I found a new pediatrician after our old one chastized me for calling her after hours number for something as mundane as a cough....Anyhoot~
It took blood, sweat and tears for me to get my boys into this highly recommended, highly regarded practice. By the skin of my teeth, I finally got accepted as a new patient, so for no good reason, I felt I had to have the boys as clean and shiny as a new penny for their appointments (not entirely easy to do during the filthy Summer months).
I was in such a hurry to get there (first impressions, you know) when I finally looked down at my children in the waiting room, I was amazed to see that Ben had purple popsicle all over his grubby hands and Gabe's red popsicle had melted all down his arm (albeit 3 hours earlier) and wound up all over the back of his khaki shorts. He went to bed with his hair wet last night, so it was sticking up every which way and his bare legs were revealing a myriad of cuts, bites, bumps and bruises, also consistent with the Summer months.
Again, I'm trying to frantically clean up the boys before our new Dr. comes in. He shows up and he's all polite and so forth. After he goes over the logistics (height/weight, etc) he begins to ask my 6 yr old about bicycle safety. For the record, my Benny is a helmet geek. He even wears his helmet while riding his bike through our plush, grassy yard. So, doc asks if he wears a helmet and Ben answers, "well, only on the really, really busy streets".
Doc: Heh hem....ummm you should really wear it all the time, Ok Buddy?
Doc: What kind of milk do you buy?
Me: Skim
Doc: Do they drink much of it?
Me: Oh yeah, all the time, they are huge milk drinkers. (For the record, I wasn't even lying...they ARE milk drinkers)!
Ben: We love pop, LOVE IT! (Ok, my boys only drink pop when they're with their Grandmother and even then it's rare). So, he continues to go on about Stranger Danger, Sunscreen, Car Seats, etc. I assure him that our motto is "safety first". On cue, Gabe tells him that he loves fireworks, they're soooooo loud and soooooo pretty and very hot! What could I do? I just pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head. So, then Doc wants to check the bottoms of their feet. WHY??? WHY??? What do you think, that I made them walk on hot coals before we came? Why, in the middle of June, when the boys did NOT have a bath last night and they're both wearing black flip flops would a doctor choose then to check the bottoms of their feet? I contemplated faking my own death at that point, I was so embarrassed.
Me: Oh, uh, yeah, those darn flip flops make their feet appear sooooo dirty, but they aren't, I swear....I SWEAR...WHAT?????
Doc: uh huh. Ok see you in about a year.
Now, I'm wondering if I should go back to the old doctor.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
I met a gay.
I've waited most of my adult life to befriend a gay and it finally happened. The most charming fellow works at TJ Maxx. He's darling and he likes to chat me up. During some of my futile shopping trips, we've discussed, Kathy Griffin (love her), Barbara Walters, John & Kate plus 8, Little People, Tori Spelling, dog sitting for his vacationing friends, the fact that my 3 year old calls me by my first name (Leslie), etc. etc. He humors me, I humor him, it's mutual. I get his advice on manly things and the like.
On my way home from the store, I began day dreaming about the two of us becoming close friends. We'd go out for drinks, my husband wouldn't even care, because after all, he's gay. Although, my new friend refers to himself as "Happy", not gay. Now, I don't know him from anything, but I think he's kinda bitchy, which is most favorite attribute. I'd imagine he's the critical type who would judge everyone in our line of vision. He shall be a bridesmaid in my next wedding, because he's got flair and all.... I'd even bring him to Bunko with me, to show him off to my lady friends.....he'd be my "show & tell". Awe!
I'm off to clear a space in the basement. He might want to become roommates, once we get to know each other a tad better.
On my way home from the store, I began day dreaming about the two of us becoming close friends. We'd go out for drinks, my husband wouldn't even care, because after all, he's gay. Although, my new friend refers to himself as "Happy", not gay. Now, I don't know him from anything, but I think he's kinda bitchy, which is most favorite attribute. I'd imagine he's the critical type who would judge everyone in our line of vision. He shall be a bridesmaid in my next wedding, because he's got flair and all.... I'd even bring him to Bunko with me, to show him off to my lady friends.....he'd be my "show & tell". Awe!
I'm off to clear a space in the basement. He might want to become roommates, once we get to know each other a tad better.
food for thought
Secret, secret...I've got a secret! Here's something I'll bet you didn't know about me. As much as I love cucumbers, I loathe buying them. I imagine that there are creepy, lurking men who are peering at me from all angles of the produce aisles thinking to themselves, "oooohhhh, she likes the long, firm, green ones...uh huh...I'll give you a long, firm green one, honey....". Then I imagine them going back to their caves where they're holding a Senator's daughter against her will and will inevitably tell her to 'put the lotion on it's skin, or else it gets the hose'. I usually won't be too choosy about my cucumbers, because the longer I stand there and jerk off all the cucumbers, the creepy men have already jimmied their way into my car and are waiting to drag me back to their dungeon, where I'll bravely wait for Jodi Foster to rescue me.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
what not to wear and other fashion don'ts!
I've never claimed to be a fashionista and no, I'm not trying to rip off Stacy London. However, I do own a mirror and that alone gives me authority over what works and what doesn't.
1. Nude nylons. There should be a law. I'll take it a step further. Nude nylons with open-toe sandles. Never, ever, under any circumstances should you ever wear nude nylons and/or with sandles.
2. Long, air brushed acrylic nails. Nope, sorry. Say good bye to your mini sunsets and your little flamingos.... NO designs on your nails! The only exception to this is if you're 4 and your mommy paints a daisy on your little piggy, but that's about it!
3. Jeans that show camel toe. You do own a mirror, do you not? And you are aware that you are revealing a perfect silouette of your labia, are you not? Ladies, ladies, the higher up you pull your jeans, the bigger your camel toe will become. It's basic science. Furthermore, typically these types of jeans have a double whammy because not only are they atrocious from the front, but they're also horrendous from the back, because often these are the types of jeans that have really small back pockets and the pockets are placed too far apart. Another no-no. These are what we call "mom jeans". All they do is make your butt look big. Go for the big pockets, ones that are close together and with some sort of cute design on the pockets. It's all about the pockets.
4. Please, for the love of the land, stop letting your kids wear their pajamas to the grocery store. Just dress them. Is it really that difficult to get them out of their pajamas and into actual street clothes? Also...babies dressed only in a diaper. No shoes, no shirt....just sitting in a germ infested grocery cart, walking down the freezer aisle which is somewhere around 4 degrees.... you've all seen it.
5. Parents, grandparents, etc.. STOP BUYING CLOTHES AND SHOES WITH CHARACTERS ON THEM. I'll just leave it at that. No need to elaborate. Nothing screams 'white trash' like a Lightning McQueen tank top, that's all.
6. Scrunchies. Throw them away. Nothing good will come from you wearing a scrunchie. Trust me.
7. Boys with unmanicured nails. Yuck. Not that I'm suggesting that you man-up and get mani's & pedi's, I am suggesting that you scrape the dirt out from under your finger and toe nails, and take a nail trimmer to them. I'll throw up in my mouth if I see a guy with long nails. The bagger at my grocery store often has long nails and I can barely stand it.
8. There's no polite way to say this..... men & women....shave your curlys. They're gross, they make you look like an amazon-bush person and it's ugly. Soft and smooth is sweeping the nation, believe you, me! (men---it'll also make your pee pee look bigger)!!!!
I can't think of anymore right now. But I'm taking my kids to a carnival later tonight, so I'm sure I'll have more to add.
Ciao!
1. Nude nylons. There should be a law. I'll take it a step further. Nude nylons with open-toe sandles. Never, ever, under any circumstances should you ever wear nude nylons and/or with sandles.
2. Long, air brushed acrylic nails. Nope, sorry. Say good bye to your mini sunsets and your little flamingos.... NO designs on your nails! The only exception to this is if you're 4 and your mommy paints a daisy on your little piggy, but that's about it!
3. Jeans that show camel toe. You do own a mirror, do you not? And you are aware that you are revealing a perfect silouette of your labia, are you not? Ladies, ladies, the higher up you pull your jeans, the bigger your camel toe will become. It's basic science. Furthermore, typically these types of jeans have a double whammy because not only are they atrocious from the front, but they're also horrendous from the back, because often these are the types of jeans that have really small back pockets and the pockets are placed too far apart. Another no-no. These are what we call "mom jeans". All they do is make your butt look big. Go for the big pockets, ones that are close together and with some sort of cute design on the pockets. It's all about the pockets.
4. Please, for the love of the land, stop letting your kids wear their pajamas to the grocery store. Just dress them. Is it really that difficult to get them out of their pajamas and into actual street clothes? Also...babies dressed only in a diaper. No shoes, no shirt....just sitting in a germ infested grocery cart, walking down the freezer aisle which is somewhere around 4 degrees.... you've all seen it.
5. Parents, grandparents, etc.. STOP BUYING CLOTHES AND SHOES WITH CHARACTERS ON THEM. I'll just leave it at that. No need to elaborate. Nothing screams 'white trash' like a Lightning McQueen tank top, that's all.
6. Scrunchies. Throw them away. Nothing good will come from you wearing a scrunchie. Trust me.
7. Boys with unmanicured nails. Yuck. Not that I'm suggesting that you man-up and get mani's & pedi's, I am suggesting that you scrape the dirt out from under your finger and toe nails, and take a nail trimmer to them. I'll throw up in my mouth if I see a guy with long nails. The bagger at my grocery store often has long nails and I can barely stand it.
8. There's no polite way to say this..... men & women....shave your curlys. They're gross, they make you look like an amazon-bush person and it's ugly. Soft and smooth is sweeping the nation, believe you, me! (men---it'll also make your pee pee look bigger)!!!!
I can't think of anymore right now. But I'm taking my kids to a carnival later tonight, so I'm sure I'll have more to add.
Ciao!
Things that baffle and intrigue me.
Here is a compiled list of things that baffle and/or intrigue me. And for the record, I become intrigued very easily. Some might call it Adult ADD, I call it being hyper aware. Tomato/toe-mah-toe
1. Carnivals: (and all that that entails). There is so much to take in at carnivals, it's hard for me to absorb it all. My kids could get kidnapped and I'd barely notice because I get fixated on the people watching. Everything from the barefoot babies, to the couples with matching t-shirts, to the morbidly obese lady sitting on a bench eating an elephant ear. And the carnies, for Heaven's sake, the carnies could take up a blog of their own. At what point do you realize you've hit rock bottom? Is it when you're actually filling out the application to become a carnie, or is it when you're sitting on your little stool, very authoritatively-like, with a ciggy hanging out of your mouth waiting for one ride to end and another to begin? It's a lonely life for the carnies.... life on the road, barely any time to get acquainted with a nice carnette before you're back on the road again. When they lay their sweet, greasy heads down at night, from inside their small trailor, I wonder if the only sounds they hear is the whirling of the rides, the climactic screams of children and the festive music. Ain't that America?
2. Lesbians: I'm fascinated by lesbians....not the attractive, curious, lipstick-lesbians, but the mullet wearing, hands shoved down in the pocket, honest to goodness dikes. I could watch 'em for hours, but I have to be careful, because if I make myself too conspicuous, they'll either kill me or sodomize me. I can't figure it out, why, WHY do they look so much like men, if they prefer women? I don't understand. I would think that if I were attracted to women, I'd be attracted to womanly things. If they're into looking like short, stocky ladies with bad haircuts, why don't they just date really ugly men. Maybe that's what their seeking and they just don't realize it. Thank God for this blog---I can shed some light on the lesbian community. You're NOT GAY...you just like UGLY MEN!!!
3. Polygomists: Why are polygomists so homely? What is it about the mormon religion that breeds such ugly, ugly people? And how on earth does the husband do it? My husband would hang himself if he had to deal with multiple me's. Sometimes I'd like to imagine what it would be like if I were casted for a reality show and I was dropped off in the middle of some sect in Utah where I had 29 sister wives with one husband. I like to think I'd have fun with the situation and that I'd rattle their cages a little. I'd teach the sisters how to line dance, we'd look so darn cute in our denim jumpers and long pony tails...doing the electric slide. I wouldn't be real popular among the men, but eventually, I'd win the sisters over and they'd be sorry to see me go. Maybe I'd smuggle a few of the really homely ones home with me. They could tend to the child rearing and the mending. But inevitably, jealousy would ensue and I'd have to go all Tonya Harding on them if they tried to seduce my Jason. It was just a thought...
