Dental Adventals, er, Adventures in Dentures, Oh Nevermind

OK, I don't have dentures, but it rhymed. I do have porcelain veneers on my front teeth, though, so that's some partially fake teeth. Those go back to my preoccupation with my ugly gapped teeth when I was a preteen. In hindsight, I should have left them, but I didn't. Now I have fake front teeth. If one of my veneers breaks, a really ugly brown fang is left behind. This is an attractive look, especially when one has college interviews. Ask me how I know about this.

Anyway, Saturday I had a dentist appointment. Always such a fun time. Really, if you don't count the big chunks of plastic jammed into your mouth for x-rays, the painful tartar scraping (especially painful when the tartar is beneath the gum line between teeth), or the gag-inducing effects of tooth polishing grit landing in the back of your throat, it's a pretty good time. Relaxing with some nice shades on, enjoying one-sided small talk with the hygeniest: "Your gums look great on this side. You really have no recession at all!" Me: "Guhhhrgggh." Yeah, good times.

Then after the scraping, bleeding, rinsing, sucking, flossing, bleeding, rinsing, sucking, grinding, polishing, and final rising and sucking, the dentist came in to do the once over, while telling me about the blessings of having teeth in such good shape. His parents, he informed me, were from England, and had dentures by the time they were in their 20s. He told me they saw getting dentures as a rite of passage into adulthood. This was back in the 1920s, but still...And I thought that whole British=bad teeth was just a stereotype. Well, back in the day. Our British friends have fine teeth now. Really. Please no angry comments. This was my dentist who said this, and he's probably a tooth snob. Can you be a tooth racist if you're one generation removed?

After my torture appointment, I set up a time to take the boys in. Neither of them has ever been to a dentist. Yes, I'm a horrible mother, but you should have known that from the previous 130 posts. I've been using the Autism excuse for not bringing Hutton. Harrison is probably a little too young, but I'm going to take them both in, and hope Hutton's teeth aren't rotting out. They're only baby teeth, right? He's a very good tooth-brusher actually, so fingers crossed.

TMI WARNING!
Don't read below if you don't like gross things about people's mouths. Well, even more gross things about people's mouths.

Not really tooth related, but orally fixated is the next topic: TONSILOLITHS.
Sound monolithic, palaeolithic, or even xenolithic, but they just suck. I complained to the dental hygeniest about having what felt like a piece of food lodged in my tonsil, and she told me it was a plugged salivary duct that would go away on its own. I didn't buy that, but forgot to ask the dentist, and of course had to rule out some weird disease that would lead to my mouth rotting away, and the best way to rule out weird diseases is by finding stuff online, you know!

So, after my research, I now know I have a TONSILOLITH in my TONSIL CRYPT, or at least that's what I've discovered through the magic of the internet. All this time, I didn't realize I needed a tonsilar crypt keeper in there, but I guess I do.
Here's why: TONSILOLITHS, or Tonsil Stones (hence the lith part), "are tiny, white, foul smelling stones which lodge in the tonsilar crypts. Sometimes a tonsolith can be pried out of the surface of the tonsil with a pencil or other small pointed instrument leaving what appears to be a little 'hole' but is, in actuality, the tonsilar crypt in which it originally formed. Tonsiloliths sometimes give the feeling of something lodged in the throat. They can also contribute to bad breath. Some people have chronic problems with tonsiloliths. The only sure treatment for chronic tonsiloliths is removal of the tonsils."

One website said that tonsilolith are from post-nasal drip, but another said they are from little pieces of food that get caught in the tonsil, and then this hard, white stone coats it, like a pearl being formed by a grain of sand in an oyster. Except the pearl is quite beautiful and rare, not a disgusting, sulfurous glob that is hacked up from the back of one's throat.

So, now I know that I have a tonsilolith, but I don't really want to use a pencil in my mouth. I do have a random chopstick on my desk though....

Off to dig around in my tonsil crypts. My Saturday night is rocking!

Update: My tonsil stone is gone. I know you're all relieved.

This ends the TMI portion of this post. Oh, that's the end of the post all together. Oh well.

Bad Candy

I was doing some research this afternoon for something I'm writing [I'll post what I write in a few days, and you'll realize this isn't quite as impressive as it sounds], when I came across this site.

As Halloween is approaching, this is the time of year when candy is becoming more important to everyone. Please be sure to visit this site to make sure you're not responsible for giving away, or, God forbid, eating any bad candy this Halloween. Bad candy may sound like an oxymoron, but it is a horrifying reality you must do your best to avoid. Not everything sold labeled "candy" is made of delicious chocolate, you know.

Be sure to see this site for some gross candy to avoid, and Allie's posts on this topic, as well.

Yacht Rock Rocks My World

This is some of the funniest shit I've seen in a long time, and sooo smooth!
Be sure to look for the other 9(!) episodes on YouTube under "Yacht Rock."

And just so you know, I still love Steely Dan. Episode 10 is awesome for this reason.

Summer is Oming!

I saw a sign today, in front of a gas station/convenience store that read:

SUMMER IS OMING! LET'S PARTY!

Hmm. Not sure what OMING means, but indeed, let's party!

Maybe OMING is what you put when you're too lazy to change a sign often enough. Come on, all they need to put up there is OVER instead of OMING - add three little letters - and it would work: Summer is OVER! Let's party!

Yes, it's a slow day around here. I really need a nap, but the two-year-old is sooo past that whole nap thing.

Combating Autism Act and Congressional Douchebags

Well, another reason for me to be disgusted with the Republican-run Congress.

Friday, Congressman Joe Barton from Texas killed the Combatting Autism Act, by not getting it in for a vote. You can read more about the CAA here.

Below is an interesting transcript from Don Imus' Monday morning radio show. It's long but worth reading! I have to say, I think I agree with everything below! There's some good stuff on equally vile Mark Foley, Dennis Hastert and Bill Frist as well.

Imus in the Morning
Discussion on the Combating Autism Act
October 2, 2006

6:07 am ET

Imus: Congressman Joe Barton from Texas refused to move the Combating Autism Act out of his committee after telling all these autism groups that if they supported him on this idiotic NIH reform egislation, which they did, he would then move their bill out of the committee and for a vote. It passed by unanimous consent in the Senate, you know. And, then, when they all did support him, he then lied to them and refused to budge on it and, of course, Dennis Hastert and old Boehner [`BO-ner'], the Majority Leader, they refused to get involved in it because they were so busy covering up the Foley thing. So, you know, somebody ought to check Boehner's [`BO-ner's'] email. That's the first guy I'd look at, wouldn't you? I'd check all of their emails. I'd check Barton's emails. I'd check everybody's.

Charles McCord: You'd start going through everybody's computer stuff.

I: Barton said, well, he could approve - said that he wanted to take all of the provisions in the bill that had to do - I'm not going to get into all the specifics, at this point, because, you know, you'll just kill yourself or watch and listen to something else - all of the provisions out of the bill that had to do with any sort of environment research. Vaccine research has already been taken out of it long ago, so -

M: So let's take all the environmental stuff too. That makes sense.

I: So, wanted to cut the bill from around 900 million to 200 million. It had already been what they call `scored' by the Congressional Budget Committee, I believe, or Office, in which they had determined what it was going to cost and what that would be. And this is the guy I - you have to wonder about - it's no wonder these parents of autistic children are hysterical. I don't blame them. I mean, because they get lied to - you wouldn't - it's inconceivable that somebody wouldn't want to provide relief to these people. I mean, it doesn't even make any sense.

M: No, oh no, no.

I: So, I could give you his phone number in Washington to call him and tell him what a creep he is - or ask him, you know, what he's covering up - or let's look at his email, but they're not in Washington now, so, but he must have a congressional office in Texas, so we'll get that phone number.

M: Okay.

I: And, just, you can call him up and chat with him. It is unclear why Speaker Hastert and the Majority Leader, old Boehner [`BO-ner'] from Ohio, wouldn't - I might have opted for a different name, wouldn't you?

M: I don't think he pronounces it that way.

I: How does he pronounce it?

M: BAY-ner.

I: You sure it's not BO-ner?

M: Maybe it is. [chuckling] Maybe for our purposes.

I: why they wouldn't lean on this guy or at least say, you know, "Why don't you be reasonable, here?" He's on somebody's payroll. We thought he was on ours, but apparently not, so.

M: No.

7:29 am ET

Imus: We have another congressional dirt-bag, Joe Barton, from Texas. Here's Joe Barton [R-Texas] - he's the Chairman of the House Committee on Energy and Commerce - they pass this Combating Autism Act in the Senate by acclamation. [It] unanimously passes in the Senate. They've sent it on over to the House. They have over 200 co-sponsors in the House for this bill to provide $920 million of, essentially, relief for the tens of thousands of people in this country - parents who're suffering with these kids with autism and this creep says to all of these various - Oh, God, he's an awful son of a bitch - he says to all of these various autism groups, "Well, if you'll help support my NIH reform bill" - which has NO chance of passing ANYTHING! It'll die quicker in the Senate than your wiener, Senator [motions to actor portraying Ted Kennedy].

So, they all sign on and support it and he lied to them. He, then, refuses to take it out of his committee and let the House vote on it. It would have passed unanimously. So late the other night - Friday night, this skunk, this lying weasel - they ought to check his email, too, by the way - he calls a couple of these people and he says, "Well, I'm supporting 90% of it." Well, he's lying about that. It's a $920 million bill - he takes $635 million out of it. [He] doesn't want to support any sort of environmental research of any kind. We're not talking about thimerosal and vaccine stuff. We're not going down that road. This bill has nothing to do with that. This has to do with creating these centers for excellence for these autistic kids and providing all kinds of services for these people and so on. There's not a lot of insurance for these folks.

