Stupid Facebook Quiz

You guys have probably all seen the quiz that’s been making the rounds through Facebook recently. A bunch of questions created by someone who obviously has way too much time on his/her hands, intended for a mom to ask her kids (and/or husband). So, because I obviously don’t have anything better to do, like taking care of a baby, doing laundry, cleaning the house, washing dishes . . . or anything else productive, I’m gonna go ahead and just do it.

Wait, what’s that kid chewing on now? Hold on, I’ll be right back . . .

Ok, just an electrical cord. No big deal. He’ll be fine. It will take him a while to gnaw through that plastic coating anyway. Let’s get to the important stuff. Quiz time!

I asked my oldest boys, and then even my husband, these questions. I will say that it was somewhat enlightening. I even tried to get the baby to give me some answers, but couldn’t quite figure out what he meant by, “eeeeeeeeeeee, bababamamamababamama.” If anyone speaks baby, let me know what he had to say.

Alright, let’s get this party started. First up to bat . . . the 7 year old. Here goes. (My reaction/comments on their answers are in italics).

1. What is something I always say? Go clean up the playroom (true).

2. What makes me happy? Coffee (yep).

3. What makes me sad? Don’t know.

4. How do I make you laugh? Tickling.

5. What was I like as a child? Happy and loved unicorns (um . . . sure).

6. How old am I? 40

7. How tall am I? 4 feet (so close).

8. What is my favorite thing to do? Go shopping (not even a little).

9. What do I do when you’re not home? Do laundry (sadly, yes).

10. What am I really good at? Taking care of the baby (awww, sniff).

11. What am I not very good at?  Being up in the morning without coffee (this boy knows me).

12. What do I do for a job? Take care of the baby. You quit your job as a . . . lawyer? (ding ding ding).

13. What is my favorite food? Sushi (not exactly, but ok).

14. What do you enjoy doing with me? Watching movies.

Next up, the 10 year old.

1. What do I always say?  Take the trash out.

2. What makes me happy?  When the baby’s being good and my brother and I are behaving.  And your kids are at school (this question was asked while the boys had been home for the 187th snow day this winter).

3. What makes me sad?  One of us getting hurt?

4. How do I make you laugh?  Telling a joke that’s funny.

5. What was I like as a child? I don’t know, I wasn’t living then!

6. How old am I? 40

7. How tall am I? 5’4″ (even closer!).

8. What is my favorite thing to do?  Probably relax or go on a vacation where you don’t have to do stuff (so much this).

9. What do I do when you’re not home? Your work:  take care of the baby, dishes, laundry, bottles, feeding the baby.  You know, chores.

10. What am I really good at?  Art and work around the house.

11. What am I not very good at?  Keeping your cool (FALSE!!  Um, I mean . . . who me?).

12. What do I do for a job?  Stay home and work around the house (please note his and his brother’s answers to this question . . . before we get to their father’s response below).

13. What is my favorite food? Sushi (again? ok).

14. What do you enjoy doing with me?  Taking walks around the neighborhood.

And finally, the hubs’ answers.  Brace yourselves.

1. What is something I always say?  Can you hold the baby for a minute.

2. What makes me happy?  Baths, sleeping in, reading books, personal time away, sitting in your chair (all correct, and sadly, all things I hardly ever get to do).

3. What makes me sad?   Your old job.

4. How do I make you laugh?  When you sing (mean!).

5. What was I like as a child? Beautiful & carefree (um, sure).

6. How old am I? 41 in a week (2 days now, but yes).

7. How tall am I? 5’6″ (when I told him I’m 5’5 1/2″ he just said he rounded up.  Uh huh, ok).

8. What is my favorite thing to do? Take a bath.

9. What do I do when you’re not home?  Take care of the kids, you know, you do your thing.

10. What am I really good at?  Remembering birthdays, sending cards to people you care about, and reading with the kids (very perceptive and correct!).

11. What am I not very good at? Finances (Ha!  Hello, pot. I’m kettle, nice to meet ya!) and cleaning (well, I just don’t like it, doesn’t mean I’m not good at it).

12. What do I do for a job? Housewife (which led to a 5 minute diatribe from yours truly about how I am not defined by my role as his wife because it’s not the 50’s and he doesn’t own me, etc.).  Ok, fine, whatever PC thing it’s called now. (So much better, thanks).  (Please note that my hubs is really not a misogynist, which is why I found his answer so surprising and kinda funny).

13. What is my favorite food? Pasta (there we go!).

14. What do you enjoy doing with me? Just gazing into your eyes.  (Very funny).  Ok, traveling with you, talking to you . . . when you’re not yelling at me.

So there you go.  A little insight into the minds of my boys.  Discovering what your family thinks of you is always interesting.  I was pleasantly surprised with many of my boys’ answers, and not quite as enthralled with the hubs.  But then again, when you ask a question, I guess you have to be prepared for an answer.  Whether it’s the answer you wanted/expected, or not.

