You Go, Grandma!

Some time ago, I ran across an article about a 60+ year old woman who had just given birth to her first child. My first thought, of course, was EWWW. Upon reading further, I was slightly inspired by this woman's stick-to-it-iveness, since she'd been dealing with infertility for over 30 years and had finally realized her dream of having a baby. Then I went right back to EWWW.

Further reflection about this grandma's current situation caused me to wonder. How is it, when most people your age are sitting around, complaining about their aches and pains, making sure they get to the cafeteria early so they can be first in line and get the "good" desserts, that you decide you want to have a BABY. How do you decide that changing your own diaper isn't enough, and you want to change someone else's at the same time? Maybe it's easier - you can buy baby food in bulk. But it seems like an awful lot of work for a person who just a few short months ago woke up in the morning simply to see if AARP wrote today.

Most people this woman's age flatulate in public and blame it on someone else. No need with a baby - you blame the smell on them. Completely inappropriate comments made to unsuspecting waitresses are written off because you're surely out of your mind - after all, you just had a baby. At your age.

My biggest problem with the whole having-a-baby-when-you're-old-enough-to-be-its-grandparent is that this baby will probably be in middle school when you die. And on top of that, how can you honestly expect to keep track of the little rugrats if you manage to stay alive? You can't sneak up on them when they hear your bones creaking a mile away. And if you can't figure out how to use the internet or a cell phone, forget secret conversations with teachers that blow your kids minds.

Still, to this woman, I say "Right on!" You wanted a baby, and you stuck with it for more than 30 years until you had one. Forget all the children you could have adopted in that time that needed a mom. You did it your way.

Precious Children

(sung to the tune of that old gospel favorite, Precious Memories)
(to my friends at DSS - this is a JOKE)

Precious children, how they linger
Will they ever leave our home?
Lord, we love them
But we'd love to miss them
Why won't they leave us alone?

Precious children, always in my business
They're so nosey I could scream
Asking this and asking that
Even though they don't give a crap
It's no wonder I'm so mean.

Oh, these noisy children, what's with these noisy children
Why are they all ganging up on me?
Man, I'd like to shake them
But there's laws against that
Prison ain't the place I want to be.

Precious children,
They can make me say nasty words
I sure love my children
And I wouldn't trade them
Even if they are gigantic turds.

That's What Friends Are For

So a couple of weekend's ago, I took a little road trip - alone - to Greenville to see my very best friend. We've been friends since high school, when my brother felt compelled to set me up to meet someone he worked with so I wouldn't start a new high school without knowing anyone. I don't care what anyone says, that's just sweet (especially when you factor in a teenage boy).

So we've been friends forever. We are oddly alike, and just as oddly very different. Friendship is great that way. I love how God works all that out so people just gel together.

And my friend was 22 months pregnant, and really wanted me to come, so I went to see her. I don't particularly like to ride for more than 30 minutes, so driving it was quite the challenge. I changed my mind and backed out at least a dozen times. It got to the point that SuperHubby finally just said I should let him know that morning if I was leaving town or not. On top of that, I had to drive ALONE - and I don't like doing anything alone. But, she's my friend, she wanted me there, so I went. And when I got there, I was reminded why you do these things for your freinds.

I got up super-early on a Saturday morning and drove almost 4 hours to meet her a gas station. Apparently it's pretty hard to find her house and she didn't want me to drive around for hours. Nice. So I pull up and she's not there. I figured I could fill up the car and save myself the trouble of doing it the next morning. So I get out and start pumping, wind blowing and air frankly a little chillier than in Charleston. And she pulls up. I go over to her car, lean in to say hi, and the first thing she says to me, before "hey, how was your trip," before anything, is "Wow, your hair looks great."

Now honestly - that goes without saying - but how cool is it of her to mention that before anything else? It's no wonder she's my best friend.

She had her baby last week. Didn't name her after me, even though I campaigned pretty diligently - but she's a beautiful baby, and she's healthy. Compliment me on my hair or name your baby after me? They both speak my love language.

Color Me Irritated

This will come as a shock to people who know me, because I'm such a happy, friendly person, but lately several things have really gotten under my skin. It's not like I'm sitting around looking for stupid, mind you - it just seems to be so prevalent these days.

For example, the PlayStation 3 craze. Being a normal person, I don't understand all the hype about a video gaming system anyway. Being the mother of 2 sons, I realize they find something oddly satisfying and enjoyable about video games, but I can't for the life of me figure it out. Wasn't Atari cool enough? I still love those games. But the people at Sony have gone too far. They have limited releases of the PS3 systems, or whatever the current machine is, so they can create a frenzy for a gadget that will be outdated in a year anyway. Grown men sleep outdoors, in the freezing cold, to purchase a system - some for their own, sad life, but some so they can sell them on eBay for 3 times what they paid. So now the children - and the nerds - who really want them can't get them because the price is so inflated. A 24-hour Wal-Mart in Connecticut closed down because of fighting - and one guy got shot. Over a TOY.

Another thing that's on my nerves this week is Christmas. Now, as I stated last year, I absolutely love Christmas and all things related to it. I do not, however, love them in October. Which is when most of the stores around here felt compelled to start with the Christmas decorations. Frankly, I was okay with it then - because it meant the stupid Halloween decorations that had been up since August were finally replaced with something nice. BUT - and here's where I draw the line - we have completely forgotten Thanksgiving!

Last weekend, while I was finishing my Christmas shopping (hate me if you will - you're just jealous), I realized that every store I was in was playing Christmas music. I guess that's okay, but a couple of songs aren't what get me in the holiday spirit. It's more than that, right? Then, just yesterday, my radio station dubbed themselves "Charleston's Christmas Station." On the one hand, nicely done - because everyone else seems to be trying so hard to be politically correct that I'm surprised they didn't go with "Charleston's Holiday Station - Maybe." But they are steadfast and continue to rock out the Christmas tunes every year - including songs that are 100% I Love Jesus. So I like that. Just not before Thanksgiving.

I guess it's because Thanksgiving is happening so early this year. It's still relatively hot here - for most normal people - and the tree lots are popping up everywhere. Of course, in 4 days people will be strapping them to the tops of their Hummers and driving the 2 blocks to their house to have the help (translation: kids) get it in the house. Whatever happened to going to a tree farm and cutting down your own tree?

I love Thanksgiving - it's a perfect holiday because (1) you get good food, (2) you spend time with the relatives, but not as much, and (3) you don't have to worry about the gift exchange. Yet. Everyone else in America seems to think Thanksgiving is just a day for bad football. Go, Lions.

One final word about things that are ticking me off this week: People, if you can't drive a big truck/van/whatever, DON'T buy it! Regardless of how cool the truck, you look like a jerk when you can't park it and are driving straight down the middle of the road.

There. I've spread my holiday cheer. Have yourself a Happy Little Thanksgiving.

Question

Is it at all acceptable to repeat a post on your own blog that you found particularly entertaining? Or is that just tacky?

Can You Hear Me Now?

I have sad news for the many suppository lovers out there. The old girl has been stripped of her identity. That's right, last week SuperHubby took her out and got her a new muffler and some belts. She's as quiet as a Catholic during their first Seacoast worship experience.

Turns out the suppoistory was embarrassing the boys as much as she was embarrassing me. Let's face it, when the elementary school principal turns to check out the monstrous noise coming in the parking lot every day, and it turns out that it's YOU every day, well...the cheeks grow a little rosy. Move down the road to pick up the middle schooler, and everyone looks at you like you've lost your mind because you're driving that thing, and the cheeks are deep red before we make it home.

So the great news is, I actually have a fairly nice van now that it doesn't make so much noise. At least she feels pretty (she's still a suppository, but she thinks she's gorgeous, and that's what really matters, right?). You can tell by the way she drives - she's proud. And we love her.

For those who long for suppository stories, never fear. The gas cap still doesn't come off without at least 2 people giving an assist. The cassette player doesn't work, and frankly, it has a cassette player. The back door doesn't lock unless you beg it, and the windows go down 100% of the time but only up 75% of the time. Choose your times wisely.

