Same bat time! Same bat channel!

When we last saw our portly heroine, she was extolling the virtues of a new, healthier lifestyle and brazenly revealing her weight to the blog-reading populace.  What happened to her?

The honest answer is this: I'm kind of an all-or-nothing type of person.  I was counting my calories and working out in order to burn more calories than consumed.  Sounds perfectly fine, right?  Well, when you come to the realization that you're skipping meals and turning down pieces of gum in order to keep your caloric intake in the triple digits, it's time to re-examine things.  That being said, I've lost some weight, but not much and have given up the dieting.  Besides, I like food.

Goo-Goo for Ga-Ga

Lady GaGa.  Her mere name inspires a mental parade of oddball costumes, bad blond wigs, and catchy dance beats.  She is lauded far and wide as a genius.  The more outrageous her antics, the louder the admiring applause.  

I have to be honest.  I don't get it.  Yep, at risk of sounding like an uneducated Philistine, I'm admitting to the world that I DON'T GET IT.  Her goofy costumes, her SciFi Channel make-up, none of it.  I'm not being a hater, I think her music is pretty catchy.  In fact, Ariel and I have been known to break it on down right next to the Campbell's Soup when "Poker Face" plays over the grocery store speakers.  I'm an artist and I just don't get her performance art.  I'm relatively open-minded when it comes to art, I even managed to see the art in an instillation piece in which the artist's primary medium was menstrual blood.  (I know, I know, but that's another post).  Menstrual Blood, I got.  A dress made of meat?  I can't, for the life of me, wrap my mind around it.  She even had a meat purse.  (That totally conjures up locker room euphemisms...)  

Where did she come from and where did the name "Lady GaGa" originate?  She's like one of those mushroom celebrities.  One day you turn around and see this woman everywhere and have NO idea who she is or where she came from.  I had a similar experience with Justin Beiber...  I at least understand his tween appeal.  I wish someone could explain her alleged genius to me...I feel so old and disconnected.

I know this post is rather disjointed.  I'm thoroughly enjoying my 1000 calorie bad choice (tortilla chips, salsa and Velveeta with a side of PB M&Ms) and The Secret Life of The American Teenager on Netflix.   Fatty food and someone else's drama.  Something to savour.

Until Then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

I can't believe I posted this on the internet...

Goodness, it's been so long.  I never intend to wait so long before posting, it just seems that time gets away from me and, before I know it, it's been weeks!  How in the world am I going to get a book deal if I can't even bother to blog regularly?!?  ;o)

I've been making some changes around here.  Two weeks ago I had a doctor appointment and had to what every woman hates doing with an audience (no, not that...get your head out of the gutter):  I had to step on the scale.  I knew I'd not lost too much of my baby weight, but was sure it would start magically melting off.  Can we say "denial"?  The number that popped up on that digital screen was like a slap in the face.  I was well aware I wasn't going to be pleasantly surprised by my weight, but this was worse than I had ever imagined (I can't believe I'm sharing this online...): 164 lbs.  My number wouldn't seem like that big of a deal to some, but for my frame, metabolism, and physical history, it's exorbitant.  I DO have hypo-thyroidism and my first reaction was to get my levels checked.  This can't be MY fault, right?  It has nothing to do with the ice cream, M&Ms, pop, and fast food I've been eating with blissful abandon.  Nor could my vehement abhorrence of physical activity be to blame.  My expertly-crafted denial was put to work in the following week it took to get my blood work back.  This week was, of course, a carb and sugar-filled, crazy-loco fiesta.  Double caramel Magnum ice cream bar anyone?  Oh, never mind, I ate them all...

Ever see someone who is severely obese ordering an extra large super value meal at McDonald's and think, "Really?  When is enough going to be enough?"  You wonder when they're going to look at themselves in the mirror and think, "This has got to stop."  (Okay, so maybe you aren't so blatantly judgemental, but I'm going out on a limb here and admitting that I DO have those thoughts from time to time.)  Well, last Wednesday I got the results of my blood work.  My levels are fine.  Crap...  This is when I had my own "enough is enough" moment.  That evening I logged onto Spark People again and readjusted my goals.  I have a tendency to shoot high, miss, get discouraged, and quit.  This time, however, my goal is to lose 24 lbs by September.  I'm not using their pre-planned diet and really, I'm not considering myself "on a diet", I'm just making better choices.  I know that if I have to log everything I shove in my mouth, I'm much less likely to eat the Cheetos left on AC's plate or grab a handful of M&Ms as I walk through the kitchen.

As hard as making good food choices is for me (because, before kids, I never really had to worry about my weight), the exercise is 10x harder.  I HATE working out.  HATE it.  I don't like feeling out of breath, sweating, nor the alleged hurts-so-good pain that comes with it.  There is nothing about a "good" workout that appeals to me...other than not being fat, of course.  Knowing this about myself, I'm attempting to get my calorie burning in in a way that doesn't feel so much like exercise:  Just Dance 2 on the Wii.  Think that sounds like a cop out?  Try "Maniac"...  I've been doing approximately 8 songs on days when I can.  I have to be realistic about my schedule, there are some days when spending a good 30 minutes getting sweaty (and the shower that must follow) really doesn't fit.  I figure on those days I'm running around so much that it all works out.  Rationalization?  Maybe, but these physical and nutritional changes have to fit into my lifestyle or I won't stay consistent.

It's only been a week and weight loss has only been 2 lbs, but that's a healthy amount and I'm okay with it.  At the risk of becoming a failure publicly, I'm hoping that posting this blog will help to keep me accountable.  We'll see!

Until Then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

Beans in the Bathtub

After showering this afternoon, I noticed that our bathtub drain was slow.  I made a mental note to pick up some Drain-o on my next excursion and went about my business making dinner.  Dinner was a REALLY yummy black bean soup...that is neither here nor there.  I used canned beans and rinsed them in a colander in the sink.  We ate dinner (AC under duress) and proceeded to go on with our night.

