clickmom

hey, don't forget about me, I'm still sick

I still don't feel great. Even though the fever is gone, and the pain is gone, I still have these hour long waves of nausea after every meal. Unpleasant. The evil thing is, they disappear, so by the time the next meal time comes around, I think I feel fine and so I eat. Hey, eating is what I do, I don't take the skipping of meals lightly. Then 20 minutes later I eat I am all queasy and sweating on the couch. It's a bummer.

Since misery loves company, and the 'ol poo sample is still on my mind because I am still awaiting the results. (They are partially in and I do not have three different kinds of food poisoning) I thought I would help you guys to learn from my adventure, lest you make the same mistakes I made. SO, enjoy!

"Clickmom's tips for successful stool collection"

1. Chew your food very carefully for 24 hours before hand
2. No raisins or nuts no matter how well you think you chew your food for 24 hours before hand.
3. Beg the nurse for all sorts of collection paraphanalia that will make it all so much easier for you. She has it squirrelled away in a closet somewhere she just needs to get up and look for it.
4. Bring your vial labeling pen into the bathroom with you or suffer the consequences of having to call out to your 13 old son to bring a pen to you in the bathroom. ("Here Mom, were you, uh.... inspired ..... in there, on the toilet, mom? snicker snicker")
5. Rubber gloves! Air freshener!

Now your life is complete. You're welcome.

Happy Halloween Boops

I hope you remember a year ago when you said how much you would love to get the treatment at your house.

We had a blast completeling this mission of mercy and Josh declared today "The Best Day of My Life". We laughed our heads off, it was thrilling. I enjoyed it a lot and it even got better when we arrived home and saw some neighborhood kids, loaded down with toilet paper, checking out our very own front lawn trees. I sent Evan over with the camera and directions to take their photo. Evan walked towards the uninvited little villians (as opposed to my family of wish fulfillers) and they calmly turned to see what he wanted, when he said he wanted to take their photo they took off running and Matt, Josh, and me sat in our car howling with laughter as Evan disappeared into the darkness chasing the band of little tree paperers away. Great way to end the day.

help wanted

I want to put three different logos on my sidebar. I want to post every day in November (NaBloPoMo), I want to write a 50,000 word novel in November (NaNoWriMo) (yes, there will be some short daily posts in November) and also I want all my readers (have I mentioned how much I love you all? Especially the men? You know who you are) to vote for me in this little blogging competition called hoagies.

I am too computer illiterate to do it, so if any of you out there can explain to me how to do it with out using any computer language at all, I will be forever in your debt and even dedicate my novel to you , or share the $1 prize money for the turkey contest. I am on a mac, (you know us creative types, I am a photographer for goodness sakes!) and I can click and drag the logos to my desk top, but that is about it, and I don't even know if that is what I need to do. Help!!

How about it? Anyone out there think they can help me?

raisins

The husband got tickets for the Giants game today and he brought Evan and Josh with him. I got to spend the afternoon alone with Matt, and I let him choose the activity. He chose lunch at Chili's and a movie. I snuck in a quick run through Costco first and we had a very nice day. No, change that, we had a delightful day. I choose delightful because I find that when I am alone with Matt this thing comes over me where I just think everything he says is hilarious. We've been listening to Comedy on satellite radio and Matt has a genius comedic delivery that I can not resist.

In Costco, today, I saw a man pass me with about 20 industrial sized packages of raisins in his cart. I whispered "Matt" and discreetly pointed in his direction. Matt lowered his head and in an Asian accent whispered back "I like raisins." Well, that got me giggling like a school girl, and I couldn't stop. This inspired Matt to work raisins into everything we saw for the rest of the day which means I spent the whole day with the giggles over raisins. Even right now as I write this post I giggle to myself every time I type out the word raisins.

On the way home from the movies a wild turkey (yes, there are wild turkeys in this neck of suburbia) ran out into the road in front us. I slammed on the brakes and yelled "Run, run for your life little turkey. Thanksgiving is upon us!" because I was trying to be as funny as Matt, but I wasn't. When I turned my unfunny self towards Matt and he said "raisins" and another round of giggles ensued.

all unnecessary organs shall remain and throw a rabbit in the mix

The sonogram report is in and all is "unremarkable" with the exception of two possible hemanigioma's on my liver which the doctor assures me is "very common" even though he wants to follow that up with a cat scan.

So, the good news is there will no surgery for clickmom in the near future. I get to keep my gall bladder and my useless appendix. Now I still have to wait for the poo labs to come back, and since Wildmom loves me so much, she let me know that the cover of this months First magazine (for women on the go) shouts "ARE PARASITES MAKING YOU FAT? NEWS! 1 IN 3 AMERICANS ARE AFFECTED. DROP 22 LBS IN 2 WEEKS. CURE TIREDNESS." I am on my knees to the powers that be saying "YES! Let this be MY problem!! PUH LEASE!!"

