You Are Kidding Me!

Status Quo?

2012-02-07T22:58:00.001-05:00

Disclaimer: If youread this, don’t worry. I am not talkingabout you.

Before you type in your next Facebook status, just know thatwe are on to you. Because what you thinkyou are presenting to us and what we hear are two very different things.

Following are various status updates, their translations,and insightful observations about the status. It’s a simple reference in case you are tempted to use any of these ortheir variations.

First, a helpful key to guide you:

Status - What the person projects to the world, wants othersto think and believe, whether true or not

Translation - What the readers hear

Keen observation - The truth, the whole truth and nothingbut the truth

Status: “Played Monopoly with the kids, baked cookies andnow it’s Family Movie Night! Nothinglike cuddling with my kids on a Saturday night.”

Translation: I want everyone to know what an awesome mom Iam. Or that I was awesome for threehours today when I stopped playing Farmville and paid attention to my kids.

Keen Observation: Wow, girlfriend. I remember when there was nothing likecuddling with that guy you hooked up with in Hoboken on a Saturday night.

Status: “Hubby just gave me a Louis Vuitton bag! And peep-toe Louboutins! I am the luckiestgirl in the world.”

Translation: Look everyone! My husband buys me things. Expensive things. I’m pretty sure he’s cheating on me, but atleast I have a new Louie bag and Louboutins.

Keen Observation: You’re husband is totally cheating on you. With his boyfriend. What straight guy knows to buy his woman thetwo Lous?

Status: “I love living in Hawaii. There is nothing likestarting the day with a jog on the beach while watching the dolphins in thewater. Life is Good!”

Translation: Sucka!

Keen Observation: Alright, Miss Rosie Rub It In. Good for you. Hope a shark doesn’t eat you while you are paddleboarding.

Status: “After months of careful consideration, I havedecided that I am getting my tubes tied. My family of 4 is now complete.”

Translation: I have a weird need to tell everyone my really,really personal business.

Keen Observation: Your family of 4 is not giving you enoughattention. Maybe you should reconsiderand go for baby #3. At least when the little one is suckling your boob, you'll get some attention.

Status: “Just booked our summer house. Now off to pick up our new Benz at thedealership.”

Translation: We are in massive credit card debt, but atleast my friends think I’m rich.

Keen Observation: You are a pretentious jerk. But let me know when your house goes intoforeclosure, I might know a buyer.

Status: “Dinner with my besties! My besties are the best besties ever!”

Translation: Hey, everyone, I have friends! And I talk like I am 6 years-old! And I endevery sentence with an exclamation mark!

Keen Observation: I have never seen more women with so many bestfriends since the dawning of Facebook.

Status: “Just put the kids on the bus. Drinking my cup of joe in a quiet housegetting ready to go to the gym. Then it’s off to lunch with a friend and maybea nap afterwards.”

Translation: Jealous? I don’t have a job. My kids areall in school. My husband is atwork. And I am so bored.

Keen observation: WTF? Yeah, I am a little jealous of all that freetime. But, c’mon! Get a job, go volunteer, get a hobby. And by hobby, I don’t mean sleeping with yourpersonal trainer every Wednesday and Friday.

Status: “Work all day then grocery shopping. Oh, then I have to pick up a prescription forthis hacking cough I’ve had for 3 weeks. Making fire-grilled shrimp with honeydew gazpacho for dinnertonight. Then I’m relaxing and watchingThe Office and Parks & Rec. I willbe in bed by 10. Yawn.”

Translation: My life is average, but by throwing in thattasty dinner, I want you to think that at least I am an amazing cook.

Keen observation: You got that right with the yawn part. And there cannot be such a thing as honeydewgazpacho. Oh, and WHO CARES?

Status: “I was going to wait for the kids to go to bed, butI’m thinking it’s Wine o’ clock NOW!”

Translation: I cannot function without alcohol.

Keen observation: Get help. You cannot function without alcohol.

10.

Status: “Is it summer vacation ALREADY? Two months home with these kids might driveme crazy.”

Translation: Well, there go my days of pedicures, lunch withmy besties, and hitting the gym in the middle of the day. Guess I’ll have to drag these kids groceryshopping now.

Keen observation: See #7 – Haha! They’re baaaack! Now that the little cherubsare home messing up your mojo we are sure we will see you at the local park ortown pool, heavily engaged in titillating conversation with other moms about other moms. And I’m going to guess your kid is the onethat just kicked the other one down the slide. But you wouldn’t know as you are that mom feverishly texting on thatbench over there.

11.

Status: “Joey puked all over his bed last night. Hubby’s staying home with him, but I have towork. I’m exhausted and have to teach aroomful of 8 year-olds. Being a mom is hard!”

Translation: Being a mom is hard.

Keen observation: Keeping it real, sista. Thank you.

Memo From Mom

2012-01-31T13:13:00.001-05:00

To: My Readers
Re: Let’s Do This Thing!

This memo is in reference to you being so awesome for joining me here! I have a big favor to ask, one that will make you even more awesome. I just started a new blog called Memos from Mom at memosfrommom.wordpress.com. Please join me over there, too!

I secretly wish I could be the boss of everyone (C’mon, I am a mom. All moms want to tell everyone what to do and how to do it) and tell them exactly what they need to do in order to make my life easier. Memos from Mom is a blog done in the style of business memos. Well, maybe not quite the exact style, as I’m sure professional business memos do not reference child vomit, Entenmann’s Pop ‘ems binges, dog diarrhea, and a mom’s crush on Rick Springfield. However, like business memos, I will address various situations and problems and even throw out a thank you here and there.

Moms want to rule the world, but want to feel like they are not alone in their quest for power in a role that sometimes feels powerless. Memos from Mom will be full of memos to my son, my husband, the moms on the playground, corporations, the government, rock stars, you name it. My hope is that just when you think you will self-implode from the stress of mommyhood, you can read a memo, laugh, and know that you are not alone.

No worries, though. You Are Kidding Me! isn't going anywhere.

My Mom and Dad are Livin’ La Vida Loca

2012-01-20T13:29:00.002-05:00

My mom and dad got sucked into American Idol last year when Scotty McCreery was on and won. My dad would call me every week to tell me about him, getting more and more excited as Scotty made his way through the cuts. My dad is a huge country music fan, like country crooner music fan. You’re not going to see him tapping his foot to Sugarland. You’re going to hear him, in the next town, yodeling to Hank Williams.

Apparently Idol started up again last night. I wouldn’t know, I’ve long since stopped watching it. My mother and father are keeping me in touch with this world. I think I stopped wasting my time when that guy with the gray hair won. You know the one. The American Idol that was so memorable that no one knows his name.

But Poppy and Aga discovered a love for all things pop music last year, and last night was the season premiere with judges Randy, Steven Tyler, and Jennifer Lopez. And this is the phone call I got when the show ended:

Phone rings, I answer:
My dad: “Hey, who is Jennifer Lopez’s husband?”

Me: “Oh, Marc something, Marc…”

My dad: “Anthony. Marc Anthony. That’s it.”

Me: “Yeah, but they’re getting a div…” and I hear my mom in the background telling my dad, “I told you it wasn’t Ricky Martin.”

My dad: “I thought it was that La Vida Loca guy,” then I hear my mom yell, “No, he’s gay.”

My dad: “Even if he’s gay, she could be his cover up.”

Me: “Dad, he’s out. He has twins and has a partner.”
My head is spinning. Am I really having this conversation with my father??

My dad: “Mommy wants to know who she was married to before that, some rapper?”

Me: “She dated P. Diddy…”

My dad, laughing: “What? P WHO? Who is that?”

Me: “Some rapper but he goes by Sean Puffy Combs, Puff Daddy…”

My dad: “What the hell is a Puff Daddy? Wasn’t she married a few times?”

Me: “I think she was married to one of her dancers a long time ago. She was engaged to Ben Affleck.”

Again, really? What happened to our conversations about whether I have enough washer fluid in my car, or am I going to our credit union’s luncheon on a Saturday afternoon when I have absolutely nothing else to do just for the chance to win a television?

My dad: “Ben Affleck. He’s an actor right? I’ve seen him before. Hey, do you have enough dog food? Make sure you have milk. I’ll pick some up for you if you want.”

Whew, he's back. But it got me thinking about the perfect birthday gift for him. His birthday is next month and I think he might love a subscription to US Weekly.

Bootylicious

2012-01-17T16:57:00.000-05:00

The following was overheard on an unusually warm, 60-degree day in New Jersey in January at my local Subway sandwich shop:

“Hey dad,” the young boy said, looking about 6 or 7 years-old. He motioned to his father to look at the teeny-bopper blonde girl with too short-shorts for this boring mom’s taste. “That girl’s booty is shakin’ like bacon!”

Go ahead, gasp in horror. I did. Who raises their child to speak this way about girls? Apparently, I raised my child to speak this way. Yes, that boy was Monkey Man, the dad was Hubby, and I just stood there, shocked. Okay, not really shocked. This isn’t the first time Monkey Man has shown us very clear signs of his fondness of females and the trouble we will be in when there are pubescent hormones raging through his body.

If there isn’t a male chastity belt, you can sure as hell bet I will be inventing one.

Ice, Ice Baby

2012-01-15T15:15:00.000-05:00

Monkey Man broke his collar bone, or as they say in the medical field, his left clavicle. Or as a New Jersey mom says (that’s me), “&%#$, he broke a friggin’ bone.” It happened last Sunday. I think most moms, of boys especially, expect this several times in the lives of their sons. But I am the absolute worst person to have around in an emergency. So it only makes sense that when he broke his collar bone, he was with me and not Hubby.

We went ice skating. We went round and round the rink lots of times and Monkey Man took several spills as everyone does. He fell on his butt, he fell on his hands, he fell with his legs sprawled out like Bambi sliding across the frozen pond. But the last spill, which looked like an “easy” fall, landed him on his shoulder, which I’ve since learned is one of the two common ways in which the collar bone breaks. Being a parent has proven to be very educational. I would have gone to medical school if I really desired to be so knowledgeable in the field of bones and blood.

As soon as he fell, he cried. Hard. Monkey Man doesn’t cry unless something is very wrong. So there I was, the parent who sucks in an emergency in a situation where something was very wrong. But I am proud to say I was a big girl. I kept myself together. And clearly this was all about me and how I could actually be a mother in this situation and not scream for my own mother. What kept me calm, though, was that even though he was crying and clearly in pain, I felt like he was okay because I saw him fall and it wasn’t hard. And that’s why I do not have a medical degree. Doesn’t matter how hard the fall is, it’s how they fall. And he did it perfectly.

Fast forward. The Sunday afternoon ER visit showed us a break to his left clavicle. As soon as Monkey Man heard that it was officially broken, he declared, “I have a broken bone just like Danny!” Danny is his 16 year-old cousin who broke his arm very badly (like steel rods, surgery badly) a few years ago. And when Monkey Man was given his sling, well, you would think the child just got a trophy for “Most Badass Fall on the Ice” because he was beaming.

The rest of the night, he just kept saying, “Well, I guess it’s confirmed. Yep, it’s broke.” He would go check himself out in the mirror. When he went to school, he wanted his jacket zipped only so far so that you could see the sling. Thanks to Hubby’s suggestions, he wondered if the girls in school would be all, “Aww, how are you? Do you need help?” He got to have ice cream for dinner that night and some sucker bought him a new Wii game just 2 weeks after Christmas (sucker=me). This kid is going to milk this long after the pain subsides.

I Do...I Don't

2012-01-10T13:39:00.000-05:00

Some Things I Know How to Do

Eat almost an entire box of Entenmann’s Holiday Pop ‘ems. In less than 24 hours. But you are already privy to this information if you read this blog.

Roll my eyes just enough to give myself the satisfaction that I’ve rolled my eyes, but not enough so that the receiver of the eye rolling has a clue. Except Hubby. He is totally on to my eye rolling.

Boil water for pasta. Take that, Rachel Ray!

Change the belt on my vacuum without looking at the instruction manual. Says a lot for my vacuum. Yep, it sucks. Pun intended.

Organize. “Donate, throw away, keep,” is my mantra.

Never have to mow the lawn. It’s the one chore I DON’T do. “Hubby, I have really bad grass allergies. AACHOO!” I actually really do have bad grass allergies. Seriously.

Use our snowblower. I had to do it once, 2 years-ago, when Hubby went on a business trip during a blizzard. I am certain he made these travel arrangements with Mother Nature just to see if I had it in me. He and my dad gave me a tutorial a few days before when we knew the storm was coming. And I rocked that snowblower all up and down our street. Only because I was afraid to shut the thing off for fear of having to start it again.

Watch “Real Housewives of (insert any city)” and not feel like I just wasted an hour of my life. It is time for my brain to rest (read: melt).

Sleep. I am sooo good at going 10, 11, 12 hours when given the opportunity. I’m like a long-distance sleeper or something.

Do 7 things at once. I might forget during the process the first 5 things I started, but at least I started them.

And Some Things I Don’t Know How To Do

On the sleeping note, I don’t know how to function on less than 8 hours of sleep. I wake up a cranky, headachy, miserable person. I actually need 8 ½ hours to work at peak performance. Peak performance being not snapping at the grocery girl for putting the groceries in the bags in all the wrong order. Seriously, if I line them up a certain way, that is the way they go in the bags. (Oops, looks like someone didn’t get enough sleep last night!)

Blanche vegetables. I know Blanche is from Golden Girls, but I have no idea how that translates to cooking. I also don’t know how to cut a tomato or onion the right away. So let’s just say I don’t know how to cook. Period.

Change a tire. My dad has taught me dozens of times, but I have no attention span for things of the automotive nature. Mom, I know you are reading this. Please don’t tell Dad.

Use coupons. I occasionally use a coupon, and get very excited when I save 2 bucks, but I will never come home saying I bought $352 worth of groceries and spent only $17. And usually, those two coupons that I do actually have for my shopping trip stay safely on the kitchen counter and forget to make their way into my pocket.

Look at a super wiggly tooth without gagging. Monkey Man is in his prime tooth-wiggling years and laughs hysterically when I’m about to lose my lunch over his loose-tooth antics.

Balance a checkbook. Again, Mom, look away. But by some miracle, I have managed to keep this family afloat for the past 12 ½ years.

Bring Monkey Man for ice cream and not get it myself. I am shocked when I see parents bring their children out for ice cream and they sit there all ice cream-less. That’s just craziness.

Ur-ine for a Surprise!

2012-01-06T14:11:00.002-05:00

I am vigilant about closing the toilet lid at home after doing my thing and before flushing. I saw a captivating, gag-reflex inducing 60-second clip on some news show a few years ago about the “spray” that occurs during the flush. The spray that includes droplets of your Number 1 or NUMBER 2. Oh, dear God.

But I took control of the matter and began insisting that toilet lids be put down when flushing. I explained to Hubby that the super-spray will travel right over to our toothbrushes standing clean and pretty in their toothbrush holders and attach itself thereby allowing us to brush our teeth with our own pee. Need I say more?

For a while, I put the toothbrush holder in the closet because I was just so repulsed by all of this. But what about the towels? The faucet? The doorknobs? Do I turn the entire room into a bowl with 4 walls and that’s it? So toilet seat down is the rule in this house.

And then a few days ago, I was watching the Today Show, my only source of any kind of news. That, and The Daily Show. Actually, it was Kathy Lee Gifford and Hoda, the so-called “4th Hour,” so I don’t even know if that counts as news. I was informed that a new study found that using the paper towels in many public restrooms may leave you with unwanted bacteria on your hands. WHAT? The paper towels that I use to dry my CLEAN hands?

And then I had not an “AHA!” moment, but a “DUH!” moment. It’s the spray, people. The SPRAY! There are no lids in most public restrooms. If I’d been grossed out by my own family’s bodily fluids spewing back at me, why hadn’t I even thought of the strangers’? Oh, wait, I know why. Because I would’ve set myself into the very panic that I’ve been experiencing since seeing that mind-shattering news clip on Wednesday. Do you want to know how long the spray lasts? I bet you do! The bacteria can float around in the air for 10-20 minutes. So when you walk into that bathroom, you are basically getting pee’d on. Or worse.

Now that I’ve vowed to never use a public restroom again, I realize this may not be very practical. Especially since I have had the pleasure of carrying a child who sat on my bladder for 41 weeks then made members of the urinary tract decide they ruled the roost. My urinary tract cackles and conspires, “We know she just relieved herself before leaving for Target, but we’ll have some work to do about 10 minutes in!” So all my intentions of never stepping foot into a Ladies’ Room again will either end with me peeing myself in Housewares or braving the restroom.

In anticipation of the germ-infested, other people’s poop-ridden lavatory, I will pack myself an Emergency Excretion Kit. EEK for short. Because that’s what I’ll shout when I have to walk in there. It’s either this or a full-on hazmat suit. And what’s weirder? Walking around with a hazmat suit or your own adult potty bag? Well, you decide.

The EEK will include:
1.A face mask just like the people of Asia wore during that whole bird flu breakout. This will prevent all the floaters from getting in your nose and mouth.

2.Latex gloves. You know it’s serious when latex gloves are involved. Or kinky. This, though, is totally NOT kinky.

3.A roll of Saran Wrap is not only useful for practical jokes in the potty. After elimination and before flushing, cover the seat to prevent your spray from literally smacking you in the face. Because you are right there, hovering over the toilet as you flush, with your FOOT. Unless you are superhuman and can bolt out of the stall before the toilet actually flushes.

4.Paper towels. I thought just bringing my own papers towels would be sufficient, but don’t forget about the spray. It’s not only on the paper towels; it’s on the walls, the faucets, and lingering in the air ready to get on you.

5.Your own soap. Do not touch the soap dispenser. Your mantra should be “The Spray.” It’s everywhere. Of course, if you are wearing your latex gloves as suggested, you can’t really wash your hands. That’s a glitch we may have to work on in the EEK!

6.Rubbing alcohol and cotton balls. Skip the hand sanitizer and go straight to the good stuff. As you exit the Bowels of Hell, you must wipe down every square millimeter of exposed skin with the magical sanitizing powers of alcohol.
*It is assumed that no one is actually sitting on the toilet. If you need to actually place your cheeks on the Throne of Bacteria, use those paper towels to cover the seat, about 5 layers thick.

Of course, you could skip the EEK and just wear Depends.

Don't Stop Believin'

2011-12-05T21:31:00.005-05:00

While discussing the all-important Christmas list last week, Monkey Man told me he wanted the Spiderman Lego game for the Wii. I hadn't heard about this game, but I made a mental note and prepared to jot it down on my list. This child knows more than me on almost every topic, so I especially took his word for it about a video game and that there was indeed a Spiderman Lego game for the Wii.

When Hubby got home from work, I asked Monkey Man to tell his dad what he wanted. In addition to an electric guitar (Hells to the NO says Santa) he told him about the Spiderman Lego game for the Wii. Lego games for the Wii are popular around here and we are the proud owners of Lego Indiana Jones, Lego Star Wars, Lego Harry Potter, Lego Batman, Lego some other game that Mommy has no clue how to play because it involves strategy.

But Hubby didn't seem to know about this Spiderman game. So he asked Monkey Man if there was such a game. And Monkey Man's response? "I don't know, but the Elves can make it."

We told Monkey Man that the elves don't really make technological toys, they go to the store to buy those. What does he think, these little men with pointy ears who live in the North Pole and work for peanuts for a jolly fat man went to MIT? Who would believe THAT?

On the 2nd Day of Thanksgiving...

2011-11-16T16:31:00.005-05:00

Oh, and the 3rd day. Oops.

Day 2
Today I am thankful for Diet Coke or Diet Pepsi, preferably Pepsi, but honestly, I'll take whatever is on sale or in the vending machine. I don't drink coffee and I'm so tired that as soon as I get up in the morning I can't wait until it's 16 hours later and I can crawl right back into bed. That artificially sweet beverage is my special treat at lunchtime and I hug it like a baby with its blankie. I just wish it didn't look so weird when I curl up next to it in the Faculty room for my nappie.

Day 3
Today I am also thankful for mindless "reality" television. I am addicted to Real Housewives of New Jersey, New York, Beverly Hills, and Orange County. I also love me some Jersey Shore, in particular Paulie D and Vinnie. Everyone needs time to just sit in front of a TV and let their minds melt. I am also thankful that I have the courage to tell people that I actually watch these shows while so many walk around saying, "Oh, that's garbage. I don't watch that. I read books." Books. Yeah, yeah, we all read books. So, good for you. While you are boring your friends at parties with talk of Middle East nonsense, I am fighting back the beat and discussing at length whether one can be a Real Housewife when one is not married.

The 11 Days of Thanksgiving

2011-11-14T21:13:00.003-05:00

Why 11 days? Because I meant to start this on November 1 and write something every day for which I am thankful and end on Thanksgiving. However, since I am 2 weeks late, you get 11 days.

Most everyone is thankful for the same kinds of things: family, children, spouses, the family pet, a job, a roof over their heads, blah, blah, blah. Don’t get me wrong, I am also grateful for those things. But that’s so borrring. There are lots of other things for which I am grateful, too. And I know you are dying to know what these are! I must add, these are in no particular order.

