in love...and not so much

We are safely home from our trip northward. I managed to pick up some sort of sickness while gone that led to a trip to the doctor on Monday, but I'm on the mend, and aside from the biggest boogers you've ever seen, S is on the mend as well. For those of you who've been holding your breath in anticipation, the Zappos outlet was a total waste of our time. Total. Waste. However, I picked up my birthday gift at the mall in Louisville. I got them in pumpkin, and I am super excited to wear them. The real story of the trip was the wedding. It was really, really fabulous. While I'd never met the groom, the wedding was exactly how I pictured V's wedding to be. It was at a conservatory, so the ceremony was set in front of beautiful, enormous tropical trees. They also had a salsa band, which was insanely fun. Everything was perfect...right down to the bride's green shoes.

Okay, now to my newest love. Reading Rock Books. It's an adorable little store that just opened around the corner from our house. S and I went in this morning. I want to go back already. I hope it does well because I'll likely cry if it goes away.

What I'm not loving so much. S's new residence in the land of terrible twos. I know she isn't two yet, but she's the size of a three-year-old, so I'm figuring it averages out. S has been a complete brat since we got home. She has decided that playing is no fun unless everything she owns is in the floor. This has led to me almost breaking my neck about a dozen times as I've slid on crayons, beans from her kitchen, you name it. She's been trying to hide in the curtains, climbing on the dining room chairs, dive-bombing anyone and everyone, and has generally required non-stop attention lest she injure herself...or me. It's been less than stellar to have her testing her boundaries and my limits while I'm under the weather, but when it rains it pours, I guess.

I've also come to the realization that it's time for S to learn the word "no." And beyond the "S, will you eat some chicken?" response that I normally get. I'm talking about the "No. You cannot climb on the bookshelf." kind of no. She has typically acted impervious to our directions, and that has to stop with the quickness. She had her first Kindermusik class Tuesday morning, and it was painfully obvious that she doesn't follow instructions. Granted all the other kids were older than her and had taken the class in the spring, but that's no excuse. I was okay with her wandering around the room exploring instead of sitting in the circle with the rest of the kiddos and mamas, after all, it was her first time in a completely different place. She wasn't being at all disruptive, so that was fine. The problems came with the instruments. She wanted all of them, or none of them, or she wanted to dump the boxes out, or she wanted to pull everything off the shelves to get to the bells. It was a lot of toddler behavior in a confined space and short time. I needed a drink desperately when I left. At minimum, I deserved a coffee or a bath. It was a Calgon commercial in the making. I am pretty sure she'll get the hang of it quickly. Otherwise, I may lose it.

Of course, I may lose it anyway. I'm not that stable of a person to begin with.

I'm out, peeps. Happy Hump Day.

freaky friday

M and I are totally MFEO. We are constantly bombarded by signs that prove this fact unequivocally. When one of us is traveling, we tend to call the other person just as they are thinking we are going to call. It's a little scary sometimes. I honestly believe that if something bad were to happen to one of us, the other would know the second it happened. We're just on the same wavelength 99.9% of the time, so you never, ever want to play Pictionary with us lest you like getting spanked.

We topped ourselves this morning. We're heading to Cincinnati this weekend for a wedding, and as I was walking through the kitchen, I thought to myself, "I bet M forgot his sunglasses since he didn't drive this morning." As I turned to get the phone to call him, it rang. It was M. He wanted me to get his sunglasses out of his car. We were a little taken aback by the freakiness of this incident. I'm telling you, MFEO.

We're out, peeps. We're heading to Louisville this afternoon, but we'll be making a pit stop at the Zappos outlet on the way. (Go ahead and drool, shoe lovers, I know you're green with envy.) I hope you all have lovely, shoe-filled weekends, too.

go ahead, make his day

Last night, M received some news that caused an excitement level right up there with Ed McMahon showing up at your doorstep with a giant check. My daddy called and invited him to the Monday Night Football game between the Titans and Colts. As we were in the middle of dinner, I took the call and answered for my dear husband. When I then asked him if he'd be interested, he almost fell out of his chair. His excitement is pretty cute, I must say. My jealousy, of course, cannot be understated. Maybe next year.

