1. Jamin had the big V procedure on Friday. {dum dum DUM…} Apparently some very dear friends of ours (ahem-LORI) should go into the catering business-they made a fabulous cake for us to enjoy in the celebratory aftermath of our newfound sterile lifestyle. It was as delish as it was hilarious. {Props to the cake makers with their mad deco skills.}

The hubs is doing fine. I was actually in the room for the big V, (out of moral support and sheer curiosity) and consequentially suffered from fits of uncontrollable laughter. It wasn’t long before Jamin joined in, and I’m pretty sure the doc was wondering what our deal was. Yes, I am five. There’s just something awkwardly hilarious about the entire situation, particularly when I am NOT the one being snipped…for once. When they place your husband on a table and shine a single spotlight in a certain place, as if his man parts were about to give a performance, perhaps a diva-esque rendition Barbara Streisand herself could envy, it just so happens to be inappropriately and ever so awkwardly hilarious. I have serious issues in situations such as this. In fact, I happen to be quite good at losing my composure when it should, in fact, be kept. Imagine that.

2. This week, my friend Jamey and I decided to venture to our fave junk shopping hot spot for our play date. I nearly chickened out on the way there, as all three children were screaming like chainsaw welding banshees en route. I do consider it a true sign of arrival as a mother if one may brave the sacred shops of the mecca that is Eastbrook Flea Market. All new moms should pack up their new babes and journey to the swine flu infested aisles to test their stroller/shopping cart navigating skills. {Bonus points for non breakage and double for keeping a hungry child satisfied via multitasking.} Through the aisles we trudged ever so bravely with five children in tow, watching small hands and turning sharp corners. Bribing for good behavior with limited snack supplies and playing musical buggies. With the you break you buy policy that the said treasure trove holds, we were a bit leery of attempting such a feat. I fed Malone a bottle, while I pushed slowly and peered over his car seat to watch Emerson and Aiden alternately. I found it quite irritating that this setting was a prime breeding spot for my ultimate pet peeve: hovering shoppers with a complete disregard for personal space. A few people not only wanted to run over us, but stalk us completely through the entire store. It makes me wonder…were these socially challenged fledglings not taught the basics as children? Uh, wait your turn. Please. Thank you. Excuse me…not so hard.

Pause: This place has three levels and hundreds of possible paths one may take whilst shopping. Aisles upon levels upon aisles upon levels…of promising finds. Yet I found myself completely surrounded by greedy heel walkers. There was the classic creepy loner man who walked right behind me for a good ten minutes. I waited, grimacing, waiting for him to do something like try to take my children or sell me into slavery. He was so close I could almost smell him. I wanted to turn around and exasperatedly throw my hands into the air with a “WHAT do you WANT? You have other options for your SHOPPING paths. GET CREATIVE. Bust up off my grill!” (The last part would be complimented with a good old school finger waving and scary accent whilst head banging in psychopathic patterns for ultimate confusion) There was also the mom who impatiently and consistently pushed her only child on my heels through a back pathway, when she had ample room and other options. After about five minutes of impatient stalking, I finally (and VERY passive aggressively) veered off course and let her follow Jamey who was a few feet ahead of me with her own kids in cart. I then immediately turned back on course, right behind impatient mom, as she was now trapped between us. I mean duh. Look where your rudeness got you. (Victory dance) She finally lost her patience and left our path altogether, but we encountered her a few more times when we turned onto aisles. I was ready to stop and unload the kids, bringing all our peeps to the street fight. In between Jamey and I, along with our ravaged, starving children, we figured we could take huffy mom and her puny sidekick kid. I break a vase and hold it at my side, while Jamey hands small sharp knives to the children. Bring it.

3. This one is so non P.C. Since I’m feeling brutally honest, let me just throw this one in for good measure. I have a real problem with people that drive misleading vehicles that do not fall in accordance with their road personalities and driving skills. There really should be rational system for reinforcing such stereotypes. For example, I am much more likely to be patient with a slow going older driver if they are, in fact, driving in accordance with a vehicle which reflects such mannerisms. Rather than, oh, say, a red Ford Explorer, such people should obviously drive a Lincoln Town Car. A big, fat, bright white, Lincoln tank-of-a-town-car. I mean hello. If you’re going to swerve drunkenly on a double yellow line while doing 15 in a 50, at least throw an AARP sticker on your bumper. That way I can be respectful as I pass. I am much less likely to swerve dangerously and speed past whilst making obscure and non mom-like hand signals on my way to my final destination, if you will simply be up front with me from the get go that you may, in fact, be incapable of regular driving speeds or are of elderly nature. I don’t want to ride your tail and then feel bad about it later when I see that the Miada I was so angry about just so happened to be driven by a tiny white haired lady at the wheel. At the same time, I should probably be driving a hot pink number with a giant pointless glittery Barbie spoiler on the back, rather than my neutral mini. I’m surprisingly agile and cat like in the mom mobile. I’m also the person who, when elected president one day will institute a policy of selective breeding along with psych tests for parental candidates. Go fig.

More mousal movement:

fabo fall finds

still working

narcoleptic drama diva