Back on active duty

June 8, 2005

They are all home.  Here!  IN my house.  IN my face.  ALL day.  Did I mention that I love my children more than anything?  Let me just throw that in there since I am bound to have someone bugged that I am griping about it.  But still.  A week off to live like a queen and now throw so harshly back into the wilds of motherhood?  Shouldn’t there have been some sort of visiting hours to get me back into the swing of things?  You know, sort of like gradually being reintroduced to this whole Motherhood 24/7 thing over the course of say, a week?

I look like a mom again.  Last week, I wore pretty clothes (with NO stains!) and wore shirts that showed *gasp* cleavage!  Today, basketball shorts and a shirt that has several “sport balls” on it with the caption “My Life.  Any questions?” MOM!  It shouts MOM! again.

Did I mention that I really love my kids?  I really do.  Motherhood is good.  But after 11 years without ever (yes, I mean EVER) having an overnight break like that in my own home, it did not take me long to get spoiled.

I offered to pay my sister child support to keep them one more week.  When I pulled up to her house this is what I saw.  (She did say that Gabrie had just walked out there and honest she didn’t set her out with the luggage to wait.) I do believe my fabulous sister was more than ready to go back to her small family with only 2 kids rather than her zoo of 5 that she had all week.

So how long do I have to wait before I ask her to do this again?  A week?  A month?  When they go to college?

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A moment of silence (and sobbing uncontrollably while wearing black and pouting)

May 12, 2005

Today was Gabriella’s last day of school.

If we can all have a moment of silence to observe the passing of my holy T-days. 

Amen.

First of all, any of you who think it is wise to tease me about the fact that I felt lost as to what I would do with my time when she went to school, just…don’t.  I mean really.  Don’t.  I can track you down.

How can my Holy T-Days be gone so soon.  Do you know what this means?  It means that next week the boys will end their school year.

Do you know that means?  It means they will ALL be with ME. Everyday.

EVERY. DAY.

I go to bed, they will be there.  I wake up, they will be there.  I sneak Vodka in the closet go to the bathroom, they will be there.

I am not ready.  I plan on wearing black all next week in protest.  (Well, that and because it is so slimming.  And of course, because I have this adorable new pair of strappy black sandals that are to die for. But, really, it is more in protest.)

School year, why have thou forsaken me?

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A Fun Bedroom Trick

April 25, 2005

I am going to share a little trick with you, my faithful readers.  A trick that you can use in your bedroom.  It is guaranteed to leave your mate speechless. (Although it is not just for the bedroom.  You can use this little trick anywhere you want.)

Ready?  Okay, here is what you need to do. Take an everyday drinking straw to bed with you.  Wait!  Come back.  Trust me! I do however suggest you wait until you are both snuggled deep under the covers.  You don’t want to ruin the surprise, so make sure your mate is not watching you.  (Surprises in the bedroom can be a lot of fun!)

Do you have your straw?  Good.  Now take that everyday, regular drinking straw and place the longer end of the straw under your left arm pit.  Position is everything here.  (Actually, you can use your right pit, too.  It is not pit dependent.)

Now, bend the shorter end up towards your mouth.  Got it?

Now BLOW!

See!  I guarantee your mate is looking at you and is totally speechless. 

What?!  I never said I was sharing with you a sexual trick, now did I?

[This entry brought to you by the Organization to Promote Immaturity in Marriage.  Visit us at our homepage at…. oh, wait…we don’t have a webpage because we are too immature to get our act together enough to do that.  But if we did, you better believe we would have some kick ass sound effects!]

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The one where I am not so social, but can woo-woo dance with the best of them

April 10, 2005

Does it make me anti-social to go to the school’s family picnic and bring a magazine to read?  Does it make me a bitch that I sat down my blanket, kicked off my shoes and started flipping through my magazine rather than going from person to person and making small talk?  Does it mean that I will never have anything in common with the parents of the kids that go to school with my kids when I stare at them and have no clue in hell what to say to them to start up a conversation?  For the love of all things social, I do believe I am an antisocial bitch.  (Stop laughing those of you who already knew that!) I don’t really want to be that way.  Really.  But first my partner in crime moves away and then the one person I can count on to be as cynical and catty as I am decides not to go!  (I don’t blame her.  The party she did decide to go to had alcohol.  I would so have ditched the kids for a party with adults and booze, too.  I’m just saying…)

It’s not like I want to be the school bitch.  I don’t. Not really.  But after getting burned like I did last year, I am gun-shy.  I did have a great conversation with one of the women on the board that I really admired when I went through the whole “PTA is from hell” incidents.  And I had a great time talking to the parents of one of Z’s friends.  So, it wasn’t all bad.  And I didn’t have to sit off in the section marked for losers and PTA-banned-trouble-makers either.

