26 Questions

I'm just going to spout off some random questions here, I think most of them will be rhetorical, but I know most of you won't be able to avoid the urge to answer.

1. Why is it that all my life Tom*Cruise has been incredibly hot, but now that he's gone crazy, he just looks tired and wrinkly?

2. Why do I love Sple*nda in my coffee, but hate it in my Diet*Coke?

3. Why can't people who work in retail understand that the customer doesn't really want to hear all of your problems?

4. Whatever happened to the nice guy that worked at Happy*Harry's?

5. How big of a tub of Peanut butter would you need to make before James decided it was just too big?

6. What color paint?

7. Co*ke or Pep*si?

8. Why is it that I hate hot weather, but can't bring myself to move anywhere cold?

9. Why does the thought of spinning around in circles until I get so dizzy I fall down sound like such a good idea?

10. How many other crazy ideas will I get from my daughter?

11. Why does lighting the stove make the scanner scan the nothingness that is in the scanner?

12. Why does running the microwave make the computer screen get all wiggly?

13. Why do I want to wait until Sydney is 4 to have another baby?

14. Why do I want to put myself through pregnancy again?

15. Why was I the 1 out of 1000 that had to get my pregnancy issues?

16. Why does Wal*mart sell towels so small they barely fit around a 15 month old?

17. Who really wants to "Master the World of Psychology"?

18. Why does fake syrup "need no refrigeration"?

19. Why would anyone buy, let alone sell, non-dolphin safe tuna?

20. Why are people just fine with eating tuna as long as they don't harm any dolphins?

21. Why are dolphins so much more important than tuna?

22. Are the tuna really pissed that they've been labeled expendable?

23. Why won't Sydney eat a cut up banana, but she's fine with eating one whole?

24. Why do I really want a s'more right now?

25. Why do I really want coffee to go with it?

26. Who's going to be the first volunteer to go get me coffee and s'mores?

Nothing to say

I really don't have anything to say today so I've decided to make everyone happy by posting a picture of the most gorgeous face in the world...

"I'm sorry I'm not home right now, Leave a message and I'll call you back"

When I was about 10, maybe older maybe younger, our family got our first answering machine. I don’t really know what made my parents hate them so much, but hate them they did, and they refused to have one for the longest time.

They finally gave in when my Dad was laid off from his job and was interviewing for a new one. He wanted prospective employers to be able to leave a message about interviews, etc. *

I don’t know if there was a message on the machine before the one I’ll be telling you about in a minute. I’ll get to it, hold your horses! I think there would have had to be a professional “You have reached so and so, leave a message and we’ll get back to you” type message at some point, but you never know with my parents.

For some reason, after 13 +/- years, I still remember the exact wording of our first (?) message. It went like this:

“Hi, you’ve reached the Hmm Hmms. Yes that’s right. Another infernal answering machine. We hate ‘em, you hate ‘em, so let’s get this over with. At the sound of the beep….oh, you know what to do…Bye!”

That message right there is so my father.

From that moment on, I guess I never wanted to have a boring answering machine message. When everyone around us started getting answering machines their messages were just plain, and unfunny. What’s the point really? Everyone does, in fact, know what to do on an answering machine. Why spell it out for them? Are you that skeptical about your friends/colleagues/family member’s intelligence that you think you need to tell them exactly what they should be telling you on this thing?

