I'm like a show on TNT

Apparently Kyra Sedgwyck and I have more in common than I knew in the past. Well..actually this may be the only thing we have in common...we only perform in the summer.

Like The Closer (the best show on TV, ending this summer) I too, can only come out with new product in the summer months.

And while I would LOVE to be able to blog everyday...I just can't seem to get it done. But tonight, on the eve of my last day of work until September, I find myself knee deep in my second glass of wine, setting up new websites for my newest adventure, and wanting to tell you all the ridiculous stories that have happened this year.

But you'll have to wait until tomorrow...I have to go to bed so I can rise one last time at 5am to exercise, make lunch, pack bags, sign forms, and yell so loud the neighbors wake up.

Oh...the stories are SOOO funny.

pay it forward with dessert

I really feel the need to tell you all about the dessert we had last night.



It was a 3 point souffle. And if you don't know what a "point" is...well then you don't watch enough tv in the middle of the day. Somewhere between Regis and Kelly and Days of Our Lives is a Jennifer Hudson tutorial on the benefits of counting your points. Have you seen it? Have you seen her? Holy cow...if counting points is what I need to do...then I'll do it!



So a point is a standard of measure for Weight Watchers...and 3 points is not a lot. In fact, it is the same as a 100 calorie bag of pretzels and less than a glass of wine. And now you tell me...which would you rather have for dessert...a bag of pretzels or a chocolate souffle. Yeah, yeah, yeah...I know the answer is both WITH a glass of wine, but we're trying to change that aren't we?



Now, I've never made a souffle before so in honor of Valentine's Day I channeled my inner Top Chef (again, if you don't get my reference, you must watch more tv in order for us to be friends!) and whipped up the egg white by hand (before you know it I'll be making my own mayonnaise), added a little melted chocolate mixed with sugar and chocolate milk, threw it in the oven and voila...we had a souffle. Or two to be exact. I don't know what all the fuss is about...that was as easy as it gets.

And while last night I wasn't exactly counting my points (as evidenced by the whip cream serving I put on top of the souffle and the wine glasses in the background)...this dessert is a keeper.

Me and Nanny McPhee

Big boy is about to lose his top tooth. It has been loose for 73 1/4 days (plus or minus an hour). And it won't come out.

So we've been calling him Nanny McPhee.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm looking forward to when he has a big gaping whole in his mouth rather than this snaggle tooth that is giving him a lisp.

Growing up can be so glamorous!!

A long trip to here

I didn't expect to be so sentimental about the American Veteran's truck that came today to haul away our "no longer needed" items. It's so polite isn't it? They don't want to call it junk...but we all know it is.

Last night, after I got my reminder call that I had agreed to put some stuff out for the truck, I ran around the house trying to collect all the junk...I mean...no longer needed items...that I agreed to donate. To be fair, they called on December 26, when my house looked something like a hoarders episode. So, of course, I thought I could fill 3 truck loads with our junk. But once the wrapping paper was thrown away and the extraneous family members returned to their proper households, I struggled to find a worthwhile amount of goods to give away. I filled one bag of kids clothes, found 2 lampshades I detest and then stalled out.

There had to be more things to give away in this house. So you know what I did...I went to the garage. And I gave away the ping pong table, the Foosball table, the circular saw, the 3 snowboards. NO! Just kidding. If I did that, I might as well have put myself on the curb with them, I would no longer be welcome here.

But what I did find were 2 last remaining strollers in the corner. It was like finding 2 long lost friends. I have been everywhere with those two ladies. One, slender and blue, always went on the the plane, to London, Portugal, Italy, Disney, California...you name it, that lady carried and comforted our kids everywhere. The other...so sturdy and trustworthy. Not appreciated for her looks, but for her speed, grace, and ability to get me out of the house when I was stir crazy. When my second was born, I tried to upgrade to a fancy jogging stroller, but always returned to old big bertha.

I looked at those girls long and hard...thought about how my 3.5 year old hasn't been in a stroller in nearly 12 months, and decided to say goodbye.

