If you've been paying any attention at all in the last few weeks, you've noticed the new energy in the air. Activism seems to be alive and well. I'm loving it!
It's like somebody poked the big gay beast. And they poked him at the perfect time, a time when people are finally starting to feel some hope. The fire is lit and it isn't going out anytime soon.
I've never felt like I could make a difference in any large way. I could only take solace that a lifetime of small but deliberate acts would add up.
I can teach my kids about respect, empathy and equality. I can write the occasional letter to an editor. I can put forth my name and face as a person who loves gay people and strongly believes in their right to be recognized as fully human and fully American.
Now in my small corner of the world, my fire has been fanned. My own inner beast has been poked.
I'm pissed.
We're part of an association that owns and manages the little beach at the end of our street on Cape Cod. The executive committee has put forth an amendment to the group's bylaws for our consideration. It contains a bunch of rules about the renting of our homes. Homes that we own.
I was perturbed enough about the fact that this association was trying to tell me what we could and could not do with a home that we own and that is not a part of a restrictive home owners association. But one of the last proposed rules sent me over the edge.
"Families only."
They might as well have just written, "No gays or single people allowed."
Fuck that shit. If I want to rent my home to my best gay bud for a summer, I will do it. If I want to rent my home to our school-teaching lesbian neighbors for a summer away, I will do it.
Who are these people to define family anyway?
It might be plausible to think that the association is only trying to keep hordes of frat boys off of their beach, but I know better. I've had gay friends spend the summer. I've had gay friends visit. And it pissed these people off.
We are expected to write back to the executive committee to tell them how we feel. Man, are they going to get an earful from me. I'm also going to investigate the legality of such a clause and any legal recourse we might have.
I'm glad to say that my husband is on board with me. But he might not be as willing as I to take drastic measures.
I'll sell that house below value to any gay couple/person willing to buy it just out of spite. The area has become popular with lesbians.
Worse yet, I am willing to sell out. Our extended family owns the property on one entire side of that little neighborhood. There are only two houses there now. But with the property all combined, there could be a whole new development. One of my husband's relatives has been trying to trick us into rezoning our land for years. He'd be more than happy to put in a trailer park.
I love my house on the Cape. But I don't love spending my summer among bigots. I will be there in July at the next board meeting. My husband's beloved grandmother was the heart and soul of that community before she died. She must be rolling in her grave to know what they are trying to do now.
How can I be so sure? She raised her grandson, my husband to be the most honorable of men.
They might not have pissed off a bitchy queen, but they did the next best thing. They pissed of a bitchy queen's best friend. They will regret it.
Are you gay, lesbian, childless or single? Than you're invited to my place next summer. Let's paint the barn like a giant rainbow flag. We'll see what rules they come up with then.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Saturday, November 15, 2008
The Penalty Box (Three Hours for Roughing)
Tonight the kids and I went to see my husband referee a kids' hockey game.
It was kind of hot.
He's a good ref. But he should be. He has plenty of practice just from being a dad.
Just a couple of days ago he mentioned how the kids were bugging him because they were bickering. We have a zero tolerance policy on bickering, pouting and whining in our house (at least for the kids) so we are especially sensitive to them getting on each other's nerves.
So I told him my strategy for dealing with bickering siblings. I tell them they're not allowed to play together.
This morning I was awoken by sobbing kids and an incredulous husband. My daughter was playing a handheld game (which she's not supposed to because she is grounded) and she wouldn't share with her brother.
So he squeezed her arm.
So she bit his head.
She bit his head! What the hell?
My husband sent them to separate rooms. Then he told them they were not allowed to be near each other.
So they could do anything they wanted anywhere in the house or yard, they just couldn't do it together.
And so we got to endure three hours of crying children. They sobbed. They wailed. They each sat in a bathroom and cried their eyes out. All because they couldn't play together.
Apparently they...like...love each other. And they are so sorry they hurt each other. And they miss each other so much.
It was freaking hilarious. But effective.
And the girl is in even more trouble than she was when she cut her hair or ate her Easy Bake Oven mixes. I wish I knew of such an easy way to deal with all of her other issues too. I guess I just have to find something to take away from her that she loves as much as her brother.
It was kind of hot.
He's a good ref. But he should be. He has plenty of practice just from being a dad.
Just a couple of days ago he mentioned how the kids were bugging him because they were bickering. We have a zero tolerance policy on bickering, pouting and whining in our house (at least for the kids) so we are especially sensitive to them getting on each other's nerves.
So I told him my strategy for dealing with bickering siblings. I tell them they're not allowed to play together.
This morning I was awoken by sobbing kids and an incredulous husband. My daughter was playing a handheld game (which she's not supposed to because she is grounded) and she wouldn't share with her brother.
So he squeezed her arm.
So she bit his head.
She bit his head! What the hell?
My husband sent them to separate rooms. Then he told them they were not allowed to be near each other.
So they could do anything they wanted anywhere in the house or yard, they just couldn't do it together.
And so we got to endure three hours of crying children. They sobbed. They wailed. They each sat in a bathroom and cried their eyes out. All because they couldn't play together.
Apparently they...like...love each other. And they are so sorry they hurt each other. And they miss each other so much.
It was freaking hilarious. But effective.
And the girl is in even more trouble than she was when she cut her hair or ate her Easy Bake Oven mixes. I wish I knew of such an easy way to deal with all of her other issues too. I guess I just have to find something to take away from her that she loves as much as her brother.
Friday, November 14, 2008
A Long One Off My Chest
Since dear Marc hit the nail on the head in comments on my last post, I thought I'd go ahead and talk some more about this parenting crap.
Marc commented:
Umm...just a thought...but gifted children who aren't challenged enough (read: the school is "easy") are more likely to get into trouble because they are bored and are racing ahead to the next thing. I have a feeling your kids might be in that category and maybe it isn't hard enough for them. Easy is not a good thing for smart children. Maybe this isn't it...but it could be. This may sound like a dumb question, but have they been tested?
Well, Marc, it isn't a dumb question at all.
My son has been tested both academically and psychologically. He actually scored perfectly on the academic part and the summary of his individual testing included the words "extremely intelligent". He is gifted, although not a true genius.
At his old school he was in an accelerated math program where he had math class with a specialist and two other students.
My daughter hasn't performed so extraordinarily in school that we felt the need to have her tested, but she has always scored in the 97 to 99th percentile in language arts on standardized tests. She has been summarized as "very bright" and a "gifted writer". Her third grade teacher told me to make sure she got in an accelerated writing and language arts program when we moved.
Here's the thing, and don't hate me for saying this, but having smart kids does not equal having easier kids. In fact, I think it can be quite the opposite.
So here's the deal. My son is having trouble staying focused in school. They don't have a math specialist so the extent of his math enrichment is to have extra work every day. But while he's suppose to be doing his extra work, the lower level reading groups are meeting feet away.
Apparently, he keeps answering their questions for them.
I really do think that he is bored. The class is still working on math facts to 10. He's doing carrying and borrowing and money related word problems. He's ready to start multiplication, but here's the kicker. He's not learning any of this stuff at school. The teacher gives him math sheets she finds online and I teach him the problem solving process at home.
Basically, I'm home schooling him in the three waking hours he has at home.
Oh, and I have to mention that the homework for first grade is to correct all of the mistakes from that day's work at home. He doesn't have any mistakes.
But my daughter is another story. She got demerits for forgetting homework at home or completing the wrong homework. Her problem is that she is incredibly messy and therefor unorganized. But that is fixable. (and punishable)
The real problem is that she isn't her happy self. She told us she is "nervous all the time". That is a huge red flag for an anxiety disorder.
Except we've known she's an anxious, sensitive kid since she was a newborn. There is a fine line between having a nervous personality and having an anxiety disorder. So her doctor, teachers and I have been watching it carefully. And she never has tripped over that line. She's matured every year.
We could chalk her anxiety up to the fact that she moved to a new school, but I sensed it was more than that.
So I met with her teacher yesterday. In our long talk she revealed a few things to me that I think sum up our problems. She is a veteran teacher but she told me that she has never had such a discipline problem in a class before. She said the kids are out of control. And I told her, "My daughter said that she feels like you're really frustrated and anxious."
An anxious kid can not have an anxious teacher. She needs her teacher to be a rock. A touchstone of sanity. It bothers my daughter a lot when other kids misbehave. When other kids are mean to each other, she can barely handle it.
Her teacher also told me that she has a major gap in the class. This is supposed to be the enrichment level course but she has only a few kids (my daughter included) who can really keep up. So she hasn't been doing the creative, engaging things she usually does.
Her answer is to get the literacy specialist to pull the smart kids out for some more enrichment.
But most of all, my daughter does not feel known. Her teacher asked me to tell her about some of the things my daughter really enjoyed at her old school. When I told her that she loved drama and music and had been the lead in the grade-level plays she was astounded. When I mentioned something about violin, she said that she didn't know my daughter played.
(Never mind how she told me they used to do grade-level plays and they used to do a multicultural celebration--which made me want to say, "and some day we'll used to have gone to your school." We're paying $16,000 a year for used to!)
So, back to my point, we're sending my daughter to talk to a school councilor. I'm just hoping she'll benefit from the adult connection.
Her teacher did say one very interesting thing, though. She said that my daughter is "so mature and just on another level completely". Which is probably why adult connections are so important to her. What we always considered immaturity--not being interested in the High School Musical-type crap, not caring about clothes or hair, not making clique connections---although good immaturity (i.e. innocence) was really a level of maturity that so transcends her peers that she doesn't fit in.
Hmmmm.
So I have hated this school since the beginning. Not because it is a bad school but because it doesn't fit with our family. And because the level of education doesn't even come close to what we're paying for. But I kept wanting to give it a chance. Just because I'm unhappy doesn't mean the kids are.
But I still knew we'd apply to the other two similar school (where we were wait-listed) for next year. We even looked into public schools which are excellent here.
Then I was leaving our violin practice last week and took a different turn through the teacher's neighborhood than I usually do. And I drove by a school we only paid cursory attention to when we were moving because it was so small.
Then we went to a violin workshop and I found out that one of the families goes to that school. I decided to call.
It turned out they were having an open house the next night.
And I have found a ray of hope.
Marc commented:
Umm...just a thought...but gifted children who aren't challenged enough (read: the school is "easy") are more likely to get into trouble because they are bored and are racing ahead to the next thing. I have a feeling your kids might be in that category and maybe it isn't hard enough for them. Easy is not a good thing for smart children. Maybe this isn't it...but it could be. This may sound like a dumb question, but have they been tested?
Well, Marc, it isn't a dumb question at all.
My son has been tested both academically and psychologically. He actually scored perfectly on the academic part and the summary of his individual testing included the words "extremely intelligent". He is gifted, although not a true genius.
At his old school he was in an accelerated math program where he had math class with a specialist and two other students.
My daughter hasn't performed so extraordinarily in school that we felt the need to have her tested, but she has always scored in the 97 to 99th percentile in language arts on standardized tests. She has been summarized as "very bright" and a "gifted writer". Her third grade teacher told me to make sure she got in an accelerated writing and language arts program when we moved.
Here's the thing, and don't hate me for saying this, but having smart kids does not equal having easier kids. In fact, I think it can be quite the opposite.
So here's the deal. My son is having trouble staying focused in school. They don't have a math specialist so the extent of his math enrichment is to have extra work every day. But while he's suppose to be doing his extra work, the lower level reading groups are meeting feet away.
Apparently, he keeps answering their questions for them.
I really do think that he is bored. The class is still working on math facts to 10. He's doing carrying and borrowing and money related word problems. He's ready to start multiplication, but here's the kicker. He's not learning any of this stuff at school. The teacher gives him math sheets she finds online and I teach him the problem solving process at home.
Basically, I'm home schooling him in the three waking hours he has at home.
Oh, and I have to mention that the homework for first grade is to correct all of the mistakes from that day's work at home. He doesn't have any mistakes.
But my daughter is another story. She got demerits for forgetting homework at home or completing the wrong homework. Her problem is that she is incredibly messy and therefor unorganized. But that is fixable. (and punishable)
The real problem is that she isn't her happy self. She told us she is "nervous all the time". That is a huge red flag for an anxiety disorder.
Except we've known she's an anxious, sensitive kid since she was a newborn. There is a fine line between having a nervous personality and having an anxiety disorder. So her doctor, teachers and I have been watching it carefully. And she never has tripped over that line. She's matured every year.
We could chalk her anxiety up to the fact that she moved to a new school, but I sensed it was more than that.
So I met with her teacher yesterday. In our long talk she revealed a few things to me that I think sum up our problems. She is a veteran teacher but she told me that she has never had such a discipline problem in a class before. She said the kids are out of control. And I told her, "My daughter said that she feels like you're really frustrated and anxious."
An anxious kid can not have an anxious teacher. She needs her teacher to be a rock. A touchstone of sanity. It bothers my daughter a lot when other kids misbehave. When other kids are mean to each other, she can barely handle it.
Her teacher also told me that she has a major gap in the class. This is supposed to be the enrichment level course but she has only a few kids (my daughter included) who can really keep up. So she hasn't been doing the creative, engaging things she usually does.
Her answer is to get the literacy specialist to pull the smart kids out for some more enrichment.
But most of all, my daughter does not feel known. Her teacher asked me to tell her about some of the things my daughter really enjoyed at her old school. When I told her that she loved drama and music and had been the lead in the grade-level plays she was astounded. When I mentioned something about violin, she said that she didn't know my daughter played.
(Never mind how she told me they used to do grade-level plays and they used to do a multicultural celebration--which made me want to say, "and some day we'll used to have gone to your school." We're paying $16,000 a year for used to!)
So, back to my point, we're sending my daughter to talk to a school councilor. I'm just hoping she'll benefit from the adult connection.
Her teacher did say one very interesting thing, though. She said that my daughter is "so mature and just on another level completely". Which is probably why adult connections are so important to her. What we always considered immaturity--not being interested in the High School Musical-type crap, not caring about clothes or hair, not making clique connections---although good immaturity (i.e. innocence) was really a level of maturity that so transcends her peers that she doesn't fit in.
Hmmmm.
So I have hated this school since the beginning. Not because it is a bad school but because it doesn't fit with our family. And because the level of education doesn't even come close to what we're paying for. But I kept wanting to give it a chance. Just because I'm unhappy doesn't mean the kids are.
But I still knew we'd apply to the other two similar school (where we were wait-listed) for next year. We even looked into public schools which are excellent here.
Then I was leaving our violin practice last week and took a different turn through the teacher's neighborhood than I usually do. And I drove by a school we only paid cursory attention to when we were moving because it was so small.
Then we went to a violin workshop and I found out that one of the families goes to that school. I decided to call.
It turned out they were having an open house the next night.
And I have found a ray of hope.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Who are these children?
No one ever told me that parenting would be easy. But, damn. This kind of sucks.
The kids are both struggling in school.
If they were struggling because this school is harder than their last one, that would be one thing. But, no. In fact they both think that this school is "easy". And, I think, therein lies the problem.
The boy has trouble focusing. The girl got three demerits this semester (two in the last two days).
Who are these children?
Coincidentally, we are going to visit a new school tonight. I don't blame the school we chose for our problems. I place all of the blame squarely at my own feet. (Well, mine and the kids themselves.) But I don't feel like I have any support or understanding at the "easy" school and that is making everything harder.
If it wasn't for the few moments of overwhelming joy, I don't think anyone would want to be parents at all.
At times like this, I feel like a sad kid at summer camp. All I can think is, I want to go home! I truly had no idea just what an excellent education they were getting on the bayou.
The kids are both struggling in school.
If they were struggling because this school is harder than their last one, that would be one thing. But, no. In fact they both think that this school is "easy". And, I think, therein lies the problem.
The boy has trouble focusing. The girl got three demerits this semester (two in the last two days).
