Potty Rules for Grown Ups

Today's post comes after another long long long break and is inspired by a glob of ick that I witnessed today!  Ladies!!!  Listen up!!!  It is time to go over some rules that you learned when you were 3 but many have cleeeeeeearly forgotten.  How to use the potty.  More specifically, how to use a public potty.  Let's go over some rules of engagement here...we can categorize these using the 5 senses.

• Smell.  Some people would rather die than actually use a public restroom, particularly if they have to go #2.  They are appalled by the knowledge that other people DO, in fact, use the public restroom for this act.  They will make comments about the stench and hold their nose and pretend to faint.  They will make sure you know that THEY did not create that horrendous stench eeking out of the stalls if you are walking in when they are walking out.  But you know what?  It is a restroom and stomach issues don't always wait until you are conveniently in the privacy of your own home.  These people do not need to hear you make gagging sounds and they don't need you to  stick around outside the restroom to find out who made that smell happen.  
• Sound.  Ladies, there is no need to laugh when someone has a minor or major gaseous explosion.  Chances are that the reason you heard that outburst was because you were sitting in a stall nearby waiting for the other person to leave.  That's right - you were waiting for them to leave so that you could fart yourself.  So as a rule, if you are both in the bathroom for more than 5 minutes and neither of you is making a sound, the odds are high that you are both trying to wait each other out.  At this point you should both just let it go (figuratively and literally).  Since we are on the topic of sound, let's go over my #1 pet peeve in a public restroom.  GET OFF THE @)$(*@_%! PHONE!!!!  This is NOT the time to go over your grocery list with your spouse.  It is not time to chat about dinner.  It is not the time to ask your kid how his/her day was.  It is time to friggin' pee or crap, wash your hands, and leave.  The BEST was when I walked into the restroom and saw a colleague was on speakerphone with her Husband.  I walked in and yelled my "hey, how you doing, this is SaltLizard - who is this" to the phone.  She laughed and called me ignorant and continued with her call.  I then announced to her Hubby that he was about to hear me pee and I hoped he enjoyed the show.  At this point I believe she took it off speaker.  I don't care if you play words with friends for an hour or facebook chat with half your high school in the stall, just don't field your damn phone calls in there.
• Taste.  Taste you are saying?  Ewwwwwww.  All I have to say is this.  You are in a room where people you know, sort of know, and don't know at all are pooping.  I certainly appreciate your rigid oral hygiene, but I cannot comprehend how you can brush your teeth in there.  Can't you almost taste that smell?  I would rather have a root canal than do that.  WHY?  
• Touch.  Again you may be confused.  But let me spell it out.  There is NO WAY that my ass should touch anything that came out of you on the toilet seat.  I should also not be standing in a pool of oops, you must have had a power surge of pee on the floor.  I have close friends who are hoverers.  I am first, very impressed by their thigh muscles.  And second, I am horrified that they are not willing to touch their own pee with toilet paper to prevent someone who does not maintain a squat from getting wet.  This is disgusting.  STOP IT.
• Sight.  This is where it all comes together.  A few things on this topic.  If you walk into a restroom with 5 stalls, and someone is in stall 1, where do you go?  STALL 5.  The next person should enter stall 3.  The 4th and 5th people are going to get too close to 2 people, and it cannot be avoided, but because it cannot be avoided, they can be forgiven.  If I am sitting in stall 1 in an otherwise empty restroom, don't you dare go into stall 2.  I don't care if your name is engraved on the seat - move it down the line!  You must attempt to leave at least 1 stall between you at all times.  Men know that - think about urinals.  No one should be that close.  OK, so now you've done your business (at least a stall away).  When you stand up and flush, turn around.  Take a look at that bowl.  Do you see ANYTHING red, brown or yellow that came out of your body laying in the bowl?  Yes?  FLUSH IT AGAIN!  Unless it is something that was not supposed to be flushed in the first place and then reach your dumbass hand into that bowl and get it out.  Use a pen to pick it out - I DON'T CARE.  Your rudeness is no reason for me to have to look at that.  Oh, and while we are on that topic, check the floor too.  Apparently some of you don't notice when objects fall out of your body onto the floor either.

Well, I do believe this concludes my tirade.  I know that there will be points that you agree with and disagree with.  I highly doubt that anyone will be reaching into the bowl to retrieve something they shouldn't have flushed.  And I'm pretty sure that you will still walk out and warn the people going in that it smells bad and that you are not responsible (hell, I do that too - I'm not taking the heat for something I didn't do).  But if my little outburst has done anything, I hope it has made you think twice about your restroom manners.  And I hope it made you laugh.  But not so hard that you peed. 

Girls' Weekend and the Craaaa-zy Innkeeper (Almost sounds like a Scooby episode)

Girls weekend.  The phrase that women cheer for and that we think strikes fear into the heart of the men we leave behind to care for the kids.  I think in many case its really quite the opposite and that the men call each other as soon as we're out of the house to say "she's gone!!  PEACE for TWO DAYS!"

So what exactly happens on a girls weekend?  I guess there are a lot of different versions.  Some with lots of debauchery and others with knitting or going without deodorant or something.  My girl's weekends generally fall into the low to moderate debauchery within the acceptable bounds of married life.  There is  non stop talking, laughing, wine, good food, shopping and generalized obnoxiousness.  And on occasion, there is an attempted friendly hostile takeover of a sunset cruise ship, but I digress (technically this has only happened twice and only once was it on a girl's weekend).

This year I have had TWO, count 'em TWO girl's weekends, and they were both great.  They were as expected with two shocking exceptions.  On the first weekend, they friggin' turned on the basketball game.  What the heck, really?  I mean if it was college ball, I could understand, but no.  They needed to watch the Celtics.  That is because Boston has eaten their brain.  FYI, I am the only non-Massachusetts/non-Connecticut resident in the whole batch of them.  The second exception was for my most recent excursion.  Every time I spoke longingly about the quaint stores I would visit, my friend suggested bicycling/ kayaking/ sweating of some sort.  Please do not get me wrong - I love nature.  I particularly enjoy relaxing in its midst.  And even though I bought a (very cheap 12 year old girl style) bicycle JUST for that occasion, I realized after 3 trips up and down my driveway that I would have a heart attack within minutes of getting on the trail.  Luckily, my athletically inclined friend took not one, but two for the team.  She did not force exercise AND she put up with a lot of shopping.

It is this most recent excursion that I want to discuss today.  We went to a great old place where you could bring your horse and board him, but your kids under 8 were not invited.  My tale begins and ends - not so much surrounding the awesome time that I had seeing my college friends (which I did) - as much as with the crackpot that owned the inn.

I was the first to arrive at our B&B and was met by someone who was very nice if not a bit scattered, and she was apparently unsure of how to ask me to sign the credit card receipt, so the proprietor who was resting now, would get that when she sees me later.  I got a key, but they had lost their second key, so could I leave my key with them when we were at breakfast so they wouldn't have to break in to clean?  I was led to my room and I loved it. But within moments I realized I was in the middle of nowhere and I did not have a diet pepsi, a bottle of wine, a snack or a clue where to get these very important items.  My friends would be arriving momentarily, but I couldn't wait.  I got directions from the #2 in command who also asked for my key back so they could make a copy and I drove off wondering how taking 7 lefts could possibly result in my getting anywhere.  It did not.  I got lost about 3 times and never found the landmark Dairy Queen referenced.  I rushed back empty handed because when I left, my friend said they were like 8 miles away.  I returned and they were not there.  I retrieved my key only to be handed a 5 pound horseshoe with a key attached that I would be privileged to lug around all weekend!  I returned to my room and waited.  My friends were still not there after 20 more minutes.  I called and was told they were stuck in traffic.  I looked at the trees and horses surrounding me wondering where traffic existed.  Maybe another 20 and they knocked on the door.  Bad sign - as soon as they got inside, I immediately saw the face of Debbie 1.  Don't get me wrong, there was only 1 Debbie present, but she calls her "slightly irritable" (understatement) self Debbie 1.  They had met the real proprietor.

I will call her Barbara, but it is not her name.  Why the anonymity?  Because I believe her reservation confirmation stated something along the line of saying she would sue my ass off if I wrote any kind of review without her prior approval.  FYI - I did not agree to this, but I'll try to be good nonetheless.  I don't imagine she was worried about a poor review of her B&B - the place was really awesome.  I think she is most likely concerned about any statements to the fact that she is bat shit crazy or of photos being posted of her walking down the path with two 1 gallon bottles of Absolut Saturday afternoon.  No wonder she was napping when I arrived.  Anyway, Barbara works for me since I couldn't remember her name any of the 27 times my friends reminded me, and that was what I called her.

Barbara apparently didn't know that I had arrived, so she told them she needed credit cards from both of them.  And  when they gave them to her confused, she asked why they gave her 2 credit cards because that was just ridiculous.  So Jenn left hers on the table and Barbara had her sign 2 credit card slips - one for my card and one for her own.  Jenn asked why she was being charged for 2 nights when I had already paid for one.  She got frustrated and drew angry lines and arrows on the documents to explain it all.  Then she asked which one of them was Salt Lizard!  They told her neither, which she would know if she had paid attention when she asked them their names.  And then it just went bad.  Eventually Debbie 1 had to explain that they were both pretty intelligent people and that neither of them had any friggin' idea what she was trying to say.  They were directed to our room.

