Okay, the Yankees officially suck. It could have been worse, it could have been the Red Sox. But now I have the whole winter to get over it.

As much as it kills me to say this, the Tigers deserved the win, and I hope they now go all the way. They play like a team, they talk like a team and they had class in the post-game interviews. They were even nice enough to go back out on the field and thank their fans. Have there ever been that many fans in Comerica Park?

So Tim, just tell me where you want to get that steak.

I had a few other things I was going to write about tonight–but I just can’t. I am just so disturbed by today’s shooting in PA. What is this world coming to if young children are not safe in a one-room Amish schoolhouse?!

I don’t pretend to be an authority on the Amish. But from my limited knowledge it’s pretty clear they leave everyone alone and offend no one. These people have chosen a life of simplicity. Can you imagine the horror they are facing trying to make sense of the unthinkable?

I can’t.

Whenever a child dies I am shaken–and more so since becoming a mother–but this killing of the most innocent of innocents? I truly worry about the world we are creating.

Today the world seems grim. Our children are not safe in school, food is not safe in the grocery store, we have pedophiles running the Congressional task force for missing and exploited children and we continue to pour our nation’s money into a war with no end. My children are 2, 4 and 10. Shall I start apologizing now for the world we’re leaving them?

Does anyone else notice? Does anyone else care?

The following is an excerpt from the conversation in the car this evening between Mr. J. who’s 4, Little P who is 2 and myself (who yes…is 36).

Unidentifiable noise is produced from back seat.

Mr. J.: Hey Mom! Guess who’s making that noise.

Me: I don’t know. Who is it?

Strange noise happens again.

Mr. J.: It’s someone whose name starts with P.

Me: Hmmm. Is it Little P.?

Mr. J: Nope. Guess again.

Strange noise continues.

Me: Is it Penelope (for the record there is no one by the name of Penelope in the car)?

Laughter erupts.

Mr. J.: Yes!! How did you know?

Mr. J: Hey Penelope! Stop making that noise.

Little P: ~belly laughs~

Mr. J.: Hey Penelope! You’re Penelope!

Little P: ~belly laughs~

So my question is…will little P always respond to being called Penelope by his older brother with roars of laughter? Even when he’s twelve, walking out to the pitcher’s mound for the big game? Yeah, I didn’t think so.

Everyone’s doing it and no one is talking about it. It’s just like going to 2nd base in 7th grade in my day or having sex before marriage in my mom’s day. Who knew?!

Until today, I had run across a few other blogs written by mothers, but until today I had no idea there was a whole network out there–a number of them as a matter of fact! Thanks primarily to my favorite Mamma of twins 2B who regularly sends me blogs of interest I discovered both Amalah and the Blog Antagonist. From the Blog Antagonist it was a short jump to Suburban Turmoil and then to MommyBloggers. What fun! What delight! Other women who have not stopped being funny, ironic, cool, bitter, etc. just because they became moms!!

I don’t know what to liken it to…but it feels quite similar to growing up a brunette in Florida and then visiting your relatives in another state and discovering you’re not the only female on the planet with brown hair!! And I know. I was that kid.

Anyway, here’s hoping I get welcomed to the network…

Okay, mamma had a whole entry about closure. She loves closure, she has gotten some lately. She had a good story about this stupid highschool “friend” who used to yank her chain who later she later ran into at a party and that “friend” turned out to be the cigarette girl. But mamma’s readers don’t get to read about it, because stupid blogger got stuck in some circle of publishing hell and the post disappeared into thin air! So now mamma is just pissed. She even found a picture of a cigarette girl to accompany the entry…but now–nothing!

What will the closure be on this situation? There will be none. I mean I could stop using Blogger and hope that the CEO notices. But mamma is realistic. She’ll just have to bask in the glory of her other recent closure events (ah sweet peace) and go to sleep cursing this damn program under her breath.

**UPDATE**
Okay, as I mentioned in an earlier post, I tend to fly off the handle on occasion. Apparently, this is a good example. When I logged off of blogger last night none of these posts appeared. I figured they were just lost in the stratosphere. But today, miraculously, they appear. You can be sure that if it had been a term paper that had disappeared this would not have happened.

This might just be a girl thing. But mamma loves closure. I’ve been lucky enough lately to get just that–in a few ways.