I guess they’ll still get dinner tonight.


Life Support








EEEEEEEEEEE . . . . . . . . . . beep . . . . . . . . . beep . . . beep . . . beep . . . beep . . .

“Heartbeat is weak, but steady.”

“Misty’s Laws.  Misty’s Laws, can you hear me?”


“Will she make it, doc?”

“It’s touch and go right now, but there’s a chance.  She just needs to rest and we’ll see how she recovers.  We’ll check on her in a few days and maybe she’ll be able to speak to us again.”

“Is there anything more we can do?”

“Just stay tuned . . . ”

beep . . . beep . . . beep . . . beep . . . beep . . . beep . . .

50 Things About ME!

Ok, so usually I don’t do these kinds of things.  And truthfully, I wasn’t even tagged to do it or anything.  But let’s be honest here for a minute, mkay?  I’m totally without blogging content as of late.  I don’t know if it’s that I’m blocked creatively or just don’t have anything going on to write about.  Whatever it is, I figured I should do something so you all know I haven’t dropped off the face of the earth, so when I saw my friend Andrea post her own 50 questions/answers, I thought I might go ahead and give it a whirl.

So, here goes.  50 things about me that you may or may not give a damn about.  And . . . GO!

1. What are you wearing? Currently a button down maternity top and super comfy huge black pants.

2. Ever been in love?  Of course.

3. Ever have a terrible break-up?  Yes.

4. How tall are you?  5’5.5″

5. How much do you weigh?  Well, I am 7 months pregnant, so I think I’m weighing in somewhere between an NFL Linebacker and a Humvee.

6. Any tattoos? No, never pulled the trigger on that.  I still may someday.

7. Any piercings?  My ears are double pierced, although one hole has closed.  In my youth, my belly button was pierced, but that closed up after my first pregnancy when I had to remove the belly ring.

8. OTP (One true pair, favorite fictional couple?)  Oh man, this is tough.  Lorelei and Luke from Gilmore Girls or Wesley & Buttercup from The Princess Bride.  (I would have gone literary, but most of my favorite books don’t really have “couples.”)

9. Favorite show?  Wow, and I thought the previous one was tough.  I watch so much TV and love so many shows.  Of all time, I’d probably say Friends.  Currently though, The Amazing Race & The Good Wife.

10. Favorite bands?  Pearl Jam.  Fall Out Boy.  Foo Fighters.  Red Hot Chili Peppers.

11. Something you miss?  My mother in law and father in law.  So much.

12. Favorite song?  My husband asked me this question once, many years ago, and I still haven’t answered him!  It all depends on what genre we are talking about and what my mood is at the moment.  For simplicity’s sake, and to answer the question, I’ll go with Release by Pearl Jam.

13. How old are you? Right now, I feel about 104.

14. Zodiac sign?  Pisces.

15. Quality to look for in a partner?  Someone with the tolerance to put up with my insanity.  And a sense of humor.

16. Favorite Quote?  “Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend; and inside a dog, it’s too dark to read.”  Groucho Marx
17. Favorite Actor?  Johnny Depp or Robert Downey, Jr.
18. Favorite Color? Purple
19. Loud music or soft? Depends on my mood.  After a rough day and if I have a headache: soft.  If I feel like rocking out: loud.

20. Where do you go when you are sad?  Somewhere quiet and private so nobody can see me cry.
21.  How long does it take you to shower? 10-15 minutes.

22.  How long does it take you to get ready in the morning? Depends on whether I’m going to court or someplace where I care about my hair.  If I have to style it, it adds another 20 minutes.  If I’m just throwing my hair in a hat, from shower to out the door is about a half hour.

23. Ever been in a physical fight?  No.

24. Turn on?  Humor and intelligence.

25. Turn-off?  Hypocrites.

26. The reason I started blogging?  I needed a hobby and had started reading some other blogs and thought, “I can do this, too.”

27. Fears?  Something horrible happening to my kids and/or any of my family and friends.

28. Last thing that made you cry?  Damn Dancing with the Stars and talk about a last dance with a dying father.

29. Last time you said you loved someone?  This morning to my kids.

30. Meaning behind the name of your blog (Misty’s Laws)?    Not one of my more creative titles.  My name is Misty and I’m a lawyer.

31. Last book you read?  You Before Me by Jo Jo Moyes

32. Book you are currently reading?  High Five by Janet Evanovich (don’t judge . . . I needed something light and fun after reading about assisted suicide).

33. Last show you watched?  The aforementioned Dancing with the Stars.

34. Last person you talked to?  My secretary.

35. The relationship between you and the person you just texted?  Last person I texted was my hubs last night.  So . . . spouse.

