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.)

How I know I'm turning into my mother.

We all get to that point in our life, where you cross over. You know what I mean, you go from "I'll never do/say/be that like my mother did" to "OHMYGOD, did I just do/say that?" It's scary. But fear not, we are all now adults, and we've managed to make it this far based on how our parents raised us.

However, lately, I've been noticing more momisms coming out. Observe:

1. My pantry and freezer are full, but I have "no food in the house". You remember that one, right? I couldn't tell you what I have in there (10 cans of various tomatoes, 6 boxes of cereal, 9 boxes of pasta, 11 jars/cans of pasta sauce, 4 freezer bags full of homemade chicken stock, 2 whole chickens, 13 pork chops.... this could go on) I have some that make me more cranky than others, I'll explain.
2. I freak out when I have 2 pounds or less of butter in my freezer. Okay, my mom never did this one–I actually found out this year that you could freeze butter, and all my prayers were answered, angels sang, babies danced, it was an amazing day. Still, I feel like I can't dive into those 2lbs of butter. I'm not sure why I'll need them, I just do. Hey, you never know when you're going to have to whip up some homemade buttercream. (Trust me, do it once, you'll understand.) 
3. I stress over running out of laundry detergent. Now, I've made my own detergent for almost the past year, so running out really doesn't happen. And I don't know why I freak out about it, but I do. Maybe it's because everyone in my family are messy eaters. Crazy? You tell me. 
4. Chocolate. Whenever I'm in the baking aisle, I always fret over whether I have semi-sweet chocolate chips at home. Not that I use them that often, but hey... you never know. As for how this relates to my mother, you can always tell when she has spent too much time in the line waiting for checkout. Her candy stash grows exponentially.
5. I have less patience for other people's kids. I know, most moms are not able to actually come to terms with saying this. But I don't. And honestly, it's not the kids of people I know. It's the kids that are running wild in WalMart, and their parents aren't even trying to make them stop running. We have friends that have 4 (!) girls, and they take them out in public together from time to time, and they are well-behaved. Yes, sometimes one of them is having a bad day or has a melt-down, but that's just the way it is, and you're allowed melt-down passes. But these kids who are chasing each other and knocking into everyone in an already crowded store? I want to run them over with a shopping cart. No one actually wants to go shopping in WalMart, so add this kind of crap, and I just want to scream.
6. If I am buying something with a coupon or for a reduced price, I expect that coupon/price. Otherwise, I don't want it. I'm an avid coupon clipper. I don't use expired coupons, and I adhere to coupon rules. I plan my food shopping based on sales. When I've visited your godforsaken horrific store because you have Lunchables for $.89 and chicken at $.89/lb, I expect to pay those prices. It's simple, right? So when I purchase 15 Lunchables, but am still putting my groceries on the belt and don't see until you're onto other items that my item is ringing $.10 more, don't eff with me because I want them at the advertised price. It's not my problem that they aren't ringing in right. Or that it takes you forever to change them because you have to do it manually. Don't argue with me, and don't refuse to bag my groceries because it's not my fault. And your smug manager who looks like he's a day over 17 can shove it, because if he gives me attitude again, I'll find someone higher than him to bitch to. Market Basket, anyone?
7. Speaking of MB, I cannot stand it when families shop together and bring all 22 children and can't decide on what brand of sliced pre-packaged meat to buy. It's all the same crap from Oscar Meyer anyways, it just looks different. Couldn't one of these 7 adults you've brought with you stay home with all the kidlets? Seriously, is there a need for all of you to pack in your Toyota Camry with covers on the headrests and go grocery shopping? (And would it kill you to take a shower first? Or sometime this week?)
8. If I pay for a service, I expect that service to be provided. If you offer me a 5-year warranty on a large ticket item, and I require service or replacement, I expect to receive it. I once paid for the extended wear warranty on the first couch set the Husband and I purchased together. It was a custom couch, chair and ottoman with our selected fabrics. Within two years, the legs on the couch broke. The padding on the arm fell through the frame. The fabric was worn well before its time. I can't even tell you how frustrating it was to deal with the warranty company. They sent someone out to "look" at the damage first. And he was like, "Wow. You've had this for two years and you don't have kids?" I've seen couches in nightclubs wear better than that piece of garbage. ONE YEAR later, we replaced the couch, because I couldn't battle with the company any longer. I was offered 50% off another custom couch in the store, but we chose not to go that route, for obvious reasons.
9. I will not stand for people talking down to me because I'm a woman. My mom was a very independent woman. She was a woman working in a man's field, and she spoke up when she needed to. She gave 110%, and in return, she expected her employees to follow through on their promises. You promised that car to be painted by tonight? Better be done. She was a very fair boss, but she didn't take the bullshit. She raised me the same way. I don't talk to people in a way that I wouldn't want to be talked to. (See #6) But don't think that you can speak above me based on the situation we are in. If we're looking at a car, don't assume I'm only interested in how it looks. Don't try to play the white knight when I'm purchasing brake fluid in your auto parts store. I know what I'm doing. And when I've read my manual and it tells me what specific kinds to use or not use, don't tell me you think I'm wrong before you've even asked what make/model I'm buying for. And don't assume that I don't know how to drive because I'm a girl. I'll drive a manual transmission vehicle in 4-inch heels and whoop your ass in front of your boys while I apply lipstick. (Not that I wear lipstick, but I keep it for occasions like this). Just keep me away from granite curbs. =)
10. I say the damndest things. Like "did you hear me tell you no?" or "Do you have a hearing problem or a listening problem?" or "Are you out of your mind?" or how about, "what did your father tell you when you asked him?" or the big one, "Boy, don't make me come over there, I'll wash your mouth out!" (well, my mom didn't say "Boy," because, well, she didn't have one.)

