The True Spirit of Halloween

Well, it's Halloween, and if you were wondering, I'm dressed up as a guilty mother.  Yep, no costume for my 14 month old baby.  No pumpkin.  No plans of trick or treating.  And no Halloween decorations of any kind.  I hate to admit it, but if you entered our home right now, the only terrifying thing you would see is a half eaten bag of candy, that hopefully will suffice for the "Take one" bowl I'm planning on setting outside.  Yep, you heard me, I'm going with the "Take One" bowl.  Why?  For two reasons: 1. My baby goes to bed at 7:30, and if that doorbell even goes off once, I might find myself with some Halloween decorations after all.  (I'm implying a slain body of a child and their caregiver.)  And 2. After years and years of not taking just one, but actually dumping the entire bowl - yes, the bowl too, into my bag, I feel it's my duty to give back. 

So, tonight I'm not only prepared to lose all my candy in one visit, but the bowl I will use to set it out.  Does this make me a better person?  If that's what you want to call it.  Am I righting the universe of all my childhood theft?  Again, if you are going there I'm not going to stop you.  Will I miss the bowl?  Probably, but again, I've been "given" so many bowls in the past - am I really losing anything?  And isn't the death of a bowl really the spirit of Halloween?  I mean wouldn't you say my fellow celebrators of Dia de Muertos, or Day of The Dead, for my non-Spanish readers?  (Yeah, I took some Spanish in middle school.)  Don't know what that means?  Hmmm...it's so sad to see when the original origins of holidays get lost.  Pagans.

Attention: Tori Spelling Can't Buy Another Purse!

Each morning as I watch my GMA I realize two things: 1. I think George Stephanopoulos hates his job and his co-workers.  Honestly, I love watching him after they get discussing the results of Dancing with The Stars.  Yesterday, I could literally see him suppressing every ounce of rage in his 4"11 body as they were mourning the recent voting off of Snookie.

And 2. There's a lot of crap that gets reported as "news."  For example, this morning right after reporting about a murder case of a woman, who drowned in a bath tub, GMA did a groundbreaking report on the show The Walking Dead.  I assume this random piece was a lame attempt at reporting some Halloween-ish, but in the end all that was said was:  A lot of people are liking this show about zombies.  Hmmm.  What else GMA?  Are a lot of people eating dinner too?  Do Asian people enjoy rice?  Does the sun warm the earth?  Tell me more!

However, I can forgive the thirty second salute to The Walking Dead, but what I can't  forgive is the piece they ran, after a few teasers and promos at the beginning of the show, about Tori Spelling's new financial woes.  According to GMA, and forgive me if I'm reporting old news to you savvy readers, but Tori Spelling, of 90210, Lifetime Channel greats' like "Mind Over Murder" and "Way Downtown," is being forced to financially cut back.  No more new purses, which apparently, she hasn't purchased in 3 years, no more extravagant birthday parties and...and...and this was the most shocking reveal of all - no vasectomy for her husband.  What?!  What?  Geez Obamacare!  Thanks Afghanistan!  Way to go housing market and your inflated loans. What have you done!?  I can't believe a man, who has been on TV, had his own show and married a TV heiress, can't medically protect himself from having more children!  What do you expect him to do?  Buy....I can't even say the word. 

Thank you GMA for highlighting the real face of our tightening economy and country.  I just wish at the end of the piece they had indicated on where to make donations, a help line I could call, a pledge I could make...something.

And to you Tori Spelling.  I know high school was tough. I mean you almost didn't graduate because of that drunken night, but I want you to know I stood with your fellow students and chanted, "Donna Martin Graduate, Donna Martin Graduate," until I couldn't say it any longer and I will keep being your champion until another channel gives you another reality show, or you make another terrible TV movie or when your mom dies and leaves you some more millions to blow.  Chin up T...another purse is around the corner.

Character Assassination Carousel: Clifford The Big, Dumb, Red Dog

Friends, family, stalkers...I'm pleased to announce that I have found other mothers like myself, who have realized 99.9% of children's books are full of gross inaccuracies, mind numbing plots and leave most of us asking the heavens, "Did someone really get paid to write this shit?!"  After some soul searching and cyber-stalking, I came across an ingenious woman, named Nicole Leigh Shaw, who has created the Character Assassination Carousel, which invites bloggers to express their disgust over books we are forced to read, not once and definitely not twice, but over and over again to our children.