Who are these children?
Coincidentally, we are going to visit a new school tonight. I don't blame the school we chose for our problems. I place all of the blame squarely at my own feet. (Well, mine and the kids themselves.) But I don't feel like I have any support or understanding at the "easy" school and that is making everything harder.
If it wasn't for the few moments of overwhelming joy, I don't think anyone would want to be parents at all.
At times like this, I feel like a sad kid at summer camp. All I can think is, I want to go home! I truly had no idea just what an excellent education they were getting on the bayou.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
A Rose by Any Other Name
I'm so embarrassed.
So I used my tunagirl e-mail address to sign up.
I saw whatever profile pic I was supposed to see, hit the little X at the top of the window, and never thought about Facebook or how desperately unhip I am again.
Until I started getting friend requests. It turns out a bunch of my blog friends are on Facebook, so I decided to drink the Kool-Aid and dive in. I sent out a bunch of friend requests last night.
But I still didn't even really know what to do on Facebook.
It's weird. It's mostly all...
Bill just got home.
Rose added a picture.
John wants to eat sushi.
Rose edited her profile.
Rose is diddling herself.
It seemed like Rose was awfully damn busy, and I have no idea who Rose is. And it's funny that she went to the same schools as me. But whatever.
And then I realized what I had done.
When I signed up last year, Facebook wouldn't accept Tuna Girl as a real name. Op Sec and anonymity are deeply ingrained in my psyche, so I randomly chose a pseudonym. And completely forgot about it.
I'm Rose. Like I needed another pseudonym. Like I'm not weird enough.
And thus, I have proved, without a doubt that I am too unhip to be a part of Facebook. And my friends aren't going to let me live it down.
A couple of months ago, Mark sent me a friend request on Facebook. My first thought was I have a Facebook account?
Then I remembered.
Probably about a year ago, a friend told me that I had to check out someone's Facebook profile. I strongly believe that I'm too damn old and out of touch to waste my time on Facebook, but this friend insisted.
So I used my tunagirl e-mail address to sign up.
I saw whatever profile pic I was supposed to see, hit the little X at the top of the window, and never thought about Facebook or how desperately unhip I am again.
Until I started getting friend requests. It turns out a bunch of my blog friends are on Facebook, so I decided to drink the Kool-Aid and dive in. I sent out a bunch of friend requests last night.
But I still didn't even really know what to do on Facebook.
It's weird. It's mostly all...
Bill just got home.
Rose added a picture.
John wants to eat sushi.
Rose edited her profile.
Rose is diddling herself.
It seemed like Rose was awfully damn busy, and I have no idea who Rose is. And it's funny that she went to the same schools as me. But whatever.
And then I realized what I had done.
When I signed up last year, Facebook wouldn't accept Tuna Girl as a real name. Op Sec and anonymity are deeply ingrained in my psyche, so I randomly chose a pseudonym. And completely forgot about it.
I'm Rose. Like I needed another pseudonym. Like I'm not weird enough.
And thus, I have proved, without a doubt that I am too unhip to be a part of Facebook. And my friends aren't going to let me live it down.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Those Damn Cows Made It
I mention here at least once a year how much I appreciate Nicky, Mark, and MAK. Those were the first three blogs I ever read and the first three readers and commenters I had here. Every time I have a blog-o-versary I am a little amazed that the three of them are still blogging.
A couple of months ago Nicky came close to closing his LiveJournal blog. Mark just moved his blog to a new place. And now MAK has finished his journey and closed his blog.
I am lucky enough to consider these three guys friends and I will especially miss following along with MAK's life on his blog. When I see MAK I always have the best time and feel instantly comfortable.
But I think MAK left his blog with the perfect parting words.
I suck at parting words. I look back at how I closed My Other Blog when I was let go and I wish I could write it again. I've even been thinking about how I'll end this blog since I first started writing it! I want to go out on a positive note, just like MAK did.
I write all of this mostly to say goodbye and thank you to my blog inspiration but also to reflect.
I found my yearbooks when I was unpacking the other day. My quote in my college yearbook, my parting words to the place I had loved and lived in for four years were these:
"Off we go into the wild, blue yonder..."
Hmm.
Were you as brilliant as me in your yearbook? Are you any more adept at parting words than I am?
I have the feeling that I'm going to need some help. No blog can go on forever. Every story must have its end.
A couple of months ago Nicky came close to closing his LiveJournal blog. Mark just moved his blog to a new place. And now MAK has finished his journey and closed his blog.
I am lucky enough to consider these three guys friends and I will especially miss following along with MAK's life on his blog. When I see MAK I always have the best time and feel instantly comfortable.
But I think MAK left his blog with the perfect parting words.
I suck at parting words. I look back at how I closed My Other Blog when I was let go and I wish I could write it again. I've even been thinking about how I'll end this blog since I first started writing it! I want to go out on a positive note, just like MAK did.
I write all of this mostly to say goodbye and thank you to my blog inspiration but also to reflect.
I found my yearbooks when I was unpacking the other day. My quote in my college yearbook, my parting words to the place I had loved and lived in for four years were these:
"Off we go into the wild, blue yonder..."
Hmm.
Were you as brilliant as me in your yearbook? Are you any more adept at parting words than I am?
I have the feeling that I'm going to need some help. No blog can go on forever. Every story must have its end.
Friday, November 07, 2008
Military Discounts
Lowe's and Home Depot are currently offering 10% off to military folks. Details are here.
Maybe it's time to get some more work done in the new house. I just wish they sold sofas.
Maybe it's time to get some more work done in the new house. I just wish they sold sofas.
Thursday, November 06, 2008
The Downward Grind
I didn't write anything at all yesterday because I was afraid of what I might record for all prosperity.
I have always thought that writing was the best way to deal with any powerful emotions. But sometimes what I see on the page when I've finished spewing words makes me feel even worse. I don't like what I see there.
I knew yesterday would be like that. I am so angry. With my family and the people I love. And, I suppose, myself.
My daughter is grounded for a week for being irresponsible. Yet she has managed to be even more irresponsible than ever during her grounding.
My husband is driving me nuts. I won't go more into that.
My son was doing okay until he acted like a sassy, little brat at his violin lesson. I hate it when he's silly. He knows violin class is not the time to be silly.
And scores of other people are driving me nuts.
Why do these things always happen all at once? It makes me think that it must really be me. It must be my reactions and disappointments that drive people to disappoint me.
Once I start yelling at my kids I start feeling guilty. I never used to yell.
Ironically, when I don't yell at some adults who need to be yelled at, I feel guilty too. For avoiding confrontation.
In the midst of a time of great optimism and potential for change in this country I don't feel energized. I feel angry and sad because of the daily grind of being human.
How do you rise above that daily grind?
I have always thought that writing was the best way to deal with any powerful emotions. But sometimes what I see on the page when I've finished spewing words makes me feel even worse. I don't like what I see there.
I knew yesterday would be like that. I am so angry. With my family and the people I love. And, I suppose, myself.
My daughter is grounded for a week for being irresponsible. Yet she has managed to be even more irresponsible than ever during her grounding.
My husband is driving me nuts. I won't go more into that.
My son was doing okay until he acted like a sassy, little brat at his violin lesson. I hate it when he's silly. He knows violin class is not the time to be silly.
And scores of other people are driving me nuts.
Why do these things always happen all at once? It makes me think that it must really be me. It must be my reactions and disappointments that drive people to disappoint me.
Once I start yelling at my kids I start feeling guilty. I never used to yell.
Ironically, when I don't yell at some adults who need to be yelled at, I feel guilty too. For avoiding confrontation.
In the midst of a time of great optimism and potential for change in this country I don't feel energized. I feel angry and sad because of the daily grind of being human.
How do you rise above that daily grind?
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
As Political as I Get
Little Tuna Girl is on Team Obama at school. Today she will be debating Barack Obama's stance on immigration. She has done her research and she is ready.
She drew a blue slip out of a hat to be placed on Team Obama, but this was a great opportunity to teach her about researching candidates and not relying on advertising or the opinions of others to form her own ideas.
So I asked her, "If you could vote, who would you vote for."
"I'd vote for Obama," she told me. "I don't want Daddy to have to go back to Iraq."
That made me tear up a bit.
I honestly don't think it is so simple. I don't want her thinking that if one president is elected over another her military father won't have to go to war again in her lifetime, because that obviously isn't the case. But still, from her nine-year-old point of view, she did the research and came up with her own opinion. And that is the whole point of parenting.
My son has his own opinion too.
He was standing in the living room getting his soccer cleats on when he suddenly yelled to his sister. "Barack Obama is kind to animals! You have to vote for Barack Obama because he is kind to animals and you love animals! The other one is mean to animals!"
I have no idea where he got that from and can only imagine that his friends might have been bad mouthing Palin's hunting.
But listening to him say "Barack Obama" (and he always uses both names) with his deliberately pronounced "r" is the cutest damn thing ever.
Happy voting.
She drew a blue slip out of a hat to be placed on Team Obama, but this was a great opportunity to teach her about researching candidates and not relying on advertising or the opinions of others to form her own ideas.
So I asked her, "If you could vote, who would you vote for."
"I'd vote for Obama," she told me. "I don't want Daddy to have to go back to Iraq."
That made me tear up a bit.
I honestly don't think it is so simple. I don't want her thinking that if one president is elected over another her military father won't have to go to war again in her lifetime, because that obviously isn't the case. But still, from her nine-year-old point of view, she did the research and came up with her own opinion. And that is the whole point of parenting.
My son has his own opinion too.
He was standing in the living room getting his soccer cleats on when he suddenly yelled to his sister. "Barack Obama is kind to animals! You have to vote for Barack Obama because he is kind to animals and you love animals! The other one is mean to animals!"
I have no idea where he got that from and can only imagine that his friends might have been bad mouthing Palin's hunting.
But listening to him say "Barack Obama" (and he always uses both names) with his deliberately pronounced "r" is the cutest damn thing ever.
Happy voting.
Monday, November 03, 2008
No Such Thing as Too Big
On Friday night, I opened my door for about the 20th time to a group of trick-or-treaters. But one little boy didn't hold out his candy bag.
He looked up. He looked at me. He shook his head.
"Your house is a mansion," he said in an accusatory tone.
I laughed a bit. My house is far from a mansion.
"It is too big," he added.
Well, thank you for the reality check little ninja boy. I guess it is all in the eye of the beholder. Now take your Whoppers and skadootch.
He looked up. He looked at me. He shook his head.
"Your house is a mansion," he said in an accusatory tone.
I laughed a bit. My house is far from a mansion.
"It is too big," he added.
Well, thank you for the reality check little ninja boy. I guess it is all in the eye of the beholder. Now take your Whoppers and skadootch.
Friday, October 31, 2008
The Case of the Pumpkin Poop
A couple of weekends ago, the kids and I went to a produce stand and picked out the most perfect pumpkins I've ever seen. They were so excited to carve them. So last weekend we dug in.
Of course they think pumpkin guts are disgusting so I spent about an hour scooping and scraping those bad boys.
My son decided to freehand a jack-o-lantern face and some stars and it came out great (once I did all the cutting)
But my daughter really wanted to carve something more elaborate.
She had a book of patterns and she was considering some of the more challenging designs. I kept saying, "Are you sure, Honey? That's going to be pretty hard." But she was determined.
About an hour into her carving she announced, "This is harder than I thought it would be."
"Do you want some help?" I asked.
"No. I want to do it." And she kept plugging away.
I have to admit that once I put the candle in, I was incredibly impressed. How cool is this?
She was so very proud of herself.
I didn't want to put the pumpkins outside because I was afraid they'd get smashed. Or that wild animals would eat them. So I put them on the hearth by the fireplace.
But I made a mistake. When I went to blow out the candle before bed I thought for a second that the design had caved in. Or, I don't know, melted.
It took me a second to realize that the design on the pumpkin has been eaten off by our own little wild animal. Buffy ate my daughter's pumpkin.
It never even occurred to me that a dog would eat a pumpkin. It certainly never occurred to me that a five pound dog would eat about five pounds of pumpkin rind.
In the morning I had to break it to my daughter. She was so upset. I felt so bad for her.
My husband took her to get another pumpkin and the two of them recreated another wolf design. It is now rotting high up away from the dog on my kitchen counter. But Buffy is still in the dog house.
Happy 4th birthday you pain-in-the-ass pumpkin eater. You're not coming out of your room until you stop pooping orange.
Of course they think pumpkin guts are disgusting so I spent about an hour scooping and scraping those bad boys.
My son decided to freehand a jack-o-lantern face and some stars and it came out great (once I did all the cutting)
But my daughter really wanted to carve something more elaborate.
She had a book of patterns and she was considering some of the more challenging designs. I kept saying, "Are you sure, Honey? That's going to be pretty hard." But she was determined.
About an hour into her carving she announced, "This is harder than I thought it would be."
"Do you want some help?" I asked.
"No. I want to do it." And she kept plugging away.
I have to admit that once I put the candle in, I was incredibly impressed. How cool is this?
She was so very proud of herself.
I didn't want to put the pumpkins outside because I was afraid they'd get smashed. Or that wild animals would eat them. So I put them on the hearth by the fireplace.
But I made a mistake. When I went to blow out the candle before bed I thought for a second that the design had caved in. Or, I don't know, melted.
It took me a second to realize that the design on the pumpkin has been eaten off by our own little wild animal. Buffy ate my daughter's pumpkin.
It never even occurred to me that a dog would eat a pumpkin. It certainly never occurred to me that a five pound dog would eat about five pounds of pumpkin rind.
In the morning I had to break it to my daughter. She was so upset. I felt so bad for her.
My husband took her to get another pumpkin and the two of them recreated another wolf design. It is now rotting high up away from the dog on my kitchen counter. But Buffy is still in the dog house.
Happy 4th birthday you pain-in-the-ass pumpkin eater. You're not coming out of your room until you stop pooping orange.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Fucking Geese
When I pulled into the parking lot at the zoo for my son's field trip, I had a hard time parking. The lot was filled with Canadian geese.
I thought as I drove slowly toward them that they would fly away, but they didn't even waddle. They didn't even shake their tail feathers. They just looked at me.
I managed to weave through the sea of Christmas dinner to pull into a spot, but I was wondering how the kids' school bus was going to get through.
I had to wait for about ten minutes for my son's class to arrive, but the zoo kindly provided entertainment. After just a couple of minutes, two big, working class-type guys came out in green zoo jumpsuits.
They started walking toward the geese, and the geese ignored them as well as they had ignored me in my car. So the guys started waving their arms. The geese deigned to turn their heads and look at them.
The guys started yelling.
The geese started walking. All in different directions. And slowly.
Before long these guys were skipping and jumping and screaming. I think one even managed to turn a cartwheel before the geese were finally annoyed enough to leave.
You may think that geese say honk, honk. But I swear, as they flew away to a nearby pond, those geese called to those guys, "Fuck you. Fuck you."
Listen closely the next time you see geese flying overheard. I know you'll hear it too.
I wouldn't be surprised if their cars were covered in giant goose poo when they left work that night.
Damn, Canadians.
I thought as I drove slowly toward them that they would fly away, but they didn't even waddle. They didn't even shake their tail feathers. They just looked at me.
I managed to weave through the sea of Christmas dinner to pull into a spot, but I was wondering how the kids' school bus was going to get through.
I had to wait for about ten minutes for my son's class to arrive, but the zoo kindly provided entertainment. After just a couple of minutes, two big, working class-type guys came out in green zoo jumpsuits.
They started walking toward the geese, and the geese ignored them as well as they had ignored me in my car. So the guys started waving their arms. The geese deigned to turn their heads and look at them.
The guys started yelling.
The geese started walking. All in different directions. And slowly.
Before long these guys were skipping and jumping and screaming. I think one even managed to turn a cartwheel before the geese were finally annoyed enough to leave.