Eventually the strange/funny/scary/embarrassing messages caught on. Everyone had a crazy message. Which, honestly, made me long for the days of 10 second straightforward messages. No songs, no jokes, no annoying pauses, no 5 minute messages that leave you wondering why the hell you called in the first place. Who really wants to call someone and hear their dog barking? I didn’t call your dog, jackass. When I want to leave a message for your dog, I’ll tell you and you can get them their own phone line, and their own shiny new answering machine. We’re looking into getting one for Miko; she has more friends than us anyway…

When I was in high school, I dated this guy. He had one of those fathers who wasn’t really funny but thought he was. You all know what I’m talking about. The kind you sigh around a lot, and avoid eye contact. His father decided to have the most horrible of all horrible answering machine messages. The kind of message where they pretend they’ve actually answered the phone. What kind of pleasure do you get out of that? It’s not like you can hear the person trying to talk to you and wondering why you can’t hear them. No self-respecting person is going to come to you later and say “Wow, you really got me with that message; I was just going on and on.” The first time I was “gotten” by the evil message, I sat there for close to an hour wondering if, by some wicked chance, someone had actually heard me. I was so focused on the humiliation I was going to receive later. I think it permanently screwed me up.

Okay, I guess it didn’t permanently screw me up. I did eventually come back to the land of the creative message. When James and I got cell phones a few months back, I recorded a message that I promptly forgot all about. Apparently it said something about leaving me an important message, and if the message wasn’t important then why were you calling. This has caused me some problems.

It started with a message from Jon:

“An important message” Yes that’s all it said. I wondered what the hell he was talking about for a minute but let it go.

Then “Well sometimes you just like to talk to people, it doesn’t necessarily have to be important…” What the hell was my mom talking about now?

I think there were a few more, but since I didn’t hear them 13 years ago, obviously I don’t remember. I caught on eventually, and realized what my message actually said. Although I never listened to it.

Then this morning, at breakfast, my message was discussed and dissected, and I was so sick of hearing about important messages! So I came home and changed my message…

It now says, “Hi, This is Liz, Leave me a message” James overheard me re-recording it and said “wow, that’s boring”

And so begins the screaming….

*ETA: Apparently the story I told was wrong, and we actually got the answering machine after the fire. We couldn't live in the house at the time so we got it in case we missed any calls. Thank you Daddy for correcting me.

Another Completely-ran-off-topic post! Yay! And French Fries...

So, I just put Sydney to bed and I really should be typing up my assignment for class, but I'll do that later.

I've been neglecting my blog, and It's still brand new. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep up with it everyday, but I thought I'd at least pull off every other day.

Maybe I wasted all of my funny stories already, maybe I'm just not inspired.

I have plenty of funny stories from my past, but I think they might only be funny if you were there.

I always admired the way my brother had a comeback for everything, and quickly. I've always been one of those people that would think of something great to say in response, it would just be hours later when I would think of it. Kinda defeats the purpose.

I would get in an argument with people and dwell on it for days. Sometimes feeling guilty, sometimes kicking myself for not saying something more clever. I grew up in a world where your sense of humor was like your worth. My dad and brother are hilarious, my mom is really funny when she tries to be, and hilarious when she doesn't. I always felt like I lacked something in the humor department. Because of that I would overcompensate, mostly just making a fool out of myself. Eventually I gave up, I would say funny, clever things occasionally, but I didn't strive for it.

Wait, I think I'm having a breakthrough...Maybe my lack of confidence in the humor department, and my avoiding the situations where it comes up, is where I get my urge to not be noticed. I have a large group of friends who are perfectly fine putting themselves out there for all the world to see, and not caring what people think. James is like that too, he'll walk into a public place and make an ass out of himself and not give a damn what people think. Meanwhile I'm cowering in the corner pretending I don't know him.

I don't like to call attention to myself at all. I avoid places if they are busy. I keep to myself and try not to be noticed. I have a great fear of crowded places, I don't like strangers being too close to me. I can only spend so much time in a store before I wind up sweating and my heart starts pounding and I feel like a caged animal. I think it has a lot to do with self-esteem, which I have none of.

I do wish I could be the kind of person that doesn't care what people think. The kind of person who can say to themselves "Who cares, I'm never going to see these people again" Alas, I grew up in a town where you would see these people again, and these people inevitably knew someone who knew someone who was best friends with your uncles dogsitter. Everyone talks, it's amazing how this town can be so big and have so many people and it's still virtually impossible to leave your house without running into someone you know. Or someone who knows your second cousin Sophia's chiropractor's car washer.

