IF YOU ARE THE BITCHY RECEPTIONIST LADY I'M TALKING ABOUT, THEN PLEASE REFER TO THE LAST 3 LINES

Just got back from one of those instances in life where I am damn thankful I have a blog - DAMN THANKFUL, I SAY, BITCHY RECEPTIONIST LADY.

Setting: First speech pathology appointment at Conner's New Speech Place. We are in a classroom-turned-office-space in the middle of a typical brick building for communications courses and whatnot.  This same building has a "child development"center down the hall - so it's easy to say this place sees it's fair share of children.

There are about 7 chairs in the waiting room, so it's small.

ANYWAYS.

As many know, university parking is a STEW POT OF SUCK, and on the first day, I did not have University Level Access For Vehicle Stability Placement (read: parking pass). So, I parked where I could, hauled butt in the FREEZING COLD and 15-20 MPG WINDS, unloaded two icicle children and hiked 7.89 trillion miles to the speech center.

Bitchy Lady: Where are you parked?
Me: In the parking lot with the other cars (lol)
Bitchy Lady: Well, here's the pass. Put it in your window so you don't get a Fake Ticket.
Me: ....
Me: Um. IT'S COLD AS YOUR CROTCH OUTSIDE AND YOU WANT ME TO HIKE BACK OUT WITH BOTH CHILDREN, YOU WHORE. (read: "ok. thanks")

I exited with said children, hiked backwards uphill through the snow, placed my Special Permit in the windshield and returned to fill out 15,000 sheets of the same 6 questions, only reworded.

That day, the same lady managed to tell me that I couldn't USE MY PORTABLE DVD PLAYER TO ENTERTAIN MY 2-YEAR-OLD IN THE OFFICE ON A MORE THAN REASONABLE VOLUME LEVEL. I hate her whole life.

Additionally:
Bitchy Whore Lady With Way Too Many Thorns In Her Vag tells me:

• To keep my 2-year-old "more quiet" because "this is an office" 
• That she doesn't "do" insurance paperwork and I should ask again... "later". SERIOUSLY, MIGHT I SUGGEST YOU THINK OF A BETTER ANSWER TO MY INSURANCE-RELATED QUESTIONS THAN "MAYBE LATER.

But... the speech doctor lady was nice and I liked the program, so we stayed with this place. 

Then today, I bring Conner in for his weekly lesson. Chase is being EXCEPTIONALLY UNRULY, more than normal because I have to wake him from his afternoon nap 20 minutes early to make these appointments.

To calm him, I bring his typical 3:30 treat - some fruit snacks.

Bitchy Vamp Of Doom: *manages to pry lard butt from swivel chair* Excuse, ma'am. You can't have food in here. 

Me: *evil "eff off" face* Um. Where am I supposed to feed him his snack?

Bitchy Vamp Of Doom: Well. There's a courtyard outside with some seating.

Yeah.

I grab up: my phone, Chase's snack, my keys, Chase's shoes that he managed to remove (because he always does), Conner's work folder (read: a billion items) AND MY WIGGLY 27 LB. CHILD and "help" myself to this "courtyard o' snack paradise".

It's next to a parking lot. With a 2-year-old. Boy. WHO NEEDS HIS SNACK.

F**king prick.

EXPLAIN TO ME, POINTLESS RULE NAZI, WHY MY TODDLER CAN'T HAVE A NOT-MESSY-IN-THE-LEAST FRUIT CHEW THAT I WAS ADMINISTERING TO HIM IN A NOT-AT-ALL-MESSY MANNER THAT WOULD NORMALLY TAKE AN ENTIRE 2 MINUTES IN YOUR PRECIOUS PRETEND DOCTOR'S OFFICE, BUT INSTEAD HAD TO MORPH INTO A WRESTLING MATCH IN THE COURTYARD (IN 45 DEGREE WEATHER AND 20 MPH WINDS) FOR A HALF HOUR.

I'm not opposed to rules (only allergic), so I will admit this: as with many buildings, there was a sign that read "no food or drink". Perhaps, here are a few instances where said rule should be adhered to:

not:

AND MAYBE, I'd understand your Nazi ways a little better if you worked in say....

or

(Lions LOVE fruit snacks. Trust me)

BUT NO, Slutty McWhoreFace, it's a office in which you've:

• Banned my portable DVD player
• Asked me to keep my child silent
• And are likely to enforce the "NO CELL PHONES, PLEASE" sign I noticed in the hallway.

Basically, in summary -

Dear Receptionist,

EAT ME.

- Amanda

The Five Things I've Learned In Preschool

Over at B-Metro today:

Those professional placemat decorators, craft lords and glitter warriors will always have a place for their "art".

I. Don't. Do. Hand Turkeys.

Or glitter.