So this morning I trekked them out to the bottom of the driveway and left them. Abandoned them. I didn't think anything of it. Until I found myself looking out the window multiple times to see if they were still there. Should I go back and get them? What if we need a stroller? Am I making a mistake?

And then the truck came. And the guys just chucked them into the back of the truck and drove away. The end. And I cried.

Lordy, what the heck is wrong with me? I hope I'm not this emotional because I'm pregnant...because then I've made a mistake...well 2 actually.

What 5am will get you

Hello blog, it is me Mommystar.

This year I have been REALLY good about going to the gym. I completely recognize in myself that I am a nicer, saner, but not necessarily thinner person if I work out consistently. Unfortunately for me, I need to exercise in the morning, BEFORE the kids get up to go to school, so that leaves me at the gym at 5 am. Pitch black, crickets chirping, please don't let my car break down 5 AM.

And if you are anything like me, I choose my gyms based on their ammenities. And when I say ammenities, I mean towel thread count, TV stations, and child care options. So working out at O'dark-thirty leaves me with nothing. No warm towels, no child care, and no TV. Well sure, there's TV, but do you have any idea what is on at 5am...no, why should you? Nothing but infomercials.

And do you know where that gets me? A $150 workout dvd system that is going to "transform my body" before my very own eyes!. Yup...I'm venturing to do P90x and it is seriously kicking my ass. I've given up the gym for the basement and am tackling the 90 day workout program that should make me look like...

(That's Demi Moore, a P90x user, tweeting a picture of herself)

You know I can't pass up on a good before/after. I want to be an after! And if I ever end up looking like Demi...you can be damn sure I'll be tweeting that picture worldwide. Maybe even a superbowl commercial!

I blame it on Wipeout

I won't ever have video games in my house. (Blake, c. 1995)

Ha!

That's what I used to shamelessly profess as I watched other children withdraw from social activities to play their DS's, Play Stations, or Atari's. Now look at me. Now I'm screamng from the rooftop...only one hour of Wii today (Blake, c. ten mintes ago).

Ha to the double Ha!

I've completely lost the video game war and apparently I am losing the TV war too. You know how I know? I'll tell you...

Last weekend at a birthday party for a friend of my 6 year old, I offered said son a drink. "Would you like a water, a capri sun, or a juice box?" I asked. And completely straight faced, not even a hint of a joke he said, "No I think I'll take a beer. That Miller Lite would be fine."

And 2 days later when he got over the fact that there were no keg stands to be had at the birthday party, I innocently enough asked what he wanted for dinner and his response was, "Red Lobster." Uhhh...what? (now no offense to people who eat at Red Lobster, but we haven't and I don't even think we have ever driven by one)

So my only assumption is that TV is to blame. And since I seriously doubt that he's watching commercials for Miller Lite and Red Lobster on the Food Network, Bravo, or TLC (I jest, I jest...no need to get self-righteous on me at this point), then the only thing we have to blame is that darn show Wipeout that he and his father love so much.

Seriously, what goes better with hysterically laughing at people on insane, impossible obstacle courses than a cold Miller Lite and an Admiral's Feast?

Dress Code

I think that it is official. I am screwed.

My little (well, not so little now) boy has thrown me some curve balls but for the most part I can see them coming a mile away. Don't want to leave a friend's house...I anticipate a meltdown. Tired and not getting what you want...I anticipate a meltdown. Don't like the clothes I lay our for you...well, he has never seemed to care. I never really appreciated that until now.

My little girl...well she's a totally different story. I must remind you that she isn't even THREE years old yet. She has hit temper tantrums full force this year and quite honestly, I can deal with them. What transpired today...not so prepared for.

I picked out an outfit for her to wear to school. A pair of capris and a striped shirt. It was cute, it was comfortable, and she has worn it multiple times with no complaints. That was not the case this morning. Her protests were so loud to my wardrobe choices that I think the neighbors 4 houses away could hear the screams of torture at 7 in the morning. It was like I has chosen a prairie dress and a bonnet. We fought, we yelled, my husband intervened and after about 25 minutes and 10 trips to time out she conceded and put on the pants. (she comes by her stubbornness quite honestly!)

