Stumbling Towards Perfect

When I get in my car I have a habit of always reaching around into the back seat to check for murderers (especially at night). I get in, start the engine, back up and do a blind sweep of that area of the back seat where creepy men can squish up and hide. Every so often I think, "Hmmm, now what would I do if there really was a creepy axe murderer guy back there and he grabbed my arm. I'd be so screwed. He'd have my right arm - which is definitely my strong arm, but my left arm would be free, so I could steer with my knees while grabbing for the phone with my left, all the while tugging/fighting with creepy guy. Which reminds me, I should really keep my phone in the center cup holder. There is no way I could get a phone out of my purse with my left arm. I wouldn't be able to reach that far. Well, I could if I twisted more towards the passenger seat, but then I'd probably veer off the road because I wouldn't be able to steer properly with my knees if I was all twi

"Oh. My. God! Mom! Do you want to hear some really good news?" Here's where most mommies vying for Mother of the Year turn towards their precious little one, put their caring mommy hands on their child's shoulders, bend over to look directly in their eyes and, in their most excited mommy voices, say, "Yes! Yes, I really do want to hear the good news you are about to share with me. By the way, I feel so privileged and honored that you'd share this good news with me! Do continue." I, however, answered more like this: "Seriously, Bean? Seriously? I'm IN THE BATHROOM! I have not peed BY MYSELF ONCE in the past FORTEEN YEARS. See that door? I closed it for a reason. I don't want you barging in here unless there's multiple gallons of blood shooting from your body or Cletus has stopped breathing and is turning blue. Now GET OUT!" And then I was all feeling like well, that was a big mistake, so I yelled "Get back here and bring m

Isn't there one job out there that I'd be perfect for? You know, "Snarky Columnist Wanted: write about whatever you want. Compensation: Tell us what your bills are and we'll actually pay you more than that so you can have this thing called a Savings Account (they were big in the 80's). Astronomically Awesome Health Insurance is provided free of charge. Apply within."

Dotter has a soft heart. And I'm sure it's entirely due to my parenting skills. The first evidence of this was when she came running into the living room where I was feeding Cletus. She was sobbing. Tears streaming down her innocent little cheeks, barely able to catch the breath, arms flinging around my neck, squeezing tightly.... "What? What happened? Dotter? What's wrong?" "Juliet and Justin broke up!" "What?" (Which was code for: What the heck are you talking about, you freaky little 8-year old.) "Justin was trying to save Juliet and he couldn't and she didn't get the blood and then she turned old - and her face was so old ! - because she's over two thousand years old - and now she Broke. Up. With. Justin!" It took awhile, but I concluded Justin from Wizards of Waverly Place had been dating a vampire named Juliet. And, while she is over 2,000 years old, that's very young for a vampire. Anyway, when she

Today I made Big V get a new pair of shoes. Sometimes I'm just really, really bossy. I took photographic proof to share with all my web-buddies for further ridicule. Sometimes I'm just really, really immature. (Why, yes, that  is a whole roll of duct tape holding his shoe together.)

I've seen people do all sorts of things while driving. Dangerous things that would feasibly cause them to become distracted: Eating, drinking, talking on the phone, texting, applying mascara, attempting to get the very last microscopic crumbs into their mouth from the bottom of a bag of chips, reading a book, reading a newspaper, writing out a check... But never, until now, have I ever turned my head to the right, glanced over at the driver in the lane next to me, and witnessed the tap-tap-tapping of a syringe, followed by the plunging of a needle into the arm holding the steering wheel.

I don't do a lot of "from scratch" cooking. Betty Crocker assists on a pretty regular basis, so it is with much pride that I perfected (ok, got lucky) creating a lovely Ham and Bean Stew. It was so good I snagged a helping right away to bring to work today. I even drove ten miles an hour under the speed limit to ensure it wouldn't tip over, lest I lose a morsel. Got of the car, carefully picked up my precious cargo, and 'lo and behold, the forces of nature flung that platic container to my feet so fast I couldn't blink. Pieces of ham and beans flew everywhere; even up the leg of my light tan work pants. (The only pair of decent looking work pants that I can button without passing out from lack of oxygen due to the extreme sucking in of the gut action that must take place with all my other pants.) It looks like I vomitted next to my car. Such is the beginning of a wonderful work week. Gee, I just can't wait to see what Tuesday brings.