Really, I've never been skilled in the art of table decorations, bulletin board design, or bubble letters. But those people have a special role in preschool (and most of school) and they will showcase their "talents" every chance they get. You bring a roll of red streamers to tape in sections above the door. They bring white tin buckets hand-painted with pink, purple and red spots brimming with pink "easter grass" with a small field of 8-inch suckers stuck inside for the "centerpieces".

To read the whole thing, click here. 

I'M GOING TO NEW YORK CITY AND CAPS LOCK IS THE ONLY WAY I KNOW HOW TO EXPRESS MY EXCITEMENT

Soooo... (I could probably start all posts with "sooooo", but I don't. You're welcome.) I AM GOING TO BLOGHER '10 IN NEW YORK CITY IN AUGUST.

...and....

I GOT A "BLOGHERSHIP" (volunteer position) AS A "MIC WRANGLER", SO MY TICKET IS NOW TAKEN.CARE.OF.

I know, right?

Basically, under the "qualifications" section of the application to run a microphone around a room full of freaking awesome women, I put "I'm tiny and I'm fast, do I need more qualifications?". AND THE BEST PART IS THAT THE WONDERFUL WOMEN AT BLOGHER LOL'D INSTEAD OF "..."ing AND ACCEPTED THAT. Good call, BlogHer, good call.

(BTW - does anyone else type faster in CAPS? It's almost like I know you are reading it as me being excited, therefore, I type in "excited mode". I'm going to stop now and get back to how awesome going to BlogHer is for me.)

DUDES!

Here's the part where I tell you that I'm both ultra excited YET totally overwhelmed. It's an honor, really, to help represent the BlogHer community (in such a small way, I know, but still). Not to mention how much I have to do to get ready for this! I'm a conference newbie, and this is kinda the Mother Of All Conferences. Meaning I have even MORE to do, and MORE to plan, and MORE to research.

Let's start there, mk?

First off, I need business cards. On these cards, I'll put my pertinent information, and hopefully, A SPONSOR. I've read that between 150-300 cards is a safe bet (more if you attend lots of parties or are a social butterfly) (I'm not quite a butterfly, but not a catepillar either, so.... I'm going to call myself a social moth and just order about 250)

For the entire back of the card (front of the card if I hand them out upside down) (lol), will be the logo of The Most Awesome Company Or Organization To Ever Exist And I Will Stop At Nothing To Make Sure The Person That Receives Said Card Truly Understands How Awesome You Are Except That I Won't Do This In A Manner That Might Make Me Seem Annoying Because That Would Be Counterproductive.

Yup.

Contact me at (my NEW email address!) Amanda@TheMomJob.net

In the spirit of you wanting to sponsor me, I'm also offering my boobs. Well, and my back. But come on, the boobs are clearly prime real estate.

I'm talking t-shirts. Or *a* t-shirt, for me (and not a frumpy t-shirt, but a nicely (read: tastefully) fitted tee with a logo (in full color) on one side. This will be worn in front of thousands of participants. I have more info for those interested. (Again - Amanda@TheMomJob.net)

For both sponsor opportunities, I'll also offer ad space on this site. During the conference, I intend to live blog and/or live tweet (many of you know "how I roll" with live tweeting - a mix between "IT'S LIKE I'M THERE!" and "I CAN'T STOP LAUGHING") (I manage to gain followers each time I live tweet an event) (one of my FAVORITE things to do) (yay parathesis!). This way, the thousands on people following the #BlogHer hashtag on twitter will find this blog and your brand will gain lots of exposure.

You can't lose here!

Anyone else going?

Picking Battles With A Picky Eater

Over at B-Metro today:

t's Saturday and I'm making chicken noodle soup (via my crock pot - it's so simple, hearty and soul-meltingly delicious). Everyone has a full bowl of noodles, chicken, carrots and celery, well... everyone except Conner. He is eating processed cheese with his fingers. Again.

I've had a lot of guilt about Conner's 10 Items or Less menu for the longest time. For years, I cooked full dinners at least 5 days a week (and always things remotely "kid friendly" to encourage him to partake) - chicken, mashed potatoes, an array of veggies, lasagna, etc. - all in hopes that at some point, Conner would accidentally smell the cheesy potatoes or saucy lasagna and oh, I don't know, TRY IT.

To continue reading, click here!

Onesies, Rompers & Jeggings - Say Wha?

Can we talk about something? Good.

Last week, I went to Target to... oh, heck. I don't remember my "reason", but it may or may not have been an excuse to browse the entire store for two hours. Mommy needs a break sometimes, kids.

