Stumbling Towards Perfect

Is it just me, or is it hard to find cute clothes for little boys? Because I find tons of clothes that tease me into thinking I want another girl, but then my teenage daughter enters the room and reminds me why perhaps I ought not to. I'm not sure if it's the eye rolling or the fact that someday I'm going to have to accept the fact that she's going to have sex. Either way, it's way too much to think about with a little girl. I know. It's sexist. Although, to be fair I don't plan on high five-ing my son when he decides to knock boots. So guess who gets excited when she finds cute things to force her son to wear? This girl!  Can I just say I absolutely adore the label? "Uncommonly Sweet..."  The t-shirt fabric is heavy, thick, durable! No flimsy t's for this boy. Embracing his Dude Pride! " dude " shirt courtesy of Miss Mindy Mac Designs I am *so* hoping she does a " punk " version.

So, you know I'm deathly afraid of horses, right? What with all those teeth and all. And by all I am specifically referring to their deadly bucking skills. But did you know I also love horses? Really. I do. From a distance, I mean. A very far distance. I really do think they are beautiful, graceful animals and there's a part of me that envisions myself sitting high in that saddle, galloping through an open field with the bright sun warming my face. And then I remember in an instant it can all come crashing to a halt as the horse bucks my unsuspecting self off the saddle, stamps my body to a lifeless, bloody pulp and bites me. Hard. Logically I know that if I ever want to reach my goal of enjoying a trail ride I need to suck it up and get on a dang horse. Teeth and all! And that is exactly why I decided to suck it up and talk to Chris Stebnitz at Stebnitz Builders about my whole bathroom hell situation. It went kind of like this: Look, I'm probably wasting your tim

I would have posted sooner but I was doing this thing called vacationing . And by vacationing , I meanthe 9-year old and I spent 3 hours alone in the car driving to a crappy hotel in Normal, Illinois. And by crappy, I mean our hotel window didn't even shut all the way and I was too scared to ask for another room because be careful what you wish for and so we just cranked the heat up to 78 and it seemed to be okay. Also, for about an hour of the drive the 9-year old was bleating. Like a sheep. Like a whole herd of never tiring bleating sheep. And I tried really hard not to lose my cool because she's the only one of my kids that actually gets upset if I get angry and she really does take things personally so I tried really hard to be one of those cool, calm and collected mothers. "Wow. You really are very good at sounding like a sheep. Are there any other animals you know how to do?" BAAAA!!! "Huh. Mommy's getting kind of a head ache. I guess she doesn

My boy. Who has the best laugh in the world. Especially when he's throwing pieces of banana all over the place. Who loves taking baths. Especially since he has learned how to create tidal waves that flood the floor. Who loves his 9-year old sister. Especially when he manages to pull hunks of hair out of her scalp. Who loves to gives hugs. Especially when he can bite a chunk out of your shoulder at that same time. Who loves his Mama. Especially with all her grey hair coming in and that exasperated look in her eyes.

My number one goal in life right now is to take a shower without an audience. When the Bean was tiny I'd drag her little bouncy seat into the bathroom and lay her on it, sleeping, while I attempted to shower. Every six seconds I would peek around the shower curtain to make sure she was still breathing. I never bothered to condition my hair because the softness of my hair was not worth her life, y'all! (I was such a New Mom.) With the second child, age and experience allowed me to shave the armpits, peek, shampoo, peek, condition, peek, think about shaving my legs, decide against it, and get out. As the girls grew, the length of my showers grew. I met Big V when I was living in a cute house a block from the lake with two full sized bathrooms. Two! I was happy. I then moved with my two kids into his one bathroom house. One. And then I had another child. Let me help you with the math:  5 people + 1 bathroom = Hell To make matters worse, our only bathroom does not h

