December 2009 Archives

The other day, once again, in the rolling room of therapy and chatty chat - some might call it my minivan - Lucy asked me -"Mom what did you want to be when you grew up other than a mom?"

"A writer."

"Well why didn't you?"

"What?"

"Why didn't you become a writer?"

"Well, I have a blog that I write on every day, hunny."

"That doesn't count. Do you want to write for newspapers or do you want to write books?"

"Books."

"Well, why haven't you done it yet?"

I thought to suggest that life just gets busy. No, that's lame and unexcusable. Well, I have a job that helps pay the bills that I can barely keep up with, so writing kinda gets second fiddle. Lame. Then I thought to blame the kids for being so needy. Nope, not true. I thought to explain that I have great ideas, but haven't really done anything with it but I knew the same question, "Why not?" would retort. Good point. Great, now I'm arguing with the voices in my head and one of them is the voice of logic and wisdom. And she's seven years old.

"I'm working on it." Was all I could muster.


An hour later - we were at the theater to watch Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer. A lady and two kids sat behind us. Max and Lucy knew them from the gym. And I was fussing over texting with Ricardo about the flat and figuring out where my AAA card is and all that. When all off the sudden, Lucy is talking to the lady and explaining with great pride, "MYYY MOOOOOM wants to be a writer! She's wanted to since she was a kid!"

Nothing gets you off your ass to do something instead of just thinking about it for years - ahem - decades, like your child. Your purpose.

So, Lucy and Max, this one's for you. I hereby New Year's Resolution myself to write the book. Happy New Year to you and your family. I hope it's as life changing as what I anticipate mine's about to be.

That's how I roll

We really don't push the kids to believe in Santa. Still, we encourage a letter to the guy and we mail it. We'll go along with it. But we don't insist on it. Because I ran into a lady at the school the other day who told me she tells her kids, "If you don't believe, you don't receive." Interesting parallels of what should be unconditional. But okay. So, the lady said, "And thank God she doesn't believe in Santa because she wants to ask him for a kitten. And so, we're not doing that!"

One day the kid is going to figure out that Santa is much less powerful than grandparents. And she'll get a kitten, I'm sure of it.

Anyways, we don't really push it. But Lucy's BFF at school is in full on doubt mode. It's funny because everytime she explains one of Hannah's "Santa isn't real" theories to me, she finishes it with an explanation that indeed, 1. I BELIEVE in Santa, and 2. Hannah and I can get along and disagree on this point. Sounds good to me.

Still, she reflects heavily on Hannah's points. We're on week two of no school, which means she hasn't seen Hannah for many days, and yesterday in the car, she told me one of Hannah's theories.

"Mom, Hannah says that if Santa WAS real, he's dead now. Because he's a Saint."

The kid is seven. And that might be the most well thought out theory of Santaness I've ever heard.

I almost said, "Wow, Hannah is BRILLIANT!"

But instead, I said, "Well, that's an interesting theory."

And then we called Hannah to see if she wanted to come over and play.

That's how I roll.

I guess sometimes I get a little resentful that I live with MacGyver.

Ricardo does a lot around here. And me working part-time, I'd say half the time, I expect him to do everything, and the other half, I feel guilty for expecting him to do everything. He fixes everything and then some. He makes just as many meals as I do. He does as many household chores as I do if not more. I try to not depend on Ricardo so much but its like dieting - the harder I try the worse I am about it. Ironically enough, I might have had a couple of Christmas meltdowns and perhaps I suggested I put Christmas up, I can take it down. I was feeling a bit overwhelmed and underappreciated.

Somewhere in the aftermath of the holiday version of what I refer to as Mommie Dearest Moments, Ricardo told me I can't just cancel Christmas like that. Yes I can. No you can't. Yes, huh. Uh, no. Fine. But I CAN take down the advent calendar. And I did. That turned out to be very effective.

And also in the midst of it all, I've been griping about our washer and dryer. Not really griping, but I have friends with the new fancy ones, and they've explained things like, "Dude, the clothes dry in the same time it takes to wash a load." That's an option? My dryer is taking well over an hour to dry clothes. So, Ricardo, being the MacGyver he is, and motivated at my big idea to get one of those fancy dryers, unclogged all the lint and got a new connector thingie. And voila! He fixed it. But I wasn't buying it, so he went even a step further to offer to do the laundry. Oh, you're on bucko.

