Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Living the Dream

JD and I often play the game "if you could have your dream job/car/house/body/wife/husband, what/who would it be?" Of course we always name each other for the latter question. Except for Fox News anchor women, he always chooses them over me. Not cool. This leads to fun conversations that reveal the true desires of the other's heart. It's fun, but mostly this game scares the crap out of me. I'm afraid of what JD's dream thing is. It could be something totally ridiculous or non-family friendly and then what? Am I supposed to say "well too bad for you, Sucka!" That's not appropriate wife-talk, in case you're wondering. For the sake of keeping a happy husband, I have to at least pretend that I'm on board with his dream to become a cheese procurer in a remote European village. Actually that's my if-we-lived-in-a-different-country-dream-job choice. Awesome huh?

Lucky for me, his dreams aren't too crazy. And he's pretty much living the job one. Halfway at least. The only scary part is the time away that his dream job requires. It sucks, but we can deal. Oh yeah and the life endangering nature of his work. That's a big con. The best part about semi-living his dream is that he is content. I like living with a contented man. And he likes living with a supportive wife who cheers him on in his dreams even when it means some hard stuff for me. Supporting his dreams has been a huge connecting point for us and has strengthened our marriage in ways that I never could have dreamed. I highly recommend it.

And supporting his means that he is eager to support mine. He tells me that as soon as I decide what mine are, he will support me in the same way. He likes being fair. But you know what, I am already living mine. I love being a stay at home mom and wife. I love my life. It is not glamorous and it oftentimes proves to be a thankless job 99% of the time, but it is what I was made for. I love it so much that I fear it won't last forever. I have a feeling that JD thinks staying home with Beatrice is a sacrifice for me. It is in a way, but a very financially driven way. Sure my budget might be less tight if I worked, but my dream has always been to stay home and raise my babies. And finding myself in the middle of that dream as my reality is overwhelming.


It's strange to find yourself doing what you love no matter how hard it is or how much of a sacrifice your loved ones make in your support. But for all of the struggles, we have a good life. JD and I are in love. For real, can't-get-enough-of-each-other love. Except when the cable is out for 4 days and we experience too much togetherness, then we love each other from afar. There may not always be milk in the fridge or steaks in the freezer, but there is always laughter in our house. And silliness. And hearts eager to know God. So I think we can stop playing our little game now. We have every thing we have ever dreamed of right here. Except that goat farm....

















Photo by Sara Rose Photography.

Sunday, August 29, 2010

You Think You Know Someone

Have you ever met someone and they introduce their self to you as such-and-such? You get to know them and hang out and they are always such-and-such. Months go by and you and such-and-such become great friends, very close even. Then you meet their immediate family or someone even closer to them than you are and they all call him so-and-so. This is very disheartening because you are taken off guard, like you thought you knew them so well but apparently the closest people in the world call your special, close friend something totally different than you do. This is not cool.

This happens all of the time to me. I dated a guy that when I met him, told me to call him *Robert. That's not really his name. We dated for a year and I always called him Robert. He signed Robert to all of his checks and emails; he was a Robert. Then I met his family and they all called him *Bobby. Not really, but in the rare event he ever found my blog I don't want him to think that I wrote about him. This was not cool. Not only did they call him a completely different name than I ever was told to call him, they looked at me like I was crazy for calling him Robert. I tried to call him Bobby but it felt too weird. He was never a Bobby to me. Plus after a year of dating and calling him Robert I couldn't just turn him into a Bobby in my head. It didn't make sense.

I've known JD for 11 years. His name is not short for anything, it's just letter "J" and letter "D." All of his friends call him JD and he has always called himself JD. Simple, right? No way to mix him up with a Dan or a Mark. When I first got to know his family, they all called him Birdie or Jay. How could this keep happening to me??? I felt like such an outsider because the closest people in his life have a completely different name for him.

Finding stuff like this out about people feels like there's a club that I'm not apart of. Like a secret name club that everyone but me gets to be in. They sit around and make up cutesy nicknames of the people that I meet and after a year or more of calling them one name, I learn that they are called something completely different. After knowing someone as a certain name, it's just weird trying to call them something else. Maybe if someone told me a month after meeting JD that his mom and dad call him Jay I would be able to call him that too. I just can't. He's a JD to me.

You wouldn't believe how many people (strangers are the worst) want to call Beatrice something else. Maybe because it's such a big name for such a tiny girl? Every now and then she is Beba, but mostly she is plain ol' Beatrice. Not Bea, not B. Just Beatrice. We love her name and don't want to shorten it. Plus I don't want to be the only one calling her Beatrice while everyone else in the secret club call her Triss or something.

I think my problem with this all too common phenomenon with the people in my life boils down to insecurity. I suppose it makes me insecure to think that people don't want me to call them the nickname everyone close to them calls them. I am named Alyson but go by Aly. Every time I meet someone, I tell them to call me Aly. No one calls me Al or Alyson or Alywicous (except my father-in-law which I think is awesome). I'm an Aly and that's what everyone calls me. I never had a nickname. Maybe that's why I don't understand. And maybe that's why I don't like nicknames. I don't like being an outsider.

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Air: It's What's For Dinner





























That is my mother. You can call her Pat. Because that's her name. She is a wee little woman who sits in wee little chairs. She is also a twin. When she and her sister are combined they are almost the size of a whole person. Almost.






































My mother may be small, but she is fierce. She ruled her roost with an iron fist and even when we all grew bigger than her (approximately in the 6th grade), we still had a healthy fear of the pain she could inflict. All she had to do was give us a look and we knew that we better shape up or else. Actually, when I think about it, if we had acted out to the point of receiving the look it was too late. We were getting it when we got home no matter how we tried to make up for it.

My mother is not the best cook in the world. In all fairness, she is a pretty good cook she just hates cooking so she does so begrudgingly and with contempt in her heart for those of us eating her meals. Hi mom. She reads the blog and she and JD have bitterly suggested that I rename it to "The Bash Mom/JD Blog." It's not as catchy as the current title so I don't think I will be changing it. Although I like where they're going with it and may take that direction later down the road. Growing up, I remember we ate the same 14 meals in rotation. She only had a handful of recipes in her arsenal that everyone liked and we ate those all of the time. Every now and then she would try something different and it would get thrown into the calendar of meals. Everything but her barf stroganoff. My brothers and I can remember it vividly, that sour meat taste in our mouths. Even my dad who would've gladly woofed down a steaming plate of dog food didn't like the stuff. To this day, none of us will eat anything closely related to beef stroganoff. My sister in law has learned to rename it "creamy noodles and beef" so my brother will eat it. 

