Repti-conned into Going

Saturday I took Bradley to this really cool, interactive, hands on, totally geared for kids reptile exhibit at the Factory.  No wait.  No I didn't.  That's what I thought I was taking Bradley to.

The Living Social deal I got the week before touted this Repticon exhibit as being a family event, and then later last week, an email was sent out saying Williamson County school employees were allowed in free to take their families to this family-friendly event.  Okay, so I'm not a WCS employee myself, but I am related to one.  And kids under 5 get in free, so Repticon, here we came!

The first thing I noticed when entering Jamison Hall in the factory, a place many brides and grooms hold their wedding receptions in (my sister included), was the overwhelming reptile stench.  I could not have told you what this smelled like before Saturday, but you walked into the place and this odor just knocked you back a second- not so gross that you'd want to breathe through your mouth, but enough to cause you pause and say "ohhh, so that's what a room full of reptiles smells like."

And then we stepped inside.  At 5 minutes till 12, we timed our entrance to the exhibit to make the 12 o'clock "show."  I was envisioning a goofy guy in a lab coat, or dressed like a zookeeper, a stage, and bleachers, where the emcee would show a group of fascinated kids different kinds of frogs, snakes, spiders, and teach the kids fun facts about the animals and at the end I would get some great photo ops of Bradley petting a snake which I would then show to my mother who is terrified of snakes, and snicker.

But instead I walked willingly into my mother's worst nightmare.  Let me just toot my own horn and say that I am good mom.  Because I took one look at the first table we came to, with one clear circular container after another, stacked on top of one another, with a live snakes in them, all of them moving around and hissing, because, well, they're alive, probably 30 on each table, and I didn't turn around and leave.  

I took a deep breath, and thought, okay, I can do this.  They're just snakes.  And we pushed through the people to find the "show" that would be starting soon.  When we found it, I realized this whole thing was a gross misunderstanding.  The interactive show was about chameleons, 4 of them to be specific, and Bradley was able to touch exactly one of them.  This was not an educational show for the kiddies.  This was a sales pitch to get you to buy a chameleon.  In fact the whole exhibit was a haven for reptile buyers and sellers; crazy reptile lovers with piercings, tattoos, and wearing black t-shirts.  People were buying snakes right and left.  Not me.  The guy trying to sell us chameleons ignored the fact that most of his audience was under 12 (hey, at least I was not the only fool in Franklin who thought this was a great Saturday activity for her child) and did his best to yell over the noise in the large open room in the little area where a few rows of chairs were set up, because he was too lazy to wear his head mike, while he educated us on how to keep a chameleon's tank humid.  

After the sales demonstration, I took Bradley firmly by the hand and led him through the exhibit hall.  "If we're here, we might as well see some snakes," I thought to myself.  We saw tank after tank of giant snakes (think Nagini), every kind of lizard, tarantula, giant cockroach, tiny frogs, all sizes of scorpions, and container after container of snakes.  I had a small humanitarian moment and felt sorry for the animals confined in such small containers, and then I started over-thinking things and watching them writhe and twist, and the longer we were in there, the more freaked out I got.  I envisioned Snakes on a Plane, but instead saw tables tipping over with snakes slithering all over the floor, and people panicking and running everywhere.  I held Bradley's hand tightly as he was mildly interested in looking at the different animals and asked to touch a few snakes.  And yes I let him, but it was not quite the cheery photo op I had hoped for.  Instead I never let go of his hand, calculating how fast I could whip him towards me if the snake he was petting decided to lunge at us.  It was all I could do to see a furry tarantula leg poking out of a small clear container, and silently curse the day my mother let me see Arachnophobia in the movie theater.

But I was a good sport, and we managed to stay in Jamison Hall a good 30 or 40 minutes when I was able to tell Bradley happily, that it was time to go.  And go we did, where we promptly scrubbed our hands with soap and water when we got home, and I tried to shake the willies for the rest of the day.  

Nightmare on Elmo Street

Ever wonder what kids dream about, or worse- what gives them nightmares?  What's so traumatic about being three, you might wonder, that it would rouse you from a dead sleep?  Well I'm glad you asked.

Two nights ago Bradley woke up crying in the middle of the night.  When I got to his room, in between the sobs, he exclaimed, "I don't like my little monster truck!  I want a big monster truck!"  Now mind now, it's not like he's in a "monster truck phase" or something.  He rarely plays with trucks, so this was totally out of the blue.  Good thing it was dark so B couldn't see me laughing silently at his predicament.

He settled down pretty quickly and fell back asleep.  The next morning I asked him if he remembered dreaming about monster trucks, and I asked him what upset him so much.  He told me that he dreamed he had taken a monster truck from a little girl, and that Grandma B took the truck away from him!  At this, I couldn't stifle my laughter.  Since Grandma is almost always the good guy, and I as the single parent, am always the bad guy, I relished this opportunity to laugh at Bradley being so upset with her.

