Being a mama to two little girls means I have ample opportunities to showcase my hair fixing ability. Here in the South, colorful bows made from crisp grosgrain ribbon are popular, but I’m lucky if I can get Amelia to sit still long enough for me to wrangle a couple of dollar store elastic pony tail holders into her hair. Heck I’m lucky if she sits still long enough for me to wash her hair.

So it’s been hard not to notice lately that when I pick the girls up from daycare that Amelia’s thick curly hair is “done”…as in fixed, brushed, coiffed, smoothed, unratsnested, detangled, unsnarled, purty and sometimes even adorned with a tiny plastic barrette that coordinates with her outfit. Even Caitlin came home sporting a new French braid last week that her teacher had whipped up that afternoon on the playground. Oh, the shame.

I feel like the mother of the year when I realize Amelia looks much more presentable and much less like the bed head child that I dropped off just that morning. Not to mention that sometimes I forget to wipe the breakfast crumbs from the corner of her mouth before buckling her in her car seat. There was also that one time I forgot to make sure Caitlin put on clean underwear underneath her sundress and she ended up going commando to daycare, without my knowledge. OK, so I am a little distracted in the mornings.

One day at pick up not long ago I once again noticed that Amelia’s hair was pulled back in a neat pony tail. I told her teacher, somewhat apologetically, that Amelia usually refused to sit still long enough for me to pull up her hair when we are getting ready for the day.

“Oh, she LOVES for us to fix her hair,” her teacher told me. “And sometimes she’ll stand in front of the mirror in our room and play with her hair and say, ‘Beautiful, beautiful.’”

Lest she get too prissy about her hair, it might be time to drag out that tried and true hair accessory that worked so well on big sister Caitlin when she was two.

The training pant do rag!

I just got home and got the mail. There was a bill from the MRI facility for the photo shoot of my suspicious boobs.

$1,272.11

Ouch.

I was kind of hoping they’d forget to send the bill. You know. As a congratulatory gesture.

You’d think that at a little over $600 a breast that they’d at least send along my MRI film so I could have the film matted and framed. Heck I’d be willing to have the tech autograph them. Maybe I could sell the film on eBay?

And yep. We have “good” health insurance. I just hadn’t met my deductible yet. That pretty much did it. At least my biopsy was fully covered, thank goodness.

I have a marketing meeting every Monday and I’m the only mother at the table.

One of my co-workers is getting married and was talking about how she was relieved that her formal family bridal showers were over with and that it would be nice to have all the family co-mingling over with.

I just had to pipe in…

“Wait until you have kids!”

Oh dear Lord what has become of me?

At least I didn’t do any finger wagging.

Ugh.

I don’t want to be the working mother killjoy of the office but sometimes I look at the glass half empty. It’s not that it is impossible to live a charmed, balance life, and I have a fairly flexible job, but I don’t think anyone can prepare you for the sometimes craziness of marriage and having kids and working.

But then there are days when I am fully in my game, I get to work early, I get projects finished before deadline, I manage to cook dinner without burning anything and I get a couple of loads of laundry done and actually folded and put away and the girls go to bed by 8:30.

And then there are days, like Monday, when my inner crotchety old lady tries to come out. I have noticed that I’ve started bringing home jelly packets in my purse from the Cracker Barrel and that can’t be good.

There’s a new web-based series inspired by real moms called In the Motherhood and a representative contacted me last week and asked me to help spread the word. Actress Leah Remini, busy mom to a 3-year-old daughter, has partnered with Suave, Sprint, and MindShare Entertainment for In the Motherhood, which will appear on MSN now through June as well as on the Ellen DeGeneres Show. I remember Leah’s hilarious VH-1 reality show about her pregnancy and feeling that she was a kindred spirit because she ate her way through her first pregnancy (sorry Leah…ha!) (Read on …)

The hubby cooks a lot for someone who runs his own business and works something like 200 hours a week. He loves to concoct in the kitchen, whereas I’m fine with popping a pizza in the oven and pouring some bag salad into bowls. Last week when I had strep throat I totally used it as an excuse to not do anything around the house didn’t cook for several days.

By the weekend I was feeling fine and I made a big grocery run on Friday and I cooked dinner Friday and Saturday. On Saturday I grilled hamburgers and I put the hubby in charge of the french fries. OK, so I guess technically I roped him into cooking a side item. See? It’s an illness. I just don’t have the cooking juju.

Me: “I smell something burning. I think it’s the french fries. Can you check them?”

Hubby: “No, they’re fine. Have you flipped the burgers yet?”

Pause…

Me (thinking to myself as I ran out to the grill): “Oh sh*t.”

On Sunday morning I decided to surprise the hubby by taking charge of a big breakfast with scrambled eggs, biscuits, and sausage. I got everything ready, although I did solicit his help in opening the canned biscuits because I have a freakish phobia that a can of biscuits will explode in my face as I am opening it. Yes, I have hungryjackaphobia.

I managed to overcook the scrambled eggs and undercook the sausage, of which the hubby took two large bites before realizing I might have exposed him to Trichinosis.

He took back the cooking reins last night and grilled tuna and fresh corn and made a salad. Now why mess with that kind of perfection, much less expose our family to raw pork?

This blog is a fun outlet for me. At work I nitpick, edit, write, and proofread documents intended for very starched shirt, button up type publications, so this girl just wants to have fun on her blog. I do not strive to address heady political or cultural debates. Nay, verily, I pretty much stick to safe topics such as poop, boobs, and funny things my girls do and say. So imagine my surprise earlier this week when I was nominated twice in one day for a Thinking Blogger Award! One from the lovely Liz at This Full House who is the busiest blogger I know (perhaps even busier than Busy Mom!), and who also has a heck of a lot of laundry and another one from the lovely Mrs. Schmitty, who just celebrated her birthday.

Thank you very much ladies!

I wanted to choose five bloggers who, as far as I know, have not yet received this award.

First of all, there’s Nicole, founder of a wonderful site called The Soccer Mom Vote. And yes I’m totally kissing your blog booty so that you’ll still keep in touch when you move to South Carolina, beotch.

Mrs. Flinger was one of my first blog crushes. Hers was the first so-called mommy blog I read that was really “real” with a unique writing voice. She reminds us all as parents to slow down and appreciate the moment in this post.

The sassy and smart R*Belle at Southern and Sublime always makes me feel at home. I hear she’ll be making sweet tea soon. This post, “Down the old dirt road,” reminded me of the town I grew up in. R*Belle also started News for Women on the Fly, a great news blog.
Pattie at Stolen Moments is another blogger I discovered when I first started blogging a year and a half ago. I enjoy her writing, especially this recent post, “Broken Girl.”

Julie at Mothergoosemouse is a thinking blogger to the core and although I know she’s not big on awards, I had to nominate her for her always thought provoking blog. Take this recent post, for instance.

The lovely Jessica from Oh, the Joys (she can make you laugh, she can make you cry, she can make you appreciate your family, and she has mad PhotoShop skills) nominated me for a Blogger’s Choice Award in the Hottest Mommy Blogger category.

I also have mad photo manipulatressing skills. Mwaa ha ha ha.

Clicky here to vote for me.

And yes I voted for myself. I have no shame.