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