Counting The Days

Five more school days and Summer is officially here. I, for one, am more than ready.

Seven more days and the Company Dinner is here.

Twenty-nine more days until Drama Queen goes to spend three weeks with her dad.

Forty-seven more days until Jenny arrives.

Fifty-four days until Big Red is an official two-year-old.

Seventy-four more days until Missy Hoohaw is an official four-year-old.

Seventy-nine more days until school starts and summer is officially over.

Measuring out my life with a teaspoon, people.

Holy Crap! Updated!

It just occurred to me that the Company Dinner is right around the corner. As in next weekend. I have the dress, but have not been able to find shoes to save my life. All my usual standby places have let me down. Tar-Jay? Nothing. Payless? Nada. I might have to break down and venture over to the Rack this weekend. I hate doing this, because I am cheap. I hate paying over $30 for shoes.

I found a pair over at Endless that are perfect, but they are $64. I know, I know, that's not a lot to pay for shoes and Naturalizer is a good brand and blah, blah, blah. I am poor, people. $64 is the better part of my weekly grocery budget. Plus, I need earrings and a pedicure. And a manicure. And a spray tan. Yes, I spray tan. Shut up. I only do it for special occasions. Like my wedding. And a Company Dinner.

I have a gift certificate that Mr. Clairol scored with some VW points (Thank you VW), so the tan is taken care of. I'll go in next weekend for my toes and nails. But this weekend is the great shoe hunt. Wish me luck.

Update: The salon does not do spray tans anymore. (Wah wah wah) So I scheduled a manicure and pedicure, then tracked down a tanning place that does spray tans. I'm going in Saturday morning to get all bronze and gorgeous.

I also found these:

Thank-you, Andrea, for directing me to Target's online site. For $16, they'll work. Of course, if they don't fit, I'm screwed, glued and tatooed.

You know what else is coming up this weekend that I was unprepared for? Drama Queen's birthday party! No decorations, only the most tenuous menu and a metric bootie load of cleaning to do. Awesome. I got online with my old friends, the OTC, and tracked down some black and white decorations. I'll fill in the more mundane things, like plates and such at my other old friend, The Dollar Store. It's going to be a fun weekend!

Getting To Know You

So Andrea sent me a meme type email and rather than wrack my brain, trying to figure out who to pass it on to, I've decided to use it as a blog post and kill two birds with one stone. I'm such a clever girl!

If you'd like to play along, simply cut and paste this in your own blog, then link to your blog in my comments, or get crazy and leave your responses in my comments.

Welcome to the 2008 edition of Get To Know Your Friends.

Change all the answers so that they apply to you, and then send this to your friends, including the person that sent it to you. The theory is that you will learn things about your friends that you might not have known!

1. What time did you get up this morning? 5:45 am

2. Diamonds or pearls? Both. Like Fergie, I likee de bling bling.

3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema? Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Do NOT give me any shit about this movie. I LOVED it.

4. What is your favorite TV show? Currently, it is House, though I am also addicted to Law and Order, Monk and Days of Our Lives.

5. What do you usually have for breakfast? Iced tea, vanilla yogurt, fruit or coffee and a doughnut. Depends on what the day holds.

6. What is your middle name? Lynn, and I hate it.

7. What food do you dislike? I'm not fond of curry or lamb. Good thing I wasn't born in India or Britain, eh?

8. What is your favorite CD? This is like asking a geek what his favorite part of D&D is. I can probably give you a top 5, but even that is pretty hard and subject to change.
1. Fashion Nugget, by Cake

2. Pontiac, by Lyle Lovett

3. Elephunk, by Black Eyed Peas

4. Back in Black, by AC/DC

5. Seven and the Ragged Tiger, by Duran Duran

9. What kind of car do you drive? VW Vanagon baby! (Andrea's answer, but it works for me too)

10. Favorite sandwich? A Rachel from Noah's Bagels, on marble rye. Only on marble rye. The Reuben from Arby's is also pretty good.

11. What characteristic do you despise? Cruelty. I hate when people say and do mean things or ignore people because they aren't whatever that person values. Especially when it's an adult who knows better. That being said, I've been known to respond in kind, which shames me.

12. Favorite item of clothing? Right now, it's a mod print chiffon trapeze dress with a sequined collar. See it here.

13. Favorite brand of Jewelry? If I'm honest, I'll say Tar-Jay, but in dream world, I love Tiffany.

14. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go? Ireland, with a jaunt into Spain.


15. What color is your bathroom? It has gray tile and pale blue wallpaper with climbing purple flowered vines. Pretty in an old lady with 6 million cats way.

16. Favorite brand of clothes? Avenue for the plus pants, Dress Barn Woman for dresses and Cold Water Creek for most everything.

17. Where will you retire to? I'd love to live near Monterey.

18. What was your most memorable birthday? 36, thanks to my sweet husband and kids. Oh, and the butt-heads that robbed my house!

19. Favorite sport to watch? If we can interpret favorite in it's loosest possible context, basketball.

20. Furthest place you are sending this? You tell me

21. Who do you least expect to send this back to you? My mom, if I were emailing it.

22. Person you'd expect to send it back first? Andrea or Grandma, if I were emailing it (and Andrea hadn't sent it to me initially.)

23. Favorite saying? Fucking Duh! Put on your pig girl panties and get on with it
.
24. When is your birthday? April 29th, National Rob a Stranger Day.

25. Are you a morning or a night person? Definitely a morning person. I am almost always asleep by 9:30.

26. What is your shoe size? 8 Wide

27. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with us? Like I don't tell you people every little thing.

28. What did you want to be when you were little? Wonder Woman

29. How are you feeling today? Impatient for school to be over.

30. What is your favorite candy? Milky Way

31. What is your favorite flower? Blue Iris and orange blossoms

32. What is a day on your calendar that you are looking forward to? July 16th. Jenny comes to visit!

33. What was the last thing you ate? A bowl of cereal

34. Do you wish on stars? No, but I should

35. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Either aqua or navy blue. I like me some blue.

36. How is the weather right now? Sunny and warm.

37. Favorite soft drink? I'm Pepsi girl, but I like Dr. Pepper as well.

38. Favorite restaurant? Adalberto's for Mexican, Fat's for Chinese, Visconti's for Italian, Jack's Urban Eats for comfort food and Bailie's for all else. Oh and Habit for burgers. Thanks a frickin' million, Andrea!

40. Favorite Day of the Year? My children's birthdays

41. Summer or winter? Winter. I love fires and cozy evenings.

42. Hugs or kisses? I like hugs, but there is something about a great kiss. Not to much moisture, just enough tongue, a hand fisted in my hair...pardon me while I find my husband.

43. Coffee or tea? Both. I like hot and iced tea at home (Good Earth original tea makes wicked iced tea.) but when I'm out and around, I've been known to succumb to a vanilla latte from Starbucks.

44. Chocolate or vanilla? Chocolate. Always chocolate. The darker, the better.

45. Do you want your friends to email you back? Yes. And if you are reading this, that means you!

46. When was the last time you cried? Last night

47. Who is the friend that you have had the longest, that you are sending this to? Jenny P I

48. What did you do last night? Wrote a bit, started to re-read To The Nines, by Janet Evanovich and iced Big Red's latest bump.

49. What are you afraid of? Frogs, heights and my children being kidnapped.

50. How many years at you current job? 13 and 1/2 years. I've moonlighted over the years, but the mom gig has always been the primary job.

