A Private Room...

in which I can scream at the top of my lungs and no one can hear.

That's what I want.

I love my child more every day. I still don't understand how I am capable of such love, and how I will be able to love baby boy as much as I do Ansley.

But that doesn't change the fact that on nights like tonight, I sometimes wish I didn't have kids. She.was.awful.

I know it was primarily because she was so tired, and she doesn't understand that certain things have to happen so she can go to sleep. But, seriously.

How in the world am I going to handle 2?

World's Worst Sister

This is a shout out to my dear sis that calls New Mexico home:

Though Wednesday nights have become a time for me and our shared sister to get together and watch American Idol, it in no way means that we don't miss-or think- about you while we do it.

You are very special to us, and if we could make a weekly trip to New Mexico for dinner and Idol, we totally would, however neither of us get off in time to make it there to watch it.

I'm sorry for slipping it in to a blog post, and even more sorry if you felt we didn't include you.

I hope this special note makes up for it, if even just a little. Besides, we both like Scotty, and he's the country guy. You probably wouldn't agree, and we'd end up having a throw-down every week. So, really, it is better for the health of all involved.

We do love you, and are beyond excited about spending vacation with you in 2.5 months. If you would like, we can watch the whole season again while we are all together. We promise not to tell you who wins (but I will tell you who doesn't win: Jacob!).

Love and miss you dearly,
Tiffany

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

Last week? So good.

Except for the record number of tornadoes that happened to ravage the south. And the fact that I wore two unmatching flip flops on Monday. And the fact that I've singlehandedly managed to eat all the peanut butter filled chocolate Easter candies. Ok, so that still counts as being so good.

But, today? I'm hoping it isn't a preview of what is to come this week.  Some small demon possessed my child. She was MEAN today. I'm pretty sure it is because 1.) She flipped between sitters last week, 2.) She is cutting yet another tooth, and 3.) She didn't nap. AT.ALL.

I've struggled with picking her up from the sitter's before. She isn't always the most excited about going home. I get a hug, but then she's back to playing with the two other kiddos. She normally will cry, saying "Pay, Pay!" Not because I haven't paid the sitter, but because she has a had time with the letter L. And, probably because I did forget to pay the sitter and she's teaching Ansley some not-so-subliminal messages.

But, today, it was the UGLY. Not only did she not want to come to me from the sitter, but, when I actually took her, she slapped my face and pulled my hair. And it hurt. Not physically. But emotionally, and it hurt my pride.

I'm quick to say, "Oh, my kid is so much better better than that one pitching a fit over a barbie doll at Walmart." But it's when it goes the other direction that I think I'm just as hard. On myself.

I know we've hit a stubborn streak. And I know she'll come back around to be that sweet little girlie. But right now, I feel like a failure. Because I frequently have the kid that is crying in the grocery store. Or refusing to eat at the restaurant.

Or I have the kid that isn't even excited about seeing Momma when she gets home from work.

Yeah, sometimes it sucks.

Just sayin'.

It's a Monday

Today, I sported my flip flops. ALL DAY. It was only after I got off, and finished my dentist appointment, and was headed to my sister's to pick up a weed eater with the hubs that I realized... They didn't match.

FAIL.

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Um, hello?

Dear maker of Moose Tracks ice cream,

You are a current favorite. That is a very coveted position, you should know. However, I feel I must inform you that you may soon no longer be invited to the party in my freezer.

It is not acceptable to have only 2 peanut butter cups in one night's serving, and 6 in the next night's. Same number of scoops. Should mean the same number of yummy peanut butter filled bits of chocolate goodness.

I'm nearing the end of this carton, and if your performance does not impress me, it's back to my good friends B&J.

Consider yourself warned.
Smooches!
Tiffany

It's time

I've made a little bit of a mention of some of our recent events.

From my upswing from my last anxiety attack, to a seizure Ansley had just a few weeks ago. Things are starting to fall back into place. I think.

I can't fully explain what I experienced with that text message from Paul. Before you get all "He told you over a text message that your daughter was in the ER" hate on, that's not what happened.

I was teaching. About 45 minutes from home. Paul had a meeting for work, and was unable to find a baby sitter, so he took Ansley in for the meeting with him.

While teaching, I got a message from Paul. It said "Call me when you can." Doesn't seem like much of a big deal. But, in fact, it was. Because that is unlike any message he has ever sent. Normally, the messages say "Call when you get a chance." Seems like the same thing, but I knew there was something different about this message.

