Safety in Numbers

Oh, Irony, we've had our differences. But I'm almost willing to forgive you for letting my floss-twice-a-year husband escape from the dentist with no cavities while I (a woman who flosses EVERY DAY) have enough dental work in my future to solely support my dentist's retirement.

Well, maybe not completely forgive you. Nine years of ironic outcomes at the dentist's office... I'm still pretty bitter. But I will grant you a chuckle and a hearty snort for your effort to amuse me: A man who runs a company devoted to protecting consumers from identity theft has had his own identity stolen 13 times.

Now, maybe this doesn't truly classify as being ironic because it is exactly what I would expect to happen (what says "challenge" to identity thieves more than bringing down the CEO of LifeLock?) but I'm sure Mr. Davis was surprised. I mean, anyone who publishes his real social security number in company advertisements can't be the brightest bulb in the office. No matter how good you think your product is, there are just some things that aren't wise to reveal to the general public. I'm not even a criminal and I feel strangely attracted to coming up with a way to steal this man's identity. Just because.

So I can guarantee that somewhere there is basement full of bored nerds interrupting their online gaming to figure out what to do with Mr. Davis's identity. Right after they finish hacking into MySpace and leaving fake messages on celebrity pages, that is.

Of course, I suppose I should now be worried that some weirdo who follows my blog will see a challenge in this post and try to steal my identity. It would be pretty hard to impersonate me, though. I'm one of a kind.

After all, how many people do you know who can gather their flabby tummy into a scrunchie?

Welcome to the Club

Well, it's taken three years of hard work in proving myself, but I'm finally in! I received final approval, appropriately, on Mother's Day.

I wasn't there to witness my initiation, but Michael did a bang-up job of making sure that no one missed the news: I am officially part of the Mean Mom Club.

Yes, while all the other children were reflecting fondly on their loving mothers, Michael took it upon himself to announce to the entire primary: "My mom is not nice! She's mean!"

Granted, it may have had something to do with the fact that he had been stirring up trouble in sacrament meeting and found himself being unceremoniously evicted from the chapel moments before the annual "awwwww"-fest that is the primary singing to their mothers.

But still, nothing warms the cockles of a mother's heart like knowing her child said she is mean. On Mother's Day. I admit, I shed a few tears when I heard about it, probably due in part to the fact that I had been holding in three months of pent-up anxiety over my inadequate performance as a mother. But then I slugged back a couple of Lindt truffles and snuggled with Michael in the rocking chair, and all was seemingly right with the world again.

Later I recalled our conversation from earlier that morning:

"Michael, do you know that I wasn't a mom before I had you? You made me a mom."

His dimples appeared as an earnest smile lit his face: "And you made me a Michael!"

Indeed. One of the best things I've ever made.

Even if he does think I'm mean.

A Dose of Cuteness