51. Do you have a MySpace page? Yes, but I don't update it and have no clue what to actually do on MySpace!

52. Favorite day of the week? Thursday

53. Do you make friends easily? No. I am painfully shy and I think that gets interpreted as disinterest at times.

54. How many people will you send this to? You tell me!

55. How many will respond? I have no clue.

And there you have it. I'm interested to hear about y'all, so be sure to either link or comment, m'kay?

Getting Organized

It's kind of a dream of mine. A shiny, elusive dream.

Tonya Piper, one of the mom's in our preschool class has an organizational company called Control C.H.A.O.S. Recently, they were featured on the HGTV website, in a video clip on how to improve your home. Click on this link for some great ideas.

Or you can go here and see what Tonya's company can do for you.

I'm inspired. You can find me cleaning my pantry, utilizing the new label maker my husband got me.

Disturbing Imagery Ahead

The following contains content of a sexual nature, so if that sort of thing puts your panties in a knot, don't read this post.

Still reading? Consider yourself warned.

Mr. Clairol and I were watching TV the other night and he mentioned how much he liked Alan Arkin. I agreed, citing his role in Little Miss Sunshine as one of my recent favorites. That started a scary chain of thought.

Heh heh, I thought, that character loved him some porn. Kind of like both my grandfathers. I remembered discovering a stack of Hustlers under my paternal grandfather's bed during a holiday visit and being really grossed out by it. My maternal grandfather also had a stash but it was a little bit more disturbing and I didn't really get it at the time. Thank you, little baby Jesse.

Then I thought, what is it about old men and porn?? You don't see little old grandmas leering at Playgirl, do you? Maybe it's because old men get tired of only seeing old naked ladies. Unless you're a really, really rich old man, you're not going to be seeing much but saggy, wrinkled butts and droopy boobies. Shake it off people. It gets way worse from here.

That gave me a chuckle and I felt some pity for dirty old men who were definitely not going to be getting any action from the hot young chickie set. Men are kind of pathetic, I thought to myself. Must be sad to know you're severely limited in your "get some" pool.

Then I really started to giggle, because I could just picture Mr. Clairol trying to score as an 80 year old man. Will we still be having sex when we're that old, I wondered. It was at this point that I went to the scariest place I have been in a while.

I wondered if I would still be, um, going South of the Border when I am 80. And how cool it would be, since I could just pop my teeth out. Yeah, I know. You can hate me/pity me/call Mental Health Services. I'm sorry, but in all fairness, I did warn you. Maybe now you'll listen to me.

A Little Bit At A Time

That is how my heart is breaking, every single night.

We've gone from this:

To this:

Yesterday was spent purchasing a mattress and bedding for Big Red's new big boy bed. It's a solid oak captains bed, heavy as a mo-fo and rather bulky as well. I know, I had one in mind at the Big I, but as I began to think about the abuse a boy's furniture takes and my children's alarming tendency to be large and muscular, I rethought a veneer and particle board option. The solid oak number was actually cheaper, once I had figured in Ikea's demand that I purchase the bed slats separately. No, I am so not kidding.

I did not think about the fact that we would have to maneuver this massive bed through a smaller than normal front door, make a sharp left down a narrow hall, then a sharp right into sonny boy's room. I'm pretty sure Mr. Clairol and I resembled a pair of monkeys trying to solve a simple puzzle, with the exception of the monkey's being smarter and faster. We were eventually successful and after switching out the mattress, disassembling the crib (sniff, sniff) and moving the remaining furniture around, we made the bed up and introduced Big Red to his new hot spot.

And it is a hot spot. Missy Hoohaw is very enamored of the bed, especially the deep cabinet in the center, which has been dubbed, "The Cave." The four drawers are also a big draw, and I think I'm storing toys there, since whatever is in there will be scattered on a regular basis.

Red spent his first night in the new bed. It was fairly uneventful. He went down without a fuss, and slept peacefully, with the exception of two binky recon missions. Both times I went in, I marveled at how small he seemed in that huge bed. As I watched him sleep with infant abandon, I pondered this and wondered if perhaps we moved too quickly from crib to bed. And then the vision of a strapping, strawberry haired teenager, stomping through my house, eating everything in sight, filled my mind. It made me teary with the sure knowledge that time is passing, swiftly and surely and nothing I do will stop the onward march.

High school peeks around the corner for Drama Queen. Kindergarten beckons for Missy. Red will start preschool at the same time his sisters reach those educational milestones. His speech will become comprehensible, his movement more sure, his intention clearer. Because he is my last, I will celebrate all of these things with a wistful heart, rejoicing and looking back fondly at all three of my sweet babies, infants no more.

Total Gratuitous Fergie

I'm a VW widow this weekend. That's right, it's (insert echo effect here) Bug-O-Rama time again.

But do not despair, dearest darlings. I am not sad. We had pizza for dinner, kids went down early and I got to watch two movies I've been wanting to see, but knew the hubs would not enjoy.

Mona Lisa Smile: I liked it. Not going to crack my top ten since it doesn't have Shia Labeouf in it but I did enjoy it. I like the Julias and love me some Maggie Gyllenhall, but Kirsten Dunst climbs my spine. I don't know why, but I feel the same way about Natalie Portman. Weird, huh? I loved when Julia Stiles character defended her choice to become a homemaker. I feel I have to make the same defense sometimes.

Hairspray (07 version): This was a pretty big disappointment for me. It was okay, but I felt patronized by John Travolta. I'm a huge John Waters fan (Shia for the remake of Crybaby!) and this was so far from the original, I almost didn't recognize it. It was okay, and I know the movie drew more from the musical. I thought Brittany Snow, Michelle Pfeiffer and Nikki Blonsky were great. No chemistry between Travolta and Christopher Walken but that was a relief.

John Waters had a sly, subversive, erotic wit in his original film. It was smart, funny and dirty sexy at the same time. I like that about him. And him being the flasher in the opening song of the '07 version? GENIUS! So I guess it was a good movie when taken on its own, just not in comparison to the first.

Okay, I'm going to go get my Fergie-Ferg on and go all crazy on the elliptical. Oh, and do you want to hear something funny? Drama Queen caught me singing the refrain to London Bridge under my breath and about died that I had a Fergie song on my ipod. Knowing I have 6 would probably give her an aneurysm. Knowing I was singing to Shia? We won't go there. And I wasn't. Not really. I only would sing that for Mr. Clairol. Scout's honor! I bought Transformers for the special effects! HONEST!

How come every time you come around, my London London Bridge wanna go down....

It Begins

We saw the new Indiana Jones movie last night. I must say, Mr. Ford is aging nicely. He handled the role with grace and they allowed the character to be the age he should be. Indy struggled a bit with the physical but delivered in the end through ingenuity. It was great.

Shia LaBeouf stole the show. He was so, so good in the part and they could not have found a better actor to fill it. Let's please try to ignore the fact that I now have a giant, inappropriate crush on a boy who is young enough to be my son, if I was a sexually precocious adolescent. Not a sweet little, "he's so cute" thing. This is a giant, "God, the things I could do to that boy," crush. I am SO embarrassed.

But that is not what is beginning here at PTN. Oh no, my darlings. Today begins the era of big boy bed for Big Red. He's crawling out of his crib with alarming regularity now, so rather than wait for a broken limb, I'm transitioning him to the bed now. Itsa gonna be a party, I tells ya!

I have a bed picked out at IKEA, a nice little captain style, with drawers underneath. I'll do one more quick trawl through Craig's list, to see if I can't score a better deal, but I think I'll be hitting to the big I today. I'm not sure what I'm doing for a mattress, and I'll need to pick out sheets and a quilt. My eye is twitching already.