When we decided  Paul got rid of his blackberry, he went back to a super old phone. I'm talking, the first one he got after we got married- 5 years ago. No camera, no color screen, and really, REALLY bad reception. So bad that when we are talking, I kinda just make up his end of the conversation because I have no idea what he is saying.

So, picture me as I walk down the hall of the middle school with kids saying "Bye sex lady!" (my students love me, what can I say) It is probably important to note here to the new readers that I'm actually a risk avoidance educator, and we do talk about avoiding risks- alcohol, drugs, and sex before marriage. My students lovingly refer to me as "sex lady."

Tangent.

Anywho, I'm walking down the hall trying to get all the information together that Paul is giving me. I manage to  understand that he is telling me that he is at the ER with Ansley because she had a seizure during his meeting. And, I freeze. I literally felt like my brain stopped communicating with my body. My legs wouldn't move even though I knew that's what had to happen if I was going to even get more information.

I stood there, at the middle school bathroom, while the world continued to blaze around me. Stoic. Unmoving. And I didn't know what to do.

A parent never feels as worthless as when their child needs them, and there isn't a thing they can do to get there in time.  My parents have never let me down. When I nearly lost a finger, they drove over an hour to get to the hospital, just to arrive as I was being discharged. When I was in labor, and they were half a country away, they skipped had someone pick them up at another airport 2 hours outside of where they were to fly in because their flight was canceled. And they came straight to the hospital. Even though they couldn't get in to see Ansley.

And several times, just in Ansley's short life, I haven't been there with her when I felt like she needed me the most.

Even if I had left straight away from where I was and headed to the hospital, they would have already been on their way home.

I got home to a confused little girl, in socked feet, a ponytail, and just about the cutest hospital gown I have ever seen. But, it was obvious that something was off.

She stumbled. Words that she used on a regular basis she couldn't come up with. When Nana and Poppa came over, that usual toothy grin didn't spread across her face. My little piggy didn't want to eat.

As happy as I was to see her and have her home, the mommy cat kicked in, and I was sure that the doctors had not checked her well enough. In my mind, all those scans should have been in order. Check her brain, her blood, her heart, anything. Just make sure she's ok.

The hubs informed me that the docs were not concerned about the event. They figured she just spiked a fever quickly and it caused the seizure.  But that wasn't good enough for me. Before I even saw her, I had made an appointment with her doctor for the next day. I wanted answers.

Turns out, those were the answers. Her lungs sounded good. Her heart sounded fine. Her ears looked good. Her temperature was normal. And she was back to herself. And I still don't know why.

Apparently, this happens more commonly than people think. But I can assure you, it didn't say that in any of the books I read. It said what to do in the event that a child have a seizure, but it didn't say anything about them being "common." Ultimately, it was determined that she had a cold that turned into an upper respiratory infection that cause the fever to spike quickly.

And, that's that. But, here we are, several weeks out, and I'm still checking her temperature. Regularly. Not with the thermometer. At least, not every time.

The hubs has admitted that he debated not telling me at all, because he knew how I would respond. I tell him that it is much better for him to have told me than for me to have found the bill from the ER in the mailbox.

Every day is a new day. One thing about being the first of your friends to have kids means that you get to experience everything first. The first NICU stay. The first bloody nose. The first serious boo-boo. The first ER trip. Maybe one day, I'll be able to comfort one of my friends if they experience this. But I just hate that I had to be the first to feel like a total failure as a parent.

Working on our logic.

Mommy, while Ansley is playing outside: "Ansley, let's go in to take a bath."

Ansley, very convinced: "NO!"

Mommy, trying to seize this opportunity for a learning point: "Ansley, are you supposed to tell Mommy 'no?'"

Ansley, obviously understanding the question, and subsequently confused: "No?"

Eating Words

Before I became a mother, there were certain things I said I would never do:

Go to the bathroom with a random nurse in the room.
Let my kiddo nap on her tummy.
Consider mac and cheese a meal for my child.
Keep a binkie after a year old.
Catch puke with my hands.
Catch poop with my hands.
Send the kiddo to bed with a cup.
Consider pink and purple as acceptable clothing and paint options.
Let my child go barefoot in public.
Take my child out in pajamas.
Let my child out of the house with messy hair.
Enjoy open mouth, slobbery baby kisses.
Enjoy shopping for her more than shopping for me.
Wear a shirt that has some baby pee on it because I was running too late to change.
Look forward to going to bed at 9 (myself)
Consider cereal or pop tarts an acceptable dinner for me.
Cry when I left the baby with a sitter for the first time.
Leave without make-up on and my hair fixed.
Wear jeans twice without washing in between.
Cosleep.
Be too tired for ice cream.
Give my child medicine if she doesn't meet the age requirement.
Consider being a stay at home Mom.




