Bored Housewife

A Big Feat

2012-01-25T10:35:00.000-08:00

I don't know how much I've told you about my feet. My feet have the unique distinction of being both enormous and tiny. They are the skinniest thing about me. They are two different sizes; not enough to have to buy two differently sized shoes, but enough to ensure that I always try on both shoes, and not just one. My feet and toes are very, very, very, very long. I wear a women's size 11, and sometimes that is too short. I used to wear a 10, then I had that baby and she messed with my bod'.

Shopping for shoes is about the most depressing thing I can do to myself. Scratch that: looking at myself naked in a full length mirror is the number one most depressing thing I can do to myself, but shoe shopping is a close second. People who have gone shoe shopping with me just shrug their shoulders and grin uncomfortably because what they're really thinking is "Good God, I'm glad that's not me!"

Most stores don't carry size 11; the go up to 10, and then they have to "special order" because apparently I have "special" feet. There is a joke about long feet and a short bus in here somewhere. The shoes that they bother to manufacture in my size all look like tanks, and even if I find a shoe in my size, I have to concern myself with whether or not the shoe makes my foot look big. The obvious answer that my husband never fails to say out loud is, "your feet make your feet look big." True though that may be, some shoes make a bigger foot that others.

Add to this hopelessness that my knees make it impossible for me to wear heels for more than 15 minutes, and what I am left with is clown shoes.

I have been wearing these for a long time:

They were comfortable, on sale, and I hate shoe shopping too much to go further than those two criteria. They have hung in there and done the job but -sorry Keen - they are ugly as hell, and when I look down at my feet, they make me sad. I feed like I'm waddling around on platypus bills.

It was my new years resolution to find a pair of comfortable shoes that were good looking enough that I could wear my long sweaters and not look like two people, one from the knee down, and one from the knee up. I would spare no expense. I would have a glass of wine, and go shoe shopping, and just be prepared to be frustrated and furious, and come home empty handed until I didn't.

People have been raving about Dansko clogs forever, but when I tried to buy some, - surprise! - the largest women's size was too short for my feet, and the mens sizes were too big around (remember, my feet are rather dainty in spite of their length.) So I gave up on and didn't look back.

A decade has now passed, and someone recently told me that Dansko changed their sizing and that I should try them again, and I had noticed that they've come up with some cuter styles than just the plain old clog. So I tried some on, and you know what?

SUCCESS!

Now I have these!

They are comfortable. They make a small foot. They look kind of high heelsish even though they're not, and they make my clothes look better. When I look down, I don't feel like plucking out my own eyes. My toe is a little jammed up in the left shoe, but I'm told that will correct itself because of the fine corinthian leather or whatever. They were expensive; I don't care.

Keens, you are going in the camping box because that is all you're good for now. Thank you for your years of service, you ugly fucking shoes, now bug off.

Water Heater Woes

2012-01-20T10:06:00.000-08:00

I don't even want to go into it. Except to say that my two year old water heater is causing nothing but problems during this remodel, and I may have to choose between hot water, and a table to eat food at. I could so never ever flip houses for a living. I just want the house to be done, painted, livable, preferably with hot water, and then I want to elsewhere on vacation and take a long nap.

On the plus side, my new kitchen is drop dead gorgeous, and I am going to cook up a storm when I get in there. This weekend we are working on the doors, patching them, sanding them, priming them. Here's a word to the wise: if you ever embark on a remodel of a 90 year old house, do not try to reuse your old doors. It seems like a nice idea: solid wood doors, original to the home, charming. There has been nothing charming at all about reusing these stupid doors, and I wish I could go back in time and clamp a hand over my mouth and just get new doors. All this work and money, just so I can say the wood the doors are made out of is probably 150 years old. See? I've said it, and its worthless. Too late to change my mind, though, so I am going to become one with my sander this weekend. Just kill me.

On the plus side, my new kitchen is drop dead gorgeous...

Have a lovely, football filled weekend. Go Niners. Not that I care, but I have a little home town pride.

Jive Turkey

2012-01-18T10:00:00.000-08:00

So, there is a turkey loitering around my neighborhood. Actually, I can hardly call it "my neighborhood" anymore, considering I haven't spent a night there in four months, but you know what I mean.

Long ago, someone thought it would be a great idea to have these turkeys on their farm and brought them in from somewhere else without realizing - or caring - that turkeys don't care about the fences you put up, and now there are roving gangs of wild turkeys all over this county. They normally stick to open space and rural areas, and you'll see a group of them crossing your path while you hike. They also usually travel in groups.

This guy has clearly been separated from his pack, or maybe they kicked him out for being such a moron, and he's been roaming around the neighborhood, chortling, for a few months. I saw him on the roof of my garage quite a while ago, and it was a strange occurrence, but now he's just moved in. My neighbors tell me you can hear him waddling down the street muttering to himself at four in the morning.

He is as stupid as they come. Cars slow down for him, and he walks in front of them and stops and stands there, gobbling. I have taken to accelerating slowly, like how you see people just walk through chickens on TV, and he does move out of the way eventually, but now he has taken to attacking my tires.

I think he is attracted to the shiny wheels. How they spin. So pretty. He is so effing stupid. He was dangling around the post office yesterday, and went after my wheels again. I decided to ignore him. Survival of the fittest; if I run over him, he asked for it. So I just accelerated through him, and he seemed a little annoyed that the pretty shiny wheels were going too fast and showed me all his tail feathers and gobble-gobbled at me through the window.

He has a pretty blue head, though, so he's got that going for him. Dumb turkey.

Have Mercy!

2012-01-17T11:44:00.000-08:00

Oh, when oh when will it end!?!?

Okay, now that MLK day is over, I will rant and rail about my house project, and the only pangs of guilt I will feel are the same pangs of guilt I get whenever I whine about my first world problems.

I will go on record here and say that I think my contractor is doing a solid job. He's a nice guy and the finished product will be perfect in every possible way. I also feel confident that he is working as fast as he can, but, people, I can't wait any more!!!

When I look around the house, I see so many little things that still need to be done! Things that haven't even been started yet! Little persnickety things! And then there is the painting that we still have to do, and doors that need to be sanded, and the floor that needs to be finished one more time, and I start to wonder if I'll ever get to move in.

I'm sure I could move in before its completely done, but I really don't want to. Rob goes to work all day, so it wouldn't bother him, but I would have guys around me, and hammering, and dust and leftover painting, and I really don't want to live like that. The plan was not to move in until everything is done, but I don't know now.

I need to get out of my mom's house. I think she needs to get us out of here too. At first when we moved in, I would overhear her tell her friends on the phone how great things were going with us and how easy it was and she was so enthusiastic. The other day I overheard her tell her friend, in a very neutral tone, "Its fine, I'm sure they're ready to move, but its fine."

We're all on edge here, and there's no amount of cocktails or Piers Morgan that's going to change it.

Dr. King

2012-01-16T11:41:00.000-08:00

I was just about to go into a rant about living at my mom's and the fact that my house project is never ever going to be finished, and then I remembered that its MLK day, and now I feel like a douche bag in the face of the great Dr. King.

So, instead of ranting, I will pause and reflect and feel grateful and pet my cat.

Gasbag

2012-01-13T10:59:00.001-08:00

Can I just be whiny for a minute? Just a minute and then I'll go back to being by stoic self.

I WANNA GO HOME!!! I'm tired of being smiley and supportive and patient and the perfect client and the perfect patient, I just want to be growly and pressure people and get back into my house now, okay?

Okay, I'm done. I mean, I'm not nearly done, but I'm done writing about it.

I went to the coolest book store the other day. I went to see the author of the book Make the Bread, Buy the Butter, Jennifer Reese, and the event was held in a one room specialty book store that sells nothing but cookbooks and books about food! Its in a former butcher shop, so its one of those cool, San Francisco buildings that used to be something else, and they sell not only the new, shiny cook books that you can find at any Barnes and Noble, but also antique cookbooks, and sometimes they're not even cookbooks; I found a recipe collection from the Seattle Women's group, with copied handwritten recipes that was dated 1935. So fun. I think I could spend hours in there. Its called Omnivore Books if you want to check it out.

The book I mentioned is also very good. Not just a cook book, but a collection of essays that are smart and funny.

So there you have it! Enjoy your weekend!

Status Update

2012-01-10T09:30:00.000-08:00

Its January 10th, and I thought I'd give you a status update on my new, mature self. Remember how I was going to start being healthier? Remember in the movie Airplane! when the guy keeps saying "I picked the wrong week to... (quit drinking, quit sniffing glue, etc.)? Well, that's how I feel. There's still Christmas candy lying around, and Leila's birthday party was last weekend and there was cake, and I just discovered a bakery with the best croissants in the world, and I'm getting my period, which is preceded by a week-long adventure in How Much can Bored Housewife Stuff into her Pie Hole. So, I picked the wrong week to be more mature, okay? GET OFF MY NECK!

I am winding down my job, though, so that's one thing, and I'm formulating a plan for how I'm going to take my next steps. Of course, everything is on hold while we wait to move in to our house. All my ideas begin with, "As soon as we're settled in to our house..." and who knows how long that will take? Getting the house ready to move in is one thing, but then I have to find rugs. And window coverings. And learn how to use the appliances. I know, spoiled first world problems, but somebody's got to figure out how to replace the water filter in the refrigerator!

In the mean time, I'm stuck here at my mom's, floored in neutral, killing time. I just finished a delicious croissant, I'm contemplating drinking a coke, and considering going to Barnes and Noble.

Consider yourself updated!

p.s. Thanks for all the Best-of suggestions so far! Keep them coming!!!

Thank you for your Participation

2012-01-05T22:04:00.000-08:00

I have a job for you. I need to compile 15 to 25 posts into a sort of "best of" collection. This isn't for a book or anything, don't get excited. I don't think my measly 36 followers and I are going to score a book deal any time soon. But back to your job and what you're going to do for me: I do not believe that I am a good judge of what posts are funny. There are things that crack me up, but make saner people look at me like I'm nuts. My favorite joke ever involves dead monkeys falling out of trees, and I've been telling it for 25 years.

Sometimes, at night when there's nothing left on TV, I go back through the archives of this blog and reread posts, and sometimes I crack myself up, and sometimes, most of the time, I shake my head and wonder why on earth I bothered to click the "publish" button.

This is where you come in: I would like you to tell me what your favorites have been, if you have any. Maybe you read this blog as a way to self flagellate, punish yourself for wasting too much time on Facebook, and you think I'm a dull hack. Its fine if you do, but you do not need to apply for the job that I am asking readers to do for free, for me.

There are a number of ways you can do this:
1) Maybe you are a savant of some kind and you can remember the precise dates of your favorite posts.
2) Maybe you have some kind of shrine to me in your home, and tacked to it are printed copies of your faves.
3) Or, maybe you have nothing better to do right now, and you could pick a time period, on the right hand side of this page and read through a bunch of my bullshit and see if you think anything you read belongs in the "best of" category.

So, if you are interested in helping me out, please leave a comment to tell me what your favorites were (see how I'm assuming there was more than one? My ego is out of control) or what time period you would like to cover. And just remember that I write all this stuff for your, FOR FREE, and I've been doing it for over three years, and I've never asked you for ANYTHING (except that time I asked you to click on my google ads, and google kicked me out of their ad program. I was so close to that hundred bucks, too.)

2012: The Year I Grow Up?

2012-01-01T15:30:00.000-08:00

This is year is going to be different. I'm going to make some changes. At the end of the year, I'll take stock and see if I was actually able to commit. This year will be the year of Me. I know what you're thinking: Isn't it always the year of you? Aren't we always reading about what you want to eat and your naps and your feelings? The answer is: That appears to be the case.

But here's what I mean: If I continue on my current path, my mother will easily outlive me. This is a sobering thought, made only more so by the image of my hundred year-old mother shaking her fist at my grave yelling, "I told you not to eat that garbage!" so something has to change. I turned 40, and I was all, ha ha! 40! Look at me losing my memory and getting achy! But now I've turned 41 and it turns out I will really and truly not get any younger, so no more jokey jokes. I don't have a plan. I'll come up with one, but, for now, I'll just watch my mom and try to be inspired instead of rebellious.

I have a part-time job I do not love (to say the least) so I'm going to unload it. I am lucky to be in the position to do that. I have a friend who has three jobs, and I recently embarrassed myself by whining that I didn't like my job, and I didn't really want to work, so admit that I am very lucky to be able to not work, and pursue my passion, whatever that might be. I have never been a person who wanted to be something when I grew up. I have had very few life goals, and now that I have a dining room, I have achieved them all (Kid: check. Husband: check. Home: check. End of list.) I have to make some new long term goals starting with figuring out what I want to be when I grow up. I'm open to suggestions.

My other non-paying part-time job is volunteering, and this year I will quit that, too. I will fulfill my current commitments, and then say no the next time anyone asks me to be on the board of something or run a variety show or do lice checks. Okay, maybe I'll do lice checks; I have an hour to devote to lice. So if you're reading this and you're thinking of asking me to help with some fabulous volunteer "opportunity" don't waste your breath. In the last 7 years, I have served on three boards, participated in a co-op nursery school, PTA stuff, fund raising, the infamous variety show, and lots of little things in between, and I am now done. I'll take it up again, I'm sure, unless I figure out what I want to be when I grow up and spend my time doing that thing.

Then there's my house. I have made an identity out of being a horrible housewife, and I'm sure I will continue to be a horrible housewife, but now that I have spent a king's ransom renovating my house, it would be a shame if it turns out to be the same old mess. Or so my mother tells me. When I picture my completed house, it looks like something from a magazine, but my propensity toward clutter and dirty dishes and pet hair and unsightly base boards will change that magazine from Elle Decor to Hoarder's Quarterly. My daughter and I have sworn an oath to each other that, this year, we will make our best efforts to put our clothes away properly at the end of the day. I know this is a small thing, but we have to start somewhere.

I think that's it. So, 2012, here's to ordering the side of salad instead of the side of fries. Here's to getting my eliptical machine set up in the garage and actually using it. Here's to quitting my job and finding an occupation. Here's to single-handedly bringing back the dinner party. Here's to a clean house and a dirty mind. Here's to YOU!

Year in Review: So long, 2011!

2011-12-29T11:13:00.000-08:00

2011 has been a pretty good year. In fact, no truly terrible things happened this year, and some truly unexpected wonderful things did happen, or are in the process of happening. I've just reviewed my 2011 calendar to remind myself of how I spent this year, and really nothing, besides the year-long, monumental remodeling of our house, happened.

I put on two school variety shows this year, along with some great and talented adults (and children) I frosted my mom's hair, I saw some movies, went to lunch, went to Disneyland, read lots of trashy books, and lived with my parents again after 2o or so years of not doing that. My weight has found a plateau, and I am getting older, even though I still eat the marshmallow pieces out of the box of Lucky Charms. None of my relatives or animals died, and my little Reed-man arrived on the scene, even though he was nothing but a dream just a year ago. I have drunk gallons of wine, most of it in the last three months. I haven't eaten nearly enough dungeness crab or crab related dips, but I did discover the best curry soup I've ever had in my life. I fell in love, and then out of love, with Philly cheesesteaks.

I made my television debut on the Oprah Winfrey show, and I watched enough Candice Olson design shows to make a saner person pluck out their own eyeballs. I have learned more than I ever needed to know about marmoleum and direct venting.

I took some seriously good naps.

Leila had a good year. She always has a good year. Hopefully its that way for a long, long time. She went to camp and made a dozen movies about rubber chickens. She grew about a foot. She started eating tacos. She got her ears pierced.

All in all, a non-eventful year for our family, but a very eventful year for our house, and I don't know if those are separable. Want a little sneak peek? Okay, twist my arm...

Taken from exactly the same place...

Before...

After!

Happy 2012!!

My Christmas Wish for you Involves Tori Spelling

2011-12-25T17:32:00.000-08:00

I want to thank my parents for going to Tahoe today. Without their absence, I would not be able to sit in the middle of Christmas mess, with dirty dishes in the kitchen, eating McDonalds, letting my kid watch TV in her pajamas all day with her new fairy dolls, while I'm watching a Tori and Dean marathon. I have napped, I have eaten salted caramels and cold, leftover McNuggets, and I haven't burned one calorie all day. If my parents had been here, I would have had to clean up things, go for a walk, and eaten fruit. I would have not been able to be the slothlike lazy-ass that you all know I am.

God, I love Tori Spelling. She cried three times in the first five minutes of the show. This is a very Merry Christmas! Hope you have had as nice a holiday as I am having! Bring on the Chinese food! Walnut prawns for everyone!

I really hope I didn't make a judgy Face

2011-12-22T09:03:00.000-08:00

So the other day, I decided to take myself to breakfast. I just couldn't take the thought of sitting in this cold, dark house under the watchful eye of my mom, and I wanted some french toast. I was sitting at a table where there is a long banquette on one side, and chairs on the other. I was on the banquette side, reading a book on my kindle, stuffing my face, but when I glance to my right, the woman sitting next to me had her shoe off, and had her bare foot up on her knee. Like the way guys sometimes sit. The tables were kind of close together, so her bare foot was, like, 18 inches away from my food. This kind of grossed me out. Its 40 degrees outside, I'm eating, PUT ON YOUR SHOE.

The next time I glanced over, her foot was on the table, just resting there, like it was completely normal to have your bare foot on the table at a restaurant. I should mention that this woman was with what I presume was her husband, and they were, except for the bare foot on the table, a perfectly boring looking couple.

So I'm staring at her foot out of the corner of my eye. I'm trying not to stare, but I'm failing, and suddenly she picks up her fork with her toes and starts eating her scrambled eggs. It was at this point that I noticed that SHE HAD NO ARMS. She then put down her fork, and picked up her english muffin between her first and second toe, and brought it effortlessly to her mouth and took a bite.

I now looked away quickly, because its one thing to stare at someone's bad manners and judge them, its another thing to stare at the accommodation someone has for their disability. That's just rude. So I put my book in my right hand, and looked away, even though what I wanted to do was stare openly, with my mouth hanging open and full of french toast, and ask her 100 questions.

How long has she been doing this? What else can she do with her toes? Does she play Angry Birds with them? Does she carry anti bacterial gel or wipes to clean off her foot after she takes it out of her shoe and before she eats with it? And if she does, how does she do it? With the other foot? Does she do lots of bendy yoga, or is it just the feet?

That is just a sampling of the questions that came into my mind. There were some sex questions in there, too (of course.) But I just read my book. Correction: I looked at my book and thought of everything I wanted to ask. Eventually, I did go back to reading. I was mostly over it. Well, that's not true at all, but without being able to stare and ask questions, I had to move on.

As I was kind of congratulating myself for letting them have their breakfast in peace without me stealing glances, a hippy-ish annoying lady walked by them and stopped to tell her how "cool" and "awesome" it was that she could eat with he toes. I rolled my eyes, thinking, Yes, I'm sure she thinks its awesome that she has no arms. Did you read Tina Fey's book? To paraphrase Ms, Fey, this dipshit woman was being amazing at her. The couple just kind of stared at her, and she went away. Then they finished their breakfast, paid their check and when she got up, her husband put her bag over her shoulder, and they split.

So many questions!!!!

A sign of the Apocolypse

2011-12-20T09:31:00.000-08:00

I've written about my friend, J, before. She is the one who is my eco conscience. Whenever I'm about to not recycle something, I hear her in my ear, berating me. She collects rain water, even though she lives in Seattle and there aren't enough barrels in the world to collect all that water, and she only flushes for number two. I could go on and on, but I will spare you the details of her feminine hygiene products.

Every year, we have a small, non-dramatic spat about Christmas trees. She thinks it is an abomination to cut down a tree to have in your house and decorate, only to put it out on the curb after a few weeks. Christmas lights will end up in a landfill for 10,000 years, etc. etc. I argue that by her logic, she should never by cut flowers, and we go round and round for 5 minutes and then we move on to talk about me.

J has hated Christmas since I've known her, and that's more than 20 years. She has always volunteered to work on Christmas, and with very good reasons that I wont go into here.

Over the past few years, a few things have finally fallen into place, like a having family nearby, getting hitched to her cool girlfriend, and, this spring, the piece of resistance, they adopted a baby boy. (Tangentially, I love this baby. He is the coolest, cutest baby that ever lived in the Pacific Northwest, not counting California where my baby was the coolest, cutest baby.)

