Clothes Make the Murderer

I might be living with the new Boston (okay, Utah) strangler. I'm not kidding. He has the gloves for it. Know how I know he has the gloves for it? Because I bought them.

It is damn cold in Utah right now. I mean, colder than normal. That means it is so cold not even penguins want to vacation here, and Gwenyth Paltrow seems warm by comparison. Yep, it is even cold enough to freeze my sense of humor. It is also so cold that I had to go out -- and buy gloves. What kind of gloves did Ryan want? Dress gloves. You know, for when he dresses as a person who strangles people.

Really, there is no way that leather dress gloves can be worn without making the wearer look somewhat homicidal. They even look evil on the rack, like they might jump out and strangle you themselves. Ski gloves are sporty. Mittens are friendly and want to have a snowball fight and a beer. Those fingerless glove/mitten hybrids want to break dance and deliver packages on a bike. Dress gloves want to kill you.

It's not just the look of dress gloves, either. Have you ever heard fingers curling in that beautiful leather? "I'm coming for you," it says, "and I will do it in luxurious comfort and warmth." My little polyester lined fake shearling numbers are no match for that. NO MATCH FOR THAT!

I just hope he doesn't ask for a trench coat next. Then I'm really done.

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I'm Like Oprah

Pe-OPLE! The holidays are up-PON us! And that means it is time for O-PRAHHHHH to unveil her "Favorite Things" and cause normally rational, functional people to become babbling morons, -- and cause the rest of the world to envy them because they have just been given thousands of dollars in gifts. This year though, I am not letting Oprah steal the spot-LIGHT! This year, I am sharing my OWN favorite things! AND EVERYONE WHO READS THIS BLOG GETS ALL OF THE THINGS LISTED!*

Let's kick things off with something I think you all know I enjoy a great deal. It's tasty, it's economical, and it's green way to drink. Yep, I am talking about box WINEEEE!

Every sip makes you a better person because instead of leaving behind four glass bottles you are leaving behind one box! All your sips are cheaper too -- unless you regularly buy bottles of wine under five dollars each. And because it's a box you don't have to watch the wine level go down and feel bad about all those sips! Win! Win! WIIIIIIN!

You know what I really love doing when I am drinking? Yep, that's right blog-GING. And do you know what's better than just blogging? STEALING BLOG TOPICS FROM OTHER

PEOPLE!

That's right everyone! For instance, I stole this blog topic from the lovely Wendi Aa-RONS!

I could probably just put her blog on my list of favorite things, but I don't want to her to think I am selling her into slavery. Not yet.

I like to be comfortable when blogging. I mean, who doesn't, right? Aren't we all just looking for a little comfort, whether we are Utah based bloggers just trying to stay sane or Chicago based billionaires aiming for world domination? Of course we are. That's why one of my favorite things are pa-JA-ma PANTS!!

The pants above are from the holiday collection in keeping with the season, but pajama pants come in all themes, colors and sizes. Yes, comforting is that accepting and accommodating. No matter how much weight you gain or lose, they are there for you, like a secret fleecy lover. I'm not going to say any more, because this could get awkward.

Of course, I can't just sit around the house all day in pajama pants drinking wine and blogging. I have to go out in the world, if for no other reason, than to buy more wine. When I do that, I like to put my best foot forward, and that mean BOO-OOTS!

No, I have never spent time in a prison rodeo. Nor have I been a hobo. I am just clumsy and end up kicking things I should step over. Ryan keeps asking me when he can polish my boots, or burn them, and I just let him know I am keepin' it real -- boot style.

Our last, but not least item is being modeled by the lovely TA-ra. I think you will agree it is the e-PITO-me of class.

Not only can you express your love for the tiny hamlet of Beaver, Utah, but you can laugh like a 12 year old boy while doing it. I carry mine in my purse wherever I go. I never know when I might need it.

There are so many more of my favorite things I wish I could share with you in full. Road trip dough-NUTS. Mocking cele-BRI-ties at their low point and ignoring that even then they make more MO-ney than I ever will. Getting a pedicure at a salon where they are DEF-initely talking about me in Vietnamese, but not caring because they have good maga-ZINES. Really, I wish I could tell you all about all of those in detail, but this is only a one hour show, er blog.

