Rigby has been a city dog her whole life. Our old apartment didn’t have windows that looked out onto “nature,” so she rarely saw birds. Now she sees them out our bedroom window every day and loses her freaking doggy mind. We are constantly saying stuff like, “Rigby they are just birds! Chill out! STOP BARKING OMG!” One of Annie’s favorite books is about birds, and last week she suddenly made the connection that Rigby’s barking means Rigby wants to hurt the birds. This makes Annie lose her freaking toddler mind all, “WIGBY! NO BARKING! NO BIRDIES! NOOOOOO!”  It’s just so much loudness, all the time.

Last night Mike and I were sitting on the couch doing…well, I don’t know what he was doing, I had an Us Weekly so I was pretty focused. Anyway, he suddenly goes, “What’s that, is that a moth?” I managed to tear my eyes away from the magazine in time to see a pretty gigantic moth fly from the kitchen into the family room. Mike was chasing it, waving a dish towel. I’ll give you a moment to snicker at that visual. “I have to kill it, it’s gross,” he said as he fanned the moth with a cool breeze.

I’m not afraid of moths, but I didn’t need one flapping around its giant wings, leaving moth dust everywhere. I already have a hard enough time keeping up with the regular dust around here. Plus this one time I watched a TV show about people who inhale bugs and it was disturbing. So what I’m saying is, I was on board with Operation Moth Removal. That’s when Annabel joined us from the playroom. She saw the moth and yelled, “BIRDY!”

Mike was literally in the process of throwing plastic balls at the moth when she yelled this. Everything went all slow-motion as I watched the ball leave Mike’s fingers on a collision course for the moth (which I’d named Carol Anne because it kept flying into the lights and if you get that joke you are my new boyfriend). As the ball hit the moth, Annie screamed in a very low-pitched voice (because it was slow mo, duh), “NOOOOOooooooooo!”

The moth was clearly some kind of mutant, though, because while it stumbled, it did NOT fall. It did drop like 80 metric tons of dust DAMN IT, but it kept flying into the ceiling lights like a moron. I started comforting Annie. “Look Annie, the birdy, I MEAN the moth is fine! See, it’s still up there flapping its gross moth wings, flappy flappy!” Meanwhile, Mike had grabbed his old standby, the kitchen towel, and was fanning the moth and Rigby was barking. Everything was awesome.

After an embarrassing amount of time, Mike and I finally realized we should turn off the lights in the family room and turn ON the lights near the door to the back yard. The moth, sensing victory, flew down to a low spot on the wall. I yelled, “SMASH IT!” and Annie screamed, “NO SMASH BIRDY!” Mike grabbed a random party hat from Annie’s birthday and trapped the moth, then carefully carried it to the back door and let it go…only to have the moth immediately fly back into the house.

I started cursing Carol Anne while Annie cheered, “yay birdy!” and Mike started fanning the moth with the party hat. Finally, after we turned off all the lights in the house and turned ON all the lights in the back yard, the moth flew out the door and into freedom. Annie immediately burst into tears. “Oh no! Where birdy go?” We explained that the moth had to go home to its mommy. Annie was unconvinced. When we put her to bed a few minutes later, she said, “Mama…birdie go see mama? Come back?” I said, “Annie, the moth is probably on the other side of your window.” Mike was horrified but Annie looked at the window and said, “Night night birdie!”

I’m sleeping with a surgical mask on. You never can be too careful.

© COPYRIGHT HEATHER SPOHR 2011 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.

My friend Diane invited me and our other friend Tara to take a spin class with her yesterday. Diane is a spin class regular, and I am a regular at avoiding all fitness classes. But it was one of those rare days where the stars aligned and the three of us could all make it, you know, if I didn’t want to sleep in. But then Tara agreed to go, so I had to go, because they put peer pressure on me and also there’s a Trader Joe’s next door to the spin class. Mmmm, Jo Jo’s.

I was the last person to arrive to the class (of course) and I saw that Diane and Tara saved me a bike in the back row, on the farthest end. They know me so well. Diane helped me adjust the bike, which was good because I had no idea how to do it, and the seat was raised up to my eyeballs.

