Death Awaits you all...with nasty, big pointy teeth

The recent presidential primaries have made me very scared. And being scared makes me think of Halloween. So I thought I would share our family costumes from this past year. Our theme was Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Sage declared that Shepard is Brave Sir Robin and Sage wanted to be Sir Not Appearing in this Film. Alan is the Enchanter--there are some who call him...Tim? And I am the Killer Rabbit.

Ni!

Lady Psycho Sexy

I am going a bit mad. It comes with being a parent but also living with 3 males. I think that would drive anyone out of their freaking mind. What is it with boys? They are so weird. By the time they are out of the house I will be the one needing therepy, not them.

To give you some insight in my insanity, here is a list of things I have actually said or screamed this past year: (All 100% true)

--Shepard, get your hands out of your pants! And Sage, stop picking your brother's nose!
--Oh, you think I'm the worst parent in world?! Don't make me go Britney on your butt!
--Whose snot is this on the wall?
--I declare no more lick fights!
--No, you are not a Jedi Master because Jedi Masters listen to their mothers and you, sir, do not!
--Whose snot is this on the couch?
--You absolutely cannot pee behind your dresser because you are scared to go to the bathroom.
--Go back outside and get your underwear off the neighbor's lawn!
--Living with you makes me want to DIE!!!! (That one was for Alan, dear husband)

And here is my favorite: (this one I did screaming while others cried)

STOP THAT CRYING RIGHT NOW!!! YOU WILL GO TO THIS PARADE AND YOU WILL HAVE FUN!! IF I HEAR ANYMORE WHINING I WILL START BEATING SOME BUTTS BECAUSE THIS IS FAMILY TIME AND WE ARE GOING TO HAVE A GOOD TIME RIGHT NOW!! PARADES ARE FUN!! FUN, DO YOUR HEAR ME?! FUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


"Lady psycho sexy that is me, Sometimes I find I need to scream"

Breakfast Club Brats

I used to love the movie "The Breakfast Club." I loved the plot, the song and the characters. I could really relate to all the pressures of teenage life. So, I was delighted when I came across it on cable one day and looked forward to enjoying a little slice of my younger life. But, oh how the worm has turned. As I watched I was having these thoughts: "You whiny, little brats! Your parents just want the best for you and all you do is complain about them and blame them. Ungrateful wretches!"

This was the moment I realized I have changed in a profound way. I have joined the other team. I have been assimilated. I am now... AN ADULT. It was a gradual change because I did not realize it was happening. But here I am watching 'The Breakfast Club' and having a moment of self-actualization and self-loathing at the same time. I know I am way more uptight than I used to be. I am way more stressed and bitchy than I used to be. I have lost the shiny glow of optimism. I feel the weight of responsibility and sometimes I feel like it is crushing me.

Bender says, "But face it, you're a neo-maxi-zoom-dweebie. What would you be doing if you weren't out making yourself a better citizen?"

Is he talking to me? Is he right? Am I just an empty shell going through the motions of an adult existence? I take a moment to think about this one. And here it comes--a moment of self-clarity. I spent my entire teenage life dreaming of my future and wanting my life to begin. However, since becoming an adult, I have not once wished I could go back to my teenage life. That future I deamed of is here and though it may be hard at times, I know that it is everything that I ever wanted.

So 'The Breakfast Club' is dead to me.

Bender, you can Eat. My. Shorts.

I'm back...It ain't Britney, Bitch

I am making my triumphant return to blogging. Things got really hairy there for a while when Shepard became more mobile and Sage started school. I was drowning in life. But now I am able to peak above the surface. And, as a drowning victim who suddenly sputters back to life and vomits water over the pavement, I am ready to spew my thought all over this blog. It may not be every day or every week but I will write. I have to write or I may drift to the depths of nothingness and cease to breathe.

September 11th

I wear red today
to honor the lives taken.
I wear white today
to mourn the innocence lost.
I wear blue today
to remember the bond we shared.

I wear red, white, and blue today
because I'm proud,
because I love,
because I hope,
because I can,
because I'm free.

I'm a screamer for ice cream

A crazy Saturday morning transitioned into a rare opportunity yesterday afternoon. Energized by his morning soccer game and end of the season party, Sage was outside playing with the neighborhood kids. Shepard was simply exhasted and napping in his crib. Alan and I found ourselves alone in a quiet house. We decided to partake in a little 'afternoon delight.' (Actually I finally relented after Alan bugged the crap out of me.)

