It's My Crappy Mommy Pony Tail, Isn't It?

As soon as Katie is tucked protestingly in her bed with six books, eight stuffed animals, three blankets and one huge Raggedy Anne House (read huge cardboard box here) I get to sit down, fold clothes (again) and watch GLEE! Because, yes, underneath the squishy post baby tummy*, crappy Mommy pony tail and socks with sandals (when did I loose my coolness? Oh, that's right, I'm the one who was selling Girl Scout cookies door to door my senior year of high school.... If there's any justice in the universe I will be THE BOMB** when I'm 60.) I'm just an insecure, mumbling, butt cheeks clenching high school girl with a crappy Mommy pony tail (some things never change).

Now, I know what you're all thinking, (because I'm psychic. No, I'm not. Gosh, being cool is hard!) you missed it! The show aired last night! But, ahhhhh, here is where marrying a computer geek comes in handy (take note girls, someday you too could have a husband like mine) I watch it on HULU. Plus, we don't actually have a TV, or cable, or a remote control... just a computer with a keyboard and a 23" wide screen monitor. (Are you giggling?) Oh ye-ah, we're digital! Riding the crest of the wave of what's coming soon to a living room near you- in the next 5-10 years, according to an article I read in Reader's Digest. ( I'd link to the article but apparently they're not as technologically advanced as, well, Jon.) The guy that wrote the article actually said that the next step would be to have TV streamed directly to our retina or something, which made me think of Feed by M.T. Anderson, and then Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury and of course the classic 1984 by George Orwell, which made me realize that this TOTALLY supports my uni-bomberisk theories on technology and I gleefully did my uni-bomber dance and sang my little uni-bomber song, which I'd sing for you but I'm trying to exhibit some form of coolness here people! But THEN I realized that I was perpetuating the evil by allowing my uber-nerdy husband to get rid of the TV and install this networked-Linux-Hulu-computer thing in OUR LIVING ROOM! Oh the irony of- Never mind, Katie is all tucked in, TIME FOR GLEE!


*Dude, two or 22, it's still post baby tummy! Can I get a bikini that says this?
** This isn't helping my chances is it?

Do These Words Make My Post Look Lame?

I've been hopped up on Sudefed for the last week or so. I'm blaming the kids at Sunday School because obviously I didn't get it from the toddler and her lack of hand washing skills. I'm telling you all this for two reasons 1) I was in no fit state to post anything 2) I posted something. I'd delete my lame "toe food" joke, but, maybe if I leave it there you all will feel an overwhelming desire tell me how much lamer this post is:

I painted the gate we had a friend put up to block our front steps to our deck last week. We had the gate put in about 2 months ago or so but didn't have the guy paint it. So, last week I thought I'd take advantage of the dry sunny weather and paint it myself, plus the steps and a couple boards he replaced on the deck. Now, remember, these things have been NAKED for over 2 months, also the gate is the FIRST thing you see when coming in from the car, and Jon didn't notice AT ALL! The thing was brown/naked wood color when he left for work and when he walked up the steps and OPENED IT after work, it was green. This went on for three days. Yep. Three days of walking out the front door and opening the gate and three days of walking up the steps and closing the newly painted gate. THREE DAYS PEOPLE!

I mentioned once that my husband had a strange inability to remember what color shirt he puts on each morning. I also should mention that I typically hide freshly made chocolate chip cookies ON THE COUNTER, he can never remember how old he is (he spent his whole 27th year of life insisting he was 30), and he failed to notice his CAR was missing for two whole days*. Unobservant? Yeah, you could say so.

Of course, I'm not complaining about his lack of basic observation skills. They've been too good to me. They've netted me a load of chocolate chip cookies AND the added bonus of being able to mess with his head at will.


*Less, "Dude, Where's My Car?" and more "Semantics for Imperative Programs" (Yeah, I don't know what that is either....)

Tofu Muffin Anyone?

My name is Martha, and I'm a vegetarian. Maybe you already figured it out with the pea soup or the nutritional yeast or the tang bean dip or the tofu muffins.... But I thought it was time to come clean. Full disclosure and all that.*

"Aw, crud," you're thinking. "She's a vegetarian. Now she's gonna get all PETA on me and show up at my house on Halloween wearing that Ronald McDonald McCruelty mask and freak my kids out."

Nah. I won't. I just needed a little context for for my story.

So, now that you know...I have to tell you something Katie said today!

"Mama, I like toe food."

Toe food. Tofu. Get it! WOOooo...(wipe away tears of laughter)...toe food...


* When I was six I stole a plastic flower.

I Need Rock Band Like I Need...

