When Tailgations Collide.

The LSU / Alabama game is always a study in human nature worth experiencing. ESPECIALLY before the game (and, I daresay after the game may even be more so, but we’ve never stayed to risk it.)

LSU fans are hugely supportive and tailgate-esque, nearly as much so as Alabama. So when the two come together, Tuscaloosa becomes a whole seriously crazy place.

Due to the massive and quite passionate crowds, everyone makes sure to protect their territories a little more than usual. For instance, these signs were posted all over the grounds of the Religious Student Center at which we park:
In case you can’t read that last sentence…
I never knew that God was so passionate about illegal tailgating.

At any rate, the party atmosphere is quite high when LSU comes to town, including sidewalks being completely impassable due to line-dancing crowds:
And, although there are always the troublemaking outliers, their shared obsession with tailgating seem to bring the two teams together, rather than create disturbances:
Now, I have a few friends from Louisiana, and they have told me many times that Louisianians are a very unique breed. And with that comes all sorts of fun tailgate toys that we don’t have. Like, for instance, whole pig roasters:(In fact, I was told there were actually TWO whole pigs underneath all of those smoldering coals.)

Kinda nasty, but I bet it’s tasty.

And, since LSU is SUCH a heavy tailgating team, the Alabama crazies step it up a notch to ensure their dominance.

Chris found these two fancy ladies…
But their Gentleman, uh, “Companion”, wasn’t too happy about sharing them:I guarantee you that somewhere in Alabama, there’s been a wedding occur in those outfits.

There were superheroes present for both teams:


And, as usual, some interesting fashion statements:(I love how she took this fall’s hot plaid fashion trend and stepped it up a notch with the help of her bedazzler to come up with a feyancee Alabama shirt.)

And, LSU fans have some pants that rival the complete tackiness of some of Alabama’s menswear:
But, if you just don’t know what to wear, a Mario Jumpsuit works quite well:(For the record, he’s wearing an Arkansas Razorbacks hat. I think he may have gotten lost…)

But no matter how hard you work on your team-to-outfit coordination, it may not stop you from having a serious wardrobe malfunction:
Poor thing. But she never seemed to notice

I had asked Chris before the game if he was going to be moody and angry, seeing as how I knew it would be a close game. He defended himself and said that he was never moody and angry! Maybe stressed, but NOT moody and angry.

I chuckled.

Then we arrived at the stadium, and his nerves hit him.

Chris: “Can I pre-apologize for being moody and angry?”

Me: “Nope! That just proves that your moodiness and angriness was pre-meditated, which makes it less acceptable!”

Chris: “No, I am not premeditating being moody and angry, I just think I might be susceptible to the temptation to be moody or angry at some point during this game.”

Me: “Still no – being aware of that just means that you have the knowledge to make the decision to work extra hard not to be moody and angry.”

I must say, he did fairly well, especially considering the stress level of the game.

Not to say that he DIDN’T have to apologize, but still.

Other people found different ways of dealing with their stress in the stadium.

For instance, there was a couple two rows in front of us - let’s call them Gropey McGropey Pants and Gropey McGropey Dress - who found that they felt MUCH better if they stood up (especially at times when everyone behind them was sitting) and thoroughly groped each other’s backsides. Repeatedly. And for tortuously extended time periods.

Imagine about ten rows of muffled laughter behind them.

And then there are always those fans who feel much better if they invade the personal space of complete strangers. I had one guy clap me on the back HARD five times in a row – and I had never seen him before in my life.

And then – another girl ran up from nowhere and slapped me three times on the butt with her shaker.

Now that I think about it, I’m wondering if I had some sort of instructional sign on my back…

At any rate, we won, Chris left happy, and I was a good wife and showed how much I love and respect my husband by dressing Ali in this for Church yesterday morning:

Of course, she was horribly embarrassed when she got to church and realized that half the congregation was wearing pretty much the same outfit.

Not that we take our football too seriously or anything down here.

