During the summer after fifth grade, I went to sleep away camp for a week.    It was 1985 and one of the hit songs of the summer was “On My Own” by Patti LaBelle and Michael McDonald.  That really isn’t important to the story, but I just thought I add that little morsel of knowledge in there in case you ever need it in a trivia situation. 

Camp, to me, was fabulous!  It was my first time away from home where I wasn’t staying with family, but being cared for by responsible TEENAGERS.   I adored the cabin I shared with other squealing girls, it was like we were all grown up, living in our own house.   The smell of wood and bug spray permeated the air, as did the scent of Payday candybars (nonmelting!).  Each day was spent eating at the mess hall, complaining about the food (but secretly LOVING it), swimming, crafts with sticks and yarn, and all sorts of other camp-like activities.  It was very campy.

On the next to last day of camp, I hit a significant milestone in my physical development.  Laying upon my cot, chatting and giggling with the other girls, I remember rolling over onto my stomach to fall asleep and feeling…something.   Where my flat chest once resided, were now two knots?!  Literally overnight (or overday?) I had sprouted little boobies.   I felt so different and grown up, like a real WOMAN.

The next day, I held my head up proudly and stuck out my chest to show off my new knockers.   I was sure everyone was looking at me and thinking, “wow!  She got her boobies!”  Really, though, they were probably thinking, “Oh that poor girl.  What an awkward stage she’s in.”

Um, yeah, so I guess that’s the end of the story.  Huh?  This idea seemed better in my head.  Just wait until I tell you the story about when I started my period on the last day of 7th grade while wearing a white dress.  Now THAT is an AWESOME story.

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Some days I’m completely at peace with the way things are in my life.  I’ve more or less chosen this life, the one where I’m a stay-at-home mom of two kids and I’m a supportive and loving wife.  In fact, when I imagined my life while growing up, I wanted to get married, make babies, and cook dinner.  My Barbie dolls were forever pregnant, hanging around the Barbie house, driving the Barbie purple corvette, all paid for by Ken.

But with accepting my life the way things are, means accepting that the bulk of home related tasks rests upon my often weary shoulders.  It means that I do laundry, and pick up all the water bottles someone leaves all over the house, I plan the majority of meals, I know when we’re out of diapers and Teddy Grahams and soy sauce.  These aren’t necessarily bad or unfair responsibilities, but things that occasionally make me feel bitter and overworked.

I hear my husband talk about his career and we discuss his plans for the future.  They really are our plans for the future, but with the way things are, it means that I agree to move, uproot our family, and lose my safety net of friends every few years for his career.  In other words, I don’t really feel like I have any control over my own future as it’s completely based on what happens to Tate.  I haven’t pursued getting licensed as a Speech-Language Pathologist in nearly three years because I’ve been the devoted wife who’s agreed to move twice and put my career on hold to raise our children.  But I do realize that the way things are, are because I chose this.

Tate has two business dinners and a softball game this week, which he didn’t have to think twice about since he didn’t need to worry about childcare for his two kids.  Of course I’ll be home to take care of them, that’s what I do.  I stay home and tend to the children.  But when I have an opportunity to go out in the evening with friends or when I plan on going out of town for a little blogging conference, I have to make sure Tate will be home or ask my Mother-in-law to come watch the children.  I don’t get to just make plans and go and be free.

I don’t mean to sound like Tate is a modern day neanderthal that comes home and pounds his chest and demands dinner and his woman stay home, care for children.  It isn’t that way at all.  If I weren’t generally happy with the way things are, he’d be fine with me pursuing my career, though I doubt the household responsibilities and childcare arrangements would change if I were working outside the home.  

This is just one of those days when I have a hard time feeling content with my chosen lot in life, despite it being EXACTLY what I always wanted.  

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Damn you VH-1.  I cannot, CANNOT resist the lure of those top 100 lists WITH BONUS COMEDIC COMMENTARY!

