The Perfect Post and Other Blogger Business

There’s something that I love about words, naked on the page of a blog. Do you agree? I just think there's something so true, so raw, about a blog with no fancy graphic design, no blogexplosion buttons, no flashing ads. Just the blogger and her readers and the words.

And yet...

I gotta be perfectly honest. I totally want a fancy design for my blog AND I can't seem to stop adding new buttons to my sidebar. Can’t. Stop. Adding them.

When I looked at my sidebar yesterday, I felt like Michael Jackson must have felt after his seventh nose surgery when he realized that, not only did his nose look better before he had all that work done, but there was no going back to the way it was. And he was going to do it again, and again, and again.

I knew I was headed that direction when I added this button the other day:



This is a blog for Peet’s sake not a Jerry Springer Spring Break contest! And yet, I found myself adding it anyway. I have no idea where I came across it, but I know I must have dug pretty deep to find that one.

Anyway, now that I have all these flashy doodads on my sidebar, I actually find myself needing to dedicate an entire post to button-related announcements. Scary.

So without further ado, on to the business at hand:

1. I just joined the Blogging Chicks blogroll and, in doing so, I solemnly swore that I would post about the blogroll on my blog. It's a nice little blogroll, so check it out if you haven’t joined yet.

2. I also just joined BloggerChicks, Izzy Mom’s very cool LinkRoll. Now just to be clear, that’s BloggerChicks, not to be confused with Blogging Chicks, previously mentioned in announcement #1. If you'd like to join, just go to her site and ask to be added.

3. I have a new renter--Jennster! Jennster makes me laugh every single time I read her blog. For one, she’s a renegade. (For example, today she posted her Thursday Thirteen despite the fact that it’s not Thursday. Yeah, total rebel.) And for two, she's not afraid to use profanity on her blog and to actually spell out the dirty words, unlike me who uses asteriks like a p**sy to mask what everyone knows are dirty words. So, I recommend giving her a visit. She's f**king great. Just click on “my lovely renter” on the sidebar.

4. And finally, I must not close this post without giving away a button. So...I would like to present the Perfect Post award† for May to Mom-101 for the meme on George W. that she posted the other day. It's not like Mom-101 needs me to award her anything. All of her readers know that every post she writes is perfection. However, I was still taken by surprise when I found out that even her memes are perfect. It had me spitting out my Coca Cola I was laughing so hard. That's how I knew it was the funniest, most creative meme I have ever read.


Well, I think that about covers it.

Oh, wait, just one more thing if you're still reading...

If you do happen to think I’m hot, and you're so inclined, you can click on the “hot or not” button and let me know. (*wink*)
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†The perfect post awards is a way for bloggers to recognize other bloggers and is the creation of two great minds: Lucinda and MommaK.

At last, communication.

Remember that kid, Little Jack, in Meet the Fockers who could use sign language to communicate practically before he could even talk? Yeah, that kid rocks, man. Actually, those kids rock. They're twins, and, incredibly, they knew more than 50 signs by the time they began filming the movie at 18 months of age.

Anyway, after I saw that movie, I decided I would try to teach my own Little Guy a sign or two using ASL. So when he was about 5 months old, I started introducing a few simple signs, such as milk, eat, dirty diaper, mommy, daddy, dog, and cat. You know, the words that basically make up his entire existence?

Yeah, well, I do the most important one of all--milk--several times a day. Each time I sit down to nurse him, I open and close my fist like I'm milking a cow. "Milk", I say and look intently into his eyes. Then I squeeze my imaginary cow boob a few more times right in front of his face. "Milk, milk, milk". Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. Then I bring him to my own breast to breastfeed. What fun! The other sign I do a lot is the sign for dog, which is basically slapping the hip and snapping the fingers. Every time our dog comes near us, I say "dog" and then I slap my hip several times.

Well, up until recently, Little Guy has shown no interest in signing. I know he recognizes the signs, but he hasn't actually done a sign himself.

Until this week.

Yep, that's right, I am proud to say that Little Guy made his first sign: "dog".

I really wanted to get a video of it happening so I could post it here, but that would have entailed me putting Little Guy within close proximity of the she-beast (pictured above) while I fuddled around with the video camera, thereby possibly putting his life at risk. So, I will simply say that it was totally clear that Little Guy was making the sign. He can't do the finger snap part and he doesn't actually slap his hip per se, but, but...he does slap his right side kinda near his rib cage each time he sees the dog. So, yay!! I count it as a sign!

