Poor, poor thing. It must be SO hard.

I really do like Miranda Lambert. Seriously. I have worn her cd out, and even my daughter knows every last word to "Kerosene".

However... I picked up this weeks People magazine and was flipping through it out on my front porch this evening, and came across the article "How She Stays Fit"... featuring Miranda. The caption beside her photo says, "I am never going to wear a size 2, says Lambert. People say, 'You look healthy' and that's fine with me." Intrigued, I read on through the article to find that poor Miranda is a SIZE 4.

A SIZE 4. No, I didn't mistype SIZE 14 or SIZE 24. She is a size 04.0

Seriously. If you are going to be featured in a "I am not going to worry about my weight because I am a good singer and that is what counts" type article in People magazine, at least say something a little more dramatic like, "I am never going to be able to fit in to a 4T. But that is ok."

But when you are a SIZE 4, no one really feels badly about you not being able to cram your skinny ass into a size 2. SERIOUSLY.

The only thing that redeems People magazine is that there is another article featuring the new American Idol, the gorgeous Jordin Sparks, who is a size 12, and fabulous. Ironically, in that same article on page 125, there is a photo of Jordin with a quote in big, bold letters, "I am not ever going to be a size 2. I would look so weird".

Apparently being a size 2 is the new crack. And crack is wack.

Move over, Sylvia Browne!

I love 8:00pm. I love my kids, and I love my husband and I would dry up and die without them, blah blah blah, but around our house, we impose a pretty strict 8pm bedtime for the kids. After trying various bedtimes, we discovered that the 8pm bedtime seems to leave them less tired and more productive in the morning and that... ok really, if I put them to bed at 8, that leaves me a full two hours to consume alcohol and surf the net.

So generally, you can find me sitting in front of the clock, waiting patiently for 8pm. Some nights, when the fighting and yelling and wrestling are at their peak, I can almost hear harps when that minute hand finally flips over to 12...

The good thing about the strict bedtime is that they are both pretty used to it. You can almost time Colby... 7:57 you will see him start looking for his didgee... then the thumb goes in the mouth... and when I finally say it is bedtime, he runs to his bed, and will give kisses and hugs and then he says lovingly, "Bye. Shut da door."

Wednesday night was an exception. I put him in his bed and he clings to me, and is whimpering.

"Colby! Lay down, its bedtime." I say.

"NO!! Dere's a ghost in my room. It will get me!" he cries.

"Colby, there is no ghost in here!! I promise!! Now lay down!"

"Dere is a ghost!! It right ober dere!! I see it!!" He points to the corner of his room, which contains a dresser and a wooden corner shelf.

"Honey, there are no ghosts in here, I promise. There is no ghost by your dresser. Now give me a kiss and lay down."

"DERE IS A GHOST IN MY ROOM!! DERE IS ONE RIGHT DERE!!!" He points again to the corner of his room, and he is trembling.

His conviction starts to make me feel uneasy... Is there really a ghost lurking around the winter pajamas that are stacked on top of the dresser that I keep meaning to put away?? I mean, this house WAS built in the late 50's... chances are someone may have died here at one time or another. Does my son really see dead people? They say kids are the most susceptible to visions from the Other Side... He has never mentioned ghosts or monsters before tonight, so what else could it be?? Instead of the Gift Of Early Potty Training, he has been passed the even rarer gift of Seeing People From The Other Side.

I envision myself packing his diapers and wipes and flying to the Montel Williams Show, and the Today Show, and the Oprah Show... People will call to him from the audience, "PLEASE COLBY!! Tell me! Can you see my father? He died in 1995... Please??" and Colby will pull his thumb out of his mouth and say, "You daddy fine. He gots wings. He say HI!!... Hey mama, I pooped." It will be great. We will make MILLIONS from his... I mean, we will help so many people. That is the important thing. First I must help him understand his gift and then we will tour the country together, helping people. I will quit my job. I will homeschool.

About that time, Elizabeth comes in the room. I tell her that her brother thinks there is a ghost in his room. She asks him, "Where is the ghost bub??" and he cries and points to the same spot for the 10th time... She laughs, walks over there and picks up a piece of paper... It was a flyer for a Halloween Festival from 2004 that I have not QUITE gotten around to scrapbooking... Colby's first Halloween.

And at the top is a drawing of a ghost.

