DoeS JiMMy BuFFeT eaT aT BuFFeTS?

Meals on our vacation were served in a large dining hall, buffet style.

I love a good breakfast buffet while I am traveling for business (I call them mouth-brothels. No reason to leave your pants zipped). But buffet style eating three times a day when you have small children is a whole different swedish meatball. This is how it works:

First you take the small hand of your offspring and lead them from station to station.
"Look!" you say enthusiastically, "Smoked Salmon! Fresh lamb with Rosemary! Veal Piscata!" Every time you exclaim with delight over some new delicacy, your small child will turn to you and say:
"I want Chicken Nuggets."

Then HALLELUJAH you figure out there are PLAIN NOODLES that you can make with butter and salt! Except the butter is on the other side of the room and it takes you two tries until you figure out how to get it to melt to the satisfaction of your child. After you plop the child down at the table, she will look at the plate and burst into tears because the noodles are curly and she wanted straight spaghetti. You end up agreeing to let her eat a single dinner roll for supper. Then you go in search of your own meal, remembering you had spotted Beef Wellington at one of the stations.

You return to the table with plate and refreshing beverage in hand, only to find that she is finished with her dinner and wants to hit THE DESSERT BAR. You tell her she has to wait until everyone is done with their dinner, which is hardly enjoyable because every two seconds a small voice asks "ARE YA DONE YET? CAN WE GET DESSERT YET?"

So finally you and your spouse put your forks down and go with the children to the dessert bar where they spend fifteen minutes deciding that they really don't want peach cobbler and that they will have the ice cream from the softee machine which THEY MUST OPERATE ALL BY THEMSELVES.

You return to the table only to find that an over zealous service person has cleared your plate.

This was how it went for us breakfast, lunch and dinner for seven days with the exception of the second night of our vacation:
In search of this elusive thing called dinner, Bananna in tow, just as we passed the bread bar, it happened...

She only had time to gasp the words "THE CHEESE...THE CHEESE!!!!" before she vomited in the middle of the dining hall. I looked around, desperate for help, and finding none, left her to guard her own small pool of puke while I sought napkins. Then I tried to mop up the mess while avoiding being trampled to death by a group of Aussies on their way to the shrimp station.

(Banana spent the night curled around an ice bucket-and the whole next day inside the hotel room. Because we pack stomach bugs like other people pack underwear.)

The problem after her recovery was an abnormal FEAR OF CHEESE. For the rest of our vacation, she would tremble at the mere sight of cheddar, fall to pieces as the whiff of a rouquefort, ask to leave the room if she spotted some Jarlsberg. We spent the next week trying to avoid ALL THINGS CHEESE.

We thought she would recover when our trip was over-but it looks like we won't be visiting Wisconsin anytime soon. Every night she makes us check under her bed for Muenster.

SMaLL WoRLD

Fact: three "followers" abruptly stopped "following" after yesterday's vacation story. AND I DIDN'T EVEN START THE SLIDE SHOW YET, PEOPLE. I gotta warn you-I'm gonna be writing about my trip all week. I mean Chickens, one of the very best things about a vacation is even if you don't come home with a suntan, you can come home with Blog Material. (Or-if you are REALLY LUCKY you can come home with Blog Material AND a small child who has impetigo--but I'll save that story for later.)

Manhattan is a small island: it is only 22.96 square miles. (Think Gilligan's Island with some really tall buildings.) As small as it is, we can waltz about town For Years without bumping into old friends. Apparently, to run into into former acquaintances and fellow New Yawkers, it is best to leave the state and head towards a vacation destination.

We ran into someone from our past on our vacation.

Oh, but not just Anyone. Not an old dear friend or despised enemy. We bumped into...

A FITNESS MODEL.





A Fitness Model, newly remarried, on vacation with twins from her first marriage, who carried her swimsuit portfolio on her blackberry, which she showed to Sexyhusbandomine while making small talk in the bar as he was getting us an afternoon cocktail.

When you are trying to enjoy a week at an all-enclusive all you can eat/drink while your children are being watched by stangers--the last person you want to bump into is a person who makes their living showing off their six pack posing in sports bras and skimpy bike shorts. Suddenly, all the outfits you packed-none of which lacks for an X in the sizing, feel particularly frumpy and volumnous. Not to mention the swimsuit with a skirt--and that clever little swish of fabric at the waist that in the dressing room had you feeling positively svelte--which now makes you feel like you are dressed for professional squaredancing when standing beside her in her teeny tiny polka dotted bikini.

