How YOU doin'?

Thank you, Lindy, for the awesome shades! :)

Thank you for shopping at Meijer. Now kindly leave.

So, I took Bobby grocery shopping yesterday. He had been changed and fed immediately before leaving for Meijer, so I was fairly confident he would be a happy baby during our trip. He was, for the most part. Of course, I didn't realize it would take us well over an hour-and-a-half to negotiate the aisles. It was re-stocking day, and most aisles had at least one huge cart, toting boxes of products being stocked on the shelves. These obstacles, paired with the usual early-morning clientele made it increasingly difficult to get by -- which meant we had to do a great amount of backtracking and taking the long way around things.

I chose this particular day to not only do a "self-check out," but also remembered to bring all my eco-friendly bags in which to lug our food home. By the time we made it to the front of the store, Bobby was sleeping peacefully in his carseat. Then we got behind an Amish woman, who (apparently) decided today would be a good day to learn all about the fancy check-out machines at Meijer. I waited as long as I could, but when it was clear the mini TV-screen and buttons that make a "BOOP" noise were too much for her, we switched lanes. About eight items into my own checkout process, Sweet Bobby woke up. Mad.
He proceeded to cry and carry on for the entire time I was trying to scan items. And because I had no one co-shopping with me, the items kept getting backed up on the conveyor, and the machine kept telling me to "unblock items from the conveyor" before letting me scan another item. Bobby worked himself into a frenzy, making the grandmotherly women in line behind me come up and immediately start trying to console him. And touching him. With all due respect, and as nicely as I could, I "thanks, but no thanks-ed" her. I certainly didn't mean to offend her in any way, but I'm not all about strangers touching the baby. And WTH were she and her husband doing waiting in line behind a woman with a screaming baby, clearly grocery shopping by herself? Did they NOT see the mountain of groceries? Did they NOT realize that once I scanned every last item, I still had to bag everything? All the while attending to the screaming baby strapped to my cart? Seriously?! And do you see the little blob hanging from his upper lip? Yeah,... that's a tear. As in he was having a "tears-streaming-down-his-angry-little-face" meltdown. Good times.

By the time everything was scanned and I was bagging, I was having one of those "frantic/calm" moments. You know, where you may appear calm and collected on the outside, but in your head, all you hear is the baby screaming, your heart pounding and your own voice screaming, HURRY! while breaking into a sweat. At some point, I clearly remember just pitching groceries back into the cart — bag or no bag. I'm sure this was all highly amusing to the folks waiting to have their portrait taken at the Meijer Photo Studio.

This is Bobby when we got outside.
And a short time later, this is him as I was loading the van.



And this is what the back of the van looked like after I began, once again, frantically chucking in food and supplies.

I think I distinctly heard the Greeter mumble something about "have a nice day," as we left the store. Which we did, once we got home. Bobby: 1, Mommy: 0

Words to live by

I found a particularly noteworthy quote online today:

"You are always going to face criticism, you are always going to face challenges; but those things are there to make you stronger and more committed to what God gives you."

Personally, I can relate to these words. And I can attest to the fact that criticism and challenges can, indeed, make you stronger. Facing criticism and overcoming challenges makes you dig that much deeper into yourself, reaching depths of your soul you didn't even know you had. What you find there makes you believe in yourself more than ever, and you do so with ridiculous intensity. Then, you are able to stand a little taller, hold your head a little higher, and dig your heels in a little harder to stand your ground.

God gives us so much -- from gifts, skills and talents to the people who come in and out of our lives. When you commit to the gifts you have been given, you find your passion in life and work ceases to be work; it becomes joy. And when you commit to the people in your life, you will also find passion and joy... like you have never found before.

Effective immediately, we will be imposing a PITA Tax. (Pain In The Ass Tax)

The next time someone is whining incessantly about something insignificant ... hit the offender with the PITA Tax. Or if someone is driving you insane using all means they have available, ... tax them. For example...

Slow driver in front of you? PITA Tax.

Customer ahead of you at Starbuck's asking the barista for his/her opinion on what each and every coffee drink tastes like? PITA Tax. (Hint: They all pretty much taste like coffee. Hence the name, "coffee drink.")