I don't like video games. I never have and I'm betting like a guy named Mr. Betmorethanyou at a greyhound track that I never will. I played Pac Man once-wait no, that was Ms. Pac Man-she's the one with the little bow on her head right? Yeah! I played Ms. Pac Man once at Pistol Pete's Pizza*. However, once I realized that after being killed by a dozen different ghosts (and evading none) that I received not a single ticket for my pathetic efforts I went back to skee ball and never looked back again.**

That is, until last weekend and the Rock Band party I was invited (read dragged) to. While I admit I rocked the vocals on Bikini Kill's "Rebel Girl" it was really my bass skills on Steve Miller's "Rockin' Me" that I really felt I nailed it. Low slung guitar? Check. Head nod to the beat? Check. Hair in my face? Check. Most notes hit? Check. Basically I ROCKED! But did I get a single ticket to be used on cheap plastic toys? NooooooOOoooo! Instead I was immediately shuffled over to the drums for The Go-Go's "We Got The Beat". Seriously, if God had wanted me to use my hands and feet at the same time he would have given me an extra brain in my butt.




You know, like the Stegosaurus.






*Which, sometime after I left the Phoenix valley was sold to Peter Piper Pizza. Coincidence? I think not.

** Hey man, I got some AWESOME toys with those tickets! Like that plastic baton with sparkly rainbow ribbons on the end that all, um, fell...off. But I was the height of cool for at least five days!save

Welcome To Dinner At My House

Once upon a time there was a mashed potato on Katie's plate. It said, "EAT ME!"

Take another bite. I'll tell you a story.

Once upon a time there was a mashed potato on Katie's plate. It said, "EAT ME!"and Katie did.

Take another bite. I'll tell you a story.

Once upon a time there was a mashed potato on Katie's plate. It said, "EAT ME!" and Katie did. The mashed potato said, "Thank you! Take another bite!"

Take another bite. I'll tell you a story.

Once upon a time there was a mashed potato on Katie's plate. It said, "EAT ME!" and Katie did. The mashed potato said, "Thank you! Take another bite!" and Katie did. The mashed potato said, "Thank you!"

Take another bite. I'll tell you a story.

Once upon a time there was a mashed potato on Katie's plate. It said, "EAT ME!" and Katie did. The mashed potato said, "Thank you! Take another bite!" and Katie did. The mashed potato said, "Thank you!" Katie's stomach went, "Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle, YUM!"

Take another bite. I'll tell you a NEW story.

Once upon a time there was a veggie loaf on Katie's plate. It said, "EAT ME!"....*

But the lettuce? The BOILED CABBAGE? Went over better than a naked mohawk baby carrot jockey at a Cake Wrecks book signing.


*If you think this is hilarious you ought to hear my holiday material! "Once upon a time there was a dinner roll on Katie's plate. Baby Jesus said, "EAT THE DINNER ROLL!"

Wouldn't A Flyswatter Be Easier?

My kitchen has been infested. Stupid little teeny tiny baby flies swirling around my sink, my compost bucket, my pile of dirty dishes, my COFFEE-and everyone knows you don't touch Mommy's coffee!*

I think they came over with the tomatoes from the nice old couple across the way-you know the ones in the white house with the picket fence and the GORGEOUS tomatoes.** I spent a week watching the guy tottle around fixing their fence. You don't care, and I know you don't care BUT I thought it was so cute, especially if you imagine him with a bow tie. Of course he's probably an ex-SEAL or something (did they have SEALS in WWII?) and knows like 12 different ways to kill me-but really, a bow tie would look so cute on him!

However, I digress, and those tiny flies are cloning themselves by the second, so, excuse me, I have to find my chopsticks.


*Seriously. Try it sometime. I dare you. (she said in a deep menacing voice)
**Because obviously they weren't attracted by my pit of a kitchen. My motto is, if you can't tell if the floor has been mopped, then why even bother.

Faster Than A Ten Year Old

I totally ROCKED my age group at my triathlon this weekend! Blew everyone out of the water!! (Not literally, as the guy doing the breast stroke in board shorts passed me. Again.*) I smoked everyone by at least 11 minutes overall! Say it with me: MARTHA ROCKS! Louder: MARTHA ROCKS!! One more time: MARTHA ROCKS!!!

Now, the sad news. I was robbed. Wronged. Ejected from the winners circle. Ostracized because of my age. Why? (sniff, sniff) Because (wipe away a single brave tear) because someone wrote down on my entry form that I was born in 2009.** Sad day....

However, just because I can't legally race in the 0-14 female age group, I CAN post race party like one!



That's right! All the curly fries I can eat, a chocolate shake and some random bonus hash browns Arby's threw in!