Today they appeared in court, surrounded by family and friends, and it was made legally officially for realsies, that this baby is theirs and theirs alone, and can no man put asunder. (Tangentially, I really wanted to go, but there was no way. Not only could I have been there for this great event, but I could have eaten a killer carnitas burrito.)

The other day, J and I had the following text exchange:

J: Listened to xmas hits all the way to work today and loved it. Who am I?

BH: Maybe you should see a doctor. Next thing you know, you'll be putting up a xmas tree.

J: Ummmmmm, plan on doing that this year too!

BH: Greenpeace is going to have your head! The EPA will have to disband! The World Wildlife Fund will have to stop saving Panda Bears!

J: Yep, I've lost my mind. As well as my Kyoto agreement card.

Now she likes Christmas. She has ornaments. She's singing carols. She has her girl and her boy. This is a very good sign...

2011-12-08T11:44:00.001-08:00

It is very unfair that the posts I write about living with my mom make her sound like the most annoying person in California. She is not, in fact, that annoying, and we've had a remarkably good time living together. But who wants to read about how great it is living with my parents? First of all, I think that makes boring reading, and second of all, you all are going to want to move in with them and I GOT HERE FIRST.

I have had a bunch of very tedious, paperworky types of things to do this week, and I've been putting them off for four days now. I'm writing this post as an attempt to put them off some more, if you must know. I have learned that putting off these irritating little tasks ruins the week, because they hang over my head the whole time, and I should just knock them out Monday morning and not think about them any more. But that would take discipline, and I'm running very low on that.

I promised myself I would do the stuff this morning and get it over with, but instead I have taken a shower, cleaned up Leila's room, cleaned up my room, done some remodel business, and then I called my friend, Ann, and chatted with her on the phone for a half hour even though I'm seeing her tomorrow and we can chat then.

I feel the need to point out here that, since moving in with my parents and being overloaded with work, variety show, and remodel, I spend little to no time on the phone chatting with friends. This is compared to my regular life where I spend part of every day chatting on the phone with friends. I used to lose whole mornings to the phone, running the batteries down completely, on a regular basis. Now, I think I talk to a friend on the phone maybe once or twice a week. That's it, and its usually while one of us is in the car, so the conversation is cut short by arriving at our destination, which is usually fine because my conversational skills are in as short supply as my discipline. Its all remodel, all the time, and I'm sure this is very tiresome to the friends I have left who let me bend their ears on the phone.

This is where my mom comes in. I'm sitting on my bed, in by bathrobe, talking to Ann, and when I hang up, my mom pokes her head in and says "Boy, you can talk non-stop!"

WHY DOES SHE SAY THIS TO ME? Why do I have to have all my characteristics, annoying or charming, pointed out to me at all times? She has told me I talk too much, I talk to fast, I complain to much, I'm tired too often, I'm a slob, I don't take good enough care of my dog, etc. etc. etc. and all I can think is, "I'M 41 YEARS OLD! THIS IS ME! GOOD, BAD AND UGLY! AND MY DOG IS STILL ALIVE!" I have good friends, the best friends, awesome friends, and they seem to like me anyway regardless of how much I talk! I have had successful careers and endeavors, regardless of the fact that I talk too fast and I'm tired! My dog loves me even though I wait until 6 p.m. to feed him! I know how to park my car in the Costco parking lot!!!!!

And all these characteristics are made to seem like flaws when she points them out. Like she's not quite done molding me into the person she thinks I can be, which is more like her, or what she thinks she could be.

Its like having a 24/7 performance review of my life!

It comes from love. It comes from love. It comes from love. If I keep saying that over and over, I'll feel okay, right? Honestly, I feel pretty good, just a little irritated. I'm even more irritated that I can't blink my eyes real hard and have all this paperwork done. But you'd better believe I'm going to save my phone calls for the car...

The post is for the Birds

2011-12-05T11:10:00.000-08:00

I had such a fun little day yesterday. I haggled! I'm a terrible haggler, but I haggled!

I went to the Alameda Antique Market with a good friend, and I was looking for an antique picture frame and a few chairs for my non-existent dining room table. I got 4 old pub-type chairs for $120 (expertly haggled down by me from $150) and a picture frame for $25 (down from the MSRP of $30.) I was told by another vendor that the frame I just bought was worth $100. She may just have been shining me on, making me feel good about myself, but I'm okay with that. And I ate a falafel sandwich (delicious) and I bought some iron birds that I will use for door stops, although I'm not sure how I feel about using the heads of little birdies to stop my doors.

This is a little extension of my love of bird Christmas ornaments. You may remember that I have a whole, complicated thing going about bird ornaments. I love them, but Rob thinks I put them on the tree as an act of hostility. I don't, I just like birds. I'm not sure we'll have a Christmas tree this year. I may not have a place to put it. Actually, even if we are back in our house by Christmas, I still don't know where I will put a Christmas tree in this place. I am so not in the Christmas mood. Shopping? Cards? Cookies? WHO HAS TIME FOR THIS???

So, I bought incredibly heavy iron birds. I didn't haggle on those. Birdies are too tender-hearted, and I didn't want them to feel bad, so I paid the full asking price. I will probably have these birds 'till I die.

What the hell am I talking about?

Unicorns

2011-11-30T11:03:00.000-08:00

Here's the thing about nine year-old girls. They have terrible taste.

I just got Leila's letter to Santa (yes, we still have Santa in our house) and the stuff she wants makes me want to puke. Lavender unicorn things and bears made for 7 year-olds, and, just crap! I have no idea what to get this kid for Christmas. She's at that age where she doesn't want clothes, but is growing out of lots of toys, and I'm not going to shell out big bucks for electronics that I wont really let her play with because she has an unsettling relationship with screens.

She also said she wants five stuffed dogs. This would be in addition to the other 16 stuffed dogs she already has.

I remember liking unicorns and the combination of pink and purple, and all that junk, so I'm trying to understand it and just go with it.

Does anyone out there have any ideas about what to get an almost ten year-old girl for Christmas?

Yawn

2011-11-29T10:41:00.000-08:00

There are a number of things I want to complain about today, the first of which is that, apparently, I'M NOT ALLOWED TO COMPLAIN.

This has been a running theme with my mother my whole adult life. If she says she's tired, she's not complaining, she's just tired. If I say I'm tired, in the exact same way at the exact same time, I am complaining. I haven't said '"Oh woe is me!" I haven't said, "I hate being this tired, it totally sucks and I'm so stressed!" I've simply said, "I. Am. Tired." and that makes me a complainer. I think she gets nervous when I show any sign of weakness. I've already moved back in with her and borrowed money, what else is there to be worried about?

I have painted all day for five and a half days out of the last nine days, I even painted on Thanksgiving, and it was awesome! My husband and I had long talks about nothing, we listened to podcasts, we listened to music, we spent some time in our house getting to know it again, we had a great time. And, knowing already that I'm not ever allowed to say anything that might even sound like a complaint, I didn't say anything about my hand or my back being sore, and, frankly, even though they were sore, it felt kinda good.

One day my parents came by to check on our progress, and as she left my mom yelled, "No complaining!" for no reason in particular.

Yesterday, I was tired. One of those days where you never fully wake up, and your eyes are burning, but I kept plugging through the day, didn't take a nap. Over breakfast, my mom says, "My arm is so sore! And its from scrubbing the shower yesterday." Now, did I say, "Quit your complaining, old woman!" No, of course not, because she wasn't complaining, she was just stating a fact, not being a whiny gasbag. Then I told her an adorable story about how Leila said she couldn't go to school because she had a headache and a stomach ache and her eyes hurt, and my mom says, "She gets that from you. You're always complaining about how tired you are and how everything hurts."

W. T. F? I completely censored anything I might say that could be be construed by even a marginally rational person as a complaint, and I still got nailed!

And! I will take this opportunity to point out that one recent time when I did say, "Somethings wrong, I know it, this is not a regular cold." and my mom told me to "stop being so dramatic!" I ended up in the hospital for two weeks and almost died. Not that I'm complaining about almost dying, because that would make the world stop spinning on its axis, and the trees would all die!

But you guys never complain when I complain, so here I am. I'm tired! Except, today I'm not really tired at all, so its lost of its gusto...

'Coons

2011-11-22T10:37:00.000-08:00

I haven't written in a coon's age. I don't know how long a coon's age is exactly, or whether that reference is offensive, but for our purposes let's agree that it is not offensive, and that a coon's age is 11 days.

After a restful weekend, I have had laser focus on my remodel job. I am an irritant to my contractor, I am nit-picking everything to death, and I've ordered, like 400 things off the internet. I ordered a door bell, and the button that makes it ring from two different places. I ordered an enormous sink (so I can wash my dog in it) I ordered a chandelier for my dining room that I hope I like when it arrives. None of these things have actually arrived yet, but the point is that I've made decisions like decisiveness is going out of style.

I bought 13 gallons of primer and paint. You know, in HGTV, they must use really cheap paint because I always thought paint was the cheapest way to do something amazing with a room, but I've spent a small fortune on paint. Never mind the deli sandwiches we ate during our painting lunch break. Last weekend, Rob and I primed the entire interior of the house. Super Teamwork Day. Tomorrow, we will start painting the entire interior of the house, only there will be cabinet boxes everywhere and wood for floors piled up in a corner, so maybe we wont be able to paint as much as we thought.

Folks, this is my life. I am buying stuff, painting and nit picking. And soon, IT WILL BE DONE!

Its weird: I haven't lived in my house for over two months. I haven't missed a whole lot of what I have stored in my storage place (except for my tongs and my cutting board) and I'm pretty detached from the house. I've grown accustomed to folding my dad's panties watching Piers Morgan. But every now and then, when I'm inspecting my house for paint globs or floor patches, I remember, "Hey, I'm gonna get to live here!" I'm not sure its possible to be more excited! That pantry cabinet is within my grasp, and after 14 years of squeezing friends around a cramped kitchen table in my yellow kitchen, I will have a Dining Room. Is there a prettier word in the English language? Dining room...

It is a small Miracle he likes Me

2011-11-11T12:09:00.000-08:00

I'm writing this while waiting for a Will Ferell movie to download on my computer. I'm having a Bed Day. After two back to back Variety Shows with 106 kids in 51 acts, and misbehaving parents, and a gym so over crowded and unruly that it was like the Stones at Altamont, only with little kids singing Myley Cyrus, I deserve to stay in bed for a day.

Some people would hate staying in bed all day. Like my mom. She would go completely nuts and feel awful about herself, and probably have to see a therapist about it, even though she doesn't believe in therapy because its for crazy people.

I, on the other hand, love it. The only thing that would make it better today is if I had cable in this room and could watch HGTV. Instead I've finished Mindy Kaling's book, taken two cat naps, eaten a small bag of kettle corn (the lite kind, totally unsatisfying) and now I'm going to watch a movie which I thought was a comedy, but the iTunes reviews assure me it is not.

Here's a thing about me that is totally like my mom: When I am reading, don't talk to me. I'm reading. I'm having silent reading time. But when I'm done reading, its talking time. It doesn't matter if you're still reading, even if you are at the climactic moment of your book, or if you're asleep, or if you are simply not interested in talking to me.

Rob is here with me, and he is also reading. Or he was reading, before I put the kibosh on that. He told me he was going to ignore me, so I stared at the side of his head as hard as I could, and, though he was successful in ignoring me, I started cracking myself up. He's now playing on his iPhone, a much more easily interruptable activity.

I would really like a sandwich.

Scratch Scratch

2011-11-08T10:00:00.000-08:00

Things keep getting weirder and weirder.

The other night, at 4 a.m. I was awoken by an animal (not one of mine) scratching at the outside wall of our room, sounding like it was trying to get in.

In addition to having the half-awake fantasies about animals living in the walls, and ghosts, it was just irritating. It was 4 in the morning! Sleeping!!

It woke Rob up too, so I got his iPhone and turned on the flashlight app and I shined it out the window in the direction of the scratching, and, even though I didn't see anything, the animal shut up.

I went outside the next day to see if there were any signs of animal scratching, and there were none. There are raccoons and opossums and squirrels around here, and it was probably a raccoon, but I did not like it. Not one bit. I don't think I can sleep with the knowledge that a wild animal is trying to claw its way to my head. I wonder if it smelled the cat food. I don't want to know that they are crawling around under the floor boards either. Nope, I want those guys on the outside.

The Variety Show is tomorrow and Thursday, then I will have laser focus on my house project which is at least halfway done. Then its Thanksgiving, and painting, and Christmas shopping, and moving in, and Christmas, and Leila's birthday, and then, in about mid-January, I'll have some time to breathe.

I might breathe a little on Saturday, just to make sure I still know how.

Great

2011-11-04T08:07:00.000-07:00

In the process of doing laundry, I pulled the knob on the washer that starts the water flowing, and the knob came off in my hand. A little, black plastic piece came off with it, and that was, apparently, the lynch pin that was holding the whole operation together. The washer still works, but the knob is fucked.

This sounds like an annoying little inconvenience, and it would be just that to the normal person. However, that is not how this will go down.

In spite of the fact that the washer is 100 years old, it will be all my fault that the knob broke because I am a slob and a barbarian, and I don't know how to take care of things. This will be added to the long list of my transgressions and character flaws: I broke the washing machine. My mom has treated it right for the last 25 years and it hasn't given her an ounce of trouble, but the minute I got my hands on it, I broke it. She will, again, win at the game of who takes better care of their stuff so it lasts forever. Its really a wonder I have kept my pets alive for as long as I have.

Nevermind that if she had been the one doing laundry the same thing would have happened to her. If that had been the case, it still would have been my fault because I must have pulled too hard on the knob the last time I did laundry. She never had these kinds of problems before I moved in with my family and all their dirty undies.

I used her vacuum this morning. Its a really good thing I didn't break that, too...

Freedom from Tyranny!

2011-11-02T08:03:00.000-07:00

My parents left for Palm Desert for a week. Last night, for the first time in over a month, I had the remote control to myself. I was so excited. Turns out there was nothing on, and I ended up watching reruns of "Everybody Loves Raymond" because Donald Trump was on Piers Morgan. Buzz kill.

I just don't know what to do with myself! We can have take out this week! I can wait until later to do dishes! I can read something in the middle of the day without someone saying, "Must be nice..." A whole week without being judged! Well, I'm sure I'll still be judged by someone, and probably by, you know, me, but I can move freely throughout the day and week without looking over my shoulder!

I shouldn't get too comfortable, though. I have adapted quite nicely, I think, to turning all the lights off, and wearing long underwear in the house when its 70 degrees outside. Doing dishes right away is not the worst thing in the world, and confining my regular mess to one room has not been that difficult. Next Monday, it will be back to normal.

If my mother saw her kitchen right now and knew that not only did I program her heater to go on at 6 a.m. but I left a light on all night by accident, she would have a complete cow.

Reason #43

2011-10-31T12:53:00.000-07:00

Here is reason #43 that my parents are awesome.

Part of reason 43 is that my mom, a long time lover of opera and classical music, asked me to put some new stuff on her iPod. Her library lives on my computer. I don't even want to think about what would happen, what kind of life of silence would ensue, if I made her manage her own library. She once tried to play a DVD by putting the whole DVD box into the machine.

I told her I didn't have a lot of her kind of music, and she told me I should just put on stuff I thought she would like. I did not go for the easy laugh and put on Rob's Megadeath, but I did add 130 songs that I thought she would like, and then, when I was done, she asked me, "Did you put any Amy Winehouse on there?" Now, I'm sure she actually got the name wrong, but the point is that my 73 year-old mom wanted some Amy Winehouse on her iPod, and I just dig that in a grandma.

She was very excited when it was all done, so we blasted her new playlist in the kitchen while I gave her a manicure. While Obladi-Oblada was on (you know, the Beatles) My mom was dancing around her small kitchen with her freshly painted nails, and then my dad came in, and they were both dancing, and hugging and kissing each other and dancing some more. I wish I'd had my camera; you'd have seen that my dad was wearing a parka because he was so cold.

I just love that my parents like to dance and kiss and have a nice time together. We should all be so lucky.

And that is reason #43.

Reason #44 is that my mom pronounces 'Adirondack' 'A-dear-a-dack'.

Brrrrrrrrrr.

2011-10-26T15:11:00.001-07:00

So, unless you are interested in what's going on with the school variety show, or where all my electrical wires and light switches are going, or unless you want to know about the absolutely wonderful pizza that I had today for lunch, I got nothin'.

I went to the storage unit today to get my winter clothes. It is so freakin' freezing in my mom's house, and she refuses, on principal, to turn the heat on until November. Then, when the heat is finally on, all the vents in the bedroom part of the house are painted shut because, by her logic, if you're in the bedroom, your under the covers asleep, or engaging in some other heat producing activity, so why do you need the heat on?

Never mind that I have a child who is sleeping next to two single paned windows, never mind that the condensation dripping from the skylight in our room just dripped its dirty little droplets all over my duvet, and never mind that I made sure to find my husband's fingerless gloves in the storage unit because my hands freeze to death at noon when its seventy degrees outside. Just never mind all that: just don't you turn the heater on until November, and don't you expect any heat in your bedroom when you get up at dark o'clock. Don't expect your towels to dry, ever, either.

I put a sweater on my dog this morning because I was cold.

And now it is all I can do to keep my mitts off the leftover pizza in the kitchen. Its not in the refrigerator because its cold enough in the kitchen...

Your New Favorite Song

2011-10-21T09:40:00.000-07:00

I think I've been a little hard on my mom this week. So now let me tell you why she is awesome.

I've already told you that she's in her 70s, is crazy fit, hikes at least 10 miles once a week, has traveled the world (and by "the world" I include Antarctica and Africa twice) and although she's not game to turn lights on when it starts to get dark, and she's definitely not game to have too much stuff in her refrigerator (my grocery bill has plummeted) she is game for all sorts of other things.

She also reads the local paper, and by "reads" I mean she squeezes every last word out of it, and that includes all the events calendars. A few months ago, she says to me, "K.D. Lang is coming to town, do you want to go with me?" My dad isn't game for much, so I am often her companion to things, which is fine with me, especially when its something like this. So I say, sure, and get the tickets.

It was at The Fillmore in San Francisco, a place I can't really imagine my mom going, but it was her idea, so we went on Wednesday.

Let me just say, that even if you don't think you are a fan of K.D. Lang, you should go see her if she's coming to town. Even if you've never heard of her, you should go see her. She sang Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah at the opening of the Olympic Games in Canada in 2010, and that is the only reason my mom knows who she is. I have seen and heard many versions of that song, and till now I was partial to the Jeff Buckley version, but K.D. just knocked me right outa my sneakers.

So, my mom skipped Piers Morgan in favor of rockin' out at the Fillmore, and that is reason 112 that she is awesome.

DVR Where art Thou?

2011-10-19T07:52:00.000-07:00

Remember when I canceled cable? That was a hoot.

I don't know if I've ever missed anything as much as I miss my TV and my DVR right now. I once had to convalesce from an illness for a long time, and I didn't miss walking as much as I miss my TV right now. You know how when you have a really bad cold and you can't breathe through your nose and you think to yourself "I will never take breathing for granted again!" I miss my TV more than breathing. God, I'm a shit head.

Tonight, after dinner, we all settled in to watch some TV. We started with the end of 60 Minutes. Fine. Then, I clicked on the guide, and scrolled through the options. There was nothing but crap. My mom kept saying, "You're going too fast!" but my feeling is, if you're driving past a steaming pile of skunk, fast is the way to go. My parents have a lot of QVC and public access channels right in the middle of their line up; there's no mystery there.

I come to rest on the second half of the Dick Van Dyke Show, which will be followed by M*A*S*H. Then my mom goes, "What's on 56?" I'd seen it in the line up: Larry King was coming back from the grave to interview Johnny Depp about his new movie, followed by... Piers Morgan. We agree, mercifully, that we don't really care what Johnny Depp has to say about anything. My dad says, "Check 32." and there's some old black and white version of Little Shop of Horrors. We go back to Dick Van Dyke. Then, after 4 seconds, my mom says, "Do we really want to watch this?" and we're all quiet, trying to ignore her, and just watch Laura Petrie do her thing. 10 seconds later, she says again, "Are we really watching this?" and my arm flies from its place at my side and I shoot her the remote and say, "clearly, you don't. So here you go, you decide."