I gotta get my hands in this magazine and see what it says to do.

In other news, Buffy Bunny came home with Josh again this weekend and I am thinking of all kinds of fun things we can do with him/her. This may be the weekend that I force Matt how to learn how to use U-Tube because the Bunny, he/she is gross. I have to torture it, I do. Really, I do.

1/1,000,000,000

Just one of the billion or so reasons why I adore/enjoy/cherish/love my kids.

come on over to my house

I have very strong opinions about how I raise my kid and have given much thought to what I do and how I do it. Pretty much, I think there is one way, my way, and that anyone not doing it my way isn't doing their best. We all do, admit it now, what ever your "thing" happens to be, you think that the choices you made were/are the right choices and anyone who isn't choosing your choices just doesn't know. Let's take for example the touchy subject of kids sleeping. There is crib versus family bad and then there is the whole cry it out thing. You know that no matter what your choices were, you think they were right and that you don't get the people who chose differently. You know you think that way, even if you won't admit it, so I am not going to argue with you. You are as narrow minded and black and white as I am wether you want to admit it or not.

That being said, Having a baby while living in Brooklyn gave me a real inside view into the world of Nannies. You don't get that view living in the burbs, because we all hole up in our homes and yards and don't have to flee our cramped quarters to hang out together in the playground. But in Brooklyn, we did. And every day, weather permitting (and let me tell you- we were at that play ground 12 months a year) we all descended upon the playground for some out doors time for the kids. There were Nannies that I would think were grandmothers or kindly Aunts if not for their accents or skin color, and then there were the Nannies that made me want to cry. There were Nannies who neglected their charges, leaving them to vegetate in the stroller staring off blankly into the distance and there were Nannies that were rough or demeaning with their charges. Unfortunately the Nannies that made me want to cry dominated the Nanny scene. Looking around at all this I decided that I wasn't going to leave my kid with anyone not related to me until they were old enough to tell me what was happening when I wasn't there. And I didn't. I'm very anti-Nanny. I can't help it. Even here, where I don't see too many Nannies, I see too many of them walking in front of miserable crying children.

I'm still not too keen on the whole Nanny thing, so when Josh's school finally sent home the student directory the other day, and a cute little kid from his class called asking for a play date with Josh, and the Mom suggested I leave Josh at her house with the Nanny, I suggested her kid come here instead. We made the arrangements and then the mother apologized, saying that she didn't intend on inviting her kid over to our house, and maybe Josh could go to her house next week. I had to admit to her that I don't trust Nannies, and that her kid coming to my house was really fine, and that I would be home anyway. But I felt bad, because this woman leaves her 4 kids with their Nanny and I am sure she has a conflicting emotion about it now and then, and here I was , kinda . being . judgmental . and maybe making her feel bad . and . I . dunno. I just felt bad. But I didn't have the energy to lie. And I don't want to have to lie in the future. So, I just said how I feel.

more AM I SICK? anxiety

I think that anyone taking any kind of test that involves a wait from either the lab or the doctor to read the results should receive a complimentary prescription for some kind of tranquilizer or even some anti-anxiety medicine that is good for the entire wait time, plus maybe another dose or three for a couple of days after hearing the results depending on what the results are.

I could chew my finger tips off wondering what did or didn't show up on the ultrasound yesterday. I can't stop wondering what inspired the tech to look below the area that was prescribed for me.

And you know I rolled those poo samples around, studying ever little flake and bubble in those tubes before I handed them over. What could possibly in my poo? Now, I really want to know, but really, do I want to know? If something shows up in there I can see myself having some serious food phobias, to go along with my already torturous varietal limitations, from now on. I don't need this.

How I know I am really sick: I ate part of a bag of m&m's last night. You heard me, PART of a bag, as in about 8 m&m's total. I am sick. Someone call an ambulance, this might be worse than we expect.

Matt makes suggestions

1. Call Dr. House!

2. Instead of samples from three of my own poo(s), try giving them one each from me, the Devil Dog, and Josh just to see of they detect all the dog treats and Sprite in the two samples that didn't come from me. (Accompanied by a humorous imitation of a lab tech finding these alternative forms of nutrition in my samples)

3. Matt graciously volunteered to stay home from school and escort me to the sonogram appointment.

The samples are off to the lab, (Man, that was so fun, I am totally going to post about it soon) I was scanned, and now I wait for the results. In the mean time I have two annoying little twingy pinchy pains going on, one in the area of my gall bladder and one in the vicinity of my appendix. I found out once I was on the table that the scan only scanned the organs above the belly button, but after completing that portion of the scan the technician scanned the appendix area. Why? Did she see nothing up top and want to find the cause of this illness? Or was the top half of me so messed up that she needed to see even more? Or was I just so pathetic in general that she thought she would throw me a bone?

