"It's Getting Hot In Here"

When getting dressed this a.m., Diva Daughter comes in and informs me that I look "hot."
(Preface to this story--for those that know me, I know you are totally laughing right now because NO ONE in their right mind would describe me as hot. Funny, perhaps, but Hot, never.)

Anyway, so when Diva says, "Hot," I say, "You mean as in Hot, spicy?"

"No, like Hot, Cool. You're a hot mom." This from a five-year old?

I'm not really sure that was the look I was going for this morning, as we headed out for church, but I'll take it whenever and from whomever I can get it from! Compliments, that is. Compliments.

Something About Stephy

There's something to be said for the way Ben Stiller prepares for a date as demonstrated in Something About Mary. And for a woman, you don' t need to worry about hair gel; it just offers a nice cheek glow, so you may opt to go sans blush. I'll let ya know how it turns out.

Cherish Vibe

Okay, a friend and I were talking about what is missing from our lives and she says she just wants to feel "cherished." How does someone go about getting the Cherish Vibe? Here's a brainstorm list on what I think being cherished means, whether it's someone I cherish, what someone does to cherish me, or what I do to cherish myself:

I am being cherished when I get into the minivan and realize Scott has filled the tank or gotten it cleaned.

... when he kisses the back of my neck.

...when he tells me I'm a good mommy.

...when he wants sex (even though I don't connotate (right word?) asking for sex as being cherished.

... when he reaches for my hand in the middle of the night while I'm sleeping.

...when I ask for some neck rubs and I get them.

... when he brings me a glass of wine after I've gotten out of the shower (and NO, I don't mean at 9 a.m.!)

... when he wakes up on Saturday morning, sneaks out of the room and lets me sleep an extra two hours without being disturbed by the kids.

... when we go on vacation together.

... when he takes the time to search my eyes before laying one on me.

... when he calls my parents just to shoot the shit.

from the kids --
I am being cherished when one of the kids says, "Mom, guess what?" pause, "I just love you."

...when they wrap their arms around my leg, waist or arms (depending on height of child) to give me a hug.

...when they ask me to cuddle with them.

... when McKaelen lets me brush her hair without whining (a very rare cherishable moment).

... when AJ says I'm the best mommy in the world.

... when AJ says he understands it's hard to be a mom sometimes.

How I cherish others:
I cherish Scott by leaving him messages at work on Monday saying I miss him and that I had a great weekend.

... when I stop at the store to pick up just bananas cuz I know we're out and I know he eats one every day.

... when I rub his buttcheeks while he falls asleep and I'm reading a book in bed (TMI!)

... when I initiate.

... when I don't make excuses.

... when the laundry is done, a meal is prepared, the house is uncluttered and I give it up (see previous entry on the SAHM's Rules).

... when I get / take his dry cleaning without being asked.

How I cherish the kids:
... when I hug / kiss them, even if they're annoying me.

... when I take them anywhere they want to go - movies, ice cream, bike ride, park, dollar store, playground.

... when I cuddle / snuggle with them.

I cherish others by:
... keeping in touch.

... sending letters saying "I miss you" or "I think of you often".

... spending time with friends.

... laughing at their jokes.

I cherish myself by:
... exercising (not enough)

... cleaning my pores (not enough)

... doing yoga and concentrating on Me.

... feeling grateful for what I have.

Okay, so this exercise wasn't as enlightening as I had hoped. What are some of the ways YOU are cherished by those in your life?

Holy Crap

Well, this morning I got up from a frenzied writing session where I stayed up waaayyy too late, inspired by meeting author, Amy Krouse Rosenthal, and getting her book,
EncyclopediaofanOrdinaryLife which is just fabulous and I'm already never going to think about a Q-tip in the same fashion ever again.

So, I get up because Ajer has come into my room six times to tell me the bus is coming in exactly one-half hour, so he needs to get ready. Get ready? He's got to put on his freaking coat and shoes, grab his backpack and go. I tell him, "Come back at 7:29." I feel like our roles are totally reversed and beg him for "Just one more minute." I scream when he turns on the light. Did your parents do that to you when you were a kid? Now my kid is doing it to me! Not fair! When do I get to be the parent? I tell him he's going to regret this when he's a teenager and I rush into his room, frantically switching on the light and screaming at him to wake up already. I'll tell him, "You like how that feels, buddy?!"

Anyway, I'm thinking about what I'm going to write in MMMM today and I suddenly get an incredible urge for a Thin Mint Girl Scout cookie. Isn't it amazing that I've had the box in the freezer for eight days and I haven't even eaten half a sleeve yet? Now, that is self-control. Except, I just devoured the rest of said sleeve. And, then I realize in horror:

"Today is Friday -- It's WW weigh-in morning!"

So, what's the big deal you ask?

For the past three years, I haven't eaten or drank anything on Friday morning until AFTER I get on that scale.

The whole day is shot. It might as well be Friday the thirteenth.

Thoughts On Nothing

There You Have It.

Conversation with Hubby

So, last night I was talking to Scott about my brush with infidelity:

Me: "Honey, I would have DIED if I had kissed that guy."
Him: "No you wouldn't. You may have felt guilty for a couple weeks, but you wouldn't DIE."
Me: "Yes, I would have absolutely DIED. You don't understand, I just felt completely TERRIBLE about the whole thing."

He continues to be the knight in shining armor and says:
"Really, honey, I promise you, you would not have DIED."

Me: "Oh yes I would have. He was Soooo Ugly!"

Up next, I'm going to find the stuff I wrote about when I was stalking my ex-boyfriend online. Coming soon....

Lunch

I met my old boss (he's not old, I should rephrase this)... my former boss and another co-worker for lunch today. Did we discuss how I led the marketing department in many great decisions? Did we discuss how I implemented the direct mail program? Did we reminisce about the weekly newsletter I put together? Did we talk about the conferences, golf outings and other functions I organized for the association? Of course not.

Topic of interest still is, eight+ years later, "Remember when we did those blow job shots on the Carnival Cruise, and then Stephanie puked in four modes of transportation in a twenty-four hour time period -- on the cruise ship, tour bus, airplane and car?"

Yep. And then I got to enlighten them with the story of me puking in the taxi this past weekend.
The past is definitely keeping up with me.

Just Some Things, In No Particular Order

1. I had a brutal flashback this a.m. as I was reading a Hulk story to Tookie. One page shows the Hulk as he's morphing from man to beast, and my mind zipped backward to Friday nights' escapades, even though I've tried to push the memory of everything (except that delicious dessert) out of my head.

The vision of the 23-year old emblazoned itself onto my brain at that very moment as I read about how the nice Bruce scientist guy gets angry and turns into ugly green faced monster Hulk with eyes too far apart, thin lips and a sneer that could scare the crap out of a constipated infant.

The vision of The Groper. My God, he was ugly. Figures. Just when I needed a self-esteem boost and my memory had to come into focus and remind me that I was not getting hit on by [insert whatever hot famous guy here, but not Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt because they are just too short and sooo not my type]... hmmm... Bill Bixby maybe? God rest his soul.

