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You know you are a chocoholic when...

1--You have "categories" for your chocolate
(PMS chocolate, work stress chocolate, every day chocolate, etc.)

2--You hide your chocolate

3--You buy and eat Count Chocula cereal

4--You don't even consider getting a dessert that isn't chocolate, why that's not even dessert!

5--There is no such thing as too much chocolate

6--Death by chocolate sounds appealing to you

7--You've tested the theory that consuming large quantities of chocolate produces the same affect chemically as an orgasm

9--You are afraid to go to Hershey Park because you may never come back

10--You can drink hot chocolate in the summer!

Finally! A GOOD party!

So, you all know how I feel about parties not held in padded rooms.

This weekend, I had another "yard party". Needless to say, my stress levels were high.
However, this one pleasantly surprised me.

First off, one positive was that it was about three minutes away from my house. Hey, we could have walked, but NO ONE does that in Long Island. One point for location!

Arrived and there was a huge dj set up. Meg liked the music. One point for the dj!
We enter the yard and I immediately notice, in a way a mom only could, that it's a kid friendly yard! It's totally flat and mostly grass, it's got a huge fence around it, there are tables set up with rounded edges, there are tents to block out the sun......and I am thinking "this could actually be a good party!".

After learning from some past experiences, I was armed with balls, bubbles, dolls, cheerios, sippy cups, and crayons. Meg played very nicely with her cousins and I actually had a few cocktails that were located conveniently near by.
Just after I started relaxing....the food came out. The sister in law cut up a hot dog for Meg. I stopped her and heck I wasn't hiding it anymore! I simply told her "thank you but Meg can't have any because they are choking hazards and make me nervous." I was proud of myself for about two seconds until Meg saw her cousin eating it and insisted on eating some too.
I had to concede but not before I doctored this hot dog until almost unrecognizable.
Skin was peeled off, and it was chopped into tiny bits.

After the first crisis was over, we didn't hit another one until she began eating ice out of the beer cooler. Again, I panicked, tried to stop her but she really let me have it. So, I had two choices:
1--let her tantrum and let everyone else see or
2--throw some caution to the wind and just let her eat the ice.
I mean, it was keeping her busy and could you really even choke on ice? Wouldn't it just melt? If someone knows if ice is a choking hazard, please let me know.
jennmcauliffe@aol.com

Anyway, there was one table with a pointed edge and Meg found it and bumped into it once, cried a bit, but got over it and then it was smooth sailing. I got to dance and drink, she got to play and run around. We got home late, she went right to bed, and as I hopped into shower to wash the summer day and night off of me, I didn't even mind that the only apparatus in the shower to use as a wash cloth --was a bath bunny puppet.

Cleaning Ladies or NOT

My dream of having a cleaning lady was short lived.

Here I was thinking it would solve all my problems, and it did not. First off, she was weird and she brought another weirdo with her. Weird how, you ask? Well, let's put it this way, I wouldn't be surprised if she lived in a trailer, had 100 cats, and bit the caps off of her Budweisers before she drank them.

It went like this:

9a.m. no one is a ringing my bell

9:05 my phone is ringing, it is my saviour asking for directions and telling me she's going to be late, only she has a raspy voice, reminding me of Marge Simpson's sisters. Both of them.

9:15 she pulls up in a beat up old car, gets out, is not wearing shoes, is overweight, has a moustache and is screaming, "sorry we are late, my mom's cat had to go the ER last night and we were there with her, so it's been a rough night and it's not like we were drinking or anything"... good thing she threw that in there because from the looks of them, it did look like they were out all night drinking, and lost their shoes!


The "other" one with her is equally as weird and equally barefoot. They must have been reviewing my stats on the way because she knew my last name and she asks if we are Irish. At this point, we are at my front door and my husband is there.
I look at him and he answers "yes" and then the "other" one says "oh, I just got my Irish Tat" (Tat= tatoo) and she turns around and shows us a big Rose that says something or other about being Irish underneath it.
My husband looks uncomfortable. I feel uncomfortable. I instanlty know I will never have them back and my cleaning lady dream is over. But, they are here now, so let's make the best of it.
I realize I don't want them

a--out of my site or

b--near anything valuable, so the two of us kind of "watch them" as they begin cleaning. I am not up for the small talk she thinks we have to make and the conversations were about how nice it must be to have your own home, how absolutely adorable my daughter is, and the weather.

