Not my brightest parenting moment

Ah, toddlers. Who doesn't have the fondest of memories about the temper tantrums, the bedtime battles, the time your kid locked himself in the vault at city hall. Wait, what? Oh yeah, it happened.

On this fateful day, I had both boys with me as I ran into city hall for one quick thing.  As I looked at a computer, FunnyKid ran down a long (fun-looking) ramp next to me that went into the big vault full of city records. Then he ran back up and we headed to the desk to speak to an employee.

As I began speaking to the woman and FunnyBoy began fussing, FunnyKid (the 2.5 year old) saw his opportunity and took off to run back down the ramp into the vault. I picked up the baby carrier and was not too far behind him, telling him to turn around and come back. As I got to the bottom of the ramp, FunnyKid gave me a sly grin... and knocked closed a glass door at the entrance to the vault (a door with no purpose I could figure out since the vault also had one of those huge metal vault doors).

Seeing no knob on the outside of the glass door (just a keyhole), I immediately turned around and went back  to the employee I had been speaking with. "I'm really sorry, but my son just locked himself in the vault. Could you please get the key for the glass door?"

"Uh, I don't think we have a key for that door," the woman replied.

That's when I began to panic. Running back to the door, I smiled and urged FunnyKid to turn the locking mechanism on his side of the glass. Having fun playing our game, the poor kid tried to turn the lock, but wasn't strong enough. Standing there with a toy train in either hand, he watched as two different employees with two different keys each arrived and failed to unlock the door.

That's when a woman in a really nice outfit came rushing down and decided she was going to try to slide under the door (oh yeah, I forgot to mention that the glass door didn't go all the way to the top or the bottom of the door frame, making it even more useless and more confusing about what it was even there for). Despite the panic rising in my chest, that part was kind of funny because the poor, professionally-dressed woman had no chance of fitting through the couple of inches of space beneath the door, but she pressed herself to the floor and tried.

The ending of this story is a little anti-climatic: no firefighters rushing through the door for a dramatic rescue, no having to tell FunnyKid to go hide in the corner while a police officer shot through the door. Nope. Instead, we got FunnyKid to lay down on his side of the door and I reached under and slid him out.

Then we threw some more apologies around and ran out the door while the employees were making phone calls to see if anyone in city hall had a key to the door. In the aftermath, I felt ashamed that FunnyKid was able to get that far away from me and cause some mischief, but I also started to get kind of angry that a city office didn't have a key to the mystery door in its vault. I can think of a couple of (unlikely) scenarios in which that door could swing closed and need to be reopened. In any case, it's a funnier story than the battle FunnyKid and I fought over naptime this afternoon, and if I have to be embarrassed or admit some parenting failures, at least I want a funny story out of it.

Life with two

I read somewhere that the transition from one to two kids is harder than the transition from none to one. Almost eight weeks into our adventure as the parents of two boys, I'm going to agree. While there was a steep learning curve as we figured out what to do with a tiny FunnyKid when he was an infant, the challenges are even greater when we're not only trying to keep FunnyKid happy and healthy, but sustaining a (more helpless) baby as well.

Oh, how life has changed for us. For one thing, I'm spending a lot less money. I haven't taken both boys out very frequently because of flu season and my inability to keep them both entertained and on track in stores. One of my first trips out with both of them was to good ol' Target. I had my list and I had my game plan (FunnyBoy in a wrap on my chest, FunnyKid in the cart). It all went according to plan until I got about ten steps into the store and spied a cute dress under a 70 percent off clearance sign. I hesitated for a second before realizing who I was with and quickly walking past. Browsing, my friends, is a thing of the past.

