Preteens, Toddlers, and Newborns, Oh My!

Trouble Brewing

2009-11-16T18:41:00.000-08:00

We've entered the high school years. It's been a baptism by fire for my poor husband, who sees lecherous boys lurking in every hallway, drugs and alcohol at every party, disaster whenever she is unsupervised. The world is a perilous place for the father of a teenage daughter.

One might believe we have a deceptive, troubled girl on our hands, an after-school special in the making. Nothing could be further from the truth. She is kind and intelligent, innocent and to be frank, a lousy liar. MC will be the first to tell you that he trusts her to make wise decisions. But that heart of darkness known as high school crouches, ready to devour his sweet girl and he is constantly vigilant. (CONSTANT VIGILANCE!!!)

Saturday night, DQ's play wrapped and she attended a party at a cast member's house. I've met these kids briefly, don't know their parents, but was reasonably confident that they were solid kids from solid families. The party was going to be chaperoned. There were no couples, just cast and crew. I was at ease, knowing she had a charged cell phone and would call at the slightest hint of hinky.

My husband? Not so much. He asked three times if there was going to be alcohol. He was very unhappy about the presence of not just boys, but junior and senior boys. And the fact that I neglected to get a phone number for the house she was at? Bad mothering on my part. (He has a very valid point.) About 9 o'clock, he tried to call her, but she didn't answer the phone. I had to physically restrain him from going to fetch her. He muttered darkly about booze, boys and drugs.

And this illustrates the differences in our teen years. I lost my virginity to the man I (unfortunately) married, drank my first sip of beer at 19 (then promptly spit it out), and have never in my life ingested an illegal substance. Not because I am virtuous, mind you. I've simply never been given the opportunity. He was a delinquent. Not really. He was a good kid and engaged in the normal teenage bad behavior. But these experiences have shaped his view and he is far less convinced that our eldest will be allowed to stick to a relatively straight path.

So it's going to be an interesting three and a half years. In 8 days, DQ will be 15 and then the real trouble begins. Learning to drive. Then the license and her passport to freedom. And the bigger D, Dating. Lord, help my husband and the unlucky young man who will be DQ's first date. I have a feeling I will be accompanying him on a drive-by or two, maybe even catching a movie that night, sitting a few rows behind the young couple and spying on our daughter. Would it be wrong to slip him a lorazapam that evening?

Enough!

2009-11-15T10:20:00.000-08:00

I'm cleaning house around here. I've been ignoring my body, ignoring my mental health and ignoring my need to do more than mother. No more. And I have Facebook to thank.

It all started with the realization that the virtual living I do via Facebook games has taken away my actual life. I started Farmtown and quit gardening. I started Cafe World and quit cooking. I started Mafia Wars and quit...well, everything else. I was getting a virtual fix on activities I love, without any of the payoff these activities generally provide. And why on earth would I spend the time and not get the benefits?

So I removed those applications from my profile. Step one.

Then I sat down with an eating/exercise plan that has worked wonders for my mom. I have a shopping list ready to go and a schedule worked out. I've given up diet soda. And candy. And fast food. Step two.

Now it's time to reboot my housekeeping efforts, not for my family, but for me. I thrive in a neat home. It affects everything for me. And damn it all, I deserve it. But the family is helping. They just don't know it yet. Mwahahahahahaha. Step three.

I'm trying to dress a little better, jeans and a sweater, rather than sweatpants and a t-shirt. Boots, instead of sneakers. Earrings and mascara, maybe even a little lipstick, if I'm feeling frisky. This is a good time of year for it, since sweaters do more for me than summer tops. The girls look pretty dang good in a slim fitting v neck. And if I'm showing a little cleavage? So what?Moms have boobs. It's part of the job description. Step four.

I'm writing again. Three nights a week, I have four hours dedicated to writing and so help me, Hannah, I'm going to finish a book if it harelips the governor. Headphones? Check. Computer? Check. Dirty mind? Double check. Step five.

So cheer me on as I try to give myself a better life. It's a lot to undertake all at once, but I've decided I'm going to falter here and there. That's going to be okay and I'm going to deal with it. What I'm not going to do is give up.

What's going on with you?

Have You Met My Alter-Ego?

2009-11-10T20:27:00.001-08:00

I like to pretend that I am a pretty zen, roll-with-it sort of girl. For the most part, I bring this off. BUT. There is a part of me, a bitchy, snotty, rage-aholic that I keep gagged and bound, locked in a steel cage. It's the part that got me in trouble with Mr. Clairol's buddies and the part that flipped the (figurative) bird to the our old preschool. I swear I should be giving classes on how to offend and alienate people. My talent for it is extraordinary. It would be fine, if I were one of those people that thrives on conflict, but I hate it. That's why Princess Bitch-Pants is under tighter security than Charlie Manson. But she slipped off the leash again.

