Saturday, January 29, 2011

Conversations with Grayson: Part 1

Kids are hilarious. Well, at least my kids are hilarious.  And so is Aleah's son, Vlad.   Grayson is finally old enough to at least, sorta have a conversation with. He's very to the point and he's flat out funny without even knowing it.

Me: C'mon, get your boots on. You and Jack are going to go over to Granna and Pawpaw's house.
G: Where you goin'?
Me: I'm going to get my hair done.
G: *Running his hand through his hair* I needa hair cut, too.
Me: Well, yes, you do, but not today. You get to go play with Pawpaw!
G: But, I needa hair cut.  *holding his hands straight out in front of him for me to see* And I need my nails done, too, Mom.


Friday, January 28, 2011

Let this be a lesson to you

A first grade girl handed in this drawing for a homework assignment:












After it was graded and the child brought it home, she returned to school the next day with the following note attached:


Dear Ms. Davis,
I want to be very clear on my child’s illustration. It is NOT of me on a dance pole on a stage in a strip joint. I work at Home Depot and had commented to my daughter how much money we made in the recent snowstorm. This photo is of me selling a shovel.
Mrs. Harrington




courtesy of www.businesspundit.com

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Paging Doogie Howser

My sweet, handsome, funny, stubborn husband started having some pretty horrific headache pains. But seeing as he's short staffed at work and has some big corporate visits coming up - he dealt with it. Well, we dealt with it. It kept him up all night - which kept me up all night. I love my husband, and I hate to see him in pain, but I'm much more apt to be sympathetic when I've had my sleep. Yes, I'm selfish. Nice to meet you. 
Everyday it was the same ol' story. He'd be fine for one minute and the next he would be walking around the house with his Batman micro-bead pillow pulled over his head clutching his face. I urged him to go to the doctor on Friday morning before his shift, but he slept in considering he didn't get much sleep the night before. Can't say that I blame him. 
Last night, I was happily in the recliner, kid-less, watching Big Love on the DVR awaiting my husband's arrival from work, when in he stumbled. His face and ears were bright red and he was in tears. 
SON OF A MOTHERLESS GOAT. 
"We are not doing this again," I told him. "We're going to the ER."
*It's worthy to note here, that my husband has a pretty high pain tolerance when it comes to this sort of thing. To see him practically crying scared the bejeezus outta me.*
I knew he was in real pain when he didn't argue with me or try to tell me he would be better tomorrow.  
We got to the ER and signed in.  They checked him and berated him with the usual battery of questions: Where's your pain? When did it start? On a scale of 1-10, what's the pain like now? Do you have any other symptoms? Fever? Nausea? Diarrhea? When was your last menstrual period? How many years did the Hundred Year War last? What's the square root of 64,218? What's the capital of Nebraska?  Blah blah blah.... 
Long story short - errr... well -  not really because there's more to it, they ordered a CT (came back clean..really? Are you sure about that? Love you, hubs!)  gave him pain meds for his head, made us wait while they ran some fluids through him and sent us home. Finally. At about 2:00 am.
Coincidentally, at 2:00 am, the area was having the worst bought of fog that we've seen in a long time. They were even warning of "frozen fog" - whatever the hell that is.  So, I get my drug induced husband in the freezing car (on leather seats - WOOOOO! That sh*t's cold!) and proceed to drive 45 on the interstate all the way home. I could see NOTHING. NOT A DAMN THING. 
I dislike driving at night.  I hate driving at night in the rain. I detest driving in heavy fog anytime of day - especially night.  The drive that should have only taken about 15 minutes, ended up taking almost 40. Oh, yeah, did I tell you it was after 2am and we both had to be at work at 7am. Not waking up at 7am. Not on the way to work at 7am. But AT WORK CLOCKED IN AND FUNCTIONING at 7am.
Ugh. It's time like these I relive all those moments of having newborn babies and missing sleep. It's also times like these that I am reminded of why I will not be having anymore children.
So, anyway, we make it home, go to sleep, and get up like thirty minutes later to go to work. WITH NO COFFEE, I might add.  A few hours into the work day I have this conversation via text messages:
(The green is me. The white is Hubby.)







Seriously, dude. We just practically spent the night in the ER and you're not better? What the french toast? But, I did get him into a dentist. And he went, and he had some giant gnoll tooth removed from his head. Serioiusly From what he told me the thing practically went up into his brain.
I bid farwell for now. I have to get home and cook the hubby something liquid to eat. Yum!