Anyway, number two of Just Some Things, In No Particular Order is:

What food items I ate today:

--grandenonfatsugarfreevanillalatte
--1/3 of a chocolate chunk cookie from Starbucks (thanks to Diva Daughter for saving me those extra calories from the other 2/3 of the damn cookie I REALLY wanted!)--
--1-1/2 stale Pizza Hut breadsticks with pizza sauce
--2 crusts from a personal pan cheese pizza
--Three bites of mint chip ice cream Tookie didn't finish, topped with rainbow sprinkles or jimmies or whatever the heck you want to call them.
--Two smallish chocolate/peanut butter cookies I snagged at the author reading/signing I attended tonight that probably would have been quite tasty, had I stopped to chew and taste them instead of inhaling.

Yeah, I guess I kind of just forgot to eat today, but you can bet my sweet weight watching ass that I overconsumed the amount of points I'm supposed to have in a day.

Losing Readers

I think my readership just dropped from four of you to two now that I've poured out my soul and admitted my drunken faults for you all. But, I'll be okay, and may even have a cocktail or two this weekend--NOT!

Ready To Share the Saga

Let me preface this post with this: If you know me, or even if you don't know me, you may come up with a slightly different opinion of me after reading this post. So, having said that, if you like me, and want to continue 'respecting' me, please quit reading now, because, as I felt for myself Saturday morning, Saturday afternoon, and still Saturday evening, I wouldn't respect me either.

Here goes:

It was ladies night. Meaning me and the girls were going out on the town. And boy, did I need a night out. So, I got all gussied up, but not in my $14.99 Zena jeans freshly purchased at TJMaxx because as my good friend pointed out, I just shouldn't wear them (and she was right!). However, in my defense, I can't morally justify paying over a hundred dollars for Lucky jeans (sorry Suzie-Q!) when I don't even spend $100 on a whole outfit, but she has promised to take me out to update my wardrobe, and admittedly, I definitely need some updating.

So, out to dinner with the chickies and I order my first drink (well, actually my second drink as I had a cranberry vodka at home). My first drink of choice: a stoli O, vanilla stoli and OJ martini. But, I requested it sans OJ. Mistake number one of the evening.

Midway through our meal, I get my third drink of the night--the first of about a million appletinis (and may I make it known here publicly that I may never, ever, EVER drink an appletini again).

Dinner is yummy, (the first time around at least!) and we feign a friend's birthday and get a whopping huge dessert that costs near $14 FOR FREE ... the bottomless-Oreo-something-or-the-other-ice-cream-delight. Then we go to the bar for more dessert--a cranberry vodka.

If I knew how to do it--somebody please tell me--I'd link the restaurant here, but you can find it if you Google Hugo's Frog Bar, Naperville.

So, what' s the count now? Two martinis and two vodka cranberries, and the time is 10 pm. Feeling pretty good at this point.

Our sane, responsible friends (read between the lines: the ones that have children that still wake in the middle of the night) say goodbye regretfully (because they are very fun to party with!) and we meet up with my other friend's "freshly-divorced-and-on-the-prowl" sister and her friends.

Mistake number two: Next bar--Bar Louie's, another hot spot in Naperville. First vision when walking in this bar is a girl dancing seductively on a speaker, wearing a half t-shirt that says "California" on it, and baring her implants and belly-pierced navel. I was disgusted. Absolutely disgusted. Until my friend, S., said, "Remember when we used to dance on the speakers at Amnesia's in college?"

Now I was even more disgusted at how old I have become.

Mistake number three: I ordered my first Tease martini, and at the time, I thought it was a delightful blend of vodka and apple flavors with a hint of cinnamon, oh yeah, and more hint of vodka.

Then we run into a guy who was, swear to God, wearing a t-shirt that said, "I have a big d*ck, so I make all the rules." Of course, being the extrovert that I am, and being the completely wasted girl that I was, I challenged the innocent young man.

"Prove it."

He must not have been as confident as he thought, because there was no showing going on. But he did come back with the age-old-six-year-old statement: "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Hmmm... to show or not to show, that was the question, and also, how drunk was I really? I made him a deal. It was 12:10 a.m. I said, "You come back here at 12:40 a.m. and the peep show is on."

Mistake number four: My second Tease martini.

What's the tally up to now? Let's see, one before dinner, two at dinner, one after dinner, one Teaser and now the second Teaser brings us up to, drum roll please...six, four of these being martinis (which I publicly [sp] announce again, "I may never drink again.")

Happily, a trip to the ladies room gets me a closer look at California gal and she turns out to be one of those ten-at-two girls. Close up, she's definitely not anything attractive. At ten p.m., she's likely to be a two on the scale, but at 2 a.m., I'm sure she ranks a ten... hence, the ten-at-two; two-at-ten rule. Ever hear of that one?

I do remember most of the evening, and recall high-fiving girls in the bathroom who were in their thirties. We are women, hear us roar! The twenty-somethings just looked at us like... ugh, I can't even relate to you how the twenty-somethings looked at us, but I've got something to say to them: THEY'LL BE THIRTY AND FLIRTY SOON ENOUGH!

Here is when I look at my watch, and yes, unbelievably, I am able to still see vaguely straight. I see that it is 12:30 a.m.

"Hey guys, we have got to get out of here because if t-shirt boy comes back, I made him a promise I don't want to keep."

Mistake number five: Go to another bar and keep drinking. The Lantern. The most of what I remember at this trendy little shot-and-a-beer place that I haven't caroused in since B.K. (before kids), is that it is very much the same cute little place with the popcorn machine and dart boards. The only thing I can't understand is why it looks like they let underaged kids into the bar. This is when I realize, they are not underaged, but this is how twenty-one-year olds look.

Pee break here offers me the opportunity to share thoughts with a woman that I would normally not express publicly. Let me state here, I am not bi-sexual, but do take pleasure in the looks of nice looking, normal women (NOT CALIFORNIA GIRL cuz she was simply put, a skank). So, I saw this very tall girl who *ahem* had on a nice shirt and her boobs looked, okay, nice. So, I told her. I prefaced it with "Don't take this the wrong way..." and told her her boobs looked great in her shirt, and what kind of bra did she have on.

And, I'm not the only one interested in knowing, because suddenly, there's like six of us flocking this woman who is introducing herself as Colleen and tells us that she got her bra at Marshall Field's while lifting up her shirt so we may get a closer look at this majestic piece of cloth.

"What size is it?" one asks.
"How much did it cost?" from another patron.
"Do they have it in chartreuse?" asks yet another.

Colleen very graciously answers all of our questions, lets us fondle the back of her bra to read what brand it is, and tells us to go find her sister Ann, who works at Marshall Field's and she'll "hook" us up with a new bra. LOL--hook, get it, bra, I am soo funny. How do I come up with this shit?

Mistake number five: Now it really gets bad. Next bar, Features, where I am amazed at the rennovations and completely blown away with the clientele, the decor, the drinks. And, I regrettfully admit... the men.

Somehow, and I don't know how this happens, I order another martini, and I think this one is just a plain old appletini, or maybe it's a cranberry vodka... but this is where the night gets foggy. And, I meet a man. A man named Douglas? A twenty-three year old boy. Who is paying me attention. I'm sickened by what I'm about to admit.