I climbed onto the bike and sat down, and I realized immediately that the class was going to be painful. Not because of the exercise, but because the seat was the most uncomfortable thing I have ever sat on in my life. There’s a lot of joke potential right there but I’m just gonna let that one go because my dad reads this blog. The seat was padded, but it just hit me in all the wrong places. It felt bad instantly, and even after some adjustments it still hurt. I figured I was being a wuss, so I just said a quick, “whoa, my vagina doesn’t like this!” to Tara and Diane and then class started.

The lights went off and music started blasting, and there was a woman at the front of the room shouting instructions to us. It was kind of like a weird foreign film. The instructor would yell out things like, “third position!” and I was like, “I’m supposed to do ballet on this bike?” but then Diane showed me it was a different way to ride the bike. There were little knob things to turn to add resistance, and the instructor would should out, “Give the knob two twists! Twist your knobs!” It’s a good thing I was in the back, because sometimes I am a twelve-year-old boy.

My crotch was on fire the entire time. I would be sprinting on the bike and…things…would start to go numb. Then we’d be told to stand up and peddle, and all the blood would rush back to those things, and it felt like I was peeing my pants. Every. Single. Time. I would look down to make sure I hadn’t, like I didn’t figure out the first time that it was just my blood pumping. I’m pretty sure I am the only person who liked the segments where we stood up to peddle.

After the class, Diane looked at Tara and me and said, “you’re going to be sore tomorrow!” and I was like, “yeah, there’s already some tenderness happening down in my special area.”

I’m pretty sure I now know how vaginal birth feels.

© COPYRIGHT HEATHER SPOHR 2011 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.

The day ESPN’s College GameDay show announced they’d be broadcasting from Los Angeles, I got about 187,000,000,000 texts, tweets, and emails asking if I’d heard the news. As if my sworn enemy could come to town without me knowing? Nope. Whenever Lee Corso gets within 300 miles of me, my hair stands on end.

I told Mike that Corso was coming to town.

Mike: *sigh* Does that mean you’re going to go to the show and hold up a sign?

Heather: Uh, DUH.

Mike: You know you’re 32 years old, right?

Heather: …and your point is…?

Mike: Please don’t get arrested.

Heather: *siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh* FINE.

I got up before dawn on Saturday to drive down to the LA Memorial Coliseum, home to the USC Trojans and the location for the GameDay broadcast.  The show starts at 7am in Los Angeles – brutal! Nonetheless, there was a good-sized crowd for that time of day. I met my friends Brianne and Derek and we quickly put our signs together.

My sign was inspired by how lame Lee Corso is. He’s so lame, I bet his house sucks on Halloween (unlike mine!):

It’s funny because it’s probably true. Thanks, Matt!

The key to getting a sign on GameDay is patience. The show is two hours long, so there is plenty of time to figure out the best location for maximum exposure. The craziest fans are in the pit right behind the stage. We always stick to the outside of the crowd. It’s easier to move around, and if you’re quick on your feet, you can get seen on a tight shot:

This time, we even found ourselves unexpectedly on camera, although it was an aerial shot so you really had to know to look for me in my hat and sunglasses:

After my sign was on TV, a security guard came right over to where I was standing. I started to sweat until he leaned in and took the sign of the guy standing next to me. Even though I knew my sign was tame compared to years’ past, I was still relieved. The guard came back a few minutes later, and this time he was there for me.

Guard: I just wanted to tell you your sign is the nicest one we’ve seen about Corso today. Lee likes it.

Me: I have failed.

Guard: Uh, what?

Corso liked my sign. LIKED. IT. It was supposed to at least sting a little! Dang.

It may have been an extended olive branch, but I’m not one who forgives easily.

You’re still my enemy, Lee Corso.

© COPYRIGHT HEATHER SPOHR 2011 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.

