My monthly miracle

Hey, I'm all for science and far from squeamish, but this is too much even for me.

Faithful readers meet C'elle. C'elle meet PCSguy and T from Pennsylvania.

This nice company has kindly offered to put my menstrual blood in deep freeze until they can determine some future possible use for it. For the low, low price of $499 plus $99 year.

They'd like to remind me that I am not getting any younger.(1) ShallowGal has a limited time AND I QUOTE "to build (my) own personal healthcare and wellness investment portfolio comprised of precious menstrual stem cells."

So to review: it's expensive, unproven and gross. Where do I sign up?

1) Right back atcha C'elle.

Everything I know about politics I learned from my nine year old

Jake ! Get down here and clean up all these birthday cards that you made to celebrate the 16th Amendment. (1)

If I had a nickel every time a mother said that, well, I'd be ten cents richer. (2)

You know, of course, that ShallowGal's eldest is running as a third party candidate (3) for President. ShallowGal was able to sneak a peek at his convention plans:

1. Address issue of global warming
2. Address issue of world hunger
3. Dance-off
4. Talent Show
   

Shh. Don't tell Mike Huckabee.

1) The income tax amendment.
2) Cause I had to say it twice.
3) Given his love of the 16th Amendment, he's certainly not a Libertarian.

Back to our regularly scheduled whine-fest

Like most mothers of three, I'm tired. You know that bone weary exhaustion after pulling an all-nighter or two in college? I wish I could feel that tired. I passed that like seven and a half years ago. I'm only upright courtesy of a gallon of diet coke and high-waisted jeans.

True story: I was stuck in traffic in my minivan (so it had to be between September 2000 and March 2004 as those were the dark days of minivanning) and I could NOT get my back windshield wipers to turn off. I pushed and pulled every flipping knob on that console but still, swish swish swish. I reached into the glove box for the manual which didn't even list rear wipers in the index. Just when I thought I would lose my mind, the car behind me made a right, bringing with it the offending wipers. And it still took me 10 minutes to realize I had been trying to control another car. Minivans don't have rear wipers. Well rested people do not make that mistake.

That's why it pains me to tell you that at the ripe old age of three years and one week, Eli appears to be giving up his nap. ShallowGal's forty-five daily minutes of peace and quiet are numbered. And the company of a toddler who hasn't napped come dinnertime? The Prince of Darkness himself would run and hide.

Oh believe you me, I am taking this one to the mat. Eli has a brand-new (1) race car bed just waiting for him in the garage but even in my sleep deprived little mind I can see what happens the minute he's spring from his cozy little crib cave (2) Total anarchy.

So here's what it comes down to, Eli baby. Blackmail. Either resume napping immediately or prepare to have me pull this picture out when you bring home your first girlfriend.

Yes, I'm bluffing. I'll be pulling this picture out either way.

1) New to him anyway.
2) A crib cave because it has one of those tents on top to keep him in. Sue me.

Suburban Dictionary

1. : Pooping bubbles:

A phrase coined by Eli during his last bout of stomach flu. 'Nuff said? You wish.

"My pooping bubbles."


2. Invoid Showers:

The very important job of sitting at the computer reading other people's blogs while listening to children sing in the shower in the next room (1).

"I'll go invoid showers while you do the dishes."

3. Pink Chicken:

Salmon, or for one very long week in January, ham.

"Eli, have 2 more bites of your pink chicken and you can have a cookie."

4. The time of our lives, anticipation!:


Ala High School Musical 2, the only proper response to a child asking "What time is it?" (2)

"Mommy, what time is it?" "The time of our lives, anticipation!" "Mommy, you are so lame."

5. Too tired to drive:

Had too much wine at Chuck E Cheese (super bowl party, school fundraiser) and don't want to say so in front of the kids.

"PCSguy, can you drive home? I just remembered that I'm too tired to drive."



1) Which is luckily a bathroom.
2) Especially when said child can tell time, has a watch and doesn't have anywhere to be for the next 11 years or so anyway.

Writers strike: the sequel

I really hate to be the one who has to tell you this; ShallowGal's life is not as glamorous as you've been lead to believe.

It's an exciting picture, I know: the cooking and cleaning, the endless laundry, the potty training. And I'm not telling you this to break the illusion, it's simply that I've run out of things to say. ShallowGal has a bad case of writer's block.

Long time friends of ShallowGal won't believe this. There was a time, not too long ago, when ShallowGal could keep up her end of any conversation. But insert three verbally incontinent children and a fairly chatty husband into the picture and ShallowGal becomes mute. Exhausted. Desperate for the quiet.

More than likely it's just a mid-winter funk. Time for PCSguy to sweep his bride away to Tahiti for a few weeks. But those printer cartridges ain't going to sell themselves and then there's the little matter of these three children under ten. ShallowGal will have to find her inspiration closer to home. Loehmann's is close to home. Let's go there.

A little cheetah jacket never hurt anyone. Well except maybe the cheetah.

Thanks for waiting. I am now the proud owner of the cutest little Free People jacket.(1) But no more inspired than before.

ShallowGal must think of something to say, and fast; a half-dozen loyal readers are patiently waiting by their computers. She's going to have to use the oldest trick in the book, the obvious subject fallen back on by blog authors worldwide since Edgar Allen Poe:

An update on her pot holder drawer.

Are you kidding me?

More than two months have passed since we saw ShallowGal tackle this tricky project. Has the drawer remained true to it's intended purpose or has ShallowGal failed to even keep 180 square inches organized? Let's move the top layer and see.

Pictures of this drawer on this blog outnumber the photos of my children 3 to 1.

Not too shabby. The only new additions appear to be some dental floss, a three pack of Weight Watcher's candy and the mystery mousekatool (pictured below too) in a spiffy army-order case.

Four whole readers failed to identify this

And about that. ShallowGal is sorry to tell you this but nobody won that contest. It's a grenade launcher. I'm keeping the Aerosole boots, I mean the crap from the basement all for myself. (2) Maybe it will inspire me.



1) In a size small of all things, if that doesn't de-funk me then all hope is gone.
2) Lolita Travelsalot is so tired of my whining about, and I quote, "some damn orthopedic boots that you wouldn't have worn anyway."

Give Your Heart to a Child

Did you know that ShallowGal and family are a Volunteer Emergency Foster Family? For real! And, seriously, you know that if we can take time out of our busy schedule, it must be way important.

Please visit Give Your Heart to A Child to learn how to volunteer or donate.

Are you smarter than a first grader's mother?

Let's play a little game. ShallowGal just went to a museum, put on entirely by kindergarteners and first graders about the animals of the Arctic and Antarctic. These are two entirely different places with unique animal populations, but you knew that already, right?

Enough with the geography / animal science lesson. Here's the quiz:

Which project had "assistance" from the mom and which one was done entirely by the student?(1)



Project #1:

Orca whales, incidentally, live in the Arctic

Project #2:

Walrus. It's a walrus.

Take your time, and worst case scenario, if you have to guess, you have a 50/ 50 chance. Which child wins today's "Ralph Wiggum Award for the Project done with entirely no parental help?"

"I'm Idaho"

1) The way G-d intended these projects to be done. I like to remind my kids that I already passed the first grade; my diorama days are over.