I just hope that my little glimpse into my favorite things has brought you as much happiness as it has brought me. And I hope each and every one of you will enjoy taking them home with you, and loving them as I have.**

*No, you don't.

**No, really, there are no gifts.

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Models are a Pain

I love Christmas cards. Every year I try to think up the most original way to wish people a happy holiday. I used to just humiliate the dog with my yuletide handiwork, but now that we have a baby it is so much better! I just wish they appreciated it as much as I do.

I am pretty sure that our dog, Sally, is in the witness relocation program, since she avoids having photos taken of her like the plague. I could understand her displeasure the years I made her wear hats, or a sash, but this year all she had to do was sit in the snow next to the baby. She sits next to the baby all the time, so I really didn't see the big deal. Once we got the camera out though, she couldn't get far enough away, and she didn't care how she had to do it.

Meg wasn't much help either, and she normally enjoys having her picture taken. Today though, her fascination with the snow outweighed her love of the lens, and she would everywhere BUT the camera. The addition of the snowsuit and gloves didn't help either, as she spent a large portion of the time trying to locate her hands and ears.

Did I mention it was totally freezing the entire time we were taking pictures? Oh, and that while Meg was bundled up, Ryan and I were idiots in just sweatshirts? Yeah, I'm lucky I still have fingers.

Both my Dad and I were shooting photos, and both of us had our cameras to take multiple pictures at a time. Out of all of those photos I think maybe one or two are usable. The rest just document the chaos.

It's all worth it though. Our cards, once again, will be awesome.

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24 Hours? Really?

I don't understand how Mommy Blogs exist. Not that I think they have no worth -- I just don't know how anyone actively chasing kids has the time to blog regularly, especially those women who work full time outside the home too. For instance? It took me two hours just to write those first two sentences.

Maybe it's just I have always been bad at time management. In college I never finished a paper less than 12 hours before it was due. I never made curfew in high school. Now, I work at a job where everything is minute to minute, which is good since that's as far as I can think. Really though, I think it's just that once kids become mobile, free time becomes extinct.

I used to be able to put Meg in her bouncy chair and clean, or blog, or work out. Okay, I would clean or blog. Now though, she is always moving. I am always following her. Sometimes I put her in her play yard, but her screams, coupled with my bad mom thoughts, make me get her out; and then I am on the job making sure she doesn't kill herself once again.

Of course, I could blog when Meg falls asleep. Really though, during the day I either want to get stuff done, or nap, and at night I just want my brain to turn off. I know I should read, or blog, or read blogs, but most of the time the warm, glowing, warming glow of the TV wins out. I know, I'm weak.

Oh, how I wish I eventually discover the secret of other Mommy Bloggers. I have so snarkiness to spread to the world.

I just hope the secret isn't meth.

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Mouse in the House is Not Just a Rhyme

Tonight, I was totally going to blog about this awesome Christmas tree our friends Meghan and Andrew brought Meg.

Black celebration, I know. The best part is Target carries them in hot pink and baby blue too! I had just written that line in the blog that would have been, when I saw the little furry bastard. It ran from behind the couch, past the fireplace, and behind the "entertainment system." At first I thought it was our cat, Olive -- that's how big it was.

When I saw the rodent I was enjoying an evening alone. Ryan had taken Meg to the school play and I was sitting around in nothing but socks. Andrew and Meghan came over to drop off the tree, so I had to put on a bra, but the evening was still pretty chill. Seeing the scurrying mouse though, ramped it up to full DefCon 4: with socks tucked into sweats, and oven mitts and wine sleeves on the hands. Yeah, I looked pretty.

I tried to call Ryan four times. I called my parents. They asked if I was playing Mousetrap. I remembered why I don't call them for non sarcasm related emergencies. They said to just leave the doors open. I reminded them it's 3o degrees. They hung up.

When Ryan and Meg got home I tried to play it cool. Well, as cool as I could with a wine sleeve on one hand. Ryan told me not to worry, that whatever it was, if it was anything, would probably run out the way it came in. Then, he saw it, and confirmed my suspicions. It wasn't a wayward kitten, but a mouse. Since he grew up on a farm I had to trust him.