Feeling the need to use the facilities, I headed to the bathroom only to be confronted with a cringe-inducing sight.  There was black crap ALL OVER THE BOTTOM OF THE BATHTUB!  After my initial shock, I realized the black crap was the liquid I rinsed off the beans for dinner...yeah...  Let's up the ante and report that my attempts to flush the toilet went south...well, ok, didn't go south.  Now there's potty water all over my bathroom floor.  I'm so excited.

A text to my landlady availeth much; there will be a plumber here tomorrow come hell or high water.  Hopefully, there's no high water.  Until then, AC thinks peeing in the backyard is a grand adventure.  Mommy, not so much.  Thank God for the motion lights and privacy fence...

Until Then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

Let's eat grandma

At the risk of making error in this post that turns me into a hypocrite, I'm going to share one of my biggest pet peeves: the misuse of the apostrophe.


I have come to find that most elementary and secondary English classes have been remiss in the education of our population when it comes to spelling and grammar.  The most notable injustice has been done to the apostrophe.  Misuse of this member of the punctuation family is RAMPANT.  Granted, I can see how the layman may not be all too concerned with its appropriate use, however, you would THINK that businesses would take a little more time to proofread.


Before I submit to you the following "fails", I feel we need to clarify that apostrophes have two main purposes, to take the place of missing letters in a contraction or to indicate the possessive.

1. 
According to the company's website, the name came from the concept that the customer would "toot" their car horn and the attendant would "tote" the customer's purchase to them.  Therefore, I believe it is acceptable to assume the name is a play on the phrase "toot and tote them".  If this is the case, the apostrophe's purpose is to take the place of missing letters in the contraction making the correct punctuation for this convenience store "Toot 'n' Totum".  Unless of course they are intending "toot'n" to be a shortened "tooting".  However, that makes no sense when taking into consideration the origin of their name..."tooting tote them"...


2.  *The picture of the sign has been removed from the source, but you can find the store, "Yesterday's and Tomorrow's" site here*
From the way this sign is punctuated, it would seem that "flowers and gifts" belong to yesterday and tomorrow.  I would buy that and consider it intentional if it weren't for those three little words in the top left corner.  Yep, it's supposed to say "for all your yesterdays and tomorrows" requiring NO apostrophe...at all...for any reason.


3. *The store, "It's Banana's" has since closed thus removing the picture*
Really?  It is?  The use of the apostrophe in the "it's" is correct, a contraction for "it is".  The apostrophe in "banana's" makes it seem that whatever "it" is indicating actually belongs to "banana"...yeah, makes sense, doesn't it?


I'm going to have to cut my examples short as I can hear Rory awake and I need to dress and feed her before we head to AC's best friend's birthday party.  Before I go, I invite you to "like" the Facebook page "Let's eat Grandma!" or "Let's eat, Grandma!" Punctuation saves lives.  Educate the masses, one potential cannibal at a time.


Until Then,


AC 'n' Rory's Mom


Have you ever found illiteracy in business?  Please share...

Life Lesson #1

Read this somewhere, the author is Unknown.  What an unfortunate moniker...  ;o)

"During my second month of college, our professor gave us a pop quiz. I was a conscientious student and had breezed through the questions, until I read the last one: "What is the first name of the woman who cleans the school?"

Surely this was some kind of joke. I had seen the cleaning woman several times. She was tall, dark-haired and in her 50s, but how would I know her name? I handed in my paper, leaving the last question blank. Just before class ended, one student asked if the last question would count toward our quiz grade.

"Absolutely," said the professor. "In your careers, you will meet many people. All are significant. They deserve your attention and care, even if all you do is smile and say "hello."

I've never forgotten that lesson. I also learned her name was Dorothy."

I know my cleaning lady really well.  In fact, I saw her naked this morning...in the mirror.  Bahahahahaha!!!!

Until Then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

Wee in the Wee Hours

Last night I agreed to let AC sleep in my bed.  Around 11 p.m., knackered, I was really looking forward to crawling under the covers passing out for the night.  I fling back the comforter and slide in only to feel something warm and wet.  Yep, AC peed.

Can I tell you how much thrilled I was to have to sponge off and redress an understandably stinky and whiny 3 year old before having to strip my bed and wash the sheets??  I tossed everything in the washer and crawled into AC's little twin bed next to her waking intermittently to toss it into the dryer and then, finally, to climb into my own bed with clean sheets at 2:30 a.m.

I think my kids were unwittingly out to get me because no sooner did I close my eyes, than Rory decided she wasn't sleepy anymore.  I spent the next hour and a half trying to get her back to sleep.

This really is par for the course around here.  It makes me wonder WHY it is that I am having a hard time losing weight.  Seriously, I feel like, aside from small spaces of time here and there, I am ALWAYS moving in order to clean up, get someone something, put something away, etc.  I think I'm going to spend the rest of my life petitioning God to change the rules.  Moms should have metabolisms that run double time.

Until Then,
AC 'n' Rory's Mom

1500 Tubes of Toothpaste

It's been a while.  We've been fighting the sickness that seems to morph slightly as it bounces back and forth from family member to family member.  Since my husband was home, we've had ear infections, strep multiple times, impetigo, colds, sinus infection, and various unnamed viruses.  Let me say, I am SO ready for summer...

Sitting on the couch snuggling one sick child or another, I've been watching a LOT of TV.  My new favorite show?  Extreme Couponing.  If I'm totally honest, I would love to be able to do that.  I know it seems like it's ridiculous to have a stockpile of toothpaste, canned soup, cereal boxes, and body wash, but I can understand how it's a security thing for these people.  If I have even a glimpse of an empty shelf in my pantry or freezer, I feel the need to head to the grocery store and fill it.  Maybe it's the result of experiencing lay-off after lay-off.  If things are stockpiled and I'm buying shelf (or freezer) stable items when I can afford it, I'll be oh, so glad for them if or when times get lean.

