Because we all need to laugh on Thursday...

I have nothing witty or provocative to share with you today. Only this observation--some bloggers have ALL the luck!

To stumble across such a gem in a thrift store is absolute blogging gold! Gold, I tell you! I am so envious and so entertained all at the same time!

Enjoy this chuckle, courtesy of Sweet Juniper. (Y'all be sure to click on the link so you can see the hilarious captions added now, ya' hear...)

Wanted: DFW for the CMC

Drama-Free Woman to engage in friendship with a Crazy MomCat who has grown tired of her gender’s ability to turn on itself and tear itself down. Must be loyal, fun, and trustworthy. Looking for a candidate who has enough self-confidence to manage her own life most of the time without assistance, and who avoids meddling in the lives of others unless invited. Lover of Tex-Mex, margaritas and other frozen concoctions, cheesy t.v. shows, pop culture, and music a must. Proficiency with email and computers, a plus. Obsessive blog reading and commenting encouraged. Understanding of perfectionism, self-sabotage, and self-deprecating humor beneficial in this role. Gossipers or backstabbers need not apply. Comment to apply for this position. EOE.

An all time TOE low, and maybe just what I needed...

Last Sunday, my fourth toe on my left foot suffered a casualty when I rammed it into a chunk of concrete as I was carrying my groceries to the back of my car. And, when it hit, I knew it was broken. Why? Because if you know me at all, you know this toe stubbing thing isn't new. It is not uncommon for me to break a toe per year, or more. Such is the life of a klutz who enjoys toeless shoes, I suppose.

And, I cried when I did this in my car before I headed home. Not, because it hurt, even though it really did hurt. But, it was mainly because I was just getting back on track with my workouts thanks to Hurricane Ike and the power outages. I've had family staying with me since then for that reason as well, and I'd managed to work out hard three out of the past four days when the toe debacle happened. I also knew I've gained about 3 pounds since Ike, because of the aforementioned situation too. And, it just felt like someone up there was having a laugh at my expense. As if someone was saying, "Oh, you thought you were getting it together, did you? Mwah, ha, HA--now deal with THIS!"

So, I've hobbled my way through the week and through a jewelry party I hosted Wednesday night. Through errands and running after kids, I've gimped along hoping it will improve soon. And, today I am able to put full weight on it, so I'm getting closer. But, even as I sit here there's a dull pain shooting through my foot. Gah!

Then, last night I got an email from my diabetes doctor's office that I almost deleted thinking it was spam. Once I read it fully though, I discovered it was actually a request to join a weight loss program through the doctors office that would actually PAY me if I reached my goal. The program would offer direct counseling with dieticians and my doctor, 6 months group training classes and support group meetings weekly and much more. I would pay in a couple hundred dollars, but would get that back and get more than 500 dollars back if I reached a goal of losing 10 percent.

Dude, 10 percent isn't THAT much. I've lost that with Weight Watchers how many times before? (Yes, I've done Weight Watchers more than once...ha!)

So, is this the key? Being PAID to lose weight? Maybe, just maybe it is. Maybe all I was waiting for was for someone to wave a check at me and say, "Go for it, chubby!" The truth will be told, in the end, I suppose. I have to call my insurance, find out if these support meetings are something I can even make with my crazy schedule, and see if this is even possible.

Maybe whoever threw this toe thing at me is now throwing me a bone? Stranger things have happened!

Football, peas and Lolo, please...

I don't typically tout the greatness of the most prominent mommy blogger out there. I don't even list her in my link list. But, today she proved why I will probably always read her blog. This is hilarious!

It is 4:30 a.m. and I went to bed early with a massive headache and woke up and then couldn't sleep. Some random thoughts rattling in my mind at this weird hour:

• Little league football is going to be the death of me. My son just turned 9. He is playing with a team that is filled with kids well over 10 and for once he doesn't tower over the kids. Some have both height and size on him actually. Hubs admitted to me tonight that he's getting pretty mangled and even expressed regret that we signed him up this year, instead of next when he'd be on the older end. This did not help my tension headache.
• Thank GOD Shawn Johnson finally won a gold. Homegirl deserved it and who can beat that cute smile? (Nastia, please take notes. You're as graceful as a bird, but you need to show some teeth for America girl!)
• 3 words: Oh, NO...LOLO!!!
• If you can't tell, we've been watching Olympics. I have to say however, that recording it on the DVR and fast-forwarding through things like badminton, water polo, and so forth is the way to go. Plus, it makes for entertaining viewing watching someone bite it on the trampoline it going at 300 times the normal speed.
• Speaking of, why do they have trampoline as an Olympic sport and yet they saw the need to get rid of women's softball? And, BMX bike racing? Please...only my 9-year-old will be thrilled to watch that one.
• Why does it have to rain every day of the last week of summer vacation?
• Why every year do I have that feeling of regret that I only have one week left to do things with the kids? This feeling actually alternates with the sense of complete exhilaration that I will soon have time to myself to futz around my house and get things done. And, ohhh...the scrapbooking I have planned people!!!