You may think that geese say honk, honk. But I swear, as they flew away to a nearby pond, those geese called to those guys, "Fuck you. Fuck you."
Listen closely the next time you see geese flying overheard. I know you'll hear it too.
I wouldn't be surprised if their cars were covered in giant goose poo when they left work that night.
Damn, Canadians.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Another Weird Day
It's another weird, out-of-sync day. My daughter is home sick.
Yesterday I was on a field trip to the zoo with my son's first grade class when I missed a call from the school nurse about my daughter. So she stayed in the school clinic for a couple of hours until I checked my messages.
I felt so, so bad.
I also feel like the school nurse must think I send my kids to school sick and then she gets to clean up their puke. But she assured me that they are "the sweetest kids" even when they are vomiting on her, so that's good.
Of course my daughter feels fine today but she's not allowed back at school until tomorrow. It's funny because she doesn't know what to do without her brother around. I told her it was a great chance to watch any movie she wanted and play any computer game she wanted without her brother around, but she wasn't impressed.
Nim's Island, Poptropica, EverydayMath games, and violin practice later, she's bored.
In other news, today my horoscope said to pinch pennies. I wish I had read it before I booked a cruise.
At least gas prices are down. You can all thank my husband for the decline in gas demand. A couple of months ago he bought a little, used, blue Honda Civic for his commute to work.
He had done all the math to support the purchase price. Now it doesn't seem worth it. Yay. Another car payment. Do we get points for being environmentally friendly? (I still have to pay a gas surcharge for the cruise.)
Oh! I haven't talked much more about my nemesis DB (Dumb Bitch room mother) have I? She called me today. Her mere existence is such a rain wreck that it is entertaining to watch. But she's too stupid to get my verbal jabs. Which is just sad.
I feel bad for the teacher she is working with. But the teacher e-mailed me today and asked that I help with a bunch of stuff since there was a "miscommunication" with DB. I think the teacher is in on my "sarcastic quotation marks". It makes me smile. And since I am actually helping, now I can revel guilt-free in the human disaster that is DB.
Did I mention that she owns a "communication" company. (She means "marketing" but she probably doesn't "realize" that.)
Okay, enough sick day blather. Stay tuned tomorrow for a heartwarming story about fucking geese.
Yesterday I was on a field trip to the zoo with my son's first grade class when I missed a call from the school nurse about my daughter. So she stayed in the school clinic for a couple of hours until I checked my messages.
I felt so, so bad.
I also feel like the school nurse must think I send my kids to school sick and then she gets to clean up their puke. But she assured me that they are "the sweetest kids" even when they are vomiting on her, so that's good.
Of course my daughter feels fine today but she's not allowed back at school until tomorrow. It's funny because she doesn't know what to do without her brother around. I told her it was a great chance to watch any movie she wanted and play any computer game she wanted without her brother around, but she wasn't impressed.
Nim's Island, Poptropica, EverydayMath games, and violin practice later, she's bored.
In other news, today my horoscope said to pinch pennies. I wish I had read it before I booked a cruise.
At least gas prices are down. You can all thank my husband for the decline in gas demand. A couple of months ago he bought a little, used, blue Honda Civic for his commute to work.
He had done all the math to support the purchase price. Now it doesn't seem worth it. Yay. Another car payment. Do we get points for being environmentally friendly? (I still have to pay a gas surcharge for the cruise.)
Oh! I haven't talked much more about my nemesis DB (Dumb Bitch room mother) have I? She called me today. Her mere existence is such a rain wreck that it is entertaining to watch. But she's too stupid to get my verbal jabs. Which is just sad.
I feel bad for the teacher she is working with. But the teacher e-mailed me today and asked that I help with a bunch of stuff since there was a "miscommunication" with DB. I think the teacher is in on my "sarcastic quotation marks". It makes me smile. And since I am actually helping, now I can revel guilt-free in the human disaster that is DB.
Did I mention that she owns a "communication" company. (She means "marketing" but she probably doesn't "realize" that.)
Okay, enough sick day blather. Stay tuned tomorrow for a heartwarming story about fucking geese.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Blood Lust
This weekend I cut myself in a place where no women wants to cut herself. Ever. I cut myself in the worst possible place.
Yeah. Don't make me say it.
It hurt. A lot.
Here's the thing.
It's been a long time since I've written about sex here on the ol' blog of uncomfortableness because, well...
You have to be having sex to write about it. The new house hasn't exactly been christened, if you know what I mean.
So while I've been keeping things "clean" enough to not freak out children and small animals when I wear shorts, I haven't been keeping things up in a I-don't-want-him-to-have-to-pick-anything-out-of-his-teeth kind of way.
His teeth haven't been anywhere near there in a while.
But, we made a sex date (you do those things when you've been married 13 years) while he was in Reno last week and I wanted to, you know, make a good reimpression.
But then I gave myself an at-home clitorectomy and I haven't really been in the mood.
So if you're a fan of embarrassing sex stories about middle-aged straight people, you're going to have to wait for things to heal.
I wonder how long it takes for one of those to grow back.
Yeah. Don't make me say it.
It hurt. A lot.
Here's the thing.
It's been a long time since I've written about sex here on the ol' blog of uncomfortableness because, well...
You have to be having sex to write about it. The new house hasn't exactly been christened, if you know what I mean.
So while I've been keeping things "clean" enough to not freak out children and small animals when I wear shorts, I haven't been keeping things up in a I-don't-want-him-to-have-to-pick-anything-out-of-his-teeth kind of way.
His teeth haven't been anywhere near there in a while.
But, we made a sex date (you do those things when you've been married 13 years) while he was in Reno last week and I wanted to, you know, make a good reimpression.
But then I gave myself an at-home clitorectomy and I haven't really been in the mood.
So if you're a fan of embarrassing sex stories about middle-aged straight people, you're going to have to wait for things to heal.
I wonder how long it takes for one of those to grow back.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Opposite of Emulate
Once upon a time I read a blog that I thought was really funny. For about two weeks.
It didn't take me long to get so sick of the writer's voice and whiny disposition that I started reading his blog as a complete train wreck. It was a great example of what I didn't want to become.
But this guy had legions of devoted fans. I never understood it.
Reading his blog made me so afraid of my own writing voice that I stopped using it. I really thought that I kind of, sort of had the same voice and vibe. And I worried about how I came off.
Now this guy has published a book. Like, a real fucking book.
I want to slit my wrists.
It didn't take me long to get so sick of the writer's voice and whiny disposition that I started reading his blog as a complete train wreck. It was a great example of what I didn't want to become.
But this guy had legions of devoted fans. I never understood it.
Reading his blog made me so afraid of my own writing voice that I stopped using it. I really thought that I kind of, sort of had the same voice and vibe. And I worried about how I came off.
Now this guy has published a book. Like, a real fucking book.
I want to slit my wrists.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Alone with the Irrepressible Boy
What a weird day.
My son is home "sick" (Ha! I used sarcastic quotation marks. He is so totally fine. Kids recover so fast.) and the two of us are just sitting around watching television. It's a day out of time.
He's doing school work and I was thinking about blogging. But I noticed something weird while I was looking at my Blogger dashboard.
Lately I've been writing a lot of posts that I don't ever publish for one of three reasons.
1) They suck.
2) They don't cast me in the best light.
3) They might offend people.
What the hell is up with that? Like any of those things have ever stopped me before.
When did I get so afraid of just being me?
My son is home "sick" (Ha! I used sarcastic quotation marks. He is so totally fine. Kids recover so fast.) and the two of us are just sitting around watching television. It's a day out of time.
He's doing school work and I was thinking about blogging. But I noticed something weird while I was looking at my Blogger dashboard.
Lately I've been writing a lot of posts that I don't ever publish for one of three reasons.
1) They suck.
2) They don't cast me in the best light.
3) They might offend people.
What the hell is up with that? Like any of those things have ever stopped me before.
When did I get so afraid of just being me?
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Only My Kids
Poor, little Tuna Boy is home from school. The school nurse called at lunch time to tell me that he had thrown up in the cafeteria and I needed to come pick him up.
When I got there he was standing in the doorway with his backpack on his back looking and acting totally normal. So I asked him if he had thrown up a lot or a little and the nurse quickly piped up to say, "A lot!" She also informed me in the kindest way possible that he should stay home tomorrow too.
Little Tuna Boy isn't happy about that. He hates to miss school. Both of my kids have been trying desperately to have perfect attendance at school for the last three years. They're still pissed at me for taking them out of school last year to come house hunting at the beach.
"Well," I told my son. "At least you're not missing soccer or anything. You don't have anything you have to do today."
"No," he answered. "I still have to do my homework."
I asked, "Did your teacher bring you your backpack with your homework?"
"No," he answered again. "When I got to the clinic the nurse wasn't there so I went to my classroom to get all the work I didn't do yet. I didn't want to fall behind if I had to miss school."
Only my kid. Only my son would think that way.
And my daughter? She's weird too.
This weekend we bought a new little CD player. While we were cleaning up the family room I put it on and searched for a radio station to play. Well, I cruised right by the classical music station looking for some pop music when my daughter stopped me.
"Mom! Put it back. I like the orchestra music!"
And the two kids cleaned happily listening to some classical music I couldn't identify if my life depended on it.
But when the orchestra music changed to opera music, I figured they probably had enough and I could find some decent music to listen to. But oh, no.
"Mom! That singing was beautiful. I find it soothing. Put it back!"
What the hell kind of roll reversal is that? All I want is some good Fergie or Maroon 5 and my kids are naming composers. (I couldn't even spell orchestra without the spell checker!)
Only my kid.
If I didn't see with my own eyes that they waste time playing Nintendo and enjoy hours playing pretend I would think they were being raised like little, hot house freaks.
Tuna Boy is currently sitting on the floor playing Lego's and watching Spongebob. And I'm sitting here thinking that maybe I should go back to school and get a degree in music appreciation just to keep up with them.
I guess our tuition money was well spent after all.
When I got there he was standing in the doorway with his backpack on his back looking and acting totally normal. So I asked him if he had thrown up a lot or a little and the nurse quickly piped up to say, "A lot!" She also informed me in the kindest way possible that he should stay home tomorrow too.
Little Tuna Boy isn't happy about that. He hates to miss school. Both of my kids have been trying desperately to have perfect attendance at school for the last three years. They're still pissed at me for taking them out of school last year to come house hunting at the beach.
"Well," I told my son. "At least you're not missing soccer or anything. You don't have anything you have to do today."
"No," he answered. "I still have to do my homework."
I asked, "Did your teacher bring you your backpack with your homework?"
"No," he answered again. "When I got to the clinic the nurse wasn't there so I went to my classroom to get all the work I didn't do yet. I didn't want to fall behind if I had to miss school."
Only my kid. Only my son would think that way.
And my daughter? She's weird too.
This weekend we bought a new little CD player. While we were cleaning up the family room I put it on and searched for a radio station to play. Well, I cruised right by the classical music station looking for some pop music when my daughter stopped me.
"Mom! Put it back. I like the orchestra music!"
And the two kids cleaned happily listening to some classical music I couldn't identify if my life depended on it.
But when the orchestra music changed to opera music, I figured they probably had enough and I could find some decent music to listen to. But oh, no.
"Mom! That singing was beautiful. I find it soothing. Put it back!"
What the hell kind of roll reversal is that? All I want is some good Fergie or Maroon 5 and my kids are naming composers. (I couldn't even spell orchestra without the spell checker!)
Only my kid.
If I didn't see with my own eyes that they waste time playing Nintendo and enjoy hours playing pretend I would think they were being raised like little, hot house freaks.
Tuna Boy is currently sitting on the floor playing Lego's and watching Spongebob. And I'm sitting here thinking that maybe I should go back to school and get a degree in music appreciation just to keep up with them.
I guess our tuition money was well spent after all.
Friday, October 17, 2008
Reason I'm a Bad Friend #236
Every year I insist that I am going to get my Christmas shopping done early. Of course I never do. That would be...almost...sacrilgeous. Or unpatriotic. Frenzied late-December shopping is as Christian American as apple pie and church gossip.
But still, this year, I tried again.
The kids' school made it easy with their fall fundraiser. They sold Virginia Diner peanuts, including Hokie Nuts.
Since one of my best friends back in Louisiana is a Virginia native and Virginia Tech alum, I bought her an assortment of Hokie Nuts. Even chocolate-covered peanuts.
They sat in their box on top of my kitchen cabinets until I got PMS.
Then I ate her chocolate-covered nuts.
I figured I'd just order more and complete the set again. But then I got depressed because I ate my best friend's chocolate nuts, and I dug into the other two cans too.
This resulted in a week full of salty nut innuendos around the Tuna house. And a lifetime of guilt for me.
So today I'm going to order more nuts. And hide them better from myself. (And order a whole set of backup nuts because I know myself too well.)
But still, this year, I tried again.
The kids' school made it easy with their fall fundraiser. They sold Virginia Diner peanuts, including Hokie Nuts.
Since one of my best friends back in Louisiana is a Virginia native and Virginia Tech alum, I bought her an assortment of Hokie Nuts. Even chocolate-covered peanuts.
They sat in their box on top of my kitchen cabinets until I got PMS.
Then I ate her chocolate-covered nuts.
I figured I'd just order more and complete the set again. But then I got depressed because I ate my best friend's chocolate nuts, and I dug into the other two cans too.
This resulted in a week full of salty nut innuendos around the Tuna house. And a lifetime of guilt for me.
So today I'm going to order more nuts. And hide them better from myself. (And order a whole set of backup nuts because I know myself too well.)
Thursday, October 16, 2008
When did everyone get so tall and skinny?
We were watching the Red Sox the other night when I commented about one of the players to
my husband. "He must have given up the steroids. Look at how skinny he got!"
Then we were watching our favorite sitcoms on Monday night (Monday night is sitcom night on CBS) when I mentioned, "Damn. Raj looks skinny!"
These last couple of nights, I've been noticing how skinny all the guests are on The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson.
Craig Ferguson. Craig Ferguson. Craig Ferguson.
I keep noticing how skinny everyone is on television. Even the men. What happened? I know things are bad but celebrities can still afford food, can't they? Is anorexic still in? Maybe it's just that everything is going high def now.
Speaking of which, we've been lucky enough to have a high def, wide screen television for quite a few years. In fact, we bought the T.V. before anyone was broadcasting in high def. Or in the right ratio for a widescreen.
Huh. Ummm, wait. I think a light bulb is going on here.
For years everyone on my television has been squished and stretched to fit my widescreen format. Everyone has been short and fat. I got used to it. Now that we have a new DirecTV box, everyone looks "normal".
Damn. Celebrities have been this damn skinny this whole time? I've been living in a shorter, fatter world than everyone else since 2000!
I think I liked my short, fat world. I want my old box back.
my husband. "He must have given up the steroids. Look at how skinny he got!"
Then we were watching our favorite sitcoms on Monday night (Monday night is sitcom night on CBS) when I mentioned, "Damn. Raj looks skinny!"
These last couple of nights, I've been noticing how skinny all the guests are on The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson.
Craig Ferguson. Craig Ferguson. Craig Ferguson.
I keep noticing how skinny everyone is on television. Even the men. What happened? I know things are bad but celebrities can still afford food, can't they? Is anorexic still in? Maybe it's just that everything is going high def now.
Speaking of which, we've been lucky enough to have a high def, wide screen television for quite a few years. In fact, we bought the T.V. before anyone was broadcasting in high def. Or in the right ratio for a widescreen.
Huh. Ummm, wait. I think a light bulb is going on here.
For years everyone on my television has been squished and stretched to fit my widescreen format. Everyone has been short and fat. I got used to it. Now that we have a new DirecTV box, everyone looks "normal".
Damn. Celebrities have been this damn skinny this whole time? I've been living in a shorter, fatter world than everyone else since 2000!