There will still be days when I want to shoot the suppository. Today, I like her. A little.

Best Week Ever

VH1 has a fantastic show called "Best Week Ever." If you need to know which contestant spit on another equally charming young lady on Flavor of Love, just watch Best Week Ever. If you want to see David Hasselhoff's new "Jump in My Car" video, watch Best Week Ever. And if you need to know the lyrics to the latest Weird Al Yankovic tune, Best Week Ever baby.

This show is great because they spend a full 30 minutes being completely rude and overwhelmingly sarcastic about the stupid things celebrities - and non-celebrities - have done in the past week. Now that's my kind of current events show.

The Fitzgerald clan is not having the Best Week Ever. We are moving in 2 days. This means we are packing up our lives in boxes and realizing what we own is actually ALL yardsale material. It's been a rather depressing week.

We've learned a few things along the way. For one, SuperHubby has a completely different theory on packing than I do. My theory is wait until the last minute, pack a few boxes, move them to the new house, unpack, repeat. SH isn't quite with me on this one. He started packing 2 weeks ago. And he started with our food. Interesting way to make me diet.

I noticed last night that I not only have a purse fetish and a daytimer fetish, but I am strangely addicted to rubbermaid storage boxes. Ohmigoodness. Our garage looks like aisle 17 of Wal-Mart.

I honestly believe that our possessions are multiplying while we're at work. And they're not even multiplying into good stuff. If I hear "And WHY did you save this again?" one more time, SuperHubby's mouth may get packing taped shut. Of course, it's hard to argue when he's holding up a infant rocking chair with only 1 arm - last used when FrogBoy was 4 and got his head stuck and SH had to saw the arm off so we could get to church. Ah, memories.

So we're having an interesting week. We're moving, life will (hopefully) be easier, and we're making our way to debt-free living (yahoo!). I can't wait until it's over.

How to Know If You Have an Ugly Baby

Helpful Hint: If you're offended by the title of this blog, stop reading now. Your baby is ugly - and you already know it.

Now I know what the 4 people still reading are thinking: All babies are cute. This is simply not true. This is a lie perpetuated by the parents of ugly babies.

I started thinking about this a while back, when I saw Shawn's baby at church. She is by far the prettiest baby I have seen (other than my own baby pictures, but that really goes without saying). But looking at her, I realized something: a lot of parents are under the mistaken sense that their baby is adorable. And there are some funky looking little kiddos out there.

Let me help just a bit. You know your baby is ugly when people often make the following comments:

• "He looks just like you!" (this is simply a way of not commenting on the child's looks)
• "He's so cute!" (sounds innocent enough, but your baby is a girl)
• "Wow, she sure has a lot of hair!"
• "Would you look at him?!"
• "How about that!"
• "Is she always this good?" (variation: "Is she a good sleeper?" - they don't care, they just don't want to be put on the spot about the kid's looks)
• "Aw, what a sweetheart." (another tricky one - but trust me)

Then there are the people who won't talk directly to the parents, but carry on an entire conversation with a 10-day old baby. This is a huge indication that they can't even make eye contact with you because you have created something so grotesque they don't quite know what to say.

One of my babies was ugly. The pediatrician's office referred to him as "The Ethiopian Baby." In front of me. It happens. Sometimes the beautiful people have ugly babies. The encouraging news is that they generally outgrow the funk and turn out pretty cute.

Church 101

I have been waffling back and forth about this particular blog, not wanting to write something that might offend someone. Then I realized I don't actually care if people are offended, since the only way one might be offended by what I have to say is if they are the ones causing the problems to begin with. So, here I offer a few tips for handling church the proper way, for those who apparently don't know:

1. If you can't keep up with everyone else when we're asked to read aloud, stop. If you're more than 2 words off, and the people around you are prone to seizures, you're asking for trouble.
2. Do not feel compelled to answer rhetorical questions. That's why they're rhetorical.
3. If you have a child in the nursery, memorize your child's ID number before service. Then you don't have to mumble "What's our number again?!" every time a number flashes on the screen.
4. Make your dinner plans before service. Or after. Anytime other than during the message is good, actually.
5. Don't try to guess what the speaker is going to say next. At least not audibly. It's only a fun little game for you; to everyone around you, it's just annoying.
6. Don't comment "Oh, I love this song!" during worship. It's not a concert.
7. Finally, but most importantly, when the worship leader instructs everyone to greet the people sitting around them, they do not in any way mean me. This is a common misconception. In my world, this phrase is loosely translated as, "Kiss SuperHubby, don't make eye contact with anyone and sit down as fast as you possibly can, without speaking to or shaking hands with anyone you don't know."

I hope this will be helpful to some of the newbies who have recently taken to sitting near me at church. It's not that I don't like you. I don't like anyone.

Special Deliveries

A couple of my closest friends are expecting babies, and both are having little girls. They both already have adorable little boys, and I'm thrilled God is expanding their families in this way. I'm also very happy that I have boys.

However, the birth of these 2 little ones is causing me great distress. I have to buy baby gifts. And I'm never quite sure what to do when it's a girl. I understand boys. Not so much girls. That would be why God gave me boys. He's smart like that.

When I buy baby stuff, I'm all into frogs and trucks and footballs and dinosaurs. I am not into butterflies and ballerinas and hair bows and Barbies. The thought makes my skin crawl.

My brother has a daughter (also known as my niece). She is absolutely adorable and I totally enjoying hanging out with her. She's my favorite niece (I have 4 others, but she's definitely the coolest). Even so, my head starts spinning with all the girl stuff after about 5 minutes. I'm just not getting it.

It's not easy finding gifts for baby girls that aren't full of ruffles and lace and flowers and all that nonsense. Try finding something with a frog on it - it doesn't exist (trust me - I've looked). You can't even give a non-clothing gift because you just don't know with little girls; they're always looking to throw you a curveball. With boys, if you can't find an outfit, you give the parents a football - for later.

I guess I could get these girls-to-be a couple of really nice purses. Right now that's all I can come up with.

On Target

Things have begun to go back to normal in the Fitzgerald household. Normal, right. SuperHubby has been home for over a week, his stitches have been removed and he's thinking the final shunt revision may have done the trick. I'm back to fighting for a good school for Spanky to attend in August and dealing with the FrogMan being the FrogMan. Normal.

Which means my efforts can return to important issues, like answering some very deep questions. Why do huge men always have itty bitty little dogs? Why has there never been a Hurricane Lori? Who would invent jalapeno liverwurst? More importantly, who would eat it?

I've also had the occasion to reflect on my favorite shopping venue: Target. I haven't been able to spend a lot of time there in the past month, so I've been just conjuring images of the store to hold me over. And I have some observations:

• If you buy clothes at Target, you don't have to apologize or make excuses. They have cool clothes. You always feel like you have to qualify your purchase with "it was on sale" when you buy clothes at the Other Places.
• Target is, in essence, a really nice Wal-Mart or K-Mart. But they were terribly clever. They left out the Mart. Takes them to a whole new level of tasteful.
• Target has a really good marketing campaign. It's just a little red and white circle. Very easy. Very catchy. You know when you see it that it means Target. And it's on all their Target products. Go to Wal-Mart and see if you can find their Wal-Mart products. I doubt it. That's because they try to give everything a cleverly ripped off name of the original product (Dr. Thunder, anyone?). I'd much rather just know I'm getting the store brand of trash bags and not have to think that hard.
• Target has interesting incentives for their employees. I'm still up in the air about this one. The last few times I was in Target, I heard employee radios sound off with the manager reminding the staff that a "secret shopper" would be in the store that particular day, and they could win $50 if they treat said secret shopper well. I personally don't want the employees to have to be bribed to treat me nicely while I shop there. Actually, I don't want them to talk to me at all. But it works. Target employees will stalk you while you're in the store, even if it is only so they make an extra $50 that week.
• You can buy anything at Target - but it has to be nice. Daytimers? Yes, but only the really good ones. Bedding? Absolutely - the same as you'd find at Belk. You're going to find nice stuff, just not a huge selection. Which is a good thing for someone like me.

