Carousel, blech

The other day I was singing in the shower, as I am wont to do, and found "What's the Use of Wondrin" flowing from my lips. This was a surprise. I was in "Carousel" as a high school junior but that song was a Julie Jordan solo. My job during the scene was to stand and nod in an inspired fashion while Julie poured out her wisdom about finding happiness in the midst of a beating to all us less experienced girls. Well, all that standing and nodding I did in rehearsals and so forth seem to have had some effect on my psyche because even now, no fewer than twelve years since that curtain dropped I know every putrid word of a song I never sung.

Now let me just put this out there up front. I hate "Carousel" I hated the show then and I hate it now. You might pose the question, "Eva, why ,all those years ago, did chose to be a part of a show you profess to hate?" I'll tell you. I was (and remain in my heart) a drama geek. The School Musical is what I lived for. Those were the shining months out of every school year. Hours spent rehearsing under the proscenium or giggling in the dusk of the auditorium over the sorts of jokes only prolonged exposure to the same forty five or so people can provide are priceless facets of my memory. I could no better deprive myself of that experience than I could stop myself breathing regardless of my opinions on the show selection.

Our director chose to approach the project from the angle of "Hope." Even in that awful story he pointed out the opportunities each character had to hope for the better. His goal was to inspire the audience (and his teenage cast) to work toward hope in any given situation.

That was a noble goal. It's probably the only way to serve up that show that could make it the least bit palatable, and I don't think he failed all together. I do think He was working against the very fibers of the message delivered by the script. Sure there's the one song "When you walk through a storm" whose message truly is one of hope, but the ultimate message of show is revealed when Billy Bigelow comes from beyond the grave to meet his child and set things right that were wrong in his life. What does he do with this chance? He ghost beats his daughter which then gives his widow the chance to teach the child that true love means it won't hurt when he hits you.

Here's my memory of the scene between Julie and Louise after Louise encounters her father's ghost.

Louise: He hit me Mama, hit me real hard...but it didn't hurt. When he hit me it, it felt like he kissed my hand.

Julie: (nods knowingly)

Louise: Is it possible Mama? To have someone hit you, hot you real hard and have it not hurt?

Julie: (inspired) Yes. It is possible, to have someone hit you, hit you real hard and have it not hurt. (choked with emotion and love for her deceased abuser)

Is there a sequel to carousel? The story of little Louise Bigelow out in the world looking for the man who can hit her like her daddy did. Moving from one abusive relationship to another, she searches, hoping that if she's good enough, strong enough and loves him enough someday she'll find the man whose blows feel like kisses. How's that for a synopses?

To sum up. The message of the show is: you can never change not even after you're dead, also women deserve nothing more than a good beating. If you really love your man it won't hurt when he hits you. Hopeful right?

Now, go back to when I found myself singing a song I didn't know I knew. I started out on the first verse, surprised that the words were present in my head, and thinking to myself "This song isn't as bad as I remembered."

Here are the first two verses of the song for your reference.

What's the use of wond'ring
If he's good or if he's bad,
Or if you like the way he wears his hat?
Oh, what's the use of wond'ring
If he's good or if he's bad?
He's your feller and you love him,
That's all there is to that.

Common sense may tell you
That the ending will be sad,
And now's the time to break and run away.
But what's the use of wond'ring
If the ending will be sad?
He's your feller and you love him,
There's nothing more to say.

If you take the first line "What's the use of wondrin if he's good or if he's bad" in a more figurative sense it's really not awful, and certainly there are worse things than a man who wears his hat poorly. That much of the song is excusable.

The second verse continues in this innocuous fashion. It could even be considered down right good advice for a girl who has the tendency to over analyze her relationships, killing all prospects before she even gives them a chance to prove themselves. I got that far and nearly decided I'd misjudged the song as a whole.

Once I started into the bridge though, not to mention the third verse, my original opinion reasserted it's self, and with a vengeance. Here are those lyrics.