She changes the channel to 2, and goes one by one through all the channels, the jewelry sales, the local education channel, Jersey Shore, and, lo and behold, there's nothing on. We travel to the channels beyond the Dick Van Dyke Show, and land on a channel that is playing Grumpier Old Men. There are commercials on, though, so we watch the commercials. One after the other, commercials. I am looking at my husband who is glued to his iPhone playing Words With Friends, and my dad who is watching the commercials, and no one will look at my face and confirm my disbelief that a Geico commercial is better than Dick Van Dyke.

Finally I say, "Why are we watching commercials?" and I'm informed that we are waiting for Grumpier Old Men. We couldn't wait the ten minutes through Dick Van Dyke to get to M*A*S*H*, but ten minutes of commercials are fine.

I retire to the bedroom, where I am now, writing this. I love my parents. Truly. But I do not love watching TV with them. There is only one queen of the remote, and it is I, and twas ever thus.

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

2011-10-17T08:25:00.000-07:00

Oh my God. Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God.

Remember how I told you that I am the laziest person who ever walked the face of the earth in my mother's eyes? Forget about trust fund babies, or royalty, or children who couldn't hit a hamper with a pair of dirty undies if their lives depended on it. No, in case you ever wondered, I am the laziest person, ever. I have made peace with this, mostly. It is still irritating, and insulting, but I know it comes from love, and my mom is a great lady who I adore, and I'm living in her house, so I'm willing to let it slide.

As I am writing this, it is Sunday night. SUNDAY. Day of rest. Tomorrow, I will go back to a three hour variety show rehearsal, a meeting with my contractor, answering work emails, walking the dog, shuttling the child to and fro, and probably collapsing into bed at 8:30. I started today by reading in bed, my second favorite morning activity. Then, I had to work for a few hours. SUNDAY. Then I got a big bag of the good rolls from the place in the city, after having a delicious lunch with my husband and daughter, and we came home. I read in the backyard, and, when it got too hot, I took a nap on my bed inside.

WHILE I WAS ASLEEP, the decision was made that we would make hamburgers, and that Rob (or Poor Rob, I should call him) would go to the store and get all the stuff. I eschewed cocktails and hors d'oeuvres in favor of continuing to read* and when I went into the kitchen to help, it was too crowded in there, so I went to the family room and flipped through a magazine. We were called to dinner. My mother made it very clear to me, without needing many words at all, that I had been lounging around long enough, and I would clean up after. That's completely fine, I don't mind, but insulting because I can feel her judgment wash over me, and I know immediately the stock she's taken in my day: I neglected to walk my dog. I went to lunch again, I read for a long time and took a nap. But most of all, my husband went to the grocery store and formed patties. Fuck me, I thought it was SUNDAY.

The magic of this, is that no one can see and feel what I see and feel when it comes to my mom. If I mentioned this to my husband, he might think I was crazy, and say, "so what?" and he would be correct on both counts. Luckily, my dad plied me with red wine.

I keep telling myself over and over: It doesn't matter. You'll never, ever win. In the game of housewife, you are, and forever will be, the ultimate loser. Relax. Take a deep breath. It comes from love. It comes from love. It comes from fucking love!!!"

Serenity now...

* I'm reading Rob Lowe's autobiography. It's a little over written in some parts (he uses the word zeitgeist a little too often, but otherwise pretty good. I recommend it.

Signs of Life

2011-10-14T14:02:00.001-07:00

I'm still here! I'm still alive! Just barely, but I am!

Did I happen to mention that I'm also in the middle of doing the school variety show again? I didn't have enough going on with my house looking like this

so I thought, "what the hell!"

My goal is to catch you up next week. I have lots of stuff to tell you. Like, I want to ask you all a question about tampons, and tell you how my mom is coaching me to be a better person, and about how the universe is toying with me.

Have a good weekend!

2011-10-07T11:12:00.000-07:00

I just want to say, quietly and without fanfare, that it is really amazing what happens when you reach out to people and ask for help. People will totally have your back if you can just ask for help. And I hate the word 'amazing'. Its the most overused word in the English language.

Did I just jinx things?

I'm a Lazy, Lazy Bitch

2011-09-29T11:02:00.001-07:00

For the last two weeks, and frankly even longer than that, I've been running around like a crazy person, putting tons of miles on my car, packing, moving, shopping, running the kid back and forth, working, etc. The days of delicious naps in the middle of the day are over for a while, and I think the non-working awake hours I've spent lately can be counted on one hand. This is fine for now, its all for a good cause (that wonderful pantry cabinet that I will have when this remodel is over) but I am going to bed at around 9 every night, totally exhausted.

Rob, obviously, has a lot on his mind, too, and is adapting to living with my parents, but his day-to-day hasn't changed all that much. He still takes the bus in to work (a different numbered bus, but that's really the only difference) and he's still playing softball once a week, and he's still sitting in his climate controlled office doing contemplative work with other smart people, and getting an actual lunch break and two, quiet commute hours a day to read, or sleep or play Word with Friends on his iPhone. I don't want to diminish his contribution here, but I barely get to sit down the whole day and eat most of my meals over the sink or in the car, and I've become one of those people who actually uses my hands free device and squeezes phone calls in while driving from one location to the other.

Last night we're sitting at the dinner table, (we all eat dinner together, including my parents. Isn't that cute?) and something comes up, I don't remember what, and my dad starts making a joke about how I ask Rob to do everything for me, and how he knows why Rob is seated in the corner where he can't get up (so he doesn't have to do anything.) I look at my dad like he's crazy, and then he goes on to talk about how Rob has worked ALL DAY. Oh, and this was a day after my mom laughed at Rob while he was doing dishes; or rather, because he was doing the dishes. I thought I was going to lose it.

There's no use, though. My dad is from another generation where men got home from work and sat and read the paper while dinner was made and cleaned up, kids were bathed and put to bed and a little laundry was folded until the mom collapsed in a heap.

My parents believe I am the laziest person they have ever met. They've said this out loud to me and to their friends, so I'm not making false assumptions. They have repeatedly muttered the words "Poor Rob..." If this period of living with them while being pulled in 17 different directions does not dispel that opinion, nothing ever will. I have a feeling I could work and run around 23 hours a day, and it would make no difference; my baseboards are still filthy and I still eat out too much.

My dad is lucky he's cute...

Julianna Margulies can Suck It

2011-09-28T08:05:00.000-07:00

Remember how I told you I'm living with my parents right now? Well, I am. Me, Rob, Leila, the cat and the dog. Boy oh boy.

If you've been reading me for any length of time, you already know that we go on vacation with my parents every year, on their dime, for at least a week, sometimes two. My parents are in their 70s, my mom is super active, my dad is super sedate, and they are both really kind, generous people who are single-handedly (or double fistedly) keeping cocktail hour alive. We have a lot of fun together, and they're not the sort of parents I feel I have to hang out with, or that I roll my eyes at, and I don't screen their calls.

They're still my parents, however, and naturally this relationship comes with its own set of button-pushing, needling, know-me-too-well, God-my-parents-are-getting-old idiosyncrasies. I don't often write about my parents because they are very private people. In fact, I don't think they know this bog even exists, and if they found out, they would be completely flummoxed and outraged by the way I over share. Now that I've been living with them for over a week, though, I have to get some stuff off my chest:

My mom likes to watch Piers Morgan every night. She doesn't actually watch every night, she has a life, but when she's home and its nine o'clock, she watches Piers Morgan. The other night, Julianna Margulies was on there, and my mom has never heard of her, but we had to watch her for an hour and see what she had to say, which wasn't much. Then my dad comes along and says, "You know what's a good show? Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader. Now that's a good show." and he continues, "See, they have these grown people answer questions, and they have these fifth graders..." you get the idea.

Now let me tell you a story about dish towels: My mother finds great virtue in using things until they either break, disintegrate, or run screaming from her home, begging for mercy. Knowing this, I brought a few of my dish towels along when I moved in. She was confused by this: why would I feel the need to bring dish towels, her's a perfectly fine. She held one of them up to show me, and I said, "Mom, I can see the back yard through that towel." And she's all, "No, you can't!" and I'm all, "Yuh huh! there's the bird feeder!" Then I said, "I bet you've had that dish towel longer than you've had me." and she goes, "yes, but I didn't use it for a few years because it was too good." Its a dish towel, people, a 45 year-old dish towel. I know what someone is getting for Christmas...

I miss my TV. I miss my DVR. I miss HGTV and Food Network. I miss my dish rack. I miss having dinner and not doing the dishes until morning. I miss my front loading washing machine. I miss preheating the oven to the actual degrees indicated on the box instead of cutting that in half to save energy. I miss turning lights on when its dark. I miss my mail, which I forwarded to my parents' address more than a week ago, and all I've gotten is a week-old Newsweek. I miss knowing where my food is (my mom likes to rearrange and consolidate, resulting in two boxes of completely different cereal being merged into one.) I miss getting take out; whenever I've wanted take out, I've been told I have to eat a fried egg instead. 11 weeks to go...

But, here's what's awesome about living with my parents: In addition to the aforementioned cocktails, my dad will bust open a bottle of cold champagne and we'll drink it together, WHENEVER I WANT. They have good butter and cheese and liverwurst in the house at all times. I can buy these things myself, of course, but I never do because it just tastes better at my parents' house, and now I can eat it ALL THE TIME. My mom is really funny. I am living with two people who love my kid and will take care of her when I need to go do errands. My dad loves my dog. I'm sleeping like the dead in my old room. They have a Costco card. They have not gotten on my case even one time for being a slob (though I've been trying really hard not to be a slob, and you know how hard that is for me.) They are doing us the biggest favor in the world by letting us stay with them while our house gets torn apart, and I am truly grateful. We could not do this project without their hospitality, so I will watch Piers Morgan with my mom, and drink my dad's booze, and eat fried eggs all they want.

I owe them. Big.

Here I am! I'm Here!

2011-09-27T13:30:00.001-07:00

Okay, here I am, I'm back. You were just about to give up on me weren't you? But I'm here! Always here, lurking around.

Instead of posting inane stories about my life and my hangnails and whatnot, I have done the following things:

1) Packed up my entire house, 14 years worth of crap, and stored it like this:
Just add two piles of sofa cushions, and that's almost everything I own. (I thought I had more crap. It sure felt like more when I was packing it...)

2) Taken some of my clothes to my parents' house, where I am currently living (I know! More on this later, you can bet your ass.)

3) Made approximately 500 decisions about cabinets, appliances, siding, ducting, pizza toppings, and what color my toenails should be.

4) Fallen into bed at the end of each day praying for deep, dark, dreamless sleep, only to be woken by a) the cat either scratching in the litter box with which we are sharing a room, crunching his food, or purring wildly in my ear and rubbing his face on me, or b) Leila, waking up in the middle of the night and coming in to my bed because she watched Celebrity Ghost Stories and is extra freaked out now (in addition to being a regular amount of freaked out at watching the only home she's ever known get torn apart.)

5) I've been taking pictures like this:

and saying Holy Shit! out loud to anyone who happens to be passing by.

So that's where I've been, and I have to go back to that right now...

Simon Le Bon is in the House!

2011-09-13T09:15:00.001-07:00

Today it starts for realsies. The packing. I haven't packed a house in 14 years. I thought I was really good at not collecting stuff, but apparently I was not as good as I thought. I packed two boxes yesterday, just to get a feel for it. This is going to suck, is how it felt. I keep thinking I will hold off on all the fragile stuff, pack all the books picture frames, start on Leila's room, but when I look around there's just STUFF everywhere. Oh look, I'm going to have to pack those dust-laden candle sticks! And over there is the old atlas that we never look at! And the artwork! And the cleaning supplies! And what exactly do I do with my TV?

Yesterday I went to my mom's to pack up some of the shit I have stored there. That was part of the deal; I can move my family and my pets into her house for three months, but in exchange I have to clean her closets. She has asked me to do this for 20 years, and it has always seemed like a monumental task. I was delighted to find out that most of the crap in those closets is her's!

I found all my Duran Duran stuff, and there is a lot of it. I have dreams about selling everything as one lot on ebay one day and making my first million. Some day, these magazine clippings of Simon Le Bon, will be worth something, I just know it! I also found a poster with kittens on it that I got as part of a Ranger Rick magazine in the third grade, and I had to wonder what I was saving it for. The kittens got shitcanned, but the Duran Duran stuff stays.

I just realized that for the next three months, I will be paying actual money to store Duran Duran memorabilia. Hm. I will also be paying real money to store cleaning supplies and God knows I have no use for those, so I guess it all evens out.

I'd better get started. I don't want to get started, I want to go get a pedicure, but I'd better get started...

Butter

2011-09-09T14:00:00.000-07:00

Dudes, I have not worked this hard in a long, long time. I haven't watched any TV or taken a decent nap or anything in two weeks! I think I'm finally seeing the light at the end, though, and I'm hoping I get a little bit of a break next week so I can focus all my energy on my remodel that hasn't started yet.

Working just sucks, doesn't it? I mean, some people love their jobs, are fulfilled, addicted, whatever you want to call it, but I am not one of those people. The only job I've every found fulfilling is parenting, and even that has some low points. That whole potty training thing was a nightmare. Worth it, since no one wants to wipe the ass of a nine year old, but dealing with poo is just as bad as it sounds.

I have to work this weekend, too, and somehow find time to make my mother's potato salad, and she is unreliable in relaying recipes. She cooks by memory, and leaves out at least 3 key ingredients when telling you how she makes something. Then, when it doesn't come out, she says something like, "Well, did you put enough butter in?" and I'll be all, "You didn't tell me to put any butter in!" and she'll be all, "Everyone knows you have to put butter in!" and, yes, there may be butter in her potato salad recipe, anything is possible.

Last night I had a dream that I was contemplating sex with Ted Danson. The brown haired version, not the white haired version. We were at Oprah's house, which was not nearly as impressive as you'd think.

Have a good weekend!

Viva La Nine!

2011-09-07T09:44:00.000-07:00

I think my daughter has reached the age of reason. This morning when I woke her up, I told her to pick out some clothes and put them on. This is kind of a new thing for us, as I usually pick out what she's going to wear while she lounges in bed and chit chats with me. So she's all, "I have to pick out my clothes every day lately!" and I'm all "Me too!" and she's all, "But you're fourty and I'm nine." and I was all, "Nine is plenty old enough to pick out shorts and a T shirt."

She then picked out a totally reasonable outfit, and came into the kitchen where I was making her lunch and her breakfast. She was on the verge of tears as she said, "I don't want to grow up! I want to stay nine forever!"

My poor baby! I told her I could see that she was very serious about this and I was bummed for her because time was going to march on and she was going to have to get older whether she wanted to or not. Then I said, "and there are so many wonderful things about getting older and becoming a grown up!" And she was all, "Like what?"

uh... um... well... uh...

Gentle readers, she stumped me. I stood there staring at her with a half-hearted smile on my face and couldn't come up with one single thing about being a grown-up that was better than being nine. The seconds of silence felt like hours, and I got more and more depressed, and finally I said, "You can eat whatever you want, whenever you want!" Which, of course, is only true if you want to have a liver transplant and hen drop dead of heard disease and hour later. At least that's how it would go for me, trust me.

Then I just started making shit up. "You get to go to college which is awesome, and you get to find fulfilling work, and fall in love and have a baby which is just the best thing ever!" The last part is true for me, having a baby was the best thing ever, but college was only so-so and I have yet to find fulfilling work, and being in love is fine, but it has very little to do with actual marriage.

So, for today, it sucks being a parent. My job is to prepare her for the world by making her do her homework and making her pick out her own clothes and adding more and more responsibility and independence, but I just want her to be nine forever so she doesn't have to have her heart broken by a stupid stinky boy, and pay bills, and get up early for a sucky job, and eat vegetables.

I'll let her clean toilets, though, I'm okay with that.

Please Leave a Message

2011-09-06T11:02:00.001-07:00

What did the world ever do without voicemail? I swear, I have made six phone calls this morning to try to transact some business, and I have had to leave messages everywhere! Doesn't anyone ever pick up the phone anymore? Now I have to sit around and wait for return phone calls in order to move my day along, and they could come in five minutes, or they could come tomorrow. And, chances are, I will be at the grocery store, on the can, or otherwise engaged when they call back and they will have to leave a message and nothing will ever be accomplished!

Truthfully, there are lots of times when, while my outgoing call is ringing, I pray for voicemail. We've all said that prayer: "Please don't pick up, please don't pick up, please don't pick up." because we want to get credit for either being responsive, or taking initiative or whatever, without actually having to do anything. Whenever I hear someone say, "I have a call into so-and-so, I'm just waiting to hear back." I know what it really means; it means, "I knew you were going to ask for the status on this issue and I haven't really done anything, so I called and left a voicemail just before you asked and now I can pass the buck to the poor slob who hasn't even heard my message yet and is wondering why he hasn't heard from me, but I'll look like I'm on top of things."

Admit it! You know its true!

Luckily, I have the internet. Now I can spend time refreshing facebook and looking at Youtube while I wait for people to call me back. I know Debbie, at the last place I called, was probably having a cup of coffee and relaying the exciting story of what she did this weekend to her co -workers, who weren't really listening because they don't give two shits about what Debbie did this weekend, but they want to avoid their phones.

What a world it would be if everyone, including me, did what they were supposed to do, when they were supposed to do it. Imagine how productive we all would be! We'd have so much more time to take naps, and we wouldn't have as many nightmares, and my house remodel would probably be done by now, and there would be no war or famine. Maybe not the last part, but still!

Now I'm going to blow dry my hair, which means I wont hear the phone when it rings, and thus dwindles the day...

I got the Blues

2011-08-31T10:01:00.001-07:00

You guys, I am low. I got the blues, the contractor, construction blues. I am trying to clear my head by tackling some of the other 56 things on my to-do list so I can get to the bottom of my dilemma, but its not working.

I tried to exercise my way to an answer, but after a mere 15 minutes on the elliptical, I thought I was going to barf, so I sat down on a chair in the back yard and pet my cat instead. She was very soft and silky and appreciative, but, unfortunately, not helpful.

Then I sent some goodness into the universe by helping my mom track down the owner of the iPhone that she found on a hiking trail yesterday. She actually called me from the iPhone, which is in itself completely astonishing since this is a woman who has trouble with the remote control and doesn't have an ATM card. She thinks I'm a super genius for tracking the guy down, but really the people who invented the internet are super geniuses because that's how I found him. I thought some good karma might help me with my current situation, but so far, no.

Then I took a long shower. I didn't work up much of a sweat during my 15 minute work out, but I have a hot date tonight for my anniversary (15 years, dude.) so I thought What the hell? The steam did not sort out my problem, and I doubt the blow dryer will either.

Is there anyone out there who can jail break my brain and figure this out for me?!!!?

So all I'm going to do today is slog through my list of stuff I have to get done, like buy the biggest jar of maraschino cherries I can find for the neighbor kid's 9th birthday, and then read some of the third book in the Hunger Games series, and then cover my head with my blanket and stop answering the phone. Sounds like a plan!

First Day of the Rest of my Life

2011-08-29T08:58:00.000-07:00

I didn't mention this because I didn't want anyone to call me on it or put on any pressure, but a few weeks ago, I bought a used elliptical machine off Craigslist from a man with the sexiest Italian accent I've ever heard. I made Rob go with me to pick it up because A) I needed him to load it in the car, and B) I couldn't guarantee I wouldn't come home pregnant.

The elliptical has been set up in the garage for a couple of weeks, and Rob has been using it in lieu of going to the gym before work and showering with strangers. I hadn't used it until this morning. I am the MASTER of excuses. First, I wanted to sleep in as long as I could while we were still on summer vaycay, and last week I had that headache that wouldn't go away, but there was no excuse this morning. I needed a shower anyway, so I thought What the heck?

I did 20 minutes. It kicked my ass. I am in the worst shape EVER. Its really shameful. I set such a bad example for my kid, its not even funny. While I'm writing this, I'm resting. I can't get into the shower yet, my knees are too weak. Its like I'm 80. Jeez. I suck.

But every fat-ass has their first day, right? Those people who have lost 200 lbs. had a first day of the rest of their life, right? I'm actually not setting a weight loss goal; I just want to get in better shape so that a flight of stairs doesn't leave me winded. So I don't get a sore butt from bowling one game. So I can weed my garden without taking ibuprofin for my back.

Day one: 20 minutes: nailed it.