Consult Your Physician Before Starting Any Blogging Routine.

Remember last weekend when I mentioned my face's graceful run-in with my camera on the camping trip?

Well, it’s time to elaborate.

This particular camping trip is a year-long anticipated destination for the dozens of kids that attend. There are games and scavenger hunts and treasures and friends and everything a kid could want. It’s Heaven, I tell you.

In Ali’s treasure bag, there was this Parachuting Chicken, for which I have developed a sharp dislike: Stupid Chicken.

Anyway, Ali received her treasure bag, and we were going through her Utopia of Goodies together, all excitedly. She got to the Chicken and knew exactly what it was.

“Throw it up in the air, Mommy!! Throw it REEEEEEEAL high, Mommy!!”

So we walked out into the field, I pulled my arm back with all of the eight-years-of-childhood-softball-pitching power that I could muster, and I threw the chicken as high as I could.

Except that the chicken didn’t go very high at all.

Because on it’s fast and powerful upward ascent, my arm met with my camera, which happened to be in my jacket pocket.

And from there, my arm lifted my camera up into my lip, face, and nose, with all of the eight-years-of-childhood-softball-pitching power that it could muster.

It was one of those facial impacts that immediately brings tears to your eyes, not because you’re in pain (which you are), but because it just knocked every drop of liquid out of your head with the impact.

We walked away for a minute as I tried to silently compose myself. My lip felt swollen and busted, and everything hurt, but there seemed to be no spurting of blood, so I assumed that I didn’t permanently damage anything.

My lip swelling went down as my nose swelling came up. My nose was very tender and sore for the next two days.

Then, as the tenderness went away, my nose began a new trick: every time any pressure was put on it, it gave me an immediate and piercing headache.

Nice.

After two days of headaches, I started feeling a ton of pressure along with those headaches.

So, I made my second trip to the doctor in a week, only to find out that….

My nose, she is broken.

(And no, my teeth don’t look like fangs in real life.)

“There’s nothing we can do about it, but the pain should go away in four to six weeks if it heals correctly. Just don’t touch it until then. And come back in six weeks so that we can make sure it healed right.”

Have you ever tried keeping anything from touching your nose? How about for six weeks?

I never knew that my nose touched so many things a day until it was told not to.

So, the moral of this story is:

If I weren’t a blogger, I wouldn’t carry my camera with me at all times.

And if I hadn’t had my camera in my pocket, that stupid chicken would have flown high in the sky, and my nose would not currently feel like it was filled with cement and daggers.

But I do it all for you.

Blogging: it has serious health risks.

As do stupid parachuting chickens.

Stung by The Birds and The Bees.

My good friend Lydia (of Mom Jeans and the Dreaded “Long Butt” fame) had her fourth baby Tuesday night (obviously she is braver than I). A few of us split up the rest of their kids, and I got the lucky draw of Radford, baby #3:

I really think he may be the cutest 16 month old in the world.

So, for two and a half days, I practiced what it would be like to have TWO kids. And you know, it’s really not so bad. I could totally handle it – if only I could pop out a 16-month-old instead of a needy, not-sleeping, screaming newborn.

Radford loves everyone and thinks that everyone loves him. Which is a correct assumption on all but one creature's case:

(Don’t worry…no toddlers were put in harm’s way by the making of that video…Oreo is all hiss and no scratch.)

Now, being that Ali isn’t accustomed to living with a BOY, except for her Father, who is the epitome of couth and manners at all times <cough>, she’s been learning all about the male species…like what it REALLY means to not just burp, but to BELCH.

Wow, that kid is talented.

And no wonder – he eats like a MAN. He ate five Banana Nut muffins for breakfast on Thursday, and was begging for a sixth, signing “more” and “please” as fast as he could.

….which led to quite the crumbly toddler:

But when I cleaned up his mess, I realized that maybe he didn’t eat QUITE five muffins after all:

Radford also taught Ali how men sit…

(All he needs is the remote control)

And he how to be sure and make a big production of filling one’s diaper:

But I’m afraid that the MOST memorable thing that she learned from Radford was the difference between boys and girls.