That is all. I have to close and try to wind back down. One final thought--I may have to try edamame now....without the dog wound licking, of course.

Crikey! Someone needs to stop her already!

Dear Bindi Irwin,

I have a bone to pick with your precious little animal-loving self. You see, Bindi...(and while we're at it, where DID your parents find that name?)...I really WANT to like you a lot.

You're a elementary-age girl who dresses appropriately. I have never seen you in low-rise shorts and a bikini, like some girls are already dressing thanks to damn Paris Hilton.

You wear your hair in pigtails. Awww... I used to wear my hair the same way. I could do without the crimping as that went out before I graduated from high school (no need to go into dates on that now...). But, the pig tails are cute and age-appropriate.

Mostly, I want to like you because of what I know about your family. Your Dad, while a bit extreme, had a great heart and really believed in animal preservation. He learned it from his parents who ran their Australian zoo for the past 30 years. And, that love of wildlife seemed to make me overlook little things like his dangling your baby brother over some crocs and other nonsensical hijinks.

More reasons to like you? Well, I have a son who is almost nine who loves nature and wildlife, and you and I even share the same birthday! Bindi, we could be really tight gal pals, I think...if you listen to my words of advice.

So, girlfriend, here's my problem. You annoy the crap out of me! Every time I see you on a talk show, I start feeling a little agitated. So, here's my advice to you:

Lose the word "amazing."
When you tell someone that being face-to-face with endangered animals...but later say doing your homework or chores is "simply amazing" it really comes off as insincere.

Also, lose the phrase, "I'm the luckiest girl in the world because..."
On the last show I saw you on, you used that phrase to start about 75 percent of your sentences. Gratitude is nice, but this seemed like a canned line coached to you right before you walk out on a set...which brings me to another big request...

As tacky as it sounds, lose your mom.
She has the words "stage mom" written all over her. I get flashes of Brooke Sheild's mom, Patsy Ramsey and Dinah Lohan when I look at her. Two out of the three of those cases have not ended well, and that's not good odds for you, Bind. Also, if you haven't looked closely, you can see actual dollar signs in her eyes when she's beaming at you talking about what a perfect child you are. Emancipate yourself now and save yourself! Go live with Paw-Paw and Maw-Maw and get back to your animal rights roots!

Keep your show, lose all the hype.
Starting up with the show so soon after your Dad's tragic and untimely death was a bad move on stage mommy's part, but we know that wasn't in your control. The show has great intentions and probably has already garnered a solid fan base. Leave it at that and enjoy the ride.

Do NOT continue to over-publicize yourself. Today, I saw Bindi Irwin-themed birthday party supplies. Girl, I can accept a t-shirt or two, but this is too much. If you don't believe me about over-publicity being the fastest way to quick demise in the entertainment biz, just go talk to Jessica Simpson. She has plenty of time between her direct-to-DVD movie bombs these days, believe me.

Stop being so damn overly-dramatic, Bindi.
In general, your interviews come across coached and shallow, as if you're made to listen to tapes of your Dad's show while you sleep.

We all know you are a normal little nine-year-old girl when you step away from the cameras. That means, you probably watch too much TV, get smart-mouthed with your Mom, refuse to do chores and homework at times, and do mean things on occasion to your little brother. We don't buy the angelic, "Little Miss Perfect" act. It only makes me think that behind-the-scenes, you're really Veruca Salt reincarnated--screaming at makeup and wardrobe to crimp your hair more and find you some perfectly-chilled Australian bottled water already!

I tell you these things, Bindi darling, not to hurt your feelings or cause any psychological trauma. You seem quite confident (perhaps overly so) and so I think you can take this constructive criticism. I tell you only in the hope that you can change most everything about your personality so that I can like you again.

Regards,
The Crazy MomCat
(not classified as an endangered species just yet...)

A double-post day...shocking!

I just have to say, isn't it ironic how when you finally get to the end of a long line of months of stressful work deadlines...

...when you finally have a few nights in a row to relax, take some bubble baths, catch up on your magazine reading...watch old Rachel Ray shows saved on the DVR...

...when you have some time again to actually give your kids your full focus and appreciate the amazing little human beings they are...

...and you're to the point that you could actually see your life moving from a zombie-like existence to actually something that is pleasurable...

...when you start to see a light at the end of a very long and dark tunnel...

...that you have to get freaking sicker than a dog?

Oh, the irony....

A VERY HILARIOUS post...

I got such a kick out of this, that I had to share it with anyone who stumbles upon my site. I have been reading Jessica at Kerflop for quite a long time now...but usually in lurking mode. It's not that I'm shy, I've just grown quite lazy about commenting in my currently overworked state. Still she dazzles me with her gifted decorating skills with kids rooms, her ability to rid her pantry of sugar and eat healthy, and her sarcastically delicious humor.

Anyway, this really gave me a laugh and made me want to go dig out some boxes of yearbooks to see how many of "them" I scratched out. I might have to do a follow-up post on that soon if I find anything interesting!