Tonight, the mother of a friend of DQ called. I like this woman, A, and I adore her daughter, B. But I've always felt A is perhaps too involved in B's life and bristled a bit, when she ventured to make observations about DQ. Especially when they relate to DQ and her boyfriend, X. (Same boyfriend, but my conviction that he's gay is wavering. Scary feeling.)

Let me give you the back story. Go ahead, pop some popcorn, get comfy. I'll wait.

B's birthday is coming up and she's having a party. DQ can't go, because it conflicts with her play schedule. X was going, but DQ allegedly told him he couldn't. A was "concerned." Why was it that she couldn't trust him or her friends? Why wasn't X allowed to have his own life? Excellent questions, but she wanted to discuss, dissect and dismember this on the phone.

Excuse me, I haven't been in ninth grade for 23 years. I have no desire to revisit.

She tells me DQ storms off when the Science Olympiad posse (which includes, B, X and several other DQ peeps) begins discussing the events. DQ has told me all about this, how she and her other non-Science Olympiad friend make a joke about talking about nail polish and leave, since they have little to contribute to the conversation. I pointed this out and A asks, "And they wouldn't benefit from the conversation?"

Enter Her Majesty, Bitchy-Pants. Because really? You have time to critique the social habits of a teenager you barely know? I don't. I make dinner and ride herd on homework and stop two small children from killing themselves or each other. In other words, I got shit to do, lady. And FYI, I don't get off on other people tearing my child down.

"Excuse me? A, I am not going there. I will speak to DQ about this, but I find your involvement in this to be somewhat inappropriate. DQ, X and B need to be given the freedom to resolve this on their own, since they are past the age when parents should be mediating disputes. I'm so sorry, but I need to go now."

FYI, that's only what I would have liked to have said. That was the mature phrasing. I didn't descend into cursing or saying things like, "Get a life and let your daughter have hers," but oh man, that's what I wanted to say. No, my response was somewhere between the two extremes and delivered in the intense, loud way you speak when you want to shriek, but know that is just not okay. I was speaking rapidly and it's probably a bad sign that I cannot remember what I said, only the general idea, which was along the lines of: Mind your own damn business.

See? Aren't I just the diplomat? I ended the call by telling her I was trying to make dinner and had two small children running wild, then hung up. And when she called back a few minutes later to apologize? Yeah, PBP picked up the phone and informed her we were busy, so take apology and shove it. Nicer than that, but again, the general idea.

I'm so ashamed.

I'd like to grow up now, please.

And I did talk to DQ. She claims she was only joking, which we all know is complete bullshit, but I told her she needed to talk to B and X, to get this resolved. And so ends my involvement. Amen.

Because There Isn't Enough Crap Clogging Up My Life

2009-11-09T13:21:00.000-08:00

I've been in a drought lately, there's no denying it. Raven has a cool feature on her blog called Wanting Wednesdays and I love checking it out. Jenny's jumped on the bandwagon as well, with Favorites Friday. In the spirit of flattery, via imitation, I'm totally copping their idea and doing a "stuff I lust for" post. I'm not committing to a weekly spot and I'm not giving it a name, because, hello? Creative drought? If I were on it enough to come up with a cute name, I probably would have more for you than a wish list, you know?

This is the Colorado deluxe puzzle from HearthSong. I love the colors and simplicity. I'd like to give this to Big Red for Christmas, but I'm afraid I'd never let him play with it. HearthSong, $29.98.

The Tate Oxford Bootie. These are hot. Sex you up, kick your ass and sue you into oblivion hot. They also boast a 4 inch heel, which in younger days, I wouldn't have even blinked at, but now? Not so much. Payless, $29.99

Oh...I get warm just looking at this. I love long cardigans and this raspberry shade is one of my favorites. Old Navy, $59.50, online only.

This candle has been my very favorite for four years now. Creamy Nutmeg by Slatkin and Co. Of course, it used to be White Barn, but whatever. Bath and Body Works sells them starting in late fall, through Christmas time and you cannot believe how good they smell. Warm, rich and inviting, with enough spice to balance the sweet and a yummy dark rum base. Bath & Body Works, $9.95

I love West Elm. If I didn't have children and I did have a ton of money, my entire home would probably be furnished with items from West Elm. This is the Manzanita Candelabra and I love it. LOVE IT. Of course, the Evil Martha on my shoulder whispers, "You could do this. Find a branch. Paint it silver. Glue some candle holders on the branches. It's a good thing." Shut up, Evil Martha. Shut UP! West Elm, $99

I love tea. Irish Breakfast is my favorite and it's hard to find that in bags, so I've gone over to the fussy side and started using loose tea. Which means I need teapots. Okay, so I don't need teapots, but I do love them. This has pretty lines, very graceful and the artwork is feminine without being fussy, which is harder to find than you might think. The Odmjuk teapot. Ikea $9.99

