Sticking with the random

I am a creature of habit. Have I mentioned that? Less than ten times? Sometimes I consider taking a break from posting random thoughts on Tuesdays, but then assume that my days would immediately start to run together and complete anarchy would break out in my brain. 

Let's start out with a wrong that was righted. Someone had two tins of special popcorn that were received as a gift. She shared the first one on the grounds that the second was not to be touched. In perusing the snack shack one afternoon, it was noted that the second tin felt rather light. Not only had it been opened, but 15/16 (give or take a kernel) of it had been eaten. Suspect was questioned, and within twenty-four hours, this peace offering was made...

...only a very quiet mention was made of the missing mini chocolate morsels, as some regular chocolate chips were jammed into the cannoli. All was is trying to be forgiven.

Still working on clearing out some things from my grandparents' basement...

...since apparently nothing has left that house since before the seventies. I will not rest until I find Carole King's Tapestry!

Do you have folks in your house who are unable, or at least unwilling, to replace the empty toilet paper rolls? Apparently my family is taking that one step further...

I am not sure how I missed this stack when it was two boxes high. Someone did have a cold over the weekend and was going through tissues at an alarming rate.

Now, I have to tell you a little story from my trip to the grocery store yesterday. Sadly, I do not have any pictures from the exchange I witnessed. Let me just say that me conducting a photo shoot would not have been the weirdest part of the scene. So this little boy of about four years old was talking to an elderly woman near the salad bar, as he was standing in front of his mother's shopping cart. I was not sure if they all knew each other, and have decided it doesn't matter. I see the boy reaching up for the woman's neck line and figure he has some questions about her necklace. How sweet. Her stoop made her an easy height for the little boy to reach. I was momentarily distracted by blueberries, but then heard the boy's mother saying "That is her skin, Buddy." Sure enough, the kid is trying to clutch the woman's neck wrinkles. Oh my gosh! The mother just keeps repeating that it is the woman's skin, as if this is some sort of science exhibit. Of course the elderly woman cannot quite hear, nor understand I would guess, what is being said and done. The mother did get to the part where she suggested the boy let go, but really? Where could that situation have been headed that was going to be a good idea? Time to do some neck toning exercises so I don't have to worry about a preschooler fondling my waddle some day when I am trying to buy bananas.

I am all for winter and its lack of sweatiness and humidity, but I am cold, really cold...that is all.

Superhero Sunday: Logo

I decided that the walking symbol scotch taped to an Under Armour shirt lacked the kind of majesty in a logo I wanted to be identified with. I took some relief in the fact that I was no longer being referred to as Pedometer Girl, but was anxious to move to the next level. I might have been a little vague on having any actual ideas of my own, and since neither of us really knew how to draw, we sought outside help. 

The husband and his contacts were our first choice. I thought I was being articulate when I asked for a caped walking woman. I said I did not necessarily want her to be in my likeness because I wanted her to be more “every woman.” I realize now that I am nothing if not every woman, and am uncertain as to who I thought I was when I gave those specifications. I might have been thinking of hair color, and thought a blonde woman might not want to wear a tshirt with a brunette on the front. Sometimes when I type things out loud I realize how ridiculous they are, but unfortunately not any sooner. 

Let us review: We wanted a graphic to represent an alter ego who is a pedometer wearing mom who sometimes wears a cape while hoofing through the neighborhood. It all made perfect sense…to the female mind.

I neglected to account for the fact that I was speaking to a man, not known for his stellar listening skills, who was then going to talk to another man. It never occurred to me that we were about to embark on something similar to a childhood game of Operator. 

The husband called to alert me that the email containing the new graphic logo was in transit. Here is what arrived...

She was an amazing vision in black and pink silhouette with my block letter name “Pedomemom” bursting off the scene. I was stunned. After blinking a few times I realized that the name wasn’t the only thing popping off the screen. This woman was built, like crazy. I told the husband she seemed a little sexy for me. Her hair was a hot mess, much more so than what I see in my shadow on a windy day. Then I noticed her heels, and realized they were attached to thigh-high boots. How impractical. Yes, that was my primary concern, that she was impractical. The boots ended where the next region of discomfort started. Now I had posted a picture of myself wearing my actual get up on the internet both on Facebook and on my blog. I took great care to select a picture that had no issues, camel-related or otherwise, below the belt. This woman, on the other hand, seemingly had no concerns. With the husband waiting on the other end of the phone, I tried to come up with more feedback than her sexiness and inappropriate footwear. He mentioned that her pedometer was missing…yes, THAT would fix it. We ended the call agreed that she should also wear sneakers.