Thursday, January 20, 2011

{Recipe} Bacon and Swiss Topped Honey Glazed Chicken

Dear Readers, before the blog renovations, I had posted a poll about the content of what I was writing, and what you wanted to see.  Although there were only a few people who actually voted, the results were unanimous. You want to see pictures and recipes.
So, without further ado, I give you my very first recipe.


Bacon and Swiss Topped Honey Glazed Chicken

What You Need:

3/4 cup of flour
4 -5 chicken breasts, trimmed
1/2 stick butter, divided
1/3 cup packed brown sugar
1/3 cup honey
1 tablespoon soy sauce
Uncooked bacon
Swiss cheese slices

-Preheat oven to 350.
- In a shallow bowl, combine flour and a dash of salt and pepper. Dredge chicken breasts in the flour coating both sides well.  Place 2 tablespoons butter in large, heavy skillet and brown chicken on both sides.

-Transfer to sprayed 9x13 inch baking dish. Wrap with raw bacon slices. 
-In same skillet, place remaining butter, brown sugar, honey, and soy sauce and bring just to a boil; sitrring constantly.  Pour mixture over chicken.

- Baked uncovered for 35-40 and baste several times with pan drippings.  

-With 5-6 minutes of cooking time left, top chicken with sliced swiss cheese, baste, and put back in the oven for the remaining time
.
This serves 4-6 people depending on size of chicken breasts.



Voila! Super yummy and tasty! I served mine over rice pilaf. Let me know if you try it out!!

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Bowzinga!

Check out the fresh new look I gots on me blog courtesy of my handy dandy brother-in-law! (Laaaadies, he's single!!)

Whaddya think?


Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Shut your pie-hole, Martha

Somewhere inside me there is this little Martha Stewart dying to break free. She’s the one who wants to make cute little crafts with the leftover formula cans, I’m the one who forgets and throws all those formula cans away only to kick myself in my own ass later on when I think about it.
My inner Martha really wants to sew a blanket, a pillow, a tote bag - ANYTHING. I’m the one who gets infuriated with the my results since I am too lazy to actually measure anything. I blame my husband for this.
Who does that? Who actually thinks that something so precise and requires patterns as sewing would turn out perfectly without measuring the damn fabric!?  Martha wouldn't dream of it.
My inner Martha buys picture frames to hang on the walls throughout the house. I'm the one who just leaves them lying on my desk for months with the stock photos of random families in them for months before I realize I don't have any pictures that would "look right" in them. 

Martha says there is no such thing as stale bread. It's croutons! I’m the one who forgets about the loaf and it starts getting moldy.
And it was definitely me who ate all the snacky stuff that Martha bought for Grayson's lunch on our last grocery run. That’s what she gets for buying fruit roll-ups and Cheetos. Stupid bitch should know better by now.

Oh, and where are all my comments? Hello, hello? Is this thing on?


Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Obviously, I'm so fancy I need a sous chef

Today, Dear Readers, you are in for a fantastic treat. I am going to describe two different versions of our dinner last night. Both of these descriptions are accurate and true. I know it's not exciting, but work with me here. 


Dinner #1


Last night for dinner, we had basilic beurre braised and diced chicken cutlets, served with a creme blanc sauce over an herbed al dente penne pasta.


OR


Dinner #2
Last night for dinner we had chicken alfredo and noodles.


I think it's safe to say I've been watching entirely too much Top Chef.

Sunday, January 9, 2011

You googled what?!

On my handy dandy analytics thingamabob it tells me things people have typed into search engines only to end up on my blog.

Here are some of the things people have typed in their search bars:
In true Stacey fashion, I googled these things myself to see where on the search page my little blog popped up.

My Boniva - 3 times (all different people) - I'm actually on the first page - the last entry, but on the first page nonetheless. 
Granny in Stilettos - *Shudder*  I'm sorry. I did not look this one up for myself. I'm afraid of what I can't unsee. 
Spit up and stilettos/ Spit up and stilletos - Right there. Numero uno.  
spit up on my stillettos - I am the third search result. Number one is "Newborn vomit."
stacey stilettos - Stacey Stilettos is an actual person. Well, is an actual persona at least. She's on facebook. In lingerie. NOT ME.  
urinal girl - I went through 40 google pages and did not see a link to my blog anywhere. This means that there is someone out there who has gone through more than 40 pages of "urinal girl" search results and clicked on my blog. That's both flattering and a little creepy.
wubzzy says its time to go potty - Ah, a parent most likely ready to shove her head in the oven after trying to tackle potty training.  My little blog here is  actually the 7th search result when you type this into google.