Thinking back to highschool. Didn’t everyone have a friend who would run up to you between classes, right before the bell was going to ring, and say “Oh my god, I just heard Brian talking–but I can’t tell you about it now.” And there you are, sitting through Geometry trying to concentrate on the area of triangles while all you can really think about is that adorable Brian and hoping that he was talking about wanting to ask you out and at the same time fuming that your friend is too dense to get to the point. Maybe it’s the bow she was wearing in her hair in the desperate attempt to hold her brains in. Maybe she just loved to keep you hanging–because we all had those “friends” who we later found out we should have defined more accurately as a blood-sucking, stab you in the back enemy. So you get out of class, run to find her and she’s like “oh it’s no big deal, he was talking about the awesome car his parents just bought him. Deflated. You have closure on the conversation, but your crush goes on unrequited. What you didn’t know then was that the ultimate closure (okay revenge) would come when you’d meet the same “friend” years later while you’re hobnobbing it at swanky affair and she’s the cigarette girl dressed in little more than a leotard and fishnets. Ahhh! Closure!

Closure may take years to occur. It may come when you least expect it. It may happen in a cloud of coincidence. But when it comes, it is wonderful. You didn’t really know that you had been holding your breath all that time. But at that moment you can sit back, put your feet up and take a deep breath and exhale. Then you feel it–peace in your world.

There is nothing inherently wrong with techies. After five years working for a technology company, I can testify that they were the most honest off all of the people I worked with. They were fun, they were problem solvers, they saved my ass on a number of occasions. Now maybe I was able to develop this appreciation for some particularly great folks because I took the time to attempt to learn about what they did or because I “niced” them to death, whatever.

All I know is that I just didn’t want to be treated like I just was by some snot-nosed ninny who seriously just asked me in a very slow delievery if I understood what he was talking about. It’s a fucking email server port bud–not quantum physics! And the word “port” yes there are so many different ways to misinterpret that meaning. Shit, I thought you were talking about an appertif.

I can be a fiesty mamma. I can get ticked off quickly and tend not to bite my tongue–it’s a negative personality trait. But I behaved. I just hung up briskly and started typing my little heart out to relieve my INCREDIBLE frustration at not being able to slap the little booger who thought he could insult me from the safe distance of CANADA (no offense to all Canadians).

Honestly, what about working in an IT job makes you think that niceties are unneccesary? Do you really think that just because you’ve got your finger on the server switch you control the world? Wrong button dude! You have no red phone, there are no army guys in silos waiting for your call. Don’t screw it up for your brethren. There are a bunch of good techies out there–I married one. But your big server–won’t make up for your small dick!

Could there be more of a reason to celebrate?

It’s Talk Like a Pirate Day!! I can see no better reason me hearties to lift your tankard and give a hearty Arrrr!

But beware wenches a pirates trying to shiver yer timbers (scroll down).

Seriously, I have thoughts all day long that at the time I could go on about, but tonight I am just tired. Trying to get the two year-old to learn how to go to sleep on his own (without using Mamma’s hair to twirl). So I’ve spent the last forty-five minutes walking back and forth down the hall as he a) tried to escape from his room b) sobbed hysterically to the point of coughing c) removed his pajamas and d) has taken up talking loudly so neither he nor his brothers can fall asleep.

Maybe I should be proud of the persistence in this little guy. I hope he decides to use the talent for good some day. But tonight, he’s just wearing me out!

I know autumn doesn’t officially begin for another week or so, but the oak tree in my yard doesn’t know that. The squirrels must sense the impending change. I love our oak tree. Oak trees to me are stately. The oak is the national tree of our country. They are known to represent strength and endurance–both admirable qualities (especially necessary if you’re trying to raise three boys). However, at this time of the year I begin to wonder if a nice prickly cactus wouldn’t be a safer choice. My front yard has become an upside down mine field.

Acorns are falling on my head. So far they have all been near misses. But every time it happens I’m convinced there are a pair of squirrels perched way up high one saying “oooh, that was so close” to which the other replies “close only matters in horseshoes and handgrenades.”

Did you know there is actually a mathematical formula that relates to acorn production?

The mathematical formula that relates the acorn production (A) to the age in years of the tree (Y) is:

Apparently the number acorns produced increasese exponentially with the age of the tree.

So supposing my oak tree is only 50 years old (my house is just a little younger) I think I’m going to have to start wearing a helmet while I get my yard ready for the winter.

The true question is from what height must an acorn fall to cause a concussion?

It’s amazing what you can find on the internet–and what people spend their time trying to figure out.