I put the paper in his junk drawer and he says, "Night night ghost! Now can't get me!! Night night! Shut da door, mama."

Conversations In Potty Training with Hardheaded Three Year Old Boy

I actually typed this out a few weeks ago for some friends and family. Most people think that we are just not trying hard enough to get our little precious pookie boy to use the potty. I welcome any and all suggestions, except for Dr. Phil's Potty Training in 10 Minutes or Less. (Dr. Phil - You may know relationships, but you don't know poo about potty training. I bet Mrs. Dr. Phil took care of all of that while you were out... doing whatever it is you did 20 years ago.)I told my friend Misty that I would share it here for you all. Enjoy. (Laughter at my expense is always welcome. *sigh*)

Conversation 1:
A few weeks ago, I hit a sale on big boy underwear at the Gap. (How cute are Gap drawers for boys???) One of the pairs in the pack featured a rocket that looked like the rocket on Little Einstein's. (A regular feature attraction around here... He has some Little Einstein's pj's that he INSISTS on wearing pretty much every night.) I bring them home and show them to Colby and he seems so excited. He carries them around for half the night, anyway. After his bath, I decide to try them on him, because the only size they had on sale was 2-3 years. Colby is lying on the floor, I slip the underwear on him and help him stand up... He looks down, grabs his boy-package and starts screaming:
Colby: GET DEM OFF OB MEEEEEEEE!!! NO NO NO NO!!! NO BIG BOY UNNERWEER!! NO NO!!
Me: Colby!! Calm down and let me look! Awwww!! Look how cute you are!!
Colby RIPS at the underwear like a Chippendale in training. His face is blood red and tears are literally spurting out of his eyes.
C: OFFFFF OFFF OFFFFF!! NOT COOT!! I WAN DEM OFFFFF!! I WAN MY CLUE CLUE DIAPER!!(Luvs brand diapers have Blue from Blue's Clues on the front.) WAN MY DIIIIIIAAAAAPPPPPERRRRRRR!!!
M: Ok!! Calm down! Just a second!!
C: NOW!! GET DEM OFFFFFF NNNOOOOOWWWWWWWWW!!!!
He starts to hyperventilate. I get the underwear off, and get the diaper on. He stops crying, picks up his new underwear and throws them in the kitchen trash.
C: (Smiling) bye bye big boy unnerweer!! Bye bye!!

Conversation 2:
We decide that treats might work. We buy M&M's. When we got home that night, I called a meeting with Marty and Elizabeth while Colby was busy playing. I told them that for that night, anytime ANYONE needed to use the potty, we would ALL watch and make a big deal and that person would get M&M's. Elizabeth immediately decided she needed to pee. We all traipse into the bathroom and call Colby in, too.
M: Oh! Look at Beth!! She is pee-peeing in the potty like a big girl!! Lets all look at her pee!! It is so pretty and yellow!! Lets flush!! Bye Bye Pee! Elizabeth, you get three M&M's for going pee pee!! YAY!!
(Hands her three M&M's)
C: I wan emmy mem's!!
M: Then hop up on the potty!!
C: NO! No potty! Wan emmy mem's!
Dad: If you want an M&M you have to sit on the potty. One M&M for sitting on the potty, three for peepee, and FIVE for pooping on the potty!!
C: No!! No potty! Wan emmy mem!!
M: Then sit on the potty.
C: NO!!
M: Then no M&M.
Colby stands there for a moment, thinking.
C: I go eat banana.

Conversation 3:
That next Saturday, we were getting ready to go to my friend Jennifer's. I ran the kids bath water and called them into the bathroom to get naked. As I took off Colby's diaper, he started crying.
C: NO!! Put my diaper back!! I nee my diaper!
M: No Colby, it is bathtime. We can't wear diapers in the bathtub!
C: (holding his butt) I nee go poo poo!! I nee my diaper!!
M: OHHHH NO!!! If you need to poo poo, then go sit on the potty.
C: (still holding butt, starts screaming) I NEE POOP!! I NEE GO POOP IN MY DIAPER!!
M: NO!! Go sit on the potty!!
(I try to lift him on the potty and he clings to me like it is full of snakes and starts screaming hysterically. I put him down. He runs to his room, holding his butt and comes back with a clean diaper.)
M: NO! If you need to poop, then you sit on the potty! We ARE NOT putting on a clean diaper so that you can go poop!! Not!!
C: (Screaming) I. WAN. MY. DIAPER!! I. NEE. GO. POOP!!!!
M: Bud, you can poop in the potty or on the floor, but you are NOT getting a diaper.
Colby screams for another good 5 minutes, gives up and gets in the tub. Then he was constipated the rest of the night.

