I have a fondness for this day we celebrate our collective Irish heritage–both real and imagined.

I don’t necessarily imbibe in green beer, though I have, and I did enjoy corned beef and cabbage today (a first). I don’t love St. Patrick’s Day because I’m particularly fond of bagpipes or long lines at Irish Pubs.

I love St. Patrick’s Day because I’m adopted.

I’ve always known I was adopted. I went straight from the hospital to my parents. I’m taller than both my parents, but I am a brunette like my mom. Like many modern families, my parents divorced and my mom remarried when I was 10, so I mainly grew up without anyone questioning if I was adopted because they knew the guy I called my dad was actually my step-father.

In my sister’s case, the fact of her adoption was a little more obvious. My first real memories are of the events surrounding her adoption when I was 3 1/2. She actually went home with her biological family for a few months before coming to us and we know that she is of Puerto Rican descent.

I know I owe you some winners from last week’s contest. I know you’re just dying to know where I was, but first I need to fill you in on a little thing that took place while I was away.

Yep! I broke my ankle.

And that dark stuff on my foot? I swear it’s not dirt! Just some se-xy bruises.

Since I just love giving stuff away (I’d be happy to give you this cast, really), I have a great prize for the most entertaining story describing how I’ve found myself in this predicament. Write the story (please, because I need one) on your blog and link back to this post and I’ll pick the winner at the end of the week.

Ever have one of those days when you feel like Ally Sheedy pre-Molly Ringwald make-over?

Yeah, me either.

Blogging friends, if ever there was a time I needed you it is now.

I had Live with Regis and Kelly on this morning as I was getting ready (Anderson Cooper was sitting in for Regis–he’s funny and I’ll admit here I’ve watched Kelly since she was on Dance Party USA) and Michael Bolton was on singing some Christmas tunes.

Here’s the problem.

When he was chatting with Kelly and AC at the end, I actually thought to myself, “Hmmm. He’s kinda cute. I can finally see what makes the girls swoon.”

OMFG!!!

I’ve hit a new low.

Kris and Kim–my girls–come hit me over the head now before I set up my own fan page.

I came across a headline this evening that caught my eye. I was visiting Penelope Trunk’s blog via a link from Veronique about linking when I saw this (see how I followed her advice?).

Stop Worrying that Your Twentysomething is Lost

I thought, “Hmmm, I need to check this out. What’s HER secret to not missing the possibilities that were my twenties.”

And then I read the first words.

All these years later, I can’t hear Frank Sinatra without thinking of him. We dated for most of our time in college. He was young and beautiful and we loved each other madly. We shared a goofy sense of humor and many wonderful times. Honestly, today, there are no regrets, but that wasn’t the case for years.

He was from a privileged family. His parents were still married, there was a family business and trust fund. In my early twenties, that all added up to far too much “tradition” for me. I loved him terribly, but my future seemed so proscribed if I stayed with him. In my immaturity, my response was to assert my feminist “philosophies” and my disdain for small town (Louisville, KY) living. Surprisingly, the relationship fell apart.

This afternoon the boys and I attended a Brunswick Stew party. It’s an annual event put on by a family friend that entails the all-day process of cooking the stew over an outside fire pit. In the crisp fall air, the fire and the stew smell amazing. We all stand around the fire and enjoy the company and a few beers. The kids run around in the woods, play on the playground in the park behind the house and the dogs nose legs hoping for a scrap or two. There are people we see that we only see once a year at this party and we all greet each other with hugs and big smiles.

As I walked out of the party tonight with my three boys and my husband and loaded into the car, I thought about what a nice day we had and how much I love traditions.

I know. I know. It’s been kind of serious and dreary here lately.

I’ve done nothing to embarrass myself (that much) lately, so there’s nothing there.

None of the boys have named any more body parts, so that’s a dry well.

I was pretty psyched that I got a mention on Daily Kos the other day, but not a referral from it. Harumph!

Oh! And I did get to sign my son’s not so stellar Social Studies test today. When did I become responsible enough to sign a test??!

I felt like I was forging my mom’s signature.

PS–The blog is pink for the month of October because it’s Breast Cancer Awareness month, duh!! Check your boobs. And learn more.

I’m pretty sure I was the only 37 year old mom in my neighborhood standing in her driveway this morning at 3:10 a.m. with her reading glasses on her head, waving a dish towel and channeling Christina Aguilera through her iPod.

There may have been one other, but I think she’s only 35.

Ain’t no other man
on the planet
knows what you do…

Do you ever have those “oh crap!” moments?

I was invited to join Shelfari by the lovely Anne Glamore (don’t you love that name?). Well it seemed like a good idea. I love books. I love to hear what others think of books. I’m in a bookclub dammit!

What I didn’t intend to do was spam every single person I have ever exchanged an email with.

Maybe I need to just turn in my computer as Shakey so gleefully suggested (nice husband huh?), OR maybe Shelfari shouldn’t have the send button that appears at the bottom of one list apply to the list below it as well.

Should be intersesting to see what sort of conversation starter this is. Many of the people on the list don’t know who MammaLoves is. I’m hoping they won’t put two and two together. I’m not so sure I want old boyfriends reading my blog. They might find out I was faking it the whole time.

Let’s hope this Shelfari thing is worth it.

***************
Edited to add: For any of you reading this, I was meaning to send the invitation to you. I just thought my boss, my neighbor and my old clients from a past job probably didn’t need to receive the invitation. They probably didn’t want to know about the dildos??

To the beautiful Marine Major eating his lunch today at Cosi–the one with the strong shoulders, experienced hands, gorgeous face and cute little scar on the back of his head:

Thank you sir for turning a typically dull wait for my salad into a mini-museum outing.

Your well-worn wedding band probably made you even more attractive. Your wife is a lucky woman.

I must apologize if I stared just a little too long. I tried to look away. But damn!

You made my day. Feel free to serve my country any time.

Sincerely,
Mamma

NOTE to the Manager at Cosi in Rosslyn, VA: Pay this serviceman to eat in your restaurant every day. I promise. You’ll do a booming business.