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,

My Bitzy? She’s a talker. And she’s never met a stranger, well that is if said stranger is 3 feet or under. Adults? She’s more weary of, much to my pleasure. This exact scene has happened numerous times where she is begging a child to love her forever and it never fails to bring many smiles to my face. This current situation occurred at Chick-Fila’s playground with a girl around 3 yrs. old.

Bitzy: “HI! MY NAME IS BITZY. WHAT’S YOUR NAME. WANNA PWAY WIT ME?”

Girl: Stares at her. No flinches. No smile. Just stares, ignores her and goes up the steps to the slide.

Bitzy: Eagerly following her. “OKAY. YOU CAN BE MWARY AND I WIT BE JOSFPH AND MY BABY BOY BE JESUS. WE GO TO BEFWEHEM AND SHE MANAGER. OKAY? SOUND GOOD WITTLE FRIEND?”

Girl: Long gone down the slide, hasn’t heard a word.

Bitzy: Still talking to girl, “MWARY, SEE THE BWIGHT STAR? THE ANGEL SAYS ‘HI! DON’T BE SCARED, I NOT A MONSTER!”

Girl: Flies down the slide and is out the door.

Bitzy: “MAMA! WHERE MY FRIEND GO? SHE A NICE FRIEND. WHERE SHE GO, MAMA?”

Me: “I think she needs to finish her lunch with her Mama. Maybe you could go down the slide again.

Bitzy: “BUT I MISS MY BEST FRWEND! I NEED SHE. CAN I SHARE SHE NUGGIES, MAMA? PLLLLEEEASSSEEE MAMA? CAN I? CAN I? CAN I?

Me: “Well, those are her nuggies. Your nuggies are in the bag and when we get in the car you can finish them, OK?”

Bitzy: “BUT WHAT ABOUT MARY? SHE RIDING ON DA DONKEY AND NEEDS A MWANGER MAMA! BABY JESUS IS COMING OUT OF HER BELLY NOW! WHERE DA ANGEL? SHE CAN’T HAVE NUGGIES NOW! SHE NEEDS DA MWANGER?” (She begins banging on the glass yelling at the little girl through the glass). “GURL! GURL! YOU ARE MARY REMEMBER? I BE JOSPEH AND WE BE BEST FRIEND! REMEMBER, DON’T BE SCARED MWARY, GOD IS WIT YOU ALWAYS AND FOREVER. THE MONSTERS WILL NEVER GET YOU. OKAY?”

Me: It should be noted that the girl is not even looking at her, and the Mama is looking at me like my baby girl has lost her ever loving mind. “Okay sweetie. I think the girl needs to finish her lunch. Wanna go down the slide one more time before we go home?”

Bitzy: “I DON’T UNDERSTAND MAMA. WHERE THE DONKEY? BUY WHY MAMA? WHY MARY GONE? SHE GO POO POO PEE PEE IN DA POTTY?”

Me: “Well, I think Mary is finishing her lunch. Do you wanna go down the slide one more time Joseph before we go home?”

Bitzy: “MINE NAME NOT JOSFPH! MINE NAME IS FANCY NANCY. REMEMBER MAMA? MWARY GO POO POO PEE IN DA POTTY RIGHT MAMA?”

Me: “Oh yes, of course. Okay fancy pants, let’s go home, OK? Baby boy needs a nap.”

Bitzy: “MINE NAME NOT FANCY PANTS, IT’S ‘BEHOLD A CHWILD IS BORN’. RIGHT MAMA?”

Me: “Um, sure. That’s your name today. Come on, Behold a Child is Born, let’s go.”

Bitzy: “OKAY MAMA. LET ME GO SAY BYE TO MY BEST FWRIND MWARY.”

Me: “OK, let’s go.”

As we’re walking out the door of the playplace she yells (loudly), “OKAY MWARY, HAVE A GOOD POOPY!”

Never a dull moment!

Me: “Guess what?! It’s a beautiful day today and we get to go outside and play!”

Bitzy: “NO FANKS. I HAVE JAMMIE DAY TODAY.”

Me: “But look! It’s really pretty outside and we can go to the park! Do you want to go to the bird park or walk to the park in your stroller?”

Bitzy: “NO FANKS MAMA. I STAY HOME. IT IS JAMMIE DAY TODAY.”

Me: “What if we look for a Huffalump?”

Bitzy: “NO FANK YOU MAMA. HUFFALUMP IS WIT WINNIE DA POOH. HE’S TIRED AND READY FOR A NAP. HE NOT WANT TO PLAY.”

Me: “Oh, okay. What if we go to the bird park and look for duckies and birdies? Maybe we could even go down the big slide!”

Bitzy: (taps her chin), “HMMMM, OH OKAY. WIT YOU AND BROTHER BEAR?”

Me: “Yes, only me and Brother bear.”

Bitzy: “WHAT ‘BOUT DADDY-O?”

Me: (the most dreaded part of the morning when I break it to her that daddy is at work) “Well, unfortunately Daddyo had to work today. I’m so sorry, it’s so sad.”

Bitzy: (Lips quivering, head in hands) “NO! I WANT DADDY-O TO GO TO BIRD PARK WIT ME AND YOU AND BROTHER BEAR. IT’S NOT FAIR!” (as she crosses her arms. She learned this trick from a friend of hers who is 4 years old. Lovely isn’t?).

Me: “The fair isn’t coming here for a few months. They’ll be cows, bach-bach chickens, piggies, horses and lots of other animals. Are you excited for the fair?”

Bitzy: (confused), “UM, SURE. CAN WE GO TODAY? PWESE MAMA, CAN I? CAN I? CAN I?”

Me: “I’m sorry baby, the fair isn’t for a few months. Maybe we could go to the bird park instead?”

Bitzy: (taps her chin), “UMM, OKAY. CAN LILLY BELLE COME?” (one of our puppies).

Me: “I’m sorry honey, she can’t. Maybe next time when Daddy comes with us she can.”

Bitzy: “OH, OKAY. MAYBE WE SEE A SQUIR? (getting the spelling right on how she says squirrel is tough. Just imagine the cutest pronunciation possible).

Me: “Oh yes! And maybe even a goose!”

Bitzy: “NO FANKS MAMA. GOOSES ARE SCARY. THEY SAY “HONK, HONK, HONKEDY HONK!” (runs away laughing hysterically).

Me: “No, geese are very nice. Let’s get dressed and we’ll go try to find one.”

Bitzy: “UM, NO FANKS. IT’S JAMMIE DAY REMEMBER?”

Me: “Are you sure? It’s so nice outside! We can run and jump and play like Hannah” (in one of her books).

Bitzy: “OOOHHHH LIKE HANNAH? (taps chin) INTERESTING. OKAY LET’S DO IT DUDE!”

After finally convincing her to take her jammies off the above outfit is what she insisted on wearing…which clearly was much too cold for our “beautiful day” of 50 windy degrees.

Oh well, who needs the park? We stayed inside and had a “COWGUR DAY” instead.

She better go into politics someday. She’s quite the salesman.

Have I mentioned lately how much this child slays me? Ah, I just want to eat her up!

Me: “Hey Bitzy Boo, would you like some water baby?”

Bitzy: “NO THANK YOU MAMA, JUST A POLAR BEAR.”

Me: “Hmmm…OK. Well, I don’t have a polar bear, but I do have some water. Would you like some?”

Bitzy: “LET ME SEE,” as she taps her chin, “NO WATER, JUST A POLAR BEAR.”

Me: “Okay, I just need to run into the dining room for a minute and pick up our new polar bear, one second.” (I walk into the dining and count 1-2-3). “OK, here’s your very own polar bear named Polly! Hooray for Polly the Polar Bear!” as I hand her a pretend polar bear.