Behind our locked bedroom door the soft music is playing, warm sunlight is streaming in the open window, the opaque window sheers are dancing in the crisp Fall breeze. Alan and I are lying on the bed--butt nekked--gettin' busy. All of a sudden, I heard a distant cacophony that made me gasp. "What's wrong?!" asked a surprised Alan. Then he heard it too, "Oh no! Ice Cream Man!" Alan: "Do you think Sage will hear it?" Me: "Of course he will. Throw two dollars down the stairs. Quick!"

No sooner had Alan grabbed two dollars and crept nekked to the top of the stairs, then we heard the front door bang open and Sage screamed, in classic Eddie Murphy fashion, "ICE CREAM!" Alan threw the two dollars down the stairs and ran back into our bedroom. He shouted down the stairs, "Sage, the money is on the stairs. Take it and go!" Sage frantically scrambled up the stairs, collected his two dollars and ran. I felt a twinge of parental guilt and told Alan "Tell him to be careful." Alan yelled at Sage's sprinting form "Sage, be careful! Don't get hit by the ice cream truck." Sage yelled behind him, "Ok Daddy, I won't!"

So that taken care of Alan tried to get me back in the mood and asked, "So, what do you want from your ice cream man?" Me, "I want you to bring that Nutty Butty right over here, baby." Alan, "I believe I will have the creamsicle today." Game On! But as the ice cream truck approached we found ourselves doing it to the circus-like tune of 'Pop goes the Weasel.' I found it very hard to concentrate when I felt like the carnival side show attraction. But hey, like I said, it was a rare opportunity so we pressed on and enjoyed every lick. :0

The Fives (Birthday Edition)

On October 1st I turned 35. These are the top five questions I have about getting older.

1. Why is it that everytime I go to the library in search of a particular book, the book is always on the lowest shelf? (Which causes me to have to bend, which causes all kinds of cracking and popping)

2. When exactly was it that I started referring to The Real World cast as "those kids" ?

3. Why is my body starting to reject alcohol? Shouldn't it be used to it by now?

4. Why do the '80s seem so much cooler on VH-1?

5. And finally...................will I age gracefully?

HELL NO!

Luke, I am your Mother

Star Wars was our family theme for the Halloween costumes this year. Sage was Yoda and he insisted that we call him "Master Yoda." He would go around saying "Have candy, I must." Shepard made a cute Chewbacca and he's definitely mastered Wookie language. Alan was in Jedi Knight heaven. He kept coming up to me at the party waving his hand at me and saying, "You will get me a beer now." I replied, "Listen, Obi Wan, your Jedi mind tricks don't work on me! Get your own damn beer!" People at our neighborhood Halloween party asked Alan, "Why did Jill come as Darth Vader instead of Princess Leia?" Alan responded, "Darth Vader is more her style." Hmmmm....I don't know what he means by that and if he keeps making those kind of comments I will have to destroy him.

Ok, Halloween is over now so why is Alan still walking around in his Jedi robe?!

Breakfast Bootcamp:The Crack Pipe of Dawn Part II

I always feel like the resident drill sergeant, constantly barking orders. But I have a feeling that it would be more satisfying to be a real drill sergeant since their orders are obeyed.

When we left off, Sage and I were about to go downstairs for breakfast. Cooking of the breakfast is Alan's responsibility. I feel very lucky to have a husband that actually helps with the domestic chores of the house; he is a great help to me and I couldn't do it without him. That being said, let me explain something about my husband. Have you ever heard the expression "Slow as molasses in January"? Well, that is a pretty good description of Alan. If I say to him "you need to put it in high gear, Alan" he just gives me that look that a dog gives when he is confused--the head tipped to the side, ears bent, slight furrow to the brow. Alan has no high gear. He only has 3 gears which are--Staring into space, Scratching, and Slow. It is pretty much a given that breakfast is not on the table when we arrive downstairs. I can feel my stress level rising and go into drill sergeant mode barking orders at Alan who calmly says "I go at my own pace." Sometimes I feel like I should be wearing chaps and spurs and shouting "Yah!" to get him moving. (Oh dear, I probably shouldn't have conjured that image. Alan, if you are reading this I will not be wearing chaps and spurs for you. Ok? Absolutely not! I did the Princess Leia thing, but I draw the line at Ride 'Em, Cowgirl!)