Jackass on his/her cell phone speaking loudly about personal matters? In public? PITA Tax.

Same jackass speaking just as loudly in the movie theater? PITA Tax. (And I think you get to give them a free smack upside the head, too.)

It's time we benefit from the annoyance provided by others. No longer will they shred our patience or tap-dance on our very last nerve. You annoy me or make my life a living hell? I'm going to tax you. Then I'm going to take the money and go buy myself something nice.

Or pay bills.

Probably both.

Have a delightful day. Now, go forth and TAX someone! :)

mmm--hmmmm

Sometimes you just need a little Niecy Nash.

If you know not of whom I speak, you can find her hosting Clean House on TLC or on Comedy Central's "Reno 911," where she plays Raineesha Williams. While "Reno" has it's irreverent comedy merits, I prefer seeing her on Clean House, since that's where her personality absolutely shines.

There's just something about the way she'll glance at the camera when faced with some hopeless family who has literally disabled itself due to the clutter in their home. Niecy calls this, "mayhem and foolishness."

Amen, Sister.

Watching her and the Clean House crew take a family from a hopeless disaster to the hopeful promise of a new beginning is inspirational. And when necessary, she'll gently address delicate situations -- loss of a loved one mostly -- and remind people that they need to honor the loved one's memory by living the best life possible.

But mostly? She listens to lame excuses for why there are rabbits roaming (and pooping) freely in the master bedroom or how the kitchen has no counter space or running water (!!!) and gives them an emphatic, "Mmmmm-hmmmmm." Because you know inside she's got to be thinking, Thank you Jesus that they're paying me good money to get these hoarder-freaks squared away, and NO HE DID NOT just argue with me about keeping a mason jar full of teeth that came out of his very own mouth..."

So when you feel like you've met your personal daily quota for encountering idiots ... people who make you want to rip your hair out and scream ... get yourself to a television and catch an episode of Clean House. Hopefully Niecy will be there in all her glory. Don't bother to sit through the show if either of the two step-in hosts are on. You won't get the full effect.

God bless you Niecy, for cutting through all the mayhem and foolishness.

The one in which I declare myself an idiot...

In a perfect world, scads of people would be wild with anticipation for each blog entry. They would sit at their computers every morning, cup of coffee in hand and click on my blog for their morning "fix," then proceed with their days feeling uplifted, entertained or just really good.

But I have to be realistic.

I have seven people who follow the blog enough to actually click on the thingy (technical speak is not my forte) to show their photo on my page as "Followers." Seven. And I don't even know if all seven actually log in and read my blog every day, but I think there are at least a few regulars. And I probably know who they are, too.

Lately, though, when blogging, I've noticed there weren't as many comments as I used to get. Not that there were a ton, mind you. Just those few people who just might have a funny comment or one-liner to accompany the day's entry. I so enjoy reading them all. But all I kept seeing was "0 COMMENTS." I thought my lazy ass leisurely blog schedule had made readers lose interest. Today, however, when logging in, I happened to notice "10 comments awaiting moderation" at the bottom of the screen.

Nice.

Apparently, at some point in the recent past, I was tinkering with my settings and enabled "comment moderation." And I didn't realize/remember it. And I thought the lack of comments meant everyone left.

(This is where you'd feel sorry for me for being such an idiot so technologically challenged.)

And I'm just emotionally vulnerable enough right now (read: PMS-ing) that I could just cry. Not because I'm sad, but because once I saw there were comments, I realized some of you still DO read my blog. And I'm grateful. For all three of you. Or seven. Whatever.

Don't let my sentiment mislead you. I haven't gone all rainbows, puppies and sunshine. I still have my dark, snarky, (very) often inappropriate side. In fact, I believe I told Lindy today that if I did not heed my body's craving for a cheeseburger today, my mood could quickly swing to, "You wanna piece-a me?! 'Cause I'll take you down like a Christmas tree! Fo shizzle!"

Now,... thanks for reading. Feel free to comment.

just...say...no

Ladies, please... if you are over, say, the age of 10, you are TOO OLD FOR PIGTAILS. Especially in a professional office. Casual Friday or not -- just stop it.