The Birth of Hope

And thus the prophecy was fulfilled...from humble beginnings in a distant land came the Hope and Salvation of the World... For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace. 

How grateful I am for the greatest gift that has ever been given - the birth of hope. 

Hot Wheels, Baby

I love shopping for Landon. It's like getting to relive my childhood all over again, except with way cooler toys and no big brothers constantly stealing my barbies to serve as "victims." He's at the absolute perfect age where he's out of the touchy-feely infant toys but not big enough to actually care if he gets anything more than the bow on top of the gift. It's like I'm a hero no matter what I do. ("Well, since it IS Christmas, I guess I won't stop you from eating that wrapping paper. No tinsel though. You remember last time.")


The best part about shopping for Landon is the justification. I figure that since he's my first kid, I can buy him anything because it's not spoiling him - it's an investment for all future kids (+ or - s. Haven't decided yet). So a $40 working mini vacuum cleaner for a toddler? A little pricey. But if you factor in the mythical 4 (4!!??) more kids who will play with said vacuum then it's a steal at $8 per kid! How could I NOT get it?


Although I do have to admit that even the coolest toys usually have a cheaper, more practical version that gets the job done just as well, especially at Landon's "is this peanut butter or play doh? Who cares?" age. Take his "big" Christmas present this year, for instance. We want to get him a tricycle. The kid loves anything on wheels and is constantly trying to hijack other kid's rides at the park. On a completely selfish note, this would also majorly cut down on the time it takes us to get places around the neighborhood. We live about 100 yards away from a park yet it still takes almost 30 minutes each way to get there thanks to Landon's ant-sized attention span.


Landon: Mom said we're going to the park. I love the park! The first thing I'm going to do at the park is...Tree!! I see a TREE!! Mama, mama, mama, it's a...woof woof! Did you hear that? I have to find the doggie, I have to...whoa! A tree! Mama, treeeeeeee!!!


Me: Landon, I think we are now farther from the park then when we....ohh, did the neighbors get new curtains?


I digress. 


So I started to do research on toddler bikes and came across quite a range of the three-wheeled contraptions. Metal, aluminum, fiberglass, Handy Manny, Dora, Mickey, green, blue, neon pink. A rainbow of diversity on wheels. But my gaze quickly set up the upper tricycle echelon where I spied this fantastically divine creation:

It's like the Delorean of tricycles. It truly makes you believe that if your little guy pedaled fast enough he could find the rip in the time-space continuum and be sent back to correct some of life's most devastating mistakes. I believe that I would send Landon back to 1995 to prevent my 6th grade self from perming my bangs. (No, Mama! Er, I mean - awkward 12 year-old girl I don't know! Step away from the curlers unless you want to be known as Poodle Girl for all of middle school. And trust me, you don't.)


But, as much as straight bangs and a tip to my teenage self to invest in a little company called "Google" would be great, I decided that the $100 price tag was just a little too much to justify, no matter how many mythical kids I added into the equation. So I settled on this little number:

So it's not a Delorean. But at $40 it is affordable, not unattractive and definitely gets the job of going from point A to B done with all the same laughs and smiles. It's the Honda Accord of trikes. 


I'm excited to show Landon his presents on Christmas morning and watch him light up at everything from the $1 bouncy ball (which he picked out) to the new set of wheels that he'll instantly try to push around the living room. I may even give it a whirl myself. Just to see if that time-continuum thing really works. 

Dear Santa,

Is it socially acceptable to wear these out in public?

Nevermind. I don't care.

One in every color, please. Maybe two of the tiger print.

I've been good this year.

Love,
Debbie

5 Reasons Not to Marry a Doctor

"Find a nice doctor to marry," your Mom always said. "Have some security in life," said your Grandma. "Wouldn't it be nice to have someone we could call for free medical advice?" said your Father.

Sure, sure. It's all fun and games and a free tummy tuck to the rest of you. But little does anyone know the reality of hospital widowhood.

So to all of you parents out there pushing your daughters (or sons) to the door of the medical school to find a nice doctor, here are five reasons you might want to redirect them to the business school instead:

1. He will come home with blood on his nice khaki pants and when you freak out that he's bleeding he will calmly reassure you by saying "don't worry, it's not my blood."

