I keep everything. I don't like to label myself a "packrat" because of the implied disorganization. I don't have everything cataloged, but I'm organized. I can tell you exactly where the kids' dried up bellybuttons are or where the empty first can of beer I ever drank is. Yes, I kept the kids bellybuttons, and the bandaids from their first shots, and my positive pregancy tests (nasty!) I also keep the usual things, like hospital bracelets, cards, concert ticket stubs, and crafts that Thing One makes. In my defense, I've actually met one other mom who kept her kids bellybuttons, so I don't feel too creepy.

I did NOT get this sappiness from my mom. She throws out everything. If I have any mementos left over from my childhood, it must be because my dad pulled them out of the trash! I had a beloved bear that I slept with every night when I was little. He was aptly, if not creatively named Mr. Bear. He was crocheted and full of stuffing. As I snuggled with him every night, the crochet sticthes stretched and the stuffing became dense and settled at the bear's feet, leaving the rest of the him all limpy. If I didn't mention it already, I loved, loved, loved that bear. One night when I was going to bed, I asked my mom to bring me Mr. Bear. Unfortunately, Mr. Bear had apparently bought the farm and was no longer with us. By this I mean she thre him away. To this day, when I razz my mom about it, she says, "well, it was falling apart." Well, yeah - because I loved the hell out of it!

I really owe my mom a nice post, because anyone who reads this is going to totally think she's horrible! She can't be judged on this one incident. Seriously, my mom is the best. She's sweet, loving and nurturing and one of my best friends - she just doesn't share my nostalgic tendancies!

I'm not sure if the stuff that Thing One says is only funny to me, because I'm the mom, but I've been saying for years that I need to journal them so I don't forget any of it! So if no one else gets a kick out of it, at least I have record of it. She makes me laugh so often with what comes out of her mouth. I'm going to start with a couple of recent ones and add things as they pop into my memory.

Let me preface this by saying that Thing One is a goody-goody and never swears. She's sqeaky clean, that kid.

Thing One to the new hamster: Good morning, little guy. Aren't you a cute little bastard?!
Me: What did you just say?
Thing One: I said "bastard". Am I not supposed to say "bastard"?
Me: No, you cannot say that. It's a bad word. Where did you hear that?
Thing One: I don't remember. I just know it.

You have to know that she had the tiniest, softest voice and she was talking all high-pitched! Hysterical!


Yesterday was a day I really could have used a "ME DAY". Obviously, that doesn't happen much these days and I'm generally not big on needing a whole lot of alone time, but for some reason I was feeling a little bit fried. So, I take a break from cleaning to go to pee. Is it too much to ask for 60 seconds without interuption? Apparently so.

Thing One yelling from the living room: Mom, what does V-E-R-Y spell?
Me: Very
Thing One: What does S-M-A-L-L spell?
Me: Small
Thing One: What does P-I-N-E spell?
Me: Give me minute. I'm on the potty.
Thing One: But what does P-I-N-E spell?
Me: I AM ON THE POTTY.
Thing One: Can't you just tell me what P-I-N-E spells?
Me: NO. YOU NEED TO BE PATIENT. I AM TRYING TO GO POTTY!
Thing One: Yeah, well I'm trying to learn to READ!

Good Lord. Calgon take me away!

Well, I had a date last night! Okay, so it was with my dad. Whatever. Still a date. He even paid for my pizza and concert ticket! Going to shows together has become our "thing" and I love it.

We went to see RAIN, the Beatles Experience for the second time this year. AWESOME is an understatement! I wish Blogger had a thesaurus feature. The first time we saw them back in early spring, I was completely blown away. I actually had to remind myself that I wasn't really watching the Beatles. I was careful not to be one of those screaming fans that tear at their hair and pass out. They are just amazing. From the sets, to the costumes, to the mannerisms, and of course the voices, they really have it down. The energy at those shows is contagious and there's just something so magical about the music of the Beatles. Seriously, if you're even a mild Beatles fan, you have to see this show. Love it, love it, love it!! Can't say enough about it.

Among the many things I'm paranoid about and obsess over, my car is at the top of the list. I always think it's on its last leg, even though it hasn't even reached 70,000 miles yet. It's a VW Jetta, so theoretically it should get at least another 70,000 + miles. Thankfully, I have the most honest car mechanic imaginable. I need more than one hand to count the times he's sent me away without a bill, telling me that there's just nothing wrong with it. But don't you hear that squeaking, rumbly rattle? No, that's just the sound that cars make when they're running. Ah, I see.

Now, my mechanic - as honest and reasonable as he is - is also slightly unorthodox. I really don't care where he gets the parts for my car so long as everything works properly. That being said, since he first started doing my brakes he hasn't been able to figure out the "code" needed to reset my brake light. So.... my brake light on my dash is ALWAYS on. I hate it and it totally stresses me out. How I am supposed to know when my brakes are really bad? Just recently, my temperature gauge light has also been going on periodically. My washer fluid is low, so that light is on. My trunk which needs to really be slammed to close, has been slightly open for days so that light was lit up as well. When my gas light went on today, I thought my head was going to explode!

