I'M MOVING!

Hi All,

My new best blogging buddy, Ms Single Mama, has convinced me to make the move to WordPress. I've been working on the transition, and, although am still working on some design changes, the page is up and running (and includes all posts from this site) ... cross your fingers!

Going forward, you can find me at: http://mommypie.wordpress.com/

Hope to hear from you!

Conversation With My Heart

Did you know, if placed back-to-back, Sweethearts Conversation Hearts would reach one million miles - enough to go back and forth to the moon twice or around the world 40 times?

These are things you learn while consuming a 20 oz bag over the course of just five days.

Yes, I believe I've made myself diabetic.

That's not even the really sad thing. (Let me preface this by saying I debated long and hard whether to post this, fearing it may sound too pathetic.) The other night, deep in a sugar-induced stupor, and feeling a bit melancholy, I found myself reaching out to my late ex ... and asking for a sign from the beyond. A sign that he was still around. Watching over us. Watching over his daughter.

So, curled up on the couch with aforementioned bag, I told myself maybe he would speak to me through the hearts. I dove my hand in and pulled out the first.

Miss You.

I lost it.

Heart after heart, I convinced myself he was sending me a message. I smiled through the tears. It didn't matter that, somewhere tucked back in a corner of my psyche, I still remained rational enough to know nearly all the hearts, in fact, would of course give me the words I wanted so desperately to hear.

One I Love.

True Love.

Magic.

Angel.

But I allowed myself to ignore the rational, if only for a short time, and experience the familiar flood of bittersweet emotions that, each time they come, ultimately leave me a little closer to healed.

The real tragedy in his passing a year and a half ago are the words that were left unsaid. Maybe he was speaking to me through a bag of Valentine candy. Crazier things have happened. And I'll never stop believing anything's possible.

That Damn Peter Fonda

Holy Hell, that damn Flower Power infomercial is back. Went on a teensy internet shopping binge tonight, so feeling a bit vulnerable -- I don't know how much longer I can continue to deny Peter ...

Wash My Mouth Out With Soap

Jane Fonda dropped the C-bomb on the Today Show Thursday, and people are freaking OUT.

People, it's a WORD. Albeit, by societal standards, a pretty bad one, but just the same ... a WORD.

As a lover of words, the notion that ANY word could be bad, strikes me as fundamentally wrong. A word, bad? Really? Who says? When you boil it down, what are words really? Sounds. When you think about it that way, doesn't it all seems rather ... absurd?

Right about now you're thinking I must be a big fat filthy toilet mouth, but if you've read the archives at all, you know I'm not much of a swearer. (This will actually be an F-bomb first in this blog.) Because I embrace the English lexicon does not mean I choose to use every word in it. (I don't find much occasion to use lachrymose or sabulous either...)

I do admit however, sometimes a good FUCK just feels good ...

Ba da bump.

Bear with me - here comes the complete and total hypocracy.

MOMMYPIE HOUSE RULES

Bad Word: Butt
Good Words: Tush, Tushy

Bad Word: Fart
Good Word: Toot

Bad Word: Hate
Good Words: Don't like

Bad Words: Shut up
Good Words: Be quiet

Word only to be said when praying or making a reference: God
All other times, substitute with: Gosh, Goodness

So, you see my dilemma. I'm philosophically at odds.

It's ingrained. In me. In everyone. In every culture. Certain words are always going to have a (sometimes illogical) stigma attached. I don't know how many times as a kid I had my mouth washed out with soap -- LAVA, even! -- for sassing. The consequences of uttering an actual swear word were ... *shiver* too frightening to imagine.

From the New York Times
(I'm off on a tangent, but this is a really interesting article):
"Researchers have also examined how words attain the status of forbidden speech and how the evolution of coarse language affects the smoother sheets of civil discourse stacked above it. They have found that what counts as taboo language in a given culture is often a mirror into that culture's fears and fixations."

(Hmmm ... Keeping this in mind, as I think about it, most of our culture's "bad" words relate to sex or bodily functions. Discuss.)

I don't much care if other people swear. (It's only annoying when it's every other word -- comparable to the irritation I feel when someone says "like" or "ah" or "you know" every other sentence.) But like most parents, I don't want my child around it. Let alone repeating it. (There's that damn hypocracy again ...)

Like the time about seven months ago MP, standing with an impish smile in the middle of Grammy's kitchen ... let it fly.

