Camp Blog This Mom!

[Editor’s Note: In Blog This Mom! posts, Laura is called by her real life name, Laura. But in real life, for years now, Laura has referred to herself as The Rat, and talks about herself in third person. Kind of like Bossy, Mrs. G., and The Matron, except that Laura does it in real life. All the time. Laura will say things to me such as, “The Rat wants mint-chip ice cream.” And if I tell her that she has to wait until after dinner? Laura will say, “The Rat is furious.” Because katydidnot refers on her blog to her eight-year-old daughter as “The Girl,” Laura would like to be called “The Rat” on my blog. I aim to please. At least for purposes of this post.]



So . . . The Rat and The Girl recently had a play date and sleepover, during which Blog This Mom! sent email updates to katydidnot. Here are those emails, all cut-and-pasted and smooshed together in chronologicalish order:




To: katydidnot
From: Blog This Mom!
Subject: The Girl and The Rat at Camp Blog This Mom!


What’s Up: The Girl and The Rat's first stop was at Coffee Bean for water and muffins because The Rat's mother failed to feed her breakfast before picking up The Girl. The Girl reported that she had been fed two Pop-Tarts and a piece of cheese for breakfast. The Rat's mother fell a little bit more in love with The Girl's mother when she heard that. Then The Girl and The Rat went to Boomers for mini-golf and arcade games.

After the arcade, they went to Jamba Juice because The Rat said that the slushies at home are not good. Then they came home and had pizzadillas (cheese quesadilla with pizza sauce inside). Pizzadillas appeared to be a hit with The Girl. Now they are swimming. I am able to email and access the Internet poolside (it's a hard knocks life, I know); so don't worry, they are being supervised. And they are so happy. The Rat and The Girl are thriving at Camp Blog This Mom!

Note: The Girl and The Rat were covered in sunscreen before mini-golf and swimming. The Girl questioned why after mini-golf sunscreening was she being re-sunscreened for swimming. I told her that I couldn't risk her getting a sunburn and having her mother blog about it. The Girl began to giggle. The Girl knows things. She is eight going on 40. But? She doesn't know about pi. The Rat tried to explain pi to her. The Rat tried to help The Girl memorize the first 10 digits of pi. The Rat told The Girl that she had the first 10 digits memorized, but that she was working on memorizing the first 50. I told The Girl that she really only needed to know the first two, and not even for a while. The Girl may or may not come home and tell you that the "basic" of pi is 3.14. The Girl has been coached. The Rat is like that. The Rat is an eight-year-old Rain Man. The Girl didn’t seem to mind.

The Dirt: No matter what The Girl tries to tell you, I did not almost rear-end someone on the way to Boomers. I may or may not have almost almost rear-ended someone, but that is all. Now, I realize you don't know me THAT well, and this might worry you. Please be assured (heh, me writing "please be assured" is probably freaking you out, huh?) that I have a perfect driving record. I have never had an accident or a ticket (well, two tickets within one week when I was 16 for rolling through stop signs, but I learned my lesson and that was sooooo 31 years ago). (Gawd, I'm old.) Anyway, I know you achieve balance through the law of averages, so the fact that I have this perfect driving record and may or may not have had to brake hard when the effer in front of me started to make a right-hand turn and then stopped, may or may not cause you to be concerned that my time for a perfect driving record is up. But I think the law of averages for my driving record is really in balance, if not my favor, because people regularly rear-end and broadside me while I'm sitting still in my car and minding my own business. Truthfully, I don't think The Girl would have noticed the alleged almost almost rear-ending that may or may not have happened except that Courtney was in the car. Courtney is 22 and has opinions. And she’s verbal. So . . . this caused The Girl to comment upon times that her mother may or may not have hit cars or objects while driving. Then The Girl, in perhaps what was a moment of loyalty and/or guilt, defended her mother by saying that usually other people hit her mother's car and her mother really doesn't hit other people or things very often.

The Good: The Girl is so sweet and good-natured. She also knows how to win a serious number of prize tickets from a mere 16 tokens in an arcade. The Rat? Not so much. So The Girl gave The Rat a couple of her prizes. And when they got home? The Rat gave The Girl two of her really cool pens, including a prized Kooky Pen. Since they are already married as of the pre-Bossy-visit party at your place, I'd say this is the honeymoon.