Have any of you seen the TV show Dino Dan? It’s about a ten year old Canadian kid who loves dinosaurs so much that he sees them everywhere. My mom played an episode for Annie a month ago and now she is OBSESSED with it. She says the word “dinosaurs” at least 87 times a day. If we turn on the TV, she starts shrieking “Dine-saurs! Dine-saurs!” and will sometimes walk through the house going “Diiiiiino Daaaaaan.”

I cannot stand Dino Dan.

So this Dan kid? I am not kidding, he sees dinosaurs everywhere. But no one else sees them. Oh wait, no, HIS DOG sees them sometimes. So he has an active imagination, that’s fine. He’s a kid, we can classify this as “adorable” and not, you know, PSYCHO.

it’s like he’s staring into my soul

But the reason I find the show so annoying? The main character makes EVERYTHING about dinosaurs. Running in gym class? Let’s interrupt the teacher to talk about how fast dinosaurs ran! Art class? Hey teacher, let’s use this papier-mache to MAKE A DINOSAUR SKULL! That kid has no respect for lesson plans!

In one episode he finds an egg. Of course it’s a dinosaur egg, and he tells his mom aaaallllllll about it as they walk to the grocery store and back. Meanwhile, you KNOW that mom is wishing she’d had an hour of peace and quiet at the supermarket. Girlfriend does NOT want to talk dinosaurs 24/7.

While I am sitting there silently lamenting “Dino Dan” and its majestically annoying theme music, Annie is eating. it. up. When an animated dinosaur comes on the screen, she says, “WOW! Dine-saur!” And at the end of the show she says, “bye bye, dine-saurs!” She’s learning, right? About…dinosaurs?

UGH she is too young to know the difference between herbivores and carnivores. At least the show has exposed her to exciting new things…like Canadians.

© COPYRIGHT HEATHER SPOHR 2011 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.

Heather: Hey! All our shows start this week!

Mike: Oh yeah? Like which ones?

Heather: All of them! But I know you’ll be excited about Community and The Office.

Mike: Yes, those two are my favorites.

Heather: I’ve missed Jeff and the gang.

Mike: Which one is Jeff?

Heather: Wha? He’s the main character. Played by my TV boyfriend Joel McHale.

Mike: I don’t know their names.

Heather: WHAT? How do you not know the names of the characters on your favorite show? Do you know the names of the characters on The Office?

Mike: Um…Steve Carrell?

Heather: Oh my gosh! His character’s name is MICHAEL! Of ALL the names, you should know that one. Also, he’s not on the show anymore. It was a very special episode.

Mike: I know the characters, I just don’t know their names. I recognize them visually.

Heather: You would have been screwed in the time of radio.

Mike: Ha ha. I can still talk about plot lines, I just know them in my head as “the secretary” or “the preppy one.”

Heather: I don’t understand this at all. Do you know the names of The Friends?

Mike: Um…the dumb one, Courteney Cox, Brad Pitt’s ex-wife…

Heather: My head is going to explode.

Mike: One of them is named Phoebe!

Heather: I think we might have to divorce.

Mike: What, so you know ALL their names?

Heather: Yes! I know all the characters on the shows I watch.

Mike: But you watch like, twenty different shows.

Heather: The characters are my friends.

Mike: That’s creepy. So, on The Office, what’s the name of the ex-fiance of the old secretary that’s now married to the tall guy?

Heather: Pam is married to Jim, and her ex-fiance’s name is ROY, that’s so easy.

Mike: He’s a minor character, and you know his name.

Heather: He is not minor, a minor character is Madge, the female warehouse employee.

Mike: Wow. OK, what’s the name of January Jones’ daughter on Mad Men?

Heather: Sally Beth. You’re not going to stump me.

Mike: I shudder to think of the valuable brain cells you’re using to remember these things.

Heather: These are important things! You never know who is going to suddenly become a bigger character.

Mike: I think you’re right about our having to divorce.

Heather: I think that it’s weird you remember NO character names.

Mike: I think it’s weirder you remember ALL character names.

Heather: Well, I’m going to blog about this conversation and we’ll see who is right.

Mike: Great. Don’t come crying to me when everyone calls you a weirdo!