Anyways, I started in the Junior's section, seeing that I'm tiny, but also because I'm 25 and in The No Woman's Land Of In Between Sections. As to not discriminate against any style, I quickly grabbed up about 15 items (mostly dresses) in varying colors and prints. The first thing that caught my eye was this:

Only - on the rack it looked like a dress and Momma's time is precious people. I don't have time to sift for an inseam, so I immediately filed it in my brain as "dress" and moved on. 

Eventually, I made my way to the fitting room and tried on that "outfit" first - only to quickly realize that something was between my legs (stop laughing).

"Holy sh*t, this is a onesie" - that was my first thought. 

It's just... honestly, I was torn. It was cute, cheapish, mostly attractive and EXTREMELY COMFORTABLE. As in, the top was a soft cotton jersey, breathable and the skort? bottom was lightweight and... well... freeing. In other words: all my lady junk was hanging out and I felt mostly naked.

The problem: IT'S A FREAKING ROMPER AND I'M NOT 3.

So, I made a few faces at it, and eventually decided on 2 other ACTUAL dresses and not wanna-be onesies.

It's just that even since, I've seen rompers in other places, and on Victoria's Secrets models, they don't look that bad. Dare I might say, they kinda look cute especially with a gladiator sandle or for casual beachwear. 

Actually, after typing "casual beachwear", I'd say that is a perfect scenario for Onesie Attire, but I don't LIVE at the beach... and I'm so on the fence about this.

The only thing about wearing the romper (*cough* onesie *cough*) is that it leaves some.... room? in the back... which I can only imagine is for next year's summer trend - Neon Diapers.

Keep in mind that I'm a small girl and am frequently mistaken for a 12-year-old, should I not disregard this fashion so quickly?

Two years ago, I had similar feelings towards skinny jeans. I kept thinking "ok, didn't we do this already? and we all decided it sucked? THEN WHY ARE WE TRYING IT AGAIN?", only to find myself in 2010 with more skinny jeans than "regular" and boy do they make my butt look great (and are awesome for tucking into my trillion pairs of boots).

Better yet - today I got a promotional e-mail from Express for.. get this... JEGGINGS! I've been wandering when this whole "omg can we get these jeans ANY SMALLER" trend would figure out a way to merge with either A) leggings or B) body paint, and finally I am left not-so-disappointed w/ jeans + leggings = jeggings.

This is a trend I will likely (ok, I'm on the order screen) participate in. THEY ARE JUST HOT WITH HEELS, ok? Stop the judging.

**Updated to Add***

So, Donya, a friend of mine who runs the Pitter Pat House just linked me to this "romper" from French Connection:

...
Only... It's not a "romper" or even a "onesie", but this site refers to them as PLAYSUITS.

SRSLY WTF? WE ARE NOT TODDLERS IN A PARK OR PRESCHOOLERS MASTERING THE TEETER-TOTTER, BUT RATHER, ADULTS  - MORE SO, ADULTS THAT DON'T WEAR THINGS CALLED "PLAYSUITS".

/end rant

Mommy Seeking Mommy

This week on B-Metro.com:

Never having problems finding friends before, I assumed that the not-so-often discussed world of Finding Friends After Having Birthed Small People was an inviting land of play dates and casseroles. A comfortable abode in which I traded appetizer recipes and gabbed over a glass of wine on the weekends. I thought we'd all have something in common, surviving motherhood, and with a little luck and a killer quiche, I could totally nab a good friend or two to fill the position.

But the exact opposite has happened.

Read the entire entry here.

In Which My 4-year-old Tells A German Man To Eat It

I frequently address what it's like to do this job, being a mom, but rarely do I mention what it means to do the same job from the male perspective - the "dad job", if you will. It's his job to teach our sons the timeless classics - how to hold a football with fingers to laces, what a proper full body tackle looks like, or where to find the best fishing spots. In Conner's case, this also means proper gaming technique, phrasing included.

Conner and Michael play a few games on our Wii and PS3, admittely some are not in his age range, but rest assured that we take steps to keep these as "kid friendly" as possible, and several games are saved specifically for post-bedtime (read: Michael's eyes only). But, let's be frank here - sheltering children from things they see on Spiderman (cartoon) and Transformers (also cartoon) are simply unrealistic. For the sake of this story, Conner was playing a game where you line up tanks, take down helicopters, and shift troops (no blood, no person-on-person combat, etc) - it's about strategy. 

Normally, as in 99% of the time, Michael plays alongside Conner. They team up, high five at "major take downs", "boo" enemy enclaves, "fist bump" over reached redenevouz points and subscribe to a very specific brotherhood known as Gaming Lingo.

"Yeah, baby!" exclaims my nearly 5-year-old, "LET ME SHOW YOU MY SURPRISE!" he torts towards his defeated foes. Michael agrees, acknowledges a downed enemy helicopter and they move on to the next area. There's even a sense of competition between them. During any given game, Conner teases Michael "why do you ALWAYS die, gah!". 

