All About the Benjamins Baby

Why, oh why gentle readers do I question my supermom abilities? Really?! I had the children showered, dressed (Gap easy fit dark rinse jeans, white long sleeve tees, green ringer neck tees over top) and ready to go at 6:55am. We hit Starbucks at 7:10, I had a Cinnamon Dolce Latte (total departure from the usual, I know) and had Ryan dropped off at 7:23ish.

Jack's appointment was fine. No offense to those of you married to medical specialists, but really? The additional schooling also needs to include a lesson on NOT BEING A MORON to mommies. Anyhoo...

His behavior and cooperation were stellar and I told him so. He responded by asking for new shoes as a reward. Duh. The apple falls not far from the (Clemson)tree. Clearly that request was granted with a pair of new Saucony trainers in kelly green and navy for him and a pair of orange (double duh) and navy New Balances for Ryan. Panera for his snack. Also snagged the cutest yellow rain jacket for Jack and this for me. Then we hit Trader Joe's and Harry's Farmer's Market where I may or may not have triple sampled the Gruyere. I'm just saying. I may or may not have also bought a bottle of merlot called Mad Housewife and a case of Amstel Light.

Miss CoCo (thanks friend!) brought Ryan home from school and I took them to Publix, followed up with a stop at Blockbuster for some pedantic children's movies which promise to keep them away. from. me. for at least 90 minutes.

It's amazing how much fun you can have with a couple hundred bucks...

Letter to GA

Dear Atlanta Commuters:

So, here's the thing. Coach is out of town (shocker) and that means I have to get up at o'dark thirty to get both the minis ready and take Ryan to school. Today was Hair Cycle: Day3, so that means Friday is going to require a shower, blow dry, straightening, etc.

After dropping off Ryan, I have to haul Jack downtown for an ENT appointment that may or may not be a result of my cyber-chondria. Said appointment (read: possible waste of co-pay fund that could be otherwise allocated to Chai Lattes) is at 8:30am. Reiterating that location is DOWNTOWN.

So, if all of you commuters could just sleep in until about, say, 10ish so I don't have to fight traffic, that would be super. If you refuse to comply, you will be getting the finger from a (Clemson)girl driving a monogrammed minivan, drinking a chai latte (duh) and applying Victoria's Secret cherry bomb lip gloss.

Smooches,

Nothing of Value

Broke a little out of my routine today and took the monogrammed minivan to the car wash. I know it's not Sunday, but I just couldn't wait another minute. It was irritating the fire out of me. Plus, what else would I be doing at 9am on a freezing arse cold 30 degree morning? Sheesh.

This weather reminds me of why everyone up North (including me) is/was crabby. (Sorry Mom, you're never crabby. Ever. Especially not when I take Diet Pepsi upstairs in your house and leave the 1/2 empty cans on the bathroom counter.) It's too damn cold to be nice. Plus, there's nothing cute about my ensemble today. The sweatshirt is Clemson (duh), but from my trip there when I was in High School. It's, umm, well, purple. And no, I don't call it my lucky purple sweatshirt, as I am not, and will never be Cindy McCain. Really, if you're going to have a lucky suit, could it please not be purple? It'll be OK, if he wins, #1 on the agenda will be to get her arse a stylist. Dear God. No political commentary. I don't wanna hear it. (insert: hands on my ears, "la la la la la I can't hear you with your Obama Drama la la la la")

Hair cycle: Day 3 and not even trying to pretend that I washed it. I did get a substantial haircut on Tuesday and got my eyebrows done. Which is stellar, as I was looking like the love child of Sissy Spacek in Coal Miner's Daughter and Brooke Shields with the 80's brows.

Alright, I promised a wedding post, and you shall have it in the coming days. Off to well, I'm not going to lie to you. I am off to drink 84,000 ounces of Diet Whateverwasonsale and give dirty looks to the laundry pile. Coach is out of town through the weekend so I am going to well...not sure yet, but I'll post about it!

Smooches.

No Chai For You

I feel a little uneasy right now. Starbucks nationwide is closing for 3.5 hours to retrain baristas or some such nonsense. Knowing that I am unable to obtain a Venti Extra Hot Nonfat Chai Latte until 8 something is causing mild to medium anxiety. Angina will surely be setting in by 6ish. By 7, I anticipate a full on panic attack.

Shi-ot.

I'm Not From the South...