Poor thing…I think she may be scarred for life.

It all started Thursday morning..Radford woke up sopping wet, so I peeled his pajamas off, wiped him off the best that I could, put a new diaper on him, and stuck him in the crib with Ali while I ran him a bath.

I came back in less than two minutes later to find him completely naked, with his already-wet-again diaper laying in the bed.

(At least he left it on long enough to pee in it.)

(Either that, or he took it off and then aimed at it.)

Ali was staying as far away from him as she could, backed up into the corner of the crib, but staring at him with a look of confusion and complete disturbedness.

She didn’t say anything about it then, but I could tell she was troubled by his nether region weirdness.

A bit later, I was changing his diaper, and Ali said, “Ew! Mommy! He POOPED in his diaper!!”, all while staring at his, well, parts.

“That’s not poop, honey.”

“Well then what DID he do in his diaper?!”

Trying to avoid this inevitable conversation, I said, “Well, he tee-teed in his diaper…”

(she keeps staring, wide-eyed)

So I finally said, “That’s his parts, baby.”

“No it’s not, it’s his tee-tee!”

“Nope, it’s his parts.”

Confused, she said, “I have parts…”

“I know, but his parts are different that yours because he’s a boy.”

“ooooh…..”

….then she walked away, her face completely reading “I just lost all of my innocence about life."

I’m afraid she’ll never be able to look at Radford the same again.

The Holiday Shopping (Un)Guide.

I’m sure that all of you have recently received at least one copy of this catalog:

Yes, yes. It’s overwhelming, full of millions of things costing billions of dollars, all important items that your kids Need!!! Right!!!! Now!!!!

So, I decided to help you out and make your toy buying decisions a little easier. I have pored over the book (hence the wrinkles in the cover) to categorize and suggest gifts for your individual needs.

It’s okay, no thank you notes are necessary (but, like all of the guilt-inducing tip jars at restaurants with no wait-staff that you’re wondering exactly what you’d be tipping them FOR, they’re “appreciated.”)

First of all, let’s start with the baby dolls. There are baby dolls for every specific little girl.

If you have a very political-correctness-sensitive child, then this is the baby doll for her. Toys R Us obviously paid thousands of dollars to some lawyer somewhere to come up with this description:

“Fully articulated with appropriate ethnic details” – what the heck?!

I guess they were advised not to use their first draft, “You can choose from the white baby or the baby with slanty eyes!”

Anyway. If your child is not into racial differences, but more into the things that Ali is into, such as POO, (or, if you feel like you just don’t get to change enough dirty diapers each day as it is), then the Whoopsie Doo baby is definitely the one for you:

I know that these have been around for a while, and I still can’t FATHOM what brilliant person thought that the world needed a DOLL that POOPED.

For the H1N1 conscious child, then definitely buy her Baby Ah-Choo:

Yes, she even comes with her own thermometer. I wonder where you stick it? I know where Ali would think it went...

The final two doll choices are for those more “alternatively minded” parents.

If you want your child to understand what dolls look like when they are tripping on LSD, then these “Explorer Girls” are for you:

Seriously. Quit staring at me. You’re freaking me out.

Or, if you want to skip the stuffing and just give your child SKELETON DOLLS, then there’s a choice for you as well! Introducing, Skelanimals!

Tell me THAT wouldn’t scare you in the middle of the night in a dark hallway…

Okay, so we’ve covered the doll buying guide. Let’s move on to the gift to give the child that you really want to contract brain disease. There are a couple of great toys on the market for that this year:

You have the classic “Use the Force” motif, where the kid is hooked up to electrodes that use their brainwaves to move things,

Or, the game from that Star Trek episode that sucked everyone in and made them robots, again hooking your kid’s brain up to the game:Thank goodness that Wesley Crusher had the guts to save the day and rescue everyone from that mind-crushing game.