The MomCat will return to sanity and more regular blog posting in hopefully just a few days. The big bad magazine deadline will be done and I will be only a few weeks from stepping away from it all and reclaiming sanity in my life. More on that soon, I promise! Teaser: I guarantee there will be a story to tell there once I give my notice. It should be very interesting.

Dreams can come true...it can happen to you!

I was nervous as I dialed the phone. Almost giddy, actually...
It was a call I'd wanted to make for a good 8 long years.
And, here I was making it, and I found myself scared.
It was all coming together too easily. Much easier than I never expected.
But, what if it didn't work out? What if I was rejected?

I don't think I could handle that kind of rejection at this point in my life.

I dialed and spoke with her and we set a day and time.

The day came, and I frantically went about straightening and tidying to make thing seem just right--not too clean, but not crazy cluttered either. First impressions are important, you know. What if I didn't do enough? Or what if I did too much?

And, then the call...she was tied up and would need to come the next day. Argh! There is such a cruel nature to waiting! I have wanted this for so long and it is so close to my grasp! Patience is my demon!!!

And, then the day finally came, as did she. Would I make the cut? Would the numbers come in right to make this a reality? Even if it was just for a few months, I just wanted to experience it and savor in it for the time that I could.

I hired a maid today, y'all. And, I think this is the most excited I've been since I had my daughter. And, what am I doing to celebrate?

Well, I'll tell you...

I'M GOING TO DISNEY WORLD, BABY!!!

(Ok, that's coincidentally our family trip this May, but it just worked so well there, don't you think? And I'm almost as excited about that as the prospects of having my floors mopped every other week too. Almost...)

Fish and house guests...

In this season of holiday giving, I watch as many neighbors and friends have their families descend upon their homes for holiday fun and merriment. And, then I give great thanks. I love both sides of my family dearly. They are generous and giving people as a whole. Salt of the earth, I tell you. But, mostly I am thankful for the fact that our family never comes for more than a few days at a time. What is that old saying about fish and house guests smelling bad after more than three days?

SO...in tribute to those of you who have endured the marathon visits from family and friends all with the hopes of spreading holiday cheer, only to find yourselves in holiday hell, this one is for you. ***


If you go and visit family, please take note. Do not make these mistakes:

• DO NOT insist that no other desserts need to be made after finding out one family member is already making a few. Then, feeling competitive, rush and make 2-3 more desserts for Christmas Eve in an attempt to upstage, or keep up with the original dessert maker. She is not trying to compete with you--just trying to help out. Let it go, will you?


• It is inevitable that among all of the holiday delectables and tasty indulgences, you may have a few unhappy visits to the Great Porcelain God in the home of your host/hostess. DO NOT walk away from any explosive experiences (that's as nicely as I can put it) and pretend that the disaster you've made with the toilet and surrounding area is not there. You have visited this home many times and know where the toilet brush and cleaner is. For the sake of your own embarrassment, grab a brush man and scrub the carnage away. Please.


• Are you a smoker? This is America and that is your right. But, DO NOT expect that your non-smoking host/hostess will overlook or not notice that you smoked in their house hidden in the guest room. Trust me, if you do not smoke, you can smell it a MILE away. Just smoke outside please, if you know it offends your loved ones.


• On the same smoking topic, don't assume that the same non-smoking host/hostess will not mind if you smoke in their car while they're driving. If they are not OK with you puffing it up in their near 4,000 square foot home, what makes you think that lighting up in an enclosed SUV will be no problem? Have you never heard of secondhand smoke?


• DO NOT wait until your host/hostess has frantically made a huge meal, put it all on the table and is just doing the final few things before ringing the dinner bell to offer to help out. It was obvious when you sat on your ass on the kitchen stool watching them for the past 45 minutes that you did not want to help. So, just keep quiet and don't try and throw him/her a bone when the dirty work is all done.


• Along the same lines, the same goes for the dish clean-up. DO NOT say, "I guess I could have helped you wash those," when the last dish is being dried. It only annoys the crap out of your host/hostess. Wallow in your rudeness and laziness if you must, but don't act like you intended to help when everyone knows that you did not for one second.


• DO NOT not insist upon coming over to a family member's home who lives nearby, when you haven't even been invited with the guises of looking at some new home renovations, when you really just want a change of scenery from where you are staying. It becomes very obvious when you don't even spend one second looking at the renovated area that you just wanted a new couch to sit on and magazines to read.


• Unless you live in another country or you have a family member who needs your help through a health crises, DO NOT come and stay with family members for a period of more than a week, unless they've requested for you to do so. Yes, they have a new home, but is your staying in the new home for almost a month necessary to break it in? Uh, I think NOT!


• DO NOT try to outdo every family member in the gift giving department just because you are insecure. Just buy a decent gift and let it go. It's not a competition for goodness sake! Who gives a crap what you spent?


• DO NOT give a speech before the Christmas names for gifts have been drawn about how the spending limit is X and how if someone exceeds that, then they can't expect everyone else to go over. If they spend more on your gift, they want to. You just make yourself look like a cheap-ass tightwad with this speech.


