This past Saturday night I realized two things. I hadn’t gotten any Easter basket stuff for the kids and I had not a single acceptable thing to wear to dinner on Easter Sunday with my in-laws.

If jeans and t-shirts were a viable option or wearing black on Easter Sunday wasn’t generally frowned upon, I’d have been all set but alas, Easter is the holiday of pastels and nice, lady-like attire, which are things that my wardrobe is sorely lacking. Not that I mind, though, because I just feel like a big old poseur when I’m wearing such things anyway.

It actually reminds me of going home for the holidays during college and well into my twenties and feeling like such a misfit with my regular wardrobe that I would actually shop before my trip for something bland and suburban that would make me blend in a little better because being the thrift store-clad black sheep at those large family gathering? Is not fun.

Clearly, I still feel compelled to perform the same ritual before attending gatherings with my in-laws because I actually went to the evil empire (Wal-mart) on Saturday night (because Target was about to close) and not only procured Easter candy and related tchotchkes but also a few shirts in bright, peppy Easter egg-like colors with the intention that I could pair them with some bright, peppy capri pants that I secured for some other “Yes, I’m a total fraud” event. I even bought myself a pair of spring-friendly sandals since all my other sandals have seen better days.

So yes. I spent my Saturday night at Wal-Mart buying candy and clothes which is only slight less humiliating than the following Sunday morning conversation with my six year old daughter wherein we are discussing what I am going to wear to Easter since I’d said the night before that I didn’t have diddly squat –

TQ: Mommy, you can wear this shirt for Easter *holds up my new sky blue top* It’s perfect for Easter and it doesn’t even matter that it’s a maternity shirt.

Me: Wha??? Why do you think it’s a maternity shirt?

TQ: Because it’s GIGAAAAANTIC!!! *runs off laughing*

Kids say the darnedest things, don’t they?

And yes, I did don my “gigaaaantic” shirt for Easter and would you believe that for the first time ever everyone was dressed casually in jeans? Yes. Due to cool weather they dressed in jeans while I’m wearing this hideously bright blue shirt and coordinating plaid pastel capri pants and looking like a total dork-ass Easter egg.

The moral of this story is?

Um… Be yourself?

Buy better clothes?

Be better prepared so you don’t have to settle for the rather limited selection at Wal-Mart?

Don’t be embarrassed about looking like a schlub in front of your in-laws because one day they will all surprise you and wear jeans to Easter dinner?

Select tighter shirts so your daughter doesn’t think you bought maternity clothes?

I need to go on “What Not to Wear”?

Anyone?

Bueller?

Bueller?

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Do you see the picture of the kitty at the top of my right sidebar? Can you click it and then click the purple button to feed a shelter animal? It costs you NOTHING and you can do it every day.

Would you please do those two little mouse clicks. Purty please?

Thanks in advance to all you good, kindhearted animal lovers. I knew we could count on you :)

I don’t know what it is but a trip to the public library never fails to produce some story or anecdote and our most recent visit was no exception.

I had taken P, now 21 months old, to story time at our local branch library. At first he wasn’t really into it, much preferring to wander around and turn doorknobs, climb chairs and generally check out the room.

But finally, after several false starts, he made his way up to the group of other children and sat down — until he spotted the fabric draped over the Story Lady’s table. See, she brings a colorful fabric that she drapes over the table next to her like a floor-length table cloth and she displays a bunch of books on top it.

P immediately approached and then crawled under the cloth. And then poked his head out out. And then went back under and then came out again, grinning like he was the star of a show doing an encore instead of an incredibly cute toddler disrupting story time.

I bounded out of my seat and tried as discreetly as possible to go under the table from behind and coax P out but he was wily and hard to catch. On my hands and knees, I stuck my head out the front to see about 20 pairs of eye staring back at me.

After much under-the-table wrangling to grab a giggly and very wiggly P, I finally managed to get a hold of him and as I tried to hold onto him and stand up at the same time, my postpartum stress-incontinence reared it’s ugly little head and I peed my fricken pants a teeny bit. Crap.

As I stood up with P in my arms and smiled sheepishly at the crowd, I decided that my bucking and squealing toddler and I should go to the bathroom and survey the state of my jeans and let the Story Lady finish up. Fortunately, as it were, my jeans were spared. Booyah, betches!

We went back in the room as story time was wrapping up so I could collect our stuff and the nice Story Lady told me that in all the years she had been doing this, no child has ever crawled under the fabric before (which I find incredibly hard to believe.) I apologized to the Story Lady, who actually is very sweet & understanding, particularly of toddlers, and we left.

Rest assured that I was sufficiently embarrassed by my son’s shenanigans. Not, however, because I felt like he was misbehaving but rather because of people looking at me the way they did. Not a single smile of understanding in the bunch except from one lone daddy. Thank you, kind sir.

You want to know what I have to say to that?

Lighten UP, people! He’s not even two years old and it’s toddler story time at the library; not dinner with the Queen of England.

I peed my pants for you people. Isn’t that punishment enough? Geez!

