Her real name rhymes with ... nothing I can think of

Joseph has a new girl in his class. He kind of loves her.

The day before she came to the class he told us excitedly over dinner "We're getting a new girl in our class and her name is Sunshine*. I wonder what she'll look like and if she's nice and if she'll want to talk to me."

Before he even met her he was hooked. He had a hard time falling asleep that night because he kept thinking of more and more things he wondered about Sunshine.

The next day was very exciting for Joseph. Not only did Sunshine come to school but she was assigned a seat at his table! This child who NEVER talks about school or what happens there was suddenly full of stories. Stories all about Sunshine. What she wore, what color her hair was, how she was shy, how he wrote her a welcome note and left it on her desk. He just went on and on. The best part was when he told me "I want to tell you everything I know about Sunshine. She has whiteish, yellowish hair and she sometimes wears a pink coat and she has a water bottle that says Pure Life on it."

A couple of days ago I was telling someone this story and Joseph overheard me. "What!?" he asked indignantly. "I like to look at her because she's nice!"

I hope she is nice because Joseph is totally smitten and he doesn't know how to hide it.

*Not her real name but her real name is a just as hippy-dippy.

Three years ago today Joseph tried to be polite.
Four years ago today I read too much Dick and Jane.

Shhhh! It's a secret!

I've discovered that a funny thing happens why you lose your voice. When you whisper to people, they whisper back to you. Even if the thing you whisper to them is "I've lost my voice."

"Oh no!" they whisper back.

People, it's not Everything Is A Secret Day. I've just lost my voice. YOU can still talk.

Anyway. You know what makes me smile? Youtube. I mean, not everything on youtube because most of it is stupid and pointless but there are a few gems out there that make me smile no matter how many times I've seen them. My favorites are:

The wedding dance video. I know, I know. Everyone has seen this a million times but I have to share it. I love seeing people happy and having a good time and everyone in this video just looks so into the whole thing. I cry when the bride comes out.


Susan Boyle on Britain's Got Talent. Remember when this woman shocked the world by being able to sing despite being overweight, middle aged and a little bit frumpy? I do because I watch this video all the time. Watch Simon fall in love at 1:27.


Baby laughing at Wii Golf. Baby laughter is good for the soul.


Evolution of Dance. It's funny and I sort of dance along in my seat when I watch this.


Evolution of Dance wedding video. I love this couple's take on the previous video. And what a story this couple will have to tell their grandchildren someday. "You see Sally, grandma and I used our first dance as a married couple to pay tribute to a video some random had posted on youtube."


Joseph sings Jackson. The best youtube video ever.

I like you so much that I would read a bad book for you

Remember how I am on a quest to meet new people? And how sometimes it goes terribly, horribly wrong? Yeah, I remember that.

Well, I don't give up easily so a few weeks ago I went to a book club meeting. And guess what. It didn't suck! It was fun and the people in it were normal. Well, there was this one lady who would not SHUT UP about her back surgery but there's one in every group* so I can't really complain.

The best part was that I met someone. And she was nice and funny and interesting and she smelled like lavender. And the more I talk about her the more it sounds like I want to date her.

Now I have to make the plunge and ask her next week if she would like to exchange phone numbers and maybe get together for coffee or something some time. I'm not really nervous about it because we got along well last time and ended up chatting for half an hour after the book club had ended so I don't think it will be too weird.

My only problem now is that in order to see this person again I have to read the books that the book club picks. The books. Oh god, they're awful. This month's book is so horrible that I actually feel resentful every time I pick it up. I have over half of the book left and I'm having to force myself to slog through it. It makes me so angry that every few pages I find myself thinking "Oh forget it! I'll just stop reading it and skip out on this stupid book club!"

But then I remember this nice person I'm trying to get to know and I remember how she funny she was and how she smelled like lavender and I keep pressing on. I know that sounds stalkerish and but she laughed at my jokes so I kind of don't care how creepy I'm coming off here.

I guess I should get back to it. I have 237 pages of total crap to get read before next week. Sigh. Wish me luck.

*Really, there is one in every group. If you're ever in a group and you think there isn't at least one weirdo? It's because you're the weirdo. I'm sorry to break it to you but speaking as a person who has played the part of the weirdo many times, I know of that which I speak.

Barbie girl

I played with Barbies for a lot longer than I care to admit. I found it soothing to dress them, brush their hair and line them up alphabetically according to the names that I had given them. I hesitate to say how old I was when I put my Barbies away for the last time. I consoled myself with the thought that someday I would have a little girl of my own to play Barbies with.

Elle got her first Barbie when she was less than a day old. It was a present from one of my best friends, a fellow Barbie lover. She got her next Barbie a couple of months later as a Christmas present from her grandparents. In her four years on this planet she has managed to collect nearly 30 Barbie dolls. Many of them are hand-me-downs from me. She has inherited my private stash of "just for show" Barbies. Dolls I thought were too pretty or special to play with. Now they are a part of jumble of arms and legs and frizzy hair that covers the floor around Elle's dollhouse.

And what a dollhouse it is. It too is a hand-me-down. It was built by my grandpa, uncle and dad as a present for two of my cousins. Nearly 20 years later my parents took it and gave it a little tlc. It got new carpets, paint, shingles, hardwood floors and hand made furniture. Elle got it as a present for her 4th birthday and she's played with it every day since then.

