Last I saw, McDonald's did not give birth.

I do have a post in draft.  A delectable post about actual stuff about me and my fabulous life here in the sweltering suburbs of Kansas City.  Which is why my legions of adoring readers flock to come here, no?  All 3 of you! It is the drama, is it not?  The suspense?  It draws you in, every time.  Although, I would think the fact that I live in Kansas would mute the Titillation Factor somewhat, when all 3 of you still keep clicking over.  Thanks!  I salute you.  

However!  I had to comment on the McDonald's Deep Pockets Lawsuit.  It seems, someone is suing McDonald's  for the unforgivable crime of selling toys that lure kids into its heinous, greasy grasp (Totally Tangential! A fun Huffington post link for you!  Yes, I have been sneered at in the past for reading Huffington Post.  I know, I totally suck! Come to think of it, I seem to remember the same person who sneered at me for reading the Huffington Post had zero issues trucking her herd of progeny into McDonald's. So maybe we have a common ground now?   *Meow*  Where is my ball of yarn and box of sand?)

So!  Kids are getting fat because McDonald's sells toys in its Happy Meals.  Someone get the fucking smelling salts.  Stat.

Yes! I love McDonald's cheeseburgers.  I do.  Seriously.  I like mine plain with no ketchup (the devil's blood!)  Although to be fair, McDonald's are my #2 favorite cheeseburger (Just after Five Guys who do not offer toys.  Those bastards. However, they do offer jalapenos.  Hence, the grand distinction of #1 in Kelli's Universe of Cheeseburgers)  Yes...yes... Team Chaos has had a few cheeseburgers from McDonald's.  There.  I just admitted that out loud, in writing.  Go ahead, pelt me with fresh grains, greens and fruits.  I deserve it.

But! Since we are a No Beef, No Pork Household, I have scant remorse about stuffing my kids with a cheeseburger every now and then. They get a cheeseburger and a cup of water.  And a toy.  And truthfully?  They get far more toys than cheeseburgers.   And that?  Is my particular beef with all this mess.  (Yes, I just used a horrible beefy pun. Get over it.)   Some jerkwad numbnuts wants to blame his porky progeny on the fact that a plastic novelty was included with his kid's Happy Meal.  Ultimately, this asshole is simply ruining it for the rest of us who like to just purchase those trinkets without the benefit of the Happy Meal .

You see, that is the secret, folks:

You do NOT have to purchase a Happy Meal to get the toy.  

It can be purchased separately for usually just $1 a piece.

Tell your friends.  Tell your neighbors.  Shout it from the rooftops.

When we do McDonald's, it runs down like this for my kids:  2 cheeseburgers (no ketchup), 3 cups of water, 2 toys (1 girl toy, 1 boy toy).

The end.  My kids do not need chocolate milk and we have regular milk at home. They do not need the nasty apples soaked in absorbic acid cancerkillingsourbittercrap.  They do not need fries.  They do not need apple juice.  They eat their cheeseburger, they play with their toy. The end.

I have to confess that some of the toys are actually worth purchasing separately - The Madame Alexander Wizard of Oz toys, the Barbie toys, the Polly Pockets.  In fact, we still play with telescopes from the Pirates of the Caribbean promotion in 2006 - the lights still work and the kids were hunting treasure just last week with them.  Arg, matey!

Besides, I am doing my very best to protect them from Kraft Macaroni and Cheese.  A few folks have aptly pointed out that loads of crap food is being marketed to our children - sans toys even, our children still get the message that something might be tasty when they see their favorite cartoon character emblazoned on the packaging of artificially-colored, over-sweetend cereal and "fruit" snacks that contain not an iota of real fruit. 

The world cannot be saved in a day, folks.

Okay.  Rant over. I need to sign off and scrounge up some Drano to clear out Arun and Anjali's arteries. After all, I would like it if they lived to see Kindergarten.

Keep your eye on the prize, Grasshopper.

Ranting. The Diet Version.

If you are a blogger with over a million followers on Twitter? I will hold you to a higher standard when you make blanket accusations towards people - corporations or individuals. If you are Dooce? That standard will even be a little bit higher. You are a professional with an incredible amount of influence. Use your powers for good. (Sidenote: Sundry puts it all in perspective. As a former customer service representative myself, stories like these chap my hide. Look forward to a lengthier writing in the next week or so. Over the years, I have had some incredibly positive experiences in customer service and I believe it is because of the way I approach the PERSON on the other line.)

If you use the word "science" in your blog header? I will be disappointed when you write loose, thinly-veiled posts purporting to be a "discussion" when really, you are only writing it to support something in which you already believe and therefore, do not welcome comments to the contrary. And yes, when I write a tongue-in-cheek, devil's advocate comment, I will be a little pissed when others act like I am a moron because I dared to disagree. And yes, I will be tempted to unsubscribe, but I really do love me a delicious, hypocritical trainwreck.

If you consistently make poor financial choices , then are shocked when you have no money? If you choose to leave a job and put your health insurance at risk? I will begin to lose sympathy for you. Years and years and years of reading and hearing about all of your purchases of expensive goods, vacations home improvements and personal services will not help your case. Listen, X and I live an incredibly risky life because he is an entrepreneur - our health care costs are the definition of insanity. But we make financial choices in line with that lifestyle choice. This is why I do not complain. My insurance does not include maternity, so guess what, folks? We use BIRTH CONTROL. Shocking, yet true. I guess this could circle back up to my paragraph on Financial Choices. And no, this is not about a particular blogger or person - this is about at least ten folks that I can list off immediately who are blaming the economy for their woes, yet have complained about money for as long as I have known or read them. Listen up, your blog documents your lifestyle, why are you shocked when folks judge you harshly?