What momisms do you say or remember? 

How to donate to the food pantry.

In an economic downturn like the one we're in, it's important to remember that more people than ever are forced to turn to their local food pantry to keep them nourished. Most of these people don't want to be shopping there either, but we are in dire straights right now; don't wait for the mailman to offer to pick up groceries. While I'm saddened by the disaster in Haiti and all the other places we're saving right now, I believe that charity starts at home, so that's where my money goes. I give the pantry whatever I can as often as I can, and not just around holidays. How about right now, when people are paying the highest heating bills? Don't forget summertime, when parents are struggling because kids are out of school and are no longer able to be fed by the reduced lunch program.

Not too long ago, our town had a few food drives sponsored by the Boy Scouts and the Postal Workers. I noticed my neighbors all had some groceries to give—which is good—but to my surprise, they were all loaded with cans of tuna. While I applaud the effort, it's important to remember that some of these people buying at the food pantry are your neighbors, colleagues, church members, and parents of your kids' sports teams. Many of them are spending so much money on saving their houses, that they just don't have the means to supply food, too.

So put yourself in their shoes. You've finally made the decision to suck it up and visit the food pantry. You get there, and there's nothing but cans of tuna fish. These people are struggling, but they want to eat good, too. I'm all for starting in your own pantry, just remember to reach beyond the tuna. How about some rice, or pasta, or instant potatoes? Those items fill you up. Canned tomatoes can be turned into pasta sauce that can feed a family heartily. Peanut butter is full of vitamins and nutrients and can fill the tummy. Think of the items you like to cook, and imagine your next door neighbor is the one in need. Don't forget to look at items like vegetable oil, cake batters and icings, spices, parmesan cheese, things like this that the grocery store will even put on sale for $1.00 each. And who doesn't like to make brownies every now and then? Wouldn't this put a smile on your face?

While most flyers for food drives will ask for non-perishable items, call your food pantry and find out what you can do about perishables. Because let's face it, it's the fresh foods that are the most expensive. Our food pantry is open one night a week for a few hours. Perhaps you can buy a few gallons of milk and bring it right at the opening, this way families can have milk, bread, and even some fresh veggies. And if you happen to work for a grocery store, bagel shop, or some place that may have to throw out food at the end of the day (not eaten, obviously), see what you can do about helping out. Most people that I know don't mind day-old bagels, I'm pretty sure the needy wouldn't mind either. If you've got a garden, call the pantry and find out if you can donate a portion of the 900 zucchini and squash whose plants took over everything else. And if you've got nothing, go grocery shopping and hit up the sales—just keep your receipt for the tax write-off.