Bitzy: “NO MAMA, A REAL POLAR BEAR, NOT A TEND ONE. PLEASE MAMA. CAN I, CAN, CAN I?”

Me: “Here’s the problem. Polar bears live in the North Pole with Santa. It would be really hard for our family to have a pet polar bear. But I do have a pretend one named Polly. Wanna play with her?”

Bitzy: “NO THANK YOU.” Then she sits in the floor and puts her face in her hands. “I’M SO, SO, SO SAD. I MISS MY BABY POLAR BEAR.”

Me: “I know baby, it’s hard. I wish we could have a pet polar bear too. Maybe we should move to the North Pole with Santa.”

Bitzy: She totally brightens up and says, “GREAT IDEA MAMA. ME, YOU, SANTA, LEONARD, DADDY AND BROTHER WILL LIVE AT POLLY POLAR BEARS HOUSE WITH HER GRANDMA. IT WILL BE AWESOME. I SO CITED!”

Me. “Of course it will be. I’m so glad we worked that out. Now, how about some water?”

Bitzy: “SURE MAMA. SOUNDS GREAT, I VERY THIRSTY.”

Whew.

I have read 2 books since Bitzy was born. TWO. Actually that’s not true. I’ve read at least 2.5 billion kid books. Let me clarify: I’ve only read two books that don’t print the words on cardboard and smell like strawberries when you scratch them. Since you’re dying to know, they are “Heaven is For Real” (excellent) and “The Help” (stunning). Take in mind that pre-baby I could put 2 novels away per week. I devoured good books, a real sucker for a good memoir. After my sweetheart was born I would read a paragraph here and there of baby help books (useless), but the days of endlessly curling up with a book are way over. Happily over to be sure, but still O-V-E-R.

I’m disgusted with how much food we have in the freezer and pantry. There are starving babies for goodness sake. I think we can go for a week without fresh fruit. That said, I have declared that all meals will come from food that we already have this week (and maybe next). So far, so good. Granted, tonight I used my last fresh veggie (green pepper), so after the leftovers are gone from tonight’s dinner, we may be feasting on more creative foods. Perhaps tomorrow will be something totally new and unique! How about corn and peas casserole or peanut butter and cracker ragu. No? Too weird? I’ll figure something out. I’m excited to use our resources wisely and weirdly! Ha.

I am fairly certain that I successfully addicted baby #2 to my arms. My sweet baby boy is now 3 months old and loves to snuggle, and clearly I love to snuggle him right back. My Bitzy screamed bloody murder day in and day out for the first 5 months of her life unless I was holding her, so I’m pretty sure that my arms have magic dust on them. Slowly but surely my sweet boy is making it very clear that he wants a piece of the magic. I’m scared that we may end up with another round of sleep wars…oh well. I’m gonna enjoy the snuggles while they last.

Is it bad that I dreamt last night about coconut cream pie? I have a problem. Just for the record, a Coconut Cream Pie Milkshake from Sonic is 18 points. Ouch. Almost worth it. Almost, but not quite.

My hair is in a bad place. A really, really, really bad place. I don’t think it’s been this long since college. And trust me, long hair is not a good look for me. Must.Get.Haircut. I hit an all time low on Saturday when I took a “mommy time-out” during nap time and ventured to “The Wal-Mart.” I actually walked in the hair salon located inside “The Wal-Mart.” By some stroke of miracle they were busy and couldn’t cut my awful hair. This my friends is how you spell desperation.

Any confessions that you’d like to get off your chest?

I am not a dancer.

I know, I know, you’re shocked.

The good Lord has graciously given me many gifts, however, coordination/grace were not on the docket of blessings for me.

However, my beautiful girl can break it down.

Isn’t she the cutest thing EVER?!

She slays me…watch.

I mean, seriously?

How did I ever get so lucky?

I remember being around 4 years old in daycare and visiting the local library.

We would all sit down and listen intently to the librarian read books about adventures, princesses and fiery mystical animals.

I loved the library.

Still do actually.

It was so big, so cavernous, and a bit mysterious.

I remember even at the age of four feeling so proud to be visiting such a sophisticated place.

I felt all fancy and stuff.

Now, I want my Bitzy to love the library as well.

Since we’ve moved to the burbs we’ve frequented the library at least once a week. She reads books, plays with puzzles and basically runs around like a crazy person. It’s awesome.

So the other day I had this brilliant idea to try “Toddler Time” at 10:00am on Wednesday morning. I mean, she is a toddler after all. Right? Surely it would be a smashing success right?

Um, wrong.

Let me also add that group activities at 16 months old seems silly to even me.

Granted, if we’re all going to be honest with ourselves, while my sweetheart has a fairly structured naptime/bedtime routine, nothing else in her day is structured. We’re all pretty free spirited around these parts.

So, we ventured into Toddler Time (shockingly, 5 minutes late) we were greeted with (no kidding) 25 tiny humans looking at us like we’re aliens.

That’s right, 25. That means there were also 25 mommy’s as well.

So in a tiny room, which had the heat on entirely too high might I add, there were 50 people glaring at us…or so it seemed.

We squeeze into the circle and the librarian begins reading a story.

She was a fine reader and I’m sure she has some kind of librarian-ish degree on her wall, but my girl wasn’t having it.

Sure at home when all is quiet and there are no other tiny humans to be mesmerized by she’ll read 20 books at a time…but in a room filled with exciting new and tiny faces sitting still simply wasn’t an option.

Take in mind that all the other children were quietly sitting on their mommy’s lap listening intently.

I could feel her begin to squirm and I knew that our time was short.

My baby looks up at me like, “Mama, this is lame. I’m so outta here.”

You see, we also attend a music class on Thursday mornings where the littles sit on mommy’s lap for a song or two and then it’s a total free-for-all.  She can run around, dance, play instruments and basically have the time of her life.

I think she felt that “Toddler Time” wasn’t that sort of environment…

So, halfway through book number two she ventures into the middle of the circle looking to entertain someone…but no one was biting.

They were all actually listening! Those bratty little know it alls!

So, what does my child do when she’s bored with no hope of a song or dance anywhere in the future?

She lays on her back in the middle of the floor and cries for a brief moment to get my attention (which let’s face it, she already had), then pops up on her knees, points to me and says, “Ma!” Then points to the door, as if to say, “Let’s bust this joint Mama! These babies are LAME!”

So, I did what all structured, disciplined, awesome mommy’s wouldn’t do…I got our stuff and hightailed it outta Toddler Time…’cause it was LAME.

I was in total agreement.

So, we sat at table and did puzzles, talked about ladybugs and read some books.

It was perfectly perfect in every way.

Who needs group activities anyway?

I make it no secret that I love television.

Clearly, I love my drama shows. Love them. They are all my personal friends and I refuse to believe that it’s all pretend.

(Yes, I am referring to Meredith and Derrick. Thanks for asking).

I also love a good comedy…although I must admit that it seems that the 30 minute family sitcom is few and far between. I have 3 comedy’s that I watch and 3 dramas that I watch every week.

(Hello Michael Scott).

While I love these shows, I’ve gotta be honest, Say Yes to the Dress on TLC is my most favorite show.

Too much? I think not.

Apparently I’m obsessed with wedding dresses.

Totally and completely obsessed.

Granted, I love, love, love all things weddings, so it’s not completely odd, but I’m normally more into the wedding details, rather than the obvious things…like the dress.

Thanks to this show, I simply must have a renewal ceremony of our vows every 10 years.

Do you think that would be overdoing it?

Nah.

After I drool over the beautiful wedding dresses I cry over A Baby Story.

When I say cry, I mean cry. Like big ugly crying that ends with black mascara running down my cheeks. It kills me every time.

My latest love? Actually, love is strong. It’s more like a train wreck that I am glued to and can’t look away. You guessed it, Toddlers and Tiaras. I’m torn between calling Child Protective Services and laughing hysterically at these completely ridiculous people. My favorite line so far you ask? That’s easy. “My goal in life is to have my daughter become Miss America.”

