No, I am not one of those girls from that MTV show.

I must be clairvoyant. About a month after Bronx was born, I developed the ability to predict exactly what an approaching stranger would say to me while out in public. And somebody always says something.

Okay so maybe I don't have any special psychic powers. Maybe sheep people are just a little too predictable. When I'm out with the kids, I always end up hearing one of the following: "Wow, you really have your hands full!" or "Do you need some help?"

Both of these comments really come off as insulting to me. It doesn't matter how it's said, although most of the time the person is saying it with the same sort of sympathy in their voice that you'd expect to hear if someone had just died. Very suddenly. Under the most tragic of circumstances.

The "you really have your hands full" thing is the worst. For one thing, I don't know why anyone in their right mind would feel the need to have to point this out to me. I really don't have my hands full. I mean, two kids under three can make for a busy chaotic mess. True. But, it is not completely unmanageable. For cying out loud, it's not like I'm walking around with a kid dangling from every limb. So, why are people so compelled to say this?

That's right. I forgot to mention how I fell into the Fountain of Youth when I was fifteen and completely stopped aging. I know that this will be an asset as I get older, but right now it just makes me look like I should have chronicled my pregnancies alongside Dr. Drew on MTV's 16 & Pregnant.

I hate that.

Even when I don't get the stupid "hands full" remark or the offer of help (which I will always be too proud to take). I inevitably will still get at least half a dozen nasty stares. And I know what they think. Most of the time when I am out with the boys, Matt is at work. So, people just assume that I am an unwed teenage mother with no education, no financial stability, and no baby daddy.

Oh, how wrong they are. And although it is better when Matt is out with us, we still get the occasional prolonged curious glances from people who wonder if we are just a couple of high school sweethearts who were too dumb to use a condom.

I do what I can to remedy the situation, and sometimes I take it too far. I will go out of my way to make my wedding ring obvious, using my left hand to do everything from moving the hair out of my face to signing documents, even though I am actually right-handed. I also try to say "my husband" in conversation as much as possible. I don't know how to prove the college thing, short of carrying my Bachelor's degree around in my purse, so that part gets left out most of the time. And my snappy comeback to the "you got your hands full!" statement?

I smile and say "Yes, I do". That's all I got.

And then I go back to buckling my squirming kids in their carseats and lifting that insanely heavy stroller back into the cargo bay of my minivan. Maybe it's time I took these jackasses up on their offers to help.


Last week, the click wheel stopped working on my year-old, just over warranty, barely used, 4th generation iPod Nano. The timing sucked because I had just bought a cable to connect the stupid thing to the stereo in my new van. I was beyond frustrated. I went to Apple's website and tried the recommended 5 R's of iPod troubleshooting. Several times. It didn't work. I went to forums written by other agitated Nano owners, who had tried everything from taking it apart to throwing it onto a carpeted floor and had success. I took it apart and flung it against my cushy bedroom floor. No luck. After a day and a half of pretending that I was tech-geeky enough to fix an iPod, I gave up and did something like this:

Then I moped on the couch for about an hour until I came up with a rational solution to my problem. I went online and gave Steve Jobs another couple hundred bucks for an iPod touch. I figured since this one doesn't have a click wheel, I don't have to worry about it breaking this time around. Safe, right?

Not quite. I decided that I should get a screen cover for this one because I was going to be touching it so much and I didn't want to scratch it. I went to an electronics store, got the mother of all screen protectors, paid an installation fee and had someone there put it on. Apparently, it's an aquired skill because three installations later (on the store's dime...not mine) and it still doesn't look right. I'm waiting until it dries to see if it fixes itself, but if it doesn't it's going back and I'm moving on to Plan B (Be careful not to scratch the damn thing.)

It's probably what I should have done from the get go, but I always forget about Murphy's Law and how often it applies to electronics.
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