Velveteen Mind

100th-ish Post. 100 Things. Sex, Drugs, and Satan Detectors.

There's a party in my blog!  So yummy!  So yummy!  (That's right, I am insistent that Yo Gabba Gabba! is a rockin' show for the drunk toddler in you.  Do you still dare to defy me on this?)

Happy 100th post to me!  Or 101st post, but whatever.  Blogging Rules state that I am now obliged to post 100 things about me that you didn't know, didn't want to know, could care less about, and will probably skip with the hope that I'll stop posting about Bill Maher, boobs, and get back to regular posting soon.  Well, first of all, don't tell me what to do, and second of all, I'm not posting tomorrow, either.  Nope, it's the first day of my Saturday Squatters and I've got one of my favorite bloggers lined up, so you and Bill Maher can both suck it.  ;)

Do you like how I make it to 100 posts and start talking serious smack to my loyal readers?  And then my loyal readers mutter, "Start talking smack?  She's got to be kidding."

And now, because I fully expect many of you to skip this post (who doesn't love memes?  come on!) despite the fact that I am about to talk about such things as Barbie doing Ken and Satan detectors implanted into brains, I'm dropping my 100 things into the "continue reading" link and leaving you with this final thought on the magic that is Yo Gabba Gabba!

Midnight Magic with Harry Potter

I think someone placed an Obliviate charm on me this weekend because I forgot all about my blog.  Or maybe someone Confunded me, because I may have gotten my priorities a bit skewed for a moment there. 

Yep, I read the new Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.  Practically in one sitting.  My brain seems to have melted and leaked out of my ear. 

I've been reading that 759 page book non-stop since Saturday morning.  I think Pants taught himself how to make Goose some baby food somewhere along the way because I don't even remember feeding them.  Pants may have been surviving on leftover birthday cupcakes from Gooses's pseudo party the week before for all I know.  I was reading.

Now, I'm not some big Potter Geek that plays role playing games or whatever.  No offense to you RPG peeps out there, because I know you are there.  I just truly enjoy the books and think it is absolutely worth celebrating something that has brought a love of reading back to so many families.    

As such, I was totally on board for the final Book Release party at Barnes and Noble.  No, we didn't dress up, but we totally got a kick out of all the kids that did.  How can you not give at least a little respect to a series of books that has kids pumped about staying up all night to read an almost 800 page book?  This is a good thing, as far as I'm concerned.

Did any of you go to any of the Harry Potter Midnight Magic parties?  Our local Barnes & Noble had a costume contest, a fortune teller, a Sorting Hat station, and a face painting station, all leading up to the countdown at midnight for the actual book release.  Although we didn't participate, the costume contest was impressive and you couldn't help but feel like you were at Hogwarts when surrounded by so many Hogwarts school uniforms.  These kids were really into it and I loved it. 

We did line up to be Sorted, however.  How could we not?  Goose got Sorted into Gryffindor, the Sorting Hat announcing that he was "gifted with bravery and courage, this one."   Good going, Goose!  Pants backed out of the Sorting at the last minute, so I'm guessing that means he'll have to be a house-elf working in the kitchens.  Tough break.

Although Pants was having a ball the whole time, he never did totally commit to doing any of the activities himself.  I can't blame him, as he wasn't familiar with Harry Potter before we showed up at the party and he seemed to be under the impression that we were at a birthday party for this Potter kid.  Poor thing's going to be disappointed when he sees that I don't have bags and books with his face plastered on them for his own birthday party in a couple of days.

He didn't hesitate to sign me up for stuff to do, though.  Shortly after spotting the face painting station, he informed me that he found a place for "face paintings!" and I had to get one.   He was very specific in what I had to get (an owl) and where I had to get it (on my right cheek).  He was also very specific that he did not want one, thank you very much.  Thanks to our nifty (and very cheap) camera phones, we get to show off my fancy "face painting" and the tattoo Pants put on earlier in the day while trying out some of the activities we have planned for their birthday party.  As luck would have it, we're planning on having our own face painting and tattoo booth, so this was great practice!

Needless to say, we didn't stay until midnight for the actual launch.  We were living crazy staying out until past 10pm as it was.  I ran out and bought the book in the morning, though, and that brings me back to today, my Confudus charm having broken now that I finally finished reading the book last night and allowing me to remember that I do not, in fact, live in England, attend a magical school, or have a pressing need to defeat a dark lord of magic. 

I do, apparently, have a pressing need to do the dishes, laundry, and get us together for our carnival birthday party for both Goose and Pants on Thursday, however.  Being without a wand, all of these things must be done by hand, by me, and done now.

Such a shame, really.  I could so use a wand.  Anyone have a case of Mrs. Scower's Magical Mess Remover, at least?

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PS-  Upon review, I realize that I have now mentioned Harry Potter two posts in a row.  My husband, after reading this one, has pointed out that this post makes us look like total dorks.  Ahem.

I should therefore note that we are total Rock Stars.  On our better days, I'm sure my husband would like to think of us as Porn Stars.  We scorn all things Dork.  Rock on!  Bang your head!  Yadda yadda yadda.

...  I, however, still stand behind the fact that anything that makes kids pick up a book deserves to be celebrated.  This is precisely why I wanted to take the boys to this party.  Plant the seeds early.  Party about books!

In which case, I might just be a Rock Star Librarian.  But totally a rocker, nonetheless.  :)  Wait, do rockers use smiley faces?  Pretend that one has horns...  =:P

Awakening of the Mark

One reason I love to write is because of a comment written by an English professor on an essay I wrote on Kate Chopin's The Awakening in one of my college literature courses.