On a sidenote, I have to admit that this may not officially be Little Guy's very first sign because around 9 weeks old I coulda sworn he gave me the finger. I dunno. What do you think?

(picture of Little Guy flipping me the bird - removed to protect his privacy)

It's a Very Good Thing that I Love this Man

You know what I was saying a few days back? Well, make that four weekends in a row.

Bastard.

Good thing I love him.

The Psychology of a Blogger

Blog addiction. I’ve written about it, and it seems as though many others are suffering from it. Recently, i obsess wrote about blog apathy, which is a serious malady that includes, as one symptom, the need of the blogger to feel liked and validated. I immediately felt that I fit the profile.

And it got me thinking. Why do I blog? What addicts me to it, really? Why does it make me so happy to wake up each morning and see comments on my latest post, indicating that maybe just maybe someone is reading what I have to say and is possibly even slightly entertained by it?

To understand the psychology of it, I have to go back in time a bit and tell you a little about myself. Please indulge me if you will…

***fade to flashback***

There was once a child who loved to read and loved to write. She loved fantasy and adventure stories like The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and The Hobbit, as well as stories about girls that she could identify with, such as Anne of Green Gables.

She would develop intimate ties to the characters, and when she got to the end of a book, she would often read the last page over and over, futility trying to hold on to the characters who, inevitably, would slip through her fingers and disappear. And she would cry, a little, because those characters had really become like close friends.

This child also liked to write. Though in truth, she wasn’t all that good at it. But still, she would pound away on her grandmother’s old typewriter and put the fantasies that swirled around in her head onto paper. She just knew that her stories were good enough to publish. Though truly they weren’t. But, still, she could dream of being a writer. And she did.

As the child grew older, her love of reading and writing intensified. Her favorite subject in school was English. She loved analyzing literature. She would write notes in the margins of her books, tracing themes, trying to discover the secret insights and truths that the authors were trying to convey.

When she entered college, she decided that she would study literature and spent four more years dissecting the works of the great authors. And she adored it.

When it was time to graduate, however, she realized that she had absolutely no idea what to do with her degree. She just knew she liked to write and she liked to read. And that was it.

Because she was also interested in public service, she ended up working for a small, non-profit organization. Her writing skills came in handy and, after proving herself, she was allowed to write glossy publications for the organization on a number of topics ranging from teen pregnancy to tobacco cessation. She loved that part of her job.

But then there was the other part of the job. The not so fun part. The part that had nothing at all to do with writing. The part which was terribly fast-paced, where she was made to manage staff and project deliverables and large events on timelines that were impossible to meet. The part where she had to regularly work evenings and weekends to get everything accomplished. The part where she realized that her work might not really be making much of an impact anyway, and yet it was taking over her life.

The pressure built for four years until, at the age of 26, she developed a stress-related thyroid disorder. She began to lose weight quickly. Her heart beat so rapidly that she became as jittery as a speed addict.

But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst was when she found out that she would not be able to have children as long as she suffered from the condition. And that scared the shit out of her because having children was what she had always wanted more than anything.

So in addition to seeking medical treatment, she also made some drastic changes to reduce her stress levels. Perhaps the most drastic of all--she quit her job and went to work for a government agency...as a fiscal analyst.

It was a desperate move. Becoming a fiscal analyst was certainly not her dream job, but it was the first opportunity at a non-stressful job that came her way so she jumped. And truthfully, she welcomed the anonymity of her new position in such a large agency. She was able to hide in the bowels of a bureaucracy so big that no one would notice her. No one would find her and pressure her to take on huge workloads or work long hours. Her job was the opposite of stressful. The sacrifice? The work was monotonous. It was boring. And sadly, it required no right brain activity whatsoever.

She had traded her pen for a calculator. It felt funny. It was not her. But she was stress-free and finally went into remission from her thyroid disorder. She became pregnant and gave birth to a beautiful, healthy 8lb 2oz baby boy. She had acheived her goal of becoming physically healthy.