Well, slow and steady will eventually finish the race, at some point, maybe; so, he finally puts the food in front of Sage with 15 minutes to eat before we have to leave for the bus stop. Sage is his daddy's boy and getting him to focus and eat is very challenging. "Sage, stop talking and eat." "Eat, Sage." "Sage you are playing with your food." "Pick up your fork!!! EAT!" Sage's eventual reply, "Mommy, I eat at my own paste!"

I get no respect!! This past week I decided to turn the tables on them all. I took over breakfast duty and let Alan be in charge of Sage. As I am happily cooking downstairs, all I hear are the cries and screams of Sage: "You're mean!! I want Mommy! Daddy, you are hurting my feelings!" I resist the urge to intervene and just keep setting the table as they arrive downstairs. Sage, with a tear streaked face, proclaims, "Daddy is a hundred times worser than you, Mommy!!" Aaaahhhh, finally some appreciation. I hope this means that he will be more pleasant with me next week. Probably not, but it is a nice thought anyway. At least I can threaten him--Get up and no whining or I will go get Daddy. Mwuh ha ha!

The Crack Pipe of Dawn

If there was a 'Morning in Pleasantville' drug, I would definitely be smoking it. I would be sucking on that pipe for sure. I am not a morning person and, as I stuggle to drag myself from the bed at 6 a.m., I am far from being Miss Mary Sunshine. I am more like Ms. Roxy Bitchslap. However, I am a mom which means that I have to plaster on a smile and face the trials of the morning. Why does it have to be so hard, Oh Lord? Alan and I divide the morning labor. I am on Sage duty and Alan is on breakfast duty. In theory, it should run smoothly, but in reality it is my own little slice of hell.

Here is an example of the typical morning--I enter Sage's room, turn on a dim light and sing "Good Morning to You." Honestly I don't know why I sing since I remember hating it when my mom did it to me. I guess it is further proof that I am turning into my parents. After ignoring me for a few seconds Sage starts to stir and the whining starts. I try not to lose patience since any cross word or action will result in full blown crying. I hand him his cold, wet washcloth to wipe the sleepies from his eyes. It is cold because on Monday he cried when I gave him a warm washcloth. He takes the washcloth and whines, "It's too cold!!" (My smile has now cracked into a Billy Idol snarl.) I proceed to dress his limp form because his "arms and legs are not working." Then I cajole him into the bathroom for teeth and hair brushing. Since he refuses to open his eyes he trips over Shepard's potty seat. Between screams, he blurts out "It's all your fault, Mommy!" Me, "Why is it my fault? You were the one walking around with your eyes closed." Sage, "You should have led me!" What am I now--a Seeing Eye Mom?! After about 10 long minutes, 23 times of saying "Brush!!" 2 threats of what will happen if he doesn't brush ( "Your teeth will grow mold that tastes like green beans" and "Santa is putting you on the bad breath list") and one "Jesus brushed", we are finally ready to come downstairs. Stay tuned for Part II of our morning adventure.

The Name Game

My confession of the day is that Angel Omega is not my real name. Shocked, are you? Actually it is my porn name. To arrive at your porn name, take the name of your first pet and the name of the street you grew up on. That is how I got Angel Omega. Though I love my porn name and will use it as my pen name when I write my novel, I am changing my display name for my blog. I have decided to go with short and sassy. Something that is easier to chant.

My inspiration is Sean "Puff Daddy" Combs. He went from "Puff Daddy" to "Puffy" then "P. Diddy" and now it is just "Diddy". Soon it will be "Did", and finally he will just be "Was".

So my new display name shall be------J.Hi, a combination of my real first name and my maiden name. Hey at least it is not a symbol! Of course if I were to change my name to a symbol I would like it to be "$" but really it would end up being something lame like "~". So, J.Hi it will be for now. Go ahead chant it a few times...much easier, right?

Confessions of a Tooth Fairy

I felt like a terrible mother this morning. Sage lost his first tooth. He discovered it was loose Saturday morning. We were all playing on the bed and Shepard accidentally elbowed Sage in the mouth. Sage started crying and yelling, "Shepard knocked my tooth loose!!" He would not let me touch it and all morning he held his lip pulled down because he didn’t want the lip to touch it. All the while drool was streaming down his arm and he kept crying and saying “I on awn oo ose eye oof.” (I don’t want to lose my tooth.) He finally calmed down and accepted it and even became proud of the loose tooth. But he still would not let me or Alan touch it. I remember when I was a kid how freaked out I was when I had a loose tooth because it seemed like once the adults found out, all they wanted to do was to try and pull it. So I decided to be laid back about it and let the tooth fall out on its own or let Sage pull it himself.

