Peanuts for thought

Have you heard the latest from the health experts about kids and peanut allergies? They are now saying that contrary to their earlier advice, women should NOT avoid peanuts during pregnancy and breastfeeding AND that it's probably not a good idea to wait until age 1 to feed kids peanut butter. They think they might have been creating more peanut allergies instead of preventing them with the 'old' advice.

Wow, can I get one of those 'expert' jobs?

I was pretty darned shocked to hear that you weren't supposed to eat peanuts while pregnant. I didn't even get the memo on feeding peanut butter until it was too late. Frankly, a nine-month-old that can't have a peanut butter sandwich would probably starve in my house.

I know my memory is fading, especially where incubation was concerned, but I think I ate pretty much everything. Lots of everything. I don't remember avoiding ANYTHING when I was preggers. Oh, except housework.

Ahhh!
*The lightbulb goes on!*
That would explain why the only thing my girls are allergic to... is CLEANING!

********************************

I am very thankful to be part of a very healthy family. It isn't but once or twice a year that one of us gets hit with some viral smackdown. When we do, though, it's usually a doozie that we share completely. Last week Omega brought home a major snotbomb that hit me yesterday. All night I drifted in and out of sleep, feeling like trolls were pulling all my muscles out through my ears and wondering if I would ever be able to swallow again. My voice varies between floor rumbling bass and Tiny Tim shrill. The harder I try to talk, the more I get but a squeak. I had a hard time giving my order at the bagel shop this morning. The bagel-ess was a bit short on English skills so, of course, I had to talk LOUDER so she could understand me. She just laughed. Alpha had to order for me... boy the circle of life, huh, when your kid has to talk for you.

Sunday, I'm leaving town on family business - back to the land of my birth, to test the strength of my patience and my pills. I will be gone for over a week and may not have much opportunity to post or comment or even lurk, so I hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving with family and friends! No fighting over the drumsticks... and make sure you get that bird up to 165 degrees.

Happy Thanksgiving!!

*******************

Regarding a couple suggestions on prior posts...

The crazy cat sleeps where he wants to sleep. He makes terrible noises if he is not where he wants to be. And then the dog gets worked up... and Homer starts yelling and Jane gets LESS than a half night's sleep.

No way, no how that anyone else is allowed to touch my beloved washing machine. I waited too long for its beautimous, high-efficiency wonderfulness. Only Jane! is allowed to push her buttons. I prefer to abuse their free labor on things like floors and bathrooms.

Cat nap

Check out this bad boy. Looks pretty ferocious, no?

He's actually yawning...
which I find ironic because he kept me awake half the night
listening to him saw logs under my bed...
many, many, very thick logs.

There he goes again. Now I think he's just trying to piss me off.

So I'm wondering if anyone has tried using those snore strip thingys on a cat?

A person might have to do a little shaving around the nose first...

but I think it could work. Yeah, thought that might change your attitude.

Not just a river in Egypt

Last week I got an email from a friend that I hadn't seen in over a year. Our kids were tight in elementary school but then drifted off to different junior high and high schools. Although we both work for the same very large organization, we both lead crazy, but parallel lives and though we often talk about doing lunch... it just doesn't happen.

In her email she was lamenting the fact that she just turned 50 and how everything that hasn't dropped or fallen off, is now wrinkled. She's 6 months younger than I am and I was thinking 'How sad for her to have hit the aging skids like that!'.
Kind of smug, I was... feeling pretty good about my mental age of like 30ish (shush you!) and my physical age of... refuse-to-think-about-it.

Then I ran into her yesterday and during out brief chat I gave her the once over, but I really didn't see one bit of difference from the last time I saw her. And I for sure didn't see anything that screamed 50! Well, except for her less than perky chest... but I think we can blame a history of breastfeeding 2-1/2 year-olds for that!

Yeah, so except for the breast thing, I think we look pretty similar... which makes me realize that either she was she totally fishing for compliments or I am in complete denial.

So... I see now that I have no choice.
Next time I see her I will have to let her know how fabulous she looks.

Jane explains it all

Okay, that's a lie. But I got your attention, didn't I?
I want you to know that I do feel better now. It's been a tumultuous time for me on many fronts. Nothing dreadly, just lots of little things chipping away at my normally sunny disposition. I appreciate your patience so... on to happy things once again!