2. When you try to move his pager he says not to touch it because you "don't want to know where that's been." Even though it's sitting on the kitchen table. In your spot.

3. Three words: Colorectal Surgery Rotation.

4. Your husband is gone so much that your son starts calling random men "Dada." This makes for painfully awkward conservations at church.

5. When everyone else is making themselves merry with presents and way too much eggnog on Christmas, your husband is working a 30 - hour shift. And his wife and child are hanging out pretending it's just another Saturday. (Insert sympathetic scrunching of face here).

Or if, like me, all of these reasons to not marry a doctor pale in comparison to actually being married to the person that you love most then go on and be Mrs. Dr.

But don't say I never warned you.

Weird Welcome Here

I had a recent conversation with a friend in which we both bemoaned the fact that we are weird magnets. Weirdness courses it’s way through the world and sticks to us with such force that we’re always hit a bit off kilter. Our husbands both say that it’s because we are friendly to strangers which makes the crazy come out that much easier. But as I thought about all the weird stuff that has happened to me, I realized that not all of it had to do with other people. It had to do with me. And my positively charged ions.

So - because it’s only natural to give you some examples, because the list gets longer and longer the more I live and because, gosh darnit, it’s just entertaining, here are a list of some of the weird things that have happened to me:

1. I was bitten by a terrorists’ horse when I was 9 (notice the s’. Not a euphemistically terrorist horse. A terrorists’ses horse). One day while I was playing outside a miniature horse showed up in my yard and long story short – it bit my leg. It belonged to a house down the street where a sketchy group of people lived. A couple months later the men from the house were arrested and it was reported that a terrorist cell had been broken up. Not sure if the miniature horse was part of the plan. Most likely. Stupid horse.

2. I was burned by a boiling pot of potatoes when I was 4 and had to stay at the hospital a few days. Where was I burned? I would tell you BUT I can’t get BEHIND on my list. I REAR-ly can’t.

3. I once had to beg on the streets of Moscow for money for the Metro. Then a man took pity on my 17-year old self and tried to take me home with him. And they say chivalry is dead!

4. In high school I broke my foot dancing. To Christina Agulaira’s Genie in a Bottle. In my room. By myself. I can’t help that I feel the music.

5. I once split my toe in half by sitting on it.  A wooden chair, a white carpet, a mother coming to my aid with a feminine hygiene product, a confused bloody daughter and an aunt laughing hysterically may have been involved.

6. I once had to hide behind parked cars from a man with a gun. I used to work in social services and was responsible for interviewing parties in domestic violence disputes. After one particularly creepy interview I went out to the parking lot only to find the man I had just interviewed was there, waiting. He drove up behind me and followed me very slowly. I couldn’t get to my car or back to work without passing by him so I just hid between two parked cars and called inside. He sat there for awhile until finally driving off. The cops pulled him over a few streets down and he had a shotgun in his car. Believe it or not, it actually took another similar incident like that for me to quit that job.

 7. I have an extra bone in my lower back. This isn’t exactly something that “happened” to me but is weird nonetheless. I think it just means that I am evolutionaryily behind everyone else. Take THAT Darwin!

8. I walked around for more than two weeks almost fully in labor with Landon, but I didn’t know it – I couldn’t feel contractions. I had to be induced because my doctor thought he would just drop right out. Nurses came into my room to see the freakish “no-pain girl.” That moniker didn’t last long.

9. I was once proposed to via a passed-along note by a man sitting near me on an airplane who had previously explained to me that the last time he was on a plane he saw a winged angel flying alongside his window. I may have told the guy sitting next to me that the note was for him.

10. I was proposed to (by my husband) by an elaborately staged home break in. Scare the girl to death so that marriage seems like a good alternative, that’s the way to do it. Sometimes, to keep the romance alive, we watch Cops together.

Those are only the things that I could explain in a sentence or two. The list continues on and on and on. Like my husband says, “that would happen to you.”

But as much as my mom tells me I’m unique (just like everyone else) I know I’m not the only one with an interesting experiences list.

What are some of the weirdest things that have happened to you?

The Amazing Race

An Existential Running Haiku 

by Debbie

((Ahem))

 I run.