If you think that X and I are living high on the hog? Think again. Everyone makes certain decisions on how to slice their financial pie. Our decisions and priorities may differ than yours, but that does not mean we are not struggling, too.

That'll do, pig. This ranty, critical imposter is out of topics. What would you love to talk about?

Village Idiots

Little did Hillary Clinton know that by making her It Takes a Village speech and writing a damned book about it, she opened a veritable Pandora's box filled to the brim with unsolicited advice for parents. Or even worse, filled with folks ready to crawl out of their rocks, wagging their fingers in unabashed judgment. Folks who feel required to take action when they see something happening with which they disagree. Regardless if it is a mere difference in opinion and a situation in which truly, it is none of their goddamned business.

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We go to our grocery store about 2-3 times a week. I have been going to this same store for well over 7 years now. We know many of the employees' names and Arun could probably do a fair amount of the shopping himself. He definitely knows the precise location of his precious apples, Diego yogurt, macaroons, and lobsters.

The other day, we went there and I was going to let the kids walk with me. However, the kids wanted the car cart. You know the car cart, right? The cart that tries to pass itself off as a racecar, but only allows you to walk at the speed of a snail loaded up on Valium? Apparently, while I was out of town, the husband let the kids ride in the car cart. I loathe the car cart - it is unwieldy and we were there just to pick up a few items anyway. We were at the very start of the produce section and I turned around to get a regular cart because I quickly realized that Arun was melting into a puddle of furious goo and was not going to walk as long as there was a precious fucking car cart to be had. When I got the cart and went back to the kids, there was a lady standing near the kids.

And I knew where this was going.

Arun was in tears. Because he was not getting to ride in the car cart. Nothing else.

Kind, Misguided Lady: Are these your children?
Bad Mommy: Yes, they are. I was just getting a cart.
Kind, Misguided Lady: Well, he was SCARED. He's crying.
Bad Mommy: Actually, he is upset because he wants to ride in the car cart.
Kind, Misguided Lady: No, he was SCARED.
Bad Mommy: No, seriously. He just wants to ride in the car cart. We come to this store all the time.
Kind, Misguided Lady: Still, it was SCARY.

Sigh.

While it was great that someone was "looking out" for my kids - Really! Even though they needed no Looking Out For Whatsoever - this lady did not back down. All she had to do was laugh and say "okay". Instead, it was as if she had to prove some point to me. No matter that I was near the front entrance of the store.

It's like the folks who walk on the sidewalk IN MY OWN YARD where my children are playing and ask them, quite pointedly, "Where is your mommy?" even though I am in the driveway or in garage. Or the guy who told my husband "Good thing the cops aren't around." because my son was riding his low-center-of-gravity Big Wheel without a helmet. Or the folks who feel the need to discipline my child while I am in earshot.

Listen up. I am not a great parent, nay, I am average, at best. Anyone who reads my blog and hangs out with me on a daily basis knows that my wee site is just a Best of the Best Sampling of Ye Olde Parenting Methods. In Real Life, I have a short fuse and I am a Screamer. Patience is not my virtue and I am not in contention for any Parenting Awards anytime soon. No, make that "ever".

But I am not a bad parent, per se. And I am honestly trying to do best by my children in line with my life goals for them. Which is quite simply that I want them to be independent and not scared to explore their world. I don't want them to clinging to my pant leg or too scared to talk to strangers.

But my biggest problem is this:
Why can we not just assume that parents are just trying to do their very best?

Yes, yes. I read the headlines - Sucky Parents exist everywhere and knows no socio-economic bounds. However! In my own life, I honestly do not know a bad parent. Sure, I do not agree with 100% with everyone's methods, but I know of no abuse situations and I know that everyone in my life is just trying to their own personal best. Nothing that requires interference on my part.

I would just like the same.

Have I told you lately that I love you?

Thank you. Thank you for the comments, emails and texts. Thank you.

I felt immediately better after just posting that bit. Sometimes, it is good to just get it out, take a deep breath and then just keep swimming ....just keep swimming.... just keep swimming......

Estate Sale
So, this past weekend was the estate sale at my great-aunt Peggy's.

It was something else that was weighing heavily on my mind and I am glad it is over. The day was interesting. It was nice to hang out with my family (most of them) and Team Chaos had a blast playing with their distant cousins. It was also interesting to talk to folks who were very curious about the house itself - it has a bit of history since it was the childhood home of J.C. Nichols, a local historical figure here in Kansas City.

A note about possessions: Folks, label your precious possessions, if they have an interesting story or meaning to you. While cleaning out the house, we came across lots of items that either we had no earthly clue what they were or what they meant to my great-aunt.

While it was still a little ooky for me to watch strangers pawing through my great-aunt's things, that is the essence of an estate sale, no? I think overall, it saddened me. And I could not help but think this: regardless of religion or what you may think of the afterlife, in the end, you are gone, baby, gone. And all of your possession are still here for someone else to deal with. Items you believe to be treasures will literally become someone's else junk.