I didn't want him to do the laundry out of spite, but rather to appreciate it a little more. Respect the laundry. I don't always get it all put away. But it's a lot. I'm talking A LOT of laundry. It takes about 2 days just to wash all of it. Then you gotta fold it AND put it away, all while living in a house with a dog and children with demands and needs. He did a lot of what I do like leave all the hanging clothes hanging in the basement and he never quite got the last load out of the dryer or leave a basket of folded clothes upstairs so long by the time it was due for the kids to bring down their laundry and no one knows where Lucy's hamper is? Well - its in OUR room full of clean folded clothes that have been sitting there for a week. Because I waited for him to finish unpacking the laundry, and it never happened. Ofcourse.

So while I emptied that out I found some matched up but not paired together socks and some not matched up socks and none of my clothes put away. Then I started this week's laundry. And that's when I discovered the power play move in the laundry room. Ricardo had gone down and thrown a load of laundry into the washer. I had separated all the clothes into piles. The dark pile is about 3 1/2 loads. So, there was a 1/2 load left. There was also a green pile way off in the corner, a large red/pink pile, and a lights & whites pile. So, he took the darks, threw them in, and then made an extra effort to pick an item from each of the other piles, even the far off green pile. Not just maybe the lighter greys in the light/white pile, or just some greens. He took one from each pile. And from the layout of laundry all over the laundry room, it was apparent, he was making a statement. A statement like, "I'm gonna jack up your precious laundry process."

It took me hours to get over that. I think what got me over that was a line from A Christmas Story that I'd just watched 7 times - "You used all of the glue on PURPOSE!" Stupid, I know, but when laundry takes up most of your day, and you realize the quality and precision you put into it, only to find a mixed load of laundry in the washer. Well, I'm sensitive. I'll admit it. I just resolved I would simply do EVERYTHING. Overreacting, I know, but I was on a roll.

I decided I would show him. I was going to have the damned laundry finished,folded, and put away by the time Ricardo got home from work. Bold goal. But revenge was my motivation. I'll show HIM a statement! I resolved all that while driving the kids downtown to The Rose Theater for some good old fashioned "Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer" production. As soon as I turned in to park - the low tire pressure light came on. Dammit - I can't change a tire - well I could - but I wouldn't want to drive on it after I changed it. And lone mama in a downtown parking garage with two kids changing a tire? For the love of my children and my sanity and then I guess their safety - it was not a good idea to change the tire myself.

I must admit when Ricardo offered to leave work to come change the tire - I got a little giddy in telling him not to worry - I can call AAA. Mwahahaha. So I called - they can be here by 10p.m. What? Dammit. I tucked my tail between my legs, accepted defeat and called Ricardo. He came to our rescue.

The kids and I found a coffee house and had cocoa and cookies while we waited on our knight in shining armor to come save us...again! I guess I depend on the guy a bit. Its okay to depend on your spouse, right? I hope he depends on me - for something - I can't think of anything right now. Well - apparently I am a self-proclaimed champion of laundry, and maybe grocery shopping. Still, I need him and appreciate him desperately. Lesson learned. Laundry is still not finished.

That's how I roll.

Our Christmas celebration this year was interesting. While the kids awaited the arrival of Santa, we watched the longest snow storm in the history of Leslie blow in. First we were advised to not drive around because of ice. Then blowing snow. Really? What was your first indicator mister meteorologist? Could it be the 6' snow drifts on my patio? Hmmmm.

On Christmas Eve morning, Max woke us up explaining it was 8:01 and "Happy Christmas Eve!" And what kind of breakfast would we like him to fix us. Yes, Santa has favorites, and you are it right now, kid. Good work.

We came downstairs to find a disarray of paper and crafty cuts all over the kitchen table and the floor because they'd been up early making us paper snowflakes and cards for us.

By 9:30a.m. I'd not had enough coffee, and still not washed my face nor brushed my teeth. We played A Christmas Story version of Monopoly. I hadn't cleaned yet. I hadn't cooked or baked anything yet. And I didn't care. So far, it was the Best. Christmas. Ever.