Oh, and is it bad that I think a man who sings kids songs for a living is totally bordering on hot?  I mean, I went to the concert at the school expecting Raffi and got Eddie?  Yeah, I will totally do the Woo Woo Dance for Eddie when he asks.

Hmmm, maybe it is comments like that which cause me to get myself in trouble.  Nah.  Screw ‘em if they can’t take a joke.  Excuse me while I go off and torment Brandon while singing the Woo Woo Dance song.  I just love being a pain in the ass!

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Dude! That’s gotta hurt!

April 3, 2005

Sometimes my entries write themselves.

The other morning I was stumbling into the kitchen for my morning speed fix cup of coffee.  (Sidenote: This just so happened to be the day after Clint made an appointment for his Big V -or Freedom Day as I like to call it.) After taking a huge life-giving gulp of my nectar of the gods coffee, I was able to pry my eyes open.  When I I did, I glanced over to something that caught my eye on my counter.  Yes, this absolutely made me spew my coffee all over myself and my counter.  What the hell?

I did indeed see what I thought I saw.  Yes, my friends, it is a plastic man straddling a knife. 

No one will fess up to putting it there.  No. One.  And I swear by the gods of the internet, it was not me.  If I am lying, may Harley (the dog otherwise known as Sir Poops A-Lot) defacate my carpet everyday for a week. 

Clint didn’t see the humor that I did.  For you men who think I am a horrible bitch for laughing at this, you’re right.  I am.  But really…it is funny in light of the situation.

So if you are the one who set Mr No Nuts on the knife, thanks for the giggle, but honestly, I am going to have to ask for my key back.  It freaks me out that you got into my house and did that.

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Mommy Needs One too!

March 30, 2005

You always think it will happen to someone else.  It starts so innocently.  First it is just looking at pictures on the internet.  Then, those pictures get downloaded and looked at more frequently- with great lust I might add.  The next thing you know, he comes to you and says he is flying to New Hampshire to pick her up and bring her home.  He insists that you will think she is hot too.  How could I not agree?  Look at her!

With that said, I never really fell in love with the hot-rod like he did.  Oh, sure, it was great to go out on date night in it and pretend that we are young, hip and dating.  And, yes, I did like the way it rumbled so deep and low.  I’ll admit it.  Although I wasn’t really thrilled when I went to his office and saw a poster size picture of the Z and also an 8×10 ‘portfolio’ image and not one of me…his WIFE. 

Did I begrudge him his love for his Z?  No.  Did I tell him that he needs to spend more money on me and less on the Z?  Sometimes.  Did I completely tease him about his “baby”?  Absolutely!  I neither loved nor hated his car.  (Yes, to some of you it is blasphemy to not love a classic Z.  Deal with it.) In fact, I have never even driven it.  Not once.

Until last week.

All I can say is….SWEEEEEET!

Forget about mommy needing coffee.  Mommy needs a hot rod!  I can see it now.  That deep rumble through the carpool line.  Challenging the mini-van moms at the light on the way to preschool.  Strapping in that car seat for Gabrie and cruising with the windows down. Two free-spirited chicks on the go!

Oh, yes….Mommy Needs a hot rod!

Now who is going to tell Clint?

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Could I BE any happier about this?

March 29, 2005

I am very happy today.  I found out something that is going to change my life dramatically. (As well as someone else’s.) However, I did not ask that certain someone if I can talk about it, so to protect his identity, I won’t use real names. Let’s call him Dick Richard. 

You see, some of you know “Richard” as the father of my children and my husband of almost 15 years.  (No names, please.  Let’s respect his privacy.) I got a call from him today saying that…

….wait for it….

He is scheduled for his vasectomy next week!

[We interrupt this regularly scheduled blog to bring you the happiest of happy dances, the giddiest of giggles and the loudest of hallelujah shouts ever experienced at this blog.  Do not adjust your computers.  The issue lies with the author.  Feel free to dance along.  We now return you to the regularly scheduled entry.]

Was it wrong that I was in Kohl’s and shouted out “Wooo hooooo!!” quite ecstatically?  (Don’t worry sweetie, I used my gift card.) Is it wrong that I can’t stop telling EVERYONE I know that at last the snipage will occur? (By the way, the mailman said he really didn’t care.) And really, is it wrong that I am making jokes about it to him?  Like:  ‘Call the vet and maybe we can get a 2-for-1 deal!’ or ‘Do you want me to get frozen lima beans, frozen corn or shall we just make sufferin’ succotash?’

Yeah, okay, maybe the jokes are too far, but damn I am one happy woman!