So, in my last post, a few kindly souls pointed out that is my wee site and I want to rant, then I should. Why not? Indeed.

RANTS IN MY PANTS

Neighbors Who Do Not Recycle: My city provides a service whereby for a mere $3/month, they will come to your house to pick up your recyclable materials. I repeat, they will come to your house. I find it difficult to believe that folks in my neighborhood cannot afford a measly $40 a year for curbside recycling. Hello.

Foolish Motorcyclists Who Foolishly Do Not Wear Helmets: This furiously infuriates me with a red hot furious ball of fury. In short, it makes me furious.

Fatheads Who Hide Transfats: Folks who advertise "0 Transfats" on their food products, yet have obviously messed with their serving sizes to make it appear erroneously that their foods contain no transfats when in fact they do, need to be held down and forcibly fed their own damned products until their arteries solidify. Too harsh?

Greedy, Grubbing Relatives Who Grumble Piss Me Off in a Manner Befitting a Queen: Enough said, no?

Mean Moms: I do not like Mean Moms who selfishly refuse to drive mini-vans because mini-vans are no fun to drive even through their kids would probably be more comfortable in a mini-van. I also am irked with Mean Moms who refuse to listen to kiddie music in the car and instead, subject their children to the likes of Coldplay, The Killers, Akon and Nine Inch Nails. I also really despise mean moms who refuse buy their sons a toy snake and instead, let him cry and stomp his feet in the store while his sweet baby sister tries to soothe him. I really cannot stand Mean Moms who try to be hip, cool and ethnic by naming their sweet children with odd-sounding monikers that will haunt them through their school years.

Hey, wait a damned second.

Is this where I run out of questions?

A few weeks back, I received an email from a site called Grandparents.com or something like that, which is why I am not bothering with linkage. It seemed like a nice enough place, from what I saw. They sent me an email asking me about my parents and something about how our relationship has gone since I have had children, etc. I did not end up replying because I really had nothing to report. My mom, dad, and step-mom are all stellar grandparents. They are great with the kids, the kids adore all of them and the grandparents are respectful towards X and I with our parenting decisions. And yes, my Olathe Grandma makes all the typical Worrywort Comments for which she is famous - it seems, invariably my kids are under dressed for whatever the weather, be it July or August (pneumonia knows no season, did you not know?) Nonetheless, she is the first to compliment my sister and me on our parenting skills.

But my aunt? Is not. And she is vocal about it. Granted, our relationship has always been strained, even when I was a little girl, she did not like me (or my sister, for that matter) and she had very, very little to do with us when we visited our grandma. However, since she lives with my grandma, with whom my sister and I are extremely close, our aunt is an unavoidable fixture in our lives.

Overall, this aunt is good with my kids. Sorta. If she was not constantly trying to ply them with cheap toys and junk food, it probably would be okay. But, no. She is relentless in her corn syrupy, trans fat laden culinary assault on my kids (assaults delicately colored in a lovely hue of Red #40, of course.) And the best part, is this: After these nasty, sugary treats, the kids get crazy and............. wait for it.....wait for it...... Yep - you guessed it - my aunt then complains about how wild the kids are.

Okay, all of this bad enough - the fact that my aunt is purposefully giving my kids food that she knows I do not want them to eat. But folks, it gets better - she will ask/show the kids the food first and then pulls the Your Mother Routine by telling the kids, "ask your mother" or "no, your mother won't let you have this". Listen, I do not mind being the bad guy. Ask Arun! Go ahead! He will tell you that I cackle with reckless abandon as I go about denying him his heart's desire.

No, no....the worst part of all about this twisted relationship is when my aunt talks about me when I am in another room. The transgressions are far and wide - they involve under dressing, a lack of socks or footwear or a hat or just general standards of behavior/safety that she and I do not agree upon.

Yesterday, at my great-grandmother's cousin's wife's house, I dropped in at the estate sale to check in on my grandma( she is the executor of this relative's estate and it has been a strain on her, I thought she would love to see the kids.) My aunt was there, foisting crap on my kids again. At one point, when I was in another room, I heard "blah blah their mother blah blah". It did not anger me - frankly, none of this infuriates me. It does annoy me, but I know the score - I am happily married and have two lovely children. My aunt has never been married, never had children. Folks. I let a lot slide by the way side in the name of compassion.

However, in a fit of insomnia last night I realized something. Something that struck me hard and rattled around in my chest. Sure, I may be irked but I am able to brush this off. Whatever, right? On the other hand, she is spewing this verbal trash in front of my children. And therefore, it must stop.

The next time this happens, I am going to very clear and calm about it. I am going to tell her in no uncertain terms that I am teaching my kids to respect her. And I expect the same. From now on, I do not want her talking about me negatively in front of my children.

The end.

Why do the fish not all die when lightning strikes the ocean?

I suspect Dr. Sears has never written about this particular hazard of co-sleeping:

At times, your husband will lose his grip on reality and cave irrevocably to your child's demands. When this happens, you will find yourself sleeping with a big frocking fish tucked in under the covers between you and your child. The most common breed of fish found in these situations is a rainbow trout, but there have been a few undocumented cases of catfish observed co-sleeping in the family bed.

Exhibit A: Big Frocking Fish

Notice the leering child, brimming with unabashed conquest and greed.

Alien Invasion

Not So Average Jane and her husband, waiting anxiously for the Monsters vs. Aliens trailer during the Super Bowl.