My mom is a wonderful grandmother, however I am concerned that she may kidnap Beatrice one day. She jokes about it and it freaks me out. She loves babies and hogs them with unabashed shame. When we go to family gatherings, she proudly walks Beatrice around showing her off to aunts and uncles but won't let anyone hold her. Even me. On the flip side, she does buy her beautiful smocked outfits with no regard for cost so I probably shouldn't make her mad. Carry on mom, as you were.

























My mother is not a complicated woman. She loves her children, she psychotically loves her grandchild, and she hates pets in her house. As grownups, we have a lot of fun picking on her. She is still wee little but we are no longer afraid of her. My favorite game is the over-share game where I mention something about nipples or lube or make references to my marriage bed at the dinner table. She gets all flustered and laughs and says things like "that's nice Alyson." The game is best played when my grandmother and brothers are present too, for extra uncomfortableness. JD has banned the playing of this game but he secretly loves it too. 


My mom is really great at spending money. She is the queen of outlandish gifts. Instead of bringing a houseplant and a casserole to your brand new house, she buys a Dyson vacuum. When I had Beatrice, she arrived to the hospital with a Victoria's Secret bag full of pajamas and undies for me. All I have to do is mention that Beatrice may want a new saddle for her albino pony or plasma TV and mom is on it. I try really hard not to abuse this....

As much as I use her (and JD) for a little comic relief on here, my mom is really great. I wish I could've known her as a kid as I know her now. Like if I knew back then that it wasn't her life's mission to ruin all of my fun by not letting me ride in fast cars with boys twice my age because she just wanted me to be safe. That would've been cool. I think I would've fought her less if I knew that everything she did was for my own good and protection. Except that time I told her that I was hungry and she told me to take big gulps of air to trick my stomach into thinking it was full, that was kind of messed up. I hope Beatrice can know that she is my favorite little person and that I will always have her best interests in mind while she is growing up. And I will always feed her things more substantial than air. I promise.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Bad Hair Life

JD and I have unfortunate hair. It's wavy and coarse and wiry. Think Caucasian fro. Then add some humidity frizz and you're starting to get the picture. Our hair is wild and unmanageable in its natural state. I only wash it every 3 days or so because I hate dealing with it. Plus, the natural oils tend to relax it a bit. When I was pregnant, we often played the I-wonder-what-she's-going-to-look-like game and no matter what combinations of eye color and height we could come up with, we knew she would have terrible hair.

When Beatrice was first born, her hair was black and always greasy. We washed it and tried to keep our fingers out of it, but her head was a grease slick.



















Then it got fluffy and we thought we were out of the woods and maybe, just maybe, she would escape our hair curse.



















The fluff started to show signs of unmanageability.....
























So we accessorized.

























The longer it got, the wilder it became.



















Some days it looks pretty normal.



















But there is no escaping the truth, this girl has wild hair like her parents.










































Poor girl, it's her destiny.

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Ways To Have Fun When The Cable Is Out

We have not had cable since Saturday. It is harder than I expected. I thought this little entertainment hiatus would hurt JD more than it does me since he watches way more T.V. than I do, but I may be struggling more than he is. I'm the type that cannot drive down the road without my radio on. I like background noise. I like to have the option to zone out from time to time and without cable, I am forced to be present ALL. DAY. LONG.

When JD is home, the T.V. is always on. He may not be watching it or even be in the same room, but the T.V. is on like a constant companion. I've gotten used to the background noise. I don't ever feel compelled to sit down and watch it, but I like catching little blurbs of the news throughout the day. We eat dinner at the dining room table as a family, but the news is on in the background. While Beatrice and I are in the kitchen preparing dinner, we hear what's happening in the world. It is always on. JD even leaves it on for the cat when we leave the house. He likes Fox Soccer Channel, who knew?

Without our background noise playing like the soundtrack of our lives, we have been watching a lot of Netflix movies. It is not the same. With the T.V., we didn't actually have to sit down and watch it. It was just on so we could hear what was going on in the world. With a movie, you have to invest some time to get into it and keep up with the plot. You can't just walk away to cook dinner and listen to what's happening, you have to sit and watch. So we've been doing a lot of sitting and watching. And that makes me feel like a loser. I hate wasting a day or even half of a day doing nothing and watching several episodes of The Sopranos back to back is exhausting.

We haven't actually been doing nothing the whole time. We've made the most of it by getting out of here and doing things. Like going to the zoo on a Monday afternoon. We spent the day in the beautiful weather checking out meerkats digging burrows and tigers sleeping on their backs. I nursed Beatrice while watching gibbons hang from trees. That was a first. We saws elephants and alligators and giraffes. JD ran through a water arch thingy like a boy and I wore uncomfortable sandals and got a blister. We got hot and sweaty and shared water while taking turns showing our girl the wonders of God's creation. It was a good day.
























We've spent more time together actually being present instead of being in the same room and zoning out while watching the news. JD and I joked yesterday that maybe we should cancel the cable and live without the T.V. for awhile. We know people who do this and they all seem pretty normal. Except for their kids, they're kinda weird. Kidding, kidding. The cable guy will be here tomorrow and we will be back to normal again. I kinda hope that we turn the T.V. off more and let our entertainment come from each other. We can have fun doing many things without the T.V. Like talking.



















And sharing holiday memories.



















And standing near cows.



















And wearing sweaters together.



















And, well, you get the picture....



















I guess we don't need cable to have fun, we just like it.

Saturday, August 21, 2010

The Day JD Overcame His Fear of Poo

JD has never changed a dirty diaper. He has changed a few wet ones, but somehow I always get stuck with the poop. I don't really mind. We use cloth diapers and poopy ones are super easy to handle (you just flip the poop into the toilet and flush). And there's something about dealing with your own kid's poop that is less disgusting than dealing with anyone else's. This has become something of a bragging right for JD. He may be the only modern day man to not have encountered a poopy diaper in 9 1/2 months of being a father. Until today.

The last few days have been rough for us. A picture fell off the wall in the nursery at 5 am (3 hours earlier than we normally wake up) a few days ago and it has been downhill ever since. Beatrice has been waking up before 6:30 for the past several mornings and I have had a hard time adjusting to less sleep. Since JD has to go to work during the week, I always feel guilty asking him to get up with her since I get to stay home all day. So he gets to sleep a little longer while I get up.

Today was different. Today was Saturday and Beatrice woke up at 6:15. We stayed up late so I was dragging this morning. I got up and played with her until morning nap time. I told JD that I was going back to bed and not to wake me up until noon. He was not to wake me for anything unless she was hurt. He gave me that look like "what if she poops?" I told him that I would call the local divorce attorney if he woke me to change a poopy diaper. He laughed, but I was serious. I was tired and needed to sleep at least 3 hours and there would be consequences if he messed with me.

