May 2009 Archives

The kids are officially second graders. So, while I consider re-visiting vodka in my orange juice for the first official day of summer, let me make this disclaimer for the blog.

Ultimately I want to post an entry every day. But ultimately and reality are foes in the summertime. So, I'll do my best. But these kids have an unheard of amount of energy. That energy usually involves us helping them or, "Mom, watch this!" or "Mom, go get the camera, this is going to be so fun!" Max, why do you have matches and a staple gun?

Their all fueled with intuitiveness and creativity, by noon, it seems to be a little overrated if you know what I mean. Still, they are still young enough to want their mom around. So, I'm going with it. I could blog at night, but I'm tired. These suckers go non-stop full force, in the sun and the heat, and also, I can't feed them enough.

The goal, keep them busy. I've just secured the last of a summer schedule graced with such precision, Michelle Obama's personal assistant should be me. Really. I'm that good. Swim lessons, Zoo camps, baseball, volleyball, Worlds of Fun, a train trip to Michigan, swimming, vacation with Gramma & Granpa, family reunion, tennis lessons and a road trip to Denver. I am so impressed with myself. I just hugged me.

A friend of mine told me one time, the best way get a kid's attention, is to simply get on the phone.

With all that said, last summer, I was on the phone - a lot - because of this. It was necessary and ridiculous. And my kids were amazingly and angellically patient with me. The summers before that, I wasn't as intensely involved with the phone, but "Mommy has to take this call" came up too much with my Dad's stuff. So, this summer, I've promised myself and the kids, this summer is all theirs. Well, except that girlfriends trip I managed to escape squeeze in. So, as long as my kids are in my presence, I'm off the phone. I see some of y'all who know my inherited need for a phone to my ear at all times, rolling your eyes at me.

If you need to talk to me by phone, good luck. Hahahah. The best time to reach me is from 10 p.m. to 8a.m. Don't call after 10p.m. Don't call before 5 a.m. That's a 3 -hour window, or maybe you can catch me at the gym in the 20 minute time-slot after I check the kids in, and go up to workout. I'll be having coffee on my patio each morning, call me then. But the best way to reach me is by text, email, concierge, if you run into me at a barbecue, or Facebook.

I encourage all my mommy pals out there, surrender your phones. Have fun with your kids this summer. Don't be the mom on the phone at the fun park, or the pool or the zoo because you think they're entertained. Or strolling through the grocery store, talking on the phone and yelling at the kids because they are trying to get your attention with threatening to open all the chips on the chip aisle. They want you there with them. Be there. Let's do this! Go off that grid with me. My kids deserve it. They always have.

That's how I roll.

I'm crazy for WICKED, apparently.

After I posted about going to Wicked, I had a fantastic fan email me, "You mentioned you'd love to go see it again, here's how you can..."

It turns out WICKED does a lottery system. For every show, they have a lottery, you show up 2 1/2 hours before showtime - along with about 100 other people. You put your name in the cauldron (appropriately themed) and then you wait for 30 minutes. Then they pull names from the cauldron. If your name is called, you can purchase up to two tickets for $25 in the orchestra section.

Sounds fair enough. And considering we were on the second to last row when we saw WICKED last time - what with the head bobber and a big fat head in front of us. With all of that, it was still a great show, but wouldn't it be fun to sit in a lower section...and just to see it again?

So, I hustled Julz(HOLLA!) and fellow WICKED pal, Jessica, to go try for the tickets. I'm pretty sure our husbands won't let us hang out and come up with ideas like this. To get there in time, though, we had to bring the kids with us - all 7 of them - have them wait in line to sign up for the lottery, then wait to see if our names were called. And then the plan, if we got the tickets was to take the kids to husbands and then go to the show. If not, we go home and cook dinner and chalk it up to an adventure downtown that was worth a try.
Lucy really wants to see WICKED, and I think she gets a lot more than I expected her to. When she heard POPULAR, within 1 minute of the song, she said to me, "Well, Glinda's not very nice at all. She's bragging about being good and nice, and that is not nice at all." Pretty impressive. Still, she's too young. So, when I picked them up from school and told them about the "adventure" we were going on, I had to pinky swear that one day, when she was older, I would take her to see WICKED. And then I had to promise that I'd take her to a musical this year here sometime. And I had to give them a yummy snack, and THEN they were sold.

We waited in line. I taught the kids how to play the handslapping game. They ran around and through all the people waiting in line. And then the guy comes out and explains all the rules again. And he mentions that if you're old enough to write your name down, you can put your name in the lottery. You have to show a photo i.d., and if it's a kid who wins, the parent has to show her i.d.

What? WHAT?

I think about it, exploiting my kids for my benefit. I think, nah, it's not that fair. I'll just sign up. And then I look back at the line, and realize, I have an opportunity to triple my odds to get into the show.

"Kids, guess WHHHHAAAAT? You get to sign up too! Doesn't that sound great?! No. If you win, you can't go. But you could win MOMMY tickets, doesn't that sound fun!? Now, I need you to write your name VERY NEATLY..."

They had fun writing their names on the paper, and listened well to the guy belting out the protocol orders. And then we waited.

Finally, they drew out the names. After 3 people had been called, I told myself, "I never win anything, but this was fun anyway." And then they called LUCY's NAME! Wheee!

Lucy won us tickets to WICKED! She was so proud, and as we walked up, all the lottery LOSERS, assessed Lucy's age, realized I'd totally sold out my kids for tickets and everyone kind of growled at her. So, I just patted her on the back and said real loud, "That's my girl!" And we went and got our tickets.

