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Monthly Archives: September 2010

Real Mother?

30 Sep

I have wanted to post something like this for some time now.

Everyone knows that I adopted my beautiful girls.  The thing IS …

I forget.

I forget that they didn’t come from my body.

I mean I have stretch marks – doesn’t that count?

I forget that I didn’t carry them in my womb for 9 months.

But I remember and I know that I have always carried them in my heart.  There was an immediate recognition upon seeing their pictures…

that they were mine…

And always have been.

So one of the things I have wanted to do to “give back”…

(because I do have SOOO much in my life for which to be thankful)…

is to educate people about adoption…

things to say and mostly what not to.

I really don’t think people are trying to be mean – or at least that is the place from which I choose to view this.

I think they are ignorant or uneducated about the process and the impact of their statements/questions.

So rather than smack them, I would like to share some guidance.

They are MY kids, plain and simple.  Their origin is of no matter and it’s really none of your business.

Now that said…

If you are interested in adoption and want help  – all day long you can count on me.

It’s just the reason behind your inquiries and the content of  them which I question.  And the following are not accepted in any way:

  1. What happened to her/him?  I will not justify this and you are close to ending up with coffee in you lap.
  2. What’s wrong with her/him?  Not a damn thing and see repercussions from #1.
  3. Don’t whisper about this in front of my kids…like there is something wrong or it’s bad.  My kids are not deaf.
  4. And please don’t ask me why their Real Mom didn’t “want” them.  Because seriously this one makes me the most angry.  How ballsy?  What the hell?  This one really makes me want to SLAP someone  – HARD.
    1. It’s their life and it’s the way it is. There is nothing wrong. This is the way (I believe) God intended it.  So their birth mother loved them.  She loved them so much she gave them a chance for a good and healthy life.  That is love; there is nothing wrong here.
    2. Don’t make derogatory comments about the birth mother.  I don’t know her whole story; only she does.   But… around here we celebrate her.  We don’t hate her.  And when my two are older they will not be allowed to bad mouth their birth mother either.  And today if I saw her, through my tears, I would invite her in for dinner and try to find the words to thank her.
  5. And REAL MOTHER?  Are you kidding me?
    1. See you are confused because I am her REAL mother.  I AM her mother.
      1. I changed her diapers, I rush her to the hospital when she falls, I cook food for her daily.
      2. I cry for her – for the things I don’t want her to see in this world.
      3. I read to her, I sing to her, I tell her stories of princesses and true love.
      4. I love her all day every day no matter what.
      5. I worry about her, I make sure she is respectful and kind.
      6. I AM her Real Mother – See why you should not ask this question…the answer takes 35 minutes to share.
  6. What happened to her real mother?  I am right here and am quite fine Thank you.
  7. Are they REAL sisters/brother/siblings?  Yes, they are real;  I find the ones made of clay a little boring you know.
  8. Does he/she know how much you went through?  It was a labor of love just like natural births.
  9. Does he/she know how much he/she cost?   That is SO none of your damn business and really quite rude.  Would you ask how much someone’s fertility treatments were?  IVF?
  10. Man they look so much like you I would never have guessed you are not their REAL mother.  I AM their REAL mother and I consider that a compliment (jerkface!)
  11. You are a hero.  You saved them for a horrible life.
    1. Okay this one may be my 2nd most irritating.  I do believe that the intent behind this one is “goodness” and that it is meant as a compliment.  But again these children are not deaf.  And I am not a hero.  They are the heroes. They saved ME! I desperately wanted a family and I have them now.    And really you can look at this as selfish.  I WANTED children and I made it happen.  Please…I am no hero.  I AM their mother.
  12. I don’t have a trans-racial adoptive family; but, my friends do.  And ya’ll should just get over it.  Moms are Moms and Dads are Dads – this is their family; they are happy.   If you don’t like it or question it, can you just hold on to it – they don’t need to hear that.

Things I will answer nicely if asked with sincerity:

  1. What was the process like?
  2. How hard was it to do this?
  3. Do you have any advice for adoptive parents?
  4. Tell me how motherhood has changed your life?
  5. Will you help me?

And just so you know, I did consult a literary source:

What IS a mother?

From Merriam Webster:

Mother a female parent

This led me to What is a Parent:

Also from Merriam Webster:

Parent: a person who brings up and cares for another

Okay so I am their Mother…

their REAL mother.

I AM.

 
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Posted by on September 30, 2010 in Adoption, Birth Mother, Parenting

 

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Don’t Try This At Home

29 Sep

I’ve gotten a couple of notes from folks asking what happened with the dentist. 

Well this is just a tidbit but…

I would not recommend trying this at home.

 

It is Thanksgiving.   I have seen the Dentist a few times… Honey I call him.

 Honey invites me for THANKSGIVING…

At his MOM’s.

OMG. 

 

HUGE deal.  Of course we will get married…

as soon as you start talking turkey and dressing meals…

well it’s a done deal.

 

So I HAVE to have a new dress.  He says its casual but we know men have no clue on this topic.  I know his mom will not be thinking casual…

She will be thinking…

What next?

Let’s see what this little bimbo brings to the table.

I will be guilty until proven innocent.

 

So there is pressure…

And limited shopping time…

Its Tuesday….

Thanksgiving is 2, count em, 2 days away

 

It has to be a dress and It HAS to be perfect.

I find it…

Floral…

Empire waist…

Lace yolk         

Not too short…

Tasteful…

 

Okay it sounds dreadful I know – but seriously it was very attractive

In the South…

20 plus years ago

 Some guy is going what the hell is a yolk.

So I was nervous, like I have hives kind of nervous.

I iron the dress until I can see not one wrinkle…

took almost an entire Oprah show to finish.

Beautiful dress now on…

Time to do my hair and makeup…

As close to perfection as I am ever going to get.

 

Then…

I notice…

The dress is still wrinkly.

I need to iron it…

again.   

There is no way I am pulling this dress over my hair…

Forget it…

(This hair  took me an hour and I resemble Naomi Judd now)

 

So I ironed it on my body, you know, while I was still wearing it.

  Just a little tiny bit…

I try to sort of lay my torso on the ironing board to get this one remaining wrinkle…

On the yolk…

The yolk is always the issue…

My 5’4” frame will not support a full body straddle of the ironing board. 

I tried…

On my tippy toes…

Lay my body out on the ironing board…

Just not working. 

Plan B – I must hurry.

