Perfect Pucker

Getting that perfect pucker might be a little hard to come by, especially if you suffer from frequent chapped lips. I know one thing, winter is definitely not making these lips any softer. Thankfully though there is a product on the market that we all know and love. I know you already are using it...

Burt's Bees

Yes! That is right! If you have never tried out one of the Burt's Bees products, I urge you to give them a try. I am seriously in love with and highly addicted to them. Each tube of Burt's is an "Earth Friendly Natural Personal Care" product with blends of essential oils, beeswax, and my personally favorite ingredient... peppermint(!) that deeply moisturizes and nourishes the lips. All products are natural and free of harmful chemicals.

Bare Minimum

I LOVE this movie!!! Seriously, it is the most awesome social commentary on icky corporate culture ever. Go watch it again and again and again. In the mean time, I am going to go work on collecting more flair and looking for my red stapler.

The ONLY Reason to Live in MN

Is there anything better than a fresh, snowy day?!

Daniel thinks there is...

He was NOT happy with the cold, fluffy white stuff.

Close to Me

"Mommy, can I sit next to you while you eat dinner?"

I hear this almost every evening. There is much chair scraping as she drags her kitchen chair right up next to mine. After a few moments she asks, "Mommy, can I sit in your lap while you eat?" Her big, soft brown eyes look up at me with a quiet excitement I can't remember ever possessing.

After placing her on my lap, she pauses, wraps her tiny arms around my neck and exclaims, "Oh! Thank you, Mommy. Thank you!" Then she burrows into me, compacting herself into a tiny ball. She squirms as if she is looking for a spot that will position her even closer to me.

If she could, I imagine she would soon ask, "Mommy, can I be back inside you?" These days it is never close enough. Not that I am complaining! I know, soon enough, she will not want me around and my heart will silently break when that day arrives.

Deep Thoughts

Much thought goes into this website...

http://anotherdayanotherword.com/

One Hundred and Eighteen

My co-workers are voracious readers of the daily newspaper.

Often I overhear said coworkers discussing the stories they have read. These stories usually tell a horrific and depressing tale of some far-off place. I usually just nod and stay mute, because in the morning I only have the energy to privately hope that Ed McMahon will come knocking on my door with a big check and a reason to stay home from work. But this morning co-worker said something that got me out of my morning-induced coma.

They found 118 cats in a house in St. Anthony, she said.

One hundred and eighteen cats??!? In the same house?

I have a single cat. And although I positively adore him, living with him is like living with an inconsiderate, do-nothing, mooching, smelly roommate. He constantly begs for food -- frequently waking me up well before my alarm clock -- scratches the furniture *all* the time, jumps on the table to lick our dinner plates even when we are looking, spreads his hair throughout the house like he's some sort of allergen fairy, and has one of the highest stink-to-weight ratios in the animal kingdom. (Seriously, if a fox ever happened by her litterbox even he would demand a deodorizer; and I change that box every bleeping day.)

Oh, and he snores so loudly it measures on the Richter Scale. (Here is where I tell you that I'm the only complex being in this house who doesn't snore on a regular basis; sometimes, the chorus of snoring people and felines form a nice melody; other times they're only slightly less annoying than fingernails on a chalkboard. It usually depends on how much sleep you need that particular night. I won't tell you which one you'll hear when you have to get up at 4 a.m. to calm a crabby child.)

I once left the door open to the outside with my cat standing right there, and actively encouraged him to bolt, but my feline wouldn't budge. Not that I blame him, for this is still Minnesota and until recently it's been near 14 billion below zero outside. No amount of fur on anything could protect a being from 14 billion below zero.

So the thought of 118 cats roaming around my house, begging for food, turning my couch into a heaping ball of fabric and coils and meowing at all hours of the night just gives me the heebie-jeebies. 118?!

Thanks, Kid!

E, my eight year old daughter, yelling down the stairs as I went out the door on my way to work this morning:

"HAVE A GOOD DAY, MOM. TRY NOT TO GET FIRED OR USE YOUR SASSY VOICE!"

Seriously? Alrighty then.