Jiggle Butt Joe

Hey there.

So sorry if you came to check the blog and found it was "invitation only". Long, boring story. All is back to normal now. For your patience you get a treat. Here are my boys having fun with the Franklin Speaking Dictionary. It really is funny to make it say naughty things.

My morning face

My five year old let me know on Halloween that the neighbors had a jack 'o lantern that looked like "my morning face." Meaning me. My face.

I couldn't wait to see it. I couldn't wait so much it took me until a half hour ago to walk down there and look. Here it is:

When I asked him what part of it reminded him of me, he replied "all of it."

How funny would it be if I asked the neighbors for it, cut the bottom out, and was wearing it on my head when he came down for breakfast tomorrow? Muahh ahhh ahhh!

Stay tuned, please.

Hey all.

First, thank you to everyone who posted a comment and to those who thought about posting a comment but then had real life tear them away from the computer to wipe a bum, cook dinner, work, walk a dog or maybe you just had to pee and then forgot. I get it.

I WILL be back to the blog. I actually feel like I have quite a bit to say. I just can't say it now because I want to be mysterious. Not really, I'm just super tired.

But I will leave you with this current meditation I'm having on aging:

Butt hair. More. WHY???


Discuss.

Crossroads. Hep me please!

I need your help.  Ever since the big b-day I've had a hard time getting motivated to write.  I have been crazy busy with work & kid stuff, but I'm also lacking some motivation.

We spent almost a year together working up to 40.  Now we're here.  What should we do next?

I'd really love to hear from you about what you've enjoyed reading about, why you come back to this blog, what you'd like to hear more about in the future, etc. 

Speaking of motivation, I miss this guy.

Halfway to 80

So here we are.  Can you believe it?  When I saw the birthday gadget at the bottom of the blog today I just sat here and stared at it.  Today is my birthday.  My 40th fucking birthday.

I woke up this morning in my parents' house in my childhood room (yes, I know how I got here).  It was nice to come downstairs and see them on this day of days.  We sat and talked for about an hour.  My dad made me oatmeal and my mom reflected on the pain I caused her lady parts on my way into the world.  I apologized to them (the lady parts).  We had some good laughs over our respective horoscopes.  Apparently my mom is going to have a "rustle in her hedgerow" this week, I think she's kind of excited.

This has been quite the year.  When I started this blog last fall I didn't really know where it would lead.  It has been quite a learning process.  The fact that many of you have been there since the beginning with me and have decided to keep coming back to listen to my nonsense is mind boggling, in a good way.  We are not alone in this world.

If you asked me today how it feels to be 40, I think my answer would be "surreal".  I don't feel 40.  Sitting here in the room I spent my childhood in I feel much like the same girl I did then.  The difference now is that I know myself so much better.  I think that is the gift of age, if you have the courage to be open to the knowledge.  We can learn.  We can change.  We can accomplish things that we never thought possible at any age.  Our language shapes our reality and when we change that script in our head some miraculous things can happen.

I think of all the things I've learned in my life and especially this past year, is that all that really counts is love.  Love of family, friends, life.  

I have lived a blessed life.  I am grateful for so many things and none of them are things.  Thank you for going on this journey with me.  Here's to the next 40.

I'm going to go drink tequila now.

I'm just a girl

So Gwen and I happen to turn 40 on the same day.  I was interested in finding out what we have in common, so I did a little research.  Here's a synopsis for y'all:

Gwen

Fashion Designer

Inspired by Japanese Culture

From California

Named after a stewardess

Catholic

Has 2 boys

Worked at Dairy Queen

Had 2 weddings

Known for her "midriff"

Can sing

Natural brunette

Me

Fashion Faux Pas

Took Japanese in College

Not from California

Named after a relative

Not Catholic so much

Has 2 boys

Worked at even more embarrassing fast food job

Just 1 wedding, father would have disowned or had heart attack.

Try to hide "baby hang"

No comment on the singing.

Natural dirty blonde.  Gotcha biatch!

Seriously Gwen, I hope you are surrounded by friends as wonderful as mine on your day.  

The solar system a.k.a. "the flying chicken"

My fourth grader is studying the solar system this year.  It's really fun because he loves learning about it and I love it when he shares what he's learning with me because I find it really interesting.

We were talking about it tonight at bedtime and pondering why the planets are round (as opposed to other geometrical shapes).  Then he realized that squares couldn't rotate like circles.  It was an a-ha moment for him.

He says, "you know, the planets are like poultry in motion."

I say, "you mean poetry in motion?"

He says, "I always thought that meant something was like a flying chicken!"

Purrfect

Pretty much sums up why I'm a dog person.

Dreamweaver

My older son came down for breakfast yesterday and silently started eating his cereal.  I had my somewhat comatose back to him making his sandwich for lunch when he suddenly cried out "OH, THANK GOD!"  After peeling myself off the ceiling, I asked him what in the hay he was shouting about.

He says, "It was just a DREAM."  "I had the worst dream about my homework.  It was really, really hard, but the worst part was they made us write it all on LEAVES."

I decided not to tell him about the naked-in-school-with-all-the-doors-locked-bell-about-to-ring dreams he has in store for him.  That would just be mean.

Ass: Kicked it.

I DID IT!!!  Sorry for keeping you hanging for a day, but I spent most of yesterday eating pork products and watching football.  And cake.  I ate a lot of cake.

My title for this entry is a bit of an exaggeration (shocking, I know).  The results by the numbers: 118 minutes total time, 73rd finisher out of 191 (37 dq's), 7th in age group (out of 20).  It was a really small field of participants.  My swim placement is the funniest: 155 out of 191.  My bike placement the best: 17th out of 191.  I'm very proud of my run pace 9:30.  Anything under a ten minute mile for me is SMOKIN' FAST.  When I ran relays at 26 I think I averaged 11 minute miles.  One of my biggest opportunities for improving my time is my transition.  I could have gotten in a manicure with how long it took me.

The thing I'm most proud of is meeting my personal goals of not stopping to rest/walk and push through.  There were moments in the swim I had to talk myself off the ledge.  I'm very grateful to the trainer I had in Portland who helped me learn to relax more in the water.  

I got a calf cramp immediately when I started the run and thought I was going to have to walk it.  I concentrated on running heel/toe and that really helped.  The woman who was at least 15 years older than me that BLEW BY MY SLOW ASS also really helped.  The bottom line is that anytime I started to freak out, I went back to what I'd learned and practiced in training.  Made all the difference for me.

And I learned so much through this experience.  Here's just a sampling:  Having a great partner is key (I think this holds true for life as well).  Even if you don't train together all the time, having someone else there to hold your toes to the fire (or make you go to bed) helps incredibly.  If you're reading this partner - love you!  Another thing is what we make up about ourselves that we can or cannot do.  Just go back to some of my first posts about how I "can't run" anymore or "can't swim".  Yes, some things are hard.  Some things are really, fucking hard.  But that doesn't mean we can't do them or learn to do them at any age.  I also learned that I am strong.  I've always felt fairly strong physically but now I can add mentally.  It was my mind that got me through that race when I was struggling, not my body.

I'm looking forward to taking a little break this week and doing some yoga, relaxation and boozin'.  But I'm also looking forward to the next challenge, or the next race whenever that may be.