"Fuck. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck."

The sucking sound as all air left the room was deafening. I was horrified. (Turns out she heard it at preschool ... honestly!)

Hypocrite, I know. I know!

It's a conundrum.

A Seinfeld Moment

So, we're racing to gymnastics this morning, right on the verge of being late (business as usual), and about 100 yards from the gym, traffic slows to a stop. We see flashing red lights ahead. We've come to a train crossing, and a L-O-N-G train is S-L-O-W-L-Y making its way across the road.

"Aaarrgghhh!" I say, frustrated.

And from the back seat, a heavy, exasperated sigh. "Newman!"

That's my girl.

Happy International Quirkyalone Day!

YAY!!! If you don't know what a Quirkyalone is, you'll want to visit this site, where International Quirkyalone Day is defined as follows:

"International Quirkyalone Day is a do-it-yourself celebration of romance, friendship, and independent spirit. It's a celebration of all kinds of love: romantic, platonic, familial, and yes, self-love. International Quirkyalone Day is not anti-Valentine's Day. It's NOT a pity party for single people. It's an alternative -- a feel-good alternative to the marketing barrage of Valentine's Day and an antidote to the silicone version of love persented in shows such as Hooking Up and The Bachelor.

Above all, IQD is a celebration of romance, freedom and individuality. It celebrates true romance (as opposed to the fake versions presented to us in reality dating shows), independence, creativity, friendship, and all kinds of love -- including love for yourself. If you are single, International Quirkyalone Day is a call to arms to celebrate the possibilities available to single people today. If you are partnered, IQD is a vital reminder to value yourself and develop your individuality even when in a couple. Couples (especially quirkytogethers, of course) are welcomed to attend. After all, many a partnered person complains about the contrived nature of Valentine's Day.

Quirkyalone Day is based on the ideas in Sasha Cagen's book Quirkyalone: A Manifesto for Uncompromising Romantics. It's an invitation to create a great day for yourself, whatever that means to you (and your partner if you have one and choose to celebrate with him or her). It's a day to celebrate the things you love to do alone and the things you love to do with your friends. Ways to celebrate include: throwing a dinner party, buying yourself new underwear, rearranging your furniture, taking a long walk without your cell phone, exploring a new part of town, organizing a card-making party, trying a new recipe, or coming to or hosting a quirkyalone party."

Sasha Cagan is so my HERO! I read her book a few years ago, and loved it so much, I bought four copies and sent one to each of my best Quirkyalone girlfriends for Valentine's Day last year. Even if you don't fall into the Quirkyalone category, single or not, I'm betting you'll get a kick out of it.

Publishers Weekly says, "Cagen writes, her words echoing with the uplifting message that it's not strange to be single; rather, single is the new norm. Cagen speaks out against dating for the sake of being in a couple and highlights the celebrities who fit and don't fit the quirkyalone mold (Oprah: "of course"; Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks: "[E]nemies of quirkyalones everywhere").

Check out the Quirkyalone site and take the quiz to see if you fall into this category. I can't say it enough -- I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE this whole empowering, validating movement!

Valentine's Day by the Numbers

I love stats. So, to celebrate Valentine's Day and embrace my inner geek, here are some numbers from the U.S. Census Bureau I'm recording for posterity. Someday, I suspect, if it's still around, this list will blow MP's mind (for many reasons) ...

2.2 million
The number of marriages that take place in the United States annually. That breaks down to more than 5,918 a day.

131,826
The number of marriages performed in Nevada during 2006. So many couples tie the knot in the Silver State that it ranked fourth nationally in marriages, even though its total population that year among states was 35th.

25.5 and 27.5
The estimated U.S. median ages at first marriage for women and men, respectively, in 2006. The age for women rose 4.2 years in the last three decades. The age for men at first marriage is up 3.7 years.

56% and 60%
The percentages of American women and men, respectively, who are 18 or older and currently married (includes those who are separated).

71%
Percentage of men and women ages 30 to 34 in 2006 who had been married at some point in their lives—either currently or formerly.

5 million
Number of opposite-sex cohabitating couples who maintained households in 2006. These couples comprised 4.4 percent of all households.

120
Number of single men (i.e., never married, widowed or divorced) who are in their 20s for every 100 single women of the same ages.

34
Number of single men (i.e., never married, widowed, or divorced) age 65 or older for every 100 single women of the same ages.

