Lots of random bits and pieces floating through my brain, stuff that doesn’t really merit an entire post but must. leave. my. head. immediately., so I’m going to make a little list, as I feel that will be terrifically efficient.

1. Alex and I seem to have contracted the crud. And OH, the irony, because on Wednesday I was telling someone that I hadn’t had any sinus problems in, well, forever! And I really think my allergy medicine is working! And I haven’t even seen the ENT in, like, six months!

At which point all the bacteria in the universe rose up and targeted my house via GoogleEarth and launched a missle-o-crud and smited both my child and me with some Serious Congestive Funk.

Happy Weekend, everyone!

2. It occurred to me that a lot of you sistahs are making your way around all sorts of new blogs, and you’re probably encountering a blogging vocabulary that frightens and confuses you (see: meme, links, feeds, Bloglines, etc.).

If that’s the case, I really encourage you to visit Shannon and Chilihead‘s Blogging Basics 101. Even if you’re not planning to start a blog of your own, you’ll enjoy reading their easy-to-understand explanations of blog-ese, and hopefully it’ll make navigating blogland a little easier for you.

3. You can vote in these until February 13th (if you haven’t voted already, in which case you must not vote again, as that would be against the rules and all). And be sure to visit all of the finalists before voting – you never know what good stuff you might be missing.

4. If you watch “The Office,” I’d love to know your reaction to tonight’s episode in the comments. I can’t really say anything else about it because I’m too busy thinking about how sorry I felt for Jim at the end of the episode. *single tear*

5. Alex has these plastic cars that he got from Happy Meals back in the fall, and he likes to have them in the bed with him every single night. For the last couple of weeks, once he’s all tucked in, he’ll ask his daddy or me to let him “race,” which means that he wants us to lie in his bed on our stomachs and let him use our backs as a racetrack.

And can I just say?

HEAVEN.

Oh my word.

HEAVEN.

Those little plastic cars are like the most perfect backscratching devices EVER, and in this week alone I’ve fallen asleep TWICE while Alex was “racing.” Currently I’m ahead of D, who has only fallen asleep once, but really we’re sort of equal because he fell into such a sound sleep that he woke up at 2 in the morning wondering where in the world he was. And then he remembered the Happy Meal cars, and it all made sense.

It’s gotten so bad that tonight, when I was getting Alex ready for bed, I started looking around for those two little cars and saying, “Where are your cars, baby? What did you do with your cars? Have you seen your cars? No? Well LET’S FIND YOUR CARS! [shrill laughter] LET’S FIND YOUR CARS! OH LOOK! THERE’S ONE UNDER THE BED!”

And I am not kidding you: I asked my three year old child to crawl under his bed to retrieve a plastic Happy Meal car so that Mama could have her back scratched, and I’ll be sure to let you know when those Mother Of The Year ballots come out because I’m sure you’ll want to nominate me.

Clearly, I’m utterly deserving.

I didn’t post anything yesterday, and I have no excuse, really, except that I had to walk the dogs with Alex and go buy some make-up and eat some Mexican food with friends. And then I had to watch the 435th round of American Idol auditions, followed by a solid hour of staring at the computer screen and waiting for the words to come.

But the words didn’t come, so I watched a “Friends” re-run instead. And washed some clothes.

LIVING ON THE EDGE, aren’t I?

The part of my day that involved make-up buying was an act of necessity and not frivolity, seeing as how I ran out of my foundation sometime before Christmas and, since none of my local department stores were offering free gifts with the purchase of my make-up brand (that would be Lancome), I added a little bit of water to my empty foundation bottle, shook it up, and that is what I’ve been using for the last six weeks.

Lancome Old Tinted Water.

Strangely enough, it’s not a product you see promoted in their advertising.