So that, my friends, is what three year old nightmares are all about, and apparently Grandma B is the Freddy Krueger of Elmo Street.

Rhyme Time

I haven't done any posts on what B is up to these days, so here's a quick rundown:

It really is true what they say about kids: everything is a phase.  If something B is doing is driving me crazy (getting out of bed in the middle of the night... wetting himself at nap time... obsessed with Tom & Jerry) give it a few weeks, and the phase has passed.  Unfortunately, it can work both ways, and suddenly my angel can be a crab for several moody weeks as well.

Most exciting these days is that B has recently figured out rhyming words.  He will offer up several pairs of words- like car and bar, and tree and bree (okay, they're not always real words, but we're getting there) and he lights up when he realizes he's made up a rhyming pair.  As a self-proclaimed grammarphile, it makes me beam with pride that he's so interested in the English language.

These days, the favorite tv shows are Mike the Knight, the Backyardigans, Team Umizoomi, and Word Girl.

The Buddah belly is still there and he weighs in around 38 pounds-  still short and stocky for his age.

I'm in denial about his hair.  I still maintain that it's strawberry blonde, but most of the time anyone who meets him for the first time will comment on his Red hair.

Bradley loves Star Wars and Superheros.  He can't get enough of watching both on tv and dressing up in his various costumes and sword fighting and/or light saber fighting.  Oh, and of course, he calls it his life saver.  And he always says, I'm "be-tending," and likes to play with "marvelworks" (marbles).  He is quite taken with Wonder Woman, and told me the other night that Wonder Woman was pretty, and that he wanted to touch her boobies!  He is 3 1/2.  Where does he come up with this stuff??

Tonight, the creme de la creme:  Mommy, you're beautiful. And he told me that I was prettier than Wonder Woman.  Considering what a fox he thinks Wonder Woman is, I'll take that compliment.

iLessons & iLaughs

My mom's phone died, so she recently upgraded to the iPhone.  Aside from the obvious necessaries, like how to answer a phone call (which is still a work in progress, by the way), she spent a nice chunk of our ladies' night learning new apps (a pointless funny ap that makes you have a helium voice & a coupon app called GeoQpons) and tricks, like tapping the home button twice to bring up a menu of all aps running at the bottom of the screen, and closing the ones you aren't using to save the battery life, from my aunts and cousins, who are already iPhone-savvy.

I am keenly interested in watching and learning, too, because I am counting down the days til I can purchase my own iPhone (December 27th!), so I spent part of the car trip to Evansville playing with mom's new toy phone.

Back story:  every year mom attends Christmas Village, a huge crafts fair where tons of vendors come to sell their wares.  She sees some of the same vendors every year, including a bakery based in Haubstadt, Indiana.  They ran out of the rolls she always gets, so I was trying to google Haubstadt on the iPhone on our way to Evansville to see how close it is.  Turns out, it's really close.

I anounced to mom that I had found Haubstadt on the map, and I further exclaimed that I had found the bakery on the map (mind you, I had no idea the name of the place)- "how cool is this?  I found the bakery- it's the um, Little Haubstadt Bakery!"  I laughed, thinking that would blow my cover.  "Really?"  A gullible mom answered.  I definitely gave her a hard time about that one. 

Eat More Gator

I decided to delay Bradley's bed time on Saturday night and allow him to climb in bed with me and watch part of the Kentucky Florida game massacre.  Upon looking at the Gators' helmets, Bradley asked me why they had Chic-Fil-A on their heads!  It took me a split second to catch on to what he was seeing:

I have no idea how he knows what Chic-Fil-A's logo looks like by memory, but his comment cracked me up!

He wasn't really into watching the game (me neither, Bradley) so he kept asking me to turn back to "the hurricane."  There was a show on the weather channel about Hurricane Katrina.  A preschooler who's fascinated by hurricanes?  Yep, he's my kid, alright.

Looking at the world through rose-colored corneas

Getting pink eye as a senior in high school after making out with a hot trumpet player?  Totally worth it.

Getting pink eye from who-knows-where as an adult, missing two days of work, and being out a lot of money from multiple prescriptions, over-the-counter drugs, and walk-in clinic visits?  Mmmm, not so much.

I couldn't even enjoy my days off and go anywhere because a) I didn't know if I was contagious, and b) I was afraid people would start throwing garlic at me because I had vampire-red eyes.

Tomorrow will make a week that I've been plagued by the pink eye.  At least I am back to work and functioning for the most part.

I stand my by declaration that pink eye is the only thing on this planet that I detest.

The shoe sagas aka What the Heel?

At the recomendation of a friend at work, I took some shoes to Tony, the shoe repair guy in the Arcade.  One pair needed some new heels, and the other were my beloved snakeskin heels that I have had forever, but the soles were really worn out on them.  I figured it would be a wiser investment to fix the shoes I already had than to go buy new ones.

