I'm not cut out for this.
Today, my baby (weighing in at 1.66 kg, by the way-- the things you can find out on Canada Post.ca) arrived in Missisauga, ON. I am like totally freaking out right now. Woulda, coulda, shoulda. I keep thinking "I should have changed that part or this or that, I should have edited this or that or took that chapter out or made it longer or shorter or less wordy, etc. And then on top of that I'm thinking 'am I SURE that the pages are collated properly? That the the chapters are sequential? That the page breaks are where they should be? That I double checked all the spelling?? It's like when I was in University, after I turned in my exams I would just ruminate about it all the time, thinking 'oh I messed this up or that'. But then I would get my exam back and get like a ninety one on it. So hopefully this will be similar. I'm always my own worst critic.
Anyways, I think I'll just keep my day job where I'm a lot less vulnerable. Nurses are very much in demand, so I feel quite confident. But writing its totally different. Everyone thinks they can write the Great American Novel, where as the reality is that only a very exclusive few can. And what makes me think that I can be a part of that group??
A hope? A dream?
A delusion.
But I'll just think positive thoughts, like they say in The Secret. I've never actually read the book, but I got the jist of it second hand vis-a-vis a Saturday Night Live sketch. I can. I will. I might. But then again I might not. Probably not. Argh. I'll have to start over.

Anyways. Nothing else really new with me. Cucumber Breath is back from her holidays. I anticipated a somewhat strained convo with her, but guess what?? Now we're friends!! Can you believe that she has a cat named Zoey as well!! What are the chances of that?? They have to be like a million to one. And not only that, but her Zoey had a litter of kittens as well!! So we talked cat talk, you know whether they ate thier placentas and that, and I think we really bonded. See, that's all you have to do is just find something that you have in common. That's what all those people in the Middle East should do. Do they still have conflict there? I think so.
So now that Cucumber Breath and I are friends again, I have a new sworn enemy, Courier Cow. But I can't write too much on here about her, as I fear being sued for libel. I have no idea at all whatsoever what libel is, but I don't like the sounds of it and I want to avoid it. Anyways. Just trust me, she's a cow. And not like weight wise (although ya, that too, well OK, not really, her body's actually not too bad) but more like just a miserable-sod-of-a-person way. Workplace politics are so complex. Makes me yearn for the days of Barney and Hungry Hipppo. And that, my friends, is a sad state of affairs indeed.
And one last thing before I sign off-- I must correct an error from yesterdays post. 'CPU' should actually be 'UPC' (Universal Price Code). I think, quite obviously, I could be dyslexic now on top of everything else. Or I wonder if thats just part and parcel of the acoustic brain tumor. The pamphlet from the Brain Tumor Network didn't list dyslexia as a symptom, but then again they only listed like four symptoms and there has to be more than that. And also, I noticed that sometimes when I sneeze I get kind of a tingly feeling at the base of my neck. So this has me quite concerned, naturally. I think I'd best just be going.

Congragulations, It's A.... Manuscript!

