Dont Pet the Piggies

My heart fell into my butt yesterday...no joke!

Little Miss Haley J and Riley decided to go ice skating on the kitchen's hardwood floor. No ice? No problem. Zelda's water dish served its purpose and became the key ingredient for the success of McBride Winter Olympics 2009. As the two of them gracefully danced, swayed, and slid their way to gold, Haley became the first casualty.

"Mom! Mom! Haley hurt herself and I didn't even touch her!" Riley announces. The usual ring of guilt in his voice was missing this time around. That's odd.

Apparently, while attempting a double flip with a half twist my little cherub fell into a most painful split action landing. The thud of her round little head wasn't what concerned me most. The sound of tree branches breaking coming from her 2 1/2 foot frame sent my heart into a downward spiral.

Crap! What do I do now? Jeremy just left for work -- no car in the driveway. My neighbors are freak shows. Their only concern is how many rabid dogs can they collect and tie out on their front porch without animal control interfering. No way was I going that rout. My nearest friend (and only friend) lives 22 miles away in Douglas. All I could think about was Haley clubbing me over the head with her second hand wooden leg because I didn't get her to the doctor in time.

I strategically scooped her up off our kitchen's new ice rink and rocked her back and forth. I checked for bruising, swelling and protruding leg bones. Nothing. Thank God. After a few panicked moments, hyperventilating, and practically pooping myself Haley stopped crying. She was taking this a lot better then her mother. OK, time to move on, diaper needs changed (hers, not mine. ALMOST pooped myself -- remember?) I laid her down. No screaming. This is good. I rolled her on her side attempting to lessen any discomfort and there it was again...logs breaking and children wailing, myself included. She wouldn't walk, she just screamed. If my heart wasn't officially in my butt before it was laying on the ground between my Nike's thumping panic and misery now.

Jeremy never answers his cell at work, and like the diligent and prepared mother that I am I didn't have a work number for him. (Emergency? We don't have no stinking emergencies!) I called his phone praying that God would forget about all the "herbs" I "might have" smoked in high school and to have mercy on me.

God loves me folks, He really does love me.

Jeremy answered on the first ring! 20 min later we were in the car on our way to the ER. I cried the whole way, Riley maintained his innocence, Jeremy drove like a man on fire and Haley J slept the entire time, the only McBride with any sense. I mustered up all my super mom powers and whisked my little girl into the ER careful not to catch my super cape in the sliding glass doors. Jeremy, armed with insurance card and seemingly innocent 4 year old, parked the car.

After I maintained my own innocence to the ER charge nurse, advising her many times that I have never beaten my children, I secured our place in line and made our way through the sea of coughers and hackers many wearing surgical white masks. Strange, I thought to myself. Then as quickly as my heart dropped the first time, I heard Jeremy's hit the bottom of his stomach as he quietly whispered into my ear.

Swine Flu.

Not only have I possibly broken my 18 month old daughters leg, now I could be responsible for exposing my entire family to a deadly virus currently sweeping the nation. When the President advised US citizens to avoid unnecessary travel to Mexico, he forgot about all of the tiny US border towns that might as well be considered Swine Flu breading ground. For the past week I have kept our children inside the protective boundaries of our home, diligently reading up on symptoms and searching them each night for unexplained rashes. Now there we were in the midst of a global heath crisis. Crap! If I haven't secured my place in outer darkness yet I sure have now.

Jeremy masked the kids quickly as I secured my own. He was calm, he was cool and he was, as usual, AMAZING. We took a seat close together away from anyone who looked questionable, the three of us, tucked securely into Jeremy's protective arms. What a great time to be in the ER, right? What were we to do though? Luckily, we spent a short 10 min in the waiting room thanks to a really kind security guard who spotted Jeremy in his uniform. We were moved to a private room.

So, long story short, Haley didn't break her leg. Thank goodness! She did however slip a joint out of place and tear a muscle. The doctor prescribed some pain medication, rest and requested that we keep her off her feet for at least two days. How the heck am I suppose to keep my toddler from running let alone walking? I'm leaning toward the aid of the pain medication but Jeremy has recently issued complaint with my sometimes unconventional parenting methods. I also fear that the ER charge nurse at Sierra Vista Community Hospital has enlisted that tattle tale abilities of our son.

So, the lesson learned here folks: DO NOT-- under any circumstances --pet the piggies!

The End.

