Happy Hour

There's a place where your single life, and your life as a mother and wife collide. It doesn't happen often. Sometimes it's a high school friend, a weathered photograph, or in my case an antiquated playlist from a resurrected ipod.

There was a time when I looked forward to happy hour. What was once a time for loud music, libations, and high calorie appetizers, now became known as the "Five'O'Clock freakout." And why not? It's the pocket of time that hangs in the suspense of dinner duties and down time. This would also explain Oprah and Dr.Phil's air times.

It's not uncommon for me to try to recreate this festive atmosphere within the confines of my own living room. My kids get in on the action, and take to the dance floor a.k.a the foyer. But tonight to my dismay and utter disappointment my ipod (and for want of a better word) took a dump. So I fumbled through a mass of co-ax cables and phone lines until I found what I was looking for, my first ipod. Already a geriatric at the mere age of six, it's health took a turn for the worse last year when I went for a run with it on the beach. Honestly, electronics should be aged in dog years.

This was not just my first ipod, but my first playlist. Mr. Wendel by Arrested Development brought my children running from all directions. I love to watch children dance. Good or bad, they are going with it. Kind of reminds you of that crazy AND extremely drunk relative at your wedding busting a move to the macarena.

For the sake of experimenting I left it on the shuffle mode as I spun my kids in circles until they were too dizzy to stand up. Hey, don't knock till you've tried it! The next song was "It's All Been Done", from the Stunt album by the Bare Naked Ladies. I wonder what the hell happened to them? Oh yeah, they suck! Yet, at the age of 23 I thought their music not only spoke to me but inspired me. For me, music is a sort of time machine that transports me to a different place. Tonight I was surrounded by the promises I felt in my youth, and the reality that I am living them.

Motherhood in the Raw....: Little "Pet" Shop of Horrors

Motherhood in the Raw....: Little "Pet" Shop of Horrors

Little "Pet" Shop of Horrors

Just in time for halloween comes spooky stories of doomed pets.

One morning just two short weeks ago, I dragged myself out of bed and sat on the sofa staring into space. For me, this is just the magic of waking up. As the coffee maker began to gurgle and spurt, I reached wearily for my paper. But what to my wondering eyes should appear? Do my eyes deceive me, or did I just see a small creepy shadow darting to and fro? It had been years since I had seen a rodent in my home, but the movement was unmistakable. Did I mention that I am deathly afraid of rats and mice? Forget the coffee, I was awake on pure adrenaline alone. So, I did what any self-respecting fraidy cat would do. I let out a half-ass scream,and jumped to a safe place...like the nearest elevated surface. My heart was pounding and my hands shook at the sheer horror of the situation.

Growing up, I always wanted a dog of my own, that's why my mother got me hamsters. Occasionally, they would break out of their orange and plastic containers with tubes leading to nowhere, and seek out new adventures in the house. The first hamster, and oddly enough the only one to die of natural causes, was named Moses.
Moses, was our most beloved hamster and had pretty brown and white markings.
He seemed to love to be smothered so having kids around was the ideal situation. Just over two years later Moses was enjoying his golden years, when he was struck down with what the vet called a stroke. His funeral was heartbreaking for myself and my siblings. I can still picture his "coffin", an old shoebox from a pair of beloved Florsheims purchased 10 years earlier. In our grief, my mother took us to Petland for our next victim, I mean pet. I picked an albino, teddy bear hamster. He was appropriately named, Popcorn. I loved Popcorn, but his affections were not returned. Each night, like the mentally deranged hamster that he was, he would climb to the top of his cage and drop 3ft or the equivalent of jumping out of your second story window. This would continue round the clock and into the wee hours of the morning!
Later I was told, that albino animals tend to go insane. This information would have been helpful at the time of our purchase. He also was the most aggressive, and bit the shit out of me on several occasions. I had to quit telling my mom about his attacks to avoid being dragged to the family MD for yet ANOTHER tetnis shot. His fate was sealed when one night, in an attempt to free himself from the confines of his human captors, he tried squeezing through the bars of his cage. My sister found him the next morning, while I was at a sleepover.

My next pet, Muffin was a gentle soul with long fluffy hair and unique markings. In his desperation to be free, he ate away at the bottom of his cage and ingested metal shavings which caused him to bloat to the size of a water balloon. After giving him tums and Altoids he succumbed to his fate the following morning.

Perhaps the most heartbreaking of those stories was the tale of Sniffles.
Sniffles, met his fate one unbearably hot Florida afternoon in the summer of '83'. We had decided to go sightseeing for the day, and upon my Grandmother's assurance that he would be ok, we left him on the front seat of our 81 Chevy pickup. Well, you guessed it, we returned too late from our day trip. Sniffles had literally "fried" to the bottom of the cage like a tater tot.

Funny to think that their deaths brought much more laughter than their lives.
It's been over 24 years since I have owned a rodent as a pet. And it's been more than a week, since I have seen hide nor hair of our uninvited house guest. Maybe it's time to pull up the traps and put down cages!

