Tag Archives: Just Because I’m In a Silly Mood

Just Call Me Dr. Ferber

In case you are wondering, I am doing fabulous, the pain is gone and I am sleeping much better.  Really, though, you guys rock.  Your comments made me laugh.

My new laptop arrived yesterday with all its, uh, refurbished glory.  It is speedy and oh-so-wonderful.  I think it will solve all my time problems.  Okay, maybe not all of them. Everything that the laptop does not solve will be resolved by three words: crying it out. There is a certain member in our household who keeps me up at night with his crazy sleep habits.  My husband.

When he is under duress, or just plain tired, he tends to sleep rather poorly.  This, in turn, means that I sleep even worse.  Take a few nights ago.  We went to bed at a decent hour (around 10),  talked for a few minutes, and fell asleep.  A few hours following, he was up and moving–first, he checked his e-mail, next he ate a snack, and finally he curled up on the couch, the position I found him in an hour later.  If that wasn’t enough, when he was back in bed he was constantly moving and jumping up to check his alarm clock.  And then, when it was time, his alarm clock started buzzing.  And buzzing.  And buzzing.  Until he decides to get up an hour after his set time.

After struggling through this for most of our married life, I have decided to use Dr. Ferber’s advice with a few of my own alterations.

First, I am going to lock Ben in our room and sleep on the couch.  Next, when starts to jiggle the door knob, I will turn on my mini iPod.  Finally, I will be persistent and continue with my vigil until he sleeps through the night.  See? Easy peasy.

Since I am so sure that this will be a success, I have already started my book.  I am debating between titling it Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Wife or The Happiest Wife On the Block. Any suggestions?


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One Year Older and Wiser Too

Despite all the verbal hints, written notes, and ripped magazine pages strewn around our house, my husband did not send me to a luxuriously furnished cabin on a remote island with the option of ordering takeout for all three meals.  Maybe next year.

I can’t complain, though, because I was given a much better gift.  For the first birthday in two years, I am not pregnant!  Let me explain why this is important.

  • Because my belly isn’t abnormally large, I can fit into a sexy outfit and head out to my restaurant of choice.
  • Because I am not sick, I can actually eat the food at that restaurant.
  • Because I don’t feel weepy, I won’t cry because I can eat the food.  (Okay, maybe I will.)
  • Because I’m not exhausted, I will not fall asleep during the movie I choose for tonight’s fun activity.
  • Because my body doesn’t hurt, I will not have to sit down every 5 minutes to rest.
  • Finally, because my moods are somewhat regular, I will not be upset with my husband.  I think this is Ben’s favorite reason.

I am not quite sure who to thank for this fabulous gift (because I obviously do NOT practice abstinence), so I will send a million thank you cards to God.  I think He can redirect them if needs be.

Congratulations to the three that correctly guessed my age.  If you promise to still be my friend, I will tell the rest of you.


Did you promise yet?


All right.


I am 23.


Don’t hate me.


To honor my birthday, I am closing the comments.  Now go do something fun!!

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I Can’t Stop Smiling!

I am giddy.  So giddy that I can’t hold still.  I am fluttering around like a butterfly, hopping from my husband’s lap to the computer chair to the kitchen, with an unexplainable energy.

I’m sure it has something to do with this guy

this girl

and one amazing husband.

I think so.

Just  ignore the wings that suddenly sprouted from my back.


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Finishing the 10 Things List

Hi friends.  My little guy has  been doing better and I am now back to my usual perky and silly self.  Or maybe that’s because it’s Friday.  You all know what Friday means right? Date night!! Okay, here it really means going out to eat.  Our weekly ritual.  It is what keeps me cooking during the week.

Moving on.

About that 10 things list, let’s see, I have 7 items left, right?  Anyone been counting?  Well, I say 7 items so 7 items it is.  I know I was going to do a day-to-day list, but my attention span is very slight.  Thus, I became rather bored with that idea. So, here’s a nice, smooth bulleted list of my last 7 things.

  • I often write comments and posts that are not completed thoughts.  Usually by the time I sit down to blog, I have only a few minutes so I am rushing through my comments before one of the kids wakes up.  Now you know why half my comments on your blog probably don’t make sense.  And why I jump around from freakishly happy to mournfully sad posts.  Sorry about that.
  • I am paranoid about hand washing.  I wash my hands AT LEAST 20 times a day.  If I know you don’t wash your hands (after using the restroom or changing diapers, that is), I will most likely not ask you to watch my kids (lucky you),  won’t eat at your house,  and will avoid letting you hold my babies.  Yes, it is that bad.
  • Hand washing isn’t my only tick.  If I find a piece of hair in my food, my appetite will vanish.  It will take me a few months to make that food again let alone eat it.
  • We don’t have a dishwasher so I am extremely anal about how my dishes are cleaned.  I don’t let Mr. B (or anyone else for that matter) wash the dishes because I know I will wash them again and I don’t want to hurt his feelings.  Hey, at least I have a heart, right?
  • We furnished our whole apartment with $300.   We went to hundreds of garage sales within a 2-month period, searching for the right furniture–kitchen table, queen sized bed and mattress, couches, end tables, bookshelves, desks, and dressers.  Obviously, our furniture does not match but, by golly, they are comfortable and make our apartment look cozy.
  • I will do laundry all week long and pile it up on our big couch.  By the end of the week,  there is no where to sit on said couch.  Classy, huh?
  • Mr. B’s real name is……Ben. I know, I know, we all have really plain names.  I am getting used to it now.

