March 2007 Archives

This is how I feel most of the time:

Yesterday morning, after a night filled with lectures on why the kids should listen and DO what mommy and daddy say, Lucy woke up at 7:06a.m.

By 7:07a.m. she was in a time out for not listening.

How is it that they can remember when mommy got a ticket from the police officer for going too fast a year ago, but can't remember to frikkin do what they are told!?

I was dreading the day. So I did what any mom just shy of a pop of Xanax would do, I loaded them up, took them to the gym. I checked them in to some fresh meat (those teenagers didn't see it coming, my kids could tear them apart) at the child care area and went and took a nap in the coveted steam room. I've mastered that art. Then I went and got my zen on at yoga.

Julz(Holla!) and I started what we now refer to as our Best Butts In The Gym workout. Hey, you do what you can to motivate. Don't judge me. And Julz(Holla!) got paged for a very mift baby. So, indeed, that meant I had to leave the workout too, right? So I saw some gal pals, and parked it in the cafe while we very intently avoided work out and but talked about our feelings. That's when my kids were walking through to go to open gym time. BUSTED. I was busted. They caught me sitting there enjoying myself. "Mommy has to go work out hard to be healthy" is no longer going to work with these kids. Crap.

While trying to greet them, after all, I'd just gotten my zen on and had my workout interrupted, I was having the best day ever, they'd made their way to the ice cream and plucked one each from the freezer. Out of sheer desperation so that I wouldn't have to argue, I said, "Sure! Charge it!" and so be it. I bought a little more time to talk about my feelings with the ladies while the kids sat quietly slurping down ice cream at 11a.m., an hour before lunch.

Sorry about that Ricardo. But that's why they didn't eat their lunch. Woopsie. It was that, or mommy throw back a Corona, which they also offer at the gym. I think the ice cream for the kids was a much safer choice, don't you?

Lucy only went back to her room for 2 more time outs that day. I let them do whatever they wanted. Crafts with glue in the living room on my couch? SURE! You want the EXTRA CHEESY Goldfish today? SURRRE! You want to squirt the chocolate syrup directly into your mouth instead of in your milk? Fine by me. I couldn't be more proud, hunny.

I call these days, Yes Days. I force myself to say yes, as long as it doesn't put them in immediate danger. We dont' have too many of these days, but I think I need them more than they do. I also spent the majority of the afternoon laying on the couch. They seemed to be okay with it, so ofcourse, I went with it.

But today is a new day. Maybe I'll make it a NO day. Mwwwahahahahah!
That's how I roll.

And insert shameless plug....if you live in Omaha, or close by... please please please come to the Icehouse Sunday night at 8p.m.....come a little early, get a drink...sit back and relax. We need a big audience. If you have a stick in your ass and physically cannot laugh...you better stay home.

Last night was my second attempt at comedy open mic night. I did okay, but think I did better the first time. I always thought it was something I just wanted to do...just an idea in the back of my head. It turns out it's a big phat dream and I'm going for it.

It's an odd place to be because I'm the tallest, the oldest (I've got about 10 years on all the comedians as well as most of the crowd - all young and single), and I am the only female. I'm trying to work this to my advantage with fresh, edgy and yet, very educational material.

So, if you live somewhere around Omaha have some spare time on Sunday night and $3 in your pocket , please please please, come support vulnerable and yet funny souls. The competition begins this Sunday, and by competition, I mean, I'm stepping it up a notch for the sake of WINNING and also, winning money. Tell all of your friends. We need a big crowd.

If you don't live around here, keep an eye out. I'll drop this gig as soon as I stink it up. The problem is, it seems most of the critics are afraid of me...seeing as how I'm bigger than them and put fear into their little faces simply by threatening a time out chair.... As long as I'm having fun with it, and Ricardo let's me out of the house....I'm going for it. So,somebody PLEASE tell me if you love it. But most importantly, let me know if I'm not as funny as I think I am. I can take it.

Please please come out on Sunday nights! Icehouse Live, Sunday, April 1, 8p.m.
That's how I roll.

Today, I asked the kids what they'd like for dinner.

And my sweet 4 year-olds so sweetly explained from their buckled car seats, that they would like something new. Something different. Something they'd never had before.

