Great MuD August Giveaway!

Lest this turn into JUST an Alcoholic Mommy blog, I thought I would share some of my recent work for OUR NAME IS MUD with you all and give you a chance to win FABULOUS PRIZES. Because I. Heart. Comments. Just last night I think I whispered into Sexyhusbandomine's ear to "fill in the word verification,baby"

Anyhoo- here are some wine bags I designed that will be available in October. There are a whole series of them-but these would be my favorites to bring to a party...if I ever actually made it to a party with a full bottle left.

Here is an homage to Father Time for your desk. It's also part of a snarky clock series that will be available in October. Can't your home use more snark?


These are some of my mouse pads, reflecting my respect for my better half, hatred of technology, and fantastic work ethic. I await my Employee of the Mouth award.


And now: THE CONTEST! (insert confetti graphic here-because I certainly have no idea how to do that) The winner of this contest will receive this watch from my brand new series of snarky wearable timepieces. The band is GENUINE LEATHER but the materials around the face may vary slightly and be rather swatch-ish. I know it's no Wii fit, but it's the best I can do.


In the comment field below, finish this sentence:
IF I MADE A MOUSE PAD, IT WOULD SAY____________________________________________

Winner will be picked by random (numbers out of a hat) on Wednesday August 6th. ALL BLOGGERS who put a link on their blog to this contest and send it to me will receive an Our NaMe Is MuD mug of their choice from our website at www.ournameismud.com.

One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Dead Fish

There are several phrases a Mompreneur dreads hearing when she walks in the door at the end of the day. Among them are: "I threw up three times today and have a weird rash on my butt" and "Remember that (insert any precious or dangerous object here) you told us Never To Touch?"

Last night, Bananna greeted me with "Mommy-there is something WRONG WITH MY FISH."

I stood in front of the plastic aquarium shaped like Sponge Bob's pineapple abode and peered through the brackish water at the lifeless form of our Japanese Fighting Fish. And Man, are those fish aptly named! You can go WEEKS without feeding them or changing their water. Erm...except when you can't. And then you end up with a four year old looking up at you with big blue eyes and asking "Is he SLEEPING Mommy? Is he just taking a long nap?"

For a brief instant I considered saying "YES-YES! Japanese fighting fish HIBERNATE in the Summer." Which would have bought some time to scoot down to PetCo and continue to perpetuate the myth that LIFE IS ALWAYS WONDERFUL. And those of you who know me can attest to the fact that I RARELY miss an opportunity to blatantly lie to my own children. Complicatedboy still believes Bambi's mother returns in Part Two.

But instead I said something to the effect of "That sucker is deader than a doorknob." And then I held her while she cried for what felt like THE NEXT THREE HOURS. And the whole time I'm doing the "mommy rub" (slow circles on the back accompanied by the words "shhh shhhh" ) I am thinking about how this is going to be such a great opportunity to talk about DEATH and I tell her "We're going to plan a GREAT FUNERAL for your fish." I can picture it clearly: Complicatedboy will deliver a beautiful eulogy, Bananna will cast flower petals into the water, we'll bow our heads as we finally flush and then we will go have a wake--WITH WINE. LOTS OF WINE. And I whisper in her ears how the fish will have this fantastic send off and then go on to swim happily in Heaven with Grandma and Chirpie, and gradually the pauses lengthen between sobs and I can see that she is clearly beginning to consider what an appropriate outfit would be for such an auspicious occasion...maybe even A PARTY DRESS?

And I take her wee hand in mine and we walk towards the bathroom together and I call over my shoulder to Sexyhusbandomine to bring forth the deceased that we might commence ceremonies--which is when Sexyhusbandomine sheepishly held up the empty aquarium and I realized the opportunity had passed.

And O my--the CRYING. The SOBBING. The HYSTERICAL CARRYING ON. And that was just me-you should have seen Bananna.

So Complicatedboy chimes in and suggests we write a letter to God. Apparently, while sitting on the end of his bed one night for HOURS waiting for him to fall asleep as he obsessed about his death, my death, the death of anyone he loved, the death of people he didn't know, and wether or not IRON MAN was a TRUE STORY.....I may have told him that he could write his feelings down as Letters to People in Heaven. I can't remember why I said this--although I'm sure it made sense at the time, and maybe I was trying to get him to do it for his homework project knowing it would freak the heck out of his teacher-but Complicatedboy thinks that I have told him that he can write a letter to God the same way he writes a letter to Santa each Christmas.... and he ran for pencil and paper:

DER GOD
HI THIS IS ME RITING THIS CULD YOU PLEASE
BRING THE FISH BAK FOR MY SISTER

He placed it reverently in the middle of the living room rug after asking Bananna and I to join him in a circle with our heads bowed.