Bullshit

2011-08-25T09:47:00.000-07:00

Its the fourth day of school, and I'm ready for summer vacation to start. I just feel assaulted by school this year. There's so much noise and talking and people and kids and bikes and paper! It almost makes me want to home school, until I realize I'd actually have my kid around me all day and I'd have to teach her stuff. I'll teach her how to get me a coke and scratch that place on my back that I can't reach. She's on her own for the rest.

And, in addition to having elementary school standing on my neck, I have a headache, accompanied by nausea and simultaneous hunger, that wont go away. I'm on Day Three of popping advil (to no avail) and belching. Damn period. If only I weren't so afraid of menopause. But I guess it doesn't really matter if I'm afraid of it or not, right? Its clear that my hormones don't care about me, never have and probably never will. My hormones just stand there in their leather studded biker jackets and flip me the bird. I have the Bernie Madoff of hormones. They're thugs waiting to ambush me and steal my sanity and my waistline. They hold a gun to my head and make me take little blue pills. Never been on my side, those fuckers.

Where was I? Oh yeah: school. This is longest week ever, and homework hasn't even started. Neither has piano. Now Leila wants to try fencing, so I've got to get that bullshit going.

Isn't 'Bullshit' the best word ever? Its especially good when my dad says it with his German accent. Or when Leila says it. She hardly ever does, because she's a good girl and knows what language she is allowed to use and what language is only okay in song lyrics, but every now and again she'll blurt it out for no reason and I just laugh and laugh. I know I shouldn't, but its funny. Its like my friends daughter who, at the age of three, named one of her dolls Asshole. It was just too funny to correct. Isn't it nice that children exist almost entirely for our amusement?

Can you tell I have a headache and I want to throw up and eat a big sandwich?

The Loop

2011-08-23T13:49:00.000-07:00

There are some changes around the campus this year, and, even though I am done caring too much about the machinations of the school administration, there is one change that is affecting me, and I'm not digging it. I could care less about the changes that affect other people, but, as the Queen, this is the current object of my bitching.

The school closed what we affectionately called The Loop, a driveway of sorts into the school that looped around where you could push your kids out of the car while it was still moving and then drive on to your other pursuits. Problems arose when parents actually did this, and in the process, bumped into other cars, drove up on sidewalks where children were walking, made their own children play human Frogger with oncoming traffic, and came to blows with other parents. You may think I am exaggerating, but I assure you I'm not. Except the throwing-your-kid-out-of-a-moving-car thing; I only suspect that that happens, but more often than not, a mother lingers in the loop smearing sunscreen on her child in the back seat while other cars wait to drop off their kids, and thus the blows. Mothers Fighting Mothers is not a reality show I want to watch.

The principals took the radical step of closing the loop and making parents drop off their children at other locations around the school. White Pants and I thought of setting up lawn chairs where the driveway was closed and taking pictures of parents having complete conniptions. Leila and I walk to school, so I don't have any particular feeling about this either way, except that now I do.

Walking my child to school in the morning was, in all seriousness, the best part of my day. We're out in the cool morning, we're talking, the dog is with us, we're holding hands, we're saying hello to friends, just delightful.

Well.

The parents who used to use The Loop are naturally looking for other places to drop off their children, so they have crowded in to the little street approaching the school. What used to be a pleasant morning walk, is now an obstacle course where car doors are opening into us, bikes and scooters are whizzing past, and it is so crowded, I fear for my life. Not really, but I do fear for the safety of my dog, and I'm seriously considering not walking him to school anymore which would be a real shame for him and all of his fans. It is seriously like trying to navigate your way through a crowded airport. Like, seriously.

The best part of my day has been ruined! Don't they care about me and my needs? DON'T THEY KNOW WHO I AM???

I'm going to wait and see if the people in their cars decide that this particular street is a bad place to drop off their kids and proceed to one of the other designated locations. I'll give it a week. If it doesn't get better, I'm throwin' down. I'll make phone calls. Don't think I wont! I'll wear a sandwich board promoting the re opening of the loop! I'll write a letter to the mayor! Go ahead and push your children out of moving vehicles and get into fist fights if you want! I have to walk my dog!!!

Fourth Grade!

2011-08-22T11:16:00.001-07:00

First day of school! Tra la la! Fourth Grade, baby! Woo hoo!

Yes, the summer is over. School has begun. If you asked me what we did this summer, I wouldn't be able to come up with a good answer. I could say, "We watched a lot of shows on the Food Network!" and that would be true, but not the message I want to send. Leila couldn't go to sleep last night, too excited, and was ready to walk out the door a half hour early this morning. That wont happen again until this time next year. I miraculously remembered how to put a cheese sandwich together, and pile things into a lunch box, while slinging frozen waffles. My powers of recall are really impressive!

The whole family walked to school together, and I think the dog was a little confused that we were up before nine, AND he was getting walked. He hardly knew where to pee. His powers of recall are not nearly as impressive as mine. So what if I forgot to put the cookies in her lunch, I'm still awesome!

In fourth grade, the teacher doesn't want the parents to dangle around the classroom, helping their kid get settled. Conventional wisdom is that nine year-olds are perfectly capable of putting their back pack in their cubby and finding their name tag on their own, but that doesn't stop all of us parents from crowding into the room and "helping." For many of us, it will be our only social interaction with other adults for the rest of the day, so there is lots of hugging and lingering.

I thought I was pretty good. Rob and I went in, but we just stood there like dopes and let Leila take care of business, and then we said goodbye. We didn't stay and chat, we didn't introduce ourselves to the teacher, and I didn't touch Leila's back pack. Its a little weird to just leave your kid with a strange woman and a classroom full of kids, even if the strange woman is the teacher, and your kid is at an age where, in other countries, she'd be carrying water five miles or working in a factory or harvesting crops or whatever.

Here was the best part, though. One of the other mothers came to me and said she was so happy that she would have me as her head room parent again, and I said, "Nope, not this year. Someone else's turn." Look at me, saying no! Not succumbing to the adulation (even if its only in my head) that comes with being head room parent! I'm so excited to not do it this year, and was even more excited to not go to the first day welcome coffee where I can learn about all the exciting volunteer opportunities awaiting me, buy a sweatshirt with the school's logo, and donate money. Me and White Pants walked our dogs instead. What a refreshing change!

Don't get too excited. I'm already on the docket for the Variety Show and some other stuff, so I'll be bitching about that soon enough. In the meantime, I'm going to go to the supermarket and buy some good butter, some Benefiber, and a spray bottle. I suppose I should come up with something for dinner, too.

And thus it begins...

Drip, drip...

2011-08-17T11:58:00.000-07:00

I want to give you an update on our construction project that you may remember me talking about a few months back. Well, we are about one inch closer to our goal. I'll be meeting with contractor number 6 today, and hopefully we'll get an estimate from at least one of these guys sometime in this century. I don't think anyone told any of the contractors in my county that there's a recession on. They all seem to be either swimming in work, or too busy fishing.

This has been so frustrating, and we've waiting so long, and the project I was going to do during the summer and be done with by the time we went back to school hasn't even started and we go back to school on Monday. I'll be lucky if we are done by Christmas. Everyone told me this would happen, but I thought, "how hard can this be?" Very hard, apparently.

In lighter news, I can't stop dripping stuff on my clothes. I keep going to the movies and dripping popcorn butter on shirts, and my new shorts have a big greasy shadowy stain on them. I am trying to dress a little nicer, forgoing my standard Tshirt and jeans for slightly nicer Tshirts and jeans, but I keep ruining everything. Would it be weird if I just walked around in an apron all the time? I wear one while doing dishes, and when my black cat wants to sit on me and purr and drool, and I often put it on when I'm going to eat something in front of the TV because I inevitably drip things on myself, so maybe wearing it to restaurants or the movies wouldn't be such a big stretch?

I have heard this the a problem confined to big busted women such as myself. The rest of you, with normal boobs, drip something off your fork and it drops onto the napkin that you have delicately placed in your lap, but for the chesty girls, it never makes it to the lap. I should carry disposable lobster bibs in my purse. Or dig out some of Leila's baby bibs and just put them on every time I eat something. Or eat naked, but I don't know how that would go over at the movie theater or my local eatery.

Does anyone have a sure fire way to get greasy stains out of clothes? And don't tell me to lay off the greasy food, because we both know that wont happen...

Dinohummers

2011-08-09T13:33:00.000-07:00

Summer vacation is almost over and I can feel it. Today, Leila went to camp and I went to the movies. I was the only one in the theater, and I consumed a small popcorn, a small coke, and a whole roll of rollos. Oh, and I forgot to brush my hair or my teeth before I left the house. I am livin' the life, people! Don't be fooled by the fact that I sound like a complete loser!

I know it is time to re-enter a routine, to rev up the old engine, to volunteer my little heart out, to engage in social activities, to make nutritious meals, to walk the dog more than once a week, to start blow drying my hair again, to start getting up at 7 instead of 9, to stop watching so many decorating shows, to live my best life, to not waste a moment, blah, blah blah, blah blah. I have been somewhat hermetic this summer. Haven't seen a lot of my friends, haven't left the house too much, and I am dangerously close to embracing this lifestyle. I have been sloth-like. I've watched a lot of TV. But on the plus side, or the minus side, depending on how you look at it, I haven't cracked open a bottle of chardonnay in quite a while.

I have no idea where I'm going with this, except to say that this has to stop. The end is near, and I am gearing up by slowing down even more, so I think I'll read a magazine and take a nappy.

Yesterday, I went out on to my back deck and this hummingbird was hovering just in front of my face and just stared at me for, like, a while. More than two minutes. It just hovered in front of me, staring, making occasional chirping sounds. I moved from side to side to see if it would get scared off, but it just stared at me. It was so long that I got kind of bored and ready to move on to the next thing, but I waited it out, and eventually it buzzed away. My friend says that hummingbirds are reincarnated dinosaurs. So what does it mean that I was having a staring contest with a dinosaur soul? Are my arms about to get really short? I'm I about to go extinct? Is my skin in need of moisturizer?

I really need school to start...

Its Done

2011-07-29T17:11:00.001-07:00

So I had a big day on Thursday. I had the sex talk with my kid, I did a couple loads of laundry, I cleaned up the house, I Roombaed stuff, I had a burrito, I finished a book. What's that you say? Yes! I did say that I had the sex talk with my kid!

I wish, for the sake of your entertainment, I could tell you all kinds of funny stuff about it, like all the funny things she assumed, or how grossed out she was, but it was too straight forward for that. Here's how it went:

She got in bed with me in the morning, and I seized my opportunity. I did my whole intro, about the Barbie Sex thing, and how I thought she should know some stuff before she ran into any more smut on the internet. I didn't use the word 'smut', but I did use the word 'boner', which I'll get to in a minute. I asked her to tell me what she already knew about sex, and at first she said, "Nothing." but then she followed that up with, "But I've heard that its when grown ups rub their parts together." Not far off. So I laid out the basics. I started with describing the male anatomy, and then describing what an erection was. I told her people call it a 'boner' sometimes (or, all the time, if you're me. Erection sounds like we're building skyscrapers.) She thought boners were "weird" and I tried not to agree, wanting to make it sound like all of this was beautiful and natural even though we all know the truth. I told her where the men put their boners and why, and she was fine with that. She was either fine, or a little traumatized. It was hard to tell. I told her that's how babies were made, and covered the sperm and egg gestalt which she found interesting, but then I told her that, most of the time, adults have sex because its fun.

I then wanted to move into a discussion about what she might see on TV and the internet, and what 'sexy' means and whatever, but on the way I got lost and started talking about arctic penguins. I think I was trying to convey that sex was natural and the urge to do it was universal, and in that moment I thought penguins were the perfect example. I got back on track, though, and I can proudly say that my daughter now knows that nothing she sees on the internet or on the TV about sex is real, and that no one is allowed to touch her body, and that she should feel free to come to me with any questions.

"So, do you have any questions?"

"No."

And that was that. Whew.

Oh! Then! I told her I had bought a book for her and she was all, "I DO NOT want to look at it... Well, okay, I'll look at it." She flipped through it, and was horrified by this picture:

and said again that it was just weird. I refrained from comment.

And then we moved on to something else, or had breakfast or whatever we did, I don't remember because I was kind of buzzed on what had just happened. We have not revisited the subject. Why doesn't she have any questions? Is it because she really isn't curious, or that she just doesn't want to ask me? My Cool Mom systems have been activated! I'm ready to answer questions!!

So if you have any questions about sex, please let me know.

Who Cares Where I Came From?

2011-07-27T17:46:00.000-07:00

So, I did tell my friend that her daughter typed in "Barbie Sex." After I saw what I saw, and after I consulted with parents whose opinions I trust, I told her. Not surprisingly, she acted somewhat baffled that her child would do that, "She doesn't even like Barbies!" she said. I told her I didn't think the Barbies were the draw. She was very interested in finding the source of the idea because it couldn't possibly be her daughter that came up with this. Of course she responded this way. I would have, too. I would have been flummoxed and a little mortified, and wondered how on earth this could have possibly happened. Luckily for me, she ignored the part where all of this happened in my house, under my watchful eye, by which I am also a little mortified.

That afternoon, I went to Barnes and Noble and read 4 different books from the children's section about talking to kids about sex. They were books for children, with funny pictures and captions and stuff, and every one of them basically sent the following message: "The penis goes into the vagina, sperm comes out, fertilizes an egg." The second two thirds of the book is all about how a baby develops in a mother's tummy and how she nurses the baby after its born.

My parenting compass may be completely out of whack here, but I have little to no interest in including procreation in the sex talk I have with my daughter. What the books do not address is that sex is everywhere you look, women are dehumanized everywhere you look, every song ever written is about sex in some way (except for some U2 songs) and how on earth is a 9 year old girl supposed to grow up in a world like this??????!!!!!! And furthermore! How is her mother (me) supposed to guide her to into an adulthood where she respects herself and her body while her favorite singer is Rhianna and her first boyfriend will probably want to have anal sex because he saw Barbies do it ON THE INTERNET!!!???

I know I am going too far. I know I will find my way. I have to "get low" as Leila's preschool teacher used to say. When I asked Leila if she knew what "gay" meant she said , "oooh, is that when people get really old and start shrinking?" I have to remember that.

In spite of my anxiety over the issue of telling my friend, talking to my daughter, facing away from the kids in the Barnes and Noble while reading "Where did I come From?" I did have a little fun. I conned Rob into letting me read him the book I eventually chose under the guise of including him in this all-important milestone. And then I made jokes about how I wanted him to know what he was in for when he hit puberty. Then we pointed at the illustrations and laughed.

Barbie Bang Bang

2011-07-25T14:32:00.000-07:00

After a particularly down-in-the-dumps day yesterday, fueled by marriage, children, remodel hell and the lack of anything to eat in this house, I am feeling a bit better. Leila is at camp, Rob is at work, I am alone and feeling better. Should I be concerned about this pattern?

The left side of my butt hurts from bowling. I didn't think that was possible, but when you are in as terrible shape as I am, anything is possible. Yes, I bowled. We had some family fun, I broke two nails, bowled a 58, and now my left butt cheek is sore. I also drank Dr. Pepper and I blame it for keeping me up until 1 a.m. watching Sopranos on Netflix.

Now: Here is the parenting issue that I am facing: the other day, Leila confided to me that sometimes a friend of her's types "barbie sex" into the search bar on You Tube. After I stopped laughing, I realized that this would be a great time to have the sex talk with her. She's old enough, and I'd like her to hear it from me first rather than some skanky fourth grader on the playground. The thing is, though, I chickened out. I need to think some more about this first, how to approach it, how far to go. Like, do I have to explain oral sex? Porn? Chlamydia? There's no way around mentioning a penis, but do I have to draw a picture like I did with the period talk? Do I mention that people put tongues in each others mouths? She wont even eat a freakin' gummy bear, so she'll be completely grossed out. No, further thought is definitely required.

Then, I was talking to a friend who mentioned that these barbies having sex on you tube could be in bondage gear and stuff, so I just searched on it myself and all I have to say is WHOA.

My barbies used to get up to all kinds of shenanigans and were always getting knocked up with cotton balls shoved in their dresses, but we never got up to what these barbies are getting up to. First of all, our Barbies weren't nearly as bendy. Here is a sampling of just the titles: "Slut Barbie" "Barbie Sex Tape" "Horror Movie with Barbie and Sex" "Barbies Having Full On Sex Orgy" and my personal favorite, "Barbie and Ken Rough Sex" where Ken is punching Barbie while in the missionary position. Don't you just love the internet?

Jesus Effing Christ!!!!

What's more interesting is that some of these videos are posted by children!!!
I wasn't going to tell Leila's friend's mother about this because I want to preserve the trust between me and my kid, but now I don't know. Thoughts?

p.s. I have since taken You Tube off Leila's iPod touch, so no more barbie porn for her.

Kill me part deux

2011-07-22T11:08:00.001-07:00

This re-entry week has been really hard. I'm so irritable, I feel like I'm a cactus with thorny things all over me. It came to a head when I couldn't find the Band-aid antiseptic rinse to clean Leila's ear piercing that had gone bloody, so I took everything out from the cabinet under the sink and threw it across the bathroom while yelling, "God Dammit!!!!"

Yesterday we went to the zoo and had a good day. I really needed a day where we were out of the house, looking at interesting things, and not fighting about room cleaning and TV watching and getting dressed and all the other 1000 things that we fight about on a daily basis. It was very helpful, but now we're back in the house, the prison of our own making.

Remember when we were kids, and summer vacay would come around and we would hang out with our friends on the street, and ride our bikes all over the place and roller skate down steep hills and make our own plans with our friends and just tell our parents, "Mom! I'm going to Kelly's!" And we knew to be home somewhere around dinner time, and then maybe go back out for a while? Remember those days? Its not like that anymore.

I am in charge of all Leila's entertainment options. She is just starting to call friends on the phone herself, but most of her friends are in camp or away on trips, so there aren't so many kids around. She just walked the dog around the block by herself the other day, but that's about as much independence as she's ever had, and she doesn't feel like riding her bike. So, we're mostly stuck in the house together unless I submit to going some place like the zoo, or she submits to going to the super market. It turns out that I am really bad at summer vacation.

Do you know what makes being a stay at home parent hard? Managing the tedium. Its worth it, and I want to be here for my kid, but if she doesn't clean her freakin' room and get dressed in the next ten minutes, I may have to take a valium and its not even noon.

We are probably going to the beach later. Maybe that will calm my frizzled nerves...

Kill Me

2011-07-19T10:20:00.000-07:00

These people have been back for a day and they're already driving me nuts.

Yesterday was fine. Leila didn't shut up all day long. At the library, where I looked in vain for the latest Tori Spelling book, she just kept talking in spite of my saying, "Hold on." "Just a second." "Give me minute!" and finally I took her by the shoulders and told her the shut the fuck up. No, I didn't really do that, but I did have to take her by the shoulders and move her because she was so not paying attention to me that she stood right between me and the shelf I was looking at. She wasn't misbehaved or anything, just... talkative. Later, instead of cleaning her room as I had asked, she wanted to talk about nutrition and exercise and wanted me to drop what I was doing so that she could try spinach. Her room still isn't clean.

Remember how I told you about the whole dishes thing? Well last night I made Rob a lovely dinner of pork chops and zucchini gratin (with zooks from my garden!) and I cleaned everything up except for the two large pans that I have a real hard time cleaning because I have no muscles in my arms, so I asked him to clean the heavy stuff. Which he did except for one pan he was "soaking" which is another way of saying he forgot about it, but was now in bed so I could do it in the morning. And so it begins!!!

I started this morning yelling at Leila because I told her to turn off the TV and she ignored me. She doesn't think that changing channels and settling on a new show after I tell her to turn it off is ignoring me. She's a little unclear on the concept. Then I gave her a whole lecture about how I don't want to be a yeller, but that she makes me be one because she ignores what I tell her to do. Then she tells me that maybe I should ask her nicely to do things, to which I respond, "I do ask you nicely, I ask you nicely 10 times, but you ignore me and then I start yelling! You don't seem to be able to hear me unless I'm yelling!" And, frankly, I'm the mom, I don't have to ask nicely: I say jump, you jump! I say clean your room, you fucking do it! Nicely, my ass!

I am such a freakin' push over. I feel like I have to start being meaner, but I don't want to be meaner! I'm plenty mean! I yell all the time! I want to yell right now!!!!

Now she's doing yoga on the Wii fit. She wants to exercise. And try spinach. This will last about 20 minutes.

So much time left in the day...