So, M's day...no, M's year has been made by my father. Thanks, pops. Now I'm off the hook for coming up with great birthday and Christmas gifts because, honestly, I can't top Peyton Manning on a Monday night and this is going to be the highlight of 2008 for him anyway.

That's all the news for today as I'm implementing one of my no-computer days. I'm out, peeps. Have a great hump day. I'll leave you with a little classic Manning...Peyton for M, Eli for S and B, and Archie for anyone who actually remembers him playing.

i'm all ears

We've been trying to get rid of Otis's ear infection for about a month. I'm sure I've mentioned before that our pooch has major ear issues. It's apparently common in labradoodles, and Otis gets them bad and often. We've got him on the most expensive dog food ever made (I am almost positive about this), which is supposed to help, but I really don't think it's doing it's job. For 70 bucks a bag, I don't want my dog to still get ear infections. Alas, he's had one for over a month, though its severity seems to wax and wane. I've resigned myself to the fact that we really do have to start flushing his ears every two weeks no matter how hard he fights, so last night we went at it. I can tell his ears are still bothering him, so we'll likely incur another hundred dollar vet bill next week. I can't tell you how excited I am.

Then we come to S. I mentioned that she's been a little under the weather, but she's been so uncharacteristically moody the past two days that I decided last night that I would take her to the doctor today. Then she woke up four times last night crying, which just reiterated the fact that something is amiss with my darling daughter. Turns out she has an ear infection, too (actually, a double ear infection). Awesome. So, we went from never having to go on antibiotics in sixteen months to twice in two months. I know I'm lucky that she's never had an ear infection, but it totally stinks, and I feel a little guilty about the fact that she was apparently in pain for the past two days and I just thought she was tired. Some kind of mom, huh?

So, the ears have it around here. I'm out, peeps.

the family that plays together

Hot on the heels of Kristie's perfect day, the Ouiser fam had one of our own. Saturday, finding ourselves with a complete and utter lack of plans and no to-do list, we headed to the zoo. While S has been a little under the weather (cough and a low-grade temp), she was feeling good...unlike our Father's Day trip to see the "amals" (there is neither an "i" nor and "n" in the word animals in S-language.) Anyway, S was super excited and claimed that she wanted to see birds when we asked her what animal she wanted to see. Luckily, there are some gorgeous Hyacinth Macaws as soon as you amble into the Nashville Zoo. She, of course, loved them...and then the monkeys...and then the meerkats. Then we saw the "ephants" and the "draffs" (elephants and giraffes for those of you in need of an S-to-English dictionary.), and she loved both of those, too. Then came the request for more birds. There is an exhibit called Lorikeet Landing. Basically, you walk into a big birdhouse, and the very lovely lorikeets fly all around your head. And, get this, they will land on you. I'm not sure if I've mentioned my fear of birds, but when I saw the sign saying that the birds might land on me (read: claw my eyeballs out and eat my brain through the then empty eye sockets), my heart sped up drastically. I didn't want to deny my daughter, though, so I sucked it up and walked in. And promptly walked out the other door and watched from outside. One of those little suckers buzzed the tower, so to speak, and I couldn't handle it. S thought it was cool. I did not. Thank goodness for daddy.

We were brave this time at the zoo, and we actually let S walk around instead of staying confined to her stroller. This meant that she was able to go into the "Unseen New World" exhibit to see the snakes and spiders and turtles and fish. She didn't care that much about it, and wanted to go back outside to see the "amals." Apparently, snakes and the like don't qualify as "amals" to an 18-month-old. We left the zoo around 10:45 as S had fallen and scraped her knee and it was approaching the we-must-leave-if-we-want-lunch-before-we-have-to-head-home time. We were able to beat the lunch crowd to Baja Burrito, which is one of my all time favorite places to eat. S enjoyed the pineapple salsa and the constant parade of people saying hello to her.

After her nap, the whole Ouiser clan headed to the tennis courts. S had a blast running around and chasing tennis balls and digging strings and racquets and whatnot out of the bags. Needless to say, her daddy LOVED it. He's already proclaimed that she has great form on her forehand as she would swat at balls as he bounced them on his racquet for her. We'll be buying her her very own tiny tennis racquet this week.

So that was our perfect Saturday. I think we must've worn her out completely as she's been borderline unbearable since then. We're assuming that she's just tired (we took her church and to play tennis again yesterday) and that the crankiness will die down. Otherwise, I may sell her to the gypsies.

