Outnumbered Two to One

To all who entered my 200th post giveaway, thank you. I wish I could give you each a prize, but being that we’re a one income household, I don’t think my husband would appreciate that very much. In my book you’re all winners, granted you get none of the loot that the actual winners will receive, but that’s just a technicality.

The copy of Maurice Sendak’s “Where the Wild Things Are” goes to…

Kia of Good Enough Mama, who was fortunate enough to be randomly selected by an unbiased (and free) online resource…maybe she should hit the slot machines to test out her new found luck. If you have the opportunity, please go by and offer your congratulations. She’s an entertaining read and not just because she has the maturity level of a 8 year old boy (her words, not mine).

The zombie hunting permit was a little tougher to decide. It seems many of you felt the imminent threat of a zombie invasion and were eager to do your part to eliminate it. Two ladies in particular took their fervor to a whole other level, declaring an all out sisterly feud in their efforts to secure their win.

Elle and Stacy of Blue Monkey Butt were relentless in their pursuit of a zombie hunting permit, taking their debate from my blog to theirs and back again. Now, if Stacy accidentally fed her sister to the advancing undead hordes, I would never forgive myself.

So, since this is my giveaway and I’m making up the rules as I go along, I’ve decided to award two hunting permits, to the Blue Monkey Butt girls, since their cutthroat contest winning skillz will make them assets to the zombie killing team.

Congrats to all three winners…and thanks again to everyone who stopped by to play, read, and comment.

This is why everyone needs a zombie hunting permit…

In case you can’t view the YouTube video, you can read the news story of how road signs in Austin were taken over by hackers here.

Now, was this just a ridiculous prank perpetrated by some clever and determined computer geeks or a warning of what we can come to expect from the mostly overlooked zombie threat? Sure zombies are slow moving, and no, they are not known for their intellect, but what they do have is staying power and the grim unstoppable determination to get at our flesh.

Personally, I’d like to keep my flesh attached to my bones. We’ve got to keep our guard up, folks.  Who’s with me?

For more undead fun, visit the girls over at Blue Monkey Butt, they’ve got quite the zombie feud going.

Last chance.

After spending all day Saturday dressed in our PJs and rooted to the Wii, the husband and I decided that Sunday we would venture out in to the great outdoors and expose our kids to some nature, lest they start fearing the sunlight. So, we packed a picnic lunch, put on our day clothes, and headed over to a local state park to hit some walking trails.

Now, ideally this little excursion would go off without a hitch. There was nothing complicated in the equation. Sit down, eat sandwiches, walk through the woods, go home. Except of course for the fact that when you go anywhere with children, plans are often abandoned in favor of getting whoever is screaming the loudest to pipe down.

The photo above is the first picture we took, barely thirty feet in to the nature trail that curved through an open canopy of trees I could never identify (except for the orange trees, which were, you know, bearing oranges.) If you’ll notice, my two year old is not smiling. He’s also exiled himself to the opposite end of the tree trunk, perhaps correctly assuming that his siblings have the cooties.

Let me just say, it was downhill from here.

Now, you’d assume that as experienced parent’s, we would know that taking a child on an outing during said child’s routine nap time would be a recipe for disaster.

We actually do know this, we just chose to completely disregard that fact.

After several minutes of bird watching and stump sitting…

the two year old began to have a major walking meltdown. It would have been difficult to spot any wildlife within a three mile radius of this…

There was loud monkey screeching to accompany the look of discomfort on this child’s face. If there was anything alive anywhere on this nature trail, it probably headed out to the nearest freeway in favor of some peace, quiet, and a permanent asphalt nap. For a good twenty minutes, this kid was howling because he adamantly refused to let dad carry him. By this time the rest of the children were wondering aloud where the exit was, how far the minivan was from the trail, and why mom had been so dense as to leave the Gatorade in the trunk.

Almost an hour later…

Nature kicked totally kicked their butts.

Giveaway. Nuff said.

Thanks to the Wii, I now feel like I reside in a bowling alley. Even my two year old walks around shouting, “Yeah, baby!”any time he hears the sound of crashing pins. I should start charging my children shoe rental fees.