While I've got your attention, Dear Readers, it's time again to play 20 Questions, or 10 Questions, or however many questions I get asked.  Post your questions and I'll answer them next week.  Get to it, Dear Readers!

Friday, January 7, 2011

Lessons in Parenting

Are you considering having kids? Or know someone that is? Are you sure you're ready for such a feat? Perhaps you should consider taking this 11 Lesson program to determine if you are truly ready to procreate.

Lesson 1

1. Go to the grocery store.
2. Arrange to have your salary paid directly to their head office.
3. Go home.
4. Pick up the paper.
5. Read it for the last time.

Lesson 2
Before you finally go ahead and have children, find a couple who already are parents and berate them about their...

1. Methods of discipline.
2. Lack of patience.
3. Appallingly low tolerance levels.
4. Allowing their children to run wild.
5. Suggest ways in which they might improve their child's breastfeeding, sleep habits, toilet training, table manners, and overall behavior.
Enjoy it because it will be the last time in your life you will have all the answers.

Lesson 3
A really good way to discover how the nights might feel...

1. Get home from work and immediately begin walking around the living room from 5PM to 10PM carrying a wet bag weighing approximately 8-12 pounds, with a radio turned to static (or some other obnoxious sound) playing loudly. (Eat cold food with one hand for dinner)
2. At 10PM, put the bag gently down, set the alarm for midnight, and go to sleep.
3. Get up at 12 and walk around the living room again, with the bag, until 1AM.
4. Set the alarm for 3AM.
5. As you can't get back to sleep, get up at 2AM and make a drink and watch an infomercial.
6. Go to bed at 2:45AM.
7. Get up at 3AM when the alarm goes off.
8. Sing songs quietly in the dark until 4AM.
9. Get up. Make breakfast. Get ready for work and go to work (work hard and be productive)

Repeat steps 1-9 each night. Keep this up for 3-5 years. Look cheerful and together.

Lesson 4
 Can you stand the mess children make? T o find out...

1. Smear peanut butter onto the sofa and jam onto the curtains.
2. Hide a piece of raw chicken behind the stereo and leave it there all summer.
3. Stick your fingers in the flower bed.
4. Then rub them on the clean walls.
5. Take your favorite book, photo album, etc. Wreck it.
6. Spill milk on your new pillows. Cover the stains with crayons. How does that look?

Lesson 5
 Dressing small children is not as easy as it seems.

1. Buy an octopus and a small bag made out of loose mesh.
2. Attempt to put the octopus into the bag so that none of the arms hang out.

Time allowed for this - all morning.

Lesson 6
 Forget the BMW and buy a mini-van. And don't think that you can leave it out in the driveway spotless and shining. Family cars don't look like that.

1. Buy a chocolate ice cream cone and put it in the glove compartment.
Leave it there.
2. Get a dime. Stick it in the CD player.
3. Take a family size package of chocolate cookies. Mash them into the back seat. Sprinkle cheerios all over the floor, then smash them with your foot.
4. Run a garden rake along both sides of the car.

Lesson 7

Go to the local grocery store. Take with you the closest thing you can find to a pre-school child. (A full-grown goat is an excellent choice). If you intend to have more than one child, then definitely take more than one goat. Buy your week's groceries without letting the goats out of your sight. Pay for everything the goat eats or destroys. Until you can easily accomplish this, do not even contemplate having children.

Lesson 8

1. Hollow out a melon.
2. Make a small hole in the side.
3. Suspend it from the ceiling and swing it from side to side.
4. Now get a bowl of soggy Cheerios and attempt to spoon them into the swaying melon by pretending to be an airplane.
5. Continue until half the Cheerios are gone.
6. Tip half into your lap. The other half, just throw up in the air.

You are now ready to feed a nine- month-old baby.

Lesson 9

Learn the names of every character from Sesame Street , Dora the Explorer, Thomas the Tank Engine, the Wonder Pets, and Blue's Clues. Watch nothing else on TV but PBS, the Disney channel or Noggin for at least five years. (I know, you're thinking What's 'Noggin'?) Exactly the point.

