Diet Root Beer, Microwave Ovens, BRING IT ON!

Overheard standing in line at a local (read not Starbucks) coffee shop in North Berkeley:

One organic cotton tshirt wearing woman to another:

Lady #1"We haven't had a microwave in our house for five years now! It took me a while to convince my partner, but once we got used to it we didn't even miss it!"

Lady #2 "Oh yeah we are getting rid of ours too. Microwaves just can't be good for anyone!"

The two sensible women shake their heads in disgust at the thought of the evil artificial cooking contraption, then plop their reusable coffee mugs on the counter and order their soy lattes, of course. The conversation continued:

Lady #1 "You'll see, once you give up the microwave, you will rely less on all that processed food. We never eat anything from a box or a can anymore."

Lady #2 "I can imagine. Lucky for us we never really exposed our kids to any of that garbage. I don't think they have ever had mac & cheese from a box, so they don't ask for it."

Can you just see me rolling my eyes? I can only imagine what these chicks would think if they peaked into a day in the life of the Kargas family. Microwave pancakes. Gummy bear bribes. Kraft Dinner and... diet soft drinks. (Gasp!)

I have gotten so much better. We recycle and compost everything now! We have dwindled our weekly garbage down to about 2 bags, including diapers! (Don't start with me on cloth diapers.)

I'm trying.

I just don't know how these earth -loving families do it. I NEED my microwave. I don't have time to whip up a batch of fresh pancakes every morning, and no I will not set my alarm 15 minutes earlier to do it. Mama needs her rest.

I LOVE my diet root beer. Sue me.

I CAN'T deal with cloth diapers. Yuck.

I RELY on the conveniences of modern day life.

I'm getting so hot and bothered right now, I might just need to grab one of my sugar-free-jello cups and some cool whip to calm down.

I promise to put the plastic in the right bin.

Reality Check

There is no denying it, I'm getting bigger. Yes I realize that this is suppose to happen. Still, it frightens me a little. My expanding belly means that I am getting that much closer to having a real live kicking, screaming, keeping -me -awake- all night- newborn.









Sometimes I am truly surprised by my size. I don't feel as large as I look. I still think of myself as me with a little bump, and then I'll catch a glimpse of myself as I pass by the mirror and feel utter shock. Who is that PREGNANT lady? Oh holy hell.... it can't be.







My friends won't let me forget either. On Friday I saw a girlfriend who had come over for dinner just two weeks earlier. "You have gotten so much bigger!" was one of the first things out of her mouth. I suppose she is right.







Reality is setting in. I had to book a dentist appointment four months from today. As I was looking at the calendar I realized that I will be on maternity leave at that time and will therefor need childcare for baby as I get my teeth cleaned. Wow. WOW.







It is so easy to get caught up in pregnancy. The worries, the morning sickness, the cravings, the aches and pains and the joyful kicks. It's easy to conveniently forget about what comes next. The baby. Don't get me wrong, I am very excited to welcome the newest member of our family, but I am also terrified. Days when I feel overwhelmed by my two fighting, frenzied offspring I stop and think to myself, and I'm adding a newborn to this mix? Am I out of my mind? Too late now mama!







Will I be able to handle this growing bundle of joy come May 31? Will I be able to juggle it all? Yes, I realize I will get through this, millions and millions of parents do. I just think back to the time when Zachary was born, and although it wasn't all sunshine and roses, it was manageable. One baby, two grown ups. We shared the load and had plenty of time to bask in the bliss of new parenthood. We could stare at our tiny angel and capture every moment on film, on paper, and in our hearts. With Evan it was a little harder, and now with baby boy #3, I can only imagine. Will he get any attention at all? Will my husband get to bond with him, or will it fall to me, with the milk, while papa takes care of the other two?







I feel guilty that this baby won't receive the same sort of attention from us, or from family. He is grandson #5 on both sides after all, and I think that everyone may just be over it. The grandmas were giddy with Zachary, knitting and quilting up a storm. This time around one unnamed grandparent has found herself "too busy" to assist with hand making the birth announcements as she has done for each of the other grandchildren. I suppose the enthusiasm is just... gone. How unfair. Doesn't the little one inside of me deserve the same love and excitement as those who have come before? And yet, it is just impossible for it to be the same, because things are different.