I fell right to sleep and slept and slept. I actually had a dream that JD got in the bed with me and made me get up with Beatrice so he could sleep. Not cool. At noon on the dot, a tiny little girl was fingering my eyelashes saying "dat, dat, mamamamama!" I felt refreshed, Beatrice got to play with Dada and JD survived daddy duty. The first thing he said was, "she pooped and it was horrible." I have never loved that man more. He overcame his fear of his daughter's poo (and divorce) and manned up to the challenge. He said it wasn't that bad. I knew he had it in him.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

A Rant and A Rave

I am so angst-y right now. I won't name names but we recently switched from a MAJOR monopoly of a cable company to a less expensive satellite company. We were promised massive savings and top notch customer service with the new guys. We signed up with the new and cancelled the old with the guarantee that we would be saving close to $60 a month in rebates, discounts and promotions. The first bill arrived from the new company and it was higher than we were told. I called to see what was up and learned that when *Bob set us up, he never hit the special discount button. Well that's okay, we forgive Bob. Now just press the button and resume our service with the discount that we were promised. But they didn't. They told us that the discount was no longer available and we were out of luck. Well that didn't seem fair. We entered into the agreement in good faith that all of the discounts, rebates and promotions would be applied and it wasn't our fault that Bob messed up. It wasn't our fault, but it was our problem. The new company would not give us the discount and for the next 3 months, they continued to screw up our bill with "forgetting" to apply certain discounts.
*The names were changed to protect the innocent

Today was the end of a 3 month promotion for free channels. I called to cancel and ended up learning that the last discount that was applied to smooth over some other mistake on our billing was misapplied yet again and our bill would be higher than the original agreement. I have worked in customer service so I try to treat others in these situations as I wish I had been treated. I pleaded with the guy to finally live up to their end of the agreement and give us what we signed up for. We were not asking for any freebies or discounts that were not originally apart of our contract. The guy was a complete jerk and basically told me that they were not going to tell me what I wanted to hear because they are in the business of following policies, not people pleasing. And the discount that I was requesting was not possible on our account because someone misapplied it.  I lost it.

After I hung up, I cried. I hate being treated unfairly and I hate dealing with dishonest people/companies with no integrity. I think the policy "the customer is always right" is stupid. Customers lie and bend the truth to get what they want, so to say that whatever they say is law is silly. But the contract should be law and when the customer just wants to be in contract with the original terms honored, why is that so preposterous? Just honor the contract, if someone made a mistake, correct it according to the agreed upon terms and let's all move on. That's all that I wanted.

JD ended up calling back and canceling our service. I stayed upstairs praying that God would have mercy on us and get us released without paying the outrageous termination fee ($420!!!!!!). After about 20 minutes, we were released without penalty. Praise God! I called the huge monopoly of a cable company and re-signed with them at a very discounted welcome-back-to-cable rate. The only problem is there will be a 4 day gap between service so I told JD we would have plenty of time to stare into each other's eyes lovingly and tell secrets about our love. Or write poems or whatever the mood strikes us. He's thrilled. I also went on our Netflix account and the first season of The Sopranos should be here in 2 days. That should last us until Wednesday. 


This whole thing just saddens me. Every company is only as good as its people and the people at that company sucked. Not all of them, I'm sure. I just hate being treated as if I am lying. JD and I are very truthful people and it hurts me to my core when I am treated as though I am not.

That was my rant, now for my rave. God is so good. Even though this whole cable swap situation has been a huge headache, we did save some money and now that we are back with the old company, we will be saving even more than we could have with the new one. I take saving money very seriously. If JD's job is to provide for our family, mine is to make sure we spend it wisely and save everywhere we can. And raise babies and cook and clean. My experience has always been that no matter what the issue, just pray. God cares about it all. Thank God that is over!

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

You Win Some, You Lose Some

Marriage is my favorite thing to write about. It is hilarious, it is difficult, it is challenging. And with marriage comes compromise. For us, that one word best summarizes the success we've had in our short 2 1/2 years living in holy matrimony. We have learned to live with the small annoyances that can (and did) make us completely crazy and change some of the things that couldn't be overlooked. As I walked around my house today, I made a mental list of some of the things that we have overcome and things that still annoy me.

1. Win



















The tri-folded towel battle. I finally won. This was our first marital fight and after 2 years, JD has conceded and the towels are folded the right way.

2. Lose



















This is a new thing JD has started doing. I like the towel hanging over the bar but he has started folding and then laying it across the towel bar instead. I think I have lost this one, despite my several efforts in unfolding and rehanging.

3. Win

























JD hates lights on during the day. I tell him that wattage under 20 is not even using real electricity anyway. Plus, decorative table lamps have to be on in foyers. I'm pretty sure it's a law.

4. ?



















This is my floor than may or may not have JD's toenail clippings on it. I don't know if I have won or lost this battle. I feel like I've won because I don't see him clipping them in here anymore but he could be doing it behind my back in which I have lost. Sorely.

5. Win/Win



















I like butter, JD likes margarine. We both win because I cook with the butter and he uses the chemicals margarine on toast, etc. This is compromise at its finest.

6. Lose



















We still have the cat. Kidding honey.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

You Can't Baby Proof Yourself

I'm having one of those days where I keep bonking Beatrice's head on doors and stepping on her hands. Ever since she started crawling, she is constantly underfoot or right up on whatever I'm doing. I feel so bad but I honestly don't know that she is there until I hit or step on something. The sad part is, she doesn't even bother with crying anymore. This could be because of two reasons:
1. She is getting tougher and I'm not actually hurting her.
2. She has come to expect that mama is a brute and being near means a little pain. Maybe a bruise or two thrown in for good measure. Poor baby. 

She is also climbing things. Like stairs. And playing with harmful cleaning products as the picture clearly depicts......



















This has resulted in only one fall, but it was a good one. She landed flat on her back and hit her noggin pretty good. Of course JD blamed me and I guess it kinda was my fault, but I don't know how to stop her. She is quick and determined and fearless. We have done all of the traditional baby proofing. The outlets are covered, we have a baby gate and the cabinets are secured. It's me that seems to be the most dangerous thing in the house. And I can't be baby proofed apparently. 
























It's really no laughing matter crazed, maniacal laughing Aly in the picture. You need to learn how not to step on your baby. And a little extra flossing could do you some good...
(Totally off topic but there is a matching picture of JD laughing like this. I am dying to post it but the only way he let me take the photo of him was if I vowed never to put it on the blog. I may step on my baby occasionally but I am a woman of my word and can't jeopardize our trust. Just know that it is hilarious. And that it exists). 

