Giveaway: Nourish Your Inner Shopper!

I am an Ambassador for the new Goldfish® campaign Fishful Thinking.

I am here to spread the word.

And I am spreading the word with a little scavenger hunt and a giveaway! Woo hoo! Hooray for free stuff!

The HUNT:

1. Go to Fishful Thinking and find the name of the doctor behind this wonderful initiative.

2. Take the Resilience Quiz and tell me your answer to question number 2.

3. Read this article and tell me what one health benefit to being optimistic.

The Rules (with more than one way to enter because I'm CRAZY like that):

1. Send me your answers to the scavenger hunt listed above to zimkandace@comcast.net subject FISHFUL so it doesn't get deleted. Each correct answer gets you an entry. (You'll notice one of those is a freebie.)

2. Leave a comment telling me you completed the hunt.

3. Get an additional five entries by linking to my giveaway from your blog or social networking site (make sure to tell me you did in the comments).

4. My followers get an additional entry. So, if you aren't a follower it would behoove you to be one now!

5. Click the fish. Big brother will tell me you did, so no cheating!

{That totals 9 entries possible for each person!}

Prizes:
1st Prize - $25 gift card to Macy's
2nd Prize - $10 Winner's Choice

Giveaway ends Friday night at 11:59 pm PST.

Winners will be announced Saturday in my first ever Vlog! You won't want to miss it!

{Don't forget to click the fish - nourish your parenting skillz}

P.S. Fishful Thinking is looking for mom ambassadors with kids between the ages of 4 and 12, if you are interested, email me for details... this is a great opportunity for us moms!

It's Finally Friday...

Seriously, ya'll, it's been a week and all I can say is TGIF!
Yesterday we finally made it out of house to our favorite park.
Which bears a striking resemblance to this.
Because it is, only a little further down the road.

And the very thought of it makes the kids get all angst-y and weird.
Or maybe that's just the stir-crazy talking.Like always, someone has to go and get hurt. While wearing ski goggles. On his bike.

It's Friday do ya'll know what that means? It means that Candid Carrie is hosting her Friday Foto Finish Fiesta! Go Play! Happy Friday!

Was he raised in a barn?

This. Is. Disgusting.

Not that you needed me to tell you that. But, this is what I sat down next to at the computer this morning.

It is so disgusting, I had to share. Okay so I think that makes me equally disgusting but it bothered me so much I couldn't get past it to write what I had planned. So, there. Blog fodder. You're welcome.

Honestly, please tell me I am not the only one living with a man-beast. Please. Hello? Where did everyone go?

The Croup Coup

Over the weekend we got some new chicks.

Honestly, I love chicks.They are just so freaking cute.

In totally unrelated news...

My kid has Croup.

Again.

For approximately the one-thousand-seven-hundred-and-fiftieth time. Okay so maybe that is stretching it, but it sure feels like that many times.

We were THIS CLOSE to making it through the cold and flu season this year without Croup.

Except, you know, when you have a child that gets Croup every single time he gets a cold - Croup is bound to get you...eventually.

And it has.

And my spaz-tastic kid keeps asking why we haven't left the house. Um, hello, because you are coughing your guts out and mama isn't willing to deal with the stare down of every mother everywhere just so you can bounce off the walls somewhere else thankyouverymuch!

The good news is, the medicine is FINALLY helping. Which means more bouncing off the walls with less cough which is good, right?

Yes, actually bouncing off the walls without hacking up his left lung is a welcomed site.

Treated, not Treated

You guys I've caught the gardening bug.

I think it may be the fact that I have been doped up on Benadryl for days and the hangover is causing me to be delusional about weeding and all the actual work involved in gardening.

But, whatever. I'm totally doing it. Where doing it is defined as enrolling my husband to do most of the heavy lifting. Where heavy lifting is defined as the majority of the work.

(Wow, can you see how this post is putting me in the running for Most Wonderful Wife of the Year?)