904
The number of dating service establishments nationwide as of 2002. These establishments, which include Internet dating services, employed nearly 4,300 people and pulled in $489 million in revenues. (I can only imagine how large this number is now ...)

Love Lost (and Found)

12:35 a.m.
There's going to be MAJOR DRAMA in about seven hours if I can't find MP's Disney Princess and Monsters Inc. valentines. God only knows where that kid stashed them ...

1:29 a.m.
Valentines located. Found stuffed in two blank envelopes. Now please excuse me while I write "To My Friend, From MP" 32 times, brush my teeth, and collapse.

Hunchback of a Dame

Yes, I know I have poor posture.

Blame it on the height.

Or the nightly bath routine of a rambunctious preschooler.

So thank you, my anonymous friend, for pointedly placing this in my inbox (and my inbox alone!), and reminding me that a back is a terrible thing to waste. Were it not for you, I may have forgotten to drink my milk at dinner tonight.

It's good to be loved.

The Pancake Princess

February 12, National Pancake Day. AS IN TODAY. Hellooo - how could I not have known about this until this afternoon?!? You realize what this means of course.

Buckle up Baby, Mama's takin' you to IHOP for a free shortstack!

Being the generous daughter I am, I called Grammy and Poppy and offered to take them to dinner. MP sampled all five syrups, and surprised everyone by eating nearly all three of her complimentary pancakes. She actually ate more than I did, which is a first -- I'm chalking it up to a growth spurt. Unbelievably, she even sat in her seat the entire meal.

And topping off a memorable night ... a PRINCESS. What are the chances? Watching MP's face as she studied Miss Montana (yes, the real Miss Montana) serving pancakes in a tiara and apron (with an official pageant photographer in tow, if you can believe it) was priceless. 'Riveted' doesn't begin to describe.

I, myself, was riveted by the pure cheesy goodness of a beauty queen in a pancake house.

You're asking yourself, "can it get any better?"

After a warm bath, a squeaky clean MP and her full tummy crawled into bed and fell instantly, deeply asleep.

IHOP is magic.

The Color of Love

Mention the "Horny M&M" and it definitely brings back some funny memories of grade school. And this year, as Valentine's Day quickly approaches, instead of the typical sea of red, white and pink found in candy aisles across the nation ... you'll notice a little green.

The Mars Company is capitalizing on a popular myth (it's a myth?!?) about this particular color M&M and has created special packages containing only green M&Ms.

According to urban legend debunker snopes.com, "The rumor that these green candies are an aphrodisiac apparently started or first gained prominence in the 1970s, when students reportedly picked the green ones out of packages to feed to the objects of their desires." (Uh, that's probably sugar coating it a bit...)

Click here, and you can even email a green one to your sweetie.

Genius! I LOVE great marketing.

So THAT's Why They Have Great Sales

VOMIT.

I honestly don't know how I happened to stumble across this, buried in the blogosphere, but I just read the most disturbing thing on the My Single Mom Life blog. Nevermind that I'm a self-confessed germiphobe, if you ever shop at Old Navy, you'll want to read this.

I'm speechless.

Paging Dr. Boogie

MP's sick. And, she's informed me, she has mucus.

(Note to self: Start saving for medical school.)

"I saw it on tv. I have mucus."

Props to Mucinex and the marketing genius that came up with those boogery cartoon gremlins.

Who ever said tv was bad for kids?

Hitting the Gym

Tomorrow.

UGH. I promised myself and two workout partners I would finally join and start working out tomorrow. I've already blown past two or three self-imposed deadlines ... it would be ridiculous to miss another.

Although ... MaggiePie has been sick with a fever all weekend, so I may get a reprieve...

I'm so not looking forward to this, but after reading Younger Next Year for Women (I highly recommend it), I think I'm finally motivated to get up off my butt and get in better shape. I'm fortunate in that I don't necessarily need to lose weight -- I do, however, need to start getting a regular cardio workout. To say my time-crunched lunch hour eating habits (i.e. drive thru) are frightening would be a HYUGE understatement.

As I close in on 40, I'm convinced that unless I start workin' it soon, my heart -- tired and pissed off after years of abuse -- will one day ... simply flip me the bird and explode. And as MP's only living parent, that's just not acceptable.

Bloody Hell

6:05 a.m. I wake to a little voice in the dark.

