Babboo is on a very strict schedule. Feed him lunch at 11:00 and then come 11:25, all you have to do is point and say “go to sleep” and he will. No problem at all.

Same thing at night. Feed him dinner at 6:00, put him in the tub at 7:15 and at 8:15 you just stick the kid in his crib and tell him to “sleep!” And he will.

I admit this is pretty awesome.

I also admit this has nothing to do with me and loads to do with his teachers at school. They run a tight ship when they have Babboo during the day and I’m just their deck hand in the evenings and weekends.

It’s a great partnership.

But dude, I feel sorry for his teachers today. There is no way my kid is going to take a nap when they want him to. And there is definitely no way Babboo’s going to settle for drinking plain old water and white milk at lunch and not the “apple drink” he’s been enjoying all weekend with me (”apple drink” is code for “chocolate milk with chocolate syrup”, or just “soda pop”).

And um, let’s not even talk about the sleep schedule that he did, or did not, adhere to while under my watch.

Friday night he and I met my aunt and my cousin (who was on her mission for our church out here in Washington) at a park. Babboo ate way too late in the evening and was not happy. Especially when his Subway sandwich kept “breaking”.

In an attempt to quiet him, I threw my camera his way and told him to just push buttons.

(I got about a million pictures that all look like this one. That is until he peed on my lap and I banished him to standing next to me and not sitting on my lap.)

(That’ll show him.)

It was super awesome to see my cousin. You can tell I was happy to see her since I did my famous “head tilt” that seems to have taken over every single darn picture ever taken of me.

And we wore matching outfits.

But that wasn’t planned. And was actually a little embarrassing. And not just for her.
Anyway, Friday night pretty much ruined Babboo for the rest of the weekend. He spent most of Saturday morning with a friend while May and I got our craft on (don’t worry, I’ll be posting pictures of our projects). And then he spent the rest of the day at the outlet mall, carrying around a bottle of (soy) chocolate milk, while we got our shopping on.

And then, for the first time ever, Babboo was sent to be babysat by an actual teenage babysitter, who we paid actual money to watch him. Seriously people, this is the first time he’s been babysat by a person that we had to pay, who wasn’t related to us. (To be fair, we do pay his daycare to watch him. But you know what I’m saying.)

When I picked Babboo up on Saturday night, well past his bedtime, he was a mess. Far messier then I’ve ever seen him. Even messier then on Finger Painting Day at his school.

The poor kid had seen better days.

Note that he’s soaking wet from sweat. His hair was literally dripping. And dude, check out his awesome, chocolate and pizza stained, Def Leppard shirt and evil eyes. Also note his awesome gut hanging out of his shirt.

Babboo was up about 3 hours later then he’d ever been. And I’m not sure he was liking it. He was walking around the house in a chocolate milk stupor.

Mr. May finally drove us all home, Babboo slept in this car seat next to May’s two kids, and me, well I sat in the very back of the car facing the wrong direction. You know the seat, the one that’s really not legal and totally uncomfortable? Yep, that was me, wedged up against the strollers, making out with my kneecaps.

Besides my time spent in the back of May’s car, it was the perfect weekend.

So tell me, what are your thoughts on those little back seats in cars? Are they really legal? They just seem so wrong. (And also, so fun!)

Sidenote to Babboo’s teachers: Good luck today. And also, I’m sorry.

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I got a phone call on Friday afternoon from Kathleen’s husband.  Apparently she, a woman years younger then I am, had gone into cardiac arrest on Tuesday morning.  Tuesday morning, May 13th, the day we both celebrate our birthday.  Kathleen has no history of heart problems.  She’s young.  She’s a vegetarian.  She healthy.  She just had her first baby.

Kathleen’s on the mend.  Still in the hospital.  Still trying to figure out what the hell happened to her heart.

I had just spent the Saturday before, three days prior, with Kathleen and baby Elanor…having lunch and shopping in the city.

She was fine.

She was more then fine. She was happy and cheerful and, like always, so fun to be around.

(L-R: Kathleen, baby Elanor, Babboo, me, Eve, and Kathryn)

Please head over and wish Kathleen well.  While she a little busy right now, you know, mending in the hospital, she sure could use the well-wishes and prayers.