I started to realize that as taken in as I was with the creation, she absolutely did not jive with the intended purpose. I could not have people thinking this was how we saw ourselves, nor did I want them to think I was a tramp of an alter ego. I really was envious of her hair, but did not think she got it that way from walking in the wind. I suppose I was also envious, as even though this was only a silhouette, I was pretty sure that bitch even knew how to put makeup on. I called the husband back.

“Um, I wear a jacket when I walk sometimes. Or, you know, a shirt that isn’t so fitted all the way to the bottom. Maybe a little flare out at the bottom of her shirt, like have her looking like she is wearing a shirt, and less chesty.”

“Yeah, the funny thing is he asked me if he had given her enough cleavage.”

Oh dear.

“Why don’t you email him back yourself with your specifics?”

Why don’t I crawl under a rock until the notion of this whole thing being a terrible idea goes away?

“Um, I’d really feel more comfortable if you did it, since I feel awkward discussing payment and such.”

Yeah. That was why I felt awkward. It had nothing to do with the heaving bosoms I wanted deflated a bit and the f-me boots I wanted turned into sneakers. It had absolutely nothing to do with telling him to take this hot sexy vision of a super hero and turn her into Frumptastic Gal!

Stay tuned for the new version...

Chillin' with the random

I just had one of those tough parenting moments, the kind where you have to call in for back up help from the other parental unit. As a united front, we demanded that our daughter wear her actual winter coat out on this -15 windchill evening, despite her efforts to show us that the sweatshirt she had on would not only suffice, but that her coat would not fit over it. Denied! Score one for the elders.

Fozzie immediately demanded to know what steps we were planning to take to make his bathroom initiatives less frostbitey...

Remember when we were in school and got that assignment to turn some wondrous topic into a fabulous stage...that would fit inside a shoebox? Paper, glue and maybe some clay or fake greenery if you were feeling extra clever. What the heck is this book? Does my friend Marianne know about it?

I can almost feel the creativity being sucked out of the universe! They even had plastic display corners to set your child's scene on. What is to become of old shoeboxes now? I still have the pieces of my fifth grade diorama on the Boston Tea Party. My great-grandfather was in his late eighties and made me some tiny wooden tea crates and a wooden boat for my construction paper harbor. We nailed that one!

Also at the craft store, and equally disturbing...

Somebody help them! A "Toob" of babies is no cuter than a "Tube" of them would be.

It is time for me to take a lesson from the six-year-old who was visiting us this weekend...

... and get my eye mask and crash on the couch! This place is a party for all ages. I don't even have the heart to put away the Littlest Pet Shop display she set up in the basement. Look at the effort it took, leaving her exhausted!

Bundle up, and don't forget the marshmallows! 

Superhero Sunday: Shout Out

There are other superheroes walking around among us who cannot be identified by capes alone, and may actually have powers beyond the cape itself. Many of them are called teachers, striving to make positive differences in the lives of children and young adults.

This is my cousin Jen and me earlier today.

After a 50 minute brisk walk!

She is a third grade teacher downstate, and an excellent sport. She did not bat an eyelash at the idea of wearing the cape, or heading out to walk on a twenty degree morning. Her only request was that she got the black cape.

I appreciate Jen donning the apparel in the name of teachers. I hope to someday meet fellow Central New York native and blogger, Kirby, and share a caped step taking crusade with her as well. She is a teacher in North Carolina. Beginnings of stories seem like a great place to start, so here is the link to where her current mission began...with a coat.

Let's get some random up in here!

Quick! Before everything in my head thinks it is worthy of its own post. It's bad enough I have to ward off Pedomemon! I certainly can't have all of these other voices and pictures clamoring for more air time as well. Let me just get a piece of candy, provided I can find one, and we'll be on our way...

Perhaps I should also have a sip of this dark red elixir I found in my grandparents basement, circa I cannot even imagine when. Bleah.

