Meanwhile… I have done a bit of research on vlogging. If I am going to launch into this new world, I want information. I want to do it right, and do it well. I found a delightful young lady on Youtube — LOOinLONDON. I found her vlog on vlogging to be VERY educational. Please watch this video, then you will know the burden we vloggers *ahem*… carry…

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Warning: self-promotion…

Do you love me? Do you? Or do you just like me? Tolerate me? I’m cool with toleration… but if you love me — prove it please prove it. And if you just tolerate me, I’m cool if you pretend you love me, but just this once… I am all about keepin’ it real, unless a prize is at stake — as is the case here… 
 
I’ll only ask you once. Today. Voting ends November 30th. Don’t delay. Act now. All you have to do is click on that pretty little badge, register at DivineCaroline and vote. What do YOU get for your effort? Not sure. Prolly nothing but the internal gratification that you can check “good deed” off your list for today. However, I could win a Visa gift card and a bragger-badge. The money is great (YAY, Mama’s buying Christmas presents!), but the badge is better (YAY, ME!)…

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O.K. So. THAT didn’t go EXACTLY as I expected. 

In my defense, when I filmed this I still had not yet had my coffee. Not unlike a druggie without his “fix” for the day (or for the hour, I dunno the kinds of schedules druggies keep. Aaaaanywho…). However, a few lessons can be pulled from this experience. I am a giver, so to spare you the agony of making these same mistakes yourself, here are a few hints before filming footage for your next video/vlog post:

• Consider background. The trash can is not the ideal background. A tacky-looking, dusty silk plant from your churchs’ foyer is better than a trash can… unless you are making a video of trash cans, of course.
• Beware: apparently the camera brings out one’s “Valley Girl” accent. What’s up with that?
• Wear make-up. 
• Have a cuppa coffee.
• Fix your hair. For goodness sake, find a flippin’ brush. It ain’t that hard.
• Wear some glitter, it distracts from real-life flaws. And it’s fun.
• Use a tripod. For so many reasons, Use. A. Tripod. 

*still rubbing eyes* Really? What about: promised land, hope, glory, perfection, world peace & harmony ???

Dear www.synonym.com,

If you need a new editor, I’m available.

Sincerely,

Kerryonthespot

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Back in  November ‘02 I cooked dinner for my family of 4… Me, the Hubs, a 3 year old boy and a baby girl. Occasionally I would engage in a phone conversation whilst doing my own carnival tricks (a.k.a. “cooking dinner”). Ahhh, but mostly I cooked and survived “the witching hour(s)“ pretty much in desperation solitude. With either a baby or a chubby 3-year-old eye poker on my maternal hip. My evenings pretty much went as follows:

Stir, fix broken toy, stir, apply band aid to owie, chop, help with stubborn puzzle piece, chop, pull son away from firelplace, stir, wipe brow and count to 10– daddy will be home soon… stir, take knife away from son, fill sippy cup, change diaper, coax the potty-trainer, counting to 100… keep big brother from love-smothering baby sister… pray meat didn’t burn beyond repair, look up child’s nose for meat thermometer (because, yeah, it’s not in on the counter where I left it), give into crying (mom, and both kids) — where the H.E. Doublehockeysticks is Daddy!!!, soothe crying baby, open doors and windows, pray fire detectors will turn off soon, 3 year-old unconvinced that he does NOT have to watch mommy on the potty, wipes down counter, more crying/weeping/gnashing of teeth, … orders pizza, counting to 1000…

*que myocardial infarction* CLEAR!!!! *kachunk* “Beep, beep, beep…”

Fast forward to November ‘08… This is where I integrate the title into my post! I am such a responsible writer. I digress…

It is 6 years later. A lot has changed in my journey as a mom. I have 3 children now (3,6, and 9), but no baby *wipes brow*. I deal with the emotionally exhausting manipulations of a blossoming personality (a.k.a. a 3 year-old); the creative messes of my incomprehensibly scattered 6 year-old (those creatives!); and my “just-like-mom” tightly wound 9 year-old son who, as much as he thinks he’s helping guide his sisters to be better human beings… he is just mothering them to death… and I do that just fine by myself — thankyouverymuch. 