NEVER SURRENDER!

Tri eve

Hey everyone,

It's triathlon eve.  We're in the hotel (actually in bed at this point).  We had a great day, checked in, got our numbers, ate our weight in pasta and got all the gear set for the morning.  I even took a bath.  I do need to keep this short in order to be a good training partner (mine is trying to sleep).

I feel good about tomorrow.  I feel like I can do this.  And I'm so appreciative of the support that so many of you have given me along the way.  Really, really means a lot.

So here goes nothin'!

NEVER SURRENDER!

And here we are

I'm packing my bags for the triathlon folks.  We leave tomorrow at 10:30 a.m. for Long Island (about 1 1/2 hour drive) then the actual event starts at 6:30 a.m. Sunday.  I'm going to bring my computer so I can blog before and after.  Until then, here's a nice little story from this week to tide you over:

I went to the dermatologist to have an annoying mole taken off my left arm.  It was right by my watch band and kind of scratchy.  My son (the picker) would poke at it all the time.  In other words, it bugged the crap out of me.

So my adorably cute, petite and YOUNG dermatologist comes bopping in.  I show her the mole.  She looks at it with her super hero, super power magnifying glasses and says "that's not a mole, that's a wart.  But honey, if it makes you feel better, you can call it whatever you want."  Lovely.

Whatever "it" was, it's GONE BABY GONE.

A little romance

We were in his bed, it was dark.  He wrapped his legs around my back gently and pulled me into him.

"I could stay like this forever" he whispered softly in my ear.  I hugged him tightly, knowing that someday, much sooner than I'm ready, he'll leave me.

"You feel like heaven.  No, you feel better than heaven."  

I swear this boy is going to give Danielle Steele a run for her money.

Off the team

Sometimes I worry about things.  Silly things.  For example, is there something wrong with me because I don't like what other people with vaginas like?  Here are three things I just don't get that make me wonder if I'm going to get a knock on the door one day asking me to surrender my membership in the girls' club:

1.) Little Women.  We read this book for book club a few months ago.  It bugged the shit out of me.  I'm sorry, I know that's awful.  I have nothing against classic literature.  Some of it I love.  But this book was more evidence that it was a really good thing that I had boys because I would have had about 1/millionth of the patience of "Marmee" dealing with all that estrogen.  Dra-ma.

2.)  Sex and the City:  The Movie.  Wow.  This movie is a crap sandwich with a turd pickle on the side.  I loved the show, especially the early episodes.  It had smart writing and capable actors often in surprising situations (usually a good combo).  I guess they decided that all of that stuff was simply superfluous when making this "film".  I was embarrassed to watch it and I was alone.

3.)  Twilight.  Oh stop screaming at the computer.  I just don't get it.  It's a book for teenagers.  I'm not a teenager anymore.  The writing is poor, the characters are shallow and one dimensional and most importantly THERE IS NO SEX.  How can you have a romance novel with no sex?  Ladies, I have one word for you, Outlander.  You'll never look at a kilt the same way.

So please don't kick me out of the club, but I had to get this off my chest.  My chest that has boobs on it.  Really, it does.

And it begins

40BD in 29 days.  

Thinking of getting this perm for the party.

1/3 of a cherry

I'm 1/3 less of a triathlon virgin.  If I had been a member of my sorority's "v" club, I would have been "parked halfway in the garage without pulling the car all the way in."  But I digress...

I did a triathlon relay!  A totally spontaneous decision made over Vodka Cranberries, but I'm so glad I did it.  It was when I was in Portland.  I mentioned to a friend of mine from high school that I would love to do a bike leg of a relay and he said he'd do the swim and thought he could find a runner and we were off to the races!

I rode quite a bit in Portland prior to the race (even did a half-century) but hadn't really done any hill climbing.  The day before the tri, we drove the course.  YIKES.  It was a 24 mile course broken up into three, 8 mile loops.  Half the loop was uphill, a fourth or so downhill and the rest fairly flat.  Those of you who know Portland - up Naito, up Barber, up Capital Hwy and then up Terwilliger.  Three times - Ouch.

So the night before the race I tried to be good.  Didn't drink.  Tried to sleep.  Totally didn't work.  I started to get a cough and sore throat about 8 p.m.  Every time I would try to sleep, I would cough and wake myself up.  Then I started to psyche myself out about not sleeping.  All in all I'd say I got an hour.  Wake up time was 5:15 a.m.

On the way to the race I checked my resting heart rate which is an indicator of your rest, health and training levels.  My resting heart rate is usually 57 or so.  That morning it was 93.  In other words I WAS FREAKING OUT.  I think I was more scared of the unknown than the physical challenge of it.  That and my friend from high school drowning because he hadn't swam in over 5 years and was going out with zero training (yes, we're crazy).

We got there and got marked up.  The left side is the bib number, 

the right your age:

The adrenaline factor is pretty amazing.  My tiredness

 seemed to be gone and I really wasn't thinking about my cold either.  Somehow, incredibly, my teammate finished the swim in good time without dying.  It was my turn.  I'll let the air out of the balloon now.  I did not finish in record time.  In fact, I was so worried about finishing that I held back a lot and finished with a pretty crappy time.  But you know what?  I'm good with that.  I had zero in the tank and that 3rd time up the hill was ugly.  But I did it.  Our runner rocked it and we ended up 7th out of not so many more teams (like 9).  But hey, we didn't train, and we did it to finish.

I'm not so freaked out by the whole process anymore and frankly pretty inspired by it all.  There were people out there in the Willamette River who had no business swimming but they were.  There were people 30 years older than me.  There were machine-like humans doing it so fast it made my head spin.  This 39 year old was just glad to be there.

Go Team Mojito!  

...and clean as a whistle!

My husband had to go home to Jersey yesterday but left his travel sized Irish Spring body wash in the shower. My boys found it and were determined to slather themselves up with it tonight in the bath. I tried to dissuade them by saying that it was harsher than the soap they're used to, might irritate their eyes, was a grown-up soap etc. etc. but they wouldn't have it.

My older son gave me the "hey mom I need to tell you something on the down-low look" so I leaned over so he could whisper to me. Suggestively raising his eyebrows he says "I think the ladies will LOVE it!"

The sad thing is he's right. Irish Spring is seriously sexy. God knows how many rats had to die to figure that out but it's the most truth in advertising EVER.

A moment in time

He knew I was working, so he crept in quietly.  He made himself comfortable on the sofa to my left.  With restraint that comes most difficultly to a nine year old boy, he watched me type away without interruption.

I could tell he was staring at me.  Studying me.  I remember doing that with my parents.  Really looking at them when they didn't realize what I was doing.  It's almost flattering, like being appreciated as art.

Finally, he couldn't stand the silence.

"Did you know you have two chins?"

Oregon love

Day 6 of Oregon Summer Vacation:  

Just got back from a weekend at my parents' property on Mt. Hood.  So nice.  They have an annual blueberry picking party & barbecue up there.  My kids had so much fun they are now in a coma upstairs.  Some of my friends from high school and college made it up this year which made it twice as nice.