Happy Halloween Everybody!

Birthdays and other hooplas

My son celebrated his 4th birthday this past weekend. My parents who made the trip up from the Florida, were here to celebrate as well. We kicked off our weekend festivities with a trip to our favorite Mexican restaurant a 30-minute drive away. Which is coincidently how long it takes to get to any restaurant or even our local Target for that matter. We were welcomed at the door by our usual over solicitous server, and shown to our table. My son had come home earlier in the day complaining of being to cold, which is not uncommon for him since he thinks anything below 85 degrees is too frigid. His aversion to the cold is matched by his dislike for any music that does not sound like Bobby Darin or big band. Sometimes I think he is an 80year-old trapped in a 4 year-old body. I love this about him, as I always wanted a child that was an old soul. Anywho, we were seated immediately and handed sticky menus with the usual fare served in Mexican restaurants. I ordered the number 3, aka the Speedy Gonzalez. In anticipation of a scalding hot plate, piled high with warm substandard ground meat, and iceberg lettuce, I instead felt new warmth pooling on my pants leg. It took me a few seconds to realize that projectile puke had landed on my jeans, the menu and possibly a line cook. It's parental moments like these, where you really feel like you are having an out of body experience. I surveyed the situation, and realized that it was coming from my lap where my son had decided to hang out while ordering. Within 20 or 30 very long seconds, I was running to the bathroom with a crying 4 year old under my arm, my hand cupped over his mouth. My first thought was, "is this shit really happening to me right now?" My second was, "Am I really running through a crowded Mexican restaurant on a Friday night with a blubbering 4 year-old physically holding back puke from spilling on the floor?" Ah!! WTF!! We hung out in the bathroom, which was remarkably clean and slipped out when the coast was clear. By morning Grey was feeling much better, and seemed that he had recovered enough to enjoy his birthday. And I got to enjoy the joy in his eyes from the simpler things in life like a birthday hug, and a chocolate cupcake.

Motherhood in the Raw....: Wax On Wax Off

Motherhood in the Raw....: Wax On Wax Off

Wax On Wax Off

One little cobweb led to my mass hysteria as I spent the entire day cleaning windows, baseboards, showers.... the works! It sucked. My shoulders are killing me, and I keep waiting for Mr. Miyagi to show me that all my hard work paid off as I was really learning some kick ass karate moves rather than JUST scrubbing toilets. Don't get me wrong this shit needed to be done, but maybe spread out along say....4 weeks give or take. I'm no overachiever, more like the "lazy mans load" when it comes to completing mass to-do lists.

Despite or in spite of my exhaustion, I managed to feed and bathe the kids by 8pm. During bath time, my son's imagination plan took a turn for the creepy when he busted out a low-key scratchy voice. His new pirate character sounds more like Danny from the Shining. Seriously, I keep expecting him to say, "redrum, REDRUM!"

This morning I am feeling a hungover from my cleaning spree. Miyagi say, "drink lots of beer tonight and take motrin, or feel like squashed grape."

Apologies for the tardiness of my blog. I have been trying to finish an article in the midst of a sick baby and back-to-school time. Ok, so my daughter Sage has been sick with a cold since Sunday. So inbetween her lethargy and a nap we made a mad dash for the grocery store. I have to tell you that I have been a loyal shopper to my local Publix for two reasons. 1. the convenience factor. 2. for the characters employed there. David the gentle but mentally handicapped bagger, and his equally challenged co-bagger, Amy are always there to offer a smile and strange advice.
Take our friend Amy. Just over a week ago she felt the need to share some of her "female" ovarian problems to the reluctant audiance of my stomach. I feigned interest and even managed to force a smile. As she continued to unload my groceries, I contemplated pinching Sage so that she would finish in a hurry. With some luck, and a little help from the heat she put the last bag in the back of my Honda. Then there's Gena the misanthropic cashier who always regales me with stories of her arthritis and psoriasis. Sometimes, I will get in her line just to see what she is going to complain about that day. Today, she did not fail me and decided to berate the mentally challenged "bag boy" David. I thought it would be funnier, but I ended telling her that it made for an uncomfortable situation. Shopping is fun again!

My "inner child" grew up on me

If you are ever unsure of your place in the world of demographics and marketing, simply take a stroll at your local shopping mall. These large enclosures, with their even larger "hub" department stores stand as a beacon to consumerism, illuminated by sunlight and greed. Ok, maybe I am being a tad too harsh. I mean come on, every once in awhile you HAVE to accept the fact that purchasing anything material can and does lift your spirits. What woman can deny the affect that a new pair of shoes can have? Even my most "natural" and "granola" of friends love a new pair of comfortable shoes or a good bag even if that bag is made from hemp and meant to carry rutabagas.

Personally, with the exception of the holiday season, I very seldom patron the mall. As a teenager, I was never "dropped off" to hang out with my friends at this larger- than-life hormone mecca. Maybe it's because my mother was not a BIG shopper, and if anything, had to drag me and my siblings through the now defunct Monkey Wards (that's Montgomery Wards to you.)

