Friday, February 25, 2011

Fresh Powder.

I wanted to take a moment to thank each and every one of you who read and commented on my last post. I had been so down about the whole situation, and I can't tell you how much it comforted me to know that there is a whole community out there supporting us. I went through and read each and every one of the comments here and on my Facebook page, and I have to say, you are the sweetest, smartest, and most caring bunch of reader-friends a blogging mama could ever hope to have. So thank you once again - from all of us.

I don't want this blog to become one big sapfest of stories, so I'm going to shelve the depressing stuff for today. I really needed to get all those feelings out of my system, and now that you guys know what I know, I feel like we're all on the same page and we can start fresh.

Aside from the craziness of life with kids, the other thing that has really been weighing on me heavily in the past little while is being cooped up with my crazy kids. The winters are long and hard here in Western NY, and as much as I love my children, it's hard to be stuck inside the house with them for weeks on end. We all need a change of scenery from time to time, and because of that, we've decided to become a two-car family.

Normally, Yousuf bikes to work and I have the van to get out with the girls, but not on bad snowy days (which it seems like we've been having a lot of lately). And one of the things we have decided to do with Inara is to send her to school for three (rather than five) weekdays. It's working out very well, largely because she gets to have one day "off" for us to pursue other interesting adventures together...but that's hard to do when you are carless.

Well, you know my husband. Never one to shy away from an opportunity to spend the least amount of money humanly possible, he set himself upon the task of buying us a second car. At first I thought we'd end up with a sedan-sized version of Pondscum (Which is the name I've "lovingly" given our van. We found it on Craigslist for a steal - because it's UGLY.), but luckily for thrifty spenders like us, the economy is so bad that it actually made more financial sense for us to buy a brand-spankin' NEW car. Like from a dealer. With a warranty. And that heavenly new car smell that is so addictive because it's probably killing your brain cells with every inhalation. Mmmmmm....perfection.

Of course, our new steal of a car couldn't possibly come without some El Cheapitany strings attached. Because Yousuf haggled for a crazy deal on this particular car, we weren't given a choice of colors, and we had to take the one that was named "Fresh Powder". Which is a synonym for "When Yousuf Stands In Front Of It He Is Camouflaged."

Now don't take this the wrong way if you proudly own a white car, or if you are one of those people for whom life would be complete if you ever owned a white car. More power to you, I say. Let that proud white car flag fly! I however, am not one of those people. I prefer cars in the gunmetal, carbon, or silver color family. To be more specific, I like my cars to be gray (grey for all you Canadians, eh?). Or perhaps black if I had to go with a second choice, but not any color in between, and surely not white. I get mental images of driving a dirt-attracting marshmallow whenever I think about owning a white car.

"But it's like Euro-stylish, isn't it?" proffered Yousuf, as I grumbled to him about it.

"Maybe. And maybe that would matter...if we were living in EUROPE." I shot back. "Look, it's not just ME that thinks white cars aren't cool. It's an age thing. Young cool people simply do not think white cars are stylish."

At which, El Cheapitan helpfully pointed out the obvious. "Uh, hon. I hate to break it to you, but we stopped being young and stylish a long time ago. And don't we have friends that own white cars?"

"Okay, so first of all, you're not helping," I countered. "We had a very narrow window of opportunity here to reclaim some of our coolness...and you just blew it. And I am not passing judgement on any of our friends that own white cars. I'm just saying that for ME, it's not a part of my self-identity. Which happens to still feel young and stylish, despite all your efforts to the contrary."

He had nothing else to say to that, because my arguments were clearly so well thought out. Or perhaps he thought I was crazy. It's hard to tell with El Cheapitan sometimes. But I wasn't done yet.

"Fine then. Watch this." I said, as I reached for the phone and called my parents. "Hi Dad! Guess what? We bought a new car. Yes, I know it's about time. Yes, we did get a good deal. Yeah, it's even brand new. No, Yousuf has not lost his marbles. But Dad! Guess what color it is. It's...WHITE! (long pause)...yep, love you too, talk to you soon. Bye."

"What did he say?" asked Yousuf, giving me the hairy eyeball.

"He said he always wanted to own a white car. And that it was a beautiful color," I paused for dramatic effect. "Oh, but wait...there's more."

"More what?" asked Yousuf

I held up the phone again, dialing. This time my brother answered. "Hey. What?" (Which is code for, "Hello, older sister who I love and adore, it is so nice to hear your lovely voice on this fine morn." Or something like that.)

