Conversations on the Pot

So, Diva is calling for me from her bedroom this evening. After two delays requested by Scott, I finally go up there to see what she needs.

"You're being too loud and I can't get to sleep," she says.

"Alright, we won't talk so loudly. Do you have to go to pee-pee?"

Thoughtful pause, then, "Yeah."

So, I take her to the bathroom where she claims she now has to poop. I tell her I'll come back in a while to check on her. When I return a few minutes later, I ask, "Are you done?"

She rolls her eyes: "Don't make me say it mom... It takes time."

I know, I know...

Then she says, "But I've been doing a lot of 'F-wording'."

"F-wording?" I'm nervous.

"Yeah," and she takes her tone down a notch and whispers, "Farting."

Spinach Pizza and Strange Dreams

Interpret these please, and how many strange dreams can be woven together in one night of REM?

My friend, Roseann, who has beautiful, dark brown hair shows up with light, neon pink hair and tells me that every nine weeks she's going to pick out a new color and change it.

Two people that I know, one that I can identify in my dream, the other I cannot, both are diagnosed with cancer at the same time. The one I can identify has been a smoker her whole life (in the dream, NOT in real life) and has lung cancer. The other, unidentifiable person, I don't know what she has, but the two have never met, and suddenly they are thrown together by their illnesses, and are clutching to each other for support and survival. They both come to me for strength, and how can I give them strength when I am so weak?

In the next scene, I am in a beach chair, about two feet behind a row of beach chairs. The row in front of me contains about six chairs, and almost every woman in those chairs is battling cancer. I sit from the back row and watch them, and point out: she has cancer, she has cancer, she has cancer... it's an unsettling dream.

Then we move on to the food part of the dream. We are having a feast, and it's kind of like a Thanksgiving Feast, but there's no turkey, just chicken and some broccoli--there was lots of broccoli, and Luke was swiping it from my plate, and while I should have been happy that my son wanted to eat broccoli, I was mad that he was stealing the broccoli from me! I then go into the kitchen and find some leftover diet chicken and heat it up, and when it's heated, my aunt Joanie takes it to the table on a platter (and it's like an eighth of a piece, by the way) along with some other NON-diet chicken, and the next thing you know, someone has stolen MY diet chicken! I am not happy.

I remember in the dream that the kitchen was a disaster, that I was angry at my younger brother for some reason and that I threw my cell phone onto the counter. (Was I angry at my brother for borrowing my cell phone?)

Next part of the dream is I have lost my last baby tooth, my twentieth tooth, and it's a bright, shiny, pure white and smooth tooth, from the bottom. I have lost this baby tooth at my current age. I just remember the whiteness of the tooth, the smoothness of it, and the bright shock of red at the bottom from the root of the tooth. Ajer lost a tooth like this last week, in real life, and I wonder what this signifies. I know what they say about teeth dreams, that it is significant of something dreary, of ... I don't even want to write it, but we all know.

I should just hit backspace on this stupid entry and go back to bed, because the bus doesn't come for another hour. Maybe I can go back to bed and have a nice dream to wake up to. I can analyze many of these and come up with some parallels in my own life--worried about many things current in my life--people I love with cancer--worried about my diet--worried about my teeth(?), nah, my teeth are pretty good--thinking about my friend, Ro, and craving broccoli?

Remind me not to eat spinach pizza before bed. This is just too dreary, and it's a Monday. Blah.

Sideways

Saw Sideways. Pretty good movie. Must be a little interested in wine, or at least in getting drunk, in order to enjoy it though. I imagine people who think Mad Dog 20/20 is a red wine would just not 'get' it. Warning though, close your eyes when the fat, naked guy chases the car down the street. It's just plain gross. And how did that guy audition for the part. "OK, we're looking for a fat, gross guy willing to be filmed running down the street absolutely naked, with his meat and potatoes flapping in the wind."

How would you like to describe that as your big screen debut?

Desperate for a Latte

So, to preface this post, all names have been changed, except for mine of course.

I call up my friend and ask if she wants me to come over this afternoon after I drop Diva at school. And I could bring coffee.