Anesthesia Not Included

Zelda's butt has slid across my clean carpet for the last time!

Why do I need to write about such things? Do I really need to waste my perfectly good pent up frustration complaining about Zelda's hind quarters?

Yes. Yes I do.

Jeremy and Riley have the awesome responsibility of picking up poop in the back yard, feeding, watering, bathing, and any other pet duties that I find gross and disgusting.

Translation: When dog duties get too gross and disgusting (or smell permeating from back yard and said dog is too much) they wait around for Mom to get fed up and do it herself.

That's how most things work at our house. I'm sure that's how most things work in many good homes across America. I've accepted it, moved on, and continue to gripe about it on a daily basis. However, on Sunday evening I'd had it with our faithful super-hero side kick and demanded that Jeremy take "the nastiness" to the vet. Our carpet could bare no more. So, like a responsible pet owner Jeremy loaded her up in the car, checkbook in hand.

Apparently, Zelda's booty is going to cost us. The vet wants to remove an impacted anal gland. Cost of said impacted anal gland: $230.00 -- anesthesia not included. Darn you Zelda and your inability to control your inside parts! Of course we'll get her fixed up...but my goodness the timing couldn't be more perfect. Do you think Riley would mind a formaldehyde filled jar containing one impacted doggy organ for his birthday? 5 year olds like that kind of stuff right? He could show it to his friends, not to mention sharing the awesome story behind it. It wouldn't make him weird would it?

Zelda came home from the vet this afternoon with much poking and prodding from her new BFF at the Cochise Animal Hospital. She wasn't in the best of moods. Luckily Jeremy got to clean up her newest gift to us in our bedroom before he left for work.

"No...chocolate logs are not for eating!" Jeremy reminds our daughter. I didn't ask. I don't want to know. I just want the evidence removed and Haley bathed (preferably boiled and sanitized) before I get up from the computer in a few moments.

If you would like to donate to the well-being of Zelda's booty please leave me a comment below. We are now accepting donations in the forms of cash, check, money order, & carpet cleaner.

We've Been Discovered!

Im not sure how, Im not sure why but they found us.

Tucked into the crack of our front door last night was the smallest of postcards. You know the one. The picture of Christ, palms sunward, arms outstreached as if to say "come back to me my child...oh how I have missed you."

Guilt has already taken up residence.

The message on the back of the card reads: Welcome to the ward! We will try to say hello another time! ~The Elders (aka the Morman Missionaries coming to convert us yet again & change our evil ways).

THE ELDERS! THE ELDERS! Say it aint so, say it aint so! Is this some cruel elaborate joke?

Who told on us? How did they know we were here? Was it you Dad? If so, not funny dude, not funny!

Do missionaries have some kind of special telapathic portal that connects them with the big guy himself? Do they get special broadcasting alerts making them aware of inactive obstinant Jack Mormons that have just moved to the area?

Clearly, I've got problems now.

My record for dodging random knocks at the door and kind acts of service from young men in white shirts and ties: three weeks, two days and four cups of coffee. They always seem to find a way into the front room asking silly questions.

>>When would be a good time to come back?

My answer: Oh I dont know, we stay pretty busy around here. My husband is working really odd hours now....blah...blah...blah.....blah. Maybe next week?

What Im really thinking: Please go away. I dont want to go to hell. I just want to finish my beer while it's cold and my kids are still napping.

>>There is a short message we would like to share with you about The Plan of Salvation, could we come back next Tuesday?

My answer: Yeah...well...Im pretty sure Jeremy be working swing shift by then so next week may not work out after all.

What Im really thinking: MESSAGE...PLAN OF SALVATION!?!? Oh crap! Short message my ass! That'll take forever!

>>Oh, sure, no problem Sister McBride. We'll just try to catch you at a better time then. Meanwhile, is there anything we can do for you and your family?

My answer: I don't think so, (hand on chin in deep thought) but thanks anyway (smile politely).

What I'm really thinking: Yeah, there's about a thousand things that you can do for me. One of you can start in the back yard with the mountains of gigantic turds courtesy of Zelda the Wonder Dog. After that there is an entire laundry room full of pleasant afterthoughts courtesy of my daughter, the amazing pooping machine. I've got floors to mop, a garden to weed, two dirty kids, and a dog vomit smell to seek out and destroy in the bedroom. So take your pick, I've got all afternoon and another bottle of wine in the fridge.

