So, we’re officially down to one soother. And yes, I am fully aware that my daughter is 3 years old and shouldn’t have one at all, but we’re working on that and I already feel guilty enough about not taking it away from her sooner but she just really, really loves it and appears to need it and, really, will she be bringing it with her to university? (Ack, I sure hope not!) Would it help if I said that she only has it at bedtime? and when she drags up a chair, box or other high item to sneak it off whatever high surface I happen to have hid it on?  No? Still inappropriate? (At least she’s not a thumb-sucker. Something tells me I’d get arrested and thrown in jail if I took that away from her.)

The Girl and I have had the discussion about how when this sucky is finally broken, there will be no more suckies. She is pre-heartbroken. She loves that thing like it’s her best friend. The whole Pavlov’s dog phenomenon is in full effect with her. If she’s at all upset, pop sucky in and, pow. She’s instantly relaxed. It’s pure magic.

Uh, anyway…

So, about how we went from two suckies down to one. I’d tell you all about how The Girl had it when she went to the bathroom yesterday and how she dropped it in the toilet, but I have respect for your personal boundaries. You don’t need to hear about how I had to fish it out of there so that it wouldn’t clog up the pipes when the other, more, uh, organic stuff went down the tubes. And I wouldn’t even dream of telling you about how I would have been a heck of a lot happier if I’d had rubber gloves to use because Walmart bags, while helpful, are not always completely waterproof. I’d hate for you to develop some sort of icky mental image. I don’t want to be responsible for any therapy needs you may have in the future. So I will keep completely mum about how we went from two suckies down to one. I’m thoughtful like that.

Aren’t you glad I respected you enough not to tell you about how I fished around in a not-quite-empty toilet with my very nearly bare hand? I’m pretty sure the What to Expect books didn’t cover this…

On a side note, guess who didn’t eat lunch yesterday? If I had only known that toilet fishing would be the key to weight loss, well, I still wouldn’t be losing any weight, because? EW!!

Filed under: Confessions, Just My Luck, Keepin' it Real by WWS (Lynn) - 5 Comments →

I’m not sure how many guys are reading this blog, but if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say not many. In any case, if you are reading this and you are in possession of a Y chromosome, I feel compelled to warn you that the following is likely to make you want to scratch your eyes out and set yourself on fire. Just sayin’.

Let’s file this under “keeping it real”, shall we?

I’d like to preface this with a joke I recently received in my inbox:

Psychiatric Study

No further studies are expected.

I laugh every time I read that one. Ah. Good times.

Anyway…

I hate my period. And by “hate” I don’t just mean your average, run-of-the-mill, “I hate it when telemarketers call” kind of hate. I mean I well and truly hate my period. I hate it with the white hot passion of a thousand blazing suns. It makes me cranky. I retain water and feel fat and yucky. And, let’s face it, it’s just gross. Blech. 

Because I’m apparently not that swift, I feel all miserable and wacky for a good two days before “it” shows up like a boot to the head and reminds me that I don’t really want to kill my husband. My period is just making me feel like I want to kill my husband. (He’s such a lucky man to have me for a wife, isn’t he?) 

I’m not sure why I’m so obtuse when it comes to PMS. Every couple of months, it’s the same. I complain to my husband that I’m feeling “off.” I exclaim that I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I’m sad and cranky and feeling fat and gross and ohmygodblahblahblah it never changes. And yet, for some reason (mental block?) I have no earthly idea why I feel that way until – surprise!

My reaction is always the same. A big sigh. An exclamation. (“Crap!“) And then resignation. (“Here we go again. Crappity crappity crap. Crap!“) After almost 32 years on this planet, you’d think I’d get used to it, but no. I haven’t. And I likely never will. I am one of those women who will usher in menopause with a big, fat party. Anyone I have ever met in my life will be invited. I will expect lavish gifts and exhuberant, over-the-top congratulations from all. I will have balloon animals and a special sky-writing airplane, announcing to all who look to the heavens that I AM NO LONGER OVULATING! HALLELUJAH!

