Friday, April 30, 2010

Stuff That Will Not Make You Sweat Sale!

It's 82 degrees out right now and I'm still somehow surprised that I didn't sell any super warm wool baby hats.

Even more surprising:

Not one scarf sold today. What is going on here?! You're going to tell me that NO ONE wears winter accessories in 80 degree weather?

Can't be.

So after a lot of thinking and then some other things I did that might resemble thinking but really have more to do with daydreaming or being zombified, I've decided to amp up some of the non-wool type items that I have for sale.

So without further adieu...

The Stuff That Will NOT Make You Sweat Sale!!!

Organic Cotton Scrubettes $12

Perfect for removing makeup! Completely Machine Washable! Order at Ultra Cute Crochet or email me and I'll hook you up.
Free shipping for bulk orders.

Bunnies won't make you sweat:

Organic Cotton Baby Headbands!

These headbands are dyed with organic dyes and are very soft. This royal purple one is 3-9 months in size, but they can be made in any size and any color. Contact me for me info.

Slippers are perfect for cool nights and for air conditioned houses. This pair in 2T-4T is for sale right now in my shop, or contact me for ordering info.

These slippers are also available in Womens Sizes.

If you get a chance, do me a favor and promote me on your blogs? I'll give you a discount on anything you might order in the future if you do and let me know about it!

My Baby Girl, Aly Bear

My friend Aly wrote about her parents yesterday and I had the strangest reaction to her post.

I had the strangest urge to transport myself back in time, drive down south, break into her home and take her home with me.

I wouldn't make her eat cole slaw, actually , I wouldn't make her eat anything. She would just be a baby in my house, cuddled and coddled and loved. I'd make her homemade pizzas and star shaped cucumbers.

We'd share bowls of ice cream in the gameroom and watch PBS specials about hidden caves in Thailand.

We'd read The Phantom Tollbooth and A Wrinkle in Time together and I'd never let her stay up late. She'd be in bed by 9 every night and I'd wake her up every morning with a 'Good Morning Sunshine.'.

We'd fight cause I won't let her wear makeup. We'd fight cause I think her best friend is a bad influence. I wouldn't treat her like a friend or an enemy though. She'd just be my baby.

Forever and ever.

Then it dawned on me that I have enough freaking kids. There's no way I can afford the nervous breakdown another child would surely cost, let alone the time and energy I'd have to come up with to go back in time and kidnap some random brat.

Good thing Aly turned out just fine without me.

Thursday, April 29, 2010

T-Shirts and Cheap Flip Flops 4-Ever!

No offense to Maxine Jane, but I am sick of talking about her.

On my birthday my mom took me shopping. As I've mentioned many times before, I don't get many opportunities to shop so I was quite excited, especially since I'm not wearing Giant Lady sizes anymore.

I won't tell you the size, because if I did and you wear that size you'll be all offended and pissed off. But I was pissed off all the time regardless of bloggers comment's about the ridiculousness of that maybe it doesn't matter?

ANYWAYS I still wear a 14. Which is almost more embarrassing then a *Giant Lady* size because it indicates that although I haven't let myself go completely, I still have a rather disproportionate arse and blubbery thighs.

Don't get me wrong, I had a best friend growing up who was very tall and wore bigger sizes, although she appeared to be much thinner than me.

But alas, I am short and unless I have a freak growth spurt right now, I have no excuse.

My momma and I have been fighting over clothes for 25 years. She wants me to look nice,I just want to be comfortable. I gravitate towards jeans, jackets, and t-shirts. That's pretty much all I want.

Instead I got these two things, a lacy black cami and two pairs of capri-type jeans (one of which is a totally cool 50's inspired pair that just calls out for little bobbie socks and loafers!).

At another store I got a dress (Black with Big Grey Polka Dots!!) and a pair of shoes:

Although I loved everything I got that day, I'm sure if I were shopping on my own there would have been a completely different outcome:

And a pair of those $2 flip flops from Old Navy with the sequins? I really love them. In green. OR HOT PINK! Yay!

Oh and if I would pay a dumb ass number like $30 on t shirts (if you spend $30 on a t-shirt I don't care if I offended you...spend less money on t-shirts) I would buy myself, Jeremiah and each of the kids 10-15 t-shirts each from

I even know which ones I would buy.

This one for Elijah:

This one for 'Rose' (but I would buy an adult medium for her, so I could wear it and she'd whine about how she never can, cause I always have it on...)

This one for Jeremiah:

And all these (and more) for ME!

Wednesday, April 28, 2010


I had this wonderful post planned for Max's birthday today.

It was all about how far we've come together, how she's grown, what she was like as a baby...all that good natured happy birthday type jazz.

But then the day began, and at this point I'm not in the mood to celebrate Maxine's awesomeness. WHATSOEVER.

I stretched and yawned in bed. Sunlight streamed through my window onto my legs and my adorable red and white striped socks...I smiled excitedly at the wonderful sunny omen for Maxine Jane's Birth Day.

Then from her bedroom came a hacking cough and a frighteningly shaky scream:


Well good morning to you too, Birthday Princess.