We moved the couch. We moved the coffee table. We moved the bookcases. We saw it run down the fireplace ash chute, so we sat there waiting. I shined a flashlight down there and didn't find a mouse, but found Sally's tennis ball, and Meg's rolly ball. Yes, I got them out. I figured if nothing else it would scare the furry Jerkasaurous.

I thought that the fight was over. That the mouse would sleep in the hole until it either got out, or we found it eviscerated by one of the cats on the floor. I had started writing this new blog, about how the mouse was still in the house, and how reaching down the ash chute made me look like I had given a hand job to Dick Van Dyke. And then? I saw it again.

I have never been quiet, and I have never been graceful, yet I was both as I crept into the corner and picked up the little visitor. I called to Ryan to open the door -- and take a picture.

All quiet is now on the Libby front. Yes, the cats are still hunting for the ghost mouse, but I think that's humbling for them. I can go to sleep without worrying vermin will nibble off my child's toes. And the mouse? He will live to fight another day. Oh, and hopefully remember I saved him from a gruesome death at the hands of overfed cats.

I just hope the raccoons don't show up again.

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Sixteen Months

Meg doesn't want to be a baby any more.

She doesn't want to be fed. If we try to feed her she grabs the spoon, flinging food everywhere. She doesn't want to be lifted, liking instead to snarfle and sigh as she makes her own way onto the sofa or chair. She doesn't want to be pushed, prefering to use her own two feet to power her ride on bug, or to walk along the side of the stroller. She is ready to go her own way, and to let us know it.

Meg also is letting us know that, as no longer a baby, she now has discerning tastes. She no longer will just eat whatever we feed her, even if we are letting her feed it to herself. Fruit of any kind is still a big favorite, but most vegetables have now fallen out of favor. She does NOT like cottage cheese, and will act insulted if presented with it. Same thing with toast without jelly. Of course, toast with jelly is simply licked clean of said jelly, and then given to the dog. She says "uh oh" as she drops it into Sally's gaping maw though, so we think it's an accident.

Meg's entertainment preferences are very definite in that she only has one: "Baby Einstein's Baby McDonald." It was so nice for my Mom to introduce her to it. I only hope I can eventually retun the favor. Now Meg wants to watch it every hour of the day, and wanders the house asking for "yi yo." She doesn't want to watch it alone, either, she wants someone to sit with her so the subtle nuances of the creepy limbless pig puppets can be discussed. It would drive me totally insane -- but it's the only time she still wants to sit in my lap and let me hold her like a baby. Also, it's fun to listen to her commentary on the "babies" and "moo" cows. Once it's over she pushes herself down, waves, and is onto her next activity. It makes me wish it would never end.

Oh, how we love our girl.

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Oh, Shut Up

The Internet hurt my feelings today. I mean, it did until I realized how dumb I was being.

You may recall last week I wrote a piece about how I thought the city of San Francisco was being silly in their quest to take toys out of fast food kids' meals because it really didn't fix the problem it was trying to fix, and it seemed like a big waste of time for elected officials facing more important issues.

It was a piece I liked. When it appeared it was a piece other people liked I decided to send it to Huffington Post, to see if they would like it too. Amazingly, they did, and published it! They even sent out a little message to my Facebook friends to let them know they liked it, and to make me look kind of cool. I was feeling good.

The first punch came from Facebook. Well, not really a punch, more of a poke. It was someone wondering why, if there are bigger issues to focus on, I was focusing on this one. I was going to respond "because I am not using taxpayer money to focus on it" but instead I went in the bathroom and cried. That actually made me feel young though since the last time this person made me cry we were 13.

The people commenting on Huffington Post were a lot less nice. Most of them assumed that I feed my child nothing but trash, and that I possibly stand outside the back of fast food places just waiting for the grease because the meat product gets in the way. Then there were those thinking I have a personal vendetta against San Francisco, possibly because they are more enlightened than the rest of us. My favorites, of course, though were the ones who thought I was trying to run from some "truth about myself" (I'm guessing Hambuglar fetish), and that if I really feel there are more important issues I should address those.

By this time I had left work, so I was crying in my car. I thought about answering every one of the comments. I love San Francisco! I feed my kid organic produce! I hardly ever go to McDonalds, but when I do it isn't the toys, it's the fact that it is convenient and kid friendly, and unfortunately, those types of restaurants aren't the best health choices! Go after the food, not the toys! I know there are more important things, I just think looking out for wasting taxpayer money and sqaundering public opinion on such a non-issue as this one is pretty important!

