Happy New Year!

The end of the year…

As I approach the end of the year, I can’t help but feel excited.

“Why?” you ask.

Well, for a number of reasons: I should be graduating, hopefully we’ll be getting jobs and living far above the poverty line, Ruby will start crawling/walking/talking soon, I will be turning the landmark 25, etc.

But the thing that I am the most excited for is (drumroll please)………….

Skipbo? Let me explain:

Back in 2010 I won every game of Skipbo that Camm and I ever played. Morning, afternoon, or evening, I could slaughter him at that game. I loved it. We would play and play and I won EVERY time. We celebrated the New Year and shortly thereafter played again.

I lost. That’s curious. I always win this game. We played again. I lost. Again. I lost. Lost…lost…lost…lost. Game after GAME. Suddenly it occurred to me that I had not won a single game in the entire year of 2011. I tried again and again. And I lost and lost and lost. Over and over.

What do you think? Will 2012 be my year?

top ten

As the end of the year approaches, we are inundated with top 10 lists.

2011 TOP TEN_______________(fill in the blank with any number of things: actors, actresses, athletes, movies, youtubes, baby names, vacation spots, places to live, people, companies to work for, restaurants, healthy foods, or anything else you could possibly think of)

So, obviously I have to write my own top ten list to just to fit in (granted, I’m sure this top ten list has been written by someone else at some point).

TOP TEN WORST FOODS PEOPLE EAT (in abc order):

10. Anchovies—with all of the delicious seafood in the world, who decided anchovies were something worth eating?

9. Canned asparagus. I’d never had it before but I found a can in the back of our pantry the other day. I sautéed them up and . . . (drum roll) . . . I came up with something so disgusting I couldn’t even get one piece of it to slither down the throat.

8. Cheesecake—I know, I know. Everyone likes this. But me. Its just that every time I bite into the beautifully decorated masterpiece that looks absolutely stunning, I am rudely interrupted by a terrible taste of . . . cheese? Why would I want to eat cheese  if I am eating cake?

7. Green Beans—I didn’t actually know these were so bad until I saw my baby utterly refuse to eat them. I put them in her mouth and she stuck her tongue full of green beans out as far as she could until every last particle slid off. She then grabbed her bib and used it to wipe off the taste in her mouth. When I switched to something that she did like, she kept staring at it to make sure it wasn’t the wretched green beans.

6. Hot N Spicy Ramen Noodles. Admittedly, I haven’t tried it. But just the look on the package made me sick to my stomach.

5. Mushrooms. I don’t eat fungus.

4. Off-brand Graham Crackers. Can anyone say “cardboard”?

3. Over-priced low-quality pizza. I like pizza. But have you ever been to a supposedly “nice” pizza place (you know it is supposed to be nice because the lights are so dark you can barely see your fork and a personal pizza costs $20)? You spend your $20, get your super thin-sliced thing they call pizza, and are left still starving.

2. Subway’s tomatoes—ever noticed that they are always white? Tomatoes are supposed to be red.

1. Sushi. We all know that all it is is cold rice, seaweed and raw fish. Appetizing? Everyone says they love it only because it is the new, cool, and trendy food to eat. It is a modern day Emperor’s New Clothes situation.

What things would you add to the list?

Bathrobed in public

Have you ever played the “one-up” game? You know the one I mean where one person tells a story, then the next person tells a similar story, just a little more interesting. Sometimes the game is played intentionally, but more commonly, the game is unintentional. The other day Camm unintentionally (I think) one-upped me.

I had to go to the doctor for some kind of allergic rash I had all over my body (we’ll talk about that later). While I was in the waiting room trying to keep Ruby entertained, I saw a girl pass by wearing a bathrobe. Now, I’m the sort of person who thinks nothing of running to the store in pajama bottoms, but a bathrobe? That seemed even too extreme for my fashion sense. I chalked it up to the fact that she was probably sick and that was that.

 

When I got home I told Camm and asked him if he has ever gone anywhere in public with a bathrobe on.

That’s where the one-upping game came into play.

Camm: When I was on my mission I was in the parking lot of a Pit BBQ take-out place (this is in TN). All of the sudden I see a man get out of his car and order his pit BBQ in only a bathrobe.

Me: Oh yeah (I am mildly amused)

Camm: Yeah, you wanna see a picture? (my interest suddenly grows)

I’m not sure which is funnier—that Camm saw this guy, or that he took a picture of this guy. Either way, Camm sure one-upped me.

Can anyone one-up Camm?

My Bad Day: out of the mouth of babes

One time Mommy read me a book called Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. He thought his day was bad? Mine was so much worse.