Day 1
I am thankful for pajamas. My perfect world would have us all living harmoniously together in colorful plaid pants, pajamas with stripes, polka dots, animals, and paired with a sweatshirt of some kind, preferably one that is well-loved with at least 10 years mileage on it. And yes, my perfect world would also have Rick Springfield romping around next to me in his most rockin' sleeping attire.

The moment I walk in the door from my day, my day meaning I had to go out into the public, I disappear into my room like Superman retreating into his phone booth, and appear moments later in some combination of super comfy pj bottoms and some top that usually never matches. I am sure Monkey Man will remember me fondly by telling people, “Yeah, my mom dressed like a slob and was lazy. Always in those pajamas.”

No matter the occupation, pajamas would be worn at Board meetings, in classrooms, while fighting crime, or ringing up groceries. Lawyers would try the world’s worst criminals in their finest sleepwear. Moms would gather with their children at the park all decked out in their pjs. Oh, how this would eliminate moms looking each other up and down like middle school girls! Unless they were totally jealous that they didn’t have the cupcakes on their pjs.

Breaking Up is Hard to Do. Or Not.

2011-10-26T21:17:00.001-04:00

While completing the nightly routine of shower, brush teeth, read and tickling his back, Monkey Man informed me of something. As he was lying in bed, getting in one last snuggle with the first woman in his life, he announced:

“I just broke up with my girlfriend.”

I looked at him, quizzically, and asked, “Today, in school?” I could barely even stutter those words as my head was spinning at the revelation that he had a girlfriend. But let’s take this in small bites, shall we?

“No, right now, in my head,” he answered, matter-of-factly. Like this was totally normal. But I guess to a 6 year-old, there was absolutely no oddity to this statement. After all, let us take a look at the courting:

Scene: Playground

As retold by Monkey Man: “Anna, Emily and Kate chased me around the playground and asked me to pick which one of them was my girlfriend. I picked Emily.” There you have it, a courtship rivaling that of centuries-old arranged marriages.

Regarding the breakup, I gave Monkey Man some motherly, womanly, HUMANE advice. “You might want to let her know tomorrow.”

“I will. I’ll tell her we are through,” he said, and added the visual of his hand, palm down, going across his neck. Geez, poor girl doesn’t stand a chance.

“That’s a little harsh,” I replied to his Sopranos-like break-up. “How about you tell her that you don’t think it’s going to work out? Maybe that you realized you don’t have much in common, like you see the cookies she eats during snack and you don’t like that kind. Or her taste in music is a little more Disney Channel than your taste in Def Leppard.”

“Yeah, I’m tired, good night,” he said, clearly fraught with worry about the looming real-life breakup he would be initiating tomorrow.

Memo From Mom

2011-10-08T21:29:00.004-04:00

TO: School Administration

RE: First Grade = First Laundry Load

I propose you bring Home Economics back to school. And please start in First Grade. With just the boys. My reason? In the last week, I have washed 3 pairs of mud and grass-stained jeans, 1 brand new fuzzy fleece-lined hoodie decorated with splashes of lunchtime dirt, 1 pair of Converse that were once gray but are now green with hints of gray peeking through, and 1 pair of blue suede Vans with pieces of Earth wedged into the suede. This is all thanks to that all-important healthy part of the school day – recess. I don’t know what connection you have to the Tide Crime Family or The Stain Lifter That’s All Waste Management Company, but something’s up and I’m suspicious that this school of yours is a front. I think you have a landfill out near Newark Airport filled with filthy, ripped jeans.

I take great care in making sure Monkey Man looks nice for school. I iron his clothes. I blame it on my mother. She would not let my sister or me out of the house un-ironed. When I rebelled in college and went out all wrinkled and slovenly, she’d comment, “What’d ya have a fight with the iron?” I know. I was wild, out of control. Listen, woman, you can’t hold me back from experiencing life in all its crease-free craziness!

I not only iron Monkey Man’s clothes, but I make sure the clothes match. Then I look around at kids in school and most of them look like they slept in the hamper. I wonder why I put myself through the stress of shopping, and just plain trying. My little boy who I send to school in button-down “long-sleeve short-sleeve” shirts (as he calls them, those fake long sleeves under the short sleeves) and nice jeans, clean white socks and clean, well-maintained sneakers, is an absolute mess when he gets home. When I found out that he is getting this dirty at recess, my first thought was, “So you are sitting in school for almost 3 more hours after lunch time looking like THIS?” Why even bother combing his hair in the morning? Why bother getting dressed at all – just roll out of bed and keep those pj’s on. Hell, let’s not even waste time brushing teeth.

He comes home looking like the antithesis of my child because he loves to play football during recess. Translation: He and a bunch of boys throw a ball and tackle each other in the dirt while the adult supervision is off on the side of the field gossiping about what happened on Glee last night. I am a kind, smart mom and I do know that recess is important for his social development as well as his physical fitness. But, for the love of all mothers just trying to get ahead each night with the housework, teach these kids how to do the laundry.

October Observations

2011-10-05T22:03:00.003-04:00

1. I have a mild obsession with men's novelty boxer shorts. Each time I pass the boxer short aisle in Target, I feel compelled to buy Hubby a pair of boxers to match the season. A look into his underwear drawer will reveal Snoopy heart boxers for Valentine's Day, decks of cards for Poker nights, shamrocks for St. Patty's Day, popsicles for the summer, dogs because we have a dog and I had no other reason than they were cute, and snowflakes for the God-awful season they call winter. I have my eye on a pair with bats for Halloween and I am sure that during one of my 12 trips to Target in the next 7 days, Hubby will be the proud owner.

2. Today, a gift from a friend fell and broke. I thought for a second how appropriate this event was in that it was symbolic of our friendship. Without going into details, I am sad that our friendship shattered. I consider myself to be a loyal friend, someone whom once I am your friend, I mean a real, true friend not just an acquaintance, I will always be your friend. I have several friends whom I have known for years, some going back to Kindergarten. Weeks and months go by when we don't talk, but we can pick right up where we left off without missing a beat. When I make new friends, I tread lightly, needing to develop genuine trust. But this friendship was different and when this gift broke, I simply felt like it was true to the friendship. It was nice, it was fragile - but then it fell apart.

3. I was so happy to rip September off of my desk calendar at work that I nearly peed myself. As a teacher, September is a loooong month. It is filled with getting kids back on track, reviewing rules, introducing procedures, and it's just a sucky reminder that summer is over. But when October 1st hit, I yelled, "WOO HOO!" Because, 1) It's 1 day closer to summer 2) Thoughts of my beach vacation are so far behind me that I'm no longer thinking, "Just a month ago I was playing mini golf with Monkey Man or laying by the pool or sleeping until 8:30 a.m. or having fun and enjoying the life that works sucks out of me." So, screw you September. October rocks!

4. In just 25 days, Hubby and I will get to enjoy all of the peanut-laden candy that Monkey Man cannot ingest. In just 25 days, I will be in a Reese's peanut butter cup and Snickers coma. Oh, peanut allergy, you are just not fair. To Monkey Man, anyway.

Happy October, everyone!

Cleaning the Fridge = Cleaning the Soul

2011-09-27T18:03:00.003-04:00

It all started with the parmesan cheese. While innocently looking for the cheese on my refrigerator door, a necessary accompaniment to one of Monkey Man’s favorite meals – spaghetti with broccoli with the all important olive oil and garlic (quite gourmet, right?), I saw that the shelf which the upscale Target brand cheese lay on needed a little wipe down. I decided I had a few minutes until the pasta was done cooking, so I headed to the utility closet for my Clorox wipes.

I proceeded to clear off that shelf and wipe it down. However, my brain couldn’t fathom having one clean shelf and possibly several other salad dressing, mustard and/or soy sauce coated shelves. I had a few minutes to kill while my intricate meal containing 4 ingredients bubbled and boiled, so I cleared off the other shelves.

I discovered mayonnaise that I used last week that was “Good Until August 2011.” Eww. Vomit. I unearthed Worchestire sauce that should have seen its demise in March 2010. Thankfully, I think I needed that once for some recipe and never used it again, but still, Gag. And I had 3 bottles of mustard, all opened at some point. Why? Why 3 bottles of mustard? And they all expired before December 2010. Barf.

This refrigerator purge left me a bit unsettled. I am not one to leave leftovers in the fridge past their time. My refrigerator is usually pretty bare once we’ve eaten the essentials – I don’t leave much to become science experiments. So this mustard, Worchestire sauce, mayo debacle gave me a little heart palpitation, a moment to wonder while sitting on the hardwood kitchen floor, “Am I losing my OCD?”

Alas, after coming to after my initial shock, I realized that had I lost my OCD I would never have been sitting on my kitchen floor minutes before dinner scrubbing my refrigerator. And feeling SO DAMN GOOD about life when that fridge was clean top to bottom purged of its potential Petri dish goodies. Yeah, when last minute refrigerator cleaning puts a new spring in my step, I know I still got it.

Ready for School - First Reading Test - Check!

2011-08-31T16:23:00.003-04:00

Monkey Man and Hubby went to Illinois last week to visit some of Hubby's family. While Hubby's side of the family took in some good ole fashioned midwestern hobbies like shooting turtles and swimming in ponds, as well as noshing on such cuisine like fried this and non-vegetable that, my mom and I took my sister to Atlantic City for a very big birthday. I won't mention the number, but it's a big one and we celebrated by hitting AC, eating great food, going to a comedy show, and breathing in some "down the shore" air (this is the air OUTSIDE the disgustingly smoky casinos). Oh, yeah, and we stayed at the Borgata. And from what I learned from Hubby, the Borgata was quite the opposite of Small Town Hotel they stayed at in Illinois.

I won't get into the details about the hotel, because Monkey Man's bathroom break tells it all. Hubby took Monkey Man into the bathroom in the lobby. Monkey Man was behind the stall door and asked, "Dad, are you allowed to write on walls?" to which Hubby replied, "No." Hubby told me a few seconds ticked by then he overheard Monkey Man reading, "This is a shiTHole." And he even got the "th" digraph sound correct.

I take away 2 things from this:
1. I think I'll write his teacher a note for the first day of 1st grade so that she can check that skill off her list.
2. I will write a review for the Borgata. It will read, "So totally NOT a shiTHole."

Today's Thoughts: Migraines, McDonald's, Kickboxing, Rick Springfield, and CNN

2011-08-16T16:38:00.002-04:00

I’ve had some really bangin’ headaches this past week which have drained every bit of creativity from my head (or at least that’s the story I’m sticking to). But, today, HALLALEUJAH! The headache gods have taken mercy and blessed me with productivity and a painless day.

In a desperate plea for ideas, I put it out there on Facebook for some blog post ideas. I promised that the first 3 people to give me ideas would get a post. And they will. One post. This one here. So enjoy!

The 3 ideas were:
1.Kickboxing instructors who advertise outside of McDonald’s... smart or insulting or funny?

How about brilliant? And hilarious? I’m sorry, but it’s not insulting at all. It’s a reminder that if you keep eating that crap, it does things to you. Bad things. Now, I am not saying you can never eat McDonald’s or any of its artery-clogging brethren. I take Monkey Man maybe once a month when Hubby is working late and I don’t want to cook (well, I never want to cook, but it gives me a good excuse).

I do not want to hear people say it’s cheap and easy to feed a family. Last night, while my headache kicked it up about 10 notches, I baked a lemon garlic tilipia, steamed fresh carrots, and made some 10 minute brown rice. It took me about 10 minutes prep time and probably cost $9 for the entire family. That’s $3 per person for you math wizards out there.

Fitness instructors and facilities, although in it to make money (but what business isn’t?) are at least trying to help people get healthy, both physically and emotionally. McDonald’s is doing nothing more than making money off of humanity getting fatter and unhealthier.

Yes, I have proclaimed my love of the Pop ‘em, chocolate chip cookies and ice cream many times before. But, moderation is key. I would think it just as brilliant and hilarious if I walked past the Entenmann’s end cap and there was a huge blow-up of Jillian Michaels pointing to ME reminding me to workout that day. It might make me think twice about those delectable sprinkled balls of Heaven (but probably not).

2. Top 10 things I'd rather be doing other than this blog with a migraine.

Well, that’s easy. Sleep. And eat mint chocolate chip ice cream. And watch back-to-back episodes of Jersey Shore or any Real Housewives of (Insert any city except DC or Atlanta). And then fill in sleep for the other 7 slots. A visit from Rick Springfield would have been great, too, even if I mostly wore mismatched pajama pants and t-shirts for those days that my head felt like it would explode.

3. How crazy this year has been with the weather or how many days until people catch cabin fever.

Huh? It was very nice of this person to offer up his idea, but I’m guessing he does not read my blog. I don’t really offer anything intellectual or thought-provoking on these pages. Unless I can figure out a way for global warming to make you pee your pants, I’m probably going to avoid it and let CNN take care of that for me. But you know what does make me pee my pants? Fox News. And that’s enough political commentary for now.

Oh, wait! Funny weather-related story - I did have the pleasure of waking up to my 80-pound dog jumping into bed with us the other night when we had yet another thunderstorm. Now that’s funny stuff, right? RIGHT? What, no? Okay, fine. Well, then, over to you, Fox News. You can take care of the funny stuff for me.

Thanks to all who contributed ideas. I hope I have served you well.

Don't Get Your Bun In a Knot

2011-07-28T21:53:00.008-04:00

I brought Monkey Man to the library today to get his summer reading hours logged from the past 2 weeks. He’s in their summer reading program, which, and I’m going to go way out on a limb here, was designed to give kids incentive to read during the summer. We write down how many minutes he reads every week and then we are supposed to go at the end of each week to get the hours checked in the library’s Super Secret Log Book. Here’s how it works: get your hours checked, pick a piece of plastic crap out of the prize box, enter your name for a chance to win an iPod Shuffle, and off you go. Out the door for another week of wanting to read to get a piece-of-junk-toy made in China that Mommy will throw away when you are not looking. No, just kidding, Mommy would nevvvvver do that.

We haven’t quite made it to the library at the end of each week, but the teen volunteers have been very nice and checked off Monkey Man’s hours for two weeks worth of reading. It is all about getting kids to read, right? Like, “Great job, reading! It doesn’t matter that your only mode of transportation, your mother, keeps forgetting to bring you here so we can make our notes in our Super Secret Log Book. Nope, we just care that you are reading! Because that is what this program SHOULD be all about – getting you lazy, video-gaming kids to use your brains instead of just your thumbs on a Wii controller.”

Well today, we didn’t have the cheerful and helpful teen volunteers. Nope, we had the librarian. She walked over to the Summer Reading Program table and took a look at the front cover of Monkey Man’s log book. First, she read his name. He only wrote his first name, and Miss Librarian felt the need to be snarky and said, “Oh, is Monkey Man your last name? Because I need to know your last name to crack the freakin’ code in my Super Secret Log Book. And I have to write it on the front cover.” The cheerful and helpful teens pleasantly would ask Monkey Man his last name and use their alphabetical orders skills to quietly look up his name. But no, not Miss Librarian. After 5 weeks of this program, she asked him to spell it out for her as she wrote it on the front cover, making sure to once again tell him that he really should have written his last name on the cover. And I told her she really should have taken a job that kept her locked in a room without human contact.

Okay, fine. That was annoying, but then, when she opened his log book and started stamping, she noticed that 2 weeks were not stamped. “It looks like we do not have his hours logged for these weeks. We cannot count those hours,” she announced with a scowl on her face. Or maybe it just always looked like that.

Oh, now, shut the front door, Miss Librarian. Time for Mama Bear to retort, “This is a reading incentive program, right? The purpose of this program is to get kids to read, correct? I’m sorry that I did not get my son here for 2 weeks, but he reads and should not lose those hours because his (slacker, forgetful, absent-minded) mother didn’t bring him here for the Powers That Be to check off his hours. And the cheerful, helpful teens just logged his hours.”

“Well, I’ll give him the hours (Oh, Thank You Your Library Highness! All Hail! Great One!) but he cannot fill out a raffle ticket to win an iPod Shuffle,” was her masterfully created reply. The one reason she did not want to log his hours was because it would be unfair for Monkey Man to enter the raffle for the week.

And what did my dear, sweet child say, under his breath, to me? “Mom, I don’t care about an iPod Shuffle. I have an iTouch.” Side note to readers: He bought an iTouch with his own money. He saved for about 6 months between chores, birthday, holidays, and panhandling from my parents.

Well played, Monkey Man. High Five. Obviously, the iPod Shuffle was not the draw for this kid. Lucky for me he just enjoys reading and decorating my home with tiny plastic pieces of junk. And witnessing the occasional verbal altercation between Mommy and Miss Librarian.

Look at All the Singles, Ladies

2011-07-26T21:18:00.002-04:00

Hubby and his brother had a Geek Sale, um, I mean, a Collectibles Sale last week. This is basically a high-end yard sale in which if someone offered them a quarter for an action figure, the neighborhood would have heard a deafening, “Hells to the NO!” After 30 years of collecting what I lovingly refer to as clutter, they finally decided to go through all of their Star Wars, action figures, baseball cards, comic books and other crap-that-takes-up-precious-space-in-my-basement. Praise the Nerd Gods.

In preparation for this highly organized sale of childhood memories, Hubby asked me to go to the bank and get 100 singles so that he had enough money to make change. After the sale (which was quite successful, but we still had a lot of that change left), we had 91 singles. I had 3 choices: hit the local strip joint, go to the bank and trade them in for bigger bills, or just use them.

Guess what I chose? After long deliberation, I decided to not spend the evening shoving bills in some guy’s G-string. I also was too lazy to go back to the bank. So, there I was left with 91 singles.

In the past 2 weeks, I have been given a curious and suspicious eye by several people in Target and Shop Rite after paying for a few $20 orders in all singles. During one checkout, when I pulled out a $5 bill in those singles, I announced, “Well, look at that! Someone tipped BIG!” The lady behind me in Target didn’t find that as funny as I did.

And then there was the guy at the gas station. He was ready to ask me on a date when I paid him in all singles. I pressed the pedal to the metal faster than Danica Patrick before gas guy tried to pump more than my gas.

Alas, my faux stripper days have come to an end. With only about 6 singles left, it really wouldn’t have the same impact. Instead of being known as the stripper mom in town, I’d just be the stripper mom who makes no money, and that is not a reputation I want.

Spelling Lesson of the Day

2011-07-20T12:23:00.002-04:00

While I was out tonight teaching kickboxing, my husband was left to care for our child. To teach him the ways of the world. To help our son become a responsible man.

Or just to teach him jokes like the two of them are in 6th grade.

As told by Hubby:

They were standing in the bathroom, each taking their turn to do their business when Hubby got the grand idea to teach Monkey Man a joke straight out of his Middle School Joke Book.

“Hey Monkey Man, spell ‘I cup,” Hubby oh-so-wisely instructed Monkey Man.

Our unsuspecting son paused, then answered slowly, “I – C-U-P.” He said it again, putting it all together. “I C U P!” Uproarious laughter filled the bathroom, or as Hubby described it to me, Monkey Man done lost his shizzle.

After catching his breath, Monkey Man told Hubby, “Dad, I thank God that he made you to teach me inappropriate things.”

The Great (Brita) Depression

2011-07-14T21:16:00.003-04:00

I replaced my Brita water filter today. Thanks to this otherwise unmeaningful and mundane task, I was reminded that the next time I replace it will be September 1. The end of summer. The beginning of school. And I know the next time I replace it I will remember fondly the day I put it in, July 14. It was just an otherwise unknown day, but it was summer, school was out, the sun was warm and bright and I didn't have to make lunch at night. Or get up and run around the house trying to get ready for work, get Monkey Man ready for school, get our clothes ready...

Damn you Brita. I should just drink unpurified water for the rest of the summer and save myself the anxiety attack.

Thesis: The Philosophy of Pitbull and How it Directly Correlates to Rick Springfield. Who Knew.

2011-07-14T17:33:00.011-04:00

I’ve been hearing that song “Give Me Everything Tonight” by Pitbull, featuring Ni Hao Kai Lan from Nickelodeon, or somebody like that. Maybe it is Ne-Yo. Oh, whatever. It’s some rapper and I have no idea since I am clearly not immersed in the rap culture. Word.

Every time I hear that song, I think, “What a nice message,” because they say “We might not get tomorrow, let’s do it tonight.” I just thought it was a fun go-out-there-and-party message, you know, like live for today because you don’t know if there will be a tomorrow. Okay, so I ignored the following catchy little ditty in the middle of the song:

Excuse me
But I might drink a little bit more than I should tonight
And I might take you home with me if I could tonight
And I think you should let me cause I look good tonight (awesome self esteem!)
And we might not get tomorrow

Hmmmm. Okay, I will give him that if I, indeed, do not have tomorrow, because, say, the Earth is going to swallow me up whole, then I might knock back a few glasses of wine and chase them with tequila just so the sting of feeling the Earth’s burning core around me won’t be so bad. I might even think Armageddon is somewhat humorous if I’ve had one too many.

