Proud to be Blue.

So the results are in, and as someone very dear to me phrased it, the outcomes are very bittersweet. I have been all fired up lately and frankly, I am just tired of being angry. In my hay day, as you know, you could find me picketing in front of any generic Target store for animal rights or encouraging voters to sign petitions to protect critters from steel traps. Now, I have found myself donating money to the critter cause and even waving the bird to folks on the corner who were boasting yellow signs that claimed to protect my marriage.

Anywho, it is all over now. Both speeches were inspiring and gracious, and I was captivated by the thousands of people who stood in the cold night to hear the words of their future pres. I will now continue to Tivo Sesame Street and try to fit another pug agility show into my busy mom schedule. I am happy to say that my private practice is still going exceptionally well, but is truly beginning to feel like work with the occasional child abuse report. Other than that, not much else happening on this end of the world.

Blah Blah Blah.

Today I have been in the worst possible mood. Delilah refuses to stop licking my every limb and there has been nothing great on TV, other than the debates, but I wouldn't want to ruffle any feathers by sharing my views on the possibility of an older gentlemen pres. I went to a MOMS Club event today. It was the annual Halloween Spooktacular, where all the little boogers get dressed up for silly candid pictures. My child had no costume, because her mother was to lazy to get up this morning and haul herself to Party City that has the Abby Cadabby costume that the little booger was recently admiring. Instead, Olivia attended the party in a pink tutu like getup that was handed down by God knows who, God knows when. Poor little dear. It must have been mortifying. I noticed the stains on the back of it, as we headed out the door. Because the getup said princess on the front, I told everyone she was a princess. I attended with my usual unsocial approach and just hoped that none of my clients would show-up and surprise me.

After swinging on the swings and sliding down the slides, Olivia planted her little pink tutu butt on a small plastic bench. Olivia proclaimed that it was "me bench," just as a little Nemo clown fish headed over and planted her little orange self right next to my hand-me-down princess. Maybe it was the stains that she later noticed on her butt or that she had finally found a place to sit away from the ruckus that is the MOMS club, but she wasn't in the mood to share. Olivia hauled off and slugged that fish right in the dorsal fin. The princess served her time-out but later refused to apologize.

We left after several yogurt dipped pretzels and pink berry punch lemonade. Home at last we were, where the battle ensued over the nap. That story deserves a whole other entry. I also called my husband today to "discuss" our current financial situation and more specifically, the property tax. Why is it that ones property tax continues to rise, despite the enormous decline in property values? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Please forgive the reference, but this is what I am obligated to endure--it was in my vows. Now back to the phone call. I was discussing the bills in a loud and irritating voice, hoping and pleading with my husband to provide me with a solution or at least a supportive ear, and after I paused for some needed feedback, my husband asks, "Did you hear that Guy Richie and Madonna are getting a divorce?" Needless to say the phone call ended abruptly.

I know some of you are thinking that I should stop the loud and irritating writing and be thankful for all of the things that I have. You are correct, but this is my blog and I can be as loud and irritating as I would like to be. Cheers.

Just Press Play

The Fartinator at His Best

We recently received a copy of the best of the best pics from Quentin's photo shoot. These are too juicy not to post. We were also told that he will be gracing a bag of Nutro Natural Choice dog food within the next 10 months. The Mona Lisa took 16 years to perfect. Be patient. Great art takes time.


Mr. Fantastic
That is his tape mark and nothing else, you Heathens!


In Action.


Oh yeah, Baby.

I should have demanded residuals.

Not So Fresh #4.

Yesterday I attempted to have a peaceful lunch at Baja Fresh with my 2 year-old and my 86 year-old father. I can hear you chuckling now. Peaceful it was not. Since my father made a clean getaway from his most recent hospitalization, I have been caring for him on Tuesdays and Thursdays. This gives my mom a chance to attempt to gather any ounce of sanity that she once had by talking to crazy people in Canoga Park. I picked my dad up, and wait, never mind calling him my dad anymore. I might as well let you all in on yet another secret. He is affectionately been given the title Poozer, since I was in junior high. The name Poozer is a take on my mom's once endearing name for him, Poo Bear. Disgusting, I know. Now back to what I was saying. I picked Poozer up promptly at 10:45am, so as not to be even one minute past the 11 o'clock hour. Mind you, if we are not #1 on the receipt, there is a chance that Poozer's entire lunch may be ruined. I am not sure if he believes that the food will no longer be fresh or that too many people may get the chance to sneeze in his salsa, but we must be first.

So there I went speeding down McBean Parkway, toddler and senior by my side, when I noticed a squirrel to my left. I am sure you can all imagine what happened next, out into traffic he darted. I am still unsure if it was my tire or the red Honda Civic next to me that made the final assault. I looked in my rear view mirror to confirm the tragedy, and sure enough there he was in the street twitching. With that imprint now on my mind forever, I pressed forth to feed my Poozer his lunch.

