One good story and one bad

My parents gave E some knock-off crocs for Christmas. She’d been asking to wear them, but (1) they were a little big for her and (2) they had holes in them, and it was very cold outside. Then I noticed some little girls in her class wearing them, and I figured they probably were very practical for day care life, and it got a little warmer, and her feet are bigger, so I broke them out last week. My mom also sent me a pair of mary jane crocs for Valentines Day, which are green like E’s. I HAD to point that out to her, and now every time she’s wearing hers, she wants mommy to wear her green shoes, like E.

So we were fighting that battle yesterday, when she got out one of my Coach purses that I had left out. “Bye bye mommy, see you later,” And she walked around the house with it, pretending like she was going on a trip. She even put in her tube of Burt's Bees lip balm (hers because she used it while sick with the plague.)

Then the real stylist moment came when Jeff came out without his pants on. Back up… he had showered, and dressed. He had a shirt on, and boxers, and had come into the living room to get his jeans out of his suitcase. “Pants on, Daddy, pants on!”

Our little stylist – green crocs for mommy, coach purse for her and pants for daddy. She’ll be dressing Jessica Biel before you know it.

So that’s my fun bit for today and now for the heartwrenching part. And I’m having difficulty writing about it, but I want you, my readers, to learn something from my pain.

Falling at Costco? Not my most embarrassing moment anymore.

Yesterday I served as assisting minister at church. It was my first time. I was terribly nervous. I read the gospel, lead the prayers of the people. All was well. I assisted at communion and spilled the chalice of red wine all over the organist.

Go me.

I wiped up what I could and had to go on. I started getting a little hysterical during communion. I’m sure most of the people who accepted wine from me (this time in the little cups in the tray) hadn’t seen the chalice debacle, but I still imagined them cowering in fear, “Don’t spill it on me!”

I put on a good face and walked with the pastors to the back of the church at the end of the service. The pastor put his arm around me and said some things to make me feel better, then made me go shake hands with the congregation.

After I was done, I ran back to the sacristy to grab my purse and a $10 bill. I found the organist, a nice woman who has, however, always intimidated me. I pressured her to take the money for cleaning her SUEDE JACKET. (Oh, I didn’t mention that detail?) She was extremely gracious, and declined, and forgave me. I started crying, and cried all the way home.
The rest of the day distracted me, and the pastor called me again last night to tell me it was fine, that he could tell me horrible stories about things he had done and seen during worship. I told him that it was more than just me being embarrassed about a mistake. My experience at the communion table was a big reason why I joined our church, why I even became Lutheran. It means a lot to me, and the fact that I could have detracted from someone else’s experience distressed me.

What could he say? “Well, that’s a good reason to feel responsible, but just brush it off, and next time you'll be fine.”

“I’m invited back another time?”

He laughed, “Of course.”

I’m still not over the mortification, or the guilt, but his and the victim’s graciousness says a lot about them, and about our church family.

I’m still taking a few months off from the job, though.

Poor Britney

By now everyone knows that Britney Spears shaved her hair. I am probably the only one who thinks the 'do looks good on her (as good as a bald head could look) but I still think the girl's got issues. This morning on the Today show (yes, I'm a SAHM today thanks to Mr. Presidents Washington and Lincoln) some psychologist was saying that Britney clearly does not have many close friends or a support system to help her through this time.

Well, after this weekend, I'm glad to say that I have bitches that would never, ever, let me shave my head. Not only would they talk me out of it (clearly with some profanity) but then they'd probably make sure someone was taking care of me. I'll post more about the birthday girl later, but you can read about her celebration (and see the pics) at Mrs DallasKs blog.

And the answer is...

Benign! But "changing." They want to check it out in 3 months.

As I told Jeff, they have to make their big doctor bucks, and I want to make sure I don't have cancer, so we all win.

My PSA for the day: Skin cancer is totally (well, 98%) preventable. Use sunscreen, go show a doc some skin. It's so easy, you would feel really stupid if you got it. You would say, "hm... Sara told me to get that mole checked out, I'm an idjit and I deserve melanoma." (Well, you wouldn't deserve it, because no one does, but you would regret not going to the doctor 10 years earlier.)