Well, this morning at breakfast Sage yelled, “My tooth is gone!” It’s true, the tooth was gone without a trace. Alan and I rushed up to his bedroom to search in the bed for it but with no luck. I am assuming that he probably swallowed it in the night which really makes me cringe. We did not mention this fact to Sage. I told Alan to quickly go grab a fiver and slip it under Sage’s pillow. As Sage is walking up the stairs Alan rushes down the hall and whispers, “All I have is a ten!” So I quickly snatch it and shove it under the pillow right before Sage walks in. When he found out that we did not find the tooth, he said, “Maybe the Tooth Fairy came in and plucked it in the night.” So he looked under his pillow and found the money. I will never forget his reaction--so purely awestruck, such perfect excitement. It made me so happy for him and reminded me of how fun it was to believe in the magical. Alan and I just smiled at each other and uttered a silent “Whew!”

It turned out fine but I just felt horrible that I let him swallow his tooth and now I don’t have his first tooth to save. And to top it all off Sage thinks that he gets $10 for each tooth. He will have the most expensive mouth on the East Coast. Hope he doesn’t need braces too!

Saturday Scowl

People who mow their grass in a diagonal pattern really piss me off.

Spinnin' and winnin'

I had just returned from my doctor's appointment where I learned the diagnosis for two days worth of extreme dizziness. My doctor said, "Classic case of vertigo caused by an inner ear virus." I was just relieved that it wasn't a brain tumor or extended spins from my bender the previous Saturday.

Alan had taken the morning off of work so I could go to my appointment baby-free. So I am lying on the bed explaining my diagnosis to Alan when he announces "This is the perfect time for a nooner! I mean, you are lying down anyway, right?" I couldn't really argue with that logic so I agreed. So after we gated Shepard in his room and gave him a cookie to stop the screaming, we did it. And it was great!! He made my head swim or maybe that was just the vertigo. But right after the "ooooo" and just before the "ahhhhh, yeah" I had a revelation. Nooners are the answer!!

I hate having sex in the morning, evenings are too busy, and at night I just want to watch TV or read. So this is answer to our question--where does sex fit in? Nooner! I won't be too tired, Alan will get it on a regular basis with lunch thrown in too, and I can still watch Lost without being groped! Oh, happy day! I'd say it's a win-win for all parties.

Rock Star Mommy

I am feeling nostalgic this week after sending my first born off to kindergarten one week ago. So here is something I wrote when Sage was 2 years old...

I want to be a rock star. I want to behave badly and have people say, “Oh, well, you know how it is—she is a rock star. That is just the way they are.” I want to cuss, destroy furniture, throw liquor bottles at the wall, punch mirrors, and (the coolest) shoot a TV screen out--not my big TV, maybe an old one, the kind with a knob and antennae. I want blue and orange M&Ms provided for me at all times. I want to check myself into rehab just to get some sleep. I want to go through the McDonald drive-thru in a limo. I want to get on stage in front of ten thousand people and rage and complain about all my problems and everything that pisses me off—and then have them applaud, light their lighters, and scream “Wooo, yeeeeaaah, go girl!”
I would be very popular, but also very controversial. I would say all the things other parents would only dream of saying. Women would love me because I speak about issues to which they relate. Men would love me for kick-ass music and loud gritty vocals. I would tell about the challenges and frustrations I face as a Home Administrator (this used to be called a House wife many tens of years ago.) I need an outlet for my domestic angst. Here are the songs on my debut album …
1. Don’t! Stop! NO! (The only words I seem to say now that I own a toddler)
2. Do you want a smack? (Oh yeah, I say that too.)
3. He dumped the laundry basket after I folded the whole load
4. Dropping your spoon pisses me off (and you know it)
5. I said come here and he ran the other way
6. Meltdown in the car (a mother’s hell)
7. Why does the pink toilet mold grow so fast?
8. The delivery that was supposed to come between 12 and 4 and did not come until 4:02
9. Listening to a running toilet for relaxation
10. Hey Cat, can you only yak on the carpet? Why not the hardwood floor?
11. Why can’t we have Spaghetti every night? (That’s easy to make.)
12. Pee in the potty (Ballad to Sage and Alan)
13. Time out does not work, let’s just beat him (Just kidding, CPS)

