My First V-Log: Meet Sally!

OK, either I will go down in history as the weirdest mom ever, or I will be committed to a mental institution immediately.  Cast your vote - just don't be too harsh!

Lost in Lost

I've been having a very strange craving.  I want to keep watching Lost.  Over and over again.  This is probably the 3rd or 4th time (maybe 5th or 6th?) that Al and I have watched it from beginning to end.  We're somewhere in the second season, in the "hatch." 

Why do I love this show so much?  I'm not sure, but I think it's because I'm really beginning to like the idea of getting lost.  Let's see - a tropical island, gorgeous beaches, shirtless guys (shhh, don't tell Al).  Well, minus the violent plane crash and the smoke monster, I think I'd really enjoy it.  Sure, having to find fresh water and probably some food and shelter might be challenging, but I would gladly trade some of my current demands for those piddly problems.  Really....

Well, you know me, I'd have to find a steady Coffee supply, too.  But otherwise, I think I'd be set.


And just in case, I have memorized this bit of information from eHow:  How to Survive on a Deserted Island.  I have to laugh about this seemingly serious article.  If you were, indeed, stranded on a desert island, you would most likely not have a working laptop or wifi to be able to access this article.  If you did, you might be spending your time sending out a Facebook messages, saying "Help, I'm stranded on a deserted island!"

Or in my case, I might just message everyone, saying,  
"Ha ha!  I'm LOST!  Do NOT try to find me!"

My Coffee Addiction

Mama Kat makes me laugh so hard!  Yesterday's post about COFFEE  made me start thinking about my own obsession passion addiction love affair with coffee.  I can't remember when I started drinking coffee, but I believe I was quite young.  I know I drank it in college.  But I can't be exactly sure when the actual addiction started...probably when the babies came along and coffee had new meaning to me...liquid sleep.

However long it's been, I'm sure that it can be classified as a full-fledged addiction at this point.

I mean, I think about coffee often.  I contemplate coffee.  I ponder the great and meaningful coffee questions of the universe.  What if I run out of money for coffee?  It's possible in these challenging financial times.  What if my coffee maker breaks?  She's old, but she's reliable, and she makes a sweet cup of java.  What if...what if the entire world stash of coffee runs out?

You think I have a twisted mind?  Well consider these chilling scenarios that have played over and over in my mind.  What if I was kidnapped?  I think I'd be OK, as long as my captor gave me coffee.  And what if I was in a plane crash and washed up on a deserted island?  You can bet your boots that I would be swimming out to the wreckage, trying to find those little floating one-pot coffee packs.  Sharks would be no match for me, a coffee-crazed castaway!

I don't worry about being beaten to death or being eaten by wild animals.  I worry about not having my coffee...

Yep, I think this qualifies as an addiction.  

My Thoughts on the Bachelor

My blogger friend Connie at the Young and Relentless has gotten me addicted to The Bachelor.  I have only watched one entire season before, and I wasn't very impressed.  I mean, am I the ONLY person who doesn't believe this "Bachelor" process will ever work?  How can you expect a man and woman (or 26 women, in the case of the current season) to NOT fall in love when you take them out of their normal, stressful lives and place them in a resort setting for 3 months, provide them with gorgeous clothes, make-up artists, hair stylists, and waxing!  They only have to look good for about 3 or 4 hours of the day.  The rest of the time, they can probably surf the web, sleep, sit in a hot tub, sleep, read, sleep, swim, sleep, or just be lazy (or sleep).  I assume they do not have to cook, clean, do laundry, solve sibling fights, or clean up puke.  Sure, they show the ladies making their way around the kitchen, but there is no way you can convince me that a show with a multi-million dollar budget - complete with limos, helicopters, trans-continental dates and diamond jewelry - does NOT provide a 24-hour kitchen staff.

If you put me in that environment, I would fall in love with a monkey.  

Now, the show really does have entertainment potential.  My girls and I have already spent countless hours laughing commiserating with the women's intensely emotional issues.  (Girl with raccoon eyes, sobbing in front of the camera:  "I was just so sure I would be the future Mrs. Bachelor.  I mean, I just met him 3 hours ago, but I just knew....")  We do realize that this is indeed NOT the way to get a husband, so I point out the inconsistencies, the unhealthy emotional attachment, and not to mention immodest behavior, to my kids every. single. time. we watch it.

However, I, for one, would like to see the realism in this reality TV show kicked up a notch.

Here are some of my suggestions for future Bachelor dates: 
(Take note, ABC, you may just get some fresh potential for these monotonous shows of yours.)