Really? Really? Really?

Is she being paid? There is no way that that is her life’s goal.

Also? Said child is 15 months old.

Now remember that My Bitzy is 14 months old. Just thinking about doing the things to my baby that this crazy mama is doing to her baby makes me cringe. For one thing, Bitzy would have none of it. Things like baby fake nails, blow drying and curling hair, and duct taping a dress to her tiny little body wouldn’t exactly fly with my girl. Bitzy has no tolerance for getting her clothes changed, much less any of the above activities.  Again, CPS anyone?

Also? She actually said, “I just don’t know how my girl will react if she doesn’t win. She loves to win.” I hate to break it to this insane mama, but if you’re kid is 15 months old I’m not quite convinced that she’ll be heartbroken if she doesn’t win the crown. Give the child some goldfish crackers and some milk and she’ll survive.

Then there’s My Strange Addiction.

Oh my.

“I’m addicted to wearing fur suits.”

“I’m addicted to pulling out my hair.”

“I’m addicted to eating couch cushions.”

“I’m addicted to eating toilet paper.”

“I’m addicted to eating laundry detergent.”

Need I say more?

Well, maybe that my strange addiction is watching crazy shows on TLC.

There, I said it.

TLC is awesome. Way awesome.

I think I’ve mentioned before that I love to read. Love it. Before my Bitzy was born I would devour books, one by one. My reading has certainly slowed down since the arrival of my girly, but I still love and crave the freshness of a brand new story told with a witty voice.

My favorite books are memoirs. Especially funny ones. There is nothing like reading about someone else’s life and laughing ’til you cry.

Kinda like last night.

Last night when Zach came up to bed I was laying there with tears streaming down my face, holding a pillow over my head, laughing so hysterically that I couldn’t breathe. No joke.

It was then that I knew that it was time.

After re-reading this book more times that I can count, I just had to share it with my sweet Zach.

So last night I introduced Zach to my favorite memoir of all time:  ”A Girl Named Zippy” by Haven Kimmel.

This book represents so much about how I love to read, write and laugh. Not to mention that our hometowns are painfully small, but still yet mysteriously charming. And our families are quirky, but still fantastic. That said, I consider Zippy and I soul sisters.

I declared to Zach last night  that before bed every night I would read him a chapter. I love this book so much I simply have to share it with him!

But then it occurred to me…I couldn’t just share it with him….I have to share it with all of you as well!

I realize it would be ultra creepy for me to hop into all of your beds at bedtime to read you a story, so instead, I want to give away a copy of my favorite book ever – to you- in honor of Thanksgiving!

I’m so thankful for you all it’s the least that I can do!

So, to enter please leave me a comment telling me what you’re favorite book is! Even if you don’t have one, still comment and hopefully you’ll win!

For extra entries you can tweet about this or post on facebook, just be sure to leave separate comments and let me know!

Winner will be chosen on Sunday, November 28th! Good luck!

Love to all,

PS: I am in no way associated with the author Haven Kimmel. She and I are not BFF’s- yet.  This giveaway is simply a gift from me to you.

PPS: Like my little stories? I would really appreciate it if you’d vote for me here and here.

You can vote once per day.

I admit it, I’m a glutton for punishment with all the silly tabloid magazines.

The silver lining?

I don’t actually buy them, I just read about all the crazy celebrity gossip online. Does that make it more acceptable?

I know what you’re thinking. “When do you have time to care about celebrity gossip?” Answer: There is always time, always. Mostly my ravaging happens after my dear ones are asleep (and I wonder why I’m tired all the time).

Anyway, let’s get down to business. We have much to discuss.

1. First and foremost, People Magazine teaches me about fashion…and about how out of touch I am. Apparently wearing Gap jeans and Merrell shoes every day of your life isn’t in style. To that, I say, “Pssh on you People Magazine. Style follows me, I don’t follow style.”

My gossip websites tell me that Leopard print is way in style these days. Let’s take a look…

Now I don’t know about you, but these gals look like street walkers to me. No? I’m just not sure that bringing back Leopard print is a good decision for anybody. Thoughts?

2. Justin Timberlake is a shady cheater. US Weekly told me so. While I’ve never been a fan of Jessica Biel, cheating isn’t the answer Justin. Plus, the girl you cheated with looks angry (much like the “cheated on” Jessica Biel. Interesting how that works isn’t?).

For your reading pleasure I did a bit of research on Olivia Munn (the cheater) and apparently her “cause” is saving elephants from the circus.

Now, I think we’ve well established that I’m not an animal lover so if you are, bear with me. I’m sorry Olivia, but you choose to give your time and money to save elephants from the circus? Really? Not saving babies, ridding world hunger, saving abused women, curing Alzheimer’s, or even cleaning up the environment.  You choose elephants? Interesting choice.

3. Taylor Swift and Jake Gyllenhaal. Isn’t that like dating your uncle? She’s like 13 and he’s 45. Totally gross. Actually, she’s 20 and he’s 29, but still. She’s way too young for him. I give ‘em 2 months (which means they’ll get married because I’m ALWAYS wrong about these things). I still think he and Reese Witherspoon belong together forever.

4. My favorite frenemy: Kate Gosselin. Without further ado, here is a recent picture…and a small reminder, pictures are worth a thousand words (or in this case a million words).

Need I say more? I think not.

5. In conclusion, I have a very serious question. Very serious indeed.

Has Reba had work? Just give it to me straight. I love, love, love me some Reba. Remember my Fancy story? Read it here. Reba and I have been friends for years and if she got work it’s gonna really hurt that she didn’t talk to me about it first.

So, what’s the verdit? Here’s a recent picture:

Here’s a picture a few years ago:

And then a few years before that…(by the way, I’ve been trying to recreate this hairstyle for myself and it’s just not working. Maybe I need more hairspray.

Be brutal. I need honesty here people.

I know that you all are simply dying to see pictures from my Bitzy’s 1st Birthday Party…never fear, today the wait is over.  Remember the theme was Candy Corn!!!!

On October 16th we celebrated party #1 in my home country of NC, and then we finished strong for party #2 here at home on her actual birthday. Both parties were way fun with lots of wonderful family and friends, as well as the first & second time that sugar had ever graced the lips of my beautiful girl.

It’s true. While I am a sugar addict and try to eat as many processed foods as humanly possible, I feel very strongly that my Bitzy only eat fresh and organic foods. Does that make me a nerdy mommy or what?  It’s OK, make fun. I figure she’ll have years and years on her own to eat total crap, but as long as I’m solely responsible for what goes in her mouth, she’s eating the really good stuff.

Anyway, at her 2 parties she did have cake and icing. Honestly, it wasn’t quite the affair that I assumed it would be. I mean, the child is genetically predisposed to love sugar, and she did eat it, but she wasn’t overly impressed.

All this to say, we had a blast. An absolutely wonderful and amazing celebration of life..and here are the pictures to prove it!

Party #1:

The loves of my life.

I mean, cutest candy corn evah or what?!

Please direct your attention to the cowgirl in the far right on the floor. Little Reba. I die.

She looks so mischievous in this picture.

Some of the decor.

Family picture before all the fun began!

And Now to Party #2!!!!

This is the banner that I paid $79,000 when I shoulda paid $.99…but alas, it’s cute right?

The spread!

Basking in the glow of her presents!

I am one blessed gal..look at my family!!! Thank you Jesus!

I can’t believe I have a toddler!!!!

Classic Bitzy pose in the party aftermath.

I hope you enjoyed the pictures! Now to begin thinking about next year…:)

Ya know when you were little and people would ask you what you wanted to be when you grew up?

I always said a check out girl at the grocery store.

That’s right.

Big dreams.

