Stumbling Towards Perfect

I'm still trying to figure out if I survived Thanksgiving Weekend. In addition to rocking out an awesome full basement clean out, I also managed to singlehandedly consume an entire pumpkin pie, wrangle a toddler's constantly disappearing diaper and a teen's radically erupting hormones. I'm pretty sure there was a third child in the mix somewhere but for the life of me I can't picture how she fit into the weekend. For all I know she spent the entire four days in her room playing video games. While at my parent's house for Thanksgiving Dinner, Big V was educated on this little event referred to as Black Friday. The man had never heard of it. But there was my dad, waving a Best Buy flyer announcing a 42" television set for only $200! Why, we must get this TV! You're on your own, buddy. I don't like shopping. And I don't like people. And I definitely don't like shopping where there are people. But it's only two hundred dollars! You...

I suppose the reason Santa Claus hates parents so much (and therefore is committed to making our lives complicated and miserable) is because he couldn't have kids of his own. And then Mrs. Claus was all why don't we just take some elves in; they're cute and small - they'll be our forever children . And Santa probably agreed because he assumed if he threw Mrs. Claus an elf or two, Mrs. Claus would throw a bone back at the big guy, if you catch my drift. Everyone knows infertility struggles can cause a tremendous uh, dry spell, between couples and he probably figured if she were happy then he'd be happy. But then, like some kind of out of control kitten hoarder, Mrs. Claus couldn't stop at just one elf. Or two. Oh, no - she needed hundreds! Thousands, even! And Santa was all  what the hell am I supposed to do with all these elves? And Mrs. Claus was all I have a splendid idea! Y ou can take them out to your workshop and they can help you!  Well, as a parent y...

Last night, as with the previous 1,040 weekday evenings, I arrived home well after everyone else did with only a six minute allowance to urinate, grab something to eat and re-establish an effective antiperspirant barrier to both pits before heading out to drop Dotter off at swim practice and arrive safely at theatre practice. [ Side note: this year's holiday show is dinner theatre at the beautiful Lake Lawn Resort and includes a riveting solo by me. The girl who doesn't sing. Except for that one time when I played an angry - and very intoxicated - Mrs. Hannigan during a review . Here's a hint: my solo involves bowling terminology and a hippopotamus. I'll be signing autographs and taking pictures after the show. ] Anyway, such is my reality that I walk, no, race into the house in the hopes of emptying my bladder sooner rather than later, only to be bombarded with noise. Lots and lots of noise. If you know the adult me you'd know that one of my mos...

Next time Big V is on my shit list I'm going to have to search out where American Folklore Theatre  is performing because dat der Guys & Does  show was a hoot! Twelve seconds into opening the crowd was hootin' & hollerin'! I can't even begin to describe it, except to say it was the strangest most hysterical theatre experience I'd ever been to. A lot of people in the crowd came dressed in their camo and hunting orange so that should have been a tip off right there that I was about to experience something unique. I mean:  hunting groupies?! Awesome! The basic premise was a man who had offered to take his young adult daughter's new boyfriend hunting with him for the weekend. While the dad was your typical hunter, the boyfriend was anything but. I thought I'd pass out from laughing when he whipped out his knitting. When you're laughing that much you can't help but forget why you were mad in the first place. Half the time I was clutching my ...

Tonight is Date Night. The one in which we go to the theatre to watch a musical about deer camp.  Except I want to trade in my date. Because right now Big V is irritating me in a major way. Like, in an I'm about to spear your eyeball with this fork if you even utter one more word kind of way. It started last night when I entered our home after a long day at the office only to find several able-bodied people plopped in various comfortable positions around my living room. They called it relaxing . The Bean had a long day at school (that ended at 2:30pm). Dotter had a long day at her school (that ended at 3:00pm). And Big V had a long day at work (that ended at 4:00pm). I walked in from my long day at the office at 6:00pm. All three turned their pathetic heads towards my direction and one of them - the biggest one, also referred to as the Role Model, actually voiced the words out loud - so that I could hear them: what are you making for dinner?...

The following words aren't mine. In fact, they've been around so long people may have read it a time or two before, but on this great day I suspect it bears honor to read it again. I wish I knew who wrote it but I think he or she would rather each and every one of us personally thank a veteran for their service rather thank them for writing these words. Some veterans bear visible signs of their service: a missing limb, a Jagged scar, a certain look in the eye. Others may carry the evidence inside them: a pin holding a bone together, A piece of shrapnel in the leg or perhaps another sort of inner steel: The soul's ally forged in the refinery of adversity. Except in parades, however, the men and women who have kept America safe Wear no badge or emblem. You can't tell a vet just by looking. What is a vet? He is the cop on the beat who spent six months in Saudi Arabia sweating two gallons a day making sure the armored personnel carriers didn't run out of fu...