I'm out, peeps. Have a great Monday.

oh no they didn't

Did anyone else see that Warner Brothers has decided not to release Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince until next July?? Are you kidding? How can they do this to me?

Add to my tag list #9: I am seriously unhappy with Warner Brothers. The movie had better be good.

FIVE SENSES FRIDAY:
Sight: S's new funny face (I promise pictures as soon as she'll do it for the camera.)

Sound: "I can do it myself, I'm a big kid now. I can do it myself, I've got potty power." Worst song ever for sticking in your head.

Smell: fresh tomato bread baking

Touch: kneading dough

Taste: not the tomato bread, which was highly disappointing; pb and honey on toast

i'm it??

So Feathernester has sent a bunch of us into a crazy self-involved downward spiral. Thanks a lot.

I'm joking.

Sort of.

She tagged a gaggle of us, and I have since spent most of my free time trying to think of anything interesting about me. Not all of my free time, mind you, as the OLYMPICS are on in the evenings, and there are few things that can tear my attention from all the happenings at the water cube. I'm a Phelps Phanatic right now.

I'll see if I can't stumble through this.

1. I am happy, and I really don't want to apologize for it. I am a seriously fortunate girl. I know that, and I'm thankful for it. However, M and I have worked hard to make our life what it is. I have a house that I love even though it keeps springing leaks and displaying all manner of old-house-quirkiness. I have a daughter that I adore. I have a dog that I can tolerate. I have a husband who is precious. I have friends and family that I love and that love me. When I try to think of things that I would change about my life, I can't think of anything. (Though I would change the location of M's job because that would make him happier.) So there, I'm happy as a clam, people. I really do love my life and all of its imperfections.

2. I am a total fraud. Or at least I suspect that I am. You know how I come off as super-confident? I both am and am not. I am 100% confident in myself. I know who I am, and it's exactly the person that I want to be. (Almost. I could stand to develop a little more patience.) I am not, however, confident about things that I do. I tend to give up on things that I'm not good at. If I think I might fail at something, I'll throw in the towel. There are numerous examples of this scattered through my life. It makes me seem like I'm better at things than I am. It's mostly because I don't do the things that I suck at. Actually, I'm not sure if this makes me a fraud or a quitter. Either way, that's probably more personal than I really need to get with this whole tag thing.

3. I don't function in messiness. It's not that I don't function well in messiness. I don't really function at all. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown when we first moved because there were boxes sitting around the house. Boxes are not part of my decor. Once the boxes and their contents were put away, I was right as rain. I have instant panic attacks if I walk into my house and see piles on the kitchen counters or the dining room table. Like I said, I don't function in messiness. Everything has a home, people. Everything. If it doesn't have a home, it's home is the Goodwill bag.

4. I'd rather be beaten than eat mayonnaise, sour cream, or cottage cheese. I'm not talking about being beaten with a wet noodle. I'm talking "Jason Bourne thinks you killed his girlfriend" beaten. Once, when I was pregnant, I thought I wanted a chicken sandwich...with mayo...but with the mayo scraped off. Then I realized that being preggers is not excuse for being gross, and I laughed out loud at my own absurdity.

5. I do not like my body. I can't imagine what Carson Kressley would say if he got ahold of me. No matter what I do, or how much I try to play it off, I cannot get past my family always calling me Bologna Butt or telling me that I wasn't fat...I just needed to tone. I get seriously, seriously upset when I hear anyone telling any girl anything negative about her body. People have no idea what kind of damage they can do by saying insensitive things.

6. I love to cook. I love to cook for my family. I love to cook for my friends. I just love to cook. Chopping things makes me feel more complete. Making dinner for my husband makes me happy. If I could figure out a way to get dinner made without S hanging out in the kitchen begging for grapes, I might achieve nirvana. And, like Yum, I love pulling out the fancy dishes. I once served my younger sister orange juice in a crystal champagne flute, and I'm pretty sure she thought I'd lost my marbles.

