So my hubby recently sent me an e-mail that contained the following link.  It describes the “12 germiest places” in your life.  Out of the entire article, I couldn’t help but wonder who was the poor sod whose job it was to measure the amount of feces in each pair of dirty underwear … 

http://barfblog.foodsafety.ksu.edu/2007/10/articles/food-safety-communication/12-germiest-places/index.html

So, you know I’m on the vegan diet.  The low-fat, low-GI, low-carb, no caffeine, no artificial sweeteners, no nuts, no avocadoes, no olives, vegan diet.  And this has been about a month now and I’ve lost 4 pounds which isn’t bad.  But the disgusting thing is, my hubby who is only part-time on the aforementioned diet, while still maintaining the coke-swilling, chocolate-bar-inhaling, and bacon-and-pizza-eating diet, has lost 5 pounds. 

Undeniable evidence that life is not fair. 

I’m not sure which is harder to attain:  the simultaneous “o” (gotta keep it clean, this is a family show) or the simultaneous finishing of the shampoo and conditioner.

I haven’t been blogging lately (painfully obvious, I know), but I’ve certainly been thinking about it, and writing on my little scraps of paper all over the place. I promise to get back on the blog-train soon. The countdown to “back to school” has begun and I can once again see the glimmer of hope that is my life.

What I learned on my summer vacation? ‘Tis better to experience the pangs of missing thy children, than to feel them breathing down thy neck.

“That’s what your house is, a place to keep your stuff while you go out and get … more stuff!”

- George Carlin

My fingers have not been doing much blogging lately and I’m fairly bursting at the seams. Summer seems to get in the way of all things industrious and easily gives way to watching trash TV and lounging in all different forms. Summer to us also means lots of socializing - a chance to reconnect with family and friends.

We recently went to visit my in-laws who are of the “don’t-you-dare- throw-anything-out-that’s-still-good, and-that-means-basically -everything-you’ve-ever-owned” generation. They remind me of my mom’s parents, who kept every piece of styrofoam meat tray and washed-out plastic bag that ever entered their home.

I wrestle with both the genetic and environmental influences in my constant war against clutter. I admit it. I love stuff. But I hate, I mean I don’t care for, (the word hate is banned at our house) the feelings I get from excess stuff. It’s oppressing, and draining, and an incredible time waster. Purging, organizing, donating, and de-cluttering is now almost as fun as shopping for new stuff. The kids (the real stuff magnets in the family) are even getting good at sorting through their own stuff and deciding which stuff hasta go.

Now if only I could get them to talk to their grandparents about purging their stuff. I imagine something like this … “Grandma, about that old toilet in the playhouse…”

My older daughter loves dancing and performing. When she was a toddler my parents bought her a playhouse, which my dad and my husband built for her in our backyard. They decided to add some cement squares to the front of it, which made a “front patio.” When my daughter and I came home and saw it, the first thing she said was “oh daddy, thank you for building me a stage!”

It’s hard to believe, but Wednesday June 20, 2007 marks my first anniversary of blogging.

To celebrate the 90 some-odd posts on my life (in general and specific), my family, my friends, my diabetes, my obsession with food and all things tasty, and my overall conviction to have some laughs while still upright, I’d like to invite you all, dear readers, to post some comments.

I know, I know, you don’t really want to post anything because you’re enjoying your anonymity while being a voyeur into my life. But what about if I promise you a chance for some nifty prizes? Or at least an opportunity to be read by tens of people (who can resist that?) Or you could see it as a chance to use up that vast resource of puns you have at your ready disposal. Or just an avenue for congratulating me on sticking to something for a whole year (did I mention I get bored easily?)

The reasons are countless and my gratitude would be fathomless. So please, take a moment to post a nifty little comment. I so want to hear from you.

While we were driving to dinner the other night, I saw the sign:

Used Adult Magazines.

You do the math.

They say it is better to be poor and happy than rich and miserable, but how about a compromise like moderately rich and just moody?

- Princess Diana

I’d much rather be a woman than a man. Women can cry, they can wear cute clothes, and they’re the first to be rescued off sinking ships.

- Gilda Radner

For me, the advantage to being a woman has more to do with choices. Women can work, or not. We can have babies, or not. We can stay home with the kids, or not. We can work full time, or part time, or not. We can look outside of our jobs for our identities, or not. We can lean on our men, or not. We can be independent, or not. We are allowed to share our feelings, or not. We are allowed to express ourselves, or not.

I’m not saying it’s easy to be a woman, or a person for that matter. And I know my ability to make choices is the product of my upbringing, my education, my social status, my family, my husband, my environment, my health, and so on. But I feel so lucky to be a woman.

And even luckier to be a mom. Happy Mother’s Day everyone.