Unfortunately, we only got two tickets. So, Jessica went home, with a promise that we'd help her get tickets later. We dropped our kids off with Sven. THANK YOU SVEN. We went to dinner and then went to the show. When we showed our tickets to the seater lady, she said, "Oh, row C! All the way to the front ladies." What?

It's a slightly different view when you're on the second to very last row, up as high as you can go versus SECOND ROW...FROM THE FRRRRRROOONT.

So, thank you, Lucy! Max is starting to learn how to mow the lawn, and now this. Man, having kids really pays off!

That's how I roll.

I have to say, in the past, I haven't been a fan of this family. However, in light of recent events, I'm enthralled. Not enough to watch the show - I don't do that - I don't watch in hopes of a trainwreck. But I've seen her on the morning show circuits and I'm so impressed with her raw honesty. Enough that today, I actually bought a copy of the People magazine so I could read the article, rather than to happen upon JulzHOLLA!'s house, cuz I know she gets her People mag on Fridays. Some things, I just make a point to remember.

"Hey, what's up. I brought you a Sonic drink. No....no reason...just in the hood....what's that? Oh is that your new magazine!? Mind if I take a peek? Here, watch the kids a sec so I can read this whole feature article, will ya?"

Nope, didn't do that...this time. I got my very own copy and read it asap. Again, I'm impressed with her honesty that she's confused, and it's crazy and she doesn't know what to do. If you haven't followed this, the last of this couple's worries is that he's been accused of having an affair. He's unhappy, she rolls her eyes and keeps working for the family.

So, last night, I went ahead and watched the season premier. I was one of the millions of suckers. I have this theory that all this havoc is to promote their show. And I totaly fell for it. The show though, was sad. Really sad. And as much again, I appreciate the reality and honesty of the show, but what I saw, I have the solution for.

So, Jon and Kate - here you go:

When I had kids, the best advice I got was to always remember to take care of each other. Perhaps you should consider that.

The thing is, this has gone from multiple birth phenomenon to a marriage falling apart because the husband and wife have different needs and wants. They are now growing distant. And that's a whole new level because every marriage can watch and relate.

Jon has done all these things and is still not happy because ultimately, he doesn't want the limelight. I'm guessing he wants that car though. And the hair implants. And he's probably enjoying the Kates boob job and tummy tuck, but whatever. You remember that wedding thing - where you promised to take care of each other til death do you part. Not till one goes on a different path, or one can't be happy, or when the tabloids make it all messy for you. Boohhoooohoooey. Poor you with your hair implants, all-expense paid vacation to anywhere, or you beautiful house and car. Awwww. Buck up.

And Kate, fame mixed with your already self-proclaimed control-freakness...not great.

Only you can be responsible for your happiness. I get that. If your husband is depressed, or becomes an alcoholic or anything like that, it's not your responsibility to fix them. HOWEVER, it IS your responsibility to get them the help he needs.

So, here's the deal. You sat there last night, and said you were there for the kids. You get up because of the the kids. You breathe for your kids. In essence, you just said in front of each other that your kids, not each other are your priority. It's become quite the proper to do everything for your kids. To make them number one. You don't love any one kid more than the other. So, why can't you love and take care of each other? Seeing as how that's what you promised you'd do at your wedding (both of them) and all. You guys need to stop taking a stand for your kids and take a stand for each other. Stop fighting each other's needs and help each other.

Why can't you prioritize for each other? Your spouse comes first in your life, and then TOGETHER, your kids are first. Please consider it. Both of you.

If this is your job, then hunny, it's time for early retirement. You've earned it. I'd love to watch you on tv,I like your honesty. But seriously -for your marriage - retire the show. I have calculated how much you have made just on doing the show. Your book sales can pay for therapy. If you're truly doing all this for your kids, they're college, your house, and that kick ass sports car are all paid for. You've made enough money. Told your story. It's time to work on your marriage and give your kids a regular life.

Quit everything and focus on your family which ultimately is solely based on your marriage. In doing all these shows and books about your family, you've somehow averted the very core of your family - each other. Buck up and stop hiding behind this "I love my kids and they are number one." and then a retort with, "No I love my kids. That's all I'm here for." Stop hiding behind your kids and work on each other.

It's worth working for. Do I think you can do it and keep up the crazy of your show and all your publicity? Nope. But something tells me, you won't take this stellar advice. And you'll end up on Dr. Phil.

And yes, it's easy to dish this fantastic advice out. Because it's been pretty smooth sailing over here in Momontherocks Land. But now it's fully documented, so if/when (I hope never, but I'm a realist) pooh hits fan over here, I can review my own clarity. I'll always make sure Ricardo is okay. And together, we'll make our kids our priority.

That's how I roll.

Just in case you're looking for your daughter, they have a version of this swimsuit at Target for your SIX YEAR OLD too, if you want.

Lucy tried on 7 swimsuits today. She's officially grown up enough that we have to try them on now. We know this from watching her swimsuit bottoms sag on one suit. Her top comes up and exposes her all with another suit.

So, I broke down and took her to try some on. Nevermind the girl and her mom we stared at in the store:

"OMG MOOOOM, are you DEAF? I so told you I needed a swimsuit and you were like not even listening." All that while she has a cell phone glued to her ear. The kid, not the mom.

And the mom just carries on a conversation with her, "Oh, well, I never heard that."

"That's because you never listen to me. GAWWWWSH."

"Okay, well let's go get you a swimsuit."