But in the meantime, she began to lose her identify. No one knew she loved to write or that she could write. People knew her as a numbers person. A box checker. A creater of red tape. A regulator.

And that’s where she was three months ago when she found blogging. She approached it tentatively, even fearfully, for putting pen to paper again after three years felt oddly awkward and she was not sure what would flow out. And further, she was not sure if her writing would connect to others, which is what she secretly hoped for.

And so here she is, here I am, three months into blogging and realizing why I am addicted, why I need blogging and why I need you, my readers and fellow writer/artists.

Because for me, this is my lifeline, my one and only creative outlet. And you, my friends, whether you know it or not, are spurring me on to improve my writing by stopping by and leaving me comments and by modeling witty and insightful and emotional writing in your own blog posts, which I devour like I once did Anne of Green Gables. By doing these things, you are challenging me to improve my writing. You are helping to construct my creative space. You are giving me the courage to write again. Because I'm not just some red tape regulator. I do have something to share, something meaningful to add to the dialogue.

And I'm finding my way back to myself...through this blog. One post at a time.

I thank you for helping me do that.

It wouldn't be a mommy blog if I didn't talk about it (at least once)

I seem to have found myself trapped in a scary cycle of poopy hell the likes of which I have never experienced. It all started last weekend when Little Guy hung out with his baby cousin for the day (read: they stuck their fingers into each other’s mouths and noses all day and shared about a pint of saliva).

Well, turns out that little baby cousin was just getting over a little baby stomach flu, which no one thought to tell me about until after the saliva exchange. (Yeah, thanks a bunch people.)

Anyhow, the next morning I awoke to find my poor Little Guy covered in vomit from head to toe. Luckily, he only had one episode of vomititis. However, we quickly entered DIARRHEA HELL. It was everywhere. And I mean everywhere. On him. On me. On the dog. Ew.

So, I did what any mother would do. *Ahem.* I opened up my Dr. Sears Baby Book to page 690 and read about this thing called the B.R.A.T.Y. diet: “Five foods you can feed your infant that may help slow down diarrhea”. Perfect, I thought! A natural solution to Little Guy’s stomach problem.

So, I dished up the bananas, applesauce and rice cereal at almost every meal and within only 2 days the problem had been minimized, and then yesterday, the diarrhea was gone…totally! I had achieved victory! No antibiotics needed! I was supermom! Or so I thought….

Yes, the diarrhea was gone, but f*king-a if I hadn’t constipated him. He could barely go at all!

So what did I do?

I turned back to Dr. Sears for more advice, this time to page 696 where he talks about treating constipation. His advice?

“Lessen constipating foods [such as]….rice cereal, banans, apples.”

And that’s when I realized....I am currently in a scary cycle of poopy hell, and I don’t know how to get out.


So, forget Dr. Sears. I need some advice from real moms. What do you think I should do? Quick before I start in with the prunes...

Welcome, Mrs. Davis!

OK. I have to tell you about this really cool blog I found. It's called "The Lovely Mrs. Davis Tells You What to Think: A Cool Mom's Views on Kiddie Culture, Pop Culture, and Motherhood."

You're probably thinking, "Uh, you just found her. We've been blogging buds since waaaay back."

Well, just in case you haven't heard of her, Mrs. Davis is a great blog find--especially if you want to know more about what's hot in children's music.

And guess what? She's renting from me this week. So go check her out. She's hanging out on my sidebar. Just a hop, skip, and a click away....

A Golf Widow's Revenge

Question:

What do you do when your husband leaves you at home alone with the baby all day on Saturday so that he can go play golf...again...for the 3rd weekend in a row?

Answer:

On the following day, take him with you and the baby to the mall. Try to go when there are lots of big sales going on and it's really crowded.

Tell him it won't take long...you just need to make a quick stop to return something. Then, after quickly returning your item and heading toward the mall exit, make sure to pass by your favorite clothing store. Get all excited and tell him that you just have to stop in for a second to try on that cute outfit in the window. Don't wait for his protests. Just walk right in.

Begin to try on every item of clothing within your reach. On your way to the dressing room, walk past him with a huge pile of clothes and enjoy the deer-in-the-headlights look on his face.

Walk out of the dressing room at least twice and ask him to get you another size of something. Duck back into the dressing room and cackle to yourself quietly.