Monday, August 16, 2010

I Am Grumbly




















See that? That's the last time my bed will be made during the day. Along with JD's promotion at work came a really terrible shift change: midnights. That means no more sleeping with my honey, no more accidentally elbowing him in the head in my sleep, no more bringing Beatrice into bed to wake up Daddy in the mornings, and no more making up the bed. Why bother when it will be 2 pm when he gets out of it everyday? 

I'm really trying to be positive about this change, but I am totally bummed about it. JD worked midnights when we dated and it didn't affect me too much other than we never talked until the afternoon. He worked while I slept and slept while I worked. We saw each other on weekends and he stayed up really late. When we got married, he switched shifts to one more conducive to family life. I loved it. I made him promise me that he would never work midnights again. He promised. I knew that he would have to put in some time at midnights when he got this position but I hoped that God would provide an opening at a different shift. I'm still hoping and praying. It's really going to be difficult not having him here at night, but more than that, how the heck am I gonna keep a baby quiet for half the day while he is sleeping?

Having a spouse that works all night is like living with someone that has a different life than you. I guess that is what makes me the saddest: he is going to have this separate life from us while we sleep. And we will have ours while he sleeps. No more family togetherness at normal times. He'll be eating breakfast and drinking coffee while Beatrice takes her afternoon nap. I can't vacuum in the morning while Beatrice watches cartoons, I can't dry my hair in our bathroom, I can't fold laundry on our bed. See God, we really, really need JD to work during the day. Pretty please. 

I know that I am being whiney and grumbly, but I hate this schedule. I hate having my husband in the house but not being able to hang out with him because he's sleeping. I hate sleeping alone. I hate complaining about things that are gonna happen regardless of me complaining about them or not. Sigh. There's really no point to this post other than I wanted to complain a little more. And to show you my bed made for the last time ever. I might as well stop folding laundry too. And cooking. And writing because this post is starting to annoy me. I know that I should be grateful to have a husband who works hard no matter what the shift and loves me despite my grumbly nature. I am, really. But I'm not happy about this change. Not one bit. Therefore I am grumbly.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Date Night

JD and I went on our first real date since Beatrice was born on Friday night. JD pulled out all the stops and made reservations at a nice restaurant, lined up a babysitter and told me what time to be ready. I pulled a triple whammy and wore fabulous shoes, real makeup and showed a respectable amount of cleavage for my man. It was a lot of fun being on an actual date. We talked about our future, we caught up on the happenings of our lives and we barely talked about Beatrice. We even flirted a little. There may or may not have been some sloppy kissing in the car before he dropped me off (aka parked the car and walked in the house together to relieve his parents from babysitting).

We've actually done pretty well at keeping the romance alive after having a baby. That was the one thing that I was not willing to let go with our new roles as parents. We haven't gone on many baby-less outings, but we manage to put her down early every night to have time for just us. We cuddle and talk and consider each other. As easy as it is to use each other only as diaper-change-helpers or messy-face-wipers, we really try to treat each other as spouses who are hot for each other too.

Raising a baby is an all consuming feat and sometimes cultivating a loving, passionate marriage can take the back burner. We really feel that Beatrice will benefit more by having parents that are in love and put their marriage first instead of focusing entirely on her. She is such an important part of our lives, but not the most important part. Our marriage is. After all, we were married before she came into our lives and will be married long after she has grown up and moved out. If we don't put each other first now, what will be left when she's not under our roof anymore?

We decided that we will make a real effort at going on a real date at least once a month. It makes us better parents and better spouses. And I could use more excuses for sloppy kisses in the front seat of our car. Or the back....

Friday, August 13, 2010

Tea Bags Aren't Just For Lipton

My mom has a friend with a daughter in the 8th grade. Yesterday she came home from school and asked her mom what something she had never heard meant. My mom's friend didn't know either so she googled it. When she found the horrifying answer to what the thing meant, she called her husband freaking out. She was not ready for the 8th grade and all of its sexual slangs that require googling and careful explanations to 13 year olds. But she always told her daughter to ask her first if she ever heard something that she didn't know what it meant so she was obligated to tell her. She wanted to be the source of knowledge for her kids. I like that. BTW, the most awkward moment of the day was when my mom asked ME what the thing meant. And when I explained it to her and she still didn't get it, I acted it out a bit. Then SHE was horrified. Naturally, I blamed JD for being disgusting and telling me all about these sick things. 


I grew up in a house of "I'll tell you when you're older." We were very sheltered so most of the sex questions didn't get asked until we were teenagers and were picking up on things from other kids. Even the non-sex questions got the same reply: "I'll tell you when you're older." This infuriated me because it left me feeling embarrassed for asking something that I was obviously too young to know about. Google didn't exist in my day so I resorted to the good ol' dictionary. I learned that a period was a punctuation mark, a dyke was a railroad spike, and a woody meant abounding with woods. I was always left feeling more confused than ever. Why did my mom buy tampons for sentence structure and why did my older brother laugh when his friends talked about the woods? None of this made sense to me.

Eventually I quit asking and just started trying to put the pieces together. If my parents didn't tell me about these things, who would? Kids on the school bus in the 7th grade, that's who. And sometimes my friends' moms. My education of my own body came from the insert in the tampon box. After my monthly punctuation mark came. I don't think my mom meant to leave me in the dark about these things, I think it was just painfully uncomfortable for her to talk about them with us. And maybe she figured she would have more time before our bodies grew up. Or maybe she wanted to keep us sheltered from the world. Whatever her reasons, obviously we turned out fine (and made up for lost time by learning what EVERY disgusting sexual slang means. And then perfecting them. I kid, I kid. Maybe...).

I think she did us a small disservice by not being the first source of information for us. I would have gladly accepted that a period was a monthly thing women have when they are older. At 9 years old, that was plenty of information for me. She would have to elaborate as I got older, but age appropriate information from a parent is so important. Otherwise, you've got 9 year olds googling and asking other 9 year olds what the pile driver is. And trust me, if they're left to google it, it won't be pretty.

I have a feeling it will be difficult for me to discuss these things with Beatrice as well. I don't want to tell her too much before she's ready. But I do want to be her primary source of information so that I can know that she is learning the right thing at the right age. I really believe in parents being able to have lots of communication with their children, otherwise little inquiring minds might learn too much too soon or learn the wrong thing altogether. How funny would it have been if I told my mom that I'd tell her when she was older when she asked about the thing with her friend's daughter. Hehehe. 