I soooo almost said something. But I couldn't speak with my mouth to the floor. Neither could Lucy. We were both in awe.

Lucy explains, way nicer, that she would like a bikini. I explain that we can do that, but they need to fit right, and she needs that tankini style with the longer top. As Ricardo would say, "So she doesn't look all hoochie-mama." Granted, a regular bikini on a 6 year-old is just fine, it's just our Lucy is so long and tall, and active - well, she just needs more coverage.

And all the moms out there holla - you'd cram your kids in a whole piece swimsuit all the time if it weren't for the dreaded bathroom breaks. You've mastered getting your suit on and off when you need to go potty. But getting a wet swimsuit off a wiggly kid who has to go pee. I'd rather have a root canal without the novacaine. I'd rather eat salmon loaf. I'd rather re-live my junior high days. So all my momma's out there, a bikini is the way to go.They can get to the bathroom and disassemble and then reassemble all while I'm sipping my margarita pool side. This is going to be the best summer ever!

However, I had this conversation in the dressing room of Target today:

"You can get this suit and this suit, but you can't have this suit. It's not age appropriate." (Because it had that triangle bathing suit top thing going, even with the longer shirt like style, it was low-cut...a girls size 6.)

"Mommy, but I like this one."

"Yes, well, you can have this one and this one but not this one."

Attempt to stomp in protest.

Glare and then, "Or we can just go home."

"Okaaaaaay." Big sigh.

Atleast she didn't have the cell phone glued to her ear. Not yet atleast.

That's how I roll.

I went out with friends last night to celebrate a pal's birthday. When we got back to my house, and relieved Ricardo of babysitting duties - because we'd suckered begged him to watch all of our kids, birthday pal says,

"Are you feeling alright? You look pale..."

I felt okay, just a little tired. But I hadn't refreshed my makeup, and so, probably just should have done that. Still, later, after everyone left, I asked Ricardo, "Do I look pale to you? I don't feel sick. Just a little worn out."

"Uh, no.I think Jody's just never noticed just how really really pale you are all the time."

NICE. Thank God summer is here to rid my face of such outlandish and very accurate accusations.

That's how I roll.

Maybe it's because I'd been shlepped up in bed for 11 days and this was my first night out. Heck, who are we kidding? It was my first night out, first day to get a bra on, first time with make up on, and first time to wear a my pretty new skirt as opposed to my very comfy blanket. It was also my first time to wear shoes. Up to that point, I'd been wearing fuzzy socks.

Or maybe it was the fantastic girl-power. We had so much fun at dinner before (hmm, maybe it was that fancy dinner) we were almost late to the musical! Whatever it was, I have just seen the greatest live production in all the land. I read the book, and now, I have the soundtrack. It's WICKED.

The book is a bit hard to get through. I'm a slow reader, but since the musical was coming to Omaha, and since I'd had this book sitting on my bookshelf for a couple of years, I figured it was time to read it. I also thought it was a great time to read it since I was on that medically induced vacation of mine. However, a hard read and oxycodone don't mix. I'm just sayin. I did get most of it read, and then finished it after I saw the musical.

The musical is absolutely fabulous. There's multi-leveled messages of goodness:

• What really is wicked?


• The social assumptions of skin color. What-what?


• Political Oppression


• Selling out yourself and/or your pal to get what you've always wanted.


• Getting what you've always wished for and it's nothing like you thought it would be.


• BFF's going on different paths and trying to be supportive of each other.

The production is simply magical and really, emotional. It'll have you amazed at the vocals, laughing hysterically, and then holding back tears. All that and the singing and music is absolutely incredible. Dearl Lord, I've been made into lover of Broadway Show Tunes! Are you kidding me!?

I liked it so much, since seeing the musical, I've been trying to find an angle to get more tickets and see it again while it's still here in Omaha. Meanwhile, JulzHOLLA! brings me the soundtrack. And the only thing that really gets me crying is music. So, if you see me belting out POPULAR or DEFYING GRAVITY in the car, with tears streaming down my face, just go with it, and enjoy the break from T.I. and 2Pac. I sound fantastic singing along in the car, with the music up full blast and all the windows up. So, that's what I go with.

I was listening to the soundtrack when I picked up the kids yesterday. POPULAR was on. I really wish I could take Lucy to see this musical - but it's a little mature - all those lessons in life and stuff. Anyways, we're rocking out to POPULAR, first time they've ever heard it and Lucy says to me, "Mom, this lady singing - she's not very nice."

"Why do you think that, Lucy?"

"Because she's bragging about how nice she is. And that's not nice at all."

That's a pretty impressive observation for a 6-year-old.OMG - Maybe I can take her to see it after all! Then I can see it again! YAY!

If you have a chance, seriously, go check out this Musical. It's on both coasts, as well as on a tour right now. The message, the experience, the music, the story, all of it is worth it.

That's how I roll.

About a month ago, a friend of mine suggested since Max is so up with sports, that he should try this kids triathlon. I looked into it and suggested it. Max was all for it.

"YES! I WANNA DO IT? What is it?"

Haha. 50 yard swim, 1 1/2 mile bike, 1/4 mile run. Seems easy enough, right? For Max it did. Miss Lucy, not so much. Lucy was a little more hesitant. So I bribed her with a new bike and they were both in.

I thought it would be a fun activity to do while Ricardo was out of town. He had an opportunity to go out of town and visit some pals. And considering I was about to get insurance-covered vacation in a few days, of which Ricardo would be waiting on me while I sat on my hysterectomy-recovery throne for six weeks. So, considering all that, yes, please go laugh, have fun, over extend yourself with fun, because when you get back, the fun is over, bucko.

