The Age of Innocence

Short blog today, too much to do before my Pampered Chef show tonight. My nearly 10 year old did something yesterday that touched my heart. We have been on him to get up promptly, dress himself, make his bed and get ready for school. Yesterday he did all that without being told twice, which is a miracle! But while making his bed he did something that struck me as so darn cute I almost vomited (not really, but it WAS cute!)

After making his bed, he arranged his large stuffed teddy bear at the end of the bed with his two Webkinz on the teddy bear's chest. Ever so gently, he linked one Webkinz's arm with the other, and then delicately wrapped all three stuffed animals in a fleece throw he keeps at the end of the bed. It was like watching a mother swaddle her infant. He was doing it with such deliberateness and tenderness I almost wanted to cry.

I sometimes forget amongst the yelling, the stubbornness over homework, the fighting with his younger sibling that 9 going on 10 can still be a sweet, innocent age. Too soon he''ll be tuning me out with an iPod, asking me to drop him off a block away from the mall, and resisting my hugs. But for one golden moment, he reminded me of how truly magical our children can be.

Oh Modesty, Where Art Thou?

I decided to bite the bullet and face humiliation today by returning to Weight Watchers. I say returning because I have been on and off Weight Watchers about a hundred times. Each time they welcome me back to the fold like the prodigal son (or in this case, daughter). No need to kill the fatted calf, I AM the fatted calf (okay, more like a COW!) So I went back today knowing that I'm up at least 8 lbs from the LAST time I was there (uh, THANKSGIVING!) and knowing that no matter how sympathetic those SKINNY BITCHES WHO WEIGH YOU are, there would still be humiliation on my part.

Sister, you have NO IDEA!

Now when I go to Weight Watchers, I usually wear the least amount of clothes possible. You have to wear socks according to the health code, so I usually dress myself in bike shorts, socks and a workout top. Many times I go to WW right from the gym, so dressing this way is no hardship for me. I throw on a pair of track pants and a sweatshirt to keep out the cold (hey, it IS January, even with Global Warming!) Today I was chatting with the woman behind the counter, kicking my sneakers off, removing my fur vest and started pulling my pants DOWN TO ME KNEES BEFORE I REALIZED I WAS NOT WEARING BIKE SHORTS UNDERNEATH!!!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!

Luckily, I was wearing underwear...clean underwear...no holes...

Now the half dozen women behind me gasped, except for my partner in crime (who shall remain anonymous, we'll just call her "D"). "D" starting SNORTING LOUDLY AND LAUGHING HER ASS OFF!!! As I hastily pulled my pants back up, I mumbled something unintelligible but the damage was done! "D" then proceeded to walk up to the counter proclaiming loudly "I will NOT be stripping today!"

Ordinarily in my life, this would be the point where I would flee the scene and make plans to put my house on the market in order to join the witness relocation program. But instead, I laughed and joked along with the others and even lent "D" my cell phone to call her mother in NJ to share the laughs!

Something happened when I gave birth to my kids that removed a HUGE amount of my modesty forever. It must have something to do with lying with your legs spread and total strangers coming in to STICK THEIR HANDS UP YOUR HOO-HOO every 10 MINUTES that helps you shed your inhibitions. Not to mention whipping your BOOBS out in public so that said kids can have a meal every hour!

Now I can't promise that ALL my modesty is gone. I'll never be one of those women at the YMCA who prance around the locker room bareass naked (yes, THEY PRANCE!) For God's sake, there was even a hundred-year-old woman who walked from the locker to the shower COMPLETELY NAKED (actually, I'm pretty sure she SAUNTERED!) She knew she looked like a wrinkly, baggy elephant (and the site of 100-year-old bush actually made me a little nauseous, no matter how much I tried to avert my eyes!) Unless I go full bore Alzheimer's, I'll always try to wear SOMETHING!

Maybe to give the WW chicks a thrill, I'll throw on a trench coat over my bike shorts and top next week. OMG Here comes the FAT FLASHER!

Git Along Lil Doggie..........

My sister has four kids.  They are aged 11, 9, 7 and 4.  Her husband works long hours, does the work travel gig, or in other words....makes the money.  Thus said, she's a busy gal doing all the mommy, house, kiddo things x 4.   Recently she was pressured into making a very, very difficult decision.  

Now, let me pause here by saying that my sis is a workhorse.  She does IT ALL.  She is the ultimate haus frau and never shies from a project, big or small and always gives 100% to her family, friends, and community.  She puts MY organizational skills (hardly imaginable, I know....) to shame!  (see previous post about Flossy and her re-org'd kitchen).    I'd also say she is pretty smart.  She has a master's degree in education.   Are you glowing right now, dear sis?  

Sooooooooooooooo, was I ever surprised when she decided/was heavily pressured into getting a PUPPY.   WTF?  WTF?  WTF?   

Here's the funny thing......she said the exact same thing on day three of puppyville.  

What Have I Done?  

Here is the timeline (give or take a few days):

Week 1 - Why did I want/give into/subject myself to yet another needy being that ultimately I am responsible for?  She was anxiety filled, pit in her stomach....omg, I made a big f*@!!#ing mistake.   She thinks, cleverly, hmmmmmmm....with a baby, you can't return it to the breeder.  With a dog.....YOU CAN.   Yes!  That's the answer!     Except...four sets of eyes hold onto large "puppy dog" tears (pun intended) as they beg to keep dog.  Damn.......guilt.

Week 2- Puppy lunch intervention held by friends.  Manuals, tools, advice and 'suck it up lady you got the dog' are dispensed.  A glass of wine helped too.  Still want to return dog.