Her siblings and I entered her room a few minutes later to tell her Her Birth Story, which is a tradition in our family. She was not pleased at being bothered by us and our loving embraces. She begrudgingly listened to the story and interjected sweet comments the whole way through.

"Grandma said I was a fat baby. You say I was small. Someone's a liar."

"20 hours isn't that long. You can count to that much, I think."

"Why didn't you just push me out then?"

She then stayed hidden from the morning's activities alone in her room for almost an hour. When she finally arrived downstairs she was wearing her meanest scowl (there are many levels of scowl for Max...ranging from the mildly annoyed scowl to the ready to cannibalize the natives scowl) and demanded that since it was her birthday she be allowed to eat...

" and white cookies all day long. With milk. Or juice. Can I dip black cookies in juice?"

I informed her that she wasn't allowed to have cookies for breakfast, even for her birthday. This was obviously not an acceptable outcome for Her Royal Highness for she threw herself down (which she hasn't done in a year) and hit her head off of the ground. I put her in time out for throwing a fit, during which she head butted me and made me feel dizzy for a moment.

So instead of time out I put her in bed. I released her after 30 minutes of screaming and gagging and crying.

She told me she wanted to watch a movie, so I put one on for her, gave her some string cheese and a cup of apple juice and made her a comfy nesty on the floor. I was called to the room two minutes later by a panicked Elijah. Max and Elijah had piled up the two baskets that hold the stuffed animals on top of a giant pile of library books and a kids sized coloring table. Then Max had helped Elijah climb to the top of this monstrosity and left him there, precariously balancing at the top, calling for me. Despite his distress, she had returned to her movie and was comfortably snacking and watching her movie.

So Happy Birthday You Scamp. It's only 10:15 AM...I wonder how much more joy she has in store for me today?

Monday, April 26, 2010

Max's First Thunderstorm

I’m sitting in our game room, Elijah in bed, Jeremiah sprawled on the couch next to me, yawning and comfy. The rain outside is pouring down over our street, over our small town, washing away the grimy trash, making the ugly cars gleam under the sheets of effortless water.

I am longing for Maxine, missing her spindly legs lying over my own much less spindly ones, her tiny hands looking endlessly for crevices of flesh to dig in to. The thunder and lightning are beyond my windows, filling the night with a drama much adverse to the calm of our quiet house.

Maxine hated the rain as an infant. She would cry in terror if it would hit her baby head and she would shake and cringe at the cold wet when it would touch her body.

Thinking of her great dislike of the rain makes me keenly remember her first thunderstorm. On a night much like tonight I laid a tiny uncomfortable Maxine, finally sleeping, next to me on my bed where Maxine, Rose and I would sleep every night. I dare not leave the bed, for if I moved my body from the space next to her she would wake and begin crying, the jagged spine chilling cry that haunted my days with infant Her. The lightning began to brighten our room and Rose and I counted the time between the lightning and thunder in hushed tones. Max woke to a considerably loud thunder clap and I immediately started to pick her up before she could wail. Instead of crying she looked curiously around the room, listening to the pitter patter of the rain.

I turned off the t.v. and sat with her and Rose in the dark room, lit by a small nightlight, listening with Maxine to the storm outside. When it thundered again I watched in amazement as a smile began to erase the usual scowl that painted Maxine’s face. The storm outside gathered more fury and soon the gentle rain sounds were replaced by furious winds. Max was still enthralled.

I laid her down between Rose and myself, pulled the blankets around us and soon fell asleep. It was a wonderful experience, Maxine at peace, not strangely tense, or stressed. There was nothing other than a sweet embrace and a gentle slumber, accompanied by a musical storm raging outside.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

She's a Gross Brat...Or a Grossly Mistaken One?

benjamin folds BenFolds @adamdaymusic @erinisfordorks @bryanks @BlaineStewart @MichaelSterchak @erinisfordorks @NickCollins6 correct as well

So Ben Folds tweets @me. He took a photo from his hotel room asking what city he is was Pittsburgh and I guessed the right city and the right hotel. And now we're pretty much best friends.

I guess this week's posts were supposed to be all about Maxine? We can talk about her too, if you want.

Max spends three days of every week with her Dad. Sometimes she calls me and sometimes she doesn't. I wait with bated breath for her to get bored enough to want to talk to little ole' momma.
Our conversations are pretty short, because as I mentioned last post, she's not ordinarily a big talker. She'll briefly tell me what she's doing, that no one is playing with her and usually that some horrible injustice has been done to her. Most often by one of her sisters, sometimes by a rogue cousin and just every once in awhile by her precious Daddy.

"Daddy said I was gross."

"WHAT!? Maxine, I'm sure you're daddy wouldn't say that to you. You should tell him that you think he said something mean to you and I'm sure he'll explain to you what he really said."

"I told you what he said. He said that I'm gross."

"Okay, well Maxine, you are definitely not gross. You're lovely and wonderful and smart."

"Daddy said I was gross."

Oh boy. I couldn't sway her, no matter what I said in her Dad's defense. Maxine is his baby, he adores her...I'm sure he wouldn't call her 'gross'. We hung up shortly after this dialogue and one about the fact that Olivia won't share with her.

Later I talked to her Dad about it at the tail end of a conversation regarding scheduling,

"Max said you called her gross.."

