I won! I won!

Ok, relax, it's a Liebster Award.  If you don't know what a Liebster Award is, you probably haven't read a blog that has less than 8 million followers any time recently. And you are missing out--there are some funny bitches out there.

I will do my best to do it justice, while still preserving my own needs for satisfying my curiosity about things and laziness.  I am extremely lazy--almost to the point of seriously considering changing my blog name to Confessions of a Super Lazy-Assed Mom.  Although I guess I wasn’t too lazy to have looked into this Liebster thingy. 

Liebster is a German word that means kindest, dearest, lovely, pleasant, valued, endearing, and welcome (among other things); and this award is given to bloggers with less than 200 (originally 3,000) followers who deserve more recognition.
Here are the current rules:

• Post 11 random things about yourself
• Answer 11 questions from your "benefactor"
• Create 11 questions for those you will pass the award on to
• Pass the award on to 11 new bloggers and let them know it.
• No tag backs.

Somewhere along the line the "rules" of this award have morphed. The original rules were:

• Post the award on your blog.
• Thank your Liebster Blog Award presenter on your blog.
• Link back to the blogger who awarded you.
• Give your top 5 picks for the award.
• Inform your picks by leaving a comment on their blogs.

Notice there is no mention of the "11 random things about yourself" rule and the number of bloggers you need to pick is noticeably smaller. Needless to say, I am partial to the original rules as they seem much less excessive and so much more attractive to my laziness.

Now, I did just receive this award a few days ago from Amy of The Terrible Threes.  HUGE thanks to her!  She's freakin' funny and has a pretty unique and totally cool style of blogging.  Definitely check it out.  

I have to admit, however, I would be a complete and total ass if I did not acknowledge Duchess Pandora who originally bestowed this upon me back in November.  Not just a fellow writer in the blogosphere, I know this woman in real life and she is pretty cool.  She’s a DOer.  Mama gets shit DONE (unlike me, who took over two months just to respond to my first Liebster. #bloggingFAIL). 

Both are deserving of the shout-out and in the interest of fairness I will answer some of both sets of questions.  And since there are so many, I don’t think that 11 random things about me are necessary.  These questions are random enough.

From Amy:

·         If you could be one classic TV character, who would it be? How far back are we going with “classic?” I’ll go with Maude.

·         What inspires you? Somedays, nothing; but most days, my kids. If your kids don’t make you want to be a better person every day, you’re doing something wrong. Corny and true.

·         If you could switch gender for one day (other than furiously masturbate) what would you do? Pee standing up.  I want to know how truly difficult it is to get it in the bowl.

·         What is the funniest thing that has ever happened to you? Funny-strange? Funny-HaHa? I’ll go with funny-bizarre.  I worked for an extremely well-off family and was a nanny for three kids. Not exactly funny, but bizarre because you wouldn’t believe what money could buy (Neil Armstrong’s spacesuit) and what it couldn’t (A LOT).

·         What’s your go-to junk food item? ICE CREAM. But I really don’t consider it junk food. It’s Dairy.  Look it up.

·         What is your favorite film? It’s a tie—The Wizard of Oz and The Breakfast Club.

·         When is the last time you drew something? (Penis doodles count) Yesterday.  My current specialty is crayon drawings of and with my toddler.

·         Who would you be afraid to meet in a dark alley? Steve Buscemi’s teeth

·         Can you fit your whole fist in your mouth? Huh?

·         What is the dumbest thing you have ever done? (It was trying to fit your fist in your mouth, wasn’t it?) Absolutely.  I’ll just go with that.

From Duchess:

• Do you believe in astrology? Yes, to some degree.
• Tylenol, Advil or Aleve...what do you turn to to cure a headache? Advil. No contest.
• How old would you be if you could be any age? Sixteen.
• What is the most exotic food that you have ever eaten? Probably a tie between truffles and pate and I hated both.  Apparently I have “beer taste”, which bodes well for my “beer pocketbook.”
• Have you ever gone Black Friday shopping? Never. I worked MANY a Black Friday.  I don’t get it.
• What do you keep in the trunk of your car? Always a random bag of something. Frequently something that needs to be returned to a store or clothes of my kids that I am passing on to someone else.
• What was your nickname as a child? I had many:  Annie, Jane (neither of which are my name), Monkey Doodle, China Girl. 
• What is your homepage for your Internet browser? My gmail account.<yawn>

So, onto my picks.  I have no idea how many followers these people really have.   I just like them, so check them out.  They’re absolutely worth your time.  And I don’t have questions for them.  Their writing speaks volumes.

·        Mediocrates at How Did I Get Here?  - Buckle up because Mama has been on one wild ride and she’s taking you along.  It’s best if you start at the beginning.  And allow yourself some time—you won’t stop until you’re caught up.

