I know a falling star can’t fall forever
But let’s never stop falling in love
Friday, May 29, 2009
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Get Your Tickets Here Folks
Little voice calling out from the bathroom, "Mama, Mama."
Response, "Coming! Do you need help?"
Little voice, "No, but you have to check this out! It's bright green!!"
Wow. I can hardly contain my excitement.
Check please.
Response, "Coming! Do you need help?"
Little voice, "No, but you have to check this out! It's bright green!!"
Wow. I can hardly contain my excitement.
Check please.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Pulling Teeth
Next in the long list of activities we have to strong arm our kids to do (e.g., brush teeth, do homework, clean up toys, take shower), comes Son #1's reluctance to write thank you notes for all of his birthday gifts.
Son #1 (whining): I'm tooooooo tired.
Me: You're not too tired to play with your Legos; you're just too tired to thank your Aunt and Uncle for them. They'll think you're ungrateful.
Son #1 (whining more loudly): I'm not ungrateful. I'm just tired right now.
Son #2 (picking up a copy of Diary of a Wimpy Kid): It's easy. You just fill in the blanks.
"Dear Aunt Loretta: Thank you so much for the awesome pants! How did you know I wanted that for Christmas? I love the way the pants look on my legs! All my friends will be so jealous that I have my very own pants. Thank you for making this the best Christmas ever!"
So darned charming, right? And that Jeff Kinney is onto something. I'm looking forward to getting some form letters in the mail tonight.
Just kidding. He can't get off the hook that easily.
Son #1 (whining): I'm tooooooo tired.
Me: You're not too tired to play with your Legos; you're just too tired to thank your Aunt and Uncle for them. They'll think you're ungrateful.
Son #1 (whining more loudly): I'm not ungrateful. I'm just tired right now.
Son #2 (picking up a copy of Diary of a Wimpy Kid): It's easy. You just fill in the blanks.
"Dear Aunt Loretta: Thank you so much for the awesome pants! How did you know I wanted that for Christmas? I love the way the pants look on my legs! All my friends will be so jealous that I have my very own pants. Thank you for making this the best Christmas ever!"
So darned charming, right? And that Jeff Kinney is onto something. I'm looking forward to getting some form letters in the mail tonight.
Just kidding. He can't get off the hook that easily.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Memorial Day 2009
Such a perfect, relaxing, sunny day off. Grateful for the troops and especially thankful for those who've lost their lives throughout the decades defending the freedom we enjoy in this country--including Kevin Mowl who I never met but whose family lives in my hometown and, I'm sure, is still grieving today. We take so much for granted.
I saw this quote in an old body + soul that I was reading in the hammock today and it seemed apropos for the day.
"To live each day as if it were your last, you would be trying to remedy all the mistakes you had made, all the regret, all the things unsaid. If you live each day as if it were your first, you are freed from all obligations, all guilt, all regret."*
Speaking of freedom, I need to embrace such a positive perspective.
Got a lust for life, yeah, a lust for life.
And now for some spare ribs that the hubby has been barbecuing all afternoon.
*Breathing Space: Twelve Lessons for the Modern Woman by Katrina Repka and Alan Finger
I saw this quote in an old body + soul that I was reading in the hammock today and it seemed apropos for the day.
"To live each day as if it were your last, you would be trying to remedy all the mistakes you had made, all the regret, all the things unsaid. If you live each day as if it were your first, you are freed from all obligations, all guilt, all regret."*
Speaking of freedom, I need to embrace such a positive perspective.
Got a lust for life, yeah, a lust for life.
And now for some spare ribs that the hubby has been barbecuing all afternoon.
*Breathing Space: Twelve Lessons for the Modern Woman by Katrina Repka and Alan Finger
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Smokin' Sunday
Went to Charlotte Beach today for the Roc City Rib Fest. The lines for the top barbecue joint were an estimated 90 people deep so we just had ribs and pulled pork sandwiches from other vendors. Seriously not nearly as good as the hubby's barbecue dishes but fun nonetheless.
The best part for me was spending a couple of hours on the beach in the sunshine. Not the best photo as you can barely see the water and the sailboats are tiny specks but the sand between my toes felt divine.
The perfect Sunday.
The best part for me was spending a couple of hours on the beach in the sunshine. Not the best photo as you can barely see the water and the sailboats are tiny specks but the sand between my toes felt divine.
