NO NEWS IS ... I DUNNO

I haven't heard anything official on the job front. My friend on the inside assured me last week that my name was at the top of the list. I am beginning to panic.

We are at the in-laws' for a couple days while The Hubby is testing fast boats in Florida. I love not doing dishes.

In other news, I have recently become a freak about stamps. Rubber stamps. I bought some bird stamps by Martha and have ordered a bunch on eBay. I know, I know. Get a job.

AN HOUR AND A HALF

Motherhood is hard. So is marriage. And both are difficult when your spouse travels. I don't mean to be vague, I just want a break. Not from marriage. Not from motherhood. Just a little rest from the grind. A fucking day off. Not coming anytime soon, though. Hubby got back at 8 p.m. from an exhausting four-day trip. We are tagging along on his next trip (Long Beach) this Thu-Sun. At least we'll all be together in the same spot. Then I have to head down south to take my Dad in for yet another foot surgery on Mon. Who the fuck knows how long I will have to stay down there taking care of him. My Sis will be in Maui on vacation and Dad didn't bother to check schedules until six days before his surgery. I just want a break.

I am actually looking forward to my yearly check-up today. I'm dropping The Girl off with friends so I will have an hour and a half off. I will enjoy the time in the waiting room. I will probably even enjoy the exam. Sad. Of course I may just break down in tears while sitting on the table in my paper gown and she will up my meds. Either way, I still have an hour and a half off.

OLD PEOPLE & TECHNOLOGY DON'T MIX

When we went to Disneyland a couple weeks ago, we stayed at a hotel the night before with the The Hubby's parents. On the morning we were heading to the park, MIL & FIL were in a tizzy because they had a message on their cell from MIL's brother Kent saying he was downstairs in the lobby and was going to have breakfast with his daughter Sandee (who happens to work at Disneyland & got us in free. SCORE!). FIL was searching the lobby and hotel restaurants for Kent while MIL was leaving messages for him on his cell. When The Hubby & I caught up with them, they were just baffled how Kent, who lives in GEORGIA!!!, could have known we were staying at the Marriott. MIL said she mentioned the Disneyland trip to him in a phone call earlier in the week, but just couldn't fathom that he would be in Anaheim with no advanced warning. Finally I asked, "Ummm...did you check the timestamp on the message?" Apparently this crazy new cellphone technology makes them loose their minds. The Hubby grabbed the phone and went through the missed call log. No call from him there. Then he listened to their saved messages. They had never deleted a message. Finally, The Hubby & I diagnosed the problem. They had missed a call from their friend, but the friend did not leave a message. MIL, thinking there was a message waiting & not just a missed call, dialed her voicemail. She heard a voice mail from a trip to Seattle two years ago that had not been deleted. Kent confirmed everything when he called 5 minutes later. The message was so old that it no longer held a timestamp. The Hubby graciously deleted all messages, all call logs and anything else that could baffle the old folks. Then he walked away from his parents and quietly said to me, "That's the first time I've really felt that my parents are old." Kind of sad. But believe me, we will be repeating that story, poking fun at his parents and getting tons of laughs for years to come.

HOW TO THREATEN A PRESCHOOLER

I have tried nearly everything to get my daughter to do things like stop jumping off high things or pick up her room. Nothing works. Bribes, also known as rewards, don't work. Threats of bodily harm don't work. Actual bodily harm doesn't work. Discussion of appropriate behavior does not work. Praise for good behavior? Doesn't frickin' work. So I shall list all the ways that don't work in order to brainstorm a new idea that will.

• Bad parent: Don't do that or I will give you a whuppin'.
• Concerned parent: Please stop that honey, you could get hurt.
• Loud parent: GET DOWN! I am NOT taking you to the emergency room!
• Graphic yet touchy-feely: If you fall, you are going to crack your head open and all of your brains will come out. How will that make you feel? It will make me soooo sad.
• Shame based: Stop that before someone who works here comes over tells you to stop.
• Bribe threat: If you don't stop, you won't get any gum/cookies/ice cream.
• Instant bribe: Stop it now and I will give you this gum. (Two minutes later threaten to take the gum back for non-compliance.)
• Errand-running parent: Stop that right now. We don't have time to go to the emergency room today. We still have to get dad's shirts at the dry cleaner.
• Teaching to hate the poor: Pick up your toys or I will take them to the Goodwill. I'm sure the less fortunate kids will take good care of them.

So by now I should have some fabulous ideas...but no. I ain't got nuthin. I am praying it is a phase.