And no: I did not want to meet for yoga at 9 am or do water aerobics at 11. I did not want to eat melon for breakfast or learn from her how to make a sugar free margharita by squeezing lime juice into some tequila. I wanted to do what comes naturally to someone like me. And by "naturally' I mean I took tips on how to enjoy my vacation directly from NATURE:


What made matters worse is that ComplicatedBoy became BEST FRIENDS with Fitness Model Mom's son. So that in the Middle of the Cocktail Hour--say 1:20 in the afternoon-- CBoy would come running up to us in our lounge chairs and ask us to sign him out of camp because his friend's stepfather was going to take them to archery. Being rather perpetually drunk the entire week and therefore very vulnerable to CBoy's masterful manipulation techniques, we would give in to Cboy's whining, and sign him out of camp. Then Stepdad's tennis lesson would get changed, and before you knew it we were stuck not only watching Our Own Kid, but Someone Else's Kid too.

So next time YOU have to Come With, Interwebs! Someone has to babysit.

But you better bulk up beforehand. Because real women don't have to read their beach books with two hands. Just sayin.

LiVe To TeLL

I'm back, Chickens! With a tiny bit of color in my cheeks, all four volumes of the Twilight series devoured whilst in a beach chair, and a liver that is completely pickled. OH..and stories to tell all week! Starting with this one,which happened at the beginning of our trip to Port St. Lucie, Florida:

Despite some minor difficulties getting out of the house (including asking ComplicatedBoy to put his shoes on a total of Twenty Three Times- almost breaking his usual Monday Morning record) , we made it to the airport about forty minutes before our plane was scheduled to take off. Plenty of time, we thought, to move through security and get to the gate.

We handed the man at the first security checkpoint Sexyhusabandomine's license and my Only form of ID because I don't know how to drive passport.

EXCEPT IT WASN'T MY PASSPORT.

In my haste to leave the house, I had grabbed SHOM's passport. The only other ID I had on me was an American Express Card and a MasterCard. I gave up carrying a purse for Lent last year, and I have never gone back.

"YOU ARE F@!?!ing KIDDING ME" I said when Joe Security pointed out the error.

The tension escalated as CBoy, who suddenly appointed himself El Capitain of The Swear Word Police, interrupted the ensuing hysteria-laced conversation with "MOM-You Said The F word!" every two minutes.

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you through" said Joe Security after much back and forth, shaking his head and reaching for the ID held out by the impatient person behind me.
"You Shouldn't Swear, Mom." added Cboy.

So I did what anyone in my position with two small children who hasn't had a proper vacation in eight years would have done: I CRIED.

I SOBBED.

I BEAT MY CHEST IN ANGUISH. It helped that at the sign of my tears, CBoy ande Bananna both became completely undone, and also began to wail, pleading with the man to "Just Let Mommy Come With Us."

(I should note here, for those of you who may ask--that SHOM was struck mute. He later admitted that he was dumbstruck not at my stupidity for taking the wrong passport, but at the fact that I was not blaming him for my mistake.)

And Chickens, just FYI: IT WORKED. We could have crossed the freeking border into Iran for the collective show we Veaseys put on. Joe Security spoke into a walkie talkie, and instantly a nice woman from Homeland Security appeared.,

What's a little strip search when faced with the possibility of missing your flight to Florida?-I always say.

But that's not what happened. Instead, she sent the Spawn and SHOM ahead to the gate and had me wait in a special room while she called some Top Secret Government Agency that exists JUST FOR THIS REASON. Apparently, (and this is comforting to know,) I am not the only Mommy who has ever left her ID sitting in the right hand drawer of her bureau. I'm not even sure that I am allowed to TELL YOU about what happened next. But it involved very personal questions about my life.

Things that ONLY BIG BROTHER could know. Very Personal Things.

I answered their questions correctly. Remember this was pre-vacation--I had double the brain cells.

Then (can I get a Hallelujiah) I was personally escorted through security and to my gate where I was reunited with my family and CBoy finally forgave me for using the F word.

Totally relived to be on the plane, and also slightly flattered...

because who knew someone at the government was reading my blog?!?

BLoGaTioN

Hello Chickens:
I will be TOTALLY UNPLUGGING (and that means no email, no cell phone no blog) through February 23rd. I will be re-aquainting myself with The Spawn and Sexyhusbandomine in a place that serves buffet breakfast and where you must wear sunscreen. I lerves you internets, but you cannot come with.

If you have come here because you are bored, allow me to suggest some other blogs for your reading pleasure until my return:

Shindig Zak enjoys lip balm, ginger lotion, my children, my husband, wine, reality television, BBQ, celebrities, soy chai lattes and pedicures...not necessarily in that order.

Miss Thystle Is. The. Bomb. My all-time favorite blog evah, don't ask me why.

Give me a minute I'll Come Up with something Where in Heck is the Bloggy Box of Goodness?

BJ Started out as my own personal stalker, now has a blog of her own, I am *sniff* so proud.

