Just call me Mother Fail.

Look up "hands-off" parenting in the dictionary, and you'll see my picture.
I wasn't made for motherhood.
My womb doesn't give a throb when I see someone's crinkly, red-faced, screaming new baby. Holding someone's (usually smelly and/or loud and/or irritating) baby doesn't make me long for another one of my own - not even for one single solitary second.  I don't CARE how much they weighed at birth, how long they were,  how loudly they cried.
You can tell me if you want, but three seconds later it's as if you never mentioned it - the stats are gone from my mind. 
Seriously, I have much better uses for my memory storage capacity, like the fact that Erwin Rommel was known as The Desert Fox or obscure movie quotes from movies nobody but me has ever seen ("I'll curse if I WANT to curse! DAMN DAMN HELL DAMN TEE-TEE DOO-DOO!") or that Barbie's full name is Barbara Millicent Roberts.
You know. The important stuff.

Ask me about my kids' milestones. How old was my daughter when she took her first steps?
Um. I'm not sure. She was little.
First words? Uh...
Did I write it in the baby book? Maybe, but I'm not really sure exactly where the baby books are. I'm sure they're around here somewhere. In the house. Probably. 

Honestly  it's a wonder they're not feral.

Or maybe they are...my daughter certainly learned to forage at an early age. She was around 3 or 4 when I woke up one morning and went into the kitchen - and the refrigerator door was wide open, there were two open jars (one grape jelly, one Miracle Whip) on the floor with the lids off, and a butter knife.
My daughter said to me (okay, so clearly this means she was talking and walking at age three-ish/four-ish) "I was hungry so I made a mandayse sandwich and a jelly sandwich. Josh didn't want any." (let me just point out here that Joshua is non-verbal, yet she always claimed to know what he wanted. Probably she was right)

Same age, one morning she brought me breakfast in bed -- a piece of chocolate cake.
I asked her how she got such a nice piece of cake by herself, and she said, "Wiv a butter knife but I was berry careful."

I took this to mean I no longer had to prepare her meals and could turn over the cooking to her capable little (wee tiny) hands.
I do love sandwiches and cake, you know.

As soon as she was tall enough to (climb on a stepstool and) reach the washing machine controls, she learned to do laundry as well. Except for that one incident with the candy and bubblegum left in a pocket, I've never regretted that decision.

When she was learning her numbers, I figured that it's never too early to learn how to play Texas Hold 'Em. IT WAS PURELY IN AN EDUCATIONAL CAPACITY. Plus we played for M&Ms and I loves me some M&Ms.

And really, who DOESN'T use liquid Tylenol to teach their kid how to do shots? IT IS A LIFE SKILL.

And so what if I talked her into taking a bite of a dog biscuit that one time? She was always pretending to be a wolf anyway. Plus also dog biscuits are totally edible for people. IT WAS LIFE-SAVING INFORMATION SO THAT SHE WOULD NEVER STARVE.

Oh okay, I guess I have to be a little more hands-on for Joshua, since he is like a baby and can't do anything for himself. Probably it's one of those disguised blessings, since I would have failed more miserably if I'd had to chase both of them. 
And he does shake hands when you say "How do you do?" SO THERE.

But despite my best efforts to ruin them, my kids have actually turned out better than most - and I say that in a purely I-don't-really-like-kids unbiased way.

And in case you were planning to call DHS, I should tell you that they're over 18 now so HA HA HA.

---

*disclaimer: this is totally about ME ONLY, so if you're one of the women who love to have babies and be surrounded by children and love having even more - more power to you. Some of my friends have 5 or more children and they excel at it. I'm just not one of you.

---

Me Thinks

Some days I wish I could just say "Hey, if everyone could just paypal me $5, that'd be great. Thanks."

I'm only half-way kidding on that first thing.

Instead of saying, "Do bears shit in the woods?" from now on I'm going to say, "Does Neptune shit in the ocean?" because I am a trendsetter like that.

Sometimes when you remove yourself - or at least step back from - a situation, you can see personalities and traits much more clearly. And they don't always show in a good light.

My truest friends are the ones who continue to try to scratch the surface, no matter how many times I reinforce the barriers.

I once thought of being a real writer, only I find writing dialogue TOO too tedious. Also I have no knack for it - I write the most boring conversations ever.

If you're going to pretend to talk on your cell phone like you're King Shit of Turd Mountain, you should remember to set your ringer to 'vibrate' in case someone actually calls.

It's not fear of committment, it's survival instinct.

If I ask you questions and you ignore them, how are you then surprised when I stop bothering to ask? I'm not going to waste my time.

Related to ^^: Just because I don't ask doesn't mean I don't care.

One of my biggest pet peeves is being ignored, or left out, or unacknowledged. YES I KNOW IT IS A SELF-ESTEEM ISSUE. It makes me irrational.

Related to ^^: There are many, many things that make me irrational.

Some things are only douchey when YOU do them. Because some people just have the knack for being douchetastic.

I get more annoyed with smart people who post stupid, ignorant, un-fact-checked nonsense on facebook than I do when ... smarts-challenged people do it.

Grumpy Cat makes me happy.

There are at least 3 people in the world who should be extremely happy that head-stabbing is against the law. And also that I am scared of prison.

I like to watch Chopped or Iron Chef when I am eating, so I can pretend my bacon is braised pork belly or I can call my home-made bacon bits "lardons" in a haughty manner, the way certain people I know insist on calling green beans "haricots vert".

Insomnia

HEY! Guess what I was doing at 3am? Go ahead. Guess.
I can give you a hint: It was NOT SLEEPING.
Ugh.
I guess it doesn't really count as insomnia though, since I woke up sick yesterday morning and spent a large part of the day abed (Troy and ABED in the MORNING!)(you will only get that if you watch Community)(shut it, it's weird what your thinks are when you have no sleep), being dozy and heavy-headed and heavy-eyed.

So at 3am I was...
eating a salad.
Actually it *might* have been more like a bowl of croutons with ranch dressing, with a couple of romaine leaves tossed in for form's sake.

And I tried to read myself to sleep, said an extra-long prayer because often I fall asleep doing that very thing, and then here comes 4:30 am and I'm all OKAY I GUESS I WILL JUST STAY UP BECAUSE I HAVE TO GET UP IN AN HOUR AND A HALF ANYWAY OMG.

So of course I immediately felt extremely sleepy after that and dozed off for about 2 minutes before the stupid alarm sounded.