OPERATION AGGRAVATION

This is what The Girl's agenda looked like on Friday:

• 6 am - wake up early (WTF? I usually sleep til 7:30! oh well!) and watch PBS while Daddy tries to snooze on the couch with me
• 7 - wake Mama up again, this time using the patented Cock-a-doodle-do (CADD) Method; Daddy goes back to bed
• 7:15 - annoy Mama by peeing in the shower (with Mama is in the shower too)
• 7:45 - wake Daddy up again using the CADD Method
• 8 - Cuddle up on couch wrapped in towels and comforter to watch more TV
• 8:30 - start snoring on the couch when Mama tries to feed me breakfast
• 9 - wake slowly and grudgingly as Mama tries to put tights and leotard on for tap class
• 9:30 - Wolf down a pb&j on the way to Starbucks (sheesh! Mama HAS to have a chai) then decide I need to pee just as we are getting back into the car
• 9:45 - tap my little heart out
• 11 - begin full frontal assault on Mama's nerves while at Costco by trying to touch everything and refusing to stay seated in cart (despite bribe of gum)
• 11:45 - back at home completely undress in order to go potty; get body wedged in toilet, butt in the water; drop tiara in toilet as I am helped out of predicament by Mama; gleefully climb into the bathtub for second bath of the day
• 12-12:45 pm - ignore hearty lunch, ignore new chalk for blackboard and continue to annoy Mama during her computer time
• 12:50 - ask to draw with chalk on front porch but actually run away to neighbor's house
• 12:52 - grudgingly return home when nosy neighbor thinks I shouldn't be outside alone
• 12:53 - Mama is mortified! Hahahahahahaha!
• 1:30 - wear Mama down so she agrees to take me swimming with friend
• 2-3 - as I get into the pool, say "The water is frickin' warm!" in front of friend and parent of friend; get out and pee on the grass behind planter at the pool (cuz I can't just pee in the pool like the rest of the frickin' kids); jump back in; swim; swim; swim; unknowingly splash Mama a lot; continue splashing after Mama points it out and asks me to stop; swim really well; jump in to Mama more
• 3-3:30 - get out, get dressed, have snacks, head for home
• 3:45 - look at fish store before going to Von's; writhe on floor after viewing all fish and anemones, dirtying pants a little
• 4 - continue Operation Aggravation in the brief 5-minute trip to Von's by first laying in the basket of the cart, then repeatedly squirming, completely dirtying my THIRD outfit of the day in the process.
• 4:30-5 - blah blah OpAg still going strong; play in backyard; chase cats around the yard; plead several times to be liberated from toy-filled backyard to unsafe & unmonitored front yard; say please; find only muddy spot in yard and squish it between toes; wipe most off outside, but attempt to "wash" feet in toilet; make mess; yell for help from mom; enjoy third bath (not counting swimming pool); eat apple & juice in the tub!
• 5:30 - Mama said I can't get out of bathtub until Daddy is home.
• 5:32 - Get out of bathtub without telling Mama. Oops, Dad's not home yet. Play in room with blocks and other fun stuff completely naked and wet because Mama says she's too crabby to deal with me.
• 6 - Daddy's home! Greet him as long lost hero.
• 6:02 - Begin Operation Aggravation on Daddy.
• 6:10 - Walk with parents to dinner up the street; dawdle; lose one fuchsia croc in middle of crosswalk as 10 cars wait; get indignant; drive Daddy over the edge while Mama walks ahead acting as if she doesn't know us; cry
• 6:30 - eat; talk loud; try to escape under table (BTW did you know there is gum under there?); put shoes on table; put feet on table; attempt to lay on table
• 7-8 - back at home try to stay away from Mommy and play only with Daddy, per Daddy's stern directions; follow Mama from room to room asking for stuff and telling her stories
• 8:30 - attempt to draw out bedtime by asking to read one million books; agree to three books
• 8:45 - lights out; tell Mama I'm not tired and run to Daddy; eat yogurt
• 9 - plead for teeeeeeveeeeeeee; get put back in bed; continue to anger Mama by saying "I'm not tired" despite red, droopy eyes and multiple yawns
• 9:02 - Uh oh, Mama called Daddy in for backup. Grudgingly go to sleep with mean Daddy while mean Mama does laundry.
• 9:05 - dream of ways I can perfect the CAAD Method and continue OpAg on both parents. Look sweet while sleeping.

So to recap: three baths, innumerable outfits, a tiara in the toilet, a stuck kid in toilet, feet in toilet, swimming, tap dance, eating, playing, making me crazy. Today was a bad one. Naps must be worked back into the rotation. Maybe tomorrow will be better. On the bright side, no one died.