Okay   Okay…

 So I will just iron it on me – that will work. 

Tap Tap Tap, press Iron to the dress…

The dress that is on my body.

Looking good…

Little bit more..

Tap Tap  ZAP!

I slipped………..

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

ACKKKKKKKKKKKKK

ACKKKKKKKKKKKK

My flesh is burning.

Off the mark…

just a hair…

and I now have a long scar in the middle of my chest. 

 

It looks like a 2 inch Hickey, like a Hoover vacuüm attacked me.

Right there in the middle of my chest.

How can I hide it?

How can I explain it?

Cover stick.  Yes.  Yes.  I will load it on…

more is always better here.

 

Now…

it looks like I have tried to cover a Hoover Hickey  – oh my God

I keep putting more on…

Getting a little better…

OUCH!

I have rubbed so much I have basically opened the wound so now it is sort of leaking.

Seriously…

A smart girl would have seen the sign in this. 

 

Now trying this green zit cream which is supposed to offset the red color of the open wound.  Mother of God…

How could I have done such a stupid thing?

I have to leave.  I will be late and that will make a very bad impression.  I am just going to pray that the ½ inch layer of combination creams will “hold” and not be too obvious.

Here I go.  Panting during the drive. 

Okay Kelly you got this…

Honey opens the door. 

And he clearly went to a lot of trouble to impress me…

What with snapping his jeans and all…

I mean come on dude…

A pair of khakis…

Would it have killed you?

 

I am sweating from all of the prep work …

The sweat has run down my neck to my chest…

Which is making my cosmetic concoction run on to the cream yolk.

It looks like my boobs are leaking…

 like I am lactating.

In the bathroom I go…

I am trying to dab it off but with no results. 

I go through their cabinets for something anything to cover it.  I didn’t bring my Shout Stick…

Take a few minutes to beat myself up for that too.

I rub…

Rub…

Rub…

Until I see the fabric starting to wear away a little. 

 

I have no choice…

I have to return to the dinner…

Honey asks

“happened to you?”

 “You know… it’s a long story… but I sort of had a little accident this mornig”

And he says:

“Well why did you so dressed up?”

 “I wanted to look pretty”

(asshole)

 
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Posted by on September 29, 2010 in Ironing, Naomi Judd, Thanksgiving

 

The Happy Meal

28 Sep

Mondays are usually very early and very busy for me.

So.. on occasion…

(like every Monday)

we stop at “McDonald’s”

And on those “Old MacDonald” days (what my oldest calls it), I am really baffled by what is inside those golden arches.

We HAVE to get happy meals…

because they are in colorful boxes which appeal to the under-developed eyes of toddler girls…

(those same eyes will later gravitate to varying shades of black to de-emphasize body parts of dissatisfaction).

But for now…

their eyes roll back in their heads anticipation.

The ride home is 20 minutes.  The bag nearly breaks as we get out of the car…

the oil slick that lines my passenger seat reveals the culprit.

I try not to think about it because I know that my kids eat well at school…

and the fact that I ate half the fries on the ride home…

(and nearly had an accident bending my head so they could not see)…

I feel that I am only abusing their intestinal lining half as much as I could have.

McDonald’s offers apples as a side which is a good thing right?

And you know why the apples are so good?

It’s the caramel sauce…

My Landon LOVES it…

I force her to eat other things before she can devour the caramel.

The fries…

The 6 that I did not eat…

Are now saturated in ketchup…

I should say the ketchup that escaped Tennyson’s grasp…

because 1/3 of the bottle now lines her face, my Ann Taylor sweater, and our pottery barn chair.

And the one thing the kids want most of all is enclosed in a scary little plastic bag…

which on more than one occasion…

my kids have tried to open with their teeth.

Yea…

that’s not dangerous at all.

And the toy will invariably make a noise or smell like something…

rotten blueberries or cheap chocolate.

Then there is the paint which chips off with little effort from a well-developed fingernail.

And its crap…

just crap…

Crap that you step on…

Crap that you don’t need…

Crap that the kids will cry over if it mysteriously goes missing.

All the while I examine this latest one trying to open its poisonous wrap…

and figure out what it “does’…

cuz you know it has to do something…

I mean it can’t just “BE” a toy.

Landon snuck the caramel from my peripheral vision and is licking it out with her tongue…

Straight out of the container…

TACKY!

The Apples…

Oh they are here…

All 15 of them…

On the table…

Not a healthy one in her mouth…

 
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Posted by on September 28, 2010 in Uncategorized

 

Yanni

25 Sep

Today kinda sucked…

I won’t lie.

This is why. 

4:30 a.m. Tennyson screaming her head off. 

4:30 a.m. is a ridiculous time to be up unless you are a cowpoke or the morning anchor.

I am exhausted…

Did not sleep well…

Her screaming has awakened the other cherub

(I am saying cherub but really thinking terrorist)

 Landon -  “I wan get up”

 “MOMMEEEE I need see a movie”

 Tenny screaming random sequences

 “arrr…uuuuhhh…..rahhhh…mama….laadooooon(her sister)”

 

I am dying…

I ignore it for about 26 minues…

4:56 a.m. I can take no more…

I succumb to the dueling screams.

“Mommy… wants eggs”

  I have three dozen eggs in the fridge in the garage…not even a yolk in the house.

 

It is 5:03 a.m.  I LOVE my life…right? 

To get the eggs I must first pass the sprinkler system…

Which of course is on zone 3… the backyard zone….

I am brave and figure that the “spritz” will help wake me up…

It’s like a minefield…

 

I…

Cannot..

Dodge…

The…

Spraying…

Bullets…

 

Safe within the garage, I grab the damn eggs and plan my return…

 

Again I am hit from every angle…

 

Knees, feet, thighs…

 

Soaked! 

 

I look like I have been fly fishing and caught only…

eggs.

 

Wading in the door, Landon says “Mommy what happened a you?”

 Life Honey.

 

Okay so eggs are made… its 5:49 a.m.

Dora is on AGAIN…

 I swear that chick must have one helluva contract…

she is on about 18 times a day.

What do I do for the next 3 ½ hours… when everyone else is up.

 I am walking around in a Laura Ingalls inspired nightgown with hiking socks…

because they are clean…

and I could find them.

 

It is a 9:15.  I suggest a team nap…in my bed… with the 3 of us…

Yes I know it was stupid…

NOW

 

We lie down…

with the Denver morning sun ripping through my curtains to burn a hole in my cornea. 

