Life According to Me

In regard to children, sometimes the answer to a question, is a question. Question:                Where do babies come from? Answer:                Where do you think they come from? Kid Answer:                 Love and Dads. Exactly...and sometimes too much wine at Thanksgiving dinner.                                                                                                                                   Question:                Why did you and dad lock your bedroom door? Answer:                 Why do you think we did? Kid Answer:                     To wrap my Birthday present. Exactly.                                                                                                                                 Question:               What are corn dogs made of? Answer:              What do you think they're made of? Kid Answer:                     Pancakes and sausage. Exactly.                                                            

Dear Little(literally) Dog Who Lives Behind Me, My fruitless attempts to befriend you,have left me frustrated.  Sigh. I've tried chatting with you sweetly, through the fence, trying to stroke your little doggie ego. But, alas, you still bark at me All. Day. Long. Although you're one of those delicate little, hybrid, sweater wearing purse dogs, I'm convinced you believe your a gigantic gorilla beast. The way you attack the fence like Cujo while I'm watering the plants is impressive. Monsieur Bonaparte, I presume? You must possess Jedi powers, because when I am in   my very own house , vacuuming,  you sense this disturbance in the force.  How do I know?  You bolt out of your little doggie door and let me have it with your incessant barking...until I stop my chore.  When we swim, BBQ, play, blow bubbles, entertain guests...your barking is our back ground music.   You must have enormous self esteem to be so boisterous especially when, if so inclined, I could smite

It is Wednesday, again. This morning, during the "getting out of the house" chaos, I called out the usual reminders, "Don't forget your books, homework, wallet, phone, lunch, a water..." My very charming husband added one for me..."To pick up our son at school..." Smarty man.

I love chocolate. Any kind of chocolate. See's Candies has something called a Rum Nougat. It's milk chocolate with bits of candied cherries, raisins, english walnuts all folded in cherry nougat. Apparently, it's totally gross to those in my house. Oh...and everyone else I know.  It's the one in the assorted box that gets the ceremonial test bite, then put back in it's little paper cup. Rejected. I LOVE IT. I call it, "my yucky chocolate". Then there's the decadent extra dark. Be still my heart. Dark chocolate is my sin. A few nibbles of 70% cacao is devine. It's dark, rich and completely worth every calorie. In between those nibbles, sips of a hearty red wine(also worth the calories). Ahhhh....yes. Okay. So... I keep this sinful bar of very dark chcolate in the pantry. Kid One and Kid Two, on a chocolate mission of their own, discover my secret stash. They eat it. I only know this, because they come to me in a panic and ask,

There's been 7 Wednesday's since school began. On hump day, both Kid One and Kid Two have modified schedules. Kid One goes in and hour later. Kid Two gets out 30 minuets early. Wicked. Each week, I dread this day. The kids LOVE it. Their day is short. So is mine . Boooooo . For 7 weeks now, Wednesday has come and gone. No problem. I've got this. Until Yesterday. I was using up every last iota of a nano second I had before heading to the dreadful carpool pick-up. I wasn't in a hurry. I had plenty of time. As I turned the corner to the school...my thoughts came in slow motion. No one's here. No busses. No painfully long carpool line. No kids. Nobody. Crap. It's WEDNESDAY. I am late! I park and sprint walk casually up to the school, only to find myself at the end of the "very forgetful parent" line. I am LAST. I am the most forgetful parent. The line of shame. The corraled children are wearing masks of disappointment. T

I decided to finish what I started, a husband, a couple of kids, 7 moves and many bottles of wine ago. College. Math was always a challenge for me, and I've discovered, it still is. All those letters, shapes, numbers, charts, graphs... It's like ancient cave drawings. Hieroglyphics. I don't want to know how to get to the river. I just want to balance my check book. When I have math homework, I erase... A LOT. I've used up every eraserhead on every pencil in the house. On a recent visit to my parents home, my Dad asks Kid Two how I am doing in school. "She's terrible at math. All she does is erase." My Dad, trying to steer the conversation in a more positive direction, says, "Well...I'll bet in the end, she's going to be very good." "Yeah. (sarcastic chuckle) At ERASING." Hey.  Kid Two.  Remember... I prepare all of your meals. I'm just sayin'...