The kids were so excited because we'd gone and picked up our registration packets the day before the triathlon and that just psyched them up. So, the morning of the triathlon, I was almost in tears when I woke up an hour before the kids to see it storming outside, and the weather radar had really, no end in sight. I emailed the contacts and they said they were still on. We watched the lightning and counted, like we always do, the seconds between the lightning and the thunder. They had no clue that we might get there and it would probably be cancelled. I fought tears back, not because my kids balloon was about to get popped, dreams drowning in the rain. No. They were tears of realization that I was the person who would be in the rain helping get all their stuff set up in the transition. Lugging bikes around, helmets, getting numbers on their bikes and helmets. What was I thinking?

Meanwhile, a slight text miscommunication had ensued with Ricardo. I told the kids Ricardo would be there, but then his plans changed. And I missed the plans changed text and didn't see it until AFTER I'd told the kids he was coming. And so now it's raining and Daddy's probably not coming. And it's all Mommy's fault. Not really, but Mommy is left to deal with the crazy disappointment residue which will probably last all day.

We get there, and the people assure me the show will go on. It's raining, and I had to park far from the event so as not to park in the middle of the race. I get that. But it's raining, and I have two bikes, two helmets, and two sets of clothes for two 6 year-olds. And the mandatory meeting has now been changed from 8a.m. to 9a.m. Yeah. I'm not really ok with that folks. I have to get the bikes and stuff to the transition area and attempt to keep my kids dry. So I do what every responsible mother does, I leave the kids with strangers in the meeting room and run 1/2 a mile to the car to get their bikes. Did I mention it's raining? Pouring. I get the bikes to the transition area but don't know exactly how to set them up. And no one will help me. I keep trying to ask, but it's like I have "ignore me please" on my forehead.
"Could someone help me please?"
Finally, I yell in my best mommy voice: "SERIOUSLY DOES ANYONE SEE ME OR HEAR ME?"

I get the help and try to redeem my kick-ass very-funny mother reputation with:"I wonder what kind of pageant mom I would be...." Hahahah! The "helper" didn't laugh. I ran back down in time for the meeting. But I forgot their stickers on their bikes and helmets. So, I ran back up - still raining - and put the stickers on.

I get back to the meeting. I am soaking wet. I figure by that point, I've run 1.5 miles in the rain. It's all okay though, because my kids will appreciate all this work I've done for them. Or not. My kids are happy, we're in the meeting, they are starting to get nervous. Meanwhile, I have a few texts, indeed, Ricardo will make it to the race, right when it gets started. The kids get their very cool triathlete marker numbers on, and their microchips for timing purposes. I ask the officials if I can keep the microchips to keep track of my kids at the park or the zoo. They say no way. I laugh, they don't. I kiss my kids and go get in the stands.

I get another text from Ricardo. He's walking in where does he go? And I realize, that all this work I've done, and he's going to ride in on his chariot and completely negate all the work I've done. For just a millisecond, I'm fairly mift. But then I know that I was the one who told them their dad would be here to see them do this triathlon. So, it's my ass if he DOESN'T show. All that with the fact, that my kids are about to jump in a 12' deep pool and swim a distance longer than they ever had. Stupid official wouldn't let them wear floaties. Whatever.

The kids walk in to the pool area, beaming with pride. Then they see Ricardo. And they are happy he's there. I think they are happy I'm there too. This is going to be a big gigantic step. And it sure was. Those kids rocked out every transition, bike, swim,and run. They were good at it and had fun. They were so proud of themselves and each other. To see that look in their eyes - I'm happy to have done all that work in the rain. And I'm glad Ricardo got to see it too. Even if he rode in on his chariot to see it.

That's how I roll.

I can see Lucy now, wearing an L on all of her sweaters and drinking Pepsi & milk. Then going on to as "the bossy lady".

Max is still making plans, but Lucy is definite on this one.

"Mommy, do movie directors live in Hollywood?"

"Well, yes. I think most of them live there."

"Okay, because I want to live in Hollywood and I will be a director."

"Wow, Lucy that is great. You'll be a fantastic director, do you know why?"

"Because I'll live in Hollywood?"

Quick silent prayer for Hollywood and then, "Well, because director's tell actors what to do and how to act...."

"...And I am GREAT at bossing people around! This is going to be fun!"

"Yes you are. And yes it will."

That's how I roll.

Well, I could go on and on about my neighbors. I've done a recent poll (Thank you Jessica, Amy and JulzHOLLA!). And it turns out, no matter where you live, neighbors are weird.They have a menu of neighbor crazies: one keeps their butane tanks out next to their garage so they can smoke in the garage comfortably, one has a grumpy man who yells at her kids, and don't even get me started about the FratHouse. We're crashing his weekly party for buzzkill, one of us will show off our stretchmarks, while the other breastfeeds...

Mind you, I am a FANTASTIC neighbor. I just don't think my neighbors appreciate me - or my kids riding their bikes in their grass, but whatever.

I am the only stay-at-home mom on the block here I am the self-professed daytime eyes and ears of this place. Still, some of my GOOD neighbors work odd shifts. So, when something crazy goes down on the street, I've usually got back up. And it seems I've developed quite the reputation, I'm the go-to girl when the neighbors want to know what's going on. Maybe I should wear a tiara.