Not exactly creating a good “napping” environment.  

I just felt this would be a way to encourage the girls to sleep and be sort of family time too…

In the midst of the solar eclipse occurring right here in my bedroom.

 

We are all just about asleep…

I hear it…

The door…

Damn the cat…

Clooney is coming in for some mischief.

And the door …

Manufactured in 1928…

Alerts us with every centimeter of movement.

 

Up again…

Seriously…. I HAVE GOT TO GET AT LEAST 20 MINUTES HERE.

Not to mention that Clooney has now landed dead center of the bed which causes an all out petting frenzy with two toddlers.

ACCKKKKK!

At my wit’s end…

Through a calming voice, 38 rounds of Twinkle Twinkle and prayers, we are ALL asleep.

It is a MIRACLE (like PAM and Downy Wrinkle Releaser)

I last maybe 30 minutes.  Thinking about all the tasks at hand has me stressed so I get up….

I am in a state of euphoria as the girls are asleep. 

 I decide that I will listen to some nice music as I get myself together in the quiet. 

Think Yanni’esque music…

only not Yanni…

because that is really not cool.

And if it was Yanni, I would CERTAINLY not admit it. 

I mean really only Linda Evans actually listens to him now, right?

 

The fatal mistake…

            Turning on the stereo…

Normally it would be fine, but…

One of the little sprites has apparently been messing with the stereo…

Because get this!

When I turn it on the house vibrates…

The car across the street vibrates…

It is SOOOO loud… I think the police will arrive for disturbance of the peace. 

Covering my ears and sprinting to the stereo like a greyhound in his prime,

I see that SOMEONE had turned the stereo dial to 30,

its maximum possible volume. 

 

Off entirely with one press of a button. 

Ahh…

 

Quiet…

 

or is it…

 

The stereo silence has revealed…

 

The cries of two toddlers….

 

Really…

 

I think Yanni at a volume of 30 was a more pleasant sound.

 
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Posted by on September 25, 2010 in Twinkle Twinkle, Yanni

 

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Sweet Child O’Mine

22 Sep

I am not sure if  this is worthy of a blog entry but… it sure has given me a few chuckles of late.

So we know that I am just really not all that sure what to do with a 3 and ½ year old…

who may or may not see her 4th birthday.

Humorous Scenario #1

A quick stop at the Safeway for milk, scooting through the check out.

“MOMMY!”

“What. Good Lord honey we are both in the same state; I can hear you.”

“MOMMY I WANT SOME ENIMAS…”

“LOTS OF THEM…”

What the hell?

The older gentlemen behind me was not quite sure what to say, so sort of side-stepped to the next lane. I am sure he would say that it was because that line was shorter…but I am not certain.

“MOMMY I WANT ENIMAS”

“Someone will hear you….shhhh”

I look down to try to silence her with my palm…

In her hand are some peanut M&M’s…

Or in toddler speak…

ENIMAS.

Humorous Scenario #2

Sunday our teenage sitter had both girls…

Just for a little while, so I could go through the hellish legging experience with Brittany…

I arrive and this poor child appears to be a bit shaken.

“what’s wrong?”

“Landon got a time out”

“Oh…why?”

“She locked me out of the house”

Okay that is not funny…

It really is not…

But it kinda is, right?

Apparently both girls were with the sitter outside…

Upon re-entering the premises, Landon came in first…

Looked at the sitter…

Laughed…

Shut the door.

Laughing some more.

And did a “sucker” dance to truly rub it in.

I look at this sweet child o’ mine.

The clever sprite says….

“Mommy it was acc’dent”

“really? How so?  Did the door spontaneously shut because of the hurricane force winds we are NOT having?”

Hmm….

Thinking….

“uh no Mommy…

Tennyson did it”

Way to through your baby sister under the bus…

Humorous Scenario #3

And then last night in an effort to stall and watch Hasselhoff get booted off DWTS…

Thank you God!  That was so very painful to watch….

but his mouth and all that leather….

It was like a bad advertisement for Brut for Men (as if they ever had good ads)

Landon was up and down about 10 times.

I can take no more…

I storm in behind her…

Losing complete control…

And deliver my Mommy Mantra…

“Landon …

You get your butt in this bed …

And stay in here”

She says with total sincerity…

“But Mommy…

See….

(pointing to her butt)…

it IS in here…

You see why I am crazy.  Every time I think I have it under control, this slippery little eel, comes up with something totally unexpected.

FINALLY, heading out the door to school this morning, she says:

“Mommy, can I look at your butt?”

“Wh?”

“Wha?”

What?”

“No, no you cannot look at my butt”

“Why would you ask me that?”

I am not sure why but this is just hysterical to her.

“butt…butt….butt…”

“Mommy butt butt butt”

Laughing, giggling, snorting

“my butt my butt butt butt butt”

she says, laughing, bending over…

“Landon stop saying that…its not nice…”

“Don’t say butt, say bottom or bum…

that’s gross honey”

(which of course makes her want to say it more)

I thought 8-year-old boys talked about butts and like pulled their finger to fart.

Where is the “butt” thing coming from…

and out of my Princess’s mouth?

Never mind…out the door we go.

“Mommy?”

“Yes Landon?”

“Can I see Tennyson’s butt?”

?????

 
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Posted by on September 22, 2010 in DWTS

 

Dental Hygiene

21 Sep

I am going to the dentist tomorrow so…

I was reflecting on my dental experiences over the years as I was flossing (for extra credit) last night.

I was reminded (with numerous chuckles) of a trip to the dentist in my mid 20’s.

It is my normal routine…

I am up and at the gym by 6:00.  Looking yummy too (not!)

I have finished my workout and am headed to the dentist.  I did not shower, as who cares what the dentist thinks.

I’m just getting my teeth cleaned anyway…

it will just be some young blonde chick.

I have on my sweat suit.  And back then (you know like 20 years ago — gag, hate to even say that)

these were not the LuLu Lemon (LOVE them) or Nike sleek workout suits.

No friends, this is a genuine Hanes thick terry sweat suit.

Canary yellow.

Elastic legs.

In a word… SEXY

Off we go.  I am starving post workout.

This was also prior to the time of health and nutrition for me.

I whip out my Little Debbie Nutty Buddy and am in heaven. Seriously…

You can laugh all you want, but…

If you have not had one, do yourself a favor right now and go get a nutty butty.