They are trying to talk me into pitching a tent in the backyard and letting them sleep outside. They promised "lights out" by 9 P.M. They even put the promise in writing. There are four boys between the ages of seven and nineteen living next door, whose mother is insane and whose father has moved out. A locksmith was parked in their driveway just last week. And the next day? A police car was parked in the driveway, blocking the mother’s Mercedes. (Living next door to these people has been like watching an episode of Cops, but with better cars.) These people’s windows look down into our backyard. There will be no sleeping in a tent in the backyard under these circumstances. I might let them pitch the tent in The Rat's room, but I have not mentioned this option to them. I'm hoping they forget about the whole tent idea mulling it over.

The Mess Hall at Camp Blog This Mom!: Dinner began at 5:30 PM with a bowl of vanilla ice cream and rainbow sprinkles. Dessert was served at 6:30 PM, organic cheese pizza, organic rainbow fusilli pasta with fresh Parmesan cheese, organic broccoli, and organic carrots. Sensing a theme? Not so much? Okay then.

Bedtime update: The Rat and The Girl? They have matching duckie jammies. Who’d of thunk it?



And? Despite a very comfy full-size canopied bed in The Rat’s room, they have opted to sleep on the floor. The Girl and The Rat have made what appears to the naked eye to be a nest on the floor. (A Rat’s nest, if you will.) And they are nestled in. Very snug.



But don't be fooled by your naked eye! The Rat and The Girl are actually sleeping in the first-class cabin of the airplane they built. On the floor. In The Rat’s bedroom.



The Rat and The Girl mapped out a flight plan.



They departed from Louisiana (where they live), had stopovers in Sacramento, Washington D.C. and then Cambridge (Massachusetts). Now they are on their way to Paris. In the first-class cabin. The one that they built on The Rat’s floor. They are reading with Itty Bitty book lights and whispering. And giggling. Just a bit. (Also, I should mention that they tried to get me to serve them dinner in the first-class cabin, on a little tray, but even I have my limits.)



The Morning News: The Rat and The Girl's airplane landed at 9 AM in London (Read: They Slept In!). The overnight flight across the pond was smooth and uneventful save for one instance during the wee hours when a hot-pink electronic text messaging thing-a-ma-bobber (think Walkie Talkie, but it sends to and receives text messages from its matching hot-pink counterpart) beeped and woke up The Girl, and only The Girl, who said she went right back to sleep. (I think that the beeping might have been from another passenger summoning the flight attendant to bring another Bloody Mary, but I could be wrong.)



The Rat and The Girl were hungry for pancakes when they woke up decided to land in London, which is the city famous for buttermilk pancakes, right?



So . . . they each had a bowl of organic cottage cheese, a bowl of organic pears and organic strawberries, a glass of organic unfiltered apple juice, and then . . . pancakes made from a box of Aunt Jemima Complete Buttermilk Pancake Mix. Sensing a theme? Not so much? Okay then. Oh, and the pancakes? Shaped like ducks. To match the duckie jammies.



After breakfast The Girl and The Rat boarded their airplane and flew to Paris. And then to Hawaii. They are now swimming in the Pacific Ocean, which happens to look at lot like my pool. Oh, and someone should probably tell The Rat that the word to shout when jumping into the “ocean” is not “Cowamunga!”



And then your head exploded. The end.

_____________________________

On another note, dear Blog This Mom! reader, Friday, August 1, is the last day to enter a comment here for a chance to win a fabulous BitchHer ’08 bag. On Friday, August 1, at 11:59 PM, PST, Laura The Rat will pull one name from a hat! The lucky winner will carry the baggage that the San Diego Blog Bitches carry.

deception

Deb at San Diego Momma is still hosting PROMPTuesdays. (Sorry Deb, I have been AWOL the last two weeks or so, but I'm back this week.) If you don't know about PROMPTuesdays, head over and check out the archives.

This week is PROMPTuesday #15: One Word Says It All

Deb's selected topic this week: Write about deception. Whatever that means to you. Can be fact or fiction.