I also had a great bike ride today with my dad and uncle.  Hint:  If you ever want to feel like an iron woman, go on a ride with a 66 year old who just had double hip replacement and a guy who brought the wrong shoes and couldn't clip in.  I could actually keep up!!!  Seriously, it was so beautiful on the mountain riding winding country roads (with no pot holes or a-holes, "hint hint" Jersey) and actually being able to ride and talk side by side was luxurious.

It's so strange when your kids get to age like that of my older son where you can spend a weekend with them and feel like you never saw them.  He LOVES his cousins so much he gets lost in them.  One of his cousins is a little older than him however, so I'm always wondering what the subject matter may drift to when they're alone.  When we got home tonight he took me aside and said "mom, there's something I want to talk to you about, but I know what you're going to say."  I'm thinking, uh oh, what did he hear/say/do?  He says, "you know how I've become really attracted to...."   wait for it....    fill in the blanks like I did.....

"frozen treats?"

That next sound heard around the world was my exhale.

"Uh huh?"  I say with a relived smile and suppressing a huge giggle .  "Well, I know that I've had WAY too much sugar today, but I can't stop thinking about that Mango stuff grandma has in the freezer."

Lets just say he got lots of kisses on his sweet, 9 year old, sunburned face tonight.

And then the five year old came down the stairs with his pants around his ankles and yelled "hey my shadow looks like it has boobs!"

Vewy Vewy Tired

Hi guys. If it's possible to sleep a negative amount of hours, I accomplished that last night. The boys and I had to get up at 4:30 this morning to get to the airport and I did the whole worry about the alarm clock, look at the searing red numbers thing all night.

But we're in Oregon now (hooray!). I'm so excited to catch up with friends and family and soak in some Portland kindness and weirdness.

I do have another guest blogging installment on Fitness for Mommies today! Please hop on over to catch up on my training adventures if you'd like. I need all the help I can get!

Birfdays

Remember how I told you guys that I took an impromptu trip? It was for my bff's 40th birthday party! She's the one I wrote about licking slugs. Even though I'm going back to Oregon for a long visit in three days, I just couldn't miss her party. So glad I didn't. There is nothing like backyard dancing to the same Michael Jackson songs over and over at 2 a.m. with your best girlyfriends (and a couple brave guys). Life is just too short not to be there.

According to my birthday counter, I am now 63 days away from "the big day." Between my flying and money anxieties, I have almost talked myself out of doing anything. Almost. My mom was actually the one who pushed me over the edge of not letting that happen. She said something complex like "oh, c'mon you just have to do it." So I am. So there. I mean my mom told me to right?

Here's the plan for the FALL OF FORTY (notice the word play??):

September: Complete first triathlon without drowning.

October: Party in Oregon October 3rd. No details yet other than tequila, dancing and a surprise appearance by Justin Timberlake (still working on one of those). No children allowed.

November: Learn to surf in Barbados. No children allowed.

December: Buy my children a ridiculous amount of guilt-induced Christmas presents.

I'd love to add more self-indulgence to the list like a yoga retreat, bike tour, etc. but I'm afraid that my husband and children would be mommy-shopping on Craig's List at that point. Maybe for 41?

Poor skanks

My friend Susie sent me this video.  Hope it doesn't make you spit coffee on your MacBook like it did me.  Warning: Do not watch this if you are at work, have small children around or if you're an easily offended skank.

I win

The award for the lamest blogger EVER!  Sorry to be Flakey McMissing Pants.  I took a spontaneous trip last weekend; will tell all about it asap.

A couple of travel observations to keep everyone occupied:

1.)  We need a name for childless grown ups who bring their own full-sized, fuzzy blankets (usually with a picture of a cat on them) on planes.  The best I can come up with is Plankies (plane + blankies).  I know you all can do better.

2.)  What's with the stench right after take-off?  Nervous farters or the plane toilet sloshing around?  Inquiring noses want to know.

On a positive note, on my first flight I was seated next to a fellow oversharer!  I now know all about his ex-wife (strumpet) and his enlarged prostrate!  He knows about my kidney stones.  Probably not an even swap, but who's keeping score?

Looking forward to properly catching up.

It started with a sit n' spin

I was in the first or second grade.  My neighbor and current best friend Shelly had a new girl over.  This "girl" had brought her sit n' spin.  And she was not keen on letting me take a twirl.  Damn I wanted to spin (ironic?).  I thought this new girl was mean and I was happy when she left.

I didn't see this girl for a long time.  Then in the 6th grade we went to "outdoor school" which was basically sleep away camp in the middle of the school year.  We bonded over the love of a hot counselor, Sun Bear.  We did this little routine every time we saw, talked, or thought about him.  We would clasp our hands together, look at the sky dreamily, flutter our eyelashes and say "well I just think, heee's a maaan" in our best southern accents.  But the true love of my life I met that week wasn't Sun Bear, it was my friend.  When I saw her lick a slug on a dare I knew it was forever.

This girl turned 40 today.  We have so many stories I wouldn't even know how to pick just a few.  I was looking through photos of us today and found a card that she gave me in high school.  It's a handmade card (she made it), with two stick figures glued on the front holding hands with hearts all around them.  Here's what she wrote:

"Boo-

I wub you gobs.  Thank you for being my bestest friend.  I know we shall have a grand time pursuing our lives and trying to find out how many bamboo shoots it takes a day to feed a baby giant panda.  I am trusting you will accompany me to the depths of the Congo - that's what friends are for!  Next we shall turn the Sahara into a swimming pool.  With a friendship like ours we can accomplish the impossible.

I love you-

Ben"

I love you too Ben.  Thank you for the last 29 years of friendship.  I cherish them, and I cherish you.  Even if it's from 5000 or so miles away.

p.s.  Ben came from the Michael Jackson song.  We wore that one out.

Another one bites the dust

I'm back from a week in the backwoods of Florida and have the skeeter bites and beer gut to prove it.  We had a great time.  I can't believe the list of things we did in a mere seven days:  Went scalloping, swam with manatees, hatched baby chicks, rode 4-wheel drive vehicles in the dark woods looking for frogs and haunted trailers, dirty danced with locals, drank way too much booze, the list just goes on and on.  We had the most incredibly gracious and generous hosts who know how to show you a good time.  Very lucky.

On another note, I have a friend out there turning 40 today.  This is a very special friend.  I am not a shopper, in fact I dread shopping.  But if I ever need a fancy dress, a special outfit, a great pair of shoes etc., there is only one person I want to go with.  My friend approaches shopping like it's an event to be savored, not a chore.  The event always begins with coffee and includes wine at some point.  On a good day, there may even be a facial or a massage mixed in.  Oh and my friend's name is "Steve" (yes it's his porn name).  Steve, the most hetero metrosexual on the face of the earth (I've had the ladies tell me he knows his way around the female anatomy if you get my drift).

Steve and I have known each other for a long time (about 14 years) and he has been an incredibly loyal friend.  As much as he loves skin products, he also loves military history and I would take him in my foxhole anytime.  We have each other's backs and always will.  He's like the brother I never had.  The brother that likes to shop.

So cheers to you Steve!  Can't wait to make you do tequila shots in person (after your facial of course).

Out with it

I'm at one of those places where I need to "clear" before moving on with the blog.  I'm feeling much better now, but was definitely stuck in the mire there for awhile.  I know myself well enough to get curious about it when I'm feeling angry, paralyzed, apathetic, depressed or any combination of those emotions.