But because I am my mother’s child, I was determined to hold out for the Free Gift as long as necessary. I mean, if I’m going to spend $35.00 on foundation, then the least they can do is throw in a brightly-colored make-up bag and some product samples. And yes, I could go to the drugstore and buy foundation that costs about $25 less, but because my skin is essentially the same color as, oh, the palest pale in all of paledom, any foundation I buy from the drugstore tends to make me look like someone who has spent far too much time in the Mystic Tan booth. Or like someone might after a particularly unfortunate tanning bed incident.

In short, I buy the expensive stuff because they’re kind enough to make foundation in shades that don’t make me look like I’ve recently rubbed a combination of carrots and iodine all over my face.

And for that, I am truly thankful.

So this morning, as I was putting on my make-up (yes. I put on make-up. I did. And I showered, too), I found myself thinking about how, really, the only thing I truly need in the way of cosmetics is moisturizer. And if you’re in your twenties and thinking, “Moisturizer? Really?,” all I can say is that there will be a day in the not-so-near future when you walk out of the shower and, after about five minutes, you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that if you don’t find some sort of salve to slather all over your face, your skin is going to crack open and shatter all over the floor.

Truly, it’s one of the more delightful aspects of the aging process. And really, it’s my duty to tell you 20-somethings these things. It’s better that you know now, not to mention that it’s the least I can do after All The Rambling.

I’ll try to find some semblance of coherence and come back later.

In the meantime, you can go here and here for some great Valentine’s Day ideas.

And speaking of Valentine’s, the number of Hershey’s Kisses eaten during the writing of this post? Four.

Next time I’ll try really, really hard for six.

Everybody needs a goal.

I forgot to tell y’all something!

I bought some jeans!

I did!

And you’re not going to believe where. Well, yeah you probably will. But first, an explanation.

I read every single one of your eighty eight comments about blue jeans, and I investigated most of the recommended jeans on the interweb. Style-wise I really liked several of them, and y’all are so jean-savvy that you actually told me about brands I didn’t even know existed. I did recognize the Gloria Vanderbilt brand, however, because when I was in fifth grade I had some aqua green GV corduroys (complete with the swan logo on the hip pocket), and I used to wear them to the skating rink and keep my comb in my back pocket just like I liked it. I could scarcely make it around the rink one time before I had to whip out that plastic Goody comb; it seems that even at the ripe old age of ten I realized that skating might great for the legs, but it’s flat-out murder on the hair.

[And don’t even pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Your jeans may have been Chic instead of Gloria Vanderbilt, but you totally had that comb in your back pocket. Oh yes ma’am you did. And you sure enough used it right before you got ready for a couple skate. YEAH you did.]

[And hands up if you did the cross-over-arms-hold-hands-with-a-partner-lean-back-and-skate-in-a-circle move.]

Anyway, I was resolved to hit the mall and shop for jeans a couple of weekends ago, but then I remembered that I hate a mall. I really do. We have a big Shopping Extravaganza with every store you’d ever need and/or want about ten minutes from our house, and I never, ever want to go. It overwhelms me. I figure that between all the stores there are at least 174 brands of denim from which to choose, and while I wanted to be adventurous and try on every single brand y’all recommended, I couldn’t do it. I worried that I would get to the fifth brand and lose my mind in the dressing room and run through the store with the legs of the jeans on my arms and be all, “RARRRR! RARRRR!” as I tried to escape from my denim prison.

And y’all would be terribly disappointed in me.

So I decided that it made to the most sense to limit my search to the stores I visit almost daily: Walmart(s) and Steinmart(s).

Why, you ask?

1) Because both stores are close to my house.
and
2) Because I am cheap.

My friend Lea Margaret swears by a brand called Jeanstar that they (supposedly) carry at Steinmart(s), so I thought I’d try those first. OH! But this was after I bought a pair of jeans at Ross for TWELVE NINETY NINE that actually fit pretty well but, according to D., made me look like someone who was secretly hoping to leave her life as a mama behind so that she could join an all-girl hip-hop group. Which is perfectly understandable, really, because I do have some mad rapping skillz.