She said the doctor should get the results by Friday. Tick Tock Tick Tock.

lack of health update

As expected all the blood test came back totally average. I know that average in blood tests is a good thing and that is doesn't mean average in life or personality or anything, it's just that I wanted that easily found and easily cured red flag to show up earlier rather than later. What Dr. Mensch wants to do now is look for parasites and do an abdominal ultrasound. Now the parasites good Dr. Mensch is looking for, in case you are wondering, live in your digestive tract. Luckily there will be no search and rescue mission going on, but guess who has to poo into a container? And guess who has to give multiple samples of the possibly parasitic poo? I am breathless with excitement. Luckily Dr. Mensch's secretary took pity on me and sent me home with all sorts of latex gloves and other things to make the whole process , well, less like digging through shit and more like a sterile medical procedure. I'd take a photo (and it would be discreet and perfectly composed and lovely as can be) if I could keep the whole new kind of poo freak away from my mommy blog, but there are people out there I just don't want a hit from, you know what I mean?

As far as the ultrasound goes, good Dr Mensch told me he wanted to have an ultrasound of my gall bladder and then decided that since he already had me on the table, I should just lie still and have the whole area scanned. Since my mother had her gall bladder out at 27 and my sister had hers out at 32, I figure I am the family goddess of a long lasting gall bladder here at the tender age of 41. The whole gall bladder thing is a possibility since my chiro has been telling me for quite some time that he has to work my gall bladder reflex and that I need to cut down on fatty foods. Hahaha. What? Like I had no idea that Haagen Daz and potato chips were fatty! Gosh golly gee whiz.

So, the ultasound is for tomorrow and the samples, well, they need three poo samples and if everything goes along the way it has been going lately, I could accomplish that today and get it back to good Dr. Mensch in the morning. I know, too much information. Sorry

still sick

The husband took the kids out for the day so I could rest.

I watched three chick flicks, because I couldn't get off the couch. I saw In Her Shoes because Shirley Maclaine is in it (love her), Friends With Money because it was starting at the right time, and Failure To Launch because the attraction of Matthew McWhatever the hell his name is overrides the boredom of Sarah Jessica Parker (who, if you recall gave me a dirty look when she was in town filming a movie in these parts and I took her photo because I was doing my job).

Still nauseous, still headached, still fevered, still waiting for the results of those blood tests.

sick again (whiny too)

I haven't been feeling well for quite some time, and it was the kind of thing just kinda crept up on me, slowly, sneakily, in tiny little increments until one day I thought "Holy cow! I feel like total crap, and I can't remember the last time I felt good." So, I did what every self neglecting mother does when she realizes the health shit is about to hit the fan, I called the MD. And his very nice secretary suggested I come in for a visit, was I available two weeks from now? So, I did what do, oh too well these days, I started to cry and I told her that I was sick now, and I couldn't imagine how I would feel in two weeks. Then I told her that I could some in at 1230 without kids, but would come in at any time and bring the kids with me. She put me on hold, and then came back to tell me I could come in the next day at 12:30. Thank you Dr. Mensch.

I went in last Thursday and the good doctor asked me what was wrong, and I whipped out my sticky, (have I ever told you that I put my entire life on stickies?) and read him my laundry list of complaints that pretty much cover every woman's disease you ever got an email asking you to forward to ten people you love. The only generic symptom I couldn't complain of, and have never in my life had, not even when was down for the count for an entire month with mono in college, is weight loss. Surprised?

I felt a little guilty to myself going in to Dr. Mensch and telling him how long I have felt shitty for because really when I thought about it, some of the little things that added up to a lot of things started over a month ago and I just ignored these little things because that is what I do. My own needs always get lost in the shuffle. I always put myself kinda low on the priority list, and disregard my own aches and pains. I'm sitting around trying to figure out where that comes from and hnestly, I don't know, but I think I have always been like this. Never want to complain. Jut want the positive reinforcement. It is just that now as a mom, I have gotten way lower on the totem pole than I could have ever imagined.

My concerns were appendicitus (Yes, I watched Grey's Anatomy and Meredith makes appendicitus look so sexy, no?) and ovarian cancer (forwarded email from the SIL). What I was praying for was that he would declare me suffering from something that was easily curable with one quick round of drugs that are not antibiotics, cause me and the yeast don't get along.