I encourage the creativity with food, because this could be really GOOD! And it was.

"Like what" I say.

"Likkkkke, pasta and ice cream. With fruit!"

And like a new challenge on the extravagances of life (and food, which is life at my house). As if Iron Chef had called on me, personally, I say,
"You got it! Let's go to the grocery store and do this!"

In my brainstomring, I tack on the idea of chocolate pasta. I marinated pasta in chocolate everything and made a divine sauce. Ricardo got home and hesitated a bit, but played along.
We had apple crispy things, bananas, strawberries, and whipped cream.

The kids are so excited, dinner can't be on the table fast enough. I have totally just justified this that fruit and vegetables are in the same group on the food chart. The kids are getting their grains, fruit, dairy, and chocolate (which, in my family, should have it's own group on the food chart).

I lay it out on the table and all (sans Ricardo, but including Farley The Wonder Dog) are in absolute awe of the wonders and greatness of mommy's culinary genius. We scoop, we pass around, we create. Each in our own zone.

It's what I do. I create:

So, we pray, we begin to eat. At some point, after I've totally scarfed down my culinary architecture, I realize that the kids are more playing with their big fat ideas and Ricardo has filled his bowl but refuses to even taste one ioda of chocolate penne. I beg everyone to eat for a while. Accept defeat. And clear the table.

It's my pick tomorrow: Fish, asparagus and bow tie & broccoli pasta. BRING IT YOU AMATEURS.

Creative, Open to others ideas, and totally underappreciated. That's a mom for ya.
And that's how I roll.

Some time ago, Julz(holla!) suggested that she'd like to have a body composition done for her birthday. Why? Who wants to know THAT? And that's like actually looking at the nutritional chart at a restaurant. You don't REALLY want to know the exuberant amount of calories you're eating? It makes the food taste bad.

But it WAS her birthday, and so I thought I'd do it with her and get my composition done too. My thinking was, she's done so good, and I haven't. So, it would dually make her feel great. And my predictions were correct. Since I'd done my original body composition, I've gained 2 pounds.

Quite frankly, I have no shame, nor pride. I LOVE food. And it'd be nice to lose my baby weight, seeing as how my kids are 4 now. I've tried diets. The harder I try, the more I binge. I have issues, I know. However, I simply love food. I love to cook food, and I really love to eat food. I get heartburn just thinking about how I'm going to jack up a good dish.

But like Shakira said, "These hips don't lie." I'm fairly sure, Shakira had a different take on it. But my evergrowing hips don't lie, and I got a sweet slap in the face with the 2 pound gain after working out at our gym for a little more than a year. So, I suggested Julz(holla!) and I get a trainer. I've considered getting a trainer before. But never done it. This may have to do with the fact that I know what I need to do, I simply don't do it. But when you have accountability ($50-$100 per session) you tend to stick to it. Our plan is to schedule a training session every two weeks. Work out our awesome bods and then get a new workout from our trainer each session. Sounds good, in theory.

While we were doing our assessment and body composition, she made us do push ups. I suggest that I hate push ups and also refuse to do lunges. There's a deafening silence as if to suggest that this may, in fact, be the reasoning for my saggy ass and thunder thighs....

Julz(holla!) mentions too, "I don't DO push-ups."

I think we picked a good trainer. She is our yoga zen master. Actually, there's other yoga instructors, but I like Lori the best. I haven't been able to get to her class lately, I wish I could. We picked Lori because we like her. She's real. She's not some crazy freakshow trainer with a shit-eating grin on her face asking, "Don't you just feel great when you wake up at 5a.m. to give it your all and and jumpstart your body!?" Those people bug me and are overwhelmingly available. But Lori, she's real. And she's a good example. She's got a young child and yet, still has a nice rack and a rock hard body. As a matter of fact, now that I think of it, I hate her. Again, my kids are 4 and I'm still working off the baby weight, so you know...

Our first training session, and that vixen trainer does our first circuit with PUSH UPS and LUNGES and then, tells us to go run a lap. At this point, I'm a little pissed that Lori with her rock hard body, didn't accept a challenge to reshape my body with a little more creativity than stupid lunges and push ups. Something more fun, like, a massage or something. But while I'm stewing over it, I'm running the lap with Julz(holla!) by my side mumbling something like, "Seriously, I don't ever run. Don't do it. This is the worst birthday present EVER!"