---

Also? It was like 60 degrees and sunny yesterday, now it is thunder/lightning/heavy rain, with 6 or so inches of snow coming before the day is out. Typical.

Actually I was hoping the snow would already be here so we could have a snow day and maybe I COULD SLEEP.

---

Can anyone tell me how long this hormonal rampage lasts before menopause is over?

BECAUSE I HAVE HAD IT WITH THE CRYING THING.

I watch tv or read a book...I cry.

I feel the tiniest frustration or stress...I cry.

I watch a funny commercial...I cry.

I sneeze...I pee a little. Then I cry.

---

Getting old SUCKS MY ASS.

---

The end.

Reflections

Aaaah Valentine's Day.

That love-fest of a day in which I snuggle on the couch by myself and watch romantic comedies like My Bloody Valentine (the original one from 1981!) and eat chocolates which I stole from my kids, who actually got Valentine candy  and drink a whole bottle or maybe two of wine.

And I reflect upon past Valentine's Days...

...like the one where I was dating that clown I met online.
No, seriously, like a real clown. With the makeup smile and big pants. And MAGIC TRICKS, like pulling a quarter out of my... ear.
And BALLOON ANIMALS! Actually he did make me a cute balloon thingy for Valentine's Day, it was two little balloon lovebirds surrounded by a big balloon cage heart.
And NO, he did not wear the clown makeup on our dates.
Except that one time. But we don't talk about that.

...and the one where Valentine's Day came WAY too soon after we just started dating, and I didn't know what to do. I mean it was only like our 3rd date - I got him a card (a funny one, of course, no mush)...then I panicked. Do I have to get him a GIFT? And what do I get him? Plus also THIRD DATE! That's like the sex date, right? So ... do I get him a box of Trojans and wrap it up in sparkly heart paper with a card that says "Guess who's gettin' lucky tonight!"? Do I vajazzle? Stick a red bow down my pants?
I ended up giving him a tiny stuffed "heart" bear with candy hearts attached to it...that I had actually bought for MY SON.
OMG.
I'm embarrassed just thinking about it.
On the other hand, he bought me a really nice gift basket with bath stuff and lotion. So clearly he thought I needed to smell like something called Moonlight Way (which frankly reminded me of cat pee juniper bushes).

I don't know why I'm still single, do you? I KNOW, I AM SUCH THE CATCH!

But then I always finish the night thinking about the BEST Valentine's Day, which was sad and sweet and scary and excellent all at the same time.

Valentine's Day 1995.
The day I first laid eyes on my children.

You see, they were born on Feb 13, the day before V-Day. They were 3 and a half months premature (which, if you read yesterday's annual birthday post, you already knew - and if you didn't read it, what the hell is wrong with you? Scroll down when you're done here)...and I wasn't allowed to go from my hospital (University Hospital) to Children's Hospital (where the NICU was) until the next day.
Of course I was so full of morphine I barely noticed. (also? HOORAY FOR MORPHINE! ♥)

Valentine's Day I was wheeled through a series of connecting tunnels and hallways to the Big Scary NICU, where I had to scrub my hands and arms for 10 minutes before I could even go in and still wasn't even allowed to touch them, except to cup my hand over their bottom & legs - which wasn't even a handful.

And there were these two beds with hot bright lights over them - sort of looked like where they keep the burgers warm at McDonald's, you know the metal thing with the heat light? Like that.
And there were these two red, scrawny, ugly, spider-monkey-looking babies with folded down ears (!!!) and covered in tape and tubes and wires and IVs and O! they were beautiful and scary and pitiful and hurting and painful to look at and my heart broke and bled and loved.

Given less than 50% chance to live, they turned 18 years old yesterday.

Best. Valentine. Present. EVER.

All Growed Up.

---

"18 and Life to go" --Skid Row

---

Dun dun DUUUUUN! Time for the Annual Birthday Post! I'm actually re-writing it (a little) this year, because those of you who've known and read this blog since 2005 are probably tired of the same story and pictures. You can always re-visit the old one here if you want.

Also? OMG I HAVE 18 YEAR OLD CHILDREN. Pretty soon I'm going to have to stop pretending to be 29. Only not this year, I'm not quite ready for THAT. Baby steps.

---

THE DUE DATE: June 4th

THE BIRTH DATE: February 14th.

I know, right? These children clearly get their lack of patience from me.  They were born at 24 weeks, or about 3 and 1/2 months early. They weighed just over 1 lb. each, and were about a foot long. I'm talkin' teeeeeny tiny. Micro-preemie, I think is what they are called now. 

Anyway, this is my boy, at about a month old:

I woke up the morning of February 12th, headed for the bathroom, and after about 5 minutes I called out to the baby daddy, "Either I've lost all control of my body functions or my water broke".

I'll give you a hint - my functions were still under my control.

So natch we rushed to the hospital, where the stupid ass snot face condescending nurse (actually I love nurses in general, but this one? NOT SO MUCH) had me lay on a gurney for an hour and then said that I was fine, no fluid was "leaking" (I know, gross), and the pains in my back and belly were just muscles stretching, NOT CONTRACTIONS...and then she tried to send us home. 

Me being me, I caused a scene.

Hey, guess who ended up being right about me being in labor?

Here is my little girl, at about a month old:

The doctors tried to stop my labor for 24 hours, but apparently my kids were having none of that. On the 13th of February, my boy arrived in the usual way - of course, I was knocked out for the entire thing. My daughter was still safe and secure in her bedwomb -- the idea was to let her 'cook' a little longer (which would have been weird to have twins with different birthdays, right?).  So they were wheeling me into recovery when Miss Contrary's heart rate dropped to zero, and they did a SUPERFAST emergency C-Section to get her out. Evidently she didn't like being alone.
So it was like Twins Two Ways, with extra Mommy Staples.
This is also where I discovered my love of morphine.

Their ears were still folded down (WEIRD! I didn't even know ears did that until my kids were born. It was like puppy ears or something), and their lungs were not completely developed, and their little hearts were working overtime/doubletime.

They struggled for every single breath. They fought to live.

And so they did.

Thank you, God.

Thank you for this little miracle....(my girl at about 2 months)

and this little miracle...(my boy at about 3 1/2 months)

The doctors gave them less than a 50% chance of survival.

