A Letter To Ben's 2nd Grade Teacher

Dear Tonya,

Thank you so much for teaching my kid how to read, how to do math that even I didn't understand and for making him become a good, responsible kid.

We will miss you so much next year.

I do have a couple questions for you though.

When you said in Ben's end of the year report card, that he should read 20 minutes a day this summer, you really meant he should be playing his new PS2 20 minutes a day right?

And then when you said he should develop a pen pal and write this summer, you really meant he should IM with his Grandma over Yahoo Messenger. Right?

princessmikkimoto (6/18/2008 5:31:04 PM): HELLO!

gma (6/18/2008 5:31:22 PM): Hello there. Are you Becky or Ben?

princessmikkimoto (6/18/2008 5:31:33 PM): B E N

gma (6/18/2008 5:31:42 PM): Hi dere, what's new?

princessmikkimoto (6/18/2008 5:32:02 PM): No Nothen

gma (6/18/2008 5:32:44 PM): Oh, well, is your mom having company for dinner?

princessmikkimoto (6/18/2008 5:33:23 PM): yes

gma (6/18/2008 5:33:34 PM): What is she cooking?

princessmikkimoto (6/18/2008 5:33:49 PM): hold on

princessmikkimoto (6/18/2008 5:34:32 PM): a ardacok chikon

gma (6/18/2008 5:34:55 PM): Do you mean Artichoke Chicken?

princessmikkimoto (6/18/2008 5:35:04 PM): ya

gma (6/18/2008 5:35:40 PM): Don't be sad. Be happy! That will be delicious!

princessmikkimoto (6/18/2008 5:36:07 PM): okay

gma (6/18/2008 5:36:31 PM): You're funny. I have to go now. So byebye for now!!!!!

Yeah I thought so. Great! Thanks for the clarification, Tonya! Have a great summer!

Signed,

Mother Of The Year and the Child Who Will Forget Everything He Learned By September 2nd.

Home Alone

Last Saturday marked a big day in the lives of Becky and Ben.

It was the first time I left my boy alone.

As his 8th birthday was approaching, I was talking to some other mom friends about when they first left their kids home by themselves. They all agreed that 8 was a fine age to just run to the grocery store or to pick up their other child and confirmed that they had all done it once or twice in the past.

I, however, was apprehensive as I didn't think neither Ben nor I were ready for this. No peer pressure for THIS girl anymore. See Mom? I have evolved.

The subject was broached a couple times to Ben before this monumental day. Being my son and therefore being wickedly smart and responsible (ha!) he said "Maybe when I'm like 9 or 10."
"Good idea!" I agreed hastily.

Then Saturday morning happened. I needed desperately to run to the grocery store to pick up a couple things for a "end of the soccer year" picnic.

"Hey Ben, we have to go to the grocery store. Ok?"

I'm pretty certain I didn't ask him if he wanted to be abducted by aliens, renamed "Montdo" and taken to another galaxy far far away. But if I did ask that question, I'm sure I would have gotten the same look.

"Ok, here's an idea. What if I go by myself?"
"TO THE GROCERY STORE?! AND I STAY HOME ALONE?!?!?"
"Yeah. I think that would be ok. Don't you? I'm just going to the one down the street. I will be gone 20 minutes at the most."
"Um..."
"Or you can come with me. But I have to go now."
"Ah... ok! You can just go. Just um, lock the door."

So I took a deep breath, said some hail Mary's (again GREAT Jew huh?) wrote down my cell phone number, Grandma and Grandpa's number, told him not to answer the phone or the door and gave him a kiss.

And then I ran.

Folks, I don't run. This body doesn't run. But it did that day. To him I was all cool and calm. But on the very short drive to the store I was nauseous and dizzy. "OH. MY. GOD! I LEFT MY BABY AT HOME. ALONE! What the f*ck was I thinking?! OH MY GOD!!!!"

I honestly don't remember the time IN the grocery store since I was moving at warp speed. Flying up and down the aisles like the Tasmanian Devil, whipping things off the shelves and into my cart. And of course I got only half what I needed... the other half, no clue what I was thinking. I ended up with some limeade (what? ewww!) chili in a can (meant to get refried beans) and Ranch dressing seasoning? Huh? When have I ever made Ranch dressing from scratch? I don't even like Ranch dressing that much.

When I made it home after only 22 minutes of being gone, all was fine. Ben was cool as a cucumber and I don't think he even moved from his spot on the couch.
"Hey mom."
I was sweating and panting and trying to be cool too. "Oh hey." puff puff "How did you do?" Pant pant, struggle for breath.
"Great. Hey did you get more milk? I'm thirsty!"

