Hey PEOPLE Magazine, leave that nice Duggar woman alone. I think she's a pretty good Mama.

I really don't much care for celebrity types.


Who really cares about what Carrie Underwood wore to the Superbowl, or who Jennifer Aniston is dating this week?

It's boring.

But I happened to notice on the cover of People Magazine this week a picture of Michelle & Jim Bob Duggar, parents of 19.

Little Josie, the youngest, was just born several months prematurely, and People was bashing them a bit for their decision to keep on having babies.

Hmmm....

Well, People Magazine, let's see.

Can they afford these kids?  Seems as though they can.  Their 7,000 square foot house is paid off, they have no debt, and Jim Bob does some sort of commercial real estate mumbo jumbo in his spare time to pay for their weekly trips to Sam's Club.  Their clothes come from Goodwill, and they eat Tater Tot Casserole, for goodness sake.

Do they love these kids?  Well, it sure appears that way.  Michelle Duggar comes across as a bit of a saint, and her patience seems to never run out.  They do fun things together as a family, and truly seem to care about one another.

When you add it all up, these kids seem to have it better than about 98% of the kids in America right now.  So People Magazine, go back to covering Michael Jackson's doctor, and leave these nice folks alone to do what they seem to do best, make babies and Tater Tot Casserole.

I'm totally uninspired, so today I'm going to steal somebody else's blog idea.

Today, I am feeling completely uninspired.

For a lot of reasons.

One, I have inventory tonight, which means a really late night of hurry up and wait, random people yelling "SKU CHECK!" and too much old pizza eaten too late at night.

Two, pretty much everyone in my house is either grumpy or sick. Cj and I are sick. That leaves zj and RJ. You do the math.

Three, it's supposed to snow again. I. HATE. Snow.

So, anyway, I did a quick Google search and found The Daily Meme, which is a wonderful website dedicated to slacker bloggers like me.

One of the questions I happened across was this:

What fashion crime do you commit on a regular basis?

Oh, that's an easy one.

I am utterly, totally, and completely in love with my Crocs.

Yes, I know they are really meant for the under seven crowd.

Yes, I know they are dangerous on escalators.

Yes, I know they make me look like a lesbian hippie.

Yes, I KNOW they're ugly.

And you know what?

I DON'T CARE.

I have extremely bad feet.  Ugly, misshaped, swollen, twisted, peeling, ugly feet.

And these shoes, these Crocs, are a gift from God himself to someone like me who stands up on concrete floors 50 +/- hours a week.

So, judge if you must.

I'm going to wear them anyway.

As someone who has worked 18 out of the last 24 hours, this is all I've got today.

But really, isn't that enough?

Addicted.

I'll just bet you were wondering where the cool polaroid-looking backgrounds for my photos came from, weren't you?

Huh?

Huh?

See, I knew you were.

Well, I found Picnik a while back, courtesy of Dianna at The Kennedy Adventures.

It is my current obsession.

Go on over, try it out. It's free.*

*I am not a paid spokesperson for Picnik. However, if the cool folks at Picnik happen to run across this post and send a little sumpthin' my way, I won't be terribly offended.

Chuck E. Cheese's is only fun if you're drunk. Or maybe if you're four.

And just a few short hours ago, I was neither drunk nor four, but I was at Chuck E. Cheese's.

You know, where a kid can be a kid.

Those places always feel like a time warp to me, and not in a good way.  

Plus today, there was a little girl there with questionable hygiene who kept scratching her head in a way that made me itchy and uncomfortable.

At one point, RJ looked at me and said "How long has it been?"

I glanced at my watch.

"Less than an hour."

RJ:  "Do you think it's been long enough?"

Me:  "Oh, hell yeah.  Try to catch him and we'll leave."

RJ: "I think it's your turn to catch him."

Me:  "Oh no.  I caught him last time.  Don't you remember?"  Launches into a very detailed, descriptive tale of The Last Time, which, by the way, was totally made up.

Oh well.

At least SOMEBODY had fun.

Cj's first haircut. With apologies.

Ok, I caved to the pressure.

Even my well-meaning, German-speaking, non-judging babysitter said a week or so ago "Maybe you just cut these long parts off, huh?"

So I did it.

I cut cj's hair.

Also, I cried.

Because now, he looks like little boy instead of baby.

Here's how it went down:

Obviously, this was becoming pretty necessary.

cj, remember that Mama loves you very much and only wants what's best for you.  

Mama always has good intentions.  

No matter the outcome.

Happy Birthday, Zackie.

Dear Zackie,

Today you are 4 years old. It seems like only a short time ago that you were just a baby, and we were sort of in the business of just getting used to each other. You were such a scrawny, tiny little thing that I was kind of terrified of you, and although I loved you so much that I thought my heart might beat right out of my chest, I wasn't sure I LIKED you very much yet.

Then, you started, slowly, slowly, to become YOU.

Here you are at one. I thought surely you were the smartest, cutest, funniest child ever created.

I still think that.

By age two, you were pretty much your own person. That determined look was (and still is) one that I saw often.

I've never met someone quite so stubborn except maybe myself, but this is so not about me right now, so just keep those thoughts to yourself, please.

You were fearless. A broken bone and a few trips to the ER proved it.

At age three, you had a clear idea of what liked (superheroes) and what you didn't (bedtime).

You could tell amazing stories, you could do the splits, and you could run faster and farther than anyone else.

Here you are now. You are so much more little boy than baby now, and sometimes it makes me sad that you'll never be that little baby again.

Sometimes, your hugs feel more like attacks than like love.

Sometimes, when I look at you, I see so much of myself in you, and sometimes, I see a creature that I feel certain could never have been a part of me.

Zackie, you are complicated and funny and smart and beautiful.

You know more about superheroes than Stan Lee, and you love your little brother with a ferocity I could not have dreamed of, or hoped for. And I'm pretty sure he feels the same way about you.

It's hard for me to believe that before long, I'm going to have to put you out into the world. You will go to school soon, and I won't be there to protect you every step of the way. It's almost unimaginable.

You are still fearless in ways I have never been and could never be. You followed me to work, you went onto the roof, and you've never met a stranger. Sometimes when I think about things like this, I feel like throwing up. Then I remind myself that if I can get you safely into adulthood, these fearless, stubborn traits will serve you very well in real life.

Happy Birthday Zackie.

Mama loves you very much.