The upside was we made it out to the coolest Christmas Eve church gig ever. JulzHOLLA! and Sven invited us to join them at their church for a dinner theater. It was special to share it with Sven and JulzHOLLA! and their family. The dinner theater was a five course meal with a play about the birth of Jesus as told by the proprietor of the Bethlehem Inn. It was fun, light, brilliant and yummy.

The snow started early afternoon on Christmas Eve, and it stopped four days later. Imagine, if you will, a hurricane-like weather radar, but instead of high winds and rain, we have high winds and snow. Lots of snow. Snow is pretty until you get out to shovel it. Still, we had fun doing it, and we weren't driving anywhere, so no gym, no workout. I wonder how many calories I burned shoveling snow?

On Christmas Day, we woke up to a fantastic White Christmas. With all the snow we shoveled off the driveway we built up a sweet sledding/snowboarding ramp. Christmas is the one day of the year (okay, there might be a few others) that I get a nap. Because really, the kids wake up at 5a.m. and I oblige, I mean, it's Christmas right?

"Here's some toys. Mommy's going to take a nap."

When I woke up, it had snowed more. Lots of churches cancelled their Christmas Eve services as well as Christmas Day services. We weren't going anywhere. Not even to the Chinese restaurant for the Christmas Dinner. We rescheduled our trip to Gramma's.

And although I got a little bit of cabin fever, for the most part, I was trapped in the house with my favorite people. We've been laughing and playing for 4 days straight.

Today the roads were cleared and we took full advantage, and drove to the gym. We're happy to be able to safely travel around town again. But I couldn't have picked a better time to get trapped and snowbound with this family.

That's how I roll.

This dog looks tired because he's up late at night plotting against me.

Before school the other day, I got the mail lady's bag of baked goodies out to take to the mailbox. And then the daily looking at the clock and assessing, we're behind schedule began. Brush your teeth. Lucy, bring me a hair thingy and I'll put your hair up. And let's not forget the Christmas Story packing up and bundling scene. It's a daily mantra around here.

"Mooooommmmm! I can't put my arms down!"

"Well, just...you can put your arms down when you get to school."

Every wintery day.

So, I got the kids to school, only to return and find the mail lady's bag of treats torn to shreds. Well, atleast Farley The Wonderdog had the manners to not eat the paper. It was my fault, I'd left the bag on the kitchen island. Nevermind that they are 4' high countertops, or that it was in the middle of a 6' square island. All I could think of was all the chocolate I'd baked.

Farley has survived chocolate overdose before. But our plan of action for future chocolate encounters is no more $700 bills for getting his stomach pumped. If it happened again, we'd make sure he wasn't in any pain, and go from there.

I texted Ricardo, "Farley ate all the chocolate and baking. I'm going to shop. Not sure if he'll be alive when I get home. Happy Holidays."

This wouldn't bother me so much today had I not been woken again by the dog. Farley sleeps between us. I am against co-bedding with my kids, but will allow it with my dog.

Farley sleeps with his back to Ricardo. Basically they spoon. That usually works in my favor because I get most of the bed to myself. Farley pushes and tries to lean and get as close to Ricardo as he can. However, I get his legs and feet on my side. This has never really been a problem. Until now. In his old age, he's been sleeping harder and dreaming more. Dreaming about running. And his legs run while he dreams....right in to my back side. If anyone saw it and witnessed it, they'd simply say, "That ain't right."

And it's not. I sleep with three blankets, otherwise, I would be uh, totally violated. I've woken up in the middle of the night and jumped out of bed. Farley and Ricardo sleeping peacefully. It ain't right.

But while I was out shopping, I found a bed. It was as if the stars all aligned right, because we've never seen a dog bed big enough for Farley The Wonderdog. And here on this day, there it is. Assuming that he'll be alive when I got home, I bought it.

There's also that 50/50 chance that he won't use it. But it was worth it. He's getting so old, he's been having a hard time getting up on our bed anyways. We're on day 3 or 4 of having the Farley the Wonderbed, and it worked! I have my dignity back, and the dog is still alive. It's a Christmas Miracle.

That's how I roll.