Ensure that he doesn't leave to go to the food court by insisting that he look at everything you try on. Each time you walk out, ask him, "Does this make me look fat?" Make sure you like his answers.

Spend extra time in the store if there is loud, annoying music playing.

Repeat these activities in as many stores as you feel like until you find an outfit, or two or three, that you want to buy for yourself. Let money be no object.

Savor his annoyed expression throughout your shopping trip.

Payback. It's a bitch, aint it?

I've Always Wanted a Pen Pal

One of the things that I like about blogging is that it allows me to meet all sorts of new people from all over the country--all over the world even. Why just last night I decided to venture out to visit some new peeps and made it all the way to Missouri for the first time ever! And then I hopped down to Florida, and THEN (and this was the most exciting), I made it all the way to Italy! Italy--my most favoritest country in the whole wide world!

Anyway, I really love the communication aspect of blogging. It's kinda like making a whole bunch of really neat pen pals. I get excited when people stop by my blog because I feel like I've just had visitors over to my house or something. (And I didn't even have to clean my kitchen or shower first. What could be better?)

Sometimes people even leave me comments--hilariously funny comments and insightful comments, sentimental comments and thought-provoking comments. When I get a comment, sometimes I'll reply by leaving a comment on my post, but othertimes I like to e-mail back. However, what I've been finding is that, more often than not, when I go to reply to the comment, there's no e-mail address there. Doh!

So, after three paragraphs of fluff, I am getting to the true point of this blog entry. It's something that Becky posted about on Friday and I thought it was worthy of a mention here as well. And that is: if you're not sure whether you have enabled your e-mail address so that people can reply to your comments via e-mail, please go to "edit your profile" and check the box that says "show my e-mail address."

Cuz how can we be pen pals, if I can't e-mail you back?

Menstrual Sychrony: My Random Topic of the Week

If you’ve never heard of it, you’ve still probably experienced it--maybe even without knowing.

I’m talking about menstrual synchrony. Menstrual synchrony is what happens when women who live together get their periods together. It happened to me during my sophomore year of college when I lived with five other girls in an apartment. After about 3-4 months of living together, most of us were cycling together. It was kinda weird and made for one hellish week of crazy bitchiness and ho ho eating.

I know this is an actual phenomenon because, aside from my own personal experience, I found numerous references to it on reputable, scientifically-researched websites, such as teenwire.com and straightdope.com.

Apparently, researchers think menstrual synchrony occurs when pheromones, which act as “scent cues”, are released into a common space and cause women who live together or work together to begin to cycle together. Interestingly, it may be most common among those women who provide each other with emotional support.

Anyway, yesterday I started my period (yahoo!) and I was thinking about how generally sucky it is to endure the bleeding and the cramping and the ho ho eating when I happened to visit Mama? Mama Come Here! and I found out that she too is on her period.

Coincidence? We have been visiting each others blogs an awful lot lately...

So, it got me thinking. Could women who don’t necessarily live together, but that do provide each other emotional support begin cycling together? Wouldn’t mommy bloggers be a perfect case study? This could turn the entire “pheromones cause menstrual synchronization” theory on its ass. So in light of all this, I pose the following three random questions to you:

1) Are you on your period right now?

2) Do you think that this warrants further research?

3) Would anyone care for a ho ho?

Self-Proclaimed Supermom in the House

You probably already know her and love her, but please stop in and say hello to Rhonda at Self-Proclaimed Supermom. She is renting from me this week. If you haven't checked out her Mother's Day song yet, it's worth a listen. As a bonus, if go to her blog right now, you will get to see a very cute picture of her and her hubby. Yowsa!

Thank you

I would like to extend my sincerest gratitute to everyone who expressed their condolences on my grandmother's passing. My thoughts and prayers go out, too, to those of you who had or currently have a family member struggling with Alzheimer’s disease.

When I started this blog, I had no idea that there was such a large community of compassionate, intelligent, and supportive women out there. I'm glad I found you, and I hope to get to know you all better.

My grandmother passed away last night

I got another call from my mother this morning. My grandmother passed away last night at 11:07pm. During the last hour of her life, I was writing about her on this blog. I don't know what to think about that, but I hope she could feel me thinking about her. I'm sad that she's gone, but I'm happy that her suffering is over. And I know she is in a better place.