"Oh my God! She keeps saying that. I have no idea why she thinks I called her gross. I didn't."

"I didn't think you would, it's just that she is so adamant."

"I've told her a billion times I would never call her any names. And I didn't say she was gross. She must have misheard something I said."

"Oh ok. Well she seems pretty upset. You should do something about it."

"Oh yeah, that reminds me, she's saying you called her a 'brat'."

"That's totally true."

Friday, April 23, 2010

Tootsie Roll Heaven

"On Zomboomafoo it says that when dogs are puppies they are as small as a ball. But I think those guys must be cwazy...or dumb...cause it wouldn't be a puppy if it were as big as a BEACH BALL."

Max begins laughing hysterically at her own logic. I'm distracted by the crap in Elijah's diaper that I have to clean up. I don't laugh immediately, in fact, I'm hardly paying attention to Max at all. This is not okay with her.

"MOM. What the hec...I mean, MOM why are you not listening to meeee?"

She's actually got her hands on her hips and she's stomping her tiny little feet. I blankly look up from my dastardly son's ass at Max and say,


before I continue wiping. Max is not usually the most interactive of children. She likes to play by herself and makes sly comments here and there throughout the day. Chatty is not a good description of her on a usual day, but for some reason this morning she fell into the Chatty Kathy role perfectly.

"Mom. When I was on the comp-oo-ter earlier, I was playing this game on PBS Kids and there was all these cats and I had to count them. Then I won a prize for keeping all the kittens with the mom and... MOM. Are you listening?"

"Yes, Max. Computers and kittens. Very interesting."

"And then Elijah was there and I tried to show him the game and he wouldn't look and I wanted to pinch him so bad but I didn't...."

And on and on she went. I couldn't help but listen intently. This was an unprecedented amount of talk for her. If it was Olivia it would be commonplace for her to talk about nothing for hours on end, but this was Maxine Jane. Queen of the One Liners. The Quiet Scowl. The Angry Silence.

"If we go on a walk today...can we bring toys this time. Last time you said we could bring toys, but then you forgot, just like you forgot the water last night when we went to watch Jeremiah skate and we were all so thirsty and he only had a little bit of water left..."

After a while of this I became suspicious. Max is notoriously sneaky, as most quiet people are. (Sneaky Quiet Freaks!) I began to think that she may have a sugar related reason for this sudden influx of mile a minute conversation. I checked the candy stash in the pantry and didn't notice anything out of place until I was exiting and noticed a tiny tootsie roll wrapper on the floor directly behind the door. Hm.

"Maxine! Were you in the candy this morning?"

"Ummmm No?"

"Max, remember that you get in less trouble for telling the truth than for telling a lie."

"Ok. I'll show you."

Max leads me through the house to hidden piles of empty tootsie roll wrappers. Under the couch, in the baskets of the play kitchen set, under Elijah's bed, in Rose's desk drawer.

"When did you do all this?!"

"Right after Jeremiah went to work."


She had been eating mass amounts of tootsie rolls and hiding the evidence in every room (except for my own room, even she isn't that brazen) for two hours.

Next to each pile of wrappers was a set of two or three childrens books. I couldn't help but smile as I imagined her sitting and looking at new books in each location, snacking on tootsie rolls and stifling giggles as she chilled out in the early hours of the new day.

I suppose I should have given her a time out, but instead I gave her a stern talking to. And then she gave me a talking to that lasted almost an hour. Somewhere around lunchtime she zoinked out and crashed in front of the t.v.

I later remembered that last summer Jeremiah and Elijah had collected a huge bag of tootsie rolls from a smashed to hell pinata at a family reunion. I had brought the bag home and hid it in the back of the pantry and had promptly forgotten that it even existed. Until Max miraculously found it, months and months later.

Maxine Jane turns FIVE Wednesday and until then my posts will be in honor of her excellence. I hope you all enjoy!

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Movies Morphs into Crying over 16 and Pregnant

Let's go to the movies...

When I was a child my mother and I would spend rainy days watching AMC. Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, My Fair Lady, Annie, Guys and Dolls (Marlon Brando was my hands down favorite actor), Desiree, A Streetcar Named Desire, The Quiet Man (my Pappy Jack's favorite...he loved Maureen O'Hara almost as much as he loved Marilyn Monroe), Beach Blanket Bingo, all of the Elvis movies, I think you get the idea.

As a teenager I was all about The X Files. I wanted to be both Mulder and Scully and I would think about them often, as though they were friends of mine I could call up for an adventure.

During that same time I began to revisit the movies of my childhood, movies that my brother and I loved and chatted about over dinners of grilled cheese and tomato soup (rye bread and swiss cheese...yum yum yum). Indiana Jones was my hero, followed closely by Hans Solo. I'm not sure if I ever realized that they were both Harrison Ford, but later while naming my children I thought of both Harrison and Indiana seriously. Ghostbusters was by far my brother's favorite. He would watch and rewind it so many times that the picture became fuzzy and the screen would have several skipping lines for the whole duration of the movie. He would giggle insanely at the Stay Puff Marshmellow Man and his joy was infectious at times, annoying at others.