I know all their tricks. Just like me, missionaries guard what they're really thinking. For example:

>>When would be a good time to come back?

Translation: We are going to come back no matter what you say. We'll catch you at the most awkward times. Like when you've just put the kids to bed and you're making out with your husband on the sofa. Or like that time we caught you and your friends doing keg stands in the front yard.

>>We'd like to share a message with you...

Translation: We need to save your souls right this very moment. The sooner we come back the better. You are so going to hell!

>>Is there anything we can do for you?

Translation: Please, let me guilt you into letting us in your home. After we paint your house, landscape the front yard and give your dog a bath you're sure to let us in. We wont keep score. Don't worry.

Why, after all these years of hiding out, screening phone calls and making up stories, I'm still not able to say what is really on my mind? Enough! I'm determined. I can tell them thanks but no thanks right? I can be polite but firm in my answers. I can and I will!

It's a new day folks...wish me luck!

~Ang

The Oregonians are Drying Out!

OH! MY! GOSH!

The thickness of Arizona summer hasn't even arrived yet. I'm pretty sure the lovely Grand Canyon State is trying to screw with me. It's only April and already 90 degrees! In Oregon we call this unbearable. Lets just say I'm a little homesick today.

I miss the smell of the rain in Oregon. I miss the valley and it's protective mountain rages. I miss the vineyards that decorate the hillsides and most of all I miss the ocean. The sound, the smell, the very sight of the mighty pacific is how I know I'm home. Home. How I miss thee, how I long for thee!

We are making the best of Arizona, don't get me wrong. After all home is where you make it. Right?!?! Really, the fam and I are doing great. I really shouldn't be complaining.

Good new is I no longer need my dryer! For once I cant wait to get my electric bill. This particular load of laundry dried in 15 min! Oh glorious day, glorious day!

And just how darn cute is this?

Alas, the day my little boy no longer requires cartoon underoos will be the day I die a little inside.

He hates it when I display his unmentionables for all the neighbors to gawk at. I hope this wont be the only opportunity I get to make that round face of his red! :) Because that's what good moms do ya know!

Meanwhile we are learning all the tricks and trades of dessert life.

1. Stay away from the round pinchie bugs. Also known as scorpions.

2. Cactus plants and their flowers are not a good idea to pick from mommy to display on the kitchen table. We have returned to dandelions and other non-prickly weeds.

3. Staying hydrated does not mean picking up a 32 ouncer of Dr. Pepper at local gas station.

4. Sunscreen and floppy hats are not only for babies, toddlers, and children under 12 but for really, really, white mommies as well.

5. It's never too hot to dial the phone. (Or so my father tells me, my mother would disagree.)

The kids were miserable today and complained like no tomorrow.

My southern gentleman of a husband was sensitive to our north westerner plight and took us out for ice cream this afternoon. God bless you Dairy Queen!

Later on he helped me hose off the kids in the back yard. It was lovely!

This particular scenario counts as a bath right? I'm sure it does!


Love to all my Oregonians...I miss you all fiercely!



~Ang

She's back..Zelda is really back!!

Thank Goodness!

(See post below for Zelda's big adventure...shocking I tell you! Shocking!)




PS: Just in case you're wondering...D is still a major tool!

Zelda the Wonder Dog is MISSING!!

My children are heart broken.

How they will sleep tonight without their beloved K-9 companion is beyond comprehension.

My son is standing outside at this very moment scattering bits of scooby snacks in the front yard, voice cracking, tears streaming calling for his BFF. The one million thousand silent prayers Ive repeated over and over in my head this afternoon plead for Zelda's safe return to her rightful spot at the end of his plastic race car bed. The "googies" will be back tonight (or so I have been warned) if Zelda does not make an appearance before bedtime prayers.

I'm not sure what to do. I have cuddled, comforted, and soothed my children into a diabetic comma hoping to lift their precious little spirits. Yellow and pink marshmallow peeps litter the kitchen counter. My secret stash of peanut M&M's didn't even put a dent in the worry little Haley J has written all over that adorable toddler face. "Deeelda...Deeelda" she sings running from empty room to empty room investigating every drawer, closet, and unattended toilet hoping to find our family's favorite companion lapping up her favorite doggy night cap.

We are in full panic mode here folks!

