Thursday, July 29, 2010


Every once and a while, a full time parent needs a vacation. Its a different kind of "hard" work....when I worked in an least I could come home. I have little escape. I haven't had a night sleep in nearly 18 months and the lack of sleep has potentially caused what I think is similar to what the ramifications would be to a stroke patient.

There also comes a time when you need to recognize that certain things that you are doing are probably not altogether healthy...and are indicative of you needing a break. A few things have occurred and have had me reflecting on this very point:

1. I pretended to call a realtor and make an appointment to look at an apartment

2. I have started to drink during the week. (not during the day...not yet)

3. My nieces and nephews have nicknamed me "leather nip" ( time to end nursing I guess)

4. I asked my husband if I could get a boyfriend

5. I got my nose pierced in an effort to try and regain some youth (?)

6. The girls asked me when I was getting that apartment

7. I threw myself on the floor and faked a seizure to test my kids emergency response action. I died shortly thereafter.

8. I actually said out loud that I missed working. (uck)

9 I don't really think the "no wire hangers" lady was all that bad.

10. I have started to think that smoking cigarettes may be the lesser of two evils (the other may be considered child abuse)

11. Instead of "time outs", I use " I will clean the toilet with your toothbrush"

12. We make sex appointments. There is a skipped appointment fee due of 5 thousand dollars.

13. I thought about letting the pets out when the fisher car began screeching the other night.

14. Liza often shouts "Mrs. Duggar would never say or do that to her kids"

I often think about the woman of eras past.....I am sure they tended to families with a smile on their faces and cookies and milk in their hands. Actually, I know a couple of moms who are like that now...and I am impressed.

However, I admit that i can only fake it to make it so long before the real me comes out. Sorry mom.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

OOPS.....I Did it Again...

OK, another risk. That is, a risk of sounding like a total wack-job mother (again). There is a good friend friend of mine, "Peg" who frequently utters the same phrase to me... "What's wrong with you?".

There are, I am sure, many things wrong with me. I probably do many things with/to my kids that most parents wouldn't think of. Waxing their eyebrows, piercing their little baby ears. I recently took Matt over state lines for his first tattoo (in my defense, I was potentially saving from him from getting a bootleg tat, or hepatitis from same basement hack)

Today, I did something I probably shouldn't have. It was a "What is wrong with me?" kind of moment. I heard my friend, "Peg", loud and clear in my mind.

I'll take you back a couple of days, when Ava had been asking me to get a haircut. I have a weird thing about my girls is long, and beautiful, and the thought of cutting it makes me cringe. Last year, she wanted a bob cut...a notion I squashed instantly. Liza nearly made me suffer an honest to god stroke, when, in 2006, she lopped of an entire side of her hair.

I think I am living vicariously through their mane.

Back to the other day. I agreed as I will admit to being sick and tired of spending a good amount of time brushing her "after beach hair". The knots, the seaweed, the sand. Its disgusting. Picture an old time movie...the older wealthy woman sitting in her satin robe at her vanity. Maybe its her husband, her child, her foreign servant. Standing lovingly behind her, brushing her luxurious locks....100 strokes. This is not at all what goes on. Ava is screaming the entire time sure that I am pulling her hair out with each stroke. I may's hard to tell between seaweed and hair sometimes.

I take her to a walk in chain salon (as I am also sick of paying $40 for a kids haircut). The woman holds up the ends of Ava's hair and tells me that about 6 inches off the bottom should be taken off, as it is dead. "Cut 6 inches off that kids hair, and YOU'LL be dead" I thought to myself. "No". I explained my adversity to cutting my girls hair and told her to throw in some long layers...the front could be shorter and angled to the base of her neck, and the back could have a "V" shape. About 15 minutes later she was done. No product, no dry, and $11. Perfecto Mundo.

It wasn't the best haircut, but I guess you get what you pay for. Ava, however, loved it. She stared at herself all day, and ran her hands through her hair over and over again. She must have asked me 1000 times if I liked her hair. I had to tell her if she asked again, I would put soap in her mouth. She never really cared about her hair before, and now...she asked for a couple of highlights. This is where the story begins.

Highlights. I thought, "why not". A couple of little blond streaks on the side of her face...its big deal. right? wrong.

I had purchased this highlighting kit....must have been years ago, because I have been a flat brown forever. It was a blond cap kit ( I don't know why I thought I could pull that off on myself in the first place)

I told Ava to get into an old shirt, and seat herself at the kitchen counter. I read the directions (read might be a bit strong...I skimmed the directions. mistake #1).

I thought to myself, eh...capped are so 80's..maybe early 90's. Foils are whats what. I opened the cupboard and whipped out the Reynolds Wrap. I cut strips from the roll and then cut again in half. I made a pony tail in the back of her head with the back and bottom portion of her hair as I had only planned on doing the top and sides of her head. I put on my plastic gloves, and mixed the powder and activation cream. There were two other tubes...that I somehow ignored.

I took sections of her long hair and as a hairstylist would, took the pointy end of a comb, and weaved through the hair so as to grab just the right amount of strandage.