Racie Lover Stay tuned for more adventures with Sunshine Wheatgrass, yoga instructor.

The Lovely Le Throw another shrimp on the barbie-it's a blog from down under. I don't understand half of what she writes sometimes, but i love when she uses the word wee.

JenX Is a fabulous Jenx blogger and her secret ingredient is the X, which is for excellent (like Bill & Ted would say.)

Spatula An artist. In the basement of her mother's house. In Canada.

Scrappin Jen A Great Gal--and i say that with a Boston accent.

Debbie Angel Mom Captures great beauty in her photographs and moments with her four angel daughters.

TJ Makes me laugh always with a minimum of sentences.

Deb from Suburb Sanity has so many followers and commenters that soon it will be like "Dooce who?" She is the perfect blogger. If she weren't so dern nice I would be jaylous.

David Kramer I used to drink with this man. Now I drink, and he has seltzer with lime.

Kraigg This man is divorced? You're kidding me.

Jane! One of THE BEST written blogs in the blogosphere- I lervesme some Jane!

OK: I am totally getting tired and I am still not packed. Please visit ALL my regular visitors to my blog (some more quick links withy no descriptions are below) because I lerves you all. Don't forget to come back here Feb. 23rd-I will have stuff to say--like "O the sun was hot, the suntan lotion smelled like coconuts, and my goodness that buffet breakfast was quite filling..."

Quick other links

Sheree
The Smartini girls
Carrie
Tracey
Shonda
Natasha
Libby
Amy
OHN
Dana
Hugs-Tiffany
Lucky Me!
The Kitchen
Evil Twins Wife
Nadine Hightower
KAS
Wonderfully Random

I'm sorry that I left a ton of you off (including God. God has a blog. He doesn't get that many comments though.) Forgive me for my omissions and poor typing. See you in a week!

THuRSDaY SWeeT TreaT

The key question isn't "What fosters creativity?" But it is why, in God's name, isn't EVERYONE creative?
Where was the human potential lost? How was it crippled?
I think therefore, a good question might be not "WHY do people create" But, " Why Do People NOT create or innovate?" We have got to abandon that sense of amazement in the face of creativity, as if it were a miracle if anybody created anything.-Abraham Maslow

My beliefs:
- We are ALL artists.
-We were born naturally creative and artistic.
-We were taught to censor our creativity, to judge our processes, to critique our creations. As naturally as the majority of children know how to skip and hop, you were born knowing how to draw, sculpt, build and imagine: it is only the adult voices of judgement that taught you to be self conscious and to believe that there are "rules" to invention.
- You were born limitless; you were taught by adults that trees could not be purple and that the sky should not be black. You were taught that your creations could evoke responses such as "good" or "bad."
-You valued your own processes more than the product when you were a child-it was only in watching your products compared to those created by others, that you felt something was lacking.

But I am preaching to the choir here: because you bloggers all do something creative every time you click the publish button or leave a comment. The blogosphere has become a brain gym where we can all have the opportunity to flex our creative muscles. Like real muscles that grow stronger with each use, the part of our brain responsible for being creative function better when we challenge it to work harder.

That is why I participate in a blog called Thursday Sweet Treat. This is a blog created by my friend Natasha which challenges people to create things around an announced theme. Creations are shown every Thursday, new topics given on Friday.

Many of the people currently participating are Etsy artists, but ANYONE can participate. You could write a poem, do a doodle, make a scrapbook page, or shoot a photograph: it is all about the process of creating.

Come Play.

CaPTioN THiS PHoTo

Here's this week's CAPTION THIS PHOTO contest. The winner will be selected this week by a random guy who works at our office named Jack. Winner receives a $5.00 Starbucks gift certificate. Enter as many times as you like, but keep it clean people.





THANK YOU to everyone who sent pictures for future Wednesdays! You are all fairly strange, but I lerves you anyway. You can continue to send naked pictures of Johnny Depp (watch how I soar in Google keywords on that one!) and fully clothed pictures of anyone else to me at L V Mud at aol dot com. Now, here's Last week's winner:




WINNER: DAD ALWAYS LOCKED THE BATHROOM DOOR AFTER THAT. By Kreg.
RUNNER UP: EVEN CHILDREN OF THE CORN FEARED THE STEELY GAZE OF THE DANDYLION DUO. By Life Spatula.

POST YOUR CAPTION FOR THE TOP PHOTO IN COMMENTS BELOW.

WHaTS LoVe GoT To Do WiTH iT?