• However, DO NOT only put items that are significantly over the spending limit on your holiday wish lists either. That's just rude!


• DO NOT whine and whine and whine about how you need holiday wish lists from your family members when you have not sent your own wish list out for the past 12 years.


• And, when you finally get your family member's wish list after you'd whined for it starting from three weeks before Thanksgiving, DO NOT choose to pick something not on that list and then announce that you thought they'd like your gift better than what the had down anyway. If they'd wanted your gift, wouldn't it have appeared on their WISH LIST?


• DO NOT give used CDs, DVDs, etc. Also, DO NOT try to hide this by saying you just had to watch the DVD before you gave it and that's why it had no plastic wrap around it. Please, if that's not even more rude, then I don't know what is. Would you wear someone's new sweater before you gave it to them too?


• If you are unable to attend a family affair, DO NOT be rude enough to call the host/hostesses home 55 times in the course of three days to report insignificant facts to the visitors who have come without you, all the while interrupting the few days the host/hostess have to enjoy the company they have there.


• Do not say you are getting a family member an extravagent gift, letting them know ahead of time, only to never deliver said gift. You will become the butt of many a holiday joke behind your back. I promise you.


• DO NOT walk around the home of your host/hostess in the morning in any gaping underwear or overly worn pajamas that are, shall we say, a little too revealing? Do not choose to go outside in said pajamas/underwear for the paper, a smoke, or to get something from your car. There are neighbors to think of and I'm certain the Jones's next door don't feel like walking out to get the paper and seeing Grandpa's twig and berries staring back at them from the lawn next door.


• If you are visiting family members, do not shoot down every single idea they have for fun excursions or things to do, talking about how you don't like a single one of them and then just wallow on their couch the entire day. They are trying to entertain you and while it is OK to not really like or want to do everything they suggest, cut them a break and try to break out of your norm a little, will you?

Feel free to add your own DOs and DON'Ts in the comments below. Resolutions will be coming soon as will a few other posts. Happy New Year everyone! Or, as my 3-year-old says, "Happy You Year!"

*** DISCLAIMER: The aformentioned incidents may or may not have happened with my OWN beloved family and could entirely be the hearsay of ranting friends about their famlies. Seriously, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried!

Service, sans the pants...

First of all, it is pretty bad that I left that lousy lack of leg shaving (how's that for alliteration?) post up there all through the Thanksgiving break. I mean, that's not very appetizing, now is it? I hope it didn't leave you all queasy before the turkey or anything.

Worse than that, now, I come back from our family festivities run-down, over-stuffed, and void of all cleverness. Instead, I will entertain you with a tidbit of a conversation from my son on our way home because it is much more entertaining that delving into my family's messed up dynamics.

We were 10 minutes from home when my daughter could absolutely not wait a minute more to go to the bathroom. So, we stopped at the closest, most reasonably-clean-considering convenience store for a quick "pee-run." When I returned to the car, my husband was chuckling and had my son repeat their conversation from moments before. It went a little something like this:

"Dad? You know how that sign says No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service?"

"Yeah."

"Well, what about the pants?"

"What?"(laughing)

"What about the pants? Do you think they SUSPECT you'll be wearing
pants?"

"Do you mean they EXPECT us to wear pants?"

"Yeah, do they expect you to wear pants?"

"Well, yes. People usually do wear pants."

(pause)

"What about (sister's name)? She never likes to wear pants. She takes hers off all the time...all her clothes."

Once I heard this, I added, "I'm sure they never accounted for someone like
your sister."

"Yeah, Mom. I think you're right," he added.

"Everybody Needs a Second Chance"

From the moment it arrived in my house, it beckoned me.

Perhaps it was because of the disappointing experiences long ago, or my love of song, or my deep desire to take Kelly Clarkson's vocal chords and transplant them into my own...

All that I know is, it took every fiber of my being to not Karaoke on my sister-in-law's machine for my son's 8th birthday.

I smiled and listened as my son attempted his favorite guitar song, Smoke on the Water. My sister-in-law gave Big and Rich's Ride a Cowboy a whirl. (I am quite certain she'd never thought about the meaning to the words of that song beforehand.)

And, then she left...telling us she'd leave it with us for a few weeks after seeing my daughter's enthusiastic screaming into the microphone with the echo machine on. For some reason, everyone in the room was in tears laughing as my daughter rolled on the floor squealing in a way that sounded like a beached whale bellowing for help or some sort of dolphin-dialect.

Me, I didn't find it funny...I just saw the writing on the wall.

She is going to be as tone-deaf as me...the singing wannabe, too afraid to Karaoke.

It isn't like I haven't tried before---years ago at a moms' group retreat, I jumped in with a God-awful rendition of Build Me Up Buttercup, only to try and redeem myself with It's Raining Men. Thankfully, both were with a partner. Not so thankfully, we both have low voices which seemed to be about a key off of one another. No amount of wine that evening could have covered our voices destroying those two perfectly wonderful songs.

And, since then, I have contained myself to car singing or the occasionally iPod vocals when no one is around, and I've never gone near a Karaoke night again.