I’m ashamed to admit that I watched an unspeakable (4, shhh) hours of the Maxim 100 list of best songs from the 90’s.    I somehow missed the first hour, but luckily caught up with some of my old favorites. 

Jamiroquai!  I’d forgotton all about Virtual Insanity!

Dee-lite!  Groove is in the Heart!

Bel Biv Devoe!  Poison!

Fiona Apple!  Criminal!

Red Hot Chili Peppers!  Under the Bridge!  (Y and her kids do a fantastic rendition here!)

Gerardo!  Rico Suave!  Okay, not that one so much. 

Oooh, and my all time favorite song of the 90’s (well at least ONE of them), One Week!  Barenaked Ladies!  As a little fun Jennifer trivia that I suspect you did not know, I can sing along to that song.  Sure I don’t know ALL the words, but I know A LOT of them.  Put that little gem of knowledge in your pocket and save it for later!

~Watch the X-files with no lights on, blah, blah, blah, blah, I hope the smoking man’s in this one.  Like Harrison Ford I’m getting frantic, next thing I’m tantric, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah guaranteed to satisfy~

Those 90’s songs reminded me of a time LONG, LONG, LONG ago.  Weighing barely over 100 pounds [insert EXAGGERATED eye roll HERE].  My blue 1987 Chevy Nova with bad paint that smelled like a dirty ashtray inside.  My introduction to email and that new-fandangled thing called the Internet.  The decade of my belly-button ring that never actually stopped oozing (TMI?) and caused me to buy shirts that showed off my belly [more eye rolling!].  The five and half years I spent working as a hostess at Ruby Tuesday.  Drinking Natural Light and thinking it was pretty good.  **wipes away a tear**

What was your favorite song of the 90’s and what does it remind you of?  You can go HERE to check out Vh-1’s list.

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1.  I worked and worked on a post last night about how much I hate going outside.  I eventually deleted it because it all boiled down to this:  Whine, whine, whine.  Ella can’t walk yet, it’s hard to take her outside.  Whine, whine, whine some more.  Also, I hate the EXPLETIVE wind here in Indiana.  The end.

2.  Since I deleted that post, all I have for you today is a list of things I’ve been meaning to talk about but don’t want to write an entire post.

3.  Yes I know people hate these kind of posts.

4.  **shrugs shoulders**  Too bad.

5.  For the longest time, I couldn’t figure out why people liked twitter so much.  I mean, I had an account, but I couldn’t figure out how people were participating in conversations.  A few days ago I downloaded twhirl.  It has changed my twittering life and added one more time suck to my life.  For this I am grateful.  (Can you see me rolling eyes?)  I just thought that those of you who are slow like me, would like to know about it and be sucked in, too. 

Twhirl is a twitter tool that you download.  It shows up as a little icon down in the bottom right corner and dings every few minutes when people you follow post updates.  You can also post updates from twhirl, shorten urls and read/write direct messages.   It’s much easier than going directly to twitter and hitting refresh every few minutes.

I’m not sure whether to say, “You’re welcome!” or “I’m sorry.”

6.  I just sold my couch on Craigslist.  Like, I REALLY just sold it minutes ago.  The lady came by and said she’d take it!  Woo hoo! 

7.  At least once a month I get an email from someone asking me how I got the number of subscribers/readers/traffic…that I have.  I’ve been thinking that I might start a series of posts talking about what I’ve done to gain and maintain readers.  The first post would be a general overview talking about different social networking sites, reciprocity, blog design (blah, blah, blah) and the subsequent posts would talk about each one in depth.

Is anyone interested in reading about this?  I would only post these type of posts on the weekends and save my SUPER BRILLIANT mommyblogging for the week. 

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Dear Mother-in-Law and Father-in-Law,

Thank you for offering to watch my two darling children today and allowing me a little alone time with the laptop.  Your thoughfulness will never be forgotten.

Love,

Jennifer

**

Dear Indiana BMV,

B?  MV?  That should have been my first clue that you’re a stupidhead.  Shouldn’t you be the DMV??  Anyway, I’m not writing to bitch about your name, but rather the fact that you’re closed on Mondays.  Screw you.