Shoot. Milk.

I don't think this is going to be a common occurrence and not just because I can't afford to buy the wrong food all the time, but it is nice to know I can make the occasional quick trip out if I need to.
Although in preparation for my next Grocery Store Mad Dash, I should probably hit the gym a little more.

You Give Grammar a Bad Name

Like many, I have quite a few pet peeves. One of my biggest pet peeves however, is when people can't get our language correct. Feel free to call me The Grammar Police.

Now if English is your second or third language, I'll cut you some slack. However if you were born and raised speaking The English, and you graduated from high school that has certified teachers with all their teeth, aren't married to their siblings and don't respond to the name "Billy Bob", you have no excuse.

The thing that drives me the most crazy is when people can't get even the simple stuff right. It's not "She did that two?" it's "She did that too?"
Others that drive me batty are the differences between "your" and "you're" or "there" and "their" or "where" and "wear" etc.
I don't expect everyone to be great writers but you should know the basics about the English language, right?

Sometimes, there are people that are SO out of touch it makes me physically cringe.

I once had an employee that would type "our" instead of "or" Yes. This is true. Please take a moment to cringe. Let it all soak in. I understand.

Then there was this one time at band camp where I dated a guy named Dave. Wait. "Dated" is way too serious of a term for what we were. I was communicating with a guy named Dave.
And it wasn't at band camp. I have just always wanted to say that.

Dave and I met online. (My favorite place to meet the best of the best men. But that's a post for another time.) And this guy was no exception. His sentences, if you could call them that, in his emails or instant messages would often be so confusing and make absolutely NO sense that I had zero hope to figure out what this poor sap was trying to say. So I would have no choice but to send back a simple, "Huh?"

Sadly I haven't kept any of his emails so I don't have concrete examples for you. Because I'm so dedicated to this blog, I was tempted to get back in touch with him just so I could give my readers a taste of this madness he called "written communication". But then I thought about it for more than two minutes and decided I don't like you guys THAT much. Sorry.

Anyway, because I couldn't keep this marvel to myself (I'm anything but selfish), I would forward these grammatical wonders to my girlfriend Shelly. She too was impressed with his sheer lack of anything close to remedial writing skills. It both amazed and terrified us at the same time.

Unfortunately, Dave and I didn't work out but his legacy lives on.

To this day, if one of us messes up an email, that person gets called "Dave". And it's not a compliment.

Example from just the other day:

Shelly: You Dave’d it! “when you are D are just going”
Becky:Wow! My Dave made absolutely no sense.

or

Shelly: Yeah, typically not a work though.
Becky: typically not AT work? Dave?
Shelly: Hi! Dave here. I’m back.

or

Shelly: Thing of how socially inept they are.
Becky: Dave!
Shelly: Crap! I thought he took the week off.

The morale of this story is that if Ben ever threatens not to do his English homework, I'll recite to him this little tale and proceed to tell him he never wants his name to be synonymous with a negative verb or noun. Depending on the sentence.

How Much Will You Pay For This Post?

Sorry I was gone for so long. I was stuck in Garage Sale Land. It is a land, far far away, where you sell all your crap to strangers. It is a land where these strangers either love your junk, reject it with laughter or don't even see it. It is also a land where you spend day after day working on this sale just to realize at the end, you have 3/4 of your crap leftover.

Nothing makes me happier than selling the basically brand new Old Navy shorts that I bought in every color for my son just last summer to which I then turn around and sell them this spring for a dollar. Oh no, not a dollar each. ALL FOR A DOLLAR. Nope. Not nauseous. Not me.

My mother is reading this right now and saying out loud to her computer screen "Oh come on Becky! You love those damn sales!"

OK fine. This is true. As a little girl, I would use EVERY chance to sell something. Anything! When my parents didn't want to deal with the pain of a lemonade stand, I would sell autumn leaves that fell on the ground. I would just put them in my wagon and sit on the corner and sell leaves. That didn't work so well, so once I just sold water. Water from the tap. Donald Trump, move over.

This was also the girl who when I was a girl scout I would love selling those cookies door to door. they actually GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO SELL! Hell yeah!

So, in reality, a garage sale isn't much different. I still get a little high when someone comes at me holding Aunt Margie's quilted Christmas wreath with their sweaty little two dollars in their hands.

The thing that really kills me about garage sales is that people actually lose their minds. Buyers and sellers alike.