There was a 3rd friend (and a 4th actually) who was unable to make the trip and as such, her photo was printed out and put on a stick.  She was our traveling companion.  We put her in the car seat, and we gave her a seat at the table when we ate that night.  We had conversations with about 1/2 of the outdoor patrons of the restaurant we were at and some of the people inside the restaurant got our attention too.  Sandy had pictures taken with a lot of people that night.  She enjoyed some chardonnay, got felt up by some guys walking their dog, and she was even seen in the window of the sheriff's van.  Hell, by the end of the weekend, she was even found in bed with a horse head (but who wasn't).

At breakfast the next morning, we asked if we could sit anywhere and were told yes and then told to sit exactly where we were told.  Debbie tried to get herself some coffee and was told to sit down and they would get coffee for her.  Then Jenn went and f'd it all up by asking for ice coffee.  It was as if she had asked for the gold from King Tut's tomb be air mailed to her Swiss Bank Account.  Ice coffee?  Do you know how long it will take to make ice coffee?  I wish I had known, I just threw out some cold coffee.  Oh, it will take all day to get your coffee cold.  #2 brought Jenn some coffee with steam coming off of it "is this cold enough?"  I suggested (because I am a crazy out of the box thinker) some ice cubes.  "We're out of ice cubes."  OH, well at least that explained why it would be hard to make ice coffee.  About 4 minutes later Barbara came over and asked how the coffee was and realized it was warm, so she bellowed something about putting some ice in it.  #2 came back with legit ice coffee and said she didn't realize that Babs had purchased some ice the day prior.  Um, okay.  We finished breakfast, while trying to figure out what the H it was along the way.  


Barbara asked us what we were doing.  Are you going here?  Yes, you should go here.  I'll draw you a map!    She finished accosting the British couple with  comments about how much different this was than Jolly Ole England and off she went.  Then I heard #2 giving another nice couple directions... "You go to H-A-Y  Cock Road."  "Haycock?" the guy said?  "Yeah, HayCOCK."  Can someone please tell me why she felt inclined to spell the "Hay" and leave the rest alone?  Anyway, around then Barbara came back with her hand drawn map (aka she hit print on a document with directions and no map).  She explained her document while Jenn tried to follow along with it on an actual map that she had brought herself.  Barbara smacked her hard in the arm and told her that map wasn't going to get her anywhere.  Then she smacked me in the back as she asked Jenn if she had signed up for her horse chores yet.  Then she called to #2 in the kitchen to tell her about the funny she had made.  


Other than that, I eavesdropped on everyone else's conversations and joined in where I felt like interjecting something (if you ask my travel companions they will say that this happened ever 3 minutes and that I have the attention span of an ADHD gnat).  I also spent some quality time shushing Debbie and Jenn as they openly mocked Barbara at the table while she was still in the room.  They said she couldn't hear, but I was not convinced.  People like that don't need hearing, they just know.  I was determined to make Barbara love us (me) by the time we left.  And if that couldn't happen, I wanted her to smack Debbie (1) just to see how that played out.  That was the best of Barbara as we didn't see her that much the rest of the trip.  


But I know we're buds now, for 3 reasons.  #1 - She killed a hive/colony/swarm/whatever of hornets that stood between me and my safe return from the pool.  #2 - Debbie was allowed to get her own coffee and Jenn was handed a perfect goblet of ice coffee the second morning.  #3 - When I told her that the soap dish in our room broke, she merely told the British man that we had a wild night and she did not hit any of us.  Though I did awaken to an odd bed companion...I wonder how that got there...

Rock of Ages...Was it Supposed to be Funny?

OK peeps, STOP READING NOW IF YOU HAVE NOT YET SEEN BUT PLAN TO SEE THIS MOVIE!!!! Eh, you know what? I won't give it all away so read. Of course this post will only get like 3 hits because according to the press, no one except the 10 people in the theater and most of Hollywood have seen the movie. But a lot of my "demographic" still wants to see it.

My boss was pretty funny today as he said this movie had (SaltLizard to you) written all over it. He also mentioned that he expected I would see mainly my "demographic" at the theater. And finally, he predicted I would come to work tomorrow holding a Tom Cruise bobble head. Let's see how right he was...

First off, I should have paid a little more attention to the whole "musical" aspect of this movie. For some reason I did not expect them to break into song every 2 minutes like Danny Zucko when he was stranded at the drive in (feeling like a fool). But within the first 2 minutes...the bus scene. WHO doesn't like Sister Christian? No one...until random people on the bus begin singing it together while at the same time, not fully aware that the others are singing. It was ridiculous. So ridiculous that I was hyserically laughing, like please tell me the whole movie will not be like this... Well, there were similar scenes, but eventually you get into the groove of the thing. That does not mean it was great cinema. But it does mean that I blasted 80s hairbands all the way home.

The Actors
Julianne Hough. Perfectly cast as a young innocent big haired Oklahoma girl who moved to LA to pursue singing. Absolutely miscast as a singer of 80s hairband songs. We needed someone with a raw edge to her voice. Lita Ford will choke when she listens to Julianne's pretty 12 year old asking Daddy for a Library card voice. Her voice is beautiful, but a rocker she is not.

The guy who plays her love interest. We'll call him What's his Name. He should not have been allowed to sing rock ballads because he f'd them all up for me and I will not be able to even pretend that I can buy the soundtrack because of this. His best features were his eyelashes which appeared to have been locked in an eyelash curler and permed in place. He was sweet and syrupy and had value only when singing angry.  He kind of reminded me of the little boy that they introduced late in the Little House on the Prairie.

Alec Baldwin. Owner of "the Bourbon" (bourbon...whiskey in LA, get it?). I am a little surprised that Alec made it all the way through filming while 9 months pregnant. Luckily he did not have to exert himself acting much. You know, that was really mean girl. Perhaps he was getting into character. I have no idea what the owner of the Whiskey looked like, so who knows. Alec was clearly on set for comedic value and he and Russell Brand supplied the hardest and longest bout of laughing thatI recall ever having at a movie. Though I am still not sure it was intended to be funny. Congratulations gentlemen on a hysterical REO Speedwagon duet which you probably could not take any more serious than I could.

Russell Brand. No idea who the F he was supposed to be in the movie, but he was by far my favorite character in the movie. He did what Russell does best. As far as music goes, I preferred him in Get Him to the Greek where "when life hands you a Jeffrey, stroke the furry walls."

The dude who played Tom Cruise's manager. Another What's his Name, but a much more recognizable one. The dude that was in Sideways with the Dude that played Lowell on Wings. I think he has won a bunch of awards, but I am not going to look it up. He was great in this slimy role.   Paul Giamatta (sp?)- that's it!!  Thank you for coming back to me old brain cells.

The chick that played the Rolling Stone reporter. I thought she was J Hough with a perm or someone from college or someone famous I should know, but she wasn't. Her character had a name that reminded me of Pussy Galore from Bond fame. She was there. Guys will like her and they can see her panties.

Catherine Zeta-Jones. Think Tipper Gore on the outside with a little Grace Jones under the prissy exterior.

Mary J Blije. Best voice in the show and some damn fine 80's pantsuits.

Tom Cruise. Somewhere out there, Axl Rose is gonna be pi-issssssssed. At least if he sees the beginning of the movie he will be bring a shotgun to the theater to shoot the screen and will likely ban anyone who looks like Tom Cruise from attending his concerts. The ONLY hope that Tom will have in escaping the wrath of Axl is if Axl is as late to the movie as he is to his own shows. That said, there might be a good chance Tom is off the hook. It physically pains me to tell you how good Tom was in this role. After that phase he went through (you know, where he went batshit crazy on Oprah and the Today show and on Brooke Shields), I did not think I would ever respect my little Joel Goodson again. But he did himself proud as both egomaniacal crackpot rock star (aka Axl) and singer. My only complaint about the singing was that he ennunciated the words too much. Enough so that I now know the correct words to songs I have apparently been singing wrong for 25 years. He was rated "doable" by both my movie companion and myself.

Sebastian Bach. Sigh. Yes, he is not a brain trust from what I can tell from his desperate for attention reality show participation. But I do not care! I was so excited to see his face in the movie cameo that I kept trying to use my invisible remote control to pause the screen. I also wanted to try to figure out who the other cameos were. Have I mentioned before that I saw him in Jesus Christ Superstar? My Husband made me see the play and I was miserable up until I realized that the Captain of Skid Row was playing Jesus. At that point I began trying to score front row tickets (unsuccessful). I probably should have attended confession after the play to repent for my disgraceful thoughts and I am not even Catholic. Anyways, it was 2 minutes but still worth mentioning to me.

The last thing that was worth mentioning was that I got to see a preview for Magic Mike. It looks absolutely ridiculous, but you have probably learned how shallow I am by now, so I do not give a rat's ass if it is stupid, I will be there to see my imaginary boyfriend, Channing Tatum, take his clothes off and gyrate for the audience (me. All for me.). Matthew McConahy looked creepy in his role at best. 