(Yes, I might be a recovering Trekkie. What of it?)

Okay. So I know what you’re wondering. Are there any gifts out there that can prepare my child to use websites such as E-Harmony and Match.com?

Why yes! I’m glad you asked! You need to buy them Facechipz: “Collectible friendship tokens with unique online codes that kids trade to create an online community!!!”

It’s E-Harmony Junior! They’ll be ready for the online dating world by fourth grade!

Another gift that goes perfectly with their Match.comChipz is this one:
...because it’s always good to foster secrecy and drama in girls, starting at age six. That way, you’ll be set up for the tween stage to be ALL that it can be!

Now, let’s move on to boy toys for a bit. I know after seeing those scary Explorer girl dolls, you're hoping there’s some druggie boy stuff out there this year too.

Well don’t worry – no need to be disappointed! Because whoever came up with this toy/movie name HAD to have been high: …because Revenge of the Bumblebee would have been too boring on it’s own.

Every year, the first question that parents ask is, “What toy can I get my kid this year that will annoy me all year long with it’s stupid, recorded, repeated phrases?”

Well, I’m here to deliver. If you’re wanting to be on the edge of insanity all year by a talking toy, then I definitely recommend Wisecracking Spider-Man:…because “Who’s your favorite webslinger” is SUCH a funny wisecrack.

For those who are more interested in your children hiding in the back of the closet because they’re so scared of their toys, then Screature is definitely for you:

“uses sensors to sense and attack PREY”?!?!?! Notice that prey is not included. So guess what Screature is going to think his prey is?

Uh-huh.

“Turn Christmas morning at YOUR house into the horrors of Jurassic Park!!!”

But don’t worry. You can get a toy that will serve two functions: it will allow your family to fight Screature off, AND teach your children how to be terrorists, all for just $39.99!!

Be sure to buy one the companion DVDs, Al-Qaeda in America, Using Militia to Change Your Country, or The Ethical Use of Bombing and Attacks to accompany their training tool.

If you’re a bit more of a Pacifist and want to simply make sure that your child buys into the hyper-branding of American culture, then I definitely recommend The Home Depot Power Tools Workshop:

Perfect for instilling manly values AND brand awareness, starting at age three!

Speaking of three-year-olds, they can be a bit explosive. So if you are feeling the need to contain them, then buy them a cage, cleverly disguised as a trampoline:

Now. If your greatest desire is for your children to grow up and be featured on such shows as “The Real Housewives of (your town)” or “Entourage”, then you DEFINITELY must get them one of these:

But don’t worry – you don’t have to sacrifice your environmentalist ethics or compromise their green education to do so: They made sure to specify that these aren’t just normal Escalades, they are HYBRID Escalades!

You were so blinded by the pricetag that you didn’t notice the Hybrid part, eh?

Well, if that’s not enough to spend on your precious, then you can double it and get them a toy that can most definitely propel them farther and faster than any five year old should travel:

Yeah. Wow.

And finally, the MOST useless thing in the catalog – the only thing that I can’t think of ANYONE who could profit from (except maybe the kid who deserves switches and ashes in their stocking):

Let me get this straight: You’re selling Barn Animals and accessories, but the barn animals and farm equipment (i.e. accessories) are sold separately and, therefore, not included?

So. . . .I’m paying for what, exactly?

Well, that’s the Holiday Buying Guide – my hope is that ALL of you have been able to finish your Christmas list by the end of this post!

A Lady Never Tells…

We have a way of having quirky and unique creature invasions no matter where we go. At our old house, it was Satan the Squirrel. Thank goodness he hasn’t found us again (yet). But for the last three years at our new house, we have had a much less damaging, but much more puzzling group of visitors.

HOW…..

Can a swarm of hundreds ladybugs know to come to the SAME room in the SAME house every year, and all show up at once?

Furthermore, how is it that they know to come to a room decorated in Ladybugs (and Butterflies and Dragonflies)?

