Food For Thought....or Therapy

Two well known facts about me around the Monk household are as follows:

1. I'm a worrier

2. I don't handle stress well

One of my coping mechanisms is cleaning. The other, baking. Since I've been a little stressed and worried lately ( I can see the scripture references flying now ~ and that's okay), I've been using the latter of my coping mechanisms. Baking.

(I wish I would use the cleaning one more, but I really have to be hoppin' mad to be totally effective with that one. But I must say, my house is most definitely cleaner these days. I attribute it to stress and drugs. Drugs for morning sickness, that is.)

At any rate, while I may not be the easiest person to live with in this state of mind, my family most certainly appreciates the fruit of my worries. Here's proof:

Spinach, mushroom and Canadian bacon pizza on Saturday. I also made a cheese and a pepperoni.















What's left of two loaves of bread I baked on Saturday. Blueberry muffins that were made last night. Might tasty if I do say so myself.














And for today? Probably several more batches of muffins. Some for our trip and some for our my worries.

Worries go down better with soup. ~Jewish Proverb

Maybe I shoulda been Jewish. Oi vey.

Guess Where We're Going?

Reaping In Spite Of Ourselves

I was going through the garden a few days ago and picked a few "fruits of our labor". If you could see the state of our garden right now you would understand why I put the last four words of the last sentence in quotes.

You see, months of morning sickness is not conducive to much weeding. Monk has not only worked his normal 8 or 9 hour job, but has selflessly spent hours cleaning once he was off work and then running out to buy the family some dinner. By the time all of that was finished, the day was pretty much over. He has spent several nights watering the garden in the dark. Usually tired from the previous day's hectic schedule, he would spend many of his lunch hours napping. So, not much time for weeding on his part either.

Our garden has suffered.

So as I picked the squash and cucumbers a few days ago, I marveled. I marveled that despite the overgrown weeds, things were still growing. In spite of our neglect, we were still managing to acquire some fruits for our labor, though meager it may be.

Then, I looked around amidst the overwhelming amount of weeds and the unkempt plot of earth and what did I think of?

Me.

All of sudden it dawned on me just how much I am like that weedy garden. How many times in my life has my spiritual life been as unkempt as that garden? How many times have I neglected to take care of it as I should? How many times have I gone "through the motions," performing perfunctory deeds just because I had to?

And how many times has God blessed me in spite of myself?

While many times I have forsaken God, he has never forsaken me (though there are times it has certainly felt like it). There are times, more often than not, that I am covered in weeds. And yet He sees, in His Divine Providence, to bless me anyway.

Do I deserve His blessings? Absolutely not. Did I do anything to earn these blessings? Absolutely not. Will He continue to bless me in spite of myself?

I just don't know.

What I do know is that my spiritual garden needs some tending. Did God slap me between my eyes to show me this? Nope. He could have though. He gently nudged me by showing me the weedy garden in my backyard.

So if you'll excuse me, I have a few gardens to tend.

Coping

8 yo Sis went to the doctor today for what we thought was swimmer's ear.

Alas, it was a full blown, knock down, drag out ear infection. This would explain the excruciating pain she was in yesterday and last night.

Did you know that one can perform amazingly well at 4 am when awakened by blood-curdling screams? I mean, I didn't know I had it in me to jump out of bed quite that fast anymore. I had the speed and agility of a cat.

Oh alright, I was stumbling around like a drunken sailor, but I got the girl her medicine and tucked back in bed and all was well. Except for the fact that my stomach began growling at me, telling me to feed it. I told it to shut up and go back to sleep, I was too tired to chew. Amazingly enough...it listened.

After the doctor's office today we went to Costco to fill the prescription. I did some light shopping while there and decided I needed some medicine of my own.

I BOUGHT A COCONUT CREAM PIE THAT'S BIGGER THAN MONK'S HEAD!! And that's big my friends! This thing is huge! My children and Monk so totally appreciate my crazy (sometimes sweet) food cravings.

And I wonder why I need maternity clothes already.

But hey, I'm coping.

Opinions Of A 5 Year Old

What we heard Liv saying tonight:

Liv: I don't like Wonder Woman's voice. She sounds like a man.

(pause)

Liv: But I really like her hair.

When a 5 year old can determine that a cartoon figure has good hair, she is good people in my book.

Home Again and Oh, So Thankful For Solid Ground!

So I'm home again from my whirl wind trip to Michigan. I have to honestly say I had a hoppin' good time with my mom and sisters! I've seen my sister T. three times in the last 8 months now! It's some sort of record, I think. I have to admit though, it gets harder and harder every time I have to say goodbye. And with another little one coming along in December, I realize that there will be no more quick jaunts to Michigan and back. Depressing, really.

The day I left for Michigan our air conditioner decided to get sick and refused to work. Our house was 81 degrees and 8:15am! I was one unhappy, pregnant mother. Thankfully, it was fixed by noon and to the tune of only $234!!! But you know, money really becomes no object when your body is sweating profusely from every known orifice. And then some. And nursing an infant when you are both sticky and sweaty is really no treat either. I truly don't know how women did it 100 years ago. I am a certifiable wimp.

And do y'all remember how I talked about hating to fly? Well guess what?

Now I REALLY HATE TO FLY!!

Our flight home was a nightmare, to say the least. It was running late because of storms in Dallas. Then, when we finally boarded the plane and left the gate, we taxied around the airport for oh, 25 minutes! It was at that point that the airplane came to a stop and the captain turned OFF the engines. He proceeded to tell us there were more delays and we could unfasten our seat belts and mosey about the cabin. Actually, he said, "dance in the aisles". Smart alec captain.

Then a storm came through and we had to wait for that too. Lovely.

So.

After another 35 minutes of absolutely, um...NOTHING we were finally told to take our seats that we were ready for take off. It was still raining, yet the worst of the storm was past already.

At least that's what I thought.

May I just say that during take off I was quite certain that I was going to be seeing Jesus, Himself, real soon. The plane was bobbing and swaying and DROPPING at an alarming rate. I'm fairly certain that had I not had an 11 month old baby in my arms I might have started crying. Profusely. My sister, S. just laughed at me.

Because you know, we are nothing if not a loving and supportive family. Ahem.

The girl on the other side of her was making some sort of singing sound every time the plane would lurch. I could swear it was scaring the Opera right out of her. My sister laughed at her too. Evil, she is.

I thought that once we got in the air that things would settle down. Apparently that's what I get for thinking. The plane bobbed and swayed for two and a half solid hours. I was a vomitous ball of nerves for the entire flight. And my sister? You guessed it. She laughed.