And CAN YOU BELIEVE IT............while Bananna and Complicatedboy took their bath a LETTER FROM THE FISH ARRIVED. Apparently, in addition to being able to breathe their own poop for weeks at a time, these remarkable creatures can send messages to children after they have passed on. In bubble lettering it said:

I CAN'T COME BACK
I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU
NOW WOULD BE A GOOD TIME TO ASK YOUR DAD ABOUT GETTING THAT KITTEN

We're Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack

Sexyhusbandomine and I do not refer to our time away as "Vacation." Instead, we like to call it what it really is: TRAVELING WITH OUR CHILDREN. Exhausting, Mind Numbing, Suck the Lifeblood Out of You Traveling With Our Children. I kissed my desk at work this morning--with tongue.

I'm not 100% sure which was worse: the eight hour delay that had us sitting in the Grand Rapids airport from 4:00 in the afternoon until heading to a hotel with The Exhausted Spawn after midnight-or the hour long Hannah Montanna concert Thebananna made me watch with her last night--both events being recollections I hope will be erased like the memory of childbirth.

Thank you to my guest bloggers: BJ-who for shizzle should get herself a blog, The Recovering Lethargic (www.therecoveringlethargic.blogspot.com) only 8 weeks into this whole blogging thing and already waxing poetic about writer's block, and my girl Miss Thystle (www.missthystle.com) who I seriously think is one of the best bloggers typing today. I just checked Google analytics and readership is UP in Texas and Utah--I do hope The Cowgirls and The Mormons can be friends.

Guest Blog #3

This post is brought to you by Miss Thystle at www.Missthystle.com

When Lorrie asked me to guest blog, I was like SCORE! More people who will go to bed at night wishing they had never logged on to the Internet! But then, I started to freak out, because HELLO, the people that read my blog should KNOW BETTER by now where as you, Lorrie's readers, are unsuspecting victims.
 
Frankly, the stress of having to come up with a blog that doesn't liberally employ the some of the languages more colorful and less printable turns of phrase drove me to drink. (Actually, that's not all together true. I was drinking anyway. Because that's just how Irish Girls roll.)
 
 I finally decided that the only fair thing to do would be to tell you poor unsuspecting readers about the time I gave a pair of innocent young men an equally unpleasant surprise. Misery loves company and all that.
 
About a week ago I bought a Pilate's DVD at Costco. I read the box about how it was for people who had never done it before, it was easy, low impact, required no additional equipment, and best of all it was FUN! Look at how perky the she looks!


See? All bendy and slender and whatever. But all that perkiness belies her EVIL core.

Oh sure, she starts you out all easy with some stretches and stuff




But then, just when you're starting to think, "Hey! I CAN do this! And it's not even that bad!" she starts to get more sadistic.


But, still you're all, "Maybe if the dog were not trying to get in my lap and lick my face while I was doing this, it wouldn't be that bad!" so then you pause the DVD and let the dogs out and do your centering breathing from your ready position and then start the DVD again and wouldn't you know it, in those two minutes that vicious acrobat uncurled her pointy tail and she's all "OKAY! That's great! If you're ready, let's move onto the mat work!" in that chipper voice with it's pleasant accent and you're laying there listening to the dog licking the window and thinking "WTF? I thought we WERE doing mat work!"

But you are thinking wrong. Very, horribly wrong. Because that stuff you just did? That you are kind of light headed from all the deep breathing and centering and shit? THAT was the warm up! The mat work, which has been banned by the Geneva Convention, is yet to come! She expects you to do this

and if that wasn't bad enough, just when you've used the TV credenza to push your knees up over your boobs, a problem that the human pretzel apparently does not suffer from, she uncurls her rubber self and in a calm voice tells you to return to your ready position because guess what? THERE IS MORE.


ARE YOU F-ING KIDDING ME? She can not seriously expect average humans to do this!
 
 OH BUT SHE DOES! Okay, so there you are using the couch for leverage trying to launch your ass up and over your shoulders and the wee wicked bitch calmly informs you that now you should slowly lower yourself back to ready and then DO IT AGAIN.
 
