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    It’s all about teaching them the life lessons

    April 29, 2008

    I feel bad for you all.  I mean, how many times should you have to read about me being a moron?  At least I’m so overwhelmed that I can’t keep a daily log of my behavior.  Well, actually I do.  It’s called Twitter.  I am forever cheating on my blog with twitter.  But anyway.  Case in point about my half-assed parenting…

    The Husband sent me an email the other day when he was upstairs and I was downstairs.  Maybe I was too far away?  Maybe his phone didn’t work?  Maybe he was scared of me?

    “Do we have $400 for a boat?”

    I would say that this would constitute a true LOL moment, but I promptly treated his email as I do all unsolicited emails.  I deleted it.

    Two days later he tells me that he has to go pick up a boat that he found on Craigslist.  He tells me that it is only $300 and that he has been saving his lunch money for months to get a boat.  If only he was this dedicated to saving for our children’s education.  I find it fascinating that he was looking to pimp the family budget for $400 two days before but now he has $300 himself.

    So we all hop in the truck to buy the boat from a man wearing a Grateful Dad tie dyed shirt.  The circa 1971 johnboat has seen better days, but really, haven’t we all?  My husband hops into the passenger seat and off we go.  Because I’m sure I can drive a truck and a boat trailer. 

    We drove to the local park and I backed that trailer up like a champ.  Like I was MEANT to put boats in the water.  We all climb into this boat and I notice the water on the bottom of the boat.  Actually my children notice it because they begin jumping up and down in it.  The Husband rows away from the dock and I think very horrible things.  Things like how long it will take to forgive him if we all have to swim to shore.  In the rain.  In the cold water. 

    I couldn’t really keep thinking these things because it took all of 2 seconds to realize that The Baby was going into that water if it was the last thing he did.  He spent about 20 minutes with a leg over the back until I finally gave in and lowered him into the cold water.

    “That’ll teach him.”

    Until he screamed with glee and then The Boy was pissed off that HE couldn’t be in the water too.  So now The Husband is rowing the boat with me holding The Baby trailing behind in the water and The Boy hanging over the side giving us a blow by blow of what is IN the water.  The Husband made a smart ass comment about how The Baby will now expect to go into the water every single time we go on the boat and I asked him how that would be different from The Baby attempting to go over the side of the boat every single time we go on the boat. 

    Life lesson:  My children don’t learn lessons.  When am I going to learn?  Clearly tonight is not the night.

    K:  (yelling down the hall) EAT!!!!  Come brush your teeth!
    TB:  I DID, MOMMMMM!

    The Husband was standing there brushing his and he glanced over.  He knew where this was going.

    K:  No, you didn’t.
    TB:  YES.  Yes, I did, Mommmmm.
    K:  Let me smell your breath.

    The Husband stared at me.

    K:  What???  12 years of habits die hard.  I’m a kid’s worst nightmare.  If he thinks he hates me now, wait until high school.
    TB:  NO!
    K:  Let me smell your breath.  I want to see if you really brushed your teeth.
    TB:  No, you can’t, Mom.  It’s not YOUR breath.  It’s MY breath.

    The kid had a point.  And still had to brush the damn teeth. 

    Okay, so maybe what happened is his father held his head and I put a knee into his chest and brushed his teeth as fast as I could.  Unless, of course, you are child protective services.  If you are, disregard this post.  And the whole damn blog, for that matter.

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    If you drive a pink cadillac, feel free to ignore this post

    April 26, 2008

    I know I am supposed to write about that place I went the other day but I didn’t anticipate how feisty people would be about me twittering it.  Not in a conspiracy theory kinda way but more in a “everyone knows you aren’t supposed to take pictures in the Sistine Chapel” kinda way.  So out of respect for my peeps, I shall remain silent about my Vegetable Fajitas and my Freedom Chocolate Dessert.  If it makes you feel better, the halls are mostly single file room only and the government is not spending any extra money on carpeting.  Even remotely.  I will no longer complain about the carpeting in my living room because it is in much better shape than your average executive office.

    Instead I will regale you with one of my latest adventures.  I was at Panera the other day because, well, my kids freak out if I try to sneak down to the basement when Maribel comes over. And I had to start the taxes. I mean, it was the 10th. It was about time to flip out about not being able to find closing documents.

    I’m perched on the chair in front of the fireplace because when I went in at 8:20, it was 45 degrees out. Some nice guy asks to sit in the armchair beside me and we enjoy our comfortable coexistence until THEY arrived.