If I live in a bowling alley, I should be able to eat nachos on a 24 hour basis.

I feel like a walking Midol commercial today, except for the fact that I don’t actually ever take Midol and don’t even know if it works. But really that’s just a technicality, my misery right now would be very convincing. “Cramping, bloating, and back pain? Does this always happen to you?”

I may not be the best mother for letting my youngest watch Jurassic Park this morning, while I sat in the recliner sipping my coffee and wallowing in self pity. Although, in my defense, I did cover his eyes when the T-Rex ate the lawyer.

Last night, after walking in to my daughters’ bedroom for the third time, I turned to my husband and said, “It must be the PMS, I can’t even remember why I went in there.” He looked up at me and said, “PMS, that explains a lot.” Which is not altogether a PMS friendly statement, so I promptly shanked him.

Okay, I didn’t really shank him, but we did watch a documentary on the local jail system, which kind of put me in a shanking frame of mind.

It also made me happy to be a law abiding citizen, except for that time I drove through a toll without paying. Shh, don’t tell anyone.

Today is my husband’s 37th birthday, when I met him he was only 21. I really don’t know how he got so old, he’s closer to 40 than 30, and since in my mind I’m still 18, he is clearly a cradle robber. The perv.

I should try to will myself out of bed and bake him something in honor of his big day…or I could just serve him some ice-cream.

PMS is like a get out of jail free card, except I have to feel like road kill for the better part of the week. It’s not quite the trade-off I was looking for.

Stupid nature and it’s uncomfortable biological processes.

If you despise zombies and enjoy Maurice Sendak, check out my giveaway.

Generally I’m not a lucky person when it comes to games of chance. It’s why I don’t gamble away my husband’s paychecks on a single game of blackjack or eat mall sushi. The odds just aren’t in my favor.Then yesterday, I got this in the mail…

Free stuff is so much better than all those annoying bills and car insurance offers I keep getting. These are my first ever online blog giveaway prize winnings, sent to me by Cyndy from DysFUNctional Mom.

Three weeks ago her adorable daughter pulled my name out of a hat, and boom! my life was transformed. I was suddenly a winner. That big invisible L on my forehead miraculously erased. I was pretty stoked. I laughed, I cried, I considered hitting the slot machines to see if things had truly turned around for me.

Instead I waited for my shipment of stuff to arrive. And it did, Saturday. Truly it was the highlight of a day spent in pajamas in front of our new game system, contemplating the thin line between pathetic and copacetic.

Now, not only do I have reading material for the next several weeks, but I can finally see what all the Twilight hype is about (I’ll keep you posted.) Also I can keep track of what page I’m on with the lovely bookmarks Cyndy sent me. Isn’t that thoughtful?

The only way it could have been better is if the bottom of the bubble padded package were lined with chocolate truffles and/or cookie pieces.

Yes, I am PMSing as a matter of fact. Why do you ask?

I’m still giving away some stuff …check it out if you’re just stumbling in..or if you just enjoy making an entrance.

If you don’t know what HASAY is, get informed and meet the players.

The past several weeks have been kind of a bust for me on the exercise front. I lacked momentum. I lacked energy. I lacked drive.

The long term goals of my fitness endeavor were carelessly shrugged in favor of loafing and slacking, munching and snacking. Too bad. So sad.

Enter the Wii Fit.

I hopped on for the first time on Tuesday after a routine day of child rearing (read feeding, diapering, chasing and chauffeuring). The kids were elbow deep in homework when I first stepped on the balance board in my socked feet and gave it a whirl. I spent near to an hour on that thing, testing the features, and getting judged by my non-lip moving fitness trainer. In addition to my fitness age being painfully advanced, I also learned I had the reflexes of a cat (in the late stages of rigor mortis) and the balance of a drunken sailor.

Despite all this, playing was fun. Even the kids wanted in on the action.

And the more I’ve played, the more I want to play. Not because I’ve seen a dramatic change in my resting heart rate or because I’ve miraculously developed better muscle tone in three days, but because the more I play, the more silly aerobic exercises I unlock, or the more yoga poses I get to master, or the more strength moves I’m introduced to. All the payoff is virtual, it seems ridiculous saying it out loud. “Excuse me, I’ve got to go exercise with my television so I can unlock the rhythm boxing.” Or, “I’m up to ten minutes on Super Hula Hoop, go Mii.”

