I'm not really a post-coital cuddler.
I'm more of a roll over and sleep or flip the TV on for some quick channel surfing kinda gal. I'm on the move, ready for the next best thing. [snap, snap, snap] Probably because late at night is the only time I can relax and hear my own thoughts without being drowned out by the unrecognizable chatter of a 2 yr old. It can be quite a distraction from my own personal reflective inner monologue.
The husband however, likes to spend quiet quality time just hugging, listening to each other breath and having small conversations. It's not that I don't appreciate that I have a sensitive romantic husband, one who tries relentlessly to engage me in his small romantic gestures. I'm just not a touchy feely kinda person. I'm easily distracted and I love my husband, in my own weird way.
But last night was too funny.
After the obligatory marital act, the husband tried once again to be sweet by offering a loving kiss. I, too involved in channel surfing for something to watch for when he fell asleep, gave a quick peck out the side of my mouth without bothering to look. The husband balked; claiming that my attempt was half-assed and I needed to pay attention, be sweet and romantic in return. I sighed and turned to face him. He leaned over again, puckered up and pierced the silence with a loud fart.
I froze, and cast him a glance with a wryly smile. His face turned crimson red and we both burst into laughter.
"Honey, this is why we can't be romantic, because stuff like that happens!"
Life is never like it is in the movies.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
I'm not really a post-coital cuddler.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Why is it that everything always comes easier to men? Or at least SEEM like it does? Especially in the weight loss department.
My weight is the bane of my existence. I have battled with it for as long as I can remember. Up, down, up, down, up, up, up. The scale never moves in the preferred direction, and now thanks to motherhood, it's perpetually stuck at a very scary number.
I still daydream about losing weight. I imagine what my body would feel like to loose just 15-20 lbs. How sexy I could be. Oh, you like what you see huh?
I'd probably still have my mommy pooch but at least my ass wouldn't spread out wider than the seat of a normal size chair.
My daydreams have a material connection. I still cling to a pair of skinny jeans in hopes that one day I'll return to that size. A pair of jeans I've owned since pre freshman-15, pre sophomore 15, pre newly-wed 9, pre I'm in a comfortable loving relationship and I've stop worrying about what I look like naked therefore I gained 20 lbs.
Oh who am I kidding, I still worry about what I look like naked. Lights off please. I gained the 20lbs because the husband and I have a mutual love of food.
But yesterday was too much. Yesterday, was the cherry on my whipped cream pie of a life.
The husband texts me to make a casual observation. Really I think he was just trying to poke me when I was down.
Husband: "Damn, I've lost 10lbs since I went to the doctor last" (which was just 3 weeks ago)Long pause as I consider the mental picture of the husband standing on what I'm sure is a giant industrial scale used to weigh pallets of dog food.
Me: "I hate you"
Husband: "No really, I weighed myself on the scale in the back of the warehouse."
Me: "You missed the sarcasm"
Monday, October 26, 2009
Holy Toledo Batman!
Has it really been almost 4 weeks since my last post!?! I guess am the epitome of a slacker, but I promise I've got good reason.
It's been a rough several of weeks around our house. Illness, home renovations, personal pleasure, personal strife. We've had it all.
Tyler got sick in early October, runny nose, hacking cough, getting up several times a night. The usual MO for his colds. I followed suit shortly after thanks in part to many mommy hugs accompanied by a cough in the face and a snotty nose tracks on my sleeve. Gotta love toddlers. Round 1 lasted about a week and a half.
The husband was lucky enough to be taking his "vacation" right smack dab in the middle of round 1. I'll put "vacation" in quotation marks because we didn't really go anywhere, it was more of a mental vacation for him. My loving husband actually sacrificed his remaining 1 week vacation time to strip, sand & repaint our lower level. I knew there was a reason I loved him
The downside was, I was sick and the project was taking over the house. It was a disaster, and I didn't have the energy to clean up behind him. But it didn't much matter because the husband was home for an entire week.
I love it when he's home. I love having a normal home life, where we have dinner every night at 5pm as a family, I have an extra set of hands in the morning to wrangle and dressed a fickle toddler, not having to have normal marital conversations via text and just relaxing, watching TV and being content knowing my husband is in the same room with me.
What I don't love is my snoring, flat on his back, pillow stealing, blanket hogging, diagonal spread eagle sleeping husband. He is the WORST person to sleep with.
So sleep was very elusive that week he was home.
At the tail end of the husband's vacation he started to show signs of getting sick. Just as Tyler and I were starting to feel better.
But 3 days later Tyler got hives, again. The second time since August. Then he started running a fever, had a cough, a runny nose and had an earache. Begin Round 2. I freaked, all I could think of was Tyler had H1N1 (a quick shout out to the national media for their expertness in fear-mongering and their ability to make this normally sane, easy going mommy a nervous wreck). Even the nurses were thinking H1N1. Hence the lovely face mask.
The doctor, thankfully said it was just a sinus infection, prescribed some antibiotics and said he should be feeling better in about 48hrs. Whew!
That was Tuesday. By this past Saturday, I also began round 2 of sickness. This time, it was more sinus pressure than the achiness I had last time. Thank you Tyler. Mwah!
So, needless to say, our family is living in one giant petri dish of germs, just passing the ickies back and forth to each other.
Illness, however wasn't the only reason I failed to post. There is also an emotional factor involved.
While all of the lovely germies were being passed around and we were wallowing in our misery. The husband and I were pregnant.
I stress the were in that statement.
After a week and a half of dealing with a sickness, what I thought was a UTI and an early lackluster period, I tested positive on a Saturday morning.
The husband and I were ecstatic, because it is no secret that we've been trying since late July for #2. And despite all the signs that it might not look promising, we were giddy with excitement and could barely wait for the doctor's office to open Monday morning. We even called and told the husband's sister, my dad and my step mom.
However, after some blood work, a doctor's visit that she said everything looked great, and some more blood work it was determined that I was in fact miscarrying.
It was early. I was maybe 3-4 weeks. Barely pregnant, what doctors would call a "chemical pregnancy". There is no pain or discomfort, only the inconvenience of having a 3 week long period. But the emotional pain is not easily observed.
Due to personal family issues, our plans of trying for #2 had been put on hold for nearly a year. So by July, when I felt we were comfortable enough to begin trying, I was in full blown baby fever mode. The kind where your biological clock is beating you over the head with a hammer and you feel pangs of jealously for every woman you see lucky enough to be pregnant.
So I grieve. silently. Because I know this isn't the end of the road for us, it's just the beginning. But it doesn't lessen the pain. Just enforces the fact that we must start all over.
Ok, pity party for one over. There's my update. Onward and upward. And I promise to post again tomorrow. See you then.
Friday, October 2, 2009
The incessant demanding of material items viewed on television, specifically marketed to young children at a time in which is most likely to result in a favorable manner for the child and the toy manufactures.
