Category Archives: why I drink

The Battle of the Bed

Last January I fought the Defective Maytag Washing Machine War. It seems this year’s campaign will be The Battle of the Bed.

The Master bedroom, especially for anyone with kids, is supposed to be a haven, an adults-only escape from the craziness lurking outside the door.

Okay, so this is not my bedroom…

…or this one…but a girl can dream…

I’ve been working hard to create our sanctuary. I painted my walls a serene blue, surrounding myself in tones of the sky and sea. I refinished all the furniture and dusted the tops with scented candles and cherished photos. The floors and bathroom were painstakingly remodeled with my own bloodied fingers, gallons of sweat, and occasional tears. The baby/kid stuff is banished. The decor now sets the mood for comfort and tranquility. But I still can’t get a decent night sleep.

My damn bed squeaks like a rusty summer camp cot.

Now, I know many beds tend to squeak a little bit. And yes, sometimes couples pride themselves on how loud they can get that bed rocking. But I’m talking about moving a hand, wiggling a toe, an 8 pound cat stretching and we are rudely roused by the metal springs screeching.

All. Night. Long.

At first it was funny. (Hey, maybe we broke the bed…wink, wink.) At times it became creepy. (Was that a mouse? A branch scraping the window? A monster dust bunny prowling under the bed?) Eventually it became unbearable. (Can you fix me a Chardonnay & Unisom nightcap please?)

The bed is under warranty by Sealy. It was purchased from Costco. I am caught in the vicious circle of each party saying the other has to do something about it. I just want SOMEONE to take responsibility for the valid warranty and do something about the problem (i.e. replace my squeaker with silence).

I just sent my Hubby of to confront Costco again. I get too frustrated and flummoxed in the face of deaf customer service reps. Together we often play good cop/bad cop (or irrational PMS woman and her poor husband who deserves a break because he has to deal with her) but I’m just not in the mood to get my blood pressure soaring today.

And if we finally do wear Costco down and they agree to return or exchange the mattress set, how do we transport it without tipping our little car over? Don’t laugh–we came very close one time (see previous post with 20 foot tree hanging out of trunk).

I wish we could afford to just junk it or trade it in for one of those space-age foam mattresses. I always wanted to practice cheer-leading jumps while resting a full glass of wine on my mattress–haven’t you?

Maybe it’s all a plot by my husband so I won’t nag him about his teeth grinding habit anymore.

I’m just ready for a non-medicated night of silence and solid sleep.

And if the bed starts squeaking it’s for a good reason.

Mean Mommy Monday

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It all started this morning at 7:15 when an overeager little boy roused me from my dream. Can I play wii yet? he whispered. No, we are still in bed, I mumbled from under the pillow. Why don’t you come and snuggle with us? Okay… If I snuggle for 5 minutes can I play wii? Sometimes I take whatever I can get.

By 8 a.m. my kiddo was throwing the wii remote in frustration, didn’t want breakfast, and it began…the whining.

“I’m BOOOORRREEEDDD! There’s NOTHING to DOOOOO!”

That laboriously drawn-out, sing-songy drawl proclaiming he is the most neglected, lonely, and toyless child in the entire Western Hemisphere. Perhaps the entire world.

As if “Santa” hadn’t toiled for months shopping for the most dazzling, stimulating, and entertaining slew of presents to open that chilly Christmas morning a mere week ago. As if unopened new puzzles, books, video games and Lego boxes were not haphazardly stacked in all corners of his over-stuffed bedroom. As if there wasn’t a garage bursting with new Razor scooters and basketballs, perfectly good bikes and baseballs begging to be played with.

No. There was NOTHING to do.

For three hours I fought the whining. He wanted to go somewhere. He wanted to do something. Somethings that entailed driving across town in traffic and spending money.

I nearly gave in. I climbed out of my comfy sweats and into some real clothes, broke out the flat iron and even put on eyeliner and concealer.

My hubby even commented on how nice I looked. Meanwhile the kiddo continued his whining, following me around the house as his nasally, nasty, kvetching bored into the center of my brain. That was it. I marched right back into the bedroom, but my sweatshirt back on and proclaimed that we were not going ANYWHERE.

I was not going to reward miserable, spoiled behavior by giving him exactly what he wanted.

It was time to learn a lesson.

But why did it have to be when I was actually having a decent hair day?

So, since there was nothing to do, not a single toy to play with, I decided to give him something to do.

Laundry.

He didn’t like that.

The frown grew longer, the sighs grew deeper, and the attitued multiplied exponentially.

