Take Us Back In Time Tuesday - 7/28/09

I love looking back through old photos. Anyone and everyone's photos. What I love even more is hearing the stories that accompany them. Every photo has a memory. Every photo invokes an emotion or feeling.

I decided to begin a weekly post entitled, "Take Us Back In Time Tuesday". Each week I will include a photo from my past and tell you, my readers, the story behind it. I would love to hear your tales, as well. So, if you would like to, please read this to find out how to participate.

Now, without further ado, my first "Take Us Back In Time Tuesday" post:

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Last week my boys were attending their summer religious classes. Each had to bring in a photo of their Baptism. I smiled as I pulled T.'s photo from it's album. There were happy faces on all; a typical, joyous celebration.

I then found W.'s photo.


Though the faces are smiling, there is nothing festive about the occasion. My face is still blotchy and red from the tears that had been wiped away, only moments before the camera flashed. My son was less than 24 hours old. We had just been told, during his 23rd hour, that he was sick. He needed to be taken, to the next state, to have open heart surgery. We were told that it might be a good idea to have our priest come to perform his Baptism. You know, "just in case".

Mr. Schmitty's brother and sister were to be W.'s Godparents. We assumed they were over an hour away at work and at home, respectively. There was no way they would be able to arrive in time; the ambulance was preparing for our departure. We did not know, that they were indeed, close to the hospital. Even under the stress of the situation, I was blamed, by a few, for not knowing that.

Our minds were a rush of, "What do we do?"

Always thinking as one, we knew who we needed to contact. We called our best friends, who were at our sides within minutes. They were there for us in all the ways that we needed them to be. No words were spoken. No questions asked.

No greater people to be our son's Godparents.

As Father Pat blessed our son, we looked on with a mixture of emotions: happiness at the birth of our son, fear of what might happen, anger at why he would need to suffer, and gratefulness to those around us for being our strength to lean on.

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Did you post your own "Take Us Back In Time Tuesday" post? Please read the guidelines and then leave your direct link below on Mr. Linky.

Mark Your Calendars East Coasters!!!

I know the title of my post the other day was this, but I'm hoping Lisa, Elisa, and Jory were able to pick up on my sarcasm.

So totally kidding.

I wouldn't want them to think I was truly happy to be missing out on the biggest event from the blogosphere!! I was absolutely beside myself for the past few days. I cried myself to sleep at night after reading miles and miles of twitter updates.

Have I told you three, how beautiful your profile pictures are on the BlogHer Founder's page? Stunning, I tell you, absolutely stunning!

Now that I've sucked up, you wouldn't ban me from attending BlogHer '10, would you?

'CAUSE.IT.IS.IN.NYC!!!!!!! SQUUUUUEEEEE!

That's right East Coasters, if any of you are like me, you haven't attended any conferences yet. One main reason has been location.

But next year...NEXT YEAR...BOOO-YAH!!! It's only one state over for me....just a little over a one hour's drive, people!!!

This might actually happen!!

Write it down....think about joining me....BlogHer 2010, August 6th and 7th. For more details go to BlogHer.com

Who is with me?!!!!

They Don't Like You, They Just Can't Help Themselves

Did you ever have a boy pull your pigtails in elementary school? I had always heard that this was a sign that a boy really liked you. He was too immature to tell you, so he tormented you instead.

Know what I think of that explanation?

HOGWASH!

Now that I am a mother of two adolescent boys, I am witness to their every day behavior. Boys? Frankly, they are, without a doubt, just plain obnoxious!

My boys can not get through a day, or an hour, without me yelling at them to knock it off.

They harass. They poke. They tease. They trip. They downright torture each other.

Nothing they do is without foolery. Simply getting them to brush their teeth is like....well, pulling teeth. Within seconds they are laughing uncontrollably and I'll hear such a ruckus that I think someone may just fall through the floor.

Now, I'm a fan of being silly. I try to be at least once a day. It keeps you young. But their wild ways are beginning to grate on my last nerve.