Deb's PROMPTuesday rules:

* You must write your entry in 10 minutes. This encourages top-of-mind, primal thinking before the ego and judgmental brain kick in.
* Keep to 250 words or less.
* Please have fun. Don’t put pressure on yourself. Together, let’s rediscover the simple joy in the writing process.
* Post your submission in Deb's comments OR post in your blog and leave a link to your blog in Deb's comments.


So . . . heeeeeeere's my submission this week:




deception

the rings and the roses and the kiss
held the covenant of everlasting moments
like that

the revelations and the discoveries and the mysteries
held the certainty of uncertain times
like that

the joy and the pain and the triumphs
held the promise of intangible intimacy
like that

the dreams and the memories and the journey
held the rings and the roses and the kiss
like that

the picket fences and the bassinets and the road
held the truth of a life
like that

BitchHer 2008 - The Unplugged & Unauthorized Edition

While the many of our favorite bloggers were gathered together in San Francisco last weekend to try to touch the hem of Bossy's garment at for BlogHer, without us, the San Diego Blog Bitches decided to try to suck it up and make the best of things here at home.




We had fine food. Seriously, Mel's beans were the epitome of fine, so fine we didn't even need Beano, despite that one of us everyone ate four servings.




We ate dessert from The Bakery That Cannot Be Named because The Bakery That Cannot Be Named can't spell and refused to fix the lettering or replace the cake when one of us drove All The Way Back There. Bloggers Unite! Never do business with The Bakery That Cannot Be Named. (But as she's wont to do, Jenn made everything okay by proclaiming that "BITH" stood for "Bitches In The House," and we decided that could live with that. Plus Jenn made a Most Excellent Chocolate Chip Bundt Cake with which we worked ourselves into an orgasmic frenzy consoled ourselves.)




We practiced our excellent parenting and photography skillz. See how nicely our children posed for us?




We barely stood still long enough to pose for a class photo of our own.




The Petite Bitches learned to reach for the stars from a Most Excellent Role Model (Aaryn of thematically fickle).




And, not to be outdone by those broads movers and shakers at BlogHer, we had swag bags too. We even have our own BitchHer '08 logo on our swag bags. The logo was designed by a True Professional (and she can design websites and all manner of other design-y things for you too). Each blogger contributed a special item to fill our bags with Bitchy goodness.




Can I let you in on a little secret? Don't let their name fool you. The San Diego Blog Bitches are not a clique of exclusive mean girls. So guess what? You can be a Bitch too, even if you don't live in San Diego. And? You can even carry the baggage that the San Diego Blog Bitches carry!

Here's how you can win
a BitchHer '08 bag of your own!

Starting at the top of the mosaic, and going from L to R, number the photos 1-9, and then match the item in the photo with the blogger who attended BitchHer listed on the blogroll below. (Photo number 5, the center photo, is like a Bingo FREE space; it is the Bitch's trademark shoe-love photo.) Enter your guesses in the comment section. On August 1, the dillettante behind the curtain at Blog This Mom! will put the names in a hat and Laura will draw one. The winner's name will be posted here, and I will send her (or Stu) a BitchHer '08 bag!!!




BitchHer '08 Blogroll (and some BitchHer recaps):

A. This is Trish's Blog (Trish)
B. Jenn at Juggling Life (Jenn)
C. katydidnot (Kate)
D. Mel, A Dramatic Mommy (Melanie)
E. thematically fickle (Aaryn)
F. Little Dragon Fruit (Sam)
G. San Diego Momma (Deb)
H. Blog This Mom! (Cheri)

Jamie was absent (hence the one empty shoe in the photo in the middle of the mosaic). We really missed her. But we marked her excused because her mom brought the swag items Jamie got us from Anthoropologie her shoe.

Click here for more BitchHer '08 photos.

Jonny Depp Made Dinner For Me. Oh Yes He Did.

Once upon a time, last night I went out for sushi. A very cute sushi chef was there. He was wearing a hot, pirate-y looking do-rag. His name was Johnny Depp (he spells his name a little bit wrong, but we can overlook that).


Johnny Depp makes very excellent sushi. He even makes something called a Summer Roll. A Summer Roll has four kinds of fish, avocado, no rice, is wrapped in cucumber, and causes forty-seven-year-old women to swoon when it is dipped in a tangy orange sauce made from unknown ingredients.