That was back in the day before scanners. The cashiers had to type in all the numbers of the items.

Oh the speed of their fingers.

It was pure magic watching their fingers run across the numbers. I wanted my fingers to be magical.

But then as I got older and went to college there was no degree program for being a cashier.

So, I settled and got a degree in PR and Advertising.

The great news is that I can still fulfill my dreams of being a cashier by playing with a calculator any time I want.

And, while my cashier dreams have been crushed, now I get to hang out with people, plan parties and serve Jesus all at once. Good deal, huh?

So, in perfect party planning style…something special is happening in only 6 weeks…my Bitzy’s 1st birthday party!!!

Take in mind that she was born on October 30th, only one day short of my least favorite “holiday.”

Maybe the fact that I hate Halloween has something to do with the fact that my childhood torturer, Meanie, told me every single year in elementary school that I would be sacrificed by devil worshippers. Turns out that I wasn’t sacrificed, but I did spend every Halloween shaking in my Strawberry Shortcake boots.

Needless to say, I’m still totally freaked out by Halloween.

However, having an October birthday offers many opportunities for fall fun and decorating.

So, this year our theme is CANDY CORN.

Mama’s candy addiction + Mama’s Bitzy addiction + Party planning for a living = Best.Birthday.Party ever.

I’m soooo excited.

Wanna know one of the most exciting parts?

Bitzy’s outfit.

That’s right, she’s gotta look ultra fab. Duh.

So, on my quest to find the cutest little outfit ever, I happened upon Whimsy and Whirl on Etsy. After looking at her fabulous creations, I messaged her to see if she could do a custom candy corn onesie.

Thankfully she said YES!!!!

It’s true. I didn’t name my kid “Bitzy.” Do you feel like you’ve been lied to? I’m so sorry. Forget this ever happened and let’s move forward, mkay?

So, picture this precious onesie with a big beautiful orange, white and yellow tutu.

I know, right?! Precious.

The amazing news?!  Whimsy and Whirl has offered to do a giveaway to you, my sweet readers!!! Yay!

Here are some pictures of her awesome stuff!!!

Seriously cute, right? Gratefully Whimsy and Whirl has generiously offered to giveaway a tutu (if it’s for a little girl) or a t-shirt with an inital/name – up to 6 letters- (if it’s for a little boy).  Depending on what the winner wants!!!

Want a chance to win?

To ENTER leave a comment telling me if you’d like to win a tutu or a t-shirt and why.  A winner will be chosen at random one week from tomorrow on September 29th!

Extra Entries For More Chances to Win!

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• Tweet About This Giveaway DAILY using the following wording: Enter to #win Whimsy and Whirl from @littlestories courtesy of Whimsy and Whirl Etsy Store! #Giveaway ends September 29th at 11:59pm. (Leave your Twitter ID in the comment. 1 entry per day!)

Please make sure you leave a comment for each entry!
Remember this giveaway ends Tuesday, September 28th at 11:59pm EST. The winner will be chosen using random.org.

Love to all!

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I think that by now we have established that I’m bananas over my Bitzy. Right?

She had me at hello.

Actually she had me from the second I saw “positive” flash on the Clearblue Easy test.

And correct me if I’m wrong, I think we’ve also established that I can be…well, a little nuts for lack of a better word.

Oh, you want a better word?

Coo-coo?

Crazyo?

Insane?

Whatever you wanna call it, I have embraced my crazy.

I want to shout from the hilltops, “I’m crazy and I like it.”

It’s very freeing, you should try it.

Anyway, I have learned that with great love, comes lots of worry.

All the “what-ifs” fill my heart and all the sudden I’m praying that an evil man hijacking a plane won’t venture off track, find the interstate and come barrelling down the highway, intentionally aiming for my Bitzy and me.

What? You mean your overactive imagination doesn’t occasionally come out to play?

Mine either.

Also, I’m terrified, T.E.R.R.F.I.E.D of SIDS. Still to this day, I’m a basket case about it.

Before my sweetie was born I was so consumed with all that could go wrong in pregnancy that I didn’t obsess about SIDS, in fact, I really didn’t know anything about it. Then, when we brought her home and laid her in the pack ‘n play beside our bed, I couldn’t sleep for fear that she would stop breathing. I was constantly up all night long checking on her.

After a week of no sleep, Zach banished her to the crib. Turns out, it was a great decision because my best friend, Angel Care Monitor, was there in case she stopped breathing.

Finally, I could sleep.

But then, I became obsessed with worry about the car seat, swing and stroller. There was no way for her breathing to be monitored in those contraptions…or was there?  In a fierce Google search to rival crazies everywhere I happened upon this divine invention…

The Respisense Breathing Monitor. This fabulous trinket attaches to the baby’s diaper and an alarm will sound if no breath is detected for 15 seconds.

Fabulous. Can I just tell you how fabulous this thing is?  It’s amazing. I recommend it to crazy mama’s everywhere.

But then, I became obsessed with the “why?” of SIDS.  Causes, etc.  Yes, I realize that people with degrees from Harvard are doing research, but Mr. Google along with my degree from Grey’s Anatomy did a bang up job on new advances in SIDS research.  Take that Harvard!  Well, we didn’t exactly discover the cause, but we did find a tool to help combat it!

A doctor in New Zealand (which ironcially is where my Respisense Monitor came from. It seems that my true people are in New Zealand), has declared that the cause of SIDS is found in the toxins of crib mattresses. So, he created a plastic bag of sorts to put over the mattress to keep the toxins at bay.

I mean, what’s another $39.99 for me to sleep at night???

I’m happy to report that all of my gear and I are happy in our crazy nest and Bitzy is safe and sound.

Now, did all of my devices save her life? Who knows. What I do know is that they made me less crazy than usual and I could sleep…and that is priceless.

Here’s to a “If you’re crazy and you know it clap your hands” kinda day!

It is no secret that I love Diet Coke. (Need a reminder? Read it here and here).

I have gone to great lengths in my day to acquire the quench of my fizzy friend.

In college I spent 6 weeks in Europe and I missed the cold fizz of DC. Sure they had fizzy water, but that seems so odd to me. What’s wrong with regular water? Why mess it up with fizz?  Fizz should be reserved for yummy syrupy goodness of soda. No? One of these days I’m going to start some kind of foundation to uplift and protect fizz. I’m scared to death that the world will soon learn that it’s burning holes in stomachs everywhere and their going to take it away. Then what will I drink? Will I be forced to drink fizzy water? No thanks.

I digress.

The following story details true events that happened on Wednesday, September 15th at 9:30am.

I work in the office Monday-Wednesday and as my reward I normally go through the drive thru at McDonald’s on those days for a cold fizzy Diet Coke. I mean, don’t you reward yourself for going to work? No? Well you totally should. It always makes any day better.

So, I dropped off my Bitzy with her Lolly and ventured to those familiar golden arches.

There were several cars in front of me, but nothing too overwhelming. It wasn’t like I was there at 12:00pm when all the hungry vultures come and prey upon Ronald McDonald for their 1,000 calorie cheeseburgers.

I did wait for quite awhile to order, the line was moving very slowly. But, it was a beautiful day, I wasn’t upset at all. I was in my happy place.

So here I go, I finally ordered my Diet Coke and noticed their new oatmeal, (I love oatmeal, remember? Read here), and I could get oatmeal, a little baby milk and apples all in a Happy Meal. So, I ordered my Happy Meal with a toy for a girl under 3 and large Diet and a large ice water (gotta balance out the fizz, ya know).

And then I waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

Finally, I made it up to the window to get my food. As I looked into the window I did not see a single soul.

The minutes clicked by and I didn’t see or hear anyone. I mean, that’s weird, right?

Finally, I see two young Hispanic women scrambling around.  One of them hands me my drinks, including the milk.

Then, she disappears again for several more minutes.