Because I must say it, be sure you're not giving canned foods that have expired (it does happen), and generally things you'd want to eat. There's a very slim market of people that enjoy canned beets, and these people have already been through enough. I'd be appalled if I had to visit the food pantry, and all I could come away with were lima beans, tuna, and other people's discards. Wouldn't you?

Lastly, if you're not into people, but want to save the animals, contact your local animal shelter or SPCA and see what they need. I once read a sign that the SPCA needed cat litter (the non-scoopable clay kind), and I went to WalMart and bought 200 lbs of litter. I spent very little money, because that is the cheap kind that's around $7 a bag. The lady at the front desk cried when I told her I needed to know where to back up the truck. Forgo the bird seed, but they always need used towels, newspapers, and food. I knew a lady that worked at the SPCA and I'd bought a 40lb bag of food that my dog wouldn't eat. Because I knew her, she took an open bag, but they don't normally. Always, call and ask. These are mostly volunteers, and they're overcrowded because too many people are struggling to feed their families, they can't also provide for their animals.

Book Review: Eat Pray Love

So, based on everyone's rave reviews on this book, I've decided to check it out from my local library and give it a shot. Since I have more time, I figure I should read more. Sounds easy, right?

Quickly, this book is a memoir where the author chronicles a year in her life. Following a nasty divorce and the breakup of her rebound, Liz sets off to spend a year overseas. Her first four months is in Italy, then to India and finally to Indonesia. You'll have to read it as for why she chose those places, I think that's necessary.

Thing is, I really didn't care for the book itself. I liked the premise behind it, a woman taking control of her life and embarking on new things to try and ultimately find herself. That part, I agree with. I think that anyone that may have this sort of opportunity would be silly not to take it. Because I think you cannot properly love someone else until you love yourself. I realize that there's times where we don't love ourselves all the time, but you have to accept who you are as a person before you can really expect anyone else to. So the basis of the book, I thought was great. I just found the rest rather boring.

Not many people I know would be able to actually leave their life for a year and take off. It just so happened that her publisher pre-paid her for the rights to the book she'd write about it. Which paid off, I guess. Truth be told, I'm still reading it, as she's in Indonesia right now and I'm just bored to tears. I'll try to get through it and perhaps my view will change. Honestly, had my library actually had a copy of Jen Lancaster's latest book Pretty in Plaid, I would have come home with that. Because I feel like a memoir needs to be funny—like Jen's—or incredibly moving, like Montell Williams'.

The worst part for me? Going to Liz's horrific website and seeing such a terrible cut-out picture of her. Who allowed her designer to create this atrocity? And the use of Comic Sans? Someone shake me, I must be having a nightmare.

At least we weren't in public.

Son just came out of the bathroom and said,

"Mom, you're going to have to put the candle on because I'm a big boy now."

Sigh. 

Necessities in Mama's Kitchen

While I know there's a few absolute staples in the kitchen, I'll start basic. Knives. I believe that above even an amazing set of pans, you should start with a good set of knives. By "set," I mean that you really only need 2-3 knives, not that block full of knives sold in every place imaginable. Think I'm crazy? Hang on, this will be a good ride.

My main knife is a 6" Calphalon forged Stainless Chef's knife (purchased from the outlet with a 10% off sticker and on sale, I paid $11.99 for it. And I swear I didn't have to rob anyone or whip out my ghat). It's big enough for most anything, yet small enough that I'm not worried it's getting away from me. I also have a 5" Pampered Chef Utility knife, which is like a small version of my main knife. I bought this one first, but when the Husband started hanging out in the kitchen more, we needed a second knife. I must impart the importance of a forged, weighted, stainless steel knife. Those knives that come in the block, even the $150 set are crap. You'll know just how crappy once you use a real knife. And half of those knives are just filler. Sure, it's nice to have a nice just for boning, but most people don't even know the proper way to use it or how to even bone poultry or fish. And seriously, those are so flimsy that I've felt like the bone is going to win every time I used one. I feel much more confident with a real knife.

I also have a forged stainless paring knife, which I pull out to do things like peek kiwi, but it doesn't come out that often. (It's too damn small and I lose it, really). I recently bought a new bread knife, and I'll get into that one later. And I think that's honestly all you really need.

