Is that horns?

Yes, this is what I thought to myself as I stepped out onto the back porch today. And then heard the Son ask, "Mama, why does The Neighbor have a goat in his yard?" Our yards are separated by a small chain link fence (his) that has some sort of plant growing through it that everyone in New England refers to as "pickies." I look over the fence, and sure as hell, there is a goat staring back at me. He looks just as confused by his new surroundings as I do.

So The Neighbor's friend is sitting in Neighbor's backyard with this goat--I have no idea if it belongs to this guy and is just visiting or if Neighbor has actually taken ownership of said goat. But when Teddy noticed this thing next door, Friend said, "Neighbor, I told you that dog would scare your goat." This goat is now scared and jumping to try and run away, but he is tied to the fence and the trash cans keep getting caught on his rope. I put Theo in the house and the Son is still at the fence, saying "I never seen a goat here before."

The Neighbor comes over with a small cooler of beer and says to the son, "You're scaring him." WHAT? My three-year-old son is scaring YOUR goat? Do you own a mirror to begin with? And this friend that arrived with this goat...did you notice that he's a little freakier than...well, most people? Yeah. I'm pretty sure this goat is freaked out because he's tied to a fence with interference. I'd go take a picture, but the guys are sitting out there with the goat.

I'm sorry, who rides around with a goat in the truck? Who visits with a goat? This thing can't be here to stay. Although, now that I'm inside and can spy without them noticing, there is a goat house there now, too. And a big food container. And his name is Alf. I never thought I'd live next door to someone with a goat. And it's not like we live on land, people. We're in an old mill neighborhood. Houses are close together (which always makes me nervous when I have to whip out my "Mama Wins" voice on the son. But apparently the other neighbors are not so worried for the same reasons).

Wait a minute, why can't I have chickens?

Dinner with the fam: The River Falls Edition.

Last night, the Husband and I decided to use a gift certificate to River Falls and go out to eat. It was Family Scribble Sunday, so kids eat free. Score! If you're not familiar, it is on the Blackstone River in Woonsocket. Claims to have beautiful river views while dining. It is in a pretty cool building, so we were excited.

We got in and were seated right away. First thing I notice: you cannot enjoy "beautiful river views of the historic Blackstone" while dining. The windows are set way too high for the tables, and across the back of the restaurant, the only windows have the fire escape directly on the other side of the glass. Now, I'm no expert, but they totally redid this building. Could they not have planned this better? Picture glass windows across the back, maybe? Or relocate the fire escape to not spit you out on the river rock?

The Husband chose to go with his old-school favorite, a fried seafood platter. Back when we were first together and lived in Virginia Beach, he used to constantly brag about New England seafood and how a platter up here "is piled high with food for about three meals" and how the shrimp "were so fresh they snapped in your mouth." Now, I'm a seafood girl, so I like to think I'm a pretty good judge of seafood. I chose a baked stuffed shrimp platter for $17.99. The menu boasts "Maryland lump crab stuffed jumbo shrimp broiled with lemon and butter." I chose a carmel glazed sweet potato and veggie of the day, which I forgot to ask what the day would bring. Veggie was butternut squash. Had I known that, I would have ordered something else. They are too similar, I think. Anywho, mouth watering, right?

So after more than 30 minutes, our meal arrives. Which I thought was quite a long time for the meals we ordered. The kidlets got chicken fingers and fries, so I thought it was about 10 minutes too long for an empty restaurant. Now, there was a function going on upstairs, but people had been coming downstairs with to-go boxes, so I'm pretty sure the kitchen wasn't backed up from that.

Imagine my surprise when my meal consisted of four medium/large sized shrimp. Yes. Four. Not the usual six. Shrimp that are sized like they would come in a 31-40 count pound. For $17.99. Still, I figured, hey, this could still be really good, right? I don't know who these New England people think they are, but lump crab means no filler, hence the name "lump." (p.s., crabcakes have filler, unless they are lump crabcakes) This was minced crab among bread stuffing. There was nothing lump about it. And I am not sure that it was Maryland blue crab, because that is much sweeter than this tasted. I didn't eat the other 3 shrimp's stuffing. It was gross. And I cannot explain to you how much I L.O.V.E. crab meat. Not just crab legs, like most people are accustomed to. This girl used to sit at the table with her neighbor as a little girl and shuck fresh blue crabs, eat them on wheat crackers with cream cheese.

