Happy Halloween

We had big plans today. There were the preschool Halloween parties for both the wee ones. Later, we were going to do the whole "main street merchant" trick or treat thing with Missy's preschool class. After lunch, naps and dinner, there was to be trick or treating and another Halloween Party at a friend's house. Sadly, these plans are falling apart at the seams, much like a too-tight sexy witch costume, purchased for half-off at the dollar store. Not that I would know about those.

Meet the Pugnacious Pixie, who begged her Mama for a month to be able to wear her costume to preschool, who, in fact, asked every day for the last thirty days if today was Halloween. This morning, upon arriving at preschool, she promptly freaked out, attached herself to her Mama's leg and tearfully pleaded to go home. Mama wisely acquiesced. Of course, she had been softened up by...

The Chick Magnet. This young man also freaked out, though his melt-down occurred earlier, as in immediately after Mama put the shirt on him. He had torn off two chicks before I could stop him. He has a similar reaction to blanket sleepers, sweat suits, jackets and hoodies, so Mama wasn't concerned. Mama is stupid. Six more chicks were de-magnetized on the car ride to preschool.

So Mama has given up. We'll carve some pumpkins later this morning and give the trick or treat thing a whirl, but the party is probably a no-go. We'll see. But I must say, this is way more fun than tantrums and unease.

Insert Soap In Mouth

Apparently, I have always been a bit of a nasty mouth. This fact came to light a few weeks ago, when my aunt and grandma came to celebrate my mom's birthday. My Aunt Lynn is a treasure trove, since she remembers every embarrassing story about every member of our family going back at least 40 years and she drinks. It's highly entertaining, until you are the topic of reminiscing.

I, like everyone else, have a plethora of humiliating stories from my childhood. Many have been trotted out over and over, like the time I was four and farted in the car while on vacation. My grandmother asked me if I was a little constipated and I replied, "YES! I am constipated because I cannot go to the beach!" Yeah. Good times.

But Aunt Lynn pulled out one that I have not heard before, and in fact, have no memory of. The story is made better yet, because it's more embarrasing for my mom than me. I love these stories.

Apparently, when I was three or four, my mom and grandmother took me to the pound, for some undisclosed reason. (I find this disturbing. Were they trying to "lose" me? I don't know.) Grandma asked me if I saw any puppies I liked and I pointed to one and said, "Yes. I like that little f&%#er over there." HA! Nothing like a preschooler dropping the F-bomb, huh?

Well, Grandma was horrified and asked me where I had heard such a word. My mother is, of course, holding her breath and praying I don't out her for the potty-mouth that she was, is and ever shall be. Don't bother protesting, Mom. These people wouldn't buy it. According to Lynn, I fingered some poor kid at preschool, which, considering where I grew up and the kids I remember, isn't such a stretch.

Lynn told Mr. Clairol this story and he found it hilarious. Why, I do not know, but he is still talking about it. If only he had been here on Monday, when Andrea slipped and said damn it, in front of our collected kids. Ty, her youngest and Red's partner in crime, promptly repeated the word, multiple times. It was awesome. Mostly because, for once, it wasn't my child.

Surprisingly enough, my children do not curse. Drama Queen finds it morally reprehensible, which usually drives me to curse colorfully and creatively in her presence. I'm kidding. Mostly. Missy Hoohaw once dropped a piece of food and said, "Damn it!" I explained that those were grown-up words and weren't even good for Mommy and Daddy to use. She bought it and I started being very vigilant about my language (in front of my children). I'm sure Red will pull the stopper out someday soon, but so far, so good. He is calling me "dude," and as fricking adorable as that is, it causes people to raise their eyebrow.

So there you have it. Do you feel closer to me now? Fan-f*&%ing-tastic!

Did You Say Free?

I have a new obsession. Freebies. Perhaps it's my close proximity to abject poverty, perhaps it's simple greed. I don't know. I don't care. If whoring my email address out for freebies is wrong, I don't want to be right. Kim over at 3 Giraffes is to blame. She posted about Hey, It's Free and a sickness came to life.

I check it multiple times a day. I've even set up a spam mail account, so my inbox isn't flooded. I've sent off for free perfume, free Magic Erasers, free chocolate, even a free Reach flosser. Haven't gotten anything yet, but I only started a few days ago, and there is that whole 4-6 weeks thing. You should try it. All the cool kids are doing it. Go on, check it out. Catch the disease.

You're welcome.

BBQ Meatloaf

Do you see that lovely badge over on the right hand side of my blog? Gorgeous, huh? Well, I got that by being featured on Five Star Friday!!! Yes! Not only am I famous on Blogtations, but some lovely person nominated me for Five Star Friday and they actually put me up there! Hoo-Rah. I'm feeling a little rock-starrish. Want my autograph?

But that's not all. No, it gets more delicious. I'm going to share a recipe with you. I sort of made this up as I went along last night, but it's a simple concept, so it may be that this or a similar recipe is floating about. I don't know. Onto the good stuff. Last night, I made meatloaf for dinner. I have a recipe that I use regularly, one I took from Alton Brown's show Good Eats and changed so that it tasted good.

Don't tell me how fabulous Alton Brown is. I know. I love him. I would totally let him talk foody to me. But his use of spice does not work for me.

So, back to the meatloaf. I made it according to my little recipe, but realized that I was out of the Heinz 57 sauce that my husband loves. I, myself, am more of an A1 sort of girl and don't even get me started on the chipotle Tabasco, but Mr. Clairol would bathe in Heinz 57 sauce if I would let him. Like that visual? Yeah, I knew you would.

Anyway, out of Heinz 57. Cripes, I'm distractable today. Look! Something shiny! No...meatloaf. I got creative. The end result was a meatloaf so delicious, I fantasized about it during my preschool meeting. I actually bumped two blog posts, just so I could share this with you. I didn't take any pictures, because I didn't realize how yummy this would be, so forgive me. If someone wants to make this and take the pictures, you can post about it or share them with me. Or you can just wait until I make it again and maybe I'll remember to take photos. But then my camera would get all meaty...ewwww. I guess, DQ could be my ....ARGH! Where the hell is my Ritalin?

BBQ Meatloaf

2 pounds ground beef
1/2 large onion
1 large carrot, peeled and broken into pieces
1 egg
1 6 oz can tomato sauce (you could also use BBQ sauce. If you do you can probably skip the BBQ spice.)
1/2 c finely crushed saltine crackers
1/4 C dryBBQ spice (I used the Weber's BBQ rub)
BBQ Sauce (I use Sweet Baby Ray's)

1. Preheat your oven to 350. Line a baking sheet with foil.

2. Peel the onion and cut into chunks. Pulse the carrot pieces and onion in a food processor until pulpy. It moistens the meatloaf and gives you onion flavor without you kids (and husband) freaking out about the onions. I'm sneaky.