7. I let my daughter watch TV, and I'm confident that she's going to be okay. S is obsessed with Mary Poppins, Cinderella, and her new DVD Potty Power. They are the first thing she asks for when she walks downstairs in the mornings. The first thing she asks for when we arrive home. She runs across the room and leaps onto the sofa, and watches TV. Then she gets bored and wants to play with her kitchen or her puzzles. Or she wants to go outside or read books. I'm operating on the assumption that she won't be addicted to TV if she is allowed to watch it but also realizes that other activities are fun, too. Everything in moderation, right?

8. I got through this whole list and didn't mention the environment or Barack Obama. It was difficult. I did it for all of you.

I need to shower, people. Have a great Wednesday, and pray for me as I try to decide between watching the Olympics tonight or Project Runway. I feel myself being tormented by the decision. I'm out. Oh, and Kristie, Lesley, and Angie E should all consider themselves tagged.

a nasty bug bite

Either Feathernester's love of stitchery is rubbing off on me or I've gotten a nasty bite from the sewing bug. What the heck? I was not expecting this. Now that I've made curtains and porch swing cushions and something that passes for a slipcover if you look at it kind of cross-eyed, I'm itching to get the machine back out. It's driving me bonkers. I've spent the last 20 minutes online looking at Amy Butler patterns, and I'm trying to decide how many of them I can get away with buying. (How many bags does a girl need?) Someone, help me. Explain this madness.

um, no. just no.

My husband is getting antsy. It's August, you know. August means football. The SI Fantasy Football guide arrived last week, which is not to imply that he hasn't already been "scouting." This week, while he is sadly out of town, the College Football Preview arrived. There is nothing quite as thrilling to M as the impending arrival of the gridiron. He's even crazy excited about Dickson County football. We'll be picking up our season tickets on Friday, and he'll be ordering Vanderbilt season tickets when he gets home. I think he'll feel like a more complete person once he has both season tickets in his possession.

Anyway, I, too am excited about football season. However, I am in denial about FAVRE. Brett Favre is not a NY Jet. He is a Green Bay Packer. I am not happy. Not happy at all. I just wanted him to retire and get into a little broadcasting so I could occasionally drool over him in all his salt-and-pepper glory. It's not to be, however, and I fear that he just won't know when to let go like so many great athletes before him.

I'm out. Happy Thursday, peeps.

the reigning queen of random??

Just because Roger Federer lost his kung-fu death grip on #1 last week doesn't mean I'm going down, too. Last week, after reading Scarlet Lily's hysterical missive to Wilford Brimley, M told me he thought she may take over as the most random blogger. "Take over from whom?" I asked.

"You."

What? My blog is random? I always thought I was so together. So organized. Okay, I am so not. I know that, but my husband telling me that my blog is the most random blog out there was a bit of a shock. So, I guess I have to defend my title. Scarlet, watch out.

Anyway, today's random, which I've noticed loads of times before (but I don't think I've ever mentioned):

Has anyone else noticed that Suri Cruise is still taking a bottle? That kid is almost two-and-a-half. Ditch the bottle. The kid needs a cup. I guess Tom and Katie figure that they can afford to buy her new teeth when she unequivocably ruins hers with that bottle. I won't even mention the fact that all the other preschoolers are going to start making fun of her. Fortunately for Suri, I'm sure her parents already have some therapists lined up for her. Also, I'm thinking of starting a petition to send to Katie Holmes to demand that she stop tight-rolling her jeans. If anyone else is interested in joining me in this endeavor, let me know. Or, if you've started tight-rolling your jeans thinking it's the next big thing, let me know that, too. I'll need to stop talking to you until you realize the error of your ways.

I'm out, peeps. Oh, S had her 18 month check-up this morning. 34 inches. 30 pounds, 8 ounces. She's still enormous...in case you were worried. And, while we were in the waiting room, I discovered a new magazine. Wondertime. Does anyone know anything about it??

that's just offensive

Yesterday morning, I took M to the airport at 6am. He's in San Diego for the week. S is at my parents' house, so when I got home I had the whole house and the whole day to myself. It was great. I pulled weeds in the garden. I cleaned, and I mean really cleaned, my house. I fixed the TotLocks, thanks to D. I caught up on laundry. Then I parked my butt on the couch and read some magazines. Then I turned on the tube, and I got lost in a Law and Order marathon. It was great. Then I realized that I have a pretty sore throat, and I feel like I have a lot of congestion even though I don't. (Turns out M feels the exact same way out in CA, bummer.) So I decided that I should do nothing else at all for the remainder of the evening other than watching L&O.