So what was going on?  Lots.  Where to start?

First of all, the state of the world.  I am a control freak.  And a Libra.  These two things are a dangerous combo.  My Libra-ness tells me there should be justice/fairness/balance in the world.  My control-freakness tells me that I should be handling this. 

Here's the crux of my anger on this one.  I handle all of the finances for our family.  This works for us.  My husband just seriously doesn't want to know and I'm comfortable with that.  Until the bottom fell out.  A little background:  I have been maxing out my 401k since I was 24.  The first thing I did with a large bonus from work was pay off a credit card debt I'd had since college.  I've never carried a balance since.  When we first got married we had about 13k between us.  Our parents each loaned us 5k to buy our first house.  From that point on we didn't spend money that we didn't have.  We saved up the cash before we bought our first furniture.  We bought less house than we could afford (all three times).  My husband's car is 14 years old.  We've always had plenty of insurance and rainy day savings and have been building retirement and college savings.  Our kids go to public school and we don't belong to a country club.  We live in the most highly taxed area of the country.  Our property taxes are more than our first mortgage (which we can't deduct due to the AMT).

So I'm pissed.  I'm pissed that we played by the rules and have lost half of everything we've worked for because of those who didn't.  Yes, at this point most of those losses are on paper, but it still weighs on me everyday.  I'm angry at so many people, not the least of them myself for not recognizing what was going to happen.  I'm angry at people who bought houses they couldn't afford.  I'm angry at lenders who threw money around recklessly.  I'm angry at the government for not recognizing the danger of turning sketchy mortgages into investment vehicles sooner.  I'm angry at the people who made shitloads of cash and got out long before the crash.  I'm angry at politicians who don't look any farther than the next election cycle when it comes to the long-term ramifications of their decisions.  

We did everything right, and yet are still left holding the bag.  And now we don't qualify for any of the "bailouts" but are front and center when it comes to who's going to get the tax bill for everyone else who's either too rich or under the caps to pay.  I hear my dad's voice in my head and his mantra "nobody ever said life was fair."  And he was right.  So now I have to choose how to react to all of it.  And my only choice is to let go of my disappointment in myself, the country, our institutions etc. and just be grateful.  I'm grateful that my husband is great at his job, and that he still has one.  I'm grateful that we do have savings that at least allow me to sleep at night.  I'm grateful that we are all healthy.  I'm grateful that we have health insurance.  I'm grateful that I have the ability to get a full time job if I need to.  I'm grateful that we're young(ish) and have the ability to change course if need be.

And maybe this is also another lesson in empathy.  I really do believe in the sentiment (that yes, I saw on a bumper sticker) "everybody does better when everybody does better."  We have too much poverty in this country.  We have too much excessiveness in this country.  Things have gotten out of whack.  But everyone needs to do their part and be responsible for the turnaround.  Class warfare will get us nowhere.  

On a more micro-level, I've been very angry with myself for not being the person that I know I can be.  I look around my house and get disgusted at the clutter and mess.  Who's in control of that?  I get frustrated at not achieving the goals that I set (like teaching a regular spin class) and go down a very negative path.  I have never been a very good time-manager and can piss it away like nobody's business.

So that's where I've been and why it's been difficult for me to feel creative.  I have to say that I'm incredibly grateful for all of you that continue to visit this blog.  I appreciate you more than you know!  Please keep coming back.

BTW - here's a close-up of the cloud booty if you couldn't pick it out of the sky:

p.s. Did you notice that we're at less than 100 days? Eeeeeeek!

I spy a booty in the sky

I feel so guilty about neglecting the blog lately. Weird, I know. I do have a lot to write about but it's 11, and I'm planning on getting up to spin at 5:15 so now is not the time. Until I get my act together, here's a fun "I spy" activity for you. I was in NYC Friday night and there was this strange, amazing sky at around 8 o'clock. The clouds were the most unusual shape, many in the form of body parts. 

See if you can spot J-Lo's ass:

Grateful

I have been feeling very angry lately. I'm trying to get to the bottom of it. I'll write more on that later, but first I have to share this video that a friend posted on facebook. I had just had another conversation with a different friend about the power of gratitude. And then this video popped up on my screen. I'm still wiping the snot off my face.

The skunk whisperer cures the funk

I've been in a horrible, rain induced funk all day (oh fine all week).  But the skunk whisperer pulled me out of it with his ridiculously simple love for small furry things.

Young Raccoons Saved from Pepsi Machine @ Yahoo! Video

I'm now craving Diet Pepsi.

p.s. I want one of those t-shirts.

Something for the ladies

My 9 year old son's writing has really blossomed this year.  He has a great sense of the fact that he's writing to an audience.  In this excerpt, he gives his female readers a little something to sink their teeth into:

"...(Arnold) Supersleuth was rather handsome for a detective.  He was tall, he had a long, flowing mustache, big strong arms, hard muscular legs and a perfect face with shiny white teeth and eyes that don't need glasses..."

He had me at flowing mustache.

My legacy

We all have our roles, our purposes on this big blue marble.  Mine (aside from roasting meat) is to pull my friends' minds into the gutter with me.  I have so many friends say things like, "oh my god, I had crazy PMS and I thought of you!"  Or, "I ate a Fiber One bar and had horrible gas, guess who I had to tell about it?"  And of course, "my fruit bowl arranged itself in a totally phallic manner and I tried to call you."  First of all, I am honored.  Second of all, keep it coming.  Boys shouldn't hold all license to the plethora of sophomoric humor out there.

In this vein, I LOVE the fact that my friend and oft mamalikes commenter Susie took the time to send me this gem of a photo she took while in NYC's Korea Town over the weekend.  Her e-mail title to me was, "Oh no they didn't."  Perfection.  Cause oh yes they did.

A mob boss is born

As per the usual weekend routine around here, my boys spent too much time in the same room and started having fights.  This one was a new one.

Apparently the 9 year old was trying to "sell" the 5 year old "fort insurance" and became frustrated when he wouldn't shell out.  Why does one need "fort insurance" I inquired.  I was informed that you need it for when your fort falls down due to shoddy construction and you have to move into your older brother's fort while it's being repaired (by the older brother's fort construction firm).

  

Who does he buy it from?  The older brother in question of course.  Who also gave him the "puny" pillows to start with.

Tony Soprano would be so freakin' proud.

Equilibrium

Since I posted my ugly nubbin today I thought I should balance that out with something beautiful.  My girlfriend sent me this video via facebook.  Look at these faces.  Absolutely beautiful.

The nubbin

For those of you who read my blog and think surely she must be exaggerating about things like my zits this post is for you.  A few days ago I looked in the mirror and was horrified by a huge goose egg forming on my head.  With all the supplements I've been taking, we all knew there was a possibility I might grow a third nipple.  I just didn't realize it would be visible to the world. 

Exhibit A:  The nubbin

A second view of the nubbin to give it some perspective: 

Do you see how far this thing is sticking out?  My older son who normally would just make fun of me was very sympathetic.  "Wow mom, that looks bad.  I'm really sorry."

My husband who usually says "you can't see it" suggested ice. 