The wii was taken away for the day. A meltdown of epic proportions (at least for our house) followed.

After tossing around his stuffed animals while sobbing about the rank injustice in his miserable life he passed out. And looked like the little angel he is 95% of the time.

Because he is a good kid. A pretty amazing kid actually. My job is just too keep him that way.

I woke him at lunchtime. And somewhere, off in the vaporous clouds of dreamland, he found his smile.

We spent the afternoon doing yard work. Okay, I spent the afternoon doing yard work while he played contently in his sandbox and occasionally helped me stick some dead branches in the trash. Politely and with a smile on his face. He rolled up the 100 foot hose and we sat together in the hammock snacking on some of Grandma’s homemade chocolate covered pretzels. Being nice and helpful gets rewards. He’s learning.

And so am I.

Om for the Holidays

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How I WANT to feel (see above)
vs.
How I ACTUALLY feel (see below)

This morning I had a doctor appointment I have been dreading for months. I’ve been having nightmares about it for a week solid. Not only was it a 45 minute drive to get there but I missed my exit and had to pay double tolls to get there in time. Three minutes after I arrived the nurse announced to the packed waiting room that the doctor was in surgery and running late, our appointments would be pushed back 3 hours, and would we like to wait?

Two minutes later I huffed across the parking lot in full vent mode with my poor hubby on the phone feeling the brunt of my frustration. NO I’m not waiting. NO I’m not driving back. NO I don’t want to reschedule right now–it’s the holidays–I don’t have the TIME! I could feel the blood pulsing as I cranked the ipod up as high as I could without blowing my car speakers and tore out of the parking lot to deal with my other chores.

Three songs and ten miles down the highway I came to a realization. It’s not their fault I live so freaking far away. And I’ve caused that same doctor to be called away from the office for my own emergencies over the years. It’s not their fault it took my insurance company this long to get everything approved and the appointment happened to fall during the holidays. I needed to calm down and get a grip.

Yes, the holidays are already getting to me. I am doing my part to revitalize the economy by heartily supporting wine sales and stress-induced doctor visits.

And forget about the bird–I think I’ve been shot with a turkey injector thrusting anxiety directly into all of my vital organs. Money, family, perfect presents, lavish meals, and never-ending drama, drama, drama…

I passed a billboard flashing “Only 7 days until Black Friday!”

I don’t want to think about waking up at 4 a.m. to push through cranky crowds in an under-caffeinated craze fighting over the last zhu zhu pet. I don’t want to rush from store to store stressing to find the perfect gift for some finicky acquaintance who will most likely end up shoving it in her closet or giving it back to me in a year or two because she forgot I even gave it to her.
But Black Friday rock-bottom prices are how we afford to put a suitable spread under the tree and give everyone enough presents to unwrap. That’ s what Christmas is all about, right?

I have spent countless of hours (and gone through a few cases of wine) trying to please and appease others to no avail. For some reason, this season causes some adults to act like two-year-olds in the midst of a pixie stick and Red Bull induced tantrum. It seems no matter what I say or do, someone is bound to be pissed off. I give up.

I’m just not feeling any of the love, peace, or happiness I wish to everyone each year in our holiday card. Where’s the harmony? The goodwill and charity? Am I the only one that realizes that’s what this damn season is about?

It’s time I take a self-centering step back from the commercialism, gluttony, and emotional blackmail being force fed to me. I need to find my quiet amidst the clamor, the calm in my heart and my soul.

I must seek out and savor the things in life I am truly blessed and thankful for–and there are so many amazing things. I am a lucky woman and I have a wonderful life. (And I think I should watch that movie, now that I think of it…)

I must learn to tune out those who thrive on malevolence and discontent.

I will not allow my self to be stepped on or taken advantage of and I will say “No” kindly yet firmly and without excuses.

I will strive to exude kindness, patience, and understanding to all, even if they are stealing the last Lego Harry Potter wii game while flipping me the bird.

I will focus on the things that really matter–the utter joy on my son’s face when he sits under the glowing tree, the celebrations of friendships both old and new, and the love shared within a family which knows no bounds.

And I will to go to yoga class tomorrow morning and find my OM…

Pub Trivia Time

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For one freedom-filled night each month the Hubby and I are allowed to pretend like we are still young, free, and somewhat intelligent.

I escape my role of a simple suburban stay-at-home mom and hit our local English pub for a night of pints, adult conversation and fiercely competitive pub trivia. I can dress in something besides playground clothes. I don’t have to worry about watching my mouth (in fact, no one swears like a buzzed Englishman–or woman). And there are absolutely no discussions about potty training or preschools. Heaven.