As a parent I would introduce these movies and more like them to my children. I was full of excitement the first time Rose and I watched The Labyrinth and overjoyed when she loved it. After the second viewing the novelty of my talking along with the script of the movie wore off and she insisted I would have to be silent for the whole thing or she would refuse to watch it with me. She was not as impressed with the Princess Bride as I thought she would be, she fell asleep during Krull (yes KRULL!) and cried during The Neverending Story (the sad Child Empress and the scene with Atreyu and the mud were just too much for her).

I had planned on writing all about the movies that I fell in love with as an adult, but I am currently distracted by 16 and pregnant. I hate this show, but can't help watching it. I wish I could just jump through the screen and give these little girls a hug and help them with their new babies. Having a newborn and caring for a baby is hands down the hardest thing I've ever done in my life and I can't imagine doing that at such a tender age.

Although I was not much older than these girls when I had Rosey, there seems to be a huge gap between my life at 16 and my life at 20. That gap can never be given back to these teens. Their lives have been changed in ways they don't even fathom before they have even had a chance to go to college, date out of high school, have an occupation or experience real life.

What a change of topic. My love of movies somehow morphed into crying over some super dumb MTV show. Babies having babies is what the show should be called. Stupid MTV...

Sunday, April 18, 2010

So They Say It was My Birthday!

Friday was my 29th birthday and though my week was emotionally trying and a birthday shopping trip with my Momma (thanks Mom!), an angry Maxine Jane and a rambunctous Elijah went horribly wrong, I had a wonderful birthday.

I was pleasantly surprised by a package that arrived in my mailbox upon returning home from aforementioned shopping trip from hell.

It was the print from this post from Jules at MeanGirlGarage! What a wonderful and thoughtful gift from an excellent friend. She had Eloise from Hide N Seek write a little note for me, I was so excited.

Jeremiah said, "Thanks for showing up my gift random internet lady."

And then right after getting this awesome birthday gift I opened a birthday card and a book from Jeremiah. Which was a wonderful surprise as well, because we had planned a night out, I assumed he wasn't going to get me a gift. When I opened the meowing card (It meowed 'Happy Birthday') and saw his writing my heart beat a little faster. I love seeing his writing, especially when it's for me. "I love you." .sigh. Written there for me to look at over and over again.

We took the baby to Jeremiah's Mum's house (Thanks Teresa!) and after navigating torrential downpours and infuriating traffic we checked into a downtown hotel. It was pretty damn cold and I was delighted to watch all the ladies run around in their strapless evening gowns waiting for the teenage valet to bring their cars. I was fascinated by the husbands (boyfriends, friends, whatever) lack of concern for their wives. You would think one would put his arms around her to keep her warm, or offer her his jacket, but out of the dozens of couples I espied that evening there was none of that. Interesting.

We walked through the maze of downtown, loomed over by my personal Gotham City's skyline and went for a lovely late dinner at a restaurant neither one of us had ever been to. The waiter loved his Hilfiger cologne, but other than his nauseating smell we had a very nice dinner.

Here's a photo recap of our evening and our trip to the History Center the next day. And here's where I say 'Thank You' for the millionth time to Jeremiah for being my friend and lifepartner. I love you too.

Birthday Gloomy Greys:

Birthday Fountain:

Birthday Blurry Dinner Photo:

Birthday Bridges and Baseball Parks:

Birthday Annoying Jeremiah with a Neverending Barrage of Photos:

My Lord and Liege:

Birthday Visit with Mr. Rogers:

Thanks to everyone for the birthday emails and the well wishes on the book of faces! Do I look incredibly old now?!

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Walden: Misspent Youth #2

See here for information on my friend's upcoming 'Misspent Youth' series and my involvement.

Being bored and reckless weren’t my only hobbies as a teenager. I was also a colossal nerd.

I read all day long. I read during class via hidden paperbacks propped up inside text books. I read while lying in the sun between classes stretched out on a concrete ledge or hidden in a bathroom stall after skipping Honors Gifted World History (7th period with a partially blind and mostly senile teacher in his last year of teaching who didn’t care one bit about keeping attendance OR accurate grades). I read on the bus to and from school, even though it made my stomach so upset I felt like puking. I had attachments to all of my books, to every book that I laid eyes on, regardless of it’s merit or meaning.

On days when my dad was working and I was running too late to catch the bus, I would drive our shared station wagon to school. I had the bad habit of parking in spots that were designated as faculty spots, but the good fortune of never getting in trouble for doing so. One warm and sunny morning two weeks before I graduated from high school I was finally caught parking in one of those aforementioned off limit parking spots. I got a message to go to the office during first period and was ordered to move my car to the lower lot where the students parked. I didn’t put up too much of a fight being that I could piss away some time moving my car and had decided that I would sit in the car and read for a bit after I moved it.

I didn’t notice until I had moved the car that the book I was reading was missing from the passenger seat where I had left it when I went into school. It was my favorite copy of Walden, pages folded and notes and thought written in opens spaces around the familiar text. I panicked and searched the car frantically. It was nowhere to be found. I ran into the school and checked my locker, my homeroom, my first period class. Not there, not anywhere. During this search I found that my copy of The Witching Hour was also missing. My heart was beating fast; I could feel the flush of my cheeks and my breath ragged and furious rising in my heaving chest, two of my favorite books gone. Where could they possibly be?