So now there you are, giggling and grunting and trying to launch yourself into unnatural and wholly improbable positions when what do you know, the Mormon Missionaries approach your screen door and gazing inside mistake you for being in distress and call out "Ma'am? Are you okay?"
 
 Which of course, you are not. Clearly you are mentally unwell and for just a moment, frozen mid-fling looking like a hippo having a seizure you consider yelling for the jaws of life, but instead calmly roll back down to Earth as if all of this were COMPLETELY NORMAL and tell the door to door Jesus sellers that you are in fact fine, just doing a little exercise! Because the body is the Gods temple! And wouldn't they rather come back another time?

Then you firmly close and lock the opaque front door and remind yourself that it all could have been so much worse; you could have bought the Naked Yoga video instead.

Guest Post

THis post is brought to you by the brilliant mind behind www.therecoveringlethargic.blogspot.com

When Lorrie invited me to guest post on her blog I was ecstatic at the opportunity as well as honored and humbled. Then I did something a blogger should never do. I made a joke about writers block. Immediately at that second every bit of humor, insight and writing ability left my body. I've been trying for days to dredge up something of value to post about.

Nothing.....

Notta.......

Zip......

Zilch.......

I read on a blog about writing a few months ago that a cure for writers block is to just sit and type whatever comes to mind. Don't edit. Don't stop. And for heavens sake don't worry about the topic. Just let the thoughts spill out of your head and onto the keyboard, I don't think the results are meant for the consumption of others, but I'm in a giving mood today. So here goes.

As I sit here typing I am thinking about how odd it is for someone I have never met in person and who lives on an entirely different side our nation to ask me to guest post on her blog. She also asked me to add some testosterone the the mommy blogging crowd. Grunting and using clubs and trying to invent fire isn't really my thing. I'm more about sarcasm and dry humor, and Lethargy, and Gluttony, and Jealousy. I'm also about procrastination. Did you know that if you procrastinate long enough, someone else will eventually do the task? It's a wonderful thing to know that others have the ability to step in and get things done. It's their curse, not mine. I'm also into sleeping. And eating. Especially eating. I'm a Libra and enjoy reading. Last year I set the horrid goal to read a book about every President of the United States (POTUS, for short). So far I've read 1 1/2 books. Before reading them I was pretty sure that politicians were all about the power. Now I am also pretty sure they are about the greed and avarice as well. And just so you know the books have been about Abe Lincoln, who by the way was not about the power or greed but more about wanting to be remembered, and James A Garfield. I'm not sure I want to read about our more recent leaders.

And have I mentioned Dr. Pepper? I think I have. I'm also into Oreo's (double stuff) and Milk. And good donuts. MMMMHHHH Donuts.

So now that I have rambled on and bored you all entirely, I should probably apologize to Lorrie for ruining her blog and scaring away all her loyal readers.

Sorry Lorrie, I promise not to make any more jokes about writers block.

TRL

Guest Blog

How excited I am to be a guest on Lorries Blog, since I have just butted my way into her life whether she wanted to LOVE ME or not! This could be the equivalent of Ed McMahon ringing my doorbell !


I found her accidentally and am a total fan and share her weekend wine wisdom with my friends here in Dallas, the Original Chicks ("HEY to the girlz"). I don't really know where Lorries fans are located, but I'm sure she is INTERNATIONAL by now (since receiving the Arte Y Pico De Gallo award~!) BUT why I am saying that is the usual perception of people in Texas is that we all are rednecks, have big hair, and drive pickups. Well, we do not ALL drive pickups. Unless we need to bring something really BIG home. Like a longhorn steer to put in the back yard...........you know, for the kids to play with. Then for a barbeque before they get too attached.


This blog disease I've contracted actually started over dinner one night with the Chicks when someone brought the subject up of actually making $$$ doing this! We laughed and said we should start a blog, so since I do everything I'm told, I now ramble and write to them with no apparent direction or particular subject. Trouble is, I'm computer challenged so it shows up to them as an email, and I told them I like it that way because I'm like the weird estranged brother in law that just shows up in your inbox. Don't act like you are not at home. I can hear the TV.....