Fortunately they got my stubborn genes as well as my temperamental ones, because my kids wouldn't listen to percentages; they were all YOU DON'T KNOW ME! I DO WHAT I WANT!
Their hearts were overworked, their lungs were and are covered in scar tissue, they are cursed with keloid scars as well as scars from perc lines and central lines and a million little junkie scars on arms and feet from being pricked with lancets every hour. They have scarred veins, they had damaging bleeding in their brains, preventing brain growth. And yet...
        

Becca's first day home from the hospital! Nearly 4 months old and barely 5 lbs. I still have this amazingly tiny dress - I swear it's barely bigger than Barbie size. Those booties she has on? The foot part is less than 2 inches long. Each twin came home attached to oxygen and an apnea monitor - whenever we all went anywhere together it looked as though we were leaving home for a month, so laden were we with electronic equipment, oxygen tanks, diaper bags, strollers...which is partly why I became the hermit I am today. #Lazy

Here they're about 7 or 8 months old, I think (did I ever mention that I am TERRIBLE about labeling pictures? Because I am). Clearly Becca was already trying to wear some sort of tiara:

One morning I discovered that my daughter knew how to climb into her brother's crib.

When Becca was about two, this is what "Go get ready for bed" meant:



Josh had the softest, wispiest hair so I let it grow and grow... until that time I gave him a buzz-cut and he's been sporting a Greg Brady WhiteBoy 'Fro ever since. IT IS OUT OF CONTROL.

There were middle-of-the-night phone calls with doctors on the other end of the line telling me that they didn't think THIS twin or THAT twin would make it through the night. There was six months in the NICU and 3 or 4 Thanksgivings and Christmases spent in the hospital. For awhile I thought they were going to name a wing of the children's ward after us, or at least keep "our" room in reserve.

There was RDS and BPD and ROP and a bunch of other things with initials that I barely understood.

There were staph infections and even a broken arm that was caused by changing my son's shirt whilst in the NICU - he of the tiny little brittle bones. There were breathing treatments and nebulizers and oxygen tanks and constantly changing medications and seizures and paralyzing fear (well, that last thing was *me*).

All that and so much more...and I continue to be amazed that here we still are, 18 years later.

How could I not believe in a higher power? In miracles?

I love you, my babies. I'm STILL thankful for every breath that you take, every blink of your eyes, every morning that you wake. I love you with everything inside me.

You still make me laugh, you still make me cry, you still make me want to smack you upside your silly little heads.

If all the world was a beach, I would love you more than all the grains of sand added together. Times ten million.
Happy, happy 18th birthday.

Two things.

1. HALP. My blog is broken! The comment service I used to use is defunct. It has ceased to be. It is dead (I'm not dead yet! - OH YES YOU ARE). Can someone please help me find/install a new blog service or at the very least put blogger.com comments back on this custom template? Because I am DUM.
(P.S. EMAIL ME since clearly you can't leave a comment. Doy.)

2. I have always said I'd NEVER (no never!) have advertisements on my blog but seriously I don't think it counts if I'm advertising my family business. Right? RIGHT?
So please, please, please, go to one of these sites and SPEND SPEND SPEND!
For reals we've got some awesome DESIGNER CLOTHES (lots of them are NEW! WITH! TAGS!) for low low (super)low prices.
Check 'em out.
Then bookmark them for later, because new stuff is added every week!!
Also? You'll be putting food on the table for my kids and who wouldn't feel good about that??

So GO FORTH and SHOP.

My Bargain Couture

LaurenFashions

More Bargains from dnlrobinson

So long 2012, don't let the door hitchoo in the ass on your way out!

I had this whole long "How 2012 Sucked And Can Kiss My Rosy Red Ass" planned but really, who wants to hear about that?
We all had our problems with 2012. And let's face it, for most of us, it could've been a LOT worse.
So shut your whine-hole and find at least 2 awesome things that happened and write about those.

I mean srsly, I had more bad luck and trouble than usual, but also I made a couple of new (online) friends, I got a new-to-me minivan, and while my new self-employment is not a total success (YET!), at least I am managing to pay the bills and put food on the table.
SO THERE.

Now, we all know that I prefer New Year's Suggestions over "resolutions", and this year I've decided to make my suggestions much more practical, the kind I WANT to keep.

So here we go: New Year's Suggestions For 2013:

1. Eat more cookies.
2. Be more sarcastic.
3. Try to annoy more people.
4. Drink more booze.
5. Leave anonymous comments on that one girl's blog because she is JUST. SO. FAKE.
6. Ignore children, they're almost 18 and can fend for themselves. OH WAIT, I already do this one.
7. Make fun of more people to their faces.
8. Make fun of more people behind their backs.
9. Forget housework. OH WAIT, I already do this one too.
10. Watch more crime shows on TV - they're super educational.

I think I'm off to a good start, don't you?

How I Got Here

This is the first thing I ever posted here in The Land Of Blogspot - on 12/31/04 - and as I discovered TODAY when I attempted to get dressed to go to the ever-lovin' grocery store, it is still completely relevant and timely.
I guess not much about me has changed since 2004.
Except arthritis.
And sciatica.
And more fatness.
And maybe I was cooler then.

---

The Panic Room...aka my bedroom.
I wanted to add this entry earlier, but the feeling has only just now returned to my fingers.

THE TIME: 10:13am
THE DATE: Friday, Dec 31
THE MISSION: Get dressed & go to the grocery store (They do tend to rather strictly enforce that 'no clothes, no service' rule)

Seemed a simple enough task. I was flippant enough to LAUGH at its simplicity. C'mon, give me a real mission, why doncha?

Socks-check. Underwear-check. Grubby t-shirt-check. Jeans-ch...OH CHIT.

That's where the trouble began. I slid my jeans up, no worries. I reached for the button...sucked in my tum-tum, struggled a moment, but got the button buttoned.
THEN CAME THE ZIPPER. O dear Lord. I couldn't zip my pants. There was this strange bulge of (could it be fat?!) something in the way. I looked around for help..but unfortunately I was the only one in the room. Figures.
What's a girl to do?
Luckily I can think on my feet, so I fell back on the time-honored pants-zipping method used by teenage girls everywhere (if you remember back that far, when we actually wanted our jeans to fit like a second skin)...and lay myself down on the bed.
Five minutes and a bruised finger later, I triumphed over the evil zipper.
"AHA! VICTORY IS MINE!" I wanted to shout, but I couldn't draw breath enough to even wheeze it out.
As I lay there panting, I tried to figure out what had happened. Obviously, my jeans had shrunk in the wash, or something.
SURELY it couldn't have anything to do with the 47lbs. of fudge I've consumed over the past week or so, nor with the 23 Reese's Peanut butter trees, endless bags of M&Ms, two boxes of cordial cherries, cookies of every kind, or the entire box of Ferrero Rocher truffles.
SURELY not. Everyone knows that holiday calories don't even count~those are burned up in ADVANCE, what with the shopping and the wrapping and the decorating. It's a proven fact. Well, I THINK I read that somewhere, anyhow.