Due to the quick braking action that I made in an attempt to avoid the suicidal squirrel, we arrived at Baja Fresh late. With three people in line now in front of us, Poozer began pacing and my toddler began chanting, "down." Down she went from my arms and I directed both of them to have a seat. I am usually in charge of ordering, paying, although never with my own money, gathering the plastic forks, drinks, straws, and salsa. I approached the counter grateful that the wait was coming to an end. Poozer was still undecided at this point as to what gourmet delight he would be partaking in. "No beans," he ranted. "I only eat recycled beans." Would you like guacamole? He stated, "Okay, but no sour cream, and no vegetables." I pleaded with the cashier to give us the best deal for the money.

As the line continued to grow, I heard a large crash, then a thud, and then nothing. I looked over, and poor little Olivia lay on the floor, face beet red, ready to let out the scream of all screams. Please don't pass out child, I thought. I quickly ran over to scoop her up from the corner of the black and white tiled floor. Of course, leaving my purse and a wad of cash on the counter for any of the 3-4 customers behind me.

Shortly there after, Olivia let out her overdone and very dramatic screech in my ear. I went back to the counter to continue the order, as Poozer restated, "remember, no vegetables in that burrito. What happened to the kid?" With Olivia screaming and the line now growing longer, I struggled to hear the final total. $19.14 please. I paid. We ate. Then we headed out to the bookstore.

I realize that this story is not unusual in anyway for me, and I realize that it may lack the usual luster that my blogs once possessed. While my private practice now occupies, not one but two days of my week, I wanted to let you all know that I still make time for burritos.

Bad Blogger...Bad.

Every time I have had more than one second to compose a captivating and bone chilling blog entry, something catastrophic happens in my life. I have had announcement after announcement that have dwindled or that have become insignificant at this point. Roughly three weeks ago my father was admitted to St. Josephs hospital for a variety of ailments, including pneumonia, kidney failure, and a blood sugar of 20. After spending some time in the ICU and experiencing "ICU psychosis," he was transferred to a regular bed on the 4th floor. I really thought I was going to loose my dad forever.

Now that he is back at home, he is making his way toward recovery. He is up and walking with a new silver walker, although he complains regularly that it makes him look and feel old. His cane is now slowly being phased back in, despite my mother's dismay. Right now he is at his first doctor's appointment post hospital discharge, and I am anxiously awaiting the results. I am still on edge every time the phone rings and am certain that at any minute he could be readmitted to the hospital.

While spending many a hour in the ICU waiting room, I became friendly with several of the other visitors. It was weird. I know people are in critical condition and pass away everyday, but as many of you know, unfortunately, it is all too common--just day to day life. I met one boy, who looked more like a man, with a large Samoan type Afro. I struck up a conversation with him, after seeing his t-shirt that boasted a former hero of mine, Robert Smith from the band The Cure. I managed to find my old Cure posters and left them for him in the waiting room. Hopefully, that put a smile on his face, at least for the moment.

Then there was the lady who stayed every waking minute and then some to catch a minute with her father, who was now on life support after suffering a major heart attack. For about 5 minutes, every couple of hours or so, the waiting room phone would ring and she would be allowed to visit. Again, just everyday life.

OK, don't close your browser yet. This is bound to become more upbeat. I will change the subject and make some of those announcements that I have been dying to make for about a month or so...Quentin got the job! His pimply pug face will be gracing the bags of Nutro Natural Choice dog food that will be coming soon to a store near you! I am so proud of my pug boy. It was a blast too. The professional photo studio was beautiful, as was the photographer who snapped roughly 500 pictures of my Quentin in a variety of poses. We were done in 45 minutes, collected our $200 and off we went to wait on the 405.

Delilah also had her knee surgery. The surgery went smoothly, and hopefully, Delilah will be up and about in no time at all. Unfortunately, I believe she has been getting slightly depressed lately. Every time she moves or jumps or attempts to play or for that matter do anything at all that might make her happy, I shriek and put her in her soft crate. I have now chosen to utilize the therapeutic skills that I payed USC so much for and rephrase my shrieking into pug friendly empathetic statements of concern for her knee.

And finally, I am proud to announce that I have officially started a private practice, well almost started. I have the office keys, but I won't see clients until July 1. It should be interesting and much different than anything I have done in the past. I will be working on Tuesday afternoons and even hope to start a group that targets overwhelmed first time new moms. Hmmm. I wonder where I got that idea?

Will Work for New Knees

Now that we are safely home from our vacation, I can resume my incessant worrying about Olivia's regularity and Delilah's chronic knee problems. In short, my girls are a mess. Perhaps, it was too much junk food or a change in the water while we were away, but poor little Olivia hasn't been the same since. The little dear simply can't make me the glorious packages that I have become accustomed to receiving. I will spare you all the remainder of the details, or not. We have tried prune and peach juice, fresh and steamed fruits and veggies, and have been restricting starches at all costs and still, nothing. It is a good thing she is just a baby, or this blog entry would be absolutely mortifying.

As for Delilah, she has suffered with luxating patellas, or bad knees, since she was a puppy. Lately, her right leg has really been bothering her, so we took her back to our local veterinarian in hope of an accurate assessment and treatment plan. I suppose the hope was my mistake. Along with her knee, I explained to the vet that her hoo-hoo had also been bothering her. Not sure if I said hoo-hoo or something else in the moment, but she has been licking herself like crazy. I was told this was due to allergies and to apply a topical cream to relieve her discomfort. Once again with that darn glimmer of hope, home I went further in debt with Delilah's prescriptions in hand.

