Well, who wouldn't?

Liam made this card for Will last night.

Makes me wonder what goes on around here when I'm gone.

(And what's up with the little Amish dude with the whip?)

Not just pillow fights and lesbians.

Don't lie. I know that's what a lot of you (especially those of you with penises) envision when you think of an all-female college.

I spent my freshman year of college at Sweet Briar College. Sweet Briar is not just any women's college--it's a women's college filled with old money Southern Belles.



My time there was simultaneously my most awesome and most horrible college experience.

In case you haven't noticed, I'm not an old-money Southern Belle. I'm a poor Yankee. I didn't exactly fit in.

I was one of only three women in the entire freshman class who had attended public school. Not only had the rest attended private schools, but most had attended private boarding schools.

In Europe.

My roommate had never been to a Wal-Mart. She also had never bought a swimsuit from a store. I mean, why would you buy a swimsuit from a store when you could have your personal seamstress make one custom for you? And why stop at swimsuits? Why not bring your personal seamstress with you to orientation week so she could make a custom duvet cover and drapes for your dorm room? Because obviously one can't make these things before seeing the room. I mean, really. You wouldn't want the chintz you choose to clash with the tones of the wood on the closet doors, or the gray in the linoleum tile floor.

I bought all of my dorm room furnishings at Wal-Mart in Evanston, Wyoming. It wasn't even a Super Wal-Mart.

My roommate had a $500 piece of original framed artwork from a gallery hanging on her wall. I had $3 poster that had "Everything I Need To Know In Life I Learned From My Cat" on it. Also from Wal-Mart.

Anyway, my roommate was pretty much the norm at Sweet Briar. And while that created a lot of potential for snobbishness, surprisingly most of the girls were nice. But it was still hard to be the poor girl.

One night there were a dozen or so of us hanging out in someone's room (you know, after we finished our pillow fight while clad in skimpy pajamas) and they started talking about their Cotillions and Coming Out Balls. Not only had I never been to a Cotillion, but I didn't even know what one was. And a Coming Out Ball? Well, the name made me wonder if maybe women's colleges really were filled with lesbians.

Anyway, I asked what a Cotillion was, and I was met by horrified stares and gasps.

Apparently not being formally debuted to society at 18 is to rich Southern Belles what being unbaptized is to Mormons. On the surface they still like you, but deep down they know you're headed for eternal damnation.

My poor status did give me one advantage over my wealthy classmates: I had already held a job. A few of them, in fact.

The President of the college was a smart lady, and knew that most of the girls coming in had never worked a day in their life and probably never would. So, she instituted a policy that every single student would be assigned a part time job on campus and would be paid minimum wage for it.

My roommate was assigned to assist in the security guard office. She had to wear a security guard uniform. She wore pearls with it.

The girls who had brought their horses with them were assigned to work the stables. These are girls who had always had stable hands to do the dirty work, but were now being paid a whopping $4 an hour to shovel manure 20 hours a week.

I was lucky and got assigned to be an assistant librarian. It was a cushy job, and a huge step up from the McDonald's in Wyoming, which had been my last place of employment.

Anyway, as great as many aspects of the college were, I left after the first semester. As a nearly middle aged woman, I can see the great things about being a misfit and wonder if I should have stuck it out at Sweet Briar, but as an 18 year old girl, it was hard. So I headed back across the country where everyone I knew was relatively poor and would assume that a Coming Out Ball probably involved RuPaul.

I'm supposed to be making a grocery list.

So, that's a picture Liam drew yesterday. They're supposed to be scary Halloween ghosts. They look a little more like hallo-wieners to me.

But anyway.

I should be making a menu and grocery list. I should be making flash cards for Amelia's words that she's supposed to know by Christmas if we want any chance of her passing Kindergarten on the first try. I should be paying bills and balancing the checkbook. I should be returning e-mails that are long overdue.

Except I don't really feel like doing any of those things.

And usually when I don't feel like doing what I'm supposed to do, I play Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook until my eyes bleed come here and write. But I don't know what to write about.

Help me, internets. Throw out some topics. I'm desperate.

I think you're crazy.

I'm pretty sure that I've been watching one of my old friends slowly lose her mind via Facebook posts.

No, I'm not talking about you.

Really! I'm not.

She and I were never really close friends, but closer than acquaintances, and I hadn't heard from her in about 6 years. A few months ago I got a Facebook friend request from her and I accepted.

And for quite awhile her posts were fairly normal. If ever they were strange, I chalked it up to the fact that English wasn't her first language, and she didn't live among Americans until she was an adult. I figured something just got lost in translation.

But then...then they got crazy.

She's an artist--a rather talented one--and she changed her profile picture to a portrait of herself and her new boyfriend that she'd painted. In it, she's wearing a long, princess-like gown and a tiara and he's topless and wearing black jeans, and is pulling her to his pasty-white torso. Oh, and they have this halo thing surrounding both their heads. And it's so freaking disturbing I had nightmares about it kind of creepy.

Then she started posting things that were supposed to be amazing connections (you know, like all the things JFK and Abraham Lincoln had in common), except there were no actual connections. Just weird things she made up. For example, she shared the "amazing" fact that the word American was derived from the phrase A Mary Can, which, hello, must mean Mary, Jesus' mother! And therefore that proves America is God's chosen land.