I think I liked my short, fat world. I want my old box back.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Craig Ferguson, Craig Ferguson
Speaking of my libido, it's been a while since I've had a grown up crush. Was the last one Raul B-something? Or Joseph Fiennes? I forget. But I digress.
Lately I've been crushing on T.V.'s Craig Ferguson. I record The Late Late Show every night and watch it after I drop the kids off in the morning.
I think Craig Ferguson is dreamy. I guess I have rather eclectic and diverse taste in men, but I think Craig Ferguson is both smart and funny. And Craig Ferguson is classically handsome with enough character to make him interesting. Any guy who can make me laugh with a self deprecating sense of humor can also get my juices flowing.
Craig Ferguson makes me wet.
(Don't worry. We can cut that out.)
So I've heard that Craig Ferguson Google's himself from time to time. I suppose Craig Ferguson surfs the net as much as anyone, researching for his comedy.
In the last couple of days I've gotten daily Google search hits for Craig Ferguson. Could it be that Craig Ferguson has found my blog? And Craig Ferguson finds me funny and entertaining? Do I intrigue Craig Ferguson. Craig Ferguson.
Does Craig Ferguson need some new writers? Does Craig Ferguson want to be my Tuna Man? Does Craig Ferguson need a new, interesting type of guest? Does Craig Ferguson want to get his Tuna Girl on?
Craig Ferguson. Craig Ferguson.
(And for image searches)
Craig Ferguson.
Oh, and I really enjoyed Craig Ferguson's book Between the Bridge and the River. You should buy it. Tell Craig Ferguson that Tuna Girl sent you.
Craig Ferguson.
What did we learn on the blog tonight, Craig?
Update: Craig Ferguson Watch '08
Eeeee!
Lately I've been crushing on T.V.'s Craig Ferguson. I record The Late Late Show every night and watch it after I drop the kids off in the morning.
I think Craig Ferguson is dreamy. I guess I have rather eclectic and diverse taste in men, but I think Craig Ferguson is both smart and funny. And Craig Ferguson is classically handsome with enough character to make him interesting. Any guy who can make me laugh with a self deprecating sense of humor can also get my juices flowing.
Craig Ferguson makes me wet.
(Don't worry. We can cut that out.)
So I've heard that Craig Ferguson Google's himself from time to time. I suppose Craig Ferguson surfs the net as much as anyone, researching for his comedy.
In the last couple of days I've gotten daily Google search hits for Craig Ferguson. Could it be that Craig Ferguson has found my blog? And Craig Ferguson finds me funny and entertaining? Do I intrigue Craig Ferguson. Craig Ferguson.
Does Craig Ferguson need some new writers? Does Craig Ferguson want to be my Tuna Man? Does Craig Ferguson need a new, interesting type of guest? Does Craig Ferguson want to get his Tuna Girl on?
Craig Ferguson. Craig Ferguson.
(And for image searches)
Craig Ferguson.
Oh, and I really enjoyed Craig Ferguson's book Between the Bridge and the River. You should buy it. Tell Craig Ferguson that Tuna Girl sent you.
Craig Ferguson.
What did we learn on the blog tonight, Craig?
Update: Craig Ferguson Watch '08
Eeeee!
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Waiting Boom
It recently occurred to me that I spend about...oh, say...maybe 80% of my waking hours waiting.
I wait for the dog to get groomed. I wait for my husband to get home. I wait in carpool line. I wait for the kids to finish practice. I wait and wait and wait.
Not that I mind it. Not really. There are always things to distract and entertain me.
At the groomer's I listen to Buffy's "stylist" Myke (with a y) tell me about his wife and kid. While waiting on my husband, I watch TiVo'd Craig Ferguson and try not to develop a crush. In carpool line I read or people watch. The parents at school are especially entertaining.
But my favorite is waiting at my kids' practices.
My kids spend an inordinate amount of time practicing things. In fact, if you think about it, practice really defines childhood. Right now the kids are mostly practicing violin and soccer.
Their violin teacher is one of my favorite people here. She's just like me! Except talented, young, and really pretty. Plus, her cutie doctor husband does yard work while the kids have their lesson.
And their soccer coaches. Yum. Well, I should point out that my husband is my son's soccer coach, but they also both go to soccer clinics once a week.
Those soccer coaches are just too damn yummy to ignore. And they have these moves! Da-yum! They can do the most amazing things with those balls. And they can turn on this incredible speed in a split second.
*sigh*
And, oh hey! Look at that. Ding! Looks like someone's libido is alive again.
Now, I guess I just have to do something about it. And for that I might be waiting a little more. The man's sleeping already.
I wait for the dog to get groomed. I wait for my husband to get home. I wait in carpool line. I wait for the kids to finish practice. I wait and wait and wait.
Not that I mind it. Not really. There are always things to distract and entertain me.
At the groomer's I listen to Buffy's "stylist" Myke (with a y) tell me about his wife and kid. While waiting on my husband, I watch TiVo'd Craig Ferguson and try not to develop a crush. In carpool line I read or people watch. The parents at school are especially entertaining.
But my favorite is waiting at my kids' practices.
My kids spend an inordinate amount of time practicing things. In fact, if you think about it, practice really defines childhood. Right now the kids are mostly practicing violin and soccer.
Their violin teacher is one of my favorite people here. She's just like me! Except talented, young, and really pretty. Plus, her cutie doctor husband does yard work while the kids have their lesson.
And their soccer coaches. Yum. Well, I should point out that my husband is my son's soccer coach, but they also both go to soccer clinics once a week.
Those soccer coaches are just too damn yummy to ignore. And they have these moves! Da-yum! They can do the most amazing things with those balls. And they can turn on this incredible speed in a split second.
*sigh*
And, oh hey! Look at that. Ding! Looks like someone's libido is alive again.
Now, I guess I just have to do something about it. And for that I might be waiting a little more. The man's sleeping already.
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
Are you kidding me?
I walked out of my house at 2:00 to go gas up the car and pick up the kids at 3:20.
When I hit the little unlock button on my car door handle nothing happened. No little beep. I had left my "keyless" key fob in the house. Along with my house key.
As I tried the front door, I mumbled a plea. "Oh, please, oh, please, oh, please." To no avail. It was locked.
No problem, I thought. There are four other entry ways to this house that no one ever remembers to lock.
All locked.
There was a brief moment of hope when I found the garage door opener. But the door from the garage to the house was locked.
More hope when I found a set of keys. To our garge door back in Shreveport and my husband's Chevelle on Cape Cod.
No need to panic yet. My husband has time enough to get to the kids. Thank goodness I have my phone.
Twenty calls, e-mails and texts go unanswered.
Okay. I have a shed and a garage full of tools and glass in my doors. A hammer, crowbar and jumbo hedge trimmers will not shatter that glass. I am weak. Ibriefly consider using the circular saw to cut a hole in the door.
By now, an hour has gone by and I realize that even if I got in now, I could never get to the kids on time. I call the school and ask them to put the kids in after school care.
Finally, FINALLY, my husband calls me back.
"Did you try the back door?"
*****
****
***
Is he freaking kidding me!
He is on his way to get the kids. I am on the back porch blogging from my Treo.
At least it's not raining. At least I know it would take a criminal more determined than me to get into my house.
No criminal could be more determined than I was to get to my children today.
Tonight we get a spare key made. My heart can't take this again.
When I hit the little unlock button on my car door handle nothing happened. No little beep. I had left my "keyless" key fob in the house. Along with my house key.
As I tried the front door, I mumbled a plea. "Oh, please, oh, please, oh, please." To no avail. It was locked.
No problem, I thought. There are four other entry ways to this house that no one ever remembers to lock.
All locked.
There was a brief moment of hope when I found the garage door opener. But the door from the garage to the house was locked.
More hope when I found a set of keys. To our garge door back in Shreveport and my husband's Chevelle on Cape Cod.
No need to panic yet. My husband has time enough to get to the kids. Thank goodness I have my phone.
Twenty calls, e-mails and texts go unanswered.
Okay. I have a shed and a garage full of tools and glass in my doors. A hammer, crowbar and jumbo hedge trimmers will not shatter that glass. I am weak. Ibriefly consider using the circular saw to cut a hole in the door.
By now, an hour has gone by and I realize that even if I got in now, I could never get to the kids on time. I call the school and ask them to put the kids in after school care.
Finally, FINALLY, my husband calls me back.
"Did you try the back door?"
*****
****
***
Is he freaking kidding me!
He is on his way to get the kids. I am on the back porch blogging from my Treo.
At least it's not raining. At least I know it would take a criminal more determined than me to get into my house.
No criminal could be more determined than I was to get to my children today.
Tonight we get a spare key made. My heart can't take this again.
Monday, October 06, 2008
Who's Minding the Store?
My husband did the sweetest thing this weekend.
He surprised me on Saturday by taking me to a piano store. He was going to buy me a piano, probably used, maybe even a used digital, but still. A piano.
He did a bunch of research and found this place online. It was highly rated and they also donate pianos to the kids' music academy which provides music education to underprivileged children.
I expected to be accosted by a sale's person the second we walked in the door. But the bing bong didn't seem to attract anyone.
Then we realized that there was a man snoring at his desk in the back of the store.
We tried to surreptitiously wake him. We cleared throats and spoke to the kids. We bing bonged the door one more time. But he kept on snoring.
We checked out the inventory but the longer we were there the more afraid we became that when we finally woke him up, he'd have a heart attack.
Even in sleep he looked about one juicy steak away from a heart attack anyway.
I was started to get the creeps and decided that we must leave right away.
We did stop at the kitchen design shop right next door, though. We were worried that the guy would get accosted and robbed.
And so I didn't get my piano. But I did pick out some awesome Black Galaxy granite counter tops.
It never pays to sleep on the job.
He surprised me on Saturday by taking me to a piano store. He was going to buy me a piano, probably used, maybe even a used digital, but still. A piano.
He did a bunch of research and found this place online. It was highly rated and they also donate pianos to the kids' music academy which provides music education to underprivileged children.
I expected to be accosted by a sale's person the second we walked in the door. But the bing bong didn't seem to attract anyone.
Then we realized that there was a man snoring at his desk in the back of the store.
We tried to surreptitiously wake him. We cleared throats and spoke to the kids. We bing bonged the door one more time. But he kept on snoring.
We checked out the inventory but the longer we were there the more afraid we became that when we finally woke him up, he'd have a heart attack.
Even in sleep he looked about one juicy steak away from a heart attack anyway.
I was started to get the creeps and decided that we must leave right away.
We did stop at the kitchen design shop right next door, though. We were worried that the guy would get accosted and robbed.
And so I didn't get my piano. But I did pick out some awesome Black Galaxy granite counter tops.
It never pays to sleep on the job.
Friday, October 03, 2008
Speaking of Cartoons
This is what I do while on the phone.
I wonder what a psychologist would make of it.
Good Plan
"It's free and you can't get your hair in a ponytail if you don't."
You said it, Natalie. I'm totally on board.
You said it, Natalie. I'm totally on board.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
I am sad.
I miss my old friends.
I miss sending the kids to a school I felt good about.
I miss having a purpose in my life outside of raising my kids and building my marriage.
I miss who I was back in Louisiana.
Mostly, I miss my friends.
A couple of days ago my husband regrettfully informed me that there is a possibility we will be heading back to the bayou in two or three years.
I wasn't sad about that. Can you believe it? It is quite telling.
So, today, I post myself a sappy reminder of what it is all about.
When I can't give them the world, it hurts so much.
I miss my old friends.
I miss sending the kids to a school I felt good about.
I miss having a purpose in my life outside of raising my kids and building my marriage.
I miss who I was back in Louisiana.
Mostly, I miss my friends.
A couple of days ago my husband regrettfully informed me that there is a possibility we will be heading back to the bayou in two or three years.
I wasn't sad about that. Can you believe it? It is quite telling.
So, today, I post myself a sappy reminder of what it is all about.
When I can't give them the world, it hurts so much.
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
Stupid, Junior High Rant
I got sarcastic quotation marked! (Yes, that's a verb.)
So, I stupidly, stupidly, stupidly volunteered to be a room mom. I thought it would be a good way to get involved at our new school and maybe meet some new friends.
Big mistake. Big fucking mistake. This is no sweet, little, Southern private school. This is a whole 'nother back-stabbing, snobby group of socialites with more time and money than brains or basic manners.
I got along just fine with the other room mother in my daughter's class. And I had already done enough work to get to know her teacher a little.
But when I went to the big meeting for all the room moms, I started wishing for a way to bail out.
Have you ever met a person and were just overwhelmed by her stupidity? Within moments of her opening her mouth you just knew that something wasn't quite right there. One of the room parents in our grade was like that.
But she was also mean. And self important. And desperate to be in charge.
My husband said, "She's a bitch!"
And I said, "No, she's really stupid."
And my husband replied, "So, she's a Dumb Bitch."
And she will forever be known as DB to me now.
Anyway, her participation is going to make everything a hundred times harder than it needs to be. To which I say, "Fine." I'll just put my head down, do my work, and make nice.
Well, then I got my big bale out.
My daughter got moved into the enrichment level at school.
Um, you know, I have to say it. Neener, neener, neener!
So I asked her teacher what this meant for room moms and she said, "Unfortunately, I'm going to lose you."
In the meantime, all hell had broken loose on the room mother front. Our grade apparently had a big fight, both verbally and in e-mail. We were chastised by the heads of the group. And I got pissed off. I held my tongue though.
But, the head lady called me and apologized for the whole thing and said that she knew I wasn't a part of any of it and obviously there are some personality issues. Than she said that she was sorry that they were losing me as a room mom and congratulations to my daughter for making it into the advanced program.
So I asked her how I should go about telling the other room moms, since they were meeting on Thursday and I didn't want to step on any toes.
She told me she would do it.
So she sent an e-mail, and of course included me. DB (who desperately called the meeting and only had me reply) replied all with a snarky response.
DB, check the distribution list before you hit send. (And don't e-mail from your anonymous blog's e-mail address.) And don't you dare sarcastic quotation mark the "QUEEN" of "sarcastic" quotation marks.
She will call me to "include" me. I'm this close to e-mailing her back to say not to "bother".
Stupid, Junior High Rant over.
So, I stupidly, stupidly, stupidly volunteered to be a room mom. I thought it would be a good way to get involved at our new school and maybe meet some new friends.
Big mistake. Big fucking mistake. This is no sweet, little, Southern private school. This is a whole 'nother back-stabbing, snobby group of socialites with more time and money than brains or basic manners.
I got along just fine with the other room mother in my daughter's class. And I had already done enough work to get to know her teacher a little.
But when I went to the big meeting for all the room moms, I started wishing for a way to bail out.
Have you ever met a person and were just overwhelmed by her stupidity? Within moments of her opening her mouth you just knew that something wasn't quite right there. One of the room parents in our grade was like that.
But she was also mean. And self important. And desperate to be in charge.
My husband said, "She's a bitch!"
And I said, "No, she's really stupid."
And my husband replied, "So, she's a Dumb Bitch."
And she will forever be known as DB to me now.
Anyway, her participation is going to make everything a hundred times harder than it needs to be. To which I say, "Fine." I'll just put my head down, do my work, and make nice.
Well, then I got my big bale out.
My daughter got moved into the enrichment level at school.
Um, you know, I have to say it. Neener, neener, neener!
So I asked her teacher what this meant for room moms and she said, "Unfortunately, I'm going to lose you."
In the meantime, all hell had broken loose on the room mother front. Our grade apparently had a big fight, both verbally and in e-mail. We were chastised by the heads of the group. And I got pissed off. I held my tongue though.
But, the head lady called me and apologized for the whole thing and said that she knew I wasn't a part of any of it and obviously there are some personality issues. Than she said that she was sorry that they were losing me as a room mom and congratulations to my daughter for making it into the advanced program.