Why haven't I started extreme couponing?  A few reasons.  First, I don't have anywhere to PUT all that stuff!  If I get to the point that I have that much stuff, I'm going to need the room to inventory effectively because it doesn't do me any good to have 100 cans of soup if I have to toss out half of them because I didn't use them before they expire.  Secondly, I wouldn't know where to start!  I don't know of a store that doubles coupons in town, nor am I really that good at math.  I'd end up spending more on my mistakes than I'd save, I fear.  I kinda wish my mom lived close enough to help me out.  She's no math whiz either, but I think, between the two of us, we could figure it out.

Until then, I'll have to be content with planning my menus around the store specials and available online coupons as well as making sure to take my own bags ($0.05 off for each bag at United).

Until then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

Do you use coupons?  If so, where do you look for them?  If not, why?

Anyone for a shame sandwich?

shame food [sheym][food] - noun

Any semi-nutrative substance of which the unabashed enjoyment and indulgence is immediately followed by disgrace and regret (i.e. bacon)

Ah, bacon.  The bane of every vegetarian's existence.  This decadent treat of royalty and serf alike has attached to it a certain stigma, one of gluttony and over-indugence. Just the smallest taste and one can feel their arteries clogging, but just TRY resisting it's siren call, your mouth waters at the smallest hint of it's savory aroma.  Let's get something straight first, bacon flavor: no, I had a less than stellar experience with bacon flavored popcorn that I'd prefer to forget (what?!? I HAD to try it); actual bacon: YES. I, for one, will fly in the face of this shame food and enjoy it openly at an event intended to celebrate just that: Denny's Baconalia, A Celebration of Bacon.

I called a friend (and her husband) to come with me so I wouldn't be eating this bacon feast alone in a booth at the neighborhood Denny's (I do have some standards).  I think her acquiescence had more to do with her husband overhearing the conversation and picking up on the word "bacon" in repetition.  Bacon is like man catnip.

While there were so many items to choose from (really, there are only 7), I opted for the bacon flapjack, aka. the shame pancake.  They put bacon in the batter...no joke.  It was actually pretty good, something I think could be enhanced by my fry-the-pancake-in-butter technique.  Should I make this at home, there will be NO proof that I, in fact, made and ate the entire batch...

The shame pancakes were followed by the most ballsy move I have ever encountered in a mid-priced diner chain.  THE BACON SUNDAE.  No, they're not kidding.  Ice cream, maple syrup, and bacon.  Aside from fair food, this has to be up there in the shame food category.  No one admits it when they finish an entire gallo...uh, I mean pint of ice cream nor do they openly snatch the last vesitges of bacon with a moistened finger off their child's plate, the table, AND the cooled frying pan from whence the bacon came.  

When the glasses of shame were served, my friend was a little freaked out.  (I'm assuming it's because her husband, undaunted by her reserve, ordered one also and should his bowels have exploded as a result of an influx of pork product and dessert topping, she has to do the laundry.)  Her exact words?  "That's so weird."  I can't argue, a bacon sundae sounds terrible, but be that as it may, I tend to subscribe to the thinking of the iconic font of wisdom, Lorelei Gilmore, who said (in the episode The Breakup, Pt 2) "It looks so gross which is usually the mark of a great junk food."  I could expound on that, but that's fodder for a future blog.  On to the shame sundae...it was actually GOOD.  And believe it or not, I thought it could use a little more bacon.  Really, vanilla ice cream and maple syrup are so cloyingly sweet they would put a rhinoceros in a sugar coma, so the savory saltiness of the bacon was a welcome addition.  It's not my dessert of choice (tiramisu *sigh*) but I could totally see myself getting comfy with a few scoops of vanilla, some left-over bacon, and a good book at some point.

Until then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

The longest 10 minutes of my life

Yesterday morning, Clayton was up and dressed planning to take the car to get our new inspection sticker, AC was sleeping, and Rory and I were taking our time getting up.  I heard the garage door open and the car start, soon after, AC padded into my room rubbing her eyes asking where Daddy was.  Finding out he was leaving, she ran into the living room yelling that she was going to watch him leave out the window.  I continued to nurse Rory and finish my coffee.

I wasn't but a few minutes later that I heard Clayton come back in, but didn't hear him talking to AC.  I laid the baby in the bed and went out into the living room asking Clayton where AC was...he didn't know, he hadn't seen her when he came in.  Attempting to remain calm, we started calling her name, flinging open doors and looking under beds.  No answer.  Afraid she had gone outside to find Daddy, we both took off outside: backyard, front yard, and down the street both ways screaming until hoarse.  I can only imagine what the people dropping their kids off at the babysitter down the street were thinking.  I was still in pajamas and house slippers all looking like Medusa with hair sticking up everywhere screaming and yelling for Jesus to "help me" up and down the street and mumbling that she "doesn't have shoes on".

I feel I must explain a little something here.   Due to a reaction AC had at 2 months old when I was on penicillin, we had always assumed she was allergic just to be on the safe side even though her reaction didn't look like allergy.  The day before yesterday, her pediatrician had put her on a penicillin antibiotic for strep in order to test the theory and, thus far, she had shown no signs of an allergy.  All that I could think was that she had gone into anaphylactic shock somewhere and I couldn't find her.