You can thank me later…

I like Yellow Roses.

I go in and wait for the dental assistant.

I am not at all worried about the lil’ Debbie debris in my mouth…

Because this is why we pay young blonde cuties to clean our teeth.

“Hi”

Not looking up.    Hang on… that was a boy’s voice.

“I’m Dr. Washburn…  I’ll be cleaning your teeth today.  My assistant is sick.”

Uh Oh.

Please be an unattractive OLD man.

DAMN… he is cute.

  • He is cute.
  • He is handsome.
  • He is a DOCTOR.
  • Oh, yea, and he is single.

Good move Kel.

And I…

I…

Am sweaty…

Have little Debbie Crumbs all over my teeth.

Smell like a Reese’s peanut butter cup.

And I look…

Like Big Bird’s baby.

“Um…can you excuse me…I need to use the …facilities.”

Facilities?

I must be nervous.   I usually just say  “I have to pee”

In the potty I am.

CRAP   CRAP   CRAP

I am scrambling to correct my appearance in some way.

There is only so much you can do with a canary yellow terry cloth sweat suit.

You can’t belt it or throw on a scarf…

I don’t have a coat to cover it…

and its 89 degrees anyway.

This SUCKS.

Thankfully, I have on mascara and lipstick.

I am Southern…

So it is the 11th commandment.

Thou shalt wear mascara and lipstick at all times…

even when sleeping.

I find a moist wipe from a recent airplane trip – thank God.
I wipe my face and underarms (perhaps too much information here)

My teeth as best I can (not in that order).

Pinch cheeks for natural and painful glow.

Hair spray – poof.

This is the best I can do.

Plus I figure they are wondering what I am doing as I have flushed the toilet three times to disguise all my personal commotion.

I strut out in my yellow bird suit…which let me tell you is hard to do

in a yellow HANES sweat suit.

Trying to look cool…

but more looking like a giant crayon.

Dr. Washburn

(can I call you honey)

He proceeds to clean my teeth.

He is wearing his protective eyewear… Good thing as Lil’ Debbie crumbs are flying about.

Honey has to wipe my mouth about 8 times.  He thinks it is because of his tools and dental rinse.

He is unaware that I am slobbering over him and secretly naming our children.

And you are not going to believe this….

It worked….

He ended up asking me out ….

I mean not that very day…

but like a few weeks later…

when I had brushed my teeth…

and showered…

and ditched my yellow costume.

Ahem…good times.

 
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Posted by on September 21, 2010 in Dentist, Little Debbie's

 

The Rear View Mirror

19 Sep

My friend told me that I “have to get some leggings”

Why?

Because they are SOOOO in.

I don’t know….

Just not sure…

But…

After some prodding I was convinced to try.

It is a quiet Sunday in Macys.

Long tops are everywhere.

Matching leggings on the adjacent racks.

I try a random sampling.

Now… my friend had told me that since I work out they would look GREAT.

I am feeling pretty good.

I have worked out for over 20 years now on a regular basis.

So I am really thinking how bad can this be.

Okay so these leggings are super duper tight…

If I can get them over my meaty calves we should be okay…

I will look like a sexy mama…

Which you all know is really my only goal in life.

Okay first pair up and over…

Have to get tissue to dab the sweat off my forehead.

Its beading up and falling in to my eyes…

Making it really hard to see how fabulous I look.

They are brown, as is everything else in my wardrobe.

Brown is the new black…

Did you know?

Okay this is not that bad… I could probably do these…

With the right shoes I will be breathtaking…

Let’s just check out the rest of them…

ACKKKKK

ACKKKKK

ACKKKKKKK

OMG

OMG OMG OMG

OMG OMG OMG OMG

Almost done..

OMG

What is THAT?

OMG OMG OMG

My eyes!!!        I can’t look!!!               But I can’t not look…

Seriously it cannot be…

That…. is my ass…

My ass…

in a 3 way mirror

In tight leggings.

Who in their right mind invented these?

Lets think about …

The people wearing these are probably 30-60.

And most people over 30…

Well… is this the best look for you…

Even IF you are in good shape…

OMG

And then slap on a pair of stilettos…

Lets just get you a corner and a pimp and you are set.

KNOCK  KNOCK

Hi, I’m Brittany” (of course you are)

“Can I help you?”

Yes, can you scrape my dignity off that damn mirror?

Dear God

“Um so like Brittany…

I am not sure I can do this”

“Well let me see”

“oh no…

You can totally wear these”

“oh I don’t know…

You know I am not 25 any more

I am X”  (it’s really none of your business if you don’t already know that number)

“Really?  Wow you certainly don’t look it…

My mom is almost your age”

I HATE her

“you look way better than her…

She could never wear those”

Her mother hates her too.

“No I am serious you should get those…

They look great.”

Love her again.

She exits so I can agonize over my decision.

Walking out with my purchase…

I have decided to do it…

To bite the bullet and buy these ridiculous pants…

Brittany is handing me my bag…

Post sale and…

Smirking…

She is smirking…

OMG

She…

She…

She works on commission.

She LIED to me.

I do not look adorable…

I look like a 40 something year old woman in leggings…

which should only be worn by hookers and pop singers.

But…

I got 20% off…

 
5 Comments

Posted by on September 19, 2010 in Fashion, Shopping

 

My Food Network

18 Sep

The food channel has become a great escape for me…

The lure of a time for creative cooking….

Something other than “kid” food…

Fish sticks and mac & cheese…

Something I dream about around 2025 …

post college.

In the meantime, I find my friends and food variety on the food network.

Lets start Paula Deen.

She is just a pretty Southern lady

A little round perhaps…

But pretty.

And her skin just glows…

I am convinced that she just rolls around in all that butter and the wrinkles have nothing to hold on to.

And she calls it “but-ta” ya’ll

The ingredients, for any and all of her recipes contain at least one, sometimes all, of the ingredients below:

    • But-ta
    • Sour-a cream (southern pronunciation)
    • Heavy cream (the woman has never even heard of 2%)
    • Cream cheese
    • Short-nin’
    • Mayonnaise

    And vegetables…

    Well for Ms. Paula, that is the mint sprig adorning your breaded and stuffed pork chop.

    You have to love her!

    And Giada…

    I am sorry…

    I just don’t trust anyone who is that pretty and uses that much oil.

    Something fishy going on there.

    Tyler Florence

    The man is just a hottie.

    I don’t care what he is a’fixin’

    I’ll have some.