When I was a kid all it took to make my birthday awesome was my own cake and a couple of candles. (And maybe some bad 70’s art and wallpaper.) (And a bad haircut.) (And my older brother’s hand me downs.)

I’m older now, and some might say a little wiser. I am no longer satisfied with a bright pink cake to make my birthday complete. Plus, I’m doing Weight Watchers (again!), so there will no cake.

(No cake!?!)

(Okay, I might stop at the bakery on the way home tonight and buy a small cupcake to split with Babboo.)

To make this day complete I demand more then a cupcake. You know, things like:

More quality morning snuggle time with my two boys. (Could they be any cuter?)

I hate to admit it, but I love Papa Murphy’s pizza. The King hates it which, I think, is why I always ask for it for m birthday.

I’m hoping for a chance to hit Ann Taylor Loft on my way home (you know, after I hit up the bakery) to spend the gift card I got for Mothers Day.

“Lonesome Dove” should arrive today from Netflix. For years I’ve asked The King to watch this with me for my birthday. I’m hoping this year is the year he actually does it.

The Old 97’s have a new album out today. I’m sure it’s in honor of my birthday, and I thank them for that. I didn’t preorder it, for fear that it wouldn’t arrive on time. So, as soon as I hit “publish”, I’m heading out to pick up a copy. This is the best birthday present ever.

And tonight, while eating pizza and watching “Lonesome Dove”, I’m hoping to do more present opening with my boys. Because, let’s be honest, that’s the best part about birthdays.

Thanks to Rhett (and Carly) for this awesome birthday wish.

Screw the pink birthday cake, today’s gonna be better then that.

So tell me, how do you like to spend your birthday?

For my twelfth birthday my parents bought me my first real journal. It was dark blue, hard bound and had my name engraved in gold on the front cover. I was excited for the day to be over, so I could curl up on my bed, pen in hand, and write my first entry in my new journal.

I wasn’t sure what to write. Or how to write it. I took a cue from every TV show I’d ever seen and started with:

Dear Diary,

Today is my birthday.

And then I sort of drew a blank on what else to write. So much so that I really wasn’t that loyal to my journal. Sure I would write someone every few weeks, but I didn’t become a daily journal writer until I got into junior high and fell madly in love with Shadrach Roundy.

Shadrach Roundy was a grade older then me, and thus attended high school. The only time I would see him was when my bus from the junior high made a stop at the high school to pick up more kids. Every other day I would see Shadrach walking from his last class back inside the building to his locker.

That’s it. I saw this kid for a total of about five minutes each week. And it was only through the bus window. I never talked to him. I never waved to him. I never tried to have him notice me. I just oogled him through the window.

And then I went home each night and logged into my nifty journal whether or not I had seen Shadrach Roundy that day. I also made it a point to write down what he had been wearing, who he had been walking with, and how dreamy I thought he was.
Dude, it’s a good thing I had that journal.

I don’t remember when this fascination with Shadrach Roundy started. I think maybe I saw him at a church function and feel madly in love with him. It sure didn’t happen because of a magical encounter since Shadrach Roundy and I never spoke a single word to each other. Not once. Not ever.

During my three years in high school I continued to keep up with my daily journal writing. And for those three years my journal entires continued to be solely based on Shadrach Roundy:

I passed Shadrach Roundy in the hall today after I left English class. I think he smiled at me.

Shadrach Roundy is wearing his blue baseball team shirt today. It’s my favorite. It makes his eyes shine.

Today Shadrach Roundy had one some new white tennis shoes. His feet are so small and cute. I hope our kids have his feet.

My dad drove me past Shadrach Roundy’s house today. I think I saw his mom through the kitchen window. She’s seems so nice.

Of course he was always referred to in the journal by his full name, and of course I always journaled about what he wore that day. And, of course, I never got up the nerve to actually speak real live words to Shadrach Roundy. He was simply out of my league. Speaking to him would have opened up the opportunity for rejection. It was much easier to worship Shadrach Roundy from afar and merely dream of the day when our eyes would meet on the dance floor at prom, he would then walk over to ask me to dance, and eventually ask me to marry him.

We would live happily ever after.

Gag. I was such a loser.

It wasn’t that Shadrach Roundy was so popular and such a snob that he wouldn’t have talked to me. He came from a good family and, I think, he really was a nice guy. I’m sure if I would have approached him he would have been pleasant and cordial. I don’t think he would have fallen madly in love with me, but he wouldn’t have been rude.