Then I had to stop wondering about it, because little black dots appeared before my eyes from the lack of oxygen. My fingers were going numb, and I couldn't feel my toes.
I HAD to get up from the bed. I flailed my arms & legs about, looking somewhat (at least in my imagination) like a turtle who'd gotten turned on it's shell.
I couldn't get up.
I started to hyperventilate, and of course there were no convenient paper bags lying around. OH if I could only make it to the kitchen!
I decided to roll back & forth to build up some momentum. Eventually, just when I though I would faint, something (I think it was the ghost who lives in my house, but that's another story for another day) gave me enough of a nudge that I rolled off the bed and onto the floor. Luckily I landed on my hands & knees so that I could push myself up to my feet.
Unfortunately, I still couldn't breathe. Nor really walk. And to make matters worse, NOW I couldn't even reach the button of my jeans, as a huge roll of that same substance that inhibited my zipper was now hanging over the waistband of my jeans and covering the button.
*sigh* Back to the bed.
Luckily the jeans decided to cooperate during the UNbuttoning and UNzipping phase of this operation...and I reached into the closet for a pair of sweatpants.
AH, SWEET BREATH O' LIFE.

I had to come up with a plan, and fast. I mean really, a girl can't wear sweatpants every day, can she? It's just a sad thing this happened today of all days...as by law I can't start a new diet until tomorrow. The FIRST of January. That's when all New Year's Resolutions are allowed to take place, and not a minute before!
So, my dearest darling readers, I am depending upon you to help me keep on the straight and narrow, slap my hand when it should reach for a potato chip or a bit of chocolate. It is now YOUR responsibility, and you must step up to the plate. Don't let me down, now.
Starting tomorrow.
First thing after brunch. Or dinner. Yeah, that's probably better. In fact, we should probably just wait until the SECOND of January, just to avoid any conflict with the 'GOOD LUCK' stuff you're supposed to eat on the first day of the year. Some of my 'GOOD LUCK' foods include cake and ice cream. So yeah, the SECOND. That'll work.

The good news is, I burned my pizza whilst I was stuck on the bed. So now I'll have to eat something else. Maybe I'll find a nice, healthy bag o' popcorn in the cabinet. Now make yourself useful and hand me the butter.

A quickie review

It has been far too long since I've been given a product to review! I've missed you, darling FreeStuffs.

**Oh yeah, this is the part where I have to be transparent or translucent or authentic or truthful or whatever the current buzzword is and let you know that 
1. YES I received a free sample of the product AND ALSO a coupon for $ off my next purchase
and
B. NO I was not told I had to write a review, nor did I receive any suggestions, orders, recommendations, or parameters on what/how I should write if indeed I decided to write a review of my own free will. 
Clear? Good.

So the fine people at BlogHer Visionaries and BIC sent me a pretty pink Soleil Savvy razor to check out.
In anticipation of this particular product, I didn't shave for many weeks days, so that I could really put this razor to the test.

I liked it! My underarms are smoooother than my friend Brad's head. No nicks, no cuts.
It's refillable, YET DISPOSABLE.
I know, right? Wrap your head around THAT, my friend.

The handle is disposable, and comes with 4 cartridges - and STILL costs less than just refill cartridges for some other brands *coughVENUScough*
The head pivots, the moisturizing strip was smooth (and NOT GOOEY, because EW), and the blades were sharp.
I shaved my legs & pits twice before I felt the blade was too dull for further use...then again, I don't shave weekly daily because HELLO, WINTER and NO BOYFRIEND.

And did I mention that it was still less expensive than just the blades for other refillable brands?

Although in all honesty it DID take me a minute or two to actually get the blade onto the handle - this may or may not have been because I am dumb and somewhat uncoordinated.

An Original Song

Most of you have read here that when I die I want to be cremated...and I have some specific "funeral rules" that I want followed.
Just now I was getting my son ready for bed (which has nothing to do with anything, I'm just filling space), and I came up with an original song that I plan to pre-record and have played during the service.

It will be sung to the tune of that old "I wish I were an Oscar Meyer weiner" song.

Ready? ALL TOGETHER NOW:

When I die I want to be cremated
That is what I really want to beeeeee
And when I am a big ol' box of ashes
Everybody gets a scoop of meeeee.

Halleluja. Amen.

PS Some of you were totally humming the tune while you read that.

Blogging Nostalgic

See, I have had a whole post in my head for weeks (only I'm mostly too lazy to actually, you know, TYPE it because I type type type type type for my job) about missing blogging.
Oh, I know people still do it, some are still successful with it, even I do it sometimes... but I mean five or six years ago before the world Moved On and blogging became more about Making Money and Social Media. Before conferences actually had WHOLE SESSIONS devoted to teaching you how to answer "What's Your Blog About?" in the time it takes for an elevator ride (no kidding. ACTUAL SESSIONS.).

**which, by the way, is a completely asinine question for olde-tyme bloggers like me. How do you answer that when you're a mom but not a mommyblogger and you tell stories in real-time from your life and try drunk-blogging experiments and share old stories and made-up or embellished stories and complain about getting buttsecksed by the power company every summer and post a bunch of random snippets of thought that sometimes strike you as funny and you post them and hope someone else thinks they're as funny as you do and you vent about the state of the country and you throw in some product and book reviews - some compensated with free goods and some just because you feel like it and you make up games for your readers to play along with you and so on and so forth. 
So I guess what I mean is IF YOU SEE ME IN AN ELEVATOR, DO NOT ASK ME WHAT I BLOG ABOUT OR I MIGHT KICK YOU IN THE NUGGETS.