He asked me on Thursday if I had been running fevers, and I said "No" We did discuss the hot flashes I get 30 seconds after waking up in the morning and chalked those up to peri-menopause (yet another reason to celebrate). But then when I went to the spa on Friday for my morning of pampering and luxury, and the cranial sacral therapist put one hand on my face and told me I felt a little warm. Today, I have a fever. I sit here with what feels like windburn on my cheeks and maybe just maybe there are tiny little pots of water just simmering behind each of my eyeballs.

The thing is that Dr. Mensch took a few vials of blood and did the typical run of tests. He wants me to go on the same anti-candida/caveman diet that I did last winter. He thinks that at least some of my gasto symptoms could be due to a food intolerance. Since I am off all gluten and feeling incredibly pathetic and sorry for mysef about it, (how I long for a piece of toast) I just can't imagine what else I could pssibly give up. Dr. Mensch suggested dairy as a possible culprit and I can't even go there cause I need my occasional latte and that is the the bottom line.

After seeing Dr. Mensch, I squoze in a visit to the chiro, and he used some his own brand of special voodoo to determine that I am cancer free (phew) but suffering from two new food intolerances. Chiro guy said nix the tomatoes and the tea. Tea??? OMG, I can't tell you how much tea I drink, I love all tea, hot tea, iced tea, black tea, green tea, tea with juice, tea with milk, tea straight up, tea in the morning, tea at night. Sob, I wuv my little moldy bags of tea, and now I have my panties in a wad thinking about going tea less. Also, that cute little gentle tea caffeine boost, well, me likey that too.

Now, I wait, until Monday, hoping that something definitive and easily curable pops up on the blood tests, but somehow, I have the feeling that it isn't going to go down that way.

This really gets in the way of something else I want to do. I wanted to take that big leap and try to do the whole writing a book in a month thing. I'll do the whole blog every day thing, (but am too technically deficient to figure out how to get the graphic on my blog) but I almost post every day anyway, so it isn't much of a challenge. If only I had an actual idea for a book in my head I could really do it. I mean, I could write away forever, I just need a story idea. I have been thinking of some stories, but they all involve my real life and I am not sure if I want to put it all out there. I have noting to hide, but to make it all story interesting I would have to exaggerate here and there, make up some more interesting than life events and pretty much embellish the hell out of it. So, I'm not sure I want to anything like that right now, for fear of hurting feelings of family or friends, and I am trying to come up with something more fictional.

I guess the jury is out until at least next Monday.

PS Now I am too tired to proof this, so please forgive the typos.

morning at the spa

Today was the day that the husband so graciously volunteered to man the fort while I wilst the way the hours at the spa. So, I did. I had some heavenly caranial sacral and reflexology, and would never dare to whip out my camera during this most holy and sacred event (also, I am in undies during it) so you'll have to use your vivid imaginations. Then I went into the salon, which is mostly for brides and older ladies. They set me up for the pedicure first. The most amazing thing was the freaky blue water they make you soak your feet in before the pedicure. It smelled like eucalyptus which was nice and as an added bonus cleared my sinuses but the dye, eeeeww.

I also got my toes and fingers painted and here is proof of that:

Yes, I chose different colors, leave me alone, I already heard it from the boys.

It was very nice and totally relaxing. Then I went shopping afterwards. clickmom & shopping= stress. Not so relaxing, but I did appreciate not having to wrangle, bribe, or bargain with any young people while I wandered the mall. I left the mall and eventually the sun came out and the wind picked up. I realized that driving and taking photos at the same time is a very bad idea, but not before I snapped this one.

See? The sky cleared and the sun came out. It was that kind of windy day when you have to steer the car like one of not exactly responsive those arcade driving games because the wind is actually moving your car sideways. Lot's of fun driving.

Then I came home. We had excellent Thai food for dinner, and now I am hitting the hay.

old friend Bob

My friend Bob is HIV positive.  He had a really shitty childhood and now, because he simply doesn't know that he can tell people NO,  he lets people walk all over him, and they do.  I worry about him all the time.

getting to know all about you

Every year the kids teachers give them a "getting to know you" assignment and they ask them to write something so that they can get to know the kids a little bit better. This year Evan's teacher asked him to write about a time when he felt fear, as in was afraid. Naturally Evan, oh so macho Evan, had much difficulty even considering that he, a mere human, had experienced fear in his ife, but eventually he came up with something and wrote this letter. I have included my version of these events in italics just to help clarify a bit.

Enjoy.