Forty-five minutes before we were to land, my bladder decides it cannot and will not take it anymore. I had to go! Baby G had slept the entire flight so far and it was killing me to have to wake her, but my body was NOT going to let her sleep. So, me and my sister have to ask Opera Girl to move so we could make our way to the back of the plane. She grudgingly obliges.

Did y'all know that turbulence is even worse in the back of the plane?!

And worse yet, did y'all know that one can nearly obtain brain damage upon trying to pull ones britches up when the plane lurches sideways and one's head is smashed firmly into the side of the tiny little bathroom stall? I'm just sayin', is all.

After near toppling into some poor man's lap on the way back to my seat, I managed to get settled, praying profusely that I would get to see my family again and not fall from the sky in a great ball of fiery flames. But I wasn't worried. Really.

The flight landed safely and it was at that point I asked my sister if I could whoop and holler, "Hallelujah". She did not laugh. I also vowed the vow of never stepping foot on an airplane again if at all humanly possible. And I meant it. I wanted to kiss the airport floor after we unboarded deboarded got off, but once again, my sister was not amused.

I was never more happy to see Monk in all my life and I told him so. He was quite happy to see me as well. We were happy people. Our flight was supposed to have landed at 8:54 pm. It was now 10:45 pm. By the time we picked up luggage, dropped off my sister and arrived home, it was nearly midnight. Despite the time, I was greeted by a gaggle of girls very happy to see their Momma! They made a sign and everything. And might I say that Baby Girl was quite happy to see her sisters as well, evidenced by her loud squeals of delight.

I have three words to say about that night. Land Is Good! And that's all I'm going to say about that.

In other news, I thought I would give a morning all day sickness update. I'm a wimp. I finally broke down and started taking the Zofran. And you know what? I feel a ton better. My laundry is getting done, things are getting cleaned, the couch is retaining its shape and meals are being cooked. My family is no longer suffering and that, my friends, is a good thing.

So, my new motto: Drugs Are Good.

Oh lawsy, I can't wait to see the key word hits I'm going to get on that little doosey!

Leavin' on a Jet Plane and Other Hair News

Do y'all remember that song? Leavin' On a Jet Plane? If not, then go to this handy little You Tube link and you can see the late, great John Denver in all of his shaggy haired, round bespectacled glory, singing the catchy little tune.

Just between you and I...John D. could sing. I am not ashamed to say that within the last 10 years I have owned a cassette tape of his greatest hits. I am also not ashamed to say that at some point, if one of you were traveling down some random Texas highway within the last 10 years, that you may have seen some crazed, red-headed woman singing Take Me Home Country Roads at the top her lungs.

That, my friends, would have been me. Oh, I am certainly special.

But unbeknownst to you all, this post is actually not about John Denver. Go figure.

It is to tell you that me and the bouncing Baby Girl are gettin' on an airplane tomorrow and heading to Michigan to visit my sister for a few days. Now for those of you that know me in real life, y'all understand just how bad I hate to fly. For those of you that don't know me in real life, let me just tell you.....I hate to fly. I loathe it completely. With every fiber in my being.

Curse those Wright Brothers. In my humble opinion, Orville and Wilbur needed to get a life. You know, besides changing the world forever with the invention of flight and all.

But for the sake of technology, I'll let bygones be bygones and I will board that airplane tomorrow. Sweating and shaking profusely, but I'll do it.

Me and the Baby Girl are a little under the weather and I'm hoping by tomorrow we will feel a little better. If not, then she will be heavily medicated given some medicine before the flight to help her sleep.

As for me? I figure a fifth of Vodka should work. I. AM. KIDDING.

In other unrelated, completely random news, I'm having a small hair crisis. This would be a step up from two days ago when I was having a very large hair crisis. Large, as in, my hair was big. Too big. My go-to style was a pony tailed bun thingy.

Let me tell you, it was nothing if not attractive.

I had also developed a patch of unseemly white hair along my left temple. And another one along my right temple. I don't know about y'all, but a pregnant woman with gray just doesn't jive in my book. So, I called my sister and begged her to call her stylist to rescue me from my hair purgatory. And she did.

So yesterday, for the first time ever, I had my hair professionally colored. Me and Ms. L'Oreal have been friends in the past, but yesterday I got to play with the big girls. Real color, applied by certified professionals, in a reputable salon, all while wearing a gen-u-ine smock thingy. Very much a step up from my drugstore color, in my messy bathroom, by me in an old, stained Eeyore t-shirt.

I have officially arrived.

Anyway, the color that was applied was described to me as "copper". And it was. I don't mind flaming copper hair, really I don't. My friend Andrea likes bright red hair too and that's why I consider her a kindred spirit.

However.

After coming home and upon closer examination, my hair is TWO completely different colors. It is a bright, coppery color on top and a more muted auburn color on the bottom. It is quite freakish actually. The stylist told me the color would settle down after a few washes, but I'm not quite sure if the two-toned thing was supposed to happen.

Anyway, I'm stuck like Chuck until I get home and can call the stylist back. But at least I'm not a gray headed pregnant lady anymore.

Now I'm just a two-toned, unnatural looking freak. Colored by professionals, mind you.

A Few Pregnant Thoughts

Questions I've been pondering lately:

1. Is it possible to throw up in a Whataburger bag while driving down the freeway at 60 mph?

2. Does it make me a bad mother that I sometimes let the baby eat leftover peas off the kitchen floor? And carrots?

3. If after 4 girls in a row, we finally get another son, will I be tempted to put a hair bow in his hair just out of curiosity?

4. If I do have a son and attempt #3, will my husband go totally nuts all over my sorry tail?

5. Is it bad manners to smack strangers who say to my baby girl, " Hey, big guy"?

6. If what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, then why am I still such a baby when it comes to morning sickness?

7. Will the couch have a permanent indentation of my body after this baby is born?

8. Did Claire actually die on LOST, or what?

9. Is it right to lock force children outside after hundreds of dollars have just been spent on a new, stellar swing set and pool when they whine things like, "it's too hot out there"?

10. Can I really have ALL of my Christmas shopping done before this baby's due date of December 10th?

11. Could this baby actually be a boy?

Just the thoughts of a crazy, nauseated pregnant woman. So, what have y'all been pondering these days?

A Swingin' Good Time

My, oh my, what a weekend.

Monk and I have been wanting to buy our girls a quality swing set for a while now. We've debated and pondered on how much to spend and what style we wanted and so on and so forth for a good long time. We've looked at Sam's and Costco and all the other places from which one can buy a swing set. We just couldn't decide what we wanted to do.