Like Barbie! All that talk of my dear Ms. Roberts (did you even know that is Barbie's last name?) made me nostalgic.
So, Angie L, here is MY bubblecut Barbie:And, Noanie, notice Midge is also in the pic. I was too lazy to dress Ken and Skipper... but Ricky was ready to go, so I stuck him in the shot. Can you tell he was almost NEVER played with? He's still in his original clothing. The tweenage boy doll idea probably didn't make much coin for Mattel. Back then we were too young to know the value of a good pool boy. No wonder there were no margarita glasses in the Ricky box.

I love Barbie's specs. I think they make her look tres geek. And what I wouldn't give for their perfectly permanent hairstyles. Midge has had that exact same, lopsided, flip since like '65 and Barbie looks just like the day she came out of the box with her bullet-proof helmet head. Anyone who remembers Bobby Goldsboro raise your hand - no fair googling.

BTW - Shanna you little punk, Barbie wasn't born until 1959... 50's style Barbie's, indeed!

And even more show 'n tell - From reading your comments, I have the feeling that you didn't understand what I meant by a 'serious' wallet. Here is the new one:

You can tell I need lots of space to stash lots of stuff. For a bean counter, I am seriously challenged when it comes to organizing my receiptage. There are the debit receipts and the credit receipts... and the Flex spending receipts and the job credit card receipts. Each needs a spot. Once in a while I even have a dollar or two in cash! Shhhh! Don't tell the teeners.

This baby has a space for everything and I like it a lot, except for the fact that it's black. I also thought about what you said, Kat, and I don't just have trouble trying to find a black wallet in a dark purse... it's trying to find a black wallet inside any of our cars that all have black interiors or any of the other stupid places I tend to stash it. Just this morning I left it on the seat of Alpha's jeep. That wouldn't have happened if it had been neon pink with butterflied stripes.

Oh, Diane, this came from Target, too. And check it out. For the first time since giving birth, I am packing pictures of my little devils. What a mom!

To me this just seems like a regular wallet, but I think I may be living a bit above the curve because I couldn't help but notice that it is called the Incredible Bulk wallet. It says it will hold everything from your breakfast to your birth control with an extra space for your Smith and Wesson and a handy fold-out yoga mat. Okay, that's a lie, too.

What's in YOUR wallet?

Time for a defrag?

I know it’s been a while since I put in my nickel’s worth. It’s not like I haven’t tried. If you could see my post list you would certainly notice the pile of discarded drafts. Several times I have started writing and somehow the sentences all fell apart. It wasn’t blogger’s block… I had plenty to say. I just couldn’t seem to string seven coherent words together manner in which sense they make. I know. How sad is that?

So, in an effort to get my groove back, I’m going to try to dump all my frustrations from the weekend and see if that will clear up some space on my mental hard drive. Cross your fingers because 5 days without posting has left me off balance and rocking a major case of mental constipation.

What is currently deranging Jane:

The people at the Greek-Letter Airline - I understand that it was probably oversight that allowed me to book a flight using sky miles – at the lowest level even - in the first place. But don’t worry; my non-faith in The Triangle was restored when I tried to get back to my reservation. I realize that I might be a tiny bit picky, but please don’t SAY you’ll be right with me when you won’t, don’t expect me to know to input a reference number in a field that says confirmation number, and just DON’T put the letter O in the middle of a bunch of numbers and expect me to figure out that it is an O and not a 0! My email font and my visual acuity are not that discriminating. Bonus question: What percentage of pesky callers are you able to eliminate by using the phone tree/eternal hold torture?

Slick, the appliance salesman - Stop yammering and listen to what I want. Quit spewing script and answer my questions with real answers – this is dishwashing, not politics. Cease the nagging and forget about the extended warranty because I WILL NOT BUY IT NO MATTER HOW ‘FREE’ IT IS OR HOW YOU TRY TO SCARE ME. Just stop the lip flap NOW because if my head explodes, NONE of your fancy washing machines will get the brain stain out of your pristine, white liar’s shirt.

Husband – I appreciate your willingness to cook dinner for the family… but every day does not need to be a food channel gourmet episode. We are simple, hungry women. We would rather have grilled cheese and tomato soup at 6:30 than coq au vin at 8 o’clock. Food crunchies, mystery proteins and vegetable adventures are not cool. Sorry we are such culinary simpletons.