Conversation 4:
The day before his birthday, we were driving to school. I am feeling sad and nostalgic because it is the last day I will be taking my two-year-old to daycare.

M: Colby, tomorrow is your birthday!
C: My birt-day?
M: Yep!! You are going to be three years old!!
C: I free?
M: Yep, you are going to be three!! You are getting to be SUCH a big boy!!
C: (laughs) Nooooo! I not gone go potty!! I da baby!! (laughs again)

I am fully prepared to take him to kindergarten in Depends.

Stupid immune system!

I am sick. AGAIN. I swear, I have caught every single bug and virus that has gone around this year. I missed two days of work last week and I still feel like complete crap. Since I am unable to breathe, much less think, here is something funny that came through my myspace. It made me laugh. Of course, that maybe because of the numerous drugs I am taking in order to get through the day.

I have no idea if George Carlin really wrote them, and... well, actually I don't care. It is still funny.

GEORGE CARLIN'S NEW RULES FOR 2007:

New Rule: Stop giving me that pop-up ad for classmates.com! There's a reason you don't talk to people for 25 years. Because you don't particularly like them! Besides, I already know what the captain of the football team is doing these days -- mowing my lawn.

New Rule: Don't eat anything that's served to you out a window unless you're a seagull. People are acting all shocked that a human finger was found in a bowl of Wendy's chili. Hey, it cost less than a dollar. What did you expect it to contain? Lobster?

New Rule: Stop saying that teenage boys who have sex with their hot, blonde teachers are permanently damaged. I have a better description for these kids: "Lucky bastards."

New Rule: If you need to shave and you still collect baseball cards, you're a dope. If you're a kid, the cards are keepsakes of your idols. If you're a grown man, they're pictures of men.

New Rule: Ladies, leave your eyebrows alone. Here's how much men care about your eyebrows: Do you have two of them? Okay, we're done.

New Rule: There's no such thing as flavored water. There's a whole aisle of this crap at the supermarket, water, but without that watery taste. Sorry, but flavored water is called a soft drink. You want flavored water? Pour some scotch over ice and let it melt. That's your flavored water.

New Rule: Stop screwing with old people. Target is introducing aredesigned pill bottle that's square, with a bigger label. And the top is now the bottom. And by the time grandpa figures out how to open it, his ass will be in the morgue. Congratulations, Target, you just solved the Social Security crisis .

New Rule: The more complicated the Starbucks order, the bigger the asshole. If you walk into a Starbucks and order a "decaf grande, half-soy, half-low fat, iced vanilla, double-shot, gingerbread cappuccino, extra dry, light ice, with one Sweet-n'-Low, and one NutraSweet," ooh, you're a huge asshole.

New Rule: I'm not the cashier! By the time I look up from sliding my card, entering my PIN number, pressing "Enter," verifying the amount, deciding, no, I don't want cash back, and pressing "Enter" again, the kid who is supposed to be ringing me up is standing there eating my Almond Joy.

New Rule: Just because your tattoo has Chinese characters in it doesn't make you spiritual. It's right above the crack of your ass. And it translates to "beef with broccoli." The last time you did anything spiritual, you were praying to God you weren't pregnant. You're not spiritual. You're just high.

New Rule: Competitive eating isn't a sport. It's one of the seven deadly sins. ESPN recently televised the U.S. Open of Competitive Eating, because watching those athletes at the poker table was just too damned exciting. What's next, competitive farting? Oh wait. They're already doing that. It's called "The Howard Stern Show."

New Rule: I don't need a bigger mega M&Ms. If I'm extra hungry for M&Ms, I'll go nuts and eat two.

New Rule: If you're going to insist on making movies based on crappy, old television shows, then you have to give everyone in the Cineplex a remote so we can see what's playing on the other screens. Let's remember the reason something was a television show in the first place is that the idea wasn't good enough to be a movie.

New Rule: No more gift registries. You know, it used to be just for weddings. Now it's for babies and new homes and graduations from rehab. Picking out the stuff you want and having other people buy it for you isn't gift giving, it's the white people version of looting.