By now, we’re inching past 15 minutes in the drive-thru, just for the record.

As I’m innocently checking my email on my phone and listening to the radio, the car behind me begins blowing her horn. I look in my rear view mirror and chuckle. I remember thinking, “People are so crazy sometimes.”

Ahem, little did I know how crazy people really are.

Then, I see this white haired, crazed woman barreling toward my SUV wagging her finger. She then, squeezed herself between my car window and the drive-thru all the while yelling, “Pull up. People are waiting, what did you order anyway?”  Then she proceeds to yell into the drive-thru window (to no one in particular), “Give me my 2 sweet teas. I’m gonna be late for work, this is taking forever.”

After I picked up my jaw from the floor board I frantically searched for Candid Camera or Punked to come over and save me. Surely this wasn’t really happening? Except it was.

It so was.

Then, crazyo turns to me and says, “I told you to pull up, I’ve gotta go to work.” Then she yells again at no one in particular, “Listen to me, give me my sweet teas.”

Miraculously, the 2 gals appear and look at me with a helpless look in their eyes. I’m fairly certain that their English was rusty at best, so they were looking at me for help. What in the heck was I gonna do? I mean, give me my freaking oatmeal and I’ll be on my way and, 0h yeah, while your at it, get crazyo’s sweet teas, she’s gotta go to work.

Here’s the part of the story where I temporarily lost my mind.

The poor girl attempts to hand me my Happy Meal box as Crazyo reached for it. I have no idea what she would have done with it. For all I know she would have handed it to me, but who’s to know since I yelled, “Don’t touch my food, don’t touch my food, I don’t want you touching my food!”

I mean, for one thing my food was in a cardboard red box. It’s not like her crazy germs would have transferred on my food. Secondly, who cares if she touched it?

But alas, I was passionate about my red cardboard box. I paid $2.99 for it after all.

I’m going to blame shock. The whole experience was a little odd. Can I get a crazy pass?

Thankfully, crazyo moved aside, and I got my food. As I drove away I heard her yelling, “Hurry up. Do you understand me? Give my sweet teas!”

As I opened up my hard fought Happy Meal I ended up with yucky, soggy oatmeal, no apples, 2 milks and a toy for  boy over 3. But hey, the bright side is that I didn’t die by crazyos hands. I could totally see her carrying a concealed weapon, for real.

Right?

Plus, I’m still holding on to hope that I’ll see myself on Punked one of these days.

Did you guys file a missing blogger report in your town for me?  What about a reward poster?  Milk Cartons? Anything?

Thank you all for your precious concern.  I am a little worn out, but I’m great, Bitzy is more  beautiful than ever and Zach didn’t divorce me after last week.

Ya see, as I told you earlier I had a big event for my job (not the wiping tushes and dishes job at home, the one I get paid money for, not wet slobbery kisses), and it just about knocked me out. I have been exhausted (working around the clock will do that to you) and blogging just hasn’t been on my docket. For that, I’m sorry…BUT…

1. I’m grateful for a job.

2. I’m grateful for a job that I understand and can do well.

3. I’m grateful for a job that honors Jesus.

So, no complaints from this gal.

You all can take the signs down and call your local Po-Po and tell them to stop the search parties. Thank you all so much for your kind concern.

In other news, at my fancy event I had the opportunity to hang out with Governor Mike Huckabee and Dr. Al Mohler. Let me just say, regardless of your personal beliefs on politics and religion, you will never meet 2 nicer guys. I was absolutely floored by both of their kindness and generosity. It was a very humbling experience. So if you have time, check out their stuff, Here and Here.

In more random news, I wore a fab-u-lous dress at said fancy event, fixed my hair, wore bright pink lipstick AND wore 3 inch high heels. That’s right. These tootsies haven’t seen 3 inch heels since before I was pregnant with Bitzy. Let’s just say that while I did keep a smile on, I was thinking about taking the shoes and throwing them in a lake of fire. When I took them off my little piggies were blood red, aching and screaming, “Why Mommy, Why?” But no worries, I have my flip flops back on and all is right with the world.

In more important news, as I was preparing for this big beautiful event and praying for God’s blessing, I was trailing my Bitzy up the stairs and I whispered in her ear, “There is no place else that I’d rather be than here with you.” ‘Cause friends, there is no greater job than being her baby mama. None. She’s a little slice of heaven and I love being with her. It’s a good reminder for me on a night like last night, a little perspective ya know. I love throwing big parties that everyone loves, but I love being her mama more. And let’s face it, I love people telling me how great I am (who doesn’t?), but I love being her mama the most. And finally, I love working at place where Jesus is exalted and honored, but I love honoring Jesus in our home more. Like I said, a little perspective is good for the soul.

Remember my computer saga? If not, read here.

After several scares, a new hard drive and many a day watching the colorful wheel of death barrel toward me, finally, my computer looked me in the eye and said, “Enough.”

Take in mind, that on Monday, September 13th, I’ve got a huge event that I’m heading up and all of my (non-backed up) information rests in the hands of my trusty laptop.

When I saw the black screen, it went a little something like this…

Me in a screeching voice: “Zach, my computer won’t turn on, I think it’s dead.”

Zach: “Is it charged?”

Me in a harsh “how stupid do you think I am” voice meets my classic “whiny whiny pants” voice: “Of course it is! It’s dead and I’m ruined. I can’t believe this! What am I going to do?”

Zach: “Don’t panic. Let me see it.”

Me: “Nope. I know it’s broken.”

Zach: “Maybe it’s nothing, let me see it.”

Me in psychotic, mean, crazy, panicked voice: “It’s something all right. I’m going upstairs to your computer to figure out how to fix this myself.”

A little background.

The mere thought of me fixing anything on my computer is laughable. I’m not so much of a “fixer.” I’m more of a “breaker.”

Anyway, in my “I”m gonna fix this and you can’t help me” tantrum I stomped upstairs like a little 2 year old. I then called a whole bunch of people and told them to pray that my computer would breathe a few more breaths so that I could retrieve some very important information in regards to my upcoming event, and if timed allowed I could also back-up.

So I prayed. And prayed. And prayed some more.

But friends, I didn’t believe it would work.

Fast forward to this morning.

I get my Bitzy and myself dressed and we head out the door to one of our local MAC stores. I go up to the counter and plop my laptop down and say “Remember me? I was just here getting a new hard drive. My computer has a black screen and I’m going to have a heart attack if you don’t fix it right this minute.”

I know, I know, I’m a model customer. Don’t you just know that he was dying to help me, the crazed blond with a babbling baby on her hip? He practically threw himself toward me in a desperate attempt to help me.

Um, that’s a lie. It didn’t go down quite like that.

In fact, I’m pretty sure that I saw him roll his eyes as he took my laptop over to check it out.

So he connects the power cord and pushes the “on” button.

No joke. The computer came on.  Seriously.

He said, “Ma’am, you’re battery was just dead. You just need to charge it and it should run just fine.”

OK, I’m not computer genius by any means, but come on people, the computer charged all night and I only turned it off and on 1,000 times in my tirade the night before.

Remember I was fixing it? How better to fix it than to turn if off and on 4 bazillion times.

All that to say, today I witnessed an absolute miracle of Jesus.

What does one do when they witness a miracle?

They scream, holler, get misty eyed and tell the whole wide world.

So that’s what I did.

Please picture me holding Bitzy, with my other hand up in the air yelling, “Thank you Jesus, it’s a miracle. You’re all witnessing a miracle. Jesus is so faithful. Hallelujah, my computer is healed. Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah.”

I then take Bitzy hands and start dancing around saying, “Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah.”

Needless to say, not everyone shared in my joy as I expected. Instead they just stared.

Meanies. Nobody gets me.

Anyway, as I was basking in the glow of the miracle I had witnessed, I headed to the office and promptly backed up my sick little sweet sliver of silvery goodness.