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Home Sweet Home

I have a bad case of house envy. I spend a lot of time in other people's houses imagining our stuff in them. I want a bonus room. I want closet space. I want a garage. We need those things. I want enough space to have the whole family over for holidays and birthday parties. Heck, I'll take enough room to have them over for dinner. I am struggling with being content with what we have because all I can think about is what we don't have. And we don't have space.


JD and I always planned on buying a bigger house long before we ever had children. We wanted several bedrooms, a large yard and JD's coveted "man room." We never expected to be in our current place for longer than a year or two. We prayed for the right time to sell, but never felt that door open for us. Once Beatrice was born, it all made sense how God had left us in our current place. In this house, I am able to stay home and not worry about finances. We may not have tons of room, but we have enough space for the three of us and no financial stresses. Except when we're out of milkStaying home to raise babies is important to both of us and we realize that there are sacrifices to having this lifestyle, but we also want to grow our family and staying here will make that very difficult. How do you think bunk beds in the dining room will look? No? Day beds?


I know that we will have a bigger place in God's perfect timing. Until then I will work really hard at being grateful and content with what we do have. Being here has been a blessing and has allowed me to stay home but I'm ready for more space. JD and I are praying and strategizing on how to move on up. To the east side. To that de-luxe apartment in the sky. Well, we're moving on uppppppppppp!....Sorry, I got a little carried away. 

We don't need much really. Just a few extra bedrooms, maybe a butler's pantry. A bowling alley.......
















A modest home will do. With or without a bowling alley.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Fabulous Things Used to Make Me Happy

Once upon a time, I had a to-die-for wardrobe. I was working and single and took trips to Atlanta, LA and NYC to shop. I wore Marc Jacobs dresses, I owned almost the entire Nanette Lepore feminine, fluttery blouse collection of 2005, 2006 and 2007, and I bought shoes. Shoes that start with "Cha" and end with "nel." Shoes that rhyme with Banolo Slahnik. Oh how I loved fashion. Most of these items were too fancy for my regular life, but I managed to wear all of my fabulous things to weddings, church, dates and wherever else I could justify wearing purple velvet Prada heels with a hot pink silk bow. Duh, to brunch. Or the Christmas parade. Very practical shoes to wear in the snow. 

Nowadays, all of my pretty things are stored at the top of my closet. Not only are they terribly impractical, most of the clothes are out of style or look ridiculous with my constant 18 pound accessory holding onto me like a spider monkey. And my huge nursing boobs. But every now and then, when I am feeling totally depressed and hopeless about my lack of style and dowdy appearance, I will pull out something fabulous and wear it. Like to Beatrice's baby dedication at church a few weekends ago.
























I planned our outfits weeks in advance. Beatrice was going to wear her white hand-smocked collared dress and I was going to wear a white pin tuck dress that I have had for a while. Until I tried it on. It fit fine, however the dress was at least 10 years old. In my mind it was timeless and a classic, but when I noticed the 10 year old sweat stains in the underarm region I realized that it was just old. Dirty and old. Just like me. So I started pulling dresses out of my closet with a vengeance, only to discover that I have very few dressy dresses. I shop for comfort these days. And for cheap. The larger the pile on my bed grew with unsuitable selections, the more JD started to panic. He knows that when things don't fit, I lose my marbles and say irrational things like how he should've married someone with better clothes or how I'm never leaving the house again or that I am stupid and ugly. His head started spinning and he was telling me how everything looked great on me, but to just pick something because we were going to be late. Well this made me even more manic. Not only was I running out of time, but he was patronizing me too by telling me that I looked fine when obviously I didn't. 

So I did what any level-headed woman going to church for a baby dedication would do. I wore $600 shoes with a $50 dress.
























It wasn't what I planned for the occasion, but those delicate, slender heels made me step with a confidence that only comes from wearing Italian leather. Of course, by the end of the night my confident gait became slow and awkward because expensive shoes are not comfortable. It's kind of a rule. And people were noticing my shoes for the wrong reason....they were trying to figure out why I was high stepping like a Tennessee Walking horse on stilts. But that doesn't matter. My pretty things and fabulous shoes have never been about getting attention. I simply love beautiful things. And when I get the rare opportunity to wear them now in my new life, I jump on it. It's more like a hobble actually. 


I don't care much about nice things these days. I would rather buy Beatrice something fabulous than myself. But it is comforting knowing that I have a whole stash of ridiculously expensive items in the top of my closet for the times when nothing fits quite right or I realize that my "classic" clothes are just old. It's nice having a little bit of fabulousness at my fingertips. And my toes.

Monday, August 9, 2010

Nothing Says Home Like Dust Bunnies and Dead Centipedes

JD and I always joked that once I became a stay at home mom, our house would be spotless. I would dedicate all of my spare time to cleaning and organizing and cooking him delicious meals. Our child would be beautifully dressed in smocked outfits everyday with a perfectly clean nose and trimmed fingernails. I would be fitter than ever and have perfectly coifed hair. I mean, I would be home all day so surely there would be no excuse for a messy house, half-dressed babies and disheveled ponytails. Right?

No. That is not right. Not for me at least. I do pretty good at dressing Beatrice in something cute everyday and putting make up on my face, but ever since Beatrice started crawling I have noticed that my housekeeping has gone to crap. Gone are the days of her playing happily restrained in bouncers or exersaucers. If she is not roaming free, she is protesting loudly. And it is really hard to clean anything with a baby roaming free. I spend all of her waking moments following her expeditions under the dining room table (where I find many crusty treats from dinners of yesteryear) and trying to corral her back to the living room to read a book or sit still with a toy for a second. And not eat crusty treats. 

So clean when she naps, you say. Well I should. But her naps are so short and terrible these days, I use the 30 minutes or so to tap out a blog post, or prep dinner, or call a friend to complain about my messy house and Beatrice's crappy naps. That has become "me time." Not to be confused with the several hours of "down time" I have from the hours when Beatrice goes down for the night and I go to bed. Very different things vital to my sanity, I assure you.

So if I'm not cleaning when she's awake or when she sleeps, that really leaves no time to clean. I do vacuum the downstairs every morning when she is still waking up and content to sit still for several minutes. But the bathrooms are neglected, you can write your name in the furniture and the kitchen sink has dirty dishes in it. Sigh. I fail as a stay at home mom. Just so you don't think my house is a complete sty, I do clean something everyday. I just don't continue cleaning until the entire house is clean. In addition to all of the "me time" and "down time," I also need "breaks."

My mom stayed home with us and her house was spotless. Granted she was always cleaning something and banished us to the backyard only granting us reentry into the house for bathroom emergencies, she still kept an immaculate house. And she had 3 kids. I have 1, less house to keep clean and I still fail. What am I doing wrong?

