You Know You're A Seasoned Mom When...

... your littlest is not right, was up all night with ear pain and congestion and you decide to take him to the doctor, BUT, before you get into the car, you grab the most gigantic plastic bowl you can find, and tell him to hold it in case he throws up.

The seasoned mom knows the possibility might exist. I couldn't help but grin ear to ear as I heard the vomit smack up against the plastic of the bowl. So, my little guy is puking his guts out in the back seat, heaving and gagging, yet I'm mentally high-fiving myself for having the 'wherewithall' (cool choice of words, huh?) to bring along a vomit bowl.

And then, if you're a seasoned mom, you high-five yourself mentally again when the doctor confirms what you've already diagnosed -- that he does have a majorly nasty ear infection, and your visit to the doctor's office wasn't a waste of time and you're actually very excited to pay the $10 co-pay.

However, I don't think the doctor was too impressed with me when she announced he had an ear infection and I jumped off the chair and yelled, "Yes!" But, if you're a mom, you know that once the doctor says those three magic words -- "I'll prescribe amoxicillon" -- you're on your way to recovery!

If that's not deserving of the grandecafevanillafrapwithwhip I sucked down in three seconds flat this afternoon, I don't know what is.

And thanks to all who commented with your favorite drink choices! I love hearing from you and will try to come up with some clever questions so I can learn more about you. After all, it's share and share alike!

Who's Thirsty and Who's Reading?

How did you find me, and why are you here, and give me one good reason not to get a grandenonfatsugarfreevanillalattenowhip or a grandecafevanillalightfrappucino tomorrow morning? I'm caving....

Seriously though, I'm interested in seeing who stumbles across Manic Mom, who are my fellow bloggers, who likes to lurk, and if there are any potentially (hot, preferably!) male stalkers out there who are just dying to kidnap me and make me drink millions and millions of dollars worth of lattes, non-fat of course!

So please drop a note and say hello! Also, tell me what your favorite drink is, alcoholic, non-alcoholic, whatever. Maybe it will get my mind off the demon lattes!

S.A = Starbucks Anonymous

I've got a sponsor and everything!

I've been clean for 48 hours now, and I owe most of it to my Starbucks Sponser. It's been the longest two days of my life, but I think I can get clean. One day at a time, isn't that what they say?

I've passed about 16 individual Starbucks locations in the past two days, holding my breath, turning my face so as not to come eye to eye with those tempting barristas, asking if I'd like to try a sample of the caramel-mocha macchiato (sp?). They are the devil in a green apron, for certain. Evil, pure evil, devil-spawn, I am sure.

Faithful friend, dual addictee and now addict-turned-sponsor, L, is on the bandwagon with me. We spent part of the day holding each others hands tightly, willing the shakes to stop, and passing a Jumbo Diet Coke with two straws between one another.

We discussed how it's so much cheaper to drink a 64-ounce, 99-cent chilled Diet Coke than a 12-ounce $3.00 latte, and that we were still getting some caffeine (I bet this is how smokers feel when they drop their two-pack-a-day habit and start chewing Nicorette, trying to convince themselves they are still getting some of the poison!)

We're staying strong, but it makes me weep when L says how much she misses her "happiness in a cup."

Binge & Cleanse

Okay folks, I'm officially declaring today "Cold Turkey Day" and am vowing to abstain from Starbucks for... okay, let's be reasonable about this one and not make things too drastic... I will abstain until Friday, and then I'll see if the shakes have stopped.

I've been on a cookie and grandenonfatsugarfreevanillalatte (if it's cold out) or a cookie and grandecafevanillalightfrappacino (for the sporadic warm days) binge, alternating sometimes in the same day between the two.

And now, the madness has got to stop.

The only problem is I've got about $24 left in Starbucks gift cards left over from my birthday. I hope they don't expire.

I'm Such A Frigging Idiot

Okay, so you know how you just start Googling people and of course, you're going to Google your exes to see what you can find out about them, not because you're unhappy in your own very secure and loving marriage of almost twelve years, or because you're a bored and strung-out housewife addicted to anti-depressants and Xanax, chasing after three kids, because I most certainly am not unhappy, unloved, insecure, high-strung, addicted, bored--or a housewife for that matter (just check out all the dirty laundry, dusty windowsills, and the barren refrigerator).

Well, I found two exes online complete with photos (definitely not my first choices to find, but hey, the ones that got away, really got away!). Like an idiot, I decide to send an email to one of them telling him he'll NEVER guess who the email is from.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I'm a complete idiot because as soon as I sent the email, I was thinking, "Hey, wonder what comes up in Google when I put in my email address?"

[Bang head hard onto table a number of times here and scream!]

Yes, my website, Blog, all the articles I've ever written all come up under my personal email address. So, I guess I can never become a professional stalker. Don't I have more important things to do in my life right now instead of tracking down an ex who probably doesn't even consider himself an ex of mine...

...we interupt this train of thought for another thought, so hold that thought please and consider this thought:

because really, if I lined up all the guys who I considered "actual" boyfriends and asked them if they considered me a real girlfriend, I bet there's like only one or maybe two who would say yes, that we had what you would have called a "boyfriend/girlfriend" relationship. I just wonder which two liked me enough to really consider me a girlfriend...(Wouldn't that be a FUN thing to do!?!?!)

Anyway, back to the regularly scheduled post:

...Don't I have more important things to do in my life right now instead of tracking down an ex who probably doesn't even consider himself an ex of mine... someone who I met on spring break in Daytona freshman year in college, who asked me to iron his stupid white T-shirts before class (slap myself on the head because yes, I frigging did it - note - I HAVE NEVER ironed Scott's shirts, probably because of that previous situation with said ex), and who, after deciding it was the right time to 'give myself completely' to him, ends up boinking another chick that same night after I left his house. And no, I'm not bitter about this, in fact, I'm laughing at the complete humor and oddity in the whole situation because it's just so damned funny!