It only got worse from here.  The goose egg morphed into a big squishy Frankenstein square that took up half of my forehead.  I wore a baseball cap for two days.

The saddest part is the boob on my forehead was so much perkier than than the real ones!  Waaah!

Tri-ing my patience

For those interested, I'm doing my second guest blogging installment on Fitness For Mommies today.

Check it out and tell me how to deal with my damn foot!  Please?

Raising Don Rickles

My five year old is a piece of work lately.  Just had this conversation:

(Me on the back porch, him in the back yard)

Me:  "What do you want for lunch?"

Him:  "Nothing yet!" (This is the third time I've gotten this answer)

Me:  "It's almost 2 o'clock, you need to eat something."

Him:  (Pointing a stick at me) "Don't rush me lady!"

Jersey & The formative years

To be fair, I don't know if I have Nickelodeon or Jersey to thank for this exchange with my five year old this morning before school.  He has lived here since he was 18 months old however....

Me:  "It's raining out, you're going to need your coat with a hood."

Him: "Then find my coat.  Capiche?"

I sware da gad that's exactly what he said.

Would you rather...

Sleep in the driveway for 24 hours

OR

Be a worm for two days

I answered "worm" because I thought it would be interesting to see the world through the perception of a different species.  The response?  "But then you wouldn't see US!"  Then why, oh why do you ask me these questions little man?

These eyes

These eyes are cryin’
These eyes have seen a lot of loves
But they’re never gonna see another one like I had with you.

p.s.  because I'm old and blind now.

Sometime in the last year or so I started having intense, searing headaches every night.  Of course this meant only one thing.  Brain tumor.  The fact that I was squinting at my 52 inch flat screen TV should have been a little bit of a hint that it could have something to do with my peepers.  So I went to the eye doctor and had my first eye exam in years.  The verdict:  I'm screwed.  I needed two different prescriptions, one for distance and one for reading.  This meant two pairs of very expensive glasses.  When I came home in them my older son had this to say, "mom, no offense, but you look ugly in those glasses."  (I've tried to explain to him that just saying "no offense" prior to saying something does not mean that the person will actually not take offense, especially if you say something really awful to them, but that seems to be sinking in about as much as don't pee on the seat).

Cut to present day.  Or a few months ago when I started hitting parked cars.  The first one was in a Trader Joe's parking lot.  I left a note and a very grateful woman called my house before I even got home to inform my husband of the day's events.  Then I did it again about a month ago (yes, I left ANOTHER note).  I mentioned this to my eye doctor and she was concerned so today I did a "field of vision" test.  Basically, you put a patch on one eye, look into a white box, follow a red light with your eye and then hit a buzzer every time you see a green light on the screen in your peripheral vision.  Each eye takes 8 minutes.  My score was PERFECT.  Bottom line, apparently I've just become a horribly shitty driver.  In fact, I'm such a bad driver that today my kids and I were going to a picnic and I was parking the van on the street and heard a terrible scraping/crunching noise.  I just assumed it was me.  After I stopped swearing, I realized it was the woman in the Mercedes across the street from me - PHEW!

Now I'm trying contacts, which is a whole post in itself.  But I'll save that for another day.

p.s. I have no idea what's going on with the font on this post, but I can't even drive, how am I supposed to figure this out?

Got a dime bag?

Remember a few posts ago when I was waxing on about how much my skin had improved?  I take it back.  I have the complexion of a crack whore today.

And the only fix I'm looking for is made out of dark chocolate.  

p.s. DEA - that title is a joke.

Sir Gawain of Kotex

This picture came to me via one of those group e-mails entitled "Why boys need parents."  I thought this boy deserved his own billing.  This is the funniest picture I've seen in a long time.  Sorry I'm not tech savvy enough to fix the dimensions, but holy cow.  

Heard around the house...

Dad: "Hey, would you like to have a blueberry bush in your 

backyard?"

Son #2 (5): "Not really.  But I would like to have a donut bush."

Later that night...son #2

"My poop looks like a lighthouse!"

28 days later

I just read over my last two posts.  I think I need to climb into  an underground bunker until the nuclear haze of this pms has worn off.  It would just be safer for everyone involved.  This bunker should definitely not have internet access.

It's not you, it's me

I'm going to talk about some of my pet peeves cause I'm in the mood to biatch.  But PLEASE if you use some of these words/phrases don't take this personally because it's totally my problem and I hold no ill will against those who employ these vocabulary tactics - my beef is with the words themselves.

Most if not all of these "words" or acronyms have come to us via texting or it's predecessor instant messaging (see I can't even say im-ing).  Maybe this is one of those areas where I just need to realize I am old and crotchety (speaking of words, how about dissecting crotchety?).  I know these are used all the time by millions of people each day.  But not by me, because I hate them.

Here's my list:

LOL.  I get it.  You want to tell someone they made you laugh, a lovely thought.  But did you really "laugh out loud"?  Or did you merely smile?  Or maybe chuckle?  And how about when it morphs into LOLLLLLLLLLL!!!!  Now you're laughing out loud loud loud loud loud loud.....?

My history with LOL goes way back and I think it may explain some of my disdain.  The first time I ever saw "LOL" it was probably 8 years ago in an e-mail from a client.  I had never seen it before and thought it meant "lots of love" and thought that was highly inappropriate in the context.  Then I figured it out.  Duh.

ROFL.  OK, so there's the obvious reason that the person is not actually rolling on the floor, but the real reason I don't like this one is because I try to pronounce it in my head.  Roffle.  Sounds like what Scooby would call a waffle.

RU and Cuz.  I've been known to use these in desperate times, but really are we that lazy?

Hubby.  This is the worst for me.  I don't know why, I can't explain it, but this word is like nails on a chalkboard with a side of Styrofoam being rubbed together.  I seriously, seriously loathe this word.  I wish someone with a background in psychology could enlighten me here because I am self-aware enough to recognize that this is my issue.

Now I'm going to go snuggle with my hubby.  LOL.  No actually I'm ROFL.  R U sick to your stomach?  Cuz I am.

But I don't want what she's having!

Sorry if I've been a bit lame on the writing front lately.  The training for the Mom Olympics is taking it out of me.  I did a 30 mile bike ride on Saturday, burned 1200 calories and came very close to eating one of my children afterwards.  Luckily for them they looked dirty at the time.

Over the weekend I was at Starbucks (shocking, I know).  One of my baristas I have a crush on was being her normal chatty self.  She says to me "do you know that you have a celebrity look alike?"  I think "uh oh", I say "no, I didn't know that."  So here's who it is....wait for it....wait for it....

Meg Ryan.  Oy vey.

I don't mean to sound ungrateful or horribly vain - but I DON'T WANT TO LOOK LIKE MEG FUCKING RYAN.  I'm going to give my sweet barista the benefit of the doubt and assume she'd just watched Sleepless in Seattle and that she was referring to this Meg:

 

Not this poster child of plastic surgery gone to Barbara Hersheyville Meg:

But I just smiled and politely said thanks.  I didn't mention the fact that Meg Ryan is 9 YEARS OLDER THAN ME, or that her career peaked in 1993.  Or that she looks sad and crazy most of the time.

