Pants: Still Flaming.

I know! I didn't post anything! For days!  Not even photos! Because I am a big liar.

In reality, we had spotty internet (at best) at the beach house and I was actually quite busy... what with all the lounging in chairs on the beach, eating a metric ton of seafood, and trying not to have a panic attack watching my husband walk out into the roaring surf with mah preyshus baybeez.  I was sure a rogue wave would snatch Toby out of his arms to be lost forever at sea.

If you've ever been to the Outer Banks, you know the waves there are relatively calm.  Also, if you've ever met my Mother you know my crippling and irrational Fear of Horrible Things That Will Never Actually Come To Pass is purely genetic and not in any way my own fault.  

The beach over all, though, was soothing, relaxing and pretty much exactly what we needed after an unprecedentedly hectic summer.  Also, the break from the computer made me realize that I am overdue for a slowdown on internet time.  So I'm going to be doing less of that for a while - at least until Milo arrives and I'm a slave to the house and the schedule of a small mewling infant who wakes at all hours.  Which isn't to say I won't be blogging - I'll just be putting a lot less pressure on myself to do so.  And probably posting a lot more photos and a lot fewer words.  Photos that may or may not have anything to do with... well, anything.

And, on that note, I will leave you with this.

Jack's R2D2 Birthday Cake.

Pants: On FIre.

It's a rough Sea Lion life.  Eat, sleep, lounge. Repeat.

Fisherman's Warf; Pier 39, San Francisco

So I didn't get enough questions yet to justify the random things post.  So I'm a big liar, and I'm not going to post anything clever here for the next week or so.  

And I'm here on the Outer Banks.  And it's raining.  And yet still beautiful and relaxing.

And I'm lazy, and I'm on vay-cay-shun, people, so in lieu of posting actual stuffs while I am here for the next 7 days... I will be attempting to post a daily photo.  Some will be of the scene here on the Outer Banks.... some will be from BlogHer... and yet still others may just be random photos from the recent-past that will fill up the space.  

Enjoy.  

Public Nudity. Only, Not Really.

In spite of the fact that I have chosen to chronicle some of my more intimate life details and personality quirks on the internet, I really am quite mum about personal matters.  In person, anyway.

I've realized recently, as the comments have begun to pick up around here a bit (and THANK YOU! I want to snog each and every one of you, but my husband is afraid I might enjoy it a wee bit too much and abandon him.  Probably to live on an all-girl-blogger commune with the Redneck Mommy, who I smooched full on the lips at BlogHer.  I regret nothing, and I would do it again this instant if the opportunity arose.  This time with tongue. Hi, Tanis! Heh.) 

*cough*

So, um, yeah.  Like I was saying, I'm kinda shy.  (Seriously. I swear.) so when you lovely kind people leave comments I DO think about responding to them, but then I realize that makes this internet-conversation-with-myself more like a real conversation with Other People.  And then I start to sweat and twitch and generally retreat under the covers with a novel and a bag of gummy bears.  

I'm trying to overcome this particular quirk.  

In that spirit, I volunteered to be interviewed by Pete at Fiddley for his Blogger Love on Wednesdays podcast a while back.  Now I'm going to do something even more revolutionary. (After all, even though people would be listening to that interview later, I only had to really focus on talking to Pete... and he happens to be one of the nicest people in the state of Utah, so that was much less scary than anticipated.)

I'm going to ask you, dear readers, to ask me some questions.  Really.  You can either post your questions in the comments or, if you prefer, you may email them to melkist (at) gmail (dot) com.  And then, before I leave for the beach next week, I will post the answers to your inquiries.

So if there's something you have been dying to know about me, or if you're just idly curious and happen to have some extra time this week, go ahead and fire off a question or two.  I may filter through them (if you're one of the people who keeps stumbling upon this site by googling for "Mom Panty" or "Sexy Spanking" I completely reserve the right to ignore you.  Or send you a referral for my shrink.)  Oddball questions will earn extra points, and to kick things off I will now answer three questions that absolutely nobody asked.  

