Thank Jesus in heaven I’ve never had a mouse in my house.

Or a goose in my roost.

Or used a moose for a boost.

Or had a wocket in my pocket.

Oh wait! Thank you Dr. Seuss for making everything in my head rhyme all the time.

Ah, I can’t stop!

Anyway, while I appreciate all you animal lovers out there, I’m simply not one of you. I love our puppies (mostly), but mice?

Grody.

I can say with full confidence that I have never freaked out so much in all my life, which, as you can imagine, is saying a lot.

Here’s the story:

One fateful day in college when I was foot loose and fancy free, my roommate and I, Lizbeth, were hanging out in our dorm. Lizbeth was studying (as usual). She was always studying. And I was always pestering her not to study. That was basically our life for 4 years. “Lizbeth, please for the love, stop studying and pay attention to me! Let’s play, sing, dance, shop, eat, anything but study!” Her answer was always and forever, “NO!”

That said, she was down the hall momentarily and I was combing/curling/teasing/hair spraying my hair. As I was playing I saw a flash behind me. It was fast.

I assumed it was nothing and continued frying my hair with a curling iron.

Then, I saw it again.

So, I go over to the recliner in the corner and slightly move it only to find the most horrifying site of my life.

A REAL LIFE MOUSE.

I began screaming uncontrollably. UNCONTROALLY PEOPLE.

I jumped up the recliner and continued screaming.

Non-stop screaming.

Clearly, this caused quite a commotion. The door was open so the entire floor heard me shrieking. Um, loudly.

When Lizbeth heard my incessant screaming as I came face to face with this creature, she came running.

As she was sprinting to my rescue she had a small run in with our door.

Bless Lizbeth’s heart, one may say he had  lots of “run ins” with doors, walls, floors, stairs. I say this with love, of course, as there is literally no one in the world as clumsy as I am.

Anyway, as my knight in shining armour slid directly into a metal door, my hopes of her saving me from the mouse beast were becoming slimmer and slimmer (because clearly it was all about me. Right? Eh, I annoy myself).

As she lay in the doorway of our room with her smashed knee she says, “Molly, what’s wrong with you? Why are you in the chair? What happened?”

All I could get out was, “MOUSE. ROOM. FLOOR. HELP.”

Meanwhile, girls have gathered at the door to see me crouching in the chair in the fetal position screaming and Lizbeth crouching at the door holding her knee looking on the floor for the mouse.

To say it was a hilarious disaster would be an understatement.

Then, ever so gently Lizbeth told me to get down and come out of the room.

“ARE YOU A CRAZY PERSON? THE MOUSE WILL GET ME!”

I may or may not have been a tiny bit hysterical. I also may or may have graduated from the fetal position to doing some sort of football high knee dance in the chair.

Thank goodness Lizbeth, (the bravest of the two of us) got a broom and began the great mouse search, as I was still frozen in the recliner.

As I recall, a tennis racket and a trash bag were involved as well.

My some miracle, my brave and precious friend caught the ferocious mouse, sprinted down the hall and pitched it out the window.

Poor little mouse.

(I hope there are no mouse activist reading this, as I cannot be certain that the mouse lived to tell the tale after being thrown from the 3rd floor of our dorm).

Valiantly, Lizbeth marched back into our room saying, “There. I caught the mouse. I’m going back to study.”

“NO, NO, NO, YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME! WHAT IF IT COMES BACK?!”

I think I saw an eye roll as she went back to studying.

I couldn’t be too upset, she did save my life after all.

And to this day, I’ve never seen a mouse again.

Love to all,

There are many things that I dread in life.

Sleep wars for one. I mean, I held Bitzy in my arms for naps until she was 10.5 months old simply because I so dreaded her endless screams (more to come on the naps wars. It’s a doozy).

Cleaning. Not the sweeping, dusting, vacuuming kind of cleaning, the real cleaning. The windows, ceiling fans, under the bed, clean out the closets kind of cleaning. I will make every excuse known to man to get out of it. It’s so gross (maybe the reason it’s so gross is because I wait so long…geez, I annoy myself).

Organizing. I could be the least organized soul on the planet. Again, this is one of life’s great mysteries. How can I abhor shoes in the floor, or a vase inches from it’s rightful home, but can have a family of uncoordinated bras from 1989 overflowing in my drawer?  Acceptance is the key here folks. “My name is Molly and I’m disorganized.” “Hello, Molly.” That said, organizing things basically makes me break out into hives…so I do what all disorganized freaks do, they call their good friend “Julie” and ask her for help. Duh.