    It appears that the Panera nearest to my house is the Mary Kay Ra-Ra-You-Can-Do-It-If-You-Can’t-Do-It-Nobody-Can weekly pep talks/indoctrination meetings. It took me 20 minutes to figure it out. I’m hunting through 365 days of two email accounts trying to figure out what exactly I bought this year that is write-offable and I overhear this craziness coming from the 12 year old Mary Kay girl.

    MKGoddess:  OK, Kelly. Why don’t we do some role playing?

    Seriously?  Seriously.

    Kelly:  Oh-kay.

    MKGoddess:   You are standing in line at the bank.  There is a woman in front of you.  You get her attention by saying, “I really like your blouse.”

    Seriously?  Now I’m crying into my coffee and the guy beside me has a look on his face that suggests he would rather be getting a root canal that sitting in between me and the Mary Kay Goddess.

    MKGoddess:  After give her a compliment her on her blouse, you tell her that you want to invite her to a Mary Kay party.

    People, I am not lying.  We used to have this saying back when I worked in the government. “You cannot make this stuff up.”  Except we swore, of course.  Because that’s what working for the government makes you want to do.  But back to the show.

    MKGoddess:  And don’t give up if she doesn’t act interested.  She wants to come.  She just might not know it yet.

    1 hour of this.  I had to listen to one hour of convincing strangers, family and friends that they DO want to come to Mary Kay parties.  Don’t get me wrong.  This girl LOVES the Mary Kay lip gloss she had 10 years ago but browbeating strangers in line at the bank?  I want you to know.  The only conversation I want to have in line at the bank is the “my, what well-behaved children you have” conversation (which is yet to happen) and the “I just love your Mommy Needs a Cocktail shirt.  I must have 20.  Where can I buy them?” (which is yet to happen as well).  Otherwise?  I don’t want to talk.  I want to watch the financial news ticker on the flat screen t.v. with everyone else while I balance one fat toddler on my hip and keep a pressure-point hold on a preschooler so he isn’t off applying for a car loan if I turn my back.  And I haven’t worn a “blouse” in at least 15 years.

    I couldn’t move from my spot since my ass was glued to the comfy chair.  In front of the fire.  Even though it was now 78 outside.  So I just listened and judged her in my head.  I mean, who pushes parties?

    Kelly finally passed her “how to encourage strangers to take other strangers into their house all in the name of eyeliner” test right about the time my boyfriend in the comfy chair beside me and I had to leave.  The man turned to the Mary Kay Goddess to ask her how long she had been doing this gig.  Did her mom know she was skipping school to be working the crowd at Panera?  (he didn’t say that but we were all thinking it!)  He joked about her one day getting the car.

    MKGoddess:  I already have it.

    With that, she turned to the window and pointed out at the palest pink Cadillac you have ever seen.  She re-glossed and headed out the door. You can only wonder how MANY people she has turned in the bank line, right?

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    Mommy Needs a Cocktail goes to the West Wing

    April 23, 2008

    I have friends in low places.  Friends who are able to eat at the White House. Probably because they are also eligible for the perfect attendance award and the “Most Likely to Not Talk When It’s All Said and Done Unless There Is A Book Deal In It” award.  Me?  I’m going for the food.  Curious to know what a West Wing Grilled Cheese tastes like.  I imagine it will be made with Havarti in lieu of yellow American cheese.  The bread?  Sourdough in lieu of Wonder Bread?  I’m tempted to stop on the way and buy a camcorder.  Cause I’m sure they allow random videoing in the White House.  Can you imagine the first Mommy Needs a Cocktail vlog from the White House? Now that?  That would be friggin’ hilarious.

    I have had a bit of a wardrobe issue.  Bless her heart, The Cake Lady offered some of her clothes.  Did I mention that I never was a double zero?  No.  I went from 6X in the 5th grade to a junior’s 5.  And that was many, MANY years ago.  We didn’t even HAVE double zero when I was growing up.  Well, we did, but we called it Limited Too. So I had to pass on her gracious offer but I do find myself curious about the possibilities of wearing the latest and greatest in Mommy Needs a Cocktail wear.

    Could we just take a moment to pause while we wait for my mother’s heart to beat again?  You’d think I said I was gonna wear a crop top, cut offs and flip flops into the Oval Office.  I am sporting this hot belly ring but no need to have someone freak out in shock from seeing it and fall into the red button.