"Mommy, I think I need a tissue."

I turn on the light, grab a tissue, roll back and there's MP -- sleepy eyes half open, sitting up in bed ... covered with blood. All over her face, pjs, hands and sheets.

The only reason I don't completely freak out at this moment, is because we've been through this before. Yes, my sweet little girl is a nose picker. She even picks IN HER SLEEP. She's a sleeppicker. Seriously.

So I had to chuckle when I found this online ... I may have to try this woman's bandage idea.

HBO, My Standing Date

Saturday night. Four words.

Snakes On A Plane.

Yeah Baby. Don't ever say this single mama doesn't know how to have a good time.

I Don't Wanna Get Married

MP has had marriage on her mind the past few weeks.

No, she's not asking for a daddy. She's concerned about her own impending marriage (yes, she's not yet four), and has tearfully expressed numerous times that she does not want to get married. EVER.

I tell her there's no need to be upset. That she doesn't have to ever get married if she doesn't want to. But I also tell her that marriage can be a wonderful thing, and that maybe someday she'll meet someone she loves so much that she'll want to marry and be with them always.

"No," she says. "I WON'T!"

She then goes on to tell me she wants to be with me always, which eases my mind a bit. Perhaps this is just a typical worry at this age, and has nothing to do with being raised in a single-parent home. I try to remind myself she is deep in the throes of the whole "I don't like boys" thing, after all (apparently they're mean).

However, because it's my responsibility to make sure she grows up to be a healthy, well-adjusted individual, I can't help but be a little concerned, and wonder if this is one of the so-called adverse effects of the non-nuclear household.

Then again, perhaps second-guessing oneself just comes with the territory called Motherhood.

Go To Bed Already

A Time/Life infomercial has me seriously considering picking up the phone and purchasing my very own Flower Power CD set. It contains 175 unforgettable hits from the 60s. Just five easy payments of $29.95 each. And when I order with my credit card within the next five minutes I get a bonus CD, The Summer of Love. Plus, the first 500 callers will get FREE shipping and handling.

Damn, that Peter Fonda is good.

Educate Yourself

I just found a fantastic site, referenced on the Business of Motherhood blog: votehelp.org. This quick online quiz is a great non-partisan resource to help you choose the presidential candidate that's most in line with your values. Turns out there were no real surprises with my results, so I know I'm on track. Check it out!

When Did 2 a.m. Become the New 11 p.m.?

As I sit here, barely able to pry my eyelids open, I can't help by ask myself, "when did four to five hours of sleep a night become the norm?"

My nightly routine is starting to catch up with me. After picking MP up from preschool, getting her fed, bathed and into bed, with a story or two in between, I begin work at my second job as a web content editor. By the time I wrap that up, it's anywhere between 10 and midnight.

I could sooo easily collapse into bed at this moment, but these hours are too precious to waste on sleep.

Instead, I stay up. I surf, write, watch deliciously vapid TV shows (can you say Nip/Tuck?), read, veg, whatever -- eventually hitting the sheets around 2 a.m. Six o'clock comes waaay too early, I wind up sleepwalking through the day, and although I know this isn't healthy, (I know this!) I continue the maddening routine.

I continue because I treasure my down-time. (Ironically, as I write this, it's 10 p.m. and MP is up asking for a snack.) I need it. It's my drug. I know this addiction of sorts isn't something exclusive to single moms - it comes with being a mother, period.

On a related note, I promised myself I would start working out again. Ugh. I missed my self-imposed start date of Feb. 1, so come Monday, I now expect to be squeezing gym visits into my day.

How, I have no idea...

Bag Lady

Things MP has accumulated over the past week. And has to keep.

1 (one) Dixie cup from lunch at preschool.
1 (one) used napkin from lunch at preschool (tucked carefully in her cubbie alongside its buddy Dixie cup).
1 (one) fruit snacks wrapper.
2 (two) used Scooby Doo Band-Aids.
1 (one) empty, used baggie.
1 (one) empty strawberry Gogurt wrapper.
2 (two) empty Dora The Explorer yogurt cups. (Which actually make decent bath toys, so I'll cut her some slack.)

Oh, and did I mention how much she loves the little shopping cart Santa brought her?

Party Piece

Let me preface this by saying this is a LIGHTHEARTED post, with absolutely no intention of sparking serious debate. In the spirit of Super Tuesday, I just couldn't resist.