The Husband's meal was okay, not overflowing as he used to claim. But edible. The scallops are usually sea scallops (the larger variety), and these were bay scallops, which are much smaller. But the shrimp did not taste very fresh, I must say.

There were a few other small things that I noticed, of our four plates, which were square and pretty cool, two of them were cracked and very chipped on the corners. Why are you serving cracked/chipped plates? Big no-no. Also, the bread was cold. It was fresh crusty italian, but cold. I don't see a reason for cold bread. Every restaurant I've worked in had bread warmers.

So overall, I was not at all pleased with this place. At all. Apparently their nightlife is supposed to be fun, but I was not impressed when we went a few weeks ago. Especially at their drink prices. $6 for a glass of wine (which was about 4 oz) that is the cheap stuff? $9 for a martini? We aren't in New York city, we're in Woonsocket, people. There's no reason for this. I've had friends say their food is decent, but the service is atrocious. But now I'm having a hard time deciding if it's the servers or the actual kitchen--which many people tend to blame slow kitchen service on the actual waiters and waitresses. I still left the waitress 20%, because she actually did fine. But I don't at all recommend this place. Save your $$ and go elsewhere, we would not have gone if we didn't have a gift card.

Spring and Summer loves.

It's the time of the year when we all start shedding our sweaters, putting the coats away, and looking forward to spring. There's a few things on my list. Being that my status hasn't changed much, I'm keeping my list to a minimum. Here's what I've got my eye on so far:

Reef Ginger flip flops in Purple:

I have always owned Reefs. I love their Ginger. I mostly do black, but two years ago, I broke and got a red pair. Which I am wearing now. I love them. But after two years of heavy use (these are my ONLY flip flops, I don't have eight pairs like most people), I need a new pair. I want these in purple. Bonus: I even have a 20% off coupon at Bob's to buy them. But I haven't yet. I'm afraid if I do, it'll snow like everyone talks about New England springs.

Some new Aquamarine/Blue Topaz earrings:
I am not a frilly jewelry wearer. My mother loves jewelry. She changes it often. I've gone through stages where I try to push myself into wearing different jewelry all the time. Which usually ends up with me changing a necklace. But my earrings are something I keep in all the time, unless we're getting fancy and I remember that I have some fancy earrings. I want a pair of 4-6mm studs to wear in my second hole. But this has dual reasons. Usually, I always wear studs in that hole. And over the past few years, I have lost everything I own. So I'm out of replacements. Here's what I'm thinking:

Now, I am aware that the list price on these is $185. Which will never happen. I'm perfectly happy buying some off ebay, because before too long, I'll lose a back and likely lose one. I'm watching a few on ebay, but I'm waiting for the right time to purchase. They're all under $10. Score!

The Coach Cross-body Op Art bag:

Alright, I am well aware that the husband is in a corner breathing into a bag clutching the checkbook somewhere, and this is something I want but likely won't buy for myself. I LOVE the new C logo—please, I am a graphic designer and Futura is one of my all-time favorite fonts. I like the size and style of this bag, it's a quick, throw-on type of bag. And lately, I am more on-the-go than ever. Sometimes I feel all mixed up with my other Coach bag on my arm, it feels to dressy for who I've become. Plus, the one I have is too big, and I prefer smaller bags. We have a coach outlet near us, so I'll likely check this place out and watch over their stock until a whole new style comes out and I find one marked down to $30. Hey, a girl can dream. 

Summer Dresses:
I've decided this summer that I want to wear more day dresses. And as I flip through the Victoria's Secret catalog, there's quite a few day dresses in there that I'd love. Because I plan on taking the kids to the pool, beach, lake, and generally having a good time. And this will allow me to wear fun, knit dresses. And while I've been going to the gym and working on counting calories, I plan on looking good in them, too. =)

A Jill-e Bag for my Camera Equipment:

I love this bag. Like I said in my previous post, I need a roomier, more versatile bag. I do love my Crumpler 4 million, and it's great for when we go random places. But like I said, I want to not have to choose between carrying a flash and carrying a lens. Especially for events and shoots. They're pricey, so I'm trying to earn points toward it. Wanna help? Click here.