A few weeks ago Jennifer at Beyond The Crib threw off the gloves and took down, no eloquently destroyed, Olivia...and the Missing Toy by Ian Falconer.  Today we are going to take a little ride with Clifford, the big, dumb, red dog and in a few weeks check out Tracy at Crazy as Normal.

Now that I've had a child, I've realized that there are so many things people neglected to tell me before I embarked on this journey.  For example, I heard people tell me many times that the baby weight will just fallll off after I start breast feeding.  LIE.  You know what falls off?  Your self-esteem because that weight ain't going nowhere.  Second thing I was never told - Facebook will be the death of you as a mother.  Did you buy a pumpkin outfit for your two month old so they could be photographed in it for three seconds?  No?  What?  No, Thanksgiving onesie?  How will your 11 week know it's a holiday?  Are you trying to torture your child?  You know what I should have been told/warned - you will begin to loathe your high school and current friends after you see their endless baby holiday pictures.

And, the last thing I was never told, and something I would like to publicly warn future mothers of, is the utter ridiculousness of children's books.  I'm not saying reading to your child is bad, I'm just saying the books you read to them make NO SENSE.  None. Take for example, Clifford the Big Red Dog.  First of all, there is not a government on the planet that would allow this ginormous dog to run around. It would be put down and sent to a lab for testing before Will Smith could even think about becoming some hero and flying an alien spaceship into its brain.  Second of all, what parent thinks a dog the size of a house is a good playmate for a girl named Elizabeth.  Are they hoping that Clifford by accident eats Elizabeth so they can stop paying for cheer camp?  And when the authorities come questioning her whereabouts they can just shrug their shoulders and say, "I think our dog ate her."  This is okay for homework, but to get out of parenting is just unacceptable.  And lastly, let's be honest, this dog is huge.  According to the book, which I'm taking as fact, Clifford bathes in a pool, eats large amounts of food and sleeps in a house equally as large as Elizabeth's house.  So, let me ask you this: 1. What family in their right mind would spend millions of dollars to house, feed and care for an animal that could at any point sit on them and instantly kill them?  2. And you know you are all wondering this...who cleans up this dog's poo?  I mean seriously.  His dumps would cover neighborhoods. 

I just want some realistic books.  None of these stories of a grown man hanging out with a talking monkey, some bird asking everyone if its his mother (don't get me started on this depressing story) or about a genetically mutant dog.  Is that too much to ask?

Random Thought Friday

I'll admit I have a few superstitions...(yes, this is my token Halloween post).

1. Never flash a car that doesn't have its headlights on because they are members of a gang and by flashing them you are inviting them to follow you home and beat you to death.  (If you are shouting in your head WTF - hold on.  I either read this or saw it on the news, but gangs were doing this.  Seriously.  On the East Coast...or maybe they weren't.  Either way, I'm not testing the Irvine Gang system.)

2. In college I always shaved my legs on game day.  Even if it was raining and snowing - legs had to be shaved.  And I had to pee right before they announced the starting line-ups.  Have I continued this superstition?  Um, now I always shave my legs once a week.  Not for a particular game, but for another game time.*  What?  Boo-Yeah.  I won't comment on the peeing.

3. I believe, no, I testify, that flu shots ensure you get the flu.  Every year I've been conned into getting a flu shot - I got sick.  Every year I maintained my regiment of eating copious amounts of cereal and drinking next to zero water - I was fine.

What are your superstitions?


*sex

Persistence

For the past six trips, no exaggeration, to the grocery store I've been stopped at the entrance by an annoying Alberston's employee offering free samples of some type of alcohol.  (Which, before I continue, I must say I find a little strange. I get we all love free samples, but it was ten in the morning, and I'm not sure most of the moms in the store were looking for a nice shot to chase their coffee...or were they?  Ahh...Albertson's...)

Anyway, the first two times I was offered a sample I just quietly declined and walked by.  The third time this over zealous employee, who I'm pretty sure was severely smashed after three weeks of offering free booze, yelled out three times, "Miss, Miss, Miss..." and when I turned around, I saw him holding a dixie cup of alcohol and offering it to me like it was laced with a date rape drug.  This time, I said back, and to be honest, I'm not sure why I decided to make such a declaration of my alcohol abstinence (probably a throw back to college when I would have to explain to drunken idiots why I have never had alcohol before), I said, "I have never drank and still don't drink because of my religion."  What a role model.