Another challenge has been FunnyBoy's digestive issues. After too many weeks of hearing him scream for an hour or two every night, we have him on medication. In addition, his doctor told me to drop all soy and dairy from my diet. After extensive research, I can tell you that soy and/or dairy is in EVERYTHING. I spent an hour at the grocery story yesterday reading labels, bought six things (soy free, dairy free butter? sounds delicious!) and spent $20. This couponing, grocery budgeting mama is dying as she writes that sentence. On the bright side, I learned I like almond milk and will probably end up shedding some more pregnancy weight as I'm forced to cut back on most things I ordinarily snack on. On the other hand, I will understand why my friends don't want to spend time with me for awhile because how fun will I be when I can't eat anything other than a handful of peanuts and some fruit?

It probably goes without saying that, as hard as it has been to give up so many foods, it's so worth it to make sure FunnyBoy isn't in pain every night. Overall, he's a sweet kiddo with the biggest smile ever-- well worth not having chocolate, ice cream or a lot of other things for awhile. And I'm getting better at being the mom of two kids. I took them out for a walk in the double stroller the other day and we have already conquered the library. Next up is a restaurant. Wish me luck...

Stupid nature...

We live in a fairly rural area. Rural enough that I routinely swerve to avoid deer, have seen a bear while out for a walk, had a bobcat sun itself in our backyard and had a neighbor spot a moose (a moose!) near our house just last week. I can handle all of that and even think it's very cool (I would love to see a moose in person).

But the smaller stuff gets me. And it's not just the squirrel that ran the wrong way last week and committed suicide under my car tire. Yesterday, I opened the door to let the dogs out into the backyard, looked down and spotted a bird laying on the step. Quickly getting the dogs back into the house, I assessed the situation... which basically included a rundown of every male I could call to come take care of the situation and determining they were all otherwise busy (I don't know if my former neighbor still reads the blog, but I was wishing I could have called E to come take care of it for me!)

So I manned up, wrote the Pretend Husband a text telling him how lucky he is to have a pregnant wife willing to do this stuff and carefully approached the bird with my shovel extended. Oh, and I chanted, "please don't move, please don't move" to the bird the whole time (I was barely able to deal with a dead bird and may have died if it actually moved). Luckily, the bird was dead, and it stayed that way as I maneuvered it onto the shovel and headed for the woods.

I said a quick "rest in peace" and then lovingly and reverently... flung it as far into the woods as I could. Then I went back inside to text the details to the PH and promise him to give him a little more of a send-off when his time comes.

As if that wasn't enough adventure for the week, I walked into the garage this afternoon to find two birds banging against the inside of the window trying to get out. When they wouldn't take the hint of the two open garage doors, I figured I was going to have to open the window for them. I had to reach between the birds to unlock the window and then went outside to lower the top pane. One of the birds was laying against the glass while the other tried to bang its way out.

While lowering the glass, I somehow got one of the birds stuck between the panes of glass and there was no going back because it looked like I would have decapitated it if I tried. I somehow managed to slide one of the panes out of the way without killing the bird and it flew away. The other one took some prompting (i.e. banging on the glass) for it to find its escape route.

Also, I think we may have a mouse living in our family room. But I refuse to think about it (I've already let it out the door once) and it will be up to the PH to deal with whatever encounter springs up on us next. If he won't, then I'm moving to the city.

A test of my parenting skills

FunnyKid and I had two funerals to attend this week (the Pretend Husband jokes that we're becoming professional mourners... hmmm, I wonder if I could make any money at it?) At the first one, FunnyKid was one of a handful of children so it wasn't as noticeable if he made a little noise. He cooed a little and made some other happy noises and then fell asleep on my shoulder for the final few minutes. I didn't have to get up and do that quick, embarrassed walk down the aisle as my child screamed and I was grateful for my little angel.

The funeral we attended today? It went a little differently. First of all, it was funeral for a priest that was celebrated by the archbishop in a stone chapel that echoed really well (I'm sure you can imagine how thrilled FunnyKid was to discover how well his sounds bounced around). On top of the fact that FunnyKid was the only child there (and I was the only other person under the age of 50), he hadn't had a chance to breastfeed before we left the house and this funeral, like the one the day before, fell right in the middle of his usual naptime.