After a month or so of rest for her knees and hoo-hoo cream for her itching, Delilah was in the same place as when I had originally taken her to our vet. We then decided to bring her back to the hospital in West Los Angeles. The orthopedic surgeon at the VCA was the original vet who diagnosed Delilah with bad knees several years back. We were told that Delilah's right knee had worsened to a Level 3, a down grade from the previous diagnoses of a Level 2. Dr. Owen confirmed that no amount of rest and relaxation would heel the wounded knee and that surgery was necessary at this point. Dr. Owen ordered a full panel of lab work and also recommended a urinalysis in order to rule out any type of bladder infection.

Well, it turns out that Delilah's itchy hoo-hoo was not only itchy but has been contending with a raging bladder infection, and for MONTHS! I feel awful. Never having had a bladder infection, I can only imagine how painful it must be. The surgery is still on the books for next Thursday but may need to be rescheduled, after we get the results from the urine culture. I am hoping that after the surgery all of this will be a thing of the past, and Delilah will make her return to the agility circuit. As for now, I pushed Quentin's peeking tongue back into his mouth, snapped a quick head shot, and sent it into Nutro with the hope that they will hire him to sell dog food to pay for Delilah's surgery. It is good to have people, says Delilah.

Aloha! (How Original)

Olivia designing her own mushroom rock tower.



Just looking out the car window.



Stealing kisses.



A room with a view.





Greetings from Maui. We arrived after a plane ride that seemed to go on and on and on. Olivia did well for the most part and we were super thankful that we had purchased her, her own seat. In a matter of no time at all her pink happy meds took over and she drifted away into La La land. When she awoke she was a wee bit grumpy but thankfully, the plane landed shortly there after.

Our first night here was a bit of a nightmare. Although she was extremely tired, Olivia was up bright and early at 12:30am. At least that is morning, right? Olivia poked her head up from in between us and proclaimed, Mama, Dada! As if to say, what are you doing in my bed? Playtime! We are on vacation, and she wanted to play. By 3:30am Damon and I were grasping for a fix to our sleepless night, so we decided it would be best to go on a car ride. We figured that might put her to sleep, and we could see the sights bright and early. Unfortunately, not having much experience being up at 3:30am, we had forgotten that nothing is open and the sun was not up yet. We headed out anyway and after 10 minutes or so Olivia was OUT! We attempted to transfer her to her own crib from the car and that too failed miserably. Let's just say it was a long night.

The second day was much better. After a long nap, our little angel was right back to her unpredictable spunky little self. We have been swimming more times than I can count. She loves the sand, and I have been enjoying and will continue to enjoy a plethora of fruity umbrella type drinks. Yum. Yum. Yesterday was the highlight of the trip for me. I have been snorkeling many times and in many different places, but this was by far the best, ever. Myself and my friend Brian--Damon opted out due to lack of swimming skills--headed really far into the deep blue sea and around a mound of rocks into a protected cove. It was amazing. As we were on our way, we heard the squeaks and clicking of dolphins and saw them straight ahead. We swam as if we were being chased by sharks to catch them, and when we arrived there they were, probably 25 or so all around us. Have I mentioned how amazing it was? As we continued on our journey we also encountered giant sea turtles and array of beautiful multicolored corals and huge tropical fish. By far the best ever. Happy Mother's Day to me.

At the moment Olivia is napping. As soon as she awakens we will head back out to the pool, in an attempt to drain her energy just in time for bed again. Tomorrow we will drive somewhere far and spectacular, maybe a distant rain forest or to a waterfall or shore with cascading rocks. We will hit the Kaanapali Beach Luau, which boasts kid friendly foods like hot dogs, pizza, and potato chips. All will be wrapped up on Wednesday morning when we pack, endure another six hour plane flight, and arrive home to the Fartinator and his girl at around midnight.

He Looks More Like a Rat to Me.

In 3 days from today, our family, along with a family of our close friends, will be flying with the friendly skies to beautiful Maui, Hawaii. We will be leaving behind Lady Godiva, who unfortunately seems to have left us behind, our two adoring yet slightly obnoxious Pugs, and the daily grind of everyday life. To launch us into our family vacation we took a days trip to the fabulous home of Mickey the Mouse. The most crowded place on earth was a ton of fun, despite the enormous amount of hot tired people and the hours of standing in line with an even a hotterer and more tirederer toddler.



Olivia loved Toon Town and the large Carousel and the Storybook Boat ride. She laughed and giggled at the balloon that kept hitting Damon in the head and begged for her nap around 2:15. Olivia, however, was not so fond of Mr. Toad's Wild Ride and the Pirates of the Caribbean. I never realized it before, but those rides can be quite scary. Poor dear was so excited to drive the car into the Toad's Ride, but only until she realized the ride was out of her control. Who drives in the pitch dark anyway? Narrowly missing the walls and the dynamite, Olivia was thrilled to be alive when we exited the nightmare.