"Hey, yourself. Guess what? We bought a new car. Yes, a BRAND NEW car. No, Yousuf has not lost his marbles. But get this. Do you want to know what color it is? It's white."

I held up the phone in front of El Cheapitan's face as I pushed the speaker button.

"You're joking, right? Wait. Was that part of the deal? Did they pay Yousuf to take the white car off the lot? Snickersnickersnickersnicker."

"Thanks, bruh." I quipped, ending the laughter before it got out of hand.

"Wait. You're not like, mad at me, are you?" My brother asked, cluing into the fact that there were larger forces at play in this discussion.

"No. Not at all. You've proven my point beautifully. Thank you very much and have a nice day. Don't forget to floss." (I know. It makes no sense. But I don't ever really make much sense, do I?). I smiled to myself as I hung up the phone.

"SEE?" I said smugly, turning to Yousuf. "Do you see what I mean?"

"I see nothing," replied my lovable yet color-challenged husband, his arms still folded tightly across his chest. "Other than the fact that you and your brother have an irrational hatred towards white vehicles. And your dad is a classy guy. It's no wonder he likes white."

Just you wait. I thought to myself. You'll see. 

But I kept my negative-Nelly comments to myself. It was entirely possible that he was right. Highly improbable, but the slim chance was still there. Still, I knew enough to be grateful for the car bounty that we had received, and if it meant that the girls and I could come and go as we please, then driving a marshmallow would be a small price to pay for that freedom. So I shut my trap, and smiled and nodded. Until we got to the dealership.

Immediately upon entering the sprawling interior of the dealership, we were greeted with a line of cars, neatly parked at just the right angle to show off all of their best assets. Gleaming rims and sexy curves all beckoned to the buyer with the right amount of money in their pocket, all whispering promises of trips to beach houses and picnics in the country. Clearly, El Cheapitan was immune to all this, as he always is.

But there was one thing that I noticed the very second we walked into the showroom. The raciest, zippiest, sexiest, glammiest car in the room - the two-seater with the most exorbitant price tag - came in a shade called, appropriately, "Pearl White". And parked right next to that unfortunate-colored beauty was a sensible four-door family sedan, in a sleek hue named "Metallic Slate". I thought it was odd that the two cars should be standing side by side, with two paint jobs that clearly did not reflect the sort of person that would purchase them. I pointed this out to Yousuf, who of course took one look at both cars and said, "They're both too expensive, babe." And motioned for me to follow him towards the tiny mini-marshmallow car that we were going to pick up.

But as we walked away, a well-dressed middle-aged couple sauntered by, and I knew something big was about to happen. I grabbed Yousuf's arm and made my eyeballs point in the direction of the man and woman while mouthing the words, "WATCH THIS." To my husband's credit, he knows when I mean business. And we watched as the two of them, in their matching cashmere scarves and leather driving gloves, glided past to stand between the two cars I had noticed earlier.

"Well, dear." the gentleman began, as he surveyed the offerings before him. "Does anything catch your eye?"

"Actually, these two here are quite nice," the wife began, waggling her finger between the dandruff white coupe and the gorgeous gray sedan. "But there is the issue of color, don't you agree?"

Yousuf turned to me, his eyes wide. We turned back towards the couple, completely mesmerized.

"I do agree. It's a shame, really," the gentleman said, as he wrinkled his nose and bent over the sedan, inspecting it as if it were a curious-looking cow plop. "It would have been such a nice car, otherwise."

"Yes. Absolutely. It's as dark and dreary as this endless winter!" the wife proclaimed, tossing her hair in agreement with herself. "But look at this one next to it. It's absolutely marvelous! It's so bright and clean and peppy! What do you think, dear? Haven't you always wanted to own a white car?" Then she nudged him in his paunch and giggled as she said, "It's just big enough for the two of us!"

To which the gentleman replied, "Why, yes. I have been wanting a white car. And that one is quite sporting now, isn't it? It's the perfect color. Much more uplifting than this sad gray one."

I knew that Yousuf's brain nearly imploded as he calculated just how much money this couple was going to throw away on A COLOR. But hey, they were happy - and who were we to judge?

And that point I was trying to make about the type of person that likes owning a white car?

Somehow the words "well-proven" don't even begin to do it justice.
Here's our new car! It's a stock image because ours is currently covered in snow and has completely vanished under all that "Fresh Powder". Har har har.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Big Things.