I knew I was in for an interesting experience when I dropped off the shoes when through his very thick accent, a smiling Tony told me my shoes would be ready "one of these days."  "Okay," I said, a little unsure at what I was getting myself into.

Fast forward a few days.  I pick the shoes up.  Fast forward again.  I wear the snakeskin heels to church.

I made it through one hour of Sunday school in my newly-repaired shoes when all of a sudden, while walking into church, the top of my shoe completely detached from the bottom!  These are heels, people.  There is no faking it.  Either the shoe is in tact, or it is unwearable.  And so, with no other option, I sat through church with my broken "recently fixed" shoe, and walked out of church barefoot.

The next day I took both shoes back to the shoe shop, only to find that- curses!- they closed at 3:30, and it was 3:31 according to my phone.  So the NEXT business day, I hesitantly brought my shoes back to a smiling Tony.  Once I explained my predicament, he was no longer smiling.  I couldn't understand him entirely, but what I gathered was that he was not claiming responsibility for the broken shoe.  He begrudingly took only the broken shoe, and told me it wasn't his fault, but that he would fix it just this once.

I tried to be as polite as I could have been, but really, I have had these shoes for maybe 6 years, and I've never had a pair of shoes break on me, and this one just happened to come apart after he ripped out the insole and applied a new one.  Coincidence?  I think not.

Fast forward a few days (I was too chicken to go in there the very next day, for fear that he would take it as a presumption on my part that it was be ready that quickly).  I pick up my heel from a none-too-pleased Tony.  Fast forward again.

I decide to wear my snakeskin heels to work.  And THIS time, I will not be made a fool.  I will bring a spare pair of shoes with me just in case...

Good thing I did, because you guessed it, about halfway through my morning, the OTHER shoe came apart!  Now I was 100% sure my shoe repair man had somehow compromised the integrity of my formerly well-made, long-lasting shoes!  Tony was definitely not happy to see me, and although I had prepared myself for fireworks, and he was much more subdued this time.

A few days later (yep, I waited again... too scared to face the man 2 days in a row!).  This time, I took a posse with me.  On our way back from lunch, 4 of us from work went into the shoe repair shop.  One guy, a regular, chatted up Tony for a few minutes before he looked over and gave me a dirty look once he recognized me.  He gave me my shoe which I quickly stashed in my purse, and motioned for the others to get out of there now!  It was beyond awkward.  But at least now I had both of my fixed-broken-fixed-again-heels.

Now I'm at a crossroads.  Was this all for naught?  Can I ever wear these heels again without having to pack a back-up pair?  What if I let down my guard after wearing them for a few times, and don't have any extra on me, and the glue breaks down, and my shoes come apart again?!  So as of now, I haven't worn them again, meaning that perhaps instead of saving money by having them fixed, I actually wasted it.  What the heel?

BTM: The Beach

Aside from the ho-hum post on our beach trip, with all the gorgeous ocean shots, and pictures of yours truly as a bronzed beach goddess, and a rundown of our food, here's the stuff that's truly entertaining and blogworthy!

The frozen drink selection at Bamboo Willies:

Steph and I chose the Williewacker.  It was a lot more fun to say and order than to drink.  The frozen concoction  was very average.

Outside of our namesake store, Sandy Bottoms, there were these great stand-ups for picture taking.  Here, Laura and I ride the dolphins...

and Steph does her best Daryl Hannah impression!

On our way to and from Pensacola Beach we drove through part of the National Seashore- an area of the beach dedicated to preserving the natural wildlife.  There was a 15 mph speed limit enforced during one stretch of the road to protect the nesting shorebirds.  We followed a car on our way home one night that must have really cared about those shorebirds because he was going way too slow.  Fr some reason the shorebirds popped up in all sorts of conversations this week.  You'd be surprised to discover just how relevant those nesting shorebirds can be to all things beachy.

Now here's real sisterly love right there.  Laura's rear end and thighs were burned, and I volunteered to rub aloe on for her.  If you're thinking this picture just "ain't right," you should have seen the angle of the other 2 shots Steph took because they were far less appropriate than this!

Blue Steele makes an appearance.  I mustered up my best model face to try on a hair bow that Steph eventually bought to wear to a horse racing event she's attending.

A photo in our condo of the owners- or at least one of them. 

I'm not sure who the lady is with our condo owner.

The street names on Navarre beach are named after states, and they're in alphabetical order.  It makes finding your street a piece of cake, unless, of course, you can't remember the alphabet.  We had some kind of discrepancy like this, which prompted Stephanie to ask aloud if we knew the song "Fifty Nifty."  Did we know it?  Please!  Laura and I proceeded to sing the tune in its entirety, which made for an amusing ride home.

