Stumbling Towards Perfect

Last night I holed up in my bedroom to watch The Real Housewives of New Jersey  uninterrupted and all I kept thinking about is are these women for real ? How hard is it to just stay away from the people you don't like. I guess I just don't hate anyone enough to spend that much energy on them. Of course, I'm also kind of lazy, and this much bickering about one person seems to take a lot of energy. More energy than I'm willing to spend. I choose to save my energy for the finer things in life, like dipping my chips in guacamole while having a glass of wine with my friends. Is a fashion show (or any event, when you think of it) that important that you simply must show up and duke it out with your mortal enemy? I watched these women full of piss and vinegar ( love that saying, by the way! ), staring each other down and boring everyone at their respective tables about how much they hated each other. Honestly, there are other things to talk about. Like the oil spill in the g...

Just thought I'd mention..... I really like watching Big V with Cletus the Used to be Fetus. I think they're both kind of cute.

I got a letter from Dotter in the mail yesterday. She's been at camp this past week and comes home tomorrow. The letter consisted of three small pieces of paper - about the size of a square of toilet paper. Here's what was written on the squares (mistakes and all): Hi mom my first day was fun. I don't want to take the swim test sorry but I don't care cause I can still have fun in the shallow end. Bye Bye. God blessing on you. Hi mom again! It's Monday. I just got back from chaple. Mr. Chris is fun and nuts. Tonight I'm going to give him candy. Added to the bottom in different ink was this little end note: This is the candy that he did not take. It was Skitles. Hi mom. It's Tuesday. I like the pichture that Brody gave me. I kissed Brody. I really want to come home and stay. Four real. God blessing on you. I love you! I miss you! I wish I was home. Now I feel guilty because she gave me God's Blessing and I sent her a letter about a chicken-cat .

Our local health clinic and hospital is currently expanding. I'm guessing not everyone is happy about that because there are picketers at the corner outside the building. Helping them is a giant, blow-up rat. But then again, maybe the picketers have nothing against the medical center expansion at all. Maybe they're just a group of people protesting rats and chose this highly visible corner to express their freedom of speech. I was tempted to pull over and ask them what, specifically, they hated about rats (I, personally, have a long list - starting with that gross tail) but Dotter was freaked out over the giant, blow-up rat and I'd given her enough material for therapy already. Plus I was on my way to get a little sumpin'-sumpin' from our local Starbucks. Rats or Starbucks? I think the choice was obvious.

In high school we had to take swimming. In gym. It was a requirement. We wore really odd looking swimsuits of which, I have two, because I knew they were a relic then and I thought, h ey, they only increase in value with age! And plus I could use those as a punishment someday. As in If you don't clean your room I'll make you go out in public wearing my old gym swimsuit! Is that what you want? So, yeah. Required swimming in gym class. We were so lucky to have a pool at our school. I tried to get away with the beginning "I'm scared to put my face in the water to make bubbles" class because (1) I don't like exerting any sort of physical energy, and (2) I wanted to hone my acting skills. I had everyone going pretty good - even trembling at the thought of going in water past my stomach - but was busted out when some idiot called me out from across the pool. "Hey! You were diving off the springboard at Jamie's party this weekend - you can swim!" Tha...

Okay. You know how I dropped my 8-year old off for a week in the middle of nowhere? The plan was she would have fun swimming in the lake, walking on trails, skipping to the dining hall and singing camp songs... well, how was I supposed to know a tornado would find them? I sat unblinking at the television set all evening listening to the reports, constantly yelling at Big V: Where is camp compared to this map? Point to it!  And he'd point and say, "See where it says Eagle? Right next to that." And I'd get all mad and yell things like why would you tell me that? That's right where the bad part is! Now I'm more scared than I was before! Just get out of here you big jerk!  And he'd say something like "I'm sure they have a plan for this type of weather activity. They can't be a successful camp if they let campers die out there." And I would yell What do you mean die? She could die?! I was just worried she was scared and afraid - thanks a  lo...

Dotter is off at camp! She'll be gone for a week, which is way too long for an 8-yr old, if you ask me, but she wanted to go and has been looking forward to it since January when the sign up sheet was mailed to us. She says she will probably miss me but will have fun anyway. She's a somewhat of a realist. Not wanting her to be completely "without" the family this week and, more importantly, not wanting to have to pay the extra fee for eMail service (where campers visit the computer center once a day to read/compose electronic messages in true camping form) I decided to pack some surprise notes, cards and letters in her bag with the outer envelope labeled so she'd know what days to open which envelopes. Basically I don't want her to experience what life might be like without us. You know kids, they get a taste of normalcy and pretty soon that's all they're talking about. "Maddie's mother didn't pack 300 letters in her bag!" I wrot...

It's not everyday you look out the side window of the car you're driving and see this: a helicopter, racing next to you at eye level. Whatcha doin' over there, Mr. Helicopter Pilot? Aren't you supposed to be a little higher in the sky? You're not experiencing engine difficulties, are you? A crop dusting helicopter ?! That's right. I've got to tell you, I was impressed. It was like watching Mission Impossible the way that copter would pop straight up over a row of trees then disappear again in the blink of an eye. But I sort of missed the bright yellow biplane...