The Guinness and Cider start flowing and we all start to forget about our insane jobs and crazy lives. The inane sounds of Sponge Bob drift out of my subconscious, replaced by classic English Pop and Rock. And since it is an English Pub, this is not a night for girly little light beers or wussy wine (which, if you ask for, you have a choice of red, white, or pink). Jager Bombs, perhaps…

The many teams, consisting of up to seven smarty-pants, huddle around their pub tables, scribbling down answers to questions from all ends of the trivia spectrum. Each answer is then debated in sometimes fervent yet hushed tones before we finally settle on the final answer.

The competition is fierce, as there is usually a decent pot going out to the winning team–at least enough to cover the bar tab. Many teams have been joining us at the Pub for nearly a decade. There are teams we respect and don’t mind if they pull out a win over us and other teams we abhor (due to their cheating and overall poor sportsmanship) and must beat at all costs.

Below are the question for August’s Quiz (except for question 50, which was just too long for me to scribble down after a couple of ciders). It is one of our most difficult quizzes to date. And FYI: there are no books, internet, or other study aids allowed.

How well do you think you can do?

Answers are listed at the end–no peeking!

QUESTIONS:

1. Which is the rarest blood type: A, B, or AB?

2. What is the more common name for the Emperor Charles I?

3. At which two prisons did Johnny Cash perform live in concert?

4. What mountain range lies between France and Spain?

5. How may eyes are there in a standard deck of 52 cards?

6. Henry Alfred Kissinger was the first naturalized citizen to become Secretary of State. Where was he born?

7. What is the name of the British air craft carrier which docked this month at Port Canaveral?

8. Which scientific instrument is used to measure atmospheric pressure?

9. Complaints about this caused many broadcasters to filter the sound coverage of the 2010 World Cup.

10. Which team won the 2010 Six Nation Rugby Championship?

11. Name the skateboarding star nicknamed “The Birdman.”

12. In which year was the last execution at the Tower of London: 1901, 1920, 1941, or 1950?

13. Which rock band has been playing together for the most number of years?

14. What is the common name for the ailment tinea pedis?

15. Which person made headlines by appearing at Wimbledon for the first time since 1977?

16. Wimbledon also made headlines this year with one of the longest tennis matches played. Who was the match between and how long did the match last?

17. What is the formula of the Pythagorean Theorem?

18. Name the General fired by the Obama administration after he made disparaging remarks during a Rolling Stone interview.

19. Who is the youngest: Renee Zellweger, Jude Law, Jack Black, or Adam Sandler?

20. How many squares are on a chess board?

21. Who dropped two balls from the Leaning Tower of Pisa to prove a point: Newton, Galileo, Einstein, or Coppernecuis?

22. Which invention by Benjamin Holt improved farm life in 1900?

23. In June of 2010, Utah executed a prisoner by what controversial method?

24. What was the name of Madonna’s first album?

25. How many laps of 200 did Dale Earnheardt finish during his final NASCAR race, the 2001 Daytona 500?

26. Name the first husband and wife to win Best Male/Female Singer at the CMAs the same year.

27. Tourism increased 46% in this city after the release of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.

28.Name the crooner also known as “Dr. Love” and “The Prince of Pillow Talk.”

29. What car maker cashed in on the retro craze by reintroducing the Cooper Mini in 2001.

30. At the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, how often is the Guard changed and how many steps does he take in his walk across the tomb?

31. How many females have been commissioned to fly the presidential helicopter?

32. Who was the Orlando Magic’s 1st round draft pick?

33. What Cold War Eastern European alliance was an equivalent of NATO?

34. What Bronze Age sculptor is famous for his piece The Kiss?

35. Who is the only Hollywooder besides Robin Williams and Tom Hanks to star in 7 films during the 1990’s grossing over 100 million?

36. What is the name of a group of lions?

37. What rock band includes members Frances Rossi and Rick Partiff and songs include Rockin’ All Over the World and Whatever You Want?