Fearing someone had come by and abducted her, Clayton called 9-1-1.  I ran back into the house to check just once more, to make sure the baby was ok, and to call my mom to tell her to start praying.  Standing there looking at Rory, I heard a cough...and it hadn't come from the baby.  There she was, in the living room, hiding behind the couch laughing hysterically.  I was filled with a combination of relief and white. hot. rage.  I hadn't realized I had been holding my breath from the time I heard the cough until I let it out in a manner to rival the terror inspired by a pissed off silverback.  AC went from laughter to hysterical sobs as I roared God-knows-what, dragged her out from behind the couch by whichever appendage that was within reach, and tossed her on the couch.  She, of course, did not want to hug me, but I was clinging to her straining and flailing body alternately admonishing and kissing her.

Clayton came inside to affirm that we had found her so we wouldn't have a fleet of police out looking for her.  She ran to Daddy, probably to flee the psychotic nut-job that invaded her Mommy's body and I crumpled on the couch in racking sobs of relief.

Now, I know that some may titter while reading this because they, themselves, have experienced this with their children, but I have to tell you, I don't know if I will EVER think back on this and laugh.  From AC waking up to my breakdown, no more than 10 minutes passed, however, it was the longest 10 minutes of my life.

Until then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

The Mom's Night Out Revolution

Declaration of Momdependence

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all moms are created Capable, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are a Life, some sort of Liberty and the pursuit of  Non-Motherhood related activities.  To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world; you know you're a Mom in need of Momdependence if:

1. You've ever crawled around on the floor at 2 a.m. looking for a pacifier as if the fate of the free world depended on it.
2. You've not hesitated and caught the vomit of your offspring in your hand.
3. You've ever been applauded by your toddler for going in the potty.
4. You're daily "me-time" consists of frantically folding laundry, picking Cheerios up off the floor, and putting away toys while the kids nap.
5. You've ever called your husband "Daddy" when alone.
6. You've ever finished half a children's program before realizing your kids are napping/at school/not home.
7. You've engaged in a 15 minute discussion about your children with total strangers in the grocery store.
8. You believe that grannie panties are one of life's little pleasures.
9. You know that no amount of determination or positive thinking will prevent the "windsock boob".
10. You've ever found yourself locked in the bathroom with a piece of chocolate cake telling your children that "Mommy just needs a minute".
11. You've ever found yourself singing "Party In my Tummy" while eating something particularly tasty.
12. You've ever had to consciously stop yourself from telling your husband "no, sir" and sending him to time out.
13. You have no issues sniffing another person's butt for a poopie diaper.
14. You've had serious and prolonged conversations about the contents of said poopie diaper.
15. You've had to transfer your personal items from the diaper bag to your purse before going out without the kids...wait, where IS your purse??

We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of Mom-dom, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Families, solemnly publish and declare, That these united Mothers are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent People, that they are Absolved from all Motherly duties (at LEAST one night a month); and that as Free and Independent Mothers, they have full Power to levy a Group of Like-Minded women, conclude Dinner with reckless dancing, contract Daddies or Babysitters for said Night, establish a No Phone calls unless there is Bloodshed Rule, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent Mommies may of right do. — And for the support of this Declaration, for all other days and nights apart from Momdependence Day, we pledge to each member of our family our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor.

Until Then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

And the Lord spake unto me...

As a result of cough medicine induced napping all day yesterday, Rory hardly slept last night.  I should have seen that as the harbinger of doom that it was.  This morning was horrible.  All moms have these mornings, when your hair looks like crap, your make-up isn't working, and EVERYTHING you put on makes you look like an obese baglady.  As if those things weren't frustrating enough, the baby is screaming inconsolably, AC is being a naggy whiner and I'm tripping over her every time I turn around.  We SHOULD have made it to early service this morning, but with all the crap that was going on, we barely made it to second service.  It was all I could do to smile and nod while weaving through the crowd lugging Rory's carseat while trying not to yell at AC while she meandered slowly behind me.  Until now, I have never left Rory in the nursery on Sunday mornings, but this morning, Mommy needed some Jesus.  Fo' reals, I needed to go and BE in church, no baby, no cell phone, nothing, just me and Jesus because despite all my desperate and fleeting prayers this morning, things weren't changing, least of all my attitude.  I know it would be a horrible screamy day if SOMETHING didn't change.

I don't take notes, I doodle
during church...

I have to admit, I was expecting some huge emotional "touch from the Lord" during worship that would magically transform my day and attitude...it didn't come.  Nor was the message one of those spoken-directly-to-me epiphanies.  However, while sitting at the little cafe table during the middle of service, the Lord spoke to me; I had my own little supernatural revelation.  God said the following:  "Turning to Me on a bad day isn't about Me rewarding you by changing the course of your day, it's about you becoming Mine and finding your joy in My eyes because when you're gazing into My face, nothing else matters."

This may not be all that new to anyone else, but, like I said before, it was a revelation to me.  I feel like I've learned what "praise You in this storm" really means in practice.  Thank God I learned that lesson on a small scale.  A bad day isn't that big of a storm, but when the bigger ones come, I can come back to today's blog and remind myself how to praise Him through it.

Until Then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

Oprah Started It: The Final Chapter

If you're just joining us, I'm answering the last of Oprah's dinner party questions. Don't ask, I have time on my hands...

• What is the kindest thing anyone has done for you?

Give birth.  No, seriously...

• How do you want to be remembered?

Fondly.  I want my kids to be proud of me and the life I lived.

• What would you do with a million dollars?

If I had a million dollars...  Was anyone else singing that line?  No, just me?  Oh...

I'd do a lot of responsible stuff like paying off debt, buying a house, building up savings and our IRAs, and setting up college and wedding funds for the girls.  I'd probably do a few fun and crazy things like getting the girls castle beds, buying Clayton a Skyline, and taking myself on a fabulous trip to Scotland after I recovered from corrective breast surgery.  (Let's face it, no one likes the post-natal wind-sock boob look.)

What I want to know is, why is Oprah asking this question?  Research?  Does she have so much money she has to see what OTHER people would do with it in order to garner ideas??  If I have the best answer will she GIVE me a million dollars??  No?  Damn...