Jelly Bean spent some quality time bonding with Cletus the Used to be Fetus. This is how they entertained themselves: The mohawk was cute. Even the tattoo was kind of funny. The gansta chain was questionable. But the chest hair? I mean.... ew.

Growing up everyone had pencils and rulers with their names on them. And little license plates for their bikes. And stickers. And pads of paper. And bookmarks. Everyone. Everyone but me. Every Jenny had one. (Several, actually, those snobs.) And every Kim. And all the Carrie's, too. But not me. I had to have one of those names that you didn't really hear that often. Bridget. Sure, adults loved it. But me? Where was my pin with my name on it? Once in a while I'd come across a Bridgette - but that was nothing but a cruel joke. It was soooo unnnffaaaiirrrr! And so, like any good mother suffering from insecurities brought on by a childhood of disappointments, I vowed to put my own children through that same hell. No normal names for me, no sireebob! Or Jenny. But then one day I thought  you know, I kinda like my kids . And I kind of like their names. And I feel bad that they will never understand what it feels like to have their name stamped into a 12" piece of ...

Once upon a time I looked across a seedy bar my friends and I hung out at and caught the eye of a guy I knew. I'd known him for several years but really all I knew was he was funny and when he smiled and laughed his eyes lit up. "He smiles from the inside out," I'd think. So, Smiley made the walk over and we started small talk chatter that somehow morphed its way into a really fun night of dancing. Now, I love me a boy that dances. Dances. Not grinds, pumps or gyrates. No, I love me a boy that can dance. For the next several weekends we would dance. And laugh. And dance. And joke. And dance. And flirt. And dance. Then the request came, but it was more of a command, "Let's have dinner tomorrow night." Uh, dinner? Together? As in sitting across the table trying to hold an actual conversation without dancing? What about the dancing? But he was cute. And he smiled from the inside out. And he knew how to dance. Of course I said yes. I got excited. Thi...

Last night I attended a jewelry show hosted by a good friend of mine. I wouldn't be described as a jewelry wearing girl but I certainly do like looking at the stuff and I almost always find something completely adorable to purchase. Getting dolled up for special occasions is a hobby of mine so I need things to choose from. Besides, what woman doesn't want to flee her children to hide amongst glitz and wine and small talk? Small talk is also a hobby of mine because you just never know what kind of adventure it takes you on. For instance, who knew that one second we'd be talking about pearls and the next be introducing a crocodile purse into the mix? A crocodile purse? In your closet? For reals? Hell to the yeah that needs to be shown off! Go get it, girlfriend! Bring it down because I have GOT to check this thing out! Do not be mistaken: It has a head. A purse with a head . I had never seen a purse with a head before, but I bet the real worldly types have -- like The Bl...

Like any good mother, I dropped my middle child off for her last day of school with a chipper, "Have a MOST EXCELLENT last day of school!" while readying my camera for the standard Last Day of School Photo. Except Dotter didn't move from the side of the car, where she was standing, screaming, with her finger stuck in the door. I did what any mother in these situations would do - unlocked my seatbelt and bolted out of my seat yelling, "Open the door! OPEN THE DOOR!" (She was very appreciative of my advice, I'm sure.) I took one look at the mangled finger and put her back in the car, "We're just gonna run and get this looked at real quick." I explained as I buckled her (screaming) into her seat. Then a thought occurred to me: This may begin to bleed soon. And there may be a lot of blood. And I just took out V's sweatshirt that had been sitting in the car for three months, so now what would I wrap the hand in? I hurried into the school ...

The very best part about this video was I got this reaction to raising my eyebrows. Yep. That's it. No tickles. No silly faces. Just slight eyebrow movement. Love. This. Kid.

Today, we've had a lot of really upset people coming in our office. They're mad because they knew the rules, but decided to take their chances and not follow the rules, and then they got caught not following the rules so they got in trouble. Now they're mad. At us. Because of course we're the ones that told them the rules and then subliminally planted the idea that they should not follow them. We're totally sneaky like that. It makes me feel like I'm at home surrounded by my children except I'm not wearing pajama pants.

So I'm totally and completely obsessed with The Pioneer Woman -  a fabulous blog that I read faithfully and follow on twitter. Of keen obsession is  Ree Drummond's real life love story  -- because what woman hasn't dreamed of being completely swept away by a handsome, hunky cowboy with incredibly huge, muscley biceps. And to hear that Hollywood has jumped on this band wagon and wants to make a movie (OhMyGod!OhMyGod!) is really about as good as hearing that you won the lottery. (Did I mention OhMyGod?) And what's even better -- rumor has it Reese Witherspoon might be cast as the staring role! Which means I can totally add the upcoming " Black Heels to Tractor Wheels " to my DVD'S TO WATCH OVER AND OVER WITHOUT EVER GETTING UP OFF THE COUCH ALL DAY EXCEPT TO PEE list. Right now there's only one movie on that list: "Sweet Home Alabama" ( duh! ) and if it's not on your list than you can just leave now because you obviously have no idea how a...