VOTE for all GET-OUT!

Just a quick note to say that I'm feeling excited, uneasy, crazy, wild and hopeful (with a dash of cynicism) about tomorrow's election.  The one thing you have to give to Obama-- even if you're not an Obamaniac like we are in my family-- is that his campaign is ORGANIZED AS ALL GET-OUT.  

They've been calling us, we had a knock on the door this afternoon, we've had emails and facebook updates galore.  GOOD!  I hope they bug all of us out of our Bush-induced lethargy.  It may take years of therapy for the people of this country to come to grips with all the nastiness that has gone on the last eight years.  I can think of no better leader than Obama to help us back to sanity.

Now, if you'll excuse me, my husband and I are going to raid my son's sidewalk chalk bin and chalk the streets in our neighborhood for Obama.  Part of me wants to do it naked as an ultimate act of defiance, but I'll spare everyone the sight and thought of that ;)

GO OBAMA!

MOTHERlode

I've composed this blogpost in my head probably fifty times in the past week or so, so here goes.  You, my dear blog reader, whoever you are still (and who are you, by the way, who burns the candle at both ends and checks back with me even though the last lame thing I posted was a Matt Damon video in September?) will surely excuse my delinquency in posting.  I'm keeping it on the down low (as should you, ahem, fellow facebookers) that I am now 9 weeks preggo.  Assuming I make it through the next three weeks (which I sometimes doubt), I will be due to drop another youngling into this world in May of 2009.

You see, I've had so much time to contemplate this blog post because I've been nauseous (AGAIN-- I know, I can't believe it either) as all get-out.  Luckily, apparently all get-out is still not as nauseous as I was with the last one, so that's good, right?  Anyhow, a big shout out to mommy brain for me conveniently forgetting how boneachingly boring and annoying and, well, sickening being nauseous all the time is.  Seriously.  How could I have forgotten?  

Anyhow.  Beside the point now.  I'm fighting it as best I can with the cooperation of my baby-daddy, the professor.   He makes me only the food I ask for, never makes any suggestions, cleans the kitchen, loads and unloads the dishwasher (which makes me very funky and gaggy).  In short, he's been amazing.  What a godsend.

My son, still clueless, has been very sweet as well... coming into bed for cuddles; making me wooden sandwiches from his play-kitchen.  Nodding without complaint when I tell him that Tootsie Rolls and Starburst are special mommy-tummy food.  

Still, even the second time around I am really struck with how foreign my body already feels.  I feel like I am one day away from being announced as this year's newest balloon for the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade.  I feel like my breasts alone could take over an entire Manhattan city street, buffeting up against the skyskrapers.  

Anyhow, enough about me and my bosom.  I have to go find something to eat before I get nauseous again.  

Remember... shhhhh!

Walkin' with the Dinosaurs

OK, you gotta love Matt Damon for this:

Counting to 4

Love. This.!

Mc... Mc... Mc...

Thanks to Ted for unearthing this little gem.

Wordle

So now you can create a word "cloud" of all the most frequently occurring phrases in your blog.  I just copied my whole blog pageview, and this is what I came up with (click on image for larger view):

...guess I talk about chocolate a lot!

As is

I woke up early this morning (before the toddler voice screamed bring me juice! through the monitor). Not sure exactly what woke me up-- be it the veritable Everest of blankets, tossed on top of me by an overheated husband-- or the annoying cat mouthing his grievances from the playroom downstairs-- or a fleeting itch, forgotten in the waking.

However, I think it was probably far less poetic than that. I think it was the subconscious remembering-- today is the annual McMansion neighborhood garage sale. Garage sale!

Most of the year, those two words hold no sway for me. I have so many of my own outdated knicknacks nesting in my closets, why should I go and browse those of others? And, might I add, those "others" inevitably are of the dried-flower, not-my-taste variety.

Last year my girlfriend and I packed her minivan full of stuff that has actually been very useful this past year-- the kids' table and chairs, the pop-up tent, the train table, the cardboard bricks. In one fell swoop I populated my giganto-basement with things that make the toddler heart go boom-boom. And somehow, in it, is some measure of pride.

I have thought about this a lot recently... I've caught myself bragging about how good of a deal I got on something.

Beautiful necklace. Yeah, $10, can you believe that? With matching earrings, too... though I wouldn't wear the earrings. I don't like matchy-matchy.

Nice chair cushions. Where did you get them? Homemade. A deal on the fabric, too.

That shirt is really flattering on you. Thanks. $4 on total clearance at Target. You can't beat that, can you?

And the list goes on and on and on... What does it say about me-- am I deflating myself? Or am I somehow trying to make myself look smarter, i.e. I'm no schlub and I won't pay retail?

I'm not sure that it's either. Or perhaps it's both. All of the above. With a little dash of hunter-gatherer thrown in for measure.

Whatever it is, I'm not sure whether I inherited it genetically or via conditioning by my mom (she who spends 2-3 hours mozeying around Target humming and talking to herself and getting "ideas"). (Translation: these "ideas" usually cost money, be they expensive or cheap.)

Yes, buying is the opportunity to add a little patch of something onto reality. It's just important to realize it's only a small patch (ergo, it should probably be as inexpensive as possible), lest one become convinced that it actually changes something.

***

When I finally hit out for the garage sales (after the child was at school), it started to look ominous out. Ominous, quickly followed by torrents of rain. I made mad dashes in and out of the car. I found a few cute little odds and ends, but not large victories like my friend, who pulled up with her minivan packed to the gills again. Her "scores"? A drum set. A small motorized ride-on jeep. (Excuse me, but what the f%#k was she thinking? These sound like mother torturing devices...)

Then, as she drove away, I swore I could hear the drumroll. Man those things are loud, I thought, and was disappointed when I realized it was only the thunder.