Okay, I have two stories now...

One, when I was 16, my mom came to me and yelled at me for not wearing a seatbelt while driving. After much pushing as to how she knows the exact date and time that I was not wearing a seatbelt, she admitted that her boss had seen me. Of course he went running right to my mother with this information. It's okay, he wears ugly shoes...

Two, when I was in fifth grade, I had this best friend. His name was Daniel and I was in love with him. We were so close and spent so much time together that we started telling people that we were brother and sister. Harmless right? Well, after he and his family were transferred (with the air force) to Ohio, a mother of one of my class mates ran into my mother somewhere and actually had the balls to ask her:

"How does that work"
To which my Mother replied:
"What?"
and she went on to say:
"Blah, Blah, Blah, Is Daniel your son or is there something about divorce, or something, blah blah" (Yeah, I don't remember the phrasing, I'll ask my mom and maybe I'll come back to this)

My mother came home asking me what Daniel and I had been telling people and I told her. She said something about people thinking badly of her for letting her son move away, or something.
(Seriously, I'll ask her about it)

Freaking smallish big town! How does that kind of info, harmless child's play, get back to your parents??

I like it here though, I hope we get to stay. I can't wait until someone's hairdresser's cousin's computer repair guy sees Sydney doing something and it gets back to me. I can't wait to see that look on her face. That "how in the hell could you possibly know all of the things you know" look. That'll be nice...

I'd like to teach the world to sing....

So it's been a few days since I last wrote anything. Sorry to all my faithful readers. Things have been a little crazy around here the past few days.

First, there was Father's day. I had planned a few things as gifts to the father's in my life, but most of them went horribly wrong.

James' gift was a complete disaster, a few times over. I don't want to give any details because I've promised him that I would get him an appropriate gift. We did have a bunch of friends over on Sunday night, and we all played board games. James is absolutely in love with board games, and he says that was the perfect gift, but I know I still need to do more.

I had planned to do a nice post here about my wonderful father, but time has gotten away from me. I'm sorry Daddy; I'll get to that soon.

Second, there has been unpacking. We were trying to sell this house for a long time, but finally decided that we would just try to make it work, mostly because it wasn't selling. Monday and Tuesday we rearranged and then rearranged some more. We had decided to move Sydney into the little room so that I could have a "guest room" again, but after spending a few hours yesterday swapping the two rooms we realized that it just wasn't going to work. Apparently 15 month olds come with a lot of stuff. I don't' really remember where it's all come from. Maybe they pulled some of it out, with her, during the c-section, I was really drugged, I might not have noticed. Maybe she's been a materialistic baby from conception, and somehow figured out how to smuggle furniture into my womb. She's sneaky, very sneaky. At any rate, we have to move it all back.

Moving everything back means we have to get rid of some stuff. We just have way too much for this tiny house. I had been planning to decorate Sydney's room; I want to go all out this time. When we found out that we were pregnant I was really looking forward to making a nursery. James was up for a promotion at the time and we weren't sure how long we would be here so I put it off until we were someplace more permanent. Now that we're back here, in this house again, and we've decided to put off moving, I really want to give her a room of her own.

This whole tiny room problem has thrown off my plans a little. I think I've decided to just do the bigger room and let the guest room happen when it happens. The only person who ever comes to visit is James' brother, and I don't think he'll be anywhere near this coast until at least Christmas. Maybe we will have figured some things out by then.

I had a nice long conversation (read: Bitch fest) with Linda about the whole issue. I do feel a little better, and I think I've decided to just focus my attention on Sydney's room for now. She deserves so much better than what we have now, so I'm going to do my best to provide it for her. Even if all I can do, for now, is give her a pretty, girly, creativity inducing room.

