Sympathetic movie goer on the annoying side

I love movies, but only if they make me laugh and don't teach me any life lessons. I also don't enjoy chase scenes and action heros are not my thing, unless it's Robert Downey, Jr. A solid, predictable, romantic comedy, completely void of technology, is perfect for me.

My movie style is the exact opposite of Techno Spouse. He never met a chase scene he didn't love. The good news is Techno Spouse and I have a deal. We take turns picking movies and the deal is the non-picker is not allowed to complain.

As luck would have it it was my turn to pick and I picked Morning Glory. Morning Glory stars Rachel McAdams, Harrison Ford and Diane Keaton. The fact that Harrison Ford was in the movie gave Techno Spouse a glimmer of false hope.

We arrived at the theater, got our "senior" tickets, dropped $15 bucks on a vat of popcorn, and headed to our favorite front row seats. As I was scanning fellow movie goers, I noticed a chubby guy wearing a sweater identical to one I have in my closet. Oh well, style is subjective.

The movie started and within the first few minutes the main character, played by McAdams, got her feelings hurt. From directly behind us came a loud, Awwwwwww. A few minutes further into the movie, another minor snub in the direction of McAdams' character and another loud, Awwwwwww. Within the first 30 minutes, McAdams' character had her pout face firmly in place and the entire theater had heard Awwwwwww, at least 6 times.

This went on for the duration of the movie, all 102 minutes. It was one of those situations, where you either let yourself get uber annoyed or you laugh. We choose to laugh. And you guessed it, the guy with the endless Awwwwwww's was wearing my sweater.

Yep, I'm w-a-y behind on my 30 ways to appreciate....I'll get back on track in a day or two. 

12: Compassion Brings New Eyes

My big lesson in compassion came over 30 years ago through a seemingly insignificant conversation with my Mom.  At the time, my Mom was working at J.C. Penney's, juggling a husband and a household with 3 of her 6 kids still at home. I was one of the 3 not still at home.

One day she called me ranting incoherently. I was sure something terrible had happened for her to be so distraught. When she composed herself enough that I could understand what she was ranting about - it was her haircut. That's right - her haircut.

In that moment, I saw my Mom as a regular person for the first time in my life. I was a young adult, but I still viewed my Mom as exempt from the ordinary day-to-day crap of life. A deep sense of compassion came over me. Suddenly, I realized she was coping just like everyone else. She wasn't a superhero after all.

I wasn't disappointed in the realization. I was blessed. I found myself seeing with new eyes. I become less judgmental and felt wide open emotionally.

I didn't make it too far into adulthood with parents. Mom died in 1977, Dad in 1982. I'm thankful for the realization while they were still living. Thanks for the lesson Mom. I love you.

This is #12 of my 30-Ways Challenge. It's definitely stirring up stuff in me. If you don't mind a bit of introspection, consider joining me. 

11: Courage...Put Up or Shut Up

I appreciate my courage.
I appreciate my courage.
I appreciate my courage.
I appreciate my courage.
I appreciate my courage.
I appreciate my courage.
I appreciate my courage.
I appreciate my courage.
I appreciate my courage.
I appreciate my courage.
I appreciate my courage.
I appreciate my courage.

Ok, that's it. I feel more courageous.  The question is, am I courageous enough to publicly admit personal shortcomings? We'll see...

Oops - What day is it?

Last time I checked I was on Day 9, which was girth appreciation day.  I'm not sure how it happened - but suddenly I'm supposed to be on day 13. Since it has become clear my 30 days aren't exactly going as planned - I've decided to rename this challenge the 30 Ways to Appreciate Myself. That way I've taken the guilt factor out, which definitely seemed counterproductive to the overall goal.

So here goes - ways to appreciate myself number 10: attitude.

My attitude is good unless it's not.

I've learned a few things along the line, and one is that a ping-ponging attitude, based on external events, is not a good strategy. For the most part I maintain an optimistic attitude, unless my daughter isn't.