    I sent a tweet to Kimberly and she sent one back that I could wear a black tank as long as I wore pearls.  I don’t think she was serious.  Zug?  She said I should wear an “I’m blogging this” t-shirt.  But do I really need to spend my lunch break explaining what a “blog” is?  I don’t think so.  I have tomato soup to conquer.

    I’ll admit my friend was a little concerned.  It’s not that he said the actual words, “and please don’t dress like a slob,” but I felt them hanging out there somewhere.

    And what are the odds that I’ll be able to twitter?  If there is a God, and he loves me, my signal will be clear come 1:15 p.m. on Thursday.  Will be tweeting any and all lipstick marks on glasses and leaving some of my own for future DNA potential issues.  I will do my best not to get arrested.  Or thrown out.  Because that is just tacky.

    So what do you think?  What should I wear to lunch? Oh, and we need a name for a sister parenting blog for PBS Parents that rolls out in a month.  I know.  What the hell?  Who are these people and why are they giving me writing jobs?  Don’t they know who I am?  So give me fashion advice and/or your best idea for a name for a parenting blog written by three sisters for the icon of all our childhoods.  I gotta go find a right shoe.  All I keep finding is a left one.

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    The crash that is the end of your steroids cycle

    April 22, 2008

    I have been wondering for the last 4 days if a side effect of steroids is insomnia.  Do you think it would kill me to read the pamphlet?  Yes.  Yes, it would.  I firmly believe that if I opened up that piece of paper folded 700 times so that it fits in the palm of The Baby’s hand, it would kill me.  So feel free to flood the comments with your knowledge.

    I ask about this insomnia because last night I didn’t have it.  The only problem?  I had two kids that got up.  The Boy got up because he apparently hadn’t reached his 50,000 word count for the day yet, or maybe he was getting a jump on today?

    TB:  Mom.  Mom.  Mom.  I’m thirsty.

    If I lie here very still, maybe he’ll go away.

    TB:  Mom.  Mom.  Mom.  I want some water.  ACTUALLY, I want some milk.

    Possom isn’t working for me.  He’s still standing there, approximately 2 inches from my face.

    TB:  Mom.  Mom.  Mom.  I really NEED some water.

    Do you know what I have to say about this?  You can see it coming.  If you can make an entire dinner for your family of four, to include making homemade pasta and sauce, explain to me why I need to get up from a deep sleep and get you a damn glass of water?  Seriously?  You have been getting your own water since you were 18 months old.  It’s like the only “test” you have passed at school.  You really don’t need me.  Even remotely.  But I got up to get the water.  He finished, climbed into my bed and settled himself in for the long haul.  Except I am so over sharing the bed with The Toaster Oven Who Sleeps In the Middle But Doesn’t Want Any Covers To Touch Him So He Kicks Everything To The Bottom of The Bed So Everyone Else Is Cold. 

    K:  Um, this isn’t your bed.  OUT.
    TB:  OH-kay, mom.

    We trudged down the hall to his room because you know he can’t go to bed by himself so now I have to lie there until he falls asleep or I cover his head with a pillow.  KIDDING!  Then The Baby starts to cry because all the kid wants is a little peace and quiet and his brother is YELLING about the situation with the covers and sheet on his bed and would it really kill HIM to use an indoor voice at 2 a.m?  Apparently, yes.  Yes, it would kill him.  So I go in to soothe The Baby because he is moaning “Mamamamamamamamama” and then The Boy cries because I have left him.  45 minutes later and I am thinking that I have finally kicked the insomnia because now I am pretty sure I am falling asleep standing straight up. 

    Did I mention I’m in the basement right now? About to crawl into the bed that was mine before I commenced this lifelong journey we like to call Love, Marriage and Motherhood? The bastion of my singlehood. MY bed.

    Gotta fall asleep quick because it’s only a matter of time before someone finds me. I give it an hour.

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    Who knew the sinus cavity went so far down into your face?

    April 20, 2008

    Some freaky girl getting her neti on

    Apparently I have had sinus issues for years. My mother first noticed when she came to visit and she was forced to listen to me trying to clear my sinuses in the shower. She may have had to go downstairs to avoid getting ill. I tell you this not to gross you out but to, well, okay, I guess gross you out.