The perfect Sunday.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Cause I'm a Blonde
I have two jokes in my repertoire. I've been telling the following since I was a kid.
Me: How many elephants can you fit in a mattabooboo?
Unsuspecting person in the wrong place at the right time: What's a mattabooboo?
Me: Nothing Yogi.
Yeah, it probably wasn't even funny when I was six (except that people pretend to laugh at kid jokes) but Yogi Bear references are clearly not funny now. Especially when the listener responds, "I don't know. How many?" D'oh.
Why can't I remember more jokes? Well, thanks to the New York Times, I now know and the reason smacks of an audible "duh."
Our brains are programmed to remember patterns. This is why we can sing along to the ABCs but would have difficulty remembering any other sequence of 26 letters. Jokes, by their very nature, veer off sharply from what's expected. (Otherwise, they wouldn't be funny.) As such, it's inherent in my little brain's functionality to forget the punchline. The pattern is disrupted.
I feel so much better about myself now.
In a nice twist, this research also confirms why I often did well on exams in college after not studying, attending class or even buying the books. I would study with others, listen to them chatting about the subject matter and put key points in lyric form to songs that I knew. If luck was on my side, the answers (and songs) would come back to me during the test.
I even remember the title of one such song, Behind Mud Walls, which was sung to the tune of Charlie Rich's Behind Closed Doors and helped me ace an anthropology exam. Given that I had time left at the end of the test, I wrote the whole song for my professor on the back of my test. Brownie points!
I took an IQ test and I flunked it of course,
I can't spell VW but I got a Porsche
'Cause I'm a blonde, B-L-I-N-D
'Cause I'm a blonde, don't you wish you were me?
Me: How many elephants can you fit in a mattabooboo?
Unsuspecting person in the wrong place at the right time: What's a mattabooboo?
Me: Nothing Yogi.
Yeah, it probably wasn't even funny when I was six (except that people pretend to laugh at kid jokes) but Yogi Bear references are clearly not funny now. Especially when the listener responds, "I don't know. How many?" D'oh.
Why can't I remember more jokes? Well, thanks to the New York Times, I now know and the reason smacks of an audible "duh."
Our brains are programmed to remember patterns. This is why we can sing along to the ABCs but would have difficulty remembering any other sequence of 26 letters. Jokes, by their very nature, veer off sharply from what's expected. (Otherwise, they wouldn't be funny.) As such, it's inherent in my little brain's functionality to forget the punchline. The pattern is disrupted.
I feel so much better about myself now.
In a nice twist, this research also confirms why I often did well on exams in college after not studying, attending class or even buying the books. I would study with others, listen to them chatting about the subject matter and put key points in lyric form to songs that I knew. If luck was on my side, the answers (and songs) would come back to me during the test.
I even remember the title of one such song, Behind Mud Walls, which was sung to the tune of Charlie Rich's Behind Closed Doors and helped me ace an anthropology exam. Given that I had time left at the end of the test, I wrote the whole song for my professor on the back of my test. Brownie points!
I took an IQ test and I flunked it of course,
I can't spell VW but I got a Porsche
'Cause I'm a blonde, B-L-I-N-D
'Cause I'm a blonde, don't you wish you were me?
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Chasing After the Wind
Last night, Son #1 was positioning his army men and tanks all over the family room floor and breathlessly chattering nonstop about squadrons, reconnaissance teams and surveillance missions. He even had a few men stationed on the mantle that I noticed as we headed off to bed. Snipers, he informed me.
In the midst of all of this, he noticed the book that I blogged about yesterday.
Son #1: Mama, you don't need to read a book about play. Just get down on the floor with me and think strategically.
Once again, trumped by a nine year old.
Why is this topic of happiness so interesting to me? Simply because I'm a chronic malcontent?
According to recently published research that my loving brother shared with me: I am not alone. Women's happiness has declined over the past 35 years both absolutely and relative to men. In other words, men may have been the primary beneficiaries of the women's movement! Go figure.
To make matters worse, it's all women. Married and single. Career women and homemakers. Childless women, women with families and single parents. All educational groups. All ages. All races (where known). It's universal: women are less satisfied with their family's financial situation, have become increasingly dissatisfied with the amount of available free time, feel decreased social cohesion, and are facing increased anxiety and neuroticism.
Why? Possibly because even though women have greater professional opportunities, we still carry the emotional burden for our families on top of it all. Or because we have so many outlets outside the home, we cannot be happy across all facets of our lives. Maybe our expectations grew and our lives are not measuring up.