And despite feeling like I’m cheating by not not giving myself a Jillian Michaels induced coronary, my muscles still feel sore the next day. So something must be working, right? And as a bonus, a pound of me melted away.

My Wii Fit was very impressed with my progress.

If you haven’t already, check out my 200th post giveaway. Guaranteed to satisfy the wild thing or zombie hunter in your life.

It’s been years since I’ve written poetry. I used to. Pretty often, in fact. But somewhere, somehow the inspiration left me. Inspiration, motivation, it’s all the same isn’t it? If I’m willing to skip a shower for some one on one time with my DVR, is it reasonable to assume I’d be capable of formulating powerful metaphors?

That would be a big fat negative.

When this week’s Spin Cycle assignment was dispatched, I was actually kind of excited. I figured I’d stretch those creative muscles once again and wow you all with my talents. As the week progressed though, it was pretty apparent I was procrastinating (and that my writing muscles had turned to writing cellulite). I was banking on that great intangible “inspiration” to walk right up to me and punch me in the jaw with a great idea. Unfortunately in a house full of four bickering monkeys, that fickle friend “inspiration” wouldn’t even grace me with a post card. She’s off visiting somewhere they have hor d’oerves, soft music, and glasses of red wine.

So here I am on a Friday, smack up on a deadline, wondering what the heck I’m going to write about, and how the heck I’m going to make it look like a poem. I’ve never been much for rhymes, I was more of a brooding free form kind of gal, but of late, darkness is usurped by exhaustion. Rather than brood, I snore. It works for me.

But what about the poem…

I want to write about motherhood and love’s ethereal glow
(insert shrieking child here)
About the difficulties and challenges and how little we actually know
(insert loud children’s programming here)
I want to tell you with eloquence about the light in my children’s eyes
(insert loud bang that might be a child walking in to a table edge here)
I want to tell you truthfully about the insecurities I despise
(insert crying, shrieking child with a bruise here)
I want to form a poem that will summon a tear or two
(insert child kicking their tiny bare feet at the laptop computer here)
I want to paint a picture of the hard work we mothers do
(insert child crying because you asked them a little too forcefully to stop kicking the computer here)
I want to say how some days things just don’t follow a plan
(insert small crying child throwing a paper plate full of pancake pieces at their mother here)
And I want to say it all in as few words as I can
(insert mother picking syruppy breakfast foods out of her hair here)
In the end all I can do is show this picture I have made
(insert sleepy child burying his face in his mother chest here)
And tell you with perfect honesty that there’s nothing I would trade
(insert napping toddler here)

Isn’t he sweet when he’s asleep?

Wow, I can really rattle on, can’t I?

200 posts worth of rattling to be exact.

This day just kind of crept up on me, and as usual I scrambled to come up with a clever way to mark this momentous occasion…

Should I give a recap of each and every post through a series of interpretive dances?

Should I list 200 of my favorite shades of blue for your reading pleasure?

Should I eat 200 marshmallows on video I could later upload to YouTube?

Should I write a 200 line folk song about my brief blog odyssey, entitled “The Blodyssey of Bear”?

Oh, the possibilities.

In the end I took the easy way out.

I opted for my first ever giveaway.

Please, folks, try to contain yourselves.

To celebrate (besides eating myself in to a cake induced coma later this evening) I will be giving away two items to two lucky readers.

Exhibit A: A new paperback copy of “Where The Wild Things Are” by Maurice Sendak.

Item 2: A United States Zombie Hunting Permit bumper sticker issued by me and ready to affix on your zombie killing vehicle of choice.

The rules are simple (at least in my mind).

Leave a comment on this post and you’ll be entered for the book drawing. Then in one week I’ll chose a winner at random.

Leave a second comment stating why you need a Zombie Hunting Permit and in a week the Bear family and I will choose our favorite answer. That person will then be able to hunt zombies at their leisure. (Weapon and ammo not included.)