I even have a journal full of the complete romance, so Ex baby, if you've found me, and if you've even got half a brain (which of course, we know you don't because you had me iron T-shirts--oh wait--That means I don't have half a brain because I did it for you!--and you kind of dumped my ass, which makes me think you really didn't have half a brain), then you most certainly did find me, and if you want, I'd love to show you all the cute little heart and Cupid drawings I did in my journal when we were "courting" each other!

So hon, call me babe, and we can catch up on the past 17 years. You'll probably get a kick out of all the things I remember, because Baby, this mind of mine is a goldmine of memories, like remember the time I got so drunk at Glen's and Stever's party from SoCo and I ended up in your bed, after we were no longer an "item", but nothing happened and the next morning when I woke up, I said, "So, I guess this means we're still friends?" Sooo many memories to share, I just can't wait! Call me hon! Kiss, kiss, hug, hug!

My Diva

I told Diva tonight that it's a good thing she's my only daughter. If I had another one, you could bet I would definitely have a favorite. She's DRIVING ME CRAZY, and she's not even six yet. Good God, I can't wait til the tweens, teens, twenties... shit, I'm in for it.

Lunch & Things

Favorite lunch lately has been a grandenonfatsugarfreevanillalatte and a cookie or a cafevanillalightfrappacino and a cookie. I'm sure the weight is just melting off my hips. I still haven't looked at the weight the lady wrote down in my Weight Watchers book from almost two weeks ago but I am bound and determined to go get my fat ass weighed tomorrow and have it be less than what it was then. We'll see, and I'll for sure report back.

Yesterdays' nine a.m. wake-up call made for an exceptional day! And I was able to squeeze in two sessions of exercise. Tukey rode his bike and I walked to Starbucks (where I indulged in above mentioned lunch) and then came home. That's three miles, but if you calculate the calories of the intake of food vs. the calories expended on the walk, then I'm still probably in the negative zone. Then, I did go to Yoga last night, where I could choose if I was a tall oak tree, a rotting blade of grass or a blooming tulip. I really didn't feel like any of those things, but was glad I went.

We finally got rid of our hot tub yesterday. I swear, we couldn't PAY someone to remove it for us. It was in good shape, still worked, but we just didn't have the time or energy for the upkeep of it. When the lucky folks who we gave it to drove away, Diva came running in crying hysterically, "I miss our hot tub! I loved our hot tub!" She never even sat in it, we never even turned it on. "I want our hot tub back!" I solved the crying jag by offering her something I knew would calm her down: Two Hershey kisses and eight M&Ms.

Let's Try Nine a.m. On For Size

Feeling much better now that I've thrown out the new leaf of yesterdays. Ajers woke me up this a.m. at 7:15; I said he could go use the microwave to make himself breakfast. He did. He came back up at 7:30 asking if he could 'get ready' for school, which means get his shoes, jacket, backpack and hit the road. I told him yes, but go out the front door and then I went back to sleep.

Good mom; Bad mom? You decide.

Drifted in and out of a much-needed slumber until about 9 a.m. when my body decided it needed to pee and maybe I should start my day. So, I did. Made the remaining kids mini pancakes with choc chips on top (microwaved, of course), then colored two fabulous pictures of Rapunzel and Cinderella and the Prince, which I made Cinders and her man a lovely shade of brown, showing once again my acceptance of diversity and allowing my children to know that race is not an issue in our home. Man, they be looking good in da hood, that Cinder bee-otch and her Dawg!

Now, it's noon, still unshowered, dressed in scum-gear and taking my little Tukey out on a lunch date to Panera. So, my children have been fed and dressed, sent to school (those that go today), I answered emails, I started a load of whites, and even added bleach...

Who says you can't be productive with a day starting at nine a.m.?

Why 6 a.m.?

I'm trying to turn over a newer leaf, one that gets up at six a.m. to power walk, shower and dress before Ajers makes it out of bed. Managed to do so two days in a row so far, but am asking myself, "WHY?"

I'm getting exercise, I'm adding quality time to my day, I'm going to bed by 10:00 p.m. at night, allowing some time for reading before sleep. I'm not working on The Novel right now. Had to let my brain rest for a while.

I'm more tired now than when I was staying up til 1:00 a.m. writing. Why? And what good is this doing to me now? I don't have more energy, I don't feel less crabby, in fact, I feel like I'm not as productive as before (before being like one or two mere weeks ago).

I'm giving it til it either rains or til the end of the week to see if this six a.m. stuff is worth it. Then, if I decide it's not, maybe I'll get back to writing. Because I did dream up some more personality traits of my future protagonist, who's already named Celia and has a world of problems, none of them being trying to get her ass out of bed at six a.m. to power walk.

Bachelorettes, Bras, Boxers and Booze

The title sums up my birthday evening. It's a long, fun story, so let's see where to begin.

Thursday was my actual birthday and I was feeling pretty slumpy, not too excited about hitting the downslope of my third decade. Remember when Thirty Something was on and we were all like barely twenty and would watch Hope and Michael and Gary, and Melissa, and all the rest of the gang, and wonder, "Wow, being in our thirties seems a lifetime away." Well, I'm officially no longer right smack in the middle, I've gone to the other side. And I don't think I ever saw a Thirty Something episode quite like our evening out last night.

First, I had a practically totally kid-free Saturday, and while I did kind of miss the babies, the day did kind of go way too fast. Do you ever notice how when you're out doing something for yourself, and how rare it is to have a "all-day-all-me" kind of day, those days just sort of speed by. All of a sudden, it's 4:30 and you're like, "But I don't wanna go home yet!"

Scott set the day up for me with a massage at nine a.m. and also got me some Starbucks gift cards. So I did the massage, went for a power walk, then met my friend L for some shopping. Thank God I hit the jackpot right out of the gates at TJ Maxx and found an outfit for the evening or else my night would have been shot. And L wanted me to try on some things that were not in my "comfort zone" because she thinks I can wear stuff I usually don't wear.

So, got some cute things, felt happy with the choices, finished up the afternoon with an appetizer and diet coke (L had a jumbo marg--I couldn't go there because of the two margs I had the day before, which sent me right into an afternoon hangover and a two-hour nap at L's house while she and J watched my kids)...