Johnny Depp also makes other excellent sushi and sashimi. When an order of sushi is ready to be delivered to a table, everyone behind the sushi bar yells out, “Johnny Depp! Johnny Depp!” with Japanese accents. This sort of shouting causes forty-seven-year-old women to swoon again.



Johnny Depp also makes forty-seven-year-old women swoon for reasons unrelated to excellent sushi and pirate-y do-rags. If you can believe it.



If a forty-seven-year-old woman shamelessly begs asks Johnny Depp to pose for a picture with her, he will don a funny hat over the pirate-y do-rag. When this happens, the forty-seven-year-old woman is sure to stop thinking “hot pirate” and start thinking “Willy Wonka,” but she doesn’t mind that much.



She’ll publicly embarrass her family to pose for a picture with Johnny Depp. Oh yes she will.



Johnny Depp works his magic on forty-seven-year-old women behind the sushi bar at a place called “Love Boat Sushi.” I’m not even making that up.





Mrs. G., you are cordially invited to come to San Diego and have dinner with me and Johnny Depp. My treat. After all the swooning, Laura will drive us home.




________________________

Coming soon . . .
BitchHer 2008: Unplugged & Unauthorized

Behind Every Great Woman . . .

If you haven't checked out bad mom, then you don't know Stu. Stu is the man behind Stephanie at bad mom, no doubt checking out her ass admiring her witty writing as he follows her around the Blogosphere leaving a trail of fall-down funny comments in his wake. Although Stu has also graciously volunteered to provide his "services" over at Mrs. G's Women's Colony, most recently he stepped up even when he could not fulfill his responsibilities as the volunteer pool boy at BitchHer 2008; Stu found us Mr. Six Pack a suitable substitute to fulfill the San Diego Blog Bitches every fantasy be the San Diego Blog Bitches pool boy in Stu's absence.

Meanwhile, coming soon . . .



BitchHer 2008 -- The Recap by Blog This Mom! (with links to the blogs of the other Bitches attendees so you can read what they had to say about BitchHer too).

and . . .

BitchHer 2008 -- Guest Post by Laura and The Girl

I Totally Heart Henry

Laura had to have two baby teeth pulled this morning. The details are neither relevant to this post nor interesting, so will not be forthcoming. But after the giant wads of gauze in her mouth were no longer needed, Laura said, "The only thing that would turn this into a better day is if Henry could sleep over." So I called Henry's mum, Trish, and voila! Henry is here. (By the way, just to connect the dots, Henry is Jamie's brother.)

The sleepover started around 3 PM with homemade slushies. I made the slushies with the new shaved ice maker that I got today at Target. After two solid hours of Wii Dance Dance Revolution, Henry and Laura decided to play the new Wii American Idol game that I also bought today at Target. (Insider's trading tip: Buy stock today in TGT - Target Corporation.) Why such purchases? It is summer! Every day is a play day! I was feeling frivolous! I was feeling fun! I was feeling frolicsome! Perhaps a bit of nitrous oxide leaked from Laura's mask! Anyway, working as a team, Laura and Henry opened the package and hooked up Laura's new Wii American Idol game.

Laura: "Oh, look, it only has one microphone."

Henry: "What about the High School Musical microphone?"

L: "Hey, you've got a point there."

H: "If it doesn't work we'll share the American Idol microphone."

L: "It might work. Let's give it a try."

H: "Can I use those scissors?"

L [opening the microphone package]: "I'm kind of busy with them just now."

H: "Don't cut the green wire."

L: "I won't"

H: "If you cut it, it'll explode. Usually."

L: "I didn't cut it."

H: "If it exploded, you'd blow up. Your face would be disfigured. Horribly disfigured. For life."

L: "Well, then, I'd have surgery."

H: "Yes. You'd have to have surgery. Or you'd be doomed. For life."


See why I totally heart Henry and Trish?


Laura and Henry with slushies sweetened with unfiltered, organic apple juice.


Now available in my freezer, slushies sweetened with unfiltered, organic apple juice. Maybe I should have bought the chemically sweetened blue and red syrup.


See how I totally blow at photography? But I didn't cut the green wire.

Threat Level Red TMI Warning!!!