I don't keep my ~~porn~~ romance addiction a secret. I'm pretty upfront about what I like to read. A friend of mine turned me onto a romance review website called Smart Bitches, Trashy Books and I'm completely hooked. They aren't lying, they are some smart (and funny) bitches. They trash one of my favorite authors, but honestly, the things they laugh about are the things that make me cringe while reading the actual books, so I can't get huffy. I haven't had time to really explore the site yet, so time will tell if they help me find new authors.
http://www.smartbitchestrashybooks.com/index.php

My Man

2009-11-06T20:30:00.001-08:00

Being married to Mr. Clairol is a lot of things. It's a joy, because the man has a huge heart, almost no temper and a tuchus that does not quit. It's an adventure, because he is the least self-conscious person I've ever met. He used to wear a red clown nose in rush hour traffic, just for the laughs. And it is endlessly entertaining.

He has a passion for PBS and the Documentary Channel, but without fail, he falls asleep on the couch within 30 minutes. I usually try to record whatever has caught his eye, so he can catch the rest of it later. He thinks it bugs me, but honestly, it's so cute, I fall more in love with him every single time.

He notices bizarre little thing that remind him of bizarre little facts and will expound on it for an hour if you let him. Usually, these things are automotive in nature, but the man can identify the make of a guitar by listening to recorded music. It's kind of hot.

He is endlessly curious and will ask any question of anyone. It used to make me want to die of embarrassment, but these days, I'm almost as curious as MC. I get the answer without putting myself out there.

He adores my parents. Without reservation. Maybe this is because both of his have passed, but it delights my mother. To the extent that I am not sure which of us she loves more. In my worst moments, I'm 97% sure it's my husband.

He's pretty honest about the fact that my cooking was a major factor in his desire to marry me.

And he makes me laugh. I cannot remember a day since we met that he has not made me laugh in one way or another.

I am the luckiest woman in the entire world.

Ativan Makes Idiocy Hilarious

2009-11-01T16:38:00.000-08:00

I just went to make a note on the whiteboard that hangs in my dining nook. It's where I jot down little notes to myself, since I can no longer remember things like my ATM pin. True story, ask Trader Joe's.

Anyway...I was going to write myself a note to remind Art to change a lightbulb in Red's room. I know, I tried to fit one more preposition in the sentence but I couldn't make it happen. But then I realized that DQ had stolen my last dry erase marker for school and I keep forgetting to buy a new one.

So I went to make a note on the whiteboard to buy another marker....

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!

Posting For Posting's Sake

2009-10-23T11:43:00.000-07:00

It seems like time to write a blog post, but children, I got nothin'.

*pats pockets* Nope. Nada.

I have this nagging feeling that I am writing the same posts over and over again. Like my mother, who tells me the same story four and five times until I finally stop her and say, in a loving voice, "Yep, told me already. Three times. Old sucks, huh?"

And then she beats me upside the head. It's nice that we have these little traditions.

I want to blame it on Facebook, but honestly, I'm not big on status updates. I just haven't got a lot to say right now. I'd much rather rob an electronics store in Mafia Wars or decorate my farm with virtual Halloween decor or play Bejeweled until the game itself reminds me to look away from the screen and focus on a far-away object. Not joking.

I can only joke about my rotten children so much. Likewise, I can only brag about the little darlings for a bit. Complain about my business? Hard to do when it's really all my own doing. I'm taking the weekend to meditate and try to revive my creative wellspring.

That's a lie. I'm taking the weekend to lie on the couch and nurse myself through this minor bout of the flu going through my household. But there will be, perhaps, some revivication of the wellspring.

Hows everyone else doing?

Further Proof That Strangers Just Don't Get My Kids

2009-10-21T06:00:00.000-07:00

So, I'm getting the kids out of the car at the grocery store. Some woman looks over and starts cooing over Red.

"Your son is adorable! He looks like a little angel. His name ought to be Gabriel!"

Yes, I laughed so hard I almost wet myself. I also choked out, "Appearances are deceiving." I did not share with her how that very morning, as we sat on the couch and watched Dinosaur Train, he gasped and said, "What is that," then pulled his undies down to show me his man flower in full bloom. Or how he purposefully dumped an entire glass of milk on his sister for no apparent reason. Or how he ambled out of the kitchen, eating a cookie I had just forbidden, then smiled at me and offered me a bite.

(Just a question for all you boy-mamas out there: how did you explain erections to your sons? I need an answer suitable for three year old consumption. A dinosaur metaphor would be ideal. )

Gabriel, my ass. I think we'll stick with Red. Or maybe Beelzebub.

Just because you can't see the horns, doesn't mean they aren't there.

