My little guy

I've succomb to the out-of-controllness that is Conner's room as of yesterday. It was crazy. We have more parts to random toys, gadets, household items and unexplainables than a white trash yard sale. So... I decided to take action and proclaim war on his little baby oasis.

He wasn't thrilled.

I started by sorting through his knick-knacks... anything smaller than my hand went into a brown woven basket. Surely, I thought, this would be his least favorite thing and I could just hide it somewhere until I found the nerve to throw it out.

Then came moving his toy box. All 93 pounds of me hauled it right across the hallway and into the guest room/ soon-to-be playroom. Wow. That broke a sweat.

I emptied it out knowing full well the task at hand. Conner has recently been in his own little war of sorts, in which he always looses. The poor little guy goes wandering into his room and over to his 3 foot deep wooden toy box, only to notice that it is 1/3 full and most of the toys (if not all) are out of reach. So his solution? Lean over so far that he can barely touch a toy, then get stuck in the "V" position, upside down, head first into the toy bin and feet off the ground.

I'm sure that's great for his rib cage.

Sadly, his cries are muffled by the wooden box and it usually takes me a minute to get to him and fish him out. Please don't call DHR.

Alas, I've decided to place several folded old sheets and towels into the bottom of his toy bin until he decides to gain a few inches. Good luck with that one kid.

Now, all toys are in reach. But that's not his new interest, of course.

I put together his train track, train and all... but he hasn't bothered with it yet to realize that the time he decided to throw it into a bath tub full of H2O meant it is no longer operational.

His favorite pretend vaccum, with real vaccum noises, sits beside the toy box accompanied by his poppling pusher and a few little tykes cars.

Then, as I bask in the glory of a partially fulfilled task... I note that the basket of crap is gone.

Conner has removed himself and taken over the living room. The basket lies in the hallway, empty.

I follow the trails of old bath toys, playthings from kid's meals, a leggo or two, the b.s. his grandparents give him (crap from CVS or Winn-Dixie that they have at the counter... they think its cute... I find it to take up a nice little area in my weekly trash). I pass by a plethora of old cell phones, dating back to his newborn days. There's my nokia, michael's 1st.. 2nd.. and 3rd motorola replacements, one Razr (stupid for me to have even purchased it), an ebay phone that was awesome seeing as we didn't have to fork over the cash for one through Cingular (literally a life saver), an LG (my mom gave him that one), and two fake ones he never showed interest in.

He's made it all the way into the kitchen with this trail-o-poo-toys and found the parts to a refrigerator game he once loved. And he is as happy as a pig in mud playing in the floor by the dishwasher.

All my work paid off. Just hope one day he notices I moved his stuff.

Obviously, he has a thing for items that don't normally qualify as toys....

I Heart Money

I've been into this online "survey" thing lately due to my recently deposited check of 8 bucks. I had signed up for this thing through a friend who claimed to be making a few extra dollars here and there doing some online crap. Of course, I was skeptical and only signed up and completed 4 surveys... but then a few weeks later, my check came in the mail.

Michael deposited the check. It was real (from Wachovia bank)... so, I logged back into my account and starting taking more surveys. I'm up to 40 bucks and I only started back on the 11th of this month. I spend about 30-40 minutes a day, so that's not bad....

They cut checks on the 20th of each month and I hope to have a hundred bucks by then...

If I do the math correctly, I make about 5-15 a day.... depending on how much time I can put into it. So, I could be seeing a couple hundred each month. Not too shabby... That's grocery money!

Those of you that know me are aware that I am very weary of scams, which is why I made up a new email account, phone number and am using an old address while filling out the surveys (my account info is correct of course, I want my checks to arrive safe and sound). I don't want spam in my "good" email, and I don't do the surveys that ask for you SSN or credit card info, duh.

Try it out. Do what I did and sign up, take a few, wait for the 20th, get your check, deposit the daylights out of it... then rinse and repeat.

Click here: http://www.cashcrate.com/index.php?ref=110980
Then thank me later.

Oh, and if you want an explanation as to why they pay you to take surveys, just ask my "I have a degree in advertising and public relations" butt.