Update

2011-07-14T20:44:00.001-07:00

Day four is almost over. My kid is not interested in talking to me on the phone, and my dog is starting to realize I've all he's got.

For dinner I ate half a Chipotle burrito bowl with a coke, but I was still pretty full from the popcorn I had at the movies earlier, so I'm bursting at the seams now.

Don't know what's on the TV, but I'm about to find out.

Tomorrow night I'm going to see some guy at the symphony with my mom and I wish I could get out of it because it means I have to put on makeup and keep my pants buttoned and it cuts into my evening ass sitting.

I really hope I miss my fam' by Saturday night, otherwise it will be hard to welcome them home with a big smile...

Single White Female

2011-07-14T09:31:00.000-07:00

So I've been alone at home for three nights, three days, and I wish I could say I miss my family, but... I don't. Is that a horrible thing to say? The first day, Rob was texting me pictures of Leila frolicking in the lake and it made me sad, but I have gotten into a groove here, and I am really liking it! I have a good friend who keeps calling me to check in on me and invite me over for dinner, and she's so sweet and well intentioned, but every day I look forward to sitting in front of my TV with whatever I've chosen for dinner that day (last night it was sushi and mildk duds with a root beer) that I don't even want to answer the phone. I thought I would be going stir crazy for company right now, and instead I keep wishing it were... quieter.

The phone is ringing all the time, my work is really busy right now, I have one remodel appointment after another, and I am craving even more solitude than I already have.

Of course, I am talking to myself all day long, because being alone for 6 days doesn't mean I'll shut up. After watching the Sarah Ferguson show on OWN the other night (really good!) I even started talking to myself in an English accent. I could say I'm talking to the dog, but who are we kidding? Speaking of the dog, he's depressed. At least someone in this house misses the family...

The best part? Okay: the best part is no dishes. When I create a dirty dish, I clean it and put it away. I know this sounds obvious, but normally, and especially when I actually cook things, there are lots of dirty dishes, and Leila uses these plastic cups that I don't put in the dishwasher, and she uses 3 or 4 of them every day, and there are constantly dishes drying in the drying rack, and that are waiting to be done and when the pile is bigger than one dish, I just turn away from it. But now the kitchen is, dare I say, clean! No dishes, no plastic cups, no grilled cheese pans on the stove, nothin'. Rob and I had an agreement that he would do the dishes on the weekends because that's the only thing I really want a break from, but its gotten to where he does the dishes on Saturday, and then leaves all the Sunday dishes all day and then I do them all on Monday morning. I think I have to put my foot down; not doing dishes is the best thing ever. And not cooking. That's pretty cool, too.

I officially highly recommend sending your husband and kids, if you have them, away for a week. Maybe two.

Weird...

2011-07-12T09:28:00.000-07:00

Day one of Home Alone is past, and I have to say its a little weird. I normally have a reasonable amount of time to myself, with Rob going to work and L going to school, but its always temporary and fleeting. But now, its not as temporary, and its a little weird. I've never spent this much time alone in my house! I've never lived alone! Its very quiet...

I ate Panda Express in front of the TV last night and it was awesome. I slept great (I was afraid that I would freak out a little bit) and this morning I was thinking I should get up, but then I thought, Why? Hunger has finally gotten me out of bed, though, and I'm starting to formulate a little plan for today. There's only so much TV you can watch, right? And that dog isn't going to walk himself!

Very Weird. Not sure if I like it yet...

Sunday Night

2011-07-11T07:05:00.000-07:00

Rob and Leila are going on a trip together tomorrow, and you wanna know what's awesome? I don't have to pack anything, or prep anything! I get to sit here and eat jelly bellies and write this while Rob does all the stuff I normally have to do when we go on a trip! For the record, I did do 7 loads of laundry so all their clothes would be clean, and I packed Leila's clothes and made her clean her room, and I have offered additional help, but I have been relieved of my pre-trip duties!!

Which doesn't mean that I am not trying to exert my control over every little thing, like what Leila will wear, and whether or not they should take sleeping bags, and what kind of food Rob should bring, and where they should stop for lunch on the way. I am totally aware of this, and have called myself out, and made a blanket apology for sticking my nose in their business. In fact, earlier, when I was hearing the over-complicated machinations over their lunch plans, I said to myself, quietly, in my head, This has nothing to do with you. Don't say a word. Stay out of it. And I was able to stay that course for about an hour before I had to blurt out my opinion. Then I blurted out that I had sat on those feelings for whole hour and someone should just go ahead and give me a medal.

Maybe this is why Rob has refused my offers of help, and is happily packing away without me hanging over his shoulder telling him what socks to bring, and how to tuck them inside his shoes.

Here's another thing about Rob that made me look at him in disbelief. There is some disagreement among parents about how you are supposed to talk to your children about drugs; some say be honest about your own experiences as a stoner or an 80's coke head, others say lie, lie, lie. Today Leila asked me if I'd ever stolen anything, and before I could decide which team I'm on, truth or lies, I said "Yes," which, of course, was followed by "What did you steal?" so I told her, "Eyeliner from a drug store." Then I said, laying it on as thick as possible, "And I hated myself for it! It really ate me up inside. I never did anything like that again, I can tell you. Phew!"

So then its Rob's turn, and he says, yes, he stole a candy bar from a grocery store, (and I should point out that Leila is completely flabbergasted by the fact that we had mis-spent youths. Just wait until she asks about the drugs!) And she asks, "Did you feel bad about it?" and he's all, "Not at all! That candy bar was delicious!"

I am leaving this man in charge of my child for 6 days. He wont let me help him get ready, and he wont let me tell him what to say, and he wont let me tell him where to eat, and I just have to sit here and be okay with that. I'm not sure there is enough wine at Trader Joes...

Being Mom Sucks

2011-07-07T13:30:00.000-07:00

I'm now "Mom." I have been "Mommy" since Leila learned to talk, but recently she told me that she gets a little embarrassed calling me Mommy in front of her friends, like they're going to think she's babyish or something. So I told her that, if she wanted, she could call me Mom in front of her friends, and call me Mommy at home, but now she's just calling me Mom.

This started last week when we went to the fair, the veritable smorgasbord, and we met her good friend there, and Leila called to me from their first ride, "Mom!" which I didn't even hear because my brain is not trained to respond to Mom. (It is trained to ignore the words "Hey, Mommy:" which I am used to hearing 765 times a day.) So she called me Mom once, and then it was back to Mommy because she was having a good time and forgot to be cool.

I can tell that she is still forcing herself to say Mom, that its not coming naturally yet, but more and more she is not forgetting, and Mommy is getting the shaft. I should never have let her get her ears pierced. All this growing up is not okay with me. Before I had a daughter, I thought calling your father "Daddy" when you're past the age of 13 was gross. After I had a daughter, I completely reversed my position on this, and now Leila is starting to call Rob "Dad" and I hate it! The only time I called my dad "Daddy" as a grown woman was right after I gave birth and I was all sewn up and under the sheets, holding my new baby, and my dad came in the room and I said, "Hi, Daddy!" I don't know how, but it just slipped out.

So "Mom" it is. At least she's not calling me by my first name. My brother did that to my mom when he was a teenager and it drove her crazy. And she's not calling me "Lady" or "Asshole" so I've got that going for me. Next she's going to get her period and start smoking cigarettes and steeling sips of my wine. CANT THEY JUST STAY SMALL FOR A WHILE LONGER???????

My little baby is on this ride!!

Dinner Can Eat Me

2011-06-30T11:48:00.001-07:00

I was just at the grocery store and saw and old dude buying three bags of Werther's Originals. I always wondered who buys those and, as indicated in their advertising, its old dudes.

I was at the grocery store because a.) I am out of milk, b.) I really wanted a Twix, and c.) I had to get something for dinner. This dinner thing is such a pain in the ass. If I won the lottery, and money was no object, I'm not sure I would ever make dinner. Or I would make it, like, 5 times a year. I like to cook, and I'm a pretty good cook, but I do not like to cook at 5:30 p.m. and the worst part is not knowing what to cook, and stumbling around the house, knowing that you have to come up with something, and being totally uninspired. Its not like I have to create some gourmet feast every night or anything, but sometimes I just can't get over the hump.

I wonder, if I did win the lottery and didn't have to cook, how soon eating out or eating take out would get boring. And how much fatter I would get. I'd have a burrito one night, sushi the next, pizza the next, etc. Just dinner, though. Unless I'm having lunch with a friend, I can make a sandwich at home and I'm good.

I settled on Turkey burgers with corn for tonight. I'm hungry right now, though. I'm going to check my lottery numbers and see if I won. If I did, those turkey burgers can suck it.

Even More Summer Parenting Woes

2011-06-29T07:04:00.000-07:00

So, on Sunday, Rob and I agreed that we really needed to something together as a family. Leila has been seeing a lot of the neighbor kid, which is normally a huge relief, but we felt like we hadn't seen our kid in a while, and the two of them were starting to snipe at each other like old married people. Leila proclaimed that she wanted to do something "big" like go to the zoo, the Academy of Sciences, or the Exploratorium, all in San Francisco. A lot to ask from a kid with no job. We said no way josé, because who on earth wants to go to any of these places on a beautiful weekend? and later we realized that not only was it pride weekend, but also there was a huge concert in the park. I think I would have rather spent the day cleaning my bathroom than braving city streets on this particular weekend, and we all know that I would rather spend a day in prison than clean my bathroom.

So we decided to go to the beach. Not a bad deal, right? The beach! Who doesn't love the beach? Apparently, little miss pain-in-my-ass doesn't like the beach because she started laying down all the conditions under which she would submit herself to a trip to the beach, like that she had to bring a friend, like that she didn't want to walk on the beach, like there had to be ice cream involved. And this was after her disappointed whining that she didn't want to go to the beach at all. Probably because it doesn't involve spending my money.

So, I lost my shit, as moms sometimes do, and I gave her the old, "There are children your age working in factories!! Working 12 hours a day! Earning money for their families! Taking care of their younger siblings! Living in huts! I ASK YOU FOR NOTHING! And when we say you're going to the beach, you WILL GO! And you wont RUIN IT for the rest of us!!" I left out the "you spoiled little bitch!" part, even thought that's what I was thinking.

Then, while Leila was sufficiently scared of the crazy lady in the kitchen and went to get ready for the beach, I got the business from Rob about maybe not yelling and going nuts. I wanted to yell at him and go nuts again! So I gave him the old, "You're not here all week, driving her to and fro, entertaining her friends, getting grief every time you need to go on an errand and her highness doesn't feel like it, and you don't have to drop everything you're doing and make a grilled cheese sandwich only to hear that one side is over done so its inedible, and you don't have to hear her whine every time she doesn't get her way!" And then I was all, "I know you want only happy family harmony when you're home, but I GET TO YELL WHEN I FEEL LIKE YELLING!"

I also added that yelling works. I don't yell often. In fact, I think I should yell more, but when I yell and lose it and call her ungrateful, she does whatever I say for about 48 hours. Totally worth the rise in blood pressure. Weren't you just a little bit afraid of your parents? Mine scared the living shit out of me.

We went on to a have a completely lovely day at the beach. Even Leila said it was fun, and if I had only told her we were going to walk the dog on the beach, she wouldn't have thrown a fit. Lying sack...

More Summer Parenting Woes

2011-06-24T12:12:00.000-07:00

So I was hungover this morning. Had a little too much fun with my girls last night, and slept in until 9:30 while Leila watched decorating shows and ate dry cereal. (tangent: She loves Divine Design on HGTV, and yesterday we were watching together and she's all, "I bet she's going to choose and L shaped sectional." and as if scripted, at that moment the host says, "I chose a beautiful L shaped sectional!")

I stumbled out of bed, had a nice, salty breakfast with a coke, and we began to formulate a plan for the day which involved getting dressed, having lunch, practicing piano (not me, just her) and then later a trip to her grandma's while I went to a work meeting.

The way she reacted to my insistence on getting dressed and practicing piano, you would have thought that I had asked her to scrub the toilet with her toothbrush while listening to modern classical composers. So I lost it. I gave her the old, "after all the fun camp stuff I signed you up for, and the sleeping in and watching TV in your pajamas, and the epic playdates and all that stuff, I'm asking you to practice piano for 15 minutes, and you can't do this one thing???!!!" and then she says, "But I've forgotten everything! How can I practice piano if I don't remember anything?!" and I'm all, "You just had your last piano lesson a week ago, I don't believe that you've forgotten anything at all!" and this goes back and forth (note to self: do not engage in ridiculous arguments; just repeatedly tell child what to do and add ever-worsening consequences for non-compliance. Repeat: do not get sucked in to child's big bag of bullshit.) and finally ends with her stomping off with a "Fine!!! I'll just do it now!!!" What a freakin' drama queen. Remember on Will and Grace where Jack would say, "This is a huff, and I'm leaving in it!" That should be Leila's line. She's so tortured! Poor baby!

At that moment the doorbell rings, and its her bestie from across the street and she wants to know if Leila can come to the city with them for the afternoon, but they have to leave right now. Leila runs and gets dressed and I shitcan my whole disciplinarian parent thing and let her go, without practicing piano, or even brushing her hair or teeth.

I feel like I just stole all my own thunder. But its totally worth it for a day of peace and quiet. But God as my witness, that child will practice piano when she gets home if I have to shackle her to the damn thing.

Bored Housewife has Bored Children

2011-06-22T12:46:00.000-07:00

The children are bored. They have been moping around all day. Nothing to do. Rooms full of plastic crap, and nothing to do.

Leila's bestie lives across the street. This morning, they were over there watching YouTube videos and when her friend's mom made them stop, they decided to come over here, thinking we moms are morons. So I squashed their dreams and told them no screens today. Ha! Take that! Then they went back across the street, where they were further oppressed by mean parents. They find it absurd and brutish that we don't feel like dropping everything we're doing to get in our cars and take them somewhere where we can spend money on them and stand around while they maybe have fun, but maybe whine that it isn't as fun as they thought it would be. How weird that we would rather do what is on our own agendas, like work, or laundry, or blogging.

So they dangled on my sofa, with sad, sorry faces, practically in tears, coming up with the most unrealistic ideas in the world. They actually wanted me to to take them somewhere to buy lumber so they could build a playhouse in my backyard. I had to wonder if they had been drinking. I explained that I did not consider it my responsibility to entertain them, and then the whole thing about that I was not going drop what I was dong to take them somewhere, and the friend says to me, "What are you doing exactly?" and I said I was cleaning my house, but what I really should have said was "its none of your damn business." Then I made lunch for these sad sacks, and then they start talking about how maybe they should do a science project, which means taking stuff out of my fridge and cupboards and making a mess in the kitchen I just cleaned. I took a deep breath and kept my mouth shut. Then Leila says, "if only we could drive to the Exploratorium and go to gift shop and buy a chemistry set..." Has she learned nothing? My response was, "Yeah, how likely do you think that is?" Then she said, "Can we go to Cold Stone?" HAVE YOU LISTENED TO A WORD I'VE SAID? I was thinking about taking them to get frozen yogurt later, but now they're just pissing me off.

Now they have settled on making sugar cookies. I am staying out of it, letting them read the recipe, use the mixer, crack eggs, and it is a struggle. At least they're done moping. For now.

Hot

2011-06-21T11:45:00.000-07:00

Its hot. Its butt hot. Its hella hot. I hate hot. Last night I was so miserable in the heat that I made rob take me to Cheesecake Factory for dinner because I needed a mojito in the worst way, and I didn't know where else to go for one. They also make a killer beet salad. It normally has too many beets, so I order it "easy on the beets." I could eat three of those salads. Not only because I'm a pig, but because that salad is on the small plates menu, so three of them would just about make a full salad.

Today L is at her first day of summer camp. She'll be there all day, and I hope she has a good time. She's been so looking forward to it, and so have I. I am going to the movies today to suck up some air conditioning and some buttered popcorn. I just made a batch of gazpacho soup for myself for later. No one in this house likes it but me. I could drink that stuff by the gallon. I wonder if its just the Clamato juice that I love, but I've never tried it on its own. I really should have doubled the recipe. It would still be gone by then end of the day. Can't get enough of it. Yesterday I just lolled around the house all day. L had a friend over, and they played with the hose, and I watched a bunch of good TV that had been recorded over the weekend. I think I'll go watch some more good TV until its time to leave for the movie. It is just too hot to do anything else...

Day One

2011-06-10T11:59:00.000-07:00

First day of summer vacay! Woo Hoo! I asked L what she wanted to do on her first day of freedom, and she said, "stay in my pajamas and watch TV." No problem! Its noon, and she's in her PJs watching Kung Fu Panda with her bestie, and I am doing laundry and straightening up. I made her a bacon and peanut butter sandwich for breakfast, per her highness' request, and she is happy as a clam. A clam in pajamas, watching TV.

For my part, I slept in, chatted on the phone in bed, got up at 9:30, threw laundry in, and started cleaning up this disaster I call a house. I am now facing the annual challenge of what to do with all the crap she brought home from school. Her artwork, clay projects, writing journals, math workbooks, etc. I am not one of those moms that sentimentalizes every piece of paper my child has ever written on. I keep less that 1% of what she makes, and the rest goes quietly in the recycling bin. But when these kids are home on summer vacation, they're around all the time, and I can't just got through her stuff and weed out the one or two things that I want to keep, and toss the rest while she's sitting right in front of me.

Here's the other thing. Every school year, parents are asked to contribute to a fund for school supplies. We don't have to go to office supply places and stock up on things (we did one year, and it was super annoying) so we just hand the school $40 and let them take care of it. But when I went through all Leila's notebooks and workbooks and stuff, most of them were at least 2/3 empty. Lots of blank paper and math exercises. And, she came home with all he crayons and pencils and glue sticks and stuff, which is fine, but she also came home with the plastic container to hold all the stuff, and I'm thinking, Really? She needs three notebooks and a number of file folder thingies, and two math workbooks and a plastic container for her accouterments, and she can't reuse any of this stuff next year? She can't take her empty notebooks to fourth grade? The teacher can't put some other kids name on that container and not send it home to clutter up my house?

I don't get it. I am all for abundant resources for children, but this is a little silly. I will give them my $40 and be done with it anyway, but Jeez!

Jeez

2011-06-09T07:48:00.000-07:00

Today was a good day. I was really nervous about how much it was going to cost to fix my car. I feel like I'm just bleeding money these days. I went to pick it up, and IT COST NOTHING! The problem was two cracked spark plugs which they replaced free of charge. Not even $20 for the labor or anything! And the car runs great! I love when stuff like this happens. You grow to expect a certain amount of buffoonery from people, a certain amount of unscrupulous business practice, but not at Larkspur Gas and Service, I tell you!

Tomorrow is the last day of third grade. I have had a number of not-so-subtle reminders that the kid is growing up so fast, like the earrings in her formerly un-adorned ears, the baby shoes I found in the garage last weekend and cried over, and the fact that, in my head, third grade started about a week ago, and I am just getting up to speed. Tomorrow she will go to an assembly in the gym where the third graders are handed the proverbial baton from the outgoing fourth graders, and I just can't believe it. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN????

So, a word to all you parents out there with kids younger than 9. THIS WILL HAPPEN TO YOU! You will also look back on your young childrens' lives and wonder what the hell happened to 9 years, and it will scare the living shit out of you just like it is scaring the living shit out of me. Everyone tells you to savor every minute while your kids are little, and it is unbelievably hard to do. I'm too busy savoring peace and quiet! And naps! And reruns of Sex and the City! So I will not tell you to savor every minute. Instead, I will tell you to do your best.

How the hell did this happen? How did I get all weepy? This always happens at the end of the school year. I always get sentimental. Would you feel better if I told you my 'rhoids were acting up today? Or that I let a fart rip in the library, and it was a stinky one?

Nothing Special

2011-06-06T09:14:00.000-07:00

Hey, guys. Its the last week of school. Just one last push till the end, and then we can stay in our pajamas and watch decorating shows. Our house is still not under construction, and I don't know when it will be, so in the meantime? Decorating shows.

I wont go too far into it, but we met with our contractor and talked some scary numbers. Rob is taking his typical approach, which is to dance blithely forward and not worry that we will go absolutely broke, while I worry enough for the both of us. Rob actually thinks that, since the numbers we have are only an estimate, we could come in lower and have money left over. His optimism is adorable and stupid. Everyone knows that all construction projects go long and over budget, and lately I've learned that many people wind up having to get a new car in the middle of their project, too. I'm screwed, but I can't go back. I mean, I can go back, but now that I've glimpsed the possibilities, I really don't want to. I will have that dining room, and I will have that new kitchen, and so what if we can't have a floor or door knobs because we run out of money?