His room is perfect. I don't want to mess it up. So I need the perfect bedding. The sheets? No problem. Navy or apple green. The quilt will be hard. It would be great if Marshalls or TJ Maxx could have a masculine, nautical quilt in navy and white. Somehow, I don't really think that's going to happen. I'll be hitting Tar-jay to pick up a stuffed Lightening McQueen for the bed, so maybe they'll have something there.

Now I just have to keep him from jumping on it. Perhaps I could electrify it? Heh, I kid. Sort of.

Andrea Needs You

Hey y'all, go on over and help Andrea pick a color scheme for her new kitchen. She's stumped. Thanks!

Finding The Joy

Yesterday was hard. Big Red climbed out of his crib for the first time. He fell and though he was more scared than hurt, it's the latest in a string of mishaps that make me fearful of mothering a boy.


Getting ready for the field trip to the fair, I discovered that Mr. Clairol had put away laundry last night and I couldn't find anything! Big Red's shorts were in Missy Hoohaw's drawer, Missy's socks in Red's sock bin. And Missy's shoes were gone. I think the trolls took them, because, hand to God, I could not find them. So I placed a frantic phone call to poor Andrea, telling her I'd meet her at the fair, no carpooling for us. Turns out I wasn't as behind as I thought. The class was meeting at 9:30, not 9:00, so yay, carpool on!


I ran into Tar-jay and bought Missy new shoes, then hustled to Andrea's house. The fair was okay, but Missy was in melt-down mode the entire time. It was great. I got yelled at by a Carny for taking pictures on the Merry-Go-Round and on the way home, Drama Queen had her own melt-down, worrying that she wouldn't get into the dance without a bid. She, of course, did not want to go back to school for 6th period, because that was embarrassing. sigh.


At home, I realized we were out of bread, so I started to throw a batch in machine. As I was adding the salt, I knocked the hopper over and spilled buttermilk, flour, oil, honey and gluten all over my freshly mopped floor. I cleaned it up, but realized as I was making the second batch, I was out of honey. Hell.


Mr. Clairol came home early, which is normally a happy occurrence, but he was bummed because work was slow and there was none for him that day. He gets paid by the job, so this means another light check. double sigh. The kids didn't want leftovers and the little ones definitely did not want Daddy to leave for DQ's dance. ( A friend picked up DQ's dance bid for her) Jenny called and that was great but my kids acted up the entire time and at the end of the call, I was so frustrated I wanted to scream.


I didn't. I sat on the floor and played ball for a bit. Then we did somersaults. It's hard to watch a toddler do his first independent somersault and not smile. Big Red was so thrilled to be able to do it himself. His smile was a mile wide. And I found the joy of parenting again.


Mr. Clairol survived his first chaperon gig with nary a scar. He actually had a great time. And so did Drama Queen. She twirled into the living room on a pink puffy cloud with glittery birds and puffy hearts swimming around her head. Apparently, the dance was "completely wonderful" and "awesome." No, The Boyfriend didn't kiss her. But he's wonderful and they danced and had a great time and life is beautiful. They even got a picture. When the hell did she grow up?


Today will be better. It has to be. I have a date with Harrison Ford and Shia LaBeouf tonight. Oh, and Mr. Clairol will be there too. Dum-da-dum-dum Dum da-dum!

Another Funny Story With Middle School Genitalia Humor

I'm awesome that way.


Remember this post? Yeah, I though so. I thought of it yesterday when I took my children to Tar-Jay. Because I'm also stupid that way.

We were walking towards the entrance and Missy caught sight of the large, red spherical sculptures flanking the entrance.

"What big balls, Mommy! Look at those big balls!! Can I touch them? Please?" she hollered.
She proceeded to stroke them (so not making this up) and murmur, "They are so red! And bumpy! I like these balls."

And I flashed forward to her adult years, picturing her having that exact conversation with a suitor (Minus the Mommy part. Please don't let her call her suitors Mommy). I thought, what a lucky guy her boyfriend will be. And then I laughed my fool head off.

And Now, The Funny Story

Yesterday was my last preschool workday. WOO HOO! This is me doing a celebratory boogie.

So, the funny story. (Geez, I hope it's as funny as I though it was after the build up)

Mr. Clairol and I were enjoying a Sunday morning, laying in bed and talking quietly. Big Red was babbling to himself and we were listening over the monitor. Suddenly, we hear Missy Hoohaw. She said, "It's okay Wed, I'm here."

I could hear her climbing into his crib and they were fine for a few minutes, until Missy, exclaimed, "No WED! You can't touch your vagina! Wait, I gonna go."

I walked in and Red had taken his diaper off and was playing with his junk (This is a far, far more common occurrence than I'd like) and Missy was climbing out of the crib.

"Mama, I go to my room, cause Wed is touching his vagina and only do that alone."

Yes, we've been talking to Missy about masturbation when it is appropriate to touch your private parts and when it isn't. Appropriate: at home, in your room, in the bathroom. Inappropriate: the grocery store, church, preschool, on a play date. Fun, eh? She's decided to pass the lesson on to her brother. Because she's nice like that. This, of course, means I have to teach her that boys don't have vaginas. It will be like when she wanted the Beast to have puppies and I told her the Beast can't have puppies, because he's a boy (and his puppy-making bits have been disposed of). She has been telling everyone that poor Beast lost hiss puppies. Our entire social circle and many, many strangers will be informed that poor boys do not have vaginas.

They probably lost them. Boys are like that.

Extra knowledge: Doing the spell check for this post, I learned that the correct plural for vagina is, according to my computer, vaginae. I'm still saying vaginas.

I Am Very Exciting, Updated

Would you like to know what I did last night? Would ya? Huh, huh?



This.



Today, we celebrate Missy Hoohaw's birthday at preschool. It isn't her birthday, that is actually a few months away. But we decided as a group to assign random days at the end of the school year to the summer birthdays, so that they could share in the fun as well. And it was actually my idea, I think. Because I am stupid.

It just didn't seem fair that some of the kids wouldn't get a crown and wand. So today is Missy's day. Her crown and wand are made. Yesterday, I asked her what she wanted to hand out as a treat for her classmates and she said, "Blueberry pies!"

What?

I have no idea where she got this idea. It is very much one of those random things that children occasionally pull out of the ether. Maybe Little Bear or Caillou had blueberry pie today. And yes, those are mini blueberry turnovers. From scratch. It took me three batches of pie crust and one batch of pie filling to make about 45 turnovers. Mr. Clairol tested them for me (I had to twist his arm. Not.) His verdict? Horrible. So bad, I cannot possibly take them in and I should definitely keep them at home. Could he have another, please?

NO! They'll finish cooling and this morning, I'll package them up. I don't know how. I'm still playing with the idea of paper bags with stickers and ribbon. I am sick, people.

Candi: You have an evil mind. Andrea pointed out that the actual turnovers are smaller than they seem in the picture. She was so relieved to pull out a little 2 inch pastry with a scant teaspoon of filling. I wouldn't do that to the other moms. Okay, I would, but only on the last day of school when retaliation is impossible!

To all of you who said I was an awesome mom, I am still laughing (and so is Andrea). After going through my mother's pie crust boot camp, I am a pro at crust. It isn't that hard, really, but you have to acquire the skill. When I first met my friend Maddie, she was talking about buying a Sara Lee pie. I laughingly shared with her that I had never eaten store bought pie in my life (except an occasional slice at a restaurant). She was shocked. Then she had my mom's pie. She still hasn't forgiven mom for spoiling Sara Lee for her!

And making pies for preschool the night before? Not awesome, stupid. I will never do that again!