Well, it is time for bed now. I will have sweet 80s band dreams tonight where my imaginary boyfriend will dance to Sweet Child of Mine as Axl strokes out in the background and my spiral perm will shake as I bang my head.

The Anti Mom

Since the time of my last post, a lot of things have happened.  Apparently my blogger zone has changed, so I had to guess how to log in and write a new post.  But I'm modern, I'm intelligent, I figured out that the giant pencil was somehow related to "WRITE."  So here I am.  No no, stop cheering, I don't know how good my post will actually be.  Why?  Eh, I'm a little pissy right now.  And I just got my finger stuck in a bottle of wine that was supposed to relieve my pissiness.  How?  Because when I am annoyed/stressed, apparently I forget which way I am supposed to pull the handle of my very cool wine opener.  I chose poorly tonight and got my finger stuck while trying to push the cork the rest of the way in.  Alas, my story is not about being stupid or getting my finger stuck in a bottle.  Tonight my story is again, about momhood.

There are people in this universe who were MADE to be the neighborhood Mom.  They were born to it.  My Sister in Law has had like 20 kids at her house at once at some point.  And only 1/2 of them were there because they just put a pool in.  My nephews are the entertainers - they invite everyone over, and I am in awe that she will occasionally feed several children who did not spew forth from her body.  As I recall the stories, her (my Husband's) Mom was the same way.  I am not that woman.

I love everyone's kids.  I really do.  I recall wondering if another daycare Mom hated me because every time she got to daycare to pick her daughter up, she was sitting on my lap in the baby room.  I'm happy to say she did not hate me and we are friends to this day and our kids get together every once in a while even though they are not in the same school.  But this love of children kind of came as a shock to me.

Specifically, I refer to being 16 and forced to begin seeing the GYN.  Ewww.  I believe I may have waited until the second visit to ask for a hysterectomy because "I am never going to use it, so can I just get rid of it now?"  A) I did not want to have to endure 40 more years of periods.  (I had calculated the amount of blood lost in the average gunshot wound sustained in the military against 45 years of periods, and deduced women got the short stick in that deal.)  And B) As I stated, I had NO intent to use my uterus, so why did I really need it anyway?  I did not like kids, they were loud and annoying.  I did not like playing with baby dolls as a kid - I was much more interested in seeing Barbie go to 3rd base (or home) with Steve Austin (the 6 million dollar man) in the Barbie Camper at the drive in movie.  So c'mon doc, let's you and I just make sure we don't have any "accidents" along the way please.  He would not bend to my will.

When I was engaged, my future Husband and I had dinner one night and had the baby talk.  We both stated our ideal number of children.  Me "Zero."  Him "Two."  In my mind, even one was not a compromise.  But I loved him, and I was old enough already, so I decided that we should not discuss the subject any further.  Until one day on April 15th when my Husband and I were driving around to find a post office that was still open to mail our taxes (fyi - that is his fault because he delays until the last day, but it is my fault because I detest trying to figure out taxes so much that I still make him do the taxes).  I said "um, I guess if we are going to have a baby, we should probably start soon because I'm not getting any younger."  When he agreed, I asked him to pull over so I could throw up.

We never actually started "TRYING" per se, but we occasionally DID IT and I was no longer on birth control.  It took all of 2 months.  I peed on a stick.  I cried.  I apologized to the pets because I knew we would not have as much quality time in 9 months.  I bought an "I'm sorry" card for my Husband and said we cannot go on the cruise with our families because I will be 9 months pregnant.  I cannot recall, but I think I had the pee stick in the card?  I handed it to him after softball and before we walked into the after softball bar...where I could not drink, but tried really hard to throw people off the scent.

I have funny birth stories (my opinion at least), but I'll save those, because once again, I've strayed FARRRR beyond my actual point here.  Fast forward 9 years to now.  We are a family unit.  My Husband, my 2 awesome boys and me.  I schedule play dates, but I do not schedule a ton.  And the kids we see most are my college friend/NYC roommate and her kids.  Why?  Because that is equally a play date for me.  I know, selfish.

Well at some point, I realized that most of the kids in our town are friends with the kids in their neighborhood.  But we live on an older cul de sac and there are not really that many kids their age on the street.  So I started thinking "maybe we should move to a development?"  About 2 days after I considered looking for a new house, my children found 3 children who lived like 2 yards away.  We had not met them before, but we have some decent land acreage, so I'll pretend it wasn't a shock that they had lived there for the last 3 years.  There was a girl 1 month older than my oldest son.  And there were 2 brothers, 6 and 5 that were perfect for my baby.  Voila!  Problem solved!!!  And their Mom, on day 1, did not even FLINCH when my nearly 5 year old at the time announced, as he brought in their drinking cup, that he had peed in it.  Lucky for me he told us her daughter had suggested it.  We threw the cup out and never spoke of it again.

It was all great.  Until last Thursday.  Last Thursday I did not have a banner day.  I pretty much wanted to come home and drink a glass (vat) of wine.  2 minutes after I arrive, the kids were in our yard.  I went from not wanting to watch my own kids, to watching 5 kids in 120 seconds flat.  I opened a Corona and considered behaving loudly irresponsible so that someone would retrieve the children.  But they are good kids, and my kids love them, so I shut it and let them play.  And we didn't eat until 7:30 as a result.

But then Monday?  Camp started for one of mine, but not the other.  So I now had two pick ups and karate night.  I FLEW home to get the do pak (aka - UNIFORM and likely spelled wrong, though I don't care karate masters of the blogiverse).  I fed the animals and was preparing to tear out of the house after peeing to my still running car when...KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!!  SERIOUSLY????  "They are not here.  I have to get them (in 4 seconds after I friggin' PEE).  No, no they cannot play tonight because they have to eat and then go to karate.  I promise.  I promise we will have you over."  I know she likes the boys, but she really just wants to go in the pool.

Tuesday rained and we got a reprieve.  I got a text from her Mom on Wednesday.  Her Mom is very nice - SOO nice.  It is a three screen text with disclaimers.  Basically her daughter said that I may have said they could come over to go in the pool.  No, karate night is Wednesday too (don't get me wrong, the karate schedule also bugs me).  Maybe Friday.

I could go on.  In reality, I now find myself making SURE to schedule myself and the kids for the weekend because I am getting irritated that kids are automatically at my house?  Why?  I DON'T KNOW!!!  THEY ARE GOOD KIDS!!!  I start opening the garage door when I am up the street hoping that I can sneak the car in and close the door before anyone sees it open.  Why?  Because my day today did not bring me joy and I do not want to watch 5 kids when I'm already miserable.  I want to BLOG and let my kids watch...something...on tv!  Somehow I made it in the door tonight without incident.

Today is Thursday.  I know they're coming tomorrow and I'm okay with that because I was the one who suggested Friday.  I bought 3 more sets of swim floaties because I don't think any of them are comfortable in the water in which they want so desperately to swim.  But I want to know what genetic code exists in people like my Sister in Law who are perfectly cool with entertaining and feeding a neighborhood.  I don't have that gene, and I feel evil for not having it.  Does it come easier when the kids get older and you don't feel like you have to watch every move?  Can someone please explain this to me?  I know you Jennifer Hunt ARE a good community/neighborhood Mom.  I know that YOU Julie Cohn ENJOY entertaining all of your son's class.  Were you always like that?  Did it take some kind of epiphany to bring you to this point?  Why am I so protective of my space and time?  And WHY, WHY did I get my finger stuck in a bottle of wine?  Seriously, how stupid is that?

Happy Birthday to Me...Not You...OK, Fine You

I am an only child. As such, my Parents did not have to constantly worry if everything is equal between their children. There was only me. I got all the attention, did not have to share toys with a sibling,and did not have to split the college funds with anyone. I have two boys and constantly try to make sure I am giving both of them the same attention and that they are both bankrupting me equally on their birthdays.

Tuesday my baby turned 5. I took the day off because I took the day off for his brother's birthday. Around the time I woke up I realized that the reason I took his brother's birthday off was to panic clean our house because we were having the party here. THIS party is at Mr. Chuck E Cheese's house, so why exactly did I take off. Technically I COULD spend the whole day with the 5 year old, but that wouldn't be fair since I didn't do that for the other one?! And TRUST ME, the 8yo would NEVER let me live it down. Plus, if the 5 year old didn't go to preschool, what the heck were we going to do with the 18 cupcakes that I squeezed out of that box of cake mix (Betty Crocker is a big fat liar - 24 cupcakes my ass). So, I sent him to school and promised myself I'd pick him up early.

 Now that I had figured that out, what was I going to do?  I should log on to work from home or I could...MASSAGE! I drove to a shopping center that had a massage place. I Walked in and asked the 23 year old Adonis behind the counter if there was room for me on the schedule.  During our debate as to whether or not the massage chick could take me for the 80 minute hot stone instead of the 50 minute hot stone, he finally said shyly, "well, would you be okay if I did your massage?" Quick pause, quick pause, casual response "oh, sure, that's fine, either way"...do not jump up and down, am I smiling too much?  In reality, I don't care either way as long as my back gets rubbed.  I've had massages from men and from women and from women who look like men.