Lesson 10

Make a recording of Fran Drescher saying 'mommy' repeatedly. (Important: no more than a four second delay between each 'mommy'; occasional crescendo to the level of a supersonic jet is required). Play this tape in your car everywhere you go for the next four years. You are now ready to take a long trip with a toddler.

Lesson 11

Start talking to an adult of your choice. Have someone else continually tug on your skirt hem, shirt- sleeve, or elbow while playing the 'mommy' tape made from Lesson 10 above. You are now ready to have a conversation with an adult while there is a child in the room.





*I cannot take credit for this, as much as I wish I could say I penned it.  

Thursday, January 6, 2011

Lord and Master Syndrome

This morning, I was deep in the land of slumber when I awoke to that weird feeling that someone was watching me. My eyes slowly opened to see my three year old standing thisclose to my face - his trusty blue blanket in one hand and that damn sippy cup in the other. Instead of immediately asking him what in the hell he was doing in my room, I looked at the clock.
Five friggin thirty.  Shoot me.
"Mom. Wubbzy's off."
"Ughhhhhh."  I can't swear to it that this is what actually came out of my mouth. I made a noise to indicate I'd heard him, but that I certainly wasn't going to get my ass out of bed for some yellow square thing with a tail. (That's Wubbzy, for all you people out there that don't have kids.)
"MOM."
"What?"
"Wubbzy's off."
"Okay. Go back to bed."
"No, mom. No.Turn it back on."
"Do you know what time it is? It's time to go to sleep. It's still dark outside."  Grayson just stood there and I could see that clearly my plan was not working. This kid was stubborn. He wasn't going anywhere until Wubbzy was back on.
"Fine," and I rolled out of bed and trudged through the house trying to avoid anything that I could find with my shins in the dark.
We make it to his bedroom with no casualties and I hit "Play" on the dvd player.
"I need some more chocolate milk," he said thrusting that plastic devil with a lid in my face.
NOOOOOOOOOOO! I silently sobbed to myself.
"What? No you don't. You need to go back to sleep."
"I need some more chocolate milk in my cup," he told me completely ignoring my previous statement.
 - Now, for those of you who don't know the finickiness that has been bestowed upon my oldest son, let me tell you what he means when he says "chocolate milk." It's not normal chocolate milk. Oh, no. That'd be too easy.  It is a production. First, you have to put milk in the cup, then you add the syrup. Did you hear that? Syrup - not powder. Well, that's it, right? Milk + chocolate syrup = chocolate milk. Not in this equation, buddy. No way. Now you have to heat it up. Oh yes, HEAT IT UP.  For 45 seconds - no more, no less. And I swear to you, if you do it less - even by like 5 seconds - the kid knows it. Do you know how long 45 seconds is when you're missing sleep? It's way more than 45 seconds. Finally, the last step in this tirade, is to put the lid on the cup and shake it up - do not screw up here and try to stir it - that simply will not do. And then you give it to him, watching in nervous anticipation for his approval.
Knowing that I would lose this battle too, and just wanting to get back into bed, I relented and made my little divo his favorite delicacy. 
Finally, after about 30 minutes, the milk was done and I was just walking out of his bedroom.
"Wait, Mom. Wait. Change my diaper."
"Are you kidding me?"
"I need a diaper."
"Son. Seriously. If you can tell me when you need to be changed, it's time to use the potty."
"Noooo. I needda diaper."
Understanding that 5:45 in the morning is probably not a good time to attempt potty training again, I assumed the diaper changing position: in the floor on my knees hovering over my toddler in the yellow glow of Wow Wow Wubbzy.  
Enter The Stench from the Black Lagoon.  I'm surprised the paint didn't start peeling off the walls. It was bad. And I've smelled some pretty nasty stuff working at the animal hospital - Parvo blow-outs, dead animals and flesh, tom cats spraying everywhere, etc. Grossed out yet? This smell trumped all of those. My kid could seriously be the next weapon of mass destruction - we can just start chucking his loaded diapers into North Korea. But I digress. 
So, here I am - hovering over my toddler who's happily drinking his chocolate milk and watching Wubbzy while I'm holding both this legs in the air only to discover he's crapped and I am not prepared.  Luckily, there was a box of wipes within reach.
FINALLY.
I am done. I can go back to bed for an hour or so of glorious sleep. I AM VICTORI---
"I need my blue blanket."
Pwned.
"What did you do with it? You just had it."
"I not know."
"Is it in your bed?"
"No. I need two blue blankets," Grayson told me matter-of-factly while holding up two fingers.
Two?! Hell, I can't even find the one that you WERE HOLDING IN YOUR HAND. 
"I need the blue one with polka dots."
"You don't need it. You want it. There's a difference.  And you don't even have a blue blanket with polka dots.Jackson has a white one with polka dots, but you don't have one. You have one with stars and you have one -"
"Oh. Here it is, Mom. Go to bed now."
It was like I was a house elf that had just been given an article of clothing and relieved of my duties. 
I was free. Free! FREE!
Well, at least for another thirty minutes before Your Highness found his way into our bed.
I'm pretty convinced Grayson suffers from Lord and Master Syndrome. I'm working on having it submitted to the DSM IV.