Here's some backstory on the previous day...

Friday, L & J invited me for lunch to celebrate the big old other-side-of-the-decade birthday and they had their youngest kiddie with them, and I had my youngest Tukey with me. They're already at the place, sitting outside because it's a beautiful day and all these beautiful young, fun, carefree people are out and about having a nice day and a couple drinks. When I arrive, J and L introduce our waiter to me, named Heath. We start joking about candy bars and stuff. I ask him how old he is. He says 23.

"Ooh, that was the age of my last victim!"

"Victim?" He asked.

Anyway, lunch with Heath was fun, he promised me a shot when we went out the following night because he was bartending. It was all good, and so were the two margaritas with an amaretto topper (try it next time you get a marg--just ask for a shot of amaretto on the side to pour into your marg).

Back to Saturday--

Shopping was a success, and remember a few posts back when I was shopping again (wow, I guess I've been shopping a lot lately!) and I bought two bras for like $80 and was completely appalled (spelling?) that I would spend that much for two items that nobody sees?

Well, I am a changed woman now! Loving those bras! I never knew I had boobs before but they were stand-up-and-take-notice boobies in my new low-cut (which I never wear!) shirt on Saturday night! So, that's the bra part of the title. And somewhere out there in digital camera land, there's a picture that's much too graphic to ever get on Manic Mom, because, after all, this blog is about motherhood, isn't it?

We took a taxi to dinner and fortunately, we also BYOMargaritas with us because the service was terrible at the restaurant, but in retrospect, that is a good thing or else I probably would still be in bed right now. But the place wasn't a BYOB but it didn't matter anyway. Had dinner, had two caramel appletinis, which were yummy, then went to the bar where cute little 23-year-old Heath Bar worked. I told him I was there for my blow job as he had promised, so I got one. Me, not him. The drink, not the other thing! My, where is your mind??

Next up, we see this bachelorette party so I tell Scott to go over and dance for them and he goes and flirts with the girls and we're all laughing and having a good time, and did I mention I bought him some way cute shirts while I was out shopping and he was looking straight out of the movie Swingers in his cute, retro shirt.

We hung out with the bachelorette party, and they had these cards that the bride to be had to do--kind of like a scavenger hunt. One was she needed a sock from a guy. Scott gave them his stinky old sock.

Next bar we go to is the bar where I succumbed to almost committing adultery way back when the night I puked in the taxi (for those of you just joining Manic Mom, you can read about it somewhere in March's archives, I think). We get there, my friends announce my birthday, we request some songs, and start dancing. Nobody was dancing until we got there, then all of a sudden, the floor is packed and we're doing all these crazy things and S's hubby does some moves like he's going to break a move and do some break dancing. And we girls were dancing with each other and feeling each other up and doing girly sandwich dancing because guys in bars love that stuff, right?

Then these girls, who were actually pretty hot start dancing with J and Scott and they are like digging on them, and instead of me being jealous, now that I am a hip over-the-edge of my decade kind of girl, I'm glad to see others are finding that Scott is attractive. So, then I see some guy and I tell S--"Hey, isn't that Douglas, my 23-year old?" We chase him down, S says, "Hey Douglas." He turns around, he's cute. He's not Douglas. S says, "Hate to tell you but your guy wasn't anywhere near as cute as that guy."

So, more dancing, and the DJ says "Happy birthday Stephanie" throughout the night, and then even says on the mike: "Are all your birthdays like this?" So, he must have thought we were out of control. But how could we be, with Scott lifting S onto his shoulders and spinning S's fun hottie sister and her boss in the air, almost tossing them into the crowd?

Back to another bar called Peanuts or something where it is filled with, you guessed it, peanuts. We're throwing them down each others cleavage, into purses, pockets, whatever and the bouncers are like, "Don't throw the peanuts." Okay, you're going to have barrels and buckets and bowls of peanuts all over the place, for drunk people to open and crunch and eat and toss the shells onto the floor but you expect us NOT to throw them? Come on.

We see the bachelorette party has convened at the peanuts place and we hang out with them for a while and the bride to be shows Scott another one of those scavenger cards. All the girls start cracking up, so of course, I want to read the card:

"Have a guy sign his underwear and give them to you."

So, can you guess what happens?

I yell to Scott: "Give them your underwear! Give them your underwear!"

Does he look at me like I'm mad? Does he look at me like I'm a psycho crazy wife? Does he look at me like I'm drunk out of my mind and not thinking clearly?

No. He takes his underwear off, gets a marker from one of the girls at the party, signs his boxers, and gives them to the bride. No one can believe he has just done this, and no one can believe that the wife of the underwear-giver is so understanding and encouraging and willing to let other women have his underwear, but I was totally cool with it. I'm a woman of the 2000s, I can handle this kind of thing, I like to see other people have a good time at the expense of my hubby's underwear, plus, it's one less pair I've got to wash!

Organized -- Not!

I figured out why my life has been so disorganized since we moved here from Philly, and it's a simple little reason for the unraveling of my sanity.

In this new home, I have no laundry chute.

Never did I think such a simple thing as a hole in the wall that goes from the upstairs down into the laundry room would have had such an impact on my life, but I've discovered that is the problem for my lack of daily structure now. I just need a laundry chute.

Instead, each kid has their little baskets tucked away in their rooms, where the growing piles are unseen, and keep growing and growing; where they shove items they tried on but decided it was too hot or too cold or just too uncool to wear that day so they get discarded there. Clean. I however, don't know these items are clean, and wash them again. And again, and again.

I believe hell is a hot laundry room with machines that only hold at max four towels, and the dryers are extra hot, and you can't ever get the right settings, and there's never enough soap, and you're constantly washing and drying and sorting and folding and walking up an ungodly amount of stairs (because remember--this is hell, so it has to be ungodly!) to put the items away. Then the devil pulls each item out of the drawers and yells, "THIS IS NOT CLEAN!" I so don't want to go to hell.