Something made him the way that he is,
Whether he's false or true,
And something gave him the things that are his,
One of those things is you, so

When he wants your kisses,
You will give them to the lad,
And anywhere he leads you, you will walk.
And anytime he needs you,
You'll go running there like mad.
You're his girl and he's your feller,
And all the rest is talk.

It really is a shame. The melody is beautiful and so much fun to sing. But am I willing to allow my young daughters to hear me absentmindedly repeat those noxious lyrics? No I am not. And so, until I can find different words to sing. Words that won't inadvertently teach my girls to think of themselves as possessions, the song, lovely tune and all, is and must be expunged from my repertoire.

Enough with the puke already!

It would seem I need to create a whole category here for vomit related posts.
That's right. It happened again tonight.
We were at Panda Express, the favorite of both my children. I was waiting at the table with Enzo when, out of nowhere, he started the tell tale gagging cough.
This time I caught it in my bare hands. Lucky it wasn't more than a handful.
There I stood with my prize an no one around to help but my Zizza. "Run and tell Pop (who was in line) that Baby Brother threw up" I instructed.
Meanwhile, I shook my hands off into the near by garbage can. I had wipes but they were deep in my bag and no way was I reaching my wretched on hands in there to find them. At any other restaurant there would be a stack of napkins somewhere near by, not Panda. They are stingy with the napkins there. They give you one per person with your order and that's it. If you want more you have to go back to the counter and ask. We always ask for a few extras up front but since we hadn't made it that far yet, I was napkin less.
Zizza came back from relaying my message, the Mr's response was to look at me and shrug. Helpful. (In his defense I don't think he knew my fingers were dripping with stomach acid)
Just then, a Panda employee came out to wipe down tables, ah salvation!
"Excuse me" I said. "can I get a, a...something?" (as the boy begins to wretch again)
She was back in a flash with a whole roll of paper towels off which she had kindly ripped a fistful for my immediate use.
She left me the roll in case I needed it and I sat there holding my hands in the air away from my body and as far from my nose as possible until the Mr could relieve me of my child supervision duties so I could wash them five times over in the bathroom.
All the while Zizza begged "Can I have apple juice? I would like apple juice for a drink, are we getting apple juice" and I said to her "Do I look like I can buy you apple juice? If you want juice you need to talk to Pop, right now my only job is to sit here not touching anything" and she would say "But can I have some apple juice?" We had this exchange at least five times.
In case you wondered, yes, I was able to eat my food when I got it. I have what you might call an iron stomach(when I'm not pregnant).
Enzo, taking after his sister, seemed to feel just fine after his gastronomic demonstration and proceeded to eat three plates full (You know the little ones for egg rolls and such) of steamed rice.
He never gave up trying to snitch orange chicken off my plate either. I had to pay close attention the whole time. If I let my guard down, even for a second, I'd turn back to find a plump little hand sneaking a fork onto my plate.
Seriously folks, what is the deal with this? People who puke are supposed to be sick. They are not supposed to want orange chicken five minutes after the fact, not unless they're preggers any way.
I pray that we wont have any of these surprise vomit attacks during our coming drive. I think we'd better take a bucket along just in case though.

