Why is it, then, that all I want to do (before we’re due to grill) is drive an hour away to the outlet mall? Here’s some reasoning pinging around in my noggin:

1. it’s set in the picturesque Berkshires
2. so really, it’s a nature drive
3. so Mr. Squirrel and Jojo could play on the grassy areas while mommy tries on clothes!
4. Mr. Squirrel would hatehatehate that
4. valuable savings for the holiday! celebrate America! help support the economy!
5. I’m going back to work in less than a month…need new work clothes.
6. Do I really? Or do I just need to exercise a bit to fit into my old work clothes? Hmm that’s no fun.
6. The Nugget needs to see Massachussets!
7. Gas. Oh shit. I forgot about the gas prices.

FINE. I guess we’ll stick around the homestead and spray each other with the hose.

**UPDATE** We compromised and hit the big mall, scoring some sweet deals on GAP apparel for the chitlins (in next years sizes) and… a brand spankin’ new REFRIGERATOR! GOOD BYE STINKBOX…YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED!!

I haven’t mentioned this situation because, honestly, it’s all happened so quickly and I tend to tuck away Things that Suck so I don’t have to think of them and instead think, talk and write about third nipples or television or pooping infants.

Distraction and denial! My guide to a happy life…at least for a while.

So. Yes, my mom will be wheeled into a fairly routine exploratory procedure this afternoon involving her heart. If they find nothing, fantastic. She’ll be released later today.

If they find blockage, a stent will be inserted and she’ll stay the night at the hospital.

Either way, I can tell she’s scared and any positive thoughts sent to southwest Michigan, Attention: Grandma Squirrel, would be greatly appreciated by the entire Squirrel clan.

UPDATE: Grandma Squirrel took your positive vibes & rocked the surgery. Her heart looks strong, and no stents were needed. Whew. A big nutty sigh and many, many thanks.

All ya have to do to help me out today is head on over here and scoop up/dispose of that half-flattened squirrel that army-crawled into our driveway and now serves as the centerpiece of a morbid fly swarm.

The shovel is in the garage.

Thanks.

But back to me.

Last night in my dream, I published a book called “The 7 Beers I Brought to Heaven.” I’m pretty sure I stole from this book. But whatever. It’s a dream. I couldn’t help myself.

When I told Mr. Squirrel about it, he deadpanned, “You’re assuming you’d get into heaven?”

Point, Mr. Squirrel.

When I scoffed at him, he then asked what beers I would bring.

Corona (with lime), duh. I mean, that’s basically all I like. So then what? Doesn’t heaven already have beer waiting? Would they have lime, or would I have to substitute one of my seven beers for the lime? Seven beers ONLY or seven kinds of beer during my stay? How long will I be staying? Are all the beers for me or can I distribute? I could bring Mr. Squirrel some Guiness. I don’t really like beer, except for the occasional Corona, so can I bring iced tea (with lemon)? Diet Coke? What’s the beverage situation in heaven, anyway? I mean, if there’s only water available, I’ll need to bring some lime-flavored seltzer, too.

And then Mr. Squirrel interrupted my ramblings, kissed me and left for work. I guess he didn’t want to delve into this too deeply before 8am. Hmpf. See if he gets any Guiness!

Do you think there’s a big ol’ beverage bar in heaven? Perfectly brewed unsweetened iced tea with free lemon wedges? Diet Coke? Diet Dr. Pepper? If you had to pick one beverage (let’s assume plain water is available) to go with you into the sweet hereafter, what would you take? Yes, one. I only get to take seven. I mean, it’s my book people.

1. Elmo Goes to the Potty
2. The Wire, Season 1, Disc 1

We (read it: me) plan on renting a bunch of shows that our basic cable package doesn’t let us see. Mr. Squirrel suggested we rent the entire West Wing series. I explained to him that there are actually other good shows available. We do not have to revert to West Wing DVDs just yet. Give it a couple of years. Take a break, Mr. Squirrel.

Besides The Wire, we (I) also plan on queuing up:
Weeds
The Sopranos (I know. We live in a fucking bubble.)
Arrested Development (I KNOW. Everyone and their mothers expected that I already owned this series. NO! I LIVE IN A BUBBLE, didn’t you LISTEN?)
Um, that’s about it.

Any suggestions? Note: if you loved the shows Jag, Mama’s Family or According to Jim, go away. Kidding. Loveyoubygones.