So, I take off to run my errands (shop for pretty things I don't need) until it's time to return for my noon(er). I shop...I try on...do I look fat in this? A little, but will I look fat the second time I put these shorts on after they've stretched out? Not as much, okay. I'll probably have to donate them after I wash (shrink) them. When did I start wearing Grandma underwear?  Buy a thong - I'll wear it once and remember why I stopped wearing thongs.  A few unnecessary items later and one long stroll through DSW and it's time to head back.

The massage was good with the exception that hot stone turned into his person quest to rid me of the 2 enormous knots in my back.  I was neither embarrassed nor excited when he threaded the sheet in the crack of my ass like dental floss so that he could free my leg to massage it.  The next day my back felt like I was hit by a baseball bat, but it was worth it.  His name was Chris.  I'll pretend that it is short for "Christian" for those of you who know all 50 Shades of what I'm saying.  I know that it isn't - he was young and innocent looking enough to probably still be snuggling with a teddy bear at night.

I return to daycare to pick up the birthday boy.  I walk into his classroom to find him sound asleep along with all the other "Friendly Frogs."  They tell me that he just went down but they can get him.  "No no no" I say.  How long before they get up?  An hour you say?  "Let him sleep, I'll come back in an hour."  What should I do now...PEDICURE!  OK, I'm probably not kidding you, I had already been thinking pedi but maternal guilt made me drive to pick him up.  It was merely a sign from above that I was supposed to get the pedi.

It was a wonderful pedi.  And this woman was not trying to work knots out of my feet, so the massage part felt wonderful.  I would have preferred that she did not keep my big toe in direct contact with her right breast throughout the leg massage, but hey, I was getting a rub, so who cares.  I mean I preferred when Chris was half laying on me to stretch my muscles out and my hand was trapped by his chest, but I digress.

As soon as the polish was on, I bolted out the door to go get my baby.  I got him and then we both went for his big brother.  Then I announced my big surprise, "we're going to see the Avengers!"  I reminded the little one that this meant Hulk, Thor, Iron Man...  What I heard was "After that can we go to the children's museum?" from the 8yo and "Avengers is BORRRRRING" from the 5yo.  But it's raining, and the museum will be closing 5 minutes after we get there.  Hulk?  Iron Man?  Thor?  I throw a mommy tantrum and say FINE WE AREN'T GOING!  I am really only pissed b/c I don't have a plan D.  So I keep driving toward the theater thinking the little one will come around.  Um, no.

Lightning strikes and I suggest bowling.  Victory.  So we drive there, pay our $23 for friggin shoes and one game, oh yeah, and another $3 for socks for me since I was wearing sandals.  That would have been a good time for me to remember that I had just had a pedi that I did not let dry 40 minutes prior.  I did not.  After shrieking at them to stop running back and forth across the room screaming, and threatening them twice. we all got ready and headed to our alley.

After 6 frames and 37 requests for a snack by his Brother, the 5yo had to pee.  I finished bowling my frame and then he finished bowling his frame and I took him to the bathroom.  I think I went to get a new ball, but it gets blurry here.  I hear him calling for me.  I go back to the bathroom and look at him crying "I PEED IN MY PA-ANNNNTTTSSSS!!!"  I triaged the situation.  How wet.  You have to be kidding me wet.  SOAKED.  I mopped up the lake under him with toilet paper and then found a pond right in front of the toilet.  He was THAT close.  I took his pants and brought them to the car (as the bowling guy watched my rented bowling shoes walk out on my feet) where I found no other pants, but I did find zip up sweatshirt.  I went back and put it on him like a kilt.  I threw out his socks and we finished our game with only a few weird looks from a kid that wondered why my son was wearing a skirt.  Then I put the (wet) shoes back up on the desk and ran.

I removed his underwear in the car and we hit up TJMaxx for some underwear, shorts and socks.  He was sitting in the cart as instructed, but chose to do so with his knees up and his nuts hanging out.  I put my purse in front of him to block the view, bought our merchandise and changed him in the women's dressing room. From there we went to dinner at his favorite (adult) restaurant.  It was a friggin' Tuesday and they told me that there was a 10 - 15 wait.  I told her I was going to put a gun in my mouth.  She asked if that meant I wanted to be put on the list.  Since threatening to shoot myself had not moved us up on the priority list, I gave her my name.

In the end, dinner was delicious and we left happy even though I failed in my attempt to buy a few bottles of Greg Norman Chardonnay (which my local wine store has stopped selling) off their wine wall.  All in all, his birthday was fan-freakin-tastic.  Well, you know, until I had to pick him up.  Tomorrow we will celebrate again - this time with Chuck the Giant Rat.  I wonder if I can put Dad in charge and go grab myself a massage.

Making "Doodoo"

My 4 year old is a pretty smart kid, but he still has some language challenges.  For example, our trip was to "Firginia" and he would ask everytime we walked a block from the hotel if we were still in Firginia.  And, my favorite of all his terms, the Star Whores.  My husband finally couldn't take it anymore one day and kept trying to get him to correct it..."Star WARS...its Star WARS...can you say WARS?  Not Whores, WARS!"  To his dismay, I was in the same room saying "I do NOT know what Daddy is talking about baby, YOU are right, it's Star Whores!"  Then the 4 year old and I danced around the room for 20 minutes singing Star Whores while he yelled Wars in the background.  Mommy 1, Daddy 0.  Well, yesterday, the 4 year old explained to me that for his special day hanging out with Mom, he would like to make doo-doo.  Yeah, that will be a great fun day while you're brother and dad are at the baseball game.  We'll make doo doo??  Then he explained, you know, where you eat the food with the forks and you put it in the bowl?  Ohhhhhhh, FONDUE!!  Fondue has been a family New Year's Eve tradition for about 4 years now - ever since my Husband realized that we had never used the fondue pot wedding gift that I was adamant we register for.  In the last couple of years, the kids have really begun to love the best dinner of the year.

So for his fun day with Mom, he wanted to go get the ingredients for fondue.  I tried talking him into something a little more fun - like "do you want to go visit a camp that your brother is going to and that you could go to for a week?"  "Ummm, no.  Let's go get ingredients for doodoo.  I want doodoo for lunch and dinner."  So off we went to the grocery store.  Unlike the Star Whores that I encourage, I did not want him running around telling people he ate doo doo for dinner.  So I did coach him and it is now known as Fun-due with an occassional extra doo at the end. 

Since his brother was not there, that meant there was room for him and him alone in the grocery cart with the car in front.  You know that grocery cart moms!  Its the one that weighs 50 pounds more, has wheels that occassionally work and that you sometimes have to actually lean your full body weight on in order to get it rolling around a corner.  And when you do get it rolling around the corner, you will run it into the shelf and find it nearly impossible to remove from the shelf without physically lifting the cart away from the side.  He sat in the car for all 5 minutes before jumping out.  When he is on foot, my grocery cart fills up with random items when I am not looking.  It is sometimes a fun surprise to see what I am buying when I am at the checkout.  So, while it was not optimal, I was not completely opposed to his climbing atop the car and riding the rest of the trip there.  Besides, it gave him a better view of his friends, the lobsters.  I parked him there while I got the salmon and shrimp for our fundoodoo.  Its like the fish tanks at Wal-Mart.  The kids stare at the pretty fish while I stand there feeling bad for them and their miserable short lives.  I feel worst for the Beta fish in their 1/2 inch of water, and of course the lobsters that are about to be someone's dinner.  So now that you can see I'm a creature lover, let me tell you about all the creatures that we eat at a fondue!  Christy @ Insanity is not an Option, this is time for you to turn the channel.

I know, the carnage sounds so wrong.  But when my husband started the tradition it was much worse.  He bought pork, 3 cuts of beef, shrimp, chicken and salmon.  That's a lot of dead things.  He handmade about 6 different dipping sauces.  And that was just the main course.  He also made the cheese course and the chocolate course.  Last night the cheese part of the fondue did not meet with the approval of either child and I think that is a good thing because I am not convinced that we managed to get it hot enough to "boil off" the alcohol.  It had 1/2 of a bottle of pinot grigio in it along with some Kirschwasser and it is the BEST fondue dip we have ever had!  The 2nd course consisted of 1 steak, 1 chicken breast, 1 pound of shrimp and 2 salmon filets.  But I saved a chicken - we used vegetable broth to cook it in.  I ended up boiling the leftover meat and fish in the broth for a fast leftover meal and we finished dinner off with some delicious fruit smothered in healthy milk chocolate and heavy cream.  I drank the remaining bottle of pinot grigio during dinner and fell quickly into a snoring food coma on the couch while my husband cleaned the explosion that was my kitchen and the kids watched a Jimmy Neutron movie where aliens threatened to eat the town children's parents.  Those aliens should have come to my house last night.  I would have made a great meal for a hungry alien and probably could have been boiled for a week's worth of leftovers.