The Garden: A Photo Essay

Welcome to my garden! Nothing to fancy, just a few beds. Raised beds with a timed drip. I guess they are kind of fancy. I thought about pea gravel around the beds, but then I thought, "Do I really want to kneel on pea gravel? No." So just dirt for now. I may beg my brother for a bench to set in the corner there. Maybe a triangular box, with a hinged lid. How cool would that be? This is at 9:30 am, and by 10:30, it will be all sun.

Here are the tomatoes. There are yellow pear, Better Boy, Roma grape and Early Girl. I know four plants probably seems like a lot, but remember that my children eat tomatoes like apples. Last year, I had a Roma grape and a yellow pear and I was lucky to have tomatoes for salad. They would walk outside and go right to the plants, seeing if there were any ripe tomatoes. Missy Hoohaw once ate an entire mixing bowl full of yellow pear tomatoes. I was shocked she didn't turn into one, Ala Violet Beauregard.
Here are the potatoes. I started with seed potatoes, just a basic russet and some red skinned. I've never grown potatoes before, so this should be interesting.
This bed was the wild card. I had no idea what I would plant here until I got to the hardware store and browsed. On the far left is a pumpkin. In the middle are two Japanese eggplants. I love eggplant. On the far right, watermelon. I've never tried melons either, so we'll see how it goes.
And this is my bullet proof bed. At the far left is a red bell pepper and a jalapeno. In the middle is zucchini. I only bought one plant, remembering from past years that zucchini produces. Not wanting to swim in zucchini for next several months, I ignored the urging of my husband and only got one. The irony is, he doesn't like zucchini. Anyway...on the right side are one row of radishes and two rows of carrots. I started these from seeds, since they are fairly easy and quick. Please, Mother Earth, don't make a fool of me.

The grapevine. Flame seedless. Total impulse. I have no idea what I was thinking, other than I waited too late for blueberries. Besides, blueberries are notoriously finicky and light producers. I have no idea about grapes. It's a gamble, but, hey, what's life without risk?

The lemon tree. Eureka lemons, the only kind they had. I almost bought a "cocktail" tree whose label claimed it would bear oranges, lemons, cocktail fruit and red grapefruit. Huh? I get the whole grafting thing, but Franken-tree weirded me out a bit and I was already gambling on grapes. So only boring lemons for me. I hope Franken-tree finds a good home.

And now, the herbs. This was my old bed, the one that hosted tomatoes, thyme and basil last year. This isn't nearly as fun to see, since I started all my herbs from seeds. We'll see how that goes. I didn't use any of my darling little stakes here because these get a sprinkler. No fancy drip irrigation for the herbs. Poor little herbs. You can hardly see it, but I got super anal and marked my bed in a grid, using twine tied to nails. Type A anyone?

Back row, left to right: sweet basil, cilantro, parsley. Front row, left to right: thyme, dill, sage. The round pot is rosemary and the long rectangular planter is mint. It was so hard to narrow down what I wanted, but these are the things I cook with most often. I'm pretty excited. Maybe I need to get a life.
So there you have it. How I spent my weekend. It was hot as hades here and I spent quite a bit of time in the pool as well, but man, I was so tired. Sunday night, we rolled up to my mom's house for dinner and I maybe said five words the whole night. Zombie. That's me. I didn't even drink a glass of wine, because I knew I would fall asleep if I did. So sad. Almost as sad as the little herbs with no drip.

I promised a funny story and I will deliver, but Big Red is crying and that means nap time is officially over. Tomorrow. I promise.

Gotta Dash

I am drowning and have NO time to blog right now. I promise, pics of the garden and a funny story are forthcoming!

It's Garden Day!

The boxes are built and the drip line laid. Today, I venture forth to buy plants and seeds. I'll post pics tonight of my lovely garden!

A Plea

As we near the end of Missy's first year of preschool, I'm thinking of collecting some of her artwork into a compendium. Has anyone done this? I'm no scrapbooker, though I tried. It's just not where my gift lies. I am poor. POOR, people.

I need a cheap idea for collecting the flotsam of this school year into a durable and compact form, preferably suitable for someone who has the artistic ability of a bread crust. Any ideas, Internet? Diagrams and photos would be helpful, since I am also an idiot.

Brain Storm

I'll let you in on a little secret. Andrea is hard to buy a gift for.



This really sucks because she gives awesome gifts. When someone gives you handmade garden stakes and a birthday cake, you want to give something equally special. And if you've missed her birthday? Well, you kind of have to step it up.



But Lord, she's hard to buy for.



My first though was a gift card. They've bought a new house and she's going to need stuff. Target? Ikea? No. She's gotten those things and besides, I have to save something for a housewarming gift.



She's not one hundred percent sure of her color scheme yet, so buying her an actual household item is out. Plus, buying someone decor-type stuff can be dicey. Are you buying it because you love it or because you think they will. And even if you think they will, they might not. And that would suck. Suck what? Why, giant, sweaty, hairy donkey balls of course!



And there's always this to consider: while household stuff is fun, we all know that as moms, we rarely have things that are just ours. Nice things, just for us. Take a look in your closet and you'll see what I mean. So, maybe new clothes? Except, I don't know her size and while I know her well enough to understand her style, it's still a bit hit or miss. So we're back to a gift card. But where? I thought about my favorite place, Dress Barn. She could find something for our upcoming Company Dinner. But maybe the clothes are too frilly/foofy/old lady. The Gap? No. Target? No. It was quite the dilemma.



Maybe a book? Something I've enjoyed in the past, that I think she might as well? A cookbook? Better than the previous ideas, but still not it. Yikes. And then it hits me. The perfect gift. A PEDICURE! But where? I didn't know. Last year, we went and got our toes done at a fancy spa, but I wasn't sure if she was up to a return visit, so I did this instead...

Now if I could just bottle the time for her to use it all.

Being An Upright Citizen And Joining A Brigade

Last night, in a burst of civic-mindedness, Mr. Clairol and I attended the monthly community meeting. It was very enlightening. The main thing we learned is that a lot of old people live in our neighborhood and they bitch a lot.

Here was the agenda:

Principal of Local School (who got bumped up the agenda since the police rep wasn't there yet and she wanted to get home for American Idol. I am totally serious) Principal spoke about the new landscaping that would be taking place over the summer. Apparently, our neighborhood school is getting a sorely needed new parking lot. And some new grass. And some new trees. And Oh! planter boxes. Yay! Those teachers getting laid off? Well they can drive by and look at the pretty new parking lot. That will be nice for them.

Then a nice lady from the city told us we were getting some new sidewalks. There was much rejoicing in the land. Hooray! Huzzah! But they'll only be on one side of the street. Oh. Well, Yay, anyway. Aaaand they'll only extend two blocks. Um, Yipee? Aaaaand it's going to cost $600,000. WHAT?!?!? But it's from a grant, so no new taxes! HOORAY! HUZZAH! Old ladies were ripping of their shirts and table dancing. It was scary.

Local Utility Guy (Known hereafter as Loogie, because I am mature) Loogie spoke for a solid ten minutes about I do not know the hell what. There was a lot of "This is actually not an rate increase, this is a rate process," and some stuff about insurance, caps (which confused me, since he was not wearing a hat), hydro, credit rating, etc. He was so circuitous and took so many tangents that I seriously began to suspect it was a purposeful attempt to confuse us. Because if we have absolutely no clue what he talking about we are far less likely to ask questions. I was interested to hear him say that this process began in March and they are just now attending community meetings, two days before the final vote is taken. Loogie is a sneaky SOB.

Then the leader of the meeting, who is a local realtor, tried do drum up interest in our community area group entering something in the upcoming parade. It was all very vague and she wasn't clear on the specifics, so mostly, we just looked at her as if to say, "Pass the dutchie, lady." No, not really. It was a more of "Pass the crack pipe if you think we're building a damned float." The oldsters love their meth.