"But, Frank wants to have a nooner," she says.

"What?"

"Yeah, we're talking about communicating more, so that means more sex."

"Okay, so he gets home at 12. I'll come by at 12:15 with coffees... that should give you plenty of time, right?"

(Hilarious laughter ensues between the both of us.)

"Or, I could come by at noon, and we can give him what every man wants--a threesome."

(More hilarious laughter ensuing.)

"Okay. Well, do you want me to come over and pick up Cole?" I ask

"Oh yeah, I didn't even think about that. How am I gonna have a nooner with a four-year-old hanging around the house."

"Okay, how about we do this. I'll come get Cole, take him to my house, you can have a couple hours with Frank. You know it will make for a much better weekend anyway, except once they get it, they keep wanting it, so it's not like it's going to keep him away for a while."

"True." Pause. "Do you have any champagne, I think I need a mimosa."

(I run to the fridge, and yep, I do have champagne, two bottles, one is Dom. As much as I love her though, I'm not donating my Dom for their nooner).

"Ok, I've got champagne. Do you have any sexy foods?"

"Foods?" she asks.

"You know, like chocolate covered strawberries?"

"I have chips."

"Chips?" I ask.

"Well, yeah, Frank doesn't like fruit. I could put chips on my boobs."

(more laughter)

"What? You like chips too," she says.

"What are you saying, that I want chips on my boobs?"

"No, just that if you had a choice, you would take chips over fruit."

"True," I said. "But only if they're barbeque."

We are sooo desperate housewives.

Can I Get A Double O?

Okay, did I trick you? Did you think I was talking two orgasms? Nope, I'm talking...

Operation Organization!

The past couple of days have been a domino effect of chaos, late appointments and Zanax-popping desires (that I resisted, mind you). I've been staying up working and surfing way too late and getting up crabby and unmotivated. But today it's going to be different.

As you'll see by the time of this post, it is barely 7:00 a.m. (well, by the time I'm done writing, it will be past) I woke around 5:50 because I sensed an intruder among us. The intruder happened to be Ajer, who was in the bathroom, wide awake, getting dressed for school! First grade has its merits--let's see if he's up at the crack of dawn daily by fourth grade!

I knocked on the bathroom door, being ever respectful of his impending need for privacy at his impressionable age.

"AJ, it's too early, you need more sleep," I said.
"Mah-ahhhhm." Significant pause. "When my body's done sleeping, it's done sleeping."

(If that's the case, I would not be out of bed six of the seven days a week when I do get out of bed.)

So, he starts his day, I go back to bed, and Scott is awake and holds my hand. It's nice and quiet. Until, we hear a snowplow pummel through the street.

"Is it snowing?"

This is when I make my decision. It's nice and warm in my beddy-bye, I'm curled up and cozy, my tootsies are happily tucked into my socks. I decide to make today my Operation Organization Day.

Jump out of bed, and instead of doing the dreadmill for 20 minutes, I go shovel. And it's a beautiful morning, but I can't really say it's morning because there's still a half-moon in the sky and stars, and the street lights are casting their glow onto the freshly fallen snow, which, when I looked closely, I could see chunks of glitter that shimmered like diamonds (wooo, how do you like that image?) The snow, I imagine, is perfect for those who love to ski. It's fluffier than cotton candy, and clean and white and all glimmery. Later today, it will be mud and muck and slush and slosh, so I'm glad I got to have this nice little moment in the quiet and the snow. Shit, I'm getting all philosophical and literary here, trying to write images no one could care about probably.

Anyway...

Back inside, my muscles are warming up, and I feel limber because Namafrickingstay happened last night, even though the location, day and time of yoga has all been switched around and if that's not enough, I was the last one to show up, and there were no good spots, so I was in the back and every time the heater churned on I couldn't hear the instructor and you're supposed to be with yourself, with your eyes closed listening to what your body is telling you and I couldn't because I COULDN'T HEAR WHAT WE WERE SUPPOSED TO BE DOING! But, nonetheless, I focused on myself for that glorious 47 minutes (usually 60, but I was late because I thought it started at 8:15 not 8:00!), I didn't think about the kids, the house, the husband, the laundry, the things-to-do list, nothing but me, myself and I.