The Sandy Bottom Girls and the beach monkey

A drink on the menu at the Beach Monkey Grill- I have a feeling this was supposed to be a "rajun cajun" martini.  I noticed just now too that "pepper" is misspelled as well.  I would be willing to bet this restaurant won't be in business long.  Any place who's that careless with their menu has got bigger fish to fry.  Pun intended.

Speaking of fish, our server that night, Brandon, admitted to us that he just found out that tuna is actually a kind of fish.  Is Jessica Simpson still single?  Because if so, I think we've found her soul mate!

 UK Alums pose with a picture of their flag at Helenbacks

 Having fun at the Navarre Pier

Look what we caught!

Stop.

Pier Rat

Since we didn't end up fishing, Stephanie asked a fisherman who was finishing up his lunch if she could take a picture holding his fishing pole.  Forgive me, but the innuendos of Steph getting to hold a black man's rod that day were too much!

Strange decor at the East Bay Crab House.  What is it about Santa Claus that says seafood to you?

Or how about cheap looking picture of Jesus?  Doesn't this image make you want to eat crab legs?

A photo from our cheesy beach photo session- "look over there," we seem to be saying.

We printed off a good picture of Laura and me, and then scoured a few souvenir shops searching for a classy beach frame... at least that's what I wanted.  Laura, on the other hand, found a frame of a shark, with its jaws open.  In the shark's open mouth was the opening for the picture.  I had found a frame covered in sea shells.  Since it was just the 2 of us, and we both had our own ideas of what our dad would appreciate more, I suggested we settle our frame debate rock-paper-scissor style.  Best 2 out of 3.  It came down to the last round.  A shark frame now adorns our dad's dresser.

Our condo included these two prints of Hurricanes Dennis and Ivan.  "Hurricane Bradley" could not have been more ecstatic.  There was even a dvd of a local new channel's footage of Hurricane Ivan.  I might have actually made Laura watch the dvd with me. 

The condo was decorated in a martini theme.  Laura takes a sip from the martini lamp.

 

The Pumper coozie makes an appearance on the beach!

One night Stephanie decided on a whim that 888 were her lucky numbers, and so we rushed into the gas station to buy a lottery ticket.  The gas station attendant thought we were crazy, and flirted with Steph.  For some reason, Florida doesn't have a "pick 3" so Steph settled instead for a scratch off one, and a Powerball ticket.  I am still waiting for my third of her winnings. 

 

What did we crazy girls get into down in Florida?  We played rousing games of Old Maid and Uno!  It had been so long since any of us had played Old Maid that we actually had to read the directions on how to play first.  This particular deck of cards had characters on each card.  We were each dubbed to represent one of the characters.  I was Birdwatcher Beulah.  Don't ask me why.  Stephanie was Minnie Bucks, because she was looking to strike it rich from her lottery winnings.  Laura wound up with the Old Maid, which was ironic since she was the only married one of the three of us, and she's the youngest!

And finally, I present to you as promised, drunk old people dancing.  If my camera battery hadn't been dying, I would have filmed longer, but as it is, this 48 seconds is worth your time.

So those are some of the fun and funny moments of the trip.  I am finally done with the beach blogs!

Neurosis

There was one day the week before last when I thought I was absolutely losing my mind.  I had been operating on very little sleep, simultaneously getting ready for Rhonda's baby shower, and Bradley's birthday.  While dropping Bradley off at daycare that morning, I stood at the door staring at the keypad.  All of a sudden, my mind went blank and I couldn't for the life of me remember the code I needed to punch to get in.  Mind you, this is a code I punch nearly every day of my life and has become so routine that I normally don't think twice about it.  But this morning I had a mental block.  Slowly the numbers came to me, but not in the right order.  I finally had to waive through the window and have one of the other teachers let me, the crazy mom who forgot the door code, into the building.  So that's how my day began.

Fast forward to that morning at work.  Do you ever get songs stuck in your head?  The main problem with this is that it's never the entire song on repeat running through your subconscious, but rather the same two or three lines, over and over.  This morning the song in question was Britney Spears' latest, about dancing till the world ends.  I don't even like the song, so that's even more maddening to keep singing the lines over and over.  Eventually, my subconscious must have turned its attention elsewhere, and I was able to concentrate on work instead of techno dancing at a club. 

Later that afternoon however, it happened again with a different song- the Spin Doctor's Two Princes.  This song easily makes it to my top 10 list of irritating songs that I never want to hear again, and here it was, on repeat in my head.  What is wrong with me today, I thought?!  First forgetting the daycare code, then that stupid Britney Spears song, and now the Spin Doctors.  I am neurotic, I thought.  The scariest part to me was that I couldn't trace why I would have this song in my head.  I hadn't heard it recently, so what was it that triggered this tune?

Then I had my Ah-ha moment. 