But being the awesome wife that I am, I offered to actually get the materials from the Home Depot today - such a giver.

My mother in law as my witness the following conversation actually occurred between my husband and I regarding the supplies.

"Okay, you need to get 8 - 8 foot posts and 25 - 1 by 6 boards."

"What kind of boards?"

"The same boards that I used to make the benches outside."

"Yes, but what are those called?"

"Treated."

"So I need to get treated boards?"

"No. Not treated."

"Then what kind?"

"Red ones like outside."

"Yes, you said that. But, what are those called? I need to know the name. When I get in the aisle and everything looks the same I need a point of reference. You know, so when I seek help because lord knows I'll need help I'll need an actual name so the guy at Home Depot can actually try and help me."

"They are treated."

"Okay, so I need treated 8 - 8 foot posts and 25 1 by 6's?"

"No. Not treated. Well....treated but not treated. Just nice posts."

"Okay, so when I seek help I need to ask for treated not treated posts?"

"No...well, yes."

"So just ask the guy for treated not treated posts and you swear he won't look at me like I have a third eye?"

"Yes, but what I mean is you need the same kind I used for the benches. And those aren't treated but they are red."

"So, I need red boards?"

"Yes."

"So I need red boards that aren't treated."

"Yes, exactly."

Apparently, neither of us could actually think of the word stained.

I even have proof of the conversation!

Captions from top to bottom read (Click to enlarge):
[Croutons taste better spelled wrong! And also, form the basis of my daughter's diet!]
[The Shed]
[Scientific calculations!]
[Make sure not to spend too much!]
[Trying to make me fail by changing the quantity!]

Sometimes Your Jesus Moment Comes Even When You've Thought You've Avoided It

Thursday afternoon while driving home from an outing with the kids I watched the car in front of me flip over several times before landing in the ditch upside down.

Five minutes before that, I thought about the last time I witnessed such an accident and how for weeks I couldn't sleep because the young woman dying in front of my eyes wouldn't let me. Why I thought of the accident that I hadn't thought about in months on the very day I witnessed an almost identical accident, I don't know.

After watching the accident, I called my husband and cried. I cried because watching something horrific reminds you life is fragile. I cried because life can be taken away in seconds. I cried because it could have been me. I cried because it could have been me and my children.

And then, I talked to my kids about praying. I explained why we pray, who we pray for, the importance of praying - something I had never talked to them about before. I explained that we needed to be praying for the driver of that vehicle in front of us.

I am not sure they understood.

But it was a conversation we needed to have.

To open the gates of communication about our faith and what it means.

The funny thing is, at the time of the accident I was supposed to be meeting with the Mormons but I chickened out. I had decided that I wasn't really open to what they had to say at the moment, at least not without thinking about Big Love, so I canceled and yet, there I was explaining faith to my kids anyway.

I am dumbfounded by all of this. It's all just, too much.

Regardless, tell your loved ones you love them every chance you get, mkay?

Is your attitude worth catching?

Poster courtesy of The Foundation for a better life

Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement. Nothing can be done without hope and confidence. - Helen Keller

Have you seen the movie The Pursuit of Happyness?

Whenever I think life is handing me crap, I think of this story. The story of young, single, broke father who wouldn't let anyone or anything stop him from achieving his dream of changing careers and changing his life forever, including homelessness with a 4-year-old.

It's a very inspiring true story.

My favorite quote from the movie comes when Will Smith (Chris Gardner) is playing basketball with his son and after telling his son not to aspire to be a basketball player, he stops, looks at his son and says, "Never let anyone tell you can't do something, including me. Do you hear me? You can be anything you want to be. Don't ever let anyone tell you different."

Growing up I was told I could be anything and that I could do anything I wanted to as long I was willing to work hard enough to actually get there. I am not sure I ever really believed my parents.

At least not until I actually tried.

Let's take school, for example.