Frick. Frick, frick and double frick.

I promised myself that I would not let this week get the best of me. So far, as of Monday at 5:41pm, I am failing at said promise. Instead of posting and whining, I am going to tell you a story. I can't guarantee it'll be a good one, but at least it won't be whiny.

When I was in the fifth grade, I had a friend who had moved to my Midwestern town from Texas. Her name was Whitney. She was, well, Southern. When she ate dinner at our house, she always said "Yes Ma'am" and "Yes Sir" to my parents. She also thanked them profusely for her "mill". Huh? Her what? That's "meal" for you non-Southern speakers. I found her accent and her manners enthralling and delightful. My dad ate up the "sir" bit as well.

In high school a new girl moved in just before we started volleyball clinic. I was instructed to "be nice to the new girl" and make friends with her. Lucky for me, she was from Texas and just as engaging and fun as Whitney. She listened to only country music and said "y'all" and her mother never left the house without her "face on". Her mother often told me I should live in the South and I that I dressed like I did. What a compliment. I didn't really understand it, but I loved hearing it. There was something about those Southern girls that I just couldn't get enough of.

In 1993, I headed to college at Clemson (duh) which for those of you who don't know (losers) is located in the gorgeous state of South Carolina, aka heaven. It's Mayberry in a good way, 2 main streets, the epitome of a college town. Tiger paws painted on the roads and general perfection with regards to the weather. The first few weeks of school including sorority Rush (the former Advisory Board President in me feels compelled to tell you this is now referred to as "Recruitment") are excruciatingly hot. Like glistening (read: sweating) down to my toes. The Ginkgo trees that line campus are gorgeous and flowering and fragrant. Everyone is excited and shiny and new and well, Southern.

My parents were "concerned" that I had met another Yankee at Orientation (and some super cute baseball players who now play major league ball and make millions of dollars, but I digress) and we had decided to room together. They were right to be concerned. Even though I was from the Midwest, and that wasn't nearly as crazy as her being from New Jersey, we figured out pretty quickly that we were different from all those other Southern girls. Second semester we moved onto our respective sorority floors and 86'd the whole Northern roommate dilemma.

Yes, I had the Crane stationary with my monogram. I'm a Yankee and a Catholic, not an idiot. I had the silver pearls and the cute shoes and the hair bow for my ponytail. (Which remains fabulous to date.) I had the Laura Ashley comforter and my matching luggage. I had 84,000 sundresses and an equal number of sweet purses for the football games. (We dress up for Clemson games, duh) I had my mother's sorority pin after Initiation and I had a cute boy from Greenville as my date for Fall Party.

What I didn't have was whatever all those Southern girls had that made them just "fit in". In the South, it doesn't much matter if you've lived in Alabama or Georgia or Tennessee since you were 6 months old. If you weren't BORN there, you're not Southern. Not really. Being from Chicago? Well, I was just plain screwed.

Fairly shortly into that first semester, I realized a couple of things. Firstly, I loved the South. Secondly, I never wanted to leave. It was then I started to appreciate all of the things that make the South so wonderful. The aforementioned weather, the tea, the front porches, the easiness of everything. The "everyone knows everyone", the tradition, the well...all of it.

Since 1993 I've lived in the South all but 9 (cold, but fun) months. I've enjoyed all types of BBQ, pig pickings, crawfish boils, boiled peanuts and the like. I've made the best friends in the South; girlfriends I'll always have from South and North Carolina, Kentucky, Tennessee, Georgia and Florida (which isn't really the South at all). My boys were born in Tennessee and therefore will always be considered Southern. I love the gardening opportunities down here, and the fact that you can eat on your porch about 300 nights a year. I love the dogwoods, the magnolias, the crepe myrtles and the azaleas. They just are a bit more colorful South of the Mason Dixon. I love the movies Gone with the Wind and Shag.

I love the subtlety of Southern women. I love the manners of Southern gentlemen. I love the "bless your hearts" and the "Oh, me!" expressions. I adore the Southern drawl and the colors of Charleston. I admire the gumption of the South.

But every once in a while, the South gives me a giggle. Like tonight at baseball practice. Another mom asked me "Which kid's yers?" and I pointed him out. "He's right cute, " she said. And then she turned around, gave her 3 year old daughter a piece of gum and a Coca Cola.