36. Favorite food?  Pasta or sushi.

37. Place you want to visit?  So many . . . Australia, Germany, Switzerland, Singapore, Boston, Toronto.

38. Last place you were?  Right now I’m sitting at my desk at work. Prior to that, I was heating up some water for tea.  My life is uber exciting right now.

39.  Do you have a crush?  Um, no.
40. Last time you kissed someone?  Kissed my kids goodbye this morning.  Kissed my hubs last night.
41. Last time you were insulted?  By my husband this weekend.  He was being overly snarky and it got to me.  I’m sure it has nothing to do with pregnancy hormones or anything.

42. Favorite flavor of sweet?  Caramel.

43. What instruments do you play?  I used to play the clarinet in high school, but badly.  Played the piano in elementary school, also badly.  Instrument playing is apparently not my thing.

44. Favorite piece of jewelry? I don’t wear much jewelry, so I guess my wedding/engagement rings.

45. Last sport you played?  Sport?  What’s that?

46. Last song you sang? Hmmm, can’t remember.  I tend not to subject people to that form of torture.

47. Favorite chat up line?  Hey ho.  How’s tricks?

48. Have you ever used it?  Occasionally.

49.  Last time you hung out with anyone?  I went to lunch with some blogger friends last weekend.  I guess that would be considered “hanging out.”

50. Who should answer these questions next?  Anyone who feels the desire to share.

August Was Rough

Hey there.  Long time no see blog.  I know you’re probably not speaking to me now, because you think I just abandoned you without even a sayonara, but at least let me explain.  No, don’t look at me like that, I have a good reason, I promise!  Just give me one more chance.  Please?

So, the last you heard from me was early July.  I really have no explanation for the rest of that month, except to say that I was sad, and it’s hard to write witty, snarky posts when consumed by the sadness.  By the time I started to emerge from the funk, it was the annual family vacation time, which we all so desperately needed.  So, August started out pretty good, with a full week and a half of vacationing down the beach with my  husband’s crazy and wonderful family.  It was relaxing and fun and everything a vacation at the beach should be.  I laid in the sun and got tan, took my kids on rides and played games and mini-golfed, and even had a date night with my hubs at the local casino where I won some cash.  All and all it was the perfect getaway.

And then we returned, and I was punished for that enjoyment with extreme prejudice.  I got sick.  At first,  I thought it was just a bad cold, so I took a day off of work and went to my OB (because I’m there all the damn time and knew they wouldn’t charge me a $50 co-pay just to get a note for work).  I told them I had a cold and needed a note, they checked the baby’s heartbeat (although the baby was just fine thanks), gave me my  note, and I was on my way.  Although, the next day I felt even worse!  I decided just to take another day off to rest and try to recuperate, and deal with the whole “note” thing later.  But then Friday came.  And I felt the same.  I took another day (which is insane for me) and decided that it was finally time to go to an actual doctor.

Diagnosis?  Sinus infection.  Well, crap.  And since I’m allergic to penicillin and also pregnant, I was limited in the meds I could take.  So, I was given Erythromycin and sent on my way.  Cut to Monday where I still feel like hell and don’t make it into work again.  This was getting out of control.  I had no choice but to suck it up for Tuesday, since I was due in court, but by Tuesday afternoon, when I still felt like death, I returned to the doc to see what was up.

Apparently, I still had the infection as the meds had not worked.  On to antibiotic #2:  the Z-pac.  Once again, I dragged myself into work the next day for court, but by Thursday, I was done and took another day.  This was getting ridiculous, but I just couldn’t really function.  I once again womaned up for Friday and got to work, but knew I was in for another visit to the doc that afternoon when I felt exactly the same.  I happened to see the same doc from my first visit, and he informed me that my ears and throat looked just as infected as they had a week ago.  So, he prescribed the last possible antibiotic he could, which was Bactrum (#3), but also told me that if that one didn’t work, I’d have to go to an ENT to have my sinuses drained.  Oh, and that involved the breaking of my nasal bone to get up there and do that.  So that was good news!

Cut to Monday and I still feel the same and take another day off.  And also call the ENT, reluctantly, to make an appointment.  First available is for the following Friday.  Great.

The next 2 days are court days, so I’m at work, despite feeling the same.  Thursday I take off again.  Although, it was fortuitous that I was off, because I got a call early that morning from the ENT about a cancellation for that afternoon at 3:00.  Could I come in?  Damn straight I could.

Luckily, the doc was nice and didn’t break anything.  But, he also told me that it appeared that I no longer had the infection.  When I told him I still felt like crap, he poked around in all of my head orifices and said that it could be residual stuff in there or maybe even allergies.  He stuck some stuff up my nose and ended up sucking out a bunch of extreme snottiness.  Yum.  When I asked him about the nose breaking, he seemed surprised that the other doctor told me that, and explained that he doesn’t normally do that as a practice, unless it’s in very extreme circumstance.  Instead, he gave me some Nasonex, and sent me on my way.