That's all I've got for right now. I've tried to be realistic about our current budgets and choose accordingly. So there's a few things I know that I won't get and I'll continue to dream about. Unless anyone is feeling charitable? I'll photograph your family and bake you some cakeballs.

What's on your list?

How can you not drool over these?

So I've been on the hunt for a camera bag that can hold more than just my camera, with lens attached and either a lens or flash. I have a red Crumpler Four Million Dollar Home, which I L.O.V.E. But often, on shoots and at events, I need something larger. I need to not have to choose between a lens and a flash. I need to carry a back-up flash. I need accessories. I need a place to put my keys and wallet. And also? I hate backpacks, and would like something more stylish. Because I do infact, do events. And often, at charities, you have to keep all your gear on you, there's no place to set it down. Now, I do also love the seven and eight million dollar homes, but I kinda think I want something a little different than what I already have. Something more versatile. Enter the Jill-e bag. Observe:




How fabulous are they? Now, I considered a Kelley Moore bag, which is also beautiful, however, they are a little small for what I want. They are too narrow and tall. I want something shorter with easier access. Don't get me wrong, if a KM bag shows up at my door, I will give it a nice home. But I really want a Jill-e bag. So what do I need from you? Click the link. Browse the site. Buy accessories upon clicking my link. They even have a small purse that has a padded place for a digital point-and-shoot. Which I've considered getting for the Daughter so she can have my Canon PowerShot.

Thanks! Tell your friends! Buy one for Mama for Mother's Day!

Coordination: I [does not] has it.

So we're thirty-five minutes deep into Zumba tonight, I'm in my usual spot, front row, slightly left with my girls (The real ones, Tay, Mama J, and the other Mama J; not the girls being contained on my chest). It's juicy, the fans aren't on and we've already sweated out breakfast and most of lunch (minus the cheesecake balls I keep hiding from the kidlets). We're doing a cross step move and the instructor is all "Bigger! Yeah, you got it!" to me. Because I'm in front, and you know how the class nerd is, right? Only, we switch to this sliding move and it happens so fast, I don't even see it coming. And I'm pretty sure I did the whole scramble thing on the way down, but it was just too slippery on the very obviously fake wood floor. And it takes me a second to recover. But I jump up and get right back in step. The instructor, who was standing next to me, turns to face me (while moving) and he's all "Are you okay?" Of course, in my head, I'm all "Please, I'm the girl that tripped and fell down the stairs at my junior prom. This ish happens to me all the time." But I just utter a "yeah" and keep moving.

After all, I was the girl who also fell down a flight of stairs while seven months pregnant at my best friend's mom's house the night before her wedding. 'Cause when I do it, I do it big.

Happy 12th Birthday, Teddy!

Twelve years ago today, you were born (That would be 1998 for those of you that are math-challenged like me). You had one sister, who was named Eleanor. Apparently, your mother died in birth, and you and your sister were left on the doorstep to the Norfolk SPCA in a box, your mother in a bag next to you.

The first person to arrive for work was a woman named Dianne (if my memory serves me correctly). She worked for the SPCA for more than 20 years. Immediately, she fed the two of you. Later that evening, she took you and your sister home to raise you.

Fast forward to the first week in June. I'd been living in my first house with my first roommate just off campus since March. Coming from the house I grew up in, where we rescued animals, I missed having a dog. I'd left five at my parents' house. My boyfriend at the time was on his way to take me to lunch. Instead, we ended up at the Norfolk SPCA.

When I first saw you, you were hiding in the corner. Your sister and you were in one cage, she was all over the place. It was instantly obvious why Dianne named you Teddy, you looked just like a little teddy bear—with oversized legs and feet. I was smitten. Dianne told me the story of how you came to her, you were claimed to be a "Lab/Shepherd mix". You were six weeks old that day, and she'd decided you were ready to find a forever home. I filled out the information and brought you home to meet my roommate and her dog, Jasmine Marie (My roommate didn't have a middle name, so she gave her dog one).

The fun part began when I took you to my parents' veterinarian and he was scared to tell me (but told my mom instead) that you were Great Dane, not Shepherd. Which explained your ginormous feet. And appetite.