We also have to get our fence fixed and take our car in for service. Why don't I just crack open all the bank accounts and make it a free-for-all? Here! Take all my money!!

Also, we haven't seen the sun in weeks. Normally, I love rainy weather. I still don't mind it that much, but its June so I'm wearing flip flops, because that's what you do when its June, and my feet keep getting wet, and I keep squishing around in my shoes.

I got nothin'. Sorry to have wasted your time.

I just had Food

2011-06-01T07:37:00.000-07:00

I'm in a mood. I'm getting my period, and I'm full, and there's nothing for dessert in my house, and I'm in a mood.

You know what song I've had in my head for the last three days? This one:

I can't stop singing it, which is kind of a problem since my daughter is nine and I have to hmm hmm over the words. I even downloaded it on iTunes so I can sing to it in my car.

Enjoy! I promise it will get you out of any funk you happen to be in, if only for a moment.

2011-05-27T10:29:00.001-07:00

I can't talk right now. I'm washing sheets and vacuuming floors and even mopping. I know, right? Its just about 10:30 a.m.: nap time...

I am so lame and Disgusting Part Deux

2011-05-26T10:23:00.000-07:00

K from Ed. commented on my last post that we should all admit, anonymously of course, how often we actually wash our sheets and/or our family's sheets compared to how often we think we should wash them. I was game for this until I realized that, even though I admit all kinds of embarrassing things here on this blog (remember the hemorrhoids?) I'm not sure I want to admit this. I will say that I was looking for something on my daughter's bed yesterday and I noticed there was a layer of dust on the upper corner of her fitted sheet. That can't be good.

Okay, fine, twist my arm: I meant to wash my sheets when we came home from Disneyland because the cat had been shedding on them unabated the whole time we were gone, but instead I just used the lint brush to get the hair off, and have slept like a baby ever since.

We got back from Disneyland a while ago...

I hate changing sheets! I love a clean bed, but changing sheets is a pain in the ass. I don't know if it is the same for everyone, but in my tiny bedroom, there is very little space to walk around the bed and tuck everything in, and make it neat, and then the cat gets very curious and decides to nap on what your are trying to fluff, and then I get all sweaty and out of breath because I'm in such terrible shape. I sleep just fine on my nasty sheets, thank you very much.

Oprah gets hers changed every three days. But she's Oprah. I'm surprised she doesn't have them changed every day. I'm surprised she doesn't sleep on a cloud of perfect cleanliness held up by angels who sing her to sleep with soft lullabies, and bring her breakfast on a tray. Did you watch Oprah yesterday? I do love that woman.

Here's the best: Putting freshly washed sheets on the bed, taking a shower (which I have to do after making the bed because of the sweating) shaving your legs, putting on fresh pj's (or no pjs, that's pretty good, too) and then getting into the clean bed. Mmmmm. I think I might go strip my bed right now and enjoy this little vignette tonight.

Or maybe I'll eat some kettle corn and make a few calls...

p.s. The pillow washing TOTALLY WORKED! Its like having a new pillow. In fact, I'm having a little trouble getting used to sleeping on it because it is so crazy fluffy. Here's what I did: Washed the down pillow in cold water and the delicate cycle. Dried it in the dryer on no heat with a clean tennis ball (not tennis shoes, like my mom suggested.) I ran the dryer about six times. Apparently, that was more than enough. I also put my pillow out in the sun because it was so cool to the touch that I thought it was damp. Turns out, it wasn't. I wish I had taken before and after pics, the difference is astounding!

I am so lame and Disgusting

2011-05-25T08:49:00.000-07:00

I heard this thing recently where this lady said that you should get new pillows every couple of years. Maybe she is a servant of the pillow council or something, but it got me to thinking about my down pillow, and how its been feeling a little flat lately. So when I was with my friend last week, I asked her about her down pillows, and she automatically said, "I know, they're flat, I need new ones." But what I wanted to know is how often she buys new pillows, and she said that hers were a few years old.

I did the math, and here's the thing: The pillow I sleep on now was $80 at Macys when my mom bought it for me before I went away to college. I have been laying my pretty little head on the same, probably dustmite* infested, bag of feathers and dead skin and oil for 23 YEARS!!! I've never washed it. Didn't know you could wash a down pillow, until the internet told me I could.

23 years. I told my mom this, and she gave me permission to buy a new pillow. My husband said, Good God, woman, buy a new pillow. But its my pillow! I love my pillow! I get nervous about hotel pillows when I travel because they might be too hard or soft and they're not the same as my pillow. Of course, I don't worry about the hotel pillow being nasty since I haven't washed my pillow in 23 years so mine is probably nastier than anything Marriott can come up with. Although, now that I'm thinking about it, I don't really want to think about how gross hotel pillows can be...

So, rather than spend money on a new pillow, I washed mine today. It is currently in the dryer on the delicate setting bouncing around with a tennis ball, just like the good housekeeping website told me to do. If it falls apart or doesn't come out good, or the dust mites get angry and carry it away, I will buy a new pillow, but for now, its my beloved pillow and I'm keeping it.

So there.

* Dustmites are a microscopic bug that love California. Everyone here has them, even if they are super clean freaks. They cause lots of allergy problems for me, my husband, my dog, etc. The idea of them is gross, but not as gross as, say, bedbugs.

Whoa.

2011-05-23T13:16:00.000-07:00

We had a momentous occasion in our family this weekend. Watch:

Look at my big girl!!!

My New Love

2011-05-20T08:49:00.000-07:00

Sorry, sorry, I know, I know; where have I been? I have a good excuse. I was in Seattle with my new boyfriend, Reed. He has no teeth, thin hair, chicken legs and weighs 8 pounds. I am super in love with that guy!

Turns out, managing a newborn baby is like riding a bike. I did it nine years ago, and it all came flooding back. Not scary, not agitating, its just a baby, not a space ship. Even getting up with him in the middle of the night was a total joy. He has cheeks like hamburger buns! And the best part was that when his little butt turned into a cannon and shot poop across the kitchen, I wasn't his mother so I could just walk outside for some air and let her clean it up! I think grandmother-hood is going to be awesome.

Also, my friend, Reed's mother, lets me boss her around. I love to tell people how to run their lives, and she was just exhausted and anxious enough to let me. Normally, I am pretty good at boundaries, but they went out the window, and I openly mocked her foolishness while doing things my way, and then she thanked me. Can you believe that?

Now I'm home. My mom asked me if I would want to have another baby, and the answer is no. I would gladly take my Reed for a 24-hour period each week, but I don't want to have to do all the other stuff, like potty training, preschool fundraisers, piano recitals, etc. God, potty training sucks. It still makes me excited when I hear L go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Its just amazing to me that she ever learned to do that! I have a neighbor who told me when we were in the thick of the potty training, that one day she would be 12 and I would say to myself, "Can't you just shit your pants again?"

Woof.

2011-05-10T10:09:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was rough parenting day, man. Woof. Starting with the Mother's day snub, moving on to the crazy-mom yell-a-thon, and then, after school, when I expected contrition and apologies, because that's what usually happens, we continued to fight.

She should really be a scorpio instead of a capricorn. We were trying to talk things out and get to the bottom of why she was being so vile, and all she could say was, "I'm just a BAD KID! I have no SELF CONTROL at all! I'm just bad!" which drives me crazy because I feel manipulated into making her feel better about herself while I'm mad at her. So we talked and talked, and then she devised punishments for herself that I didn't think were warranted, but I also think she knew I wouldn't take her up on them.

I told her no playdates for the week, and she was pissy about that, so she spent the afternoon in her room listening to her infernal audiobooks. She emerged at dinner time, and was just as sullen and rude as ever! Folks, this is unprecedented. Usually, we have a fight, I yell, she sees the error of her ways and cries and apologizes, and then we talk and hug it out and we move on with our lives. Luckily, I'd informed Rob earlier in the day that we had to be a united front against the rudeness because normally he's the good cop and I'm the bad cop. He'll be all "Sweety, honey, mommy and daddy just want you to behave, okay sweetie, honey, bunny?" while I want to scream in her little face.

We sent her to bed without letting her read, and she cried and I watched with a sympathetic look on my face, and explained that mothers and daughters fight, and that this was only the beginning, and it was normal and okay. Then we hugged, and she finally -FINALLY - went to sleep.

This morning she was better and I was better, and we were better and I'm relieved. I was totally distracted and exhausted and sad yesterday. This and hemorrhoids? Seriously?

Mother's Day Effing Sucks

2011-05-09T08:31:00.000-07:00

For all of you readers who have little babies or even have shrieking toddlers, this is what you have to look forward to:

Please tell me exactly what drug my daughter was on when she wrote me this Mother's Day poem:

Ode to Mom

Ode to my mom, who is nice as a tulip. (so far, so good)
You are as elegant as a polar bear. (wha?)
You are as sweet as a square.
You are as light as a cloud.
You remind me of Texas full of love.
You like shrimp, your favorite meat. (true...)
You remind me of fall, so colorful.
You're good at cooking everything. (says the girl who eats nothing.)
I love going to museums with you. (?)
Thank you for being great.

I know I shouldn't be snarky about this. I know I'll probably go to hell for it, but COME ON! I remind her of Texas? What the fuck?

Then, I asked her on Sunday if there was anything she wanted to say to me, and she went in her room and wrote this:

Followed this morning by, "I'm so glad Mother's Day is over." as if ALL THE EFFORT (none) that she put into Mother's Day was simply exhausting.

That last comment put me over the edge this morning and I gave her what for and froze her out all the way to school. Little shit.

Its a Lame World

2011-05-06T08:36:00.000-07:00

I want to talk just a little more about Disneyland, specifically, A Small World. The last time we went to Disney, L was 5, and we went on that ride about 7 times. She loved it, so I loved it, and I was able to use feelings of parental loveyness to cope with listening to that song over and over.

A few years ago, there was a news story that they were having to rehab the small world ride because Americans were getting so fat that the little boats were bottoming out in the canals. That's the first thing. Then, there's the fact that as you go by some of the larger sets, you can see that they are plywood and in your mind you can see the carpenter using his jigsaw and paintbrush to create that glacier.

But here's the part that gets me every time: On the other Disney rides, like Pirates and Alice in Wonderland and stuff, the inside is lit and decorated with Disney magic so you can't see the ceiling. This doesn't seem like a big deal because you're not supposed to be staring at the ceiling when you're on these rides, but Pirates of the Caribbean is, like, 13 minutes long, and on the third time it gets a little old, so you start looking past the pirates and wenches at the walls and ceiling and how they make the fire, and you can't suss out any of the magic tricks! Its completely seamless, except for the occasional exit sign.

Small World, not so much. All I can look at when I'm on that ride is the ceiling! You can clearly see the acoustic ceiling tiles and you are constantly reminded that you are not in a fantasy land but in a cinder block box that should be found in an office park. Its so distracting! At least on the other rides you can suspend disbelief a little bit, but on Small World you just feel like a loser riding around in a little boat through a flooded warehouse of mardi gras props. I expect more from Disney.

The best part of that ride this time was that once was enough for L. In fact, at the end of the ride, she said, out loud, what we all feel when we finally exit: "God, that song is annoying."

What We Do for our Children

2011-05-02T08:10:00.000-07:00

This past week, we went to southern California to go to Disneyland. We went for two days, about 14 hours on our feet each day. The first day L did not want to go on many rides and Rob didn't feel well, and it was hot and more crowded than I thought it would be. The second day there was nothing Leila wouldn't go on, and it was super fun. It cost a couple hundred bucks for L to ease into things, but this is not what the title of this post is referring to.

What I am referring to in the title, the sacrifices that we make for these ankle biters, is not the endless days spent at theme parks, or the day-long car trips to get to these theme parks; I'm talking about hemorrhoids.

If you have ever been pregnant, you know that hemorrhoids are an almost inevitable byproduct of this most feminine state. Lucky is the woman who gives birth without having to deal with one of these little honeys. After I gave birth, that whole area burned like a mother-effer, but it was the hemorrhoid, not the other thing, that was giving me the most trouble. If you are one of the lucky people out there who has never experienced a hemorrhoid, via pregnancy or a diet devoid of fiber, allow me to 'splain: It feels like you have a triangular tortilla chip stuck in your corn hole (no maize pun intended.) TMI? Okay, moving on.

Normally, my little friend is very manageable and I spend very little time thinking about him (because you know something this irritating is male.) But for some reason, on this trip, my bowels were acting very strangely indeed, and that tortilla chip was extra salty. I hadn't brought any of my miracle witch hazel pads with me, since I hadn't anticipated any problems, but I spent a few days (yes, DAYS) debating whether to go to the local CVS and stock up.

Unfortunately, there is no CVS at Disneyland, and that was where I was when I just couldn't take it anymore. I was walking funny, and was very distracted and unhappy. So this is what I did. I started by making Rob ask a popcorn vendor where one might go for an embarrassing personal problem. He directed us to the first aid station, which is really like a little urgent care unit right behind Main Street. There were some girls getting bandaids for the blisters on their feet, and a mom holding a feverish toddler with an ear infection (I felt for that mom, too. In addition to her probable hemorrhoid, she had come all the way from Canada to sit in a hotel room with a cranky, sick baby.) And then there was me. I asked the nice lady behind the counter if she had any hemorrhoid medication. I died inside a little. She said, no, but she called some other place and they had some Preparation H. She directed me to a coffee shop further up Main Street. Why A coffee shop has this particular thing and the first aid station doesn't is beyond me.

So I went up to the coffee shop and asked if this was the Market House, and the nice Disney lady said yes, what could she help me find, and here's how it went:

Her: "Are you looking for something in particular?"
Me: "Its too embarrassing."
Her: "Deodorant?"
Me: "No, worse."
Her: "That time of the month?"
Me: "Even worse. I need some prprshun H."
Her: "Oh, sure, we have that!"

Bless that woman for being discreet and relaxed and not mocking me. I'm sure she mocked me later with her friends, but who can blame her? It was $11.91, and I had exactly $12. Thank God.

The nearest bathroom was between Frontierland and Adventureland, and that was where I was further humiliated, even though I was alone in a stall. By the time I stepped off the Jungle cruise a little while later, I was a new woman. Thank you, Disneyland, and you're welcome, Leila.

I would also like to take this opportunity to welcome the long-awaited and much exalted arrival of Little Reed, who hopefully did not leave any hemorrhoids behind, and who will bring tons of love and joy and trips to theme parks to his wonderful and deserving parents. Congratulations!

7 hour Boondoggle

2011-04-20T08:20:00.000-07:00

Last week was L's spring break and I decided to take a breather from my usual mode of planning absolutely nothing and letting her stay in pajamas all week, and put some fun stuff on the calendar. She went to the zoo, roller skating, and then we took our annual day trip up to the snow.

Normally, Rob comes along and does the driving and takes over on the slopes when my knees give out, but this time he had to work, so my friend, E, said she would drive and we would all go together; me, L, E, and E's son.

The kids were all dialed in in the back seat. Playing games on their devices, then watching movies on the DVD player and they hardly noticed when around two thirds of the way there it started snowing. We were aware of the possibility, but you know how those meteorologists are liars and just make things up to torture me, like telling me its going to be 80 when its really 95, and telling me there's a 30% chance of rain when the sun is out. 50% chance of snow showers usually means, "Clear skies! Have a great day skiing!" but this time it actually snowed.

The kids thought this was awesome. They'd never seen snow falling from the sky before, just piles of it on the ground when their parents had respected the weather report and driven up there under blue skies. But E and I are California girls. In spite of her Ford Explorer, we were nervous about driving in snow, having to put on chains, or getting snowed in up there. To the more experience snow person, this was probably nothing to get in a dither about, but we were going 40 and white knuckling it.

Long story short, we didn't ski or tube, but we did let the kids play in the snow between the lodge and the parking lot for an hour, and then we drove home. We left at 8 in the morning, were home by 4:30, and had a delicious lunch at Denny's. Then the kids played Wii for the rest of the afternoon because 7 hours of games and movies in the car wasn't enough.

I still had fun, though. E and I had a nice long chat, and my burger was good. And I crossed Wednesday off the spring break list.

Snow angels in the parking lot

our view of the kids from the lodge. Awesome parenting...

Banjo is my Bitch!

2011-04-18T11:16:00.000-07:00

People, I may have solved the whole birth control pill mystery, but this remodel thing is sucking up every last bit of creative juice I have. I have gotten whole educations in kitchen cabinets, appliances, flooring, windows, sky lights, you name it.

I'm in a bit of a holding pattern now, though. I may have to go check out some tile, but there are no decisions I need to make or research I need to do, so I can finally get back to the blissful world of laundry and making dinner. Awesome.

I made a big push yesterday and cleaned up this joint, so I'm not as busy today as I thought I would be. The laundry machines are workin' hard, and the dust is scared of me, as well it should be. This afternoon I have to help L with her local history project that we failed to do over spring break. Just completely forgot about it. Probably because I was busy looking at pictures of built in media cabinets on the interweb.

You wanna know what I did yesterday? I had been having trouble with my roomba (named Banjo.) He started making a ka-chunk ka chunk sound and then would tell me I needed to clean the brushes even though the brushes were completely clean. I retired him for a while, I just didn't want to deal, and yesterday I said to Rob, "Could you run Banjo, see if he makes the sound, and if he does, fix it?" Sometimes, even I, feminist, former breadwinner and drip system installer, wants the nearest available male (or lesbian if she possesses these kinds of skills) to fix things.

I really should know better.

He did turn on the roomba, it did make the sound and tell him to clean the brushes, which he did, twice, even though they were already clean, and then he did some yoga. I got out of the shower expecting to see him hunched over the thing, screwdriver in hand, tinkering, or at least at the computer doing a little research on what could be going wrong, and instead I found him doing warrior pose in his shorts.

So I did the internet research, I took the whole thing apart with a screwdriver, I cleaned the little gears that the internet told me to clean, with a tweezer! and then I put it all back together and SUCCESS! Some lesbian Rob turned out to be...

The Fog Lifted, The Angels Sang!

2011-04-04T12:51:00.000-07:00

I figured it out, my darlings, I figured it out.

I don't know if you've noticed, but I've been a little out of it lately. Uninspired, grumbly, tired, irritable, no zeal, no zest, no nothin'. I haven't wanted to write this blog, and that hasn't happened in the whole TWO YEARS I've been doing this. Those last few blog posts were dragged out of me by sheer duty to y'all and fear of losing you, and I started to wonder, Is this it? Am I done? Do I actually have nothing more to say? The very idea that I will ever be quiet is ludicrous. My yap is a force of nature bigger than myself, and I will never shut up. Even if I'm boring your to tears, even if you've heard this one before, I always have something to go on and on about without the use of commas or personal filters.

So the other day, I'm hanging with one of my homeys, and all I wanted to do is go home and sit on my sofa and cry, and I figured out whats been afflicting me:

The pharmacy changed my birth control pills and sent me generic! You wouldn't think that a little, blue, low dose pill could reek this much havoc, but mine is a delicate system, all kept in balance by these little honeys, and 18 days of the wrong thing sent me spiraling downward! I haven't taken a pill since Thursday, and, man, I am a whole new woman! Or, at least, I'm the woman I was a few weeks ago. If I was a whole new woman, I would have picked the model that likes to exercise and has smaller feet.

Its great to be back, people! I am awake! I am smiling! I am engaged with humanity! I'm doing laundry, and going grocery shopping, and it doesn't suck as much as it did last week! And I wanted to write again, which is truly a relief. I've never had a hobby that has stuck until this blog, and I was really afraid that the well was dry. But its not! Halle - freakin - lujah!

Okay so here's the thing. I keep saying "Have a good one!" to people. Bagger at the grocery store: "Have a good one!" Mailman: "Have a good one!" Daughter: "Have a good one!" Every time it comes out of my mouth I cringe. My mother used to say this to me as I was leaving for school in a sad attempt to be cool, and now I'm saying it.

Today I actually said, "Have a great one!" Must be another effect of the wrong pills; last week I wanted you to have a merely good one, this week I want you to have a GREAT one. I have to stop, but it keeps flying out of my face! What is a good substitute? I don't want to say "Have a nice day." It just sounds snarky. So what? I actually mean it when I tell the bank teller to Have a good one. I'm a nice person. I'm sincere. I sincerely want her to have a good one. A good what, though? Day? Lunch? Commute? Nooner?