The evil ones know my weakness. You can requests just about anything from me (flame thrower maybe?) before 8am and several cups of coffee.
Today, at 7am, I was forced to turn on non-commercial free cartoons because Blues Clues and Mickey Mouse just weren't cutting it for my fickle toddler. After multiple trips through the cartoon channel line-up, we decided to go with Phineas and Ferb. Not a bad show in it's own right. Kinda cute actually, and a nice alternative to the typical toddler shows that make me want to beat my head against a wall repeatedly. Anyone who's sat and watched hour after hour of Little Bear, Little Bill, Franklin, Max n Ruby, or Ni Hao Kai-Lan can attest to my pain.
It also wasn't Spongebob which I detest. So a small personal victory. ya!
The first commercial was for a Barbie princess castle. It was bright pink, Barbie was wearing a ball gown similar to Cinderella and small plastic heels. I knew instantly this would send the husband into hysterics that would result in a downward spiral of self doubt about his ability to raise a masculine son.
Next was a commercial for Handy Manny's fix-it motorcycle with side car. The tools would ride along enjoying the breeze on their steely faces and could at a moments notice hop out, do their tool thing, detach the side car and Manny could have a chopper. Nice! [nodding in approval]
I turn and glance at Tyler, smile and give a thumbs up. Nothing. Bummer.
And moving on to the next commercial.
Bakugan. The next commercial was for Bakugan. The small battle
robots, transformers, action figures heck I don't know what they are but Tyler lurched forward and stared with his mouth half open. The commercial continued to suck my child in with his pointing, and head nodding and constant Ya, Ya, Ya, Ya, Ya's. Then it came.
I want!I looked back at the screen and all I could see in my mind were these small things taking over my house, being flung at me in fits of rage, and strewn all over the floor with their sharp pointy edges just lying in wait to poke me in the foot in a darken hallway after accidentally stepping on them for the 100th time.
Mama, I want!
I made a cringey face. I don't want to step on something pointy, it'll hurt.
So I turned to Tyler with a compromise.
How about a nice stuffed Elmo doll? Wouldn't that be a nice safe toy to play with? [nodding]I got a short, curt NO response and a head shake to my obviously ridiculous question.
[embarrassed laugh] Silly mommy, what was I thinking.So I busted out the mommy secret weapon.
The "maybe" response. The "maybe" response is genius because we mommy's can give our child hope without looking like the bad guy. We can escape sticky situations while diverting attention away from the item in question. But our "maybe" response is not delivered with qualifications therefore the promise can be recalled later and blamed on disapproving behavior of the child. It's fool proof!
Maybe, buddy. We'll see. Let's go get changed for the sitters now.Tomorrow, it's back to Noggin.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
There are women in this world who are more creative than I. Heck, probably everyone reading this blog entry is more creative than I. My creative skill set is well not developed, I am truly a right brained person. Sadly, I much prefer staring at spreadsheets, playing with numbers and problem solving a client's issues. That's right, I am unexciting, uneventful and I have no life. Maybe I should have been an accountant...nah, too much right brain thinking.
But this doesn't mean I don't appreciate and stare in amazement at the crafts of those who are very creative. In fact, below are two women who constantly astound me with their ideas and creative flare. And as an added bonus, they each are giving away several of their creations to lucky readers who choose to follow them and appreciate their gifts.
While many of my readers I'm sure are all aware of these two ladies, I thought I'd help by promoting their awesome work to those few readers I have who haven't been exposed to their creative abilities. Good luck everyone and happy fall!
1# - Jannypie Crafts
A scientist by day a blogger/crafter/digital scrapbooker by night.
In honor of her blog's 2nd birthday, she is giving away a slew of fun Halloween items to anyone who starts following her blog, her on Facebook, or her on Twitter.
Click the image and follow the link to more details about her fun give-away.
#2 - Mada's Place
A work from home mom who excels at amazing things with fabric.
To showcase her latest creation, a rockin Coloring Tote, and reward all the love she's been receiving lately, she is giving this item away at random to a lucky person who starts following her blog, her on Facebook or on Twitter.
Click the image and follow the link to her blog entry about her contest.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
People. I am getting out my soapbox and climbing aboard. I need to vent and this is the only place that I can effectively reach the masses to satisfy my displeasure.
The husband, unfortunately has become immune to my bitching, probably due to over exposure, and he is not an acceptable alternate vehicle to voice my concern. Besides, he's a Penn State fan and could care less about my thoughts.
Now, where was I. Oh yes...
People, IF you choose to live in the college town of one of the largest universities in the country, you must accept two very obvious facts:
#1 - This town has THE most loyal fans known in college sportsNow that we're all clear of my intended subject. Lets get down to business.AND
#2 - These loyal fans are OBSESSED with college football, specifically Ohio State Football.
Fans from up north, are not welcome, in our town. And for those of you readers who aren't familiar with who I mean by "the team from up North" brush up on your OSU football history HERE.
The only day in the entire year that we allow fans from up north to penetrate our borders is on the last game of the season of alternating years. And we only allow this to occur, long enough to stuff the football down the throat of Rich Rodriguez' and send them back on their merry way.
Our rivalry is deep seeded. We do not like each other, this is a plain fact. We do not take kindly to locals offering their loyalty to the enemy. We view them as traitors and secretly hope they will move North and take their dirty favoritism with them.
So after all of that, if you still chose to live in this town and worship the enemy, do not. I repeat. Do not harass an avid Buckeye fan, in her town. You will lose.
Certainly do not trash talk with the loyal Buckeye fan the day after we shut out a Big Ten team who cost us dearly the year before. Especially coming from you, who barely escaped embarrassment from the perennial last place team in the Big Ten.
Do not threaten to not ring up the Buckeye fan's purchase just because she is wearing an Ohio State t-shirt. Do not claim that you are unable to touch her purchases just because she is wearing said t-shirt. Do not attempt to start a debate, at the convenience store, regarding her loyalty. If you are working at a convenience store, chances are her purchase is your livelihood.
And certainly do not joke, laugh, bob and weave like a gangster just because you are a fan from the team up North. This does not make the Buckeye fan idolize you, it just makes you look like a blithering idiot.
Thank you, I am finished.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Kids put the strangest things in their mouths. Boys especially.
I know a gal who's son has a fascination with eating mulch. Every time they're outside. Poor gal can't even get a moments peace without a little munching. Sadly, this is also the same kid who horked a dead baby bird. His mother was beside herself.
My son is no exception. He has an unhealthy obsession with vacuum cleaners. It's like Christmas every time I get the Dyson out with it's clear tornado like dirt chamber and all of it's fun attachments. This inevitably leads to him bringing up his play vacuum cleaner to push along side me. Which he received as a gift from my bestie who thinks his love of vacuum cleaners is hysterical and could not resist the opportunity to torment me.
But yesterday, the mother of all vacuum cleaners came to visit. A behemoth of a carpet shampooer, courtesy of my father. He felt my house smelled a bit too much of dog/cat.