I let him grope me. In the bar. In public. In the absence of my beloved and doting and handsome husband, I let a stranger grope me.*

Now, fifteen years ago, this wouldn't be so shocking. In fact, it would be more shocking had it not happened on a girl's night out. But the problem here now, fifteen years later, is that I am married, I love my husband, I would be sickened to death if I were to ever cheat, drunk or not.

I whispered some things into this stranger's ear I don't dare divulge here, for it would make you a reader of the past. You would click this blog closed, never to want to read MMMM ever again, but certainly, this post must prove to you that yes, I am a Manic Mom.

The lights come up in the bar, yet my dream is far from over. I say goodbye to my would be lover, had it been fifteen years earlier, but maybe not, because if it were fifteen years earlier, dear Douglas would be... (and yes, since I am a wordsmith and not a mathematician, this is where I must remove my fingers from the keyboard and do some simple math with a pen and paper)...

Eight. Years. Old.

As much as I am stupid here with my almost love affair, I am smart enough to have a smart friend with me, and between the two of us, we make it to a taxi. In this taxi, we are joined by sister divorcee (who was a lot of fun and had really nice friends, I must say!) and two other men, strange men we didn't know, but I do remember one was really tall and therefore must have been really cute because I equate tallness with cuteness, just like I can imagine making love to Peter Gabriel or Dave Matthews or John Mayer or Coldplay's lead singer just because the music is so beautiful and it wouldn't matter what the person looked like. (I would probably choose Dave Matthews first now, just because Peter is looking sooo old these days, and Chris from Coldplay has a daughter named Apple and a wife named Gwyneth).

So, our lovely taxi driver takes these boys to their requested address, where they then beg us ladies to come in for a moment. Since I've had my head in my own lap for the whole drive, I have no idea where we are and thank God for smart and responsible friend S, we leave in the taxi, but not before she reminds taxi driver to hit the start button over because we are not adding that pay to OUR fare.

We then drop lovely sister off, and again, I still do not know where we are because head is in lap.

Mistake number six: I feel the need to throw up and in as nice of a tone as I can muster, with my head in my lap, I ask the kind taxi driver if he may pull over so I may release. He pulls over, I release (and most of it makes it out of the taxi), I release some more, into a box of Kleenex kind taxi driver keeps on hand for situations such as this I am sure. I apologize, I'm sure, slurringly and profusely, over and over, and beg for death.

Kind, loving, beautiful friend gets me home and tips the taxi driver $10 for his troubles. And he was such a nice taxi driver, I do feel remorse for throwing up, but come on, this has got to happen a lot of times because why are we taking taxis anyway? Because we are drunk and incapable of driving, thinking straight and keeping six-eight drinks down.

At home, I manage to strip off jeans and leave them in the garage and crawl my sad ass to my bedroom, where my husband is snoring soundly. I believe I must have checked on my angels because I do that no matter what, each and every night. Then I came back downstairs, put the puke-laden jeans into the washing machine and washed them. Cleanliness next to Godliness.

A shower to cleanse remaining vomit and I almost fall asleep in there until I hear hubby come in to make sure I'm alive.

"Go to bed," he says.

I do, and I stay there until 6:30 p.m. the next day, emerging only to vomit, pee, drink 1/2 glass of Gatorade, vomit some more, take a shower and eventually rise to find food, where I cannot even eat until 8:00 p.m.

And all day, my body aches. I feel my skin turn hot, then cold, my head pulses to the tune of badgirlbadgirlbadgirlbadgirl over and over again. I got hot and then cold simultaneously, I have bad dreams that I cannot decipher, and think these are dreams that reallly happened. I dream I am kissing the boy, fully realizing I'm married. I dream I whisper into his ear after he begs me to come home with him: "If I weren't a happily married, thirty-five year old mother of three, I would take you home and rock your world!" I shove covers off, I curl up under them, I toss and turn, my shoulder aches from lying on one side for too long. I check the clock, wishing for it to be the next day already, so I can be a functioning human being.

And I feel guilt. Immense guilt for my blatant acts of flirting, for letting a twenty-three-year old grope me, for drinking so much I miss the whole day with my family, for not considering my family, my children. I am a wreck all day, staggering through physical pain, emotional guilt and loss of respect for myself.

Hubby comes back from taking the kids to the park because he is so awesome and he knows I feel so terrible. I hear them come home and I call out to him to come up. He places his cool hands on my arms, my face, they feel so cool and I can't get enough of the coolness. I want to go outside and fall onto the snow, to feel numbing coldness.

"I have to tell you something."

"What?"

"I let a guy grope me."

"Did you kiss him?"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" But he touched me. He touched my butt."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

"Okay. I'm not mad, I grab your girlfriends' butts all the time."

He does?!!?!?!?

So, today is a new day. I awaken before the children, stretch into my bed and think the best words in the world ever:

I am alive!
And I'm never drinking ever, ever again.**

*He didn't grope me all that much, really.

**Yeah, right.

LOOK WHAT I FOUND ONLINE!

Nude picture of Brad Pitt here!

New Country Hit Called...

I Let A 23-Year-Old Grope Me and Threw Up In a Taxi...

Unfortunately, it's not a song, it's what happened to me on Friday night. More later.

Not Making Dinner Tonight

Well, Scott got home early today so it looks like I won't be making dinner tonight, or doing the laundry, or decluttering the living quarters, read this and you'll see why... yuk yuk!

New Exercise Plan

I've decided to go on the new Oprah Winfrey Exercise Plan. No, I will not be working out with a personal trainer eight times a week, lifting and sweating and running and sprinting or whatever she does. My plan is much more simple.

I will do the Dreadmill every morning at 9 a.m. while watching Oprah. And during commercials, I will accelerate the speed until the break is over in order to get really pumping!

How easy is that? I found myself up to 2-1/2 miles this a.m., breaking a sweat, working my leg muscles, and wondering why on earth some husband pastor guy would murder his wife with a rolling pin. Not only does this plan work my body, but my mind as well.

The perfect solution!

I Am The New Mom...

... and apparently, AJ does not like this new mom and wants the old mom back.

I heard this from him today, as I was taking them to the children's museum. How many moms are cool enough to do this for their kids on a Thursday because she knows they will be bored at home and looking for something fun to do!?!?!? And she knows she has deadlines and dirty laundry and plenty of things waiting at home that need to desperately get done.

He didn't feel like going to the museum because I was not going to play with them; I was going to read a book. I told him I enjoy reading, he enjoys playing at the museum.

He said the old mom used to play with them, and the new mom is just too busy. I try to explain to them that I am too busy trying to make a career for myself because what the hell am I going to do when they're all older and at school and doing a zillion activities and want nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, to do with me, unless they need a ride to practice or to a friend's house or to the movies? And that, yes, I like doing what I am doing, and I like the extra money so I can take them to fun places like the museum, but is that good enough for him? Noooooooo.

He said, "You enjoy doing articles, which are adult. I enjoy Game Cube, which are for kids, but the museum is for everybody!"

This is when I reminded him the museum is the children's museum.

"Well, it's a children's museum and I am not a child," was my logical response, which I know was a stupid thing to say but I thought I could blindside him there.

