A Million Thoughts All At Once

Okay, so that's probably an exaggeration but that's what it feels like. My head has been spinning for a number of days now and I haven't been able to form a coherent thought to base a post on, so I'm going to just let them all flow out here and if you can hang with me to the bottom and ignore the seemingly unrelated nature of these random thoughts, I promise to reward you with the secret to my great apple pie recipe.

So here it goes...

People with ugly toes should not wear opened-toe shoes.

I love aspargus but the pee smell after? That's just too weird.

Did you ever notice how some vitamins have the same effect?

I love the peep-toe shoes that are popular now, but I can't wear them because my toes are strangely too short for the length of my feet and they don't peep.

I developed a bionic sense of smell during pregnancy that has never really gone away. Because of that I am rarely indifferent to scents. I just went crazy in a homemade soap store in FL and spent way too much money on soaps that smell so good! (Feel free to ask me for recommendations if you feel so inclined to order from their site.)

Along the scent line, I love to smell good cologne/perfume and always notice when someone has on a scent that I like. I link so many memories to the scents of certain boys. The smell of Polo or Drakkar pulls me back to the 80's so quickly that I suddenly find myself frantically searching for my favorite Forenza sweater and acid-washed jeans as I reach for the Aquanet to primp before a date. Disturbingly, I came downstairs one morning during high school and smelled the cutest boy...who turned out to be my dad donning a new cologne! The horror!!!!!

Have you ever lived believing in a certain version of a story for so long that you didn't realize there were other perspectives--until it was too late?

What else can you do besides get another tattoo to successfully breeze through a midlife crisis without causing any permanent damage? And if you get a tattoo, where would you get it and what design would you choose?

Will your kids be embarrassed of your tattoos when they are in high school? Even the one you got before you had kids?

Will I care?

If you realize you wronged someone, it's necessary to apologize right? What if a tremendous amount of time has passed? Are you really apologizing to make amends or are you just making yourself feel better? How can you tell?

Sometimes you get in a bad mood--like I have been for a few days--and it's hard to get out of it. But then your best friend tells you she loves you and everything just looks a little bit brighter.

Best friends can feel like family--more than some family members feel like family sometimes. And thank goodness.

Okay, that's all I have for right now. I could use some witty comments to lighten my heart. I'm really not trying to sound pathetic, but it does sound that way doesn't it. Oh well. Leave a comment now and hate me later. I'm still trying to get through all of the posts I missed while I was away and as much as I'm trying to get through them quickly I can't help stopping to make comments. You all are a funny, inspiring group of writers and I'm glad you're out there!!!

So congratuations! You made it. Sorry you can't get those few minutes back. But since you're here, here's the secret to my apple pie: use a variety of apples (both sweet and sour) and add a teaspoon or two of vanilla. Works every time!!!

Only Six Weird Things About Me

I've been tagged by Kat to complete the 6 Weird Things meme. I could definitely come up with way more than six, but my mom is a reader and well I'd love for some of you to come back so...

THE RULES: Each player of this game starts with the 6 weird things about you. People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says you are tagged in their comments and tell them to read your blog.

1. I can bend my pinky finger all the way down into a "c" shape without bending any of my other fingers.

2. I like to eat my grilled cheese sandwiches cut into even fractions and then dipped into syrup.

3. I'm still terribly embarrassed about a lie I told my friends in third grade about how I had to wear sunglasses because I had some eye thing. I knew they knew I was lying and I told it anyway.

4. As I'm boarding any plane, I am driven to touch the outside of the plane making an "x" and then tapping the center of the "x" three times. Ironically, this is the same "hex" I used to put on the pocket whenever a friend and I played pool. It didn't ever work then, so I'm not sure why I'm relying on it to keep my plane aloft now.

5. I derive an inordinate amount of pleasure from popping a good zit. You know the kind that splat on the mirror? Gross, huh?

6. I have a secret crush on a man who is a grandfather.

Let's see...who can I tag? How about Eric, Jill, QueenieBadd, Janet a.k.a. "Wonder Mom", Dorky Dad and Lotta.

Gassy, Gas, Gas

It's that day of the week again. This week we have the lovely St. Jude helping us navigate the obstacles of pages sure to bore our socks off.

If you'd like to be a part of this esteemed group, reviewing media that really stinks, feel free to click here to find out what it's all about.