It's really all hilarious. But today, at an early dinner of crockpot Chicken Noodle soup (which was simply amazing, just so you know), Conner decided that he wasn't hungry for a "second lunch" (seeing as he ate only 45 minutes prior), and so we allowed him to continue playing his game. But, Conner being the "button pusher" that he is, he decides to mess around with the settings, and while we are eating within ear shot, he joins an online mission, in which players from all over the globe join in on a single mission to work together or to fight against each other. In an online round, players use a chat feature or a wireless headset to communicate with each other as a team, or if playing against each other, to engage in "smack talk". 

Within minutes, I detect German chatter coming from our bedroom and step in to check on Conner. He's engaged in moving tanks around in Paris, and a man is talking calmly (in German) over our tv speaker. It's then that it hits me that this stranger, halfway around the world, is using his Sunday afternoon to engage in online combat with a 4-year-old, who is smack talking him. The best part? It's a WWII setting (silly Germans), and my American son is kicking his heiny.

"How do you like THAT?" as he takes out another helicopter. Then we hear more German that neither of us understand. "I've got something fooor youuuu" as he serves up another Can of YouKnowWhat (with sauerkraut, of course).

For Mission: Teach Children Proper Smack, Mike gets an "all clear".

Review of the Claro SX

If you suffer from acne or frequent breakouts, you've GOT to read my review of the Claro SX IPL acne system over on my review blog.

GO! It's really an amazing device.

My Laughter's Cost in Eyelashes

There are some things that no parenting class will ever prepare you for.

Like having a 2-year-old remove half your eyelashes by method of iphone.

(and my eyelashes are not normally stuck together like that. They are in such a position because I was CRYING LIKE A BABY.)

The first question I keep getting - HOW DID THAT EVEN HAPPEN?

Answer: I have no damn idea.

Chase grabbed my iphone out of my lap and BAM! hit me in the eye. I'm guessing since he hit my brow bone and pinned my lashes to it, when he pulled away quickly, it took my lashes with it.

I cried for 5 minutes before realizing the cosmetic damage. It hurt so badly that I assumed my contact split in my eye (still to be determined). Then, to assess the damage, I pulled my hand away slowly only to recognize about 20-30 lashes stuck to my palm.

Time to grow back: 1-2 months.

Oh, and Conner has a Valentine's Day Party on Wednesday. I'm on the committee. Anyone have brand recommendations for false eyelashes?

Now Contributing to B-Metro.com

As you may have noticed, I'm now a weekly contributor to B-Metro's online magazine at B-Metro! Make sure to check it out, as well as the other bloggers' contributions.

And if you'd like to flip through magazines, admiring layout design, sleek ads or to read thought-provoking pieces, I'd like to suggest you become a subscriber and get the magazine in your mail! (Not bias here, but it really is a sharp magazine. You won't be disappointed.)

You can also pick up B-Metro in the Birmingham area at Joe Muggs, Barnes & Nobles, Urban Standard, and O'Kafes.

Follow them on Twitter or Facebook, too.

Writer's Block Goblin v. Mommy

After staring at this stupid, blank screen for a few days out of sincere desperation to simply CHURN OUT A POST, I've finally accepted my diagnosis: Writer's Block.

I've mulled and contorted my tiny, lost leggos and mush of a brain over every topic that comes up. With running a "mommy blog", that typically means considering your 113th post on laundry anguish, contemplating another rant on how children make you age three times faster, or how out of touch you STILL are with the rest of the universe because you spend countless hours a day in the Land Of 4-year-old and 2-year-old boys.

So I sat down in front of my computer, smack between dropping Conner off at preschool and picking up Conner from preschool, because... well, it lasts 3 hours. I spent 5 minutes contemplating which movie would keep Chase's attention the longest, trains vs. Mickey Mouse vs. something new and exciting. Which shows could likely become replacement attention holders if my "plan A" failed, noting Disney's Movie Time Monday as an all around win, what with the limited commercial action.

Sometimes, Disney saves lives people.

Of course, writing in this little window meant a few things were bound to happen.

While basically inhaling my breakfast cereal in dangerous proximity to my open laptop, Chase, better known as the Cereal Monster around these parts, stalks my bedside like the Chupacabra, snaking his way towards my brimming cereal bowl, only to ninja kick the whole thing into the air, landing in a cereal and milk landslide down my freshly laundered bedspread. Fortunately, it missed my laptop.

Obviously, once the mess was removed, laundry wadded into a ball and thrown into a hamper hand washed, line dried in the dewy morning air, ironed and fitted perfectly back on the bed, I once again sat down to stare my One-Eyed Fiend in the eyes and proclaim "Writer's Block Goblin, I will conquer you" followed by my best (or worst) maniacal laugh.