As I was walking out the door to take the kids to school, I gave my husband a small high five claiming victory and patted myself on the back for breaking the little girl down.

So wouldn't you know how surprised I was when she came home from school in a DIFFERENT pair of pants. As she walked in the room and I got a look at her, the very first question I asked was not "how was your day honey?" but rather, "where did you get those pants?" And don't you love toddler honesty, she looked me straight in the eye and said, "I didn't like the pants I was wearing so I put these in my bag and my teacher put them on."

So take that Momma. You are so screwed.

Lessons on Mother's Day

I struggle constantly with the idea of bribing versus positive reinforcement. The big boy is at a point where he REALLY appreciates the value of a dollar...he saves up, rolls pennies, and begs for trips to target to buy legos when he has "earned"enough money.

This morning, being Mother's Day and all, was no different. We were all racing around trying to get dressed for the brunch that I arranged. (mother's day or not, if you want it the way you want it...do it yourself!). A control freak on all fronts, I had already placed the kids' clothes on their beds and was trying to dry my hair and put on a smidge of makeup before we left. And just like every other day, the little girl refused to wear what I put out for her. No amount of "its too cold to wear a sleeveless dress" and "no you can't wear your fleece sweatsuit" was getting through her adorable little head of blond curls. There were tears, tantrums, and fears for what this says about our teen years. Exasperated and desperate to get some concealer on the bags under my eyes worthy of a surcharge at US Airways I offered the big boy three dollars to help her get dressed.

Desperate for a new star wars lego set...he accepted the challenge.

And wouldn't you know it that three minutes later she came bounding into the bathroom with her dress on (albeit backwards) and a big smile on her face.

So for three dollars I learned, all you have to do is take her baby doll away, put it WAY up on the dresser where she can't reach it and tell her she can have it back when she puts her dress on. And viola...her dress is on.

It may be Mother's Day, but I got schooled in mothering by my 5 year old today. I would say he definitely "earned" his money!

Mother of the day.

Tonight I got a phone call from the little girl's pre-school teacher. I always get a pit in the bottom of my stomach when a teacher calls me. I almost instantaneously ask, "What did she do?" Benefit of the doubt? Not around here.

It turns out that instead of her doing something wrong, I missed our teacher conference today (awesome on my part) and so the teacher was doing a follow-up call to go over her report card. Do I have to remind you that the little girl is 2.5 years old? This pre-school business is apparently serious stuff!

Within the conversation, the teacher described a child that I am not very familiar with (she used adjectives such as friendly, cooperative, helpful, polite...I said, "do you mean smart-assed, flippant, demanding, and devious?). She talked about different activities that our little girl enjoys, skills she has developed and things she should work on over the summer. Seriously, I kid you not, in her bag were worksheets to practice cutting over the summer!

At the end of the conversation, the climax, the highlight, the grand-finale the teacher referenced a self-portrait that the little lady completed. In no less than 20 minutes, she painstakingly described the process that took place to create this self-portrait. I really don't know who was prouder of the work, the girl or the teacher. And after hearing that the teacher had taken the time to frame this self-portrait because she knew I would want to display it I paused. And praying that the coffee grounds weren't on top of the portrait I dug it out of the trashcan and took a look.

So if you think you are going to win Mother of the Day today. Try again, I've got you beat!

The back-handed compliment

Oh where to begin? Let's just say that after a night of binging on pepperoni pizza and onion rings, I found myself at a Weight Watchers meeting last Saturday. I had a real taste as to what it would be like to be an addict. OK, let's get real. I am an addict...a food addict. And the only support group I rely on is Weight Watchers. So that's exactly where I headed first thing in the morning after my saturated fat and carb bender to get control of my out-of-control eating.

I have joined Weight Watchers approximately 17.45 million times. I try to nod my head politely as the "mentors" go through counting points, weighing food, making good choices,etc. I try not to point out how much has changed since I first joined way back in 1988...and honestly, not that much has changed, not even my weight.

So, as I stepped up to the counter to make my enrollment official, the sweet lady behind the counter asked me sincerely, "Are you sure that you weigh 138 pounds? If you don't you can't join today."