In the buyer's mind, EVERYTHING is for sale. I'm actually surprised no one came over to me and asked how much my earrings were, that were ON MY EARS. We had a lady set her purse down to go look at a lawn mower, when another lady came up and started going through her purse! I had to say "Ma'am. Um, MA'AM! That is actually someones PURSE. WHO IS HERE! It's not for sale."

Or when Ben was eating lunch in the garage (don't worry, he didn't have a price tag on him) and this woman came up to his bowl THAT STILL HAD PEARS IN IT and asked if the bowl was plastic or porcelain. "Um, that's my son's lunch bowl. It's ah, not for sale." She was embarrassed because she didn't even see the kid, just the STUFF! Thank god she didn't see him, she might have started to barter on how much I would take for the kid with the messy face. "Well he also does have Kool-aid all over his shirt..."

At one point I saw my friend and partner in crime, Emily, come out of her house with a lady carrying a TV stand and an end table. I thought "Huh where did Emily have those set aside?" When I went inside later to go to the bathroom I saw that her TV was on the floor, along with all her stuff that was on the end table that was now in some lady's car. I came back out and said "Emily! Didn't you need that stuff?" She said almost in a daze "Dude! I got $40 for the set!!"

My mom tells a story about neighbors across the street who were having a garage sale one summer and got such bad garage sale fever that they ran into their house took down their shower curtain and hauled out their living room furniture onto the lawn. After the sale they had to run out and buy all new items.

But my true favorite of the weekend was the lady who was trying to barter with me on a sweater that was already just one dollar. She had two items in her hands. Both were $1. She said "I give you $1.50." I laughed and said "How about $2?" She came back with, "Well look at dis sweata? It all pilly on da side." I again laughed and said "Fine. $1.50."

Did she forget where she was for a minute and think this was Macy's? Did she forget that she was paying just ONE dollar for a wool sweater. HONEY! Look at this stuff and where you are! It's all crap and it's being sold IN A GARAGE!

The kids had a Kool-Aid stand and percentage wise, they beat Emily and I in sales hands down. They even ran out of cups and still got "donations."

Regardless it was fun, fairly successful and we really lucked out with the weather. I am now a whopping $64 richer and rid of a lot less stuff. Although seeing as how $50 of that went towards gas, I'm going to see if I can find Crazy Sweater Lady and let her do some bartering for me at the gas pump!

An Ode To Thy Bratwurst

Here in Wisconsin we take our German Sausages very seriously. So serious in fact, that we honor our brats twice a year in a festival known throughout the world as (queue the music) BRAT FEST!

If you look up the word "bratwurst" in Wikipedia you find Madison Wisconsin!

The city of Madison, Wisconsin, holds an annual festival billed as the "World's Largest Brat Fest". The four-day charity event sees tens of thousands of brats sold by "celebrity" cashiers, usually local television, radio, and government personalities. Brat Fest's self-proclaimed world record is 189,432 brats consumed during the 2004 event.

For all of those that don't live in Madison Wisconsin and aren't familiar with the insanity and gluttony that is Brat Fest, allow me to explain.

It first started many years ago as a very simple and diminutive affair. It was just a small stand with maybe one grill outside a local grocery store that sold brats and hot dogs for ridiculously cheap prices. It was something like $.50 for a hot dog and a pop and $1 for a brat and a pop.

My father loves my mother, Ben, myself and Brat Fest. In that order. It would be sometime in mid May and the man would all the sudden get this goofy grin on his face and say "You know what's comin' up don't you? BRAT FEST!"

Ben happened to be born over Memorial Day weekend. I brought him home from the hospital with my parents close by. Until my dad realized what weekend it was. This proud grandpa knew the one thing missing from this homecoming was brats. "Who wants a brat?!?" he said eagerly.

Ah yes. Nothing says I want a brat like just having gone through 12 hours of labor, 2 1/2 hours of pushing that resulted in an emergency c-section, spending the past 4 days in the hospital to now be staring at this baby who people tell me is mine but I'm really just waiting for his real parents to come and get him. But off my dad went. Because HELLO!?!? Brat Fest doesn't happen just everyday ya know.

Throughout the years Brat Fest expanded. Very slowly at first but steadily. Soon the little stand became a bigger stand. And then eventually a tent in the parking lot of this grocery store. Until a couple years ago when Brat Fest just couldn't handle it's awesomeness anymore and finally exploded into this!

