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.