Furthermore, how can they do all of the above when I know for a fact that this year’s swarm is a totally different group than the previous two year’s swarms, because they all met their demise in the bottom of a water bottle?

Furthermore, and most puzzling, how can ladybugs understand the passage of time well enough to come:

in 2007: on November 13th
in 2008: on November 3rd
in 2009: on November 3rd

They arrived the EXACT SAME DAY that they came last year.

I’m pretty sure that Ladybugs must be the smartest bugs on earth.

Either that, or we live in the Ladybug Twilight Zone.

Chris’ theories?

a) That last year’s invaders laid eggs and these are their babies that miraculously hatched exactly a year later (I disproved because they’re all full-grown, and I’ve seen baby ladybugs – their tiny.)

b) That each year, the ladybugs “mark” our house so that they (and their descendants) know where to come back to for their winter death lodging. This theory actually seems feasible.

Which means that Ali’s room is apparently marked with Ladybug poo.

Ew.

Anyone have any better theories?

Too bad the ladybugs won’t live to explain it to us.

Time to get the water bottle torture chamber back out…

Life Through The Lens of Goldilocks

Everything in Ali’s life is currently being related back to The Three Bears.

There were three table decoration pumpkins at the camping lodge. They were immediately named Papa Pumpkin, Mama Pumpkin, and Baby Pumpkin. She informed us that her favorite was baby pumpkin, my favorite was Mama Pumpkin, and Chris' favorite was Daddy pumpkin.

All soup-like substances, including chili, must be referred to as “porridge” if one is desirous for Ali to partake of it, and every bite must be analyzed to determine whether it is too hot, too cold, or just right.

The song on her bible CD that says “Behold, Behold, I stand at the door and knock, knock, knock…” is, according to Ali (who happens to sing it “Hehold, Hehold…”), apparently about Goldilocks knocking on The Three Bears’ door.

(I don’t remember her knocking…I thought Goldilocks was more of a breaking and entering sort of porridge thief.)

And the grand finale of this association obsession happened on Sunday when she pooped on the potty. She announced to Chris, the parent in charge of that particular potty visit, “I pooped!!!” Then, looking down into the potty and checking out the situation, she informed him: “There’s a big HUUUGE poop, and a medium poop, and an iiiiitty biiiitty baby bear poop.”

Chris looked, and sure enough, that summed up the situation quite well.

Anyway…EVERYTHING in life has to do with these crazy bears. And really, this makes total sense. She can relate to their family unit - There’s a Daddy, a Mommy, and a baby.

Upon deeper thought into this matter, I realized that there’s a children’s story for every family unit –

• If you’ve got a single Mom, you can relate to Snow White.
• If you’ve got a single Mom and two horrible sisters, then Cinderella is your association of choice.
• For those with single Dads, there’s The Little Mermaid.
• For the typical one son, one daughter family, you have The Berenstein Bears.
• If you grew up in the woods and were raised by animals, you have The Jungle Book.

Anyway, you get my point.

So, obviously, it would be a complete SHAME to mess up this understanding of family that she has, right?

But apparently, she’s adaptable.

After telling me yesterday morning after gymnastics that she wanted a baby sister, she decided that this:

Was her Baby Bear Sister, Abby.

I’m sure that Goldilocks will be thrilled to know that there’s a new bear on the scene, waiting to have her porridge eaten, her chair broken, their bed slept in, and her life wrecked in general.

The Only Blog Post This Weekend Without Halloween Costume Pictures.

My family, along with a very large group of other families, has gone on an annual camping trip the weekend of Halloween since I was about six or seven years old (last year’s trip can be found here). This being said, my child has yet to own a Halloween costume in her short life.

So, while everyone else is showing their kid’s Halloween costumes (And they’re all ADOOOORABLE, by the way!), I shall write about camping-ish'*.