In the middle of, just the first circuit of lunges pushups and running, it occurs to me that I could have the Dry Humper. So, it can, indeed be worse. I mention that to Julz(holla!) who agrees. We opt to suck it up and go forth and burn calories.

I weigh myself all the time. And so five days later, I weigh myself on the same scale and it tells me I've lost a little more than 9 pounds. I go up to tell Lori about it. "Did y'all recalibrate the scale or something?" She said no and inquired why to which I explain my weight loss and that it must be that she's the BEST TRAINER EVER!

A few days later, I go in to the gym and go to weigh myself before I work out only to find a sign on the scale "Out of Order". Either I broke the scale, or my rapid weight loss was inevitably miscalculated. Dammit. I go upstairs and tell Lori and she says to me, "Yeah, it didn't look like you lost those '10 pounds'." She used the damned quote fingers and everything. I've got a finger for you, Lori. But I won't show you, because I am afraid of you. Fret not my momontherocks readers. I'll get her back. But it's very touchy because she is in control of the pain my body may or may not experience.

Still, it feels good to work out. And I HAVE lost a few pounds, (quote fingers and all) still while eating my sweets. So far, so good.

That's how I roll.

Ironically, after a slight mention of sending my daughter to University of Texas, one of the greatest sports teams of our nation led solely by Jody Conradt, she resigns. She SAYS the team needs a change of leadership, but I'm guessing she's a fan of this website and was creeped out a bit.

Geez, what a quitter. Just two seasons of not making it to the tournament.

Coach Conradt, I wish you the best of luck. I personally think you can win an election or two. Maybe you should run for governor...or put your hat in for President. Maybe that's what you're up to. Larry Bird could be your vice president. Wait, I think I'm on to something, here...Please don't leave us!

That's how I roll.

Last night, our evening bedtime dance ensued when Lucy opted to stall. Shall we dance? She was very upset (insert DRAMA QUEEN) on the basis that she insisted I put the tshirt on backwards on her gigantic longhorn stuffed animal she'd received from Great Auntie this past Christmas. I wanted to tell her, "Pishaaawww, you shouldn't have taken it off in the first place...and YOU'RE WELCOME!" But instead, I tried to console the very unconsoleable child.

At some point, she went to her room, wailing, and dropped in her doorway, on her hands and knees and threw the very beloved Bevo, the gigantic longhorn stuffed animal. It was actually a gift to both of the kids, but Lucy conned Max into getting dibs with Bevo at night, and then during the day too. She loves Bevo and sleeps with Bevo every night. But not tonight, because she threw her fit, and momma's gotta lay down the law. Stop it now, before she's 14 and doing this. Right?

And so, I say it. "MAX, YOU GET TO SLEEP WITH BEVO TONIGHT. LUCY,YOU HAVE LOST YOUR PRIVILEGE (AND YO MIND, GIRL) TO HAVE BEVO."

And, enter left stage, temper tantrum drama queen. Oh, what a doozie. I stuck to it though. Eventually, after Ricardo and I seperately calmed her down, she went to her room and accepted the punishment. It was quiet. And then, Lucy steps out of her room, and just before I can holler "GET IN YOUR ROOM OR I'LL TAKE YOU'RE OTHER DOLLS OUT" (I'm tough like that) She holds up her MagnaDoodle and it looks something like this:

So, instead of the screaming, I look at Ricardo and tell him, "Look at that." Then look back at Lucy and say, "Sweetie, you used your words to express yourself, and you wrote a sentence! Good Job! I'm proud of you! Come give me a hug!"

"Mommy, can I have Bevo now?"

"No. Goodnight Lucy."

It took everything I had to not give her that damned longhorn back. But I had to stick to my consequence. So, I did. But after she fell asleep, I snuck in and put Bevo back in bed with her.

By the way, she also wrote us two more MagnaDoodle notes:

Bevo's Mad

I had to ask her about this one. She was very happy to translate: I'm REALLY MAD!