© COPYRIGHT HEATHER SPOHR 2011 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.

At Annie’s 18 month visit, Dr. Looove gave me a pamphlet about potty training. POTTY TRAINING Y’ALL. I had no idea this was something I was supposed to start concerning myself with already. But Dr. Looove is the expert, so I read the pamphlet…and I took some notes. I decided I’d use the weekend to implement some of the pamphlet’s suggestions.

Well, not only am *I* not ready, but THREE MONTHS? It will take THREE MONTHS to potty train Annabel? I can barely make it three months without soiling MYSELF. And now I have to dedicate three months to teaching Annabel not to crap herself? This is problematic.

When I first read this I thought, “So what you’re telling me is I now have to invite Annabel to be with me the two minutes I get to myself every day.” Awesome. After living with the idea a few minutes, however, I told myself that I was a gamer and could do it. So I brought Annabel into the bathroom, and she was psyched. I showed her my…business…in the toilet bowl, and she gave me a confused look as if to say, “And why exactly are you showing me THAT?!” I then taught her how to flush. She did it once, then, for her own amusement, flushed the toilet again. And again. AND AGAIN. All within the span of five seconds. Thanks, pamphlet… our water bill is now going to be astronomical.

OK, we don’t have a potty chair yet, but I figured cutting out the middle man was fine. So back into the bathroom we went, this time with a dirty diaper. Annie was THRILLED to be near the toilet again. I started the big show of dumping her dump into the toilet when she interrupted to say, “Annie do!” Instead of telling her no, I tried to speed up the process of pouring out the contents of her diaper…and missed. Ugh. As I began the (disgusting) task of picking up poop off the floor,  Annie maniacally flushed the toilet over and over while chanting “fush fush fush!” I am traumatized.

Um…is wiping not a step? WITHER THE WIPING?! Isn’t this where we are supposed to teach her about front to back? I feel like it is a CRUCIAL step. Also, if the person who wrote this pamphlet doesn’t know about wiping, should we really trust them?

Where do I begin…

• Teach the vocabulary (pee, poop, potty, etc.)
•  I am happy to teach this vocabulary, but will someone please tell me what etcetera is in this case? Seriously.
• Clarify that everyone makes pee and poop.
•  I have it on good authority Oprah doesn’t make poop.
• Point out when dogs or other animals are going pee or poop.
• I’m pretty sure this will give Rigby a complex, but fine.
• Clarify the body’s signals when you observe them: “Your body wants to make some pee or poop!”
• This actually isn’t hard, as Annie likes to hide behind the couch when she poops. So I said, “Annie! Your body wants to make poop right now!” and she looked back and me and replied, “Elmo.” I feel like maybe there is a communication barrier.
• Praise your child for passing poop in the diaper.
• High fives are now issued whenever someone poops.
• Do not refer to poop as dirty or yucky stuff.
• I am in the market for adjectives for poop that aren‘t “dirty,” “yucky,” or “holy mother this stinks.”
• Make changing diapers pleasant for the child so he will come to you.
• When I change Annie’s diaper, I place her on a table covered with the softest material I’ve ever felt. Her body is cushioned and the wipes I use are room temperature. I do not know HOW I can make this experience more pleasant for her. I can think of a MILLION ways to make the experience more pleasant for ME though.

The last page of the pamphlet says that your child is labeled “resistant” to potty training if the approach described doesn’t work after six months. I think it’s safe to say that if it takes me six months to potty train Annabel, I’ll end up in diapers in the looney bin.

So realistically, when is the rough age that little girls potty train? And if you have a gifted child who potty trained at 18 months, lie to me.

© COPYRIGHT HEATHER SPOHR 2011 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.

Yesterday I wrote about taking Annie to a movie for the first time. The whole experience was about doing something with Annabel that we’d done with her sister. We don’t ever want Annie to look back on my chronicle of our lives with her sister and say, “how come you didn’t do that with me?” Am I overcompensating? Prooooobably.