Until yesterday...when I could take it no more.

The box sat there with all of these great 70s and 80s hits just waiting for me. Begging me to come and try them out. Hit me with Your Best Shot, Free Ride, I Love Rock-N-Roll, all of them! It was just too much, I tell you!

So, last night, after dinner, I could wait no longer. And, I pounced.

I pushed away from my dinner chair and walked directly to the machine while my family watched in bewilderment. After all, I had shown no interest in the machine since we got it. I put in the CD and let the music take me away.

After a rather deep version of The Devil Went Down to Georgia where I'd only missed one word, I put the microphone down feeling triumphant--like a huge weight had been taken off my shoulders. I looked around at my family. My son sat wide-eyed with his mouth open. Then, I looked to my spouse for approval.

"It was...certainly, um...low...kind of monotoned even..." He said with a strange and traumatic look on his face.

Rejection. Again. Sigh.

But, in my failure, a new generation of Karaoke enthusiasts was born. My son has mastered the words to Everybody's Workin' for the Weekend, Van Halen's Jump, and is working on The Devil now too. He loves the music. And, surprisingly, this little box is helping his reading too as he has to read quickly to keep up.

And my daughter? She still sounds like a dying whale. Oh well, at least there is hope for one of us...

I hold THESE truths to be self-evident...

There are certain things when you reach your mid-thirties, that you realize about yourself. Certain understandings for which you find a way to make peace inside. God gives us all gifts in this life, and it is up to us to find those gifts and do with them as best we can while we're on the planet. We cannot be great in everything. We are lucky if we are very good in one or two things in life, actually.

I am a decent writer. I am very diplomatic and am good at bridging gaps and making peace between people. I am a very loyal friend. I can diffuse tense situations with my self-deprecating humor. I make a mean lasagna. And, I cannot play tennis.

You know, tennis? That friendly and innocent little sport with the yellow ball? Dignified, and even stylish, refined and respected...tennis--the sport with the cute little to-die-for skirts?

If you know me, you might think the sport of tennis has my name written all over it. I am fairly athletic, and usually at least average in most sports that I try. I have the yams to be able to wear the short skirts even. No cellulite here! I would look great in a ponytail and visor, if I do say so myself!

These thoughts had to have been rattling around in back of my pre-teen and teen aged brain when I used to spend summer after summer attending tennis camps, sometimes in groups and sometimes in private lessons. I wanted to be good at tennis. I wanted that to be my thing.

It was not.

After several years in a row of trying, I gave up and walked away shrugging. Never quite accepting that I was not going to one day rule the courts. I put my dreams on hold instead for games with larger balls, like basketball and volleyball. But, the outfits were not NEAR as cute and I still longed for the day I could play tennis.

It was the same way with playing the piano. Only, add in more agonizing practices, a few embarrassingly bad recitals, and many more wasted years of lessons.

Recently, my son started taking piano lessons and we got him a great keyboard. I have found myself many a time playing through his beginner book songs with the confidence of a young Chopin or Rachmaninov. And, when I finished the last song in the book, which...gasp...actually required two hands, my son clapped for me. Oh, what a feeling to master that beginner piano book!

So, tonight, when my son begged us once again to go to our neighborhood tennis courts, we decided to give it a whirl. Carrying our three rackets with my daughter's scooter, we found an empty court. And, I took a swing for old times' sake.

And, I missed. Not just by a little either, mind you. You could hear the whoosh of the air as my racket came no where near to the ball.

Suddenly, a wave of embarrassment came over me as I looked around to see if the young couple playing two courts over saw me. I swear I could see a muffled smirk on their faces, but maybe I misread things.

Never mind that I am VERY rusty, I thought. So, my husband lobbed me on, and I swung. This time a connection was made! I hit the ball with all of the passion of Anna Kournekova without the grunt or the great hair (or the Enrique Iglesias, for that matter...sorry hon'...). And the ball went soaring....and soaring...and soaring...right over the fence.

My next volley, right into the net. Another attempt, out of the park. And, again, a strange one that went almost straight up in the air for some reason.

And, that's when my daughter's beckoning call to go to the nearby slides was answered. I left the court with my tail between my legs and head hung low, waving off my husbands offer to watch our daughter and let me play with my son.

Man, that was embarrassing, I thought. As I climbed up on the fort slide with my daughter, I looked over at my husband and son with envy. My son was actually connecting with the ball and getting it back to my husband after only a few minutes of practice. The child has never played before and he was already showing me up on the courts! This was great! Perhaps I should get him in lessons right away! What if somewhere down the line, all of those lessons made an unseen impact on my very genetic makeup, which in turn was then passed down through my bloodline to someone who can actually USE the information to their success?