4. Home Schooling: I'll just say it. What the F.? Do you love your children thaaat much, that you can't possibly bear the thought of spending 8 hours a day away from them? How egotistical of these people to think that no one in the world could possibly do a better job of teaching their children than themselves. I say, send them to school, expose them to life's experiences, socialize them, prepare them for adulthood, etc. etc. etc. How prepared is little Mary Alice going to be when you ship her off to college after being home school for 12 years? I'll tell you how prepared she'll be. Prepared to be the biggest ho on campus!
Girls gone wild, FO SHO! Good luck with that!
So many things in this world make me cock my head like a dog. Like I said, it doesn't take much to spark my interest. Pretty much if you start a conversation with, "Did you happen to notice the lady with the......" I'll be foaming at the mouth before you even make your point. So, with that said, as people continue to baffle me and situations continue to intrigue me, I'll add to my compilation.
Ta ta for now.
1. Carnivals: (and all that that entails). There is so much to take in at carnivals, it's hard for me to absorb it all. My kids could get kidnapped and I'd barely notice because I get fixated on the people watching. Everything from the barefoot babies, to the couples with matching t-shirts, to the morbidly obese lady sitting on a bench eating an elephant ear. And the carnies, for Heaven's sake, the carnies could take up a blog of their own. At what point do you realize you've hit rock bottom? Is it when you're actually filling out the application to become a carnie, or is it when you're sitting on your little stool, very authoritatively-like, with a ciggy hanging out of your mouth waiting for one ride to end and another to begin? It's a lonely life for the carnies.... life on the road, barely any time to get acquainted with a nice carnette before you're back on the road again. When they lay their sweet, greasy heads down at night, from inside their small trailor, I wonder if the only sounds they hear is the whirling of the rides, the climactic screams of children and the festive music. Ain't that America?
2. Lesbians: I'm fascinated by lesbians....not the attractive, curious, lipstick-lesbians, but the mullet wearing, hands shoved down in the pocket, honest to goodness dikes. I could watch 'em for hours, but I have to be careful, because if I make myself too conspicuous, they'll either kill me or sodomize me. I can't figure it out, why, WHY do they look so much like men, if they prefer women? I don't understand. I would think that if I were attracted to women, I'd be attracted to womanly things. If they're into looking like short, stocky ladies with bad haircuts, why don't they just date really ugly men. Maybe that's what their seeking and they just don't realize it. Thank God for this blog---I can shed some light on the lesbian community. You're NOT GAY...you just like UGLY MEN!!!
3. Polygomists: Why are polygomists so homely? What is it about the mormon religion that breeds such ugly, ugly people? And how on earth does the husband do it? My husband would hang himself if he had to deal with multiple me's. Sometimes I'd like to imagine what it would be like if I were casted for a reality show and I was dropped off in the middle of some sect in Utah where I had 29 sister wives with one husband. I like to think I'd have fun with the situation and that I'd rattle their cages a little. I'd teach the sisters how to line dance, we'd look so darn cute in our denim jumpers and long pony tails...doing the electric slide. I wouldn't be real popular among the men, but eventually, I'd win the sisters over and they'd be sorry to see me go. Maybe I'd smuggle a few of the really homely ones home with me. They could tend to the child rearing and the mending. But inevitably, jealousy would ensue and I'd have to go all Tonya Harding on them if they tried to seduce my Jason. It was just a thought...
4. Home Schooling: I'll just say it. What the F.? Do you love your children thaaat much, that you can't possibly bear the thought of spending 8 hours a day away from them? How egotistical of these people to think that no one in the world could possibly do a better job of teaching their children than themselves. I say, send them to school, expose them to life's experiences, socialize them, prepare them for adulthood, etc. etc. etc. How prepared is little Mary Alice going to be when you ship her off to college after being home school for 12 years? I'll tell you how prepared she'll be. Prepared to be the biggest ho on campus!
Girls gone wild, FO SHO! Good luck with that!
So many things in this world make me cock my head like a dog. Like I said, it doesn't take much to spark my interest. Pretty much if you start a conversation with, "Did you happen to notice the lady with the......" I'll be foaming at the mouth before you even make your point. So, with that said, as people continue to baffle me and situations continue to intrigue me, I'll add to my compilation.
Ta ta for now.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
stupid things I say
It's true. Sometimes I actually say stupid things. There truly is no filter between my brain and my mouth. I'm often not fit for social outings, depending on my mood. My husband frequently cringes at these outings. This is exacerbated when alcohol is involved. I'll give several examples.
1. I saw a friend of mine recently at the library and she had just had a baby. I ask what the baby's name is. She tells me, "Otto". Without hesitation, I say the first thing that comes to mind, which is, "that'll work out great if he ends up being dyslexic". There were so many other options of things to say in this circumstance, but of course, I have to reference a learning disability.
2. I went to a neighbors house for a gathering and about 4 years ago, my husband and I actually looked at this house when it was for sale. So, I mention this to the owner (my friend) and I say to her, "Jason and I looked at this house.....but we couldn't get past the kitchen". Really? Really? I just said that outloud?
3. I was at my sister's wedding when I was 16 years old. I was as drunk as a skunk and dancing very slutasticly and seductively around the best man, who was probably, oh, in his mid 30's, perhaps. My mom decided it was time for me to go nighty night and began dragging me out of the reception. On the way out, I saw the best man and surrepticiously tried to slide him my room key. I was staying in the same room with my mom and stepdad. Smooth!! Thankfully, he let me down easy.
4. Not being much of a church goer, I began going to church with my husband early into our relationship. It was Easter Sunday and as we entered the sanctuary, the Pastor was handing out nails. I was intrigued. My husband explained that it was to symbolize nailing our sins to the cross. I said to the Pastor, "I'm definitely going to need more than one nail". Funny right? I kill me.
5. To my African American friend who just told me about her sister in Atlanta: "Oh, I have a black friend in Atlanta, ask your sister if she knows her".
6. At a neighbor's house....we aren't particularly close, I'm drinking wine and she tells me to be careful because the glasses are real crystal. I say to her, "oh, that's ok because I'm totally fake, so they'll cancel each other out". (what??)
7. Again, not much of a church goer.....it's Christmas eve and I'm with my future in-laws, whose family is very conservative and Christian. Jason's grandfather has all of his great grandchildren gathered around him as he starts his story, "OK, whose birthday are we celebrating today".... I am trying to dazzle these people whom I will soon call family and I even impress myself by knowing the answer to this one. I answer very confidently and truth be told, I was pretty smug about the whole thing and I say, "Oh, I know this one...Aunt Anita". Jason cringes and quietly whispers, "nope, that would be Jesus. It's Jesus birthday that we're celebrating, honey". Ooooh, right....He is the reason for the season, after all.... But, I did score brownie points for knowing Aunt Anita's birthday.
There are so many more...I could add to this list, at least daily. Chew on these for a while and then we'll revisit at a later date.
Au Revoir!
1. I saw a friend of mine recently at the library and she had just had a baby. I ask what the baby's name is. She tells me, "Otto". Without hesitation, I say the first thing that comes to mind, which is, "that'll work out great if he ends up being dyslexic". There were so many other options of things to say in this circumstance, but of course, I have to reference a learning disability.
2. I went to a neighbors house for a gathering and about 4 years ago, my husband and I actually looked at this house when it was for sale. So, I mention this to the owner (my friend) and I say to her, "Jason and I looked at this house.....but we couldn't get past the kitchen". Really? Really? I just said that outloud?
3. I was at my sister's wedding when I was 16 years old. I was as drunk as a skunk and dancing very slutasticly and seductively around the best man, who was probably, oh, in his mid 30's, perhaps. My mom decided it was time for me to go nighty night and began dragging me out of the reception. On the way out, I saw the best man and surrepticiously tried to slide him my room key. I was staying in the same room with my mom and stepdad. Smooth!! Thankfully, he let me down easy.
4. Not being much of a church goer, I began going to church with my husband early into our relationship. It was Easter Sunday and as we entered the sanctuary, the Pastor was handing out nails. I was intrigued. My husband explained that it was to symbolize nailing our sins to the cross. I said to the Pastor, "I'm definitely going to need more than one nail". Funny right? I kill me.
5. To my African American friend who just told me about her sister in Atlanta: "Oh, I have a black friend in Atlanta, ask your sister if she knows her".
6. At a neighbor's house....we aren't particularly close, I'm drinking wine and she tells me to be careful because the glasses are real crystal. I say to her, "oh, that's ok because I'm totally fake, so they'll cancel each other out". (what??)
7. Again, not much of a church goer.....it's Christmas eve and I'm with my future in-laws, whose family is very conservative and Christian. Jason's grandfather has all of his great grandchildren gathered around him as he starts his story, "OK, whose birthday are we celebrating today".... I am trying to dazzle these people whom I will soon call family and I even impress myself by knowing the answer to this one. I answer very confidently and truth be told, I was pretty smug about the whole thing and I say, "Oh, I know this one...Aunt Anita". Jason cringes and quietly whispers, "nope, that would be Jesus. It's Jesus birthday that we're celebrating, honey". Ooooh, right....He is the reason for the season, after all.... But, I did score brownie points for knowing Aunt Anita's birthday.
There are so many more...I could add to this list, at least daily. Chew on these for a while and then we'll revisit at a later date.
Au Revoir!
Friday, May 30, 2008
more stupid things my husband says
He makes so many stupid jokes/comments, etc... I don't EVEN have the strawn-th to recollect every single one of them, but here are a few of his greatest hits.
1. Me: I feel so lethargic, I think I need some protein. Jason: I've got some protein for you. (there are many, many, many variations to this comment----basically anything with the words, hard, taste, box, cans, stick, in, bend, deep, choke, gag, mouth, facial, pearls, hand, finger, fist or come will elicit a 4th grade response).
2. Jason: Honey, have you seen my shoes? Me: Gee, have you checked the shoe closet. (He asks me if I've seen his Tiger's hat, wallet, keys, Tiger's jersey, etc at least hourly---it might be my biggest pet peeve because he won't LOOK for any of these items). I will usually tell him that my uterus is not his personal tracking device.
3. What state is Delaware in? I almost visited an attorney that day.
4. Me, folding piles and piles of clean clothes, fresh out of the dryer. Jason: Well, what do you have going on here???? Me: I was folding clothes, but now I'm answering obvious questions.
5. Me, starting the dishwasher and turning on the light above the stove (the tell tale sign that the kitchen is clean and closed). Jason: Ok, what do you need help with?
6. (Upon my returning home from the store) Jason: Do you have any change for me? (isn't he adorable)?
7. Are you hungry? (Is the pope Catholic)?
8. Pregnant with my firstborn, we're discussing potential boy names Jason: How about Vito .....no? Then, how about Victor? Donovan? Again, I almost visited an attorney that afternoon.
9. He calls home from work in the middle of the day......Jason: Whatcha doin' honey, watching Oprah? Ooooh, them are fightin' words!
10. We were finishing our basement and discussing what furniture would go where. He sets up the pub table and bar stools and declares that this will be where my "Ladies of the Month" club will take place. What exactly does he think I do all day? For the record, I'm in no such club. Actually, this story isn't so much stupid as it is cute.
1. Me: I feel so lethargic, I think I need some protein. Jason: I've got some protein for you. (there are many, many, many variations to this comment----basically anything with the words, hard, taste, box, cans, stick, in, bend, deep, choke, gag, mouth, facial, pearls, hand, finger, fist or come will elicit a 4th grade response).
2. Jason: Honey, have you seen my shoes? Me: Gee, have you checked the shoe closet. (He asks me if I've seen his Tiger's hat, wallet, keys, Tiger's jersey, etc at least hourly---it might be my biggest pet peeve because he won't LOOK for any of these items). I will usually tell him that my uterus is not his personal tracking device.
3. What state is Delaware in? I almost visited an attorney that day.
4. Me, folding piles and piles of clean clothes, fresh out of the dryer. Jason: Well, what do you have going on here???? Me: I was folding clothes, but now I'm answering obvious questions.