"Not focused.  However, I love your writing style.  Read a couple of times because I enjoyed it.  Find it hard to believe you may not have read the book?"

I had not read the book. 

For you The Awakening fans, I tried, but I wasn't in the mood for it.  Too woeful for me at that moment.  That moment certainly being a night or two before the essay was due, I'm sure.  I may or may not have been drunk at the time.  Freshman year and all.  No shame.  I've always meant to go back and read that damn book.  However.

The power of constructive criticism.  This was some of the first feedback I had received on my writing and I just adored that line "love your writing style."  I didn't particularly like this professor, so I got a kick out of that comment all the more.

My goal immediately became to be able to write about something I knew nothing about and to do it in such a way that my writing style would be enough to camouflage my ignorance.  I always love a challenge:

Learn how to write out of my ass and do it with such flair that you don't notice the smell.

How'm I doin' so far?

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By the way, I just walked into the living room and Pants is playing some kind of game with Cheeks involving three overturned cups and a handful of dice that looks suspiciously like Three-Card Monte or the Shell Game.

Er, do you think it could be possible that I'm teaching the wrong value system here?

Let me guess:  Pants is the dealer.  Cheeks is the shill.  Mom is the mark.
Welcome to the first day of the rest of my life.

Norm! No, not Norm? Norm the Third?

Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got.
Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot.

Wouldn't you like to get away?

Sometimes you want to go

Where everybody knows your name,
and they're always glad you came.
You wanna be where you can see,
our troubles are all the same
You wanna be where everybody knows
Your name.   

Cheers !

And other times you don't want everybody to know your name. 
Or you want everyone to know your correct name. 
Or you want everybody to know one of your new names.
I'm all that and a bag of chips!  So let's break it down:

A few posts back, I decided to stop using my family's real names for privacy's sake.  Since that decision was at the end of a lengthy unrelated rant, a few of you were left wondering who "Pants" and "Cheeks" and "Maguire" came from all of the sudden.  No, I didn't adopt a new family, I just changed their names to protect the innocent.  It's simple, really:

Husband:  Maguire
Soon-to-be 3 year old son:  Pants
Baby boy:  Cheeks

Now you are caught up on our cast of characters.  I'm still Megan, because why mess with perfection?  Actually, I just couldn't undo that damage.

About the same time, I set up my own domain name.  My new correct URL is now:

www.velveteenmind.com

With or without the "www." works, actually.  My old Typepad URL still works, too, though you might want to go ahead and update in case I skip out of this joint some day.  Big things, people, big things ahead.  Or not.  Either way, no one likes link rot.

Finally, I opened an Amazon.com aStore in order to streamline all of my book links and other assorted Amazon.com goodies.  Now, you can shop for all things Velveteen in one place, including use of  a shopping cart of your very own so you never have to leave my cozy little home here.

I was getting lots of emails from people saying that they had bought such and such book on my recommendation (how much fun is that?!), even noting that they bought it through Amazon.com, but I realized that they weren't using my links.  I have no shame in admitting that I am continually trying to scrounge up every little bit of income I can in order to continue to stay at home with these little boys.  Therefore, as I mention in my sidebar, any purchases made through my links sends a little commission my way and is much appreciated! 

I never see any purchase details (including who ordered, shipping details, etc.), but I always love to hear from you when you've checked out a book I've referenced, so please share anything you like!

Viola!  You are all caught up! 

Now go check out the new Velveteen Mind aStore by amazon.com and tell me what you think!
 

The Toothpaste Promise

In response to Pass me a beer - please! at Blooming Marvelous, I found myself writing a blog entry of my own in Annie's comments.  Wrong place, chicky.  Annie doesn't want your blather over there.  So, with a hefty chunk pulled from said comment, the blather continues here.

Annie and I were chatting yesterday on IM about her having discovered her daughter  "painting" with toothpaste in the bathroom.  In the middle of a more-than-hectic day, her sweet mother was considering turning off the sweet in response to this artistic, uh, expression.  Before I get into how I totally understood, I admit that the response I sent her was that toothpaste experiments were one thing on my "free pass" list for my sons.  It's not because I am a "funner" mom, as Annie (quoting her daughter) put it, but rather a mom with a promise to keep.  A promise made to myself about two decades ago.

When I was little, I was mad about chapter books.  This was before the coming of Barnes & Noble, et al., so I got most of mine from little book fairs at my elementary school.  One of my favorites was Beverly Cleary's Ramona and Her Mother.  On the cover was a picture of Ramona squeezing out an entire tube of toothpaste into the bathroom sink. 

The toothpaste-squeezing episode in the book shot straight to the heart of me.  This was something that I dearly wanted to do.  Why couldn't I be as wild and crazy as Ramona?  I think at this point in my young life, the most reckless thing I had done was mix a bottle of my Cabbage Patch perfume with a brand new bottle of my mom's Giorgio perfume...  together, in a snow boot.  Lord bless the mother.  Whatever her response to that must have been, it made me hesitant to do the toothpaste thing.  Well, damn.

I swore to myself then and there that when I was a mom, I would be cooler than my own mother (by my elementary school standards) and would therefore let my kids squeeze out a tube of toothpaste whenever they damn well pleased.  This would be, in my estimation, the epitome of cool mom things to do.  It never occurred to me that letting them do it would take the fun out of it, but nevertheless.

My boys aren't up to chapter books, yet, but when they are, I will buy them a copy of Ramona and Her Mother.  I will also buy a cheap tube of toothpaste and be sure to leave it out for little hands to find.  When they decide to squeeze it out into my purse rather than the sink, I will remember the promise I made to myself so long ago, and remind myself that this is one small thing not worth sweating.

Other small things not worth sweating this week: (cont'd)