    Guy Fieri (or crazy hair, my pet name for him)

    He makes some pretty cool stuff but…

    I would not eat any of it for fear that whatever he is using to treat his hair may seep in to his latest creation.

    Rachel Ray.

    Love her!

    Do you get the feeling that she could get along quite well on a deserted island by herself?

    She has been talking to people for so long who aren’t actually there, she wouldn’t even notice.

    I mean it’s like you “thinks” you are right there…

    I can totally see it.

    “Hello Mr. Squirrel, I’m working on some Yum-O Shrimp Fra Diablo.

    “Oh and Mr. Snake, you can… um…eat Mr. Squirrel while I prepare a desert”

    Honestly she is just so darn cute though – you can totally imagine her as your neighbor popping in for some nachos.

    And then there is her “carry” …that is a restaurant term.

    Seriously, she is the master at totin’ (I totally have the Southern vibe going from Paula today)  crap from the refrigerator to the “prep” area.

    It’s like a juggling act with her Dijon, pearl onions, mozzarella, fresh basil, arugula,lemons, and marinating artichokes…

    Every time.

    And how about her invention that she is marketing?

    That bowl?

    The bowl that she puts all her scraps and trash in?

    The one that is like 15.99 on the QVC?

    I think she has a patent on it.

    A bowl…

    I mean it is only a bowl…

    Around my house, we put all the stuff in a TRASH CAN.

    And there is Sandra Lee.

    She is my personal favorite because she is so funny.

    Possible excerpt from her Semi Homemade show:

    “Hi all…  Today I am going to put these strawberries on top of this store-bought pound cake…

    And there you have it… Semi-Homemade”

    No kidding blondie!

    I am serious.. she is kinda like that.

    And have you ever seen the woman make a cocktail – whoa!

    Every show she makes a cocktail or two.

    And she must be getting a kick back from Jack Daniels or something because…

    she  ain’t making any spritzers my friends.

    Just so you know I am not exaggerating, here is a sample of her concoctions, the Butter-Rum Coffee.

    Ingredients

      • 1 shot butterscotch schnapps
      • 1 shot vanilla rum
      • 1/2 shot Irish Cream
      • Coffee
      • Whipped topping

    Directions

    To a coffee mug add butterscotch schnapps, rum, Irish cream and coffee. Top with whipped topping. Serve.

    Lie flat on your ass because if you are drinking this, you will end up there anyway.

    2 and ½ shots of alcohol…

    In coffee?

    Are you kidding me?

    That is a martini peeps.

    Have you ever had one of these?

    Never mind…

    you wouldn’t remember if you did anyway.

     
    Leave a comment

    Posted by on September 18, 2010 in Uncategorized

     

    Target Practice

    16 Sep

    The medal of honor for valor and stupidity goes to …

    Drumroll…

    Kelly Ozley

    Merit?

    Enduring a 65 minute grocery shopping session with two toddlers (under four).

    Not just any grocery store…

    Target…

    The Super Target

    The Super Target meaning the pinnacle of stimulation and hyperactivity.

    The haven of all sorts of useless (and some useful) crap you don’t need.

     

    I was comforted to know that this Super Target has booze and wondered more than once just how tacky it would be to crack open a chardonnay.

    So Landon is allowed to get ONE toy (under like 5.00)…

    which requires a trip to the TOY section (or as I like to call it pure hell) 

    We are headed to the back of the store and I feel it…

    Heart palpitations….

    Here it comes….

    Breathe!

    All the pool and water toys are on sale.

    Landon is glassy-eyed.

    “Mommy I want”

    “Mommy I need”

    “Mommy I die if I no have X”

     

    She asks first for a ball.  I explain we already have 7 of varying sizes and colors.

    Then she wants a noodle, a noodle for the pool…

    The pool….

    Which we do not have.

     

    Next a hot pink toddler life jacket.

     “Mommy I need dis”

    “why honey?”

    “because it bootiful and it pink”

    “honey you do not need that”

    “Mommy I do…

    I so does need it”

    “You do not Landon”

    “Mommy why?”

    “Because…we…do not have a boat”

     

      Onward…

    Feeling a roll of nausea coming on…

    We are entering the toy section – full on…

     Barbie aisle…

    Geez… did our nation’s pepto bismol supply explode here?

    And we are on again:

    “Mommy?”

    “can I have dis doll?”

    “dis dress?”

    “dis hat?”

     

    Distracting the menacing toddlers with a lollipop…

     Now the baby aisle. 

    God some of these are disgustingly real. 

    “MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY”

    “I want all of dees”

     This baby wee’s on you

    This baby drinks from a bottle

    This baby cries

    This baby does all of that and her head spins around – it’s the Linda Blair doll.

     Almost at the end – only 2 more toy aisles left

    There is some gorilla toy on the endcap – making all kinds of noises and screaming, in a makeshift cage.

    That of course scares the crap out of Tenny who is white knuckle clawing me…

    Landon starts to cry too

    Barreling out of there, we hit the adjacent endcap, chock full of legos, with the cart.

    DAMNIT

    I hit it square on in my effort to escape the jungle monkey…

    Bottom two shelves are now basically on the floor in a lego heap.

    ACCKKK!!!

    HUSTLE  HUSTLE….

    hiding in the shower curtain aisle….

    They will never suspect to find the perpetrator in a bath aisle.

    Here we go – actually shopping for food now.

    Ice cream.

    “Mommy I want banilla ice cream”

    “okay got it right here, vanilla bean”

    “Not DAT one…. Just white…only white Mommy”

    “okay fine! here it is…. French vanilla” in the cart

    “NOOOOOOO Mommy – White – Dat not white… it yellow…

    I want the reary white kind”

    Sweet Lord!

     “Okay fine – are you happy? Cheap Target brand plain vanilla two dollars and 29 cents”

     This basically goes on throughout the store.  Fun in every aisle.  I have broken a sweat and my vow not to swear today; but, because it is not audible, I am feeling as it is does not count.

    We get to the checkout… a place I thought we might never reach. 

    Unloading…

    Tennyson is melting, melting down before my very eyes… throwing, kicking, screaming…

    it is…

    a…

    nightmare!

    This could explain the reason that no one will get in line behind me.

    65 minutes of full on Target shopping is just too much for any one 19 month old.

     

    In the random flailing of her arms she sends the bananas cascading to the ground.