Reflections on Snow White Wipe *

2009-10-17T09:25:00.000-07:00

*Edited title inspired by Heather's adorable Caksie. It'll make sense if you read the comments.

We recently purchased a copy of Disney's Snow White for the wee ones and after viewing it several hundred times, I have to say I'm seeing it a whole new light. There are some interesting messages in this particular bit of Disneyana. Makes you wonder about Old Uncle Walt.

To be fair, some of them are gifts from the original tale. I personally enjoy the moral of chastity as presented by the Snow. If I have it right, the story says: if you aren't perfectly virginal and chaste, you will die. Because let's face it, if Snowy had been behind the bushes with Prince Stud, love's first kiss would have been fait accompli and therefore, an ineffectual antidote to the poisoned apple.

And let's talk about the warning against vanity. If you take your looks too seriously, you're going to wind up dying an old and ugly crone. How deliciously appropriate that the queen dies as a haggard old woman. Of course, that is Disney's version. One of the original stories has her feet being encased in red-hot iron shoes as she dances to her death.

Why am I suddenly wanting to listen to Madonna?

Anyway...let's get to the truly disturbing shit, shall we? Never mind that Prince Studly Tights kisses a dead chick. We've all heard the rants about that one. But no one has taken it to it's logical conclusion...she's a ZOMBIE! Everyone knows when a dead person wakes up, they are a) a vampire or b) a zombie. There was no blood exchange, so I have to assume that b) is the winner. He picks her up and carries her off and you just know she's biding her time until she can take him to the ground with her undead strength and eat his brains! Where is Buffy when you really need her?

Yes, I am probably over-analyzing this to death. I'm a SAHM. I have to take my amusement where I find it. And right now, the idea of an undead Snow White chowing on dwarf brains is it.

Go Team!

2009-10-16T10:42:00.000-07:00

Break out the pom-poms! Yes, it's that time again. The air turns crisp (soggy here, but whatever,) and the ol' pigskin starts flyin'.

We've Got The Spirit! Yes, We Do!

I'll admit, the excitement is contagious. DQ's been aflutter for some time now, dress shopping, planning events with friends, dressing for spirit week and attending "flower parties." Apparently, the class floats have to be decorated in tissue paper flowers. Only tissue paper flowers. And the theme this year? Pixar.

No, that wasn't a typo and no, I'm not on crack. The student government? We'll have to see...

And it's here! The day has arrived! I dropped her off at school in a sea of red and blue, Matador shirts as far as the eye can see. Her principal gave me the thumbs-up for wearing school colors as well, but I was too kind to tell him it was entirely unintentional. Let's face it, I'm just no that together.

DQ will carpooling to the game with some friends and she's genuinely excited to attend the game, which is a pleasant surprise. Not that she'll be glued to her seat, watching for first downs, or any of that. She'll do just what I did at her age: cruise the bleachers with her posse, laugh and cheer when the crowd does and have an awesome time hanging out. Those were the days.

Tomorrow night is the dance. She and some friends are congregating to get ready, then they'll go to dinner at the Old Spaghetti Factory. Interestingly enough, her boyfriend is not having dinner with them. He's doing the boy version with his friends and then they'll all meet up at the dance. I like this. It's less "date," more "friend." Mama is down with that. In a big way.

I'm excited for her. It's a lot of fun to see her enter this phase. Not that I'm feeling nostalgic or wanting to live through her. Just that she's starting a really fun time in her life. I never realized how gratifying it could be to see your child have fun.

So, Go Matadors!

Adieu

2009-10-13T18:40:00.000-07:00

It was a short, cool summer here in the greater Sacramento area. Sure we had a few days over 100 degrees, but not enough. My garden flopped. Not a single tomato. And yes, I got a lot of pool time in, but damn, I miss summer. I keep thinking of previous years, when my children swam well into October. The heat of summer sun has a different quality than the various heats of winter. It is more alive, more vibrant, settling on the skin rather than sinking into the soul.

Tonight is the first fire of the season after a day of wild rainstorms. My soul is basking in the warmth and crackle. There was chicken soup with rice and homemade bread for dinner. I'm cozy in my jammies. Those things take the sting out of summer's early exit. It's easier to be philosophical when one is full and warm. Whiskey-spiked tea doesn't hurt either.

Good-bye, Summer. Come back soon. I miss you already.

Not Only No, But Hell No.

2009-10-12T08:39:00.000-07:00

Beth would be so proud of me. I'm finally saying no.

Of course, it helps that I'm backed into a corner and have no option, other than to gently refuse. I've only got so much time and so many hands and as much as I wish it weren't true, I can only be in one place at a time.

So, preschool meeting? No. Three children, two extra curricular activities and one car? Sorry. Impromptu filming of a video message to my grandmother? No. I love her, but I need more than a day or two's notice for that sort of endeavor.