Target doesn't pretend to be something it's not - they just do it much better than the rest of the pack. Lately I've noticed another trend: fast food establishments that have their entire employee handbook on the wall next to the phone, hidden from their customers inside the building, but completely visible to the folks in the drive thru. Hello - I never walk in. Do I really want to know that they only reason they're smiling and saying "my pleasure" is because there's a note on the wall reminding them to say it? Even if they really mean it, it just sounds fake. But that's another topic for another day.

The Waiting Game

So I've been spending quite a bit of my free time lately in hospital waiting rooms. This has led me to discover that I am a people watcher. And people's habits are nasty. And funny.

SuperHubby went back for more surgery this week. Some tidbits I've noticed along the way:

• There IS such a thing as an external wedgie. It is not attractive. It's actually worse than the more common internal wedgie, because this one's out there for everyone to see. And you can't dig it out, because that's nasty. But if you're fat (like MUSC Guy) it's really obvious, so you really SHOULD dig it out. What a conundrum.
• The "no food in waiting area" signs to not apply to the people sitting directly under them. Apparently.
• You can eavesdrop on deaf people if you know sign language. This is really actually pretty cool. If you eavesdrop on hearing people, you have to pretend like you're not doing it. Deaf people are so caught up in signing that they don't notice. And you don't have to whisper when you tell your neighbor what they're talking about.
• People will wear ANYTHING to the hospital. Now I'm all for comfort. Most days I've sported jeans, tees and flips. And fabulous hair. But one lady was there in - no kidding - pink gardening shoes with white socks, pink flannel pajama pants with candy canes all over them and a white tee shirt. I don't care if you're going in for surgery or not, at least try to dress like you're not 3.
• People come to the hospital like they're going on vacation. I saw more rolling luggage there than my last trip to the airport. It was nuts. SuperHubby comes in with the clothes on his back; I carry them out in a little hospital-issue plastic baggie. What could you possibly be packing for if you're having surgery?
• The length of "the doctor/nurse will be with you in just a minute" depends on whether you're the doctor/nurse or the patient/patient's wife.
• No matter how many different things I bring to amuse myself, I will sit with my arms crossed and a blank stare for the entire time I'm in the waiting room. This is commonly referred to as Lori's Don't-Talk-To-Me Look. Those who have seen it know it well.
• All waiting rooms should be equipped with recliners.
• The quality of the cafeteria food actually increases with the length of time you're at the hospital and have to partake of its offerings. At least it seems like it does. Anyway, they only serve 3 different meals, all made with the same ingredients. Nothing like a little variety while you're waiting.

SuperHubby had surgery on Wednesday. He's still in the hospital. That means it's Pop Tarts for the boys, all 3 meals, every day. I'm on a sweet tea IV. But I learned a few new things this week.

Sick...and Tired

WARNING: There is a very good chance there will be whining in this blog. I would apolgize for it, but I am not in the least bit sorry. The only thing worse than no apology is an insincere one.

Last week (not this past week, the one prior to that) was a really BAD week. Maybe not the worst week ever, but it definitely rated up there.

It actually started while we were on our annual family vacation, which is a blast. I'd tell you all about it, but you'd just be jealous, so I'll save that for another day. Anyway, while we there, SuperHubby started feeling a little under the weather. Nasty, actually.

So a couple of days after we get home, I actually convince him to go to the doctor. This sounds way less impressive than it really is. SH normally doesn't go to the doctor unless a limb has just fallen off. Or he's having trouble with his shunt. Right.

So he spends the day at the emergency room. Nothing. They tell him he's great, good, go on home. I realize these are doctors, but he knows his body and I know his symptoms, and we both knew there was something going on. We had some tension in Fitzgerald house that weekend.

By Sunday I had him back in the ER. He was admitted. Fast forward to the end of the week, and SH has been to the ER twice, has had his shunt tapped twice, had one spinal tap, 2 brain surgeries, and 15 staples in his head (not including the various scans, etc. done on him during his 6 day jaunt at MUSC).

So it's been a stinky week. Still, I was reminded how wonderful our friends and family are. My aunt took my children so often that she could have petitioned to legally adopt them. My brother called every day - sometimes more than once - from Spartanburg, where he was one of the leaders at his church camp. One of my co-workers made me a lasagna (her surgery meal for us - which I haven't had in a long time - and although I love it, would prefer never to eat it again!). A group of co-workers pooled their resources and gave me gas money, etc. for the week. My babysitter picked up the boys after VBS and took them home, then waited until my aunt showed up to get them - the night before he was leaving for Kenya! My aunt and uncle even cut my grass. Incredible stuff from the people who love us - and all have their own lives to get on with at the same time!!

So SuperHubby is sick ... and I'm tired. (I know, cry me a river Lori, you're tired...but SH had his head opened up several times last week. What am I complaining about?)

Friday we went back to MUSC for the lovely post-op visit. Those are never fun: that's when they take out the staples. However, with some concerns we were having, and then the doctor had the same ones, we ended up spending the majority of the day there with SH having more scans, tests, etc. We go back tomorrow -- realizing that we could be looking at more surgery.

God is faithful, but my heart aches for SuperHubby.

Someday

I love lists. To-do lists, weekly lists, long-term goal lists, what to pack for vacation lists...More work goes into my lists than the actual jobs they detail. I love bulleted lists, boxes to check off, items to scratch through ... and then re-writing the entire list, because who really wants a list that isn't neat and tidy?

I've created a new list for myself. Not a weekly or even a daily list, not a long-term goals list or a list of names for future pets or a list of body parts that can be pierced. This is my "To Do Before I Die" list. It's a really great list.

1. I'd like to learn to play one song on the piano. This could be challenging, as I am not at all musically gifted. I can sing any lyric to any song written since 1980, but nobody wants to listen. When I was a little girl, I wanted piano lessons. My parents agreed but said I would have to put the piano in my room. I declined their invitation. I still regret it.
2. I'd like to learn to drive a stick shift. Not because I think it would be fun, but because I think it's a good skill to have. Maybe.
3. I'd like to own a car that I actually pick out and buy. I'm not talking new, and I'm certainly not talking expensive. But I'm not talking Suppository.
4. I want to be involved in finding a cause and a cure for autism.
5. I'd like to have feet pretty enough for sandals. I wear flips now, but I shouldn't be allowed to...my feet are just that ugly. But I would like pretty feet. I didn't say everything on this list was possible.
6. I'd like to learn to cook one full meal (not spaghetti). This is another challenge, as I don't enjoy cooking and don't have much talent in the kitchen department. This is not a desire for myself; it's more for SuperHubby. Plus, it would be great if I needed it. If your children have ever told you, on day 3 of your husband being in the hospital, "Mommy, can we have a different flavor pop tart today?" - it may be time to learn. (yes, this really happened)
7. I want to take my children to Disney. And maybe Legoland.
8. I'd like to be half as smart as I am organized.
9. I'd like to become a good housekeeper (moving up from "good enough").
10. I want to ride a horse. Apparently I rode a horse when I was about 2 or 3, although I have no recollection of it, but we have pictures. I am wearing a hideous cowgirl outfit, which perfectly matches the ones my brother and 5 cousins are wearing. Complete with hats. Even the horse felt sorry for us.
11. I'd like to ride in an airplane without being (a) completely terrified, (b) heavily medicated, or (c) dead.
12. I want to lead a small group. I have the plan. I need the guts.
13. I'd like to not turn a thousand shades of red whenever spoken to, looked at or breathed on.
14. I want to learn American Sign Language.
15. I'd like to teach someone something important - although I'm not quite sure what.
16. I want to have really cool glasses. The kind where people stop on the street and say, "Wow, what a trendsetter. That chick is wearing some groovy glasses."
17. I want to write a book.
18. I'd like to be a foster parent.
19. I'd like to have the occasion to wear my tiara. FrogBoy gave it to me for Mother's Day. It is heart-shaped and has jewels that light up (blinking) at the touch of a button.
20. I'd like to go swimming. In a pool. I haven't done that since 1994, the year I became pregnant with Spanky. I decided I was fat, then I was fat, then I had a baby and was paranoid, then I got pregnant (and fat) again, and I stayed fat. But I love to swim.
21. I'd like to live in a house with 2 toilets, a screened porch and a laundry room that's located somewhere other than the garage.
22. I want to be the best wife to SuperHubby and mom to Spanky and FrogBoy that I can be.