I went to the payphone and dialed my mother. She was upset that I wasn’t in class and wasn’t concerned in the least with my missing books. I was near tears by the time she checked my room and our living room, reporting back to me that she did not see them anywhere.

I marched into the office to report the books stolen. The secretary was as unconcerned as my mother and threatened to report me for missing class.

“I think that your books are probably at home somewhere. But the school is not accountable for what may go missing from your illegally parked unlocked vehicle.” She was actually smirking.

I was not. “I think that you should be more concerned that someone is looting parked cars in the parking lot.” This was a patient answer from me, being that I was not well known for remarks absent of intense sarcasm.

“Miss Bachman, I advise you to let this matter drop and return to you scheduled classes.”

“Miss So and So. I advise you to alert the faculty and principals to my report of stolen property.”

“Go back to class. Now”


“Ok, well I will go and get the principal and report your attitude and truancy.”

Have at it bitch, I’ll just take a seat. Smart of me to keep that gem to myself.

I sat for a long while, considering my position. I was certainly not going to get anywhere with the Principal JerkWad. This theory was shown correct when the principal finally arrived and ordered me back to class. He was nice enough to offer to excuse my absence but refused to report any stolen property.

“I wouldn’t come to school with at least two books to read while here. Now they are both missing. This doesn’t concern you?”

“I’m sure you misplaced them and they will turn up and then all of this fuss will be over nothing. Please return to class. If they show up here at the Lost and Found, they will be returned to you.”

I messed around at my locker for a while longer, went to my car and searched it again and returned to the payphone. I tried my Dad at work this time, waiting on hold for a while. The cafeteria started to fill up while I was waiting to talk to him. As he finally got on the phone and I began to bemoan my missing books, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. A small girl was passing through the far doors of the cafeteria, which was central to the school and had doors to the outside and halls to the rest of the buildings on each wall and corner of the large space. She was walking slowly, backpack thrown over one shoulder and tucked under the unhindered arm were…

my books! The Witching Hour was instantly recognizable by its larger than normal size and gothic black and purple front, Walden not recognizable by that distance, but inferred by the presence of The Witching Hour.

I had never noticed this small girl before, blonde ponytail high on her head, large red glasses perched unevenly on a small button nose. I was surprised by her apparel as much as the fact that she seemed to be a thief of unquantifiable villainy. She was wearing a white sweater with some completely ridiculous horses running across the front of her small chest. Purple corduroy pants ensconced her thin short legs, and white keds almost identical to my grandmothers were on her feet. What the heck was going on here? I was in the middle of a breakdown over the theft of two of my books and low and behold the villain walks into my line of sight, completely oblivious of me or the danger she was in from my overwhelming wrath.

“Daddy, I think I found my books. There’s this little girl and she’s just a total…freak. Like a 4-H person but even weirder, she carrying my books. She must have stolen Walden out of the car…”

“No offense to Thoreau, but who else other than you in your high school has read Walden? And no further offense to your excellent individuality, Erin…but wouldn’t it be safer to assume that those are her own books?”

“Oh no. She definitely stole those books from my car and my backpack. I have no idea how she did it, but I’m going to find out. Now.”

I will interject here that I was by no means a bully or a confrontational type of person. But the fact that someone was brazen enough to mess with my books, my favorite books at that, was enraging me.

I had two options at hand, confront this girl and demand my property and an explanation at how they were in his possession or I could march my ass back to the office and get some sort of victory over the secretary and principal by alerting them of the thief and her unabashed crime. Being the huge turd that I was at 17, I decided upon the second of the two options and essentially ran to the office down the long hall to the right of the cafeteria. The secretary was surprised at my breathless arrival.

“Miss Bachman, no one has brought your books to the office, I’m sure they’ll turn up. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”

A friend was in the office waiting for a tardy excuse and is the only other witness to the ridiculous words that soon issued from my mouth. She’s reminded me several times over the years how idiotic I sounded when I finally began this speech:

“Miss So and So. You will be shocked to know that I found the person who stole my books. She’s some kind of 80’s throwback and she obviously loves horses. YES HORSES are on her sweater and she’s carrying MY BOOKS around the cafeteria at this VERY MOMENT. You have to go and get her in some sort of trouble for stealing my property! I have notes written in that book that will need to be read by others. I figured shit out!”

‘I figured shit’ out will go down in infamy. Later that day, later that year and even later in our lives the Witness to my absurdity would repeat these words to amused crowds.

The office door opened and in walked the mystery girl. In her hands were my books, plainly and visibly. She shyly looked from me to the secretary and the witness. In shock by her sudden appearance and her close proximity, I was speechless for the first time that day.

Then she spoke.

“Hi. I found these books on a cafeteria table this morning. I was waiting till lunch to bring them in. Is there a lost and found here?”

Oh the brazenness!

“Thank You for bringing them in to us, Erin here has been looking for them all afternoon. She was sure someone had stolen them out of her car.”

“What? Oh no…” Her face was beat red and she looked horrified. “I found them on a table. This morning.”