My grandmother seems to have made having her basement cleaned out, and restored to whatever splendor she thinks it had, one of her top priorities...for someone else to do. I find the organizational implications of the task alluring, but cannot say that the one area of her house that we don't have to actually look at is as critical to me. Instead, I am more concerned about the cracked wooden toilet seat that pinched my ass when I had to pee today. Ouch! Why is that item not further up on the list?

I am still a bit shaken up about this one, as I have been sleeping on my new mattress for months...

Good to know that if I hear my smoke detector when I am in bed, I should get up and NOT treat my mattress like some sort of lifeboat. the more you know!

And so another quest begins...

I probably don't need to tell you how excited this house is for this movie!

Speaking of things I am excited about, finally, FINALLY there is a tribute to Elvis.

Yeah, that's a precious moment all right.

Now just in case you thought my quests for all things creepy charming were restricted to the coupon section of the paper, check out what I saw right on the shelf of a store. I could reach right out and poke her in the eye fix her bow.

I am having a hard time looking at her right now because I fear she may haunt my dreams for not bringing her home! STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT! She even came with a twin. How on earth did I resist? How much longer until I make them mine? Tune in next week!

OH MY GOSH! SOMEBODY FLUSHED MERIDA!!!!!!!

Oh, wait, sorry...that was just my daughter using her fallen foxy locks to mess with her brother.

On that note, now that things have literally gone to the toilet...I'm out!

Superhero Sunday: Sidekicks

Hello! It's me, Pedomemom again. I cannot believe I have to share this blog with someone who devoted an entire post to her family's candy issues. Oh, yes, I said sharing this blog...for now. I initially had my sights set on a complete takeover, but that lady does have some alert moments in between her sugar comas. She has agreed to let me tell my tales of life as a superhero ordinaire (that is just like extraordinaire, only slightly less pretentious) on the weekend. There is much to tell, as I am sure you can imagine. One does not just tie on a cape and become someone new, or maybe that is exactly what one does. Well, for our purposes here, let's assume the process is much more involved and requires a great deal of thought. Today's installment: Selecting a sidekick...

Considering my legendary superhero status, there was obviously to be some clamoring for me to select a sidekick. I did let my husband accompany on my walk one day, as a trial of sorts, since no capes were involved. He managed to keep up with my pace, but did so with his hands jammed in his jacket's pockets. It was unnatural and disturbing. He looked ridiculous, and I should know. I was dismayed at both the fact that he was gaining on me, and that he had not done any research into how to walk. I wonder if the neighbors thought I was being chased, by some sketchy guy, in the slowest pursuit ever. I hope that was not what they were thinking, not only because my husband does not deserve that reputation, but also because nobody offered any help. Suffice to say, the husband did not make the list of candidates. Plus I have a sneaking suspicion he might have tried to play it off like I was his sidekick. I do not think so. Being in charge of lightbulb changing hardly makes one the top dog.

Speaking of dogs, the next logical choice would have been he who walks with me every day, and most of the time twice. The Foz. The fact that he does not own a cape, and is too frightened to move when donning any sort of apparel, did not make him an outstanding applicant. However, what really did him in was the fact that he has short legs. This is not intended as an insult to his entire shih-tzu breed, just a plain fact. His eighteen inch stature does not enable him to keep pace with my, seemingly giant, sixty-four inch height. Even if he did manage to get his legs into a running rhythm, I am fairly certain he would not be able to keep it up for as long as thirty minutes. Also stacked against him is the fact that he has nowhere to clip a pedometer.

I did not actually have the heart to tell the Foz that he was not selected. We took a couple of promo shots of us together to humor him. 

(Insert fantastic background music here.)

As far as he is aware, we are just trying to think of a name for his character. In order to help foster his feelings of importance and inclusion, because let’s face it walking is pretty much the only gig he has, he plays the role of my cool down. I go for my w-a-l-k, and then take him for his afternoon walk when I get back. As far as he is concerned, he is the finest canine neighborhood watch patrol ever. He faces down terrifying dried leaves, the occasional plastic bag or kickball. He is stoic, or paralyzed with fear, when approached by potential villains. He makes sure there is no urine scent left uncovered by his own delicate blend.

Please note: We are not actually flying.