And I enjoyed my company.

Well, I'm rambling, and Operation Organization waits for NO ONE! So, it's off to the shower before apple of my eye descends upon us (YOU figure out who that is!). Then, oil change, license plates ordered, kids lunch, kids to school, and then, just maybe, a grandenonfatsugarfreevanillalatte and a couple hours to myself.

Ahhh...
Namaste, namaste (whatever the hell that means).

Check This Out

mastercard.asf

Funny Ha Ha

Today in the car, Ajer and Diva were having a battle of the sexes. From the back I heard, "Boys are better than girls," "No, girls are better than boys" back and forth and back and forth until I said, "Well, girls can have babies and boys can't!" (Right there answers the question of who's the greater sex)... but AJ didn't let it end there:

AJ: "Well, boys walked the earth first."
Me: "Well, (same snide tone) that's because God got it wrong the first time, and you wanna know why? Cuz He's a Man!"*

*Disclaimer: Just kidding God.

It's Growing On Me

Hahahah, the Brazilian... do you get it?... growing, as in, I'm getting used to it, and also the other meaning, as in, it's growing out already... but it's really not, because it's a wax job so it should last six weeks. I'm sure you're thrilled to be updated on this again. I'll report back later when (and if) hubby discovers South America.

Still Unaware

Hubby still doesn't know about my $55+tip recent trip to South America. And now I know why they call 'em "Brazilians"... it's because it's downthere... south, as in South America... hmmm... do I really have too much time on my hands?

Ackkkkkkkkkkk!

I looked.
(see previous entry)

But I've Never Even Been to Brazil!!!

Yep, you guessed it. A Brazilian. Too much information? Stop reading now. It gets worse.

It's been a long time since I've gotten out by myself, and I scheduled a massage and a little 'cleaning up' if you will. A bikini and eyebrow wax, to be exact. Well, the nice waxer woman was a little stilted in the English language and when she was explaining my options while demanding I take my jeans off, I kind of just shook my head up and down, like I knew what I was doing, and said, "OK." After all, I scheduled what I wanted with someone on the phone earlier that week, someone who spoke and understood English, so surely, the receptionist had passed the info on that I wanted the basic wax.

Rio de Janero, anyone? Ouch. And I'm too afraid to look, and equally embarrassed to reveal to my husband my fifty-five-dollar-not-including-a-fifteen-percent-tip oopsie! Yet, I'll share this with anyone who cares to peruse the 'net. It's a sick, sick world.

Now I know how a Perdue chicken must feel as it is being prepped and plucked for distribution.

Nama(fricking)stay

Yeah, yoga schmoga--imagine looking forward to starting a relaxing yet rejuvinating intermediate yoga class only to get to the gym and find...

NO ONE THERE.

So, this is what I have to say...
Namaste, you stink.

Odd Man Out

This morning, with sleep still crusting his eyes, my Tuker came in and made this statement:
"I'm sad."
Me: "What's the matter?"
Tukey: "I don't have any friends."
Crap on my heart, rip it in two and then put it back into my chest.

My poor, poor baby. Odd man out.

I've been so consumed with getting Ajer Bajer and Diva Daughter acclimated to the changes of a new state, new school, new home, new friends, new activities, new rules, new FREAKING COLDER WEATHER where they have to wear snow pants and moon boots daily, that I haven't taken the time to do anything for Tukey... more later, dad just called... and I have to make dinner for the kids, all three of them!

Not Much To Say

Okay, this may start to feel like an obligation, and then it's going to get boring, and then I'll stop. There's really nothing interesting to say today, so I don't even know why I'm writing or what I'm going to tell you about. I could make something up just for shits and giggles. Nope, nothing is coming to mind, maybe then I should just freewrite until something from my inner conciousness explodes onto the screen, and yes, I realize I spelled consciousness wrong the first time. I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention.

I am chewing gum right now like a cow chews its cud. What the hell is cud anyway? I feel like a cow right about now. I have to get my act together. We're over 1/24 into the new year and what am I doing with myself? I'm not exercising; I'm eating crap; I'm not writing as I should be. I am however, chewing gum like a damned cow. Not so inspiring.