On the bright side the littlest Kargas will have two older brothers who will love him and show him the ropes. Brothers he can look up to for a lifetime. Evan and Zachary are now playing and causing all kinds of trouble together. Just as I had hoped for, they are becoming friends. And before you know it we will have The Three Musketeers.




Yes....before you know it. My belly is proof.















(Only a few months ago, Zachary would never agreed to an "Evan Sandwich" these days he is more than happy to oblige!)

Sick TV

Some people really don't deserve their children. I'm not talking about the obvious, those who physically abuse or neglect their kids, I'm talking about the crazy bean stage mothers who take babies on the "pageant circuit."

Last night, while waiting for Top Chef, I flipped on TLC's "Toddler's & Tiaras." What a mistake. 24 hours later I can't stop thinking about it. Now perhaps, it is all scripted and done specifically to tick people like me off, then suck us in because we cannot avoid watching the traffic accident. But I tend to believe these whack job mamas actually exist.

So just how bananas were these ladies? I'll give you an example:

A 15 month old, whose mother told the cameras that after three boys, she finally had a daughter, which was her dream. Why? She always wanted to see her little girl become Ms. America. This toddler had a spray tan, wore make up and was given coca cola to keep her awake for the show. After a "poor performance" the mother screamed "She was horrible! Just horrible" while carrying her baby. This same mother is shown spending an absolute fortune on designer baby clothes including a bikini. She explained that she didn't know how much money she spent preparing for pageants, but it didn't matter, she would do what it would take to help her daughter become a beauty queen. (I have to wonder if she is setting aside any cash for a college education.)

Who the hell is this woman and why doesn't someone arrest her? My sister-in-law said it best, this is child abuse. Plain and simple. What kind of lesson does it teach a little girl? That they are valued first and foremost for their beauty. That they are to be judged on their looks and ability to act cute. These kids are too young to decide for themselves, so they are forced into a bizarre lifestyle centered around beauty competition. Sadly, while it may look like the girls are having "fun" I am certain that they are not learning healthy values. Not to mention that they are being robbed of their precious childhood and innocence. Just look at the child pictured above, I feel guilty even putting it on my blog, but it is already out there for the world to view. She is probably four or five, being made up to look like she is a (sexy)25. It's insane. Can't these kids just be kids?

Of course this is really only an exaggeration of what we see in our every day society. All you have to do is stand in the grocery store check out line and scan the covers of the magazines on display. "Horrible Celebrity Beach Bodies!" "How She Lost The Baby Weight In Just Four Weeks!" "Oprah Packs On The Pounds...Again" "Is Angelina Wasting Away?" "Top Ten Beauty Secrets To Wow Your Man" It's okay if you're too young to actually read the headlines, pictures tell a thousand words.

So now I am on my soap box approaching a subject far too complex for a tired mama a 10:30PM.

I'll shut up now, but please, do me a favor do not watch this horrible, horrible program. I think I might boycott TLC altogether.

Kargas Inc To Cut Health Care Benefits

Breaking News From Kargas Inc Headquarters, Senior Leadership Vows To Slash Health Care Benefits In Attempt To Cut Spending.

Oakland, CA

Today Kargas Inc CEO, Rachel Kargas announced that the company has decided to significantly cut back on health care benefits for support staff. The impacted staff are all long-term, loyal employees, having put in as many as twelve years with the company. Understandably, staff is outraged with the announcement.

Kargas released the following statement; "While we regret this difficult decision, we have come to the conclusion that the overall health of the company is being negatively impacted by rising veterinarian, err...health care expenses, and we have to cut back somewhere. Quite honestly, we have been questioning the contributions of our lower level employees for some time now." Kargas cited several examples of recent medical bills the company has been asked to cover. One staff member informed the company that she would require nearly $1000 for a professional teeth cleaning which would require anaesthesia. Another employee requested a thyroid test with a $500 price tag. This employee who wished to remain anonymous told us that he believed his thyroid test was denied because of his age, and claimed that the company was retaliating because of property damage he caused (unintentionally) to company headquarters.

The effected employees are planning a strike, but this is unlikely to persuade Kargas Inc senior leadership who claim that the workers don't contribute anything more than their good looks and are highly replaceable.