Dashed dreams

We stopped in at a bike shop to inquire about the possibility of conveying three children under the power of a lone biking adult.
Last Christmastime, while walking through the mall I happened upon a bike shop, it's windows full of beautifully painted, basket laden beach cruisers.
I have no interest in biking long distances or through mountains and accordingly my interest in bikes died when the mighty driver's license entered my life.
When I saw those lovely bikes I remembered how great it was to pedal around the neighborhood, with or without a destination. I realized that I didn't have to bike for miles or over mountains to enjoy the freedom and joy of a bike.
And did I mention the bikes were lovely? I was previously unaware that there was such a thing as an attractive adult-sized bike.
From that day forth I have wished for a bike. A bike to ride to the park, to take Zizza to her dance class, to make my hair fly, and to admire.
This winter I was going to do it.
At the bike shop yesterday we learned that there is indeed a way for me to propel all three children along with me. As long as all of the children can sit and support their own heads. There is no way, not a way known to the bicycle man anyway,to bike with a two month old.
"I guess we won't be biking Sister to dance class" I mourned. DO you know what that Awful Bicycle Man did then? What he had the nerve to do after dashing my dreams?
"Whoa," said A.B.M. "Dance class at four? somebody's gonna be self conscious when she gets older"
Excuse me? Self conscious? Because she goes the the neighbors house to plie to various Disney soundtracks for an hour every Wednesday? Self Conscious because she's learning coordination and how to enjoy exercise and express herself through movement?
I still want a bike, and I'll still probably buy it at that shop when the New One grows some neck muscles, but I'm going to give that Awful Bicycle Man a dirty look if he's there when I do.

Really now!

I can't figure out what my problem is with doll clothes. I've been working all day and the only fruits I have to show for my labor are an abandoned ill shaped t-shirt, a some what less ill shaped dress that will at least be suitable for Baby Girl to adopt on behalf of her own dolls, and a bodice, fairly well constructed though it lends a somewhat linebackeresque air to the wee doll it is meant for.
I've held myself here, forging back to the machine whenever my mind wanders until I can bear it no longer. I promised Baby Girl the dollies would be ready for Bestest tomorrow, and so they shall, but for the moment I must give up.

Warning- this post is not for the weak of stomach!

Yesterday I was in the food court at the mall and there was a girl wearing a "class of '10" t-shirt and awful denim underpants with a slit about an inch to the left of the left back pocket that equaled the length of the pocket in question, allowing for a generous view of side cheek.
So I'm sitting there enjoying my lunch when she comes into my line of vision. Just then, she plunges her hand down the back of her miniscule shorts and gives her thong a yank. This was no discreet melvin picking, aside from the unabashed plunge down the shorts there was a definite wrestle to right the deeply lodged thong.
There was no reason for such a display, the bathroom was yards away and it wasn't busy, I know, between brushing squaw bread out of my braces and a 3 year-old who is obsessed with the child size toilet in the family bathroom I made 3 trips during my visit to the food court.
Maybe the worst part? After situating her lingerie she placed her thong-y hand in the (as far as I know) un-thonged hand of her boyfriend and walked away.
I hope he'd already finished his lunch. Or, at the very least, he had something he could eat with a fork so the actual food didn't touch his bottom-soiled hands.

a wedding report

Ruffled diaper covers for baby girl bums I am not including a photo of the baby niece's dress because I already did in this post.


This is Baby Girl's ensemble. I decided I liked the eyelet skirt better than the stripped dress so all I made for her was the satin belt with the beaded buckle.


Little Bitty's dress I made to match the blouse Baby Girl wore. I found a pair of socks with a red and white crochet-beaded edge that someone gave me for baby girl and, miraculously, I had all of the stuff to make a 3 year-old sized pair so both of my girls had beaded socks and sparkly shoes.
Little bitty loved the noise the socks made when she walked, and took big steps to make them louder.