The rep from the police department never came and no one liked my idea of reporting a crime just to get someone to show, so there was thirty straight minutes of complaints from the elders. Some beauts:

In response to complaints about speeding, City Chick said, "You know, a lot of times, we come out to monitor speeding and it winds up that the complaint filers are actually the biggest offenders."

I died, people. I thought Mr. Clairol was going to pee his pants.

"My garage door keeps coming up. I think someone has a remote and is just driving around testing them."

"The school kids are picking my roses." I dearly want to see an officer assigned to this. We could call him Officer Rosy. OOOH! Assign Officer Sorta-Billy- Zane and make him do it bare chested! HOORAY! HUZZAH!

And then we left, right in the middle of some old woman's rant about garage doors and flood lights and delinquents that hung around the garbage cans at night. (What are you guys doing? Hanging out at the Gas & Sip Dumpsters.) We hit Dairy Queen and laughed all the way home about the meeting. We are so going back next month.

Red Faced

I am so very embarrassed. Yesterday was Andrea's birthday and I had no idea.

Oh Lord.

I am notorious for forgetting special dates. I try to be better, but usually fail. And now, after she went all out on mine, I forgot hers!

Let the making up begin!!!

I Did It.

I do not dither. I tend to make a decision and go with it. Unfortunately, sometimes, I regret that choice.

Last night, I took the red satin dress back. I figured I needed the $$ to buy a few more basic pieces that would work for the conference. Besides, I felt weird in the red satin. If I were skinny (or even slightly voluptuous) I would have worn it and owned it. But, I am not skinny, nor slightly voluptuous. I am fat. And as any fat chick can tell you, shiny fabrics are not the fat girls friend.

That dress made me feel like I was trying to pull one over on people. Like I was trying to be sexy and failing. That is not a good feeling, and frankly, not one I am used to. I have pretty good taste and tend to know what works for my body. The dress was good and with an industrial strength shaper, could have been fabulous. But I might not have felt fabulous. So back it went.

Here's the thing. My husband loved that dress. He loves me in red. He loves satin. And even though I think he's certifiable, he believes I am sexy. Every woman should experience a man who truly believes she is the hottest woman in the room. Especially when she knows she's not. So now, I think I might have to go back and re-buy the dress. Oye.

I just don't know. Is it better to wear something my husband loves and I feel sort of weird in, or to wear something I love and my husband likes, but isn't wild over? I'm dithering over here, people! I should tell you that my husband has sort of strange taste in clothes. He wears baggy cargo shorts year round and favors vintage short sleeve shirts over anything else. He loves old bowling shirts. And he looks pretty good in them.

But when choosing women's clothes, he tends to go off the deep end. He once bought me white patent platform shoes. Total stripper shoes, girls. All they lacked were the clear heels. Then there was the time he bought me a horizontal striped skirt. Oh no. It was truly tragic. There was the comfy, but really ugly slouchy cardigan. I still wear it, because it is like a hug, but only in the house.

So I'm not sure I trust him to choose my formal wear. Of course, my brother and father also loved the red satin and they have impeccable taste. Seriously, if I didn't know my brother was a man-slut, I'd think he was gay. He obsesses over his clothes and loves to antique shop. Very metro-sexual.

I just don't know. I have a sneaking suspicion I'll go back and get the dress again. Because my husband is a doll and I want to make him happy. And if his co-workers don't like the dress, they can suck it. Not the dress though, that would spot the satin.

Shopping, Shopping And More Shopping

Drama Queen brought home an excellent grade report (all A's and B's, heavy on the A's), so in honor of her new boyfriend and the upcoming dance, I told her she deserved a new outfit.

May God strike me dead if I ever utter those words again.

We started at Tar-jay, my very favorite money pit. After an hour of browsing, she settled on a cute top and shorts, or a darling little blue dress. We tried them on and she hated the top, loved the dress. Yay! But, then, being a total idiot, I asked if she would feel overdressed at the dance.

Her face fell. "Yeah, I probably would."

Back to the browsing. We held on to the shorts and dress, just in case. We looked. And looked. And looked. For another hour. I have never spent so long browsing the clothing section of a single store in my life. My eyes were crossing. And through it all, she kept saying wistfully, "But I really, really love that dress."

Eventually, I stopped and told her, "If you love it, you should wear it." Because I am not always an idiot. It's more of a sporadic condition for me. Her face lit up and I knew it didn't matter how anyone else was dressed, she would feel beautiful. Plus, I really wanted to go home. Really, really badly.

But that was not to be, because we had to pick out shoes and accessories. Oye. Over to the shoes.

It only took a half an hour to determine there were no shoes. Her boyfriend is shorter than she is and she wanted flats so she could dance without "looking like a dork or falling on my butt 50 million times." Aaah. She is my kid through and through. We're going to Payless tonight. Yippee.

Onto jewelry! The kid loves her some baubles, my friends. She was eyeing the colored stuff, but I gently suggested a neutral tone, perhaps white, since there the dress is such a bright blue. She wanted enormous white enameled hoops, and I wanted tiny white buttons, so we compromised on some enormous filigree disks. They really do look great with the dress. We added a bracelet, of course. She wanted a necklace, but I dissuaded her. The neckline of the dress is a high boat neck and I always feel like a necklace looks awkward with that. Plus, I don't like necklaces and big earrings together. It looks like too much to me. Am I to spartan? Probably. I did go for a scarf in her hair. This was where is got truly hilarious.

Apparently, the theme for the dance is "Under The Sea." I knew this from out discussion in the car. She wanted something blue, that much she knew. Then down in Whoville, there arose such a shout... Sorry. Too many Dr. Seuss books.

Anyway, we had a blue dress and white accessories, so when she found a white scarf with blue seahorses on it, it was a huge spaz attack. "Oh my gosh! It's perfect! This totally means I have to get this dress. Oh God! What if we can't find shoes! Oh No!" She continued to go on in that vein as we got in line to pay and all through the transaction, me assuring her that we could definitely find a pair of white flats or sandals. I thought the checker was going to explode from holding her laughter in.

So it's the great shoe hunt tonight and for that we have to go to the....mall. Oh Lord. I'll ask Art to wait for me and tell him to be happy if I never return. To find someone else, but to not love her as much as he loved me. Hey, I never said I wasn't a petty bitch.

It actually works out well, since I have to find a pair of shoes as well. I found a dress for the annual Company Dinner! Part of my Mother's Day was a shopping trip to the Outlet Mall where there is a fantastic store called Dress Barn Woman. I know. Quit rolling your eyes. I'm not a big fan of Dress Barn, but Dress Barn Woman is another story. For years, I struggled to find dresses that worked on my body. I have a severely exaggerated hourglass shape, big boobs, relatively small waist and gi-normous butt and hips. I've tried Lane Bryant and Avenue, even Torrid but their dresses just never worked. Then I found DBW and the angels sung. The dresses are cut perfectly for me. It is awesome. I bought a few dresses and a skirt/jacket combo a while back and I wear them to death. Every time I wear the clothes, I get compliments. So, when I went in, I was fairly confident I could find something.

Oh man. I found a ton of things. I settled on a red satin dress with a short jacket and a darling, darling trapeze dress with a sequined round collar and a black, white and turquoise graphic print. Screw it...I'm going to take pics.

The red needs some work and I was thinking about taking it back, but when I tried it on for Mr. Clairol, he insisted that was the dress for the Company Dinner. Dad and Adam agreed. What is it about men and red satin? I love the other dress. I don't want to part with it. I'm wondering if there is any where I could possibly wear it. I should probably just take it back and choose something I can take to San Francisco in July. But it's SO CUTE!