A mediation between staff on management is scheduled for later this week.

Family fun in the city.

After a week of bay area rain, the city released a collective sigh of relief at the sight of the sun today. Hallelujah! So the Kargas family decided to take advantage of the beautiful day and play our favorite game "San Francisco Tourist." We headed into the city to explore as I did when I was a child, traveling on vacation with my family to the bay area. As a kid, we visited San Francisco and Oakland several times because my stepfather's family was based here. I loved those trips, it meant Dim Sum in Chinatown, fairy rides to Angel Island, A's baseball games, long walks through the rolling hills of North Beach, and shopping in the big city.

Living in San Francisco hasn't dampened my enthusiasm for the city, but we often find ourselves busy with other things or too tired to make the trip with the munchkins. Those steep hills take on new meaning when pushing an umbrella stroller with a 30 pound toddler, and my kids don't make particularly good dining or or shopping companions. My husband in fact isn't all that fond of window shopping either.

There was a festival in Chinatown today to celebrate the New Year, so that was our motivation for the trip. This street fair was fairly hyped up and was listed on every tourist website, so we were looking forward to it. Lamest street fair I have ever attended. Seriously. It was like Chinatown turned itself inside out. The same old shops that line the crowded streets of Chinatown selling dish soap, umbrellas, hello kitty luggage and Chinese DVD's simply moved their garbage outside in tent covered tables with balloons. I was baffled. The streets were packed. I was expecting cultural enlightenment, traditional music, food stands and dragon dancing. Perhaps we missed something, but the coolest thing that we saw was a cheap Chinese fan give away, but the line for that wrapped around the block, so we skipped it.

We did find a bizarre smoking red drink called "The Volcano." It tasted like watered down Crystal Light with dry ice, but the kids were mildly impressed, until they dropped the almost full $3 novelty beverage on the ground. Opps.

We escaped the chaos of the street party and hit North Beach for lunch. We stopped at the first place we could find, we were tired and figured that we better refuel quickly. We selected a spot that was probably a little nicer than our boys could handle, meaning it was quite, had good food, and there were no crayons. We ordered the boys ravioli with meat sauce. That didn't go over so well. Evan refused to take even one bite of his lunch. Not even one itsy, bitsy nibble. Instead he started dipping his bread in water and screaming "baby food!" Zack joined in the fun as well. The husband and I choked down our meal as quickly as possible so we could head out of dodge. We did manage to snap this happy photo before leaving, which makes the whole thing appear like good clean family fun, doesn't it?

Next stop, Coit Tower, but first we had to make it up several giant hills. Lucky for me, husband pushed Evan and I lagged behind with Zachary. Zachary did a fantastic job, he was a real trooper and sadly I think he is in better shape than I am.

We made it up to the tower, and there were spectacular views, it made the trek seem worth it.

Unfortunately the hike back to the BART station was not so lovely. Evan started wailing that he wanted out of the stroller. Zack started whining that he was "itchy" his feet hurt, and that he was hungry. Mommy was screaming inside that she was tired and wishing for a drink.

It doesn't sound glamorous does it? Ah, I didn't do it justice. All in all it was a fun day. Sure it wasn't exactly a shopping spree in Union Square or a three course Italian lunch at the Stinking Rose, but it was how we do tourism now, family style.

Cancer, Hitler & other fun topics

The questions are getting harder. I suppose that is what happens as children get older, smarter and more curious. I find myself struggling with each inquiry. Do I answer to educate or to preserve innocence a little bit longer?


Two years ago when our next door neighbor's 4 year old daughter Willa lost her life to cancer, we were able to brush over it. Zack asked no questions. Although our neighborhood was consumed with grief, my three old was fairly oblivious. I was able to hide my tears, and he paid no attention to hushed voices. I was relieved.



This past summer when our cat Wiggum passed away, Zack at first seemed unfazed. Weeks later he started to ask, why? Why did Wiggum die? I answered that when we get old, our bodies stop working. Again he asked, why? I responded that it was because our bodies were not made to last forever, they get worn out like old toys. A few days later he confided to me that he was afraid to get old and die. I told him the only thing that I could think of- "Don't worry, it won't happen for a very long time and when it happens you won't be afraid anymore." I sincerely would like to believe that. The questions continued over the next several weeks but eventually tapered off.