It was only now that I remembered sitting in the cafeteria waiting for first bell to ring. It was only now that I remembered having both books with me. It was only now that I felt like the true villain.

I grabbed the books and retreated with a small “Thanks.”.

I only saw this apparition of a girl once more before leaving high school for good. It was during our graduation ceremony and I happened to look her way across a very crowded gym only to see her staring at me from behind those giant red spectacles. I knew she couldn’t have possibly known that I had called her a ‘freak’ or an ‘80’s throwback’, but from the look in her pale eyes it seemed that I had hurt her anyways. She lowered her eyes and bowed her head down, to deflect my return stare. I felt as small and sad as she seemed at that moment, remembering with embarrassment the roller coaster I put myself and others on that day over something so minute and insignificant. I should have given her a copy of Walden to read; maybe she would have appreciated it as much as I did. Maybe more.

This obviously isn't very 'scandalous' and reading books doesn't seem like a hallmark of misspent youth, but I decided to share an experience that enlightened my understanding of people in general and of the pain I can cause others, just with my callousness and negativity.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Crazy Little Thing Called Trouble

A friend of mine is currently compiling stories of ‘misspent youth’ from lots of people our approx. age (25-40) and will be starting a blog site of that name in the summer. In this blog he will share stories from people he reached out to from all over the country and then compare and contrast them with his own set of posts. He’s planning on using monikers for each person’s set of stories, ‘The Southern Slut’ (not me), ‘The Midwest Jock-less’ (nope, not me), ‘New England Boundary Freak’ (still not me)…those are some examples he’s been throwing around. When he debuts this collection he’ll be posting a post a day for five days and he’ll be asking for email comments which he will post in a compilation post on Sat. and Sun. Very cool.

He’s asked me to submit a series of stories from my very own misspent youth to add to his collection. I’m adding this disclaimer to the beginning of each post I submit for his blog, posts that I’m going to share with you guys too:

I regret 75% of the things I did and said as a teenager. I had a big mouth and used it ad nauseum. I would push people with words just to see them react to me and to entertain me. I cannot blame anyone but myself. Please read this with the obvious comic intent intact, but keep in mind I am not proud of anything I might have done to harm the people around me and ultimately to myself. Some of these stories have elements of fiction added to keep certain individuals identities intact.

I was considered ‘trouble’ by my peers and their parents as a teenager. Jeremiah says I was ‘full of myself’ and ‘arrogant’, but there must have been something he liked about me considering the amount of time his tongue spent in my mouth, right?

Regardless of what I was like, I think I was considered ‘trouble’ because I never got punished when I got caught at something punishable, but my friends were being punished on a very consistent basis. Thus adding to the general idea that the trouble we were often in was somehow my fault or my idea, which it of course, always was…but how would they know that?

When Spring sets up shop here in our town all teenagers go apeshit and at 17, I was certainly no exception. One day while working the counter at my friend’s record store I came up with the bright idea that my friend Michelle and I should get completely and totally plastered. This idea that seemed totally romantic and rocking in my head…the execution and result of this idea showed my faulty logic only causes destruction (and vomiting).

I begged and begged and begged the friend who I was working for that day to pick us up a bottle of Vanilla Stoly while he was out running his errands. (I hope he can’t still get in trouble for supplying minor’s alcohol 11 years later) It wasn’t surprising or odd for me to beg for something like that, the surprising part happened two hours later when he returned with a giant brown paper bag. And just like that *snap* the day goes from normal to completely and totally fucked.

My bright idea was to get a two liter of Sprite and two giant cups (with bendy straws, of course) and then drink and write poetry in the decrepit cemetery four blocks from my parent’s house. We’d get drunk, enlighten each other with the deep and crucial meaning behind humanity’s existence and then sneak into my parent’s house after my mom went to bed. Great idea, Erin!

We acquired the Sprite and the cups from my dad’s pharmacy, which was just blocks from the record store (back in the day, sonny, we walked everywhere…in the rain…in the snow…with no shoes…).

When we arrived at the pharmacy the awkward conversation with my Dad about what I was doing with a two liter of Sprite (all pop consumption was prohibited at our family home) and two giant cups with bendy straws went something like this:

“Erin. I’m sure you know that you are taking a big chance drinking that amount of soda. The sugar content alone is enough to make you sick for days.”

“Thanks Dad. I’ll just have a small bit. It’s mostly for Michelle. She drinks this stuff all the time, has a high tolerance.” Michelle and I are sniggering uncontrollably two sentences into the conversation.

“Okay Baby. Have a good time. Your mom said she’d leave the door unlocked for you…oh…right. Michelle, your Dad called. He’s picking you both up at 8a.m. to do rollerblading at the river.”

“Oh alright! Cool, Mr. Erin’s Dad. We’ll need lots of sleep to be ready for that!” More sniggering.

“Erin. You guys weren’t smoking dope, were you?”

“No Dad. We really weren’t.”


So we got sloshed. Within minutes of setting up ‘camp’ at the cemetery it started raining. We at first decided that in order to not waste the vodka, we’d just drink as much as we could, sit in the rain, and stay there until we were sober enough to go home. A few moments of being soaked and we discovered that you can’t write poetry in the pouring rain, you can, however, annoyingly decide to walk across town to visit a friend who didn't want you at his home, soaking wet, drinking underage and singing songs from Grease at the tops of your lungs.