But it got me thinking. Is this song really about going out there and skydiving, or giving money to the needy, or making sure you give your kid a kiss each night before bed? Well, I listened a little more closely this morning when I heard the catchy tune on the radio (yes, I still listen to the radio. I love the spontaneity, the “Hey, what song will be on NEXT?" My iPod is too predictable).

Well, upon closer auditory investigation then confirmation after googling the lyrics, this song is most certainly NOT about living in the moment. Let me correct myself. It IS about living in the moment. Like having sex. Right. Now.

Put it on my life baby (say what?)
I can make you feel right baby
I can’t promise tomorrow
But I promise tonight (Big promises. Hope for the girl’s – or guy’s sake – he delivers)

And over and over again, he urges people to grab somebody sexy:

Grab somebody sexy tell ‘em hey
Give me everything tonight
Give me everything tonight
Give me everything tonight
Give me everything tonight

At first I thought, that just isn’t safe. Just anyone sexy? What about diseases? Background check? Just because they’re sexy doesn’t mean they won’t take you home and lock you in their basement. But then again, if we don’t have tomorrow, we don’t have tomorrow, so I guess a basement isn’t a big deal because he or she is sexy, and it’s all going to end by morning anyway.

However, I think the biggest thing that bothers me about this song is what exactly I would do if I might not have tomorrow. Do I really want to spend my last night grabbing someone sexy? I might want to go to Target. I might want to eat 4 boxes of Pop ‘Ems with no regrets. I might want to listen to Jessie’s Girl right before the world ends, or at least before my world ends.

Which then brought me full circle to the point of this song – By God, YES! I would grab someone sexy. I would grab Rick Springfield, bring him to Target, sit my butt down, and eat my Pop ‘Ems as Rick serenades me with “Jessie’s Girl” into the great hereafter.

Apologies to Hubby who is also sexy, but he’s totally on board with the whole Rick thing. I’ll give him the night before the last night. And on HIS last night? He can have Rick’s wife. I’m generous.

Twilight Zone: Target Episode

2011-07-12T22:27:00.002-04:00

I dropped Monkey Man off at his Science Summer Enrichment class yesterday morning then headed right to Target. There is not much that can be accomplished in detail during a 1 hour and 30 minute class (with a 10 minute drive home then back to school) that is actually shortened to about 1 hour and 10 minutes. You see, his session is supposed to start AT 9:45 a.m. However, by the time the first session comes into the cafeteria, eats their snack and they announce the second session, it’s about 9:55. His session is supposed to end at 11:15, but when I arrive at 11:13, parents are walking their children through the parking lot, having signed them out already. So basically, I hit Target down the road, or the dreaded Shop Rite, or I walk the dog for 30 minutes when it’s not 9,000 degrees like it was today.

But really, that all has little to do with my Twilight Zone experience yesterday, other than it occurred at Target. During my quick trip to pick just a few things up, I stopped by the women’s workout wear. After looking at a tank top that I really didn’t need, I turned back to my cart to head to the check out. When I looked down at my cart, it WAS NOT MY CART. Holy $&#! What the F%#@ happened to MY cart? This cart was filled with toys and stuff that looked like an employee was stocking shelves. This cart did not have my striped bag, waffles, paper towels, Morningstar fake buffalo wings and Hubby’s new bathing suit.

Panic set in. Although I knew this was not my cart, I started looking through the stuff thinking maybe my things were underneath all this crap, as if this nonsense had fallen from the great Target Heavens on top of my stuff. Nope. Definitely not my stuff. So I took off like a lunatic through Target for one reason – Monkey Man’s brand-new iTouch was in my purse. The iTouch that he purchased after saving for months. The iTouch that I have told him if he loses it, breaks it, so much as scratches it, it’s done, over, finished. My kid was totally going to kill me. Forget the fact that I would also have no way to pick up my child who was just two miles away because, oh yeah, in addition to his coveted iTouch, my car keys were in my bag. And my wallet, which was not a huge deal in the cash department, but a gigantic deal in the “I’m now going to have to spend hours calling all the companies linked to my credit card” department.

As I raced through the aisles retracing my steps, I saw mom after mom look at me, probably thinking I was looking for my lost kid. I guess the fact that I wasn’t yelling someone’s name made it appear otherwise, but I’m sure I looked pretty panicked and crazed. I could not find one Target employee, but when I made my way to the front of the store, hey, look! They were ALL up there, clapping and cheering and having some kind of Target Orgy.

I ran up to one of them and explained my situation. I am pretty sure he thought I lost my mind, and honestly, I was thinking I did, too. He had another employee announce on her walkie talkie my situation, asking if anyone mistakenly took a customer’s cart. That answer was a big fat no due to the fact that every single employee was involved in some weird tribal dance by the registers. I’m all for “Go Team Go” but c’mon people, there is an iTouch out there and a 6 year-old who’s gonna have me sleeping with the fishes!

I ran back through the store one more time while some of the Target natives tried to help me. And there, by kitchen appliances, I saw my striped bag peeking out at me. And then my waffles. And all my other stuff. Quick check through the bag – WHEW. iTouch – check! Cash – check! Credit card – check!

I found my original Target contact and let him know I found it. Then I paid at a register that was all the way on the opposite end of where the Target posse was still hanging out – seriously, there had to be about 20 of them – because I was a bit embarrassed that this could have been my early dementia setting in.

And on my way out, Rod Serling, dressed in a red polo and khakis, thanked me for visiting Target and suggested I stop by again.

Cue Twilight Zone theme…

Needs & Wants

2011-07-07T15:31:00.002-04:00

I was on my way out the door the other day to Toys R Us for a few birthday gifts. When Monkey Man heard me tell hubby of my destination, a 6 year-old’s paradise, he asked me, while batting his long, blonde eyelashes, “Will you buy me something?” Now, I am usually programmed to say, “NO” to these questions. I will not have a child that expects a toy or something every time I go shopping. I will not have a spoiled child. ESPECIALLY because I ONLY have one child. And we all know how every single only child in this world is spoiled rotten. Oh, and they don’t know how to play with other kids. And they can’t share. And my fingertips are not oozing any kind of sarcasm whatsoever.

I usually say no, but on this day, I was feeling good. Hubby got good news at work, so I felt like I could pick up a little something (and by a little something, I’m talking $2 or less, people). I answered his angelic plea for a toy with, “Maybe, we’ll see.” Because I took the “Advanced Mom Course for Children in the Age Bracket that Can Ask For Things.” And I learned that all important, noncommittal response.

Monkey Man looked at me, with shock and delight. I know he was thinking, “Did my mother just NOT say NO?” Then he said, “I know you’ll get me something. I get whatever I want.”

To which my reply was, “No, you do not.” Now, I will defend Monkey Man and add that he was joking a little. This was not said in a bratty way. He was trying to be funny. HOWEVER, due to the fact that those words even came out of that child’s un-spoiled, you-will-work-hard-and-appreciate-what-you-have, mouth, I had a lesson to teach.

I went to Toys R Us, bought the birthday presents, and some school supplies that were on sale (which, I must add, was the most depressing thing ever. Buying school supplies just one week after school ends is wrong. But they had a sale and I’m just starting to learn that if the store has it now, I must buy it now. Not wait until the week before school starts when they have nothing left). When I arrived home, Monkey Man greeted me with a, “What’d ya get me?” oh. Oh. OH. I will show you what I got you:

“Here you go. I got you a new pair of scissors,” I answered. His reply? A scowl. Geez, maybe he wasn’t joking.

“And a new box of crayons and markers,” I added with much enthusiasm, and maybe just a little sarcasm. Little bit.

“Oooo, and a supply box! Yes, and a new sharpener!” I was actually enjoying how totally annoyed my child was at me.

“Why did you get me this stuff?” Monkey Man asked, totally pissed at me, but I think mostly because I looked so damn happy about my retaliation.

Because you NEED it for First Grade. And I WANTED a good laugh for the day.

Where's the Beef?

2011-07-03T23:11:00.004-04:00

We celebrated my niece's 6th birthday tonight at her grandparent's house. When we sat down to eat, I offered Monkey Man some steak. Although Hubby and I don't eat meat, we give Monkey Man the option, and as a chicken nugget lovin' All American boy, he clearly has not been on the path to vegetarian-ism. Hubby and I enjoyed veggie burgers in lieu of steak, with all of the other sides including salad and corn on the cob.

After I cut Monkey Man's tiny sliver of steak - he really is not a red meat eater, so he was just "trying" it - he asked me what steak is made from. I told him cow. He looked at me in horror as if he had just seen his pet cow Clarabelle sent off to slaughter. I said, "You don't have to try it, it's okay. Mommy and Daddy don't eat meat." Although we don't push him to not eat meat, we are hoping one day he makes the decision on his own. He replied, "It's okay, I'll try it."

He put a piece of medium-rare-ish looking steak into his mouth then looked at his plate. Before chewing, he asked me, "What's the red stuff? Is it blood?" I answered candidly, "Yes, it's blood." The child looked like he just found out the truth about Santa Claus. He picked up his napkin and promptly spit that little piece of Clarabelle into it.

Looks like he made his decision. Welcome to the world of veggie burgers and beans Monkey Man!

Summertime and the Living is Easy!

2011-07-02T08:46:00.001-04:00

Hello loyal readers - I'm BACK! You see, what happened was, a little thing like a job got in the way of my blog, and although life has been happening around me at an alarming speed, I've been too busy to write it down. Fine, I'm a liar. I've been too tired and lazy to write it down.

But, it's summertime, and in teacher-ese that means sweet freedom! Days of still getting up at 6 a.m. because Monkey Man has not gotten the memo that I've taped to his clock a sign that states, "You must sleep until at least 7:30. Please. I beg of you. You are slowly killing the woman who gave you life. Thanks so much! xoxo Mommy." But after I bring my zombie-like body back to life (this happens sometimes around 8:30ish) we will be ready to hit the pool, the park, museums, the library, meet up with friends for playdates - the list goes on. It is 2 months of pretending like I am a stay-at-home mom. And I love every single second of it. Plus I get to go grocery shopping and do laundry any time during the day instead of during my precious evening and weekend hours like the other 10 months.

Thanks for hanging in there and I promise you lots of summer posts filled with Monkey Man antics and other observations of life and its craziness. Happy Summer!

Funny Bone

2011-05-11T15:54:00.002-04:00

Monkey Man was in the bathroom earlier while I was in the kitchen pouring freshly cooked sauce (Yes, I make my own sauce now! After 11 years of living out of a jar, I finally started using my mom's recipe!) into containers. I enjoyed a quiet moment, because Monkey Man DOES NOT STOP talking, and then the silence was abruptly interrupted:

"Mommmm! There is a bone in my penis!"

Well, I nearly dropped the entire pot of sauce on my freshly cleaned floors. I simply answered "Okay," and hoped (prayed, pleaded with the Good Lord) that the conversation would end there. It would be another 3 hours until Hubby got home and I just didn't want to field these questions.

"Mommmm, what is INSIDE my penis?" he asked.

And I answered, "Veins." And by some miracle, he stopped talking.

Memo From Mom: Rick Springfield Special Edition

2011-05-05T09:24:00.014-04:00

TO: Rick Springfield

RE: Go to Your ROOM!

Date: May 5, 2011

Oh, Rick. Rick, Rick, Rick. I heard the disappointing news the other night of your legal troubles. Now, Rick, I used the word "disppointing" which should trigger major feelings of mommy/child guilt. Which is what you should feel. Now, I'm not your mother, but apparently you need one of your fans to speak to you as such.

You have tens of thousands of adoring female fans that would give up their blue eyeliner and pearly pink Wet n' Wild lipstick for one night with you. And then you go and pull a stunt like you did the other night. Driving under the influence, Rick? Really? What did you think that would accomplish? You are just lucky you did not kill someone, or yourself (GASP!), Young Man!

Maybe you are not as wealthy as Oprah, but I think it's safe to say that I alone have spent enough money on your tickets in the last few years for you to hail a freakin' cab. Even if you spent all your money on booze that night, you could have asked ANY woman to drive you home. Just to have your ass sitting in her car would have been enough. Even if you were all drunk and drooly and incoherent.

I did use this unfortunate event as a teachable moment for Monkey Man, however. He overhead me talking to Hubby about your stupid decision and he asked us what we were talking about. We explained that it is against the law and very dangerous for someone to drink alcohol and drive. We gave him a brief 5-minute speech about alcohol and its effects on the brain as well as legal age. It was all very enlightening and then he threw out a karate move and proclaimed he was a Power Ranger.

And what did Monkey Man take away from our drinking and driving lecture? He told his teacher yesterday that you were arrested for drinking too much oil.

I'm actually whispering in his ear, "If you do that one more time Richard Springthorpe, I'm taking away all your Star Wars figures."

The Single Most Worst Thing To Do on a Saturday Afternoon Part II

2011-05-02T21:20:00.013-04:00

After about 6 hours, we became the owners of a brandy-new, shiny black, CD playing, Blue Tooth equipped (HOW did I EVER live without this???) Hyndai Elantra. I have become a man. I am in love with my car.

And I have several things to report, but you might want to refer to Part I of this post so as to not become confused by my cross-references:

1) We cannot agree on the kind of car we want.

I humored Hubby and looked at the Honda Fit. Of course, after I sat in it, chatted with the salesperson about it, and genuinely looked like I gave a crap about this car, I gave a "Hell to the NO!" So I scored points for trying. Thankfully, after going to Hyundai and sitting in the pretty black Elantra, Hubby was as sold as I was. So we totally agreed on the car! People, seriously, this is a huge triumph in our marriage. We often have very different opinions and are quite stubborn. I wish our therapist could have been there to see this.

2) We both CANNOT STAND the process of car shopping and I give the car salespeople a really hard time - I don't trust them, and I let them know it. Hubby wants to crawl in a corner when we go car shopping.

I am happy to report that Hubby DID NOT need to go fetal on this day! When we arrived at Hyundai, Hubby told the receptionist that we would like to speak to a salesperson that would not pressure us. I know, that sounds so ridiculously funny and oxymoronish that even I broke out in an Arnold Drummond, "Whatchu talkin' 'bout, Willis?" Now, we don't know if the lovely receptionist spoke with our salesperson or if this guy was just naturally chill and low pressure, but he was a DEE-LIGHT.

After taking the Elantra for a test drive, falling in love, and proposing marriage to the Blue Tooth, we sat down to talk numbers with Ryan - not his real name, but he looked a little like Ryan Seacrest. If you've ever purchased or leased a car, this is when your salesperson will mysteriously disappear into a room a few times going back and forth with The Manager. Numbers get jotted down, many times with arrows and quick scribbles. It's all trickery, and I always expect a rabbit to pop out of the guy's ass.

But I have good news to report! After Ryan gave us the first round of numbers, I took a deep breath and prepared myself for some hardball. This is usually when my sweet demeanor gets cast aside and I become a force to be reckoned with. We told Ryan that we couldn't do his price, but we gave him our price. "Ryan, give it to us for this amount, and you made a sale," I said, calmly. I liked Ryan. He seemed honest (again with the honest salesperson oxymoron) and had a little bit of that, "I'm good with whatever you want." Ryan did in fact disappear, but he returned ALONE. NEVER during any time that I have leased or bought a car (I've done this about 7 other times) have I experienced the salesperson coming out sans The Manager or The Finance Guy. Ryan said, "We can do it." Well, Ryan, enjoy that commission, buddy!

3) I want the car TODAY. Hubby thinks we're just looking today. Yep, sure to be good times.

We totally bought the car on the day we looked. Score 1 for me. Yay!

4) It is pouring rain and I plan on wearing my Mickey Mouse poncho from Disney World.

Lucky for Hubby, by the time we were actually looking in the lot, the rain had stopped. But the poncho was in the car ready for action.

I must give a Not-So-Honorable Mention to the Nissan salesperson - When we stopped by, he informed us, "We ain't (Yes, he said ain't) got a lot because of the tsunamis," (Yes, he used the plural form of tsunami. To my knowledge, there was just one, no?) My guess is that this Nissan dealer ain't giving out grammar books to the staff for holiday bonuses. Lucky for Ryan he used proper English.

Memo From Mom Monday

2011-04-25T21:29:00.004-04:00

TO: My 1998 Nissan Sentra
FROM: Your Mom
RE: So Long, Sentra!

This memo is in reference to your soon-to-be departure from our lives. Sentra, you joined us in June 1999, just 3 months before our matrimony. Hubby needed a new car while I drove a brand-new Honda Civic lease. With the option of getting a brand-new car every 3 years, which I took part in about 5 times. It was a beautiful time.

You drove us many places, Sentra. My fondest memory was our ride to and from Acadia National Park in Maine. We didn’t want to go over our mileage on the lease, so we took you, our totally paid for car and headed out into the wilderness. Well, I WAS on that trip so we headed to a hotel then hiked in the wilderness.

About 3 years ago, our lives changed drastically when I found myself commuting a whole 1 mile and Hubby had to go about 70 miles round trip. Since you were the older car with more miles, I had the great fortune of inheriting you as “my” car. You chugged along, never really giving us many problems, but just looking rather worn and past your prime. Sure, for the past few years I haven’t been able to adjust the volume on the radio off “LOUD” for fear of completely losing the radio, and yes, the heat and A/C only blast on “HIGH” therefore forcing me to continually turn the heat or A/C off and on to get the car somewhat comfortable. Add in some chipped paint on the front bumper and an overall worn-paint look, and you were the car I prayed I’d never drive. But, alas, life is funny. But you were mine, so I kept you clean and neat and looking as pretty on the inside as I could.

And now the time has come, as you push 169,000 miles and my commute is going up to about 55 miles round trip, that I must bid you a fond adieu. As much as I really hated driving you, I know you were a good little car with a lot of spunk and life in you. You saw us get married, buy houses, get a dog, and have a baby. You drove that baby around for 6 years. So I am a little sad to see you go.

Thank you for being so good to us. I can only hope that your next owner totally pimps you out and you get the makeover of your dreams. Meanwhile, I will enjoy my brand-spanking new Elantra while I talk ON THE PHONE THROUGH THE SPEAKERS! I will adjust the volume like a girl with Radio Volume Tourettes, and I will enjoy this summer in a cool, comfortable 70 degree car. Sure, I might think of you from time to time and mention your name, “Aww, remember that Sentra with the TAPE player? It used to make the cutest noise on the right rear side that no mechanic could figure out. Wasn’t that adorable?” But I think I’m going to get over it pretty damn quickly.

Good-bye, Dear Sentra. You will make some 17 or 77 year-old quite happy.

Hoppin' Down the Bunny Trail

2011-04-24T21:58:00.001-04:00

While doing our Easter Bunny duties last night, Hubby and I discovered an egg from last year still filled with some jelly beans. Oops and yuck! Those things were stuck together and looking a little pale, kind of like they were sitting in an attic for a year. Which they were. But then we opened another egg, and found $5. So we totally scored and saved ourselves 5 bucks this year. Which is good because Monkey Man’s Easter basket really started to add up with the Wii Donkey Kong game, Spongebob Invisible Marker Pad, Spongebob sticker activity book, money in the eggs, the chocolate bunny, the chocolate sports game, the ball toss game…So yeah, we needed that extra 5 bucks.

He’s a kid once and he is totally into the Bunny – so much that he was up at 5:10 a.m. and wanted to see what treats he had. Monkey Man is 6 years-old, and we don’t know how much longer we’ll have of him believing so each Christmas and Easter and lost tooth is absolutely precious and priceless. Of course, at 5:10, I wanted to scream, “Seriously?? Do you really think a BUNNY came INTO our house and left a basket? In what world does that make any SENSE?”

However, since I’m barely able to move at 5:10 let alone scream and ruin my child’s sense of wonder, I barely grunted, “Go back to bed. Wait until 7.” Hubby was a bit more coherent and explained that the Bunny might not have come yet and we needed to be quiet. Then at about 6:45, Hubby told Monkey Man that he heard something downstairs and we really needed to wait to make sure the coast was clear. So at 7, we all popped up ready for a day of candy and family and new beginnings and found some nice loot waiting for us. Loot that I’ll be doing double time at kickboxing for in the next few weeks.

Happy Easter!

The Single Most Worst Thing to Do on a Saturday Afternoon

2011-04-23T10:19:00.007-04:00

Hubby and I are going car shopping today which means by the end of the day, Hubby and I will not be on speaking terms because...

1) We cannot agree on the kind of car we want. We both want an economical and gas-friendly car, but I want something that looks nice (I like the Honda Civic, Civic Hybrid, Nissan Sentra, Hyndai Elantra/Sonata), and he wants one that looks like it should have a wind-up key in the back of it (Honda Fit AHHHH! Nissan Versa NOOOOO!).

2) We both CANNOT STAND the process of car shopping and I give the car salespeople a really hard time - I don't trust them, and I let them know it. Hubby wants to crawl in a corner when we go car shopping.

3) I want the car TODAY. Hubby thinks we're just looking today. Yep, sure to be good times.