    I HATE a bruised banana.  I am very careful to purchase a variety of bananas of graduated stages of ripeness for best eating potential…

    Never a bruised or even dimpledone, not even one banana.

    OCD much Kel?

    And what is this…

    Princess Jasmine in my cart.

    I did not get these.

    And crayons… I pick these up either.

    Hmmm?

    “Landon? You got some “splainin’ to do”

    Or should I say “clepto?”

    And here is a Barbie… how did she get all of this stuff?

    “Mommy, I want orange gum”

    “NO”

    “But Mommy I need it”

    WAAAAAA  WAAAAAA WAAAAAAAAAA

    Tenny in the background

    “Landon you cannot have gum…

    Until you are 20”

    “but Maaaa-OOMMM, why?”

    “Because you put it on the flat screen TV”

    Seriously God…I could use a break here.

    Landon is out of the cart, promising good behavior if “freed”

    And secretly saying “sucker” under her breath I suspect.

    The peg hooks…

    DAMN I forgot about the peghooks…

    strategically placed, full of colorful and sugar laden items, by sadistic hourly employees with no children now or ever planned.

    We are taking the items one by one off the peg hooks and putting them on the belt for purchase.

     “Landon ENOUGH”

    The clerk offers Landon a sticker to “listen to your mama”…

    before she goes all apeshit, she is thinking. 

    Landon gladly snags it and continues her adventure in demolition.

    She climbs up on the perch of the check out and cops a squat. 

    The clerk says

    “Um ma’am….

    Can you move her…

    That is a liability issue for Target”

     

    “well I hate to tell you this…

    But having these two in here for 30 seconds is a liability for Target”

     

    “And just so you know

                That lego debacle in the back…

                            We had nothing to do with it.”

     
    2 Comments

    Posted by on September 16, 2010 in Shopping, Target

     

    Sexy Mama?

    15 Sep

    Getting ready is basically a circus act around here—it’s just…

    I am the only one in the audience.

    I am always last…

    ALWAYS…

    last to be dressed. 

    I consider it quite an accomplishment if I get any sort of hairstyle or accessory…

    such as …

    deodorant.

    So this gave me time to ponder my mama mojoe.  It has become very obvious that the definition of “sexy” has changed drastically post children.

    Before – Single Sexy After – Sexy Mama?
    Nordstrom’s Stuart Weitzman shoes Flip Flops
    Sparkly evening bag Backpack
    Contour cheekbones with bronzer and cheek shimmer for Princess Grace’like effect Slap lipstick on cheeks, pray the lines blend in to freckles
    Victoria’s Secret Lace bra Bra-llelujah – to hide back fat
    Tanning center for all over natural glow Fake tan sprayed only on exposed areas
    Imported French soaps Irish Spring
    Layered expensive perfume with coordinating lotion and matching powder to ensure lasting and alluring aroma Lady Stetson
    15 minute cat nap for replenished appearance Slap face to cause instant wakeup
    Pedicure with paraffin treatment Closed shoes – preferable moccasins
    Curl and style hair Ponytail
    Dressed to the 9’s Took a bath
     
    1 Comment

    Posted by on September 15, 2010 in Parenthood

     

    Steppin’ Out

    13 Sep

    I woke Saturday with aching calves….

    honestly, I had to look. 

    I thought contained inside them were Russian gymnasts …

    doing multiple round offs… 

    and landing securely and squarely against the back of my legs.

    I, you see, did a step class…

    not just any step class…

    but an Extreme Advanced Step Class.

    Now I will not shy from saying that in my hay-day I was quite the stepper …

    a stepper extraordinaire if you will…

    you know…

    like 15 years ago.

    I joined Bally’s (yes I know it is a bit… greasy – but I am a WHOLE lot CHEAPER now that I am supporting two chi-rens.).  

    Plus as I originally joined Bally’s like in 1925…

    my dues are about 9.00 per month.

    So at Ballys, they (being right on top of the most current fitness craze) are doing a step class.  I was all twitterpated…

    SOOOO excited

    I mean when is the last time you took a full on kickin it to the 90’s step class?

    Divine it was.  

    Jimm (two m’s – what?  Who does that?)

    … the instructor ….

    apparently did a hit of some really good crack before he came in.   Because I am going to tell you….

    I move quickly…

    if you can get past me…

    pat yourself on the back. 

    This guy was smoking me. 

    I mean it was like he was in a car and I was using a walker ….

    Absolute Madness 

    Pivot

    Turn

    Chug

    Round the world… Round the World…Round the World

    Triple Knee

    Grapevine

    Turn step  Turn step  Turn step   Turn step  Turn step

    LORD HAVE MERCY – let it go with the damn turn step already.

     

    All at a speed really unsafe for anyone who is not also on a narcotic.

    Honey Paaallllease!

    turn it down a notch.  

    Damnation…

    I think my face may ignite..

    it is so red. 

     

    I managed to keep up most all the class.   I am guessing Jimm is wondering what the  hell is wrong with my shoelaces (I was easy to see because there were only 4 fools in the class). 

    I bent down about 8 times to tie my shoes – looking for any excuse I could find to actually breathe.   One time I felt the room begin to spin as the hot air rushed to my head, stabilizing myself on my now near empty water bottle…

    It was like an Oasis

     

    God Almighty, how can it only be 12:30…

    I need to check that clock battery….

    It HAS to be almost 1:00.

     

    And there was an elderly woman in there too – so totally in the wrong class.  She kept looking at Jimm as if …

    you cannot be serious…

    wondering perhaps if he had set foot on a fire ant hill.

    I think she mistook step to be a sort of bench resting class. 

    This guy did a straight 70 minutes of cardio (when the schedule clearly indicated 60 minutes). 

    At the conclusion of this torture session, his “cool down” consisted of an ass slap and a pansy wave. 

    OMG             OMG             OMG

    So Saturday upon rising and setting foot on my badly stained carpet…

    OMG….

    My calves were seizing…

    spasms…

    My toes numb with pain.

    Were my legs attacked by a shark in the middle of the night?

    They hurt so badly I was not certain I could make it to get my tea.  

    FINALLY…I make it…swearing the entire 11 feet in to the kitchen.

    I land resting on the counter…panting

    I was ready to seek this man out and dress him in flannel and oversized dockers…

    oh so gay he was …

    just…

    so so gay…

    which is not a problem to me at all (I like a man who dresses well and knows how to use hair product)…

    except …

    when you cause me the worst pain of my life

    How do I know this man was gay…

    well…

    well…

    did you read this?

    he was not only doing Step…

    he was teaching it…

    and the year?

