Life According to Me

Another year to pack away in the chasm of my memory. I know it's common to reflect upon the happenings of the past year. To sigh, satisfied and content,  at what was. Blah blah blah.... I will not permit such rubbish, here!  Forward I go. My resolution in the coming year? Alice Walker articulates it best.... I will expect nothing, and live frugally on surprise. Saluté, friends, old and new.... ♥

If you already know the secret and didn't share, I forgive you. If you're unaware.....you're about to be enlightened beyond your wildest dreams. We front loader owners have a skeleton in our closet we don't like talk about. Our beautimous machine that efficiently and elegantly  swishes our soiled things, has a dark side. It stinks. And it makes our clothes stinky. I know, you've tried to figure it out. Keeping vigil as the wash cycle finishes. Hoping that if you rip the wet clothes out before they sit for a nano second, you've saved the load. Only to discover this has wasted your time and made you want to trade the M Effer in for a wash board. You've tried to mask the funk with a half stack of dryer sheets. Result....funky flowers. Say goodbye to that  giant jug of HE liquid soap. IT IS THE GUILTY SUBJECT!!! I am a skeptick and fully expected the switch to powder was far too elementary a solution. I BELIEVE! I BELIEVE! I BELIEVE! I've left a load of dark

It's not like Christmas is a surprise.  It doesn't jump out of the bushes and say "I'm here! Did you Mail cards?? Santa Shop?? Decorate??"  So why do I insist on believing time will do what I want it to?!? No cards mailed. Shopping not finished. Not one present wrapped. Christmas playlist not synced.... Christmas lists in hand, I embark on my Holiday power shopping trip. In the rain. The pouring down rain . Can you smell the irony?  There's a video game on Ky's list I cant' even pronounce.   IL* 2 STRURMOVIK BIRDS OF PREY . What does that MEAN??  The ultra cool,  geeky guys at Game Stop have probably posted my ill attempt at saying the name, on Youtube already. Of course....they dont have a copy. I'm screwed. Procrastination....you got me.

Dear Carpool Offenders, Carpool is meant to be an efficiant, smooth, courtious event. There is no STOPPING. There is no GETTING OUT OF YOUR CAR. There is no PARKING. May be its your first time....I see how you may be confused. Here's the protocol: Every other car- hence the "courtious" part. Have your child prepared. Lunch in hand, backpack ON....not in the trunk under all the other crap you have back there. Say your goodbye's and kisses as you process through the queue. Teach your child how to open their OWN door. Getting out to do so holds up the flow and makes me want to plow over you with my giant SUV. The epic offense of all.....CUTTING. Never ever , under any circumstances cut the queue. This will put you squarely at the top of every stressed out, bitter, mommies hit list .  Follow these simple instructions, and we ALL will have a more pleasant carpool experience.... Pissed In The Pool, Jenn

I'm on a laundry mission.  Walking room to room collecting dirty socks and underthings. When, what do I spy with my little eye....a letter. A letter written by Noah. It's on the desk in Ky's room. It's face down, so I begin reading the back first.  I nearly collapse in a heap of laughter as I read....from the begining.... So at first this chick like't me... Then on December  14th 2009 we  plad a game  then this kid named  vincint hert my  arm then the  chick said your Grawnded! Im going to telle on your mom  then I had that  song kold Give  You hell in my  hede then I told my brother he hatid it very much. His penmanship and punctuation need a little work. But he's a writer....YAY!! (Note the angry eyes and fire around his head, and Vincent's blue eye....)

I believe it's over parenting of the first born child that has brought me to this place. You know how you're sooooo very careful with the first one....like they have glass bones and paper skin. Don't give him sugar, safety caps in the outlets, big giant rediculous bumpers on the corners of all tables, no chewing gum....HE MIGHT CHOKE AND DIE... The effects of over parenting are far reaching. I wish my now self could travel back in time and tell my then self.... STOP IT! IT'S GONNA BITE YOU IN THE ASS IN 14 YEARS!!! The next children who follow get less and less of this kind of "kid glove" treatment. I only have two children. I can imagine if your the sixth child. By the time that one arrives, he can probably live outside with my cat; survive on bugs and pigeons. Scrappy.  This first child will tell me the night before Valentine's day...at 10pm...as he climbs into bed...."Oh by the way, I need to bring...ummm...you know those candy hearts with words on