I also have a dream on my list ... That all women will experience at least one fantastic hair day and own one fabulous purse. Everyone deserves that.

History

I've been spending a considerable amount of time on the road lately. Burning up the highway, as they say. I don't normally get much time to myself, since I'm generally shuffling small people to places I would never choose to go if it weren't for said munchkins. So any alone time in the car that isn't spent on the cell is spent deep in thought. Luckily, I make a lot of calls.

However, I've realized in the past couple of weeks that history is a wonderful thing. Not ancient history, like Greeks and Romans and other people who don't speak English, or even current history, like the kind my brother talks about 24/7 because (1) it's his job, and (2) he's weird, and he actually enjoys that kind of junk. No, I'm talking personal history.

Never fear, I have examples. Mother's Day, 2006. My brother and I and our respective families are dining out to celebrate the day. Our waiter approaches the table and states: "My name is Lucas." I look at my brother. He looks at me. We both sport the Salley grin and I say, "I wonder if he lives on the second floor." We both erupt in laughter. I almost soiled myself. (Lucas the Waiter did not find my musing quite so a-musing). Now I ask, how many people could you do that with if you didn't share a history?

Okay, more examples. I have realized recently that my brother and his wife and me and SuperHubby have reached a milestone. It took a few years because they got married before we did, but now the 4 of us have been in each other's lives longer than not. Did you get that?? To me, that is an incredible thing, especially since we're all incredibly young and hot. Point being, we can say "Oh, Dad's just being Dad" or "You know how Mom is" and everyone understands. No explanation necessary. The history is there.

Friend history is just as fabulous. You know, the first few years after allowing someone into your inner circle, you constantly have to repeat stories and remind them why you say or do the things you do. You're forever saying, "Larry, my brother" or "Larry, my uncle" or "Larry, my dad" -- okay, maybe just in my family. But after a few years, the friends are elevated to the point where there's no need to go into detail. They know the family junk. They know the personal junk. And they still like you.

History is cool. The looks that relay a message, which lead to hysteria. The thoughts of a loved one that result in silence, followed by a pile of stories and more laughter. Reminders of good times and bad times, all ending in laughs and smiles and thanks to God. History always ends in happiness and thanksgiving. History is cool.

My Day (So Far)

So it's not yet 7:30 and already my day is one for the record books. How is this possible?

My children have decided that, although the school calendar believes they have another 2 weeks left to learn and play and wake up early, this is a mere mistake and they are DONE. This makes for very interesting mornings in the Fitzgerald household.

The boys have their happy and cranky moments confused. I don't know how to work with this. All year we've been accurately predicting moods and mood swings and life has worked out pretty well. Suddenly, we live in bizarro world.

So this morning, my little one decides he's going to be in a great mood. Which really isn't like FrogBoy. He's not what you call a morning person. Gets that from his daddy. But I digress.

So Froggie is very chatty, which I really can't take, because I'm busy dealing with Spanky, the one who IS a morning person, like me. I can only handle so much happiness, morning or otherwise. And there was a lot this morning.

Finally shuttle everyone out to the van, when lo and behold, the stupid thing won't start. Oh, that's right, she's decided that it's a wee bit too chilly this morning, she's gonna sleep in. I don't need this.

So I'm trying to crank her, she's giving me nothing, and I end up having to call SuperHubby to rescue me from my driveway. Did I mention he's not much of a morning person? Now he comes home, because he has to, and thinks it's a wise idea to try to crank the suppository himself. In his hospital clothes. (for those not in the know, these are his "visiting" clothes ...)

Well the suppository didn't crank, and I realized that she pulled this stunt a month ago, which just confirms that she IS a woman.

All 4 of us have to go to school in the dinky little Nissan SH drives just for laughs (other people's, not ours). Small cars are not good with our boys; they have to sit way too close together. So they're up in each other's faces the entire way to school, my head is about to explode and SH is blissfully unaware (I think he turned off his hearing aids as we were leaving our house).

Top it all off with 55 degree weather in Charleston in May ... and the day isn't going so great. It's just not working out like I planned. And I like to plan.

One good thing, however, is that today is our anniversary. SH and I have been married 14 years. I can't believe how old I am. No wonder I have so many gray hairs. Thankfully I'm adorable and they don't stick out too much.

Hopefully our day will get better. If not, I can remind myself that 4 of the past 6 anniversaries were spent in MUSC, and that will make the problems with the suppository pale in comparison.

Funny

Does anyone else find it perfectly hilarious that Tom Cruise and Brooke Shields both welcomed their new babies (both girls) on the same day? This after Tom and Brooke were so nasty to each other last year - specifically about the entire childbirth process?

That just makes my day.

What a Stinker

Yesterday, being the totally and completely cool parents that we are, SuperHubby and I took the boys on a mystery trip to Columbia to EdVenture Children's Museum. Okay, I admit it, they were just my ticket in.

We rented a van. We had to. We just don't trust the suppository to make the trip to Columbia. Most days we don't trust her to make the trip to North Chuck.

She spent the evening at the airport. She knew she'd been temporarily replaced by a younger, more modern model. (Does everyone know they make vans where the doors open automatically? Wowzer.)

We come back from a long day trip and pick the old girl up. I make a quick jaunt to Mt Pleasant to run to Target (priorities). Then...she sputters out on me. Oh, she gave it a valiant effort, but after much chugging around Mt Pleasant, me calling SH and yelling the famous line from Speed ("Get on or stay off?!") and a lot of fervent prayers, we coasted into the church parking lot and promptly died. Lovely.

So I was stranded in Mt Pleasant, with SH needing me to be home in 30 minutes so he could leave. He ended up having to drag the boys out again all because the suppository was being a big baby. I personally believe she is rebelling simply because she didn't get invited on the trip and her feelings are hurt. She is, most appropriately, being a stinker.

Today she acted a little better. She cranked for SH. I think this is also part of the old girl's plan. Make me look like an idiot. Cranked right up for SH. He didn't say anything, but he had that look. I'm sure he doubted the theatrics of 24 hours ago.

So...whomever plans to bless me with a Jeep Cherokee or Land Rover...now's the time. I'd like it red or blue, but will take any color and paint if you prefer.

Thanking you in advance, I remain... The Queen of All Vehicular Drama.

Happiness 24/7

Last week, the boys were on Spring Break. They have more time off from school than a snow shoveler in SC, so I can't figure out why they need a spring break, but they had it. So they had a week full of activities with grandparents and - not as much fun - mom and dad.

On the morning SuperHubby stayed home with the boys, I decided to run a few errands before work. So I went to Wal-Mart.

Here's the glorious thing: Wal-Mart is open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Fabulous.

I arrived in Heaven at 6:45 a.m. (I am a morning person. However, I am asleep by 9:30 on a good day). I was able to spend a full 45 minutes in the store without anyone whining, asking me to buy them things or grabbing their crotch and screaming "I have to go to the bathroom!" (I went before I left the house).

I had a leisurely trip to Wal-Mart, bought all the stuff for my children's Easter baskets, bought a few things that I try to purchase when I'm alone because I don't want to have The Talk with anyone in the middle of the store, and it was wonderful. I was able to peruse the shelves, just to see what they had. They didn't have anything new or exciting, but I got to look.

There was no checkout line. Not a lot of people shop at that hour. It's the best time to go, though, because you get a good parking spot and the stuff hasn't been pawed over yet that day and you don't have to wait in line to pay for your treasures. No one controls your shopping spree but you.