Gee thanks dad, passive aggressive much?
Well, now that you mention it and since you went to all that trouble, there are a few areas that could benefit from a good cleaning.
When I was finished, due to my lack storage space and the sheer heft of the machine was too much for me to lug anywhere else, I left it sitting in my living room; where Tyler was sure to see it when he came home from the sitters.
And as exactly as predicted, when he came home, he freaked.
"Waz at? Momma, Waz at? WAZ IZ AT!?!" He squealed as he danced around it, pointing.But after about 2 hours of walking by it, seeing it out of the corner of his eye, and not being able to touch it, the temptation was just too much.
"A carpet cleaner, do not touch"
He kissed it.
He bent over and planted a big ol' sloppy kiss right on the front of the carpet cleaner.
I nearly fainted.
When I had finished shrieking the laundry list of unsanitary complications of his actions, he giggled back at me and kissed it again.
This was too much for ME. I had to sit down.
Tyler, detecting my frustration, scurried over to console me. He presenting me with an equally sloppy kiss on the lips. Now we were sharing the dirty carpet cleaner germs. Aww, how nice.
I shook my head. I suppose a dirty kiss is better than no kiss at all.
But just to be safe, Tyler and I marched right upstairs to brush our teeth.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Let's put on your shoes. No!
Let's take off your shoes. No!
Let's brush your teeth. No!
Lets pick up your toys. Silent treatment.
Let's go get a bath. Runs screaming in the other direction.
The exceptions in my house is if the request involves ice cream, Noggin, Elmo or choo-choos. Then anything is possible.
These tiny daily battles leave me feeling defeated, unproductive and relatively exhausted.
No, your right, it shouldn't take me 15 minutes, 3 laps around my house, a wrestling match, and a quick game of pick-up what I drop mommy every morning to get socks and shoes on my child, but it does. And yes, this qualifies that as my cardio for the day.
But I have a confession; one I am ashamed to admit out loud. Sometimes I yell, and sometimes it actually works.
However, as became demonstrably clear the other night at bath time. I apparently yell more than I'd like to believe.
Tyler, for the third time, has jumped up and slammed his bottom down into the tub causing a tide wave of water to slosh against the side of the tub while he flings his washcloth like a whip sending a spattering of water onto me and the wall adjacent to the tub.
Me [snapping]: "Tyler! Stop that! Look what you've done!"I froze and looked at Tyler puzzled. He giggled back at me as I launched into a hysterical laughing fit and fell off the toilet. Which he also thought was pretty funny.
Probably louder than I meant to.
Tyler [pointing]: "Ooooh, Mommy you mad"
And this is why I am a pathetic excuse for a parent when it comes to doling out punishment.
Because I can't stop laughing long enough to keep a straight face.
Monday, September 21, 2009
These Christian Louboutin heels. They are fabulous. These are the kind of shoes that I day dream about.
In my day dream, I'm a svelt 20 something with impeccable taste and style. No longer the little girl who plays dress up in her mommy's clothes and heels. I am a fashion icon.
I spend my days shopping and my nights dressed to kill out to see and be seen. There is no work in my day dreams, and money is just a credit card swip away.
I'd wear my dream heels with this dress, minus the tights. Because in my dreams I could totally pull this off.
This is my subconscious trying to tell me to wake the hell up and come back to reality. Supermodel I am not. Rightfully so, but doesn't mean I wouldn't try to wear these shoes.
Friday, September 18, 2009
New State Slogans
Alabama: At Least We're Not Mississippi
Alaska: 11,623 Eskimos Can't be Wrong!
Arizona: But It's a Dry Heat
Arkansas: Litterasy Ain't Everything
California: As Seen on TV
Colorado: If You Don't Ski, Don't Bother
Connecticut: Like Massachusetts, Only Dirtier and With Less Character
Delaware: We Really Do Like the Chemicals in Our Water
Florida: Ask Us About Our Grandkids
Georgia: Without Atlanta We're Alabama
Hawaii: Haka Tiki Mou Sha'ami Leeki Toru
(Death to Mainland Scum, But Leave Your Money)
Idaho: More Than Just Potatoes... OK, Maybe Not, But The Potatoes Are Real Good
Illinois: Please Don't Pronounce the "S"
Indiana: 2 Billion Years Tidal Wave Free
Iowa: We Do Amazing Things With Corn
Kansas: First Of The Rectangle States
Kentucky: 5 Million People; Seven Last Names
Louisiana: We're Not All Drunk Cajuns
Maine: We're Really Cold, But We Have Cheap Lobster
Maryland: A Thinking Man's Delaware
Massachusetts: Our Taxes Are Lower Than Sweden's
Michigan: First Line of Defense From the Canadians
Minnesota: 10,000 Lakes and 10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 Mosquitoes
Mississippi: Come Feel Better About Your Own State
Missouri: Your Federal Flood Relief Tax Dollars at Work
Montana: Land of the Big Sky, the Unabomber, Right-Wing Crazies and Very Little Else
Nebraska: Ask About Our State Motto Contest
Nevada: Whores and Poker!
New Hampshire: Go Away and Leave Us Alone
New Jersey: You Want a F**kin' Motto? I Got Yer F**kin' Motto Right Here!
New Mexico: Lizards Make Excellent Pets
New York: You Have the Right to Remain Silent, You Have the Right to an Attorney...
North Carolina: Tobacco is a Vegetable
North Dakota: We Really are One of the 50 States!
Ohio: We Wish We Were In Michigan
Oklahoma: Like the Play, Only No Singing
Oregon: Spotted Owl -- It's What's For Dinner
Pennsylvania: Cook With Coal
Rhode Island: We're Not Really An Island
South Carolina: We Have Never Actually Surrendered to the North
South Dakota: Closer Than North Dakota
Tennessee: The Educashun State
Texas: A Whole 'Nother Country!
Utah: Our Jesus Is Better Than Your Jesus
Virginia: Who Says Government Stiffs and Slackjaw Yokels Don't Mix?
Washington: Help! We're Overrun By Nerds and Slackers!
Washington, D.C.: Wanna Be Mayor?
West Virginia: One Big Happy Family -- Really!
Wisconsin: Come Cut Our Cheese
Thursday, September 17, 2009
I am not a geek.
I am not technologically savvy, I do not subscribe to wired magazine, I do not drool at the latest windows whatever release, I do not contemplate the efficiencies of a dual monitor workspace, I do not know the difference between a digital coaxial audio cable and a RCA cable, and I certainly do not know how to make a TV work without the remote.
I know just enough to get by. Which is to say, just enough to convince myself I can fix things and then proceed to royally screw them up. It's a gift.
So when our purchase of a new flat screen HDTV included a complementary visit from the "Geek Squad" to set up, unpackage, install and make everything all pretty, I all but squealed of excitement.
The guy came, he fixed, he left. Relatively uneventful.