I love how light the skirt looks in this photo. This dress turned out exactly the way I wanted it and I think the child who wore it was happy as well. I meant to ask her if the skirt was fat enough for her but I never did.
She also wanted "puffy boobs" which I did not provide. Don't let's misunderstand one another, were it appropriate I could build that girl some pretty impressive "girls" of her own. You don't work in the costume industry without learning a few tricks. But I thought a busty 4 year-old might steal attention from the bride and that, of course is the last thing you want to do at a wedding so I stayed my hand.
Speaking of things not to do at weddings. They years I spent in a bridal shop has made me a bad wedding guest. I'm so used to telling brides how to fix the oops-es in their wedding attire, I can't keep my mouth shut. In the shop it was my job to tell them every little thing I noticed so it could be fixed and perfect on the day. Once the day arrives however, brides don't need to be worried about little things that only a trained eye will notice.
Example number one. I am standing outside the temple in a crown of people waiting for the bride and groom to come out for photos. Another bride came out while we were waiting and from across the crowd I see her husband pick up her train and slip his wrist through the loop intended for a hanger and nothing else, ever! People make this mistake all of the time, a bride takes a dress into the fitting room, sees the loop and exclaims "Look! it has a loop so I can hook it to my wrist while I dance!" "NO" a responsible bridal sales representative should say. "That loop is only for hanging the dress on a hanger! You see how it is in the middle of the underside of the train? If you put that thing on your wrist all anyone is going to see is your crinoline, and the lining of your skirt and that ain't pretty!" Nobody told this girl, apparently. Anyway, back to the story. I'm across a crowd of people and I see this groom fumbling with the train and the hanger loop. "NO! HONEY" I shout, "That is NOT what that's for!" She of course didn't hear me over the crowd and it's probably for the best. My sister who was on that brides side of the crowd, noticed as well and helped the groom arrange the skirt so, at least, the lining looked it's best when it was chosen, over the actual pretty part of the dress to be shown to the world.
The second incident on the wedding day was with my brother's own bride. while standing behind her in a photo I noticed that her veil was up-side down. Anyone who plans on doing bridal hair-dos really should learn how to properly put in a veil comb because this is another very common mistake. The comb should be pushed down toward the neck, not up toward the hairline. This way the tulle falls beautifully over the comb and none of the stitching can be seen. It is really not hard.
So anyway, I notice the up-side-down veil and instead of keeping my mouth shut like I should out pop the words "sweetie, your veil's up-side-down", one always has to use some term of endearment when talking to a bride about her wardrobe fumbles, honey, sweetie, sugar lump, you get the idea. Now, what I ask you was she supposed to do about it at this point? Take the thig off right then and there, risking the ruination of her up-do inorder to fix a little something only I noticed? I realized the unhelpfulness of telling her immediately and assured her that I could only tell because I know better and because I was right behind her head. I don't think she stressed out about it, I hope she didn't anyway. Still, I should have kept it to myself.
Maybe one of these days I'll write a tutorial on how to properly don a wedding veil in a effort to educate the world and stop the showing of stitching on the heads of brides everywhere and in so doing cure my bridal-wear advice blurting disorder.

Music

I awoke this morning to the sound of my dog vomiting in his kennel. Being serenaded in one's waking moments really is a good way to ease into the day, and dog retching lends such a peaceful tone to any situation.
Makes a girl feel all chipper and ready to face whatever the coming day has in store!