3. Combine the beef, carrot and onion mixture, egg, tomato sauce, cracker crumbs and BBQ spice. Mush it up with your hands until completely combined. I find that a quick wash with dawn gets the nasty residue off your hands.

4. Turn the beef mixture onto the baking sheet and form a loaf shape with your hands. Firmly push the meat together, as if making a patty. This helps it stay together. Ignore how gross it feels. Eventually, I hope to teach Missy how to do this, since it makes me gag.

5. Spread BBQ sauce over the top and sides of the loaf. We like it thick in my house. *Insert dirty joke here*

6. Insert a probe thermometer into the center of the loaf, avoiding the pan.

7. Cook until internal temperature reaches 155. (About 45 minutes to an hour in my oven.)

I served this with mashed potatoes and steamed carrots and zucchini. It was even better this morning in a sandwich. Yes, I had a meatloaf sandwich for breakfast. Quit judging me.

Jenny, Squared

I'm having minor computer issues again, this time with Blogger. Or maybe it's not Blogger. Maybe it's my crappy Internet connection. I don't know. I have email, but there seems to be a delay in getting them. I couldn't pull up Blogger all weekend. I couldn't access most of the blogs I read regularly. Which was actually okay, since it gave me time to get a little caught up.

Go here to read my Saturday post about the ALS walk and see pictures of my family.

Go here to read Sunday's post about my pride going before a fall. Surprisingly, just a figurative one, this time.

Now, on to today's topic!

When I was almost five, we moved to a tiny little town in the San Joaquin Valley called Corcoran. The most exciting thing about this move was the fact that the name of the street we lived on was the same as out last name. My grandfather told me that he had them name the street after us, since we were living there now. I seriously believed him for about a year. I was a stupid little kid.

We began the process of settling in. My mom joined the softball league and dragged my infant brother and myself to the field for practices. Now that I am a mom, I appreciate how much she must have needed the social opportunity that softball afforded, because taking an infant and a preschooler to a softball field strikes me as a wee bit insane.

It was during one of these practices that I wandered over to the playground and began amusing myself by climbing through the huge structure made of tractor tires. Ah, Corcoran, where the playgrounds are made of rubbish. All of a sudden, this tiny little girl with a snub nose, freckles and blond hair poked her head up out of tire. We introduced ourselves and marveled at the fact that we had the same name! Give me a break, we were 4 and 5.

Thus began a beautiful friendship. More than 30 years later, we are still best friends. Today is the twentieth anniversary of her 16th birthday. I missed the party she had this weekend, just as I missed her 16th birthday, because of finances, distance and other obligations. I promise to be there on the 30th anniversary of her 16th birthday.

Happy Birthday, Jenny. You are the sister that I chose, the one that I value beyond all others. Thank you for the years of friendship, for meeting me halfway between our houses, for sleepovers and Narnia and Superfriends (especially for letting me be Wonder Woman!). Thank you for three hour, long-distance phone calls, full of laughter and yelling at our respective children. Here's to you, my friend.

I was going to be all nice, and then I stumbled across these pictures and said, "Hell Yeah!"

We were so going to knock Vanna outta Wheel!

Nice to know we never outgrew the dorkitude.

Twin night? And why the hell did you let me go out with hair like that?

Happy 36th Birthday, Jenny!

Feeling Like Charlie Brown

All month, I've been monitoring my pumpkins, checking their growth, trying to stave off rot. I was feeling pretty good. Six big beautiful pumpkins, all nicely shaped, all a gorgeous orange hue. It's less than a week to Halloween and they were all still looking good.

Until this morning. Every damn pumpkin has black spots! ARRRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Just shoot me now, m'kay?

Damn hubris.

Kicking ALS's Butt!

I am sore. SO sore. My butt aches. My calves are throbbing. My head hurts.

But what a great day. Sunny, warm and full of hope and optimism. This is what it is about. The sure knowledge that if we have to walk for another 50 years, we will not give up. We will raise the money needed to find a cure and no one will ever have to lose a loved one to this bitch of a disease.

We made it, kids in tow to Land Park in Sacramento, and found parking which is a minor miracle. After getting signed in and finding the rest of our awesome team, we got started.

The walk itself was about a mile. Hundreds of us, walking and talking, laughing and enjoying the day. I didn't realize that DQ, Red and I were actually ahead of our team and so spent the entire race power walking to catch up with them. We inadvertently left them in the dust. This turned out to be a positive thing, since Mr. Clairol spent the race playing Tushie Cam.

Does this wheelchair make my butt look big?

To be fair to my husband, he was wrangling a testy four-year old and still managed to get a few pictures. He rocks.

A large group of my father's former employees came out, including the gentleman who took his place when my father stepped down. They were all positive and enthusiastic and after the race, we decided that we were getting t-shirts made next year. I love that we're making plans for next year. Though the way my butt is feeling, I will probably volunteer!

Thank you for your thoughts, prayers and donations. It was a fantastic day, thanks to you guys!

Yeah, that's Red, trying to escape his stroller.

Nail Biter *Updated*

Update: Beth makes an eloquent and lovely plea here.

Voting Day is drawing close. I've voted by absentee ballot. I'm going to confess that while I'm excited about the Presidential race, I am terrified about Prop 8.

I think what bothers me most is the absolute fallacy that makes up this measure's pro arguments. They are claiming gay marriage will be taught in schools. HOW? I taught for years and never taught any lesson on marriage. They are claiming that allowing gay couples to marry threatens the institution of marriage? HOW? I want to know how that can be. I'm pretty sure the only thing that could threaten my marriage is epic stupidity on the part of my husband or myself. Even my dipwad ex-husband, who is almost certainly cheating on his third wife, is allowed to get married, repeatedly. He's a much bigger threat to marriage than George Takei or Ellen DeGeneres. They are claiming that churches will be vulnerable to lawsuits for refusing to marry gay couples. HOW? Last time I checked, churches are protected by freedom of worship. My church has absolute freedom to refuse to marry anyone. According to some churches, I'm not even married, since they don't recognize divorce.

Think carefully about this before you vote. Pray hard, if you're a praying sort. Think about Christ's admonition to love your neighbor. And then think about how you would react to a vote that invalidated second marriages. Think about how you would react to a proposition that made interracial marriages illegal. Think about how you would react to having your right to marriage taken away by strangers.

I did. And then I did this.

Thank You Is Too Small A Word

Just when I think I've seen the best the blogosphere has to offer, it surprises me. Yesterday, I asked for help raising money to find a cure for ALS. You guys have been so amazing. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate every single comment left.