Which brings me to now, as I sit in my 4-year-old's bunk bed (because it ended up being my only haven), typing ABOUT my writer's block, rather than actually producing a genuine, thought-provoking, entertaining contribution to this publication. Mostly because I'm a mom and that comes first, but also because I'm a mom and it's the most inspirational thing a writer could ever hope for.

BOX O' AWESOME: From Me, To You.

So. Um. I sent a friend a Get Better Box today and while putting it together, I remembered The Box O'Cheung Maggie sent me in April. Yeah. April... 2009. Almost a year ago. I sincerely suck.

Basically, in this post, I go over how the box was basically just random stuff Maggie loved or loved and was a local item (for instance, Space Needle noodles and, duh, coffee). It was a fabulous pick-me-up for mid-week ZOMGITISWEDNESDAYSHOOTME. 

Anyways, the point here is this: I will send one Box O'Randomness, brimming with... um... basically junk, but JUNK I LOVE to one person. For a general idea as to what you might receive, make sure to check out the post I linked to earlier but am linking to again here just for ease. 

Leave one comment and please make sure you aren't using your Super Secretive Login ID, so that I may find you if you win.

No additional entries available for this one, but COME ON! If you know another mom or friend who would LOVE a dose of The Happy, send them the link. They'll thank you!

(I'll pick a winner on Friday via random integer. Good Luck!!)

Sorry. U.S. only, please. My kids like heat.

In Which I Question Facebook's Marketing Team

Oh Facebook, how much your ads annoy the panties off of me (in the bad way). Like yesterday, when I glanced to the stepchild part of your page, and realized that yes, you are stalking my demographics. What irks me is that you are stalking them and getting such a generalized demographic from my profile. I mean, have I not provided you enough information that in turn you could provide me with ads worth clicking?

Like this, a screen shot of all three featured ads. "Oh, she has children so she's a total lush. Then, her drinking is running up her grocery budget, so let's help out a sista there. And then finally, HAVE YOU SEEN THOSE WRINKLES? Plastiic surgeon - stat!"

I hate you, really.

Not going to lie though, I did eventually click on the Bitches on a Budget advertisement, and I might actually love it. So yes, you kinda win. If by "win", I mean "66.67% failure".

But really? Facebook's "seriously, wtf?" factor doesn't end there. This ad MADE MY EYEBALLS GO NUMB AND FALL OUT (maybe I should sue you for that). Once I collected them off the floor, I found the nearest sharp object, in this case - a pair of safety scissors and a spork from Taco Bell, and performed a full hysterectomy. After which, I propped myself up, squinted at the screen and said to myself "Someone, please, tell me I was not this large?"

And the reply to that question, which I twitpic'd, was simply "No. Because what is she carrying? Quads?" Ew. ("ew" to how uncomfortable she looks, not "ew" to quads. I don't baby-hate)

That picture has to be fake, no?

I'd like all of you to please note that my hysterectomy was performed without the assistance of robots and especially without the assistance of robots that look fresh from the Sims - Suburban Creepiness Edition.

Is that honestly the robot that would have performed my hyserectomy had I visited Jackson Hospital? If so, I believe she needs to be considering a "night job", because my husband might be interested. Her hands look... intriguing, I'm sure.

After my non-robot hysterectomy, but before I questioned twitter about my former pregnant belly, I had a glass of radioactive wine, because frankly... that's how I roll.

Side effects include (but are not limited to):

- Glowing Eyelid Syndrome
- Purple face
- Random de-attaching arms
- Third Eye (blind)
- Reincarnation
 - What in tarnation?
                                                     - Face cancer
                                                     - And horrible Facebook advertisements

Drum Roll.....

We have a winner people! Yes, 44 minutes late... but, you know... WHATEVER

The custom piece provided by Donya from The Pitter Pat House goes to:

Erica!

So, Erica... you have till Sunday night-ish to let Donya know exactly what you want and what size and whether she should make it while standing on her head... you know... WHAT EVER YOU WANT! (I'd like to personally request that you ask her to do this while also straining herself in some manner... but that's just how we roll...)

Anyhooters....

Erica, just head on over to The Pitter Pat House's BRAND NEW SITE and grab Donya's email. That way, Donya can get started on your amazing win. Oh, and we totally want pics once you get it!

Make that baby POSE!

To all those who didn't win, Donya and I have been scheming planning a future giveaway, so come keep visiting her site and this blog for details.

Not Me! Monday - Not My First

I've been wanting to do a Not Me! Monday hosted by the fabulous MckMama for awhile now, but I just... well... haven't.

