Holy freaking cow. ANOTHER Girl Scout came to my door yesterday. She was so cute in her little green vest, and she rides carpool with us every day, and she was out in the cold hawking her delicious wares, that I couldn't say no. I am now up to 5 boxes. Should I have a Girl Scout Cookie party and spread the delicious calories around? Perhaps. Maybe I could feed Selma Hayak, because I saw her photo from the Golden Globes last night, and except for her breasts, which are magnificently well nourished, the rest of her body looks like it could really use some Thin Mint love.
S, in his effort to get my parental attention, decided to incorporate one of the things he loves most in the world, NASCAR, with one of the things I love most in the world, The Red Carpet. He started out in full pj's racing around our family room/kitchen/dining room loop chasing the dog. M and I were sitting in what would, in effect, be the infield of a NASCAR race, on the couch. The sound effects were superb. But the part that I really enjoyed was every three laps or so, he would be sporting something different about his clothing. No shirt, no pants, shirt but no pants. At some point, to add to the comedy, the dog stopped playing altogether. He crapped out on my feet but S kept going 'round and 'round. Then, magnificently, he changed direction. He came at us unexpectedly from whence he had just left, which we found hilarious. I had hoped he would be saying "mooz, mooz" since he was going backwards, but no. He was beginning to sweat. The dog hopped back in for a lap or two, and then figured the kid was on his own. S comes by with pants on his head. Then, no underwear, singing "NAKED BOY." Then, underwear again..."it's cold," he shouts as he zips by us. All told, this mayhem lasted for about 5 minutes.
Which is good, because as he was finishing, I was just about ready for a second gin and tonic.
The first gin and tonic may explain why I thought this was so freaking funny.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
The Green Scourge
OK. Fundraisers are KILLING me. I wrote about the babysitters' cookie dough (all 3 lbs of it) that was ingested before achieving its full potential as cookies. And she raised money to go to London. Now, there are Girl Scouts wanting to go on a cruise. First of all, why should Girl Scouts get to go on a cruise? What do tween girls get out of that experience? Sure, someone like me can really maximize the opportunity. I can work a buffet like nobody's business. I can have the margarita man wear the deck thin between me and the bar. I can nap in the sun like a cat. I can stay in a spa 'til I'm pruney. But girls? C'mon. A cruise is WASTED on them. Four days of wearing matchy-matchy tee shirts and giggling up and down stairways. Tromping down hallways and disturbing people's naps. Splashing in the pool and getting water in people's margaritas. Cutting in line at the buffet. All tee-hee and pst psst over some 20 something guy they're "secretly" following around the ship, but who isn't really great, because clearly he doesn't have a job and is mooching this trip off his retiree parents who are playing bridge somewhere on board. Bah. Girl Scouts have no business on a cruise.
Furthermore, they have no business funding their cruise with calories foisted on me. Asking me to allow the Thin Mint devil into my freezer and home. Cracking the door open to Somoas and Trefoils. Knowing full well their seductive powers over me. Knowing, and casually tossing aside my fragile commitment to lose ten pounds by April. Those damn tweens and their devil-may-care relationship with carbs. They walk to my door with the arrogance of youth and high metabolisms and innocently ask if I would be interested in ordering a box of cookies.
Interested? Honey I would smack you down where you stand for a box of thin mints. I would hijack your mom's cookie delivery Suburban. Girlie, you would not want to meet me in a dark alley with your green box-filled backpack. I can take you.
So, in the name of charity, Girl Scout cookies are en route to my house. Some one, please come take them from me. Tear them from my scraggly talons. Please. Exorcise the delicious calories from me. If you see a Girl Scout, nab her cookies. Mock her uniform. Tell her Scouts is a pale, watered down imitation of Boy Scouts and all the real things boys can do. Do anything to keep her from fulfilling her mission of fattening my ass.
The Girl Scouts must be stopped.
Furthermore, they have no business funding their cruise with calories foisted on me. Asking me to allow the Thin Mint devil into my freezer and home. Cracking the door open to Somoas and Trefoils. Knowing full well their seductive powers over me. Knowing, and casually tossing aside my fragile commitment to lose ten pounds by April. Those damn tweens and their devil-may-care relationship with carbs. They walk to my door with the arrogance of youth and high metabolisms and innocently ask if I would be interested in ordering a box of cookies.
Interested? Honey I would smack you down where you stand for a box of thin mints. I would hijack your mom's cookie delivery Suburban. Girlie, you would not want to meet me in a dark alley with your green box-filled backpack. I can take you.
