Motherhood Uncensored

The Lord Be With You, Little Rock

I'll save you my gruesome yet very poetic ode to of the month long bout with stomach flu and the cold from hell. Or my grab-you-in-the-gut tear jerker about how I'll always remember Little Rock as the place where my 3rd born was conceived. Or the post about how I'm still a little traumatized about the three men "hanging" from the cross on the side of the road.

Rather, I'll just tell you that Little Rock rocks. And so do the bloggers that hold down the fort. Or the rock. Or whatever it is here that you need to hold down.

But I'm ready to get back to my totally unfurnished house with lots of steps for my son to fall down and lots of carpet for me to vacuum, and lots of toilets for me to scrub.

Or the person that I plan on paying to scrub them. (heh)

Click on my ads. It helps to have my toilets cleaned. (Okay not really, but that sounded kind of funny when I said it out loud).

I'm looking forward to decorating and furnishing and running my ass off after those kids all by myself since my husband will be in Little Rock until the end of May. Okay, maybe not that part, but I am hoping this is it. However, a little bird with a cute ass tried to tell me that we might be living in Philly all summer courtesy of our fine US Military.

HA. HAHAHA. HA. *barf*

So, let's all pretend we didn't hear that and move along to what IS important.

Pick of the Week: Another doozy from our Mother's Day Guide. I just think these are super cool.

Podcast: Tracey Clark and Kate Inglis from Shutter Sisters!

Blog Blast: Oh this is a good one. Gifts Gone Right, Gifts Gone Wrong. C'mon and pull out those nasty old things your husband tried to pass off as a gift. Or better, what your mother-in-law gave you. We want pics, stories -- good or bad. Here's mine.

And you can win a $250 gc to the spa of your choice courtesy of GetInHerHead.com (we're actually writing them up at Cool Mom Picks -- smart site started by two parents!)

Giveaway: $50 Gift Card to Itty Bitty Lady Bug -- just click here and follow the directions. And also, the lovely Dr. Ann Dunnewold is giving away three copies of her book. Just leave me a comment, any comment (preferably a funny one that is flattering). I'll pick three winners at random on April 30.

We're driving all day. Think of me. And be glad you are not in the car. Of course, it's raining cats and dogs right now. Not sure how far we're going to get...

Good [God Where Do I Live Again?] Friday

There is certainly no dearth of religion here in Arkansas. I'm still trying to figure out what terrible things people have done here to incite so many televangelists, Christian radio shows, and "I Am Love" billboards. So, I shouldn't have been surprised when, on the way home from the mall yesterday, I passed by three dirty, bloody white men hanging (by ropes) from crosses.

WHATHFUDJKFDNLDKFTIONDOFNDFDFSNLD?

I saw the traffic slowing down and cars pulling over a few hundred yards up ahead, and considering all the people standing around, a few holding signs, I thought it was a pro-life rally.

But then, after seeing the three "bloody" men, Roman soldiers, and weeping women, I found myself wishing it was a pro-life rally.

I fully understand the importance of the Easter holiday to Christians. Heck, technically speaking I am one, although I was pregnant and "illegally" married through the entire Catholic conversion process. I'm not sure what that makes me (HeatheN with a capital "H," maybe?), but in any case, I get Easter.

I really do.

And I can see the annoyance that said Christians might have when we heathens forget the "reason for the season" and gorge ourselves in Cadbury eggs and try to see how many jelly beans we can fit into our mouths.

But, I'm not quite sure exactly what message these "performance art pieces" (I use that three-word combination very lightly) are trying to send. I can't really say that seeing such a display will make me want to go to church and repent. In fact, it actually makes me angry that they would attempt to burn such a scary and horrible event into peoples' minds.

Like the minds of my little children who would have been asking me to explain this to them over and over. Because that's what Jesus teaches us. To ignite fear in our children in order to bring them closer to Him.

I just don't think that's what He would want.

I'd Post a Picture of the Hathor-Fetus, But Apparently Here in Arkansas They Are Trying to Save Paper

I'm pleased to report that me, my fetus, and my extremely full bladder all emerged from the ghetto downtown Little Rock radiology clinic unscathed, except without one really cool totally unclear "what the fuck is that thing" picture.

At least there was a QuikShop right outside the door (complete with window bars) so I could purchase my celebratory bag of Ruffles "Cheese and Sour Cream" chips and a Twix. They go perfectly with a bladder full of water. Seriously.

Now let me back up just a bit to say that it never fails that every single time I go for one of these ultrasounds, the person who schedules the appointments fails to tell me to drink lots of water. I really should know that in order to see anything worth a snot, I've got to have a full bladder. And really, I'd much prefer to fill my bladder with filtered tap water from my own cup as opposed to water-fountain water out of a large styrofoam one in a questionable clinic where some dude was totally walking around in a prison uniform.

