Polyester is Evil.

I just got back from a brief shopping attempt at Kohls. See, I have to go back to work next week, and I still have no clothes that fit (again, I curse ice cream to hell and back).

Anyway, I combed every rack in the freaking store, and you know what I found? A bunch of polyester. Heavy polyester dresses. Shiny polyester shirts. Polyester pants. Polyester skirts. Polyester capris. Even polyester shorts!

Mind you, it's summer. In Southern Indiana. Meaning the temperature hovers around 90, and the humidity? It's usually somewhere in the disgustingly gross to the good-lord-don't-even-step-outside range. And they want us to wear non-breathable, swamp ass inducing polyester from head to toe?

I don't think so.

This is one of those times when I really, really, really, really miss living in a real city. With real stores, featuring real selection - in something other than polyester. As it is, I think I'll be making a road trip sometime this weekend.

After all, I may be fat, but I still have my pride. I'm going to look good if it kills me (or burns a hole in my credit card).

Yep, She's a Page, Alright.

To say that my husband's family loves to eat is a gross understatement. I've never seen a family that likes to eat as much as they do. In fact, we jokingly call our get togethers The Search for More Food.

As soon as breakfast is over, lunch plans are made. And the discussion at lunch? Often revolves around dinner. Then, no matter how ridiculously huge our supper was, the call goes out for dessert.

Portions are big.

Seconds are almost mandatory.

Diets? It's best not to mention a diet.

Now, this isn't a bad thing. It's kinda fun. I like eating that way for a while, knowing that when the party breaks up, I can safely go without meals for a few days.

But there are limits. Just this past weekend, my in-laws were in town and we  had dinner at this restaurant that was featuring a buffet. An all-you-can-eat buffet.

So, of course we all ordered that.

Folks, it was awful. Easily one of the worst meals I have ever eaten in my life. I picked at my plate, filling up on green beans (which were the only tasty item on the buffet).

But the rest of the family? Went back for seconds and even thirds, moaning about how horrible the food was the entire time. But still, it was there, and it was all-you-can-eat, so they were determined to get their money's worth.

I was flabbergasted. And amused. And wondering how they could find the room (it was sitting like a rock in my stomach).

But you know what? I think it's genetic. My daughter loooooves to eat. In fact, she likes her bottle so much, she screams when you burp her. Because, you know, you've got to take the bottle away first.

This is her, throwing a temper tantrum to end all temper tantrums mid-burp. But as soon as I put her back down and re-insert the bottle, the tears disappear without a trace, and the screams are replaced by coos.

So there's no doubt that she's her father's daughter. I only hope that I can convince her that when the food's bad, it's perfectly alright to leave some on your plate (that way, there's more room for ice cream).

Baby Books the Digital Way.

Before Tori was born, I did what every new momma-to-be does. I scoured the stores looking for the very best baby book. The one that reflected our personalities to a T. But in the end, I just settled for one that wasn't pink.

I had good intentions. Great intentions. I intended to fill everything in faithfully, in the order that it happened, on the day that it happened. Yeah. Not so much. It's not blank - but it's nowhere near up-to-date. And the handwriting? Well, let's just say Brian and I aren't likely to win a penmanship award anytime soon. I'll be surprised if Tori can even read it when she grows up.

Enter the online baby book. There are plenty of sites that offer them, but I've found two that I like - kidmondo and BabyChapters.

These gems eliminate many of the problems of the traditional baby book. For example, you never have to ransack the house looking for a darn pen (or three, since the first two are guaranteed not to write). Or search for scissors and glue (who has glue anymore?) to paste all the little memories in. Or print out pictures (everyone's got a digital camera at this point, right?).

Nope. Your computer is the only tool you need. Want to know what the headlines were on the day your child was born? Google it. Need to include her first picture? Just upload it. In fact, if you're one of those weirdos that filmed the delivery, you can even pop in the video of her, ahem, popping out!

Best of all, you can do it whenever you have five free seconds. And while I know the same could be said of a traditional baby book, I'm a Digital Mama. Which means that if I'm not holding the baby, feeding the baby or cleaning the baby, I'm probably on my 'puter. So I'm way more more likely to pop over to the BabyChapters site for a few minutes than I am to deal with the hassles of filling in the real book currently gathering dust on my end table.

Or at least, that's my hypothesis. I'll let you know if it turns out to be true.

Something Actually About Advertising!

Baby this. Baby that. Blah, blah, blah blah. It's time for something completely different, wouldn't you agree?