I should probably add here that I am 5'11" and not "small boned" AT ALL. 138 would make me look like Heidi Klum...and let's be really clear, I don't.

This sweet little, and probably senile, lady was worried that I didn't weigh enough to join Weight Watchers. HA!

"uhhh...yes I am sure." I said, trying not to laugh in her face at her obvious sight problems. Blindness maybe?

I then proceeded to step on the scale.

As the lovely, senile, blind, and now suffering from turrets woman behind the counter looked at my weight (only seen by her) she then gasps, stands on her tip toes to peer over the counter and looks me up and down about 10 times.

"Yes you do." she says. "I should have looked closer. If I had looked closer I can definitely tell you weigh enough. You certainly do."

Uh, thanks. I think?

SnOMG. I can't take this anymore.

This blizzard is killing me.

And for the first time in 12 days, I am not talking about my children. They aren't driving me crazy, I don't feel like locking them outside in the sub-zero weather, and I am no longer running away from them and hiding in the basement closet with the furnace just to get a minute alone. (this may because they are both currently napping)

If life doesn't get back to normal soon, I am going to be a contestant on next season's Biggest Loser. And while I love a good before and after, I'm not much for public weigh-ins.

I was so prepared for round one of this blizzard. I hit the HT, recipes in hand, stocked up on healthy fare, fresh fruit and veggies, prepared well-rounded meals, and was so proud of my preparation and follow through of my menu planning. I was a regular June Cleaver. I even donned an apron once or twice.

But you know what? These kids demand to be fed THREE times a day PLUS snacks. That's a lot of food, people. And they can't seem to do anything for themselves. "mommy can I have a snack?" "mommy, I'm hungry" "mommy, I'm thirsty" "mommy, is it dinner time?" THREE times a day PLUS snacks.

So when round two rolled around, I had had enough. No more Julia Childs for me...it was all Little Debbie. So this week we have had orange fingers from the doritos, chocolate in the corner of our mouths from the tollhouse cookies, and dishes caked with old queso strewn throughout the house. It is getting SO old.

I realized this morning that the situation was getting dire as I was being lapped at the gym by the senior sneakers. I recommit to a healthy life for me and my family...right after I finish this tube of Pringles. Yummmm.

Snowtopia

Please, let us not address the more than 2 months since I last logged on. I lost my Mommystar mojo. I don't know what happened. Well, actually, nothing happened. Nothing that I could spin into a funny little tale, a witty little story, or a minor little exaggeration.



But seriously, if I can't find something to write about while locked in the house for what feels like the 14th day in a row, dreaming of the days when I could go to work to change diapers on 10 kids who ALL poop daily, then I really should just abandon my blog all together.



Tonight we're entering our 2nd major snowstorm in less than 5 days. And coming from a girl who went to school in Maine, these are major storms. 30" last Friday and another 12-18" tonight. I love a good snow storm, but this is getting ridiculous. The streets aren't plowed, schools are closed, and my kids won't leave me alone.



The cabin fever got so bad yesterday that a friend and I rejoiced that Target AND Chic-Fil-A were both open. We made a date to meet there with the kids and wander the aisles browsing the pool supplies, bathing suits, and patio furniture. (really, you should go to a Target and ask for a sled...it gets a GREAT reaction!). When I got home 3 hours later my husband asked where we had gone. "to Target and Chi-fil-a" I replied. "The WHOLE time?" "Yes, for 3.5 hours, you got a problem with that?"



Tonight, that same friend came over because supposedly her dryer is broken and she needed to dry some pajamas and underwear. I wasn't fooled, she just needed to get out of the house. I don't blame her, tomorrow I'm going out for bird feed, I'm afraid the birds will be hungry in this snowstorm.



I know this storm is monumental, we'll remember it for the rest of our lives, talk about Snowmageddon 2010, Snowtorious B.I.G., and snOMG every winter when they forecast snowfall. But what I'm really hoping we don't remember is that this was the winter that I drank myself blotto and passed out in a snowbank, let my kids go sledding into the stream without supervision, or hid in the closet and cried until March.



The sun will come out tomorrow right?