Then, of course, when I was ready for bed, I was wide awake from all the TV, so I watched Cold Case, which I never do because that show makes me nuts. The case they were trying to solve was the murder of a country singer from Tennessee. It was one of the most horrifyingly grotesque and offensive depictions of the south ever captured on celluloid. It was really pretty comical, but awful at the same time. First of all, the dead guy's name was Truck Sugar. Really? Really. Truck. That was bad enough, but then they made poor Truck and his brother and his heroin-addicted steel guitar player sound like the biggest bunch of simpletons ever to walk the earth upright. At this point, I was totally offended, but I was totally caught up in the show and couldn't turn away from the train wreck.

Okay, so the Philly detectives realize that they are going to have to go to Nashville to interview Truck's old bandmates, and they have to draw straws to see who has the misfortune of going to Nashville. They then proceed to think of every redneck stereotype they can think of, and they laugh heartily at the poor suckers who have to head south. Lovely.

Then they get to Nashville, and the lady who greets them at the police station is Charlene, and she's got big hair and a big flirty smile and she sounds like she couldn't possibly have graduated from high school. She then introduces them to the sherriff. "Big Daddy." I nearly passed out from my brain's lack of oxygen during the "oh-no-they-didn't" gasp. The sherriff only answers to Big Daddy (I might have bought this if they were supposed to be in Bucksnort or Bell Buckle or some other piddly town, but not Nashville), and he calls all the women "Little Sister." Oh, and by the end "Little Sister" Charlene had slept with the big-city yankee male cop because apparently the allure of the big city and bright lights is too much for a simple southern girl to resist. Once again, bye-bye oxygen.

As the show continues, you're introduced to Truck's wife, Honey Sugar. That's right, first name Honey. Last name Sugar. Sounds like something you'd name a horse. Of course, she was a small town farm girl from east Tennessee and all she wanted to do was ride horses, so maybe it's appropriate.

It went on and on like this. Every time I though they were done painting this ridiculously inaccurate picture of my beloved home state, it would get worse. The places they ate, the way people spoke, all of it was horrible. Turns out, the heroin addict shot Truck because he was going to turn down a record deal that made him ditch his brother (who was mercifully not named Tractor) and lose his cowboy hat and change his sound from country (which he'd grown up listening to in his mama's kitchen) to pop.

It was just awful, and now I'm going to put it in a bubble and let it go. Then, I'm going to resume my Zicam routine in an attempt to fend off this sore throat.

Have a great Monday, peeps. I'm out.

slacker

There are about a dozen things that I really need to be doing right now. Mopping floors. Dusting. Washing dishes. Washing the clothes M needs for his trip. Taking out the compost. Putting away laundry. The list goes on. Anyway, I'm clearly not doing any of those things because I'm sitting at the computer. (Captain Obvious, anyone?)

There was a reason for sitting at the computer originally. I need to find some window treatments for the bonus area upstairs to continue our efforts at making it habitable. Of course, I am easily sidetracked by the boundlessness of the world wide web. I cannot be trusted to sit down in front of the computer and complete only the one task I sat down to complete. I was distracted by this article on MSN today about Crocs. While I have no real opinion on Crocs other than they are super cute on my toddler's insanely stinky feet, the article is a hysterical bashing. Hysterical. It also contained a link to the website Stuff White People Like. I had heard of the site before, and OHMIGOSH. It is so funny. I had to make myself stop reading it so I could tell you all to go there right now and start reading. Make your Friday afternoon at work worth it. (Unless you're my husband, in which case, I implore you to work hard, come home, and chill out.) I only read a little bit, but the following made me almost pee.

From #5: Farmer's Markets, "That photo described the woman as a “local herb merchant.” Everything about that description is white."

I have no idea why that's so funny. But I fear that the pull of this website may prevent my dirty floors from being cleaned today.

Happy Friday, peeps. I'm out. I'd say I'm going to clean my house, but you'd know I'm lying. I've got to see what else I, as a white person, am supposed to like.

FIVE SENSES FRIDAY
Sight: the load of veggies my granddaddy brought over yesterday in a bucket
Sound: S "singing"
Smell: the garden
Touch: S kisses through the slats of her cribs
Taste: cherries, nectarines