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.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Breaking Up is Hard to Do. Or Not.
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.
“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.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Memo From Mom
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
October Observations
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!
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!
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Cleaning the Fridge = Cleaning the Soul
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Ready for School - First Reading Test - Check!
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."
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."
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Today's Thoughts: Migraines, McDonald's, Kickboxing, Rick Springfield, and CNN
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.
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.
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