Holiday traditions

We're packing up and heading to Jersey for Thanksgiving.

North on 95 may be the last place I want to be this week, but it has become a tradition. I think this may be the 34th year that I've done this traffic dance, weighing Wednesday night vs. Thursday morning. Coming home on Saturday vs. coming home on Sunday. Make my food contributions here vs. make my food there. It feels completely normal to drive north to Jersey for turkey day. I'll love it and hate it all at the same time. Just like I do every year.

But what I'll miss are the games that we used to play in the car when I was a kid. Every Thanksgiving day, my parents would get us up early, shove us into the station wagon and head to my grandparents house. The only thing that got me into the car those mornings was the gambling that would take place driving to the feast.

We'd all ante up and play two games on the way to my grandparents. The first was Hear and Name the First Christmas Carol. We would tune into the local public radio station, listen intently and pray that Jingle Bells was the first carol that would come on. Inevitably two hours into the drive some obscure religious hymn would come on that only my father could name and he would win. And also inevitable the next song that would come on would be Jingle Bells.

The second game had much better odds for my sister and me to wine while cruising in the back seat. It was See the First Truck of Christmas Trees. All you had to do was shout out that you saw the truck brimming full of fresh cut Frasier Firs, confirm it with someone else in the car, and the money pot was yours. False alarms of trucks with tires, yard debris, and even livestock were tolerated but eventually one of us would spot a truck full of those tightly wrapped trees heading to some strip mall to be sold for a small fortune, and we ourselves would win a couple of dollars.

I loved these games, I loved how they helped pass the time in the car, and of course I loved making a few extra bucks before the holidays! But these games can no longer exist. Christmas carols have been playing since mid-October. We have satellite radio and can tune into a channel that plays them exclusively 24/7 from Halloween until valentine's day. And on top of that, the title of every song as well as the artist that sings the song runs in ticker-tape style along our radio. In addition, decorations have been out since before daylight savings time and I am sure that the Christmas tree farms have been selling their trees since election day. Seriously???What has happened to the time when we waited until December to decorate? Where is our self-control? Have we forgotten that too much of a good thing eventually loses its appeal?

Maybe that's what I should be reminding myself as we head to Jersey again for Thanksgiving. That too much of a good thing eventually loses its appeal...noooo, that can't be the answer...I like Jersey and christmas decorations too much for that to be the solution!

H1Nwhat?

Have you heard? There's this wacky sickness going around called H1N1.

It has come to my attention not because I watch tv, listen to NPR, or talk to other people, but because I am surrounded by my children or in a school 24/7. My kids go to 3 different schools, take 3 different classes, and I work in a school filled with students who belong to families with similar schedules. Imagine the germ cross contamination that is going on. As a result, each time someone coughs, sneezes, or whistles a little funny everyone takes a deep breath, takes two steps backward, and thinks "OMG they have swine flu!" No one wants to get this flu, and people are taking action.

Never in my life did I think that I would get up wait in line for something at 6am in the morning that didn't involve live music and a night on the town. But no...I got up at 5am to get a number at the health clinic so my kids could get the H1N1 vaccine 5 hours later. Did they thank me? No...those freakin' ingrates.

It really has become crazy. I was actually afraid to say out loud that I had a cold last week because I thought that people would think that I had the flu. I muffled my cough, discreetly blew my nose, and didn't complain at all (that was the hardest part of the whole cold!) And in fact, 5 days later, my husband confessed that for a while he thought I had the swine flu because I was coughing. What? Since when did a cough = flu?? This pandemic has made us crazy.

What really emphasized how crazy we have all become about this was my son. He gets a "treat" each week for good behavior at school, and last week he asked for his treat to be hand sanitizer. Really...you think anti-bacterial wash is something that you have to wait for, to earn...if you aren't good, I'm not going to give it to you and you can get the flu? I don't think so. I talked him off the H1N1 ledge, gave him some hand sanitizer, just because. I'm crazy like that.

I hope we can move on from the great H1N1. I know it is out there, I know people are going to get it. But is it really the plague? Should I really be this worked up about it? I don't know, but I did go to Costco to get the hand sanitizer, so I think we're good for this flu season!