In conclusion I’d like to thank you, all of you, for reading and commenting. It’s the comments that keep me coming back like a demented comment junkie, yearning for my next fix. I might need to get it under control lest the family stage an intervention. Till that fateful day, keep coming back, feed my addiction and comment your butts off.

And of course enter the contest, which is my tiny thank you for all that you do.

Take it, I said. It would be rude not to.

And the winner is…

Sometime this morning my ten-year-old daughter won her school spelling bee. I was sitting in the front row of her school cafetorium on pins and needles as she and the other remaining student duked it out for five rounds. My daughter won out in the end with the word “percolate”.

Late last night was when we finally got around to reviewing her word list. As we went about tidying up, I quizzed her verbally. For the most part she did alright, although she did get hung up on certain words. “Innate” with one “n” instead of 2. “Exhilarate” without the “h”. At some point today, I knew her success would not only rest on her powers of recall but on the luck of the draw as well. For example, getting the word “lucid” over “colloquial”. You should have seen the poor kid who had to spell “colloquial”, the most he could muster was a series of squeaks and a final letter of “o” before finally creeping back to his seat.

“Percolate” in the grand scheme of things, was not a bad option. It’s spelled like it sounds, right?

Except when the teacher reading out the spelling words pronounces it “per-coo-late”. Percoolate? Really? This is an educator we’re talking about, with a better than average grasp of the English language. I assume. I might be mistaken.

Perhaps it was the slight shake in my head that tipped my daughter off. The look that said, “That’s not right.” Or maybe she remembered reading it or spelling it before. Either way, she called out the correct letters in the correct sequence and was proclaimed the winner.

Woo to the hoo. I really had to restrain myself from doing a victory dance, and not just because of my long dissolved dreams of being a spelling bee champion myself.

Now we’ve been instructed to study the Scripps booklet because she’ll be moving on in a month or so to the countywide bee, which includes words like “mukhtar”, “nachtmusik”, and “voortrekker”.

Makes “colloquial” kind of seem like a walk in the park, doesn’t it?

Occasionally I have days when blog posts are hard to come by - formulating coherent thoughts tied together by a common theme. Some days it just isn’t happening. If that day is by chance a Tuesday, then I have the pleasure of joining Keely at The Un-Mom , where random nuggets of little importance are not only welcomed but encouraged.

• My children’s socks and bare feet are a testament to my poor housekeeping skills, at any given time they are coated in a thick layer of black soot that would make me embarrassed to acknowledge them in public. “Those kids with the filthy feet? No, they’re not mine, my kids have sparkling, sweet smelling footsies that I’d be prepared to eat off of.”
• Maybe I should clean more.
• Driving to school this morning I noticed an obscene amount of Froot Loops trapped behind my son’s booster seat. I don’t remember the last time they ate Froot Loops in the minivan and this fact disturbed me for about a fraction of a second before I completely forgot about them. I’m sure that’s not the only thing wedged back there either, but out of sight out of mind. “What Froot Loops?”
• I should vacuum more.
• Sometimes I get really tired of saying “Stop it!” It loses its impact at some point regardless of the amount of authority behind it. I might as well be shouting out “Pencil eraser” or “ear wax” for all the good it does.
• The Wii Fit told me I was 44 today. Except technicallyI’m not even 34 yet. So my reflexes and muscles have apparently travelled a decade into the future only to bring back news that I’m a poorly balanced couch potato with jiggly thighs. Someone should tell the Wii Fit that it’s bad manners to call a woman out on her fitness age, someone should teach the Wii Fit a little something about flattery.
• I can’t wait for my fitness age to catch up with my actual age.
• In real life I have never been able to hula hoop. It has something to do with my poor balance and coordination. On the Wii I can hula with 5 hoops at once and catch more when they’re thrown at my head.
• Also on the Wii I can hit soccer balls with my forehead and downhill ski.
• I wonder if I can power nap on the Wii or binge on cake batter.
• I have laundry to do. I should do laundry, and make dinner, and tackle the dishes. There’s a reason I eat off paper plates as often as humanly possible. Dishes suck.