Dear Mrs. Borscht,

It was early morning in Six Flags. not long after lunch I was suspended in the air about to plummet down to the earth in a nose dive. I just had to go on that attraction where they hoist you, in a prone position 200 feet into the air and then pull you and your mother (who agreed to go on the ride because it was the only one that wouldn't make her vomit, only pee in her pants with terror) and then they make you pull the release causing you to free fall for a minute before the cord tghtens and you just soar back and forth like a yo yo walking the dog Suspense was killing me. I was petrified "Well," I said to myself "it's too late to turn back now." or maybe it went more like "Don't pull it mom, I'm not ready" so I pulled the rip cord begged my mother not to pull the rip cord and just let us hang there until they gently lowered us back down, but she didn't listen and soared toward the hard unforgiving earth. When my mother finished screamng (and peeing) she pointed out how much we could see just to calm me down. She was so brave and really did help me to enjoy the rest of our swinging pendulum of death ride. You could see the whole amusement park from there. I went 60 mph. I think, I looked on the net and that is how the fast the ride could potentially go. Since 60 mph sounds tough I am going to just say I went that fast anyway. It was sure worth the 1 hour line I waited on. I felt really scared. And that is putting mildly. At the end I was glad to be alive had fun.

Sincerely,
Evan

score one for the husband

We had a busy weekend and I woke up this morning feeling tired and the farthest I could feel from refreshed. The head still hurts and now there is some sort of strange pain in my left leg too. I just feel like my whole left side is twisted and pinched. It's getting me down and making it difficult for me to be motivated to do anything. I threw on some exercise clothes and was rushing to make the lunch for the boys, after having much difficulty waking them up, and actually being yelled at by Matt (gasp) who had fallen into such a deep slumber after I woke him up the first time that he thought I was yelling at him when I was actually calling him for breakfast. (And if you believe I wasn't yelling, shame on you)

As usual I never went to the grocery store yesterday so I was busy rushing and checking the contents of the fridge for freshness and mold in order to throw together a lunch for the boys that included more than one food group when the husband stopped by to let me know he was leaving. As he leaned in for a kiss I put my head on his shirt and smelled how fresh and clean he was, I love that mix of soap, deodorant, and laundered shirts. I looked up into his freshly shaven face, thought about how he would be able to do things like bathroom with privacy all day long and said with all the pathetic I could muster "I wish I was going to work today" He tenderly stroked my greasy hair and said it looked like I could use a day off. I agreed and he said (this is where the points come in) "Why don't you call the spa and spend the day there on Friday." I turned my red rimmed eyes towards him and saw that he was serious. Like I was hit by lightening I ran for the phone got an 8:30 appointment for some heavenly cranial sacral therapy and at the husband's urging made an appointment for a pedicure and manicure too. Then I said I would like to go to the mall afterwards and buy a new outfit for some work related party I have to attend with the husband. He said sure. I kissed the husband goodbye and was able to finish off the morning preparations with a big smile on my face.

Then I emailed the babes and asked them if anyone wanted to join me during any point of my day off. I figured it would be easy for them to join me since their kids all go to school all day. I thought they could either go to the spa, have a different lunch than we usualy do on Fridays, or even give me some shopping advice. What fun! Later in the day I got an email from B asking if I was talking about the Friday that they cancelled school for a teacher in service day. Bwah ha ha. Yes!!!! I was!!! Ha ha ha. Double points for the husband!

hot grandma

I went to visit my grandma today. It is always so sad to do, although I have to say my kids are fabulous every single time. They know the drill, we go into her sweltering little apartment, sit around for 15 or 20 minutes, take her out to lunch, stop by the playground down the block for a little running around, buy an ice cream from the ice cream guy, and then walk grandma back home and leave. That is what we do when we see her now. We used to pick her up and take her to museums or the circus or something with us, but now she can't even walk half a block without getting winded and leg pains. Also, she shrunk a lot and I can't imagine her getting into (hauling herself into) my truck. If we did bring her somewhere she wouldn't remember it the next day anyway. It is best to stick with the routine.

While I was sitting with grandma on the bench in the playground watching the kids run around I started to tell her what a fabulous grandmother she had been for me when I was a kid. I recalled all the places she had introduced me to and all the special little gifts she used to show up with. She and I are artistically inclined and she often showed up with some kind of art supply, when I got older she would bring me the free make up she had gotten in the department store with her purchase or the little perfume samples. But the one thing that had me cracking up was remembering that it was grandma who brought me my first lingerie. When I was in 7th grade and grandma brought me this beautiful greek goddess looking nightgown that was white silk with ties that went down the open sides all the way from my shoulders to my ankles I had no idea that all the other 7th graders weren't donning such stunning night gowns every night. It was sexy and I brought it with me to a sleep over at my girlfriends house When all the other girls whipped out and climbed into their Dr. Denton's I slipped into the greek goddess. At first I was all embarrassed, but all the girls were incredibly interested and even jealous of my adult type of night wear. Every one wanted one and I was the momentary star of the show. Yeah, grandma was a totally cool grandma.