With these knives, you must care for them. I bought a fine sharpener with mine, so I sharpen it about every 3 times I use it. You probably should sharpen it each time, but seriously, I forget to put on socks some days. And despite what some Calphalon "Knife Gurus" may tell you, have it professionally sharpened about once a year. Yes, the guy at the Calphalon store told me I would "spend hundreds of dollars in sharpening, you should just replace them instead." Well, I wasn't sure what it would cost me to have them sharpened, so I embarked.

Now, I am lucky to live up here in Hockey Country, and not too far from me is Mount Saint Charles Academy. They turn out professional hockey players like Virginia Tech turns out criminals. So to my luck, LeMays Sharpening is a Pop-And-Son operation out of Pop's house. Everyone in the area recommends LeMays, so I entered their address into the navigation and set on my way.

I found the house, tucked away on a quiet street a snowball's throw away from Mount and went in the side door. Where Son was working and sharpened my knife as I waited. I thanked him and paid... wait for it... $3! Yes, THREE DOLLARS! I can't imagine going broke on knife sharpening at $3 a pop. And let me just tell you how S.H.A.R.P. this knife now is. Wow. I thought that $12 was the best I ever spent on a knife, but this $3 is a close second (only since I'd need to purchase it before I sharpen it, right?). If you're local and looking, they sharpen ice skates for $5, but they'll sharpen anything that can be sharpened. HIGHLY recommended.

So, run out and get you a real knife for everyday use in the kitchen. Seriously, it'll make a difference in the way you cook. I think I'm taking mine with me next time I travel to my mom's. Hopefully airport security won't oblige.

Here's the thing.

I talk to myself. I always have. Not in the third person, that would be too weird. I blame it on the fact that I'm an only child, so I talked to myself at a young age to keep me entertained. Only I never grew out of it. Then when I had kids, I used them to "hide" my talking. People didn't raise an eyebrow if I was mumbling to an infant in Target while searching for the right shampoo. But now, the kidlets are getting older, and they don't understand it, so I don't get away with it as much. Though it would be really nice when I make a comment about someone specific when we're shopping at WalMart for my kids not to shout "WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT THAT LADY STANDING OVER THERE, MOMMY?" and then have to explain myself.

Flash forward to being in the car today with the Son. We had some errands to run, and on the way home, I was making a left turn onto Main Street, but two cars were parked right in my line of sight. So I mumbled, "Dangit, I can't see." The Son, who has surprisingly been quiet, without skipping a beat, says to me,

"Well put on your glasses."

Smart kid he is. He makes me laugh every day. (He also makes me curse when he leaves matchbox cars strategically placed around the house so I step on them.)

Life Lessons, this week's edition

I don't think I've done this one since my old blog. But certainly, I've learned a bit here and there. Here's what I can recall:

1. ALWAYS be nervous when you've put the Son's laundry in the washer, and upon walking away keep hearing this noise that makes you say, "What the hell IS that?" And then you open the door and a train falls out.

2. Pot Roast can be good. Especially when the meat only costs $2.45. (I know, I was scared, too).

3. Working from home and keeping chocolate in the house don't go together. Ever.

4. Other people think that "working from home" means "not doing anything."

5. When the lint screen from the dryer is filled with cashmere-like lint, chances are, there's something in there that shouldn't be.

6. When you dry something with even the slightest amount of cashmere in it, expect it to fit nothing larger than a Barbie.

7. When the Husband is walking toward any appliance and utters the words "Can you show me how to work this thing?" It's not going to turn out well.

(Note: these two events did not happen together. Sadly, I can't blame the cashmere incident on anyone else.)

When one door closes...

Another one should open.

Here's the thing.

Deep breath.

I am now unemployed.

And honestly? I'm not scared.

Exhale.

In a nutshell, the company that I worked for was effected by the economy. Some of you may or may not know, that started taking place last year, when my hours were cut. I freaked. I wasn't sure how we'd make things work around here, as we seem to constantly get ourselves over one hurdle only to find another one staring us in the face. Likely taller, harder, and more severe. Which is why the Husband and I refer to Livin' On A Prayer (from Bon Jovi, for those of you that have just crawled out from under a rock and gone directly to AT&T to purchase a CrackBerry) as "our song." I had the inkling that things were not getting better. Turns out, I was right. For the first time ever, I had to leave my job involuntarily.