MAYBE we aren't the greatest of all neighbors. Our backyard, and sometimes our front, typically looks like Sanford & Son, unless we need to clear the 3 foot high grass of toys to mow. Half the time, we don't edge or weedeat, so we're starting to develop some sweet grass fences. If we let Farley the Wonderdog out and don't jump at his first request to get back inside so he can nap on the couch, he starts barking like someone is breaking into the backyard. And I'm loudtalker, sometimes on the phone and sometimes, just for fun, yelling at the kids.

Eventually I do let the dog in, unlike SOMEONE with the yappiest dog ever who only wears his shock collar when they know the animal control is in the vicinity. And when I'm yelling at my kids, I keep the f-bombs and GD's in my head, unlike the NEW neighbors who schooled JulzHOLLA!'s kids as they were coming over one day, on new words and how to use them in a very concerned tone. Mind you, this is a day after the ambulance swung by to check out the one year old who fell through the balcony bars and dropped, not down the stairs, but free-falled ten feet. After all that, the older kid chases a ball into the street. Meanwhile, JulzHOLLA! pulls up, is carting her kids in, and gets ear-violated with, "Do you value your G.D. ball more than your F%$#ing life!?"

Pray tell, how do you address that with your neighbor? Walk over in my pearls and A-line dress & heels, with a casserole, "Hey, can you cut down your very bad words, and maybe oh, I dunno, keep the registered single-family home to a minimum of 2 or 3 families, not 6?" Yeah, I don't think I'm going with that one.

So, see, I'm not the worst neighbor in the world, or even on my block. I've had a lot of time to sit around and discover all kinds of projects around the house. One thing for sure, we have a tree in the corner of our back yard. And since it's in the corner of our back yard, it canopies into our neighbors yards. The only time I've talked to one of the neighbors, it was about her "Piece of shit daughter" and I kid you not, then, "she could babysit for you sometime." Really? Cuz I don't typically let pieces of shit watch my kids. The other part of this conversation was about the tree. We gave them the go ahead to trim it as they wanted on their side. But the angle and the height, it's bothersome but not reachable. That was four years ago. The tree has grown, but half of the large limb is dead. Slightly more bothersome. My leaves dumping into their pool. The nerve.

The tree is bothering me. So, I called and got a quote the other day on trimming 3 branches. $400 dollars later, I called Ricardo to tell him about the quote.

"That's too much." The tone suggested he'd rather just let the half dead branches sit there until the price goes down to remove it.

But ahhh, the desperation of D-I-Yness kicked in.

"Wait a second. You inherited a chainsaw from my dad, right?"

"Yeah." Now the tone has shifted to more of a dangit she remembered the chainsaw tone.

"Daddy would want you to use that. I can pay $400 or you can use a precious gift that's been given to you. Daddy loved projects. Let's honor the man for crying out loud."

"Fine. I'll do it."

"Let's DO THIS!"

So, this weekend, please send your husbands over to help. And please keep your phones clear to dial for an ambulance all in the name of neighbors. Maybe I should borrow a ladder...
***Update - I think Ricardo had planned on it the whole time, or maybe he'd gone out to the tree and assessed that indeed, maybe purchasing a ladder and risking death by chainsaw or death by falling out of tree perhaps all that would be worth the money to pay a professional. That and we'd keep our pristine reputation in this neighborhood in tact.

So, I called off the troops. We'll have the tree cut later this week by people who probably wouldn't have a nagging wife down below. And they probably won't even drop the massive limb on anyone's fence!
That's how I roll.

Today I went in for my 2 week check up - just the scars, no stirrups - visit. That's how they get you in there. They have to differentiate between the two types of visits like that.

I waited patiently in the lobby because I was too caught up in a vicious tic-tac-touch game on my itouch. (I'm just gonna keep calling it that.) So, when a BOLT OF LIGHTNING HIT THE BUILDING I WAS SITTING IN, and the lady sitting next to me jumped up and fell in my lap, you can imagine my surprise. It sounded like a thick piece of wood snapping in two. So weird. No one volunteered to go outside and see if it left a mark.

I love it when they knock on the door, like, "You decent." Because typically at the lady doctor's visits, uh, no, I am wearing a paper napkin, seriously, you don't need to knock. So, I like to get a deep man voice when they knock and say, "WHO IS IT!?" Lady doctor didn't even flinch and walked right in.

"Hi there, how are you feeling?"

"Doing good. Hey, what did you say to Ricardo while I was knocked out silly? I think he's afraid of you...teach me your ways."

"I just told him what you could and could not do. Did you get a hair cut?"

"Well, with all these restrictions, I got bored and decided my bangs needed a trim...This is your fault."

"Perhaps another restriction: No scissors - should be added to the list."

"HAHAHA, funny doctor. And yes, perhaps."

"Okay, let's see here, everything looks good. Any regrets?"

Big dramatic sigh, "Oh doctor, I want to have kids again!"

Loud laughter from the both of us.

"Uh, no doc. No regrets."

"Well, you look fantastic. Any pain?"

"Nope."

"Do you need more pain medication?"

"Uh, no, I have plenty left over. Do you know of how to dispose of that stuff? I don't want it hanging around. I mean, other than the fact I could take it down to 20th and make $30 a pill?"

Judgemental glare.

"I'm just sayin. Look, I haven't DONE IT. But I know people who know things. It's the word on the streets."

"Hold on to the pills in case you break a bone or something."

"If I break a bone, won't they give me more pills?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Hmmm. Any hot flashes?"

"Uh, what? No. You didn't tell me about any hot flashes."