A Mouse in the House

I promise we do feed her. That is, if we are in the mood. And only if she is really, really good. Otherwise, yes, we do leave to forage for her damned self.

How did the Twinkie get pregnant?

If you do not know the answer, boy oh boy, have you been missing out. Although, truth be known, I was really more of a Ho Ho kinda gal -- Ding Dings just never quite hit my sweet spot. But a Twinkie? A little piece of hydrogenated sponged heaven.

Where am I going with this?

*DeepBreath*

At the risk of alienating an entire geographic region from this wee site, I must confess that I am not a big fan of TastyKakes. I have tried. Oh my, how I have tried. Furthermore, Mojavi may ban me from her social circle now. But really - TastyKakes? The cakes are a bit dry and the creams are too sweet and not very flavorful. Little Debbie? For reals, that little harpie knows how to do cream fillings. And nothing matches Hostess in terms of moist cakes.

So, in conclusion, I do not like TastyKakes. I give up. I hope Hostess and Little Debbie will allow my wandering eye back into their good graces.

There. I said it.

How much is your sanity worth?

Dude. I went to one of those Just Between the Two of Us Friends and Lovers (or whatever) consignment sales today. For those of you not familiar with this special level of hell reserved for mothers (perhaps, fathers have a better sense of self-preservation?), this is how these things work: A company gathers used baby and kid items from folks, prices them, and then takes a commission off the top (I have heard 40%.) Then, they pack all this crap into a teeny, tiny space so that a single stroller barely fits through, much less a double (which of course, half the folks are pushing). Then, they crank up the heat so that everyone develops a fine sheen of sweat the minute they enter. The best part? They hire like a total of four people to cashier for all this. FOUR.

Dude. These events are complete chaos with frantic bargain hunters pushing themselves through the mayhem. I have been to one of these consignment thingies before, with mixed results. They are such a pain in the ass, but the selections are fairly good, even though the prices are a bit steep (garage sales are The Way To Go for steals.) So, why did I bother going today? I happened to see the signs for it yesterday and it worked out that I could just run by it this morning since it was near to me. I had a doctor's appointment, but I carefully budgeted time to wait in line. After 20 minutes of waiting in line, I knew it wasn't happenin'. I had to chuck all of my selections because I knew I would not make it out in time and there was no point waiting. Argh. What a waste of my time! I was not even going to save that much money, it was just that I liked the outfits I had picked. Bah. I will never attend one of those silly blackholes of my time again. I would much rather peruse garage sales and hunt clearance racks.

Dude. Remember that one time when I wondered if I had plantar fasciitis? The doctor confirmed that yes, plantar fasciitis is probably the root of my current podiatric evil. The other day, I stepped on the lifeless form of Baby Jaguar and holy CRAP, I thought I was going to die. So, the problem has not gotten better and until some certain people in this house learn to pick their shit up, I foresee a certain beloved baby feline will make his way to the Humane Society. Hopefully, a more giving family will adopt him. Oh. My. God. The agony.

Why?

I have decided on what I shall respond with to receiving weird questions or comments such as the one from the last post.

Why?

Because asking a question will require an answer. Maybe that white guy in his early 60s meant something nice, but holy CRAP, he phrased it wrong, wrong, wrong. Asking the simple question "Why?" allows someone to redeem himself/herself and vice versa, allows someone to see how rude they might have come across.

End of story.

X and I have seen a lot of subtle racism over our years together. Folks. This is nothing, let me tell you. These are days when I love and adore my family to teensy-weensy bits because I have never felt it once from them. Not. Once. Ever. But my friends? That is another story. I will never get into that but trust me on this. When a friend does not approve of my "mixed" marriage, I know. I know.

And this is not why I am surprised that McCain is all of a sudden neck n' neck with Obama in the polls. *sigh*

Oh. Speaking of which. I am SO weary of folks bashing McCain for his marriage to Cindy by insinuating something raunchy happened in a bar. I have it on good authority from a family member who was also Military and lived in McCain's neighborhood that he is not the cheating scoundrel the leftist media is trying to depict. Still voting for Obama, but just sayin'.

Okay? On to lighter topics now?

So. I am going to do it. Um. Halloween? Just around the corner. And yes, I am already obsessing over it and resisting whipping out the plastic at every chance. And oh my, OH MY - when Costco is selling a HUGE spider, it is difficult to resist when BOTH children are wildly gesturing towards it with excitement.

I resisted the giant spider, but could not resist this:

Arun found this at Border's the other day and how could I say no? This is such a lovely book with really fun illustrations that are spooky but are not necessarily scary or gruesome. Bonus? It is written in very same cadence as "Goodnight, Moon" which means that it crosses a few other literary genres. However, I will probably designate it as a Fall/Halloween book to keep it super special. I cannot recommend this book enough.

Fun stuff. Halloween is my very favorite holiday. Look for more posts about it around here.

What do you want for Christmas?

Innernets, let it be officially known that I want this:

The Tales of Beedle the Bard, Collector's Edition by J.K. Rowling

Come to me, my precious.

Wait, wrong reference. Whatever. Hubba hubba. ME WANT THIS.

Okay, now that Christmas 2008 is taken care of, let me move on to some scraps of Specifically Random for you......

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While carousing on Amazon, I looked up the Twilight Saga series by Stephenie Meyer. Why do I do this to myself?? Why? Am feeling an overwhelming compulsion to head to Border's immediately after dropping Arun off at school this morning. I suspect, resistance is futile.