Mamma Loves JJ

I read many blogs, and the list grows every day, but I have a recent new favorite that is woefully under-read and deserving of massive traffic.

Please if you will meet the incredible JJ Dufresne over at I'm Just Drunk in Someone's Garage.

Every day, the posts just get better. That Brandi and Betty Sue...they're some funny girls with a very interesting friend.

Go! Get out of here! Go check it out!!

Misty Water Colored Memories...

I'm in Florida for work--in the town I lived during highschool.

I'm not one of those folks who looks back on highschool as the best time of my life. It wasn't. Don't get me wrong...I made the best of it, but I suffered all the typical angst of a teenage girl. Okay, maybe a little more than the average highschool teeny bopper.

This afternoon I took some quiet time to look out over the water and just let my thoughts wander (which with three boys is a luxury in and of itself) and I was surprised by the wave of emotions that hit me.

We were so young then. We made decisions without regard to what they'd mean next week or better yet in the next decade. And as this dawned on me, I was suddenly able to let go of a number of pieces of luggage I've been dragging around like a favorite blanket since then (I know, I'm a slow learner, it's been nearly twenty years). What I finally realized was that I wasn't the only one who had no idea what I was doing. Nobody else did either, and I can't hold it against them.

I'm feeling a little twinge of bittersweet emotions right now, but I feel lighter too.

Shit, the hotel doesn't have a scale! I guess I'll just go try on my tight jeans and see if they're a little looser.

Cross your fingers for me!

Why I'm Pro-Choice

Not to be lazy, but I just posted on this topic not long ago, so I am referring back to it today. Especially since we have the protesters in town.

I hope readers who don't agree with my position will at least respect it. I promise, I respect yours...I just don't agree.

So anyway, here you go...

The "choice" issue has, for me, always meant so much more than the right to get an abortion but the right to self-determination on issues pertaining to one's body.

I've always felt that a person's position on the abortion issue told me so much about their whole outlook on the rights of all humans. The right to have sex with the consenting adult of your choice, the right to abstain from sex, the right to decorate your body, the right to change your body in some way, the right to prevent someone from changing your body...the right to make decisions for oneself and for the body your soul inhabits while on this planet is that too much to ask?

There are plenty of decisions folks may make under this precept that I don't agree with or wouldn't pursue myself, but I'll defend their right to make those decisions till the end. I don't ask for all people to condone abortion, but to leave the decision up to the woman who must face that decision herself.

Would that we had a world where every pregnancy was a wanted pregnancy, unfortunately that is just not the reality. We should all be working to make it a reality, yet those organizations (and their supporters) who label themselves as "pro-life" aren't necessarily concerned with this. The National Right to Life organization clearly states in their mission statement that they do not even have a position on sex-education or contraception!

How can they claim to want to reduce abortion in this country but not even engage in a conversation about how to reduce the number of unwanted pregnancies?! As a mother, I know how awe-inspiring bringing a child into this world is. As a mother, I also know the patience, resources and love needed to raise a healthy child. How many children would be raised without those things if we were to outlaw abortion?

And please don't send me a comment about all those unwanted babies being adopted...I'm adopted. You know how many kids in this country go unadopted every year? Being adopted has never once affected my feeling on this issue because of the very premise this post began with--the decisions about one's body need to be made by the brain inhabiting that body.

I Heard the Call and it Was a Fart--The Sunday Trumpet

I don't know about you, but I barely have enough time to ignore my responsibilites and get all my blog reading done, so I am grateful for any warnings of other potential time-suckers from which I should stear clear.

Please take a a stroll on over to Tom's place and see what he has to say about one particular snooze-inducing read.

PS--This is my first weekend as a participant of the Roundtable. Click here if you're interested in taking part. Mr. 2 (as he hangs over my shoulder as I type) thinks the clouds of "wind" look like Big Bird. They sort of do.

Future MILF Update

Future MILF status is coming slowly, but we do have progress. Unfortunately, I can't provide an accounting of the pounds removed, because I haven't been able to bring myself to get on the home scale. What I can tell you is that the waistbands of my pants are more comfortable.

My preferred method of weight loss has been a low-carb diet. I was doing so well last year. I lost three sizes! Then for some reason this fall I decided I could eat whatever I wanted to--Funyuns, bread wonderful bread--and well you can imagine the result. So here I am starting over.