Yes folks. It is a full on FAIR who's sole dedication is to The Brat! There are bands. There are rides. And there are beers tents (duh! It's Wisconsin! Hell someone sneezes in the summer and that's reason enough for a beer tent)

The gourmet menu is as follows:

Johnsonville Brat $1.50

Oscar Mayer Hot Dog $1.50

Double Johnny $3.00 "New This Year"(A Double Johnny is two juicy Johnsonville brats on one bun)

Boca Brat (vegetarian) $1.50

I hope I didn't send someone into cardiac arrest from just reading about the "Double Johnny".

We, of course, attended Brat Fest this year. It's actually a state requirement. Really. When filling out your taxes at the end of the year, you have to show a ketchup stain from your Brat Fest experience otherwise you get a penalty from the state.

Thank god I have until Labor Day to get rid of my brat baby. And lose the 20 pounds I put on just this weekend.

God Bless Wisconsin.

Getting To Act Like 25 All Over Again

Wordless Wednesday

Listen To Your Turkey!

Today was "Ride Your Bike to Work Day".

I did not ride my bike to work because I don't have a bike. And let's be honest here. Even if I DID have a bike, I would not have ridden it to work today.

No, I didn't ride my bike. Instead I drove my less than green, gas guzzling, hole in the exhaust, SUV.

As punishment of this clear violation to the earth, Mother Nature and/or Al Gore made a VERY LARGE and VERY SCARY wild turkey run across the street, right. in. front. of. my. car!

This thing was not only insanely ugly, it was very large and very scary. Birds shouldn't be that big and they definitely shouldn't be running out of the woods across a busy street in the middle of a city! I don't think I took a breath for a good 3 minutes.

Thankfully I did not hit this bad Juju that ran in front of my car. If I did I'm sure I would have died from saying the words "OH MY GOD! Ewwww!" too many times in a row. Really. One can die from that. Just look it up!

I know the fact that I didn't hit this large mammal like bird is a sign from Ma Nature and Al. This time was just a warning. In fact I'm pretty sure this Wild Turkey shook it's little claw at me while my loud SUV slammed on the brakes.

So I got the hint. I'm Green. I'm so green that I make Kermit the Frog look pale. I'm not even going to turn the lights on in my office today and you won't catch me printing out any emails. No sir! None.

The Wild Turkey has spoken and I have listened.

If It Walks Like A Duck, Quacks Like A Duck...

I understand that parts of your body change as you get older. Gravity happens. Fat happens. Life happens. I knew my stomach would change, my ass, my chest… etc.

But my feet! Really?

Over the long cruel winter, under the safety of my socks and boots, my once skinny normal feet have changed. I now present you with an actual picture of my feet taken just this morning.

Yes. I seem to have grown duck feet.

I always knew my feet were crazy flat. It was one of my main excuses for getting out of the military. That and my need for "Love Not War". However in addition to just being flat, over the past year, my feet have seemed to have spread out; horizontally.
A few weeks ago, when I went to try on all my cute strappy summer sandals, they were a little tight. Ok make that very tight.

Weird! How could that be? I must just be swollen for some reason. I'll wear them anyway.

Half way through the day I was begging anyone who would listen to cut my feet off. "Take these evil things off! For the love of everything that is Holy! I don't care how you do it just TAKE THEM OFF!!"

I think I permanently scarred the nice guy at work who takes out our trash.

Last night my mom and I went out shoe shopping. Oh that was fun. The very nice young salesman was trying to get this super cute strappy sandal on my new duck foot. Sadly he was a wuss and gave up early. I half chuckled, half sneered and said with sheer determination "It will fit. Just (grunt grunt) have to (sweating profusely now) get. it. in! Ha, I'm like Cinderella's Ugly Step Sister.. ha ha… it, ah, won't fit."

And my mom, being the love that she is said "oh those shoes are just too narrow. I bet I couldn't get my foot in there either."
Yes you could mom. You aren't part water fowl.

Really, nothing says "I am a HOT young woman" like a pair of sandals where your foot is oozing out the side of a strap. So sexy.
Therefore today I will search online for some super hot, super high heeled, super young, SUPER WIDE DUCK shoes. Because no matter how bad it gets, I will never be caught dead in a sensible orthopedic. What's next? Navy slacks? A tight perm? (I just threw up writing those words)

I think I'll approach Aflac and see if they need a foot body double for their mascot.

Quack.

Quack. Quack.

Cheating On My Work Husband

Earlier this week I had lunch with a new friend at work.
This didn't go over well with Josh.

Josh has been with the company for 10+ years and doesn't have many friends at work, besides me. And none that he would actually go to lunch with.
I have been here 7 months and have a new friend. But then again, that's just me.

When I announced that I was having lunch with Kelly, Josh tried to act cool and then just gave up on that one.