Sidenote: While typing this blog, I started wondering what I could write about next - and then Jack ate kitty litter. It's like the Screw-Up Fairy loves my blogs enough to give me stuff to write about.


Saturday, January 1, 2011

Q & A - New Year's Edition

Coming at you live from Kentucky: the land of bluegrass, the state from which George Clooney hails, the city that's featured on the Wikipedia page when you type in "mullet" - it's Staaaacey Ragsdale!


Do you think it is ok to take your cat with you to a holiday party as long as the cat is in a box? Thank you Aunt Twyla

Okay, Aunt Twyla.... I need a few more specifics here. Does "box" mean "pet carrier" or does "box" mean "gift wrapped with a big ol' bow on top"? Actually, I guess it doesn't matter in either instance - as long as there are holes poked in either of those boxes for Kitty, I'd say it's perfectly acceptable because who wouldn't want to go to a party where there is a strong possibility of gift-wrapped pus...err...festive felines?



Where is the most horrible and disgusting place that you suddenly realized you absolutely must, without delay, go to the bathroom?

I've been elbow deep inside a dog before - I was assisting in a surgery, people. Seriously, it's not one of those freaky sideshows like they do in Tijuana. Not that I even know about those... - when nature has made it's untimely call. But, I'm guessing you mean gross bathrooms. When I was pregnant with Grayson I had to pee about every 3 minutes. By the time I had managed to wiggle my pants up and fumble to blindly maneuver the button into the hole to fasten them, I had to pee again. My husband barely saw me that last trimester. Anyway, one night we went to a high school football game and I had no sooner waddled my pregnant butt up the bleachers and sat down when the urge struck. Have you ever seen a pregnant woman try to run down bleachers? I can guarantee that everyone in the stands got their admission's worth that night. Chris went with me mainly because the baby was demanding I thought some popcorn sounded good. And a hotdog. And a cheeseburger. And a bag of chips. And an ice cold root beer to wash it all down my gullet. Upon arrival at the concession stand/bathrooms, I noticed a line of about 5 women. Nuh-uh. No way. I'd have to pee in my root beer bottle. And, Dear Readers, at this point in my pregnancy, I had no more dignity left, and I would have done it if it wasn't for all the kids running around. Although, the image of an 8.5 month pregnant woman attempting to publicly urinate in a bottle would probably be a good way to promote abstinence. See this kids? This is what happens when you have sex! You get pregnant and then you pee in bottles! And you don't give a crap who sees you do it! I looked around and quickly assessed the predicament I was in. There was no waiting for the men's bathroom. So, I did what any self-respecting, hormonal, hungry pregnant woman would do. I commanded nicely asked my husband to stand guard at the door of the men's room - I was going in. I didn't want to get in there and find the toilet stopped up and unusable with my only option being the urinal when some poor unsuspecting guy comes walking in to drain his lizard to see me propped up over the urinal hoping my aim is good. Yet another thought provoking image to promote abstinence. With Chris playing bouncer, I walked into the men's bathroom while all the women in line watched in horror. I gave them the Dude-I'm-totally-pregnant-here-and-I-must-make-haste look as I rushed inside. I was trying my best to not pee myself, so I didn't notice too much of the decor except that the door to the lone stall was hanging by one hinge. I yelled to Chris "There are no doors in here!! Oh, my god! I have to pee! I'm just gonna go! Don't let anybody come in!"- which in hindsight was stupid because the door to the bathroom itself was propped open with a rock, so I could've just told him at a normal volume. But, since I decided to shout it from the mountain tops, the entire line of women AND the people waiting in line at the concession stand heard my urinary proclamation. I walked out with a strut to my step to signify my victory. "I'm pregnant," I told one lady that gave me a disgusted look while I passed her.