38. Put the movie studios in order from oldest to newest: Warner Brothers, Universal, MGM.

39. Which planet is the brightest object in the sky after the sun and the moon?

40. What American author’s works included The Raven and The Tell Tale Heart?

41. The Sami People are indigenous to which continent: Europe, Africa, South America?

42. Name the character who made his debut in the novel Red Dragon.

43. This designer profited by claiming that a woman looks beautiful wearing her boyfriend’s t-shirt and underwear.

44. This historic song was recorded right after the 1985 American Music Awards.

45. What does PDF mean?

46. This company appeared in 1990 as the first real competitor of Nintendo.

47. Name the American teen who had the Comprehensive AIDS Resources Emergency Act named after him.

48. What golfer won the British Open in both 2007 and 2008?

49. Which European automaker introduced the first side air bags in 1998?

ANSWERS:

1. AB

2. Charlemagne

3. Folsom and San Quentin

4. Pyrenees

5. 42

6. Germany

7. HMS Ark Royal

8. barometer

9. Vuvuzela

10. France

11. Tony Hawk

12. 1941

13. The Rolling Stones

14. Athlete’s Foot

15. Queen Elizabeth II

16. John Isner and Nicolas Mahut, 11 hours

17. a^2 + b^2 = c^2

18. General Stanley McChrystal

19. Jude Law

20. 64

21. Galileo

22. tractor

23. firing squad

24. Madonna

25. 199

26. Faith Hill and Tim McGraw

27. Savannah

28. Barry White

29. BMW

30. every 30 minutes, 21 steps

31. 1

32. Daniel Orton

33. The Warsaw Pact

34. Rodin

35. Julia Roberts

36. a pride

37. Status Quo

38. Universal, Warnner Bros., MGM

39. Venus

40. Edgar Allen Poe

41. Europe

42. Hannibal Lecter

43. Calvin Klein

44. We Are the World

45. portable document format

46. Sega

47. Ryan White

48. Padraig Harrington

49. Volvo

So, how did you do?

The Beautiful People…

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Beauty is in the eye of the beholder?

I just returned from a 40th birthday party overflowing with the Beautiful People and I’m feeling a little old, a bit saggy, and Marilyn Manson is echoing through my head…

You know who I’m talking about, right? The Beautiful People? All the girls had salon blown-out hair, chemically golden tans, blindingly white teeth, full makeup (in the pool), fat-phobic bodies (except for their enhanced curves) and microscopic bikinis. The boys were buff, golden, flashing the cash and…well, boys don’t really need much else, do they?

The party was a plastic surgeon’s dream come true. There was so much silicone and saline now floating around the pool I suspected the surgeon was lurking about handing out cards and offering on-the-spot consultations to those admiring his work. I wouldn’t be surprised if the few guests who had crossed the 30’s threshold already had several discrete visits for Botox as well.

The average age, I’m guessing, was about 25. Keep in mind this was a 40th birthday party. But a McMansion on the lake, a live reggae band, free booze, fast boats, and the promise of fellow Beautiful People to ogle and hit on at seemed to draw them out.

Where did these people come from? None of these people live in my neighborhood. I do not see them at my grocery store or park. I do not know where they hide during the day. The gym perhaps? Swanky office jobs? Upscale shopping venues? Even when I was young, single, and cute I still did not know these people. I don’t know where they congregate at night–I am not hip or beautiful enough I suppose to be included.

And the bikinis… I don’t consider myself modest. I am proud to say that even in my (eek!) mid-thirties and having born a child I will still wear a bikini in public and feel relatively comfortable with myself. But the suits these girls were wearing were about 1/2 the size of my swimsuit. Dental floss, a few beads, and blind faith were all that held most of their bikinis together. And what’s with these new bottoms that look like you have a wedgie before you even put them on? I just looked them up on Victoria’s Secret and found that they are called “cheekies” because they don’t even leave the crack up to anyone’s imagination. How comfortable can they be? I also discovered that’s where most of the girls bought their swimsuits. And heels! I somehow forgot that I am supposed to be wearing 4 inch heels while trouncing around in my bikini…

The boys seemed rather pleased with the views though, to say the least. The few of us who were actually closer to the Birthday Boy’s ripe old age clustered together in a corner of the pool. The old boys just stared in amazement while we ancient girls made catty comments. There were only a handful of us who were actually married and I was one of only three wives in attendance. The married boys (sans wives) tried to talk around me as they commented and rated the girls, known only by their bikini color. As in Oh Man, check out Pink. Yeah, I bet she’ll be on the Birthday Boy’s boat. Or Damn, where did green go? She is one of my favorites.

{Sigh}

As I was told by them, they are married, not dead. So apparently, we wives are death. Way to make us feel good boys.

I couldn’t even focus on the pretty boys in attendance. Lots of muscle, funky trendy sunglasses (who said huge white plastic frames look good?) and board shorts. By the size of their biceps and darkness of their tans I would assume they don’t spend much time reading or keeping up with current events. I don’t think I could have held a cohesive conversation with any of them. Nothing like a boy who is dumber than a pile of bricks–which is why I ‘ll never understand all the girls who love Jason on True Blood, but that’s another story…

I felt as if I had been transported to Cancun during spring break. I was waiting for someone to break out the beer bong and start the wet t-shirt contest. Maybe the Girls Gone Wild bus paid a visit after we left and the party really got going.