Now that I've all but beat the crazy germ phobia, I feel another type of irrational fear sneaking up on me! Hmmm, what will cost me less? A monthly car payment for a new ride, or weekly therapy sessions? A new car would certainly be more fun...

I am feeling sorry for myself today. I did my coworkers a favor and used a "mental health day". What a stupid name. Why not "head case day" or "leap from a bridge day"? Everyone talks about that seasonal affective disorder. Maybe that's what I'm suffering from. Or maybe I just feel like today my life sucks a little bit. If I'm on my usual emotional roller-coaster ride, I should be doing cartwheels in the front lawn or singing show tunes within the next half hour. Maybe that will help to offset the half gallon of Moose Track ice cream that I just ate straight from the carton.

I'm going to take my therapist's advice and LIST things to get it off my chest. We'll see how that works for me. Here are my reasons for being in a bad mood:

1. I have to do all the yard work myself this year. I have about 30 tall, LEAFY trees in my yard. That equates to about 80 refuse bags full of debris and the City of Cleveland SUCKS at leaf pickup. Last year they waited until after the first big snowstorm. Thanks. It may sound like no big deal, but it's just overwhelming.

2. In addition to the yardwork, and "girl" stuff like laundry, dishes and general cleaning, I also have to do all the "boy" stuff around the house now like taking out the garbage, relighting the furnace pilot and nailing things into the wall. Yes, I know - Gloria Steinem would be highly disappointed in my sexist division of duties.

3. I have no clothes for fall. I should take comfort in the fact that it's because I'm skinny this year, but still. I just about had an anxiety attack yesterday when I had to deviate from my usual jeans and t-shirt work uniform for business casual because of a lunch meeting.

4. I have paperwork. Lots of paperwork. Paperwork I would like someone else to take care of. Ugh.

4. I want a new car just because I'm bored with mine and I can't afford one. Now I'm just grasping at straws...

5. Um, my spray tan is fading and I'm back to pasty...

Yeah, pretty pathetic reasons for being in a bad mood and feeling sorry for myself. I probably just need to snap out of it. Now, if I could only find my Oklahoma! CD...

I get it when people mistake a 3-month-old bald baby dressed in yellow for the wrong sex, but a 17-month old in blue pajamas and a crew cut? I don't get it! On my way through the drive thru at BK this morning, the girl at the window says to me, "Ohhh, she's adorable!" I thanked her and then corrected her. She did a double take and said, "You're right. He is a boy." Um, yeah, I'm right! Now, I've heard from a handful of people that Thing Two looks Asian, but never that he looks like a girl! And no, I don't have an Asian milk man, thank you very much.

I didn't wait with either of my pregnancies to be "surprised" by whether it was a girl or a boy. Really, what's the surprise? It's one or the other. Now, if I gave birth to a cat - that would be surprising. Seriously though, I really do give kudos to those parents who have the patience to wait. I've heard that at the first ultrasound, they give you the sex of the baby written on a piece of paper in a sealed envelope. How long must that 6 months be?!

For me, it wasn't the need to paint the room pink or blue or to buy gender-appropriate adorable outfits, it was the desire to be able to picture the little person they are going to be at 6 months, 2 years, 5 years, 18 years old. Looking, back though, I pictured them both all wrong! Thing One looks nothing like I pictured she would. I always imagined her with curly hair (don't know where that would have come from). It's poker straight. I pictured blue eyes and they're brown. Figured tall and she's short! They're both more amazing than I ever could have imagined...

Remember that old game show, "Bumper Stumpers" where contestants were given a license plate and had to decipher it? If I had one, it would be GRM FOB. Yep, germ phobe. I've gotten a lot better about it over the past few months (thank you, therapy), so I'm now finding the humor in it.

I remember when it hit me how nuts I really was. It wasn't when I holed myself up in the house for a full week between Christmas and New Year's last year when that god-awful stomach bug was going around or when my girlfriend teased me for sanitizing my newborn's hands. It was when Thing One came up to me with a picture she drew that had a bunch of different colored specks covering an entire 8.5 x 11 sheet of paper. I complimented her on such a pretty, colorful design. "They're germs, mom." she said to me. Oh, god. There. I've done it! I've projected my ridiculous fears onto my child! Don't get me wrong, I love it that she comes up to me and says, "I touched a worm and now I want to eat some chips. Can I have some Purell?", but it's not something I want her obsessing about.

As careful as I am about protecting myself and the kids from all things disgusting, I had the *worst* thing happen this summer that could ever happen to a germ phobe. We were at Lakewood Park for a girls night picnic and we spread out our blankets on the grass. I kicked away every bit of goose poop I could find. Obviously, I didn't get it all, because Thing Two found an escapee turd and popped it RIGHT IN HIS MOUTH! Ugh. I barely slept that night as I waited for him to get violently ill. Thankfully, it didn't happen. The immune system is one amazing thing!

It was an expensive season of therapy, but I'm as good as I'm going to get on the germ front. I had some crappy things happen to me this summer that kind of put it all in perspective.