And since it's Saturday, and I'm tired, this is going to be a super short cop-out post. So here it is. The subject of today's post. The most awesome banner ad ever. I command you to click that link. Then click on the ad on the right hand side. And keep on clicking. Go ahead, I'll wait.

If you're not laughing hysterically by the time you're done...well, then I'm disappointed in you as a human being. It made me laugh so hard, I cried.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I love advertising. Why I go to work every day. And why I pour my heart into everything I do.

Because someday? I'm going to do something that awesome. I don't know when, I don't know how, but someday, I will.

The End.

A Family Full of Spoiled Brats.

When I was pregnant, countless people took it upon themselves to tell me that once the baby came, there would be no more room in my heart for my animals. Practically every day, someone would snark, "Your poor dog better get ready. He's about to get booted to the curb."

Some even had the cajones to tell me I should get rid of them all together (these jerks were lucky they didn't get my foot stuffed down their throat).

Well, I'm happy to report that all those folks were wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. Wrong. Get it? Wrong.

Our animals didn't get booted out of the family. Tori just got added to the pack.

All the furred critters are just as spoiled as ever. Sure, things changed a bit once Tori entered the picture. Kermit no longer rules the roost. Tori does. Meals, walks, cuddling sessions - they all have to revolve around her schedule.

But Kermit still gets his chicken breast cooked for him every day (yes, really). Kiwi still gets plenty of lap time - he just has to share it with the baby. And Oliver? Well, as the former baby of the family, he had the most difficult adjustment period, but even he's coming around.

See?

What all those well-intentioned people didn't understand is that I'm an Animal Person. And when you're an Animal Person, your pets are just as much a part of the family as your children.

So "booting them to the curb" isn't an option. Nope, you just have to make more room on the couch, under the covers, and in your heart.  And for an Animal Person? That's never a problem.

A Baby Forever?

How many times have you heard a parent say, "if only my baby would stay this small." Or, "they just grow up too fast." Or, "I wish he'd stay a baby longer."

Well, for one family, that wish came true. ABC News recently profiled the Greenberg family - a family with a sixteen year old daughter who still looks and acts (and is, for all intensive purposes) an infant.

That's right. At sixteen, she's still the size of a toddler. Still wears diapers.  Still can't talk. She's hardly aging at all.

I can't speak for other moms, but as far as I'm concerned, as much as I love Victoria's babyness, I sure wouldn't want her to stay that way forever. I mean really. Sixteen years of changing diapers with no end in sight? No thank you.

They'll never get to have a real conversation with her. Or get to help her with her homework. Or cheer her on at a softball game. Nope, they're being cheated out of all the pleasure (and the pain) of watching a child grow up.

They'll be in their 80s, buying Pampers at the store, spooning out baby food and using her stroller as a walker.  I'm sure they love her, and wouldn't trade her for anything, but I think that's just sad.

I guess it's just another illustration of that trite old saying - be careful what you wish for. You might get it.

The Magic of a Baby's Smile...

Tori's smile has truly magical properties. It doesn't matter how crabby I am, or how much I'm hating my life at the moment - one glimpse of that silly little gummy smile that takes up half her face and my spirits lift.

I remember the first time I saw her smile (I should. It wasn't that long ago). She was a little less than a month old. I'm pretty sure it was morning, but I'd been up so long I couldn't really tell you for sure. Anyway, I was heading for the couch, bottle in hand, and crying (yet again) over my inability to breastfeed her when she flashed a full-fledged grin, face crinkling and gums showing.

It definitely wasn't gas.

I couldn't help but smile back, knowing that whatever I thought I was doing wrong, she was feeling pretty okay about her life.

These days, she's smiling all the time (except when I pull out a camera to attempt to capture it). But it hasn't gotten old yet. Nope, every time I see it, I can't help but grin in return.

Even at 4 in the morning when I'd rather be in bed.

Or at 3 in the afternoon in the aftermath of one of her nuclear meltdowns.

It even works when it's accompanied by projectile spit-up or an explosive diaper.

It's not just me, either. Yesterday, my husband came home in a foul, foul mood. I was sure I was going to have to spend the entire evening walking on egg shells, trying not to aggravate him further.

But as soon as he walked up to Tori to say hello, she flashed her most adorable grin. Within seconds, he melted into a puddle of goo at her feet. Next thing I knew, he was sitting on the couch reading her a book, his bad day already ancient history.

Those smiles are magic, I tell you. If I could put them in a bottle and sell them, I'd make billions of dollars. Anyone want to work with me on that?