What my children don't know is that I think, by some karma ridden after thought, I may have brought this tragedy upon us. I'm not saying I pushed her out the front door myself! (As a matter of fact, Zelda escaped through an open gate thanks to the return of the inconsiderate repair man.) This afternoon, as I scraped the last remains of my toothbrush from Zelda's greedy little paws, I found myself wishing that we had sent her back to the pound where she came from. I found myself thinking that this could be someone else right now cleaning up vomit. I was angry to say the least. To completely understand my woes you'll have to know how we acquired Zelda. It all started with my husband's new friend "D" (name has been changed for his own protection--because after this story you'll want to kick him in his man parts too!)

The whole reason we have Zelda is because of Jeremy's new friend. D works with Jeremy and is basically attached to his boot strings. Lets just face it, everybody loves Jeremy. My husband has a certain likability about him and its extremely hard not to fall in love with that delicious southern accent. That being said you should also know that D is the exact opposite. His arrogant, immature, unsavory attitude make it imposable to stand next him for more then 5 seconds. No joke. I'm really trying to be nice here.

Do you remember the guy you went to high school with that wasn't happy unless he was crushing some one's self-esteem? The guy who liked to spread rumors about innocent, upstanding girls just to see how long he could keep everyone thinking it was true? Flash forward however many years and here you have D unchanged, unremorseful, and unrefined. Long story short: D is a major tool. So, why is Jeremy friends with him you may ask? Because Jeremy is a great guy. He leads by example and hopes that by extending his friendship to D he will indeed find and repair friendships with others. At least this is my conclution. Its either that or I married one of those crazy back woods southerners. Your call.

We, as a family, took D in inviting him into our home for family dinners and what not. That all changed when he picked our son as his new target. He taunted our 4 year old calling him a wiener and taking cheap shots while he pretended to karate chop and punch his way to our son's ultimate humiliation. As most pre-schoolers do, Riley cried for his mother. Unfazed by my constant and enraged requests to leave the poor boy alone, D continued well into the night. His comments and suggestions about my son's sexuality only got worse. Things escalated from there and D made a rushed exit from Casa De McBride, right before my foot made contact with his ass.

He made an appearance the next day full of apologies, regrets, and Zelda the Wonder Dog as a peace offering. (Didn't see that one coming did ya?)

OK, what just happened here?

A dog?

REALLY?

What the...#$?@!

I'll tell you what happened...I got hosed!

We WERE NOT planning on a dog for at least another 6 months. I had it all planned out in my mind: We would do our research, rescue the perfect dog and we would do it together as a family.

A family. NOT D's poor excuse for acceptance and forgiveness!

I mean, who the hell does something like that?

My children were ecstatic. D was now the best thing since snack packs and string cheese! How could I tell them no? D was the evil one not me! We had just finished our big move from Oregon to Arizona and Riley was ripped from everything and everyone he had ever known and loved. How was I going to tell my precious 4 year old that this completely inappropriate gift was not going to take up residence and would have to be returned to doggy hell (aka the pound)? No. I wasn't about to be banished to mean mommy island. Not for this. NO WAY!

So, Zelda the Wonder Dog became a McBride. She has turned out to be the most gentle creature I have ever come into contact with. We love Zelda. The kids love Zelda. I love Zelda. This fact alone is the only reason D continues eat his scrambled eggs with a fork and not through a straw. Sure, Zelda has her moments. But those moments are soon forgotten when she sticks that wet nose of hers through the bars of Haley's crib to reassure her that she is not alone. She is a protector of babes, Riley's super-hero side kick, and my comforter on lonley nights. Zelda understands the way our family is glued together and knows when to remind us of such important things. Crazy hu? Who wudda guessed?

Pray for Zelda folks.

Zelda, if you're out there, come home baby.

Misdemeanors and Other Serious Crimes Committed by Yours Truly

So my favorite blog in the whole wide world is The Meanest Mom. Check her out...she's only one click away conveniently located on my sidebar. Be sure to check out the reader's favorites especially the post labeled Guilty as Charged!

Meanwhile, here are my own personal misdemeanors/crimes committed against my family:

1. This morning I fed my kids marshmallows for breakfast. Its was easier then pouring the milk over their Coco Puffs.

2. Sometimes, to make Jeremy think I've been cleaning all day, (and not watching old re-runs of Friends on DVD) I put half a cup of Pine Sol down the bathroom and kitchen sinks. Its a virtual pine forest when he walks in but it serves it's purpose.

