It happens every year.

I dread this time of year all. year. long.

Everytime I drive by one of those guys wearing a Statue of Libery costume, flippin’ a “We do your taxes so you don’t have to” sign… my stomach churns and I get chest pains.

Don’t we wish I was exaggerating.

Chest pains.

How do I cope? I prepare for the tax season throughout the year by shoving receipts and important documents

in a basket.

And then…

Please ignore the stains on the carpet.

I choose to think my floor has character when there are stains on it. Hitherhencetofore, my floor has a great deal-o-character.

I do have CPA who will make sense of all this, but first I must sort through the paperness of 2011.

You’d think I’d be all software or Excel spreadsheet savvy.

Noooooooope.

Pen. Paper. and a calculator.

Then I close my eyes, plug my nose and give my scribbles to my beloved and much adored CPA. Along with my apologies.

I might as well deliver my papers to her in a horse-drawn carriage.

To all my fellow United States of Americans… best of luck, Godspeed and may the math be on your side.

Igh. Math. *gag*

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The Confessional: This is how I prepare to pay the piper. is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

I love sparkling water.

Perrier, San Pellegrino… sparkle, sparkle!

But living here in the PNW (Pacific NorthWET), we have Talking Rain.

And I am so much a sparkling water lover that, well… one might call me a sommelier of sparkling water:

• San Pellegrino has super tiny bubbles…
• Perrier bubbles are a bit bigger…
• Talking Rain … ahhhh… the bubbliest of bubbles.

Unrelated: Talking Rain people, we could make beautiful music together.

I digress…

So when 2 liter bottles of Talking Rain go on sale… I get a little crazy:

I MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE DRINKING PROBLEM, YO.

The good news:

• There are no calories.
• Nor alcohol.
• No fake sugar either.
• It’s water.
• It’s on sale.
• IT’S SPARKLY – JUST LIKE ME!!!

I do not care for water that is not sparkly. Which is a bit problematic since tap water is, like, FREE.

I just want sparkle on my skin, and sparkle in my belly.

GET IN MAH BELLEE SPARKLY WATER!

You know what? I think I will write an ode to sparkly water in Haiku…

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Confession: My sparkly water addiction is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

I do not like blueberries.

I don’t.

I have always known deep down that I am not a blueberry fan, but I think I have been in some sort of denial.

I mean, what normal, healthy, American woman doesn’t like blueberries?

Me.

Well, unless they are in muffins.

Or a danish.

Or pancakes.

Or blueberry buckle.

Or syrup.

Or that lemon blueberry scone they make over there at the Blackbird Bakery on Bainbridge Island.

Oh baby, GIMME.

GIH.MEE.

If the world was coming to an end there was looting and pillaging and whathaveyou… I would not grab me a TV. Or a blender. I would be all up in the bidness of lootin’ for the last lemon blueberry scone from Blackbird.

I just think blueberries in their natural state are not at all delicious. Bake ‘em, mix ‘em with flour, drown them in sugar.

I also feel that the taught blueberry skin married with the squishy center feels a lot like what I bet it would feel like to chomp into a roach.

*gag*

Alrighty, friends. Just needed to get that off my chest.

Thanks.

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I have a confession. It’s about blueberries. is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

Not to make this post all about me…

Let’s start over.

Um.

How about that aging, ehh?

Well, the calendar and historic records say tomorrow marks the first day of the last year of my thirties.

PRACTICALLY THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE.

Which causes me great distress and angst.

Little background… It was even a crisis for me to turn 20. I HATED turning 20. I was wise beyond my years at 19… I did not want to wave goodbye to the privilege of youth.

AND I STILL DON’T.

I fight with myself over this all the time. I read how women across the interwebzes embrace their age, their bodies.

Me?

NOT SO STINKIN’ MUCH.

I can’t. I try. I try. Yet…

2 honest things:

1. I want to be younger
2. I want to be thinner
3. These are my biggest demons

As much as I try to be all multi-culturally-politoco-trendy about this stuff. But when it comes down to it I am shallow and have varicose veins vain… I want to be the youngest at the party. And I want to be the skinny girl.

Which is a lot like wanting a unicorn for one’s birthday.

But I don’t want a unicorn.

I want to be young and skinny.

Am I talking in circles?

I hear that’s the first sign of being old… talking (and walking) in circles and whathaveyou.

Wait. Dogs walk in circles.

Aaanywho. Clearly, I am in distress.

But tomorrow is my 39th birthday. While I think that birthdays are great fun… the AGING part of birthdays is not.

Like grating your knuckle when grating cheese.

Aging. I hate it. BAH.