For one, I love playing with Beatrice. I am rarely doing anything other than what she is doing when she is awake. We read, we build block towers, we knock down block towers, we eat, we pet the kitty, we talk, we laugh, we play. I am always with her, always engaging her in some activity. I get some points for that, right? So if having a clean house means less time to play with her, I don't think I can do that.

But the house is driving me crazy. I am very much like my mother in the sense that all is not right with the world unless your house is clean. I can overlook toys on the living room floor but I cannot overlook the dust/cat hair tumbleweeds traveling across the hardwood or the dead centipede laid to rest behind my dining room curtains. I need to clean. Like really clean. Top to bottom. In one day, not stopping until everything is clean. And then once it's clean, I need to organize the toys and books and photos and papers that occupy the bar, bookshelf, ottoman and corner.

On the upside, Beatrice hardly ever has boogers or snot in her nose, her hair is always perfectly fixed with a huge bow and her nails have only drawn blood once. I keep myself looking pretty good too. Well, decent anyway. Surely there is a solution to this problem of mine. A maid perhaps? Kidding, honey, kidding. 

Seriously though, aren't houses that have people living in them all day supposed to look lived in? We live here. This is a house of a family who loves to play and read and build block towers. It may not be very clean, but it is lived in to the fullest. I have the toys on the floor to prove it.

Sunday, August 8, 2010

My Coffee Maker Hates Me

My coffee maker hates me. Every time I try to make coffee, the filter folds over and coffee grounds go in the pot. I never realize this until I pour a cup and discover that it is thick and gritty. I waste so much coffee because it takes at least 2 tries to make a drinkable pot. Of course this only happens to me. JD tells me to use different filters or make sure the filter is placed perfectly in the basket. When he makes coffee, it turns out perfectly and he always has that "I told you so" look about him.

I know how to make coffee. I mean, I really know how, like professionally. I worked at Starbucks for years and they send their employees to coffee school. I've studied the art that is java. It's this stupid coffee maker that hates me and refuses to cooperate.



















And I don't just make gritty coffee, the stupid self timer setting thing screws up on me too. No matter how many times I double check it, coffee is either made an hour too early or an hour too late. I have cleaned it, read the manual, checked all of its settings and nothing is tangibly wrong with it. Except that it hates me. I know how to operate all of the other small appliances. And even some large ones, like my car. So I know that I'm not completely incompetent. This machine obviously has it out for me.

I don't think I would care so much if I didn't love coffee. If my toaster burned my toast every morning I would just eat oatmeal instead. But there is no substitute for coffee. It is the reason I get out of bed. And Beatrice. Probably more Beatrice than coffee actually but the coffee makes it better. I need my coffee and it's nothing but a cruel joke when I pour my first cup and discover through sleepy eyes that it is undrinkable. Stupid jerk coffee maker.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Guest Blogger

Remember when I offended all of my Facebook friends when I wrote about how some people are misusing it? Well I wrote that piece for a fellow blogger and new internet friend Amanda at Fabulously Unfabulous. She has returned the favor and wrote a little something for me. Her post is basically why I really, really, really wanted a girl! Go check her out, if only to see her precious son's curly mohawk!
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So... Aly did an awesome guest blog spot for me, so it is only fair that I return the favor and try to match her awesomeness.

For those of you who don't know me, I'm Amanda from FabulouslyUnfabulous, mom to an adorable, curly-mohawked (it's true) 9.5 month old named Jackson.

Aly asked me to write about being a mama to a boy... and I thought that clearly this is something I can tackle since I am now an expert on this topic after 9.5 months. :-)

Let me start with the first and most obvious topic:  boy parts.

Lesson #1, They are very different from girl parts.  Duh.  But really... they are.  Sometimes I change Jackson's diaper and I have to call my husband over to ask "hey, is this normal?", or "What the heck do I do now?".  I know it seems trite, but I have never had one of my very own... so sometimes you have to call in the experts to answer your questions.

Lesson #2... you only have a very limited amount of time to decide if what you are looking at is "normal" before he gets his boy parts locked, loaded, and aimed.  Diapering a boy has to be done quickly and efficiently.  Go in to each diaper change with a plan, and DO NOT get distracted.  Get in, and get out.  There is no time for dawdling...  one mistake and you WILL be peed on.  And the pee is not just limited to landing on you... it will also spray the changing table, wall, floor, passersby.... you get my drift.  If you see it aimed directly at you, duck... you have no time left.

Lesson #3... diapers.  Their boy parts need to be pointed in the downward position when being diapered.  Think I am kidding?  Don't do it, and see what happens.  Your son will pee right out the top of his diaper.  When Jackson began sleeping on his belly we went through this night after night... changing those crib sheets at 3am is really a beyotch... so take it from me, just point his little winky down when diapering and it will save you a lot of unnecessary middle of the night bedding changes.

Lesson #4.... boys will be boys... even when they are infants.  Each and every time my son pees on me, he thinks it is absolutely hilarious.

Now on to one of my favorite topics,  clothing:

I am not sure why, but manufacturers of infant clothing seem to think that either a) all little boys should be dressed in things with trucks, animals, characters, or firetrucks, or b) mom's of little boys don't like to shop for them.  I went to the Nordstrom Anniversary sale a few weeks ago.  I left Jackson with my sister, and headed out there at 8am to beat the crowds... yeah I am a dedicated shopper.

I was really excited to stock up on adorable clothes for my son for the fall and winter.  Unfortunately, I was heartbroken to find about 15 racks of infant girls' clothing, and only 3 for boys.  WTF?!   Does my son not need clothing too?  This phenomenon is not limited to Nordstrom... it sadly happens everywhere.  And the stores that DO have an ample selection of clothes for little boys, ruin them by adorning them with theme type characters that just do not appeal to me.  Very disappointing.

As much as I sometimes get bummed when I shop for my son because there is so little selection when it comes to clothing... I have to say, the toys are wayyyy better.  Yes, many toys are not gender specific, and I am a modern mom, my son can play with girl toys if he wants to... but I personally think Tonka Dump Trucks & dinosaurs, beat a doll and carriage any day.

Another major difference between boys and girls is their  energy levels.

Think this is a myth?  Spend a little time in a Mommy & Me class, and you will see what I see.  My son, and most of the other boys are crawling all over the place, while the little girls are sitting nicely in their mothers' laps while the instructor sings them songs and does puppet shows.  I have all but given up on trying to contain him during these structured portions of class because he is just not interested in sitting still, while his female counterparts, sit contentedly clapping along with the music.