5. Me, starting the dishwasher and turning on the light above the stove (the tell tale sign that the kitchen is clean and closed). Jason: Ok, what do you need help with?
6. (Upon my returning home from the store) Jason: Do you have any change for me? (isn't he adorable)?
7. Are you hungry? (Is the pope Catholic)?
8. Pregnant with my firstborn, we're discussing potential boy names Jason: How about Vito .....no? Then, how about Victor? Donovan? Again, I almost visited an attorney that afternoon.
9. He calls home from work in the middle of the day......Jason: Whatcha doin' honey, watching Oprah? Ooooh, them are fightin' words!
10. We were finishing our basement and discussing what furniture would go where. He sets up the pub table and bar stools and declares that this will be where my "Ladies of the Month" club will take place. What exactly does he think I do all day? For the record, I'm in no such club. Actually, this story isn't so much stupid as it is cute.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
helen's homecoming
Our mother passed away almost 5 years ago. It was sudden but not terribly surprising since she'd been giving away her worldly possessions since her 42nd birthday. I personally think she willed herself sick. It was no secret that her gene pool was riddled with cancer and heart disease. Deep down she knew that she wouldn't live a long life, but I wonder if she'd had a more positive outlook on life, if she'd have lived longer. Instead, she was content being depressed and morbid.
There's another factor here. Her husband, Jack (our step father) was 20 years her senior. Although their age difference was vast, I never once imagined her as the widow---somehow, I always knew she'd be the one to leave this earth before him. He aged her. She liked pretending they were the same age. She would say ridiculous things like, "We can't keep up like we used to..." The fact of the matter was, he was (is) incredibly spry for his age and he continued to run circles around here. Even when she was 55 and he was 75. It was irritating to me that she acted much older than she was, I had little patience for her.
She and Jack moved out of state when I was 17. When they'd come back for holidays or a long weekend. I'd put so much pressure on the visit and I'd have overly high expectations. Disappointment would ultimately ensue. I'd expect that our visit would be similar to all of my other friends whose parents would come for a visit. There would be shopping, there would lots of laughs and cooking of the favorite meals and pouring over photo albums, etc. etc. In reality it would be more like this: Jack would get diarrhea and/or a mysterious insect bite, or a cold, or a broken tooth...and they'd either have to spend the weekend in Urgent Care, or they'd just make the 18 hour trek back home again. From time to time Jack would escape illness and tragedy, but I'd still be let down because then something else would inevitably happen, like mom would get into one of her moods because my phone would ring too many times during dinner, or I'd suggest we do something else besides watch tv and eat chocolate covered raisins, she'd roll her eyes and they'd be on the road by 6 AM the next morning. Happened everytime. Or more commonly, she'd pay too much attention to one of my sisters and I'd get my overly sensitive feelings hurt and we'd get into a fight.
This is just the way my relationship with with my mom. I'd like to look back on our 29 years together and remember them differently, but it is what it is. I don't doubt for one single second that she loved me. I know she did, but often, I was fairly certain that she didn't like me. She didn't 'get me' and that was fine, a lot of people don't get me. I loved her, she loved me, I miss her, I miss her essence, I miss her sense of humor, I miss having a mom, I miss all the good stuff.
Fast forward to April 2008. Jack calls me (I'm going to write this dialogue phonetically as Jack has an old NY accent and the story is much more entertaining if you read it with a New York accent---also, he yells when he talks):
Jack: (on my voicemail) HA-NEE, HI, IT'S JACK. LISTEN HA-NEE, I'M ALMOST 84 AND IF ANYTHING SHOULD HAPPEN TO ME, I DON'T WANT HELEN'S ASHES GETTING MISPLACED, SO I'M SENDING THEM TO YOU. KEEP THEM AWAY FROM THE KIDS...HEH HEH HEH
(next message) HA-NEE, HI, IT'S JACK. I WENT TO THE POST OFFICE AND THEY WON'T LET ME MAIL OUT YA MUTHA'S REMAINS. I'LL KEEP YOU POSTED.
(next message) HI HA-NEE, I WENT TO THE FUNERAL HOME WHERE WE HAD YA MUTHA'S SERVICE AND THEY TOOK CARE OF HER REMAINS---THEY SHIPPED THEM OUT IN AN AIR TIGHT CONTAINER AND SHE SHOULD BE THERE IN A FEW DAYS.
(next message) HI HA-NEE, I'M WONDERING IF YA MUTHA HAS ARRIVED YET. IT'S BEEN A FEW DAYS AND I HAVEN'T HEARD ANYTHING. I HOPE SHE'S NOT LOST IN THE MAIL AND ENDED UP GETTING RE-ROUTED TO EGYPT OR SOMETHING, HEH HEH HEH.... OH SHE'D LOVE THAT, WOULDN'T SHE DOLLY?
Leading up to that week, I was a wreck. Everytime I heard the UPS truck, I just about threw up in my mouth. I was scared. Of what? I don't know. I deal with death perfectly fine, it's "the dead" that I don't do well with. So, I'm driving home from running errands with the kids after about a week since Jack's original phone call and as I'm pulling up my driveway, I saw a big package hanging from my storm door. I threw the car in reverse and bee-lined down the street. I just kept driving up and down the street until I had the strawn-th to deal with what was waiting for me at home. I finally went home and as I approach the infamous package, I noticed it was from the shoe store where I ordered some wedges online. I had to laugh.
Two days after that, I was running errands downtown with the boys and it was getting close to nap time, so I took them home. I retrieved the mail and there was a yellow notice from the post office stating that I had a certified package waiting for me at the post office. (gulp) Well, no sense going allll the way back to the post office now, she's been traveling all week, surely she can wait until after her grandsons take their naps. So, Lee calls during naptime and I told her that mom was at the post office waiting for me. Picture me sitting on my couch, legs crossed out in front of me, filing my nails, phone tucked under my chin, chocolates next to me.... personifying this whole 'lady of luxury' scene while my mother waits to be picked up from the post office. Lee said to me, half joking, "you. are. the. worst. daughter. ever---GO PICK HER UP'. We were dying. We pictured her standing there, standing on one leg, with one foot propped up on her other ankle, arms crossed over her chest, rolling her eyes, shaking her head, FUMING...and muttering about her youngest daughter being unresponsible and unreliable... Oh, we had great fun at mom's expense that day.
I did arrive at the post office 3 minutes before they closed that day. I had to sign for her and everything. Very official, mind you. My legs got all weak and wobbly walking to the car. I had a hard time accepting the fact that I was carrying my mother's remains. The boys were in the back seat freaking out because they thought they got a present in the mail. "mom, what is it, what is it...is it for me...what is it....who's it from".... I just ignored them. I didn't have the strawn-th to explain the whole cremation process to them.
After I brought her box o' bones home, I wandered through the house for hours wondering where to put her. Not one single place in the house seemed appropriate for her final resting place. So, 9 weeks later, she's still sitting atop my dresser and often the kids will stack their night-night books on her as if to say, "grammy, read to me". I'm sure she wouldn't have it any other way.
So, the moral of the story is, if you have a difficult & complicated relationship with your mother, talk to her about her dying wishes, or else she could end up living with her least favorite daughter, collecting dust on top of a dresser.
There's another factor here. Her husband, Jack (our step father) was 20 years her senior. Although their age difference was vast, I never once imagined her as the widow---somehow, I always knew she'd be the one to leave this earth before him. He aged her. She liked pretending they were the same age. She would say ridiculous things like, "We can't keep up like we used to..." The fact of the matter was, he was (is) incredibly spry for his age and he continued to run circles around here. Even when she was 55 and he was 75. It was irritating to me that she acted much older than she was, I had little patience for her.
She and Jack moved out of state when I was 17. When they'd come back for holidays or a long weekend. I'd put so much pressure on the visit and I'd have overly high expectations. Disappointment would ultimately ensue. I'd expect that our visit would be similar to all of my other friends whose parents would come for a visit. There would be shopping, there would lots of laughs and cooking of the favorite meals and pouring over photo albums, etc. etc. In reality it would be more like this: Jack would get diarrhea and/or a mysterious insect bite, or a cold, or a broken tooth...and they'd either have to spend the weekend in Urgent Care, or they'd just make the 18 hour trek back home again. From time to time Jack would escape illness and tragedy, but I'd still be let down because then something else would inevitably happen, like mom would get into one of her moods because my phone would ring too many times during dinner, or I'd suggest we do something else besides watch tv and eat chocolate covered raisins, she'd roll her eyes and they'd be on the road by 6 AM the next morning. Happened everytime. Or more commonly, she'd pay too much attention to one of my sisters and I'd get my overly sensitive feelings hurt and we'd get into a fight.
This is just the way my relationship with with my mom. I'd like to look back on our 29 years together and remember them differently, but it is what it is. I don't doubt for one single second that she loved me. I know she did, but often, I was fairly certain that she didn't like me. She didn't 'get me' and that was fine, a lot of people don't get me. I loved her, she loved me, I miss her, I miss her essence, I miss her sense of humor, I miss having a mom, I miss all the good stuff.
Fast forward to April 2008. Jack calls me (I'm going to write this dialogue phonetically as Jack has an old NY accent and the story is much more entertaining if you read it with a New York accent---also, he yells when he talks):
Jack: (on my voicemail) HA-NEE, HI, IT'S JACK. LISTEN HA-NEE, I'M ALMOST 84 AND IF ANYTHING SHOULD HAPPEN TO ME, I DON'T WANT HELEN'S ASHES GETTING MISPLACED, SO I'M SENDING THEM TO YOU. KEEP THEM AWAY FROM THE KIDS...HEH HEH HEH
(next message) HA-NEE, HI, IT'S JACK. I WENT TO THE POST OFFICE AND THEY WON'T LET ME MAIL OUT YA MUTHA'S REMAINS. I'LL KEEP YOU POSTED.
(next message) HI HA-NEE, I WENT TO THE FUNERAL HOME WHERE WE HAD YA MUTHA'S SERVICE AND THEY TOOK CARE OF HER REMAINS---THEY SHIPPED THEM OUT IN AN AIR TIGHT CONTAINER AND SHE SHOULD BE THERE IN A FEW DAYS.
(next message) HI HA-NEE, I'M WONDERING IF YA MUTHA HAS ARRIVED YET. IT'S BEEN A FEW DAYS AND I HAVEN'T HEARD ANYTHING. I HOPE SHE'S NOT LOST IN THE MAIL AND ENDED UP GETTING RE-ROUTED TO EGYPT OR SOMETHING, HEH HEH HEH.... OH SHE'D LOVE THAT, WOULDN'T SHE DOLLY?
Leading up to that week, I was a wreck. Everytime I heard the UPS truck, I just about threw up in my mouth. I was scared. Of what? I don't know. I deal with death perfectly fine, it's "the dead" that I don't do well with. So, I'm driving home from running errands with the kids after about a week since Jack's original phone call and as I'm pulling up my driveway, I saw a big package hanging from my storm door. I threw the car in reverse and bee-lined down the street. I just kept driving up and down the street until I had the strawn-th to deal with what was waiting for me at home. I finally went home and as I approach the infamous package, I noticed it was from the shoe store where I ordered some wedges online. I had to laugh.
Two days after that, I was running errands downtown with the boys and it was getting close to nap time, so I took them home. I retrieved the mail and there was a yellow notice from the post office stating that I had a certified package waiting for me at the post office. (gulp) Well, no sense going allll the way back to the post office now, she's been traveling all week, surely she can wait until after her grandsons take their naps. So, Lee calls during naptime and I told her that mom was at the post office waiting for me. Picture me sitting on my couch, legs crossed out in front of me, filing my nails, phone tucked under my chin, chocolates next to me.... personifying this whole 'lady of luxury' scene while my mother waits to be picked up from the post office. Lee said to me, half joking, "you. are. the. worst. daughter. ever---GO PICK HER UP'. We were dying. We pictured her standing there, standing on one leg, with one foot propped up on her other ankle, arms crossed over her chest, rolling her eyes, shaking her head, FUMING...and muttering about her youngest daughter being unresponsible and unreliable... Oh, we had great fun at mom's expense that day.
