Curse of the Claw Machine

My mother has been bringing our little man a number of stuffed animals lately. It’s a troubling development because it can only mean one thing. Her addiction to the Claw Machine is back. It was an obsession that started out small—a few bears here, a duck or indistinguishable animal there. But by the time I was a junior in high school, she had had she amassed a collection so large that no one in our family could open the downstairs closet without buckling under the weight of beady eyes and plushy critter parts. But then one day, the stockpiling stopped. I didn’t know why, and because she had taken to storing them under my bathroom sink, I never bothered to ask. So here we are 15 years later and now the lucky recipient of her Claw Machine winnings is no longer a charity, landfill, or unsuspecting Jehovah Witness ringing our doorbell. No, it is my child, who at the sight of my mother’s last gift, a deformed effigy of the “The Hulk,” screamed so loudly and for so long, I can only hope she now has the perfect reason to say goodbye to her beloved Claw Machine.

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Backseat Driver

A quick introduction. This is the 520 bridge. It floats (which makes it kind of a big deal in engineering circles). Once you’re on it, there are no exits. So unless you feel like spontaneously driving into the drink, you keep going until you reach the other side. Not a problem unless you’re startled by a backseat driver squealing, “Mommy, water!” A backseat driver that you somehow forgot to drop off at daycare on your way to work—a daycare located in the opposite direction, on the other side of the bridge. Thank goodness for flexible work schedules.  

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Dress codes

Let me share one of the many reasons I envy stay-at-home moms. I work for an organization with a business formal dress code. The kind where showing up in yoga pants, hoodies, and tennis shoes is a career ender. On most days, it's not an issue. I enjoy working with well groomed people. But on the Monday following Thanksgiving and Schnitzel Sunday? Houston, we have a problem. I've easily moved up at least a pant size these last four days, and stretchy pants—flattering or not—are the answer. But alas, there are rules. So instead of throwing on whatever is most comfy tomorrow morning, I will instead have to lay down on my bed to zip up my dry clean only pants. So jealous, At Home Mommies, so jealous.

Happy Thanksgiving

Arrived in Denver yesterday for my very first Gobble Day away from the Northwest. My dad was a little disappointed to learn that our kitchen was closed for the holiday. My mom, on the other hand, was elated. The alternative is dinner at the casino, which means hours on her favorite penny slot machines. Judging by her excitement, I'm thinking she hopes this is the case for Christmas as well. As for the Mile High City, I'm slowly adjusting to the altitude. And by adjusting I mean sleeping. But now that the Kansas City contingent of my husband's family just arrived with three additional mini mes, it's time to ready myself for some serious gobbling. Enjoy your turkey and tryptophan naps!

Maghound

You certainly don't have to be a working mom to appreciate life's shortcuts, especially when it comes to serious addictions like magazines. If you're anything like me, you're paying full price for your favorite reads because you have zero time to fill out those annoying subscription inserts. Enter Maghound, a clever new membership service for maganistas! In my case, I simply pay my blue nosed friend $7.95 a month to send me 5 of my favorite magazines (plans start at $4.95). And if I happen to grow bored of one, I just switch it out for something different the following month. It’s that easy. (Really.) The hound is clever. And a woman's best friend indeed!

Philanthropy and Little Einsteins

Every now and then, I secretly wish I was this rich. http://bit.ly/6wIbu7 But then I realize that besides giving most of my money away, I'd also spend it buying every Little Einsteins episodes on iTunes from now until eternity. Not good for two reasons. My son alone would skew the statistics on how many hours children spend watching television (or in our case, my MacBook) every week. And I would never get the show's catchy theme song out of my head. "We're going on a trip in our favorite rocket ship, zooming through the sky..." Fabulous, now it's stuck in my noodle again. (And no, I do not raise money for this particular healthcare organization. But trust me, someone in that development office is a rockstar today.)

Mama Makes Up Her Mind

This weekend I cranked up the Kindle and downloaded Bailey White's Mama Makes Up Her Mind. I needed something light, fluffy, and funny following The Book Thief, and one of my favorite co-workers, also a book luster, recommended it. Humerous, delightful, and touching stories. Makes me wonder if my family tales would be as entertaining to other people as hers are to me. I mean there is the one  of my mom driving a car through the entrance of a bingo hall. That's a goodie. (Yes, really.)