The next day, the husband comes home, brushes a kiss across my cheek and deposits himself in the recliner in front of his new TV. Sometime later than night between re-runs of Backyardigans and watching a new episode of Ghost Hunters (excellent show by the way) the remote stops controlling the TV.
We try everything. we power off everything, reboot the receiver, change the batteries, switch remotes, switch boxes, switch positions and stood ridiculously close to the receiver, but nothing works. We were stuck with a brand new giant TV and a remote that isn't even worthy of being a paperweight.
I called AT&T technically support 3 times in 3 days. Every time, I spent 30 mins chattering with someone who's probably half way across the world, getting the scripted answers to my problem and no solution. On the third attempt, I finally talk with someone who actually speaks English as their native language and seems as if he just might be geeky enough to solve my problem.
I run through my issues and he stops and ponders what I've just said.
"Sounds like it might be an issue with your backlight"
really? that's what I thought [eyeroll]But it was worth a shot.
"Ok, your gonna think I'm crazy..."
"But my buddy told me about a trick to try."
I love it when geeks have buddies, they always have the answers.
"Turn the TV away from the receiver, put the receiver behind the TV, and try putting a blanket over the screen"
your right, I think you're crazy
So there I was, cordless phone perched on my shoulder, the TV sitting whopper-jawed on the blanket chest, a waffle weave blanket draped over the screen, Tyler vehemently protesting against his ability to sit within a foot of the TV and watch Diego, the dog barking at the commotion, trying persistently to point the remote and make the menu button work, and the AT&T techie barking directions over the chaos.
Then it happened. The menu popped up.
My hands instinctively raised above my head in my own personal celebration. I had never felt more satisfied. I fixed something! Hallelujah!
I was giggling as I relayed my success to the techie on the other end of the phone. He congratulated me, requested that I respond favorably to the "customer service survey" I'll receive via email, and hung up.
Then it hit me. One can't possible watch TV with this set up.
What the hell am I going to do now?!?
By now, Tyler had figured out that he could stick his head under the blanket, lean on the blanket chest and watch Diego even closer. I pulled the blanket off his head, scooped him up under each arm and plopped him down about 3 feet from the TV.
"Stay" I motion to him.
I turn around to survey the situation and took a deep breath.
About 3 hours later, I had unstrung, unplugged, restrung, plugged in and shifted just about every component in our entertainment center and finally had a working system.
It looked like a hillbilly trailer park mess. Wires hanging everywhere, speakers propped up, nails punched into the walls and a plastic ficus tree attempting to hide a power cord.
But....it still worked.
I felt invincible.
Tyler and I celebrated my success with a bowl of pretzels and a cold glass of apple cider.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Non-profit organizations such as the Ovarian Cancer Research Fund (OCRF) and the National Ovarian Cancer Coalition (NOCC) have made it their mission to fund research, raise awareness, promote education, improving the survival rate and helping women cope with their diagnosis. So in order to do my part to help raise awareness, I've listed ways for you to get involved. Regardless of your level of commitment, there is something for everyone, because this is a disease that "whispers, so listen"
Ways to get involved:
1) Visit the websites of OCRF or NOCC to educate yourself on early signs and detection.
2) Visit Loreal Color of Hope, share your story or purchase their Color of Hope collection - $29.99, $5 of which will be donated to OCRF
3) Visit Kelly Confidential during the month of September to make a $5 "text" donation, send virtual t-shirts or purchase a Kelly Ripa designed t-shirt.
4) Visit Seventh Generation's Let's talk period website and register - $1 will be donated to OCRF.
Central Ohio 2009 Strides for Hope
7) Volunteer at any number of local organizations.
8) Search out your own way to get involved.
9) Ask your gynecologist to evaluate your risk factors and openly discuss prevention methods.
1 - Loreal Color of Hope website - "The Facts"
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
For some time I have kicked around the idea of writing a fiction novel. Not really for the sole purpose of getting published, more so to see if I could actually do it. If I could actually write something of that volume and have it make sense and keep a readers interest.
I love writing, but often struggle with what to write about, so the problem for a long time was what an idea. I didn't have clue 1 what this "novel" should be about.
Below is my current idea. A novel told from a male perspective about a man, who after the death of his mother, struggles to grasp reality, cuts ties, leaves town, ventures half way across the country, is haunted by memories of his mother and then realize his life is missing the one thing he was running from; family.
I thought I would put a section of what I've written so far and see what you think. Boring, bland, unoriginal, read-it-all-before? Let me know! I really, truly would love to hear what you think!
It’s at Christmas time that I miss home the most. Probably because Christmas time always reminds me of my mother.
The smells, the sounds, how the tree lit up the darkened living room, the way mom would make everyone sit, nestled together on the sofa, quietly listening to the Garth Brooks Christmas CD she loved so much over and over again, all while “appreciating” the soft glow of about 25 strands of multi-colored Christmas lights on a 7ft tree. It was a miracle every year the tree didn’t go up in a ball of flames. She would tell us spending moments like these as a family brought us closer together and we should feel blessed.
For my brother Parker, and me, we were close enough sitting next to each other on the sofa. It would take an immense amount of self restraint not to poke, prod or whack the back of each other’s heads.
But my favorite memory of my mother at Christmas was her cookies.
My mother would spend an entire day baking, and rolling and pressing, and decorating. She would make pies, and cakes and cookies and candy. All the while my father, a notorious cookie hound, would wait patiently for the first batch of cookies to be ready. He’d find reasons to walk by the kitchen to check on their status. He’d peer around the corner of the hallway and look for a batch cooling on the table. Then he’d wait until her back was turned, cautiously sneak into the dining room and pluck a cookie off the wax paper. The crinkle of the paper would always give away his position and my mother would come round the corner covered in flower and shoo him away.
Spending an entire day baking required proper planning. So she would gear up for the “great day” about a week before. She’d start washing her cookie sheets and cooling racks and checking her pantry inventory. She’d alphabetize her recipe cards, pulling out new cookie recipes she wanted to try. The night before she’d bundle us kids up and load us into the car for a trip to the grocery store for supplies.
She’d diligently write down every item that needed purchased, she was meticulous like that. Parker and I always wanted to help so we would each get our own lists of items she needed. We’d make a contest out of who could complete their list first, running up and down the aisles, grabbing bags of sugar, cans of condensed milk, and jars of peanut butter as we rushed by. We’d lap back around to the cart and deposit our items when our arms got too full for one more item.
I was 21 when my mother passed away in her sleep.
My aunt called at 8 the next morning. The phone rang while I was dressing for my morning class. I heard her words, my mouth fell open, and words failed to form. The phone dropped to the floor.
Aneurysm; the doctors would later tell us. No way could anyone have seen this coming. The abruptness of their declaration felt cold, impersonal. As if to say her death was inconsequential to them.
Monday, September 14, 2009
So it's been awhile....
