Cody works for a law firm that offers nary a single benefit besides a salary.

We do not have life insurance, we do not have health insurance, we do not have a retirement fund.

After last night not only do we still not have health insurance, we now get to pay a penalty for not having health insurance.

It’s easy to get caught up in entitlement.

Cody is an attorney, he does have a salary and a job, something to be very thankful for in this economy and in the state of Indiana in particular.

So this round of health care reform didn’t go so well for a lot of us. But it did go well for a lot of other people. I am going to be happy for them and work to make sure my turn to be considered is next.

This is turning people ugly. It’s setting off feelings of entitlement.

I’d love to march into Cody’s office and ask if they like having more than one child. Tell them that I’d love to have a second one but because they’re too busy keeping their fists wrapped tight around all their money and not providing something as common sense as health care…

It’s easy to get caught up in the drama of it all.

We’re okay. We’re healthy. We have a future together and we have each other.

We have a roof over our heads and every Sunday we get to go to the church we want to go to, sing the songs we choose to sing and pray the way we want to pray.

I can write all of this because I have an American right to.

Cody chose to become a lawyer. He chose to go to school and with school came student loans.

There’s people out there who get what a difficult situation this is, choosing to gain higher education and with it gain higher student loans.

There’s others who think that as soon as you get your diploma you also get a really awesome life and a six figure salary.

I’m sick of being pitted against other people playing the “I deserve this because I…” game.

I’m guilty of playing it.

Yelling at each other and making snide passive aggressive comments isn’t going to get us anywhere good. It never has before and it certainly won’t now.

Being happy for each other when things go right and helping each other out when things go wrong because we’re human and we’re all in this together will take us farther as a society than any bill in Washington ever could.

Emily and I are working on something EPIC with our new appliances.

She received the same Frigidaire range and microwave to review.

Call me crazy but Emily strikes me as the type that would use her oven as storage and the range as a surface for sorting mail. Or maybe a good place to hold pizza boxes.

Her exact words from January 5, 2010?

I seriously should not be allowed to operate a stove. Or a microwave. And especially not a crock pot. -Emily “I am officially and idiot.“

Part of you will die when you read the above linked post.

THAT WAS INNOCENT FOOD. That she “cooked” and KILLED.

Being a generous soul I am going to attempt to teach her to cook (not kill) at least one thing from one state away.

And you guys? After our first few discussions? I have my work cut out for me.

The only reason I *think* I can do this?

Because I know she has a good consistent oven and microwave.

So if she screws up? It’s her screwing up, not an old dumpy oven or microwave leading her astray.

Just as research I have tried on purpose to ruin food on and in my new range and microwave.

IT CAN NOT BE DONE.

You hear me Emily?

The simmer burner simmered butter and cream into a perfectly melted caramel sauce.

The convection setting perfectly crisped my shortbread. (Which to be honest I thought was going to be a giant fail-the dough was totally off-but it was DIVINE. You know, as long as I took an allergy pill first.)

And have I ever mentioned that the microwave has a MELT CHOCOLATE BUTTON? And a SOFTEN CREAM CHEESE BUTTON? It also has a melt butter and soften ice cream setting (that actually work.)

Oh you guys. I could go on and on.

And if attempting to teach Emily that spaghetti sauce isn’t supposed to come from a jar (or a sauce tree as she called it) fails?

There’s also frozen pizza, chicken nugget and “hand held snack food” pre set buttons for her.

I wrote this review while participating in a Test Drive Campaign by Mom Central on behalf of Frigidaire and received a Frigidaire Range/Microwave to facilitate my review.

This is one of those posts like the recap episodes in sitcoms, they just brush over all the funny parts of the episodes you’ve already seen either because the writers are all sick and tired of writing funny crap or because they honestly have nothing left to write.

In my case? I have a whole mess of crap I need to cover and rather than dedicating entire posts to each I’m just going to make the dreaded list and hope that maybe you can help me out.

1. I’m a finalist in a video contest with my friend Adam where the prize is $5K, if we were to win we’d split the money 50/50 and we’d each donate some to a charity of our choice, in my case it’s Friends of Maddie. Because hello? It’s Maddie. All it takes is one click to vote, ours is called “Chicken Sandwich.” Much obliged.