Does this make me feel like a failure? Nope. It makes me feel like "Mommy."

Am I really that insensitive?

It's beautiful out today. GORGEOUS, really.

So I opted to take the kiddo on a walk in the sunshine. We're walking along, with Ansley wearing her hot pink sunglasses which are too big for her head but apparently the sun was just too much for her today.

Anywho, she's still in her clothes from church.

So, we pass this couple with a little boy, prolly about 3 years old. I'm pretty sure he had just been to the park playing and that's why his face and clothes were dirty.

I'm not talking "Oh, that kid really enjoyed his lunch" kinda dirty. I mean dirt-dirty.


As we pass, the young mother looks at my kiddo, saying "She's really pretty."  To which I respond "Oh thanks. See ya later!"

::gulp::

Seconds later I realized I should have said something about her kid. "Man, he sure is healthy," or "He looks like he's a keeper," or "Bet he keeps you busy." But, no. Instead? I thank her for her comment about my child, and say "See ya later."

Total.utter.complete.loser.of.a.person.fail.

Did we Step Out?

Oh yes we did. And we sure had a wonderful time.

On Saturday, the kiddo and I hit up a fabulous Christmas party. A volunteer worker at our office treated us to a homemade Italian dinner. When I say "homemade," I don't mean my type of "homemade."

You know, Ragu Spaghetti Sauce with mushrooms ::check::
Angel hair pasta ::check::
Loaf of Italian bread ::check::


However, I do add an extra can of Italian diced tomatoes, because we like our sauce chunky (that sounds so weird in every possible way). Does that count for anything?

Nope. I mean, homemade to the bare basics!  They made the noodles themselves! And, homemade bread! To.Die.For. (Ok, so I understand. Technically, for it to be entirely homemade, they would probably need to have grown the wheat, milked the cow for the cheese, mashed the tomatoes, and all that other jazz. But, seriously, making the noodles is more than I can even think about doing.)

Anywho, no pic, because the only pics I can take of me with the kiddo are those middle-school-hold-out-your-cell-phone-style. And that just isn't cutting it anymore.  I have a super nice camera, and it is only fair that I use it.

Besides, Ansley wore the same dress she wore to last week's party. Different party + different people = same dress. When you paid as much as I did for a dress, you got to squeeze it for all it is worth.  In fact, I normally don't let the kid feed herself if she is wearing it.  I'm a little OCD.

The hubs laughs at me because Ansley has SO many clothes, yet I seem to dress her in the same stuff.  I wore my knee-high boots, which I ADORE, but are a few years old and may be on their last leg, er... heel. I toped it off with a dark wash demin skirt that I scored at Goody's before they busted, a red simple t-shirt from American Eagle and a white pull-over sweater. Festive, no?

So, here's the thing. We're going out of town in a few days, and I'll be sure to get some pics. At least of the kiddo. And, maybe I'll store up for my SOS posts.

Is that even fair?

The good, the bad, and the flippin' awesome!

Yesterday, I went to the grocery store to gather up the fixins for a spectacular Thanksgiving feast.

I opted to go to the store while on my lunch break, because that would save me the trouble of shopping with Ansley, which isn't as easy as it used to be (you know, back when you could put the carrier in the seat part of the buggy and they slept the whole time? Except, that was never really easy for me because I'm so short I couldn't see to push the thing).

Anywho, I ventured to the store, traversing through the wilderness that is our newly remodeled Walmart.  Sweet potatoes, check. Ham, check (yes, my family eats both turkey and ham on Thanksgiving. We like our food, yo). Brown sugar, egg nog, new cups, and rolls. Check, check check and check.

I made it to the checkout, and as the cashier started doing her thing, I realized I had two things of egg nog. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I just realized I got two of these, and only needed one. Would you like me to take it back?" She said not to worry, that's what the strong young men were for.  Then, it happened.