Emma, at this point, decided to have a complete meltdown. She was screaming and tugging at my was never ending and a full out tantrum. Less I mention it was also 98 degrees in my house with 100% humidity. She was pulling on my sweatpants and making me very nervous. Naturally, I could not touch her due to the bleach mix covering my plastic hands. My pants fell to my ankles and I thanked God for 1. Nobody was over.. 2. I was wearing underwear 3. It provided heat relief. (It did, however, restrict my mobility for a bit)

I began to rush through the job as the baby required my attention. I finally finished. The box said to leave it on for 60 minutes. I went up to try and get Em a nap while the color "processed".

About a half hour passed and Ava came up...I decided to check the inside of a foil. I don't know what I expected...but this was not it. I blurted "holy shit" and grabbed her and ran into the bathroom. I instructed her to take her clothes off and jump in the shower. First, we began feverishly ripping out the 11 foils. She yelled after each one. "I LOOK LIKE BRITTNEY SPEARS! "...."Actually, you look more like Britney Spears and Carrot Tops' lovechild...or daughter of Chucky and his bride."

Some chunks were orange...some white. She looked like children of the corn maze. Her hair was like straw. She quickly jumped into the shower. It looked better wet, and once the white mix was out we thought it might not be that bad. It was. It was bad.

After we had washed her hair, I blow dried it. She was Her left side wasn't bad. Her right side was clearly the side done during the pantsing.

Luckily, I had a dark brown color kit that I had planned on doing myself later that day. I told her we would fix it. I made her pull it into a pony tail and find the thickest headband she could find. As a consolation prize and apology, I took her and the girls to their first ever trip to Toys R Us. When we returned, she surprisingly flaunted her do all over the neighborhood. (which I felt happy that she liked being different, yet embarassed that I did this)

I was later able to dye her hair back to its original color with the exception of one stray, blond strand. It is her favorite strand of hair on her head, and she later came to me and stated" Mommy...I miss my blond hair". I dread the "carpet matching the drapes" talk.
And yet again, I ask her if she is happy that I am her mom...or would she rather have a "normal" mommy. She quickly answers that she has the most fun of anyone. Thanks, babe. And remember, $5 if you dont tell daddy.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Read THIS.

Book Club

definition- a group of people who meet to discuss a book or books that they have read

(names have been changed to protect the identity of the overly well read)

OK, at the risk of sounding like an illiterate, ignoramus, I am going to voice my thoughts on book clubs.....and reading in general.

I guess I just don't get it. I have heard of runners "high", and I think that I have also discovered a readers "high".

"Zara" is probably my most well read friend. She is a regular at the local library. (if the library were a bar, and her name were "Norm"...well, you get the idea). I spend a good deal of time with Zara. Enough time that I am not embarrassed to express my confusion over the book thing..unafraid that she may find me ignorant. I frequently ask her if she has seen this show or that show....she looks at me confused and I swear she wouldn't know who Oprah was if it weren't for that damn Book Club. ( I don't watch those episodes)

Zara and "Constance" (another well read friend) frequently speak of their conquests when they get together. (those would be the books they have completed) - they talk about he words, the pages...the smell of the pages as they flip through the book...holding the book to their bosom as they read the words that bring them joy. I became uncomfortable...I felt like I was listening to the sorted details of their sex lives....except I would've been a little more intrigued....and less confused. (really....Zara spoke of the smell of the pages as I might speak about Zac Efrons pectoral muscles in a recent edition of People Magazine) (he's 18+...right??)

I am a movie person....and a television person. I cannot help it. It is what I enjoy. It gives me pleasure. I also enjoy reading magazines....particularly ones with content related to that in which I watch on the television or in the movies.

A couple of years ago a good friend attempted to put a book club together. She invited me...although my invitation included the phrase "I know you wont be interested but.....". I don't know why, but I felt a bit insulted.... ( even though I was an admitter of the fact that dislike reading books). I was going to show up.....with my own plan for a "club".

We met at a local eatery....a luncheon place fashioned for yuppie readers..with expensive sandwiches and leather seating corners. Not my type of place, but appropriate for the venue I suppose.

I joined my friends and being the natural born leader as I am...I began to sell my idea....rather than a BOOK CLUB, we should have a MAGAZINE Club....we could all read the weekly issues of People, US, OK....and debate "Team Edward or Team Jacob".....or "Who Wore it Best", or whether Brangelina will be adopting any more village people...or androgynous babies.

Or a movie club! We could have a smashing time drinking wine and using phrases such ad "nobody puts Jenny in a corner" or..." wax your eyebrows on....wax your eyebrows off "....just imagine for a second....

It didn't fly. I quit the book club. I knew I would never read a book. Hell, the best invention after the birth control pill, was children's books on CD.

I will admit to reading 2 books....and actually enjoying them. I was a bit disappointed, however, when coincidentally, the movies were made. (Had I known, I could have picked two OTHER books.)

The first, "Of Mice and Men" was a classic favorite. If for nothing else that to be able to call people "Lenny" when the situation was appropriate. (and to know that most people know what analogy I was attempting to make).