I just hate this feeling of not knowing what to do, I don't know what decisions are good or bad, and I don't know what the next step for us should be. I know that everyone in the world has this problem, but I just don't want to screw up again.

I wish I could wish for stuff, well, no, I'm perfectly capable of wishing for stuff. I wish I had some way of granting my wishes, and I wish I could shake the guilt that I get when I wish for things. I can't help but feel like I'm just being whiney and needy, because I know that there are plenty of people out there who have nothing.

Some day, I'm going to save the world. Then I'll be fine with everyone giving me every little thing I want.

I'm not touching you.....I'm not touching you....

I'm not a cuddler. I need my own space when I get into bed at night. I don't like to be crowded. James, on the other hand, is very big on the cuddling. Sometimes I just give in and let him suffocate me, but most times I push his arm off of me. Sometimes he acts like there is some kind of rubber in his arm and it just bounces right back, which annoys me even more, because not only am I having the life squeezed out of me, I was just smacked with the arm doing the squeezing. This can go on a long time.

When we first started dating, he would try to put his leg on my legs. Along with the arm thing, I felt like I was trapped in a box. It truly freaks me out to not be able to move my legs. I've tried to figure out why this is, what traumatic experience had occurred that made me so terrified by the thought of my legs being stuck? I've decided to blame it on my brother. I don't know if I have any solid proof that it was him. I remember a few times where he would want to sit on the couch, and I would be laying on it, refusing to move. He would decide to just sit right on my legs and refuse to get up. No amount of pleading would get him to move. I would always have to resort to tears. That always made him move.

I've had my brother wrapped around my little finger for as long as I can remember. That or I knew exactly how much drama I needed to create to get him into trouble. For example, if Ben pissed me off, I would bait him until he got so angry that he would push me. He never pushed me that hard, but that push was exactly what I wanted. I could then fall to the floor in some overly dramatic way and start crying. I was very good at it. My dad would come in and say "Ben, you don't push your sister, go stand in the corner". Yes, I was the one who started it, and he wound up getting punished. Life was good.

Even after all the times I screwed with him, I knew he would be there for me no matter what. I don't have one of those over protective brothers. I have a brother who would let me screw up, then step in only if he knew I needed help. Sometimes I wished that I had one of those brother's that would jump in at any sign of distress. Any time one of my boyfriends would piss me off, I wished I could sic my brother on them, he could be scary if he really tried.

My brother was always very outgoing too, the complete opposite of me. There were times that I would try to follow in his footsteps. I joined stage crew to do behind the scenes work, and he would be on stage singing (yes, singing, in front of people...I don't understand it either) I have the worst stage fright, I don't want to have any eyes on me, ever. I get nervous if the mall is too crowded, and I feel like people are looking at me. For the most part though, I wanted to be nothing like my brother. I don't know if I really wanted to, I don't think I made a conscious decision, but we are pretty different. I actually yelled "I'm not Ben!" to a teacher who tried to compare us once. That never happened again, although the teacher ran straight to my brother to tell him the whole ordeal.

James is a lot like my brother, but even more like my dad. James and my dad have gotten along from the moment they met. I think if we hadn't been dating, they would have hung out together anyway. They actually tweaked each others nipples at our wedding. Seriously, I have a picture of it. I feel like I'm outing my father and my husbands dirty relationship. Jerry*Springer here we come.

So, because James is a lot like my father, and a lot like my brother, we are completely different. He's outgoing, loud, funny, and obnoxious. I'm not.

He likes to cuddle. I'm going to cut his arm off if he doesn't stop touching me all the time.

( This is my personal bubble ) You should be --------------------------------------------------------------> Here.

I'm sorry if you were expecting funny.

I started writing earlier, but I didn't really have anything to say, so I stopped.

I know I have something to say right now, I just don't really know how to say it. I have a lot of thoughts going through my head, a lot of things are going on right now.