A bit later, that 3 year old leaned over to pick up a toys she'd dropped on the ground. And her little bitty pink sweatshirt lifted up just enough to expose her temporary tattoo...of a Harley Davidson motorcycle...on her lower back.

Nothing like a tramp stamp on your toddler.

Today's the Day

Got up at o'dark thirty this morning and am in my room, the minis have no idea I am awake! They have strict instructions not to rouse mama prior to 8am on Sunday, so they are watching...um, no idea?! They are in the playroom, quiet as mice. Amen.

Coach left even earlier than o'dark thirty to get to Mass before the game today. It occurred to me last night that they have 10 games in 10 days including some double headers. I'm most likely going to need to at least stop by and see an inning of one of them. Just so all the parents and boosters for the University don't KNOW I am a bad wife. Damn.

Ryan has PSR/aka CCD/aka Sunday School this morning, so I'll be taking Jack for his weekly crack fix at The Waffle House. Now, I don't need to remind any of you of these 2 things, but I shall. I'm feeling super nice this morning. #1. In the South, the names of most places of business are preceded by "The" as in "The Kroger",. "The Red Lobster" and of course, "The Waffle House". #2. Something hilarious ALWAYS happens at The Waffle House.

Coach says that The Waffle House is the great equalizer. You can pull in the parking lot (in your monogrammed minivan) and just as likely be flanked by a beat up ole pickup as a 7 Series BMW. Something about fried eggs and hash brown (scattered and covered) attracts all kinds.

2 weeks ago I had to use the ladies' room at "The Waffle House". I use the term "ladies' room" quite loosely there, as there is usually a shortage of true ladies eating country ham and grits, but also since the bathroom has one commode positioned almost on top of the tiniest sink you've ever seen. Obviously the entire building is smaller than most 2 car garages, so they have to have lots of room for blenders (that's how they make your 2 egg Toddle House omelet seem like a 4 egg omelet) instead of large bathrooms. But, I digress.

I opened the door to the bathroom and there was a "lady" already in it. Evidently she was new to the world an unfamiliar with this crazy contraption we call a door lock. In any case, instead of simply knowing I would immediately close the door, she shrieked and screamed and hollered like a stuck pig. Not that I could have seen anything private, what with her grey scary long Crystal Gayle hair and all.

Assuming we'd been in someplace "fancier" like The IHOP, she could have returned to her table, enjoyed her bottomless pot of coffee and gone on to enjoy her day. Instead, EVERYONE in the entire Waffle House heard her retardness and giggled and stared at her upon her exit. She glared at me like I'd taken the last pack of Salem Lights from The Walmart and stared open mouthed at my minivan monogram as I drove away, in search of a new pink cardigan.

Hot Dogs and Edible Underwear

Alrighty then. Last night's 50s themed school fandango went smoothly (duh) and the children had a lovely time. It would appear that my first grader was channeling some serious 80s dance moves including break dancing and the "grabbing my foot, bending my knee and closing my eyes while I rock out" move. We made it home by 9pm and nary a hot dog did I have to prepare! hoo hoo Elvis music, balloon arches, 45s covering the walls and cutouts of big blue Cadillacs. Just like a redneck wedding. Without the keg. Although there is a fairly large closet that only we have the key to....hmmm.

Today we're in limbo, not knowing whether we'll have baseball practices or not due to rain yesterday. Evidently those "in charge" are men and think we're all sitting at home on tenterhooks awaiting the decision to be made. Personally, I'm debating a trip up to the outlets, therefore I really need to know. Like an hour ago. Bastards. Meanwhile the minis are watching a magic show On Demand (really? Comcast On Demand is the best thing ever. Totally worth the $84,000 a month to have it.) in their pjs and I'm eyeballing some paperwork and laundry, fulling intending to ignore it today.

Last weekend was much more fun with Blondie visiting. Although we did have to shuffle around to 3 practices in 24 hours, we managed to have some fun. Friday night we went to see 27 dresses, which I reaffirm, sucked. I even fell asleep at one point. I awoke disappointed that the movie was still playing and that it, still sucked. Saturday night we went to dinner with friends where we discussed edible underwear and it's similarities to Fruit Roll-Ups. (Or Fruit by the Foot if it's the thong version. Or Fuitabu if you're into organic foreplay) Anyhoo, I drank Jack Daniels and Coke as the bar did not have Jim Beam (WTF? I must remember to drop some off next time) and pretended I'm not 32 and pale and a mom. It was plain fun.