But I am thankful for presents. And also cake. That stuff  lessens the pain and such. Presents and cake are like anesthesia for birthdays.

*hold me*

*send me presents*

*and cake*

*and anti-aging cream*

*Tip: using glitter helps distract from the visible effects of aging…*

********

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The last post before IT happens. is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

I confess. See this box:

It’s a box-o Lucky Charms.

I have a picture of it here in this post because I have this box in my home.

Folks. Friends… Cast ye judgment aside lest ye cast yon first stone….

This is not the first time I have brought sugar cereal into my home.

Alas and whathaveyou.

Go ahead. Gasp. Get it out.

There.

Moving forward…

My 9 y.o. saw that picture on the box. She furrowed her brows, tilted her head and asked, “Mom. Lucky Charms makes you tall???”

My answer was… as always… filled with maternal wisdom, “Uh. Yeah. No.”

Lucy, never to be left out of a conversation… never to be one to let a mystery remain gave her two cents, “Maybe they make you lucky?”

*pause*

*blink*

*pause*

*blink*

*pause*

*blink*

“Or maybe they make you CHARMING!”

Yes. Let’s go with that.

Did I ever tell you about the time I yelled at my son… “You have to eat ALLLL your Cocoa Puffs or NO donut.” Or was it “Eat all your donut or NO Cocoa Puffs.”?

True story. The bonus for you is, no matter how low you hit in your own motherhood journey… I’ll be there to break your fall.

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The Confessional: I give my kids sugar cereal. is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

It’s true, no?

ANSWER ME.

NOW.

See? So slippery… that patience.

Alternate title: Patience is Like a Water Snake

I confess. I am an impatient soul. I can’t wait.

To buy.

To react.

To pee.

My issues with patience rear their ugliest heads (a 14-headed water snake?) when I have to wait.

*blink blink*

At all.

I know what needs to get done, or what I need to do and I really don’t have the time (patience) for slow people, stubbed toes, forgotten items, and people who choose the right lane to go straight when I am behind them and need to go right and I can turn on a red light, but they can’t go straight on a red light (hitherhencetofore – me waiting) so why didn’t they just get in the left lane so I could turn right on a red light?!

Selfish.

*breathes*

Ya know?

!

Or how about the EVERY TIME WE HAVE TO BE SOMEWHERE ON TIME… and Lucy bumps into a wall and needs an ice pack/bandaid/comfort.

No time for owies, kid.

I actually told my 6 year old this morning after she walked into a wall (seriously, people…), “You need to stop getting hurt right before we have to leave. We just don’t have time for that!”

Every. Time.

I apologized.

BUT STILL.

Also, I walk fast. Even a leisurely stroll is PAINFUL. I honestly don’t know how to ramble. People who walk slowly… Were I a betting woman I’d bet I’ll die of a heart attack in Walmart – behind a SLOW PERSON.

I didn’t tell you about that time at Walmart, did I?

Oh.

Yeah.

Dear.

I still don’t know if I am going to share that story. Heck, I still don’t know if I should show my face in that store ever again. Not that my “incident” stood out above anything else anyone has ever seen at the Walmarts.

But I digress…

Patience.

Superman had kryptonite.

I have patience.

Except I don’t.

Speaking of patience… here is a picture of the patient being… patient:

*Disclosure: I was not the patient being patient… to be clear.

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• Beauty is in the eye of the beholder? Behold THIS and win make-up!
• $100 Visa gift card. Oh go on… All of these are up on my review site!

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Patience: The Slipperiest of Virtues (a confession, of sorts) is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

I cut and pasted instead of posting on the FB:

Unrelated or not unrelated to my last post… some people test my strength of character. Like the part of my character where I only make fun of stupid people behind their backs. What? Like you don’t. Some people make it very hard for me to hold my tongue and not make a big-ol “I’m Totally Making Fun of Your Dumb Face Neener-Neener” vlog or something. But I’m bigger than that. Clearly. Hi Tuesday. My name is Jenny and I need an attitude adjustment… and maybe a margarita. Or 7.

The following is the status update before the above status update I never “shared because I decided to blog it instead:

Either I am highly irritable or people are incredibly stupid or I am not drinking enough coffee or I am not wearing enough glitter or people are incredibly stupid. OK. Rant done. And Tuesday… what we gonna do?

Here’s the skinny folks… the real deal about ‘ol Jenny On the Spot…

Sure, I sometimes party with shirtless firemen. With cheese slice welts.

*fans face*

But life is life, and sometimes in this life there are sparkle stealers… be they people or be they circumstance.

And then there are those that steal sparkle so profoundly, the story of their sparkle stealing would make for some great blog content… and even greater VLOG content.