Sometimes you just have to let go. For instance....when decorating the Christmas tree. While it can be made to look lovely, with all the ornaments spatially balanced, the tree itself leaning, neither to OR fro, but looking like a beautiful poised symbol of joy. Ahhhh....yes.  Enter children....and their creative little souls . Creative little souls that should NOT be squashed by their tree decorating nazi Mom.   The tree stands in the living room. If you look at it from a particular angle it looks as though it is being pulled, by an invisable force, forward . Like it has a large bedazzled goiter hanging from its neck.  I will leave it be.....my tree with it's sparkly thyroid issue. I won't redistribute the ornaments in a balanced, cohesive pattern. I won' t make excuses as to why there's a bungee cord stretching from the wall to the tree to keep it from toppling over.  Sometimes you just have to let go.... and then drink some wine.

It's Monday morning, and pouring sidways rain .... Noah: Do I have school today? Me:   Yes. It's Monday. Noah:   But it's raining . Me:   You still have school. Noah:   But it's raining ALOT . Me:   Good try....You still have school. Noah: (giant heavy sigh)   Okay...FINE.

Noah doesn't eat his lunch. Ever. Each morning he carries off his lunch sack to school. Each day it comes home exactly the same. He takes it on a little journey,  before it gets thrown away. Awww. how nice. I've tried to figure it out, questioning and threatening....it always ends in snot and tears. EPIPHANY. My dear friend points out....maybe he doesn't LIKE his sandwhich cut like a cute little pumpkin. When your a boy, and 6, this can set you up for ridicule on the playground. GASP. But it's sooooo cute?! I ask him in my best Mommy voice, "Does it embarrass you to have your sandwich shaped like a pumpkin"?  He takes in a long deep breath, "It's ruining my LIFE".  Big giant exhale....sad little face.... Well. There ya go. I've ruined his 6 year old little life with a pumpkin shaped,  peanut butter sandwich. There's another quarter in the therapy bucket.

My planning privileges have been revoked. It's Veteran's day. A day off in the middle of the week. Awesome, right?! I gently wake the kids from their slumber. I tell them the plan for the day over fresh warm donuts..."First we'll go to the Vietnam Vet memorial service,  then lunch at your favorite place, next, the parade and kettle corn.....Swine flu shots, followed by the movies and breakfast for dinner. I'm quite pleased with myself, choreographing such a fun filled day..... not so fas t. There is a brief pause then rolling laughter from my kids.  "Ahhh...you got us good, Mom. Riiiiight....swine flu shots." More laughter. In this exact moment, I realize I suffer  from premature self-congratulations. What Mom worth her weight in Lucky Charms plans...fun, fun,fun, SWINE FLU SHOTS THAT WILL HURT REALLY BAD AND MAKE YOU CRY FOR A HALF AN HOUR, fun, fun. Apparently, ME....Mother of The Year.

Thanks to a bunch of week old, totally brown, untouched bananas my children asked for,  you have magically appeared in my kitchen. A connoisseur of the fermentation process, you do not discriminate. Rotting bananas or my very nice glass of Sarah's Vineyard Chardonnay. While you are easily more annoying and mysterious than any little insect I can imagine, I cannot slight you for what you did.  If I were a tiny six legged thing about to off myself....I, too, would swan dive, elegantly into a giant glass of wine. So, kudos to you, disgusting little bug. I appreciate your style.

Noah won a fish at his school carnival. You know those little fish that are really food for a bigger fish. Yes. Whoever is in charge and thinks it's a great idea to give a fish as a prize needs to be put in time out. First off, it's like the size of a kidney bean. Second.... It's going to die in a week. So....to try and prepare Noah for the inevitable death of Jacko (yep. named him just like THAT) , I had the circle of life talk with him.  I turned on my compassion voice and said,  "He will only live for a short time. But what a lucky little fish to have you to love him."  blah blah blah .  And without hesitation, Noah added, "Then we will make sushi out of him!" Bring on the wasabi....

