March 2009 Archives

My super awesome gym is doing another competition. What? Competition? I'm in. It's called March Madness, we get a team of five together, we get points. So, I finally get to my swim segment for bonus points for whatever we're playing for, we dont' even know. But word on the streets is it's restaurant gift certificates. If that's the case, that's hillarious. Because there is no where you can eat out and be healthy without ordering off the menu. And when you order off the menu, the chef and your waiter spit in your food and spike it with Visine, but anyways.

So, my teammate, Abby and I go to a water class. Granted, there's uh, a slight senority age gap between Abby's and my age and every other lady in the pool. Abby is very thin and trim (she's also absolutely brilliant, hillarious, and thoughtful), and this lady I see every day in the locker room comes up to me while I'm derobing, points right at Abby and says, "Everyone saw your friend get in the pool & we're all jealous. We think she's too thin and in shape to be in this class."

I say, "Really Georgine? Because you have the nicest rack here. So, we have envy too."

She blushed and walked away. She really does have a nice rack. I'm just sayin.

I get in the water, it's cold. I'm not happy to be here, all in the name of taking one for the team. I'm 6'3" and I'm on my tip toes because I don't want to sink two more inches and get more cold. Why do we do that? Like that 2" is going to make a difference when hypothermia sets in.

Meanwhile, I see our other three team members upstairs in the workout room, waving too us. In a tone as if to say, "Hahahah, you fell for our trick to get you in the pool!" So I flipped them off. They better get our swimming points or else!

No sooner than I can get over to Abby (thanks for not leaving me to these pirrhanas) the class instructor points at us again and yells to the entire class, "We have some March Madness people here today. They are RIGHT THERE! Get Em!" What? No, she said, "So let's show them how tough this class is."

Okay, first she suggested we would never be here if we weren't in this competition. Which is true. And then she suggested that well,perhaps we're really not that welcome. Then, she's pissed off everyone and pitted them against us by insinuating that we don't think it's a tough work out. And, she's going to make everyone in the class pay. And she did. One lady out of about 30 stayed and talked to us in the hot tub when we were done and told us she was really hard today. Super. Just to jack with that group, I'm soooo going back every week. Where the hell were the donuts too? My pal Erin said they have donuts after class. She took all the water classes because she was pregnant and it was good for her. And there were donuts afterwards. I guess Abby and I being not-pregnant and under 60 probably ruined any chance of donuts.

I should mention these ladies too have their cliques, even in the water.
I suppose even the silver-haired, mature ladies can be caddy. For some ridiculous reason, I figured I'd grow out of it. So, there's hope that I can enjoy that bitchiness of being a woman well into my retirement years. The other note to mention is they too have their cliques, even in the water.

The class itself, if done correctly, works your core pretty good. We finish, go to the hot tub and look up to see our other three team members getting their butts worked out by Lori crazy trainer. I waved, they flipped me off.

That's how I roll.

It's only fair to count and note the good days with the bad. Even though, the bad days as a mom, are a much better read.

Last week, I went grocery shopping. Big grocery shopping. I drop the kids off at school, head to the regular grocery store with my regular list, and then go to Sam's Club with my Sam's Club list. They are evenly distributed. It used to be that I just bought dog food, laundry detergent and diapers at Sam's. Now, I find I'm buying more and more regular grocery staples like coffee, fruit, meats. These kids eat a lot. Maybe if I stopped feeding them in bulk, they'd stop growing in bulk, hmmmm.

And sometimes, when I'm done at Sam's Club, sometimes, I go to another grocery store for particular specialty items that weren't at the grocery store nor Sam's. After all of that, I go home, usually just in time to get the groceries put up so that Farley the Wonderdog can't reach them and go pick up the kids back up from school. It takes all day and I'm thankful and almost embarassed at the volume of sheer luxuries of all the groceries in the full pantry and full refrigerator.

The other day, though, I opted to take my Ipod and up the ante from grocery shopping to with the ever-present sounds of a constant child screaming a the grocery store to drowning it out with my groove. Bring it on groceries. On top of all that, I'm saving the earth with my reusable backs. I'm rocking out grocery day like nobody's business!

I'm at Sam's Club doing power squats with the gigantore bag of dog food while rockin to Lil Wayne. Life is good. I'm fairly certain I got my shopping done faster, didn't forget one item on either list, and was happier for it all because of my tunes blaring in my ears.

I get all checked out, everyone is happy. And I get out to my car and see it's leaning. I have a flat. And I'm talking a flat flat, no air. Nada in my left front tire.

I call Ricardo while I load the groceries in the car to assess my plan of action. I was just going to drive it 20 feet to the Sam's Auto area. But Ricardo reminds me that we actually bought our tires at Sam's. Just go back in, tell them I have a flat, and we have some roadside assistance warranty. Say what? It's as if the grocery shopping fairies have planned my day in perfect alignment.

I go back into Sam's tell the guy. I'm so excited that I got a flat at the exact spot we purchased the tires. This is fantastic! What a great day! The guy really doesn't care. Not only that, but Sam's has the cheapest lunch ever, and it's lunch time. I can just go eat lunch while I wait on the car. What? Wait. I never have cash, and I don't want to write a check for the $1.50 combo. Let me check my change because my purse does seem to be heavier today. Fantastic! I have $1.87! Woohoo!

I go eat. And just to help share the gift of a good day, I sit at a table next to this construction guy on his lunch break. I put my lipstick on and eat my hot dog real sultry like. Because eating a hot dog is very, very sexy. He blushes, or laughs or whatever. I get up, goget my car.

"Do you have the Chrysler Town & Country?"

"Yes. Yes I do! You jealous?"

