It’s astounding how similar Santa’s handwriting and tendency for typos are so similar to my own.

@aspiringmama cleaning puke out of every nook & cranny of a car seat (after taking the damned thing apart) has got to be one of hell’s circles. #motherhood

Maybe it’s the writer in me. Or maybe I don’t have enough people over three feet tall who call me mama to talk to. In either case, I find it totally normal to have my kid puke up lunch and dinner all over themselves and their car seat in a glorious waterfall of nastiness and while cleaning up the chunks, find myself thinking: “Why yes! This would make for a perfect blog post!”

The Husband thinks I share too much online. But then again, he hasn’t read my book yet, so I’m sure that will be more motivation for my Muse to gossip on the blog whenever that happens. (Wait…what were we talking about again? Me sharing too much? Right…)

The day started with me thinking I wouldn’t have gotten out of bed if I had actually been in the position to make that choice. Being that I don’t, I did. And wished with every passing second that I could hire a babysitter to come hang out just so I could trod back upstairs, bra-less and unkempt, on the way to making my dream come true.

First we had the birthday party I really didn’t want to go to. Mainly because it was an hour away, but also because it meant talking to real live people. In person. And using much more than 140 characters at a time. But I went so Buttercup could socialize and left as soon as dinner was served so we could grab some gluten-free grub on the way home at a steak house.

While we ate, I ended up praying that the blue-cheese ranch dressing Buttercup dipped her tomato into before I could stop her wouldn’t reappear before we got home. I am guessing I didn’t pray hard enough. Or that God is a bit pissed off that I only show up on Easter because I have an excuse to buy a new dress and primp for the event. Because on a mountain on the way back to the desert, exactly half-way between the party and home, Buttercup lost the contents of her belly.

This sucked for a variety of reasons, of course. The main factors being that:

*it took me 30 minutes on a horror-flick worthy stretch of secluded road with no cell-phone service to clean up what I could with

*the five baby wipes I happened to have in a coupon-provided sample pack which in fact

*didn’t really clean up a damned thing because

*there was more puke than cleaning supplies readily available and the majority of it was sitting in a little pool on her carseat and

*I finally said fuck it, kissed my kid, made the sign of the cross, and buckled her up in the backseat like a Big Girl, and drove home 15 miles under the limit, pissing off every driver in line behind me.

After arriving home and tucking her in (with no bath  because she was already asleep on her feet), I had to trudge back out to wrestle the seat out of the van, strip it, and get a toothbrush to de-nastify it.

Did I mention I was making a sandwich and packing The Husband’s lunch cooler while I attended to said nasty?

Ok, so I did.

To you.

I may or may not have forgotten to mention this to The Husband.

Who says I share too much online.

Go figure.

We need to talk.

It’s about your commercial, my shoes, and that little complex you just gave me. Not sure what I’m talking about? Let me refresh your memory.

Exhibit A: (Your ad—a.k.a My New Complex)

Before I get into the specifics on where you can send the new shoes to replace Those That I Shall Never Wear Again and I’m a size 9, thank you, let me first congratulate you on a job well done. I am not easily swayed by advertising. Usually. Okay fine. There was that little Barbie phase I went through when I was eight, but I got over that really fast when I realized that playing Barbie at home was a total downer compared to what they made it look like in the ads. I have grown up since then. Mostly. I have a mind of my own and am proud of that. No one tells me what to do or what to like. (And by the way, Swiffer? It’s really time to hire a new marketing team. But you knew that already, didn’t you?)

Then I saw your ad. While I was wearing, well…we won’t talk about my choice in footwear. We can talk about The Husband’s smirk as he saw my face fall. Or his outright laughter when I threw out an “Oh HELL no!” Or the fact that I promptly went upstairs to my closet, threw the complexes I once called shoes into a corner, and dug out my old sneakers for my walk. There’s also The Husband laughing at me when I came back downstairs. And of course, we can talk about me telling The Husband that you and your savvy and saucy little marketing team owes me a pair of shoes.

Because really? You totally do.

Sincerely,

Pauline

I almost did it. Really, I did.

I almost bought a pair of Big Girl Panties. But all I could think was that I would feel like I was doing a half-assed blogging job if I left the visual out and am I really going to take photos of my panties? Even just set out prettily on the bed, that would really only serve as a reminder that I am not Kate Gosselin and do not have the means to buy the nip-tucked rockin’ mom bod she’s flashing for the world (and her ex) to see now. What? Me? Jealous? Bitter? What? pfft! I mean, I only had ONE kid and got royally jacked up. But who’s keeping score?

The bottom line is that I’m still deciding on what to actually do to commemorate the actual rejections. But for now, Mama got herself a new pair of Pandora earrings for finishing the book. How’s that for a consolation prize?

Oh, and in case you’re wondering, The Husband already knows…so no need to pretend you have no idea what I am talking about.

And yet, my head is always in the clouds. Maybe that’s how I’m able to see the story in the reality in which I live.

Whatever the case may be, my horoscope got me thinking today.

Are you pessimistic, Capricorn?  (Ummm…not a fair question because the answer totally depends on the time of the month.) Or are you simply a cautious yet seriously misunderstood optimist? (That sounds a hell of a lot better, thank you.) The proof is in the pudding today and throughout the balance of the month. (I’m listening.) You may sometimes be perceived as someone who sees the glass half-empty. (Shocking!) This may rankle you, and you may find yourself defending your positive outlook. (I’m Miss Maria Fucking Sunshine, Dammit!) But in reality, you do occasionally utter words that are too pessimistic. (Too-shay.) Did you know, though, that you can create your own reality with your words? (Is this a trick question?) If your words are dark and angry, they bring you down. (I know…trust me.) If they are life-affirming, you get back wonderful rewards. (Note to self: focus on life-affirmations and double rainbows. Oh, and remember to look surprised when good things start to happen. As if fate had thrown me a surprise party.)