4) It is pouring rain and I plan on wearing my Mickey Mouse poncho from Disney World. Another reason for Hubby to crawl into that corner. Hope he has a comfy pillow - I think he'll be in there for a while.

Ding, Dong - It's Jesus!

2011-04-18T21:10:00.004-04:00

"Mom, when is Jesus coming?" Monkey Man inquired tonight from the backseat.

"Who told you Jesus is coming?" I asked, knowing what the answer would be, but also wondering if he had been perusing the websites about May 21, 2011 when the world is going to *POOF* disappear.

"I read about it with Grandma," he answered the most obvious answer. Hubby's dad is a pastor. "So, when is he coming?"

"I have no idea," and I thought, I know I'm not too up on my Bible, but I'm pretty sure the day that Jesus comes is the end of the world.

"Is he coming on Monday?"

Just in case, I'll be sure to vacuum, dust and fold the laundry on Sunday night. Oh, and I'll save him some of my chocolate Easter Bunny. Yeah, I'll totally score points with chocolate.

Major League Payback

2011-04-15T08:35:00.004-04:00

Monkey Man starts baseball today. For a fee of $125 we received:
a t-shirt
a hat
baseball socks
a size EXTRA LARGE baseball pants (this child is tall and thin - we tried the pants on this morning and two of his friends could jump in with him and have a sack race.

We also needed to purchase on our own: a mitt ($8.99), batting helmet with face guard ($39.99), cleats ($20.00) and the bat is optional, which means screw the bat. The kid is borrowing one that is sitting around.

In addition, either Hubby or I (read: I) has to sit at the concession stand (because we don't already have an obesity problem in this country we have to buy snacks at Little League baseball games) on a DAY THAT MONKEY MAN ISN'T EVEN PLAYING. Yes, you read that correctly. If I don't give of myself on this day, I will forfeit my $50 "worker's bond." I totally get that the concession stand is a fundraiser for the town's baseball program. But really, harassing me out of my $50 if I can't/won't come to my assigned day and time? The concession stand is still going to be there whether I decide to feed the masses hot dogs or not. And the baseball program's bonus in addition to the concession payola is my extra 50 if I want to spend that 90 minutes on a June Saturday with my family. Yes, town of mine - you are not only contributing to the diabetes epidemic, but also to the families not spending time with one another epidemic. Homerun for you!

Hopefully I will be laughing about all this when Monkey Man is winning the World Series with the Yankees in 15 years.

Nibbles & Bits

2011-04-14T20:41:00.005-04:00

While getting ready for the shower the other night, Monkey Man pointed to his chest and asked me, "Mom, what are these called? Nibbles?"

I tried not to laugh, because it was so freakin' cute, but I didn't want him to feel embarrassed especially because of the impending body part talk that was coming. "They are called nipples," I replied, in my best Serious Health Teacher Anatomy Lesson voice.

"Why are they long on ladies?" he inquired, having obviously viewed cows walking around on their hind legs because certainly he was confusing breasts with udders? Here is when composure went flying out the window. I'm sorry, but I pictured some tubular-like objects projecting from a woman's chest. Sort of like early-90s Madonna, but not as pointy. "Like when I go to the gym with you, they bounce up and down on the girls." Oh. Lord. Help. Me.

Deep breath, regain composure, and delve into the body part speech. Monkey Man has known the "proper" words for penis and vagina for years now, and they are no biggie. However, we just never went into the breast realm.

"Boys and girls both have chests and both have nipples," I said, trying not to let on that I was in disbelief I had to have this conversation with my 6 year-old boy. "When girls grow up, their chests grow (blah, blah, blah - I don't think you readers out there need this lesson. You were probably taught it via film strip circa 1985).

The lesson we have learned from all of this? In the male division of "Boob Man" Vs. "Butt Man," I think we see which side my son is on. Once again, Oh. Lord. Help. Me.

You're Getting Sleeeeepy...

2011-04-10T20:58:00.003-04:00

This weekend, my sleeping schedule looked like this:
Friday night - 12:30 a.m. - 10 a.m.
Saturday night - 11:30 p.m. - 9:30 a.m.

Dare I say this? I, who loves sleep possibly more than Holiday Pop 'Ems, think that I might have slept TOO MUCH this weekend.

Monkey Man spent the weekend at my parents' house and Hubby was away for work all weekend. So this meant completely uninterrupted sleep for me. The poor dog got up at around 7:30 on both mornings, probably had to go out really badly since he usually goes out by 6:30, but I think he knew better. Unless the smoke detector is going off, mama ain't budging.

But I've had a headache all day and have felt sore and achy. Yes, I did hours of yard work and went for a run yesterday, but I think my body was horizontal and motionless for too long.

Good thing it's back to work and school tomorrow. Back to structure, sleeping 7 hours and longing for the weekend. To sleep in!

Word of the Day: Meandering

2011-04-09T20:54:00.001-04:00

I went to the mall today. Hubby is away for work and Monkey Man is spending the weekend at my parents’ house. This means that I had unlimited time to spend doing whatever I wanted to do. WOOOOOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

While at the mall, I meandered. Normally when I’m at the mall without Monkey Man, I feel like I have to rush. Even if Hubby says, “Don’t rush,” I feel like I have to get in and out as quickly as possible. But tonight? I meandered. Store to store I went, trying on things, buying nothing, but taking as long as I wanted. I did buy clothes for Monkey Man, but for me? Nada. I see lots of cute clothes I like on other people, but I am deficient in buying my own clothes. I wasn’t always like this. I think once I hit my thirties, I feel like things are either too “teeny bopper” or “too old” and I cannot find something in between. It’s frustrating and annoying and I waste too much time trying.

But, at least for tonight, I wandered with no deadlines, no one waiting for me at home. Lord & Taylor, JCPenney, Eddie Bauer, J Crew, Children’s Place, Gap, NY & Company…they all saw a more peaceful, meandering mom tonight. Then I went home and had a healthy dinner of pita chips.

Home Alone

2011-04-09T20:27:00.002-04:00

What does a mom eat for dinner when hubby is away for work and Monkey Man is spending the weekend at the grandparents? Pita chips. And wine. I would make such an awesome bachelor. The only difference is I accomplished things today. I took the dog for a run, did lots o’ yard work, then followed that yard work up with a grueling pedicure. After the pedicure, I went shopping for an Easter outfit and some new summer clothes for Monkey Man. A bachelor would’ve just sat on the couch all day and watched baseball, napped, and scratched himself.

Today was Day 2 of hubby gone all day and night for work, and this is Night #2 of Monkey Man spending the night at my parents’ house. I L.O.V.E. my alone time, but I have to say, I think I’m a little lonely. I kind of miss Monkey Man screaming for me to get him his 14th snack or letting me know he has to pee. I also kind of miss kicking hubby out of my favorite corner of the couch. But, nonetheless, I will enjoy the quiet. And then, possibly, I’ll enjoy a brownie.

Just Like MTV's Spring Break!

2011-04-06T15:07:00.001-04:00

Monkey Man and I went outside earlier this afternoon to catch the 15 minutes of sunshine that was bestowed upon us. While he jumped on the trampoline, I started the horrible, daunting, never-ending task of cleaning up the backyard of all the leaves, sticks and various junk that has either been left over from the fall cleaning or has made its way to our yard via wind storms. I don’t know why I bother cleaning up in the fall – no one is going to be in the yard all winter and I just have to do it all over again in the spring. Oh well. I was just happy that at least this time, I had summer to look forward to instead of a dreary, cold winter ahead.

While Monkey Man jumped, he announced, “This is the Best Spring Break EVER!” Obviously, it does NOT take a lot to get this kid pumped. Let me now review the most thrilling, exciting Spring Break itinerary ever:

Saturday: Monkey Man stayed over my parents’ house Friday night, so he spent the day there on Saturday.

Sunday: We finally had a sunny, kind of warm day, so we went outside in the yard and played soccer and jumped on the trampoline. Later, we had a belated birthday dinner for Monkey Man with Hubby’s family. This included yet another birthday gift. Score!

Monday: Dentist check-up for Monkey Man. We went to see Hop with friends (absolutely hilarious, I highly recommend it!) then had lunch with our friends. After lunch, we shopped for new Converse (Monkey Man only wears his Converse, so he was in major need of some new kicks. Even with occasional washings, they were looking a little worn).

Tuesday: Annual check-up for Monkey Man which included blood work. After the doc’s office, we continued the par-tay at the Toyota dealer for an oil change. WOO HOO! Spring Break ROCKS! Later that night, I had to teach kickboxing, so Monkey Man’s big cousin and his girlfriend took him for pizza then to an indoor amusement place nearby with go-karts and bumper cars and Laser Tag and foam shooting things and arcade games – a 6 year-old’s dream. Okay, now I see the equivalent of a college spring break starting to take shape here.

Wednesday: I brought Monkey Man to the gym where he sat like a good little boy and played his DS while mommy got her butt kicked. Monkey Man had a friend over (which was a last minute welcome surprise and what prompted the whole Best Spring Break EVER comment).

Thursday: We are going to visit some friends. Monkey Man is excited to play with my friend’s kids.

Friday: Monkey Man is staying with my parents while I go to a doctor’s appointment.

Okay, so without boring you further to tears about the mundane-ness of our week home, I think you see my point. This week doesn’t exactly rival that of MTV’s Spring Break. Not once did someone ask me to join their wet t-shirt contest. My drink of choice over the past few days was Green Tea and an occasional Diet Pepsi. The only dancing I did was because the other day I had to pee really bad and could not get in the house fast enough.

If Monkey Man really thinks this is the best week ever, I am never, ever, ever, EVER letting him go away with his friends when he goes to college. Oh no. Mama’s been there, done that, and if this kid thinks Spring Break can’t get much better than this past week, there are some things better left a secret.

SPRINGfield in the Summer

2011-04-01T21:24:00.011-04:00

Guess who has 7th row tickets to see Rick Springfield in July - WOO HOO! In celebration of the awesomeness that will take place in New Brunswick on what I know will be a HOT night in July, I give you a photo recap of some wonderful moments with Rick:

Although highly unflattering, this photo was taken in March 2008 when Rick came out into the audience and gave his fan, who was standing on the armrest of her chair, a hug.

I went to the Virgin Megastore in NYC in July 2008 for Rick's CD signing. This was the first time I actually met him. I was quite eloquent, too, in our first meeting. "You're awesome!" Whatever, just take a picture with me, Rick.

This was perhaps one of the greatest nights of my life, apart from my wedding, of course. Not only did I take lots of pics with Rick, I actually engaged in CONVERSATION with him. Virginia Beach, September 2008

I met a new friend at a Rick concert last year (the friend who I'll be going to the July show with!) and she gave me the tip on where Rick was staying so we could get some pictures! I love this picture - it kind of looks like we are totally meant to be, right? Thanks to Doug for taking the photo of me and my man! Pennsylvania, February 2010

My One and Only

2011-04-01T21:18:00.011-04:00

As you know from reading my blog, I have one wonderful, charming, funny, sarcastic, intelligent, exhausting and simply delightful child. However, as absolutely fantastic as he is, people seem to think there should be more of him. Or more of my husband and me, since we made him. Wow, people really like us that much that they want MORE of us!

Monkey Man turned 6 in March and for the past 6 years, I have been asked by many people:

“When are you having #2?” – Hmmm, none of your damn business unless you’re my husband and I need your sperm.

“So, when are you going to GIVE Monkey Man a brother or sister? - Shall I just run out to Target, grab a child off the shelf and hand over my Target credit card which gives me 5% off said child? Then I’ll wrap him or her up in some pretty tissue paper and give baby to Monkey Man?

“Do you think you’re JUST going to have ONE?” – JUST ONE drips out of their mouths like, “I really should have considered that option. She’s a freakin’ genius – gets to be a mom, love her child unconditionally, but only has to worry about one little rugrat instead of 3!”

“He should have a sibling.” Really? And I should smack you. Then you should give me money to raise the village and send them off to college. What Monkey Man SHOULD have is two loving parents who will give him their world and make sure he feels safe, happy and like he is our number one priority always. He should have food, shelter and an education. A sibling will not add or detract from his life. Monkey Man is a friendly, socially adept kid and has friends, and many people know, sometimes friends are better friends than a sibling. I know lots of people who do not get along with their brothers or sisters. I also know lots of people who are best friends with their brothers or sisters. You just never know what you’re going to get.

“C’mon, have another!” - Yes, because having another child is like taking a shot at the bar. Oh, but wait! We all know what that ONE MORE shot at the bar can do to a person! One time (in college, I was young and stupid. And totally of age) it had me sitting under a sink in the bathroom, with my head between my knees. And, hell, sometimes it produces Baby #2 or #3!

If I am out with one of my closest friends, or my mom, or my sister, and one of them says to me, “So, do you think you would like to have another child?” I would be open and candid with them if they didn’t already know the answer and reasons behind the answer. But when Nosy Nancy from the gym asks me, it’s a little annoying. Take a moment and really think about these questions and statements – there are many reasons that a woman or couple might not have another child:

1. They WANT one child. (Oh, the horror! Just one? How could they?)
2. They have been trying to having another child for years and it’s just not happening.
3. Medical reasons would put the woman or child at risk.
4. The woman has actually been pregnant once, twice, several times and miscarried.
5. The couple has adopted (and I’m talking opposite sex and same sex couples) and are either quite happy with one child or cannot afford the cost of multiple adoptions.

Maybe there are more reasons, but I think the ones I listed are enough to get someone to stop and think before opening their insensitive, rude mouth. This post has been swirling around in my head for a few years now, but a comment the other day by a woman really lit the fire under me. So that night, I wrote as my status on Facebook: “Would it be rude for me to ask people why they had more than one child? Maybe look at them with shock like, "WHY did you decide to have TWO? or THREE?" Because it's pretty rude when people ask me when I'm having another or why I don't have another child.”

Everyone who commented on Facebook was very supportive and seemed aghast that people would actually ask these kinds of questions. People had different things to say:

“It’s very rude and none of anyone’s business. I did not have another until my son was 8 and people would say that to me all of the time. Of course my circumstances were a little different but I really enjoyed the one-on-one time with my son and if I didn't have another so be it. Sometimes people are just jealous because they have 2, 3, maybe even 4 kids and they can't give the attention and time that they would like to.” Amen, sista.

"I used to hear this ALL the time! I finally did decide that another hard pregnancy would be worth it, but that was my decision to make. I've even had people say since, "see, we knew you'd come around." and things like that. I just don't get it - having only one isn't some crazy idea! And to be honest, I love daughter #2, but I do miss it just being daughter #1 sometimes. It was much easier to work when I could devote my free time to her. Now my time is so split that I feel like I'm torn in too many directions at once." Love the honesty, and I'll give it another, Amen!

“The second child is the son or daughter of the social pressure. For almost 6 years I was annoyed with the same bs and I'll just tell them if you'll support him/her and off course babysit whenever I want to go out, I'll go for it.” And again, let me add, if you would like to foot the bill for college, then in the words of Marvin Gaye, Let’s Get It On!

“I just tell it like it is: I'd love to have had another, but she's my miracle baby and I'm just glad she's healthy and happy!” Let’s get another Hallelujah! “Another good comeback- no need, I got it right the first time!” yes. Yes. YES.

Monkey Man was in our plans to be a part of our life. I am thankful everyday that my plans played out and that whatever forces that needed to work with us, did. He gives me (us!) as much joy, laughter, anxiety, delight, sleeplessness, and sheer love as 10 children could. I might be a mom to only one child, but I couldn’t be happier with or prouder of my one-of-a-kind, one and only Monkey Man.

He's MY Sugar Monkey!

2011-03-31T22:03:00.004-04:00

I had a really great day with Monkey Man today. This is not to say that most days aren't really great, but if you are a parent, you know, that many days you daydream about what it was like to not hear the word "Mommy" said 3,567 times. In 5 minutes.

Monkey Man had his "Primary Show" in school today, which makes it sound like he goes to a one room schoolhouse with a teacher named Miss Magillacutty (total phonetic spelling, but you get the idea). We live in a suburban neighborhood, in a town with 5 elementary schools, so we are in no way rural. I guess they developed the Primary Show in 1923 and the name just stuck.

It was a music show, with Kindergarten, 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Grade performing Disney songs for their theme, "The Wonderful World of Disney." Monkey Man was SO EXCITED that he had several guests coming to watch his debut performance - me, my parents, Hubby's parents, and my adopted 23 year-old daughter (not really, she is my nephew's girlfriend, one of the family and we love her dearly. She lives with us when she is in grad school, and Monkey Man calls her his sister). He woke me up this morning with a, "GET UP MOM! IT'S MY BIG DAY!" Apparently the Primary Show is one step above Broadway. The show was fabulous, an agent signed him, and he'll be singing Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah for his dinner for the next year.

Later in the afternoon, I had to go to the Greatest Store on Earth - yes, Target. I needed about 4 things and Monkey Man asked if he could get something. I told him if he would like to spend his money, he could. Monkey Man has been saving for an iTouch for months now. After we told him that WE would not buy him one, but if he wanted to save for one, he could buy whatever he liked (other than a prostitute. We draw the line at buying a prostitute). He has $215. How does a 6 year-old boy save $215 in 4 months? It's simple: allowance, birthday money, and the biggest money-maker of all - Poppy and Aga, my parents. Aga pays him to let her sleep in when he sleeps over. Monkey Man writes and illustrates books and charges BY THE PAGE. This child has come home from an overnight at my parents' house $9-$12 richer. And he sleeps over almost every weekend.

But I was very proud that he was excited to buy something with his own money. He really wanted a new Wii game, so he decided to get a new game and keep saving for the iTouch, knowing that the game would deplete the iTouch fund. He picked out a new Wii game, and we played it for much of the evening. It just felt really good that he did it himself (and was smart enough to extort from my parents to get him to this point). It felt even better that I didn't lay out a penny for a new game.

What's Cooking?

2011-03-30T21:32:00.008-04:00

I've written this before on my blog, and said it lots of times - I hate cooking. I do not enjoy taking the time out to buy all kinds of ingredients, assemble them for a recipe, make something, and then eat it. That just takes entirely too much time. And I've discovered I'm like my mom - after I've cooked something, I have no interest in eating it. I've looked at it for almost an hour, I know what's in it, I've smelled it getting ready, and as good as it might be, I have no appetite for it. It's so much more exciting (and so much less exhausting!) to have it arrive magically on my plate.

But I do cook. I just absolutely loathe the process. But this family will not live on take out, so cook I do, not well, not with love in my heart, but for the simple act of survival.

What I don't like about not liking to cook, however, is the vibe I get from people (women) when I tell them, honestly, that I don't like to cook. It's as if my womanhood has been ripped out of me, like my ovaries have been julienned and served au gratin (I clearly have no idea what these terms mean). Why am I SUPPOSED to LOVE slinging a wooden spoon and know exactly what one means when one says "braise" (huh?) or broil (really, what is the difference between broil and roast? Thankfully we don't eat meat)?

I was a part of a marketing focus group about vitamins and supplements, and when I mentioned that I hate cooking, a few of the women looked at me with horror. I wanted to scream back, "But I love to organize! And my house is so clean you could drop your roasted shank pork loin thing on my floor and continue to eat it! What's your house look like, huh, Julia Child? While you're all boiling and basting and sauteeing, I am revelling in the joy of a clean, organized home. I can find my taxes from 2004 in 3 minutes. A friend called and is stopping by in 30 minutes? Not a problem thanks to my rule, 'A place for everything and everything in its place.' "

One woman in particular just kept at it with the, "Well, I just love to cook. I want my family to eat healthy. I love to experiment with all different kinds of foods and herbs and we belong to a Food Co-op and I watch all the food shows..."

Why do I care? I shouldn't care. I do A LOT of things for my family. They are all functioning and alive. They wear clean clothes everyday. Bills get paid on time. I work. Monkey Man eats as balanced of a diet that a picky 6 year-old can get away with. But for some reason, I just feel like I SHOULD love to cook. But, nah. I'd so much rather clean out a closet. Now that's some good times!

Sugar Mama's Back

2011-03-29T21:33:00.002-04:00

Yep, Sugar Mama is back. That is to say I'm off the wagon. I'm so off the wagon, I can't even see the wagon anymore. I think it took a right turn at, "I have PMS." Then it made a sharp left at, "Just this once, I'll start again tomorrow." There was a brief blinking yellow light screaming, "CAUTION! It's been two days and you haven't gotten back on the wagon." Then the wagon fell off a cliff and I said, "Screw it."

Poor wagon never really stood a chance.

You Down with OCD? Yeah, You Know Me!

2011-03-28T21:52:00.004-04:00

There are 3 things one should not do on one's birthday:
1. Laundry
2. Vacuum
3. Pick up dog poop in the yard

So let me justify why I did all 3 of these things on Saturday. It's called OCD.

I could not let a basket of clean clothes sit until Sunday to be folded and put away. So I thought to myself, "I know it's my birthday, but it'll just take a few minutes." And away those clothes went.