I think that is a good start. The longer I am a Home administrator, the more material I amass. It is amazing to me how such a little being can cause so much frustration. One minute he is so sweet, the next minute he is running through the house screaming, chasing the cat, ripping his clothes off, and throwing them down the stairs. I say No, he says Yes. I say let’s go out, he says lets stay in. Ok, now let me tell you about Sage… If he does not like his food, he throws it across the room. He cries because he cannot have Spaghetti-Os for breakfast and Fruit Loops for dinner. He drives me to the brink of madness. Like Linkin’ Park says “Everything you say to me, takes me one step closer to the edge, and I’m about to break.” And just when I cannot take anymore, when I am about to run screaming from the house and throw myself in traffic, he says that one little thing, “You know what, Mama, I love you.” And then rock star mommy falls at his feet and kisses each one of his precious toes.

A Tale of a Fateful Trip *

Alan, Sage, Shepard and I took our first vacation as a family back in August. We went to the beach for 5 days. It was an eye opening experience and these are the things we learned...

1. It is possible to over pack a station wagon
2. Realizing that becoming your parents is inevitable when we used the phrase "Do you want me to pull this car over!!"
3. A pool view room does not necessarily mean a view of the pool that you are allowed to swim in
4. Chicken nuggets are considered seafood to those 5 years and younger
5. Babies will eat sand but not their veggies
6. Peeing can be educational--demonstrated by Sage when he came up to me and said excitedly, "Mommy! When yellow pee goes into blue toilet water, it makes green!"
7. Swim diapers are not unisex--Shepard was the victim of this lesson since he had to wear pink Little Mermaid swim diapers and endure his brother taunting him with "Girl diaper! Girl diaper!"
8. No matter how hard you try, you will never catch that seagull (Shepard's lesson learned)
9. Finding out that your husband is into watersports--when he asks you to pee on his jellyfish sting
10. It is a very bad idea to say to your spouse "Look, this is my vacation." (Alan was the one who learned that lesson.)
11. Children who sleep until 8:30 a.m. at home will rise at 6:00 a.m. on vacation
12. Sex on the top of a toilet seat is not worth it---ever!
13. Parents really cannot have sex on a family vacation
14. The crack of your ass can store sand for 7 to 10 days after you vacation ends
15. Family vacations are not relaxing, but very memorable

* R.I.P. Gilligan

The state of being away...What is absence?

Forgive me, bloggers for I have sinned. It has been 3 weeks since my last post.

I have been neglecting my blog as of late. It is not for lack of material to write about--oh no! I have plenty to say. It is just that the past three weeks have been chocked full of activity and emotional ups and downs that I just don't know where to start. We took our first real family vacation, we prepared for and sent our first born to kindergarten and we enjoyed the last days of summer vacation. Now that Sage is in school I should have more time to blog. Here are two quick Sage and Shepard stories just to hold you...

Sage told me one day, "Mommy, sometimes I pee so hard that my butt pops." He even tried to demonstrate it for me, but his butt would not perform. :)

Shepard's new thing is emptying containers. He sees a bin or a box he turns it right over. One morning he got his hands on the open Cocoa Puffs cereal box. He turned it over emptying all the contents on the floor. Sage laughed and said, "Look, Shepard is eating the cereal off of the floor. Isn't that funny?!" As I gazed at the mess, I said, "No, it isn't funny." Sage said, "Aaaaawww, where is your sense of humor?" Sometimes I wonder that myself.

I'm a Survivor

I survived the iBook Riot of Richmond!! If you don't know what I am talking about, here is the link...

Times Dispatch article

Our county was selling off iBooks because they are switching to Dell for the school kids. Anyway, they had 1,000 to sell for $50. Alan and I thought we might as well try and get one since it was such a good deal. Would have been cool for Sage and I to use around the house. So we arrived at 5:30 and got in a long line. Turns out there was no need for a line because the idiots running the sale just opened the gate up at 7 and let people run in like crazy freaks. It was ridiculous. People were trampled, thank goodness there were only minor injuries. Alan and I were not at the front and not involved in the trampling. Although I told my mom (just for fun) that I was the one who ran over the old man with the walker. :)