Therefore I am. 

Tired. 

Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all week. 

Okay, so not really a haiku. But existential nonetheless.


On Saturday I ran a race. A 10k. I'm not a big racer, nor have I every really considered myself a real runner before but something amazing happened on Saturday. I had FUN. Running. I was funning.

Landon and I before the race. It was ridiculously cold. I mean, really, seriously cold. See his little hands?
Those are socks. Never call me unprepared.

The main reason why it was so much fun was because I had friends there to run with me. I've done other races solo and, honestly, it's just not that fun having no one to high five. The race was a recovery race for two of the girls who ran a marathon a few weeks ago and for the other two of us - we just had nothing better to do on a Saturday morning. And we enjoy pain. 

Rachel (the instigator), me, Casey & Jen (the marathoners). Thank goodness for good friends who force you to get off your butt and do something with your life. 

So like I said, I had a lot of fun while running. Like more than I should have. Like I tried really hard not to sing out loud along with my ipod for most of the way. I can't say I succeeded in that effort.

All the women who are independent, Throw your hands up at me

The best part of any race is the last 10 feet before the finish. It's honestly the reason you run anything in the first place - for those last 10 feet. After you finish you kind of just hang out for a second, raid the free food and try not to step in anyone's throw up. But during those 10 feet the world is a wonderful, magical place.

See the guy in red? We were neck and neck for the last half mile until he really put on the speed at the last second. I guess he didn't want to be beaten by a girl. The only thing that made me feel better is that he immediately went to the side and started dry heaving. Then I felt bad for feeling better about that. It's a vicious cycle.

Okay, so maybe the real reason that I had so much fun at the race is because I actually got an award. Me! An award! For funning! I came in 3rd place in my age group for females. Wearing blue jackets. With brown hair. Named Debbie. (Wait, and I only got 3rd place? Dang it! Next race I'm signing up as Alice Angelos).

Me and my 3rd place plaque. I'm going to hang it in our office next to Tyler's medical diploma. Just so everyone knows we're a power couple.
PS - Check out Landon taking the opportunity to escape. He kept trying to run over the finish line. I guess he knows all about those last 10 feet too. 

So that was my amazing race. Hopefully they'll be more in the future. In the meantime, who wants to go funning?

Why I Had a Kid

Hey, I birthed him. Shouldn't I get something out of this deal too?

That's more like it. 

Check Me Out!

I'm a guest blogger! 


Usually I'm just excited when someone is happy to admit they know me but allowing me to put my random musings on their very own blog as well? It's almost as good as the day I discovered Reese's Pieces made cereal. 


Check out Kristie's blog Blushing Basics for my post and all her great make up and style tips!

5 Reasons Why I Love Having a Toddler at Halloween

1. It is only socially acceptable to go trick or treating as a 27 year-old if you have a 16 month-old decoy to collect candy for you.

2. He will eat none of said candy because he doesn't understand what it is yet. If he does have an idea, you can give him the mini packages of pretzels that those "halloween-hating" houses give out while you keep the good stuff.

3. You don't have to spend hardly any time or money on your child's costume because they look cute in anything. Halloween party tonight? Shoot. Um, just go wind yourself up in toilet paper again, Johnny.

4. Toddlers have no idea they are even wearing a costume and walk around as if being dressed like Snookie is a normal daily occurrence. Maybe it is. No judgements.*

5. Because a green (green?) hippo has never been so cute.

Please, Sir. My Mother wants some more candy. 

*Actually, did you hear the hint of me judging you? Because it was totally there.

Picture Perfect Outside the Lens

Fall has arrived as evidenced by football, red and gold leaves, crisp afternoon air and the inevitable desire to drive half an hour to a farm, get hay in every crevice on your body, let a goat lick your son and then trudge out to the field to get your own dang pumpkin off the vine while you pay the farmer for your labor. 

 Ahh, the smell of cider and irony.

Tyler had a rare afternoon home last week so we decided to take Landon to Circle S Farms, the same farm where Tyler grew up picking his pumpkin (from a perfect patch of pretty plump pumpkins with his pal Peter). (Not really Peter). (Although I wasn’t there so I don’t know). (But I’m pretty sure). 