I need to take a minute and thank my donors: Jessica, Amy, David and the Dust Bunny Family. Thanks to them, I've raised $150 for my walk. That is WAY more than I expected and I am so grateful for their support. My mom and dad are floored and I think they get why I love my little blogging hobby. David even linked to my walk page on his blog. Thank you, David. I absolutely adore you.

You can still donate by going here. It doesn't matter how small the amount. And if you can't, that's okay. A lot of folks are going to be sending me good thoughts on Saturday. Those are much appreciated. I'll definitely be sharing the experience with everyone, so watch for Saturday's post, complete with pictures.

Throwing Down With ALS

My father is dying. About two years ago, he was diagnosed with ALS and though we have prayed and believed and proclaimed in faith that he will be healed, God has said no. That's okay. God has His reasons and I believe in His benevolent love enough to know that His plan is perfect. I don't understand and I don't much like it, but I still believe.

But I don't remember the sound of my father's voice. This really pisses me off. He's 56. That's too young for me to not remember what his voice sounded like. I could cry and bitch and moan. In fact, I'm sure I will. But damn it, I'm going to do something about it.

This Saturday, I am doing a small thing to help the fight against ALS. I am walking in the Walk to Defeat ALS. If you can, please consider donating. No amount is too small. You can go here and make an online donation.

And if you can't (believe me, I know where you're at, I'm there as well!) keep a good thought for me. It's a great event and I'm excited to participate for the second year in a row. This is going to be an annual event for me, because losing my father doesn't mean losing the fight. Even after he goes home, I will continue fighting this damn disease with every spare penny I can muster, every drop of energy I can give it. It's personal and I'm pretty good at holding a grudge. Watch out ALS. You're on my list.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

When I was growing up, birthdays were a big deal. We'd wake up to streamers and balloons in the kitchen, whatever we wanted for dinner and a pretty great birthday party. There was the year of the hobo party, where we cooked beans and franks outside, in tin cans no less. And the year my mom took me to have my colors done, with all my friend present.

Yeah, my mom rocked the birthdays. I've carried on the tradition here. I do it for each my kids and Mr. Clairol every year. But distance, finances and runny noses keep me from giving my mom the kind of birthday she always gave us.

Today is my mom's birthday. I won't tell you how old she is, though she probably wouldn't care. I will tell you she looks amazing. Not just for her age, but for my age as well. She's the kind of woman men pause and look at. Beautiful and confident, with a great smile. She's smart too. The kind of smart that does logic problems for fun, thinks algebra is easy and can write a wicked paper. She is also talented, a gifted painter and artist. Pretty much the trifecta.

You might think it was hard growing up in the shadow of such awesomeness, but she worked hard to help me find my confidence and develop traits that would help me be a functioning member of society. If I am a good mother, it is because I had a great one to show me the way.

So Mom? Happy Birthday. Here's a virtual party, just for you. I know, I really know how to make the woman who gave me life feel special. It's a gift. (Get it? Gift?)

What's a birthday without wine?

The best kind of confetti: the kind you don't have to clean up.

Balloons. I was going to skip them, but Missy Hoohaw insisted.

A zero calorie cake. Zero calories, because who would cut that? It's gorgeous!

Wine. Duh.

Presents. I'm not telling you what's in them. You have to use you imagination. Here's a hint: It's not Vin Diesel. Sorry.

A little more wine, because, hey, it's your birthday!

And party hats. Later, we'll put 'em on our boobs and pretend we're Madonna. That'll be after the wine.

Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you so much and have more admiration for you than I could ever express. You remain the coolest mom on the block and we are blessed to have been raised by you. You're still who I want to be when I grow up.

Someone Is Actually Quoting Me! *or* A Hell Of A Lot Of Links

Oh, children. I'm twitterpated over here. I've just been featured on Blogtations. It's a site that collects the funniest quotes from around the blogosphere and kismet smiled on little ol' me. The Quote Hunter must have been drunk or high, or just feeling magnanimous, because my Saturday post was featured on the site! Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeal! Thank you to Jenny for nominating me. You are my hero.

There is some seriously funny stuff on this site. Like this from Bloggess. Or this one from The Gab Blog. Or this one, from I'd Rather Be Blogging, which literally, made me wet my pants. With actual pee. Dear lord. At least it wasn't crap. (That was only funny if you clicked on the link. If you didn't, well then I guess you missed out. It's all about choices, children.)

Blogtations is actually doing a 500th Blogtation Party, where you can win a $50 Amazon gift certificate. Go over and check it out. And you don't have to buy me anything with your certificate if you win. Though I wouldn't say no to this little baby. *wink*

Yes, I totally meant to link to butcher's twine. It is impossible to find here. Also, I am lame that way.

You Oughta Know

Hi. This is Missy Hoohaw. Mommy went to use the potty, and since I see her do this stuff every single day, I thought "hey, let's give it a whirl."

I need to clear something up. Those of you who think my little brother is sooo cute and hilarious and whatever? You are smoking crack. (I don't know what this means, but mom says it to Daddy when he's being silly, so there, you sillies.)

He is not cute. He is an ass-wipe. (How do you think I learned that word? Do you not know who my mother is?) And he is. A giant doo-doo head. Don't believe me? Let me break it down for you.

Exhibit A: This morning, he ate my last piece of apple. I know, I said I didn't want it, but I did. And he ate it. And when I got really mad and yelled at him? He. Laughed. At. Me. So I threw his Lightening McQueen car behind the entertainment center and that shut him up pretty quick. heh.

Exhibit B: He has no respect for a perfectly constructed tea party. He put the cookies in the sugar bowl. He tried to pour tea in a plate which is clearly designated as only being for strawberries. I mean, du-huh! Then, he drove a race car through the table and sent everything flying. UNH!

Exhibit C: I was minding my own business, making up a story with my fairy tale magnet puzzle and all of sudden, he grabs the barrel of apples piece, which was critical to the climaxing plot of my epic. He then puts it in his mouth! DO you know what else goes in there people? DO you? I don't think you do, because mom sure the heck doesn't. Let's just say the kid regularly fingers his poop. Do the math. Would you want your apple barrel magnet in there? I thought not.

Exhibit D: We're at the park, right? And I'm resting in the shade, sipping my juice box, just chillin'. Who stumbles up and puts his feet on me? My brother, that's who. Puts his stinky, dirty, sneakered feet on my legs! Oh, people, I just lost my shit. Crying, screaming and trying to tell mom that it hurt and what was he doing putting his FEET on me? For the love of Hades. So what does Mom do? Well, she gathers us up and puts us in the car and says it's time to get Drama Queen. Who gives a flying monkey butt about Drama Queen? What, she's not driving yet? Pfft. Why should I have to cut short precious park time to pick up Drama Queen? There were four slides and a rock wall. It's not like she does anything but scarf down the good crackers and stay in her room. Ohhhh, and that room. She has got some great stuff in there. But does she share it? Okay, yeah, she does...and besides, this is about stinky Red.