BEST.  DOODOO.  EVER.

A Little Bite of Life: Five Bloggers to Follow...Now!

A Little Bite of Life: Five Bloggers to Follow...Now!: Well Ms. Jules, I cannot thank you enough for continuing to encourage me and say nice things even when I have been a bit slow to post.  I reward you with one that I was actually working on in my head for the last week.  It is now on e-paper.  Ah the places I will go - this time I went to the beach...with the hub and the kids...as you know, that means I had DAYS worth of material!  http://lizardunfiltered.blogspot.com/2012/04/lessons-from-family-vacation.html

Lessons from a Family Vacation

This year my husband dropped the concept of taking a long weekend/mini-vacation around my 8 year old's "spring break."  It was only 3 days off of school, but it was long enough that the 4 of us could get away and do something fun.  I immediately launched into weeks of research and selected Virginia Beach.  Because I don't want to drive all the way to NC for a long weekend and because I want ocean front and because we need an indoor pool in that climate in April and a town that has fun things to do and blah blah blah.  I took another 2 weeks choosing the hotel and 1 more week committing to it.  I was pumped!  I could not wait to go away with just me, the hub and the kids.  I packed 3 weeks before the trip and as I watched the weather unveil itself, I unpacked and repacked at least twice more.  In the end, we were ready for winter and summer - and surprisingly, we would need most of what I packed.  And, I think I gave the overbooked pet sitter about 5 days notice.  But we were ready to go.

And then we got there.  And I realized that we had never taken a vacation where it was just the four of us in 1 tiny little hotel room that looked bigger on line.  And I learned a lot about myself, my husband, and my surprisingly whiny loud ungrateful little barrels of sunshine whom I love more than anything on this earth. The top 10 highlights of what I learned...

# 10 - There is one road in Virginia that is death row for chickens. Within a few miles we passed both the Tyson plant and the Purdue plant.  We saw a truckload of unmoving white feathers enter Tyson on the way home, and the vegetarian life appeared quite appealing.

# 9 - When a man with a fishhook in his nose greets you at the front door of the haunted house that you just walked 10 blocks looking for, and explains that this haunted house is not recommended for children because it was intended to scare adults, your child will become indignant...for the next 1/2 hour minimum. The boy who told you to turn off Scooby Doo because it is too scary to watch before bed will regale you AT LENGTH about his overwhelmingly adult like bravery and inability to be scared EVER. This same child will beg you not to try to scare him when you are 5 blocks away at the kid friendly pirate ghost ride where you paid $27 for 4 people to ride 4 minutes through a building that has nothing even remotely scary or resemblant if a pirate ghost.  However, the "lady" who walked into the building before you in a skirt that covered approximately 1/2 her ass cheeks? She was frightening.

# 8 - Your parents still love you when you are in your 40s, but they are no longer all that interested in your plans and whereabouts. So, when you call them to tell them that you are safe after an internationally reported plane crash took place exactly 1.5 miles from you, one will say "Oh, your trip was this week?" and the other who knew you were going away will ask "When did you decide to go to Virginia Beach?"  That's okay, they have their own stuff going on and neither of them tells the other one what you told them.  Of course now that you told them you are safe, they will be worried about you.

# 7 - When a 4 year old is done walking, he will simply lay down on the sidewalk/street/boardwalk/sand/etc. If you determine that you cannot carry his 3 breakfast a day butt the next 15 blocks to the hotel, your best bet is to leave him there and pretend you don't care if he follows you.  By the time you are 1.5 blocks away, if he hasn't been kidnapped, he will get up and run after you making birdlike screeching sounds.  And when he catches up, looks you in the eye and squawks, he will walk another block and then sit down.

# 6 - This one is important, so listen up.  Always have a plan.  When it is 7:00pm and you are just starting to look for a restaurant for dinner, you will start making foolish choices.  For example, you will say "no" to a 20 minute wait at the Hilton's impeccable seaside restaurant.  And then you will think your husband is serious when he starts walking into a questionable looking restaurant sounding excited because it is a seafood smorgasbord (FYI I don't know how to spell that word and do not feel like looking it up).  Since he looks serious and you are starving, you willingly walk in and do not question the "limited" patronage.  You think to yourself that it looks dated but you keep going.  You are informed that the seafood buffet is $28.95  and that your 4 year old can eat free as long as an adult pays full price for a buffet and your 8 year old can have the buffet for 1/2 price.  You review the buffet with said 8 year old and he says YES, he wants it, because he wants tomatoes and cookies.  But nothing else.  No, not the fish or the meat.  "We're not paying $14.50 for you to eat tomatoes and cookies."  "OK, I'll get the 'steak.'"  I say 'steak' because after we FOOLISHLY all decided on the rubber buffet, I had some of the steak?  liver?  pancreas?  entrails?  Really no idea what it was.  I only know that it didn't taste like steak and now I am convinced that I've poisoned both my children with mystery meat.  Possibly worse, I poured "butter" over the 8 year old's corn on the cob.  After getting some cold clams and crabs legs which I dipped in the "butter", I realize that it doesn't taste like butter and it has a water-like consistency.  So either the waiters peed in a tray and called it butter, or they dump popcorn "butter" spray into a vat and put little cups next to it to trick you.  The cold shellfish and pee butter are still probably not the worst thing I've ingested.  I saw some sushi.  And I ate it.  We paid $100 for the worst meal I can remember in the history of my life.  I felt no guilt whatsoever stealing extra cookies (which sucked).  I also took a side of midnight stomach cramps and diarrhea to go.

# 5 - It is often worse to punish a 4 year old who is jumping from bed to bed screaming after being told to stop, then to just let him keep jumping.  Because if you thought your neighbors hated you before, imagine what they are thinking as they hear him screaming and sobbing in the time out by the bed.  They probably think worse of you when they overhear you telling that child that if they can't be quiet in time out, they will be spending the rest of the time out in the closet with the door shut.  For the record, he was quiet in the closet and I let him keep the door open.

# 4 - Sometimes it's tough to be the Easter Bunny.  We were away at Easter, so I had diligently packed an extra suitcase with gourmet chocolate bunnies and baskets and toys and gifts and age appropriate LEGO sets and a venus fly trap growing kit (because the 8 year old came home one day HAVING to have one) etc.  I had made sure that it would be a one for one equal exchange and that nobody would really be advantaged or disadvantaged.  I put the extra suitcase in the closet and I waited for sleep to claim them.  I was exhausted.  I kept falling asleep waiting for them to fall asleep.  At around 11pm the 8 year old gets out of bed, goes over to the chair and says "I can't sleep.  I miss Rocky.  And Annabelle."  Rocky, so you know, was a beta fish.  Rocky, rest his little blue soul, departed this earth when the 8 year old was maybe 4.  He barely noticed he was alive for 2 years, but still mourns his death to this day.  Annabelle was my Parents' dog.  He saw her probably 10 times in his life.  And it was sad when she passed away last year, but this was the 1st time that he has even mentioned her other than the days following her death.  The Easter Bunny stayed awake a while longer.  And finally, she put together and hid everything in the dark sleeping room.  The next morning everything was good.  Except the 8 year old wanted to open the 4 year old's toys and not his own.  Well, YOU KNOW, I know I WANTED the venus fly trap, but it isn't really a TOYYYYY.  And he really preferred his brother's LEGO set to his own.  And his BROTHER'S kite was the yellow one even though that was HIS favorite color.  So yes, he had clearly been cheated.

# 3 - Children can go all Janet Jackson on your ass.  What have you done for me lately??  The final day (1/2 day) of the trip I decided that we would squeeze every last fun thing possible into it before we had to leave for home.  Before noon my kids had gone breakfast barring, swimming, hot tubbing, kite flying, beach playing, mini golfing, and ice cream eating.  We left at 12:02pm.  Upon arrival at home 4-1/2 hours later, I was told that the 8 year olded needed another vacation day because "I didn't get to do ANYTHING fun today because I was in the car!!!!"

# 2 - After approximately the 6th time that your 4 year old tells you that he is going to leave your family, you will open the door for him and wish him good luck.  You will approach strangers in gift shops and ask them if they are interested in adoption.  You will consider your options of leaving him and his brother buried up to their necks in sand while you and your husband go have some alone time.  If you do, you will want to make sure to either take extra birth control pills or triple up on the condoms.  We, however, did not do that, but instead  took pictures of the kids and then unburied them from the sand which caused rashes on both of them which SHOCKINGLY neither of them complained about.