We are nothing if not a decisive bunch around here.

Well, a few months ago, our good friend from church informed us that he designed and built wooden swing sets. For fun. As in, he liked doing it. This information thoroughly intrigued and amazed us non-handy folk and we became giddy with excitement. Our friend and Monk talked it through and it was decided upon that our new, veritable wonderland would be built over Memorial Day weekend.

That was this past weekend. Guess what I'm fixin' to show you???

This would be our old swing set. I'm sure if the city had seen it they might have condemned it. It was never even completely put together. It was suggested that we should keep it and make it punishment for disobedient children. You know, if they disobey then they can only play on the old dilapidated swing set. I'm kidding, people.















And now, without further adieu..............


Aint' it AWESOME!!















The Rock (our friend who built it) and his lovely wife, LizardBreath (my real life friend...and I don't have many of those you know, with us being so weird and all) spent the whole day on Saturday and Monday at our house. Rock sweated and toiled, along with Monk and The Boy on only one of the the hottest days of the year thus far. But them stinky, sweaty guys did such a great job!

LB and I spent the hot days in the air conditioned house preparing food to feed the hungry crew and corralling all of the children, which by the way can be a pretty sweaty job itself (there are 9 between us). Since I was feeling my usual nauseated self, LB even cleaned and organized my built-in bookshelves in our living room. She has our books organized according to subject and genre and such. (Sigh) I thank the good Lord for giving me such organized friends.

Sweet Sis, just a swangin'









Liver Pie and The Professor gazing down from the tower. The professor informed me that he was the Prince with his Princess. Whoa, boy.










LizardBreath's sweet Princess KittyKat










My Boy, putting the old girl down gently. Not me... the old swing set.









Even Fat Otis found a new perch. Stupid cat.










What a great weekend! Our girls our thrilled! Monk and I are thrilled! Shewt! Even the cat is thrilled! But most of all we thank God for great friends so willing to give of their time and talents to bless us beyond belief!

And as an added bonus...we no longer look like rednecks!!

Okay. Sort of.

Music to My Ears

Thumpa, thumpa, thumpa, thumpa.

That was the sound I heard today while at the midwife's. It doesn't matter that I've heard it 5 times before. It doesn't get old. Ever. It's the sound of life. The sound of another miracle that God has so graciously granted me. The sound that says, "I'm here Momma! I'm still cookin', but I'm here".

Frankly, I really needed to hear that sound today. More than y'all could ever know. It reassures me that all of this nausea is for a wonderful reason. It cheers me on to say, "this is worth it"!

It reminds me once again, that God is Sovereign.

And that, my friends, is enough.

She's 10 Months and I'm 10 Weeks

Time is flying. It seems to do that after 35.

The Hopester is now 10 months old. I was going to say, "it seems like yesterday I was pregnant with her". It wasn't yesterday, but it was just last year and I'm pregnant again which is probably why I feel all sentimental.

That and I'm hormonal.

She is getting so big so fast that I just want to yell, "Hey! Stop the ride! I don't want to miss anything!". This is mostly because I realize that she isn't technically going to be the baby much longer. When the little Corn Nut is born she will not even be 17 months old yet! She will still be a baby and then I will just say I have two babies. 'Cause I will.

Have mercy.

(shhhh...a very unflattering picture of The Madgirl)

She now says the dog's name, Pepper. Except hers sounds like "Bop-uh", but it is most definitely her version of Pepper. It's quite cute and I believe she is quite talented. She also likes to "honk" your nose. Madgirl taught her this little trick(thank-you my darling teenager). But if you're not careful she will pert near put one of her chubby little fingers all the way up it, leading to a significant loss of flesh, possible bleeding and profuse eye watering.

G'head, ask me how I know.



She is so close to walking it is scary. I'm sure that the sheer size of her cheeks, and I do mean both sets, are what is keeping her from completing the deed. Why is it that as parents we spend such a large portion of time encouraging this developmental step and once it is accomplished we spend greater portions of time regretting it?




And as for me, I am 10 weeks along now. I am a quarter of the way done. Woo-hoo!

Part of the reason I haven't been blogging is because I've been so productive lately. Here, I'll show you....

Here I am lying down while taking cover during a tornado warning. The washer makes a mighty fine back rest if I do say so myself.










Once again, lying down and attempting to look happy.










And yet one more time in the prone position. Is it me or do I look like I'm trying not to vomit? What is it with my family taking pictures of me on the couch?









As y'all can see, I've been plenty busy. There is a distinct pattern here in case you hadn't noticed.

At any rate, that's the update for today. Now I must go back to lying on the couch being productive.

Y'all take care now and prepare yourselves for my next rousing post. I'm sure you're just flinching with excitement, huh?

Oh....I Have a Blog?

Yes I know, I know....I'm a blogging schmuck.

I can't blame just the morning sickness either. I've found a nice homeopathic that is helping nicely in that area. Not great, but definitely better. I'm planning on doing a post on it....when I get around to it.

For those of you that read my monotonous diatribe, please bear with me a little longer. I'm in somewhat of a funk right now. I have things I'd like to post about, but just not feelin' it at the moment. A little down and a little lot hormonal would be a good description.

Let me tell you, I'm a regular party.

He Hoes, He Hoes, It's Off To Work He Goes....and Another Gardening Update

My man workin' his way with the dirt









So, he worked by the sweat of his brow. Profusely sweating. And panting. Letting us both know he really needs to work out a little more. Or a lot. But my man did it! He whooped that garden into shape. He did, however, scare me enough that I went and got Boy to come help "whoop" things along. And he demonstrated the dominion mandate quite well, I thought.

The family who hoes together......um....flows rows glows SOWS together.









I will no longer call people sissies who wear gloves while gardening. My sister, who is a nurse and Master Gardener (I kid you not) informed me of all the little nasties I could acquire by putting my bare, naked hands into the soil. So, from now on.......I'm gloved.










Me in a not so attractive pose, wearing my Longhorns hat to cover up my not so attractive hair. I look like some sad, toad reject. But I'm wearing some kickin' orange gardening clogs, don't ya think?









Gotta learn'em young how to love the dirt.









And now for a Garden Update.

Good News:

- We already have our Bibb lettuce sprouting!! Woo-hoo for garden salads and BLT's!
- We already have pickling cucumber sprouting! Woo-hoo for future pickles!
- Everything seems to be growing quite nicely.