Two minutes later I'm headed for the bathroom. Proving, I can still race with the pre-teens but I can't down the chemically processed potatoes and vaguely chocolate shakes like one anymore.


*Why is there one in EVERY tri I do??
**It was either me or Dr. Theopolis, and we all know who I'm blaming.

Can I get a retake on this?

During random, and... not so random, stalking of friends, family and old college roommates* on the Internet/Facebook and I find myself at Zillow. Just looking at the normal: who has a view, who paid what, mine is bigger than yours stuff. When, there it is. MY HOUSE. The last time I had logged on to spy on my neighbors and, um...other people (come on, you do it too!) my house was pictured with the traditional white and green paint job we had bought it with, landscaped (and watered) garden beds, etc. Apparently, their photo crew has been busy, because there it is, MY HOUSE.

You see, a little over a year ago we decided to paint. Not wanting to go the boring route of picking a color combo from the one suggested in the pamphlets at Lowes (Dude**! It's not cool!), we decided to do our own color comboing. Because, obviously me with my raging obsession with yellow and my husbands total inability to know what color shirt he put on this morning we could do it. We were hip. We were cool. And we painted the house yellow, green and red. I know. I KNOW! What were we thinking?!!

And, oh, it gets worse. Because we didn't finish the paint job. The deck? Still the pine green of our house's previous life. The awesome red trim? Half done-and by half done I mean, paint starts at the living room window but doesn't make it to the kitchen. Our house on Zillow for every crazy person I've worked with, lived with, told off in the grocery store***, whatever, is yellow, with a pine green deck, half painted red trim and green (more ocean than tree) triangle things (you know, the roof things that make a triangle on houses-OK obviously not an architect here).

But, what bothers me more is that I WAS**** going to weed! I WAS going to trim back the monster pine bush thing at the corner. I WAS going to cut back all those seedlings sprouting up around the unidentifiable tree that has really pretty purple flowers every summer! I WAS going to mow the lawn! But now... what's the point?

I think I'll just wait for the Zillow photo van to come by again... and get out my hedge clippers then.


*Remember? There was The Drug Dealer, The One Who Never Spoke, The Vomit Queen, etc. etc. etc.!!
**Um, I never say dude, don't know how that got there! REALLY!
*** OK, I've never really done this, but I've wanted to. I'VE REALLY WANTED TO YOU LAZY-CAN'T-BE-BOTHERED-TO-RETURN-YOUR-CART-GIVE-ME-PARENTING-ADVICE-RETIREES!!
****Because we KNOW I'm not finishing the painting!

Where's the cheese?

Obviously, I can't name a blog, "When Mac and Cheese Attacks" and not have any mac and cheese in it-or on it. No, definitely IN-because ON would be messy and ultimately it'd smell....

Anyway, I precariously balanced my iPhone in places it shouldn't be balanced (namely my hands) to capture my mac and cheesiness in action!*



Because pouring noodles with one hand, taking a picture with the other, holding a toddler back from the stove with my foot and yelling, "I'll take your picture later! Mommy has a project!" seemed like a good idea.

Then comes my favorite part! This is where I get to SUBSTITUTE! This is where things happen that allow me to collect comments like this at potlucks: "What is it? No, seriously. What else did you put in it? I know it looks like mac and cheese, but what else-you know what, never mind, I don't want to know."**

So, here I am pouring my unsweetened soy milk in with the cheese powder. Or as you can call it-Substitution #1. And, um, just ignore the molding Tang Bean Dip in the top right hand corner.



Next, the 1/4 cup of nutritional yeast. It tastes like cheese, but it's not! Substitution #2.



Stir it all together.



YUM!





*Also because I need to find another use for my phone other than stalking people on facebook.
**In my defense I only made those tofu muffins like one time! OK, twice, or three times-shut up, they were awesome! Anyone want a good Tang Bean Dip recipe?

Who Needs Sanity?

I want to run. No. Wait. I don't think you understand. I WANT TO RUUUUUUNNNN! Because... it keeps me sane*. It makes me happy. It gives me time to be BY MYSELF. Heck, I ran a 12K seven weeks after giving birth (with a c-section none the less) because I NEEDED TO! Sure, I got a crappy time, but the time was all mine, BABY! (Yes. Literally.)

So what's the issue? Go run. Get up, and go. Just do it. Get off your butt before your butt gets you. And all that other stuff those motivation posters say with the cheetahs and junk. But I can't. Doctor's orders. My hip, after years of scorning all things trendy and...hip :) decided to finally join the in crowd** and chucked out a random piece of joint cartilage. Gone. Probably down in my pinkie toe by now, desperately trying to fit in. And I'm stuck with trying to keep myself sane by swimming. You know, in cold water, with a skin tight swim suit, that doesn't cover my butt (that's out to get me). Because running not only kept me sane and happy but it also kept me SKINNY! Now, I'm looking at those maternity clothes I have stashed at the back of my closet and thinking, "Wow, that looks cute!"***

(Disclaimer! Yes, I am running a triathlon this weekend. Yes, I'm supposed to be resting my hip-but, come on, it's not like I trained for the thing!)