Thank you, blog peeps, for your support of CBoy in the wake of his broken heart. I can only tell you that this weekend he broke one of the cardinal rules of post-breakup behavior. He went to the barber with his father where he decided to cut his hair. ALL OF IT. OFF. It now looks like I gave birth to a mini-Marine. I believe I did this myself once while in college. I don't know where I got the idea (between renting my garments and keening) that chopping at my locks would show that boy who done me wrong a thing or too; because it didn't. All I ended up with was a broken heart and really bad hair. Ah well: hearts will heal, hair will grow.

Speaking of hearts on the mend: my friend Gina recently separated from her husband and in a moment of weakness that involved a full bottle of Chardonnay, signed up for Match dot com. She said that after a short bio and 35 bucks, her mailbox began to fill with messages from all over the country--many with subject lines such as "Willing to Relocate For Love" or "God Sent Me To You" or "Satisfy You Long Time." (I keep telling her that the last one is Spam but she says she's been trying to wink at its author anyway.)

One of her more recent meetings online went fairly well. He was a journalism professor, very nice & funny. After an enjoyable session of IMing back and forth, he asked her to text him, and when she did, he asked if she wanted to see a 'goodnight photo' of him. She replied: "Sure, if I can also show it to my mother, who is here visiting." He texted back just two words: NEVER MIND, and was never heard from again.

She had an actual date with another "match" named Jeff-who won her over by including a glass of wine in his profile picture. She met him at a bar and spent the first two hours talking to the side of his face: the man would not turn to look at her the entire time, just sat beside her chain smoking and slamming draft beer. Three margaritas later, she asked him if he had eaten, because she was starving. "Nope," he replied, "I eat just one meal a day and then I drink beer for dinner." WHAT A CATCH.

On another note: please send pictures for this week's Caption This Photo contest to me at L V Mud at a o l dot com, but please make sure the people in the pictures are wearing clothes. Unless you have a candid of Johnny Depp. I will announce last week's winner on Wednesday and feature a photo sent in by a reader. So get those pictures out of the camera and send them my way: my children are refusing to do anything funny like sit in a garbage can or wear underwear on their heads: I need help.

THe FiRST CuT iS THe DeePeST

ComplicatedBoy has carried a torch for G- since September. And by torch I mean a smoldering obsession and single minded fixation. He has loved her the way most of America's 12 year old girls love Nick Jonas: with an aching desire tempered with the knowledge that the object of their affections is most likely unobtainable-or in CBoy's case- just way out of his league.

G- meanwhile, carried a torch for J-, CBoy's best friend since nursery school. And by torch I mean a stick that she would chase J- around the playground with, in an attempt to get his attention. But J- had eyes only for his soccer ball.

Then one day, everything changed. G- sent CBoy a note. The note read: "I am kinda over J-. But act normal. Don't tell anyone. Not even your Mom or Dad. Lift this flap when you get home." And under the flap it read: "I Love You. P.S. Meet me by the slide."

It was Christmas in January for CBoy. His sneakers did did not touch the ground for almost two blissful weeks, during which time G- proclaimed that he was Her Best Friend, and allowed him to sit with her at lunchtime. She came over for a well-supervised playdate during which CBoy presented her with his Best Rock from his collection--a rose quartz, which she took and shoved in the pocket of her jeans.

The following week, she invited him to her house for an afternoon, and together they ground potpourri into oil and poured it into an empty spice bottle and labeled it COLOGNE. CBoy dutifully dabbed it behind his ears daily, and went to school smelling like rose petals and basil.

Then the wind changed. Despite the fact that another playdate was scheduled for today, CBoy sensed a cooling of G-'s affections at the beginning of this week. He was exiled from the lunch table, and ostracized at recess.

"Ignore her," Sexyhusbandomine advised.
"Confront her" I countered, "Ask her why she isn't being friendly anymore."
"Give her space-make her come to you" Sexyhusbandomine insisted.
"Go right up to her and tell her she is hurting your feelings" I said.

In the end, he did neither. Just continued to follow her around like a beaten puppy dog until she turned to him yesterday and told him she was "Back together with his best friend, J-."

"She hates me." He said tearfully last night before dinner.

"Don't worry" I said, "You still have a playdate with her Friday and we can talk through the whole thing and everyone can still be friends and it will all be fine."

"Women." Said Sexyhusbandomine in a disgusted tone.

I sent CBoy off to school with the promise that everything would work out this afternoon.

This morning, I received an email from G-s mother, who wrote that G- had decided she would rather have some "family time" this afternoon instead of coming over to our house.

I am meeting CBoy at the door to school with a pint of Hagen Daz and a copy of the Sleepless in Seattle video.

Women.

CaPTioN THiS PHoTo

Submit as many captions as you'd like. Sexyhusbandomine will select what he thinks is the best caption Friday, February 6th. Winner gets a $5.00 Starbucks gift certificate. Have Fun!