It reminds me of the time I was stupid enough to ask my husband (who I was dating at the time) which celebrity he thought I looked like.  Poor guy didn't realize that this question is a set-up.  You are not supposed to be honest (as in "no your butt doesn't look fat") you are supposed to choose someone on the upper stratosphere of attractiveness regardless of actual resemblance.  His choice:  Helen Hunt.  With the plethora of blond, straight haired women aged 20-35 he came up with Helen freakin' Hunt.  Not so mad about your choice honey.

It is fun to make eyes at him across the room every time Twister comes on cable.

Going for the gold

As many of you know I'm training (which means I'm talking a lot about training) for my first triathlon in September.  I'm very frustrated right now because I'm dealing with Achilles tendinitis that I actually believe has been caused by my beloved flippy flops.  The problem started over Spring Break in Florida, where I went directly from wearing winter shoes to nothing but Havaianas.  Before I can start running, I have to get this thing healed.

Anyhoo, last night there was a training party in NYC that my girlfriend and I were going to.  As I was racing around the house, barbecuing chicken, trying to get to the dentist to grind down my new filling, get boy #1 to do his homework and simultaneously get ready for soccer practice all in time for a 5:47 train he asks me "so WHAT are you going to?"

ME: "Sarah and I are doing a triathlon in September and this is a training meeting to help us learn how to do it right."

HIM: "Is it a running thing?"

ME: "Yes, running, biking and swimming."

HIM: "Oh, so you're doing the mom Olympics!"

Love that.  I also love Sally Edwards the spokeswoman for the Trek Women Triathlon Series.  "Inspiring" is not an adjective worthy of this woman.  She's 62 years old and has been doing tris for 30 years.  She completes every event as the "last" finisher - so no entrants ever finish last.  Her passion for living a fit life is infectious and yes, OK, inspiring. 

After meeting her and hearing her stories last night I am totally committed to doing this training thing right, getting past my mental "I can't do this" blocks and pushing my fitness to the next level.

NEVER SURRENDER!

Inheritance? Spent it on new boobs.

I carpool/walk pool my older son and two friends to school every other week.  Last week we were in the car and they were arguing over the old "jinxed" thing.  My son and his friend said something at the same time, said "jinx" and then his friend was looking for wood to knock on.

As we were walking to the corner I explained that I thought he had two types of "jinx" confused.  The one he was referring to is the kind where someone "jinxes" you (like a sports announcer) by saying something definitely will or won't happen and then you need to find wood to knock on.  I have to use this technique frequently when my husband says that the plane will NOT crash (have you ever tried to find wood at an airport?  Impossible.).

So the friend was nodding with understanding and as they sauntered into the crosswalk where I am risking my life to stop Jersey traffic for them, I hear my son say, "wow, I guess my mom isn't such an old hag after all."

34 C please.  Nice and perky.

A photo essay

The title of this essay is: 

 "Nah, we didn't really want that tax refund."

 There was an ear in the shower.

Behind the ear, there was water.

Because of the water, there was mold.

Because of the mold, there was stank.

$4000 later there is no ear, no mold and no stank.  And no tax refund.

You had me at hello

I realized recently that I develop crushes on nice people. This is a relatively new phenomenon that coincides exactly with my moving from the left coast of these United States to the right. Growing up in Portland, Oregon I took niceness for granted. Please and thank you were just part of the daily routine. Holding doors open and stopping for pedestrians in crosswalks were not considered freakish behaviors.

The first six weeks I lived in New Jersey I was frequently brought to tears. Not by horrible acts of violence or neglect, but by checkers at grocery stores and gas station attendants who didn't acknowledge that we had just exchanged in a monetary transaction. You give me groceries, I give you money, you say "thanks for shopping at......" It didn't work that way. If I got eye contact I considered it a moral victory. Sometimes I would "Oregon" them and be effusively friendly, talkative, etc. but that mostly resulted in people thinking I was a nut job.

So here we are almost four (oh my god four) years later. My skin is tougher. I drive like it's a contact sport (and often with me it is, but I do leave a note). I rarely cry, unless I have too much wine and a chick flick. But now I have crushes. I'm so attracted to niceness that I fantasize about being around these people just to get more of it. Here are a few of the objects of my affection:

1. The tile man
2. Our PTA President
3. Three baristas at Starbucks
4. Many of my neighbors
5. Numerous mommies (including blogger mommies)
6. A few daddies
7. My neighbor's dog
8. The guy at the bike shop
9. Girlyfriends
10. Countless facebook friends from my past life in nice land.
11. Justin Timberlake - c'mon he does SEEM nice!

I really don't mean this to be a dig on Jersey. It's just different here. In some ways it's good because I appreciate niceness much more and don't take it for granted. It's almost a little disconcerting when I go home for a visit now and people are SO NICE. It takes me a good week or so to adjust. I still try to be myself as much as possible here, even if people do think it's strange. Maybe you can change the world one kind gesture at time? Even in Jersey.

For MP

I had no idea that Hulu wasn't viewable from overseas.  I have a certain mama who TOTALLY DESERVES this little JT treat.  Let's see if this works for her. As Jessica Biel said, it's so wrong, it's right.

Zits B Gone!

If you've been reading this blog since its inception, you know about my battle with the zits, and the picking of the zits, and the subsequent scarring of the face, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera...  Well my pretties, the tide has turned.

Just to recap, when I turned about 35 or 36 I started breaking out like a teenage dude on a diet of Munchos and Snickers.  I went to the dermatologist late in January.  She gave me a prescription for Renova (cosmetic strength tretinoin) and Finacea (azelaic acid).  Both are topical creams that I use once a day.  The Renova was EXPENSIVE but with a $50 rebate and putting it through our flex savings plan it wasn't so bad, and it's lasted a long time (and I still have quite a bit left).

At first, my face looked like ass.  It got really dry and even kind of scaly in places.  I only use the Finacea on my "problem" areas (around the mouth, side of the face) because it exacerbates the dryness.  But I kept with it because it seemed like it was making the breakouts less severe.  When I do get a zit, it's not as cystic feeling, it's more on the surface.

But just recently, I've actually been looking in the mirror and thinking "hey, my skin doesn't look like ass!"  The little twist with Renova is that along with helping the zit factor, it's also one of the only proven wrinkle reducers.  That's not what my doctor prescribed it for, but um, I'm not complaining.  My skin regimen also includes washing my face with Aveda "Enbrightenment" cleanser and I really like Oil of Olay Regenerist with a Touch of Foundation in the morning.  If it's a sunny day I also use MAC prep & prime moisturizer (SPF 50). 

If you have sensitive skin, Renova may be too harsh, especially for everyday use.  You also have to be diligent with the sunscreen.

Now of course after writing all of this I'm going to wake up with a volcanic eruption between my eyebrows tomorrow morning.  JINXED!

From me, to you

Happy Mother's Day!

Happy Day

To all of you mamas out there:  Happy, happy Mother's Day!  I know that it's one of those Hallmark Holidays, but I still appreciate it.  Son #1 gave me an early gift today with this story:

"I was out in the driveway this morning and I saw a flash of blue.  It was the brightest, most amazing color of blue.  It was a jay.  It was so beautiful, I sat quietly and watched it for ten minutes.  It was so beautiful I started to cry."

That, my friends, is a Mother's Day gift.