Yesterday, me and my family found ourselves caught up in its world of neon, food and apparel. My son immediately darted over to the "Great American Cookie", a franchise that sells,......well they sell cookies. His eyes seemed to glaze over as he picked out each treat that he planned on devouring in seconds. Luckily, malls are designed to keep you distracted so it was easy to move him away from those sprinkled snacks.

The magic of marketing had begun to cast a spell on all of us, as we ventured into a store called Hollister. Those of you over the age of 30, with teenage nieces, nephews, and offspring, have no doubt bought a few gift cards to this establishment. Maybe, you have even done a "pop wheelie" trying to get your stroller onto its steps for a peek inside its dimly lit interior. From the moment you walk in, the place smells, looks and feels like raw youth. Remember the old footage of funhouses from the 1920s, where one false step would send a whiff of air up a woman's skirt? At this apparel store, that whiff of air is their signature cologne, which also smells hip and young. And the lighting concept I mentioned earlier? Well, it is meant to draw your attention to the dark denim cropped jeans, and tight t-shirts which hug every curve of the size 0 mannequins. I felt 10 years younger from the moment I set foot in there. Even my 4 year old was captivated by flat screen televisions, fashioned to look like you are staring out through a window at the ocean. And there are speakers tucked into unassuming spaces blaring what sounds like a Green Day tribute/cover band. Which came in handy, as it drowned out my daughters impatience. Of course, I purchased those cuffed jeans, AND the t-shirt feeling like electric sex was rockin' through my veins.

Honestly, it just felt good to connect with my inner child (which I think is around 20 years old) that has been clawing at my mommy jeans to get out. Except this time, I am legal to drive AND "score" my own beer!

Fartbeeps

Last night I found myself up at 2am. I was wide-awake and as jittery as a virgin at a prison rodeo. Because I was alone in my insomnia, I turned to an old friend....my television. It's been some time since I have sunk to the levels of watching infomercials, but there I was blinking mindlessly at a bright flickering screen.
The popular product featured was, The Magic Bullet, which to me always sounded more pornographic than food related, but what the hell...I watched it anyways. 15 minutes later, I headed downstairs to make something similar to the foods that seemed to be produced so effortlessly by those infomercial actors. I gave up after realizing that we lacked the necessary ingredients to make "homemade" queso dip.

Defeated and downright exhausted I headed back upstairs and slumped into bed. My hand fumbled with the remote until I reached a movie entitled, "Heartbeeps"or as I like to call it, "Fartbeeps." I can always tell a shitty movie by two things. 1. Randy Quaid is in it 2. Randy Quaid is in it and he's SKINNY! The opening music was so horrible, that I started to feel strange and embarrassed. Upon closer examination, I realized that the main characters were the late comedy legend Andy Kaufman and Bernadette Peters. WTF?! It was SO AWFUL that I could not stop watching. Then to my shock and surprise I recognized Christopher Guest and remember that opening music(?), well it was by John Williams!

This morning, as I tried to purge my memory of this movie I happened upon www.imdb.com, the Internet movie database. According to this site, the movie was released in 1981 to very poor reviews but managed to win two academy awards for makeup (which I can't understand because I have seen better makeup jobs on street whores). Because this movie was such a "flop" Andy Kaufman's "The Tony Clifton Story," was tossed by virtually all movie studios.

But don't take my word for it, the people at HBO thought it would be a good time to break out "Fartbeeps" from it's vault. However, if you would prefer to condense the 79 minutes that it takes to view this film check out this link. One of the funniest reviews I have seen since Mystery Science Theater. Enjoy!

http://www.x-entertainment.com/articles/0790/

Connecting with my inner couch potato

Unleashing your inner couch potato doesn't have to be difficult or make you feel guilty.

Step 1- Pick an average sunny day with temps between 60-100 degrees F and convince yourself that you will get outside with your children when the heat "burns off".

Step 2- Take requests from your children for a favorite TV show....just for a little bit until you get your coffee fix. Then of course, just like the TV the bets are also off.

Step 3- Channel surf just to confirm that TV after 10am is full of pious no-name judges handling petty court cases that no one really gives a shit about.

Step 4- Sit in wide-eyed wonder at how great your life really is, because you actually know ALL your baby daddies, you have never taken your own mother to court, and you don't have to deal with a makeover today.

Step 5- Don't stop at watching daytime TV, go ahead and scour the fridge in search of whatever goes with sitting on your ass. Any cheesy concoction be it powdered, solid or liquid is a personal fave with me.

Step 6- Repeat

You know it's pathetic when....