Dear frozen food company that rhymes with "Lawn" Man,

Thank you for stopping by every second Monday for the past 2 years to see if I am in need of any frozen goods. I heartily enjoy the cut corn and beef taquitos you supply. I also appreciate the fact that despite my rudeness in pretending not to be home when I don't need anything you continue to be courteous on the rare occasion that I do answer when you come to my door.
But, you see, the products you offer, aside from the corn and taquitos of course, are things I don't care to buy and a there's a limit to how much corn my family can consume. I've been thinking, it is hardly worth the time you spend walking from your truck, to my unanswered door, and back just for the occasional $2.00 bag of corn. I truly feel that it's time I set you free, Jeff. Free to spend more time driving to the homes of people who regularly buy multiple frozen entrees.
As I said, I've felt this way for rather a long time, but have finally been granted the courage to go through with the break up because of the recent barrage of phone calls I've received from your company.
It began last Friday. I was sitting at the computer, enjoying my bit of alone time when the call came. The woman said she was calling to remind me that you would be stopping by on Monday and would I like to pre-order any (pause while she refers to my file) corn? I told her, no thank you, we still had plenty of corn from your last visit, and hung up the phone wondering to myself if the call had something to do with the number of times I've been "not home" when you stopped by. On with my life I went and on Monday I listened quietly until the sound of your refrigerated truck retreated down the street as is my custom.
Today I got a similar call. I tried my best to keep the annoyance out of my voice as I explained to the woman that really, it was not a good time for me to discuss my need for taquitos (which she selected from her list to suggest). You see, sales calls are one of the things I most despise.
Just now, as I was getting lunch for a pair of babies one of whom prefers to throw her food rather than eat it and another who eats everything I give him, so fast I can hardly keep him supplied, the phone rang. "******'s foods" read the caller ID. "Surely they are not calling twice in one day!" thought I, "This call must be concerning something different".
It wasn't.
As the fellow on the other end of the phone line continued on with his script I grew increasingly bothered. By the time he came to the pause while he checked my file for an item to suggest I had made my decision. I would cancel the food delivery service all together as I had been contemplating.
I planned to be calm and simply state that I'd like to be removed from all lists, I don't buy enough to make the service necessary or anything that I can't get else where. Besides which, I can't stand sales calls and if I get my taquitos at Cost-co I won't have to worry about them calling to see if I want some more.
That didn't happen. Here's what I blurted with just enough self control to keep the hostility from my voice if not the aggravation. "You know what? I'm just gonna have to go ahead and cancel the service because you guys just.. keep.. CALLING me and it is honetly driving... me... a little bit, INSANE!" The response I got was, "Oh, I can certainly take you off the call list." I didn't trust myself to be polite to the poor man who surely didn't know of my extreme hatred of sales calls or the fact that he was the second ****** representative to call me that day, or that one baby was flinging marinara covered noodles as fast as her little hands could move while the other grunted for more food. I thanked him for taking me off the phone list and hung up.
So here we are Jeff, I want you to know that it's not you. You have been an exemplary delivery man. It is just time for ****** and myself to part ways. I hope you'll understand.

Apologetically,
Eva

Baskets of junk

For the past few years since the Easter Bunny has been coming to our house I've been a bit conflicted.
You see, he has been bringing cheap-y easter themed toys and such. The kind of thing that is fun for a few days and then lies around the house until I find opportunity to sneak it into the trash.
The conflict comes from the fact that I really enjoy picking out the little eastery toys for his Bunnyness to bring. I just bought a box of fluffy chicks for the purpose this last Saturday.
Anyway, I decided this year to get one actual quality toy in each kid's basket and forgo the crap, except for the aforementioned chicks which I couldn't pass up. Here's what I bought, just now, thank goodness for online shopping.
Baby Girl gets these cute little mice with clothes. I was planning on these for Christmas but I didn't order in time and they were out of stock, so hurrah for mice to dress!
Tiny Boy gets this set of some of the coolest blocks I've ever seen. I love blocks, seriously love them. Next I'm going to need to get a big fat fatty fat set of all the cool archways and stuff.
The fact is I love toys. I love buying toys. I feel like I don't have enough opportunities to buy toys. My children get lots of toys from various grandparents so I always feel that buying toys myself is a waste of money.
See, if all of the grandparents just bought the toys I actually want my kids to have there would be no problem. They would still be doting on the children and I would not have a house full of toys I don't like and a head full of toys I wish were in my house.
That arrangement wouldn't really work though, because the grandparents like picking out toys too, so I guess someone has to be disappointed and it might as well be me since I am neither paying for or playing with the toys in question.

bleh!

I hate it when people add music to their blogs!
There is only one blog I've ever encountered who does so but I hate it. I hate it so much I just left without even reading any thing other that the sentence I got through before the dreaded music turned on.
The music interrupts my thought pattern. I get into a blogging zone of sorts and uninvited music throws it all off!
I's blog not a my-space page!

Seriously?