I'm looking for a magical word. A word like WRITE or INSPIRE or WISDOM or IMAGINE or ... any ideas? I want to buy those big letters and hang a special word on my wall in my office so I can look at it every day and this particular word will make me want to write. DREAM? BELIEVE? Fuck. Nah, that one won't work.

SO, in the world of mommyhood of a seven-year-old who has a friend with older siblings (whereas he is getting some interesting information from this knowledgable friend), Ajer Bajer and I had this conversation the other night:

"Mom, what's gay?"
Me (thinking I had a really, really good answer): It's when a boy loves a boy.
AJ: "Well, I love dad. Does this mean I'm gay?"
Me: "No, you have to have a really good sense of style and a knack for cleanliness." Ha, not really, that's not what I said. I told him it's like instead of wanting to marry a girl, you'd want to marry a boy.

Seemed to satiate him for a while. Should I worry? Not really, even though he loves to listen to Enrique Iglasias... haha, just another joke. MY SON IS NOT GAY... Not that there's anything wrong with it.

I am just trying to instill a sense of communication with my children.

See, I told you I didn't have much to say. Are you asleep at your computer yet? Brussel Sprouts.

Favorite Blogs and Sites

Here are the sites I currently stalk. If you know of any others that might be interesting reads, please pass them along to me!

http://conversationsfamouspeople.blogspot.com/
nancy's
whitney's
http://jenniferweiner.blogspot.com/
www.babyzone.com
http://writerssuccess.netfirms.com/index.htm

I started reading Breakup Babe's blog when it was mentioned she got a book deal from being heartbroken, but it's sooo not interesting anymore, and I guess it's just because she's got a contract to write a book, so why should she be bothered with entertaining her fans any longer?

I am out, for the night. Cheese Danish.

Novel Update...

I'm working on it.


Ha, that was all I was going to write, and wait a minute, that's all I think I feel like writing because I got through with the first part of this sentence and stopped dead in my typing tracks, but my fingers must have just gotten a dose of caffeine because, now they won't stop, unless I have to go back to make a deletion because I'm typing so fast that I make mistakes, and I've just gone back to change about three or four words because they were typed incorrectly (make that five because I misspelled incorrectly the first time, and also I didn't spell BECAUSE right either because I am a maniac on the keyboard tonight), and yeah, maybe I can add to my title of Manic Mom's Mental Myriads (and what the hell is a myriad anyway--I did look it up and I think it makes sense here but please let me know if you're out there because you can always post a comment under my words of wisdom--ha, that's a laugh, and here, I guess this is either a run-on sentence or a thought in my head that I couldn't just chop off and end. Whew. Thanks for the knife.

Now, back to the novel... I'm working on it. Writing a novel is seriously like doing a math equation (and I HATE math and numbers and calculators and anything involving adding/subtracting and oh goodness, don't get me started on dividing and that other crap. BTW, in college, I had to take one math course, and it was called Fundamentals 101. We called it Fun-for-Mentals. This college book seriously started out with adding and subtraction. But we freshmen were so smart (Oh wait, I didn't take it until I was a JUNIOR!) anyway, we were so smart, we jumped ahead to page 48 and started the semester course with mutliplication, completely skipping over the addition and subtraction parts! Ooh, I feel sorry for those who didn't know the plus/minus factors!

OK, novel is coming along. That's all I can say for now, but if you want to know what it's about, you can read a little more on my website: www.stephanieelliot.com.

Tartar Sauce.

What's That Smell?

So, every now and then, in the boy's room, we smell something that smells like rubber burning. It's sporadic and has been happening for about two weeks. I thought maybe there was an electrical prob, or the vent from the dryer was doing something funky.

Scott and I agreed the next time we smelled it, we would call the non-emergency fire department.

This morning, the "non-emergency fire department" dispatcher sends out two full-sized fire trucks, lights a-flashing, and about eight firefighters all geared up.

Three of the men came up to the room, and one immediately said, "Yep, I smell it. Smells like rubber burning."