I started to get out my debit card. Hmm. Not in my wallet.  I stopped to get gas this morning, so I probably just shoved it in my pocket. ::checks pockets, with increasing anxiety:: Hmm. Must be in the car.

"I'm sorry. You are totally going to hate me. But I think my debit card is in my car and I need to run out there super fast. I'll be right back."

By this time, people were starting to line up behind me.  Luckily, having been a track star  team member in high school, I got out to my car in a quick fashion. Only to realize that my debit card was not there.

No worries. That's why there's a checkbook.

Yep. It was out of checks. Isn't that spectacular? So, I had to go back into the store, and tell the cashier that I did not have the money to pay. There were people lined up behind me, I was turning every shade of red possible, and it was awful.

That meant my debit card had to be in one of two places: a local middle school gym, or the gas station.

After a quick call to both locations, which proved fruitless, I was left with one option: call the bank and cancel the card. And, you know what thought went through my head? This means that I'll have to have the hubs with me when I go shopping on Friday so he can pay... Needless to say I grabbed a checkbook as soon as I got home.

When I called the bank, I didn't know my account number. And when the teller asked me my address, I fumbled!  I couldn't even remember my own address because I was still so flustered from the Walmart fiasco. After checking my drivers license and enjoying a few chuckles with the teller, we canceled my card and ordered another one.

I ventured back to Walmart last night, and despite removing the ingredients for a mocha cheesecake from my shopping list, I managed to spend about $2 more than I would have if my earlier trip had been successful.  Hmm.

So, the flippin' awesome?  Remember this?



Guess what??? I won the Modern Bird Studios giveaway from Harper's Happenings!  I found out as I was rummaging through my car for a debit card.  And, seriously, I almost peed my pants.  I am so EXCITED to get an original piece from them.

Time to make a decision.  Which picture???  Good thing the certificate doesn't expire for a year. Cause it may just take that long to make up my mind.

Unless...

Creating a monster

So, my child is sick. I know I have complained plenty about that, and my facebook friends and twitter peeps have heard enough. So, if you're one of those, you may want to stop reading now.

Anywho, the kiddo has had a runny nose for days now, and the only time it isn't running is when she's sleeping, and then it's more clogged than a shower drain in a girl's dorm. And, on top of it all, the little person decided that after 13 months sans teeth, she may as well just get 5 at a time. Lovely.

What exactly does this mean? It means that my dear, sweet, precious cutie pie has a red, sore nose, with snot seemingly cascading out, a chin covered in drool matched only in amount by what has managed to make it to the front of her shirt. My little girl that was so easily put down for naps and bed doesn't do that anymore. So, the result? She's been napping with me. In my bed. And I'm worried she may like it too much.

But, if we nap at the same time, she sleeps SO much better. We're talking, 2.5 hours as opposed to 20 minutes. And, in the mornings (thank you daylight savings time), she's been waking up at 6:45. And, seeing as how I believe life does not begin before 8 a.m. and a glass of milk, I put her back in bed with us. Where she uses us as a jungle gym (and I really don't get any extra sleep).

I know we'll break the habit. And, it probably won't be very difficult. The greatest thing? Ansley is staying the weekend with the grandparents while we enrich our marriage. So maybe that's when the habit will be broken.

I'm sorry, in-laws. I'm sorry.

Just another Manic Monday

That's today.  Not McFatty. Because, honestly, it wasn't a week for working out, or eating good.  Because a dear little friend came for her monthly visit, and I decided I didn't care two hoots about working out last week. So, I didn't. And I'm totally ok with that. Because, sometimes, it just isn't a hill worth dying on.

We do have a competition going on here in our office though. We're walking. Across the state. Well, not literally across the state, but counting our steps. I'm no where close to finishing, but I'm in third, so I can live with that.

But, it's a new week, and, it's time to get back to the grind stone, which, I plan to do.

Tiffany and the Horrible, Terrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Yup. That was yesterday.

And what made it so bad, and worthy of such a title? Well, it really wasn't that much.

We were filming a webisode for work. A series of "Good Idea, Bad Idea" snipits.

Good idea: petting a cat. Bad idea: punting a cat.

I must first throw out the disclaimer that no animals were harmed during the filming. However, one educator was, and one pretty little girl is anxiously awaiting the return of her cat.

We were using my cat, er, Ansley's cat, as a prop. Very friendly. Totally on board with the good idea. However, when it came time for the "bad idea" portion and we decided to kick a stuffed cat through the uprights at a local football field, Cat was not on board.