So, we actually had a fight over whether I would be playing with them or not, which, I just really, really felt like sitting and reading a book--don't you all sometimes just feel like having no one pull at you and demand of you and beg you and ask you and yell at you, just for like 15 minutes or so? What is wrong with a little peace and quiet when we've had to deal with nursing newborns, crying infants, teething toddlers, pissy preschoolers, and angst-ridden first graders? Come on! Don't we deserve a break? And I ain't talking McDonald's here, I'm talking some 'take-a-deep-breath-and-sit-by-yourself-and-listen-to-the-quiet-time breaks. Don't you just feel like listening to NOTHING sometimes?

Yes, I love my children, I adore my children, but they sap a lot of energy out of me, and I'm the first to admit, and in this public forum, that I am getting old and I like quiet.

It's quiet now. I think I'll go to bed and read, but I'm so tired I will just fall asleep and yes, I will be thankful I get to wake up tomorrow and do it all over again. Yes, really, really, really and truly thankful because for as much as I gripe, I love them to death and never want to miss a day when my Tookey says, "Mom, I love you sixteen!"

P.S... At the museum, I drew a really cool picture and I played with some nifty bubble things and then some air thingies where you put the ball on the top and the ball just sits there, and then we went into this room where there was a disco ball and music and then after that we saw a fake television stage where I pretended to interview the kids and I interviewed AJ and asked him why he was so mad at his mother and then he got really, really pissed off and I had to get my bouncers to pull him off me cuz he was beating me up while the audience was yelling, "Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!" Oops, maybe not.

It's List Time!

Here's my list topic for tonight--
What I Did Today or Why Am I Crabby (these two can be interchangable as the things I did today might have made me crabby, or I am crabby because of some of the things I did today).

In absolutely no sequential order (because obviously, if I had done the first thing on my list the first thing today, it might not have been such a crappy day!):

I mixed up a batch of appletinis and finished them off.
Made three breakfasts.
Went to Starbucks where I got my nonfatsugarfreevanillalatte, two chocolate milks and a cookie.
Did 20 minutes on the Dreadmill.
Watched 20 minutes of Oprah while on the Dreadmill.
Wished for those fashion chicks on Oprah to come make me over.
Took a shower.
Shaved armpits but not legs.
Cleaned the kitchen counter (FOUR TIMES, do ya hear me moms!?!?!?)
Ignored three baskets of clean laundry in the living room.
Helped AJ deal with a nightmare (after all, that did happen today, even if it was 2 a.m.)
Listened to AJ tell me at 2 a.m. that he felt depressed because of his nightmare (what the hell was he dreaming about--getting up with three kids the next day--ha!)
Peed, like only once or twice.
Met Lisa for lunch.
Asked Lisa if we were having a 'working' lunch or a 'liquid' lunch.
Asked the waiter to 'surprise' me with my drink order.
Was happily surprised when he brought me the one I wanted.
Froze my ass off.
Put make-up on... BIG day for me when the mascara comes out.
Felt almost human because of said makeup.
Answered, wrote, replied to emails.
Checked favorite blogs.
Brushed kids teeth.
Wiped kids faces.
Wiped kids butts.
Yelled at kids.
Kissed some kids.
Cuddled with some kids.
Took some kids to the DuPage Children's Museum (Still wish I knew how to hyperlink here!)
Read a teeny tiny bit.
Was informed by my oldest:
You're the new mom, I miss the old mom! (This will have to be a separate post because I could go on and on about how my feelings were hurt over this comment)
Watched Survivor all the while saying the internal mantra "I will not get sucked in this season, I will not get sucked in this season."
Got sucked in this season.
Was glad that chick got voted off.
Want the gay hairstylist to get off the island with that pink polo shirt turned miniskirt and come give me highlights.
Got new Illinois license plates.
Was told by Drivers License place woman that I was a good mama.
Think Drivers License place woman may have been drunk.

OK, There are many, many more things I can write that I did in the previous 20 hours but I'm bored to tears, and this is my life, so I can only imagine what you are feeling right now.

Thanks for listening. I feel much better! Now, how was your day?

National Make-A-List Day

Okay, here's something new I'm going to try and we'll see if I will continue doing it. Trial and error here. I'm going to make a list each evening of something. It could be about anything. A list of the canned goods I have in the pantry; A list of things I've yet to do; A list of goals I have; A list of the crap that's on this desk; A list of things that irritate me (number one may just be this idea!).

So, in honor of National Make-A-List Day (yep, I just invented it), I've come up with today's list (well, haven't actually come up with it yet, but if I stall you long enough I will think of something...).

Okay...
Things I Believe To Be True:

It will always rain the day I get my hair dyed.
I am eternally running late.
There is a Heaven.
Jeffrey Dahmer isn't there.
Scott Peterson and Michael Jackson will never get there.
I always end up throwing out expired sour cream.
I have been eating too much chocolate.
My parents love me.
I love them, my kids, my family.
I annoy my kids.
My husband annoys me.
There is always one sock or one mitten or a hat or a scarf missing.
I will never be a good cook, or even a half-way decent cook.
I will never be the perfect wife.
I'm okay with these small faults.
Music can make anyone happy.
Mondays are usually rainy, cloudy or crappy.
Plan a bunch of fun activities on the weekend and your children will get sick.
Light Tostitos are WAY better than Baked Tostitos.
I yell at my children far too often.
I buy my children far too many crap items.
I am not a shoe whore.
I am not a purse whore.
I am not a clothes whore.
I am not an accessory whore.
I like diamonds.
I am a book whore and a computer addict.
If I had only $10 to spend, I would immediately go to Barnes & Nobles with it, find a book that's not too expensive and hope for enough money left over for a tall latte, since there definitely won't be enough for a grande.
If I can control it, I will never work a 9-5 office job again.
Career women without nannies have it harder than SAHMs.
I have no sympathy for women with careers and nannies. Okay, maybe a little, but not when they bitch about how hard it is to work and raise a family.
I'm not sure if I have sympathy for SAHMs and nannies, unless they've got like eight or twelve kids.
I am not attracted to men shorter than I am.
I am not attracted to some men taller than I am.
I'm sure they feel the same way about me.
Play-Doh and Silly Putty have a magnetic force field to hair, carpet and furniture.
A beach (and an all-you-can-drink-bar-with-wait-service) will always be my favorite vacation spot.
But only if I'm with my husband...
and the nanny's got the kids. (Kidding--I don't have a nanny!)

Stupid Craft Idea #40

This isn't really a 'craft' but more of an activity. And when I was 'organizing' it for the kids, I kept saying to myself, "not a good idea, Stephanie, just not a good idea."

Diva and Tookey are playing in the basement with Legos and Polly Pockets. They couldn't find the Polly pool. I offered to get a Tupperware container and fill it with water for their pool.

I'm sure I'll be cleaning up yet another mess. But it has been quiet for the last eight minutes. Hmm... too quiet... not good. Not good at all. Screw it. It's quiet, and I'm going to go take a shower.