I have a lot more I could share, but I'm four and the alphabet after D sorta eludes me at this time. Trust me when I say, he's not the adorable laugh riot Mom claims. She's totally covering up the cold, hard truth. My brother is a big, poopy, butt-head. I thought you should know. And I hear the toilet flushing, so I better hit that orange button and get out of her chair.

You Might Be A Stay At Home Mom Saturday

If you've ever hidden leftover pizza, called to lecture your husband (who has found the pizza and taken it to work) about how just because you work at home, that doesn't mean you don't need lunch, then piled the kids in the car and driven 20 miles to retrieve the pizza, you might be a stay at home mom. Who is dieting and is furious that the cheat food is gone, damn it!

At Least The Diaper Is Staying On

Why won't my children stay clothed? In the grand scheme of things, it seems like a small request. I'm not asking them to be brilliant, gorgeous or even exceptionally well-behaved. I only want them to keep their clothes on.

I'm not even insisting this happen at home, though it would be nice if their first reaction to walking in our door wasn't to strip their clothes off and drop them on the floor. Just sayin'. But I get it, since I'm usually shedding my bra and shoes. (Here's the brain bleach.) No, my main complaint is their tendency to strip down in public places. Like the supermarket. And Target. Or my favorite, church.

Yes, my children strip at church. In a perverse way, I'm a little proud. Because if my kids are going to be weird, then dang it, they are going to be freaky weird. If it had happened once, it wouldn't even be a blip on my radar. I deal with flying poop and invisible pets on a daily basis. A single episode of partial nudity doesn't phase me. In fact, the first time it happened, my only real concern was that Missy had not pooped on the carpet. Because carpet defecation is way higher than displayed undies on my Mama Freak Out Meter. But when it kept happening, and became both my small children instead of one, well, then I got concerned. Because when the children of a single family engage in clothing-optional shenanigans, eyebrows are raised.

Of course, Drama Queen does not share this affliction. Her modesty is pathological and the older she gets, the more grateful I become. Cleavage is the devil and the butt variety is beyond that. Yay! Anyone have a pattern for the cute little dresses those fundamentalists sport? We're going to be kick-starting a trend.

I've managed to convince Missy Hoohaw that running around in her panties is only for home. (Say it with me, Whew!) It was hard, but she's accepted that she must be clothed whilst mingling with the greater population. Of course, we're still working on staying clothes during play dates, but progress is progress.

Big Red is resisting though. He is enchanted by the fact that he can now remove his own clothing. As the weather gets colder and the clothes get heavier, his desire to shed them is increasing. He really hates pants, long-sleeved shirts, jackets and footie pajamas. (Who does this remind me of? Oh yes, his father!) Taking off these items is enormously satisfying for him. He throws them to the side and does a little boogie to celebrate. It's pretty cute the first time. At home. After the third time of putting his shirt back on while trying to steer a grocery cart and buy items that will coalesce into an actual meal, it gets a little tiring. Coming down after bible study to find a room full of children watching a movie and my progeny sky-clad? That's down right annoying. Especially when the sitters look at us and say, "We tried."

I know, darlings. I try too. And if I, their mother, can't manage to keep them covered, why should you be able to?They are like the lilies of the field. Like the frigging naked lilies of the clothing-optional field.

Thunderstruck

It makes me a little sad that when I am asked what my dream gift would be, I automatically blurt out, "A Dyson vacuum." Gone are the diamond earrings, day at the spa, trip to Paris, a new wardrobe, days. I am officially a grown-up. Ugh.

But that doesn't mean I don't know how to have fun. Oh, no, children. I know how to rock. I'm going to be proving that in December, when Mr. Clairol and I will be screaming our heads off at an AC/DC concert.

Yes, that's right. We are going to AC/DC! Whooooo!

My parents and brother banded together and bought Mr. Clairol a pair of tickets for his upcoming birthday. He is, needless to say, over the moon. He's a life-long, die-hard fan of the band. I'm pretty jazzed as well, but more on his behalf than my own. I'm more of a fan-in-law, if you will. I never really listened to their music until I met Mr. Clairol. Over time, I've grown to really enjoy their distinctive sound.

Here's a confession: I'm not an avid concert goer. I've been to some big ones in my life, U2 at Dodger Stadium, Dave Matthews (not my idea, but a good show) and even a couple of Harry Connick, Jr. shows. The best concert I ever saw was a Lyle Lovett show at a small venue. That man puts on an amazing show! But big shows tend to bore me after a while. I prefer sets at a small club, where I can get up and get a drink, dance a little, use the bathroom without a major kerfuffle. That how I like my live music.

Unfortunately, AC/DC doesn't roll that way. And Mr. Clairol says this is probably their last tour. That's a safe assumption, since these dudes have to be in their 60's, but look at the Stones and Van Halen. You never know anymore, geriatric rock seems to be a big business. I do know we'll be there for this show, with pretty great seats, and my husband will be almost as happy as the day we married. I'm telling myself almost, but I suspect happier. C'mon, it's AC/DC, people. I'll be lucky if he isn't crying, throwing his boxers at the stage.

AT-choooo!

The cold is working it's way through our family. We like to share, what can I say? Now Missy and I are coughing and sneezing. Did I mention we're supposed to go to my parent's house this weekend? And that we've had to put off the visit once already?

It's no big deal, just my brother's and mother's birthdays! Did I mention that my grandmother and aunt are coming out? And when I told my mom that I was starting to feel a little yucky, she got that pinched tone of voice? You know the one. The one I imagine Martha Stewart gets when one of her prep workers dice the onion a millimeter too large. Not mad, just irritated. So no pressure or anything. I'm pounding echinacea and vitamin C, trying to get over the sniffles. We're even missing a preschool field trip to the pumpkin patch, so the kids can have a nap and take it easy. (Damn straight, I'll be napping as well) I'm trying here.

*TMI Alert*
In other news, it appears I married some titanium steel sperm. Yes, Mr. Clairol is still shooting live ones. Some eleven months after his vasectomy. And Schmaiser still feels that "time will resolve this issue." I'm sorry, but if eleven months and 220 ejaculations haven't cleared those pipes, it's a safe bet that things are still functioning. That, or your sperm has little Chuck Norris faces and is just laughing at the clips they used to seal things off. You're welcome for the visual. Call it an early Christmas present.