The deed is done

I did it.  I had "the talk" with the boy.  I think it went pretty well.  I grabbed an opportune moment after school when the little brother was occupied and nonchalantly went to the attic playroom with the book.  I broached the subject by saying "hey, remember how you were dissapointed in science that they didn't explain EVERYTHING about the human body?"  He gave me a worried look.  "Well, I thought I'd explain it to you."

At first he was embarrassed and hid under his blanket and told me to go away.  I didn't make a big deal about it and asked if he wanted to look at the book on his own and then ask me questions.  He kinda hemmed and hawed and half heartedly told me to go away again.  I started flipping through the book on my own and he caught a glimpse of one of the nakey illustrations and he was at my side.

I tried to stay very cool about it, not laugh, but be natural.  Although it was really hard to keep a straight face when he yelled "so dad stuck his penis in YOUR vagina?"  At one point I think the whole discussion was a little titillating to him (as to be expected I guess) and he started looking at me with lusty eyes and grinding his hips (I think I heard a little Barry White in the background).  It provided a good segue into "appropriate" touching, etc.

I told him I'd put the book in his under-the-bed book box so he could look at it on his own too.  I'm relieved that we started the conversation (fully aware that this is just the tip of the iceberg) and I'm glad that I gave him the information, not some random kid at school.  

I knew it went OK when he invited me to play Mario Strikers Soccer afterwards (he completely kicked my ass).    And so far I haven't heard him tell the little brother what their dad did with his you know what.  Only a matter of time...

Knock it off or I'll move back to Portland

I've got drizzle on my schnizzle.  No likey.  I do however like this op-ed that was on our little league web site:

New York Times - August 5, 2003 

And the Forecast Is . . . 
By MICHAEL RUBINER 


Wednesday in New York : Rain. Heavy at times. Followed by periods of precipitation. 

Thursday : Lingering showers throughout the day. Chance of rain 800 percent. 

Friday : Moist. Damp. Sodden. 

Saturday : Rainish. Showery. Precipitacious. 

Sunday : Light rain followed by heavy rain followed by pouring. 

Monday : Unseasonably rainy in the morning. Uncharitably rainy in the afternoon. Unconscionably rainy in the evening. 

Tuesday : Endless showers broken up by occasional flooding. 

Wednesday : Remember "Waterworld"? Like that, only with more rain. 

Thursday : Not sunny. The opposite of sunny. Just forget about sunny, O.K.? 

Friday : Clearing just long enough for you to make weekend plans. Followed by obscene amounts of rain. 

Saturday : Take a wild guess. 

Sunday : Incessant, spirit-crushing rain. The kind of rain that makes it futile to get out of bed in the morning. The kind of rain that seems as if it will never end. And guess what? It never will. Ever. Do you understand? 

Monday : Please go away. 

Tuesday : Ample, brilliant sunshine throughout the day. Wait — did I say sunshine? I meant rain. Really hard rain. 

Sorry for the redeux facebook friends, but it deserved another showing!  I love the term "spirit-crushing rain".  Perfect.

The TALK

It's time.  My nine year old is wise to the fact that you don't just "get married" and magically have a baby, but I must say that I kept that charade up for a long as possible.  I knew it was time however when he brought up ape/human breeding as an awesome idea for a new species.  Cut to my son 10 years from now at his first college party:

Him:  Hey did you know that we're both primates?

Hot girl:  Um, yeah, I guess so.

Him:  You know what that means don't you?

HG:  No, what?

Him:  We can BREED!

HG:  Whatever dork.

I am committed to the above scenario not happening.  So this is going to be the week.  I think I'm going to read a book with him ("What's the Big Secret") and then open the floor for questions.  Then I'm sure he's going to run and tell his little brother everything which his little brother will not mention again until we're in earshot of someone really embarrassing.

I just hope I can get through it without laughing or completely destroying his dreams of awesome genetic mutations.  I'll let you know how it goes. 

Marry for funny, not money

I'm so glad that after 16 years of being together, my husband and I can still make each other laugh to the tears streaming down our faces point.  I was telling him about my nose hair issue last night (which of course he found HILARIOUS, like the time I ate an oyster that tasted like cow poop, but didn't realize it tasted like poop until after I swallowed it).

So this morning he told me that after our bedtime conversation he had crazy nose hair dreams, kind of like the teeth dreams where they are all crumbling in your mouth no matter what you do, but in this case he had feathers growing out of his nose.  He would pull them out and they would just keep growing and growing.

About fifteen minutes later I'm getting ready to leave the house and he walks into the living room with a feather sticking out of his nose.

As we've all witnessed in the past months, wealth can ebb and flow.  It's important to have someone there who can always make you laugh.  I love you man.

That's why you're my favorite pooper mag

Two ENTHUSIASTIC thumbs up for People Magazine's choice of cover model for their most beautiful issue.  I love Christina Applegate.  She's so authentic, funny, brave and yes, beautiful.   And much closer to 40 than 20.  HA!  And we're probably related somewhere along the gene pool (my family tree has Applegates in it).

I may even honor this issue by NOT taking it into the bathroom.

Orifice update

Ears: 

Tile guy came today. I think I'm in love. Contractor love that is. I'm going to invent projects all over my house that involve tile. He calls when he says he's going to call, comes when he says he's coming, is clean, fast and reasonable. If I know you in real life and you come for a visit, don't be shocked to see a mural of the Portland, Oregon skyline on my living room wall: All in tile.

Here's the condition of the ear laboratory now:

Not as horrifying as I imagined it in my dreams.  In my dreams there were more insects.  He did have to go up a couple rows higher than he should have because of the water seepage, but the support beams look OK.  Next orifice please.

Nose:

Horrified to discover that I went through a spin class, numerous conversations with other mommies, a parent/teacher conference and the kids dentist appointments with a rogue nose hair that was so long it was curling up and around the tip of my nose.  REWIND.

Mouth:

Can't stop putting things in it lately.  Must be getting close to that time.  Also needs to be washed out with soap after cursing the new "no-kinks" hose.  It took me 45 minutes and at least eight f-bombs to get that stupid hose in the wind-up-the-hose box.  Sorry witness-protection-program-neighbor-who-doesn't-talk-so-I-didn't-see-you-weeding-your-lawn-as-I-yelled-obscenities-at-my-hose.

Rest of the orifices:

Dandy. 

Fitness forays

Hey there!  I am playing Jay Leno to Fit Mommy's Johnny Carson today on her awesome blog Fitness for Mommies.  Click to read my article on my (so far) pathetic attempt at triathlon training.  Then continue reading her blog to find out how real athletes actually train for things, as opposed to simply e-mailing people about training for things.

Or, if you have no interest whatsoever in sportsy stuff, here's yet another cat in a box.  Where do the Japanese find their cats and why are they the cutest on the planet?  Brilliant marketing idea for the Japanese: Sell cats IN boxes to rest of the world.  Economic recovery: Done.

I give up

90 degrees outside.  A/C not working, again.  We have a brand new air handler and compressor (thanks to the old one getting struck by lightening). WTF!!!!

My neighbors sister has a saying and I think I might start selling it on t-shirts and bumper stickers:

"Homeownership.  It's the American freakin' nightmare."  

Yes, she is from Jersey.