Perhaps these are just the ramblings of a cranky SAHM who is offended by and out of touch with this world of wannabe-nouveau-rich-glitterati.

Or maybe I just like my friends to be like my favorite books: whether their covers are brilliantly enticing or homely and plain, what lies beneath must have beauty and substance to be of value.

Beauty IS in the eye of the beholder.

Summer Camp Savages

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It’s summer break, and my Kiddo is enjoying his first week of our city’s summer day camp program. As an only child, it seems he gets bored and lonely a little quicker than kids with siblings to play with or pester. At 6 1/2 he is an outgoing and social little boy, so since he was finally old enough, I figured it was time for a new experience. I signed Kiddo up for two weeks, just to test the waters, give him something to do, and some other kids to play with.

I did not realize I was sending him to participate in The Lord of the Flies.

Day 1: My sweat-soaked and slightly sunburned son shook his head at me when I arrived and did not want to leave. I told him he could stay longer the next day since he had so much fun.

Day 2: I arrived an hour later, and he put his muddy little hands together as if in a prayer and begged to stay longer. He said he was having too much fun to go home.

Day 3: I was out shopping, ran late, and rushed to pick him up in a guilty panic, assuming he would think I had forgotten about him and left him there for the night. I find him drenched (it had just started to rain), filthy (he IS a little boy), and smiling. He announced he wanted to say in camp ALL summer long. No harm done, right?

In the car he announces that he was in a fight. With a taller kid. And he won. He is beaming.

I’m not sure what to say.

I am kind of mortified…and kind of proud…

I decide to try to get as much information out of him as possible, which is usually like pulling teeth. I keep a calm, interested tone while interviewing him. And wonder how to handle this.

This is a whole new world for me. I was a shy, timid girl and I have never thrown a punch in my life. I just don’t “get” physical fighting. But boys are different. My Hubby would get into fights occasionally when he was a kid and says that is just how boys are. My Dad preached you should never be the one to start a fight, but always be the one to finish it–victoriously, of course.

Today, any form of fighting, especially in school, is considered unacceptable. There is zero tolerance and BOTH participants are likely to be punished, no matter who started it or for what reason. Sure, that’s all well and great in a perfect world where kids are always rigidly supervised, but what about when they are not?

My Kiddo is not a bully and I have no worry that he ever will become one. He is kind, outgoing, and pretty laid back. But I do not want him to BE bullied. I have actually been waiting for the day when he would come home crying because he got punched for giving the wrong kid a hug.

When we talked about fighting, I always said he should avoid physically fighting to the best of his abilities. Try to talk it out, get out of the situation, find a teacher… But what should a boy do if another boy punches him? If he runs away or starts crying he is likely to be bullied and picked on again. If he hits back he risks getting pummeled and/or facing serious consequences.

What’s a boy to do?

At the moment, I’m voting for hitting back. Why shouldn’t kids be allowed to defend themselves? Sure, with another kid on the playground it just may be an issue of social standing, self-confidence, and a bloody nose, but what about in the real world? What if it is a stranger trying to take him off the playground? Shouldn’t we teach our kids to defend themselves and not just stand there, placidly looking for an authority figure to step in, while any number of unimaginable things could happen to them?

I am hoping that my Hubby and I are raising our son with enough moral character, judgment, and self-respect that he will know when it’s time for fight or flight. But then again, now he is only 6.

From the scant bits of information I was finally able to cajole out of the Kiddo, I think he did the right thing. It had just started to rain and the counselors had been busy trying to corral the zillions of campers under pavilions or inside. A bigger kid was picking on and hurting Kiddo’s friend. Kiddo told him to stop. The bigger kid started pushing Kiddo. So he pushed back. In the end, somehow, my lanky little boy was sitting on the bigger kid until he cried, “time out, I’m done.” The fight was over, and my little underdog had prevailed.

I know many parents would be raising a complete fit with the counselors for even “letting” this happen. As long as this remains an isolated incident, I’ll deal with it.

There will always be good kids and bad kids. No matter how much we try to shelter and micromanage our children they will come in contact with each other. It is our responsibility to teach our children how to properly deal with adverse situations by themselves so they can grow into competent and self-sufficient adults.

Well, we can at least try…

It will be time to pick the Kiddo up from camp soon. I will admit I am slightly nervous and more than a tab bit curious… I can’t wait to hear what happened on the playground today.