• If you were on an island, who would you want to be with? Why?

I'd want to be on an island with someone who could get me off the damn island.  Seriously, though, I need more information than that.  Is it a fabulous resort island?  A deserted island?  Gilligan's Island??  An I stranded or am I on vacation?  I think by the time we established the parameters of this fictitious scenario, the asker wouldn't give a crap WHAT my answer is.

• You have a 10 minute speech to give at a high school, what is it about?

Again...is Oprah looking for ideas?  I already WENT to high school.  I don't want to go back.  By the way, I did give a 10 minute speech in high school.  It was about abstinence...yeah, I was super-popular...

Until Then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

I feel like Jimmie Ray.

I'm having a hard time coming up with something to say.  I've heard a lot of feedback as of late and all of it good.  I think it's given me a complex...  Not that it isn't appreciated, it is, however, I now feel pressure to perform.  That being said, this is the shortest post ever.

Until Then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

I will enter His gates with shoulder pads.

When we left you last, Amanda and her children were in the clutches of a waterless nightmare...

Water returned late Thursday to an eruption of cheers so zealous that Rory freaked out and started crying.  Having become a stinking (literally) shut-in during what I now refer to as my "waterless period", I didn't realize until two days after that I had missed my "yearly" appointment.  I can't say that I'm too upset about that and, honestly, the doctor's office should be writing me a note of thanks for not showing up 36-hrs-unwashed-and-counting.  Things are running somewhat smoothly again with the exception of the laundry.  I haven't caught up yet.

At Bible study this morning, it was presented to us that we probably have much more scripture memorized than we realize as a result of praise and worship music.  Attempting to see how much I know (and aside from songs, I'm ashamed to say it's not much), I started singing the first song that popped into my head while doing the dishes.  Would you believe it was "War in the Heavenlies"??  For real, when was the last time I heard THAT song?  1988??  Humming about "casting down every high thing" sent me into a tailspin of memories.  For those of you who grew up in any sort of spirit-filled church, these things might bring back some memories of their own:

• Tambourines.  Yep, you know what I'm talking about.  Multicolored tambourines of all sizes embellished with a cascade of ribbons in rainbow hues to be shaken and twirled about for the glory of the Lord by all able-bodied female members of the church.  I wanted one so badly as a child, however seeing as clapping to the beat required watching other people, there was no way my family was going to give me a loud obnoxious rhythm instrument thus making it obvious to the entire congregation that their child is severely rhythmically challenged.  Alas, they were out of fashion when I finally learned to keep rhythm, so, if you catch me slapping my thigh and waving my shaking fist in the air during worship some Sunday, just know that in my mind I'm living out my tambourine dreams...
• Interpretive dances.  Be it a group of enthusiastic, yet marginally talented, people clad in white with gold braided headbands or a solitary woman in a purple jumpsuit brandishing a ribbon on a stick, these were the highlights of my childhood church-going years.  Oh, how I longed to twirl about the stage pantomiming the lyrics of an Amy Grant song to a chorus of whispered "Hallelujah"s and "Praise the Lord"s.  However, once I was old enough, there was no way in H-E-double hockey sticks you were going to catch me doing ANYTHING that required me making a spectacle of myself...  As far as interpretive dances go, I think it would be fun to create a satirical dance, perform it for the congregation, and see who gets it.
• Petra.  Heck yes.  They rocked my house...literally, my mom would play the Petra tapes at home AND in the car.  Did you know that, according to family lore, the lead singer of Petra, John Schlitt, was baptised in my grandparents swimming pool?  No freakin' joke, dude.  There is no facetious mockery here.  I dare you to find a better vintage worship album than Petra Praise.  That rock cried out.  (Pun totally intended)
• The special song.  Now, there are still churches today that hold tight to this tradition and, depending on the level of talent, I find it to be a good litmus test as to whether I stick around or I non-chalantly head for the bathroom with my coat in tow never to return.  If you've grown up in church, at some point in time you've been forced to endure a terrible soloist while passing the offering plate.  Not to knock these eager-beavers, but if Sister BadPerm or Brother Mustache can't carry a tune, it might be a good idea to redirect their enthusiasm, leadership.  We can always use more greeters.

Although I would like to go on, I simply can't, so, I'll leave you with this:

RUSS TAFF NO MEDALS ROCKED...I'm SO going to buy that on iTunes...

Until Then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

We're having a dry run

I awoke this morning to a toilet that wouldn't flush due to a tank that wasn't full.  Upon further inspection (i.e. some panicked faucet handle jiggling), nothing else would fill either.  MY PIPES ARE FROZEN.  Fabulous.  No water...at all.  And the first thing on AC's agenda?  A nice big bowel movement.  No joke.

After a few messages to my landlady, a call in to my father-in-law, and conferring with my dad, I suited up and headed out to the backyard armed with my hairdryer and a firm determination to end this predicament. As luck would have it, my extension cord wasn't long enough.  When my father-in-law showed up with a longer cord and a few 5 gallon jugs of water, he informed me that the fact that my extension cord wasn't long enough was fortuitous indeed...I was intending to thaw the gas line.  Mmm-hmmm.

Discussions with my landlady and a few local plumbers led me to my final conclusion: I'm screwed...at least until the ground thaws.

Witticism Welcome

I can't be held responsible for the
wallpaper, I rent.

IT'S FREEZING!  No joke, SO cold.  The schools in town weren't closed, but I decided AC didn't need to go to school today...and it may or may not have had anything to do with the fact that I was warm and snuggly in bed when the alarm went off.