I glanced down at a work-related letter I just sent sent someone.  The person's email address began with "2stinsons@..."  At once I had to laugh at myself!  My brain had associated "2stinsons" with Two Princes.  (Say them both out loud, and you'll know what I mean.)  At least having traced the source of my current neurosis, I felt a little better.  Whenever I get a song stuck in my head, I play a little game with myself and see if I can determine the subconscious culprit of why a particular ditty has camped out in my brain.  I feel that if I can at least determine the cause for the repetitive tune popping up out of seemingly nowhere, it makes me feel a little more sane.  So on this day, I won the game.  And I lost, because really, that Spin Doctors son just grates on your nerves.

Black eyes or bust

Did anyone else catch that I goofed and posed my Terrible Twosdays post on a Monday?  Man, I guess I am just ready for this week to be over already!  I didn't catch it until I was pondering a catchy title for tonight's post when I realized that tonight was not Wednesday, but Tuesday, and that I posted the wrong heading for yesterday.  Oh well.  You love me, and you forgive me.

A bit of randomness for the week so far:

• I saw my first cicada.  I am dreading the infestation.  Right now Bradley freaks out if a fly lands on him.  That *may* or may not have to do with the fact that one day I freaked out because a roach-like bug was crawling on him, and he's been scared of bugs landing on him ever since... maybe... so what is he going to do when a ginormous flying insect with beady red little eyes land on him?  Only time will tell...
• My boss called to ask me if I had put my personal items on her Outlook calendar.  I don't think so, I replied.  Well, said she, there's a note on here that says pray for so-and-so's job interview, and another one that says 'lunch with MAB,' and I don't know who MAB is! I was so embarrassed!  Work Fail!
• I then called my boss back to ask her if she prayed for my friend's job interview at least, because since it wasn't on my calendar, I had forgotten!
• I caved and let Bradley sleep with me last night.  Wrong move.  He was all over the bed, and at one point I was jolted awake by a kick so hard to my face that I thought I was going to wind up with the black eye that I've always wanted, though not in the cool way I would have liked to have gotten it.  He was restless all night, and up at 5:30 a.m.  I am exhausted.
• Yes, I admit.  I have always not-so-secretly dreamed of having a black eye... that, and a broken arm.  I think it has something to do with a deep desire to live dangerously coupled with all of the fifteen minutes of fame attention you would get from having both.  Did I really just admit that in print?  Whatever.
• While Laura and I griped for 20 minutes about rush hour traffic this afternoon on our cell phones, she waved at me while passing me on the interstate.  I love living close to my family.
• Tomorrow night is my second choir rehearsal back at BBC.  It's so good to be back!

Alright kids, it's off to bed for me.  Here's hoping that B stays asleep tonight because I can't handle any late night kicks to the face- at least not without some battle wounds to justify the interruption of my REM cycle.

How going out in your 20's differs from going out in your 30's

After the girls night out on the town this weekend for Mary Anna's birthday, it has given me reason to pause and think about how different a night out can be for the twinkies versus the thinkies.  Allow me to draw some comparison and contrasting thoughts.

In your 20's, you go out to meet men.  In your 30's, you have learned, probably the hard way, that a bar is so not the place to meet a man.  Instead you go out with your friends with the intent of actually talking to your friends (novel idea, huh?)

In your 20's you close down the bars without a second thought.  In your 30's anything past midnight is pushing it.

In your 20's you crawl in bed at any and all hours of the night with full makeup on, too tired to wash your face.  (College Roommate Stephanie will attest that I ruined her white pillowcases with mascara stains on more than one occasion.)  In your 30's, you are anal about skincare, and would never, ever go to bed without washing and moisturizing your face.

Broadway Brewhouse is a great twenty-somethings bar- it's loud, it's crowded, it's smoky.  You will wait forever for a drink from the bar, but that's okay because it gives you plenty of time to scope out the frat boys while you wait.  Of course you won't be talking to your friends because it's too dang loud in there.

Tavern was perfect for the older age group.  Groups happily chatted with their own tablemates.  The lighting was low, and the food & drink menu was quite respectable, because, you know, this generation comes out and enjoys a nice dinner.  If you want bar food, Tin Roof will suffice, but if you want a good meal And a good time, Tavern is it.  They had this smores dessert that we kept seeing that was all flambe and whatnot, and smelled delicious.  We had our cupcakes waiting on us, so we didn't try it this trip.  They played Radiohead.

Let's face it.  The 20's are about going out and getting drunk.  The novelty of drinking in a bar is so new you drink whatever drink has the most liquor in it, just for the heck of it.  By the time you've reached 30, you know what you like, and you can enjoy it in moderation.

In your 20's you wear makeup to cover up your acne.  The dark smoky eyes detract from the acne.  In your 30's you wear makeup to cover up your wrinkles.  The dark smoky eyes detract from your wrinkles.

You haphazardly go out in your 20's and figure out the driving situation once you're out.  In your 30's you are responsible and plan ahead.