Q) Are you a natural redhead?

A) I don't remember.  It's been so long since I let my natural color grow in, I'd be hard pressed to figure this one out.  But the carpet doesn't match the drapes, so if that's any indication I'd have to say no.  My (currently blond) sister has the "natural redhead" claim to fame, and the requisite second hairdo to prove it.  Just don't ask her if you can check for yourself because she is secretly a total bad-ass and she will cut you, you perv.

Q) What is your husband's real name?

A) Big Daddy T is a moniker I adopted because some of his coworker friends have/do read this blog.  I would hate for the wrong person at his office to stumble across the site and perhaps make me the unwitting cause of any awkwardness at work.  I will reveal that his actual first [name begins with the letter "J", which adds a whole new layer of confusion, now, doesn't it? You may now stew on that for a while.

Q) Why "Aum" Mom? Do you do Yoga? Meditation?

A) First because "Aum" rhymes with "Home" and I thought it was clever.  Second because I have done yoga in the past, as well as Pilates.  I preferred pilates, for the record, but they both gave me a sense of calm which I strive to translate into everyday living with varying levels of success.  I am also a semi-casual student of Buddhism, and it felt like a nice triangulation all around.  When I do manage to go to the bathroom and finish without interruption I tend to consider that my meditation for the day; otherwise I try to find a few minutes to sit quietly in a chair and ponder the nature of existence.  More often than not the "sitting in the chair" method results in an impromptu nap, which is okay because it helps me find a teeny bit of zen in my day.

So there you are.  It's the internet equivalent of Public Nudity as I blog (metaphorically) naked for you.  Feel free to be creative or to ask silly questions (I think toilet paper should roll forward off the top, for the record).  I'll even throw in a prize of some sort for the best question, with the winner to be chosen by Big Daddy.  I'm not sure what the prize will be, but does it really matter WHAT you win as long as you win?  Something to ponder while you're sitting there thinking up fascinating questions for a semi-fascinating woman, now, isn't it?

Nothing Doing

I woke up this morning, ate breakfast with Big Daddy and the boys, got Big Daddy out the door and on the road in his shiny new silver car (no sign of mining gnomes yet, but I'm keeping a vigilant eye), and then I sat down in one of our wing chairs with the most recent Entertainment Weekly while the boys settled into their play for the morning.

Two hours later I woke from a sound sleep to find two angelic children playing quietly at my feet.  I think they might have been mine, but since my boys are not famous for quiet play I can't be entirely sure I didn't hallucinate the whole thing in that semi-comatose state between awake and asleep.  

But really that's neither here nor there, except to explain that I lost 2 hours today and got a much later start than anticipated on the grocery shopping and house chores.  And I still can't seem to find the cable for my camera, so I have no photos for you.  I'm so far behind the power curve that I might officially be upside-down by now.  Which would explain the hair, y'all, because today I resemble a horrifically pregnant Lyle Lovett.  

Which is all really getting at the point that I probably have nothing to say today.  I know! One of "those posts" where the writer is all "I'm just posting to say I have nothing to post".  Did you know those posts can be quiet helpful for the writer if they are, say, extraordinarily worn out and looking for a good excuse to procrastinate the starting of dinner?  

I am a champion procrastinator.  I also happen to have a ridiculous case of ADD, which helps because it's quite easy to delay doing things if you can't remember exactly what you set out to do in the first place because - ohh! Lookit that, I really need to redo my pedicure, don't I?  

I'm sorry, what were we saying?  Something about me being an exhausted procrastinator with the attention span of a coked-up ferret?  Yeah, that might have been it.

So strictly for your entertainment, here is a list things that distracted me today- which will also serve as the perfectly reasonable list of excuses why I didn't accomplish 90% of my "To-Do List" today.