Right after singing "Runaway Train" to himself like Michael Scott did on the "Money" episode of the office...

Josh: So where are you going?
Becky: Cheeseburger in Paradise.
Josh: Weird! Me too.

me laughing

Becky: Are you going to sit in your car with your McDonald's and just watch us from afar.
Josh: Um, yeah. You got a problem with that?
Becky: Seriously, do you want to come?
Josh: No. I have plans. With, um, my wife. We are going to Cheeseburger in Paradise.

30 minutes pass

Josh: You know, you don't know if she is your friend yet.
Becky: Who? Kelly? Yes I do. I like her. Ergo, my friend.
Josh: YOU DON'T KNOW! She could eat weird or suck on her teeth when she eats ... or I bet she smells weird!
Becky: She doesn't smell weird.
Josh: Well, you just don't know.

more time passes

Josh: (laughing) I hope Kelly turns out to be the niece of President Bush and doesn't believe in Global Warming either.

After lunch

Becky: Well that sucked. She smelled super bad, is working for the McCain campaign and made me pay for lunch.
Josh: (smiles) Yeah I bet. That should teach you for cheating on me with another co-worker.
Becky: It will never happen again. At least not this week.

The Power of the Bullseye

I believe everyone has their weaknesses. For some it's shoes. For some it's chocolate. Heck, even Superman had kryptonite. There is something out there that renders even the strongest person weak.

For me, it's a little store called Target. Sigh. Target. Even the name puts a stupid grin on my face.

I always try to deny the power that Target has over me. Every time, before I go, I write out a list. Oh how stupid am I? How naive? Honey, that list that you have been making all these years... really? When has it ever worked?

But none the less, I write out everything I need and only the essentials.
"Toilet paper, antibacterial wipes, socks for Ben, sponges, napkins and laundry detergent."

I park, and walk in through those pearly gates, clenching my list, sure that THIS time, Target won't have the power over me that it always does.

As soon as both feet are through the door, the essense of Target washes over me. It's like a warm feeling that hugs me like a grandma and smells like fresh baked cookies. She ushers me in... gives me a cart even though I insist I just need a little basket for these mere items. OK, fine, I'll take a cart. And before I know it, this force is steering me towards the purses. Oh so pretty. OOH orange! A cute orange purse! I must have it! AND IT'S ON SALE!!

And then, like in a fog, I wander past the jewelry. Necklaces, bracelets and earrings. Oh my!

Don't even get me started on what happens when I near the candle aisle. Who needs an orgasm when there are CANDLES THAT ARE PINK, SMELL LIKE CHERRYBERRYCHEESECAKE AND ARE 30% OFF?!?!?

Once I'm out of the store and back in my car, inevitably the magic wears off and I'm left sitting there with the now wrinkled, torn, sad list and the overwhelming feeling that once again my mission was not accomplished. With a big sigh I say in a little defeated voice, "Crap. It happened again."

There was seriously a time in my life when my finances were less than stellar. Shocking, I know. During those days I literally had to have a chaperon accompany me to Target. When I would start to walk away in a daze towards the shoes my aide would quietly pull me back by the elbow and kindly say "Becky dear, the paper towels are this way."

If it wasn't for Walgreen's (the sad spinster step sister of Target) or the grocery store (yawn), my son would be saying "Mommy, can you please do laundry today? I have nothing to wear!"

"Ah, um, well honey we ah, don't have any laundry soap. Maybe you could wear my new purse to school tomorrow?"
"Well did you at least get some light bulbs? I need to do my homework and the light has been burned out in my room for weeks."
"Ah yeah, about that. It was so weird because Target was all out of lightbulbs! BUT I have something better! Check out this candle...."

Hello Lover!

Why, HELLO SPRING!

You sure took your sweet time getting here but you were worth the wait!

Damn girl! Check you out. Now I think you're just showing off.

Well done Spring. You are truly a class act all the way. Kind of temperamental and high maintenance at times but when you put your mind to it, you are breath taking.

Oh and above all, thanks. I'm much less likely to want to juggle with knives and fire now that Winter has finally left the building.

The Crazy Bed

Today at work, a few of us decided to order pizza.

Josh sent out this email:
Here is the pizza plan.
Little Caesar's
1 pepperoni
1 sausage
1 crazy bed = $4.33 per person
sharing it all with work buddies = priceless

Crazy Bread/Crazy Bed. What's the difference really?
I love spell check.
Josh had no idea what was wrong until I wrote back:
I can't wait for the crazy bed! Are we all going to sleep in it or just jump on it?