Happy ending, right?  Oh how I wish it was that simple.  Cut to two days later and I’m sitting at my son’s baseball game feeling very uncomfortable and itchy.  I start seeing all of these little red dots appearing all over me and am feeling quite miserable (in addition to the current sinus misery I was still feeling, for whatever reason).  By the end of the day, I was a giant ball of red itchiness, so I passed on dinner with the team and ran home, stopping only to buy some oatmeal bath and gold bond menthol lotion.  Those were the only things that soothed my body when I had my last rash . . . 9 years ago when I was pregnant with my first child and contracted a rare pregnancy rash called PUPPS.  Miserable.  Hoping it wasn’t that, since I had 3 months to go before the baby came and the rash would subside, I went home and took my oatmeal bath and slathered myself with cooling lotion.  And . . . nothing.  I still felt the same, and actually it was getting worse by the minute.

By late that night, it had traveled to my face and I was completely covered with red bumpy itchies from head to toe.  Even my hair itched.  Not to mention other places that . . . well, I’m not going to mention.  At this point, I figured it wasn’t PUPPS, but a reaction to one of the meds I was taking.  This was the same reaction I got from Penicillin 20 years ago.  Currently, I was on Bactrum and Nasonex, and had had some Afrin/Lydocain sprayed up my nose 2 days prior by the ENT.  It could have been a reaction to any of these.  I just wish I knew which one.

Every attempt at sleep that night proved fruitless.  My entire body felt like it was on fire.  No matter how many oatmeal baths or lotion slatherings I administered, I felt exactly the same.  After my 3rd bath and lotioning at 3:00 am, I decided that sleep was not an option for me that night, so I grabbed my book and headed downstairs to read and then watch TV until the sun came up.  At 7:00, my youngest son woke up to see me downstairs, and was very confused.  I came up to greet him, and he looked at me with his head tilted and a bit of apprehension on his face.  “Mom, you look . . . different.”  I told him I was sick and he asked if I had the chicken pox.  I told him I just had a rash.  (Later, he would tell my husband that I looked “creepy.”  He wasn’t wrong).

After trying again to sleep and finding it to be impossible still, I took another bath and decided that I was again going to have to go to the doctor.  So, dressed in my finest pajamas, unwashed hair pulled back in a bun, glasses and no make up on, I ventured out into the world to scare more children.  After an hour of waiting to be seen, the doctor asked what was wrong, and I told her I was having an allergic reaction.  She said she would give me steroids, and I told her I was pregnant.  So, apparently, Benadryl was the only thing I could take.  Luckily, she had some there, so she gave me my pills and finally let me go home.  Worth noting is that she never even examined me.  Maybe I was just too “creepy” to touch?

I spent the rest of the day in bed and misery.  I could hear the entire extended family splashing around and whooping it up outside at my pool.  Did I mention that this was Labor Day weekend?  Yeah.  I had left strict instructions that nobody was to come in the house.  I was much too frightening to be seen.

Later that evening, I actually started to feel a bit of relief.  Whether it was the meds that were working, or complete and utter exhaustion, I at least was finally able to sleep that night.  A couple days later, the rash was cleared up and I felt better.  Still with the crappy sinus issues (since I’d stopped taking the Nasonex in case that was the culprit of the rash), but no longer on fire from head to toe.  That might be the best I can hope for at this point.

So, that’s my long, ridiculous story of this past month.  Of the 20 days possible for me to be at work in August, I managed to make it in a mere 7 times.  Creativity and writing were pretty much out of the question during that entire time as well.  So, that’s my excuse.  Are we good?  All square and such?  It really wasn’t entirely my fault.  You’ll have to blame my plague.

(Below are some pics of the rash.  These are not for the faint of heart, so if you’d prefer not to look, run away now while your eyes are still in tact.  You’ve been warned . . .)






Close up of big, itchy, pregnant belly.

Close up of big, itchy, pregnant belly.

All You Need Is Love . . . and Brussels Sprouts

Recently, my husband and I attended a wedding for his boss in Fredericksburg, VA.  It is almost a two hour drive from our home to this location, yet despite the distance, we planned to drive down for the wedding and then return later that night.  The drive down was uneventful, thankfully, as you never know what you might hit when you have to drive near and around DC.  I’ve had the pleasant experience of sitting in massive traffic at midnight on the DC beltway.  But since we left our home 3 hours before the wedding started, in anticipation of such a possibility, we arrived in Fredericksburg about an hour before the wedding.  Not really knowing what “heavy hor d’oeuvres” would entail at the reception, we grabbed a quick bite a few blocks from the church at a cute little pizza place that served tapas in the bar.  We ordered a few tapas to share, and it was the perfect amount of food to tide us over for the remainder of the afternoon.