"Uh, no ma'am. It's ready for you. Everything was covered, just need you to sign here."

He could have gone along with it. But I'm guessing not everyone is so happy to have a flat like I am. I sign it and hop into my car and go home.

A lot can go wrong on grocery day. Hell, I've thrown my back out a couple of times. You gotta get up early, stretch, apparently check the oil and tires. So, to me, it was such a treat that when poop hit the fan, I remember, my shit smells like roses. Yay!

That's how I roll.

Ricardo and I have always said we will never move, unless we win the lottery. I suppose we'll have to buy tickets for that. But it's one of the things we love to talk about, dream outloud, after we're done talking about our feelings ofcourse, on long road trips.

Still, every now and then, you'll find us talking about our dream home. We love our house we are in now. And what we don't love, we've changed - a couple of times.

Ricardo suggested we could design our own home (tall ceilings, laundry on the bedrooms level, kitchen with a Rosie, the robot maid in it). We'd hire someone to build it.

Ricardo thought about it for a while and then, "We won't have to tile, or paint, or put bamboo on the ceiling." Long pause and glaring stare and then, "Or take bamboo off the ceiling."

Hey even the greatest design ideas outlive their welcome, I suppose. The bamboo was cool for our beach cabana basement. But one thing that will never get old is chocolate. Right?

"Can I take my chocolate label backsplash with us?"

Eyes roll. "Sure."

I'm guessing we didn't win last night. But that guy loves me. For sure.

And that's how we roll.

When it rains wholesome goodness at the zoo, it pours. So, after our fantastic behind-the-scenes-tour at the zoo, the very next weekend, the kids and I went to a campout at the zoo.

I just assumed we'd rough it on the floor with our sleeping bags at the aquarium. I'm a genius for setting up this "camp out" and and checking that off the adventures of a kid to-do list before summer even rolls around all while sneaking in indoor plumbing. There's other places at the zoo to campout - the Desert Dome and the Jungle, both with dirt floors. There's a reason I went with the aquarium - all the animals are behind glass, and it's got a carpeted floor. And it also fell on the same weekend as Ricardo's ManWeekend, so it'd be something for the kids (and me) to be distracted with while daddy is gone.

But then one of my teammates at the gym told me her mom took her kids to this campout gig. And to not even bother taking snacks because they don't allow them at the zoo due to cockroaches. As a cockroach veteran, growing up near Houston, believe me when I say, should I see one more cockroach ever in all of my life, it'll be a little bit too soon. I even went as far as to take out all the gum and cough drops out of my purse for this slumber in the slums. GAWD, what have I done? I ran straight to get air mattresses to elevate my body 6" off the bug infested ground. Give them something to work for if they're going to crawl up to me and my kids. I'll protect you kids! Sort of.

FYI pal at the gym who's mom took her kids to the campout - my kids sat and watched all 63 other campers snack on popcorn, juice boxes, chips, candy, cake and cupcakes as well as several other roach attracters. It turns out, the roaches (and bats) are located and come out for play in the Jungle, not so much in the aquarium. Well, that's where they make their reputation known, at least. "And tell Leslie, we'll see her at the pygmy hippopatumus exhibit - at the strike of midnight." <<< Read in mobster cockroach tone.

So, now I'm going into this knowing there's not a 16 foot snake in the basement - oh no, I stand corrected - he's grown to 21 feet, 202 pounds. And there's actually not a cockroach problem in the aquarium per se, but no the doubt has been set, there's probably a few running around - what with all those snackers I just saw. Still bucking up for the sake of my kids.

We got checked in and went on our night hike through the zoo. Really, it's so fun to cruise through the zoo with a tour guide, learning all kinds of facts and stories, and we actually went through the jungle at night. With 7 exhillerated kids, the tour guide had the nerve to explain that the fruit bats are very active at night. What? No, wait, there's bats in the Desert Dome, not in the Jungle.

"Well, not exactly. We have fruit bats that live freely in the jungle, they only really come out at night." She turns to the kids who've just ingested rootbeer floats and with a much more educational lecture than I can remember "Now, the fruitbats' sonars get thrown off by loud noises (Like seven 6-10 year-olds high on sugar at 9p.m. kind of loud noises?) so we have to be quiet. But they fly high, so really, all that should be a problem are the tall people...." She looks right at me, assesses what I already have, that I'm the tallest person in the group, and gives up the lecture and heads into the jungle. I walked through the entire tour, hunched over, in the dark awaiting the crunch of roaches under my shoes and protecting my precious head from the bats. Kids, isn't this fun!?

By the time we got back to the aquarium, played some games, ran through the aquarium hanging out with the penguins and the sharks and sting rays, it was 11p.m. until we finally got to our designated sleeping area. I chose (and convinced the kids it was best) a spot in front of these cool moon jellyfish. When JulzHolla! and I take the kids to the zoo, we find our zen at the moon jellyfish. They glow and float and someone's turned on some relaxing new age music to soothe all mothers chasing their kids through the aquarium. God bless the zoo music therapy department.

The kids were a bit pissed off that I had the audacity suggest such atrocities as "Lay down and watch the pretty jelly fish float and drift off to sleep." But my kids function on two strict schedules: sleep and food. The last time one of them stayed up til 11p.m. was never. As they settle down, I have time to reflect on the rage of sleep deprivation of a 6-year-old I'm about to enjoy...times two.

Just as soon as I close my eyes, I am awakened by the fruit-bats-will-probably-hit-your-head tour guide. I wake up the kids happy that I never even had time to worry or assess a plan if Monty - the 21 foot aggressive eating python down in the basement - gets one of my kids for lunch.