Spreading a Little Love

This post is in response to Her Bad Mother's Great Mommy-Blogger Love-In celebration, the purpose of which is to spread some love to a fellow mommy blogger, or two or three, who have made a difference to you. There are many mommy bloggers who I visit daily and that I love to read. I wish I could talk about each one, but I know you have lots of blogs to read today so I will just highlight my latest discovery.
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You know, the cool thing about blogging is that just when you think you have found all the best mommy blogs out there...just when you think you can't possibly add ONE MORE blog to your blogroll or bloglines or whatever...you stumble upon a blog that you've never seen before, you read the current post, and it's all over. You're hooked.

That's what happened to me when I visited i obsess. And here's how she hooked me:

On my first visit to her site, I found out about her love for Bill Murray. Automatically, I felt a connection--cuz anyone who's a friend of Bill's is a friend of mine.

On my next visit to her site, she was talking about her love for Stephen Colbert. Stephen Colbert! He's the man I got Tivo for for Pete's sake. Awesome.

If that wasn't enough, she posted an adorable picture of her baby boy, and I realized that we had something else in common: we were both pushing little guys out of our woo-woos at approximately the same time last summer! Yahoo!

But wait, there's more...

Her next post titled "Monday's Child" was just beautifully moving. Here is my favorite line: (speaking of her son)"...her love was something he would never comprehend, never truly return, and somehow that knowledge made her sense of it expand until she could see it, stretching, infinite, aware that she could love him enough for it to reach back around and touch herself, because that was what must be. I highly recommend reading the entire post if you haven't gotten in your daily dose of joyful crying yet.

And finally, she hooked me because she is totally funny (used to do stand up if I'm not mistaken), totally politically incorrect (love those Bush jokes), and a totally hip mama.

Please pay her a visit and send her lots of XXXs and OOOOs for me. I just hope she doesn't think I'm a crazy mommy blogger stalker after she reads this post. But when she gets super famous and has like 75 people commenting on her blog every day, I will get to say, "Yeah I knew her way back when. And I told you she was cool."

I hope you all have a wonderful Mother's Day Weekend!
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Edited to add: I'd also like to send some love Lindsay's way, who for some insane reason, chose to acknowledge me. *blush*

Dear Blogger.com,

Why is my sidebar way the heck down the page where no one can see it? Don't you know that I am RENTING my blog to a fashionably chic mama blogger named Mama-C-Ta, who no one is going to visit because she's way out in no man's land down there in the armpit of my website? Dang. If you could at least get the word out for me that she's a really nice lady and she'd like a few new mommies to visit her this week, I would really appreciate it.

Oh and while you're telling people about Mama-C-Ta, can you also mention that Her Bad Mother is having an awesomely bad contest/celebration for mommy bloggers to post "love letters" to the bloggers who have made a difference to them?

Thanks. Now, get to work on fixing my sidebar.

MotR

It's not 1,000 grand but I gotta little something for ya

In case you hadn't heard, I've been conducting a Mama-Needs-Some-New-Stiletto-Heels Lotto Pool with some fabulous fellow mommy bloggers. Refer here and here for details. Tonight the lotto results came in...

I'll give you the good news first. Four, yes four of you, picked winning numbers! Now the bad news. You weren't all on the same ticket. So (heavy sigh)...I'm sorry to say it, but we didn't win. They'll be no trip to Hawaii, no $1000 bucks to give out to the lucky winners.

Nevertheless, I feel that I must give something back. So, for those that gave me a lotto number that was picked tonight--Izzy, Kvetch, Mama C-ta, Christina-- consider yourself tagged. (Brought to you courtesy of Kel who tagged me with this last week.)

Read on for the meme...

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I AM: wearing the same socks I wore yesterday.

I WANT: an IPod, a kitchen remodel, new shoes, a trip to Europe...oh sorry, got a little carried away there. I meant to say I want world peace and an end to hunger everywhere.



I WISH: that Starbucks Venti frappucinos didn't have 870 calories.




I HATE: Bill O'Reilly. Hate. With a passion.

I MISS: Having time to wash and blow dry my hair.



I FEAR: people with Bush/Cheney '04 stickers on their cars.


I HEAR: that Sensual Mist is an excellent product.