The comments about my daughter were creeping me out. These two look like the kind of people who would come back, kidnap her and sell her on the black market.
I decide I should maybe drop a hint about getting a home invasion alarm, but then quickly decide against it becuase that would just be too weird.

I am now counting the minutes until they are gone, and my goodness, how happy I was when they left. I quickly assessed their work and it was mediocre at best.


11:15 Cleaning lady dream is O-V-E-R.

Meg at the beach

P6110007
Originally uploaded by Dibbers.

Here is a recent photo of my princess at the beach.

Hope you enjoy!

Big 4th of July Weekend

Things accomplished
1. I found and hired an available and reasonably priced cleaning lady!
2. I had both the inlaws and my parents over at the same time for a BBQ and everyone is still alive (namely me, as them being together makes me nervous, but thank god there was lots of alcohol involved)
3. Same for the sister in law. Much more tolerable after a few glasses of Pinot.
4. I scheduled my cleaning lady to come next Sunday. I am so excited.
5. I took the Megster for photos at Target. Haven't done the professional photos since October.
Here's how that went:
Leave house. Forget coupon (for those of you who don't know, if you DON'T have a coupon you may as well bend over and let them have their way with you. It's amazing how much you save with the stupid piece of paper in the coupon section of the paper or the website print out)
Go back home. Get out coupon. Notice it has expired. Go into den, turn on computer, wait five minutes for it to decide to let me access a web page. Access Target website, kick printer in ass and click print.

Get back in car. Child looking at me confused. (Made the child's father come out and sit with her while I went on my maniac coupon search and recover.)

Get to Target only five minutes late for shoot, have pocketful of excuses. Not sure which one to use, will wing it. Notice am good at coming up with excuses. One of which is "I have a baby". hahahaha

Get to studio area. There is another shoot going on, there is no one to even notice I am even there, let alone late. Since it's a holiday, there is only one person manning the photos and she's about 14, taking the pictures and not happy that she's not making out with some dude at some BBQ.

Keep Meg busy with cup of Cheerios while waiting. Luckily, the Cheerios ran out at the same time the previous shoot was over.

We enter the special dark "room". Meg is suspicious. She does not want to come in.
I go in and call her. She peeks in and decides to come over but she will not go up on platform. The 14 yr old looks horrified. I am thinking "ok, we can't take pictures, I will have to leave"...but then she comes over to me and starts climbing up with some coaxing.
Just then the 14 yr old calls out her name. She looks over at the scary goth creature and clings on to me for dear life.
Ok, now we are definately going to have to leave.

In a last ditch effort, I hop off the platform and throw myself on the floor and begin to do all kinds of crazy things trying to get her to laugh --such as: fake sneezing (ahh ahhh ahhhhhhhhhh choooooo, banging my head and yelling "OWWWW" very loudly, and some things that I would die if someone played back to me on video tape)

Both Meg and the 14 yr old are looking at me, not sure what to make of me.....but suddenly Meg starts to laugh, and the 14 yr old gets with it and starts clicking away.

I keep this up for another ten minutes or so.
I do, and we get some good pictures. My face hurts from the smiling and crazy expressions I was making and I have a headache from banging my head.
And sometimes I am louder than I think.


6. I got a cleaning lady!
7. We hung up Meg's "growth chart"!
8. I got me a cleaning lady
9. Cleaning lady.
10. Cleaning lady.

So, I think I am pregnant

Well, I am probably NOT pregnant, but it's either that or I have really bad PMS.

Actually, I took a test, it was negative, but I feel really really weird. The way one does when the alien baby takes over your body.
Here are my symptoms:

--Bloating (It certainly LOOKS like I am pregnant, maybe I just need to work out!)
--V. Tired (Could have something to do with not sleeping well)
--Cravings (From ice cream to that greek yogurt crap, which I am happy to report that Trader Joe's now carries)

--Bigger & tender breasts (I admit, I like this one, and hope that it stays forever)
(oops, the big part only, hear that God?)

--Crankiness (Could be the heat or the PMS)
--Gas (erm, could be the erratic eating or the PMS)

--Cannot concentrate (Could be all the aforementioned things)

Regardless, I am probably NOT, but I did happen to mention that I felt pregnant to most of my co-workers, the receptionist, one of the mangers, my friends, my mom, my daughter's daycare providers, my sister, a lady online for ice cream, and someone on the LIRR.

Which leads me to think that when I do get pregnant, I will tell every single soul I know or encounter in about five minutes after I find out. Or at least suspect.