We simply wanted to show him being dropped while being held. Kinda like he was about to be drop kicked. And since we don't have a football field in our back yard (much to the hub's dismay), my coworkers wanted to take Cat just down the street. Not very far.

His freaking out in the car should have been my first clue. He made noises that I've never heard him make. Once the car stopped just down the street from the house, Cat jumped out and took off.

I was able to round him up, and decided to walk him just up the street to the house. However, he was not too excited about that. At.All.

He clawed. He moaned.

Once we got to the main intersection, that was it. He tore me to shreds and jumped out of my arms.

And he still isn't home. I have puncture wounds on my shoulders, and scratches all over my arms and neck. I have the most painful cut in between my fingers, and even one in my ear. Yes, inside my ear.

I know I've had even worse days. But, not only am I covered in battle wounds, and not only is my daughter's favorite ball o'fluff not home, but there was another casualty. My shirt. A favorite Old Navy shirt. Shredded.

And, if that can't qualify as a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad day, then I don't know what can.

Rough day.

I hate crying.

More than that, I hate crying in front of people.

Even more than that, I hate crying in front of boys.

And I just did all three. During a staff meeting.

And what brought it on?

High school cafeteria lunches.

True story.

I promise. My hair is naturally brown.

I recently hosted a baby shower for my bestie. It was the first time I had ever hosted a party, and I didn't think it would be too difficult. Plus, I had a seasoned shower hoster helping me out.

Food. Check.
Decorations. Check.
Invitations. Check.
Contacting all the invites to tell them the right date since the wrong date was put on the cards. Check.
Games. Check.
Prizes for the winners of the games. Check.

We had such a fun time. The friend seemed to have fun, and the gifts were presh. Win. Or, so I thought.

So, last night, I was at a lingerie shower for a former coworker. We played a super fun game, with clever little candy prizes. The bestie leans over and asks, "So, is this the type of shower where you have to give the prizes to the person of honor?" WHAT? Give the gift to the person of honor??

Suddenly I traced back through the previous showers I had attended.

Why did everyone give the pregnant lady their prizes for winning that game?
That's funny. Why did I get this cute little blanket that a friend won at my baby shower?
Why in the world are these prizes all baby related? The only one here that's pregnant is the person the shower is for, and, well, me, but it's still a secret.
Why, why, why??

Suddenly, it all began to fall into place.

I didn't know that's what was supposed to happen at a shower. I've always kept the prizes I won. Man, I must have looked like a jerk. But that's not the best part.

Last night, I suddenly understood what was so funny during the shower I hosted. Three games. Three prizes.

First prize: lime green beach bag with matching water bottle.
Second prize: pink beach bag, with matching water bottle.
Third prize: blue beach bag, WITH A MATCHING WATER BOTTLE!

Absolute, complete, utter failure.

Not the brightest crayon...

This weekend, we decided we wanted to get Ansley a little pool.

Since our dogs LOVE the water, we knew we didn't want to get one of the blow-up pools in fear that the pups would pop it or snag the soft plastic bottom. Like every other child in middle-class America, we decided we would get her one of the classic hard plastic pools.

We ventured to Wal-Mart and wondered around for a little while, finally deciding that we wanted to get her one of the bigger ones with the slide.

We make our way outside, where the plastic pools are kept, and stand there looking at the two available with the slides.

Finally, a guy comes over to help us.

Guy: "Can I help you with something?"

Paul: "Yes. We were wondering if you had any more of these plastic pools with the slides."

Guy: "Nope, those are our last two."

Me: "But they both have holes in the bottoms, and the support for the slide is gone."

Guy: "I'll sell it to you for half price. $15."

Me: "You want me to pay $15 for a pool with a hole in the bottom?"

Well, at least he was offering us a discount.

Yesterday I peed on myself.

Literally. Ok, well, maybe not literally, but not all of it made it in the toilet, that's for sure.



So, I was picking the kiddo up from the grandparents (hers), and I decided to stop by the grandparents (mine). I left the little bucket of slobber outside in the beautiful weather, while I ventured my way to the bathroom.


Now, you have to realize, my grandparents are in their mid-80s. And I love them. To death. But, you know how when you're a kid and everything at grandma's house is covered in plastic and smells funny, and you find things in the bathroom that you're pretty sure belong in a museum (or, at least the trash)? I can remember the time I realized the horror that is dentures. My grandmother hadn't put them in their clever little case, and I walked in and their were teeth on the counter. Yeah, it was pretty freaky.