Everything in life stems from laundry. If the laundry is in a quandry (hey, cute rhyme--I'll have to look up quandry to see if that even makes sense), then my life becomes a spherical disillusioned environment. My laundry is always in a quandry.

And the clutter that has become my home. I hate the clutter, and I can't seem to get it together in this new home, which is beautiful, but lacking closet space and the laundry chute. This clutter is affecting every aspect of my life; and don't get me wrong, the house is not a mess by any stretch, but I'm finding that I can't figure out where everything should go, what kids' projects I can toss without them finding discovering it in the garbage and freaking out.

You know what I need? I need one of those chicks that go on Oprah or Dr. Phil to come into my home, listen to the things I need to do, want to do, haven't done, dread doing, wish I had the time to do, and then that person can fix my life for me. I would love for someone to write me up a daily schedule and hey, if it begins at 6 a.m. and I lose one or two hours of sleep, as long as that gets me organized, I'm up for it. Maybe I'll come up with a list. I need this to be like a class schedule--homeroom, history, lunch, gym, etc. My list would look something like this:
6 a.m. -- power walk.

Wow, that's all I can come up with right now. But if I could get a power walk, a shower, and maybe even start eating breakfast every day, and do these three things before 8 a.m., I can bet my life would be a whole hell of a lot more structured, calm, and sane. It's like the feng shui for the modern mom.

It's 3:58 a.m.

Just felt like getting up early to wish myself a happy birthday. Here's to The Other Side of Middle Age!

"You're Like A Torture Chamber To Me!"

Direct quote from Ajers because I took him to the park rather than let him play with his friend across the street. Life is good, so good.

OK, I lied... Tuesday Sucks Too

Had a mini-nervous breakdown and I think it all started with the bees. I am petrified of them. And this is why: Bees Stung My Whole Family

So, yesterday when I was cleaning out the garage, removing boots, coats, mittens, hats etc, in the hopes that spring is really here, I received my first sign that spring is really here.

Bees.

I spotted what I fear will be the first of many active hives hidden under the garage gutters. I cringed. They are already moving, planning their attacks. Waiting to come in for the kill. I guess I’ll need to have my Epipen ready because last summer, under a different attack than the one I mentioned in the above link, there was another angry hive that got a few of us. One bee stung me on the hand and it blew up like a … come on, you know what I’m going to say… a condom. Ha, just wanted to see if you were paying attention… really, a balloon is what I thought to say. So, I went to the doctor, got some steroids and my very own pack of Epipens, which for some stupid reason, I don’t carry with me. Probably because, even more stupidly, I am more scared to give myself a shot than to deal with the bee sting and its aftermath.

Tonight, Ajers comes yelling into the kitchen, “There’s a bee in the house!” I seek vengeance. I find it, lounging on the floor, sniffing around what it hopes to be his new domain. I squash it.

And begin the search. Because, if there’s one, there’s more.

I spot another one at the corner of our skylight in the family room, way, way, way up high. Too high to get at. Then I remembered the extra long duster I have for our ceiling fans (that I've never used!), get that out, along with a chair, and tell the kids to go take cover upstairs because I don’t know if there’s a whole nest up there waiting to seek revenge for when I murder this one “mother-you-know-what.”

I take aim, and smash it with the fan duster, and it falls to the floor barely missing my head. It doesn’t die, and I manage to stick it in a plastic baggie so I can show the exterminator just what kind of intruders we have.

So, that episode started my panic attack of the evening.

Then, I call my mom, check in on how my Aunt is doing (my mother’s brother’s wife), and I fear she is dying of cancer so I’m feeling the mortality doors are closing in. I hate this feeling. Especially because we really don’t know if she’s dying, or just not doing too great. Either way, this bums me out. And the kids are screaming in the tub and I’ve about had it and I think of Andrea Yates and the tub deal and I just start crying to my mom. I don’t mean to, because I know she’s got enough to worry about. I cry to my mom that I’m feeling old, and I don’t want to get old. I tell her I didn't mean to cry, my voice just started cracking and the tears just came. It was the kind of crying where you just want to get into bed and cry your heart out until you feel better. I did feel better crying to my mommy after that.

Interruption! Diva just comes running downstairs in frenzy, and she NEVER, EVER gets out of bed. I’m thinking, great, there’s a bee in her room. No. She has lost her first tooth and is freaking out. So then I think, how wonderful, and what a nice way for my post to end because it was on such a downslide, and a first visit from the tooth fairy is an extremely exciting time in a five-almost-six-in-two-weeks year old’s life.

Continue downslide.

She starts crying saying she wants her tooth back in her mouth and she doesn’t like it out. Scott and I try to reassure her that it’s good to lose a tooth, and the tooth fairy will come – and damn Ajers if he ruins this for her because he already knows the truth.

More downslide…

Diva starts turning white, gags and throws up in the sink. I am holding her hair back, telling her it’s okay, she’s alright, and then she says she has to poop. So she goes and has diarrhea in the bathroom and she’s shaking and has the chills. I think this tooth thing has really freaked her out. And she’s got how many more baby teeth? Dear God.

Okay, she in bed now, with her tooth in a little box, and a note she had me write telling the tooth fairy that her tooth is in the box and not under her pillow. She’s got an ice pack on her forehead, a sippy cup next to her and a big ole Tupperware near her side in case she pukes more. So, sorry for the interruption of my otherwise very pleasant rant. Let’s continue on why Tuesday has sucked.

It rained, poured drastically all day. (Breakup Babe—you would have LOVED the weather in Chicago today!) The minute Ajers gets home from school, it’s who can we call, who can come over and play, why does he have to stay inside, yada yada yada. I yell at him, “Can’t you just be a normal bored kid and sit in front of the TV for like a six-hour period!?!!??!”

“But mom, outside is my life!”

And then later, after he gripes about there being nothing to do, but before tooth incident, he continues his gripefest and argues about having to go to bed. He says it’s not fair that moms and dads get to stay up and I tell him we really don’t want to stay up; we’d love to go to bed, but we have things to do around the house; work to do, lunches to make, dishes to clean up, and of course, the never-ending god-awful laundry.