I did arrive at the post office 3 minutes before they closed that day. I had to sign for her and everything. Very official, mind you. My legs got all weak and wobbly walking to the car. I had a hard time accepting the fact that I was carrying my mother's remains. The boys were in the back seat freaking out because they thought they got a present in the mail. "mom, what is it, what is it...is it for me...what is it....who's it from".... I just ignored them. I didn't have the strawn-th to explain the whole cremation process to them.
After I brought her box o' bones home, I wandered through the house for hours wondering where to put her. Not one single place in the house seemed appropriate for her final resting place. So, 9 weeks later, she's still sitting atop my dresser and often the kids will stack their night-night books on her as if to say, "grammy, read to me". I'm sure she wouldn't have it any other way.
So, the moral of the story is, if you have a difficult & complicated relationship with your mother, talk to her about her dying wishes, or else she could end up living with her least favorite daughter, collecting dust on top of a dresser.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
People we LOVE
See...we're not always mean and hateful, sometimes we're very loving.
1. People who card us. This doesn't happen often, at all... but when it does, I want to kiss that person. With tongue.
2. Pharmacists. We really don't show these people enough appreciation for their dedication. In fact, I'm going to google my pharmacist right now, find out where he lives and bring him a fruit bouquet. Grease his palm a little, if you catch my drift, heh, heh, heh
3. Children who swear. There is nothing, I mean nothing more adorable than a child who properly uses a swear word in the right context. Ooooh, it's just darling!
4. Monica Lewinsky. This may puzzle you. People, she is famous for blowing the President of the United States of America. Get down with your bad self girl!
5. Miguel. Miguel worked at the Bugan Villas in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. I'm sure he started working there when he was 14 and he is now 65. My husband and I have stayed at this resort 3 times and I'll be damned if Miguel wasn't still standing there each time waiting to take our drink orders.
6. Kathy Griffin. She's not only funny (VERY FUNNY) but she throws popularity to the wind just for a good laugh. You've got to love her chutzpah. She offends everyone and couldn't care less. My personal mantra is "F&$K 'em if they can't take a joke". I think she shares the same mantra. She's my mostly companion---although she doesn't know it yet.
7. David & Amy Sedaris. He's queer, she's insane. We believe my mother gave them up for adoption some 40 years ago. His writings depict an extremely dysfunctional family, but he has the articulation to draw humor from it. (Obviously we love him) And Amy, well, she's just plain silly.
8. People who start sentences by saying, "You didn't hear this from me, but...." Oooooh, I just love this person!
9. People who think Lee is actually my mother. Hee heee. She'll kill me for that one, but it really does make me happy.
10. Chelsea Handler. She's sassy, she tells it like it is, she's sarcastic, she's intelligent. I want to be her.
1. People who card us. This doesn't happen often, at all... but when it does, I want to kiss that person. With tongue.
2. Pharmacists. We really don't show these people enough appreciation for their dedication. In fact, I'm going to google my pharmacist right now, find out where he lives and bring him a fruit bouquet. Grease his palm a little, if you catch my drift, heh, heh, heh
3. Children who swear. There is nothing, I mean nothing more adorable than a child who properly uses a swear word in the right context. Ooooh, it's just darling!
4. Monica Lewinsky. This may puzzle you. People, she is famous for blowing the President of the United States of America. Get down with your bad self girl!
5. Miguel. Miguel worked at the Bugan Villas in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. I'm sure he started working there when he was 14 and he is now 65. My husband and I have stayed at this resort 3 times and I'll be damned if Miguel wasn't still standing there each time waiting to take our drink orders.
6. Kathy Griffin. She's not only funny (VERY FUNNY) but she throws popularity to the wind just for a good laugh. You've got to love her chutzpah. She offends everyone and couldn't care less. My personal mantra is "F&$K 'em if they can't take a joke". I think she shares the same mantra. She's my mostly companion---although she doesn't know it yet.
7. David & Amy Sedaris. He's queer, she's insane. We believe my mother gave them up for adoption some 40 years ago. His writings depict an extremely dysfunctional family, but he has the articulation to draw humor from it. (Obviously we love him) And Amy, well, she's just plain silly.
8. People who start sentences by saying, "You didn't hear this from me, but...." Oooooh, I just love this person!
9. People who think Lee is actually my mother. Hee heee. She'll kill me for that one, but it really does make me happy.
10. Chelsea Handler. She's sassy, she tells it like it is, she's sarcastic, she's intelligent. I want to be her.
nothing says I don't give a SH*T quite like flowers.
Mother's Day is upon us. Oh joy. All these Hallmark commercials and advertisements just remind me that my family is thoughtless. Riddle me this. Why, why, why is it that on Father's Day, the husband gets to sleep in (after drinking himself silly the night before), then head out for a scheduled Tee time and then off to a watering hole to put throw back a few with the fellas before heading home for the proverbial Father's Day dinner.
While, on Mother's Day, we have to spend the whole God Forsaken day with our families? For Christ's sake, it would be a sin if we didn't. Can you imagine how this scenario would go down?
11:30 Mother's Day morning: Hi Kids, ooooh, thank you for the runny eggs and scribbled construction paper, you shouldn't have. Anyhoot, I'm off! I have a mani/pedi at noon, mimosas & lunch with Nancy after that, then we're going to an estate sale to browse antiques. If we have time after that, we're going to see a matinee. See you at dinner!!! And by the way, I'm in the mood for a grilled chicken salad tonight!
Their mouths would all be hanging open and their eyes would just be going, blink, blink, blink.... You'd hear nothing but crickets....
No, no, it's more like this: Guilt gets the better of you and you roll out of bed begrudgingly around 9 AM. The husband & kids mumble 'happy mother's day' while shoving handmade cards in your face. You, of course, have to ooooh and aahhhh over them because you wouldn't want to break their little spirits. Now, mind you, you've envisioned your mother's day gift for weeks. You've dropped enough hints about a Roomba, Cuisinart or new iPod for weeks, he's a flipping idiot if he didn't pick up on the subtle hints (I left a Pandora catalog next to the toilet). So, back to Mother's Day morning, on the kitchen table, next to the too-strong coffee & soggy english muffin is a bouquet of flowers. Your enthusiasm deflates like a balloon and you want to go back to bed, immediately. Your husband will say things like, "Do you like them...don't you like the flowers....the kids helped me pick them out....you like purple, right...???? ". You somehow have to act like it's all you've ever wanted. A friggin' bouquet of flowers. Wow, you really put some thought into that, didn't you? Then you turn on the tv and all you see are Zales commercials with men giving their wives diamonds and by doing so telling her, "I'd marry you all over again"... (sigh)
Nothing says 'I don't give a SH*T' quite like flowers. So, to all you mommies out there whose husbands are thoughtless and a tad stupid, HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY---GO BUY SOMETHING SPECIAL FOR YOURSELF---and when your husband questions your purchase, tell him to go *&%$$& himself.
xoxoxo
****side note: the husband described in this blog in NO WAY reflects my husband, but is dedicated to all of you ladies who are married to , shall we say, thoughtfully challenged men. I know too many of them and was smart enough to train mine early on. As I sit here and stare at my new Pandora charms & Ed Hardy shirt, I'm rather pleased with myself...and him!
While, on Mother's Day, we have to spend the whole God Forsaken day with our families? For Christ's sake, it would be a sin if we didn't. Can you imagine how this scenario would go down?
11:30 Mother's Day morning: Hi Kids, ooooh, thank you for the runny eggs and scribbled construction paper, you shouldn't have. Anyhoot, I'm off! I have a mani/pedi at noon, mimosas & lunch with Nancy after that, then we're going to an estate sale to browse antiques. If we have time after that, we're going to see a matinee. See you at dinner!!! And by the way, I'm in the mood for a grilled chicken salad tonight!
Their mouths would all be hanging open and their eyes would just be going, blink, blink, blink.... You'd hear nothing but crickets....
No, no, it's more like this: Guilt gets the better of you and you roll out of bed begrudgingly around 9 AM. The husband & kids mumble 'happy mother's day' while shoving handmade cards in your face. You, of course, have to ooooh and aahhhh over them because you wouldn't want to break their little spirits. Now, mind you, you've envisioned your mother's day gift for weeks. You've dropped enough hints about a Roomba, Cuisinart or new iPod for weeks, he's a flipping idiot if he didn't pick up on the subtle hints (I left a Pandora catalog next to the toilet). So, back to Mother's Day morning, on the kitchen table, next to the too-strong coffee & soggy english muffin is a bouquet of flowers. Your enthusiasm deflates like a balloon and you want to go back to bed, immediately. Your husband will say things like, "Do you like them...don't you like the flowers....the kids helped me pick them out....you like purple, right...???? ". You somehow have to act like it's all you've ever wanted. A friggin' bouquet of flowers. Wow, you really put some thought into that, didn't you? Then you turn on the tv and all you see are Zales commercials with men giving their wives diamonds and by doing so telling her, "I'd marry you all over again"... (sigh)
Nothing says 'I don't give a SH*T' quite like flowers. So, to all you mommies out there whose husbands are thoughtless and a tad stupid, HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY---GO BUY SOMETHING SPECIAL FOR YOURSELF---and when your husband questions your purchase, tell him to go *&%$$& himself.
xoxoxo
****side note: the husband described in this blog in NO WAY reflects my husband, but is dedicated to all of you ladies who are married to , shall we say, thoughtfully challenged men. I know too many of them and was smart enough to train mine early on. As I sit here and stare at my new Pandora charms & Ed Hardy shirt, I'm rather pleased with myself...and him!
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Stupid Things My Husband Says
Good Morning Everyone!
It's a beautiful day (finally) in my (Lee's) part of the midwest. Sun is shining, sky is blue and I almost made it all the way through the night last night without waking up! A miracle! I haven't slept well in weeks and I am having a sleep study done next week to figure out what is wrong with me. Hubby thinks I'm stressed out and just need to relax. He said to me last night as we watched our daughter's softball game, "I'm worried about you. It seems like everytime we plan to go somewhere, you get all anxious. I bet that's why you aren't sleeping." If a softball bat were laying next to me at that point, I may have used it on my brilliant husband's head!
It isn't as if we haven't had this discussion before. Any woman with children knows that even a typical day in a normal household takes planning and precision execution. Add a trip out of town for Mom and Dad, and even the best of the best may get a little frazzeled. When you have to coordinate who will be staying with the kids and precious dog in between the time they spend with their father because it's his weekend and kid sporting events, you need a team of event planners and a bottomless jug of margahritas! Welcome to my world! The truth is, I have been dealing with this kind of juggling for years so it doesn't really freak me out and this trip to San Antonio for the weekend isn't keeping me from sleeping. I think the fact that my husband makes ridiculous statements (see above) causes me to believe I have to do ALL the thinking for our family, and THAT is what is causing me not to sleep at night. Oh, I hear you girl (Ann here)---we've been doing this 'parenting' thing for approx. 6 yrs now and still, to this day, husband thinks that getting ready to go consists of putting on shoes and buckling in the children into their carseats. I'll break it down. Pack snacks, diapers, wipes, put aside at least 10 minutes for putting shoes on because the 3 year old will take off the left while I put on the right and so on. Gather coupons, to-do list, blockbuster movies, birthday presents and all the other things we will need for our outing, make the children go pee, clean up the main floor so we don't come home to a clean house. All the while, as I'm running around doing all of these mundane tasks, husband is sitting on the couch, usually tuning his f-ing guitar and saying idiot things like, "we're going to be late....can we go now?"...
I'll take it a step further. What about the bedtime routine? Here's mine: Let our precious 'dog-ter" outside, turn off the porch lights, put the ubiquitous snacks back into the pantry, bring glasses to the dishwasher, fold throw blankets, fluff pillows on couch, lay out various items onto the counter so husband doesn't forget them on his way to work, ie. keys, blackberry, bills to be mailed, etc. Lay out kindergartner's clothes, pack his lunch, let in dog, give her a cookie, carry up a folded load of laundry, tuck in kids, wash face, brush teeth, pee, apply hand lotion & chapstick, talk my way out of sex, fall into bed.
Here's husband's bedtime routine: Yawn, walk upstairs, lay down.