FREAKISH SHOE & EARRING BUYING SPREE

I rarely buy shoes. The last two pair of shoes I bought were Crocs - black maryjanes last year and regular black Crocs at Christmas '05. Dude. But for some unknown reason in the past three weeks I have purchased three new pairs of shoes, all with peep toes and none of them made by Crocs. Red slingback flats with white piping & button detail from Urban Outfitters, black & white peep-toe sneakers by BC Footwear, and peep-toe flats in ZEBRA off Ebay! Damn, I really am crazy.

Then I lost my mind completely and bought jewelry. A sassy bracelet & earrings at Macy's and two pair of cheapy sorta-50s/sorta-80s retro plastic-y earrings at one of those tween shops at the mall. I know - crazy fucking lunatic is what I said too! And I think I'm gonna go to Forever 21 to go check out some rings and maybe another pair of under $5 earrings. I am teetering on the brink.

I really think my subconscious is driving this whole crazy buying spree because I'm going to Vegas in three short weeks. Nothing says Vegas like a new pair of zebra peep-toe flats and large cheap earrings (to match the very large hair I get in the desert).

Gawd almighty I need this trip. I need these shoes & earring. Maybe Vegas, Vonnie and zebra peep toes will save me from the daily insanity of a preschooler who naps irregularly and knows how to punch each and every one of my buttons. Peep toes to the rescue.

SMOKE GETS IN MY EYES

The Kid & I were up at the in-laws' for a couple nights while The Hubby is in Sarasota. The MIL offered to do a load of wash last night and I jumped at the chance to return home with clean clothes. This morning they were neatly folded on the kitchen table and when I packed our bags I put the pile of clean clothes on top of my dirty clothes. I opened the bag five hours later... wuh, wuh, vurp. The overwhelming smell of smoke nearly made me barf. The clean & dirty clothes are now in my washer (with an extra rinse cycle). They don't smoke in the house, just in the garage. The washer & dryer are in the garage. She folds clean laundry in the house. So does the smoke just seep into the dryer? Ugh. Shiiiiiiver. Ugh. And just so I don't make this mistake again, I am getting a tattoo that says, "Smoke ≠ Downy."

In other unbelievable news, The Girl's grandparents said that if a boy has "-ez, -burg, or -stein" at the end of his name, she can't marry him. So the arranged marriages hubby & I had hoped to line up with the Gutierrez, Lopez, Steinburg or Hammerstein families are apparently a no-go.

I'LL GET YOU MY PRETTY

The Girl has been collecting Wizard of Oz dolls from the McDonald's Happy Meals. OK, so kill me, I have been collecting them! Hey, they are Madame Alexander. That used to mean something (before they sold their soul to corporate hell and outsourced to China, said the childhood collector). Anywho, we have a veritable plethora of Wicked Witch dolls (four) because she won't let me switch them at the drive-thru window as I paw through the bag. The Girl thinks The Wicked Witch is quite pretty, and aside from the fact she is green, this Madame Alexander version is cute. The Girl has not seen the movie, so she thinks witches are pretty and nice and dress in black.

Cue the uncomfortable scene at the grocery store...

Minding our own business in the produce section, we pass an older lady wearing an oddly shaped black straw hat, a billowy black gauze shirt over white capris, with black open-toe sandals. Suddenly, The Girl announces, "Hey mom, that lady looks like a witch!" I died. Then I quietly added, "Huh huh huh. She's really into the Wizard of Oz and loves the witch. Um sorry. Huh huh huh, ahem." Then I died again. The lady said in a boozy Southern drawl and one wandering eye, "That's fine. She can call me a witch anytime."

For some unknown reason as I retreated, I took a quick peek at her feet. And what did I see? LONG TOENAILS! Giant freakishly long yet unpainted or filed toenails. TOENAILS A WITCH WOULD HAVE. Then I barfed. And died again.

PEEP GOES TO THE PARK

I went a bit nuts this week. The other moms at the park ignored me while I did a little photo shoot on the picnic table. I don't know why they shunned me. As if they've never photographed Easter candy and toys frolicking?!?! Freaks.

more here

MY CRAZY JUNIOR BAG LADY

My child just rescued a scrap of wrapping paper from the trash can. (editor's note: Yes, I know I should have recycled it in the first place, but shut up for a minute while I get to the point, OK?!?). She is having separation issues with things. Things like tires, dead plants, water bottle caps and apparently, used wrapping paper.

I had a flat tire last week and as the tow truck driver was taking the "worn out" tire off, she asked, "What are you going to do with my old tire? But I loooooooove my old tire!!!" Waaaaaaaa/cue tears. Seriously. She continued to cry when he put the tire in the trunk for repair later (even though we both knew it was a goner).

