Men Are From Mars, Little Boys Are From Planet Spaz

Little boys are funny. Like funny ha-ha, and funny weird. My boys are especially...er, unique. The older one is quite the dramatist. I don't know where he gets that. He can't bear to make a mistake, or do something wrong. If he does break a rule, it eats at him until he must confess, even if no one knows about it but him. The confessions themselves are elaborate productions involving many tears and sighs. It's hard to be angry when the child drapes his arm dramatically across his forehead and proclaims, "I admit it! I did it!"

The younger one could hardly care less about rules and regulations. He just wants to have a good time. We've recently had to purchase those white plastic things that go over the doorknobs to keep him out of the pantry. He likes to help himself to oatmeal and uncooked macaroni.

He got a big-boy bed for his birthday, and that has posed its own challenges. I decided to put one of those door-knob thingies on the knob inside his room to keep him from getting out and roaming around the house and possibly the neighborhood. He can't get out now, but the other day he decided to channel his inner rock star and trashed his room. And by trashed, I mean TRASHED. He pulled the mattress up out of his bed and tore off the sheets. He overturned all of his shoe and toy boxes. He found a container of baby powder and made it snow all over every surface in his room.

I put him in his Time-Out chair until I could get the mess cleaned up. He sputtered and sobbed and told me how sorry he was and that he would never make a big mess again. I let him get up, and he ran into the livingroom where he proceeded to tear all the tissues out of the tissue box.

For the most part, my boys are very well-behaved. They are polite and well-mannered. The little one is at that stage where he wants to challenge authority, but he's usually a very sweet little guy. The other day he informed me that I am his "girl." He loves to play a game that my oldest and I made up when he was little, called "I Love You More Than..." We take turns telling each other what we love each other more than. For example, I'll say, "I love you more than chocolate sauce." And he'll say, "I love you more than baby monkeys." It's very sweet.

Boys can be challenging. They don't sit and play quietly with dolls or tea sets like a lot of little girls do. Boys like to run around and take things apart and see how stuff works. Boys like to make mud and get really, REALLY dirty. Boys are noisy, and wild, and completely...well they're wonderful.

*At least the little guy's room now has that new baby smell.*

Tony and Rachael: Don't Make Me Choose!

I am a woman torn in two. Pulled in two opposite directions like a Thanksgiving turkey bone. Two of my favorite television personalities are at war, and have been for some time. I am of course referring to the war of words going on between Rachael Ray and Anthony Bourdain. What, you say? There's something on TV besides Michael Jackson documentaries? *Sigh*

Truth-be-told, I love them both. Tony is an arrogant, foul-mouthed, rebel rockstar chef, and I love him for it. Rachael is perky (annoyingly so at times) obsessed with extra-virgin olive oil, and a media darling, but I love her for that too.

As much as I hate to see her dissed, Tony has a valid argument against Rachael. She's no Julia Child. But then, she never said she was or tried to be. And even more, why doesn't Tony put down the crispy roasted pork skin and go on television and show me how to make some frou-frou fancy french food, if that's so important?

I feel like a child caught in the middle of a nasty divorce.
Daddy says, "Mommy thinks she's Julia Child, but she's really just a Ho-Jo waitress."
Mommy says, "Maybe if I send Daddy a fruit basket, he'll love me again."

Why can't you guys get along? You have so much in common! You love food and travel, you're both New Yorkers...
Maybe that's it. Maybe it's not a divorce, but a simple high school romance. Yes, that's it. Tony is the rebel ne'er-do-well who secretly has a crush on the cute, perky head cheerleader. Of course, he picks on her in order to hide his true feelings! Eureka!

I can see it all; the Food Network/Travel Channel cafeteria. Rachael sits with Bridget and Dhani at the popular kids' table. Tony (who is about to be suspended again for writing "for a good time call RR" on the bathroom wall) sits in a far corner with Andrew Zimmern.
"What do you have for lunch?" Andrew asks Tony.
"Goat testicles," Tony replies.
"Cool. I have fried monkey brains. Wanna trade?"

Meanwhile, Samantha Brown buzzes around from table to table asking if anyone wants to see her pictures from Brazil. Everyone says no.

Giving a New Meaning to Finger Sandwiches

I've been watching this show on the Discovery Channel about a group of people who have been dropped in the Alaskan wilderness and are trying to find their way out. It's a bit like Survivor, but without the million dollars, the back-stabbing, the secret alliances, etc. Okay, so it's not like Survivor at all.

Anyway, nine people were given survival training and then left in the middle of Alaska to put that training to the test. The people involved are not survivalists, just regular folks with a wide range of backgrounds and vocations.