·         Sue at Diapers or Wine? - Don’t let the homeschooling-mother of 5 thing throw you. Sue is a fellow Jersey girl who juggles a lot of balls but doesn’t seem afraid to throw one when necessary.  Think fast.

·         Janel at 649point133.com – Janel might have a million followers already, and if she doesn’t she should.  You will laugh, you will cry, you will pee yourself. (I did.) Don’t miss Turdageddon.  Bring the Depends.

·         Bad Playdate – Anonymous for a reason.  Consider yourself lucky if you don’t have the opportunity to go on a playdate with her.  You will surely do something stupid, and she will blog about it.

·         Melissa at Am I Doing Anything Right? – Let me assure you, she is.  She can write a mean list.  Definitely check out this gem.  Take notes.  And bring some chocolate Teddy Grahams.

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The Geel - Ketchup With Us #10

My first time "Ketching up" so here goes....

Michele at Old Dog New Tits and Mel at According to Mags post a prompt, pic or video every 1st and 15th of the month.  This is #10, and the prompt is to write about something that you go head to head with every day.  No.  Contest.  That would be The Geel.  

Aaaaaand, you have to write it in 57 words or less. LOVE it!  (I proclaim myself a minimalist at heart--The Sarge would laugh at that one.)  Anyway, here's mine:

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Every day:  head to head,

As soon as this girl is out of bed.

Clever and funny; my pride and joy.

(Can’t believe I had wanted a boy)

Too smart and ornery, but lucky she’s cute.

Worst thing is, she’s not even 2!

Her-way or the highway, you can’t tell her.

Headstrong and determined.  That’s my girl! 

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This is motherhood.

The other night I was getting The Geel into her pajamas when she grabbed a comb and insisting on combing my hair.  I sat obediently on the floor and watched her concentrated expression as she tried to "tame my tresses," which are so short she basically just kept shoving the comb into my hair, twisting it around and yanking it straight up.  I just stared at her face and a million thoughts ran through my head:  how I hadn't really wanted her, how I had to teach myself to stop thinking about what should have been, how I tell her constantly "I love you" in what began as an effort to convince myself that I really felt it MORE THAN I felt like we made a huge mistake, how I can't imagine my life without her even though that was not the case for a long time, how she is SO sweet and loving and clever and embodies joy.  Every.  Day.  I found myself crying.

I cried that cry that comes over you when you feel the unbridled and overwhelming love of parenthood.  I cried that there were days that I denied myself that feeling for her and I cried that I can finally, honestly say that I no longer think about the life we would be living without her.  Somewhere along the line, I have discovered that there is no "we" or "us" without her.

Now, I don't mean to cheapen this moment, because it was (for me) somewhat profound.  I had spent a lot of days thinking about the things we would be doing if The Geel wasn't here; and to be still for a moment, watching her just be and realizing that I couldn't remember the last time I'd had those thoughts, was a pretty big moment for me.  But the reason the title of this post came to mind was what happened in the next moment.

I wiped my eyes, took the comb from her and pulled her to me to hug and squeeze this beautiful little creature that had just unwittingly overwhelmed me.  And then I was unwittingly overwhelmed by something entirely different:  the stench emanating from her rear.  While it was obvious what the issue was, it occurred to me that while I was basking in this motherly glow, crying simultaneously with small regret and great joy, that my gorgeous, wonderful, joyous baby girl was simultaneously combing my hair and dropping a deuce.  I found myself laughing.

For The Geel, it was just another moment in her day filled with snacks and sippy cups, whining and tears, toys and baby dolls, giggles and silliness, and many, many hugs and kisses.  Nothing profound or momentous  for her--just something to do, something to explore.  A comb.  Mommy's hair.  Another dirty diaper along the way.  Babyhood.

And so this is motherhood:  Overwhelmed by something profound, then the moment passes.  Overwhelmed by something so much more pedestrian but requiring no less attention--and as that moment passed I was simply thankful that I had stopped to let her comb my hair before I had changed her diaper and put on her pajamas.

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1-800-WAIT-THERE'S-MORE......

I feel the need to put out an update on this situation.  Although I am quite positive my post did nothing to ruin the reputation of such a fine retail establishment as SEARS (since my hordes of followers are not protesting at their local SEARS in solidarity with my laundry plight), I do want to be fair and make it known that they have tried to make good.  Kinda

If you haven't read 1-800-F-MY-LIFE, you're gonna want to catch up before reading any further....


So today The Sarge tells me he can smell the fun waiting for us when the SEARS repair man opens the washer on Wednesday.  He wanted to clear the mountain of laundry out of the laundry room so the guy has room to work, and he can already smell the moldy, mildewy stench emanating from the machine.  Nice.  I just hope that the machine is worth using once it's back in working condition.

I do have to report, though, that SEARS has made some minor effort (after an hour-plus-long phone call from The Sarge) to make things a little better.  They offered us a gift card to help make up for any of the clothes that may not survive their untimely incarceration in our defective machine.  They also offered us some compensation for laundromat costs.

