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.