Oh, it was all too much to imagine! The life of a tennis star's mom! I mean, if I couldn't wear the little cutesy socks and skirts on the court, I could wear the sophisticated yet sporty spectator wear while my son dominates the courts with style and grace! Folks would obviously look to my husband and me. Perhaps they'd assume that I, like Tiger Woods' father, was the one who tapped into my son's talent at a young age, passing on my great skill and knowledge and making him the wonder of tennis that he was today. Yes, I am quite sure that might happen, actually

Suddenly, I'm realizing how very easy it is to become one of THOSE parents. You know, the ones who live out their own dreams through their kids? The ones who show up to all of their kid's games with a notebook of the entire teams' stats and rush out on the court/field at inappropriate times to hand out orange slices and water bottles?

Yeah, I'd better stick with the piano after all...next stop, Beginner's Book II!

Monday Mumblings brought to you in Muzak

Dang, has it been that many days since I last posted? Sorry, guys. I'm afraid this post may not rock your world either. Oh well, here goes:

Startling Confession of the Day:

My name is Crazy MomCat, and I pack my laundry loads too tight.

Brilliant Musical Observations of the Day:

Kenny Chesney is the new Jimmy Buffet,

Brad Paisley is the new George Straight,

and Mandy Moore's new song "Extraordinary" is the new muzak (and hardly lives up to its title either).

Aimless Wondering of the Day:
Is it just me, or has anyone noticed that it now seems completely socially unacceptable to be a female and not have a fresh pedicure if you're wearing open-toed shoes?

Gone are the days of simple, nicely self-groomed and trimmed toenails. No, now toes must be sparkly or French-tipped, in shades of plum, black and even neon green or orange. And, I can't keep up with this, my friends. I am officially uncool and unfashionable--right down to my chipped old standard pink toenails.

More interesting is that teens seem to be fueling this trend. The last time I got a pedicure (too long ago), I was amazed that about 2/3 of the toes in the salon belonged to girls under the age of 18. How on EARTH do these people's parents afford pedicures for teens, I ask you. There has to be a whole cult of gnarly-toed moms out there just hiding them away in Crocs waiting for their girls to get a job already!

Cute Kid Sayings of the Day:
From my son, age 7, complaining about his little sister:

"Mom, she bees mean to me all the time. It's the baddest she's ever bees."

From my daughter, age 3, when I mistakenly missed her little toe while trying to shove on her sandals.

"Oh, no! Mom! My piglet!!!"

That's all I've got folks! And, with that, MomCat has left the catbox...scratch, scratch...

In the Thicke of Something...

What is the deal with Robin Thicke, people? This guy is ALL OVER THE PLACE. And, I have a problem with this. Yes, I'm going to step out there and go against a coveted "Oprah" pick to say that I just don't get what all the fuss is about with this guy.

OK, he's decent looking enough. But, the first time I saw him, all I could do was thinking about his Dad, Alan Thicke. You know, Jason Seaver on Growing Pains? Kurt Cameron's slightly nerdy therapist Dad? He looks way too much like him, if you asked me. And, as a child of the 80s, I loved me some Kurt Cameron. I'll admit it. And, I totally wanted Joanna Kerns hair. But, Jason Seavers was not my bag, baby.

Then, there's his voice, which sounds a little too much like he's been sucking helium for me to take it seriously. The first comment my husband made when he saw the guy on the t.v. the other day was "what is wrong with his voice?"

Finally, the little Hitler-stache has GOT to go. I'm telling you, I just don't get what all the hub-bub is here. Maybe I'm missing something though...

I do have to give him some props however. Because I found THIS publicity photo of him from his first album.

Ok, now that IS some kind of evolution. One that might even impress the Geiko caveman! Well, after seeing that, I guess I can put up with the mini 'stache. And, who knows? Maybe he'll finally go through the voice change and sound like Barry White by his third album!

With a little bit of pixie dust....

There's another big red mark against me on my permanent parenting record this week. And, I fear that I'm dangerously close to being in trouble with the parenting police. Tonight, is my last chance to make it right.

Let me back-track a bit...

My son is losing his teeth faster than we can keep count right now. In the past month, he has now lost three and is trying to loosen a fourth. The third tooth, I swear he pulled on purpose at school all so he could get the little plastic green tooth treasure chest that his teacher gives if you lose a tooth while at school.

But, I digress. This is not his first "round" of teeth. He has already lost the four front teeth--the grand poobah teeth in the world of elementary tooth shedders. Those are the really big-deal teeth, because they are the first time you get the visit from the infamous Tooth Fairy.

Now, in my house, we do not make a big deal about the Easter bunny. My parents never did, and so we've always just done an Easter basket from us and not really talked much about the Easter bunny. Sure, Aunts and Uncles have planted that seed, but my son has never really bought into it very much, I don't think. I have friends who have woven entire novels about the Easter Bunny and how he delivers the eggs and goodies.

Between you and me, I thank my lucky stars every day that Santa is still real and I cross my fingers that the Tooth Fairy continues on at least for a few more incisors. Because the world is a cruel place, my friends. And, all it takes is one little whisper from that same obnoxious little classmate who teaches your kid things like "the finger" and which cuss words are the best, and both of those dear childhood heroes are vaporized into a cloud of smoke right before your eyes. And, my son is finishing up the first grade with a huge batch of friends in the second grade. We are really just counting the days until "poof" and it is all over. (sigh)

So, for those who haven't had to do it, this Tooth Fairy business is tricky stuff, especially on the weary mind of two parents late at night. But, it doesn't help when you're on tooth number seven and you forget to leave the fairy treat or pick up the tooth! Wait, let me add to that...