Andrea, meet your readers. Readers, meet Andrea your blogger who fell of the blogger wagon and got road rash.
Even the husband was questioning why I haven't written in a while. That's when I knew it was time to light a fire under this extra wide booty. So I promise to find something to write about this week.
But my absenteeism isn't without good reason.
First there was my extremely busy two weeks of work. Deadlines, proposals, meetings, etc.
What do you mean I don't paid to sit around and blog all day?!? Whatever!
These two weeks were probably the busiest I've experienced since joining the company back in February. And no, don't ask me to explain what it is I actually do. I've been trying to explain that to the husband, sister, father, stepmom and besties for 6 mos, and they still don't get it. My sister has admitted she just stops listening after I say "ancillary revenue sharing programs".
We'll just call me a "consultant".
But to make the two weeks even more fun, Tyler, sprouted hives. Everywhere. On Sunday morning the husband and I thought chickenpox. [Insert freak out episode here] But when the tiny red dots started merging into huge red patches on his arms, legs, chest and feet, we knew it wasn't chickenpox.
Is it bad we were almost relieved? Reason #1 why I've lost my mommy gold star.
So off we went to the doctor Monday morning. The doctor checked a few things, examined the patches and explained it was probably just a reaction to a virus. Nothing to be overly concerned about, that it should clear up in 5-7 days, and advised that we should provide Benedryl every 6 hours and Zyrtec every 24 hours.
So Tyler spent the better part of 5 days in a pharmaceutical drug haze. Fiending for his next fix, and making "slurp-slurp" noises when ever I mentioned his medicine. They really shouldn't make the stuff bubble gum flavored.
Reason #2 why I've lost my mommy gold star.
But the sicky gods didn't feel I was juggling enough, so they topped off my hell week with a cherry when Tyler started having "digestive issues".
It was days like these that I'm glad my 2 1/2yr old was refusing potty training and was still in diapers. Whew! Dodged a messy bullet there.
Aaand reason #3 why I've lost my mommy gold star
By the end of the 2nd week, Tyler and I had our poop commands down. I'd inquire if he'd "bad pooped" and he'd look at me deadpan, reach behind him a pat his diaper.
Hold that thought, let me break out my bio-hazard suit.
He looked like he was auditioning for Pepto-Bismol's open audition for macarena rejects commercial.
Nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, diarrhea!
Ya, like there's any reason to get excited about explosive diarrhea, blech!
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
As a 29 year old woman, I'm caught in this weird place of don't remind me I'll be 30 in 3 months, but also don't card me for alcohol or I'm gonna huff, pout and fling my drivers license at you.
I also keep trying to avoid conversations with my besties about a "big 3-0" birthday party in November. Honestly I'd much rather just celebrate with a card, a nice present, some cake, lots of alcohol and then head to bed.
I'm exciting like that.
Who knows, maybe I'll "be with child" and this will all work itself out. I just don't feel like being reminded that I'll be "over-the-hill" this year.
30 is the new 50 ya know.
Especially, when the husband is 3 years younger than me. Well, technically between June 26th and November 1st, he's 2 years younger, but for a majority of the year he's 3. He loves to remind me of this any chance he gets, especially at birthday's. For the past 2 years he's given me a "Happy Birthday you're 30" card. I'll open it and grimace. He, of course, throws his head back and cackles, because it's SOOO freaking funny.
Some days I just want to poke his eyes out.
However karma returned the favor and bit him in the butt the other day.
He got carded for trying to buy a mega millions lotto ticket, in a liquor store, at 1pm, with 2 day old stubble.
I laughed so hard I almost peed.
Maybe for his birthday next year I'll get him a binky and a bottle. The man does have a baby face.
I bet he'll find it just about as funny as I find the inappropriate birthday cards.
Monday, August 24, 2009
On Sunday morning, I was lucky enough to con the husband into watching Tyler while I went to the grocery store. Usually I drag the husband in tow, to avoid the otherwise inevitable complaining about what I buy.
Why did you buy this kind of bread....I don't like diet pop....You bought the wrong kind of granola bars....But I don't want this kind of cereal this week, yes I realize I ate it last week, but I wanted something different.
To this my standard response is "I had a coupon, it was on sale, live with it"
So on Sunday, he promised not to complain about anything I bought and allowed me to venture out on my own. It was blissful, even if it was 9am on a Sunday, I hadn't bothered to brush my hair, and threw on the first thing that looked half way clean.
I took my time driving to the store. I paused early at the stoplights that began to turn red. I used my turn signals, I parked a few rows away from the entrance for the extra exercise, I even bought a $4 cup of coffee at Starbucks because I knew there wouldn't be anyone to knock it over while he threw a hissy fit because mommy wouldn't let him eat the whole bag of grapes while we shopped.
I checked prices against my coupons, I evaluated the best buys with the cost per ounce sticker on the shelves. I even made a few personal phone calls while I leisurely walked the quiet, empty aisles. I was almost a little sad when I realized my shopping list was completed and I had to checkout.
But all good things must come to an end, so I drove back to the house, slowly, trying to formulate a plan that allowed solo grocery trips every week. Shouldn't be too hard. Men hate the grocery store, right?
The husband and I unloaded the car, dragged the bags inside and plopped them down on the counters. Because we'd rather cut circulation off to our fingers then make more than one trip, it only took a minute.
Tyler, eager to help out, grabbed a grocery bag off the counter and began pulling it's contents out and whipping them onto the kitchen floor. Once that bag was finished, he stood and reached for another one. In an effort to avoid a great mess, I handed him the package of diapers and asked him to go put them in his room.
He smiled his huge smile and quickly turned and ran for the stairs. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, planted his feet, leaned back, swung his arms behind him and tried to chuck the diapers up the stairs.
I laughed. I laughed so hard I almost cried. Because for all the times we've gone to the store, all the times I've come back realizing that the trip took longer than it should have and it sent me into turbo mode. All the times I would quickly de-bag the items, slamming them down on the counter, rushing around and then stand at the bottom of the stairs, hurling baby and bath products up the stairs into the hallway to "make-up time". It never occurred to me that this might not be a great example to set.
It never occurred to me that this would be something he'd pick-up on. Of all the things he could learn, he could copy, he decides my bad habit of "out of sight, out of mind" was the one he'd take. Figures.
I guess he's his mother's son after all.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Truth may be stranger than fiction, but trying to guess the truth can be even funnier.
This Forward Friday is courtesy of AwkwardFamilyPhotos.com a stich of a website that is addictive and hilarious. Especially when the author adds his own captions to the awkward photos.
So I thought we'd try a bit of fun of our own. Ya! Post a comment for your best caption for this photo....
The director told them to think Bob Fosse "jazz hands" meets Alice Cooper. Maybe they took him a bit too literal.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
There are days when I think Tyler is holding out on me.
I think the kid can do more than he leads on.