I have THREE dogs, which I call the sled team, and my dog blog is Tales from the House of Tail. The Scottie, Abner, is the smallest and self appointed security. He is 22 pounds of Bad to the Bone, as in, the meter reader fears him, and I like it that way. Bella, a Lab mix that looks like a dingo, was obtained in a parking lot under a free puppy sign, and bless her heart, she is challenged. I seem to hear the Rolling Stones singing 'get a girl with far away eyes' when I look at her. And the latest addition is a full blood Basset named Owen, who truly wandered into my life and we rescued each other. He has a secret to tell me but I haven't decoded it yet. So I just get those soulful eyes in the mean time. Last but not least, we live in a house the size of an AMC Pacer, so we are CLOSE, as in tripping over each other. I'm thinking about drinking my Chardonnay from a sippy cup soon.


I own and feed Attachedatthehiponlychild. She is a dream come true, and even though she thinks my ATM card is part of my arm, she is worth every penny. She is truly a Chick in Training~ the shopping/spending DNA has pretty good taste, so I'm hoping to be fortunate and not fight the weird hair, piercings, or boyfriends named Skater Boy. I know I am just twisted enough that I will be able to run off Skater Boy with ease, precision and probably alot of pleasure, and then place her in my own version of the witness protection program. I am that "Muther."


I love all types of music, and told Lorrie my rating system for a good song on the radio is whether or not it makes me want to open my sunroof. Lately, that is also a choice whether or not you want to melt your mascara because we are pretty much hovering around 100 degrees everyday in Dallas. August is even hotter, so if you are now saying "yall are crazy to live there", I'm running around in shorts in February while other far away lands are shoveling that white frozen shit that makes us crash into each other down here. Snow and Texas do not go together in so many ways.........Our kids make great DIRT ANGELS though, and that can be a year round sport!
(That sounds pretty redneck doesn't it? OK, go ahead and plug in the bug zapper. )


This was fun and I now will be forced to get my first tatoo to mark the occasion. I'll probably sign off and then think, oh I wish I'd said this or I wish I'd said that but maybe I'll be back to write again. If not, I'll just show up, and don't act like you aren't home. I see some lights on in there............


Cheers,
Bj in Dallas

And We're Offfffffff (again)

The house is in chaos, The Spawn is whining and Sexyhusbandomine is asking where things are...it's obvious it is just moments until we leave for the airport. While I am away--technology willing--I have lined up a few of my favorite bloggers to step in and fill my shoes ( though sweaty and smelly they may be.)

O geeps, Bananna needs Dramamine......

See you next week!

My Image

This is...erm...Ashley or Madison or Tiffany (I forget as I was, as usual, drunk when I met her) the MODEL that the Powers That Be at my New Company hired to "REPRESENT" Mud at the Atlanta Gift Show. Once I met her at the welcoming cocktail party I basically just handed over my nametag, and concentrated on hiding glasses of white wine within the booth display (last year they ran out.) I am totally digging that my new image is this twenty something skinny bitch ( and I mean that in the most professional and complimentary way possible) instead of the frumpy forty something who hasn't had a haircut in almost a year that I was forced to live with in the past. I am sure at some point we will also be moving on up to the East Side.

And in a related story...

Last night, in that grey area that occurs after the TV has been shut off and The Spawn is told for the fifteenth time to GO BRUSH YOUR TEETH, I caught Sexyhusbandomine, Complicatedboy and Thebananna huddled around his computer screen WATCHING VIDEOS OF THE EAGLES' CHEERLEADERS. And while I believe the cheerleaders were speaking intelligently about their desire to save the planet from global warming, their love of puppies and kittens and long walks on the beach, or that McNabb fellow (blah blah blah go Eagles), all of them were Wearing Bikinis. And had their hair blowing.

"You need to look like THAT Mom" said Complicatedboy, playfully slapping my wine gut. Which almost hits him in the eye on the rebound..how's that for karma?

"Oh, Mommy looks better than that, kids" says Sexyhusbandomine, in a vain attempt at damage control. (At which point I shoot him The Look which says: "Nice try, Sexyhusbandomine. I'll consider sex with you again once the memory of this incident wears off...let's say.....September?")

At the same time, I realize that I may be witnessing the birth of Thebananna's adolescent body image struggle--and while she's only 4 now, in ten years I could find her weeping over skeleton girl images in Seventeen and secretly popping Dexitrim. Then I flash back to an article I recently read about a Hollywood starlet who used to EAT KLEENEX in an effort to stay skinny and the image of Little Bananna trying to choke down a Puffs brings tears to my eyes and I say:

"We all know that what's on the INSIDE is what matters, right?" Silence. I get the Spawn's collective attention and go on to say:

"Which would you rather have? A skinny mom in a bikini who spends all her time blow drying her hair and doing pilates or a fat mommy who is fun and creative and buys cookies?" And TOGETHER THEY SAID....