    The year is 2010.

    How many MEN do you think were in this class?

    He IS gay.  

    And let me comment on the music…

    I could go on forever but will cinch this with one little word…

    CHER                  (idolized and revered by all gay men)

    “Do you believe in life after love….”

    Nuff said. 

    I would seriously have tried to hunt him down and kick his ass…

    had I feeling in my lower extremities.

     
    Leave a comment

    Posted by on September 13, 2010 in Cher, Exercise

     

    SWOOOSH

    10 Sep

    Lets talk about the travel potty—a topic of which I am a bonafide expert.

    Recently while traveling, I had the opportunity to really examine the whole potty thing.

    So you get off the flight…

    been holding it because…

    as soon as they tell you to sit down – we are landing…

    it’ like someone, a mean leprechaun perhaps, is inside you just shoving the wee down.

    Am I right?

     So exiting the airplane at breakneck speed…

    you find the first potty and go in. 

     

    Everything is automatic now…  I mean it’s as if someone thinks we are all hand amputees.

    So you want to line the sucker (the germ infested toilet seat)…

    because God only knows whose ass has been on it. 

    Okay first hang your purse on the hook

    (cause there is some new disease from Africa percolating on the floor…)

    Pull out the toilet liner and lay it flat on the seat…

    Okay unzip your britches…

    DAMNIT

    The flush sensor went off….

    NO….

    my liner!

    It is swirling down the toilet now….

    I HATE THAT SENSOR!

    Seriously the last thing in the world I need automated … is the flusher…

    Automatic door …

    No problem…

    Automatic water…

    Thank you…

    But the flusher…

    COME ON

     

    I mean seriously if you want to automate something…how bout the gas pump.

    I would like it to sense my arrival….

    Travel gracefully and unassisted to my gas cap….

    Which it removes with plastic gloves to deposit no more germs…

    Fill it up to the exact right level…

    With not a drop of overflow…

    Then Cap it off with a quick dust of the cap cover…

    Finishing with a Evian spitz to my face.

     Now…  THAT is worthy of automation…

                And…

    applause. 

    Okay fine, we will try again.

    Pull out the seat liner…

    Last one – be careful…

    Perfectly in place…

    Cautiously unzipping pants…

    Stay out of automatic flush sensor line…

    SWWOOOOSHHHHH

    DAMNIT AGAIN

    STOP!

    Trying to grab…

    but…

    the …

    undertow…

    is pulling…

    it down…

    The sensor must have caught my reflection. 

    DAMNIT   DAMNIT    DAMNIT

    And that was the last freakin’ liner.

    Okay fine!

    I will do like those crazy campers do…

    I will squat.

    I have strong legs; I have done it before.  

    Squatting ….

    Ready to go…

    (really no issue here… I have been preparing to pee for like 11 minutes now…)

    HALLELUJAH … I do love to Pee!

    Just about done here…

    Quads are beginning to shake.

     SWOOOSH…

     SHUT UP!!!

     I MOVED…. 

     I cannot believe it…. I moved while trying to stabilize my pee’ing body…just one teensy weensy centimeter

     SWOOOOOSH      SWOOOOOSH

     My ass is now being sprayed with airport water and my own PEE

     ACKKKKKKK   ACCKKKKKK   ACCCCKKKKK

    I am just not a fan of anyone but me washing my ass.

    And I swear…

    I just know…

    that some man is behind this design. 

    No woman would EVER create such a lame design….

    And I also know….

    that this same guy is watching me…

    through a peephole in the ceiling…

    laughing his ass off.

     
    2 Comments

    Posted by on September 10, 2010 in Potty

     

    Blown Away

    08 Sep

    I am sure we have all, or at least most of us, taken a cab at some point in our lives.

    Sometimes they smell…

    Sometimes they are dirty…

    Sometimes they have odd religious icons displayed…

    and sometimes they just open the window for NO good reason.

    Seriously no one wants to smell everyones’ car fumes or breathe in pollution. 

    ….or have their hair blown all over the damn place.

    My cab driver lets the window down.

    His is all the way down. 

    The front passenger window is down about half way.

    Not bad at first, as we are only going 45 mph…

    in a residential area.

     Nice breeze – kinda feels good.

    And I am feeling particularly good today because I am…

    well…

    dressed.

     You know I don’t get away from the kids all that much so…

    I curled my hair…

    No ponytail for once and am sporting a somewhat stylish outfit…

    Even wearing a pashmina for warmth and added style…

    Except I got it at Target for 12.99 so it’s really a Targina…

    Isaac Mizrahi for Target … can’t beat it.

    I am wearing a new lipgloss…

    Orgasm

    No I am serious…

    that is the name…

    Nars best seller.

    A peachy hue…

    with a hint of glitter…

    and super tacky for holding power.

    Anyway…

    look good…

    feel good…

    It’s a good day.

    I see the interstate ahead. 

    Okay he is a licensed professional in the car driving business so…

    I know he will let the window up…

    you know…

    soon…

    it is courtesy…

    I am the patron.

    And…he enters the interstate………….

    VARRRRROOOOOM!

    Dude this is not NASCAR…

    He is hauling ASS…

    Are the police after us?

    The increase in speed has caused a tornado like effect…

    papers are flying.

    My hair is like a stringy mop….

    no direction

    no handle

    The wind is blowing so hard I am plastered against the back seat with no real need for a seatbelt.

    Why not ask the driver to close the window…

    Stellar idea…

    Had I been able to actually speak….

    let me assure you I would have executed on that.

    You see my hair is basically wrapped around my face like a kite tail…

    Stuck to my orgasm lip gloss.

    Then my billowy wrap (the freakin’ pashmina) is caught in the wind tunnel and flies right in to my mouth…

    completely adhered, as if with duct tape.

     I am trying to make sounds…

    So the cabbie will close the window…

    Not working.

    Between my hair and wrap muffling my sounds…

    My utterances are unintelligible….

    I sound like Mushmouth on Fat Albert…

    “Close-ba the-ba win-ba-dow-ba please-ba”

    Nothing…

    He does not understand Fat Albert speak. 

    There is so much wind….

    Auntie Em’….

    Save me.

    We arrive…

    Finally…

    By the grace of God.

    Disheveled…

    In a state of panic …

    I stumble out of the car…

    And this maniac cab driver wants a TIP…

    a TIP?