The family room is the only carpeted room in my house. And we have a black, shedding dog. I vacuum that room about twice a day. So, really, how could I NOT do it just once? "And while the vacuum is out, I'll just get the area rug in the living room. Oh, hell, I might as well drag it upstairs and get the area rugs in the bedrooms, too."

Monkey Man and Hubby went to see "Diary of a Wimpy Kid." I went to the gym. When I got back from the gym, the dog looked at me like, "Please, please mommy, let's play! Please! I wanna play!" So guilt took over, and I played ball with him. And while I was in the yard I tried to tell myself, "I WILL NOT pick up dog poop on my birthday." But seriously, I'm me. And I cannot ignore dog crap in my backyard.

Three Wishes

2011-03-26T13:22:00.005-04:00

For my birthday, which is today, the day I've been dreading a little bit because I've officially moved out of the "mid-thirties" and am now in my GASP. CHOKE. LATE THIRTIES. FAINT.

Monkey Man asked me the other day what I would like for my birthday. I told him I would like 3 things, none of which cost any money at all.
1. A hug and kiss
2. To sleep in
3. A homemade card (this is a tradition in my family for all holidays)

Monkey Man greeted me this morning at about 8:30 with a hug and a kiss. He told me I could sleep until 9:05. Then he presented his card to me:

In just 6 short years of knowing his mother, he has me pegged. Love this kid.

Happy Birthday! Love, the DMV

2011-03-24T18:42:00.007-04:00

I had to renew my license by the end of this month, so why not wait until the end of the month? That's when DMV is the busiest, and I absolutely love to stand on long lines and listen to the DMV employess bark at people who just need to know WHICH line to stand on because there are like 34 lines.

While standing on line, I remembered 4 years ago when I last renewed my license and thinking, "The next time I do this, I'll be 37 years-old. Holy Crap." Well, welcome to Holy Crap. In 2 days, I'll be 37. HOW? How did this happen?

And then my next thought came. Almost 20 years ago to the day, I just took my driver's test and got my license for the first time. I even remember what I was wearing on the day that sweet freedom came in the shape of a glossy rectangle. A black windbreaker, jeans that were tightly cuffed around my ankle, and brand-spanking new birthday Nikes was my outfit of choice upon turning 17.

Which brings me to thinking about all of the things that have happened in 20 years. Those years seem to have passed in a flash, with these memories playing back like scenes from a movie. And now, my lucky readers, I give you a bunch of stuff that happened to me in the last 20 years. Feel free to either use this as material to help you drift into slumber or get yourself thinking about YOUR last 20 years...

Starting at age 17:
My niece was born
Received my driver's license
Went to Cancun with my friend and her family
Got my first car (can someone say 1986 Dodge Lancer? Holla!)
Graduated high school
Started college
Got dumped by my high school boyfriend
Joined a sorority
Got myself another boyfriend
My nephew was born
Experienced my one and only college spring break in the Bahamas
Graduated college
Visited Aruba
Bought my first BRAND NEW car (1996 Chevy Cavalier - Oh Yeah!)
Got my first real job
Visited London and Ireland
Broke up with boyfriend
Dated co-worker, who turned into Hubby :)
Got engaged in Disneyland
Got married
Went on several Disney cruises and visited Disney World every year
Bought our first house
Got our dog, Walt
Went back to school for my teaching degree
Became a teacher
Went on a cross-country road trip for my 30th birthday
Found out the best little boy in the world was coming into our lives!
Gave birth to Monkey Man
Survived the newborn stage (how, I'll never know!)
Worked from home with hubby
Sold our first house, bought our current house
Met Rick Springfield!
Returned to teaching part-time

Which brings us here, 20 years later. I might be 37 (in 2 days) on paper, but in my heart and mind, I'm still 17. And that's what counts.

This Could Get Ugly

2011-03-23T08:21:00.004-04:00

We have a snow day today. It is March 23. I know people sent Mother Nature some memos about this ri-freakin-diculous weather we've had all winter, but it is officially spring. And I saw my grass last week. And I ran in a tank top on Friday. So can we please stop the nice-nice with Mama Earth and just give her a swift kick in the ass?

Not only is she pissing me off with this weather, but now I am stuck in the house today for my snow day. I love a day off from work hanging with Monkey Man, but let's remember I am trying hard not to eat sugar. So what's my plan for the day? To bake about 4 dozen chocolate chip cookies for Monkey Man's school Tricky Tray this weekend. Gotta make good use of this time off.

I just hope Hubby doesn't come home from work later to find me in a sugar coma.

Three Cheers for Fiber One!

2011-03-21T21:58:00.004-04:00

Although Fiber One bars do help me keep my chocolate sanity, I have to put out this PSA - TWO Fiber One bars in one day might not make for a comfortable night. But, hey, it's worth it - I didn't touch those mini Oreos that have been snickering at me all day in my pantry.

So Day 1, Take 3 was successful. That friggin' Easter Bunny better get here soon.

This Could Have Been Easier

2011-03-21T17:59:00.005-04:00

Here is a list of specific foods containing sugar that should have gotten the boot during this brilliant 40-day fast I can't stick to. The reason? I hate these foods:

Jelly donuts - Purple goo shooting out of a non-chocolate donut? Eww.

Cherry pie - Red, gelatinous material disguised in a yummy crust. No thank you.

Lemon Merangue Pie - The lemon is like a sponge. Clearly, I have food texture issues.

Whoppers candy - Malt is gross.

Danishes - All of them. Even if they have chocolate on or in them. Yuck.

Chocolate Eclairs - I know, this sounds strange because aren't they like the King of Italian Desserts? The cream filling is way too sweet for even my taste buds. And I do love me some sweet!

Anything with coconut on or in it. Again with the food consistency - I don't like those coconut flakes.

I'll think of more. And I'll put that in a different post because I'm totally kicking ass on the blog post quota I set for myself!

Oh My GANACHE!

2011-03-20T19:16:00.006-04:00

Hubby and I have been having a much-needed heaping of good luck these past few weeks. Lots of good news right in the middle of my sugar strike. Good news should be celebrated with chocolate and cake and more chocolate and cookies! Sorry health magazines, but I am not celebrating with a brisk walk around the neighborhood.

Round of Luck #1: Hubby was was chosen as one of the nominees in the Best Newspaper Comic Panel of 2010 Division for the 65th Annual Reuben Awards. Each year, the National Cartoonists Society honors the year’s outstanding achievements in all walks of the profession including newspaper strips, newspaper panels, TV animation, feature animation, newspaper illustration, gag cartoons, book illustration, greeting cards, comic books, magazine feature/magazine illustration, and editorial cartoons. This is H.U.G. to the E.

Round of Luck #2: In my tireless search for a full-time teaching position, I was hired for a maternity leave. It's not permanent, but could open doors to something. I start in May and could not be happier!

Round of Luck #3: We went to our accountant and let's just say if Uncle Sam really did exist, I would totally give him a lap dance.

So, in celebration of the last two weeks, hubby and I went to a fabulous restaurant last night. It's an old mansion and the decor is all Americana antique. We ate our dinner, and when dessert time rolled around, hubby ordered a mini chocolate ganache cake topped with mint chocolate chip ice cream. I ordered tea, I swear to you. The waiter, like a crack dealer taunting a junkie, said, "Let me bring one out for you,too." I giggled, said, "No, that's okay." And the bastard said, "No, really, I'll bring one out for you." I started scratching at my face, beads of sweat beginning to form on my forehead, and I said, "Okay."

Famous freakin' last words.

This is what my warm Ganache cake with fudge filling, topped with chocolate chip-mint ice cream looked like before it suffered it's death.

Seriously, Enough with the Temptation

2011-03-18T16:49:00.003-04:00

Today I got to cut an entire tray of chocolate-frosted brownies for my darling class. With sprinkles. And I'm back on the wagon. Oh, and in case you didn't read in the last post, I have PMS. I'm expecting a serpent to appear with an apple any minute now.

But I didn't have a brownie. So I am back to laughing in the face of sugar! Unless, of course, I am still on this ridiculous no sugar kick when Aunt Flo visits, next month.

Sugarless Update: A Friday Math Equation

2011-03-18T07:47:00.002-04:00

PMS + Hubby working late (= no supervision) + Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies in freezer = All sorts of bad things.

And I'll just leave it at that.

My Kind of Dinner

2011-03-16T18:23:00.003-04:00

I've written this before and have said it dozens, if not hundreds of times - I hate to cook. I get no enjoyment out of it and look at it as a waste of time. I cook for 2 reasons - 1) The health of my family - I refuse to do fast food and take out on a nightly basis 2) So that Monkey Man doesn't tell his teachers that he had frozen waffles for dinner again (for many families, this might be peanut butter & jelly sandwiches, but he's allergic to nuts - or cereal, but he is the only child in America that does not eat cereal. He can't even stand the smell of someone else eating it. I know, weird kid).

Tonight, Hubby is working late and Monkey Man is at my parent's house because I have a hair appointment to get my blonde back. I am a natural blonde, and every winter my hair gets too dark for my liking, so I get highlights. There are 3 things I like about my physical appearance: I love my blonde hair, I like my smile, and I like that I'm tall. All the rest depends on the day, but if I only like 3 things, then you betcha I'm getting one of those fixed ASAP!

Blonde stuff aside, I'm home alone for dinner. Which I LOVE, because I just had a gourmet meal of Vanilla Greek Yogurt with Granola. Now THAT'S what I call dinner.

On the 7th Day

2011-03-16T18:14:00.002-04:00

I had a very busy day yesterday, or Day 7 of the Sugar-less / Write-a-Post Everyday Experiment. I spent all morning invoicing newspapers for Doug's comic then headed off to work. After work, I went directly to a friend's Daisy Troop meeting and spoke to them about exercise and then we did some kickboxing. I raced home, made dinner and then went back out to teach two kickboxing classes. I got home at 9:30 p.m. and was starving.

There was not an apple, yogurt, or sensible snack to be found in this house. Therefore, I am ashamed to say, Animal Crackers cracked me. They aren't even chocolate. But I ate them with a big glass of milk, so that kind of counteracts the non-nutritional value of them. And I missed my blog post last night - BUT, as long as I write 40 posts in 40 days, I've succeeded. Those are my rules, anway.

Well, back on the fruit and veggie bandwagon...Here's to 33 more days!

Chocolate Frosting & Thin Mints: A Dangerous Duo

2011-03-14T21:02:00.005-04:00

There is a can of chocolate frosting leftover from Monkey Man's birthday bash this weekend that is sitting in my refrigerator. It has been sitting there since Friday night. And I have not touched that can. Now, in my saner, sugar-eating days, I would have slaughtered that frosting with my mighty spoon and made up for it the next day at kickboxing. But instead, each time I open the fridge, I give it a quick once-over, a cocky "whatever," letting it know it has no power over me and can sit there until April 24 (when I will eat chocolate until I am comatose. If my grave reads "Death By Chocolate" then I have led a rich and full life).

And then there are the Girl Scout Cookie Thin Mints in my freezer. I have been known to inhale a box of these puppies in one sitting, my belly aching afterwards and wondering why these evil little girls must raise money for their organization in the form of freakin' chocolate mint cookies. They are all so innocent in their, "Won't you buy a box to help us girls contribute to society, participate in wholesome activities, and ensure that we don't procreate at the age of 14 because we didn't get an abstinence badge?" Okay, that part I have no idea about, but you get the idea. You HAVE TO buy the cookies.

But they are sitting in my fridge, heckling me each time I reach for my veggie burger or frozen mango.

If only the frosting and Thin Mints knew how I could totally dip one into the other and show them who's really boss. They seriously have no idea of the chocoholic they are messing with. But my chocolate badass-ness will have to wait another 5 weeks.

Dover Dairy Open for Business. Sucks to Be Me.

2011-03-13T21:28:00.004-04:00

In continuation of Monkey Man’s birthday WEEKEND, we took him for ice cream last night. Since I am on this ridiculous no-sugar experiment for 6 weeks, I went along to torture myself. I L-O-V-E ice cream and to go along for the ride and watch 2 people thoroughly enjoy the neighborhood ice cream joint's season opening is just masochistic.

When we pulled up, Hubby noticed the gigantic sign in the window that said, “Fat Free and Sugar Free Yogurt.” We halla-freakin-lujah! Someone give me a “Loophole Amen!” Clearly, the good Lord was intervening, showing pity on my sugarless soul. The loophole? No sugar, and some nutritional value – calcium and yogurt cultures. Of course, I would have to forfeit my chocolate sprinkles which are really the only reason people should eat ice cream. I have to say, though, I did struggle with the decision to get the yogurt even though it was fat free AND sugar free. Was this cheating? I finally decided that if it had no sugar, then it was okay. I ordered my naked yogurt in a cup (I’m also totally a cone girl, cups are pretty worthless). I also asked the ice cream girl for the nutrition information just out of curiosity.

I read it over, and I’m not sure if she gave me the wrong information, but this paper said “no sugar ADDED” and had 8 grams of sugar. SON OF A *$@&! I sat in the car with my stupid, sprinkle-less, cone-less yogurt and wept.

I brought it home, put it in the freezer and saved it for Monkey Man. Clearly, there is something wrong with me that I went as far as to purchase this “sugar-free” product then NOT EAT IT.

I prepared Monkey Man a treat tonight with my ice cream covered in chocolate syrup and crushed Thin Mint cookies. But I have to tell the truth – I took a few crumbs of the cookie. C’mon people, I have been looking at and touching sugary birthday delightfulness all week, it was just a few crumbs!

It Pays to Spring Forward!

2011-03-12T22:32:00.001-05:00

Hubby and I are hoping that his genius, coupled with my monetary bribes, will get us some sleep tomorrow morning. As we all know (or maybe not, so you are finding out now) we have to turn the clocks ahead one hour tonight, so everyone loses an hour of sleep. For parents of children that think they are roosters and must wake up the whole freaking farm at the crack of dawn, daylight savings sucks.

Monkey Man has been getting up at about 6 a.m. every morning. He doesn’t care if it’s a school day or a weekend, he is up and at ‘em. His motto is that of a hardcore, 20-something rockstar, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” He’s got too much to accomplish in a day, why sleep away the hours that could be devoted to Wii Lego Batman, Spongebob, writing and illustrating books, playing basketball, jumping on the trampline, doing flips in the living room, and just generally exhausting his mother and father?

The past few weekends, I have offered to pay Monkey Man $1 if he lets us sleep in until 8 a.m. He will do anything for money – he is saving for an iTouch and a car (gotta give the kid some credit on the short and long-term financial goals – Suze Orman would be proud). Between his birthday, allowance and weekly extortion from his one set of grandparents (my sweet and growing ever-poorer parents) he is almost about to get an iTouch. He has wanted one for months now, and we refuse to buy him one. But if this is what he chooses to spend his hard-earned money on, then so be it.

Now we pair my bribery with Hubby’s sinister and truly brilliant plan to allow us to sleep in tomorrow morning. Hubby approached me after Monkey Man was safely into slumber and said, “Let’s not turn the clocks ahead tonight. We’ll wait until after Monkey Man wakes up. So when he gets up at his usual 6 a.m., it will really be 7 a.m. One of us will get up and get him breakfast, then we can sleep until the clock says 8:30, and it will really be 9:30!” He was practically peeing himself with glee and pride at this revelation.

If this works, we may never have a clock in this house that works again!

Cupcakes and Frosting and Cookies Oh My!

2011-03-11T23:07:00.002-05:00

I baked and frosted 24 cupcakes tonight to prepare for Monkey Man's 6th birthday extravaganza. I stuffed 17 goody bags with Oreos, Rice Krispie Treats, and Tootsie Rolls.

And I didn't eat one. I'm writing this while in the fetal position drooling, but nope, didn't touch one.

Victory is SWEET!

2011-03-10T21:36:00.002-05:00

Yeah, so I totally made those cookies my bitch today. I was volunteering at Monkey Man's school, and I had some cutting and collating to do in the Faculty Room. And what does every Faculty Room in most towns in the U.S. have? Foods containing sugar. Cookies, cake, everything left over from last night's family birthday dinner that no one wants in their house.

There I sat. Two cartons of large Costco-type cookies in one corner (from where I sat, I believed them to be of the oatmeal raisin and sugar cookie variety, but I dared not go too close for fear that one might actually catapult its way into my unsuspecting mouth. They are not my favorite kinds, but who the hell cares? They were COOKIES!) And in the opposite corner - me and all my math copies. Those badass cookies had the advantage, simply because they were cookies. I had a thermos of Green Tea to quell my cravings. The odds were so stacked against me.

But for the next hour, I ignored their mockery. "C'mon, no one is in here. Just take a little bite. It won't even count! You know you're gonna cave before 6 weeks is up, anyway. Just do it!"

And my response? "Eat me."

Yeah, cuz that's how I roll when it comes to the Cookie Vs. Sugar(less) Mama showdown.

I’m Your Sugar(less) Mama

2011-03-09T21:08:00.003-05:00

Today started a 6 week adventure in which I will not eat sugar. Let me clarify – sugar in the form of cookies, ice cream, graham crackers, cake, POP EMS - aka “special treats” in our house. I will be eating fruit and veggies and I am allowing myself a Fiber 1 Oats & Chocolate bar if I am scratching my face and shaking with cold sweats from sugar withdrawal. Basically, the food has to have some kind of nutritional value. Fiber One Oats & Chocolate bars are pretty awesome and I’m 36 going on 37, so anything fiber has value in my world.

This sugar abstinence happens to be coinciding with Lent and giving something up, however, I am not particularly religious. I don’t feel like I HAVE to sacrifice something. Many people also try to do something good for each day of Lent. Because of this, I will write SOMETHING on my blog every day for 40 days. This could go in either direction – either I’ll get some really awesome posts from writing so much, or my brain will be dead from lack of sugar and ideas and my blog will self-combust. Hopefully it’ll be funny either way. There is a good chance at some point I might be writing about hallucinogenic conversations I’m having with Pop ‘Ems. I just don’t know what sugar withdrawal will bring. It’s all so exciting to wonder what kind of a cranky bitch I might turn into.

What I do know is that at the end of Day 1, I’m in bed at a safe distance from the Tootsie Rolls, Golden Oreos, and Rice Krispie Treats that are waiting to get stuffed into Monkey Man’s birthday party goody bags. And my dad brought over some mini Oreos for Monkey Man that I am fairly certain are whispering my name.

And on that note, Good Night, Day 1 and sweet dreams of carrots, apples and the oh so naughty Fiber One bar.

Peeing, Pooping, & Poppy Love

2011-03-03T19:05:00.004-05:00

While I was cleaning up after dinner tonight, my dad was sitting in the living room waiting ever so anxiously to continue his pre-dinner game of Lego Star Wars with Monkey Man. No sarcasm there. Although my dad is 1,000 times more patient than me, he, too, has no clue how to play, but that man will play all day with Monkey Man. Me? After 3 minutes, I head off to do the laundry. Or some other mundane task that is still way more exciting than Lego Star Wars/Indiana Jones/Batman.

Where was I? Oh, Monkey Man announced that he was going to the bathroom. He always feels the need to contact the media, let the neighbors know, and call his grandparents when he needs to pee. Or poop. He's going on 6 and I really think sometimes he still expects a prize from the potty training prize bag.

While in the bathroom, he yelled out, "Poppy, I love playing with you." My dad responded, "I love playing with you, too."

"Poppy, I love you," Monkey Man yelled mid-pee.

"I love you,too," Poppy responded. Then said, "You're some kid!"

Monkey Man yelled, "Thanks!"

A 73 year-old man and an almost 6 year-old boy - Grandfather and Grandson, and best friends.

What a Relief!

2011-02-28T22:19:00.001-05:00

I’m not talking about Alka-Seltzer, the plop plop fizz fizz kind…No, I’m talking about Monkey Man and his comic relief. Partner that with my almost daily stress relief of kickboxing, and we got a few funnies out of tonight.

Monkey Man usually stays home with Hubby when I go to the gym. It is very much “my time” – it’s one hour for me to think about nothing but the hundreds of push ups, sprints and punches I’m doing. However, Hubby has a new job that keeps him out late a few nights a week so my “me” time is now “we” time. “We” in that out of 1 hour, 30 minutes of that is spent with Monkey Man calling me over from the side of the room to ask me how much longer. I figure with the amount of stress I’m relieving exercising added to the amount of stress he’s giving me calling me over, they cancel themselves out. I’m not decreasing my stress, but at least I’m not totally increasing it.

Tonight, Monkey Man called me over for the 48th time. “Mom, your hair looks horrible,” he informed me. I am so thankful that he told me! Up until tonight, I thought my bright red, sweaty face, half-soaked tank top, and many pieces of hair sticking out of my ponytail was a good look for me.

And just as I was leaning over to listen to my son’s pep talk, I noticed a big, wet splotch on his homework paper. Take that, Monkey Man. I just totally sweated on your Letter G homework assignment. That’ll teach ya.