After she finally crashed in her stroller, it was up to Damon and I to keep it moving at exactly the right speed and consistency to achieve optimal sleeping conditions. At one point, one of those hot tired people had the audacity to stand in my way. No, no. No time for stopping. "The word is excuse me," she shouted as we passed by. Can you believe that woman even had the nerve to stick her foot under the stroller wheel? Without thinking, Damon hammered back, "the word is don't stand in the middle of the walkway, lady!" Nothing like Disneyland to model for your child good manners.

When the day was done, we were all sufficiently exhausted, yet little Olivia made sure not to sleep on the way home in the car at 8:30 at night. She wanted to be certain that she had ample time to spend with the Pugs when she arrived at home. So she twirled and spun and raced around the house until Damon and I put her in her crib for our own safety.

It has been quite busy in our house lately. Between having a chance to eat at a restaurant that does not boast a kids eat free night, seeing Wicked at a theater outside of the Santa Clarita Valley, and planning our trip to a tropical destination, life is rapidly moving forward. Along with the other 10,000 pounds of stuff we are hauling to Maui, I am hoping to tote along my laptop. If it works out, my Blog and I will be sipping a fruity drink with extra umbrellas, all while telling Olivia not to put sand in her mouth or her hands down her diaper. Cheers.

Stairway to Heaven

For those of you who are easily disgusted or difficult to entertain, I urge you to look away now. In a few days or so, I will publish another blog about the humming bird or another exciting trip to the zoo but not today. Today, I am going to provide you with an unprecedented uncensored look into my bedroom. Again, this blog is not for the faint of heart.

Let me take you back to the afternoon in question, when I was imagining a glorious dinner of good times, laughs, and thought provoking conversation. I prepared a yuppie salad of mixed baby lettuces, fresh vegetarian chili, and corn bread muffins. Since it was a special occasion, an occasion where friends would be joining us, we pushed dinner back until at least 5:15. Don't turn away yet. This gets even more wild. As we sat for dinner, Olivia immediately dove into her cheesy beefy mac, with her own fork, mind you. Mac hit her mouth but mostly fell onto her pink skirt and lovely little striped sweater. Pretending not to notice, I dove into my salad, which sported a homemade balsamic vinaigrette. The evening seemed to be progressing quite smoothly.

Until that is, Olivia proclaimed she was finished and demanded to be removed from her highchair. Okay, I thought. She was bored and less hungry now and wanted to play. Out she came, only to request to sit on my lap. Sure, angel. Damon you just keep eating and enjoy your meal, I stated, in my usual sweet and gentle tone. Yes, my dinner was halted, but I enjoy nothing more than spending those extra minutes with my baby girl. Bread, she signed. Sure. Anything for you, Miss Olivia. She pulled the piping hot slice of sourdough bread off of my plate and began gumming it, after half was thrown onto her highchair.

In a moment of weakness, I decided that I would like to finish my dinner, while it was still room temperature. Back in her highchair she went, kicking and screaming the whole time. Should I give in? Probably, but no. Tonight I was in charge, and she was going to enjoy her beefy cheesy mac if it killed me. She was going to ignore toddlerhood and jump right into adulthood just where I needed her to be that evening. Her plate filled with uneaten fresh strawberry chunks, green beans, grapes and beefy cheesy mac was placed back again in front of her. Now don't worry blog enthusiasts. I will be getting to the bedroom part in no time at all. Once she calmed down, she took several more bites of my salad and bread and then it happened. Mama needed to be taught a lesson. Without hesitation, my child launched her plate of beefy cheesy mac directly onto the white carpet.

Now our guests, as sweet as they are, flew up and offered to help clean-up. No, no I said, as I laughed out loud about our Stanley Steamers, aka Quentin and Delilah, or for the purposes of this blog, Quentin will now be referred to as the Fartinator. That would be known as foreshadowing for those of you who didn't get it. The Fartinator and his girlfriend quickly took to the task, devouring each tiny macaroni and morsel of hamburger meat. When they were done, I remarked that I was quite pleased with their work. At this point, I had no idea what was in store for the rest of my evening. Please sit, Damon requested, as he got down on his hands and knees and began to scrub the tomato stains from the floor.

Now that our guests were gone, I had time to relax and unwind in my large and comfortable bed. For those of you who don't know me very well, I will now make a confession that might be difficult for some of you to hear. It is true. The Fartinator and his girl sleep in the bed on my side and not just in the bed but under the covers. Picture me laying the fetal position. Now picture Quentin tucked tightly next to my stomach with his head resting on my legs. As many times as I move in the night so does he. Now Delilah on the other hand is tucked on the other side of me, forming a perfect burrito, a term Damon has coined over the years.

Recently, I have come to believe that there is a magnetic force in my bedroom that pulls the dogs heads to the foot of the bed, leaving the ass ends pointed directly toward my head. With that being said, the Fartinator blew out a sample of what I had in store for the rest of the evening. Right during American Idol the gas passing, cutting of the cheese, stepping on a toad, stinkers, air biscuits, barking spiders, and rotten eggs rang out in a symphony to accompany the music of the night. Apparently, pugs have an extremely sensitive digestive system, a system that is unable to tolerate the likes of any ordinary cheesy beefy mac.