Bad News:
- The stupid birds keep messin' in the garden.
- We have yet to see nary a carrot sprout. I'm not an experienced enough gardener to know if this is because it is a root vegetable. Must investigate.
- 3 of our 4 tomato plants have tomato blight. Blast the blight! My sister T, the nurse and Master Gardener (I kid you not), has informed me that I will need to dig them up and replace them with new, non-blighted plants. That or they would require chemicals to treat. And since we are of the anti-chemical mindset....guess what? We gotta ditch the plants.

Not so bad. Not great, but not terrible. Things we can work with and deal with effectively. Not like the Tomato Bug Infestation of 2006 that annihilated our bumper crop of tomatoes. Now that? That was sad.

Now, if I could just convince our cat, Fat Otis, that this giant plot of dug up soil is not a personal litter box created just for him, we'd really be in business.

Look What I Found in My Back Yard

Two of the most beautiful flowers I have ever laid eyes upon.

Meet "The Philistine"...But We'll Just Call Him Phil

Phil is our new (to us) Suburban. He is a rather stellar dude if I do say so myself. And even the color I wanted!














Freshly purchased last night, we (and the children) have been struttin' around like peacocks. Okay, I'm doing most of my strutting from the horizontal position on the couch, but I look good doin' it. Monk and I were giving each other knuckles all night last because we were so proud of our new purchase.

It's been a long time coming for us to get a new vehicle. Our 2000 Ford Windstar has 167,000 miles on it, but has basically been falling apart since about 90,000 miles. Transmissions going out BEFORE 100,000 miles is never a good thing. This has meant BIG BUCKS for the last 5 years.

To put it mildly, if cars had souls, I can honestly say ours would be in hell.

We've been looking for weeks and frankly, had a few swiped out from under us, but not this one. Nope, this one is ours! Woo-hoo! It's a 2004, has low miles and has a few perks we were very happy to have....like a DVD player! The only thing it didn't have was leather seats, which is much easier to clean child vomit (or pregnant woman vomit) from, than say cloth. You win some, you lose some. I'll take what we got.

Sis and Liv were so excited last night that they asked if we could sleep in the new ride. This is disturbing to me on so many different levels that I don't even know where to begin. I can definitely say "Phil" is certainly cleaner than my house right now, so maybe that has something to do with it.

Anyway, that's our exciting news for the day. Join us in welcoming "Phil" to the family, won't you?

By the way, does anyone know if it's legal to torch your old car and dance The Happy Dance around it, celebrating it's demise? Just curious.

What We're Fixin' To Do...

I love the Spring. All things become new again. The trees are green, the flowers are blooming and best of all.........

The garden gets planted! We're a little behind this year and instead of starting from seed like we had intended, I had to purchase plants.

Can you see our little patch of dirt in the background?














-Tomatoes (3 different kind)
-Jalapeno (because we are spicy kind of people)
-Crooked Neck Yellow Squash (I think their little necks are cute)
-Zucchini Squash (for infinite amounts of zucchini bread)
-Cantaloupe (nothin' better)

We will probably plant some pickling cucumbers (using seeds) too. Because we all know you can't have a plate of freshly picked, sliced tomatoes without a few slices of freshly picked cucumbers as well! Oh, this makes me happy. (Sigh...)

Oh yea, and lettuce too. For plenty of fresh garden salads. And BLT's. And burgers.















Monk will start hoeing rows here shortly and then I will don my 50 spf sunscreen and join him. I'll put my hands in the warm, moist dirt, smelling it's earthy smell that I love (gloves are for sissies) and I'll take my trusty trowel and begin to dig holes for all of my wonderful, new plants.

I'll tenderly give them new residence in the rich, dark soil where we'll eventually watch them grow and produce delicious vegetables and fruits for us to enjoy and give to our friends (anyone remember our bumper crop of Calabaza squash in the Summer of 2006?). I'll cage the tomato plants so they can climb big and tall, giving them the best opportunity to yield plenty of red, ripened goodness.

Then I'll stand back, looking at our accomplishments, dusting the mud from my knees...

and pray that I'll not throw up.

It's Heeeeerrrrre!

The pukey, icky, nauseated feeling that I've felt so many times before.

That beast called Morning Sickness.

That term would make me laugh hysterically if I didn't think I would vomit while doing so. It's such a temporary sounding term. And wouldn't it be nice if "morning sickness" only showed up between the hours of say, 6 am and 11 am? It certainly would make my life easier. Especially seeing that here I sit, typing away at 3:45 pm, nauseated as ALL GET OUT!

But I'm not bitter. Really.

It's also early this time. By 3 weeks. I'm not a happy camper about this. But alas, this is life among the pregnant, pukey masses. And I am their leader.

So, bear with me if posting is sporadic. Bear with me if I whine too much and talk of vomitous type things. Bear with me as I get through the next few months of lying on the couch, the bed, the bathroom floor and various and sundry places of comfort and non-comfort alike.

Because this is life. And while I may not be enjoying all of it right now.....

life is still good.

Gotta Love Keyword Analysis

Statcounter is the site I use to keep up with the stats on my blog. I've used Statcounter from the beginning and while I don't feel the need to check it umpteen thousand times a day any more, I still enjoy going to it every so often to see where I am in the area of readership.

By the way, there are a lot more readers than there are commentors. And all I have to say about that is, "Come out from hiding you big chickens!!". I really do enjoy a good comment. I'm just sayin'.

Anyway, I was perusing the Keyword Analysis tonight. For those of you who don't know (and for those of you that do know and just don't care) Keyword Analysis is the words folks may type into a random search engine that bring them to your blog. Sometimes, these things make me chuckle greatly. Sometimes they make me snort loudly. Tonight was one of those nights.

Here is some examples:

Num	Perc.	Search Term
	3	16.67%	monks wife blogspot - this one is obvious enough, eh?
	2	11.11%	fat wife - why yes, yes I am a fat wife.
	1	5.56%	monk's real wife - his real wife? he has another wife? I'd like to know where!
	1	5.56%	husband forces enema into wife - Oh my word. That one nearly made me wet my pants laughing and then it just left me speechless. And for the record, Monk has never forced an enema on me. Thankfully. I'm sure you will all rest easy now knowing this little factoid.
			That's all I got, people. It's ugly, ain't it?

I Am SO Busted!

The jig is up.

I didn't finish the girl's room. (hanging head in shame and shuffling feet uncomfortably on the floor)

I did do a FEW things in there though. Not much. Hardly anything. I put a few toys in a bucket for Goodwill. I know, I know, I am such a schmuck!!

Let me explain (this is the part where I make excuses like my teenage children).