Lesson #1. Prayer is powerful.

Lesson #2. Computers of fickle.

I worked like a dog for a few hours hanging on to hope that my laptop just had a hiccup and that the Lord spared my little friend. But alas, not so much. In the middle of working on at least a zillion tasks to prepare of the event next week the black screen reoccurred.

I hate black.

Always have.

The good news?

I had backed up everything successfully.

The bad news? Now it had to be reinstalled on another laptop.

During this debacle, I was lamenting the fact that my sweet computer is facing such adversity. I was was whiny and crying and said, “I’ve been doing so much better. I’ve been letting my laptop sleep, charging it all the time, not overloading it with applications. I’m a new woman. Give me another chance computer. I promise I won’t fail you.”

Then, my ever compassionate colleague says, “It’s like when a spouse cheats. They may forgive you, but you better believe they’re going to want to know everywhere you’ve been and where you’re going and they will not soon forget your mistakes. Your computer remembers your sins Molly. It remembers.”

Right through the heart.

It’s true. I’m a bad computer mommy.

As I sit and type on a computer that isn’t mine, that doesn’t bare the scars of my longtime silver fruity friend, I feel lost.

So, laptop if you’re listening, I love you. I miss you. Please get better. Mommy is so sad without you. Please come home to me. Just come home and we’ll work it all out…I promise.

Love you baby,

Mommy

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I gotta tell ya, this whole 10 months age is just about the best time I’ve ever had.

My Bitzy is so freaking hilarious.

She belly laughs at the littlest things.

She squeals and squawks and hollers.

She is very generous with her kisses and hugs and high fives.

When she begins crawling she throws her arms down on the floor and it makes her giggle every.single.time.

She often hides behind the massive amounts of toys to play peek-aboo. Sometimes I’m afraid she’s going to get goo on her arms from all of the Fisher Price vomit up in here. It’s a bit ridiculous I realize. But, in my defense, ALL of her big toys have come from consignment stores.

BTW: Total side note. The Dora the Explorer kitchen above retails for $350 on Amazon. Who in their right mind would pay that much money for a plastic kitchen???  The great news? I got it for $20 at a consignment store and it looks brand spanking new.  Score!

Anyway, back to my sweetheart.

She never tires of playing with the puppies. They are her best friends through and through. Well, besides me of course. Duh.

And mostly, she’s just so darn sweet. It’s like she’s as cuddly and snugly as when she was my squishy newborn baby, but is now way more mobile and her personality is just blossoming by the day. I think it’s her laugh that slays me so.  It’s infectious.

This whole growing up thing isn’t so sad and heartbreaking after all…in fact, it’s way fun. Like, way fun.

Enjoy your Labor Day friends…soak it up, take lots of pictures and have the best.time.ever!

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!!!!

Above you see the face of a failure.

A big ole fat failure.

A tired, mascara raccoon eyed failure.

But, oh, the glorious taste of the fizz.

I missed it so.

That’s right. I fell off the wagon. I then, ran away from the wagon to the nearest Speedway station and got a “Big Chill” of Diet Coke and I never turned back.

When I tasted the yummy, fizzy, zestiness of my long lost friend Diet Coke, I choked back a few tears and calmly said, “Welcome Back Old Friend.”

Then, I broke the world record on sucking down a 32 ounce beverage.

BAM!

Don’t hate. I made it almost 2 weeks.

This, my friends is worth celebrating.

Can I still have my party with icing and show tunes?

Pretty please with Milk Duds on top?

I gotta tell ya, I’m glad to be back and not regretful at all.

Clearly, I’m not ready to totally quit, right?

Is that the mantra that heroin addicts say?

Oh well, I’m an addict through and through.

Maybe next month…

Til then, bring on the Diet Dr. Pepper.

Woo-Hoo!

As I type, I have to remind myself that this blog is G Rated. Not PG or even PG-13, it’s Rated G. Now and forever.

I try very hard both in my every day life and in my little stories, to be positive, upbeat, grateful and to hopefully put a smile on your faces, my darlings (or at least a grin).

That said, tonight I am filled with murderous rage. Therefore, for the first (and probably last) time ever, This little story is rated a solid R. Please forgive me.  Feel free to click the “X” on the top right of your screen.

For those of you still hanging around I want to be clear: I am not an animal lover. We all know this.  I abhor birds (remember?) and even my own dogs drive me bananas, not counting all of the other random animals out there. I mean, I don’t want to shoot them with a taser gun, but I don’t want them to lick my face either.

You know those crazy animal people (like one of my sisters), they love all of God’s creatures. They see a new dog and inevitably ramble on about said animals cuteness and preciousness. Blah, blah, blah. They can’t turn strays away and their dogs and cats sleep in their bed every night.

I assure you that if my child isn’t allowed in our bed, our dumb dogs aren’t. Ever.

Anyway, now that you have called the Humane Society to come and take my dogs away, I want you to know that I have never (nor would I ever) harm any animal.

Unless, said animal is a cricket.

My Enemies.

In that case, I’m a murderer in the first degree.

As much as animals are annoying to me, bugs make me crazy. I HATE them. I hate the way they look, the sounds they make, and for the sake of this little story how they have invaded our basement.

In our basement we have a finished  and an unfinished part. Our finished basement is where we have most of Bitzy’s toys, the big TV, the comfy couch and is where most of the action happens around here. The unfinished part is where the storage and laundry are…and where my enemies have invaded. Luckily they haven’t ventured out into our livable space, they are contained in the unfinished section.

All that to say, we spend a lot of time in the basement. So a few weeks ago when I was loading the laundry into the washer I see the mother of all crickets only inches from my foot.

So I did what all grown women should: I screamed bloody murder and ran.

You should know that I have non-affectionately called crickets, crawdads for some time now. It’s my pet name for those disgusting creatures.

As I’m running I’m screaming, “The crawdads are back, the crawdads are back.”

Zach leisurely looks up from his nerdy video game and says, “Yup, it’s about that time of year.”

This was not the response I was looking for.

I wanted my knight in shining armour to rescue me from the crawdads and kill them all. But that’s not what happened. The following is our exchange.

Zach: ”The Duct tape is in the drawer. Just set some out.”

Me: “You set some out. That’s totally a man thing, it’s not in my territory to kill bugs, plus, why are you talking about Duct tape when a crawdad almost ate me? You don’t even care about me at all.”

Zach: (never looking up from his dorky game) “All you have to do is get pieces of Duct tape and lay them out on the floor, it’s not like I’m asking you to cut down a tree.”

Me: “Maybe if you cared about my life and how it was almost ended by a large creature, you would fight for my honor and kill them instead of playing your stupid game.”

It’s true folks, I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.

Zach: “Fine. I’ll do it. I know that cutting pieces of Duct tape and putting it on the floor is a really manly thing to do, so I’ll take care of it.” (Do you sense his sarcasm?)

Molly: “Oh goody. You do love me after all, kill those nasty animals. Let them burn! You’re my hero!!!”

I have never had hate in my heart before, but I can truly say that now not only is hate in my heart for crawdads, but it’s buried in there. It’s alive and burning and wants to see them all die.

Now, my nightly ritual is to go in and count the dead corpses of the crawdads.  It’s so rewarding.

But as I tell the crawdads every night, “Go back outside, you’re safe from my wrath in your habitat, but the second you come into my house, you signed your death warrant. So get ready to DIE. Tell all of your little friends to stay out or they will die right along side of you.”

It’s true. I talk to the crawdads. I feel that it’s only fair to give them a warning.

So, tonight the count is up to 17 dead overall.

Impressive, don’t you think?

The more the merrier as far as I’m concerned. So in my creepiest Wicked Witch of the West voice I sing, “Come here little crawdads, I have a little treat for you…”

I’m hoping the death toll will be up to 25 by the weekend.