So I asked her how I should go about telling the other room moms, since they were meeting on Thursday and I didn't want to step on any toes.
She told me she would do it.
So she sent an e-mail, and of course included me. DB (who desperately called the meeting and only had me reply) replied all with a snarky response.
DB, check the distribution list before you hit send. (And don't e-mail from your anonymous blog's e-mail address.) And don't you dare sarcastic quotation mark the "QUEEN" of "sarcastic" quotation marks.
She will call me to "include" me. I'm this close to e-mailing her back to say not to "bother".
Stupid, Junior High Rant over.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
At the Symphony
The kids played in the lobby of Chrysler Hall before the symphony tonight.
They were awesome.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Dear Obama Campaign Volunteers,
While I appreciate your support of the democratic process, and even that you've taken the time to call me on the phone, having five volunteers call me in a twelve hour period is a bit much.
It's telemarketing 101, people. Split the list up! Handing out multiple copies of the same list is only going to result in annoyed people screening their calls.
Wait until my husband the Republican answers the phone.
Oh! And p.s. When someone tells you they've received multiple calls, don't continue your spiel. Apologize, thank them for their time and hang up.
It's telemarketing 101, people. Split the list up! Handing out multiple copies of the same list is only going to result in annoyed people screening their calls.
Wait until my husband the Republican answers the phone.
Oh! And p.s. When someone tells you they've received multiple calls, don't continue your spiel. Apologize, thank them for their time and hang up.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Mistake Prone
I have always thought of myself as being mistake prone. Talented, but prone to mistakes. Smart, but prone to mistakes. Athletic, but prone to mistakes. Social, but prone to mistakes.
I remember first having these thoughts in high school when I was playing sports. I could make the most brilliant play one moment, and just give the ball away the next. In basketball, where things move quickly, it's one thing. But in softball, where a big E goes up on the board and everyone stares at you for a while, it is hard.
I've got a lot of big E's in my life.
It was also in high school that I first heard the word ditsy bandied about. As in, "She's so smart, but a bit ditsy."
I did not take that well. I still to this day do not think that I am ditsy. I am just...mistake prone. Prone to making mistakes.
Yesterday's e-mail snafu is a great example. And way too often lately I have found myself saying the wrong thing. Though well-intentioned, the words just don't come out right and I fall on my face. And I hurt people's feelings, or make them jealous, or make them mad. When all I ever wanted to do was make nice. I try too hard.
That sucks. It makes me think mistake prone is really dumb, fucking idiot.
But I got some great advice, by way of some random man, by way of his therapist.
It's called a rainy day letter. At a time when you feel really good about yourself you take a few minutes to sit down and write out all of the things that are best and true about you. You write out all of the compliments you hold close to your heart. You write about why the people who love you love you as much as they do. Go fishing if you have to, but figure out what is so great about you that you have a job, friends, and family.
Then the next time you make a mistake, and you feel like an idiot, and the negative thoughts are crashing over you like white capped waves, you take out your rainy day letter and you remember who you really are.
And you remember that we are all prone to make mistakes. Because we are all human. And maybe you're better off for at least realizing that you've made a mistake in the first place.
I think that is brilliant advice, though it is a little too corny for my normal tastes. Still, I think I'll compose one very soon. My self worth does run quite deep and I know I can fill a letter with plenty of things.
First and foremost on that list would be that I love very deeply.
What would the first thing on your list be?
I remember first having these thoughts in high school when I was playing sports. I could make the most brilliant play one moment, and just give the ball away the next. In basketball, where things move quickly, it's one thing. But in softball, where a big E goes up on the board and everyone stares at you for a while, it is hard.
I've got a lot of big E's in my life.
It was also in high school that I first heard the word ditsy bandied about. As in, "She's so smart, but a bit ditsy."
I did not take that well. I still to this day do not think that I am ditsy. I am just...mistake prone. Prone to making mistakes.
Yesterday's e-mail snafu is a great example. And way too often lately I have found myself saying the wrong thing. Though well-intentioned, the words just don't come out right and I fall on my face. And I hurt people's feelings, or make them jealous, or make them mad. When all I ever wanted to do was make nice. I try too hard.
That sucks. It makes me think mistake prone is really dumb, fucking idiot.
But I got some great advice, by way of some random man, by way of his therapist.
It's called a rainy day letter. At a time when you feel really good about yourself you take a few minutes to sit down and write out all of the things that are best and true about you. You write out all of the compliments you hold close to your heart. You write about why the people who love you love you as much as they do. Go fishing if you have to, but figure out what is so great about you that you have a job, friends, and family.
Then the next time you make a mistake, and you feel like an idiot, and the negative thoughts are crashing over you like white capped waves, you take out your rainy day letter and you remember who you really are.
And you remember that we are all prone to make mistakes. Because we are all human. And maybe you're better off for at least realizing that you've made a mistake in the first place.
I think that is brilliant advice, though it is a little too corny for my normal tastes. Still, I think I'll compose one very soon. My self worth does run quite deep and I know I can fill a letter with plenty of things.
First and foremost on that list would be that I love very deeply.
What would the first thing on your list be?
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Bad, Bad, Bad
I just sent an e-mail to my son's entire soccer team from my Tuna Girl address.
Oops. I noticed about ten seconds after I sent it and did that shocked inhale thing.
Let's hope no one makes the connection. Or if they do, let's hope they have a sense of humor.
Dang. Dang. Dang!
Oops. I noticed about ten seconds after I sent it and did that shocked inhale thing.
Let's hope no one makes the connection. Or if they do, let's hope they have a sense of humor.
Dang. Dang. Dang!
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
"Who is this woman?"
Sometimes, simply because I am a parent, I find myself doing things that I never imagined I would.
I had this thought last night as I was working to change the chinrest on a violin.
My life A.D. (After Daughter, as opposed to life B.C. or Before Children) has including a string of out-of-body moments where I look down on myself happily doing something completely out of character.
It started in the very beginning when I changed my daughter's first diaper. I had never handled another human being's poop before. I couldn't even imagine myself doing it until I did.
This blog is full of out-of-body examples. I had profound moments of mom-type realizations while crafting tiny little frames and running a Teddy Bear relay race for three-year-olds.
Now that my children are older I find myself doing even more out-of-character things. Designing costumes, tuning violins, organizing fundraisers, substitute teaching and interacting with other people's children. These may seem like such ordinary things to every one else but when I catch myself doing them, sometimes I step back and say, "Who is this woman? I don't know her at all!"
I think the rate of change is all out of whack. One day you're suddenly a parent and your world is completely different. But over the next few years, you so gradually change from the parent of a baby, to the parent of a toddler, to the parent of a kid, to the parent of a preteen...
It happens so slowly on a daily basis but sometimes you stop and look back, shocked to find that your offspring aren't still in diapers.
What's most amazing to me is that, generally speaking, I am so happy with who I've become. I could never have imagined back in college when I was so into the women's liberation movement that I would one day be this person.
Last week I was seeking some advice from the people who know me best. And without fail, every one of them said the same thing to me, in almost the exact same words.
"You've been doing for others for so long. Isn't it time you did something for yourself?"
I thought and thought about it and I finally came to realize something. It has all been for me. This...thing...this motherhood thing is what makes me the happiest. I've been "doing for myself" all along.
And doesn't that just make me one freaking lucky S.O.B?
I had this thought last night as I was working to change the chinrest on a violin.
My life A.D. (After Daughter, as opposed to life B.C. or Before Children) has including a string of out-of-body moments where I look down on myself happily doing something completely out of character.
It started in the very beginning when I changed my daughter's first diaper. I had never handled another human being's poop before. I couldn't even imagine myself doing it until I did.
This blog is full of out-of-body examples. I had profound moments of mom-type realizations while crafting tiny little frames and running a Teddy Bear relay race for three-year-olds.
Now that my children are older I find myself doing even more out-of-character things. Designing costumes, tuning violins, organizing fundraisers, substitute teaching and interacting with other people's children. These may seem like such ordinary things to every one else but when I catch myself doing them, sometimes I step back and say, "Who is this woman? I don't know her at all!"
I think the rate of change is all out of whack. One day you're suddenly a parent and your world is completely different. But over the next few years, you so gradually change from the parent of a baby, to the parent of a toddler, to the parent of a kid, to the parent of a preteen...
It happens so slowly on a daily basis but sometimes you stop and look back, shocked to find that your offspring aren't still in diapers.
What's most amazing to me is that, generally speaking, I am so happy with who I've become. I could never have imagined back in college when I was so into the women's liberation movement that I would one day be this person.
Last week I was seeking some advice from the people who know me best. And without fail, every one of them said the same thing to me, in almost the exact same words.
"You've been doing for others for so long. Isn't it time you did something for yourself?"
I thought and thought about it and I finally came to realize something. It has all been for me. This...thing...this motherhood thing is what makes me the happiest. I've been "doing for myself" all along.
And doesn't that just make me one freaking lucky S.O.B?
Monday, September 22, 2008
On Track
I'm in a weird--no--strike that. I am in a horrible mood.
I'm not sure why but I feel uncomfortable right now. Not only in my own skin, but in my own person. I get like this sometimes and I really don't know why.
But I do know that it makes me short, annoyed and irritated. Which I am sure makes me annoying and irritating to those I love.
I guess my husband is lucky that he is so very far away. He arrived in Hawaii safe and sound and left me a voicemail last night to say, "Aloha!" Cute. He wasn't really looking forward to going to Hawaii (freak) but he sounded really happy when I talked to him last night. It turns out that an old friend of ours is stationed there and will be part of the project my husband is working on.
But my poor kids are stuck here with only me. But I have found a babysitting service here, so I feel like the pressure is off me just a little bit. Now the husband and I can have a few date nights here and there. This service will also drive your kids to activities. So until I get to know some people here, I'll have to depend on a sitter who has been background and driving records checked to occasionally pick up a kid when both kids have to be someplace at the same time. (Like this Thursday.) The kids love having sitters and I have already met one I liked. I can't tell you how much of a load is off me now.
Wow. I'm already feeling a little better.
This morning I went to a room mothers meeting at school. Yes, I am going to be a room mom again. I'm actually sort of excited about it because volunteering is a great way to meet new people and make new friends. A few people have remembered and said hello to me around the school lately. It's a start.
I'm going to take some great advice from a good friend and go make my bed. Then I am going to clean off my dining room table.
I always feel better when my environment is neat and organized. I guess my surroundings need to feel more on track when my heart and brain can't be.
I'm not sure why but I feel uncomfortable right now. Not only in my own skin, but in my own person. I get like this sometimes and I really don't know why.
But I do know that it makes me short, annoyed and irritated. Which I am sure makes me annoying and irritating to those I love.
I guess my husband is lucky that he is so very far away. He arrived in Hawaii safe and sound and left me a voicemail last night to say, "Aloha!" Cute. He wasn't really looking forward to going to Hawaii (freak) but he sounded really happy when I talked to him last night. It turns out that an old friend of ours is stationed there and will be part of the project my husband is working on.
But my poor kids are stuck here with only me. But I have found a babysitting service here, so I feel like the pressure is off me just a little bit. Now the husband and I can have a few date nights here and there. This service will also drive your kids to activities. So until I get to know some people here, I'll have to depend on a sitter who has been background and driving records checked to occasionally pick up a kid when both kids have to be someplace at the same time. (Like this Thursday.) The kids love having sitters and I have already met one I liked. I can't tell you how much of a load is off me now.
Wow. I'm already feeling a little better.
This morning I went to a room mothers meeting at school. Yes, I am going to be a room mom again. I'm actually sort of excited about it because volunteering is a great way to meet new people and make new friends. A few people have remembered and said hello to me around the school lately. It's a start.
I'm going to take some great advice from a good friend and go make my bed. Then I am going to clean off my dining room table.
I always feel better when my environment is neat and organized. I guess my surroundings need to feel more on track when my heart and brain can't be.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Some Random Hawaiin Reference Here
When I was a kid, my parents went to Hawaii on a credit union trip and left my brother and I home alone. They said the trip was "no kids" and at 16 and 12 we were responsible enough to take care of ourselves.
Then all their credit union cohorts brought their kids. Many of whom were my friends.
We got so screwed.
When I was in high school my mother took my grandmother to Hawaii. And when I was in college my parents went there again in conjunction with a cruise.
I've still never been.
It's been a running joke in my family for years, how I always get left behind.
So kind of as a joke, when my kids asked what we could maybe do as a reward if they practice violin for 365 days in a row, my husband offered, "How about a trip to Hawaii?"
We're on day 91 and the kids are already making Hawaiian plans.
But here's the kicker. My husband told me last week that he's leaving for Hawaii on Saturday.
Fucker. He's killing me. Soon he'll have been to two of the places I want to go to worst in the world (London and Hawaii) without me. *pout*
Oh sure, he's also been to Iraq and Afghanistan. But still.
So the kids and I are rather put out. But I have a feeling we'll be practicing violin every single day for 274 more.
Then all their credit union cohorts brought their kids. Many of whom were my friends.
We got so screwed.
When I was in high school my mother took my grandmother to Hawaii. And when I was in college my parents went there again in conjunction with a cruise.
I've still never been.
It's been a running joke in my family for years, how I always get left behind.
So kind of as a joke, when my kids asked what we could maybe do as a reward if they practice violin for 365 days in a row, my husband offered, "How about a trip to Hawaii?"
We're on day 91 and the kids are already making Hawaiian plans.
But here's the kicker. My husband told me last week that he's leaving for Hawaii on Saturday.
Fucker. He's killing me. Soon he'll have been to two of the places I want to go to worst in the world (London and Hawaii) without me. *pout*
Oh sure, he's also been to Iraq and Afghanistan. But still.
So the kids and I are rather put out. But I have a feeling we'll be practicing violin every single day for 274 more.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Your Beeswax, Mind It
One thing I like about our new digs is the conveniently located shopping plaza in our neighborhood. I'm not sure I've ever lived anywhere where it was so easy to quickly drop off some dry cleaning or pick up a few groceries.
The downside is that it is easy to pick up that food you're craving but know you shouldn't have. And they sell 100 Grand bars. I love those damn things.
We also love the doughnuts in the bakery there. Well, I love doughnuts in general, just on principle, but theirs are especially yummy.
Yesterday I gave in and went and bought four doughnuts. It's bad enough that the doughnuts are so easily accessible to me. I thought I was doing pretty good to buy just one for each of us.
And then the cashier lady yelled at me!
She was mad that I bought four when I could have a dozen for less money.
At first I laughed it off, "Oh, I know. But I don't want all those doughnuts in the house."
But she scoffed at me. She scoffed! She rolled her eyes and told me I was wasting money.
What the hell, lady? You're not my mother. I don't remember asking for your opinion. If the freaking eight cents I wasted means that much to you, you can have it.
Our friendly neighborhood grocery doesn't feel so friendly anymore.
The downside is that it is easy to pick up that food you're craving but know you shouldn't have. And they sell 100 Grand bars. I love those damn things.
We also love the doughnuts in the bakery there. Well, I love doughnuts in general, just on principle, but theirs are especially yummy.
Yesterday I gave in and went and bought four doughnuts. It's bad enough that the doughnuts are so easily accessible to me. I thought I was doing pretty good to buy just one for each of us.
And then the cashier lady yelled at me!
She was mad that I bought four when I could have a dozen for less money.
At first I laughed it off, "Oh, I know. But I don't want all those doughnuts in the house."
But she scoffed at me. She scoffed! She rolled her eyes and told me I was wasting money.
What the hell, lady? You're not my mother. I don't remember asking for your opinion. If the freaking eight cents I wasted means that much to you, you can have it.
Our friendly neighborhood grocery doesn't feel so friendly anymore.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Freezing Out the Bitch
It's bad enough when the snooty moms leave their SUVs running for forty minutes sitting in car pool line. But, dude! This is ridiculous.