PuPPY LoVe CaN Be A BiTCH.

Dear Complicated Boy,

Last night you asked me for some romantic advice, and after we chatted for a bit about the complex nature of the relationship with your seven year old girlfriend friend who happens to be a girl, I ended by saying what I always say when I am speaking authoritatively about something of which I know nothing, which is: GO ASK YOUR FATHER.

Your sage father gave the standard advice he pulls out in the face of questions about troublesome bullies, imagined slights in the classroom, and odd skin rashes: Just Ignore It and Things Will Work Out.

I wish you had thought to ask Dad how many dates the old "ignore them and make them come to you" strategy landed him in High School and College. I think he has forgotten that he spent most Friday nights in the company of a pizza.

So this morning I decided to take your problems right to The Experts. ( And by Experts I don't mean that I planned to get on my cell phone and call Dad and have him pretend to be someone named Dr, Ruth, the way we used to do when you wouldn't eat and I would call The Wiggles to get you to try the broccoli.) These are Actual Romantic Authorities. These Love Gurus saw me through many a heartbreak in my youth, and I think their wisdom still rings true today.

I am, of course, talking about Pop Songs.

In my day. all manner of ills could be cured by turning on a little AM Radio; but none more so than the broken heart. If you needed to learn the ABCs and 123s of Love--all you had to do was give a little listen. So here is what I know, grasshopper:

LOVE STINKS
yeah yeah.

Also...

You can't hurry love, because girls just wanna have fun. Some guys have all the luck, and you might wish that you had your best friend's girl. Love is a battlefield that way, but it is also oxygen and The Answer. It's a crazy little thing, this love. It can be a groovy kind of love, or you can be addicted to love, but either way, you'll see the power of love. You'll realize soon that money can't buy you love, and you need to be careful not to give love a bad name. When you love someone, set them free. Love bites, love hurts, but all you need is love. Endless love.

I hope that helps: if not, take Dad's advice and give her the cold shoulder for a couple of days.

Love,
Mom
PS: Have I told you lately that I love you?

BeST BLoG PoST eVaH!

Here at OuR NaMe iS BLoG, we don't give virtual awards. We give REAL TROPHIES--like these two babies.


To date, the only other winner of the Best Freakin Blog Post Evah award has been Thystle for The Hamster Story. Now we have TWO NEW winners! Jane! from Emptying the Nest and BJ from Don't Overthink It.

Jane! wrote a fabulous post about the inauguration, but alas, I did not repost it here in a timely manner--but she is ALWAYS funny, so go visit her site and then check her archives for her take on President Obama bein in da house.

Here is the post which BJ wins for, reprinted without any permission whatsoever.



ASK THE MONKEY

God, do you people have some strange problems. You made me start smokin the Banana flavored Swisher Sweets again, and I had just grown the hair back on my right arm where I had used a Nicotine patch to quit! But I promised, and you're needy, so I'll try to help you out.

Megan wrote how long can I claim I just moved in when people come over and there are boxes everywhere??

Meg, when you think you've exhausted that one, throw the door open and start screaming 'WE'VE BEEN ROBBED' and that usually works. I've used it for 15 years and so far, so good.....


Miss Thystle,aka Thystlicious, wanted to know how do I cure my husband from tossing his underwear NEXT to the hamper, not in it.......

Well, strap one of these contraptions on him in his sleep, hide the key, and HANG the worst pair you can find from the stick thingey in the front. Once he walks around with those demonic wares dangling in his face, he may just start putting them where you ask him to put them. Or not. But at least take his picture for all of us to see!!


Racie Lover wants to know how do I cure my boss....from pretty much breathing.....

Well RL, since you can't off him or you'd end up in prison with Thystle and LV, go ahead and copy this little picture and put it on all correspondence you have with him. At least you'll feel better. Oh, and get your resume together. And what the hell, take some pictures...


Daddio and Sheila had issues with a certain football matchup and sadly, not the outcome they wanted.

I do have an idea when confronted with the situation of too much
PRE-GAME SMACK talk and then suffering a loss. Wear this to work the next day, mumble alot, and make sure they know you are goin commando underneath and they will most likely leave you alone. Oh, and send pictures.


Last but not least, KWR offered some very good advice for the 'willing to try pretty much anything for beauty' group. You know, most of you. Its a website called bettybeauty.com, which helps you ladies match the 'drapes to the carpet' if you know what I mean. My familly does not have that problem as we are naturally the same color all over, so you are on your own on that one. Good luck. And don't send pictures.

HeLLo LiGHT, GooDBYe TuNNeL

illustration by Geoff Gibson, used without any permission whatsoever cuz that's how I roll.