Told ya this was R Rated.

Happy Friday friends:).

<a href=”http://littlestorieseverywhere.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/signature.jpg”><img title=”Stories Everywhere Siggy2″ src=”http://littlestorieseverywhere.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/signature.jpg” alt=”" width=”160″ height=”105″ /></a>

1980. Luke and Molly in Happier Times.

Having a big brother can be likened to being in an abusive relationship.  You take the beatings, he says he’s sorry, you forgive him over and over again. Then, right when you think you’re best friends forever he turns on you and the beatings continue.

Or, at least that’s how it was for me growing up.

My brother Luke is 3.5 years older than me. The perfect age difference where he could truly terrorize me and I would still love him. He would beat me, sure, but the mind games were even more terrifying.

I have countless stories of him promising me that if I played GI Joe with him then he would play Barbie with me. Except magically after our marathon session of GI Joe, he was “too tired” for Barbie, or more often,he would laugh in my face that I would ever believe that he would subject himself to such horrors as Barbie.

1985. Awesome.

Or the times that he nearly drowned me (or so it seemed anyway), slapped me, there was even an incidence of him dropping me on my head as a baby “on accident.” Ahem.

Needless to say, as a kid, Luke had it out for me.  But being the perfect angel that I was, I just kept loving him despite the abuse.

Ahem. It is somewhat possible that I may or may not have evoked the abuse. But for the sake of this little story, I was innocent.

But there was one fateful night that his abuse went all wrong.

A little background first.

At this time our bedrooms were upstairs. Luke’s was on the left, mine on the right. Between our rooms there was a bathroom that was being built, but it was still under construction.  So picture,  2 bedrooms and the makings of a bathroom in between, filled with sawdust, building materials, ya know, constructiony stuff.

If my memory serves me correctly I was around 11 and Luke was 14. I was still a precious little girl and he was, well, a teenager.

OK, now on with the little story.

So one night in particular, around 1:00am, my darling brother was bored in his room and decided to play a little joke on his ever loving sister.

He got a small cardboard box, put some paper in it and lit it on fire in the hallway.

I mean, when you’re playing a joke on someone don’t you light a fire inside of a house near a construction zone? Seems like the perfect idea for a joke, right?

Big Dummy.

When the fire started he began yelling, “Molly, Molly! There’s a fire and we’ve gotta get out of here!”

So, of course in all of my perfect sleeping bliss I begin screaming hysterically while seeing my young life flash before my eyes.

I start screaming, “What do we do? Luke save me! FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!”

Because even as an arsonist, he was my hero. (There’s gotta be some kind of psychological study about the relationships between big brothers and little sisters).

When he sees my reaction he begins dying laughing and making fun of me and my hysteria.

When I realize that he’s joking, I scream louder and get more hysterical of course. (Since I didn’t die by fire, it was kind of hilarious).

So, after he had his laugh at my expensive he goes into the bathroom (under construction remember) and tries to turn the water on put the fire out.

One tiny little problem.  The water was off in the bathroom. It wasn’t exactly functional at that time.

Now, I begin to see a bit of concern on his face and of course, I’m still screaming “FIRE, FIRE, FIRE” and plotting how I’m going to jump out of the window.

By then, Luke had taken the box (the one that’s on fire) and was running down the stairs.

2010. From Arsonist, To Family Man.

Now, I’m no scientist. I’m a doctor, remember? My degree from Grey’s Anatomy never covered fire hazards, but I do remember from 4th grade that fire is fueled by air.

Right?

We all got up close and personal with that little life lesson that night.

By the time Luke got down the stairs the box was flaming, like big mammoth flames and I’m still screaming, “FIRE, FIRE, FIRE.” It’s like I was a machine on repeat, it’s all I could muster.

In addition to the massive flames, the box was also extremely hot. Luke dropped the box at the bottom on the stairs on the, you guessed it, carpet.

By now, the box was still flaming, the carpet begins smoking, I am screaming and Luke is wondering if he would a.)die by fire or b.)from being grounded without parole.

Clearly, the parents were awake by now.

Mama comes stumbling in bleary eyed from having a colicky baby and is telling us to be quiet. Never you mind that the house is on fire, we mustn’t wake up the baby (now, I so understand what that’s like).

By now, Luke is in total panic and throws the box on the wooden deck. I mean, the carpet is already ruined, why not try to burn the deck down too? That way, there is no escape.

I’m still screaming, Mama is telling me to be quiet, Luke is pacing and finally someone has the wits about them to throw water on the box. I honestly do not remember who this magical person was. An angel? Smokey the Bear? My 3 year or 3 month old sister?

Not sure, what I do know is that I was privvy to possibly the best practical joke gone wrong experience ever.

What was he thinking?

Hilarious.

I have no memories of what happened after that. I’m assuming that he got in trouble and that we all went back to bed, but who knows?

So in honor of my brother who is no longer an arsonist and is now a normal, loving father and husband, thank you for not setting me on fire on that fateful night.

Good Daddy!

The moral of this little story? Arson and abuse are just part of childhood, right? Makes life more FUN!

PS: Are you starting to understand why I’m so crazy? It’s in my blood people.

Happy Wednesday!

Today I was innocently driving my Bitzy and I to our favorite haunt, Target.

We’re addicts, Bitzy and me.

I figure that we’re just contributing to all the bazillions of dollars that they give away every other minute (that’s my justification anyway).

It’s a win-win for all the charities and for our family. Right?

Right-o.

So anyway, we were cruising along our normal route when I may as well have seen a unicorn.

I saw the oldest woman alive mowing her yard.

Seriously.

I’m not talking 75 or 80. She was at least 90, if not 95-100.

I almost wrecked the car I was so shocked. And disturbed. And impressed.

I mean, no sons?  No neighbors?  No service?

I wanted to run up and give her a $20 to pay some kid to mow it.

But then, I realized the coolness of the unicorn.

This chick wanted her yard mowed, so she did it.  She didn’t wait on said son or cousin or uncle (which is good because I’m pretty darn sure that her uncle isn’t with us anymore), or anyone else, she just did it.

I would like to point out for the record, that I am not like that woman. I don’t mow my yard now, nor will I when I’m 95.  I’m sorry.

Granted, I’m totally assuming that the oldest lady alive- aka: unicorn, has some gumption and took it upon her self to mow, but then again, maybe she was delirious and thought she was surfing, or shopping or doing jumping jacks.

Who knows?

The moral of this little story is that unexpected awesomeness can happen at any time of day at any time…ya just gotta look for it.

Happy Thursday!

Nearly every day for the past four years I have I made my darling husbands lunch.  Even when we were dating, his neatly packed lunch was ready for him in the fridge every day when he left for work.

I’m not really sure how we began this tradition, but somewhere along the way it has become habit.

Before you go thinking I’m a totally awesome wife, hold your horses.

While I do make his lunches, I do have a few rules.

No ooey gooey things like sauces or mayo. Grody.

No lettuce or tomatoes on the sandwiches, way too much work.

No pickles ever. Totally and completely disgusting.

Just a note: mayonnaise grosses me out to such a severe degree that I can barely look at it, much less put it on a sandwich.  So although Zach has begged for it for all these years, I just can’t bare it.  It’s a small miracle that mustard makes in, as it grosses me out as well. Luckily, for Zach, the mustard is a squeeze bottle so I never actually have to touch anything.

Yes, I’m a huge girly girl.  What of it?

Anyhow, every day when Zach gets home from work he is ravenous.  I try to have his dinner ready when he gets home, but let’s face it, often it just doesn’t happen.

So one day in particular he comes home starving and I have chicken stir fry made for dinner (which he normally loves).

When he sees dinner on the stove I can sense his disappointment.  So I say in my 1950′s southern housewife voice, “Oh no honey! Would you like something besides stir fry?  I’ll make you whatever you’d like. How about a scotch to hold you over?”