Now, of course, I am upset. Who wouldn't be? But, I understand why. I've been told over and over that it was purely economical. And I get that. I honestly feel as though they were my family. It was a real family, we laughed, we fought, ultimately, we all worked together to make great things happen. My direct boss and I have a very interesting relationship. We can finish each other's sentences, we bicker, we just "get" each other. The owner referred to us as the old married couple. And some days, it did feel like I work with the Husband. (Minus the attraction.) So how ironic was it to find out upon leaving, that our own individual security codes (a 4-digit number that you choose to work the alarm) were the same? Crazy, right?

Anywho, let's get to the meat of this. I'm not scared. First, I will be continuing to work with them. And if/when they get more clients and work, I will be back. But, the Husband and I have been working toward a goal. A goal that will keep me home with the kidlets more. One that does not require making the equivalent of one car payment per week for childcare. One that keeps us all in a good mood, and easily accessible. Back when I was graduating college, my goal was that by the time I turned 35, I wanted to run my own business. Here I am, partway into the second anniversary of my 29th birthday, and I am working for me.

You know, the Husband and I aren't "financially stable." We never have been. We're just like most of America right now, where sometimes we struggle to make ends meet. Raising two kids isn't cheap. Owning a home isn't cheap. Maintaining two vehicles isn't cheap. Healthcare isn't cheap. Heck, eating isn't cheap, either. But we're going to make this work.

I still have freelance through two viable sources. I just need to add more to my arsenal. And undoubtedly, I have learned the skills over the past nine years in the industry that make me an asset. I know what my talents are. I know where I lack (PLEASE, don't require me to even operate a calculator). And for that, I'm not scared. I'm excited to get the daughter off the bus. I'm excited to hang out with the Son while he's in a stage of growth where I absolutely adore him. (The teenage years? I'm not really looking forward to that). And the Husband is happy that I will be home more. That he won't have to cook dinner every night. Even if we're splitting a can of peas. (Blech!)

There's some really strange things about the timing of this. First, I made my new website live the day I was laid off. Seriously. It's not done, so I'm not sharing yet. Check back later. Second, the Husband had a "Year Ahead" type questionnaire to hand in for work on that same day. One of his 5 goals he had to list? "Put our family in a better place, so I can fully support my wife in her own entrepreneurial venture." Third, well, there is no third. Except that now I have the time to help my mother in her own shenanigans with Basset Hound Rescue. And that really excites me, because she's becoming a very successful writer, and I'm happy to get to be a part of it.

Don't take this the wrong way, because I know there's a lot of people out there that are devastated to not be working. Trust me, I'll still be working. And if I had nothing to fall back on, I'd be up a creek. With no paddle. In a canoe. With two kids that aren't great swimmers. Yeah. But honestly, I'm being positive. 2010 is still going to be a great year for me. It has to be.

Because if I were to only look at the negative, that would be too easy. Like how I have purchased a Cadillac a month before I was jobless. And how the morning I was making my first trip to the unemployment office, I got a flat tire. And then got there too late, they were booked for the entire day. And on my second trip, getting there before opening, learning that I would not be helped that day either. And that the phone service was worse. And then having the neighbor's oil company accidentally put 84 gallons of heating oil into my tank and expecting me to pay the bill. And coming home to not having a working internet connection, thus rendering any sort of freelance work impossible.

It's all positive. Because ultimately, the Cadillac is cheaper than the Saab. Between repairs and everything else, we're not spending more money than we were. And the Brother-In-Law was able to fix my tire for free. And the oil company? Will get their reduced amount of money when we feel like paying them. But we won't run out of heat! I took on the internet and won. And have turned in two books to their respective clients since. And then, I went to the grocery store and found a bunch of yesterday's meat on clearance and have a week's worth of meals for $25. Because now I can get to the grocery store early.

This is my Rocktober, happening in January (note: check out the badge credit). We're halfway there. Bring on 2010!