I WONDER: whether anyone is even reading this right now.

I REGRET: not paying better attention during Lamaze class.

I AM NOT: above wearing the same socks two days in a row.

I DANCE: around the room with Little Guy every day. He's the only one who won't tell me how bad I suck at dancing.

I SING:Actually, I don't sing anymore. Not since 6th grade when my choir instructer (a nun by the way) asked me if I'd rather read during mass because I was bringing the choir down with my off-key singing voice. I'm still scarred by the experience.

I CRY: when I try on bathing suits.

I AM NOT ALWAYS: polite to telemarketers who call during dinner.

I MAKE WITH MY HANDS: obscene gestures to people who cut me off in traffic.

I WRITE: lots of lists, including the list I am currently making.

I CONFUSE: the difference between second cousins and cousins twice removed. What the heck is the difference anyway?

I NEED: 14 hours of uninterrupted sleep. Stat.

I SHOULD: be doing something else rather than blogging right now (like sleeping).

I START: my day thanking God for my Little Guy.


I FINISH: my day thanking God for my Little Guy.

May my home warranty company file for bankruptcy and die a slow, painful death

I hate my home warranty. Hate it. I would rather hear the details of TomKat's spectacular pre-baby sex life than spend 2 seconds on the phone with my home warranty service. Ever. Again.

Why do I hate home warranties, you ask? Well, lemme tell ya. Because they pretend like they're there to help, when really they can't wait for something to break down just so they can laugh in your face and tell you that they can't really help you.

And they often like to drag out the torture. Case in point--our ceiling fan. Last August (which is the most sweltering month of the year out here), the ceiling fan in Little Guys' room broke. But--I was not worried because I had a home warranty service. I checked our contract like a good customer, found that ceiling fans were covered, and called customer service. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: Hi, I'm calling because our ceiling fan broke and I was wondering if someone can come out and fix it.

Rep: Uh, well, let's see...(pause)...I'm sorry, but ceiling fans are not covered by your contract.

Me: What?! I checked out contract and they ARE covered.

Rep: No, they aren't. It says right here in provision 14a. Ceiling fans are NOT covered. (She definitely stressed the "not" just to be really clear.)

Me: Well, I have the Ultimate Upgrade option and it says that with Ultimate Upgrade, they ARE covered.

Rep: Oh, OK, well, if you have the Ultimate Upgrade then ceiling fans are covered and we can send someone out.

Damn. Why do I have to tell them what coverages I qualify for. If I hadn't kept a copy of my contract I would have been screwed. But as it turned out I was screwed anyway because when the guy came out to fix it, he said that he couldn't proceed with the repairs because it had been improperly installed and "improper installation of an item that results in damage" is not covered by the contract.

Then he charged me $45 for the service visit.

So that was how they screwed me the first time. Then just last week, we called the warranty service again because the water in our shower was backed up. I thought surely they would be able to help us. But when the warranty guy came out to the house (2 hours late), he told us that he couldn't fix it because there wasn't adequate "access" available to the plumping.

Then he charged us $45.

To add insult to injury, the next morning we got a follow-up call from the Home Warranty Service. I thought they were calling to tell us that they had realized that they really could help us because after all that's what we are paying them for. But no, they were just calling to tell us "officially" that they were under no obligation to fix our plumbing. Yeah, we knew that already. Thanks.

Then the next day, cuz they obviously wanted to REALLY rub it in, we got a letter saying that per Section F, Item No. 1 of the contract, they "are not responsible for providing service where access is not available...blah blah blah".

What I want to know is, what IS covered under this godd**m service? Window washing? Light bulb replacement?

I'm sure there are some good home warranties out there. I've actually had an OK experience with a different warranty company in our previous home. But I gotta say this home warranty service really sucks a**. And in case you are wondering, as of this writing, our shower is still out of commission.

Now, I don't really want to name names about which home warranty service I have.

I mean, I wouldn't want them to lose any business because of me or anything.

Cuz I'm really not the petty type, you know?

But I do need a couple graphics for this post so...

Please Meet Mama C-Ta, My New Renter

This week Mama C-Ta is renting my blog. I am so happy to have such a cool tenant. She has the most adorable little boy (with a rockin' tattoo), who is coming up on his first birthday soon. Please go spread some love and say "hello"!