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In other news, Blogger is now allowing for email responses to comments. Finally! Folks, you can look forward to that feature coming soon to a blog near you. It has always bothered me that I could not respond personally to comments.

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Finally, a bit of a rant for you. It has been that sort of week with the blogosphere rife with negativity. Might as well get this one out of my system.....

I am SO excited for Leah and Simon that they found out they are having a boy. Truly, having a boy has been so much damned fun. And yes, having a girl has been just as much fun. I always wanted two boys and one girl. While I will not get that 2nd boy, I am so grateful that I have one of each.

However. As the mother of a boy, what I have not enjoyed is the rude comparisons between my boy and my girl.

Everyone knows the word "misogynist", right? It is such an oft-used word these days, it would be difficult not to be familiar with it. Well, how about misandrist, defined as "someone who harbors a basic hatred of men"? As the mother of a boy, it became clear to me how many women out there simply do not care for the male species. It is absolutely shocking to me how many people think it is perfectly acceptable to inform you of all the so-called "bad character traits" of boys. And I have heard some doozies - boys are hellions, boys are aggressive, boys do not like to snuggle, boys do not like books, boys are destructive. I find all those comments not only insulting to my son, but also to my husband and my father, two of the most affectionate men I know.

Am I alone in this? Am I over-sensitive to this?

And if I hear the following quote one more time, it will be too soon:
A son is a son til he gets him a wife,
A daughter is a daughter for the rest of her life.

We have choices, do we not?

In my early years of college, I worked for Sallie Mae - the folks who do student loans. I did collections, skip tracing and customer service. It was a GREAT experience and I learned lessons in how to treat people that still benefit me today. For example, I rarely have issues with customer service because I actually treat CSRs as if they are humans with feelings - imagine that. The experience at Sallie Mae also taught me to be very careful when it came to getting student loans - I learned that it was very important to only take out as much loan as you could actually pay with your starting potential salary when you actually graduate. Notice how I emphasized a few words such as "actually pay" and "starting potential salary"? Meaning, NOT the salary that you will make after being in the work force for several years. After Sallie Mae, I went on to work at KU's Student Financial Aid Office for a few more years. There, I learned, a good financial aid office will help the student determine the amount of loan that could be taken out, according to your potential salary. For example, most liberal arts majors realistically should not be taking out $100,000 worth of student loans.

So, when I came across an article bemoaning the rising cost of education and how student loans costs could haunt the economy, my hackles got risen. So to speak. This section, in particular, pissed me off:

Kristin Cole, 30, who graduated from Michigan State University's law school and lives in Grand Rapids, Mich., owes $150,000 in private and government-backed student loans. Her monthly payment of $660, which consumes a quarter of her take-home pay, is scheduled to jump to $800 in a year or so, confronting her with stark financial choices. "I could never buy a house. I can't travel; I can't do anything," she said. "I feel like a prisoner." A legal aid worker, Cole said she may need to get a job at a law firm, "doing something that I'm not real dedicated to, just for the sake of being able to live."

WTF? She chose to take out those loans and now she is complaining about having to work in a firm, something that she is not "real dedicated to"? If her dream was to be a legal aid worker, she should have rethought the loans. Holy crap, it is not rocket science to figure what a legal aid worker can look forward to in the terms of salary.

Then, there is this story:

Dr. Paul-Henry Zottola, a 35-year-old periodontist in Rocky Hill, Conn., faces paying $1,600 a month on his student loan on top of a $2,300 mortgage payment and $1,500 on the loan he took out to start his practice. His credit record remains solid but he owes more than $300,000 in student loans as he and his wife, Heather, an elementary school administrator, raise two young children. "It would be very easy to feel crushed by it," Zottola said in an interview. "All my income for the next 10 years is spoken for."

I know that getting an education to be a doctor or lawyer is expensive. But in Zottola's case, what did he expect? And besides, he can see an end to the means. Is it not worth the investment of 10 years to put his family towards a better future?

I did take out student loans, I did get a little money from my grandma and I did have a job during college. I did not, however, fulfill my lifelong dream of being an anthropology major or a linguistic major. Nor did I ever feel it was my right to pursue those degrees. I certainly did not dream of being an accountant when I was a little girl, but I did pursue accounting because I knew that I could make a decent living at it. In that vein, I did get a few student loans to ease the financial load and to pursue my master's degree.

Yes, a college education is getting expensive, but we still have choices. Personally, I think we are a lucky bunch of fools here in the US that we even get the opportunity to take a loan to further our education. My India-born husband from a poor family had to study his balls off for a standardized test, sweat out the results and then had to move away from his family where he only got to visit them once every few years. When his mother died, he had not seen her for 2 years. However, if he had not made those sacrifices, he would not be here because a "student loan" was not an option for his family.

So, no. I did not particularly enjoy paying off my loans. In my early years of working post-college, I would cry at the beginning of every month. It was so scary to be alone and trying to make ends meet. Furthermore, it did not help that I had to use my credit card way too much because I had to buy a brand new wardrobe for my Brand New Professional Life. But I did pay it off, little by little. And to this day, I still view the fact that I could even take out a student loan to further my eduction as a privilege. Because it was one.

Why is glaze good enough for donuts, but not for the eyes?