"Well, you get blood flow from here and here. And if here doesn't work, sometimes, the result is hot flashes."

"I look forward to them, I'm always cold."

"Well, if you haven't had any now, you're not getting them for another couple of decades. And trust me, you won't appreciate them. Ok, show me your incisions."

Raising my shirt up, "I get that request a lot..."Show us your scars!' heh heh."

"Wow, you're a fast healer!"

"Does that mean I can get back to lunges and squats?"

"NO WAY."

"What's the big worry, something gonna fall out?"

"No, your internal stitches, Leslie. Nothing will fall out. Do we need to review your biology again? Everything's attached, you know that right?"

"Don't review, because I'll just forget again. So, the stitches are still the issue?"

"Yes, you strain your abdomen lifting or lunging or whatever, and you'll bleed. And I think we've covered the fact you don't want to do that, right?"

"Well, what about vacuuming?"

"Same thing, it's the motion, and carrying the vaccuum around."

"What if I'm reeeeeeeeeallly careful?"

"NO."

"So, mowing the lawn's out of the question too?"

"Yes."

"Yes, I can do it or yes it's out of the question?"

"You can NOT mow the lawn or vacuum or lift your kids or anything over 10 pounds for the next 4 weeks."

"Yes ma'am. What about running?"

"NO!"

"Swimming?"

"Nope."

"Yoga?"

"No."

"Tai Chi?"

"Did you just ask for a latte? What is that? No wait. Never mind. No. You can walk. That's it. And I'll allow you to take your stairs at home, but no stairmaster, and no running up stairs."

"Well, I wouldn't do that anyway, so there. I have my limits and I refuse to do the stairmaster. So, uh, no on the lunges, huh?"

"NO!"

"Fine, I'll just have to wait another 4 weeks before I can do anything for these thunder thighs."

"Let me know when you find the answer, I could use the answer. Hey, did you post the pictures on your blog?"

"Not yet."

"Why not!?"

"Fine, I'll do it, but can I drive now?"

"Yes!"

"Anytime I want?"

"Well, don't go doing something crazy like a cross-country road trip."

"Geez, always the nay sayer! See you next month."

That's how I roll.

Safe Side Super Chick rocks. Really. She should do a whole video on the guy driving down my street right now.

Today, the day after Mother's Day - I am pretty sure I got the "You're the Effn Meanest Mom in the World" stare down from Lucy. Max hides his emotional glares a bit better.

Ahh, summer is here. A balmy 50 degrees in the morning, and it's apparently been warm enough for summer-like activities to occur. We sat outside today, and I watched the kids discover climbing a tree. However, there's one summer activity I just cannot allow. I did it when I was a kid. But as a parent, it defies all common law of parental responsibility.
Let's review what we tell our children from the minute they can walk over and over and over again:
1. Do not run into the street.
2. Don't talk to strangers.
3. Don't take candy from strangers.
4. Do not run near moving cars. So, probably don't chase cars either.
5. Never go near cars with creepy men driving them who pull up and stop to see if they can lure you to their cars.
6. A guy in an old beat up van who's taken out all of the seats except the driver's seat is not safe.
7. No sweets before dinner.

Would you all agree with me on all of those rules? I mean, pretty basic rules you know? For all the diversity of motherhood in all it's extremism, seriously, we can all agree on those rules.

Then, for the life of me, can someone puhlease explain to me how the hell the Ice Cream Man is still allowed to go up and down my street? Dinging a little bell!?

I will go to ridiculous lengths to spoil my kids. Bouncy houses, chocolate for dinner, campouts at the zoo, triathlons, fancy dinner nights out, heck, this morning, they had cake for breakfast! But I will not allow all of my basic parental instincts to go out the window and lose my effn mind for the damned Ice Cream Man.

What is wrong with you people? Stand with me. With all that's gone on in the world, with Amber Alerts and Megan's Law, how in all of that which is reasonable that the Ice Cream Man is still legal?

And that jerk went up my street FOUR TIMES today. My kids watched as every other parent, again, lost their mind. It's like the parents are just as excited as the kids are. My neighbors were RE-ROOFING THEIR HOUSE, when their daughter comes flying around the corner, "MOM -ICE CREAM!" I looked away to see the truck, and looked back, neighbor has apparently jumped off the roof, because she's hauling ass to get in the house and get money so she can give MONEY to her daughter to go RUNNING into the street to a VAN that has no seats in it, but it does have freezers - convenient for hiding bodies. I'm just sayin. And it's dinnertime.

My kids watched every single kid on our street go get sweets before dinner and risk being stuffed in the freezer. Whatever. Still, they thought they'd ask. Lucy does this thing where she says, "PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE..." until I stop her with hand gestures. You have to use gestures because she knows what the answer is, so she says PLEASE over and over to drone out the "NO WAY!"

"Lucy, what did you just have five minutes ago after dinner?"
"Ice Cream"
"And what do we have in our freezer?"
"Ice Cream"
"And when a guy in a car drives by, slows down, dings a bell and asks if you want sweets, what do you do?"
In mundane go-to-hell-everyone-else-lets-their-kids-do-it-voice, "Walk away." Then a glare.
"And what's my job as your mommy?"
"To keep me safe."
"And is the Ice Cream Man safe?"
Same voice, "No."

That's right, now go mow the lawn.

That's how I roll.

Well, if you're not a veteran Mom On The Rocks reader, know that the whole reason this blog ever got started was from email dissertations around Mother's Day. "Hey y'all Happy Mother's Day, just another day to celebrate that indeed I have survived motherhood, and the kids are okay, no one call the cops on me, yet."