It was actually really quite a fun experience being able to be on a real farm with real animals and real hay barns with slides (which must make collecting hay in harvest season pretty fun) and take a real tractor ride out to find our very own perfect pumpkin (I have nothing to say here, it just felt like time for some parentheses). I am still finding pieces of hay in Landon’s diaper and, thanks to this experience, we now know that he is terrified of chickens. 

Landon's ultimate nightmare

Needless to say ( ), it was a memorable experience. And that, my friend Peter, is my point. 

We came away from that evening with close to a hundred pictures, not counting video footage. From the second we stepped out of the car, both Tyler and I felt the need to document every second of this “memorable” experience to ensure that it would truly be “memorable.” We have pictures of us walking from the car to the ticket booth. From the ticket booth to the farm. From the farm to the barn. We have pictures of Landon in every conceivable corner of the farm, with every conceivable animal and sitting on every conceivable bale of hay and next to every inconceivable giant pumpkin. We wanted Landon to play on the tractor, to hug the scarecrow, to lie on the gigantic pumpkin because Oh! What a cute picture that would be! The point was to document this “fun” experience by posing him “having fun.” 

The funny thing was, the more we tried to capture his “fun” the more he wasn’t having any. We wanted him to sit on the tractor and laugh for the camera as he pretended to drive. He wanted to pick up chicken poop. 

Seriously, Mom. What more do you want from me?

It wasn’t just us, either. All around us were parents struggling with wailing kids in order to get just the right shot (Parker, I don’t care if the hay scratches your legs, roll around in it like you love it!). The interesting thing is that by documenting the memory with such fervor we tend to lose out on the experience itself. 

After awhile, we calmed down with the camera and took in the scenes around us. That’s  where, at least for me, the real memory begins. Landon laughing as the goats licked his hand and running to hug my legs as the chicken came closer. Tromping through the hay barn, sinking every couple steps like quick sand, letting Landon plop! into the pile at the end of the slide and hearing his delighted laugh. Tyler holding Landon’s hand through a row of corn stalks. Watching Landon’s little face switch back and forth from slightly worried to exhilarated as the tractor lurched it’s way across the field. These are the pictures indelibly imprinted in my mind. These are the memories worth remembering. 

That’s not to say taking pictures is not a good idea. I am glad we took a lot of the pictures that we did. Many pictures that we have invoke happy feelings of wonderful memories. The importance, I think, is to allow the moment to dictate the record, not the other way around. 

Okay, I do love this one. Probably because we weren't forcing him to look happy.

Perhaps I need to learn to find a happy medium, or at the very least, get better at taking actual candid pictures. But until then I am going to try to make an effort to experience moments with my family by taking in the total sum of the moment and etching it in my mind - the light, the smell, the laughter, the subtle expressions and nuances - unencumbered by a lens. Or guilt. 

Because I’d take the memory of my son’s giggle as the goat licks his hand over a picture of him crying next to a giant pumpkin any day. 

Love Thy Neighbor As Thyself

This is so much easier to do when your neighbor is yourself.

I want Landon to have high self-esteem, but this is getting a little out of control. 
I will draw the line the second he starts giving the image in the mirror the wink and the gun. 

Hi, My Name is Debbie and I Have a Problem

Well, um...let's see. I guess it was around age 5 or 6. Amelia Bedelia. I saw the other kids reading in the library and I thought "they're doing it, so no big deal, right?". I figured a book about a misfit, simple-minded nanny with a ridiculous name couldn't possibly be too much for me. So I picked it up. I thought, "just this once. I just want to see what it's all about." But then there was Amelia Bedelia Goes Camping, Merry Christmas Amelia Bedelia and Come Back, Amelia Bedelia. Pretty soon I had read every Amelia Bedelia book there was and had even gotten one signed by the author (the kingpin). I thought, "no big deal. I can stop anytime." Little did I know that Amelia was just the beginning.