Speaking of being pale and a mom, really? I need to see some sunshine. Soon. I am all about the SPF 84,000 cancer guard and all that, but a (Clemson)girl needs some Vitamin D.

Off to check the friggin baseball website...again.

My Humblest Apologies

I fully intended to post last night, but Coach INSISTED on giving me a back rub and letting me watch Comedy Central on Demand and Celebrity Apprentice and I, as they say in the South, plumb forgot.

So, I owe Etiquettely Correct a post about my wedding as promised, but not this morning.

I need to work for a few hours this morning and then I have to decorate and prep for an event at Ryan's school tonight. It involves hula hoops and 420 hot dogs. When resposible for 420 hot dogs, one really feels the pressure, yes?

Whatcha Want?

What shall I post about tonight? You tell me...

I'm Not a Doctor...

...and I don't play one on TV. But, I am pretty sure there is something wrong with my bottle of Pamprin Menstrual. (aka Take Them Every 4 Hours So Coach Doesn't Divorce Your Crabby Arse)

The warning label says not to take the Pamprin Menstrual if you have an enlarged prostate. Um, I'm pretty sure if you have an enlarged prostate and you're menstrating, you have bigger issues. Much, much bigger. Like call Oprah bigger.

I'm just saying.

ETA: Taxes? Done. Why do I underestimate myself? Really, it's appalling. I could be an astronaut I am so smart...

The Post Without a Snarky Title

Alright, my current to-do list is starting to weigh on me. Not the daily laundry, straightening, cooking, etc. The longer, more complicated stuff. Taxes, yardwork, birthday parties (the minis and my birthdays are all within 10 days), Spring Break, etc. I have a headache. I am sure that Coach is equally stressing over these things...oh, wait. He's in his season, so unless I write it on a baseball in Sharpie and have a pitcher throw it to him, it's not likely that he'll think of any of them. But I am certain that would that he did, he'd feel my pain.

Sorry, this post interrupted for me to scream into the playroom, "Turn it DOWN before I turn it OFF!" in reference to Laurie Berkener. Really, red pants Laurie? Surely there was another option? Anyhoo...

I am not letting myself play anymore on the PC until I put this laundry away. OK, at least some of it...

Back in a bit.

Update

Apparently I am no longer a "Poopy Shit Butt." Tonight I am the "Bestest Mama Doo in the Unoberse." Which is much, much better than the bestest in the "universe."

I Need an Umbrella

Yep. Amoxicillin. Next to a jar of sauerkraut. That would be the source of Jack calling me a "Poopy Shit Butt" (the sickies, not the kraut). I suppose a 103 fever, ear infection and STREP would cause him to be a bit cranky. Spent the morning at the Doc, on the phone with an ENT and at Walgreens. Which was awesome, since I only spent and hour at Walgreens yesterday stuck there during the dang tornado. Really, we couldn't have been in SuperTarget with a Starbucks? You can only entertain the children for so long in a pharmacy.

See you in a bit. I'm exhausted. And broke.

Ebert and Clemsongirl

Just so you know, 27 Dresses? Not. A. Good. Movie.

At all.

Save your dollars.

My four year old just called me a "Poopy Shit Butt."

Thoughts?

A Can and a Plan

Were you aware that Sophia Coppola made a sparkling wine in a pink can accompanied with the tiniest little straw? Well, she does. And it's perfect for Little League evening practices.

My cutie friend is here, and we've started her GA visit off right.

The New Dinos

As if I needed MORE dinosaur names to learn to pronounce, "they" have discovered 2 new species of dinosaurs.

I excitedly told Ryan about them while he was showering this morning. We wrote the info down so he could share it with his class.

If you have girls, I can imagine that this isn't nearly as interesting, but when your minis are boys, hoo hoo. This is better than Christmas.

I am off to a PTA errand and then to enjoy a multi-day visit from a girlfriend and her son. I promise it will lead to many interesting and highly inappropriate posts.

Me: Coach, do you think people really like my blog? Or are they just thinking I'm crazy?

Coach: Nah. They like it. They like it because everything you say is true. Except for the drinking part. Right?

Me: Um, sure Coach.

Note to the Small Business Owner

Dear Used Bookstore Owner,

It is February 2008. We are entering into a seriously frightening recession. I would assume that since your store is located in a not so upscale shopping center, that you are not independently wealthy. If so, please ignore this. Otherwise, here's my experience at your store this morning. You may or may not want to take notes. Or a nap. You're crabby as Hell.