Inara asks, for possibly the tenth time today, why she doesn't have to go to school. And for possibly the tenth time, I tell her that there is no school for the entire week because of winter break. And just as she has done nine times previously, she relaxes her shoulders, breathes an audible sigh of relief and says, "Oh good. I was just making sure." Then she gives me a full-on body hug, throwing her thirty some-odd pounds of person into it, and whispers fervently in my ear, "Thank you, Mama. Thank you."

My daughter hates school. There. I've said it. And I can't unsay it or candy coat it or pretend that the problem will go away, because the truth of the matter is that I just don't know. I don't know how this has happened or why or what I can do about it. And I am completely flummoxed.

I ache to see her hurting in this way. When she wakes up every morning and mumbles through her sleepy yawns, "What day is it, Mama? Is it a school day?" I dread answering her. I dread it because if I tell her that it isn't a school day, her mood is instantly lightened. And if I tell her that she does indeed have to go to school, then she is absolutely devastated. Even now, almost six months since she began school, she still cries during drop-offs and pick-ups. Last Friday was the first time that she had a tear-free day at school. Which means that she could finally be enjoying herself, or that it might have been an anomaly. And of course now we have a week off for her to build up her anxiety again.

I can't tell you how difficult this has been for me, and for our family. We walk around on eggshells, tiptoe around pointed questions, and deftly steer away from conversations that will cause tears. Yousuf and I put the girls to bed at night and in a sad attempt to have some together time, usually end up curled up in each other's arms, asleep on the couch. It's not good. We are so worried. We need answers.

There have been medical terms offered forth, and they are supposed to give me some measure of comfort. But honestly, I'm hurting too much right now to think about them. I don't want to get into the specifics...yet. It's all vague and nebulous and we don't know how things are going to pan out. We are in the process of being evaluated, tested, talked at. We fill out forms all day. We make phone calls. We leave messages. We wait...and wait. We have made appointments - and we will see what happens.

The worst part is the waiting, and the not knowing. And wondering what the future will hold for my beautiful, intelligent, perceptive, perfect little girl.

Right now she is peering at me over the screen of my laptop, telling me about the antibacterial properties of mouthwash. And smiling. She is so gloriously happy in this moment. I want her to have this, always and forever. I want to do right by her. I want to make everything okay.

Isn't that what mamas are supposed to do?

So why can't I make this better?

These are the Big Things we're dealing with.

Now you know.

I feel like my heart is in your hands now...please handle it gently, because today it feels like it's on the verge of breaking.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Freedom Of Expression.

Oh, this child. How she makes me tear my hair out in frustration while laughing at her impish expressions is beyond me.

Here we go - one baby, three different shots, all taken within seconds of one another. All processed differently to reflect the way her emotions shift like an ever-changing wind. I wonder if she'll always be this perfect tempest of moods. I kind of hope so.

Happy Friday, friends. We're going through some big things here, and I'm intentionally laying low while it all sorts itself out. Sorry for being so vague...I hope I can share more with you in the weeks to come. Have a wonderful weekend, I hope you make some lovely memories.

See you on the flip side...xoxox

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Letting The Wind Carry Me Away.

My laptop died last night, and as a result, this morning I was left without a way to connect to the world, or more importantly, to write. I know I'm going to sound so melodramatic - but I didn't quite fathom just how internet-dependent I was until I was without. I couldn't even publish this post until Yousuf came home and let me steal his laptop!

In the meantime, I think that the little bit of forced computer-detox that I had last night and this morning was good for my soul. It made me think about how I'm so used to doing two (or three) things at once, and how even though it seems as though I'm being super-productive, I'm not really engaging in any one thing. It's been nice not to be so distracted.

I've also been thinking about my kids, and wondering if they noticed a difference today. I don't usually make a habit of ignoring them when I'm blogging - I try to save the writing for when Nissa is napping and Inara is at school. But I won't deny the fact that I'm usually editing pictures or responding to emails while sitting down at the table with the girls for breakfast and lunch. They like to put on music and sing along to tunes while they eat, which gives me the time I need to finish up those tasks.

Today was different, of course. And the girls were happy to have my full attention, but it left me feeling smug (for giving them my undivided attention) and guilty (for not always giving them my undivided attention). I don't know what the right solution is here. I'm sure there are so many of you that have to figure out this delicate balance as well, and there is some measure of comfort in knowing that I'm not the only one who struggles with it.

