Think Winona Ryder in Beetlejuice, only 20 pounds heavier with an asymmetrical face

I got bangs y'all! Bangs!

Yeah, I know this is minutiae that you could probably live without, but if you're looking for some major news, head on over to Yahoo.

In any event, I did it, and I now have a love/hate relationship with my new 'do. I will explain by making a couple of random points. First of all, the last time I had bangs* was elementary school, so it is still a bit jarring to look in the mirror. Second, I feel that I should point out that they're not the full on straight-across-the-forehead type, but rather the pushed-to-the-side-you-might-not-even-notice-them kind**.

Even so, they have taken on this whole personality of their own and I am really annoyed. If you have a hard time believing this, just ask that gal that you know who still has the overgrown bob with the bangs so perfectly curled under that the only way you know there isn't a curling iron in there is because you can't see a cord dangling--I'm sure she'll tell you her bangs have been in charge for the last 15 years or so.

So yeah, I did it and now I have to live with the extra 15 minutes of getting ready and trying to look presentable. Because when people see me, I want them to see straight past the utter fear of getting older and having a dated look*** and think oooooh, she's trendy.



* I think they might be called "fringe" or "fringes" now, but I'm not certain.

** I should just put a picture up to save you the time of reading this, but I'll do that later.

***Or even worse... the dreaded "frumpy mom" that only makes appearances in the privacy of my home.

I kid. I kid because I love

So you think you know your husband. The man you've chosen to spend your life with. The father of your child. You feel you have gotten to the point of the relationship that is free of surprises.

And then one day he plops himself in front of the T.V, turns on the winter olympics and proceeds to cheer for the mens figure skating "free skate" competition like he is watching the Packers play in the superbowl. And you stand corrected.

That is what happened last night folks.

So I did a double take, and then sat down and watched it with him- just in case I was missing something. I thought for a second that he was trying to be ironic, or it was some jab at me for the hours and hours I spent 2 summers ago, parked in front of the gymnastics competitions. It wasn't. He was serious.

I watched Sean's (almost tearful-I swear) reaction to Evan Lysacek's gold medal performance with a mixture of shock and awe.

Then I asked the question that needed to be asked. "Um... ARE YOU FUR REAL?"

He swears it is just his passion for the olympic spirit that made him so excited for Evan, and I'm not one to judge.

Still, we all know what he was thinking when he was watching that competition....





Tee Hee

The best 15 dollars I've ever spent; And no, it's not a blanket with sleeves, but that would be pretty cool too.

Sean took the day off on Friday. We both really needed it. We took Kelan to Toys R Us and bought him some Play doh accessories. Did you know there is a Play Doh kit that allows you to build cool "guys"? What's that, you didn't? Well check this out!

Oh Yeah! Seriously, hours and hours of fun. Unless your life is a little more fast-paced... in that case you're out of luck.

Also, I feel the need to mention that Sean created the middle one.

I hope it's you and not me, trendy parents.

I know it is practically a sin to admit this, but I am scared I spelled my kid's name wrong.

Sean and I had kind of a hard time picking a name. It's not because we couldn't agree, more because our last name rules out a lot of cool first names. Let's just say after a couple nights of milk-coming-out-of-your-nose type laughing about possible names, Sean and I had to get serious and make a rule that the name could not be an adjective - which surprisingly cuts a large chunk out of the baby name pool.

So let me walk you through the process. It's 2007 and I'm pregnant. Sean is Irish. I think that's pretty cool and since I'm not really a huge percent anything, we decide to go with an Irish name for our progeny. I Google "Irish baby names."

Here's where it gets a little sticky. I love my parents, but apparently they weren't going the creative route with names. I went to a school with around 1700 kids. I'm pretty sure 500 of them were named Emily. I was once one of four Emilys in a class at school. I'm not going to lie, it got annoying being referred to as Emily D #2.

So, I'm online paging through names. Evidently, Irish is in. The page of A's is basically variations of Aiden. The B's Braedon, C's Caden... you get the picture. By the time I got to K's I was just tired, and frankly a little nervous. Then I saw Kelan. Irish, check. Not too popular, check. Not an overload of consonants, check. What? it means slender? Score! (that last one might have come from me feeling a bit down about my pregnancy weight gain). I texted Sean and fell asleep.

The name really grew on us. We did not question the spelling. I tend to think when it comes to naming a kid, the fewer letters the better. Now, I have no stake in what you name your kid. I don't have to pay for your kid's therapy if you spelled jessica Jysykka, or Caitlin K8tlyyn. It does however piss me off when it starts affecting me. So, no, Kelan is not a popular name. Keelon, Keely, Keegan and a million variations of those apparently are.

I cannot go to the doctor's office or make a frantic call to poison control without the nurse pronouncing his name wrong. After awhile, it starts to make me wonder if it is not them, it's me. Bummer. It plays on my insecurities.

Finally, after a final straw at the pharmacy - wherein, a clerk pronounced his name Keeelanne - I came home and hysterically questioned Sean, "Did we spell it wrong? Should we have added three L's just to be sure?" He, as usual, was unmoved by my panic.

Needless to say, I am brushing up on my phonics, lest this happen again someday.

I'm going to strangle that damn groundhog

Lately, once or twice a week Sean calls and tells me that he "might be a little late" and that I "should probably just start dinner." Even though he says it in the most polite, please-don't-yell-that-loudly-because-I-don't-want-my-cubicle-neighbor-to-hear-me-consoling-you voice, this is what I actually hear him saying :

"I know you have been stuck at home all day scraping Play Doh off the floor and pulling your hair out, and that you are probably on the verge of homicide, but guess what? YOU'RE ON YOUR OWN FOR DINNER AND BEDTIME SUCKA!"

So after I weep in the bathroom for a couple minutes sigh and smile about my silly husband and his salaried job, I run to the cupboard to see if there is something in a box or a can that I could possibly mix together. This is the moment when I glance longingly at the liquor bottle sized empty space in the cupboard. I fantasize about an early happy hour, but instead stick my kid in front of PBS with a bowl of crackers while I heat up a box of pasta and a jar of white sauce.

It's February. I'm over the snow. I'm over sharing a car. I'm over Wisconsin.

So let me be more succinct. We don't have liquor in our house because we have a two year old, and it's winter, and let's face it- interventions are just so cliche.