1. You talk about Kate to your friends as if she’s also one of your close friends…such as “I don’t know how Kate does it” and then you see the wheels a-turnin’ in your friend’s brain as she eliminates the Kates you both know, neither of whom fit the bill for what we’re discussing, so then you have to explain you meant a Kate that you both only know through television.
2. But this friend totally loves the show, too, so you discuss it whenever you’re together; and, you kind of hope her husband is around so you can fight him on the merits of Kate. He hates her, and you him to see the light.
3. You had an awesome dream where you were married to Jon and Kate was married to his identical twin, and you and Kate were BFF.

I think I’ll end the list there. I realize the short list seems rather stalker-y or obsessive, when in fact I’m not. No, really…as long as I stay 500 feet from them, I’m fine! I just love the show. You, too, might be watching too much J&K+8 if you knew from the title that I meant the TLC show “Jon and Kate Plus 8.”

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Also? “The Mole” is on tonight. Eeek! LOVE IT. How can you: a. not be watching it and b. not LOVING IT? So good. Go. Watch it at 10pm. GO. I command thee to put down your porn and watch ThE MOLLLLEEEEE.

Mi nombre es El Nugget.

Mi mama wanted to do some gardening, so she pulled out this blanket she bought for $5 in Tijuana back in 1990 from the back of our Loser Cruiser and tossed it in the Zooper.

Then she plunked me down and set to work pulling out the ridiculously long and tough grass that our green (read: ineffective) lawn mower (read: lawn flattener) cannot cut. Her plan was to attack a small section next to our neighbor’s house (the white one) which we take care of because I think it’s our property. Nobody know really, but we love our neighbor, so my parents don’t mind tending to it once a season or so.

I didn’t let her get more than seven pieces of grass pulled before I freaked out … just for fun! Then she got all pouty and we all had to go inside, even my big brother, who in turn freaked out because he wanted to keep digging in the driveway. Que lastima!

Is it me, or does my stroller look like a half-assed float entry in the Parada de Tijuana? Si. No bueno, mama.

At least I look cute, si?

The end. Adios!

Price of daycare (at new location because I don’t want to return to the other place because, let’s be honest, the women in the infant room hate me because in my ‘anonymous survey’ I mentioned that I didn’t think it was necessary for the workers to bring in doughnuts for the children, considering Jojo was ten months old and which 10 month old needs to eat a friggin doughnut? I love doughnuts. I love you, workers, eating doughnuts…just do it before work or in a different room. I digress much. The point is, the No Doughnuts For Infants Rule became, well, a rule at my suggestion, and I started receiving not so friendly treatment from these ‘ladies’ afterwards. Whatever. You think you’re getting my Nugget with THAT attitude? I think not)…

OK so where was I?

Price of daycare for Jojo & the Nugget for three days a week: $425.

ARE YOU POOOOPING ME? Are you? I feel pooped upon. Mind you, I could enroll them for five full days and pay a mere $56 more.

That, my friends, is why most women cannot work part-time when they have children. Part-time daycare, if found (because many centers or home daycares do not offer it), is financially prohibitive. According to a recent poll I saw of mothers, the overwhelming majority of women would like to work part-time. I’m guessing the disconnect, in large part, comes from the daycare dilemma.

Mr. Squirrel and I will have to sit down and discuss the feasibility of my return to work plan. I’ll make enough to cover daycare (but not by much!), but when we factor in gas, I’m not sure it’s a money-making venture. Is it a Save Stacy’s Sanity venture? Yes, so now the question remains…how much will we pay for Stacy’s sanity?

The answer lies out there…Stay Tuned!

Check out my outfit from last week:
Spit up, courtesy of The Nugget.

Blood, courtesy of Jojo.

Happiness, courtesy of my loves:

*most of the time. Don’t get me wrong…sometimes I’m the anti-glamour AND ready to tear my hair out and lose my mind…like just this morning, when Jojo wouldn’t STOP TALKING or stomping around the house in his new boots and the Nugget wouldn’t settle down and sweeeeeet meats and cheeses was I hott mess on the edge, but now they’re both sleeping, so I’m all dreamy and schmoopy again. And, of course, I’m still in my spit-up covered shirt.

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Are those pigs flying outside? Well, my heavens! Fancy that… and the crazy but TRUE fact that I posted ta-WICE at New to Us this week!

Hate you!
Stacy

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Dear Jackass,
Ya see that two-laned gravel trail leading up to the back of your car?

ACKKKKKK,
Stacy

——-
Dear Jackass,
Seriously? Who invites gossip rags to their weddings? Maybe it’s just me and my own smalltown opinions, but that seems rather desperate and self-absorbed. Best of luck on your third marriage and someday explaining to your two youngest girls why you called the marriage to their mother a “con.” Not that I even want to know what went on, but sweet baby Jackass, dude, you’re a douchebag from the $1.00 bin.

I give you 3 years tops.
Stacy