Life is what happens when you are making other plans…

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“Life is what happens while you are making other plans,” the sage John Lennon once commented. I’m starting to think I have been a secret contestant on a reality show and there is a hidden camera following my every move, and somewhere out there, my trial and tribulations are providing some belly-aching laughs for someone…

I have had every intention of posting several times a week. I intended to be at least two chapters into my novel. Instead, no posts, two scenes. I have found that when I am utterly and completely angry and frustrated I just can’t write. Perhaps I could fill some notebook pages with unreadable angry scribbles and I have filled many a tear-stained pages in years past, but now, as a “responsible adult,” I don’t seem to have that luxury. Chances are, if things are so bad I am kicking walls, I must then go about the cleaning, fixing, and calling, in a vain attempt to fix the problem.

Some things I have learned over the last few weeks:

1. 10 to 15 foot magnolia trees do not fit well into the back of a mid-sized sedan. You would think common sense would tell you that, but noooo, we had to try it. After standing it up, wrapping rope around the car as if we were trying to tie a deer to our hood, we were actually going to attempt to drive about 2 miles home. Then the car broke.

2. We were parked in the loading zone in front of the main entrance to Costco on a packed Saturday afternoon with a humongous tree hanging out of our car…which was dead. We tried to start the car. It just clicked and died. And the brake stayed locked. Not good when you have one of those funky new keyless ignitions and have to press the brake to start the car. After some frantic calls to the dealer to find out if we needed a tow or a battery we had to untie and unload the tree, buy a new battery inside, beg the manager to find some tools somewhere, return the tree, and get home to safety. All with a hungry, cranky 6 year old running around and constant comments from the shoppers coming and going. Always have jumper cables and tools in the trunk.

3. I deserve a maid because washing machines hate me. We are now on…new washing machine number three and have had two repairs as well, all for the same problem…in two months. It was just “fixed” again two days ago, and every time I go to start a load I am in a near panic state hoping the damn thing will start. Washing machines should not cause you to take panic attack pills or send you to marital counseling. Maytag owes me a case of wine, at least.

4. While we are on the topic of laundry, crayons do not do well in the dryer. I opened the dryer last night to find my clothes tye-died and splotched with bright blue. And the inside of the dryer was the shade of my pool. Frantic googling followed. I concocted various crayon stain removal recipes and caught quite a cleaning product fume buzz whilst scrubbing the inside of a hot dryer. All pockets will be checked for crayon nubs in the future.

5. Beauty schools may be a fabulous deal, but a three hour haircut…really? Four hours, when you count drive time. Yes, I got a hand massage, scalp massage, shampoo, blow-dry, and some entertainment watching the uber-trendy students practice their cutting edge stylings all for the bargain price of $12, but…wasn’t counting on another day down the drain…

6. There are no simple projects. I just wanted to level the soil in my vegetable garden. Just… Instead the retaining wall crumbled, and we were once again loading way too much into a little car (12 foot long logs) to make repairs. Saturday we get to play with concrete in an attempt to reinforce the wall we rebuilt. All for some fresh tomatoes and herbs. It will be worth it in a few months, I know it will…

7. MRIs are not for the claustrophobic…unless happy pills are involved.

And now, my future calendar is full, but I WILL find some time to do what I want to do, I NEED to do…in between life getting in the way.

Launrdy Day From Hell…Part Deux

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Today I was supposed to spend all morning getting serious about organizing my novel notes and setting some goals. It was penciled in my calendar. My notes were waiting in a discombobulated pile on my desk. I had read more “how to get started” chapters in three of my writing manuals. Then it struck again…

…The Washing Machine From Hell.

I was staying home to write, so I could sneak a quick load or two in between segments, right? Wrong. Very, very wrong. The damn thing is broken, again. So all my creative strength was then channeled into keeping myself from taking a golf club to that possessed piece of crap. Then I had to call the company and manage to keep the swearing in check and the tears of frustration from streaming.

Do not by a Maytag. Ever. The cute little commercial about the bored Maytag repair man is a colicky crock of horse manure.

I spent a lovely–no livid–morning at a laundromat. If I had been a bit less angry and unfocused I could have used the place as a character study. I finally found a vacant chair, popped in my ear buds in an attempt to have Jack Johnson soothe my seething temper, and opened my book to pass the time. But I couldn’t help looking around–between the screaming kids and worries that someone would steal my clothes I couldn’t concentrate. I noticed that no one else was even attempting to entertain themselves. They sat quietly watching their clothes turn round in their driers, paced the narrow corridor between the noisy washers, or just stared vacantly out the window. What were they all thinking about? Jobs? Lovers? Kids? Dust bunnies? Quantum physics?