Oh, jeez. I just realized I sound exactly like DQ!

Happy Mother's Day

A little quiz for you on Mother's Day.

Your husband leaves a half-full can of Mountain Dew on the kitchen table and you do not notice until your 21 month old son has crawled under the table and sucked down the entire thing. Do you...

a) Cry?

b) Walk outside and loudly berate your husband for being a complete dillweed, telling him you will never again buy soda and if he brings it into the house, you will kill him in sleep?

c) Casually mention to your teenage daughter that you think you and hubby are going to go out to dinner tonight and she gets to earn some money by babysitting?

d) Call a girlfriend and beg her to fake a personal crisis that requires you to immediately take her out for drinks?

Scroll down for the answer.



































The right answer is D!

In answer a, you accomplish nothing and ruin your makeup. Your child is still headed for a massive caffeine/sugar rush, followed by the inverse crash. And you get to deal with it!

In answer b, you put the man on the defensive and create strife in your home. Not to mention the fact that you have now necessitated smuggling in and hiding your Go Girl! and Diet Pepsi. Who has time for that?

In answer c, you've guaranteed your dinner will be interrupted by no fewer than 17 phone calls from the teenager, asking when you will home and complaining that her siblings will not go to bed.

D is the ideal answer because the creator of the problem (husband) gets to deal with the consequences, you get a night out and if you're petty, you may tell your husband about his son's beverage choices as your sail out the door.

Yes, this happened. Yes, I chose D. Yes, I was a little petty. And he laughed. Kissed me. Told me to have fun. I love that man.

What Mama Said

Ah, Mothers. We never quite value them enough, until we become one ourselves. The we look at ours and say, "How the hades did you do this?" At least I have. I love my mom. She's not perfect, but she is an amazing woman, and quite frankly, who I want to be when I grow up. She is funny, smart, brave, determined, strong (physically and emotionally), loyal, spiritual and tenacious. She spent her energy and considerable creative power raising my brother and I, providing us with an amazing childhood. During that childhood, there were bits of wisdom that floated down, oft repeated, and lucky you, I'm pulling them out to share.

"You get to choose." This was not uttered in the grocery store or the 5 & Dime. Oh no. This is my mother's core philosophy of life. You get to choose how it is. When adversity strikes, you get to choose how to deal with it. To her mind, Life itself is simply a series of choices and you are the master of your destiny. This means PMS is not an excuse to be bitchy, disappointment is not an excuse to fall apart and anger is not an excuse for words you can't take back. Which is an excellent segue in the bon mot.

"Once it's said, it can't be taken back." This is one that still rings in my ears. Ugly words, spoken in anger leave scars. Sometimes, those scars fade, but other times, they don't. Sometimes, they don't even heal that well. So, I've learned to be very careful of what I say in anger. Or at least I'm trying to.

"Is that a happy choice?" This is an offshoot of the first bit o' wisdom. She would ask us this as we were veering off course. It was designed to make us stop and think about what we were doing. Mostly, it made us mad. Funnily enough, it has the same effect on my children.

"Pie crust is like an animal. It senses fear." My mother makes the very best pie crust in the world. It is always perfect, flaky and tender, just delicious. She learned from her grandmother. She tried to teach me, but it must skip a generation, because I just cannot make it happen. She is like a pie samurai and I cannot find the way.

Those aren't all, but they are the best and the most enduring. What did your mother always say?

Got Chapstick?

My dad forwarded this to me recently and though I am not a tremendous fan of forwards in general, this was freakin' hilarious. Needless to say, I opted to share it all with you. This is also why I hide the 87 million tubes of Burt's Bees lip balm that I own.

Chapstick (told by the mother)

We had this great 10-year-old cat named Jack who just recently died. Jack was a great cat, and the kids would carry him around and sit on him and nothing ever bothered him. He used to hang out and nap all day long on the mat in our bathroom. We have three kids, and at the time of this story, they were 4 years old, 3 years old, and 1 year old. The middle one is Eli. Eli really loved Chapstick. LOVED it. He kept asking to use my Chapstick and then would lose it. Finally one day I showed him where in the bathroom I keep my Chapstick and explained he could use it whenever he wanted to, but he needed to put it right back in the drawer after he finished. That year on Mother's Day, we were having the typical rush around and try to get ready for church with everyone crying and carrying on. My two boys were fighting over the toy in the cereal box. I was trying to nurse my little one at the same time I was putting on my make-up. Everything was a mess, and everyone had long forgotten that this was a wonderful day to honor me and the amazing job that is motherhood. We finally had the older one and the baby loaded in the car and I was looking for Eli. I searched everywhere and I finally went into the bathroom. There was Eli. He was applying my Chapstick very carefully to Jack's ... rear end. Eli looked right into my eyes and said, "Chapped." Now if you have a cat, you know that he is right -- their little bottoms do look pretty chapped. And, frankly, Jack didn't seem to mind. The only question to ask at that point was whether it was the FIRST time Eli had done that to the cat's behind or the hundredth!?! And THAT is my favorite Mother's Day moment ever because it reminds us that no matter how hard we try to civilize these glorious little creatures, there will always be that day when you realize they've been using your Chapstick on the cat's butt.

A Rant With Many Bad Words

I apologize for this post in advance. You should know that I am not an overly sentimental person. I hate ceremonies. I yawned my way through my eldest daughter's stage debut. (She was fabulous, but it wasn't exactly The Producers, you know?) I am also sick of preschool. And the teacher. And the other mothers (except Andrea, who is perfectly darling). And the schedule.

So this month, Preschool has done an overnight camp out. Still on the schedule is a Family Tea, a water day, a field trip and a graduation ceremony.

A damned graduation ceremony? For a damned preschool? What the fuck?!? We are coming back in the fucking FALL!!!!

I know. I am a terrible person. I should not resent another night of my life wasted, as I watch my precious baby girl receive a certificate and then spaz out in front of all the students and their families. I should not be tallying the time it takes to shove dinner down my family's throats, dress my children, load them in the car and drive to the school. I should not be contemplating committing hari-kari with safety scissors. This is a sweet ceremony that marks the end of our school year and allows the children a sense of closure. And all I can think is every mom in the joint will be pumping her fist in the air, singing Alice Cooper's "School's Out (For Summer)" internally, of course. And that for three months, we'll all be having the same conversation:

Preschooler: "Is it a preschool day?"
Mom, sighing with relief, "No, thank God!"

More Cursing. F*&%$#@* PMS.

I just finished watching the Today show spot on Mommy Blogging and I for one am very disappointed in Ms. Dooce. I was planning on watching this because it featured a group interview that included Mir , but when I found out it would be Kathie Lee Gifford interviewing Heather? I was all over that shit. I wanted a severe smack down, WWf style. Gifford in red, white and blue spandex, Heather in slimming and chic black, maybe a little silver and pink in there. I don't know.

But no! Perfectly civil and nicey-nice. Hoda and Kathie were all, "I don't know, doesn't it bother you, putting it all out there, won't your daughter resent you, blah blah, blah." Heather did a pretty good job of defending herself, but it bothers me that she had to. I had a bit of hope at the end, when Kathie Lee stepped all over a point Heather was making, but no. Not one smack. Not even a slap. Though when Heather slapped her own forehead and rolled her eyes, it was pretty great.

And here's my question for Kathie Lee: How is what we are doing any different from you blathering on about your children, showing photos and bringing them on camera over national television for 15 years? I would think someone like Kathie Lee would be a little less likely to judge another woman after all the flack she's taken over the years. I think this is at the heart of why the woman drives me nuts. She just doesn't see the connection.