-"What's that smell?" (in order: the dog, Toby's diaper, something still unidentified in the fridge)

- "Oh, look! I haven't seen this episode of Blue's Clues..."

- "What was that crash?" (Toby tipping over the heavy table in his room, Toby flipping the laundry basket over in an attempt to ride it down the stairs, Toby knocking the step-stool over while trying to wash his hands for the 54326 time today)

- Things I noticed that completely derailed me en route to something else: 

- the 4 dead flies we have trapped on the fly paper in the kitchen

- my empty coffee mug

- 3 empty packets of fruit snacks

- the entire section of fake Crocs at Walmart

- a forgotten package of unopened bacon in the crisper, discovered while searching out the aforementioned mystery smell, which I have been fantasizing about all afternoon

- Things I need to get done but were NOT on my to-do list for today, which didn't stop me from spending precious hours obsessing over them while accomplishing exactly nothing this afternoon:

- packing my suitcase for the Birthing Inn

- packing for our trip to the beach next week

- finding Big Daddy's swim trunks for the beach trip

- shopping for new school clothes for Jack

- bringing up the box of "newborn to 3 months" boys' clothes from basement storage to wash and put away for Milo

- installing the infant car seat into the van

- cleaning the van out for the beach trip

In fact, the only serious task I accomplished today was scheduling the dog for a visit with The Vet From Hell for this weekend so he can get up-to-date on all his vaccines before we deposit him at the boarding kennel next week.  So acute is my fear of this horribly nasty man, I got off the phone with his very pleasant receptionist and almost wept with relief that the only available appointment was Saturday morning.  This means that Big Daddy gets the honor of dealing with the whole thing, and I am saved from being lectured on: the evils of Any Pet Food That Is Not Science Diet, being a horrid mean dog parent who refuses to get my dog vaccinated for anything that isn't a documented risk in our area (no, I don't want the lyme disease vaccine for an extra $50, thanks), and allowing the nice vet at our boarding kennel to administer a rabies vaccine because it was more convenient for us at the time.  

All things considered... well, I mean, the whole vet thing? It's pretty traumatic.  So when you put that into perspective AND realize that I am also incredibly busy with the growing of a small human being, I really accomplished quite an impressive lot today, didn't I?

Thanks, I'm glad we had this talk.  I feel much better now.  Was it good for you?

Ch-ch-ch-changes...

Tonight we drive to the dealership to pick up the new car.  Yes, I said "new".   I know, I'm quelling the panic at the thought of the car payment... but aside from the fact that it appears John Q. Everybody is busy trading in their horrific gas-guzzling SUV's for every compact and sub-compact car in the used market  (Even our beloved Carmax came up with a pitifully sad selection of vehicles to fit the bill in replacing the dearly departed Aquaman) Big Daddy is in critical need of a vehicle with things like.. you know... air conditioning and working windows and locks.  Also a vehicle that doesn't require me to crawl out of bed and come rescue him from a breakdown off the side of some godforsaken stretch of highway between here and civilization in the wee hours of the morning would be lovely.

Rest in peace, AquaMan.

And so it is that Big Daddy will soon be the proud owner of a brand-spanking new Saturn Astra. Because the availability is limited in our area he found that to get the options he wanted his only color choice was... silver.  Like the minivan.  He mentioned that he fully expects to wake up tomorrow to find a troop of gnomes with pickaxes making a muck of the front lawn.  Don't mind him, though, he's just bitter because he has a thing for blue ("da-ba-dee-da-ba-doo").

So that's changing, then.  New car.  That's different, right?

So then we leave in about a week for our family vacation to the Outer Banks.  Sand, surf and, hopefully, quiet hours in the sunshine with a good book.  And then back home just in time to get Jack ready for Kindergarten.  Now, normally this would involve copious quantities of wine and weeping. For me, I mean.  Being pregnant limits my mental health options, though, so I may have to make due with tabloid magazines and frozen limeade.