More drama was still to follow… Wednesday afternoons are usually spent at the playground around here. School gets out early and the Kiddo has an extra hour of energy to expend. Since it was a bit chilly today (even here in the Sun Belt) the pickings for playmates was pretty slim. There was only one other boy there and Kiddo waltzed right up to this little giant (even thought he was a foot taller and twice his weight) and asked him to play. Great, lovely, I can once again try to read and decompress while I keep an eye on him. Then this big kid starts hurling rocks at the squirrels. Big rocks. And he had quite an accurate arm. I yelled for Kiddo to get over here and stood up staring in disbelief as the little giant’s mother just watched while she yakked at an obnoxious level on her cell. Kiddo went back and told him to stop, he was being mean. He laughed and grabbed a bigger stick. The mother just watched. I HATE confrontations, and truly had my fill this morning. Not in the mood to go head to head with this oblivious mother. Kiddo and I left after we told the little giant to cut it out. First squirrels, then dogs, then people… I expect to see that kids mug shot in the paper in a few years…

I need to get rid of all this negativity swirling around me…think of some GOOD things from the last few days….hmmm…I found not one but 2 new bathing suits before spring break, an awe-inspiring accomplishment…I found fun little V-day gifts the Hubby and Kiddo will love when they open them Sunday…my taxes are done and the refund is one the way through cyberspace…and oh, I hear my amazing Hubby pouring me a glass of wine as I type…how did I get so lucky…

It’s off to fold (and read) I go…

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Today is officially Laundry Day From Hell. Yes, I know, no one LIKES doing laundry (except perhaps my Mom, but she has some very peculiar hobbies), but attempting to catch up from a week away followed by a week of a broken washer is just unbearable. And the washer is less than a month old. And it was delivered 6 weeks late. I am beginning to believe it is inhabited by a wicked sprite and we are not going to have a very agreeable working relationship.

I know some moms only do laundry once a week. I know some single guys are lucky if they remember once a month when the closet is completely empty (you can only turn those boxers inside out so many times). I cannot imagine forcing myself to endure one entire day of sorting and folding all day long each and every week. I think I would have to call in sick that day. Or run away from home. My theory is that laundry is a bit like cough syrup. You don’t really like it, but it is sometimes necessary in small doses and if you take too much at once you will end up hallucinating or in the loony bin. A much better system for me is one simple load a day. No sorting, no stressing, just dump all the dirty in together sometime during the morning, remember to switch it into the dryer around lunchtime, then the dreaded folding and putting away late afternoon. And usually I treat myself to a few minutes of what I actually want to watch on the telly while I fold–Sponge Bob is silenced while I bliss out to a few minutes of HGTV or Food Network. Everyone has to leave me alone. Then it’s done–no big deal–and the Hubby thinks I am a Domestic Goddess.

But today I have two weeks worth of smelliness and funk to deal with. I haven’t even figured out how many loads–I think if I put a number on the madness I will cry. I will deserve vast quantities of wine and chocolate this evening.

On a completely different topic, I am still trying not to be frustrated by the whole concept of blogging. The Hubby still thinks that all I have to do is post consistently to my blog and tens of thousands of fans will find it and read it and we will be making a fortune within a few months time. Huh? Another friend thinks I should concentrate on making my blog marketable and not worry about writing my novel. Double huh? I see this solely as a way for me to force myself to write, to bring my writing skills out of hibernation, and frankly, to mouth off about whatever I want. No one has to like it. If they do, wonderful. But this is for me.

I posted a few weeks ago about how I can never remember what I have read. I had another unfortunate example of this Sunday morning, on such a scale that I wonder if I should be tested for early-onset Alzheimers or perhaps I am suffering from the long-term effects of having a bit too much fun in college. I thought I finished a book Saturday night and started reading a new one Sunday morning. I was about 20 pages into Elizabeth Kostova’s The Swan Thieves when the talk about psychiatry caused me to ponder if one of the characters in Marian Keyes’ Brightest Star in the Sky had managed to drive her bike into a car after all…wait…did she…? Oh, damn! I never finished the book! I know I was distracted by the Munchkin’s unrelenting commentary as we were watching a Star Wars film fest, but come on…. How embarrassing.