You know that loneliness has "set in" when you hit yard sales looking for more than chipped and mismatched sets of glasses and broken toys. This is where I found myself this past Saturday. My neighborhood had their annual community-wide yard sale, and I had my annual pity party. After 6 days of flying solo with both kids, and a lack of conversation involving more than pirates and the Backyardigans I was starting to "lose it". The first stop was at my friend Brandys and yielded a lightly used brand Floppy seat and baby clothes. The second stop was the "motherload" of all yard sales, it boasted previously viewed VHS classics such as: The Wizard of Oz, and Bambi. Within minutes we loaded up our treasures and trekked back home. My son immediately went for the movies (he is his mothers child) and then for the bouncy balls purchased for a mere 10 cents. Those damn choking hazards went missing (and hopefully forever) within the first 2 minutes of returning home.

I remember hazy Saturday mornings spent parusing numerous yard sales in search of unclaimed "treasure". As a child, it always struck me as odd that we would be at a strangers house without a formal invitation nevermind an introduction. And each house, had it's own strange smell. For some it was the heavy aroma of cat urine, and others it would be chemically manufactured roses. It was a good day for me when I could "score" a set of smurfs figurines or a Fashion Plates playset complete with missing outfits and colored pencils.

What still seems to surprise me the most, is how antiquated the concept of yard sales really are, and yet how popular a concept they continue to be. There are not many places left in the US that allow for that type of marketing or bargaining.

Today my hubby returns from his travels, and I return from a yard sale down memory lane.

Me, Myself and Flies

I made a terrible error in judgement last week, when I plucked a pretty white flower from an obliging bush. Apparently, I had made a home for more than the bloom itself. Within two days my kitchen sink was swarming with fruit flies. You know the kind that hover with the deception that you can actually end their lives with the smack of your hands. I have poured every brand of toxic cleansers available to the general public down the drain in the hopes of their extinction, but to no avail. My 11 month old daughter thinks that my "execution" style is a cue to clap her hands to the beat of my frustration. They are true to their menacing nature, and hang out in my bathroom like a group of miscreants. Lately, I have come to think of them as that annoying family member that stays just a day or two longer than they should. Today I have made a decision to take them out....that's right I'm calling an exterminator. They're GOING DOWN!!!

The sound of banjos beckons...

So I have had my head up my fannie trying to make "a go" of writing professionally. I would like to say that I work for peanuts, but AT this point I would settle for any legume. The highlight of each day has been spending hours at the pool with my kids. They love the water, and I love how it passes the time and wears everyone out.
I can't lie....I do sometimes long for the days BK (before kids) when it took me 30 seconds to walk out the door with a beverage and a good book under my arm. Today's poolside adventure found me face to face with impostors. Apparently the cast of deliverance had descended upon our little "cement pond". They had what appeared to be 4-6 kids with them, some cigarettes, and sugary drinks and snacks for the youngin'.
They were friendly, but ill-mannered at the same time. Allow me to elaborate...they were quick to greet us with a half-toothed grin, but offered my kids pool toys to their own kin without asking. Every parent knows the rules. If your own offspring makes a break for an abandoned pool noodle, raft or whatever, you always scan the area for the owner. In most cases the owner finds you. Anywho, the afternoon rolled on without incident. I gotta run, I think I hear banjos playing.

Broke as a Joke

It's been a week of things "breaking down". It started with the car and ended with me. In an effort to save fuel we are selling our Ford Expedition aka "The Lead Sled". Then, in a fit of jealousy, Camille (my Volvo) decided she wasn't getting enough attention, and turned on her "check engine light". For those of you toying with the idea of this particular brand of automobile, I invite you to spend the many hours that I have at a Volvo service center. Ask for Curtis, he has 2 kids, his favorite food is Mexican, and he dreams of visting Rome one day.

The next item to "break down" was my brother. He ended up in the ER this week, doubled over in pain. I'll spare the details for his sake and yours. So far, he is doing well and feeling much better. My grandmother got in on the action, and spent a few nights in the hospital as well. She has since been released, and is resting at home. Not bad for a woman in her nineties. Although some would argue that heaven won't have her, and hell is afraid she'll take over.

Somewhere between (a last minute) field day at my son's school, and family illnesses I had my own breakdown. Hey, I was overdue for a good cry. It takes a few BIG deals to appreciate how small the other ones really are.

Banging Cinderella

Last night I decided to treat my kids to a movie night at home. I would like to call this a tradition, but I am hardly vigilant about baths so for argument's sake we will just call it a movie night whim. So as the popcorn was emitting possible deadly fumes from it's microwaveable bag, I went through our Disney movie collection. I was doing this in the hopes that my son would pass right over Cinderella. Not a chance! For the third time in a row, he reached for that worn case with it's popular princess on the cover. I tried distracting him with Shrek but to no avail. As I popped in the tape (yes, I said tape as in VHS tape) it occurred to me that he might want to BE Cinderella rather than just BANG her. My mind flashed to scenes of us walking with arms locked giggling about men. He is trying to talk me out of purchasing "old lady shoes" and gingham kitchen curtains with patterns of roosters on them. Not a bad vision to have except for the rooster curtains. If I have learned one thing from the gay people that are in my life, it's that "being gay" was not a choice for them. It was just the way they woke up from puberty.