Charles McCord: This is a relief bill.

I: Exactly, but because he's on somebody's payroll - who knows - I thought he was on ours - so he refuses to take it out of the committee and let the House vote on it. It would have passed in a heartbeat. Well, where was Dennis Hastert and that idiot Boehner [`Bo-ner'] from Ohio, the Majority Leader? Why wouldn't they put some pressure on him, because they're too busy trying to cover their ass on a Mark Foley deal. And the Mark Foley deal - here you've got the guy that's the co-chair of the committee on exploited children. What's the official name of that?

M: House Caucus on Missing and Exploited Children. Who wrote sexual predator laws.

I: This pedophile is sending sexually explicit emails to pages thinking, I guess, that if he deletes them that nobody can ever find them. Hello! So, they're trying to cover their ass on that, and they refuse - Dennis Hastert who's also a hunchback little dirt-bag and that other skunk. And I'm a registered Republican and I would
be happy if not one of those son of a bitches was re-elected. Not one of them! Particularly Joe Barton. Why is he an arrogant little prick? Because he's down there in a seat in Texas that's safe - you know how they worked that deal - he's a buddy of Rick Perry. He's an awful human being. Here's his number in Texas, if you want to call his office and I really recommend you do that. 817-543-1000. So just spend - every time you think about it, call this bastard's office there in Texas - he's not in Washington - call Texas and tell him what a no-good son of a bitch he is and ask him whose payroll he's on. Say, "I thought we were paying you."

He's another buddy of Frist and Frist, by the way, is one of the most disgraceful people on the planet and gutless. Frist was the guy, remember, when my wife went down there with Suzanne Wright and some other people, to lobby for the Combating Autism Act before the Senate voted on it, spent 15 minutes whining, nearly bringing himself to tears complaining about what I had said about him - not having enough guts to call me. So, what did we do? We got on the phone and called him and invited him on the program. Senator Frist is a coward and wouldn't appear on the program. Then we called Joe Barton and invited him. I thought this was a tough guy from Texas. He's not a tough guy from Texas. He's a sissy boy - down there wearing a little pair of panties with Rick Perry. And you're telling me you're in Texas and you're going to vote for Rick Perry? What are you people - crazy?! I mean this is insanity! Praise Jesus we don't have an autistic child, but I know a lot of people who do. You might wonder what my interest is - my interest in it is that it's an outrage! And this stuff goes on all the time. And the problem with politics is people like Joe Barton. Believe me, I'd look into his email. You can just look at him - he just looks a little shaky, doesn't he, Chuck?...

You can give Joe Barton a call there in Texas a call at 817-543-1000. I mean, that's just an outrage -- and lied to these people. I mean, don't lie to them -- just say - they go down there, Deirdre went down there to see him and Suzanne - a whole bunch of these autism people. Just say to them, "Look, I'm not going to support this" and just tell them flat out. Don't jerk their chain. Don't try to get them to support your bill - which they did - then lie to them. What a rancid, viciously little skunk. Jesus, a dishonest, no-good, son of a bitch. I hate for this to get this vile this
morning, particularly on this Yom Kippur when I should be off atoning for my sins, because I love you people. You know I do. I don't, do I?


7:35 am ET

Andrea Mitchell: . When you talk about what Deirdre and Suzanne Wright and Suzanne's daughter, Katie, did when they came down - and the other autism families - and you look at the numbers of what's been happening here, you are so right about this bill and the lack of - I mean, .3% of the NIH budget is spent on autism when you have an epidemic of cases? It's exploding.

I: Well, here's what Joe Barton's defense is - he said, "Well, my NIH reform bill is going to cover most of this." Which: 1) is absurd and 2) his bill is never going to pass the Senate - EVER! Is it?

Mitchell: Exactly right. There's also some poison pills in there. That's the way these guys work. You know, I'm not taking a position on this legislation, I'm just saying, "Tell people the truth when they come down to visit you." Don't string them
along, because you can't imagine the pain these families are experiencing.

I: Particularly these - you're right - particularly these people. I mean, I mean it's heartbreaking.


8:01 am ET

Imus: Here's Joe Barton's number. This is the creep in the house who wouldn't move this autism bill out of his stupid committee and let the House vote on it - which they would have passed unanimously. His number in Texas - his buddy Rick Perry, that
creep - Barton's number is 817-543-1000. Why don't you call him and see if - why don't you ask him who's paying him.

Bo Dietl: Why couldn't they just put it in committee? It's a very important thing. It's a no-nonsense thing.

I: The last people that - like Joe Barton and those kinds of people or Dennis Hastert or that dick-head from Ohio - the last people they want to help are kids. The last people they want to help are kids. Leave no child behind - they leave them all
behind.

For Your Reading Pleasure, a Bad Mommy Story

Today started relatively well. I slept in until 9, the boys got up and entertained themselves without destroying anything for an hour or so, the cat only meowed loudly enough to wake me 2 or 3 times...Good morning.

Hutton ate his lunch with plenty of time for us to go catch the bus, and Harrison said he wanted to walk to the bus stop with us, so as I was getting him dressed, I thought Hutton was ready to go. We walked out of the front door, and were starting up the street when Hutton announced he needed to use the bathroom.

"Are you sure? We don't really have enough time."

Hutton, now screaming and crying, "Use the potty!"

OK. Number one, we're not going to be able to get him back inside, have him use the potty, and get back to the bus stop before the bus arrives.

Number two, in his newsletter from Kindergarten last Friday, the teacher announced that they no longer refer to it as "using the potty". Now that they're big Kindergartners, they say, "using the bathroom."

So, I quickly tell Hutton to say, "Use the bathroom," as I'm dragging him through the driveway. He falls down on the gravel and his screaming increases, as I try to herd him and his brother into the house and towards the potty bathroom. As Hutton pees and cries, I notice his dirty, scraped up palm from falling in the driveway, and feel bad, but continue to be the Bitchy Mom that I am, and tell him angrily that next time he needs to use the potty bathroom BEFORE we leave the house to catch the bus. I hurry him through pulling up his pants and washing his hands, still bitching about the fact that we're going to be late, and run up the street, carrying Harrison and half-dragging Hutton behind me. Hutton is crying that he wants me to hold him, because his hand probably hurts, but that isn't part of the Bitchy Mom's plan.

The bus arrives as we're still 50 yards away. When we finally reach the bus and I strap Hutton into his carseat, he is still upset about falling down, and probably about being dragged into the house, dragged down the street, etc. The bus driver cheerily tells me we don't need to run next time. Plenty of time. I give her my best fake smile and hustle Harrison off the bus, so we can walk home with me all sweaty and frazzled and Harrison happily pointing out the cars and horses we pass.

Did I mention I have a very short fuse?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So, after Harrison and I have eaten lunch and I have returned to Stable Mom mode, I call to get myself an appointment for a haircut. Hubby watches Harrison, or rather, lets "Curious George" babysit him, and I drive off to enjoy an hour's peace, and try to return to a look that doesn't say, "Cousin It with purple hair". As I'm enjoying my peace in the hair salon, I notice a little bag in the hairstylist's drawer with the words, "For Your Pleasure" written on it. It's in a drawer with a bunch of shavers and curling irons, but for some reason, I don't associate hand-held appliances and the words "For Your Pleasure" with getting my hair cut.

Those Crazy Googlers

Last night on Nate's blog, he posted a heart-warming little story he wrote based on a keyword search that had led someone to his blog. Based on that, I checked over at statcounter for some keywords people used to end up here at This Is What I Do.

Definitely the best, though most disturbing phrase, was, "embedded iud removal photos". Now, the "embedded IUD removal" part I can see. Maybe you're in med school, and want to know how this is done. Maybe you fear your own IUD is embedded in your uterus, and want to see what your options are for removal. It's the PHOTOS part that creeps me out. That someone wants to see exactly what an embedded IUD looks like, and what it looks like when someone is removing one. Ewww.

So, whoever searched for photos of embedded IUD removal and ended up on my blog, I'm sorry to disappoint you. But I did have a photo of that kick-ass knitted uterus. That must be worth something.

In Lieu of a Real Post...

...I give you a cartoon series I found today on one of my Autism lists. It's a lot more funny if you have a kid with Autism, as parents of kids with Autism are probably the only people who talk about poop more than young boys do.

I read the first 53 comics in one sitting, and it was so much like my life three years ago. Hutton's first "word" in sign language was also "more," which he did when he wanted more food or more pushes on the swing. It's amazing to realize how far he's come since that point. He now talks using his voice, doesn't flap his hands or walk on his toes. He still has some definite delays and behavioral problems, but he continues to impress me with something new every day. This morning it was when he came upstairs to say, "Harrison, come downstairs and eat lunch with me, please." Considering he didn't speak at age two, that sentence thrilled me!

Laura's Important Tip for Today

I should have read this yesterday morning, but since it wasn't written yet...

If you decide to dye your hair for whatever reason -- to cover gray, get your sunbleached ends to match your darker roots, just for shits and giggles -- think twice before asking your five-year-old which color he thinks matches Mommy's hair.

No, you should go with your gut instinct, telling you that "French Roast" will give your hair just a little oomph. No, you're not drawn to "French Roast" just because the name makes you think of coffee. It's really the best color for you.

But wait, what was your five-your-old saying? He likes "Brilliant Bordeaux". Well, hey, that looks pretty nice, too. A nice auburn color. No, no, please don't read the box where it says that it adds, "Gold, red, copper, MAHOGANY, and/or auburn tones."

No, your son says he likes "Brilliant Bordeaux," so that's what you should get. And when your hair looks kinda PURPLISH reddish brown after you dye it, well, hey! What do you want! You took hair color advice from a five-year-old boy!