feel the love Sunday

setting: Master bedroom, husband and wife are freshly showered and in the final stages of getting dressed.

clickmom: Damn, I have the same headache I have had for weeks. I'm sure it is related to my shoulder. I have to warn you the constant pain is getting to me. I'm starting to feel homicidal.

the husband: I'd prefer suicidal.

off with his head

I have a theory that who ever a person is at their core, they become even more of as they age. This means that even if you manage to suppress your less than stellar impulses for most of your life, eventually if you live long enough, the person you tried not to be but really were inside all along will come out and maybe even shock people. This is why sweet old Aunt Mary who was always the darling of the town now swears like a sailor in the nursing home. She was faking it all along.

One thing I was known for my whole life was patience. Personally, I think that I may have been born with a limited amount, and the kids have drained that reserve, but for the sake of this argument here, let's just say, I am not the patient saint I was earlier in my years. I find it interesting when I hear some of the things that come out of my mouth and know very well that I wouldn't have had that reaction in the not so distant past.

The other thing I notice about myself is a definite and distinct lack of tolerance. I think this may be related to the patience in some way. Coming home from the babes weekend the topic of our ex- governor who came out of the closet only when he was caught having given his unqualified gay lover a high security job. The man was still married to the mother of his second child at the time he was caught. Now Ex-Governor McSkeevy has written a book. My stand was that I would not buy that book or read that book for anything. I think the man is an embarrassment. I think that regardless of the strict religious house he grew up in, what his parents expectations of him were, or what his own political aspirations he was a lying cheating scum bag who is trying to profit off of his pathetic story since his political career is in the trash because he HIRED HIS UNQUALIFIED LOVER for a HIGH SECURITY position and not because he is gay. Really, I think the whole gay thing is just a distraction, a smoke screen, to cover up the real issue, which is HE HIRED HIS UNQUALIFIED LOVER FOR A HIGH SECURITY JOB and the man should hang his head in shame and slink into the shadows with his tail between his legs never to be seen or heard from again since he abused his power and took advantage of the citizens who put their trust in him, rallied for his election, voted him into office, and paid his salary with their taxes. I know that if I was a gay person, I would spit on this man before I ever even gave him the chance to talk to me. I mean, if any of my kids are gay, I hope they have the common sense to be themselves, not marry a woman or two and have a child or two just to help their image and further their political careers. Yuck, yuck, yuck. That is just as slimy as it gets! The man lied and lied until he got caught. Then I am sure some image consultant told him he had to come out of the closet "I am a gay citizen and I am proud" Bullshit. Liar liar pants on fire. You just can't live a lie like that, man. I mean, really. I am so offended by this pretense I can not even tell you. I feel very strongly that no one should be paying attention to this man let alone reading his book. And I haven't even mentioned how he fulfilled his need for male attention. He could have gotten his wives killed!

Kitten saw McSkeevy do a tv interview and she was sympathetic to him. I just don't get it. She made me listen to stories about his childhood. I don't care. She told me how desperately McSkeevy wanted to have the family and the american dream. Don't care. She told me more about the guys parents. Don't care. Don't care. Don't care. Then I realized that maybe just maybe I was being a little intolerant. But you know what? I don't care! And I don't want to hear another speck about McSkeevy and his lying hurtful deceitful life. I will not support that kind of behavior.

See what I mean about the lack of tolerance?

In the mean time, the husband who wants stuff way more than I want stuff, wants to get three nice watches so that one day all three boys can inherit a watch from him. That is sweet right? Except that I am the cheap one in the family and the husband wants expensive watches and he can be found many times over the course of an evening surfing the web for watch information or checking out the watch company catalogs. This has become a little bone of contention in our house, and really I just wish he would buy the frigging watches and get it over with so I don't have to hear about it anymore. Then tonight we had a guest for dinner who actually asked the husband questions about the watches and I realized that the husband is in fact not discussing his quest for the ultimate watch collection of three perfect expensive watches with me because I have become so INTOLERANT of the whole idea.

See what I mean?

So, if you want to find me in the nursing home one day just look for the chubby old lady who can't tolerate anyone or anything.