The friend* we had decided to visit was a kind soul. He was one of those guys you weren’t attracted to when you were a teenager, but later in life you suddenly realized his appeal. He was a bit older than us and was having an ‘adult’ party at his house, being that he and his friends were of age and we were not this was a party that we were definitely not invited to.

We rang and knocked for quite a while, standing on the stoop in the pouring rain. I figured that either they were ignoring us or they couldn’t hear us over the music (odd that we couldn’t hear any music from outside the front door either). So we just barged in.

Our friend was rushing towards us as we entered his house and I handed him the rest of our vodka as payment for, “Shelter from the storm, man…thanks for taking us in, it’s fucking brutal out there.”, as if he had any choice in the matter. (He could not look at me for months after this without laughing...he wasn't even mad at me, that's what a kick ass dude he was.)

He asked us to leave several times and threatened to call the parents before I noticed the lack of party going on at his apartment. It was dark, candles were lit and Michelle was headed towards the bathroom, getting ready to open the bedroom door that you had to walk through to get to there… when things started to moooovvvveeee inn vvvveryyyyy slow motion...


The realization had hit me way too late. My friend had obviously been smashing some broad in the bedroom when we barged in. I could tell this by his tousled hair and much more obvious, the condom slipping partway out of his boxer hole. Michelle was heading directly into nude city. The door opened up and I saw someone, as predicted, nude on the bed.

Then I saw Michelle double over and vomit EVERYWHERE. The nude shadow dashed off of the bed and into the bathroom and shut the door in Michelle’s pained, pale and puke covered face. More puking ensued.

“Oh my God Chelle, you’re a fucking mess. And You! Look at what you and your slutty friend have done! Michelle is wearing MY favorite t-shirt AND jacket. Ass”

Enter nude shadow, who turns out to be my Gym teacher, no joke. She helped Michelle clean up her puke, rinsed her clothes in the sink and threw them in the dryer, the whole time warily staring at me. I think the gist was she was being so nice so I wouldn’t make a big deal of this. Although I really wasn’t upset or angered, I opened my giant gaping hole and assaulted the poor lady over and over again, in oh so polite terms,

“What are you, like, 30 or something?”

“You're naked! I saw your boobs!"

“You couldn’t find someone your own age to screw?”

“I suppose I won’t have to take swimming anymore, right?”

I guess they got fed up with this eventually. They called my Dad. He came sheepishly a half hour later, much more embarrassed than mad. I have a feeling my dad was a bit of ‘trouble’ back in the day too.

Sorry. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. Too drunk.”

“DADDY! I’m barely drunk. Michelle chugged this shit down. I was sipping. That’s like delicate and whatnot.”

“K, Baby. Let’s get Michelle and go home.”

I suppose my dad told my mom what happened, cause when she woke us up at 7a.m. the next morning her face had that ‘ I’m ugly when I’m mad but oh so pretty when I’m not’ look and she was banging things around. Loudly.

She brought me coffee and grapes and asked Michelle if she wanted some tea. She had to get sober and not vomity before her Dad got there to pick us up for the day. Michelle cried. A lot. I think she was afraid my parents would tell on her.

Michelle was still vomiting when her Dad picked us up. Food poisoning, my parents told him. He still made us go, what a dick! I had a wonderful day, chilling, roller blading, tubing down the river. Michelle spent the day in the rest area, sleeping and puking her guts out.

She told me she hated me 20,039 times that day. I just smiled and thought about how much I adored my parents.

And how much of a slut my Gym teacher was!

*My friend died a few years ago all of a sudden one sad sad day. He was one of the only people I knew growing up that liked me for me and saw right through my bullshit. If you pray, say a silent prayer for him, the young family that he left behind and his friends, I know that they still mourn him to this day, just as I do.

**I of course changed around the identity of my friend's sexy time pal. I never told anyone else about their 'affair'. I may have been a jerk, but not that much of one.

Friday, April 9, 2010

All I've Ever Wanted (Not Cocaine Related Orgies)

My birthday is coming very soon and Jeremiah keeps asking me what I want from him.

I have a strange idea about gifts. If you have to ask me what I want, I don't want anything from you. I think a gift should be something picked out by the gifting individual especially from the giftee. Something thoughtful that shows not only did you spend money on someone, you also thought about that person long enough to pick out something special to make them happy.

The money doesn't matter, to me at least. Does that make any sense?

But of course, I did think about what I would like to get for my birthday. Remember when we were little kids and we got 20 presents on our birthdays?

Okay. Maybe I was just ridiculously spoiled, but you get my point.

So I gave it some thought and when I started to come up with things that I want 90% of it was either unreasonable OR for my kids.

I want a super cool superhero cape for Elijah. He calls himself "Bah-mad" (Batman), furrows his adorable brow and insists on having blankets tied around his neck at all times. I made him a 'cape' out of a pillowcase, but it is already torn and looked ragged in the first place.