Anyway, my Steinmart(s) does not carry the Jeanstar brand, apparently, but I did try on a different brand that seemed like they might have some potential until I realized that they had a big glittery butterfly decal on the right leg. And I know they’re God’s creatures and all, but I am terribly frightened of butterflies what with that whole larvae stage and cocoon emergence and what have you, not to mention the fact that if I was planning to wear blue jeans with a butterfly on the leg, I probably should’ve gotten that out of my system back in my skating rink days. They would’ve looked fabulous with a Goody comb tucked in the back pocket.

So then I went to Walmart(s) because I remembered T. at There Is A Season‘s comment where she mentioned something about Faded Glory jeans. Actually I think she said “FG jeans,” but I knew what the initials stood for because I am all about some Walmart fashion.

To make a long story endless, I will tell you that the Faded Glory stretch boot cut jeans are my favorite jeans ever. They come up high enough over a post-baby belly (yes, I had my child almost four years ago, but apparently I hold on to that extra flab because I’m, I don’t know? sentimental about it? maybe?) so that the dreaded muffin-top effect is but a faint memory. They’re also cut really long in the legs so that they look great with boots – and they’re generous enough in the thighs that they make a nice, straight line from your hips to your knees, thereby concealing those pesky saddlebags, not that I have any of those since I’m a size 2 and weigh 104 pounds.

Pardon me while I clear my throat for a moment.

Also, the Faded Glory stretch bootcuts jeans don’t have any “adornment” on the pockets except for some very simple stitching, and I love that because I’m not sure why any mama would want and/or need reflective bedazzling on her rear end. At least in my case, big silver studs across the back pockets of jeans do nothing but create a marquee effect, a marquee that’s pretty much telling everyone to LOOK HERE because it’s BIGGER AND BETTER THAN EVER BEFORE.

Best of all? Faded Glory stretch boot cut jeans are less than $20. LESS THAN TWENTY DOLLARS.

Now all I need is a comb and some roller skates, and I’ll be good to go.

Now that Mama has figured how to “turn on the blog,” as it were, she’s told a couple of her friends about it, and now they “turn on the blog,” as well. And occasionally they ask me questions about it when I see them. And while talking to people about Ye Olde Blogge isn’t exactly comfortable for me, it’s not nearly as bad as, say, Emma Kate introducing me as BooMama to people at her church, an incident for which there are no words to adequately express my embarassment, but my embarrassment was significant enough that EK now owes me a really cute pair of shoes, or at the very least a case of diet Coke.

(I will be available for psychiatric evaluation from 5-7 pm on Thursday. Just be sure to let me know where you set up the couch. And be sure to bring lots of delicious, ice-cold diet Coke. And be sure to send Emma Kate the bill.)

Anyway, this past weekend one of Mama’s very fun friends was talking to me about my blog and asked me if I had ever posted a list of book recommendations. Which of course I haven’t. Because I’ve become a terribly lame reader.

Pre-pregnancy, I read voraciously – usually two or three books at a time – but since Alex came along I do well to read two or three books a year. I’ve tried to do better over the last three or four months by having at least one book on my nightstand at all times, but it’s difficult. I write a lot more than I used to, and it seems like between cooking and cleaning (don’t you even laugh, D. don’t you EVEN laugh), chasing Alex, working, blogging, wife-ing, etc., reading is the thing that gets pushed back farthest on the burner.

(To clarify: reading has not been pushed back as far as, you know, crafts, but those were never really on the burner for me to begin with. Come to think of it, crafts were nowhere even remotely near the burner. In fact, I think that for me, at least, crafts are currently located somewhere just southeast of Idaho.)

And here’s the thing: I miss reading. I really do. But I find that when I do want to read – when I make a special trip to the library or bookstore with the intent of finding a good book – I get completely overwhelmed. I don’t want to waste precious reading time on something that’s not any good; I don’t want to start a book that I’ll have no desire to finish. And inevitably I leave the bookstore empty-handed, usually wondering when people quit writing the kinds of books that I want to read.