There is a potter located in a quaint little village by the lake. His name is Frank Breneisen. I am in love with his pottery.  He also travels to faraway lands. All by himself, carrying only a single backpack. And he sketches what he sees in journals. He is nothing short of amazing. 

I just realized if I go blind I'm totally screwed because I don't trust dogs. Or monkeys. And there just aren't a whole lot of helpful seeing eye cats available. I once heard about someone using a miniature pony to help them get around but we all know how I feel about horse teeth. That is so not happening . I'd rather go deaf. Mostly because I am experienced at exaggerated facial expressions which makes me confident that I could still get my various points across. Also, my primary form of communication happens to be Facebook and ridiculously lengthy text messages so that wouldn't change a bit. And everyone knows I don't talk to people out in public because I'm freakishly convinced of Stranger Danger to the they're-going-to-duct-tape-me-and-hide-me-in-the-trunk-of-their-car degree. Not to mention, with the amount of whining and complaining that goes on in my house, a little bit of peace and quiet would be well deserved. But that got me thinking: If...

I left Big V alone with the children. Which meant the house was clean, the pantry was stocked, the toddler had just drifted off to sleep, the teenager was taking her 4th nap of the day and the 10-year old was in the car heading out with me. All he needed to do was sit on the couch and ensure the safe escape of two children should the house spontaneously burst into flames. And also he needed to make dinner. "The frying pan is already on the stove," I said, pointing to the pan sitting on the stove. "The can of Manwich is already next to the stove on the counter," I continued, pointing to the can of Manwich sitting on the counter next to the stove. "As are the buns." I pointed to the buns. "All you need to do is get the hamburger out of the fridge and fry it in the pan. Then, drain the grease. Put the Manwich in. Heat it up for a few minutes and it'll be ready to eat." Big V looked at the stove. "So, I just fry the hamburger...

Next Friday Big V and I are venturing out into public not only with each other - but with good friends of ours (we really want them to be our "IT" couple... you know, the go-to couple: for dinner and drinks and vacations in Belize when they win the lottery and become filthy rich). We're heading to ( my favorite place ) The Young Auditorium .  Now, before you go and jump to conclusions about how boring it's going to be for the guys to spend an evening at the theatre... We are going to a deer hunting musical. THAT'S RIGHT! A show about hunting up north in Wisconsin! Complete with song and dance! Considering one of the first questions a girl in Wisconsin asks a potential suitor is, " Do you hunt ?" (which is translated roughly to " will you abandon me for weeks on end in the winter months leaving me to deal with the high-strung, house-bound children all alone while you're guzzling beer by the cases and laughing about farts with your buddies ?...

It is really important to support those you care about. I know this. And I try. Honestly. I do. I give it my all. Like, when my sister called me: I need to vent to someone! Well, considering I owe you something like six thousand four hundred eighty seven vent-backs, go ahead. The other day - The other day?  - the other day - I met a bear? I met a bear? The other day I met a bear.... The other day I met a bear -- bahdum-de-dum-dum! Dum! Don't judge me. She sang along. In fact, she then forgot what she wanted to vent about because we were busy trying to figure out the actual lyrics. That's what I call a Support Success . That guy was right; everything I need to know I did learn in kindergarten. Now I can't get that stupid song out of my head.

Big V is working late. I work until 5:00 pm. Then... Pick up Cletus the Used to be Fetus. The Teen Bean has driver's observation scheduled from 5-7. Dotter has swim from 6-7. I have a meeting at 6. I also have Bible Study from 6:30-8:30. The one that's teaching me not to complain. Skip Bible Study. Ask Grammy (aka: my poor mother) to pick up the Bean from our house and deliver her to driver's ed. Remember that she already has Dotter from picking that kid up after school at 3pm. After picking up Cletus, drive to Gram's & drop Cletus off with her and pick Dotter up. Drop Dotter off at pool by 5:45pm. Remember to tell her to wait for her sister after practice. Remember to tell her sister to go to the pool after driver's ed. Get to my meeting by 6. Ask Grammy (aka: my poor mother) to pick up girls from pool at 7pm. After which she can drop all three - Cletus, Dotter & the Bean, off at home. Pray to God Big V is home by then. After my meeting, ...