2 Republicans and 1 Democrat in a Crazy Bed. Priceless!

I Love Lucy

I have a dog and her name is Lucy.


I'm sure you are all thinking "I didn't know Becky had a dog..."

Well I do.

I mean technically she doesn't live with me and technically I didn't actually buy her or deal with all her puppiness. And technically she lives with my Minneapolis friends, Jen, Clay and Jake.

But Lucy is mine! She knows it. I know it. It's all good.

Lucy is the sweetest. dog. ever. I know there are people out there saying "But but my Fluffy is the sweetest poopy kins ever!" No. Sorry. Fluffy can be number 2 but Lucy is number 1. Trust me on this.

Lucy is not a small girl. Maybe that's why we have such a kinship. Us big girls need to stick together. Her mother was part Polar Bear and her father was part Shetland Pony. And nothing about sweet Lucy is fast. Even her bark, which is rare, is slow and low. "WOOF."

On a different trip up to Minneapolis, when it wasn't SNOWING, I took Lucy on a walk. Before we took off, Jen kindly and softly said "Um, you might want to drop Lucy off at your half way point. I'm not sure she can make it the whole way." No, she isn't 13 with bad hips. She's 5. See? Totally my kind of girl.

Another of the many reasons I love this dog, is that she was instrumental in helping Ben over his fear of dogs. Ben used to be terrified of dogs. Especially big ones. Lucy is a huge pup but so painfully loving and gentle that Ben got over his phobic ways by her being so gentle, slow moving, and not jumping up on him and going all nutty. Now he loves Lucy. In fact on the way home he said "I miss Lucy, Mom." To which I replied, "I know honey. I do too. Soon she will be ours."

I did try to sneak her into the backseat of our car when we left Minneapolis this last weekend, but, again, she doesn't move too fast and didn't pick up on the "Lucy, if you get in the car now I'll give you bacon for the rest of your life!"

The next time I go up there, I'll take Lucy on a walk and just keep on walking. Or if Jen insists on coming (because she does read this blog) I'll just say "Hey Jen! Is that J Lo and Brad Pitt over there selling designer bags for $15 a piece and giving away chips and sour cream!" She'll be so distracted that Lucy and I can just walk away into the sunset. Finally together forever.

(snow photos from Clay Johnston. Check out his beautiful work here.)

If You See Me on the Street Today Don't Give Me Your Spare Change

I got to work this morning and innocently went into the bathroom. Just to look in the mirror and realize there was a 50 year old homeless bag lady looking back at me. Which is SO weird because when I left the house this morning I could have sworn I was a GOOOOOD lookin' 30 something hip mama.

What happened from the confides of my loving bedroom and my kind bathroom mirror to now? Are the lights really that bad in the bathroom at work? Or is it that now I'm awake (Thank you Mr. Coffee!) and can see the harsh reality that is me on this fine Friday morning.

When I got dressed this morning and let myself out of the house, was I sober? Was I sane? Was I of sound mind and body? I think not. Although I'm 99.5% sure I'm sober. How did I think that this baggy sweater, went with the t-shirt underneath? And where did these pants fit into the equation? How did I make sense of the necklace that has NOTHING to do with anything I'm wearing. and DO NOT get me started on my choice of socks and shoes. WTF! I'm so What Not To Wear's wet dream today!

The sad thing is, Josh isn't even here today so I truly feel like the Homeless Bag Lady who is not of sound mind and body as I sit in this office all alone talking to my inanimate object friends. "Mr. Coffee Maker? Do you think I'm pretty? How about YOU Mr. Fax Machine. Do these earring go with this necklace? What do you think of my shoes?"

What happened to me this morning? Usually I am fairly well put together. Maybe the earthquake in Southern Illinois DID effect me!

Well at least I know what I'm doing over lunch, now. REDO!

Google THIS!

When I was a kid, WAAAAY back in the day, and I asked my parents a question they didn't know, they would simply say "I don't know" or worse "Look it up in the dictionary." And pluheeez, what kid actually did that? I know! The smarty pants who developed GOOGLE!

Now don't get me wrong. I love me some Google. I use it like an addict every day. Even if I know the website, eh, it's easier just to Google it. (Plus they have cute employees!)

However as a mother, Google is my nemesis.

First off, now when Ben asks me a question that I don't know, I can't simply pass it off as "Don't know kiddo..." or "Look it up in your set of encyclopedias that Aunt June gave you..." For one, he doesn't have an Aunt June and secondly we don't even own a dictionary not to mention any encyclopedias. So I'm stuck with the response from him of "Well, Google it!"