Boss - *This is where I would have much to say about my current workish frustrations IF I could afford to be dooced at this particular time… which I cannot.*

Co-workers - *This is where I would name the person that should be voted off the work island.*

Neighbor – Stop lying down in the middle of the freeway and then complaining that you have been run over! Seriously, self esteem IS for sale and your insurance will cover it!

Daughter1 – Don’t turn in your dirty clothes at 6pm on Sunday night and then complain that nothing is clean on Monday morning. That doesn't even give me time to refold the clothes that aren't really dirty, spray them with fabric freshener and put them back on your shelf.

Self – Ditch the needies (aka family) and get thee to the optical shop! It will not be pretty if you end up driving half blind through a dark semi-unfamiliar city. It was your one dam job for the weekend and you called in too busy. Tick tock… all I’m going to say there…

Okay... that's all I'm going to say period. :o)

I Heart Barbie!

Jane's note: This is not a poem. The format is just a ploy to make you read slower, thus making today's entry seem longer... and more cleverish.

Yesterday I finally caved and bought a new wallet.
I wanted any color but black because it is very dark in my purse and black is,
well, dark, and hard to find.
Have you noticed the world gets dimmer as you get older?

The problem is that in the wallet biz,
bright + pretty = dainty + non-functional.
It seems that if you need a serious wallet
with proper places for all things important,
you are stuck with black...
or brown which is really just another black.

So, once again, I sold out
and bought black.
The crazy thing is that when I opened my BLACK wallet,
I recognized the smell of it

as the very same smell
that came from my Barbie Dream House
all those mrfrtzs years ago.
I was at once shocked that I remembered the smell
and mystified by where that smell has been all this time.

I think this may be a problem
because now every time I open my purse

I badly want to 'play Barbies'.
I do still have my Barbie...
and all her friends, but not the dream house.
And that probably wouldn't go over well with the people in my life.

When they lock me away in the looney bin,
I'm going to ask if I can take my Barbies.

Am I dreaming?

A phone call I never expected, even in my most bizarre, far-fetched dreams... of which I have many:

"MOM, you won't believe this. Gas is $2.08 a gallon over here by C.J.'s house! I was so excited I used my last $10 to fill up!"

I didn't know whether to be more excited about the gas price or that my child was putting her own money towards fuel.

Yeah, yeah, I know you have probably been paying like 73 cents a gallon since about May over there in *insert your town*, but please keep that to yourself and let me celebrate the fact that I can, once again, afford to drive to the gas station.

I just realized, because I'm mathy like that, that that is less than HALF of what we were paying in August. I also just realized that I am very special to be able to use 'that' three words in a row.

**************

And the news just gets better... Omega has a job! Yay! In retail sales, which is just the place for a girl who could sell prayers to the Pope. Heaven help the poor teenage boy who steps foot in her sporting wear store. His pockets will surely be empty when he leaves.

I think you will congratulate me for not killing him

As if I needed further proof that I should not let Homer plan a remodel on our house, I give you a recent example of a simple home repair:

In this example, we need a new handle for our back storm door.
Jane's thinking it should go something like this:

• Remove handle.
• Throw in pocket.
• Motor to the H'Depot.
• Pick out best match for a reasonable price as long as it has the lever feature that makes entry so much easier when hands are full of groceries.
• Buy it.
• Take it home.
• Install it.

Estimated time: 1-2 hours
Estimated cost: $25


The reality of Homer doing it:

• Remove handle on Saturday. Leave inside part on the counter, take outside part to Lowe's... in wife's car.
• 

• Browse handle sets... and rotisseries for grill, but buy nothing.
• 
  
• Leave storm door handle-less, forcing the family to pull carefully at the deadbolt to gain entrance.
• 
  
• On Sunday, trip over to a few home centers and bring home... a rotisserie.
• 
  
• On Monday leave handle in car, which goes off to the high school for the day.
• 
  
• Assemble rotisserie. When handle comes home, ride bike to H'Depot and buy FIVE different lock sets - 3 different colors and 3 different styles.
• 
  
• Show wife the 5 options that have been purchased.
• 
  
• When wife states that her only request is that it be the lever style, try to talk her into some weird-ass type that lifts up!
• 
  
• When wife states that either brass or white would be acceptable colors as long as it is the lever style, show her the weird-ass handle again and pretend you didn't hear her.
• 
  
• When wife starts building the road map of pressure filled veins on her forehead, note how it reminds you of Cincinnati and tell her about your planned trip back to Lowe's the next day to purchase some other available options.
• 
  