Ideas

I've got a thousand business ideas. I need to make a list one day.

Why?

This drives me absolutely bonkers: Michael talks to himself constantly. He always has, well.. on and off. It gets bad every now and then. It's very similar to how you think to yourself constantly throughout the day. You know... that random stream of consciousness that varies from this to that and everywhere in between? Yup. Only Michael chooses (or maybe doesn't choose...idk) to voice his. And its not a loud voice... even better, it's a constant mummer or words all jumbled together in the volume you would use if say... you were saying a prayer out loud in a very public place. Honestly, unless you are paying attention to him it all sounds like Latin. But on top of all else: it is just annoying

Oh I've mentioned it to him. I don't find it normal, not the normal is necessary but if abnormal is driving me up the wall to the point that I can't hear the tv when he passes through the room, I'm damn well going to say something. But, alas... he didn't acknowledge it.

And while I'm on the subject of Michael and things he does that really tick me off... why doesn't he understand the word "shhhh". It's not a difficult one and I've even offered synonyms such as "be quiet" or "hush"... none seem to do the trick. He doesn't care if Conner is asleep or it's midnight.. as long as he is doing what he needs to do.

Oh yes, and lets talk about the internet thing for a second, seeing as he doesn't read this blog.

He has been spending HOURS on the computer in little middle school fights with random and complete strangers arguing over petty nonsense. I'd go into more detail, but then it would make him look even worse. He complains that he failed his recent series 7 test... well I've got news for him. Had he of studied and not played 2 whole days of Zelda on the Wii then used the remainder of the time to post immature messages on his little message board, he could have studied and passed. Him not passing is one of his topics for the "barely under his breath" conversations. More so, he acts as if I could have put more effort into him passing. You read that right. Me... yup. Right.... no.

C'est la vie I suppose.

Jenny says, turn off the radio.

I'm exploring the fine world of Whataburger this past Sunday for the first time in hopes of finding a breakfast place faster than Flips (for those non-Montgomerians, that's a local joint that serves the best dang gravy biscuits but takes LITERALLY 15-20 minutes of waiting in your car...).

I pull up the Whataburger, look immediately to my right, and find this:

That my friends would be Cowboy Mouth's tour bus. I know, I know... they aren't Aerosmith or John Mayer, but they are a mighty fine band, of which I am a big fan.

I'm at the menu though and supposed to be ordering, but honestly I'm obviously too busy trying to take the above picture with my camera phone. So, being "distracted Amanda"... I enjoy my schoolgirl giddiness and drool on myself trying to bend my neck just to see the guys.

I flip down the mirror.. and think.... "ok, i could go next door to Arby's (where they are) and get an autograph. My mom's birthday is coming up and she loves them... plus one of the guys is super fine." Then, the mirror reminds me of one small problem: Conner managed to find a pen in the middle of the night and draw all the way from my shoulder to my fingers on both arms. Yes, that's right.... and I didn't wake up.

So, on top of me looking like death warmed over from no sleep (except during drawing hour apparently) since Conner's been sick, and my tacky t-shirt (it was free, mind you)... the only thing I've got going for me is my coach sunglasses. Not enough... they'd think they were knock-offs anyways.

Alas, I had a good breakfast, and while getting my HUGE drink from Whataburger... they did emerge from their tour bus looking honestly worse than I did in terms of a bad hair day but one of them, as predicted, was still mucho fine.

I ended up with no autograph but a fun story with my new breakfast place's gravy biscuits.

Yum.

Excuse me, but move.

I'm not the slowest person in the world, we'll.... not in my car at least. When I turn into my neighborhood after a 2 hour class at antiquated university (AUM), I want to get to my house. That's right people: I actually WANT to go home. So you can imagine how pissy I get when someone decides to get in my way.

For example, I am turning onto Atlanta Hwy (the part that runs in front of my neighborhood) last night, and I get to top out at a startling 32 mph. For the record: the speed limit is at least 45... i think.

The car in front of me seems to be in a loosing race with the short bus.