I knew I was smart enough to make good grades. I was even optimistic I would make good grades. But through high school I was only ever slightly above average never averaging better than B's. I was satisfied because B's were pretty good considering the amount of effort I gave, which was close to none most of the time. It wasn't until my junior year in college that I realized I was actually capable of straight A's. Had anything changed? No. I was still not the smartest girl in class but I worked harder and actually realized that school isn't about natural ability it is about learning new things. It's sad that it took 15 years of school to finally figure it out.

Who knew what my parent's had preached for ages was actually true?

I could be anything I wanted to be as long as I was willing to put in the effort, had the confidence to actually try and hoped for a better result.

If you would have told me at 15-years-old that I would graduate college with a degree in Mathematics I would have asked you what in the world you were smoking and then I would have bent over in hysterical laughter because that right there is some funny stuff. Me? Mathematics?

I suppose the biggest downfall to my parents telling me I could be anything is that I didn't have any idea who or what I wanted to be. And for the record I guess I still don't. Sure I want to be a good person and mother. A good wife and daughter. A good sister and friend. Is there really anything more important than that? I am still searching.

The optimism that I could be anything or do whatever I want seems to be fading as the years pass by.

But, my husband is a whole different story.

My husband is hopelessly optimistic with a whole lot of hard work and dedication to back it up. He believes he'll be as successful as he ever dreamed of being when he was just a boy back on the farm. And do you know what? He will be.

Optimism is remarkable. It is as remarkable as someones faith in the Lord. It is as remarkable as someone recovering from Cancer. It is as remarkable as someone beating the odds when the odds are stacked against them.

Optimism is something I want my kids to have.
___________________

Head over to The R Family Diaries and vote for this post or just see what others have to say about Optimism or Enter yourself!


Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

I'm Totally Phoning This One In

"Hey blog, how's it going?"

"Oh, you know. So, so."

"So, so?"

"Yeah. Traffic has slowed and, you know, it's been a while."

"Oh, right. But, wait. It's only been, like, two days."

"Yes, I've been lonely."

"Blogs get lonely?"

"Yes. Well, no. But, I like new stuff. Everyday. Like, you know, a normal blog."

"Who said you weren't normal?"

"No one."

"Oh."

"Well, it's just that I thought you had *tons* of new material."

"Blog?"

"Yeah?"

"This is our first conversation, I never told you I had new material."

"Yes, well, it's just that you've started 412 new posts since Monday and none of them are finished."

"Well, see, that's just it. I mean, I just can't seem to finish. Anything."

"Do you remember when you found your first blog?"

"Yes."

"And do you remember the constant refreshing you'd do all day desperately waiting for an update?"

"Vaguely. Google Reader has taken care of all of that, though."

"Yes, but readers still like reading."

"I know and honestly, I meant to finish something. Like the story about me taking Honorable Mention at the Mother of the Week Awards for the second straight week because I made my kid crap his pants. Not on purpose, of course... "

"Go on."

"But, because I was using the bathroom at the very moment of his urgent desperation. I quickly told him to use the restroom downstairs. But, no one ever uses that bathroom."

"You have a bathroom you don't use? Why on earth..."

"Koko the ferocious beast and her friend Cody use the bathroom as a sort of home and no one likes forgetting to put the tp up only to have to clean up an entire roll of tp which is in 1000 tiny pieces on the floor, now do they? I, for one, hate cleaning up teeny tiny pieces of shredded tp."

"And?"

"And, he pleaded for me to just get up. Except, just getting up would have made one hell of mess. So, I told him to run downstairs, let the dogs out and go. Tears welled up in his eyes, he turned and ran."

"I thought you said he crapped his pants?"

"I'm not finished."

"Waiting..."