I do need to include exercise in this plan. But I can't seem to find the activity that sounds like fun. I guess maybe I'm setting my sights too high. Maybe the fun doesn't come from the actual activity, but from being able consider myself a MILF.

Crap. That means I have to exercise. But it's cold outside.

As you can see, I'll use any excuse...

My Relationship with My Eyebrows: A Play in Three Parts

Act I: Blissful Ignorance

Scene: Mamma's third birthday party. She's about to blow out the candles on her cake. Two parents share a conversation in the back of the room.

Parent 1: She's a cutie.
Parent 2: She's going to get away with a lot with those big blue eyes.
Parent 1: And those long eyelashes...

Act II: This Might Be as Bad as Getting Your Period

Scene: Mamma's now 13. Short Stuff (Mamma's Mamma) calls to Mamma from her bedroom.

Short Stuff: Mamma, come here.
Mamma:
Short Stuff: Mamma?! Come here.
Mamma: (eye roll) o-kay

Mamma enters Short Stuff's bedroom and is attacked by a crazy tweezer wielding woman.

Mamma: What are you doing?! (trying to slap Short Stuff away)
Short Stuff: I just. need. to. get. rid. of. someofthosehairs.
Mamma: OUCH! OUCH! What. are. you. doing?!
Short Stuff: We just need to clean your eyebrows up a bit. You'll like it.

Later that day...Mamma and her best friend Long Legs are walking to the pool

Long Legs: What happened to your face?
Mamma: My mom "plucked" my eyebrows. It frickin' hurt!
Long Legs: It looks better. Before they looked like two caterpillars in heat.

Act III: Acceptance/The Love Affair

Scene: Mamma, freshly denuded of unsightly eyebrow and bikini hair, saunters down the sidewalk on a sunny brisk day.

Voiceover Mamma: I wonder if Timi (my esthetician) knows what a girl crush I have on her. I mean look at these eyebrows! They're perfect every time! This might be better than a new hair cut. I love Timi. Love her, love her, love her. Hmm? I didn't know my pants hit my skin there. Shakey's going to love Timi too!

Cue The Gap Band "You Dropped a Bomb on Me" as Mamma hops into her big SUV and drives away.

Fin.

By Any Other Name

I can't help it...I'm a CNN junkie.

But have you heard about the baby born to parents whose frozen embryos were saved from a flooded hospital right after Hurricane Katrina? He was just born yesterday, sixteen months after the flood. And his name? NOAH! Other names considered? Nitro (as in gen) and Embryanna.

Is that perfect? Is it too funny for words? Are you rolling your eyes?

What do you think?

Um, Hello?

Hey you! Yeah you, the one working at Delta Airlines. The minute I mention you you disappear. Did I scare you off? All I wanted was a measly little comment. I just wanted know who the devoted reader was. I promise I won't stalk you--well unless you're cute and start leaving me extremely complimentary comments. Well then...in the immortal words of Jessica, I might have to lick your brain--and I'm gooood.

As for the rest of ya, I still want to know your idea of a terrific kiss or the first band you ever saw in concert.

Since I'm not much of a lurker--rather I can't keep my comments to myself--I've used National De-Lurking Week as an excuse to delve into the blog universe a little more and find some new reads. Let me tell you...I've doubled the size of my Google Reader subscription list in just a few days. Here are some of the folks I plan to check back with regularly.

Dancing Through

The Underpaid Kept Woman

Queen of the Bad Mommies

Basement Epiphanies

Don't Take the Repeats

And last but not least, the wonderful Momma that's getting my ass into gear to drop the pounds it like it's hot...Mom-O-Matic. With her inspiration the whole mommy blogging world is going to take over the cover of Sports Illustrated next year!!

Hey You!

Yeah you!! I'm talking to you...and you.

Would you let me know you stopped by? You have an excuse this week. It's National De-Lurking Week.

I'd especially LOVE to know who that faithful reader is that works for Delta Airlines. I really appreciate how often you stop by.

No need to say anything witty--though feel free, I love to laugh. Describe your perfect first kiss. Suggest some new music for me to check out. Whatever. Just come out of the shadows.

Hippy, Not Hip

The Crazy Hip Blog Mamas want to know how owning a Pink Nintendo DS Lite could make me more hip to my children. Or so that's what their email said today.

