Gross.

I tried. Really.

I did the hand sanitizer routine after every door opening, toy touching, and all other potentially contaminated object fondelings but somehow Conner outsmarted me.

After making it a WHOLE HOUR without having direct hand-to-face contact with anything COVERED IN OTHER KID'S NASTY-NESS, Conner managed to wander off to the water fountain while I checked-out.

And when he couldn't get it to work, he figured he had to of been doing it wrong. So, as I looked away to sign my credit card slip, Con wrapped his entire mouth around the handle you normally turn to make the foutain work.

Oh Lord.

This thing sees 100-ish snotty monsters per day, all of which think water-fountain-touching is a requirement and MY not-snotty monster decides to expose his insides to it and it's potential infestation.

Seriously, eww.

Should I just wrap him in plastic coverings (you know, other than his nose for breathing...) before going to public places? And WHY OH WHY can't doctors PLEASE have COMPLETELY seperate offices for well visits!!!!!????

It's OFFICIAL!!!!

We got the job in BIRMINGHAM! We are moving home!!!

Um... anyone want a house? It's pretty.

I Confess.

For a very long time, like maybe a whole TEN YEARS... I've been hiding a very deep secret. An addiction that consumes numerous hour-long (and sometimes two!) segments of my life. I forget who I am. I become an unbelievably long list of characters in an insane amount of situations and walks of life.

And thanks to Tivo, I never miss a beat.

I'm addicted to TV!

And honestly, I've become a bit embarassed, especially seeing as I DO have two kids that seem to require all this attention and stuff. Like food. And love. An all that other kid growing crap.

Then, I came across another (another!) blog last Friday (mightymaggie.com) and she reminds me of this totally awesome, yet occassionally socially recluse, mommy of 2 under 3, lover of Target, diagnoser of medical conditions via Dr. Internet, AND tv-addict = yours truly.

In college, Mary would stand in my doorway or in front of the couch begging to go "do something" but I'd be mid-program and unable to budge. People often think I spent the late high school era partying, when in fact I was in front of my mom's tv in the living room.

I checked my calendar last night so I'd know what lie ahead of me for the week:
Chase's check-up.
Conner's snack-day.
Grey's Anatomy 2-hour (!!) Premiere
Conner Dentist.

Not too bad (except: who actually schedules in tv on their calendar with their children's various appointments?? Really?) Then, I sat down to set up my week of programming via TiVo and I realized what a boob tube junkie I am.

House, Fringe (because I heart Joshua Jackson and the hubster approves!), Prison Break, THE HILLS!, The Sheild, 90210, GOSSIP GIRL!, MTV's crap (all 4 shows...), and then you have to add up all the medical incredible and jon and Kate plus 8's .... Etc etc etc. Oh, and don't forget it is football season and I bleed crimson for The Tide on Gameday. And I will also admit to a Rock of Love and I Love Money on VH1 when it's "in season". (edit: Oooh Oooh Oooh, and Project Runway, Tabitha's Salon Takeover, Top Chef, all the Housewives shows, The Rachel Zoe Project, Shear Genius, 'till death, The Colbert Report, blah blah blah).

So, since the mightymaggie mommy-blogger can proudly proclaim her guilty pleasure, and I don't ever do anything for ME, I'm fessing up!

I admit it - I LOVE TV!!!!!

I encourage all fellow addicts to come clean. It's ok. We can watch together!

Fuzzy Little Man Peach

In the Dec/Jan '08 issue of Wonder time Magazine (you'll have to pretend that was cited correctly, I'm unable to do HTML edits with my email postings), I found this interesting, yet totally random, tidbit. According to a (then) recent study by John Hopkins University, pregnant women "who experience moderate to severe heartburn gave birth to children with average or above-average amounts of hair."

Bonkers, right?

Apparently, they've found a link in the hormones that cause fetal hair growth and those that relax the mother's esophagus (which results in frequent heartburn).