What better day to begin the Superfluous Meanderings photo caption contest?  Here's how it works, you leave your caption(s) as a comment and I'll choose a winner.  What fabulous prize do you win?  Uh, well, nothing.  I'll post the picture with the winning contributor's name and caption on Facebook (and, if I can figure it out, Twitter).  And here, folks, is the first one:

Yup, that's pregnant me eating a donut and vacuuming under my sleeping husband's feet...

Until Then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

Feel free to submit a photo for a future caption contest by uploading your photo to my Facebook wall.  Any photo will be considered, new, old, of kids, animals, just as long as it is your photo and not one that has a copyright, registered image, or one off the internet.

Losing the spark

I was feeling ambitious and oh, so virtuous when I logged on to sparkpeople.com.  For those who don't know what this is, it's a free website on which you enter your current weight information, weight loss goals, and a time frame in which to meet them.  The website then creates a "plan" for you to follow.  After purposefully ignoring my former goals (that are over two years old) and adjusting them to reflect my ambition to lose 10 lbs by the time Clayton comes home, I moved on to the "plan" part.  This includes both a meal plan and an exercise regime.  Knowing my limits, I bypassed the whole exercise bit and went on to the food.  Breakfast of an apple, a few crackers, and peanut butter...  Okay, what's for lunch?  Veggies and hummus...  That-that sounds...healthy...  I dutifully scrolled through the menus for the week creating a grocery list consisting of various fruits and vegetables with a few grains thrown in for variety.
"There," I sighed, sitting back with a productive air, "I feel thinner already."
Then I went into the kitchen, ate a donut, and made my real grocery list.

Until then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

The Face on the Milk Carton

I know I've been MIA lately!  I've just launched my very own website, www.pinkliongifts.com.  Although it looks pretty simple, it took a while to put together, hence the lack of blogs.  So, scurry on over and support me...financially...fo' reals, buy somethin'.  I'm kidding, sort of.

Until then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

50 packets of ketchup

An acquaintance on Facebook posted a status update about something he did with his son today.  This single dad created two treasure maps for his son.  The red one was easy, simple to follow, and quick to complete.  The blue one was difficult, more complicated to decipher, and took time to finish.  The red treasure consisted of a ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise mess while the blue treasure was soft, chunky, chocolate chip cookies and cold glasses of milk.  His lesson?  Most of the easy and exciting paths in life lead to junky rewards, while the ones that are more difficult lead to yummy rewards!


Sometimes people make me feel like a crappy parent, but in the best way possible.  I feel challenged to actually TEACH my daughter something.  Most days, my loftiest goal consists of nothing more than trying not to yell so much.  Granted, she's only three, but I can't help but feel the gauntlet has been thrown and it's time to impart some life lessons and to make the most of the time I spend with her.  My time with my kids needs to be spent focusing on THEM, not urging them to go play while I fart around on the internet.  (Yeah, I know that's what I'm doing right now, but they're asleep...)


The problem with all this good parenting mojo is that it comes to a screeching halt in the application phase.  The treasure map thing was brilliant, in fact, this guy needs to write a book.  I fully intend to steal that one, but come up with something fun, memorable, with a moral?  That's where I draw a blank.  I'd rather teach with rewards instead of punishments when possible, it's easier on both of us.


Until then,


AC 'n' Rory's Mom


Have you taught your kids lessons like this?  How?  Any ideas I can plagiarize like a delinquent high school student??

She works hard for the money

And that's just one drawer of ribbon emptied!

Tomorrow I am going to the Small Business Development Center to attend a seminar on...well, small business.  It's a requirement in order to see someone about getting everything set up so that I am an actual small business!  There's SO much to wade through, so I am pretty excited about having road map.

The unfortunate part of the deal is that, in our current house, I don't really have a space for all my supplies. Ultimately, I'd like to have a room or at least a corner of a room in which Clayton builds me some wall units for storage, a desk with workspace, etc.  Until then, however, I have to make do and I am rapidly outgrowing my available options!  The up side of that problem is that I have a lot of supplies.  That's good for business.

I'm trying to convince my mother-in-law to start making the carseat blankets, covers, and nursing covers in coordinating fabrics to sell alone or in sets.  We'll see if I can get her started on it!

Yesterday, AC and I went to the mall to find her some silver flats and black boots.  It was terrible, we hit up EVERY store that carries children's shoes to no avail.  If they did happen to have silver flats, there weren't any in her size and there were no black toddler boots at all...unless you count the Ugg-style Sketchers with sparkles and graphics all over them and those are NOT what I wanted.  I ended up finding some pewter Jessica Simpson flats at Dillards.  I didn't even know Jessica Simpson made children's shoes!  Needless to say, I found the same shoes in my size and got them too.

I better get off here and clean up.  Yeah, it's almost noon and we are still in our pajamas...  It's that kind of day.

Until then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

Rachael Ray is a Liar

I'm trying to cut down on the number of times per week that we go out to eat, I need to get back into the menu planning/cooking routine.  That being said, I have quite a few Rachael Ray cookbooks.  It's not that I find the paradox of her rat terrier-esque perky energy and 80-year-old-smoker-with-emphysema voice irresistible, I just like her food.  It's good.

On the menu for tonight: Skillet Tamale Pie from Rachael Ray, Just In Time pg. 290-1

Pretty simple, kinda like a Mexican shepherd's pie: meat mixture on the bottom, carb on the top.  First off, when I made the grocery shopping list, there were a few things in this recipe that I knew we wouldn't like.  It called for bell and jalapeno pepper.  I don't want jalapenos because I am a Northern gringo and don't find the idea of a raging inferno inside my mouth appealing.  I also don't like cooked bell peppers, I like them raw to eat in strips, but can't stand them warm and flaccid (insert your own joke here).  Instead, I bought a small can of mild green chiles to substitute and, thus, add flavor.  Secondly, she called for ground beef AND ground pork.  I couldn't find the freaking ground pork at the grocery store and seeing as it was particularly crowded, I figured we could x-nay the oinker and go all beef.  The carb on top of the meat mixture in this particular dish was polenta.  I have never knowledgeably eaten polenta, let alone made it, so I was a little intimidated by this.  I put "polenta" on my shopping list and wandered down the Mexican food aisle looking for a bag/box/jar of "polenta", not finding it, I was starting to wonder if it's really just cornmeal.  I whipped out my iPhone and Googled "What is polenta?" only after calling Mom to verify that I was right, but she, being a Northern gringo herself, wasn't sure.  It is, in fact, just cornmeal...really Rachael?  You had to put "2 cups polenta"??  What's wrong with calling a spade a spade, it's cornmeal.