Despite being unable to fly on his own free will, being a small dog can have fabulous potential to be airborn. Just the other day, we were experiencing wind gusts over thirty-five miles per hour. My mind was blown away by the magnficent strength of the breeze. Meanwhile, short legs was almost literally blown away by the wind. I held tight to his leash in the event that he became a furry kite.

Sidekick quest=incomplete

Oh sweet random!

***Warning: Photos contained are not New year's healthy eating plan approved.***

After that visit from Pedomemom the other day, I thought I would give you a glimpse into what still goes on around here when she steps out. She can't force just any old resolutions on us. We have some standards that can be very tricky to keep up...

I needed to get organized because things were getting so out of hand that there was going to be a fight to the finish, between dust bunnies and candy, to take over our home. Yes, I said candy. Let's take a peek at our holiday haul of candy...

Is that pile more acceptable when I tell you that it accounts for all four of us? No? Well, it was worth a try. Please take note of my new mug that is holding our fabulous candy cane selection. Thank you Misty, but are you sure an okay mother would allow this? Before you answer, let me show you what the candy situation looked like prior to Christmas...

Hmmm...I just realized this is only candy from the community bin in the pantry. Each of the kids has a bowl of Halloween candy that is housed elsewhere in our home. Can you spot the marshmallow egg from Easter? It doesn't mean nobody likes them, it just means I don't want to tell you how many may have been consumed before this one fell to the bottom of the bunch.

Oops, a late entry that did not make it to the holiday haul photo session...

And thank goodness I snuck in a quick trip to Trader Joe's to replenish (and by replenish, I suppose I indicated that we were out of something)...

Seriously though, somebody had to purchase the new Cowboy Bark. It's "ruggedly adventuresome"!

It was also a relief that relatives shared their candy with us, and by shared I mean the four us of took and ate this whole box.

It. Was. Delicious.

Sometimes you have to cleanse your palate. How about a cracker, but not a naked cracker!

There was even some cheese baked between those bacon sheets.

How about some homemade Bang Bang Shrimp?

Goodness gracious me that was tasty! Thanks Karen (I would link to you if you had a blog, I swear I would.) In other tasty news from Karen's kitchen, I closed out my holiday festivities with Rudolph's Tipsy Spritzers...

Was this all a bit much for you? Are you concerned that our cereal box count has been severely depleted to make room for more candy? Fear not! We shall conquer the snack shack. Oh, and when I did take a break today for a salty snack, I found love in the potato chip bag!

Send help toothpaste!

Stacy is going to leave us to deal with our own random for a little while. Go visit to see what she has going on. I will miss the hostess with the mostess, and vow to ramble on in her honor!

Pedomemom checks in

Remember me? Pedomemom?

Apparently there was some sort of misunderstanding that I was to be a seasonal superhero? Where is the challenge in that? Sure the temperature dropped a little bit, but that feast in November was mashed small potatoes, and quite frankly insulted my abilities to haul that woman's body out for a walk. 

I admit that the fall months were not enough training or preparation for what the next holiday was to bring. I had a hard time navigating my way through the dense layers of stress insulation, and was offended by how easily I was ignored. My cape and I were shoved so far down the list of things needing attention. Wrapping paper and tape in the top five? Are you kidding me? Then to add insult to injury, she rang in the new year with laundry and low speed wandering through the house. I could not keep quiet anymore.

Santa did not receive my request for one of those capes like the football players get to wear on the sidelines! They look kind of heavy which I think could serve dual purposes by not just keeping me warm, but also upping the exertion of my workout carrying that heft on my back. I suppose it is just one more idea to go in the file for Pedomemom merchandising.

The windchill here is -9 right now and the snow is piling up. I did get our friend to stop eating cookies long enough to shovel the driveway a couple of times today, as opposed to her usual break from baked goods to just eat candy instead. The one thing the two of us can agree on is that the elliptical is evil. In closing for today, I present:

Pedomemom’s Top Five Reasons To Despise the Elliptical

5. Stale indoor air renders cape lifeless.

4. Constant beeping of the machine is clearly an attempt to rally other household appliances to revolt.

3. The water mark on the ceiling is impossible to ignore.

2. The scenery at two miles is no better than that at the one mile mark.

1. The threat of falling off the street is practically non-existent.