You can get to her by clicking on "my lovely renter" on the sidebar.

I'm Feelin' Lucky (Part Deux)

Thanks to all the mamas who offered up their lucky numbers on my last post! I will be buying the lotto tickets this weekend for the draw next Tuesday. I'm planning to play Mega Millions because it has the biggest jackpot (currently at $55,000,000!). So keep your fingers crossed that we will beat the 1 in 176 million odds and take the entire jackpot. I think we have a really good chance!

Once the results are out, I will let everyone know how much we won and we can start planning our group spa vacation to Hawaii.

Below are the lotto pools.

The Lucky Lactaters
#52:A Penny for Your Thoughts
#3: Sunshine Scribe
#30: Lafferland
#7: Kvetch Blog
#22: The Mom Squad
#11: Stolen Moments

The Boo Boo Kissers
#37: Self-Proclaimed Supermom
#28: Jodi's World
#27: MessyBeautiful
#12: POW
#30: On the Banks of the Rio Grande
#21: My Life in the Kid Zoo

The Sexy Senioritas
#8: Hello Josephine
#14: Mama K's World
#4: Mom/Ma'am/Me
#27: Mommy on the Verge
#7: Izzy Mom
#13: Crazy Thoughts by Chelle

The Mommy Mafiosi
#23: Jennster
#15: Mama C-Ta
We've got four more spots here...anyone, anyone??
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Edited to add:
#42: Something Blue
#25: i obsess
#5: Motherhood Uncensored
#44: A Mommy Story

I'm Feelin' Lucky

*Read this post to the bottom, cuz there might just be 1,000 bucks in it for you.*

For the last 6 months, I've been pumping breastmilk 2-3 times a day in the lactation room at work. Nothing exciting ever really happens to me in the lactation room. Until recently....

The first incident happened last Thursday. I had just placed my boobs into my Madela Pump-in-Style breastsheilds, cranked up the pump, and opened the latest People magazine to catch up on important celebrity gossip, when over the loudspeaker I hear:

Attention! Attention! An emergency has been reported in the building. Please cease operations and exit the building immediately using the nearest exit or fire exit. Attention! Attention! An emergency has been reported in the building...

My first instinct, honed by years of grade school fire drills, was to flee immediately. But then I remembered that I work for a government agency, where someone is always setting off the smoke alarm by accidently burning popcorn in the microwave. So I kept on pumping. Cause I'm not gonna let burned popcorn prevent me from getting liquid gold to my baby. (As you might have guessed, I'm OK. There was some type of fire, but no injuries reported. Probably someone left their coffee mug warmer on all day and it blew a fuse or something.)

So then this week, I'm pumping away in the lactation room again...and the entire building's power goes out. I'm like what the f---? So there I am in complete darkness. As there were no windows in the room, I couldn't even see my hand in front of my face. However, luckily the pump was still going strong. Apparently, the engineers who designed our building decided that back-up power would be really important to have in the lactation room. You know, just in case this type of situation should occur. So I just kept on going and was totally proud of the fact that I pumped for 5 minutes, removed my breastshields, capped my milk bottles, and packed away my pump in utter darkness without losing a single drop of milk. Talk about skill. Next time I'm at a meeting and they're doing one of those icebreakers where they ask you to share something about yourself, I'll have something new to say: "Hi, I'm Mommy off the Record, and one of my talents is assembling and dissasembling a breast pump with my eyes closed."

Anyway, I know what you're thinking. Where does the $1000 bucks come in? Well, I'm feeling pretty darn lucky to have escaped two semi-emergencies in the lactation room within such a short timeframe. I mean, what are the chances that I would be caught off guard not once but twice with my boobs in breastshields and lived to tell about it?

So, in honor of this lucky streak, I want to play the lotto. I never play, but now I've got that lucky feeling. And I'd like your help. I want you to suggest one number--your lucky number, your birthday, whatever--and I will put the numbers together in the order I receive them and then play them next week. If I win more than $50,000 playing one of your numbers, then I will give you $1000. The only rule is that you can't give the same number that someone else has. Oh yeah, and the number has to be between 1 and 56.

(And no, this is not some lame ditch effort to get comments. Well, it kinda is, but I will play your numbers. Pinky swear.)