tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31707187995046735982011-07-28T15:22:23.035-07:00Melissanoreply@blogger.comBlogger251100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-91548382809815878642010-05-30T20:48:00.001-07:002010-05-30T20:49:15.495-07:00

Come visit me at www.nounsandviolets.com.

Melissanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-21263930418658075812010-05-24T15:09:00.000-07:002010-05-26T14:36:23.386-07:00

Turning off the T.V. has given me increased time for introspection and I came to an immediate realization: my life is missing something.   Or rather, someone. I'm happily married and a proud mommy.  What I'm lacking is girlfriends.  It seems all of my friends have been relegated to Facebook Status.  Our interactions include wall postings, link sharing, email forwards, and the occasional text

Melissanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-58857328896494722902010-05-20T17:22:00.000-07:002010-05-20T17:24:05.606-07:00

I love that my husband is a "computer guy."  He's smart.  Smarter than me or I would be able to put into words exactly what he does for a living.  When people ask me, I often just say he's a "computer guru" but sometimes I say "Programmer."  Because he does program and I mostly know what that means. When I was younger I thought I wanted to marry a masseuse so I could always get a good back rub.

Melissanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-17469323775838708022010-05-20T14:21:00.000-07:002010-05-20T17:23:27.722-07:00

It seems every time I go in my backyard I'm bitten by an ant.  They must be hiding out there, secretly stalking me and then creeping up my shoes undetected.  I don't know what I've done to provoke these attacks.  So I did a little research.  Turns out, you don't have to do anything like disturb their nest to incite the little devils.       Here's some interesting facts I found: fire ants don't

Melissanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-6676222928581720562010-05-17T19:51:00.000-07:002010-05-17T19:51:59.653-07:00

My teen doesn't have a hearing problem.  She has a listening problem.  I'm not surprised.  I often see her with the TV on mute, wearing earphones that are blasting tunes while she's on the computer Facebook'ing.  She's not unusual.  Most teens are exactly like this, giving 1/3 or less of their attention to any one thing at a time.  So it comes as no surprise that when I tried to have an actual

Melissanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-91361117796669177292010-04-30T13:38:00.000-07:002010-04-30T13:40:38.916-07:00

I've reconsidered my list from yesterday's post.  It isn't fair to give the impression that my husband is responsible 40% of the time for the disturbances to my sleep.  There are actually many more things that wake/keep me up that he has nothing to do with.  Such as: 1.  Dogs barking at neighbors/strangers/other dogs/cats/each other, etc... 2.  The landscapers and their deafening equipment 3. 

Melissanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-54722538591117473212010-04-29T16:49:00.000-07:002010-04-29T16:49:35.167-07:00

I am a light sleeper.  It is a blessing when you know you will wake up easily to your little one's whimpers in the dead of the night.  You don't have to fear being surprised by a would-be burglar.  But most of the time it is a curse.  No matter how tired I am, I'm just so easily disturbed. Things that frequently wake/keep me up: 1.  A fly dive-bombing me that got let in from the many times our

Melissanoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-65985727980312119692010-04-24T21:27:00.000-07:002010-04-29T12:37:04.560-07:00

Rarely do I experience a moment when I'm completely blown away by someone's talent, when I'm left with my jaw hanging open in amazement. The kind of moment when I wonder why some people don't believe in God, since clearly there is a kind of talent that is sparingly doled out to a fortunate few that just can't be human.  Nobody is that talented themselves.  It's superior God-given talent that I'm

Melissanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-67669587823837045702010-04-20T18:59:00.000-07:002010-04-29T16:53:41.533-07:00

My son woke me up at 3:30 this morning and it quickly became apparent that he wasn't going back to bed anytime soon.  By about 9:30 my husband asked, "What's wrong with him?"  Our little bundle of joy had been fed, changed, and rocked.  He didn't have gas and his teeth weren't bothering him.  When he proved impervious to a warm bath even, I decided that I was dealing with a sleep strike.  Of

Melissanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-78592521239123714392010-04-12T20:30:00.000-07:002010-04-12T20:30:04.408-07:00

Dear Melissa C*****, You may notice this letter is addressed to you and signed by "you."  This is not a letter from your future self.  We actually share the same name, you and I.  That's right.  There are two Melissa C*****'s.  Since we live on opposite ends of the country you wouldn't think this would present a problem.  We could co-exist, blissfully unaware of the other's existence.  We were

Melissanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-48284993267552148222010-04-01T20:19:00.000-07:002010-04-01T20:19:19.001-07:00

I'm a secret Kathy Griffin fan.  I'm closeted because of her way of saying things... how should I put it?  Well, things that would make your grandmother's hair stand up.  But I love her straight-faced humor and acid tongue.  I think we all sometimes wish we could just lay it on the line and get honest like she does, although that kind of behavior isn't likely to win friends or influence anybody.

Melissanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-49051545042709081962010-03-27T21:05:00.000-07:002010-04-29T12:23:29.480-07:00

Recently I went to Cave Creek and happened to stop at a craft fair.  Normally I hate those kind of things.  I have a tremendous guilt complex and I hate browsing in someone's booth only to leave empty-handed. But this time was different.  I found a booth that sold Guatemalan worry dolls.  I'd never heard of them before.  They're dolls made by children in Guatemala and when they have trouble

Melissanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-27019436658017917162010-03-27T17:41:00.000-07:002010-03-27T17:41:50.251-07:00

Spring break has officially started for my 13 year-old DD.  For her it's a break from school and teachers and homework and tests.  For me it's more like a breakdown.  A breakdown of the routines I work so hard to establish.  And a nervous breakdown if I'm not careful. Silly me.  As a SAHM I try and plan fun things for her and her friends to do.  But what does a teenager want to do?  Whatever

Melissanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-63373421334996302612010-03-24T21:39:00.000-07:002010-03-24T21:39:44.915-07:00

Like most people I never seem to have time to do everything in a day that I want to get done. So I try and prioritize which means that updating my Facebook status is at the bottom of the list.  I logged on today for the first time in ages.  I used to waste countless hours playing Bejeweled Blitz and leaving witty one-liners on friends' walls.  I enjoyed the ego-boosts of friend requests.  It was

Melissanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-51140508834874056392010-02-01T19:12:00.000-08:002010-02-01T19:12:52.529-08:00

I was once invited to join a wine-tasting/book club. They met every Tuesday night, sans the kids, and discussed the book of the week while becoming connoisseurs of fine wine. I declined membership. I couldn't commit to reading a book every week and I can't stand wine, or any alcohol for that matter. But I had to admire them for their commitment. It's hard to get a group of people together on a

Melissanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-14849588700644697512010-01-31T21:12:00.000-08:002010-02-01T17:53:59.549-08:00

I love modern medicine and wouldn't want to have been born in any other era. I can't imagine life without Tylenol. Today I am especially thankful for the grape-flavored infant drops because my little one has a fever. I don't know how people survived before acetaminophen, which wasn't introduced until 1894. They had to rely on their home remedies that may have worked even better but I would

Melissanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-48234890927818212122010-01-28T21:31:00.000-08:002010-02-01T17:52:30.034-08:00

My mother says, "Work expands to fit the time allotted for it." So it's no wonder it takes (undisclosed amount of time) for me to write a post. I don't like to think of myself as a procrastinator. First of all, it's not a PC term. Did you know? We're now calling people who delay "chronic task avoiders." That's not me anyway. I may dawdle, dillydally, postpone, and tarry but I don't

Melissanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-16482991494967254522010-01-20T22:10:00.000-08:002010-02-01T17:52:03.152-08:00

I have a friend who is a Healthy Person. He wants my DH to quit smoking and go to the gym with him. He wants me to drink water and avoid fast food. He is always opening my cupboards and reading the food labels, criticizing the contents. I swiftly come to the defense of my monosodium glutamate but mostly I just ignore him. He is also a Hyper-Intelligent Person and there is really no arguing with

Melissanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-53843098555688859612010-01-10T21:44:00.000-08:002010-02-01T17:51:27.664-08:00

Zombie - noun. A person held to resemble the so-called walking dead; especially: automation. I can relate. I often feel like a zombie, bungling through my day in an exhausted haze, powered by caffeine and the grace of God. I know it isn't true but I imagine that other moms live in cleaner houses, cook better meals, accomplish things when their children take naps, and aren't overwhelmed by the

Melissanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-36930967387127496622010-01-09T22:27:00.000-08:002010-02-01T17:49:52.502-08:00

I like Barry Manilow. I'm a Fan-ilow and I'm not ashamed to admit it. But I used to be. When I was 16 I paid sixty bucks a ticket to see him in concert. Of course I couldn't take a friend with me. Like they would really want to go and I didn't have the guts to ask them anyway. Even my own mother wouldn't go. So I wound up going with my aunt. I don't remember the lies I told my friends about

Melissanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-14161760417640898512010-01-08T19:22:00.000-08:002010-02-01T17:49:21.057-08:00

In my last post I mentioned the song "Strange Magic." My DH doesn't like it. He doesn't like most of my favorite music and vice versa. He's eclectic and I'm esoteric. He's Pink Floyd and I'm Neil Diamond. We often joke that eHarmony would never pair us together if uploading our iPod playlist was part of the match criteria. He loves Circle K coffee and in my book if it's not Starbucks, it's not

Melissanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-692729602418020592010-01-06T22:33:00.000-08:002010-02-01T17:48:37.889-08:00

I was looking for music on YouTube like I sometimes do when I had a hankering to hear "Strange Magic." I get cravings for music the way pregnant women crave pickles and ice cream. All that kept coming up was the song by ELO and a bunch of cover bands. That didn't make any sense. I was looking for the song by Chicago. Not when Peter Cetera was the lead singer. That other guy. What's-His-Name. I

Melissanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-5615593730331696692010-01-05T23:37:00.000-08:002010-02-01T17:47:24.416-08:00

I feel like I got hit by a truck this holiday season. The shopping, the wrapping, the socializing. Blah blah blah. Don't get me wrong. I love my family and it's cool when people come in from out of town. But enough is enough. I was relieved when I said goodbye to the last out-of-towners and my DD went back to school. Finally. Normal life could resume. I've since come to find out that it is not

Melissanoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-20352465611551325012010-01-04T23:09:00.000-08:002010-02-01T17:46:26.099-08:00

I hate it when people block an aisle. Pushing my cart through the grocery store tonight, I found myself having to cut through the liquor aisle to avoid a traffic jam. Every time I go down this aisle I have the irrational fear that my cart will careen out of control, crash into the shelves and take out a cache of Cristal. I steer my cart down the middle of the aisle.  It got me thinking about

Melissanoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3170718799504673598.post-52927263635004752932010-01-04T01:06:00.000-08:002010-02-01T17:44:36.769-08:00

The ironic truth about me being an aspiring author is that I don't like to write. I only like to have written. Past tense. But this year my New Year's resolutions are to keep my New Year's resolutions and to write. And, oh yeah. Kill my inner critic. Afterall, if Stephenie Meyer can make the New York Times bestseller list then why can't I write a little blog? I'm a stay-at-home mom too. I have

Melissanoreply@blogger.com0