New Rule: And this one is long overdue: No more bathroom attendants. After I zip up, some guy is offering me a towel and a mint like I just had sex with George Michael. I can't even tell if he's supposed to be there, or just some freak with a fetish. I don't want to be on your web cam, dude. I just want to wash my hands.

New Rule: When I ask how old your toddler is, I don't need to hear "27 months." "He's two" will do just fine. He's not a cheese. And I didn't really care in the first place. And if your child 7 years old..they're 7!..not 7 and a half or 8 and a half, and so on and so forth. You're an friggin' idiot for teaching your kid that kind of aging. If you were to ask my age and I said 57 and a half. You would look at me funny and say I was weird. DO YOU GET IT?

a little purge of the emotional closet

I hate having things to dread. Dread is such a stressful emotion. There isn't much you can do to change it. And, yes, the actual event is generally not as bad as the weeks of stomach cramping agony you put yourself through, but that knowledge does nothing to alleviate the feeling of impending doom.

I hate being interrupted when I am telling something I am excited about, especially when I am interrupted - not once - but three times... and never asked to finish my story.

I hate being the third wheel. That is happening more and more often lately, even when I started out being the first wheel who planned the event.

I am sick to death of everything coming back to my weight. Everyone has a comment on it, and it is considered to be the root of all my problems. I can go to the doctor for a sinus infection, (or in this case, a pap smear) and we have to have a big discussion about my weight. I swear, if I have cervical cancer, it is not because I am fat.
I hate that drugged up feeling of not getting enough sleep.

I hate when I know that I am on the verge of blowing up and I know if I do it, I will regret it wholeheartedly, but I also know how good it will feel for about 15 minutes.

Honesty, best policy, blah blah

Elizabeth is like a lot of seven-year-olds when it comes to food. Mention something new and she is all, "EEWWW!! I don't like that!" Pretty much if it isn't dipped in chocolate and full of sugar, she just doesn't want it.

Well, tonight, I tried an old recipe of my mom's, a dish that contains cabbage. I have not cooked cabbage at all in a really long time, and I figured that the mere mention of the word would start her whining up again. So, when she asked what we were having, I did what any tired, overworked and unappreciated mother - who slaved in the kitchen for an hour and a half - would do... I totally lied.

"We are having lettuce stew." I said.

She loves lettuce, oddly enough, and I figured this would be an easy out for me.

We all sit down to dinner and Marty and I are sneaking secret glances her direction as she enthusiastically eats the "lettuce".

"How is it?" I ask.

"YUMMY!!" she responds.

A few minutes later, she says, "You know, when lettuce is cooked, it really tastes a lot like cabbage and I LOOOOVE me some cabbage!"

I think Marty and I both choked simultaneously.

"When did you ever eat cabbage??" I asked.

"Oh, they used to make it all the time when I was at daycare, and I ALWAYS ate seconds. Cabbage is one of my favorite foods!!"

Yes, we eventually came clean and admitted that we were big liars.

Crappy New Year!

This year has gotten off to a terrible start. I hate that. I always like the New Year, because everything seems... fresh. But I have a bad feeling now, that the rest of the year is going to be badbadbad.

For one thing, Marty started some kitchen renovations on the Friday before New Years, and pretty much made a disaster of it. He slipped and fell and spilled an entire sprayer full of sheetrock mud on my floor... where we had NOT taped off. Then the sheetrock didn't dry overnight, and he had to work the next day, so I rang in the new year with no kitchen. That is not good.

Now, my best friend isn't talking to me because she is "frustrated" with me and my boss wants to have weekly meetings about my "feelings" because he thinks that I am internalizing my anger and frustration and that is making me "edgy" (his word, which means "a complete and total bitch, all day, all week, all year").

For some reason, my cd player in my car is acting up... all cd's skip.... EXCEPT Hannah Montana. WTF is that about? However, Colby has learned most of the words to "Best of Both Worlds" and Elizabeth has taught him some dance moves to go with the song... That makes Marty so proud.

I rented four DVDs yesterday and got home... and my DVD player has quit working.

My dryer hasn't worked in three weeks...

It is already six days into the new year and I am already tired of 2007. I want a do-over.

I actually went into the bathroom yesterday at work and grinned at myself obnoxiously in the mirror for a good 5 minutes to see if it would release some endorphins and make me feel better...

It didn't work.