As for the  future... we are not there yet, so I am really not sure what it holds.   I do know that potty training is going to be an interesting feat, and that with little girls, you don't have to worry much about their aim... although I do distinctly remember that when I was being potty trained, I sat so far back on the toilet seat that I peed right over the top of it.  So maybe boys and girls really aren't that different when it comes to toileting needs.  But I digress.  Back to the topic at hand.

Boy, girl... the slight differences end there... with subtleties and nuances.  The gender gap is closing in society, so raising a boy, or raising a girl is all pretty much the same.  As parents, we tackle a lot of the same issues, and have a lot of the same worries about the future for our offspring; regardless of their gender. All we REALLY want as parents is to raise happy, healthy children who become productive members of society.  And of course it wouldn't hurt if our sons always remembered that their mommies were the first women who they ever loved... just kidding.  Kind of.  :-)

Random Thing of the Day

I think Dr. Oz's scrubs are a little too tight. 

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Sometimes Love Takes Time

It's raining. Like cats and dogs raining. Beatrice is napping, JD is at work, and the cat is trying to make a nest in my lap but I can't be bothered with cuddles (and shedding fur) right now. Ahhhh solitude. It has been awhile since I felt this calm. And in control. I think I like it. This shall be my new mood. Disrupt it at your own risk.

I was not a calm pregnant person. I worried that I would lose the baby, I worried that JD wouldn't love me as much, I worried that I wouldn't love the baby enough. Or at all. We didn't plan to get pregnant right away. We had only been married 10 months and were still settling into the idea that this was for the rest of our lives. We thought we'd travel, buy a bigger house, save some money and enjoy being a couple for a few years. When a bad fight turned into a night of carefree passionate making up, I found myself sobbing in my office bathroom with 2 blue lines in front of me. Crap. We were having a baby. And I wasn't ready.

JD took the news great. He was excited and nervous and really supportive. Supportive, you say? Why would he need to be supportive? Well because I was a sobbing, hysterical mess. I kept muttering things like "I'm too young to have a baby, I'm a child having a child. How will we feed it?" He said "Honey, you're 26. Get a grip." But I never really got a grip. The whole pregnancy I kind of ignored the fact that in less than a year, I would be a mother to some helpless little person that deserved a better mother than me. I was in complete denial of how my life would change and how our marriage would change. Everything was pushed to the far corners of my mind.

As my belly grew, my denial changed a bit. I accepted that a baby was growing in there and that I had to birth it out, but the magnanimity of knowing that I would be a mother was still suppressed in my mind. I started praying that she would be healthy and grow up knowing the Lord. That she would be smart and kind and honest and meek. That JD and I would be good parents. That I would love her. I never admitted the last prayer to anyone because what kind of woman doesn't think she will love her own child? It's not that I didn't think I'd eventually love her, but the feeling of instant love that women talk about when they feel the baby kick for the first time never happened to me. I felt stunted in motherly love. Was it because we weren't planning to get pregnant? Why was I so freaked out about a sweet, precious baby? What is wrong with me???? Ugggh, just remembering that makes me feel sick. 


As my due date approached, everyone told me that I would instantly fall in love as soon as I held that baby. I would look into her eyes and this unbreakable bond would form and last forever. Great, I thought. Finally, I will feel normal and no one will know that I am a heartless, unloving freak. I had Beatrice and as soon as she popped out, JD and my mom sobbed tears of joy. She pooped in utero so the docs had to check her out before they brought her to me. I never cried. When they handed her to me I fumbled trying to hold and calm her. Nothing came naturally to me. I didn't feel nurturing or motherly at all. I felt the same.  The nurses wanted to bathe her so I eagerly gave the baby to them and felt the biggest dread come over me. I still didn't feel love for my baby. And I had to take her home in a day. And even bigger than that, I had to pretend that I wasn't completely freaking out in front of our family.





























The next month was a blur of sobbing, feeling inadequate, and resenting myself for not being normal. Why did I not feel anything for my baby? I didn't hate her or wish she didn't exist, I was very grateful for her. I just didn't feel anything. I thought that all good mothers would instantly love their children and if they didn't, they weren't good mothers. I lived with this guilt for a month before I finally confided in JD and my best friend. I would have told someone sooner but I wasn't depressed and didn't want anyone suggesting that maybe I was. Also, I felt that I would be terribly judged. They were totally supportive and told me that I was normal. Being a new mother is exhausting and confusing and full of pressure to get it right. They told me to relax and enjoy my baby. Everything would happen naturally.





























And it did. Once I admitted how I felt, I suddenly felt free to love her. Like I wasn't trying to hide my secret anymore. I always felt like she could see through me anyway so that added to my guilt. I also discovered many other new moms felt the same as me. Sometimes it takes time to bond with a baby. Even as I fell in love with her, I still never felt relaxed or calm about being a mother. Would I screw up her life? Would she hate me? Would I be a good example to her? I have always felt way under qualified for this role. But as she has grown and is a complete mommy's girl, I know that I have done all right. We are gonna make it. She is healthy and smart and loved.





























Now I want 3 more kids, all girls. I can't wait to feel what a pregnancy full of excitement and anticipation is like instead of dread and fear. I also know that if I don't instantly fall in love with a new child, I am not a freak. I am a person doing the best that I can and wants to love the crap out of my kids. Just not in utero. Remembering all of the turmoil and angst that led up to this place of peace and confidence in my ability to love and mother makes me glad. Glad that I am not there anymore. Glad that I am normal. Whatever that may be. And glad that I am completely in love with my baby. Even if it took a little extra time.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Changes and Some Ramblings

Ch-ch-changes. There are a few new things going on with us that I'd thought I'd share.

JD got a promotion a few weeks ago. It's a great opportunity for him and he is really enjoying it, but our schedule is totally rearranged. He was working "normal" 8-4 hours before the promotion, now he is working 2-10. This means we don't see each other very often. This is good and bad. Good because we are very ornery people and too much togetherness can quickly turn into bickering. Also good because I have my nights back. The hardest transition to make when JD returned home from his training was sharing my nights. It's when I blog, read, clean, watch The Real Housewives of whatever city and veg out. When he returned, he took over the TV, insisted that I cuddle instead of play on my computer and wanted to go to bed early. That part was kind of awesome actually. I can't really think of why this new schedule is bad so I guess it's not; just a change.

I have been blogging for hire over at 100Cafestreet for a month now. It's a dessert website and I am a contributing baker/blogger. It's pretty challenging because I have to come up with my own spin on recipes, take a decent photo and write a little something about that particular dessert. I will not be getting rich from this venture, but it is a cool opportunity to sharpen my writing skills. And we always have dessert in the house so JD is thrilled.



















