People named Jody.

So, I went through the McDonalds drive-thru the other day (in hopes of getting a Yoda toy in my Happy Meal.) Normally, they are pretty quick, but when I got to the window to pick up my food (sadly, sans Yoda) they asked me to wait for a couple minutes. No biggie; I wasn't in a huge hurry. PLUS, it gave me time to read the various employee notices and, in particular, the sign posted on the side of the McCafe coffee-drink machine contraption thingie.

It went a little something like this:

ATTENTION EMPLOYEES!

We have received SEVERAL customer complaints about the quality of our McCafe Lattes.

PLEASE be sure to use the following measurements when making the lattes:

Medium Size

2 shots of caramel

1 whipped cream

Large Size

3 shots of caramel

2 whipped cream

By following these McDonalds recipes, we can ensure the satisfaction of our customers.

*Specifically a woman in a champagne colored Acura named Jody.

I have two questions to ask of all the Jodys out there. Just two.

Number One: Is it really not already sucky enough to be working at McDonalds without having to deal with managerial notes about latte recipes?

Number Two: Really?? You're going to complain about the quality of something you are ordering at McDonalds? You're a jerk. Go to Starbucks. They're used to people like you.

New Young Mom v. Old Mom

In Hollywood, everyone is having babies in their 30's and 40's. This is not usually the case in the rest of the world. It's ok. I accept and embrace my "Old Mom-dom." I have, however, noticed a few differences between myself and mothers who are younger and newer to momhood than me. Here are just a few:

New Mom: Purchases and totes with her everywhere a fashionable, new diaper bag with lots of pockets and a matching wipe case.
Old Mom: Shoves a diaper & wipes in her purse. Or, in a pinch, just sticks a diaper in her back pocket or hopes there is one in the car.

New Mom: Brings lots of snacks, fun toys & fancy-schmancy homemade quiet books with her to church or other outings.
Old Mom: "Ummmm. Here's a smashed Jr. Mint to eat and some some hand sanitizer to play with."

New Mom: Worries about every little thing her baby eats and is certain to only start foods when recommended by the pediatrician.
Old Mom: Starts her baby on milk around 11 months cuz it's close enough & formula is expensive. Feeds her baby whatever she can get her hands on when he's hungry. (see Jr. Mints above)

New Mom: Can't wait to go to every single school activity that her child is in. Muffins with Mom. Plays. Programs. Math Night.
Old Mom: Tries to bribe her daughters to please not make her go to Arts Night. Please.

New Mom: Makes sure to read with her children faithfully for 20 minutes every night after dutifully helping them with all of their homework.
Old Mom: Does reading the instructions off the box of a Mac & Cheese count? Here, quick read me the junk mail. It's time to go to bed. Crap! Homework. You can do it in the car on the way to school. Now hustle!!

New Mom: Finds time to blog about every cute little thing her child/children does/do. Including several pictures.
Old Mom: First blog in over a year. Do I really have to say it?

A Child's Perspective on Her Mother's Condition.

I won't bore you with details of how burdensome, exhausting, and unwieldy it is to be 10 days away from delivering a baby. I will, however, let you know what Audrina unwittingly acknowledged last night at bed time.

I had gotten all the kids in pajamas, said prayers (one together, and one for each of them so as to keep nightmares at bay and keep them in their own beds for the night), and tucked in each precious one. Plenty of effort in and of itself.

I went and got a drink of water, took my nightly Zantac, and went to the bathroom ... again. I was just climbing into bed not really thinking about the effort that it takes, hoisting myself up there, rearranging pillows, etc. when from across the hall comes a little voice,

"Mommy? Are you extercising?"

Enough said. Anytime now Lincoln. Any. Time.

Pregnancy Top 5

Let's be honest. There is really not much that is fun or desirable about being pregnant. Looking and feeling like a bloated, deformed, grouchy(er) version of yourself is not always the greatest. Acid reflux, aching muscles, sleeplessness ... not a few of my favorite things. (Quite frankly, I'm not overly fond of whiskers on kittens or girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes, but that is a post for another day.) However, there are some distinct advantages to packing around a freakishly active tiny being 24 hours a day.

1. Stretchy Pants. Let me just begin by saying that the older I get, the lazier I get. The fact that I haven't had to undo a single pair of pants in like 6 months ... pretty cool. It makes the 47 trips to the bathroom per day just a little bit less awful. No snaps, no zippers, no buttons. It's all about the fabulous strechy panel.