We got up for our 6a.m. morning hike. And if you've been around me at 6a.m., you know that I'm a perky and annoying. It's the perfect personality for a morning hike with my kids. It got us through the zoo, happy to greet the lions and tigers and bears. Oh My! By 9a.m. we were headed home, ready to see daddy at home. (Translation - hand off kids, shower, and sneak in a nap.)

I'm pretty sure I've ruined my children. Now, they think sleeping at the zoo is the norm. We're already talking about our next trip. If you have the opportunity to do this, it's so cool. Use your kids as an excuse to camp out at the zoo. That's why I had kids, so I could do all this cool kid stuff.

That's how I roll.

Childhood buddies have so much in common. Until they grow up and have kids of their own. A lot of times, the difference of opinion hits at marriage and then child rearing. But my oldest and dearest (since we were 3 years old)pal, Beck. I got this email from her and it really made me love her a little more. Feel closer to her at her brilliance and coping mechanisms to indeed, laugh in the face of adversity. I just really like that she was creative, funny, got pix of the ever growing and changing kids, and hopefully, brought a smile to her husband's face. And everyone else put make up on and took plain jane smiley pix.

I know now that she too is married to her soul mate. Someone who gets her, and who laughs with her, and maybe even sometimes at her.With her permission granted, I wanted to share with you, the joys of my sisterhood circle of being a fellow Mom On The Rocks. This photo essay has secured our friendship for years to come. I worry about my friend with three kids who's husband has been deployed for 8 months. It's good to see that indeed, she's okay...sort of.

From Beck:
This all started because the squadron spouses make a giant calendar (about the size of a double bed sheet) that hangs in the squadron's ready room on the ship. Each spouse decorates a "square" (even though they may be any shape) with pictures of their family. I am not very crafty or artistic, so I could never make a "pretty" square. But mostly, Jesse and I love to laugh with each other (or at each other!) and I knew that the best way for me to show him how much I love and miss him was to make him smile.

Beck :)

Don't worry about things at home, Honey...I've got it all under control!!

Don't worry about things at home, Honey...I'm handling your absence beautifully!

Don't worry about things at home, Honey...the kids are really starting to respect my authority.

("War Party Rocks" is the slogan for Jesse's squadron) Don't worry about things at home, Honey...the kids have been in a rebellious phase, but I'm handling it just fine!

Don't worry about things at home, Honey...I found a way to cope with your family coming for the holidays...

Don't worry about things at home, Honey...I guess I'll just have to think of another way to keep those brats quiet!

Don't worry about things at home, Honey...that's the last time I let those brats cook supper!

(written in shaky kids handwriting) Dear Daddy - it's time to start worrying...you should probably come home now.Help us!

My only regret is that I wasn't there to see the faces on the guys at the tattoo parlor or the psych ward nurses. Come home safely, Jesse.
That's how we roll.

I don't know if my mass audience is aware, we have a little gem here in Omaha - the Zoo. I've browsed polls that say it's second or third in the country for best most kick ass zoo. It has the world's largest indoor rainforest. They also have the worlds largest aviary to the public, one of the largest aquariums and gorilla exhibits. Every single exhibit is like nothing you've ever seen before, brilliantly planned for animals to cohabitate in an assimilated environment. If possible, you never see a fence. As a scrapbooking mom, the money shots for the scrapbooks are incredible! Seriously, y'all - I heart our zoo.

We've had a membership since we moved here. I keep waiting for my kids to get sick of the zoo so I can continue to force it on them with very maternal comments like, "You kids don't know how good you've got it here at this zoo. When I was a kid, the zoo was a puppy mill." In the summer, we pack a lunch and go there at least once a week. Sometimes, it's like lunch in a park with animals as far as they are concerned. Still, we love the zoo. And we go a lot. And they still love it, so I will continue to use it as one of my best mommy resources.

This year, I signed them up for a few day camps. Then I noticed that they are old enough for a campout in the aquarium. A night in the aquarium, all to ourselves? Once I realized I could take the kids while Ricardo was at his ManWeekend, I was sold. It'll be a great deterrant, and mommmy will be the coolest mommy in all the land. Let's effn do this!

The week before our campout, we got a behind-the-scenes tour of part of the zoo, one being the aquarium, from one of my students who works there. It was extremely eye-opening of the animals that aren't in exhibits. We got to go down into the basement of the aquarium and learn all about the water reserve and stuff, we round a corner and I see my kids running toward a glass window with the biggest snake I've ever seen. In my head I yelled, "SHIT!" but I'm guessing outloud it translated to something very responsible like "YIKES!" Then I flinched and ran the other way, leaving my children for bait. Apparently, Monty, the python, is an 18 foot, 200 pound snake that is an aggressive eater. His buddy, MacNCheese, an albino python only slightly smaller hasn't been eating his rats well. So, they took them both off exhibit, and keep them in the basement of the aquarium. Interesting to the commoners of the world. However, I'll be sleeping above these eating-disordered snakes in a week. Super. Thankfully, my kids are pretty skinny, and I'm guessing a snake of this size would need a more meaty kid.

After we toured the basement, we went above the giant water tanks. And, it was shark feeding time. We never get to the aquarium at feeding time on a regular day, and here we are, above the tunnel, fins violently swishing in the water, with zoo keepers standing at the tanks with fish on a pole feeding them. So exciting! It was so hands-on in fact - Lucy got a little too close to the edge, it made me a little nervous. A shark swam by assessed, again that my kids are too skinny, and then swam over to the fish on the pole instead. Sting rays are going by, the sea turtle named Bubbles waddles by. It's absolutely incredible to see it all at this angle.