Many, many, many years ago, my dad worked with grapes. And sugar cane. I have pictures of the burning of the cane fields but I do not have any photos of my dad in the fields whilst they were burning, which is a good thing when you think about it. The fact that my father has lived this long is amazing to me for several reasons: (1) His Aunt Joyce tells the story that he was born sick and basically sent home from the hospital with the instructions to just love him until he passes. (As a mother myself I simply cannot imagine.) (2) As a young boy he had open heart surgery. Which back in the day was pretty gory. Growing up the scars would both amaze and scare me every time I saw him with his shirt off. I was convinced he was a pirate on Captian Hook's ship and had got in a fight with the giant from Jack and the Beanstalk. (Obviously I was not well versed in fairy tales.) (Also, I've always been deathly afraid of the giant from Jack and the Beanstalk thanks very much to my aunt fr

We went out to dinner as a family the other night because sometimes the public needs to be shaken up a bit, you know? Anyway. You know that lull of time between appetizers and actually receiving the food you really came to eat where most families talk about their day and chit chat about current events which we don't actually do because we live in Wisconsin and current events in Wisconsin completely sucks right now and you never know who is going to go all Facebook Wall Rage Ranting on you for stating your own opinion or when you'll come across some guy you've never met before who says things like " hopefully that [working two full time jobs] prevents you from getting pregnant when we cut birth control options from our insurance plans! " and I'm all like  there's birth control? Because I've already been knocked up - three times ! You get my point. People are getting mean in this neck of the woods. Actually they've been mean for awhile now, bu

Remember my dear, sweet neighbor, Mary? Mary with the dog? Which is apparently old and blind and can't see where it's going but somehow manages to find itself two feet from our dining room window taking a doggie dump in our lawn even though Mary is standing right there holding on to the leash? Hey, Mary. Um... I see that your dog is taking a dump. In our yard. Again. Next to the window well that's adjacent to the foundation of our house. [yelling in crabby old lady form] He's BLIND! Uh... okay. But. Um. Well, you're holding on to the leash. In your hand. And it kind of seems like you walk him right up our driveway and into our yard to do his business. Because I've watched you do it. A lot. Which, is, uh, kind of annoying. [yelling in crabby old lady form] He's OLD! Uh... okay. But. Um.... well, we really don't like all the dog crap in the front yard. It's kind of gross. And, well, it's kind of creepy to look out the window and see your

Hey, V, if I die you can have Alicia, okay? What? If I die, you can have Alicia. She'd make an excellent mother to the children. She's sweet and compassionate and she'd read to them and take them on fun outings and also pack a homemade, organic lunch for them to bring to school. She'd be their number one cheerleader and talk to them and make them feel good about themselves and also she'd do whatever she could to keep my spirit alive and say things like, "your mother would be so proud of you" as she's brushing their hair or putting on their shoes. She's a way better mother than I will ever be, so you can have her if I die. Oh. Okay. [turns to exit room] Wait! Where are you going? To watch the sports update on TV. But what about me? What about you? I just gave you Alicia - what about me? I don't think you'll mind; you'll be dead. Besides, you gave her to me, why would you care? No. I mean, who do I get if you die?

Impressing Big V with a decent dinner is pretty easy. He grew up on take out and fast food and is visibly impressed every time I actually produce something edible straight from the oven. This weekend I told Big V I was going to make a pasta dish called Johnny Marzetti from a recipe I received from a co-worker and that it was kind of like a goulash. He shrugged his shoulders and went about his day. When it was ready he happily consumed plate full after plate full, making me promise to serve it again. "I didn't know goulash could taste this good!" He gushed. "My mom used to make goulash - but she just made it with noodles and ketchup!" Trust me when I say this is way better than noodles and ketchup. Johnny Marzetti 2 tablespoons butter or margarine 2 large onions, sliced 1/2 pound mushrooms, sliced 1/2 cup diced celery 1/2 cup diced green pepper 1 teaspoon minced garlic 1 pound ground beef 1 can (15 oz) tomato sauce 1 teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon f

