Wyoming? South Dakota? Alaska? HELLO!

              Source: My Google Analytics Data Nov '08 - Present

Dear Residents of Alaska, Wyoming, and South Dakota,

   Dudes. You are all slacking.

Sincerely,

The Mom Job

(is my writer's block showing?)

 

Ultimate Blog Party 2-oh-oh-9

Oh... ehh..... hi there! You must be from 5MinutesforMom:

(and if not, you'll just be bored...)

Let me shove all this junk under a table, in a closet or into a shower with the curtain closed and I'll be riiiight with you.

Ah. There.

I'd hate to be a giant poser and make you think I'm some kind of neat freak that doesn't let her children or her family actually live in their house because I'm too obsessed with what people may think about me if I don't appear to live in a magazine....

Wait. Tangent!

My name is Amanda and my last name is hardly pronounceable. I'm 24, with a BIRTHDAY THIS  Sunday (29th), making me a quarter of a century young. Sweet. 

I'm also the mother of 2 half-breed monkey/gorilla hybrids wonderfully rowdy boys (ages 3.75 and 15 months). I blog LIVE! from the capital city of Alabama, which is Montgomery for those of you who are surprised that it is not Birmingham. I know. It should be.

I am also a graduate of The University of Alabama with a degree in Public Relations/Advertising. I minored in Getting Knocked up by my Junior year and also graduated with my MRS. That makes me special... right?

Nowadays, I enjoy all the perks of The Mom Job and choose to blog about it for several reasons - it's therapeutic, I don't have the scrapbooking gene and writing is pretty much the only gift God gave me....

Yes, I use my children's real names. Most of you know them anyways.

I have the personality of a 6'6" man trapped in a 4'10.5" body. I'm loud, sometimes bitchy, occasionally moody, disorganized yet incredibly passionate and a total goofball. My friends just think I'm odd and that's fine by me.

What you can expect from my blog: 2-4 posts a week about the Special Form of Crazy I possess, my insane children (...and their poo...), a bad word or two (nothing too 'R' rated, I keep it PG-13 around these parts), the occasional tip or trick, a recipe or two, and The Funny.

What you can find somewhere other than my blog or nowhere at all: Porn. Financial advice (although the Hubster is a Stock Broker, we are required by this tiny group of federal agencies to keep hush hush on The Internets about that... you know... crazy SEC....), my SSN, my address, stories about my poo, boring blah blah blah about the more boring parts of the Mom Job (I try and leave that out for you guys...)

Thanks for visiting and please come back soon! Feel free to check out the archives from the last several months and also the "Platinum Edition" found in the right hand toolbar OR these links:

Notes from the Stirrups

Oh Amanda, Hush

Not Easy Being Green

One eyed, One horned, Flying Purple NOT MY COUCH

And those are just a few. I get bored quickly with looking up links. Some call it lazy... 

OOooohhhh... and leave a comment!!! I'll stalk you back!! PROMISE!

W.W.L.C.D.? **Updated**

*Question at the bottom

I wore my hair half up for Chase's doctor's appointment on Monday. I felt a little down (not knowing yet that I was catching the Flu from Chase), my hair was a wreck and my head hurt too much for a ponytail. 

I didn't care that I thought I looked like a 6th grader.

But then, I kind of thought it was cute too. 

Really on the fence about it, and I thought about taking a picture to post with this blog. THEN I realized how absolutely stupid I was for even THINKING about posting a picture of myself when I looked like DEATH.

So, I did what any too-much-reality-television-SAHM would... I asked myself "What would Lauren Conrad Do?"

Because, see... it's all about standards. And in my mind, whether or not LC would approve is the Golden Standard for all that is fashionably acceptable. After thinking it over, I was positive that I'd seen LC wear her hair half up just as I had with the only difference being that she looked waaaay hotter.

Our standards set our expectations. 