I came in this morning looking to feed my need for literature. I drove 15 minutes out of my way to visit your store for the first (and last) time. I was looking for both children's and adult books because I continue to max out my limits of 75 items at the public library. I actually had some cash on hand. I found several items I would have liked to purchase. I then asked you where the children's books were. "Under the sign that says CHILDREN" you sputtered back at me. Damn, girl! Are you from the North, too? I'm a snarky-arsed Midwesterner, but I usually try to reign that attitude in when trying to conduct business and/or earn a paycheck. Just my personal theory. Something about flies and vinegar...anyhoo.

You are, well, a bitch. Your attitude is crappy and so is your dye job. You have a "zipper" instead of a part. Fix it. Immediately. I asked you about your pricing as nothing is tagged and rather than share that with me by simply saying, "Most books are 1/2 off the list price with a few exceptions" you tapped your badly acrylic-ed RED nail on the counter and told me to "Read it." (I responded in my head by telling you to "Eat it.") Red nail polish can be sexy or trampy. Yours is, um, the latter. Maybe Wet-n-Wild only makes offensive colors. I wouldn't know, being an OPI girl and all.

In closing, I wish you all the best with your "Going Out of Business Sale" which I am sure is just around the corner. Customer service seems to have eluded you and friendliness may just not be an option for you. I don't know. I'm not a professional. Just a (Clemson)girl trying to buy some books today.

Smooches and Happy Reading,
Clemsongirl

P.S. I may or may not have taken my cash to Krystal for the largest Diet Coke ever. At least since my 44 ouncer at Sonic yesterday...

I Heart My Minis

The photo is a little sketchy, what with it being 7:02 am and all. But you get the idea. 84,000 red bags of plaid shorts, polos, chapter books, Skittles, boxers, art supplies and Transformer/Cars dealies. Please also note the truffles on the table from Coach. To Moi. What's not to love??

Another Non-Sequitor Rambling

Shall I clarify? I never thought I was pregnant, nor was I attempting to become so.

In the comments you all went crazy on that idea by your "ownselves".

Indeed, I am ill. Possibly flu-like, not with child. And Amen to that.

Today I made a "blogger connection." This ladies, (and Clay) is too funny. I dropped Jack off this morning at Preschool and was talking to his teacher from last year. (Tangential comment? How great is it that we lived somewhere long enough for my children to attend the same school 2 years in a row?!) I mentioned the whole nits/lice fandango and she said she had read it on my blog. Huh?! How'd you get to my blog? She said she saw a comment I had made on KatyShops and linked from there. Um, how did you get to KatyShops? Turns out KatyShops is the teacher across the hall. Too funny. Of course I ran right over and introduced myself, and I am sure weirded her out exponentially more than I meant to. (Nasty-fied old yoga capris, Clemson long sleeve tee and dirty trainers. Hair Cycle Day 84,000. Me, not her.) I surely owe her a coffee now... In any case, check her out, she's fab. However, if you buy up all the freebies at MY SuperTarget and don't leave any for me, we're gonna rumble. I'm just saying.

Tomorrow being Valentine's and all, I figured I'd get off the PC and maybe straighten up around here and/or do some laundry. Nothing says loving like a clean uniform for Coach.

NEWS BULLETIN!!!!!

I AM NOT PREGNANT.

Amen.

750 Suckers and a Meth Addict

Caveat: I am beyond tired. I'm out of energy in a way I can't even begin to describe. That said, I am posting for you. Just because the Catholic guilt bears down on me when I don't post for more than a day. Don't expect much entertainment tonight.

Spent the afternoon tagging and ribbon-ing 750 Valentine suckers for PTA. Still. Not. Done. Who's ingenius idea was that freaking fund raiser? I must admit, I was with Stella and CoCo, so there was much gossiping and hot tea drinking. At one point, Stella warmed up one of those rice deals and put in on my shoulders. Not sure if she was being nice or was tired of hearing me moan as I tied those damn pink ribbons.

I think my battery has gone dead. I slept for 84,000 hours on Sunday night and Monday and today still feel exhausted. Achy and swollen. General Krotendorfer isn't even on the way, so who knows? Even my favorite barista thought I looked like a meth addict. Minus the skeletal skinny. With a bitching long ponytail. And diamond stud earrings. I'm just saying.