And so it goes, in the Land of Mommiedom You get on the phone with a friend who's 3,000 miles away. The kids will behave like Lord Of The Flies. Savages . Your hands are wrist deep, mashing up meatloaf. Someone will ask you to open a band-aid. The last load of Sunday laundry is folded and put away. A wad of P.E. clothes will appear on top of the hamper. Needed tomorrow at the crack of coffee. You finally make time for a pedicure. Hope they have a belt sander. It's been a while. Your phone will ring and it's school. A child who belongs to you has thrown up the entire contents of his stomach. You've just spent two hours scrubbing floors, Cinderella style. Someone will parade through with dirt laden cleats. Oh, Fairy Godmother? Where the heck are you?! It's 11pm and you finally put your sleepy self in bed. Someone will tap quietly on the bedroom door and ask, "Do we have purple duct tape and pipe cleaners?" Sure. This is Bed Bath and Bey

A weekend of baking samples had me suffering from the major Mom guilts. Kid two was bored. Painfully bored. I start throwing out suggestions: Playdough Read Draw Movie Video Games Outside Build a fort.... Silence . I look up from what I'm doing and see his puzzled face. Then he speaks the words that make me realize I have clearly failed as a mother. Build a fort....What's a fort? I laid down my icing bag, and untied my apron. "Come with me..." I led him to the linen closet. I pulled out every sheet set. We gathered all the chairs....and we built a fort. He begged me to keep it till the next day. That was Saturday, today is Wedensday. My living room is a fort.. .still. Mom guilt, buh-bye.

There are two types of picture hanger people. The measurers and the eyeballers. Type A picture hanger has an arsenal of hanging equipment. Pencil Level Stud finder Tape measure Chalk string Hammer Nails Drill Screws Band-aids All tucked away in a fancy tool belt worn securely around their waist. They attack the project like a Neurosurgeon. Using their fine instruments to delicately and precisely hang...the picture...  perfectly. Dr. Marcos to the living room, STAT. Type B, picture hanger is me . No organized fanny pack of gadgets. No blue prints. No trips to The Home Depot. I attack the project like Macgyver. Eyeballs Chewing gum Nails A small sauté pan. Picture Perfect.

15 years ago, I met you. My Kid One. Inside, you wear a giant heart and a sweet soul. I am proud, beyond words, of the man you are becoming. You are tolerant, kind and fair. Even when it's not popular. You are true to yourself and your beliefs, while being thoughtful of others ideas and feelings. Your drive to be the best You , you can be, is inspirational. As a parent, I wanted to teach you right from wrong. Love you truly, deeply. Guide you. Give you the best life ever... What I didn't expect, that early morning I met you, was that you would do the same for me. 15 years. My Kid One. I ♥ you...

The last time I cleaned my house, it was June. I've been away for a while. Today was the first day of school. Everyone got scooted out the door in record time. Go Us! I stood in my empty, quiet house. and took it in. Not the empty silence....the DUST . Oh for the love of Pledge. The sunlight is peeking through the shutters, casting fancy little rays of pixie dust all around the room. I can see where the kids have "tagged" their names. Kid One Was Here. (smiley face) Wash me. Kid Two. Clever, aren't they? In my mind, I imagine myself in a Mary Poppins like state. Dusting. Moping. Twirling about... Decked out in my best apron. Talking to the birds. Instead, I put on Dr. Dre, and bust a move, starting with the couch. Did you know that a couch is the Bermuda Triangle of the furniture world? In there I found: The mail key. Cheetos. A pencil. Three pens. The remote. $2 in change. A glow stick. A poker chip. A bookmark. Awesome. Dre