The wedding itself was lovely, if longer than normal, since it was a full service with communion and everything.  But, after an hour of sitting, standing, sitting, standing, standing, standing (luckily no kneeling), sitting, standing again . . . the ceremony ended with a full participant sing-along of the bride and groom’s favorite song:  All You Need Is Love by The Beatles.


All You Need Is Love

When we first arrived at the ceremony, I reviewed the program and saw this printed on the last page.  Commenting to my husband, “I guess somebody is a fan of Love Actually,” we both wondered if there would be a horn section that would pop out of the pews randomly, and if a choir would appear in the upper balconies that lined either side of the church.  Honestly, we were both kind of hoping that would occur.

Click on picture for movie clip.

Click on picture for movie clip.

Once the sing-along ended, the wedding party exited the church and set up in the atrium for greetings, as you do.  While we were waiting for our turn to depart our seats, having been seated towards the back of the church, we turned and chatted it up with some of my husband’s colleagues sitting behind us.  As I was standing there, facing the back of the church, I happened to look up, and saw this:


Oh my god!  It is just like Love Actually!!  I was kind of disappointed at that point that they didn’t take advantage of this huge behemoth of an organ and have a full on musical accompaniment with their final movie-inspired song.  What a waste!

After the wedding, we made the two block trek to the reception locale, which was at a local wine bar/restaurant.  Upon entering the establishment, we were greeted by a waiter holding a tray of sparkling bubbly goodness that he was handing out to each guest.  As I am off the sauce for the time being, I declined and asked if he had anything non-alcoholic, like sparkling cider.  He informed me that they had lots of sodas to choose from.  Hmmm.  Not being a soda drinker, I opted for water.

Once we moved into the main area of the restaurant, we encountered a long table, filled with food items.  There was blue cheese and feta, there were some lovely lunch meats ala a charcuterie platter, and there were raw oysters.  Hmmm, again.  Realizing that I could not partake in any one of those items, I stood watching the hubs partake in these delicacies, while hoping that some other types food items would be served at some point.  After chatting with a few of my husband’s work friends, I realized that although my shoes were relatively comfy, after the up/down, up/down ceremony, the walk to the restaurant, and now standing for a stretch, I was actually getting more hungry for a seat than anything else.


Nope to all of that.

A little while after settling in at a small cocktail table, a waiter walked over with some additional goodies on a tray.  He placed before us a lovely little bowl full of salmon wrapped around an herb spread.  Um, gee thanks.  It looked delicious, and more than booze, what I miss the most in my new restricted pregnancy diet, is sushi.  So this was just an awful tease.  In the “foods Misty can eat at the wedding” game, so far, I was striking out completely!


Not nice.

Finally, after some time, we saw another guest walk by with some kind of vegetable on their plate.  The hubs, knowing that I was getting frustrated watching everyone else eat, and having had previous experience with a hungry, pregnant wife, decided to run up to the food table to see what was new that he could possibly retrieve for me.  Unfortunately, all he returned with was news that there were some roasted brussels sprouts brought out, but apparently they were scooped up as soon as they were set down.  (Was everyone there pregnant?).  He assured me that he spoke to someone, and that they would let us know as soon as more arrived.  At this point, I had merely consumed 3 glasses of water.

Eventually (this had to be after a full hour of being at this reception), an angelic lady walked over to our table with a huge bowl brimming with the most delectable brussels sprouts ever served.  She scooped about half of the bowl onto our plate, and what commenced was probably the fastest eating of a vegetable ever recorded in human history.  I scarfed those things!  They were delicious.  Either that, or I was experiencing a feeling akin to having the munchies whilst high on the weed, where anything I would have eaten at that point would have tasted like manna.  Or so I assume.

Luckily, those brussels sprouts broke the damn of food served that was appropriate for pregnant person consumption.  Thus followed some grilled shrimp, lobster egg rolls, seaweed wraps, beef spare ribs, and eventually a wonderfully decadent flourless chocolate cake.

By the time we left the reception for our long drive home, I was fully sated.  However, that didn’t stop the hubs and I from stopping at a local Arby’s to order a few items.  A shake for me, some cheese filled pretzels for him.  (I tasted them, by the way, and would not recommend them to anyone).

The moral of my story seems to be that while weddings are full of love and happiness and new beginnings, they are not the best place for pregnant people.  And also, that next time I need to cram some snacks into my little purse, along with my phone and lipstick.

Emerging from the Deep

After my miscarriage, I decided that I desperately needed some help.  Of the professional variety.  Which was quite surprising to me, because historically, I had always outright refused and even scoffed at any suggestion of seeking therapy.

