Monday, March 31, 2008

Only weirdos gnaw on their nails.

Nubs are what I call the end of my very unlady like fingers. My nubs are not attractive, the jagged end of what's left of my nails protrude at different angles. I curse myself for picking and biting my nails when I do dishes because the water makes my fingertips ache because they're torn to shreds. Not to mention picking at one's nails is just a weird habit in general and it takes away from any woman's sexiness or confidence. When I envision a nail biter I envision a slightly overweight individual huddled in a corner in a slouching position while intently trying to find their grand prize while staring of into the distance. Grand prize, eh? A piece of dried up flesh.

I guess my nervousness is hereditary, (thanks mom and dad) because I've had this appalling habit since childhood. I have tried every imaginable thing to quit, literally everything short of tying my hands behind my back. The bad tasting polish doesn't help as it is more common to find me picking at my nails instead of biting them, getting manicures help for all of about 10 minutes until I get stuck in a traffic jam or my phone rings. Then, away my nails go. I had acrylics for years and man, let me tell you. I felt like a queen with acrylic nails. I actually felt like a lady and I could flaunt my diamond rings. Haha- I made it sound like I have a lot of them. But at this point in my life I am thinking more of actylic nails as a breeding ground for disgusting bacteria rather than a fashion statement. Not to mention dropping $40 per week at the nail salon is not at the top of my priority list.

Every year, year after year, I promise that I am going to quit but I fail. My last straw was recently when I decided to vacuum out my car.....You can stop reading if you think you can't stomach the remainder of my story.....I realized my habit as reached a revolutionary level. I leaned down under the steering wheel only to see a finger nail farm. Literally a few hundred little nails on my floormat. It seems that I have never looked this closely at my car in the past.

I am a strong, capable 24 year old woman. I can do this, I can quit gnawing my nails. I repeat, I am a strong, capable 24 year old woman. I can do this, I can quit gnawing my nails.

Tickle Torture

Sunday, March 30, 2008


Leave it to me to do something clumsy. Ask anyone who has spent an extended period of time with me and they will be able to recite many stories that include me falling down stairs, tripping over objects small and large and even falling "up" stairs. Yes, it's possible to fall "up" stairs.

Even those 28 people that so kindly followed Wild Wendy into my delivery room seconds after giving birth will agree that I am a klutz. My child could hold her head upright by herself when she was born and ONLY the child of a horribly awkward person could perform such an amazing stunt while only seconds old. My poor baby had to brace herself in the womb while I tumbled around daily.

Today I not only tumbled but I plummeted. At least this time I have something to show for it. Check out the new shelf in Isabella's room. I get bonus points because I didn't even break the wood when I landed.

OCD at it's best

I admit it, I'm an anal freak. I organize the soup labels to all face forward, I only hang my clothes on white hangers and Chris's on black hangers, and the teapot on the stove always faces left. I used to need the house to be clean in order to focus but I have overcome that obstacle and can easily do pretty much anything even though my house is full of chaos and clutter. I am not bad enough to the point that I need medication. Well, I need medication but not particularly for OCD but that's an entirely different topic that I will delve into in the future.

Basically I am here to say that my blog is driving me crazy. If you see the post below the first half is double spaced and the second half is single spaced. I should just move on, nobody reading would even notice. There is tragedy in this world, people dying every day, starvation, war, horrible events and I am sitting here worried about spacing.


Choking Hazard: Dog Food

Your prime responsibility as a parent on this earth is to make sure your child survives to see their 18th year. If they are well adjusted and don't have any major personality flaws then you did an outstanding job and you can pat yourself on the shoulder. Let me retract that statement, in reality you are probably in denial and need a fresh dose of bitter reality if you think your child is perfect.

Well at the wonderful age of 7 months Isabella is still a perfect little human being who can do no wrong. It's only me, her mother, that makes countless mistakes. As I mentioned above, I am likely to still think this is true in another 16 years and I will be in need of a reality check.

To fulfill my prime responsibility of keeping my child alive until she's 18 (and hopefully many years beyond) I childproofed our house. Every socket is protected, every shoe is put in the closet (I learned last week that soles of flip flops have a very similar consistency to teething rings) and there is not one item that she might be able to choke on anywhere below waist level.

Well, there is always an exception and just when you think everything is perfect...something is bound to be wrong. It was me, I did it, I missed one major piece to this childproofing puzzle. In fact, not only had I left one choking hazard within her reach but I left 6,999 choking hazards right in plain sight (I didn't really count them all, I just used the number for effect). You guessed it: the dog food bowl was left right at optimal baby level.

Luckily I am super speedy and Isabella only managed to get one kibble in her mouth before I was able to grab it out with one frantic sweep of my finger. Lesson for today: pick up the dog food bowl.

Sidenote: I haven't yet figured out a good place to keep the dog bowl, a place where Odin can get and she can't. If you have an idea, please share with me!