Memo From Mom Monday

2011-02-07T09:47:00.003-05:00

TO: Hubby’s Ego
RE: Smarty Marty
DATE: February 6, 2011

Remember the other day when Monkey Man was chattering while brushing his teeth about something that was very clever? I don’t remember what it was now, because I’m writing this a few days later and I have no idea what I ate for dinner last night. Oh, yes I do. Tortilla chips and spinach dip – you took Monkey Man to my parents’ house and I was waiting for my friends to come over so I forwent any semblance of a healthy meal and just waited for the chips to bust out at 7 p.m.

Anyway, when Monkey Man said this funny, but now forgotten thing, I called him a Smarty Marty. Because he IS smart, and I have a problem with rhyming anything I can. Then I asked him, as I often do, “How’d you get so smart?” Of course, I always expect the answer to be, “I got it from my mom,” but I'm pretty sure you've been coaching him.

“From Daddy,” he coyly said, with a big grin on his face. You were in the bathroom, too, and you heard this. “Thanks a lot!” I answered, while you chuckled. Then you chimed in, “Why’d you say that?” To which Monkey Man replied:

“Mommy, I don’t want to offense you (yes, he said offense), but you don’t know how to unlock the levels on Lego Batman or Lego Indy. And you don’t know that much about sports.”

He is correct. When I play Lego Batman or Lego Indy, I am more interested in making my characters do flips or getting Princess Leia to dance on Lego Star Wars. And although I don’t care about sports, I actually shock myself at my basic knowledge of some of the games when he asks questions. However, I don’t know the stats on Cam Newton from Auburn, and we all know you can sit and talk a hole into the wall on that topic. But that’s not good enough. Neither is giving a 10 minute dissertation on Apartheid that I delivered earlier that day while watching a Disney Channel movie called, “The Color of Friendship.” Apparently, unlocking secret levels beats the hell out of South Africa’s history.

So let me just remind you of one thing – he may have gotten his brains from you, but his good looks? Yep, that’s all me.

Addendum: Too Much Dr. Seuss

2011-02-06T13:55:00.006-05:00

Note to Reader: Please read "Too Much Dr. Seuss" first so that this makes sense. Once you've read it, you can now enjoy how Monkey Man's attention was turned to a very bad word. This is why a few years ago, I referred to the bucket. (And now you have TWO posts to catch up on!)

Yesterday, Monkey Man, Hubby and I were in the kitchen having a perfectly nice time chatting while getting Monkey Man ready to sleep at his grandparents' house. Chatting about making books (Monkey Man loves to write and illustrate books, and even more, loves to sell those books to his grandparents), what toys he was going to bring, when his next basketball game was - all perfectly innocent, normal conversation.

Then, he had a question:
"Remember when I didn't know fu@#er was a bad word?"

I tried SO HARD not to laugh, ran into the living room and lost it. I tried to keep it quiet, but inevitably, I began to snort and wheeze so my intentions of inconspicuous laughter were quickly given away. I heard my husband, who did not dart out of the kitchen, try to keep his cool, but my husband gets the giggles worse than a 7th grade girl, so he started cracking up when he heard me.

To answer your question, yes, Monkey Man, we remember those days fondly. And thanks to Grandma, you are now perfectly aware of this word and it's badness. So, yeah, now we're fu@!ed. Great.

Memo From Mom Monday

2011-01-23T21:56:00.017-05:00

To: Myself
Re: Well, We Won’t Be Doing THAT Next Year – Part II
Date:January 24, 2011

This memo is a continuation from the previous memo, “Well, We Won’t Be Doing THAT Next Year” Part I. Because there needs to be a Part II. New York City was just so full of fun and frolic that it needed its very own memo.

And now, Self, I give you a few more traditions in detail so as to not make these merry mistakes again next year:

1. Making a Gingerbread House looks so easy, what with it’s 4 walls and 2 roof pieces, some icing, candies and voila! Insta-holiday tradition! Well, when the walls are supposed to magically stay together with sugar and water and mommy starts mumbling “Oh, sh@! under her breath, while holding two walls together and then the third one falls and I try to catch that one, and then it’s like a game of Whack-A-Mole, it makes for a not so fun time at the dining room table.

Being a pastry chef is also not in my professional future as I can’t even correctly hold the bag of icing without it plopping out the other end of the bag all over the table. And let’s not even get into how the minute the house was done, Monkey Man wanted to eat it. Listen, child. I just spent a frustrating 45 minutes trying to make this thing look like a sweet, appetizing dwelling. It WILL be a decoration for at least one day. Now scram with your grubby little fingers and sugar addiction.

Am I smiling because it's finally done or because I know I will never endure the mess and frustration of this project again? Both.

2. The Elf will not be coming to leave chocolates in our Advent Calendar. I’d like to say that it’s because I really thought about it, and feel it’s sacrilegious to incorporate an elf into the calendar leading up to the birth of Our Savior. But I can’t lie to myself. This task was way too stressful for 24 nights. That’s 24 mornings of waking up in a sweat thinking, “Crap! I think I forgot to put that damn chocolate in the calendar,” then hearing Monkey Man confirm my anxiety with, “MOMMMM! The elf didn’t come. Friggin’ elf needs to get his sh@! together.

3. Although I will continue to make Christmas cookies with my mom, sister, niece and Monkey Man, I WILL NOT bring those cookies home. My good intentions of wrapping them up in cute little bags with ribbons and tags ends the same way every year – those cookies go from tin to mouth in a matter of days. I am in awe of the people who actually GIVE their cookies away. I’m sorry, but I just made dozens of homemade chocolate chip cookies. I don’t care how much I like you, I’m not sharing.

On a more positive note, there are a few holiday traditions that I will continue to do for as long as possible:

Of course, we will visit Santa, because time’s ticking on how long a certain little boy is going to believe (sniffle sniffle).

We went to a local county zoo this year for their Holiday Lights display and it was a wonderful family activity that we all enjoyed. Seriously. I’m actually not being sarcastic.

Fortunately, Monkey Man was not alarmed by the Dollar Store outfitted Frosty. I'm pretty sure Frosty had a little moonshine in a flask under that costume.

We will leave cookies out for Santa even after Monkey Man is grown, out of the house and doing this with his own children. Because this here Santa needs just another excuse to eat cookies.

Memo From Mom Monday

2011-01-18T12:43:00.002-05:00

TO: Miss Piggy
RE: America’s Next Top Role Model
DATE: January 17, 2011

This memo is to commend you for being one kick-ass pig! It has been a long time since I have seen one of your major motion pictures or even your highly acclaimed television series, “The Muppet Show.” However, last night, we had Family Movie Night and we had the pleasure of showing Monkey Man, “The Muppets Take Manhattan.”

More women should aspire to be just like you. You love yourself and all your deli-producing ham slice curves and sizzling bacon junk-in-your trunk. You don’t think about comparing yourself to some scrawny little chicken. America needs to see you on the cover of fashion magazines instead of girls who are 12 who haven’t developed one curve to their body – and then grown women think they should look like a pre-pubescent girl because, “Hey Look! She has no hips or thighs because her hormones haven’t kicked in yet, so I should look just like her because she’s on the front cover of a magazine!” You are confident and accept yourself for who and what you are – a smart, beautiful, assertive pig with a penchant for frogs.

You speak your mind, whether it’s in your soft-spoken sweet swine way or when you’re in your domineering, martial arts karate-chopping state of mind. Monkey Man cackled with sheer delight at your karate moves! Now, you do get a tad bit jealous – okay, a lot bit jealous, but seriously, who could blame you? Once “Kermy” starts singing his sweet ballads of being “Together Again” and rainbow connections, it’s kind of hard not to love the little green guy. You’re doing it for your frog. And that frog loves you for YOU.

So, Miss Piggy, in honor of women everywhere, whether of the human kind or other, thank you for being real. Or, at least as real as you can get for being a Muppet.

Too Much Dr. Seuss

2011-01-17T21:29:00.009-05:00

Monkey Man went to my in-laws today for lunch with Hubby. While at Hubby's parents, Monkey Man was getting a little wild and running around yelling, "Sucker!" to everyone. Yes, when he's not being his sweet-as-pie angelic self, he channels Lucifer. Oh, but it gets better.

Hubby asked Monkey Man to stop saying "Sucker" because it wasn't nice. So, Monkey Man decided to use rhyming words instead. I totally give the kid points for practicing his Language Arts studies while in a 5 year-old fit of silliness. "Bucker, Ducker..." came out of his cherubic little mouth and then to his Grandma he said, "Hey Fu@#er!" Well, as you can imagine, my very religious, conservative mother-in-law almost saw the light at this annunciation!

"What did you call me?" Grandma barely stammered.
"It's okay Grandma, I didn't call you a Sucker, I called you a Fu@#er!"

Memo From Mom Monday

2011-01-10T15:47:00.009-05:00

TO: Myself
FROM: Me
RE: Well, We Won’t Be Doing THAT Next Year! Part I
DATE: January 10, 2011

This memo is to myself because I know next year when the holidays roll back ‘round, I’m going to think the following ideas would be great. Fun, family activities and events that will bring us all together feeling warm, fuzzy and oh so jolly. However, with this in writing, I can refer back to this memo to myself and remember, that in fact, NO, I cannot keep these traditions. Because they didn’t make for a "fun, old-fashioned family Christmas" (thank you Chevy Chase!).

So now I give you Part I of this series – it's just one tradition of a few that are coming to an abrupt end this year. The rest are coming, but you’ll see this first one is just so chock full of holiday cheer that it has enough for it’s own spotlight!

Conversation with Monkey Man about one week before Christmas:
“Hey, Monkey Man, I have a great idea for Christmas Break!” I said so enthusiastically, so full of, “This is going to totally rock and I’m winning Mom of the Year Award for this idea!”

“What? What’s your idea?” Monkey Man inquired.

“Mommy and Daddy are going to take you into New York City to see the big tree.” Please note: Monkey Man LOVES New York City.

“Why are we going to look at a tree? I don’t want to see a tree.” Okay, people, get your foreshadowing thinking caps on…

And now I will list all of the things that went wrong on our holiday foray into the greatest city in the world:

#1 - This is #1 because it should have been my first clue to ditch this whole idea – Monkey Man clearly stated he did want to go to New York City to look at a tree. Point not taken.

#2 – We took a Park & Ride bus from a mall that is about 15 minutes outside of Manhattan. And it took us 90 minutes to get into Manhattan. And when we got out of the Lincoln Tunnel, the bus driver started letting people off on a corner (our destination was Port Authority) because he kindly let us know that it could take another 30 minutes just to get into Port Authority which was a mere block away from our random corner drop off. Fortunately we know the city well enough that we could confidently get off the bus and walk.

#3 – Times Square on December 29 is the equivalent of Disney World on any day in July or August. Translation: Hell. I have been to Times Square many, many times, and yes, it’s busy. But 2 days before the ball drops? Holy Tourists Batman. I wanted to yell, “Walk people! There’s nothing to see here!” But I guess there was something to see. It is Times Square afterall, and the street was closed so we could walk on it and not meet our untimely death by a taxi so it was pretty cool. However, to add insult to injury, I would find out a few days later that Rick Springfield was in Times Square on December 30 doing interviews. So I missed bumping into him by a day and just that one incident could have turned this whole day around!

He looks happy, right?

#4 – We were prepared for the sloppy slush and snow left from the Great Blizzard of ’10 just days before. We all wore our boots. Not 10 minutes into walking did 3 of us ignore the pedestrians walking to the other side of the street when BAM! We walked into a puddle that went up to Monkey Man’s knees. I am not even kidding, the water was that high. I was wearing very nice boots that I have been very protective of – a little snow is okay, submergence in NYC glop is NOT. The water went into Monkey Man’s boots and made his socks wet. Hubby got his feet soaked. My feet stayed warm and dry, but I was none too happy about the potential ruining of the pretty fabric. Long story short – cranky boot family.

#5 – We went into the Toys R Us in Times Square just to get Monkey Man to stop moaning about seeing a tree. TRU was 300 degrees and the entire population of Manhattan was in the store. Monkey Man had no cares that Santa just stopped by our house a few days before and was hell bent on getting a toy. We said he could buy something, but from his own piggybank. He had a $10 budget, picked a stuffed animal, and we bolted. I could have went to my local TRU just one mile from my house and avoided this whole debacle.

#6 – Next stop, and our reason for this family outing, the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree. This is the spectacle that people from all over the world “ooh” and “ahh” over. Monkey Man, living just 30 miles out of New York City and bearing the stubbornness of a mule, REFUSED to look at it. Afterall, he told us, he did not want to look at a tree. Remember, he clearly stated this one week earlier. I tried my best to get him to look without holding his defiant little face in my hands and pointing his eyes to it (he would have closed his eyes. Yes, the teen years are going to rock with this child). No can do. “Look, Monkey Man, it’s the ice rink from the movie Elf, the one where he and Jovie go on their date!” I exclaimed with all the excitement of a beaten down mom, a mom just trying to give my child a fun Christmas memory. Yes, you guessed it. He would not look.

Definition of fake smile - mine right here. Trust me, I was not happy. Teeth gritted into smiling, I'm telling him, "Please just SMILE. PLEASE."

#7 – After visiting the tree for 8.5 seconds, we headed back to Port Authority to catch our bus. I have taken the bus to and from Port Authority countless times and NEVER experienced the line that OF COURSE was there waiting for us. Why wouldn’t there be a line waiting for us at the end of this day? So what did we do while we waited on line to appease our Grinchy child? Yep, we fed him. Thank God for the soft pretzel stand and Monkey Man’s love for carbohydrates.

After the Big Guy stopped laughing at us all day, leading us through physical and mental obstacles, he did grant us a few gifts. No traffic on the way home, dropped off Monkey Man at my parents, Hubby and I made it to our dinner reservation, and I knocked back a nice glass of wine. Cheers to not visiting New York City next Christmas!

Thanks, Tree. We had a blast. Note sarcasm.

This Elf Needs A Little Help

2010-12-17T09:42:00.003-05:00

I grew up with a traditional Advent Calendar, and by traditional I mean a cardboard calendar with tiny chocolates behind each door. We bought this kind for Monkey Man for the first few years, and then I had a realization. While one could argue that chocolate in any form is good just for the simple fact that it’s chocolate, I have to disagree. The chocolate in cardboard Advent Calendars is gross. And this is coming from a woman who would probably eat chocolate out of a garbage can if my hormones were wired just right that day.

So last year, I decided to use our cute Christmas countdown calendar – it is made from felt, has a jolly Santa, Rudolph, and Frosty on it, and is adorned with pockets for December 1 through December 24. There is a little candy cane tied to a ribbon that we use to mark each day closer to the arrival of Santa, er, Jesus. Last year I put a treat in the pocket each night and we told Monkey Man that the Elf came each night to leave a treat. Treats included a Hershey’s Kiss, Andes Candy, or a little Christmas eraser. He loved it and looked forward to the Elf’s visit each morning.

Well, this year, the Elf sucks. Elf must be overworked by the Head Honcho or he is out partying all night. And I can tell you, since I know Elf pretty well, he is definitely not hitting the party scene. 17 days into this calendar, Elf has forgotten to put a treat in the pocket probably 8 times.

“Mommmmm! There’s nothing in the pocket!” Crap! Run to cabinet, grab Hershey’s Kiss… “Are you sure? Look around…” Mommy Elf walks over to calendar, Kiss cupped in hand, looks in pocket, slips Kiss in… “Hey, that Elf stuck it way down (the pocket is like 1 inch deep, there is no way down)” Monkey Man pulls out Kiss. Crisis averted.

“Mommmmm! There’s nothing in the pocket!” Crap! Repeat above scenario.

“Mommmmm! There’s nothing in the pocket!” Crap! Cabinet, Kiss, Tell Monkey Man to go into another room, this time Mommy Elf puts Kiss on bench. “Hey, Monkey Man! It looks like it fell! It’s right here on the bench!”

“Mommmm! There’s nothing in the pocket!” Mommy Elf almost says out loud, “Why the HELL do I give myself one more thing to stress out about?” Crap. Cabinet. Kiss. Another room. Magically appears in pocket. Big smile on Monkey Man. Yes, this is why I do it. For the simple joy of a 5 year-old at Christmastime. Even if he remembers back on this little tradition and thinks, “What the frig was that Elf ON?”

Memo From Mom

2010-12-15T08:49:00.003-05:00

TO: SANTA
RE: MY CHRISTMAS LIST
DATE: December 15, 2010

Dear Santa,
I’m just gonna jump right in and tell you how good I’ve been all year. I go to work each day, take care of Monkey Man, take care of my house, pay my bills on time, eat my fruits and vegetables, take the dog for a walk, curse at people who can’t drive. Oops. Okay, fine, Santa. I’m not perfect but I have 2 excuses. 1.) I’m a stressed out mom. 2.) Some people are just plain stupid.

I have a Christmas List this year, Santa, and I know you don’t like to disappoint. I totally deserve some attention from you and your elves. So Santa, help a mom out.

1. I would like sleep. Preferably on a deserted island. Well, maybe not deserted. Rick Springfield can join me if he'd like. And ONLY because I want to be serenaded to sleep, because I’m not that kind of girl, Santa. I’m a married woman and Rick’s a married man. And I have enough on my plate with one man, who needs 2? Really, Santa. Get your jolly head out of the gutter.

2. I NEED spoons. Yes, an unusual request, you might be thinking, but we have a serious spoon shortage in our small household of 3. I have a problem – I don’t pay attention to the garbage disposal when a utensil, usually a spoon, gets stuck in it. Then, my spoons get all cut up and get turned into lethal weapons. I don’t want the simple act of slurping soup to turn into a horror flick.

3. I would love about 6 extra hours in a day. This doesn’t need much explanation. You know how Christmas is your busy season? Well, I feel like life is my busy season.

4. A protective shield that emits 75 degree temperatures around my body in the winter. You may need to defer to a consultant on this one, maybe a Star Trek geek or some other sci-fi freak that can help you with this? But this is a real necessity. I LOATHE walking out my front door and 20 feet to my car in temperatures below 50. Nowadays, I get to spend 30 minutes a day, 5 days a week outside in the winter for recess duty. Watching children run around like it’s a balmy 80 degrees out. Praying they don’t fall off monkey bars and kick another kid down the slide. So the stress of recess duty is enough. Throw in winter and it just sucks snowballs. Please excuse my French, Santa.

5. Santa, it is perhaps my greatest wish for chocolate chip cookies to have no effect on my body. And Holiday Pop ‘Ems. It’s just not fair that the two greatest foods on the planet are so good, but so bad. But soooo good.

6. This is a big one, and probably a request you get a lot from the grown ups. I know you’ve seen the thing I drive around in. I will loosely refer to it as a car. Well, that car originally started out as hubby’s way back in 1999. It was never my intention to be my primary mode of transportation. It is 12 years old and has more miles on it than a car should have. Hubby takes the “good car” because he has a lot farther to drive and frankly, Santa, the other car might not make it. So here I am, buzzing around town in a car that only plays the radio on one volume – LOUD, only emits heat or air conditioning on one setting – HIGH, squeaks and rattles, and makes me feel like a kid who just got her driver’s license and is running around in her parents rent-a-wreck because, who cares? I just got my license and I’m so cool that it doesn’t matter! But I got my license 19 years ago, don’t really think I’m that cool, and have since worked in jobs paying more than minimum wage. Don’t get me wrong, Santa. I am grateful to have a car, to have a job in which to drive that car, and to have a warm home in which to park my car in front of. However, I am a little concerned that I might be stranded at the side of the road in the very near future. Besides, hubby gets to listen to CDs in his car. Guess what I have the luxury of listening to? A tape. Do you even remember what a cassette tape IS?

Maybe this list comes as a breath of fresh air after all those, “I want a dolly and a truck and a video game” letters. Look at this as a challenge, Santa. Rise to the occasion. And please stop thinking, “Yep, the spoons. Now THOSE are doable.”

Thank you, Santa and Merry Christmas!

No Joke!

2010-11-20T07:44:00.003-05:00

Monkey Man FINALLY told a coherent, intelligible joke tonight. He’s moved past the, “What did the dog say to the cat? You’re a TURTLE!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” and peeing himself because that was possibly the funniest thing he’s ever heard in his 5 years on this Earth. And Thank God. Because there is only so much, “That’s really funny. I’m really proud of how amazingly hilarious you made that completely nonsensical joke” you can say to your kid. Sometimes self-esteem is overrated and should be crushed. That’s what therapy is for, right?

Tonight, Monkey Man informed us that he learned a joke in his 5s class. Monkey Man goes to Kindergarten in the mornings and in our school district, it’s only half day. So in order to enrich his growing mind (i.e. keep him busy while I’m at work) he goes to his preschool’s 5s class most afternoons. It’s made up of kids who either missed the highly coveted October 1 deadline, or who go to the neighboring districts with half day Kindergartens. But the 5s teacher totally ROCKS so it’s worth the tuition.

In addition to reinforcing Monkey Man’s sight words, giving him the play time that he doesn’t get in Kindergarten, and treating each of her kids with total love and respect, I need to thank Miss P for teaching Monkey Man a REAL LIVE JOKE.