So far, the show has been very interesting. There are only five people left now after just over three weeks. The other four opted to leave after finding themselves unable to cope with being in the wild. The rest have banded together as a team and put their training to use. Last week, the young female bus driver went on a killing spree, shooting a duck and another bird, and taking a shovel to a squirrel. All those creatures went into the stew pot in an attempt to combat the team's constant hunger.

As I've watched the show, I've wondered: Would I make it in the Alaskan wilderness? I'm not sure. I would like to think that I could hack it out. Let's consider the conditions:

1. The cold.
Normally, I could do without freezing temperatures and snow. I do not like to be cold. However, with the recent onset of some truly heinous hot-flashes, those sub-zero temperatures are looking mighty comfortable.

2. The shelter.
The team has been staying in shelters ranging from crashed planes to hunting cabins. They've slept in beds, on the floor, and on the ground. I can sleep just about anywhere. Just give me a sleeping bag to burrow into and I'm good to go.

3. The hunting and fishing.
I love to fish. I'm not a big hunter. I've never held a gun, much less fired one. However, I think if I got hungry enough I could take down Bambi or any of his little forest friends. And that brings me to the last point and my Achilles Heel.

4. The lack of food.
The team is constantly searching for food, but they can never find enough and are on a mainly subsistence diet. That would not work for me. I need food. I am hypoglycemic (severely, I believe.) I don't just get weak or faint. I get ill and really grumpy when I'm hungry. It would not do for me to be cooped up with a bunch of people in a little cabin when I have a rumbly in my tumbly. Giving me a gun in those conditions would be a disastrous idea. I can just see the helicopter landing to pick everybody up and there I am sitting by the campfire with my belly bulging.

"Where did the rest of the team go?" the pilot asks.

"They went on a hunt," I answer.

"Burp."

If Inner Beauty is What Counts, Why Do I Own So Much Lip-Gloss?

The world is obsessed with beauty. I suppose that's natural. We've been this way from the beginning. Beauty equals health equals good stock equals descendants equals immortality. It's in our genetic makeup to seek out the beautiful people.

Perhaps that's why I see them everywhere I go: on television, in magazines, on billboards, in movies. I'm like Haley-Joel Osmet in The Sixth Sense.

"I see pretty people..."

I've tried my best to avoid becoming overly occupied with my appearance. It's hard though, when I feel compared to modern moms like Halle Berry and Angelina Jolie. Ok, so maybe no one outwardly compares me to Angelina Jolie, but I still feel it. I suppose if I had a gazillion dollars I could hire the trainers and food experts and make-up artists and stylists that Angelina has access to. But I don't, and I don't mind.

I'm a real woman and I have a real life to think about that doesn't include adding to a Children of the World Collection. I have laundry to do and floors to sweep and dinners to cook. Besides, I don't look that bad. I consider myself moderately attractive. I have some really good days where I look at myself in the mirror and think, "Heck yeah!"

Of course, there are days when I look at the mirror and think, "Oh crap."

I feel pretty good about myself most days. Especially when I compare how I look now to how I looked in Junior High. In those days I went through a rather unfortunate and unbearably lengthy "awkward phase." I had weird hair, bad skin, and absolutely no curves. I know what you're thinking. "What's changed?"

Anyhoo, I was very skinny, but very short. It would have been fine if I had been tall and skinny, but no. I looked like an anorexic munchkin. Not cute. My classmates took great pains to constantly remind me that I was an ugly duckling. That does bad stuff to your psyche. I have since had problems with low self-esteem, but I'm overcoming that. I'm almost there.

I've come to realize over time that even without outward beauty, I'm a worthwhile human being. I'm pretty smart, I have some talent, and I'm kind. (I'm also very humble as you can see from my shameless listing of attributes.) And now, I even think I'm kind of cute. I'm still short, but now I have some curves ( some good curves, some not.) My hair is still a bit weird, but people tell me all the time that my hair color is beautiful. You can't get this shade of red from a box, girls.

Outward beauty will fade. And while it's really no consolation that some day Angelina will look like a Sunsweet prune, it helps to know that I have things to fall back on. So, I'm not a super-model. Big deal. I'm a super mom. I have people in my life who love me even when I have no make-up on and my hair is pulled up into a frizzy ponytail. That makes me happier than having big pouty lips or flat abs.

Life is beautiful.

