Homemade and Halfbaked Ideas

If I think, "I'd have paid money for that!" I know I've done a satisfactory job in hacking something.

You've all seen the upholstered headboards. Well, trendy or not, I wanted one.

Snotty as it sounds I wouldn't necessarily have to make my own. I have a job and credit and this is America after all. I think an upholstered headboard is the right of every American. Along with a huge t.v., cable, healthcare, acrylic nails, and Doritos. Anything else you'd like to add while were at it?

The boys (and girls) up at Capitol Hill are duking it out and we could easily slip one past them. Lets add a Pottery Barn Bill while we're at it. If you pay taxes, you get a Pottery Barn gift card in an equal amount. Just sayin'.

As it is not likely to happen that I should acquire anything free Free FREE from the government because my husband and I are actually responsible citizens and work for a living, I had to come up with an alternative plan.

With a little help, Internet, and some muscle, thirty dollars later I have something I'd have paid actual cash for in a place other than Craigslist.

My mom gave me the fabric almost two years ago. I sewed the dust ruffle myself. I still have plans for pillows, accents, and wait for it....pelmet boxes. But for the cost of new blinds, half inch plywood, and nailhead trim I've got a bedroom to give birth in.

Look, you might not all agree with me politically, and I'd think twice if you ever had the chance to vote for me, but I think I deserve a Pottery Barn something after smashing my hand with the rubber mallet and not even cussing.

Now for the tutorial...

Google 'Upholstered Headboard Tutorial' or call me.

If you're thinking the brown and orange kind of clash, it's my crappy camera and the dark of night. Oh wait, add that to the Bill! DSLRs all around!

Some of this is serious stuff.

When I drive I think about stuff. Sometimes it scares me because I get to where I'm going and don't actually remember driving there. I drove almost two hundred miles for work this weekend. You know what that means? (Besides a potentially hazardous driver). It means I got lots of random time to think about random stuff.

Swollen ankles should be the least of a pregnant woman's concerns. (Unless retaining an unusual amount of fluid or in heart failure.) A swollen kershlopis is much more of an issue and no ones talks about that. It kind of irritates me that no one talks about the real physical, and seriously funky changes the body undergoes. It needn't be in a whiny, complaining way but in a "Dude, just so you know..." sort of way. It'd be much more helpful.

I don't care about being the nicest nurse. Nice nursing doesn't equate to good nursing. This, ironically, often makes me the favorite nurse. I'm not everyone's, but there have been plenty. It's the old, crusty, crochety ones that are my favorite to crack.

They say this labor thing I will experience in the next few months is some serious stuff. After hauling my car bag in and out I'm afraid my little dude is going to fall out. Um.. yeah. Going back to the edematous kershlopis. Mother nature has things covered. Nothing is going anywhere.

I saw someone hock a loogie into the drinking fountain at Bel Air- reconfirming to me why I have a "No Drinking Fountain" policy.

I don't understand the sign holders on the side of the road who dance while sign holding. Helloooo! I can't hear your music! Your jiggling is not only slightly disturbing but I can't even read the sign you're holding.

I heart lovely, gracious people who at the end of a visit where you've inflicted pain and discomfort in generous proportions tell you, "It's been a pleasure having you in our home." It makes me want to try and be more lovely and gracious.

Lovely and any variation of Grace (graceful, gracious, etc.) are adjectives not likely to be found on my tombstone.

I have a mental collection of patient's and experiences that have changed my life. Honest. No sarcasm. Someday I will write about all the cool people and things I've seen while in patient's homes. This weekend during a brief visit with a family I realized that to die for another person is not always the greatest sacrifice. Sometimes living and all the courage, pain, and sacrifice that brings is the greatest gift.

This weekend I really, really liked my job.

LMAO

We went for Chinese food with family tonight. I don't know which was better- the marital advice or the fortune cookies.

Tip for fifty years of marriage..."We never contemplated divorce. Not ever. Murder lots of times."

"In bed" was added to the end of every fortune. When I say every fortune, I mean even Great Grandma added "In bed" to the end of her fortune. I almost lost all bladder control.

On the way home my husband bought me an ice cream cone.

I think I'm gonna make it through my weekend working.

Misconceptions

Anyone who thinks being a (mostly) stay at home mommy who never stays at home, and is busier than she ever was when she worked full time but whatever, should try it. It can be very exciting.

Zero to sixty on the excitement scale and you don't even see it coming.

It starts.

Eating my cereal and researching home laminators. Don't mock. It's Wednesday. Researching home laminating products is what you do on Wednesdays.

Hmmm. It's a been a while since I checked out E-bay.

Holy Shmoly! My laminator! 17 bucks. 1 bid. 18 minutes left. Saaaaweeeeeeet!!!!

Crap, what's my password. Register, check e-mail, retrieve, and re-set password.

Bid.

11 minutes.

Scrunch, "More please." Refill of craisins and sippy cup.

8 minutes.

"I've got to potty."

"No. The pink potty."

Retrieve the pink potty.

Four minutes.

"Call mommy if you need help."

You've been outbid. Oh heeeell no! Not today chicka! I suddenly NEED that laminator!