Today, a snooty mom pulled up in her Lexus SUV, threw that puppy in park and jumped out to gossip with her friends.
She left both windows wide open, the engine running, the AC blasting, and her golden retriever sitting in her car.
I could feel the cold air blasting out from her windows in my car! And her poor Fido was shivering.
After twenty minutes, Fido was fed up and leaned on the horn. I swear she shot me a look that said, "Can you believe her? Snooty bitch."
I feel you, Fido. I feel you, girlfriend.
Today, a snooty mom pulled up in her Lexus SUV, threw that puppy in park and jumped out to gossip with her friends.
She left both windows wide open, the engine running, the AC blasting, and her golden retriever sitting in her car.
I could feel the cold air blasting out from her windows in my car! And her poor Fido was shivering.
After twenty minutes, Fido was fed up and leaned on the horn. I swear she shot me a look that said, "Can you believe her? Snooty bitch."
I feel you, Fido. I feel you, girlfriend.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Not Old Enough
I busted my husband last night.
I was waiting for him to come home with my daughter after soccer practice so I kept watching out the front window. So I saw his car pull into the cul-de-sac. And I saw my daughter sitting in the front seat.
He beat my daughter into the house so I asked him, "When did your daughter turn twelve?"
Oh, maybe it's important here to note to you non-parenting types that you're not supposed to let a child under twelve sit in the front seat because it is not safe with the passenger side airbags most cars have today.
Well, that interrupts the flow of a mediocre story. Suddenly I feel like a late night talk show host whose story has gone nowhere. Anyway...
He gave me a sheepish look.
Of course it took my daughter forever to get into the house, because she's...well...her, so I both teased him and let him know that I didn't like that at all. He was so busted.
I decided not to say anything to her because I knew she would feel so guilty.
My son wasn't privy to any of this. But this morning as we were pulling though the drop off area at school he loudly pointed out, "Look! That little girl is in the front seat. That's not a good idea!"
My daughter got instantly silent.
But my son went on and on. "That's dangerous. Her daddy should know better."
I swear my son and I aren't in cahoots. We're just two peas in a rule following pod.
I was waiting for him to come home with my daughter after soccer practice so I kept watching out the front window. So I saw his car pull into the cul-de-sac. And I saw my daughter sitting in the front seat.
He beat my daughter into the house so I asked him, "When did your daughter turn twelve?"
Oh, maybe it's important here to note to you non-parenting types that you're not supposed to let a child under twelve sit in the front seat because it is not safe with the passenger side airbags most cars have today.
Well, that interrupts the flow of a mediocre story. Suddenly I feel like a late night talk show host whose story has gone nowhere. Anyway...
He gave me a sheepish look.
Of course it took my daughter forever to get into the house, because she's...well...her, so I both teased him and let him know that I didn't like that at all. He was so busted.
I decided not to say anything to her because I knew she would feel so guilty.
My son wasn't privy to any of this. But this morning as we were pulling though the drop off area at school he loudly pointed out, "Look! That little girl is in the front seat. That's not a good idea!"
My daughter got instantly silent.
But my son went on and on. "That's dangerous. Her daddy should know better."
I swear my son and I aren't in cahoots. We're just two peas in a rule following pod.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Old Enough
Any kid who turns seven-years-old today--or any kid younger than seven--was born into a post-9/11 world.
In fact, I think any kid who will turn seven between today and nine months from today belongs to a special group of 9/11 babies.
There is a whole subset of women out there who were pregnant on that day. The women who were pregnant and lost husbands and lovers on that day will always belong to a group of amazing women who have a special place in the heart of America. But there are American women everywhere who bore babies into a world they hadn't thought they would have to.
I'm one of those women. I was almost seven months pregnant on September 11, 2001. My son was born in December.
Those 9/11 babies are starting first grade now.
Those 9/11 babies are old enough to ask questions.
Those 9/11 babies are old enough to realize that something is...different.
One day this summer I took the kids to a little New York-style pizza place near our house. They have a huge mural on one wall of a pre-9/11 Manhattan skyline.
My son who is fascinated by all things New York-related was naming the buildings. But he didn't know what those two tall, "twin" buildings were.
My daughter, oh-so-sophisticated and educated on the matter, told him that they were the Twin Towers that were knocked down by terrorists. And he started to ask questions.
So I sat there in a little dive pizza place and told my son all about it.
I told him how much had changed in the world. I told him how many people died, how many kids lost parents. He was taking it in and I was doing okay, until I told him about how it had effected us.
I told him that this was why his father has had to go away so much. I told him that this was why Daddy was gone for most of his baby years.
I couldn't help tearing up. Those were the hardest words I had ever had to say. Kids born into the post 9/11 world, especially those born those few months right after, especially New York kids, and especially military kids, are different.
Maybe they are better than they would have been. Maybe they are worse. But they are different.
And now they are old enough to understand, to learn about it in school.
Every year on this day I have one prevailing thought. We were so lucky. Lucky that my husband was here for his son's birth. Lucky that my husband wasn't at the Pentagon that day. Lucky that the chain reaction of political events that eventually sent my husband to Baghdad did not kill him.
Most of all, lucky to have our post-9/11 and our pre-9/11 children in our lives. And lucky that they feel secure enough to talk to us about it.
In fact, I think any kid who will turn seven between today and nine months from today belongs to a special group of 9/11 babies.
There is a whole subset of women out there who were pregnant on that day. The women who were pregnant and lost husbands and lovers on that day will always belong to a group of amazing women who have a special place in the heart of America. But there are American women everywhere who bore babies into a world they hadn't thought they would have to.
I'm one of those women. I was almost seven months pregnant on September 11, 2001. My son was born in December.
Those 9/11 babies are starting first grade now.
Those 9/11 babies are old enough to ask questions.
Those 9/11 babies are old enough to realize that something is...different.
One day this summer I took the kids to a little New York-style pizza place near our house. They have a huge mural on one wall of a pre-9/11 Manhattan skyline.
My son who is fascinated by all things New York-related was naming the buildings. But he didn't know what those two tall, "twin" buildings were.
My daughter, oh-so-sophisticated and educated on the matter, told him that they were the Twin Towers that were knocked down by terrorists. And he started to ask questions.
So I sat there in a little dive pizza place and told my son all about it.
I told him how much had changed in the world. I told him how many people died, how many kids lost parents. He was taking it in and I was doing okay, until I told him about how it had effected us.
I told him that this was why his father has had to go away so much. I told him that this was why Daddy was gone for most of his baby years.
I couldn't help tearing up. Those were the hardest words I had ever had to say. Kids born into the post 9/11 world, especially those born those few months right after, especially New York kids, and especially military kids, are different.
Maybe they are better than they would have been. Maybe they are worse. But they are different.
And now they are old enough to understand, to learn about it in school.
Every year on this day I have one prevailing thought. We were so lucky. Lucky that my husband was here for his son's birth. Lucky that my husband wasn't at the Pentagon that day. Lucky that the chain reaction of political events that eventually sent my husband to Baghdad did not kill him.
Most of all, lucky to have our post-9/11 and our pre-9/11 children in our lives. And lucky that they feel secure enough to talk to us about it.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Fake It 'til You Make It
This morning I seriously did one of the hardest things I've ever done.
Okay, you guys know me. Right? After all this time you know that I don't care much about my looks. For god's sake, the first time I ever met a bunch of bloggers my jaw was wired shut and my face was swollen like a chipmunk.
I don't like the way I look but I also don't really care much. I'd never let my looks (or lack there of) keep me from doing something I want to do.
But this morning it took every once of my self esteem reserves to get me though the door to the school's Welcome Coffee and Volunteer Fair.
It's hard enough walking into a social situation like that all alone. It's even harder when you strongly sense that you don't fit in.
But with my ridiculous new haircut, it was nearly impossible.
I look so stupid.
I'm ashamed to admit it but I hadn't had my hair cut since I donated it earlier this year. I wanted to do something a little different but decided to go ahead and ask for my normal, simple bob but without bangs for once. Ooooh, what a maverick I am.
I randomly chose a salon only because it was open on Sunday, the only day my daughter and I had time to spare. She got a great cut. Mine...not so much.
At least my stylist admitted she made a mistake. Actually, she was messing with the back of my hair and said, "Uh oh. I think I goofed." To even things out she cut and cut and cut.
My hair is now a short, misshapen mess. A short misshapen mess I paid 45 bucks for.
I look ridiculous.
Anyway, I did it. I went to this coffee and volunteered for a few committees. I tried to make conversation but after ten minutes of perusing all of the fair tables and drinking a cup of o.j. I found myself standing alone like a dork and I took off. (I wasn't the only one. They needed more "old" moms to engage the new ones.)
At least I did it.
My philosophy is to fake it until I make it. (I think I heard that from Heather Graham's character on Scrubs!) Act confident until you can be confident. Act like you fit in until you do fit in.
Act like you give a fuck until you actually do.
Okay, you guys know me. Right? After all this time you know that I don't care much about my looks. For god's sake, the first time I ever met a bunch of bloggers my jaw was wired shut and my face was swollen like a chipmunk.
I don't like the way I look but I also don't really care much. I'd never let my looks (or lack there of) keep me from doing something I want to do.
But this morning it took every once of my self esteem reserves to get me though the door to the school's Welcome Coffee and Volunteer Fair.
It's hard enough walking into a social situation like that all alone. It's even harder when you strongly sense that you don't fit in.
But with my ridiculous new haircut, it was nearly impossible.
I look so stupid.
I'm ashamed to admit it but I hadn't had my hair cut since I donated it earlier this year. I wanted to do something a little different but decided to go ahead and ask for my normal, simple bob but without bangs for once. Ooooh, what a maverick I am.
I randomly chose a salon only because it was open on Sunday, the only day my daughter and I had time to spare. She got a great cut. Mine...not so much.
At least my stylist admitted she made a mistake. Actually, she was messing with the back of my hair and said, "Uh oh. I think I goofed." To even things out she cut and cut and cut.
My hair is now a short, misshapen mess. A short misshapen mess I paid 45 bucks for.
I look ridiculous.
Anyway, I did it. I went to this coffee and volunteered for a few committees. I tried to make conversation but after ten minutes of perusing all of the fair tables and drinking a cup of o.j. I found myself standing alone like a dork and I took off. (I wasn't the only one. They needed more "old" moms to engage the new ones.)
At least I did it.
My philosophy is to fake it until I make it. (I think I heard that from Heather Graham's character on Scrubs!) Act confident until you can be confident. Act like you fit in until you do fit in.
Act like you give a fuck until you actually do.
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
Dear Snooty School Moms,
You may be able to afford to keep your Escalades and your Lexus SUVs running for the forty minutes we sit in carpool line, but I can't.
Turn them off already and crack a freaking window. I promise you won't melt. You're asphyxiating me here.
*cough cough*
Signed,
Living in the Real World in my Mazda.
Turn them off already and crack a freaking window. I promise you won't melt. You're asphyxiating me here.
*cough cough*
Signed,
Living in the Real World in my Mazda.
Monday, September 08, 2008
What's Up with Little Tuna Girl
Speaking of Vice Presidential candidates, my daughter and I spent yesterday together. It was nice to have time alone with her. She is growing up so amazingly fast and our times alone are few and far between.
She's been up to so much lately.
First of all, a few weeks after we arrived here this summer she tried out for an advanced soccer team. And she made it. I was so proud of her. I wasn't sure how she would hold up here in a new soccer system, but she's been doing just fine. Tonight she starts a special clinic that is supposed to prepare her to try out for the next level up (the travel team) next year.
She's also been rocking the violin. We're on day 81 of our 100 day practice challenge. Her goal is to graduate this level (Book 2) this year and she's right on track.
She has been fitting in well at school so far. She made a best friend and talks about one boy all the time. Those two kids actually won the student council elections so it sounds like she wormed her way in with the popular kids.
She was tested last week to be placed in the right level math and language arts classes. She ended up in Intermediate Math (Yay! All that summer work paid off.) and Intermediate Language Arts. (Boo. She's been testing in the 99th percentile up until now.)
Yesterday we got our hair cut (more on that later). She sat patiently and waited for my stylist to finish my cut for over an hour and a half. Then we had lunch on the patio of her favorite restaurant. She couldn't stop telling me how happy she was.
We concluded our day with a trip to the bookstore and The Talk. You know...The Talk.
She really is growing up fast.
She's such a good kid. Completely good hearted, empathetic and kind. She wants to be a veterinarian when she grows up, but she's also been writing novels in her spare time. (She's done more writing in the last few months than I have.)
She can drive me completely nuts, but I love her and appreciate her more than I could ever say.
She's been up to so much lately.
First of all, a few weeks after we arrived here this summer she tried out for an advanced soccer team. And she made it. I was so proud of her. I wasn't sure how she would hold up here in a new soccer system, but she's been doing just fine. Tonight she starts a special clinic that is supposed to prepare her to try out for the next level up (the travel team) next year.
She's also been rocking the violin. We're on day 81 of our 100 day practice challenge. Her goal is to graduate this level (Book 2) this year and she's right on track.
She has been fitting in well at school so far. She made a best friend and talks about one boy all the time. Those two kids actually won the student council elections so it sounds like she wormed her way in with the popular kids.
She was tested last week to be placed in the right level math and language arts classes. She ended up in Intermediate Math (Yay! All that summer work paid off.) and Intermediate Language Arts. (Boo. She's been testing in the 99th percentile up until now.)
Yesterday we got our hair cut (more on that later). She sat patiently and waited for my stylist to finish my cut for over an hour and a half. Then we had lunch on the patio of her favorite restaurant. She couldn't stop telling me how happy she was.
We concluded our day with a trip to the bookstore and The Talk. You know...The Talk.
She really is growing up fast.
She's such a good kid. Completely good hearted, empathetic and kind. She wants to be a veterinarian when she grows up, but she's also been writing novels in her spare time. (She's done more writing in the last few months than I have.)
She can drive me completely nuts, but I love her and appreciate her more than I could ever say.
Friday, September 05, 2008
Politics: Tuna Style
I support a regular girl of the people, who needs a haircut, for Vice President.
And her name is Little Tuna Girl!
Apparently, Little Tuna Girl was able to be nominated, campaign, and lose an election for Student Council Vice President all in one day.
Man, if only the politicians could be so fast.
And her name is Little Tuna Girl!
Apparently, Little Tuna Girl was able to be nominated, campaign, and lose an election for Student Council Vice President all in one day.
Man, if only the politicians could be so fast.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
Things that are Fucked Up Today
My husband opened up the washing machine, took out his wet flight suits, hung them up, and left all of the other laundry in there.
When I asked him about it he said, and I quote, "I didn't know what you wanted to do with that laundry."
Well, my plan was to let the wet clothes sit in there until they started to mold and made the house smell like we were hiding dead people in the crawl space, so I'm glad he didn't do anything as radical as put them in the dryer.
*****
Today I found out that my kids think I sleep all day while they're at school.
What the fuck? Where did they get that idea?
*****
Things I actually do while they're at school.
1) Blog
2) Spend some special alone time (ahem)
3) Shop
4) Sleep
I kid. Sort of.
When I asked him about it he said, and I quote, "I didn't know what you wanted to do with that laundry."
Well, my plan was to let the wet clothes sit in there until they started to mold and made the house smell like we were hiding dead people in the crawl space, so I'm glad he didn't do anything as radical as put them in the dryer.
*****
Today I found out that my kids think I sleep all day while they're at school.
What the fuck? Where did they get that idea?
*****
Things I actually do while they're at school.
1) Blog
2) Spend some special alone time (ahem)
3) Shop
4) Sleep
I kid. Sort of.
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Clothes Make the Kid
Now that public school is in session here, I realized something.
The public school kids here don't wear uniforms.