If she is hurting or unhappy in anyway, it sends me ping-ponging. My head knows this is the worst thing I can do. Negativity does not need more energy flowing toward it. (It's a mom thing, not a smart mom thing, but a mom thing.) But as a smart mom, I know that what helps is to hold her in my mind, happy, smiling, full of energy, confidence and love. That's the energy I want to impart.

My attitude lesson is to hold the image of what I want firmly in my mind, regardless of external circumstances. Ping-ponging not allowed. I feel better.

Consider joining me on this 30-Ways Challenge. It feels good and it's guilt-free. How many things can you say that about?

Day 9: Girth day

I started day 9 determined to appreciate my girth, ie. my weight. Since talking to myself worked so well on blue eyes day, I decided to give it a shot while driving to the grocery store. I tried saying, "I appreciate my weight" a few times. It didn't feel right. It felt like I was saying "I like my weight," and that felt like a boldface lie.

Then I remembered what my sister, Mary, told me about affirmations and chocolate chip cookies. It went something like this, "I am thankful and appreciative as I am receiving my perfect body weight." The key word is receiving. It felt a lot better. I was happily repeating this to myself outloud on the drive to Meijer's. Once there, I continued mumbling it to myself as I walked through the cookie aisle.

Then my cell phone rang and it was Mary. She let me know I had the affirmation a bit off, and that my self-appreciation skills were lacking, to say the least. I have to agree with her. I'll try and do better tomorrow. It's attitude day.

This self-appreciation stuff is getting easier, but clearly I have work to do. Consider joining me.

Day 6, 7 & 8: Toes, Ears & Height

This isn't exactly going as planned. In my master plan, on day 6, I should have been appreciating my toes, ingrown nails and all. On day 7 I should have been marveling at the wonder of my ears, ringing and all. And on day 8 I should have been appreciating my lack of shrinking, chronology and all.

Instead it went something like this  - zip, nada, and what was I supposed to be doing again???

Which brings me to day 9 and a dilemma. Should I go back and give my toes, ears and height their due, or skip ahead to today's preassigned topic -- my weight?

Since I am of the female gender, my weight is definitely not something I appreciate. It is also not something I want to focus attention on, my attention or the attention of anyone else. Because I feel a strong resistance, that makes my decision clear. It's appreciate my weight day. I'll let you know how it goes.

Please consider joining me on this journey. I admit to being a less-than-stellar participant myself, but hey, nobody's perfect.

Day 5: Fingers

Day 5 started with an early morning appointment at a coffee shop near the Westfield Shopping Mall. During my 20-minute drive I was trying to muster up some warm fuzzies about my fingers. The best I could do was a brief moment of appreciation for my lack of arthritic joints -- definitely a good thing.  I gave my fingers maybe two to three minutes of attention and then began grousing about the abundance of orange barrels between me and the mall.

I got to the coffee shop, went in, ordered my double shot espresso and handed over my debit card.  That's when I noticed. The middle-aged woman waiting on me had a thumb, an index finger and three stubs where her fingers should have been. Not just one hand was affected, both of her hands were maimed.

What are the odds that on my fingers appreciation day I meet a woman missing her fingers?

Consider joining me on this self-appreciation journey. Click the 30-day challenge above to get started. I have to say, it felt a bit eerie today...

Day 4: Creative Spirit

Day 4 was easy breezy. From the time I was a kid, I've been told I'm creative. It's one of those "truths" about myself I embrace - unlike the truths I ignore.

Spending the day appreciating my creative spirit made me realize the power of labels. "Creative" wasn't exactly the label I was tagged with early in my life. It was "starving artist." It took me well into adulthood to realize starving artist wasn't one word. Eventually, I extracted creative from starving artist and have happily integrated that label into my identity.  Until today, I've never spent much time appreciating my creative spirit. It was good.

What can you appreciate about yourself? Click the 30-day challenge tab above and join me!

Day 3: Blue Eyes...So what

Day 3 was "blue eyes appreciation day." So what? Since day 2 was a total dud, I felt like I needed to jump start day 3. I decided to take my dog to the park. That way I could spend a good half-hour walking the trails while talking to myself - outloud - pretending to be on my cell phone. It went something like this, "I appreciate my blue eyes, oh there's a chipmunk, I appreciate my blue eyes, oops, almost stepped in dog crap, blue eyes, blue sky, poison ivy, there's another neon pink X on an Ash tree, what was that again, oh yea, blue eyes..."