As the night continued, so did the smell. It was thick, and then came the explosive diarrhea. I know I could probably spare you the details but that would not allow me my therapeutic aspect of Who Needs Pimentos. Most people by this time would have put the dog on the floor or out of the room for that matter, but those of you who know me, know that I am a wee bit neurotic about the care of the Fartinator and his girlfriend. With each trip to the backyard, no matter what the time, I trek to the outside and make sure that no coyote is waiting to steal my Fartinator. I will try to hide the fact that our fence is quite high and has wire throughout, so even the skinniest of beasts would not be able to squeeze through.

I hate to admit this but the pugs also have their own steps leading to the bed, all to ensure that they may come and go as they please. You think it would be easy to simply move the steps away, so they could not get onto the bed, but no. If I had made that decision, I could have rested peacefully all evening scent free. But like a martyr, I endured the stench, the numerous trips to the backyard at 2:30 then 3:30, and surrendered my sleep to the Fartinator.

Lady Godiva

Today, while watching Delilah May enjoy her sunbath, I noticed a tiny dollop of a cottony like substance planted strategically on a string of my firefly patio lights. During Olivia's naps I have found myself blogging, talking on the phone, paying bills, or literally taking some time to enjoy the fresh air. In these moments of peace and serenity, I have time to see and hear things like never before.


Thoughts?


Anything?

After several minutes of holding completely still, and then not so still, balancing on a swiveling bar stool, I noticed her in the tree across the yard. She was watching me as closely as I was watching her. I quickly went inside and decided to give her some privacy and stare from a distance. Much to my surprise that tiny hummingbird flew to her nest and continued her diligent work that I had seemingly interrupted.


Her nest is only about the size of dime at the opening and is made of spider webs, air plants and dried grasses. When Damon gets home from work, I will be running out to the store to purchase a new feeder and some of that sticky red syrup that always drips onto the concrete, enticing large mounds of ants. Nothing is too good for Lady Godiva.

Social Skills: C-

I have never been very good at your average insignificant mingling. In fact, I am usually anxious and awkward and have a difficult time hearing and remembering names or details of any given conversation with a stranger. Of course, after partaking of a ripe old grape or two, I am ready to exchange phone numbers and other intimate details. This weekend myself and a friend traveled to Agua Dulce, a small town even further up the 14 freeway than the big CC, for a baby shower. Now usually I would turn down the invite, not being close friends with the mom to be, but since my girlfriend was going and I was curious about the large ranch style home that the shower was being held in, I said yes.

I fished out from my closet sandals, with heels, mind you, jeans that were too tight and a black shirt that I hadn't worn for at least a month. With a stroke of mascara I was headed out the door in no time at all. When we arrived, the house was as large as I had imagined it would be, with horses and stables and arenas and cows and a pool, as you can see the list goes on and on. Upon entering, I immediately realized that I knew absolutely no one at all, so I found a perfect spot on one of the couches in the corner and planted myself down on the large cowhide that draped the sofa. I admired the belt buckles that adorned the entertainment center and numerous horse statues, but especially the large cowboy that passed by me on his way out for a beer.

After a prayer lunch was served. I dined on the only leaves that I could find without meat and a diet coke. I once again congratulated the mom to be, played some intense shower games and made my way out to the porch. I sat with the 16 year-old large dog, who I truly appreciated. Not only was she 16, but she was pleasantly plump with a thick mop of hair. It was hot and she panted and ate potato chips as they dropped in front of her. I pictured Olivia swimming in the large fountain in the courtyard and enjoyed my banana nut cake. After 2 hours, it was time to say goodbye, and once again I attempted to head down the long path of uneven wooden steps that led me to my car. I am certain I could have made a better attempt to engage others in conversation, but I suppose some things are better left unsaid.

Friends

FYI: This is in honor of Liverpool FC's 5-3 victory over Arsenal in the 2008 Champions League Quarter-Final, here's a tune for the red men. YNWA.



This is my friend Nick from college. Actually, Damon found him wandering around the computer lab or the halls or in some white-walled boring classroom at Cal State Northridge many years back. I am guessing this video was filmed close to closing, after several pricey imported bottles of beer, and most likely, on a week night. For those of you who know Nick, this video will make perfect sense. For those of you who have yet to meet a character of his kind, this video will not make perfect sense, in turn making perfect sense.

Friendships morph into sometimes strange distant creatures as the years pass and even more so after the baby comes. New friends are made at playgroups and in the park and even at Gymboree. These new friends with kids seem to get me right away and are always up on the latest style of sippy cup and the newest shoes made for the rambunctious toddler. They are always willing to venture out to Target and to some random park on the way home to slam down some food, change a diaper, and slide down the slide. In my old life, I probably would have never found these people and might not have had much in common. I certainly wouldn't have given the time to make new friends but am thankful I have the time now.

On the flip side of this friendship coin and in my new life, I would probably never find people like Nick. No longer having much chance to mingle in swanky bars or say cheers to being a DINK (dual income no kids) or running out for late night trips for toasty subs at Quiznos, people like Nick would probably not find me the least bit entertaining. Let's just say that brands of shoes for the rambunctious toddler is a conversation that may be better left for me and my mom's groups. With multiple and unique interests, talents, and even basic moral beliefs, my menegerie of friends are all so different. I am just happy that I had the chance to gather them when I could.