What do I have to lose?
That way my thought when an agent requested my manuscript. I mean chances are slim to none that it will go any further from here, but it doesn't hurt to send it off anyways.
So naive I was. Tell that to me today when I've spent the last 48 hours scrolling through a 350 page manuscript to make sure that the formatting was correct and that there were no glaring spelling or grammatical errors. I beleive I got a form of motion sickness from it. I've slept poorly. I've ate poorly.
And then finally I got to the point where I could print it off, which you would think would be a simple matter of hitting print and being done, but no. Due to printer problems at home (I swear, nothing in my house works properly), I found myself yesterday at Wal Mart buying a new printer. And then I had to spend an hour to get it set up and installed. And then I had to buy the kids McDonalds for supper because I was too busy to cook. But finally, I was ready to go. But then at about page 200 I ran out of paper. So I was back at Wal Mart. Of course, I manage to somehow pick the one and only ream of paper out of the thousands they stock that doesn't have a CPU on it, how I managed that I have no idea, but it happens every time. And yet I haven't won a single free ticket on the lotto. Honestly. If it wasn't for bad luck I'd have no luck at all. So the price checking professional comes along, and I use the word professional loosely. He was an overweight adolescent with a blue Mokawk. I just tell by the way he ambled slowly over like he hadn't a care in the world that I was going to be waiting around for a while. And I was. After about ten minutes I finally went to go get another ream of paper, what happened to Blue Mohawk I can only speculate. Perhaps he saw some hair products on sale or something. I don't know. But finally, at nine pm and already bone tired, I left Wal Mart with my paper. I got back to my printing. And then at page 300 I ran out of ink. So back to Wal Mart it was. Finally I finished at about midnight. I crawled into bed and felt myself falling almost instantly to sleep. And then Alex woke up.
Oh God. I'm boring you. I guess this isn't that interesting to the average person. But the point is- I'm stupid. Like, OK, so your going to print a manuscript. Step one- make sure you enough paper and ink. Actually, make sure you have a printer. I would have printed it off and had it ready to go in the event of an agent asking for it, but I held to this stupid superstition that the only way anyone would ever want to see it was if I left it alone. Murphys law. Anyways, it is done and my manuscript is on its way to sunny Toronto. Does it get sunny there, I don't know.
Anyways, the whole process has been sort of like childbirth. This final push to spew forth this extension of me. Exhausting, exhilerating, but with an end product that was worth all the blood, sweat and tears. Actually, it's even better than childbirth. Childbirth, in the past, has left me with a case of raging hormones, leaky breasts and a seriously lacerated vajayjay. My vajayjay is gloriously intact right now, I am pleased to say. And even better, after I was finished printing everything off, I slept for seven uninterruped hours. I doubt if I had seven hours over a perios of three days after Alex was born.
So. Now I wait. I don't feel too positive about it right now. Last night when I was trying to polish my manuscript I got the distinct impression that I'm in over my head right now. Like, seriously, I'm just a small town girl with a book that objectively, may or may not be that funny.
At any rate, I am glad to have it out of my hands for the time being. And if nothing else, it has given me a little nudge that writing isn't completely futile. After a long, hard, year of rejection letters, I was beginning to think "what's the point". I spend all my spare time in the basement writing, and for what? To have a manilla envelope full of rejection letters? To have a blog that no one reads? Except for you mom and Lorrie. I know you're out there.
Anyways, I gotta go now. Work.
Will write later.

Some people have the nerve.
On Monday I was running late for work, for multiple reasons, which I could go on and on about, but I won't. But anyways. I didn't have time to pack my lunch. At lunch time I was really hungry, so I went to Arbys and got a junior roast beef sandwich, curly fries and a diet coke. It wasn't the worst I could do, trans fat wise, although certainly far from the best. So I'm eating my lunch. And this girl walks in. Alright let me rephrase that. Waddles in. She looks at my lunch and says with a sneer "that looks healthy."
Can you even believe that she would even say that to me?? Andy yes I know that I used the word even twice in that same sentence but that's just how incensed I am. And maybe it wasn't even so much WHAT she said, but the WAY she said it. It was like all sarcastic, but not in a ha-ha funny sarcasm way but in a really judgmental-may-you-rot-in-hell kind of sarcasm.
I just replied with a shrug and a 'oh, well, what can you do?' kind of a sigh and continued eating.
She pulls out her lunch which consisted of a yogurt container full of cucumber slices with vinegar on them. I was like "listen lady, I'm pretty sure you didn't get to be three hundred something something from eating cucumbers, OK?? You're not kidding me here." Although of course I didn't say that. I just kind of looked at her cucumbers like "WTF??"
Anyways, so now she's my sworn enemy. Cucumber Breath. She's on holidays now, so I'l have a break from her.

Other than that, work is going OK. The coffee situation seems to have resolved itself after some time. What I have found is that if you're nice to the receptionists, they'll make you you're very own pot of weak coffee. So that has been going well. And I have brought some hazelnut creamer from home (option 'A' if you recall, Lorrie, thanks for your input, but honestly, I don't really want to be known as 'the girl who brews her own coffee'. In this neighborhood that could get me stabbed. Or worse. Although I'm not sure what's worse than stabbing.) and that has been going well. I don't think anyone has been using it. It seems to be lasting long enough.

On the home front, things are good. The kids are settling into their new routines nicely. Last night while watching Letterman I got this idea to make a Top Ten list for my blog. But mine probably won't be a top ten list per se, on account of me not being able to think of ten things. It might be six. It might be four. We'll just have to wait and see how it goes. I'm not Letterman, after all, and nor do I have his staff of writers. All right. This is a one man show, you realize.
So here goes.