Hello Chickens,

Thank you for all the Emails you sent this week--most of which said WHERE THE HECK ARE YOU, some which said I won $5 million bucks in the Nigerian Lottery (hope you got my reply with my full name and bank account info), others that were warm messages of friendship which warned if I did not forward onto ten people immediately that I would die a horrible and painful death, a few that advised me not to buy cold medicine for my children because it had all been recalled , and one that explained how Bill Gates would pay me money if I just opened up my address book and sent a few emails.

I guess I need to question wether or not this week actually happened: I mean--is it real if I didn't blog about it? And if a tree falls in the middle of the woods and no one is around to see it: do the other trees make fun of it?

Here now: a brief summary of my week:

I had PEOPLE TO ENTERTAIN. Business people. This used to be fun: back in the day when there were these incredible things called Expense Accounts. You could actually enjoy drinks together that weren't served in a plastic cup with a straw.

I saw Sheree from www.opinionsofabroad.blogspot.com She came over to my house for Chinese food and we spent much of the time talking about how much we love Thystle work. But not in THAT way.

There was big drama with the PTA. A little something called POTTERYGATE which involves a donated kiln, a budget, and a program: but the first rule of PTA is that you don't talk about PTA.

Complicated Boy's unrequited love suddenly requited, and sent a note which said "I Love You. P.S. Meet me by the slide."

I'm pretty sure one or more of The Spawn had flu at some point.

We went to a charity event with friends, met and shook hands with Robert Kennedy Jr. ,stood shoulder to shoulder at the bar with Richard Gere, petted Debbi Harry's two dogs, and stalked Matt Dillon to the bathroom. When I got home and changed into my pajamas, thinking I had such a glamorous life, I stepped in a big pile of cat vomit in my bare feet and remembered that I don't.

Is it February yet?

INSoMNia

I have been up since 4 am on this, the third night of my insomnia.

Last time I had a run of insomnia this bad, I ended up with The Romantic 70's, a collection of 10 CDs of well loved songs from the Time Life Collection, including such unforgettable ditties as Leo Sayer's When I Need Love and David Soul's Don't Give Up on Us Baby." I think I was persuaded to make the purchase by a very gregarious Tony Orlando.

And really, I don't think you can ever have too much Peaches and Herb.

This time, I am oh so tempted by The Slanket.

If for no other reason than that I always bump a big toe or wake the small child who ended up in my bed when I rummage around looking for a sweater in the dark, so I figured if I just laid down in this to go to sleep in the first place I'd be all set when I arose in the wee hours of the morning plagued by obsessive and troubling thoughts.

A GOOGLE search of the causes and treatment of insomnia should have been enough to put me right back to sleep, but it didn't. I did, however, discover a little-known cause of sleeplessness...The Insomnia Fairy

Apparently this little sprite has been flittering around my room the past three nights. (Perhaps "flitting" isn't the right word. The poor thing is always so exhausted it trudges.)
According to the website:
Be warned, if this Fairy comes to live with you, your pillows will get lumpy, the bedroom will be too hot or too cold, and all manner of other things to stop you sleeping will begin to happen, and no amount of Dr. Caligari's Tonic for Ordered Slumber will have any effect.

But in the end.......

This too shall pass.

MuD JaNuaRY LauNCH

Hello Chickens,
I am very very very uber busy with June's launch-which needs to be completed by Monday, but wanted to share January's OUR NAME IS MUD launch with you here. Because that's how my hamster wheel turns. So come along for a tour of just some of the items that will be making their way to fine retailers near you in about four months.

First, we have all new Halloween items.

These pumpkins come with an attached LED light so you can safely fall asleep drunk and not burn the house down. Don't you wish everything was like that? Next up we have two candy jars....


Here's a Lorrie Veasey factoid: I only eat the top part off the candy corn. I'll eat a lot of it--but only the tiny triangle at the top. And yes, you wouldn't want to put your hand in my jar as a result. We have LOTS of other great new Halloween items, but I'll save them and instead talk about some of my favorite new Christmas items.

I got a chance to work for the first time with the much beloved cast of characters from Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer. They were a lovely bunch, except the short one that kept wanting to fix my teeth. Here are a few Rudolph items.


Just a little sneak peek-remember There's Always Tomorrow.....
Next a few items for pet lovers: here are some new plush pillows.


Also some change trays



Here's BOBBLING TO BETHLEHEM

And some new Judaica items like this one:


We also had all new items for BABY, MOM'S DAY and DAD'S DAY which I'll share in another post. So there you have it: just like we were together at a gift show. Except without the sore feet. Wish me luck on June launch and remember, if you have an idea for a product you'd like to see we'll pay a WHOLE FIVE DOLLARS for any ideas we use.