My Dancing Queen

OK, I am totally into this movie thing! It seems to keep me out of trouble, at least for the time being. The last time I heard this song it was joined with a clip of my husband dancing drunk on New Years Eve. Boy have times changed. Enjoy!

For Those of You Who Do Not Believe...

When Your Tivo Betrays Or Was it My Husband?

The other night Damon made the mistake of flipping the TV channels and landing directly on a movie called Murder in the First. I immediately began to nag at him to turn it off and started whining when he refused to do so. Not sure if you all have seen the movie, but boy is it gory. It stars Kevin Bacon and tells the story of a prisoner who is serving time in Alcatraz for stealing $5.00. The worst of it is that after he tries to escape he is tortured and kept in solitaire for three years. As you can imagine, when he is finally released into the general population he is, as we say in the profession, nuttier than a fruit cake.

Back to the nagging part. Since having Olivia, I can't stand to watch anything that is not so sticky sweet that it resembles a Thomas Kinkade painting. Honestly, something comes over me, and I am immediately in tears thinking of all of the wrongs in the world. Must be the social worker in me or the mother. I used to be a Freddy Kruger fan, a fan of Psycho and One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest. I endured Schindler's List and tearjerkers like Terms of Endearment. Now, nothing but reality shows and cheese ball sitcoms.

OK, now really back to the nagging part. I whined to get Damon to put on American Idol and nothing. Thinking back, I must need to improve my technique. I begged and pleaded and moaned and nothing. I was told to get over it. It was just a movie, and I always get to watch what I want. I am sure some of you can play this scenario back in your head clear as day. So, Damon proceeds to leave the movie on. By this point, there I am mind glued, eyes tearing, an emotional wreck. When all of a sudden, out of nowhere, up pops a timer counting down two minutes until an automatic Tivo switch to record mode. What? Damon, quick do something! I must see how this movie ends! Damon chuckles quietly and says, "You know you have already seen this movie." No! No! I do not remember! Do something! He can't! Damon goes on, "If you want to miss Big Brother 8, we can stop the recording and keep watching the movie."

How could he possibly suggest I miss Big Brother 9, a show I have invested way more time into than I would like to admit. What a decision! You thought you had problems! Can you imagine my dilemma? I was furious with Damon for putting me in this predicament in the first place. If only he would have changed the channel! I could go on and on, but I seem to be losing my train of thought here. Obviously, I have some unresolved feelings about Damon not succumbing to my whining or sympathy for the Kevin Bacon's character in the movie, but damn that Tivo.

The Easter Egg Chronicles

And so it begins. A large majority of the hubby's 42,000 relatives are headed our way for the Easter holiday. They are coming from Washington, Texas and downtown beautiful Riverside. I have spent the large portion of the day hopping from one grocery store to another to collect just the right cilantro, limeade, croutons, and chicken, veggie chicken of course, for those who dare. Honestly, four different super stores including, Ralphs, Wally World, Trader Joes, and Costco. Paper plates will be used on Easter eve, due to the dinky amount of obnoxious black ceramic plates that we have.

Plastic eggs coated in lead paint from China will be filled with pretzels and goldfish, and Olivia will be wondering just why she has to find food in the grass. Get the pink ones Olivia! You know you are supposed to love pink. You are a girl, in fact. A good time will be had by all, as the margaritas and beer keep flowing. No, not for Olivia. She sleeps long enough without the sauce, and besides we are saving that for the plane trip to Maui that we will be conquering in early May. For all of you concerned about the Pugs, they will be dining in and will not be absent to agility class on Saturday.

Happy Easter Egg to All and to All a Good Night!

This Will Make All the Difference

Back from a blogging hiatus, here I sit ready to describe to you my utter confusion with my current life circumstances. I had always, okay Mom, maybe not always, but for a bit of time now, seen myself as a career oriented person. I could be found waking up at an ungodly hour or nuking my always delicious Lean Cuisine entree du jour at the given lunchtime. I never allowed myself to wear the same outfit twice in one week, and I would strive to work my way up that slippery ladder. I dabbled in supervision. I forced myself to attend and even participate in some nightmare family therapy sessions, and I even attended ridiculously boring and unproductive meetings that left me longing for a Diet Coke to keep me awake for the remainder of my day. Was I happy? Not really. I mean I loved the kids I worked with, but I always suffered from the Sunday night blues.

These days on the other hand, I frequent the local park. I allow my daughter to watch more television than I would like to admit, and if you happen to see me on a Tuesday and then again on a Thursday, I may very likely be wearing the same pants. I attended a MOMS Club meeting yesterday. For those of you not familiar with the MOMS Club, it is an International organization that stands for Moms Offering Moms Support. However, I tend to stay to myself for fear that I will have nothing in common with the other housewives. So, not much support happening there.