* Camping-Ish: Going on a trip that is CALLED a camping trip, but staying in the lodge on the campgrounds, because you’re too much of a wuss to tent-camp - not for fear of the outdoors, but for fear of your child waking up a daybreak because she’s used to having blacked out windows. This fear is doubled on the weekend of the time-change, because sleeping in a tent with said toddler would guarantee that you would not, in fact, get your deserved extra hour of sleep.

On our way to camping-ish, we had to stop at our favorite treat in the world, Wing Stop (which is sadly no longer in Birmingham, so we look for any excuse we can to stop there “on the way” to anywhere else.)

Our family’s pig-out portion:

Just so you know, in case you have a Wing Stop near you and should be appreciating these delicacies regularly since we can’t, not only do they have amazing wings, but their FRIES are what really put them over the top. They have sugar AND salt on them – and wow is it amazing. And their ranch dressing – again, perfection.

And Chris and I aren’t the only ones who think so:

Ali was a very happy Wing Stop customer.

(Wing Stop did not give me a single free Wing to say how great they are, but I wouldn’t mind it a bit if they did.)

We were camping at Maranatha Camp and Conference Center, on the lake in small-town Guntersville Alabama, where such high-brow shopping such as “Bubba II: Fine Gentlemen’s Clothiers” can be found.

(I especially love that it had the “II” on it, as if to say “We’re so fiiiine that we have TWO shops! Now hand me thar my spitoon!!”)

We got to the campground about 4pm, in time for a VERY late nap for a VERY excited, yet tired toddler. She ran into our lodge hotel room, all while screaming, “YAY!!! CAMPING!!!”

My Mom laughed at us. “She has no idea what camping really is, does she?”

Why spoil the magic?

After she woke up, we headed out to see the fire that Chris had been building “for our enjoyment” (aka: He’s a raging pyromaniac).

I’m afraid that Chris might pass on his obsession to Ali:

Ali and Pop had a fireside chat (maybe he was trying to counteract Chris' pyromania with his fire-safety talks that I got as a child):
And Pop showed her how to use her “camping surprise” from Daddy, a lantern:


Another girl on the camping trip gave Ali a glow-stick. This, of course, gave her the esteemed award of Favorite Person of the Weekend. Ali immediately dubbed her “The Girl in the Pink Shirt”, and insisted that was her name, despite our efforts to explain that her name was ACTUALLY Avery.

(In fact, this morning, Avery dared to wear a green shirt. But no worries - Ali quickly adjusted and referred to her as “The Pink Girl in the Green Shirt.”)

I taught Ali how to wave her glow stick around to make pretty lights in the sky:

Although for the most part, she enjoyed the fire, every time she would get cold or bored, she would whine, “I wanna go back CAMPING!”

“We ARE camping, baby!”

“No – I want to go back to our camping room!”

Yeah…she’s definitely an outdoorswoman.

After a long, late night by the fire despite her random outbursts of desire for the indoors, it was time for bed. Wanna see how much we like to sleep in? THIS is really “roughing it”:
Ahh…blacked out windows = sleeping until 9am = TOTALLY worth it.

Now I must say, without boring you all yet again with my medical woes, that I was rather zoned and quite a bit anti-social (sorry, fellow campers), due to discovering that apparently, my Prilosec (that I quit taking on Thursday) was covering up the fact that I have a stomach ulcer or something similarly painful. I had constant stomach pain from Friday night on through today that fluctuated from mild to don’t-talk-to-me-or-I-might-scream severe.

I did go to the doctor today when we got home and am on new medicine, but will need to go to a specialist if it continues. But thanks to my stomach pains combined with a very graceful camera-to-face crash which busted my lip and swelled my nose, I was a sight to behold.

I swear my body is dyslexic and thinks that I’m 82 instead of 28.

However, I did manage to clue in and have some fun:

On Saturday, Mom put us in charge of coming up with treasure hunt clues for one of the groups of kids. So we set off, looking for great clues.

Since our clues were for 4-6 year olds, we couldn’t use this, but were very puzzled by this plank, with “Romans 8:28" carved on it:
To save you the trouble of looking it up, it is: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. “

I’m not quite sure what that has to do with walking the plank, but I guess the idea is that if someone makes you walk the plank – no worries! God will use it for good.