(It's where you DON'T post a blog about the things you DIDN'T do or DIDN'T let your children do... because we are obviously all PERFECT people... get it? Right.)

So... here goes!

This weekend...

I most certainly did NOT want to murder my husband for watching endless amounts of crappy movies on SciFi and FX. Man, were there TONS.

When we did fireworks, we DID NOT load up our children in the car, drive to the back of our neighborhood to shoot fireworks out of the driveways of houses that are under construction. We did, however, clean up our mess.

During the fireworks, I most certainly did NOT light things and throw them.... (don't worry... I threw them away from the non-murdered husband and darling children)

I did NOT consume another 10 Kit Kat bars this weekend... NOT ME!

It's Summer, but that doesn't mean I let my 4-year-old LIVE off strawberries and chocolate milk ...

After joining the Y on Thursday (eek!), I most certainly DID NOT laugh at my husband when he tried to get off the treadmill and fell on his arse (well, face... really) - twice. (Actually, I really didn't laugh the first time, but when he tried to get up and did it AGAIN, I definitely DID NOT laugh then!)

I also DID NOT tell my husband I wouldn't blog about this... oops! Good thing I'm not!

It wasn't me that gorged herself on cajun boiled red potatoes for 2.5 days straight...

Today.... It's not me letting my children watch HOURS of tv today because I'm just plain SORE from running 2 miles on the treadmill (without FALLING like someone I know, NOT that I mentioned that)...

And lastly... That girl that just ran her plants outside to get some rain for the day in nothing but a long-ish t-shirt was most certainly NOT ME! (*blush*)

(It also is SO NOT ME that is hosting a giveaway for an adorable, customizable outfit for your wee ones! So DON'T enter by clicking the button in the top of the left sidebar...)

(this was fun, thanks Tamara!)

Alright, Who Let My Uterus Blog?

(dually titled: Wifi in my Uteri - harhar)

In case you couldn't see me blushing for the last 48 hours, just know I've been beet red (well, virtually beet red - this is The Internets).

It's not that my last post wasn't completely and exactly 100% what I am thinking and feeling, it's just that I'm either A) going balls out (excuse the term) B) really hormonal or C) absolutely bonkers. It's equally as plausible that I am all of the above or a whacked out combination of some of those letters and any of the 23 letters that follow.

I'm also very confident that shortly post post, my mother freaked out and called my grandmother, who then proceeded in phone-a-friend fashion to alert my aunt and by tomorrow (Sunday), my ovaries and I will probably be on some church bulletin in Pleasant Grove, Alabama as well as the conversation topic at Tuesday's Pot Luck Bingo Night.

Actually, none of that's probably true - my mom is good at staying mum (see what I did there? I slay me).

But the truth of it all, is that there's this kid. And, I've never ever been a "kid person". 

Feel free to do one of two things: 1) Gasp and have a "Oh dear, bless her sweet heart" moment and wonder how ANYONE could not like these blessed angels that walk amongst us AND think to yourself "well, if she's not a kid-person, then why the chicken is she having BABIES and BLOGGING ABOUT it!" or 2) Nod in agreement because at some point in your life, you've had the misfortune pleasure of knowing me pre-crazy monster/child hybridsbaby and were FLOORED when you discovered (stalked?) that I settled down with a wonderful Hubster and 2 amazing wee-ones.

So, this kid. He's just so amazing. Always active, constantly learning, growing daily - and get this: he's MINE:

But the absolutely BONKERS part of this, is that he's not an infant or a baby, not even a toddler anymore. I keep finding him in certain situations in which he looks LIKE A PERSON. And he can do all these... big people things....

...like catching his first fish by himself...

And the next part that makes my entire reproductive system twinge is that I know what happens next! It doesn't STOP! THEY GET BIGGER!

Maybe it's the extra sleep that finally sent a memo from my uterus to my blog (apparently, I'm no longer needed, they've memorized my login information). The memo must have read:

Alert: All necessary reproductive organs. Eyes have observed eldest offspring appears less childlike and more school-ageish. Second offspring now sleeping through night and has rid himself of morning nap. Gear up for Operation: Make Amanda Fat Again, that is all. This message will self-destruct or become blog-worthy in the next 30 seconds....

Yeah, my insides talk just like that.

And they have a point! Or do they... could this be that Baby Clock most mid-twenty-somethings get? But see... I've already DONE this. Got the t-shirt and ultra-cool take home mug with hospital logo and EVERYTHING. I even got the honor of both a "normal" birth and one that ends in tears of delirium followed by 4 months of hell (woot.).