2. If you could tell the people within shouting distance of you to vote for our video as well your eyesight will improve and your hair will become shinier. (Okay, so maybe not, but it would be much appreciated.)

3. Blog Indiana is coming up again in August and I’m in the running to present on two panels. But only if they get enough votes, right now the boys and their “MAKE MILLIONS WITH BLOGGING” panels are kicking my trash. My first panel is about “Tastefully Selling Yourself Online” and my second panel is about “Pictures of you and of Other Stuff.” Each one takes only one click to vote (you do have to sign in with your twitter account…just a way to make sure there’s no shady business.) That being said, if you’re anywhere in the area you should really come to the conference, this is it’s third year and the people who present are brilliant.

4. The Casual Blogger Conference. It’s in Utah at the end of May and the ladies behind it have asked me to come speak on blogging about/with/through depression. It will hopefully be the antithesis of depressing, but this is obviously something I feel very strongly about and I think this conference will be the perfect place to give that ol’ rat terd depression a voice of understanding. If you can make it? You should.

5. Vaseline Sheer Infusion lotion. HATE the commercials (tiny people in spandex between the layers of my skin?) love the lotion. (not sponsored.)

6. March for Maddie. The Indianapolis March of Dimes walk is coming up on April 25th. Anyone and everyone is welcome to join our team (Hoosier Favorite Preemie?) and donate. Sign up or donate here. I’d be more than happy to have you wander around downtown with me in honor of Maddie.

7. Did you know I work for the Indianapolis Convention and Visitor’s Association? I do. And I love it. I know I know. “BUT CASEY! YOU HATE INDIANA!” I did, but somewhere in the last four years I fell in love with this stupid flat state and it’s Midwestern charm. And once I did? I never looked back. I write about stuff to do with little kids, but I share the Indy love with single guys, married guys, single girls and married girls. We know our stuff, and we love this city.

8. After my post last night I went back through my archives a bit, you know, the stuff I’ve written for Addie. I couldn’t be happier with the words I’m leaving behind for that little kid. Someone linked this article in the NYT in the comments of my last post saying it reminded them of my blog. I sobbed through it. It’s beautiful.

9. This article in the Dallas Observer about Mom Bloggers. Brilliant. Hysterical. I literally kissed my screen.

10. Quinoa is tasty (gluten free!), but when it’s cooked it looks like teeny tiny little condoms.

11. I asked twitter if there’s anything they wanted me to include here. Katie and Julie would like you to know that tights are not pants. My favorite Klingon Translator on Twitter would like you to all buy a Palm Pre or Palm Pre Plus. And TechBurgh would like you to know about TechBurgh.com and this book about a little quail. (Which I am so painfully puzzled by and yet the randomness of it is just delicious.) Lastly, an adoption raffle to help a family get a baby. Adoptions are expensive, but totally worth it, ask anyone who’s ever been a part of one.

Have a wonderful weekend all you sweet people out there in the world. I know we’ll be having one here.

xoxo

I had just finished singing her “Catch a Falling Star.”

She turned around and asked “Mom, can people touch stars?”

My first instinct was to say no. Burning balls of gas, millions of years away.

“Of course you can.”

“Are they like light bulbs?”

Again, burning balls of gas millions of years away ran through my head.

“They’re like shiny piles of glitter.”

She giggled, found my hand, laced her little chubby fingers in mine and snuggled close.

I buried my nose into that magical spot on her neck, surrounded by freshly washed curls.

I breathed her in.

Being a mom is hard.

At this moment the thought of her little body growing 11 hours older two rooms away from me is exquisitely painful.

In the morning she will be 11 hours closer to 6.

11 hours closer to her first day of Kindergarten.

11 hours closer to her first date.

11 hours closer to not needing me.

This is going too fast.

Comments closed-The winner of the second Bedtime Kit is Sandra! Congratulations!

This post is part two of my partnership with Goodnites Bedtime Theater. I am being compensated for promoting a contest and sharing my family’s story, not for promoting a product.