I swear.

But, I forgot, no one reminded me, and even though I swore that my bladder was full to the clearly hopped-up receptionist with scarily shaky, red splotchy hands who couldn't stop stretching her mouth out every 2 seconds like she was trying to pop her ears, it wasn't enough.

So, when I finally got back to the room, I was met with a no more than 24-year-old ultrasound tech who I swear was cracking her gum to the beat of some rap song. She was nice enough, if you think dumping a glob of blue gel on your extremely clean and valuable Old Navy jeans is nice.

Doesn't she know these cost me $5.99 on super sale and they're the only freaking jeans THAT FIT ME?

Anyway, the 9 week 4 day old fetus with a 156 heart rate looks great. In fact, according to her "Look how cayyyyyuttttttte. It's mooooooooving!" Followed by "Awwwwwwwwwww... look at it's leeeeeyeg stumps!"

Phew. The kid has leg stumps. I can rest easier tonight.

But then, when I hoped for a print-out of my little baby bean housed in my one heck of a gorgeous uterus for all the world to see, I got nothing. Apparently only "old skewell" machines print out pictures. The new ones get put on a cd that get sent to you in the mail.

Because that's so much more economical and eco-conscious.

So not only do I have a blank digital pregnancy test. But I have no u/s picture. This kid is definitely #3, huh?

This Would Be Why I've Wanted to Remove My Sinuses With a Pair of Chopsticks for the Last Three Days

One lousy thing that I can't blame on the fetus. 

Don't Be Fooled by the Little Rock That I Got

I admit to whining about this move. So sue me. But leave it to a few punchy readers, and a wise and extremely gorgeous woman who shared with me her Darfur Theory of Moving to put me in my place.

Basically, if you're not moving to Darfur, then you've probably got it pretty damn good. 

That or Mississippi. The stretch of stinky catfish farms they call "landscape" down there is pretty damn close to an African desert. Except I think the desert is actually prettier and doesn't stink as much.

So when people ask me if I like Little Rock, it's a pretty simple answer.

Now don't get me wrong. There are definitely some downsides to living here, including some pretty treacherous roads and a whole lot of religion. But considering I don't listen to the radio anyway, and obviously don't watch television anymore, it's not such a big deal. And while my particular town (north of the city) is dry, that just means I can't get an Ultimate Mudslide with my TGIF 3-course special.

But since the last time I set foot in a TGIF a waitress dropped a bar glass on my foot which ended with me requiring eight nasty and painful stitches, I'm okay with not having to eat at TGIF.

See. Little Rock has my safety in mind. Plus, with all the people praying on the radio and the television, that's got to provide some type of heightened protection.

And if want to eat anywhere else, I can just load up before I go. Very economical, this city. 

Aside from my safety and my bank account, Little Rock is very concerned with my appearance. They've conveniently placed some type of waterfall, pond, or miniature lake in all their Asian restaurants so instead of stuffing my face with white rice and teriyaki chicken, I'm running after my two children who think that they need to catch their own sushi fish and swim for change to tip the chef.

Plus, thanks to the the base gym, I can drag the two kids along and run on the treadmill while they chase each other in the fenced in "family work out" room. Imagine a Medieval Times type set up, except instead of eating large turkey thighs, you're trying to work yours off all while your fellow mothers are yelling threats like "Don't make me get off this bicycle, little boy" while your kids try to avoid getting rammed by some wild children with large square shaped mats.

And what I can only attribute to nothing short of a miracle, I scored a pedicure and hair cut appointment at the town's best spa on a short notice Saturday morning.

I hear you, Little Rock. Those feet were pretty damn scary. 

So not only am I thinner, a bit scared of some of the base wives, and nicely coiffed and scrubbed, within the three weeks that I have been here I've virtually met some extremely friendly bloggers, one of which sent my blog to the Democrat-Gazette for a feature article in the family section.

Hello, gorgeous and impeccably dressed Democrat-Gazette readers! Not only am I a yeller, but a thief as well! So glad to know you.

I have received cheers and congratulations for my new favorite shirt because apparently Arkansas does not heart Huckabee. Who knew?

And if that's not enough, almost every single person I've met or emailed with here in the city, including well-known sex author Suzi Parker, has told me that my name is terribly familiar. Like they know me.

That's because Little Rock loves me so much, they have a store named in my honor.

I guess the "E" in my name messed up my chances of getting a discount. But if you're in the market for a Lacoste shirt in Little Rock, that is the place to go, my friends. I always knew I had very expensive, preppy taste hidden under my printed tee-shirt, dirty jeans, and free ghetto pedicure flip flops (that aren't really for going out in public except I'm a dork -- hence this photo opp).

So thanks for the welcome, Little Rock. Hell, without the southern accents and Waffle Houses, you could pass for Jersey.