Saturday Double Feature

Yesterday afternoon, I sat down to watch TV and discovered, to my HORROR, that that evil bitch, TiVo, had neglected to record the season premieres of not one, but two shows on Thursday night. That's right. Neither The Office, nor Grey's Anatomy was waiting for me to hit play and enjoy my afternoon. So, I angrily deleted the channels we don't get from the satellite feed for the umpteenth time. This is the reason TiVo failed to record my shows - it was too busy recording Grey's Anatomy from the satellite feed we don't get to record the channel it was set up to record the show on. Grrr. I don't know why it didn't record The Office. Just being spiteful, I suppose. That bitch.

Ok, I realize TiVo isn't a person, and you may think it's incapable of doing these things on its own, but I know. Oh, I'm onto you, TiVo! You'll rue the day you messed with me!

Anyway, after dinner, and before the boys' bath time, I decided to see what else TiVo had recorded recently. I had set it up to record The Manchurian Candidate, which it had actually succeeded in doing, but since Harrison was in the room playing, I thought I'd go for something a little lighter. I noticed Zoolander from a few days back, and decided to watch that instead. Then, after the boys' baths and putting them to bed, I watched The Manchurian Candidate.

As I was watching TMC, I came to the realization that both of the movies I'd chosen to watch were about brainwashing. More specifically, brainwashing with the intent of political assassination. Wow, that's a weird coincidence, I thought.

Afterwards, I continued comparing the films. Zoolander was funny. (No, really, it was. I loved Jon Voigt as his father, "I'm not a professional film and television actor. Goddamn it Derek, I'm a coal miner!" in the coal area of New Jersey, no less. And the Merman commercial. And the gas fight to "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go.") TMC was a drama. But other than that, they had a lot of similarities. Let's see, both leading men were brainwashed in a political intrigue involving Asian countries. Both movies featured characters who didn't like the main characters coming to their rescue. Both leading men had a dead parent. Both leading men had no sense of humor, but told a single joke and felt immensely proud of themselves for doing so. Both featured the deaths of innocent characters. And both of the villains were spectacularly bitchy - Angela Lansbury in TMC, and hilarious Will Farrell in Zoolander. Mugatu's hair and beard, and his matching poodle - priceless!

Well, I forgot the rest of my oh-so-brilliant comparisons. Time to get the boys in bed. I've wasted several hours trying to find free downloads of my missed shows -- DAMN YOU, TiVo! -- and will have to cave in and pay to download them. Hubby is not at all sympathetic. He's so above TV now, he has proclaimed The Sopranos as the only TV show he cares about. Hmmpf.

Great Site

My friend Amy sent me this link today. It's the Archive of Misheard Song Lyrics. We've all done it. There are some really funny ones on here. Unfortunately, I started reading this when I should have been getting dressed to go to a class at the gym. So, now I'll continue to be out of shape, but at least I'll be entertained. Yes, I know I could still go the gym, but I hate just working out. I need to take a class to stay motivated. I'm lame that way. And if I go now, I'll be really hungry for lunch and won't be able to focus. I'm a very good rationalizer, aren't I?

My fave misheard lyric so far:
Rage Against the Machine's "Killing in the Name" sung as "Bingo was his name-o." Yeah, that's what Zack had in mind. He was singing the children's favorite right up to the end when he starts screaming out, "Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!" Yeah, fuck off, Bingo!

My own misheard lyrics from childhood are mostly from the Eagles. Yeah, they didn't e-nun-ci-ate very well. Let's see there was, "Lion Eyes" about a woman with a big mane of hair and glowing, bright green eyes trying to hide under the bed. Hey, I was four. I didn't know lions had more amber colored eyes, and they didn't glow. Fortunately, I wasn't really listening well to a song about a gold-digger cheating on her old man. Also from that era, there was, "Take it to the Liver." The full chorus goes, "Pussy on the highway/And show it a sign/And take it to the liver/One more time..." This one involved a cat walking down the street, being shown the sign to where the deli package of liver was waiting for it. Again, I was four. When I was older I became a better listener, though I still thought "Heartache Tonight"
was "Party Tonight" for a while.

So, there you have it. Now, go waste some time. And remember, "I live for all the ugly people." That's from The Beatles' "Eleanor Rigby" if you didn't know.

EDIT: I almost forgot one of the best misheard lyrics, EVER! My friend, Kelly, from college told us that when she was little, she thought the chorus to Journey's "Open Arms" went as follows. Instead of, "And now I come to you/With open arms..." she always sang it as, "Gol Stan Bee/Gol Stan Baaa." Yes, we all gave her lots of crap about the fact that these weren't even words. I mean, the fact that I still remember these misheard lyrics should say something. On the other hand, it's not like The Police's song "De Do Do Do" means much, either.

Look What I Have

I just happened to be at Toys R Us on Tuesday, when they released the exciting new TMX - Tickle Me Elmo Ten. I, of course, HAD to buy one..."for the kids."

I still have it sealed in the TOP SECRET box, which features Elmo saying, "No Peeking!" when you open the flap. I'm going to attempt to wait until Christmas. Either that or sell it on ebay if things get all crazy Cabbage Patch/Elmo I.

The YouTube clip of this crazy, hysterical Elmo is pretty damn funny. I love the dog.

(Allie - Thanks for the tip! Never noticed that before! I was doing thing the hard way, even before beta.)

Morgen's Movie Meme, Oh My!

I made the mistake had the great pleasure of commenting on Morgen's blog today, and was tagged with his very own movie meme.

So, here you go. And, Allie and Matt-Man, Morgen told me that you two are next. I must do what my master bids me! Get to work and post back in my comments when you've done your work. Matt-Man, I think I'm just reminding you of what you already know, right?

1. The last movie you saw in a theatre, and current-release movie you still want to see. Uh, I saw part of Cars this summer with my sister and her younger son and my boys. We left halfway through because 2 out of 3 children were bored, and 2 out of 2 adults, as well. I'm sure it will be fine on DVD when we can skip the boring parts! Hard to watch a movie when your children are walking up and down the steps a million times. The current release is hard. I don't really know anything about the newer films out. Once I stopped subscribing to EW and had kids, I seemed to lose track of movies. Based on what's playing at my local theaters, I'd probably go for Little Miss Sunshine. But, whenever I think about going to the theater and realize that for what I pay for my tickets and a small drink I could rent a lot of movies, or buy them, or get them off of Peerflix, I usually decide to wait for the DVD.

2. The last movie you rented/purchased for home viewing.
V for Vendetta. I haven't watched it yet. I got it off of Peerflix, which I joined a week ago. So far I like Peerflix, but if you want to keep a DVD, it seems a shame to not have the original case and artwork.

3. A movie that made you laugh out loud.
The last one I can think of is The 40-Year-Old-Virgin. I always think of the line, "If I hear 'Yah Mo B There' one more time..." and chuckle.

4. A movie that made you cry.
There are plenty of these! The first one that comes to mind is the obvious Steel Magnolias. That and Forest Gump are some real snot-inducing movies, though there are lots more. Though I'm not as bad as my high school bud, Sharling, who cried during Bird on a Wire. My friend Alex and I enjoyed ribbing her about that for a long time afterward.

5. A movie that was a darling of the critics, but you didn't think lived up to the hype.
Lost in Translation. Yeah, I know. I'm a Philistine. But Hubby and I just kept exchanging "the look" during this one. The look meaning, "What the hell? Why is this boring-ass movie so popular and beloved?" I mean, even Hubby, who LOVES Bill Murray didn't like him in this. It started out cute with the Japanese beer commercial part, but lost steam fast.

6. A movie that you thought was better than the critics.
This is hard because I never read movie reviews anymore. Allie's excluded, of course. Hmm, how about Mr. and Mrs. Smith. I watched it the other day and found it highly entertaining. I'm sure it didn't win over many critics, though, and got lots of Brad and Angie hate going since it broke up Brad and Jen.

7. Favorite animated movie. Another hard one, since 90 percent of what I watch now is animated. I think I'll go for Toy Story, just because it was such a huge thing when it came out, and I can still watch it and enjoy it, even though I've seen it many, many times.

8. Favorite Disney Villain.
I'll agree with Morgen here and go for Ursula from The Little Mermaid. I love all of her scenes, though her final moment seems very painful.

9. Favorite movie musical.
I'll go with The Sound of Music. I didn't see this until I was 11 or 12, but I was spellbound by it. I loved the scenery, the songs, the story, and I still do. When I first saw it, I left my neighbor's house with a crush on Nazi Rolf, Friedrich AND Captain von Trapp. Now I'd say I really only like Captain von Trapp. Edit: Also a big Singing in the Rain fan. Oh, and A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum. Haven't watched that one in a while.

10. Favorite movies of all-time (up to five).
Hard, hard, hard! I have no memory anymore, you know!
The Princess Bride - great lines, Cary Elwes looking yummy, Princess Buttercup...I still get teary when I think of the last scene, when the grandfather leaves and says, "As you wish."

Gone With the Wind Love the actors and actresses in this, and seeing Scarlett develop a sort of soul.

Stand By Me I LOVED this movie as a 12 and 13 year old, and still think that I'd love it today, though I haven't seen it in a while. I used to "watch" it scrambled on Pay Per View when I wasn't watching it at my friend Abi's house on video. I still remember a few lines: "Shut up!" "I don't shut up, I grow up, and when I look at you I throw up." "And then your mother goes around the corner and she licks it up!" That exchange, plus the classic, "Suck my fat one, you cheap, dimestore hood!" That said, this movie still makes me tear up, too, when I recall the final scene.

EDIT: Remembered two more:

Pulp Fiction Another great film with wonderful lines, characters, violence, humor, dancing...everything you can ask for in a movie.