So I had a wonderful little trip. Now I'm counting down to summer vacation.

Words of Wisdom

April is National Autism Awareness Month. I never knew this until I had a child who was diagnosed with autism. Amazing how we live in our own little world, isn't it?

Now I get a monthly newsletter from the SC Center for Disabilities. This is a really cool place (in my humble opinion). They have tons of resources available, and offer them just like a library, only they mail them to you at your request, send you an envelope to mail them back, and boom! You have a little light (ha!) reading at your fingertips.

This month, being Autism Awareness Month, they had a great Top 10 list. I'm going to totally steal it because it's good.

10 Things I Have Learned About Life While Raising an Autistic Child
1. Austim or not, they are still a blessing.
2. There is no such thing as "normal."
3. No two are alike.
4. How autistic I really am.
5. If I stay calm, it will have a domino effect.
6. Don't stay in denial; no one gets better there.
7. Major the majors and minor the minors (or...don't sweat the small stuff).
8. A sense of humor is EVERYTHING.
9. A simple smile can tell me more than one word.
10. Miracles happen every day if you know where to look.

These are good lessons for every parent. Every adult. Every child. But I can't begin to explain how true they are in our family. How many times have I said, "OHMIGOSH, if that's all it takes, then I'm CERTAINLY autistic!" How many times have I thought, "I have to laugh, or I'm gonna cry?" (most recently: 6:45 this morning, Harris Teeter, U-Scan aisle). How many times have I thought, "I wouldn't have chosen for him to have autism, but I wouldn't change him for the world." How many times have I thanked God for FrogBoy doing something any other almost-8 year old has been doing for years?

We've got it so good. We are truly blessed. He is such a miracle I can't put it into words. It's a crazy ride, hard sometimes, but I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Lacking Direction

Earlier this week, I got lost on my way to Target. How is that possible? I go to Target at least 3 times a week. Unless I NEED something. Then I make a special trip.

I blame the traffic circles. Who thought this up? This is a terrible idea for someone with even the slightest hint of ADD. There I was, on my way to Target, got a little distracted, and the next thing I know, the road looks very familiar...like I've been there before...

So I got lost. It made me very unhappy, because I was on my way to pick up Spanky from karate, and I was cutting it close. I try to plan my trips to Target and Wal-Mart with only one child in tow. That doesn't need to be explained to anyone who has ever had children, knows children or can spell "children."

So now I'm running late. And I'm lost. Because by now, it's dark. And I don't drive so well in the dark. Actually, I drive fine, I just don't see so well in the dark. Details.

Personally I think they should change the way they label streets. Do I really need to know which two streets intersect at any given point? I think not. Give me helpful signs, like "Turn here for Target," and I'm a happy shopper.

Or they could do away with the big blue hospital signs and make signs like the red and white Target sign. THAT would be helpful. Who needs a sign to find the hospital? Just follow the ambulances. Or the suppository. Either/or.

I finally found Target. But then I got lost inside the store. It just wasn't my night. Apparently the Target people thought it would be funny to move a few things around. Not the entire store, mind you, where I would realize the minute I walked in the doors that something was up, just a couple of random items so I'd have to search forever and still not find my stuff before I had to leave to get the Spankster.

So I got to go back the next night. I went to the one near my house. No traffic circles.

Domestic Goddess

Earlier this week, in a fit of insanity, I made my way into the kitchen and actually baked something. Three somethings, for that matter. That may not sound very impressive to some people, but to those who know me, preheating the oven was a Big Deal.

I'd like to say that I was baking for the sheer joy of it. That I finally realized what I've been missing all these years and decided to take on some domestic chores. That I have become a girl. Sadly, I would be lying through my clenched little teeth.

It all started at the beginning of the school year. Spanky's teacher is a nice lady, and I realized that none of the other 24 moms in the class had signed up to be Room Mom. I figured it couldn't be that difficult, so I signed on the dotted line. That was my first mistake.

I figured I'd host a few parties. For 5th graders. They're pretty easy to please, right? Well, in all honesty, they've been great. And the parties have been relatively fun. And even though this particular class is big on hugs and "I love you's," it hasn't killed me. Until this week.

This week has been Teacher Appreciation Week. And apparently I'm not the brightest crayon in the box, because I still wasn't aware that I should be in panic mode. Until Monday, that is.

First, you're supposed to collect money from all the other parents to buy a gift for your teacher. Yeah, right. These people didn't sign up for Room Mom duties, and they certainly haven't helped with any of the other parties (160 at last count, but there's 2 more months of school left), so why on earth would I think they would send in cold hard cash for a teacher gift? Nope, nothing, nada. Not good.

On top of that, some wizard at the school decided it would be easiest if each class made lunch for all the teachers in that particular grade for one day of the week. Of course, they used to have the parents bring in lunch just for their teacher every day, so I agree, this is probably a better idea. Unfortunately, I don't cook. Luckily, I have a co-Room Mom and she does. Sorta.

So co-Mom made a crock pot deal and I was responsible for dessert. I decided on brownies and cookies. I've done brownies before and was pretty confident, but I've never done cookies, so I left those for last. SuperHubby wasn't home so I was flying blind. But I had Spanky to help.

We made the brownies. Things went pretty well. Nothing blew up and the mix tasted pretty good. My confidence grew. I thought we should make them something for breakfast too.

I made an apple struedel loaf. More confidence. I made cornbread. There is such a thing as too much confidence. The cornbread didn't look so hot and now it was time for cookies. Thankfully, SH got home right as I was prepping for the cookies.

The great thing is, the teacher's loved the stuff. Not the cornbread, but everything else. And no one died. Which is cool, because I've baked before and it hasn't turned out so tasty. There was the banana bread incident when SH and I were dating...

Now, everything I made came from a box mix. I understand that is just one small step up from pre-made, frozen, shove-it-in-the-oven-and-you're-done baking. But I did it. And I might do it again.

Next year.

SuperStud...or SuperDork?

A few weeks back, SuperHubby had to test for his black belt in Tang Soo Do. For those keeping track, that would be his second black belt. He's so hard to please.

Anyway, he spent several weeks prior to the test fretting about it. The tension was pretty high in our house. It would have been one thing if it were just the physical test. But there was also an oral portion. And a written portion. And it was supposed to take 8 hours. And the Big Cheese was coming to make them all sweat through it.

Turns out the Big Cheese is a pretty funny guy. First thing he did was tell them there wasn't going to be a written test. And the oral part was only 4-5 questions per student. So that was a breeze. But the actual physical part was pretty grueling.

SuperHubby has asthma. Not wow-I'm-wheezing-a-bit asthma, but darn-I-think-I'm-dying asthma. He also has a tremendously stubborn streak. So while he couldn't breathe worth a lick, to the point where his wonderful and beloved wife had to literally leave the building because she was so broken up over the fact that he was killing himself, SH decided to keep pushing on. Okay, so that's one of the things I really love about him; he doesn't give up. But that's also one of the things I really hate ... sometimes my life would be easier if he did.

It wasn't pretty. I spent most of the time trying to figure out how I was going to get SH, his mom AND the boys to the hospital - since the suppository was still out of commission and I was driving SH's StudMobile. I didn't enjoy the day much at all. But he did fine and ended up living through it.

Turns out he passed. Not that I had any doubt he would. So now he's got 2 black belts. And a wife who's a nervous wreck. I guess he's a stud after all ... with severe dork-like tendencies.

Things I Don't Understand

• Why, when you see middle-aged people driving really old cars, do you think they just like classics, but when you see old people driving the same cars, you figure they're just pitiful and don't realize there's newer models out there?
• How can glass replacement companies get away with advertising they will fix your broken windshield for free? If you have insurance, it's free. It's not like the glass company is doing you a favor.
• Why is it they can make phones with caller ID, call waiting, call blocking, and even cell phones with cameras, but they can't make a phone that doesn't make my 7-year-old son sound like a 2-year-old little girl?
• Why do they call it "cheesecake"? Isn't it actually in the pie family?
• Why would anyone eat potted meat?
• Why aren't words just spelled like they sound? Are we trying to confuse small children and foreigners? Do we really ever need a silent "e"? And why would you have more than one word that sounds (or looks) the same, but means something entirely different from the other meanings?
• Why don't they just change the name of TNT to "The Law & Order Network"?
• Michael Jackson.