Ok, and weird moment of the day yesterday. I went in to the day care, and saw E's class playing in the big front room (it was too cold to go outside). I heard someone say, "Look, E, who it is." E ran over and yelled, "Mommy!" And I just had a moment - who am I? I'm that little kid's mommy? The one who can run and yell and is so freakin' cute? I knelt down to hug her, and she turned around to all her little friends and said, "My mommy!" I don't know when it happened, but I am her mommy. Wow. How did that happen? How did I get that blessed? Where does the time go?

Big baby

Oh, I forgot to mention that M was 21 lbs at the doctor's office yesterday. What does that mean, besides the fact that she's HUGE? She's too big for the bucket (what we call the infant seat) and it's time for Jeff and I to get off our butts and decide w tf we're going to do about that. See, E is still in a convertible seat. Do we buy two more for M (one for each car?) One more? No more, and move one of E's to my car?

Right now we have a seat for E and a base for M in each car, so Jeff can drop off, and I can pick up. If we move to one car, one person has to do both, and it will be me, because Jeff has to work late more often than I care for our children to be picked up late.

We're cheap and lazy (which is why I breastfeed) but rest assured, we'll do the right thing. Eventually.

Starts w/ a Bi...

Of all the wonderful things to post about, let's start with my magic word of the day. Starts with a bi, ends with an opsy. Bi - opsy.

It's no big deal, just when little ol' me, all strawberry blond and freckled, goes into the dermatologist's office, they're on high alert, right? So I KNOW it will be fine, but it's somewhat unsettling all the same, especially after Jeff had his pre-pre-cancerous whatevers removed last year.

The thing that's bothering more than the biopsy, are the two "dry scaly" patches on my face, that she told me to keep an eye on, 'cause they may need to be frozen off. I don't know what she's talking about. I nodded, listened to her w/ great interest, put my fingers on my face. When she left, I got up and looked in the mirror. I still don't see them. She said in someone with my complexion, they're more worried about spots like these, than the big black spots, because someone like me doesn't get big dark spots. Yeah, I'm definitely worried if I can't see them.

Gah.

On to more exciting topics. Baby M is up on her arms and knees! She had done it previously, when she was pissed off about something. This weekend, she started doing it more, and started combining it with her backwards scooting. I predict she'll start crawling while Jeff is in India in a few weeks.

While I was feeding her applesauce last night (from an actual baby food jar - note to new moms. Don't buy the baby applesauce after they've had it 1 time. Go for the no-sugar-added regular applesauce. It's the same stuff, but half the cost), I wondered something. When I feed her pears, the jar says, "Pears." The other foods are "Carrots" and "Peas" or "Peaches." Why does baby food say "Applesauce" and not just "Apples?"

Hm?

AND why do I get absolutely glowing reviews from E's teachers at the end of the day (Her manners are perfect, she's helping, she's cleaning, etc.) and then she HITS me for putting her in her carseat? Then she becomes an angel when we get home? Oh that's right, she TWO. (Our answer for everything these days)

AND (last one, I swear) WHY do we have the arctic polar winds again? I thought we were experiencing Global Warming?

One more try

Last night I was trying to post about

(Warning - the video is 11 minutes long)

Let's Give her a Horse's Laugh

f(*&r(*&r Blogger@!

Let's Give her a Horse's Laugh

Alright, to the non-Aggies out there, you might not understand this title or

Homos

Welcome to Homo Wednesday, where we discuss the most ridiculous gay stories of the day.

One. Ted Haggard, that fundy preacher in Colorado who was exposed as a man who also likes naked gay massages and meth? He says he's thought about it, and now he's pretty sure he's not gay.

"He is completely heterosexual," Ralph said. "That is something he discovered."In investigating Haggard's assertion that his extramarital sexual contact was limited to male escort Mike Jones, the board talked to people close to Haggard and found no evidence contradicting him, Ralph said."If we're going to be proved wrong, somebody else is going to come forward, and that usually happens really quickly," Ralph said. "We're into this thing over 90 days and it hasn't happened."

So because no one else has come out and said, "I gave this guy a totally gay massage," that means he's not gay.

Look, I don't even care. I just want him to be healthy and happy and honest with his WIFE and people who look up to him. But we live in a country where apparently if two men's lips happen to touch while eating the same Snickers, they have to rip their chest hair out and club the other one with a tire iron. So Mr. Haggard, if accidental lip touching makes you gay, then naked gay massages might too, even if they were with just one guy (monogamous, as it were). Just a head's up.

My latest

Here's the latest column.

I was trying to think of an interesting or witty way to present it, but I'm all witty-ed out.