You tried my patients, chewing everything you could. You peed all over the carpet. And you had an affinity for expensive underwear, but normally only when we had people over. You loved rawhide bones that were bigger than you, and normally you ate them within 3 days. You loved to ride in the car. And you loved your soccer ball. You didn't care for the tide at the beach, but the first time you saw a pool, you ran and jumped right in.

Then we stayed overnight for our first Christmas at my parents' house, and my father came to get you out of my room to go outside with the gaggle of hounds. Later that morning, he said to me, "You really have a good, well-behaved dog." And then you proceeded to win over my mother by sitting at her side while she cooked, not begging, not being a nuisance. I found out later she had a pocket full of treats and was slipping them to you all day.

Now, twelve years later, you've chewed up one pair of brand new New Balance shoes (ever wonder what the real use of the "tongue" is in your shoes? Try wearing them without one), two couches, the electrical cord to a fan (that was plugged in), and one Cox Cable remote control—where the service rep informed me I "should not let my dog chew on the remote..." I told her it wasn't like I ran out of Snausages. You have caught one bird (who knew you could move so fast), one opossum (thanks for that), and somehow missed a chipmunk being in the same room as you for hours. You detest premium dog food and have always preferred the cheap stuff. You won't drink from a clean water bowl, you prefer snarfle in it. You don't like to be outside on your own, only if I'm out there. Unless you're laying on the deck in the sun. You get anxious in the car, but if someone says "wanna go for a ride?" you will push your way into the first vehicle with an open door. You have a bark that scares the beejebus out of most people but have only bitten one person. And as my mother says, you don't seem to age much, you've been in a state of shock since Avery was born.

Happy 12th birthday, Teddy Bear. Or "Theo" as Grammy refers to you. I've enjoyed you being part of my life. But you're not getting a cake because you took it upon yourself to celebrate this morning by eating a library book. And washed it down with some carpet, because apparently that's how you roll. Or was it the remainder of garlic mashed potatoes I fed you last night?

Town of Blackstone: Major FAIL.

We have lived in this small town (of 8000) for a little over three years now. We've lived in the same house since we moved up here, a half-duplex. We've had no other names, places, or anything. Just us. Here. At the same address.

For some reason, the Town of Blackstone cannot figure out their billing. Here, we get billed for water every six months--which sucks, by the way. When we first moved in, it took almost a year to get the water bill straightened out. Because we were the first owners of the house, they were billing us for the builder's portions of the water bill. We paid late fees. Many late fees. But I didn't have the time to fight with them. So we paid them.

Last week, we got a demand for payment in the mail for Excise tax on the Husband's truck. Which means there apparently was a bill before that which we did not receive. This bill stated that the tax be paid before March 17 or it would go to the collector. And we got it last week. So unless I own a time machine, we are late.

Now, this isn't the first time we've had an issue with Excise Tax bill. Previously, we've gotten blank bills, where they sent us a sheet of paper with our address on it, and we rarely get a bill on time. We always get the demand bills. So I go to Town hall to pay our late bill and bitch.

For those of you that don't know, here in Taxachusetts, apparently legislation was signed in that states if you do not receive a bill, you are still liable for all taxes, interest, and late fees. No one else shall be held responsible. The public has NO rights. This allows towns to send out bills late and purposely collect late fees without repercussion. So now, even though I believe someone did not send out our mail, I now have to pay $93.93 for a $65 Excise bill. But I actually have a longer period to pay the elevated fee than I did for any other portion of this Godforsaken process. How nice of them.

My problem? These people effing suck. Basically, I was told I am supposed to go looking for my own bill should I not get one. So you mean to tell me that these people who are paid a publicly listed salary--which essentially I am paying for--get more days off than most people and work better hours than bankers are not doing their job. Someone's job there is to send out bills to the households in Blackstone. And they are not sending them out. And please spare me the details of our mail getting lost. The postmaster knows who I am and can recall my address when I walk in the door from three years ago when we had no mailbox and I had to check my mail there every day. Mail doesn't "get lost" in this town. Quit blaming the post office. You people are overpaid to do a lousy job and simply get to collect for it. Hell, I can click print, and I know how to send out bulk mail. I'll gladly work for your salary.