A t two, Halloween should be fun. Free candy, and a superhero costume?! Screams fun to me. Noah pretended to be TOTALLY into it. He was to be a BLUE POWER RANGER. He told everyone. He tried it on whenever I had the patients to stuff him into it. He promised me he would wear it.... Oct. 31, 2005. "I'm not going to be a blue power ranger. I'm not wearing that."  Many seconds pass. I'm breathing. In and out....slowly. "Yes. You will wear this. You said you WOULD." Breathing.... Then the epic melt down complete with snot, tears and purple faced screaming, in refusal to wear the blue Power Ranger costume. Really . A package of iron on letters and a tee shirt later, Mommy wins.

ATTENTION UNSOLICITED ADVICE GIVERS: As you pontificate ad nauseam, know this; The lucky person receiving your insight may be nodding in faux agreement on the outside . On the inside ,  they are chanting "Please STFU."  And now you know.

I've had an aversion to the feline species since I can remember. Not sure I can articulate the exact reason why. Something to do with the aristocratic air they all seemed to possess. Like a yuppy with four legs who lounges in the sun all day. I'd announce loud and proud, in groups of people, " I'd rather have a boa constrictor as a pet than a cat , " hoping to convey my utter disdain for the creature. One day four years ago, this little, scrappy, dirty, kitten showed up on my porch.  "Go away. Shoo," I spewed at it. If the kids saw it, I'd be putting out that fire for  a week. He left...and came back, again and again. By then the kids had discovered him, fed him,  and BEGGED to keep him. They named him, the obvious, Oreo. Had I been a part of that ceremony I'd have gone with something like groucho (note the moustache),  but I don't like cats. ...right? Turns out Oreo's pretty alright. He comes when the kids call him. He likes to pl

You can always tell the gym rat who's music is far too loud in his ears. He's the one grunting like a wounded animal and loud whisper counting his reps. I only noticed this because I had forgot my own headphones. So I settled for some 80's pop the gym generously pumps into the atmosphere. Taaaaaake ooooooon meeeeeee. take on me.... As I'm eliptical-ing my way to nowhere, I can hear the guy beside me, apparently peddling his way up Mount Kilimanjaro. I know this because not only is he standing up on the bike, he's grunt-yelling his little heart out to the theme from Rocky. I know THIS because his music is so loud in his ears,   I can hear it. This got me thinking. I listen to my music pretty loud. My pony-tail's a-swingin'. I listen to the theme from Rocky.  Gulp.....

Dear Baristas, Is it really necessary to make me feel like a complete imbecile for ordering my coffee incorrectly? I know there's a special way to do it, but when it's my turn, I have a complete brain fart. I know when I say "iced" at the end, after you've written everything on a hot cup, you get your little barista chonies in a wad. Or when I say "whipped cream" instead of "whipped" you're calculating the time I've wasted by using that whole word. I really appreciate you, I hope you know. How would I get through my day without your skilled artistry of delicious coffee concocting?! All I ask is for your eyes to stay put when I say "non-fat" instead of "skinny". When you roll them so dramatically, it makes me want to pull your lip ring out with a fish hook. So, in order to have a more civil relationship, I will practice my ordering technique if you will keep your heavy sighs of disdain to your self....deal? Ad

Laying in the tent at 2 am in the middle of BFE...I begin to slowly loose my mind  think.... An owl REALLY does say "Who". Your appreciation for running water increases 10 fold when you have access to none. Meat bees sting. Sometimes they tell 5 of their friends, who follow suit. Fellow campers who snore should have their morning coffee privileges revoked! It's 3 am....chanting, silently, "a bear won't eat me, a bear won't eat me, a bear won't eat me", only makes you CONVINCED you just heard one. I like beach camping. I'm pretty certain I won't be eaten by a sea turtle. When squatting to make a nature call, be aware of your surroundings. You know....no poison oak, no killer ant hills, no sticks poking straight up out of the ground.  "Bears" shit in the woods.  By the end of day two, you become accustomed to your new "scent". Also, by the end of day two, you qualify as a "Glamou

Random things Noah articulates, sometimes with infinite meaning. Be Brave. I don't like Mc Donald's. (stated during a long car ride in the midst of silence) You're the queen of nothing . Banzai means, YOU BETTER RUUUUUUN! What are olives? I wash my hair every other day....it's a pattern . *duh.* EARMUFFS! EYEMUFFS! When do I get a cell phone. (A statement) Mooooom?! Just check iiiiiiiing. (In response to me saying, Noah?! Just checking.) Where are the tongs? You might want to plug your nose. Actually ...it was awesome.