The greatest confusion I have is not when my personal life is at odds with my not-yet-professional life, but when the two mesh seamlessly. I have great trouble deciding how much of my personal life to share with you, and how much of it you actually want (or need) to know about. I think that many personal bloggers must have this discussion with themselves at one point or another. I'm still figuring it all out.

Take, for example, my great foray into the world of vlogging. At my other gig, there is a section called Video Confessions.  It's a great way for anyone to contribute to our growing community in a completely safe, non-judgmental manner. I've been really excited about the prospect of vlogging, even if it will require me changing out of my sweatpants and actually putting on some makeup.

But of course, I know nothing about vlogging, or about filming things in general, so I decided to take my newly-borrowed HD video recorder out for a test drive first. And who better to film than my family? I took the little video camera out with us a few weeks ago when we met up with our friends to go sledding. I was paying a great deal of attention to the angles, the lighting, and the overall presentation - just as I do with every blog post and accompanying set of pictures.

After I had some fun editing the piece and adding music to it, I realized that it turned out pretty good - good enough for a blog post, even. But why would I write a post about a video of us sledding? I was sure it would serve no purpose other than showcasing my own self-indulgence. So I shelved it until today, when my laptop died and I got to thinking about how sometimes, the inspiration for a post comes when you least expect when you don't have the ability to post at all.

I think ultimately, the point of sharing this video with you is to remind myself that sometimes (like today) it's absolutely fine to just let go, have some fun, and let the wind carry me away.

And as for that vlog?

I still haven't gotten around to doing it, because I've been too busy doing things like this...

(Music by Sloan, Money City Maniacs from the Navy Blues Album, 1998 (such a fine vintage).

...and it's been absolutely marvelous.

Monday, February 14, 2011


I took Inara to a birthday party a couple of months ago, and at that party she spied a coin-operated photo booth in the corner. She was immediately drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. Firstly, because it involved me shelling out some cash, and secondly, because it involved the possibility of sitting in close quarters with me and slobbering me with goopy, wet kisses (which is one of her favorite pastimes, especially when I make a game of protesting).

We had the choice of picking borders for our photos, and as we scrolled through the options I instinctively knew which one my love-obsessed little bug would want. So we made a deal, which of course necessitated the shelling out of more cash on my end. I asked (it was actually more like begging) her if she would be okay with me picking a photo. She was of course up for it - IF she got to have her choice as well. I feel like most of my day is spent making compromises like this, because it's incredibly hard to get an extremely smart four year-old to do anything I want her to do unless she absolutely wants to do it as well. Hence the constant negotiations.

I opted for the simple yet classic, four-in-one borderless spread, because it gave us the option of most poses for our buck(s) (Photo booths are expensive! El Cheapitan would not have been impressed.). I think it turned out quite nicely:

And then of course, we had Inara's masterpiece. Keep in mind that she picked this out BACK IN OCTOBER:

Seriously. What am I going to do with this girl? I'm really worried that she's going to grow up and give her heart away to whoever comes sidling along and gives her goo-goo eyes first. Like I did. Hmmmm...maybe there is more to this than I initially thought.

Ah, but who am I kidding? I love the kid (and her little sister) to bits and pieces. You can read all about it at my other gig. The post is called (And nobody told me)...that I would fall in love more than once in my life, and I would be thrilled if you took a minute to check it out.

The truth is that even though I might masquerade as a tough, commercial-holiday-hating mama, on the inside I'm a big fat mushball. Believe me, you would be too if you had these two lovenuts in your life. Every morning, I wake up covered in baby kisses from my girls, and you know something? I LOVE IT.

So yes, I'm a pathological liar and a hypocrite. Just wait until you read that post at And Nobody Told Me - you'll see, it's all true. But I have a feeling that I'm not the only mama who feels this way.

Have a great day, friends. No matter what you do, or don't, celebrate today - thank you for being here. I really love you goobers. You know I do.

Friday, February 11, 2011

Love Shooting Out Of Her Eyeballs.

I don't get all the hooplah surrounding Valentine's Day. To tell you the truth, Yousuf is the one who drives the romantic half of our relationship - and I fully realize how lucky I am to have him. Inara, like her Daddy, is a hopeless romantic. The child loves to love, and she believes in the idea of Valentine's Day - beyond the commercialism and candy - down to the very essence of her being.