Now we won't receive that until after the repairman has completed the repair.  Since they have an allowance per week, they want to make sure the problem is solved before they cut a check.  In other words, there's a chance he may not fix it and we will have to add another week's worth of compensation.  In which case they need to think about sending me a big enough gift card to buy a new washing machine.  

If there is a silver lining here, it's this:  the people I work for have an office in their home (where I go to work) and they have graciously let me use their washer and dryer to do a few loads throughout the week to hold us over.  As grateful as I am for that, I can say for the first time EVER in my life (and I don't say this lightly) that I CANNOT WAIT to be able to do all of my laundry.  Here.  At home.  In my own washer.

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1-800-F-MY-LIFE

I used to work at SEARS.  It wasn't a terrible job by any standards, except that to work a commission-only job (Appliance Sales) part-time in a floundering economy just wasn't worth it, so I moved on to greener pastures.  I do still patronize the joint, however and was more than happy to buy my high efficiency washer there almost three years ago.  I even bought "the beef."  Our "insider" term for the Master Protection Agreement that you can buy (that lasts 3 or 5 years) and covers nearly everything including some acts of God, but adds a cost that is prohibitive to a lot of folks.

Being one who abhors waste of any kind, I was sure to use my agreement to get the allotted annual preventative maintenance checks every year so far, and I have even used it a couple of times for actual necessary repairs that arose.  It has more than paid for itself.

Late last night, I got an error code on my washer.  Google tells me it's a clog or something to do with the pump.  Some fix-it website suggested pulling off the front panel and manually disabling the door lock--which I am unable to attempt lest I void my warranty by "opening up the unit."  I try (as also suggested) unplugging it, waiting (while it's supposedly resetting the computer panel or something) and plugging it back in with no change.  The door is locked and the wet laundry is locked inside.  This is when technology sucks.  I obviously would not have had this problem with the old top-loader.

Early this morning I dial 1-800-4-MY-HOME to set up a repair appointment.  The nice lady listens to my story, looks up the error code, orders a part that will ship right to my house to wait for the repair man.  Then we try a few troubleshooting things which consist of unplugging it, waiting and plugging it back in to find the same red light indicating that the door is locked.  So I am resigned to wait for the repair man--who will be coming in 10 days.  10 DAYS?!?  10 DAYS!?!?!

Now, I'm sure SEARS thinks I can just rent a U-Haul, head over to the laundromat with my mountains of dirty laundry and sit there eating bon-bons while reading my latest book club pick, watching the spin cycle and daydreaming about running away with Matt Damon--EXACTLY how I would do it at home on any given day.

What they fail to realize is that I hardly have time to get my laundry done while it's in my own home!  That between the 5,000 things I forget (daily), the 400 chores that never get checked off my list, my three kids, two jobs and a partridge in a f'ing pear tree ('tis the season) I don't have ONE second to even fantasize about Matt, let alone lug my unmentionables to that 'mat for a wash and whirl.

THEN at about noon, it dawns on me that in 10 days (10 FREAKIN' DAYS!?!?!?) when Mr. Repairman gets my washer open, I'll be dealing with what will quite likely be a moldy/mildewed and rank-smelling load of laundry.  Nice.  Can't wait for that one.

Well, since I can't do any laundry for 10 days, perhaps I'll use all this free time to accomplish all the little things I never seem to get done:  like eating bon-bons, reading my book club picks, and daydreaming about Matt.  And a different kind of wash and whirl.

See the rest of the story here.

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The 5 Stages Of Weaning.

Denial:   I don't need to wean her just yet.  This is so healthy for both of us. It's completely normal that my eighteen-month-old not only asks to nurse,  but tells me when to switch sides. And informs me when "I done."  And it's such a wonderful bonding experience, I totally love it.  Still.

Anger:  What am I,  a prize-winning sow? WTH is wrong with this kid!?  She still doesn't sleep through the night!  I can't do this sh*t anymore!  I'm gonna cut her off cold-turkey.  I. AM. DONE.

Bargaining:  How about a cookie; wouldn't you rather eat a cookie?  Do you want to watch TV?  Let's read a book first,  then do nur-nurs.  Don't cry!  How about mommy just holds you? How about I hold you and you hold the cookie?  Ok,  mommy will let you for just one minute.  I'm putting on the timer.  Ok, two minutes and mommy gets a cookie.

Depression:  OMG, this kid is never going to wean.  I will never again have a night of uninterrupted sleep.  Why can't she be easy like my other two?  This is so not fair.  I want my boobs back. 

Acceptance:  I guess I just can't force the issue--she'll eventually stop when she's ready.  It's not like she'll still be nursing when she's in kindergarten.  She'll get bored of it soon.   This too shall pass.

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Happy Thanksgiving, not-so-super people!

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