Schoolwork. I hate school. Hate it. I honestly think I was in some kind of walking coma when I decided to get my Masters degree. I mean, I wasn’t exactly the model college student. Remember? Read here and here. Now that I’m totally done with all of my classes (and have been for nearly a year), I really need to finish my Thesis. But alas, I can’t seem to get the motivation. The real truth is, it’s a lot of work. Like, A LOT of work. While I love my life with Zach and Bitzy and my job/this blog/maintaining relationships/candy (candy totally deserves to be in this list. It’s my life partner after all)…life is busy with things that I love…no time for things that I hate: aka: schoolwork.

But, it’s time. It’s so time. So, I’m back on the Thesis train. I’m hoping that I can finish the sucker in a few weeks. I’ve already written 80 pages for Pete’s sake. What’s a few more?

So, here I am in front of God and the world wide web telling you that I’m gonna finish this stupid degree.

Then, I’m going to start a campaign convincing people that going to Grad school is a waste of time and money.

Just kidding.

Education is important and I know when it’s all said and done I’ll be glad that I have that big shiny degree on my wall, but until then, I’m grumpy about education in general.

Also, I dreamed last night that I had to re-take Stats, the one and only class that I have ever failed. Turns out that you can’t pass a class that you don’t understand by attending only a few classes in a semester (not my fault that this professor had no attendance policy) and taking tests that may as well be in Greek. That said, I did score a 61 on one of the tests. I think that’s pretty impressive that I got 61% right when I had absolutely no clue about the material…but let’s be honest, it was the curve that saved me. I probably scored an 11.

That said, this school non-sense is messing with my mojo.

So, I’m sick of thinking about it, I’m just gonna do it.

OK, I’m off to write about academic jargon.

Oh Mexico, how we miss you.

Today, is my darling husbands birthday.

As you have probably learned by now, I’m completely koo-coo crazy over my man.  He is quite wonderful and totally perfect for me.

Being the complete romantic that I am, I have always believed in soul mates. That God designs a man and woman for each other and that is that. They are bound…destined if you will.

But, Zach was late to the party on that theory.

When we first began dating, we talked about our favorite color and food for about 45 seconds before I launched into questions that would make or break the relationship.

Intense much?

For example, what was his stance on soul mates. I mean, it’s legitimate dinner conversation after you’ve been dating 2 weeks, right?

(I was a train wreck).

Anyway, my Zach did not believe in my “theory” on soul mates. This my friends, could have been a deal breaker, but never fear, I knew that he would change his mind after he fell for me. I just had a feeling….and guess what?

He did.

He is now 100% convinced that God handcrafted me for him and him for me.

Told ya I’d convince him.

So, to my soul mate, my man, my kind and good partner in this life…I love you.

In fact, I love you more than BB Bats.

And icing.

And cookie dough.

And cake batter.

And coconut cream pie.

And I even love you more than Milk Duds and we all know that that’s an awful lot.

And I promise that I will always be your girl.

But please never put my love to the test on the sugar thing.

OK?

Glad we cleared that up.

Love to all,

PS: What do you guys think about soul mates?  Any thoughts?

PPS: Remember to vote for my tiny itsy bitty blog every day by clicking here!!!!

Bethany: 23 seconds after having a baby and she looks beautiful.

Here my dear readers is a fabulous blog from my friend Bethany.  Her blog never ceases to leave me wanting more!  Check it out here. She has been so kind to write a guest blog for me…I hope you enjoy!!!!