Somehow I managed to yank my ADD brain back on track and for a good share of my walk, I gave thanks - outloud - for my blue eyes. My dog was extra happy since she thought I was talking to her the entire walk. By the time we got home, I was feeling less foolish about this self-appreciation experiment. The surprising part was that for the rest of the day, whenever I needed to surface from a negative vibe, the blue eyes thing sort of helped.

Try it, I dare you...click the 30-Day Challenge tab above...don't make me do this alone...

Day 2 was a DUD

Self-appreciating is not for the wimpy. I would size up day 2 as an all out DUD. As a general rule, it's not good to pick something about yourself to appreciate that requires Advil to get through the day. Feet were my preassigned item for day 2. Dumb choice. I have seriously high arches that are seriously falling. Falling arches are painful and pain made appreciating my feet difficult. Hopefully day 3, blue eyes day, goes better.

If you'd like to give self-appreciation a try, click on the 30-day challenge tab above.

Day 1: Gosh, I have a Great Knee

This is day one, and I admit to feeling a bit silly. My chosen item to appreciate about myself today is my right knee. Sexy, I know. My right knee is significant because thanks to a skilled orthopedic surgeon and an anonymous donor, it actually works the way a knee should work.

I spent better than a quarter century with a "trick" knee. In addition to predicting the weather, my knee routinely "gave out" if I so much as looked at a pea-sized pebble. This condition resulted in numerous less-than-graceful maneuvers and a total void of stylish shoes in my wardrobe - two distressing situations.

When I finally decided to have it fixed, I was shocked to learn the "fix" required a ligament from a cadaver. Once I got over the shock of a "cadaver" part in my body - I had the surgery and voila - no more trick knee.

Until today, I never stopped to appreciate my knee. I also never stopped to appreciate the person whose ligament I received. Thank you...

Click on 30-Day Challenge tab above to find out how you can join me on my 30-day adventure.

Family vacation without the Internet - YIKES!

I am on vacation with my family and for the record -- it's different than being on vacation with the butt sisters. When I'm with the butt sisters I check out of the other roles I play in life...IE. mom, wife, chauffeur, meal planner, ATM, and problem solver. While on vacation with my family I retain ALL my daily roles with the addition of one more -- person who sits around while everyone else is off having fun.

Not that I'm complaining, exactly. I do enjoy time where I can do my own thing, read, write, snooze...the usual vacation stuff. The difference is my "free" time is structured around the needs of everyone else.

I can't sleep in because Techno Spouse has to get to the course in time to "practice" BEFORE his 7:30 a.m. tee time. I can't go back to bed because teen and friend have to be dropped at the bus stop by 9:20. It's necessary they get to Japan asap to consume sickeningly sweet beverages sealed with a glass marble. I still can't go back to bed because maintenance will be showing up any minute to fix the toilet.

The good news is - once I get everyone situated (and the toilet is fixed) I have a couple of hours before it's time to repeat the morning in reverse. I choose to spend my time in the company of complete strangers. Here I sit with a collection of other Internet-deprived folks.

We are in Orlando, and much to my dismay, my travel agent - Techno Spouse - booked us a timeshare WITHOUT wifi in the rooms!!! What was he thinking????

If you had asked me WHO misses the Internet most while on vacation -- my flipant reply would have been teens, of course. My teen can't get through a meal without checking her Facebook - but here I sit with an eclectic mix of adults - not a kid in sight.

Accross the room sits a guy close to 80 with his laptop open. His little-old-lady wife has her own laptop with flower stickers on the cover. Next to them a couple of middle-aged women are furiously typing and laughing. Nearby a guy in business attire is speaking German into his cell while banging his keyboard. He doesn't seem happy. A young mom sits next to me downloading her Disney pics - sleeping baby with Mickey, sleeping baby with Snow White, sleeping baby on It's A Small World ride, sleeping baby on Safari ride in Animal Kindgom ... gotta love sleeping babies... Hot guy just replaced young mom sitting next to me. I immediately sit up straighter (never underestimate the value of good posture). Oh darn - hot girlfriend joins him. I resume my slouch.