CaPTioN THiS PHoTo

ODe To BaNaNa'S ODoR

Dear Banana,

You are one of the sweetest people ever put on the planet. You were born naturally good natured, with a great love of puppies and rainbows and all things pink. You wake each morning with a smile, and maintain a sunny disposition throughout the day. You entertain smaller children in line at the grocery without being asked. You offer the last piece of chocolate to your brother even if he has already had more than his share. You think Tom and Jerry is laugh-out-loud hysterical, and that the Bratz dolls wear too much makeup. You constantly offer help with the housework. You are such a Joy to us. So it pains me to have to record this fact about you for posterity, but I hope that by the time you find it in a random Google search that it will no longer be an issue.

You have REALLY REALLY BAD GAS.

And to make matters worse: you lie about it All The Time. It could be just me and you ALONE in a room together, and the minute I wrinkle my nose, you're all like: It Wasn't Me!! You will Deny Deny Deny, until even I begin to wonder who is responsible. It doesn't help matters that your father has taught you to say: He who smelt it, dealt it.

You are the sweetest little ray of sunshine surrounded by a noxious fog of foof fumes. I don't think it's your diet...unless turkey and cheerios do something funky in the digestive process. It may be the fact that you find the whole process of elimination somewhat distasteful, and tend to hold everything in for as long as humanly possible, until I have to send your dad out to Whole Foods at seven pm at night to try to find some prune juice.

Your "problem" is at its worst in public situations. We'll be at storytime with a group of people, and before the book is half way read, the reader is gagging and a thick sulphur cloud hangs in the air. The other children will be looking around and making faces; you'll just be smiling serenely and wondering what Clifford is going to do next.

You pollute every store we go in to together. It's like shopping sets off some sort of chain reaction in your bowels. If you ever get too constipated at least I know I can clear it up with a quick trip to Barnes and Noble.

For the record: this is just like your dad.

Love,
Mommy

The winners of the Friday Giveaway are:
- SUGAR & SPICE's owner Saphyress
-SEIFER's owner Bison61
-Jazzy's owner Tiffany

Please email me at L V Mud at a o l dot com with your address.

FRiDaY MuD GiVeaWaY: CaTS!

It has been a busy, busy week, chickens! I'd like to just curl up beside a heater like this. That's Lenny. I obviously took him home because he matched the floor. If you match your cat to your linoleum, you'll never have to sweep again: shedding becomes a form of free-floating carpet.

In honor of those of you who are FeLiNe THe CaT LeRVe, today's giveaway features some of OUR NAME IS MUD's best-selling gifts for cat lovers.

* Three winners will be chosen at random on Monday. Your chances of winning are tripled, right?
* One entry per person
* We named Lenny after a character in the book OF MICE AND MEN who was one sandwich short of a picnic: because Lenny is one of the dumbest most mentally challenged cats ever to pad across the planet. In the comments section below, tell me about the name you chose for your cat. (And by cat I mean four legged feline, so please spare me the euphamisms, Thystle please.)

Here's what you can win:

Our CATfeinnated mug is purrrrrrrfect for coffee or tea. You can also win this:

Because everyone knows cats are like potatoe chips. And finally-how about this one:

Which leads me back to my original topic--which was sleep. LOTS OF IT. Happy Friday everyone!

ONe SeNteNCe BooK ReVieWS

WeLCoMe To BooK CLuB.
Help yourself to a few Ritz crackers, a paper cup full of Chardonnay, and get comfortable on the couch (you may need to move several of the cats.) Here are some recent reads....

THE SHACK By William P. Young
If my child were kidnapped and had been missing for years, you can bet the first question out of my mouth if I met God would not be of a theological nature.

Verdict: I want that two hours of my life I spent reading this on an airplane, back.

THE ROAD By Cormac McCarthy
Forget Soylent Green...apparently, newborn baby tastes just like chicken.

Verdict: Perfect, tight prose, thrilling can't-put-it-down read. True test of a very readable book? Sexyhusbandomine read it too.

WORLD WITHOUT END By Ken Follett
Plucky feminist in medieval times enjoys romance and avoids getting the plague in Kingsbridge.

Verdict: Even though it was almost as thick as a phone book, I didn't want it to end.

THE FRIDAY NIGHT KNITTING CLUB By Kate Jacobs
Bunch of chicks with issues hanging out at a yarn shop.

Verdict: Boring-predictible...I wanted to jam the needles into my eyeballs.

HER LAST DEATH By Susanna Sonnenberg
Being raised by a coke head, sexually disfunctional mother sucks..but in the end, she's still your mother.

Verdict: First half of the book was excellent, but when the author grows up she continues to whine like a spoiled seven year old. Pass this one up and read THE GLASS CASTLE by Jeanette Walls instead.

How about you friends? What have you been reading?