So, in the name of charity, Girl Scout cookies are en route to my house. Some one, please come take them from me. Tear them from my scraggly talons. Please. Exorcise the delicious calories from me. If you see a Girl Scout, nab her cookies. Mock her uniform. Tell her Scouts is a pale, watered down imitation of Boy Scouts and all the real things boys can do. Do anything to keep her from fulfilling her mission of fattening my ass.
The Girl Scouts must be stopped.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
What will I do today?
Yesterday, as I was walking S into school, a fellow mom remarked, "S is so funny. You must spend every day with him laughing and having fun."
Really? You could have started conversation with the tried and true--"some weather..." "did you see the game last night?" "Has any one ever told you you have beautiful eyes?" I mean anything seemed more reasonable than spending all day laughing and having fun.
Not that S is a bad kid. I probably spend more time with him having fun than a lot of other moms spend with their kids. I DO, in fact, enjoy his company most of the time. I often find his strange comments amusing. His rubber face does have some comedic value. But spending every day in gleeful bliss with my child seems more like a commercial for Sandals All-inclusive Family Resorts than actual life.
How could a real-life mom with two real-life children actually think that her cohorts, however many there may be, spend their days in commercial-quality happiness? Was she feverish? Confused? Outright nuts?
Yah, life is a laugh-a-minute, all right. We have fun, sure. I laugh (most often AT my children rather than WITH them) but still. My kids do and say funny stuff. But, mostly there's a lot of business. Chores, bribing, whining, the occasionally temper tantrum. Also, what kind of Mrs. Cleaver mom does she think I am? Is she totally unobservant? I'm a freaking train wreck every day when I see her. Often still partly-pajama'd. Always running late. Harried. What possible evidence does she have that could make her think I am the kind of mom who can sit at home and laugh with my son? Hello?
I mean NOBODY who's married would come up to another married woman and say, "your life must be completely perfect. Your husband must be neat, tidy, talented in the kitchen, wealthy, charming, doting, have perfectly discreet bodily functions, and have the sexual prowess of Sting.*" I mean NOBODY is that deluded.
My kids are great. My husband's great. We're not the cover art for Functional Family Today or anything. But, we're good. We're happy. Things are nice.
But, if any one is wondering what I do all day every day, it is not constant slow-mo, sitcom laughter with S. Well, at least not most days.
*There seems to be a collective playgroup fantasy about MT's hubby. It's possible one of the playgroup moms HAS approached MT with this comment.
Really? You could have started conversation with the tried and true--"some weather..." "did you see the game last night?" "Has any one ever told you you have beautiful eyes?" I mean anything seemed more reasonable than spending all day laughing and having fun.
Not that S is a bad kid. I probably spend more time with him having fun than a lot of other moms spend with their kids. I DO, in fact, enjoy his company most of the time. I often find his strange comments amusing. His rubber face does have some comedic value. But spending every day in gleeful bliss with my child seems more like a commercial for Sandals All-inclusive Family Resorts than actual life.
How could a real-life mom with two real-life children actually think that her cohorts, however many there may be, spend their days in commercial-quality happiness? Was she feverish? Confused? Outright nuts?
Yah, life is a laugh-a-minute, all right. We have fun, sure. I laugh (most often AT my children rather than WITH them) but still. My kids do and say funny stuff. But, mostly there's a lot of business. Chores, bribing, whining, the occasionally temper tantrum. Also, what kind of Mrs. Cleaver mom does she think I am? Is she totally unobservant? I'm a freaking train wreck every day when I see her. Often still partly-pajama'd. Always running late. Harried. What possible evidence does she have that could make her think I am the kind of mom who can sit at home and laugh with my son? Hello?
I mean NOBODY who's married would come up to another married woman and say, "your life must be completely perfect. Your husband must be neat, tidy, talented in the kitchen, wealthy, charming, doting, have perfectly discreet bodily functions, and have the sexual prowess of Sting.*" I mean NOBODY is that deluded.
My kids are great. My husband's great. We're not the cover art for Functional Family Today or anything. But, we're good. We're happy. Things are nice.
But, if any one is wondering what I do all day every day, it is not constant slow-mo, sitcom laughter with S. Well, at least not most days.
*There seems to be a collective playgroup fantasy about MT's hubby. It's possible one of the playgroup moms HAS approached MT with this comment.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Hard to Contain
OK. It's January 7th, and thus far I have walked every day of the new year. I am 6 days into my New Year's Resolution. I just can't see how this is going to last for 358 more days. I am modifying my expectations. I have to walk every day and lose weight until April, the latter of the 2 weddings I have to go to this year. Then, all bets are off. While I have to say it'd be awesome to be one of those moms who is just rocking 40, I don't see that in my future. Don't get me wrong, I will not be headed down the road to MomJeansHell, I am just not going to be any thinner than I am now.