Each time I am forced to suffer through this indignity, I am reminded of when my second child was born. I came within minutes of a full hysterectomy due to massive hemorrhaging. And by minutes, I mean that the OR was being prepped even as my obgyn was leaning all of her weight into my abdomen (trying to push my uterus out manually? I’m still not quite sure…) and ordering various medications injected into my IV. At the last minute, the hemorrhaging stopped and, thankfully, the surgery was averted (though I still couldn’t feel my legs following my c-section, so it probably would have been a good time). While I am normally grateful that I didn’t have to undergo that particular surgery, each month (or so) a tiny part of me wishes that they had just yanked that obnoxious little sucker right out of me when they had the chance. How awesome would it be never to ever have to entertain Aunt Flo ever, ever again? Ever! (That’s currently the biggest “plus” to aging that I can think of.)

But then (because I’m weird like that) I start imagining that if my uterus was gone, all of my other internal organs would feel compelled to follow suit. I can see them falling out, one by one, like a game of Jenga. Take out the wrong block and the whole stack comes crashing down.

And then I’m back to being happy that I still have all of my girl parts intact.

Still. Having your period sucks, doesn’t it girls? It’s horrible. Brutal. Torture.

All I can say is that, if we women are forced to suffer through it, at least we are suffering in a time and place where there are modern conveniences at our disposal. Because I swear, if I had to use a leaf or something, heads would roll.

(What’s up with my thumb, by the way? Freakish…)

I think I need some chocolate.

Filed under: Keepin' it Real, Me, Pity Party by WWS (Lynn) - 7 Comments →

Just because I spent the last 24 hours or so trying to remember the name of this song and finally, finally remembered, I decided to post it here so I can remember and treasure it always and forever! (Or, at least until it no longer exists on YouTube). Now that the torture of not knowing is finally done, I can look forward to a good night’s sleep!

Oh, and for those who don’t appreciate the YouTube filler, I promise I have a “real” post on deck! Just finishing up.

Filed under: Happy Happy, Random by WWS (Lynn) - 2 Comments →

The other day, as we were listening to this song on the radio, The Boy asks me, “Did that guy really lose his goat?” 

Filed under: Out of the Mouths of Babes by WWS (Lynn) - No Comments →

I have a confession to make. While I realize that when you read this blog, you think, “now there’s a girl who’s into the classics and literary fiction. She wouldn’t be caught dead with anything less than Kafka or Beckett.” I hate to burst your bubble, but I am just not that girl. I love Joy Fielding and Sophie Kinsella and Jennifer Crusie and even Julie bloody Garwood. I love chick lit. I even like romance novels. I like that they’re quick, easy and light, even if I’m not. I like not having to think too hard about what I’m reading. I know. Shocking. I am the opposite of the literary snob. I’m not even going to pretend that I’ve read War and Peace, because I haven’t. And I likely never will. (I do appreciate anything by any of the Bronte women, though.) And so, 99% of the books I read can be completed in a day or two. And that’s only when I’m feeling ambitious. Sometimes, a magazine is all I can muster. But I digress… 

When I was young, I couldn’t see the point of romance novels other than as a way to sneek a peek into the world of grownups and, ahem, sex. Sex ed class was embarrassing as hell good and all, but romance novels just seemed to be the way to go to get the straight-up truth. (Because we all know that romance novels provide a thoroughly realistic and truthful look into the endless bliss of married life.) (Cough.)

(Hey? Where did those crickets come from?)

Now that I am a married mother of two young children, I have realized what romance novels really are. They are fluffy, meaningless, easy escapes from the utter madness that every day holds. When you are so tired that you can barely think, you can still read a romance novel. They take very little effort to “get.” And sometimes, that’s a really great thing. At the end of a day filled with toy explosions and poops in the potty, tantrums and owies, crumb-covered floors and dirty faces, runny noses and chaos, sometimes it’s easier to end your day reading about people getting it on instead of having to do it yourself doing it yourself.

(Hi, honey!)

(Honey? Oh, don’t be like that. I said, “sometimes.” Sometimes!)

(Men. They sure can be sensitive about some things. Ok, sensitive about one thing.)

Where was I?

Oh, yes. The romance novel. I will admit that I haven’t actually read one in quite some time (I’m more into chick lit these days) but I’ve decided that I might just break out one of them this weekend. None of those women wipe poopy bottoms, wash load after neverending load of laundry or clean projectile vomit out of their bras. No, those women have tall, dark, handsome, doting Lairds for husbands. (Mmm, Lairds…)

In short, I now understand why my mom used to have romance novels stashed on bookshelves, on the coffee table and on her nightstand. It’s pure escapism.