Sound familiar? All I know is that I'm on a personal mission to end the misery and I don't think the antidote is found anywhere but within myself. And if I find in myself a desire that this world cannot satiate, I can only conclude that I was made for another world.
In the midst of all of this, he noticed the book that I blogged about yesterday.
Son #1: Mama, you don't need to read a book about play. Just get down on the floor with me and think strategically.
Once again, trumped by a nine year old.
Why is this topic of happiness so interesting to me? Simply because I'm a chronic malcontent?
According to recently published research that my loving brother shared with me: I am not alone. Women's happiness has declined over the past 35 years both absolutely and relative to men. In other words, men may have been the primary beneficiaries of the women's movement! Go figure.
To make matters worse, it's all women. Married and single. Career women and homemakers. Childless women, women with families and single parents. All educational groups. All ages. All races (where known). It's universal: women are less satisfied with their family's financial situation, have become increasingly dissatisfied with the amount of available free time, feel decreased social cohesion, and are facing increased anxiety and neuroticism.
Why? Possibly because even though women have greater professional opportunities, we still carry the emotional burden for our families on top of it all. Or because we have so many outlets outside the home, we cannot be happy across all facets of our lives. Maybe our expectations grew and our lives are not measuring up.
Sound familiar? All I know is that I'm on a personal mission to end the misery and I don't think the antidote is found anywhere but within myself. And if I find in myself a desire that this world cannot satiate, I can only conclude that I was made for another world.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Mini-weekend: Day 14
Sunshine. High in the mid-80s. What's not to like?
Instead of accomplishing anything constructive today, I took the opportunity to read the book play written by Stuart Brown, M.D. For someone seeking greater happiness in life, I'm a big proponent of elevating the status of play in our culture.
From a "play personality" perspective, I clearly belong in the "explorer" category. Not only do I love to travel, even if it's just shuttling the kids to D.C. for the weekend, I also enjoy seeking new perspectives in myself. This possibly explains why my bible study is so important to me, why I'm such an avid reader and why, stress levels aside, I enjoy the variety and constant learning found in management consulting. It also explains why I'm willing to engage in many of the activities my kids ask me to do. Normally, I wouldn't be the first to sign up for ice skating . . .
So how can I proactively bring more play into my daily life? I need to pay attention to the times when I'm so lost in an activity that I lose track of time -- and then I need to actively seek more of those activities. Writing, swimming, painting, dancing, reading, hanging with the family and going out with girlfriends. Upon brief reflection, however, I think I'm doing a pretty good job of play already!
No wonder my house is such a mess.
When the working day is done
Oh girls they wanna have fun
Oh girls just wanna have fun!
Instead of accomplishing anything constructive today, I took the opportunity to read the book play written by Stuart Brown, M.D. For someone seeking greater happiness in life, I'm a big proponent of elevating the status of play in our culture.
From a "play personality" perspective, I clearly belong in the "explorer" category. Not only do I love to travel, even if it's just shuttling the kids to D.C. for the weekend, I also enjoy seeking new perspectives in myself. This possibly explains why my bible study is so important to me, why I'm such an avid reader and why, stress levels aside, I enjoy the variety and constant learning found in management consulting. It also explains why I'm willing to engage in many of the activities my kids ask me to do. Normally, I wouldn't be the first to sign up for ice skating . . .
So how can I proactively bring more play into my daily life? I need to pay attention to the times when I'm so lost in an activity that I lose track of time -- and then I need to actively seek more of those activities. Writing, swimming, painting, dancing, reading, hanging with the family and going out with girlfriends. Upon brief reflection, however, I think I'm doing a pretty good job of play already!
No wonder my house is such a mess.
When the working day is done
Oh girls they wanna have fun
Oh girls just wanna have fun!
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
House of Pain
On Saturday, we took nine boys to Bounce-it-Out: a giant warehouse filled with bounce houses and inflatable slides.
The parents of one neighborhood boy couldn't take him so we drove him. They also couldn't find the invite so we agreed to sign his waiver. The hubby joked with the kid's dad as we drove away, "Say goodbye to Tommy. You might not ever see him again."
This kid couldn't be any cuter. Little guy with white blond hair and a sweet face. He's also the same kid who comes to visit and, next thing you know, is as high as possible in our trees and I'm fearing for his life. As the youngest of three, he's wilder than some of the other kids we know. Yet his parents are two of the most laid back people you could meet. His mom is like Martha Stewart and his dad is like a modern day Ward Cleaver.