And that's when Max comes running over to me and says, "MOMMY LOOK! PEOPLE!" All this crazy fascinating behind the scenes stuff to look at and see, and Max sees the people going through the tunnel below us. Can't wait to see what the campout excitement is all about.

That's how I roll.

Last night, Ricardo left for a Man weekend.

But it's not yet the weekend, you say. Yes, but it's also March Madness. So, indeed - Man Weekend. Trust me, I will see his Man Weekend and raise it with a sweet Girl Trip. I'm tallying up the score until then. Because I'll be gone for the same length of distorted weekend.

I really want him to take some time and go have some funtime...at a basketball tourney, not at a strip club. Still, as good as I am with it, and as long as I've known about it, for some reason, his leaving caught me off guard. Seemed abrupt. And I miss him. Poor me.

After he left, I got the kids in bed and decided to drown my sorrows - my longing for my man -(he'd been gone approximately 1 hour) in cookies. So, I got my emergency cookie dough reserve out. The kids have no idea it exists. I make a gigantic bowl of cookie dough, bake two cookies each for them, and then save the rest for me. They have no clue. I am brilliant, for sure. So, I get the cookies in the oven and sit down to surf the web and watch tv and numb myself from the absence of Ricardo. Woe is me. When the timer for the cookies in the oven goes off. Whoopeee! I set the laptop down, hop off the chair and hurry up to the kitchen.

That's when I short step one of two steps up into my kitchen and fell, whacking my knee on to the corner of very hard and apparently very durable kitchen tile while my toes seem to be broken guessing from the fiery pain. I'd kicked and bent the toes back all at once on the lower step. The kids do this at least once a week, and it always sounds horrific. They just hop right up and get back to playing. Not me. That effn hurts, y'all! Ofcourse, I have an extra 100 pounds of force driving my knee into crushing pain. Fine, 125 pounds on them. But still.

I must have yelped in pain, because my son sacrificed his good name - he should have been asleep - to ask if I was okay. Right before I was about to yell at him to go to bed, I thought to walk to the bottom of the stairs and ask what he said because I couldn't hear from the continuous yelping still, in my head.

Some what hesitant at this point, because he should have been asleep, "I....just....uh...Are you okay, Mom? It sounded like you hurt yourself."

What a guy. Sigh. "I'm okay, babe. I just fell on that step and hit my knee like you guys do sometimes."

"That really hurts. Are you bleeding?"

By then I was up in his room, sharing a bonding moment of comparison of wounds. I showed him my knee. It wasn't much to look at. I promised him we could look at it tomorrow and see if it swelled up.

"Cool! I'm glad you're okay."

I still ate the cookies. However, I think what made me feel better is that my son is looking after me while Ricardo was gone.

That's how I roll.

Max's Kindergarten teacher got engaged. While I was volunteering, she came up and showed me her ring. And although she just wanted to tell me and show me her ring. Since her ring is bigger than mind, I obliterated her with unsolicited, but still brilliant wedding advice.

"Aw - you got engaged and you want me to be a bridesmaid!?"

No?

"Oh, the kids - yes, I still have their ring bearer and flower girl dress. But they won't fit in them long. When is the wedding?"

Oh, you don't want them in your wedding? You're sticking to your own family? Well, that blows. But congrats and all.

I then proceeded to explain wedding theory one: The shorter time you have to plan a wedding, the less you will spend.

Theory two caught her off guard, but is well-lived and well-proven.
"Hunny, when you're up late laying next to your husband - you're breastfeeding on one boob while the other is leaking. It's just really not going to matter whether you got the Italian wedding cake or the chocolate cake with raspberry filling for your wedding cake."

Awkward pause from newly engaged and childless aquaintance while she tries to figure out exactly what "leaking from a boob" means.

"Well," she says, "I never really thought of it that way."

They never do. That's what I'm here for.

You are welcome.

When I go to a wedding, I go for two reasons. First, it's fun to be reminded of our wedding and that we're actually still sticking to the promises we made to each other. (And I looked FANTASTIC). And second, I go for the cake. I'm not judging your selection of cake at your wedding, I just want some cake. Preferrably a corner piece with extra icing.

That's how I roll.

A few weeks ago, I was chatting with a friend. He was an older gentleman and was having a hard time with his son. It seemed his son was financially strapped, again. And son had asked my friend to help him out, again. My friend struggled because he loves his son, but he's not teaching him anything by giving him the money. I pleaded with him to just tell his son NO. My friend didn't really have the money to give him anyways, but was willing to go find it, even dipping into his recently dwindled retirement and cashing it all in for his son.

Still, I pleaded, "Please, Bob. Tell him no. You owe him no further explanation. Just No."

But Bob couldn't stand it because his son has kids. And he feels he needs to make sure his grandkids are okay.

I tried to explain (Because I'm fairly passionate on this issue.) That by giving the money, he's only showing his grandchildren to be savvy in asking for handouts rather than earning them. That it would only be a matter of time before his son would be back, asking for more money. And then he explained further that he owes his son because maybe he failed him in his childhood somewhere that he can't be all grown up now and provide for his own family.

And instead of giving him cash. How about you walk his lame ass down to the bank and pay the bills for him? That way, you know where the money is going.

Which takes me to so many families' struggles. It seems like there's one in every bunch. Thankfully, it's not me. Because I was told NO at a very early age.

Every night on a little show called INTERVENTION, we watch addict after addict after addict be saved from their enabling families as well as their addictions. What's the golden ticket to why each addict says they'll go to treatment? Cuz mommy and daddy went and got someone (and a camera) to help them tell their kid NO. Seriously.