The gateway 

Pretty soon I found that I just wasn't as amused with Amelia's inane predicaments. I mean, really. How many times can a grown woman bake a date cake using a cut-up calendar? But I still needed that excitement, that thrill of a brand new story just waiting for me to turn its pages. That's when I found Felicity from the American Girl series. Felicity's colonial-era adventures were enthralling, educational and a little dangerous. I liked the way learning made me feel. I liked the person I was when I learned something. The thing about American Girl is that you can't just stop at one. After Felicity I found Samantha, Addy, Kirsten and Molly (my favorite). By this time I found that books were beginning to take over my life. I played with my Felicity and Molly dolls during the day, dressing them in different period-appropriate outfits (cotton dress and bonnet for 18th century Felicity, plaid sweaters and mary-janes for 40's Molly) and devoured their stories at night. My parents didn't know, but there were quite a few nights that I stayed up hours past my bedtime just to read a little longer, find out a little more. Every page was supposed to be my last one.

Come on Debbie, everybody's doing it

From then on I dabbled in a little Babysitter's Club here, a little Beverly Cleary there. All the while thinking that I was totally in control and that I once I got older I would just grow out of this phase. But around the time I hit my teen years my sister introduced me to the world of World War II literature. Ambrose, Brokaw, Pellegrino, I couldn't get enough. I had filled myself with such a vast amount of information that there was no turning back now. No more going back to my days of innocence. I was in it.


I spent the last part of high school in a dizzying haze of classical Russian literature and religious books. Some times I read, sometimes I didn't - the ebb and flow of addiction. College was a bastion for my obsession, though. The second I stepped foot on campus, learning surrounded me. Undergrads, grad students, law students, professors, discussing, debating, lecturing, cross referencing. I devoured it all. No matter how late I stayed up with friends, I always had to end my night with a little bit of something - I couldn't sleep unless my eyes had glanced across a page, taken in another line. It was now a part of me, something that I knew I couldn't shed even if I wanted because that would be like asking me to leave behind my arm and be happy about it.


By the time I got married, things had calmed down a bit. I guess I was distracted by my new stage in life and all the changes that accompanied it. I was holding down a job, making friends, going out at night. Okay, not really going out at night. But I could have. But after a year or so I felt like something was missing and my old friend was there to greet me - the library. Soon I was going to work bleary-eyed and droopy-tailed from a late night. My husband, now apathetic, got used to falling asleep with the light on. Quantity took place of quality. I didn't care what it was I read, as long as I read. Twilight, Leon Uris, Harry Potter, Markus Zuzak, the back of the cereal box. It didn't matter. As long as it had writing, I would read it.

Did you know there are four species of Puffins? Just something I learned from this trove of knowledge

I finally hit rock bottom after I had my son. Staying home left me a little more time to read and it was actually socially acceptable for me to take a child to the library so there was really no excuse. I tried to limit myself by placing a book on reserve, thinking the whole time that I would go to the library, pick up that one book and leave. But the second I stepped foot in that literary lair I couldn't help but be drawn to all the possibilities around me. The story of North Korean emigrants here, the tale of a young Jewish boy in the 70's over there, a Russian girl's memoir on the shelf in front of me. They called my name. I had to listen.

A little Woodstock-y, don't you think?

So that's how I got here. To the point where reading has almost lost a sense of joy because I read one book only to feel the need to rush through it in order to get to the next. I feel numb to everyday life unless it has a moral meaning or clever twist. Which, fortunately, it usually does.


I guess my biggest fear is that my son will make my same mistakes. I don't want him to wake up one day to find that that his eyes are blood shot, his fingers are marred by paper cuts and his skin is pasty white because he's been too busy reading to go outside. Plus, he really has to pee because he also forgot to go to the bathroom while he was on the last chapter of Ender's Game.


But my biggest fear of all is that I'm too late.

How We Know Mormons Have Too Many Meetings

Because there is actually a market for a product like this:

For the narcoleptic righteous man in your life : www.pillowtie.com

I love the entrepreneurial spirit. No one said they had to be good ideas.  

There Are So Many Other Things I Should Be Doing...

Like,

1. Finishing the article I am writing for Columbus Parent Magazine. That's what I originally opened my laptop to do. 1 1/2 hours later and I have not even opened my word file. Dang you Mental Floss and your addictive array of useless information!

2. Going to bed. It is almost 10 pm and Tyler and I have the night habits of 80 year olds. But Tyler's working tonight so I'm going to party it up. Maybe stay up until 10:30. Maybe I won't even floss tonight. That's right - You heard me.