Bevo is the mascot for the University Of Texas Longhorns. Perhaps she could go play there. I wonder if Jody Conradt will still be coaching in 20 years. Jody, if you are, call me. Clearly my daughter is brilliant, well educated and well disciplined. And she's supposed to be very tall. Don't even get me started on her passion for Bevo...and whatever she wants. She wants the ball, she'll get it. And by the way, she'll be about 6'4". Call me, Jody, Call me. We go way back...I went to your basketball camp in the 8th grade. You rock.

That's how I roll.

A typical conversation between Ricardo and I:

"Baby, remember that girlfriend trip in Texas I was telling you about?"

"Yeah."

"I think I'd really like to go. The cabin they're getting is really cheap."

long pause...I continue

"Baby, you okay with me going?"

"Did you know we get PACMAN on our phones!?"

"No, I didn't know that. You okay with me going on this trip in April?"

"Huh? Yeah, that's fine. I'll take vacation or something."

"Thanks sweetie. I'm really looking forward to it."

"Dude, check this out...it's PACMAN! LOOK!"

Everyone is happy. That's how I roll.

10 a.m. today: I've just been advised by our local news that if we have a problem, don't call the police, because they can't help. We're in Blizzard conditions. Nevermind that the "new guy" on the scene and out in the snow was being blown away and the visibility is so low that you can't even see him...just his red jacket bobbing in the snow and wind....Ricardo is stuck at work because he went in the 12" of snow that had already fallen last night and can't get the car out of the parking lot from the 6" more that has fallen in the last 2 hours.

The first picture is our hot tub. So, you can see, I can't find solace there...

The second picture is from the garage....that's my driveway...I'll do my part for the community and not go out in that.

And the third picture....you know how at murder scenes, there's blood spatter? Well, this is snow spatter. The sky has opened up and spit on my house.

We're in our jammies all day. I suppose I could use this opportunity to do laundry and clean the house.....or, maybe slurp hot tea and lay very still under the heating blanket. It's a win-win situation, really.

Noon - Ricardo comes through the door, and I say, "You made it back! Yay!" But he's not sharing in my excitement. That's when I notice his face is red, he's breathing heavy and he's got snow covering his shoes and his jeans up to his knees. The guy is 6'8". So this can't be good. Kiddingly, I say, "Good Lord, did you walk home?" And he replies, "Yep from the subdivision entrance." Then he goes and gets a blanket for his ears. He looks like he's in some kind of hypothermic shock. Still, I'm glad he's home. Now he just looks a little ticked off and he says, "We got an all-office email today at 8:10a.m. that we were closed." That's nice that they waited for them all to get there and get trapped before they were told to not bother. My man escaped though. Good Job!

2p.m. Mother Nature's rage rant is over and the blizzard stops. Ricardo looks out to see our neighbor snow blowing his driveway with great tribulation. It turns out that the snow is so high, the blower part's is under the snow. This can't be good.

3p.m. Since I've been in the house with the kids for 24 straight hours, Candyland is now strewn over all three levels of the house, and the dog is getting stir crazy, Ricardo and I are now arguing over who gets to go shovel snow. Both of us wanted to shovel. We instruct the kids to pick up the Candyland game and when they do, they too can have the PRIVILEGE of shoveling snow, and maybe playing in it. And then we layer up and go out into the great white yonder. Our driveway is one gigantic snow drift. We start digging, and our very generous neighbor snow blows his way to us and lets us use his snow blower. The snow is so deep, one of us (me) has to shovel a layer before the snow blower can go through for the rest.

3:45p.m. We finish our driveway and the kids have finally put up that damned Candyland game and come out and play. We even let Farley The Wonder Dog out in the front. The wonderdog loved it and didn't even attempt to bark or charge any fellow snow blowers nor shovellers. All is right with the world.

4p.m. I make hot cocoa for everyone and sit down to watch Oprah just in time to see that there's no hope for snow plows to come rescue us. School has been closed for tomorrow. "Ricardo, I'm going to need you to shovel a path to the hot tub." I check the cabinet and confirm, we indeed are stocked up on rum and dietcoke. Everything is going to be okay.

That's how I roll.