At Bounce-it-Out, the hubby and I sat down at the quietest place we could find which was away from the mayhem and behind the snack bar. About five minutes later, an Indian kid is ushered over to the counter with what appears to be a broken nose. Blood everywhere. All over napkins, his hands, his mom's hands, etc. The teenage help is filling plastic gloves with ice. (Note: they need an RN on staff. Hence the waiver.)
I say to the hubby, "Oh, please don't let that happen to any of the kids with us!"
He responds, "Well, if it does, it'll be Tommy because we signed his waiver."
Not one minute later, Tommy comes running over, head in hands, crying. He points to a big, bulbous, purple lump forming on his temple. "I just smashed my head into that kid's nose."
Of course you did.
He calms down, returns to the scene of the crime and another kid, Keith, comes over clutching his belly. "My stomach hurts."
"What's the matter?" I ask as I'm thinking, "Oh Lord, here we go."
"Tommy just tackled me."
Of course he did!
I just hope my nightmares end soon.
I came to get down. I came to get down. So get out your seats and jump around. Jump around. Jump around. Jump around. Jump up. Jump up and get down.
Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump.
The parents of one neighborhood boy couldn't take him so we drove him. They also couldn't find the invite so we agreed to sign his waiver. The hubby joked with the kid's dad as we drove away, "Say goodbye to Tommy. You might not ever see him again."
This kid couldn't be any cuter. Little guy with white blond hair and a sweet face. He's also the same kid who comes to visit and, next thing you know, is as high as possible in our trees and I'm fearing for his life. As the youngest of three, he's wilder than some of the other kids we know. Yet his parents are two of the most laid back people you could meet. His mom is like Martha Stewart and his dad is like a modern day Ward Cleaver.
At Bounce-it-Out, the hubby and I sat down at the quietest place we could find which was away from the mayhem and behind the snack bar. About five minutes later, an Indian kid is ushered over to the counter with what appears to be a broken nose. Blood everywhere. All over napkins, his hands, his mom's hands, etc. The teenage help is filling plastic gloves with ice. (Note: they need an RN on staff. Hence the waiver.)
I say to the hubby, "Oh, please don't let that happen to any of the kids with us!"
He responds, "Well, if it does, it'll be Tommy because we signed his waiver."
Not one minute later, Tommy comes running over, head in hands, crying. He points to a big, bulbous, purple lump forming on his temple. "I just smashed my head into that kid's nose."
Of course you did.
He calms down, returns to the scene of the crime and another kid, Keith, comes over clutching his belly. "My stomach hurts."
"What's the matter?" I ask as I'm thinking, "Oh Lord, here we go."
"Tommy just tackled me."
Of course he did!
I just hope my nightmares end soon.
I came to get down. I came to get down. So get out your seats and jump around. Jump around. Jump around. Jump around. Jump up. Jump up and get down.
Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Wolfgang Puck
While playing hockey in the driveway yesterday, Son #2 flipped the puck in the air, raised his stick and quickly maneuvered so the puck landed perfectly on the outstretched, horizontal stick.
Then, without skipping a beat, he deadpanned, "Did somebody order a pizza?"
Then, without skipping a beat, he deadpanned, "Did somebody order a pizza?"
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Language Arts
Son #1 wanted to play his Nintendo on the way to the pool today.
Me: You don't have time -- the pool is only two feet from our house.
Son #1: Mama, two feet is still the driveway. I prefer it when you speak more literally.
Later, we went to Target to buy army men and other things for his birthday party goody bags. As we left, it began to pour.
Son #1: Will you go get the car and bring it to me? I don't want my gifts to get soiled.
Twice today I thought: where does he get his command of the English language? People, much less kids, don't speak like this, do they? Third grade must really be paying off.
Me: You don't have time -- the pool is only two feet from our house.
Son #1: Mama, two feet is still the driveway. I prefer it when you speak more literally.
Later, we went to Target to buy army men and other things for his birthday party goody bags. As we left, it began to pour.
Son #1: Will you go get the car and bring it to me? I don't want my gifts to get soiled.
Twice today I thought: where does he get his command of the English language? People, much less kids, don't speak like this, do they? Third grade must really be paying off.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Not So Fluid
I know why my shoulder hurts so much lately and it's not (solely) the improper ergonomic workspace here at my desk.