"YOU!"

Hotlanta Hotel Post 1 of duex

It looked like a nice hotel room. There was the usual pile of useless pillows that one moves from the bed to the floor to the bed to the floor, the $5.00 bottles of water, and Gideon's Bible in the side table. But I was shocked by THIS in the salle de bain.

The purpose of a magnifying mirror that enlarges your flaws 100 times is obviously to make you run screaming for the mini bar. Which I did--in order to drown the sorrow at not having either a Biore Pore Strip, a pair of tweezers, or an upcoming appointment for a Botox/Resatlyn combo.

Ah...but that was nothing compared to.......

AND THIS!

<< Insert music from PSYCHO here >>

Yes--that is exactly what you think it is. A MATH PROBLEM IN MY SHOWER.

Obviously placed there by the sadistic hotel decorating staff so that when I was done lamenting the loss of my youth I could realize my brain had also taken a powder. Apparently I have taken a detour to Hell and this is the typical restroom there. The only thing missing would be a Glade Puff Air Freshener shooting gardenia into the air every 5 seconds.

For those of you who still have brain cells that you didn't kill off in college--here is the problem:

If a truck is 100 feet long and is going 100 feet per minute and has to cross a bridge 100 feet in length...how long will it take to cross the bridge?

First person to answer correctly wins an original SMARTY PANTS mug.

Home Again Home Again Jiggety Jizz

I arrived home from Hotlanta late this afternoon. I will write more about my fabulous trip next week as well as slander and besmirch the fine reputation I know Delta Airlines has.

In addition to the hugs and joyous cries of "Mommy! You're Home! WHAT DID YOU BRING US?!?" I got "a report."

Let me just digress for a minute and say that that if anyone has a few million to invest ( an I know at least ONE of you who actually does) then a fine business concept would be a franchise of airport stores named something like "YOU CAN'T GO HOME EMPTY HANDED" or " GIFTS THAT ALLEVIATE GUILT." Because in the three hours that Delta delayed my flight home it amazed me that even as I shuttled from terminal to terminal all I was able to find was a cheap ass snowglobe and an Atlanta Braves baseball which Sexyhusbandomine is going to call blasphemous and probably throw into the trash while giving me the "We are Phillies Fans" lecture; which goes basically "Blah blah Phillies blah blah Eagles blah blah Dominic McNabb blah blah."

But back to the "report." Our Nanny, Shewhocannotlearnenglish, gestured in the usual sign language we use to communicate and pulled me into The Bananna's room. The solemn look on her face and her grave manner had me afraid that maybe the spawn had been SO AWFUL that she was giving notice. AND THEN I MIGHT HAVE TO WATCH MY OWN CHILDREN so you can imagine the horror.

But it turns out that it was not Complicatedboy or Bananna who had been in the doghouse whilst I was away. Ironically, it was Lenny the Hypercat.

In broken English and using descriptive hand gestures she explained that she had caught Lenny ON NUMEROUS OCCASIONS having sex with the stuffed animals that cover Bananna's bed. Apparently, Crocky the Crocodile had been grossly abused, along with Bunny the Bunny and Horsey the Pony. Fans of this blog will remember that my office chair used to suffer the same indignities when Lenny was at work with me. Maybe we should have sent him away to one of those Christian camps before we brought him home.

What perplexes me further is that I have a dim memory of having something essential to this act snipped when Lenny was a kitten- although- come to think of it- that action hasn't made Sexyhusbandomine a bigger fan of "Just a Backrub" either.

Shewhocannotlearnenglish washed all the victims and placed them high up on shelves that Lenny cannot possibly access. She stood there, arms crossed indignantly across her chest after pointing with disdain at Lenny who lay, smoking an invisible cigarette, across Bananna's bedspread. She waited to see what I would do.

If you think Sophie had a hard choice; try going through a shoe bag full of beanie babies searching for a sacrificial lamb. Except it wasn't a lamb. Lenny's designated girlfriend is a Webkinz Elephant. They make a great couple.