This morning I was taking a quick shower, though it was more like I was trying to break a speed record. I know that I only have moments before the lunacy kicks in.

They had a few easy tasks to complete; finish breakfast, get dressed, brush teeth and hair, and wash their faces. The boys had religious education classes and only had a half an hour to finish up before we needed to leave.

I jumped in the shower and began my race against the clock. Just as I began shaving my legs, I heard footsteps pounding across the hardwood floors. It had begun.

I swiped the razor up my legs, trying not to draw blood.

I heard them practically falling down the stairs over each other. They rushed, screeching, past the bathroom. I shaved faster.

I drew blood on my kneecap. The blood actually seemed to boil from the cut.

"BOYS!!!!"

No answer....just more laughter.

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOYS!!!" I screamed so loudly, I believe the neighbors ALL heard me.

Silence.

I could hear them slinking past the bathroom door.

"Sorry mom," I heard them whisper. They knew I had reached my breaking point.

As I tended to the wound on my leg, I thought about the upcoming school year. I wondered what girls would fall prey to my sons. I smiled and thought, "better them than me!"

I'm Not In Chicago and I Couldn't Be Happier

I was slightly bummed....okay, I whined and cried like a little bitch last year that I was missing out on the BlogHer conference.

I crossed my heart and hoped to die that I'd attend this year.

When I finally was confronted with the fact that I am a grown up, I was forced to realize that I have responsibilities. It's either feed my kids or go to a partyfest Blogger conference. So I did what any mature woman would do....I tried to pimp myself out to the first willing john reputable company.

I doubt Jessica Rabbit would have had any problems. Pfft.

So, as I told the women of Room704, who will be placing this button in their maga-catalog-zine, it is with heavy heart that I must say, I will NOT be attending BlogHer '09. Because.....


I thought I'd be flying with Liz and sharing a vomit bag. We Jersey girls gotta stick together, you know.

I thought I'd be handing out my own Moo cards and hi-fiving with my own Poken instead of begging the wonderful Sam to tote my shit around.

I thought I'd be drinking with Jill and wearing Kotex with Karly as we anticipate the arrival of Leslie.

I thought I'd be making Cheeseburger Hats!

But the powers that be were on my side.

"What? What?!" you say. YES! You read correctly, I am happy not to be showing up at this party, that party, and especially THE party!

I am absolutely THRILLED that I won't be meeting her. Or bumping into her. And I'm ecstatic that I won't be hiding out in the bathroom with her.

And do you know why?

THIS MONSTER OF A FUCKING ZIT IS WHY!!!!

That S.O.B. would be making it's own grand entrance into the Sheraton. Hey, that's given me an idea. Do you think Proactiv might sponsor my trip next year?

Move ovah Jessica Simpson!

Rock-A-Bye Kitty

One of R.'s best friends, S., came to visit today. The girls play really, REALLY well together. They hold hands all the time and have so much fun. I overheard them in the playroom, as one suggested they play mommies. I peeked in to make sure they hadn't found my stash of wine find them, not rocking baby dolls, but our new kitten instead.

Izzy was all bundled up in the toy cradle and the girls were singing lullabies to her. Doesn't she look cozy? She is such a wonderful kitten. If you could only see what the poor thing had to endure today! She didn't seem to mind at all. Oddly enough, she seemed to enjoy it!


Oh, and I really needed to share this photo, as well. This is Mr. Schmitty's attempt at humor. Note that the cats in the cradle......yes, with a silver spoon.

I am officially married to a dork.

Men Will NEVER Understand

I received this email this morning. This is an actual letter from an Austin woman sent to American company Proctor and Gamble regarding their feminine products.

Dear Mr. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your 'Always' maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic.. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.

Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my time of the month is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call 'an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.' Isn't the human body amazing?

As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customer's monthly visits from 'Aunt Flo'. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women.

The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants... Which brings me to the reason for my letter. Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: 'Have a Happy Period.'

Are you fucking kidding me?! What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness, is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak, there will never be anything 'happy' about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory.