In all the past dissertations, as seen here, here, here, here, and here. Maybe here too, it's been a lot of reflecting on being a mom. The kids were too young to really spoil mommy rotten.

This Mother's Day, I had their devotion though: "Let's get that fly! Mommy, you stay there. Cuz it's Mother's Day. We're gonna get this fly for you, Mommy."

"Oh Thank you!"

And then it was over.Aside from that, Ricardo worked is ass off to do whatever I wanted all day. Poor guy. It's certainly not Wife's Day. Still, I asked him and the kids to weed my little stick garden. But he did it all.

I think this year, my revelation is that kids will always be too young to really spoil you. Perhaps the kids are too spoiled to really make the entire day about Mom. I still am to do that for my mom. You know? I mean, really. Don't get mad at your kids when they bring you breakfast in bed and then want to know when you're gonna get up to help them with their lives. Think back to your mom. When did you, as a kid, and now even an adult, EVER devote your entire day to selfless antics for Mother's Day? Uh, never.

Ultimately, this is not your average household anyday. But the last two weeks, I've been very well taken care of. I would have weeded the stick garden myself, but I can't do all that tugging and digging. Just a few more weeks, but the weeds don't care. Neither do the dishes, the laundry, nor the carpets or the kitchen floor. It's all been taken care of for me. So, that it's Mother's Day, I'm good, y'all.

I tend to think this holiday is a bit trivial for someone like me. I think I've documented that I'm well taken care of here. I do have friends that this holiday was created for. I hope like hell they are getting their feet up. But typically what happens is, when making plans for (mom) the one who makes all the plans, it's just about impossible to not ask her, "Hunny, when you make the casserole, do you bake it or grill it on the bbq?" or my favorite: "You mean, we were supposed to make reservations for Mother's Day Brunch, but why? Who would I call to make reservations? How does that work? Why didn't my dry cleaning magically appear in my closet this week like it does every other week?"

Clearly, none of that happens in my house, but to all of you moms that it does. I wish you a Happy Mother's Day. I hope you've planned some wonderful festivities for yourself!

Yesterday, we were at one of my all-time favorite stores: Sam's Club, and getting some grocery shopping done. Some people like Banana Republic, or Macy's, I personall like food, and in bulk. These surgery restrictions say I can't even push a shopping cart, or lift no more than 10 pounds. At Sam's Club. Uh-huh. So, that's pretty much anything there. Ricardo refuses to get his own membership, so I have to be there anytime we need stuff in bulk. Which at this point is: dog food, laundry detergent, and strawberries. This is my life, and I love it. Who knew?

While we were there, I may or may not have suggested we just look, we don't have to BUY, but maybe just walk by the itouch (Ricardo keeps correcting me that it's an ipod-touch. But I like the itouch. Because it's itouching) section and seriously, no worries, just price compare. I lost my mind, y'all. I picked it up to see how pretty my hands looked wrapped around it. I could hear nothing but glorious choir bells echoing from within. The kids were missing and I didn't care. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ricardo just fling one of the Pick-up-actual-itouch-at-checkout cardboard thingies into our cart.

"It's for Mother's Day and your birthday." And he went and found the kids. Just like that.
You know, we do things a little weird here. Neither Ricardo or I are much of romantics. To us, romance comes in the form of chocolate that we do not share with each other and usually after the kids are fast asleep. And sure, our pals who hear me call him "Baby" or see us hold hands on the track while we're supposed to be working out, they think we're sickening. We don't do fancy dinners, I get flowers for me when I want them, and I'm a jewelry minimalist so he doesn't buy me that stuff. We're a modest income family. And Ricardo has to keep me in line...a lot. So, when he frivously flings an itouch - which is soooo not in the budget - he doesn't wrap it, no cards, just flings it in the cart, that was the sweetest thing he could do. To me, very romantic. Happy Mother's (and birthday, probably Memorial Day and Fourth of July, then Labor Day, and maybe anniversary) to me! And I'm totally good with that. From this day forward, Mother's day is a day to celebrate being a mom, while still taking care of my kids, and a big phat gift. Life is good.

That's how I roll.

Well, thanks y'all for all of your emails and sweet notes of encouragement. I'm at home now and have discovered a few things.

I've been living under the strict confinements of three rules:
1. No stairs
2. Lift no more than 10 pounds (No pushing or pulling anything:grocery carts, lawn mowers, brooms, mops, or vacuumm cleaners. DAMMIT)
3. No Driving

My doctor was very adamant about these rules. Perhaps she got a hold of my mother and was informed that I don't take to restrictions well. My doctor even lectured Ricardo, reiterated if you will, the three main rules.

Seems simple. Eh, not so much. Turns out that I'm in my own personal hell. Primarily, it's because I don't lay around well. I thought I would embrace it. But we live in a multi-level home. My bed and the shower is upstairs. So, upon my homecoming, I immediately, but very slowly and cautiously broke Rule #1 and retreated to my bedroom. After about 15 hours of laying there, and what with those 3 days in a hospital bed, my body needed a new position, my head throbbed, and I couldn't sleep at all. And at 4 a.m., when I'm wide awake, I'm biting my lip to not wake up Ricardo so we can hang out and talk about our feelings. I'm assuming he appreciates that I never did wake him up.