Suddenly I realize I am the sole English-only speaker in the room. Hmmm -- I should have paid more attention in French class, or better yet learned Chinese, Japanese or Spanish. Hot guy is busily negotiating some type of business deal on his Blackberry -- seemlessly going between Spanish and English. There are several other languages I don't recognize in the room. I feel like the clueless American.

Clueless or not - I am an American and since I'm on vacation I have plenty of time to watch the Olympics and currently Michael Phelps is making me proud!

Time to go - Techno Spouse needs to be picked up...

When is it okay to be a jerk?

Sometimes I wonder if being nice is worth it. I’ve recently had a couple of opportunities to be a full-scale jerk – justifiably. Remember the concrete guy? I opted for the high road, or maybe the coward’s road – whatever way you look at it.

I could have been a jerk. He deserved it.

But I didn’t.

A couple of days ago I had another opportunity to pull out my inner jerk. Here’s the story…

I was minding my own business cruising along the Ohio Turnpike on my way to Cleveland. My companion, a pregnant co-worker, has to pee a lot. We pulled into a rest area, parked and headed for the facilities.

As we approached the building a herd of teens came barreling out. And I mean barreling. Apparently, we were invisible as they commandeered the sidewalk, pushing through without so much as an “excuse me.”

We shook it off and headed into the bathroom only to find ourselves surrounded by a busload of little old ladies. For the record, otherwise friendly little old ladies get MEAN when they have to pee.

We eventually get a turn and finish our business. We then head back out to the parking lot. I look toward my car and can’t believe what I see – a guy, an adult, placing his two Coke cans ON THE HOOD OF MY CAR!

Are you kidding me???

My inner jerk was right there, ready to blast this guy. But the nice girl in me clicked my remote causing my lights to flash, which gave the moron the heads up. He was busted. He grabbed his Cokes off my car as I approached. I said nothing. Got in my car – slammed my door -- and pulled away.

When I told Techno Spouse the story his inner jerk came raging out with a list of things I could of or should of said or done. What do you think? When is it okay, and even desirable, to bring forth your inner jerk? Am I a wimp or just a nice girl? What would you have done?

Let Them Eat Cake ... Just NOT My Piece

I am not generally motivated by cake. I admit to a veracious sweet tooth when it comes to chocolate chip cookies – but not cake. That is unless the cake is a Bill Knapp’s chocolate-to-die-for birthday cake.

If you’ve never heard of Bill Knapp’s, or never experienced their one and only birthday cake – you have my sympathies. I worked at Bill Knapp’s through college – and yes in case you’re wondering – that was during the first gas crisis.

Bill Knapp’s was known for two things, the first was ham croquets. Ham croquets were a disgusting blob of deep-fried ham spread. The blue hairs couldn’t get enough. The second was the birthday cake.

The birthday cake was FREE if you knew enough to show up on your actual birthday. About 30 people a day showed up with driver’s license in hand claiming their cake. Sadly, Bill Knapp’s tanked and along with it – the famous birthday cake.

Or so I thought.

Last Sunday my sister showed up with an authentic, real deal Bill Knapp’s chocolate cake to celebrate Grandma’s 84th birthday. The cake was the highlight of dinner. Miraculously we managed to have ONE piece left.

One lonely piece.

I casually mentioned the piece to Techno Spouse the next day. He ignored me as usual. Next I observed my daughter pass it up on several occasions. I also observed Grandma (who lives with us) completely ignore the foil wrapped delicacy in the fridge. That tells me – it’s fair game – which of course means – IT’S MINE.

Seems reasonable, right?

On the fourth day of witnessing the complete dismissal of this lonely piece of cake – I took matters into my own hands. Midway through my indulgence, Grandma caught me red-handed eating HER cake. I no sooner licked the plate and Techno Spouse came in from golf looking for HIS cake. While I’m mumbling my explanation to two indignant family members, a third, my daughter, surfaced claiming HER cake.

