Just wondering...

I have always been fascinated by sleepwalking/sleepwalkers. First of all, I haven't ever seen anyone sleepwalk before. Do they really walk with their arms stretched out like a zombie? And can they really not remember or have any control over what they are doing? That's just scary to me. I think my cousin, Tyler, used to or still does sleepwalk.

Especially, with those sleeping pills these days, where the commercials say, "if you experience sleepwalking, driving while asleep, or eating while you are asleep, contact your doctor." How are you supposed to know if you are doing these things if you are asleep??

On the other hand, I have experienced a good share of sleep talking. Now, that is funny! Especially, when you can interject and carry on a conversation and they respond. They totally can't remember what they said. Back in my college days, my roommate's mom came to visit and she was taking a nap on the couch. Tiff had told me about her mom and how much fun they had had growing up, getting her to talk in her sleep. Hee hee hee, we got such a good laugh outta that one. I kind of felt bad, but then what is the harm if they don't remember anything?

I want to know if I know any closet sleepwalkers out there. Show yourself, you! Apparently, about 10% of the population will experience it at least once in their lifetime.

WOW, so WEIRD!

Okay, it has been a little bit but I have most definitely found something cool to share with ya'll. (I live in Maryland now, where people actually do speak with southern accents and that gives me leave to use the word, "ya'll".)
You know those 3-D pictures that are computer generated where you concentrate and use some not-used-very-often muscles in your eyes and you see the "hidden" pictures? Well, THIS gives a similar "rush" once you figure it out.
I started out seeing it spin counterclockwise which would lean me towards left brained. But now I can change the direction whenever I want. Focus on the spinning foot or try to look at it through your peripheral vision. More than trying to determine which way it spins for me, it is cooler to me to be able to change the direction at will. Let me know if you can do it! SO WEIRD!

Nicknames...they stick with ya

My roommate in college gave me the nickname, "Eggshell" along with any other word that had "shell" in it: "Magicshell, Turtleshell." I suppose it is fitting that these pictures find their way to me.

Worst haircut in the history of women

I'm literally crying right now. Don't you think that if you bring in a nice specific picture with views of front and back of a cute haircut that they could at least get it anywhere close to the picture??? I look like a pineapple...upside down! I'm just sick about it. What do you do when the hair cutter person is arguing with you that THIS piece is supposed to be longer? All I could say was, "It looks good," halfheartedly. I'm not an "in the moment" kind of person. I always react after the fact, when it is too late. Sure, now I have plenty of things to say!

I mean, these women who take us under the cutting scissor's knife really have NO idea what they put us through. For me, getting a haircut is so nerve wracking that I always come home with a tension headache because every muscle is flexed while I'm getting cut. I get flushed, have to remind myself to breathe, find myself making weird twitching shapes with my fingers.

You know, usually, after a haircut, it takes a washing and a styling yourself to really see if it is an okay haircut? Well, I did give it that chance and it is literally the worst haircut I've ever seen. Holes and unevenness all over the place. I can't go out in public looking like this. I have a pit in my stomach.

What else can I say...There is just nothing worse.

A Good Way to Start and End the Day

So, yes, I am a mother of a 9 (almost 10) month-old boy. Before he was born, I was warned by many that, "you've got to watch out for boys" and "boys are different, they'll getcha." You mean, the whole diaper changing thing right? Yep. They pee on ya. Since the first diaper change, I've had my fair share of drinking fountain-style streams shot forth at me.

However, this morning I was caught off guard, standing by the changing table. I looked away for a second, then looked back and suddenly felt wet being sprayed into my eyes and around mouth area. "AAAAAAAHHH!" I shouted. That's right, folks, my son peed in my mouth. All my husband, Dave, could do was stand at a distance and say, "I'm sorry that happened to you (snicker)."

Also, around 9-10 months a little devious monster emerges and suddenly they start protesting routines that have been routines for 9 months! You wouldn't think they would be so attached to that stinky, very full diaper? "What?" you say. Well, why else would they protest getting their diaper changed so much?!

Dinner time used to be so peaceful. Anything that was put infront of him, he ate. When he was full, he'd let us know. Now, it is like dodging the spinning propellers just to get the spoon in and out without a major splattering all over the place. Tonight, peas was the choice of vegatable. I will replay the events exactly as they happened:
"Dave, I'm goin' in!"
"Shelly.....(long pause) be careful. Its a jungle in there."
"Call for back-up if you don't hear from me in 10 minutes."
I swerved this way and that. Must...get...spoon...in...mouth...
YES!! I did it. "Breaker, breaker, the rabbit is in the hole, I repeat, the rabbit is in the hole."
"Wait, NO! AAAHHHH!"
"Code red, code red! I've been hit. Multiple hits in the eye and mouth! I've been...PEAD. The enemy has used the dreaded machine gun with full force!"
And that's exactly how it happened.