That night at Costco, as we used some of The Hubby's hard-earned bonus on four new tires for my car, The Girl again started to wail about how she loved her old tires and didn't want new ones.

She cried yesterday as I pulled several brown sticks that used to be coleus plants out of pots on the porch and replaced them with pretty new flowers.

Today's drama was the wrapping paper from a gift from Auntie Gerri. How heartless am I? I tossed it in the trash. She found it, saved it and wailed about my misdeed.

Could this be her way of dealing with loss/death? Or am I over analyzing? Am I pushing my death-agenda on her?

I think I will ask her teacher and the preschool director tomorrow. They know all about that developmental phase shit. Or maybe I will just Google "crazy junior bag lady compulsive horder."

THE LITTLE SHITTER

I can no longer empty The Kid's potty without vomiting. I need to put that plastic eyesore in the garbage tonight. Unfortunately, it is filled with shit right now and I would vomit if I went near it. This started about 10 days ago - the barfing, not the shitting. One day, I had no problem transferring her waste from the red plastic bucket thingy into the toilet. The next...urp, urp, BARF. First I thought I was pregnant, because I had a hair-trigger gag reflex when pregnant with The Girl. I peed on a stick and only saw one line. Days later I continued to barf but got my period, so pregnancy is ruled out. Now just the thought of it (shit), sends me heaving.

The Girl has no problems going on the "big potty," she just likes the scale of the little one. And who can blame the kid. Would you want to perch your bare ass on top of a mile-high Jacuzzi with no hand rails or footrest when there's a perfectly sized potty available? I didn't think so. So out of sight, out of mind. And goodbye gag reflex.

I called the The Hubby and let him know there is a "present" waiting for him. Tonight will be the night we say goodbye to the little shitter.

THE SAD STORY OF THE BLOG MUTE

There is stuff going on. Nothing to be alarmed at, just the usual things, funny things, life, etc. Unfortunately I no longer have the ability to write them down. It's like I suddenly became blog mute. Really, I can write. I write funny things. I write mostly truthful things. I just don't have the ability to do it here, on my blog, the place I usually write these sorts of things. I don't know what it is. OK I might know what it is in a "general crappy-feeling" kind of way.

Something is not quite right. I know that's why I take the meds, but really, something else is off. Not physical. No aches or pains. More like a general feeling of waiting for something to happen. Will it be bad? Will it be neutral? Will it just be a change? I have no f-ing clue. The only way I can put it into words is to compare it to a high school trauma/drama. Remember that time when your parents found out one of your secrets (smokes in the backpack, birth control pills in your sock drawer, that note your hot boyfriend wrote detailing what he wanted to do to your girl parts) and you knew you were going to get a lecture or that "I'm so disappointed talk?" That is sort of what it's like. Kind of like dread. But not quite that bad.

I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. But the first one never dropped so I am at a loss over what this is about.

So for now I will chock it up to a bout of the blues due to my dad's surgery (If he died, would I be an orphan?), combined with my lack of a break from The Girl (looking forward to preschool Mon.), and the ongoing cold/laryngitis/possible sinus problems of The Hubby.

On the bright side, I am going to Vegas on Valentine's day. ALL. BY. MYSELF. More on that later. Damn, typing that made me feel a bit better already.

NOT ENOUGH TIME

Thanks to Fussy.

UP YOURS!

Nothing like posting every day in Nov. and then taking a two week vacation. Woo hoo. And it's not as if I was in tropical South America taking a zip line tour through the rain forest. I was here. At home. Doing "fun" stuff like wrapping presents, going to the park, trying (and failing) to clean up pine needles and getting a colonoscopy.

For the uninitiated, my mother was diagnosed at 59 with colon cancer and died just shy of her 63rd birthday, 10 years ago. Her father was diagnosed with colon cancer at 59, died at 60. Since I really don't want to keep that family tradition going, I had my first colonoscopy, having reached the magical insurance-company-approved age of 40.

After enduring a "bowel prep" Sunday (you don't want to know), followed Monday by a really long camera shoved through my *cough* colon *cough*, I am proud to announce I ain't got nothin' bad goin' on in there. Woot!

The nurse and I exchanged ways which we would not mind dying. Hers was to fall off a horse and be kicked in the head at the age of 91, thus dying with her boots on. I opted for a tragic chaise lounge/cocktail umbrella accident poolside in Maui at the age of 90. How do you want to go?

