But I live in Tennessee, so I guess to most people around me, nothing significant has happened. They don’t know that I, and the millions of others in Cardinals Nation, have lost the love of our lives.

On Friday, we learned that Albert Pujols, arguably the greatest baseball player of my generation, was leaving us for the equivalent of a tall blonde with perky boobs and, oh right, $254 million. Goodbye St. Louis, hello sunny and warm LA.  As much as I’m relieved that he didn’t leave us for the Chicago Cubs, maybe it would hurt less if he were leaving us for someone hideously ugly.  Like Siberia. Yes I know there isn’t a baseball team in Siberia, THAT ISN’T THE POINT, OKAY?!

It just really hurts, you know?  To think you know someone and to find out that they aren’t who you thought they were…this is going to take some time to get over. I thought that we would be together forever, building our life and creating memories and winning more World Series together.  I thought that one day we’d build him a statue to stand near the one we built for Stan the Man Musial. And now for it all to just end?  WE LOVED HIM and now we know that he just didn’t love us the same way.  He’s just like the rest of them, chasing money.

Really, I should have seen the signs, but I couldn’t allow myself to ever imagine that our relationship would end.  When discussion of our relationship was put on hold in the spring, that’s when I should have known. Now I’m learning that he didn’t treat us with as much respect as we wanted and deserved.   Maybe he’s not as deserving as the pedestal where we as Cardinals Nation placed him, but my heart doesn’t understand this yet.

So for today, I want to wallow in my own misery of Albert Pujols leaving us. Please excuse me while I put on some PJs, grab a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, and listen to Pearl Jam’s Black on repeat.

“I know someday you’ll have a beautiful life,
I know you’ll be a sun in somebody else’s sky, but why
Why, why can’t it be, can’t it be mine”

Why? Only 254 million reasons why.

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

Serious question…
Do you think there’s a limit
to world records?

This is truly my question for the day.  Every time the Olympics rolls around (which is every two years to you people who live under rocks), (but I guess if you live under a rock, you’re probably not reading this blog), (so never mind), I wonder if there’s ever going to be a time that world records simply cannot be beat.

(Why yes this gem of a post is what I’ve come up with after a week’s absence.  Blame it on either my writer’s block or my Michael Phelps/Olympic obsession.)

Think far, far into the future, like when we’re all driving around cars that fly and wearing shiny silver outfits and it’s always dark and robots cook and clean for us.  (Which is how I assume everyone sees the future, right?)  Isn’t there going to be a time when we cannot go any humanly faster.  Let’s look at swimming as an example.  Right now, world records are set by shaving mere milliseconds off of previous times.   Occasionally, a swimmer is able to beat a previous world record by a whole second.

I can fathom how seconds and deciseconds and centiseconds and milliseconds can be shaved from previous records.  New swimsuit technology and advances in technique can all help with beating world records.  I get that.  What I can’t fathom, though, is how eventually people could possibly shave even one more millisecond off of a time.  It simply is not possible for a swimmer to complete the 100 meter butterfly in 10 seconds.  Or even one minute.  Barring of course, the IOC allowing jet engines to be surgically implanted in swimmer’s rear ends to help propel them.

So do you think there’s a limit?  Will world records ever stop being broken?

My brain hurts now.

The end.

Well actually it really is the end…at least for me and Haiku Friday.  I’ve decided to stop hosting Haiku Friday with Christina, though I plan to be a participant occasionally.  It’s very difficult and stressful to post every single Friday on demand, so I’m going to eliminate this stress.

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. Seriously.

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

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

Raur!

All of my girl parts appear to be JUST FINE, which is excellent news.  The bad news is that being nervous all day gave me gas and now my belly is distended and uncomfortable.  Bruised, leaky, and distended.  If you didn’t think I was a babe before, surely now you do.

The doctor thought that it was not unusual for someone just two months post breastfeeding babies back to back to have some discharge.  She did not feel any lumps so she sent me on my merry (and relieved) way.

Thanks to you all for your encouraging words, I thought about them as I sat in my hospital gown, open to the back, waiting and waiting and waiting for what seemed like hours.   You ALL helped me. 

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

On Saturday, I noticed that I had some yellow discharge from one of my breasts.  Of course in the back of my mind it could be, you know, SOMETHING BAD that starts with a C, or it could just be (and probably was) a plugged duct.