Anyway, some of the comments took me by surprise. They were super judgey that the Mom Movie was rated PG-13. The Mom Movie is only offered once a week, and if you want to attend then you see what is playing. The theatres are not dark and the sound is down low enough that you almost can’t hear it over all the kids. It is an awesome few hours for parents who need to get out of the house. While I DID want to see Harry Potter (I’ve read all the books multiple times), it was just a fortunate coincidence that it was the movie playing on the day that fit our schedule.

Now. I know by writing this here blog and allowing responses I’m inviting people to comment on my life. I’ve been blogging for almost ten years so I think I’ve seen just about everything. I don’t need people to agree with everything I say, I have a husband for that. And I guess…I am disappointed.

Why are moms ALWAYS picking on each other? It’s not about taking Annie to a movie, it’s about moms in general. Why do we feel like it’s appropriate and right to tell another mom “you’re doin’ it wrong?!” Is it so we can feel better about our own parenting? Superior in some way? I’m guilty – I’ve certainly written the words, “OMG! You can’t do that with your child!”

Key words: YOUR CHILD.

Is it the Internet that emboldens us? Would we be so judgmental face to face? Would I end so many sentences with question marks? I DO NOT KNOW.

I’m gonna be bold and say that most parents are making the decisions they feel are right for their children. If Annie had been disturbed or frightened by the movie you bet your bippy we’d have peaced out right away. But she wasn’t. She was much more interested in feeding me popcorn (best new trick EVER) and walking up the stairs of the theatre and generally doing anything BUT watch the movie. Probably because the movie didn’t star Elmo, Abby, or Muno. Or because she is eighteen months old and doesn’t know her foot from her butt (but we’re working on it!).

What works for one family will not work for another. Mike started going to movies before he could walk, and saw Rated R movies in elementary school. Now he’s a writer with an amazing imagination. My mom took me to my first rock concert when I was seven, and I grew up singing and playing instruments. I would be thrilled if Annie was a writer. I’d be thrilled if Annie loved to sing. I’d also be thrilled if she grew up to be a wizard because magic is awesoooooommmme.

Can we all agree that none of us are parenting experts? How about we focus on being nice and supportive instead of snarky know-it-alls? How about I stop using question marks?

© COPYRIGHT HEATHER SPOHR 2011 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.

Heather: Leah is coming over tonight, and she said she wants to talk to you about the debt ceiling.

Mike: OK.

Heather: So, that gives you three hours to learn what “debt ceiling” means.

Mike: I know what the debt ceiling is.

Heather: Oh. Well that’s good. I didn’t want to have to explain it to you.

Mike: HA. Why don’t you go ahead and explain it to me anyway.

Heather: I don’t feel like it.

15 minutes later…

Heather: Mike…why don’t they just print more money?

Mike: Heather, do I really have to explain the whole money printing thing to you AGAIN? You know it’s not that easy.

Heather: But WHY isn’t it that easy? I mean, why do the money printers have to tell anyone? Why can’t they just print more money on the down low? What’s the point of being President if you can’t print money when you need it? Seems like that should be one of the perks, right next to having a bed on your plane.

Mike: Having a bed on a plane is what impresses you about being President?

Heather: Hell yeah! If I had access to a plane bed, I’d never be jet lagged again.

Mike: I don’t think it works that way.

Heather: You’re not the expert on how EVERYTHING works, Mike! Obviously.

Mike: Sigh.

Heather: Do you think there’s a seat belt in the bed? In case of turbulence.

Mike: I don’t know, look it up.

Heather: The internet is down.

Mike: That explains so much.

Heather: I drew a picture of the bed airplane I’m going to buy when I can print money.

Mike: So it’s a bed…with wings.

Heather: Roughly.

Mike: No seat belt?

Heather: It’s under the covers.

Mike: Of course.

Heather: You should see the dog and crib versions!

Mike: You know what Heather, if they could make these planes, maybe they could just print more money.

Heather: THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYING!!!

© COPYRIGHT HEATHER SPOHR 2011 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.