Busted.

So I ask you, what amount of time is reasonable before an unclaimed, lonely piece of chocolate cake becomes fair game? Do me a favor andd click this link Humor Blogs - I'm sure they've missed me.

Day Starts with Cops at Front Door

For the record, we are a law-abiding family. In fact, the last household member to stand before a judge was my 83-year old mother-in-law. She got busted for speeding.

Here’s the story. A few weeks back Techno Spouse and I decided to invest a big chunk of our daughter’s college fund to spruce up the backyard. We had a concrete patio poured (a stamped concrete patio), and extensive flora and fauna strategically scattered about.

While all this beautification was certainly an event for us – we assumed it was a non-event for the neighbors, especially the neighbors-to-be. We were wrong.

About a week after the patio was poured a stranger knocked on our front door. Techno Spouse and I were at work and my mother-in-law was busy speeding about town. That left sleep-till-noon teenager to answer the door. When she did so, an agitated man mumbling something about concrete greeted her. She gave him her dad’s cell number and went back to bed.

Techno Spouse then got a voice mail accusing him of authorizing dumping on this guy’s lot. Huh?

Being an all round responsible citizen, Techno Spouse called the concrete contractor and relayed the offense. The concrete guy fessed up – he had dumped a wheelbarrow full of concrete in the empty lot. Concrete guy agreed to clean it up. Techno Spouse left irate neighbor-to-be a message and thought it was a mildly amusing, slightly annoying done deal.

That brings us to yesterday. Two squad cars arrived at our home bright and early to investigate a complaint. This time Grandma answered the door. She proceeded to charm the “young men” with her sweet little grandma routine and told them to call her son.

Techno Spouse got another call at work - this time from the police. Apparently, our neighbor-to-be had ACTUALLY CALLED THE POLICE to report a wheelbarrow full of concrete had been dumped on his empty lot. Are you kidding???

Rest assured – the case is solved. The offending concrete has been removed. What can I say -- we are left shaking our heads. Welcome to the neighborhood buddy.

For the record, if my Dad were alive and something this ridiculous happened – he’d be plotting his revenge. If my Mom were alive – her plan would’ve been – kill him with kindness. What do you think?

Poop Stinks - That Means ALL Poop

My daughter accused me of being keester-obsessed. She cited the numerous keester references in my previous posts. Okay, I concede. I seem to have a bit of a preoccupation with keesters. Therefore, I pinky swear not to mention keester once in the following post. Instead I will discuss poop.

I am an animal lover. As an animal lover, I am a dog owner. As a dog owner, I am a pooper-scooper. And as a pooper-scooper I have a question – Why is it that dog owners are expected to be pooper-scoopers, and cat owners are not?

I have nothing against cats, or cat owners, some of my best friends are feline fanatics. This is not about cats. This is about cat poop. The way I see it, poop is poop. And poop is not fun to encounter unexpectedly, whether it comes from a dog or a cat. Granted, cat poop is generally buried in the sandbox or flowerbed while dog poop is left unceremoniously in the middle of the front lawn. But, I say again, poop is poop.

Why is it okay for a cat to spray my bushes and bury surprises in my perennial bed, but, it’s not okay for my dog to leave a pile on an unsuspecting lawn? Dog owners can even be fined for allowing their mutt to crap on public property without cleaning it up pronto. And, there’s no getting out of it with a lame excuse like, “I was only trying to fertilize the grass.” No. Public officials and neighbors alike take dog poop very seriously. But not cat poop. Why is that?

I have a theory. Bodily functions in the four-legged world take on a whole different meaning than our two-legged interpretation. They mean things like, “This is my turf, bozo,” and “Hey sweetie, want to tango?” Cats, by virtue of their genetic link to the king of the jungle, the lion, are operating on the premise that they are somehow superior to other domestic four-leggers (and certainly to neighboring two-leggers) and therefore entitled to whatever turf they feel like marking. Kind of a feline version of “my poop doesn’t stink – but your does.” Dogs, by virtue of their genetic link to wolves, cower accordingly. I can understand where the cats are coming from; they do have an impressive pedigree. But, can it be that society is so intimidated by this jungle link that it can’t dare expect a feline to be poop patrolled?