Alas.
A few weeks ago, on SNL was a Digital Short starring Andy Samberg and featuring Justin Timberlake, entitled Ji** in My Pants. Right now, I find that video just a hair shy of being the funniest thing I've ever seen (same cast, Di** in a Box wins). Un/Fortunately, the tune is catchy. I mean REALLY catchy. So much so, that I find myself humming the tune. Also, the video starts out predictably (given its title) with Samberg and a hot model. But rapidly transforms to a Samberg who is prematurely and unduly excited by such mundane things as an alarm clock and caller ID. But in a completely unforeseeable and extraordinarily inappropriate development, M and I have taken to adapting the tune to our own daily routine. Rather than "I open a window and a breeze blows in and I ji** in my pants," we find the "washer is done and the clothes are clean and I ji** in my pants." Or "dinner was good, and I crave dessert and I ji** in my pants."
Needless to say, we never sing at full volume, or we completely mute the offending word when young ears are around, but still. What is WRONG with us? Are we 19? Are we depraved? Are we sexually frustrated to the point of singing juvenile songs? I suppose the answers are: We wish. Yes. Probably. Heckuva past time, really. Making up scenarios in our daily routines which would be arousing to the point of premature uh, ecstasy?
My blog is posted, it's nearly 5, time for a cocktail and I ji** in my pants.
Yeah, that'll do.
Check out the video at hulu.com or nbc.com
Alas.
A few weeks ago, on SNL was a Digital Short starring Andy Samberg and featuring Justin Timberlake, entitled Ji** in My Pants. Right now, I find that video just a hair shy of being the funniest thing I've ever seen (same cast, Di** in a Box wins). Un/Fortunately, the tune is catchy. I mean REALLY catchy. So much so, that I find myself humming the tune. Also, the video starts out predictably (given its title) with Samberg and a hot model. But rapidly transforms to a Samberg who is prematurely and unduly excited by such mundane things as an alarm clock and caller ID. But in a completely unforeseeable and extraordinarily inappropriate development, M and I have taken to adapting the tune to our own daily routine. Rather than "I open a window and a breeze blows in and I ji** in my pants," we find the "washer is done and the clothes are clean and I ji** in my pants." Or "dinner was good, and I crave dessert and I ji** in my pants."
Needless to say, we never sing at full volume, or we completely mute the offending word when young ears are around, but still. What is WRONG with us? Are we 19? Are we depraved? Are we sexually frustrated to the point of singing juvenile songs? I suppose the answers are: We wish. Yes. Probably. Heckuva past time, really. Making up scenarios in our daily routines which would be arousing to the point of premature uh, ecstasy?
My blog is posted, it's nearly 5, time for a cocktail and I ji** in my pants.
Yeah, that'll do.
Check out the video at hulu.com or nbc.com
Monday, January 5, 2009
Finding One's Place
Up and at 'em. Today's the day! The kids are off to school! Hooray, hooray, hooray!
Unfortunately, they aren't going without a fight. E has decided he hates school. He tells everyone how much he hates it. I find this disappointing, both because I forecast years of fighting over school, and because it's something E is truly good at. If you don't love what you're good at, then your life is bound to be unhappy.
Naturally, then, this morning, we got a primer in passive-aggression. The dawdling, whining. The totally inability to get shoes on until MK drives up for carpool. He left behind his raincoat in the end, which is going to make both his mood and his body even damper. I know and remember vividly how hard the first day after break is. So I tried to be patient, but honestly, E can try my patience like no one else.
S hasn't yet even dressed. Denial seems to be his choice this morning. Little does he know that I have NO problem dropping him off at school in pj's. That's just the kind of mom I am.
So now that the boys are back to the daily grind, and M is about to go back to school, I am left wondering what I am going to do with myself. If I were like my sister, and incredibly self motivated, I could get myself to the gym nearly every day, eat like a bird and be skinny in no time. But, alas. MK is finishing her degree, MT is working, and I need to find my thing. Right now, though, I can't even finish a thought. I am not sure what I want my thing to be. It's a mini crisis, all right. Please direct your suggestions to the comments section.
Unfortunately, they aren't going without a fight. E has decided he hates school. He tells everyone how much he hates it. I find this disappointing, both because I forecast years of fighting over school, and because it's something E is truly good at. If you don't love what you're good at, then your life is bound to be unhappy.