There is some serious stuff going on, but I don't really know who I can talk about it with. I had a nice long conversation in the college parking lot last night. Although it wasn't anything I hadn't already said, it was nice to get one more person on my side. Not that she wasn't on my side before, it's just nice to have it spelled out.

I never imagined I would ever be in the position where I would want to remove someone from my life. At least in a completely permanent sense. It saddens me to think that I'm not important enough for certain people to want to fix the relationship with me and my family. It saddens me even more that the most important person in my life is hurting.

Sometimes I just want to scream. I would love to just call up these people and go off. I would love to yell and scream and tell them that they are horrible people. I would love to make them feel as empty as I do. I have the most amazing parents in the world, and I'm so glad to have them, but this whole situation makes me feel like I am missing something.

Growing up, I had so many sets of "parents" that there was always someone to turn to. When I couldn't talk to my parents about something, I had my best friends mom to talk to. Although my parents have never thought that highly of her, it's amazing how much of a difference she made in my life. I could tell her anything, and I was never criticized for any of it. Sometimes she would tell me she was concerned, and we would talk, but it was never in a demeaning way.

When I come across situations where parents are less than what I believe parents should be, it's shocking to me. I know that all parents are different and they all have their own way of parenting. I don't disagree with most things that parents do with their children, even if I would never do it. The only thing that I cannot fathom people doing (besides the obvious abuse etc.) is treating their children like they are somehow less. Talking down to your child, picking on them (in a mean way) demeaning, embarrassing, or just being disrespectful is absolutely horrible to me. I can't ever imagine telling Sydney that she was fat, ugly, stupid etc. And yet I know it goes on out there. I've experienced it, it not only hurts your child, whether they are young or old, it hurts the people who care about them. I don't give a damn how you feel about yourself, I don't care if your self-esteem is so low that you feel you need to bring other people down, it's wrong.

I know that I was a handful when I was younger, hell my dad will tell you that I'm still a handful now, but no matter how many times I told my dad I hated him, or told my mom whatever mean hurtful things I told her, they had nothing but kind words for me. They never stooped to my level, they never gave in to stress (except maybe a certain brush throwing incident, but that's for another time) They were always unwavering in their complete love, support and compassion. I owe my life to my parents, obviously I know, but even more than birth, I owe my life.

I wish everyone in the world had parents just like mine. I think the world would be a much happier place.

I do believe in Flowers, I do, I do.

I have a title, that I've pretty much deemed upon myself. I am the plant killer. I've walked into garden centers and actually seen the flowers and plants cower, and avoid eye-contact.

I'm not sure how long ago it was, but I once decided to go out and buy three flower pots and some seeds. I don't know why I decided to buy seeds instead of actual half grown plants. It would have made more sense to have had someone else grow the flowers before I got my death grip on them. I could have given them a fighting chance.

The seeds did actually start to grow, I'm not sure if I ever saw a flower on any of them, though. Eventually, they dried up, as all flowers do around me. James and my brother in law teased me about it. They teased me even more when the pots started to grow weeds. The weeds thrived for a little while, they weren't that nice to look at, but hey, something was actually growing! (No thanks to me) Those flower pots sat there, grim and desolate looking, for a long time.

Around April of this year, I decided to try again. Determined to have life in front of my house, I set out to buy flowers. I bought actual flowers, not just seeds, and nice clay pots. I planted the flowers in the pots and they looked really nice. I watered them consistently for about two weeks. Then it slipped to about once every three weeks, luckily I had rain to help me out. Now I can't remember how long it's been since I last watered them. They're looking pretty sad.

Honestly, they have been resuscitated a few times, either by the rain, or some fluke like me remembering they were there. I feel so bad for my flowers; I think they are on the edge of death right now. For some reason I can't get up the motivation to water them. I just took the dogs outside and I stared at the flowers, they inspired me to write about them, but not to actually take 2 minutes to help save their lives.