His reply:
“You’re a mom -- you hardly have a job.”

I kid you not.

So, it was about this time in the evening I seriously did pop two Xanax (and I’m not addicted, I assure you!) and try to make the yucky parts of the day disappear.

I’m still not happy about the age thing ganging up on me--this other side of thirty is really making me disenchanted. And now the internet service is down nationwide. Nationwide! I am feeling so Amish right about now. I might as well go light an oil lamp and read by the flicker of the flame.

Hope your week is progressing much better than mine!

Addendum because I wrote this post on Tuesday night, and now it's Wednesday. Continuing with the theme of crappy week from hell--there are three new books coming out this month that are practically exactly like my stupid book I am trying to complete and this further frustrates me and makes me think I should just give it all up and become June Cleaver.

Tuesday's Better

I only thought about Starbucks once this morning (okay, twice now), and it wasn't until I'd already showered and been up for at least an hour. More later on a fabulous book launch event I attended last night in Chicago!

Monday Sucks

So, Ajer comes in to give me a hug and I notice a chocolate milk mustache and I say, "You're getting a mustache!" as I wipe it away.

"You're kinda getting one too, mom."

[Balloon deflates here]

Ajer continues, "No, you are, you really are."

Did I mention my birthday is this week and I'm not looking forward to now being categorized as a late-thirties, or upper-thirties... wait, can I still say MID-THIRTIES? Thirty-six is still kind of in the middle isn't it? Please, please, please?

So, Ajer's comment was the first of the morning.

Next up, Tukey comes downstairs.

I reach for him and tell him to come over to the couch so we can cuddle.

Whiny-just-woke-up-voice says: "We always cuddle. I don't want to."

[Second balloon deflates here.]

Can't wait to see Diva when she gets up. I might as well pop the third balloon right now and get it all over with.

I Caved On A Few - Update to my Vows

It's harder to keep thou vows to thouself--more so than I thought. I caved. And it wasn't my fault. Lisa made me do it.

Yes, I indulged in a (shhhh) Starbucks. But, it was a tall, which really is a small, as I'm sure everyone knows. But, other than that, I managed to obey a few of these vows.

DID IT!
I vow to not start my day off with semi-sweet chocolate chips and continue with a chaser of peanut butter speckled egg M&Ms.

ALMOST DID IT; WILL HAVE DONE IT BY THE END OF THE NIGHT (AND THANKS FOR THE CUCUMBER IDEA TOO, GABRIELLE)!
I vow to drink a gallon of water that I have chilled with lemon slices in my fridge.

DIDN'T OVEREAT YET, BUT THERE IS A TASTEFULLY SIMPLE PARTY I'M ATTENDING TONIGHT.
I vow not to eat today as if it was my last day on earth as I did yesterday.

DID IT. CAN'T YOU HEAR THE DRYER RUNNING?
I vow to do some laundry today.

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. FAILED.
I vow NOT to go to Starbucks today.

DIDN'T EAT TOO MUCH CRAP, (YET--SEE ABOVE ABOUT TASTEFULLY SIMPLE PARTY)
I vow to concentrate more on not eating so much crap.

WALKED MORE THAN MY SHARE TODAY. WILL WALK TOMORROW.
I vow to get outside and walk at least five days a week.

THIS WAS AN EASY ONE. DIDN'T SEE THEM ALL THAT MUCH TODAY, NO CHANCE TO BE BITCH
I vow to not be so bitchy toward my children.

WILL DO THIS FOR SURE. THE KID IS OUT!
I vow never to invite that kid over for a playdate again because he is a complete maniac.

KIND OF.
I vow to stop being such a slave to this computer.

DITTO ABOVE.
I vow to get some stuff done in my home before I switch on the computer for the day because if I turn the computer on before I do some household tasks, none of them get done until like, 5:30, just before Scott gets home so he thinks I’ve had a productive day.

FAILED; WAS PICKING AND SCRUTINIZING JUST MINUTES BEFORE I GOT ON THE COMPUTER, BUT WAIT! THAT MEANS I WAS 'GETTING SOME STUFF DONE IN MY HOME BEFORE I SWITCHED ON THE COMPUTER FOR THE DAY' SO THAT'S KIND OF GOOD!
I vow to quit obsessing over blackheads.

CONTINUING...
I vow to finish my novel and have it completed/ready for publishing houses by the end of May.

ACTUALLY DID SWING WITH THE CLOUDS TODAY WITH TUKEY!
I vow to spend more time Swinging With The Clouds

DIDN'T GO TO THE MALL TODAY; NO PROB THERE.
I vow to not spend so much money when I go to the mall with Peg.

WILL DO!
I vow to walk in the Y-Me Breast Cancer walk on Mother’s Day.

WILL DO!
I vow to embrace my birthday next week, and be proud of the thirty-six year old woman I will become.

(MAKE YOUR VOICE LIKE CAROLANNE IN POLTERGEIST WHEN SHE'S WATCHING THE TV TURN ALL STATICKY AND SAY: "IT'S HAPPENING...."
I vow to not let my size 12s get tight.

DON'T FEEL LIKE COUNTING THEM
I vow to make this list at least 50 vows.

SAME AS ABOVE.
I vow to count vows so far to see where I’m at.

VOWED.
I vow to admit there’s no way I can come up with 30 more vows.

CUDDLED THIS A.M.
I vow to appreciate my kids when they want to cuddle with me because it won’t last much longer.

WIPED BUTTS CHEERFULLY TODAY, WITH MUCH UNUSUAL ENTHUSIASM.
I vow to not gripe as much when I need to wipe a child’s butt (as long as it’s my own child’s butt).

CLUTTER-FREE UPON SCOTT'S ARRIVAL, EARLY TODAY, I MIGHT ADD.
I vow to try to keep the kitchen clutter-free each day when Scott gets home from work because I know it creates a sense of Fung Shui for him and makes him in a better mood.