Following the directions, I started the bacon, added meat, onion, and garlic.  No problem.  Now for the spices: cinnamon, cumin, salt, pepper, and...oh crap...I don't have any chili powder.  I did, however, have a bottle of "chili spices" for making chili.  After sniffing it and ensuring that, yes, it smells like it has cumin and chili powder in it, I just used that and added a little salt and pepper.  (This is the kind of cook I am, I am surprised anything at all turns out!)

Smelled good!

When choosing recipes for my menu and creating my grocery list, I have a bad habit of perusing the ingredient list of a menu and ignoring the instruction part.  I did that very thing when choosing this recipe that calls for an oven safe skillet.  Uh, I don't have one of those.  After putting the meal together, you're supposed to stick it under the broiler to set the polenta and melt the cheese.  Yeah, this is the point in the proceedings I realized this, don't even say it.  After some quick pondering, I decided to dig out my large casserole dish and just assemble the dish in it.  I mean, really, am I going to store the left-overs in the skillet?  No, it would've ended up in my casserole dish anyway.

*Deep breath*  This is the part I've been dreading.  The polenta.  The pressure is on.  Read through the directions and...wait a minute...it's CREAM OF WHEAT.  Fo' reals, it's the cornmeal version of cream of wheat.  Why are we calling it "polenta"??  It sounds SO pretentious (but it is fun to say, say it with me "polenta".  See?  Told ya...)  Her recipe said that it should take the polenta 5 minutes to thicken.  Not so, kimosabe.  I stood there for at least twice that long whisking myself into a carpal tunnel frenzy.  I don't think it was even as thick as it should have been at that point, but I was tired of whisking.

A little Sour cream and
cilantro for garnish.

Like I said, this recipe came from Rachael Ray, Just In Time which is a collection of recipes whose prep time varies; a departure from her standard 30 minute meals.  This particular meal was listed as a 15  minute meal.  Bullsh*t.  You are a low down dirty liar, Rachael Ray.  It took me a good 45 minutes to complete and I even cut out the whole seeding and chopping peppers bit.  Perhaps if I had a prep team that pre-measured everything into little Fiestaware ramekins, I'd be a little speedier too.  Not to mention my less than professional grade knife skills.  You won't see any crazy ninja-style chopping in my kitchen unless you like that certain je ne sais quoi that slivers of finger and copious amounts of blood add to a dish.  Regardless, I'd like to see the average stay-at-home mom who has to pause to wipe noses, replace pacifiers, root through a million baby spoons to find the measuring spoon, and search behind the juice boxes to find ingredients in the fridge whip this puppy out in 15 minutes.

All in all, it was a relatively simple recipe to make and tasted pretty good.  Made enough to feed an army, but I don't have a problem with left-overs and my in-laws definitely benefit as I sent them home with a Tupperware full.

Until then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

What are your favorite cookbooks?  Do you have a favorite celebrity chef?  Do you like them for their food or personality?

Whoomp, There It Is!

I know my last post was a little harried and desperate.  Well, I was harried and desperate!  Things have quieted down here marginally after AC passed her bug off to me and I got over it.

Last night, Rory had her first bowl of cereal!  She loved it and actually slept for 7 hours straight, something she hasn't done in a very long time.  Mommy enjoyed that very much.

We're super busy, but don't have a lot to share, so, I'll leave you with this little tidbit...

Who's up for running away??

Wednesday evening, my mother-in-law brought AC home after an evening at Nana's complaining that she just wouldn't eat.  That's somewhat typical of AC so I bathed her and put her to bed and thought nothing of it.  Bright and early Thursday (yesterday) morning, I had AC in the bathroom to start getting her ready for school when *blech* she pukes, multiple times into the toilet (thank God).  Although she wasn't running a temp and reported that she felt just fine, I decided to keep her home from school just in case.

Good thing I did, by 11:00 a.m. she had thrown up every bit of water and every crumb of cracker she had managed to eat.  She felt fine aside from having to remain sequestered on the area of the couch I had covered in towels.  Puke bucket in hand, we headed to the doctor to find out she simply has a stomach virus.  You know the one, the nasty little son of a you-know-what that inhabits every school room and communal plaything from here to eternity.  Armed with a list of approved foods, we went home and had a vomit-free evening.

The doctor had said that after 8 hrs of not puking, I could give her bland food.  She woke up in a fabulous mood and had bananas and yogurt for breakfast that stayed down.  Good.  She had insisted on mac and cheese, but I'm a breakfast traditionalist and refused to allow it (that's fodder for another post).  I aquiesced at lunch seeing as it had been over 24 hours since her last incident.  This, my friends, was my downfall.  I should have known by the two wardrobe changes we had already had due to the Hershey's squirts that the dastardly virus was still running amuck.  I was eating my lunch (Velveeta and corn chips...hey, I was tired and had cleaned up poop all morning, mkay?) and AC wasn't.  She told me her tummy hurt.  This was sign no. 2.  Sign no. 3 was a blaring billboard with lights and sirens:  "Mommy, I think I'm gunna puke."  I shot off the couch as fast as my legs could carry me (which wasn't very fast, ever try running on hardwood floors in wool socks?) to grab the puke bucket in time.  It was like a slow motion scene in a movie.  I rounded the corner and dove with the bucket seconds too late.  What was once my beautiful clean couch was now a slimy, pukey mess.  Fabulous.  To AC's credit, she froze where she was awaiting frazzled and screaming instructions.  I flung her off the couch in a spray of Powerade-blue, half-digested macaroni noodles and had her head to the bathroom to strip.  Oh. My. God.  It was one of those moments where I briefly, albeit seriously, entertained the thought of dragging the mess outside and burning it instead of attempting to clean it up.