It's my way or the highway baby!

puking guilt

Today I feel like the worst mommy ever. Yesterday I took Josh to the dentist to get a large cavity filled. He got his first novacaine ever and when we left the dentist and came home for what would have normally been his lunch time, I just kinda forgot that he was numb and gave him lunch. It also never occurred to me to instruct him on the proper eating procedures for post dentist still numb meal times because, sob, I guess I just forgot that he is still a baby and doesn't know about these things yet. Oh, the guilt. Well, when I checked on him a few minutes later I saw that he had just barely nibbled his food, so I asked him to look at me and that there was blood running down his chin. More guilt. People, he was eating his lower lip. Guilt and nausea. He was just chomping down on the poor little swollen numb thing, and he was doing it hard. Oh, the guilt again. Then we had to go on this field trip with his class and his poor little sweet red lip was swelling by the moment. Every time I looked down at him I was more horrified than the moment before. He couldn't even talk right before the trip was over. And darling little Josh never even complained. I called the dentist last night and he cheered me up by telling me that there was nothing to do about it and that it would most likely look worse in the morning. He was right about that. When Josh woke up the gnawed part of his lip was even more swollen, and whitish. I assume white is the color of dead inner lip skin. Also, his mouth was stuck together and it hurt him to unpeel his lower ravaged lip from his top lip. Guilt squared. I took him to swim class as usual and wondered whether it would hurt from the chlorine. I didn't want to scare him, so I said nothing. After his class I asked him if the water hurt his lip and he answered "Only when I hold my breath" (Guilt x 100) He didn't want me to put anything on it, and really, what was going to put on it anyway? Even the dentist didn't recommend anything except maybe rinsing with LISTERINE! And to that I say, "Only when you use it as an enema, Dentist man." because I could make a whole post out of the one night the husband accidentally used his cinnamon toothpaste on Josh's toothbrush instead of Silly Strawberry, and I thought I might have to call the bureau of child welfare to intervene judging from the distressed cries of agony coming from the bathroom. So, this is Josh last night, before the nuclear swelling effect of a good night's sleep. I just couldn't bring myself to photograph the lip carnage that presented itself today. (guilt x infinity)

farms, sex, and meth

Today was one of those days. Today I had the same nasty headache I have had for three weeks that I am sure is related to my shoulder injury from July. I had to take pain killers for it since I was going on Josh's class trip to the farm, and headaches and kindergarteners don't mix. The trip was almost as adorable as the kids. Even the head to toe dressed in black (a bit of Stepford mommy goth rebelliousness maybe?) skeletal mommy couldn't distract me (duh, clearly she had my attention for a minute or two) from the absolute deliciousness of 20 romping 5 year olds making their way through aplple orchards and picking out pumpkins.

Evan brought home his spelling workbook. He had a word search. Naturally being the industrious hard working kid he is he not only found all his words of the week, but he also found another word. How is that for extra credit teacher? Yup, my boy, the one I wish I could chemically neuter until he graduates from college found this very special word in his 4th grade language arts workbook:
I am thinking that my little Evan might be Ivy League material. How about you?

But the most exciting thing that happened to me today was an email from Boops, who told me that lately when she googles clickmom, (why she is googling me I have no idea) she finds all these posts regarding methadone addiction. So, I googled my very own obviously not so unique moniker and sure enougth, some meth addict out there is posting questions about meth on all sorts of boards using my name of clickmom. I wonder if she is a photographer meth addict? Hmmm... I am intrigued.

A farty kind of day

This morning while waiting for the last possible minute Matt could walk into school we listened to a stand up comic do a routine on man farting. It was funny. Matt turned to me during the comic's routine and told me that recently he was math class and sneezed so hard that he simultaneously let one blow. What a man! I am so proud of my little future man. My mother heart was warmed for the day.

Later on during the day I was working out with my brand new personal trainer at the posh gym, (the jury is still out on him so I haven't mentioned him yet) when he had me lay down on a mat to do some ab work. Thanks to pilates I know that this is not supposed to make me need to fart, but it did, so I was concentrating very hard on not farting, when Matt's story came back to me and I disolved into a hysterical fit of laughter in front of the fairly young fresh scrubbed shiny faced young man who I was trying to impress with my tough brute strength and iron will. Then I had to tell him why I was laughing, and I wasn't sure I wanted him to know just how funny I think farts are especially since he had just told me how for his recent first anniversary (paper being the traditional gift- I am not romantic enough to know that by myself) he wrote a love poem for his wife, because he is "y'know good with words" and had it framed. She loved it, and I was thinking that he might just be a little too nice for me and my humor-love of all things bodily functions combined with my fantasy of a trainer kinds getting tough with me and making me push beyond my comfort zone. But like I said, the jury is still out on him and I am waiting another week until I judge.*

*And if you believe that one, you don't know me at all. I judge in the first ten seconds and we all know that. I just don't feel like writing about him yet. (Well, except for the wussy poem thing- see??? Judging!!)