Anyway, Alan and I didn't get one. Mainly because we are not aggressive people and are not willing to trample, push, or cut in front of people. We are too civilized, I guess. I was disappointed but I figure that those people must have needed it a lot more than I did. What really made us angry was the way the whole thing was handled. I think they should have let people in gradually instead of in a huge stampede. They could have also passed out numbers or tickets guaranteeing you a computer instead of letting 10,000 people stand out in the hot sun wondering if they would get one. Alan and I stayed a good while hoping that we might have a shot. Also because rumors were running rampant that they had more than 1,000 iBooks. Why else would they let all those people just stay there waiting? We found out later it was because they were idiots. It was really unnecessary for people to get hurt over this. I talked with two high school students who had been trampled. The girl had scrapes on her elbow, knees, shoulder and hip. The guy had a footprint mark on the back of his shirt and told me "I thought I was going to die." That really upset me. They only had 5 off duty cops there at the beginning of the sale and by the end had 70 cops there, some in riot gear. Alan said that was like closing the barn door after the horse had already run out.

The guy who was in charge of running the sale made some very ignorant comments in the news after the sale such as "people came out for the excitement or entertainment value." And they (the county) would not have done anything any differently. That really pissed me off and I wrote him a scathing email. I also wrote the Board of Supervisors to complain about him. I am such a rebel. ;)

Well, though we came away empty handed (except for a sunburn) it wasn't all bad. Just mostly. I did meet some nice people and had a few laughs. They liked it when I played Bob Marley's "Get up, Stand up" for them from my iPod. Alan and I had some alone time--we bonded. And I can always tell my grandchildren how I was there at the iBook Riot of 2005. :) I had a great idea for a t-shirt "I stood in line for an iBook and all I got was this lousy t-shirt." Someone beat me to the punch though. Check it out
http://www.tuaw.com/2005/08/16/henrico-ibook-chaos-makes-good-t-shirt-fodder/
Very funny.

Pussy Problem

Or is it a kitty conumdrum? My cat is sooooo fat. How fat is she? She is sooooo fat that she cannot clean her own ass. As you can imagine, there is a crappy, smelly buildup. And just to add an exclamation point to the fact that she has a nasty ass, our little darling has recently started the practice of dragging her large bottom around and leaving track marks on the carpet. It's her own little breadcrumb trail, but with shit. So we tried to handle it like this...

But the size 4 diaper didn't really fit and did not stay on long. As you can tell she is not amused.

So now we have to take her to the vet every six weeks for her booty shave. We also have to wash the area on a regular basis. And Daddy Alan gets the pleasure of being the resident cat ass washer. I am on the side of the tub yelling, "Clean that kitty! Polish that Pussy!" As you can tell he is not amused.

Meow!

11? Feels like 107

Today Alan and I are celebrating our 11th anniversary. We always joke that it feels like so much longer. And for me it does, but not in a bad way. I feel like my life began when I met him. It is just hard for me to think about the years that I did not know him--well, except for the college years which were kick ass--woooooo!! Anyway, we met in second semester of our 4th year at UVA which was perfect timing. We had both sown our wild oats apart and now were ready to sow some together. Boy, that sounded so 'Corn'y! Ha, I crack myself up. We started dating on March 27th, 1992 and he asked me to marry him on December 23rd, 1993. That was a formality really because from very early on I knew I would marry him. Alan claims that he knew he would marry me after our first meeting. On the one hand that is so cool, but on the other hand it's a little creepy. Is he my soulmate or my stalker?

So you may ask, after 11 years are you still in love with him? Yes, yes and again yes. Of course it is a very different love than it was 11 years ago--then it was all "this is so romantic being able to finally live with you and have sex and be all cutesy." Now I would describe it as a "you are my partner in all things and the father of my children and if you ever left me alone with them I would take a Henkel and cut out your still beating heart" kind of love. Yes, love means
never having to tell your mate that you don't want any more children because he feels the same way.

On that note, for his anniversary present, Alan will receive a pack of Trojans and a gift certificate for a few sessions of couple's therapy. Alright, I am just kidding about the therepy, but the Trojans, mabye not so much. My kids are the best gift Alan has ever given me, but if I want to stay married another 11 years or more, we have to stop at 2. And ever since Shepard has grown out of the infant stage we have been able to get out on our own a little more and recapture some of the passionate 1994 love. Yes, I have a thong and I am prepared to use it!! Now I am exciting myself. Gotta go and shave the pits for my romantic night. Holla!