I miss the days when we (and by "we" I mean "me and most of my blogroll") were not a niche, but a community. I know that many of us just don't have the time we did before. We have to work more hours or our kids have more activities or we got burnt out or just simply ran out of things we wanted to write about.
But I miss US.
Before there were "niches" you had to fall into. Before it was too hard to find an actual post in the midst of all the advertisements. Before "experts" expected us to have a centralized theme in 90% of our posts.
Before memes were a lolcat picture with some snarky remark (hey, I'm not saying I don't like those, but I don't understand how they came to be called memes). I miss memes that look like this. And even when we hated them, we did them anyway BECAUSE OUR FRIENDS TOLD US TO. And secretly, we sort of loved the memes.
I miss silly made-up blog awards that we gave each other. I miss Thursday Thirteens and Wordless Wednesdays.
I miss how we worked on promoting and linking each other instead of only concentrating on an obscene amount of self-promotion. I miss those of us who loved the comments but didn't overly concern ourselves with becoming "popular" or "SuperBloggers".

For my own blog, I miss how I would think of a REALLY AWESOME TITLE...and the blog post would evolve around that. I miss how I always had something to say and wasn't worried about who might take exception to me saying it...because rarely did anyone do that.

Well what the hell, I guess I wasn't too lazy to type it all out after all.
Blame Golfwidow - she was the catalyst because she was kind enough to Bring Back The Meme/Award and tag me in it (TAG! You're it! I miss that too).

If you're still Olde Skool blogging and I haven't been there lately, I'm sorry. Be old-fashioned and leave a comment here instead of facebook or twitter...and I'll come visit. Promise.

---

NOW THEN.
the rules:

1. Link the award to the person who gave it to me..
2. Answer questions about myself.
3. Nominate up to 10 bloggers for this award, and link my nominees to the post and comment on their blog, letting them know about the award. (and thank you again for the Award!)

1. Favorite number: Okay, these are maybe not the most awesome meme questions in the land. My favorite right now is NUMBER ONE. Meaning ME.

2. Favorite non-alcoholic drink: Why would anyone ever drink such a thing?? I guess I'll have to say coffee, without which I would not be the person I am today.

3. Favorite animal: What is the biggest, meanest one that eats people? That one.

4. Facebook or Twitter?: Both. And neither. *sigh* There is no lesser of two evils in this question.

5. My passion: gone but not forgotten. Oh, wait...what are YOU talking about?

6. Favorite day of the week: Every one on which I wake up.

7. Favorite flower: that little skunk from Bambi. Or lilacs. I have lilac bushes around my house and they smell divooooon

Now, the inevitable and fearsome TAG and more importantly, the AWARD that goes with it (and be a sport and go all nostalgic with me and play along):
Incurable Insomniac
Mamacita
Redneck Diva
Under The Willow Tree
Simply Sassy
Megan, Grrl Author
Thumper
Webkittyn

And anyone else who'd like to play along. Granting yourself an award is totes allowed.

Seriously, people are pissing me off.

I just read a blog post from someone who put the link on facebook, and I am APPALLED.
It was something about a "hate cake" and "making it okay for your kids to hate you".
I'm not saying I disagree with that part - celebrate it with a cake, do what I did and laugh and say that's okay, I love you anyway, or shout I HATE YOU TOO - whatever works for you.

But what this 15 year old girl said to her mother was "YOU FUCKING BITCH, I HATE YOU!"

Say WHAT?

If you're a parent you've probably had to deal with the hate phase at some point, as nearly every kid I ever met has been there. *I* went through it.
But never, ever ever have I called my mother a fucking bitch.
I don't even remember THINKING about her in those terms.
Even at the ripe old age of...however old I am (forty-something, I can't really remember right now), I rarely swear in front of my parents. I never swore in front of them at all until I was in my 20s, and I've NEVER sworn AT them. NEVER. EVER.
For one thing, even now my dad would probably slap the teeth out of my head.
You just don't DO that.

And here all these readers (including a couple of people for whom I USED to have a lot more respect than I do now) are all "oooh, I love this post!" "Oh yeah, that is exactly right, our kids should be able to hate us!" and "haha, I wish I'd have thought of a cake!".

SERIOUSLY?

Everyone is okay with a 15 year old brat calling her mother a FUCKING BITCH right to her face?
It's sickening, if you ask me. It's sickening even if you didn't ask me.

No wonder why our world is heading into the toilet. Nobody teaches respect anymore.

A Post In Two Parts

Part one: If I never read the word "breastfeeding" again, it will be way too soon for me.

(having said that, I'm about to use the word about a fafillion times in this post)

I am sick to death of hearing people bitching about breastfeeding, or lack thereof.

Everyone is so defensive and contentious about the subject.

And it's EVERY DAY.

Be real, people. Just because you choose not to breastfeed does not make you a bad person.

Conversely, choosing to breastfeed until your kid is five years old - while creepy and sort of gross in my opinion, also does not make you a bad person.

WHAT I FAIL TO COMPREHEND is WHY DOES IT MATTER?

1. It is none of your damn business whether or not a person chooses to breastfeed.

2. It is none of your damn business WHY a person chooses to breastfeed or not to breastfeed. Maybe they CAN but don't want to. Maybe they CAN'T due to medical reasons. How, exactly, does this affect YOUR life? Do you have some vested interest everyone else's children?

Each side feels persecuted and yelly and OH SO SELF-RIGHTEOUS.

Get over it. Really, don't you have enough to worry about in raising your OWN kids?

Honestly, with the amount of bullying and bad behavior and entitled actions that we see so often nowadays, you'd be much better off, say, TENDING YOUR OWN FAMILY.

I haven't come across any statistics showing that breastfed babies turn out to be better, more worthwhile  people than non-breastfed ones, have you? 

Part two: Why I can't stand mommyblogger forums and chat rooms.

Let me count the ways....

1. What a bunch of hypocrites. They spend all day ego-stroking each other, and it doesn't matter to them if they're hypocritically shouting "RIGHT ON SISTER!" to a post that is in direct contradiction of something they were praising the day before. 

And they all feel quite justified (not to mention smug and superior, in some cases I've noticed) in doing it.

Heaven help you if you offer a dissenting opinion.

2. Half of them are written in 'text speak' and require translation. UGH. SPARE ME. Please educate yourself (maybe read a book instead of worrying about why Mrs. Jones refuses to breastfeed her baby and gives her the Evil Formula).

3. Remember the whole Advil (or whatever painkiller) foofaraw a couple years ago? The mommys were so proud of themselves for getting the company to remove an "offensive" web commercial because they felt it implied that wearing a baby sling was hurtful or uncomfortable or whatever blahblah. Then they were all OH YEAH WE DID IT! GO US! THE EVIL ADVERTISERS FELL TO OUR POWER!. 