In your 20's you pre-party with jello shots, and drink from plastic cups.  In your 30's you sip wine, from real wine glasses.

In your 20's you comment on your friends MySpace account about the evening of debauchery.  Now Facebook is the grown-up classy way for the 30's to casually mention their fun night out.

The 20's- You wake up with a headache from too much to drink.  The 30's- you wake up with a headache from too little sleep.

For the 20's and the 30's, the headache is worth the good times had the night before... guess some things never change!

Sunday's stream of consciousness

I have been uber-unmotivated to blog lately, so sometimes you have to just blog, even when you don't feel like it, and the motivation will come later- kind of like obeying God, or going to the gym.

A few random and funnies to share:

"If I can stand at the garage door and hit the garbage can 5 feet away with the dirty poopy diapers 99% of the time, then why can't the Kentucky players hit a free throw every single time?"  -me

Today while eating lunch:  "Bradley, why do you have your hand down your pants?"  -me
"So I can touch my weiner."  -Bradley
(it was like, "duh, why else would my hand be down my pants?")

I tripped down the last few stairs the other day while leaving work.  I caught myself by crashing into the door leading into the parking garage.  Thankfully it was more funny than scary, and there was only one other guy who witnessed my clumsiness.

Dad and I took Bradley to Chic-Fil-A for dinner this week.  Guess whose kid was the only one to climb up to the top of the play area, and cry for their mommy, have all the other kids trying to help him get down, and one of the teenage workers had to climb up into the thing to rescue him?  My son!!

I have been praying fervently all week for my boss' wife, whom I've never even met.  She delivered their baby boy at 29 weeks on Tuesday, and then has suffered serious complications since.  The baby is doing great.  Monica is doing a little better.

We started Luke 10 in my Sunday School class last week.  This is excited because we were in Luke chapter 9 from October through February!  Craziness- but awesomeness!

Some peculiar phrases that Bradley has picked up recently:

• referring to his sweat pants or comfy pants as "fat pants"
• "it's okay sweetheart."
• "What's that supposed to be?"
• "Uh-oh! I just realized something."

I am amazed at the miracle of spring happening over night.  Seriously- I woke up on Saturday morning and the grass was really green, the flowers were in bloom, and the trees had budded.  How does that all happen simultaneously??

Ellen came to visit, and we have more company looming on the horizon-yay!

While watching a dvr'ed episode of Gray's anatomy, Lisa Patton, the news lady broke in and warned of the bad weather and thunderstorms headed our way.
"More storms again?!" I asked incredulously?  (We've had a lot of rain and storms lately)
"Amanda," mom replied, "this was from Thursday night."
Oh right.  DVR'ed episode. ha ha

a time (out) to love

Sunday afternoon Bradley went out back to play in his sandbox.  He took the little men who drive his bulldozer and dump truck out of their respective vehicles.  He announced to my mom,
"they love each other."
Then, mom said he put them in time out.
"Why did they go to time out?" I inquired.
"I was afraid to ask," she replied!

Side-Splittingly Funny

How do these things always happen to me?  I think that Jesus must know how much I love to write, and so he throws me some funny curve balls along the way for blog fodder.  Here's today's latest epic event:

I'm sure everyone has felt the horror at one time or another of looking down and realizing your barn door's open aka your pants are unzipped.  Well this morning at work, I looked down at my lap and noticed my inner thigh peeking up at me.  You're not supposed to look down at your pants and see skin!  I quickly realized that the inseam of my (new) pants had at least a 3 inch gaping hole in them!  As I continued to examine them, all the while glancing over my shoulder praying that no one else would notice my pious pants (they were holey... get it?), I had to laugh when I saw a 1 inch hole on the left leg inseam as well.  


Crap.  Who all have I come in contact with this morning that might have noticed my seams flapping in the wind, and what am I going to do to repair this?

Quickly, I went through my options in my head.  My inner monologue went something like this:

1.  There are no clothing stores close to where I work.
2.  I live too far away to run home and change.
3.  It is ten o'clock in the morning... this is going to be one long, awkward day!
4.  Should I send out an office-wide email asking if anyone has safety pins?
5.  No, because then I will have to explain myself, and even on the off chance that someone would have one safety pin, I would need multiple pins.
6.  Maybe I could run to Walgreens and buy a sewing kit and repair them myself in the bathroom.
7.  Ha ha- good one, Amanda, you don't sew!

In the meantime I texted mom.  These were new, old Express pants that I bought several years ago, and meant to return because they were too big, but never did.  Well desperate times call for desperate measure, so even though the Express pants were still a little baggy, I had mom hem them so I could at least gain a new pair of work pants.

Via text message, mom swore she hadn't touched the inseams, and suggested tape or staples to keep the holes in check.