By the end of the movie, all he could talk about were the animals, and how pretty Cinderella was. And all I could talk about was how much therapy she might need after living her whole life unloved by her step-mother and step-sisters and how running off and getting married to staive off the pain of her Father's death would come back to bite her in the ass one day. My son gave me a puzzled look, and I pretended like I didn't just say that. It's amazing to me how very different our perceptions change as adults. All this time, I had him pegged for wanting to be a princess and he just wanted to see some mice sing, dance, and dress humans. As of 4pm today there has been no mention of Cinderella or her rodent friends. Tomorrow, who knows. Sleeping Beauty anyone?

Mother's Day Shout Out

First off, Happy Mother's Day to all you mommas out there. I know, I know...Mother's Day was yesterday. But I was too busy spending the day with my children to even notice my blog. It was a day made for good memories. We headed out to a restaurant called the Park Tavern, which sits directly on Piedmont Park (Atlanta's lame answer to NYC's Central Park). And I took the trouble to bother with beauty. Most days in a fevered fury, I might hurriedly apply mascara to tired eyes, and hope for the best. But on Mother's Day I wanted to feel as appreciated and beautiful inside and out. I am staring straight ahead in the mirror, my wet hair is clinging to the sides of my face as I brush on concealer to tired eyes. My son is darting nervously from my bathroom to his bedroom. A practiced ritual from watching me get ready to" leave" him for an evening out. He is questioning me about where we are going, and my answer is the same. "We" are going out to have breakfast with Mommy. Grey is not quite 4, and is still trying to grasp the concept of Mothers Day. I am finishing my hurried makeup job, and he is standing in the doorway of our bedroom. His eyes are bright and eager and search to meet mine. Within seconds, he is greeting me with a clumsy hug that envelops my legs. " I love you Mommy", he says. I am dizzy from emotion, and push back stubborn tears. There is something so primal about your children uttering those words, and I dare any parent to stave off my same emotions after hearing them. I am scrambling to pack the last few items in my "saddlebag" before leaving the house, and I can tell that my husband is especially patient with me today. I can't blame him. Most days or 50% of time, I only use 12% of the crap in my bag. But God forbid, if even 99.9% of the time those items are not on usual expeditions to the shopping mall or restaurants. But I would rather spend 25 bucks on physical therapy session copays from the weight of those supplies than 25 bucks on character licensed pants any day of the week. These are the hardships that make motherhood. We arrive at the restaurant, and my husband is in "daddy mode" as he puts together a palletable plate of breakfast fare for both our children. I am in awe of what my life is, what it has become, and how unselfish and self-sacrificing it really is. These small moments, in my small world, are what love is made of. Happy Mothers Day!

Motherhood in the Raw....: 2nd Annual Betty Ford Clinic Retreat

Motherhood in the Raw....: 2nd Annual Betty Ford Clinic Retreat

2nd Annual Betty Ford Clinic Retreat

I returned last night from an amazing girls weekend in Charleston. Our journey began Thursday night, and I learned a few things about myself along the way. Apparently, I have a talent for seeking out the foulest smelling truck stop restrooms with even fouler people occupying the stalls. At one point, we happened upon one of my suggestions...... a no name gas station with a "knock off" Ryan's buffet attached to the back of the store. We all agreed that the food may be responsible for unknown disease or maybe even death. 2 bridges, and 1 asshole cop later we arrived at our destination. Friends Jen, Laura, Victoria and Kelly had been celebrating their independence from work, kids, husbands, and the mundane for the better part of the day. I joined in on the fun, and poured a tall glass of wine. It seemed so strange to think of getting up in the morning with no one to take care of except for myself, and with that thought, my hand seemed to tip that bottle of wine a little heavier. By midnight, my head was swirling from more than the drive and lack of sleep.

I surrendered to my fatigue around 2:30am, my mind dancing around visions of my family sleeping soundly in their beds. I missed them.

The next morning, armed with a cooler of coronas and a pile of celebrity scandal rags we made our way to the pool's edge. The water and conversation were refreshing, and I day dreamed of spending every weekend just like this. By that afternoon friends Pamela and Izzie had joined us, and we all continued bonding through stories of childhood, celebrity breakups, and life's passions. Women are the best conversationalists.

The morning light found me, and my feet searched for the hardwood floors lightly dusted in beach sand. I decide to head out for a run. The sound of the waves curling back and retreating to the ocean lull me into a deep state of clarity. I realize, that I am alone. My feet seem to slow, and I am pulling off my sweat soaked socks. The water seems to soothe my feet and soul. I am walking on clusters of vibrant seashells that crunch under each step. My mind wanders again, and I am thinking of the remarkable group of women that I am sharing my weekend with. Like the shells that randomly find their place on the beach, we all seem to have found each other in spite of our origins.