A Room with a View Ah, this makes me swoon, thinking of George kissing Lucy in the field. Though, The Last of the Mohicans almost makes the top 5. Daniel Day-Lewis makes me feel all funny, like when I used to climb the rope in gym class [yes, I was only girl who could climb the rope in gym class. This is spite of having to take COPE class/remedial PE]. Beautiful scenery in both of these, too.

*** Tag five bloggers to answer the movie meme:
Uh, not so much. Other bloggers don't usually play along with me. Could be because only 2 or 3 other bloggers ever stop by. Whine: I just want to be popular! Please come visit every once in a while. Sob, sob. No, I'll be OK.


Tagees: when you've completed your answers on your blog, come back here & leave a comment so we can all check out your movie picks! And when you post the meme on your site, include a link to MORGEN. Thanks!

Lispy Haiku

I wath lithening
to tha radio today
when I heard "Thai Coup"

Hedgehog Love

Uh, OK.

If your doctor gave you really bad advice, and it sounded crazy, would you take the advice, or maybe sleep on it for a night or two?

This guy apparently really trusts his doctor. Oh, OK, witchdoctor. Same thing, right?

And I love the part about, "The animal was apparently unhurt". Well, physically maybe, but psychologically? "He said he loved me! And now he acts like I'm the one who hurt him!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Quotation of the Day on the sidebar by W. Somerset Maugham is really good today. Well, I didn't write it down, and now it's gone. So, here's this one from him instead: "Only a mediocre person is always at his best."

Weekly Catch-Up

Let's see.
The other day on Allie's blog, Allie said in her comment about my comment that I should post about this, so here it is:

On Tuesday, I saw this article about mutilated stingrays being found on Australian beaches, as "payback" for the death of beloved Crocodile Hunter Steve Irwin. I didn't get around to posting about it, then saw Allie's post on Wednesday. So below is my contribution to the whole "let's get even with the stingrays" idea.

Many people do not know this, but I have heard that the stingrays had been planning this attack on Steve Irwin for YEARS! That's right. Stingrays have been anti-Steve ever since they were alerted to his existence by saltwater crocodiles. As soon as the stingrays found out about Steve's whole "conservation" gimmick and his extensive use of the exclamation, "Crikey!", they realized this goes against everything they as stingrays believe. (I don't want to get into the whole thing, but if you read the Stingray Manifesto, you can find out what the stingrays believe.) So, with the help of some saltwater crocodiles, a select group of stingrays made their way to caves in Afghanistan, where they lived and trained with Osama Bin Laden. As you can see, the stingrays are terrorists, and this stingray backlash is totally deserved.

However, it has also come to my attention that sea turtles are also evil, and attempting to take over the world. Along with the saltwater crocodile, they have the whole reptilian ability to live in water and on land, and are therefore set for TOTAL WORLD DOMINATION. Unlike the crocodiles, the sea turtles have managed to fool many into thinking they are peaceful creatures, which only helps their cause, as their human pawns help conserve their nesting grounds and try to prevent their destruction. But, as you can see, we must end the terrorism of the seas, and if we have to kill everything in the ocean, so be it. Though the stingrays killed Steve Irwin, we mustn't get distracted just killing them. No, we must make this an all out war on terrorism, and go after the sea turtles, too. If we allow the sea turtles to continue their rapid reproduction, they will fan out to spread the hatred. Whales and porpoises are bound to be next to jump on board the terrorism bandwagon, and if the penguins and adorable baby seals get wind of this...oh, I can only imagine what would happen!

Remember Steve Irwin, and do your part to stop the cycle of terror.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Doo da doo...

Today, as I was helping Hutton with his homework, (thank God it's only a weekly thing!) I lost my patience at least a dozen times. I will NEVER, I repeat, NEVER homeschool my children because we'd all be in bad shape. Before Hutton, I once thought I could have been a teacher. I was a camp counselor one summer, and realized that the 11 and 12-year-old boys were fine, if immature. The girls, on the other hand, were BITCHES. I was never a bitch until I became an adult, so I was a bit surprised by how bitchy those adolescent girls could be! I watched a Dateline last night on the subject of mean girls. I'm feeling a bit relieved I have boys!

Anyway, I am a horrible teacher. All Hutton had to do was fill in a worksheet on the lowercase letter a, involving tracing the letter, then freehanding 3 of them. The tracing was fine. The freehand was not. "Hutton, you have to stay below the dotted line. It's a lowercase letter. No, don't go that way, circle around the other way. Around and down. Around and down. AROUND AND DOWN! Stay BELOW THE DOTTED LINE! SWEET JESUS, SAVE ME FROM THIS HELL!" Yeah, if I were a teacher, I'd be fired pretty quickly.

That said, there is definitely a problem with our schools, and I'm obviously not going to be of any help fixing the problem. Our kids really aren't learning in school. Let me give you another example.

This afternoon, I went to the local Jo-Ann store to return the suckiest knitting needles ever. (The other night, while watching a movie, I decided to knit so I wouldn't just waste time watching a movie. I like to multi-task, see. So, as soon as I picked up these bargain needles, they broke. The little plastic cord came off the needle part on one side, then on the other. I had not even started knitting yet. Jeez. I attempted to knit with them, replacing the cord every two seconds, then finally gave up.) So, since these were defective needles, I assumed I could return them to the store without a receipt. They were Jo-Ann brand, after all.

I head to the store. There is no one at the front counter, so I look around for a few minutes until a teenage girl appears and asks me if she can help me. I tell her I'd like to return the needles, as they were broken, but I don't have a receipt. She immediately looks like a deer in the headlights, and calls for back-up. The old biddy who comes to take over tells me that she can only give me a replacement of the same item since I don't have a receipt. I tell her since the needles are defective, I'd rather have a store credit so I can buy some better quality needles. She then tells me that I'll have to accept 40% off of the original purchase price as my credit, since that's store policy. (Jo-Ann routinely mails out 40% off store coupons, so I guess they assume anyone who shops there will have only paid 60% of the retail price.) I'm fine with that. These were really cheap needles anyway. You get what you pay for, right? So, Old Biddy leaves, and Teenage Girl is left to give me a store credit for 40% off of the original price.

TG: "Oh gosh, I hate math! 40% off of x. Hmm."
Me, doing the math in my head: "Well, 10% of x is y, so if you multiply that by 4..."
TG, getting calculator: "Uh, 40% of x..."
Me: "Multiply x by .40. Then subtract that from x."
TG: "Multiply by..." Puzzled look. "Ok, that's y." [No, it's not y, but hey, if you're going to manage to mess up a simple equation while using a calculator, and it's in my favor by 50 cents, I'm going to take it and just call it a stupidity tax.]

Finally, I get my very small store credit on a Jo-Ann Gift Card, then go off to find some better needles.

I return to the counter, along with 3 other customers. Again, nobody is at the counter to help. I yell, "HELLO!" a few times to get TG back up to front.

So, what did I learn from this? The teenage girl really does hate math, and as such is not really cut out to work at a store that doesn't do everything by computer. Also, that when you buy crappy merchandise, the store guarantee on the package is worth pretty much nothing. Or maybe it's 40% off of nothing. So, what would that be? I never got a reply to the email complaint I sent to Jo-Ann.com Wednesday night, either. Again, you get what you pay for, right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Last thing:

Driving in my car, before the trip to Jo-Ann, I was listening to NPR. There was news headline that caught my ear: "Fire managers say the Flick Creek fire burned another 275 acres yesterday and has now covered nearly 12 square miles. The fire was started July 26th by a woman burning her diary."

WTF? 12 square miles?! That's a huge f'ing fire. And a woman started it BURNING HER DIARY?!! What, did she go out to the driest field she could find, spread kerosene around, and throw the biggest f'ing diary in the world on top, then torch it? What exactly was in this diary that she had to burn it, anyway? Did she admit to horrible crimes? Hmm, maybe she wrote:

Dear Diary,

I hate Brad! He's a jerk!

Update: Nevermind! We're back together! Ignore all that stuff I wrote before about Brad.

Oh, also, I'm about to go out and commit arson. I'm going to start a big old fire. You know, there aren't enough out of control wild fires here in Central Washington. There's a big one in Southeastern Washington, but I really want to have the record HERE! But what should I burn? I just don't know.

RIP Mousie

Today, as I was putting some dirty cat litter in the diaper pail in our garage, I picked up a garbage can that had been knocked over. There was nothing in the can, at least not at first glance. Then I noticed something small, furry and deceased.

I don't know how the mouse died. It was just in the garbage can. I didn't end up buying poison on Sunday. We bought some catch and release traps, instead. (Yes, I'm a classic bleeding heart liberal, even when vermin are concerned!) So far, nothing has taken the bait from the traps. I know that Tully was in the garage briefly this morning, and that one of our dogs was in the garage for a few hours when I took Hutton to speech therapy. So, maybe Tully dispatched the cute little thing? Or Fergus? He's a pretty good hunter when small animals are concerned, as you may remember. The mouse was cute - gray with a white stomach and chest. Oh well. I'm not sad about it. And I won't be sad if the rest of its family joins it dead in the garbage can! I'll have to ask Hubby if he knows anything about this.

Hubby's Take: The cat killed the mouse AND put it in the garbage can for us. He said if this is true, Tully will be getting tuna every night from now on.

A Moment of Silence

Saw this on Doctor Boogaloo's blog today. A tribute to the victims of 9/11. Very moving.

Rants, Rants, Rants

Did I say rants?

I came up with most of these last night, when the cat woke me up MEOWWWWWING at 5 a.m. As I stumbled, cursing, down the stairs, and gave the cat her F'ing food, because you know cats must eat at 5 a.m., they can't possibly wait a few more hours, Harrison woke up from the hubbub. So, I had to get him to go back to sleep.