NO M&Ms OR CHOCOLATE CHIPS (DOES A FEW HEALTHY SLUGS OF LISA'S VENTI MOCHA FRAP COUNT AS CHOCOLATE? I SAY NO!)
I vow not to eat a single M&M or chocolate chip today (and no, this vow to not eat a single M&M or chocolate chip does not mean I can eat more than one and still be excused from this vow.)

(I STILL HATE IT BUT I DID SORT SOME TODAY - SEE PREVIOUS VOW ABOUT LAUNDRY!)
I vow to continue to hate sorting socks.

WHATEVER.
I vow to pay attention to Diva when she’s lying on the floor in my office asking me to guess how many fingers she’s holding up.

WHATEVER AGAIN.
And I vow to be thankful she’s not holding up the middle finger right this minute because I’m completely ignoring her while I type this.

I DID GO TO BED EARLY LAST NIGHT--9:45 AND SLEPT UNINTERUPTED UNTIL 6 A.M.)
I vow to go to sleep soon because I am extremely tired.

TOO AFRAID BADASS CONSTRUCTION GUYS MIGHT KILL ME.
I vow to go over to that dumb construction site by the movie theater and scream at the leader, telling him it’s very annoying they have to start that very loud and annoying noise at seven a.m. each morning.

TOOK THREE PILLS.
I vow to take glucosamine chondroitin to build up the cartilage in my crackling knees.

GOING TO TAKE IT RIGHT THIS MINUTE.
I vow to take a multi-vitamin every day.

I TILEXED.
I vow to stop pretending to use Tilex After Shower stuff after I take a shower because I’m too lazy to squirt some stuff on the tiles to prevent mildew.

NEED TO TRY THEM ON TO SEE IF I LIKE STILL.
I vow not to feel guilty for spending $84 on two bras in order to give me the support I so desperately need.

DONE THIS A.M.
I vow to moisturize.

TODAY WAS PRETTY GOOD.
I vow to make each day better than the day before, but not so great that the next day will suck.

WILL DO MY BEST.
I vow to take a trip to California in the next year to visit my brother and sister-in-law since they are moving.

NOT SO GRATEFUL TODAY-SEE NEXT VOW.
I vow to be grateful for the body I have been given, even with the extra pounds that have accumulated.

BAD. BAD. BAD. I DID GO, AND PAID MY $10.95. TOLD THE LADY TO NOT TELL ME MY WEIGHT BUT THAT I DID WANT TO KNOW THE SECOND NUMBER BECAUSE IF SHE SAID IT WAS HIGHER THAN WHAT I EXPECTED, I WAS GOING TO BE DRAMATICALLY PISSED AT MYSELF. IT WAS THE HIGHER OF THE TWO NUMBERS I THOUGHT IT COULD BE. SO THEN I SAID, "WELL, IS THE THIRD NUMBER OF THE WEIGHT UNDER OR OVER FIVE?" SHE SAID, "UNDER." THEN ASKED IF I HAD BEEN ON VACATION AND I SAID YES AND THAT I HAD MY PERIOD. SHE SUGGESTED I NOT LOOK AT THE NUMBER SHE WROTE DOWN. I HAVEN'T, BUT I KNOW IT'S BAD, AND BY PURE CALCULATIONS, IT'S GOT TO BE 4-6 POUNDS MORE THAN THE LAST TIME I WENT TO WW, WHICH IS BAD. BAD. BAD.
I vow to go weigh in at Weight Watchers, pay my stupid ten bucks because I am over my goal, but NOT look at the weight she writes down and make an effort to not overeat next week, even though it is my birthday week.

I vow to quit this stupid list now because I am boring the piss out of even me.

Thank the Lord I can at least keep my marriage vows because by the looks of this list and how many I vowed to keep and failed at, I'm in bad shape!

I Vow...

I vow to not start my day off with semi-sweet chocolate chips and continue with a chaser of peanut butter speckled egg M&Ms.

I vow to drink a gallon of water that I have chilled with lemon slices in my fridge.

I vow not to eat today as if it was my last day on earth as I did yesterday.

I vow to do some laundry today.

I vow NOT to go to Starbucks today.

I vow to concentrate more on not eating so much crap.

I vow to get outside and walk at least five days a week.

I vow to not be so bitchy toward my children.

I vow never to invite that kid over for a playdate again because he is a complete maniac.

I vow to stop being such a slave to this computer.

I vow to get some stuff done in my home before I switch on the computer for the day because if I turn the computer on before I do some household tasks, none of them get done until like, 5:30, just before Scott gets home so he thinks I’ve had a productive day.

I vow to quit obsessing over blackheads.

I vow to finish my novel and have it completed/ready for publishing houses by the end of May.

I vow to spend more time Swinging With The Clouds

I vow to not spend so much money when I go to the mall with Peg.

I vow to walk in the Y-Me Breast Cancer walk on Mother’s Day.

I vow to embrace my birthday next week, and be proud of the thirty-six year old woman I will become.

I vow to not let my size 12s get tight.

I vow to make this list at least 50 vows.

I vow to count vows so far to see where I’m at.

I vow to admit there’s no way I can come up with 30 more vows.

I vow to appreciate my kids when they want to cuddle with me because it won’t last much longer.

I vow to not gripe as much when I need to wipe a child’s butt (as long as it’s my own child’s butt).

I vow to try to keep the kitchen clutter-free each day when Scott gets home from work because I know it creates a sense of Fung Shui for him and makes him in a better mood.

I vow not to eat a single M&M or chocolate chip today (and no, this vow to not eat a single M&M or chocolate chip does not mean I can eat more than one and still be excused from this vow.)

I vow to continue to hate sorting socks.

I vow to pay attention to Diva when she’s lying on the floor in my office asking me to guess how many fingers she’s holding up.

And I vow to be thankful she’s not holding up the middle finger right this minute because I’m completely ignoring her while I type this.

I vow to go to sleep soon because I am extremely tired.

I vow to go over to that dumb construction site by the movie theater and scream at the leader, telling him it’s very annoying they have to start that very loud and annoying noise at seven a.m. each morning.

I vow to take glucosamine chondroitin to build up the cartilage in my crackling knees.

I vow to take a multi-vitamin every day.