So mark your calendars.  April 7th.  Family Local National Holiday, folks.

*skipping off doing the Snoopy Happy Dance*

Oh, and of course, all snipage jokes are absolutely accepted.  I must share the joy! 

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You say it’s your birthday!

March 4, 2005

Today is my sweet husband’s birthday.  I love this man with all of my heart.  He is my best friend, the love of my life and my Oh good lord there’s a bug! Kill it go to guy.  He’s a great father and an amazing husband.  Why don’t you go on over there and spread some love his way.  He deserves it.  And, really, who doesn’t love to be spoiled on their birthday?

Happy Birthday, Clint! I love you!

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For a fee, I’ll sing for you, too

February 22, 2005

I don’t sing.  Well, actually, I don’t sing in public.  Ever.  (Okay, there is that occassional Christmas Eve when I get caught up in the moment, but that is where I draw the line.) Oh sure, part of it has to do with the fact that I cannot carry a tune in a bucket, but more so because I am the Queen of Misheard Lyrics.  At least I was once upon a time and the moment has imprinted itself permanently on my psyche never to be repeated.

When I was young- I can’t tell you how young, but it was young enough to still fall for things my brother set me up to do for his amusement- I had a favorite song.  It made me want to SING and DANCE for all to hear.  I loved to perform.  (Youngest child syndrome and all.)

So one night my parents had their best friends over to play bridge.  This wasn’t an uncommon event.  We (the children) knew to make ourselves relatively scarce.  (Besides, we all knew the real fun didn’t start until the children were in bed.  We knew this because the laughing got louder and the conversation more lively.) It was past bedtime, but I had snuck into my brother’s room to sing him my song.  He immediately told me that I absolutely must perform it for our parents and their friends.  My sister came in and encouraged me as well.  They both thought it was a brilliant way to entertain the guests.  I really should’ve known then something was up.

I agree and proudly march into the living room where the adults are gathered.  I clear my throat and announce that I am now going to perform for them.  As soon as I have their undividided attention, I begin to shake my hips and belt out my song…

“Play that f*ckin’ music wine boy

Play that f*ckin’ music wine

Play that f*ckin’ music wine boy

Play it and I’ll boogie so

play that f*ckin music or you’ll die!!!!”

I stared at the adults.  They stared back at me in horror, shock and disbelief. I believe my father was deciding between a stroke and a heart attack and was thus rendered speechless.  My mother just froze like a deer in the headlights.  Their friends looked from me to my parents.  My mother was the first to find her voice.  She began (stammering a bit)….”Jennifer Lee…what did you just say?”

Thinking it was a request for an encore- much to my delight- I jumped up on the footstool and began to shake my hips and bellow out my song again.

My mom’s best friend was suddenly very interested in the ice at the bottom of her glass as she began to study it.  For some reason, her shoulders were shaking.  Her husband became very intent on getting his cigarette lit.  It was difficult as his hand was shaking a lot.  Still clueless, I look to my parents for the usual, “Good job, sweetie.”

It wasn’t until my mother burst out laughing that my father was pulled from his stroke-like paralysis.  “Was it your brother or your sister who suggested that you entertain us with that song tonight?”

Pleased to have my brother and my sister share in the praise and spotlight, I sold them out in a heartbeat.

I was pretty much just told to never sing that song again. 

Later, as I was crawling into bed- and shortly after my brother and sister got quite a talking to and grounded- I overheard my brother cracking up telling my sister, “It was totally worth it!”

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Happy Hallmark Day

February 14, 2005

Saturday morning I was standing on the sidelines of a soccer game (freezing my ass off, by the way) talking to the other soccer moms.  The subject of Valentines Day came up.

Mom#1: “My husband bought me a ring.  Well, it’s a long story, but I know I am getting a ring.”

Mom#2: “I’m not sure what my husband is going to do, but I am pretty sure it will involve roses.”

Then they stared at me expectantly.

“I told Clint that he better not waste any money on that kind of crap.  I told him to just send me an email.”

It was at that point the alien burst through my gut prepared to devour them whole.  At least that is the only reason I could figure for the look or horror on their face.

Mom #1 “Isn’t that a little….impersonal?”

I replied, “You mean as opposed to a card written by someone else that you just bought?  Or overpriced flowers?  Or marked up jewelry?”

Surprisingly, the conversation was dropped like a lead balloon.  Gee, the interest in the game skyrocketed suddenly.

I am just not a fan of Valentines Day.  I never have been.  It usually ends in hurt feelings or money that doesn’t need to be spent or expectations that you try to meet but aren’t sure what they really are…blah blah blah

Here is my entry that I wrote last year..  I still feel the same way.

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