When they say they want to see me TODAY, it makes me think of that BAD thing that starts with a C.

***

I have an appointment at 2:40 TODAY.  For my hopefully plugged and infected duct, and not, you know, something BAD.

FREAKING OUT.

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

First there’s the issue of POSSIBILITY that my boarding pass, ID, wallet, and carry on baggage could suddenly evaporate into thin air.  Every few seconds, I obsessively check to get visual confirmation that some unknown force has not suddenly taken my valuable possessions and made it’s way to Tijuana.

Then there’s my sudden inability to understand the English language rendering me completely unable to follow directions for getting in line to board the plane and instead of lining up in the B 31-60 line, I’m all standing like a fool in the A 1-30 line while everyone else is all “what’s that woman doing in our line” and then I’m all embarrassed and foolishly bumping into people as I try to get out of line and everyone is staring at me like I’m some kind of wart on society.

I worry that some ninja laptop thief is going to sprint full speed up to me, swipe my laptop and disappear into a crowd of people, while I clumsily chase after the person yelling for help and while onlookers smirk at my misfortune.

Missing my plane while I’m in the bathroom is another thing that freaks me out, so instead of going pee, I just hold it.  And then I won’t drink water because I don’t want to have to pee even worse than I already do.

Luckily NONE of the above things ACTUALLY happened…except for holding my pee, OBVIOUSLY I didn’t want to miss my plane that would be taking off in 2 hours.  DUH.

But one of my fears is unknowingly packing something the TSA has banned, like by some magical force I could accidentally pack a nuclear torpedo in my carry-on.  I mean, I’m already nervous about not following the directions of putting my carry-on items in the bins properly or accidentally setting off the metal detector because I forgot to remove my belt, I certainly don’t want to draw attention to myself for having my stash of weapons of mass destruction detected.

So when the TSA agent told me they were going to have to open my bag and search it, I tried to act all nonchalant, but really I was scared to death they’d find the drugs/weapons/sex toys. 

Instead they found a pocketknife.  In my laptop bag.  That I had packed all by myself.  This wee pocketknife suddenly looked like a machete.

The TSA agent hefted it out of the bag and my jaw dropped to the floor, my face burned red, and I started stuttering and begging for mercy.

“Uh, uh…I, uh, don’t, uh, even KNOW how that got in my bag.  Please, mister, have mercy on my soul!  I have two small children at home.  Don’t send me to prison!  I’m not a terrorist!!”  (I didn’t really say the last four sentences, I just added them for effect.)

He was kind and told me that we wouldn’t have to call my husband to bail me out of jail…this time.

And that’s how I narrowly escaped being arrested and sent to clink to become someone’s bitch. 

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

Hi everyone!  Wish you were here in San Francisco…hope to post some pictures soon.   Right now I’m slightly drunk and have been up for nearly 24 hours.

(Remind me to tell you how I almost got arrested.  It was SO AWESOME!)  

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

Today Tate and I celebrate our seven year anniversary.  

On the morning of July 14, 2001, I woke up very early, unable to go back to sleep due to the anticipation of this long awaited day.  I went down to the hotel lobby to have breakfast.  My dad happened to be in the lobby, so he and I ate breakfast together.  Sitting there with just my dad before my big day is one of my favorite memories from the day.

Later that morning, I saw my grandpa.  He asked me if I knew that July 14th was also my grandmother’s birthday, she’d passed away when I was just a young child.  I hadn’t known that our wedding date was also her birthday, making the day that much more special. 

When the doors of the church opened, Tate looked like he was going to cry.  I’ve asked him many times since if it was because of my breathtaking beauty or his nerves…of course, he always answers correctly.  It was all I could do not to ugly cry as I walked down the aisle.

At our reception, I told the DJ that I did not want to hear any music by AC/DC or Rush, two of my most detested bands.  It didn’t matter if one of the reception guests requested to hear one of their songs, he was supposed to tell them that he’d add it to his list but then never get to it.  He respected my wishes.  Smart DJ.

We served a buffet dinner, which sadly I barely remember.  I know I ate, I know that we had prime rib, but I don’t even recall if it was good.  So sad to not even remember the food.  I love reminiscing about food.  What’s even more sad though, is that I only got one bite of wedding cake.  I told Tate prior to the wedding that if he smeared cake in my face, he’d pay dearly.  Tate respected my wishes.  Smart Tate.