More recently daddy made the (un)wise decision to tell Zachary about a video game he played as a child. Something about Hitler and the S.S. When I overheard this conversation I was fairly disgusted by the whole thing. Even if the point of the game was to "get" Hitler, I felt that it trivialized the Holocaust, and Zachary was learning about this horrific part of our history as if it were a make-believe good guys/bad guys contest. I interrupted and tried to explain about Hitler in very simple terms. This has lead to many, many more questions. "Why did Mr. Hitler hate people?" "Who did Mr. Hitler hate?" "How did Mr. Hitler kill people?" "How did Mr. Hitler die?" "What was Mr. Hitler's middle name?" And on, and on. First, I have had to bite my tongue and refrain from telling Zack that there is no need to refer to Hitler as "Mr.", he doesn't deserve that much respect. That just seems confusing. But I have done my best to try and describe the events in general terms, sparing the gruesome details. I went so far as attempting a positive spin on the conversation. I brought up Martin Luther King and how he fought against hatred. I know....it's a bit of a stretch, but I'm not ready to share all of this difficult reality with my five year old.

And now, we have sad news close to home. One of Zachary's favorite preschool teachers was just diagnosed with colon cancer. There it is again. Cancer. Unlike the tragic passing of Willa, Zack is now old enough to understand when someone isn't coming back. His teacher is very ill, I don't know what his future holds, but I am expecting the worst. And the questions are coming....again. "Why is Chris's body very sick?" "Will the doctors fix Chris?" "Is Chris going to die?"

Such difficult questions. Questions that shine a glaring spotlight on the painful reality that we cannot protect our children from life. We cannot eliminate all evil from the planet and we do not get to decide who gets sick and who dies.

And with each honest answer I provide, my sweet child's innocence is further eroded.

He's looking at me.

My parents have told me stories about the crazy things that my sister and I did when we were wee ones. I always thought that they were exaggerating. Surely we weren't that ridiculous.

There was the one about the time my sister and I were forced to share a queen sized bed in a motel while on a family vacation. I woke up with deep bruises on my legs, and my sister's excuse was "I accidentally kicked her....twice."

Then there was the one about the middle school me who threw an absolute tantrum when my parents told me that I could not leave the house for the bus via the backdoor that day, for whatever reason. We lived on a corner lot and I freaked out insisting that I should have been informed of this development earlier, because it would now take me longer to get to my bus stop, you know because I had to walk around the corner....

I have come to learn that parents just can't make this stuff up, and they don't have to.

Examples from my own to angels this morning:

Evan: I ate my breakfast! I'm so full. Can I have a Valentine's Day chocolate now? (See below for what he ate from his breakfast-about two mini bites of peanut butter toast. )

I guess I need to give him credit for the five blueberries he ate as well. I don't know how that kids survives. Dinner the night before was approximately 1.5 bites of the Subway sandwich he begged me to get him. Living on air.

Next....

Zack: Stop looking at me Evan! You're looking at me! Mom! Evan's looking at me.

Evan: No you stop looking at me! Don't look at me!

Just what am I suppose to do with that? This fiasco actually ended up being so dramatic that Evan threw up from crying too hard. Because his brother was looking at him. Oh God forbid.

Like I said. We can't make this stuff up.

Technically, I'm an idiot.

I'm not exactly technologically savvy. Alright, so actually that is an understatement. You could probably say that I am technically....challenged. Heck, I only started texting about a year ago! When it comes to gizmos and gadgets, it is a little like my brain shuts off. Often times if I am having a computer or phone related problem, I cannot even find the right words to describe my difficulty. A conversation with the help desk may sound something like this:


"My email isn't working. I keep losing my connection to the VPN. My wireless seems to be okay, I think, the little computer at the bottom with the waves coming out of it says my connection is "very good." But I keep getting an error message. I forget what it says. I tried plugging my computer into the modem thingy but that doesn't help. What version of Windows am I running? Huh? I don't know. How would I know that? I have a Dell. I don't have a Mac, does that help?"

At this point there is usually a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone.