I've been looking at pictures of myself lately and thinking, "Something's not quite right." Haven't been able to figure it out, but desperate for a high-falutin makeover. Help! So, if Stacy and Clinton don't come knocking from that simple request, perhaps this little tale might grab their attention...

The other night, after the kids went to bed I went up to Walgreens to grab white out to sniff. Or, just to fix our Christmas cards - didn't proof read that well. And so, I was ready to get the cards out, and when you're motivated to do that, you just do it. So, I grab the white out, and then think to check on some tooth brushes for holiday festivities.

I noticed a loud guy - like a teenager. I could hear him and his girlfriend in another aisle. They were loud and being a little crazy. Then I walked by and noticed the guy was on crutches, and had only one leg. For missing a leg, the guy had a lot of energy and was being crazy and loud. I thought they were in a fight for a while, but they were just running through the aisles and being silly.

So, I round a corner, and for a guy with one leg, he is fast, because he was on the other side of the corner, "running" and almost ran into me. But he twirled around toward his girlfriend and never really saw me but just said, "Sorry Sir."

I didn't think much about it and kept on my path to tooth brushes and then I heard,
"What? Oh great...no, sorry, I need to apologize, I don't want her to think..."
And then he was right in front of me. Really, for a guy with one leg, he just appeared...abruptly.

"Ma'am, I am so sorry I called you a dude." Super, because now you just called me ma'am.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not." Good point "I was rushing by, and I didn't look up, and I just saw that you were taller than me, and I assumed you were a man. I'm very sorry."

Well I assumed you were 15, but it looks like you're upper 20s, so now we're even.

"No worries. I'm wearing my dad's jacket anyways." And I did look frumpy, I had my fuzzy snow boots on and jeans and my dad's jacket. And yes, I still have my dad's jackets. They are good jackets. Leave me alone.

So, then he says, "I'd just stick my foot right in my mouth, but if I did, I'd be flat on my ass."

"Good Point." Seriously, you can go now.

And then he says, "I swear, you don't look ANYTHING like a woman...OH SHIT!"

I laughed and just said, "No worries, and really, you should stop talking now."

He did, and they ran off to some further aisle and continued with their antics, because I could hear them. I found the toothbrushes and made my way to the cash register, and then I heard their loudness again, then the manager talk to them, a little bit of argument, and then silence. It was bliss.

I've been thinking lately that I need a makeover intervention. I'm glad that's all I need. Because as much as I feel like I look frumpy, I'm feeling pretty good about my Walgreens composure and etiquette.

That's how I roll.

The other day, I went to call my girl, JulzHOLLA! This whole "work" thing keeps me from hourly correspondence with her as well working out and apparently blogging.

So I go to call JulzHOLLA! And I get Sven on the phone. He picks up the phone and this is what I hear:
"....Hey, hold on just one sec."
You never know what that means with Sven - could be an important call or something. So, I oblige.

LONG PAUSE. Some mumbles of confusion. And then I heard a kid (one of three) make a loud noise, but I couldn't decipher which kid, nor if it was a cry or a laugh or what.

Still pause. And then I hear total silence and then, "Oh My God, I gotta call you back."

I try to ask whats wrong and he hangs up.

I was practically in tears trying to figure out what was wrong.

Within seconds, I was trying to deduce what just happened:
1. Someone just had a heart attack or was choking.
2. Someone fell off the roof.
3. Someone figured out the lock combo to the liquor cabinet.
4. Someone broke a bone.
5. Someone is gushing blood.
6. A limb is missing from someone or one of the dogs.

I waited to call back and check to see if the ambulance made it to their house in time because of the snow and all. I was pacing and just freaking out. I mean, what just happened? Oh My God. Ricardo is begging me to not call, that everything is probably fine. "They are busy with something, whatever it is. What can you do? You don't HAVE to know what is wrong."

Yes. I. Do.

I waited a lifetime (five minutes) and then picked up the phone and called to check on everyone. No answer. Shit.

So I did what everyone should in a situation like this...much less intrusive - I texted JulzHOLLA! "Is everyone okay over there?" As soon as I hit send, I realized she might not even be there and therefore probably just freaked her out too. So be it, Lucy and Ethel need to solve this mystery. We're on it.