Case and point, the other evening I was IM'ing with my cousin Amy when Ben asked "What's a Nova?"
"Ah, a star sort of"
"Well is it a star or not?"
"Oh Honey I really don't know."
"Well, Google it!"
"But I'm chatting with Amy"
"Just open another tab and Google it quick"
"Are you 17 or 7?"
"Mom!!"
"Fine. A Nova 'is a cataclysmic nuclear explosion caused by the accretion of hydrogen onto the surface of a white dwarf star.'"
"OK now what is a Nova Dragon?"
"A what?? Oh. My. God! are you serious? I have no idea what a Nova Dragon is."
"GOOGLE IT MOM!"

You see where this is going.

Secondly, you can no longer pass things off as if they don't exist. When your child asks "Let's find a computer game where you can create your own pirate."
Before the Google days I could say "Oh young ignorant child. No such things exist."
Now it's "Mom, I'm going to Google 'Create Your Own Pirate.'" I'm sure you are SHOCKED to find out I recently had to take my computer in for a huge virus clean up. Now freelance Googling is not allowed - which brings us back up to the first point.

You see, Google? You may make life easier for some but for me, you're a pain in the tush.
Maybe I should sue them for Mental Anguish just like these folks did.

Then again, Google isn't a company I would want to piss off. Can you imagine making THEM mad?

"I'm going to Google where the nearest Macy's is. WHAT!? The closest one is in Tallahassee? Weird. I could have sworn there was one in Madison. Well what about Crate and Barrel? Why is it taking me to www.yousuck.com?"

On second thought. Hi Google. Not really mad. Have you lost weight? You look SO SKINNY!

How To Clean Your Room Like a 36 Year Old Woman

*After critiquing my son's fine cleaning techniques I decided to take an honest look at myself and see where he might get his cleaning abilities:


1) Realize there is a problem with the current state of cleanliness of your room and agree to tackle that problem. Right after another cup of coffee.

2) When all the coffee in the house and the entire apartment complex is gone and you are buzzing like a bee… mentally organize how you are going to clean up said room. It's bad. It looks like the closet vomited all over your floor. Do some Yoga moves to try calm down.

3) Decide to start in one corner and work your way through. Now… which corner? Ooh! How about the one with the computer in it?! Check a couple blogs while you are deciding if this is the really the best corner to start in.

4) OK enough is enough. Finally decide to pick the corner with the big pile of clothes on the floor. Determine whether they are clean or dirty. Get your kid to smell them.

5) Find the clean laundry pile. Start to put the clothes away. One at a time in your closet. Ooh look! THERE ARE THOSE SHOES!

6) Try them on. So cute!

7) Find just the right pants to go with the newly discovered shoes.

8) Prance around the room in "new" shoes and cute pants while singing along loudly to Brittany Spears "Gimme More"

9) OK back on task. Begin to fold the child's laundry which is now all over your bed. Ooh IM bell went off! Race to computer to see who messaged.

10) 30 minutes later, go back to pile of clean clothes. Fold. Fold. FOLD MORE! Sprain your arm from patting yourself on the back for making such good head way.

11) Oh! Was that my cell? It IS my cell. Hmmm, where is my cell? "Ben! Where is my cell?"

12) Decide that finding your cell phone is much more important and urgent that dealing with the messy room and the laundry. You ARE the adult after all. Finish it tomorrow.

Don't GO TOWARDS THE LIGHT!

Awhile ago, my son very lovingly and very randomly named our 2001 Isuzu Rodeo, "Blade". This made me laugh hysterically when Ben first came up with this name because our car is so NOT a Blade. He couldn't be further from a Blade. Harry or Rudy, perhaps, but not Blade. Blade to me is like a sleek black bitchin' Camero. Not a tomato red SUV. But Blade he is.
We LOVE Blade. In fact throughout this past brutal winter, Blade has gotten Ben and I through some pretty bad weather. After one really tricky snowy afternoon, when I pulled old Blade into his stall in our garage, Ben literally got out of the car and hugged him. My son hugged the car. Yes, I am fully aware that this child needs a pet. And soon!

Blade and I have an understanding. After 6 years together he knows I don't like to wear my seat belt and he doesn't say anything about the matter. He just shines his little seatbelt light in hopes that I do put my seatbelt on but he doesn't insist on it. He's the sturdy quiet type. I can feel his love. He doesn't need to shove it in my face.

Sadly, however, Blade is getting old. Very old. Recently I just spent an arm and a leg getting a new windshield/roof for him as his old one rusted out and therefore water was raining from the roof of my car. It was as lovely as it sounds.