So now I'm going to ask all of you to chant with me, (this is for Linda and James, just to get it stuck in your heads all day long) "I do believe in Flowers, I do, I do. I do believe in flowers, I do, I do."

Damn, I really wish it worked that way...I'm going to water them right now, I promise. Maybe I'll just wait until Sydney takes her nap. Oh wait, the front door opening will wake her up. I guess I'll have to wait until James gets home. Except he's going to be home late and I need to go to my parents house when he gets here. Maybe when I get home tonight, except it will be dark, and I won't be able to see them. (Yes, they become invisible at night) I'll get to it eventually, I promise....

When I'm 80, I'm going to make Sydney drive me everywhere.

I feel like writing two today, I don't know why. Maybe because I didn't write yesterday, maybe I'm inspired now after writing the first one. We'll see.

I was asking James yesterday what I should write about, I was completely at a loss. I asked while we were in the car coming back from lunch with my father.

Previous to me asking him, I was bugging him about the speed he was going. So his suggestion was to rant about how he speeds constantly.

I brought this up to my mom and my Aunt in the car last night. They asked how fast he was going, and then told me that they do the same thing. Why is it that I obsessively look at my speedometer, I learn all of the places that the police like to hang out on the highway, and I'm overly cautious when driving? It's apparently not helping me; no one else seems to get pulled over, ever.

Honestly, I haven't been pulled over in almost 4 years, so it must be doing something, but James, my parents and my brother speed everywhere, and they never get pulled over either.

I try to stress to James that the speeding isn't really a huge deal to me, it's not like he drives at dangerous speeds, he just drives faster than he's supposed to. I've told him it's the fact that if he gets pulled over we will have to pay a ticket, plus our insurance would go up.

He actually has been caught by the police recently, but all the cop did was drive up next to him and give him a thumbs down. A thumbs down, James got a bad review on his driving by a police man. 1 out of 4 stars, his driving was "there". I know I'm over-stressing this point, but come on! If it had been me, I would have gotten the ticket.

I keep thinking, every time he's speeding and I ask him to slow down, that I will be the one to get the next ticket. I think that will shatter my hopes and dreams. I might lock myself in my bedroom and never go near a car again.

I got my driving habits from my Mother (I think there's a theme here, Daddy, what traits did I get from you, exactly?) She was always a cautious driver, not that she isn't anymore, she just seems to have changed a little after I was a regular driver. I guess she didn't feel she needed to shelter me from her reckless driving after I had already formed my own driving habits. (I'm going to get an e-mail for that comment)

The only time I remember my mother being pulled over, it was completely my fault. It was my 16th birthday, I was having a huge party and there were a bunch of friends that were coming to my house after school. My Mother came to pick us up, and there were 4 of my friends plus me that needed a ride to our house. My mother's car only sat 5, we had 6. I don't remember how it happened, but I'm sure I gave her a guilt trip, and eventually wore her down enough, and we were on our way, all 6 of us. One of my friends sitting in my lap. We were only about a mile down the road when the cop pulled us over. My mother had even avoided the highway, so they wouldn't see us. She was really mad, if it hadn't been my birthday, and I didn't have the leverage, she still might not be talking to me.

I'm sorry mother, for all the times I've bugged you over and over to get my way. I'm sorry for making you drive us to the mall on race weekend and sitting in traffic for 2 hours. I'm sorry for ruining your Mother's day by making you take us to the beach and the outlets (and making you sit in traffic).

If it's any consolation, I'm sure I'll be there one day, and you can point and laugh at me. I'll grant you that one wish. Well, maybe I'll grant you two, one of these race weekends, someday in the next few years, I'll drive you through Dover, and while it'll be a little late, I'll let you have that be my Mother's day present.

I don't really care if you read it or not, It's there...

I didn't post anything yesterday, sorry. I'm saying that like anyone noticed.