• When wife states that she would definitely like a BRASS set WITH A LEVER and will accept NOTHING ELSE (because there is one right in front of her), suggest that she consider black because it would match the slate floor that you would like to put down in the ADDITION.
• 
  
• Mumble something else about a slate-topped table and making a man-space as wife retreats to bedroom... and locks the door.
• 
  
• Leave all five options on the kitchen counter so wife gets a good look at them.
• 
  
• Tuesday do nothing.
• 
  
• On Wednesday, decide to save ass and go with the only lever style handle that you've purchased... except discover that footprint is different and will require touch up paint. Apply touch up paint. Meanwhile, temperatures have dropped to glove weather, adding a new challenge level to the game of gaining entry.
• 
  
• Thursday... scrape off crappy looking touch up paint and try again.
• 
  
• On Friday go skiing.
• 
  
• Saturday - give up making paint patch look good. Delegate to wife. Note what good job she does with the paint and wash hands of project. When wife swears out loud about the new lockset not even fitting... AT ALL, after all that rigamarol... argue with her. Tell her she is wrong and when it becomes obvious that SHE IS NOT, change the subject... to the remodel.
• 
  
• When you tell wife that you bought every available handle type and the one she wants is NOT available anywhere, change your story AFTER she breaks the seal on her second choice, consolation, weird-ass handle and tell her that you never actually went back to Lowe's.
• 
  
• Mention how nice the installed NON-lever handle looks. Make note to sleep with one eye open, lest the old handle find a new dark, uncomfortable home.

Actual time: 1 week+
Actual cost: Currently $100+ pending return of 4 locksets which may or may not happen before divorce is final.
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BTW- Does anyone know why the bullets and numbers don't show up on the published posts even though they are quite clearly there when you write it?

Hey nineteen!

The Why family parenting pilot program turned NINETEEN this week.You have no idea how totally shocked I am every year about this time, to discover that I have actually allowed something not only to survive and thrive that long on my watch, but possibly even contributed to its... livingness. This record is second only to my 27-year-old draceana. And really, who can't grow a corn plant - you have to actively try to murder it... the corn plant, not the child... don't start rumors, here.

Our starter child didn't do much to ingratiate herself at the beginning. First, she had to be pried out sideways. Then there was the colic, and the eternal puking and general contrariness that tested the limits of my single, rather smallish maternal gene. I wasn't sure I'd ever forgive her for needing less sleep than I did. Added to that muddled mess was a heaping case of postpartum depression... back when they thought support groups were the answer to 'snapping out of it'. Unfortunately, I wasn't a snapper. So the beginning was... hard, but Alpha just went right on with the business of growing in spite of me.

Back in the early days, when we'd be out on the town, restocking the diaper or wine supplies, people would ask her age, as curious people do when confronted with mini-people. Besides being confused by whether to use weeks or months for baby-life measurement, I also had to brace for the inevitable eyebrows shooting up and the stifled 'Wtf do you feed her?!'
Baby steriods, duh!

She was always the biggest (and best) in her daycare and preschool classes. She was durable and virtually indestructible. She was popsicle sticks to the other toothpick kids - off the growth charts. This was a real blessing for her inept parents.

There have been the minor ups, downs and head butts over the years and I'm sure more will come but I have to say that I couldn't be happier or more proud to have Alpha as my daughter. She is smart and principled and responsible and many other good things. Bestly she is not her mother, or what her mother was at 19. For that, I thank God every day.

Did I mention that she is awesome... and pretty, too?



By the way, she's still darn durable but she quit growing about 7 or 8 years ago... too bad about my WNBA dreams. Happy Birthday, Alpha!

** Photo by Shanna

Finally Friday

It's a good day in the state of You-tah.

1) The Blackout was successful.

Almost 46,000 fans, most of them wearing black watched Utah beat TCU 13 - 10.
This is a big deal to us.
The Utes are 10 - 0 and hoping to bust into the BCS... again.

2) It's Opening day at The Bird!

The second earliest ever.
Extra bonus part of this is that Homer will be on the slopes...
not at home 'fixing' things.

3) Omega's high school team is still in title contention.
No picture here, but would you listen to me...
all sounding like I really care about football.

4) It's Friday.

And this is really all just a brilliant (by Jane! standards) cover
for the fact that I don't have much to say.
Well, I do but most of my thoughts have been
dark and controversial
and run along the lines of why can't people let other people
live their lives.
You just can't convince me that your
neighbor's gay marriage will have the slightest impact on
your heterosexual marriage...
UNLESS YOU LET IT.
Oops, a leak in the verbal ziplock.