And then a couple of weeks ago she posted on a mutual friend's wall that she wanted to share a secret. Her new boyfriend was really God and she was really Mary, and he had come to dwell within her forever. Isn't that the most special and amazing thing? (That last line is an exact quote.)

Whaa? Huhh? Well, maybe that explains the painting?

Then over the past week she's posted a couple of random, profanity laced, rants.

And I kind of want to block her, but part of me wants to see what crazy thing she'll post next.

(And before I get hate mail, I DID send her a private message AND an e-mail asking if she was doing O.K. or needed anything, but she never responded. And I don't have an address or phone number.)

What would you do, internets?

And no, I'm not posting the painting. I'm not!

Fire Safety Week: Apparently a lot like Shark Week.

So, this week has been Fire Safety Week at Liam and Amelia's elementary school.

In Georgia, they made it fun. Liam would come home with plastic fire hats, coloring books, and we'd have to listen to him lecture us about what to do in a fire for about two weeks afterward. "Mom, if there's a fire, DON'T hide in the closet!" "If there's a fire and you can't get out of your room, stand by the window." "If there's a fire, we should all meet across the street where the bus picks us up." "Sometimes firemen look scary in their uniforms, but they're our friends." "Stop drop and roll! Stop drop and roll! STOP DROP AND ROLL!!!!"

Apparently Tennessee takes the scare-the-bejeebers-out-of-them approach to fire safety.

I don't know what they've done this week, but in addition to coloring books, fire hats and stop drop and roll, Liam and Amelia have also been waking up screaming and terrified because of fire nightmares.

Tonight I discovered that Liam had taken his water bottle to bed with him so he could put out fires.

During bedtime prayers, they've both been fervently praying that they will not die in a fire. And that "mommy will remember to replace the batteries in our smoke detectors. Amen."

Yesterday they came in from playing and I'd lit a scented candle. They completely freaked out. Didn't I know that candles start house fires? Hello, mom, do you want us to die of smoke inhalation?

I just heard Amelia sobbing in bed and when I asked her what the problem was she said, "We don't have a rope ladder, so if a fire blocked the stairs WE'D ALL DIE. "

So, thanks Tennessee. I totally needed my kids to develop an unnatural anxiety about death by fire this week. Super awesome.

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

The Good things about Will being gone for two weeks:

1. It takes 2 seconds to make the bed.

2. I cook one dinner and it's enough to feed us for two nights.

3. Way less laundry.

4. I don't have to fumble around trying to get dressed in the dark in the morning because he's still asleep.

5. I'm watching old Brat Pack movies and/or America's Next Top Model every night that he's gone.

6. No obligation to make potatoes with dinner.

7. No one yelling "shut the door! I'm freezing" from the shower if I go in to brush my teeth.

8. I haven't had to hear a single story about cars or computers.

9. I broke out the "girly" soap for the shower.

10. The house has stayed clean.


The Bad things about Will being gone for two weeks:

1. Tag team parenting doesn't work with just one parent.

2. Ummm....

3. Yeah, so I guess that's the only bad thing.


The Ugly Things about Will being gone for two weeks:

1. I haven't (and likely won't) shave my legs.

2. Who needs make up when you don't leave the house for days at a time?

3. I've got big plans for a homemade avocado and yogurt skin and hair treatment this week.

4. I've been exercising in my underwear. In the garage. Yeah, take that mental picture to bed with you tonight.

5. Yoga pants and slippers, all day every day.

Guaranteed, or your money back!

(So, umm, this will be much more entertaining if you read it with the voice of Billy Mays.)


Are you tired of healthy kids?

Do you just not have enough laundry to do?

Have you not spent enough money on Childrens Tylenol and Gatorade this year?

Well, you've come to the right place, folks, because I have discovered the secret formula to ensuring that at least one of your kids will become violently ill!

Now, I know what you're thinking. "Brandi, how much is this secret going to cost?"

Absolutely nothing! I'm so sure that this formula will work that I'm offering it at no cost to you!

I know, crazy!

First, wash your child's bedding. All of it. This will ensure that your child will vomit all over it within 12 hours.

Second, send your spouse out of town. If possible, out of state, or even better yet--out of the country! And the longer the better. This will ensure that your child will develop an extremely high fever, and you'll be out of fever reducer (and probably milk and toilet paper), leaving you no choice but to load your sick child up in the car and drag them to the store for Tylenol. And milk. And toilet paper. Also, as a bonus, your spouse being gone will likely result in your child eventually needing to go to the ER.

Third, load your sick child in the car and drag them to the store for Tylenol. And milk. And toilet paper. This will ensure that your child will puke all over your vehicle.

Fourth, make plans for a relaxing, enjoyable day of alone time. This will ensure that your child will be sick, and whiny and extremely clingy and needy.

Fifth, steam your carpets. Like number one, it will ensure that your child will vomit all over them (and it will probably be chocolate or fruit punch vomit) within 12 hours.

There you have it! Guaranteed to work or your money back!

(Yes, Will left for Texas for two weeks this morning. Yes, Amelia got violently ill. Yes, I washed her bedding yesterday and she puked all over it at 3:00 this morning. Yes, I had to drag her out to the store for Tylenol. And milk. And Toilet paper. And she puked all over the van. Yes, I had planned to relax and read all day today. And I really had planned to steam my carpets tonight, but at this point it would just be tempting fate. I'll wait until the plague has passed.)