And also there this social media BOOM… blogging, SMS, Twitter/Twhirl, Facebook, Flickr, Picnik (not social media, but certainly a side show of it!)… these are my personal vices in this brave new world. 

And the process of cooking dinner (that “witching hour”) is forever changed. Yes, I still have the 3 year-old insisting she join me as she holds vigil next to me on the potty… and I still *occasionally* have to throw open the doors and windows to get the fire detectors to stop screaming, yet it is different. Take a peek:

Open laptop, melt butter, open can of green beans, plop can of said green beans into a pan… in 11 seconds — the time it took to melt the butter, Twitters/Facebooks “The Great Green Bean  Accomplishment of ‘08″:

“Applause please: just took me 11 seconds to find can opener, open can & pour said can of green beans in pan. Mama is cooking veggies 2NIGHT!”

… mushes meat for meatloaf and stuffs it in pan, listens to 18th 1st-grade level joke in as many minutes, reminds 3 year-old to say “please” and not yell at Mommy, gives in to chocolate milk request so Mommy can peek at email, reads Twitter reply regarding “The Great Green Bean Accomplishment of ‘08″ from @Violettheverbose,

“>clap clap clap clap clap clap<;”,

I laugh and Twitter back,

“*takes a bow* Thank you… thank you… *blowing kisses*”

@Violettheverbose responds:

*whistles*

I laugh some more, butter breadsticks, check on loaf of meat in oven, help son with math, step on a crayon, I peek at a few RSS feeds and find a HILARIOUS video at Momgenerations.com… laugh, vacuum, smash toes with vaccum apparatus — feel like vomiting for a moment for all the pain… I check my Make Me Laugh Monday post to see if anyone else has posted something funny… take video of 3 year-old dancing and singing, because I think I want to start vlogging, check green beans, log on to Picnik to edit this photo:

And I laugh…

Now, let me be clear… I am still moved to tears on occasion, but… Do you see what has happened here? The advent of social media gave me a connection with someone not in my kitchen needing me to do or be or whatnot. Social media gave me an opportunity to share my great accomplishment with others and receive validation for my mad green-bean-makin’-skillz. I am not a complicated woman. I just want “Three Cheers” like any other regular broad. I’m not picky… tell me I’m beautiful, tell me I’m hawt… clap for me when - in 11 seconds - I make sure my family gets veggies with dinner… See. Just a regular red-blooded American woman.

I would also like to thank Target for beginning to sell select food items, such as canned green beans. Without this newest service, veggies would not have been possible last night. Mama was not going to go to TWO stores!!! Like a said, a brave new world…

BTW, you can follow all my “Witching Hour” observations and celebrations on Twitter! My Twitter id is *drumroll* jennyonthespot

!

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I immediately began thinking of place to hang a sign that was OBVIOULSY crafted just for Me. I thought, “Can I make that into a necklace? Can I mount that somewhere on my car? Maybe I should just place it above the front door of my home…”

As my mind raced with options, my husband made his preference known,

WE SHOULD HANG THAT OVER OUR BED.

He is such a guy… and yes we should.

*****

Has anything made YOU laugh lately???

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Maybe I’ll give reverse psychology a chance. {{{Que trance music… Commence swinging of pocket watch in pendulum manner…}}}:

Candy Cane Oreos taste like poop. Candy Cane Oreos are of the Devil. The crunch of Candy Cane Oreos are reminiscent of the feeling of biting into a cockroach. Candy Cane Oreos carry the plague. Candy Cane Oreos will render you incontinent. Candy Cane Oreos cause halitosis and extreme lisping. Eating Candy Cane Oreos will usher in the reign of the anti-christ. If you buy a bag of Candy Cane Oreos you will spontaneously combust. Consuming Candy Cane Oreos WILL NOT bring world peace…

I hope that helps, because if it don’t —  either I need to plan on eating Candy Cane Oreos whilst running on the treadmill… or I need to go buy new pants with elastic waist bands and lots of milk.