Top 10 (approximately) Signs You Spend too Much Time with Kids:

10. You can complete the sentence: "Barney is a dinosaur..."
9. You have at least one box of cereal in your cupboard that lists marshmallows as an ingredient.
8. You catch yourself in casual conversation using words like "tinkle" and "ni-ni"
7. Your wost curse words are "darned" and "fudge"
6. You can count to ten in Spanish (only from watching Dora)
5. You've intimately familiar with all movies starring Tim Allen
4. Your known as the reigning champ of "Operation"
3. You've developed a taste for Pop Rocks
2. Opening the "Disney Vault" is a major life event for you.

All right, so we didn't quite get to ten. That's all I can think of for now. No number one. What a letdown. Sorry guys. So close but so far. I'll keep thinking. If any of yous out there has any ideas, jump right in.
And, for those of you not in the know, the completion of the sentence in #10 is ..."from our imagination."
I always seem to have that line stuck in my head.
Darned Barney.
Anyways, I must be going. Lunch time. And FYI-- it's a Lean Cuisine chicken dinner with a diet Pepsi. Too bad Cucumber breath wasn't here to see that. She could put that in her pipe and smoke it.
Darned Tootin.

Back at Work

Back at work now and things are fine.

Well, fine except for a few little things. If you want to call a potential brain tumor a little thing. But I'll get to that later.

First of all, and perhaps most importantly, since I have returned to work I have been quite concerned about the quality of the coffee here. My first day back and my sleep was a little rough the night before, so I poured myself a cup of coffee, thinking it would be just what I needed. I added a teaspoon of whitener into it, and oddly enough, nothing happened. It took it in, but then, like somehow dissolved away. Puzzled, I poured another heaping teaspoon. The result was similar. It could not be whitened. Dismayed, I started dumping a whole bunch in, and finally got it down to like a dark caramel color, it was the best I could do. I don't know what kind of coffee they use or how they get it like that. It was like a whole pot of that sludge that forms on the bottom of the pot if you leave it on all day. And it also seemed to have some kind of a laxative component to it, which would be OK for a bunch of elderly people with slow moving bowells, but for me,I don't really the extra stimulation. So now I have been avoiding the coffee. I discussed the situation at lenght with Geoff, and we are tossing around some ideas. We may either A)purchase an inexpensive travel mug and bring coffee from home or B)Buy some kind of Hazelnut cream or something to try to make the coffee taste better or C)Stop drinking coffee altogether. I am hesitant to move forward with option B, because in the past I've had some bad experiences with Hazelnut cream at work (read also "The Great Hazelnut Heist" for background info). I am also loathe to consider option C because I feel that I need some form of caffeine to get me through the day these days, especially since my twelve month old baby persists on sleeping like a newborn and waking up all night long.

So. It's a big decision and I will need to put a lot of thought into it. I will let you know how my discussions progress in this regard.



I have already had quite enough to deal with. And then yesterday I got a pamphlet from the Acoustic Brain Tumor Network. I have never heard of this said Acoustic Brain Tumor, so I started to leaf through the pamphlet. The symptoms are: headache (Yikes), Dizzyness (Yikes), Defness in one ear (Okay, so I don't have defness, at least not that I know of... although I do have to frequently ask people to repeat themselves. And people have said that I am tone def. I don't know if that's related to general defness or not. Def is a weird word isn't it. It seems to short to be a real word. It almost seems like slang for another word, as in "Yo, dog, that dope was def!" That's how I talk usually.) Anyways. Another symptom: ringing in the ears (Yikes). The last thing was facial tics. I don't actually have facial tics, I thought, feeling relieved. But then I started to wonder. Is it possible to have a facial tic and not know it?? I mean, how can I really see my own face?? I only look at it for a few minutes every morning when I apply my makeup regimen of bronzer and Blistex. It not only seems possible, but even probable. But the good news is that it's a benign tumor, so the prognosis is generally quite good. Temporarily, I feel reassured about this. But then, I start to wonder: can there ever really be such a thing as a 'good' brain tumor?? So naturally I am quite stressed.
Anyways, I must be going. I will let you know how these events unfold.
God willing.