Number one, it has been a busy week. I've had appointments I didn't plan on having. I've had blood drawn, not once, but TWICE! And tonight, while at the midwife's office, I got all hot and woozy feeling while the needle was in my arm and my midwife, Ann, wouldn't let me get up without eating peanut butter crackers and orange juice (it felt like pre-school all over again). That has NEVER happened to me before and it was rather...weird.

Also, we are trying to buy a new (used) car. The "Loser Cruiser" is to the point where someone needs to shoot the dang thing and put it out of its misery. And because we are glutton for punishment, we are looking into buying a big, thirsty Suburban so we can get 15 miles per gallon while gas is almost $3.50 a gallon. These are things that happen when one's brood starts increasing yearly.

And lastly, which is the most pathetic excuse of all....I'm just tired. I've taken a nap EVERY SINGLE DAY this week and twice on Tuesday. I'm old, people. Old and pregnant. I can't do the things I used to.

Okay, that's a lie. I can, I'm just lazy. Tired and lazy. If I had a baby that would sleep through the night, or at the very least for 5 hours at a time, I might not feel so tired. The lazy part? Well, shucks. I just don't know.

And tomorrow and Saturday aren't looking much better. Tomorrow, I've a birthday party to take a certain 8 year old to that is practically in Oklahoma! Alright, I'm exaggerating, but it is 40 minutes away. Not that I mind. I get to see my friend. And on Saturday Monk and I are attending our Birth Class Reunion that was supposed to have taken place, um....7 months ago!!

My point is that I'm usually game for one big "thing" per day and for the past week my big "things" have not involved cleaning. Therefore, I'm pooped.

I plan on still doing the room, it will just take a little longer than usual. Maybe 2009? I jest. Anyhoo, that's where I am people.

Lash me with wet noodles if you must. I'm a loser, I know.

By the way, no age cracks. Capiche? Loser cracks are fine, just no age cracks.

I Forgot A Momentous Occassion

Baby Girl turned 9 months old yesterday and I forgot to blog about it. I planned pictures and everything. My tired brain just plumb forgot. I guess it's the Bad Mother of the Year Award for me now, huh? It doesn't matter that I have four other children, a husband and am pregnant and oozing weepy hormones from every crevice in my body. Nope, I'm just bad. To the bone.

So, without further adieu...here she is in all of her 9 month old chubby glory!


All 21 lbs of her. Technically, this picture was a few weeks before she was 9 months, but she hasn't changed much. Maybe a pound or twenty. And no, this isn't my bed. I wish. This was at the lovely Hampton Inn. I truly love their beds. I want one muy mucho.














Here she is trying to eat the camera. Because we all know she is just famished. Poor undernourished baby. She has the cutest dimples next to her nose when she smiles!














Oh my word, she has certainly changed our lives.

And now for a list of her accomplishments:

-she crawls.
-she walks around furniture.
-she stands alone, unassisted for several minutes at a time.
-she says mama, dada, uh-oh and a few things in Mandarin Chinese.
-she will not touch baby food. She feeds herself things like chicken, steak, egg yolks, cereal, peas, carrots, green beans, potatoes, broccoli and the list goes on.
-she drinks from a sippy cup
-she puts every foreign object known to man in her mouth. She has even pooped a few interesting things. She must be watched like a hawk.
-she has 4 teeth through and two more coming in. She is like a T-Rex, that kid.
-she has more hair than Monk.
-she has her mother's lovely personality and her father's temper. She's fit thrower.
-she knows her alphabet and her times tables through 4.
-I'm kidding.

Wow. She's a sweet one, that girl. It's hard to believe that she will only be the "baby" for 7 more months. Seven more months of her "firsts" and then we get to start all over again. But you know what? She will always be my baby. Just like the rest of them.

They're all my babies. Forever.

Organization and the Lack Thereof

I love my children. I really do. But people, children are messy.

I do believe that most people are born sloppy by nature and have to be trained to be neat and tidy. Those that know me are now rolling on the floor laughing hysterically. Stop it! All of you! I am anything BUT neat and tidy. I like to say I'm creative. I am a work in progress. I am organizationally challenged.

The kids? Yeah, they're like me.

And Monk? He's more like Oscar Madison from The Odd Couple. So genetically, our children are doomed.

If I could change one thing about myself it would be my organizational skills. I long to be organized and neat. I yearn to not have paper piles that I incessantly have to go through looking for some piece of mail I've misplaced. I dream of never losing my wedding band and then finding it covered in dust in some lone spot, up high on the computer cabinet. After TWO years!

I've have really been trying hard as of late to train my girls to be neater. (I've given up on the 16 yo son. He just stinks. Period. He's cute, but he stinks. Or rather his room stinks. He just smells like a gallon of Axe on most days. To cover up his man stink.) I'm finding that when one unorganized person tries to teach little unorganized people how to be organized, it is pretty much futile. The blind leading the blind, if you may.

I've made many attempts at organization in the past, most of the time giving up within a few days. Mostly because around here, by the time you get one room neat and tidy the rest of the house looks like a tornado went through it.

But this time it's different. It HAS to be. You know why?

It's called...THE SIXTH CHILD, FOR CRYIN' OUT LOUD!!

Six children, two adults, a dog and two cats in a 4 bedroom, 1950 square foot house. Organization will have to be a must. Do you know why?

THE SIXTH CHILD, FOR CRYIN' OUT LOUD!! (There's a pattern here people, stay with me.)

No, really. The real reason is...

My own personal sanity. Noise doesn't bother me. Running through the house doesn't faze me. Viruses involving vomit are not pleasant, but I can deal with them. Children tying one another up is like water off a duck's back for me. But the clutter?

IT'S DRIVIN' ME CRAZY AND IT'S A SHORT DRIVE!!

So.

Once again, I'm attempting to get organized and I'm going to use you people to keep me accountable. I've tried this before and failed miserably, but this time I have people that I know will stalk me and force accountability upon me whether I want it or not. You know who you are.

Plus, I'm on the fast train to morning sickness any day now and time is of the essence. So this week, my room to organize is....the little girl's bedroom (insert ominous music here). Have mercy!

So pray for me as I begin to conquer the likes of Polly Pocket and Barbie (the shameless hussy). Bitty Babies, Cabbage Patch and that wretched plush, called stuffed animals (may I just say that stuffed animals are an invention of the devil, himself).

I'm goin in and kickin' some baby doll bootie! I will prevail!

I will! I will! I will!

I hope.

Budding Pianist

We firmly believe in starting them young around here


















This is one of her favorite pastimes. And you know what? I let her do it. Not only do I think it's completely adorable watching her get on her tip toes to play the keys, but I get the biggest kick out of the rolls on her thighs. Thigh rolls are totally acceptable on those aged 3 and under.

