The other day, I was toting the kids somewhere spectacular, I’m sure, in my cool minivan. And out of the blue, I mean, just out of nowhere, Lucy says:
“Mom, if I were a superhero, I would be ArgueGirl.”
I had to pull the car over from laughing so hard. Tears streamed down my face. And then,
“Mom, seriously, I would. I would be ArgueGirl.”
So, I did what any responsible loving and nurturing mother would do…I fueled the fire:
“No you wouldn’t”
“Yes I would, Mom.”
“Nuh_uh.”
“YES I WOULD MOOOOMMMMMM! I WOULD BE ARGUEGIRL! I WOULD I WOULD I WOULD!”
“Oh, okay, Lucy.”
“Mommy, why are you laughing and crying so hard?”
That’s how I roll.

This year, for my birthday, I was surprised by my girl power with a lovely and quaint dinner. Really, that was enough. But Julz(HOLLA!) & Nikki_TheCakeMakingDiva perhaps accosted my Ricardo and explained that I needed a particular item. Ricardo, knowing that when girlfriends look out for each other, it’s best to just nod and write a check, gave the go ahead. And so, I was given the most beautiful gift in all the land. Becauase I had the smallest food processor ever. I had food processor envy. Friends would see it and say, “That shit ain’t right, girl.” And then, I had to degrade myself to cutting recipes in half so it’d fit in my itsy bitsy food processor. OMG. Can you imagine the shame? But my girls and my man came through for me. I’m not much of a cryer. But when I opened this up, all I could muster through the tears was, “This is the BEST GIFT I’VE EVER GOTTEN!”
See what I mean? Look at that beauty. How I managed to go on this long with that miniscule excuse for a food chopper is beyond me. But you can betcha that I’m gonna rock some serious food merging and meshing now!
My materialistic needs are mainly in the kitchen. I’ve been eyeballing coffee pots with grinders. I’ve been a coffee drinker since my mom told me it would stunt my growth. The fourth grade. Not a great old wives tale to tell your daughter who’s eye level with her teachers. So, mom, if the coffee stunted my growth, I should be about 7′ by now, I figure. It’s really my final vice in life. I love coffee. I’m not a tough hard core coffee drinker. I like my coffee just so, even travelling with my coffee creamer on occasion. So, you can imagine when I came across a coffee grinder/maker on SALE. Well, it was that really bad day. And it made it all okay and worth it because Ricardo wasn’t about to crush my dreams. Great noble dreams of pure fresh coffee. With a timer?! Are you kidding me!? SIGN ME UP!
Ricardo doesn’t even like coffee. I was afraid that the loud noise would tick him off when it went off at 6 a.m. But just as I suspected, he slept right through it. Finally, that heavy sleeper gig works to my benefit. He surprised me with how impressed he was with it. It turns out, if coffee pots were like cars, this one would have a hemi. He’s okay with this wake up call, because it sounds like a plane taking off, and therefore must have a great motor, making it worthy of hearing it every day. It doesn’t matter if it makes coffee, he just likes the sound. Check it out:

Don’t even get me started about my vacuum! Some girls love diamonds and stuff. I’m cool with appliances.
That’s how I roll.

Yesterday, we scrambled to get some errands done in preparation for a road trip. So, I strategically dressed in my lightest clothes since Weight Watchers tends to frown on me walking in naked to weigh_in. I had to weigh_in before I left, because road trip food and me _ well, I love me some fritos and bean dip is all I’m sayin.
So, we were to go weigh_in, then to the library, then to the grocery store. I weigh_in, I’ve lost even more weight. Yay me! And off we go to the library. When I get out of the car, I notice that I’ve scooted over something in my seat. I think I was going to see what was in it, but then a kid said something and I’m sure I was distracted by that. We walk in to the library, I go straight to the movies while the kids browse books, and I see this lady I know. Her kid and my kids went to preschool together. She’s looking at movies too, but hasn’t seen me yet. I can remember her kid’s name, but not hers. So, I’m too embarassed to say hi. I’m in front of her, bent over a bit looking at the movies. She sees me, I’m pretty sure, but doesn’t say hi. Now I know why. And now I remember her name: SANDY! You know who you are!!!!
Because two seconds later, a lady comes up to me and says “Ma’am, I just wanted to let you know that you have a pretty good sized rip in your pants.” I reach to feel, and it’s a tear down the left side of my ass cheek. It’s the length OF MY HAND. For a clear visual, let me remind the masses that I wear thongs. I’m sure everyone that watched me enter the library thought I was wearing glaring white dimply granny panties. But no, it was just my bare ass.
I thanked the lady for telling me because SANDY sure didn’t! And I rush the kids to the car. I tell them exactly what’s up. Because, I think if you’ve ever tried to cram your growing ass into a pair of pants, you understand the humiliation of uh, well, splitting the seam. If not, you need to eat a burger. But this time, these pants were baggy. I’d gotten them when I lost weight. They are SJP Bitten pants. Remind me to send her a note of thanks for the thin material. I’m fairly certain I’ve snagged them, sat down, extended the little snag into a tear. So, I’m less humiliated, and more in go mode to get out of there. And I have kids with me. This should be great.
The kids take my giant green recyclable shopping bag and walk behind me covering up the glare. They think it’s funny, but protect me too. So sweet. We get to the car, I sit down, and feel it rip some more.
On the way home, Max says to me, “Mommy, do you put underwear on before you put pants on in the morning?”
“What?”
“Because you didn’t have underwear on where you ripped your pants.”
That’s because mommy wears a thong. Is thong one of your sight words little boy? It is now.
Instead, I explained as best I could, “Mommy wears mommy underwear. Just like your underwear is different from Lucy’s. Mommy’s underwear is less and different.”
Then, for the rest of the drive home, Lucy explained to Max how my underwear goes. I can only imagine the hand gestures she used to show him.
Our plan was to get home, change, go to the grocery store, and then later, much later, after all the witnesses had left and had their retinas re_attached, we’d get back to the library. But in a split second _ pun intended _ as I was changing into much sturdier pants, I opted to put on my new MOTR shirt, and get my ass _ pun intended again _ back to the library so that everyone there would see me, and hopefully come to this website.
So, if you were at the library yesterday. I apologize that you had no warning. You’d put your sunglasses deep in your purse. And then had to see that dimpled glare. Bless your heart. Hopefully now, you know that I’m cool if you want to laugh with me now. Never at me. But with me is fine.
And thank you to the most beautiful woman in the world. We’ve never met, but I did show you my butt. So, I feel as though we are close. Thank you for approaching a giant woman with bad news that indeed, “Uh ma’am, you should really do something about that.” You were very kind and brave.
That’s how I rolll.