YOU FORGET TO LEAVE THE FAIRY TREAT OR PICK UP THE TOOTH FOR TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW!!!

Yes, I can see you all shaking your heads in disbelief and shame at me right now. Tsk, tsk... No, MomCat! Say it isn't so!!!

In my defense, my child forgot to put his tooth under his pillow for two days in a row too. But, then when he finally remembered, my husband and I completely forgot to complete the tooth transaction. And, imagine how our hearts sank when he came downstairs disappointed and announced, "I think the tooth fairy doesn't work on the weekends, Mom." Why, if you could have taken a meat cleaver and clubbed me over the head right then and there, I would have told you it wasn't hard enough and to do it all over again. And, while you were at it, why not grate my fingers with that cheese grater over there at the same time.

Then, the next night it was a repeat. We'd had a late night out of seafood on our favorite touristy pier over an hour away, and got home an hour past bedtime for the kids. I didn't even realize he'd remembered to grab his tooth and put it under his pillow. It wasn't until the next morning when I saw it on our end table, that I knew I had failed again. Sigh.

"I'm pretty sure the Tooth Fairy is on vacation," I said, confidently. "I mean, don't you think she needs a rest every now and then? Imagine how many teeth she has to pick up each night all around the world!" And, the lies continued on until I just about had him convinced...I think.

So, tonight it is time for serious damage control. Especially when my husband shared with me that our son had quite frankly informed him as he tucked himself into bed, "Dad, if the Tooth Fairy doesn't come tonight, I THINK I'm going to have to leave her a letter."

So, a fairy letter was typed and formatted in the fanciest scrawl that I could find. The fairy explained that she was so very sorry she'd not picked up his tooth the past two nights. Why, she'd had the worst case of the "fairy flu!" And, special glitter glue from my scrapbooking supplies tipped the edges of the torn paper just to make it look more authentic. Finally, in a fine moment of forgery (how's the for alliteration?), my right hand took on the role of her majesty, Role Highness of Choppers, as I scribbled her signature, wishing to great goodness that it didn't look anything like my own. I dropped in our coins and motherly guilt saw me adding one dollar greenback, just to make up for it all.

Now, I am off to keep the fantasy alive. And, I'm hoping like hell that he doesn't wake up as I'm in there as I trying to make the swap. And, trust me, that's not so easy when your son sleeps 6-foot up on a platform bed. But, I must succeed tonight. After all, Tooth Fairies don't last forever and I've got serious parenting points to make up now!

A confession from between the sheets...(UPDATED)

This post is updated, now with added irony, below.

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That I've gotten your attention with that title...

In my opinion, based on numerous sleep overs as a kid and the past almost 15 years of sharing a queen with another person, there are two kinds of sleepers in the world. People usually fall in one of these two categories, and some are a combination of the two. There are the "Dead-to-the-World Sleepers" and "the Thrashing Cover-Stealers."

My husband is a DTTW sleeper. There are many nights that I gaze upon him in amazement at how quickly he can go from alert and talking to sawing logs. It is truly a gift and one for which I am very envious.

I have to admit here, that I'm a Thrasher. I can't help it. It is in my genes. There were times as a kid that I'd pass by my parents room and witness my father doing what only could resemble an rare African ritual dance all while lying face down completely asleep. It never failed to make my chin hit the floor and I'd sit there for a few minutes just watching the show.

Actually, my parents rarely slept in the same bed because of this fact. I know that sounds terrible, but I really couldn't blame my mom. Aside from the acrobatic thrashing, my father snores heinously and must have the TV blaring to go to sleep. How could ANYONE sleep in the same bed with that, I ask you? My mother was a night owl and my father was an early riser. The two just could not get their sleeping habits to work together and still haven't to this day.

The past week, my poor husband has been very sick. We are, of course, a few days from our new insurance kicking in, so he's been unable to go to the doctor and hacking up a lung most nights. Because of the congestion, he's started sleeping in our leather chair where he can be elevated. This leaves me, coming off of several very bad weeks of insomnia, with a great big, fairly new pillow-top queen to myself.

And, I'm loving every minute of it, my friends.

I have slept better the past week, than I have in probably six months. I don't wake up at all, which is really out of character for me. And, last night, rather than just allow a leg or an arm to make its way onto his side of the bed, I daringly took center stage and did a full spread eagle, falling asleep that way. My hands were spread out to the side so that I could almost touch each side of the bed with its respective hand. I looked as if I were in mid-jumping jack. I'm certain that I probably slept with my mouth open as well, because it was a full-on awesome REM moment.

It was truly heavenly.