Apart from that, things are peachy. The laundry is actually under control, if I ignore the mountain of clothes awaiting folding on my bed. My floor is relatively clean (by my standards anyway). Dinner's in the crockpot and I'm putting hamburger buns in to rise. Yes, I'm still wearing flannel pajama pants, but I'm calling that a fashion choice today. We'll see. I have this feeling that some feces is about to be lobbed into an oscillating device somewhere, but for now, I remain blissfully unaware.

I Wanna Know

I have a few go-to songs on my computer, songs that get a smile on my face, make me feel good and put some boogie in my step. They change over time. For a while, it was London Bridge by Fergie. (I know and I'm sorry.) Before that, I was groovin' to Glory Days, by the Boss. Another past boogie tune was Makes Me Wonder from Maroon 5.

These aren't my favorite songs. I have a whole list of favorite songs that span from early Johnny Cash to AC/DC, Lyle Lovett and Kid Rock. (Again, I know. I can only apologize for my musical taste so much.) Those are songs I never get tired of but don't play over and over. Songs that I have loved for years. My boogie songs get put into heavy rotation for a week, maybe a month. Occasionally, they evolve into favorite songs, as is happening with my current pick, September, by Earth Wind and Fire. I love this song. Can't not dance when it comes on.




How much do you love those 70's video effects? C'mon! And the outfits? SWOON! Funkalicious, y'all.

What is your boogie song?

A Sea Of Stuff

I have a ton of extraneous crap in my home. It is driving me frickin' nuts. I must do something about it or become a gibbering mad woman. Shut up. I am NOT!

Here's my dilemma. I hate hosting yard sales. I get my little perfectionist panties in a big ol' knot, arranging everything "just so." I am a wee bit anal and need things to be organized. Grouped together by category. Alphabetically. Color coded. Yeah, I'm really not exaggerating. It takes hours. Once, I had a total meltdown because I ran out of the yellow, blue and red dot stickers I was using to price things and couldn't find anymore. I was in tears, people. Pathetic.

I never seem to make enough money to make a yard sale worth the effort. And I'm swearing off Craig's List. I check it for things I need, but I am no longer listing things for sale. Too many flakes and freaks. Plus, the last minute dickering gets to me. Save that for the email portion of the negotiations.

So how am I going to get rid of this stuff? I have decided to participate in the Just Between Friends sale when it comes around this spring, so the warm weather kids clothes and toys are taken care of. But what about the household stuff? Nothing for it. I am going to have to hold a yard sale. Stay tuned for my nervous breakdown. It oughta be a doozy.

My Own Special Brand Of Insanity

Today, I turned over a new leaf. Actually it's a tired old leaf, because I keep turning the damn thing over and over and over again.

I digress.

I started a healthy eating regimine today, tracking my food at Spark People and drinking lots of water. I even went for a walk with my family after supper. I was very virtuous, children.

Why then, did I decide to make cranberry breakfast bread and snickerdoodles? Because I am a masochist.

I'm going to take a bubblebath now, so that I cannot smell the aroma of fresh bread and cookies. I am then going to bed without eating a single cookie. I will not ingest the baked goods. Nothing tastes better than being thin feels. You might as well tape the cookies to your ass, they'd look better than the fat. I don't want the cookies as much as I want to be thin.

I just went and looked at this picture again. (not man-meat, I promise!) Wow, that is some kind of motivation! Thanks, David!

Excedrine, Take Me Away!

No post today. Headaches suck. Sorry.

Bags. The Cute Kind, Not The Undereye Variety

Do you like purses? Of course you do, so do I. So get your butt over to Handbag Planet and enter their giveaway!They are giving away free purses, people! Cute ones! This giveaway is to promote their launch and you only have a couple of days left, so go.

WHY are you still here? GO!

Christmas Rehab

I'm going to admit it. I am a gift addict. Giving, not receiving. Finding the perfect gift for someone is such a high. I just love it. It isn't about the money I spend either. I don't typically give large, lavish presents. I'm more of a lots of little things kind of giver. I come by this honestly, because my mom is does this as well. I used to get huge care packages while at school, full of little things that were delightful. And stockings? Forget about it. Over the course of my life, Christmas stockings went from the standard size to the current Venti: two paper grocery bags. Wrapped presents are really just the desert when it comes to my family's Christmas. Stockings are the main course.

I have carried on this tradition with my kids and as our belts tighten, I'm beginning to see that there is a better way to approach Christmas. I'm cheating a little here, because for my family, this about a simpler life and not just about the money. Sure the dollars come into play, but at the heart of this is the mountain of toys my children already have. It's insane. In that spirit, I've suggested "experience gifts" for the kids. Sacramento has a fantastic train museum that is extremely child friendly. A year's membership that includes free admission for the child and an adult is only $15 a year. What a deal! We also have a decent zoo. Those memberships are more expensive, but still pretty reasonable, so my parents are giving the kids a family membership to the zoo and the neighboring amusement park. There are also the local science museums. Memberships to these places typically cover admission to many more similar museums all over the country. When the kids get older, We'll be looking at these, since we have two great local museums and the Exploratorium in San Francisco. These memberships means a year's worth of weekend activities for our family, instead of another pile of toys to get lost, broken or ignored (I'm looking at you, Polly Pocket). And if grandparents are reluctant, point out the metric butt-load of pictures they'll reap from these outings. If they want a wrapped package under the tree, suggest a small toy that relates to the membership (magnifying glasses for a science museum, toy trains or engineer caps for the train museum, etc.).

But that only addresses the more benign half of my Yuletide disease. And disease it is, children. The more insidious half is the stockings. GAH! I looooove stockings like Whitney loved Bobby, like Brit loved Adnan, like Amy Winehouse loves meth and booze. In fact, I kinda resemble Ms. Winehouse on Christmas Morning, after a glut of stocking stuffing. No, I'm not posting pictures. Just picture her about 200 pounds heavier and with less makeup. Oh and no cigarette. I don't smoke. Also, no oozing sores. Hey, I'm off track now!

Back to the stockings. I have to reign in my stocking spending. Typically, I buy stocking stuffers all year long. Anything destined for a stocking should cost under $5. I break this rule frequently. Ten dollar gift cards for Drama Queen, a $7 animal for Missy. It's easy to justify. And by the time December rolls around, I have a huge pile of delightful junk for each child. And let's not forget the "evening-up" that always occurs when I assess what I have and notice one child's pile is much smaller. Then I run out and buy a bunch of expensive crap. No more! I'm cutting Bobbysuper size stockings out of my life!

This year, I've gotten smarter. Oh, I've still bought a bunch of stuff. Baby-steps, people. But I've broken out three plastic shoe boxes for stocking stuffers. Once the box is full, the child's stocking is stuffed. I'll still do some gift cards for DQ, but $5 ones. I also have three small plastic bins for Christmas presents. At this point, I've got all the presents for the kids. The only thing left is making them pjs. Yes, I'm making each child pajamas. Be afraid, children. Be very afraid. I will post pictures of this.