Remember that quick, embarrassed walk I mentioned? I did it. Twice. In heels. As 30 priests tried to concentrate on what was going on. But we got through it and even had at least half a dozen people compliment FunnyKid on his behavior (OK, they were older and perhaps a little hard of hearing, but it still counts!) I'm giving myself an A for the first funeral and a C- for the second (I should have fed FunnyKid earlier). While it might not qualify me for Mother of the Year (I'm sure I was out of the running the day I pinched FunnyKid's hand with his sunglasses), I'm happy to be maintaining a B average.

My parenting advice? Just keep on keeping on...

The thing about going onto the Internet for advice about raising children is that there is SO MUCH information out there. And it all contradicts itself (and always adamantly). Baby must have their own crib! Co-sleeping is best! Pacifiers work! Pacifiers will ruin them for life! Let them cry it out! Crying it out will traumatize the child and they'll never trust their parents and won't do well in school and will end up a college drop-out living in a van down by the river!

The second night FunnyKid was home, I caved in and gave him a pacifier someone had given us as a gift (despite my decision that he wouldn't be using them). Then I went on the Internet and found several sources that said pacifiers should no way, no how be given before the baby is three weeks old because it will cause nipple confusion and they will stop breastfeeding and what-were-you-thinking-you-must-be-a-first-time-mom-what-with-such-a-dumb-mistake! I cried.

But FunnyKid spit out the pacifier within minutes of falling peacefully asleep and then kat's lil sis told me her kids were given pacifiers in the hospital and then the pediatrician confirmed that we were not actually ruining the kiddo for life by giving him a pacifier to soothe him as long as he was weaned off it by nine months old (FunnyKid weaned himself off after using it four times so no worries there).

As the months have gone on (I can't believe FunnyKid is already six months old!), I've gotten a lot better about choosing what advice works for us-- and I avoid using Google to help me decide what's best for FunnyKid. But every once in awhile-- say, in the middle of the night when FunnyKid has been crying for awhile and we are trying to get him to go back to sleep without eating because we know he's waking up out of habit instead of hunger-- it's so tempting to search the Internet to see if we're doing the right thing.

And, not surprisingly, the advice ranges from Babies cry, let them cry! to Crying it out will scar your child! Because we are now somewhat experienced that this parenting gig, we did what worked for us (and I didn't even cry). And I'm 99% sure we haven't ruined FunnyKid for life (yet).

My parents should have named me Grace

Because being eight months pregnant isn't enough of a challenge, I went ahead and broke my toe last night. (Well, maybe. The Pretend Husband thinks it might just be badly sprained, but it's painful nonetheless). It wasn't even doing something acrobatic or daring-- I pulled open a door without getting my foot fully out of the way and smashed the littlest toe.

Whether it's sprained or broken, it really hurts. I have worn nothing but flip-flops for the last three months, but even those are bothering it. They are kicked off under my desk right now.

The PH has been semi-sympathetic to my pain. He has made all the right noises ("I'm sorry you're in pain) and he also suggested I give the breathing technique I plan on using during childbirth a try ("If it doesn't work for a little toe, you should probably be looking for something else to use for labor!") He has a point.

I will be sending out resumes to Internet companies this afternoon...

I had a work meeting this morning in which the topic of whether my company should develop more of a presence on the Internet came up. A lot of the people at the meeting are-- ahem-- quite a bit older than I am and don't really "get" the Internet. They use it rarely, if ever, and don't understand how it's used and why people prefer it over, say, a newspaper.

That's when I chimed in, giving examples of a search I did for a piano tuner, how I read the news not only on my computer, but on my phone, and how it's an easy way to look up local businesses. Then I said, "I never pick up a newspaper. I do everything on-line. I can't remember the last time I read an actual newspaper."

That's when I remembered I work for a newspaper. "Uh," I stammered. "I mean, a newspaper other than ours, of course." We'll see if I still have a job tomorrow.

I don't like strangers, so having them feet away from my underwear drawer is really hard for me.