Cyber-Sex Version of Journaling

Well, I've just come up with a new phrase. You know how when the internet first came into being and everyone was emailing and e-dating and e-cyber-sexing it up? I just read a post here http://mimidish.blogspot.com/ about how she feels she is having "affairs" with her journals and she's unable to commit to just one. I informed Mimi to get rid of her "seven-inch Bic" and come to terms with what she is actually doing. Instead of "sleeping" with her pen and journal, she is having writer sex, and there's a new buzz word for it. It's called... drum roll please...

Doing It Bloggy Style!

Ha, ha, I love laughing at my own jokes! Hope you laughed too!

Stupid Craft Idea #39

If you're ever looking to score some quiet time and give your children something creative to do, DO NOT DO WHAT I JUST DID.

Luke enjoys playing with the shaving cream in the shower (who doesn't?) and was quite annoyed to learn that I was not inviting him to bathe with me this a.m. whereas he would not be squirting shaving cream onto the walls, drawing little circles and hearts on his tile canvas and then rubbing it all together until it dripped nicely down into the drain.

So, to appease my darling son, I came up with a fabulous idea!

I invited Luke into the kitchen where I retrieved a couple bowls, a platter, the turkey baster and a basting brush. I squirted a huge amount of shaving cream onto the platter, and into the bowls, plopped Luke in front of it all, pulled up his sleeves, and then I walked away, thinking, "Great, this will give me at least ten minutes of solitude."

Bad, bad idea.

There is such thing as "too much of a good thing" and I just spent the last half-hour cleaning up the "too much of a good thing" and now the little squirt actually DOES need to bathe, and he's going to get to play with the shaving cream in the tub, which, in case you're wondering, is the only place it should be allowed in your house, lest you desire your kitchen cabinets and floor be painted with it.

Just another day in the life of Manic Mom.

If You Can't Find Me

Hi, if you're looking for me here, I am now residing at:
www.stephanieelliot.blogspot.com

I think.

A Stupid Holiday

Today is A Stupid Holiday. Not because I'm a bitter, scorned woman. Nope. I'm very happily married to a man who is way more a husband and father I could have ever hoped for. But, this post isn't about him. Well, not all of it.

I will try to take you through some of my past Valentine's Days, and really, until I got married, I never had a Valentine. I met Scott on Groundhog's Day, so that first Valentine's Day we weren't really together together, at least not in the sense of officially being boyfriend/girlfriend. In fact, I don't even think I got a phone call from him that day, and we had been 'talking' among other things since Feb. 2.

The second Valentine's we experienced together was after our first year anniversary of dating exclusively in college, and to date exclusively in college for a year meant practically marriage. In my eyes anyway. So, we had just celebrated very romantically our one year anniversary, he had just come home with me to share in my dad's fiftieth birthday party that weekend, and then, and then...

TWO DAYS BEFORE VALENTINE'S DAY, IN 1991, HE DUMPED MY ASS.

And not because of another girl. Nope, he just wanted to put things "on the back burner for a while."

The following weekend, my roommate had called me up at my parent's home (because I couldn't possibly hang out at school on the weekends because Scott was a bouncer at the bar we girls always went to (THE SAME BAR SCOTT AND I MET A YEAR EARLIER).

Wow, maybe I shouldn't be writing this on Valentine's Day as I'm feeling quite bitter suddenly.

So my roommate calls me up and tells me another friend of ours had seen Scott out at a restaurant with ANOTHER GIRL ON THE WEEKEND OF VALENTINES! Ok, in college, you did not take girls out to dinner. You were lucky if a beer was bought for you at a bar, but dinner? Not something college kids did as there was this thing called Money, that no one had. And certainly, Scott was no exception to the rule. And he takes this girl out not five days after dumping me!

This was the official cue for me to move on. And I did. Very slowly, very dramatically. And it was the greatest weight loss plan ever designed. Forget Weight Watchers, Forget Jenny Craig. I'll take the "Thanks-but-I-Can't-Eat-As-My-Heart's-Been-Shredded-To-Pieces" Diet Plan. I lost twelve pounds in two weeks. Food just would not go down. I remember trying to eat a granola bar and the pieces of whatever is in a granola bar just would not mix with my saliva and I was physically unable to swallow. It was dramatic and traumatic, and to this day, even my roommates say that was the worst time in THEIR lives--living with me. Anyway, this was not what I wanted to write about, I didn't think so anyway... btw, Scott and I are fine now (until February 12 rolls around each year and I remind him that it's the anniversary of the worst day in my entire life).

I wanted to talk about one of the most 'unique' Valentine's Days I had. My roommate and I were feeling anti-loved, anti-Valentine's Day so we decorated our dorm room with black construction paper hearts and planned on going out and bad-mouthing every cute little couple out there. Oh, and we also planned on getting drunk. So, we got ready for this party we were going to, and I'm sure we both dressed in black to make a statement on how we were feeling that day. At the party, we found a very nice boy, a very unsuspecting young collegiate who was wearing a black fedora. We kidnapped him, took him back to our black-hearted cavern of a dorm room and forced him... literally forced him...

Are you ready for this?

We forced him to buy us a pizza.

It was one of the best Valentine's Days ever! We had a boy, and we had food.

Anyway, the point is... do I have a point here? OK, I've thought of a point. No matter who you are, where you are, who you have been with, who you want to be with, how you feel, remember this: You may not have the love of your life yet, you may still be searching (shout out to Dating Dummy and Breakup Babe), but there is somebody out there that loves you. It may not be a physical love. It may be familial (sp?) or friendship, or a closeness with a special person, but each and every one of you out there can say that at least you are loved by one person, whether it be a friend, a parent, a sibling, a child, another relative, a clerk at the store you frequent. But, you are loved by someone.

So, Happy Stupid Holiday to you! Cuz, really, it is a stupid holiday--we don't even get the day off! Now, go eat a piece of chocolate and give yourself a hug! xo

This Post, Part Two

Ok, God is definitely punishing me. I just 'tried' to post and if you'll notice below this post, NOTHING came up. He's mad at me.

I was saying that it was obvious by my post that I didn't give up blogging for Lent. But that I did get on the dreadmill this a.m. before I drank my nonfatsugarfreevanillalatte, and then came home and wrote a whopping fifteen pages of Novel In Progress. And that I think God would be pleased with me because of some of the good I did today, and that I didn't even Blog all that much. But then, my post magically disappeared. Will this one dissolve too, and do you spell disappear with only one S? Looks strange to me.

Cross fingers that this one comes up, but just in case, I'm going to hit COPY before I post. Ta-Ta.

This Post.

Or I Could Just...

Give up Blogging for a while. This is just too addicting. If I give up blogging, I will have more time to write, thereby, killing two birds with one stone, and if I have more time to write the novel, I will have less time to drive by the six million Starbucks in my area and be lured into the demon center of caffeine. Problem solved.

Just kidding, that would truly be hell on earth for me. This Blog stuff is addicting.

Can I Change My Mind?

Okay, salivating over the thought of a creamy, warm, vanilla-ish latte right this very minute and my previous post hasn't even been posted 15 minutes.

What if I don't exactly sacrifice something as in "giving something up?" What if I sacrifice to do something daily, like to promise I will write at least two pages of my novel each and every night... well, shit, I can't do that, because when the weekends come, there's no way I'll be sitting here typing my little heart out when there's wine to be drunk, food to be eaten, friends to be spending time with...