I'm off to watch Martha Stewart On Demand. With the heating pad.

And some Beam. Mom, aren't you proud?

I slept for 13+ hours last night.

Woke up at 10:15 am to an empty house (Coach took the minis to school, obvi). There's not one thing on my to do list except explore the option of napping again before 1pm pickup for the little one.

Rum Rangers

2 oz. Dark Rum
2 oz. Orange Juice
2 oz. Pineapple Juice
1/2 oz. Lime Juice
Dash Grenadine


Combine 3 fruit juices and Rum in a shaker with ice. Shake well, and strain into a big arse glass.

Tell the other Little League Mommies to drink up.

Sunday, Boring Sunday

Coach is working today (duh)...something about practice and the season starting and recruits and calling pitches and blah blah blah. All I know is that today is the Mommy Show again. Really? It's like the Writers' Strike, we're on repeat. Mommy Show, Mommy Show, Mommy Show. All the time. Every channel. On Demand. TiVo. I'm all you're getting. What-ever.

We do need to work on Valentine's today, so that will fill up about 15 minutes. Also need to work on putting away the 84,000 baskets of louse-free, nit-free freshly laundered sheets, towels, and clothing from Friday's Fandango. I'm guessing that's going to be all me. Just a thought.

I'll check in later with something infinitely more interesting. Pinky swear.

Sharing is for Weenies

I'm disappointed that one would think the minis don't have their own helmets. Sheesh, they can't share ANYTHING, let alone a helmet. hee hee

Got a bottle of pure tea tree oil today that we'll be employing daily. Super Target hot pharamacist (remember him?) helped me find it for $4.99. (My suggestion is to go ahead and get some of that. Cause this grossness? Gonna happen to you too.) He said I looked less, "um, frustrated" than usual. Must be the Rum Ranger cocktails...

P.S. I was the ONLY mom at freaking Little League this morning. Seriously? One of the dad's said his wife was still in bed...at 11:15! What-ever. (Black wide leg pants, white layering tissue tee, hot pink tissue tee long sleeve, light pink hoodie with double zipper, pink Shox, Hair Cycle Day 1, nit-free)

More later, I am off to...wait for it...Little League practice. For the older one.

Nit Picking

Which is why I haven't time to post.

Too busy de-grossing the "House of Louse" formerly known as the Casa de Chaos.

Damn school or tee ball or wherever my children aquired the nits. Don't think for a minute that I've escaped unscathed. Coach is going to have quite the night attacking my mane with the nit picker. Just to be certain. Lucky he's lacking in the hair dept.

I think I've spent a month's preschool tuition on treatment, disinfectant, nit combs and at the laundry mat washing everything we own. Plus, everyone had to have a Coca-Cola. It's totally necessary to get through a day like today.

Sheesh.

ETA: Coach just spent a good bit of round 1 going through my mane. Bastard found a gray hair. He's fired.

Wordless Wednesday is for Sissies

Which, if you listed 100 words to describe me, would never make that list. So, off we go.

Last night was one of the few situations in which I am not so comfortable. The beginning of Little League or any other children's sporting fandango means a few things. All the moms stand around and size eachother up. Athletics is the great equalizer, but only on the field. Off the field, all bets are off. The ones whose hubbies are there are all smug and pleased with that, the ones whose hubbies aren't there (me) are getting the evil eye and worst of all, the moms who aren't there because hubby is, just forget them. You'd think that they were at home eating Taco Bell and watching tv (not that we don't deserve that), when in reality that mom is working or cleaning or mothering another child or playing musical babies with another activity. So really, moms? Stop being a-holes. We're all in this together. Didn't we all get that memo when our children were born? It clearly said: "Be nice to other mommies." I'm clear on that. Which is why I bring the cooler with snacks and drinks. Food is the other great equalizer.

By mid-season everyone's figured everyone else out and the cliques have formed. But here's a tip. I'm the fun one (duh). Really, I am the one who's going to make the super cute cocktail with the team name (I'm thinking "Rum Rangers/Bad Arse Blue Jay Bubblies) and bring it for us to share in the cute cups in the team colors. I am the one who is going to have the end of the year party with the fun food and beer (duh) at the Case de Chaos. We're going to be friends, so can we just fast forward through the bullshi-ot and get there already? Puh-lease.