We've come a long way, baby

Wow. Here we are, at the end of my maternity leave. It honestly feels like I've somehow fallen through some blip in the space-time continuum, like some cheezy B-rate sci-fi movie plot. My role would probably be played by some B list celeb-- for some reason Sandra Bullock comes to mind. I could just picture it now. Her carrying around a wallet size picture of my newborn Alex, madly throwing it in peoples faces, pleading with them to help her find him, then ripping the picture into shreds as she falls dramatically to her knees, the torn peices falling over her head likes so much rain, where she pummels the earth and beseeches God "My baby!! What have you done with my Baby!!"
Good God. I should be writing movie scripts!! What am I doing wasting my time on this juvenile blog??
Anyways. Is Sandra Bullock considered B list or A list?? Or is she so off the list by now that she's neither?? I'm not sure. I don't keep up with these things. Personally, I'm not a fan.

OK. Where was I?? A blip in the Time Space Continuum. Right. Honestly, I was at the lake last week, sitting outside on the deck basking in the midmorning sun, drinking a cup of Joe and reading my latest paperback. My baby sat contentedly beside me, awestruck by his surroundings, 'oohing' and 'aahing' at the slightest thing- a breeze in the trees, a sparrow landing on a branch. And I just felt, just for one minute, like there had been no time at all intervening from the first time that I sat on that deck with him. He was three weeks old. I remember sitting out on the deck, a similar morning with a similar book, with him in his portable swing. I had to move the swing several times to find shade. I put a mosquito net over top of it to try to protect him from mosquitoes-- but then the net was dragging and the swing wasn't swinging properly. I had to adjust the net several times. He was slouched in it with his neck tilted at an awkward angle. I tried to place blankets around him to keep him in a good position. Finally, when I had everything just so, he started crying and it was time for a feeding. He was so fragile then, so vulnerable. And now. An active and joyous little boy. And I think to myself, we've come a long way, baby. It hasn't always been easy, and it hasn't always been fun (I remember the week he was sick with a cold, when he refused to sleep unless I was standing up with him-- I took the first shift, from midnight til four, and Geoff took the second shift, from four til eight.) But now, here we are.
Our baby is developing his own personality. His own likes and dislikes. His own vocabulary ("kitty", "mama", "dada", "Gage", "puppy", "hi", "go-go-go", which he yells out at ball games).
It goes so fast. It's cliche, of course, but I can't help but think that.



Anyways, onto other issues. First of all, my writing may seem sporadic these days, which OK, it is, but-- and not to deflect the blame from my self or anything-- but truly, my computer is not working well at all these days. It is very frustrating, any simple thing takes all bloody day. But I sent an error report to Microsoft, so I am sure that things will be straightened out soon. I expect that someone will contact me soon and maybe even do a house call and fix things.

Anyways. Speaking of the lake. I was there last week and happened to catch an episode of Oprah. She was talking about how to find pants that fit all body types, so I listened, thinking this could really help me out with my post partum abdominal issues (how long can I really call myself postpartum?? I wonder what the statute of limitations is on that??). The bottom line?? You could either a)spend $800 for a pair of pants that I'm pretty sure that Wal Mart doesn't carry or, if you don't want to go that route then b) hire a tailor to alter all your clothes to fit you better. I mean, of all the god damn useless advice. Really. If I had the money to spend 800 dollars on a pair of pants, or to hire a personal tailor, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be in this predicament in the first place. I'd just get liposuction and be done with it. Frick. Like, really, elitist much, Oprah?? Eight hundred dollars, in my house, is a mortgage payment, not a pair of pants, I don't care how nice my ass might or might not look in it. So then they start talking about underwear and how to avoid VPL (visible panty lines, for those of you not familiar with panty line lingo) and they're like the best would be to wear a thong, although they admit that they do 'ride up a bit'. "Ride Up??" They make it seem like a pleasant little jaunt on a Shetland. Nice euphemism. If you want to call being sodomized by a piece of fabric 'riding up' then maybe you should just call being punched in the face, 'pushing in a little'. Like really. Let's just call things what they are.

Speaking of underwear, I bought some control top underwear-- absolutely hideous things, I will say-- and I must confess that I was disappointed in the result. It didn't do much to slim me down. And further, I realized only too late that every time I bent down you could see my horrible tan Lycra panties that went pretty much all the way to my armpits. So I guess I'm back to plan A- eating healthier shit, which obviously I'm not overly excited about. It sucks, but I guess there are no easy answers with these things. Unless you're Oprah.
Well, but then again... maybe not.
Enough said on that topic. I won't go there.