Tonight, Monkey Man sashayed up to the mic and told hubby and I his joke:
What did the boy ghost say to the girl ghost?
You’re BOO-tiful!

Hubby and I laughed. Like a real laugh. Like a “FINALLY. We’ve passed that I-want- to-stab-action-figures-in-my-eardrums joke stage” laugh. Then hubby said to Monkey Man, “YOU are boo-tiful!”

Monkey Man responded, “I’m a boy, I’m handsome-ful!”

Funny AND smart. Complete package, ladies!

Note: My husband informed me that while he was given 0.2 seconds to think of the punch line, he was trying to come up with what a boy ghost would say to a girl ghost. And this is what he came up with. “I like your boo-bs.” This is why my husband writes inappropriate comics and does not teach preschool.

Memo From Mom - It's Just Ludacris!

2010-11-17T08:29:00.010-05:00

To: Enrique Iglesias
Re: Get a Little Ludacris
Date: November 17, 2010

This memo is in reference to your newest song, “Tonight.” Seriously, Enrique, you make me want to move my rumpshaker. And yes, that is a throwback to some early 90s music, because that’s exactly what I think of when I hear, “Tonight.” With that cool, record-spinning, retro 90s techno sound you got going on in this song, I am instantly whisked back to when I hit the clubs. In NYC. A long time ago. You were probably like 8 or something.

I do have a few concerns, however. First, while listening to this song in the car, I might get into an accident. I just have to DANCE. My car thrusts back and forth because my foot is on the gas, off the gas, while I attempt to do the Roger Rabbit and Running Man while safely buckled in my completely uncool Mom car. (Side note: I totally KILLED those dances back in the day.)

My larger concern, however, is not about my personal safety. It is about your lyrics. And I don’t mean this in a, “I am so offended!” way. I feel like you were reaching a little in this song. When I hear, “Tonight,” it is my time to listen to MY music (read: opposite of a song that Monkey Man barks out orders for from the back seat). I do not want to be reminded of Green Eggs and Ham. I will not eat them, Sam I am. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m fully aware that you are not a poetic genius (my apologies if YOU didn’t know that) but this whole refrain is not only too Cat in the Hat, but also quite reminiscent of Adam Sandler’s Cajun Man from SNL (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g_Qx0UYls5c):
Here’s the situation
Been to every nation
Nobody’s ever made me feel the way that you do
You know my motivation
Given my reputation
Please excuse I don’t mean to be rude
Cause tonight I’m lovin’ you…

You do, however, get props for using big words. Your collaborator on the song, Ludacris, now, he is a genius. Again, not poetically, but that boy can throw down some wordplay. He might not use big boy words like you, but he makes the listener think. He’s not interested in Dr. Seuss rhymes. He keeps it real. I want to totally give him a fist pound for this beauty:
Winter and summertime
When I get you on the springs
Imma make you fall

What great usage of all four seasons to tell a woman you want to totally knock boots (thank you again 90s for more awesome references).

Enrique, I encourage you to continue your music. But have a little sit down with Ludacris. He may not spew forth words of Shakespeare or Dickinson, but he sure makes me yell, “Yes, now that was one hell of a metaphor!” Even if he doesn’t know it’s a metaphor. Hmm, maybe Ludacris IS a genius…

Sunday Funnies

2010-11-07T21:46:00.002-05:00

When Life Hands You Lemons...

2010-11-03T23:15:00.002-04:00

You get to eat your kid’s Halloween candy. As you might know from reading this blog, Monkey Man is allergic to peanuts (and pecans and shellfish, but that’s irrelevant to this post). We’ve learned to live with it and our family and closest friends are very aware of this potentially life-threatening allergy. We have Epi-pens in our house, in my purse, at his school, and at each of the grandparents’ homes. Family and friends are label-conscious and keep their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches far away. (Well, most of them do. But that’s another post on people who just don’t get it or don’t care).

But when Halloween rolls around, Hubby and I get to reap the harvest of generous neighbors! When Monkey Man’s plastic pumpkin is half-filled with Snickers, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups and Peanut M&M’s, Hubby and I become 5 year-old children drooling over the booty our little goblin has collected for us!

“Oh, I’m so sorry Monkey Man, but you can’t have THIS, or THIS, or THIS because, sniff, sniff, it has peanuts in it,” I say feigning sadness, while sneaking a glance at Hubby that says, “Oh, yeah. Score." But guess what Mommy’s bringing to work for a little afternoon pick-me-up? Those peanut M&M’s will be perfect at 1:00 when I’m about to head outside for recess duty, aka Tattle Deflection Duty/Bullying Prevention Duty. And this Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup? That will be waiting for me at 3:20 when I walk out to my car for a little more peanut buttery goodness that’s not allowed to be eaten in my own home. MY OWN HOME! It pains me to no longer eat a Peanut Butter & Jelly sandwich with a big, cold glass of milk. But these are the sacrifices we must make. And my retribution is to thieve from my child.

Sunday Funnies...Wait, Today is Thursday!

2010-10-28T09:50:00.008-04:00

Because this is pretty much how my life has been the past few months. What's that, I've missed 2 Sundays worth of hubby's comics and haven't written a damn thing in months? I have 2 excuses:
1) I've been doing a lot of work for my husband's comic and soon-to-be released book. You know, that one I promote on this blog? In case you missed it, it's called The Deranged Stalker's Guide of Pop Culture Shock Therapy and it's really freakin' funny.
2) I'm lazy. For instance, last night I had about 3 hours to do whatever I pleased. Hubby is out of town doing a book signing for aforementioned freakin' funny book, and Monkey Man passed out by 8 p.m. What did I do? I watched a DVR'd episode of Grey's and ate ice cream. I vacuumed, because that's what I do to procrastinate. I thought about writing a post, then I put away laundry.

In lieu of a comic, you can skip the gym and laugh until your abs hurt like you've just done 500 crunches after viewing 3 promotional webisodes created for the book. Copy and paste the link - sorry, my technological prowess did not enable me to make the link active so you could just click on it. And by the way, yours truly stars in Webisode #3.
youtube.com/user/popculturecomics1

Sunday Funnies

2010-10-11T14:06:00.004-04:00

Okay, okay, it's the Monday Funnies today. But, this is pretty huge and extremely funny! The first promotional video for my husband's book, you know that one I'm shamelessly pushing on people, is done! Here's the link - check it out and tell everyone you know to check it out! Oh, and just in case you forgot the name of the book and release date, it's The Deranged Stalker's Journal of Pop Culture Shock Therapy coming November 2!
www.youtube.com/user/popculturecomics1

Sunday Funnies

2010-10-03T11:38:00.004-04:00

Hell, if I had a housekeeping robot I'd turn a blind eye to the laser blaster. Sorry, George and Judy, but whatever gets you through the day.

Sunday Funnies

2010-09-26T21:00:00.004-04:00

Remember - Hubby's book comes out November 2! Want to help us sell millions of books? Yes, you do! Go to your local bookstore and let them know you'd like to buy The Deranged Stalker's Journal of Pop Culture Shock Therapy. If they tell you you can order it online, let them know you'd really like to buy it at the store (this helps make sure that they stock it in the store!) and not have it shipped. Now, don't get me wrong - any sale is a good sale, but we'd like to see lots of books in the stores, giant displays, and tons of customers!

Sunday Funnies

2010-09-19T11:55:00.005-04:00

It has been a very long time since I've done the Sunday Funnies, i.e. shamelessly promoted my husband's comic. But, the time has come again, and not only because his comics are seriously very funny, but also because he has a book coming out on November 2 published by Andrews McMeel (publisher of Calvin & Hobbes, Dilbert, Doonesbury, The Far Side - READ: It's a BIG DEAL!)

So, in addition to reading his comic here, I ask that you RUN to your nearest bookstore on November 2 and buy The Deranged Stalker's Journal of Pop Culture Shock Therapy. Or pre-order on Amazon.com, Borders.com, Barnesandnoble.com... you get my point. Monkey Man would LOVE to continue eating three square meals a day. No pressure.

What Ever Gave You That Idea?

2010-09-12T21:14:00.003-04:00

While spinning Monkey Man in the office on my big rolling chair tonight, he glanced up above my desk. There hangs three awesomely autographed Rick Springfield album and CD covers.

Cover #1: My very own copy of Working Class Dog that I got when I was about 7 that was signed after a sweaty hug from Rick during one of his forays into the audience a few years ago.

Cover #2: My very own copy of Success Hasn’t Spoiled Me Yet that I got when I was about 8. That one was signed after another breathtakingly sweaty hug from Rick during yet another journey into the audience and fabulous job of landing right smack in front of ME.

Cover #3: The Venus in Overdrive CD that I had signed at Virgin Records in New York City. That was the first official time I “met” him – read: walked up to a table, almost ready to pass out because HOLY FREAKING CRAP. Rick Springfield is smiling at me and waiting for me to say something unbelievably witty. Or smart. Or cute. Or sexy. Nervous vomit is not one of those.

After looking at the 3 covers with pictures of Rick, he turned to me and said, with his sly, sarcastic smile that he uses a little too much, “Do you want to break up with Daddy and get Rick Springfield to marry you?”

Oh, sweet, naïve Monkey Man. If only it were that easy.

Keeping the Tooth Fairy Off Welfare

2010-08-22T21:51:00.017-04:00

In the past week, the Tooth Fairy has visited Monkey Man 3 times. 1 bottom tooth and his 2 front teeth. So I'm feeling a little sad because 1.) My little boy has become an old man in just 7 days and 2.) I'm broke due to this mass loss of teeth. The Tooth Fairy needs to get herself a job helping Santa in his off season. Here are some pics to enjoy, if you enjoy dangling teeth and huge gummy gaps.

Look away if you, like me, cannot stomach teeth that are hanging on by a thread of gum. He asked me to twist it back straight, and I almost threw up.

It fell out! It's official - 2 big, goofy big boy teeth will be ready for Kindergarten pictures! Oh joy!

Homemade yarn wig. Don't ask.

Rockin' Out in the Yarn Wig. Look at that toothless smile!

Just a coincidence that we were at an amusement park two days ago and there was a huge mural of a Jack O'Lantern. Kindred Spirits.

Bad Boys, Bad Boys...

2010-08-22T20:47:00.011-04:00

While flipping through the channels last night, hubby passed over COPS, otherwise known as Educational Viewing for Children Who Don't Want to Grow Up to Be THAT Guy. Monkey Man asked hubby to stop on that channel. I guess he caught a glimpse of a classy white stained tank top (I will not use the other very un-politically correct, or is that very politically incorrect? term) and thought, "Just who are these people with that fantastic fashion sense? I need to see this for myself!"

Hubby told me that he thought for a moment, realizing that COPS is not appropriate viewing material for a 5 year-old. Unless, of course, we want to scare him straight. Like, "Look what happens when you talk back to mommy? You getcho ass cuffed and taken by the po-po!" He put it on quickly to see if it was okay (read: they weren't showing a crack pipe or some guy missing all his teeth in yet ANOTHER classy white stained tank top peeing all over his front lawn) and it was a woman getting a DUI. Oh, just a simple, violence-free offense. Okay, we'll watch for a minute, was hubby's thought, I guess.

Monkey Man: "What happened to that lady? Why is she getting arrested?"

Hubby: "She was drinking alcohol and driving. It is against the law to drink and drive."

Monkey Man: "What is alcohol?"
Hubby explained for like 10 seconds until Monkey Man lost interest and started talking about how cool Spencer from iCarly's hair is. Monkey Man listens to important conversations for his usual 10 seconds then it's on to much more worldly topics. Like, "Can a shark eat me if I'm on the beach? Is my hair longer than Spencer's? Is the tooth fairy always really small?"

Then I called up Monkey Man to brush his teeth, having no prior knowledge of the educational programming in which his father and he were engaged.

Monkey Man: "I just saw a lady get arrested on t.v."
Me: "Uh oh, that's not good."
Monkey Man: "She was drinking and driving."
Me: "Oohh, you're not supposed to do that."
Monkey Man: "Yeah, but YOU do that!"

I started hysterically laughing because he was so adament that I drink and drive. And, yes, in the most literal form of drinking and driving, I do. Because almost everywhere I go, I carry my big blue water bottle. Filled with WATER. That he always drinks from. Now, had Monkey Man listened to his father, he would have known that drinking and driving does not mean any drink.

So guess what his Kindergarten teacher is going to learn about me next week? I'll have to have her over for a drink to explain myself.

Always a Situation for Colgate Wisps

2010-08-22T20:31:00.009-04:00

Holy Deal of the Century! I just found (well, my mom found them, because bargains scream her name whereas I pay full price for everything, having no flair for coupon clipping or sales circulars) a 32 pack - yes, you read that correct - a 32 PACK - of the Ridulously Awesome Colgate Wisp Disposable Toothbrushes for $4.99 at Five Below! I'm telling you, people, these things are as handy to have on you as a condom is for J-Wow and The Situation on the Jersey Shore. They are THAT GOOD.
Please Note: I am in no way claiming that Colgate Wisp Disposable Toothbrushes help prevent pregnancy or STDs.

Gotta Bolt!

2010-08-13T07:46:00.003-04:00

While driving down the shore the day after we returned from Disney World (because obviously I enjoy inflicting pain on myself), Monkey Man asked hubby a question. This question was prompted by his prime seating arrangement in the backseat.

Monkey Man: "Daddy, in my head, do I have a big, bolt part like you?"

Mommy: (I'm thinking, is something sticking out on hubby's head like Frankenstein? What does he mean?) "Bolt part?" I asked, wondering what he saw.

Monkey Man: "Yeah, a bolt part. Like on Daddy's head."

Mommy & Daddy: Lightbulbs go on over head, hysterial laughing begins (more of MY hysterical laughing than hubby's)I asked, "Do you mean a BALD spot?"

Hubby: To me, "Don't even think of writing a blog post about this," as I reached down to find any available scrap of paper and a pen.

9 Things I Learned from Disney World Part II

2010-08-05T18:24:00.013-04:00

5. I need to have my own laptop with me.
I thought that 4 laptops in one house would be more than plenty for me to get a little computer time to get some work done. I checked in with my niece before we left figuring if she were bringing hers, I could use it. She said it was fine. Then I found out that her 2 friends also had theirs, and my oldest nephew brought his. Okey Dokey, lots of computers for me. However, there were 7 people between the ages of 15-22. READ: 36 year-old that actually has to do a little work (fine, and not lose touch with the social media world) does not get first dibs on computer. That, and we didn't have wireless, which means only ONE laptop could be plugged in to the internet (Yo, Disney, it's 2010 and we pay like a bajillion dollars for this vacation each year, throw us one of Pluto's damn bones!) So there I waited while this one did some internet shopping and that one played poker. With all that spare time, you'd think someone could have made more lemonade. (See #1 from Part I)

6. Colgate's disposable toothbrushes ROCK.
Colgate, if you are reading this, I will happily advertise your fabulously awesome Wisp Disposable Toothbrushes on my blog. For a fee, of course - mama's gotta make the cash money. For those of you not in the know, Colgate makes these small toothbrushes with a dot of toothpaste in the middle neatly prepackaged to carry with you in toothbrushing emergencies. Now, maybe you have never encountered a toothbrushing emergency, but being Monkey Man's mom, a 12 day vacation in Disney World is one giant toothbrushing emergency. Colgate Wisps saved me on several evenings when we were out late and he was going to fall asleep on the ride home. Yes, I looked like a crazy woman brushing Monkey Man's teeth on a bench in Epcot, but my dental OCD was calmed knowing that his awesome dinner of french fries and a Mickey ice cream pop were now thoroughly washed out of his teeth. Colgate - call me. I'll totally be your advertising bitch.

7. I am not an alcoholic.
Now, this is not news to me. I never thought I was an alcoholic. However, with access to alcohol at my fingertips, at every park, the pool bar, or, say, my monogrammed flask - well, if I were to ever succumb to some latent addiction lurking in my body, this trip would have definitely had me detoxing at Betty Ford.

8. Pay more careful attention to "that time of the month" when booking my trip to Disney.
Because for the 2 weeks I spent on what should be a happy and magical vacation, yeah, I had PMS AND a visit from Aunt Flo. Maybe that's too much information. However, I'm pretty confident that the lemonade might not have sent me over the edge had it not been for my special friend. And maybe that explains the inhalation of donuts. (See #4 from Part I)

9. There is nothing like being with a 5 year-old in Disney World.
The way Monkey Man's face lit up EVERY TIME he took his picture with a character. Getting two thumbs up and "That was better than better than awesome" when he got off Space Mountain. Clinging to his dad for dear life on Tower of Terror then announcing how it was the best ride ever when it was over. Well, it makes it all totally worth it.

Monkey Man asks Pluto to show his muscles!

Monkey Man and Hubby watching the parade at the Magic Kingdom

Monkey Man and Hubby locked up with Zurg

Me, Monkey Man and Hubby at Fort Wilderness before the Hoop Dee Doo Revue

9 Things I Learned from Disney World 2010

2010-08-03T21:52:00.042-04:00

I have been to Walt Disney World 25 times. And during this last trip, I learned a few things. I now present Part I of the 9 Things I Learned from Disney World 2010.

1. I am not fit for group living.
This is not to say I am not a good candidate for the kind of group living associated with a mental institution (which, after this vacation, I might have to check myself into) But, Assisted Living? Totally different. I can't wait to check myself into a place that has a schedule of events each day including Bingo at 3 p.m., a Social Dance at 4 p.m., followed by a dinner that someone else made and a little bowl of ice cream. Totally worth the $4,200 per month. Had I ever been cast (had a I ever auditioned then been cast) for a show such as The Real World or Big Brother or some other group-home based reality show, I would have been THAT girl. THAT girl that loses her sh*t when, say, someone drinks all the lemonade and leaves the empty pitcher on the counter for someone else to refill (this may or may not have happened in Disney). For someone (me) that my husband would describe as almost a hermit but not quite due to my (I think) pretty adept social skills and occasional want to get out of the house, this vacation was like a teacher reading my IEP (Individualized Education Plan) which clearly states, "Doesn't like loud noises and bright flashing lights" then sticking me in the middle of Studio 54 in 1977. Note: There were 14 people in our grand villa at Old Key West (shhh, we're only supposed to have 12). 14 bodies spread throughout 3 bedrooms, 4 baths, a living room, dining room, and kitchen. Everywhere I turned, there was a person. Loud noises, flashing lights, loud noises, flashing lights...

2. Make sure to bring the nail color of my pedicure with me.
A sunny, perky Essie Tangerine pedicure will become a dull, chipped mess after just 4 days in chlorine and sun. If I didn't pay $32 for ice cream the other night, I could have afforded another pedi down at the spa.

3. Central Florida in July is beginning to be a bad idea.
Although I LOATHE the cold of winter, I have become rather bitter towards the "oppressive" (weather.com's word to describe the heat in Orlando this week. Thank you Capt. Obvious) heat of a Florida summer. We have been coming to Disney World every summer since 1993, and although each time it has been very hot, this is the first time I remember nearly passing out in a park. No exaggeration. I stood like a good mom watching Monkey Man become a Padawan (that's a Jedi in training, for those of you who don't know. But why would you know? In fact, you shouldn't know. I'm married to a Star Wars geek) in the Star Wars show at Hollywood Studios, and prayed for him to just friggin' be the next kid to fight Darth Vader already so I could get a picture (it also became apparent on this trip that I pray in Jersey slang). Because when I started to feel a chill in the 96 degree heat with 70% humidity, something told me that just wasn't right. Monkey Man got his turn, whacked Darth in the head with his light saber then I ran off and drank 32 ounces of water in 4 seconds flat while bathing myself in the women's restroom sink. I was fine, but vowed to not step foot into one of those asphalt cauldrons, aka another park, for the remainder of our stay.

4. Entenmann's chocolate donuts are not an appropriate breakfast.
Or lunch. Or 11:30 p.m. snack. Damn you, Entenmann's. There is a place in hell waiting for you. It became a tradition sometime around Disney 1994 to hitch an Entenmann's trailer full of their chocolate donuts to my parents' minivan just to make extra sure that we had 39 boxes for a 12 day stay. And every morning, I wake up and eat my Fiber One cereal because I'm also working out every other day to keep up my somewhat healthy eating and exercise lifestyle. 20 minutes after my Fiber One, I not only have to go to the bathroom, I have to have a donut. Because it's there. And it's Entenmann's and they fill their snacks with crack.

The last lonely boxes that were cruelly assaulted before check-out.

To be continued...

Sprinkle Lovers UNITE!

2010-07-31T08:48:00.008-04:00

I eat ice cream with sprinkles (for those of you from other parts of the country, like South Jersey, that's jimmies to you. But make no mistake, they are called sprinkles). Ice cream is worthless without sprinkles. And let me tell you, I have credentials in the field of ice cream. Let me share my resume.