So, Day 2 at home, I bent the rules further, I would go down the stairs in the morning, stay downstairs all day, and only go up the stairs at night when I went to go to bed. Problem with that is, it's a multi-level, to get into the kitchen I have to walk up 3 stairs. And I would venture to say, Momma needs access to the kitchen more than a shower or a toilet. I'm just sayin.

By Day 3 at home, I couldn't get over a nauseating headache, when Ricardo in all his Greatness, after bringing me food I requested, and then by the time he got it to me, I pushed it away. Or after moving things, "Hey baby can you move that chair four feet so I can sit outside and watch you clean out the garage? No, not there, in the sun, please." After all that, my man (read like Billie Holliday) comes up with the idea that perhaps my wrenching headache that not even percocet could fix - and yes, I was taking the percocet for the headache, not the uh abdominal pain, I'm all good with that - Ricardo suggests that maybe my headache is lack of caffeine. OMG, I haven't had any cafeine in 5 days. And then he hands me a cup of coffee. God bless Ricardo.

So, on Day 4, I was feeling great! No more headaches, hello coffee, goodbye percocet. My girlfriends have stepped up. Ricardo should be worried because Julz(HOLLA!) has been making us dinner, taking our kids out for us, and then she had the audacity to come over after the kids went to school and brought me a coffee, we talked about our feelings, and then she vacuummed my house for me. I don't care who you are, that is hot! My girl, Abs, brought me a magazine and offered to take me out in a "Driving Miss Leslie" fashion to run any errands I may have. Turns out though, when you're sitting on your chaise all day, no errands really come up. Shopping online is now a new hobby for me.

By the middle of this week, Julz(HOLLA!) came to take the kids out and entertain them. You can imagine the surprise on her face when she arrived to get the kids, and I was dressed and ready to go and with my biggest puppy dog eyes asked, "Can I go, too?" She allowed me to join them, and I've never had more fun sitting at the park in all my life. Even better was when she swung me by the drugstore to get what is now over the counter for something that creeped up on me (pun intended) - a urinary tract infection (uti).The over-the-counter is called AZO. It used to be that you had to go get a prescription for that. But my humility is your gain, I'll post that little tidbit here for you. You're welcome. Then she took me to an even better field trip - SONIC! What what? Vacuuming AND Sonic. God bless us one and all.

The biggest downer about these rules is I feel like I've checked out as a mom. I'm so proud and yet sad to say, these kids can totally take care of themselves. Granted, no one flushed the toilet, AGAIN, and their rooms are a disaster, but still, they're doing a pretty good job of taking care of themselves. And when they can't, my friends and family are even more efficient, and get them where they need to be. In less than a week, I will be able to drive and do the satires, still no lifting though. I estimate that 88.7279% of my parenting is driving the kids around. And I love it. I love that they are strapped in and trapped in the car with me. I love that they have no where to wiggle. Nothing better to watch on tv. They talk to me in the car. And I really miss that. Next week, I'll pick them up from school and just drive. Just for lost time. Mwwwahahahah!

Today, I've sort of given up on the rules. I've gotta say, I'm impressed I adhered with a little bending as much as I did up to this point. That sneaky RIcardo seems to still have my driver's license from when I checked into the hospital. So, I'll have to get that back before I break that driving rule. I mean, driving against doctor's orders AND without a license, that's some double-doozy rule breaking. So, I'll only break one rule and/or law at a time.

I have indeed, been cleaning the kids' rooms. They are disgusting pigs. This summer is going to be the summer of responsibility and accountability. Pray for them.

That's how I roll.

When I brought my babies home, I kept track of their poop schedule religiously. I was so afraid since there were two of them that I was going to not realize that one of them had pooped in a few days. I'm not sure exactly how long you're supposed to keep track of a newborn's poop, but I did it way beyond whatever that appropriate standard would be, I'm sure. I did it for probably 3 weeks. I'm guessing the same time I gave up breastfeeding, I gave up poop tracking. My Lord, what would I do with all that extra time to myself!?

In the midst of that insanity, my MIL explained to me that once you have kids, you'll discuss the frequency, color, shape and perhaps size of poop for the rest of your days as parents. I thought that was really funny, and maybe a bit far fetched. I mean, I was keeping a chart, so ofcourse poop dialogue was in order. But really, after diapers, still? And I say to you, a resounding YES. Pooh talk abounds at our house here, here and here.

The other night, I went and took my meds and go to bed. Typically, I'm off all meds, but there are a few that are uh, necessary. Number one: melatonin. I take it to sleep, any day of the year. But now that I'm not exercising and sitting on my arce all day, I'm doubling up on the melatonin. So, I pop a double dose of melatonin. And number two: colace. If you don't know what colace is for, please know that I purposely made it "number two" for a reason. It's necessary. I popped those pills and headed up to bed. About 10 minutes later, I had to go to the bathroom. I sat on the throne and well, my butt barfed what Lucy refers to as pee poop. For over an hour, about every ten minutes my butt barfed. And all I can think of is "I just took COLACE and not one, but TWO melatonins. I'm going to pass out and shit the bed. Oh my God!" I spent the next hour trying to stay awake.

When Ricardo came upstairs, I explained what was going on. To my surprise, he still got in bed with me. I thought for sure he'd prefer the couch. But he just said, "It's okay. We could probably use a new mattress anyways." Awww, baby, that is so sweet! And then I gave in and went to sleep. I'm happy to say, we'll be keeping our old mattress for a few more years. And I've upgraded to what Lucy calls snake poop. Whew. Close call. I'm happy to report that I've readjusted my meds schedule to sleep with a poop-free conscience.

That's how I roll.