Now you would think that this employee, though probably badly inebriated, would remember the religious testimony I so strongly bore, but a week later, there he was still holding the tempting cup of spirits.  However, his delivery had changed.  This time he said, "I see you have a baby in your cart.  How about a little pick me up."  I'll admit, this stopped me, but only to ask him, "What do you mean by that?"  In his book was a "pick me up" driving drunk with a baby?  Vodka on the breath during a play date at the park?  Passed out before nap time?  I wanted a little clarification.  Unfortunately, all I got, as I made eye contact, was a slurred, "Vodka and Christmas go hand in hand."  Ahh, and now everything is cleared up.

So, I ask, what can I do that I haven't done to fully communicate to this alcoholic that I'm not ever going to be interested in partaking of his free shot bar.  Walk into the store already shouting "No, NO, NOOO!"  Next time give him a pamphlet on AA?  Or take the shot and award him for the being the only person who could officially wear me down to drink?

Any ideas?

Criminal Droppings

Today I read that, "An Oklahoma man was charged with burglary after police allegedly matched his DNA to used toilet paper at the scene of the crime.  Police said that Charles Williams used a home's bathroom while burglarizing it, leaving a mess behind.  Williams was then identified by his droppings."

Um, let me take a moment.  Okay, first what star police officer decided to go above and beyond with his detective skills and test, not only the used toilet paper, BUT the "droppings?"  Why aren't we using this officer for more important issues like: 1. Where's Al Qaeda headquartered?  (Based on their poo, of course.)  2. Who was there that day who decided to relieve themselves right before shooting Kennedy? 3. What's up with Scientology?  (I don't really think he can sniff, (Get it?) this one out, but he seems like a great detective.  I just want someone to explain to me why people follow this religion?

And lastly, Mr. Williams.  Charles.  You broke into a home to steal something.  You have got to plan ahead.  Either you are there to steal something or relieve yourself.  You can't have both.  There's just not time.

Droppings.  My new favorite word.

The Most Important Gift Catalog In the World

Yesterday, in the mail I received, and I'm not making this up, a brochure entitled, "The Most Important Gift Catalog in the World."  (And no, it wasn't the new Victoria's Secret Soft Porn Catalog.)  No folks, somehow, by reasons unknown, I was chosen to receive this gem.  Enough build up?  Basically this catalog, entitled Heifer International, allows you to purchase either an entire animal or a share of an animal for someone in a third world country.  For example, for only $120 I can buy a goat for a woman in India.  $120...that's it.  Or I can go big and buy the "Joy to The World Gift Basket," which contains 2 sheep, four goats, 1 heifer and 2 llamas for...wait for it...$1,500.

So, I'll be honest, because I'm a terrible human being, I thought this catalog was hilarious.  Again, I acknowledge I'm a terrible person, and if you feel like bowing out of this entry, because I'm about to explain why I find all of this so funny, now would be the time.

First of all, because I have terrible reading comprehension skills, and because a 1 year old was trying to desecrate "The Most Important Gift Catalog in the World" by putting it in her mouth, I totally missed the whole - give the animal to someone in a third world country.  So initially, I thought this catalog was for buying livestock for your loved ones here in good ol' USA, which I thought was awesome - And now, I sort of want to find a company, or start my own, that will allow me to send/buy a llama for my mother in law.  Can you imagine that Christmas?

Scene: (Everyone dressed in PJs around the tree)
Mother in Law: Well, I think that's it.  That's all the gifts!
Me: Nope!
(Pull 2 giant Llamas in from the outside backyard)
Me: Merry Lla-MAS!

Second, of all, as I looked closer I realized the animals were being shipped all over the world, which again, I thought was really funny.  Logistically how does all this work?  You go with the "Joy To the World Gift Basket" and then what?  Fed Ex pulls up to a hut somewhere in Ecuador and unloads nine boxes of animals?  Or do they drop them from the sky and hope that some down and out person will actually keep them and not roast them that night for dinner?  How does someone, from a third world country, go about ordering these packaged animals?  Is there some strange request box for third world countries that someone jokingly wrote; "All I really want for Christmas is a goat from America.  Love, Mizeki Rhodewell from Malawi.  P.S. If I can't get a goat - can I get adopted?"  And lastly, how are they packaged?  Is it just a box with some holes punched in them?  Are directions included like: "Please feed them.  I know you are hungry, but please feed them too."