It's probably better this way. I'm so stressed right now, I'm liable to blow a gasket. And I'm thinking that should not be recorded for posterity.

Giving Me The Vapors

2009-10-07T09:15:00.000-07:00

Oh my Hades, I am a prude.

I know, I'm shocked as well. I think of myself as pretty hard to offend and have a "live and let live" attitude. But this morning, my feathers got well and truly ruffled because one of the local strip joints is advertising on the station I listen to. I listened to the ad, shocked to my toes that this was being advertised on morning radio.

But why? Why am I shocked? This club has a HUGE billboard on a major freeway, complete with some hooched out, Barbie-on-a-bender-looking girl. They aren't exactly discreet. And the radio station is famous for it's "exotic, erotic" Halloween party. It's a marriage made in heaven, so I need to stop being surprised and just change the channel if it bothers me this much.

I guess it's finally happened. I've morphed into a inhibited old fart. Damn it. Also, I'm becoming cheap, because I was amazed that anyone would pay $10 for a lap dance. Conversely, I was also amazed that someone would do that for a stranger for only $10. I wouldn't do it for that amount. Of course, I'm literally twice the woman those girls are, so I would be completely justified in charging at least twice as much, right? Right. I think I'll keep my day job, thank you very much.

Martha, I Ain't

2009-10-03T16:16:00.000-07:00

It's been one of those days when my failures are small, but legion, and the weight of them is grinding me into the ground.

The sort of day that makes me sit in my car and silently scream "FUCK," a dozen times or more, because I have been late for every damn thing I attempt today, except my damn period.

The sort of day that has me biting back tears, because I am hopelessly lost in an unfamiliar neighborhood and my teenager is texting me to ask if I am ever coming to get her.

The sort of day that causes me to tell my rudely-awoken-from-his-nap preschooler to "suck it up," because, "Mommy isn't listening to whining, bickering or fussing today." And it worked.

The sort of day that I look longingly at the whiskey bottle, as I douse raisins for bread pudding.

The sort of day that makes me realize exercise will never replace anti-depressants in my life and that I have got to talk to my doctor, soon.

It's just a day. By the time you read this, it will be nothing but a memory, a hazy one if I drink as much as I plan. I'm well aware that things could be much worse. No one I know died today. My children are physically healthy, if psychologically scarred. ~~I have not cleaned up any one's bowels,~~ (As I typed that sentence, Red shit his pants. You cannot know how much I wish I made that up.)

The most pressing of the bills are paid, there is liquor in the pantry and the pool is crystal clear.

But oh my Hades, what a fucker of a day.

Just When I Think The Guy Is The Biggest Jerk Possible

2009-10-02T12:17:00.000-07:00

Oh, Mr. Gosselin. You have done the impossible. You've made me feel a tiny bit sorry for your estranged wife. If I were a less cynical woman, I might think that this whole adventure in douche-baggery was simply a PR exercise to create a more sympathetic Kate.

But let's face it, that's not really why you put on your ass hat, is it? You could claim that all the Ed Hardy gear you were sporting caused your personality to split and the tool side of you overpowered the kind father, but again, America's not stupid. The public might buy that your hair plugs became infected and caused brain damage. I don't know.

But the fact that TLC announces they are changing the name of the show to "Kate Plus 8" and you suddenly feel the need to stop the show? Dude. Major crap-bag points to you. Because the whole time you benefited from the show, you justified it and swore up and down it was fine. When your marriage was crumbling, did you stop production? No. You gave interviews, you cavorted in the public eye, you took every bit of swag and attention you could hunt up.

So spare us the whole, "this show is a tearing my family apart, " spiel. Yes, it is. It did tear your family apart and you and your wife helped it along. Neither of you are innocent victims. You want my sympathy? Stop talking, stop giving interviews, stop trying to create a place for yourself in our media landscape. And go away. Forever. Bonus points if you take your wife and kids with you.

Drawing The Line

2009-09-29T19:37:00.000-07:00

Somewhere along the line, I have made a major misstep in the training of my teenager. I say this because she apparently feels it is entirely appropriate to put off arranging her community service, then ask me to turn in her application and get her packet signed. She also thinks it's reasonable to let me know that she needs several special supplies for school, by tomorrow morning.

Can I get a "Oh hell no!"

But you know what? I did it. I missed out on a party I was really looking forward to and had committed to attend. Because really, what choice did I have? I felt compelled to clean up the mess. Backed into a corner. And that's just not truth.

Here's truth: If you do not get your act together and take care of your business, you can't expect someone else to come to the rescue. And that is something that Miss Drama Queen needs to learn.

I refuse to raise a person who cannot get the job done. I refuse to allow my children to believe other people will solve their problems, fix their messes and do their work for them. That is not fair to them. As my mother used to say, "I love you too much to let you behave that way."