Staples- brilliant!  I think that would work, but I can't just take my stapler and walk into the bathroom.  People are going to think I'm crazy.  I'm sure they already do anyways, but let's not add fuel to the fire.

Once again, I checked my surroundings, waited til the coast was clear, and grabbed my purse and flung the stapler in there.  Off to the ladies room I went.  I turned the pants inside out in the stall and started to staple away when I realized there was someone else in the bathroom.  I felt like the sound of a stapler in a neighboring bathroom stall might have roused some suspicion, so I waited until she was gone, stapling once more for good measure during the loud flush, then setting to work once it was just me.

As horrific as the situation was, I had to laugh at myself.  Who staples their pants in a bathroom?  I was afraid the staples were going to cut up my legs, but they were surprisingly unobtrusive.  There was enough seam material to tack together that my row of staples held pretty well on both pants legs.

Later on in the afternoon, I did notice the right leg hole getting bigger, so back to the bathroom I went, purse and stapler in tow, to repair the now 6 inch gap, but all in all, I'd say things could have been much worse.  I changed pants the minute I hit the door tonight, though.

Operation Three Amigos

Lately Bradley has been an extremely restless sleeper.  He's waking up several times a night, and in the process, waking up everybody else in the house too.  It was this restlessness that prompted Operation Three Amigos.

Ever since Christmas, Bradley has been inseparable from Buzz Lightyear, Woody, and Jessie, or I have fondly begun to refer to them, the Three Amigos.  These action figures are not your typical cuddly stuffed animals that you'd want to snuggle with in bed- except that Bradley has insisted on sleeping with them ever since he got them.  Convinced that these hard plastic toys were contributing to the sleep problems of my son, I did what any sensible parent would do... I hid them!!!

When we're getting ready for bed at night, I sneak Buzz, Woody, and Jessie into Bradley's stuffed animal bin, and bury them, so they're out of sight, out of mind.  And guess what?  Coincidence or not, it's worked!  Bradley's been sleeping better, and he hasn't even noticed that the Three Amigos are mysteriously absent from his bed.

Confession:  okay, so once in the middle of the night this week he woke up hollering for Buzz and Woody.  In an effort to get Bradley to be quiet and go back to bed, I did fish the cowboy and the space ranger out of the toy bin rather quickly- flung them onto the bed is probably more like it- and this sleep-deprived mama went right back to bed.  But for the most part, Operation Three Amigos has been wildly successful!

Sittin' Stone-faced with Santa

Yesterday we braved the mall to take Bradley to get his picture taken with Santa.  After this experience I can now say with certainty that of all the wonderful things Bradley is, what he is Not is photogenic!  After a tearful, terrible twos morning, I dressed Bradley in this handsome outfit to have his picture take with Santa.  He looks handsome, and also, less than thrilled!  I swear, it's not that he's a solemn child, he just photographs that way!

Round One:  we make it onto Santa's lap.  (Cool Springs Galleria Santa is creepy, by the way.  He has a pony tail behind his fake Santa hair, and a creepy fake-tooth looking smile.)  He's about the unfriendliest Santa too.  He didn't speak to the child unless spoken to, and all during the photo process had a plastered smile upon his face, immune to whatever the child was doing, or not doing as it was in our case. 

There Bradley sat.  Not scared and screaming the way some kids were, but not smiling and excited either.  He just sat there, stone faced and comatose, while me, mom and dad, and the photographer all took turns making fools of ourselves trying to elicit one single smile from Bradley's face.  Meanwhile sat Santa, with his frozen grin.

Here we are, for posterity's sake in front of the Santa sign.

After trying and failing, with no good pictures, I decided to give up and come back another time, but darned if that kid didn't give me the widest grins imaginable afterwards while we were fishing out fruit snacks to give him!  Daunted by the chore of doing this all over again another time, finding another day and time, getting Bradley dressed up and waiting in another long line, was overwhelming.  Suddenly there was a break in the crowd, and very few kids were now waiting in line to see Santa. 

Round Two.  We get back in line.  Bradley makes friends with a 3 year old boy behind us, and is all smiles... until we get back on Santa's lap.  This time, we get a quasi-grin, and this I'll take to avoid going through this all over again.

 So my adorable child refuses to smile for the camera.  That's okay.  A model he's not.  If you ask him about the whole experience he will tell you quite happily that he got to see Santa Claus.  Oh, and for the record, he asked Santa for candy canes for Christmas.  He should be pretty easy to please come Christmas morning!

A few off color deer jokes

You know what you call a deer with no eyes?  No-eyed deer.


Know what you call a deer with no eyes and no legs?  Still no-eyed deer.


What about a deer with no eyes and no legs that's cut in two?  Still half no-eyed deer!

Deer hunting season opened this week.  I was talking to a guy at work who's an avid hunter, and I was telling him about the albino deer who used to live somewhere near our house when we lived in Brentwood.   With all the new houses being built near us, we were overrun with deer, and this one albino deer we saw on more than one occasion and even got a picture of it.