But this was different.  I was in a deep, dark hole and could hardly even see the light.  I knew I needed a trained professional to help pull me out of this suffocating pit of sadness.  So, I randomly searched for someone in my insurance plan who was geographically desirable, and within a week of a cold call, I was sitting in an office, telling a stranger all of my problems.  It was a bizarre and frightening experience for me.

To be honest, the miscarriage was probably just the final straw on top of my depression.  The one thing that made me admit that I needed help and just couldn’t handle my own shit any more.  I had been sinking and barely treading water for years before, but stubbornly thought I could eventually get myself out of the treacherous waters I was trapped in.  This event finally sunk me, but also propelled me to accept a life-preserver.

It was dreadfully hard for me at first.  I am not very good at opening up and sharing my feelings and emotions.  I am a very closed off person.  I build walls for good reasons, and I’m not too keen on someone trying to knock them down to find out what’s cowering behind the bricks.  But I had to do it if I was going to get better.  There was no other option.  So I slowly started chipping away at my protective layer to get to the gooey underbelly of hurt and emotion below.  It was difficult and painful.

After quite a few months of therapy, I realized that I needed some greater assistance.  My therapist had suggested on a few occasions that I might do well with some prescription medication.  But, I was firmly anti-meds.  So, I rebuffed this suggestion outright at first.  I actually accused her of trying to fix my problems with drugs instead of doing the work of being my therapist.  I was in a bad place and it was a horrible reaction.  But eventually, I came to realize that she was right.  I needed more help.

Cue a referral to a psychiatrist and a prescription for Wellbutrin.  And suddenly, the haze started to clear.  It was like I could finally breath again.  Everything felt more stable and real.  The drugs actually made me feel like I was finally sober.  Instead of dulling my senses, everything felt sharper and brighter.  It felt real again.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like myself.  There were no more random crying jags in the middle of my work day.  I no longer wanted to come home from work every night and just sleep.  I spent more time with my kids and was a much better mommy than I had been in a while.  It was drastically and distinctly noticeable to everyone close to me.  Some didn’t know what had happened, but they knew something was different.  A good different, for sure.

While my head was clear, I could really dig deep in therapy and try to heal some things that had previously seemed irrevocably broken.  I made excellent progress and found myself crying less and less each week, which was nice, because I was really getting sick of those damn tears.  I was slowly healing.  Shedding those weights that had been holding me down.  Sadness.  Loss.  Guilt.

And then a strange thing happened.  It started with just a glimmer.  Then grew stronger and stronger until I couldn’t deny that is was an actual desire.  I tried to ignore it, but it persisted, until it turned into an all-encompassing need.  Much like Glenn Close, it would not be ignored.

I wanted another baby.

I’ve Got Big Balls

Usually, I like my balls small. Easy to handle. Not too unwieldy. Tasty.

But this time, I took a chance on some large ones. Threw my normal predilections and preferences out the window. These were much meatier, but of an unknown quality. I was truly gambling on these balls. But, at the moment, there were no others. It was them or nothing, and I had to fill a desperate need. So, big balls it was.

When I got them home, I decided that I would resist their allure and save them for another night when I really needed them.  Maybe in a few days, when the time was right.  When there was no other choice and the desire was at its peak.  Only then would I sample these mystery balls.

But unbeknownst to me, there was a devious plot afoot in my home.  A plan to steal my balls.  To sample the succulent and round mass of meat before I could even get the chance to use it for my own purposes.  A feat which I discovered upon my return home the next night, when I saw evidence of the sampling of my large meaty friend, blatantly displayed with nary a care for discovery.  The partial remains of the poor ball just sitting there on the counter.  Evidence of the crime plain to see.  Basically, my ball just thrown right in my face.

There was only one person who could have committed this dastardly deed.  Only one person who was in the house that entire day, so it was obvious where the guilt lie . . . my au pair.

Bewildered and shocked, I chose not to address the transgression at the time, and instead went upstairs to lay down and recover.  I soothed my battered soul by reminding myself that I still had some balls left.  They weren’t all gone.  Just the one.  It would be ok.

But then . . . disaster struck again!  Or should I say, my husband did.  You remember him, the sunglass murderer.  Well, I should have known that once he got a taste of the life of crime, that he wouldn’t stop.  That he would crave a return to the dark side.

When I went to bed that night, I had 5 balls, but by the next morning, only 4 remained.  When I arrived on the scene that morning, I saw evidence of the carnage.  Red liquid dripping down the container in the sink showed clear evidence of his heinous crime.  It was obvious that he was the culprit, since he had arrived late at home from a business trip while all others in the house were asleep.  Apparently, the allure of my balls, which he had never sampled before, was just too enticing for him to resist.  And with nobody to monitor his actions, including his conscience apparently, he struck a deadly blow to my balls.