Yeah right.

I confess that it was more like, “What, you don’t like it?  I worked really hard to have it done when you got home and the baby is clingy and I’m tired and, sniff sniff, you hate it and you hate me.”

Because I’m whiny and annoying and insecure.

Then, being the best husband EVAH, he comes over and hugs and kisses me and says that he loves it and appreciates me and how hard I work for our family.

If I were a 50′s housewife I would have let it go, instead, my annoyingly insecure self continues to ask why he hates stir fry and how long exactly has he hated me?

He should have shook me and told me to get ahold of myself, but instead he continued to encourage me and tell me how wonderful I was.

Told ya he’s a saint.

Finally, after he goes on and on about how much he loves me, I forget all about his hatred of all things stir fry and our dinner was wonderful.

After dinner he says, “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I’m still hungry.”

I said, “Why are you still hungry? I made you 2 sandwiches for lunch today and stir fry for dinner.  You shouldn’t still be hungry.”

Then, in the sweetest most gentle voice my sweet soul-mate says, “Ya know, when you make my sandwiches, sometimes you get in a hurry and only put one piece of deli meat between the bread and throw in a granola bar. One time it wasn’t even a whole piece, it was half of a piece. No mayo, mustard, lettuce, tomato, anything.  That’s really not enough food for me to eat from 6am-5pm.  I get really hungry.”

Then, he practically closed his eyes and waited for my ultimate wrath to befall him.

Instead, much to his enjoyment, I began dying laughing.

“I only put one piece of deli meat in your sandwich? For real? What was I thinking?”

When he realized that I wasn’t going to fall all to pieces he continued to tell me about how my good deed of making his lunches are sometimes more like a small snack.

We laughed and laughed and laughed some more. He endlessly made fun of me of not putting mayo on the sandwiches and barely giving him any meat at all and I made fun of him for not telling me sooner.  As it turns out, my quest to make him lunch every day is more like me making lunch for a kindergartner. Silly me.

So much for my quest to get a #1 wife of the year t-shirt with a matching airbrushed license plate.

Maybe next year.

Now that it’s all out in the open I’m trying to put at least 2 slices of meat per sandwich:).

Ha! Makes me laugh.

Life is fun.

My girly and me all windblown and happy.

I am not a geneticist. I know, I know, you thought that my degree from Grey’s Anatomy would cover the X’s and Y’s of things, but alas, it did not.

While I’m not a professional, I am an active observer of human behavior, doesn’t that make me some kind of expert? Maybe?

Anyway, expert or not, I have noticed over the years that people can be characterized in one of two categories…

Positive or Negative.

Out of these 2 categories come lots of other personality traits.

For example, if someone is positive, chances are that they are nice and possibly, “idealistic”.   If negative, then more cynical and possibly more “realistic.” Not always, but usually.

I have also noticed that many people may be naturally positive but due to the circumstances of life they are living negatively and vice versa.  I have also seen the most negative of people have total joy in Christ, so it’s not that one is better than the other…just different.

Living in a positive or negative state of mind can and will affect all areas of a persons life. Granted, this isn’t a rule, it’s a generalization just for the sake of this little story, so bear with me.

All this to say, there is not much in the world that gets me upset. I have a few hot button issues that drives me bananas (like abortion and bad customer service, just to name a few), but overall, I’m a very positive person, pretty laid back, unless I’m totally not laid back and completely nuts.

I’m about 50% chill and 50% crazy.

(In case you’re wondering, I married a saint).

So lately, I have noticed that people are more negative than ever before. And I just don’t get it. I’ve heard a lot of people say they want to be “authentic” or “real.”  I have found that these terms often translate into people being rude and generally unpleasant.

I notice it as I overhear people in the grocery store, when I’m having conservations with friends and when I read different websites and blogs.

In the effort of full disclosure let me add that as of late I have become a bit of a “blogaholic” visiting several different blogs daily and ready up on the happenings of all sorts of different people.  On my blog reading adventures I have happened upon several blogs that talked about motherhood being harder than they thought, or even not what’s it’s cracked up to be, or how it’s the most tiring job in the world. Blah, blah, blah.

Let me clarify.

I get it.  I get that it’s a huge responsibility.  I get that it’s not always fun. I get that it can be boring reading the same book 79 times a day. That having your life be dictated by a nap schedule puts a damper on your Mojo. That there is nothing fun about cleaning up puke and poop almost every day.  I get that you never sleep and your clothes don’t fit and you feel crazy half the time.

I totally get it.

But, ya know what?  The responsibility doesn’t hold a candle to the JOY of having half of you and half of your soul mate wiggling around on the floor. It’s a priceless gift and it shouldn’t be taken for granted.

I think about the throngs of people that would give anything to have their very own offspring.

I think about the tears that have been cried of those who hold a pregnancy test every single month to only see one line.

I think about the parents of SIDS victims that would give anything to wake up 5 times a night by a colicky baby.

I think about the parents that are waiting for their adoptive child, their arms aching for the baby that has been picked just for them.

And then I think about my very own Bitzy and how my heart grows bigger every single day because of her infectious giggle and sweet smile. No matter how many sleepless nights I have with her, there is absolutely nothing that can compare to holding a tiny piece of yumminess in my arms each day.  Heaven forbid that I take the gift of motherhood for granted for one.single.minute.

So, if you’re in the throws of motherhood and feeling discouraged or waiting to experience the soul altering earthquake of the glory of a baby to call you “Mommy or Daddy,” or simply trying to figure out if you’re cut out to be a parent, or if you’re just feeling negative…

Take heart.

Be grateful.

Have hope.

And for heaven sake BE POSITIVE.

Rain is bittersweet.

I get that it’s important for plants and all that. But, it’s a real drag..especially on my hair.

It just makes everything harder.

However, the one thing that makes it bearable are all the songs about it.

For some reason, I LOVE songs about rain.

For example, my most favorite is “After the Rain,” by none other than Nelson.  Remember them?  They had the long blonde locks of love. Watch it here and you’ll love it too.

Also, despite the unfortunate lip syncing incident, “Blame it on the Rain,” is a catchy, fun song.  Although while listening to it now, it doesn’t have the same allure than it did in 1989.  Listen here.  I forgive them for cheating…it’s taken some time, but we’re all OK now.

Incidentally on a rainy Sunday afternoon my darling husband and I watched the creepiest rendition of “No Rain,” by Blind Melon.  While I was scarred for life after watching it, listening to this classic version brings me back to feeling like that poor bumblebee girl as a kid.  So sad. However, I have no idea why this song is called “No Rain.”  It hasn’t nothing to do with rain really.  So random…as is Blind Melon in general. It’s part of their charm.

When I was in college, living in Boone, NC for the summer I bought a “Shining 70′s” CD to fit in with all the hippies.  I burned that CD up over the course of a few months.  Creedance Clearwater Revival’s “Have You Ever Seen the Rain” was on that CD and I was a regular groupie (only a few decades late).

Ah, and lest us not forget, “Bring on the Rain” by Jo Dee Messina and Tim McGraw. In hard times, I always go back to this song.  I get a little teary every time I hear it…sweet huh.

And finally, “November Rain” (you knew it was coming). The only reason I know anything at all about this song is my arch enemy/friend in elementary school who tortured me endlessly, let’s call him- “Meanie” (more stories coming about him to be sure), got a pair of headphones and pressed them to my head and pushed as hard as he could while screaming “Molly, you must listen to GNR, I’m gonna make ‘ya.”

Meanie was quite violent.

So all that to say, maybe rain isn’t so bad.

At least I can jam to my rain music while my hair is soaking wet and my hard wood floors have muddy footprints all over them.

Isn’t focusing on the positive better for everyone?…(especially little furry dogs with their wet little paws that make my floor dirty).