For the love of God, pull your head out of your ass, man! If you have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like 'Put down the Hammer' or 'Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong'.

Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullshit. And that's a promise I will keep.

Don't Let Your Daughters Grow Up To Be Cheerleaders

R. has always been somewhat shy when you first meet her. She'll talk to you, as long as she is holding my hand or sitting in my lap. She needs that safety. And though she is funny as hell with those she knows well, she does not like to be the center of attention to those she is unfamiliar with.

Yesterday my neighbor and friend, J., called to say that she was signing up R.'s BFF, E., for cheerleading.

"They can be cheerleaders at 5?!" I asked in astonishment.

"Yea, can you believe it? E. wants to do it," she answered.

I thought how adorable the two girls would be together. But I knew R. would never follow through with it. "Nah, I'll pass. She'll never get in front of strangers like that. Good luck with E.!"

Later on that night the girls played outside together. R. ran up to me and said, "I want to be a cheerleader with E.!!!"

I asked her if she knew what a cheerleader was.

"Um, nooooooo," she answered.

"Well, a cheerleader wears a cute little outfit and claps and yells RAH! RAH! to football players at games. They do it in front of all the people watching the game."

"Oh. Nevermind, 'cause actually, I don't want to be a cheerleader."

I told her, "Maybe next year."

I secretly hoped she would want to do it, if only to bust my mother-in-law's chops. You see I was a cheerleader in 6th grade. I only stuck with it for one year because I really only tried out to prove a point.

I wanted to prove to everyone and myself that I could DO it. That I could actually, in a town full of cliques, make the team, on my own.

I had fun, but back then, I'd rather play baseball, soccer, and football with the boys.

But back to my mother-in-law.

I remember when my niece made the cheerleading squad. I can still see the look on my MIL's face when my sister-in-law told her the news. It was a look of total disgust.

She said to my SIL, "UGH. I can't believe you are letting her do that. She needs to stick with her school work."

My SIL looked at me and rolled her eyes. My MIL can sometimes be very opinionated even when she really has no idea what she is talking about.

She continued, "Don't roll your eyes, don't you KNOW what they grow up to be?"

"Ah, here we go," I thought to myself. She's going to throw out the "all cheerleaders are whores" innuendo. Not being able to take her irrational debate on the life of a cheerleader, I piped up, "Um, a wife to your son?"

For the first time since I had met her, she was speechless.

Score one for me. RAH! RAH!

Weekly Winners, July 5 - 11

Canon PowerShot SX110IS

No, that is not chalk. Mr. Schmitty actually power-washed that statement on the fence.
At least it doesn't say, "And Mom Drools"!

Thirsty



Her Mean Face


Hey! No "peeing" in the pool!

If It's Not One Thing...It's Your Mother (In-Law)

If there is one thing I know about my mother-in-law, it's that she is absolutely no good at playing telephone. You remember that game, right?

Well, I guarantee you that my mother-in-law has never, in her life, been able to repeat a story correctly.

Nevah. Evah.

Mr. Schmitty was working in the yard last week. I was sitting in the window with R., watching him trim the edge of the grass, with the weed whacker. Suddenly, he spun around and his hand went up to his eye.

I jumped up, swung open the door, and shouted, "Oh My God! Are you okay?" I could clearly see he was not.

He came inside and after a few minutes of blotting his tearing eye with a tissue and blowing his nose, he was able to open his eye. He opted out of going to the emergency room, as he wasn't in any pain. He was also able to see out of the eye, though his vision was slightly blurred. He and I were both afraid that going there and not getting the proper care could make the eye worse. He decided to call a specialist in the morning.

After speaking with a doctor friend of ours, Mr. Schmitty obtained a name of a trusted eye specialist. He called and mentioned our friends name and was told to come right in. It pays to know the right people!

Mr. Schmitty called me from his cell phone when the appointment was over. He apparently had gotten hit directly in the center of his right cornea. There was a pretty deep cut and there was still some bleeding. He needed to fill about four prescriptions, avoid any physical labor, wear sunglasses all day and a plastic eye patch all night, and he had to sit upright to sleep. The doctor wanted to see him in the morning.