I have worked my butt off over the past few weeks cleaning, cleaning and packing to get our house as uncluttered as possible to sell it FAST.

Not only have I been a cleaning mad woman, but I've also been a packing mad woman. You guys *know me* and my shoes. I packed away about 30 pairs - and most of my clothes including just about all of my sweaters.

I'm really, really optimistic.

So, our house went on the market on Tuesday morning. And today we have our first showings - back to back.

Thankfully, my beloved is staying home to work on cleaning what we didn't get to (mainly, the one room of the house that hasn't been packed/cleaned by me because the contents include things like "golf bags" and other such nonsense).

But, really, even I'm impressed by my house right now. My basement looks like you could hang out down there. Which you always could, I suppose, except that you'd have to pacman your way through boxes and crap everywhere. It practically looks empty right now. So much so, that I put a rug down. And a lamp with a table. I even considered getting a ping pong table.

I'm not looking forward to this being a long process. But, I am looking forward to a new house. A bigger house. One that can house all of my shoes (however, I've told J that our response for when people ask why we're moving is NOT to say "my wife has too many shoes to fit in our house").

So, while strangers walk all around my house today and judge me for my taste in furniture/paint color/carpet/curtains/wardrobe/shoes (at that point, no one can deny my taste, really), I'll be sitting in traffic praying that they like it enough to buy it when it's been on the market for three days. I can dream, right?

(I'll also be praying that they don't really open my drawers - because a) that's creepy b) they're a mess c) no one buying a house has any reason to look at my underwear. But totally just in case, I put all the Victoria's Secret ones on top, and the ugly cotton ones towards the back.)

And *if* they do, I will kick myself for pricing it too low.

And also *if* they do? And want a quick closing? I'll be homeless.

God, I hope I'm homeless at the end of October.*

*Note: God, if you're paying attention to this blog, first: thanks. Second? I mean homeless but with a pile of money to use as downpayment to a larger more fabulous house.

Please assure me bad things only come in twos and not threes...

This morning, on my way to work, about 13 seconds after I thought, “Man, what a great day I’m having. I’m so lucky to have such a good life,” a rock was kicked up by the van in front of me and hit my windshield, causing a pretty big ding in the glass. (Yes, I’m a dork for having my own little hallelujah sessions and I can’t even get too mad about the van because it was a Red Cross van delivering blood so how evil would I be for being angry at it, right?)

Then, I got to my office, went to turn on my light… and not only blew out the light bulb and kicked off the battery backup on my computer, but I blew a fuse.

I should not be allowed anywhere near small children today.

(Dudes, just to be clear, this doesn’t even come close to qualifying as a bad day. I just thought it was funny that the two events happened within 30 minutes of each other. And it’s made me be a little more cautious today. But I forgot to mention that when I went to find a replacement light bulb in the office storage closet, I instead found a box of chocolates that looked as thought it had been there since Valentine’s Day… 2005. But it still had a few pieces left, so score!)

Well, at least SJ will have someone to wait with at the ER...

I don't know if it's from getting older or hanging out with SJ too much or what, but my lack of coordination has been increasing lately (although it probably says something that I just searched our blog for "fell off chair" and three posts came up, including this oh-so-coordinated moment when I fell off my office chair).

Well, yesterday was a good example of why I maybe need to be wrapped up in bubble wrap and made to sit on the couch with SJ instead of, say, playing soccer or, you know, walking. It started when I not once, but twice, smashed my ankle against a chair while trying to stand up. The Pretend Husband just shook his head as I writhed in pain.

But it was even better (and in public!) when I lost all coordination at my soccer game last night. The first incident was while I was on the field and got tripped by a woman from the other team. It was one of those slow-motion times when you try to catch yourself, almost do, start to fall over again, writhe around trying to keep yourself from falling, start to stand up and then fall flat on your face (or, in my case, right on the ball). It felt like it took a full 20 seconds for all this to happen, although I'm sure it wasn't quite that much of a show. 