So, here we are with Bailouts. America, the Land of Enabling. And if we don't bail them out, it'll be a catastrophe for us all. I'm not a master of economy, which is why I've not yapped about this here. But really, why not let them fall and someone else capitalize on their own new franchise? How about some accountability.

Nah, let's lend AIG some money. And a few months later look shocked when they not only need money again, but that they handed out bonuses. Seriously y'all. Just learn a lesson to all those other mismanaged piss ant gazillion dollar businesses and the people who lend our money to them. OFCOURSE AIG and giants like them say we're going to all suffer if we let them fall. Just like the ol kid who said "but Dad, if you don't lend me the money, your grandchildren will suffer."

"Well, here son, here's some money, and here's a BONUS for being such a stellar success story and helping our family prosper."

Let AIG fall. We'll all take the hit, like a big fat dysfunctional family. We enable them and take the fall over and over again, or we stop the insanity and take the fall just once.

You know, when my kids screw up and we have to leave a store early, we leave. And if Lucy's the one that screwed up, Max and Mommy pay the price on losing out on the fun too. And I can't remember the last time it's happened. Because I told them no. So they quit doing it. They are perfect and it's all my doing!

That's how I roll.

Is it a bit irrational that I've considered taking all of the clothes dressers out of each of our rooms and move them to the laundry room? Is that wrong? A little too much? Over the top?

I've spent most of last week at home. I've been consciensously trying to not go out and spend money, because there is plenty to do here. Still, I found myself online spending money. But when I'm not on the computer, I'm moving things like toys and shoes - particularly laundry. It's a vicious cycle really. Take clothes out of hamper, down to to laundry room. Sort, wash, dry. Take upstairs to couch and fold. Take back up to the dressers.

If I just have the dressers down to the laundry room, then the kids and Ricardo have to do all the work up and down the stairs. Wake up. Shower, run down stairs to laundry room, suit uup for the day. Drop pj's in laundry. Do it again at night. Right?

I'm trying to decide if it's laziness, or if this is really a domesticated engineering gone right. But it's taken me a week to write this, so I'm back to starting all over again on the laundry today, so it's starting to sound like a brilliant idea.

My aunt has designed her house so that her washer and dryer are behind a door off her master suite. Brilliant. But I'd have to lose the shower for that at my house. So, maybe the dressers down in the basement more feasible.

That's how I roll.

Yeah, I've got a thing for this guy.

There's a few guys out there that I have crushes on, I suppose. It's not really the "list". You know the list - the one you have with your spouse as some kind of deal that should you stumble upon anyone on your list, and should the magic happen, it's totally okay. Number one, I'm not going to stumble on any of these guys unless I get my dream job of co-hosting with Ellen Degeneres. And number two, should I stumble upon these people, I would be a blubbering idiot (moreso than my average blubbering). So, number three, should any of these people on my list be attracted to said blubber, I would laugh hysterically. If someone EVERY came on to me or was attracted to me, I would so not know it.

And also, let it be known that my Ricardo is better looking than any of these dudes. I'm attracted to tall guys and to humor. My man is taller than any celebrity (other than Shaq) and funnier than any of them as well. There is nothing sexier than a man that will make you laugh outloud hysterically....every day. Although a man with a mop is a close second to laughter when it comes to sexy.

Still, I have a list. It seems to be getting longer now that I think of it. I think I will put it in order of priority of my freakness should one of these peeps show up on my doorstep:

Jeffrey Dean Morgan (6'2")

Vince Vaughan (6'4") - I'm a little upset he just got engaged, but he's still on the list. I suppose he couldn't wait for me forever.

Michael Phelps (6'4") - every interview I see of this guy, makes me love him more. There was NO SMOKE IN THE BONG, and he's taking full responsibility without saying, "I didn't smoke it." He just told Matt Lauer this morning when asked directly, did you smoke pot with - "It was a really stupid mistake."

Aaron Pearsol (6'4") - poor guy was upstaged by Phelpsy, but still, I saw your abs, hunny.

LL Cool J (6' 1 /2") - I mean, c'mon, the ladies love him, yo.

Dwayne The ROCK Johnson (6'3") - If you haven't seen his SNL skit - The ROCK Obama, you need to.

I also stop walking through the house picking up toys and/or laundry, even when Candice Olson (6') is on the tv designing something. I realize this is a woman, but have you seen what that woman can do to a basement? Seriously!

Ricardo doesn't have a list. I'm pretty sure his pre-reqs involve a nice rack. He clarified it that he's not THAT shallow - A nice lookin set of boobs needs to have a good face. She cant' have nice bazoombas and then an ugly face. Good point. I'm so proud he has such high standards. And really, I have boob envy. So, typically, he sees a nice set of boobs, I'm gonna check them out too. It's nice to know what they look like...so atleast we have that in common.

I have to fess up. I have a stellar crush on this guy - Jeffrey Dean Morgan.
The press junkets are working for me. He's been on all the talk shows for his new movie. Yesterday, he had his dog on The Bonnie Hunt Show. He saved the dog as a puppy and bottle fed the dog for a month. And he's had the dog for 12 years. What is your address, sir? I need to uh, "stumble" upon you. I will go see WATCHMEN just because this guy is in it. I liked him when he was Denny on Grey's Anatomy.

But I really really really liked this guy when I found him in the rolling hills of Ireland in a little film called P.S. I Love You. I mean, he was good and romantic as Denny, throw that character into P.S. - an irish guy in a band, in a cottage in the rolling hills of Ireland. MMMMMMMMMmmmmmmm. There was some nice story line and amazing music in this movie, but all I could see was Jeffrey Dean Morgan gazing at me through the screen while I slurped down my Diet Coke and binged on my heavily buttered popcorn.

