Bringing Home the Bacon

General Motors has abandoned me. Not only have they discontinued my beloved Pontiacs but now they refuse to manufacture any type of mini-van. And don't talk to me about seven passenger vehicles. I want SLIDING DOORS. So, seriously, I need somebody to sell me a van. I have only purchased three brand new vehicles in my adult life--all from the same rural GM dealer. Here's what my car-buying experience has been like to date: - We arrive at the dealership at speak directly to the guy whose last name is on the big sign out front. - He asks us what we want and shows us a car in the lot. Then he goes back inside to do paperwork, clearly not concerned about whether we buy anything this trip or not. - When we ask, he tells us truthfully about whether we need certain options. - He gives us a decent price on our trade-in. Starting over with a new car-selling place is not a fun proposition. Frankly, we don't trust car-selling guys to be honest with us and not rush us into a

Kindergarten registration is coming soon. And I'm dreading it. Not only because it means that my last baby will be a school kid, but because Husband must be getting pretty old to have three kids in school (I haven't aged at all, of course.). Actually, I'm dreading kindergarten registration because at our school it involves more paperwork to place a child in kindergarten than it did to birth them in the first place. I had an organ removed and there was less paperwork than signing my child up for public school. I had to write my phone number 10 times when I registered Justin for kindergarten (I counted). So with the last days of pre-school motherhood dwindling, I decided it was time to share my parting thoughts on babies, potty training and tantrum handling. Soon I'll be like those poor women who used to approach me in my younger days of motherhood with awww how old is your baby? Mine are 12 and 15 now, sniff. What I didn't realize until recently is that they wen

I'm not sure what confession I can make on this blog that's worse than not liking cats  but today I have to confess that this red-blooded rural American will NOT be watching Super Bowl XLV. I will be attending the theatre instead. I'm not joking. A few months ago my good friend and fellow blogger had a great idea to subscribe to the Broadway Series here in Dayton. How could I resist an opportunity to spend time with fun, smart women who wanted to eat at restaurants that don't serve chicken nuggets, followed by a  Sponge Bob-free evening of entertainment. We bought tickets at the bottom rung of the season ticket ladder--one row in front of the high school field trip seats. So far we've seen the Blue Man Group and a comedian who talks about the Wonder Bread Years . It didn't even dawn on me that tonight's performance of 9 to 5 would conflict with the year's best night of advertising. Like millions of other Americans, my interest in the Super Bowl is