I really want to be here

I SO want to blog again. But you see...I'm a working woman now. I work TWELVE hours a week, and it is exhausting. Oh, lord, you have no idea..my friend who works SIX hours a week at her gym totally understands. The demands of being a mom AND working at the same time are just too much. After working 4 hours each day, for three days in a row...I really have no energy left to write.

And that's my excuse. But...you might also want to believe that all I want to do is write about the crazy kids that I teach, and that would be wrong...wouldn't it??? Or would it?

What to do when it rains for 5 days straight

I recently told my friend that if the weather is bad outside, she should head over to my house. You see, I have this Pavlovian response to dark days, cold weather, and being cooped up inside and MUST cook.

It really isn't that bad of a vice. Cooking is good right? I got to make some carrot muffins for the kids for their lunches to compensate for the gummy "fruit" snacks they also get. I've also made meatballs, lasagna, french toast, steak stuffed with goat cheese and caramelized onions, and cookies.

The down side to all of this is that since the weather has been so nasty, I only worked out once last week. So if I am what I eat. I am fat! (but happy!) And I digress...

So yesterday we had one of our boy's friends over for an extended playdate. And while we usually take the kids outside for scootering, biking, hiking, and climbing...yesterday we were completely stranded in the house. And even 5 year olds have a limit for how much Wii they can play.

So we made Halloween cookies and decorated them.

It has been raining for so long, I think my brain was starting to melt, because I am the WORST cookie decorator. I was once uninvited to a Christmas cookie decorating party because I had to throw more cookies out than keep. But for some reason I thought I would try with the boys. And here is how they turned out:

I bet you can't even tell which ones I decorated. I told you I was bad. And you'll also be relieved to know that it is no longer raining, so I can stop the cooking madness.

Just another lazy Sunday

I don't know about you, but I am SO tired of making lunches already. Seriously, if I have to look at another sandwich ziploc, bag of pretzels, or cheesestick again, I might just start sending my boy in with money to buy "healthy lunches" of fried cheese sticks with marinara sauce (they have the nerve to count the sauce as a vegetable serving...really?). OK...it isn't getting that bad, but each day that passes I have more and more respect for my sister-in-law who makes lunch for her 5 kids...EVERY F-ING DAY...I have no idea how she does it.

So in an effort to make lunch a little more interesting, last weekend I tried to bake a spiced apple bread to put in with the turkey sandwich and the hard boiled egg. Well...spice it up is exactly what I did. Never one for understatement, I decided that not only would we enjoy this bread, but so would two friends who recently had babies. So I made 3 batches, threw them in the oven, and went to my computer to get started on my online grocery order for the week. 45 minutes later I checked on my bread and this is what I found:

Seriously, if I don't have the knack for making the turkey sandwich and egg look good, I don't who does. These were the most disgusting, gooey, burnt, and foul smelling breads I have ever cooked. And the added bonus was that they overflowed out of their pans onto the bottom of my oven.

So I did what any half-assed cook in the middle of a lazy Sunday afternoon would do. I closed the oven and hit the self-clean button. Why else did I pay a million dollars for my awesome oven if it can't clean itself?

So I returned to my computer to finish my shopping, peruse a little people.com, and return some emails when my husband comes running in. I immediately knew something was up since he rarely leaves his chair on football Sundays. He alerted me to the pouring of smoke coming from the ovens, into the kitchen, and throughout the house. Turns out that you are supposed to clean off the bottom of the oven before hitting self-clean. Ooops.

After a minute of smoke inhalation, a stop-drop-and roll exercise, and a quick trip to the garage for the fire extinguisher, we turned off the oven and started to believe that the house was not going to burn down. I then headed out open a few more windows and when I come back, this is what I found.

Turns out he did what any half-assed football fan on a lazy Sunday would do and got back to the task at hand.

We're nothing if we're not lazy and half-assed around here!

Don't knock it til you try it

I sit here writing on my blog for the first time since uh...well...a LONG time. It really is boring where I have been...so I won't even go there. But as I FINALLY get back to my blog, I drink my vodka tonic and wonder could this be a better deal?