3. Putting all the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. But the way they are piled up is such a feat of physics that I don't want to disturb it.

4. Figuring out how to spell physics. It took me at least 5 times to get from psychics to phsyics to pjysics (slip of the finger) back to psychics and then to physics.

5. Thinking about all the funny words that start with ph. Phalanges, phalanx, phlebotomy, phlox, philatrics. This really isn't something that I should be doing, it's just a natural progression.

6. Admitting that I made that last ph word up. It sounded right so I went with it.

7. Getting new hobbies rather than sitting here looking stuff up on the internet (like philatrics).

8. Thinking of ways to bring about world peace.

9. Becoming emboldened by my world peace plan and begin writing Obama to tell him about the ideas that will change the world.

10. Looking up "Obama personal email" on the internet.

11. Finding words such as philanthropist and philanderer (interesting juxtaposition don't you think).

12. Getting distracted and abandoning plan.

13. Wondering if a pharmacist ever used philodendron to ease the pharyngeal reflex.

14. Deciding that of all my talents, procrastination may be one of my finest.

Somewhere Barney Weeps

To buy me a couple of minutes to get some important things done around the house (like sit on the couch and do absolutely nothing) I rented a couple of DVD’s from the library for Landon to watch. Recently we were on a trip in my sister in law’s car and Landon was riveted by the Baby Einstein® (ha-HA! No copyright infringement here!) DVD’s the kids were watching. I was hoping to repeat this experience at home with me as the beneficiary. And it’s worked, except not in the way I thought it would.

Today I put on Veggie Tales Do the Moo Shoo Sing Along and in the beginning Landon started to dance to the music – and by dance I mean he stuck his little bum out and started jerk-hopping on his tippy-toes. Very similar to how he looks when he poops – but after a minute or two he went right back to his toys and would only occasionally look up again at the screen.

I, on the other hand, was intrigued (I was sitting on the couch doing nothing anyway). The only thing I knew previously about Veggie Tales was that they did something with Bible stories. But as I watched, I saw a cucumber singing “On the day I got my tooth/ I had to kiss my Great Aunt Ruth/ She had a beard/ And it felt weird”. I don’t remember that Bible story anywhere. Maybe it’s apocryphal. It didn’t matter – I was hooked. I ended up watching the whole DVD while Landon couldn’t care less and played with a lighter (ha ha! Just seeing if you were reading. I promise. Really).

Kid’s entertainment has become so sophisticated these days, possibly to the detriment of the kids, but definitely to the benefit of the parents (aren’t we a part of the “me” generation anyway? Now here’s a trophy just for being you). I bet it’s because the people making kid’s shows these days remember watching Barney and Teletubbies when they were younger and were like “there’s no way I’m subjecting myself to that crap a second time around”. Along with interjecting wry humor, there’s even some satirical political and social commentary, such as this proletariat anthem:

I wonder if all this adult-laced kid’s humor will create a new breed of child, one who takes his juice straight and can’t start his day unless he’s read the Wall Street Journal – Illustrated Edition on his smart phone. Instead of the usual playground banter about being a poo-poo head and sissy, kids will charge the classroom bully with being Hawkish and call the kid who can’t share an Elitist. And Glenn Beck if they’re really mad.

I’m not sure that I want our children's childhood to be tossed aside so quickly in favor of the real world. I think I would rather have them retain some innocence and ignorance. Maybe Barney and his creepy I love you/You love me motto is the best way to go. But to be honest, right now I’m having too much fun watching Veggie Tales and Landon’s poop dance to worry.

Merry Christmas! Now Go Take Your Meds

It may only be September but the holidays are already peeking at us from around the corner.

Instead of combing the stores at the last minute for that one-of-a-kind gift (think oversize Hulk boxing gloves, or - if America's Funniest Home Videos have taught me anything - a hilarious fake lottery ticket), how about giving your loved one something truly from your heart: a stuffed friend with a psychiatric disorder.

Because, in the wee hours of the night, who doesn't want to cuddle up next to a hallucinating snake?

I'm going to give the crocodile to my mom (love, your concerned daughter).