I vow to stop pretending to use Tilex After Shower stuff after I take a shower because I’m too lazy to squirt some stuff on the tiles to prevent mildew.

I vow not to feel guilty for spending $84 on two bras in order to give me the support I so desperately need.

I vow to moisturize.

I vow to make each day better than the day before, but not so great that the next day will suck.

I vow to take a trip to California in the next year to visit my brother and sister-in-law since they are moving.

I vow to be grateful for the body I have been given, even with the extra pounds that have accumulated.

I vow to go weigh in at Weight Watchers, pay my stupid ten bucks because I am over my goal, but NOT look at the weight she writes down and make an effort to not overeat next week, even though it is my birthday week.

I vow to quit this stupid list now because I am boring the piss out of even me.

p.s—I started this list last night but I couldn’t post it for some reason, but today I’ve started some laundry; gone for a two-mile walk; taken the glucosamine chondroitin (haven’t taken the multi-vitamin yet because I haven’t eaten anything—not even chocolate!—and if I take the vitamin, I will feel sick; haven't been bitchy to the kids (of course, two-thirds of them are still sleeping); drank four glasses of lemon water, moisturized; and have been grateful for the day. So far, and it’s only 7:16 a.m.

Crabby

It's freezing. I'm crabby. Tookey's been up since 4:30 a.m. when he came into my room complaining that his blanket had germs on it. And my usual darling pleasant, "so-glad-I-had-a-third" child is a major whiny PIA. So, I've been up and awake since 4:30 a.m. Today is a day I'd like Starbucks home delivery of a Venti (screw the Grande, like I said, I'm crabby!) nonfatsugarfreevanillalatteWITHWHIP!

Why hasn't the multi-million dollar company come up with a Starbucktruck that goes through neighborhoods like the ice cream trucks -- maybe playing a little Norah Jones or Ray Charles through the loud speaker, alerting all the desperate housewives of its arrival? Can't you just picture it?

And, I've already broken open the bag of Tollhouse semi-sweet chocolate chips. A very bad day ahead, very bad indeed.

So Many Options; So Little Time

Discuss amongst yourselves--Double Stuffed Oreos, Mint Oreos, Uh-Oh Oreos, plain old Oreos, mini Oreos, Oreos breakfast bars, Oreos ice cream.... we were talking tonight about how once there used to be just one choice for a product. Now there are thousands of sub-categories. Crest or Colgate has like 80 types of toothpastes. Heck, there is now Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper--are they coming out next with Diet Cherry Vanilla Lime Dr. Pepper. I think I need to make this a post (because this was originally a comment)! And Ketchup... now they have low carb ketchup, green ketchup, purple ketchup, spicy ketchup, ... It exhausts me! And, oh yea, I opened the bag of Peanut Butter Speckled M&M Eggs now too!

PMS Problem Solved

I finished off the whole bag of speckled Easter Egg M&Ms. No more temptation (unless I open the pantry and get out the other four bags of candy that I bought on clearance for 84-cents each)!

Off to Yoga, where I'm sure the intensity will not afford me any Weight Watcher activity points!

What NOT To Do...

If you're PMSing and trying to count Weight Watcher points because you've just eaten your way through all of Florida during spring break, I would advise you not to walk past the Clearance table at the store where they are selling 84-cent bags of Speckled M&M candy eggs in order to get them out of the store.

So much for the diet, but the PMS symptoms are gone!

EncyclopediaofanOrdinaryLife

So, a friend of mine (cuz I've met her and now she's my friend, right Amy?) has written this really, really cool memoir about her "ordinary life." There are some very thought-provoking entries on using Q-tips, toweling off, getting married, having children, purple flowers, etc. She takes each letter of the alphabet and has written something profoundly eye-opening that details part of her life, and quite possibly could parallel parts of yours too.

Check out her website, and be prepared to visit it for a while because it will draw you in and pull you away from the mundane things you're currently doing--laundry, sex, etc. And when you realize you like what you see, drop me a comment on this post, and one of you will receive a signed copy of her book, and you can have Amy write whatever you want her to in it before she mails it to you.

She's so not ordinary, and if you read her book, you'll know why!

EncyclopediaofanOrdinaryLife

Liar Liar, Pants on Fire

Caught Ajers in a major lie today. Here's the story: (of a man named Brady... sorry that just sort of popped into my brain and I had to add)

Anyway, Ajers, and he will absolutely KILL me if he ever knew I was writing this about him. He still has shhh.... accidents at night and he's seven. Now I hear that is not all that unusual, and he's not worked up about it, the doctor's not worked up about it, I'm not worked up about it and neither is Scott. So, aside from buying XL Good Nites pants (aka Pull Ups for larger kids), there's no problem with the current situation. And, slowly, he is getting better at bladder control, and only has an accident once or twice a week when before it was 4-6 times a week, so we're getting somewhere.

That's not the point though. He's been doing so well, and he's been asking for Roller Blades, so we thought we'd try to give him an incentive to work on not peeing in the middle of the night. We should have known right away that is a bad idea. Like he can control what happens when he's asleep (and he did have terrible night terrors for about two years which were worse than dealing with a newborn--and I knew because I had a newborn the same time the night terrors, teeth grinding, screaming out loud in the middle of the night but not knowing and not waking up stuff was happening). I was certainly not a happy person to be around during that time.

So, we know he can't control what happens in the middle of the night, but he's been doing well so we told him if he could stay dry for seven days in a row, we'd buy him the roller blades. The other morning, Sunday, he woke up very distressed and I just knew, just knew, that he had wet in the night. I told him not to worry, we shouldn't be putting that kind of pressure on him. He was devastated, crying, etc. Then, I went into the bathroom, and on the floor I saw the Pull Up. I picked it up and it was DRY! I ran to tell him the good news.

"It was dry, AJ, you didn't wet!"

"It was?"

"Yeah, did you leave it in the bathroom on the floor?"

"Yes."

"Then it was dry!"

So, I was thrilled, mostly because I didn't want him being so sad. We marked on the calendar day three of being dry. This morning, another dry one. We were making headway.

