FYI: I have a new blog.

http://aintseennothingyet.blogspot.com/

Leaving On The Next Train

I've always hated it when favorite television shows went off the air without a send off. So, for the 2.1 faithful readers of this blog, who have probably not actually visited this page in months anyway since there hasn't been an update, I am writing a send off.

This blog is done. My muse for it has been vacationing somewhere warm for some time now, and I feel it would be rude to call her back, what with winter coming and all.

I suspect a new (but not necessarily improved) blog will rise from the ashes one of these days, but for now, MzMannerz is retiring.

Good thing I've never hated it when favorite television shows go off the air in a huff of self importance and drama, huh? ;)

Ciao, bellas.

Toys Are Us

When my son was born, I could contain the number of young baby accesories he had in one corner of one room. He had a carseat, a playpen, a crib. A few rattles maybe. His "bouncy seat" did double duty as my knee. Almost anything I needed, I could find at Giant, choosing bottles by the size, as opposed to the least poisonous.

Before I became pregnant again, I proudly touted myself as being anti contraption. My knees were older, but they could still bounce. Mostly. What I didn't count on was the beautiful generosity of friends, coupled with my inability to say no to anything made of plastic by Graco or Fischer Price.

Therefore, we currently have in our possession the following: three exersaucers, one doorway bouncer, one stand alone bouncer, three floor mat 'gyms' (two with overhead arches from which to hang toys), two swings, two bouncy seats, and a box full of miscellaneous items all made out of red, blue, green, yellow, orange, purple, lime, black, white, striped, polka dotted, fish, bear, bird and bug emblazoned, wavy lined, rainbow decorated plastic.

If you've never heard of something in the previous paragraph, don't worry. Just finish your coffee and your paper and enjoy your neutral toned, cleaned lined life like a sensible person. I'll be there to join you in approximately ten years.

Clearly my anti toy bark was much more aggressive than my bite. My children actually have a circuit. We move from activity to activity every fifteen or so minutes. Now, I cannot imagine how I planned to navigate the day bouncing two children on my cartilege challenged knees. My dining room could serve as the set for any one of ten children's catalog shoots.

I am in the process of carving out a playroom in my basement, where these items can go live happy lives and stop mocking the grown up furniture. I'll have more space in the play area than I do in my dining room, which presumably means I will take on even more plastic.

But that's okay. As long as I don't look back at pictures of myself clad in heels and a leather jacket, shepharding my small firstborn to his various appointments, with a rolodex bursting with evidence of having a life, and compare it to a person clad in waist high jeans, a matching earring and sweater set who lives only to assemble the next soccer game snack tray, I think I'll be okay.

Even if something small, shiny and plastic does tend to fall out of my purse from time to time.

Writer's Block, Again

I don't have long to post, as my son is sitting in a bouncy chair at my feet, enticing me to play with him by presenting five toes from one foot, then another, apparently for kisses (I'm trying to remember what the age is that feet go from kissable cutesies to wrinkle-your-nose 'please go wash' lumbering appendages...).

My blog is still alive, albeit practically on life support, but: I have a son entering his senior year of high school, two babies who will begin eating real food this summer, a planned visit to the inlaws and I still work with crazy people. If I don't find something to snark about within all that, it will be a miracle.

Stay tuned.

A Many Splendored Thing

Somewhere in between my getting pregnant and having babies, my first son was busy upping the ante on his love life.

Before, timid girls dialed the house (usually refusing to leave messages) and wrote him silly notes written in red ink to be discovered by his mother on laundry day (note: please tell your daughters that using a heart to dot an "i" looks really, seriously, stupid).

Now brazen pre-collegiate women visit the house without the slightest hint of being timid toward me. This is his house, as far as they are concerned, and I am just running around upstairs in my stupid looking pants, not to be concerned with, unless they want to come ogle babies and give them a whiff of their mall kiosk perfumed selves. They ooze class.

Somewhere along the way, my child developed a penchant for girls who were always just slightly in a bit of trouble. A stable home life? Solid future? Ability to craft a solid sentence when both halves are handed to you? These traits are wholly unattractive. Instead, having hair two days past due for a wash (banana clips! yay!), a mother who can still tick off establishments hosting a weekly Ladies' Night and a Dad who everyone knows is banging the receptionist seems ideal. Apparently, it is no longer a good friend's job to tell a guy that his love interest is a bit of a drama queen and probably going to be voted Most Likely To Slash A Man's Tires. They are probably too busy assessing which girl they can use to alarm their own mothers. Because above all, we must be punished for being too nosy and concerned, and will never learn our lesson if they continue to spend time with girls who somewhat resemble a productive citizen.

You may be guessing here that I do not care for the current flavor of the month, but that would be the wrong conclusion. It's not that I don't care for her. I loathe her.

This is not information I can ever share with my dear firstborn. First, I am guaranteeing that he will date her throughout college, marry her early, and produce five wild assed children that they will ask me to babysit, if I tell him I think she has the potential to leave a bunny boiling on the stove without so much as a second thought. No, I must control myself, and smile politely when I discover that the last homemade from scratch chocolate chip cookie has been snatched up by her delinquent little hands, or when I have to ask - again - that she not park her vehicle blocking my exit from the garage (and wonder why, exactly, it is that you are visiting again. Weren't you just here yesterday?).

Suddenly my refusal to purchase Grand Theft Auto for my son seems a bit trite of a concern considering the things which could happen to him should he continue to keep company with Courtney Love.

Sigh.

The good news is, his attention span seems to have a two to three month limit these days, and in all likelihood Britney Spears will be history shortly. I then only need worry about her burning our house down in retaliation.

Good times.

Will Do You Good

There is a lot of talk about change lately. We are in not just an election year, but an election year where the incumbent President has no choice but to hand the joystick over to another player. This is always the most electrifying type of presidential race for me. I get the tingly buzz of anticipating the unknown; of being at the top of a rollercoaster I've never ridden before.

And I can't deny the impact the historical aspect of this race has had on me. For the first time in my lifetime, we have serious, viable, I dare say probable candidates for the race, who don't look exactly the same as every other candidate we've had since the country began. The importance of that, to me, is not about having the opportunity to vote for a candidate who looks like me in gender or race, but that I'm blessed to live among a people who are open enough to vote for a person who doesn't necessarily look like them. That the 'content of their character' portion of history in this country has just been racheted up one more notch.

That I can look my kid in the eye and mean it when I tell her, or him, that here, you can be anything you want to be.

Yes, there's a lot of talk about change in this election, but I'd venture to muse: the change has already come.

All's Well

I get ideas for this blog all the time, but lately, getting the idea and then getting the subsequent mood to sit down and bring the idea to fruition have not gone hand in hand. I'm alive, though, and all is well. I hope to begin bringing back my nonsensical musings on life in the next week or two.

And now that I've updated my 2.5 readers, I feel better.