Then I went back to bed, but couldn't sleep for a while. I tossed and turned, and did lots of mental blogging, where I come up with all sorts of things to write about in my head. Things that will be forgotten the next day. I really need to design a brain wave reader, so I can just hook something up to my head on nights like that, and the next day, happily edit what my insomniac brain came up with before it finally gave up and went to sleep.

I remembered that I've been mentally blogging for a long time. I remember in my pre-teen and early teen years, having a running narration in my head as I went about my exciting pre-teen life.

The girl finished brushing her teeth, got dressed, and headed into the kitchen, where she was greeted by her mother. "Good morning!" they said to each other. The girl decided to eat instant oatmeal for breakfast that morning, so got out a bowl and opened the Maple and Brown Sugar oatmeal packet....

Snore. Oh, sorry, did I fall asleep, too?

Anyway, back to the rants.

So, in addition to the cat waking me in the middle of the night (Friday night it was 3 a.m., so it's getting better), I have more rants.

The next one came from reading Greg's blog, in the comment section on this post, where Chris posted, "teachers teach to the tests now, kids don't learn HOW to learn, and we pile on homework that serves mostly to stifle curiosity and interest," and Allie posted that her daughter Natalie already has homework for Kindergarten.

Reading that, I felt my horns coming out. Hutton, too, has homework in his Kindergarten class. Now, I can understand this in theory. The idea is to get the kids used to bringing home their backpacks, and remembering to put their homework back in the backpack to take to school. But, here's the thing. Hutton is in Kindergarten. He has Autism. He doesn't think, "Gosh, I better get my special homework tube out of my backpack and do my homework." He thinks, "Gee, what can I play with now that I'm home from school?" So, guess who gets to be in charge of making sure the homework is taken out, completed, and put back in the backpack? If you guessed, "Laura" or "The Mom" you get a gold star on the homework chart! Oh yeah, I also get to fix the homework tube when it gets broken because Hutton wants to play with it.

And here's another RRRRANT about school. One of his "homework" assignments was to redo an assignment from earlier this week. It was a worksheet that involved coloring two of the peanuts in the picture, then circling them. The worksheet had groups of 2, 3, 4 and 5 peanuts, and apparently when they were teaching this at school, Hutton didn't understand and wanted to color ALL of the peanuts. So, the teacher wrote this on the worksheet and included an extra worksheet for him to practice at home. Again, I can see this in theory. It's good to get extra practice on something the kid doesn't understand at school. But the RRR in rant came out when I thought of it the other way. Here's an idea, why don't you, the teacher, TEACH the child how to do it at, say, SCHOOL.

In addition to Kindergarten, Hutton has 4 hours of speech therapy a week, and 6 hours of ABA therapy. It's not like he's just goofing off all the time at home, and if he were, hey, he's 5 YEARS OLD. They're supposed to be goofing off, playing. That's how they learn.

Which brings me to another rant. This one about Hubby.

Yesterday, Hutton and Harrison were playing with the Stomp Rocket, a very cool toy. The problem was, Hutton kept taking the Stomp Rocket out of the driveway, and moving it to the front walkway, and aiming it for the roof. He'd already done this before, and lost a rocket on the roof, so I told him not to aim for the roof, or the rockets would get stuck on the roof. That was one rule. The other was, not to use the Stomp Rocket inside. We're pretty mellow around here. Not too many rules.

So, after a few minutes (yes, I was sitting reading a magazine, so wasn't really paying attention. I'm not in the running for Mother of the Year, or even Mediocre Mom), Hutton ran up and said, "I need help with the rockets!" and I saw them all on the roof. I got angry and told him, "I've told you 100 times NOT to shoot the rockets on the roof!" As I climbed out my bedroom window, risking bodily harm to retrieve the rockets from the roof, I yelled to Hutton that we were done with the Stomp Rockets for the day. And as I was still cursing under my breath, Hubby asked what was going on. I told him, to which he replied, "That's how kids learn! By doing the things you don't want them to do. Heck, I put stuff on the roof all the time when I was a kid." So, I stormed off downstairs to watch bad tv by myself and let Hubby be the Perfect Father.

Later I took the boys to get their hair cut, and they both got balloons. When we came home, Hutton immediately let the balloons go so they flew up to the top of the stairs where only adults could reach them. I told him I wasn't going to get the balloons for him every time he let them go in the stairwell. Hubby got them for him a few times, then started getting short and told Hutton NOT to let them go in the stairwell again. When he did it again, I told Hubby, "You know, that's how kids learn."

TheTelltale Initials (Man in Motion)

Today while we were driving home from lunch, listening to Jack FM on the radio, the song "Man in Motion" from the St. Elmo's Fire soundtrack came on as we neared our house. I quickly reminded Hubby that he owned that CD.

"Are you sure? I don't think it's mine."
"Oh, it's yours."
"I remember seeing it on the shelf, but I thought it was yours."
"Nope. I never bought the St. Elmo's Fire soundtrack."
"Maybe it was John's [a friend of his from college]. Or my freshman year roommate's. You know, he had Milli Vanilli, too."*
"Uh-huh. Sure."

Hubby was turning a little pink, but was probably thinking I'd buy it. So, as soon as we pulled in, I went to the CD rack and pulled it out (neatly filed in the soundtrack section at the bottom, in alphabetical order.) I was looking at the case when he walked by.

"Well, your initials aren't on the case, so maybe it's not yours after all," I said, opening the case.
"See, I told you!"
"Oh wait, what's this on the CD itself?"

I held up the CD so Hubby could read his initials there in Sharpie, marking St. Elmo's Fire as his very own. It wasn't scarlet Sharpie, but it might as well have been.

*I LIKE Milli Vanilli. They rocked, even if they were fakes. Rob, or Fab, whichever of you died, RIP. Now I have that video image of them dancing stuck in my head. Intermingled with "Man in Motion". Remind me never to write about songs.

Mice, I'm Was Trying to Be Nice

I was going to let you have time
to move out of the house
Hey, this rhymes!
Anyway, mouse:

The cat shoulda convinced you to dash
But you aren't being so nice
For today in my lovely yarn stash
I found mouse turds, and what is that - rice?

And on the carpet in Harrison's room
That was vacuumed the day before last
Still more of your nuggets of doom
Now I know this is not in the past.

So you're still here in our domicile
Think you can handle a kitty
Well guess what, little vermin, so vile
Soon you're gonna be in shit city.

Cause tomorrow I lay down the law
And it will be a day you will rue
When you find poison stuck in your craw
And are struggling to live in the glue.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yes, that, er, poetic, heh, interlude was brought to you by our mouse problem. We've now had the cat a week, and today I went into my yarn drawer and found little turds everywhere, along with rice and peanut shells. Well, at least the turds and rice were dry, but still.

After vacuuming those up, I went into Harrison's room. What is this on the carpet? More turds? You've gotta be kidding me! And his closet -- I had an extra changing table pad in there with two holes chewed in it. I threw that in the garage, because I just don't feel like dealing with more vermin-tainted crap tonight.

So, as the kitty snoozes away all cozy upstairs, the mice are apparently moving freely around downstairs. I even moved an extra litter box into the downstairs bathroom to convince the mice to leave, but they seem to be moving deeper into the house instead of out. ARRRGGH! I don't like being outsmarted by tiny little things smaller than my children's feet.

Tomorrow I'm going to get medieval on their asses. Or rather, 21st Century, or the latest version of DCon Mouse Proof I can find, and whatever else the Home Depot has to offer in the way of killing small animals.

Oh, and snaps to www.rhymezone.com I had to rewrite a line that was too corny sounding and it helped me find a good rhyme. Now my poem is perfect. Yeah. Just perfect. Not corny AT ALL.

Find the Cat

Today, when I came home from taking Hutton to speech therapy, I came in and didn't see the cat anywhere. I checked the usual places - under Hutton's bed, on Hutton's bed, in my closet. When I went in Hutton's room to recheck, I saw a stuffed tiger had fallen off the shelf. I picked it up to put it back, and noticed a live cat had taken its place. So, I rushed up to get my camera.




It's my very own ET moment.

Today's Bizarre Sighting

...Was a Muslim woman getting into the passenger side of a minivan in the parking lot of Target. (Well, I assume she was Muslim. She was wearing a hijab and a dark skirt on a hot day.) That's not the bizarre part.

The van pulled out in front of us, and the back window featured Winnie the Pooh window decals. Not too odd. Everyone likes Pooh, right?

No, the odd part was the "WWJD?" emblem on the bumper.

Hubby and I both had a laugh over that. We decided the family had bought the car used and didn't know what WWJD? stood for. But we both agreed that Jesus would definitely chauffeur his Muslim friends to Target when necessary. I don't know how this woman's husband would feel about other men, whether they're prophets or not, driving his wife around. I'm assuming she's married, since she was with children.

Yes, I'm making an awful lot of assumptions, but that's easier to do with Muslims. You can pretty much assume they're married if they're with children and wearing a headscarf. If any Muslim women out there want to straighten me out on this, please do so. And explain the WWJD emblem as well. Is this a Muslims for Jesus thing I don't know about?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bonus for Today:

I did a WWJD search, and this came up: one of my favorite websites ever.

I saw these a long time ago, and had these pictures stored on my computer for a while. In fact, I still do. I LOVE the Jesus playing soccer in his sandals. Tip for Jesus -- even though you're the Son of God and all, don't play against kids in cleats while wearing sandals. Definitely look at all of them. Skiing with Jesus, hockey with Jesus, ballet with Jesus...they're classic! And would make a lovely gift. Hint, hint. Just kidding, I don't have room for more "art" around here.