This weekend, we went on a family trip. It was our annual “That’ there is a fun park, Clark” Griswold gathering in Kansas City to Worlds of Fun. We stay in mini_cabins there. I love them, and they are about 400 sq. ft. Ricardo has to duck as he walks through. We meet his high_school buddy and his family out there each year. The buddies get giddy about the coasters, grilling and beer _ in that order. And us wives, enjoy our kids entertaining each other and the carefree environment of, “Sure hunny, you can have another cookie, it’s vacation, wash it down with more root beer_ look, there’s Snoopy!”
In preparation for this trip, I’ve been bracing myself and trying to explain to Ricardo, the Roller Coaster Enthusiast, that indeed, just because our giant children are tall enough, does not mean they SHOULD ride every roller coaster. Please remember with me, they are FIVE YEARS OLD. His only retort is, “But if they want to, they can ride, right?” Sure, because, typically, we spend most of our time in Camp Snoopy on the kiddie rides, but okay.
I said that knowing that one look at the coasters and my children would say no. It turns out, I don’t know my own children.
They got on the TimberWolf pretty easily.

As you can see, it’s impressive. The most impressive thing about this ride, is that I’m certain it was built in 1809. It’s all wood, and it freaking beats you to a pulp. It hurts. There’s nothing fun about it. Hey kids, let’s ride it! And they did. The problem is, they loved it. And we rode it over and over again.
On day one, I watched Max keep his eye on the Mamba. I have endless pictures of us in Camp Snoopy, he’s ON THE RIDE, staring, watching intently at the Mamba’s car going up the giant hill. “Max, you want to ride that?” NO! “Okay. Just checking.”
But after the 5th time on the Timberwolf and no sight of a masseuse nor a chiropractor, I gave Ricardo the green light: “Look, if they can ride this stupid earthquake of a ride, they can ride the Mamba, because the Mamba is smooth. They’ll love it.”
And so, we started working on them. Max continued to stare each time the coaster went up the 205 foot climb, then drop. Maximum speed is 75 miles per hour. Wheeeee!
The stupid Timber Wolf is a 100 foot climb and a menial 45 miles per hour. The kids could totally upgrade to the Mamba. Totally. Right?
Max kept staring it down. Lucy kept searching for Snoopy. And on the last day of our trip, we may or may not have bribed our children with Webkinz. If they rode the Mamba, we’ll get you a Webkinz. Lucy had already discovered, that oh, looky there, they sell Webkinz in the frikkin fun park. And she was totally in. She didn’t even care what the stupid Mamba was, she was on a mission for a Webkinz. Max, not so sure, and maybe he doesn’t want another Webkinz. At current, they each have one. I thought it was so cool to get them a Webkinz, but ofcourse as soon as they got it, having only one is like totally sooooo lame, MOM! Fine.

So, we got to the Mamba, Lucy surprised us with no hesitation. Max finally said, “well maybe I’ll do it.” And we went. We were brilliant in that there wasn’t a line…in the back. And we knew if Max got closer and looked back at the hill to climb, he’d bail. So, we did what every responsible parent does and blindfolded him. KIDDING. We just hurried them on. We got them locked in, the thumbs up from the 15 year old Mamba crew & operators, and just as we start to pull out, Max says maybe he doesn’t want to do this after all.

I soothe my son with something like, “Uh, yeah, it’s too late now PUNK! Mwaaahahahaha!” And we go. Lucy loved it all the way. Max not so much on the first two hills. But by the middle of the ride, he started to LAUGH. He loved it! Not enough to go again, ever _ according to him.
Had he known the language, “Where’s my effn Webkinz, biotch?” would have come out of his mouth. That’s not what he said, but we did go get them each their promised pet. And then ice cream. High fives and knuckles were flowing abundantly.
I’ve never been so proud of my kids, and they were so proud of themselves. And that’s when it hit me. I looked at them, and just saw something different. My sweet children at the tender age of 5, unknowingly just faced a giant fear, and literally laughed at it. This milestone is bigger than silly milestones like learning to tie a shoe, or passing kindergarten or reading. Whatever. I’m watching them and they look older, bigger, bolder, and more mature. Together they can do anything. They trust us to keep them safe, because we just did. Suddenly, it’s all about us as a family unit. All that from a stupid roller coaster. Ricardo is brilliant.
That’s how I roll.