"What are the chances that it will heal properly?" I asked.

"About 50/50. It could heal perfectly fine. It might not."

Wonderful. I wasn't liking those odds.

"Oh, and get this!" He said. He then proceeded to tell me that while he was sitting in the doctor's office his mother, of ALL people, happened to call the receptionist to make an appointment for my sister-in-law.

I swear that woman has freaking radar!!! What are the chances that she would call while he was sitting there. A place he had never been to before! Are you kidding me?!

I really think she had a tracking device injected into each of her children when they were born. A GPS of sorts. Or something like the locator micro chip that the ASPCA placed in my new adopted kitten.

So, my husband, the big dummy that he is, talked to his mom and told her the whole story. NOT a good move this early on in the situation. You DO NOT tell my mother-in-law ANYTHING like this without knowing 110% that everything will be A-OK.

You JUST don't.

Almost immediately after I hung up the phone with Mr. Schmitty, it began to ring again. I looked at the caller ID and saw that it was his brother.

Damn, my mother-in-law was already burning up the lines. It didn't take her long to get the word out.

"Hi B."

"Can you please give me the REAL story about my brother?" He asked not knowing whether to be serious or not. "I'll hear the facts and then I'll tell you what SHE said."

I filled him in and then said, "Okay, what did SHE say."

"She called, in a panic (surprise, surprise), and said that he may lose his eye, that he was going in for surgery TOMORROW, and that he'd probably lose his job."

Oh.For.The.Love.Of.Pete.

I love this woman, but seriously? She needs to start tape recording conversations.

Update: Mr. Schmitty saw the doctor today. He was able to read the entire eye chart and his sight is no longer blurred. The doctor said that he may get some scaring on the eye but he was lucky. He told my husband, "You definitely had someone watching over you."

What a relief!

Lady Liberty Rocks!

Today we celebrate our freedom. Our Independence Day. Our Liberty and Justice.

We have many symbols of our patriotism; the flag, the colors of red, white, and blue, the American Eagle, and the Statue of Liberty.

I have only visited the Statue once. Pretty pathetic, as I live in New Jersey. Mr. Schmitty and I, back when we were dating, took a day to explore Ellis Island and the Statue.

I couldn't wait to climb up to the top of her crown. I wanted to proudly march up those 354 steps. I wanted to peer out from almost 300 feet in the air. And I wanted to look down and exclaim how the other tourists looked like ants.

My future husband? Not so much.

I knew he was afraid of heights. I just didn't realize the depth of his phobia. That is until we began our assent up the spiral stairs.

I, being the special girlfriend I was, took every opportunity to bust his balls. I laughed and joked, at his expense, as I continued on my upward journey.

After climbing approximately 50 steps, I turned to look at my boyfriend's face. I was about to offer up another wisecrack when I noticed the color of his skin. He was as white as a ghost. He looked like he was about to throw up or pass out. He knuckles were gripping the handrail so tightly that I thought he may snap it in two.

I felt like a complete jackass.

The Statue is engineered to withstand heavy winds, however, now that I know the extent of his fear, I can only surmise that this is how the whole ordeal felt to him:

I hope one day to make it into the crown. I hope my children will accompany me.

As for their father? We'll leave him home on solid ground.

Our Family Has Grown By 4 Feet....And A Tail

This is my beautiful daughter, with our new family pet, whom we adopted from the ASPCA. Izzy is 4 months old and the sweetest kitten in the world. She is very calm and affectionate. She came home this afternoon and is as in love with the kids, as they are with her. She is confined to the boy's room for a few days until she is more comfortable. As you can imagine, the boys are completely THRILLED with the arrangement!! (As I'm typing this, Izzy is curled up in bed with W. and they are both fast asleep.)

We are sloooooooowly introducing Ruby and Izzy. A few, supervised moments at a time. This may take a while.