I swim like Elaine Benes dances.
I swim like Elaine Benes dances.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Mini-Weekend: Day 13
Thirteen! Never thought it would get this far. And it's May 13: my sister's birthday. Happy Birthday Susie!
Today I went to the dentist, swam, did a bit o' yoga in the steam room, relaxed in the sauna, got my haircut, read in the hammock and (yes!) bought el cheapo glasses and sunglasses at BJ's Wholesale after realizing that I was about to drop more money on worthless pseudo-fashion than I would spend on a week in Europe.
I'm driving to the airport right now.
Today I went to the dentist, swam, did a bit o' yoga in the steam room, relaxed in the sauna, got my haircut, read in the hammock and (yes!) bought el cheapo glasses and sunglasses at BJ's Wholesale after realizing that I was about to drop more money on worthless pseudo-fashion than I would spend on a week in Europe.
I'm driving to the airport right now.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Bad Day: #5
One of my clients intentionally uses sex appeal as a tool to bring in new business. As a result, she is always getting hit on and combating "unwanted" advances. My boss and I were talking about her unconventional tactics and how, conversely, we're never hit on -- which, clearly, is a good thing.
Then I remembered a nightmare of an afternoon that happened a few years ago. I was working at a client site when the short, chubby, red headed, white eyelash/eyebrowed (and married with children) VP of Sales said to me, "The guys and I were out drinking last night and we all agree, you're a MILF."
I stupidly didn't know the term at the time so I asked, "What's a MILF?"
He responded by whispering "A mother I would love to . . . " and mouthing the last word.
I could have crawled under a rug. Instead, I said, "Sheesh, wait till I tell my husband that one!" Then I bolted back to my office in their facility and sat with my hands on my keyboard completely unable to type. I'm not sure if I've ever turned brick red but I was mortified enough that it felt like my face was burning.
He came in a minute later and apologized.
When I got home that night, the hubby was unfazed. "He meant it as a compliment." As much as I understood that logically, it felt ridiculously unprofessional (to say the least). With a few years between me and that incident, I now agree that I was overreacting. I never want a client to say anything like that to me again but worse things can happen in life.
A few months ago I went out to dinner with a friend who, at the time, was dating a 50 year old woman who has grandchildren. He said to me, "At what point did I stop dating MILFs and move on to GILFs?"
I guess that's the silver lining: at least I'm not a GILF. But, when I do hit the golden age of GILF, I'm guessing it's better to be a GILF than not . . .
Then I remembered a nightmare of an afternoon that happened a few years ago. I was working at a client site when the short, chubby, red headed, white eyelash/eyebrowed (and married with children) VP of Sales said to me, "The guys and I were out drinking last night and we all agree, you're a MILF."
I stupidly didn't know the term at the time so I asked, "What's a MILF?"
He responded by whispering "A mother I would love to . . . " and mouthing the last word.
I could have crawled under a rug. Instead, I said, "Sheesh, wait till I tell my husband that one!" Then I bolted back to my office in their facility and sat with my hands on my keyboard completely unable to type. I'm not sure if I've ever turned brick red but I was mortified enough that it felt like my face was burning.
He came in a minute later and apologized.
When I got home that night, the hubby was unfazed. "He meant it as a compliment." As much as I understood that logically, it felt ridiculously unprofessional (to say the least). With a few years between me and that incident, I now agree that I was overreacting. I never want a client to say anything like that to me again but worse things can happen in life.
A few months ago I went out to dinner with a friend who, at the time, was dating a 50 year old woman who has grandchildren. He said to me, "At what point did I stop dating MILFs and move on to GILFs?"
I guess that's the silver lining: at least I'm not a GILF. But, when I do hit the golden age of GILF, I'm guessing it's better to be a GILF than not . . .
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Fashion: Turn to the Left
I bought a pair of cute little glasses at a trunk show at 20/20 on Third Ave. when still living in NYC. Today I was once again shopping for glasses given that mine snapped in half. The frigid air in my car last winter proved to be too much. And, contrary to the claims of men everywhere, duct tape is not a miracle panacea. I know because, fashionista that I am, I tried.
While I am soooooooo over little glasses fashion trend (over a decade is a bit long, no?), my choices around here are slim. Other options include looking like bloody Sarah Palin or adopting a Harry Potter-esque style. Right now, I'm leaning towards Mr. Magoo.