"I can't believe you just did that."

"What? It was either the men's bathroom or my A&W bottle."

Okay, so it wasn't really a horrible and disgusting place to have to go, but it's one I will always remember. Maybe I should have just left my answer at "elbow deep inside a dog."



Since you said "memories" what is your favorite memory of us? :)

My friend Lauren asked me this question. Oh, wow. The one that I immediately think of is us in the drive-thru at the Hardee's in Murray trying to place 4 separate orders.
It was in April - pretty close to my birthday. My mom had gotten myself and 3 friends front row tickets to see Newsboys and my favorite band at the time, The O.C Supertones who were in town. We were as hormonal boy crazy teenage girls that we could be while still being devout. Murray is a college town -which to teenage girls meant Cute College Boy Mecca. Seizing the opportunity to scour the campus, we left Paducah about 5 hours prior to the concert. Hey, we were overachievers. We pulled into town in Lauren's Mazda and headed to Hardee's. Since we only had about 4 and half hours left until showtime, we decided to hit the drive-thru - just to make sure we weren't late. Need I remind you we were teenage girls? Being a teenager also means you have many more moments of stupidity than in any other age brackets throughout life. We chose to go through the drive-thru and place FOUR SEPARATE ORDERS. And of course, in true teenage girl fashion, we all had to picky with each of our orders. "No mayo on that double-cheeseburger!" "I want honey mustard for my chicken strips!" "Make sure you put the pickles on the side!" When we got to the 4th order and final order - the lady came over the loudspeaker and exclaimed "I'm soh-ry. But, we can only take chhree odahs in da drive-chru atta tiiiime." Faaaan-tastic. In all honesty, I don't remember going in and eating, but I'm sure we did. I will just always remember the sound of exasperation in that poor lady's voice as she took our orders. And, yes, we made it to the show in time.



What are your favorite and least favorite things about your children?

Wow. What a question. My favorite things about my children...I'm not even sure where to start. They're really good kids. I know, everyone thinks they're kids are the greatest and the cutest - and I'm guilty of that school of thought, too. I have awesome kids. I mean, seriously, have you seen them? I'm just waiting for the day Gerber comes knocking at my door telling me my boys' faces are going to be plastered on their products. In all honesty, I can safely say that my favorite and least favorite thing about my children is the same thing. Whaaaaat?! How can that be?! you say. I love the fact that my kids are young and (in my eyes) still babies. I love to see Grayson's eyes light up when he discovers something new - unfortunately the kid friggin' refuses to use the damn toilet. Can you tell I'm just a little miffed about this? Yes, I posted about Naked Potty Time - and that worked - but only while he was naked. He doesn't transfer the line of thought to actually use the toilet to when he has clothes on. He knows when to go - he's just too lazy to do it. I am not gonna lie. I have briefly considered selling him to gypsies. And Jack - my baby - my little baby - will be a year old in two months. Two months! That boy can program me just like a computer. He knows just what buttons to push to get me to do whatever he wants - and half the time I don't even realize I'm doing it until the task is completed. Ah, the woes of having intelligent children. Somedays I love the fact that they're still little and learning - other days I'm all "Ugh! Grow up already! I'm so tired of this stage you're in!" which I immediately regret thinking, because I know I'll be thinking the exact opposite when their teenagers. Ughhhh....I don't even wanna think about them as teenagers right now. They will eat me out of house and home.



Have you seriously considered writing as a money making endeavor? I see your short stories along the lines of the things Erma Bombeck wrote several years ago. I think the world needs more of those happy little short stories told.

I would love to think that my writing could make money. There have been some talks amongst friends about putting out a book that regales the random happenstances that make up my life, but none of it has been taken too seriously. I am certainly not opposed to it happening. Maybe some big fancy publisher will stumble across my blog and upon reading it will be all "Hot damn! This needs to be in a book! Let's get this girl a million dollars!" Hey, it's my fantasy, don't judge me. And then I'll be like Carrie Bradshaw. Except in Kentucky. And with kids. And not the least little bit fashionably inclined. Okay, so nothing like Carrie Bradshaw.