A documentary

Living with a little turkey and lion, it was only a matter of time before we found ourselves in a nature documentary. Presenting:

The toddler stalks her prey...

Successful attack! ‘YUMMY!’ is screamed in victory

The toddler enjoys her spoils

Pause

Last month my mom went to Paris. Oo La La! Before she left:

Her response: 😆

Because if there was anyone who would end up in a French prison, it would be my mom.

Anyway. She goes to France. She texts her daily adventure pictures at 3 am (which is the most she has kept in contact with me since I lived with my parents in Kentucky) to my sister and I. One of them was this exchange:

I find it hysterical that my sister and I both pause at the possibility of mom winding up in jail.  

Waiting on my Book Deal

All library workers are writing the Next Great American novel as we sit around and read all day. True fact. Now, I have no disillusions my book will be the Next Great American Novel, but I do have over-inflated sense of importance that the world needs to hear my musings so I am absolutely deserving of a book deal. For these 2 reasons:

Reason 1: I have a blog. And I started my blog at the tail end of men everyone with a blog gets a book deal. And this blog has many, many components of a book deal. Such as:

1. It is about my real life exploits and I am an extremely relatable heroine/protagonist.
2. I express my opinions in snarky hilarious ways, because I write like I talk and I make people laugh All. The. Time. rehashing the aforementioned real life exploits. Whimsical loquacious bloggers get book deals.
3. It has a built in story arc of a book deal. (broken engagement→dating→meeting dr soc→ marrying dr soc→best/worst wife ever→pregnancy→mommy)
4. The built-in story arc from my real life exploits have made whyeverythingshouldbepink several 'types' of blogs that get book deals. While mostly a 'lifestyle' blog it also a 'dating' blog, a running 'fitness' blog, a dog 'pet' blog, a bubble of tulle 'bride' blog, a  married, pregnant lady 'personal' blog, and it's currently 64% hilarious/heartwarming/jerky adventures of my children (and the stockpile of drafts to prove it) 'mommy/parenting' blog.  And mommy/parenting blogs always get a book deal. 

But like I said, I started at the tail end of the blog = book deal. By the time I had the content and story arc of a book deal, that ship had mostly sailed. Maybe. Sigh. But!

Reason 2: Twitter. I mastered the art of eloquently voicing my thoughts in 140 characters or less without using text talk like an uncultured swine. I have been (and continue to do so frequently) tweeting well before everyone with a slightly amusing/witty/prolific twitter feed also receives a book deal. Plus now that Twitter allows 280 characters and I finally figured out how to put returns in my tweets, it's like I've been writing nothing but mini novels. Maybe the Next Great American Novel even.

So. With those 2 reasons I really can't help to wonder: Where is my book deal?

Good Cars

I'm not a "car person." see: just how "helpful" I can be and why I lost my car rights if you need further clarification. But in my defense, wait, no, scratch that. I really just don't care. Whatever. And dr soc isn't a car person either, but he is a hard core researcher. So when he studies or looks further into something I pretty much listen to what he says (unless it's navigation or spacial planning, that's my wheelhouse). When I test drove my corolla in 2010 and told him about it, I didn't think much of anything when he said "corollas are good cars."

And they are, Consumer Reports just rated it the best compact car. Anyway fast forward a year and a half later right after we see his ex-girlfriend in Kentucky, newly engaged and in town to look at wedding venues. We sit down for lunch and I'm still being super supportive and giggling at his discomfort.

me: So that was K huh?
dr soc: (sigh) Yeah, that silver corolla with the UGA plate.
me: Wait - she drove a corolla?
dr soc: Yeah (cringe) And, um, D also drove a silver corolla too.
me: That's how you knew they were good cars!
   

Smoking Kills

me texting my girlfriends:

me: god I am so tired today. A stupid spider set off a smoke alarm which triggered the rest of the alarms. It was AWFUL. But somehow the baby slept through the whole thing. So she got a good night's rest.
lb: don't spider's know not to smoke?
me: apparently not
michele: smoking kills
jeanne: spiders are stupid
lb: seriously though, explain the smoking spider

Call Me!

These are the phone numbers that I can rattle off no problem:

• mine
• dr soc
• my parents' house
• work's public line if i think about it for a second  

And:

• my ex fiancé's

And here's why. A friend had left her cell in my pool bag and neither one of us realized it until she and my ex were at work. She couldn't call her fiancé to get it from me because she didn't know his number. (I ended up dropping it off at work-which was not on the way- before I went out of town. ie: I'm a good friend) My ex was astounded she didn't know her fiancé's number, but I came to her defense. Ever since cell phones became the norm no one's really had to memorize a phone number since it's stored in your contact list. After all I didn't know his number off the top of my head.

He was gobsmacked (and pissed). How could I not know his number? After all, he knew my number! (but not the exact date of my birthday) And his phone number was so easy too! It was one number different than the area code and then 2 other numbers! How could his fiancé not know his number!?

Well I once heard you have to repeat something (at least) 21 times before it's committed to memory. Being the mature young 20-something I was at the time to shut him up I started reciting his phone number. Twenty-one times.

me: 513-xxx-xxx. 513-xxx-xxx. 513-xxx-xxx...
::while following him around the apartment:: After the 10th time or so-
ex: okay, okay, I get it!
me: nope, it's gotta be 21 times before I remember. Great now I've lost count and have to start over.
me:-sigh-: 513-xxx-xxx. 513-xxx-xxx. 513-xxx-xxx. 513-xxx-xxx. 513-xxx-xxx....

Yup. But, hey, I learned his phone number. Which came in handy when I drunk texted him the holidays after we broke up.  

Puppet Master

Whenever my daughter learned a new skill/noise/life doing/etc, dr soc and I were super excited to show it off. So of course when we encouraged her to show off the new whatever to someone (i.e. show Grandma your new tooth! Can you make your new noise? Can you tell mommy you're all done!) she would just glare at us, stone faced, clearly communicating "hell no."
So then my quip to the stare down was "I am not your monkey mommy!"  Everyone laughed, we all move on with life.

Anyway, now that the girl is a toddler she's learning new skills/noises/words/life doing/etc at a rapid rate. But this time she's the one super excited to show-and-tell them. So now all the adults mimic her and pretty much obey her every command. She says "jump!" and we ask how high.

So she was never my monkey, but she sure figured out puppet master pretty quick.