But I am not about slander.

Or talking poorly about people.

At least not naming them by name… nor even describing the circumstance.

Why?

1. It’s a small world. I don’t want anyone to key my car or start making meany-meany comments on my blog.
2. I don’t want to be a sparkle stealer. “Do unto others…”
3. In the spirit of keeping it real, #2 should be #1 but I  SO much struggle with being nice this moment, the external consequence is a MUCH bigger influence in my effort at being non-specific in this moment.
4. And whathaveyou

So… I WILL admit that at times I having feelings of revenge and I may rant confide in my besties in times of frustration, angst or hurt… But I will continue to refrain from speaking ill of others in the onlines. Or in general company. Like the coffee shop or at a park playdate.

It doesn’t mean I don’t want to. I am nowhere near THAT noble.

*Remember, I don’t want anyone to key my car…. #externalconsequences

I am actually quite selfish and self-serving.

Besides, you wouldn’t even know who I am talking about. Actually, it would be probably about 6 “people”… all acting independently… vexing very different areas of my life.

Stealing sparkle. Stealing valuable Facebook status update real-estate space.

And apparently blog real-state.

But I felt I needed to tell you. I struggle. In real life, for me… being sparkly is a choice… not a default.

Gossip? Slander?

SPARKLE STEALING?

*grips chest*

Not my thing.

So. Now? I go forward on this Tuesday… a coffee in my hand. Perhaps I will make sure my angry music is loaded on my Shuffle, and maybe I’ll go for a run while the kids are in VBS this morning. Or do whatever the H-E-doublehocketsticks I want.

Or clean the house.

We are hosting the huz’s company BBQ on Friday. And my son turns 12 on Thursday. And a gum graft next Tuesday.

Crap.

I mean, *SPARKLE*.

*insert choosing here*

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This was going to be a Facebook status update, but it turned into a blog post. is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

I did.

You see, a couple of days ago I went to Sephora to buy another tub of my favey-favorite body butter/cream/lotion. Coconut Cream. Pretty much my signature scent.

I looked high…

I looked low…

I asked for help.

Oh. Yeah. We don’t make that anymore. But maybe online…?

ARE YOU KIDDING ME???!!!

When I heard the news, I stumbled backwards and I may or may not have gone all Fred Sanford on her…

So.

Just as ANY rational , internet savvy woman would do… I did went to the onlinez.

AND YOU KNOW WHAT I DID?

I

BOUGHT

12

TUBS

OF

COCONUT

CREAM

BODY

BUTTER

The good news – half-price!

The bad news – it’s impossible to buy a lifetime supply

1. Because who knows how long we really have to wear lotion.
2. My husband would have killed me and that totally would have rendered a lifetime supply of perfectly wonderful body butter useless. For me, anyway.

The good news – FREE SHIPPING

The bad news – storing 12 containers of body butter.

The good news – That should last me 2 years.

The bad news – I hope to live longer than 2 more years, so I guess I will stink after that.

The good news – I FOUND SOME

The bad news – Lucy loves the stuff too. She’s always begging me to have some.

Maybe I should have gotten her her own stash.

The last bad news – half price is awesome, but it was still times 12, so… my little addiction has taken us from hamburger patties to… kids like to eat grass, right?

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The Confessional: I bought 12 tubs of body butter is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

I’m a wreck.

Am.

Is.

Am.

I need to set 2 alarms for each upcoming “thing” because I WILL forget within a span of 15 minutes.

Oh golly. I HATE to bring the Whine. But.

Not to be confused with butt.

I’m tired. I am busy. I am weary. Weary.

I am busy because I have work.

I am busy because my mind never shuts off and I have all these ideas and I don’t know what to do with them so some are trapped and choking my brain and others are floating in email or notes or…

I am desperately unorganized.

It’s busy because I have healthy, active kids.

It’s busy because I have friends who still want to be my friends eventhough I REALLY SUCK AT BEING A FRIEND RIGHT NOW.

I got a bracelet in the mail today from a friend. I cried. I was humbled and blessed, and the sparkles mesmerized… I escaped for a moment…

But you know what? I don’t deserve to have friends who send me notes or bracelets or texts.

Because I am the suckiest of friends. Of mothers. Of people.

I am also not at all dramatic.

*eyes go wild*

And I am SO keeping that most perfect and sparkly bracelet…And I wish I lived close enough Erin so I could squeeze her to pieces.

…

I am afraid of meeting new people and liking them because I don’t feel I have time to add anyone. I’d just end disappointing them.

God?

Good thing he is omni-everything. Because Jenny On the Spot has put Him in a spot too…. having to follow me around in my non-stillness and whathaveyou. Not that he HAS to, but I know He does.