My husband eats the partial garbage I set before him every night at dinner because it's what he expects from the standards of meal quality I've set forth over the course of our marriage. Call him a trained dog. 

Say I had started off our marriage cooking 4 course gourmet meals and just now (two kids deep) starting giving him Hamburger Helper or Chicken and Rice Casserole, see... he'd be disappointed.

(Side note: I actually can cook, but I don't have the time anymore to cook the things that take time... soo... we eat lots of Hamburger Helper and casseroles...)

Or... say hypothetically... if I'd been keeping my house spotless for YEARS and my mom came over to watch Conner while I shuffled Chase off to the pediatrician, only to come home feeling really battered for her to point out that I need to dust my clock - had she of been mislead for years to think I actually CARED, then she'd be disappointed, her expectations unmet. But, fortunately for both of us, I understand that clock-dusting is farrrr less important than another game or two of hide and seek or making sure we have clean underwear (which, until last night, we didn't... so...). (and can you believe she pointed out my dusty clock on my wall... DUDE... what GIVES?... if you care that much LET ME SHOW YOU WHERE WE HIDE THE PLEDGE)

Which brings me to my final Standard and Expectation:

Not knowing what Chase had, I was determined with the passion of a thousand white-hot suns to leave that doctor's office without a life-threatening disease we didn't enter with. So, I brought Clorox Wipes - which I feverishly shoved into an empty plastic bag even though I was already running late (because apparently, bringing in the whole container would just make me feel bad... who knew?).

Fortunately, we only spent a few minutes (like... umm.. 2 minutes) in the waiting room. I have successfully deciphered the Code of Pediatrician and now understand which appointment time is The One That Gets You In and Out the Absolute Fastest (under 1 hour, with full lab workup!!) (and sorry, I can't tell you or everyone will do it... I'm selfish like that).

The nurse came, sent us to lab and then we went back to our room. Chase shuffled for the play stairs and book bin and I began a frantic search for the Clorox wipes. 

I then took ONE wipe, starting at the top of the handrail that children in This Pediatricians Office use to get up to the table (it doubles as the Best Toy Ever because what child under 4 doesn't love little tiny Stairs Their Size??).

And then... I looked at the wipe.

On the left: an unused Clorox Wipe              and      On the Right: ONE SWIPE on the most COMMONLY touched surface by children in my pediatrician's office.

I almost threw up (no exaggeration).

I'll give the office this: this was not the first morning appointment (but it wasn't even afternoon either). 

But then, I proceeded to wipe the book bin with the SAME RESULTS. 

Now, I'm not a pediatrician, but if I were, I can ASSURE you I'd be paying someone to disinfect EVERYTHING in the room a child could potentially touch. At the very least, I'd require someone to wipe down the most commonly touched surfaces in between patients with a FREAKING CLOROX WIPE.

For those in Montgomery, I won't name the practice. I do kinda feel bad... (but if you are concerned, email me)

BUT - is this acceptable to you? Does this meet your expectations for cleanliness ANYWHERE much less a Peds practice?

(Makes me wonder if they don't CARE b/c if the child gets sick again, then they'll be back which equals more $$.... food for thought)

WHY DON'T DOCTORS DO HOUSE CALLS!?!

**Updated: A reader (Bonnie) suggested I write a letter (including pics) and send it to the pediatrician in question. What would you do?**

Short Picture Update

The Flu:

A word to those I'm not facebook friends with: There is no alcohol in that sippy cup and he did not enjoy the Victoria Secret's catalog prior to passing out. Thank you.

and....

The Tummy Bug:

Upon the arrival of his "Nonna", he proceeded to give her The Tour (which I think is hilarious). He first showed her the kitchen and informed her where his "chick-den fries" could be found. Then, he showed her his "toilet room" because "my butt has lots of poopies in it"...

Post about something OTHER THAN POOP tomorrow (you know, when I'm not DIEING). Swear.