I'm not a marketing wizard. I'm not the CEO of a retail giant. I'm not a number crunching Yoda. But... I am a human who lives in the northern hemisphere. I'm wired to the seasons and their commercialism. So I say, WTF is up with: Halloween in August. Christmas in October. Valentines in December. Swimsuits in February. Back to school in June. I'm aware this is some, over-my-head-big-money, practice.....but come ON. Who can even visualize themself in a bikini, in February, when we've been burried in sweaters since Thanksgiving Dinner? Ummm....can you say big white muffin top?! And June, for back to school?! We just started holiday. Are they trying to drive us to drink(more).;-) Kid two has to decide what he's going to be for Halloween in August. Have the retail people meet a human under the age of 10? They are a fickle bunch. The dilemma is that if you DON'T scoop up your mechanical pencils, Christmas lights, and swimsuits, yo

Let me set the scene. It's 10pm. Laying outside staring up at the giant sky. Counting satellites. Brian Eno in the background. We are savoring the last days of our 6 week holiday on this gem of a lake, in the high Sierra's. My husband has traveled home and back, but a very good portion of our stay has been... Kid One. Kid Two. And Me. Starved for some adult conversation, I've found myself chatting up the check-out lady at the market. She politely asks how I am. I, pathetically, go into a monologue of my life. I cringe at my recolection...ugh. Back to the starry night. Kid One begins timidly, "Ummm...please don't take offense to what I'm going to say." Oy. "I can't wait to go back to school." I coax him on..."Oh yeah..." He goes on to say that while the company of myself and his little brother has "been great and all", he is starved for teenage conversation. He looked to me, cautiously, for my r

I've been here before. Deep into the summer holiday and a Frat boy* sleep schedule. I breed sleepers. It always begins so innocently. A couple sleep ins, and then BAM! We're rising at the crack of lunch. Pizza and coffee on the lido deck. I'm pretty certain staying up to greet 2am, playing poker*, watching movies and satelite chasing isn't condusive to a crack of dawn lifestyle. School begins in a few weeks. Based upon history, we will continue our glutinous habit until we are faced with that first day. Do they make a caffine IV? Can someone get on that... *I use "Frat" here because I am THE ONLY female in my house. This includes el gato. If I can't beat em'.... *Inspired by Red Dead Redemption(I can't even begin to explain) and the movie 21. Yes, that's about black jack. I know.

Burried deep in the back of the game closet in a vacation house, Kid Two found a dusty game of Monoply. Monoply, circa, when I was a kid. Also known as the "Olden Days", according to my little cherubs. Ahhh...yes. This game tortured me in my youth. It involved math and negotiations and it lasted for days. My cousin and I would "play" and she always beat me. Fuuun. Kid Two convinces Kid One to step away from~ slaying zombies fighting the wild west saving the world from war. Ugh. Video games. I busy myself with chores, and feel secretly lucky I didn't get an invite to play. Have fun boys. Hope you packed survival gear. Snatching up properties and utilities takes f o r e v e r. And that's a mighty long time. It seems like only 47 second have passed. Kid Two is standing on the table(pretend you didn't read that, mom) celebrating his victory. Huh? I've just poured a glass of wine. Dug out my book. Settled myself in the last of t

Overheard at the dinner table. Kid Two asks Kid One: "Do carrots really help you see better?" Kid Two replies: "Yeah...I think so." Then comes Kid Two's brilliant conclusion... "We should totally give ALL of our carrots to mom."