They all wonder why we are raging bee-ochs...
I have so much more to say about this topic, but I have to start my list of "To-Do's" so I am ready precisely at 5 pm when we leave for the airport and so when Hubby walks in he doesn't say, "Why aren't you ready yet?????"! After all, we are going to visit HIS friends and if I kill him, it may ruin the weekend for them!
It's a beautiful day (finally) in my (Lee's) part of the midwest. Sun is shining, sky is blue and I almost made it all the way through the night last night without waking up! A miracle! I haven't slept well in weeks and I am having a sleep study done next week to figure out what is wrong with me. Hubby thinks I'm stressed out and just need to relax. He said to me last night as we watched our daughter's softball game, "I'm worried about you. It seems like everytime we plan to go somewhere, you get all anxious. I bet that's why you aren't sleeping." If a softball bat were laying next to me at that point, I may have used it on my brilliant husband's head!
It isn't as if we haven't had this discussion before. Any woman with children knows that even a typical day in a normal household takes planning and precision execution. Add a trip out of town for Mom and Dad, and even the best of the best may get a little frazzeled. When you have to coordinate who will be staying with the kids and precious dog in between the time they spend with their father because it's his weekend and kid sporting events, you need a team of event planners and a bottomless jug of margahritas! Welcome to my world! The truth is, I have been dealing with this kind of juggling for years so it doesn't really freak me out and this trip to San Antonio for the weekend isn't keeping me from sleeping. I think the fact that my husband makes ridiculous statements (see above) causes me to believe I have to do ALL the thinking for our family, and THAT is what is causing me not to sleep at night. Oh, I hear you girl (Ann here)---we've been doing this 'parenting' thing for approx. 6 yrs now and still, to this day, husband thinks that getting ready to go consists of putting on shoes and buckling in the children into their carseats. I'll break it down. Pack snacks, diapers, wipes, put aside at least 10 minutes for putting shoes on because the 3 year old will take off the left while I put on the right and so on. Gather coupons, to-do list, blockbuster movies, birthday presents and all the other things we will need for our outing, make the children go pee, clean up the main floor so we don't come home to a clean house. All the while, as I'm running around doing all of these mundane tasks, husband is sitting on the couch, usually tuning his f-ing guitar and saying idiot things like, "we're going to be late....can we go now?"...
I'll take it a step further. What about the bedtime routine? Here's mine: Let our precious 'dog-ter" outside, turn off the porch lights, put the ubiquitous snacks back into the pantry, bring glasses to the dishwasher, fold throw blankets, fluff pillows on couch, lay out various items onto the counter so husband doesn't forget them on his way to work, ie. keys, blackberry, bills to be mailed, etc. Lay out kindergartner's clothes, pack his lunch, let in dog, give her a cookie, carry up a folded load of laundry, tuck in kids, wash face, brush teeth, pee, apply hand lotion & chapstick, talk my way out of sex, fall into bed.
Here's husband's bedtime routine: Yawn, walk upstairs, lay down.
They all wonder why we are raging bee-ochs...
I have so much more to say about this topic, but I have to start my list of "To-Do's" so I am ready precisely at 5 pm when we leave for the airport and so when Hubby walks in he doesn't say, "Why aren't you ready yet?????"! After all, we are going to visit HIS friends and if I kill him, it may ruin the weekend for them!
Sunday, May 4, 2008
People we hate
Listing the people that we love is..well, boring. So, we'll list the people that we hate. It's very simple, there are those who "get it" and those who don't. It's all black and white, we are 'love it' or 'hate it' girls, there's no grey. Lee interjecting here. I think it is important to note that in our family, it was kill or be killed. Around the dinner table, if we didn't have something nasty to say about someone, there would be hell to pay. We would get extra points for ripping on someone outside the family. I guess it's how dear 'ol dad made himself feel better about his pathetic life. Here goes:
1. People who talk and talk and talk, just for the sake of hearing their own voice. What is coming out of their mouth is neither remarkable nor entertaining. They truly think that if they throw in a 4 syllable word every so often, it will create the illusion that they are intelligent. I usually see right through that and then instantly hate them.
2. People who have no minds of their own. Their likes and dislikes parallel their spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend. This falls into the same category as people who can't NOT have a spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend and also people who worship their spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend. Puke. I have no patience or tolerance for this type of person. They are usually very meek and boring individuals. We are also not so fond of people who can ONLY talk about their children. We love our children to death, however, we don't expect others to love them as much as we do nor do we expect others to find their silly antics as fabulous as we do.
3. Trista Sutter (A.K.A the Bachelorette). She got dissed on the Bachelor and then went on the Bachelorette where she found true love and married him on National TV (which funded her 1 Million dollar wedding). Then went onto be a spokesperson for infertility within weeks of her nuptiuals. She began writing a column for Redbook magazine....something about being married, or something (because she was obviously an expert after 3 months of marriage). Blew out her fallopian tubes and was knocked up the following month. Got her fat ass onto any magazine that would shoot her revealed her story book nursery. And is now on the cover of every cheap grocery store magazine as the poster girl for post-pregnancy weight loss. Go away! Your 7 minutes were up in 2001. I don't care for the girl or her wussy husband either. I just don't care enough to waste one milisecond on thinking about it. Shut up. If you don't have anything bitchy to day, don't say anything at all.
4. Cashiers who comment on everything that you buy. "Oh, this looks delicious, where did you find this". Just ring me up, Shannon--thanks! Also--cashiers that complain about their jobs while they're ringing you up. I don't know why, but this makes me insane. "hello, how are you today, Target person"? "I'll be a lot better when I get to punch out of this place". I never know how to respond to that. Grocery store cashiers who throw my food to the end of the whatever it is you call it after charging me for it make me mental. I'm hyperventilating just thinking about it! It's called a conveyour belt, donkey.
5. People who use poor grammar. This includes:
1. People who talk and talk and talk, just for the sake of hearing their own voice. What is coming out of their mouth is neither remarkable nor entertaining. They truly think that if they throw in a 4 syllable word every so often, it will create the illusion that they are intelligent. I usually see right through that and then instantly hate them.
2. People who have no minds of their own. Their likes and dislikes parallel their spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend. This falls into the same category as people who can't NOT have a spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend and also people who worship their spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend. Puke. I have no patience or tolerance for this type of person. They are usually very meek and boring individuals. We are also not so fond of people who can ONLY talk about their children. We love our children to death, however, we don't expect others to love them as much as we do nor do we expect others to find their silly antics as fabulous as we do.
3. Trista Sutter (A.K.A the Bachelorette). She got dissed on the Bachelor and then went on the Bachelorette where she found true love and married him on National TV (which funded her 1 Million dollar wedding). Then went onto be a spokesperson for infertility within weeks of her nuptiuals. She began writing a column for Redbook magazine....something about being married, or something (because she was obviously an expert after 3 months of marriage). Blew out her fallopian tubes and was knocked up the following month. Got her fat ass onto any magazine that would shoot her revealed her story book nursery. And is now on the cover of every cheap grocery store magazine as the poster girl for post-pregnancy weight loss. Go away! Your 7 minutes were up in 2001. I don't care for the girl or her wussy husband either. I just don't care enough to waste one milisecond on thinking about it. Shut up. If you don't have anything bitchy to day, don't say anything at all.
4. Cashiers who comment on everything that you buy. "Oh, this looks delicious, where did you find this". Just ring me up, Shannon--thanks! Also--cashiers that complain about their jobs while they're ringing you up. I don't know why, but this makes me insane. "hello, how are you today, Target person"? "I'll be a lot better when I get to punch out of this place". I never know how to respond to that. Grocery store cashiers who throw my food to the end of the whatever it is you call it after charging me for it make me mental. I'm hyperventilating just thinking about it! It's called a conveyour belt, donkey.
5. People who use poor grammar. This includes:
- He don't know...
- I seen him at the Walmart last week.
- You ain't got no dang money!
- Where you at?
- Irregardless...(you just know this person thinks they're using a big word and don't you just want to slap them)?
- I have went....
- People who prounounce Illinois as El-in-oy and industry as IN-dustry. OMG I need a drink!
6. People who have their kids in public still in their pajamas in the afternoon. This gives me hives. Is it really that hard to dress your child. This includes people who refuse to brush their kids hair and the kid shows up to school with the biggest rat's nest in the back of their head. Also--the people in the middle of the Summer who push their kids around in a grocery cart wearing nothing but a diaper.
7. Chris Hansen from Dateline. You know the "To Catch A Predator". He's so..... "Enough about you, I'm Chris Hansen, do you like my hair". "Well, we'll get to you in a minute, Long-schlong-228, right now, I'd like to introduce myself, but surely you've seen me on T.V, I'm Chris Hansen. Don't I look better in person?"
8. People who can't muster up the strawn-th to shake your hand. It's like shaking hands with an invalid. It's all limp and damp. They're the worst.
9. People who can't make a point. There's a word for this and it's called "circuitous". Good one, eh? Learn it. Use it. Impress your friends with it. I can't stand when people mistake me for a stupid person and take 3 hours to explain the most simple concept. I usually have to put the phone down and pinch the bridge of my nose, pour myself a drink and then eventually pick the phone back up again to see if they've progressed any further into the story. I have no patience for circuitous people. My mother used to do this when she'd explain recipes to me. She'd explain each layer of lasagne as if each one was different from the one before. Instead of saying, 'sauce, lasagne, meat, cheese, sauce....layer it 3 times, etc.' She'd start her recipe directions at the grocery store and finish at how to clean up baked on grease. Maddening, I tell you.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
No one puts Baby in the Coroner
No, that wasn't a typo---I meant to type coroner, not corner. It was pun. That's how I roll.
Today's little nugget of unsolicited information is brought to you by the postpartum depression society of the Mid-West. And Brooke Shields.
You've read all the books on postpartum depression. You've read about the baby blues and how you'll feel 'inadequate' and how you'll be over tired and overwhelmed and all that stuff. It's all true, you'll feel all of those emotions with about 4,000 other emotions ranging from euphoria to desperation & dread.
Mine is a common story, but not a very frequently told story. No one wants to talk about how they wanted nothing more than to check into a fancy hotel following the birth of their baby---and never check out.
The first time around, I felt elated, prepared and completely in control. I never once went through a period of time with my first born where I didn't know what I was doing. I felt like I was meant to be a mother and I felt like I stepped flawlessly and gracefully into that role. For Lord's sake, I look back at photos and videos from the first few months of motherhood and I'm wearing makeup, jewelery and heels in the middle of the afternoon. What the F.? Who was I kidding?
Fast forward 3 years and I can barely manage to wash and dry the same load of laundry within the same day. I'll admit it, it got ugly for a while. Not that my second pregnancy wasn't planned. It most certainly was. The truth of the matter was that I felt I owed it to my son to give him a sibling. It truly wasn't that I wanted or needed another child, I felt quite content with one. I just didn't want him to be an only child. Little did I know my two boys would wind up hating each other.... Anyway, back to my second pregnancy. Like an idiot, I took the pregnancy test way too early. I found out I was preggers when I was less than 2 weeks along. I have freakishly strong hormones, apparently. So, this was my quandary. If I'd have just played it cool, I could have had 2 or 3 more weeks of drinking before "technically" finding out. But nooooo, nosy bitch had to find out early. So, there I sat, on the toilet, staring at the pee stick. I wasn't elated, I wasn't surprised, I wasn't anything. Literally, my only thought was, "damn. if I'd have waited until I was actually late, I could have partied over Labor Day weekend"...
As the pregnancy went on, I got more and more depressed. There are so many distinct memories I have of that very dark time. I recall crying to my husband one night about how on earth am I going to read Ben (my oldest) his bedtime stories with a newborn. I don't know why, but it was the mundane things like that which overwhelmed me to no end. I didn't see how other mothers did it. Or why they'd want to. "Great...and how do you expect me to drive Ben to pre-school with a newborn in the car...huh..huh"??? I was so very negative about it all.