As I have said before, I have found myself very puzzled lately. People continue to ask me what I have been up to, and I find myself pulling answers out of you know where. What have I been up to? Do people really want to know? I watched 3 episodes of Signing Times, changed 4 diapers, fed the dogs, did the laundry, sang my ABC's and made dinner around 5:00. Different answers usually apply to different people. For former worker buds or people I am trying to impress or at least engage in lasting conversation, I might reply that I am thinking about starting a private practice or maybe do some volunteer work again at the local battered women's shelter. But, I am not really. I mean I would like to, but I don't seem to have the motivation or courage or whatever it may be.

Of course, there is always the other option--Baby #2. Can you hear the cheers from the Grandparents now? That option leaves me more confused than ever. Could I do it all over again? The pregnancy, the delivery, the lactating? Oh, the lactating. The infancy! As you all know it took a year and a half for me to get pregnant the first time. Those 15 months along with some divine intervention, and I was puking in no time at all. Not that all of that puking wasn't rewarding in the end, but the toilet and I became way too intimate.

It would seem that I have traveled to the two roads that diverged in a yellow wood. Each needing more thought. Each provoking opinions. Each keeping me up at night. Each with daffodils and thorny bushes along the way.

Just Plain Sick

For the past several days, my little princess has been sick. She is suffering from nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual snotty nose, cough, earache and high fever. Ok, enough about her. This is my blog, right? My chance to vent and be happy that she is unable to read yet. This usual snotty nose, cough, earache and high fever has been HELL! Again, we are talking about hell for me. I imagine it has also been hell for her, but I will leave that for her to tell her therapist when she is of age.

I haven't left the house in days. In fact, today I didn't take a shower or brush my teeth until 1pm. I know, gross. Olivia has needed constant attention, meaning that I have been morphed into a snot wiping, baby carrying, drug pushing, constant worrying, obsessive temperature taking, call the doctor again, non-showering mutant. I do have to say that my arms are getting quite strong. I can now fix dinner, talk on the phone, feed the dogs, and carry my 24 pound child, all while feeling sorry for myself that I still haven't had a chance to see who won the election.

My mom and I were cracking up the other day, as we were discussing how those who have children dupe those who do not have children into having children. Look around my house. I have pictures almost everywhere of my happy, smiling, clean, healthy child at the beach, in the pumpkin patch, at the pool, eating cake, well, you get the point. However, you will never find the pictures of days like today. Days when the baby wakes up red in the face, snot flowing, eyes welled up, fussing, crying, more fussing and crying, clingy, don't put me down mama, I am not ready yet days.

I called the hubby this morning in tears of frustration, exclaiming that I can't do this one more day. I am loosing my mind, I shouted as Olivia threw the Tylenol out of my hand. Poor hubby has to balance the demands of driving 80 miles a day round trip to work and calming his hysterical wife at 7:30 in the morning. Once again, enough about him, this is all about me. I guess that is all for now though. American Idol awaits me on the Tivo, and I still need to blow dry my hair.

Friends for Life

31 Flavors

Toddlers come in a wide variety of flavors, textures, and consistencies. Of course, you have your old trusty favorites such as, Vanilla and Strawberry. Vanilla and Strawberry are reliable and sweet and seem to fit in the box when it comes to plotting their growth on the chart and falling asleep at bedtime. Vanilla and strawberry love stuffed toys and are happy to play with other children or simply sit in front of the television and watch a cartoon. They do experience a slight degree of elevated anxiety when going to their doctor for a check-up but can be easily distracted by the germ filled toys in the waiting room.

Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough and Reese's Peanut Butter Cup are a little more unpredictable. Just when you think you are able to anticipate the next bite, BAM, a chunk hits your tongue and you are left attempting to maneuver the piece to the side of your mouth which has less sensitivity to cold or has been to the dentist last. Sure a routine can help in determining the cause of a meltdown or the apparent need of an early nap, but on any given day, a small chocolate chip can enter the equation, leaving even the most seasoned of parents searching for explanation. Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough and Reese's Peanut Butter Cup are both rewarding and possess bits of the extraordinary.

The most intense flavors include Wild and Reckless, which is made up of a swirl of green apple, blue raspberry and fruit punch sherbets for a combination bursting with flavor and Raspberry Cheese Louise, which is a frozen treat with raspberry cheesecake pieces and coated graham cracker bits swirled with a raspberry ribbon. These flavors may be highly explosive and are in no way predictable. Wild and Reckless and Raspberry Cheese Louise may melt quickly or stay solid and become more than entertaining for any passerby. They are more intense than the others and purely led by emotion. These flavors are rich and posses many levels of decadence. They are the independent thinkers, who see no need for a set schedule and may blow kisses to you one day and act as though they had never seen you the next.

In a category all alone stands Rock n' Pop Swirl, my personal all time favorite. Rock n' PoP Swirl, which is loaded with purple-colored grape sherbet and green-colored green apple sherbet is loaded with popping candy. This flavor has been served at Baskin-Robbins since 2004 and appeared in my house in 2006. Do you remember Pop Rocks? Pop Rocks are the tiny candies that sizzle and explode in your mouth without warning. As a kid it was always fun to put the entire package in your mouth to prove to your friends that you were even wilder and crazier than they were. Rock n' Pop Swirl is loaded with Pop Rocks and endures the same traits as the most intense flavors. Rock n' Pop Swirl is creative, reactive, endearing and always leaves me wanting more.