Every time she asks me "Mama, will you play Barbies with me?" I have to smile. I smile even though playing Barbies with a four year old ranks among the most boring activities you can imagine.

I smile because Elle has given her Barbies names like Ruth, Christina, Lucy, Clicky, Ariel Teenager and Shooty. I smile because I remember what a treat it was when my mom would play Barbies with me. I smile because sometimes Joseph will join in with us and it never occurs to him that nine year old boys don't play with Barbies. I smile because I know how how Elle will scream with laughter when I make a Barbie fall out of bed or run into a wall. Even if I've done it 100 times already.

I smile because I have an excuse to play Barbies again.

Three years ago today Joseph defended me.

Why would you even tell me that?

I've noticed something odd lately. While most people I know are supportive of me being a surrogate some of them are not shy about telling me about people they know who don't think it's such a great idea.

In the past few months I've had several people tell me things like:

"My neighbor doesn't understand how you can use your body that way. She thinks it's just like being a prostitute."
"My co-worker's sister thinks it's wrong to get paid for what you're doing. She thinks you're doing this for the wrong reason.
"My brother-in-law said he thinks you're damaging your kids by doing this."
"My friend doesn't understand how your husband can let you do something like this."
"My uncle's girlfriend thinks what you're doing is really unnatural."

You know, it's not that it bothers me that someone's friend's uncle's co-worker thinks I'm a baby selling whore who's psychologically scarring my children but come one! Why would you tell me that stuff? What reaction do you want from me?

Want me to acknowledge that not everyone approves of what I do? I get that, I do.

Want me to smile politely as you insult my life choices by proxy? Sorry, I'm not that passive.

Want me to say something nasty in return? Maybe say your neighbor can suck it? Sorry, I'm not that aggressive.

Want me to think that you've got your own unkind thoughts about my choices but you want to blame some anonymous person for your opinion rather than claim it as your own? Because that's pretty much where I'm at.

I don't look for or expect unanimous approval for what I do. I know I'll never get that. But is it too much to ask that I not have to hear about the disapproval of people I don't even know?

Two years ago today Elle wanted an itchy potty.
Three years ago today Joseph saw a commercial for an ED medication.

Private parts

When Joseph was little he was, as most little boys are, fascinated with what he had going on in his pants. He wasn't shy about it either. To solve this we intoduced him to the concept of "private parts". We told him those were his private parts and if he wanted to touch them he could do it when he was alone because it polite to do it in front of other people. We also used it as a "bad touch" teaching moment. He shouldn't be showing his to anyone, no one should be showing him theirs. It was a good, simple, concrete concept that really seemed to work for Joseph.

It worked so well in fact that I decided to have the same conversation with Elle recently. She seemed to take it to heart too.

Maybe too much so.

Yesterday Elle and I ran to the grocery store to pick up a couple of things. She kept trying to run away from me and dart into different aisles. That's very unlike her since she's usually glued to my side begging me to buy her stuff when we grow grocery shopping. At one point I was at the end of an aisle and she way way at the other end. We treated the two older ladies between us to this conversation.

Me: Elle, come back over by me.
Elle: I can't! I have to go to the next aisle!
Me? Why baby?
Elle: Because I have to touch my privates and I need to be alone to do it!

Turns out the poor kid had an itch to scratch and she was trying desperately to find somewhere she could be alone and take care of it.

Sigh.

At least I know she's listening to me.

I hope it's in the shape of a horsie!

A couple of weeks ago I took Joseph to the eye doctor because he was complaining about "floaties". Turns out he has the tiny problem most commonly know as Terrible Eyesight. The poor kid has been going around half blind and I didn't even know it.

Yesterday Joseph had an evaluation with a physical therapist because I notices his ankles were starting to turn down. After watching him run around the gym for a while the therapist recommended ankles braces and twice a week physical therapy.

In the span of two weeks the kid has gained glasses, braces and a standing therapy appointment.

I think next week I'll take Joseph for a social assessment where they'll determine that he's fitting in too well and recommend that he gets a farm animal shaped birthmark tattooed on his face.

One year ago today I loved Obama.
Two years ago I asked people to pray.
Three years ago today I nursed Elle for the last time.
Four years ago today I was having a bad day.

You noticed me! You really noticed me!

Oh! I didn't see you there at first. I've been so busy "sorting" Halloween candy for the last two days that I've hardly had time to think about this blog, much less it's readership. So you'll understand my surprise when I checked my stats and discovered a rather large and glorious upswing in my page views. Specifically, it went from "none" to "some".

I've had these odd blips before and I know it doesn't lead to lead to sustained, long-term readers but I thought I would throw out this offer anyway: If you come back I can promise you lots of stories about boobs and poop and having babies for gay men. And I'm sure my long time readers (hi Jean!) will vouch for and tell you that I can occasionally be amusing or interesting. I'm like a car wreck where the cars are driven by clowns. You can't look away and you feel a little bad for laughing but come on, it's clowns in a car wreck! There are giant floppy shoes all over the highway.

Ok, I lied. I'm nothing like a clown car wreck. I'm more like a housewife who's trying to avoid her domestic responsibilities. Doesn't that sound fun?

Oh well. It was nice while it lasted.

One year ago today I had issues with the neighborhood vagabond.
Four years ago today Elle had her first real bath.