What if I say Monday through Thursday, and then Sundays (which would be a bonus sacrifice since technically you don't have to do the thing you said you were gonna not do or do on Sundays, so that would be like, extra religious, right?)

Okay. Starting TOMORROW, because I've already screwed up the two things I'm talking about here, by 1) having a latte this a.m. and 2) not writing two pages of the novel today, and yes, I know there are still two hours and two minutes of today left, but I don't think I have it in me right now... so, tomorrow, I either write or drink... that is the question:

To write or drink. We'll all find out tomorrow, won't we?

Better Late Than Never

Okay, it's Ash Wednesday. I was raised Catholic, attended Catholic school for 11 years and gave something up every year in honor of Lent. It was usually french fries or swearing, but never both at the same time, because when I gave up fries, I would usually be walking around saying, "Damn it, why the hell did I give up fries?"

Anyway, I've since turned Lutherlic or Catheran, whichever way you decide it is, and consider myself half-and-half. I think Mary is cool, and I believe everyone should be invited to God's table to partake in his body and blood, but I do not believe it is REALLY his body and blood, cuz, come on, it tastes like pita bread and Berringer's White Zinfandel, not human skin and congealed crimson body fluid!

(Dear God, forgive me for thou hath usedeth a really bad example all for the purpose of getting someone to laugh.)

Today, I didn't attend church, but I am pretty sure Lutheran's do receive the ashes, but I also didn't see anyone with charcoal on their foreheads! However, on the drive home from yoga tonight, I thought to myself, "Okay, Stephanie, why don't you give up something for Lent? What do you really desire more than anything these days?"

Sleep?
Yes, but that would be detrimental to my health for certain, and everyone in my family would suffer from a sacrifice such as that (but, on the other hand, I could quite possibly finish my novel in the first week of the Lenten Season).

So, I have decided to give up...

drumroll please...

Do you know where I'm going with this? Or rather, where I'm not going with this...

I'm giving up Starbucks! Ta-da!

Even though I know that too, would be detrimental to my health for certain, and everyone in my family would suffer, I have chosen that as my act to honor Jesus and to acknowledge His suffering the days leading up to, and the day, of his crucifixion.

Just don't tell Him I hadn't made my Lenten sacrifice until this evening, and a friend had mysteriously appeared at my door this morning with a grandenonfatsugarfreevanillalatte. But, that was before I even hardly remembered it was Lent, and way before I even got a brain spark to say I was giving something up for Lent. So there.

Besides, during Lent, you can break your sacrifice on Sundays, so only three more full days until I can have a latte!*

*Seriously folks, although I have been a latte drinker (not even a coffee drinker, just a prissy latte drinker) for all of fourteen months of my life (damn you Peppermint Mocha Christmas flavor latte for hooking me, and damn you, Barnes & Noble, for having Starbucks chains in your stores!), I still think this will take much willpower on my part, especially because I have promised to bring Lisa a venti mocha tomorrow in exchange for watching my kids. Is it too early to say, "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned"?

Number 5 Must-Do for a SAHM

Add this one to the list, but it only pertains to those living in climates where it snows--

Shovel driveway.

Of course, this doesn't negate the laundry, cooking, sex or decluttering. This is in addition to. Well, I've got dinner planned, house is still relatively clutter-free, laundry needs work and well, need I say more?

The Moods, They Are A Shifting

Much better frame of mind tonight. Had lunch with a good friend, sans children, then bought(shhh... don't tell Scott even though the MC charge will be showing up tomorrow)... four books at B&N, in no particular order:
Smashed:
a memoir, by twenty-something, Koren Zailckas, and I swear I could have written it because it's just about a girl who got drunk a lot in high school and college, and was a teeny bit promiscuous, and geeze, who the hell didn't and who the hell wasn't??

I have enough of those stories to fill THREE memoirs, and plenty of "I-was-so-drunk-I-passed-out-in-the-dormfloor-bathroom" or "I-was-so-drunk-I-snagged-my-roommate's-catch-for-the-evening-because-SHE-was passed-out-in-the-dormfloor-bathroom-and-who-was-I-to-leave-a-handsome-guy-there-with-nothing-to-do-while-the-chick-who-brought-him-home-was-passed-out-on-the-bathroom-floor*" stories to share, but this new writer had the foresight to give up drinking, acknowledge she was just a normal girl with normal alcoholic tendencies, and write a book about her experiences. Damn. Why didn't I think of that?

Running With Scissors:
another memoir**, by Augusten Bwhateverhisnameis, and I can't check my book because I am such a lovely friend, I lent my brand-new-AUTOGRAPHED, no less, book to my friend who saved me from the germhell home today and joined me for lunch and shopping. Who am I to not share a book? And, this autographed book was only $5.98 to boot! Lisa--YOU BETTER NOT SELL IT ON eBAY!

If Andy Warhol Had A Girlfriend:
not another memoir, but a novel, by Alison Pace, who joins me on my Yahoo chick lit group, so 'technically' she and I talk all the time! Shout out to Alison! As a Journalism major, an Art History minor (in addition to being a drunk in college), and a lover of all things Campbell Soup (you will only be laughing at that if you even know who Andy Warhol was, and what type of work he did), I thought I should snag this book up as soon as I could!

Hyporcrite In A Pouffy White Dress:
and yes, another memoir. Can you tell I love reading other peoples' sagas? Just makes me feel less depressed! Anyway, this one is the second memoir** by Susan Jan Gilman, and originally I have to admit, I wasn't really interested in buying this memoir, but I read a review that said it was good even though her life was boring (don't quote me on this one!). The one thing that confuses me is I always thought Pouffy was spelled Puffy. It's not Pouff Daddy or Pouff Diddy? OH WAIT A MINUTE... It's Poof-Y, not Puff-Y. I stand corrected.

So, had some adult conversation today, a nice lunch, some book time, some me time, and I even took the kids to the DuPage Children's Museum (SOMEBODY PLEASE EMAIL ME AND TELL ME HOW I CAN DO A LINK TO THESE REFERENCES!).

Also, if you'll see my recent post on the four things a SAHM should do daily, I
1) got the laundry done,
2) the clutter is decluttered (big shout out to Kim there, and why the hell did I negotiate a house-cleaning price TO YOUR ADVANTAGE?)
3) actually made a dinner, which dammit, AJ, why'd you have to go and start griping about the sauce on the chicken???

And here it is only 11:33 p.m. If I go upstairs and wake up Scott before midnight, I can be four for four tonight!

Oh, one downside to today's events: Scott got rear-ended (okay, it's more like 'side-ended'), and now his Lexus has a major scrape across the whole passenger side, but he's on the mystic, and is glad nothing worse happened. As he should be.

And I had a nice day sans Starbucks. Imagine that. And, if I'm lucky, the sun will be out tomorrow!
Bye friends!

*years later, I confessed to my college roomie about my indiscretion
**who the hell has enough stuff to write MORE THAN ONE memoir anyway? Apparently, these two!

SLUMP

Hellooooo? Sunshine? Are you out there? I don't know how anyone can live in Alaska where more than half the year is dark. I'm miserable enough in this midwestern hole where the sun isn't shining.