Lately it seems like every other blog I happen across has a to-read list for the new year in the sidebar. I can’t even tell you how much that intimidates me because not only are you people reading, but you’re planning it, as well, and I’m pretty wide-eyed at the wonder of it all. On top of that, you’re not reading easy stuff; you’re not grabbing the #1 Walgreens bestseller off the shelf and calling yourself a bookworm. Y’all are reading challenging stuff. Some of it’s not even fiction, and ohmyword I don’t know how you do it.

So, for Mama’s friend who asked about a list – and for me, who really needs a list – here is my humble request. In the comments, give me ONE recommendation for a book that is, in your opinion, a must-read. I prefer fiction, but I’m fine with non-fiction, too.

Also.

Please remember that I have the attention span of your average four-year old, only I can’t even sit still long enough to watch cartoons. So while some of you (SHANNON!) might be intrigued by the idea of tackling Pilgrim’s Progress, I am not. In fact, the prospect of spending precious leisure time fighting my way through classic literature (aside from To Kill A Mockingbird, which is the best book in the history of all time ever) makes me want to throw things. And then chase down the stuff I threw so that I can kick it. Repeatedly. While twitching.

My former English professors must be so very proud.

So hit me with your One Essential Book in the comments. And if you happen to know the the author’s name, pass along that info, too. No need for links – mainly because the links will make my spam filter go cuckoo.

Once I wade through the list, I’m going to pick ten books to tackle this year. And I’m going to put the list in my sidebar so that y’all can point at me and laugh at the end of December when I’ve only read two and a half of them. But I really want to be a better, more intentional reader. And I know Mama’s friend will appreciate your suggestions, too.

By the way: if anyone lists anything by Henry James or James Joyce, I’m totally going to cover my eyes and sing “LA LA LA LA LA LA” and pretend like I don’t see it. Grad school nearly did me in with those two.

Thanks, internets!

I’m so glad y’all read and are smart and stuff. You have inspired me to do better.

I promise that after this post I really am taking a break. I promise. But I have to say this right now because it’ll hang over my head all weekend if I don’t because I’m OCD like that, which I’m sure is a huge surprise to y’all.

AHEM.

A couple of y’all have emailed me to tell me that you’ve received phone calls from PayPal verifying your donations to Kelli. I didn’t think too much of it initially because we did raise a bunch of money in a short period of time, and I actually think it would bother me more if PayPal didn’t try to make sure that everything was on the up and up. So I just sort of chalked up their phone calls as “one of those things” and figured everything would be fine. And yes, as a matter of fact, I do have a big stamp that says “NAIVE” and I am currently pounding it all over my forehead.

Because around 6:30 tonight I got an email from Frannie, a sweet lady who reads and comments here regularly, and she relayed to me a phone conversation that she had with a man named John from PayPal. When I got to the part of Frannie’s email where she mentioned that John said he’d been unable to get in touch with me to verify the legitimacy of my “charity,” I went all Julia Sugarbaker in the middle of my living room and immediately picked up the phone to call PayPal.

Here’s a tip: the PayPal voicemail system does not understand a Southern accent. At one point I responded to some question by saying, “No,” and the voicemail man said, “I understood you to say, ‘I don’t have an account.’ Is that correct?”

Now I know my drawl is bad, y’all, but I don’t think that even I can give the word “no” six syllables. I can do four at best.

So after navigating the maze that is the PayPal voicemail system, and after I explained the nature of my concerns to a kind lady named MJ, I was connected to a delightful young man named Ryan (seriously: PP customer service reps are some of the nicest people ever). By this point I had called Kelli on my cell phone so that I could get all the verification information on the PayPal account since I had asked her to change the password and security stuff a couple of days ago (so that I would no longer be up in her business), and oh, poor Ryan. I am afraid that he got an earful from me. It was a very Southern earful, and a very polite earful, but it was an earful nonetheless. I was pretty upset.