My initial response to this is: How could anything created in the 21st century NOT make me hipper? And to just my children? Why stop there? How about to the world?

You see I think the gods are conspiring to let me know today just how unhip I am--because before today, I was delusionalunder the impression I was doing a'right.

If you will, please follow along as I recount my day and you can decide for yourself.

8:30 a.m. I hop into the shower and spent a pleasant seven uninterruped minutes staring at the powder blue tiles which line my hospital-sized shower stall--it was considered HUGE in the 60's.

8:37 a.m. I decide what to wear to work. Today's selection a pink sweater from Talbot's (my mom shops at Talbot's!), jeans from Old Navy--which were on sale the saleswoman explained--scanning me from toe to head--because the waist was much higher than most "people" today like to wear them. And for shoes? No Dansko mom-clog shoes for me today...no way (that was yesterday and the day before)! I'm going high fashion with a nice pair of low black pumps--from the Talbot's outlet.

8:45 a.m. (It takes me a while to squeeze myself into my freshly washed jeans). The hair. No time this morning. We're going with the wet look, which on the way in to the office I adorn with an adorable clear plastic clip piling the front of my just below the chin hair on top of my head.

9:00 a.m. I'm off to work. Hop in the car (with two carseats in the backseat, a whole team's worth of baseball equipment and some "cute" paisley boxes I bought to organize my mess of a room in the way back and kids stickers pasted to the insides of the windows of the back seat). Decide NOT to listen to the XM radio, because I need to hear the news not music.

9:30 a.m. Traffic is really heavy today...still in the car. A few nice people let me cut in front of them, so I roll down my window each time--even though it's 30 degrees out--to make sure I give them the thank you wave.

10:30 a.m. Check a few of my favorite blogs. Jessica over at Oh The Joys lets me know that my current hairstyle is a "mom" haircut. And here I thought going to that salon downtown would ensure a fashionable style.

12:30 p.m. Eat chicken salad for lunch--because I'm back on that low-carb diet (remember...hippy)--and decide that I really don't like capers.

2:23 p.m. Exchange emails with an old boyfriend who still looks exactly like he did when we dated oh so long ago. Tell him about my blog. His reply? "Jesus H. Christ...first gardening and now a blog? You are such a dork!" Yeah that felt good.

4:17 p.m. Attempt to go to the bathroom by myself while only one child is home. Have a conversation with my oldest son about how he doesn't like that we're pulling all the wall to wall up in our house--especially in his room. I tell him it was so dirty we needed to get rid of it. He tells me I'm "soooo old fashioned."

5:55 p.m. Back in the car to pick up the littlest guys. Decide to listen to the XM radio. Tune it to the 80's station. But in a brief moment of coolness, someone lets me cut in front of them and I DON'T give them the wave. But then someone else let me in, and I just couldn't be so rude again.

6:36 p.m. I serve my children a casserole named after my husband.

So that pretty much brings us up to now.

OMG!!! I gotta go find a nice high ledge. I hope someone truly worthy wins the prize.

A Speculumtacular Visit!

**Warning to men and boys. The following is a story that will make you thank god once again that you are not a woman. Read at your own risk**

As Karrie so selflessly shared with us her annual gynecological visit today, I was reminded of a particularly lovely sojourn I took to the doc oh so many years ago. And for the record, I'm not "stalking" Karrie despite the fact that I can't stop talking about her. Karrie, Karrie, Karrie.

When I went away to college I began taking the Pill, because I was having sex wanted to regulate my periods. Taking it regularly was never a problem and on a few occasions helped me determine what day of the week it was (I went to school in New Orleans). What was a challenge was remembering to make appointments with my doctor to get my prescription refilled.

Just days before I was ready to leave town at the end of my junior year, I realized I was going to run out of pills before I was going to be able to see my usual physician, so I ran over to the school health center in hopes of getting a mercy refill. Shoot, they always thought you were pregnant when you went in there so I thought I had a chance. Seriously, mumps? I had them my sophomore year and as the doctor looked at my misshapened face he told me he wanted to take a blood test to see if I was pregnant. That health center had to be the last stop for some burned out docs.

They agreed to a refill but insisted I have a pelvic exam before they would give it to me. Since most students had departed it was quiet and they took me right in. In a rush, I donned my paper nightie and awaited the master of ceremonies. He entered accompanied with his beautiful assistant, the nurse, since there were strict rules about male doctors being in the room alone with a female patient for this kind of exam. I should have been grateful I guess but she looked more like a partner in crime than a savior.