We decided that getting a limo to drive us to our hotel where we’d spend our wedding night would be silly.  To save money, my mom drove us to our hotel.  I remember laughing as she dropped us off, knowing what we were getting ready to go do for the VERY FIRST TIME.  *ahem* 

Tate carried me over the threshold.  Thinking about that makes my heart flutter. 

A wedding is just one day out of a marriage, but ours was a WONDERFUL day to BEGIN our marriage.  I had no doubt in my mind that I was making the right choice.  I still have no doubt that Tate is my one and only. 

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

First off, you all were too kind about my red shoes.  There sure were a lotta comments about my shoes.  I’m tempted to post about each outfit I’m wearing next week seeking approval.  I guess LOTS of us will be wearing red shoes, THOSE shoes even.  Check out this post by Loralee, she posted about those EXACT shoes awhile back. 

This week’s Site o’ the week is Stimeyland!  I love this blog and her sense of humor.  Please go check her out, then come back and tell me how much you love my shoes again.  Kidding.  No I’m not.  Yes I am.

I owe Cathy an ass-ton of money for some Cards/Cubs tickets.  I wonder if she’ll forgive my debt for the this link love??  Just kidding, Cathy.  I’m coming to Chicago with my dollar bills to hand you under the table!

Casey wrote a post about moms as superheroes.  The whole mothering gig DOES become more second nature with time.   I would never have believed that two and half years ago and crying with my colicky son and feeling more helpless and alone than I’d ever felt in my life.  But here it is, two kids later, and I’ve survived so far.  On the same token, we may be superheroes, but damn if it isn’t sometimes SO FREAKING HARD that we feel like we’re drowning.

Feeling jealous you’re not going to BlogHer?  You’re not alone.    I was insanely jealous last year that I wasn’t able to go and had my own Fantasy BlogHer.

Ever heard of a three-year-old that knows about cannibals?  Me either.

I keep seeing pomegranates everywhere and I’m intrigued, but had NO IDEA how one would go about eating one of these fruits.  The seeds, the rind, ALL OF IT confused me!  Not anymore, thanks to this handy dandy pomegranate eating tutorial that I stumbled upon!

If you’re a WordPress user, you MUST get this plugin!  It allows you to reply to comments in the comments section and the person is emailed your reply!  SO COOL.  I LOVE that I can reply to comments and other’s can see what I said.  Great way to keep a conversation going in the comments section.

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

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Carson handing the conductor his ticket.  (He’s so cute and serious!  I could cry!)

I may or may not have felt the a lump in my throat and my eyes fill with tears when I first saw Thomas. The sheer joy on Carson’s face combined with my own excitement of seeing a real, live Thomas, made it very difficult not to well up and openly bawl in front of thousands of strangers.  Of course I didn’t actually cry, but I might have felt like it.  Maybe.  (Why do I always feel teary at things like this?  What is WRONG with me?)

The day was mostly meltdown and tantrum free.  I say mostly because there is NEVER a day that goes by with a one-year-old and two-year-old that is tantrum-free.  There were lots of age-appropriate activities and carny food and overpriced Thomas collectibles.  But the arm and a leg that we spent on the tickets, souvenirs, and food was worth every penny.

[picture removed]

Even Ella had fun.  “Look Mommy!  I’m going to put all these little pieces of germ covered Thomas paraphernalia in my mouth and work on building my immunity.”

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The only thorn in my side about our Day Out With Thomas experience was that I was not in charge of taking pictures and therefore I don’t have a decent picture of Carson with Thomas.   In case you were wondering, the “photographer” in charge was the only other adult in my immediate family. *HUFF*

Why didn’t the ”photographer” get THOMAS in the freaking picture WITH Carson??? Isn’t that the POINT of having your picture made WITH Thomas??? Who would take such a DUMB picture! *HUFF!!!*

Next year, when we go back, I’ll try not to tear up AND I’ll be the photographer (hopefully with my new camera.)  (Camera details coming tomorrow…I hope.)

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.

Also, I may be putting my children up for auction right here on this very blog. Bidding will begin at a penny.

Are we there yet?

©2012 Playgroups are No Place For Children. All Rights Reserved.