So, I have to explain to Ricardo, come up with something really creative as to why my sudden interest in comic book movies. But JDM's character looks too good to pass up - the Comedian. It's as if someone wrote it just for me and him. Sigh. I'll be sure to get more buttered popcorn to disguise my vocal approval of this man on screen. "MMMMM, this uh, popcorn is sooooo good!"

It must really confuse our kids at how non-jealous and actually SUPPORTIVE we are with each others' crushes. Ricardo will help me out and shout to me, "Hey, your boyfriend's on tv."

Of which I will respond, "Oh yeah? Which one?"

Who's on your list?

That's how I roll.

Thanks to the phonebooks, this weekend progressed into the kids' first sleepovers. I find it amusing that the kids want to each have someone sleepover. Hello, you're twins. You have a sleepover every single night. But whatever.

Since this was our first official sleepover (not a "Mommy and Daddy need a break and we called Julz(HOLLA!) and you get to stay at her house yayyyyyy!") A full blown blind-date, if you will, as a matter of fact, neither sleep over pal had ever even been to our house. So, I cleaned for the approval of the parents, and cps, when the parents called them to confirm a visit. My cleaning is not my uh, strong suit is all I'm sayin. And I cooked for the approval of the kids.

Also, considering my, uh, impatience with small children, in preparation, I scheduled a massage, acupuncture and a couple of proactive therapy sessions. Children and horses can smell my fear. And it's as if they look at me as if to ask themselves, "How can I destroy this woman?" - Horses and children alike ask themselves that question, trust me. So, I figured I'd do everyone a justice and allow one sleepover for one kid on Friday night, and then the other on Saturday night. If they each had one at the same time, that'd be 4 kids, I'd probably end up hopping out of the house (becaues they would have duct-taped my ankles and wrists - I'm sure of it) run out of the house screaming something like, "FINE, HERE'S THE KEY TO THE LIQUOR CABINET YOU UNGRATEFUL BRATS!"

Lucy had her friend over first. And I was reaffirmed that girls, even the sweetest ones - because this one was a true angel and went very easy on me, are groomed at an early age to be caddy and superficial. I certainly have some work to do on that. (See upcoming post - I'm working it out in my head. So, it's gonna take a while.) Lucy's friend was a cute little girl, they had a great time.

Such a good time in fact, they didn't go to sleep until Midnight. Now, I understand that people stay up late. But children are not people. And my children in particular, thrive on two strict schedules: food and sleep. I can count the times they've stayed up past NINE O'CLOCK on ONE HAND. So, by midnight, I was dreading the 6-year-old-girl-lack-of-sleep-drama that was going to greet me all day on Saturday, and potentially Sunday, too.

Max's buddy came over on Saturday night. His parents aren't from around here (read in toothless and uneducated backwoods voice). His family moved from a west african country to avoid political persecution. We know because we asked where their accents were from when they came to meet us. They came to meet us before they left their son with us. I totally get it. Seriously, I mean, you read the blog, would you leave your child with me? Can you imagine going to another country in West Africa, living there for 10 years, and sending your pasty white child to go stay in the village down the road for a sleepover? I can't believe, after being greeted by Farley the Wonderdog, they left their son here with us. Still, they left him here. George was born here in the U.S. and you would never know his family history. He's definitely a typical 6 year-old boy though! They had so much fun.

I have determined from this little sleepover gig that boys are sweeter and have more good clean fun, for sure. We told them to getin bed and go sto sleep at 10p.m. and they DID. No questions asked. So, that was nice.

The next school day, Lucy's sleepover buddy was ready to reciprocate for a sleepover this weekend. I had to put the kabash on that. When asked if everything was okay, did something go wrong, I just asked for an extra week of sleep deprivation detox. They had so much fun, but really, we're paying for it...still, in grumpyville. They are just now getting back to their normal, well-rested drama. So, I'd like to take a mommy-mental break so that I can brace myself for the residule effects of a sleepover.

And although they had a ton of fun, I stressed in preparation for hosting the festivities to the point that I apparently wore myself out. I'm tired too! And it's WEDNESDAY! What the hell just happened?

That's how I roll.

I get really irritated by calls. Ricardo tells me maybe we shouldn't have a phone. But, I'm so clumsy, we probably need a phone for when the kids need to call 9-1-1 for me eventually, I'm sure.

We're on the do-not-call list, but we still get the "non-profits". One of them actually hung up on me today. I suppose they were irritated that I let them go through their whole spiel before I said No Thank You. And before I could ask them to take me off the list, click.

But tonight, I got a call that I stuck with. Cassie called me from my old stomping grounds - the glory days. Now ultimately, I've worked in non-profits. I've coordinated fundraisers. I've even made market research calls. So, I know the gig. And I am so impressed and proud of my alma mater as I was with Cassie and their campaign. It's one of the reasons I loved WT, and why my dad was happy to drop me off there. Because the people in Canyon, Texas - they talk to you. They're good folk. And that was their whole campaign, call 'em, talk to them. Ask questions. LISTEN. Fill them in on what's changed since I've been there.

And although the campaign and Cassie were very successful, she WAS talking to me. "YOU TALKING TO ME!?" Yes, you are. So, I got a bit of a kick to the stomach when she told me of all of the changes to the school since I've been there. It seems like we just moved from there. But I suppose it was longer since I stood on campus.

"When was the last time you were on campus?"
"Did you live in any of the dorms? ... Oh, really, that one is shut down now. "

What? Because I swear, I just graduated just a few years ago, right? So, when did they have time to get the new buffalo statue and the clock tower?