Prime example, Sunday evening:
I walked down the stairs after changing my clothes and stopped in my tracks at the next to last step and stared blankly at my 2 yr old son. He stood fiercely, in the living room, chest puffed out, arm extended high above his head, proudly waving a peeled banana as if to scream Ta-Da! Look what I did Mommy! He smiled widely with a mouthful of banana and a that's when it occurred to me, he climbed up on the counter, got the banana and peeled it himself. I leaned out, peered around the corner of the stairwell and saw the banana peel perched on the edge of the trash can. My mouth hung open. I blinked. Then blinked twice again, quickly.
I turned back to look at him.
"Hold that thought..." I held up one finger as if to pause the scene.
I backed slowly up the stairs, turned into the bathroom, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, rounded the corner again and descended back down the stairs. I opened my eyes and there he stood, still in the middle of the living room, banana in one hand, with half of it gone now, eaten.
I was speechless. My 2 yr old had peeled his own banana.
I sat down on the bottom step, placed my forearms on my knees, lowered my head, shook it side to side.
What was next; tieing his own shoes, combing his own hair, walking the dog, taking out the garbage, doing the laundry, fixing dinner, washing the dishes?
This growing up thing is progressing much too quickly for my taste, I want my baby back. I demand my baby back!
Oh wait, did you say washing the laundry? Uhm....well, maybe growing up isn't so bad after all.
#1 - Teach Tyler to sort the laundry
Monday, August 17, 2009
I think I know why people get divorced.
They buy a 30 year old house that needs a lot of cosmetic updates. Then attempt to make said improvements, together, on a Saturday, that is 90 degrees, while their 2 yr old son runs around wreaking havoc in the garage, and their basset hound, who suffers from extreme separation anxiety, howls, cries and scratches incessantly at the front door to be let out.
This kind of situation leads to lapses in judgment, injuries and the husband growling every 10 mins under his breath that "We should have just hired someone".
Perhaps, but I'm too cheap.
So after 5 hours, 2 re-dos, a 100+ curse words, three head injuries, 2 marital spats, one inquisitive neighbor who just smirked and calmly walked backwards out of the conversation, and a very large gap, we still do not have a fully functional screen door.
I may have ultimately resisted saying "I told you so" about the molding, but he did get his way and called "the guy".
The good news is we're still married. And the door will be fixed by Friday.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Most of the jokes I hear from the husband are kinda vulgar and unappealing. Then again, we also have very different opinions on what is funny. I prefer slapstick, physical Will Ferrell humor. While he prefers the typical male dick jokes. His favorite movie is Super Troopers....he's a guy what, do you expect [shrug].
But bottom line who doesn't love a good joke? Especially a drinking one on a Friday.
Here's hoping your weekend is enjoyable, and happy Forward Friday!
The Moral of the Story Is:
The teacher gave her fifth grade class an assignment: Get their parents to tell them a story with a moral at the end of it.
The next day the kids came back and one-by-one began to tell their stories. ”Johnny, do you have a story to share?”, the teacher asked.
“Yes ma’am,” Johnny replied. “My daddy told me a story about my Aunt Nancy. She was a pilot in Desert Storm and her plane got hit. She had to bail out over enemy territory and all she had was a small flask of whiskey, a pistol, and a survival knife. She drank the whiskey on the way down so it wouldn’t break, and then her parachute landed right in the middle of 20 enemy troops. She shot 15 of them with the gun until she ran out of bullets, killed 4 more with the knife till the blade broke, and then she killed the last Iraqi with her bare hands.”
“Good heavens,” cried the horrified teacher. “What kind of moral did your daddy give you from this story?”
“Stay the hell away from Aunt Nancy when she’s drinking.”
Monday, August 10, 2009
Most people have hobbies.
Activities or projects that they find soothing, relaxing and enjoyable. Sometimes these hobbies are simple and inexpensive and other times they are intricate and costly. But regardless, the cost is usually seen as an investment in a persons happiness.
I don't have any hobbies. I have shopping. It makes me happy.
obsession passion. I can shopping for hours looking for the best deal on stuff. Occasionally on items I really don't need. But I can't pass up a great deal. It's these times when I'm tempted to hide my purchases from the husband and lie about what I've just bought.
It's not buyers remorse, it's the fear of being caught.
These are the times when I get a glimpse of the fact that I may have a problem.
I never have a problem, however, convincing the husband that my purchases for Tyler are in his best interest. See how happy it makes him?
The husband just shrugs and remarks "No wonder he loves his mommy best, she spoils him rotten"
Perhaps. But I don't see "Over-enthusiastic provider" listed on the 7 deadly sins, so I'm thinking I'm in the clear.
Take for example my latest trip to Target (always dangerous). I was on a mission to find bugs. The small little life-like plastic toys that little boys love to gross-out adults females with. I'd gotten a tip from my mommy underground sources (the nesties) that there were some cheap $1 ones at Target. So off I went, immediately after work.
What I found in the clearance section was perfect. A small tube of butterflys, lady bugs and dragon flys for $1. I even found a "bug house" to keep them all in for $3. I'd really hit pay-dirt today.
As we turned to leave, we rounded a corner and saw it. On the end cap. A 42-piece, Black n Decker tool set. Complete with hard hat and tool belt. It was awe inspiring.
Tyler currently had a 7 piece set with a little tool box that he carried everywhere we went. He'd gotten it for Christmas and would even get it out and attempt to help when Daddy did small home repairs.
But THIS set was different. THIS set dwarfed the other set by a mile. It had a hammer, 2 screwdrivers, a drill, a hack saw, a level, a speed square, a wood shaver, a c-clamp, a socket wrench, a pipe wrench, a ratchet set, a tape measure, pliers, and a million little bolts, nuts and nails. It was everything a little boy needed. He HAD to have it.
And Mommy was happy to oblige. So in the cart it went, along with the bugs and bug house. No sense in putting back a great deal.
We got it home, unwrapped all the piecey parts and splayed them across the living room floor. That's when it occured to us that they all wouldn't fit in his old tool box. We were gonna need a bigger box.
The husband just shook his head when he came home that night and saw the carnage. Because sadly the bugs were a distant second to his new tool set.
See even Fred the dog is concerned my shopping habits may have gotten out of control.
Good thing I don't listen to the dog.
Friday, August 7, 2009
I'm no David Letterman, but I sure do enjoy a good "Top Ten" list. Sometimes they're pretty lame, but then other times they're down right perfect.
My personal favorite is the "Top Ten messages left on Al Gore's answering machine", with #6 and #4 - utterly hysterical.
So I thought I'd give a shot at my own Top Ten List (borrowed, of course, I'm not this witty) That and I apparently can't count.