Now he has decided to do something funky with the back brake light and make a VERY loud noise from below. I'm waiting for it to get so bad that I turn people's heads when I drive by. If they cover their ears and cringe, it's time to take him in. Until then... he's just loud.

The thing is, I feel like he's giving up on me. I feel like, Blade wants it to all be over. Should I call a crisis line? "I think my car is going to commit suicide!"

Well mister, you can THINK AGAIN! You are paid off my dear. You hear me? PAID OFF! You are MINE! ALL MINE! And Ben and I need you. I'm not ready for a fancy younger model. So dear Blade, get a grip! Pull yourself my your seatbelt straps!! You aren't even to 100,000 miles! To some you are still a spring chicken! What do I need to do to get you to snap out of this funk? Do you need a good washing? A new air freshener? A good waxing? You name it buddy and it's yours!

I won't let you go. I'll pour more money into you if need be. Ben and I will eat Ramen noodles for a month if that's what it takes.

I often feel like Blade and I are in that scene from Titanic. He's in the icy water, ready to go under and I'm on a door floating in the water.


Blade: I love you, Becky.

me: Don't you do that, don't say your good-byes. You must do me this honor, Blade. Promise me you'll survive. That you won't give up, no matter what happens, no matter how hopeless. Promise me now, Blade, and never let go of that promise.

Blade: I promise.

me: Never let go.

Blade: I'll never let go. I'll never let go, Becky.


Clearly I'm in desperate need for a pet too. Or a love life.

The Ultimate Peep Show

Those who know me know how much I love Peeps. Since we never did Easter as a kid and since my birthday is always close to Easter, Peeps always remind me of Spring and yes, my birthday. So this was particularly funny to me. (Thanks Joe and Laura and Jenn - who all sent this to me. On separate occasions. Hmmm, is that a sign? Should I perhaps shut up about my love of The Peeps?)

*****************************************************************************

On another non-related note, I got THE MOST KICK ASS digital camera for my birthday from my parents! I was a film girl until just a few days ago. Therefore this is an official WARNING!

The Internets will never be the same and neither will this blog.

"Oh. Ben looks so cute just sitting there on the couch" SNAP

"Wow, has there ever been such a large pile of laundry in one dwelling? A small child could rock climb this mountain of dirty clothes!" SNAP

"Aw, pretty plant." SNAP

"These shoes are so cute!!! I have to show EVERYONE!" SNAP

"When Ben has kids they will never believe their father's room was this messy..." SNAP

Folks, this could get ugly and painfully boring so just bear with me and my new love during this honeymoon stage. I'll try to keep it under control but I really can't promise anything.

I Named Him Carl and Bought Him Chips

*originally written and posted on My Space 1/27/08

Last night after a very bizzare night out, I stopped at my favorite gas station (ok not really my favorite but it's on the way home and it's open late - hence it's my favorite) to get my "after the bar treat". Nothing tastes as good at 1 in the morning like a Hostess Fruit Pie. Don't judge just try the magic that IS these pies.
I pull in and was about to go into the door on the side when this man outside says "Hey Sister, you can't get in that way. They lock those doors after midnight."
"Thanks" I say as I walk by him.
"Hey Sister. Could I ask you a favor?" he asks. Right then I thought, "I am not buying this guy cigarettes, giving him cash, or buying him liquor."
To my surprise, he didn't ask for any of these things. Instead he said "Could you buy me a bag of potato chips? That would really hit the spot and get me through the night." I was so taken aback by this request that to my surprise, I said fairly eagerly "Sure! What kind?"
He thought for a moment, and replied, "I'm not sure. Classic I guess. The $.99 bags."
I said "You know, if I were you, I would totally go with Sour Cream and Onion."
He continued to think, as did I, thinking "What the hell am I doing?!" So I said "Ok make up your mind quickly here buddy... I'm cold!" He smiled and said very matter of factly, "I think your right. I'll take Sour Cream and Onion..."

So I went in, got his chips, my water and fruit pie - alas they didn't have blueberry just apple. Which is why I'm convinced I have the headache that I do right now. If it was blueberry I would be tap dancing while juggling plates instead of at the computer, writing this blog with a HUGE cup of coffee and two Advil.
I walked out, gave him his chips as he said while walking away "Bless you Sister! Really, bless you. Thank you so much!!"
I got to my car, turned around and shouted after him "Hey! What's your name?" I think he was so into the heaven that is Sour Cream and Onion potato chips that he didn't hear me.
So I named him Carl.
Hope you enjoyed the chips as much as I enjoyed buying them for you Carl.
Keep warm buddy.