I was very diligent last month and managed to keep a running list of all I read. Here it is…

January 2010 Booklist
Kristen Harmel, The Art of French Kissing
Douglas Preston, Impact
Whitney Gaskell, Good Luck
Audrey Niffengger, Her Fearful Symmetry
Charlane Harris, A Touch of Dead
The Gourmet Cookbook (yes, I read it cover to cover)
Steve Berry, The Paris Vendetta
Lolly Winston, Good Grief
Stuart Woods, Kisser

Agh, the damn dryer is screaming for me…Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to fold I go…

All I Need to Know About How to Get Girls I Learned From My 6-year-old Son…

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I am proud to say my son is a Casanova-In-Training. He has had girls chasing him since his first play group at a mere 18-months-old. And he is smart enough to let the right ones catch him, at least for the time being.

Lesson 1: Charm the Mother, and you are home free.
There were always pig-tailed little girls following him around, vying for his attention, then running back to their Mommies in tears when they couldn’t get it. He would bring them a flower he had just picked to make them happy and stop their crying. They would fight over who got to hold his hand. He would explain that they needed to take turns and there was plenty of him to go around. And all the Moms LOVED him. The Little Lover Boy learned that being polite, kind, adorable, and a bit funny charmed even the over-30 set. I have had to promise dates for him ten years in advance.

Lesson 2: Older girls can fall for younger boys.
Cougars in training perhaps? When he was 3, he entered the Early Childhood Education Program at our local high school . So basically he was fawned over and adored by cute teenage girls for several hours each day. Some major neurons were firing in his little brain, and he quickly figured out this was a pretty sweet deal. He had them all wrapped around his tiny little fingers before you could say “Ashton Kutcher is my hero”. Even now we will occasionally bump into one of his “older ladies” and they will gush on about how they will NEVER forget him.

Lesson 3: Chicks dig cool hair.
This was also the year he decided to grow his hair long. I am assuming he could see the “cool” big boys on the campus outside his little playground and figured he could be just like them. The hair set him apart. It gave him a little bit of the bad boy aura. And, well, I guess it kind of made him look like the dude from High School Musical all the girls were swooning over. I’m telling you, this kid is brilliant.

Lesson 5: If a girl has competition, she will fight for you even harder.
At 4 he entered VPK at a tiny school with a class of only seven. I was a bit concerned he would get his ass kicked because he had the dangerous habit of hugging and kissing everyone good-bye each day. No need to worry about my Little Lady Killer though. In less than a week the girls were fighting over who got to hug and kiss him first. They were already flaunting their virtues–one was trying to woo him with her brute strength (she would lift him as she gave him a monster hug and kiss), another was bribing him with treats from her lunch so he would sit next to her, and yet another was sending him home with carefully crafted artwork depicting him as her Prince Charming. That year he was suave yet nonchalant with all of them, giving each at turn at being his favorite for a day, not letting any be excluded from his attentions for too long

Needless to say, my husband is a bit jealous. This kid had snagged more action before the age of 5 than my poor husband did until he met me. I figured that it would all slow down this year in Kindergarten, with public school’s strict policies on touching and appropriate behaviors. I was preparing for the black eye that I was sure to come from some little mean-girl-in-training or jealous bully though.

Not to worry. Instead my 6-year-old son is engaged.

Lesson 6: If you are serious about a girl, prove it by committing?
Her name is Delilah and apparently she is the most beautiful girl in the whole world. First she was just his girlfriend. A few weeks later I was asking how the fair Delilah was doing and my son’s eyes grow wide with adoration as he exclaimed, “I’m going to marry her!” (Pause. Smile. Deep breath.) Really? Have you asked her yet? “Uh, yeah…” Oh…and, what did she say? (Grunt of disbelief) “well YES, of course, ” (rolling eyes). And when, prey tell, do you plan on actually getting married? “Eh, I don’t know. Someday. We haven’t really discussed it.” At that point I gently expounded upon the importance of waiting until AFTER college. So after college it is.

Lesson 7: Let the girl have the freedom to make her own decisions.
Fast forward a month or so. He very carefully climbs into the car after school cradling a blue pottery bowl he made in art class. “I’m going to keep this forever. Some day when I die I’m going to pass it along to my kids…IF Delilah decides to have any.” I do my best not to swallow my gum and hit the stop sign. Liberated and in love. God, I must be doing something right.

Last night we learned they had done the deed. They had kissed. A REAL kiss, on the mouth no less, in the lunchroom. But she didn’t kiss him back, just coyly blew him a kiss across the table when he sat back down. I cannot believe I have not received a phone call from this girl’s father.

Should I just buy him a sports car and a guitar now? I’m more worried I should be buying stock in condoms… We’ve got a LOT of talking to do…