Then, while standing on the side of the field, the ball was kicked toward me and instead of scooping it up like a normal person, I took a step back to get out of the way. Except my soccer bag was right behind me and I fell backward over onto my butt. Well, except there was a huge net behind me that caught me and left me in an awkward crouch flailing around trying to stand back up. It would have been fine with me if no one noticed, but of course everyone was looking toward the ball at the time (and the dude from the other team coming over to get the ball had to ask me if I was OK, drawing even more attention to the flopping fish of a woman trying to de-tangle herself from the net).

I sat on my office chair verrrrrry carefully this morning and plan on staying here, without trying to walk or move around, for the rest of the day. I think it's safest for us all that way.

I totally think I could have taken that 10-year-old in a fight!

On Halloween, the dogs went nuts every time the doorbell rang and scratched at the glass door in an effort to get at the trick-or-treaters to lick them to death. During one such melee, I was standing outside the door with the kids and to make sure they weren't scared of the puffballs (who each weigh less than 20 pounds-- oh-so-scary!) I told them their names.

One of the boys, who was about 10 years old, said, "Casey looks like she's pretty stupid."

Um, what?!? Being my usual, mature self, I felt I had to defend my dog against this little brat and said (in a haughty tone), "Actually, she's very smart."

"How is she smart?" the boy said.

"Well, she knows sign language. When want her to sit, we don't have to say 'sit,' we just show her the sign and she does it."

I still think the boy was more impressed by the candy I gave him than Casey's abilities, but I'm still counting it as a victory against that little punk.

10 Things I Believe

i got this little writing prompt from one of our favorite bloggers. Kathy comes up with these phenomenal prompts each week - and this is the first time I have my act together enough to actually follow along.

it may be true that i believe in more than 10 things, but these are just the thoughts that came to me as i lay awake this morning trying to get the ambition to get out of bed and ready for work, and then some more that came to me in my ridiculously long commute.

1) i believe that you will fall in love more than once in your lifetime, and likely, at one point, you will fall in love with someone who is completely wrong for you -- but that doesn't make it wrong.

2) i believe life is short and you should never skip homemade desserts for exactly that reason.

3) i believe in the formidable power of a sexy black lace bra and matching panties under a well-tailored suit. i've rarely felt more confident and powerful than in my old favorites-- even if no one else could see what was underneath.

4) i believe that you are never too old for the comfort of a teddy bear.

5) i believe in a woman's right to choose, which coincides with:

6) i believe that everyone is entitled to an opinion, but they are not entitled to belittle others about their choices and opinions. i believe in a healthy debate, but only among willing participants. not everyone likes to share, and that's okay. unless you have a homemade dessert. then all bets are off. you had better share.

7) i believe in the healing power of a child's smile. whenever i'm feeling particularly angry, upset or bitter over something, all it takes is some time with my nephews before i feel fully restored.

8) i believe you should always read the book first.

9) i believe you should always use spf 45 and wear a hat in the sun but you should not freak out about the little lines that form around your eyes and mouth. there's a reason they got there, and likely it's from the good times (and bad) that got you to where you are.

10) i believe in having no regrets.

current itunes song: "let's hear it for the boy" by deniece williams

how i am just like brittany spears

i know, right? who knew.

but i am.

it all has to do with a severe miscalculation on my part about the texture of my foundation garment (fun and lacy) and my comfortable knit dress (fun and not lacy).

due to this miscalculation, i had to determine a solution that would prevent my dress from clinging indiscreetly to my nether regions. because that's what was going on.

which led me to a choice. go without? or just go with it. i polled some co-workers discreetly.

i tried to go without for a little while, but i had a meeting with my ceo, who likes me to sit right next to him when going through reports, etc. and quite frankly, he's in many ways very father-like. and i just couldn't deal with the mental thought of being without my undies in my boss's office. it was quite frankly, unfathomable.

but, for a brief (or... um.. hiphugger) period today, i was indeed modeling the behavior of Brittany Spears.