Once we get into the swingin' routine of regular school (did I mention it's all day kindergarten? ALL. DAY. *sniffle*) I'll have a few hectic weeks to prepare for the arrival of the small being currently percolating in my lady regions.  And by "small" I mean "freakishly huge, just like my previous spawn".  I was hoping to land somewhere in the eight pound range this time but if the size of my exponentially growing belly is any indication this baby will weigh approximately 86 pounds.  So at least there's the fame and free diaper sponsorships to look forward to.

But basically what I'm getting at here (not that you expected a coherent point at this stage in our narrative, did you?) is that my life 8 weeks from now will be unrecognizable as the same life I am currently leading and I'm really not sure exactly how I feel about that.  I'm sure it will all end up just peachy keen, but it's the not knowing that is driving me a little bonkers.

So I guess what I'm getting at is... Hold me? And maybe send cookies.

  

Blog The Recession

Kristin over at Motherhood Uncensored noticed that July has been a pretty craptastic month across the board.  Oh, sure, there were some fantastic highlights - BlogHer, pretty fireworks, and (for me) my kid turning 5. 

But there was also the wrecking of Big Daddy's car and, oh, did I mention my kid turning 5?

It's hard out there for a pimp blogger, y'all, so let's all do something a little kinder and gentler in August and Blog The Recession.  Basically, that means if you're using a feed reader and normally don't click through... just this once, go ahead and click.  And once you arrive on the site, maybe go ahead and click a few of those sponsor ads.  

Christmas will be here before you know it, and who couldn't use a few extra bucks in pocket right now?  Even if they (like me) don't have any ads, the added eye t

raffic will send a little internet love (the good kind) their way.  

Spread the love, my peoples.  Haven't you heard? There's a recession on.  It could end up like 1977 around here, and nobody wants that, now do they? 

The effects of the recession echoed all the way into 1981.

Or, maybe this is just a gratuitous photo of my second birthday.

Et Tu, Tuesday?

Officially, Monday is the Day Of Doom at our house.  Mondays have been known to attack without warning. You need an example?

Yesterday (which was Monday, for those keeping score at home) Toby got an inexplicable bout of digestive badness resulting in explosive diarrhea.  I discovered this when he walked into the family room with a stream of brown running down one leg.  It was lovely.

Even MORE lovely, though, was hearing the dog lapping at something in the next room.  "Something" turned out to be a puddle of diarrhea that had collected on the floor after escaping the diaper.

That dog has kissed me on the mouth, people.  Not that I allow him to do that willingly, but he's 60 pounds of conniving lap-dog and sometimes you just can't dodge fast enough.

So I figured, once all the poopy chaos was cleaned up, we were clear for the rest of the week.

Not so, dear friends.

This morning, on his way to work, Big Daddy got into a car accident.  Fortunately, he walked away without injury.  Not so fortunate was his trusty jalopy, the 1990 Honda Civic, our beloved "Aqua Man Car".  (Jack named the car when Big Daddy first drove its teal gloriousness into the driveway.)

Rest in Peace, Aqua Man.

So if any marketing people from a major auto manufacturer happen by and want to give us a free car for his hour-long commute each way, I'm open to changing our middle name pick to "Chevy" or "Honda".  Okay, maybe not really, but I'll put an ad up for you and generally be your corporate love-muffin.  Totally a win-win, right?

So, yeah, back in reality-type-land, if anyone needs me I'll be busy perusing the local used car dealerships, crunching some numbers, and possibly stuffing my face with leftover birthday cake.  Also possibly calculating the relative street value of my prenatal vitamins.  They won't get you high but your hair and nails will be fabulously healthy! 

As for you, Tuesday... I'll deal with you later.  Maybe you can make it up to me: from now on, any calories consumed on Tuesdays don't count.  That would be a good start.  I mean, there's an awful lot of cake left.