So, Ali and Chris put it to good use and walked the plank:

We finished our treasure hunt duties and headed to play some ball. Ali was shy about her mad skills:
But she finally let loose…
And beat everyone at horse.… or not.

Poor thing worked the whole time on being able to actually LET GO of the ball when attempting to throw it.

We furthered our camping experience by going on a canoe ride together:
(Luckily right before my busted lip and nose)

We didn’t know how Ali would like it, given our history with boats, but it turns out that, unsurprisingly, Ali prefers slow, quiet boats to fast, loud ones, and didn’t want to come off the lake, even when it began to rain on us.

This morning, after fooling her into having NO IDEA that she had a justifiable reason to wake up an hour earlier due to the time change, Ali helped Pop make breakfast, again showing her outdoorsy side by insisting on wearing a crown and being referred to as PRINCESS Ali:

…and then, it was time to head home. She sat, dazed, holding for dear life onto her sucker, all the way home.

Camping. It wears a toddler out.

My Prima Princessa…and a Giveaway!

We are enjoying ourselves on an annual camping trip with some hopefully-miraculously-better-than-forecasted weather this weekend (keep your fingers crossed for us), so I decided to leave you with a giveaway post while I'm gone!

---

Ali is becoming more of a prima donna every day.

Maybe it has to do with getting closer and closer to the age of three, which is basically a tween these days.

She’s starting to think less of her old best friend, Thomas the Tank Engine, and dream more about princesses and fairies…her world of playing with trains and cars is quickly revolutionizing into playing with makeup and dress-up clothes.

In fact, just the other night before bedtime, she looked at me with an intrigued look, started rubbing my eyebrows, and said, “Who does your eyebrows?”

Shocked, I said, “What??”

“WHO does your EYEBROWS?”

“Umm, I do?”

“Oh. Where do you get your makeup for your eyebrows?”

I don’t put any makeup on my eyebrows, but I saw this was not going to end without an explanation, so I said “From MAC and Sephora.”

“Yes, Sephora. They’re pretty, Mommy!”

Wow. And my Mom thought I was growing up too fast when I argued with her for weeks that I was old enough to wear pantyhose…at the age of 6.

Anyway, I received another movie from Prima Princessa that I knew she’d love due to this new phase of hers, and I was right.

Prima Princessa makes awesome ballet movies for little girls, combining video of real ballet performances, lessons on ballet moves, and videos of little girls dancing.

This one is on The Nutcracker, which I saw live several times as a child and LOVED it, even though I didn’t understand at all what was going on (WHY can’t they have WORDS in ballets?!?)

Anyway, what is so great about this DVD is that there is a narrator, explaining what is going on with Clara, the nut cracking men and the life-sized mice. It makes it MUCH easier to follow.

Ali absolutely loved it, and has been going around all week saying that her NEW favorite movie is The Nutcracker, and can we PLEASE watch it again?!?

(Maybe Clara gets her eyebrows done in the play and I just never picked up on it since I didn’t have a narrator. That would explain where THAT came from.)

Anyway, they sent me an extra copy to give away to one of you! To enter, simply comment on the post.

You can earn up to three extra entries if you:

• Subscribe to OR Follow my blog
• Follow me on Twitter OR Facebook
• Tweet, blog, OR Facebook about the giveaway

This giveaway will be open until Monday, November 9th. The winner will be randomly selected and announced on Tuesday, November 10th.

Good luck!!

A Stinky Reason is Better than No Reason…

(I bet you think I'm going to talk about poo again with "Stinky" in the title. Well, you're wrong. I CAN blog about other things, you know.)

I have come to the conclusion that I can’t take any medications.

No, I’m not a hippy. I’m actually a big fan of medicine – I don’t like waiting around for things to fix themselves, so at the first sign of a headache or a sneezing fit, you will find me running for the ibuprofen bottle or sudafed tablets.