It was time to put an end to this crime spree.  This senseless devouring of balls.   So, in no uncertain terms, I told both the au pair and my husband that my balls were off limits.  “Hands off of my balls, you thieving delinquents” I exclaimed.

I can only hope that my remaining balls have survived through this day without those criminals’ greedy hands and mouths devouring them before I can get home from work and finally use them for my own purposes.  But, if nothing else, I have learned a valuable lesson here.  Big balls are just too damn irresistible for my family to handle.  From now on, only small balls are safe to enter my home.  I won’t make the same mistake again.  My balls depend on it.

The scene of the crime.  And the only survivors.

The scene of the crime. And the only survivors.

I’ll Be Back

So, here’s the thing about life.  It gets in the way of all your best intentions of blogging.  Pretty sure Ghandi said that.  Or maybe it was Oprah.  I don’t know, someone important anyway.

I’ve been wanting to write something for weeks.  I kept thinking about it, and planning to do it, and trying to come up with something fun and entertaining with which to enthrall all of my many readers.  (That would be all 12 of you that are left, but “Hi” to my 2 new followers . . . *waves exuberantly*!!)  Yeah, but still I had nothing.  Nada.  Zip.  Zero.  Bubkis.  It’s pathetic, really.

Lately . . . ok, not so very lately, more like in the last couple of years . . . I’ve been trying to figure out what I want to do with my life.  What path I should take.  What career options I should pursue.  What my future holds.  Maybe I’m having a mid-life crisis or something.  Who knows.  But I have been swimming around in indecision and empty dreams for what seems like forever.  And I can’t for the life of me find my footing and decide what it is I actually want out of this confusing and ridiculous life.

For a while, blogging was the answer.  It was my therapy.  My fun little outlet of anonymity in my otherwise dreary and demanding life.  A chance to try out a new skill that I didn’t really know I possessed or enjoyed.  Writing became a release for me, and I looked forward to posting silly, irreverent, snarky posts, full of satire and wit.  At least, that’s what I tried to do.  Whether I was successful in that endeavor or not is for you guys to decide.

But lately, even my fun outlet has become a chore.  One more thing I feel like I have to force myself to do, in a list of a bajillionty things that must get done in my life on a daily basis.  And sadly, it must remain last on the list.  Maybe I haven’t been inspired enough to write.  Maybe this endless and frozen winter zapped me of my desire and ability to be creative.  Is my brain still frozen, even in this long awaited thaw of spring?  Could that be it?  Still, I have no answer.  I wish I did.

I hope that I can return to my former crazy and snarky self at some point, and dive right back into the blogosphere as if nothing ever happened to delay me.  But, unfortunately, I’m not there right now.

I mistakenly posted an old post a few weeks ago in my attempts to actually remove it from my site.  Nobody has ever called me technologically savvy.  When I did, I sent out a quick post telling everyone it was a mistake, and informing them that I would write a real post soon.  But I didn’t.  And I’m sorry.  I guess this counts, but I’m sure it’s not what you all were expecting.

While this isn’t an “I’m quitting blogging” post, I don’t know what is going on with me and writing right now.  I may get inspired tomorrow and have something brilliant for you.  Or you may not hear from me for a while.  But I wanted to at least check in and let everyone know what was going on.  For all of you that miss me desperately.  All 5 of you.  And really, don’t you have better things to do than think about me?  Go outside or something!  It’s a beautiful day.  Jeesh.

So for now, I bid you adieu.  Hopefully a short adieu.  To you and you and you.  And in the immortal words of the Terminator . . .

Come with me if you want to live.

Thrust your Hips and Squeeze your Knees Together


I love the Olympics.  Summer and Winter.  Every 2 years, I watch hours and hours of sports during a two week period.  Sports that on a regular basis I don’t have a lot of interest in, but cannot get enough of when they are all crammed together and feature multinational competitors.  There are exceptions, obviously.  I will never have any interest in hockey or long distance running/skiing/skating.  But other things that I would never think to watch at any other time; ice skating, ski jumping, swimming, gymnastics . . . I am zealously invested in during Olympic season.

The interesting thing about watching sports that I do not usually follow is listening to the “expert” commentators.  Each sport seems to have its own language and/or terminology, that most people would not be familiar with if they were not fans or participants of that specific sport.  And sometimes, listening to the commentators talk about specific sports is like listening to a foreign language, even though they are technically speaking English.

Take mogul skiing for example.  I was watching this Olympic event the other night, rooting on the favorite and prior gold medal winner, American Anna Kearney, during her final run.  Sadly, she didn’t accomplish a repeat gold medal win, and had to settle for bronze when she made one little mistake.  That’s really all it takes in these types of highly skilled competitions.