What inevitably ends up happening is that I get drawn into Valentine's Day, albeit reluctantly, but with no regrets. Between Inara and Yousuf and all the love that comes shooting out of their eyeballs around this time of year, even my cold, icy heart can't help but defrost just the tiniest bit.

For instance, we just happened to be given some Valentine's Decorations for our windows and I tried so hard to misplace them, but I was thwarted. Inara found them, hidden amongst the cardboard boxes that were to go out to the curb and beat me down with a million requests of, "Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleeeeaaaaaassssse can we put these up, Mama? Pleasepleasepleaseplease??????". She basically wore me down and so I relented, scowling the entire time while she hummed and pranced around me, smiling at thin air like a lovestruck teenager.

In the end, our front window proclaimed, for all the world to see, that we were down with V-Day:

Ew. But Inara and Yousuf held hands and twirled around the living room, while Nissa clapped with delight. It was a scene right out of a cheesy greeting card, and then Inara broke out into song:

I swear I saw rainbows and glittery hearts come shooting out of her eyeballs. Didn't you?

The following day, she began her annual hounding to make Valentine's Day cards. Her reasoning is always sound, but no less irritating to a person that has no feelings. She says that she wants to tell the people she loves how much they mean to her. She never mentions anything about receiving gifts or cards...hers is a purely selfless mission. She says this every year, and every year I have to remind myself not to ruin her innocent world view with my curmudgeonly ways.

It just so happened that on that particular morning, I was suffering from an excruciating case of Super Bowl Monday. And say what you will about Valentine's Day being nothing but a commercial ploy, but if it involves doing something that keeps my kids occupied happily with minimal input from me, then show me the dotted line and sign me up. I'm all for it.

I found an online tutorial for how to make Valentine's Day pop-up cards, and it was just what we needed to fill some time while I recuperated from my late night junk food binge. Instant happiness ensued for my budding Cupids, and I have to admit that it was pretty cute to watch them being so thoughtful. I have no idea who they inherited it from.

I cut up the two pieces of the card separately, and let the girls decorate them using our standard tools of the love-spreading trade, including crayons, markers, stamps, stickers, and of course lots and lots of glitter. Even Nissa, who is 21 months old (waaah!) was able to take part with minimal mess making.

As Nissa finished her scribble, she'd pass it down the table to her big sister, who ooohed and aaaahed at Nissa's fine penmanship and then covered it all up with great big heart-shaped stickers (While wearing a hat, of course. One must always be concerned with style, even when crafting):

Nissa has just learned how to draw circles, and she was very intent on practicing them:

Which inspired Inara to make circles of her own. But they had to be bigger and fancier. Of course.

After the decorating, Inara helped me fold the two card pieces (while she regaled me with more love songs), and I glued them together. Our finished product looked like this:

I think they're actually kind of darling. But don't tell anyone I said that. 

And surprisingly, the pop-up portion of the card works very well. 

My girls were so unbelievably happy at the end of this little project. Inara in particular had a blissful expression on her face as she gazed lovingly at the pile of cards laying before her. 

What I loved is that it really wasn't hard to make my girls happy. What's harder will be having to deal with all the doe-eyed stares and happy sighs for the rest of the weekend. Blech. Perhaps I'll just get my kids to make some more crafts so that I don't have to deal with it. Valentine's Day can't come soon enough!

I hope that regardless of your inclination towards or against Valentine's Day, you'll be able to spend some time with your loved ones this holiday, and make some lovely memories together. Have a wonderful weekend...and beware of all that love shooting out of people's eyeballs!

Monday, February 7, 2011

Making The Case For Superbowl Monday.

Super Bowl Monday [soo-per bohl muhn-dey]

1.  The Monday after the Super Bowl when your boss takes the day off.
2.  The Monday after a super bowl when you feel hungover. You often must go back to work, school, etc. which makes it that much worse.


I am taking the day off from writing a halfway-intelligent post. I realize this is slightly presumptuous, as it assumes that any of my posts are even remotely intelligent. Nonetheless, it is Super Bowl Monday and I shall refrain from boring you to tears any longer. If I continue on in this manner I am sure to write about goodness knows what, and I will no doubt regret it tomorrow. Whoops - it seems as though I'm already too late for that.