But apparently, my BODY wants me to be a hippy.

I have felt irritable and somewhat depressed for the last two weeks, and I haven’t known why (which makes writing upbeat blog posts a VERY difficult challenge – please forgive any sub-par posts recently).

I assumed that it was stress-related, and waited for it to go away. But it’s only gotten worse, and my irritability would pop up at the most unexplainable times. Like today when I was in the grocery store and having to remind myself to breathe in, breathe out, so I didn’t snap, for no reason whatsoever.

And then it hit me: this was a very familiar feeling. I have felt this exact way many times before, and it has always been caused by a medication. I thought about it…I have been taking Prilosec for my phlegm issue for about a month, and it has really been helping.

But, just like when I was taking the allergy medicine for the same issue and had to give a class-action apology, apparently acid reducers have a very negative impact on my emotional state of balance.

I looked it up – yup, irritability, depression - they’re possible side effects. And if there’s a possible side effect for medication, I’m a guaranteed target.

The good news is that I should feel great!! and happy!! and joyful!! in a few days, just like last time. (And really, I already DO feel much better, just knowing that I'm not losing my mind.)

The bad news – I am apparently stuck with phlegm (and any other illness that requires medication) for the rest of my life.

But hey – I’d MUCH rather be phlegmy than the Wicked Witch of the East (and Chris and Ali would agree with that sentiment I’m sure).

So, next time I go to the doctor and they ask me what medications I’m allergic to, I’m just going to have to say “All of them.”

Which, in that case, I might as well save my $30 co-pay and not bother going.

Yeesh.

However, Ali chipped in today and helped cheer me up with a rousing Medley to Mitigate Mommy’s Melancholy Mood, which she obligingly let me record to share with you:

And who couldn’t feel better after that, medicated or not?

...And yes...she apparently had quite the burping issue this afternoon.

An Eerily Spot-On Impression...

...for someone not old enough to watch Saturday Night Live.

I am afraid that my daughter is going to be a one-upper.

She is starting to sound JUST LIKE Kristin Wiig’s unbelievably obnoxious, discomfort-inducing Penelope character on Saturday Night Live.

Here’s a sampler, for those not familiar (although it’s much better if watched):

Gina: Yeah, I have a card for everyone to sign. Some of you might not know this, but Mrs. Jacob’s 15 year old cat Whiskers McGee passed away last week.

Penelope: My cat passed away tooo sooo…his name was Whiskers McGee the First sooo… He was 17 years old, so just a little bit older than her cat soo… It died a few minutes ago too sooo… just effects me more soo…

Lisa (annoyed): That cat was like a child to her.

Penelope: My cat was my child. I was pregnant with my cat… I gave birth to it sooo… I had my cat baby in the hospital, and I had my cat baby shower soo… a lot of people there soo…

Kristen Wiig is a geniusly hilarious actress.

So…Ali, the miniature one-upper.

She’s been obsessed with learning about car names lately. Every car we pass, we must talk about it’s name. Her favorites seem to be Jeeps, Chevy Suburbans, Honda Accords, and Mercedes Benzes (She likes variety).

But she has started having this constant conversation under her breath every time we “play cars”…and every time, it gets bigger.

“I used to have a PINK Jeep when I was a little girl. No, I used to have FIVE pink Jeeps. I used to have five pink Jeeps and five Mercedes Benzes. I could only drive one at a time. No, I drove LOTS at a time…I had ALL the pink cars. I had lots of pink big rigs too…I had ALL the cars when I was a little girl.”

I have a toddler who is a one-upper, soo....she can one-up your toddler anyday, soo....she thinks she could drive when she was a baby, soo...she’s going to be more annoying than your toddler sooo…..

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* Editor's note: since you have commented on her outfit and especially her tights, you'll be interested to know that picture was taken directly before the poo events that transpired in the Sol Azteca Ladies' Room...those tights, although now clean, recleaned, and sanitized, have been through a lot since that photograph was made.