I have plans for next year as well. I'm planning on a $75 budget per child, spread over the year. This will include stockings, the annual pajamas, and the annual book for each child. It will be a stretch, but I'm really looking forward to the challenge. This also means I'll have to track the spending carefully, since buying over a year can lead to spending far more than you intend. Trust me. I know this from personal experience.

Other steps we're taking to cut Christmas costs:

*Instead of buying each child an ornament this year, we're making them. I'm not sure what we;ll do, perhaps salt-sough or something of that nature. But each ornament should ideally cost under a dollar, be very durable and the process for making it should be fairly easy. Because they whole crafty thing ain't my gig.

*Like I've done with Halloween, I'm only allowing myself to spend $5 on home decor item for the season. I'll be avoiding Target entirely, until the post- season sales. This seems pretty doable, especially considering my wonderful Dollar Store.

*Mr. Clairol instituted a no new gift wrap policy last year. I'm not allowed to buy any new wrapping paraphernalia until my current stock is exhausted. I anticipate this happening somewhere around 2012. Stop laughing, I'm totally serious. I told you it was a sickness. I caught myself fondling wrapping paper at Target yesterday.

*Teacher and Service gifts are going to be homemade this year. I was given a box of small mason jars, so I'm thinking a big batch of apple butter, some small loaves of pumpkin bread and a few cookies should be a nice gift for teachers, mailmen and our garbage men. I have a ton of baskets for the teacher's gifts and plain paper lunch bags, dressed up with pretty ribbon should do nicely for the rest.

*Mr. Clairol and I won't be exchanging gifts this year. At all. I mean it. Not even the little knit cap I saw with an AC/DC logo on it. ARGH!

*Family gifts will be harder. I'm imposing a $25 dollar limit and it's going to be hard to stick to, but even that is going to be a stretch for our poor budget. I'll be lumping my mom and dad together (still $25). I'm looking for creative ideas, so if anyone has a great idea, let me know.

So there you have it. My Christmas rehab plan. What are you doing to cut costs this year?

You Might Be A Stay At Home Mom Saturday

If getting an entire week's worth of laundry inspires a blog post (with updates), a celebratory dance and a reward in the form of chocolate and wine, you might be a stay-at-home-mom. You might also be a mom of any stripe, because let's face it, laundry blows whether you work or not, right?

Got An Extra Prayer Laying Around?

Please send your thoughts and prayers to Mama Lang. She just sent her husband off to war and her stepdaughter to stay with her mother. For a year. This leaves her with two children who are old enough to understand what's going on, old enough to be scared and worried, old enough to comprehend the impact this makes. When I read her post last night, I ran to my husband and wept on his shoulder, because oh my God, I do not know how I could live without him for a year. I would, just like Mama Lang will, because you have to and you have kids who need you to stay strong. But hell, that would be excruciating.

Her recent entries have been a very real look into what military families all over our country are going through. We all support the soldiers and pray for them, but the families left behind need a lot of props as well. They sacrifice a part of their family unit, some of them over and over. I'm not sure what to do, except pray for the Langs and keep reading her blog, offering whatever support I can.

If I Sound Happy, It's Probably Sarcasm

The first cold of the season. Ah, the delight. And this time around the delight is squared, because both the small children have drippy noses and deep, barking coughs. Yay! No, you can't be me. I'm sorry. I'm not willing to give up the glamour and applause.

The really sad thing is we were planning on going to G-ma's house tomorrow. The kids love G-ma's house and especially G-ma. Both run to her and want big hugs and kisses. G-ma rocks, not because she spoils them (she does) but because she plays with them, reads to them and revels in their company. Basically, the ideal grandmother. She had a great template, because my grandmas were fantastic as well.

But we don't want to spread the cold. When you can't wipe your own nose, getting a cold takes on a whole new meaning of suckitude. So to spare my dad, we'll postpone the visit until the noses dry out and the coughs go away. You're welcome, Dad. And I know, you're really sad you won't be forced to watch Disney movies. Maybe, if you're nice to Mom, she'll put on the Jungle Book for you.

Meanwhile, I get to deal with two pissed off children. They are irate because I won't take them to school. I know, I am completely mean and unreasonable. I do get to take them grocery shopping and oh boy, I can't wait. It's gonna be a party y'all. A Par-TAY! After that, the post office. Woot! And oh yeah, the drug store. Boogie down, shorties.

And for those of you that were breathlessly awaiting the Jen vs. the Laundry Pile Of Doom? I kicked it's stinky, dirty ass. That's right. The laundry is DONE! Unh! Yeah, that's right. I'm bad.

Except the tiny pile that is already growing again. Hell.

A Bullet List 'Cause I Got Crap To Do *Now with Updates!*

I can mess on the computer or I can do laundry. Guess which I'd rather do. But apparently, they frown on naked children at preschool. The bastards.

*Stomach pain is back. That sucks hairy donkey balls. Making Dr. Appointment and insisting on ultrasound.

*Saw Honeydripper with my dad last night. It was...okay. Good performances, but the story was underwhelming.

*Just fished a slobbery balloon out of my coffee. I'm sure when I'm a grandmother, that will be delightful. I'm not a grandmother.

*Been catching Missy Hoohaw tucked into corners, covered with her blanket, Red's binky in her mouth. Hmmmm. Maybe it's time to get rid of all binkys.

*Making significant progress on my book. Perhaps this one will get finished? Stay tuned.

*Made raisin bars last night. I forget how delicious they are. YUM! Will post a recipe soon.

UPDATE I am pleased to report that as of 12:37 PST, I am almost halfway throught the week's laundry. Typing this I had an "oh shit" moment, realizing it is Thursday. Gah! Also, how pathetic it is to update this entry at all. I'd delete the update, but I feel it is important to be honest with you guys about my lameness. You're welcome.

The Halloween Tour

I just want to point out that if I was truly immature, I would have dribbled a little refried beans on the roll before I took the picture. Maybe spilled a little Mountain Dew underneath. So I'm not a hopeless case, you know? Okay, maybe the fact that I even thought of it makes me juvenile. Whatever.

I finally got Halloween decorations up inside. Hooray! Of course, seeing this post over at Raven's site made me feel woefully inadequate, but it's okay. She's cooler than I am. I've accepted that. I still covet her resin bust, because I can see a few of those lining a spiderweb clad front porch, complete with creepy sound effects. I don't have tons of things, but every year, I allow myself a new goody. Usually from the Dollar Store, because I am poor and they have some really great seasonal things. The really cool stuff is from my mom, who gave me all her Halloween stuff a few years ago. My decorations, such as they are, are now up and Mr. Rochester and Mr. Darcy have company. They are as happy as gargoyles, which are naturally pretty melancholy, can be.