Beatrice loves balls. Bouncy balls, soccer balls, foamy stress relief balls, little rattling cat toy balls. She plays ball all over the house and we are actually loving it. JD can juggle by the way, who knew? On Sunday, I sat at the top of the stairs with Beatrice in my lap while JD stood at the bottom and we tossed a ball back and forth. We all had a pretty good time then realized that we were breaking 2 cardinal rules of parenting. 1. Playing ball in the house. 2. Encouraging our baby to play on the stairs. Is it a parenting fail if the parents actually don't mind playing ball in the house? Oh and having an assortment of balls in the house makes for some awesome sneak attacks. We have been punting balls at each other all week. Not at the baby of course.



















A little shoppe on the downtown square is selling my crochet hats. That means I have been busy with my craft all week. And I am so burnt out. I hope they sell otherwise everyone is getting a crochet baby beanie for Christmas.

I painted my nails for the first time in over 10 months today. And I feel really pretty. And girlie. Until it chips then I will remember why I don't paint my nails anymore.



















Watching Shark Week on the Discovery Channel has been an awesome workout for my glutes. My cheeks have been squeezed so tight watching these beasts shred muscles and rip legs off of swimmers. Gruesome.
























Beatrice has been taking really crappy naps lately so I hung a dark blanket over her pretty organza Pottery Barn Kids curtains and voila, she sleeps until after 8 am and takes 2 hour naps. Homemade rigged blackout curtains are more valuable than a picture perfect nursery any day.



















I could go on but I this post is getting very rambly. And I must crochet some more. Goodnight.

Random Thing of the Day

When I was a little girl, I saw an episode of Mama's Family. I don't remember the plot but Mama was on a mission of sorts. She hoisted and rearranged her boobs and marched off to accomplish whatever it was she was trying to accomplish. I was amazed. I had never seen someone hoist and rearrange that area of their body before and I decided right then and there that I wanted boobs big enough to hoist and rearrange too. Much like Mama's mission on that particular episode, I too was on a mission to have big boobs one day. So I prayed and asked God to please give me big boobs when I grew up, the bigger the better. And He did. True story.

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Facebook: Some of You Are Doing It Wrong


I did a guest blogging post over at Fabulously Unfabulous. Go check out Amanda and read my post below!

I love Facebook, I really do. It's how JD and I got together (we knew each other for 7 years before we dated but Facebook reconnected us). What started out as a way for college students to connect has quickly turned into the biggest online social networking community around. And that is really awesome. But I think some folks are doing it wrong. It has somehow turned into an outlet for everyone to share all of the gory details of their lives with revealing status updates and photo albums filled with placentas, mucous plugs and linea negras. I am totally guilty of the latter, forgive me please. To make it up to you I have deleted all offending pictures.


Facebook has become the ultimate outlet for over-sharing. From the photo albums of full body tattoos to the sexy boudoir pics you gifted your husband with on Valentine's Day, nothing seems to be off limits. Had a snowboarding accident and broke your bone? Post it on Facebook so we can all see what the inside of your body looks like. Your kid just puked all over the kitchen floor and the dog is eating it? Thanks for sharing it in your Mobile Uploads album. Nothing seems to be too personal (or disgusting) to share with the world.

And speaking of photos, what is up with this pose as every one's profile picture?



Ignore my claw-like fingers. And my hair, I didn't dry it today. Also know that it was painful for me to take this picture. I loathe this pose. What the heck is this? A duck-billed platypus? The trout mouth a la Meg Ryan? Please, someone tell me what is the significance of this face and why does every girl have some version of it at least 15 times in their album title Just Me. And also, how is it possible to take this photo of yourself whiling driving your car because that can't be safe? I'm just saying.


Remember the old days of Facebook when you had a drop down menu bar with possible status updates? You could choose "Aly is studying," "Aly is working," "Aly is sleeping" and a handful of other generic options. Nowadays, Facebookers are getting way too personal and in depth with their statuses. Every day I log on and see that "Jane woke up, ate breakfast, took a shower but didn't wash her hair, put her pants on one leg at a time like everyone else, went to work, had a snack, went to lunch, came back to work, got fired, went home, walked her dog and is watching the Bachelorette before flossing and going to bed." Or the posts that say "Joe is having a colonoscopy in the morning, thoughts and prayers needed." It's just way too much information for me. I like leaving a little something to the imagination like "Aly has a secret." Actually, I really hate those cryptic posts too because undoubtedly everyone thinks you're pregnant or have some icky medical condition, then send you all of their thoughts and prayers. Maybe a "less is more" mentality should be applied when Facebooking. People just don't need to know that your doctor thinks you need more fiber in your diet to help with your irregularity. Not Facebook people anyways.

If you have  5997 friends, you may not be doing Facebook right. There is no way you can know that many people in real life. Especially if you are posting pictures of your colonoscopy. I have 214 friends and I know/knew them all personally at one time or another in my life. Sometimes I get the random friend request from a friend of a friend and that kind of creeps me out. If we don't know each other, why do you want to look at my page? And pictures of my kid? JD has about double the amount of friends than I do but he's much more social than me. And older.


I love how Facebook turns everyone into a pimp. For yourself. You can pimp your business, your banging new body, your new tattoo, your political agenda, your religious agenda, your pregnancy, your wedding, your divorce, your kid. You are the master of your profile and can let everyone know just how awesome you are with status updates, photos, and youtube links. If we are all pimps, does that mean Facebook is our hoe? Hehehe. If you feel like a pimp, you may not be doing Facebook right.

If your primary reason for joining Facebook is to cyber stalk your ex boyfriend, you may not be doing Facebook right. In your defense though, Facebook makes stalking so easy by suggesting people that you may know to be added as your friend. And if you ignore it, it will be suggested again tomorrow and the next day until you click on your old flame's profile. Once you stalk one old boyfriend you slide down the slippery slope of stalking all of  his friends' walls and photos until you feel fairly certain that his life sucks and you made the right decision dumping him during sophomore year. Then you update your profile and albums to be certain that anyone stalking you knows how awesome you truly are. It's all about strategy.

Something as awesome as Facebook should be censored a tad by everyone posting platypus trout mouth profile pictures while driving to work and relaying the details of their pap smears. Pimp yourself with class. And if I never have to see another photo of a broken toe with yellow ooze coming from the toenail ever again, I will be a happy Facebooker once more. Less is more folks, less is more.

Monday, August 2, 2010

Random Thing of the Day

Today's random thing of the day is JD's facebook status and profile picture:
It reads "oh to be a pygmy marmoset....to just chill out on fingers and stare off into the sky and dream of days to come!" He = awesome.