Week 3 - husband willing to pay anything, anything, ANYTHING to shut up anxiety ridden wife, semi-hysterical 11 year old and non-stop yapping/pooping puppy.  Training will be consulted asap.  

Week 3 - eventual and painful realization that said puppy ain't going anywhere.  He officially becomes named 'Murphy' and part of the family.  Yet another one mommy has to take on the chin for the sake of her family.  Pit remains in stomach, but made better by two glasses of wine.

Week 4 - puppy has first visit with vet.  Puppy ear infection (never mind the kid on the inhaler, the kid with a new mouth appliance that needs to be cranked nightly, the kid with a project due, and the kid with the skin infection.  Husband, is of course, away.) and needs frequent ear drops.  

Week 5 - puppy settles in by systematically pooping on every single rug in house.  Dogologist is immediately called in!  $75 an hour.  Slight chance that puppy may be "a tough one to train."  Undaunted, sister continues on the fight.  She got four kids potty trained by age 3 and by god, this little beast WILL NOT take her down.

Week 6 - I talk with sister as she peruses the aisle of Target.  "Squeeeak, squeeak, squeek."   "What's that noise????" I ask.   "Oh, it's a toy for Murphy".  

Stick a fork in her, she's all done.

  

DON'T touch that dial.......

My car is my life.  My car is my office.  My car is my second home.  I love my car.  That said...I think one can gather that I spend A LOT of time in my car.  With three shorties, all of their activities, all of their friends, and all of their crap...I drive around in my big 'ole SUV quite a bit.  

Haus Frau = SUV.  It's a suburban rule.  (yes, a grocery grabber.... aka.... mini van will substitute nicely)

So, my 11 year old has graduated to the front seat.  Now before you get all high and mighty on me about car seat rules and regulations, I checked with my pediatrician and she has reached the correct weight/height to ride co-pilot with me.  At first it was a tad annoying.  The side seat has always been for my pocket book, gloves, papers, water bottle and other miscellaneous crap...not for kids.  Ahhhhhh, alas, all that has changed my friends, and changed for good.  The wee lass is now my official side kick/aka/co-pilot de jour.  Guess what.... It's working out great.  She hands me my money for coffee, she gets out to get the mail from the stupid neighborhood mail box (that's another blog for another day), she is my go-to girl when picking up her sibling(s) from a friends house (I sit in the car and she runs up and rings the bell, does the regulatory mommy chat with the other mommy, gets said sibling into shoes, coat etc....and again, I sit on my lazy ass)....and most important....DRUM ROLL PLEASE.....the three of them are now and forever separated so there is significantly less squabbling and fisticuffs over who sits where and who is touching who and blah, blah, blah.  

Now it's time for the drawback.  She is 11.  She loves that tinkling, semi-rhythmic crap music that is played 40,000 times over on pop radio.  

          

She....thinks.......she.........is........righteously....in ......control......of.......MY.........radio!!!  

WTF?????!!!!!!!

For many years I have prided myself on playing what I want in my car.  Never once, and I repeat....NEVER, did I play Sesame Street loves to party, or Barney wants to come over and play doctor, or Cock-a-doodle-doo you smell like a poo, or the worst, absolute WORST....Radio Disney.  Nope, never once.  My shorties, since birth, have been listening to everything from U2, to Led Zeppelin, to Bach, to the Foo Fighters to Fergie.  (exception - Janis Joplin......see my profile for further explanation.)   I believe in a rockin childhood.  They get enough share and share alike and all that other pc crap from TV....why the hell do they need to hear it from a song....from MY car radio?  And more importantly, why do I need to hear it?  AARRGGHH!

But I digress.....So now, said 11 year old is taking over on the dial.  I gently attempt to coach her toward the good stuff, but surprise surprise.....she thinks NOT.  So here is the dumper on having her as my co-pilot........I gotta give a little on the music thing.  It's been 11 years of rockin mommy time.  I suppose I could give a little on this one.......BUT.........I have a sneaking suspicion that this is .......... JUST THE BEGINNING.  

Crank it up Haus Fraus and ROCK ON!

Home Sweet Home Party

Yesterday I hosted a home party. Usually I am on the working end of these things, showing up with my crate of kitchen tools and slinging hash for strangers (well, maybe not hash, more like the chicken broccoli ring). This time it was my turn to host. I got to be the one to clean my house, obsess about RSVPs, and hope to hell that my efforts were worth it for my friend who sells Usborne Books.

Women love home parties. They combine the activities we love the most: Shopping, Socializing, Eating and Drinking! What's not to love about catching up with your BFFs on the latest gossip (there was much St. Mary's chat going 'round my party) sampling some tasty treats, slugging down a few mimosas and buying some books-kitchen tools-jewelry-make-up-candles-skin-care-scrapbooking supplies-home-decorating-beer-bread?

Wow, is there anything we can't buy in the privacy of our own homes? So far, none of my friends has stepped up to host a sex toys show, though there is ONE IN PARTICULAR (you KNOW who you are!) who would be the ideal candidate. The best part of hosting that type of show is sifting through the order sheets after everyone has left to see what your friends are getting (hmm, Sally ordered the Magnum-sized self-pleasure tool, I wonder what THAT means!??!)

As long as there are wine, women and things to buy, there will be home parties. And without them, I have no business in the kitchen!

tom cruise mad on scientology

A good laugh for those of you who think that Tom Cruise is going the way of Michael Jackson. This made me almost pee my pants!