And let me be clear: I’m not upset that PayPal is calling people to make sure they authorized the donations that showed up on the For Kelli account. I think, if anything, that’s very wise, especially considering that this is the internet and fraud is rampant and you really can’t be too careful. But what stuck in my craw was the statement that PayPal had not been able to get in touch with me, when no one from PayPal has called me, no one has emailed me, and certainly if they have any concerns about the money we raised this past Tuesday, no one from PayPal has bothered to communicate that to me.

And Ryan, bless his heart, said absolutely nothing to ease my mind. He said things like, “you’ve done all you can do up until this point” and “I can’t say whether or not we’ll be calling more donors” and “I completely understand but this is just part of our checks and balances.” I told Kelli later that I halfway expected him to follow up his “you’ve done all you can do” comment with “UNTIL THE TRIAL WHEN YOU’RE ON THE WITNESS STAND.”

By the way, I’m sure you think I’m overreacting. I probably am. But y’all know I have great paranoia about being taken advantage of by a RING OF THIEVES, not to mention the whole being misunderstood thing (especially when my integrity is on the line), and let’s just say that Ryan, completely unbeknownst to him, triggered both of those fears tonight during the course of our conversation. I was more than a little rattled by the time I got off the phone with him.

So then I immediately called Kelli because she’s all smart and level-headed and stuff. Turns out that PayPal called her yesterday, and she spent twenty minutes verifying her identity with a nice lady before PayPal would release the funds that were donated to her. And again, I COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND PayPal’s checks and balances. It’s just not much fun when you’re the one being checked and balanced.

Kelli had the bright idea that we call PayPal with both of us on the line. I thought that was an excellent plan, and luckily Kelli knows how to place a three-way call because if it had been up to me I would’ve had to resort to the two-phone option (“KELLI, THE WOMAN AT PAYPAL JUST SAID…”). We were connected to an absolutely lovely woman named Jackie, and just so you know I will be THANKING THE GOOD LORD for her for the rest of my days.

Kelli very eloquently explained our situation: she needs a kidney, her insurance runs out at the end of January, I set up a place for people to make donations, people gave way more money than we ever expected, and now we’re a little concerned because 1) PayPal is making Kelli jump through some extra hoops in order to get her money, yet her COBRA payment is due on the 25th and 2) the phone calls that the PayPal people are (very wisely) making might could be worded a little differently so they don’t cause undue alarm to the people who donated to this little bloggy lovefest that resulted in over $9,000 in donations.

So.

Jackie said that she didn’t believe that any more phone calls would be made to people who donated. However, if you do receive a phone call from PP, just know that they’re trying to make sure that you willingly donated to For Kelli. That’s a smart thing for them to do. Both people I talked to tonight said that they try to be very vigilant about making sure that people don’t use PP for fraudulent purposes, and they do check up on any charitable cause that is run through their website. I’m way on board with that. However, I’m still not on board with John saying that he’d been unable to contact me, especially considering that I practically wear my computer on a chain around my neck so that I am never away from the email.

Bottom line: Kelli has now jumped through almost all of the PayPal hoops. She is having to do some extra verification because of the amount of money involved (a new PayPal account plus a large sum of money raised over a short period of time equals BIG RED FLAGS with the PayPal people), so please pray that they’d have all that ironed out by the time her insurance payment is due.

I did have a couple of good laughs during our phone call, however. One was when Jackie said she couldn’t tell who was talking, Kelli or me, and I said, “JACKIE. I’M THE SOUTHERN ONE. FROM ALABAMA.” I don’t think Jackie thought that was as funny as Kelli and I did.

And then the classic comment was from Kelli: as she was trying to very graciously relay the details of her attempts to access the funds so she can pay for her insurance, she said, “Jackie, yesterday I pretty much had to explain to the other woman I talked to which way the pine trees in my yard are leaning in order to confirm my identity. I mean, c’mon, Jackie – I’m dyin’ here.”

There was a little pause for effect, and then Kelli said:

“LITERALLY!”

And Kelli and I hooted and again Jackie didn’t seem to see the humor in it at all.