Blog This Mom! is interrupting her regularly scheduled posting to bring you this important message: TMI WARNING!


Since we are all bffs here, can I just tell you about the colonoscopy that I had today? It was followed by an endoscopy. I think. The endoscopy might have been before the colonoscopy. I’m not sure in what order the procedures were performed because first I got injectable Valium. It was a full colonoscopy and an endoscopy, and the doctor said that earned me an IV drip with a Valium chaser. You know how I once said that I could never be a rock star given my distaste for drugs? I was wrong. I would totally be a rock star if it gave me access to injectable Valium. If it weren’t for that little matter of not being able to sing or play an instrument, I’d totally be on tour right now, engaged in unprotected sex with a hot groupie or two, trashing my hotel room, and having my manager inject me with Valium. But I digress. This post is about colonoscopies, and why we need them.

Yesterday at about this time, I was considering blowing off the colonoscopy and simply opting for possible death by colon cancer. I will tell you why. To prepare for a colonoscopy, one must have no solid food for at least 24 hours, clear liquids only. Then one must drink twelve ounces of horrid stuff (Magnesium Citrate) followed by four liters of horrible stuff (TriLyte), and one must do this drinking of horrid liquid stuff and horrible liquid stuff within a five-hour time period. The horrid and horrible liquid stuff gives you a basketball-sized belly. The basketball-sized belly causes you to have to go all Nacho Libre and put on the stretchy pants. "For fun." While wearing stretchy pants, you must drink 12 ounces of horrid stuff + 4 liters of horrible stuff without puking. It isn’t the ghastly taste of the horrid and horrible stuff that makes it so horrid and horrible so much as the sheer volume and viscosity of it. Suffice it to say it is hard to get it down and keep it down. Then you crap out 17 liters of poopy water spend hours and hours in the restroom reading Newsweek, O, People, Rolling Stone, Vanity Fair, and, finally, because you’d read everything else in there, American Girl Magazine in order to be assured of a cleansed colon for your procedure.

I was okay after drinking 12 ounces of horrid stuff, but ready to call it quits after the second glass (not the second liter, the second glass) of the 4 liters of horrible stuff. It was at that point that I noticed the part on the label that said “TriLyte™ with flavor packs is administered orally or via nasogastric tube as a gastrointestinal lavage.” WTFrick? You mean I could have simply shoved this stuff down my nose with a tube? Why didn’t they give me a tube? What if I hooked a bunch of straws together? Hmmmm. I thought this over (while trying not to yack up the horrible stuff). But what if a straw came off in my gastrointestinal tract? So I drank another glass and that caused me to wonder how bad would it be to die of colon cancer after all. But then I thought about Sharon Osbourne, and how I have a secret crush on her. In fact, let's just be clear right here and now about this. Sharon is my Secret Girlfriend #2. I could not let her down. I went through with the procedure, first following the rules for the unpleasant preparation for it. And lived to post about it.

Now we are all supposed to have a routine colonoscopy when we turn 50. NO! I’m not 50. Ahem. Yet. But I am anemic. And when they tested certain of my bodily fluids and took samples of some of my . . . uh . . . samples, the doctor determined that I was need of an endoscopy to check for ulcers and a colonoscopy to check for other stuff that might be bleeding. Up in there. So today I had the tests. The good news? My colon is just fine, thankyouverymuch. It seems, however, that I do have a hurty in my tummy, perhaps an ulcer they said, but it looks like it is getting healy in response to the Rx tummy medicine they started giving me last week. More tests in the next few weeks will hopefully show that my tummy is still getting healy and that the Rx iron supplements I’m taking are raising my hemoglobin and hematocrit counts sufficiently such that the doctors stop poking me with stuff. At least that's what I think the doctor said, "tummy" and "hurty" and "healy." I was still high on Valium in the recovery room when he told me after all.

Why am I telling you all of this? Because my Secret Girlfriend #2* would want it that way. Read what she has to say about colon cancer here. And, if you’re in the mood for a laugh and haven’t read it before, read what Dave Barry has to say about colonoscopies here. Now you’ll have to excuse me, I have to go, if you know what I mean.


__________________________

*FYI: You can find my Secret Girlfriend #1 over here. This guest post right here at Derfwad Manor made her my first Secret Girlfriend.