We Have a New Family Member!

And it's a girl!

And also furry.

Here she is:


Tully in the box

Harrison with Tully -- he chose the dayglo pink collar

Why do we have a new cat, when our house is already full with two dogs, two adults, two little boys, and all of our crap? Well, we also have a family of mice living in our house apparently.

Years ago, we got two little kittens, Jaspurr and Purrcy (yes, I know, I know, but they were badass enough to pull off the cutesy names!) who grew up to be great cats. They got along with the dogs, kept vermin out of our house, were very pretty and loving, and also seemed to be coyote magnets. First Jaspurr disappeared a few weeks before Hutton was born. Then, a few years later, Purrcy, who stayed indoors more than this brother, joined Jaspurr "in the country." I missed the cats, but was distracted with the other new members of the family. Namely, Hutton and Harrison. This winter, when I saw a streak of rodent-sized fur run across the garage, I brought up the idea of getting another cat, but we didn't act on it. I just moved the bird seed to a more mouse-proof container and brought my soccer bag into the house instead of leaving it in the garage.

That laissez-faire attitude went out the window last night.

I was getting Hutton out of the tub, and fussed at him for getting lots of water on the floor during his bath. (He likes to pour water along the edge of the tub, and most of it doesn't end up back in the tub.) Anyway, I was soaking up the water with a towel, when I noticed some black specks on the floor. Now, specks on the floor are a regular occurrence around here. I could vacuum every day, and we'd still have dirt on our floors. But these were no ordinary specks. My heart started racing, in classic chic mode, as I realized these were...eek! Mouse turds! I then noticed a mouse-sized hole in the wall next to the toilet water valve, with little bits of insulation on the floor. As chills ran down my spine, I hustled Hutton into his room, then stormed upstairs.

Hands on hips, I angrily announced to Hubby that we had a BIG PROBLEM. He looked at me as if I were there to complain about something stupid -- a TiVo snafu involving a show only I watch or something like that. I explained the entire mouse story. He continued to look at me in the same manner. As I grew increasingly frustrated that he did not understand the monumental problem - vermin in our house, living in our insulation, breeding like, well, mice, leaving TURDS ON THE FLOOR where our children wash! -- Hubby held up his hands in the, "What the hell?" gesture he does quite frequently and said, "What are we supposed to do about it right now? Run out and buy a cat in the middle of the night?!" I was still angry, on my anti-mouse tirade, but calmed a little when I realized he had a point. I guess I had been expecting him to grab a shotgun and go rip the wall out or something. (And yes, I know a shotgun is not the proper tool for killing mice. It seemed like it would be more dramatic, though.)

I put Hutton to bed, though when I was downstairs I was skittish, waiting for a mouse to jump out at me, picturing myself as a housewife on Tom and Jerry wearing a dress, with only my legs in view, shrieking as a mouse simply went about his business, eating his cheese, totally imperturbed.

Later, Hubby (who still seemed to not care about the hole in the wall, allowing free access to our house to the very animal that helped spread the plague) and I went over our options: traps or a cat. Poison was ruled out because of the kids and when a poisoned animal dies in your insulation, it's not very pretty. So, we went for the old-fashioned favorite.

Today we headed to the Humane Society after I didn't see any good prospects on Craig's List. We checked out the kittens, and played with one, but I was drawn in by Tully, the more mature one year plus kitty. Her profile said she's been an alley cat, left behind when her previous owners moved. She'd had kittens, and the neighbors kept her on the porch. She was allegedly a protective mother, and was "good" with dogs and young children. What really won me over was when we were visiting with her in the giant crate area (I'm not kidding. We were actually in an enormous cage with chairs and some cat stuff), she looked eagerly at the rats available for adoption right on the other side of the bars. After we left the crate, she even started climbing the walls by the rats, trying to get to them.

So, we adopted her and brought her home. She was shy to come out of her box, as she knew there were dogs here. We closed the dogs out of the room, and she slowly emerged, then disappeared under a book shelf for several hours. We let the dogs back in the room, and eventually, after Fergus got his nose scratched, they all seemed to settle down. This evening, Tully cruised around the house examining every room very carefully in classic cat style. She's a total sweetheart who loves to get pats and rub against your hand, and she and Sally seem cool with each other. Fergus will probably take longer. I guess the dogs forgot how to live with a cat. The boys find her hilarious. When she was on my desk, they both laughed about the cat on the desk. I'm sure the novelty of that will end soon, as well.

Oh, and Tully was the name she already had. I didn't name her after the coffee, if that's what you're thinking. Though it wouldn't be unheard of. I think Latte would be more feminine, though.

Yet Another Post in Answer to Allie's Post ...

...Though this one is from Thursday.

It's the blog version of the chain letter, though cooler. This actually serves a purpose, not just to give you bad luck for failing to forward it on. I have bad luck from failing to forward many chain letters, both real letters from back in the day, and email, from the past 10 years. I like to blame bad stuff on not sending stupid jokes along. Better that than on my own failings to use my brain.

So, that said, the premise of this post is to fill in the questions, then choose 6 more readers to carry on the idea. But, since I don't really have 6 readers with blogs to carry it on, I'll choose three. (Hey, it's better than nothing! I could end it right here. I'll do it, too! Don't test me!) So, Carmen, Jennifer and new friend B & Mr. Puddins (is that your real name, by the way?), I pass the torch to you. Don't let me down! Actually, I don't really mind if you let me down. I've already admitted that I am usually the chain breaker.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Just copy the below questions and fill in your own answers in a post on your own blog.

A book that changed my life?: The Bible. Well, it did change my life at one point. And then I changed it back.

A book I've read more than once: Lots of things. But that's because I tend to forget a book about a month after I've read it, so I'll pick up a book, think I haven't read it before, but it sounds familiar, so I must have heard good things about it, then get halfway through before I remember it. Book I've read more than once because I really like it and chose to reread it: Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

A book I would take with me if I were stuck on a desert island:
SAS Survival Handbook: How to Survive in the Wild, in Any Climate, on Land or at Sea by John 'Lofty' Wiseman


A book that made me laugh:
An old one is Would You Rather


A book that made me cry:
The last one was My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult. There are lots of other ones!


A book that I wish had been written:
This is The Last Word and What I Really Think and This Supercedes All Other Religious Books. Please Don't Kill Other People...EVER. I'm Serious. Even in War. By God

A book I wish had never been written:
This is a tough one, because even though I don't like them, there are people out there who are inspired by the Bible and Koran who actually aren't fundies or out to decimate the population. I can't think of a book I really hate enough to wish it unwritten. There's always some freak out there who LOVES the book.


I'm currently reading:
I just finished The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon, which I found very good, because it deals with a teenage boy with Autism. Really makes me wonder how Hutton will be as a teenager!

A book I've been meaning to read:
Moby Dick. It's on the list, and I've attempted it a few times, but can't get past the first few pages.


What turned me onto fiction?
I've always loved fiction, too, but I guess The Black Stallion books really got me reading as a child.

In Answer to Allie's Post from Today

I give you this.

Both involve ART. Heh. Yeah, right.

By the way, if any of my 2 or 3 readers own Thomas Kinkade "art" please don't tell me, because I'll think less of you. You don't want to lose my respect, now do you?

This is Just...So...Disturbing

I read about this on one of my Autism lists. I was getting caught up on my reading, and saw some posts about a missing boy with Autism, so read a little, but by then the search had been called off.

This is why
I can only imagine what a horrible, short life this beautiful boy had. Poor Marcus' horrible mother told the social workers who took him, "He's your problem now." This was before he was placed with the worst excuse for foster "parents" available. This for a boy with Autism, who would have needed more help for daily life, not less.

Some back story: Marcus' foster parents went to a family reunion in Kentucky in early August, leaving Marcus behind in a closet for the two days they were gone. When they returned, Marcus was dead, so the foster father took the body somewhere and burned it. Most people would not leave a dog behind unsupervised while they left on a trip. (Of course, this could just be their latest lie. Marcus could have been dead already when they left, and they just didn't deal with the body until later.) After a couple of weeks, and having missed one social worker visit (they claimed Marcus was sick), these vile people had to come up with a story. So the foster mother claimed she had taken Marcus and three other children to the park, and she had passed out from the heat and a heart condition, and while she was passed out, Marcus disappeared. A huge search mission occurred afterward, and the foster mother appeared on tv, tearily pleading for the return of her foster child, whom we now know was already dead at the time. Shortly after making up the story about Marcus disappearing from the park, the foster family moved, and before Marcus' disappearance, but probably after his death, they had a garage sale. Probably lots of evidence was sold off, and I'm sure there was lots of guilt associated with that house.

This just makes me sick. Yes, kids with Autism are challenging. Hey, just today we had to leave Hutton's speech therapy session early because he was screaming so much his therapist couldn't work with him. But they can also be incredibly sweet, like Hutton now, sitting in my lap as I type this. Hutton gives the best hugs of nearly anyone I know. Even on Hutton's worst days, I still love him unconditionally. Reading this story just reminds me how much I love him, and makes me sad that Marcus did not have someone to love him. Rest in peace, Marcus.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Another article with lots of interesting facts about the "foster parents," including that they had a live-in girlfriend and the father was bipolar.

What a Week

It's been one of those crazy weeks around here, where I have done a lot, yet can't really say that I've accomplished much, you know?

Monday - I went to my friend, Liz's house and the boys played with her daughter. Monday afternoon I got shish kabobs for our first night of cooking with the new grill. This was my official birthday gift, even though I'm not the one who will be using it.