Okay, no more posting until I have my PMS in hand.

Solving the Problems of the World.

Do you ever have those days when a million thoughts are rattling around and you can't hold on to a single thread long enough to do anything?

Yeah, I thought so.

I have about four story ideas stewing (in addition to my three half-finished novels), the 86 kajillion things that must be done TODAY or the world will assuredly implode, wondering if the insurance will cut us a check for $5, what Fergie is doing now (answer:being fergalicious, of course), trying to figure out what other things I need to buy for Drama Queen's Party (capital P, because it's the first boy/girl event), and if the stuff I ordered will come in time. Oh yeah, don't forget scheduling my tanning and pedicure, so they don't conflict.

Apparently, pedicures and tanning are tricky. I did not know this. I am apparently not high maintenance enough to realize the deftness which these grooming procedures must be handled. The tan needs about 4 hours to set. This would necessitate a noon appointment on Saturday, at the latest. They don't last terribly long, about 2-3 days. They say 5-7, but they are lying. Tan people do that. Dirty tan liars. I'd like get sprayed the day before, so should something go terribly wrong, I have time to fix it. You know, like an appalling orange color or stripes. These are common tanning faux pas, according to my vast research on the topic. (i.e. talking to the extremely tan high schooler manning the desk at the tanning salon.)

Then there is the pedicure. It must take place before the tan, otherwise, the tan gets scrubbed off my feet and legs. (Buffy, at the tanning salon, tells me that happened to her sister's best friend's cousin, right before her boyfriend's senior prom! Like, OMG!!!) (Yes, she said "O-M-G. Further evidence that texting is rotting the intelligence of our youth.) That would not be attractive. Not at all. But wait! It can't happen too early, or I will definitely chip the polish. I know this for a certain fact. It is one of my gifts, ruining a manicure. Friday night is out of the question because apparently, my beauty takes second place to my daughter's social life. Hmph. Do you think they'd mind if I brought my toddler and preschooler with me? Probably.

You see the weighty matters I'm wrestling with? It's a wonder I get through the day with these huge issues weighing on me. This is why my house is in shambles, my weight out of control and my children shamefully neglected.

This Is Probably Why We're Friends

A while ago, Jenny confessed to giggling every time she hears the words business and junk. I admit, I pretty much automatically "go there" as well. I'm not proud of it, but there it is.

So yesterday, Missy trots into the kitchen with a blanket-wrapped bundle. "I've got a surprise for you," she sang.

"Oh boy! What is it?" I asked, feigning excitement. I love her, but this game has gotten old.

She unfurled the blanket, freeing about 7 small bouncy balls. "You've got balls!" she announced.

I laughed my ass off and everytime she says "balls," I laugh again. I have got to grow up one of these days.

In Jenny's Head

I'm going to set the scene for you and then give you a little peek at the things that run through my head...

Running errands at about 10:00 am this morning

Vanagons would be the perfect car if they just had a sound proof barrier between the rear passenger section and the driver's seat.

Why is screaming at each other funny? What the hell is wrong with my children???

This diet Pepsi would be so much better with a shot of vanilla vodka.

Oh Lord! I never have to go 15 months without drinking again! Hallelujah!

I think this is going to be a semi-regular feature here at PTN. I should probably warn you that I tend to cuss an awful lot in my head.

This Really Isn't Much Of A Post...

Okay two quick items before I get started today:

1) Andrea got her house!!!! HOORAY! I am so excited for them. And not just because they'll be way closer.

2) Thank you for the garden suggestions! I can't wait to post pictures. I can do that again, since we replaced our camera.

Okay, now on with the show. I gotta a lot of crap to do today.

My Own Little Eden

My dearest darling is outside right now, building raised beds for my garden. I'm all a-flutter! He thinks he'll be done with the beds today, but he doesn't yet know I'm going to insist on rabbit wire on the bottom. Because I hate me some gophers and moles.

I'm trying to plan what I'll plant, and it's hard. Mr. Clairol is building big boxes, so I have a ton of room. I also have a pre-existing box at the opposite end of the yard that I'm using for herbs. I want to plant things we'll use, so tomatoes are a must. I don't know that I've ever shared this, but my two youngest are tomatoe fiends. They literally eat tomatoes like apples. Andrea's son watches Missy with a combination of disgust and fascination as she devours a whole tomato with lunch. You can just tell he's bewildered that she would do that! Poor Cody.

So, tomatoes. And I think potatoes, because I'm an Irish girl and we eat us a lot of potatoes. And carrots, because they are easy and fun. But what else? I'm not planting corn because I live in Northern CA, where corn is abundant and cheap. Plus, it's a lot of effort for a little reward, according to my mother. Spinach? I'm not sure my soil is sandy enough. I think zuchini, because we eat a lot of that. But I'm just bewildered by the possibilites.

So here's my question. If you had a garden, what would you plant? If you suggest corn, tell me your experience with it. I'm open to the idea, even though planting it will lead to a lecture from my mom. What's been successful, if you have or have had a garden? Talk to me about this.

Sin, Singles, God and Ribs

Drama Queen has a lovely friend whom I adore. The child is smart, well-rounded and nicely mannered. She is not obsessed with boys, or if she is, she hides it well. She doesn't wear scanty clothes or trashy make-up. She is a doll.

But Dolly has a mom that, quite simply, climbs my spine. She's fairly nice. When I first met her, I thought, oh boy! She is so sweet! A little tactless, but whatever. I've been accused of that myself. Though, as of yet, I've never walked in another persons house and said, "Oh, thank GOD! You're not rich either! I swear, I picked up Dolly at J-----'s house last weekend and those people must make 6 figures!" So I've got that going for me.

But the more I get to know her, the more obnoxious she becomes. She is involved in her daughter's life to a suffocating degree. As a former single mom, I get it. But even if Mr. Clairol never came into my life, I'd not be forcing myself into my daughter's friendships. I think it's just an ardent desire to know the girls her daughter hangs out with. That's good. But teenagers need some space. Not a lot, but some. She actually called a boy that her daughter had a small crush on and asked him to hang out with Dolly and her friends during a band trip to Disneyland. Because they needed a boy to be safe. At Disneyland. I know about this because she called me to alert me that DQ liked this boy and had gotten into an argument over him with Angel, another friend. She wanted to alert me to the fight and that this boy was not very nice. He said he'd hang out with Dolly, then had the nerve to go off with his own friends. What a cad. She also let me know that she had a long talk with DQ about choosing a boy over a friend.

No, I didn't drive over and rip her head off. I'm pretty proud of that. I did let her know that DQ had told me about the argument, several weeks ago, in fact. Angel and DQ had since mended fences and neither liked the boy anymore. Middle school girls fighting over a boy that two weeks later they hate? I'm sure that never happens. But if it does, how odd that they would make up days later! Call the local news. I did thank her for the heads up and gently suggested that she leave those talks to me. She didn't seem offended, but she also didn't seem to really absorb my request.

And then there was last weekend. We invited Dolly and her mom to dinner and as we're sitting there, enjoying ribs and corn, Drama Queen pops off with some witty little observation.
"Just wait until you've got three kids, Missy!" I replied, laughing with her.

"But I'm not going to get married. Maybe I'll see when I adopt a child, huh?" she corrected me.

"You don't want to get married? Why?" asks Dolly's mom. Totally apropriate. This is not where I wanted to stab her with a steak knife. Her tone was a little aggressive, but whatever. DQ explained her desire to live in New York and be an author and a Broadway star.