Clams, Clams and More Clams

Thanks to Kyle, not only a good friend but also an amazing chef, we managed to polish off 4lbs. of fresh clams last night. Yes, you read that correctly...4lbs! We felt like evil murderers as we placed them in the boiling pot which made me thankful that I wasn't born on a farm. I guarantee I would not of faired well.

Here is the recipe that's definitely worth duplicating:

Saturday, March 29, 2008

Famous Finn

As I was strolling down the aisle of Babies R Us today I broke down in tears. No, not because of the screaming children or the lack of my ability to match product numbers on a registry to a tangible item, but because I saw our godson, Finn, on

I knew that he had professional pictures taken and
that he would be the new face of Nuby but actually seeing his face for the first time on the shelf caught me by complete surprise!

There was only a single product left in the section because obviously everyone wants to buy the stuff with his perfect smile gracing the package. I think the lady who helped me thought I was crazy when I approached her, mascara running down my cheeks, and asked her to search the stockroom to find ANY other packaging with "this boys face" on it. She gave me a concerned look like I was some crazy stalker woman but then she gladly went on her way when she learned it was our godson. So anyway, here are the only 2 items I left with because everything else was sold out. Isn't he adorable?

Bella Says "HI"

Friday, March 28, 2008

I have a blog?

I am an ordinary woman with an average life, a good but average life. I don’t posses any philosophical ideas that have the potential of changing the world. I am not particularly well spoken and I use entirely too often. My punctuation is not always correct and sometimes I have a hard time fully communicating my thoughts. Consider this a warning and disclaimer.

I had an epiphany while attempting to cook dinner on Thursday night. Despite the fact that my days are filled with common occurrences, the following is what inspired me to begin a blog.

It was 4:35pm and I was on the sixth day of my vacation. After having six days of "rest" which included doing every conceivable errand that I had put off for 3 months, it was my goal to have a nice dinner ready for Chris when he got home from work. Basically an attempt to demonstrate that I have at least one ounce of culinary talent and to prove that if I am lucky enough to one day stay at home with our kids, he won’t have to be slaving in the kitchen after a long day at work. Mac and Cheese with egg and peas is about as gourmet as my cooking has been in the past- and even Chris had to show me how to put that concoction together.

So it was almost time for Chris to arrive home from work. Earlier in the day I found the perfect recipe on and searched WinCo for over an hour trying to find all of the particular ingredients, including Cremini mushrooms. In this process I learned that Cremini mushrooms are just basic mushrooms in the produce section. In fact I learned that most ingredients in recipes have ultra fancy names and one can basically disregard the first word of every ingredient. For example, the “heavy” of heavy whipping cream is a word to disregard. Not a single dairy is going to display the inevitable of consuming their product in large letters on the label.

I also learned another valuable lesson while at the grocery store, NEVER EVER take your child’s favorite toy out of the house. It is bound to get lost and then you will be like me, retracing all of my steps to find a talking bug. By the way, I was unsuccessful at locating Isabella’s beloved toy so the following day included a trip to Target to purchase another one. Only for it to break 2 days later, but that’s another story in of itself.

Back to the scene at home at 4:35pm on Thursday evening…I was shocked when I realized that our new pot and pan set was mistakenly packaged with two medium sized lids, instead of one medium and one large lid. I wish I learned that fact prior to filling the large pan to the brim with every imaginable ingredient. Not to mention at this point I had spent $85 at the grocery store for this meal. Entirely more than it would of cost us to sit at the local Thai restaurant complete with a candle lit table, chef and dishwasher. Oh well, when you have all of the ingredients, it supposedly gets easier and less expensive to cook at home, (at least that’s what I kept telling myself).

So as the ingredients spilled over my large pan and the spattering olive oil covered every possible surface, including my arms and face, Isabella began crying. Of course she’s hungry! No problem I thought…. there are women out there who take care of not only one child, but four children in addition to cooking dinner. Not to mention, I am the Queen of multi-tasking so I am a-okay. I grabbed the banana baby food from the fridge and launched it into the microwave. Yes, I know you’re not supposed to microwave baby food but I think those warnings are just there because there are idiots in this world who serve their children scalding hot food and then sue Gerber.
At this point I looked to my right just as our dog, Odin, barfed on the carpet while at the same time Isabella managed to turn herself around in the highchair (although correctly restrained with the strap) and was about to fall out onto the tile floor. As I witnessed these two occurrences, an over excited piece of oil flew up from the pan and landed in my eye. I winced in pain as I tended to Isabella. At this point the dog’s vomit on the carpet was at the bottom of my priority list, although that was about to change as Isabella began crawling towards it.

Five minutes later, in walks Chris. My attempt at a nice meal turned into a crying baby, a floor covered in dog vomit, boiling bananas and a grease covered kitchen with nothing that even resembled a meal in sight.

It is this ordinary but amusing scene that inspired me to begin this blog.