Chase On Gift Giving

Scene: Master Bathroom

Setting: Chase has run a 102 fever and it won't break even with medication. I am administering a luke cold (is that a word?) bath to get his fever down. Chase is playing with his toys. I'm sitting on a bathroom stool, half listening the news that's on in the bedroom.

Me: (acting very unmothery, with the basket labeled "Conner's Medications, Thermometers and Miscellaneous"... [note to self: need to change 'Conner' to "Baby's"..., must find sharpie although this was printed in a nice font on LABELS, where did all this free time GO??]. I'm sifting through the basket for the 3rd time in desperation for Ibuprofen as Tylenol isn't working....)

Chase: splash, splash, cough, splash

Me: (internal dialogue: Nope, no Ibuprofen. Mike pick some up, or go get?)

Chase: still playing, then throws toys

Me: looks up, checks child who still has sufficent toy count, looks at tv

Chase: throws something

Me: thud

I then look down, thinking it's going to be another toy that needs to be thrown back in. It's at my feet so I start to pick it up when I realize....

...it's a giant turd.

He was done with it, clearly.

Oh Amanda, Hush.

What's wrong with instant communication?

In my case (as we all know that this blog should really be called "Amanda Likes Amanda and Talks About Amanda") it's that blogging is often a bit disconnect. I can type out, edit, miss my typos and then publish entire thoughts and THEN a select BEAUTIFUL few of you comment back with cackles of glee, wags of the finger or pats on the back.

...And I love it. It's like I get to have ENTIRE conversations and get in EVERYTHING I want to say without interruption.

I am a conversation dominator. It's fault of mine that I am both aware of and apparently steadfast in - part of my wiring one might say. 

Just today, our room mom for Conner's PreK class was holding a conversation with 4 other moms ... and by "holding" the conversation, I mean she's like a moderator. It's truly amazing to watch her do this - in the most delicate of ways she directs conversations and reflects them back to you in open-ended questions and "and how do you feel about that"s. It's a talent and she's one of the best I've seen. 

She's a listener.

I know. Right. 

When you talk to her, she engages you and talks about what YOU want to talk about, with 100% devotion even if you are discussing your preferred method of butt wiping (ok, mom's don't only talk about poop, i think...). She always asks about your experiences, your feelings, your situation with the occasional and perfectly timed tid-bits of her.

I want to be a listener. But, I'm not. I'm robotic in my conversation missions. If I don't get what I want said, I dwell on it. I ponder it for hours. I'll think about it till it rots my brain. 

You know who probably comes away with more from a conversation though? The listener. Although she's probably not gotten a single "AND THIS ONE TIME... GEEZ..." story off her chest, she's probably accumulated a million personal accounts of a billion different topics. She could probably write a book. 

Those few timed responses where she shoves a nugget of her best knowledge into your brain are so thought provoking, too. She has 3 children, all close together and her youngest is just a few months old. We were talking about how hard it was to get to and from school and accomplish daily chores and then I asked how hard it was for her to transition from 2 to 3. Her response was something like "The hardest wasn't from 1 to 2, or 2 to 3, but from none to one". I had NEVER thought about that. She's totally right. Going from NO babies to any amount of babies is most definitely the most challenging. This girl is full of the good stuff. Instead of just blabbing (like me) about how difficult this is or that is, she actually THINKS BEFORE SHE TALKS. 

Huh. 

There's a thought...

I'm not going to end this entry with a "so... I'm going to try to listen more and shut up", because that would be a lie. It's not that I don't hear what any of you have to say now, as a matter of fact, I hold many of you very close to my heart and enjoy our conversations more than you'll ever know. And I'm not going to stop talking/typing so much either, because it's these instant communications that are so incredibly gratifying to me.

Let's just say this: I'm hear to talk OR listen - if you ever need me.

Private School Drama To Be Continued.

We are going to tour another (snotty) private school tomorrow - and this one COSTS MORE!

Won't you all stay tune for the nonsense in store?

Excellent.