I'll admit, and this sounds awful because I dearly love my husband and want him to get well more than anything, it is going to be hard to go back to our sleeping arrangements when he is well. But, I really hope I can go back to co-sleeping. You see, another thing about me that is kind of odd for a girl I suppose is that I'm not a cuddler. When it is time to sleep, I'm all business. I need to be in the right position and have a certain level of comfort. Years of insomnia have forced this upon me. But, ironically, I recently had a conversation with my sister who admitted she is the same way. Thrasher genes strike again, I suppose.

The past week, while my husband has suffered through this awful cold/bug, I have had more energy than ever because I have been queen of the queen--a master of my pillow topped universe. Yet, it is all so bittersweet. I know in a few days he'll be well and I will have to return to my right-sided sleeping life. (And he, truthfully, will have to return to putting with with a wife who never sleeps still and is known to hog the comforter in the wee hours.) Alas, the whole situation is like giving a dog a massively meaty bone and then ripping it from his teeth just as he starts to taste it. Sigh. Life is not fair sometimes, is it?

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Little did I know that my husband, who has been too sick to bother reading my silly blog, would approach me tonight and ask if he could take the comfy bed. The bone is gone, my friends...that is, unless I can find it under a couch cushion tonight when I try to sleep. HA!

Manolo Mehs...

This entry may just make a whole bunch of you crowd my comment area in a revolt, demanding that I turn in my "girl" membership card. But, I have an admission to make.

I'm really not that into shoes.

It is true! I just don't see what all the fuss is about with women and their shoes. I have never quite been able to figure that out. Shoes cover your feet. They protect my flat arches and are necessary for me especially now that I'm diabetic. But, am I going to ever spend more than about $100 on a pair? Oh, hell no. I don't even spend over $30 most of the time, to be honest, except for my sports shoes. (I shell out some cash for running shoes--I have had two stress fractures in my feet before and I'm not sacrificing on quality with my sports gear.)

Now, this admission, while trivial and small to some, is something I have tried to hide for years. It makes me feel so completely un-girly. I have tried to get into shoes. Really I have! I also own enough pairs that my husband may anonymous comment on here to argue this whole post. So, I do buy SOME--I just am way too sensible in the shoe department most of the time though.I don't have "fun" shoes. I'm not a fun shoe girl...

Hyper-stylish shoes are not something I understand. I have your basics--brown, black, white maybe for summer, perhaps a bone color pump or something like that. I have NEVER bought a pair of shoes outside of those colors. Seriously, never. Ok, maybe with a summer flip-flop. Like once. I didn't even by neon "Jellies" in the 7th grade when all the girls had them!

So, when I used to hit the outlet malls with a dear friend of mine, I sat and marveled at her excitement with shoes. The girl sometimes even let out a growl when she found a particularly hot pair. Once, I swear I heard her meow at a good pair of Clarks. Even Stacy London on What Not To Wear gets all worked up over a nice leopard print heel. Me, I look at that and picture myself falling down stairs, off a curb, and other public places because I know that's what would happen if I ever bought a uber-heel. And, I see my neighbors snickering at me behind my back--"Who does she think she IS trying to pull off an animal print?"

A local radio station is doing a big shoe giveaway here, where women call in and if they are a certain number caller they get to name their pair of fantasy shoes and they get those free from our local uppity mall establishment. I started thinking, what would I say? Manolo Blahnik? Jimmy Choo? Do I even KNOW what those shoes look like? Um, I think they are all dressy heels, am I right?

So, yesterday, I decided to browse a lovely discount shoe mecca because I was in that area of town and never have time to browse. I thought I'd find a nice pair of semi-heels that looked nice with slacks to wear to a business luncheon today I had to go to for the magazine.

Aisle upon aisle of shoes beckoned me. And, I stood there, dumb-founded. My daughter, who happens to have this girl shoe gene from a very early age, ran up and down the aisle squealing and pulling out ones she liked for me. The child is three and she already knows more about picking shoes than me, I think.

I finally dug in and started walking the place. And, I discovered something. I don't know that it is that I don't like shoes. It is that I'm damn picky about them...and I don't budge and just buy something if it doesn't meet my standards. I knew exactly what I wanted and out of the thousands of shoes staring at me I could only find maybe 4-5 to try on that met those criteria.

In the end, I settled on a slightly too casual Dockers brand black wedged heel with an open toe to show off the "pedi." I can wear them with everything pretty much and they fit my standards. Manolos they are not, but they're me.

Somehow, I know if they ever paid me a visit, Stacy and Clinton would dramatically seize upon my shoe rack in the closet and squeal, "BO-RING! Lose all of these! How can you LIVE like this?" Then, I would be forced to learn and understand things like what a kitten heel is, when to wear ballet flats, and how to walk in a 3-inch heel. Until then, I'll think I'll embrace my "blah-nicks" and go on my merry meh way...

You know you're too tired when...

...after two nights of horrible insomnia (falling asleep around 3 a.m.), you fall asleep while doing homework with your son...

What is more funny--when you wake up to the doorbell you discover that not only you has fallen asleep while helping your son with his homework, but HE has fallen asleep too. You wake to find both your heads leaning against one another and a long jagged pencil line across his homework page!