Another shared story. This one has two degrees of separation. When "you" read this, I hope you laugh. It is, hands down, my favorite story from Mommiedom, to date! First time mom is getting ready to have a quick hop in the shower. We moms know what a feat it can be to even schudule one in. Her Kid One is one. Mom is ready to step into a few minutes of bliss, when she remembers she needs to start the dryer in the garage. Mom, in all her nakedness, makes a mad dash to her forgotten chore. First she checks Kid One. All is well She Runs into the garage. Starts dryer. Runs back in house..... What??! The door is locked. She has locked herself out. Mom tiptoes timidly into the back yard, covering her lady bits the best she can with her hand bikini. She chants in a whisper...Please please please let the back door be unlocked. She taps on the glass and tries to explain in mime how to open the door to her Kid One. Ugh. No luck Lightbulb! A while back, her husband

Magnifying mirrors should come with a warning. "Objects in mirror will horrify you beyond belief. Use sparingly and as a very last desperate resort. Side effects may include; Disbelief, crying, cursing, increased alchohol cunsumption to soothe your crushed ego." I arrived at this conclusion after ploping myself down, in "great lighting" to clean up my brows. EGADS . When did all of THAT happen?! I only sat in front of the great white ego killer, because I checked myself in the car visor, and disovered I had missed a complete dissary of stragglers. A closer look was eminent. Over plucking terrifies me. I do not want to tattoo my face because I got tweezer happy. Double EGADS! So into the mirror I gazed... Ego crushed. Disbelief. Crap. My solice, though horribly cliché..... It's five o'clock somewhere.

I was not a girly girly growing up.   I rode horses Played soccer  Made mud pies I liked lip gloss, but dirt came in a very close second.  I had road apple* wars with my best friend. The wetter the better.  Digest that for a moment. Got it...? Now you make the throw up sound.  How a boy ever wanted to marry me is like some ironic fairytale.  But one did. And not only did he marry me, he has dazzled me. H e does laundry, dishes, and makes me coffee every morning.   J ust how I like it. He brings me peonies and black licorice, even when I don't deserve it. I'm afraid he'd say that's pretty often! He laughs at my jokes Makes sure I feel loved Buys me feminine hygiene products Talks in funny accents just to make me laugh Eats whatever I make and says it's great even when the pork chops are jerky. Made me feel beautiful when I was pregnant and looked like I had eaten a small family for lunch. He looks inside my wild mind** and gets me...

I'm always so glad to know I'm not the only Mom who sometimes feels like she fell down the rabbit hole. I love to hear my friends crazy stories from the front lines of Mommiedom. Nothing like a great big laugh from your gut to make your day. Occasionally I re-tell their stories here, but I always ask permission with a promise never to divulge names. Here's "Yours". Thanks for making me laugh so hard I snorted. Mom walks into a mall with two young children in tow. The youngest is two. Its springtime and they are there to visit the Easter Bunny. The line is 5 Chinese dragons long. l o n g. They wait one hour. This is Mom's first attempt with her Kid Two at the hallowed Easter Bunny tradition. It's their turn. At this point, Mom is dreaming of getting wasted away again in Margaritaville. She plops, a now screaming Kid Two on Mr. EB's lap. She apologizes to Mr. EB. She tries to reposition Kid two. Kid Two is now crying so passionately

I send Kid Two in to take shower. 2.2 minuets later, I hear the water turn off. I go marching in, all full of piss and vinegar, ready to give him a tongue lashing. There's no way he possibly washed everywhere ! "Ummmm.... excuse me Speed Racer. You are not finished." It's now, that I notice he's standing in there with his hair a giagantic lather of soap. "I know I'm not finished. I shut off the water to save the planet." Oh. "Well....good for you. Carry on." Suddenly, I feel like a big ozone depleting smoke stack.

In the history of my mind, it can't possibly be 20 years. But, a Husband, a couple of kids, a mortgage, and these damn wrinkles prove it. The decision is made at the last minute to go. Last minute decisions do not allow for any preparation. So. No time to cover the grey. No spray tan. No dashing new attire. No 6 week gym boot camp. No time to try to look like my Facebook profile picture. Perfect. Ahhh...yes. Facebook. Your existence had an interesting effect on the High School reunion. We already know everything about each other. All hail voyeurism. I already know...* You went to Cancun for Christmas. You're thinking about getting a dog. You bought the cutest flip flops EVER . You're pissed that the ( enter any professional sports team here ) lost. You think you may very well divorce your husband cuz the Christmas lights are still up. You had wine and ice cream for dinner because you can. You think text jargon is hideous. You know I'm a