The kids have been sick for about a decade now, and I'm motivated to do absolutely NOTHING.

I'd go back to bed, but I'm too tired to climb the 14 or 15 stairs to get there.

Even A Tall Didn't Help

Okay, I'm depressed. Get out the hankies everyone while I share the news...

I'm growing old.

Ugh, it is just as excruciating to write it as it is to think it. Thank God I don't have to say it aloud to anyone. But it's true, and here are some recent examples that are leading me to this enlightenment. One, which I am certainly not happy about, but I need to just face reality (with an unbotoxed forehead still, at this point) and get real -- I am (oh, and this just pains me)
middle-aged.

There are many indications of such. One being I just got my hair cut and colored by a team of twenty-somethings and I tried to keep up with the chat, pretend I am cool, but to no avail. They were on to me. Shit. I wonder how old they really thought I was.

After the haircut and color, in which I was coerced into a 'few' foils by Pam or Mandy or Amanda or Pamela or whateverthehelltheirnameswerebutdiditreallymattercuztheywerejustsostinkingcute... Anyway, after the cut/color combo, I left the salon (and here, if I was really blogger-savvy, I could insert the link to the salon, and I'm sure it must be simple enough, and it's probably something like www.zanos.com --go ahead, try it, see if you get a trendy salon in the midwest)... so, I left the salon and of course, by the law of nature, it was raining and I had no umbrella so now I've got red streaks on my shoulder, but I played a little mind game with myself.

"If I walk by Barnes & Noble and it's open until 11 instead of 10, I go in. If it's open until 10, I go home."

I went in. And got further depressed because almost every new book that looked interesting to me was written by someone who was born in the seventies or eighties!!! And, good God, yes, I am only eight months shy of being a seventies child, but come on!! These people, these mere children, these babes, if you will, are PUBLISHED AUTHORS with the book(s) they've always wanted to write out there on those shelves, making a mockery of the work I am trying to create, the one that is tucked away in this God-awful computer, the one with more than 85,000 words, and more than 300 pages, just sitting there, dying, bleeding, begging to be let out, so the world can read what I have to say!

Ugh, what is my problem here?

I've got the agent, I've got the chick-litty/mom-litty novel with a cute little twist, I've got the lovable characters who are quirky, confused, grappling with life, I've got the office, I've got the five hours free a week where I am exempt from children hanging onto my ankles, begging for me to print out another gd picture of Shrek or Scooby Doo, or the Wiggles, or Rainbow Brite, or pleading for breakfast or lunch, or asking for help with a friendly butt wipe, SO WHY CAN'T I FINISH THIS LITTLE NAGGING NOVEL THAT'S BEEN IN MY HEAD FOR ALMOST THREE YEARS NOW?

Am I afraid? Or just being completely lazy and stupid?

And the icing on the cake that is making me feel really old? On the way home, I was listening to 93.1 XRT (and again, this would be a cool place to slip in the link to this radio station), and the DJ was announcing the tunes he had just played. He mentioned Walk of Life, by Dire Straits is "a couple decades old." Ugh. I remember clearly when that came out.

Next, they'll probably tell me Hungry Like the Wolf, by Duran Duran (my first ever MTV video I viewed) is three decades old.
Shoot me. Or, at least Shoot me up with some botox for crying out loud.

Coffee and Asparagus

Okay, I am completely aware that eating asparagus makes urine smell differently, but when you drink coffee, does your pee smell strange, too?

Things You May or May Not Know About Me... And Probably Don't Care!

1. I didn't drink coffee until I was 34 (last year) and now I only drink non-fat-sugar-free-vanilla-lattes from Starbucks.

2. I've only had one venti in my life.

3. I am listening to John Mayer right now.

4. I've been to strip clubs before.

5. Even patted a stripper on the butt.

6. I'm getting addicted to blogging, but consider it an art form.

7. I slept with my daughter last night; she's still sick.

8. This morning, I took all three kids to Dunkin Donuts drive-thru, then through Starbucks drive-thru for Scott and me.

9. The idea of a perfect day: writing undisturbed for at least three hours, then going to Barnes & Noble to buy 4-5 books and a non-fat-sugar-free-vanilla-latte.

10. This list is boring. So boring.

11. Maybe I won't post it.

12. I got pregnant with my daughter because I drank too much Rosemont Shiraz.

13. Now, I stay away from red wine.

14. My favorite place I've ever been is Grand Cayman, Rum Point.

15. It's where I imagine when the yoga instructor says to 'go to that place'.

16. My husband is an amazing guy, and is washing windows right this very minute.

17. I am partial to 3M products since my dad worked for them, and the company basically paid for everything I had as a child.

18. I think it's so cool that my mom was a flight attendant, and Miss Tampa.

19. I am an Irish twin--my sister and I are the same age each year for two weeks.

20. All my siblings and I have names that start with the letter S.

21. I gained sixty pounds with my last pregnancy.

22. I lost that sixty pounds plus some through Weight Watchers a few years ago.

23. I graph my weight on a data chart EVERY Friday.

24. I was born in Tampa and lived there until I was 16.

25. Then we moved to Chicago.

26. I had hardly ever seen snow.

27. The first time my car windows froze over, I didn't know what to do so I got a hot bucket of water and dumped it on the windshield. It refroze the ice.

28. I suck at math, geography, politics, history.

29. I am well-versed in ... ?

30. I love to put words into sentences.

31. I made out with three different boys on one night when I was in high school.

32. I can't tell you what I thought about writing next, regarding number 31.

33. My favorite authors: Jen Weiner (who I've stalked and met a couple of times, and who signed her books for me), Wally Lamb, Anne Lamott, Alice Sebold.

34. The first book I ever read as a kid and fell in love with was "Blubber" by Judy Blume.

35. "Blubber" had the word DAMN in it, and I confessed to my mother that the book I was reading had a bad word in it.

36. I think the moms at Catholic school thought I was a 'fast' girl because I read Judy Blume.

37. I snuck reading Wifey at my aunt's house when I was babysitting her kids.

38. I had something else good to say but forgot.

39. I didn't get my period until I was 14.

40. Looking back, I'm glad I got it so late.

41. I've had a colonoscopy, MRIs, cat scans for things that have ailed me.

42. I am a firm believer in being proactive when something doesn't feel right with my body.

43. My all-time favorite is Peter Gabriel, and In Your Eyes.

44. I saw Peter in concert in high school but can't remember much except it actually rained when he sang Red Rain (outdoor venue), and that I met a guy named John Long, who later visited me in college.

45. I am not a fan of sororities.

46. I am still really good friends with my high school pals.

47. I keep in touch with everyone I meet and find interesting.

48. I miss my friends in PA, my routine there, the fact that the kids had MORNING kindergarten and pre-school, chick fila Tuesday mornings with coffee, the quaintness of Bucks County, the Sysaks, the mild weather, and Scott's easy commute.

49. Number 48 should have been numbers 48 through 56.

50. I could go on forever but you'd be bored, and the laundry wouldn't get done today and I'd feel guilty that Scott is Windexing windows and Diva is complaining of not feeling well.