The other day our ancient over-the-range microwave finally died. We didn’t mourn it’s passing in the least. I mean, it had faux wood grain on it, for God sake. We were glad it finally shit the bed and went to microwave heaven so we could justify buying something new and sleek that didn’t reek of the Reagan years.

So…on Sunday we made the pilgrimage to that electronics mecca, Best Buy, and their selection sucked. They were out of everything we wanted and their stuff was notably overpriced so we bought a bag of Combos and split for Home Depot.

Good selections, the right color, reasonable prices, helpful staff. We were sold. We made our selection (a nice Maytag) and took it home.

Well, we finally got the fricken thing mounted and hello? It doesn’t work. Well, it does if you don’t mind standing in front of it, slowly incinerating your innards while you hold the door closed. To say Husband was pissed would be an understatement. We’d spent the bulk of our kids-in-bed Sunday evening screwing around with this and we still had no microwave.

I went back to Home Depot Monday night, returned it, got a new one and brought it home. We got it up in minutes, but when we went to attach it to the cabinet, the screws don’t fit the holes in the microwave. I go back to Home Depot. They give me the screw kit from another box and I go home. These screws DON’T FIT, EITHER!!!

Husband is so annoyed he has to take a nap. I, on the other hand, am merely irritated, thanks to my Zoloft, which seems to prevent me from getting spitting mad about much of anything. I soothe my irritation by watching “I Love New York” and eating Hershey’s Kisses.

It’s now Tuesday. We’ve had no microwave since the previous Friday and I’m starting to have withdrawals. I mean, cooking on the stove top is really quaint and all but I want the power to nuke and I want it YESTERDAY!

I call Home Depot’s management and tell them what the deal is. Of course they tell me to bring the microwave back in and they’ll give me a new one. And of course I tell them, as nicely as I can, that there is no fricken way I’m loading that thing up and bringing it back to the store AGAIN. Nor will I come in and pick up new screws or anything else that would involve any more wasted time on my part.

I then suggest that if they really want to make up for all the trouble this microwave has caused me they should pack up an assortment of screws and BRING THEM TO ME.

And holy shit! They totally DO. They actually deliver screws to my house.

SWEET!

But none fit. So the guy leaves and comes back twice. Finally on the third try, he brings mounting screws that actually fit the damned microwave.

We have liftoff!!!

Problem totally solved and I didn’t even have to leave my house.

It would have been even better if I hadn’t had to get dressed either but whatever…

Home Depot is mah BITCH!!!!

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Ultimately, I was pleased with Home Depot’s response. Maytag, however, is still on my shit list for their very poor quality control.

We recently had to remove the stopper from our bathroom sink because it wouldn’t stay open. Now there is just a hole in the sink. Husband intends to fix it. And I believe he will.

Next year. Or the year after.

So…one of P’s favorite things to do is stand on the toilet seat and lean over to the sink, turn on the water and play in it, turn TQ’s Hello Kitty spinbrush off and on, throw stuff on the floor and other impish things.

Like throwing our toothbrushes down the nasty black hole in the sink.

I know. It’s funny, right?

Have you ever seen what collects in a sink drain? It’s a disgusting blackish gunky goop. And our toothbrushes were down there. In it.

And silly me, I thought I could reach the topmost one with my tweezers. And then those disappeared down the hole, too.

Oops

So we’re now down two toothbrushes and a pair of tweezers.

I got my scissors that were too big to go down the hole (heh…clever, no?) and managed to rescue my toothbrush. And promptly threw it straight in the trash.

Husband had to take the pipes apart to get the other stuff out. And he touched the gunky goop. With his hands. Ewwww! *toes curling*

He scrubbed his hands and scrubbed the tweezers but alas…we were left toothbrushless.

So we’ve been sharing TQ’s barely used Piglet toothbrush that she abandoned for the Hello Kitty spinbrush.

We’re going on day three.

We gross.

***Your generosity is overwhelming me! So many offers of free toothbrushes! But I can afford to buy them myself. What I really need? Is someone to GO GET THEM and bring them to me. Any takers?

Or did I just make you laugh too hard? Ba dum dum!

The mantra on the Labor and Delivery Postnatal floor of the hospital where I had my only vaginal delivery was “Do your Kegels!” I heard it several times a day from every single nurse and from my midwives at every postpartum checkup.

Well…somewhere along the way, I must have forgotten that mantra because lately every cough, sneeze and unexpected laugh has me grabbing my crotch like Michael Jackson or running to the bathroom to change ye old wimpy panty shield.

How did I go from being a potty-trained adult to a… a tinkler? Could have been that toddler I birthed a couple years ago…

Will I have to start buying economy size boxes of Serenity pads from Sam’s Club? Over my dead, lifeless body!

You know how when you spill even just a little bit of water, it’s volume spreads and it seems like so much more when you have to clean it up?

It’s the same concept when you leak even just a tiny bit. You feel like a toddler who held it too long and dribbled a little pee on the way to the training potty except that they probably wear Pull-Ups and you don’t. Even just a drop or two makes your underwear feel like you have Lake Michigan in there. Yick.

And even if you end up having a a c-section, a baby tap dancing on your bladder for ten months can sometimes render your pelvic floor a little weak. My unsolicited advice to all the women out there that will give birth soon or someday? DON’T FORGET ABOUT YOUR KEGELS!