Peace, love... and let love.

XXOO

Got mugged

If you visited earlier today you might have sensed a bit of crankiness in the air over here. True that.

I think it was the snow and cold. It demanded my grumpiness and I was glad to oblige.

Then I got home and all was ruined! Someone had the nerve to send me something special in the UPS and my crappy mood was totally shot!


Before you get all judgemental, let me explain that although I am pretty anal when it comes to spelling, I would no more correct someone's spelling on their blog than I would wear pantyhose to bed. Really. I totally turn off my mental spellcheck when I blog-trip. Even though I expect people who consider themselves friends to immediately email me if they find an error on MY blog. Gah!


Last week I did make one teensy weensie um... play on words in my comment over at Our Name is Blog Oops! and today I got this in the mail.

Luckily there was no white powder or rattlesnakes in the box. Instead there was this:


An awesome mug* that could have no better home than on my desk. Tomorrow I will take it to work and use it and make sure everyone knows that I am not some alphabetical rent-a-cop. No, I am official because it says so right there on my mug.


Thank you, thank you, Lorrie! You are awesome! And so is your/my mug... although some might argue that Police should be spelled B-I-T-C-H.

In the future you might also be more careful about rewarding my bad behavior.


*The awesome mug really deserves a better photo but I am too tired to argue with my camera yet again over lost photos.



Night'chall!

10-second (blog) tidy

Yay: Barack! America.

Boo: Snow. Fershit drivers. Broken heat in my office building. Naked earlobes. Desk without a visible surface. Thinking about Homer at home with tools... and no time to blog about it.

Hopefully I will be back tomorrow with a better attitude... and earrings.

Too much fun

Wow, Monday again. How did that happen? Seems like just yesterday I was doing 12 loads of laundry and having a crazy good time scrubbing my kitchen up to board-of-health standards.

You know that when I get frustrated I clean, right? If you looked at my house, you would assume that I am a very unfrustrated person and you would be wrong... oh so very wrong because I tend to become VERY focused in my cleaning. I spent an hour or two just on that little cubby on the fridge door where you get your ice and water. Does that have a name? And the sink... I only lasted about 15 minutes in the Flylady program but I did gather that a clean sink is supposed to be akin to an extreme mental-state makeover, so I used an old toothbrush around the faucet and the drains and sloshed in this and that until is shone! Shined? Whatev. Then I had to use it and it became just another downer in my clean/use/repeat life.

Oh, the source of my frustration? That would be the lone Y-chromosome in my house.

One day late last week, Homer started walking around the house examining it structurally. Looking at one side of a wall... then the other... tapping here, kicking there... looking at the ceiling and mumbling hmm and mm-hmm. I know he expected me to ask what he was up to... so I didn't. I couldn't.
My brain was done for the day so all I said was 'So help me God, if I come home tomorrow and find you have knocked out a wall or two, I will leave and never come back." Truthfully, I would never do that because my car could not even hold all my shoes, but I might change the locks the next time he ran to the H'Depot for supplies.

Then it was Friday and he spent the entire day making pumpkin people - a guy with an arrow through his pumpkin head (complete with ketchup blood) and a guy bending over and showing the world his pumpkin moon and generally festive-izing the front of the house. What? All of your husbands don't do this?

Okay, the boat didn't get moved - my ONE request - but the house was structurally intact so I felt safe for another day.

Then Saturday it all spilled - Homer's grand plan for an addition to the house. That's when I took up my toothbrush and started scouring... all the while repeating my mantra 'MUST not kill him, must NOT kill him... must not KILL him...' You get the idea. Not that I wouldn't love to have extra space in my house. Heck, I would sell my spotted soul for an attic and extra closet space.

So 'Wtf, Jane?' you're saying. Sounds win/win, you think. Well, you probably haven't lived with a gaping hole in the side of your house for those three months we call December, January and February. Okay, I haven't either, but I can see see the future if this were to take the well-traveled road of many of his other projects. That would be the well-traveled road that stops in the middle of nowhere... right there before the uncrossable river that a person who had PREPLANNED would have known about.

I won't bore you/depress me with a list of the reasons I have to be worried. But if you come looking for new posts and find nothing but the smell of bleach and burning brain, I want you to know why.