On the 38 year old mother of 5? Not so much.

Painfully Pictureless

*UPDATED AT BOTTOM*
As you might have noticed, I haven't posted a whole lot of pictures since returning from our little jaunt East. Do you want to know why?

Well, I'll tell you anyway.

My computer, being the hateful, moody girl she is, has decided she will no longer accept my USB cord to my Kodak camera. I've wooed her, coaxed her and begged her to no avail. She has chosen to no longer recognize or even acknowledge my Kodak's existence.

It reminds me of the time when I was at Sixth Grade Camp and a hateful, moody girl named Michelle Wright told everyone to ignore me. And they did. For one whole day all of my friends ignored me. When I would talk to them, they didn't even acknowledge my existence. Well, except one. Jenny Raupp. She and I became most excellent friends after that day and remained friends through high school. We also acquired the nickname of "The Puddin' Heads" one summer at Band Camp. But for reasons of time and quite frankly, boring you to death, I won't go into that right now.

Now you might be asking yourselves why I'm comparing my computer, specifically my CPU, to a horrific Sixth Grade Camp experience. Well, let me tell you.

Computers are a lot like pre-teen girls. They have a wealth of information about anything and everything, yet all of it may not be true. They also remember everything you've done for past umpteen months, but with one false move they might erase you from their memory forever. They both take a boot to get going and if you make them mad they tend to lock up and shut down.

In comparing my computer issues to the issues I encountered with a certain girl at Sixth Grade Camp, I've learned some things about myself.

One, I'm an adult now and while I have never, nor will I ever, treat another human being with such disdain, I realize in her immaturity and childishness, this girl was looking to further herself by hurting me. The computer? Not so much. Although, there are times where I could swear it has a personal vendetta towards me.

And two, in my youth I chose not to stand up for myself. I let these girls get the best of me and I willingly forgave them without even expressing my hurt. So desperate for acceptance, I let myself become someone else's punching bag, figuratively speaking, of course.

And where does this all tie in with the computer? Well, where as a child, I acted as a child when I was hurt. And as an adult?

I'll just take the dang computer out front and run over it 1 or 158 times with the Windstar.

It's nice to know I've grown and matured so much since I was twelve.

* My wonderful, computer literate hubby fixed the problem and has the old girl downloading pictures once again. I told you she had it in for me!

Have y'all ever heard of the 3% rule? One must be 3% smarter than the object they are working with. I think this pretty much speaks volumes about me and the computer. Well, me and a lot of other things too, but that's for another post.

Big News in Monkville

I almost always have something to write about. Whether it's interesting or not, I always manage to find something to blather on about on most days. Fortunately for y'all, today is no different. Well, technically it's a wee bit different in that it's actually something exciting and not...well...dumb.

Y'all ready?

You sure?

Drum roll puhleeeeeze.................badabadabadabadabadabadabadabadabada
(my drum roll sound effects)


The Monk family would like to announce:

A NEW MONK BABY is due to arrive sometime in early December of 2008!!

We are so very happy at the thought being blessed and entrusted by God with yet another new life to raise for His glory. Please join us in prayer for a safe and healthy pregnancy for me and this new little one. Ps. 128: 3-5

Oh yeah... and if you could say a few extra prayers for this one NOT to be in the posterior position at birth...this mother and her back would be especially grateful. I'm just sayin'.

Blast You, O Wretched Insomnia!

Here I sit, typing away at 4:25 am. At this ungodly hour the computer becomes my best friend. It is the only time we are on such good terms. I can't sleep and the computer keeps me company. Many would say that this is counterproductive because the screen and all of its blinkity blink is stimulating my brain rather than trying to slow it back down.

To you, I say phooey.

I cannot even begin to express how bad I despise insomnia. Especially while nursing a baby. What usually happens is that I will be up anywhere from 1 - 2 1/2 hours. When the baby nurses every 3-4 hours, it becomes a no win situation. There is pretty much a 100% chance that I will be miserable the rest of the day. And that in turn will make everyone else miserable because I will be a grouch. I bet you all wish you lived with me, huh?

And that, my friends, is why I have such a sunny disposition about the whole rotten situation!

I hear the gentle breathing of all the children and I'm thoroughly jealous. And Monk? He's not even snoring. which is a major plus for all who enjoy a peaceful sleep.

And me?

Bright eyed and eating a cornbread muffin with an orange juice chaser, writing to you fine people. Where, O Where is the vodka when I need it? I am so kidding right now. I definitely prefer rum. Kidding again, people. Remember y'all, it's 4:30 am. Cut me some slack.

Anyway, before this post dies from acute randomness, I shall shut myself up. But before I do...

Anybody got any tips for insomnia? Oi.

A Whirl of a MIRL

Most of you are scratching your heads and saying to yourselves, "what the devil is a MIRL"? Well, let me enlighten you my bloggy comrades.

MIRL stands for Meet In Real Life. When one blogger meets another blogger in person, one can refer to it as MIRL. I did a little MIRLing myself this past Sunday. As a matter of fact, it was my very first MIRL ever and it couldn't have been with a sweeter person.

I've been reading Jen's blog for probably close to two years and let me tell you - when I met her in real life it was just....WEIRD!! Not because she had a thumb growing out of her forehead or anything, but just actually seeing her and being able to hold a conversation, it was totally exciting. It was in a word.......WONDERFUL!

We were driving back from Virginia and wanted to visit a like minded church around Knoxville. We found Grace Community Church online and when we went to the website I screamed like a girl...oh wait, I am a girl. Why? (as in why did I scream, not why am I a girl. I would hope that I've already realized this about myself after 5 children). Because I knew I had seen that church somewhere. I racked my brain for oh..about 3 minutes and then it hit me! JenIG!!

So, being the crazy woman I am, I emailed her out of the blue telling her we would be there. She was ever SO gracious in emailing me back and we determined it was a date. I was rather psychotic sounding in my email and Jen could have ditched me right then, but being a fellow semi-psycho blogger herself, she was ever so gracious in her reply.

And sure enough, Sunday morning we walked through the door and Jen's lovely daughter Coie was standing there and said, "are you Michelle?". We were graciously greeted and seated and all manner of niceties shown to us. We were special!

Afterwards, Jen and I were able to talk for about 30 minutes and it was SO great! I felt like I already knew here because of her blog (am I creepy for that?). We have determined that we most definitely could hang out and it was decided that when I go back to Tennessee in July to visit my mom, that the girls and I will visit with Jen and her family for a day! Woo-Hoo! A visit to a little farm! With goats and everything! It's like the Walton's!