So the new rule is 3 days notice. I am happy to help, buy supplies, obtain signatures, drop stuff off, if you can't get it done. But you can't tell me the night before. And you cannot squander opportunities to accomplish the task, then cry emergency. I will never, ever fill out paperwork for you. I will never, ever do homework for you (and not just because most of it is hopelessly over my head). I will always help you, within reason.

What do you think? Tell me about how you are developing personal responsibility in your own children or how your parents did it with you.

Mrs. Clean, But With Hair

2009-09-28T19:42:00.000-07:00

Four years ago, if you told me I would place a higher premium on a clean house than an orgasm, I would have laughed in your face. But you would have been right.

Because my house freakin' sparkles and I'm way too tired and sore to respond to my sweet husband's nuzzling. I actually told him to go away. Yes, I do feel like slime, thanks for asking.

BUT, I have a very clean house.

Some time ago, my mother began getting Woman's Day magazine. She doesn't know how or why. They just started to arrive. She immediately began giving them to me. I immediately began to put them in the recycling bin. Until a headline caught my eye and I started to read. I don't even remember what it was. All I know is that I started and haven't stopped.

Recently, they published a plan for keeping your house clean and I must have been drinking heavily that day because it seemed pretty doable. The plan consisted of a basic, three-hour clean one day a week and 15 minute touch ups the other 6 days.

So two weeks ago, I began. The first basic clean KO'd me like Tyson would do to ...some skinny little guy that didn't know how to box. I don't know, Tyson is my only boxing reference. Does he still box? Is Holyfield a boxer? Hmmmm.

Anyway, it did me in. I was exhausted and felt rooked, since it took WAAAAAAAY longer than 3 hours. To be fair, I move slowly. And my house was pretty gross. It got to the point where I would enter my bathroom and think, " If this were a public restroom, I'd hold it." Yes, that bad. But the next Monday's cleaning session was easier and only lasted 4 hours. And I have to say, I am really enjoying a neat house. The 15 minute pick-ups and wipe-downs really do work. So the time spent on Mondays? Totally worth it.

Today's session took about 3 hours, 15 minutes. My house looks awesome and if someone dropped by, I wouldn't be embarrassed to let them in the door. It feels so good, I think I might be able to keep it up!

This is the plan, in a nutshell: You start at the back of your house and clean your way out of each room. The lack of back-and-forth-ing helps me a lot. I like being able to shut the door and know I'm done.

Day One: Empty all trash cans. Starting at the back of the house, put away all out of place items, make bed, dust all surfaces, including ceiling fans, blinds and light fixtures. Spray cleaner on shower, sink and toilet. Wipe down. Clean mirrors, polish faucet, sweep/mop floor. Vacuum carpet.

Working your way towards the front of the house, repeat this process in all bedrooms and bathrooms.

Living Room: Put away all out of place items, vacuum floor, sofa, chairs, etc. Dust, furniture, blinds, light fixtures.

Kitchen: Unload dishwasher and load any dishes in sink. Moving all items on counters, wipe down the counters with hot soapy water. Clean the microwave and stove top. Wipe down all cabinet faces and appliances. Wipe down table and chairs. Clean sink with cleanser and polish faucet. Mop floor.

Days two - seven: Start at room farthest away from the front of your house. In each room, pick up what is out of place. Make the bed. Wipe down sinks, toilets and faucets with a cleaning wipe. In the kitchen, unload the dishwasher, load up any dirty dishes, wipe down the counters and sweep the floor. Done.

I don't know why it seems so easy. Like I said, I probably should lay off the hooch. But dang, it feels awesome to walk through a clean house. Now if I could just get the rest of the family in on it. Because there's nothing worse than walking into a room you just cleaned and seeing a string of soccer gear, a book, an empty cup and a pair of men's underwear. C'mon people. It's the living room!

I've tried a lot of other plans, even a few I designed for myself. This is the first that has worked. I'm beginning to think the house cleaning might be a lot like weight loss. There are a lot of ways to do it and no one way will work for everyone. There are a lot of them out there. Lord knows, I've tried most of them. Flylady became an alliterative curse word. (Think about it a minute, it'll come to you.) Heather, bless her heart, has an awesome approach to keeping a clean house. She's a lot better at the whole home-maker gig than I am. I sort of want to be her when I grow up. Her or David. Haven't decided.

I'm off to bask in the glow of shiny surfaces now. And maybe snuggle with my man. We'll see.

It's Dusty In Here

2009-09-26T19:19:00.001-07:00

*cough cough*

Yes, Beth, I am okay. After being MIA from the blogworld for sometime, I feel as if I should be giving you guys an awesomely hilarious post, but dudes, I'm whooped.

Done in.

Finished.

Ka-put.

Kindergarten is kicking my candy ass, children. Well, not really Kindergarten. More like high school, Kindergarten and preschool have ganged up on me and taken me behind the cafeteria to beat me up. They're bullies like that.