There's a lady that lives on the opposite end of the block from us. I'll call her "Mary" because her name just happens to be Mary. So Mary has this dog. A little, yipping-mutt type. It's an old dog, more wide than it is long, and it doesn't walk very well. Mary drags her little dog down her driveway, into the street, and walks up the block to our driveway. She continues dragging the dog up our drive like she's going to come to the door and ring the doorbell except she hangs a sharp left at the siding, drags the mutt a few feet into our front yard and hovers outside our dining room window until the mutt makes his deposit. Mary does not pick the deposit up. Ever. This irritates me. And I've asked Mary not to use our yard. Mary explained she has to because the dog is blind. I expressed to Mary that perhaps instead of dragging the blind dog into our yard she could pick someone else's yard to drag the blind dog into because this really isn't wor

Today was another Physical Therapy day for Cletus. I think he's got a crush on Miss Heather. She walks in and he's all smiley and giggly and showing off, "Look at me and my strong monstrous arms! Check it out - my head is raised a full 70˚ - Oh, yeah, baby!" Except moments before he was all, "Why do I have to get dressed . Can't I just sleep ? Give me back that pacifier. Gawd , mom, you're so annoying ." Miss Heather, completely buying into his flirting, was all "What a strong boy you are!" and I swear he made an I-Told-You-She-Thinks-I'm-Special face at me (but maybe I'm just hyper sensitive to contorted faces since I'm so used to the Bean making a multitude of faces to communicate various degrees of displeasure and resentment towards me). We learned some new "passive stretching," which to the average outsider looks like we're barely able to hold back some sort of animalistic desire to snap his little neck. I th

I've eaten no less than 8,614 cinnamon almonds from Trader Joe's today. The label reads "an irresistible snack" and they weren't kidding. Aside from looking like a cow chewing cud because I'm constantly trying to get wedged almond pieces out of my back molars, I'm finding I enjoy this snack. (8,614 is a lot of almonds, people. This produces a lot of wedage. And, yes, I made that word up.) It also leaves me wondering why I would never consider purchasing said almonds myself. Throw it on the counter, I'll eat them all day long. Pick it up off the shelf and pay for it myself? Um, not so much. I'm not sure if that means I'm lazy or cheap.

I'm thinking it's about time I purchase some snow boots and maybe an ice/snow scraper. Then again, I haven't owned boots since middle school and if it wasn't for iTunes organizing their siege of the music world I'd have a few CD cases to run through. (Like you haven't ever used a CD case to scrape the ice from your windshield. Like I'm the only one who has ever done that. Right.) (iTunes... you know, because everyone downloads now and nobody purchases actual CDs. That's why you can only get Barbara Streisand's Greatest Hits and Disney Now at WalMart.)

Such a special moment, cuddling with Dotter, watching really bad acting - some movie about a thirteen year old boy that finds out he's a mermaid. Uh, mer-Man... and Dotter looks over, sweetly pats my stomach and says, "you still look pregnant mom" before turning her attention back to Gill Boy.

My baby has a Turtle Collar. Not really, but that's what I thought was said. It's actually called "Torticollis," which also reminds me of tortellini, but this has nothing to do with cooking. Cletus the Used-to-be-Fetus is almost four months old. He was born with a perfectly round head. Everyone said so. Everyone. The doctor that delivered him, the nurses that checked on him, the dietary technician that brought me my gourmet I-never-want-to-leave-this-hospital-ever food. His head was like a perfectly formed grapefruit! That is, assuming grapefruits are round when perfectly formed. I'll have to look that up. Anyway, you get my point. Big V noticed the bulging first. As Cletus grew his head just seemed, off. I passed it off as the crazy cowlics in his hair made his head seem a bit off kilter. V mentioned he only looks to one side, but that was because he likes to look at his mommy. Then V noticed there was a bump forming over one eyebrow. Boy, was V picky! But th