First of all. The contest. You know, the one where you could win $2,500 for an adventure with your family? Well a little bird told me there are not very many entries so your chances of winning the grand prize or one of the numerous others are awfully good. Go to Bedtime Theater to enter and while you’re at it, download the free audio series/bedtime story about Iggy and his wiggy bed.

Go enter! No! Wait, stay here a minute, I need your help here for a minute then you can go…

Continue reading “teach your children, well, all sorts of crap. *giveaway*”

Internets, I have a secret.

I’m working my way through a possible food allergy.

The culprit? Perhaps gluten, perhaps a wheat allergy. Maybe it’s adrenal fatigue. It could also be cancer, or a third world parasite.

Regardless, if you know me at all, being allergic to the main things involved in baking chocolate cake is pretty much like telling a dolphin “Sorry dude, but you’re totally allergic to water.”

Tonight I made dinner that had finely chopped cauliflower as a stand in for rice. Not only did I feed it to the people related to me, I fed it to guests.

Oof.

What a bad time to come eat at Casey’s house, when she’s working through a possible gluten allergy. Kind of like going to Olive Garden and having them say “WHOOPS! SORRY! NO NOODLES! May I interest you in some garlic with a side of garlic?”

It’s probably just as bad as going to Olive Garden expecting olives and being very disappointed.

People come to eat at my house with a twinkle in their eye and stretchy pants on.

Imagine their disappointment when I serve them vegetables posing as rice, mixed with vegetables. And no dessert.

But I have had a rash. A horrible awful no good very bad rash. That burns and itches and welts and travels and is fairly unnerving. Thankfully my very lovely Jessica has recently suffered a very similar welted nightmare and told me everything she tried, everything that worked and more importantly everything that didn’t work.

I joked with her that God must like us most since we’re all Job like with our nasty rashes and vomitous pregnancies.

We also may have blamed our rashes on reality television.

She has come to the conclusion that diet and adrenal fatigue are most likely to blame which has led her to omitting anything fake from her diet, telling gluten to take a hike and taking enough supplements to restart a whale shark’s adrenal glands. (Do whale sharks have adrenal glands? Grant?)

Anyway, I turned to a local raw food healer whom I met through twitter and she talked me through an adrenal jump start.

(May I just say I love how the Internet has brought people to me so that I don’t have to suffer in puffy hives alone?)

Today I picked up my adrenal support capsules she recommended.

They are made from cow adrenal glands. And for some reason (taste? I think?) they add cloves and ginger to the cow parts in the capsule.

I loathe ginger (thanks pregnancy!)

I despise cloves (clove cigarettes, I was once young and stupid and impressionable.)

So dehydrated powdered cow parts, cloves and ginger.

If a 98 year old woman hadn’t stopped me in the health food store and commended me for not giving into the man and believing the lie that FDA has my best interests at heart, I would have left the cow caps there.

Three days gluten free. I’m really an awkward kind of hungry. I know I’ve eaten plenty, but there’s all these empty cracks waiting for chocolate cake and noodles. Carbs give you a very deliciously full feeling. For me, looking at gluten free recipes is probably similar to people reading their credit card statements, depressing, but it has to be done.

We’ve never been really crappy eaters. The treats we eat are almost always made from scratch by me. But we’re no perfectionists either. This isn’t a really dramatic change, just a sort of depressing one.

The cow caps begin tomorrow morning.

Forgive me if I moo.

This having an only child thing is a tricky business.

It’s one of those topics I’m afraid to look up on Amazon.

I’m sure there’s books about the subject. I’m even more sure the internet is just BURSTING! with ADVICE!

I want to ask her preschool teacher how obvious it is that she’s the only only child in a class of 12.

But I don’t want to know the answer.

Or maybe I do?

There are lists of famous people who are only children (Carey Grant, Frank Sinatra, Rudy Guiliani) also famous people who are middle children (Madonna, Donald Trump, Bill Gates) and of course the babies of the family (Drew Carey, Jim Carrey, Billy Crystal) I’m sure there’s also lists about only girls in families, only boys. Blah blah blah. Cody is a middle child and an only boy.