I was getting ready to write all of these things when I realized something very important: none of these people know me. They don't care about me. They aren't responding to me. They are responding to who they think I am, or who they want me to be in order to reaffirm themselves, and validate their thoughts. As far as I'm concerned, that's okay. People now need affirmation more than ever, and getting anyone to think is a good thing.

I had also had a glass of wine by then. Oh, and a long phone call with T. I heart her.

Of course, that doesn't mean I wouldn't do some serious knee kicking if the opportunity arose. I mean, I'm not made of stone...

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An Open Letter to the City of San Francisco

Dear San Francisco,

Let the kids have their fucking toys.

Yes, I know that America is in the middle of an obesity epidemic. Yes, I know letting a kid have a Happy Meal is worse than letting them eat a tub of frosting. However, I also know that, as a parent, I have a right to feed my kid shit. Oh, and I also know that the toy is never what influences the decision.

When I stop at McDonalds to buy a Happy Meal for my kid or any other kid who happens to be in my car it has nothing to do with the toy. It has to do with the fact food comes quickly, I know they will eat it, and there is often a playground on the premises. If any of the "slow food," "whole grain" restaurants met those criteria, and didn't look at children like they are vermin, we would go there. And the toys you claim are so tempting? Usually they end up in the recycling bin after sitting in my car for two weeks. Really, they suck.

Now, I am sure you are thinking I am a Tea Party joining, NRA card toting conservative. I'm not. I like big government. I like government that wants to take care of people. I just don't think it should mandate it. Making sure everyone has health insurance? Yes. Forcing everyone to get a colonoscopy? Nope. Offering help to the homeless? Yep. Forcing them to take it? Nope. It's kind of like feeding my kid. I offer her the best food possible. I can't make her eat it. You should have seen how she scraped butternut squash ravioli off her tongue. She also feels that way about chicken nuggets.

Further, do you know how douchey this whole thing makes you look? There are bigger issues to focus on right now -- like civil rights for everyone. Keep your eyes on the prize.

Thanks,

Libby

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You Should Be Reading These

I am not a fan of the blog badge thing. I think I have made that clear. I mean, it's a nice idea and all, but it just makes me uncomfortable. You know, like hugging in public places. No one needs to see that shit. If you want to do more than a handshake, or a high five, go somewhere private. And yes, I am including "elaborate" type handshakes that include fist taps, hip bumps, or any kind of finger wiggling on the list of things better done away from the public eye.

Still, while I am not a big proponent of public displays of affection, there are a couple blogs I have been wanting to recommend for a while now. I have pimped a couple of them on my Twitter feed, but I think it's time for me to give them full frontal exposure on the blog. I mean, how ever much exposure one can give on a blog this size. And so, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the "I like you enough to say it publicly" badge:

It's not too flashy, is it? I don't want to go overboard here. I was a little worried about the typeface, but I figured the lower case i balanced it out.

I would like to offer this badge to seven blogs that I read and love on as regular a basis as I can manage with a toddler. They can do whatever they want with the badge: ignore it, pass it on to blogs they think more people need to know about, or get it tattooed on their butts...

Monkey Soup A teenage daughter, a toddler, and grandchildren at the age of 36. Kelly should be doing nothing but bitching, but she loves her life, and makes me love it too. Also, her Mea is Meg quality cute.

View From the Crooked Letter I love this blog because Jen is taking chances most of us only talk about taking. She is back in school, and working on writing. Oh, and she's a mom and working. Since I got tired just writing those sentences I think you can see why I like her.

I Am Writing You Today This is a new blog I just found and love. Daniel takes the concept of "Letters From A Nut" and makes it not psycho. I also love seeing the responses he gets. Plus, Mormons love him too!

Hippo Brigade Beckey's picture is of her stuffing a cupcake in her mouth. Enough said. Want more? Read her stuff.

One Smary Mama I don't know why you all don't know C.Lo yet. She is grace under pressure defined. Oh, and she's a theater geek, which makes it even better.

Little Dragon Fruit Another drama geek, and this one is brave enough to still be auditioning. Oh, and when Sam isn't entertaining me with tales from the stage her daughter Jarrah always has a great adventure on hand.