So Molly asked me to be a “guest blogger” on her blog. First and foremost – I LOVE her blog. She never fails to put a smile on her face with her hilarious stories! Molly and I went to college together – and just so you know I do NOT remember the blazers (I’m not saying she didn’t have a closet full) – but I do remember she always dressed cute. Maybe it’s because I was in a phase of life when I bought all of my clothes at Goodwill? Don’t get me wrong – they have some bargains – but this was definitely my “grung-y” stage of life… Another blog… Another time=)

ANYWAYS – I have self-diagnosed ADD. Somehow I fooled my teachers in school, or maybe it developed later in life I don’t know. But I have it. (Trust me – I’m a teacher – half my student’s have it so I am practically an expert.) Anyone who has conversations with me, must walk away with their head spinning from all the random topics I bring up. This was made incredibly clear to me as I was on my run this morning. Just to set the stage – you should know that it was IDEAL running weather…Cool, rainy, cloudy, just beautiful outside. I headed out on a 9 mile run by myself…it was a cleanse for my mind. This week has been kind of a weird week for me…so my thoughts & emotions started in one direction and ended up in about 1000 tangents. By the time I was finished with my run my body was invigorated and my endorphins elevated, but my brain was drained from running sprints between ideas… So let me just share a FEW of them with you:

I’m not sure how one learns how to dress themselves.

Is it an innate skill like eating and sleeping?  Or is it learned?

This my friends could join the ranks of the “nature vs. nurture” discussions. But, as you may have figured this blog has no intention of solving the questions of the universe, so we’ll just assume that most young people just look around them and think, “Wow, the cool kids are wearing t-shirts and shorts” or “Most teenagers aren’t wearing blazers and khakis to school every day, so maybe I shouldn’t either.”

You would think that I would’ve noticed that I was in fact, the only person that had a closet full of suits and blazers in college.  But alas, I didn’t even notice. I guess that I assumed that I was the cool one, the trendsetter.  Yikes.

This said, I certainly had to learn how to dress myself.  Sure, my mama taught me to never, ever, ever wear anything that was too tight, hence my desire to only wear clothes that “don’t touch me”, but other than that I’ve learned through trial and error what flatters me…and ahem, what doesn’t.

I have had a long list of fashion fopaux over the years, from my strange blazer addiction in college to my obsession with sweatpants, since birth. And then, there were the bathing suit years where I declared that I simply HAD to wear a bathing suit at all times, even in my sleep.  It’s so strange I realize, but at the time, it’s like that suit was part of me. (By the way, it’s not like I’m a great swimmer, I just liked wearing it). It totally took away the need to wear underwear and it was great to always be ready for a swim at any point in the day.

I’m not sure when it happened, let’s say around 24ish, when I began noticing that I didn’t dress that anyone else. I wore sweatshirts 87% of the time and I also had a terrible Bill Cosby sweater that I wore the other 13% of the time.  I was a fashion disaster.

Nowadays, I’m not exactly Stacey London, but at least I’m not wearing a bathing suit under my blazers.  That’s progress, right?

In fact, I don’t even own a blazer.  Definitely progress.

One of these days I’m going to dig up some pictures for your viewing pleasure.

Lots of love to you on this blazerless Monday!!!

Yum...Carrots.

I love making my Bitzy’s baby food!  Remember how I was nervous about it?  Never you mind, it’s fantastic. So far her favorites are peaches, carrots, zucchini and sweet potatoes.  However, she HATES green beans and bananas. My love for making baby food is a testimony that anyone and I mean, anyone can do it.

Daisy and Lily are back home (they have been on sabbatical at their Lolly and Pops).  My darling husband has been in shambles without them. It’s cute, really. They’ve been home for approximately 78 hours and I haven’t yelled at them yet.  This, my friends, is a record….and sort of a miracle.

Ah, Bleach. I love you.

I love Clorox bleach. I love the smell so much.  I love how the scent of cleanliness gets on my hands and stays there no matter how many hand-washes (which is a lot) I do during the day. Since my Bitzy’s been here I have been cleaning with all natural products, but I miss bleach.  Nevermind that 85% of my clothes have little spots where I’ve sprayed or spilled it on me.  Worth it.  Totally worth it.

I hate, and I mean hate, pumping gas. I wanna be like Driving Miss Daisy when I’m old (or now, whatever) and have someone drive me everywhere and pump my gas.  Doesn’t that sound lovely?

It is very possible that I’m addicted to online shopping. It’s amazing how much I abhor shopping in real life, but love shopping online.  So odd. Except for Target. I will shop in the store with no problem.  No hives or anything.

I confess that I wore way too many blazers in college.  Turns out that it wasn’t 1987, it was 2002. I wish someone woulda told me. Now Zach makes fun of me constantly for being so fashion challenged in college.  But, just for the record, that’s when we fell for each other…so maybe the blazers were working for me after all.

Best.Ever.