So, I was all set to write a whole rant on the Baby Einstein video scandalous shocker thingie, but seriously - these two gals do such a far more eloquent job of it. Why bother?

Oh, who am I kidding? Of course I'm going to chime in with my 2 Lincolns..........In short, I think it is silly that a parent would depend solely on a video to teach their child. But as an entertainment option? I don't see an issue with it. I've said it once, I'll say it again - it's all about balance. Just as I wouldn't want to see my kid sitting and reading books all day or running around outside all day, I wouldn't really want him to do any ONE activity all day long. He's up for about 11-12 hours a day. A few television programs here and there are just one small part of that day. These past few months have been hard - I was sick for much of them and then after birthin' Anjali, was laid up. So, yes - Arun has watched his fair share of videos. Am I happy about it? No, of course not. But it doesn't mean that we've just always plugged him in the front of the television. Often, I am sitting with him while breastfeeding Anju and narrating the action for him. Or I'm in the kitchen, getting things done and still talking to him. The television doesn't have to be a boob tube.

I should also add that I do appreciate having a video as a reinforcement for things that we are already working on - For example, I really, really liked how Baby Newton fit in when we were working on shapes - Arun's eyes would light up because they were doing the things he already knew, but they were animated and different than what I was drawing myself or pointing out in a book for him. In the same vein, the alphabet and counting segments on Sesame Street are his favorites - sure, we work with numbers and letters on paper and puzzles, but he appreciates watching some dancing numbers, too. And we live in Kansas - if we didn't have the miracle of video, how would my kid ever see a panda or a whale in action rather than just a photo on a page? And finally, when mama needs a little somethin'-somethin' from daddy it's Baby Noah to the rescue. You don't mess with THAT.

Speaking of somethin'-somethin', remember the condom found lurking in a drawer a little too late?? The same one that had we been able to find it on October 16, 2006 our sweet baby girl would not be here? Yeah. That one.

It's been put out of its misery. Poor bastard.

If something "goes without saying," why do people still say it?

The weekend was good. REALLY good. But damn, I'm exhausted..........

Garage Sale
My mom had her garage sale on Saturday. I took a few things and went to help her. I made a little money and left swearing I wouldn't do a garage sale for several more years. Keep in mind, we just had OUR neighborhood garage sale here the end of April, so the whole thing was pretty tiring. As I unloaded some of my stuff, I looked at it and thought "Ah, I should just put this back in the basement and save it for next year's sale. After all, it's already priced!". Then, I found myself pricing even more doo-dads I found laying around the house yesterday. Call me crazy, but I LOVE garage sales. Help me.

Graduation
My brother graduated from high school this weekend and I can't begin to express how incredibly proud I am of him and all of his accomplishments. Everything has been a struggle for him. I don't talk about it much, because it's his story to tell, not mine. In short, he has a language-based pervasive developmental disorder that tested him really fucking close to the spectrum of autism. Regardless, he pushed forward in school, joined sports (even lettering in track and field!) and continuously entered activities despite his fears of failure. Facing your fears? To me, that is the very first step to success.

Anyway, the graduation was held at in Lawrence the University of Kansas Allen Fieldhouse because of the rain (normally, it would have been held at the stadium). It was hot as HELL, but isn't that a rite of passage for ALL graduation ceremonies? Afterwards, we all went to my dad and step-mom's house for a party, which was quite fun. I don't normally get to see my step-mom's side of the family and they are such cool, laid back folks. It was great to hang out with them for awhile and catch up. Arun had a blast and we hardly saw him - he was too busy running wild in the backyard.

A Thousand Splendid Suns? Splendid. Simply Splendid.
I cried a lot over the weekend. And for this, pregnancy hormones cannot be blamed. Nay, the finger is mostly certainly pointed in the direction of Khalid Hosseini for being the sort of writer who grabs you by page 7 and then you find yourself at page 150 before you know it. And then, you're shaking your head that it's already midnight. That's what A Thousand Splendid Suns did to me - made me sob in a few places, cry in some others and overall, lose some sleep. And it was worth every single page of it.

I've been to some of the places in Pakistan he describes - Peshawar, some of the galis in the NWFP and even Murree. His descriptions took me back - all the way to 1994. One of my good friends in college was a Pashtun, to say he was a friend is putting it mildly - our group was like family back then. I knew all of his siblings, his parents from their stays in the US and then did visit them myself while I was in Pakistan. Furthermore, one of our good friends in grad school was an Afghan refugee. Take it from me, Hosseini does an incredible job telling the stories of a complicated people and their tangled histories. If you have any interest at all in the Afghan experience and the highly diverse ethnic groups attempting to co-exist, I highly recommend reading both of his books. At a minimum, it will help you understand why Afghanistan, Iran and Pakistan are ill-defined and underestimated by pretty, pretty lines on a map. Most of us White People don't get it, but maybe authors such as Hosseini will help.