Gone are the days of my youth, spent guiltily flipping to the “good” parts while my parents were at hockey practice with my brother (hi, mom!). These days, the “good” parts of romance novels come when the heroine spends the day relaxing in a field or sleeping in. The “good” parts are where her husband dotes on her instead of asking what’s for dinner. The castle is magically clean, no one limps to the nearest chair after stepping on a Polly Pocket or piece of Lego and, if there does happen to be a child nearby, said child is always all smiles and rainbows. Ah, the world of the romance novel.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love my life. I love my kids, poopy bums, tantrums and all. I love my husband, even though he’s not particularly tall, dark, or a Laird. (He is handsome though, so there’s that…) I just think that sometimes people put a little too much emphasis on reading the classics and modern literary fiction. While I am sure that, if I ever actually read it, I would love War and Peace as much as the next girl, I believe that there’s nothing wrong with some light-hearted chick lit. Hooray for summer reading season! The end.

Filed under: Confessions, Me by WWS (Lynn) - No Comments →

The last couple of nights, I have tried to log in to my blog to write some pressing anecdote or other, only to be denied by my web host. No way, no how was I getting on. I was frustrated and, because I’m secretly a crazy conspiracy theorist, a little paranoid. Knowing of others who have blogs through the same host, I checked their sites, only to have them load immediately. With my suspicions confirmed (It’s only me! Me! Why am I the only person in the universe who can’t log in to her lifeblood blog?) I immediately put in a support ticket asking why my web host didn’t love me anymore. Am I not attentive enough? Don’t I do sweet, spontaneous things? It’s the nose, isn’t it? You’re just not attracted to me anymore, are you web host?

As it turns out, my hosting company was doing some testing to improve performance and that such testing is generally done during “after hours” periods. I think that someone is trying to tell me something, namely, “Go to bed, idiot! Nobody blogs at midnight.”

So… Everything’s all fixed now and here I sit, completely unable to remember what exactly it was that I just had to write about the other day. Maybe I’ll take the support ticket dude’s inadvertent advice and get my tired behind to bed. That’s where all the good thinking happens, anyway. Now that I have been hugged and kissed by my web host and am assured once again of its affections, I will regroup and come back again tomorrow.

Filed under: Me, Random by WWS (Lynn) - No Comments →

And this is the last you’ll ever hear of this. I promise.

Obsessive much?

Filed under: Me by WWS (Lynn) - 1 Comment →

Guess what I learned today? I can type 200 words per minute with ZERO percent accuracy! Or, if I’m actually trying, I top out at 67wpm (only 66% accuracy – boo hoo!) How do you measure up? www.typingtest.com

Filed under: Random by WWS (Lynn) - 2 Comments →

I had a wonderful time at the hair salon yesterday. I love my hair. My stylist toned down the red and went with a chocolate brown with caramel highlights. Add my pale, white face to the equation and I absolutely look like a sundae.

I love the way my hair turned out, but I am picture-shy and in need of dropping 20 pounds from my tummy and, oddly enough, face, so instead, I decided to show you how my hair would look on Uma Thurman. Apparently we have the same face shape. Go figure.

Here I am in all my glory on the red carpet. Why, yes. That is a new haircut. Why, thank you so much! I love it too:

And, just so you can get the true image of the hair, here is Uma on a rare visit to my bathroom. Who knew she liked to wear the same hideous green shirt as me? The resemblance between the two of us is positively uncanny:

And another one. Just to properly depict how slammin’ my bangs are right now:

Actually, come to think of it, I think my hair is quite similar to Uma’s look in Pulp Fiction. Only a little softer and lighter in colour. I tell you, Uma and I are like this.

What? I could look like that. You don’t know!

Oh, honey. You wish. Come talk to me after your nose job.

Filed under: Me by WWS (Lynn) - 6 Comments →

Only 27 hours to go until my hair appointment.  I hope I can make it because I think I might be about 27 hours away from looking like this:

Please pray for me. I don’t want to lose it and do something crazy when I’m thisclose to a whole new me!

Filed under: Me by WWS (Lynn) - 11 Comments →