2. All You Care to Eat ... And Then Some. Yes, I know that it is highly irresponsible to gorge yourself while you are pregnant. Gone are the days when doctors and well meaning friends and loved ones encouraged the expecting mother to eat her weight in food. However, I say that if I am going to be a cow anyway, I am going to enjoy it by eating pretty much whatever I want. Halloween candy, pie, fudge, eclairs ... YUM. Between Thanksgiving and Christmas feasts, the turkey has learned to shudder at my very presence. Dead and roasted or not. Sure, sure, some will say that it is going to make it that much harder to lose the weight. Whatever. I'm old, it's going to be hard to lose the weight anyway. Bring it on, Turkey. Yeah, and invite your friend Mashed Potatoes to the party, too. Bring it.

3. Time to Stop and Smell the Roses. I am absolutely loving the extra moment I have at least twice a day to just take a breath and think about that things that matter most to me. Sure, that time is when I have to stop and catch my breath between putting each shoe on. Doesn't mean I can't enjoy it.

4. Handicapped Parking. Can I say that I just LOVE that when you are pregnant you are able to use hadicapped parking spaces? The convenience of being able to park close to the entrance to any giving building is immeasurable. Not to mention how nice it is in inclement weather. I have a hard enough time walking anywhere as it is. I don't know what I would do without the use of handicapped parking. What a blessing!
Wait. What's that you say? Pregnant women AREN'T supposed to use the handicapped parking spaces?? What?!? How rude. OK, scratch that. Just forget I said anything.

5. Baby on Board ... And Totally in the Way. I apologize, honey, I simply can't do the dishes. Can't quite reach the sink. So sorry. Guess you'll have to wash them again. I feel really bad about it, though. REALLY bad.

There it is folks. The pregnancy Top 5. I'm sure a ton of other wonderful perks of being pregnant will come to me later ... just don't have time right now. Have to go so I can find some Tums and crawl around to relieve pressure from my hips or I'm sure I could think of a million more.

The Twisted Turnip

Did I say I was going to start posting weekly? Well, what I actually meant was monthly. Yeah, that's it, MONTHLY. I can't believe it's really been a month since I posted last. And if you count it in pregnancy years, it's been like 6 months and 50 pounds. Ridunkulous.

Well, the baby has been progressing through various stages of fruit and vegetable. I can't remember what the latest one was, but I know that within the last week or two, it was the size of a turnip. That's right folks, I said a turnip. Now if you are like me and are not Peter Rabbit or one of his perfect little, no-trouble causing siblings with a name that rhymes with -opsy, you really have no idea what a turnip is. All I know is that this one has a seriously twisted sense of humor. Supposedly, the fetal development has not yet extended to the practical joke playing portion of the brain, and many would argue that babies cannot yet be intentionally mean, but I beg to differ. In fact, if memory serves me right, I'm pretty sure that all of my children had the same sick sense of in-utero humor. And if you know them now, you'll agree that it's not that hard to believe that they were causing me trouble in even the earliest stages of development.

Let me back up a little by saying that I have insanely, intensely miserable heartburn throughout all of my pregnancies. From beginning to end. It gets to the point where I am receiving most, if not all, of my nutritional value from various flavors of Tums. Not the baby's fault, though, right? I mean, kind of, but not any more than the stretch marks and weight gain and overwhelming exhaustion are. No, how I know that my baby has a particularly mean and twisted sense of humor is because of the cravings. Those I totally blame on the baby. Baby decides it wants a Hostess chocolate pudding pie, and what are you gonna do? You've gotta eat it regardless of the fact that there are a whopping 520 calories in each one. (But that's a story for a different day.) The point is that cravings are totally the baby's fault. And my babies think it would be hilariously funny to make me crave foods that they know cause me the worst acid reflux ever. Spicy chicken sandwiches, carne asada burritos, deep fried zucchini, deep fried corn dogs, deep fried just about anything, you get the picture. If it causes me misery, the baby has to have it.

Mean, mean baby. And if that weren't bad enough, when I am in the throes of the most acid caused anguish ever, I swear I can hear it just chortling away down there. Very funny. This baby had better just watch its back. I've got half a mind to take it right back to Mr. McGregor's garden where it came from.