Yet, however disappointing it was to see her heartbroken at coming in third, and her failure to grab another gold medal, there was a silver lining.  Two, actually.  For her, it was the fact that she still gets to bring home an Olympic medal for her country, obviously.  But for me, it was hearing the commentators talk about her run.  Because immediately after her bronze medal run, the commentators went through it again in slow motion and gave a full description of her different moves . . . with the most delightful, unintentionally sexual descriptions of any Olympic event that I think I’ve ever heard.

Here are some of the things that they actually said while describing her run over the mogul hills:

She gets bucked around a little bit but squeezes it back together.

There’s that action, getting her tips on the ground.

Nice tight knees together.

Then thrusting her hips forward . . . pulling her heels back underneath her.  And the effect is a nice steady upper body, quiet head, quiet hands, as she swings her pole tips out.

Is that not the most wonderful description of a sporting event that you’ve ever heard?  I know it was good for me.  In fact, I’m not sure if I should be yelling “U.S.A!  U.S.A!  U.S.A!” or if I should go smoke a cigarette.  I guess I can do both.  I just love sports.

What is your favorite saucy sports terminology?

Two Wild and Crazy Guys!


That’s me there on the right. My chest hair is coming in nicely, don’t you think?

“Hey, do you want to go to a movie tonight?” I said early Saturday morning to my husband, as we were about to leave for my son’s flag football game.  “We don’t have anything planned for later this evening and haven’t gone out in forever.  Maybe we can even stop at the casino afterwards for a bit.”

“Sure, why not?” he responded.

So, I set up childcare for that evening (easy when you have a live in au pair who apparently feels guilty that she gets to sleep all day while my kids are at school, and offers to watch them on the weekend all the time, only to be finally taken up on that offer this night), and looked for movies that were playing.

After the game, while sitting at lunch with the kids at Panera, the hubs and I reviewed the movie options and settled on American Hustle, since it had received good reviews and been nominated for a bunch of awards.  It had been so long since we had seen a movie that didn’t have animated characters singing about letting things go, that we were really looking forward to a nice adult film.  Not like that!  Head out of the gutter, stay with me here folks . . .

Later that evening, once all of the errands were run, and the kids’ hairs were properly shorn, and a few more Christmas boxes were relocated from the living room floor to the storage room (don’t judge), we set off for our big night out!  I had earlier asked the hubs if he wanted to do dinner as well, but he declined.  I didn’t challenge it because we were both dieting and had been eating like crap lately.  Instead, we just got some bottles of water and a big bag of popcorn at the movie theater.  The movie, as is the norm it seems, started after 25 minutes of previews, none of them particularly noteworthy.  But then, once the movie finally started, we settled in for some fine quality entertainment.

Eight hours later, it seemed, I looked at my watch and realized we were only an hour and a half in.  Fifteen minutes later I looked again, thinking that it must be morning by now at least.  I leaned over to the hubs and asked, “is this the longest movie ever made, or is it just me?”  “It’s not just you,” he responded.  “Plus, I really have to pee!”

What seemed like a week and a half later, the movie ended and we walked out of the theater having aged a few years and gained a couple hundred extra grey hairs.  Rather than go to the casino, as we had planned, we were ready to go home and go to bed, even though it was only ten o’clock at night.  As we left the building and walked to the car, the hubs asked me if I liked the movie.

“NO!  I did not!  Damn it.”  He just laughed.  I don’t think either of us really had to ask that question of the other.

Rather than limping home disappointed, we decided to rally and go over to the local casino.  We didn’t have a lot of cash, but the last couple times we had visited this very same venue, we had walked away with more than we brought, so we were hoping our luck would be the same.

It was not.  Every machine we played sucked down our money like a greedy toddler being handed cotton candy.  Slurp, munch, giggle.  It was brutal. We jumped around, trying to find something that would at the very least let us play a little, but luck was definitely not in our favor that evening.  So, we decided to quit while we were ahead.  And by ahead, I mean behind and broke.

As we were leaving, we realized that we were both very hungry.  Splitting a bag of popcorn 3 hours earlier apparently didn’t sustain us for the night.  Rather than wait until we got home, we decided to drive around to see if anything was open so we could grab some food.  Nothing was.  Except, that is, a 24 hour Safeway.  Figuring they would have some pre-made sandwiches that we could quickly grab, we decided to give it a shot.

And they did have lots of pre-made sandwiches for us to choice from, so that was good.  The hubs grabbed a buffalo chicken wrap and I got a turkey and cheese sandwich on a roll.  When we got in the car and unwrapped our finds, I realized that mine had one tiny piece of turkey and a slice of american cheese within the large roll, and the hubs realized that his was pretty much inedible.  He took about 3 bites before he put it down and started making blech hrrrk blech noises, indicating that is really tasted horrible, while I actually ate most of my bread sandwich.  It was a pretty pathetic end to an otherwise disappointing night.

So, as you can see, we party like rock stars.  Anyone want to do a double date next week?

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