Begging for votes again

I'm in the running for a Totally Awesome Award, which is, well, awesome.  Somewhat less awesome is that they managed to both ignore my blog title "From Stage Dives to Station Wagons" AND misunderstand my URL.  In Seattle, no less.  I thought there was some kind of state law about knowing all of the major and several of the minor espresso beverages, but I could be wrong.  At any rate, I'd love it if you'd take the time to vote for me, so if you don't mind, how about a vote for Mommy Need Salatte.  And if you happen to know what Salatte is, could you please let me know?  Because, apparently I need some.

Know what I want for my birthday?

Well apart from uninterrupted sleep, a shoebox full of twenties and a magical spell to restore my youth. Apart from those, which sadly I do not stand a good chance of getting anytime soon, I'd love some comments. Specifically, I want to meet anyone who has been lurking. I'd like to know who you are and how you found me, because I am sincerely flattered that you keep coming back.
And if you can figure out a way to give me back the boobs I had in my 20s, I'd appreciate that too.

Just so you know

I don't consider comments one-upping. ever. even if they really are one-upping me. just wanted to make that clear.

Why do I do the things I do.

I've been thinking a lot about blogging lately. Not doing much of it, but thinking a lot about it. I've had a week from hell a work, and I've been pretty much ignoring my blog. This makes me feel a little guilty. But why? My blog is a hobby. I do it when I feel like it and lately I just haven't felt like it. I'm not letting anyone down with my posting silence.

So why do I blog? I'm not doing it to make money, I don't host advertising of any kind. I'm not doing it because my audience demands it. I'm not writing about matters of great importance to anyone except me. I tend to think of this blog more as an outlet for my thoughts. A high tech journal if you will. I also think it is a bit like a scrapbook for the kids, a place to keep track of all the really cute, really sweet, really aggravating and really funny things they do. Over time it has grown, I've picked up readers who leave comments that make my day. I no longer feel like I'm talking to myself here, and I've developed this little sense of a parenting community when I write. I feel understood.

But when I think about it, my motivation for blogging boils down to one single thing. A desire to become the subject of international adoration. It's that simple.

A change in my station.

As of this morning, I fully expect you will start referring to me as HRH Laura.  Big Dog dubbed me Queen of the Moms as we were getting ready for school.  Finally, someone has noticed my regal bearing.  I'm sure it's just a matter of time before I am treated with the respect and dignity that such a lofty title deserves.

Does it make my new title feel any less grand that he also dubbed Nikita the Princess of the Dogs?  Not one little bit.

Now please bow and kiss my ring.

Update:  After work Big Dog was petting Nikita and told me "Mom, we should maybe get her a crown."  I laughed and he offered, "So she can be the Princess of the Dogs."  Ok, let's see how much she likes wearing a crown. Ha.

The big list of disappointments, theirs not mine

Dear boys, 

Yes, I am an amazing and powerful force to be reckoned with, but even with all of my natural ability, there are many things I cannot and/or will not do.

1. Your knight costume, while adorable, is now torn.  I understand you want a new one right now, but I cannot make a new one materialize on command.  

2.  When you are hysterical, and sometimes when you are not, I simply cannot understand what you are saying.  When I say "what?" or guess the wrong thing, it is not some evil plot to prevent you from getting what you want, it is just me trying to figure out what the fuck you are trying to ask for.

3.  I know my mac and cheese is the most delicious kid-ambrosia in the world.  But no, we will not eat it every night.  And when that request goes ungranted, please understand that chocolate for dinner is not the next most logical choice.  You are not a) a pregnant woman or b) PMSing, so that will never happen.

4.  I do try to have appropriate groceries in the house at all times, but much as I cannot force a new knight costume to materialize on demand, I am similarly unable to produce string cheese, orange juice, chocolate milk or any other food demand just because you say so.  Even if you say it over and over and over.

5.  I do not control the weather.  Yes, I would prefer it to be a sunny day.  I wish I could keep the parks dry and warm year round, but the only way I can see that happening is to move to Arizona or Florida, and you know how I feel about those states.

6.  Sometimes your bad behavior is funny. You need to understand that I can't help but laugh and you must listen to the words I'm saying in between the chuckles, that's where the message is.  Learn it and don't make me laugh like this again.  Because really, it isn't funny, except that it is.

7.  Occasionally, despite my best efforts, I will forget things.  Things like "Pajama Day" at school spring to mind.  The important stuff, your lunch, dropping you off or picking you up, I'll remember those, but the other excitement that I have to stuff into my already pretty full mommy brain might just fall out from time to time.  Trust me, I already feel pretty bad about it, you don't need to bring it up casually months after the fact.  "Mommy, remember the time you forgot to bring my blanket to preschool?" or "One time you didn't pack a fork for me, remember that?"  Because yes, I do remember, it happened ages ago and I've not slipped up since.

8.  As hard as I may try, I am unable to tame my inner sailor.  Yes, I try, but I am seemly unable to fully staunch the flow of potty talk I spew forth when I am angry.  I understand these words are especially powerful to you because I gasp when you repeat them like a demented parrot at any inappropriate moment, but please, try to exhibit more control than I have. At least until your surly teen years set in.

I'm sure over the years you will be disappointed in many ways by my lack of real power.  For now, I hope you will continue to worship me as the closest thing to an all powerful being you know.  In return I will try to let you down as infrequently as possible.  And I'll let you get away with your antics more than is really appropriate, just don't tell your dad.  Deal?  Good.

Love, 

Mama