Note to Readers

If you did purchased one of those cutie tunics from Target with the satin-y tie belt, (which I may or may not have swtiched from blue to red in the dressing room) today is OK to start wearing it. The winter white is perfect-o this morning.

However, please don't tell me you left the house with the sash all jacked up and wrinkled. But, Clemsongirl (I hear you whining) you can't IRON that belt, it will burn right up. True, true. But you can run your straightening iron over it and smooth it right out. Don't you remember doing that with a grosgrain hair ribbon and your curling iron? I suppose you could try the iron on a really low setting with a towel over the sash, but the Chi iron did the job for me.

I'm just saying.

Ion, Schmion

Son of a gun. Just completely ruined the hair cycle. Accidentally dried my entire mane with the ion button switched to "off" and then had to put some product in to compensate the lack of shine. This is so irritating only you can understand. This shortens the entire cycle, plus it kind of looks like dookie. I'm not really sure how one is supposed to spell "dookie" (it's a synonym for crap) but I'm guessing. I first heard that word during sorority Rush when Skinny said it. Not to a rushee of course. Maybe about one. I'm just saying.

So, the pizza remains in the fridge. It will be dinner Monday, Tuesday and lunches abound. It was super yummy though! That nast-fied sliced sausage was on Coach's half BTW. He's so Italian it's hilarious. You know that Ryan thinks he's African American? Now don't get all crazy on me calling me a racist. That's not what I am saying. The minis and I are stupid pale. Like see-through our skin to our veins pale. Coach is, well, tan as all Hell. The man works outside 360 days a year and the only part of his body that gets sunscreen is his lips from when I kiss him and my SPF 15 lipgloss rubs off on him. Boy is D.A.R.K. So, I can understand the confusion by our first grader. He said, "Mommy, God made everybody different. We're white and Daddy's black. It's really cool." What-ever. Glad he's "color blind" at this age. Glad he also hasn't noticed Coach's farmer's tan.

If you're hungry, stop by for some pizza. We can eat it off my kitchen floor it's so clean. Or half of the floor, that's all I got to strip before I ran out of stripper.

Off to Little League. Duh.

Get Your Visuals Ready

Do you have your visual references in sight or in your mind? A laundry basket, a magazine (preferably Southern Living) and a 9x13ish baking sheet.

Last night we ordered a pizza. I wanted to make sure we would have leftovers for Coach's lunch Monday and for the minis dinner on Monday as well, so I ordered an extra large. SuperBowl food involves pizza and wings and other various and sundry items, so this was the ticket.

I was slightly irritated when the total for the pizza and a Greek salad was $36+ but hey, it's Atlanta, right? Besides, Coach went to pick it up whilst I bubble bathed.

This is what we got:

Note the magazine placed in the corner of the box. Yes, that box took up more than HALF of our kitchen table. Coach said he had to put in the "all the way back" of his SUV and it barely fit through the door of the Casa de Chaos.

Indeed, the slices were so large that we served them on BAKING SHEETS and cutting boards!!

In case the magazine wasn't giving you enough of a reference point, this is a FULL SIZE laundry basket on top of the box. Not even covering half.

When the box lid was open, it grazed the light fixture hanging over the table. Good Lord.

Want to come over for some leftover pizza?

Yes, Virginia There is a Santa Claus

And I REALLY am a Realtor. Got 2 emails this morning from readers who wanted to know if I was "really a real estate agent" in Atlanta and did I take referrals? After replying to them ASAP, (because that's how I roll) I'm posting this.

The answer is, I am the best and most fun Realtor you'll ever meet. (a close second is Missy, from Friede Family Frenzy, but she's in another state!) Really? When house hunting, Starbucks are mapped out along the way. Fun snacks and groovy clip boards with spreadsheets to compare houses are yours for the taking. The monogrammed minivan takes you to the best of the best. There's no evidence of the minis existence when I am out with clients; carseats are relegated invisible and the Laurie Berkener CD disappears. Not to mention that the iPod is in your complete control. Want to rock out to Amy Winehouse while we find your new abode? Sweet. What's better than that? Of course, I list homes for sale as well. That's equally fun, what with me at your kitchen table and all. I'll bring the Starbucks to you. Or the Beam, your choice. Not. Kidding.