Lastly, I searched this catalog and not once was I informed of how I could receive a picture of my purchased livestock.  You spend a dollar a day and you get a picture of your adorable orphan.  Spend $5,000 for the Gift Ark, yep, two animals of each kind for some lucky community, and nothing!

In the end, do I think this is real? I don't know.  Will I be using this catalog for my loved ones?  Absolutely.  Nothing says I love you like buying a share of a cow.  Come on people pass this good news along.

Hey, What About Stairway to Heaven

Okay, this picture is sort of a gross exaggeration of a church dance, but how could I not choose it? It's awesome.

I know this will come as a shock to you, but a few weeks ago I was asked to chaperone a church sponsored dance.  (I'm not sure if they were desperate or I haven't really allowed people to get to know me here in good ol' Irvine.)  Anyway, for those of you, who didn't grow up with the pleasure of attending a "church sponsored dance," let me tell you a little bit about it.

1. There's no way you can say "no" to any guy, who asks you to dance.  (I mean, the dance is being held in a church and you are supposed to be a Christian...blah, blah.)  Anyway, I hated this rule.  Inevitably, some sweaty handed boy, who was forced to attend the dance by his mom - so she could have one less mouth to feed that night, would find his way to me, and just as the longest song was being cued up, he would mutter those fateful words, "Will you dance with me?"  I will never forget those awkward seven minutes of robotically turning in a circle as the sweat from his hand ran down my arm.  Simply magical.

2. Again, you are in a church, so the chosen music can be interesting.  For some reason "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin was a staple, but I think it's only because the leaders at the time had no idea this wasn't a jazzed up hymn.  And then, there was always my favorite of a song just being stopped midway as the volunteered DJ, who was most likely a parent who knew how to work a tape player, realized the song playing was going down a bad path.  It was pretty awesome to be in the middle of a jamming running man (look it up kids) when all of the sudden the music would come to a screeching halt and "Stairway to Heaven" would begin again.

3.  And lastly, the dancing at these dances was always...well, it wasn't pretty.  Why?  Because again, we were in a church, so there was absolutely no close dancing, which basically translated into a terrible version of the 1950s where no one actually knows how to dance, but just sort of mildly touches each other until "Stairway to Heaven" finishes.  Again, very, very magical.

With all that said, I have to admit I was a little excited to attend my first church dance in 18 years. I mean, now I was on the other side and it was going to be awesome.  I was all excited to nudge awkward boys into asking the pretty girls, who aren't even in their same hemisphere, to dance. I wanted to request "Like a Virgin" by Madonna just so I could hear it shut off.  And I really, really wanted to confuse the kids by yelling, "Hey, you two, yeah you two, let's get a little closer here.  What, is she your sister?!"  It wasn't going to be awesome.  Unfortunately, Fortunately, I got sent home early before I could cause any damage.  Apparently, I was chewing gum.  Major no, no.

Random Thought Friday: Feedbags of War

Like all normal human beings I have a list of questions I would like some answers to once I get up to Heaven.  Wait, you don't have this list?  Come on people, we don't know when our number is going to be called - let's get a little more prepared here!  Curious where dinosaurs really came from?  Yep, I'm going to find out.  Why the dress rehearsal each month when I'm pretty sure I'm more concerned about getting to fifth period on time then having a baby?  There's got to be a good explanation for this.  Why natural disasters, who shot JFK, why do leaves turn beautiful colors right before they fall off trees, why five fingers and not four and are animals up here too?  Etc, etc. etc.

Anyway after these past few days of attempting to wean my 13 month old baby, of the mouth watering goodness that flows from me, I have come up with yet another question:

Couldn't we have installed a switch that just turns this stuff off?  Or at least a drain button of some sort? And lastly, why after we are finished with this whole life sustaining breastfeeding experience, do our feedbags have to resemble deflated life boats, that only float in the water because some sad air has not escaped through all the weathered holes?

Answers? Anyone? Anyone.