Just the tip of the earberg

We got trouble.  Right here in River City.  The tile guy came to do an estimate for fixing the shower.  He popped off a corner tile for me to use for matching purposes and found this:

This is not good.  This is wallboard, a.k.a. sheet rock.  You're not supposed to put this in a shower.  Sheet rock in a shower = Sponge.  Sponge = Water.  Water = Mold.  Mold = Fuck.

The stuff was literally crumbling away under the tiles.  I am livid.  I want to find the address of the woman who flipped this house, leave a flaming bag of poo on the porch, ring the doorbell and then stand back and watch.  I'm not even going to run.  She's going to scream obscenities at me and threaten to call the police and I'm going to stand there like a statue and just repeat our address over and over.  I think she'll get the message quickly.

Do you ever have those times where you feel like everything is falling apart all at once?  We have thousands of dollars of repairs that need to be done on our house, the house that we bought at the peak of the market, the house that is still losing value, the house where the property taxes are inexplicably still rising at a rate well above inflation, the house that luckily, thankfully we have built a happy life in.  This is seriously cutting into my 40th birthday year budget.  Not cool.

Dear Ty Pennington:  I need a not-so-extreme home makeover.  A home eye lift if you will.  Pretty please?

Headstone: Check

I took the best quiz on facebook today (thanks to the adorably funny M.P.).  It was simply entitled "what are you?"  The questions were nonsensical and the possible answers ridiculous.  The result: Brilliance.  

Note to surviving relatives:  Forget all that "she was a loving wife and mother" crap.  The marker of whatever vessel you decide to store me in for eternity should simply read:

SHE WAS 

A BUCKET FULL OF TICKLES.

Oh, by the way, my shower grew an ear

I tried to make that sound really nonchalant.  Did it work?  BECAUSE I'M TOTALLY GROSSED OUT.  I gagged a little downloading this picture from my iPhone:

Right before we left on vacation, it started raining from my first floor ceiling.  Turns out the shyster who flipped this house didn't line the shower properly so now that the grout has cracked it's a complete mess.

So we didn't use the shower for a few days.  And then this happened.  Fittingly, it grew a pair of them.  My husband actually did make me throw up in my mouth a little when he insinuated that the spores that grew this came from one of us.

God knows we will have to start farming out body parts if this house keeps falling apart.  Kidney?  Anyone?

Hey there.

I'm back.  Like the ghosts in Poltergeist (which we watched part of on vacation btw - freaky to see now as a parent).

Thank you to everyone who took the time to leave a comment, you were all lifelines during a very hard time.  I did a lot of soul searching (and crying) over the last week and a half.  My family is the most important thing in the world to me.  Hurting them hurt me very deeply.

I have tried to get reflective about all of this.  Interestingly enough, the movie on the plane was very helpful and not just by keeping my mind off my impending death (have we talked about my fear of flying yet?).  It was "Marley and Me" which I hadn't seen yet.  If you haven't seen it, it's columnist John Grogan's autobiographical account of family life with their crazy dog Marley.  There was a point in the movie where his wife (Jennifer Aniston) is looking over a collection of his columns and marveling at the stories there.  Sad, funny, hopeful stories that had one thing in common; they were relatable.

That's all I'm trying to do here really.  Relate.  We're on this earth for such a blink.  This is one of my ways to connect.  To share.  To laugh.  To worry.  To bitch and rant.  It's ironic because I've thought of this blog as my column of sorts.  

I think I've unknowingly put parameters on this blog that only let me share a portion of myself.  I've made it up that if I'm not funny (all the time), no one will want to read it.  So I've left out a big chunk of who I am and that's not authentic.  Don't get me wrong, it's very hard for me to get through a conversation (real or virtual) without cracking a joke of some kind - but if I go into every post with the only intention to be "funny" then I'm not being true to my purpose here.

So I want to keep doing this.  With new ground rules.  I will share more of who I am with you, good, bad, smelly, hairy, scared (OK I'll stop).  I won't write anything about anyone that I would be embarrassed to have them read.  Unless they are complete strangers - you have to give me this one.  I will be true to myself in the sense that I will not filter things to be more "sanitary" or politically correct.

So if you've stuck around, thank you.  I appreciate you very much and have a LIST of things to talk about, so let's get to it shall we?

Apology

I'm going on vacation tomorrow for a week and will be unplugged.  Before I go, I need to make an apology.  I never really told my parents about this blog, I've always looked at it as a diary of sorts but it kind of took on a life of its own.  I do love to write and I love humor, but it's not cool at someone else's expense.  I try to keep this blog mostly to telling things on myself, but I know that I have crossed the line at points with telling things on my kids and in one instance my parents.

In an effort to be humorous, reading back it comes across as hurtful.  My parents are not crazy, old or inconsiderate.  In fact they are incredibly generous, inspiring, intelligent and amazing people.  If I had been more honest in my post (which has since been removed) I would have delved into why I can't be more like them - why I find myself in reaction to things so much.  

Needless to say, I will be thinking about all of this over the next seven days in great detail.  I need to reexamine for myself what this blog is, what is acceptable and honestly if and how I want to continue it.

I do appreciate the people that check in on a regular basis very much.  It has made me feel much less alone on this journey to 40.

Last, but not least (sniff sniff)

He (9 year old son) made this one for me:

He knows that giraffes are my fav "wild, land mammal" (such classifications are necessary in this household).

And I got 6, count 'em, SIX Os on my "so" for pretty.  Totally worth the saggy boobs.

For Mrs. Snack

Since you liked the one he made for his brother, this is the one he made for himself.  Like a typical Art Director he got so caught up in the design, he forgot to spell (wink wink):

Ruh roh!

My son came home from school super excited because they started to learn how to use Microsoft Word in library today.  After his homework, he asked me if I could help him get on it on our computer so he could "practice".  Here's what he made for his brother:

Hmm...I wonder where he learned about sarcasm and the word "seriously"?

What I am getting for my birthday

Actually, I already got it.

Now we need to name it.  Maybe after a black porn star?  I don't happen to know any by name, but if you do feel free to submit them.  Anonymously of course.  Or not.

I also entered my first triathlon.  It's a little one, part of the Trek Women's Series.  It will be two and an half weeks before my 40th birthday.  Couldn't be more perfect.

What I'm not getting for my birthday

I hope this guy really LOVES  this tattoo, because this is the last puddy tat he will ever see.

Gee thanks interwebs!

Someone got paid to write this.  Not only did someone get paid to write it, but it was one of four highlighted stories on Yahoo today.  If there was ever an argument for why we all should support our local newspapers and journalists, this is it.  I can sum up this amazing 2 page piece of investigative writing prowess in four sentences:

Feet stink because they sweat a lot.  If you don't want your feet to stink, wash them more.  Wear shoes that let air in.  Don't wear the same shoes everyday.

Show me the money Yahoo!

Important cosmetic news

From my five year old.  He informed me of this esthetic breakthrough while watching me put on mascara.  Listen up ladies:

"You should get Spin Brush Mascara.  It has a brush that spins to keep your eyes from plumping.  It's for womans only."

I have no idea a.) What he's talking about b.) What show he's watching that has targeted him for this advertisement (surely the same as the snuggie) c.) How I can get my hands on one.