It's been over a month and I'm still struggling for equilibrium. Every time I turn around, there is some event to prepare for, some form to fill out, some practice to get to. I'm freakin' exhausted. I want off the damn merry-go-'round, but I have it good authority that the Safe Place locations do not accept children beyond infancy. Damn it.

I'll find my footing again. Soon, I hope. I sort of remember what it was like to have an actual life. I'd like to reacquaint myself with that someday. I've been fantasizing about Drama Queen having her license, the freedom from chauffeuring her a sweet dream. I'm also dreaming about the end of soccer season. Right now, I'd trade a night with Vin Diesel, Sam Elliott and Hugh Jackman for the last game of the season.

Oye, listen to me bitch and moan! Aren't you guys glad I bothered to put this down? C'mon, you were missing the endless stream of complaining, be honest. I promise, happier, funnier stuff is coming!

Head Scratching

2009-09-10T18:27:00.000-07:00

I got a call from Missy's school a few days ago, letting me know that they would not be broadcasting President Obama's speech because waivers had not been sent out.

Waivers?

Is the President wanting to speak to the children of our country really that controversial?

I'm simply baffled. I'm not getting on my high liberal horse, here, I just truly don't understand why parents would object to their child watching a televised address by the President. It seems somewhat ridiculous. What exactly do you think he's going to say to these children?

Different issue, same sentiment: I'm reading Facebook blurbs scoffing at the upcoming speech, outlining President Obama's health care reform. I'll paraphrase one of my favorites: "I don't think I can be persuaded to support any health care reform, no matter what it entails." (This paraphrase is generous, deleting much of the scoffing.)

Sooooo...you're so sure you don't want any changes to our health care system that you aren't willing to listen? Wouldn't making an informed decision be the responsible thing to do as a citizen and voter? Is it really wise to dismiss something this important out of hand?

Perhaps I don't understand. Maybe these comments are being taken out of context. But I have to say, I'm getting a little uncomfortable with the flavor of the Presidential bashing. Perhaps, after eight years of such rich material for liberals, the conservatives of our country simply need a little of their own back. Okay. I get that.

But I don't get the strident anti-Obama sentiment that is still flowing through the conservative population of our country. I think I may be over-simplifying things, but at some point, it starts to ring of ignorance. The ugly sort that, as a society, we should have evolved beyond.

Just saying. But I support the President, so for God's sake, DO NOT let me talk to your kids. Or your doctor.

Weekend Update

2009-09-07T18:47:00.000-07:00

My weekend has pretty much sucked. My cold has traveled south and after a couple of days of feeling almost human, I now feel like the parking lot of a truckstop, flat on my back and the weight af 50 trucks on my chest. Awesome.

I did shake it off long enough to go to the movies with Andrea and see The Time Traveler's Wife. Yeah, she picked it. We both bawled like little babies and I've vowed that she shall never again pick my movies. I give her the Commitments. She gives me red eyes and runny mascara. Bitch.

*Kidding. I love that girl. She's still not allowed to pick the movies. *

Posting will be extremely light this week. I have a project that must be finished and even though I'm close to done, but with Red starting preschool this week, I want to give myself a break. Novel idea, no?

In other fabulous news, Drama Queen earned a spot in the High School's fall production of All In The Timing. She's the only freshman to get a role in a cast of ten, so needless to say, I'm pretty freakin' proud. Rehearsals throw my carefully crafted schedult in the crapper, but such is the life of a mother.

Off to cough up a lung and perhaps a kidney. Jealous yet?

Dreams

2009-09-04T09:08:00.001-07:00

Last night, I dreamt of my father. In my dream, he walked into the room and was talking to me, while I stood there, speechless with shock. I kept asking my mother when he had gotten better and I woke up before she could answer me.

It wrecked me.

I can't stop thinking about the image of my father standing and talking. And it makes me weep, knowing that I won't see that again until I meet him at Home. In all the back to school madness, dealing with ALS has taken a backseat and abruptly, I am grieving again.

The grief is inconvenient. I can't weep on the Kindergarten playground and I don't really want to get into explanations of why my my eyes are red. I'm going with the vague, but accurate, "life is hard right now." And trying to keep the tears at home.

I hate this. I hate losing my dad in inches. They won't always be, but right now, memories are the enemy.

Warning: Bullets Ahead

2009-09-02T16:23:00.000-07:00

* Why is that Missy feels compelled to cry over something her brother is no longer doing?

Me: Why are you crying?
Missy: It upsets me when he's hitting the book.
Me: But he isn't hitting the book anymore and you are still crying. Why?
Missy: Because I'm sad that he hurt the book's feeling.

I didn't leap from the car while it was still moving. I get major points for that.