What? I can't help it. I didn't go to school for this stuff, it's boring, complicated and doesn't fit in my brain the right way. I admit it. I just want someone else to do this tech stuff for me. Baby me. I don't want to be a big girl and figure it out myself. IT guy- you can figure out my email problem in thirty seconds, whereas it will take me an hour and a lot of frustration to follow your trouble shooting bullet points. I'll start sweating. Then I'll end up calling you anyway.



Yet, the help desk continues to think I should be able to do this stuff independently with a little Q&A sheet.




I guess they just don't know who they're dealing with.

Will you still love me tomorrow? WINNER ANNOUNCED!

Happy Valentines Day! I am pleased to be able to announce the winner of the Starbucks gift card giveaway! But first (adding to the suspense) I really do want to thank everyone who participated.

I have many new followers now, and I hope that you will continue to read! Additionally, I just love hearing from you. It is very rewarding to hear your comments, and it definitely keeps me motivated, so please, please keep talking to me! The contest may be over, but I hope you will keep the love coming.

So today, I started off with my very own Grande Mocha, and picked up the gift card for today's lucky winner.....

thepricklypinecone!

Ms. Prickly, I will email you shortly to get your mailing address. Congratulations!

Cheers, and a very HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

All you need is love: A letter to the Valentine's Day hater.

Dear Valentine's Day Hater,

What's wrong with you? I just don't get it. What do you have against Cupid's holiday? Come on now, don't roll your eyes at me. Yes, I have heard that one before, "it's a Hallmark holiday." Please. Don't you think most of our holidays are fairly commercial these days? Cadbury eggs, Black Friday, $20 for your kid's picture with Santa, Halloween super stores, Mother's Day brunch at the Holiday Inn. Why pick on Valentine's Day? It has legitimate meaning. Yes it does. Stop rolling your eyes! Okay, you're right about the Shane Company ads, they are a bit relentless, but I don't want or expect the pricey jewelery. And the overpriced, mass-produced fix priced Sweetheart dinners on February 14, I can also do without. But Mr. Hater, I think that you may be missing the point.

Valentine's Day is about love, and I adore it. It's an excuse to show the people we care about the most how we feel. It isn't just for lovers, it's for friends and children. One of my favorite Valentine's Day memories is actually receiving a heart shaped box of Russel Stovers candies from my mother every year. It seemed so fancy with it's red cellophane, I had no idea it was actually a cheap treat, it was special to me. I have always loved the Valentine cards as well. The ones with puppy dogs and kittens that I would receive in the mail from my grandparents, and later the sentimental cards my husband now gives me. He always writes a thoughtful, sweet message, and I save them all. What's wrong with that?

Oh you have a problem with the flowers. Dumb red roses that cost twice as much on Valentine's Day, and are usually half dead. Knock, knock nobody said you had to buy roses, there are a lot of other varieties of flowers. My husband has sent me many different bouquets over the years, and I have to admit there is a thrill to getting them on that special day. So what? You don't buy a tree for Christmas? A poinsettia perhaps?

Bottom line Mr. Hater, there is a lot to love about the holiday. Shiny red and silver Hershey kisses, handmade valentines from your kids, cupcakes with pink frosting, candle lit dinners, special time with a significant other.

Mr. Valentine's Day Hater, let me show you how it is done. I do Valentine's Day up right. This year, I hosted a small pre-Valentine's Day gathering for a few good friends and their children. We had good food and lots of red and white flare, it was a nice excuse for a party. My sons (in addition of course to my husband) are my little valentines, and I am going to treat them to their very own Russel Stovers candies this year. Finally this Monday night the kid's are attending a Valentine's Day party at the children's museum while we go on a double date with some friends. No we are not going to a fancy French bistro, rather we will dining on Indian food and we won't be spending a fortune, thank you very much. Now if my husband chooses to send me flowers....so be it.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Love,

Cupid's Biggest Fan

Because you're dying to know

Wow. My life is exciting. So exciting that I have a couple of updates for you.

First: The fate of Flanders:

That cat really does have 9 lives. But this my friends, must certainly be his last. He has been pardoned from death row and continues to live comfortably in my tiny office. Although he mostly hides under the sofa, he does come out to say hello from time to time, and of course to make a giant mess of the litter box (at least he is using it.) I vacuum up litter bits at least twice a day.