I’m doing mine RIGHT NOW

And to all you non-postpartum women AND MEN, rumor has it that doing Kegels can also improve the quality of your um…climactic experiences. So get busy ;)

I just wanted to thank Miss Ravin’ Julie and Miss Jessica OTJ Thang for bestowing upon me the Thinking Blogger award and saying such nice, blushworthy things about me. I fully intend to pass on the love later this week. Mwahhh! Thanks, you guys :)

As always, Cristina and myself are pleased to announce the winners of the January ROFL awards and given the mood I’ve been in lately, they couldn’t have come at a better time.

I awarded January’s ROFL Award to Mama Tulip for a hilarious post about her husband’s foray into healthier eating.

Check out the other awardees and have laugh on us!

Troll Baby awarded Oh.My.Gawd.Really.

Momish awarded Jenny of Mama Drama

Red Stapler awarded Little Bald Doctors

Polliwog (launching soon) awarded Bobbarama

Sebastian awarded my reality my check my bounce

Dirty Birdie awarded Everybody Can Just Bite My Ass

the avery lane experience and Jennyhaha awarded Oh the Joys

Jenny from Mama Drama awarded Dirty Uncle Mark

The Silent I awarded Mr. Nice Guy

Just Thinking awarded the true story of what was

Mrs. CPA awarded Jason. For the Love of God.

Scribbit awarded Midwestern Mommy

Oh the Joys awarded Hello Insomnia

I’ve read several posts this past week referencing “the big talk”. You know, the talk about the facts-of-life stuff that most parents are dreading because of the sheer awkwardness of it all.

Hell, I still haven’t told my daughter the right names for her female body parts. Well, no. That’s not entirely true. I did tell her. Once. But I don’t refer to them by their proper names in everyday conversation. Because? It’s just…ewww.

Mature, aren’t I?

And anyway, most people call the outer part of the female crotch area a vagina and that’s actually not anatomically accurate. So that brings us to “labia.” Do people actually call it a labia? Not so much. So what do I do? Tell her the not-as-correct name? Or the one nobody uses? Or do I have to use both??? Cripey! Is it any wonder I don’t want to deal with this stuff?

I also have a son which presents a whole other host of things we will need to address and for some reason, it almost seems like it will be easier but seriously, I hope to never find myself in this position (see video).

Poor Ricky…

If you use Internet Explorer and can’t see my right sidebar, would you please let me know either in the comments or via email? They don’t make any version of IE that will run on my computer so I can’t see it for myself. Thanks in advance.

PS: As you can see, Nonlinear Girl won the free ad space for this week. But if you submitted your blog’s name to the random drawing, all is not lost. You’ll have another chance next week :)

Some random junk about search traffic on my blog and your blog, too…

First of all, to the numerous pervs who end up here after googling “Britney Spears pantiless” and “Paris Hilton pantiless” I just want to tell that until just now, the word “pantiless” has NEVER appeared on this blog. And seriously, do you really think a blog that has the word “mom” in it’s name is going to be some den of iniquity with a bunch of nekkid pix of celebs? Most likely it isn’t. Go buy a magazine and be done with it.

For all the people looking for “TR Knight shirtless”, I do wish I could help you. Your request seems benign enough. Unfortunately, I don’t have any pictures of anyone missing their shirts (or their panties). Sorry!

To the person who lands here every week looking for “exploded babysitter” I just want to know WHAT THE HELL that is and why do you keep coming here looking for it?

To the person who always comes here looking for “fanny porn,” I hope you’re not too disappointed by the fanny pack pictures. They’re a JOKE, dude. There is NO actual fanny porn here and if I might make one little suggestion…STOP using the word “fanny”. You sound like my grandmother.

To the person who searched today for “I hate Billy Mays,” you’ve come to the right place. This is The Official Site for Billy Mays Anti-Fans. I’m going to make laminated membership cards and everything. You in? (Oh. My. God. I just found out that Billy Mays lives in MY city. WHY? WHYYYYYYYY?)

For you, dear friends and passersby, if you really want to attract a lot of Google search traffic and you’re not picky about what they want, then post or link to a picture of a ball gag and make sure the picture is named “ball gag.” How do I know this? Well, awhile back, I wrote this post and merely linked to this photo and now I get TONS of search traffic because there are apparently a frighteningly high number of people who would like to see someone ball-gagged and I don’t think it’s because they’re upset about bad manners.

I also recommend using the word “shirtless.” This word will bring you lots of traffic, as evidenced by the TR Knight-searching fans noted above. See, if you have any celebs names in your blog, someone will google their name and the word shirtless and end up on your doorstep. HELLO!!! Is shirtless David Spade home? No? Okay, how about shirtless Stephen Colbert? You get the idea.

And finally, my last recommendation for low-quality, high-volume search traffic is to write about smelly balls. Yes. I’m totally serious. Apparently this real-life story about smelly balls attracts a buttload of people who want to know more about smelly balls and/or smelly balls plus Alec Baldwin, who once did an SNL skit on a similar topic (schwetty balls?).

Now go forth and prosper!