"I thought for sure we dodged a bullet when he turned and ran. I remember watching the crucial minutes tick by on the clock while simply convincing the kid there was no way I could move. Kid, I said, the Leprechaun Oatmeal made me sick, too. Finally, he believed me. But, moments after I hear the dogs running amok my son appears in front of me (still totally perched on the toilet, Leprechaun Oatmeal is nothing to reckon with). Crocodile tears streaming down his face. Mom, he said, I pooped."

"No way."

" Yes. I have never in my life had to clean poop out of my kid's underwear and there he was in front of me crying, at four-years-old, because I couldn't move off of the pot. I took a deep breath and told him to start undressing. Slowly, very slowly. I warned him to be very careful because we didn't want to lose the the 'log'."

"No, losing the log would be bad. Very bad. And not mention, very messy."

"While he carefully undressed, I collected myself. I dismounted the porcelain pony and re-situated myself and braced for impact. While helping him out of his undies I noticed that there wasn't a 'log'. I was totally suspicious that we had misplaced the log in the kerfuffle. Kyan? Where is the poop? Mom? It was just sort of wet. But, I thought, you pooped. And, down he went into Downward Dog to prove the poop."

"So, he didn't poop?"

"No."

"He cried because he sh-arted?"

"Yes, he totally sh-arted."

"Have you ever seen Rob & Big?"

"Blog, you know I have. (totally singing, You're My Best Friend)"

"Well did you ever see that episode when Big wears a Manpon?"

"Blog you are gross but funny except I think Manpon's are reserved for men not boys who simply shart, once!

"Maybe. Just remember that boy you are raising will one day be a man."

"Thanks, I'll remember that nugget of wisdom." [click]

I am pretty sure my husband will be taking away my car after he reads this post

Today I decided it was time to get my car an oil change.

Sounds so freaking simple.

But.

This is me. And, simple is overrated.

Just to be clear my car was 15,000 miles overdue for said oil change. The last time I changed the oil I was sweating. Not because I was actually changing the oil. No. But because it was 80 degrees outside and the dealership had no AC and it was a day that 150 other Toyota owners also wanted their cars worked on. Did I mention the sweat? So, since this is Seattle that was what? Over 6 months ago.

Normally my cheap ass takes the car to the dealership to save money. I know, right? Dealership, cheap? Yes. $19.99 for the oil change. It's approximately 1000 miles away from home but they offer free Starbucks, so it's totally worth it.

Plus, the dealership never tries to up-sell me. I think I hate up-selling more than I hate cats, especially when I have no idea what they are talking about.

Let's take cars, for example. I can drive one. And that is where my expertise ends. Period. Do not ask me about anything. I am certain I couldn't even change a tire if my life depended on it. AAA, I love you.

So, when the local Lube Exchange asks me what service I want. I say, O-I-L C-H-A-N-G-E, nice and slow in case the young greasy man doesn't get why I came in today. And then the greasy young man starts.

The young man starts explaining things and saying things that I know nothing about. And when people start talking to me about stuff I know nothing about, I start to panic and no matter what, I try to remember to Just Say No, like my mama taught me.

Honestly, I think these places pray on people like me. They use scare tactics like the email supposedly from Toyota regarding engines in cars like mine that cease up. Holy crap, that about made me faint. But, I held strong.

"No, Sir just your Signature Service."

Then the young man starts in on the fact that my car's Radiator needed service and some other thing-a-majigy that was also due.

"Thanks, but just the oil change today."

Then he starts the lecture on how often I change my oil. Which, I suppose was totally warranted but it still pissed me off.

No sooner had I got the first young greasy man off my back, did another one come in bombarding me with what I thought was an oil filter. Apparently, it was dirty. But, I wasn't going to let this little shop win, no I wasn't.

So, I looked it over and said "No thank you!" Victory was almost mine.

But, then I got to thinking. That filter did look a little dirty. And, I do know I usually have the dealership change the filter every few oil changes. But, I stayed strong.

I paid my $30 (and that was with my coupon for $10 off) and left.

While leaving I felt a little uneasy.