So I got up on the table, laid back and put my feet in the stirrups (and they wonder why little girls have pony fantasies). Then there was the awkward dance as the doctor kept asking me to slide further down the table. I'm guessing the poor guy must have been nearsighted. With my hoo hoo in the spotlight and the speculum inserted, the exam commenced. Never a big fan of pelvic exams I first ignored the discomfort I was feeling, but as I lay there staring at the ceiling (why do so few doctors put interesting pictures on the ceiling?) the pain started to outweigh my memory of past pelvic perusing parties. It finally hurt enough that I decided to pop my head up and see what the heck was going on down there.

My first sight was of the physician looking at my crotch with a perplexed look as he mumbled to himself. This prompted the nurse to put down her paperwork to come over and inspect things for herself. By this point, never the one to be shy about pain in my VAGINA, I managed to emit some sort of grunt indicating that I sensed a problem. They both looked up as if they were surpsrised I was there and the doctor said, "it's stuck." Stuck I thought? WHAT THE FUCK IS STUCK IN MY VAGINA? Then the nurse explained to me non-chalantly that "those darn plastic speculums are so worthless. They're always getting stuck in the open position." STUCK IN THE OPEN POSITION?!

Apparently as the doctor was trying to set the speculum it got stuck on the largest setting. For a moment the look on his face made me think he was considering bracing his foot against my thigh to get some leverage to pull it out by force. Luckily, the Goddess of Pelvic Exams intervened and the diabolical speculum was extracted without any permanent damage.

Needless to say I grabbed that prescription and high-tailed it out of there.

So next time they offer you metal or plastic...take the metal!!!

Indeed A Hero!!

All I can say is that this man just makes me HAPPY!!!

Being Apart Ain't Easy...

This is for you Karrie.

I am now no longer a YouTube virgin. Sure I watched, but I had never done it myself. I don't see why everyone makes such a big deal out of it. Shoot it was a lot more painful to get it going than I expected. Guess it gets easier the more you do it.

Affair of the Heart

I'm experiencing a little bit of a broken heart. And I can't tell Shakey about it, because well being my husband and all...he probably wouldn't understand.

You see I have this crush. And there is nothing I can do about it. We live too far away from each other, so there is no way to do anything about it--though if we were closer you better bet there'd be some meeting up going on. We certainly share quite a bit with each other, but it just never seems to be enough. I mean how much of your soul can you really share through stolen one-way communications?

I just don't know what to do about it anymore. Oh yeah, and have a I mentioned there is some major jealousy on my part? Though I love to hear about my crushes doing great things with others...I just can't help but wish I was part of fun. I have to get over it. But I just don't know what to do.

Do I break it off? Do I just stop communicating? What?! How do you mend a broken heart?

See unless Karrie and OTJ decide to relocate to the DC metro area how are we all going to be best friends and drink margaritas together? And now that OTJ is all MILFed out...how's a girl like me not to be crushin?

All you internet friends are just so fun, but I'm so jealous of those of you who get to meet up with each other. Sounds like there was a gang up in NYC who just did the get together thing and it sounds like fun.

Guess I'll just have to go turn on the iTunes and nurse my jealousy over some good 80's tunes. I mean how can you listen to Steve Perry utter those deep lyrics

Only so many tears you can cry

'Til the heartache is over

And now you can say your love

Will never die

Whoooooa-oh-whoa

Whoooa-oh

Ooooooh-whoa, ooh-whooa

and not TOTALLY know that you're not alone?

Can We Do It? Yes, We Can!!

I couldn't be grosser right now. I'm so gross I can't even come up with an appropriate analogy for what I'm grosser than. Yes! For the second time in less than four weeks I have strep throat again. And I AM SO FREAKIN TIRED OF BEING SICK!!!!!

The irony of it all is that I was just turned on to the Future MILF party going on over at Mom-O-Matic. And I'm getting myself invited to that party baby. What almost 37 year old Mamma doesn't want to be a MILF?! Even if I'm the only one who sees me as a MILF...

So before I get in the shower and try to rid myself of the grunge that has decided to envelop my whole body, I declare my intention to become a Future MILF. Because from the state I'm in now...there's no where to go but hotter.