Sigh....I think I like the whole MIRLing thing!

The Best April Fool's Ever - No Foolin'!

The year was 1993. It was March 31st and I was a week out from the due date of my second child. My mom was in town helping with preparations before the birth and attempting, in vain, to keep up with my steely willed 18 month old son.

We had just left the hardware store when suddenly I felt a twinge in my belly. Yes, a twinge. That is the only way to describe what I felt. Maybe it was intuition, maybe it was a contraction or it might even have been gas, but something told me this baby was coming before the April 9th due date.

Later that evening, as I was paying bills, I realized the next day was going to be April 1st. I chuckled that evil chuckle I do when I have something completely sneaky and evil brewing. It's a gift, really. I told my mom that we needed to call my sisters ( I have three to be exact) the next day and mess with their heads. Messin' with heads is a specialty of mine. I said we needed to call and tell them that I had the baby and it was a girl (no one, not even me, expected me to have a girl). She laughed her evil laugh and agreed. It was a plan, y'all. The April Fool's of all jokes.

This is the part of the story where God decides He was going to get one over on me.

At 4:45 am April 1, 1993 I was awakened with a contraction. I tried to ignore it and go back to sleep, but then I had another. Then I did what every 9 month pregnant woman does at the crack of dawn when she can't sleep. I went to the kitchen and got a Pop-Tart. Brown sugar and cinnamon. Frosted.

I sat on the couch for a while, still having contractions at fairly regular intervals, munching my Pop-Tart, not thinking for a moment that this was labor. It was then that the urgent need for the facilities hit me. As I ran to the bathroom and sat, I realized at this moment that "hey, this could be labor". Then I realized I had lost my mucous plug and other signs of laborish type things and I knew that the show was about to begin. I quickly showered and woke my husband. The contractions were quite regular and very bearable at this point.

I woke my mother to let her know we needed to head to the hospital. In her sleepy astonishment at having been awoke pre-dawn, she questioned my motives. I assured her that it was in fact was the real thing and that I did not relish the idea of waking up at the crack of dawn to pull a practical joke.

And off we went.

Upon arriving, I was ushered to a bed, issued my hospital gown and promptly checked. I was 2cm dilated. No need for alarm. No need for doctors yet. There was plenty of time. My husband went down to the cafeteria while I sat up in the bed signing hospital red tape papers.

All of a sudden..POP! And it was then that a warm, gush of fluid filled the bed. Green fluid to be exact. All over my socks. My birth socks. The only socks I had brought. I was ticked. I calmly called the nurse and said I thought my water had broken. Thought? Hello? Um, quite definitely YES!! Sure enough, my water was broke and my status at Labor and Delivery was secure. We were havin' a baby, today.

Things happened quickly after this. I don't want to draw the story out and yet I don't want to leave out the good details. So, I'll do my best to be brief and graphic at the same time.

A quick synopsis of events thus far:

-4:45 am awoke with contractions
-5:45 am left for hospital
-6:30 am water broke

At this point, the doc comes and tells me since I was dilated past a 2 and my water had broken I could have my epidural if I liked. Like the uneducated dummy I was, even though I was in no real pain, I agreed. This was the day when enemas were still administered and well....I had mine administered. And that's all I'll say about that.

After my cleansing and while waiting for my epidural, things began to pick up substantially. Ouch, these contractions were hurting. By the time the anesthesiologist meandered into the room, I had lost my sunny disposition and was pretty much ready to use a few choice words cuss. The nurse was really working with me to keep my cool while Pain Dude jabbed foot long needles into my back. I kept telling the nurse I needed to go to the bathroom. I thought the...uh..enema wasn't finished with me yet..ahem. When Needle Guy was finished the nurse had the sense enough to check me. And guess what, y'all? I was totally and completely dilated. I was going to give birth. NOW!! Sans the epidural because at this point they turned it off!!

Oh. Yes. They. Did.

Apparently things were happening quicker than any of them would have liked or expected because I have yet to see medical equipment and personnel appear faster than that day 15 years ago. Liquids were being squirted, body parts we being sheathed, but one question remained.

WHERE THE HECK WAS MY DOCTOR????

Apparently we were past the point of waiting for my doctor. We were now to the point of grabbing the first licensed physician in the hallway and dragging him to my room. All I know is that he was a balding fellow and he threw his tie over his right shoulder as they gowned and gloved him for the catch.

He then asked the unthinkable. Push. What? I want my epidural. Nope, that sucker was turned off a long time ago. Now push. But it burned - like the Johnny Cash song - it was like a ring of fire! Nope - I was losin' it. It was a this point that a burly nurse with a giant cold sore on her lip grabbed me by my cheeks ( on my face) and told me to focus. Who was I to argue with someone who quite possibly had the worst case of Herpes Virus Simplex I, that I had ever seen.

And so I pushed.

The baby was born and to my astonishment...it was a GIRL! A real, live, bouncing baby girl! All mine!

It was 8:47 am. All of this had transpired in a matter of 4 hours! When we called our mothers, who were together watching the steely willed 18 month old, they screamed. They didn't believe us when we said it was a girl and then screamed some more when we assured them that it was not, in fact, some cruel April Fool's joke. They jumped up and down hugging each other while holding the steely willed 18 month old, making him cry.

Today, that baby girl turned 15. I never thought I could love her more than I did the day she was born, but I was wrong. I love her more and more every day. She and I are very close and I am so thankful God gave her to me. She's a smart, funny, beautiful girl. She's a great big sister despite the fact that she loves to torture her younger siblings.

So April Fool's is a special day for me. It was the day God gave me my first daughter.

Happy Birthday Madgirl. I love you.

Home At Last

Hark! We are home at last. After 5 days of flying and driving and more driving and more flying, we have returned. Oh, did I mention we drove a lot.

We drove up and down the beautiful, scenic, hilly roads of East Tennessee and Virginia. Not that I minded all of that beautiful landscape, but Oi! THE DRIVING! Couple that with a baby who completely and utterly DETESTS being in her car seat (her car seat that cost us muy mucho because you know, we care about her safety and comfort, but apparently the price doesn't cover the hatred of being strapped into the doggone thing!) and it's safe to say that the driving got a wee bit old.

Did I mention the driving?

I have great and wonderful bloggy things to say....just not today. Because well...

I'm pooped.

Naturally Works for Me!

Things that make me happy. And smell good to boot!















If you're wondering why I pay a little more for my body products I would suggest visiting the website www.cosmeticdatabase.com and checking out some of your current body products and make-up.