Maybe those greasy guys were right, I thought.

Maybe I did need to switch to Synthetic, maybe I did need a filter change, maybe I did need stuff worked on.

So, I did the only logical thing.

I went t0 Schuck's.

I asked for some help and the girl acted like I didn't know what I was talking about. And, man, she was right. But, all be damned if those greasy guys were going to get anymore of my money.

I figured out that what that greasy guy was showing me was actually an Air Filter and not an Oil Filter. Simple rookie mistake given that they look totally different and do totally different things.

I bought one.

For my husband to install.

When he gets home.

He's going to be so happy!

And proud!

Except, when I read the notes on my receipt from the Lube place it says Filter in difficult spot.

Then I remembered the last time I did this to my husband he cursed and cursed me because the filter was in a very tight spot for his VERY large 6'4" hands.

And the result of that last experience was that I was to always have the Lube place install my filter.

But, by golly I totally won.

And totally saved $2.95.

And, VICTORY is mine. (Mwahhahahahaha)

Next thing you know the only food they'll allow is Lunchables (if that is even considered a "food")

Did you know that I cannot even pack a peanut butter & jelly sandwich in my son's lunch for preschool?

I certainly don't want my kid to be the reason another kid goes into anaphylactic shock, but still. This just seems crazy.

And back in the day I was the weirdo kid with ALL the allergies.

Curses to those poor peanut free kids who make this mama pack things like Tuna and Egg Salad that without proper refrigeration could you know make my kid yak all over those peanut free kids.

Hope, Mormons and Other Random Crap

Today is the last day of ski lessons...and I couldn't be any happier. While signing up for said ski lessons the adventure of packing two toddlers up the mountain one in full gear the other in full whine meltdown mode never occurred to me. Nine weeks of that craziness will give anyone a little perspective. Nevertheless, I'm signing up for next year. Mostly because I enjoy having something to complain about but also because the boy is actually skiing. Like, wow. He may actually be better than me which to be honest isn't all that difficult but still.

*****

The other day while driving in the car my son turns to me and says, "We shouldn't cut down trees."

"Oh," I said, "Why not?"

"Um...because Gummi Bears live there!" he exclaims.

Hmmm, I think the preschool we are attending is charging too much or maybe he just cares way too much about his Gummi vitamins.

****

Currently I have 21 books checked out from the library.

Send help!

****

It's the second Friday the 13th in as many months. Does this not scare anyone else?

****

Oh! The Mormons stopped by yesterday. And, the boys were very interesting. They are coming back next week.

When I told my husband, he says that staying home is ruining me.

I say, if you want to sit down and talk to me about interesting stuff for 30 minutes, I'll get the cookies and tea. I mean it's the least I could do, they are out here knocking on doors for two years. I'll throw them a bone and listen...even if I just want to hear another adult speak...wait...is 19 an adult? Yes? Okay. Good.

****

Have I ever told you what a sucker I am for solicitors? No? I have meat in my freezer, magazines in my mailbox, discount cards in my wallet, cookies in my cupboard and leaflets everywhere from solicitors. Each one I felt sorry for. And, guilt, is something I do very well!

****
Tide is doing something pretty awesome.

Check it Out!

And buy one of those cute vintage tees here. All proceeds go to Loads of Hope!

Old School Aerial Combat...

Lake Tapps, Washington.

A local photographer captures the hunt, the combat and recovery of a few local birds.
The little duck watches as the Eagle speeds straight at him at about 40 mph.

With perfect timing, the duck always dove and escaped with a mighty splash!
Then he'd pop to the surface as soon as the Eagle flew past. This went on for some time. It appeared the little duck would soon tire and that would be the end of the little duck.