So, you see, I began my day by being peed on and ended my day by being pead on.

My Love for Cheese

www.pdphoto.org

Really, I would marry it if I could. I love all kinds of cheese: cheddar, Swiss, Colby, mozzarella, cream cheese (especially when it is cream cheese frosting!), just to name a few. But today I would like to nominate brie as the cheese of my heart. I love to slice it thick on baguette bread (as pictured above) and melt it under the broiler. Mmmm...so good. Anytime I can muster up an occasion to splurge and get some, I do it. My first trip to Trader Joe's was about a week ago. I went in to see what all the hype was about. I didn't intend on buying anything except for when I came across the cheese section. The brie was on sale and I HAD to have some. That's all I wanted.

"Can I please, can I please??"

For most people, maybe it was unusual to walk out of Trader Joe's with only one thing. The guy at the check out counter said,

"That's IT?! That's all you have?"

"Yep."

"Are you sure?"

"Yep."

"Wow. Usually people come in for just a few things and end up spending $150."

"Not me."

"Would you like a bag."

"Nope."

Funny thing about Trader Joe's...everything is hormone-, pesticide-, yada yada-free. That's great and I'll support the cause whenever I can pretty much afford it. But, sometimes they just don't make sense. For example, on the label for my brie cheese, it says,

"Our cows just say noooo Our Farmers Guarantee" and then in the middle of the stamped seal it says, "MILK *from cows not treatedd with rBST*."
That's great! Really.

Then in even bigger lettering, just above the Nutrition Facts, it says,

"No significant difference has been shown between milk derived from cows treated with artificial hormones and those not treated with artificial hormones."

Kinda funny. But I still love my brie.

Distracted

I got off to a good start with two posts in one day and then not a word for over a week. Well, I'll tell ya, I've been involved in another world. My mother tipped me off to a blog featuring a series about a woman and her rancher husband and how they met. She is a great writer and frankly after reading her work I don't have a whole lot to say in comparison. She's great and has a huge following. Like thousands of people who actually leave comments and, I'm sure, lots who just read silently. I couldn't sleep last night because my mind was racing with her witty way of writing and the romantic story. Now, I'm just waiting for the next installment. It's like waiting for the next Harry Potter.

P.I.

A P.I. came to my house today. Being in the science world, "P.I." stands for principle investigator, the guy who runs the research lab, the boss, the guy who writes grants that, these days, probably won't get funded. But there is another "P.I" that is more widely recogized as a private investigator. One came to my house today. My significant other has just entered a field in which he needs security clearance. This P.I. called, set up an appointment, showed up to the minute, on the dot, came in, sat on my couch, with notepad and pen in hand. It was very robotic. Not at all how I had imagined it. She had done this many times. I guessed she was just here to confirm information that had already been given to her. I suddenly was being asked questions like "Do you have any reason to suspect or question your husband's loyalty to the United States?", and "Has there been anytime since you have been married that you can not account for your husband's whereabouts, etc.?" There was a 2 week trip to Taiwan to race a solar car and, collectively, 3-4 weeks of backpacking with his buddy, but other than that, yes I can attest for everyday of our 2 year, 3 month, and 11 day marriage together. It was a very surreal experience.
When she finished the robot-voiced questions, she looked up, broke character, smiled and said, "Okay, that's it." In and out, like she was never actually there...

Epiphany

Hello.
"Blog", such a little word and such a huge concept. I entered the blog world about 10 months ago with intentions to keep the grandparents updated. Though pictures of my son probably keep them satisified, I somehow felt I was misusing my http://. We recently moved even further away from my family and friends. I found myself missing the place we used to live and got caught in a blogging spree, visiting friends links, amazed at how much has changed already. But then, something happened...I wandered onto a blog of someone I didn't know. You may be saying, "DUH, that's what they are for!" But I had always thought that if I were to click on a link of something that I didn't have a clear expectation of, I would find some graphic picture, racey words, or sicko website I wished I'd have never gone to. Turns out, I'm the one that has been missing out. There is a whole world out there just waiting to be discovered. I wonder if "blogging" is going to be added to the dictionary this year.

It is interesting to me that some people write as if they have a specific audience: their family, sister, circle of girlfriends, moms on the block. Others write into the deep, eternal space of cyber. Don't you feel sometimes like you are looking into someone's underwear drawer? Reading someone's thoughts about a personal sickness, catching a glimpse of the family vacation. I feel like that guy on Heros, what's his name... (let me look it up) Matt, who can hear people's thoughts. I wonder if this is what it is like in Heaven where we can communicate just by thinking. That is how I feel when I read someone's blog. Who knows how many "thoughts" are floating out there just waiting to be intercepted.

I have no one in particular I'm writing to. So if you are reading this, I am writing to youi