Do Pugs Qualify for Unemployment?

That is them, two of my three babies. I have been having a really difficult time lately managing Quentin and Delilah. Well, maybe I shouldn't say managing, but they have become increasingly annoying during the past few weeks. Soon after I became pregnant, Quentin became very protective, or should I say neurotic. At first, it was endearing and even comical to hear him bark at the chocolate chip cookie commercial or that evil dragon who consumes less than desirable Chinese food at Pick Up Sticks. At that time, he also began to snuggle tightly against my belly, when I would take a nap or attempt to get some sleep at night between the trips to the bathroom.

Quentin continues to sleep next to my belly, and although it is not quite as large as it once was, it seems to make an even more comfortable and squashy shelf for his head. Quentin has also become less of a connoisseur now when it comes to commercials on the television. He now barks loudly at chimes, bells, music, cartoons, car horns, piano keys a through f, and the usual voices of people that are disturbing to him. It matters not how much I yell or tell him no. In fact, it is the yelling that I do that wakes the baby rather than the barking that comes out of his mouth. I believe the baby has began relying on the barking to reach the R.E.M phase of sleep. Thank you Quentin.

The barking has now become contagious. Delilah has decided that she will now participate in the activities and join in the choir of annoyance. Together they stand in front of the television singing out of key, waiting for me to actually get up off the couch to do something about it. Maybe they are longing for work. It is difficult to be an out of work actor, with no chance for waiting tables at the California Pizza Kitchen.

Where the Wild Things Are

As you all know, our family has become a bunch of avid animal watchers. Despite my morbid thoughts and outrageous comments about the imagined behind the scenes happenings, I have grown quite fond of our local zoo. Today my mom, myself, and the baby headed to Los Angeles to catch a glimpse of the gorillas, lions, and of course, the giraffes. It was amazing. Three generations of women together watching the critters, as they watched back, some with equal enthusiasm, but most with much less.

Today the 2 1/2 year-old baby gorilla sat directly in front of the glass enclosure and pounded loudly on the walls with delight, as at least seven 1-2 year old baby humans pounded back. After about 20 minutes of play each toddler, human and other, ran back to their perspective mama, grandma, or caretaker. I just dared anyone to attempt to wipe the smile off of my face.

Then to the lions. After passing the lions once previously, we heard roaring from a short distance away. We turned immediately, only to find a large male lion roaring his terrible roars and gnashing his terrible teeth. And much like one of those annoying mothers, who are usually standing in your way reciting the encyclopedia of animals to their children, there I stood reciting the encyclopedia of animals to my child. And then, a miracle. Well not really, but I am trying somehow to keep your attention. My child roared back and using her American Sign language signed lion! Let me add, it was not to a book or to a stuffed toy or to a small plastic disproportionate lion, but to an actual living breathing gorgeous lion. For that, I love the zoo.

Omens Don't Mean Anything.

Now that the holiday festivities have fizzled out like an old can of Coke, here I am back to my old blogging habits. I have really missed blogging and have no real reason as to why I have put my masterpiece on hold. I returned safely from the Ellen show with my Playstation 3 and Rockband in hand and several other pieces of high-end electronic equipment that I have no idea what exactly to do with. Made the husband more than happy, which is good, seeing as how I was a bit of a Scrooge this year.

Standing for depression for no reason, a friend of mine writes about D.F.N.R. Perhaps, I have had a touch of the bug lately, or maybe I am continually attempting to define my new self. I do miss work. I always feel incredibly guilty, when I feel depressed or teary for some undefinable reason. What do I have to be teary about? Obviously, rationalizing with myself is to no avail. If that worked, I would be able to snap out of it without trouble and skip down the yellow brick road.

I have been reading about this woman, Meredith Emerson, a 24 year-old hiker who went missing with her black lab, Ella, on New Year's Day. She informed her roommates that she was going on a hike in one of Georgia's oldest and most popular state parks, Vogel State Park, which is located at the base of Blood Mountain in the Chattahoochee National Forest. I have become a little bit obsessed. I must admit. How does this happen? I mean I understand how this happens, but this situation must be so common that one day it is at the top of the news and the next day I have to search to find any new information. I don't want to not know. I don't want to forget this woman. I don't want to not remember who she is in a month from now. Meredith Emerson is a blue belt in martial arts, who loves hiking and loves her dog. That is all I really know about her, besides that she is missing and has been enduring 13 degree weather at night with a wind chill that has reached almost zero.

This evening her dog was found at a Kroger convenience store miles from where she was last seen. Ella survived. They know it is her because of the microchip they scanned in her neck. No leash and no collar. Also found this evening was the "person of interest" the police had been looking for. Also at a convenience store, Gary Michael Hilton, was found. Detectives now have him for questioning.

I hope to wake tomorrow or the next day and read about how Meredith Emerson survived in the Georgia wilderness with only 2 aspirin and a cough drop. I hope to hear that Gary Michael Hilton is not the pervert that the law is making him out to be. I hope that Blood Mountain and the 13 degree weather have nothing to do with the outcome of this story. I hope that Meredith's friends and family have a better day tomorrow.