Mr. Yuck is Miss Nice

Those people at poison control are quite friendly. You know how I know? Oh because I almost caused Shakey to OD on painkillers this weekend.

Can you say GUILT?!

Yeah, so neither of us are big pain reliever imbibers and therefore most of the bottles of Tylenol in our house are expired. Shakey thinks you can still use them, but I tend to disagree--it's one of our ongoing "discussions." Anyway as I bitched about described in a recent post already Shakey is currently suffering from Hand, Foot, Mouth which is causing him to experience tremendously painful (like giving birth I'm sure) sores in his mouth and he's required some relief (really, I do feel bad for him).

When we ran out of the only unexpired bottle of Tylenol over the weekend I turned up a bottle of CVS brand "Pain Relief" tablets in the bottom of some bag. Lo and behold they were still good so I looked at the milligrams per tablet, saw that they were 220 each and thought that was a bit odd but shook out three and handed them to him every six hours like they do at the hospital. And Shakey slept...for two days.

I thought he might be taking the whole being sick thing a little far, but who was I to complain since he'd just a super-trooper through my strep (did I just use the term super-trooper?). Well this morning he woke up! And for some reason he read the fine print--okay directions--on the little pain relief tablet bottle and guess what! It wasn't ibuprofen. It was naproxen...and you're only supposed to take one tablet every 12 hours and no more than three in a 24 hour period.

He was feeling much better this morning so we went about our day, though it crossed my mind a time or two to see if Hallmark makes a "Sorry I almost offed you honey" card. Midday, however, he started experiencing a number of the overdose symptoms listed on the web, so I called our family nurse (my sister-in-law) for advice. Not wanting to appear to relieve me of any guilt should the case go to trial, she directed me to poison control--or so that's what they do in the ER she said. And that's how I ended up on the phone with the lovely Tina at poison control this evening.

Tina was so reassuring, let me know that naproxen was probably the safest pain reliever to overdose and told me that Shakey's symptoms shouldn't cause us any alarm. She even asked for our name and number so she could call us back tomorrow to check in on us. Shakey piped up that she was just adding me to their spousal abuse registry--she laughed and said yeah she was. A sense of humor and the willingness to relieve me of the guilt of nearlly accidently poisoning my husband. What a woman!!

So next time you fail at offing your husband try to make your honey feel better in his time of need, remember you can over do it...but poison control is there--and they're so nice--though apparently they're not using Mr. Yuck anymore.

I'd Love to Be a Domestic Goddess--Really

Oh I am just so NOT the dominatrix of domesticity. Though if I got to wear cool leather boots it might change my outlook a bit.

While maintaining his virile masculinity, Shakey really is reigning monarch in this area. Though if the truth be told neither of us are going to be scooped up by Martha any time soon. And for the record, there was no false advertising on my part.

The signs of my failure were apparent quite early. My first bedroom contained a walk-in closet which always served as the perfect place to stash whatever was laying around when Mom threatened asked me to clean my room. There were shelves that lined one whole side, so I could just pile everything up on those shelves--until the leaning tower of games tipped out just a little too far and CRASHED to the floor scaring everyone in the house and earning me a glare and a command to march upstairs and pick everything up.

Even then I approached the pile the same way I approach housecleaning today--with panic and trepidation. I never knew how to attack the problem. I couldn't figure out how I was going to make everything stack perfectly...how I was going to get every piece in its proper box and then get all the lids closed neatly so they could be stacked in even piles. My heart races, I begin to sweat and the panic sets in. Cleaning? Organization? I lovely fantasy yes, but of my own hands?! Not that I'm above it no! I just don't believe I'm capable of it.

See I have a little problem with perfectionism--which if you met me you'd fall on the floor laughing to imagine since there is not one shred of evidence of it anywhere in my life. But the truth is if I can't do something perfectly I just don't want to attempt it at all. I HATE failing!! And I know that even when I try to master all this cleaning, etc. the house still isn't going to be ready for Architectural Digest so then I feel like well what's the point. It's a vicious circle--one I'm attempting to overcome. But I'm not going to go making any New Year's resolutions about it, because that would just doom the whole project.

What am I always telling the munchkins? Try your best...that's all I want. Maybe Mamma needs to heed her own advice. But I'm so sure my best could be at least Southern Living [she says tongue planted firmly in cheek].