Cheese Deception

Today will always be a special and bizarre day for me.  12 years ago, I entered a training center to learn Mongolian, which didn't really work, and then two months later I found myself on a plane headed to Asia, where I lived for the next 16 months serving a LDS mission.  Now, don't get me wrong, I could go on and on about the life changing experiences I had in Mongolia, but that's not why you read this blog.  Right Mom?  You read it for the humor, and trust me, while in Mongolia some very funny stuff went down.  (You had to find things funny because the country only gave you three choices: Laugh, Cry or Freeze.)

So, here's one of my favorite moments:

When you serve a LDS mission you are always with someone else, who is called "your companion."  (Or "Escapee from the insane asylum"...oh wait, this isn't a story about that.)   At the time of this story I was companion with one of my best friends, Katie McBride.  McBride knew about twenty words of Mongolian more than I did and could tap dance, which I sort of made her do whenever the chance arose.  Yes, it was a beautiful partnership.  One day we found ourselves teaching inside this Mongolian tent, or ger, to...and the details are getting slighty fuzzy here, but I think a family.  Anyway, while we were teaching the man offered us some cheese.  Now before I go any further I should explain that food in Mongolian is pretty awful.  It's...no I think that sentence actually covered it...it's awful and this cheese was no exception. I think if I remember correctly, it was from camel's milk.  Didn't know camels made milk?  Well they do and someone in the world is making cheese out of it.

Anyway, McBride and I had this stupid rule that whatever the one ate the other companion had to match it.  The rule was going really well until one day McBride threw out a bowl of mare's milk, which tastes exactly like baby throw-up, out the window before the person, who gave it to us, returned to the room.  Unfortunately, I was still holding my bowl and since hers was empty I was forced to actually drink mine so we didn't offend our host.  To say this caused some friction to the rule would be a slight understatement.

Back to the cheese.  So, there we were trying to bite and chew through this forsaken camel cheese, when I realized the small stool I was sitting on allowed me to discretely lower my cheese, without anyone seeing me, and hide it in my shoe.  Which I did....without telling McBride.  So, there I sat with no cheese in sight, a satisfied look on my face, and then I did the unthinkable - I asked for some more.  Immediately, McBride shot me a look and realized she was going to have to finish her piece of cheese and then get an additional piece!  Quietly, she asked me if I had eaten the cheese, and I told her, like any honest missionary, "Yes."  This continued through a couple more pieces, until one fateful pencil rolled off the table, and as McBride reached down to retrieve it, she saw my shoe lined with pieces of cheese I had claimed to enjoy.

Folks, I saw lives changed in Mongolia because of the work I was blessed to be a part of.  However, the moment McBride's eyes widened in disbelief at my cheese deception was the true time my life changed for the better.

I can't remember what exactly happened afterwards, but I think we started throwing the cheese at each other once we got outside, and then some kids came by and started eating our discarded cheese.  Oh, Mongolia, how I miss you.

Attention: Costco Sells Food You Can Take Home

I don't know about your local Costco, but I'm pretty sure the people that frequent mine have never seen free pieces of food being handed out.  I swear, I'll come around a corner and three hundred people, of all races, will be crowded around a terrified Costco employee, waiting to snatch a piece of steaming DiGiorno pizza like it's the first piece of food they've seen in six days.  People, I get it, it's like delivery pizza, but come on!

No seriously, will you people explain yourselves?  Is a trip to Costco your only food source?  Do you think the membership card is actually a pass to a free buffet of small pieces of cheese, sausages and kid vitamins?  Do you wonder what people are putting in those big carts, and why it seems that most of the food is all packaged up and not readily edible?  Why are you waiting for that snot nose kid to finally getting around to putting out new samples of coconut water?  Are you that excited to try an over-hyped source of hydration, or do you have some time to kill before you read a free book or look through other people's pictures, that haven't been picked up yet?

And lastly, let's make a pact, you crazy food starved zombies, once you've created the massive cart traffic jam with your nonsensical waiting game of a sample of Hidden Ranch Valley, get your sample and then...and here's the important part, MOVE ON!  Do you know what the measurements are of a Costco shopping cart?  It's like two Shaquille O'Neal's.  So, let's stop the madness.  You aren't going to ever buy the Wheat grass shake starter kit, and you know what a Dorrito chip tastes like - you do, don't lie, you do - so you don't need a sample of it.  You don't.

So, here's the rule:  If you are passing by and you can grab a sample without breaking stride, then fine, grab away.  Otherwise move on.