What I really want to know is: what eyewear is in style in Paris? Milan? And when are these trends going to hit the hinterlands of America? Can't a cute pair of specs make their way across the lake from Toronto in a bottle for me? Not that it matters. Around here it's de rigueur to wear crocs vs. Stuart Weitzman stilettos. I guess my eyes can be poorly dressed, as well.
We are the goon squad and we're coming to town. Beep beep.
While I am soooooooo over little glasses fashion trend (over a decade is a bit long, no?), my choices around here are slim. Other options include looking like bloody Sarah Palin or adopting a Harry Potter-esque style. Right now, I'm leaning towards Mr. Magoo.
What I really want to know is: what eyewear is in style in Paris? Milan? And when are these trends going to hit the hinterlands of America? Can't a cute pair of specs make their way across the lake from Toronto in a bottle for me? Not that it matters. Around here it's de rigueur to wear crocs vs. Stuart Weitzman stilettos. I guess my eyes can be poorly dressed, as well.
We are the goon squad and we're coming to town. Beep beep.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Mini-weekend: Day 12
Celebrated Son #1's ninth birthday yesterday which he entitled "BBE" for best birthday ever! Legos (exactly what he wanted), gift cards, cash, yellow balloons, a Dragon Fable Dragon Amulet and an EyeClops BioniCam make for a BBE, for sure.
I also went to Son #2's classroom where the kids sang songs and read stories to all of the moms for Mother's Day. I hung out with the only other two moms that I know from that class. One is a virologist and graduate school professor who had to reschedule her 2:00 p.m. class. The other is an OB/GYN who had to reschedule all of her patients that afternoon. It was so stinkin' cute that it's worth it. Some other mom blew into the classroom over 15 minutes late and timed perfectly to interrupt her son's story. Instead of quietly taking a seat, she stopped him midsentence and loudly proclaimed "Hi honey, I'm here" to which he quietly responded, "You're really late." She then began to laugh and tell him to carry on as if she had blessed him (and all of us) with her almighty presence. I can understand the tardiness; God only knows what happened. The shameless manner in which she descended upon us, however, was somewhat loathsome.
My favorite part was the faux People magazine cover where my picture was drawn, colored (yes, I have a large beak) and labeled as "Most Beautiful Mom of 2009" and Son #2's story inside talks about how I love to garden. Garden! If I didn't see the abysmal state of our "garden," I might think that the kids had another mom on the side. A more farm fresh version of myself. Maybe one who wears an apron and prepares organic meals. Now that would be beautiful!
I also went to Son #2's classroom where the kids sang songs and read stories to all of the moms for Mother's Day. I hung out with the only other two moms that I know from that class. One is a virologist and graduate school professor who had to reschedule her 2:00 p.m. class. The other is an OB/GYN who had to reschedule all of her patients that afternoon. It was so stinkin' cute that it's worth it. Some other mom blew into the classroom over 15 minutes late and timed perfectly to interrupt her son's story. Instead of quietly taking a seat, she stopped him midsentence and loudly proclaimed "Hi honey, I'm here" to which he quietly responded, "You're really late." She then began to laugh and tell him to carry on as if she had blessed him (and all of us) with her almighty presence. I can understand the tardiness; God only knows what happened. The shameless manner in which she descended upon us, however, was somewhat loathsome.
My favorite part was the faux People magazine cover where my picture was drawn, colored (yes, I have a large beak) and labeled as "Most Beautiful Mom of 2009" and Son #2's story inside talks about how I love to garden. Garden! If I didn't see the abysmal state of our "garden," I might think that the kids had another mom on the side. A more farm fresh version of myself. Maybe one who wears an apron and prepares organic meals. Now that would be beautiful!
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Battle for My Sanity in 3D
The parenting manual should have come with directions on how to plan a birthday party for a nine year old boy.
Simple wish: to see Battle for Terra in 3D with a handful of friends
Challenge #1: theaters cannot tell you if a movie will even be in their theater until the Tuesday before that same weekend
Challenge #2: manager who plans parties begins work at 9:00 p.m. (seriously)
Challenge #3: every kid in town is on a different sports schedule so the window of opportunity is limited to Saturday after 4:00 p.m.