During the labor, I was more excited about the epidural than about the actual birth. I kept lying and saying that I could feel the contractions (I couldn't) just so they'd pump me with more meds. By the time I was fully dialated, I was so numb from the waist down, my husband was poking my thighs with a sharp pencil just for fun. Oh, we had ourselves quite a time! I was at 10 cm. for about 3 hours. The nurse kept saying, "do you want to try and push now... he's practically hanging out of you". And I'd say (while admiring my manicure), "No. Not so much. I think I'll wait a tad longer". I wanted to maintain being the patient for as long as I could. I was milking this for all it's worth. I knew once he'd arrived, I'd get tossed to the back burner and he'd take over.
Ok, so by sheer gravity, the child was born. I totally feigned pushing. I made the face and grimaced and everything, but as for using any strawn-th to push my child out---none. I didn't want him out. Plainly said. Finally, I was distracted by a very irritating sound in the room (Lee and I are very sensitive to noise) and I think I went as far as to crinkle my nose and ask "what is that intolerable sound"? The nurse said, "we're suctioning the baby's mouth". Oh. Alright then, carry on. He was out and I didn't even know it (again, the drugs...). So, he was all cute and so forth. I marveled him and wondered how I (me?) could have gotten two of the best looking little boys ever known to man. All that fuss was short lived until the next morning when I got a visit from a social worker.
I'd had my tubes tied immediately following the birth. This was a prearranged thing, not spontaneous. After wanting to kill myself throughout the entire pregnancy, I knew I never wanted to do this again. Plus, I didn't think I had enough love in my heart for more than 2 children. I was still reeling from the vicodin after the surgery when a lovely, motherly figure appeared in the doorway. I knew immediately who she was and why she was there. A few hours after Gabe's birth, I had to fill out a postpartum depression survey. I turned it into my nurse and thought nothing of it until the social worker came. The look on her face was pity, compassion, love, support and comfort. I started bawling as soon as I saw her. She did that thing that women do where they tilt their head to one side, squint and sort of smile at you. Oh, I wanted to crawl into her lap and suck my thumb. My mother had been gone for 2 years at this point and I felt so sorry for myself that I didn't have my mother to share this with me. Again. She was sick with cancer during Ben's pregnancy & birth and now she wasn't even alive for this one. I felt robbed. Anyway, she asked if I remembered taking the survey, I did. She said a score of 10 or more indicated possible depression. I scored a 37. I can laugh about it now, but I vividly recall saying to her. "I'm not going to kill my kids or anything, it's not that kind of postpartum depression....it's just the kind where I don't ever want to leave the hospital...so you don't have to call the authorities or anything". She just smiled that beautiful smile at me. My OB came in later that evening and patted my legs and said, "are you ready to go home tomorrow"??? I started bawling and said, "Hells NO...they make me work at home". He just slowly backed out of the room.
I sat in my wheelchair with Gabe in his carseat, on my lap, in the waiting room. All the other new moms were waiting for their husbands or significant other's to come pick them up to go home. They all looked so anxious and hopeful and excited. I just stared at them, wishing I was anywhere else besides there. The whole way home, my husband kept saying, "here we go....new chapter.... " and all these other cliche things that made me want to kill him. All I wanted to do was cry. Once home, I literally didn't get out my bathrobe for 3 days. My blinds were drawn and I'm sure my neighbors assumed that we had a really ugly baby, based on how reclusive I was. I remember watching Will & Grace that first night at home. Gabe in his bouncy seat, I in my robe. I thought to myself, "Will is so lucky he's gay---he'll never have to deal with all of this". I didn't understand it. I loved babies, I loved everything about babies. Why was I so sad to have another one of my own--a gorgeously healthy baby at that? I knew all about postpartum depression, but I was fairly confident that that was NOT was this was. PPD was an erroneous psychosomatic condition. What I had was real.
I finally called my dearest girlfriend and bawled for the first 20 minutes of the conversation. Just incomprehensible sobbing. She gave me the best advice I've ever received and I firmly believe she saved my life that day. She said, "Listen to me. RUN--don't walk---RUN to your doctor and get on something [anti-depressants] before sundown today". Bada boom, bada bing, 4 hours later, my husband was filling my prescription for zoloft and the rest is history. 3 or 4 days later I was saying, "what was all that business about"??? Not that I didn't fall into my fair share of mild depression every now and again. After all, pills can only help so much.
No doubt about it, this is the hardest, most unappreciated and stressful job I've ever had in my life. Hands down. But, would I trade it for anything in the entire world? Never. I'm honest about motherhood, I don't try to sugar coat it into a Norman Rockwell painting. It is what it is, but at the end of the day, if you can put adults out into the world who are well adjusted, well liked, self sufficient, contributing members of society, than you've done your job and that's what I'm trying to do. But for now, I'm perfectly content hearing strangers comment on my "ridiculously good looking boys".
Today's little nugget of unsolicited information is brought to you by the postpartum depression society of the Mid-West. And Brooke Shields.
You've read all the books on postpartum depression. You've read about the baby blues and how you'll feel 'inadequate' and how you'll be over tired and overwhelmed and all that stuff. It's all true, you'll feel all of those emotions with about 4,000 other emotions ranging from euphoria to desperation & dread.
Mine is a common story, but not a very frequently told story. No one wants to talk about how they wanted nothing more than to check into a fancy hotel following the birth of their baby---and never check out.
The first time around, I felt elated, prepared and completely in control. I never once went through a period of time with my first born where I didn't know what I was doing. I felt like I was meant to be a mother and I felt like I stepped flawlessly and gracefully into that role. For Lord's sake, I look back at photos and videos from the first few months of motherhood and I'm wearing makeup, jewelery and heels in the middle of the afternoon. What the F.? Who was I kidding?
Fast forward 3 years and I can barely manage to wash and dry the same load of laundry within the same day. I'll admit it, it got ugly for a while. Not that my second pregnancy wasn't planned. It most certainly was. The truth of the matter was that I felt I owed it to my son to give him a sibling. It truly wasn't that I wanted or needed another child, I felt quite content with one. I just didn't want him to be an only child. Little did I know my two boys would wind up hating each other.... Anyway, back to my second pregnancy. Like an idiot, I took the pregnancy test way too early. I found out I was preggers when I was less than 2 weeks along. I have freakishly strong hormones, apparently. So, this was my quandary. If I'd have just played it cool, I could have had 2 or 3 more weeks of drinking before "technically" finding out. But nooooo, nosy bitch had to find out early. So, there I sat, on the toilet, staring at the pee stick. I wasn't elated, I wasn't surprised, I wasn't anything. Literally, my only thought was, "damn. if I'd have waited until I was actually late, I could have partied over Labor Day weekend"...
As the pregnancy went on, I got more and more depressed. There are so many distinct memories I have of that very dark time. I recall crying to my husband one night about how on earth am I going to read Ben (my oldest) his bedtime stories with a newborn. I don't know why, but it was the mundane things like that which overwhelmed me to no end. I didn't see how other mothers did it. Or why they'd want to. "Great...and how do you expect me to drive Ben to pre-school with a newborn in the car...huh..huh"??? I was so very negative about it all.
During the labor, I was more excited about the epidural than about the actual birth. I kept lying and saying that I could feel the contractions (I couldn't) just so they'd pump me with more meds. By the time I was fully dialated, I was so numb from the waist down, my husband was poking my thighs with a sharp pencil just for fun. Oh, we had ourselves quite a time! I was at 10 cm. for about 3 hours. The nurse kept saying, "do you want to try and push now... he's practically hanging out of you". And I'd say (while admiring my manicure), "No. Not so much. I think I'll wait a tad longer". I wanted to maintain being the patient for as long as I could. I was milking this for all it's worth. I knew once he'd arrived, I'd get tossed to the back burner and he'd take over.
Ok, so by sheer gravity, the child was born. I totally feigned pushing. I made the face and grimaced and everything, but as for using any strawn-th to push my child out---none. I didn't want him out. Plainly said. Finally, I was distracted by a very irritating sound in the room (Lee and I are very sensitive to noise) and I think I went as far as to crinkle my nose and ask "what is that intolerable sound"? The nurse said, "we're suctioning the baby's mouth". Oh. Alright then, carry on. He was out and I didn't even know it (again, the drugs...). So, he was all cute and so forth. I marveled him and wondered how I (me?) could have gotten two of the best looking little boys ever known to man. All that fuss was short lived until the next morning when I got a visit from a social worker.
I'd had my tubes tied immediately following the birth. This was a prearranged thing, not spontaneous. After wanting to kill myself throughout the entire pregnancy, I knew I never wanted to do this again. Plus, I didn't think I had enough love in my heart for more than 2 children. I was still reeling from the vicodin after the surgery when a lovely, motherly figure appeared in the doorway. I knew immediately who she was and why she was there. A few hours after Gabe's birth, I had to fill out a postpartum depression survey. I turned it into my nurse and thought nothing of it until the social worker came. The look on her face was pity, compassion, love, support and comfort. I started bawling as soon as I saw her. She did that thing that women do where they tilt their head to one side, squint and sort of smile at you. Oh, I wanted to crawl into her lap and suck my thumb. My mother had been gone for 2 years at this point and I felt so sorry for myself that I didn't have my mother to share this with me. Again. She was sick with cancer during Ben's pregnancy & birth and now she wasn't even alive for this one. I felt robbed. Anyway, she asked if I remembered taking the survey, I did. She said a score of 10 or more indicated possible depression. I scored a 37. I can laugh about it now, but I vividly recall saying to her. "I'm not going to kill my kids or anything, it's not that kind of postpartum depression....it's just the kind where I don't ever want to leave the hospital...so you don't have to call the authorities or anything". She just smiled that beautiful smile at me. My OB came in later that evening and patted my legs and said, "are you ready to go home tomorrow"??? I started bawling and said, "Hells NO...they make me work at home". He just slowly backed out of the room.
I sat in my wheelchair with Gabe in his carseat, on my lap, in the waiting room. All the other new moms were waiting for their husbands or significant other's to come pick them up to go home. They all looked so anxious and hopeful and excited. I just stared at them, wishing I was anywhere else besides there. The whole way home, my husband kept saying, "here we go....new chapter.... " and all these other cliche things that made me want to kill him. All I wanted to do was cry. Once home, I literally didn't get out my bathrobe for 3 days. My blinds were drawn and I'm sure my neighbors assumed that we had a really ugly baby, based on how reclusive I was. I remember watching Will & Grace that first night at home. Gabe in his bouncy seat, I in my robe. I thought to myself, "Will is so lucky he's gay---he'll never have to deal with all of this". I didn't understand it. I loved babies, I loved everything about babies. Why was I so sad to have another one of my own--a gorgeously healthy baby at that? I knew all about postpartum depression, but I was fairly confident that that was NOT was this was. PPD was an erroneous psychosomatic condition. What I had was real.
I finally called my dearest girlfriend and bawled for the first 20 minutes of the conversation. Just incomprehensible sobbing. She gave me the best advice I've ever received and I firmly believe she saved my life that day. She said, "Listen to me. RUN--don't walk---RUN to your doctor and get on something [anti-depressants] before sundown today". Bada boom, bada bing, 4 hours later, my husband was filling my prescription for zoloft and the rest is history. 3 or 4 days later I was saying, "what was all that business about"??? Not that I didn't fall into my fair share of mild depression every now and again. After all, pills can only help so much.
No doubt about it, this is the hardest, most unappreciated and stressful job I've ever had in my life. Hands down. But, would I trade it for anything in the entire world? Never. I'm honest about motherhood, I don't try to sugar coat it into a Norman Rockwell painting. It is what it is, but at the end of the day, if you can put adults out into the world who are well adjusted, well liked, self sufficient, contributing members of society, than you've done your job and that's what I'm trying to do. But for now, I'm perfectly content hearing strangers comment on my "ridiculously good looking boys".
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Cinematology
I'm a person who is big on "taste". By saying so, I should also admit that I don't particularly have exceptional taste, or even good taste, but it's my own and I think someone's taste says a lot about them. I tend to be a bit judgemental that way. Others' taste helps me to gauge if I will like them or not. For example: If asked a person what their favorite restaurant is, and they replied, "Olive Garden", I could guess that we probably wouldn't hit it off very well.
I am often interested in what type of movies interest people. Again, I think it says a lot about them. If someone told me their favorite movie was "Legally Blonde" I'd probably put a skewer in their eye.
With all that said, I now shall go through my distinct list of favorite movies and my reasons for loving them so.