Happiness Defined

Last week, I had to go to MUSC several times. Now, for those who know me, let me begin by saying this was NOT for SuperHubby. I was there with a friend. A boneheaded friend, who rode his motorcycle without a helmet, but a friend nonetheless.

So one day I take his children up to see him. Oh, did I mention The Suppository was dead for almost 2 weeks? Yepper. So...I take these children to see their dad, and I drop them off. And I'm driving SuperHubby's sporty little Nissan Sentra. Here's where it gets good.

I go to leave the parking lot. Lot G. I'm very familiar with Lot G ... I park there whenever I go to MUSC. It's the best place to park. But I digress.

So I'm leaving Lot G. And the guy in the toll booth, who has been there for years (literally), looks and me square in the eye and says - wait for it - "Oh, are you a student?"

Glory. I understand the mistake. I'm extraordinarily adorable, and I was have a terrific hair day (okay, that goes without saying). But that doesn't happen when I'm driving the suppository.

I beamed at the guy. I told him no, thank you, but he had just made my night. He insisted that he really, truly thought I was a student. I told him I was 35, married and the mother of 2 young boys....but if he kept it up, I was giving him my phone number.

People started honking. I didn't care. I realized halfway home that I was grinning like a doofus and singing at the top of my lungs (okay, I do both of those things a lot, but not usually at the same time).

I love this guy. It may have been dark out, he may have been drinking heavily during his breaks, but he made my day.

Crazy Daze

Last week was an unusually crazy, hectic week. One of my best friend's husband was in a motorcycle accident, FrogBoy was sick (not feel funky sick, but up every night sick) and SuperHubby was tested for his black belt on Saturday (which made him TESTY the whole week prior).

So towards the end of the week, I had this dream. I dreamed about my hair. Now, this is not entirely unheard of because (1) I always have bizarro dreams when I'm overtired, and (2) I do have fantastic hair.

But it struck me, that in the middle of this nutty week, that I was actually dreaming about how great my hair is. With background music and everything. Men adored me. Women envied me. Small children worshipped me. (Okay, so it was a lot like real life)

I thought this week would be better. It was .... for about 4 hours yesterday. Then it all started up again. Wonder what it will be this time? Probably a purse dream.

On the Throne Again

I'm on the throne again
I can't believe I'm on the throne again
It happens every time that I eat Mexican
I can't believe I'm on the throne again.

I'm in pain, my friend
The chiles are burning me up from the outside in
This stuff is tearing up my intestines
Oops ... I've gotta go get on the throne again.

I'm on the throne again
I wish I didn't love eating Mexican
Next time I crave a bean burrito or a chimichanga..
I'm sure I'll be back on the throne again.

Happy Birthday

Today was my grandfather's birthday. He died 20 years ago, come this April 2nd. I was almost 5 months from my 16th birthday.

I think about my Granddaddy a lot. Maybe not as much as I used to, maybe not as much as I should, but a lot.

I miss him when we all get together and someone makes homemade ice cream. I miss him when his great-grandkids are running around like a pack of wild monkeys. I miss him when my dad needs someone to yank a knot in his tail (such a sweet Southern way of saying he needs an attitude adjustment). I miss him when I watch Perry Mason on TV - not old, gray, chunky Perry, but young, sauve, debonair Perry. I miss him on holidays and Grandmama's birthday.

So today I've been thinking about Granddaddy. He would have enjoyed watching me and my brother grow up, get married and have kids. He would have enjoyed walking my aunt down the aisle at her wedding to Mr. Perfect (he really is!). He would have enjoyed a lot.

We're missing out. Happy birthday, Granddaddy. I miss you.

My Life As...Iguana Eye Boogers

Lately, Spanky has been reading the Wally McDoogle series "My Life As..." by Bill Myers. It's a great Christian series for little boys (and their moms, apparently). I've been reading along so I can monitor his progress when he does these major oral book report/presentations that count for 97% of his reading grade.

The stories are about a kid named Wally (duh). He's a gigantic dork, who has a terrible time with everything, including life in general. The stories all have a Christian theme, which Wally has to learn the hard way, of course. We've read two so far. The first was about courage. The second was about humility. Good lessons for the Spankster to learn, and even better when he doesn't really realize he's learning them while doing his homework.

I realized last night that my life is beginning to parallel the books. Not so much the activity in the books, but at least the fact that things haven't seemed to go just right for me lately, and I am feeling like...well...Iguana Eye Boogers. Or something equally gross.

It's nothing in particular. And everything in general. Just can't seem to get out of the funk. It's not a bad thing. But I'm much more fun (and cuter) when I'm happy. So what's the deal? I just don't know.

One thing we determined last week is that Spanky is being bullied at school. Yep, me and SuperHubby, sleuths that we are, figured this one out all by our selves. Halfway into the school year. Once Spanky told us about it. Amazing, aren't we?

Maybe I feel bad about not protecting him more. Maybe I feel bad for not noticing. I know I feel bad about not being able to go to the school and kick this kids fanny into niceness.

Then I have to deal with all sorts of changes going on at work. Okay, not major changes, just where I sit basically, but I'm not really enjoying it. It's not stressing me out, which is a huge accomplishment for me, but frankly, I'd prefer for things to remain the same unless I'm the one making the change. (Ask SuperHubby. He'll tell you. Nothing changes at our house unless I decide it does...and then it needs to happen RIGHT NOW!)

This week we've gotten fantastic news about FrogBoy and his speech therapy. This will make other therapies line up for him and I expect wonderful things to take place. I'm believing it. Once again, we are more than blessed.

Things have turned around at school for the Spankster. And he's been acting like a human (not a tween) for the better part of a week (this morning not included).

Life is good. So why do I feel like snot?

Life with SuperHubby

SuperHubby is so adorable. We've been married 14 years this May, and in that time, he's had 5 brain surgeries, 2 nose surgeries, 3 ear surgeries, 2 oral surgeries, and had his appendix removed. He has none of his original parts from the neck up. Oh, and he has asthma pretty fierce too.

A guy like this should be careful. Maybe become Bubble Boy. But no. I have to marry a SuperStud.

He was a runner when we met; in fact, he met my brother through cross country and track and that's how I met SH. So it was no surprise when, shortly after he started losing his hearing, he decided to run a marathon to raise money for a local camp for deaf children. I was behind him 100%. And he did an awesome job.

Then shortly after one of his brain surgeries (I don't remember which one), he decided that he should run an ultra-marathon. For you non-sports types, that's 31.2 miles. Was I excited? Not so much. Did I supported him in the freezing cold rain for 5 hours? You betcha.

This man is amazing. He holds a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and is a red belt in Tang Soo Do. He's also a green belt in Hai Dung Gum Do (that's sword fighting, folks). Now, there's contact in karate, but he's careful, so I try not to panic too much. His current instructor is very good at keeping an eye on him and making sure he's breathing, which is a perk, so things go pretty well in the whole karate deal.

SuperHubby is a SuperStud. He's an assistant instructor in Tang Soo Do and teaches classes twice a week. Even though he wears a dress when he's sword fighting, he still looks hot in his other uniform, and when he breaks through boards with hand or foot techniques, it's a really cool deal when you know what he's been through to get there.

But now comes the real test. SH has been invited to compete at an international karate tournament in Korea this summer. And while I'm terribly excited for and proud of him, I'm more than a little nervous about sending him halfway around the world, where I can't keep an eye on him. It's as bad as sending Spanky to camp.

The kicker is SH has to raise the money to go to Korea. I may have an out. If he can't come up with a fantastic fundraiser or 12, he's not going to come up with the cash, and I don't have to worry. Of course, I don't want that to happen, because I want him to succeed and be happy, so we've been brainstorming ideas for the past couple of weeks.

