terrible game and let me read again! I want to be free! Free, I tell you! Free!


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