I still haven't heard anything from those jerks at Readers Digest. And so, in the spirit of not giving up, I'm going to submit another story. Eventually, they'll publish me just to silence me. Payton was asking me about jail for some reason, what it looked like inside. So I told her, you should ask your grandpa, he used to work in a jail. She seemed impressed by this. She asked if he still worked there, and I said no, he's retired. She wanted to know what that meant so I told her that it meant he didn't have to go to work anymore, ever. She found this concept deeply intriguing. So she goes, runs into the other room and tells Geoff, "Guess what dad? Mom said that Grampa's retarded now"
I don't know if they'll publish that-- the whole politically correct thing. I don't know.
Well, will write again tomorrow regarding the whole work thing.
Ready as I'll ever be.

Under Pressure

I have, in my fridge, as we speak, a package of hot dogs that expire on July Second, 2009-- the very day of my highly UNanticipated return to the paid workforce-- and I use the word paid there because I am currently a member of a workforce-- staying at home is a job in and of itself. Anyways. That is what my maternity leave is now reduced to. The life expectancy of a package of wieners. I am absolutely horrified at this prospect.
And speaking of hot dogs- here is a list of words that are currently taboo in our house, vis a vis an eleven year old son who will snicker and giggle inappropriately.
Hot dogs.
Wieners.
Hot dog buns-- the origins of this, I must admit, I am not entirely sure about
Meat balls.
Balls.
Nuts.
Peanuts.
Salted Nuts.
The subway slogan "Five dollar foot long"
The Burger King slogan "You're way right away"
Sausage
I think the list is fairly comprehensive, although there are always other things that come up. Like 'pens' for example. He'll be like "Mom, what would pens be if it had an 'i' in it". Groan. The mind of an eleven year old boy is very one tracked, let me tell you.

Anyways, as I was saying before my little sideline into slang terms for male anatomy, my mat leave is almost over and I am feeling saddened and chagrined. I know that it will only take a few days and all will be back to normal, but still the nine to five world seems so foreign to me right now. I'll look at the clock sometimes at ten thirty, and think 'if I were at work right now I would probably be in full on professional nurse swing' but instead I am at home, playing blocks with the baby on the floor, wearing my PJ's and watching TV, laid back, sipping on gin and juice.
OK, without the gin and juice. Not at ten thirty am. Maybe eleven. But ten thirty's pushing it. At least on a weekday.

Anyways, other than that, my life is going relatively well. Payton had a soccer tournament this weekend, which went well. She received a medal, not for any amount of skill or even half hearted participation on her part, but simply because every kid gets one. She likes soccer, but unfortunately, doesn't seem particularly inclined to it. The ball will literally roll right over top of her foot and she will still stand in place, twirling her hair and looking absently at the other players. Geoff and I joked that when Payton is on the field, it's like a power play for the other team. I yell my heart out "PAYTON the BALL!! GET THE BALL!! ITS RIGHT THERE!!!" I get disheartened sometimes, the other parents look at me with sympathetic smiles, shrug their shoulders, as if to say "what can you do?" But, oh, well. It's just a game. And she is, after all, only four years old. But I've been finding that with her in soccer and Gage in ball, it's a lot of hustle and bustle, dragging the kids to soccer fields and ball diamonds alike, trying to occupy Alex who's main concern seems to be picking sunflower seed shells off the grass and eating them. I get frustrated sometimes, trying to keep uniforms clean and cleats put away-- though it seems we're always looking for something anyways-- but when I was driving home the other day with my sleepy baby boy, who'd had too much sun and his plump cheeks were a cherry red color, and my soccer clad four year old, who talked excitedly all the way home, and my too cool eleven year old, who pointedly ignored me all the way home, with his MP3 player plugged staunchly and firmly in to his ears, that even as stressful as these days are sometimes, these are the very times I will someday yearn for. A line from a song- of all songs, Miley Cyrus "The Climb"- "I may not know it, but these are the moments, I'm gonna remember most" and I was suddenly struck with a vision of myself, older- much older, my children long gone with children of their own, looking fondly back on a time when my babies were just that- babies- like how the other day when I took the kids outside to the splash park and Alex discovered that he liked the water, and ice cream. I hefted him out of his car seat when I returned home, he smelled like Baby Faces sunscreen and the faint, sweet smell of ice cream. He was sleepy and his body went limp against mine, hot and sweaty and sweet. His hair was damp and curly, I kissed the top of his head, enjoying the moment in time. Or how Payton and Alex and I sat together on a blanket and watched the sun go down while Gage played center field, Payton blowing bubbles and Alex clapping his hands together in a cute, if clumsy, fashion. It's chaos sometimes, but in the chaos is the beauty. I just need to be able to see it, not get bogged down by the stresses of it. Like so what if Alex eats a few sunflower seed shells. It's not going to kill him, right??
OK, it might. Bad example.
Anyways, that being said, I am going to go now and enjoy the day with my children.