Here he is hard at work:

Second: The hair saga continues:

I am going in for a haircut tomorrow, and it appears that I am going to make a game day decision on the bangs. At this point they have grown so cumbersome that I have taken to pinning them back, which is fine around the house, but not exactly a glamours, polished look. I may be done with this extra hair after all. Oh don't worry, I'll keep you posted. (Because you're dying to know)

Third: My belly continues to grow:

And grow. I'm 22.5 weeks. Let's not even think about how much bigger I'm going to get. These pictures don't do me justice, but it's all I have at the moment.

So there you have it, now you are all caught up on my very exciting and intriguing life.

DIRTY

One word: Mortified. Yes, mortified. The core of my very being, shaken. Why?

My new housekeeper called us "dirty." A shiver down my spine.

Okay, okay, I was never so delusional as to think that my home was pristine. Nobody would ever feature it in a commercial for cleaning products, but I thought that we at least passed for average. But dirty? I feel defeated.

I have often looked around my house and cringed. Hand prints on the windows, sand spilled from tiny shoes on the carpet, a little tomato sauce crusted on the back of a booster seat, but I thought that was normal. I secretly hoped that when I walked into a friend's house and saw a spotless kitchen it was because she spent hours preparing for my visit. Certainly, she was not always this clean. And the houses I see on reality TV shows, they look perfect because they had an entire cleaning crew on site moments before.

But now...I wonder. The woman who is cleaning our home was referred to us by our new landlords, who until only a few months ago lived in this very house. I could tell upon first laying eyes on the home that the owner was a perfectionist. Everything in the home was beautiful from the paint, to the fixtures, each little detail thoughtful and well done. Our landlady also happens to be pretty, fit and blond. Her outfits pulled together effortlessly, her nails manicured. She is incredibly organized. I thought maybe it was all a front. Our housekeeper assured me that it is not. Although she speaks little English, she was able to communicate to me that our house was "very dirty!" and that the owners of the home "were clean." "No toys on the floor. No dirty kitchen. No dirty furniture."

Nope. They kept the house neat and tidy and you could probably eat off the floor. (And yes, they have kids!) These people do in fact exist, and I will never be one of them. Instead...I'm dirty.

Don't forget to enter my contest for a $25 Starbucks gift card! Winner will be announced on February 13! http://getrealmama.blogspot.com/2011/02/25-starbucks-gift-card-giveaway.html

$25 Starbucks Gift Card Giveaway!

Although my husband will not be pleased with me (we are suppose to be on a budget!) I am going to dig into my own pockets for a give away! A Valentine's Day drawing for a $25 Starbucks gift card. That should buy you at least a raspberry mocha and a muffin anyway. Did I mention that expensive coffee drinks are one of few pregnancy cravings? That and pink lady apples. I know weird.

All you have to do is show me a little sugar

1) Be a follower

2) Write a comment telling me which getrealmama post is your favorite (yes I am trying to get a sense of what ya'll like reading about)

To be entered twice let me know that you have tweeted my post, or posted it on your facebook page.

Winner will be drawn randomly on February 13.

Cheers!

I'd rather be blogging.

I just don't get it. Born and raised in Madison, Wisconsin, if there was ever a Superbowl that I should have cared about, this was the one. I didn't even watch it. The husband did, and I popped down once and a while to be with the family, but I was busy...napping, doing laundry, sweeping the floor. I understand that this is a cultural event. Seven layer dip, beer, friends.....commercials. Had we been invited to a party, I may have gotten into it a little, or at least the guacamole. A party is a party.

But the obsession with a team, I just can't comprehend. Take my husband, he is a die-hard Twins fan. He wants to watch all of the games. He gets agitated if "his" team has a bad play, his mood can actually be impacted by a game. There are plenty of fans that take the whole thing very seriously. They wave flags from their cars, they have superstitions and lucky jerseys, their calendars revolve around game day. Why? Are the players their friends? At least in my husband's case I can hardly imagine that he would have much in common with these hulking athletes. And what do the Packers really have to do with Wisconsin? Are the players actually from the state? Doubt it. Will they stay in the frozen tundra when they are too old to play, or when the move on to another team? Nope. They are just a bunch of guys making a heck of a lot of money to play a game, and we go crazy over them.

Like I said, I just don't get it. There are so many things that I would rather be doing, but then again, I am sure that there are many football fans that would laugh at my obsession with The Real Housewives.