I had the cat on the sofa table last year and Missy carried it around like a pet for a month. For her own safety, she has a higher perch this year. See the gourds in the vases? Dollar Store.

This is the top of my upright piano. The ghost is a tin cutout and I love him. You can't really see in the pictures, but the basket is metal spiderwebs. For years, it sat empty. The last year I bought some miniature plastic jack o'lanterns to hang from our tree. That was a little meh, so this year, they're piled in the basket. I'm digging it. The plastic jack o'lanterns? Dollar Store.

The other side of the piano. The tree is hung with little jack o'lantern lights that really light up. The monsters hanging from it are very, very cool. It's probably my favorite of all my Halloween things. No Dollar Store on this side. Give me some time.

On to the sofa table. The skull actually lights up and looks crystal-ish in the dark. I thought it might be too scary, but my kids love him. Red carries him around and calls him the pirate. Argh! The lei is Missy's addition and she swears that "Pirate Head" needs a necklace. He'd also like some false eyelashes and a darling little chapeau. Apparently Pirate Head is a tranny. That's cool. The crystal thing should have been my first clue. The little shoes are ceramic and I love them. I thought of filling them with M&Ms but with small fry around, that is a recipe for disaster. So they remain empty for now.

This hangs in my entryway. You've met the boys, so I'll skip them. But here is the votive holder, which I will tell you is freaking awesome when the candles are lit. I even bought fancy scented ones. Whooo! The skeleton window clings are glittery and very, very cool. Plus, I got them at the Dollar Store. This increases their awesome quotient four-fold.

The kitchen window. The houses are from (say it with me) the Dollar Store and they look pretty great when the votive is lit. I know the angel isn't Halloweeny, but I bought her years ago at Tuesday Morning and I love her. I'm not a angel-y sort of girl, but she speaks to me, so out she stays, year-round.

The decor has led to some problems. When you have a four-year-old, time is a somewhat foggy concept. If you decorate for a holiday, telling that child the actual holiday is a month away, well, it's futile. Like explaining quadratic equations to her. Missy is convinced that every day is Halloween. Especially since G-ma bought her a fairy costume. This is the conversation every morning:

Missy: Tonight is Halloween, okay?

Mommy: Nope. There are still x days until Halloween. Did we tear off a link last night. (In an effort to help her quantify the mystery of time, I helped her make an Advent-style chain to count down the days. Hindsight tells me this might be heretical, but I think if lightening was going to strike, it would have already happened. )

Missy: No, silly. Halloween is tonight. We need to get our costumes on and go get candy!

Mommy: Honey, Halloween is still a ways away. What do you want to do for craft today? (See me attempting to deflect? This is called strategic parenting. Mostly, it doesn't work on my kids.)

Missy: Tonight IS Halloween. *stomps foot*

Mommy: No, it isn't. Let's go make your bed. (More "strategic parenting" I'm what you'd call a slow learner.)

Missy: It IIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

This continues until someone has a timeout and someone else is trying to decide in what time zone a cocktail would be acceptable. Good times. Nevertheless, I am enjoying my decorations, especially my new additions. I'm planning on harassing Mr. Clairol into getting the outside decorations up this weekend. There aren't a whole lot, just some lights and a couple of stakes, which makes me sad. I love the scary stuff. My dream is to have a really creepy front yard, complete with headstones, ravens and moss. That's going to have to wait for a few years, until the little ones are more familiar with the concept of make-believe.

I don't know if you picked up on it, but I love Halloween. OOOooo! Halloween Bonus:

Drama Queen as Palin. She studied video clips to get the accent and mannerisms, but wouldn't let me cut bangs. No committment there. Sigh. We added a plastic rifle and a string of her siblings teddy bears to complete to picture and she cracks me up when she says, "I can see Russia from my house!"

The Middle-School Gourmet

These are my latest culinary creation. I call them, "Ass-Rolls." Heh heh heh.

Shut-up. I am too a grown-up!

A Night At The Thee-ay-taah.

We went an saw an honest to goodness musical last night. I was so excited I could hardly stand myself. All giddy and bouncy. The migraine that had dogged me all weekend? Still there, but it was free theater tickets, people! You can't let a headache keep you from a show! Sacramento Theater may cause some people to snort and roll their eyes (looking at you, David), but I don't care. It was actually a wonderful production of The Drowsy Chaperone. Funny and a bit poignant, it was the perfect remedy for my evening with Kimbo and Co (which I might have blamed for the migraine, but it was already brewing, so no dice). My mom's friend has a season subscription to the local Broadway Series and couldn't make last night's show. She generously gave us her tickets, because she is super nice, pretty, smart and special. Thank you, Jan!

We were front row. This is disconcerting for me. I don't like making eye contact with the actors. It feels weird. Fourth wall and all that stuff, you know? But I could actually make out actors' faces, which was a novel experience. I recognized Cliff Bemis and Georgia Engel right away, but couldn't place the Man in Chair. I knew him...but from where?

OH MY HADES! GILBERT FREAKING BLYTHE!

Yes, Jonathon Crombie, whom I had a mad crush on during middle school, the man who played the perfect Gilbert Blythe in the Anne Of Green Gables movies, was Man in Chair. Sweet Baby Jesse, he was amazing. The role is a plum one, perfect for dead pan humor and he nailed it. Oh Lordy, he was fantastic. Is it weird for the Anne of Green Gable connection to have made the whole experience better? I'll confess, I didn't make the connection until later, when I was reading through the playbill. It just cast a golden glow over the whole thing. C'mon, we've already established I am huge dork. This can't be surprising.

I love live theater. I was a drama geek in college and though I feel no burning desire to tread the boards again, I enjoy the shows. There are a few outstanding companies here, the B Street, in particular, and the Broadway Series draws some great touring companies. It's not the Great White Way, but someday I'll get out to New York and completely spoil myself for local shows. In the meantime, I'll take the tickets I can afford or that are given to me and enjoy myself. Headache or no.

Transparency

I've mentioned Heather a few times in recent posts. If you've followed the link, you've seen her lovely blog, Want What You Have. This is a radical concept in our culture. We are a society who is always looking for the next best thing, the newest, shiniest, most bells and whistles item. I know this, because I am a recovering stuff-a-holic. Heather's blog has been a daily reminder and guide to achieving a simpler life for my family, living under our means, so that we a good stewards of what we have. My ultimate goal in this is not to have a big bank account. I want to give more.