THANKSGIVING RECAP

I am a traditional turkey kind of gal. We don't fry in my family. The Hubby's family fries their holiday turkey. It just doesn't taste the same with all those weird spices. It's nice and tasty, but doesn't taste like a traditional baked turkey. I am all about the taste of the holidays. So it goes.

The wind was blowing quite hard in scenic Santa Maria and blew out the flame on the deep fryer several times. It also took more than an hour and a half to heat the oil (usually takes 35 min). Then it never quite got to the desired temp, so the FIL just cooked it longer. Instead of eating at 3, we ate at 5:30. And despite my trepidation, the turkey was moist and tasty. Side dishes? A tad overcooked but still tasty. Yum, yum all around.

We took The Girl to the park at 3:30 when we realized the timetable was seriously fucked. So she slept through dinner. Throw in a lot of wine for the MIL and we have ourselves a party. And no, the SIL & BIL did not attend. They didn't even call to wish the parents a Happy Thanksgiving. Bad karma, bad manners.

All in all a harmless family holiday.

HORRIBLE & AWFUL

This is really horrible and awful, so of course you need to go see the squirrel decanter. I share good things with my friends. Or not.

MEXICAN CHEESE MADE IT BETTER

Um, hi. Everything is ok. I am off the ledge. Hubby is home. We went to the zoo and La Supe-Rica on Sunday and all is good.

SEVEN DAYS IS ONE TOO MANY

The Hubby has been gone six days. He'll be back home by lunchtime tomorrow (Sat.). I have the great fortune of in-laws who love to have us visit when The Hubby is out of town. They get to spoil The Girl and I get to read a book. Win-win. Except when there are germs involved. The Girl has had a cold all week and I went ahead and did the honest & upright thing by telling the in-laws. They are germ-averse folks, not the "hey come on up and we'll make her chicken soup folks." So we didn't go visit them Thurs. - Sat. as planned. Instead we stayed home and I have kept The Girl happy with trips to the park, to the park and to the park, tried to keep up with the laundry and keep my my shit together (aka sanity). Throw in two trips to KFC this week and it's a fucking party.

This morning she announced that her stuffed pig Paulette had to go to the Pig Park. "And where is the Pig Park," I asked. "Right next to the Dog Park," she answered. So we went. Then I went home and cut back the overgrown flowers and plants in the backyard so The Hubby would only have to mow the lawn this weekend. And then we went to another park at the beach later. No nap for either of us. She didn't want to eat anything for dinner except a banana, grapes and carrots. No amount of bribery or threats of no TV were going to get the mac & cheese down. She was obstinate, violent, crabby, tired and very, very three. Then I lost it and yelled. Then I cried and wailed.

She started to cry. Her hair was already damp from running around and from the tantrum. She looked up at me all wet and red-faced and pleaded for a hug. "Please hug me Momma. Hug me. Hug me." She kept saying it even as I had her in a tight bear hug with tears streaming down both our faces. Then my heart broke because she said, "Please don't cry anymore, Momma. I'll be good."

I just wish he could have come home today. I really tried to keep my shit together, but sometimes I just can't. And no amount of deep breaths or rationalizing that she is only three is going to help. Six days is my limit for being a single parent. A shower and mommy milk in the big bed made it better for The Girl. But what makes it better for me? Why do I doubt my ability? Why is this the one job I always feel I'm going to get fired from?

MOM ON FIRE

Am I the only mother who wants to run away from her family when she gets her period? Everything they do, and I mean EVERYTHING, drives me nuts. My husband snores every night. When do I get all aggro about it at 3 a.m.? Yep. Then there's the whole drama about getting The Girl to wear shoes. And the drama over selecting the correct Charlie & Lola episode from the 15 that are on the TiVo. Christ in a sidecar. I need a drink. And more meds. And another drink. And a nap. And maybe some candy. Oh my god. See's Candy. That's it. We are heading to the mall right now.

EDITED TO ADD: After 4 Butterscotch Squares, 4 California Brittle & 2 Scotch Kisses, I'm feeling alright.

SEPTEMBER DOESN'T TOTALLY SUCK

As my drunk friend Jenny pointed out, I should embrace the month of September like the goddess it is - the kids are back in school and moms everywhere can finally shower and shave their legs in peace again. So I think I will embrace it. Right after my shower.

And another reason September rocks - Sept. 19 is International Talk Like A Pirate Day. The reason I remembered the date is because the newsletter from The Girl's school had it listed on their monthly calendar. Their mascot is a pirate so it's a very big day for them. And for pirates worldwide, of course.

By the way, did you notice these in my Stylehive? No self-respecting pirate would use a wimpy plain Band-Aid® or some lame My Little Pony® bandage to cover a wound.