Treadmill Bitch Part Deux

With another cold snap, I was forced to run in the gym. So I park Sage next to me in her stroller, and get to running. Of course, some good friends are in there and we get to talking mid-workout about kids, life etc.. From my left, I see treadmill bitch's mother walking off the pounds. It takes me a few seconds to realize that she is yelling at me for talking over her favorite program on the TV. And she is insistent that I respect other people by not talking while they are watching television. She is enraged, and I suspect that her face is not beet-red from the treadmill. So, I remind her that this is a community gym and that if she needs to watch a TV show so badly that the privacy of her home is the best place. My friend "Sarah" explains that she is not worth the argument. I think we all just wanted her to shut-up at this point. I return to my running this time with my headphones blaring. Eventually she finshes her walking workout and heads out the door. I can't resist wishing her a nice day. With her back to me, she gives me a flick of the wrist....and what's this? The lamest "finger" that I have ever seen. Ladies, if you are going to give someone "the bird" make it count. So I did, I gave her the best "finger" that I have ever given. I mean truck drivers everywhere would be proud. This sends her into yet another rage, this time she is wagging a different finger at me and announcing her age. She pulled the old, "I'm old enough to be your mother, and respect your elders crap." Her grand finale was even better as she yelled, "F**k you, F**k you. As if, I am some young chippie. I am 30 something mother myself with 2 kids, a husband, mortgage, career. Where's my respect?!
Anywho, she ends her tyraid by trying to "file a complaint" with the poor guy that works at the reception desk. Which there is no such thing. God help us all, if we don't whisper while in the gym. Frankly, I think people like her are dangerous. Just like the library redemption, I can't get over why a person would waste such negative energy. It's self-centered people like her that are the real danger to society.

Dining Out

My friend Brandy was celebrating her birthday last night at Loca Luna, a restaurant located in midtown Atlanta. Upon arriving at the restaurant, the place was already buzzing with bachelorette and birthday parties galore! As one woman put it, "It was like a Chuck E Cheese, but for adults." The food was exceptionally flavorful, and the Sangria flowed like.......well it flowed like wine. At one point, the table emptied out for a little salsa dancing, white girl style. Although, I have to say a few of us (I'm not including myself) brought the funk with them last night, and schooled the rest of us on how to move (you know who you are). It was a fun evening, and we were thrilled to have been included. It's always a good time, when it comes to Brandy. She is as bright and promising as a moonlight in a martini. And you can't help get a little intoxicated from more than the booze when you are around her. Happy Birthday girl!

Speaking of restaurants....Alex and I decided to try a new local Mexican restaurant today. The establishment was cleverly named, Tony's Mexican Grill. The people who ran the place were stranger than their decor. I ordered the equivalent of "the speedy gonzalez" and Alex got the buffett. Just like the staff, the food was dry and lacked any taste. At one point, the waitress tried setting down a plate in front of my baby daughter. The plate was soo f'ing hot that she had to use a flipping OVEN MIT! Who does that?! So, if you are looking for a dining experience that gives you that "el bastard gringo" feeling than Tony's is your place.

Now that's what a call a playgroup

Yesterday was playgroup, so I rounded up the kids and headed on over to my friend Gina's for a little socializing. She had the usual staples found at most playgroups such as juice boxes, crackers and cheese sticks. But my favorite was THE BEER! What a mom! It was one of those early spring afternoons, soft white clouds floating on a bright blue canvas of sky. With both my children engaged with their peers, I sipped (ok guzzled) my cold longneck and swapped stories with the other moms. Now, that is what I call a playgroup!

No Good Time Goes Unpunished

After one delayed flight, and some overpriced airport meals, we returned from our jaunt to paradise at the ungodly hour of midnight. I brought back a lovely tan and about 5-7 extra pounds from all the booze and bacon I consumed. The first part of the trip turned out to be a bit tricky. My 10 month old daughter brought a nasty little cold with her, and just for shits and giggles decided to cut her first tooth. So the first 4 days were literally spent "nursing" her back to health. By the 5th day, we were able to dump both offspring in the "kids club" for a little mayhem of our own. We shared our adventures with some good friends who also brought their daughter. It was great, we spent our days lapping up frozen concoctions with dark rum, snorkeling, and swapping stories of parenthood (which explains all the drinking).

Ok, here is the strange part about little islands that were founded by Europeans and still fly under their flag. For instance, the food. Each morning next to the pancakes, and my beloved bacon there was steamed cabbage and baked beans....WTF?! And the men think nothing of letting their gut and "junk" spill out of tiny speedos. At one point, we saw a couple that looked like they swapped suit bottoms. Seriously, you have to admire a guy whose confidence is so strong in his own physic despite the fact that he could double for the wolf man.

We managed to get a sitter for a few evenings and headed into Curacao's capital city, Wilemstad. My hubby (being the good producer that he is) made reservations at the Governors House for dinner. We sat in the most amazing courtyard, with potted mangroves trees, soft candlelight, and a fountain fashioned from a large urn. Drunk on both food and spirits, we made our way to the pontoon bridge. There was a yellow guard house which had a motor to actually MOVE the bridge any time a boat needed to cross the canal. It was a surreal scene, and at one point the bridge actually started to make way for another boat WHILE we were on it!