Couch cleaned, hardwood wiped, carpet picked clean and scrubbed, AC yells at me that she has, again, had a diarrhea attack.  More poop.  Hooray.  No sooner do I get AC cleaned up and back on a vinyl covered cleaned couch, Rory wakes from her nap screaming with a poopy diaper.  MORE poop.  Now my house smells like cleaner, puke, baby poop, and diarrhea...wouldn't you know it, the doorbell rings.  *Insert looney bin laughing here*  Thank God it was only my father-in-law, he sat on the couch and talked to AC and held the baby while I finished cleaning up the bathroom and started laundry.  The baby wasn't having it though and SCREAMED the ENTIRE TIME.  

Ladies and gentlemen, this all happened before 2:00 in the afternoon!!!  We didn't get up until 10:00 a.m.!!!!!  I'll give you the quick version of the rest of the day: AC peed EVERYWHERE during her nap (more laundry and bodily fluids...I'm developing a tick), the baby will not stop screaming unless she is touching some part of Mommy's body, the chicken I had intended to eat for dinner wouldn't cook all the way through, the puke laundry has developed blue nasty fuzzballs all over it and won't come clean, and to top it all off, the garbage disposal is backing up into the other side of the sink and the landlady can't come fix it until TOMORROW MORNING.  I have a headache that I don't think even the trucker sized portion of wine I have will cure.  I want to go to a hotel and curl up on the sheets that I don't have to wash and cry.  Can you tell I don't even have the energy to be witty??

All I can say is, thank God this day is almost over.

Until then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

Paycheck signed: Memory Lane

In Canada, grade school students submit original works for something called "Young Authors".  Now, I don't know that it's a country-wide competition and, honestly, I don't even know who judges it or exactly how it works.  However, I, in grades 6-8, was involved in said competition at Prince Andrew Public School in LaSalle, Ontario, Canada.  My 8th grade year, I decided to come up with something simple; something short on wording and long on what I, a future recipient of a Bachelor of Fine Arts, though was the most fun part, the illustration.  It was then that Molly and Frederick were born.

Fast forward to my senior year of high school where I was bussed to a neighboring school with a few other students to take additional art classes.  Along comes an assignment that sounded very familiar, write and illustrate your own book.  Well, being one who believes in economy of effort (you might call it lazy, eh, potato, potato) I blew the dust off Molly and Frederick, gave them a polish, and churned out a new and improved version of the book that won me the title of Young Author in my 8th grade class.

A few months ago, I was cleaning out my art things in the shed and came across the high school version of Molly and Frederick.  I was pleasantly surprised at how cute and fun it was.  I brought it inside and slipped it into AC's bookshelf unbeknownst to her.  That night, I whipped it out and read it to her at bedtime.  I know she was only 2 at the time, but I still wanted her honest opinion.  She was a little ambivalent about it, so, I put it back on the shelf and forgot about it, really.

The other night she pulled it out at bedtime and said, "Read me this one, Mommy.  I like this book."  Surprised, I read it to her.  Apparently, she has been pulling it out and reading it herself for some time as she seemed pretty darned familiar with it.  She has been asking for it every night since.  This got me thinking, if she likes it so much, would other kids?  Could this idea, the fruit of a 13 year old's imagination, really be worthy of publication?  Like I said, it's a relatively simple concept with a lot of room for growth.  Could I actually MAKE MONEY off this thing???  Honestly, I'd love to.  Not because I'm have a burning desire to write children's books, but because it would be an awesome way for me, a stay at home mom, to help make money for my family.  The authors of Skippy John Jones and Charlie and Lola had to start somewhere too, right?  Now the only obstacle is figuring out how to get from a good idea to a finished product...  Any ideas?

Until then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

Do you have any good ideas that could end up making you money?  Don't be too specific, they're YOUR ideas, keep them that way!

If you can't say something nice without applause...

As I was chopping produce to throw in the crock pot for dinner tonight, I found myself wondering where I would have been had I made different choices.  If I had decided not to go to college, for example, and to head to LA or NYC to pursue an acting career.  Where would I be?  Would I have made it big, ended up in a retail job somewhere, or still be plugging away on the small stage?  Would I have gotten married?  To whom?  I wonder if I would have met my husband, Clayton, anyway?

I suppose I start thinking that way when things take a turn for the mundane.  There really isn't much glory in scrubbing a toilet or wiping a runny nose.  It seems I am constantly picking up, cleaning up, or wiping down some mess, all with NO recognition.  Not that I need to publicly receive acknowledgements to the adulation and applause of the masses (although that would be nice), it wouldn't hurt to hear someone simply appreciate that my house is picked up, there are no dishes in the sink, dinner is made, etc.  I was GOING to say that if Clayton were home I might have that...then again, probably not.

Maybe the key to feeling as though I am appreciated is to appreciate others.  Go biblical and turn the focus from me and direct it outward.  Tell my friends what good moms they are, thank my husband for going to work and earning a paycheck, or pass along an unsolicited compliment.  Problem is, I'm always worried that people will perceive me as being insincere or as "buttering them up".  That's me turning the focus back onto myself.  Get over it, right?  Who knows, I might just make someone's day.

Until then,

AC 'n' Rory's Mom

Do you give compliments as freely as you'd like?  If not, what stops you?