I wasn't feeling inspired. I had a "girl's night out" last night with my Mom and my Aunt. I thought I would wait until afterward, and see if I had any thoughts. I don't really, but I thought I would ramble off an entry anyway, sometimes just writing helps you write.

We went to dinner at a local seafood restaurant. This is a place that we have been going to for years, as long as I can remember. They've always had pretty good food, and friendly service. I've always enjoyed it, and as many times as I was dragged there as a child, you'd think my Mom liked it too.

On the way there my Aunt happened to ask something along the lines of whether this was a good place or not. (I found out later that she had sworn never to go there, something about a painter and money or lack there of) My mother's reply was "It's there". We joked about this statement for the rest of the night. You'd think, in a town that has a restaurant of every type, we could find a place that would get a better review than "It's there".

My mother, she's incredible, she can make meals that that taste like they're straight from heaven. Her passion is cooking. I've never known anyone who could watch food network all weekend straight. (Except me, but I got it from her) She's known as the cook, she cooks for everything. She cooks huge meals for the Boy*Scouts, and even bigger meals for the Odyssey*of*the*mind. My whole family, really, is all about the cooking.

You'd think with all of this expertise, time, and passion, she might be able to muster up a better restaurant review than "it's there".

I've decided that if it's good enough for my Mother, I'm going to start saying it.

"How was the restaurant last night?" "It was there"
"How was the movie?" "It was there"
"How do you feel about winning the lottery?" "It's there"

From now on, I'll be nonchalant woman. Yes mother you've created a monster. At least for the purposes of this entry, because I think I'll be able to keep it up for about half an hour.

Now I just need a stream.

Our neighbors have two giant vans. I'm not sure what these types of vans are called, they're bigger than a mini-van, smaller than a semi. They are huge, none-the-less. Red and green, christmasy, don't you think?

I'm not sure what an older retired couple needs with two giant vans. They don't even use their own driveway to park them, probably because they wouldn't fit. That or they would block out the sun, and that's not very nice, I'd assume. They park them in the driveway next door. Next door is just an empty lot, so I don't think anyone minds.

The man that lives there, probably becuase he feels guilty for parking his gigantic vans there, has been known to mow part of that lot. The neighborhood management does come in and mow all of the unoccupied spaces, but I guess he's trying to give back. He'll mow his entire yard, and then mow about half of the lot next door.

Sometimes this makes me feel guilty, because I don't even mow my own yard. I just wait for the first 14 year old boy to come to my door, I pay him 10 dollars and I never have to think about it. The lawn-mowing boy, before the last one, that came to my house didn't really know where out yard ended and our neighbors yard (the one behind us, they have two family sedans, they must like the sun) began. He stopped mowing about 3 feet from our back steps. Our neighbors who like the sun, must not like mowing. I don't know if they realized his mistake, but now we have about a two foot strip of, what could only be called, field behind our house.

The next one decided, that because that strip of field was prominent, that must be where our yard ends. He mowed the back, and left the strip. I'm sure our neighbors won't feel inclined to cut it this week either. While the most recent boy, I'll call him Pete, was mowing my back yard, he ran over something that broke his mower. Pete came to the door, and said that he would have to wait for his father (Big Pete) to come home and get the mower to start again before he could finish. That was a week ago. Still no Pete, still a strip of field in the back yard.

I'm worried that Pete has also told his friends that our yard broke his mower, and scared them all away.

I'm going to have to get a mower, or start asking every 14 year old boy that walks by our house if he would be willing to take 10 dollars from me...That won't scare them away.

Me and James decided the car needed washed...bad

Ahhh, second post. It makes you feel all warm and squishy, doesn't it? Maybe I'll actually keep up with this, who knows.