Wow, that was some great use of your 'power'. Now, where are you all when it is time to give voice to something like, oh, I don't know...FEEDING HUNGRY CHILDREN IN OUR COUNTRY?

Funny, I never see any twitter #hashtags about that, but I did see about a million for the #Advil hubbub.

4. I subscribe to two mom-forum newsletters - yeah yeah, I know - because they have some great offers for coupons and discounts. I try not to read the "featured" blog posts very often because mostly they just leave me cold or else enrage me.

Example: I was reading a post yesterday, and the lady was talking about her daughter being bullied at school.

I hate that, for her daughter. It makes me angry and sad.

HOWEVER, in the post, the mother said she tried to make sure her daughter had everything she needed to succeed, the "right" clothes to wear, looking cute, the "right" haircut, trendy glasses, etc etc, and still the Mean Girls bullied her daughter even though she tried to make her kid COOL and POPULAR.

Bullying shouldn't happen. But I'm not talking about the bullying just now.

Part of what I thought as I read was Really? THAT'S the message you want your kid to learn? THAT'S the focus? Wear the right clothes with the right labels, "what everyone was wearing", and you'll be a Cool Kid?

See, in my mind, if your kid has a little self-confidence, if your kid feels loved and respected by you as a parent, that goes a lot further than Joe's Jeans and a Juicy Couture tee shirt. 

I'm far from the perfect mother - in fact, I'd probably rate myself about a 4 out of 10. I get mad, I yell, sometimes I criticize. Sometimes I say NO just because I can. I'm not afraid to make my kids mad at me, they'll get over it, especially if they want something from me.

But my daughter doesn't care (or really even know) about brand names, because I never placed any importance on that. She doesn't care about wearing makeup because I tried to teach her that her inner beauty glows bright. 

I could brag about her for hours because she's just a deep-down good kid.

She's also sort of a nerd. And a geek. She games and she reads and is not athletic and she's clumsy and forgetful and does dumb things. She does not worry about being cool or popular...because really that's not going to give her success in life. Hard work, kindness, responsibility, morals, and ethics ARE. 

So that's what I've tried to instill in her. I hope it worked...time will tell.

The point is, even geeks are cool. Band nerds are cool. Chess club members can be popular. You can't make your child be a Cool Kid or Popular Kid - and really, why would you want to? 

Teach your kids to be kind to others, no matter if they're wearing a wal-mart label or carrying a Coach bag. 

Teach your kids to focus on how to be responsible and contribute something good to the world.

Frankly I'd much rather have the kind of child who'd go sit with the lone person at the end of the lunch table than the kind who worried about whether she'd get to sit with The Crowd.

And PS I bet half those Mean Girls and other bullies were probably breastfed. The other half were probably Formula Babies. Which just goes to show.

Anyway.

What I'm trying to say is maybe you should spend (waaaaaaay) less time worrying about how other mothers are feeding their kids, as long as the kids are getting fed - and concentrate on growing your own children into decent human beings.

And let your kids be WHO THEY ARE, instead of who you think they should be.

Your kids are not you.

Is all I'm saying.

 

Don't make me Klout you

Say what you will about Klout - I LOVE THE PERKS.
There are plenty of Klout haters...I actually know someone who hates them because they use a "K" instead of a "C". I find that moronic because to me it would be like hating my friend Karl because his parents decided to spell his name with a "K". I mean SERIOUSLY? And have you even noticed the ridiculous spellings people are saddling their poor kids with nowadays?
Some people hate Klout because their score is too low. Or too high. Or whatever.
I don't understand the analytics or how they figure your 'true reach' or 'amplification' ...and what's more, I don't care. I'm not in the top 1000, and likely not even in the top 10,000. I don't care about that either.
In fact I think anyone who places so much importance on "internet popularity" is self-delusional anyway.
But what I DO care about is GETTING FREE STUFF.
Who doesn't like free stuff??

I'm a single mom (and poor) on a down-to-the-penny super-tight budget. I can't afford to buy much stuff just to 'give it a try'.
Like the Neutrogena Rapid Wrinkle Repair that Klout just sent me. Did you know that stuff retails for $15-$20?? I would never spend that kind of money just to TRY something - I mean that's like 2 whole chickens for roasting plus some fresh veggies on the side, in my budget.
If it works, and I'm happy with it and it does what it says, then I would be willing to invest the money and maybe give up one of my few indulgences, like the just released book I am often compelled to buy - I would (try to) wait until I can get it at the library (maybe).

Plus I've gotten MOO cards, Lipton tea, Subway sammiches and hopefully some more good stuff will come my way soon. Best of all, I'm not required to post about any perks or review the products - I can if I want but there's no obligation (in case I forget, which often happens).
So THANK YOU KLOUT, keep those perks a-comin'!

I've Got You Under My Skin...Pt II

I have a confession to make: I do not wash my face at night. THERE I SAID IT.
I wash my face in the shower. That's it. My beauty routine. Wash, slap on some moisturizer, aaaand DONE.
Occasionally I put on the bare minimum of makeup, but since my job doesn't require me to see anyone other than (occasionally) my boss (and THANK GOD I DO NOT DEAL WITH PEOPLE), mostly I don't bother.
And even if I do, I don't remove it before bed.
DON'T JUDGE.

So the awesome people at Simone France let me try a skin care regimen.
As you may have read (a few posts down) I was a little leery of it because it seemed to have a WAY lot of steps..at  least for me
I know that some of you ladies (and dudes) looove to groom. You take good care of your skin and you have your routines and rituals and ... worship at the altar of groominess or whatever.

First let me say that for ME, the nighttime routine is pretty much wasted. I don't bother. EVER. I tried, really I did for a week or maybe less but by the time I get my son bathed and in bed and pick up all the clutter from the day and clean up after dinner, I just want to fall in bed. And I do.

Sorry about that, Simone France.

On the other hand, once I figured out how to use the Morning Sandwich (haha! I love that part! It's a Facial Sandwich! Yum, sandwich. Now I'm hungry) in conjunction with my shower, I am ALL OVER IT.

It's pretty weird - you put on some moisturizing stuff, and on top of that some FABULOUS exfoliating scrub (loooooove), and then on top of THAT you lather up their sweet-smelling bar soap and scrub it all around together.
Seriously my face feels so soft and fresh when I'm done - and never tight or dry.