So while I hate to ask for personal favors in my blog, it really is all about me, which you already know if you're reading it. Anyone have any great fundraising ideas? There's 3 people from the school that need to raise money for the trip, and it's quite expensive, so we need good ideas. And I'm plum out!

It's not easy being married to a SuperStud. Who knows what his next adventure will be...Skydiving? Roller derby? I don't know...

That's Not a Compliment

My very first boyfriend was 17. I was 14 at the time. My parents were not the sharpest crayons in the box.

One evening, as we were listening to each other breathe on the phone, which is really all you do when you're 14 and you have a boyfriend, Dingleberry pops out with a lovely little word to describe me: Supercilious. Just popped right out with it.

Being a sharp cookie, and having no idea what he was talking about, I grabbed my trusty Webster's and looked it up. Come to find out, "supercilious" means "arrogant, haughty, snooty." How sweet.

I did what any self-respecting female would do. I called him on it. And I was TICKED. Then, being a not-so-smart 17-year-old boy, Dingleberry said, "Oops, I thought it meant hairy." Oh, I feel much better now.

I'm not saying I'm not an overly hairy person. Maybe I am. Okay, I am. However, this is not the thing to say to someone you're supposed to like - a lot. Apparently I'm a very hairy snob. Anyway, we had a huge fight. I'd like to say I ended it right then and there, but we dated (read: telephoned and wrote a lot of notes) for a couple of years. Ugh.

What are some other things people say, disguised as niceties, that really aren't?

"For a fat girl, you don't sweat much." - I actually had a boss say that to me once. Of course, I was about 100 pounds soaking wet, but give me a break. That's never funny.

"Wow, you're quite the Amazon woman." - How pleasant. Again, been on the receiving end of this one. Just because you're taller than someone, and just because he's a jerk, doesn't mean he can spout off like that.

"You are just like your mother/father." - My favorite aunt says this to me sometimes. And it's not in a nice way. She's lucky I like her.

What's the old saying, "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"? Here's some suggestions when you want to say something nice to me:

"Awesome hair." (I know)
"Cute purse."
"Have you lost weight?"
"Man, I should've married you." (only works if you're a guy - otherwise I'm still offended)
"Has anyone told you today how fabulous you are?" (the answer is probably yes, but try)

But be sincere. No one likes a suck-up.

Things I Don't Understand

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Not much else going on. And I've realized there are quite a few things in this world that I don't understand. For example:

• Why do public schools feel compelled to take at least 4 days off each and every month? Why can't they shorten the big holidays and make the short people go year-round?
• Why is Hollywood so infatuated with remaking old movies and TV shows? Do they not have a creative bone in their collective bodies? And why, when they call a do-over, do they generally louse it up?
• Why are Krackel bars only offered in the Hershey's miniature variety bag and not as a full-size candy bar?
• Why is it, now that I've started losing weight and looking really hot, that my hair has decided to totally putz out? (this is not really a question, I just wanted everyone to know I've been losing weight)
• Why are all the NFL teams located in cities except for the Panthers, which are based in "Carolina"? That's not even a state. They make us share. The Virginias don't ever have to share. The only people that get ripped off worse on the New England Patriots...They have a whole region that has only one team to their name. (I don't know much about football, but I can watch a game and understand what's happening, which is one small reason SuperHubby married me.)
• Why is it that I can remember every single phone number I've ever dialed but I can't remember my children's social security numbers?
• Why didn't the fashions of the 80s stay in style? (actually - I have pictures - I know the answer to this one)

Deep thoughts for such a fabulous chick.

The Adventures of FrogBoy

Last Thursday, I took the boys to Wal-Mart to pick up a few things. No biggie. It was a quick little trip that should have been completely uneventful. I did mention that I took the boys, though, right?

We got everything we needed and Spanky decided he needed to look at some things in the boys department. As usual, FrogBoy parked himself underneath a display rack and read a book. This is not unusual for him, as he likes being in tight enclosed places, especially if we'll be shopping for a few minutes.

Now before anyone thinks I'm a horrible mother, I kept my eye on the child. Constantly. I would look, he would be there, we'd move, he'd move with us. Everything was perfect in Fitzgerald Land. Until I turned around and FrogBoy was gone.

I'm not talking gone as in I couldn't find him for 30 seconds and then I realized he was in the next aisle. I'm talking GONE. Spanky and I started calling him. I knew this was a futile effort, as FrogBoy enjoys hiding almost as much as he enjoys breathing, but we did it. You never know what you'll do when you're in a slight panic.

My nerves were frazzled. It quickly became obvious that my child was missing. MISSING. In Wal-Mart. This was so not good.

I left Spanky (remember the part about not thinking clearly in a crisis?) and ran up to the front of the store, my eyes on the bathrooms and front doors the entire time. I've seen enough cop shows to know where the freaky people take their kidnap victims. I grabbed an associate and told her I'd lost my little boy. She was relatively calm and suggested we could page him. As I blurted out, "He's autistic; he may not respond to a verbal command," her eyes grew wide and she was on the loudspeaker calling a Code Adam before I finished the word "autistic." The doors were all locked and associates fanned out all through the store in search of FrogBoy. I love Wal-Mart.

I ran back to the boys department. Spanky was still there, still searching, still no sign of my baby. A wonderful lady in a fur coat stopped me to see if it was my child we were looking for; she offered to help. People stopped shopping and started looking. About 1 minute after I got back to Spanky, an announcement was made to cancel the Code Adam and for me to meet an associate in electronics.

Once in electronics, I came face-to-face with FrogBoy. There he stood, cute as could be. Our reunion went something like this:
FrogBoy: "I was looking for you."
Me: "I was looking for you, too."
FrogBoy: "I found a Lego."

Fantastic. I nearly had heart failure. The good news was he didn't realize how bad it could have been. The bad news was he didn't realize how bad it could have been. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry or just collapse.

Come to find out, FrogBoy had gotten turned around when he was trying to follow me and he couldn't figure out where he was. He wandered until he made it to the toy department (in case anyone doesn't know, that's the TOTAL opposite side of the store from where we were). He admitted later that he was scared, but he also wanted me to know that he'd found a bunch of new Legos that he'd like for his birthday (in June).

It was a rough night. We count ourselves as blessed. And Wal-Mart is my new most favorite place in the world (frankly, it was pretty close already).

I Wish...

1. ...SuperHubby could sing like Neil Diamond. Ooh-la-la.
2. ...everyone could experience one good hair day in their life.
3. ...burping would make you skinny.
4. ...the suppository would magically turn into a Jeep Cherokee or Land Rover overnight.
5. ...kids would stay kids longer.
6. ...people would understand that a marriage is between a man and a woman. Just because you have a big party with all your friends doesn't mean you've had a wedding.
7. ...healthy food tasted better and bad food tasted worse. For that matter, just make the yummy stuff good for you.
8. ...I could have met Lady Diana. I was pretty much convinced this was going to happen, right until the day she died. She would've loved me.
9. ...all supermodels would wake up one day with big butts, saggy boobs, greasy hair and oily skin. For starters.
10. ...I could get the chance to prove to everyone that becoming tremendously wealthy wouldn't change me one little bit.

Top 10 Dream Jobs

1. Ice cream taster
2. Daytimer designer.
3. Dog petter. Actually, I already have this job. It's pretty relaxing. You just can't ever stop.
4. Anything having to do with crayons.
5. "Before" model. Let someone else be "after."
6. Rodeo entertainer. We took Spanky & FrogBoy to the rodeo this weekend. The rodeo entertainer (I guess they don't call them clowns anymore) was having more fun than the rest of the room combined.
7. Personal shopper. The only thing better than shopping with someone else's money is having them pay you to do it.
8. Professional napper.
9. Quality Control Expert at The Cheesecake Factory.
10. I Love the 80s panelist.