I have worn mascara every single day of my life since I graduated college.  That’s a lot of days to wear mascara ya know. I love it…the more the merrier. My drug of choice is Maybelline.  They make it like no one else.

All I can think about is banana bread, which is so unlike me.  Baked goods normally aren’t my thing. (NO, I’m not pregnant, quit asking me).

Any confessions dear friends?  Spill it.

If you missed Part One click here to catch up…

So, as you’ll remember I signed up for Birdwatching as an “easy out” for a science credit my last semester of college.  The funny thing about “easy outs” is there aren’t any. Ever.

I bet that the kid that cheated on his finals would agree.  Or the athlete that took steroids and got caught.  Or the girl that almost failed a class because she assumed it was easy…

Oh wait, that’s me.

I know this will come as a shock to you, but I wasn’t exactly the model Birdwatching student. Getting up at 7:30am 3 days a week to go look and listen to birds seemed terribly lame and frankly, I had better things to do.  Things like, laying on the couch watching 7th Heaven with my roommates.

I was really busy.

So, when the first test rolled around and we had to answer about the anatomy of little Tweetie and be able to name all of his little songs, I was, ahem, screwed.  Really screwed.

So, I guessed and guessed and guessed.

As an expert guesser in college, I wasn’t at all nervous to get the test back.  After all, this was the easiest class ever, right?

58.

I got a freaking 58 on the test.  Unbelievable.

Looking back, it’s actually unbelievable that I got 58% right.  But at the time, I was appalled.

Did this professor not realize that this class was supposed to be easy?  Hello?

So, after my 58, I started going to class more and attempted to learn about my little forest friends.

But, honestly, I just don’t care about birds.  I didn’t then and I don’t know.

So, I wasn’t exactly “into it.”

(An interesting note to remember is that my final semester in college is when I met the love of my life and husband.  It’s possible that I was a wee bit distracted).

Fast forward to the end of the semester, I was gearing up to graduate, interviewing for jobs, taking road trips with friends, cementing myself on the couch with my roomies to soak in every last second, and falling in love.

Ah, sweet bliss.

The fine print is that I wasn’t studying.  I couldn’t really fit it in.  I was much too busy socializing to study.

Duh.

So, when finals came around I leisurely took them and was happy to close the door on my semester of my math and science nightmares.  But then, my Birdwatching professor sent me a note to come and see him.

I assumed that he wanted to thank me for making his class so much fun. While I wasn’t an expert birdwatcher, I did keep everyone entertained (or so I thought, I was probably extremely annoying if we’re honest with ourselves).

So I pranced down to the science building to bid goodbye to my good old professor.

I bounced in his office with a big smile and said, “Hey Coach!” (My antics didn’t end in high school.  If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it).

He smiled and asked me to sit down.  Then he proceeded to tell me that he was going to fail me because my final grade was too low.

Whwhwhaaaaaaaattttttttt?????????   NoNONoNONoNO!

I calmly said, “Oh, there must be some mistake.  I already have a job (which I did not, just for the record) for the summer.  I simply can’t fail.”

Just like that.  I basically told a 65 year old man with 40 years teaching experience that he was wrong and that I wouldn’t allow him to fail me.

Unfortunately he didn’t buy it.

He proceeded to say that he was sorry but he had never passed anyone with a final grade as low as mine and that he just couldn’t do it.

This my friends, is when the actress is me reared her Academy Award winning head.

“But, Professor, you have no idea what’s it’s like to really, really, really want something and not be able to do it.  I want to understand Birdwatching, I LOVE birds, but I just can’t.  I can’t learn about them, they are too beautiful.  Too complex. They are beyond what I can grasp.”  Then, I ashamedly got on my hands and knees and said, “Please sir, please don’t fail me.  I have a bright future that needs to begin now.  Not in a few months.  Please give me this gift.  Please.”

I would like to thank the Academy.

Then, you’ll never believe what happened.

He bought it. I fully expected him to laugh in my face and banish me to summer school.  But instead, he smiled and said, “I understand honey. I understand.”

He told me to visit an all day seminar about wildflowers and birds at a near by state park and then he would pass me with a C.  A big beautiful C.

That is the most beautiful C that has ever been given.

So, that’s the little story about Birds. It could have ended much worse.  Although, my only recurring nightmare is that I forgot to take my math and science credits in college so I can’t graduate.

I guess in the end, the Birds are still after me.