A lot of you said (wonderful) things like: you've got time, and it's ok, I feel your pain, and if you have another, it's fine to want a boy but you'd survive if you had a girl. Several of you went on with your bad selves and wished another baby on me, Donya... that FedEx package is my patented Fertile Juju Pregnancy Sauce, it also comes with a home pregnancy test, enjoy. 

Many of you pointed out that Someone Bigger Than Me (ok, I'm 4'10", almost ALL of you are bigger than me...) (I meant GOD) has His plan, and I should keep my so fresh and so clean clean (thanks swine flu) paws out of the Worry Department and more in the Raise The Kids You Have and See What Happens Department. As always, all of you made excellent points (and as always, I heart all of your faces...).

I can do that? Right? Let Go and Let God? But what about all that baby stuff? For now, let it sit and multiply. 

And Since All I Can Do Today Is Complain

Mom Job Things I Despise Doing #7,382:

Re-threading Car Seat Straps.

Babyless Followers: This is the (ungodly) act of taking apart an entire car seat and attempting to re-thread the straps to fit your growing wee-one. Typically, it's not that hard to take the car seat apart, but then you must put the thing back together with all it's 20+ pieces IN ORDER. Also, the instructions are surely in Mandarin and require a Doctorate in Physics to decipher.

Oh, and if you don't do it right, you risk your child being fatally injured during a car accident.

No pressure.

(And right now, I only have to do TWO seats. Oh, and they are not the same brand... so the process is completely different for each seat. Great.)

...And Over Here on the Left We Have the Obvious

You may have noticed the new look, and I must say... I'm darn proud of myself!

Let's start with the less than obvious. If you've been a long time reader, first off, THANKS! I know I'm occassionally a giant snore and I've covered topics that fall in the "been there, blogged that" category, but still... I love you all!

So, if you are one of those undeniably beautiful people, you might still type in my old URL "atothezaremba.blogspot.com" and, since you are reading this now, you know it still directs you here to TheMomJob.net. But, if you get the time, change your Blogroll to my new addy since it now has a favicon (for blogger accounts, it's that little orange "B" in a square beside each blog's name. I do believe that changing the URL in your blogroll will help force my favicon show up)(again, shout out to Erin for help with the favicon!)

I changed URLs for a few reasons.
1) I'm taking my blog seriously (laugh now... but I mean as serious as a mommy blog can be!). For the first 1.5 years of college I majored in Journalism. Then, I switched to Advertising/PR because it gave me more "creative license" to write outside of the box, or in the case of journalism "the triangle". I'm using this site for many reasons: to document the happenings of my children, to keep up my writing skills and to hopefully (*fingers crossed*) ONE DAY supplement SOME type of income since this IS partially what I went to college for. I think it's nice to just get that out there.
2) I hated my old URL since my last name is CRAZY and yes, I know I could have changed it but purchasing my own domain sounded so... *sparkly*
3) It's SHORTER!

Next, You'll notice the header. Duh. For Christmas, my mom bought me us a new HP. I miss my Mac, but this computer is nice. However, it has NO editing/creative software (Photoshop, Illustrator, InDesign... etc.). So, I had to make my header in Paint. Oh, you read that correctly - paint! I recently discovered that the tagline under the main header that says "the hardest job a woman can ever do... will never make it on her resume" (which is SOOOO TRUE. Can I get an AMEN?!?) shows up more yellow than lime - and by yellow I mean bile colored yellow. Ew. I think I'm going to do something about that. You know. One day.

Like my new 3 column layout? Thanks! Me too! And I did it ALL BY MYSELF IN HTML. Ok. That's a partial lie. I used this guide. It requires that you use Blogger and the "Minima" template. I changed a few things, like the padding on the sides, the width of the columns, header and footer, as well as adding the lime color.

Speaking of colors, I also changed my link/visited link colors. I'm still in the air about whether I like them. If you have an opinion, leave them in the comments!

Additionally, I changed some small wordings after each post. It was super simple! In the Blogger dashboard, go to layout. This will pull up a screen that looks like a mockup of your blog's layout. In the middle should be a section for Blog Posts, click 'edit' in that box. This gives you the ability to change anything from how many posts appear on your main page, to the words after the number of comments you have (which I changed *wink*) and several other small things you can do to personalize your blog.

Overall, I'm still working on a few things and am having fun playing with HTML. If you are looking at customizing your blog (on blogger) without downloading one of those pre-made layouts - hit me up! I might be able to help or refer you to a site that could!

Only the half of it

This is my living room after picking up ALL DAY.. Not too bad...




And this is 1/2 of the playroom after being partially straightened...




This being the other half



Now, the only major problem is that this is HALF THE GIFTS! We are still venturing to see Mike's parents on Saturday and they have a "spending problem"... sigh. What AM I GOING TO DO? The playroom is now officially and completely packed out. Nothing else, and I am NOT exaggerating, can fit. These pics don't even show the 15 toys in our master bedroom (now those pics are just outright embarrassing).