current itunes song: "portions for foxes" by rilo kiley

when Victoria's Secret attacks...

okay. raise your hand if you wear an underwire bra.

and now, raise your hand if your mom used to tell you not to. (oh look- there are my sisters. raising their hands. hi guys!) i've never fully understood why we weren't supposed to wear them. but we weren't.

and now, folks, i know why.

i am one of those people who hate to throw away favorite items of clothing. that applies to a hoodie i've had since college, favorite pointy toed flats, favorite jeans, etc. and it also applies to my favorite bras. it's just so hard to find them, so when you find the perfect ones, you just wanna keep it.

well apparently, i need to reexamine my relationship with my underthings. because as i was sitting in a meeting (with my boss) the other day, my bra turned on me.

it attacked. it stabbed, in fact. it nearly drew blood.

at first i thought something was biting me. imagine my reaction to feel a sharp stab somewhere in the vicinity of my left boob. imagine now, that reaction and how it must have appeared to my 40-something male boss. i sat up immediately and grabbed my chest.

and i don't even think he noticed.

when it bit me the second time, i excused myself to the ladies room, where i promptly discovered the wire from my bra had managed to become undone from its sleeve and the sharp pointy end was poking me.

i thought of my options. i figured braless was not an option (maybe at 24. but not at 31). so i performed minor surgery and removed the offending wire. and maybe you couldn't tell, really. but i could tell. so i naturally had to remove the other wire. which is not easy, in a ladies room at work with no utilities. but i managed it.



so now i know. it's not because underwire bras are bad for you. it's because they are, in fact, vicious.

vicious and dangerous. consider yourself warned.

current itunes song: "Hard" by Grey-Eye Glances

okay. time to crank up the funny.

now that i've depressed you all with the talk of my Gramma, and with KAT's bad news about the layoff, i thought it's only fair that i share a bit of funny.

goodness knows *i* could use some funny right about now.

i don't think i've shared this story on the blog before, although it's likely KAT and SRG have heard it many times.

it's the story of my interview at a huge insurance giant in hartford, which is also the story of how i nearly called off the wedding.

i went in for my interview on october 28th. i was working as a reporter at the time, so i tried to be all sneaky when sneaking off to hartford for the big interview. goodness knows i couldn't show up in the newsroom wearing a suit.

but i was *prepared* - i had my notes, my updated copies of my resume, a solid understanding of what an HMO was -- i was ready.

i mastered the first interview with two women - we got along famously. and then they told me - "we really want you to meet with maureen*." i have no idea who this person is, because by this point, i was now interviewing for another job than the one i came in for. "we think you're over qualified for this job, but this one over here would be great for you..."

they walked me down the hallway, and i looked around at the cube farm, wondering where this mysterious maureen sat. as i turned around the corner, i heard a very bright "Hello!" and i looked. down. at the woman. who was a... um... little person. dressed as an M&M. as in. candy colored shell over chocolate. doesn't melt in your hand, but rather, in your mouth.

was this an elaborate HR test? apparently not. it really was the woman i was interviewing with. she disappeared for a minute to "change" and met me a few minutes later and asked me intensely difficult questions -- ones you do not expect to hear from an M&M.

i did end up getting the job. but the best part is, when i got into the lobby of the large insurance company, i called j, who happened to work on the floor above where i interviewed.

me: "you will never believe who i interviewed with."
j: "wait, was it the midget that dresses up?"
me: "this was a possibility that you didn't care to share with me *prior* to my interview?"
j: (laughing. loudly.)
me: "hello?"
j: (still laughing.)
me: "the wedding is so off."

this isn't getting any easier....

so as you all know, my grams is whittling down to nothing. one of the strongest women i know (the other, most likely, my other grandmother) can no longer get out of bed on her own.

it's hard to watch, but i've tried to visit her as much as i can. i'm not sure that she knows me anymore, but she smiles and nods at me. she also waves her hand at me when i ask her if she's comfortable or if i can get her anything.