"But you can be married and do those things. It's against the Bible to be single. God wants us to be yoked." That's where I wanted to stab her with a steak knife. I settled for changing the subject. The rest of dinner passed smoothly, and Dolly and her mom took DQ with them for an overnight visit.

Now let me explain something: DQ frequently claims she'll never marry. It's not that she's soured on the institution being a child of divorce. My parents were crazy about each other and at her age, I expressed the same sentiment. I wasn't going to marry or have kids. I was going to live in New York and be a glamorous single girl. And see how well that worked out? Teenage girls have a certain vision for their lives. It's the nature of the beast. That vision is transmutable, sometimes evolving into things wildly different. I've never met a woman yet who is living her teen dreams, faithful to all detail. So, when DQ says she won't marry or have children, I let her run with it. Why argue about it? Even if she does move to New York and live a single, childless life, that's fine. Marriage and children do not equal happiness for every woman. That's my opinion. I also strongly suspect that as DQ grows up, she'll meet a wonderful man, fall in love and marry him. I imagine they'll have a child or two, though knowing how DQ handles pain, I'm betting on one.

Plus, since when is being single a sin?!? How can a single mother who has never been married, chastise my child for desiring a single life? Doesn't Paul treat marriage as a necessary evil? I don't buy the idea that being single is just the time before you fulfill God's plan for your life. I have known many, many warriors who embrace their singledom and use the freedom to focus on God's work for the world.

I recognize that I'm pretty liberal for a Christian and many might interpret my acceptance of things as flouting the will of God. But as I understand it, the only thing God wants me to spread is His Love. The only lives I need to be concerned with managing and molding to His Will are mine and those of my children. Other people's choices are between them and God. And frankly y'all, what with the gluttony and lust and envy and whatall springing up like weeds in my own life, I haven't the time to pull them out of someone elses life! If someone asks me, I'll try to give them advice that falls in line with the Bible. But only if they ask.

I'm at a loss for what to do. DQ and Dolly are good friends and it is a healthy friendship. I don't feel right keeping DQ away, only because Dolly's mom is overbearing. But I don't want her filling DQ's head with beliefs contrary to our family philosophy, especially when I think they're harmful. Then again, I guess I'm assuming DQ is going to listen and internalize what this woman says and let's face it, that's probably not going to happen. Lord knows, she never listens to me.

What would you do?

Wisdom From The Blog Goddess

Dooce has something to say and every mommy-blogger out there should read it. Go. NOW!

Jennie Vs.The Satellite Company

We are belt tightening in the PTN house. Austerity is the new by-word and my friends, it sucks donkey balls. Big, sweaty, hairy donkey balls.

I love this saying. Because saying something sucks balls lacks pizazz. And what balls are most unpleasant? Donkey balls, of course! Cat and dog balls? No. not enough syllables. Bull balls? No, the alliteration trips the phrase. And you're still lacking a syllable. Throws off my pentameter. Donkey balls. Perfection! And adding the hairy? Well, that's just the cherry on top! Sorry, I'll get back to my point.

Let me be honest. This is in part an ardent desire to simplify our lives and spend less. But mostly, I'd like to pay our mortgage every month, on time. Silly, I know, but the bank that holds the note appreciates it. This means less spending. Wal-Mart is going to be taking a hit in their register, y'all. If you hold stock, prepare.

We are also getting ready to make a giant leap in our television viewing. Currently, we are getting a metric ass-load of channels, including HBO and Cinemax. Our television viewing is approximately 90% network. So instead of sending $80.00 to the satellite company, we're buying a used receiver and going to the basic, basic package. Only network TV. Oh my stars and garters! Can I tell you how difficult it is to get this accomplished? I spent a good 25 minutes on the phone with a rep, trying to get information about this package, not the 250 channel deluxe package, not the 40 channel family package, the basic, local channel package.

I was told I would miss out on educational programming. (Hmmm, Word World vs. Wow Wow Wubbzy and SpongeBob? Yeah, I'm sure my kids will be flipping burgers because we don't have Nickelodeon.) I was told we wouldn't be able to bundle our services anymore. (So it'll cost us $10 a month more to save $70 on our bill. Wow.) I was told we would have to buy a receiver instead of leasing one as we do now (So the $100 receiver will pay for itself in about 2 months, according to my calculator.). I was told the hobgoblins would come and eat my liver, gouge out my eyeballs and steal my children (Take my children? Awesome! Party at MY HOUSE!). (No! Not really. I love my children, especially when they are asleep.)

Ultimately, after some arm-twisting on my part and telling him if they didn't have a local channel package, we'd be taking our business to Comcast, he admitted they had the package I desired and it cost $10 a month. "See? Was that so hard?" I asked. The rep didn't answer and I suspect he had been assassinated by the Dish Gestapo. That made me sad for about 5 seconds, then I was delighted with the idea of cutting my bill by a whopping $60 every month. WooHoo!!! We do have to cancel our current service, return our receiver and restart our service with the receiver we buy. I have to keep telling myself that $60 a month really is worth it and over a year, that adds up to $720. Not bad.

Now if I could just figure out a way to quit selling my soul to Wal-Mart, one tiny piece at a time.

Love Is Embarrasing Pictures and Lovely Captions

Jenny gave me a truly awesome birthday gift. She wrote this post, complete with pictures, about our growing up days. It brought me (and my dad, the big sissy!) to tears. What a blessing to have a funny, articulate, caring friend! Not to mention she sent a bunch of her readers over to console me after the Great Birthday Burglary of '08.



Add that to Andrea's seriously yummy cake and garden stakes, and I tell ya, it makes me realize how incredibly blessed I am in the friends department. Thank you, God, for strong, caring women who can come alongside me for tears or celebration, and allow me to be beside them as well. Please help me be as good a friend to them and others that cross my path.



May you all have at least one Jenny or Andrea in your life!

Wading Through The Wreckage

My room has been restored to it's previous (unrobbed) condition. I actually made lemonade from the lemons and culled out my warm jammies to be put away. I now have one empty drawer in my dresser. I must hurry and fill it or VW t-shirts will grow there. I know this happens because no matter how many I throw out, my husband still has a metric butt-load.

I've talked to the insurance adjuster and given him a brief breakdown of what was taken. In addition to my wedding ring, they got the two Black Hills Gold rings that I were given to me by my grandparents. I was saving the rings for my daughters, looking forward to 8th grade graduation, when I could give Katie one of the rings. It's not that they were worth all that much, but there was tremendous sentimental attachment. The insurance adjuster says that won't play into the appraisal, since he has a cold, shriveled, black little raisin where most humans have a heart.

I jest. He was actually very nice and though he was constantly low balling my estimates, I know that is his job.

The Worm gave us a TV to tide us over until we can replace the love of my husband's life the Sony. I tentatively suggested that perhaps we shouldn't replace the Sony at all, you know, go without a TV? He just shook his head a little and said, "The good news is, prices have dropped, so we can get virtually the same TV for less money!" Oh Boy! Another movie screen. Yippee, skippee. I think I might lobby for a smaller plasma that can be hung on the wall, but I doubt I'll get anywhere.

I feel a little creeped out when Mr Clairol is gone and am constantly scanning my neighborhood for strange vehicles. I almost called the police yesterday after seeing a large truck barrel through. I recognized the company name though and it was just a single guy in the cab. Turns out one of my neighbors is getting their air conditioning fixed. I drive up to my front door with bated breath, always looking at the front door. I go into the house first now, leaving my kids in the car until I know our house is empty.

It's the fall-out from a break-in. Things will get back to normal and I will feel safe in my home again, but I think it's gonna take a while.