Back story: A couple of weeks ago, we were attempting to grill dinner, and our regular ole gas grill wasn't working. Hubby went upstairs to work on something, and when he came downstairs, he had a look in his eye. He asked me, "So, what do you want for your birthday?" I immediately answered, "A new grill, of course!" And then the twinkle in Hubby's eye told me I'd guessed right, and he told me he'd ordered a cool grill like his friend Dave's, and it would be delivered the next week. It didn't arrive in time for my birthday, but the Monday afterward. And it really is a great grill. The shish kabobs, corn on the cob and potatoes we made Monday were wonderful. Wednesday night there was a snafu with the wood pellet intake, so the chicken didn't turn out as well, but that was because Hubby left the controls for too long and when he returned, the fire had gone out, and Hubby didn't want us to get food poisoning, so we ended up microwaving the chicken for a few minutes to make sure it was cooked. Phew.

Anyway, the grill was one event of the week.

Tuesday was pretty normal - speech therapy in the morning for Hutton, running errands in the afternoon, soccer for me in the evening.

Wednesday was Hutton's FIFTH BIRTHDAY. I started the day by giving him one of his presents - Crocodile Dentist - then after his ABA home therapy, my friend Liz and her kids came over with lunch and cake. Stacy, the great college kid who does babysitting and odd jobs for me and Liz over the summer, came over, too. Stacy and I went to her house to attempt to move a giant wood swing set that she wanted me to take off her hands so she can have a firepit in her backyard. (Well, that had been the idea a month or so ago, but because we waited till the end of August, she'll be going back to school in Connecticut before she'll get the use a firepit. Oh well, maybe next summer, Stacy?) Anyway, even though Stacy is strong, and hey, I'm no slouch, there was no way we were budging that swing set, and if we could have dragged it to the front where her truck was, we would never have been able to lift it up to put in the truck bed. So, we got a truck load of wood chips instead. (The guy who rents the basement of their house works for a tree service, so there are always wood chips around!) Later that night, Jason, the guy who rents the basement, agreed to help move the swing set, in exchange for a piece of Hutton's birthday cake. Jason and Stacy managed to get it into her truck, then Jason, Stacy and I managed to carry it back behind our house where I had cleared an area for it. I was amazed we were able to carry it, but Stacy was determined to get rid of the thing, and she knew if we didn't do it then, it wouldn't get done, and the swing set would have still been in her backyard next summer.

So, now we have part of a swing set in our yard (Stacy is bringing over the the slide and swing bar later today), but the boys haven't been able to try it out yet. See, yesterday the boys and I went to the Evergreen State Fair in Monroe. We met Liz and her kids there, as well as her sister-in-law and her kids, and Stacy came to help out with the child wrangling. After Hutton's speech therapy in the morning, we drove out to Monroe (not too far from Woodinville, actually), and spent the day riding the rides, looking at farm animals and eating greasy food. Reminder to self: DO NOT eat an elephant ear again, no matter how good they look. You'll just feel like crap later when you have had too much greasy fried stuff with sugar on it. Next time go for the funnel cake. Now, that stuff is practically diet food!

Hutton and Harrison had a great time on the rides, though there was a time when the carneys were cracking down and not letting Harrison ride on the rides, since he's 35 1/2 inches tall, and the size requirement was 36. We managed to get on to enough rides to make it worth the cost of the wrist band, though. And Stacy and I rode the Ring of Fire. Second reminder to self: fair rides that involve going upside down for extended periods of time are probably not the best idea once you are over the age of 30. Stacy and I sat in the front, and as we were hanging upside down and I was getting a great view of the fairgrounds, upside down, I have to admit I did enjoy it, though my heart probably stopped several times.

Time to go get Hutton ready for ABA. After his home session, we head over the University of Washington to set up a new ABA program with our new consultant. Then tomorrow will be the big birthday party for Hutton. So, I need to get another cake, food and party favors. Did I mention I've had a busy week? Oh, and we also got a new used car last week. I'll write another post about that...sometime!

What I Did Today

You know, I've had some deep thoughts that keep me up nights. I'll try to post about those tomorrow. In the meantime, here is the shallow focus of my afternoon:

Tee shirts and other stuff I created today.

This all started when I saw my friend's mom's car the other day. Her car has a license plate frame that reads: My Other Car is a Porsche. So, of course, I started thinking that I'd like to have a license plate frame that reads: My Other Ride is a Mustache.

Not that it is, since Hubby doesn't have a real mustache, just Miami Vice Crockett-type stubble. But, I cracked myself up with my stupid idea, and then, driving home from dinner last night (did I mention I had several glasses of wine?) I mentioned this to Hubby, and he also found it amusing, and told me I should start a store on CafePress to sell my fabulous license plate frames. Of course, he also warned me he wouldn't really want to drive a car that had that license plate frame. Hmm, I wonder why?

So, last night after dinner I created my store, and this afternoon I created my "art" and did some variations on the mustache theme. So, at the very least, go look and tell me what you think! I can take criticism on things I come up with while drunk.

Happy Birthday to Me

Yep, it's my birthday! Not as exciting when you're an old broad with kids. I had to tell the boys this morning at breakfast that it was my birthday. They both managed a "happy birthday" after I told them: "Tell Mommy Happy Birthday!" Yes, the forced happy birthdays are the best!

I'm now 33. You know, that was a big year for Jesus. We'll see how my 33rd year of life goes.

As an early birthday gift for myself, I had my IUD removed yesterday. Woohoo! Rock on! I got to my ultrasound appointment 15 minutes early, having guzzled down 36 ounces of water in the minutes before. (You know, you're supposed to show up with a full bladder, and they recommend 24 to 36 ounces. I like to go for the gold, folks!) I then had to wait an additional 30 minutes after my appointment time, as the u/s tech was running behind. So, after crossing my legs and attempting to pay attention to the March issue of Healthy Woman magazine I was reading, I finally gave up and went to the bathroom, then guzzled 7 or 8 cups of really cold water from the little water cooler. That just made me freezing cold, which is great when you have to remove clothing. I did have a full bladder for my ultrasound though. Go, Laura!

So, the ultrasound was truly magical. Oh wait, I'm not pregnant. Seeing your uterus with a beautiful shining IUD inside isn't quite the same as seeing a fetus. The technician also looked at my ovaries, and I pretended to know what she was talking about when she said, "See your right ovary, here?" You mean that blackish gray thing in the rest of the blackish gray area? Sure, I see it!

A doctor came in to check the ultrasound stuff, and was up for the challenge of getting the IUD out. I think when she heard that the midwife couldn't get it out 10 days ago, that made her feel even more competitive. "Those silly midwives don't know nothing 'bout uteri! I'll show you how to get an IUD out!" Anyway, I'm now IUD free, and fancy free, or something like that.

Today I'm going to a friend's house for cake after Hutton goes to a consultation with a new ABA consultant. Friday night Hubby is taking me out to dinner for a delayed birthday celebration. I had to remind him that Snakes on a Plane opens Friday night, too. Who knows, maybe we'll get really crazy and have dinner and see a movie!

Bizarre Sightings

Yesterday morning, for the first time ever, I saw somebody brushing his teeth while driving. He was driving a beat-up old camper, merging into the 405 on-ramp traffic in front of me, and I caught a glimpse of the tooth-brushing in the guy's rear-view mirror.

I was a bit shocked at first, then started giggling that someone would actually do that in the car. I mean, eating meals in the car is one thing, but taking care of your teeth -- that's just silly.

I stopped giggling when he opened the door and spat his salivary/tooth paste waste out the door. Now that's just gross. Dude, if you're going to brush your teeth in the car, get one of those vacuum nozzles that dentists use. I'm sure the Sharper Image has one that you can hook up to your cigarette lighter. Or spit it in the sink. You're driving a camper after all.

My Coffee Problem

I am a coffee addict. Scratch that. A mocha or latte addict. I must start the day with a mocha or latte. When I'm at somebody's house where they only have those poor, pathetic regular drip coffee makers, I make do, but I don't really enjoy it. This was the case for two weeks, when I went to my mom's house, and my friend Julie's house. Yes, I managed to live through two weeks of drip coffee. Can you believe it?

Now, you may think the "problem" I have with coffee is this addiction. No, I'm perfectly happy being addicted to coffee. The problem I have with coffee is that I'm a spaz, and have now spilled enormous cups of coffee in both my car and my husband's.

The incident in my husband's car took place a few months ago. I was taking Hutton to speech therapy in the morning, and had actually gotten up early enough to get all of us dressed AND make myself a double shot mocha. Usually, I sleep in the extra 5 minutes and just buy a coffee later. But not this day. I put my enormous mug of coffee (no, I didn't need to use a travel mug, dammit, just a regular old ceramic mug with no lid!) on the center console as I got the boys in their carseats, intending to move it to the cup holder when I got into my seat. I got into my seat, and grabbed my seatbelt, yanking it really quickly with my elbow wide, all the better to smack the cup on the console and spill my perfect cup all over the floorboard of the back seat. No children were injured in the spilling of the coffee, but I had my work cut out for me later, cleaning the car so Hubby wouldn't realize I'd spilled a huge cup of coffee in his car.

You would think that this would have taught me a valuable lesson about coffee not going well with being balanced on consoles, wouldn't you? But you give me too much credit for actually using the now-mushy organ in my skull.

Yesterday, I did not get up early enough to make myself coffee at home. I dropped Hutton off at his speech therapy appointment, then Harrison and I got in the car to run errands. First stop: the Jitters drive-thru, where the barista knows me and usually only has to ask if I'd like a grande or tall and what color lollipop Harrison wants. Yesterday I got a grande. I placed it on the CONSOLE in front of the cupholders as I paid for my drink. See, one of the cupholders had trash in it, and the other had Hutton's cup with a half inch of orange juice in it. I think I figured I'd sort that out after I paid for my coffee. The smart thing to do would have been to remove the trash from the cupholder and put my coffee in there. It's not like my car doesn't already have trash all over the place anyway. But, we should know by now that I'm not one to do the smart thing.