I am accepting recommendations. Have a good one.

Harumph

2011-03-30T08:50:00.000-07:00

This remodeling thing is either the best idea I've ever had, or the worst. I am not sleeping well, and I think the initial rush of adrenaline has worn off and now I'm just annoyed. I'm learning all kinds of things about building codes and how my house doesn't meet them and I'm really afraid that after all this hope, my plans will be dashed by codes and permits and I'll be stuck using tongs to reach my food in the upper cabinet where it lives for the rest of my life. I'm very grumbly. And tired.

Today is Home and Hearth Day, which is my euphemistic way of saying my house is a complete mess, there are a pile of bills that need to be paid and laundry that needs to be folded and groceries that need to be acquired. No pencils and tracing paper, no decorating shows, no trips to cabinet show rooms, none of it.

You know what's great about unpaid bills? For a brief period, there's a lot of money in my bank account just sitting there. It makes me feel like I could go shopping and get new plates or something. Its like a little fantasy lottery win. And then I pay the bills and the money is gone and the fantasy is crushed.

Can you tell I'm crabby? But spring seems to be here, and I have marigolds to plant, and I bought some strawberries to eat so maybe things will look up. I have to go to bed earlier, too, that would help...

Abe Lincoln

2011-03-21T07:16:00.000-07:00

Normally, I don't like to write about dreams I've had. Its boring to everyone but me. No one wants to hear about anyone else' dreams, unless they're in them, and especially if they're in them naked. But this dream I had last weekend has stuck with me all week because of its sheer dorkishness, so bear with me.

I dreamed that Rob and I were having a conversation about Abe Lincoln, and I was saying something about him in the past tense or whatever and Rob said, "What are you talking about? Abraham lincoln isn't dead! Why would you think that?" and then I reflected for a moment and was all, "Oh my God I'm so stupid! Of course he's not dead! What was I thinking?" and we laughed and laughed at how stupid I was.

When the alarm went off, I was sure Abe Lincoln was alive, and that there was no reason he shouldn't be. I even did partially awake math in my head to figure out how old he would be, and, at first, the math indicated that he could indeed be alive, but as I opened my eyes and got more awake, I realized he would at least 200 years old. So, no: probably not alive.

Fast forward to Friday night, a full week later, when Rob and I went to the movies (we saw The Lincoln Lawyer*, ironically) and there was a preview for a movie called The Conspirator about the assassination of Abe Lincoln, and I just had to put my head in my hands and shake my head at my actual, not dreamed, stupidity; Abe Lincoln was assassinated, you idiot! Of course he's not alive! Jeez!

No wonder this dream stayed with me all week! My addled 40 year-old brain was trying to get me to remember one of the most significant events in American history! God, I'm stupid.

Last night I had a dream that one of my au pairs was working for Charlie Sheen. I wont go into it, though. You're welcome.

* The Lincoln Lawyer, starring Matthew Mconohay (I know that's not how you spell his name, in spite of my stupidity) is okay. Its a clever courtroom drama in which Matthew M. plays himself, and Marisa Tomei is oddly made up. Not sure it was worth a regular admission ticket, it felt like a really good TV episode, but it was fine, and I got to eat a Chipotle burrito bowl beforehand which was, as always, delicious.

This is the Stuff

2011-03-18T08:36:00.000-07:00

It is windy and cloudy and there is a chance of thunderstorms, and a 100% chance of rain this afternoon. I freakin' love this weather!!!! Just walked the kid and the dog in the wind, and it is just the best. Don't have a lot on my plate today, so I'm just going to snuggle in, watch some decorating shows, read Oprah, sleep, and be generally sloth-like. To all those people who are bitching and moaning because they can't ride their bikes or go running or hike 12 miles, you don't know what's good.

I love when the wind rattles my house and makes my chimney howl. I have a fluffy dog, wooly socks and half a leftover chocolate cake: what else does a girl need?

In other news, I had steak tar tar last night, with a raw quail egg on it. It was delicious. Lately I feel so bloated, though, I feel like I just can't bend at the waist. I have eaten out a lot (its birthday season in my family) but I've preparing for these outings by eating smoothies and light food the rest of the day, often skipping a meal, so I don't think my calorie intake is any higher than usual. I just feel like there's a blown-up balloon in my belly.

Hey, does anyone reading this have and Ikea kitchen that they can honestly review for me?

Have a great weekend!

$ummer

2011-03-17T17:56:00.000-07:00

If you happen to have kids, you know that while the frost is still on the new buds, and its still raining, and the heater is still popping on in the morning, you have to start thinking about summer. Scratch that: you have to plan your entire summer. Camps are filled by April, camping sites are booked, and airplanes are filling up. I am so not ready to start thinking about summer. If you've read me for any length of time, you know I hate the heat, so there's that, but this year is especially confusing.

With this, maybe, impending construction, it throws everything up in the air. I don't know if we'll even be living in our house during the summer, which means that L's stuff will be all packed up, and we might not go anywhere, and she is going to have to have something to do. Last year we didn't go anywhere and she wasn't signed up for any camps. We just stared at each other all summer long. It was excruciating. For both of us.

So this year I have done a little research and I am actually contemplating spending an ungodly amount of money for 20 days of day camp that we can use whenever we feel like it during the summer. This way, no matter where we travel or what we do to our house, I can stash her at camp when I need to, and we can get out of each other's hair. Thing is, I am having trouble pulling the trigger. For what I will pay for this camp, I could probably buy half of my kitchen cabinets. Or two new windows. Or a room of hardwood floor. God, its expensive.

So I am thinking of it as the first of our construction expenses. I have fantasies about being a little DIY goddess and refinishing my own doors and doing my own painting, and if I'm going to do this, little girl is going to have to disappear for 7 hours at a pop. And if I don't get to do any construction, and I am sad and depressed all summer, I will go to this camp, and she can hang out with my mom.

This place has a "cafe" that is open all day. I could eat ALL DAY! They also have a reading room, and all kinds of crafts and stuff, it looks so fun! How fun would it be to have a bunch of adults go to camp? We'd just have to add a cocktail making class and a construction-for-middle-aged, out-of-shape women class, and it would be AWESOME!

Yucatan if you want To*

2011-03-15T09:08:00.000-07:00

I have been getting a lot of manicures lately. It started out as an indulgent little treat, but now its getting boring. I feel a little stuck in it now because without a manicure my nails look wrecked, and I could do it myself at home, but I like changing colors. Its the most spoiled and ridiculous "problem." Anyway, I was at the manicure place yesterday, alone, no one to talk to, can't read the In Style magazine because my hands are otherwise occupied, but there are two women behind me getting pedicures, so I decide to eaves drop.

Here's the "problem:" They whispered all the good parts of the conversation. I learned that the one woman's husband's name is Steve, and they seem to be having some issues. This is what I heard: " So I glance and Steve's computer and I see this Twitter thing that says pssswssswssswsssswsssss and I didn't know if I should bring it up to him, so I asked pssswssswss and she said that her husband pssswssswssswsss." COME ON! Throw a girl a bone! I was getting very irritated, I almost turned my head around and said "make this interesting, please! I'm bored over here!" If you're going to get into the nitty gritty in the manicure place, don't whisper. Its just rude! It was clear that they were talking about marriage and sex and suspicion, but all the good parts were bleeped out. Most boring manicure EVER.

I have a day with nothing on the calendar today. I'm still full from eating my weight in Mexican food over the weekend, so going to lunch is out of the question. I've got to fold some whites, and I could take this time to clean out the linen closet, but I'd really rather watch decorating shows on TV. Turns out there are tons of reruns on HGTV and the DIY network. I've seen the same kitchen remodels a few times, I'm ready for some new ones. My remodel ideas are coming fast and furious, but we're still waiting for plans. I've picked out all my new appliances, even though we aren't getting new appliances, and picked out all my finishes even though there's no plans or permits. In my head this whole process is already done.

I am really uninspired lately, for writing anyway. If you have questions about kitchen remodels, I have inspiration up the wazoo...

*the name of my nail polish color.

Out with the Old...

2011-03-10T15:20:00.000-08:00

I am a bad, bad blogger. I've been a pretty good mom and housewife lately, but that doesn't make for a good blogger, does it? If you're still checking in, thanks for your persistence.

I've been, you know, doing laundry, cooking dinners, driving on field trips and all that stuff. But, really: who am I trying to kid? That stuff doesn't take all that long. So what have I really been doing?

People, I have had an enormous, almost spiritual experience involving my house. If all goes well, we may embark on a remodel project, a small one compared to what happens in my neighborhood almost every summer, but huge to me. It seems that once you finally let go of all the dreams you had that will never come true, and you decide that everything you thought was permanent and couldn't possibly change is completely up for grabs, the universe just floods your head with ideas and adrenaline. I have stared at these walls for almost 14 years, and I NEVER visualized what I have been able to visualize in the last week. I wont bore you with details, but I can think of nothing else, I'm losing sleep, and I haven't been so excited about anything since Lost was on the air. I think it may have something to do with turning 40. I asked Rob if he thought I was having a midlife crisis, and he said, "well, if you are, then its got a better return on investment than a boob job or a Porsche."

My eyes are bleary from looking at pictures of kitchens on the internet, I have watched more HGTV than anyone has a right to, but I am pumped!!! Stay tuned for construction blog!!

Huh? Wha?

2011-02-28T12:37:00.000-08:00

You know, there's is nothing like sitting on your ass for a whole week to make you tired. I read three books, I rested, I relaxed, and now I'm exhausted. I have a whole list of things that I need to do today, but I will be happy if I can accomplish two of them, and I've already gotten out of bed, so I have one to go. I was kind of awake and on it yesterday, but today I can hardly keep my eyes open.

At least we're unpacked. Mostly. There are trips where the suitcases sit around the hallway for a week, and I'm digging make up out of the toiletry bag piece by piece for a while before everything is put away. This time there are freshly washed bathing suits hanging in the bathroom, a pile of mail that still needs to be gone through, but that's about it.

I came back from dropping L off at school and decided to go back to bed until 10. I woke up at 11, and watched TV, and I'm still trying to form a coherent thought. I think I need to start by going to the vet's office and picking up Perry's ugly-ass blanket that was left there. Then I need to hit the supermarket. I don't need anything there, I just want to walk up to it and hit it as hard as I can because I hate the supermarket so much. Have I told you that once my Dad "retired" my mom stopped going to the market and made him do it? I think this anti-shopping thing must be genetic. The moment Rob retires, I'm handing him a list and shoving him out the door with both hands. If I never see the inside of another super market it wont be too soon.

What the hell am I talking about? I've got nothing. Too tired. No right to be tired, and yet...

Don't hate me

2011-02-23T12:03:00.000-08:00

Just in case you are sitting at home, biting your nails to the quick and losing sleep because you're worried about what has happened to me, fear not.

I am in Hawaii on vacation. And while that may sound idyllic and wonderful, permit me to whine for just a moment. (Oh, I know what you're thinking: how dare I whine when I am on a tropical vacation sponsored entirely by my parents? Well, you are absolutely right, sir, but whine I will. Deal with it.)

The weather: cloudy, rainy, and no trade winds to blow this shit out of here. Humid, sticky. But, still on vacation.

The place: No kitchen, just a wet bar, which sounds good, but I am getting mighty tired of bread, cheese and fruit. I'm not in France, I'm in Hawaii, and I want something cooked, like a fried egg and some bacon. For dinner, I want sushi... And another thing, I have never been to a place where the asses outnumber the chairs by the pool. I went down there this morning early to reserve 5 seats, and sat there in the rain. We have our seats, though, dammit! I saw this once on Bernie Mac show, but I thought it was fiction. Also, we are on a bay rather than the ocean. What is Hawaii without ocean?

I managed to lose Rob's glasses on the beach yesterday. Miraculously, I found them. He couldn't help me look because HE COULDN'T SEE!

I vowed I would read my book club book if it killed me, and it almost did. I haven't actually finished a book club book in months, so I sat by the pool reading about the plague. You read that right, The Plague. Good book, if you don't mind reading about corpses and puss and putrescence, while in Hawaii.

I admit it. I am ashamed. At least a little bit. I really needed this vacation. I really needed a prolonged period where I could sit on my ass and read and sleep and drink. It really beats not reading, not sleeping and not drinking. It also beats doing dishes, ferrying children to and fro, picking up dog poo, and figuring out what's for dinner.

Aloha, see you next week!

Flop, Smash, Repeat

2011-02-09T10:09:00.000-08:00

I had my first mammogram this morning. I was thinking that I would come home and have some funny stories to tell you about it, but I don't. Flop, smash, repeat, done. I wouldn't want to keep my boobs in that vice all day long, but for those 30 seconds, it was a piece of cake.

I made Rob an actual dinner last night. We've been eating Trader Joes and take out for the past month, so I went all out and made him a nice dinner. Didn't turn out as well as I thought it would. Its been a while since I cooked, and I guess I kind of forgot how. He didn't care, he'll eat anything. I also did four loads of laundry AND folded it all AND put it away. It was nice to do laundry because I had full loads to do and not just because we were all desperately out of underpants and towels. My dryer is making a weird noise again. I'm going to ignore it for as long as I can. I just don't have the strength to deal with more appliance problems.

A week from tomorrow, I'm off to Hawaii for much needed rest and relaxation and mai tais. Until then, it will be a mad rush to get all my work done, get everything waxed, and eat all the food in the fridge. I think I'll start that part now...

I'M FREE!

2011-02-07T11:08:00.000-08:00

Its over!!!! The Variety Show is over, and I have my life back! My life looks like a complete mess right now, so I think I'll ignore it for a little while longer and hang out with you guys.

I don't feel right posting video of kids without their parents' permission, so I wont make you watch stuff, but let me tell you, these kids were ON FIRE! The shows went off without a hitch. I learned a tremendous amount (like how the chairs get to the gym floor, and that we actually have stage lights...) and the big question is whether or not I would do this again... I really want to say no. I mean, I REALLY want to say no. My family and home so got the shaft in the last month, but when those little kids came off stage and I saw their faces and they hugged me and they were so euphoric and proud... Well, that was pretty awesome and very rewarding. So we'll see, I guess.

Here are some little tidbits.

1) 4th grade girls have a mean streak. Watch your back.

2) All the girls had some make up on for their performances, and there was this one crew who had obviously been made up - I guess you could call it tastefully, even though I had some Toddlers and Tiaras flashbacks, - by a parent before the show. They call me over mid show to ask if they can go back to the "green room" to touch up their make up. I say no, your make up looks fine, you look beautiful, its almost your turn. Fine. I come back a few minutes later to find the older sister of one of the girls with a full make up kit, piling more make up on them in the dark. Its not good make up either, its kid make up, all oily. So I shoo the kid and her make up kit away, and get the girls back stage to await their star turn. Unknown to me, the curtain puller sees them and told me later that they had lipstick on their noses and all over their faces. She licks her finger and tries to get it off, and then sacrifices the sleeve of her sweater and tries to wipe a bunch of it off, and manages to get them looking like 85 blind women who have put on their make up on a moving bus. In the dark. Lesson learned: must email parents about make up and older sisters...

3) Parents are incredible, and not always in a good way. It was all I could do to get the performers to stay in their seats and behave both before but especially after their performances, and the audience was asked to wait until the end of the performance to go congratulate their performers. I swear, three times I had to tap a parent on the shoulder who was talking to their kid, handing them flowers etc., and remind them that someone else' kid was on stage now and could they please take their seat. They would look at me like I was some kind of shrew! My feeling was, if you wouldn't wander around the theater during the nutcracker at Christmas, don't do it at my Variety show. It was hard enough getting kids to take their seats. Some were just wandering around the whole time, and would glare at me when I told them to sit down and stay down. Wonder where they ever got those attitudes from?

So that's all I have to say about the Variety Show for now. I have a little time to clean up a little more, and then I'm off to a well deserved lunch and a manicure! Being me is awesome.

How I lost my cool and got a facial

2011-02-01T14:07:00.000-08:00

Dudes, I am in the tall grass. I have so much to do right now, I don't even know what I have to do. And if that makes no sense at all, welcome to my brain. But on another note...

1) This is how cool the internet is: a) I put in my post the other day about Oprah's Australia trip that I wanted a reader in Australia to give me an invitation to their house in Australia, and SOMEONE DID. b) I follow Steve Martin (that Steve Martin) on twitter and I tweeted him that my nine year-old wants to learn to play the banjo and what did he think, and HE TWEETED ME BACK. His answer wasn't helpful, but that's not the point.

2) I locked myself out of my house yesterday. Grabbed the wrong set of keys as I walked out the door, and the neighbor who has the spare key wasn't home. So I tried a couple of windows thinking, they're cheap-ass old aluminum windows, one of them will budge. Nope. So then I remembered the one other time we had to break into our house and how we did it, but it required me to get the ladder, and figure out how to open it since it is a new-fangled thing and I normally am not the one in my family who climbs ladders. Then, I managed to get one window open, but realized that the ladder was too short for me to really hoist myself into the house. I could lean into the window, at around my ribs, but there was nothing for my feet to push off of. So I got off the ladder and started circling the house like a tiger on the outside of a cage who really wants to get into the cage, and all this time my dog is freaking out inside wondering why I wont come in, and I'm sweating like a pig from climbing up and down a ladder and forcing windows. This same dog is unfortunately too short to get the other set of keys off the hook, and even if he wasn't, he doesn't speak much English as evidenced by the blank stare he gives me when I tell him to sit.

Finally, I decided that if I wanted to get in the house, I was going to have to go back up the ladder and figure out how to throw my body through the half open window. I climbed back up, leaned into the window, and just started willing my body to go through. I somehow made it far enough in so that my hips were resting on the window sill, my hands were stretched down to the floor like a push-up, and my legs were flailing around sticking out of the side of the house. The heater vent is right under this window and it was blowing hot hair onto my already over-heated body, my hair was in my face, and my dog was now going completely apeshit and alternately barking in my ear and licking me, and I couldn't push him away because a) he would come right back and b) my head would hit the wood floor and I'd probably get a concussion. So I stayed like that for a while, wondering between dog licks how I was going to get in the house without breaking my legs, and then I just went for it and wiggled the rest of the way in and fell on the floor. I wasn't hurt, the dog and I were both relieved, and I went right outside and hid a spare key.

I'm exhausted just thinking about it. I think I have to sign off for this week until after the Variety Show. I will give you the full low down next week.

Plumber Butt

2011-01-25T14:06:00.000-08:00

I just had a mani-pedi (kind of a new thing for me) and my jeans are falling down but I don't want to yank them up for fear of destroying my nice, freshly painted nails. So I'm sitting here at my desk with complete plumber-butt. I'll hoist them back into position when I go to the school for Variety Show rehearsal.

Ah, the Variety Show. Or, as I like to call it, The Nightmare that Wont Go Away. People, this thing is so much freakin' work, and I have five other people doing this with me! You know what freaks me out most? Its that there are other events at this school that are organized by volunteers, that are ten times the amount of work of the Variety Show. I just don't understand how these moms (mostly moms) manage to do all that they do. I had a dad, who is a reader (you know who you are SS) ask me, "How do you do it?" and there is a really easy answer: "I don't." My house looks like a tornado hit it, no one in my family has had a home cooked meal in weeks, my dog keeps giving me looks that say, "You used to love me." and I am falling into a deep sleep well before my husband even comes to bed which I don't think has ever happened in our entire marriage.

On that note, I fell asleep before him the other day, and he took my iPhone and recorded me snoring. Can you believe that? He says I told him to do it, but who can tell; I'm only half paying attention to our conversations these days. So, now that I'm 40, I am definitely losing my short-term memory (as people told me I would,) when I need to go pee, I need to go RIGHT AWAY, and I snore.

Every day is just better and better. What were we talking about?

Can I just Say

2011-01-21T17:17:00.000-08:00

I know you've probably had enough Oprah out of me, that you're all Oprahed out, but can I just say how much I am totally enjoying her whole Australia thing? I've watched all four days of it, and a) I want to go to Australia more than I want to go anywhere else in the world, b) I want to go with Oprah - actually scratch that, I want to go as Oprah; that woman knows how to travel. And c) I want to make a bunch of Australian friends. So if you're an Australian and you're in Australia, please leave me a comment and invite me to your house.