I was thrilled that I hadn't overreacted and they did smell something. After a couple of questions, and a quick overview of the room, one firefighter exclaims, "I found it!"

Inside the lamp, a plastic suction-cup dart was melting to the lightbulb.

I felt like such an idiot, but at least the smell's gone. They're going to love me in this neighborhood.

That Damn Bus

I hate the bus. It causes so much angst in Ajer's young life. Three minutes after I send Ajer out with the "I GAVE YOU LIFE" speech, I hear the garage door fly open and I run to the door. He's crying, tears mixed with snow, streaking his face.'

"I think I missed the bus. Nobody's there."

"You didn't miss the bus, you're early." Then I called a neighbor to confirm her daughter had yet to leave for school.

Damn. The boy lives for that bus and all it does is disappoint. Sounds like what it will be when he has his first girlfriend. If I'm this upset over how upset he gets about the bus, I'm never going to let him date! Ugh. I need a nonfatsugarfreevanillagrandelatte. That'll make me feel better.

"I Gave You Life!"

This morning was the first time I got to use that line, and I said it in a god-like tone to Ajer-Bajer. I GAAAAVE YOU LIFE!

His response:
I know, I know. It's a good thing I didn't come out of your *youknowwhat* or else I would have been covered in pee. (c-section baby)

I said, "Well, that is the natural way, and if you came out that way, then you would have been covered in pee, and poop and blood, and it's the most beautiful thing in the world. Now go to school."

It's only 7:40 a.m.

REDRUM

Well, now I know where they filmed the snow scenes from The Shining. I'm living there.

Better Now

Started this post thinking it would be short and sweet, simply, Better Now, but this weather sucks. And sucks it does. I hate cold, winter, snow, wind, sleet, freezing rain, slippery roads, mucky wet dirty soggy sloshy snow. Welcome to my new hometown folks.

Anyway, the snow did afford me the opportunity to get off my irsky and shovel, creating a little sweat and muscle soreness, so now I don't feel like the complete sloth I have been as of late. I just wrote 'as of late' because it sounded cool, and kind of English-y. Yes, this is going to be a long post about nothing.

Or should I just stop right here.

Nah, I know you're too interested in my boring life. I did read somewhere that blogs are all about vanity, and maybe they are. Maybe I have hopes of becoming a famous author someday, and having all those who have done me wrong find out how worldly and successful I've become and crawl to me trying to get back into my good graces. Fortunately, I don't think there are too many people out there who done me wrong. And if they had, I probably deserved it.

Writing, writing, writing. What's there to say. Oh, I've always wanted to be a writer. I knew I was a writer from the moment I held a crayon and scribbled on the walls. Bullshit. I hate when I read a bio on a writer, and it starts, "I always wanted to be a writer..." "It's been my lifelong dream to write..." "I must write or die." Stupid, stupid, stupid. That's what I have to say about those kind of writers. For me, and here it gets super-de-duperty corny, and I'm doing this on purpose. I've explained it like an addiction, and too bad I never saved what I had previously written about it. It's like you want to take a drink, you take a drink. You want to write, so write. And you can't help what you're about to do, you just know if you don't do it, the words will scream inside of your brain to let them out. It's like you need to be near paper, a spiral, 3x5 notecards, sharpies, bics, papermates in case something suddenly explodes from your head and you know if you don't write it down right then and there then it's lost in the abyss (which is pure white, albido, and very, very lonely) forever, except for one tiny bit that's clinging to the back of your brain (and is the creative side the left or the right, that's how dumb I am, I dont' even know) that's dangling above the abyss but fails to fall, so it haunts you forever because you know there's a part of what you wanted to write still up there, dangerously close to falling into the spiralling abyss and then, that's it.

Did anybody check out Amber Frey last night on Dateline and wouldn't she look a whole hell of a lot better with a chin-length hairdo? And, speaking of hair-dos, did ya'll notice Matt Lauer's getting a little tuftier on top?

In Case Anyone's Out There and Cares...

... So far, each of the four days and the evening leading up to 2005, have sucked. That's all for now.