So what's a mom to do? Give away toys my children are attached to? Sell my dining room table and have a 5th 2nd playroom? Sell my children? Seriously, I'm really stressed about this. Did I mention that all THREE of the closets in the Conner's, Chase's and the playrooms are all FULL ALSO?! And that we cleaned out FOUR boxes of toys last month??!! IDEAS!!??!!

I did, however, obtain a SWEET new laptop from the Rents. Thanks Mom and Dad! Built in camera too... how scandalous. HAHAHA. Like there is anything sexy-sexy going on at my house... We'd have to do it on top of a pile of Rocketships, Choo-Choo trains, Blocks and a few select puzzle pieces.

Perks of the Mom Job: The Counterpoints

Staci is apparently unhappy with my Perks of the Mom Job post, or at least she thinks I’m partially delusional. Whereas that is might be true, I do have a few complaints about SAHMommyhood aka The Job That Never Ends.

Here are a few counterpoints:
Uniform
If I had a Big Persons Job I’d be better equipped and motivated to keep up with fashion. Which would be awesome and I’d totally look just like Lauren Conrad (hurmph) or Blake Lively from Gossip Girl. But, alas, I’m just a frumpy momma with a closet full of Victoria’s Secret PINK collection sweats and soffe shorts. When I do get “dressed up” I’m choosing between a mix-match of about 3 outfits. Sigh.
And have I failed to mention the copious amount of pregnancy/post-pregnancy/nursing ensembles that invaded my closet 4 years ago and have yet to relent? I see no sign of retreat.
But the Verdict? The Uniform is still a perk of The Mom Job (I heart sweats!)

Hours
Oh Geez. Does any OTHER job require you to be “on call” 24/7, 365 for 18+ years including ALL holidays, weekends, and no-nap-benders? Didn’t THINK so.
You learn to bypass “deep sleep” in case you must handle the more than frequent “I need go pee-pee!” or “duh monsters, and duh ew-bites and duh ROBOTS and duh bubbled-beeez are scaring me!” or SOMEONE needing a bottle at 4 AM (Chase! Seriously dude, let’s eat breakfast after the sun rises, k?)
NOT TO MENTION THE FACT THAT I HAVE NOT SLEPT IN MY BED WITH MY HUSBAND WITHOUT A CHILD PRESENT SINCE EARLY JUNE OF 2005!
I currently sleep with Mr. Chase in another room b/c he nurses 3-4 times most nights (see: ecological nursing). Conner sleeps with Mike as he refuses to sleep alone and we’ve tried EVERY SINGLE METHOD SO SPARE ME THE CRITICISM PEOPLE! That’s what grandmothers are for. Ugh.
(also see: attachment parenting)
Verdict: A big fat NEGATIVE on the hours.

Nap
Can’t really complain with the exception of the following:
1) When 1 or both children won’t nap and turn into blood sucking monsters are cranky.
2) When 1 sleeps and the other is a pain in the arse only for the non-asleep child to want to sleep when the previously sleeping child to begins to wake resulting in a CRY-A-PALOOZA. Wah.
3) When the nap schedule interferes with doctors appointments, visits and errands AND
3b) When certain relatives DON’T FREAKING UNDERSTAND that The Nap Schedule is a Sacred and Precious occurrence that need not be messed with and how IMPORTANT and CRUCIAL it is to adhere to it no matter how damn special THEY THINK THEY ARE.
Whoa. Rant… oops.
Verdict: A positive with those few exceptions. What other job let’s you nap?

Lunch
I mostly stick to my previous statement with one exception: having to feed little mouths before even thinking of touching my own (now cold) food.
Verdict: Positive

Honorable Mentions
This section is devoted to crap only SAHM’s deal with day-in and day-out with the rarest of complain, blog post (giggle), mental breakdown or bottle glass of wine:
- Constant Laundry (I suppose all moms do this but, geez… THE LAUNDRY)
- Never ending dishes
- Having to pack up ½ the contents of my home just to run to the dentist
- Oh yeah, not being about to actually GO to the dentist or doctor or OB/GYN or gym or salon WITHOUT company ALL BY MY LONESOME!
- The “labeling” associated with not having a “REAL JOB” (those people are invited to a Special Event @ my home next weekend @ 2 p.m. called “Let Amanda Kick You in The Wanker”. Light refreshments will be served.)
- The Whining
- The Timeouts
- Watching hours of ueber repetitive cartoons
- The Poop
- The typos in this entry because I've been trying to type it up for two days but The hubster went out of town for work and the kids won't get off me for 3 seconds!

THE END.

P.S. – You’re welcome Staci