*Seriously, you should have gone to high school with me-nuttier than a fruitcake out the wazoo! Um... but hopefully not as gross....
**OK, I can't actually name a famous soccer player that has this type of thing, but I was assured by the MD that it was going around, or whatever he said-Maybe I should have been paying closer attention-I probably needed to go running....
***No. They don't.

Should've Been Driving the Truck

This work of art was dumped by house 5416 because...

A. Uncle Eugene finally passed away and they can safely get rid of his wedding present.

B. That weird cousin who lives in their basement finally got over his ocean phase.

C. They realized they were never going to make it as the 'Uber Cool Shark Artist'.

D. "Um, hi. We just moved in and WHAT WAS UP WITH THE PREVIOUS OWNERS!? You want to see what we found in the basement!?!"

Thank Goodness for the Pea Soup!

Tired. My house is a mess. And not your normal sticky finger paint in the carpet, smelly tut-tut-tut* fermenting in the toilet bowl, papers, books, half eaten sandwiches behind the couch cushions messy. Nope. New Big Girl Bed messy.

Because, yeah, we went to IKEA-TWO DAYS AGO. You read that right? Two days ago? Oh, we'll just go-pick up a bed, maybe a few shelves and then right back home to tuck our little angel in. Right. It's IKEA. They have a restaurant in the middle of the store because they KNOW you're NEVER getting out in less than SEVEN, yes 7, hours. With a two year old. And a husband who's convinced we need to fill our walls with cabinets so he can put in the hydraulic elevator he's always dreamed of**.

We also own a truck. Which we didn't bring. It's MY*** truck that I bought before we were married after a traumatizing accident where I totaled my itty-bitty white car. The only problem is that for some reason I have to call the tow truck people every time I want to drive it. Seriously, I'm gonna have to buy the guy a birthday card soon, and his kids? Man they've grown! (Hey, Tom!) So, needless to say, not reliable when you're embarking on a 100 mile round trip. (Yes, I live in the boonies.)

Instead, we drove the Civic. Yep, our Honda Civic. To IKEA. And spent seven hours there. 1 twin bed, 1 mattress, 3 6' shelves, 19 bins, 1 buffet, 3 sets of sheets, 1 pillow, 1 lamp, 4 place mats, 2 adults and 1 toddler crammed into the world's smallest car**** later we're home and we've been assembling ever since because apparently not only are we not rich, we're not smart either.



*Yeah, I have my own special name for poop-what of it?
**"Can you imagine!? Right here! No more stairs! We could just open up the trap door to the basement and push a button and down we'd go! It'd be awesome!!!"
*** My husband isn't on the title. He hates when I tell people this. He also hates it when I add that I have a secret bank account and a suitcase full of clothes hidden in Ohio. He just doesn't think that's funny!
**** OK...maybe this is.

Um, Hi.

I hate computers. No. Seriously. I was the only person in my dorm who brought a typewriter to college (come on, yes, it WAS electric!). I was reduced to tears in my high school Junior English class because I couldn't figure out how to turn the lab computer on (not that it took much to make me cry in those years). I once single handily broke the whole computer filing system at my college job*.

It all started when I saw a "Buck Rogers" rerun once when I was 10 and it was a light-a revelation-an awakening! Computers are planning on taking over the world! First, they will make themselves useful (obviously by replacing typewriters). Next, they will infiltrate themselves into every one's psyche (again, obviously cable television). Then they'll take over our brains (hello-cell phones-they are causing brain cancer people!). And finally,the evil motherboards will be just one step away from their Buck Rogers Utopian life where they become our government, our moral advisor, our judges. (Seriously, have you never watched this show?!?)

(You're still reading?? Past my uni-bomber rant and everything??? YAY!!)

With all that in my history, I'm sure you're thinking, "What are you here for? Get out of the blog world then! Go back to your bomb shelter, eat your cold canned beans and live your life in a smelly fog of "Little House on the Prairie" re-runs!" But, here's my confession: I can't. I have a toddler. Plus, I'm pretty sure my brain turned to mush two years ago, so there's not much for Dr. Theopolis to take over anyway. So, um, hi, or "biddi-biddi-biddi" whichever you prefer!

*No, I didn't dance to ABBA at my prom-how old do you think I am??