Until I cleaned his room this afternoon.

Two wet Pull Ups on the floor tucked between his bed and dresser.

Busted.

Man, how to handle this sucker? It's a tough one. He lied, he thought about his lie, and he continued to let me believe he was staying dry. One lie, after another lie, after another lie... (and I just tried to post to Glossthis's blog because she had a similar situation on her blog about her seven-year-old telling a lie--you can go to Glossthis by checking out the comments on my previous post on death to get linked to her)... and still more lies... But Glossthis had a good idea, and I think she said she and her husband (correct me if wrong, Gloss) let their son decide the punishment.

So, after I told Scott what happened, and he way more freaked out than I did (I felt more guilty like I put too much pressure on him regarding something he couldn't control)... we spoke to Ajers, and yada yadad about how it's wrong to lie, yada yada. Then we said maybe we could come up with a fair punishment, and that revoking Roller Blades in the future would not be fair because it was an unfair goal for him to work for in the first place.

So we asked him what he thought was fair and he said "You put too much pressure on me."

Duh, we realized that, but we wanted to know a fair punishment.

He said he should not go play basketball with Matt for four days.

We said, "what about all the other kids in the neighborhood, would you still be allowed to play with them?"

Shrug.

I said, "How about two days in the house after school with no friends." We all agreed that this seemed fair.

Until I realized that this is going to be pure punishment for me, having to have him in the house, whining and griping about how badly he wants to go out and play, and hell, I wasn't even the one who lied!

Ahh, parenting, what joy!

Test

EncyclopediaofanOrdinaryLife

Death Vs. Loss

Okay, here's something that in the wake of the Pope's passing, and the death of Terri Shiavo, I've been thinking about lately.

When someone dies and you send a sympathy card or express your sympathy in person, do you think the person wants to hear:
"Sorry for the loss of so-and-so (don't want to put a real person's name in here lest he/she be jinxed)"

or do you say:

"Sorry so-and-so died."

When you write in a card, do you say, "Sorry to hear about the loss of so-and-so" or do you write, "Sorry to hear so-and-so died" or how about, "Sorry to hear about the loss of your loved one," or "Sorry to hear about the passing of your loved one"?

I always wonder this as I'm expressing my condolences, and I think if it was a card being sent to me, or if the expression was being said to me, if someone was acknowledging the death of someone near and dear to me, I would want them to say, "I'm sorry so-and-so died." Because that's what happens, the person dies. They don't pass, they aren't lost. I just never know what to say for other people, and to say, "Sorry to hear your so-and-so died" does seem kind of harsh, to-the-point, right-there-in-your-face with the sadness, but isn't that what has happened?

Okay, enough of the morbid talk. Anyone else beside me get laid today? Or is it lie? Lay, lie, have lain. Shit, I gotta stop this madness!

Justifying A Venti

This was Scott's idea for a title for a blog post. We just took the kids on a walk (they rode bikes, we walked), and stopped at Cold Stone Creamery for ice cream for them, and a Starbucks treat for us (Which, as of yesterday, I had made a pact with good friend Lisa to indulge in only one Starbucks pleasantry a week--I will have to lie to her for sure).

Anyway, I got us a refreshing Vanilla Light Frappacino with whip because it's like 70 here today and very warm. When I presented the beverage to Scott, I explained that we're not really having too many calories because even though it's a Venti with whip, when you share it, it's like only half the calories (although I have to admit, I had three-quarters of it). So, Scott comes up with the: "Justifying a Venti, now there's a blog title."

You wonder how I come up with this creative crap?

Stand Corrected: Nothing Redeemable!

Here's what my good friend had to say about One Night Stands:

http://www.christaleigh.blogspot.com/

L M N O P Parenting Tips

I am finally feeling the effects of having older children. I no longer need to go out with a purse full of wipees and kid crap, and it's kind of nice to just have one cute little bag to carry, and a lot easier on the shoulders.

Another interesting thing I've discovered as the two older kids are learning to spell is that obviously we can't keep anything from them by spelling. My parents used to do pig Latin around us, and I look back now and think, "How stupid was I that I couldn't figure that out?" I've yet to try it in front of my kids because I think Scott doesn't know the language.

So, we've come up with a new code for spelling things we don't want the kids to know. Take the word school for instance, not that we would ever have to really be discreet about that word, but just for the example:

Before they could spell, I would say to Scott:

"The kids have S-C-H-O-O-L tomorrow."

Now, one of them will shout: SCHOOL!!!! We don't want to go to school.

New code. We spell the word we want to keep hidden, but then add alphabet to the end of the word, in sequential order. So, for the word school, we would spell it:
S-C-H-O-O-L-M-N-O-P-Q, or however many letters you feel like adding onto the secret word.

So far, it's working okay, except that after a couple Pool Boys last night, it started to get a little confusing, so I wouldn't advise this spelling tool while cocktailing.

Gotta Go N-O-W-X-Y-Z

Redeeming Qualities of a One-Night Stand

As prompted by Dating Dummy on Purpose Driven Life's site, I'm about to tell you the redeeming qualities of a one-night stand. And I'll try to link you to both of those sites as they are two of my favorites.

Preface to this list, (Of course, I've only had ONE one-night stand in my life*, and that has culminated into almost twelve years of marriage and three kids) some of you may not like the truths be told here:

1. No strings attached.
2. If you wanted some without the pressures of will he or won't he call, you got it.
3. You can pretend to be whoever you want to be.
4. Most likely, you won't remember everything anyway.
5. It can be really, really fun and good and naughty.
6. You can get out of there before he/she smells your morning breath.(Of course you may have to do the walk of shame, depending on if you're in college, or don't own a car.)

OK, so I guess there are not that many redeeming qualities of a one-night stand, but I have to say (and this sounds terrible, and maybe it's me just being Manic), I think everyone should experience one one-night stand in their lifetime. As long as you are cautious and careful. Okay, so forget I even brought it up. Christa--your turn. Dating Dummy, you win. Stumped.


*Yeah, sure Manic.