Burn Baby, Burn
Speaking of books, I'm sure many of you have heard, this Kansas City bookseller is burning books to protest people's disinterest in the written word. Sigh. I wonder if it isn't more that people have a disinterest in his bookstore because I smell "promotional scam". Listen, I do frequent Border's and am unapologetic. It's a great place to browse, the prices are reasonable and it's kid-friendly. Sure, I've shopped at Prospero's over the years (both their old location and current location) and frankly, was never super-impressed. Even though they are closer to me, I save all my book trades and used book purchases for the Dusty Bookshelf when I'm in Lawrence - a far, far superior used bookstore. The Dusty Bookshelf is comfortable, cozy and the staff are unfailingly polite (Bonus: They have a store cat who is SO sweet and friendly!) Furthermore, the Dusty Bookshelf has a killer children's section and a hefty percentage of Arun's books have come from there. When hunting for a particular book, I usually try to get it at the Dusty Bookshelf and use Border's as a last resort or for new releases that I can't wait for the tradeback release (such as my recent Khalid Hosseini purchase that I am SO glad I didn't wait for!). Shame on Prospero's for burning perfectly good books. What a waste.

Actually, I'm Guessing that God Hates Hatred Itself
Around these here parts, we have a guy who calls himself a "man of god". I call him Fred Fucking Phelps (Google Juice THAT, Innernets). For those of you fortunate enough to never have heard of Fred Fucking Phelps, he is a so-called religious dude who thinks it's totally! cool! to protest funerals of gay people. Now, don't get me wrong. I love that America grants us the right to protest that which we find repulsive. But where does the line get crossed into harassment? I think it most certainly gets crossed when these God-enabled "geniuses" holding signs with such declarations as "God Hates Fags" and "Freestate Fags" decide that picketing a HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATION is acceptable. All because my brother's high school:
1. had the graduation on KU's campus (KU is known to be a friend to the Gay Man) and
2. my brother's high school has the audacity to have a gay and lesbian student group promoting an alliance with the straight students. You know, to try and foster an environment of tolerance and understanding. Imagine THAT.

My 5 year old nephew was bewildered and frankly, my sister was a lot nicer than I would have been. I will freely tell my kids the ignorance of such folks who think two HUMANS loving each other is despicable. Of course, all of this leads me to wonder - is my own intolerance of intolerance hypocritical?

I Fear for His Linguistic Future
As long as folks think that pulling out in front of me while I am on a major highway going the stated speed limit (70 mph) which then forces me to not only slam on my brakes, but also to veer wildly onto the shoulder, then it is probable that the words "fucking" and "asshole" will be a part of my kid's vocabulary. My kid will also learn some sign language that requires the utilization of his middle finger. As it is, my baby girl will probably end up a total adrenaline junkie unless folks in this area learn how to FUCKING DRIVE. Furthermore, let it be known that the Ridiculous Car and all of its lovely, lovely features shall no longer be mocked. I am thoroughly humbled before the Safety Feature known as "Vehicle Stability Assist".

Wet n' Waddle
Nothing makes a pregnant chick's waddle more pronounced than a full bladder. Nothing.


Snappy Snappage
To make amends for my Ranty Pants and liberal use of expletives, I'm throwing out some Simian Snaps.

The Edge of Reason

Arun had a blast throwing rocks in my dad's horsetank. Yes, you read that correctly. HORSETANK. In a suburban BACKYARD where there are no livestock of any kind. As my younger sister put it "Hey, it was a happening place in its day". Yeah, when she was in THIRD grade. And yes, we totally give my dad crap about it.

Just Wait

Actually, he can get the key in the ignition. God help us.

What's the difference between a novel and a book?

The Bitch is Back
Innernets, I have an announcement...... Monkey is up and swinging again! She's back in all her Pelted Glory regaling us with tales of her sister and BIL (Bunsen and Beaker) and her escapades as a single lawyerly type living in Southern California. Additionally, a new character has been added to her cast of thousands in the shadowy form of Lt. Hightower, a swarthy, ridiculously tall stranger I can't wait to hear more about. Go give her a big smooch! Meap!

A Novel Novel
I’m still really enjoying the Goodreads.com site! I appreciate having a place to keep track of the books I’ve read and the books I’d like to read. I had such a neat, organized list of reads that I was hoping to accomplish before the NewKid arriveth, but per usual, I keep getting sidetracked. Receiving over $100 in Border’s gift certs for my birthday did NOT help. I’m currently reading The Known World and Nurture the Nature (an awesome parenting book that encourages parents to buck all these silly mass parenting trends and just get a feel for your child instead). However, yesterday I read that A Thousand Splendid Suns, Khaled Hosseini’s newest book has been released. The cheapskate in me usually hesitates to run out and buy a new book in hardback (I have my exceptions such as Sue Grafton), but Hosseini is worth it. I INHALED The Kite Runner and am reading equally stellar reviews of his newest. I simply can't wait for a library copy or the release in paperback. So, basically my “to-read” list at Goodreads is definitely an organic one at this point.

Comfortably Numb
At my last OB appointment, my doctor asked if I was interested in considering a natural birth this time – no drugs. {insert high-pitched squeal of maniacal laughter} She wasn’t pushy about it, but I did emphatically tell her that I really enjoyed Arun’s birth AFTER the epidural – it was such a cool, amazing, inspirational experience! Furthermore, I only pushed for 1.5 hours with him. Why mess with a good thing? What I didn’t tell her was my firm opinion that much like a tooth extraction or a Pink Floyd concert, some things are just better with drugs.

Birthin' Babies
While I'm on topic, never fear Gentle Reader, I will not subject you to NewKid's Birth Story. For Arun's birth, I provided an Cliff Note's version devoid of the Ick Factor and I solemnly swear to do the same with NewKid's story. Truthfully, if a blogger posts her own birth story, I skip to the end - I don't like to read them and certainly don't want to write them.