Actually, I'm always reminded of the movie "Dennis the Menance" when I think about my grandparent's bathroom. If you haven't seen it, check it out. There is a super funny scene which involves mouth wash for nose spray and cleaner for mouth wash. Hysterical.

Anyways, back to the peeing on myself. So, since spring has sprung, I opted for a skirt that morning. And, in the rush to get the business taken care of and out of the museum of things found in the bathroom's of senior citizens, I just pulled the skirt up rather than down. Or, so I thought.

Luckily, I noticed what was happening before anything too awful happened, and what did happen only happened to the hem of my skirt. So, I dried it off, and coyly found my way past the plastic covered sofa and china cabitnet full of every tiny beeny baby McDonald's has ever released, back outside.

And I left my little secret to myself. And maybe those people that kept looking at me funny in Walmart.

This hole I'm in just keeps getting deeper

Ok. So. I can't seem to get myself out of this whole. Every day I take a picture. But I couldn't seem to get them posted on the blog. And, then I came up with this brilliant idea to make a photo collage for each week.



And, then I realized that some of my photos were on my computer at home, while others were still on their SD cards.



So, I decided I didn't care. If I leave a day out, so what?



I did manage to get 5 days of pics together though, and I'm working on the next batch.



So enjoy. I know I have.

3-10

A walk in the park. We ran into some friends who offered to take a family photo.

3-11

We are really working with Ansley on tummy time. She isn't much of a fan, and, inevitably, she ends up puking.

3-12

We got to go to the circus, and Ansley LOVED it. She actually watched what was going on. At least, during the first part. She slept during the second part and missed the elephants and lions.

3-13

After the circus, Ans and I went to spend the weekend with Paul's parents. My kid is a total TV junkie. But, more than just TV, she loves watching sports. Here, she enjoys some March Madness with Pap-Pap.

3-14

Some family friends were staying with the in-laws, so Ansley spent some time with the girls!

OK. There's five days. Only about two week's worth left to upload.

I seem to be missing a few hours in my days. Can someone let me know if they have some extra they would like to loan? I could really use them...

Epic day of Failure

It finally happened. All of my education could not prevent it. I've fought it and said "Oh, that'll never happen to me." And, it did. And it won't let go.

I am talking about "Mommy-brain." Walk with me through a day, just a week and a half ago, almost 6 months out from D-Day (that's Delivery Day, not the day the Allied troops landed in Normandy, just FYI).

The day started out wonderfully. Ansley and I were at the in-laws, since Paul was working all weekend. Ansley's clothes were ironed, my clothes were clean, and we were both fed and ready to go to church ON TIME (pretty sure it's only happened about 3 times total since she's been born. Yeah, it's that bad). What ensued was a day full of failure. An Epic Day of Fail, if you will.

So, I strap a bib on the kid since she is notorious for puking on herself in the car as we drive or as we are walking into church. I get to church and start to get her out.

Fail #1: She had on a bib that said "Handsome like Daddy" Luckily, I caught it before we left the parking lot.

Fail #2: AFTER church was over, my MIL looks at me kinda funny, and says, "I think your cardigan is on inside out." After quick inspection, I humbly agreed, and quickly switched it around.

Fail #3: Playing with Ansley. Apparently, since she didn't puke that morning, she had been saving it for the afternoon. And, she shared it with me. And the inside of my shirt. Which, led to...

Fail #4: While cleaning up the puke off my chest, I noticed that my camisole was on backwards.

And, you know what? It hasn't let up since then.

Two days ago, I was sure I knew a back road to get to Walmart from my parents house. Yeah, I ended up in the next county over.

And, before that, I was filling out a mileage sheet for work. "Hmm, that trip was 33.5 miles one way, so it was 67 miles total, times .5 per mile..." AND I USED A CALCULATOR, which gave me the answer of 33.5!

And, I couldn't figure out why my hair straightener wasn't working. It wasn't on.

But, the biggest fail of all? When I got excited because A rolled from belly to back, and the hubs said, "Oh, I haven't seen her do that one yet..." You mean you've seen her do another one? "Yeah, she rolls from back to belly all the time. For about 2 months now."

Which, just to point out, I have yet to see. But, letting that slip, that was his fail. And it's so much worse than mine, right?