It takes all kinds.

Maybe....it's rude.

I have a love/hate relationship with evite.

Love it because let's be honest, who has the time for handwritten invitations? What's more, I promise that unless I have actually lived at your address for an extended period of time, I don't know your street number and I don't have it anywhere accessible. Yes, you may have provided it to me multiple times, yet I can't seem to keep track of it. Sorry.

Hate it because, I think that it makes the RSVP process far too casual. I want to make a disclaimer before offending any of my readers. I am not singling anyone out here. I have many a dear friend who may be guilty of the very offense that I am about to write about, and this is not a message to you. Rather, please view this as social commentary. An observation about how our culture has changed in a digital age.

Here is my beef: Why does evite list "maybe" as an acceptable RSVP option? Maybe? What does that mean, and why do so many people view this as a polite response? As in- maybe we will make it if something better doesn't come along? Maybe we will grace you with our presence if you don't tick us off between now and your birthday party? Maybe I'll show up if I'm not too hung over from a way more fun party that I am attending the night before?

How does a maybe response help the hostess? While shopping for the event should the party planner purchase enough food for 12, or maybe 18? While putting together the goodie bags for her child's party should she make a sack for little Janie (who is a maybe) just in case?

It's hard to remember, but I think back in the olden days, before the age of evite, people were forced to RSVP over the phone or in person to an event. In those times the answer was a "yes" or a "no." This allowed the host to plan accordingly for the event. Of course things may have come up that might have prevented one from going to a party that they said they would attend, but it wasn't expected. There wasn't the attitude of maybe I'll be there, maybe I won't. Email makes it easier, easier to say things to people that we would not ordinarily say in person. Easier to be rude.

Sadly, I don't see this trend going anywhere any time soon, and therefor I will continue to over shop for all of my parties just in case all those "maybes" actually show up. At least I usually have a lot of good leftovers.

My new coworker

I have a new office mate, which is fine by me. I'm a social person, I like a little company. But this guy is a bit quiet for my taste, really he mostly keeps to himself. He is an older gentleman, with red hair. Actually he is surprisingly good looking for his age. Sometimes I have to fight the urge to go over and pat him on the head.





I'm not sure he is all that bright. He doesn't seem to work hard anyway. Often times I catch him nodding off right there at the desk. Odd. I guess he isn't worried about his productivity. I'm not sure why anyone keeps him around, but it doesn't seem as if he is going anywhere, in fact he stays in the office 24/7.





At least he doesn't complain much, or bore me with office gossip. We have all had coworkers who plop themselves down in your office and open up the flood gates, as if you were being paid to be their personal therapist. No, this dude keeps his trap shut.





I think he may be stealing my lunch. Let me rephrase that, I am certain that he is stealing my lunch. Right off my desk. I'll leave my meal sitting just for a moment to run down the hall, and when I return there seems to be a little less, and I swear to God, there he is licking his lips. I kid you not. Does he think I am stupid?





Apparently yes, he does. After all, he has pretty much gotten away with murder......





Stinker.

Frozen yogurt & bad hair

I'm taking a break from cat and moving drama and having fun with a light-hearted post.

I'm in trouble. Our new neighborhood is home to a lot of high-calorie junk food. All within a five minute walk from my house. Five minutes to frozen yogurt bliss. I'm a sucker for soft serve with cookie dough topping. It's like moving an alcoholic in next door to the liquor store. I think I'll probably hit the shop up every single day, and get the very same thing each time. Chocolate and Cappuccino yogurt topped with cookie dough bits and rainbow sprinkles. Hello Ms. Chubby. The only saving grace is that in order to return home I have to walk up a rather steep hill, so perhaps I'll burn off a small fraction of the calories. That's if I walk. I could always drive. Well heck, I'm eating for two....right? (I know, I know, one of us is very, very small.)

Switching gears back to my hair. Huston we have a problem.

A little too much product and my habit of running my fingers through my growing bangs results in this:

And after my attempt to smooth down the untamed mess it now looks a little, shall we say... greasy:

I'm going to give it another month. One more month. If I don't see vast improvement, if I don't suddenly look like a pregnant brunette Michelle Williams, I'm losing the bangs....