So, as I was strolling through the pacifier department as my local grocery store one day while I was still preggers, I noticed the NUK starlight pacifiers.
They were lovely! Such clean lines, the colors, though limited, were fantastic! Never had I seen a paci so sleek and stylish. I bought a two pack and sent one off to a friend, saving the other for my own tiny boy. Luckily enough, that was the variety of bink he favoured and aside from the soothie they gave us in the hospital the only kind he's ever used.
But now I can't find them.
I got around to looking online today and all I came up with was a product description which reminded me how much I do indeed love that pacifier, and this
$18.95 for a pack of binkis? Are you kidding me?
I guess I am not the only one who loves them.
I suppose it's just as well. It's time to start getting Tiny off the bink anyway, but in the mean time I get all antsey when any of the 3 we have are MIA.
We were down to one for a few days and it almost drove me to insanity. And that was before I googled and was still hopefully checking every time I went to the store.
In reality, Tiny boy would probably be fine with any NUK I gave him. It is me who is in love with the starlight so I guess if the 3 got lost before we were through with paci's in general, I could buy any ugly old nuk and be ok, but I wouldn't be happy about it.

A pile of vomit and a shirtless mother

Tuesday morning found me bustling about getting ready for my joy school lesson. Finally at about 9:00, thirty minutes before the children were due to arrive, I decided it was high time I got myself and my child ready.
I deemed that not having the cups and napkins on the counter ready for snack time would be much less of a problem for me than not having hair done when kids started showing up, so I started in that direction. The need for a few minutes quality time with my flat iron was amplified my the fact that I'd gone to bed on wet hair the night before.
Baby Girl was lying in a heap at the bottom of the stairs where she'd been since I told her she could not have a Dora yogurt drink until she finished her cereal, which she was "too full to eat".
I decided to tackle her tresses first and called her to come up stairs. Her response was "I'm too tired to do that" So I walked down and hefted her up the stairs vowing with each step that she'd have a nap as soon as the other children left my home.
"I'm going to throw up" she said, as we were reaching the top of the stairs. This is not a statement to be taken lightly. I cupped my hand beneath her chin and began to run.
A step or two later life cereal began to spew forth.
That stuff just kept on coming!
She finally stopped, and I took her the rest of the way to the bathroom and began to dispose of my handful. "I'll just use my pitcher" she says as she begins to toss even more of her cookies into the bath pitcher.
I got my hands clean, removed my puked up shirt and got her in the bath. then, as I was debating whether to clean up the floor first or call the joy school parents and tell them not to come, the door bell rang.
Tiny Boy had been playing far away from the up-chuck... until now. There I stood, in my bra, hair standing on end, baby veering toward a puddle of disgust, and a guest at the door.
I was fortunate enough to have a basket of clean laundry close at hand. I scooped up the wee child and held him over one arm while I dug through the basket of what seemed to be nothing but childrenswear until I produced the one and only adult shirt in the lot which I donned, somehow, on my way down the stairs.
"I hope it's ok that we're early" says the mother at the door.

Take That!

Well I've done it. I kicked NaBloPoMo's hinder.
It was all "I dare to to try Eva, you'll never make it a whole month, even if you do manage to post everyday while you're on vacation, you'll forget some other stupid time when all you'll do all day is sit on the couch not posting."
And I was all "Oh yeah NaBloPoMo? you think you can take me? I'll Post the heck out of November!"
And I did.
And now it's like "Man Eva you are awesome. You so totally won. I'll never doubt your ability to post every day for a month again... But I might doubt your ability to make every post interesting. None of those 'I almost forgot' cop-out posts."
and I'm like "It is ON NaBloPoMo. It is ON!"

I hope you are excited/scared.