Oprah is eating a vegemite sandwich on my TV right now, and she likes it. The crowd is going crazy. Next is Nicole Kidman and her husband and their whole big bag of BS.

Honestly, I've been so busy lately, so many irons in the fire, going in so many different directions, I haven't had time to notice anything much less write about anything. (Except, of course, Wiener Man from the other day, which is how we are referring to him now.) Oprah is the only thing that is keeping me going right now. Her and the nilla wafers.

Have a good weekend!

I Simply do Not Have Time for Sidewalk Masturbators

2011-01-19T07:41:00.000-08:00

That title should say it all, shouldn't it? No? Okay here's more!

I was having a really busy day, trying to get a bunch of stuff done and this was not how I thought my afternoon would go. I was standing on the street today talking to my friend (who I already knew is hot, but I had no idea how hot) and she suddenly gasped and when I looked up, there was a guy with his junk out of his pants, fondling himself.

I've seen this guy before, for years actually, and assumed that he was developmentally disabled, so I didn't think too much of it, but I called the police anyway and officers came to the scene. Turns out, not disabled. I had to ID him on the street from the back of a patrol car, and, since I was the one who witnessed his little escapade, I had to decide whether or not he should get arrested, which I did, and he was. I actually hesitated for a minute, but then I came to my senses. There are kids in this neighborhood, y'know?

I thought they would track him down, and tell his caretaker to keep a closer eye on him and his junk, but instead, he's in jail this afternoon.

Now I need a glass of wine. I wasn't at all rattled at the sight of his pee pee, but having police in your house, riding in the back of a police car, and knowing that you got someone arrested, someone who knows where you live, is enough to cause a nervous tummy.

The funniest part was that a good friend drove by while I was talking to the officers outside my house and put her thumb and pinky to her ear and lips and mouthed the words, "Call me!"

Me on Oprah

2011-01-16T10:54:00.000-08:00

Did you see me?

Okay, did you see me that time?

That's me right there, leaning over to tell E. that I need a Container Store gift card
like I need a hole in the head.

My moment of glory, over in about half a second.
Totally worth it, though. Totally.

My National Television Debut!

2011-01-10T14:11:00.000-08:00

Readers, I am one stressed out little schnauzer right now. And you want to know the totally lame part? I am stressed out by things I don't really have to do. I have a part time job that I thought I would need when Rob's employment was precarious last summer, but its not precarious anymore and I don't need the job, but now I'm in it and committed, and its stressing me out today. Then there's the Variety Show, which isn't really stressful right now, but just adds to the ever growing pile of crap in my brain.

I made a note the other day to do a blog post about animal management and nose picking. I can't for the life of me remember what I was going to tell you about nose picking. That you should do it? That you shouldn't? That we should all do it in unison? I have no idea. The animal management topic I can put off because what I really want to tell you about is: OPRAH

The show that I went to in November is airing this Thursday, the 13th. Get your DVRs ready!! If you want to try to find me in the audience (not that I will be visible, I was behind the camera man the whole time) I am wearing a bright pink sweater (thinking that was a great idea, but a lot of people wear that color thinking the same thing) and I am... how do I explain to you where I am? If you imagine the studio seating as the lower two thirds of a clock face, I am at 8:30, in the upper section, in the second row, two seats in from where the guests come in (not the guests on my show, they came in from back stage, but a lot of guests come in this way.) When I watch it, and if I'm visible, I'll let you know exactly the moment you can see me.

Because I know you are just at the edge of your seat...

Quick Update

2011-01-05T15:10:00.000-08:00

I don't even know where to start. Really, I don't. Do I start with Christmas? Too long ago. New Years? Nice but uneventful. Variety Show? Maybe there. That's what has been taking up all my precious blogging time. I have come to realize that all the chaos of this show is inside of me and no where else, because everything is organized and running smoothly and ahead of schedule. So, there's not really that much to talk about there, either. Except that Leila told me she had changed her mind and didn't want to do it anymore. I almost knocked her block off. If I have to do it, she has to do it, because I'm the mom and I say so. Doesn't want to do it anymore... Jesus.

Here's a funny thing about the Variety Show. I recorded all these new shows on Oprah's new network OWN (you know Oprah, my best friend, whose free boots I ordered today) and I watched Season 25 last night (the behind the scenes look at what goes in to producing her show.) While I was falling asleep, I had this new excitement about the Variety Show because I was fancying myself as a big time producer. I envisioned wearing bifocals and a mic on my head that leads to nowhere, just so I can look official. I'll throw up if I wear my glasses during the show (and what a show that would be) and, even though being totally dorky in private (or just in front of you guys) is totally okay, I don't think I can pull of a head-mic-thing-attached-to-nothing without showing my dorkiness to the whole gymnasium full of parents. I think I'll have to stick to a clip board. I actually bought a new one today. A nice, shiny clip board. Hm. I'm the tiniest bit ashamed right now...

Other than that, my home has been completely neglected, or, rather, more neglected than usual. We're doing our annual pantry eating this month; What's for dinner? Whatever that mystery thing wrapped in foil in the freezer is, that's what we're having!

Halle - freakin' - lujuah!

2010-12-30T12:07:00.000-08:00

If I knew how to make this blog play the Hallelujah chorus right now, I would make it do that:

THE DRYER IS FIXED, PEOPLE!

So far, that is.

My prediction about Sears not sending two people came true, and the guy they sent told me it wasn't the dryer but the dryer vent. I could feel my blood starting to boil. And how. Its been a month. I think I've been enormously patient. Tears sprang into my eyes. I told the repair guy calmly that the following tirade was not at all personal, then I started ranting and sniffling and freaking out. Turns out this may have fixed the dryer because he was ready to leave, but then to appease the crazy lady he climbed around back there and did God knows what, and now the dryer is working. It is heating up, it is spinning, it isn't soaking the back of my house in steam, and I can finally wash those sheets.

I'll be keeping a very close eye on it, and I will be calling the vent cleaning place and giving them a piece of my mind. What an effing ordeal! I will also be nominating Miguel, from Sears Home Service, for the national medal of honor. Or the Nobel peace prize. Or an Oscar. Or People's sexiest man alive. Or all of the above.

There are many things about this whole process that have bothered me, but what is bothering me most today is that the girlie-girl had to cry and pitch a hissy fit to get her dryer fixed after a month and 5 service people. I am a strong woman. I am not a big cryer, never have been. But I am wondering weather the dryer would have been fixed properly the first time if I had just squeezed out a few tears to begin with. I wonder if it would have been fixed properly the first time if Rob had been home to spew some extra testosterone instead of the silly little housewife who has no choice but to believe every macho repair man that comes to this house and passes the buck.

I am also of the belief that the appliance repair overlords want you to freak out and have a fit, so you will forget about fixing that ten year-old dryer and just buy the new shiny one. And also, that some repair people are just plain lazy, and they don't want to have to move the machine and get behind it and finish the job they started, they just want to leave you in the lurch and let the next guy deal with it.

I thank you for hanging in there with me for the last month, I wont bore you with dryer stories any more. Until it breaks again. Like, tomorrow.

Fingers Crossed?

2010-12-29T16:16:00.000-08:00

Are your fingers all cramped up from crossing them in hopes that my dryer gets fixed tomorrow? Well, too bad! Keep them crossed! I don't know what I'll do if the dyer-fixers can't fix it tomorrow. Actually, I know exactly what I'll do, I'll got to the laundromat with my wet clothes AGAIN. I'm running out of quarters, people! Its been almost a month that I have been dryer-free, and I am done with this little experiment. So done. I've called Sears and confirmed that they are coming tomorrow, and that they are sending two guys, and that at least one of them will be a senior repair man, preferably the same one who came last time so I can be done with getting a different dryer fairy tale from every one of them. That metal ring I told you about? How it was rusting? Turns out, there is no metal ring, no rust. The last guy took the dryer apart and actually showed me what was staining my clothes, and when I asked about the metal ring, he's all, "yeah, not metal. I don't know why he told you that." I just want the straight poop. Tell me the truth, I can take it. Fix my dryer, I can take that, too.

So now I'm mentally preparing myself for the following probabilities: The repair guys will start by going to the wrong address in spite of my clear instructions. They will get here five minutes - make it ten - after the nine - noon window I have been given. They wont be a they, they'll be a he because Sears will fail to send the two technicians that it will take to lift my dryer off of the washer and out of the laundry closet. He will not be a senior technician, so I will have to make him leave without touching the dryer and telling me more stories about why its not working and what the other guys did wrong. Then I will call Sears to complain and book another appointment, and they will tell me that it will be at least a week.

Eventually, they will get the dryer out only to discover that they can't fix it, and I will have to get a new dryer.

Fin.

If you are sick of hearing about my stupid dryer, just imagine how I feel.

Leila has been at her friend's house across the street for hours. All day, actually. Its been HEAVENLY. I mean, I love her and all, but seriously? All day, every day for two weeks? Right. They were supposed to come over here this afternoon, but they haven't yet, and I'm afraid to call over there and ruin the peace and quiet. Its so... quiet! No Mario Bros, no "hey mommy! mommy! hey mommy!" no "wanna color/ play charades / melt some crayons?" I think I'll watch a little bit of Oprah. If I sit still enough, maybe they wont know I'm here and they wont bother me?

Phew!

2010-12-28T09:10:00.000-08:00

Okay. I made it. Its over.

I tell you: I love Christmas, but it is exhausting as hell. I made a note for next Christmas to ask for a spa day that I can use December 26. 2011. My back is pinchy, my feet hurt, my appetite is all out of whack, and the house is still a mess in spite of the fact that I seem to be cleaning it all the time. The bills are coming due, the money has been flowing out like water, and not just on gifts, but the grocery bill and the eating-out amounts are higher than normal. It all adds up, and its not really over yet. Leila's birthday is in less than a week and I have to plan her party, get her presents, etc. Then I may think its over, but that's when the Variety Show starts in earnest, and we still haven't worked out all the logistics. If I can just get through the Variety Show, I will be home free. We're going to Hawaii in February, and that is where I will take a long break in the sun, and I will get that spa day if it kills me.

We had a lovely holiday, though, complete with my family's odd food presents (fried potatoes in a box, pickles, gummy bears) and it was smiles, smiles all around. Not much to tell you about, really. No travel drama, no weather drama, no family drama, no weird gifts that can't be returned, no food poisoning, no inappropriate holiday cards, no drunk relatives (not that drunk, anyway) no injuries, no nudity, nothing interesting to report except that we are all happy and blessed and full. Boring.

Maybe as an extra Christmas gift, Santa will bring me a wonderfully competent dryer repair person who miraculously has all the parts he needs and I will be able to use my dryer to my heart's content. I need to wash my sheets real bad.

The Saga Continues

2010-12-23T12:52:00.000-08:00

12.08 p.m. The dyer guy is here:

I start out by telling him the whole story about the first guy who cleaned the vents, and my new guy says, "Daniel Vega?" and I say "Yes!" and the new guy says "What a scumbag."

The dryer is pulled apart, and a scorched piece of felt that looks like a rotten banana peel came out of it, so the burning smell and the smoke detector going off is taken care of. Apparently, steam does not set off smoke detector's, as I previously thought...

12:46 The dryer guy is gone:

Can't fix the dryer, needs a second technician to pull the thing down and examine the whole back side. Still not venting in spite of two vent cleanings. I am surprisingly not a dissatisfied customer. I like honesty, and I don't mind the laundromat so much. Its next to a donut shop, how bad can it be?

Next Thursday, put it on your calendar. That's the day my dryer will be fixed. Maybe...

it Should be a Crime

2010-12-22T15:11:00.000-08:00

Last night I stayed up until almost 2 in the morning finishing the last of the Stieg Larsson books (you know, the dragon tatoo books.) I went to brush my teeth before I went to bed (okay that's a lie. I blew off brushing my teeth, but I did pee) and saw my swollen scrunched up eyes in the mirror and though, What's my dad doing here?

Here's the funny thing: I usually read chick lit, the good kind, like the kind Oprah used to pick for her book club before she conned the country in to reading the classics. Stories about marginalized women, who have some life changing experience or climactic event, but then go on to be marginalized in some other way for the rest of their sorry lives. Some of them, most of them, were seriously depressing. I started reading this Stieg Larsson series a few months ago, and now I've read all three, and I also read another crime novel by a woman named Karin Slaughter (that can't possibly be her real name) and I am about to say something I never thought I'd say: I like crime novels. There. I said it. It is a genre I never thought I'd buy into, but once I sink my teeth into a good crime novel I can't put it down, as evidenced by my puffy, tired face this morning. Luckily, my book club will keep my reputation in tact by making me read higher brow things, like chick lit.

On that note, I would like to say that the best book I read all year was not a crime novel, but Cutting for Stone by Abraham Verghese. I also very much enjoyed Let the Great World Spin by Colum McCann (a little depressing and odd, but ultimately satisfying and strangely beautiful) and I will throw in The Little Giant of Aberdeen County by Tiffany Baker, not only because its was a thoroughly entertaining book, but also because the author is a client of mine and she's really super cool.

Yes, its true: I read books. I also read Oprah magazine, Newsweek (sort of, depending on the week) and I read recipes and TMZ and blogs. I am a many-layered person, and reading stuff allows me to procrastinate all the other stuff I have to do.

This is making me want to do some 2010 best and worst of lists like everyone else in the world is doing. I will take some time to think on this and get back to you. But right now I have to melt chocolate so I can coat my peanut butter pretzel balls in it and roll them in crushed peanuts. This is what the holidays do to me.

2010-12-21T13:20:00.000-08:00

Where have I been, you ask? I've been Christmassing my little butt off, that's where. I think I'm actually done now, though. I have a nagging suspicion that there is something that I am forgetting, but whatever it is can't be that important, right? I have wrapped and hidden everything, school is done with for now, I have no travel plans, Leila and I will make cookies on Thursday (because the one thing I need more than anything else is more sugar) and I think that's it! This morning we got out of bed and went straight to Trader Joes and bought everything that looked delicious. I should be sated for about three days.

So let me tell you about my dryer. You know, that useless empty box above my washing machine. I had the vents cleaned, again, by a reputable company with a vacuum-in-a-van, and not a lot came out, but what did come out was compacted and wet, so clearly it needed to come out. I was so happy that it was finally done, that I did a load of laundry right away and put it in the dryer. Yay! Except, no. In seven minutes the entire back of my house was steamed up and the smoke detector was going off. This is not normal, and it will also rust the little metal ring that is ruining all my clothes. I called Sears. They're sending a senior technician this time (thanks for the rookies, Sears) and he'll be here... in a week. So right before Leila's class party, I went to the laundry mat and dried two loads of clothes. Now my neighbors are out of town and have given me permission to dry stuff at their house, so we all have clean undies and towels and stuff. Its been so long since I could do a simple load of laundry from start to finish in my own home, I'm kind of getting used to this. I've taken putting off doing laundry to new heights. You know those underpants in the back of the drawer that you keep for an emergency? Now is their time to shine!

I'm kind of in denial of the fact that my washer is making a funny noise. And not ha ha funny... Maybe 2011 will be the year we get all new appliances? Santa? Are you listening?

Its weird how I love Christmas, but the month before the actual holiday I am irritable and moody and impatient. Leila wrote this thing in school about how she wants me to get a diary because "sometimes she's annoyed so I want her to write down her feelings." I'm trying to be a little less "annoyed." So on Sunday we had a pajama day and I let her watch TV for seven hours. Who's the mother of the year? Right here, baby!

She's out with my dad right now, and I'm going to lay on my sofa and read my book and eat peppermint salt water taffy, because its Christmas, and I'm tired and irritable, and that's what I want to do. So there.

(merry christmas!)

Update on the Madness

2010-12-14T10:34:00.000-08:00

Banjo (my roomba vacuuming robot) was having issues this morning. He got stuck under the armoire a few times, and then he skimmed along the edge of the fireplace and spread ashes all over the place and didn't pick them up. I left to do some errands, and when I came back, he was stuck under the armoire again, but this time he had a bunch of cables tangled in his brushes. So I cleaned him all out and turned him on again because the floor still wasn't clean, and I guided him with my feet to the dirty parts that he kept missing by mere inches. So I'm dancing around the floor trying to turn my roomba around, coaxing him out loud like he's a dog, and I'm thinking, This is just a wonderful use of my time, especially when you consider I could sweep up the little pile of dust with a broom and be done with it, which, it turns out, I have to do anyway because Banjo's battery ran out. But I do love him so, and I hate sweeping dust bunnies into a dust pan just enough.

I think I'm half done with Christmas shopping. It could be more than half, but I don't want to jinx things by being too optimistic. The tree is up, and the lights are on the house! Remember last year I introduced you to my favorite ornaments and told you about The Bird? Well this year, I got three more birds for the tree, just to stick it to Rob. I just don't take his dislike of birds in Christmas trees seriously, and it turns out that I was right not to. Apparently, he doesn't mind bird ornaments in trees, He just hates my one, big, bird that I put right in the middle. But in the middle it will stay. I love that damn bird.

The Variety Show is an even bigger pain in the ass than I ever imagined it could be. And then, Leila (the whole reason I decided to take on this shindig) says to me, "Well, we didn't have to a Variety Show at all." That was information I could have used a few weeks ago. So far, 120 kids have signed up. That is not a typo. I don't even like kids that much. I like my kid, but your kid smells bad and makes weird noises. And you know what else? I realized that the kids that actually have a "talent" like playing an instrument or doing tai kwon do, usually have an opportunity to show their talent on a stage when they have recitals and stuff. So basically, the Variety Show is pretty much for kids who want to dance around to their favorite song. I do that in my kitchen every day, but I wouldn't call it a talent. Then there are the parents who are mad at me because I will not accept late applications (apparently, I am a horrible person for not supporting working parents, parents who had kids with colds, parents who can't be on time with forms, etc.) and the other parents who try to sneak late applications in thinking I'm an idiot and wont notice. THERE ARE 120 CHILDREN IN THIS SHOW, PEOPLE! LEAVE ME ALONE!

Its the most, wonderful time, of the year!

I'm a little charged up today, I guess. I have to do things differently next year. 1) tell Variety Show to go fuck itself. 2) Don't make candies that no one will eat but me, and I will eat them, don't you worry. 3) Do my Christmas shopping in October so I have one less thing in December. 4) drink more wine.

OMG, I'm so not LOLing

2010-12-07T14:04:00.000-08:00

Shit, y'all. Seriously.

It is definitely December. Its about as December as it can get. I am so tired, and so busy, and so annoyed. Just the regular December stuff: the boxes, the lights, the decor, the baking, the rain, the cards, the shopping, the wrapping, the santa, and the freakin' good will toward men, except for Rob since his performance as Christmas elf is less than satisfactory.

And you wanna know what else? The Variety Show. Remember the Variety Show from last year? I think I said that the people who run it are masochists, and may have added that you couldn't pay me any amount of money to take on a show like that. Well, guess what...

I'm still in denial about it. I don't want to face the fact that I caved, and am now in charge of the chaotic, never-ending, Myley Cyrus laden, elementary school free for all. But that's what happened. It pains me to type the words. I'm trying to stay positive. Its for the kids! The kids are adorable! I haven't gotten any kids wanting to do Myley Cyrus yet! (but I have two Taylor Swifts) People love the show! The kids! THE KIDS!!!

Heaven help me. What was I thinking? I need a nap, and about four more of those peppermint salt water tafees from Trader Joes. I think I'll be okay if I can get those things...

Undies

2010-12-03T07:34:00.000-08:00

I just spent an hour or so in a laundromat, and it was kind of lovely. Its quiet in there, and warm, and while I waited for my sheets to dry, I was forced to sit quietly and play solitaire on my iPhone. Leila was with me and was reading a book. I'm wondering if, when my dryer is fixed, I might just go there anyway to get some peace and quiet.

Here's the thing, though: I did three loads of laundry at home, all the loads but the white load. The one with the underpants in it. I know that before I had a washer and dryer of my own, I washed my delicate lady things at the laundromat and couldn't have cared less who watched me fold them (and I do fold them. Only now they are much less delicate.) My neighbor also kindly invited me to dry my stuff in her dryer, but it seems I've gotten a little shy about my undergarments. I don't really want to schlep them into the laundromat, but I think it might be worse to bring them to the home of someone who knows me.

I'm going to have to bite the bullet one way or another, so probably the laundromat.

I so could not have been a pioneer woman. Although the other day I did make bread from scratch. I don't really know what I was thinking.