But by the end of the phone call Jackie was completely awesome. I think everything is going to be fine. They have my blog address, my email address, Kelli’s personal information, Kelli’s medical information, and the oh-so-critical information about which way the pine trees are leaning in her yard. It’s all in the interest of protecting the tenderhearted charitable givers of the world, and in the end that’s a very good thing.

One more thing before I go: y’all placed a tremendous amount of trust in me to donate over $9000 to a cause that I mentioned just a little over a week ago. I do not take that lightly. So if you have any questions or concerns about your donations, about PayPal, about how we set up everything, about what exactly the money will be used for – ANYTHING – please do not hesitate to email me.

And if I don’t answer your email right away it’s because I’ve probably run down the road to pick up some fried chicken or something. But I’ll get back to you just as quickly as I can.

Sorry for such a long post, but I felt like all of that needed to be said.

And I’m returning to my bloggy break now.

See y’all later.

I’ve mentioned before that I’m a pretty organized girl. I like to make lists and check off the items on the list and fold the list neatly and then dispose of the list promptly by sealing it in a color-coordinated envelope, addressing it to Mr. Trash, c/o My Kitchen, and gently placing it in a sterile trash receptacle that is lined with an anti-bacterial garbage bag.

Well maybe not so much those last five things. But still.

This week, however, has been pure craziness. Not-so-organized. None-too-list-y. And my brain is starting to feel it.

Usually I do a pretty good job of keeping all the parts of my life under control: family, church, friends, work, etc. I try not to let those areas blend into each other in ways that aren’t appropriate.

(For example: I try not to have my friends with me when I work, as it might be distracting for the Rogue Government Agents to have to listen to, say, Daph and me cackle about this week’s episode of “The Office” while they’re trying to review the plans for all those Secret Nuclear Warheads I design as a sideline business when I’m not analyzing the effects of globalization on the ever-developing economic frameworks of several European countries, including but not limited to Kasakhstan and Moldova.)

A-HEM.

Anyway, this past week has been one of those crazy times when I feel like all the parts of my life have crossed over and bled together and as a result become terribly unorganized. I have unfolded laundry on the bed in the guest room; I have bags of stuff to return to various and sundry stores; I have friends I’ve been meaning to call but haven’t; I have work that I really want to finish; I have obligations at church that I haven’t gotten around to doing yet; I have a blog that has, for lack of a better word, consumed me for the last four days (IN THE BEST POSSIBLE WAY, just for
the record); and I have a husband who has been incredibly patient through it all but has to be a smidge frustrated with me nonetheless.

More than anything, I have a child who needs to see me relaxed again, who needs for me to SLOW. IT. DOWN.

And so I will.

Therefore, here’s what I have on my agenda for the next few days:

I’m going to stay in my pajamas as much as possible. I’m going to drink coffee that actually makes it into the coffee pot and I’m going to load up each cup with Equal and half and half. I’m going to play trains and Candyland. I’m going to cook country fried steak, rice and gravy, butterbeans, and squash casserole. I’m going to take big walks with my two favorite fellas and my two favorite puppy dogs. I’m going to sit in front of the fire and watch movies with my husband.

I’m going to smile when Alex walks in our room at 3 in the morning and tells me that he wants to sleep with us. And I’m going to help him up in the bed, get him settled in the middle of D. and me, and marvel at the fact that I’m perfectly content even though I only have four square inches on which to sleep thanks to the aforementioned two favorite fellas who are taking up most of the room.

I’m going to go to church (which reminds me: I haven’t even told y’all about last Sunday at Emma Kate’s church, but that deserves a whole post, not just a by-the-way mention) and sing really loud. I’m going to read the February issue of Southern Living. I’m going to mess around with the camera for the first time since Christmas. And I hope that I’m going to sleep a little bit more than I have the last three or four nights.

Above all, I’m going to count my blessings. And just rest in the peace of that for awhile.

Because every so often, too much of a good thing just gets to be too much. And when that’s the case, Mama here needs to unplug.

I’ll see you in a few days, internets.

Hope your weekend is wonderful.