I have boys. For some reason when the whole Tooth Fairy thing first raised it's ugly head I decided to use the pronoun "he" when referring to the mythical beast. So, it's a boy. Who is a fairy. Yep, that's right. Kid One losses his first tooth. An epic moment as a child. Being new, first time parents, we had a plan. Charts, graphs, a playbook, money, a special note from "Him". We nailed it every time. High fiving each other, lots of self congratulations. Brilliant. Then Kid Two came along.... His first Tooth Fairy experience was at four. An extraction, due to a rambunctious game of tag played on a tiled floor. Face, meet floor. I hadn't even talked about the Tooth Fairy yet. So, he got the Cliffs Notes version. Kid Two puts his tooth under his pillow. Nighty Night. In the morning, when I go to wake him, I realize "The Tooth Fairy" forgot. Not brilliant. I pillage Husbands wallet. Nothing smaller than a twenty.

Once upon a time there was a Husband who was fantastically competitive. It entertained his wife to no end how a simple thing like tossing a ball of paper into the trash became an Olympic event. If someone dare declare, "It can't be done", the games would begin. Wife got a front row seat to the extreme "WHO CAN HIT THE PINE CONE IN THE LAKE FROM THE TOP DECK WITH THEIR EYES CLOSED" event. Her Hero. Brilliant Wife decided she would make this character trait work to her advantage. "I'll bet you can't fold all of those clothes." "I'll bet you can't do all  of those dishes." And this is how savvy Wife got her Laundry Fairy and her Dish Fairy. The End.

Why is it, when I have plenty of time, t hat is when I'm late? If I sleep through my alarm, I'm a Jedi. I can throw myself together. Dump just the right amount of coffee into my system. Gather up kids, lunches, backpacks, cell phones, iPods, headphones. Unplug the iron, flat iron, hairdryer. Grab a Monster. Set the alarm. And not forget a single thing.

I do not belong in the hallowed halls of Bergdorf or Saks.The shopping gene has missed me, somehow. Roaming the isles of a department store is just not joyous. Searching the racks for a clever find? Lost upon me. I'm no Carrie Bradshaw. More like a Bella Swan, only not so tortured and brooding. .....and I would have chosen Jacob. Yes, Patricia. I know you are cringing at this moment and wondering how we can possibly be friends. Target. Costco. This is where you will find me. I can get laundry detergent, a flashlight, coffee-Monster-wine(in that order) AND a cute hoodie. It's like a religious experience. This kind of "shopping" makes me giddy. I feel victorious gathering necessities like milk and eggs. I feel extra triumphant when I can throw in socks, a garden hose and king crab legs. Maybe it's laziness. Maybe it's impatience. I love the Warehouse store. I love Targét. I love to eat where they have a picture menu. .... but that'

Kid One is on the verge of 15. A High Schooler. At 3 o'clock, everyday, I morph into the Mom Taxi, as I collect anyone who needs a ride. First, the elementary pick up. Next... High School . Driving up to the behemoth of a school Kid One attends, I feel like I'm on safari.   All the interesting characters mingling about, in their natural environment. If you've ever made the trek, you may relate to this observation... High School girls look like Real House Wives Of The Jersey Shore. Boobs. Tanned. Extensions. $350 Jeans. Stilettos. Designer handbags. BMW's. They look like their 25! I want to be them! I ask Kid One, "Is that a STUDENT ??!" "Yep..." Egads. When I was in High School, the girls looked like they were in High School.  Not like they were waiting for their own reality show. Pobrecitas. Step away from the tanning bed. Cancel your botox appointment. Get an Ed Hardy Intervention...ST