Needless to say he’s good with the ladies. And successful.

I am the youngest, I tried way too hard to be grown up like my sister way before my time.

I should technically be the funny kid.

And that brings me to Addie. When there’s only one there’s a bigger chance to screw up, you know, because there’s only one. You don’t have one to practice on and a second one to get right (because I’m sure that’s how it works.)

Eh. Sorry, I just have to say it out loud.

I’m really afraid of screwing up.

Thanks for listening.

Cody bought it the day before our first date.

Apparently he wasn’t getting much action with his grandmother’s old Barcaloungers.

I thought it was ugly.

It’s green.

The front pops out and it reclines.

We first held hands on it.

Our next date we had our first kiss on it.

I knew I was going to marry him while laying in his lap on it.

It’s where we first fell asleep together.

Two cats claimed it as their kingdom.

I slept through morning sickness on it.

I barfed from it.

I brought a tiny baby home to it.

That tiny baby leaked all sorts of liquids on it.

I shampooed it. A lot.

It moved across the country with us.

I’ve napped on it every Sunday.

We’ve taken turns sleeping on it, for multiple reasons.

I recovered from surgery on it.

It was the first thing we had to sit on in our new house.

It’s currently in our bedroom as laundry base camp.

Addie likes to hide behind it and scare Cody.

I still hate it.

I still think it’s ugly.

It has become worn out, parts have broken and it leaks grease on the carpet.

But I can’t ever get rid of it.

It’s our couch.

*****

If you were in Stephanie’s and my Inspirational Writing Workshop with Hallmark at Blissdom last month we issued you a challenge, to write about a couch. The full challenge is here if you want to play along (which you should) and once you do (or if you already have) link your posts up here over at Steph’s place.)

We’re in a breakfast rut around these parts.

If this is what your kitchen table looks like every morning then let’s help each other find more exciting things to eat for breakfast. You may even win a prize pack to help you over the breakfast hump. (Sponsored post. Unsponsored opinion.)

Just in case you had any preconceived notions that I am practically perfect in every way, I assure you I’m not.

My thighs are riddled with stretch marks and lumpy bumpies. I am covered in freckles in strange places. My face is covered with ruptured capillaries from severe vomiting while pregnant over five years ago. The skin under my chin is beginning to resemble that of a rooster. Without contacts I am twice legally blind, my two front teeth are fake and the rest of them are mottled from too much fluoride as a kid. My nose is big, my tongue is bigger, my upper lip is crooked with a scar from falling on my face as a child. I have chicken pock scars in strange places since I didn’t get the pox until I was 14. My knees are chubby, I have a big pink scar in my really deep bellybutton. My little toes point inward, my thumbs bend backwards I am capable of growing a unibrow, four chest hairs, three neck hairs, a sprinkle of whiskers and a shadow of a mustache. Don’t even get me started on the nipple hair. My hair is still recovering from PCOS where I started to go bald and when I look in the mirror all I can see is under eye bags and blotchy skin. My forehead wrinkles too much when I show emotion and I still get asked if my parents are home when I answer the phone. And while it’s only temporary my middle fingernail on my left hand is black from being smashed in a door.

To make matters worse? I found my first gray hair yesterday.

I still don’t even know how to properly apply makeup.

I have thighs I can wrap around my husband. I am covered in freckles that remind me of times I have spent in the sunshine. My face is beginning to show laugh lines rather than frown lines. The skin under my chin is one of Cody’s favorite parts on me. Without contacts my eyes are just as blue, I have never had a cavity. My nose can sniff out my favorite parts on my baby, my tongue has been passed down to my daughter and my lips are always up for kissing. I have chicken pock scars that remind me of my eighth grade year and my first boyfriend. I have knees to pray on, and scars from lessons learned. My feet helped me dance for nearly half my life and I passed my curly hair to Addie.  When I look in the mirror I see a mom, a wife and a friend. My forehead wrinkles up when I smile and I can make Cody and my mom laugh harder than anyone. And even though my middle finger was smashed it can still type out my thoughts and put on Polly Pocket’s stretchy clothes of death.

It’s still too fresh to find something worthwhile about the gray hair though.