3. I've convinced Riley that sometimes the sun gets confused and shines in the middle of the night. The extra 30 min of sleep I get each morning is really for every one's well being.

4. Last week I took the batteries from Riley's Leapster and replaced them with the dead ones from the remote control. When he asked me for new ones I scolded him for leaving his toys on and wasting perfectly good batteries.

5. I'm pretty sure I've got at least 2 unfinished bottles of antibiotics with Haley's name on it. I'm not sure why I've kept them. Maybe it's to prove to my pediatrician that I'm not a bad mother...I really was saving them for a much more serious ear infection.

6. I once told my niece that if she didn't let me take her to get her hair cut she would never grow any taller and therefor never be accepted into a good university. Yep, that's right...Community College!! (Thanks to my sister for teaching her daughter about the pitfalls and consequences of a sub-par education.)

7. My kids think that every video game, vending machine, and annoying plastic pony ride are off limits to children who don't eat their vegetables. Their money will not be accepted and they will be incidentally thrown/projected from it's seat.

8. The number of times I dress my kids in the clothes left on the floor from the day before is steadily increasing. 9. When I cut my husband's hair I make sure to tell him how proud of myself I am and that this particular haircut is so much better then the last one I gave him. This way he wont notice the gaping hole I just put in the back of his head. He'll lovingly kiss me on the cheek squeeze my tush and say..."Thanks babe you're awesome." He really has no idea how truly awesome I am :) !

10. When my son started expressing an interest in motorcycles I told him that it was against the law for anyone under 102 years of age to own a motorcycle...especially a Harley Davidson! He is steadily counting down the days and wondering how old his Papaw really is.

Now that the cat is out of the bag its time for you to confess. (That's right Dad I'm looking in your direction.) How many times have you fed your children marshmallows for breakfast? How many toys have mysteriously disappeared from your son's bedroom? We all want to know...at least I do! It will make me feel like less of an unfit mother!

On my mind today...

1. Is it really too much to ask the repair man to knock at the front door and alert me of his presence?

MY CONCLUSION:

Of course it is.

He would have to covertly disguise his can of Blue Ribbon Beer, walk/stumble an extra two feet, ball up that callused hand of his and actually make contact with the door. Not to mention wait for me to drag my ass out of bed at the ungodly hour of 6 in the morning and wait for me to politely tell him to piss off...come back later jack ass!

2. Is it really worth $275 for someone to teach Zelda the Wonder Dog to heal and play nice with the neighborhood kitty?

MY CONCLUSION:

Um...ya...that would be a no.

Sorry little kitty, you'll just have to grow a pair. Momma needs a new dryer.

3. Do I really need to know ALL the words to Thomas the Tank Engine's theme song?

MY CONCLUSION:

Yes.

Yes I do.

Apparently that little blue engine knows all and sees all. If you mess up his song you'll never get to the Island of Sodor (where all of the most important trains live). Santa isn't allowed to bring anything Thomas related down the chimney. You can't buy the outrageously priced wooden railroad set or even watch the DVDs narrated by Alec Baldwin! (Thank you Mr. Baldwin, it's an honor to have you in our home.) I'm cramming for my Thomas the Tank Engine final right now so that my son and I can divert this crisis.

4. Do moms deserve a certain amount of privacy while on the pot?

MY CONCLUSION:

No.

No, we deserve NOTHING!

Those little fingers wiggling underneath that crack between the floor and the locked bathroom door crave my direct attention. The picture of Zelda the Wonder Dog eating a poopie diaper (drawn by my artistic and creative 4 year old) needs my immediate and loving approval. My husband's two day old smelly work shirt needs to be ironed so that the pit stains aren't as prominent as the day before. (Good God man! it's not like you don't have another clean one!) All of these issues are indeed pressing. How dare I take even a moment to wash and dry my hands!

5. Who really does have the right of way when it comes to shopping cart etiquette inside Wal-Mart?


MY CONCLUSION:

ME!

It's ALWAYS ME!

When you've got a stage 4 temper tantrum wailing accusations of child abduction while forcibly tucked under your good spanking arm accompanied by a pant load of fresh doodie currently residing in your daughter's brand new sundress -- its time for Betty White to get the hell out of the way! Sorry Grandma those white tube socks will still be on sale 30 seconds from now...don't worry your can still wear them with your plastic sandals its "oh-the-rage" in Paris still.