Instead, I pulled out into traffic, remembering I hadn't put my grande mocha in the cupholder as I felt intense heat and wetness all over my shorts-clad right thigh, working it's way up to my crotch. The cup had hit my thigh in just the right way to knock the lid off, and most of the coffee was now on my thigh and in my seat, being quickly wicked up by my shorts and underwear. The rest of the coffee was pooled up on the floorboard (thank God we have plastic mats!) at my feet, minus about an ounce left in my cup for me to quickly down as I wondered if the coffee had burned off my flesh, or if it just felt that way.

I grabbed the towel that was wedged under Harrison's carseat and wiped the coffee off my thigh and put it in my seat to soak up the coffee that wasn't already soaked into my shorts and underwear, then tried to wipe down my scalded leg with some baby wipes. I knew I wouldn't have time to drive home before I had to pick Hutton up, so I drove to the closest cheap clothing store, Ross Dress For Less, and waddled in trying to walk sideways so nobody would notice my ass my wet with coffee. I found a pair of pants on clearance and some underwear and got in line to pay, again standing sideways to hide my wet ass.

Harrison and I got back in the car, and I squatted on the backseat floorboard, trying to wipe myself down with baby wipes and get myself dressed in my new clothes without any passersby seeing the naked freak in the car.

My thigh doesn't actually have any visible damage. The only damage is to my psyche. That and my car still smells like coffee. Better go tackle the upholstery with the steam cleaner today. Oh well, the lease is up next week.

Maybe I should start carrying a camelbak with espresso in it. Or just get an IV.

What Not

After our return home Wednesday, we quickly got back to our regular lives. One thing I noticed, that I always notice when I'm gone from my house for more than a few days, is that my house smells bad. Not like dead bodies bad, but like we have two dogs and they tend to leave their hair everywhere. And it's not like a kennel smell. It's just a stale smell. Until we perfect smell-o-vision, and then bring it to the internet, you'll have to just imagine what that smells like.

I'm not into fake smells, either, so all those scented oil type air fresheners don't work for me. I tend to get headaches from fake smells. I can't smell the stale smell anymore, so maybe just having people cooking in the house helps get rid of it. I'm pretty sure Hubby did very little cooking while we were gone. I made some bacon yesterday, so now our kitchen smells like bacon. Which is good if you like bacon.

Anyway, this weekend was Seafair, which is an annual event in Seattle with boat races and other assorted fun. The Blue Angles, those navy jets that fly around in neat formations, were here for the weekend for two performances. They were also practicing before hand on Thursday and Friday. Thursday when I took Hutton to his speech therapy in Bellevue, which is across Lake Washington from Seattle, I could hear the planes and every once in a while they'd circle overhead in a turn. Thursday afternoon I went to a "beach" on Lake Washington with a friend and her kids, and we saw the Blue Angels practicing a bit, and the boys enjoyed playing in the water and the sand, though I really don't like gray-brown sand on my beaches. Yes, I'm a sand snob, and I like the naturally occurring white stuff found on the Gulf Coast of Florida. The gross gray-brown stuff dumped in places along Lake Washington doesn't do it for me. And as I was wading in the water with Hutton, I remembered that you can get swimmer's itch from lakes around here. If you don't know what swimmer's itch is, you don't want to know! Wearing sunscreen is supposed to help. Then again, it's not like you don't have things to worry about when swimming in the ocean -- sharks, jellyfish, etc. I've never tangled with a shark, fortunately, but know from personal experience that jellyfish suck. Or sting, rather.

After hanging out on the beach, the boys wanted to play on the playground. I pushed them on the swings for a few minutes and happened to see a little girl (4 or 5) wearing a Hooters tee-shirt. Yep, this girl's mother or father thought it was funny to put a shirt that said, "Future Hooters Waitress" or something like that, on their daughter. Ick. Way to foster the big dreams, there, folks! I had my camera with me, but couldn't get a pic. You'll have to take my word for it.

Saturday, we went to lunch in Bellevue, then afterwards went to the roof of the parking garage to watch the Blue Angels perform. At one point, they flew directly overhead, and that was cool. They seemed incredibly close to the buildings, and even though I know they were much higher than they appeared, it was still amazing. I only got a couple of bad pictures on Thursday at the beach, and didn't have my camera with me on Saturday, so this is it!

Home Again

The boys and I flew back from Nashville on Wednesday. It was a day of flying that made me want to swear off flying forever, but I know I'll forget and travel again in 3 or 4 months.

We arrived at the airport at a quarter to 7 a.m. for our 7:40 flight, but the check-in line was long, and I was stressed out and sweating after getting the kids' carseats out of the car. After getting our luggage checked, and getting the boys and our stuff into line for security, I knew we would be late. We made it through the check-in line, which is always fun when you have two boys, one stroller, a carseat strapped to your back and the bare minimum for surviving a 3 hour flight with two boys in carry-on bags: a portable DVD player and DVDs, and a bag containing a change of clothes for said boys, wipes, and diapers. Of course I had to get the boys to take off their sandals, because you know how the under-5 set likes to smuggle things on planes. That, or their obviously psychotic mother who is clearly stressed out and sweating about something arouses suspicion - must be because of what she's planning to do on the plane, not because it's already 90 something degrees at 7:15 in the morning and she's loaded up like a pack mule.

After clearing security, we ran to our gate, or the closest thing possible to running when one is pushing a stroller with a carseat strapped to one's back and dragging a 5-year-old. I was the last person on the plane, and since this was Southwest, which doesn't assign seats, the flight attendants had to beg people to relinquish their seats so I could sit with the boys. They didn't have to pull the "you could end up sitting next to a stranger's screaming kids" card which I have heard on more than one Southwest flight. Three people were kind enough to switch with me out of the goodness of their hearts. I had offered to have Harrison sit in my lap, but since he's 2, that's not an option anymore. I thanked the people who agreed to swap seats, and got us settled for the 3 hour flight to Las Vegas.

That flight was thankfully trouble-free, though I was still feeling residual stress for most of it. The boys were content to watch their movies and eat their snacks. When we arrived in Vegas (no, what happens at the Las Vegas airport DOES NOT stay in Vegas), I looked around for a few minutes before I figured out we had to take a shuttle bus to our next gate. Always fun with the boys, stroller, carseat, carry-ons. But, we arrived at our gate with lots of time to spare, and were able to pre-board. Yay!

And pre-board we did. Harrison soon feel asleep in his carseat, and I was looking forward to smooth-sailing on the 2 hour flight home to Seattle. That is, until the plane hadn't taken off at its scheduled departure time. No problem, maintenance was working on a radio. They'd keep us updated. An hour later, they gave up and got us all off the plane. Strangely enough, Harrison did not continue napping after I picked him up out of his carseat, placed him on another seat so I could get his carseat, and attempted to schlepp everything up the aisle. Some nearby passengers kindly carried some of my stuff for me, thankfully. After another long wait inside for a new plane, having to explain to Hutton that we couldn't play those neat video games just inches away, we re-boarded. I kept the boys distracted with the 4 packs of peanuts I found in our seat pockets, but was annoyed knowing that there was no chance Harrison would take another nap so soon after being woken up from his first one.

And when the DVD player's batteries died mid-flight, I just chalked it up to my horrible day of flying and tried to keep the boys entertained with the inflight magazine and safety cards. Yeah, that's exactly what they wanted to do! Kicking self for forgetting to pack any kiddie books or snacks for the flight. The 100 calorie snack packs of plane-shaped crackers were curiously not very satisfying when one ate breakfast hours before, had a snack of raisins on the earlier flight (I gave the boys my crackers and 100-calorie pack of "Oreo Crisps" or whatever the heck they were), and didn't have time for lunch between flights. When we finally arrived in Seattle at 3 pm, I was almost kissing the ground, but didn't as I probably would have tried to eat it.

And just think, come November I'll probably be doing this all again for Thanksgiving!
How much are private jets running these days?

And Now For Something a Bit More Serious

Warning! The following post contains things that may cause the heebie-jeebies, especially for men. Proceed with caution!

I went to the dr. today to get my IUD removed. I was sick of having very heavy, week-long periods for the past year, and figured since Harrison is weaned now (yippee!) I don't need to worry about avoiding excess hormones that the pill or other hormonal birth control would cause.

I was doing the fun gyno routine - naked from the waist down, speculum in, looking at the neat mobile above my head and pretending someone wasn't poking around in my coochie - when I heard the dreaded words: "I can't find your strings."

See, the IUD is inside a woman's uterus, but has strings that hang down through the cervix for removal. The person doing the removal just gets those strings and pulls on 'em, and voila, no more IUD. But not so simple if you don't have the strings hanging out of your cervix. The midwife doing the removal then got what looked like an extra long crochet hook and dug around in my uterus for a bit, but couldn't find the amazing missing IUD. Yes, this was painful. And in addition to the pain, I now have a complex that I have a freakishly big uterus, or one that eats IUDs. Or that my cervix is so big I managed to lose an IUD and didn't notice it.

So, now I have to go back in a few weeks for an ultrasound so they can figure out where the IUD is. Yes, I have to wait and worry about having an embedded IUD for 10 days. As soon as I left the drs. office, I started to worry about the worst case scenario - I'll have a horrible pelvic infection, have to have a hysterectomy, etc. I know this is probably not the case, but I'll still worry about it. And even though I know in my heart I don't think I can handle having another baby, as the two children I already have drive me bonkers a great deal of the time, I still like having the ability to have children, just in case I change my mind and decide I want another child.

So, now I'm feeling depressed and crampy. Yay, me.