Look at the photo closely (or double click to enlarge). A second Eagle joins the attack! The duck kept diving "just in time", so the Eagles began to dive into the water after him!*

After several minutes the Eagles got frustrated and began to attack each other. They soon began to dive vertically, level out, and attack head-on in a good old-fashioned game of high-speed "Chicken". Sometimes they banked away from each other at the last possible second. Other times they'd climb vertically and tear into each other while falling back toward the water. (The duck catches his breath at the right side of this picture.)

A terrible miscalculation! The luckiest shot of one photographers life caught this 100 mph head-on collision between two Bald Eagles.

One Eagle stayed aloft and flew away, but the other lies motionless in a crumpled heap. The lucky duck survived to live another day.

It's sad to watch an Eagle drown. He wiggled, flapped and struggled mostly underwater. He finally got his head above water and with great difficulty managed to get airborne. To the photographer's astonishment, the Eagle flew straight toward him, and it was the most wretched and unstable bird flight he had ever seen!

The bedraggled Eagle circled the photographer once - then lit atop a nearby fir tree.
He had a six-foot wingspread and looked mighty angry. The photographer was concerned that I might be his next target, but he was so exhausted he just stared at him. Then the photographer wondered if he would topple to the ground.

The photographer's half-hour wait was rewarded with this marvelous sight. He flew away, almost good as new.

_______________________________

* The guy on the tailgate is oblivious to the spectacle going on behind him.

This post was sent to me via email from someone who knows this photographer and I couldn't help myself, it was too good not to share.

Domesticity...You Are Mine...Mwhahahaha

Upon starting to stay home over 6 months ago I suddenly was faced with two kids and no idea what in the hell to do with them for hours on end, everyday.

I was mostly scared, I'll admit it. I mean these two beasts could surely take me over in seconds and I'd be left wondering what happened while they were busy unraveling yards of toilet paper and flushing it down the toilet and purposefully grinding play-dough into the carpets, all while running around naked singing the theme song to Barney and eating all the chocolate I have stashed around the house. Honestly, I was terrified.

But, the reality of my situation was so much different. In fact it wasn't the theme song to Barney, it was The Wiggles. Other than that, I was dead on.

I'm kidding, we don't have carpets...we have hardwood. And, I hide the toilet paper where the kids can't reach it. And the chocolates are kept in the same drawer as my vibrator, far far away from from the kids.

So, my fears were really just fears. And staying at home with my kids is far more rewarding than a freaking office job where you get to talk to real people and get to eat your lunch while sitting down and maybe get to talk to someone or maybe just enjoy a book or, you know, maybe just enjoy the simple act of sitting while eating. I don't miss it, I swear.

In fact, I am having fun channeling my inner Domestic Diva. In fact, my inner Domestic Diva has gone bat shit crazy. Things that would never have interested me before are suddenly consuming all my thoughts.

Let's take play-dough, for example. I should hate it. But, I don't. It entertains my children for hours. I love it. Love! It!.

The Domestic Diva in me says I need to make this at home, you know, to save money. And! And, have the kids help. Which, is so much more exhausting than it appears.

But what makes this particular domestic aspiration even worse is when you actually make the play-dough and it fails. Because failing is not something I do well. And, certainly, I'd have to be an idiot to fail at play-dough making. I mean, it's freaking dough to play with, which doesn't involve yeast, which is the same as flour and salt, basically.

What does it say about me that I can't make freaking play-dough? It's simple. It means I fail at domesticity, of course. Fail! Epic! Fail!

And, who wants to fail at their job? No one!

But, I let my failure fall by the wayside thinking it had to be a mistake because certainly I couldn't be failing at my job. No way.

A few weeks ago I took the kids to meet some friends at a local indoor play place. At one point Aspen sat down at a craft table and one of the employees took it upon themselves to see if she'd like to play with some play-dough...of course! After seeing the play-dough I immediately picked it up and started examining it. It was amazing. The smell, the touch, the texture, the color, the sparkles...it was all so perfect.

I'll admit it, I had play-dough envy.