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• I’d allow MY children to wear a saggy diaper.
• I’d yell at the sweet and innocent fruit of my loin.
• I’d wear socks with flip flops, but only in emergencies…
• I’d wonder if I had birthed the spawn of the devil. 

***The “threes” are the worst. Watch. Your. Back. Mark my words.***

• I’d yell say things like, “No Cocoa Puffs until you finish your donut!”
• I’d need to turn the music DOWN.
• I’d consider dried (but wiped-up) spit-up on my shoulder a sign of “arrival”… importance.
• I’d kiss their heads SO! MUCH! *swoon*

Nor did I ever think…

• I’d really, truly… NEED a drink. A strong drink. A double strong drink.
• I’d have 3. I have 2 arms, 2 legs, 2 eyes, 2 ears, THREE children. 3!!!
• About the fact that little people needed to be taught HOW to make pee-pee and poo-poo in the potty.
• About how many times I would have to CLEAN-UP pee-pee and poo-poo which did not make it into the aforementioned potty.
• I’d talk about pee-pee and poo-poo So. Da*@. Much!
• About the fact that they are not babies/toddlers FOREVER, and one day my oldest son would ask if he could wear deoderant and I would have to smell every brand in the deoderant aisle to make sure I wouldn’t be sending my 9 year-old son to school with sexy smelling armpits.

***bomchickawowwow***

A girl has gots ta have her cuppa cawfee — eeeeven if it only lasted two minutes. Ya know.

Photos taken by my own bad self with my iPhone… edited with Picnik.

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Wish me luck!

The peeve - The little waist ties on sweat pants. Where are you supposed to put them? I don’t wear short shirts, so I always struggle with the “waist-tie bump” under my shirt… OR I struggle to strategically tuck them (read: keep them tucked) behind the waist band. But THEN… sometimes it is too hard to tie them in a nifty bow, so you tie it in a knot because there needs to be a point of tension or them sweatpants just won’t stay up… even if they’re tight. 

There’s more. So. When those whispy little ties are in a simple knot, it is not so easy to untie the knotted rascal when one is in a “pinch”… like, say — when a girl has got to use the restroom! Yeah! I don’t know about anybody else, but whens (I know “when” doesn’t have an “s” — EVER, but just pretend the “s” is a written way of me using my arms… body-language in type-form, if you will) I decide to take the time to answer nature’s call… the last thing I need is to fight with a stubborn knot. And that makes me feel angry.  

Furthermore… I am an adult woman, and while it might be somewhat “acceptable” for a 3-year-old to “not make it”… not so much for an adult woman. “I PEED!!!” sounds so much different coming from the mouth of a toddler than it does from and adult. Not to mention sheer quantity. TMI?

Which reminds me of an odd thing - I have a relatively sensitive gag reflex. It mostly has to do with conversational items that gross me out. Pictures too. But I’ve noticed another area in which my gag reflex is highly responsive… when I hurt myself. Which is none too rare. Lately (months and months - no I am not pregnant), I have noticed that when I stub my toe or slice my thumb off or hit my funny bone or get a good scratch or crack my head on an open cabinet door… I experience an overwhelming desire/need to vomit/gag. I used to cry or writhe on the floor… now I writhe, but also suffer waves of rather intense, but accute nausea. 

Is that normal? Don’t answer that.

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I am speaking of the great game of ping pong, also known as table tennis.

It has been 3 days since my last table tennis match, and my ankles are still aching. I could use my words to explain… Heaven knows I could come up with plenty, but I think I will go ahead and let my pictures do most of the “talking”.

You lookin’ at me? You better be wearin’ your mouth guard.

Whut, ladies? You don’t think I can take you?

That’s right. Take that!

And that!

And that!!!

Tired? I’m not tired. I suffer from narcolepsy. Yeah… narcolepsy…

Scorekeeping is for enemies! We practiced serving off the walls and ceilings, and despite a few aching muscles, we left the rec room smiling with no idea who won :)

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(Picture taken on I-5 near Fort Lewis, Washington. November 2008)

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