JulzHOLLA! called me back right away. Everyone was fine. Apparently, there's some rite of passage that my kids missed: The one where a kid (the more kids you have the higher your odds that this will happen) discovers the mystery of water and a lock on the door. And then opts to fill up a sink with glorious water. I guess what had happened was she filled it up, and then before turning off the running water in the clogged sink, found something else to do and left....the running water....and clogged sink.

So when Sven went to answer my call, the "hold on" and then the "I gotta go" was simply a discovery of water coming out of the LIGHT FIXTURE and ceiling in the kitchen.

I get it. However, a fellow mom would articulate with great responsibility of "Everyone's okay, and I gotta go" And you could possibly option with a call back of "You might want to come over to make sure I don't hurt her..." A good girlfriend knows she can make that call, and a good girlfriend knows to get her ass over there if she gets that call.

That's how I roll.

I thought I'd schooled my kids pretty well on this subject. I mean, we watch A Christmas Story year-round, folks.

We've had so much snow here, as I type, I'm making plans for day three of no school.
Still, we've been having so much fun in so much snow! Ricardo has been working from home, which has been nice to have him here with us, all together and safe. We've been building giant sledding ramps, shoveling the driveway, making sledding slopes, more shoveling, sledding, more shoveling. Ofcourse hot cocoa, apple cider, and soup floweth here as well.

It's been a wonderful system we've created. We go out, we play, we shovel, we come in, throw all of our stuff in the dryer, sip hot beverages, warm up, and then go out again. But today was really really super cold, so I tried to get the kids to stay in. When that didn't work, I explained Mommy would not be going out to play - hoping that they wouldn't stay out as long. But they did. Lucy came in and Max stayed out to play some more. They were really having fun playing in all of the snow. And they knew their system really well. The do's and the don'ts and all.

So, you can imagine my surprise when Max walked in today almost hyperventilating with his bloody tongue sticking out. Mumbling, because his tongue was out, something about how he accidentally stuck his tongue to the fence.

OH NO!

I got him a wet wash cloth and got him under a heavy blanket. He then admitted that perhaps it wasn't an accident, he just wanted to try it. But what about the flagpole in the movie, son? "I didn't think it would be the same on a fence." And then we had a nice long talk about freezing cold metal and that really, you shouldn't stick your tongue out while playing in 7 degree temps ever.

I kept checking his tongue to see if it was still bleeding. Ricardo went out to see how the fence faired. "His tongue skin is STILL ON THE FENCE." Gross. He's probably missing about ten tastebuds.

Lucy was very worried for him. "Are you okay, Max?" And then she yelled down to Ricardo, "DAD - COME SHOW ME WHERE HIS SKIN IS STILL ON THE FENCE, I WANNA SEE IT!"

Apparently, he'd gotten stuck on the fence, and tried to yell, and hoped Lucy would come out and see him and then come back in to get us. He said he kept pulling and pulling and finally it came off. By the time he got into the house, it started to hurt. And cue the tears.

The kid doesn't let me kiss him goodnight much these days. But today, he couldn't get close enough to me. We snuggled up by the fire, and a kid that can't sit still for 30 seconds, just laid there with me for well over an hour.

"I feel better now, Mom."

Me too.

That's how we roll.

If it has to come to this, then so be it.

I've been busy setting up classes and driving to work, examining my zipper and very important stuff like that. So busy, that I've cut my workout quite a bit. I just haven't figured out a good schedule yet.

So, after I forced myself - and the kids - to the gym to meet Ricardo for a run, I didn't wanna run. Uggh! However, my precious steamroom was fixed now, and my new incentive.

Ricardo and I had a fairly good run. To pass the time, I like to talk. Poor Ricardo, one day, he's just going to start running faster. Once I ran out of things to say, we stopped: 3 miles. It was then time for my beloved steam. I'd saved up for this. I did the run. And I'd planned meticulously, allotting for ample time to steam steam steam. Two, maybe three, even perhaps four steams. I could relax and warm up and it was going to be so delightful!

I got all of my towels around me, and got to the steam room, there were other ladies in there. The nerve. What? I gotta share my steam!? I found a seat and then noticed some awkward and repetitious movement. What the hell? This lady with nothing but her underbriefs was doing her ab workout - IN MY STEAMROOM! I have a long term relationship with this steamroom and stretching and weird things going on. But this lady - she took it to a whole new level. Leg lifts and ab crunches - naked.