Now that I have virtually unclothed myself I am going to hide in my closet, er, I mean bedroom (I can’t fit in my closet).


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A Post With Really Great Transitions!

I used to dream about being a stripper.  I mean, looking like a stripper.  So, when Kelly reminded me that Amber is a common stripper name,  I was ecstatic.  She is right!  Since I have half of the stripper package (i.e. the name),  I am almost set in pursuing my dream.  Plus, I have always wanted to install a stripper bar in my bedroom.  Just imagine all the excitement that will bring!  I am sure my husband will assent to this new game plan.  The money is another incentive. Anyway,  I have decided to keep my name.  All of you can now rest easy knowing that I will still be  Amber tomorrow.  And maybe a stripper.

Speaking of names,  I can’t keep a secret.  A secret identity that is.  Like the whole keeping my kid’s names a secret in the blog land? Not gonna happen.   Thus, I have decided to get rid of all our nicknames.  Not right now!  I am going to do it in a fun way.  I am quivering with anticipation just thinking about it.

I am also quivering with anticipation because I have been given a whole slew (isn’t that word great?!?) of awards recently that I need to pass on.  Along with these awards, I need to share a list of things you don’t know about me.  I am pretty sure that I have disclosed everything about me on this blog already, but I will dig deep and find something awesome to share.

The end.

P.S. My kids say hi. They also say that I have been officially ungrounded.  Lucky me!

P.P.S. I know that all of you have harbored a dream or two of becoming a stripper. Admit it!


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Can I Change My Name?

Like Melanie J, I am having an identity crisis.  It’s true.  Ok, hers involves her blog and mine involves my name.  Still.


So original.  So plain.  I know like thousands of Ambers.  Frankly, I’m ticked off at my parents.  Why couldn’t they have named me something cool?  Something like Ambrosia? How many people do you know named Ambrosia?  None?  That’s right.  Sure there is that band named Ambrosia, but I would much rather be named after a band than a beer.

If I really want to make my mark on the blogging world and become famous and all that jazz, I’m pretty sure a change of name is needed.

I know, I know I talked about going to Amber because I’m a survivor of depression, but seriously people.  You know you liked Ambrosia so much more.  Doesn’t that name sound like a clever person?  An exotic person?  Let me tell you all about the differences between Amber and Ambrosia.


-doesn’t like crafts

-hates seafood

-thinks all animals (except for fish) are disgusting to keep as pets

-tries to be funny


-loves crafts!

-cooks fabulous meals (a la The Kitchen Witch)

-has a couple dogs for the Queen to play with (but no cats, sorry)

-is witty, wise, and wonderful!! (3 w’s people!!)

Amber is like the plain bagel without cream cheese while Ambrosia is the really awesome bagel with lots of cream cheese.  (I think cream cheese is the best part of the bagel.)


I guess I need to accept my name and move on.  I can at least warn all the future parents out there.

To All Future Parents:

Please be considerate when naming your child.  They may grow up to resent the name, and you, and legally change their name to something cooler.  Like Chad Javon Johnson changing his name to Chad Ocho Cinco.  Just keep that in mind.


Someone who wishes her name was Ambrosia and not Amber.

At least my name has a really cool 311 song attached to it.

Please tell me that you struggle with your name too.  It would make me feel better.


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I Am In Time Out

Dear Readers,

I have been placed under time out for the following grievances.

Failure to wash, fold, and put away new clothes causing an intermingling in dirty and clean laundry,  a huge pile on the couch, and no where for the Queen to play or Mr. B to work on homework.

Failure to consistently wash, dry, and put the dishes away.

Failure to comment on friend’s blogs, making them feel ill used.

Failure to write on (in?) my own blog.

Failure to keep sickness at bay and allow the babies to catch colds.

For penintence,  I have been forced to close all comments,  turn on a Jane Austen movie, and hold my little Manly tight.

Be warned.  This could happen to you.

Love your favorite crazy head,


P.S.  I have read all your wonderful blogs.  Just pretend that I submitted the wittiest, wisest, and greatest comment of all.  (Because, hello! that would totally be me.)

P.P.S.  The kiddos and I are going to take a nap.  Shhhhh don’t tell the grievance committee!!

P.P.P.S.  I think my kids are the greatest.

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