Pining for Nordstrom Ton of kids. Stuck in the middle of nowhere. Great sense of fashion. Jill can even make a household disaster riveting.

So, those are your reading assignments. After all, you have to have something to do when I'm funky, or grumpy, or trying to keep Meg off the roof. You know, most of the time...

And I promise not to be so mushy in the future.

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This Too Shall Pass

I have a lot of thoughts on tonight's elections. If you have read this blog before, you probably know what they are. However, I am trying not to dwell on panic, and despair, and anger though, since that doesn't do anything for anyone. After all, it's anger and fear that got us into this situation, so maybe we need to try hope and acceptance to get us out of it.

I know! How about a joke? My sister's friend Lisa sent me a great one I think is perfect for this situation...

While walking down the street one day a Corrupt Senator was tragically hit by a car and died. His soul arrived in heaven and was met by St. Peter at the entrance.

"Welcome to heaven," said St. Peter. "Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official around these parts, you see, so we're not sure what to do with you."

"No problem, just let me in," said the Senator..

"Well, I'd like to, but I have orders from the higher ups. What we'll do is have you spend one day in hell and one in heaven. Then you can choose where to spend eternity."

"Really?, I've made up my mind. I want to be in heaven," said the Senator.

"I'm sorry, but we have our rules." And with that, St. Peter escorted him to the elevator and he went down, down, down to hell.

The doors opened and he found himself in the middle of a green golf course. In the distance was a clubhouse and standing in front of it were all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him.

Everyone was very happy and in evening dress. They ran to greet him, shake his hand, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at the expense of the people.

They played a friendly game of golf and then dined on lobster, caviar and the finest champagne. Also present was the devil, who really was a very friendly guy who was having a good time dancing and telling jokes.

They were all having such a good time that before the Senator realized it, it was time to go. Everyone gave him a hearty farewell and waved while the elevator rose...

The elevator went up, up, up and the door reopened in heaven where St. Peter was waiting for him, "Now it's time to visit heaven.."

So, 24 hours passed with the Senator joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing. They had a good time and, before he realized it, the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter returned.

"Well, then, you've spent a day in hell and another in heaven. Now choose your eternity."

The Senator reflected for a minute, then answered: "Well, I would never have said it before, I mean heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in hell."

So St. Peter escorted him to the elevator and he, once again, went down, down, down to hell..

The doors of the elevator opened and he found himself in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and garbage. He saw all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags as more trash fell from above.

The devil came over to him and puts his arm around his shoulders.

"I don't understand," stammered the Senator. "Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and clubhouse, and we ate lobster and caviar, drank champagne, and danced and had a great time. Now there's just a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable. What happened?"

The devil smiled at him and said, "Yesterday we were campaigning ... Today, you voted.."

In my version the devil has the face of Glen Beck.

Yeah, I'll start the hope and acceptance thing tomorrow...

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Worry, Worry, Worry

Parents worry about kids. It's just how it goes. Everyone knows that from the moment they consider becoming a parent. What no one tells you is just how much you worry. It never stops.

Since Meg was born I have worried about things I never thought possible. I have worried she is eating too little. Eating too much. Eating too much of the bad things, and too little of the good. Worried we are not diverse enough. That we are pushing diversity too much. That she isn't reading enough. That we are forcing books on her. That we spend too much time with her. That she spends too much time entertaining herself.

I could go on and on, but I think you get the picture. Or maybe you don't. I will worry about that later.

Of course, nothing makes worry worse than a sick baby -- and Meg is sick right now. I am monitoring ever move she makes. Her eyes. Her appetite. Her sleep patterns. Her ridiculously gross runny nose. When she is clinging to me. When she is not. Every slight change in temperature.

Again, I could go on.

Here's the thing though: I don't want to stop worrying. While it drives me crazy and makes me pull out my eyebrows (topic for another post), I can't imagine not worrying this way. Not wanting to worry this way. This child is the greatest gift I have ever gotten, and I want to be present at every moment -- even if some of them make me want to scream.

I guess I actually don't mind the worry. It is outweighed by so many other things.

Now, the biting, and the eye poking -- those I could live without.

Actually, probably not.

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