Top Ten Lessons women have learned about their men:
1. Don’t imagine you can change a man - unless he’s in diapers.
2. What do you do if your boyfriend walks-out? You shut the door.
3. If they put a man on the moon - they should be able to put them all up there.
4. Never let your man’s mind wander - it’s too little to be out alone.
5. Go for younger men. You might as well - they never mature anyway.
6. Men are all the same - they just have different faces, so that you can tell them apart.
7. Definition of a bachelor; a man who has missed the opportunity to make some woman miserable.
8. Women don’t make fools of men - most of them are the do-it-yourself types.
9. Best way to get a man to do something is to suggest they are too old for it.
10. Love is blind, but marriage is a real eye-opener.
11. If you want a committed man, look in a mental hospital.
12. The children of Israel wandered around the desert for 40 years. Even in biblical times, men wouldn’t ask for directions.
13. If he asks what sort of books you’re interested in, tell him checkbooks.
14. Remember a sense of humor does not mean that you tell him jokes; it means that you laugh at his.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
I love people watching.
I especially like people watching at new and strange places where alcohol is involved. The true crazies always come out in places like that.
Take for example my Saturday night out at the new piano bar in town with our close group of friends for one of my bestie's birthday. It was a great evening that ended with 4 of us mildly intoxicated on a mission to satisfy our hankering for pizza (who's Saturday night doesn't end this way?)
Granted my group of friends is perfectly capable of making our own fun but it was the people we observed while there that really made the evening.
Let me sum it up in a simple mathematical equation.
Alcohol + Piano Tunes + 10 bachelorette parties = One funny evening
Some of the women we observed were just too funny not to write about.
#1 - a middle aged woman who felt compelled to dry hump every man that dared walked by her table (although she did seem to pay particular attention to one guy)
#2 - a 20-something blonde girl who was never without a drink, wore hot pink sunglasses all night, high heels, a too short balloon mini-dress and would randomly stopped dancing to strike a pose.
#3 - another middle aged woman who hurriedly ripped off the bar t-shirt she'd been sporting and inadvertantly removed her slip dress as well in the attempt.
#4 - a 20-something bride-to-be who had an unhealthy obsession with a banana.
#6 - the same middle aged woman in #1 hiking her skirt up, laying on her back on the stairs, leg pumping to the song and flashing half the bar.
#7 - Numerous women (and men) sporting bar slogan bumper stickers on their chests, legs, backs, heads and butts alerting passer-byers of their availability. Demonstrated here by my bestie:
Friday, July 31, 2009
As a follow-up to my Female Language Dictionary post, I felt it was only fair to offer an alternate point of view.
Really the husband was using my post to refine his smart ass skills and I needed some ammo.
So enjoy! I know I did.
Male Language Dictionary
I'm hungry - I'm hungry
I'm sleepy - I'm sleepy
I'm tired - I'm tired
Nice dress - Nice cleavage!
I love you - Let's have sex now
I'm bored - Do you want to have sex?
What's wrong - I guess sex tonight is out of the question
I love you, too - Okay, I said it...we'd better have sex now!
May I have this dance? - I'd eventually like to have sex with you
Can I call you sometime? - I'd eventually like to have sex with you
Do you want to go to a movie? - I'd eventually like to have sex with you
Can I take you out to dinner? - I'd eventually like to have sex with you
Will you marry me? - I want to make it illegal for you to have sex with other guys
Let's talk - I am trying to impress you by showing that I am a deep person so that you'll have sex with me
I don't think those shoes go with that outfit - I am gay
Thursday, July 30, 2009
I tripped the motion sensor of the sliding doors, grabbed a shopping car and headed to the produce section. First on my "gotta get" list was bananas. Followed by strawberries, potatoes, green beans and then finally melons. I always saved melons for last, because they are by far the most perplexing fruit to purchase. Very difficult to quantify their quality due to their tough, bumpy exterior. Kinda like a man in that aspect; you gotta kind knock, shake, listen and press just the spots to find out if it's worth keeping.
As I made my approach to the melon stand, I saw a woman about my age scanning the produce display. I stood next to her and begin conducting my own initial assessment. Finally selecting what I judged to be an excellent specimen.
I reached across my body, extending my arm toward the melon when our hands touched and landed on my melon. I gave a sharp intake of breath, smiled and chuckled just slightly. Apparently both our "melon detectors" had exceptional taste.
I didn't remove my hand, it was mine. Although neither did she. We each were staking our territory on the melon stand.
I smiled quickly and reached with both hands for the melon.
She leaned forward, placing her weight on the melon to prevent me from removing it. I gritted my teeth slightly, forced a smile and tugged on the melon. She reached, grabbing the melon with both hands, hoisted it into the air and also began tugging in an attempt to dislodge it from my grasp.
I shouted "Mine!" and gave a tug.
"Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine!" I shouted as I tugged again.
She leaned forward and growled "Mine!" back at me.
And there we stood, two 30 year old women, in the middle of the produce section, fighting over a $1.99 melon.
Sounds ridiculous right?
Good thing toddlers grow out of the "Mine" phase.
Could you imagine if they didn't?
Ya me either.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
But I wasn't wet like I'd stood in the front lawn under the sprinkler on a hot mid-summer day.
More like I'd received a sprinkle from the arch of water cascading across the yard.
Worse yet, it wasn't water at all. It was pee. I'd been peed on. Again.
Tyler had just snuggled up next to me when I felt a warm sensation on my side. He'd sat just right so that the stream of pee escaped out the top of the diaper and trickled down my shirt.
I don't know why I was surprised. After 2 1/2 years, I'd been peed on more than I'd ever thought was possible.
Early on, the concept of "springing a leak" was foreign to me. I'd change every diaper without a second thought. Until the first time it happened.
I detached the each side flap and folded down the front. I looked away and as I reached over for a baby wipe, I felt something dribble across my head, down my forehead and drip onto my chest.
I looked up, wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and realized Tyler was peeing. Straight up. With perfect aim at my head.
I screamed. Why? Because I'm a girl. Because it'd never happened before. Because I'd been caught off guard and was stunned. Because for a split second I had to consider the fact that I might be on candid camera.
It took me a good minute to collect myself, finish the diaper change, and head into the bathroom to towel off.
I called the husband to relay the events. He burst out laughing and had to hang up. He was still laughing about it when he came home that night.
About a week later the husband was on diaper duty when it happened to him.
I just stood outside the room and chuckled to myself.
Wouldn't be the last time either one of us would receive a "yellow shower"
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Yes, I realize it's Tuesday, but sometimes you wake up and realize it's Monday and you wonder where the hell Friday went.
So here's what Friday's Funny Forward should have been.
The "problem solving flow chart" - a real multi-tool for the office.
I suggest printing it out for future reference.
Monday, July 27, 2009
The cleaning bug bit me over the weekend.
But it wasn't the giant Madagascar hissing cockroach cleaning bug, it was more of a small mosquito that annoys and pricks me just before I slap it flat against my arm.
So to satisfy this small annoyance of a bug, I decided to clean out the hall closet that had long been ignored and was in desperate need of a clean and toss session. It was the only location I could store my vacuums, however with the massive amounts of other unrelated "junk" collecting at the top and bottom of the closet, I took my life in my own hands every time I opened the door.