My forehead used to get so dry in the winter - one day I was rubbing my forehead and I noticed that a ton of skin was just falling down - it was like FOREHEAD DANDRUFF. All I could think was that it was a good thing I wasn't at a crime scene because CSI would've had plenty of epithelials with which to find me.

But The Sandwich has fixed that - and my skin texture is better than before (which is important as I'm old and the ol' facial skin ain't as firm as it once was).

Anyway, if you're Of A Certain Age and you're into taking good care of your skin, you should try some Simone France products.
Otherwise I'm going to end up looking waaay younger than you.

:(

My great-aunt (previously mentioned) passed away last night.
I guess the "good" side is that she wasn't suffering long and now she won't have to go through chemo.

Of course this means a funeral...I really really really really don't like funerals.
I mean, you guys already KNOW what to do when I cross home plate for the last time, but unfortunately not everyone is as cool as me when it comes to being laid to rest.

Of course in my family, some relatives you only get to see at funerals and weddings. I'll be the one who says something inappropriate (but probably funny, at least in my own mind), much to the mortification of my immediate family.

I actually feel worse for my daughter - see, I never spent too much time with my great-aunt when I was growing up, but she & her husband adopted a son late in life who is a couple years younger than me, and we hung out during the summers at my great-grandma's house.
But since she's been widowed, my great-aunt has been living close by with my grandma, and Aunt Alta loooved my girl. And my girl loooved her (great-great) Aunt Alta.
So I'm doubly sad when I see my girl sad.

Aunt Alta, I'm glad that Becca got a chance to know you and spend time with you.
We'll miss you.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Where's the remote?

I need a life-size REWIND button for 2012.
Now you know how I hate to complain too much about my personal life, because
a) Most of the time I feel pretty fortunate and grateful
and
2) because it is WAAAYYYY more fun for me to complain about other people.

But seriously, 2012? YOU ARE A STONE BITCH.

Of course I have to blame a little of it on 2011, right about Christmas time.

See, for MONTHS before Christmas my mother and I had discussed a Kindle Touch. She was going to get me one for Christmas, and I asked her at least 10-15 times if she was positive that's what she was giving me - normally I wouldn't have even known or cared what I was getting but my friend was going to get me a nice case for the Kindle Touch so I wanted to be abso-positive fersure and certain.
She said YES, YES, YES.

What happened was my dad had made a mistake and bought one Touch and one with a keyboard.
Now, if you know me at all (and some of you really really do), you know I do not care about gifts. I'm just as slap-happy with a card, especially a homemade one - and I prefer cards to gifts (although HEY GIFTS ARE NICE TOO, don't get me wrong).
Okay, so we have a Kindle Touch and a Kindle Keyboard.
Christmas day, guess what? My mom had given the Touch TO MY SISTER.
I tried not to care and just be thankful to have a kindle, but my mind was boggled. It just seemed like a big fat slap in the face.

ANYWAY ANYWAY. I shouldn't care about material possessions and let it go.

Next, I had to ... take a break (WE WERE ON A BREAK!) from some good friends and a situation that got way too intense and blew out of control. That's a story that won't be posted on this blog, but suffice it to say it was one of those deals where everyone thinks they're right and no-one thinks they're wrong and everyone's feelings are wounded and no-one was feeling forgiving.
Okay, so maybe I was responsible for a large part of it.
I'm still in recovery.

Then a very sweet man I've known (from my church) since I was about 12 years old passed away. He greeted me at the door with a giant bearhug and a smile and "I've missed seeing you!" every time I stepped through the door. He was lovely and I miss him.

I've been saving my pennies (and quarters, dimes and dollars) since last year so I could go to BlogHer in New York City this year (which would have also been my very first trip to the Big Apple!)...and then a couple of weeks ago my boss announces that she's planning to close her business at the end of this year. And me being ME, I can't possibly justify spending the money I've saved, gallivanting around NYC, because what if I have trouble finding another job? How will I feed and house and care for my family if it takes awhile to generate some income? So unless some miracle happens and/or I win the lottery, NYC will just have to wait to experience me. Probably NYC is grateful for the reprieve.
All I can say is thank God I hadn't bought my airline ticket yet.

Now my great-aunt is in the hospital with cancer of the lungs and the liver. I don't expect that she'll be with us much longer. That makes me sad.

Seriously I think I've cried more in the last 3 months than I have in total for the last 3 years.
I know these are all just bumps (or craters) in the road, typical ups & downs.
I already feel bad and somewhat ungrateful for complaining about them. I could probably have handled one or two situations pretty well, but all of this in three months...well, I'm not feeling like I should change my name to Job yet but I feel like I'm his first cousin.

Probably the worst (and best) part is that my kids turned 17. I can honestly say without feeling like a sap that every single day is a blessing and a miracle, because most of you know that my micro-preemies weren't expected to survive even infancy.
So I've been gifted a wonderful, scary, heartbreaking, terrifying, miraculous 17 whole years (and counting!)
The thing is, the mortality rate for kids with high degrees of mental retardation and cerebral palsy - like my son - is HIGH. He most probably won't make it into adulthood.
So I wake most mornings feeling like Damocles with a sword poised above my head.
I hesitate every morning before I walk into his room, and try to hear him breathing before I go in.
I'm afraid, right down to my bones.

I am not looking for sympathy or pep talks or pity, and I'm not nearly arrogant enough to think that I'm the only one who's had a lot of...not great things happen in a very short time.
I just needed to talk it out and get a handle on things.

So, how's everything going for you? Tell me something good.

What I'd like to say on Facebook.

1. Why, in the name of ALL that is holy, would you think that anyone gives two shits how many emails you
   a) have received
   b) deleted
   c) still have in your inbox
??????????

2. That food plate you posted makes me want to ask "DO we, or HAVE we?" (figure it out)
    Or to be more blunt - it looks disgusting and sort of haggis-y.
    Also? Please do NOT invite me over for dinner. Ever.

3. You're not as funny as you think you are. Seriously. Really. REALLY REALLY.
    Unless of course I'm mixing up "funny" and "annoyingly ridiculous". Because in that case, you ARE.

4. Don't be whining about how "hard" you have it or how "broke" you are when you are always gallivanting
    around going to cocktail parties and concerts and fancy vacations and spas and trips hither and yon.
 

5. No one cares what you're vague-booking about. They really don't. Especially me.

Seriously, stop douching up facebook. That's what twitter is for.

Liquor Store Run!