Best of all? I am great at convincing your hubby that what YOU want is the best choice. Because that's what it's all about, making you happy. I'm with the company that sells the most houses in the world, and I've got the stat sheets and power point presentation to soothe his ego. My team is the real thing, college+ educated full time agents. We've got an office staff and everything. This is no half arse operation. We closed millions of dollars in houses last year.

Just email me at the blog address and I'll point you in the right direction. Or send a smoke signal. Or a message in a bottle. Or a singing telegram. Just get a hold of me, it'll be fun. I solemnly swear.

ETA: Monday's post is going to require 3 things. In your sight you'll need a laundry basket, a magazine (preferably Southern Living) and a 9x13ish baking sheet. Or at least a mental visual of how large they are.

Stellar Behavior?

Last night I was tucking Jack in to bed. I was feeling particularly enamoured with him because his behavior on Saturday was fairly stellar. Plus, aren't they the sweetest when they are all jammied and bathed and under the covers? Something about a 12 hour break about to happen for mommy...

Anyway, I read him a story, sang him the song of his choice (often my Alma Mater followed up with some cadence count) and told him I loved him. To the moon and back. More than all the grains of sand on the beach.

He looked at me, smiled and said, "Love you too. Now get out."

Today Ryan has PSR and I have a listing appointment this afternoon. Coach has practice so we're expecting to see him sometime in June. He did kiss me goodbye TWICE this morning, I knew there was some guilt buried beneath the biceps for abandoning me to my own devices with the minis. Again.

To Russia with Love

Katie (FromRussiaWithLove) and I have a somewhat on going debate on "what's appropriate" for mommies over 30 to wear in the spring. (Note to preschool mom at Jack's school: tight tissue weight tee that says "Miss Perfect" with jeans so tight they are cutting off MY circulation is NOT an option.)

She asked me to do a post on that, so here it is. I don't pretend to be a fashion guru, just someone who finds inexpensive clothes that I think are cute. I am anti-shorts as you know, but threw in a pair for all of you who are not. Everything's from Target, so obvi nothing over $24.99.

I think the "staples" like solid tees and camis can get you through alot, and of course if you're working, that's another story. Hoodies and cardis are essential, regardless. Get about 84,000 of them in every color. Duh.

These "convertible" pants can be rolled up on the bottom to mid calf and buttoned. I like them with flats or flip flops. For Heaven's sake, don't wear trainers with them if you roll them up. Just don't be a sucker and buy the white ones. You will have VPL. No matter what. Even with a thong. They are from Target, no lining. No go.

This elbow sleeve dress is cute with heels for date night (huh? what's that?) or church. Just remember to cut off the retarded string belt loop dealies. They look el cheapo and your belt is connected to the dress, it knows where to go without the string loops.

Not gonna lie. These are pretty damn cute bermudas. My arse might be a bit on the "continent" side to pull them off, but super cute with a popped collar polo! If you refuse to pop the collar, stop wearing polos. Or you'll look like a GOOOOBER. Truly, it's pop it or wear a tee shirt.

This tunic is similar to the one I posted with the red belt. I think it's great with black skinny dress pants now or black/white capris later. It looks a little stuffy in the photo, but you can unbutton it and leave the collar standing up to "let the girls show"...just a bit. It's really light weight, you'll need a taupe bra or a cami underneath. You can't see through it, but you can see the silhouette of what's underneath.

I love the color of this lipstick blouse. Also cute with pants/capris. If you're into the black pencil skirt it'd be perfect for something a little dressier. Like tee ball. Not. There was also a darker version of this that was a little longer with tiny polka dots in the same color as the blouse. I hate the word blouse. Really, it makes me PIMMAL.

I know what you're thinking. You had that sweater in 1993. Me too, but this is a newer cuter version. It's really chunky and I HATE it by itself, but with a long sleeve favorite tee underneath it's really cute on. It also comes in kelly green and maybe other colors. Just make sure the white tee shows on the bottom hem as well, otherwise it looks like an afterthought. Which is a bad thing, in case you didn't know.

Donna Reed called, she wants her dress back. It's toooooooo sweet. Navy with a collar and shirt placket all the way down. Belt is on the wider side, but up a little higher than the natural waist. Or "pooch" if you're a real mom. Loving it with some fun chunky beads.

Refined denim trousers. Fit is really strech-y so you can buy a size down. Dark navy but denim-y enough that you could also wear them with black on top. My arse area would require a heel with this pant, but you'll have to see.

Maybe some shoes later.