"I need a book!" from the occupant of the pink potty.

Aaargh!

"Here's three books."

Two minutes.

Check on the occupant of the pink potty.

One minute.

"I pooping!!!!!"

Ten seconds.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

ONE and TOUCH DOWN Mommy!

Hi-fives all around. Pooped in the pink potty and I'll get my laminator in four to nine business days!

Valentine

Just in case you may have missed the news flash...

MY KID HAS CURLY HAIR AND I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT!!!!!

I would love her if she was bald as a cue ball, but she would not be Scrunch without her curls.

"I just watching" is a phrase I hear when she knows I'm not going to let her help with something- like put on my make-up or use the stove. The other day while getting ready to leave for a meeting I was straightening my hair and she asked, "I wanna squeeze hair too."

"Um. No." I responded. No explanation. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. The answer is 'No'. And I thought, "I am more likely to let you get a piercing than to straighten your hair, kid." No joke.

The following day she received a Valentine's Day package from my sister. Along with the books, bubbles, pencils, and c.a.n.d.y. there was a little something she said I would just love. Tung-toos.

Yes. Candy flavored tattoos for your tongue. Just what every two year old didn't know she always needed and could not live without. And what their mother didn't even know they existed until it was too late.

Only an aunt. A single who spoils her rotten and lives more than a thousand miles away kind of aunt could get away with a present like that. We called her thanked her. Scrunch from the bottom of her little heart and me with a giant "Thanks a lot."

I also took note. Scrunch will never be sent to spend the summer with Aunt-E. She'd let her straighten her hair and get a piercing.

Every Monday should be a Holiday!

These I Love Best

Happy Valentine's Day!

Hate Mail

Dear Mr. Squirrell,

I hate your stinking guts. You make me vomit. You are the scum between my toes. And if I didn't think someone would lose an eye, I would take the b.b. gun and do the job myself. You see, my kid was seconds from dreamland when you dared walk along the fence at approximately 2:07 p.m. yesterday afternoon causing both my hunting breed hounds to go ballistic. I needed a nap more than she did. Ya great big jerk! Book a cruise and live it up pal. Your days are numbered.


Regretfully,

Me

What to Say- A Book Review

One of the unexpected reactions to the news of my pregnancy was,

"But what are you going to tell Scrunch?"

"Wha-huh? I'm going to tell her she's going to be a big sister."

Why does this need to be complicated? It's really very simple. All babies come from tummies. Not all of Mommy's babies come from Mommy's tummy.

I would be lying if I said though that I hadn't thought about it. Not because we think about it when it's just us, but because sometimes I want to smack people. And I worry how my smacking and their ignorance will affect my children.

Incredibly, I have an ever broadening circle of girls that get it. The woman who I share a desk with at work coincidentally has been in my position. Her oldest was adopted. Her second natural. Her third adopted. And her fourth natural. If anyone is in a position to dispense me advice on this, it was her. The best thing about it is her take on parenting is she told me, "Kids are kids no matter where they come from. And you're the parent. You just love them. But it really doesn't matter whether they were adopted, you give birth to them, or from the moon- you're gonna get to deal with all kinds of stuff as a parent." Not the most helpfully sounding advice, but it helped a ton.

She did recommend to me a book and I went home and ordered it.

I Love You the Purplest by Barbara M. Joosse. It's not a book about adoption, or natural children, or parenting. It's about a mom who loves her kids. The pictures are beautiful and I've read it lots to myself.

As the family spends the day fishing, the two boys vie for attention. They ask their Mama who is the best fisherman and ultimately, "Who do you love best?"

This universal question is perfectly answered when, in the spirit of true unconditional love, Mama explains that she loves each of them in their own special way. The jubilant Max she loves the "reddest" and the quiet Julian she loves the "bluest." Together she loves both her boys the "purplest."

Random is what I do best.

We went for dinner tonight at our favorite Mexican restaurant. I could drink their salsa with a straw. We topped off the meal with fried ice cream. I just wanted to write to say that I think whoever came up with frying ice cream deserves a medal. A gold medal.

And that I cannot wait for the Olympics to begin on Friday. That is my spicy Valentine's Day celebration all planned out- us, caramel popcorn, and the Opening Ceremonies.

I also plan on finishing Scrunch's Valentine's Day hat. The same hat which my husband asked tonight if it was supposed to be a yarmulke. So I have a bit to go. Isn't that what the Olympics is all about? Aim high and achieve your dreams. Or sit and watch t.v. for hours on end and achieve them that way.

Oh, what a random life I lead.

It would be pointless for me to hire a housekeeper. I would spend the entire day before she was scheduled to come cleaning so she wouldn't see my mess. I decided this after spending the afternoon making my yard look as presentable as possible for the landscape designer who is coming tomorrow. Totally pointless. And if I am going to do it myself. I might as well be writing myself the check. I haven't been this excited for something since... well, it hasn't been that long since I've been this excited, but that doesn't take away from the fact that I'm really excited about this.

After almost two years of avoiding The Store That Shall Not Be Named, (Walmart if you're a newbie) I had to break down tonight and buy jumper cables. In my defense, I think jumper cables are a totally justifiable purchase at 10:45 p.m. The people who shop at that place at that time of night make motley crew in case you were wondering.

