An Iowa Mom

Has It Been Eight Years Already?

I honestly can't believe my Drewy has turned eight years old. 

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Happy Birthday Drew-Be-Do!  We sure love you.

What's In Your Bag?

The night before last, Drew was given an assignment for school.  His task was to put three things in a decorated brown paper sack that would represent who he is.  Then, share these things with his class so they could learn more about him.

In the bag, Drew placed a baseball, a book about The Suite Life Of Zach & Cody (which shows two things, his love for books and the TV show), and a candy bar.

I've included a photo of Drew and his bag that I took yesterday before he left for school ... only to show you a tiny glimpse into our life in the mornings and the kind of children I have to deal with on a daily basis.  I'm only doing this so you'll feel sorry for me because my life is a living hell most of the time. 

No, not really.

Well, kinda.

Maybe he is just looking at me like that because he's sick of being pimped out to advertise the IowaMoms.com site.  Maybe?  Hey, it IS a possibility. 

Anyway, this bag of his got me to thinking.  If I had be assigned the same homework, what would I put in mine?  I think it would have to be:

A Fountain Pop
A Computer
A Photo Of My Family

I would include my happy pills, but I'm only allowed three things.

So ... my question to you (because I always have a question, don't I?) is ...

What would be in your bag?

And I want all of you reading to answer so I can learn more about you too!  Even you lurkers ... yeah ... I'm talkin' to YOU!

Surprise

I need you all AGAIN!

Ya know, before you start bitchin' that I'm using you all for your intelligence and so forth ... just know it's because I trust you.  You people ... I know ... would never steer me wrong.

Well, at least not intentionally.

Right?

Right?

RIGHT?

So, when I STOP asking your advice ... get scared. 

Because you know what that means.

I means I don't love you anymore.

But not to worry ... I'm way too stupid to ever let that happen.  I NEED you all too much.

Way too much.

Like, ya know ... to love me!

Anyways ... here is my current problem.  Not really a problem ... but I want to make the right decision ... so I'm counting on you all to make it for me.

We are going to a small gathering this weekend.  The food will be simple:

• BBQ Chicken
• Hamburgers
• Hot Dogs
• Cheesy Corn Macaroni
• Potato Something
• Chips

It is up to me ... YES, ME ... to bring the appetizer.  Maybe two.

I know, can you believe this group is trusting me with the appetizer?  They think so highly of me, huh?  I'm blushing.

Plain and simple. 

What should I make?

You tell me.

Then tell me how.

Well Well Well, I AM Loved Afterall

Emily made it perfectly clear that SHE did not love me ... but that's okay ... because somebody does.  Two people, as a matter of fact.

Jody at Iowa Geek AND Paula at Boogers and Burps

Wanna know how I know this?

Well, because they bestowed this award upon me.

And I know that they're saying they love my BLOG.  But let's just pretend that the award says, I love YOU. 

M'k?

I knew there was a reason I started blogging.  Who needs a daughters love anyway?  Especially when there are bloggers out there to love me.

And because of the warm fuzzy feeling I got when I discovered this award had been given to me, I decided to play along and give it to seven bloggers that I love too.

And they are ...

Drum roll, please ....

Daily Mayhem

The Bean Blog

Jillian, Inc.

Heidi Jo, What Do You Know?

Wiping Up Snot

Fried Okra

Life With My 3 Boybarians

And in all fairness ... there are MANY other blogs I love.  MANY!  But I was only allowed to list seven. 

Sshheeshh ... Awards and their rules ... I'm tellin' ya ...

Life just isn't fair sometimes, is it?

I'm So Loved

You all know that last week Emily experienced her first day at an ALL DAY, EVERY DAY preschool, right?  God, I still tear up typing those words. 

Hang on.

Okay ... there we go.

So, after a long day of doing whatever it is that one does in ALL DAY, EVERY DAY preschool, I returned to retrieve her.  Now, I have to admit, I kinda expected her to catch a glimpse of me, her eyes would brighten, a smile would cover her face and she would knock over a child or two as she shoved her way through the sunlight room ... just to get to me.  Her mother.  She would fling herself into my arms and tell me how much she missed me.

Yeah.

That didn't happen.

It went more like this. 

"Emily? Emily.  Emily ... over here." I waved frantically from the doorway.

She looked my way and rolled her eyes as she turned back to the small snack she was finishing at her table.  When she had finally shoved the whole thing in and swallowed it, she did come over to me. 

"Emily!" I exclaimed, "Did you have a great first day of school?"

"Yeah."  she mumbled, "All except for one thing."

My heart began to race, she missed me ... or another kid was mean to her ... or she hated her teacher.  "What?  What didn't you like?"

She looked up at me with her big brown eyes, magnified to 3 times their normal size because of her glasses, which were smeared ...

"The part when you came to pick me up."

I love you too, Emily. 

Who Needs WebMD When I Have You All?

Because I have the most awesome, intelligent, fabulous, smart, helpful, caring readers in the whole wide Bloggyworld ... I figured I'd come to you to resolve my problem, rather than searching for hours and hours through article after article to come across three other individuals as wacky as I am ... and still knowing nothing more than what I know right now.

Because, ya know ... I have things to do.

So let's get to it. 

I have hot feet.  And I don't mean warm feet that someone with cold feet (aka Big Daddy) would like to snuggle against to give his popsitoes a little defrost action ... I mean HOT feet.

Hot like fire.

Hot like I'm so uncomfortable.

Hot like I swear they're gonna burst into flames at any given moment.

No kidding.

And they've always been that way, particularly at night ... and I just thought I was a wack job.  A freak.  Just an abnormal being.

Then I discovered Drew had the same problem.  So I realized not only was I all those things ... I came to the realization that I was able to give birth to a wack job.  A freak.  An abnormal being.

Anyway ... this issue is not only a problem in the warmer months.  It's that way in the winter too.  If you can picture 20 inches of snow on the ground, the winds whirling around at 40 miles an hour ... all snuggled next to the fire to keep warm ... and me (and now Drew) over across the room, in a blanket with our feet sticking out because they're ON FIRE. 

In a house that cheapo Big Daddy keeps the thermostat set at 65 in the winter months.

I've gone outside and walked on the cold concrete.  I've placed cold washcloths over my feet at night.  I've soaked my toes in ice.  Nothing helps.  And I have no idea why our feet are this way. 

And it is frustrating.

 

So somebody ...

Anybody ...

Tell me what the problem is ...

I'm counting on you Dr. Blogger, to fix me and Drew all up.

A Moment Spoiled

Picture it.

Me.

Molly.

Cuddling. 

Having alone time.

Quality time.

My three year old turns to me and smiles.

I can't help myself, I have to tell her ... "I love you Molly!"

She hugs me tight around my neck and my heart melts, "I love you too!"  A slight pause, a tender hand on my cheek.  "But I don't love you when you're poopin'."

Something tells me I won't have to worry about her as a teenager ... she'll always manage to spoil the moment.