Perhaps one of my favorite memories would have to be the dolphin encounter. There was an aquarium just a short walk from our resort. It had a shark pool, touch tanks, and a pen containing flamingos with the most vibrant shade of pink that I have ever seen. My son was captivated by the sharks, and a little leery of the dolphin. I am convinced that our dolphin's trainer was having an affair with her. Each time the dolphin came over the be petted, we were not allowed to touch this beautiful animal until he said so. Something about the dolphin's space. Yeah right, a likely story.

Despite a few hiccups we left Curacao renewed and ready to get back into our routine at home.
Now all I need is a vacation from my vacation.

Blog to return April 21st

Dear Readers:

Thank you for your continued support. I will be out of the country all of next week, but will return on April 21st. So tune in then, for some more adventures in parenting! Take a peak at my new blog link below.

Best Regards,
Motherhoodintheraw

The Library Redemption

I had a very empowering experience at my local library today. For any mother that has been assualted by rude people that are impatient with ALL children, you will relate and hopefully applaud my action. Ok, so I pile my son and daughter in the car for a little tour de' errands. Our last stop is the library. Upon arriving, we head for the childrens section. I can always count on my son to touch each and every book that looks like it might have a booger or the plague sandwiched between it's pages.I look over to see my daughter trying like hell to pry loose her car seat toy. This is my cue to make my way to the non-fiction section. Within seconds, I am crouched in a narrow aisle locating my title. Of course, I always seem to find a better pick, and with the kids happy I become engrossed in reading the inside covers to each book.


Fast-forward approx 3 minutes. I turn to see an angry woman looming over my stroller. My son is too busy to notice as he thumbs away at his boogered treasure. Silly me, I think she is sane and ask her if I need to move my stroller. "No, she says"! "I am trying to study and your kids are disturbing me". Today of all days, they were both on their best behavior, so I inquired as to why she thought they were loud. Her answer was that the clicking sound that the car seat toy made was breaking her concentration. I don't know what got into me, but anyone that would complain about that shit is just asking for a fight. And I had no trouble delivering. So I ditched my "inside voice", and told her that we had a right to be there just as much as she did, and that if she needed that much concentration she should not go to a PUBLIC library. I wish I could even recall what she said after that, but I just kept calling her crazy and told her to get away from me and my children. As a parent, when your kids are bad they are bad, but when they are good their goodness could light a whole room. And this I will not allow any one person to take away.

Prize

Ok, so I am a little behind with my blog. I am in the middle of switching careers, so you will just have to forgive my tardiness. A couple of nights ago the hubby came home with amazing seats to the hockey game. After doing the "dance of joy", (am I the only one that still quotes Balki from "Perfect Strangers"?) I get into pack mule mode, making sure that I stuff the wipes case so that it is on the brink of explosion. Also, I want to make sure that I pack the ugliest change of clothes for both my children. Anywho, we get to CNN center and before we are parked my son annouces that he has to go potty. The seriousness of the situation becomes evident as my son squeezes his knees together after being paroled from his car seat. So my hubby and son make a mad dash to the john. Three seconds later I hear my son screaming, "Oh No, Oh No...it's coming"! No worries, remember that pair of ugly highwater pants that I packed? Yup, it's in the bag baby!

Ok, so the worst is behind us right? WRONG! We get to our seats, my daughter Sage eventually falls asleep and my son is captivated by a bird blowing fire and the sound of men slamming against glass. There are t-shirts shooting into the air, soda, and hot dogs. I mean come on, what kid wouldn't love this! A few minutes later my son announces his intention to use the potty. As we begin our climb up the stairs I feel a wet warmth spreading down MY pants leg! WTF?! My son is now screaming and grabbing onto my already wet pant leg. His cries get louder as he realizes the situation. Bless his heart, he really didn't want to piss his pants again. By this time, more than a few people have looked our way. I give them my best MENTOS face, and shrug it off. Luckily, we were ready to call it a night. One argument and 2 homeless people later, we jet back to the house. The drive home is pleasant, and my son is still excited about his "prize". His prize , a cheap mascot magnet, (which I accidentally washed) is clutched in his fist. It's been the topic of conversation for 2 days now. What touches me the most, is the real attachment to this freebie. It's a reminder to him of a fun night out with his family. I too have a prize that I keep cluchted in my heart all day and everywhere I go....my family.

Pooped

My daughter was up last night with yet another mud butt marathon. The good news is that she is otherwise healthy, the bad news is that this shit or should I say shits could continue into next week! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I am surprised that I could write anything beyond my given name. I have found that I can be an eternal optimist when it comes to diapering my children. Speaking of optimist, I am going to drag my ass to the gym today, no matter what! Maybe I will run into treadmill bitch, literally.

You can take the girl out of the city but....

