by Leslie

Today was not my greatest day.

While Julia has made a speedy and full recovery from her sickness, I have not. I spent the morning throwing up and the afternoon trying to rest. Julia was a very good girl and camped out in bed with me, reading books, doing puzzles and watching way too much television.

Since I’ve been sick, I am behind on everything. The laundry has piled up, the house is a wreck, and I’m not finished with the site updates for My Mommy’s Place that I would normally roll out tomorrow. I have so much to do, but very little time and even less energy. It’s frustrating!

On top of all this, I’m a little bummed because Greg has quit The Wiggles.

Greg Wiggle

Apparently he isn’t well, which is sad. We see his face or hear his voice more than we see most of our family. From DVD’s and CD’s to books and toys, he’s all through our home. It’s hard to imagine The Wiggles without him.

Oh well. At least we’ve still got Ben.

Ben Murray

You gotta love Ben.

A Letter To Santa

by Leslie

Dear Santa Claus,

Hello, my jolly friend. It’s me, Leslie. I hope you’ll remember me from my longstanding status on the “nice” list.

It’s been a long time since I’ve written you with a request for Christmas, but I haven’t wanted something this badly since the Barbie Townhouse you brought me in 1985.

Normally, I would admit to wanting a mom-related gift, like this griddle that would enable me to bring scrumptious pancakes and delicious quesadillas to the family table at record speed. And if I were to receive a gift such as this, I would graciously use it to its fullest potential. But, Santa, I must be honest, I want something else more.

I would like the music video game Guitar Hero for Playstation 2. (You can buy it here.)

Apparently Guitar Hero has been out for while (one year and three weeks according to my research), but somehow slipped by me. I can’t help but feel as though I’ve been living in darkness while the rest of the world has been basking in the light of the greatest game ever created.

Santa, do you realize how awesome this game is?

Here are a few of the songs I could rock out to with this gift:

“I Love Rock & Roll” by Joan Jett and The Blackhearts
“Symphony of Destruction” by Megadeath
“Iron Man” by Black Sabbath


Are you ready for this?

“MORE THAN A FEELING” by BOSTON…the greatest song of all time.

Santa, I need this.

And if you bring me two Mini Gibson SG controllers, you can come and rock with me anytime.

Santa, I’m depending on you. This gift seems much too frivolous to request from my husband, or even my parents. If you bring it, it will be like a Christmas miracle. And miracles can’t be returned. And they must be used. It’s Christmas law.

I’d like to thank you in advance, as I have the utmost faith in you, Dear Santa.


Julia’s Mommy

Sick Day

by Leslie

Please excuse Mommy from work today. She is sick.

Well, Julia was sick first. It struck last night, out of the blue. One moment she was dancing happily with her little ballerina cow and the next she was throwing up.

Isn’t it amazing how sickness strikes children without warning?

I got sick one day at school in the 5th grade. It hit me suddenly in class, so I walked up to the teacher, Mr. Chapman, and asked if I could go to the nurse. He looked at me and said, “You’re not sick. You were just talking and laughing with your friends. Go back and sit down. School is almost over.”

Then, I puked. On Mr. Chapman’s shoes. I told him I was sick.

Anyway, Julia suddenly got sick. It was her first time vomiting and, therefore, my first experience in being the adult responsible for cleaning up vomit. Not just once, but for the next 8 hours. The 8 hours during which we normally sleep, but did not sleep. She puked. I cleaned. In between those events, I cuddled and comforted her. By morning, she seemed to be perking up.

Just as she was feeling well enough to get mischevious, it hit me. Now, I was sick.

We spent most of the day in bed and are both feeling much better. Hopefully, we’ll be back to business as usual tomorrow.

Well, if Dave and I didn’t convince the neighbors that we’re complete idiots on Halloween, I’m confident we’ve done it now.

Yesterday, we set out to put our outdoor Christmas lights up.

It went about as well for us as it did for that guy in the The 12 Pains of Christmas song.

I was optimistic when we started. The boxes of Christmas decorations were clearly labeled and easy to access in our new outbuilding. I had tested the Christmas lights, separated each strand and packed them carefully for our move just two months ago, so I had every reason to believe that they would work.

I was wrong.

Despite my best packing efforts, I opened the light box to discover a ball of tangled cord confusion. We worked tirelessly to unravel it, spreading each cord out onto the front lawn in order to avoid a recurrence of the magical cord melding phenomenon that took place since we packed them. Then, we began testing the lights.

We thought the white lights would look best, so we started with them. We plugged them in, strand after strand, with disappointing results. The first strand didn’t work, the second didn’t work, only half of the third strand worked. The sun was starting to set when we discovered that we had enough colored strands to begin our decorating. We would encircle the porch banister with colored twinkle lights. That was, until halfway through, two strands stopped working.

Okay. We’d had enough with those old lights. We decided to run out to the store and get new ones. We chose colored lights for the railing around the porch and icicle lights for on the house. It was completely dark out when we arrived back home, but with the porch light on, we were able to get the colored lights up. After one more trip to the store, that is. We had misjudged the length we needed. Still, we called it a day on Sunday having accomplished something.

Today, we were determined to get the icicle lights up. After trying three different ladders and a contraption we rigged up with a rope, we found that we just couldn’t reach the place where we wanted to string the lights. Being the creative geniuses we are, we decided that Dave would balance on the edge of the porch outside the railing while I stood inside and wrapped my arms around him for support.


You know those commercials – I think they’re for an insurance company – where the people fail to use common sense? One of them begins with a guy on a ladder next to a bee hive who is talking to his friend on the ground, holding a trash can. The guy tells his friend to get the lid on fast after he cuts the hive down. Then, he slips and grabs the hive as he falls down. Dave and I could star in a commercial like that.

After one small fall, we got the icicle lights up around the porch and called it quits, shouting: “You’re so smart! You rig up the lights!!!”

Maybe we’ll try again this weekend.

A few days ago I asked Julia if I could take her picture. She agreed and I asked her to pose for me. This is what I got.

Posing for Mommy

I had asked her to smile and she said, “No, Mom. I look like this.”

Then, she told me to wait while she ran and grabbed her stuffed bunny and posed. Again, I asked her to smile, but she replied with “I look like this.” So, I took the picture.

Striking another pose

I think this may be proof that I’ve been watching a little too much of America’s Next Top Model. What can I say? It’s an addiction. Some people slip outside to get a puff of a cigarette. Others hide in the pantry while they snarf down a package of Oreo cookies. I flip on the television and watch America’s Next Top Model.

Oh, and if you didn’t click on the linked-up text up there, you should. It will take you to a great post on my husband’s brand new blog. You should check it out. He’s brilliant and funny and the new blog you should be reading.

(A little sidenote here: if you go to his blog and you happen to notice the profile picture, please ignore that fact that my boobs look absolutely gargantuan and I look like I’m drunk. I wish I could say I was, but I’m not. And while you may think I’m defeating the purpose of getting you to actually ignore the picture, I guess I just want to be sure that you know that I know that I look look less than my best and completely overwhelmed by a massive amount of boobage.)

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