The best part? The Tax Collector told me that apparently I am the only person with a problem with the town's billing. Really? Just me? Should I round up everyone that has had a problem and show up at the Town meeting so we can break up the bitching over the school budget? Because everyone I have spoken to seems to think that the Town of Blackstone can't seem to get their head out of their ass. Think I was irate after that conversation?

See, I knew we should have bought that house in Rhode Island. At least their tax issues have ties to the mafia, not because some nitwits are running this joint.

Dear Fellow Gym Member,

I don't feel that I should really have to write a post on gym etiquette. It's been done too many times. However, today? You have really pissed me off. First of all, they make lockers that are kept in rooms called locker rooms. Go put your bag there instead of rifling through it every two minutes. And if I trip on the handle again because you insist on leaving it somewhere inappropriate, I am going to hurl it.

Second, stop staring at the women working out. Yes, we lift weights, too. Apparently more than you. But this ogre-like behavior? Will not land you any dates. And I'm pretty sure the girl you've walked past five time to stare at her ass yet again doesn't bat for your team. Leave her alone and wipe the drool off your mouth.

Lastly, just because you intend on using a piece of equipment does not mean you own it. Yes, I like the inverted leg press. Girls can use those machines, too. So when you stack 75lbs of weight discs on each side and then proceed to talk on your cell phone while pacing worse than my Husband, you need to get your show on the road. Just so you know, I used three other pieces of equipment, did my proper 3 sets of 16 reps, you finally sat down to attempt to lift all this weight you have now stacked up. Oh, wait, did you forget the main plate weighs 115 lbs? Yeah. That's what that big sticker says on it. And if you even try to make me think you've lifted anywhere near the 265 lbs you are now struggling to press, you must be out of your tree, because no one works out in "windpants" anymore and you? Just look like an asshat. Which is further proven when after two more phone calls, you left all that weight on your machine and didn't rerack it. You're not that important, so hang up the damn phone. Also? No one wants to sit in your butt sweat, so like the sign says, wipe down the machine when you're done.

I may be a novice to the gym, but just so we're clear, struggling through three "reps" of insane weight which is clearly too heavy for you and circling the gym four times to check out the ladies does not constitute a good workout. How you're sweating like a pig, I'm not sure. And next time you try to comment to me how you're feelin' your workout, try not to spit on me. Because apparently, I can lift more weight than you.*

K? Thanks,
—the mama (who was not in fact in red today, but purple instead)


*Umm, no, I can't do the 275 lbs with the inverted leg press. But I didn't drop the weight discs, either. And I did three full sets. Just so you know. =) 

Do you Zumba?

Have you heard of Zumba? Many of my friends across the blogosphere and facebook have tried it now. It's a cardio workout that infuses Latin hip hop, salsa, cha cha, and meringue with American hip hop, belly dancing, and general shakin' your booty. It's not just for women, there's a few guys that dare take classes. At my gym, which is a new gym, Monday night Zumba class usually sells out. By "sell out" I mean more than 60 people join in. It's crazy. I like the Tuesday morning class, the instructor is fantastic and the class isn't so full. Each instructor has their own style, and that's good. Although, we have one instructor who is TERRIBLE. I felt like I was doing nothing but dancing in circles, clapping my hands, and trying to move among all the size -3 teenagers who giggle every time you shake your butt.

Anywho, if you have the opportunity to take a class or go with a friend, I HIGHLY recommend it. It's loads of fun, and you actually burn about 600-800 calories per class, depending on how impactful your instructor is. And guys? Get in there. Where else will you find tons of ladies shakin' their groove thang in spandex? Just be nice and don't drool.

Screw the Rabbit.

I've never been crazy for holidays. Now, my old roommate--who was the youngest of three--said she remembered the exact moment that she found out Santa wasn't real, the Easter bunny didn't bring chocolate, and mom plays the tooth fairy, often in a forgotten rush. And she was devastated. I couldn't tell you when I learned or how it affected me. Now that I have kids, I'm on the fence about all these things.

In school, the Daughter is learning about all holidays. Which made it a little hard to explain that no one other than college students and the true Irish celebrate St. Patrick's day. And that Valentine's day around here is simply another day to remind each other how much we love each other, and it doesn't require chocolate or roses or even cards. And don't even get me started on Halloween, I detest that "holiday."