1. Good Fellas. Greatest movie of all time. Ray Liotta, Joe Pesci and Robert DiNiro at their finest. Mafia legend gets greedy and turns into a rat. I've seen it about 8,000 times and to this day, I never miss an opportunity to see it. It thrills me to the core each time I see Henry Hill in action. (sigh)
2. Pulp Fiction. You really have to be able to appreciate the artistic approach of this film. If you prefer your movies to have a beginning, climax & conclusion all wrapped up in nice package, than you won't like this movie. Plus, you might not possess the intellect to understand it's complex plot. My husband and I reference this movie at least daily. "Who's chopper is this"?
3. American Beauty. I still don't understand my strong attraction for Kevin Spacey, but this movie definitely sealed the deal for me. He portrays a pitiful, mid-life, has-been and finds himself wildly drawn to the sexy, teenage friend of his sullen daughter. Annette Benning is fabulous!
4. Silence of the Lambs. I have chills just typing it's title. Again, I've seen it hundreds of times and could definitely see it hundreds more! I still get scared at the same places. I still get the willies when Buffalo Bill tucks his weenie and dances for the camera and I still want to jump out of my skin when Hannibal sniffs Clarice's essence.
5. Urban Cowboy. Features the darling Debra Winger and the ever-talented Mr. John Travolta. Bud (Travolta) delivers a stellar performance as aspiring mechanical bull rider but at the cost of his marriage to Sissy as he faces losing her to ex-con, Wes Hightower.
6. Coal Miner's Daughter. There no words....
7. Best in Show. ABSOLUTELY HILARIOUS!! Perfect cast, perfectly timed one-liners & quips!
8. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. C'mon. If this isn't on your list, than you're not right in the head.
9. Friday. Starring Chris Tucker and rapper Ice Cube. If you've never heard of this movie, don't feel too badly---it mostly targets the pot-smoking crowd. Basically, the entire movie takes place getting high on Craig's (Cube) front porch. Evidently, in the ghetto, it all goes down on the front porch.
10. Last but not least--Napolean Dynamite. Oh my goodness.... I cry everytime! Uncle Rico, Kip... I could go on and on, but I wouldn't do it justice. God! Idiot!
Feel free to comment! Add your own favorites, harass me for mine...whateva!
I am often interested in what type of movies interest people. Again, I think it says a lot about them. If someone told me their favorite movie was "Legally Blonde" I'd probably put a skewer in their eye.
With all that said, I now shall go through my distinct list of favorite movies and my reasons for loving them so.
1. Good Fellas. Greatest movie of all time. Ray Liotta, Joe Pesci and Robert DiNiro at their finest. Mafia legend gets greedy and turns into a rat. I've seen it about 8,000 times and to this day, I never miss an opportunity to see it. It thrills me to the core each time I see Henry Hill in action. (sigh)
2. Pulp Fiction. You really have to be able to appreciate the artistic approach of this film. If you prefer your movies to have a beginning, climax & conclusion all wrapped up in nice package, than you won't like this movie. Plus, you might not possess the intellect to understand it's complex plot. My husband and I reference this movie at least daily. "Who's chopper is this"?
3. American Beauty. I still don't understand my strong attraction for Kevin Spacey, but this movie definitely sealed the deal for me. He portrays a pitiful, mid-life, has-been and finds himself wildly drawn to the sexy, teenage friend of his sullen daughter. Annette Benning is fabulous!
4. Silence of the Lambs. I have chills just typing it's title. Again, I've seen it hundreds of times and could definitely see it hundreds more! I still get scared at the same places. I still get the willies when Buffalo Bill tucks his weenie and dances for the camera and I still want to jump out of my skin when Hannibal sniffs Clarice's essence.
5. Urban Cowboy. Features the darling Debra Winger and the ever-talented Mr. John Travolta. Bud (Travolta) delivers a stellar performance as aspiring mechanical bull rider but at the cost of his marriage to Sissy as he faces losing her to ex-con, Wes Hightower.
6. Coal Miner's Daughter. There no words....
7. Best in Show. ABSOLUTELY HILARIOUS!! Perfect cast, perfectly timed one-liners & quips!
8. One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. C'mon. If this isn't on your list, than you're not right in the head.
9. Friday. Starring Chris Tucker and rapper Ice Cube. If you've never heard of this movie, don't feel too badly---it mostly targets the pot-smoking crowd. Basically, the entire movie takes place getting high on Craig's (Cube) front porch. Evidently, in the ghetto, it all goes down on the front porch.
10. Last but not least--Napolean Dynamite. Oh my goodness.... I cry everytime! Uncle Rico, Kip... I could go on and on, but I wouldn't do it justice. God! Idiot!
Feel free to comment! Add your own favorites, harass me for mine...whateva!
And other benefits of childbirth
Here’s a secret. Very, very often, when I go on my father-in-law’s trampoline, I pee my pants on the jump up. I don’t know why. I’ve learned not to wear skirts or shorts on the old tramp. I don’t know if it’s a girl thing, or a child birth thing, or an old age thing, or what….but it’s troublesome. Try laughing, sneezing, running, coughing, jump roping, etc. after you turn 40. It's a real scream when you actually listen to the Depends commercials at this stage of the game. I'm doing everything I can think of to fight the signs of aging, but until they make depends that wear like a thong, my MILF jeans aren't looking, well MILFy. Why didn't I listen when they said "do your kegels?"....I'm definetly telling my daughter to do them daily. She's 14. She'll love me for it!
homeless insomniacs
Sometimes I don’t feel like being long winded and thought provoking. Sometimes I just feel like sharing a little anecdote or tip. Like this one: sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I pretend that I’m homeless and I’ve been sleeping on the streets for weeks and weeks. I pretend that someone took me in and let me use their shower and I’m as shiny as a new penny. Then, I crawl into my bed and I feel that it’s the most comfortable thing I’ve ever felt in my entire life and I feel like a princess while I drift off to sleep. That’s how I fall asleep many-a-night.
vacation II
Before their divorce in ’85, the parents did make last ditch efforts for another family vacation. In hindsight, it may have been the nail in their marital coffin. This time, it was to Sandusky, Ohio. Home to Cedar Point Amusement Park. This time it was different, because there was virtually no planning involved. We came home from school on a typical Friday and found my mom packing up the Trans Am. Dad called it an adventure and thought to take the cloth cover off of the old T-bird and stretch her legs. What an appropriate mode of transportation for a family of 5 to take on a 6 hour road trip! Being the youngest, I got to sit on the hump on the way to and from Ohio. We were all so freaking excited when we got there. What would we ride first? Would I be tall enough to ride the Mine Ride? Would my parents embarrass me? Would my dad throw a temper tantrum over the temperature of his elephant ears and scream at the vendor? Of course, he started yelling at us right off the bat because we were much too excited, but in the end, I don’t recall much drama. Lee, you might remember it differently.
Here are the highlights from the Cedar Pointe trip ’82, based on my recollections:
Yep, that about wraps up that trip!
Here are the highlights from the Cedar Pointe trip ’82, based on my recollections:
- Crazy middle sister taught me how to dive in the motel pool (what is up with our family and motel pools??).
- Riding the Corkscrew turned out to be a big mistake for my dad because the tightness of the harness made him ‘uncomfortable’ and we heard about that for days and days following the trip.
- I had to ride a kiddie ride with a child whom I still to this day don’t know if it was a boy or girl. It intrigued me.
- My dad, in a moment of weakness, put on an oversized pair of sunglasses and shoved food in his mouth for the sake of a silly photo.
Yep, that about wraps up that trip!
vacation's all I ever wanted....
I’ve often felt that the best way to gauge someone’s authentic self is to observe them in their natural habitat. When and where is a family more raw than when traveling together? Come. Join me on a journey. I’m inviting you to get a bird’s eye view of my family at it’s finest dysfunction.
It’s approximately 1980. The parental units are still married, but barely. All three girls are still living at home, aged 15, 13 & 7. Dad decides the brutal Winters are too hard on his chronic pain (see: hypochondria) and looks into heading West. Arizona, here we come. Now, mind you, this is our first family vacation. First. Not a camping trip, not a visit to the Nation’s capital, not even so much as a road trip to Mackinaw Island. Nothing. I have my own theories about this. While my crazy, middle sister (who insists her real parents were aristocrats) would maintain that we were too dreadfully poor to take lavish vacations. I would disagree. I think my parents just didn’t like us enough to want to travel for any length of time with us.
So, imagine the hustle and bustle that would accompany our very first family vacation. I was only 7, so I didn’t know any better, but for the older girls, I’m sure you could relate to their enthusiasm and sheer excitement. We had visions of the three of us posing with fancy head dresses and cute sunglasses on, covered in souveniers, a golden tan and smiling from ear to ear. No doubt each of us had our own personalized images of when the Brady’s went to the Grand Canyon. Would we get thrown behind bar in an old mining town? Would we camp out under the stars and befriend a little Indian boy? Would we attend a pow wow and then be given Indian names? If so, what would my Indian name be? The possibilities were endless!
3 Days into our “vacation”, picture it: the 5 of us had been driving around Phoenix, Tempe, Scottsdale, Flagstaff, Tucson and Mesa in an Aries K car which is about the equivalent of a Ford Tempo, but not quite as fancy. We’d looked at house after house. After house. After house. None of which we could afford, but hemmed and hawed nevertheless. My parents were cruel. They’d drag us to 20 houses a day. Each one was more interesting and promising than the one before. My mother would say, “Ooooohhh. Looook, this could be your room and we could get yellow gingham balloon valences and a matching bedspread…..” and she get us all fired up then we’d drive away. She smoke her Ginny Slims and stare out the window of the K car. This would go on and on for 2 weeks. You can only trick a dog so many times to get into the car for a “ride” before he’s wise to you.
Here are the highlights of the trip that I can remember to date:
1. Lee got a virus and was able to spend the majority of the “vacation” in the motel room (she was always a smartie, that Lee)
2. Crazy, middle sister entertained herself by pulling out my bottom 4 teeth and they’ve since grown in terribly crooked and I look like a bulldog, thanks to that trip.
3. I swallowed too much water in the pool one day and threw up. They had to close the motel pool (yeah, that’s right, I said, MOTEL, not hotel….). Embarrassment ensued.
4. I got to go swimming at night one evening. The lights of the pool, amid the moon & stars was just about the most thrilling thing I’d ever seen or done and I believed I had truly arrived at that point.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
It all comes back to the Bradys.
I've said it once, I'll say it again. Everything lesson I've ever learned in life can be traced back to the Brady Bunch. You can't argue, it's a simple fact.
Why, just this past Easter, Lee's ex-husband was invited to have Easter dinner with her, her current husband and their children. I thought that was big of her, but I secretly wondered about the odd dynamics of it all. I found myself reflecting on the Brady Bunch episode when Carol's ex-boyfriend, Tank came into town. He was a strapping lad and Mike appeared to be somewhat intimidated by Tank's athletic physique. At first, Carol was flattered by the attention Tank had been showing her (who wouldn't) but really, how many times can you spin a girl around calling her "twinkle toes" before you realize the past is the past for a reason. As for Mike, why, he was all the man Carol needed. So to speak.
Another point of interest: I'm forever trying to change my appearance. Like most girls, I'm my worst critic. I love changing even the most trivial thing about myself. Change is good, I always say. But, not when the reasoning behind the change is wrong. I always joke that if money were no object, I'd have my nose, boobs, chin, lips and stomach done. Then I'd be perfect, right? Wrong. One night, I had girls' night planned with some of my peeps. I made extra efforts to look hot that night. I mean, I pulled out all the stops. While applying my make-up, I got kind of saucy and I added a fake beauty mark above my lip. I felt it made me look exotic and mysterious. As I gave myself one last glimpse in my rear view mirror, I was sure that I'd had it going on! I strolled into the venue as if I'd owned the place, confident as all get out. Friend after friend continued to tell me I had something on my lip. No comment about my exotic beauty mark, no added attention from the male species, nothing. I went home feeling deflated.