In Louisiana, every school--public or private--had uniforms, except for ours.
Not only did our kids not wear uniforms, they were encouraged to wear "play clothes" because learning is a "dirty business" and no kid should have to worry about their clothes.
And let me tell you, wear play clothes they did. My kids wore jeans and t-shirts daily.
Our new school has a new dress code. No jeans and all shirts must have collars. But since the policy is still new, you can tell that a lot of parents are stretching its limitations. But I'm a rule follower so I have spent an inordinate amount of time trying to find clothes that fit my kids' personalities but still fit the dress code.
I hated wearing a uniform to school as a kid. In sixth grade, when I was well into puberty and had the body of an eighteen year old, I had to wear a jumper. And my uniforms always had...gulp...buttons and so grossed me out.
What about you? Did you wear uniforms to school? And did it affect you at all, because let me tell you...
After all those years of Catholic school uniforms I broke out in college. Nothing but soccer shorts and sweatshirts for me. With Teva sandals. And socks.
You know, come to think of it, I still dress like that today. Damn plaid jumpers.
The public school kids here don't wear uniforms.
In Louisiana, every school--public or private--had uniforms, except for ours.
Not only did our kids not wear uniforms, they were encouraged to wear "play clothes" because learning is a "dirty business" and no kid should have to worry about their clothes.
And let me tell you, wear play clothes they did. My kids wore jeans and t-shirts daily.
Our new school has a new dress code. No jeans and all shirts must have collars. But since the policy is still new, you can tell that a lot of parents are stretching its limitations. But I'm a rule follower so I have spent an inordinate amount of time trying to find clothes that fit my kids' personalities but still fit the dress code.
I hated wearing a uniform to school as a kid. In sixth grade, when I was well into puberty and had the body of an eighteen year old, I had to wear a jumper. And my uniforms always had...gulp...buttons and so grossed me out.
What about you? Did you wear uniforms to school? And did it affect you at all, because let me tell you...
After all those years of Catholic school uniforms I broke out in college. Nothing but soccer shorts and sweatshirts for me. With Teva sandals. And socks.
You know, come to think of it, I still dress like that today. Damn plaid jumpers.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
The Good Neighbor
There's nothing like ingratiating myself to the new neighbors by pressing the panic button on the truck alarm before 8 a.m. on a holiday morning.
And, of course, I was wearing the red shorts and a hot pink t-shirt I had worn to bed so that when they looked out their curtains to see who the fuck had woken them up they could turn to each other and say, "What? Did a five year old dress that loud women?"
And, of course, I was wearing the red shorts and a hot pink t-shirt I had worn to bed so that when they looked out their curtains to see who the fuck had woken them up they could turn to each other and say, "What? Did a five year old dress that loud women?"
Monday, September 01, 2008
A Bad Day
Saturday was a craptastic day.
It's amazing how quickly things change.
Over the years, especially since I started blogging, people have made a point of telling me how much they admire my marriage. Which kind of always makes me simultaneously say, "Awwww," and wonder exactly what people are smoking.
Yeah, I love him. Yeah, we've got the fidelity thing down. But there are times when he drives me bat shit crazy.
Saturday was one of those days.
The thing I like least about my husband, as he well knows, is his demeanor. His default setting is...well...mean. He pretty much always looks and sounds really pissed off, even when he's not.
In fact, I'd say that 85% of the time, he's perfectly happy, but about 85% of the time, he looks like he could tear you limb from limb. The furrow in his brow has become permanent.
So when he actually is in a bad mood, it's pretty fucking miserable for me. And sometimes the kids too.
He was in a bad mood on Saturday. Possibly because Sunday was his 36th birthday. Possibly because my crying daughter embarrassed him. Possibly because his hormones got the best of him. Who knows.
But by Saturday night I was ready to trade him in for a new model.
Smartly, I think, he decided to go out to the garage and work on his Chevelle for a while. While he was out there, my mom called.
My mother is one of the only people in the world I can really share shit with. So I mentioned my husband's horrid mood. And she said that my father has been miserable too.
But it's different. First of all, when my husband is driving me nuts, he knows it. When I think he has been too harsh with the kids or relative strangers, he hears it from me. In those rare times that my husband gives me shit, I give it right back.
My mother is afraid to do that.
In fact, she is just afraid period. Not so much of being physically hurt, I don't think. Or at lest I certainly hope not. She's afraid of the big blow up.
I lived in that house long enough to completely understand. There is no talking with my father. No reasoning with him. No matter what you do, it's wrong. No matter what you say, everything is your fault.
He hasn't spoken to my mother in three days.
She doesn't tell him when the kids call anymore. She's afraid. She works in her shop and makes meals and basically just waits for him to wake up. He sleeps all day and is up all night.
And he's going back to the doctor. He's going to lose his eye. The other one isn't much better.
Obviously the man is severely depressed and needs help, but my mother is too afraid to suggest it. His depression comes with rage issues too.
I'm helpless in how to help my mom. You see, I'm afraid of him too. Everyone says that I'm the only person he'll listen to, the only person he'll pull himself together for, but that's bullshit. I've been in the line of that fire before and I am too weak to do it again.
I know my brother is scared too. His way of helping is by doing the things my father can no longer manage.
While I was still on the phone with my mom, my husband came back in and started tickling our son. His mood was much improved. I don't know if he thinks while he's working on the car, or if he just relaxes and cools down, but he was back to normal by the time he came in again.
Sunday was a good day. We celebrated my husband's birthday with dinner out and cake at home. The kids made him cards. And he did a bunch of work around the house. The kids played Happy Birthday to him on their violins and he grinned like a maniac through the whole thing.
From my mom, I learned how not to make a marriage. I learned from her mistakes. She even always told me, "Don't do what I did."
I know my parent's relationship and my relationship with my father affect my personality profoundly. There are so many times I project my father onto my husband. I hate when I do that.
I know I have a great marriage. You can see the worst of it right on this very blog, especially if you read between the lines. But I love him and we make it work.
And I won't ever be afraid of him.
The thing I'm most afraid of is turning into my father.
I don't know what I'm going to do about my father right now. Maybe my husband can make a difference.
It's amazing how quickly things change.
Over the years, especially since I started blogging, people have made a point of telling me how much they admire my marriage. Which kind of always makes me simultaneously say, "Awwww," and wonder exactly what people are smoking.
Yeah, I love him. Yeah, we've got the fidelity thing down. But there are times when he drives me bat shit crazy.
Saturday was one of those days.
The thing I like least about my husband, as he well knows, is his demeanor. His default setting is...well...mean. He pretty much always looks and sounds really pissed off, even when he's not.
In fact, I'd say that 85% of the time, he's perfectly happy, but about 85% of the time, he looks like he could tear you limb from limb. The furrow in his brow has become permanent.
So when he actually is in a bad mood, it's pretty fucking miserable for me. And sometimes the kids too.
He was in a bad mood on Saturday. Possibly because Sunday was his 36th birthday. Possibly because my crying daughter embarrassed him. Possibly because his hormones got the best of him. Who knows.
But by Saturday night I was ready to trade him in for a new model.
Smartly, I think, he decided to go out to the garage and work on his Chevelle for a while. While he was out there, my mom called.
My mother is one of the only people in the world I can really share shit with. So I mentioned my husband's horrid mood. And she said that my father has been miserable too.
But it's different. First of all, when my husband is driving me nuts, he knows it. When I think he has been too harsh with the kids or relative strangers, he hears it from me. In those rare times that my husband gives me shit, I give it right back.
My mother is afraid to do that.
In fact, she is just afraid period. Not so much of being physically hurt, I don't think. Or at lest I certainly hope not. She's afraid of the big blow up.
I lived in that house long enough to completely understand. There is no talking with my father. No reasoning with him. No matter what you do, it's wrong. No matter what you say, everything is your fault.
He hasn't spoken to my mother in three days.
She doesn't tell him when the kids call anymore. She's afraid. She works in her shop and makes meals and basically just waits for him to wake up. He sleeps all day and is up all night.
And he's going back to the doctor. He's going to lose his eye. The other one isn't much better.
Obviously the man is severely depressed and needs help, but my mother is too afraid to suggest it. His depression comes with rage issues too.
I'm helpless in how to help my mom. You see, I'm afraid of him too. Everyone says that I'm the only person he'll listen to, the only person he'll pull himself together for, but that's bullshit. I've been in the line of that fire before and I am too weak to do it again.
I know my brother is scared too. His way of helping is by doing the things my father can no longer manage.
While I was still on the phone with my mom, my husband came back in and started tickling our son. His mood was much improved. I don't know if he thinks while he's working on the car, or if he just relaxes and cools down, but he was back to normal by the time he came in again.
Sunday was a good day. We celebrated my husband's birthday with dinner out and cake at home. The kids made him cards. And he did a bunch of work around the house. The kids played Happy Birthday to him on their violins and he grinned like a maniac through the whole thing.
From my mom, I learned how not to make a marriage. I learned from her mistakes. She even always told me, "Don't do what I did."
I know my parent's relationship and my relationship with my father affect my personality profoundly. There are so many times I project my father onto my husband. I hate when I do that.
I know I have a great marriage. You can see the worst of it right on this very blog, especially if you read between the lines. But I love him and we make it work.
And I won't ever be afraid of him.
The thing I'm most afraid of is turning into my father.
I don't know what I'm going to do about my father right now. Maybe my husband can make a difference.
Friday, August 29, 2008
A Good Day
Yesterday was so great!
First off, I got mail!
Here's a little sumptin' sumptin' from his highness the Cheap Blue Guitar.
How fun! My daughter is completely convinced that it was all meant for her. But I'm the hottie in this family.
There's nothing better than getting real mail.
Then, right before I left the house to pick up the kids, these were delivered from my husband.
Awww. Aren't they nice? Happy Anniversary to me. (I got him chocolates. And I haven't even eaten any of them.)
And finally, late, late, late Wednesday night (Thursday morning really) I got an e-mail from the music academy people asking me if the kids could each play a solo violin piece for their new parent and student orientation.
So I took them over there last night and they totally rocked it! Seriously. They were both flawless. And they did an impromptu question and answer session with the parents.
A parent asked them what was their favorite thing about violin. My daughter answered, "My favorite thing is to play in front of people." And my son answered, "I like to practice!" which made everyone chuckle.
The same parent asked what was their least favorite thing. My son immediately answered that he didn't like the very first part of practice (which would be scales). My daughter added, "I don't like getting up at 6 every morning to practice." My son popped in with a heartfelt, "Me too!" and everyone chuckled again.
My son is such the little comedian. He's just naturally funny and hasn't gotten obnoxious with it yet. (Note to self: watch for that.)
One of the teachers there gushed to my husband about what great kids they are. And their new school teachers have been very positive. My son's teacher told me he is the most polite little boy she has ever met.
All in all, I couldn't be more proud.
It was a good day.
First off, I got mail!
Here's a little sumptin' sumptin' from his highness the Cheap Blue Guitar.
How fun! My daughter is completely convinced that it was all meant for her. But I'm the hottie in this family.
There's nothing better than getting real mail.
Then, right before I left the house to pick up the kids, these were delivered from my husband.
Awww. Aren't they nice? Happy Anniversary to me. (I got him chocolates. And I haven't even eaten any of them.)
And finally, late, late, late Wednesday night (Thursday morning really) I got an e-mail from the music academy people asking me if the kids could each play a solo violin piece for their new parent and student orientation.
So I took them over there last night and they totally rocked it! Seriously. They were both flawless. And they did an impromptu question and answer session with the parents.
A parent asked them what was their favorite thing about violin. My daughter answered, "My favorite thing is to play in front of people." And my son answered, "I like to practice!" which made everyone chuckle.
The same parent asked what was their least favorite thing. My son immediately answered that he didn't like the very first part of practice (which would be scales). My daughter added, "I don't like getting up at 6 every morning to practice." My son popped in with a heartfelt, "Me too!" and everyone chuckled again.
My son is such the little comedian. He's just naturally funny and hasn't gotten obnoxious with it yet. (Note to self: watch for that.)
One of the teachers there gushed to my husband about what great kids they are. And their new school teachers have been very positive. My son's teacher told me he is the most polite little boy she has ever met.
All in all, I couldn't be more proud.
It was a good day.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Things that made me smile this week
Last weekend I bought my husband a lawn mower while going commando.
And he didn't even find it hot.
Of course, it would may have been hotter if he wasn't aware that I was going commando because I had no clean underwear.
But still.
*****
Completely unrelated...but made me laugh.
On the phone with Patrick the wayward blogger last night...
Me: So, how was P-Town? I hear the cops are really cracking down on public sex at the dick docks this year.
Patrick: Not that I noticed.
And he wants us to think he's all innocent.
And he didn't even find it hot.
Of course, it would may have been hotter if he wasn't aware that I was going commando because I had no clean underwear.
But still.
*****
Completely unrelated...but made me laugh.
On the phone with Patrick the wayward blogger last night...
Me: So, how was P-Town? I hear the cops are really cracking down on public sex at the dick docks this year.
Patrick: Not that I noticed.
And he wants us to think he's all innocent.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
What's Up with Tuna Man
Today is our anniversary. Thirteen years ago (I thought it was fourteen years but had to count on my fingers) I married that kid with the mullet I met in high school. Thousands of hair cuts later, we're still in love.
I'm going to drive up to his office today for a daytime date. It's easier than getting a babysitter.
So I thought today would be a good day to share a little bit of what has been going on in the life of my man.
Tuna Man recently (finally) graduated from his master's program. Whoa. That sounds kinky. Let me rephrase. Tuna Man recently completed his master's degree in aeronautical science. And even though I...ahem...consulted on quite a few of his papers, I had no idea what his degree was actually in until I asked him yesterday. And he wasn't even sure.
But it doesn't matter because this means that in seven years when he's ready to ditch this military life (Can you believe he is eligible for retirement in seven years? Bitch is old.) he has a degree that will help him get started in a second career.
And then we'll be rich. (Let me live with my illusions, please.)
In other Tuna Man related news, he recently answered the call to coach Little Tuna Boy's soccer team. He's been so nervous about it, which is really cute. (I wonder if he thought I was cute when I was sick to my stomach about coaching softball? Hmmm?)
Last night was their first practice. Some of those kids were damn good (better than our kid, for sure) and they kept Tuna Man on his toes. It was so cute to see my man interact with these boys. And it made me wonder just what he's like at work (or at least at his old work where he spent most of his time teaching).
Oh, speaking of teaching, Tuna Man is also considering teaching in the school he just graduated from. Isn't that funny? Get a degree and turn around and teach? But supposedly, they need people.
And then we'll be rich. (What? Illusions, people. Illusions.)
In other get rich quick news, Tuna Man also was recently certified as a hockey referee. Now that I can totally see. Without experience he can only ref for little kids and adults, but he'll look so cute in his striped shirt. Like he worked a Footlocker.
And then we'll be rich.
Huh? I hadn't realized just how busy Tuna Man has been. (No wonder the lawn needs to be mowed.) (No that is not a euphemism.) (Or maybe it is.)
I'm going to drive up to his office today for a daytime date. It's easier than getting a babysitter.
So I thought today would be a good day to share a little bit of what has been going on in the life of my man.
Tuna Man recently (finally) graduated from his master's program. Whoa. That sounds kinky. Let me rephrase. Tuna Man recently completed his master's degree in aeronautical science. And even though I...ahem...consulted on quite a few of his papers, I had no idea what his degree was actually in until I asked him yesterday. And he wasn't even sure.
But it doesn't matter because this means that in seven years when he's ready to ditch this military life (Can you believe he is eligible for retirement in seven years? Bitch is old.) he has a degree that will help him get started in a second career.
And then we'll be rich. (Let me live with my illusions, please.)