Happy Mother's Day

Yesterday my baby turned 11. Eleven. It's hard to imagine it was 11 years ago, when every second of that day is forever etched in my brain. Well, not every second...

Spanky decided he would join us 5 weeks before he was set to arrive. No problem. Being the highly organized and terrified first-time mom that I was, I was packed and ready to go. Good thing. I had lists (of course) for SuperHubby, as I didn't want him screwing anything up if I was unable to guide him through the family notification process, naming the baby, etc. Another good thought for Lori.

I was at my desk at work, having a little snack (which I never got to eat, by the way), decided to call SH, when all you-know-what broke loose. Just like that, grand mal seizure, water broke, straight into labor. Fun. Luckily, I was on the phone with SH and he was there in record time. We're still not sure how many traffic violations he had that day, but he didn't get caught, so we don't care.

Since the Spankster and I both stopped breathing during my 2nd seizure of the day (we never do anything small), they did an emergency C-section. My understanding is that it was much like an episode of ER. The families were called in. Apparently, things didn't look good.

Obviously, since I'm writing this, things turned out fine. After a week of waffling back and forth between is-he-or-isn't-he-going-to-NICU, me being la la for several days, and a lot of frantic prayers from a family that wasn't quite so prayerful before that day, things were good enough for us to go home. Life with a new baby had begun. And what an adventure it's been!

Now I don't usually sit around thinking about that day. It tends to make me very weepy, particularly because I don't remember the majority of it, and I feel like I should remember at least some of the details of my child's birth. SuperHubby is kind enough to repeat the story for me whenever I ask, just so I can feel like I was there. Every so often, as I stare at my scars, I briefly think about that day. But on January 11th, I get very reflective.

All babies are miracles. I was just as thrilled 4 years later when FrogBoy was born. But on January 11th, every year, I am amazed by the miracle that is Spanky. We are truly blessed.

I Stand Corrected

Evidently, I have absolutely no idea what I am talking about. I discovered this fact this morning when I was talking to Pastor Geoff about my viewing of the new version of Charlie & the Chocolate Factory. I took someone slightly older and much wiser to clue me in: apparently the "new" version is actually based on the book, while the "old" version really wasn't that close. So the thing I griped about was actually the original set to film, and the one I love has not much to do with what the author had in mind when he put pen to paper.

WORD OF THE DAY: OOPS.

I still don't like the newer movie. I don't like the tone. I don't like the plot. And I'm very disappointed in the Oompa Loompas. However, I tip my hat to the original, because it begat the better version. And I was reminded tonight by Spanky of that great repeating line from Johnny Depp..."You must stop mumbling, I can't understand you." I think I will start using that one quite a bit.

So my apologies to anyone who enjoyed the movie. I will continue to hang out with Zit Boy at Blockbuster...he, at least, agrees with me.

There Ought to Be a Law

SuperHubby, being of sound mind and um-um-um body, presented me with a TV for our bedroom for Christmas. It was the only choice I gave him, I talked about it nonstop, I had several people talk to him about it...what can I say? He can take a hint.

So the other night, I'm enjoying my new TV, which doesn't work very well right now because we don't have cable hookup in our room, so all I can do is watch DVDs. Not a bad idea, but it was late and I didn't want to go out. I decided to borrow a movie from Spanky.

Spankster ran through my choices. I narrowed it down to The Incredibles and Charlie & the Chocolate Factory. I've already seen The Incredibles, but not the new Charlie, and I do love Willy Wonka, so I opted for that one.

It started out slow. It never got better. This was, by far, the absolute worst movie I have ever had the displeasure of viewing. Johnny Depp was Willy Wonka, and frankly, he didn't do justice to Gene Wilder's creation. He reminded me of someone on a serious acid trip, not an eccentric candymaker. The children had the same names and met with basically the same fates, but that was about as close as the movie followed the original.

My biggest problem with this movie? The Oompa Loompas. The original OLs were quite adorable, strange little men who wore strange little outfits and made fun of the bad little children. These are people I can associate with. The new OLs were not really little people; they were very obviously normal people who had been digitally shrunken -- and they didn't even try to disguise this misdeed. On top of that, they wore scary little leatherette outfits. They were ugly. And the didn't even sing the Oompa Loompa song.

WORD OF THE DAY: DISAPPOINTED.

The movie bites. Why did Tim Burton mess around with cinematic perfection? The original was gold; this version is just plain poop. I've resolved (another resolution - woohoo!) to never again watch a remake of a movie I truly love...based on past experience, it can only bring me down.

The best part of my evening? The boys climbed up in bed and watched the dumb thing with me. We had a great time, even if the entertainment was less than enjoyable. And I managed to come up with a word for today - bonus!

Hallmark Moment

So I'm watching TV with SuperHubby the other night and a Hallmark commercial comes on. Sweet little commercial. Young woman, talking about how her dad died when she was 25 days old, and how she and her mom sent a Hallmark card up to heaven on a balloon.

WHAT???!!!!

Is there some reason the people at Hallmark feel compelled to make people cry? I can't get through a single ad for them without bawling like a baby. Are the people in their marketing department just plain evil?

At the end of the commercial, they had a website so you can share your very own Hallmark moment. I guess it's hard to come up with the tearjerkers sometimes and they need a little help. They could just make things up. That's what they do on the Hallmark channel.

Yep, that's right, they have their very own TV channel on which to spread their certain type of depression. Nice. A 2-hour Hallmark commerical -- now that's entertainment.

SuperHubby laughs at me. I get all teary and then start yelling at the TV - how this is the most stupid thing I've ever seen, what are they thinking, etc. I'm an emotional chick, believe it or not. And these ads really get me.

Personally, I prefer a good murder any day. Give me some blood and guts and cut out the Steel Magnolias crap. Now that would be an awesome commercial.

2006 Resolutions

I am completely opposed to New Year's resolutions. The only reason people make resolutions is because they are too wimpy to commit to change all year long, but the one night they are totally and completely drunk, they feel like THAT'S when they can make some decisions and stick with them. This year, I feel compelled to offer up some resolutions of my own (and no, I'm not liquored up or anything).

1. I will wear clothes every single day.
2. I will eat at least one meal each day.
3. I will buy at least one purse this year. (I have to - The Smurf gave me a gift certificate for Christmas. Otherwise...)
4. I will only use one daytimer this year. Now - we all know this is serious. I have asked my sis-in-law to be my accountability partner on this one. I'm actually on my second daytimer of the year (both purchased last year, incidentally). The one I have now is the best planner ever. Really. If I make it all year with this one planner, I get to reward myself with the BEST best planner (same company, more expensive model).
5. I will have a word of the day every day. If I'm in a good mood, I may share it with other people. TODAY'S WORD: FEISTY.
6. I will not cook more meals than SuperHubby. No sense making him feel bad about himself.

So far I'm doing pretty good.

Lessons from '05

Looking back on 2005 and all that it entailed, I realized I've learned quite a bit this past year. That in itself is an amazing thing, but I have decided to share my infinite wisdom, in the hopes you won't have to learn things the hard way.

1. If you start the year with one of your parents in ICU - dying - for the first 3 months of the year, chances are things won't get much worse for the rest of the year. (He didn't, by the way)
2. If you don't like to fly, don't plan your entire vacation in a locale you can't reach by car. Think, people.
3. Even though I live in the same city as my brother, I talk to him almost every day, but only by email; however, when he leaves for a month and I can't talk to/see him when I choose, I want him to come home and never leave. Once he's home, all bets are off.
4. Tattoos hurt. A lot.
5. There are worse things than driving a suppository. I'm sure of this, although I don't have any proof just yet.
6. There comes a time when your children are old enough to put together their own Christmas toys. What a fantastic year.
7. A year without an overnight (or 18) at MUSC is a wonderful thing. Two years running is a glorious blessing.
8. Families with more than 2 adult children are just asking for trouble.

Last year was a long, hard year for our family. This time it was the extended family with the troubles; they stayed pretty clear of our little household. Even so, we were all extremely blessed and continue to be. The best things in life are family and friends.