I was listening to a news report about a woman who put her kids out of the car and made them walk home(around the corner) due to their unruly behavior. Old School. She caused a shit storm for herself with her technique. We are living a time of "it's everybody's business". Had she done that 25 years ago no one would have blinked. When I was a kid, my cousin and I would sit on our Holly Hobbie metal lunch pails, strapped in with a lap belt...in  the back of a 71 Ford Pinto. Moms in the front seat, s ans seat belts , flying down a road they called "Blood Alley". Old School. No One blinked. My lunch pail contained my sandwich made on white bread with mayo and salami , and no little frozen freezer cube to keep it chilled properly so I didn't get food poisoning. Old School. No One blinked. We rode in the back of my Dad's pickup truck...on the freeway....and pretended to fly. Old School. No one blinked. From age 12-17, every chance we got

I'm standing in the bathroom putting on mascara. Kid One pops in. He watches me for a moment. A very curious expression spreads across his face. We make eye contact. "Is it really necessary to make that FACE when you put that stuff on??" I look back at my reflection in the mirror. Hmmm...I wonder if it really IS necessary? I try to apply the mascara without making the mascara face .  I poke myself in the eye. My eye shuts tight. When I open them, I have black smudges around my eyes. I look like a line backer. Kid one speaks first. Ohhhhh.... wow. Nevermind. You were doing it right. Oh. Gee....Thank you, Captain Clinique.

A few years back, we took a trip to the mountains smack dab in the middle of winter. During a blizzard. We spun out into oncoming traffic. The windshield wipers broke. They closed the road. There we were trapped on a mountain highway with Kid One (8) and Kid Two (10 months). This was before we had a car with entertainment properties. I know. Tragic. Kid One kept asking if we were going to die. Maybe. Kid two only stopped crying if we played The Copacabana...over and over and over. Not sure why we had Barry Manilow in the car, but I'll be forever grateful to Lola who was a show girl and liked to bump it to a good beat. That trip left and big ugly memory scar . I swore we would never make a trip again if it was snowing. And we didn't. Untill Easter 2010. We decide to spend the Holiday in the mountains with family. It was April. Blizzard Schmizzard. We get to the summit. It's Snowing. Lots of snowing . I give myself a little internal pep talk. Yep

Mommiedom is  all  and  nothing  it's cracked up to be. Just when you think you've figured it out, someone puts a marble up their nose. Or sticks little suction cups all over their face, resulting in a polka-a-dot hickey pattern. Or draws a sharpie clown face.... I'd like to thank Kid One and Kid Two for giving me a fantastic black hole of things to write about.  (Happy "Macaroni Necklace Day" to all my Mommie peeps!!)

"Hey Moooooooom. Do we have any bananas?" Crap. "Noooooo. Choose something else..." Mental note.....GET. BANANAS. The very next time I'm at the market, I grab a nice bunch with a little green still left in them. I plop them in the fruit bowl....right on top. Pretty. Announcement. " Hey guys....there's bananas!!!" Good Mom. Week one. Week Two. Week Three. There they sit...perched atop the fruit bowl....untouched. My pretty, once slightly green Chiquitas... forgotten . Ignored. Brown " Hey mom. Theses bananas are gross. Can you get some more   next time your at the store?" Sigh... "Sure." Mental note....YOU. ARE. A. SUCKER.

Cupboard Shopping~ V. The desperate act of digging through your pantry in search of any random items that will come together as a delicious amazing meal. This form of shopping is in lieu of driving your butt to the grocery store. Of course cupboard shopping will not do if there is no wine. That's when you put your desperate arse in the car and head to the market.

I'm a book group drop out. It's not that I don't like to read, or get together with friends and drink some wine..... I'm just not book group material. I don't like talking about what I read. I don't like picking apart the plot or the characters. I don't like trying to figure out the deeper meaning. I don't like the books... ever. There I said it. While I will miss the excuse to get away for an evening of wine, yummy food and friends.... It's not you, It's me.....the end.

Making/ decorating/ packaging cookies. Be back shortly...♥