Halfway down the driveway, which is almost halfway down the block, my kid announces that she is going to get the mail. I start to run after her, the whole time I thinking, "Oh, crap. Think of something quick because if she decides to make a run for it, I'm never going to be able to catch her." I have officially reached a stage where I don't think I could run if I wanted to. And if I look straight down I can't see my feet. I wear a size 10 shoe. That explains why I am not able to run.

I have seriously contemplated registering for a MAJORLY awesome half-marathon a few months after the little dude is born just to prove to myself that I will be able to run again one of these days. It is so majorly awesome that I don't want to say what it is because space is limited and I'm afraid you'll beat me to it.

Another funny Scrunch story...She was running through the house with a dowel I use for making korker ribbons. I stopped her and asked what she was doing, "I hunting kitty." It took every ounce of "If I don't stop this now, it is going to come back and bite me in the butt" or I would have let her get him. He's had it coming for a few weeks now.

I have a new sign in my kitchen that is a giant metal cupcake. It reads, "Eat dessert first." I read it about a hundred times a day and love it every time. I even baked cupcakes today.

TV Thoughts

We don't watch a lot of t.v. Plenty of movies, but not a lot of t.v. Today of all days we sat and watched the SuperBowl. Well, I mostly slept with the Super Bowl in the background, but woke up in time to see Drew Brees and his little boy. How cute was that?

The commercials were mostly lame. I was totally disappointed. I was searching for funny and they came up with a bunch of lame, lame, lame.

What is up with the GoDaddy commercial? I wanted to file a sexual harassment suit on behalf of their female employees and I don't even work for them. I just don't get it. I mean, I totally get that big boobs sell, but come on! It would be like the organization I work for advertising with their employees dressed up in naughty nurse outfits. Totally out of left field, inappropriate, and oh... not funny.

Did you watch Undercover Boss afterwards? I cried like three times. I may have found a show that I want to tune in on a weekly basis. Ever since House got lame I've been show-less. I really want to watch next week. I mean, WOW! There's sexual harassment going on at Hooters? HOLY SHMOLY and knock me over with a feather! I'M SHOCKED!! I still want to see the chauvanist get canned, though.

And in case you were wondering... there is nothing real about reality t.v. Even HGTV. They transform entire rooms in a twenty four hour period. You don't get to see the entire production crew busting out the brushes and rollers. And it's good thing because painting one room with a two year old takes THREE DAYS!! Who wants to see that? Like watching paint dry. hehe. Now that was funny.

Weekend Warrior-ing

Our mission- Five gallons of Behr Premium satin finish in Macchiato. For you non-coffee drinkers, it looks like the foam the Coco-Motion makes with hot chocolate if you make it right and use whole milk. I want to lick my walls. It's so very Willy Wonka. Add some Robert Allen Kiki Pinata print fabric, bamboo blinds, and some nailhead trim and it's almost as good as a getaway. I think HGTV would call it eclectic. I would call it wall-licking getaway good.

Eww! Weird.

I am not in the camp of those that consider the pregnant body beautiful or an overly glorious experience. Most days I think, "Eww. Weird." Glad I am, but weird. Check out my belly button and you'll agree.

I, more than the general population I think, get that it is a bloody miracle but still... you've got to admit it's very strange the physical changes a person can undergo in such a short period of time without going under the knife.

It does have its perks though.

• You can ask for and eat whatever you want and no one questions it.
• People tell you that you look great when you look like shiz.
• It is the best excuse to do absolutely nothing and be anti-productive and you totally get away with it!
• You can get away with anything.
• Strangers are nice to you.
• Even stranger are the creepy dudes that go beyond nice, venturing into the realm of coming on to you. So very creepy.

I was relaying a creepy encounter to my sister and her boyfriend when they came up with the strangest pregnancy theory of all.

Basically what it boiled down to was... Think like a dude. They can't get you pregnant and they know you put out.

Eww! Weird.

:)

(I find myself using these little dudes a lot.) (And had I majored in English and not Nursing I might have remembered what they are called (maybe)) (And more importantly how to use them correctly(maybe)) But I like 'em because they are like little thought bubbles that pop up in the middle (or end) of your thoughts(did I already say that?) See what I mean? And they make cute little dudes.

:) :) :) :) :) :) :)

Still a Chick

Why do I feel the need to apologize for my absence or have a really, really good excuse for my lack of blogging?

Cuz maybe mothering a toddler, baking a baby, working three of the last five days, and re-organizing an entire craft room, making twenty-four bows, and three Valentine's ornaments just might not quite cut it.

And even if I spent the entire time eating Bon-bons (which I've never actually eaten) and watching three seasons of Dr. Quinn (which I do own) what's it to ya?

Why do chicks find every possible thing to feel guilty over?

Why do things that are supposed to be fun and relaxing make it onto the to-do list? I cannot believe I'm adding "eat a Bon-bon" to my to-do list next week.

Why do two year old's (and their mother's) ask why all the live long day?

Huh, huh, HUH?!?!?!?!?!?!