Moan

We went on a little shopping trip today. First to Michaels where I was that mother who nags at her child constantly when the child seems to be behaving relatively well and does nothing but nag some more when the child is naughty. I hadn't noticed yet the impact my cold was having on my behaviour.
On the walk from Michaels to Target I realized, and prepared myself to do better. To hold the brain fog at bay and pay attention to what my child was doing and thus avoid nagging when the fog lifted for a minute and found her taking the lids off all of the push pops in the candy display.
We made a potty stop first thing at Target. Baby Girl had been holding it for a few minutes and peed with such fury that it shot out over the rim and into her pants. Why to public toilets have that blasted gap in the seat anyway? She was wearing a skirt which fortunately avoided any spray so we talked about how she would need to walk nicely and make sure her bum was covered which she managed quite well.
On to the boy. I layed out paper towels on the changing station because some people are none too careful about cleaning up after them selves and got to the changing. The wipes were not in my purse. But I thought I could manage the poop with toilet paper in this instance, and so asked Baby Girl to fetch me some.
While she was making sure she went in the exact stall I meant, because the toilet paper in the stall next door would surely not do, and deciding which roll she should get the paper from, etc. Tiny Boy peed all over himself, and the hand I was resting on his tummy to make sure he didn't roll off the station while I was watching his sister get the toilet paper.
Then Baby Girl brings me a crumpled half-square.
I cleaned Tiny with paper towels because I could reach them myself, and then ventured forth into Target with a naked baby and a commando 3 year old.
Now I am the mother that nags her child for no apparent reason, leaves pee germs all over the changing station, and takes her baby out in nothing but a diaper.
After a stop at the toddler underpants isle I was also the mother who opens packages before paying. Also the one who hands the cashier a tag for the onsie her baby is already wearing.
It was a proud day.

Unicorn

I have a zit on my head the kind that has so much pressure built up within it's gnarly blemish soul, it gives you a head ache.
It is just above, and to the inside of my left eye brow. I might be able to disguise the redness with pounds of concealer but concealer will do nothing for 3 inches it protrudes from my head.
If it had only sprouted up last week I would have had a Halloween costume after all.

Degeneration of Society

I was standing in line in Carl's Jr when I something caught my attention.
There was an old woman shamelessly sipping diet coke from a complimentary water cup. Then I looked at her husband. Sure enough, he too had a water cup. His was filled with lemonade. Before they left the woman went back to the soda fountain and stole another 12 oz of diet cola for the road.
Now, Maybe there was some kind of mix-up, or maybe they asked for small drinks and when handed the size small cups they found them to be too large and asked for something even smaller. I should think the best of people instead of assuming the worst.
The thing is, we are not big soda drinkers around here. We always end up with at least one water cup when we go out. I usually either get bottled water or soda because I am spoiled and can't drink tap water without gagging, but Baby Girl prefers to have the cup and The Mr. doesn't mind water that tastes like chlorine-dirt punch so he often gets the water cup too.
As I fill the water cups at the fountain I am always aware that I could easily steal a few cents worth of soda if I wished it and I hope that someone is actually watching to see that I do not. It is just one of my quirks.
I have always imagined that people ask for the free cup and put soda in it but I have always imagined those people to be teenagers, some who like to break rules and boast obnoxiously about it, and others who sneakily fill the cup with sprite so their dishonest soda acquisition will not be so painfully obvious.
Old ladies who wear peds with their golden orthopedic sandals, carry large hand bags, and have a better knowledge of the Alfred Dunner inventory at "Pennys" (these women don't bother them selves with saying the "JC") than do the sales associates are not supposed to do things like this.
Perhapse it is a result of Diet Coke addiction. Maybe the woman's coin purse ran dry that day in Carl's Jr and she couldn't get along without her Diet Coke so she sent her husband to the counter to ask for water cups and then made him fill his with lemonade so if by chance she was discovered she could more convincingly play the "In my day the hamburger salesman filled your drink for you, I don't know how this new fangled self serve beverage system works" card.
Oh, Maude, (this I imagine was her name) how could you?