In other Tuna Man related news, he recently answered the call to coach Little Tuna Boy's soccer team. He's been so nervous about it, which is really cute. (I wonder if he thought I was cute when I was sick to my stomach about coaching softball? Hmmm?)
Last night was their first practice. Some of those kids were damn good (better than our kid, for sure) and they kept Tuna Man on his toes. It was so cute to see my man interact with these boys. And it made me wonder just what he's like at work (or at least at his old work where he spent most of his time teaching).
Oh, speaking of teaching, Tuna Man is also considering teaching in the school he just graduated from. Isn't that funny? Get a degree and turn around and teach? But supposedly, they need people.
And then we'll be rich. (What? Illusions, people. Illusions.)
In other get rich quick news, Tuna Man also was recently certified as a hockey referee. Now that I can totally see. Without experience he can only ref for little kids and adults, but he'll look so cute in his striped shirt. Like he worked a Footlocker.
And then we'll be rich.
Huh? I hadn't realized just how busy Tuna Man has been. (No wonder the lawn needs to be mowed.) (No that is not a euphemism.) (Or maybe it is.)
Monday, August 25, 2008
Frankly, Nothing Will Ever Measure Up
First day at the fancy-schmancy, cost-more-than-my-college private school and my kid gets her binder stolen. By a kid named Toby. Even though her teacher said she knew it was my kid's binder. It was "his word against hers".
Momma Bear ain't happy.
I'm already preparing applications for the other fancy-schmancy, cost-more-than-my-college private school for next year.
Oh, and apparently, I can sneak in just one peanut and wipe out half of the student body.
Huh. Maybe there's my plan for ensuring a place at that other fancy-schmancy, cost-more-than-my-college private school.
In fact, armed with peanuts I may be able to take over the world.
Momma Bear ain't happy.
I'm already preparing applications for the other fancy-schmancy, cost-more-than-my-college private school for next year.
Oh, and apparently, I can sneak in just one peanut and wipe out half of the student body.
Huh. Maybe there's my plan for ensuring a place at that other fancy-schmancy, cost-more-than-my-college private school.
In fact, armed with peanuts I may be able to take over the world.
Woo Hoo! Back to School!
First and Fourth Grade
Kindergarten and Third Grade
Preschool 4 and Second Grade
Preschool 3 and First Grade
Skipping a couple of years (got to get those pictures off the other computer) to the girl's very first day of Preschool 3.
My, how they have grown.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Let's Be Honest
Okay, let's be honest. First of all, if I hadn't written that post last night, I never would have written on my blog again. It was do or die.
I have been suffering from intense writer's block, but only because I've been so fucked up lately.
I'm trying really hard to give myself credit here. Whenever I feel down for more than a couple of days, I worry that something more is wrong with me. I've seen too many people suffer with depression, and I just don't want to go down that path.
But I have to cut myself some slack. Moving was hard. I miss my friends and my comfortable life. I miss being the person in the know. I miss being the person everyone counted on. I really liked being that person.
Creating a new reputation for yourself sucks. Nobody gives you the benefit of the doubt when you're just that new mom at school. Or that new neighbor who doesn't know how to garden.
I've lived within the uber safety of a military base for too long.
I find that I am inexplicably nervous about going out at night. I don't want to get gas or pick up groceries once it is dark out. I have never been fearful before. I walk all around New York City but I'm afraid to venture out in Virginia Beach! That's stupid!
My natural shyness and fear of judgement is in hyper drive. I've forced myself to go to the new parent orientation and a beach party at school, but I don't talk to anyone.
I put off RSVPing to a blogger's party because I was too nervous to go by myself and I was waiting to see if my husband would be home from his TDY in time to go with me. And then I completely forgot about it. I feel so bad, first for being rude and second for missing the opportunity to make friends. (And third for writing about it here before I sent said blogger a note of apology.)
Ack. I could very easily fall into a pool of the I-hate-myselves right now. I'm trying very hard to give myself time and slack.
On the positive side, I love where I'm living and I see lots of potentially happy days ahead. I'm, as always, very happy with my family. We laugh all the time.
The biggest news around here right now is that the kids and I have practiced violin for 65 days in a row. We took a 100 Days of Practice challenge and we're really kicking it up a notch. In fact, just the other night when my daughter got in trouble for throwing a fit, she started crying that she didn't want to miss violin practice. You've got to love that. If we hit 365 days of practice in a row, we're going to Hawaii.
On the extremely positive side, tomorrow is the first day of school! Woo hoo! Actually, they had a special day for new students last Wednesday and my son had a half day on Friday. But tomorrow is the first official full day of school.
I'll be peeling rubber out of that parking lot tomorrow morning.
I have to admit, I love having two elementary school-aged kids. I don't miss the days of diapers and preschool at all. I've loved every stage of their growing up and I have no regrets. I can't wait to see what this year will bring.
With 1000 posts under my belt on this here blog, I really thought about hanging it all up. I always swore that I wouldn't let it just fade away, so I either had to throw myself into it wholeheartedly, or let it go.
I've decided to throw myself into it wholeheartedly. Let's be honest. The truth is that I need my blog now more than ever.
With the kids back in school, look for daily writing from me once again. It won't all be brilliant, but it will be something. Something I need.
I have been suffering from intense writer's block, but only because I've been so fucked up lately.
I'm trying really hard to give myself credit here. Whenever I feel down for more than a couple of days, I worry that something more is wrong with me. I've seen too many people suffer with depression, and I just don't want to go down that path.
But I have to cut myself some slack. Moving was hard. I miss my friends and my comfortable life. I miss being the person in the know. I miss being the person everyone counted on. I really liked being that person.
Creating a new reputation for yourself sucks. Nobody gives you the benefit of the doubt when you're just that new mom at school. Or that new neighbor who doesn't know how to garden.
I've lived within the uber safety of a military base for too long.
I find that I am inexplicably nervous about going out at night. I don't want to get gas or pick up groceries once it is dark out. I have never been fearful before. I walk all around New York City but I'm afraid to venture out in Virginia Beach! That's stupid!
My natural shyness and fear of judgement is in hyper drive. I've forced myself to go to the new parent orientation and a beach party at school, but I don't talk to anyone.
I put off RSVPing to a blogger's party because I was too nervous to go by myself and I was waiting to see if my husband would be home from his TDY in time to go with me. And then I completely forgot about it. I feel so bad, first for being rude and second for missing the opportunity to make friends. (And third for writing about it here before I sent said blogger a note of apology.)
Ack. I could very easily fall into a pool of the I-hate-myselves right now. I'm trying very hard to give myself time and slack.
On the positive side, I love where I'm living and I see lots of potentially happy days ahead. I'm, as always, very happy with my family. We laugh all the time.
The biggest news around here right now is that the kids and I have practiced violin for 65 days in a row. We took a 100 Days of Practice challenge and we're really kicking it up a notch. In fact, just the other night when my daughter got in trouble for throwing a fit, she started crying that she didn't want to miss violin practice. You've got to love that. If we hit 365 days of practice in a row, we're going to Hawaii.
On the extremely positive side, tomorrow is the first day of school! Woo hoo! Actually, they had a special day for new students last Wednesday and my son had a half day on Friday. But tomorrow is the first official full day of school.
I'll be peeling rubber out of that parking lot tomorrow morning.
I have to admit, I love having two elementary school-aged kids. I don't miss the days of diapers and preschool at all. I've loved every stage of their growing up and I have no regrets. I can't wait to see what this year will bring.
With 1000 posts under my belt on this here blog, I really thought about hanging it all up. I always swore that I wouldn't let it just fade away, so I either had to throw myself into it wholeheartedly, or let it go.
I've decided to throw myself into it wholeheartedly. Let's be honest. The truth is that I need my blog now more than ever.
With the kids back in school, look for daily writing from me once again. It won't all be brilliant, but it will be something. Something I need.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
How The Olympics Ruined My Life
I've noticed that I'm not the only person out there looking haggard and worn this week. I've been staying up late, just like everyone else, watching the Olympics.
I don't mean to. Every night I tell myself that I've already read the results, I don't really care about ping pong, and sleep is more important than yelling at yet another judge.
But I keep watching. I keep getting sucked back in.
I can understand staying up to watch Michael Phelps win gold, or the drama of underage girls contorting themselves on a balance beam, or even the bevy of tight muscles so well displayed on divers, beach volleyball players and world class runners.
But last night I stayed up all night watching walking.
Walking!
I stayed up all night watching men swivel their hips around a sidewalk for four hours.
What the hell?
I don't mean to. Every night I tell myself that I've already read the results, I don't really care about ping pong, and sleep is more important than yelling at yet another judge.
But I keep watching. I keep getting sucked back in.
I can understand staying up to watch Michael Phelps win gold, or the drama of underage girls contorting themselves on a balance beam, or even the bevy of tight muscles so well displayed on divers, beach volleyball players and world class runners.
But last night I stayed up all night watching walking.
Walking!
I stayed up all night watching men swivel their hips around a sidewalk for four hours.
What the hell?
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Little Tuna Girl = Death of Me?
For a few days, I've had an idea for a post peculating in my brain. I was going to write about how much the Little Tuna Girl has grown and changed in the last few years. You know, kind of a "Little Tuna Girl Not So Little Anymore" kind of thing.
But right now she is crying her eyes out and making herself sick because she got ten wrong on her math homework. (Yes they have summer homework.)
So I am not feeling so charitable toward her at the moment. I'm afraid the tone of such a piece would not be one that I would want to stand the test of time.
Meanwhile I have noticed that this is my 999th post (such as it is).
I must consider if my 1000th post has significant meaning to me or not. Hmmmmm. Something to think about.
But right now she is crying her eyes out and making herself sick because she got ten wrong on her math homework. (Yes they have summer homework.)
So I am not feeling so charitable toward her at the moment. I'm afraid the tone of such a piece would not be one that I would want to stand the test of time.
Meanwhile I have noticed that this is my 999th post (such as it is).
I must consider if my 1000th post has significant meaning to me or not. Hmmmmm. Something to think about.
Saturday, August 09, 2008
A Moment
It's hard to believe that just last weekend I was feeling lonely.
I just did a little dance to celebrate the husband and kids leaving the house.
It's been a hard week. Not because anything big happened but because we've all been a little out of sorts. This summer is stretching on and on and I am so ready for fall. I guess it is probably harder for all of us to make friends and feel at home without our normal routine of school.
The kids start school in less than two weeks.
Right now I'm going to savor a few moments of alone time. And eat cookies. And count the hours until I drop the kids off for the first day of school.
And then eat more cookies.
I just did a little dance to celebrate the husband and kids leaving the house.
It's been a hard week. Not because anything big happened but because we've all been a little out of sorts. This summer is stretching on and on and I am so ready for fall. I guess it is probably harder for all of us to make friends and feel at home without our normal routine of school.
The kids start school in less than two weeks.
Right now I'm going to savor a few moments of alone time. And eat cookies. And count the hours until I drop the kids off for the first day of school.
And then eat more cookies.
Monday, August 04, 2008
I'd like mornings better if they started later.
The world is an entirely different place at 6 in the morning.
I rarely see this hour.
Over my three days of alone time I totally screwed up my sleep. Without anything or anyone to wake up for I slept until I wasn't tired anymore. Which meant that I slept until almost 3 in the afternoon last Friday. (I must have been really tired!) Which meant that I couldn't fall asleep at all that night. And the damage was done.
But when I felt unexpectedly tired at 9 last night, I followed my husband to bed* and hoped that my problem was solved.
But I was wide awake by 1 a.m. and couldn't stand to stay in bed another moment.
I so fervently wish that I could be a morning person. This morning I got to hang out and chat with my husband while he got ready for work. I got to spend some quality time with my son who is sickeningly happy in the morning. He was even dancing! And I got to sip coffee while the men in my life had bacon and eggs. It was nice.
I feel like if I could just wake up at 6 a.m. every morning my life would be so much better. All of my problems would be fixed. I'd be the kind of person who exercises and folds laundry right out of the drier. I'd be the kind of person who saves money and has a hobby. I'd be the kind of person who has a clean house and...does stuff.
My teeth would be white. My hair would blow in a constant wind. And I'd wear...outfits!
I could star in my own herpes commercial!
But, alas, even typing this entry has taxed me too much. A morning of penance for a long weekend full of sloth could never turn me into what I most certainly am not; a white-teethed, blowing-haired, non-slothed exerciser who folds laundry whilst scrapbooking and balancing my checkbook.
I pretty much am the stereotypical housewife who sits on her fat ass eating bon bons all day and it is time I embrace it! After I go have a nap.
This morning sun is killing me.
* Get your minds out of the gutter. We don't do that sort of thing. We're old married people, one of whom is covered in poison ivy.
I rarely see this hour.
Over my three days of alone time I totally screwed up my sleep. Without anything or anyone to wake up for I slept until I wasn't tired anymore. Which meant that I slept until almost 3 in the afternoon last Friday. (I must have been really tired!) Which meant that I couldn't fall asleep at all that night. And the damage was done.
But when I felt unexpectedly tired at 9 last night, I followed my husband to bed* and hoped that my problem was solved.
But I was wide awake by 1 a.m. and couldn't stand to stay in bed another moment.
I so fervently wish that I could be a morning person. This morning I got to hang out and chat with my husband while he got ready for work. I got to spend some quality time with my son who is sickeningly happy in the morning. He was even dancing! And I got to sip coffee while the men in my life had bacon and eggs. It was nice.
I feel like if I could just wake up at 6 a.m. every morning my life would be so much better. All of my problems would be fixed. I'd be the kind of person who exercises and folds laundry right out of the drier. I'd be the kind of person who saves money and has a hobby. I'd be the kind of person who has a clean house and...does stuff.
My teeth would be white. My hair would blow in a constant wind. And I'd wear...outfits!
I could star in my own herpes commercial!
But, alas, even typing this entry has taxed me too much. A morning of penance for a long weekend full of sloth could never turn me into what I most certainly am not; a white-teethed, blowing-haired, non-slothed exerciser who folds laundry whilst scrapbooking and balancing my checkbook.
I pretty much am the stereotypical housewife who sits on her fat ass eating bon bons all day and it is time I embrace it! After I go have a nap.
This morning sun is killing me.
* Get your minds out of the gutter. We don't do that sort of thing. We're old married people, one of whom is covered in poison ivy.
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Home Sick
My daughter just called me crying.
She has a headache and she is homesick and she misses me.
Awwww. Poor kid.
Funny though, I can leave her with my parents for a week or more and she loves it. But with her dad and brother she's upset?
I wonder if something happened.
Poor baby girl. I miss them too.
Who would have thought.
She has a headache and she is homesick and she misses me.
Awwww. Poor kid.
Funny though, I can leave her with my parents for a week or more and she loves it. But with her dad and brother she's upset?
I wonder if something happened.
Poor baby girl. I miss them too.
Who would have thought.
Friday, August 01, 2008
Alone Party 08!
I am all alone until Sunday night.
Woo hoo!
My husband was going to take a little road trip to return the car trailer we used when we moved. He was also going to visit his mom.
But the kids asked to go with him and now suddenly I have a whole long weekend to myself.
How am I celebrating?
Today I slept in. And I haven't gotten dressed yet.
I think I'll go to McDonald's later. Woo hoo! Because I could never do that with the kids.
Truly, I'll spend all of my time unpacking and masturbating. But probably not in that order.
It's Alone Party 08! Woo hoo!
Woo hoo!
My husband was going to take a little road trip to return the car trailer we used when we moved. He was also going to visit his mom.
But the kids asked to go with him and now suddenly I have a whole long weekend to myself.
How am I celebrating?
Today I slept in. And I haven't gotten dressed yet.
I think I'll go to McDonald's later. Woo hoo! Because I could never do that with the kids.
Truly, I'll spend all of my time unpacking and masturbating. But probably not in that order.
It's Alone Party 08! Woo hoo!
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