I'll leave Tweety Bird on My Left Butt Cheek

Last image of me getting ready to go to Atlanta to meet and greet, dine with the big whigs and basically bang my gong and sell my candies:

Last night I covered my self in temporary tatoos. Not just any temporary tattoos; but OUR NAME IS MUD tattoos we had specially made back in the day where we thought we were ALL THAT. The tattoos are black and have our logo and a handprint and I put them various places on my body for a hoot while I tried on 57 outfits looking for one that would make my butt look smaller.

I was under the impression that baby oil would remove these suckers fairly easily but apparently our temporary tats are of the INDUSTRIAL STRENGTH variety.

The problem with scrubbing myself raw with the cosmetic version of steel wool called BUFF PUFF, was that I had applied the tats over my new spray tan..which I got because it actually does help make your butt look smaller.

So if you come by Atlanta's Gift Mart today or tomorrow, I will be female Michael Jackson impersonator. So purdy.

I'd Like To Thank...

GUESS WHAT?!? I won the lottery in Nigeria AND a blogging award all in the same week!

First, about this incredible honor: It is THE ARTE Y PICO BLOG AWARD. This award was created to be given to bloggers who inspire others with their creativity, and for contributing to the blogging world in whatever medium. Very few people are ever given this award. In fact research shows that ONLY SIXTY FIVE THOUSAND of these Arte Y Pico awards have been bestowed; so please don't infer that this is a chain letter in sheep's clothing. Each award links back to the original site: The Arte Y Pico Blog, which is entirely in Spanish but I am sure is an absolute honor to be associated with, since there were no pornographic pictures that I could see. In addition there are RULES associated with winning this award which I am required to post here or there may be an accident or some other great misfortune--but not in a chain mailey kind of way, I'm just sayin. You would have to get up PRETTY EARLY to fool a gal like me.

First, I need to acknowledge the kind Bloggess who bestowed this award upon me. A Ginormous Thank You to Mrs. B. Roth whose musings can be found at http://mrsbroth.blogspot.com. Mrs. B. is a new reader who is fond of purple. You are welcome here anytime Mrs. B. although I realize you will probably not join us for cocktails as you are breastfeeding. That's ok. More for me...

Next, I need to do my bit by increasing the number of awards given to SIXTY FIVE THOUSAND AND FIVE by passing it on to five blogs of note. May I have the envelope please.........

(BTW: I had WAY more than 5 blogs to give awards to-but technospazz that I am could not figure out some of your blog addresses from the comments you leave on my blog. Please spell it out going forward. Like I said, I may be coming into some money...)

www.therecoveringlethargic.blogspot.com This blog is so much better than my crappy blog.
www.missthystle.com Funny and Classy with a capital K.
www.rocketwife.com in an effort to atone for calling her tween sister a douchebag.
www.myliberalguilt.blogspot.com Who knew funny and smart were like peanut butter and chocolate?
www.creativenachos.com For Tasha, my most loyal reader who loves rainbows and sunshine

I don't think Dooce needs this particular award. Something about the fact that her WII fit giveaway garnered TWENTY FIVE THOUSAND PLUS comments leads me to believe that she's a bit beyond arte y pico.

So, thank you to all the little people and the big hipped people and the people who are related to me and the people who married me for reading my occassionally drunken ramblings. I SHLOVE YOUSH GUYS SHO MUCH.

Here are the rules for the award recipients:
Here are the Arte Y Pico Award rules :
1. You have to pick 5 blogs that you consider deserve this award through creativity, design, interesting material, and also contributes to the blogger community, no matter of language.
2. Each award should have the name of the author with a link to their blog.
3. Award winners have to post the award with the name and link to the blog of the person who gave them the award.
4. Please include a link to the “Arte Y Pico” blog so that everyone will know where the award came from.

Lost City of Atlanta

Hello cyberspace-it's great to be back! Took a week off to vacation at the beach with the spawn and Sexyhusbandomine. Did my best impression of Responsible Mom and utilized "Supermom Tools" like MATH FLASHCARDS and the word "NO" while spending Actual Time with Complicatedboy and Thebananna. For once, I did not feel like innocent bystanders were placing emergency calls to Supernanny whenever they found themselves in our proximity.

We even let them do sparklers, and nobody lost a finger or an eye.

Anyhow-this week Sexyhusbandomine will be in Atlanta at the Enesco Showroom. He'll be appearing Monday-Wednesday. I will personally be flying in to sign something on Thursday Night--usually I just write "suck it" on some shard of pottery but my new bosses may have different ideas...so we'll see. Please stop by and see us.