Baffled.

The older I get, the more I realize--there are just some things that I will never understand.

Some of them are obvious: nuclear fission (or fusion), chemical "moles", how to build a computer, calculus, and the theory of relativity. I have happily left them on the shelf of knowledge and gone, instead, for the books on apiary (bees) and Motherhood for the Homemaking Impaired.

But there are other, less obvious things that continue to confound me.

To begin with. Skinny jeans. On teenage guys. What the??? Who decided this was a good idea? And how are you supposed to tell emo girls and guys apart?

Next up? Haute Couture. It's French for "You MUST be joking."

Does that lady know that doesn't have any pants on? I mean really--does she?

But I know we all look at this and think "But no one really expects me to wear that stuff. I mean, that jacket alone probably costs more than my mortgage." Which is a good point. Until you walk into Target and see how they actually are expecting you to dress. Then "Dior" doesn't look so bad.

Far right conservatives. Far left liberals.
Can't we all just get along??
I'm telling you, what the world needs now is love. Sweet love.

And finally...

I.don't.get.it.

Adventures.

I have embarked upon a remarkable adventure lately.

Well.

For me, anyway.

And that adventure is called "Try to contribute a little income to our home."

I started out looking for graveyard shift positions at The Valmart, because with a Bachelor's Degree that is almost 6 years old and still brand-spankin' new in the package and gathering dust, I'm not qualified for much.

But then a little voice whispered that I should start an Etsy business. I wasn't sure if this voice was crazy. Because I am not fabulously talented like my friend Erin over at Sutton Grace. (seriously. check her out.) I can't sew to save my life. I love to make handmade cards, but really? I'm no better than everyone else, if we're honest.

But I had put together some graphic design for friends recently, and had a fabulous time doing it. So when that little voice became a little more insistent, I thought, "Hm. Maybe I could do a little graphic design. Maybe."

And guess what????

Turns out, people kind of like what I make.

And that makes me feel amazing.

So I guess the point is kind of "Follow Your Bliss". Because I don't have a degree in graphic design. Heck, I don't even have photoshop. I just have Gimp, which is free. And for the first time in 6 years I am contributing, in whatever small way, to my family and society in a way that makes me feel bigger and happier and my life a bit fuller.

Here are a few of my favorites, so far.

"Truly Outrageous..."

Lately, Thing 1 has been distinctly reminding me of someone when she gets up in the morning, but I just haven't been able to put my finger on it. Some distant, cob-webby memory from my childhood

Until this morning, it hit me.

I asked her to make a "rocker" face:

And I knew...
For you 80's impaired...



And I don't know about you, but I get an awesome *spark* everytime The Spouse and I kiss.

Top 10...

Top 10 Things You Don't Want to Hear Your Doctor Say...

1. I just don't know what to tell you.
2. I really think we might be able to write a paper on this.
3. Oops.
4. Huh. Well that's weird.
5. Let me check with my medical dictionaries and get back to you.
6. Really? I just figured you knew more about it than I did.
7. My colleagues are gonna freak.
8. Do you know where to get more information on this?
9. Wanna see something cool?
10. Oh my gosh! You have GOT to take a look at this!

All of which I heard at my doctor's office today.

Joy.

You've Got Mail... maybe...

My new (as of Christmas) laptop has started playing hard to get. I push the button. The little Windows flag waves it's cruel greeting. And as soon as the main screen appears, my fingers begin a mad dash through their routine. A race against the cruel and unreasonable temper that rules the Lappy, which will crash at any moment and for no apparent reason. Sometimes it gives me 5 minutes. Enough to check my e-mail. Sometimes it gets to my log in, just enough to see the list of e-mails, and then it crashes.

Which brings up another point: I haven't been able to deletee my JUNK folder for quite awhile and it's piling up. Do you ever look at the stuff in your JUNK folder and think, "Where in the name of Pete did these people get my address???" The random causes, the monthly VISIT FRANCE newsletter, invitations to FUND YOUR COLLEGE CAREER NOW, not to mention FND TRU LV. I can tell you one thing, my true love does not speak cyber.

But, between the moodswings of the laptop, blogging is taking a backseat. In a double decker bus. Behind the old lady with the yappy dog and the young mom with lots of kids, a massive stroller, and a raging case of the Swine Flu.

Yup. That's where I'm at.

"It's a Great Day..."

A picture says 1,000 words.

This picture says everything (and I do mean everything) about my life right now.

Hmmph.

Detox.

Earlier this week, before 7:00 in the morning, Thing 2 demanded the following for breakfast:

1. Chocolate
2. Little Chocolate
3. Starbursts
4. Hot dogs

5. Cheese
6. Chocolate
7. Ramen Noodles

All attempts I made at "How about cereal? How about eggs? How about yogurt?" were quickly rebuffed in the strongest terms, using an unearthly, growling voice.

As I tried to convince the two year old of the delicious nature of peaches, I began to realize that we are in desperate need of a junk food "detox" before we enter the Halloween to Christmas Candy Marathon. And when I say "We" I mean "all of us"...or at least those of us that are too short to reach the M&Ms.

Day 1 was tolerable.

Day 2 was a nightmare.

Day 3 resembled a hutu uprising.

Day 4 isn't going so well:

Oh well. There's always tomorrow.

Deal.

I have been handed a new set of cards.

I was playing Go Fish. But someone just dealt me a hand of Old Maid. And I'm not sure what to do with these cards.

One spring day in 2005, I got a call from my dad. My Mom had been undergoing some routine tests that day and he said "Oh, they're all fine. But they think she might be allergic to wheat." "Wheat? Bummer. I guess no more bread for her."

Which just shows my own stupidity.

So, for the past four years--my Mom has lived gluten free. She avoids all foods with wheat, barley, or rye in them. Bread, yes. Cookies, cakes, and pasta. But also shampoos, makeup, meats, lotions--just about anything you can think of. We've all felt bad for her. She got dealt a rough hand of cards.

Well, guess what? Can you guess? This morning, I called my doctor to find out the results of my lab work, the nurse said "Oh--and the doctor tested you for celiac. And that's positive."

Such an offhand way to tell someone they're never going to have gingerbread or birthday cake or Olive Garden ravioli again. Like she wasn't dealing me a whole new hand of cards. Because, unlike this nurse--judging by her tone--I know exactly what it means to be celiac. It means being different. It means a whole lifetime of checking labels and explaining why you can't have some. It means that I'll never again have my mother-in-laws hot scones or homemade bread. Ever. It means that someday when my husband and I go on a mission, there are places they won't send me... because I won't be able to get the right kind of food.

It changes everything.

I'm just not sure what to do with it.

Mother's Day Smother's Day

A rundown of my week:

Exhibit A: Thing 2 is potty-training.

Exhibit B: Thing 3 is teething.

Thus necessitating:
1. Copious amounts of chocolate chips, ice cream, and even a forbidden grilled cheese toastwich.
2. A re-read of Twilight.

Which has led to:
1. The Biggest Loser workout DVDs glaring up at me accusingly from my desk.
2. A house that would be condemned by the health inspector.

Which means:
1. I'm taking off for the weekend and letting my husband deal with the potty, the teeth, and the mess.
2. Happy Mother's Day to Me.

**

PS: Just so we're clear about this, THIS is Edward Cullen:

NOT this:

That is Cedric Digory with a bad makeup job, bless him.

Don't mess with the pictures in my head, people. ;)