So as far as Santa goes, the Husband and I made a deal. Our kids know that Mommy & Daddy buy their presents. Credit is also given for Grammy & PopPop and Meme, aunts and uncles, and whomever else provides for our family. "Santa" brings one unwrapped present each. Why do we do this? Because we feel like our kids need to know that we work hard for the things we provide, as does everyone else. Presents don't just come from some guy who sleeps all year, works one night, and takes all the credit. (Yet the Husband wonders why I equate him to the mafia...) It instills in our kids that hard work reaps rewards, and we should be grateful for everything we get.They understand the concept, most of the time.

Which brings us to Easter. Now, we aren't all about religion. Briefly, the Husband is Catholic and I am Methodist; yet neither of us practice our religion, by choice. Which means we don't participate in Lent, nor do we really celebrate Easter. Now, I'm not opposed to going to sunrise service. But to be honest, I'd rather not cloak the whole thing in a lie about how some rabbit appears in the night to hide hard boiled eggs and bring cheap chocolate and peeps. (However, should any rabbits or other varmints willing to bring me Godiva or Lindt chocolates, I fully invite them to be left at my doorstep. And no fruit fillings, please.).

I feel like this mainly because the Daughter is at the age where shortly, she will learn that these "stories" are lies. So I'd rather not deal with the whole cover-up. We teach that this is a no-lies household and that you can tell mom and dad anything. And who's to say my children won't be as heartbroken as my old roommate, you know?

Spirit fingers, anyone?

I was never into cheerleading. I was more the type that played the sports and didn't understand the point of cheerleaders. Of course, my senior year, I was one of the captains of the dance team, and it wasn't until then that I actually understood the athleticism of the sport, but I was never the cheerleading type.

Fast forward to a year and a half ago. The Daughter was ready for sports. We had already tried dance, but she has too much energy for tap or ballet. We tried soccer. I even got her lotto cleats with pink laces. But she didn't like other kids taking the ball away. And then she became friends with the neighbor. Who is a cheerleader. And the Daughter fell in love. She'd go to practices with her (the neighbor is about three years older). She went to games. And she was smitten with cheerleading. So I began the quest to find her a team.

Little did I know that up here, there is no cheerleading for basketball. It's football only. And football season was over. I found a gym, Superior Cheer All Stars. And we went to our first practice. She did good, even if the Son was a huge pain and let everyone in the vicinity know that he did NOT want to be there.

Should it surprise anyone that at the end of her first practice, the coach/gym owner (and ridiculous amount of times-national champion coach) said to me, "She's a natural cheerleader. Your daughter is going to be very good." Of course. Of course, my daughter would be a natural cheerleader. My friends back home with all boys think the irony is hysterical. Me, the epitome of a tomboy, ended up with a girly-girl who is now a cheerleader. And not just a cheerleader, an All-Star cheerleader, meaning cheerleading is the sport itself.

I've now learned, as we are into our second season of competition that there are rules. Every cheerleader must wear a bow. There is an unhealthy amount of hairspray to be inhaled. Glitter gets everywhere. Get used to callouses on your hands, because it is not proper to enter a competition without curls, the tight spiral type. And then, there's the big role: Cheer Mom.

I held out the entire first season. I watched the other moms at competitions whip out their arsenal with no less than three cans of hairspray, personalized curlers, and don stylist's aprons full of combs and barrettes. I did buy the "Proud Parent" shirt, but didn't get a chance to wear it. I've worn it twice this season. However, if you think I'll ever be the flashing-hat-wearing, glitter-stars-on-the-face, mom dancing to the cheer type, you'd be wrong. Should I ever become this mom, who orders her minivan with the cheer edition package with in-seat curling irons, fold-down glitter makeup trays and a personalized megaphone, please take me out back and make me play football in the mud. But I do shake my noise maker, I photograph the team, and I cry when my daughter is on the mat. I participate because teams with the most crowd spirit win more points. And points = trophies. And when you're 6, the big trophy is what it's all about.

First place! Yes, I cried. I may not like cheerleading, but I have a little cheerleader. And how do you not support that? Especially when her team wears dark red and black. At the least, they're stylish.