Maybe I should rename this blog "Stuff Noah Does/Says That Makes Me Laugh"..... I woke him at 9:45(!!!) this morning. The first thing he said was..."That was fast". Huh? Followed by, "I didn't even close my eyes, yet". Oye...the sleeping habits of this house need a major kick in the pants.

After a week and a half of pneumonia....my little jedi is feeling much better!  Good enough to have an impromptu water war in the yard with his bro.  Dollar store water blasters....the best 2 bucks ever spent!  Thanks Grammy!   

Has he met me, my husband??   Unfortunately for him I have a strong passive aggressive streak. And here. we. go.....Three car driveway=plenty-o-space to park two large cars.  Mark  chooses to park right in the middle.... always.   This leaves me a small space on either side. grrrrr.  I wonder..." does he think he's the ONLY one who lives heeere?!"                        *WELCOME PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE JENN* I arrive home first and park my car completely parallel to our house,  in the middle of the driveway.  He comes in and asks, "Did you park like that on purpose?"   hee hee  " Of course I did .  Y ou park in the middle, so I parked in the middle."  Fast forward to the next day. He arrives home first and parks across the bottom of the driveway, blocking it.   Again....has he not met me?!?   I proceed to drive around his truck over the grass and park right beside him in the middle of the driveway.   WINNAH WINNAH CHICKEN DINNAH .  Out of the house he c

I'm telling this story now only because I have fessed up to the act. A few years back Mark bought a car. He bought a car without telling me he was buying a car. Just came home in it......a brand new Mercedes. I'd have made a sailor blush with the words I spewed at him. This car was his love. He cleaned it everyday and rubbed it with a soft towel. I swear I could hear him whisper it it's ear. One day after he had spent some quality time rubbing and shinning up his ride he announced he was going to the gym. I was peeved. He comes in the house to get ready....I go outside. I'm standing in the garage looking at this beautiful, adored machine. Before I can stop myself, I'm scooping up mud from the flowerbed and smearing it all over the front of his car, paying special attention to the fancy stupid hood ornament. gasp. what have i done?! no going back now. face the music. I quickly go in the house, wash my hands and wait. Mark heads out. I hear the car start, back out, a

At the grocery store, the local coffee spot, by the Principal(who is clearly older than myself)...that one little ridiculously spelled word- ma'am . I know it's supposed to have an aura of respect, but it reeks of...well...chronological order! I can feel it coming, too. "GRANDE SKINNY VANILLA LATTE!!" shouted by some pierced barista. I look around, puzzled because I am the only one waiting.  "Guess that's me...thanks."  wait for it...wait for it ... "Have a nice day, ma'am"  And there it is. Thanks. Getting old sucks.

Today, Mark and I were having a perfectly lovely conversation about about random life stuff. Benign, really. Then all of a sudden, out of frickin' nowhere he throws in "Wow....you're almost 40?!" record scratch. He immediately saw the error of his way, and probably the loneliness of it as well. Suddenly he's a giggly foot eating apologizing FOOL! grrrrr. For the record, I'm 36. Almost 37. For the record .

On Noah's night stand is a small cup of milk I allowed him to have. Of course, there was a lecture involved. You know... be very careful, do not spill, if you do I will be very mad . I'm making his bed, I flip the covers and send the cup and it's contents all over the place. Shock spreads across Noah's face. I'm pissed. "You see, Mom.....that's why we need ShamWow." Way to save the moment, Noah. Oh....and no more TV. While in the front yard playing, Noah announces that he wants me to play baseball. "Ooooo...I don't know how to play. That's a game for you and Dad." "What??? What do mean. All you have to do is throw the ball at me and I hit it. It's not hard." Note to self; baseball is easier than I believed .

It is I, who drives this ship. History will bear witness to my sad little tradition. The tradition of allowing my family to sleep in and in and in while on holiday. I'm clearly aware of the consequences of this action, yet choose to drive our ship directly into the coziness of the 11 am harbor. 6 am tomorrow is looking bleak for me and my shipmates......arrrrrrrgh.