I had very little heartburn while preggers with Con, and he was your average haired baby.

But Chase? Good grief. The heartburn NEVER STOPPED!!! I was literally chocking on my stomach acid every night with that fresh-from-a-good-barf feeling. Awesome. And the kid? Fuzzy as can be. He had dark, inch long + hair. It has turned light but he is still as furry and cuddly as can be.

And yes, I am just getting enough time to catch up with my 9-month-old magazines. Sigh.

My 9/11 Story

I was sitting in the second desk back, one row from the last near the window. It was AP Psychology and my Senior year of high school. Shortly after the bell rang, we began our usual discussions as a senior class which typically consisted of hot topics in the news.

Mrs. Green was a younger teacher and laid back, so the occassional stroll across the hall to the "bookstore/late check-in" room was expected. Kyndle, a friend who sat in front of me had just returned from such a trip and with fear in her eyes she announced from the doorway that something was wrong and we needed to watch the news.

Mrs. Green obliged and turned it to the first news station she came upon, MSNBC. It was shortly after 8, and the first World Trade Tower had just been hit.

We watched, glued and silent. I sat quietly as I witnessed the second plane slam into the second tower.

I cried. Not caring who was around me, who saw me. None of us cared. Mrs. Green addressed us - basically insuring us that what we were feeling... scared, uncertain and unsure was what we needed to feel. "If you pray..." she said "do it."

I did.

After AP Chemistry, the day went fast. We watched continous coverage as our teachers encouraged us to stay informed, stay involved, and understand that our country was bleeding.

After school, I had practice that remained uncancelled. To this day, I feel a sense of anger about it. I remember standing there in rollcall, our director saying a prayer and giving us a moment to reflect. I thought to myself "right now, those people are dyeing... trapped, burning... And you want us to practice?!"

We had no idea we'd be graduating into a post 9/11 world.

I hope I cry every 9/11. I hope it always chokes me up to see the footage I saw live that day. Because if I do, it means I'll never forget.

Confessions of a Pre-School Time-Out King

"He had to go to time out today ... That's why he didn't get a stamp on his hand." said Mrs. Conner's teacher in a "sorry to tell you this tone".

I wasn't surpised. He had acted nuts all weekend since Michael was out of town and Conner was wanting nothing short of his daddy.

So I interrogate my 3-year-old in my "hate to have to drag you out of God's house by your ear" tone. "Did you have to go to time-out today?"

"Uh huh" he returned with a half-smile.

"Why?"

"I runned away inside!"

I give him the obligatory don't do that again speech, but it's in the car when he really opens up.

"I took his book"...."I took his two books"..."And I runned"

I corrected his speech and began the third degree, flash light in the eyes, air conditioner off and of course I threatened not to feed him.

"Conner, did you take his books and go to time-out for it?" I asked.

"Uh huh" ... "He pushed me down...On the playdrowned (more fun than it sounds, especially if you can't swim)... He go time-out"

So, as any "good" mother (or curious person) would do, I drift off into a dream-like scenario of my own version to this mysterious tale. I've deduced from Conner that this child egged him on (seeing as Conner tells me "He really mean"). In my dream sequence, he and New Friend apparently got into a tiff involving the slide and their own personal The-World-Revolves-Around-Me-Bubbles colliding. Both boy's You-Are-In-My-Bubble alarm began blarring and New Friend then, obviously, shoved my precious angel who was busy counting his blessings and picking his mother a beautiful array of lillies. Conner, after seeing how totally awesome time-out on the pre-school level can be, sought revenge and stole his book later during story (or coloring) time.

He did the crime, so he did his time.

Oh the drama that is being a toddler.

At least the antioxidants will protect him...

Conner came home from preschool on Tuesday with his thick, blond hair stuck to his forehead. His arms were covered in a glaze of purple and his shirt and pants weren't spared.

Apparently, they had grape juice that day. And boy, was he thirsty when he got home.