"Oh, you're an ex-athlete, yeah, they're not playing in that building anymore either. They built an ENTIRE NEW COLISEUM. (But what I heard was, an entire new stadium that you weren't worthy of playing in...) And your Fine Arts Building - yeah, we built another one of those, too."

But I spent a lot of time in that buliding. I made it great. And you went and got a new one? Pishaw. Fine, it was old.

OMG, I just got old? You called to tell me I'm old and ask for money? Sure, sign me up.

Seriously, someone should commend Cassie on a job well done. Ricardo and I were both on athleticic scholarships. And we're now so successful, what with this blog and all. So, we do feel we should give back to where we received our education. It's been a while since I've been back to WT, thanks to Cassie, I know that now.

That's how I roll.

It turns out I've been in denial. And it's not just a river in Egypt. You with me?

I claim to do laundry once a week. But really, folks. I actually get the laundry down to the washer and sorted once a week. By the time I actually get it all washed, and folded, it's really been 3 to 4 days. Tack on the clothes that need to be on hangers, that bunch usually lays flat in a stack and awaits hangers. Then after I realize the clothes aren't going to get in the closets themselves - or- when my kids are getting ready for school and interrupt my yelling, "Why aren't you dressed yet!?" with "Mommy, I don't have any pants to wear." I just see a big Mommy logo on my forehead with a big "Failure" stamp on it. I mean really, the bare minimum of my job requirements is to make sure the kids have clean clothes.

So, what I'm getting at, is Motherhood and laundry at my house is apparently an 24/7 on going project. As I type, I've gotten all the clothes put up, even the ones on the hangers, and then decided to wash sheets. We are big people, who necessitate big beds, which inevitably necessitate big loads of sheets. So, my day is now packed with more laundry.

Nothing ticks me off more (well, on this topic anyways) than when I go to help the kids clean and find clean clothes at the bottom of the closet. And lately, there's been more in both closets. I've been really getting on to them to not pull stuff off the hanger and then change their minds leaving the clothes on the floor which are not really dirty, but have been wadded on the floor collecting Farley the Wonderdog hair and being stepped on. The kids defense lately has been, "But Mommy, it falls off."

Whatever, kid. That's the lamest excuse ever. Be more creative.

So, last night, I was "warming up" for my volleyball games by putting up the hanging clothes, I was shocked to find the clothes falling off the hangers. I take each of their stacks of clothes, get them all on a hanger, and then walk them into their closet. And on the way from my bed, to their closets, three shirts fall off the hanger. It was like a Lucy & Ethel episode. It would fall off, I'd pick it up, put it on the hanger, go to put the other stuff up, and it fell off again. What the heck?

I'm a bit slow to pick up on things. I mean, this has been going on for weeks. My kids have outgrown the HANGERS. Their clothes are so giant now, they don't fit on the hangers I bought after the baby shower almost seven years ago. They're clothes are now big enough to fit on a regular, standard, ADULT-sized hanger!

I realize that my 6-year-olds are a bit uh, giant. So, to all my pals with kids their age: Heads up. You're gonna need new hangers at about size 8-10. You are welcome.

They're all grown up. I just need to teach them how to make my coffee for me in the morning and they are totally on their own. My babies. All grown up. Uggh.

That's how I roll.

When some see the word wallflowers, they think of someone not getting included at the dance or in a game. Others may think of that delightful rock band. But I think of the fantastic room plug-in fresheners. Julz(holla!) got me on to these fantastic air fresheners. And they WORK! If Mom's are superheros, Wallflowers are their nifty sidekicks, helping fight child-provoked odor-offensive crime. Right now, I have the scent of Coconut Lime Verbana flowing throughout the house so that, at least while in my own home, I can enjoy the yummy smells of the Carribean.

So, the other day,I went to pick Lucy up from her friend's house. I walked in to the house, and was greeted by a delightful fresh baked cookies smell. So, I said, "Oh your house smells delicious, like baked cookies! What scent is that Wallflower plug in?"

Fun friend mom said, "Uh, it's not a Wallflower. I really am baking cookies."

"Oh." People still do that, huh?

That's how I roll.

Friday, the kids came home with their school phonebooks. They were READING them in the car: Carly Shuster 15779 Smith, 5-7-7-9-9-9-0. It was pretty cute. I tried to put the phone books up when we got home, so that we could do something crazy like - oh, I don't know - find it later. GASP! But I was quickly corrected that they were THEIR phonebooks.

Oh really, kid? Well get YOUR phonebook off MY table. Nope, not on my pile of stuff on the island either. Nope, not on the floor either. That's MY floor.

I'm going to laugh in their little teary faces when they can't find them. But whatever.

So, this morning, when we decided it was time to start tiling, we figured we were going to do all the prep work and wait for the kids to go to bed before we started the big project. This is an futile effort to maintain the dignity of parenthood - making a better play area for our kids without screaming at them all while doing so.

So, the phone rings while I'm on the floor scraping stuff, and it's for Lucy. One of her classmates has also studied the new phonebook. And can she come over and play? Let's see, let me think. YES! Then we could get started ahead of schedule on the tiling. You bet!

Now Max wants to play. He wants to call all of his buddies. Whiney waa waaaaaa. Then he gets distracted and forgets about his priority of even balance - if Lucy can call someone in the PHONEBOOK why not me- and it's just so devastating and hard so I'm gonna whine about it because I'm 6 years-old and it's what I do. He forsgets all that. Still, I call one of my pals through Max's buddy at school. I explain the situation, and she's happy to host some play time. What? We can tile our own in the middle of the day?