The Unexplainables

I had one of those experiences today that was just so incredibly ridiculous there are no words to properly capture its utter absurdity. It was one of those times when you’re looking around to see if anyone (ANYONE!) is seeing what you’re seeing right now because it’s hilarious/horrifying/unbelievable. You are so desperate to find someone to share this moment with because you know that you will never be able to explain it.

So I won’t.

But that did get me thinking (surprise!) about all sorts of other things that I just could not explain – either because words are insufficient or because there’s just no darn good reason. I have compiled my thoughts into a list for your perusing pleasure:

1. My father & drive thru windows. Now, my father is a great man but why would a successful attorney have a complete and irrational aversion to the drive thru window? Not that this would stop him from using the drive thru – oh no! Instead, he would have me lean over from the passenger seat to shout out his order through the driver side window (UM, YEAH. BIG MAC WITH MEDIUM what? Large? Okay LARGE FRY AND A VANILLA SHAKE huh? Chocolate? You told me vanilla. Okay, fine, fine MAKE THAT A CHOCOLATE. NO I SAID CHOCOLATE. HOLD ON, LET ME UNBUCKLE MY SEATBELT TO LEAN CLOSER). I guess it just shows how much I love my dad. Or how much of an enabler I was.

2. My love for ABC Family movies (Bring it On 14? HECK YES!)

3. Miley Cyrus songs

4. Latin America’s adoration for all things Jean Claude Van Damme

5. How my son got to be so ridiculously cute – I know he’s mine. I was there.

6. Peanut Butter, Butter & Jelly sandwiches. What, you say? Who would put such a disgusting combination together? Everyone – meet my mother. Mother – meet everyone.

7. Anything Lil’ Wayne says

8. Dry clean only baby clothes

9. A world where Heidi Montag is a pseudo-celebrity

10. Jeggings (aka Jean Leggings) – Because trying to squeeze into skinny jeans doesn’t make us feel bad about ourselves enough. Although my friend Kristie can totally pull these off. I would be totally jealous if I didn't like her so much. But since I do, I call it friendvy (friendly envy). Check out her Style Blog here.

11. My uncanny knowledge of 90’s pop culture trivia, emphasis in Saved By the Bell

12. Why it’s only the most annoying songs that get stuck in your head (you spin me right round baby right round. Ha! Good luck getting rid of that one!).

13. Why I am sitting here writing this list even though my house is a mess, I am still in my workout clothes hours after working out and my son’s diaper is so full that he looks like the inspiration for General Larry Platte’s hit song “Pants on the Ground”.

I guess some thinks are just better left unexplained.

I May Need to Borrow a Cape

If you have ever asked kids what they want to be when they grow up, invariably there’s always a skinned-kneed kid with unruly hair who boldly declares, “Superhero!” punctuated with a little kid air punch. All the other little kids are a bit more realistic with answers such as teacher, astronaut, princess (Grace Kelly did it) and even the creepy kid who wants to be an obstetrician. Adults usually smile, pat the superhero on the head and send them off to play, keeping an extra eye out for that obstetrics kid.

If accountants dressed like this, more kids would want to be one.

But good news all you little aspiring crime fighters! Superhero is on its way to a legitimate profession! Criminals tremble! Spandex manufacturers rejoice!

I wish I had known about this sooner. If I had, I totally wouldn’t have spent my college years studying useless things like political science and sociology and instead honed my skills of ninja moves, cat-like reflexes and a super low monotone voice. Four years of my life, wasted.

Some say it’s never too late and, with the exception of anyone over age 14 sporting a I Heart Justin Bieber shirt, I would have to agree. So I’ve come up with my own Superhero alter-ego.

Bad guys and social injustices beware!

I am – the DEbDUCER! I will Deduce (or DEbDUCE as the verb that I will coin and copyright) all characters of a nefarious nature from their whole to merely a fraction of themselves. I will use my skills of DEbDUCTION ™ to infiltrate their hiding places and thwart their schemes. I will also be handy at fractions.

My calling card will be this: 4/8 = 2 late/4 bad guys.

I will wear spanx under my gold spandex.

I can only save people when Tyler’s home from work. Or if I could get someone to watch Landon. Or if maybe I could get the carseat in my DEbDUCE-mobile. But then IT’S ON!

Who’s with me?