AHHHHH! Now I feel much better. See what a little Mommy Blogging and a good rant will do for ya? If you'll excuse me I've got a drunk repair man with power tools in the back yard to supervise, one innocent kitty to save from certain death, a theme song to practice, art to hang on the refrigerator, and spanking arm to ice and rest up. Happy day!

SIDE NOTE: Don't worry Jeremy. My hands were thoroughly washed before the preparation of your dinner last night. What kind of mother and wife would I be if I didn't do the bare minimum for my dear family?

Start

So...a lovely start to my newest blog. Feel free to leave a comment and tell me how fabulous I am. This blog is for my family, for the mommy blogger and anyone who can shed some light on all the mysteries in life...particularly my personal mysteries! :) Its true I am a borderline Mormon in more ways then one. I struggle with my inherited religion and the fact that its teachings may be perfect but it's followers are not. So here we are a family of 4 thriving and at the same time struggling in wavering beliefs. I have come to a point in life where I need to live and present myself for who I really am.


A little well known fact about myself: I love coffee!


I would take it intravenously if possible.


I tried giving it up.


It's just not an option.


And you know what? I could care less if the Relief Society President and the Bishop himself is made privy to my obsession.


I'm done faking it.


I'm a good person, just ask my mother.


The saddest part: I use to care about what other people in my ward thought about me.


Stay tuned for more shocking details and sins committed (by me) as outlined in The Word of Wisdom.

DISCLAIMER: I'm not hear to trash talk. I respect and admire those who faithfully commit and uphold the teachings of the LDS church. I just don't understand it, and I'm trying too. These are all my personal thoughts and ideas and what I ALONE believe and struggle with...no one else!

So, on a lighter note. For your personal amusement and enjoyment I will also be blogging about our family's day to day workings because lets just face it...we McBride's are pretty darn interesting. Don't lie you know we are!

You may ask: "What do you do all day Angela while Jeremy is at work?" Well let me tell you! Right now my biggest challenge is trying to keep Haley from escaping through the doggy door and making a run for the Mexican border (which in conveniently 2 1/2 miles from our front door). Yesterday afternoon I found her trying to scale the 8ft brick wall that protects our new domain. Luckily Zelda the Wonder Dog wasn't too far behind and quickly alerted me to my escaped prisoner.

Riley has learned that there is a life without cable television. Yes, that's right, we have decided to go with out cable. It's working out quite nicely. No, we are not trying to start a new religious cult boycotting Mickey Mouse and Sesame Street! I'm actually very found of the the big yellow bird and his gang of misfit monsters. There aren't a lot of choices when it comes to cable companies around here. The price for cable was exactly one leg, four teeth and $99 for a small cluster of really crappy channels. So we are finding that we talk more to each other. I'm spending more time with the kids and getting creative. I forgot how much fun it was to dig in the dirt, build a tent city, or just take a second and actually TALK to my kids. For example I had no idea that Riley's favorite color is rainbow. Haley picks her nose with her left hand and holds her cereal spoon with her right. Also, I have discovered that Jeremy really does pick up his dirty socks. Zelda just has a particular fondness for dirty socks and digs them out of the laundry.

So how am I surviving down here on the surface of the sun? Pretty darn well if you ask me! We are FINALLY under one roof and have two happy thriving little McBride's to prove it!

Another bonus: Because we are indeed out in the middle of nowhere we no longer need to duck, hide and cover when the missionaries come a knocking! Don't judge me...you all have done it at some point in your lives! I grantee some of you will be muting your televisions and blacking out the front of your house this evening! Avoiding that fateful invite to sacrament meeting in our new ward has become a sport for Jeremy and I. Jeremy is MVP for team McBride. He is so much better at saying thanks but no thanks. We ARE NOT ready to go back. Not yet. I don't know if we ever will be. There just comes a point in every one's "LDS experience" where you just want to be left alone. Is that sad? Is it completely selfish for me to be that way? Am I depriving my children of a wholesome gospel that is believed to save their innocent little soles? Am I going to hell? (I'm sure there are more then a few people that I know who think so.) These are just a few of the questions I struggle with. I guess if I'm going to outer darkness my sister and her Margirator will be there waiting for me? Just kidding! I really do love my sister and her margirator! Whats a Margirator you may ask...for another post...I promise!

Now that I have sufficiently ignored my children its time for me to get back. Hope you enjoyed my little rants and sin admission. Y'all come back now...ya hear?