Fool proof.

They say that necessity is the mother of invention. There is a reason, I believe, that they use the word 'mother' in that expression and not 'father'. My husband has virtually no problem solving skills whatsoever, especially when it comes to household matters. I mean, I've heard him say the sentence "I was going to make tacos for supper but we dont' have any green peppers" Like, hello!! Have you ever heard of tacos without green peppers??? For me, I just make do with what I have. Geoff, on the other hand, has yet to undertand this. Yesterday I had to take Payton to the doctor (molluskum contagiousum, I'm afraid-- don't let your kids play with Payton at the playground-- just kidding, it's not contagious--just kidding, actually it is but it's not very serious.) at 4:30, Gage had ball practice at 5:30 and I knew I wasn't going to be home for supper. So, planning ahead, I made up some meat sauce in the morning and threw it in the crockpot. All Geoff would have to do was throw some spaghetti is some water when he got home and dinner would be ready. Fool proof, right??

But no. You haven't met my husband. A real freaking piece of work, only he could screw up something so simple. I come home at twenty after five to find a pot of cold water on the stove. "You haven't fed Gage yet?" I asked, annoyed. He replied, annoyed as well, that there wasn't even any spaghetti. I opened the cupboard, pulled out a box of fettuccine, a box of macaroni, a box of tri colored shells. I was like "you couldn't use these??" I put the water to boil and decided to make the fettucine, but obviously it wasn't ready in time and poor Gage had to go to ball with no dinner. Sometimes I wonder if he really is that stupid, or if he's just lazy and making excuses. I mean, it doesn't have to be spaghetti, does it?? Is it just me, or is that just plain common sense??? It reminds me of a similar episode "There's more than one way to cook a chop" back in 2007. They never learn. Never.



Anyways. Yesterday I was relaxing on the couch, happened to glance out the window and what did I see?? The creepiest thing. Cats. There were four cats (that didn't belong to us) sitting on our front lawn, looking expantantly at the house. It was freaky. It reminded me of that Steven King movie, Cats or whatever it was. It seems our Zoey is quite popular on the block. We have been trying to keep her inside, but I fear it may be too late. For some reason, Geoff seems quite smitten with our cats apparent sexual prowess, perhaps living vicariously through her sex life. Pitiful, really, but unless he learns to substitute one pasta for another, I'm afraid that shall remain the case. Anyways, the cat is getting spayed on the 9th so hopefully we will make the deadline. One more week to go. Can't come fast enough.



What can come fast enough- my return to work, scheduled to happen one month from this very day. I can't believe it. A year ago, when I started my mat leave, the world was my oyster. OK, it wasn't my oyster. I don't even like oysters, not really. I don't know why people say that. But my point is that it had seemed like a whole lifetime stretched beyond me: one year; twelve months; three hundred and sixty five days. But now, most of that time has come and gone. I am beginning to prepare to go back to work. I think that I might have found a suitable daycare, I am going on Thursday to meet the woman so I guess I will know for sure then. It sounds pretty good as she had a daughter that would be in Paytons class, so that could work well. We will see how that pans out. I think once I get that lined up I will feel better about going back to work.



And now, last but not least, the burning question: Jon and Kate. Will they split?? Take my poll. I think, from what I've learned from my very reliable sources (AKA radaronline) that it's pretty much a done deal, they're Splitsville already. So sad. And what is this I've heard that Octomom is getting a show?? Frick. Give me a break. I would never, not ever, watch her show. Like really, anybody could have sixteen kids if they were dumb enough to do it, but most of us aren't, so why are they rewarding people for their own stupidity with the pseudo-fame of reality TV?? I just dont' get. Jon and Kate I liked because they were kind of an everyday couple who kind of just 'fell into' such a large family and were dealing with it day by day. But as for these other shows-- the Duggars?? Don't get me started. I think that mom had a labotomy at some point, if she hasn't she freaking needs one to deal with all her those kids Jebediah and Jedidiah and Jeremiah. So annoying.
Anyways, I must go now. Soccer. Have a good night.