A friend sent this link to me a while back, and I thought it was hi-larious (read the sample pages), so I thought I would share. (I'm sure there are Why Mommy is a Republican books somewhere out there too...)

www.littledemocrats.net

It's On

Because I'm a being a political junkie today ... enjoy the race!

Now Get Back To Work

Here's a fun little distraction (while you should be working). My result is below (aww, I coulda told you that!)...

You Are Very Happy Being Single

You're not anti-relationship. You just don't need one to be content. You find plenty of happiness from your life as it is. And if you find someone you love, then that's just icing on an already decadent cake!

Are You Happy Being Single?

Single Momdom: Wouldn't Change A Thing

I can't tell you how many times I've heard it. (More often than not, from well-intentioned marrieds.) If you're reading this, I'm guessing you've heard it a few times yourself.

"Being a single mom must be really hard."

Furrowed brow, check. General expression of concern, check. Optional touch to the arm, check.

Sigh.

My answer to that? I imagine being married is a whole hell of a lot harder.

As anyone who's ever been though it knows, there's no doubt that, at times, being a single parent can be a ... challenge. But as with anything, I've found, it is what I make it. Here are a few of the things I LOVE about being a single parent:

1. I don't have to consult with ANYONE.
With two states between us, my daughter's father passed away suddenly when she was 2 1/2. Though never married, we had been together nearly 10 years before splitting during the first trimester. (That's a whole separate drama-infused post I'll save for later.) MP does not remember him. It's been just the two of us from the beginning. (And by that, I mean, the day I peed on a stick and saw two lines...)

2. I like our party of two.
Selfish? Probably. But don't make the mistake of thinking this feeling doesn't bother me to some extent. I'm just workin' with what I got.

With the absence of a second parent, it's been a bit of the "two of us against the world" theme around here, which, truth be told, has been very empowering. We've bonded so tightly and have formed such a strong, healthy, loving relationship (without the whole insecurity/codependency thing) that I'm actually a bit afraid to add another person to the mix. Afraid that it might somehow dull the magic. (Ever see The Holiday? I'm Jude Law.) This is not to say that someday, I don't hope MP has a father. I do so want that for her. But right now, she has two grandfathers who love her to bits, and serve as wonderful role models helping to fill that void.

3. LDQ (Lower Drama Quotient)
Toddler drama is WAY different than grown-up drama. Toddler temper tantrums, I can handle. I don't do so well when it comes from a grown man. (Think, jealousy, for starters - the most useless and destructive emotion around.) For better or worse, MP never sees me fighting with a spouse.

4. The dishes will wait.
If I'm too exhausted at day's end to empty the dishwasher, who's going to complain? If the laundry doesn't get folded for a few days and sits in a pile on the sofa, who'll have a problem with it? This is NICE. My only fear in this arena is that I'll become too set in my ways (I'm afraid it's already begun), and enjoy living partnerless (see how I didn't say alone there?) so much I'll never be able to do any other way.

Speaking of dishes, it's closing in on midnight and I just realized, not only do I still have to pack MP's lunch for tomorrow, I have to get up way before the sun for an early meeting. I have so many other pluses to add to the list, but they'll have to wait for another day - it's time for this mama to get some sleep.

The Little Matchstick (Button) Girl

MP hates buttons. HATES. This intense dislike has gone on since she was about 14 months old. Which is unfortunate, because it severely limits my wardrobe choices, and means hers are pretty much restricted to sweats and t-shirts.

Anyone wearing them be damned - she'll see those buttons coming a mile away, and avoid you like a bowl of piping hot brussel sprouts. She's noticed tiny embellishments on my clothes I didn't even know were there.

It took me awhile to figure out why some days she just didn't like certain people. Like Grammy or Poppy. Or even me. And then one day she told me.

"Because I can smell their but-tons." (Her little face screwed up with disgust.)

Okay, I wasn't expecting that.

"What do they smell like?" (Trying not to laugh)

(Highly exasperated) "Like BUT-TONS!" (Duh.)

Thanks for the clarification. Silly woman.

The weird thing is, I think maybe she actually CAN smell them. At the store, she'll point out someone an aisle away and tell me they smell. As we get closer, sure enough ... buttons.