Last night I happened upon a rerun of Saturday Night Live where Will Ferrell pretends he's James Lipton, the old dude from Inside the Actor's Studio and I died because (1) Will Ferrell is funny, and (2) James Lipton is funny - even though he doesn't try to be, you know? And as I was dying Big V was all I don't get why that's funny and who is he pretending to be anyway ? And I was all he's JAMES LIPTON !  The real James Lipton. But Big V had never heard of James Lipton because he's never heard of anyone who hasn't ever played in a professional sport; such is life with V. Still, I couldn't stop laughing.  Will as James.  And then I posted a question on Facebook wondering whether or not James Lipton was on Twitter because I'd really like to follow a guy like James Lipton and a friend of mine responded: Did you know he was a pimp? Not like a pretend pimp, but a real, actual pimp in Paris? And I was all HUH?! I saw an interview

Big V succumbed to the plague which meant I could finally take advantage of that whole blackmail plan I've been busy devising in my spare time. Me:  What the hell are you wearing? V:  I had to go ref that tournament today ... I puked twice in the locker room between games. Me: What the hell are you wearing? V:  My head feels like it's going to explode; my body feels like someone ran over it with a truck. Me: What the hell are you wearing? V:  I keep getting light headed and dizzy; I think I'm dying. Me: What the hell are you wearing? V:  I'm so cold. I can't believe how cold I am. Me: What the hell are you wearing? V:  But I knew I had to ref and I didn't have any long sleeved white shirts, so I grabbed this one from your closet - I was so cold - and I asked if I could wear it while I reffed the games and they let me. Me: Wait... so you wore my maternity turtleneck over your official ref uniform all day long while you reffed a basketball tournament i

How do I do sick? I crawl into the darkness of my room, zip myself into a sleeping bag before piling dozens of heavy blankets and down comforters over me, take a swig of NyQuil and sleep. I sleep and sleep and sleep until I need to pee and/or vomit at which time I will crawl into the bathroom before retreating to the quiet safety of my darkened room. I like to be alone. I like to be unbothered. I like to maintain my NyQuil-induced drug haze in silent isolation. Knowing I had to somehow care for my family despite having contracted the bubonic plague (it's the curse of Motherhood; I'm sure you know it all too well) I managed to pull a pack of pork chops out of the freezer and placed them next to a box of Shake'n Bake. They'd be thawed by the time Big V returned from work. The family would not starve. I am a good woman. I took another heavy dose of NyQuil and jumped willingly into the crazy dreams the black licorice meds produced. "Hey. Hey!" I was be

This morning I spent twenty minutes at my local Walgreens attempting to procure the necessary tiger blood and Adonis DNA  medication I would need to kick this nasty virus out of my system. Medication aisles can be very intimidating because it's hard to concentrate on 8,467 of something when you can barely hold your eyes open and also when you can't stand without swaying. Luckily I came prepared with my symptoms written on a piece of paper: You have to come prepared because the medication assholes  gods have created a plethora of symptom combinations to pick from and if you're not on your A Game then fuhgitaboutit. You're missing a symptom and still feeling like crap. Who's winning now? Not you. And so I found the perfect item(s): See how it says "long acting" and also "relieves cough: up to 8 hours" and "runny nose?" It's like the medication gods knew that was EXCATLY what I needed. And also kudos to the Mountain Dew marketing

I don't get it. We can successfully send a man to the moon but no one on this planet can figure out how to design a functional pick-up/drop-off lane at school. The rules for our school's "circle" are simple: Move Quickly, People. This means that no, you may not put your car in park, hop out and walk your child to the door of his classroom located at the other side of the building. It's bad enough cars are passing when they shouldn't be and kids are almost getting creamed on a regular basis as they try to exit the cars, but really, it doesn't help when you park. And then leave your own car. It's a drop off circle. That means you drop the kid off and then you drive away. Quickly. The drop off circle is meant for those mom's who just want to get away and enjoy the silence that sweeps through the car the second that kid gets out. Mom's like me. I get that you're a much better mom than all those other pathetic mothers (im)patiently