This weekend past was wonderful. We packed up the kids and spent Sunday afternoon in midtown and the decatur area. We drove past our old house, and even ran into an old friend and neighbor. Once you have lived and experienced living in a city, it becomes hard to connect with anything outside of that world. Don't get me wrong, I love my home and it's not that I miss the occasional crack head or the "no name" supermarket around the corner. City living offers more than unique shops or interesting restaurants. It offers the synergy of different classes of people sharing the same space. And that energy is like looking for a hypodermic needle in a hay stack when you are living in suburbia.

the Easter bunny is a saddist

Yesterday I tried to get some writing accomplished, including this blog. Instead I found myself playing LOST triva on facebook. Then I chipped away at my son's Easter candy. He keeps asking me about the whereabouts of his Easter basket's contents, and I have to turn my back as my body spasms from holding in laughter. That Easter bunny is one saddistic prick. I have a bad habit of going overboard on the candy buying for key holidays. But if you could just see the vision of those candies in all their brilliance, bright hues of pink, yellow and blue gleaming as the light hits them in brightly colored baskets. It almost brings a tear to my eye, or was that the sour gummies?

Kickin' like fried chicken

For most of us moms, our mood changes throughout the day. I'll explain...at 7:30am I was doing great. I got up on my own terms, crept downstairs and snuck in a cup of coffee...ALONE! It was one of the greatest 30 seconds of my adult life. At 8:44am I was ready to bite off a piece of anyone's ass if they dare cross me. My carpool was running a little late, and as I breastfed while sitting on the toilet (don't knock it till you've tried it) I began to feel that mommy anxiety. You know the one where you can't believe you are having trouble controlling someone that can't wipe their own bottom. What is it about that very real anxiety at that moment? Someone once asked me (and only once I might add) for a real and very honest answer about motherhood. I could not explain it but instead turned idiot on her and spit out 3 words: love, frustration, and craziness. I felt a little blind-sided mostly because I was on my second glass of wine and because no one who is pregnant really wants to hear the truth. Oh, and did I mention she was expecting?

At this moment, I am doing well. My children are fed, clean and finally asleep with today's adventures behind them and tomorrow's adventures ahead. I hope this also finds you well.

Treadmill bitch

Took my usual trip down to the neighborhood gym. I work hard at fighting gravity into my 30s. The place was standing room only, with one stubborn bitch on the middle treadmill. I have never seen her before and don't know her name, so for arguments sake we will just call her treadmill bitch. The room smelled of BO, an overworked air freshner, and determination. I would have run outside, but I had my baby daughter with me, and she is not crazy about snow flakes up her nose.
My friend "Susan" shot me a desperate look, and I was hoping that treadmill bitch would move to the machine closest to the wall so that my workout pal and I could do some gossiping. Of course, the only good thing to gossip about at this juncture was treadmill bitch. So, we did what any other self respecting woman would do, we yelled around her fat ass. But TB would not budge. Instead, she turned the channel to bitchy women on TV (The View was on) and turned the volume up so that each person's ear drums would quake in the noise. My daughter Sage got in on the action with a little crying. I felt like I was taking crazy pills. My friend "Susan" was more subtle and just took the remote and cranked down the volume.

The moral of the story? That it's important to have friends who have your back.

Ground Hog Day

Much like the movie, I seem to be reliving every morning over and over again. I wake to my daughter's crying around 5:30am. My feet seem to find their way to the floor feeling for the burbur carpet beneath them. Her room is dark except for a cheap plastic night light which at this hour seems to burn a bit too bright. I muster a smile through sleep-deprived blurred vision, and scoop her into my arms. She is warm and snuggly and I find myself unable to be bitter about last night's slumber or lack thereof. The next early riser is my son. His voice rises with a pitch that could only be a child's. By this time, I have had at least one cup of coffee and I clumsily climb the stairs ready to greet him. Apparently, he has been speaking to the "pro-diapers union" and once again has wet his bed. If, I didn't know better, I'd think I was in an elephant house. I launch into my usual routine of stripping off piss saturated pajama pants and the sheets that shared in the smell.
We confer about future union talks, and how we can better use the potty next time.
He is already making plans for his morning, and I smile thinking of how alike we both are. Unlike the movie, I wouldn't change my mornings for the world.

January 21st, 2008

Where we last left off our "hero" was trying to wrangle the usual holiday stress. I got through it with flying colors. We made the trek down to Florida and did a "tour de outlaws" the hubby and my family included. It was a wonderful trip, and we avoided any verbal or physical confrontations. Whew! Here we are in a new year, and I found a new resolution.....going green. Which for some reason, I thought would be easier since I do the usual recycling of household trash. Well, it goes much further than just folding boxes. I went online and found a website, it was a little fanatical but I got the picture. I guess I am just trying not to take up too much space and save it for future generations.

Apparently, others have decided that their resolutions will be losing weight. The gym is now packed at all hours of the day with heavier people panting their way to success. I wish them much of it. I a cheering them on, and wish all of us the best as we struggle with a new year and the strange desire to bring on impending change.
Good change.

Happy Belated New Year!