Your nemesis,

Jennifer “The Pulverizer” Playgroupie

**

Dear Comcast,

You still suck. 

From,

You know who the hell this is because I keep calling you and you keep NOT calling me back.

**

Dear Manufacturers of Digital SLR Cameras,

Hi!  I’m a blogger with respectable enough traffic.  I’d like to review your camera(s) on my blog.  All you have to do is send me one for review.  I promise to only say nice things about your camera on my blog if you pretty please send me a camera.  I’m willing to sell you my soul.  Please send me a camera. 

Thank you in advance!

Sincerely, REALLY, REALLY Sincerely,

Jennifer

PS.  I’d also like a free trip somewhere.  Anywhere.  For free!  Kthnxbai!

**

Dear Me,

Stop eating so much.  Throw away the cake and the leftovers.  Have you noticed your flabby arms?  Of course you have. 

Yours truly,

Me

**

Dear Carson,

I’m your mommy.  I gave birth to you and suffered through your colic.  I will continue to suffer through many stages of your life and yet I still love you.  I will always love you.  All I want is for you to kiss me goodnight.  It hurts my feelings when you laugh in my face and scream “NO!!!” when I ask for a goodnight kiss.

If you don’t give me goodnight kisses, I’ll be forced to take away your John Deere tractors.  I’m not kidding.

Big wet kisses,

Mommy

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Call me picky, but
restaurants that remind me
of barns, poop are gross

Do I look like a 
pig, horse, goat, cow or sheep?  Hey!
Wait! Don’t answer that!

As I promised the other day, here is my thought-provoking post on my aversion to restaurants that remind me of barns or poop.

Let’s begin, shall we?  Poop seems as good a place to start as any.

1. The Little Nugget Steakhouse, located somewhere between Springfield, MO and Indiana.
Nugget?? Seriously?? Who thought this was a good idea? Nugget=poop, obviously. No can do.

2. The Feed Lot, with many locations across the US and Canada (why?)
I’m not a farm animal and would prefer not to eat in a place that sounds like I’ll be eating from a trough.  Oink.

3. Sirloin Stockade, located throughout the US and Mexico (O.  Le.)
There is a picture of a cow on the sign. Um. No thank you.  This somehow does not apply to pictures of pigs on signs for BBQ restaurants, unless of course, the BBQ restaurant has a barn-y or poopy name. 

4. Golden Corral, located wherever old people congregate
I will admit to having eaten at one and thoroughly enjoying the mac-n-cheese. This was YEARS ago, though, prior to developing a severe aversion to all things “buffet.” I do not eat at places that require sneeze guards AND attempt to make me feel like cattle.

Moo.

On a sidenote, when I was doing a little research for this post, I stumbled across a restaurant called The Pink Taco.  Go ahead and add “vagina” to the list of things I prefer not to be reminded of when eating out.

To play along for Haiku Friday, follow these steps:
1. Write your own haiku on your blog. You can do one or many, all following a theme or just random. What’s a haiku, you ask? Click here.

2. Sign the Mister Linky below with your name and the link to your haiku post (the specific post URL, not your generic blog URL). We will delete your link if it doesn’t go to a haiku. If you need help with this, contact Christina or myself. REMEMBER…ONLY sign Mr. Linky if you have a HAIKU POST.

3. Pick up a Haiku Friday button to display on the post or in your sidebar by clicking the button above.

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Ella looked precious in her Easter dress.

[picture removed]

Carson found his Thomas the Train oufit I bought for him and demanded that he wear it while hunting for Easter eggs.  To minimize the screaming, we compromised and let him wear it OVER his Easter outfit.  It wasn’t the look I was going for.

[picture removed]

This is Carson hopped up on Peeps. This was the best picture that we got of them together. (Again, it wasn’t the look I was going for.)

[picture removed]

Pssst…Carson didn’t really have any Peeps.  The above picture demonstrates why.

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