# 1 - People who don't know me, might actually think that I am abandoning my loving children when I throw my hands up in the air at the local Blimpie's and scream "FINE!  G'BYE!!!!" at them before leaving them in the restaurant.  The woman who stared at me with her mouth agape as I walked away from them had not closed her mouth yet as I peered (while still walking) into the restaurant to see if anyone was following me.  The poor woman who was considering her 911 options did not realize immediately that my husband was, in fact, still in there, and likely to gather them up and bring them with us.  She may not have taken that much comfort in it as she watched the three of them leave the restaurant with two bawling children, but she did not call Child Protective Services...as far as I know.  What she was unaware of is that this was day 3 of unending whining.  That we had gotten a late start out for lunch and that after walking most of the morning, they were not happy to be walking around aimlessly in search of a restaurant.  That not having a plan was making their (unbeknownst to me) PMS-ing Mother a little crazy.  That when we finally decided on a FRIGGIN' BLIMPIE's for lunch, I realized there was one thing on the menu that those children would eat, and when I asked if they wanted that, they said no.  That when I begged the 8 year old to look at the menu himself and tell me what he wanted, he pretended to be blind.  She would have taken comfort in the knowledge that they were not beaten upon arrival back at our hotel.  However, they were forced to nap without lunch.  I'm sure this is a tragedy to some, but considering the 4 year old ate 3 breakfasts at the buffet every morning, we knew he would live.  And they did.  And they had the BEST BEHAVED dinner of the whole week that night.  Both of them polite and grateful.

 So, you are thinking that I have just whined for as long as my children did.  And you are correct.  But I would do it again in a heartbeat.  As long as we get a suite.  And have a plan.  Maybe a babysitter.  Much more wine.  Ear plugs...

The Salon: the Highlights

Hello again old friends. Its me, the salty and lizardy one. I have exactly as much time to make you laugh right now as it takes for my brown and gray hair to become blonde. I don't now what the heck I am thinking here because I have years of photo evidence that suggests I make a better brunette. I am not even tan (which goes better with blonde) and while my dermatologist would think that's wonderful, I think its depressing. I do not make winter white look good - and besides, dark colors make you look thinner!

Anyway, my hair stylist is probably at a bar waiting for my color to develop, because I put her through the ringer trying to help me make up my mind on what the H I was going to have her do with my hair. "do you think it will look good blonde? Can you use two shades of blonde? Why are you showing me that picture? That is brown. Ohhh, look at that model on this page. Can you do THAT?". Um yeah, if I had long curly hair, a bod that made a rock star salivate and cheekbones then maybe she could. I also told her not to take offense later when I start crying in realization that it was all a huge mistake. She smiled that "no, you aren't crazy" smile at me and went back to her 5th round of discussing the processing options which I didn't really care about. Then we picked the target picture and she went to mix dyes. At this point I saw a really cool picture of Charlize Theron, but she said, "yeah, let's just stick with this."

It wasn't always this hard. I used to make a good blonde. From my 8th grade Sun In beginnings through college and until I was about 26 when the great Jose Eber (think Liz Taylor and Farrah Fawcett's hair...during their heyday, not now) asked me if my half pink half white hair (an experiment in red which went badly wrong and which I tried to fix by dying it blonde immediately - twice) was my natural color. Jose made his people make me brunette and I didn't look back.

During my Sun In years I got it so light that my friend Greg would pull it out in math class, put it on a piece of paper and say "look, it's white!" My Mother bemoaned my dying my hair at such a young age until I stumped her by reminding her that SHE was the one dying HER hair whereas I was only stripping it of all its natural colors. My half logic somehow won that battle and I have not seen my natural haircolor since. I dyed my own hair through the years with few tragedies. One was the aforementioned pink and white stripes. And one was my highlighting error which resulted in my bangs crumbling off my head and into a sink while I was in Daytona on a business trip. I finally realized that I could no longer maintain it well myself after giving myself some rocking highlights and then realizing that I could not figure out how to cover those roots on the streaks as they grew in.

So now I pay a ridiculous amount to have it done for me. But that poor woman (if you can call this gorgeous, fun, size 0 - 2 woman 'poor') has to work for it. She has to listen to every crazy story I tell and laugh as though they are all funny, and she has to translate my hair need gibberish into something actionable. Today she didn't need to touch my head and she had already earned her money. "hi, I'm running a little late, do you want to have the masseuse give you a quick massage?" My eyes and enormous mouth screamed "OH MY GOD YES!". It was like she gave me a bag of gold.

Oh, sorry, back to the hair. I was waiting for my new beautiful shiny blonde model locks. I was getting all psyched up for the something new and different. What will they say at work? She took off the towel and I turned the iPhone camera on myself to get a look. Yup, I saw a lot of very blonde pieces and some that were less golden - we were blending. But gradually, as she cut and dried and styled my hair, I realized that it was a delightful shade of...brown. WTF? Apparently this was no shock for her, she had tried to keep my hair from getting over processed, and felt a gradual lightening was best. But I had made it pretty friggin' clear that I did not want brown. The cut was decent. I looked decent with the exception of the fact that my makeup was applied 13 hours ago and I was pretty sure that the new color made my eyes melt into my pasty face. "It's brown" I said while smiling. "I mean, it looks nice, don't get me wrong, but it...it is brown. I mean I like it. But it is...not blonde, because it's brown...". She offered me the opportunity to come back in two weeks for her to put in more highlights. WTF. 2 weeks? Am I going to need to take out a second mortgage to be blonde? I suggested that maybe I could put in a little Sun In...do they still make that? You could sense her fear. "you can come back in a couple days. You can't just jump from brown to blonde. You need to do it in stages...". It was like a hostage situation. I was threatening to hold a bottle of store bought dye to my own head. She was negotiating to save my follicles. She refused to let me be a suicide blonde. I would not dye by my own hand.

In the end, I told her it was nice. I paid my $$$ money, and I left. It is unlikely that I will find time to go back in two weeks. But I will see her again in 8 when it's time to hide the gray. In reality, the salon isn't all about the hair. It's about having 2 hours of someone pampering you and laughing at your stupid stories and looking at your cell pjone pictures and telling you that your hair is not falling out. It's about having someone surprise you with a 15 minute massage without bitching the whole time, even if you have to pay for it.

I am back in my home, and my reality. And as I rushed my not fully awake from a nightmare hysterical 4 year old into the bathroom after noticing that he had pulled his Jammie's down and was about to pee on my bed thinking it was the toilet, I caught a flash in the mirror. Look at that, a hint of blonde.

Feedback, the good the bad and the ugly

Feedback. How do you define that word? I have become mentally conditioned to expect all feedback to be bad. Some people call it constructive criticism. I define constructive criticism as character assassination. It is a phrase that someone can use as a "get out of jail free card" to insult you and tell you what they think sucks about you. And because they said "constructive", you are expected to smile and say "THANK YOU (sir, may I have another?)" So, you may get the feeling that I do not take feedback well. You are CORRECT! Good for you. I always knew you were smart!

In this age of self awareness, I am completely aware that I take feedback poorly. You might be telling me something that could legitimately help, but what I hear is some combination of "you're fat ugly dumb lazy worthless unlikeable and wrong.". Now what the heck kind of f'd up childhood did I have to make this happen? I had a great childhood with great Parents who loved me very much. I was a fat kid though. And one who I would not describe as very pretty. That fed a lot into my need for positive reinforcement, for fitting in, for being liked. I absolutely needed reassurance throughout my life that I was pretty enough, fun enough, accepted. And in many ways, I still need that. When I receive negative feedback, I take it personally and I shut down.

But you know what? If you say something nice? I thrive and I try even harder to be deserving of that compliment. Don't get me wrong, the praise needs to be genuine. I can smell bullshit a mile away (unless it is my own kids spinning the tale). For me, much of the pat on the back makes the work worthwhile and it will determine the effort level for the next challenge.

I am not someone who can look myself in the eye in the mirror and say "I'm good enough, I'm strong enough and doggone it, People like me." I rely on others to do that for me. Although on occassion, I will admit to announcing to my husband "oh by the way I look very nice tonight." He thinks its okay if he notices this at some point before he is snoring. I think if he doesn't say it in the first 10 minutes, then he isn't feeling it.

And I don't make it all that easy on you. I want to fit in, but stand out. I am quirky and I like being unique. I am an attention whore. I have no problem making a fool out of myself in the middle of a crowded room if I think it will get a laugh. It is harder for me to get up in front of a room and lead a discussion, but I can pull that off without looking as nervous as I am. And at the end? I'm looking at every face to see if eyes are rolling or if people are smiling.

I've rambled long enough without seeming to have a point. Why am I writing this now? Because today I got a compliment that I endured 3 years of torturous feedback waiting for. I had heard so much about what was wrong with me that I shut down. It was as if this feedback-giver gained energy from bringing me down. And while the source of the kudos is not the same as the source of the feedback, it was one of the most satisfying professional moments in years. And it makes me want to do even better. So I end tonight on a good note, feeling reassured that I am smart enough, good enough, and that doggone it, people like me.

Spontaneous Plan Combustion

I used to pride myself on my spontanaeity. I was proud to be one who was willing to pick up and go at a moment's notice. Hell, I was the one who fielded a random phone call from Alpha Chi Rho one weeknight and said "yeah you should bring a keg and c'mon over!". Sadly that led to me having to stand on a bench to look a future NFL'er in the eye and tell him that I had learned just moments ago that my sorority house had some ridiculous rules about NOT being able to host a party and blah blah blah.