But it turns out, as most home improvement goes - we had to remove paint from the floor first. So, Ricardo made the first unscheduled trip to Home Depot. And we got the kids to their friends' house. It also turns out that once you apply this paint remover, you have to let it sit. For 3-5 hours. Just in time to go pick the kids back up. Super.

Where's that phonebook?

"Oh, MY phonebook?"

"Yeah, that one. Get it, kid. Mommy needs a break from tiling. Go get it."

That's how I roll.

This couple might make it - if he'll just put some socks on.

I have great advice that came to me the other night while Ricardo and I were tiling. One of the many many things I love about that man is he's half of us. We simply make a great team. In life, in parenting, in home improvement.

It's really a crapshoot when you're dating and trying to decide if the guy is going to last, to deliver, to be helpful and inspiring. Typically, we hold on about 2-3 years too long. How do you know? Well, you don't. But I think we came up with a great litmus test on whether your mate will make a good husband and father when it's not all roses and cotton candy.

Simply have your boyfriend do a massive home improvement project with you. You have to work together. Maybe break something and rebuild it. That's a lot like having a kid - destroy your body to create a beautiful life. How do you spackle those stretchmarks, anyway?

The pressure, the adversity, the budget should set the pace for this research project pretty quickly. See how fast his patience wears out. Is he condescending. Does he still talk to you with respect? Or did the gloves come off and he started screaming or calling your stupid or worse? Did he take over and do it all himself because he said it would just be easier? Or did he wait til you got busy and then find the last beer in your fridge and the ball game and leave you to figure it out citing that it looked like you had it all under control. And really, how did you do?

Stick with him until the project is overwith. Please, don't tell him what you're really up to. And then, in the end, decide if it was a good project, or if he's a dillweed. Are you a dillweed? If he's a dillweed, then dump him. And move on. If it worked out, and you both worked well together, stay together. Either way, you have a good remodel to enjoy. Right?

My house has lots of successful remodels. That man treats me right, is handy, and kind. It's a perfect combo.

That's how I roll.

As if our gym didn't offer enough. What, with the steam room, the full bar-cafe, the tanning beds, the yoga, the hot tub, the pool, the daycare oh, and the awesome workout facility. Once a month (well, they try once a month, but it's been snowed out twice), they offer a Kids-Night In, so that parents can have a night out.

We don't get out much. Typically, it's because we are home-bodies. And that thing well, we actually like each other. Plus, we love the ON DEMAND gig on the tv. Tack that on with the fact that all four of us enjoy cooking, and well, we just don't go out much. Plus the snow, and cold. You're lucky I leave the house to get my kids to school. I wonder if I could homeschool them, just for the winter?

Every now and then though, I get tired of 2-3 loads of dishes a day. And I announce "We're going out". Even more seldom, Ricardo and I go out on a date - all to ourselves. We do it so infrequently, we've lost babysitters simply because they think we've dumped them.

So, what do you do when you get three kidless hours? We eat. Some think - "Wow, you get three hours for romance and kid free-ness and you're going to eat!? Can't you do that anytime?" And those people don't have kids.

The opportunity to sit down to a nice meal and have conversation with flow and depth. To not have to cut or blow on anyone's food. To not have to explain to the waiter that "we're going to need those bottomless basket of fries NOW or the kids are going to revolt". To not have crayons seated with you in a booth in the farthest back of the restaurant as possible. To not have to pile up everyone's coat. And to not have to yell at the kid to stop bouncing, kicking, wiggling and SIT DOWN! Or to even not have to remind someone to chew their food before they swallow it. Well, it all becomes routine. so, when you get the opportunity, dining out is the premier hot date in a parent's book.

I got all dazzled in my fancy jeans. As opposed to my everyday jeans. I wore heels - which is fun to watch the people check out when I walk in with Ricardo. And I even put on a little bit of eye liner. WATCH OUT Y'ALL!

We decided to go to PF Changs because I'd never been there before. And I based my order on spicy which is something I don't get to do even when cooking at home these days. I try to appease the masses. I asked the waiter about a certain dish, he explained it was the spiciest one they had on the menu. Sign me up! I was looking forward to the flavor and the heat. Because it was snowing outside and the temperature was dropping...again. So, I ordered it.

Ricardo and I had a lovely time sipping on soup and talking about our feelings. Then I got my order. It was good! And then ten minutes into it, I couldn't feel my face. Apparently my spicey or hot food tolerance isn't what it used to be. My sister and my non-step-dad can outspice me right under the table, but this is Omaha. I figured I could take it. I figured wrong. Had I drank a bottle of Tabasco, I'd have faired better than whatever this dish was. It was fairly tasty for the first five minutes until my tastebuds checked out. And yes, do the math, after I couldn't taste the food, I continued to eat. I did, indeed, enjoy the heat. This dish, by itself could heat my home for a week.

Finally, I gave up. Ricardo was shocked. In the ten years we've been together, I've never stopped eating until the food was gone. You should see me at a buffet!

I apologized for wasting a fancy meal. Ricardo expressed he just wanted to make sure I got enough and offered me a couple of his delicious shrimp. As if I couldn't miss a meal and be okay. However, I'd just had soup and lettuce wraps, and had tiramasu sitting in front ot me. Plus, I'd had 7 Diet Cokes. I was pretty sure I was going to be okay!

Ricardo paid the bill and we went to our next must-do destination when kid-free, we went to Target! I looked at underwear. -Not the fancy kind, the very practical kind. Ricardo looked at socks. And as always, we perused the appliance aisles. No purchases this time. But one time, we bought pans and an oven toaster. That was interesting when we came home with giant appliance boxes. The sitter that time was a bit confused.

And that's our idea of a hot date. This time, it had more heat than usual.
It's just how we roll.