Solution #1: put all parents on hold (yes, we're having a party but we don't know what/when)
Challenge #4: movie got horrific reviews and was already sent to DVD
Challenge #5: nothing else is coming out that is rated G or PG
Challenge #6: every other establishment like bounce-it-out is booked solid on Saturday
Challenge #7: Sunday is Mother's Day
Solution #2: leave parents hanging while son cries inconsolably AND never, ever, ever, ever plan a birthday party around a craptacular movie, ever
Pool party at the Holiday Inn anyone?
Simple wish: to see Battle for Terra in 3D with a handful of friends
Challenge #1: theaters cannot tell you if a movie will even be in their theater until the Tuesday before that same weekend
Challenge #2: manager who plans parties begins work at 9:00 p.m. (seriously)
Challenge #3: every kid in town is on a different sports schedule so the window of opportunity is limited to Saturday after 4:00 p.m.
Solution #1: put all parents on hold (yes, we're having a party but we don't know what/when)
Challenge #4: movie got horrific reviews and was already sent to DVD
Challenge #5: nothing else is coming out that is rated G or PG
Challenge #6: every other establishment like bounce-it-out is booked solid on Saturday
Challenge #7: Sunday is Mother's Day
Solution #2: leave parents hanging while son cries inconsolably AND never, ever, ever, ever plan a birthday party around a craptacular movie, ever
Pool party at the Holiday Inn anyone?
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
What Not to Wear
At a client site this afternoon, I put my safety goggles on to go out on the production floor.
Upon seeing me, the Quality Manager asked, "Would you like another pair that looks better?"
OMG! Is Helen Gurley Brown out there working the lathe? Am I about to walk the red carpet to the CNC machine? I knew I should have worn more lipstick.
Apparently I don't look like Paris Hilton in safety glasses. So nice of him to notice.
Upon seeing me, the Quality Manager asked, "Would you like another pair that looks better?"
OMG! Is Helen Gurley Brown out there working the lathe? Am I about to walk the red carpet to the CNC machine? I knew I should have worn more lipstick.
Apparently I don't look like Paris Hilton in safety glasses. So nice of him to notice.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Meet the Dress
Last night, I dreamed that I was having dinner with Tom Brokaw. I ran into him at the gym so I left wearing a wet towel with a blazer over it. I was hoping he would assume it was a dress given the extreme confidence I was exuding.
Not exactly a nightmare but a little surprising. Not the towel so much but Tom Brokaw? And, wait, me confident?
Not exactly a nightmare but a little surprising. Not the towel so much but Tom Brokaw? And, wait, me confident?
Saturday, May 2, 2009
This Will Make You Cry
Click on this link to meet Matt Logelin who writes about life with his beautiful baby girl, who was born just over a year ago, and about life without the baby's mom who died 36 hours after the birth.
When you're done reading (and sobbing), click here and donate money to the Liz Logelin Foundation to financially assist families as they deal with the loss of their loved ones, and struggle to move forward.
When you're done reading (and sobbing), click here and donate money to the Liz Logelin Foundation to financially assist families as they deal with the loss of their loved ones, and struggle to move forward.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Mini-weekend: Foiled
I went to a quick 8:00 a.m. meeting on the other side of the city yesterday. On my day off.
It didn't end until after four. No food. No water. No break. No mini-weekend.
Last night, we went to the elementary school ice cream social. In the parking lot on the way home, Son #1 let out the worst gas ever known to mankind. Even with all the windows open, I thought I was going to die.
Son #1: Now I'm glad Jack didn't come home with us. But doesn't it smell like Toaster Strudel?
Hubby: Not like any Toaster Strudel I've ever smelled.
Son #1: Well, that's what happens if I eat Toaster Strudel or white powdered donuts. The other day, I let a whole series of these go during class. And today I popped off a big one during lunch.
Can life get any better than this? I guess that's what happens when you can't blame the dog.
On a related note: are little girls like this?
It didn't end until after four. No food. No water. No break. No mini-weekend.
Last night, we went to the elementary school ice cream social. In the parking lot on the way home, Son #1 let out the worst gas ever known to mankind. Even with all the windows open, I thought I was going to die.
Son #1: Now I'm glad Jack didn't come home with us. But doesn't it smell like Toaster Strudel?
Hubby: Not like any Toaster Strudel I've ever smelled.
Son #1: Well, that's what happens if I eat Toaster Strudel or white powdered donuts. The other day, I let a whole series of these go during class. And today I popped off a big one during lunch.
Can life get any better than this? I guess that's what happens when you can't blame the dog.
On a related note: are little girls like this?
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