After about 15 mins of pulling everything out and tossing it indiscreetly over my head into a pile behind me I reached the back of the closet.
What I found, stuffed in the far recesses of the black hole of a hall closet was a small, yellow and white gingham check fabric tote with white canvas handles. My mothers diaper bag she had carried when my sister and I were a baby. Knowing my mother, she more than likely sewed it herself. She had been crafty like that.
The handles were yellowed with use and the white wasn't white anymore; almost ivory. There was a large brownish stain on the one corner, and it had the distinct pattern of a leak (probably baby oil). And inside were a pair of black patent leather soft soled mary-janes; size 2. My baby shoes.
The woman in me looked longingly at these shoes and envisioned my own unborn daughter wearing them some day. While the pack-rat in me quickly tried to process where to stash this that won't be forgotten later. I settled with placing the bag at the top of the stairs for the interim.
About an hour later I was finished with the closet and the husband had finished with his "honey-do" project and we were both straightening up the house. Read: picking crap up so it looked less like a mess and more like we actually cared enough to be neat.
I need to preface the rest of the story with this: the husband puts his foot in his month; regularly. And from an observers perspective it can be painful to watch. It's as if the world is a TV show, with the closed captioning on and the subtitles a good 5 seconds ahead of the action. You see the thoughts and dialogue spelled out ahead of time but you are unable to intervene and prevent the words. All you can do is sigh and shake your head at the absurdity of it all.
As we climbed the stairs he spotted the small bag. He lifted the bag up from it's resting place at the top of the stairs and looks at me sideways.
"What is this? This is the ugliest purse I have ever seen. Why would you buy something like this?"
I just looked at the husband dumbstruck by his idiotic statement. He'd done it again.
"That was my mother's diaper bag and those were my baby shoes"
The husband turned a crimson shade of red and sheepishly hung his head.
"Oh...I'm sorry, it's lovely, it really is beautiful" as he handed me back the bag.
I love the guy, but some days I swear I don't know him.
Friday, July 17, 2009
The husband is always complaining he is not a mind reader and he is constantly one step behind what I'm talking about. So I thought I'd put together a little cheat sheet for him. Strong communication makes a strong couple.
The Female Dictionary
Yes - No
No - Yes
Maybe - No
We need - I want
I'm sorry - You'll be sorry
We need to talk - I need to complain
Does my butt look big in this? - Tell me I'm beautiful
Do what you want - You'll pay for this later
I'm not upset - Of course I'm upset, you moron!
Are you listening to me?? - Too late, you're dead
You have to learn to communicate - Just agree with me
Be romantic, turn out the lights - I have flabby thighs
Do you love me? - I'm going to ask for something expensive
It's your decision - The correct decision should be obvious by now
How much do you love me? - I did something today that you're really not going to like
Fine - This is the word we use to end an argument when we are right and you need to shut up.
Five Minutes - If we're getting dressed, this means a half an hour. Five minutes is only five minutes if you have just been given five more minutes to watch the game before helping around the house.
Nothing - This word should sent alarms off. This means something, and you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with nothing usually end in fine.
Go Ahead - This is a dare, not permission. Don’t Do It!
Loud Sigh - This is actually a word, but is a non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men. A loud sigh means we think you are an idiot and we wonder why we are wasting our time standing here and arguing with you about nothing. (Refer back to # 3 for the meaning of nothing.)
That’s Okay - A very dangerous word. That’s okay means we want you to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.
Thanks* - We are thanking you, do not question, or faint. Just say you’re welcome.
(* unless we say ‘Thanks a lot’ - this is PURE sarcasm and we are not thanking you at all. DO NOT say ‘you’re welcome.’ that will bring on a ‘whatever’).
Whatever - This is woman speak for FUCK YOU!
Don’t worry about it, I got it - This means there is something that a we have asked you to do several times, but we are now doing it ourself.
This will later result in a man asking ‘What’s wrong?’ To which we will respond 'Nothing'.
It's a vicious cycle, just do the task we asked the the first time to avoid the headache.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
The other night at our house.
The husband had just come home from being on the road for two days, dropped his belongings at the front door and headed straight for the bathroom. Tyler excited to show him something and unsure where he went stood at the bottom of the steps.
even shorter pause
Me (shouting equally as loud): "Buddy, Daddy is in the bathroom"
thump thump thump thump thump thump up the stairs he ran. And stood outside the bathroom door.
pound pound pound
The husband: "Buddy I'm in the bathroom, give me a minute"
Tyler stood patiently, waiting for the husband to open the door, giggled, and took off running.
The husband looks at me quizzically and I just shrugged and laughed.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Man cannot live by bread alone.
Maybe, but I'm pretty sure I could survive on diet sierra mist, ice cream, pizza and Sonic if given a choice.
I may weight 400 lbs and wear a blue Hawaiian print mu mu, but hey we weren't talking about my priorities.
As many of you know I tend to have extremely memorable experiences with fast food drive thrus. Since I haven't had one in a while, I guess I was due.
Take for example this evening:
I knew full well and good that after a bad run-in with some sour cream potato chips for lunch, my stomach wasn't up to anything remotely outlandish. But Sonic was on the agenda with my bestie, so who am I to pass up a trip through the drive thru of our all time favorite place to pig out.
After my bestie and I had finished ordering our usual combo meals, the worker asked if we wanted to take advantage of the free "Route 44" upgrade.
Did you say free? Why sure! Absolutely upgrade our beverages!
When the very "fluffy" black lady with frizzy black hair that had a 2ft diameter and that I'm pretty certain would not fit through the drive thru window handed us our "Route 44" upgrade drinks, I blurted out the first thing that crossed my lips
Good Lord! Look at the size of that!
She narrowed her eyes and glared at me before sternly shutting the drive thru window and trotted over to retreive our bag of food. Maybe she thought I was talking about her hair...
The darn things won't even fit in my cup holders!
My bestie and I just giggled and happily slurped.
Except I wouldn't be giggling about 3 hours later when my attempts to finish said "Route 44" upgrade left me bloated, nauseous and in desperate need of tums. I lay on our bed, spread eagle, willing my distended belly to deflate. The husband tried hard not to laugh at me and resisted the urge to poke at my stomach.
I guess that means no fooling around tonight, huh?
I gave him my "What do you think" look and smacked his hand away.
Sadly, after a very productive bathroom break, I can reflect on my Sonic decision today, and say with 100% confidence, that I'd do it all again tomorrow.
[shrug] What can I say, Sonic and I are like "this". We are there for each other.
Friday, July 10, 2009
I may have fallen off the wagon this week (writers block) but at least I've got something for Friday!
The original forward was entitled "De-stress" but I think a more appropriate title for this picture montage is "You fail, thanks for playing"
Kinda makes you feel like your week maybe wasn't THAT bad...
Have a great weekend!