I thought not to stare, and tried to not let this weird thing ruin my glorious moment of luxury and sweat. So, I closed my eyes and started to relax. The steam came on and I was so happy. And then the steam stopped and I could hear the woman doing her workout. By hear, I mean, there's a reason you shouldn't workout naked on a stone bench in a steamroom. I could hear her skin farting. FARTING, y'all!!! You know, like how you make a fart sound on your armpit - except this was no armpit. GROSS.

I figured I'd wait her out. I am the queen of steams, and she's working out - surely this can't last much longer. Then the other two ladies left. And I got a little creeped out that it was just me and naked abs of steel over there. I couldn't take it anymore, and I left. Defeated, and only sub-heated.

I showered, and even shaved my legs - which takes a while. They are long and wide. It's a lot of surface area to cover with a little razor. I dried off, got lotion on and then, naked abs of steel walked out of my steamroom. WHAT!? She was in there for well over 45 minutes...working out.

I'm changing my steam time.

Do NOT disrespect the steamroom with activity.

That's how I roll.

Thankfully, I left THIS dress in my closet for my first day on the job. That could have been awkward.

On the day before Thanksgiving, I got a call from a school to teach another class. And feeling all powerful because I was about to run a triathlon, deliver meals to those less fortunate, and then cook a Thanksgiving feast, I said, "SURE, just let me get my cape and I'm totally on it." I've taught part-time for many years and now I'm teaching part-time times two. Part-time X 2 = Full-time, really.

After the turkey overdose, and although it was a healthy overdose, the triptophan still took over. So, after all that, it hit me: I went from 2 classes to FIVE! Shit!

I poured myself a stiff drink of coffee and honed in on my survival technique in a situation like this. I have super powers of making lists. So, I worked on lists and schedules for how I was going to get the kids to school, and get myself to class. I actually calculated I should wake up a half hour earlier to get all of my coffee drinking done before we left the house.

The biggest challenge was going to be getting dressed, face on, and hair done before taking the kids to school. I'm notorious for dropping off the kids, and then taking my sweet time to shower, and get my pretty on all by myself. That dream is gone.

Day One: I woke up early to shower, went downstairs to get the kids' breakfast ready, and then hustled back upstairs to straighten my straight hair, find something to wear that didn't need ironing, and get my face on - all while shouting orders at the kids. Well, I thought I was just doing a good job of keeping them in check with their own schedules, but Max came upstairs completely dressed, hair combed, teeth brushed, shoes AND socks on and said, "Why are you shouting and rushing us?" Show off.

He was nice about it, but I was so concerned with getting everyone in the car and ready for the day, I guess I was rushing them, when I should have just rushed me.

Somehow, we all got in the car, each with our backpacks and me with my last cup of coffee. I'm glad the kids got themselves together because after I dropped them off, I ended up getting to campus a few minutes late, had to hit a bathroom, fiddle with my belt and all these fancy clothes. By fancy- I mean not jeans and a tshirt. And it turns out, I was in the wrong building. Nice. I got to class, did introductions, went over the syllabus. And then I saw a kid in the class glance down and notice something on me. It was a half-second look, and I immediately knew what he was looking at. Oh crap, my zipper is down! I knew exactly what it was, those fancy pants with the double buttons AND a belt. How could i possibly remember ALL those fastenings!? I taught half the class with my zipper down! What do I do now? I did what every very professional college instructor does...I sat down behind the desk, and then pretended like I dropped something and instead of picking up said fictional item, I zipped my pants. Damnit!

I finished up the class and got in the car, and noticed my bra strap had snapped. Good googly! Thankfully, it probably wasn't that noticeable but I just taught with my zipper down and one bra cup not pushing anything up. The zipper was eye level. Uggh.

In college, I had a mean English professor. One day, she came to class with her shirt buttoned up all wrong. And we didn't like her. So, we didn't tell her. We just let her teach an entire hour of class with a gaping hole and could see her bra and her rolls. And now I'm that teacher. Isn't karma grand?

Can't wait for Day Two.
That's how I roll.