Laying in bed that night, who popped into my head? You know where I'm going with this. "Introducing....the NEW JAN BRADY"...you know, at Lucy Winters' birthday party..with the big black wig??? If you don't know what I'm talking about, there's really no point in your continuing to read this blog. I knew at that moment that I'd tried to change myself on the outside, but all my friends really wanted was the inside of me. Well. Not in the biblical sense, you see. (picture me looking upward and nodding knowingly with a smirk).
Which leads me to my last case in point: I've been told I'm a tiny bit neurotic. As we all know, neurosis is just a euphamism for giant pain in the ass. I think I've got OCD, but mostly, I just call it my "brain pain". It manifests itself into 2 distinct categories. 1. Forgotten thoughts 2. Lost items. Both will cause me a panic of such great proportions, there's often no recovery. When an earring goes missing or I forgot what I was going to ask my husband, you can almost feel the loss of oxygen in the air. It. gets. ugly. I literally freak out. (It's true! Ann will go on about a missing sock for days if you let her). This little anecdote coinsides with my mother's spirit haunting me. Since her passing 5 years ago, I am confident that she tortures me by "hiding" various items throughout my house. At one point, I had a list (a physical list) of 13 things that had mysteriously gone missing. These items ranged from jewlery to spoons to socks to an entire outfit. Nothing significant or terribly valueable, mind you. Just enough to send me over the edge. How does this relate to the Brady's. Silly thing, don't you remember when Tiger stole Bobby's kazoo and Cindy's Kitty Carry-All and hid them in his dog house, but Cindy blamed Bobby and Bobby blamed Cindy and it was a big Brady debacle? The moral of the story is, maybe my mom isn't haunting me, but maybe, just maybe my missing items are simply missing? I personally think Ann is drinking heavily during the day and simply can't remember where she put's stuff or that she's attempting to sell it on e-bay and has shipped it off to someone she thinks has actually won the "bidding contest." I worry about her at times.
I do think it's important that you all know that Ann is obsessed with the Brady Bunch because of how/when she came into this world.....read more about "The Night Ann Was Born", coming to this blog soon!
Why, just this past Easter, Lee's ex-husband was invited to have Easter dinner with her, her current husband and their children. I thought that was big of her, but I secretly wondered about the odd dynamics of it all. I found myself reflecting on the Brady Bunch episode when Carol's ex-boyfriend, Tank came into town. He was a strapping lad and Mike appeared to be somewhat intimidated by Tank's athletic physique. At first, Carol was flattered by the attention Tank had been showing her (who wouldn't) but really, how many times can you spin a girl around calling her "twinkle toes" before you realize the past is the past for a reason. As for Mike, why, he was all the man Carol needed. So to speak.
Another point of interest: I'm forever trying to change my appearance. Like most girls, I'm my worst critic. I love changing even the most trivial thing about myself. Change is good, I always say. But, not when the reasoning behind the change is wrong. I always joke that if money were no object, I'd have my nose, boobs, chin, lips and stomach done. Then I'd be perfect, right? Wrong. One night, I had girls' night planned with some of my peeps. I made extra efforts to look hot that night. I mean, I pulled out all the stops. While applying my make-up, I got kind of saucy and I added a fake beauty mark above my lip. I felt it made me look exotic and mysterious. As I gave myself one last glimpse in my rear view mirror, I was sure that I'd had it going on! I strolled into the venue as if I'd owned the place, confident as all get out. Friend after friend continued to tell me I had something on my lip. No comment about my exotic beauty mark, no added attention from the male species, nothing. I went home feeling deflated.
Laying in bed that night, who popped into my head? You know where I'm going with this. "Introducing....the NEW JAN BRADY"...you know, at Lucy Winters' birthday party..with the big black wig??? If you don't know what I'm talking about, there's really no point in your continuing to read this blog. I knew at that moment that I'd tried to change myself on the outside, but all my friends really wanted was the inside of me. Well. Not in the biblical sense, you see. (picture me looking upward and nodding knowingly with a smirk).
Which leads me to my last case in point: I've been told I'm a tiny bit neurotic. As we all know, neurosis is just a euphamism for giant pain in the ass. I think I've got OCD, but mostly, I just call it my "brain pain". It manifests itself into 2 distinct categories. 1. Forgotten thoughts 2. Lost items. Both will cause me a panic of such great proportions, there's often no recovery. When an earring goes missing or I forgot what I was going to ask my husband, you can almost feel the loss of oxygen in the air. It. gets. ugly. I literally freak out. (It's true! Ann will go on about a missing sock for days if you let her). This little anecdote coinsides with my mother's spirit haunting me. Since her passing 5 years ago, I am confident that she tortures me by "hiding" various items throughout my house. At one point, I had a list (a physical list) of 13 things that had mysteriously gone missing. These items ranged from jewlery to spoons to socks to an entire outfit. Nothing significant or terribly valueable, mind you. Just enough to send me over the edge. How does this relate to the Brady's. Silly thing, don't you remember when Tiger stole Bobby's kazoo and Cindy's Kitty Carry-All and hid them in his dog house, but Cindy blamed Bobby and Bobby blamed Cindy and it was a big Brady debacle? The moral of the story is, maybe my mom isn't haunting me, but maybe, just maybe my missing items are simply missing? I personally think Ann is drinking heavily during the day and simply can't remember where she put's stuff or that she's attempting to sell it on e-bay and has shipped it off to someone she thinks has actually won the "bidding contest." I worry about her at times.
I do think it's important that you all know that Ann is obsessed with the Brady Bunch because of how/when she came into this world.....read more about "The Night Ann Was Born", coming to this blog soon!
Scrapping
Since embarking on our new endeavor (blogging) my mind is flooded with topics that I must share with you. You may or may not be aware of the underground cult of scrapbooking.
My God, these pushy mega-moms will try to recruit even the most innocent bystanders. Whatever happened to taking pictures and then at your own convenience, placing them into a photo album? Huh? Who decided that each and every occasion in life needed to captured, chronicaled and then cropped? Complete with stamps, stickers, borders, lame captions and photos cut out with fancy zig-zag scissors? Who are these people? Who has time for this? I have 3 photo albums filled with my first born's first 6 years of life. I have a picture somewhere in my basement of my 2nd born at his birth and another of him wearing a birthday crown (could be his own birthday...could be his brother's birthday, who knows) but that about covers the documentation of my children. I can't even imagine having so much time on my hands that I pick and choose the best photos from each seasonal highlight and then strategically placing them onto card stock, only then to dilute that page with silly decorations. "Ok, everyone, turn to page 6. You'll see Meghan picking her first pumpkin and look how I placed the most perfect halloween border onto the page and then wrote 'boo' with a glittery marker, aren't I clever? Get it, 'boo' because it's halloween"? "...and here's Mark and I the day we bought our mountain bikes. That's Clark, the guy who sold us the mountain bikes--remember honey, he was such a good sport and then he held up bunny ears behind our helmets? See how I stamped "Keep on Rolling" next to the picture of us on our bikes"? "OK, this one might need some explanation. The next series features our trip to Florida. Ohhhhh, Meghan is making her first sand castle and the caption reads, 'Meghan makes her first sand castle'..." Really, really...does this really need explanation?
Oh, that's only scratching the surface. Then there's the actual "cropping parties". You haven't lived until you've attended a cropping party. This is where you can't do your sad little hobby alone, in the privacy of your own dining room table. You have to invite others to do it with you. How do you think the conversation goes at these parties? "Madge, where on earth did you get that kitty cat stamp--girl, don't you know cats are sooo 2006. And did you see Carol's scrapbook from her trip to Washington D.C.? Dear God, she spent all that money on the book and embellishments and didn't even bother to mount the photos---it's a shame, that's what it is. She's making the rest of us look bad".
At the risk of sounding too trite, GET A LIFE!
This is only one step away from obnoxious Christmas letters. Don't get me started, I'll dabble in that in the future.
While Ann catches her breath, I'd like to add my 2 cents....Martha Stewart is responsible for all this nonsense and she must be stopped! I for one stopped shopping at K-Mart when Martha Stewart became K-Mart. She turned perfectly good women into neurotic wanna-be's who tried time and again to mimic Martha's projects, which aren't really hers at all (remember all the talk about how she "stole" others ideas and actually didn't complete any of the projects she documented on her own, rather she had her staff do most of the work and she just appears for the great photo and video shots?)! I mean, really, are we women reverting back to obtaining our identities and creating our value by what kind of projects we do and how well we do them? Isn't it bad enough that we allow ourselves to be judged by what day care programs our kids attend, which extra curriculars they're involved in, which workout facility we attend, how much volunteer work we do at our kids' school and worst of all, what our husbands do for a living????? Ladies, Ladies....please! We are not living in the 50's anymore? We are viable human beings capable of much, much more than beautiful floral arrangements and decorative bird houses! We're thinking, feeling, strategic creatures with two very strong legs to stand on and very broad shoulders capable of supporting just about anything this world gives us. I'm not saying having hobbies and helping out at our children's school isn't a good thing or not important. I'm just saying we're more than just that......
My God, these pushy mega-moms will try to recruit even the most innocent bystanders. Whatever happened to taking pictures and then at your own convenience, placing them into a photo album? Huh? Who decided that each and every occasion in life needed to captured, chronicaled and then cropped? Complete with stamps, stickers, borders, lame captions and photos cut out with fancy zig-zag scissors? Who are these people? Who has time for this? I have 3 photo albums filled with my first born's first 6 years of life. I have a picture somewhere in my basement of my 2nd born at his birth and another of him wearing a birthday crown (could be his own birthday...could be his brother's birthday, who knows) but that about covers the documentation of my children. I can't even imagine having so much time on my hands that I pick and choose the best photos from each seasonal highlight and then strategically placing them onto card stock, only then to dilute that page with silly decorations. "Ok, everyone, turn to page 6. You'll see Meghan picking her first pumpkin and look how I placed the most perfect halloween border onto the page and then wrote 'boo' with a glittery marker, aren't I clever? Get it, 'boo' because it's halloween"? "...and here's Mark and I the day we bought our mountain bikes. That's Clark, the guy who sold us the mountain bikes--remember honey, he was such a good sport and then he held up bunny ears behind our helmets? See how I stamped "Keep on Rolling" next to the picture of us on our bikes"? "OK, this one might need some explanation. The next series features our trip to Florida. Ohhhhh, Meghan is making her first sand castle and the caption reads, 'Meghan makes her first sand castle'..." Really, really...does this really need explanation?
Oh, that's only scratching the surface. Then there's the actual "cropping parties". You haven't lived until you've attended a cropping party. This is where you can't do your sad little hobby alone, in the privacy of your own dining room table. You have to invite others to do it with you. How do you think the conversation goes at these parties? "Madge, where on earth did you get that kitty cat stamp--girl, don't you know cats are sooo 2006. And did you see Carol's scrapbook from her trip to Washington D.C.? Dear God, she spent all that money on the book and embellishments and didn't even bother to mount the photos---it's a shame, that's what it is. She's making the rest of us look bad".
At the risk of sounding too trite, GET A LIFE!
This is only one step away from obnoxious Christmas letters. Don't get me started, I'll dabble in that in the future.
While Ann catches her breath, I'd like to add my 2 cents....Martha Stewart is responsible for all this nonsense and she must be stopped! I for one stopped shopping at K-Mart when Martha Stewart became K-Mart. She turned perfectly good women into neurotic wanna-be's who tried time and again to mimic Martha's projects, which aren't really hers at all (remember all the talk about how she "stole" others ideas and actually didn't complete any of the projects she documented on her own, rather she had her staff do most of the work and she just appears for the great photo and video shots?)! I mean, really, are we women reverting back to obtaining our identities and creating our value by what kind of projects we do and how well we do them? Isn't it bad enough that we allow ourselves to be judged by what day care programs our kids attend, which extra curriculars they're involved in, which workout facility we attend, how much volunteer work we do at our kids' school and worst of all, what our husbands do for a living????? Ladies, Ladies....please! We are not living in the 50's anymore? We are viable human beings capable of much, much more than beautiful floral arrangements and decorative bird houses! We're thinking, feeling, strategic creatures with two very strong legs to stand on and very broad shoulders capable of supporting just about anything this world gives us. I'm not saying having hobbies and helping out at our children's school isn't a good thing or not important. I'm just saying we're more than just that......
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