Si. Mi chiamano Mimi

As much as I adore my children and the wonderful position of Mother, there is something unique and special about being an aunt. I suppose it's a bit like being a grandparent. Nieces and nephews are children you can spoil without guilt. They're the little people who will call you and want to move in with you when Mom and Dad are being "totally mean." They're the ones you can tell all the funny and embarrassing stories about your brother and/or sister. Ex. One time, I had a friend over, and your mom came in and said, "Look! I have on Little Mermaid panties!"

My one and only nephew is only a year old at the moment, but I already have plans to spoil him rotten. After all, I probably won't get to see him that much. My brother-in-law is in the Army and they're getting ready to move off again. They've been away since Christmas, but Carson still remembers his Aunt Amy. Before they left, he was calling me May-mee. Now, that has transformed into Mimi, and I have to admit, I love it. I am Aunt Mimi. No one else calls me that. I think I may have a license plate made with that on it, or maybe a t-shirt. Aunt Mimi.

I am reminded of the episode of Friends when Ben was born, and new aunt Monica promised, "I will always have gum." That kind of sums it up for me. I want to be that kind of aunt. The one Carson can look to for advice, or support, or defense, or just candy. I will always be ready with any of those.

I'de Like to Thank the Academy...

I would like to thank the Academy for the wonder that is Hugh Jackman. What's not to love? He sings, he dances, he acts, he's friggin' Wolverine! Not to mention he's Australian, and I have an obession for all things Aussie. I thought the opening number was awesome, especially the cheesy "homemade" props. And speaking of props, cheers to Anne Hathaway for her Nixon. She really doesn't have a terrible voice. Call me, Anne, and we'll set up some voice lessons. I'll learn ya real good.

I normally don't bother to watch award shows other than the Tonys. They just get a bit tedious with all the speeches and montages and extraneous awards (Yay, Jerry Lewis!) I do appreciate the fact that the shows have been whittled down a bit by setting aside all the little awards like Best Camera Lens Changer Person, Best Makeup Brush Holder Lady, and Best Coke Bringer to Diva's Trailer Dude. They all get their own ceremony prior to the real show, I believe. Isn't that special.

Okay, so back to Oscar and Hugh. I don't care what the morons at Yahoo! say, I liked the showtunes medley with Hugh and Beyonce and company. For one thing, I love showtunes and will randomly burst into one at any time without warning. For another thing, I love medleys. What's better than a showtune? A whole medley of showtunes! Throw in Beyonce and Hugh and yeah, even Zac and Vanessa, and I'm a happy girl.

The main reason I watched 29+ hours of awards show (besides seeing Hugh Jackman) was to see whether or not Kate Winslet won Best Actress. She did, and I did my patented Woo-hoo Dance in my living room. I love Kate. I have since 1997 when she was in that movie with the boat and the iceberg. She looked gorgeous, as always, and I was so happy that she won and Angelina didn't.

Other memorables* Tim Gunn on the red carpet. Ben Stiller's Joaquin Phoenix. Miley Cyrus's I-think-I'm-a-Christmas-Tree dress. The Ledger family. A singing, dancing, Hugh Jackman.

Oh, what a night.

Friday's Faves

Like Oprah and Maria von Trapp, I have my favorite things. Unfortunately, I don't have a


ba-jillion dollars like Oprah that would allow me to give my favorite things away to everyone I know. Unlike Maria, I can't fit them all into a snappy song that people will mistakenly sing at Christmas time. However, I can blog about them. So on that note, here we go.















BCX Sateen Belted Trench Coat:



The piece pictured above is one of my better wardrobe purchases. I own it in orange. I bought it back at the end of summer in Atlanta, and since then I have worn the heck out of it. It happens to be perfect for Spring because it's light enough for those not-so-cold days, yet it keeps off the rain and chill. Not to mention the fact that it looks AMAZING.















Caress Exotic Oil Infusions Moroccan Body Wash:



I love this body wash! It smells incredible and leaves my skin silky smooth. Unfortunately, Wal-Mart has stopped carrying this particular scent. (Like I need another excuse to hate Wal-Mart.) It is still available, and cheaper, at Fred's.















Jello Sugar-Free Dark Chocolate Pudding:



This pudding is perfect for those who, like me, have a serious chocolate addiction but still want to eat smart. Unlike some sugar-free stuff, this doesn't have that funky aftertaste. It just tastes great! One container is only 60 calories. However, it adds up if you can't stop at one, which is a distinct possiblilty. It's that yummy.

*If you happen to be bored over the weekend or just need to fill some time, I have a suggestion. Go to YouTube and type in Misheard Lyrics. Some of the vids that pop up may give you at least a chuckle. Some are incredibly lame, but some are truly awesomely funny.

There they are. This Friday's Faves. Check 'em out for yourself and let me know what you think!