That’s all I’m suggesting – that cat owners go on poop patrol and become pooper-scoopers just as dog owners are expected to do. I don’t mean to imply that all cat owners let their felines turn neighbor kid’s sand boxes into giant litter boxes, pee-to-death expensive shrubbery, or leave surprises in flowerbeds. And, in all fairness, not all dog owners are responsible pooper-scoopers either. The difference lies in the expectations of ownership. Dog owners are in deep doo-doo if they get caught slacking off on poop patrol, while cat owners can let kitty out without any concern for where kitty takes a crap.

In this age of political correctness it just seems politically correct to make all pet owners doo-doo responsible. And just how can society enforce doo-doo responsibility? I haven’t got a clue. It’s best we leave that up to our ever capable elected officials. Just think, instead of splitting along party lines, they’ll split along pet poop lines. That could lead to an interesting debate.

What do you think? Should all poop be treated equally?

For more funny crap, visit Humor Blogs.

Stupidity Nearly Fries My Keester

Ever have one of those days where you find yourself standing barefoot on a metal stepstool about to unscrew a lit light bulb from a fixture that’s dripping water?

I hope not.

In the vein of Stupidity Reigns Supreme I found myself doing exactly that.

It started innocently enough. I was home alone rounding up dirty towels. (Exciting life, I know.) I went upstairs to retrieve said towels from my daughter’s bathroom. While I was in there I noticed her tub was growing pink fungus. I decided to help her out by spraying it down. I removed the showerhead spray thingie and sprayed down the shower.

So far so good. Then instead of placing the shower spray thingie back IN the tub, I dangled it outside of the tub. At that moment my adult ADD kicked in and I decided if I was washing her towels I might as well wash her sheets too. I left the bathroom and went into her room and stripped the bed.

All of this took about three minutes, but as it turns out three minutes is exactly the amount of time needed to flood the bathroom. Important point here – the water was OFF! Apparently because the showerhead thingie was lower than something (I’m not sure what) it siphoned the water out of Lake Erie.

What the hell?

I cleaned up the bathroom flood and headed downstairs to the laundry room. Here’s where it got scary. I rounded the corner into the kitchen only to be dripped on by water coming from the ceiling, the kitchen light to be exact.

What the hell?

My first thought was how am I going to explain this to Techno Spouse??? In a split second, I decided to do what I always do - hide the evidence. I grabbed the metal stepstool, climbed to the top step, stood on my tiptoes and reached for the lit fixture.

Wait a minute.

Suddenly in the back of my head I remembered something about electricity and water and metal and bare feet not being such a great combo. Oops. I nearly fried my keester.

I jumped off the stepstool, turned off the light and proceeded to clean up the kitchen floor. For the next hour I watched helplessly as the kitchen light continued to drip. By the time Techno Spouse got home there were three additional water spots on the kitchen ceiling – all dripping.

What the hell?

Techno Spouse does not believe the water was off. It was. I swear.

Ever find yourself forced to fess up to something of exceptional stupidity? Please share. It'll make me feel so much better.

Keesters Bring Butt Sisters Together

It seems I have an annoying habit – butt watching. I don’t mean sizing up a tight tush of the opposite sex, although I’ll admit to an occasional glance. I mean literally sizing up the butts I encounter in the course of my day.

The point of this exercise is to determine whose butt is bigger – theirs or mine? The obvious goal is to discover as many butts as possible that are bigger than mine. It’s a good day if the butt ratio is 3 to 1 in my favor, excluding pregnant women and anyone walking around with a wedgie. I figure if a person walks around with a wedgie, how their keester looks to the rest of the world is obviously not a big concern.

I haven’t always been so interested in butts. My interest in keesters has grown in direct proportion to my own keester. It seems the broader my beam has gotten, the more interested I am in the width of neighboring beams. It’s a misery loves company kind of thing.

In the misery loves company category I lucked out. I have 3 sisters, each of which are obsessed with the size of their keester. Believe it or not, we’ve not discussed butt watching – but I’m guessing they enjoy spotting a derriere larger than their own as much as I do. What woman doesn’t?