Scary stuff people, scary stuff.

I buy these items at www.vitacost.com and pay considerably less than I would at drug stores or health food stores. It makes healthier choices a little more affordable.

It works for me!

For more great tips go visit Shannon at Rocks in My Dryer!

How We Homeschool - To Each His Own

One of the greatest joys of homeschooling is being able to cater to each child's learning style. We are firm believers that not every child learns the same way. Some children learn by sight, some by hearing and others are kinesthetic, which is hands on learning.

Our LiverPie has a much different learning style from that of her older sister. She is a robust child with a wicked (as in very witty, not evil. Although she does have her evil moments) sense of humor. She is very much like her daddy. So with much thought and discussion, Monk and I have decided to homeschool her according to her personal style, which is very similar to her daddy's style of learning. We think she should excel under this particular tutelage. Here is a sample:



I do hope you all realize that my tongue was planted firmly inside my cheek while posting this. I don't know how you all could think we would homeschool this way.

As if.

We would never use four part harmony. Hmpf.

*Admit it. It's a catchy tune, ain't it?*

Me and My Girl

Oh look, Baby Girl is so sad. Don't cry baby.















Look me in the eyes when I'm talking to you!















Nothin' better than big, slobbery baby kisses!

I Want the Gas Thankyouverymuch!

Do any of you have phobias? Do certain things just send you over the moon or under the bed when you even begin to think about them?

Me too.

I hate the dentist. Not my dentist, personally. No, he's great. It's just unfortunate he chose the career he did. It's his career I hate. Loathe. Despise. Truth be told, I'm afraid of the dentist. This is what happens to me when I have to go:

- Before I even leave my house I can fear the dread welling up inside of me. I check the children for fevers in hopes that maybe one of them is ill enough for me to stay home and nurse them to health.

- While in the car I usually pray for a minor car accident just so I can call with a legitimate excuse not go.

- When I pull into the parking lot my heart begins to palpitate at a very unnatural rate.

- I walk in the office door and the smell alone nearly sends me running from the office screaming, "you can't make me do this!". It is at this point that my gag reflex is activated.

- When they call me back, I physically begin to tremble and my mouth goes dry. Very, very dry.

- The sounds of drills drilling sends chills running up my spine and I begin to clench my teeth. I wonder if I collapse in a heap on the floor if they would consider rescheduling.

- Upon sitting in the chair, my heart shifts into high gear convincing me that I shall surely die from heart failure before one of their latex gloves even touches my dried up lips.

- By the time I have to open my mouth I have worked myself into such a dither that I start laughing rather nervously, almost maniacally, and my speech becomes rather fast and disjointed while I blather on about my gag reflex and telling them to " please do not let me swallow anything or taste anything because I will throw up on you." They love me there.

And this is only for a CLEANING!!

I had to go to the dentist this past week, so all of these things are fresh in my mind. My hygienist is usually very accommodating and tries very hard to keep my mouth sufficiently rinsed and suctioned. Because y'all, if I taste a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g I will begin to gag.

I am nothing if not lame.

Anyway, once my cleaning is complete and my dentist comes to check me out, things get a little stickier. You see, he's a guy with big 'ol sausage fingers. He jams his fat, little latex sausages into my mouth, with no regard for my terrifying phobia of him, and begins prodding around at my molars. He sticks my teeth with his little sticker thing at an alarming rate. All while talking and laughing and assuming that I'm not about to die right there in his dentified presence.

Now here's the kicker.

Just when I think it's all about to be over....he tells me I have an old filling that has some flaws and will have to COME BACK and have another filling put in it's place. Come back? (insert violent whimpering here)

Oh, the horror of it all.

I have to go back. I don't get my 6 month reprieve. I have to begin this vicious cycle all over again, but if you can believe it, on an even more psychotic level. Because after all, they will be DRILLING ON ME!!

Y'all, I would rather have natural child birth (supposing thus said child is not in the posterior position because dang, they hurt!) than to go to the dentist for a filling. We won't even talk about my neurosis when I have to have a crown.

But believe it or not, I'm good. You wanna know why?

Nitrous Oxide.

Oh yeah, baby. I signed up for the gas plan. For $35 extra dollars they can drill all the way to China and back and I won't care. I'll be thinking nothin' but happy thoughts. Am I a wimp? You bet! I want the gas!

Now if I could just get my hands on some of that stuff for the flight I'll be taking next week I would be Oh So Very Happy.

Nitrous oxide in portable form. Now there's a good idea.

Me and Martha? We Are No Longer Tight

As evidenced by my blog header, I like crafty things. When time permits, I can come up with some pretty decent crafty things. I'm not and organized crafter or a complicated crafter, but I really enjoy crafts that involve minimal effort with great results.

Many of you have seen on my blog that I will occasionally participate in Rocks in My Dryer's Works For Me Wednesday. Back in October I posted about making toddler crayons with existing broken crayons. You can find the original post here. This is one of those easy crafts with minimal effort yet great results (it really is essential that you go back and read that post).

I'm gettin' to my point here eventually y'all, just bear with me a little longer.

Well, about 3 weeks ago I picked up a copy of Martha Stewart's Good Things For Kids. It is a little mini magazine that has all sorts of neat kid friendly ideas in it. And you know I really wanted this little magazine because I was willing to shell out the $3.95 for it! $4.95 for those poor Canadians. You know, you must really love to read in Canada to pay that much because they really do get ripped.

I'm digressing again.

So I finally picked this thing up and really gave it a good thorough reading. I was enjoying myself immensely until I turned to pages 74-77. It was then that I gasped!

Martha stole.. ripped me off.. took my toddler crayon idea! Oh, yes she did!

Here is her page:















And here is one of my pics:















Can you see the similarities? Huh? Huh? Can you? Martha snagged my gig people!

So what if she has shiny, new heart-shaped pans! So what if she has professional photographers perfectly placing her color coordinated crayons! It was my idea FIRST!

But really, I'm not bitter. And my post was much funnier than her dry, crusty, old magazine any day.

Anyway, I just wanted to document it that you heard if FIRST here, at The Monk's Wife.

Oh, and Martha? If you're reading here...

It is most definitely NOT a good thing to take the ideas of middle class, suburbanite, God-fearing homemakers. And why? Well, you may have a bazillion dollars sister, but guess what?

I've got a blog and I know how to use it.

Sick Yet Interesting

$4775.00The Cadaver Calculator - Find out how much your body is worth.

Honestly, there are no words.

It Is Finished

Sad, but satisfied and not nary a pound heavier for it. My chocolatey heart overfloweth.