1.  Put the Bachelor and all the women in the same house, together, 24 hours a day.  Do not provide cooks, maids, or laundry service, and the girls' true colors will shine in no time.  For a fun twist, make them all share one bathroom.  Make a chore chart to see who's a slob and who's obsessive compulsive.

2.  Deprive the girls of several days' worth of sleep before their dates.  Then we'll see how sweet and perfect they seem when cavorting on their dream dates.

3.  Provide the Bachelor with some hidden-camera clips of his potential wives driving in heavy traffic during rush hour.  How perfect are they now?

4. For that matter, show him some of the clips of the girls interacting in the house when he's not there.  
Cat fight anyone?
  

5.  One of the dates should include 3 small, exceptionally whiny children and a visit to WalMart on a Saturday afternoon.  Give them a 100-item shopping list, a time limit, and no snacks or extra diapers.

6.  Put the Bachelor and the girls in a motor home for a cross-country trip.  Limit the number of stops, all they have to eat and drink are hot coffee and bran muffins.  Do not stock any deodorant, toothpaste, or hairspray.

7.  Here is my final idea - and the most genius, I might add.  This will ensure that Sean will not have to make any decisions whatsoever; he can just sit back and enjoy the process while waiting for his bride to emerge alive.

May I present to you:


The Bachelor Games

26 Tributes, fighting to the death until a lone victor remains.

At least the Bachelor wouldn't have to go through the agonizing process of choosing just one.

Conversations with my Teen & Tween Daughters

Caution:  If you are a person of the male gender, you may find this post uncomfortable.  Proceed with discretion.  Or better yet, do not read this at all.  

I am pretty open with my kids when talking about life and all its intricacies.  Blunt, in fact.  I just don't see any reason to evade the questions.

When I was pregnant with my youngest, my oldest was about 5.  Being an exceptionally bright and precocious 5-year-old, she obviously wanted to know how the baby got in there and how it was going to come out.  I delicately explained the process, being as simple and vague as possible, leaving the subject open to more questions if she wasn't satisfied.  But I think she got the idea, and, being sufficiently grossed out, she didn't ask me any more questions for about 5 years.

When she reached around 10, with the other 2 close behind her, I figured it was time to start talking about "the changes."  You know, the subject matter that made every. single. person. squirm in their seats during health class.  I don't exactly remember learning about all this stuff, but I think it would be quite shocking for a kid to hear about it all at once.  So I tried to be delicate and explain it in such a way that makes it seem beautiful and a natural process of growing up. "Hey, you're going to start getting a period every month for the next 40 years.  It's messy, it's painful, and it will make you cranky for about 1/2 of your life."
 
My girls have been schooled.

Last night, they were asking me how long PMS lasts. I laughed and said, " It depends on who you ask."

I looked to my husband to elaborate. He usually tries to avoid such conversations by covering his ears and curling into a fetal position.  However, this time, he was able to give this insightful response:  "It's kind of like the 12 days of Christmas.  You get something new every day."

Ah, we're ready for adolescence, I believe.

However, we may need some advice in a few more years.  I will be turning to you, because my husband will in the corner, sucking his thumb.

The Worst of Kind of Perfectionist

I always identify myself as a perfectionist.  I'm not sure why.  I haven't actually behaved like a perfectionist for several years. I like to use this simple explanation:  When my husband had a stroke 2 years ago, I gave myself permission to let some things slide for a while.  "A while" quickly became 2 years, and now I'm a bona fide slob.

Sadly, the reality is more likely that I became a slob MANY years before the stroke.  My bizarre bilateral attitude is a mystery, even to me. I mean my ideal sense of cleanliness and order is: 

EVERYTHING has a neat, orderly, labeled place AND everything is put away in their neat, orderly, labeled places.  Easy enough, right?

And then: 

Surfaces dusted, windows cleaned.

Floors swept, mopped and vacuumed.

No food stuck on the countertops, walls, windows, doors, furniture.

No dust, no mud, no boogers, no snotty kleenex, no chewed up gum wads, no mysterious stains on the wall, no nail polish stains in the living room carpet, no giant gouges out of the drywall where the reclining couch digs into it, no cat scratches on the furniture, no dings or dents in the door frames, no broken latches on sliding doors.  And, is it too much to ask to have furniture that hasn't been around since my high school graduation???

Are you sensing the disparity between my fantasy life and reality?

The problem is that I want perfection.  However, I don't necessarily feel like working for perfection any more.  For example, if I had a dog with good hygiene habits, I would probably let him lick the dishes clean and I would be OK with that.  This means that I am not willing to ACT like a perfectionist...I simply want my home to be perfect.

Is that too much to ask?