My mom thinks I may have scared her at one point early on by telling her not to put them in her mouth. I've thought long and hard on that one and I'm pretty sure I never said that (at least about buttons, that is). It wasn't like I sat her down in a big pile of loose buttons one day and said, "Go crazy Kid. Just don't put any in your mouth, cause you could choke and DIE."

I'm almost convinced it's a past life thing. Too weird NOT to be. Maybe she was an impoverished button maker. Working in a button sweat shop. Or selling buttons somewhere on a 17th Century London street corner.

Grammy's determined to put an end to the madness. She actually had a great idea last week and took MP along to help pick out "special buttons" for a dress she was making just for her. MP came home with a jar full of rainbows and flowers and ladybugs that didn't resemble buttons in the least - she's been playing with them all weekend. We'll see how successful the behavior modification experiment is once they're transfered to the actual dress.

In the meantime, I'm not worried about it. I know this "thing" will disappear sooner or later, and when it does, I'll be sad to see one more little piece of babyhood go. So for now, MaggiePie, you go ahead and do your thing. BAD buttons. BAD.

UPDATE, 9:20 p.m.
The craziness has hit an all-time high. Tonight, I learned the button thing now includes BOOK ILLUSTRATIONS. That's right - Goldilocks and the Three Bears has officially been banned, because Baby Bear is wearing a button-down shirt.

Like A Butter Dream

Is it wrong that I just finished packing up Christmas decorations today? Mmm ... somehow, not as fun as unpacking. Definitely lacking the fanfare. The little Christmas Village that's become tradition ... while cute, a colASSal pain in the butt to get back into it's foam-packed, saran-wrapped boxes. Each year, there's more to put away - subsequently, each year the decorations stay up longer. And longer. Until I absolutely can't stand it. (Last year, my Christmas cards didn't go out 'til Easter, so the whole thing has become a bit of a joke among friends...)

At least someone had fun - here's a sampling of the tunes MP sang, dancing from room to room, in and around the chaos.

Row, row, row your boat
Gently down the stream
Mary, Mary, Mary
Like a butter dream

(I LOVE that!)

Everybody falls in love with a handsome prince...

(If you're lucky, Sweetheart, yes...)

Mocha choca latta ya ya

(DANGER, WILL ROBINSON!!)

The topper though, is always the bedtime prayer - it has to be sung as well ... in a tiny little glass-crackingly high-pitched voice. I've never heard a sweeter sound. *sigh*

Bee Girl

I love this photo of MP (circa summer '06). Anne Nahm's post today about the Blind Melon "Bee Girl" (circa '92) totally made me think of this.

Who Needs a Library Card?

Friday is Gymnastics Day.

Gymnastics and Errand Day.

Gymnastics, Errand and (ugh) McDonald's PlayLand with MaggiePie's Best Friend Day.

And then, after all that, if a major meltdown hasn't occurred, and she hasn't fallen fast asleep in her carseat...

Movie Store Day for Mommy's Friday night entertainment! (Jealous much?)

So, as is tradition, today after gymnastics, PlayLand, and a gallon of Purell, we made our way to the almighty Costco. Mecca.

We like to make an event of it. After MP proudly flashes our card to a greeter, we take care of the first order of business, wheeling DIRECTLY, do not pass go, to the kids books. Yay! The Costco Free Library!

MP knows the drill - she picks out two or three books with the understanding they will be carefully read and returned before we check out. Cheap, you say? Why, yeesss.

It isn't that I wouldn't actually buy MP a book. Books are pretty high up there on my list of most treasured material possessions. It's that:

a. She already has more books than most adults.
b. I want her to understand that she doesn't get something every time we go to the grocery store, or the book store, or the toy store. That most of the time, we just look. I'm happy to report, it's worked (for the most part).
c. She's trained well. MP knows to be careful with the page turning, and not handle with sticky hands. (After all, eventually, someone is actually going to pay for this.)
d. Most importantly (you all know where I'm going with this) ... having her occupied -- not dealing with the near tearful, "I wanna help!" "Can I push the cart?" "I'm huuunngry" -- is something you can't put a price on. (Good, huh?)

Once she's outfitted with a few reads (NO sticker books - this is important), her only concern is finding all "the ladies." You know ... THE LADIES. Grandmotherly women in hairnets, offering up tasty afternoon snacks to all good boys and girls. And maybe, if she's lucky, MP and I will end the excursion by sharing a $1.50 Costco Meal Deal for lunch.

Mama lives large.