Shadrach Roundy just wasn’t that type of person.

Which made me love stalk him even more.

Shadrach Roundy didn’t date much. Until the end of my junior hear when he hooked up with a girl in my grade. They began dating and even though I wanted to hate her, I couldn’t. She was just a nice girl. Dang it. I wanted to trip her when she walked down the hall. I wanted to key her car and write bad things about her on the bathroom walls. But I couldn’t damn it. She was just so likable.

No wonder Shadrach Roundy liked her and not me.

Since Shadrach Roundy was a year older then I was, he graduated and moved on with his life before my senior year even started. And so did I. My journal (journals, actually, since I now had three completely full journals) devoted to Shadrach Roundy sat untouched on my book shelf. When I moved away to college, the journals were boxed up and stored with the rest of my junk in the basement.

A couple of years ago, while in Utah visiting friend and family, my mom handed me the box containing my journals. She was cleaning out her house and wanted me to take my crap back with me to Seattle. The King and I had driven to Utah, so we had our car and plenty of room for my boxes. During the 14 hour car ride back to Seattle I decided to bust out my old journals and revisit my past.

The car ride was long and I was bored. I was also feeling brave.

I started to read my journals, starting on my first entry on my twelfth birthday, outloud to The King. He sat there (he had no choice, since he was the one driving) and listened as I read through three years of journals all about Shadrach Roundy. At times he forgot he was reading about his wife’s childhood. He forgot he knew how the story was going to end.

“When do Isabel and Shadrach Roundy go on their first date?”, he asked half way through journal number two.

“You know I never actually talked to Shadrach Roundy, right?”

“What? You liked this kid enough to document his every wardrobe choice and you never spoke to him?”

“Never.”

And then I continued reading outloud.

I finished reading the journals and going through the newspaper clipping about Shadrach Roundy (or anyone he knew or was related to) and closed them back up with the rubber bands to make sure nothing was lost. I put my journals back in the box in the back seat of the car and we continued on our way home to Seattle.

I joked with The King about finding Shadrach Roundy and just shipping him the journals with a note telling him he might as well have them. I mean, come on, they were more about him then they were about me. It would be more useful for his posterity to have them then my own. (Dude, teenage Babboo would mock me so hard for those journals.) Of course when I google Shadrach Roundy’s name, nothing comes up. At least not for the right Shadrach Roundy.
I wonder if I could just mail the journals to his mom’s house?

If I did do that, what would Shadrach Roundy find creepier, my three journals devoted to him, the fact that I mailed them to his mom’s house, or the current picture of me, looking much better then I did in high school, that I’ll include in this shipment to his mom?

So tell me, what were your high school journals like? And um, does anyone know how I can get in touch with Shadrach Roundy?

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Head over to SeattleMomBlogs to read about what we all did for fun a few weekends ago.  And enter to win a chance for a FREE WEEKEND at the Great Wolf waterpark!

Hi there. It’s just me. You know, the lady that keeps feeding you all the healthy food like ground turkey tacos with veggies on the side and homemade veggie pizzas.

I just wanted to check in and see how this past month doing Weight Watchers has been treating you. Have you missed the seven pounds you lost? Where do you think you lost them from? Do you think they came from your fingers, your thighs, or maybe your belly? (I hope they all came from your belly!)

I know you’ve been feeling good about your clothes fitting better. I know you’re super anxious to see if your summer clothes look better on you then they did last summer. I also know that you’ve been enjoying all the WW approved meals I’ve been cooking for you. Plus, those WW cups of ice cream are just plain awesome, agreed?!

It’s good to not feel completely horrified when you put on your bathing suit. I know you’re anxious for time on the beach this summer. I know you’re counting down the days until the local pools open up and you can put on one of your bikinis and not want to vomit at the sight of yourself.

So it sounds like we’re in agreement that this whole “lifestyle change” is a good thing. Am I right, or am I right?

I just have one question?

Why in the hell are you craving raw cookie dough constantly?!

Before we were on this whole eating better kick you never even liked chocolate chip cookies, let alone the raw dough. So what is it about healthy eating that makes you want to be so bad? Why can’t you crave lettuce. Or celery? Heck, I’ve even feel better about low fat popcorn, or Baked Layes.