P.S. I did order the personalized cheerleader sticker. For the Husband's truck. He just doesn't know it yet. =)

Little known facts about the Mama

The Daughter is a very intuitive person. She's the type that notices EVERYTHING. Move the coffee table 2" to the left? She'll move it back. Buy a new shirt? She'll ask how long you've had it and why she hasn't seen it before. Try going a different way to the grocery store? She'll drive you crazy in the back seat asking why we're going this way, and are we going to a new store. So it's no surprise that there's a few things that I do out of the ordinary that just never occurred to me as "different." Lately, since she's been learning to read and write, it's these things she notices as of late. Here's a few:

When writing on lined paper, I write in the middle of the lines. No matter whether it's college ruled or wide ruled. This started sometime in high school, and I don't know why I do it. And if I notice myself writing on the baseline, I move it to the middle of the lines. Strange for a graphic designer, no? She questioned it. And I had no good answer for her.

I usually write in all uppercase letters. Though, in most of my design, I prefer the all-lowercase route. But I often use all-uppercase (as in my blog titles, I recently changed that.) I used to tell the Husband back when I was pregnant that I would teach the Daughter that her name was spelled in all lowercase letters because it looked better that way. He told me to bottle up the crazy and not piss off her teachers.

I love my handwriting and am constantly working on it. Really, if you've seen my handwriting, this should be no surprise to you. In college, everyone wanted to borrow my notes because they are neat. I can't stand messy notes (or anything else, but one battle at a time). But sometimes I change the way I write my G, E, or S. Currently, I'm trying to learn how to write a 9 like it is here. No, I'm not in second grade.

I only like writing in blue pen. I prefer an extra fine rollerball or gel. My favorite pen is a Uniball Vision. But normally, you have to buy the entire color package to get the blue. I'll use red or black, but only after my blue is used up. And yes, I rarely lose pens. Ever. I run them out. And the Daughter knows she's not supposed to use them. Thankfully, she prefers pencils anyways.

I hate cursive. I know it's crazy for a designer to detest a type of face, but I am not a fan of cursive. I used to love it, but I like my uppercase handwriting better. However, often I do write in a cursive-ish handwriting when doing notes. But I hate it. I'll often rewrite a note if I've caught myself writing in this cursive.

Despite loving my all-uppercase handwriting, I always sign my name in all lowercase. My father noticed this back in high school and questioned it. He felt that my name should be the most important on the page, so it should at least have an uppercase first letter. At the time, it was unique, and you know how teenagers are always looking to be unique. I wrote my notes neatly and signed my name in all lowercase letters.

Clearly, I cannot stand messy handwriting. My old roommate had the messiest handwriting EVER. It drove me crazy. But you can't change other people, and it never bothered her. I don't usually let the Husband sign cards or address Christmas cards because his handwriting isn't up to par. And he knows this and lets me be. It's part of our happy marriage agreement. 

So, what does your handwriting say about you?

Dear Annoying Neighbor...

We live in a quiet neighborhood. Now, I don't expect to be able to hear any pins drop, but this is getting old. You have been incessantly working on your "new" vehicle for three days now. I can STILL hear the rod knock from your engine all the way over here, across the street and through the trees, while I sit in my house at my desk. Judging by the looks of it (and the sound), your brand-spankin' new 1983 Ford Econoline van likely died a miserable death sometime in the mid-to-late 90s. Probably sometime around when the exhaust fell off, but I'm just guessing, because it does look as though someone has bubble-gummed it back together at some point in the past eighteen years.

How about we call a spade a spade, and let's stop "collecting" these hunks of junk only to incessantly work on them and then park them in your front yard for sale; only to tell every prospective buyer that you can't seem to get rid of that "tic." However, should you decide to keep at your hobby, why don't you equip yourself with possibly more than a 2 lb sledge hammer, a 3/8" ratchet, and one jackstand, and perhaps you'll get somewhere? I have larger, more efficient tools than that in my pink toolbox.

And if you continue to do nothing but rev your motor to pretend you're really working on this garbage and it continues to backfire any more soot all the way through the trees on to my Cadillac, I will sneak over there in the middle of the morning and put mothballs in your gas tank so perhaps you can walk around it and scratch your head some more. Got it?

Sincerely,
The Mama

p.s. Would wearing pants that fit you be an option? Cause it's got to be cold out there with your ass hanging out. I'm pretty sure my plumber would blush seeing all that.

(Ever wonder why they say eFfing Owners Really Dumb? Seems clear to me.)