Recently the Butt Sisters, er rather, my sisters and I went on a sisters-only trip. One sister (the one with the smallest butt) is obsessed with getting our keesters trimmed down to size. She knows none of us are willing to commit time to keester reduction. Her solution, Greer Childers’ Shapely Secrets. Greer is an old broad with the face any plastic surgeon would gloat over. But more importantly, her keester looks good. Greer has a 7-minute program – that’s right, a mere 7 minutes -- guaranteed to produce the tight tush of your dreams.

The catch is --it only works if you actually DO it. There’s always a catch.

My sisters balked at a keester shot, so the trolls will have to do. Do you have any keester-shrinking tips you'd like to share? I won't be happy until my butt (and cleavage) look like the Girl's Gone Wild mistress of Govenor Spitzer. Check her out at Prefers Her Fantasy Life.

Flashback Friday: Should mom teach crap?

I’m a mom, and generally speaking that means I abide by the shoulds of motherhood. But I have to wonder, are all shoulds created equal, or are the shoulds of social graces the biggies? This is the story of how my daughter pushed the shoulds of polite little girls. She was about 7 when this happened.

“Mom, I need a bad word,” she announced with hands on her hips.

“And why is that?” I asked.

“For the same reason you need bad words.”

Oops, she got me there.

“And what bad word did you have in mind?”

“Crap,” she said. “I want to say crap without getting into trouble.”

“And when do you plan on saying crap?” I asked, maintaining my mandatory motherly resistance.

“Duh – when I need a bad word, of course,” she answered.

Reluctantly, I agreed. “You can say crap – occasionally – providing you never use it to describe another person, no crapheads or full of crap allowed.”

“Deal,” she said and skipped off feeling a little more grown-up. I felt a little less grown-up. What kind of a mom tells her little girl she can say crap? This kind, I guess.

For the next few weeks I endured the disapproving glances of moms with a better grip on the shoulds of parenting. One afternoon I counted the number of “craps” coming from the backyard. Well into double-digits, I realized it was time to renegotiate this crap. I put out a cease-and-desist order and once more tried to explain the how-and-when of bad words, with heavy emphasis on the when.

We arrived at a “crap” agreement: no crap from either of us, unless it’s absolutely the only word that captures the moment. With crap agreement in tow we tried again. To this day, the majority of crap violations are mine. I should know better.

Parents out there, are you helping your kids use bad words properly? If not, should you be? Got a minute, visit my blogging buddy Meg. I have faith she's instilling all the proper shoulds in her kids.

Fact or Fiction: Vegetable Day Shrinks Keester

I’m hungry -- so is Techno Spouse. I don’t feel bad for him though, since it’s his fault I’m in desperate need of a Vito’s chicken ranch pizza, pan crust with garlic butter. In our household there is a long-standing tradition. Saturday is Vito’s day -- but not this Saturday. This Saturday we are dining on vegetables. That’s it. Not vegetables and (fill in the blank), just vegetables.

The reason for this drastic change in our culinary routine is because Techno Spouse visited the Doc, the very same Doc that diagnosed my injured dumbass, er rather dermas. (see Naked Keester Causes Treadmill Incident below).

Techno Spouse has a tendency to clog up his arteries. He swears this happens because of heredity. The Doc thinks it happens because he eats too much of the wrong kind of junk food. Doc strongly advised he drop a few pounds and recommended Marie Osmond’s miracle diet.

One thing you should know about Techno Spouse, he is all about spending the big bucks on technology, gadgets and golf crap. But when it comes to spending several hundred dollars on shriveled up entrees, he’s not buying.

Which brings us to vegetable day. Techno Spouse, being Techno Spouse found the ultimate diet plan on the Internet. He assures me if I eat my vegetables, with minimal whining, I will lose 30 pounds by Monday. Just kidding – but if I’m not a petite size 2 by morning, I’m calling Vito’s.

Help! My willpower is fading. Any tips on shrinking my keester? I really want to be a petite size 2 at least once in my life and soon.