But raw chocolate chip cookie dough.

Really?

So tell me, any of you have a secret recipe for a Weight Watchers approved, low fat cookie dough that won’t give me salmonella?

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Head on over to NewToUs to check out my latest New Thing. It involves trying to be more put together in my work attire. Taking pictures of said work attire. And then posting pictures to a Flickr group.

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You watching “The Tudors” on Showtime?  Or “Gossip Girl”?  (Dude, could Serena really have killed someone?!)  Head over to WeHeartTV to discuss.   And don’t forget, we always have lots to say about “Lost“.

On Friday night, I sat down on the couch to read a gossip mag my coworker gave me. We had just gotten home from a night out shopping for microwaves. Babboo was in bed asleep and The King was catching up on “Law & Orders” from the week. After I had finished reading all of the latest celebrity gossip, I decided to grab a pencil and try the little sudoku puzzle at the back of the magazine.

After that, my memory of the rest of the weekend is a haze. I remember getting up early on Saturday to walk over to the bookstore to buy my own sudoku book.

I seem to remember a hazy grouping of numbers, one through nine only, of course. I also remember some grid lines. And maybe some eraser and pencil shavings.

I came out of my foggy haze last night after showing The King the basic rules of suduko. He took over my book and I was forced to step away from the sudoku and make some dinner for my family.

Tonight, after I get off work, I’m going back to the book store to buy The King his very own sudoku book.

There’s no way I can spend another night at home taking turns with my sudoku book.

So tell me, why didn’t any of you tell me how awesome sudoku is?  Or how addictive?

While discussing all things Clothing-Related yesterday with OperationPinkHerring (or just “OPH” for short) due to her latest Mission: Put Together (ie: let’s all try to dress better for work and then post the pictures to a Flickr group of our more put-together outfits for all to see and judge), I was all, “And what’s with the Ann Taylor Loft website tricking us and putting up loads of clothing items on sale for $3.88 and then having all of them ‘not available at this time’?”

I sent OPH the link to a super cute navy blazer that was marked $3.88 (!!) and she wrote me back immediately, “And that $3.88 jacket on Ann Taylor Loft had to be a mistake. $3.88???? I can’t even get the picture to display right now, but I’d still buy it for $3.88. ”

To which I responded, “there is TONS of super cute things on the Ann Taylor website for that price right now. But all of them are all “not available at this time” and I’m all ‘then take it down off your site, a**holes!’”

Because seriously, you can’t show me something for $3.88 and then not allow me to buy one in every color.

OPH said she likes the option to buy and return later, if needed. Although she did admit, “for $3.88, I’d buy it and keep it. And love it. ”

“You’re darn right you’d keep it and love it. I’d buy it in bigger
sizes and gain weight to fit into them for that price.”

OPH started searched the Ann Taylor Loft site with me and found a super cute dress for $3.88. “Damnit! Check it out, $3.88!!! NO LONGER AVAILABLE FOR PURCHASE!!!”

It got even better when OPH started looking at the maternity clothes on the site and found that some of them were also marked $3.88!!

She was bold enough to even say. “I would buy this maternity shirt for $3.88 and get knocked up just so I could wear it.” (Although I had to agree with her that it was the best thing to do. I mean, you should always base your gestating on cheap clothing options.”

And then I thought, “dude, I’m calling the freakin’ 800 number for Ann Taylor Loft and getting to the bottom of this!”

I spent the next 30 minutes on the phone with a lovely Ann Taylor Loft call-agent in Salt Lake City as she looked up every.single.item marked down to $3.88 to see if she could find me anything in any size close to my own size.

Okay, so we didn’t find anything. And my heart broke a little. And my Ann Taylor gift card sitting on my desk, mocked me. But dude, I have it my best effort.

So tell me, have you ever actually had any luck finding stuff as cheap as a kicky trench coat for $3.88?

(And while it isn’t $3.88, these Shade Clothing shirts come pretty darn close.)

*This does not mean I won’t stop shopping there and that I don’t love ATL. Because you know I love ATL.

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Did I forget to mention that I had a new post up over at SeattleMomBlogs this week? Um, sorry. Go and check it out.

Oh, and you know you want to discuss all things “Lost” over at WeHeartTV.