    Of all the Nerve.

    Okay…

    ..how-ba bout-ba close-ba-bing the-ba damn-ba win-ba-dow-ba

     
    1 Comment

    Posted by on September 8, 2010 in Cabs, Travel

     

    Holy Crap

    06 Sep

    Hello all….

    I trust everyone is having/had a wonderful holiday weekend.  Ours was busy and consisted of several ailing Ozleys.

    We took a trip to the Urgent Care…

    why, why do we always get sick on the weekend?

    We have been so many times in the last 3 months, they know us by name.

     Still…..we are required each time to complete the Signature To Treat form.

    Am I the only one to which this seems asinine?

    I mean I have voluntarily walked in to the DAMN doctor’s office…

    no one has a gun to my head…

    you are not serving cocktails…

    Why else would I be in there…

    Do you think I am here to get my toes painted?? 

    Good Lord!

    I am trying to sign the stupid forms when Landon does a ballerina twirl which knocks the basket of pens on to the floor.

    Receptionist lacking any form of personality is not happy…

    I think…its hard to tell.

    I have Tenny sandwiched between my legs in a sort of ThighMaster sort of maneuver, when she breaks through.  

    The receptionist is telling me

    “Mom… you have to sign these forms…”

     Yes….yes… I know that…

     “before we can treat you all”

     yes…yes…nodding…where IS Tennyson….

     “TENNY?”

     The male nurse (Murse) says

     “Ma’am…could you get her…

              She is in our narcotics”

     I mean like she is ferreting out a fix or something….

     I could go on and on about checking of the temps etc.  Lets just say when they called back the “OZLEYS”….

    we all trod in…

    each is checked….

    each is sick….

    each gets a prescription.

    Splendid!

    So we are recuperating and will survive but…

    Oh the upside, we did have a funny…

    at least now it is funny.

    At the Target, we were looking for the Greek yogurt (which is sooo much better for you –WAY more protein.)

    Okay so this lady is also searching out the Greek yogurt, so we are…

    you know…

    pretty close.

    She has gas…

    Not a little gas…

    But fuel a Hummer kind of gas…

    HOLY CRAP

    Landon looks at me and I PRAY…

    then cut her a look with the finger shhh to the mouth.

    Well this lady…

     seriously…

     have you no shame!

     Landon…

     Oh my sweet Landon…

     She says….

     “You poop your pants?”

     Sweet Jesus – where to hide.

     
    Leave a comment

    Posted by on September 6, 2010 in Uncategorized

     

    The Remains of the Prey – The Squeakquel

    03 Sep

    A little update on the “prey” (a.k.a.  da mouse)

     We believe we have located him.  I am pretty certain it is him

    … son of Ben

    …daughter of Ben

    …spawn of Ben

    Somehow the critter crawled up in the bathroom vent and died. 

    How do I know he is dead?  

    How do I know he is in there?

     … well

     … I saw gray matter in there for one thing — coming out the vent

    …like mouse stuffing

    …like he may have been making a little mouse house before he passed. 

    I have spent a lot of time in there

    …the bathroom I mean

    …moving things ever so slightly

    …investigating his whereabouts

    …thinking he might have met his end under the trash can or some such item.  

    Every item moved causes an adrenaline rush and heart palpitations.

    Many a scream has accompanied this little quest,  let me tell you

    … practice screams I guess

    …just in case I really find him.  

     The smell is the clincher.

     …it stinks in the bathroom

     …and not just a tiny bit

     …a lot a bit

    Every time we go in the bathroom, Landon says “Mommy it so tinky in here… Tennyson pooped”

     I am not telling her what it is – she would want to keep it and sleep with it in her bed.  

     And because it is still hot, every time the air conditioner comes on, we get a blast of his decaying carcass

    …the aroma is as if we reside in one large fermented diaper.

    …and

    …with each burst of air

    …I am reminded

    …of the decay of the prey.

     
    Leave a comment

    Posted by on September 3, 2010 in Animals

     

    Easy Fake Oven

    02 Sep

    Lets talk about feeding toddlers….it sucks.  Landon was so good about vegetables for the longest. 

    Now… all we want is mac and cheese and the cheap stuff.    I mean that nasty orange powder cannot be good for you.

    No matter how I try to “health” it up such as adding chickpeas

    … doesn’t that just make ya want to take a bite

    … or using whole grain pasta with alpha hydroxy in it

    ….no not alpha hydroxy

    …that’s in makeup

     …right?

    … it’s omega fatty acids….something like that

    … anyway… 

    I receive that same response …

                         “it  yukky Mommy”

    So I have resorted to hiding it in their food and bribery with candy.

    “Mommy why da eggs green”

    “well honey… this is a special type of green egg… from Chile” 

                     …. And as we seem to have contaminated about 80 billion domestic eggs with salmonella, this seems a plausible argument.

    “wow Mommy — dey from Chile’s?   Dat is so crazy.”

    Their eggs have either cauliflower (delish I must say) or spinach in them.   And… they frequently dine on spaghetti laced w/ carrots and broccoli….  Brilliant you say… yes indeed it is.

                      And also I saw it in Jessica Simpson’s cookbook.  Really she has some great recipes….

    Is that rigtht?  Jessica Simpson?   I think I mean Jessica Seinfeld…. yea that one. 

    Close though right ….same initials.

    I like Jessica Simpson

    … isn’t she the one

    “is it chicken or is it tuna… … its chicken right.. I mean its says Chicken of the Sea?”

    I always feel really smart when she is speaking

    … and you know I need that now.

     
    1 Comment

    Posted by on September 2, 2010 in Cooking, Toddler

     

    HAY-zoos

    01 Sep

    Here is proof that sleep deprivation makes you stupid.

    We are putting together a training session at work.  I needed a resource to help with the printing and administrative tasks.  

    I email my contact for help.  

    Dave’s response is:

    “You need to call Jesus”

     

    I am like …

    “WHAT?”

    “Jesus?”

    “Are you kidding?”

    I mean don’t you think he is a little busy managing his creation and manifesting miracles.

    In my haste I did not read the email to see the phone number and clearly did not think.   

    Dave sends a quick note back

    “Kelly…. not Jesus …G-Zus”

    “Its Jesus…you know Jesus like …HAY-zoos”

     

    Oh I see

     
    Leave a comment

    Posted by on September 1, 2010 in communication, Jesus

     
     
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