Thank God.

Literally. I am thanking Him.

I feel humbled daily by the people who reach to me with compassion and understanding. I am left scratching my head because I feel completely unworthy of tolerance or compassion because I feel I am living so selfishly… with all my wah-wah busy-ness hanging out all over the place.

*serenity now*

So. There it is. Well, not all of it. Yeah. Definitely not all of it… I can’t put all of it out there. And as much as I want to be part bringing the happy… Oh. Friends. I have some rotting pieces of heart that I fight daily to recover… Anger. Bitterness. Pride. Resentment. Discontent. Jealousy.

And also rage. Just a little bit-o-rage.

I’ll admit it… “peace and sparkles” is a choice. A concerted effort.

I was going to take a picture of me sitting here in all of my wallering and such. But if you look up a few lines, you’ll see the word “pride”. Yeah. Pride stood between me and that camera and said, “GURL. Haz you did see how you is lookin’ right now?” So i hid behind my phone.

Sometimes… pride works in one’s favor.

You know what else works in one’s favor???

Rest. And that is what I am going to go do. Rest. Because I am ill-prepared for something I committed to and if I suck at what I committed to, it will be a “can’t unring that bell” kind-of scneario. I am hoping that at the very least I can prepare enough to fake my way. Kind-of like an essay test. I often knew far-too little to ace ANY test, but gimme an essay test… and I could run the finest rabbit trails to fool to brightest of scholars. I even have an A in upper-div poly sci to prove it.

Oh. And. I’m not reverse-psychologinging on you to get comments like, “Oh, You are  SUCH a good person.” I’m half-way tempted to not have comments on. But I’m not going to turn them off on account of the fact I don’t think I am alone in these struggles. And if there’s an opportunity to share-alike and then encourage others as we work our way out of our own special struggles, then… that’s where good can come.

I hope.

Now. Do I have the nerve to publish?

********

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The Confessional: May I Be Honest? is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...

It’s true.

I totes talk to myself.

Out loud.

Like, in public.

Or even not in public.

And honestly? I don’t know which is creepier.

Case-in-Point #1: Thursday evening at home… 5 minutes into my intent to go to sleep, my rememberer fired. “OMG DID YOU ADD THE HOMEPAGE TAGS FOR FRIDAY???!!!” (for the record, I thought that in ALL CAPS. But that’s another post).

Not that you have any idea what my thought meant (Tarrant, you do… Erin, you do – xoxo to you both!)… Aaaaanywho. It was 12:38 a.m. Since I live on West Coast time I have until 3 a.m. to complete my stuffsesses. And I really only needed 5 minutes… theory.

So. I SHOT out of bed. Left my glasses behind (because I am made out of all kinds of smart), and headed down the stairs in the dark, essentially blind, except for my keen sense of… or…

My quads were also really, really sore… Like REALLY sore…

To break it down: down the stairs + in the dark + blind + a serious gimp + panick = it’s amazing I didn’t ….

It has recently been called to my attention that I don’t finish my sentences. I don’t know what she is talking

P.S. I am afraid of the dark. Don’t tell my kids, but I do believe in boogey men.

Did I digress?

That’s strange. I don’t usually digr

Once I felt my way to my computer, I logged on… and started talking.

There I was. Standing in the glow of my laptop, blind, typing, and talking… TO ME.

OK, I put that there. Yes, that one. OK, c’mon… load, load, load… Copy… Paste… Yea. Whu. Why isn’t that working? Crap. O.K… It’s fine. finefinefinefine….

And so it goes.

Then I hear my husband yell from upstairs, Jenny? Are you on the phone?!!!

Yeah… well. NO.

Case-in-Point #2: The grocery store… making a decision about tortillas.

Tortillas… tortillas… Flour… flour… flour. Wow. Expensive… expensive… oh. Sale! Those are too big. Wait.

I don’t need flour, I need CORN. Corn, corn…. oh! CORN.

80? I don’t need 80 corn tortillas. Corn… corn… corn… AH! 30! 30 CORN TORTILLAS!

Looking back, I may have been part-wise channeling Count von Count? Or my inner old lady.

A quick glance away from the tortillas revealed somemanone may have been watching me. *tosses hair*

I was looking rather cute.. (IMHO)… like – I had make-up on and everything!

However, I don’t think it was about the shoes or colored tights.

And have I ever told you I often talk with my hands?

This is even when talking to myself.

Sooooo…

Oh well…

Ooops. There I go. Talking to myself again. Apparently, I even do it online.

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I Confess: I Talk to Me. is a post from: Jenny On the Spot * This is what I do...