I want vinyl paintings and decals all over my house. Ones like this:

Or this:

Or this:

I want all the furniture and accoutrement very streamlined and stark but then POW some graphic awesomeness on one wall. And the BAM some freaking startlingly bright design on another wall.

I want a new Mazda5, preferably in red. This falls under the category of 'unreasonable'.

I want a new baby so he/she can wear this all of the time:

also 'unreasonable' and 'impossible'.

Oh! I'd like my room decorated in whites and reds and khakis and prints from HideNSeek

in neat little black frames on the walls.

I'd like to get each of the kids a bunny from Zygopsyche

and one for each from Morning Glori

I'd like two whole days and two whole nights alone with Jeremiah. More time than that and I'd start to miss the kids, in order of their ages. Elijah first, because he's my baby and I don't have to share him. Next Max, cause she's my buddy and gives me a challenge (kills time). Then Olivia, cause she's a redhead and my comic relief. And finally I'd miss Rose...her lastly because she's 9 and way too busy for the likes of boring Momma's like me. So I let her be. Someday she'll come back to me. Hopefully it's not because she's knocked up at 15. Or arrested for cocaine possession.

Speaking of cocaine possession...I'll be writing sections about my wasted youth coming soon. Little snippets about what a horrid, insipid, ridiculous little brat I was. And how and why I changed into the not horrid, insipid, ridiculous almost 29 year old I am today.

Oh and I've never done cocaine. So if you were looking forward to stories about coke related sex orgies, look elsewhere you Pervert!

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Single (Not Really), White, Female

I have some shocking information that I would like to share with everyone today. Brace yourselves because this is really going to come as a surprise to a lot (all) of you:

I have no friends.

See? Shocking Indeed.

I have come up with a couple reasons why someone as utterly delightful as me has no real friends to speak of.

1.I'm not utterly delightful.

2.I smell bad.

3. My kids are not utterly delightful either.

4.I don't drink.

I think #1. pretty much encompasses everything that has anything to do with my personality or lack of one.

I just threw #2 in there for levity. I don't smell bad. Well...I do probably smell not good right at this very moment. But not necessarily bad.

The kids thing, #3, is a hard one to pin down. I understand that some people don't want to hang out with kids all the time. I know I don't (ha). But we don't have to hang out with my kids. We can talk on the phone (about the kids), go shopping (for the kids), go out to eat (while I worry about leaving the kids)...

So by the time I get to #4 with a new potential friend, I'm screwed. Even after I explain it's a personal choice and that I'm not going to go all teetotaler on them, their interest in me has definitely has waned.

I think Jeremiah might be offended by this post, considering he is a my best friend and seems interested enough in me to pledge his life to me. That's a start. But what about some chicks, man?

Someone to tell me that the sneakers I bought on Monday are totally cute. (They are mountain hikey type things that Jeremiah bought me for long walks with the kids and riding my bike. They are mainly khaki in color but have the most adorable pale yellow trim...I love them)

Someone to tell me that I should go get my hair cut. I deserve it. Or that I shouldn't get my hair cut because an almost 29 year old mother of four who only wears her hair in pigtails is awesome and hipster and not at all sad and style-less.

Someone to give me dinner suggestions other than Rosey (hot wings), Olivia (pierogies), Maxine (candy), Elijah (treeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaattttttttttttttsssssssssss) or Jeremiah ( I don't care, babe...whatever you feel like making).

Someone to shop with. This one is super important. Jeremiah and Elijah are not the best shopping companions. And by not the best I mean that they are the absolute worst shopping companions in the history of shopping. I love cute printed P.J.s and t-shirts for the kids, I could look at them for hours. Jeremiah, on the other hand, loses patience with shopping within milliseconds of entering the store. My life is so sad.

Someone to talk to about how good looking and excellent Jeremiah is. Every time I give him compliments he ungraciously rolls his eyes at me OR even worse, accuses me of being insincere. I get upset at this (internally of course, passive aggressive 101) because I just like to tell him what's on my mind. And he is usually on my mind.

I should start taking applications for new friends and then write about the candidates once a week on this blog. Can't you just see my facebook status now?:

"is looking for a female companion. Please send me a message if you are interested...and willing for me to rip you into pieces on my by hundreds."

Saturday, April 3, 2010

Enough With The Bunnies?

Yes, Spring is here. Spring to me = long walks with the kids, Easter candy, bunnies and birthdays (mine, max's, my brothers', Jeremiah's two nephews and niece, his stepmom and Rosey's birthday are all coming up very soon).

It also meant working on this very 'Spring' inspired custom baby set for a blogging friend who is expecting a baby in October, but isn't revealing her pregnant state on her blog yet.

This set is made of luxury merino wool with accents in peruvian wool. It was so soft and so cute I had a couple moments of baby jealousy as I was packaging it up to ship. Then Elijah ran into the room pointing to his crotch yelling 'poopy' and all of those baby thoughts disappeared immediately.
If you're interested in a set like this in any color or style...or any of the components of this set, please contact me at I'm a prompt responder.

There are other stuffed animals on sale right now!!!
Pink Bear Love
Stripey Bunny
Chocolate Bunny

Have a Happy Easter! Enjoy your families and loads of chocolate and marshmallow flavored junk!