Naturally, then, this morning, we got a primer in passive-aggression. The dawdling, whining. The totally inability to get shoes on until MK drives up for carpool. He left behind his raincoat in the end, which is going to make both his mood and his body even damper. I know and remember vividly how hard the first day after break is. So I tried to be patient, but honestly, E can try my patience like no one else.
S hasn't yet even dressed. Denial seems to be his choice this morning. Little does he know that I have NO problem dropping him off at school in pj's. That's just the kind of mom I am.
So now that the boys are back to the daily grind, and M is about to go back to school, I am left wondering what I am going to do with myself. If I were like my sister, and incredibly self motivated, I could get myself to the gym nearly every day, eat like a bird and be skinny in no time. But, alas. MK is finishing her degree, MT is working, and I need to find my thing. Right now, though, I can't even finish a thought. I am not sure what I want my thing to be. It's a mini crisis, all right. Please direct your suggestions to the comments section.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Asking For It
You know, sometimes your child comes to you with questions and you think the best answer would be succinct, true (of course) and raise as few OTHER questions as possible. Sometimes, of course, children come up with whoppers and you find yourself in a Southwest Airlines "Wanna get away?" ad. Sometimes, though, I find myself with the questions. And occasionally, my question is immediately visible in a labyrinth of other questions.
Yesterday, the boys had to do their weekly collection of laundry to bring down to the washer--a fairly basic chore for children their ages. While I was cleaning out the office, E shouts from upstairs:
"Sorry, Mom. I accidentally threw half of one of your shirts in the toilet."
"Mmm-hmm." I go back to work...processing....wait for it...the words are registering in the correct order now...a visual is forming....NOW
"You did WHAT?" Question #1
"Accidentally threw half of one of your shirts in the toilet."
Suddenly, as though the green flag were thrown, questions race around my head: Half? Threw? Flush? Accidentally? HUH? I could understand each individual word, but in that order, I found them baffling.
Sometimes, of course, as I teach my children every day, it is better just to keep one's mouth shut. Which I did. Those questions have answers I should probably live without.
Children manage feats incomprehensible to those of us who are over 4 feet tall. They can transform the most basic tasks into Criss Angel-inspired mysteries. I am stunned by the bizarreness, the intricacy, and the enormity of their messes and mishaps. I am grateful that we usually escape hospital-grade injuries, because no ER Dr. would ever believe my stories.
Of course after the kids managed to get the laundry down to the washing machine, E had a question of his own:
"Haven't you always wanted to live in a castle?"
Processing...out of nowhere...does he want something...unclear....trick question?
"There's a HUGE laundry castle for you in the laundry room. It's tall enough for you to live in!!"
Another answer that I could probably live without.
Yesterday, the boys had to do their weekly collection of laundry to bring down to the washer--a fairly basic chore for children their ages. While I was cleaning out the office, E shouts from upstairs:
"Sorry, Mom. I accidentally threw half of one of your shirts in the toilet."
"Mmm-hmm." I go back to work...processing....wait for it...the words are registering in the correct order now...a visual is forming....NOW
"You did WHAT?" Question #1
"Accidentally threw half of one of your shirts in the toilet."
Suddenly, as though the green flag were thrown, questions race around my head: Half? Threw? Flush? Accidentally? HUH? I could understand each individual word, but in that order, I found them baffling.
Sometimes, of course, as I teach my children every day, it is better just to keep one's mouth shut. Which I did. Those questions have answers I should probably live without.
Children manage feats incomprehensible to those of us who are over 4 feet tall. They can transform the most basic tasks into Criss Angel-inspired mysteries. I am stunned by the bizarreness, the intricacy, and the enormity of their messes and mishaps. I am grateful that we usually escape hospital-grade injuries, because no ER Dr. would ever believe my stories.
Of course after the kids managed to get the laundry down to the washing machine, E had a question of his own:
"Haven't you always wanted to live in a castle?"
Processing...out of nowhere...does he want something...unclear....trick question?
"There's a HUGE laundry castle for you in the laundry room. It's tall enough for you to live in!!"
Another answer that I could probably live without.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
How Bob Costas ruined sports
I think I might be able to come to terms with Northwestern's defeat in the Alamo Bowl now. Maybe. Not having won a bowl game in this century and barely in the last is getting to be grim. And everything started out so promising. At least we beat the spread. All those people who thought we would totally suck lost money.