Let's Keep the Family Off The Window

For those of you, who faithfully read this blog (I'm talking about you, husband) yesterday, I mentioned I had a few thoughts while driving the mind numbing drive from Salt Lake City to Irvine.

Here's thought #2:

What's with "Family Decals" on cars?  You know the ones I'm talking about.  The ones....wait, before I go any farther let me just apologize to any of you who have these decals on your cars.  They are totally cool and a great keepsake of your family.  Alright, where was I?  Ah, yes, you know the stickers that are usually plastered on some giant van or SUV showing the whole family and sometimes pets?  Well, I find them weird.  Here's why:  (And mind you these are what I came up with while driving behind an SUV, sporting a family sticker portrait, going 65 in the left lane.)

1.  Somehow I feel like these stickers aren't telling the whole story.  Sure all the kids seem to be smiling and Mom and Dad seem perfectly content, but what's really going on?  I just wish someone would be honest.  I could support a lame sticker family portrait with an additional sticker description placed underneath that read: "We seem happy, but we have three mortgages on our house, my husband and I sleep in different rooms, our son doesn't know he's adopted and I was going to place a sticker of our dog, but he was accidentally run over by the mailman."  Two honks and a wave to you!  Thanks for the update!

2. What happens when you have another kid?  Is there a website you can order just one stick figure girl or boy from?  Do you have to buy an entirely new set?  What if your husband loses a leg?  Do you scratch off part of the sticker?  And honestly, explain to me sticker divorce.  Does Dad go all together?  Do you put him in the corner with a mistress sticker?

3. Adding names shouldn't be allowed underneath the stick figures or faces.  You know why?  Because now, instead of yelling hey, "Suburban, let's move already!"  I'm now yelling, "Hey Tom, why don't you and your ugly wife, Sue, and three kids, Molly, Ryan and Elliot, move over to the appropriate lane for your ridiculous lack of speed understanding!"

Think I'm wrong about these stickers?  Hit that Mommy Icon and tell her all your problems with this post!

Cool Mom Coming Through

I decided out of solidarity to our government I would shut this blog down for a few days.  Sure, it seems selfish and sort of stupid, but if National Parks aren't open, then this blogger is keeping her snappy observations to herself.  Now, please enjoy "Cat in The Hat..."

I'm kidding...I don't care about our government (or lack there of), no, folks, I've been road tripping.  For the past two weeks I've put almost 1,500 miles on my car and what do I have to show for it?  You guessed it - lots of random posts circling in my head.  Here's the first of many thoughts I had while driving on the I-15.

ONE

After having a baby I made a promise to myself.  I said, "Kate, you are not ever, EVER going to put princess and unicorn stickers all over the windows of your car. You will not listen to nursery rhymes while driving down the road and you will not start driving like a nervous senior citizen just because you have a baby in the back.  Stupid people will still be honked at, and maybe flipped off, depending how moronic their driving is, and you will never put a "Baby on Board" sticker on your car, no matter how much money and fame* you are promised."  (It was a long promise and a long talk in the mirror.)

Now a year into being a mom, I'm proud to announce I've been able to keep most of these promises:  The horn is still my best friend, speed limits have been ignored and no stickers to speak of.  I do, however, need to make a confession.  I might have sung "The Wheels on The Bus" over and over and over again as I drove from Las Vegas to St. George, Utah.  I might have.  (Apparently, my baby finds my angelic voice soothing.  Or maybe less annoying that AC/DC's "Highway to Hell."  Listen, I'm not a doctor.)  

Anyway, I might have also cursed the heavens after covering most real and imaginary animals, car parts, human noises and robots, when I couldn't think of any more forsaken things that (insert blah, blah) "...all through the town."  Eventually, I found myself singing, "The mom in the car is going insane, going insane, going insane.  The mom in the car is going insane all through the towwwnnn."  I think it was my best verse yet.

Listen, I'm still a cool mom and just because I rock a little "Wheels on the Bus" and maybe "BINGO" doesn't mean anything. Right?  No, seriously, right?

*I acknowledge there's a very slim chance any fame can be awarded for announcing to people a baby is in your car.  Announcing you are holding a baby hostage would probably get you more face time. I acknowledge that.  Listen, I'm keeping it real.

Hey hit that Top Mommy Blog Icon for me.  My absence has caused a massive slide.  Tap twice and I might send you a recording of my "Mommy Gonna Knock You Out" songs. It's a gamble worth taking.