SICK

In honor of all the germs saturating our home this weekend, I wanted to post something I wrote a few years ago. It's seems appropo (sp?) for the times, although, it's mostly the kids who are sick... seems I have FOUR kids now... heh, heh... Stay well!


When women are sick, they go to work because they’ve used up all of their sick days taking care of the kids when they were sick.

When men are sick, they go to work so they can get a break from the wife and kids.

Women just want to be left alone in their misery.

Men find it necessary to sit within three feet of the otherwise uninfected people and moan about how terrible they feel, when they haven’t even pooped or puked yet.

Women worry that they’ll get the kids sick.

Men blame the kids for getting them sick.

Men still feel like having sex.

Women finally have a legitimate excuse for saying no.

Women want nothing to do with food, for once in their lives.

Men down a bowl of soup and half a roast beef sandwich, and still complain that they can’t eat and may starve to death.

Men can manage to catch the last quarter of the game, and tune in to ESPN to hear the latest scores, moaning all the while about how sick they feel.

Women are still able to make lunch for the kids, put in a video and pick up a couple of toys.

Women actually do not feel like having a conversation.

Men finally feel like communicating all of their feelings, especially the ones that detail what it was like to throw up last night’s pot roast.

Women can manage to wipe down the toilet bowl with a disinfectant during a heave break.

Men are pleased with themselves for making it to the toilet in time, incredibly managing to do so during halftime.

Men become more needy than a two-year old with a poopy diaper and a runny nose.

Women search for the bright side and think, “Well, at least I’m losing weight.”

Women can’t wait to feel better so they can get the overflow of laundry finished and clean up the mess that hubby and kids made.

Men can’t wait to feel better so they can have a beer.

And the number one reason why men are worse than women when they are sick…

Men wipe their brow, ask for water and have the nerve to say, “Wow, now I know what labor must have been like for you."

Stephanie Elliot, 2003 copywrite

The SAHM's Menu of Services

For those of you who are not familiar with the term, SAHM, it means Stay-At-Home-Mom. In discussing our duties as SAHMs, a friend and I came up with the SAHM's Menu of Services.

Ideally, there are only four things to be responsible for:
Laundry
Dinner
Keeping Living Quarters Liveable
Sex

I've recently told my husband I can only do so much and two out of the four items on the list are the most I can do a day. But keep in mind these four items are not the ONLY things I do. Factor in driving kids to school, playdates, doctor's, gymnastics, basketball, cheering, grocery shopping, Target shopping, Starbucks visits, blogging, googling, writing articles, writing my novel, editing for the e-newsletter I'm working for now, wiping butts, doling out snacks, putting on DVDs, answering phone calls, making phone calls (which are a very rare occurence these days, as many friends can attest to!), making lunches, picking up toys (refer back to Keeping Living Quarters Liveable), putting Target items away... as you can see, the list goes on and on and on...

So, in a yet-another-attempt to organize and structure my chaotic life (working moms, please forgive me, and know that I could NEVER do what you do... you are my IDOLS!), I've come up with the TwoFer plan in which two items of the four are accomplished each day.

Boy, I'm so glad I'm not going to have to cook or do laundry ANY MORE!

Things I Did In High School

Okay, a Blogger 'friend' (http://datingdummy.blogspot.com/) of mine started a list about himself and it inspired me to create my own list.
So, without further adieu (spelling?) here is my list of Things I Did in High School (in no particular order)...

--Fell 'up' the stairs the first week of starting a new school as a junior
--Lied to a girl that I was on 'empty' but she convinced me to give her a ride home and clearly saw the tank was full ("wow, dad must have filled the car up for me without me knowing it!")
--Stayed away from the 'wrong' crowd
--Kissed a guy dressed as G.I.Joe on Halloween
--Wore a man's shirt and man's watch on occasion because I thought it was cool.
--Was embarassed to change clothes in front of the "booby blessed" girls.
--Wore Forenza V-neck sweaters in neon colors, and wore them backwards!
--Bought a complete neon outfit and had the guts to wear it (shirt, head scarf, socks, bangle bracelets, earrings) and had some cute senior say I was hurting his eyes because I looked like a lightbulb.
--Didn't shave my thighs until Junior year in high school because my mother wouldn't let me
--Shaved my thighs Junior year in high school when a hairy senior sitting next to me at a basketball game noted out loud that my thighs were more hairy than his were.
--Ate only burgers, fries and pizza for the most part
--Drank two liter wine coolers and hated beer
--Made out with a couple guys but remained a virgin all through those informidable years
--Rarely lied to my parents about where I was going and who I was going with
--Begged my friends for gas money on the nights I had to drive
--Watched two friends wipe their mouths with un-used tampons because they had just thrown up and there was nothing else to use to clean up (okay girls, you know who you are!)
--Didn't attend my senior prom (note: still bitter that MY sister was asked by a senior and WENT to MY senior prom when I should have gone!)
--Went to Florida the weekend my senior prom was held and had a much better time than if I had gone to the prom
--Missed Powder Puff football because I had to babysit my youngest brother
--Threw a bunch of wild parties that my parents let us have
--Went on a cruise Senior year with my parents and tried some things there for the very first time which will not be mentioned here
--Took a creative writing class twice -- the first time for a grade, the second time just because I loved to write
--There's more but I'll stop for now.
Go Trojans! DGN, class of 1987! You Rock!

The Desperate Housewives Have Created A Monster

So, remember last week when I told you about my friend and her husband having a nooner? Well, she came over today (let's call her Francis, since I know no women named that, except for McDermond --and she's not even an aquaintence, although I really enjoyed her in Fargo)...

So... Francis comes over with a latte for me (which, since I'm counting points, I write down 3 on my Weight Watchers list), and we spend some time chatting, feeding the kids, and just hanging out. I tell her I enjoy when she comes over.

Ajer said, "Why? All you do is talk."

Exactly. It's being with an adult who is able to verbalize sentences on topics that are of interest to me, not a kid screaming for more milk in his sippy cup.

I digress, but this is typical.

We discuss the after-effects of the 'nooner' and that things are going quite nicely, but Frank has admitted for him to be in a really jolly mood, he should get it at least every other day.

Isn't that why God gave Man two hands!?!?!

We women, in our hectic, desperate-y housewifey lives, agree once a month is plenty (and if this is the case, I've got some points banked to be used at a later time in the year).

We have our coffees, I take Diva to the bus, and Francis leaves to go 'create' a paint color. She wants one the color of the sunrise, orange and yellow, with a faint touch of red.

Later, I call her because she's left her Pottery Barn catalog and Gourmet magazines here, and I know they are of utmost importance to us Desperate Housewives.

After we agree she'll get them later, she says, "Frank called."

"Oh, what did he say?"

"That he's home waiting for me."

Bahwahaawa!

And then she continues... "This is going to cut into my second Starbucks trip of the day."

The saga continues.

The Muse Has Landed as a Pile of Crap

I'm writing, I'm actually writing! Have logged about 3,000 words today, and it is quite possibly shit, but I'm writing! To read an excerpt, check out my recently updated website at www.stephanieelliot.com and scroll all the way to the bottom. If you read between the lines, you will really see it IS shit. But, it's goo-oooood shit.