Quagmire of spirit

I have just finished reading Gone With the Wind. It really is an amazing book.
I often get caught up in books but my heart actually breaks with this one. Every time Scarlett fails to realize Rhett loves her it wrenches my soul a little bit more and the last chapter is absolute agony but I love it so.
My heart isn't broken over Scarlett she is strong enough she'll get through but Rhett! Oh Rhett! I just hope and pray that like everything else Scarlett puts her mind too she manages to win his love back so his broken heart can heal.
I realise that there is a sequel of sorts, "Scarlett" it is called, and at the end of it they patch things up but I do not accept the sequel as a true part of the story. (See the top entry of my pet peeves list) It is more a sequel to the movie than to the book. If you read the book you'll realize that it really is not possible at all.
It's premise is that she miraculously did not have a miscarriage after falling down the stairs and has another baby girl after Rhett runs off. Mean while she moves to Ireland, has an affair with a very Rhett-ish man and buys the "original" Terra before finally running into the real Rhett and sorting out their differences. Here are some reasons it is hog wash.
The falling down the stairs incident was months and months before Rhett told her he didn't give a damn so If she were still prego he would've known.
Then there's the matter of the affair. At the end of the book she has come to know not only that Rhett loved her all along but also that she's loved him for years without knowing it and vows to get him back. In such a state Scarlett O'Hara would never philander about with another man. Sure, sure, she married three other men while she was in love with Ashley but that was a different circumstance. She Used those 3 men for revenge and money. She doesn't need of those things any more.
Oh Margaret Mitchell if only you'd written another book and told us how she got him back! I do believe she got him back. She did everything she was determined to do so of course she found a way to get him back. True, he was the one person she couldn't bully but I have faith that she'll find a way to get him without bullying.

Pet peves

I have fewer of them than I used to because they really are unhealthy, but here is a list. Some I have out grown, others are as fresh as a spring morning. I'll let you decide which are which.

-When people write sequels to books other people wrote. Especially when they don't bother to read the story they're attempting to continue and make contradictions with the original work.
-Chipped toenail polish
-People who sew from a pattern and declare it was their own design
-When a person thinks they are singing harmony but is really just sitting on a single note as the melody floats past them.
-Being given direction on how to carry out a task I am perfectly capable of doing on my own.
-Having the TV on as back ground noise
-Chunks of soap and or toothpaste stuck to the edge of the sink.
-Sports

I could sit an think of more but as I've already mentioned pet peeves really aren't very healthy so if I've forgotten about a few it's all the better.

this is not letter G

Someone has stolen my child and replaced her with a very naughty facsimile. This afternoon she drew crayon lines hither thither about the house. I continue to find more as the day goes on. She sat in time-out for that one for probably ten minutes by the time all was said and done. She also will have to wash every last smudge off the walls as soon as I get a new magic eraser. Of course she did this when we are magic eraserless. The final portion of the punishment is the decree that she will not be allowed to use any kind of writing implement for a week. not even when we are at Grandma's house next week with her crayola addicted cousins. She colored on the wall for the first time last week. That incident only illicited time out and wall washing which obviously did not do the trick.
After the wall art situation was put to rest for the day I tucked her into my own bed to try and get some rest. She is going to play at the house of a very generous friend for the evening while we go to our "dopt a baby class" and I don't want her grumping up the place. She did not rest however. What she did do is apply great globs of cocoa butter lip gloss with the use of a crochet hook. Both items reside on my bedside table. She has done this twice before. The first time was months and months ago. I asked her not to do it again and she didn't. Until last week. That time I caught her before she had quite jammed the hook in to the lip gloss and she got off easy.
I have just now freed her from time-out. She has lost all her lip-gloss privileges. This is going to be tough on her. She is normally allowed free access to either of the glosses on my night stand and may use any found in my purse provided she ask first and I get it out for her. Well no more sweety! Lip gloss is a blessing. You have to show proper respect for it if you want to keep it in your life.
Now it is time to take the fallen-angel child to the baby sitter. Sorry Nicole, I'm afraid you have a rough night ahead of you.