    I’ll stand in the shower with scalding water pouring over my face, just waiting to feel it clear so I can breathe. So when I finally decided to seek medical attention and the liberal prescription of antibiotics which will probably one day result in me getting a cold and dying of pneumonia because my body can’t fight it, I remained skeptical. I’m not all healthy, healthy, but I don’t even take tylenol for a headache. Probably because I never get headaches.

    I took the antibiotic for 9 days and nothing. Then I succumbed to internet peer pressure/assvice and decided to take the steroids I was prescribed. Actually my mother told me to take the steroids so I did.

    Life without steroids: It’s not you, it’s me.
    Life with steroids: It’s all YOU, you a@#$#$%.

    I have noticed several things while on steroids. First, Roger Clemens, you lying sack of crap. Stop saying you didn’t KNOW you were on steroids. Since steroids, I have installed 100 feet of shelving, sanded 100 feet of shelving, prepped 100 feet of shelving with wood conditioner and stained 100 feet of shelving. In 1 hour. Derek took me to The Depot and made me saw 100 feet worth of trim for 100 feet of shelving. He left me in the trim department and came back to me sawing 5 pieces of trim at a time. Singing along with the country music.

    Had I a VW bug, I would have already taken it apart and put it back together. The flip side is, I have noticed what a fantastic mother I am. When I am not on steroids. Before steroids, my children made me so insane I was constantly wanting to kill myself. Now? I want to kill the kids. See? That’s good, right? I’m not scheduled to be left unattended with my children during the course of the prescription so no worries. Maribel comes to babysit me tomorrow.

    I explained to my husband how I was feeling.

    D: Oh, so you feel like a man does all the time?
    K: What do you mean?
    D: That violence will solve anything?
    K: TOTALLY. I just want to kill everyone. Is this how you guys feel all the time?
    D: Sometimes.
    K: Dude.

    The one thing I forgot? I bought the neti pot but I hadn’t actually used it. Since my shower tonight when I started to clear out my sinuses and I realized they actually go further than 1/2 inch below my eyes, I suddenly remembered The Pot.

    My husband stood there watching me. As I poured the saline solution up into the crevices of my head, my husband began to speak. He didn’t just speak. He started to ask me questions.

    “Is that going into your sinuses because it looks like it’s just coming out of your other nostril?”
    “How does it feel?”
    “Do you think it’s working?”

    What’s odd about this is that my husband doesn’t speak. And he hasn’t asked me a question since he proposed to me. So why he would begin to interrogate me while I am trying to irrigate my sinuses without drowning is beyond me. Some would have found this humorous. Did I mention I am on steroids? In case you are wondering, he’s buried in the back yard now.

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    We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming

    April 16, 2008

    Wow.  Didn’t I just fall off the grid?  And not in that way The Husband would like to fall off the grid.  After having the sinus infection since September, I decided to break down and go to the doctor last Friday.  He couldn’t even get his little scope up my right nostril.

    DR:  Do you find you have more difficulty breathing with your right nostril than your left?

    Dude, I haven’t been able to breathe in 8 days.  I have contemplated giving myself a trach with a bic pen every once in a while.  I didn’t even KNOW that was my right nostril.  I mean, if you are looking at me, isn’t it on your left?  Whatever.  Bygones.  He ordered 21 days of antibiotics, a steroid and nasonex.  I put the steroid in the closet because let’s be honest here, people.  I’m trying to LOSE the baby weight.  And I don’t want a pimply back like Mr.I.Didn’t.Take.Steroids.Sammy.Sosa.  Nasonex.  Threw it away.  All it does is give me post-nasal drip.  I’m trying to dry this crap out, not have a waterfall running down my throat.  The antibiotics?  Day 6 and I’ve finally stopped sounding like a 3 pack a day girl.

    All I’m gonna say is there is never a crueler world than a sinus infection on 4/15.  Because if you aren’t already feeling like you have been run over and dragged by a bus for 400 feet, Uncle Sam will be sure to finish you off. 

    On a lighter note, I’m addicted to Benadryl.  I now require it to fall asleep.  I imagine this is a combination of taking it 14 days in a row and taking naps during the day, but Girlfriend needs her little pink pill.  That stuff should just be in the water.  Can you even imagine if I took a sleeping pill ever?  Smoked pot?  Instant addict.  I’m the person that they told us about in elementary school.  The slippery slope.  One puff on a joint one day and in a week you’ll be shooting up heroin.  I believe it, people.  No funny cigs for me. 

    How many of you are using your stimulus check to buy an LCD flat screen t.v.  Show of hands?  Oh, if only that were me. 

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