You see, my husband and I like (read:need) to divy up the children responsibilities 50/50. Neither of us likes to feel that the other is getting a better deal/ easier duties and we all know that in the case of child rearing the poop always stinks less on the other side of the room.

So...we alternate in EVERYTHING. Bath, morning duty, soccer practice, nights out with friends...and it works out fantastic.

Sure it somewhat stinks when it is my night for bath and bedtime and my husband retreats to his craigslist search for something that "is a really great deal" but it all works out on nights like tonight where I get to pour myself a drink after dinner and listen to bath and bedtime from afar. If I were to ever give parenting advice...this would be it.

Because nothing makes me happier than my son yelling to me to help him with his Wii and knowing that I can rightly ignore him.

See why I shouldn't give parenting advice??

Julie, Julia, and me

Last night I had the immense pleasure of seeing Julie & Julia. I think you may have to be living underneath a rock to not know the story so do I really have to give a synopsis? (watch the trailer if you are in fact a Fraggle and don't know what I am talking about)

OMG, this movie was talking directly to me. I think I knew that it was love at first sight when, as Julia Childs was struggling with what her next career/life step would be and her husband asked what she liked to do, her response was, "I like to EAT" Amen Julia. I couldn't have said it better myself.

For two hours I sat on the edge of my seat (no, it is not a thriller unless you consider the success of an aspic suspenseful) trying not to be the ultimate cliche in relating to each and every story line they presented. Super tall girl married to a shorter man. Yup. Mundane career by day, blogger by night. Yup. Love of butter and red wine. Double Yup. Stuck in my thirties not really knowing what direction to go. Yup. Complete satisfaction in cooking and desire to make it a career. Yup to the izo.

When I got home from the movie, I immediately went to amazon.com and found myself buying Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Luckily, they did not serve alcohol at our movie theater or I also would have signed up for a Cordon Bleu class that they were advertising at the bottom of the page along with buy a Le Creseut French Oven for your Boeuf Bourguignon and some fresh, delivered to your doorstep liver pate. Seriously, thank god I was sober or we would be taking out a second mortgage today to finance my early to mid-life crisis.

Instead, today I am going to buy a couple of pounds of butter, tackle a Chocolate Roulade and a Beur Blanc and call it a night.

I'm not going to be able to stop thinking about this movie for some time. I have complete admiration of these two women who stuck it out, persevered with what they loved, and found success. I'm not sure the "I like to EAT" declaration is going to get me to my next step...but eventually I'll find mine. And in the meantime, I'm just going to adopt Julia Childs' thoughts:

"The only real stumbling block is fear of failure...you've got to have a what-the-hell attitude."

No more meatballs in the bongo

I'm not really sure how it all started. But usually with me it just takes one small idea to take hold, then fester, next it grows, mutates, and attaches itself to me so that I can no longer function without completing this one small idea. The ideas range from Sleep away camp in Vermont, 1987 to Highlights and Haircut 2006. Some of the ideas are good (camp) while some are questionable (highlights). But innocently enough while spending my summer at the pool I was given the idea that now was the time to potty train my barely 2 year old daughter. And after a gestation period of a few weeks, a couple of google searches, and one illegal forward of "Potty Training in 3 Days," we were off.

Now, when I say we, I really mean the little girl and me. Because let me be the first to tell you that no one else around here was any help AT ALL. When I say he didn't do shit. Well, he didn't do pee or shit. Nothing. OK...maybe I am exaggerating a little bit now. There were the few times when she yelled, "Mommy I need to go potty" and he looked around for me to be sure I would go with her. And there was also the time that he took her upstairs only to put her in a diaper...yeah, that's helping.

But have no fear, I did not let one reluctant parent stand in my way. And after 4 days of mistakes, spending nearly 79 hours on the floor of the potty, 17 rounds of singing wheels on the bus, and one Costco load of Clorox wipes, my little girl got the hang of it. There's no turning back now!

And let's be honest, there's not real point to this post. It is just that I want to scream with joy that we're diaper free and potty trained, that I was right and as she always tells you... "there are no more meatballs in the bongo."

Amen.