Super Bowl Monday needs to be added to the register of National Holidays. It's not like anyone is the least bit productive on the day after the Super Bowl. We all put in our time to make it through the day, popping headache relievers and rubbing our temples as we count down the hours to an early bedtime for our children (or for ourselves). And for those who don't indulge in the great American tradition of watching grown men wear figure-hugging Lycra and hurtling themselves at each other for mere sport, thereby causing irreparable bodily harm (or maybe you're just watching for the ads), you should take note: Super Bowl Monday affects your oft-underrepresented minority as well. You poor sods bear the immense burden of picking up the slack for the rest of us.  It is simply not fair to have to ask you to continue on in this manner.

So you see, I'm being nothing but charitable and selfless in my moment of extreme delirium. I was up until eleven pm, friends. It's a wonder I'm even alive this morning, considering my sweet little cherubs decided that they needed to wake up at the crack of dawn, on today of all days. They have an uncanny knack for knowing when we've been up late, and they are not afraid to exploit our lack of resistance towards things such as cookies for breakfast and over two hours straight of marginally educational television programming. I have surrendered to the masses (consisting of two extremely smart tiny people). I am outnumbered and out-pepped and I have simply given up. How many cookies did you say you wanted, my love? And how many hours until bedtime?

I don't think I'm alone on this. I recently read that as many people watch the Superbowl as those that attend an Easter service. At last night's game, I saw politicians mixed with Hollywood stars (and really, what's the difference between the two anymore?). My Twitter feed could barely keep up with all the banter regarding the closely-contested game, the ad flubs and wins, and the intrigue surrounding Usher's Hammer Pants. I think it's safe to say that football has transcended religion to become one of this nation's greatest unifying factors. And if that is true...then we, as observers of this heathen ritual, at the very least deserve a day off to recover from it.

I shall stop here. It beehoves neither of us for me to continue on in this manner, because I'm ranting on from behind the fog of a chip and dip stupor, and things are making even less sense to me than usual. I blame you, Superbowl Monday. I blame you.

Friday, February 4, 2011

We'll Know How It All Began.

Years from now, when Nissa is a grumpy teenager who would rather pluck out her eyeballs instead of being seen with her dorky parents, and when she insists on leaving the house in nothing but facial piercings and t-shirts with obscene slogans plastered across them, we will say that she always had her own sense of individuality. And we will be able to trace that fierce passion back... this exact moment.

You go on with your bad self, Sunshine.

Happy Friday, friends....I'll see you on the flip side. 

Thursday, February 3, 2011

A Haunting Story - The Julie Project.

I don't normally do a post about another blog post, but right now I can't help myself. I came across this on today's post at (ASIDE: don't ask me what Jason Kottke's website is about. I can't explain it. All I know is that I'm addicted to it like a slice of cherry cheesecake infused with crack. Ahem.)

And now I can't stop thinking about Julie. Her life, her children - oh, her precious babes. I can't get them out of my head. You have to read this, and tell me it's not haunting. Riveting, too...but mostly an incredibly moving and heartbreaking story of a woman and mother.

The piece, Entitled The Julie Project, is a series of photos taken over eighteen years by photographer Darcy Padilla. She first met Julie Baird in 1993 as a new mother with an eight day-old infant in her arms. She was HIV positive and nearly homeless. The rest of the body of work speaks for itself, and Padilla says this in her final statement:

"Julie’s story matters and should make a difference to us the viewer in our understanding of the fractured world that many poor people struggle to exist in...I hope you can’t stop thinking about Julie’s story, I hope it makes you feel. I hope it makes you look at the world differently."

It certainly did for me.

(Special thanks to Darcy Padilla, Jason Kottke, and Heather Armstrong of

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Ode To The Bloggies.

The Bloggie nominations were announced today
And I am very excited to say
That even though I was not nominated
There's lots of great people to go and vote for-ated.

One day I hope to be one of those elite few
Oh, it would be such a dream come true.
I know I can do it, and my one hundred readers agree
That I'm a nice gal who can not write poetry.

So for all of you that are just like me
Who keep working hard while dreaming of Bloggies
Remember that you can acheive greatness too
And sometimes all it starts with is a blog post about poo.

That's your hint to check out my latest poop-filled post at And Nobody Told Me! Also, congratulations to all the amazingly talented Bloggie-nominated writers. Thank you for inspiring me each and every day, and thank you for pushing me towards achieving my own dreams!

(My kids want me to win a Bloggie SO BADLY. They're like my biggest fans. Can't you tell?)
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