J TaLKiNG

One of my very favorite bloggers, Jane, from Emptying The Nest turned me on to the Alphabet Super Game. You have to list Ten Favorite Things that start with certain letter-assigned to you by the blog owner. Because Jane is narcissistic nice, she gave me the letter J. Her blog is better than dooce incredibly well written and hysterical, and therefore Jane! is my first Favorite Thing That Starts With a J--here are the other nine in no particular order.

1. JANITORS.
I have deep appreciation for these unsung heros of everyday life. Wouldn't it be great if someone changed the light bulbs when they burned out, emptied the trash regularly, and showed up with a bucket of sawdust every time a child vomited? Thank Goodness for the poor substitute the next best thing: HUSBANDS.

2. JELLY
Without it: millions of people would have to eat their peanut butter plain, and children would have no alternative when their Moms got creative with dinner. Also: diaphrams would not work so well. My Personal Fave: Raspberry with a side of Vasectomy.

3. JESUS and JUDAICA
Most people assume I am Jewish because I make menorahs, and use words like Mensch and Chutzpah in everyday conversations. (For a long time it was also assumed I was Canadian because I used 'eh?' so much-but that was just ear wax.) I love to make Judaica pottery because there is no greater honor than to be a part of someone else's family and spiritual traditions. Plus, I like matzah.

I am actually Christian: a Congregationalist/ Methodist/Protestant of the Church Of Lazy. I have been dunked in the water, I have gone to second base on a Retreat, I have sat in a circle and sung "Jesus is Just Alright With Me." I spent summers at a religious campground that had Christian Rock Bands come perform, and at the end when they asked us to come up to the stage and Be Saved, I went Every Single Time--mostly because I was full of the Holy Spirit, but maybe a little because the lead singer was always So Cute. Big shout out to my peep Hay-zeus.


4. JAMES TAYLOR, JIM CROCE, JACKSON BROWNE
Maybe one of the problems with my exercise regime is that I'm working out to "Fire and Rain."

5. JEWELS
I'm not a big bling bling girl. I was recently given a stamped silver ring that says CREATE. It's gotten filled with clay and other stuff, and now it just says EAT. Combine this with number 4 and we come to an apropos J word: JIGGLE. I will be performing The Dance of The Cellulite nightly at Ceasar's Salad.

6. JACK O LANTERNS
But why are there no Jill O Lanterns? Oh wait: empty head with the contents scooped out. Never Mind.

7. JELLO
I used to love the special pudding glasses my mother had-and how the chocolate pudding would harden in the fridge and how good the skin on top would taste when you first attacked it with a spoon. Now I just hand my child a snack pack. Still Good Stuff.

8. JOISEY SHORE
Even though it's a schlep to get there (see number three regarding my use of Yiddish) we are very blessed to have a place to go to be with family and spend time by the ocean. Please Note: Although it is also a J word, JAWS will not be appearing on this list.

9. JUGGLE
Husband-Kids-Work-Family-Volunteering-Creating-Doing-Dreaming......and an occasional bowling ball. Life would be boring any other way.

If you would like to play: leave a comment that links to you in the section below and I will assign you a letter. I will be accepting checks compliments from those of you who wish to avoid X and Q.

HoMe

OK: who chipped the glass egg on the mantlepiece?

I am back, my lovelies. And while I wish I had grand tales to regale you with, I have but three little words. I. Am. Tired.

I just wanted to tell you that in an effort to counteract the whole "cut your own bangs" debaucle, I went for an eyebrow wax the night before leaving. Which was a great plan, and would have worked if I had answered "no" to the question the lady at the salon asked me, which was... "Do you want a lip wax to go with that eyebrow wax?"

You see: I have Never Had a Lip Wax. While there are other areas where the carpet and drapes don't match, I am thankfully blessed with blonde hair on my upper lip.

But lately my blonde locks have become a bit--what's the word---oh yes, BUSHY and I feared I was starting to look a bit like this guy:


So I said: YES! to the lip wax. YES! YES! YES! Confident that the red moustache would fade before my appearance in Hotlanta, and I would be able to show off my new lipstick: Palin Pink Piggie.

What I was unprepared for was a reaction a day later that involved numerous oozing postules across my upper lip. Seriously: I broke out worse than a fifteen year old who ate a bag of hershey kisses before prom night. At least six of those suckers--red, irritated, and swollen. Using concealer was like throwing a paper cup of water on the Towering Inferno.

It was so bad that at the Sales Meeting yesterday morning, I had to tell the assembled sales force that I DID NOT HAVE HERPES. They looked sympathetic-one kindly offered to get me some Neosporin--but still refused to kiss me.

Thus ended forever my experiment with waxing places never before waxed...

Sorry, Sexyhusbandomine.