Then, the car proceeds to turn into my neighborhood. Just freaking peachy. I get to endure 15 more minutes of this for the 1 mile it takes to reach my house. I think to myself "Self, maybe they live in the beginning of the neighborhood". Self was wrong.

The car keeps going, a good 12 mph I believe. Come on! I know its a neighborhood and not an interstate, and I've probably hit a few kids before without blinking thinking I ran over a coke can or something... but sheesh SPEED UP!

I predicted it correctly though... they were going to be all of the following on top of unbelievably slow:
1) A wide-swinged turner. Definition: one who believes that the entire width of the street is there for you to swing out completely only to turn into your driveway that is 2 car lengths wide.
This means it adds an additional 2 minutes onto my journey because passing them becomes a non-option as I can just zoom by.

2) The complete stopper. Definition: one who finds deep satisfaction in both delaying the time before they get out of their car AND making me come to a complete stop after being on their bumper for the past 57 minutes.
Yup. Complete stop for a short driveway after you've been going SO fast... Totally necessary. Really.

and finally...
3) My next door neighbor. I don't need to define that. But yes, they had to irritate the heck out of me AND bypass all the other homes in the area where they could have gotten out of my way.

People, seriously. But now I'm home, and it only took a few weeks.

About Me

In a time far far away, I was someone most of my friends would barely recognize today.

But, two spaztastic babies later, I am defined by a few terms no one saw coming....

I am a strong believer in breastfeeding, extended breastfeeding and ecological nursing.

I tried cloth diapers, but it wasn't for me.

I recycle, and am pretty Nazi-esque about it.

I pick up a LOT of things with my toes.

I am a Republican (ehhh.... mostly... a little more towards the middle... WHY DO WE NOT HAVE A 3rd OPTION) and generally pro-life.

However, I don't have a clue why our government can tell us who we can and can not love, and therefore, want them to get out of marriage completely. That is to say, that I feel gay marriage should be left to those individuals that fall in love and feel that it is right for them. Our government, and certainly not myself, are not the Final Judgement. How one chooses to spend his or her life is THEIR decision.

I also want the government to let me spend my money the way I believe it should be spent.

I do not drink caffeine nor do I keep it in my house (except with the very, very rare occasion during which you can find me up at 5 AM without sleep because I starred at the ceiling all night...)

I try to offer my children as many unprocessed foods as possible (and that? rarely means we go a day without it... sigh...)

Reality television is my crack.

We believe and practice co-sleeping.

We also practice Natural Family Planning. (Strike that. where is my Mirena?) (revised: HERE's my Mirena Story)

(I still agree with NFP - I'm "using" the Mirena for weight gain and possible boobies ... we will see!)

AND - We practice Attachment Parenting.

My husband was raised baptist. I was raised Methodist, but found Catholicism in late High School and early College. In reality, I identify mostly with Catholicism, but do not currently practice Catholic doctrine (nor have I ever been confirmed...), mostly due to the fact that my husband is STILL baptist and we attend a traditional Methodist church.

I believe the Lord has His plan for my family, and I strive to be the wife, mother and daughter of Christ that I believe I should be. This is, by far, my biggest struggle.

With that said, I do cuss. I keep my blog PG-13, and try (very hard) not to say words in the "R" rating around my children. I am human, however.

I am extremely sarcastic.

I am also blunt, which sometimes comes across as bitchy. Really though, I don't get the point of skirting around an issue.

Orange-Pineapple Juice, please.

Ironing is a special form of crazy.

I own my feminism. It's a boob, I can say titties... I have a vagina, but it's on the INSIDE PEOPLE (outside = vulva OR labia... you pick).

On THAT note: FEEL YOUR BOOBIES, LADIES. Breast cancer can be caught early.

I like tv, a lot of tv, I hate cleaning - mostly laundry makes me want to hurl, and am very much a homebody.

The rest of me? Well, you can probably find it on my blog. I'm an open book!

MORE YOU SAY??!?! How sweet of you!

This is an excerpt from a previous post on March 26th, 2009 that says a bit about me:

Oh... uh... HI THERE!

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 now 25. 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 a city somewhere in Alabama..

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 childrens' 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!