I'm going to have to brave the hail & run to the liquor store...
BECAUSE IT IS TIME TO BUST OUT THE GARY ENGLAND DRINKING GAME for the first time this season!

**In other news, President Obama will be flying in to Tinker AFB (right by my house) tonight...coincidence or warning?

I LOVE this season. 
I also have a healthy fear of the wrath of Mother Nature, but still.

I LOVE looking into the black clouds of the distance that are made luminous by the sunshine that I'm standing in, sunshine that is a rich antique gold color.
I LOVE the contrast between the darkness in my rearview mirror and the sunny skies ahead when I'm driving away from a storm.
I can sit for HOURS mesmerized by the changing screens of the Doppler radar, hypnotized by the weatherman's voice, listening and watching and watching and listening.

There's something about the weathermen that make me feel safe and soothed...because they know JUST what is going to happen, JUST when and JUST where.
I love them with a deep and abiding passion.

I suddenly have a strong need to go hug a weather dude.

So, I stole this from Sleeping Mommy (several years ago), and if you have ever lived in Oklahoma this game will make perfect sense to you.
Hell, if you've ever visited Oklahoma it will make perfect sense to you.

Have fun!
GARY ENGLAND DRINKING GAME
(I left SleepingMommy's comments in parentheses because they made me giggle)(and I strongly suggest that you stock the liquor cabinet or invest in a keg before starting the game)

*Pregame

*1. Everyone selects a storm chaser other than Val Castor. 
(Monty sez: I choose Hank when I just want a little buzz. He doesn't get as much action)
(Val lives in Stillwater and Gary talks to him CONSTANTLY.) 
Every time Gary talks to your storm chaser, you take one drink.
Take two drinks every time we see footage from your storm chaser. 
Take four drinks if your storm chaser says “tornado on the ground.”

2. Everyone selects a county other than Pottawatomie County.
(Because we are always hearing about Pottawatomie County.)
Every time Gary mentions your county, you take one drink. 
Take two drinks every time we see footage from your county. 
Take four drinks if a tornado touches down in your county.

*One drink

*1. Take one drink every time Gary says the following:
“Hook echo” | “Updraft” | “Metro” | “Doppler radar” | “Wall cloud” |”Ranger 9″ | “Underground” | “Mobile home”
2. When Gary gives a list of counties, take one drink for every county in the list. 
(Oklahoma has 77 counties but somehow they all get mentioned at some point.)
3. Take one drink every time Gary interrupts a program. 
Take one drink if Gary says “You’re not missing any of [program name].”(This is a major concern damnit!)
Take one drink when Gary says “We’ll keep you advised.” (Like we had any doubt that you wouldn’t.)

*Two drinks

*1. Take two drinks every time Gary says the following:
“Baseball-sized hail” | “Waterloo Road” | “Pottawatomie County” | “Deer Creek High School” (How many times has that high school been hit anyway?!?)
2. Take two drinks every time Gary mentions the following towns:
Altus | Burns Flat | Dill City | Gotebo | Hydro | Lookeba | Meeker | Mulhall | Oktaha | Olustee | Shattuck | Slaughterville | Tryon | Vici |Waukomis | Wayne (or Payne) | Weleetka | Wetumkah (The only one that is even slightly big is Altus.)
3. Take two drinks every time Gary talks to Val Castor. (Now we are gonna get really drunk!)

*Three drinks

*1. Take three drinks if we see footage from Val Castor.
2. Take three drinks if we see footage from Pottawatomie County.
3. Take three drinks if Gary mentions the following:
“Immediate tornado precautions” | “National Weather Service” | “Mesocyclone” | “Portable Radio” | “Take shelter” | “Tornado warning in effect until …”

*Four drinks

*1. Take four drinks if Ranger 9 must land to refuel. (Notice it doesn’t say when it lands to take cover, we don’t land our aircraft in a tornado around here, we fly AROUND them.)
2. Take four drinks if Gary issues his own tornado warning, not recognized by the NWS (He’s a renegade that way) or says the following:
“Will someone please answer that phone?” (He takes this stuff seriously damn it, answer the phone.) or “Do you see the power flashes?”
3. Take four drinks if a shirt-less tornado victim is interviewed.(Redneck land, yo. There is a reason I get dressed and put on shoes when a storm is in the vicinity.)

*Finish your drink

*1. Finish your drink if someone uses the word tornado as a verb or if Gary mentions the cross streets nearest to you.
2. If Gary says “We’ve lost Val,” pour a little out for your homies and finish your drink. (Poor Val…)

If THAT won't get you drunk, it can't be done.

That is all.
Have a day.

I've got you under my skin...

Okay, so I will be 44 next month. Still young, right? But the crow's feet "laugh lines" (really? mine are more like scowl lines) are only getting deeper and I can't even talk about the state of the skin right under my eyes - it looks like cross-hatching or like I smushed my face into a mesh screen or something.
So as you can imagine I was joyful when I got the opportunity to review some facial products (now if ONLY the bare escentuals people would give me some free stuff to try...).
I got a big package today from Simone France - have you heard of them? I hadn't until now but do yourself a favor (especially if you're in my age group) and check out the website.
I filled out a pretty detailed questionnaire and they tailored a skin-care regimen for me. I was a leeetle concerned at the first moment, because PLEASE you people know how lazy I am that I haven't any spare time for grooming or showering. Luckily for me the fine people at Simone France have some very nice people who are willing to answer questions and guide you through the proper use of the products.
I have been reassured that once I get the routine down, it shouldn't take more than a couple of minutes. I'm okay with a couple of minutes twice a day, especially if it helps me look young and beautiful like they promised.
Okay, they didn't really promise that but SHUTIT I CAN DREAM.
I haven't used bar soap on my face in about a million years, but one of the steps includes a bar soap and MAN it smells gooood! I read the ingredients and it's got like sunflower, palm, coconut, grapefruit seed & rosemary extract.
I also have an exfoliating scrub, toner, moisturizers, and disposable cloths.
AND it's even supposed to remove eye makeup, which is great because usually eye-makeup removers leave me feeling greasy and gross.
So I'll let you know how it goes, otherwise you might not recognize me next time I see you.

HOT DAMN

Looks like I may be going to NYC for BlogHer this year! WOOOOOOOOO!

FAME!

A local car dealership filmed a commercial at my son's school - his Special Olympics team is at :20...my boy is the one on the far right in the yellow wheelchair and the Greg Brady 'fro.