The second, "The Lovely Bones" was also disturbingly enjoyable. It was slightly embarrassing that during the previews at the movie theater, and the title revealed, I blurted out loudly " I READ THIS BOOK...I READ THIS BOOK"...pointing at the screen like a first grader who spots her teacher in the grocery store. And then, quietly to myself " I read this book....Damn. another waste of my time".

A girlfriend gave a group of us one of her favorite books for Christmas one year. I honestly gave it my best shot. I did....I gave it my best shot. I could not get past two pages without sawing wood. It was written in a old time southern dialect and I found myself reading each line several times in order to understand what the hell I was reading. I quit and admitted my failure.

I do understand the importance of literacy for my children's sake and I have been fortunate to have kids with an appropriate age difference to where they can satisfy each others reading requirements for school. Ava is required to read 20 minutes a night. Liza needs to be read TO 20 minutes a night. -Killing two birds with one stone..... (not that I condone killing any birds with any stones)

I do not apologize and realize I am in the minority amongst my peers. They love me despite my disdain for the written word...and love of the DVR. (ironic given my forum here, I realize)

When the "KINDLE" come out with a version which actually narrates to me...and has pictures...I may consider delving into "books". Stay tuned.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Zoo Me

I am the best mom in the world. The reason? Because I unselfishly go to the places I LEAST like to go. The thing is, I don't remember I don't like them until I am actually THERE. I feverishly plan these excursions...and for the most part, with enthusiasm and gusto.

Maybe I overestimate the "fun" and underestimate the "feek" (a/k/a Emma). Maybe I used to enjoy these places before I had an overactive toddler jumping out of her stroller and running around like a patient broke loose from the Amityville Insane Asylum (circa 1901).

At any rate. Today was no different. I had plans to go to the beach, however, the weather deterred me. A friend mentioned she was going to the zoo. (she has a zoo MEMBERSHIP...and legitimately ENJOYS the zoo. She also has a library card and is actually a better mother than I)
I tell the kids we would be taking a trip to the zoo. My eldest daughter doth protest. She, like myself, is lazy and is concerned about "all the walking."

When we get to the zoo, we were lucky enough to get in with the membership. I guess we passed as a unisex couple. We also sort of looked like a mixed race family. I bore the little tan ones, she, the light freckled ones. It was totally believable and I was the wife.

As we passed through the gates, Emma had only tried to jump the side of her stroller once from the parking lot. I thought I may get lucky (or the dose of Tylenol I gave her before vacating the house kicked in)

Immediately to the left was the stroller and wheelchair rental. I wanted so badly to be pushed around the park in a wheelchair. If my real husband had been there, I may have offered a little "somethin somethin" if he agreed to push me through the park.
I found the first exhibit most interesting. Not the animals, but the way the zoo strategically placed the carnivorous, zebra eating African wild dogs right next door to the zebra exhibit,
Why would they do that? Would the zebra smell drive the dogs completely mad? Would they make them more interesting to watch?
That was it for MY level of animal interest. I was much more interested in the patrons. Much like I was when I spent my afternoon at the playground. (oh, except for the snake eating a mouse...that was pretty cool)
There are not many places I frequent where there are this many people for me to gawk at and criticize. I know I am no fashionista or beauty queen, but this is not about me.
I want to conduct a social experiment and determine WHY patrons of zoos, parks, and the likes attract the people that they attract. These places are not cheap. (says the woman who sneaked in as a lesbian).
The hair. The outfits. I fit right in. My hair was in a sloppy pony, and a 10 year old informed me halfway through that my tank top was on inside out. oops. (maybe its a little about me)
My feet began to hurt at the elephant exhibit. I was ready to take the kids to the auto know...the one through the exit gate. My girls looked forward to the elephant exhibit the most....for no other reason than to try and get lucky enough to see one urinate.
Emma, at this point, had been in and out of the carriage more times than I could count. A woman also in our "group" had a 6 month old who, through the duration, sat quietly and observantly and not once reached for her mothers breast with her mouth open wide. I wished for a second I could switch the babies out...they were about the same size...and I could switch them back at the end of the trip.
Topping it off was the woman we were two steps behind during our trip. Each time we caught up with her, she was nursing her (maybe two month old) baby under a pretty nursing cape. Fine by me except the sight of her caused me to lactate. Thank goodness for the extra padded bras I sport these days. I was frightened that the baby goat in the farm area was going to get a wiff of me and jump the flimsy railing.
Next kids wanted to eat. I had promised them a Dels, however none of the stands took debit cards. They had to settle for something at the real snack restaurant. (I had foolishly left my snacks in the car...and therefore HAD to purchase food) I was appalled, but not surprised to find a tiny hotdog and small fries cost me $8. And I had to buy two.
OK, I had enough. My uncomfy flip flops, milk soaked padded bra and inside out wife beater needed to bust a move out that zoo. Several more exhibits to go and I was home free....three hours later. With a smile on my face and a spring in my step, we sailed across the parking lot to the animal I affectionately call car. In we went, tired, dirty, smelly and happy.