My coworker said that you aren't allowed to shoot albino deer.  Why not?, I asked.  Wouldn't you want to rid the population of the mutated species, so as not to further the mutation in future generations?

He agreed, and stated that if anything, you should be allowed to shoot the white deer simply to spare them since they aren't camouflaged in their surrounding.

Are you kidding? I replied.  A white deer in Brentwood totally blends in!  It's the brown deer who are out of place!

Crestfallen

For my birthday I was given a selection of truffles from a local chocolate store.  These truffles were hand picked for me and my tastes.  A couple of days after my b-day, mom asked me if I had tried any of them yet.  I had completely forgotten about them- they'd been buried at the bottom of my bag with all my other gifts and cards.  After dinner that night, I went up to my room to try some of the chocolate and satisfy my after-dinner sweet tooth.

Imagine my dismay when approaching my room, and I spot a ripped bag, and an empty container on the floor with tiny empty papers where chocolates once were nestled.  Crestfallen.  That's the perfect word to describe that moment.

Stockwell had struck again.  Yep.  About ten years ago for Valentine's Day the canine chocolate connoisseur ransacked my brand new box of Godiva truffles leaving me with a shiny gold box and no chocolates to enjoy.  And darn it if history didn't repeat itself!

Fire Drilled

This has been one tough week at work.  No matter how hard I work, the assignments continue to flood my inbox as fast as I can crank them out, so you can imagine how dismayed I was yesterday afternoon when the fire alarm went off in our building.  A booming voice came over the loudspeakers and assured everyone that this was only a drill.  Immediately people started to get up from their desks and confer with one another.  Does this mean we have to exit the building?  Normally they warn us the morning of fire drills via email.  They also threaten to fine us if we don't comply with the drill procedure and meet outside on a particular street corner so everyone could be accounted for. 

Today there was no warning, and I hesitated to leave my desk, knowing how much work was looming over me.  Would I really get fined?  Or fired?  Not likely, but the rule follower in me felt compelled to grab my jacket and down the 19 flights of stairs I went.  They close the elevators down for these stupid drills.  Ugh.  As soon as I started down the staircase I realized I had to pee.  Why oh why hadn't I gone a half an hour an ago when I needed to?  Now here I was being herded like cattle down the stairwell, getting dizzy from circling round and round 38 times (2 flights of stairs per floor) and it would be who-knows-how-long before we'd be able to return.  Once we finally reached the great outdoors, down to our specified corner we marched.  I am thankful I wore my jacket.  Others were not so insightful to think to put theirs on as it was chilly and windy.

Once we got the all-clear, hundreds of employees all started hovering around the two sets of doors into the building, and then once inside, we made our way towards the elevators.  Have you ever seen so many people eager to get back to work? I remarked aloud.  It really was quite humorous.  You'd think we'd all be grateful for a paid break in our daily activities, but instead it seemed people couldn't get back inside fast enough.  Maybe it was because like me, they'd been too busy to pee and were now paying the price.  I pushed my way to the front and got on one of the first elevators, making a pit-stop at the bathroom before getting back to work.

I'd say this was a learning experience for me, and that now it's been (fire) drilled into my brain:  when you gotta go, you gotta go.  The work can wait.  Other things can't.

Work FAIL!

Well dear readers, I have discovered the real reason I have gone back to work:  It's to provide entertaining blog fodder for you.  After day one, here's what I endured:

• Despite waking up an hour and a half before I needed to leave the house this morning, I still managed to leave 15 minutes later than I needed to.  Time sure does fly when you're having fun dreading the first day on the job.
• I had a severe reaction to some medicine, and proceeded to get on the elevator in the parking garage, and then promptly get out of the elevator, and hurried to the nearest abandoned corner and upchucked my smoothie into a drain near some other person's car.  This takes the cake as the worst event of the day, and made for a memorable first morning.
• I pointed out a HUGE roach scampering down the hall in the office, and was nonchalantly told that Terminex comes once a month but that it doesn't help much.  Apparently one girl found a roach in her bag.  Greeeeaaaaat. (Note to self:  bring snacks to keep at work in an airtight tupperware container)
• I got lost IN the office.  It's a circular maze.  Can't a girl just make it to the break room without having to stop and ask directions?  No.  No, she can't.
• I found out by trial and error that one set of elevators takes you to floors 1-11.  And one set takes you to floors 12-21.
• While we're on the theme of elevators, the same is true with the parking garage (you know, the one I puked in...) one set of elevators takes you to the red floors, and one set takes you to the blue floors.  Having been warned about the convoluted parking garage layout, guess which elevator yours truly got on at the end of the day?  That's right... the WRONG one!!!

I hope you have laughed at my misfortunes.  I in turn will hopefully look back on this in the future and be able to join you.