Hillary is Not the Last Hope

Today I Will, in America

by Cheri


Today I will celebrate Independence Day.

Today I will eat good food.

Today I will sit in the sun and laugh.

Today I will watch fireworks.

Today I will appreciate the many blessings that are available to me simply because I happened to be born in this country.

Today I will be grateful to each and every man and woman who made it possible for me to celebrate.

Today I will pause to remember that these men and women are not here to celebrate.

Today I will rejoice that change is coming.

Today I will celebrate Independence Day.

Two for the Price of One

Deb, wonderful, funny, brilliant, talented, hot Deb at San Diego Momma is back again with another PROMPTuesday. (Notice how supportive and uplifting and good-hearted and positive and not-snarky some bloggers are to her sister bloggers.) Oh, and I was absent last week, but I’m hoping Deb will change my absence into a tardy, even if I was a whole week tardy. This week there are two for the price of one, this week's and last week's PROMPTuesdays in one post.

Here are PROMPTuesday’s basic rules from Deb:

* Write your entry in 10 minutes. This encourages top-of-mind, primal thinking before the ego and judgmental brain kicks in. It’s an honor system.
* Keep to the word limit.
* Have fun. No pressure. This is to rediscover the simple joy in the writing process.
* Post your submission in San Diego Momma’s comments OR post in your blog and leave a link to your blog in the comments.


PROMPTuesday #11: The Infomercial

This week, write an infomercial for this product (350 word limit):

Oui Wii!

You knew it would happen. You’ve all been waiting for it. It was only a matter of time, and the time is NOW! The makers of Wii Sports, Wii Play, and Wii Fit bring you Nintendo’s hottest game ever . . . Wii Sex.

Everyone knows that the Wii revolutionized gaming. Now it is revolutionizing sex. They say that you don't just play Wii, you experience it. Think of the possibilities when it comes to sexual encounters. No social diseases. No birth control. No waiting for your partner to be in the mood. No messy break ups. No foreplay required.

Wii is not just a gaming console or a sex toy. Wii Sex spares singles from chumming for encounters in bars or on Match.com. Old married folks can spice things up with a menu of sex-game choices. Wii Sex can be played alone or with your partner. Create your own Mii character to star in your fantasy. Seduce friends online over Nintendo Wi-Fi Connection or use the Internet Channel to have group sex from your sofa. You can even download Mii Call Girls using the Wii Shop Channel.

Take a look around and see why your TV and love life are not complete without Wii Sex. Wii Sex accessories sold separately. Must be 18 years of age or older to purchase.


_________________________________


NotPROMPTuesday #10: Dream Book (last week's prompt)

You’re in a bookstore. You see stacks and stacks of books, but one in particular catches your eye. Something about the title. You’re intrigued. You pick the book up, open it, and read the first paragraph. Now you’re hooked. What is the title of the book and what did the first paragraph say? (250 word limit)

Kisses Sweeter Than Wine

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine. –Song of Solomon 1:2

If you want to know if he loves you so, it’s in his kiss. –The Shoop Shoop Song

He takes her by the hand and leads her to the bedroom, stepping past the Raggedy Ann doll discarded by their now-sleeping toddler. He gently picks her up, places her on the bed, turns the bedside lamp down to a soft glow, and lovingly puts the pillow under her head. He removes her shoes, one at a time. Using both hands, he begins rubbing her right foot. With all ten of his fingers he rubs all five of her toes. Next, he presses his thumbs into the ball of the foot, and then massages the arch, the heel, and then ankle. Now it is the left foot’s turn, and he repeats the process expertly. A soft moan escapes her lips as he gently rolls her onto her stomach. His hand reaches up her blouse and he unhooks her bra. Now he begins to massage her shoulders and neck; his hands feel so capable. He works his way along her spine and begins kissing her gently in every spot that he has rubbed, her neck, her shoulders, and her spine, up and down it. She is moaning and he is kissing. Gently he turns her onto her back, and lovingly puts the pillow under her head again. He kisses her lips softly, like butterfly wings at first. Her head tilts back to receive more kisses on her neck, jaw, and ears. Then his lips return to hers and ever so gently his sweet tongue parts her lips and slips into her mouth.