The Chosen One
A few months back, I personally invited a family member to attend a playgroup of mine. I told her about it in person and said that I would include her on the email list of events. I know this family member has been having a hard time staying home full-time with her child and I thought it would be nice to reach out to her. I emailed her, but never heard back from her. I mentioned it to my sister and she said that I would probably have to call her. What the fuck?? Telling her in person and via email wasn't enough??? Um no. I’m going to call bullshit on this one.

Obviously, there are folks out there who have real problems and even real depression. But, I am sick and tired of folks who clearly make bad choices crying foul on their lives. I make many references to my 20s as being incredibly unhappy for me - I probably don't point it out, but I am actually mocking myself when I make such references. Truthfully, much, if not most, of that unhappiness was due to a series of bad choices on my part – poor career decisions, inappropriate financial choices, and crappy relationships that I CHOSE to stay in even when the inevitable path leading to heartbreak was clear. Beginning when I was 29, I made some difficult decisions that in the long-term were better for me. I chose to leave a job that I loved, LOVED because I was being severely underpaid and the company was going down the tubes anyway. By leaving early, I had so many more job choices because I wasn't desperate and unemployed. I was able to raise my salary by over 30k and it was a good thing I left since the company ended up decompressing in the big Dot.Bomb fiasco anyway. I then worked at that job which ate my social life and my soul, but allowed me to get myself into a better financial situation. It was worth the short-term sacrifice. Around that time, I also decided to quit whining about my childhood and to just get over myself already and to MOVE ON. By the time I was 31, my life had done an About Face. Furthermore, if I hadn't conducted a total Attitude Adjustment on myself, the relationship with X would have probably gone nowhere. And hands down, he is one of the brightest spots in my life. I can't imagine what my life would be like without him in it.

So yeah – I had little sympathy for the family member who has done nothing to better her situation by looking into playgroups, going to the library, getting herself out of the house to even just go to a park. I am not happy staying home just because "I'm happy staying home". I enjoy staying home because I took some very specific actions to make sure that I didn't sit around the house and get depressed. I am a homebody and I KNOW that I have a tendency to hole up in my house. I also knew that would be a recipe for disaster so I forced myself to get involved in some activities. And I'm still working on it. For example, yesterday I didn't really feel like going to the zoo, but I forced myself to go. When I got back home, I felt SO rejuvenated by the exercise (which kicked my waddling ass since I have NO lung capacity right now). Also, Arun had a great day the rest of the day because he got out as well.

I am a firm believer that we have more control over our so-called “destiny” than many folks would like to pretend. “Poor me” was a great line of dialogue as delivered by Livia in the Sopranos, but usually doesn’t bear much truth in Real Life. Enough with the “I’m a victim." lines. Make some choices in a new direction and just be happy! I know I sound high n' mighty and dare I say "cynical"? However, I know very few people who have actual bad situations going on in their lives are permanent. Furthermore, the few people I know that do have actual BAD, heartbreaking situations are some of the most positive, Pay It Forward folks I know (food for thought, eh?) It's my firm belief that Happiness is primarily an Action, not a Situation.

What's in my pants?

A few Rancid Rants. It's been awhile.......

Sugar Mama
Clarification - I am being tested for gestational diabetes Monday morning. In truth, my blood sugar merely tested high enough to warrant further testing, but it's not clear yet whether I actually have gestational diabetes. Lest I be accused of being a drama queen, I thought I should mention that - you know?

Love and Logic - It Ain't Just for Kids Anymore.
Over the weekend, I dumped some uncooked rice into Arun's sand and water table for him to play with. So, Arun was playing with the rice outside while X worked on his laptop nearby. As Arun was gleefully showering rice on X, I kept telling X to not allow Arun to do it. However, I didn't make a big deal of it because it's hard enough to discipline a toddler, why start a fight with your spouse over it -- right? However, imagine my unabashed delight when later I spied X desperately trying to pry bits o' rice out of his keyboard. Squee!!

Rice, Rice Baby
Speaking of throwing rice, when Arun is done with his little "experiments", his hair is chock FULL of rice. Which is quite disgusting because the grains look like LICE, not rice. Specifically, obese lice that could use a good stint in Fat Camp. Bleh.

Shuffle Kerfluffle
Apparently, you can wash an iPod Shuffle in the WASHER, then run it through a hot cycle in the DRYER and it will be fine, just fine. Not that my husband left a Shuffle in his running shorts this weekend. He would never do something like THAT.

Blue, Get a Clue!
Quite frankly, Joe is just too hot for the job to even be believable. TOO HOT. When Steve furrows his eyebrows at the camera, you believe him. Joe? Too hot. I can see Joe totally getting snockered at the hottest clubs in LA, trying to play up his "gig on TV" as an actual "paid actor" while trying to score himself a nice piece of tail. Frankly, when Steve does the cabbage patch dance move in the closing song it's sweet. When Joe does the cabbage patch , it's just wrong.

If He Screams, I WILL Scream.
I despise our ice cream truck dude with his stupid clanging bell as he slowly snakes through our neighborhood during nap time. I want to grab the little fucker by his mullet, yank him through the window of his Creepy Paneled Van and just pummel the shit out of him.

I May Just Be a SAHM, But My Husband is a WAHD.
And we're running both of our little empires from our living room couch. Awesome.

Cut me some slack, at least I bought the T-Shirt