*I have approximately two months worth of Days of Our Lives on our DVR. I am not exaggerating. I should erase them and just catch up from the current episodes, but dude, they've added a character that is so smokin' hot, I'm all, "EJ who?"

David, Galen Gering needs to be a Papi of the day or daddy or whatever. H- to the -ottie.

Also the man who plays Kate's assistant is hilarious!!!!

*I am pretty much over peeing every time I cough. Or sneeze. Especially after I've JUST peed in the actual toilet!

*I was eavesdropping, listening to someone rant about how America is going down the toilet because we've strayed so far from God's worth and I wanted to laugh because he was talking to a lesbian. She got major points for not punching him in the damn nose.

*I think I'm going to leave my Farm and move to the big city because Mafia Wars has hooked me!

*I've been ~~making out~~ fiddling with Excel, planning our preschool job rotation. Can you say geek heaven? I'm praying for people to drop and more to add, just so I can have an excuse to play with it again.

*I've been wasting a phenomenal amount of time playing Webkinz games. Ostensibly to build up the cash for Missy's pony, but mostly because I adore wasting time. Um, and I'm a gaint dork.

*Too many bills, not enough money. As usual.

Back to work. Because I'm trying to actually get stuff done today. You know, just for kicks and giggles.

Break Out The Frickin' Bubbly

2009-09-01T20:00:00.000-07:00

Got my first cold of the season. Whoopty-fuckin'-whoo.

I hate being sick. I know, who actually likes being sick? Everyone hates it, nimrod, so take a damn Dayquil and get the hell over it. FYI, whining does not actually treat a head cold. I am doing an extensive study and am just about proof-positive that the whining I've done may have actually worsened my symptoms. This post is my control experiment. You know, to see if written whining has the same effect.

I'm sure the AMA is simply breathless, awaiting my findings. Is there a Nobel prize for advances in medicine?If so, I'm a shoo-in. Except I'll probably still be stuffed up and have to skip the ceremony.

I frickin' HATE being sick!

It's a Crying Shame

2009-08-31T16:34:00.000-07:00

I've started agitating the Child Support pool again. It's been two months since a payment was made and since he's working three jobs and they've moved into a new house, I think it's time to assert myself. Not that I'm confronting him. Heck no. I haven't got time for the evasions, promises and excuses.

No, I ratted him out to the DA, which is, admittedly a punk thing to do, but I'm feeling no guilt.

I've had mixed success with this approach. Sadly, it all depends on the case worker you draw. Which is understandable, but still pathetic. I've had the spectrum:

*The woman who laughed at me and told me the $13,000 he owed was nothing. Apparently, they didn't really go after dads until at least $100,000 was owed. Which leads me to ask, do you think going after the small amounts would keep them from escalating to such huge numbers?

*The woman who got angry with me for asking about his lack of payment. "You can hardly expect him to pay when he's out of work," she told me. Um, yeah, but I can expect him to get off his ass and get a damn job. (He had a job at the time and was lying to her.)

*The woman who got him before a judge and threatened with jail time if he didn't start making regular payments. She was RAD! I loved her. Of course, the next time I called in, my case worker had been changed and I got ...

*The woman who said, "uh-huh, mmmm, yes, I see." And did nothing. For three months. And stopped returning my calls. Awesome.

My latest case worker seems pretty motivated. She took down the information I had, looked back over my case and noticed the patterns, which is encouraging. She also was pretty disgusted with his back due amount (now hovering near $25,000). She was surprised I allow visitation, but not at all surprised he doesn't avail himself of the privilege. She also gave every impression of caring, which is nice. And again, sad that it is remarkable. But it is.

Where are we at, that dead beat dads are allowed to shirk their responsibility? If there were actual consequences for this behavior, maybe these men would be less inclined to ignore their children. I used to feel badly for my ex, knowing that he was throwing his relationship with his daughter in the crapper. But these days, I'm happy she wants to change her name. I've investigated and hiring a paralegal to do the paperwork is not that expensive. So guess what his first payment is paying for? There seems to be an almost poetic symmetry to it, don't you think?

Stupid Update

2009-08-28T09:24:00.000-07:00

Where to begin? By now you know that Missy is in Kindergarten, DQ is in high school, I hate getting up early and I love having alone time with Red. BUT...

I've stopped rocking in the corner. I'm out of the fetal position and actually, this isn't so bad. I might even be able to survive the year. If I don't get stupid and volunteer for a bunch of extraneous crap.

Can you say, "oh shit?" 'Cuz children, that is my new theme song. Not only am I trying to start a Girl Scout troupe, I've volunteered to investigate starting a PTA in our preschool, signed up to be on the fundraising committee at Missy's school AND do book orders for her class, plus, I'm aiming to be in charge of the calendar at preschool.

Yes, I am totally stupid and have completely over-estimated my abilities. I really hate it when I do that.