As my life evolved, pets, jobs and babies led to a depressing decrease in my spontanaeity. Sometime around the day after my engagement I became a planner. Hard core in that if I planned something and it didn't go my way, I would become a little crazy. I don't think I was a Bridezilla, though I guess my bridesmaids are the one to ask about that. I do recall a very silent New Year's Eve dinner with my fiancé. After I listed the 35 things that I had set up for the wedding, he asked one question. What crosswalk were he and his groomsmen going to reenact the Beatles' Abbey Road album cover for pictures? I had not worked it out yet but had told him that I thought there was a crosswalk at one of the places that we were getting photographs. He said something along the line of "well then I guess you haven't done that much after all.". I would expect that some of you ladies reading this can appreciate the blinding rage that I felt that moment. Anyway, I liked planning, because I generally liked the reward for good planning. "Best wedding next to my own." That made me feel like it was all worthwhile. And it made me want to plan more. I have a 19 page wedding spreadsheet which takes you from comparative pricing all the way through spa appointments and photo ordering. I offered my services up to friends who don't love planning events, but unfortunately most of my finds like to plan their own wedding...selfish :-)

This week I planned my oldest son's 8th birthday party. I took off the day of his birthday and the day after so I could get the house ready for the weekend. I planned out nearly every second of the next 3 days. The day of his birthday worked out mostly as planned. Take him to school along with school allowed "healthy" muffins. If chocolate chips and chocolate glaze are healthy, then so be it. I then did the grocery shopping in a virtually empty grocery store - ahhh paradise. I finished his family birthday cake and then started in on finishing my boy's video montage of his life in pictures. New software to me, so that threw my cleaning plan out the door as it sucked every second of the day until it was time to pick him up. My PLAN on getting him was for him to go to a rare Thursday karate class. But alas, my boy announced he did not want to go...he wanted to go to the park. You know what? The plan was out the window. I picked up his brother and we went to the park. The fact that Mommy, who is opposed to temperatures below 75, was taking them to their favorite park instead of Daddy had them in awe! It should have! It was 56 degrees in February, and that must have altered my brainwaves, because I was up for it. And I found when I got up and played around with them, I was warmer. We ended up discovering trails that I didn't even know existed. We had a BALL! A spontaneously unplanned ball!

Next change of plan was a restaurant change for dinner, but I recovered quickly and enjoyed it. At home he was elated by his presents and thought his cake was cool even if he didn't taste it because he was too full from dinner.

The next day was supposed to be 100% cleaning and set up for the party. But I went off plan pretty early. First, in response to my 4 year old's reaction to the 8 year old's video montage the night before(near tears, why aren't there pictures of meeeeeee?), I had a new montage to make. It only took 2 hours now that I "got" the software. And then? TJMaxx. Why? Because I had two gift cards and I wanted to!! And after that straight home, right? NO!!! Sushi for 1 please. Yummm. After that I was left with two hours of panic cleaning and set up before retrieving the boys, going to Wal-Mart for more folding chairs, and then to karate. After we got back, I spent the next FIVE hours sorting through every toy in the house and trying to both organize and purge all at the same time (without being caught doing the toy purging part). By bedtime I was exhausted, but it looked as good as it was going to.

The next morning I was Momzilla. "DO NOT PLAY WITH ANY MORE TOYS UNTIL YOUR PARTY IS OVER!!!!! NOW PUT THOSE ALL AWAY. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG I CLEANED THIS ROOM!!!!!!". "NO, YOUR JEANS, NOT SWEATPANTS. YOU ARE NOT WEARING SWEATS TO YOUR PARTY!!" Yeah, I was not pleasant. By the time I picked up the cake a realized that they did it wrong, I was crying in my car and trying to figure out how to make it up to him while wondering if our Scheduled Mad Scientist was still going to be able to set off a rocket in our backyard with 50mph gusts of wind. Should I buy a piñata to make up for that if they can't?? Was the Scientist even coming? WHY HADN'T THEY CALLED TO CHECK IN?? I DID NOT KNOW HOW TO ENTERTAIN TWELVE 4 - 11 YEAR OLDS!! I HAD NOT PLANNED FOR THAT!!! The party started at noon and my plan was to feed them immediately. I planned for people being there a little late, so no worries there. I had NOT planned for my son to take 4 of his friends outside to play and start a good old February baseball game when he had guests still arriving and when I planned to feed them! But maybe the best part of the day came when I went outside to call them in for lunch. I watched my Husband pitching to the five boys and I heard them laughing and smiling and running. Who cares what I planned. THIS was what it was about. They came in, they ate and sang and watched the science show while driving the scientist a bit crazy. They laughed and yelled and my son launched a rocket in almost sideways wind. Their Parents got to watch too since he party ran about 40 minutes over plan. I couldn't have planned a better day.

In the end, I hope I look back at these 3 days and remember my lesson. Having a roadmap is important, but life just isn't as fun without the unplanned side trips. I have to go now, because my plan is to lay around and do nothing. The children are not on board with this plan yet, but I think I might override them. Final lesson learned? There is absolutely no reason to wear heels all day for an 8 year old's party, especially when it is in your own house. Ouch.

Bitch Slapped by Inspiration

OK, so I am very aware that I have neglected you recently. I apologize, but I will force my excuses upon you now... Strep, stomach flu, throat virus, other random virus, pneumonia...and 2 beautiful petri dishes I call my sons. During my abundant and constant, hypochondriac-like worry about them, I have not been inspired to write. Well today my kids reminded me STRONGLY that they are my constant inspiration.

Day 7 of pneumonia boy's "staycation." I'm working from home and trying to focus. He is feeling much better than yesterday when he was writhing in pain from some mystery leg pain that I thought was a clear sign of Prednisone poisoning but which may actually be tied to the virus that caused the pneumonia...or growing pains...eh, who knows, take your pick. He feels better than the day before that, when I ripped out his stomach lining by giving him all 4 gut eating meds simultaneously on a no longer full stomach. And, in general, he feels better, because he did not have the complexion of a vampire until around 7pm.

Let's go to the mall Mom. I'll bring a book.
No.
Please.
No.
Please??
No.
But...
No.
But pleaseeee?
No!!
WHY would You want to go to the mall?!?!
To get new clothes. And shoes. I am in the mood for new shoes.
You want new shoes? Show me you can tie a shoelace!
After 4 years of trying to get him to tie a shoelace, the kid did it in 5 minutes. Seriously?
So can we go to the mall? Just you and me?
No, I'm working.

Then it was time to pick up little bro. He came in with a vengeance. Within minutes a full fledged battle was waging and then the little one hit the big one with a curtain rod. Within 20 seconds of being in time out he starts crying about his throat. I look in horror thinking "noooooooo, not another illness!!!". No.

Mommy, a stick is stuck in my throatttttt!
You ATE a stick? In timeout?
Yes.
The stuff from the basket the (fake) tree is sitting in?
Yes. It won't go down!!
Drink some water (it was neither stick sized nor inflexible).
It's still there
Eat some bread. Did that work?
Yeah. Can I have more bread? Can I come out of time out?

Less than an hour later...
Pneumonia boy finds the blow torch like lighter and lights a candle on the table. Neat boy that he is, he wipes the soot from the bbq lighter on my 4 day old tablecloth. After dinner, where the little one wept openly at the thought of putting any piece of the tiny hill of mashed potatoes in his mouth, I told him he could blow out the candle. Just seconds later...

What the...did you PUT HOT WAX ON YOUR FACE???
No?
(long pause as he picks at a spot near his mouth)
Mommy, will you help me get the wax off my face?
It was relatively easy up until I had to get the glob off his eyelash, but he took it like a man.

Apparently the man decided that he deserved a drink.
I looked over a few minutes later upon hearing him cry and seeing him start ripping off his shirt (international symbol for I spilled something on myself and hate being wet).
oh, did you get yourself some juice? (please tell me it wasn't the one from the pantry hat I saw him eyeing earlier...it is)
Mmm-hmm
How's it taste?
Good
Oh, 'cause it expired in March of last year.

Cut to bedtime. After vehemently warning the little one that he better not stick his hand in the toilet and swish it around before brushing his teeth like last night, they began their bedtime routine.

The little one climbs in and out of bed as the oldest pulls a new (and by far my favorite) stalling tactic. He climbs on the chair behind me and begins rubbing my neglected back.

Does that feel good Mom?
Very.
So you still want me to go to bed?
Um, sort of, not as much.
SORT OF???

4 year old jumps back in bed to count.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 freakin' a hundred!

Conversation with back rubbing but totally innocent nearly 8 year old begins to sound disturbing...

Mom, you should take off your shirt, it would be easier.
(he means the 30 ply sweater that I am wearing over another shirt)
Do you like this mommy? You can moan if you like it so I know it feels good.
(Ewwwwwwwwwww!!!! Dearest God, please don't let anyone hear him say that and please don't ever let him remember he said that to his Mother when he is older and knows better).
No, I am not going to moan. Thank you for the back rub. Go to bed.
Really??? You want me to stop???
No, not really, can you scratch now?

So these are the gifts that my babies gave me today to remind me that they are (the meaning in my life. They're) my inspiration! How could I ever think I didn't have something to say? I have at least 1 2 3 freakin' a thousand things to say.