For a few years now, we've had to tithe at far below the ten percent mark prescribed by the Bible. This bothers me a lot! I feel so crappy when I see our church financial reports and know that we are not carrying our weight. Let me tell you that our church is not a hands out sort of place. There are no condemning sermons about how God hates a tightwad and we need to give our financial support. But I know how a church works. We make up our monetary shortfall by giving time and our pastor honors that gift. It's wonderful. But the guilt is still there.

There's more to it than the church. I want to be able to give freely to causes I believe in, individuals who need help and pay a random stranger's grocery bill. It's completely selfish. I get such a charge out of it. I'll confess something here. I've written, deleted and re-written this three times now. It doesn't feel right to talk about this. I keep it anonymous when possible. The thanks are uncomfortable and definitely not the motivation for it. It's the feeling I get and the remembrance of my days as a single mother. It was so hard for so long and I hated having to accept help. I cried for an entire weekend when I had to apply for welfare benefits. Using food stamps killed me a little bit, every trip to the grocery store. And that was okay, because it wasn't me dying, it was my false pride. Those days are behind me now, even though there are still the months when we need to ask for a little help to meet the bills. (I still hate it, though.)

The reality is, we've pared our budget to the bone and a ten percent tithe is far beyond our means. We have to reduce our giving. This is great motivation for me to economize further and research ways to increase our income. We're reading a book that prescribes putting all extra money toward paying off debt. It's been eye opening. We don't have credit cards or a car payment. But we do have student loans and a California-size mortgage. So we're figuring out a way to get a three month reserve saved up and then start paying off those debts.

In this spirit, I'm dedicating Sunday's post to economy and what we're up to. Sunday's Money, I guess. I just want to get these things off my chest and put them out there. I need to talk about it I guess, and there aren't many people I can share it with. Next week: Christmas!

He Gets Custody Of The Kids

Mr. Clairol is making me watch Ultimate Fighting. I'm pretty sure this is grounds for divorce. He thinks I should be interested, because one of the women fighting is an American Gladiator. My reaction? Holy Bleeding Crap, they have women doing this now? He is also giving me the low down on the drama between some man named Kimbo and another fighter. This is probably revenge for me watching several episodes of Days back to back. Though to be fair, I certainly didn't force him to watch and I didn't even smother him with a pillow when he wanted me to explain the Nicole, Sami, EJ triangle just as Sami was finding out she's pregnant again, in front of Lucas! Therefore, I do not think I should be made to watch grown men beat the snot out of each other, especially if one of them is named Kimbo.

There is no drink strong enough, people.

Lips Zipped, Fingers Taped

I'm sorry, but I simply cannot write today. I'm bound to say something offensive and my curse filter is slipping (swore at preschool today, yay!) so I better just skip today. You're welcome.

More Stupid Human Tricks

I just got a call from the vice-principal at Drama Queen's school. Not-so-coincidentally, I also had a minor heart-attack. Now some of you might not understand why a call from a perfectly nice and very adorable administrative type could be troubling. (Yes, he's positively yummy. Edible, even.) Let me share that these calls are never for a positive reason. Here are the most common reasons a administrator might call:

1) Your child has been hurt or is sick.

2) Your child is failing numerous classes.

3) Your child has been caught in an egregious act on school property.

4) Your child has hurt someone.

You see why I might get a little light-headed as he introduces himself. I did not ask, "What did she do," and I am proud of myself for that.

Apparently, Katie received a Fed-ex package at the school. Huh? From her father. Um, double huh? They cannot by law, open the package and are aware that I have sole physical custody, so just turning the package over is also not an option. Plus, a child getting a package at school is a little, no a lot, weird. I apologized profusely and gave my permission for her to receive the box.

I am so embarrassed. And more than a little baffled. Why would he send the package to the school? What is so secret that he couldn't just send it to the house? It was her planner for pete's sake! I know she has one, dipwad. It is stuff like this that makes me a little crazy. He insists on treating me like some crazy woman, when I have ignored his non-payment of child-support, his inability to make scheduled calls or visitation, his absence at the major events of her life. Geez, threaten to cut off a guy's business one time and he never forgets. I have been open-handed and very liberal in allowing her to visit, basically giving the green light to every proposal, even the month she spent there in the summer. I'm a fair and generous ex-wife and do not dig at him when we speak (now). I'm kind (now). I try to be fair and non-judgemental (to his face). That's what makes this kind of behavior maddening.

Because I'm the one who gets to face these people. I'm the one whom they will speculate about. Not to mention the effect on Drama Queen. Middle school is weird enough without having to get mail there as well.

Surely there is some logical explanation, some motivation that would make sense. I don't want to ask him. Our relationship is friendly, but any questioning on my part results in the most fantastic lies you could imagine. Any ideas?

Withdrawal

Some time ago, Mr. Clairol and I decided to reduce our cable package to local stations only. This was going to accomplish two things. First, and most important, we would watch less t.v. Second and still important, we would save money. These are good things.

So I called the cable company four times, jumped through eleventy-million hoops, including buying our own box, and waited. I was trying to be smart about it. I stopped turning on Nick and Noggin and Disney, hoping the kids would forget about all those shows they simply had to watch. We moved to a PBS only diet of children's programming. This was good, because if I had to hear, "Oh Mommy! Bratz! I wish I had Bratz," one more time, I might've had an aneurysm and died.

A month passed and still I waited. While I waited, I started a new season of Project Runway. You know how I feel about the Runway. I can't not watch Mr. Gunn. I did call, letting the company know what was happening. They assured me they were on it.

I waited some more. Complacency set in. In addition to PR, I got into the new HBO series True Blood. The kids started watching SpongeBob and Little Einsteins. It had been two months and I was feeling lazy. Was I stupid? Absolutely. A little dishonest even. I shouldn't have watched it if I wasn't paying for it. But I did. And the bill came due.

Not literally. Our cable bill is still about $10 a month. But one morning last week, we woke up to the local channels we so desired as our only options. Right before the end of Project Runway. Right as True Blood had grown on me. Right as Missy Hoohaw had decided SpongeBob was god. (Okay, the last one is in the plus column.) But my shows! MY SHOWS!

No more Mr. Gunn. No more Sookie and Bill. No more Myth Busters, VH1 or USA. No more KATHY! This is me weeping. Do you know what we still have? The f'ing Documentary Channel, which is Mr. Clairol's television crack. Have you ever watched the Documentary Channel? I have. I'd rather scoop out my eyeballs and eat them on rye toast (I really hate rye). Give me mindless entertainment. Give me Micheal Kors hating on designers, Kathy Griffin mocking Clay Aiken, even Paige Davis perking around a renovation site. Anything but Bhopal: The Search For Justice. I want Bhopal to find justice, I just don't want to watch it happen, m'kay?

I'm suffering, folks. I'm sure it's character building and yes, the $50 a month we're saving is a consolation. But oye, the t.v. detox is gonna be harsh.