My parents owned an ice cream store when I was in middle school. Which means, when I was 11 and 12, I had unlimited access to ice cream and sprinkles. Thank God those were the days when children actually got off their butts and rode their bikes around the neighborhood, played in the street until dark when the streetlights went on, and orchestrated block-wide hide and seek games. Because had I been sitting in a dark room with my DS while listening to my iPod and texting my friend, I would have been considerably larger as a child.

Fast forward to turning 16. I started working at my brother-in-law's ice cream store - he owned a Baskin Robbins at a local mall. I worked there for 4 years. I can't tell you how many times I've said, "Cup or cone?" (and how many times a brilliant customer answered "Yes.") Again, thanks to dancing and cheerleading, my activity countered the large chunks of Reese's Peanut Butter cup I routinely spooned out of said flavor during every shift. That and Cookie Dough chunks.

But let's get back to the point of sprinkles. In my years working in the ice cream profession, I was a sprinkle lover's dream scooper. You asked for sprinkles? By God, you will get your $.25 extra worth (it was 1992, they were a lot less back then). It's your lucky day because I was taught THE RIGHT WAY in which to apply sprinkles. Let me explain.

The MOST important rule to sprinkle application is to ROLL the ice cream in the sprinkle container. The container should always be long enough to fit a cone with scoops on top. Make sure the scoops are pressed down into the cone, then ROLL the ice cream. This way, the ENTIRE surface area of the ice cream is covered. I cannot stress the rolling enough. If someone wants sprinkles, they want sprinkles all over their ice cream. Not 5 pieces strewn wildly about.

This same practice applies to a cup. Take the cup and roll the ice cream in the sprinkles. Bonus with the cup - some extra sprinkles always fall into the cup!

Having a vast knowledge of ice cream and sprinkles, as well as a deep love for the dairy delicacy and it's sugary decor, I am enraged when I order ice cream with sprinkles and my sprinkle request is taken almost as a joke. And in some places, it's a $1.00 extra joke!

Take last night. We went to Ghirardelli's in Downtown Disney. I ordered a cone with sprinkles and Monkey Man ordered a cup with sprinkles. Guess what we got? Someone obviously did not go to the College of Proper Ice Cream Service which I attended. Monkey Man had about 7 sad rainbow sprinkles laying on his mint chocolate chip scoop in a cup. A CUP! That child should have been loaded up! With all kinds of extra sprinkly goodness at the bottom ready to spoon with the soupy drippings at the end! And me? My chocolate cone had about 8 chocolate sprinkles gazing their lonely eyes at me wishing about 1,346 more of their friends had joined them.

This was no time to sit and accept my inferior sprinkle application. I asked for a cup with extra sprinkles. And the waitress got me a "cup" the size of a paper ketchup container at McDonald's. Which fit about 5 more sprinkles.

Too many people obviously take the name literally. Sprinkles are not for sprinkling. They are for coating. Thick and often. I am currently in the process of drafting a petition in order to get all the ice cream shops (at least in America) to adhere to the same practices and standards of sprinkle application. This disservice to our country, to our world, must stop.

Send Me to a Dental Institution!

2010-07-23T15:38:00.001-04:00

Monkey Man had to get a filling. Okay, make that 2 fillings (fine, I’m lying, it was 4. I know – FOUR! What the hell? What kind of mother am I?) For the record, these cavities are NOT a result of lackluster brushing and poor oral health. We brush morning and night, (sometimes during the day), we floss, we swish with water after treats if we can't brush, we drink milk and water with an occasional juice. I brush his teeth with such passion, such gusto for clean teeth, that he probably has no enamel left. I blame it all on his father. Monkey Man has been given a bad hand in the tooth genetics game thanks to his dear old dad. At least he has my good looks and charming personality.

When the dentist showed me the x-rays and gave me the shocking news, I almost cried. Part of me was afraid that Child Protective Services was lurking around the large, colorful mural of The Plaque-inator ready to cuff me for teeth negligence – because, really, 4 cavities? How do I explain this? But mostly I almost cried because Monkey Man will now have to pay for his own college education. You see, in order to simplify my life, I have the dentist’s bank account linked to Monkey Man’s college savings account. It’s just easier to transfer the funds directly to Dr. Ben. He’s a nice guy, and hey, if I can contribute to his kids’ college fund, it’s the least I can do.

With the miracle of dental science, comes happy gas for the preschoolers. Because Monkey Man is not silly enough, let’s jack him up on some nitrous oxide and see how this rides out. Well, let me tell you, he had me nearly peeing in my pants in the corner of the room.

Mommy: “Hey, buddy, how you doing?”
Monkey Man: “Hi, Mommy!” he responded giggling. Then he turned his head towards Dr. Ben and said, “You’re the bestest dentist in the whole wide world. I want to stay here for 356 days!”

Dr. Ben looked at me and smiled. I told Dr. Ben that Monkey Man was probably on to something – a little child labor in exchange for dental work. Dr. Ben and I are working out the details.

Question #1,397

2010-07-21T09:04:00.002-04:00

"Mommy, when I wasn't born yet, like when I wasn't even in your belly, was I floating in outer space? Like Super Baby?"

New Look, Same Old Blog!

2010-07-14T22:07:00.005-04:00

It just looks different, but it's still me! Here we have a clean, uncluttered look - just the way I like my house. I'd love if the inside of my head could be this neat and organized, too, but with the welcoming of a child comes the welcoming of chaos, almost complete disorganization, and a teetering on the edge of insanity. And that's me with one child. Oh, which brings me to a topic that will be explored, dissected and ranted about in the very near future. The "only" child (I very much dislike this phrase, not going to say the H word, we teach Monkey Man not to use that word. Screw it. I HATE that phrase).

Au Natural

2010-07-14T21:06:00.006-04:00

I don’t intend to use my blog as a soapbox, but here I am. Standing up on my shiny, silver box. With pretty, sparkly rhinestones. I’m not really a glam and glitter kind of girl, but this seems to be the way I imagine my soapbox to look.

Natural childbirth is the topic. And here we go…

Natural childbirth IS NOT birth without the use of medication. Natural childbirth is a birth that occurs naturally, i.e. unlike a scene from Aliens. That thing coming out of Sigourney Weaver’s stomach was not natural.

Quick bio lesson for those of you that missed Sex Ed your senior year in high school when it was the most effective. You know, teach those kids at 17 just as they are starting to learn that boys have penises and girls have vaginas. There are 2 kinds of natural childbirth – vaginal and cesarean section – to put it simply, all birth is natural. It's just birth. Whether the baby emerges from the cooch or via an incision in momma’s belly, it is birth. If the baby pushed its pretty little watermelon-esque head out of mommy while mommy couldn’t feel her lower extremities because of the sweet, tingly liquid goodness that is the epidural, doesn’t matter. It’s birth, and it's all natural.

Here's a comparison: When visiting the dentist for some work that requires novacaine or a little happy gas, does one tell their friends, "I'm having some natural dental work done today. Gonna try it the old torturous, medieval way. I'd like to see how that feels." Don't be surprised if she yells out in the dentist's chair, "Thank you, ma'am, may I have another?!" while all dolled up in a black latex catsuit.

The next time you are casually chatting with another mom – especially a mom that you really don’t know too well – do not ask her, “So, did you have a natural childbirth?” Because that’s a stupid, dumbass, and let me add the ever-eloquent word jerky question. And if you do ask, be prepared to get whooped with a good ol’ open-handed swing. That's the natural response.

Cookies & Bikinis

2010-07-08T17:32:00.005-04:00

Monkey Man has a major crush. On my 19 year-old niece’s best friend. Best Friend came on vacation with us last summer and this boy hasn’t stopped talking about her since. He sent her a valentine. He requested a visit from her during her spring break and she obliged. Much to his delight, she magically appeared (in a bikini, long blonde hair flowing, and I’m pretty sure there was a blinding light glowing behind her and angels were singing) at my niece’s house yesterday while we were swimming. And she brought him presents. Presents that included cookies. The child almost lost his mind.

And on the car ride home, this was our conversation:
Monkey Man: Mommy, do you think Best Friend is pretty?
Me: Yes, I do.
Monkey Man: I think she’s really pretty. She’s HOT!
Me: (looking at him in the rearview mirror, jaw agape, horrified at his choice of words)
Where did you learn that phrase?
Monkey Man: From iCarly

EVIL T.V.! Keeping my son entertained and now apparently aware of inappropriate slang while I try to collect my sanity and attempt to cook a nutritious meal! T.V. be damned! I will get rid of the boob tube and we will play for hours while the housework and bills pile up around us!

Pffft. Yeah right. I’ll keep my sanity and set aside 5 minutes a day to explain that what they say on iCarly is not appropriate language for a kindergartener. Because, I'm sorry, Spencer is just too damn funny to be blocked from this house.

Carnivore Conundrum

2010-06-25T22:03:00.003-04:00

Monkey Man went to the gym with me tonight. Unwillingly and whining, but I got him in the car and off we went. He sat pretty well through the class, and only complained a few times. I guess he didn’t notice that his mother was the one dripping with sweat, hitting a heavy bag, doing sprints, push-ups, and 9 bazillion squats. What the hell was he complaining about?

How did I squelch the annoying, “Mommmmyyy, how much longer? This is so borrrrring!” Here’s my secret:

“Monkey Man, want to stop at McDonald’s and get chicken nuggets and French fries?” I asked breathlessly, the hypocrisy and contradiction hanging out of my mouth the way my tongue was doing thinking about a thick McDonald’s chocolate milkshake. Mommy works her butt off in the gym, but yes! I will take you to the kingdom of childhood obesity. Let’s go!

We went through the drive-thru and ordered up some good old American junk food. As Monkey Man pulled one of the chicken nuggets out of the bag, he asked me if I wanted a bite. The conversation continued:

“No, thank you. Remember, Mommy and Daddy don’t eat meat?” I said.

“You don’t eat animals, right? What’s this made of?” Monkey Man inquired, although I’m fairly certain that I’ve had this conversation 20 times before. This child really needs to start doing crossword puzzles and taking some gingko biloba.

“Chicken,” I said, trying not be like, “Duh, it’s a CHICKEN nugget!” Sarcasm is really difficult for me to forgo sometimes. “Want me to tell you where other meat comes from? Ham and bacon come from pigs, turkey comes from turkeys, hamburgers and steak come from cows.”

“Is cheese an animal?” Monkey Man asked, and I replied, “No, but it’s made from milk which comes from cows.”

“Girl cows, right?” Monkey Man tried to clarify. “Because they have gutters.”

And I attempted to clarify further, “Um, you mean udders?” And Monkey Man cracked up at himself, “Oh, yeah, gutters are at bowling.”

Back on the vegetarian vs. carnivore track, I tell Monkey Man that there are other animals that people eat but they’re not as common. “Like peacocks?” he said. He’s had a fascination with peacocks lately having just seen them at a farm we visited.

“No, I don’t think people eat peacocks. But some people do eat ducks,” I said, shuddering. And so we continued…

“Ducks? With the feathers?” All this animal-eating talk had me convinced my child was going to turn vegan on me in a second. He seemed a little distraught at the idea of people eating his farm friends. But, alas, I had to inform him, that, no, they take the feathers off before they cook them. Like chickens. I reminded him that the dreaded “chicken” nugget no longer has feathers on it.

And again, Monkey Man’s comment seemed to tell me this was hitting home with him. “Do the chickens and ducks peck the people when they try to take their feathers off? Do they cut off their beaks?”

Here was Monkey Man thinking the chickens are gently plucked of their downy feathers and magically turned into a Ronald McDonald goldmine. But I had to tell him the cold, hard truth. That piece of information that takes all the innocence out of a chicken nugget. The potential turning point for a meat-loving person to consider the ways of vegetarianism.

“They kill them before they take their feathers off and cook them.”

A moment of silence. Monkey Man is thinking. I’m watching him in the rearview mirror. And here it comes…

Monkey Man: “I love meat!”

Memo From Mom

2010-06-23T17:33:00.001-04:00

TO: FREE PUBLIC LIBRARY
FROM: A MOM LOOKING TO SAVE A BUCK
RE: IF IT’S FREE, IT’S FOR ME
DATE: JUNE 23, 2010

This memo is to commend you for being so awesomely fabulous. And by awesomely fabulous, I mean FREE.

We forget about you, neglect your aisles of cerebellum-enriching materials, horizon-expanding lectures, and of course, the all important VIDEO GAME.

When I was informed that you, my dear local library that shelves thousands of books – books about people who have influenced lives, books about far away places and exotic cultures, books sparking creativity and imagination – that you, you now have video games, well, I cried. With JOY!

Do I want my son’s mind to grow because of your broad inventory on all things intellectual? Of course. Do I want to avoid continuing to dump money on Wii games that this child plays once and forgets about? Abso-freakin-lutely.

Several years ago I thought you were the bomb when I rented about 4 seasons of Sex and the City after dropping half my salary at Blockbuster on Season 1 Discs 1-18, and Season 2 Discs 1-25. But this gift you’ve given, the gift of the free video game – Monkey Man just might have a shot at college thanks to the money you are saving me.

New Weekly Feature - Memo from Mom

2010-06-10T21:59:00.001-04:00

Check out the first post in my new weekly feature - Memo from Mom! The first one is to Steve Urkel of Family Matters. And it's not pretty.

Memo from Mom

2010-06-10T21:47:00.005-04:00

TO: Urkel
FROM: A Tired, Cranky Mom
RE: Family Matters, but not at 6 a.m.
DATE: June 10, 2010

This memo is in reference to your appearances on my bedroom television between the hours of 6-7 a.m. No offense, Steve, but I was never a big fan of yours in the 80s on your sitcom, Family Matters. I always found you somewhat annoying. No, make that painstakingly, jab-myself-in-the-eardrums-with-barbecue-skewers annoying, what with that hideous laugh and your stereotypical nerd attire. Your floods, suspenders, big glasses, and ridiculous cardigans were as bad for my eyes as your fingers-on-chalkboard voice was to my ears.

Even when you became cool with that alter ego you created, Stefan Urquelle, you were still a cackling, snorting geek and as nerve-grating as ever. But, please note: I wikipedia’d that little nugget of information about your alter ego. No way in hell I remembered that. I actually thought you grew up. I have no recollection that you created a serum called “cool juice.” And then later, you created a cloning machine. And then later, I smashed all my New Kids on the Block jumbo buttons into my 15-inch television to make you go away for what I thought was forever.

But now, about 20 years later, as the mother of a child who wakes up at 6 a.m. and graces his mother with his presence at this ungodly hour, I want to hike up those flood pants to give you the world’s worst atomic wedgie ever. I thought Spongebob and his laugh were annoying, but you are what no human should have to hear when one starts their day anew.

Nickelodeon has made the seriously unwise choice of putting your show on from 6-6:30 a.m. and then 6:30-7 a.m. And Monkey Man makes the seriously unwise choice of coming into the den of a sleeping lioness at this time to watch Nick. He’ll watch anything, as long as it’s on Nick. And at this hour, I'll let him watch anything, as long as it's not porn. You might be thinking, “Well, then, take it up with the programming staff at Nick.” No. It is your voice I have to hear every morning so this is your problem.

Perhaps the worst part of all of this is how your show ends every freaking time. In the era of the after-school special – and I am NOT comparing your show to an after-school special, because after-school specials rocked, even if they were about creepy child molesters who lured children into cars with candy. (Geez, kids in the 80s were stupid. Candy? Seriously? Now you need to use an iPod or Nintendo DS for them to even consider for a moment getting in that car. Candy certainly would not make the cut in this over-indulged society).

So, as I was saying, back then, sitcoms had a moral to their 22-minute story. Now, every morning, I have to hear Carl the dad tell Laura his daughter (remember, the one you lusted after?) that she should practice abstinence. Because it’s the responsible thing to do. It’s always about being responsible. So at 6:30 I’m reminded about abstinence. Which I obviously didn’t practice, since the whole reason you’re on my television at 6 a.m. is because of my child.

Ph.D. Bound

2010-06-05T08:24:00.003-04:00

Dearest Monkey Man,
It seems like only yesterday you were in preschool. Oh wait. It was only yesterday.

We are so proud of all of your accomplishments, Monkey Man. Your painting evolved from use of fingers to brushes, and you can now say your alphabet without jumbling up that whole "l m n o p" part. It is a sure sign that you are headed for an outstanding academic career.

But if Major League Baseball snatches you up when you're 20, I'm totally there for you. Whatever gets mommy to retirement in Hawaii the quickest.

Love Always,
Mommy

Vince Neil, Our New Hero

2010-05-29T15:44:00.014-04:00

And the winner of Monkey Man's favorite new song goes to...
"Kickstart My Heart" by Motley Crue!

I swear I'm a good Mom. But the kid will not get off this Metal Band CD obsession. This song really gets him going, too, like put the top down on the car and gun it down some highway. Kind of like how I was driving on our way to Monkey Man's field trip the other day (minus the speeding, but definitely belting it out like my spandex pants were squeezing me a little too tightly). We listened to this song about 12 times, and while rocking out with Monkey Man, I passed my exit.

Do we push Monkey Man to listen to this music? No. If you read my blog, you know I love Rick Springfield, Contemporary Christian music, Chicago, and 90s dance but he wants none of that. Every time he gets in the "good" car (i.e. the one with the CD player) he behaves as if he's ordering from a drive-thru, only this drive-thru allows its customers to enjoy a bevy of hard rock cuisine. "I'd like to start with Number 2 (Kickstart My Heart). Add a side of Number 17 (Seventeen) and Number 14 (Livin' On a Prayer) to make it a Super Meal." And then he always goes back to the old standbys, the band that started his rocker obsession - Def Leppard. "And for dessert I'll have the Number 1 (Animal) and Number 10 (Let's Get Rocked)!"

I feel like I need to redeem myself in some way, prove to my readers that I am not some lunatic mom who lets her kid listen to all kinds of garbage. Here's my proof: when Vince croons, "I'd say we've kicked some ass," and the other lyrical gem, "I'd say we're still kicking ass," I lower the volume all the way down. Oh, that, and I have NEVER let him listen to Barney songs. That childish nonsense can seriously screw up a kid's brain.

The Hulk, Vocabulary, and Superman

2010-05-23T22:15:00.006-04:00

While driving to my parents' house today, Monkey Man chattered on about the childhood obesity epidemic in America, Governor Christie's destruction of the education of every child in New Jersey, and the great debate: Just WHO is stronger - Superman or The Hulk?

Monkey Man: "Mommy, who do you think is stronger, Superman or The Hulk? The Hulk has GINORMOUS muscles."

Me: "Yeah, he does have ginormous muscles. (And here comes my "He's going to kindergarten next year. I have to teach him about that word ginormous" moment). Hey, Monkey Man, I know we use the word ginormous, but I want to let you know it's not a real word. It's a silly word for huge. It's gigantic and enormous put together. It's from the movie Elf. Remember that movie? Elf liked to use the word ginormous. (And then I keep going on my SAT vocabulary prep tangent...) You know what's another word for gigantic and enormous? Gargantuan!

Monkey Man: "GARGANTUAN! Whoa! Like The Hulk's muscles are gargantuan! But, who do you think is stronger?"

Me: in all my obvious, did not grow up on Superheroes (or sports, or bugs, or any other "boy" thing - I'm at a serious disadvantage sometimes with this kid!) "The Hulk, of course! Just look at him!"

Monkey Man: "But The Hulk can't pick up the Earth. Superman can."

Me: actually thinking about this concept and agreeing, "Yeah, you're right. Superman can fly around the Earth and pick it up. The Hulk can't do that. So I guess Superman is stronger than the Hulk."

Monkey Man: "But The Hulk does have ginormous muscles. Even bigger than Superman's. So that might make him stronger because of his muscles."

Me: "And I have a gargantuan headache from debating with a 5 year-old who has a ginormous love of driving his mother nutty with arguments that go around in circles."

Dinner Conversation Gone Bananas!

2010-05-13T20:46:00.007-04:00

While sitting at dinner tonight with Monkey Man and his friend, conversation turned to the bananas sitting in the fruit bowl in the middle of the table.

Monkey Man's Friend: "I can't eat bananas."

Me: "Why? Are you allergic?" I asked, even though I was pretty sure he didn't have any food allergies.

Friend: "I have a pooping issue."

This was said so matter-of-factly, so just regular conversation, that the 3 of us continued to sit, straight-faced as if Monkey Man's friend was commenting on the unusually chilly May weather. I wasn't sure if I was sitting with two 5 year-olds, or at the 4 p.m. dinner seating at a nursing home, what with all the talk of intestinal matters and whatnot.

Monkey Man's friend continued:

Friend: "I take medicine. It gets hard, well, sometimes it's not too hard, but it's really big."

How I stifled the laughter that was causing the cacophony in my brain and did not choke on my whole wheat spiral pasta is beyond comprehension. I didn't need to ask any questions, just interjected the polite "Oh" because Monkey Man's friend was very willing to offer information on the inner workings of his bowels.

Friend: "One time it took me 2 hours to poop."

This is why 5 year-olds are so awesome. Wondering what's going on in their minds? Wonder no more, for they will tell you, in all their descriptive language, what's pumping through that brain of theirs.