Last night was rough. I kept feeling this horribly weird poking sensation in my mouth. When Mommy and Daddy put me to bed I kept crying because it hurt. Mommy and Daddy took turns coming in. Every time Mom came in she would stick her finger in my mouth and I would hear words like “Sharp tooth” “New one” “Poor baby.” Did she really think sticking her fingers in my mouth would help? She doesn’t like it when I stick my fingers in her mouth. Why did she think I would like it? Every time Daddy came in he rocked me and sang to me. Nice gesture. But that doesn’t do anything for the pain. Usually I don’t like to bother my parents when they sleep, but I was crying because it really hurt. I don’t know why I bothered them. They didn’t help me anyway. At one point my parents gave me a bottle. “You think I’m hungry?” I want to blurt out, but can only do it in my language—I cry and refuse to eat.

I cry again and Mommy comes in. She picks me up and carries me through the lit hallway. I squint because it hurts my eyes. “What is she doing to me now?” I am carried into my parent’s bedroom and I hear Mommy say, “She’s sleeping with us. I am too tired to keep walking down the hallway.” “What?” I try to shout, “I have to sleep with you guys?” I like my bed. I know they wouldn’t want to sleep in my crib with me so what makes them think I’ll want to sleep in their bed with them? Mommy and Daddy’s bed is scary. Sometimes I wake up and see their huge bodies on either side of me. I get scared they will roll on top of me. I cry so that they don’t forget that I am there. My mouth still hurts.

Mommy’s alarm clock goes off way too early. “6AM? You think I want to get up now?” I am mad. I see Daddy go back to sleep as Mommy gets up. I know they want me to go back to sleep too but its just too hard. My tooth hurts, I’m angry at my mom and now I’m getting hungry. Finally Daddy gives me breakfast. Milk, just what I like for breakfast! Oh, but it hurts my mouth to suck! I am mad again.

Mommy leaves for work and I am happy to get some time without her sticking her hands in my mouth so I can rest. Then Daddy straps me into my car seat and we’re off. Where are we going? I decide to fall asleep in the car. I am rudely awakened when I have to—what?—get shots? Today? When my mouth already hurts? This is cruel.

Three shots are jabbed into me. I scream. I scream again. And again. Why? Why me? Why today? I am trying to be a good girl but it is too hard. What am I supposed to do? My mouth hurts and now my legs hurt. We come home, and luckily, I quickly fall asleep. When I wake up my Daddy puts me in my car seat again and says we have to pick up Mommy. I am wearing a ridiculous outfit and worry I might see my friends. Is he trying to embarrass me?

When we come home Mommy tells me it is time for lunch. She says I am going to try a new food. I get excited—I usually like new food. Then she gives it to me. What in the world is she thinking? Green beans? I stick out my tongue and refuse to swallow. Green beans slide out of my mouth. I stare at my Mommy with an evil eye—I need to make sure she knows this behavior was NOT acceptable and that she never gives it to me again.

I am grumpy all afternoon. Why? Not because I want to be bad, but because everyone is torturing me.

Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day has got NOTHING on me.

CONTEST: who can come up with a good title?

I am looking for a name (a better name) for my blog. Apparently "Mlog" is a little too hard for some readers to pronounce. I need an exceptional name.


So, here's the contest: anyone can submit a name (leave a post here, let me know on facebook, text, or call me). Whoever wins the naming of the blog contest wins something really big (still to be determined).

Don't forget: Juliet said, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet." Unfortunately her life ended tragically, all because she thought the name didn't matter. In order to avoid a tragic ending like that, I HAVE to come up with a better name.

turtle mir

When I first got married I had about 2 weeks in between my honeymoon and before I started grad school. Camm was working during that time, so I was at home playing house. Every morning I would wake up with Camm and when he left for work I would ride Camm’s bike to the pool and go swimming. I carried my large blue Speedo backpack from high school every day.

One particular day I decided to stop at a grocery store on the way home to see if they had any produce on sale. I figured it would fit in my extra-large backpack without any problem. I locked my bike up outside and went in.

As I was filling up my shopping cart I looked down at the set of keys I was carrying and realized that the set of keys I was carrying was missing the key to the bike lock. I figured it couldn’t be too far since I had just locked up the bike. I began scanning the aisles. It couldn’t be too far, right? I started to get desperate. I started to crouch down to see if it was nearby. I started to panic and I got on my hands and knees to look under the fruit stands. I looked like a blue turtle crawling on the ground.

Along came an employee, “Excuse me, can I help you find something?”

“Uh, its just that I can’t find my key to my bike lock,” now not only was I feeling desperate, I was feeling a twinge of embarrassment.

The employee looked around for a few seconds, then disappeared. When he came back he was carrying a saw, “Would you like me to saw the lock off?” I could think of no options but to take him up on the offer.

I left feeling embarrassed. More than that though, I realized that I had ruined Camm’s bike lock (we’d been only married a few weeks). I was determined to get him a new one before he got home. There was a sporting goods store on my way home that I thought was sure to have it. I walked in (still with the large blue backpack but now full of fruit). They didn’t have one but suggested I go to the bike store down the street.