And it's possible that I was in a bad mood because NU was losing, but the telecast brought to my attention one of the most annoying things about "big" sporting events. First off, the announcers had it in their head that Missouri was going to trample NU, so every time NU succeeded, the announcers sounded shocked and amazed. Also, the Missouri quarterback is graduating this year. Apparently, he was THE ONLY ONE ON THE FIELD. The camera crew was obsessed with Chase Daniel's family in the crowd. After every play, offensive or defensive, we had to see how the Daniel Family reacted. Did we get to see NU players' families? Not one. The broadcasters had decided that Chase Daniel was their Bob Costas Type Feel Good Story and so we had to fixate on that. Isn't defeat in overtime enough punishment? Why were we subject to the ongoing saga of one single player's family? Even if I weren't suffering in defeat; even if I were a graduating senior from University of Missouri, I would have been ticked. As it was, I was wishing massive flight delays for the Daniel Family's trip home. Grr.
Bob Costas began this movement of showing the "softer" side of sports. During the Olympics, he narrates these in-depth stories with the sappy music and the soft lens work. He tells us that during training, an Olympian in some obscure sport found out he had a third cousin twice removed who was training for the Uzbekistan team in the same sport, and how they felt an immediate kinship, and how tragically before they were able to reunite during the Opening Ceremonies, the new cousin fell into a hole, and is stuck there unable to compete because his village doesn't have any rope to pull him out. I HATE those stories. They range from sort of irrelevant to totally inane. Every single athlete has overcome adversity by the time they get to the Olympic level. I admire them, and respect their dedication. But having runty Costas with his dyed hair (toupee?) and bad plastic surgery go on and on about it in front of a fake fireplace makes me want to puke.
I know, I have no soul. What can I say? Those side-stories are the reason why Internet coverage of sporting events was invented. Reporters can delve into athlete's personal lives, and only those interested types can seek it out.
As it turns out, I may not be over the NU loss. I seem to be bitter.
In other news, I would like to apologize to my Father-In-Law who felt maligned by my DNA/Holiday post of a couple of weeks ago. I meant no disrespect, and in fact TRIED (unsuccessfully) to indicate that my husband was born into a relatively normal family. I am very sorry for hurting your feelings in any way.
I got on the scale this morning. The New Year is not off to a promising start.
And it's possible that I was in a bad mood because NU was losing, but the telecast brought to my attention one of the most annoying things about "big" sporting events. First off, the announcers had it in their head that Missouri was going to trample NU, so every time NU succeeded, the announcers sounded shocked and amazed. Also, the Missouri quarterback is graduating this year. Apparently, he was THE ONLY ONE ON THE FIELD. The camera crew was obsessed with Chase Daniel's family in the crowd. After every play, offensive or defensive, we had to see how the Daniel Family reacted. Did we get to see NU players' families? Not one. The broadcasters had decided that Chase Daniel was their Bob Costas Type Feel Good Story and so we had to fixate on that. Isn't defeat in overtime enough punishment? Why were we subject to the ongoing saga of one single player's family? Even if I weren't suffering in defeat; even if I were a graduating senior from University of Missouri, I would have been ticked. As it was, I was wishing massive flight delays for the Daniel Family's trip home. Grr.
Bob Costas began this movement of showing the "softer" side of sports. During the Olympics, he narrates these in-depth stories with the sappy music and the soft lens work. He tells us that during training, an Olympian in some obscure sport found out he had a third cousin twice removed who was training for the Uzbekistan team in the same sport, and how they felt an immediate kinship, and how tragically before they were able to reunite during the Opening Ceremonies, the new cousin fell into a hole, and is stuck there unable to compete because his village doesn't have any rope to pull him out. I HATE those stories. They range from sort of irrelevant to totally inane. Every single athlete has overcome adversity by the time they get to the Olympic level. I admire them, and respect their dedication. But having runty Costas with his dyed hair (toupee?) and bad plastic surgery go on and on about it in front of a fake fireplace makes me want to puke.
I know, I have no soul. What can I say? Those side-stories are the reason why Internet coverage of sporting events was invented. Reporters can delve into athlete's personal lives, and only those interested types can seek it out.
As it turns out, I may not be over the NU loss. I seem to be bitter.
In other news, I would like to apologize to my Father-In-Law who felt maligned by my DNA/Holiday post of a couple of weeks ago. I meant no disrespect, and in fact TRIED (unsuccessfully) to indicate that my husband was born into a relatively normal family. I am very sorry for hurting your feelings in any way.
I got on the scale this morning. The New Year is not off to a promising start.
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