a couple of weekends ago, i was hanging out with my cousins (whom i rarely see) at my grandmother's apartment. she lives with my parents, which, growing up, was always fun. she'd baby sit us, check up on us, let us watch tv with her, scold us when we needed it, offer us advice when we didn't want it (but needed it anyway).

i was going through my limited polish vocabulary with her. she smiled and laughed as i struggled over words like "zimny" (cold) and "swinia" (pig). i told her - "you taught me that, grams!"

and in her infinite though perhaps clouded wisdom, she responded with "I taught you everything."




and that, my bloggy friends, is quite true.

current itunes song: "silent house" by the dixie chicks

If I make you laugh, will you give me some advice?

OK, I am seeking some advice on something, but I'm not just going to ask you to give me something without giving something in return. So, first, a funny story... and then I'm going to need you to put out. Uh, information, that is (get your mind out of the gutter! Did you really think I'd proposition you on my blog?!? That's weird! I would call you and ask you over the phone, of course...)

Anyway, first the funny story. The building I work in (on the fourth floor) is connected by a tunnel in the basement to a second building. Well, I watched an event that was happening on the second floor of the other building on TV and then realized I needed to get the names of these two old ladies who had testified about something. So, wearing heels and a dress, I ran to the elevator, took it to the basement, ran through the tunnel, caught an elevator to the second floor... and found I had missed both ladies.

Figuring they couldn't have gotten far (one is 91 and uses a cane, for goodness sakes!), I ran around the second floor then climbed up to the third floor to see if they had exited there. A security guard said he hadn't seen them so we stood at the railing watching the floors below. Suddenly, we spotted them on the first floor, so (still in heels), I took off running for an elevator and took it to the first floor. At first, I couldn't find them, but ran into the cafeteria and caught them as they got their lunch.

Out of breath and with very sore feet, I then went back to the third floor because I figured the security guard would wonder how this little drama turned out. And, for the record, even he commented on how fast those two moved for being little old ladies!

And now, your turn... I have A TON of cleaning ahead of me at the house we're moving into. Dust and dirt and black dust from many years of using a coal stove kind of cleaning. And, if you ask KAT's lil sis, she will gladly tell you that I am more than little challenged in the cleaning department (although, I have gotten better over the weeks of having to clean almost every day for open houses and showings). Anyway, any recommendations you have for awesome cleaning products (such as ones that work instantly without me having to scrub or actually do any work...) are much appreciated. I especially need something that will clean up the mineral deposits (I think? It's a colorful stain in the shower so perhaps it's mineral deposits?) in the bathroom. Offering to fly in and help me clean will also score you a lot of points (Molly, I know you're planning on going to England for Christmas, but this would be a lot cheaper and almost as much fun, wouldn't you say?!?)

I did not disappoint! (tales from a klutz)

So, remember how I sort of promised you an embarrassing story from my first day at my new job? Oh yeah, I've got one.

First, let me say that I love the job, I had a very productive day and I even interviewed the state's attorney general without (too much) stuttering. So it's not like this story is going to keep me from going back for Day Two or anything. But, still...

So, one of the women who works there was helping me out after my boss left early. She walked out of the studio I was in and, as I stood up to follow her, the chair slid funny and fell over. I kind of caught it on the way down before it could make a loud noise, but I could not for the life of me get it back up. The wheels kept rolling it in different directions, preventing me from getting it upright, and I kept having to step over it and try to haul it up from another angle.

Basically... I wrestled with a chair for a good 20 seconds or so. I have no idea if the woman wondered where I was or turned around to watch the show I was putting on, but I'm going to pretend she didn't and think I pulled off Wrestlemania '08 without an audience. Or perhaps she's updating her blog, or her friends, right now with the story of the well-dressed, fairly well-spoken woman who couldn't get out of a chair without creating a spectacle.

Hey, if this was SJ telling the story, there would have been broken bones involved... at least in my case no one got hurt!