Upon entering, I told the salesman that I needed a bike lock. He recommended one to me that he said was “perfect because it is so long and can fit two bikes.” I believed him and decided if I bought it, Camm would never know the difference.

Little did I know, it is so long that I could not only hook up two bikes, but possibly five or ten. 

Camm did notice.

the trail of milk

So before Ruby came along, Camm and I attended a few breastfeeding classes.

“Don’t worry,” the lactation specialists always assure us, “Even if you are working, you can easily pump milk and get the nutrition your baby needs.”

“I can do this,” I thought. My cousin gave me a pump to use and I was on my way to successful breastfeeding.

When Ruby came, breastfeeding turned out to be slightly more difficult than I had imagined. Sore nipples, spilling milk out creating wet shirts in public places, clogged ducts, engorgement (anyone who has breastfed knows). Luckily, I produced a lot of milk (close to the amount of a cow), so pumping should have been easy enough.

Then one day…

On Fridays I go to campus all day long. It is the day Camm does not have to work or go to school so I can actually get some work done. The building where I have my grad lab does not have any sort of mother-nursing room. So, I realized I needed to walk across campus to pump the milk. On my way out of the grad lab, my bag (it is one I got in junior high when backpacks were less cool, and one strapped shoulder bags were cool) broke. The one strap on it ripped and it went tumbling to the floor. “No problem,” I thought to myself as I got out the stapler, “I can take care of this.” So, I put about a million staples in it and felt like I was ready to go.  (Just as a little visual: that bag was on my shoulder with a million books in it and I had a backpack on with all of the pumping gear). I walked through the hallway, down the two flights of stairs and out the door. “POP...POP… POP…POP…POP.” Apparently the staples weren’t enough to carry a bag full of text books and other papers. One by one, each of the carefully managed staples came out and my bag fell to the pavement. I picked it up and carried it in my arms (still with the backpack full of gear on my back).

I arrived in the mother’s nursing lounge and began to pump. This was the easy part (despite all of the regular discomfort associated with feeling like I’m hooked to a cow-pump). The bottle was full, and I was ready to go. WAIT. I had forgotten to bring a lid for the bottle that was now full of breast milk. ACK! Well, I realized I had to go lidless. I put the back pack on, had a huge bag with the staples sticking out everywhere in one hand and carried the milk in the other. Struggling to keep my balance, I walked back to the grad lab, spilling milk all over my hand and leaving a trail across campus as I went. When I finally arrived in the grad lab I was covered in milk and exhausted from carrying a bag full of books one handed across campus.

I am no longer breastfeeding.

HAWAII

We had a fabulous trip to Hawaii for Thanksgiving. Ever since we have been home (in the freezing weather) I have been searching for jobs in Hawaii. Here's a few pics from our trip (I didn't take NEARLY as many as I should have because I was too busy playing on the beach):

At the airport, getting ready to go

A view from our balcony

The two babies.

Ruby loves her super cool cousins

Vegging out with the cousins watching TV

At the Polyesian Cultural Center in the "Hawaii" section

Polynesian Cultural Center: Fiji

Ruby and Benny

A whole new level of socks getting lost in the wash...

I used to think that my socks got lost a lot in the washer...

Sky Mall

I just got home from a fabulous trip to Hawaii. I'll post pictures and talk about the trip later. First, I would like to talk about the great read that Sky Mall is:

In a world where "Snuggies" just aren't good enough...
Now we have the nuddle blanket (page 34). "has an exclusive foot pocket to keep your feet warm all year round".

I've seen the special neck pillows, but this is much better:
Page 35: There is a picture of a woman with a pillow that not only covers three sides like the classic neck pillows do, it is encircling her entire neck tightly. Her eyes are closed and I wonder if she is passed out do to some kind of restraint placed on her ability to breathe (strangling may be the right word for that)

The world's largest write on map mural
9X13 foot, 5 lbs, $149.95 map (page 52). Picture features a father and daughter pointing to the coast of southern Argentina. I actually think that it would be cool to have a map like this (I'm the girl who has a shower curtain map hanging in my bathroom). The only thing I find odd is that this same display has been in skymall since the first time I flew on an airplane. I remember being the age of the little girl in the picture wishing my daddy could point to the coast of southern Argentina with me. I guess now I just wonder if there have really been SO many people spending 150 dollars on a map like this for the past 15-20 years that they have kept it here. Or, the alternative would be, that they are keeping it in here hoping that someday someone will buy the supply that they have on overstock.

The Closet organizing Trouser Rack (p. 66)
Neatly organizes 20 pairs of neatly folded trousers. Do people really have 20 pairs of neatly folded trousers?

The Bordingnagian Sports Chair
5.5 foot/35 pound camping chair. Picture displays a grown man sitting in the chair. His feet do not touch the ground and his arm can barely reach the armrest. Just what I always wanted...

my baby is crying. better stop thumbing through this and making my wishlist...