I've never been good about keeping a journal of any kind, probably from fear that my brother would find it and it would be one of those scenes from a T.V. show. "Mother! Ben's reading my diary! How dare he! It's private!" Like any 13 year old girl has any thoughts or ideas that are that earth shattering. Given my family, if someone had found my diary, they probably wouldn't have even noticed the content. My mother would have come to me and said:

"It's Melanie and I, Melanie and I have to get out of this house"

Or

"It's not 'I want to kiss him so bad' It's 'I want to kiss him so badly' "

She probably wouldn't have thought twice about what she'd actually read.

My brother probably would have looked for a scroll bar.

If I ever found Sydney's diary, I might not be able to resist the urge to correct her spelling. Thank you family.

Linda came to me recently and mentioned that I might be able to find a job typing papers for college students. I have two problems with this. First, when she brought it up, I actually thought "That would be easy, they could just e-mail them to me, and I could type them up" I’m hoping you see the problem with that. Second, I believe it would be unethical to change things, but I would want to. I've read some of the things my classmates have written on the discussion board for class. I wonder how their mother can live with herself. Mine certainly couldn't.

Luckily I didn't get the "grammar correcting" gene as strongly as my Mother has it. I did get the "incorrect spelling bugs the hell out of me" gene, though. Fortunately, unlike my mother, I can have a conversation with people without having my head explode. People can speak and I have no idea if that word is being spelled correctly in their heads.

I have been known to fixate on something that has been spelled wrong, though. The Chinese buffet, for example, had a sign up for the longest time that said "We are family orientated". I would read that sign over and over. Maybe I was hoping that it would miraculously change, and let me eat my lunch in peace. That sign almost convinced me that I have OCD. Finally, they changed it. Some nice person must have pointed out their horrible mistake. The first time I was in there after the sign was changed, I read it, and then read it again. I all of a sudden realized that it was correct! Finally, I could eat my lunch in peace, and not have to worry about the sign, but that did not happen. I read the sign over and over, throughout the whole lunch. I must have been convinced that my eyes were deceiving me, and that it was going to change back at any moment. I don't believe I've eaten there since. Lunch became too exhausting.

Sometimes it's fun to be somewhere, with my Mother, and just watch her. I have been trained to recognize the grammar faux pas (did you know the plural of faux pas is faux pas? I actually looked it up, which pretty much sums up my story) that torment my poor Mother morning noon and night, I just don't let them get to me like she does. I think her face speaks volumes when we're around my father's family. They'll know what I'm talking about.

I think that's all I have to say, today. Mother, I'll be expecting my e-mail with all the grammar corrections this afternoon. I'm going to go copy and paste into Word right now, just to make sure everything is spelled to my satisfaction.

First post

So I just decided today that I wanted to create a blog. Everyone else has a blog, and they all seem cooler than me. You know who you are, cool people. I'm going to keep this short, because this is really just a way of avoiding school work. What to talk about??

Okay, how about my title? Before I was pregnant, James and I talked about the possibility of pregnancy and what we thought. I was, of course, terrified by the idea. James on the other hand wanted nothing more than to be a father. Except maybe sex, but hey, he killed two birds with one stone and I think he's damn proud of himself.

So we would talk about parenthood, and James would be happy. I would get paranoid one month because my friend hadn't shown up yet and James would get happy. I would express to him that I was terrified of being pregnant, that we needed to get married first. Yes, shiny happy people, I was not a virgin when we were married!! Just shoot me now, or then, whatever.

His extreme happiness at the thought of me becoming pregnant freaked me out. I decided that we would create a rule that if I ever had a pregnancy scare, rather than the overwhelming enthusiasm, he should just ask "And how do you feel about that?"

He wound up asking me that question a few times. I'm not the best at tracking my friends itinerary...

So on that fateful night of July 20th 2003 (after we were married, I must add) I sat on the front porch waiting for James to come home, the positive pregnancy test stashed in a paper towel in the microwave (Hey, I didn't want him to see it before I could have my moment. We also have a new microwave, for anyone who might come to visit) We walked inside and I grabbed the test and showed it to him. I said nothing. He said "and how do you feel about that?"