I found the employee and demanded the recipe. "I mean, how on earth did you make this play-dough so...decedent?" I asked. "Mine is so...disgusting compared to this." I bashfully admittedly. (Seriously, I used the word decedent to describe freaking play-dough? What is happening to me?)

She let me in on her secret...Cream of Tartar. It was like I was finally let into the secret club of domesticity with that little secret because do you want to know who made the most decedent batch of play-dough this morning?

Me.

And see, I totally don't fail at domesticity. Not that you care. Except, maybe you are keeping tabs at who is failing or something. And, totally man, it's not me...it's her. Yeah, she's failing. Not me.

God, what has happened to me?

The One Where I Almost Lose my Eyeball...Twice

I spent my day locked in a board room. For 9 hours. Talking about minutea that is irrelevant to the case at this point at a burn rate of about $850 per hour collectively. (Glad that bill won't becoming to our office.)

The attorney on the case is so old I thought he might have a coronary right there in the middle of the pile of papers that were strewn about as if we were actually accomplishing something. I mean, maybe we were, but honestly. Honestly, I spent 9 hours daydreaming about actually being back in an office and wow didn't that feel great? Only to wake up to the same argument being tossed around and blood dripping from my eye socket because the pencil I had been jamming in there finally broke skin. (Okay, so maybe not on that last part but it sure felt like that.)

****
On one page of my notes I wrote: "My stomach hurts really bad. Oh my god. The cramping!...Someone....Anyone....Shoot Me!" That was immediately following lunch. See, I had to write that note to myself because if I didn't everyone wondering why on earth I was screaming out in pain. Also, good food makes me sick. Usually though, it is KFC and not some hip downtown restaurant.

****
An awkward exchange at the beginning of the meeting:

Dude standing over his computer is trying to explain some technical crap to the attorney.

A: Whoa, have you been working out?
Dude: No.
A: Well your triceps are poking out of your shirt.

Um, awkward silence fills the room.

****

By the end of the day, I am certain my eyes were crossed. I glanced over at my boss after the attorney left the room for the 300th time since returning from lunch because the cell phone call he was taking was "urgent" and quietly said, "He probably demanded that his wife call him every 10 minutes for the remainder of the day so he wouldn't have to commit suicide from boredom." I then proceeded to stab my eyeballs with my pencil. (Okay, so not really again, but yeah you get it.)

Considering I still have both cornea still intact I'd call my day a smashing success.

I think I am Losing My Mind

This is where I found the sour cream this morning. You'll notice that it's not exactly put away in the refrigerator as it should be. In fact, it is not anywhere remotely close to the refrigerator.

It happens to be placed directly above where I was preparing dinner last night. I don't remember doing this. I don't remember even touching the sour cream after I used it last night. If hard pressed I'd tell you I didn't touch the sour cream. I would even tell you that with 99% certainty that I did not touch the sour cream.

Except. Except that would be lying.

It is true that I do not remember touching the sour cream last night. But, (and this is where the whole losing my mind thing comes in) I am the only one who cleans up dinner, ever.

So, while I am 99% certain I did not touch that sour cream after dinner last night, I am 100% certain I put it away in the cupboard.

(Let's just pretend this is my way of helping the economy. One premature sour cream purchase at a time!)

Where is My Magic Poo Wand?

Do you know what pisses me off?

Dog shit.

More specifically, dog shit at the park where the law requires you to pick that shit up!

Even more specifically, dog shit that finds its way onto my shoes and both of my children's shoes all in the same trip to the park where the law requires you to pick that shit up.

My favorite pair of shoes has been out of commission for six weeks because of said shit. Every single time I try to clean it off I gag. I gag so violently I have to throw the shoes far, far away so I can stop gagging. Every. Single. Time.

Plus, you know, there is whole issue of actually removing the shit. I mean do they make a removal tool for all those crevices? They totally should. But where would you keep you Magic Poo Wand? Under your sink? In the garage? In the garbage?

So yeah, dog shit sucks!