Whaddya Mean You Don't Want Mommy to Make Your Cake?!

I was reading my friend Jules' blog (A Little Bite of Life) and she was talking about the fact that her gourmet cooking has really spoiled her family and now she can't make normal food without complaints. Well I don't have that problem as I am often greeted with "I don't like that" when my 4 yo and sometimes 7 yo catch first sight of their dinner. Ironically half the time it is something they actually do like. Anyway, my point is that in general I make decent but not gourmet food.

That said, I spoil the heck out of them when it comes to their birthday cakes. This is a handed down tradition from my Mom who always custom made my birthday cakes. We aren't talking about your average cake either. She made a Barbie cake that stood up, a pair of Levi's cake, a guitar cake and even a Corvette cake!  For her it wasn't just for birthdays either.  She spent hours one Easter on a lamb cake.  As fate would have it, the lambs head was not interested in staying on the rest of the cake.  She tried endlessly to use icing and toothpicks to keep it on.  I will never forget that day when she said "Elizabeth?  Go out to the garage with your father!"  I questioned it and was told to Go.  I looked in the window on my way outside and watched my mother smash the living shit out of that cake.  That sure silenced the lamb!  I do not believe she ever made a lamb or Easter cake again.

I may have taken those for granted back then, but as a Mom, I can now appreciate the love behind each and every perfectly made frosting flower.  And I decided to make it a tradition for my kids as well.  I am not as interested in doing it the "right way" with all the special techniques and the icing that works best.  I like my shortcuts when it comes to using frosting from the can even if it doesn't quite work as well for decorating.  But I've done okay.  Over the years I have made a real looking stand up fish bowl with fish and everything, two ginormous castles that took 5 boxes of mix, Super Mario World-my first experience with fondant, Spongebob, Megamind, Cookie Monster and the Super Hero Squad Helicarrier. My kids either loved them or lied very well.

This is not to say that these cakes all came about smoothly.  The first castle cake I did was for my nearly 8 year old when he was turning 3.  I was pregnant with his baby brother and it took me something like 5 hours of on my feet time to complete.  It was by far the best one I ever did though.  2 or 3 years later he asked for that same cake again.  By now his little bro was diagnosed with an allergy to eggs.  So the castle was made with applesauce and mashed bananas as a substitute for eggs.  And let me tell you, they do not have the holding together power that cakes with eggs have.  I had to travel 30 minutes with that cake on my lap just hoping it wouldn't collapse before we got to his party.  It was held together in spots by icing.  But I beamed when other Mom's hosting parties at the bowling alley came over to check out this monstrosity.  And then there was Super Mario.  I have to say, I kicked some butt on that cake and had figures out of fondant that really looked like Mario and Yoshi and the mushroom bad guys.  I was elated.  I put it in the cardboard box to protect it and went to bed.  The next day I heard my Husband yelling at the little one.  I was like "WHAT would make him yell so much?"  pause...pause..."OH MY GOD THE CAKE!!!!"  I ran downstairs only to see the 3 year old's claw mark down the front of the cake which ripped off Mario's legs and eye.  I ran back upstairs to cry by myself.  My oldest came up to me that morning as I was weeping and said "Mom, LOOK at me.  We love it even if its ruined because you made it!"  That pretty much cemented the value of making them cakes, and it made me cry different tears.  Good thing too because later that day we drove 5 hours to a campsite where we were meeting up with our family for the birthday.  In that 5 hours, the back 1/4 of the cake pretty much dropped off the end like an avalanche.

So this year I asked my 7 yo what he wanted. And he told me he wanted his picture on the cake like his cousin had. He made it VERY clear that I was not supposed to try to do this myself with icing. I could pretend I'm not devastated, but I am. I mean he doesn't get the fact that I can't make that.  I could let it be the death of my tradition, but I won't. This year the kid will get two cakes because I'm stubborn and belligerent and I take great satisfaction out of spending hours on end swearing at inanimate baked goods that are not respecting my culinary authority by looking like what is in my head.  One cake will serve the immediate family on his actual birthday and the one he wants will be served to a couple of friends that are coming over that weekend. At least its my artwork he is asking for.  He wants the picture from the invitation I made to be on the cake...the one where I superimposed his head onto some other kid in a labcoat's body.  Hey, its something.

This is the eggless Super Mario disaster with caved in back side, claw marks, and one candle placed very intentionally in Mario's missing eye socket.

Epilogue...please tell me that the 4 year old did not just see the castle cake on this blog post and tell me he wants it for his birthday...eh, what the heck.  3rd time's a charm.

Potty Mouths Who Raise Babies, an Autobiography

Young readers, specifically those related to me, please stop here, turn around, and go find a nice blog about how to get into prestigious colleges on a full scholarship, learn how to make high grossing movies and take your Aunt/Mother (ME) to the Hollywood award shows.  Thank you.

I've tried to shelter all of you from it, but I have a potty mouth.  I swear like a sailor and I like it.  I don't like offending people with language, I just like the added boost of expression and emphasis that it provides.  For example:  "Move your car!"  does not nearly have nearly the impact that "Move your f'ing car you douchebag!" has.  Swearing is abundantly prevalent in society today.  I mean just consider the term MILF!  Let's face it, these are not Mom's I'd Like to Make Sweet Love Too.  Because if they were?  They'd be MILMSLTs, and that just doesn't make any sense.

I recall a great example of well used profanity when I was receiving a review from a manager about 17 years ago (that hurt to say).  My boss, who is like a second Father to me now, said "Liz, at times, needs to tailor her thoughts before expressing them."  I looked at him and smiled.  I responded..."So, what you saying, is that   PERHAPS (insert pompous uptight co-worker's name here) doesn't need to get F***ED so much as she needs to get LAID???"  He smiled and nodded his head at me.  Since this was the only negative thing he had to say and because he was right, I accepted that feedback happily.  At the same time I know my language was one of the things that endeared me to him and the rest of the guys in my department.  This was evident from the first meeting that I had with that group of gentlemen.  Something that was said in innocence CLEARLY set any one of them up for a dirty joke, but they all looked at me and then down at the table with smirks, their words unspoken.  I looked at all of them with a laugh and told them not to worry because they did not have to watch their f'ing mouths around me.  The relief in the room was palpable and I was one of the boys.

Fast forward several years and here I am, a MOM.  And my Mom never swore.  NEVER!  Until I was an adult and I learned that she actually had a somewhat filthy little mouth herself.  I tried very hard to keep the F word out of my vocabulary around the baby.  But somehow, repressing that word seemed to make others come out more frequently.  Dammit worked its way heavily into my vocabulary for some reason - but it wasn't as easy to use dammit as an adjective, so I developed an affinity for friggin' too.  Because no one can bitch if I say friggin'.

One day my beautiful 3 year old was playing and all of a sudden I hear him say DAMMIT.  What?  "WHAT did you just say???"  Little voice "Dammit, Mommy!"  "Why did you say that??"  "'Cause I hurt my hand."  Well, SHIT.  Now I was in a pickle.  I would have been okay if he had just said it out of the blue.  But he hadn't.  He used it appropriately in a sentence.  In hopes that my Husband would never hear of this, I tried bargaining with my 3 year old.  "Look, I won't say that anymore if you don't say that anymore, okay?"  "OK Mommy."  Later that day my Husband walks in looking at me in disgust.  "What?!"  "Do you know what our son just said?"  Friggin' of course I did, so I said "no, what?"  "He just said dammit!"  "Did he use it properly in a sentence?" "YES, he DID!"  "Oh, well then you better start watching your language around him!" I said with a grin.  He wasn't fooled.  We both knew it was me, all me.  I thought we were out of the woods until I was in the car later that year with my son and his baby brother.  We were second in line at a stoplight and the light changed to green.  A nanosecond after the light change I hear "MOVE YOUR F????ING CAR" emanating from the cute little boy in the cow patterned car seat behind me.  He is not yelling at me, but the guy in front of me.  Lucky for him because I would have kicked his a$$.  (Not really, but it sounded good).  I inquired pretty vehemently, "WHAT DID YOU SAY?"  He had said move your friggin' car.  Now some of you may have been appalled by this too, but I was relieved and pretty much okay with it.

His little brother is 4 now and went through a mini Dammit stage, but I think this was more for getting a rise out of us.  Other than that, he has kept his mouth pretty clean.  Because "Whores" isn't technically swearing, and he only says it after he says the word "Star."  I'm usually laughing too hard and too busy posting it as my status to actually correct him.  I mean if he said it after he said "Crack" or "I'm going to see some" or "Mom, you and your friends are" then maybe I would be a little disturbed.

I'm trying to be a better person around them.  Sometimes its hard, like when they stand on my hand in their sneakers or headbutt me by accident in the cheek or jump off the chair onto my back when I'm not paying attention.  Actually, its those times that make me think they are going to grow up thinking that "MOTHERffffffff" is a curse word (the f in this case makes the sound of a deflating tire, and my face resembles a giant tomato monster shaking its head).  But hey, progress is progress.

So have I taught you anything today?  I did not think so.  So what the hell are you still here for?  Go update your f'n Face Book account or something.