A few months ago I went on a trip and thanks to lack of routine and forgetfulness, I didn’t take my head meds for three straight days. My head meds are for my anxiety, so you’d think that forgetting to take then would just make me anxious, right? Wrong. I went into this weird state where I felt like somehow I’d been slipped roofies AND speed. I was grouchy, babbling, shaky, hyper, spazzy and exhausted. And, I didn’t realize I hadn’t taken my meds, so I just was like, “wow, New Orleans does weeeeeeeirrrrd things to me! Maybe I shouldn’t have taken that Children’s Claritin with so much coffee!!!! ZZZZZZZ.” It was Brain Armageddon, but without Ben Affleck, animal crackers or my dad singing in the background.

Once I finally figured out that I hadn’t taken my medicine, I rectified the situation and then told one of my internet doctor friends. She said, “yeah, you don’t want to suddenly stop taking that stuff. Some of the side effects can be irritability, hallucinations, reduced thinking ability, bleeding from the skin, and nighttime urination.” I’m glad only some of those things happened because I had to share a bed in NOLA and I think things could have really gotten awkward.

I bring all this up because I am feeling just like this again, but from jet lag. This whole time zone thing has really messed with me. I’m  jittery, easily distracted, and in the time it took me to complete this sentence I fell asleep, then woke with a start and braided a section of my bangs. Then I got out of bed to stretch because my muscles hurt. The logical next thing to do was “draw” a “picture” that makes no sense.

This is just pathetic.

I don’t know what to do. I am not napping during the day. At night, I have brief flirtations with sleep – I’ll fall asleep sitting up, but then when I lay down I am wide awake. When I finally DO fall asleep, it’s for no longer than three or four hours. Frankly, I got more sleep when I had newborns.

I need more than four hours sleep to function. Annabel is a worthy adversary who can sense weakness, and I fear that should I get one more sub-par night of sleep, she’ll somehow have me booking first class tickets for her and her toys on an African Safari.

Just look at that “drawing.” I gave up drawing a butterfly halfway through and made it a moth! If’ that isn’t a cry for help, nothing is.

© COPYRIGHT HEATHER SPOHR 2011 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.

The week before I got sick I went to a house party. When I walked in and saw my friend Rebecca, we both burst out laughing. We were were dressed almost identically. We both had on black and white striped maxi dresses that were cut the same. She’d almost worn a jean jacket, and I’d originally had on the same pair of shoes she was wearing. Our friend Jessica noticed the zebra photo on the wall behind us, and a photo was born:

yeah, Bec’s eyes are closed, but she thought that made the picture better.

After we posed, the three of us decided to mingle a bit (aka, find the food) so we headed toward the kitchen. As we left the room a girl we didn’t know stopped us and said, “Your picture was so cute, with the zebra and the matching dresses and the bellies!”

Uhhhhhhm what?

Rebecca was nineteen weeks pregnant at the time of the picture. WITH TWINS. I am not pregnant, and on a normal day I do have a bit of a jiggle in the middle thanks to two pregnancies, but this was not a normal day – I WAS WEARING SPANX.

Jessica and Rebecca both audibly gasped. I smiled and said, “Thanks! I’m not pregnant, but she is!” I just kept walking.

When we reached the kitchen Bec and Jessica started apologizing to me, as if they were the ones who’d somehow done something wrong. They repeated assured me I didn’t look pregnant. I think Jessica might have threatened to punch the girl in the face, I’m not sure, I wouldn’t put it past her.

Honestly? It didn’t bother me. It could be because I’ve been asked so many crazy questions in the past that I just brush them off. Maybe I give off some sort of hormone or something that rude people are attracted to. I should have that checked out.

I’m pretty sure I will be asked again at some point if I’m pregnant when I’m not. Yeah, maybe I should do some core exercises. I never know what to say in these awkward situations. In this case, it was a girl in her early twenties and I didn’t want to make her feel bad.

Can we all just solemnly swear to never ask a stranger if she’s pregnant unless we can see the baby emerging from her vagina?

© COPYRIGHT HEATHER SPOHR 2011 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.