laughing without caution

Ol' Warty hasn't been bothering Matt since the original harassment followed by the two meetings where he 1. insulted my kid and let me know in no uncertain terms that he thinks Matt is weird and weird doesn't cut it with him and then 2. totally back pedaled and lied to my face in front of the husband in order to make himself seem like a sensitive good guy and not the fucking asshole he is in reality. There has been no interaction since then. Oh, wait, there was one moment... he nodded to me at Back To School Night, and I acknowledged him back. (But it made me feel dirty and then I had to slip into the girls room for a whole body Purell)

This morning we arrived at the Middle School 15 minutes early and as usual for an early day, we sat in the truck, in front of the school listening to the radio while waited for the exact last minute that Matt could walk in and still get there on time. A mother was apparently bringing her child some forgotten book, and we watched from our car as she tried all 4 doors to no avail. The mother then spotted the door bell, rang it, and then tried the doors once more. There was more ringing and more trying all with no luck. Then Ol' Warty comes to open the door for her and believing that the mother must have been simple minded (because that is just how he is) he lets her in and goes to check on the door situation and he gets himself locked out too. I saw it coming and when Warty started yanking on the doors I cracked up and let out a big hearty belly laugh. Normally we would have been a safe distance from the school with the noisy car engine roaring away and all, and he would not have heard a thing, except this morning I let the Devil Dog ride with us and therefore the back window was wide open for her head in the wind pleasure. Warty turned around and gave me a quick glare, I pretended to be enjoying something on the radio and then he reentered the building.

Shit.

sinner

Last week at Yom Kippur I sat in services feeling more than a little bit smug as we read the list of less than honorable things we Jews might need to atone for. I thought I was getting off scott free and then came the one about gossip. Ooops. I have some atoning to do.

Anyway, there is a kid in Josh's class that Josh is friendly with and someone told me that he comes from a weird family. But they said it in a much less nice and more gossipy judgmental way. Thinking that maybe around here, people might say unkind things about me behind my back, I decided not to be judgmental. The mom of the kid called me last week and we arranged for a play date today. I picked her boy up at 10 this morning and brought him home. I listened in as he and Josh played. It all seemed good to me. Then I spotted the boys running with some sort of toy bloody 12 inch knife, and I thought the other kid had brought it with him in his back pack, but I found out the husband got it for Matt's pirate costume the weekend I was off with my babes. Oooops. The boys were playing just like boys their age should play, they were running and screaming and chasing pretend bad guys, and it just seemed pretty fun and totally normal to me.

Soon, Matt decided to use some of his kindly older brother charm on the kids and he made a little movie starring the two boys. The other boy fell in love with Matt and he started talking. and talking. and talking. And he lies. This kid told these bizarre tales of all different kinds and one was less believable than the unbelievable one that came before. And the thing was that once he got started he just couldn't stop. And Matt listened. So the kid practically wanted to wrap Matt up and take him home. But I wouldn't let him because I like having Matt around too. The boy told tale after tale all through lunch. Then Matt and I walked the two boys to their afternoon kindergarten class (because the boy just begged Matt to take him to school) and when the aide saw me coming with the two little kids she said "I see you have had a busy morning." in not such a nice way, and it took me a minute to realize she was making a snide comment about the other kid. I said that the two boys played nicely. She looked at me and said "Uh huh, sure." Then I said that the other boy told some stories. Upon hearing this the aide cracked up and told me that every one who knew the kid had gotten an earful of weird from him.

I knew Evan had been in class with the boy's older sister so I began to pump Evan for more information.

Now, I know too much.
Now I have more atoning to do.

chicken in live

Last week right at the end of spin class a song came over the speakers just as the instructor turned the music off. The song hit a familiar note with me and I couldn't place it so I asked the instructor what it was. It was a Rickie Lee Jones song from the Chuck E's in Love album, she said. Now, I never had that record, but back in High School my pal Marjorie Postal (and yes, I have just typed out her full name just in case she ever googles herself- Hi Marge!) had made me a tape. I loved that tape. I loved Rickie's voice, I loved the way she mumbled and I wanted to hear it again. I also loved Marorie's down to earth hippy taste in music. Marjorie opened my eyes to a whole new not rock or pop world. I had just happened to spot my old tape collection not so long ago, so I knew exactly where I could find that Rickie Lee Jones tape. Then I realized that I knew where the old boom box I used in my classroom when I was a teacher was too. I could play the tape! It was all coming together. It was too perfect.

I went to the tape collection (housed in an old photo developing tray for even more nostalgia) I had some great titles back then, Police, Styx, Genesis, B 52's, Elton John. Aaahhh, memory lane. But, no Rickie Lee Jones. What?? I could still see Marjorie's hand writing on the label and even remember her basement where the hours of record to tape transfer took place. Remember how we had to sit by our stereos and listen to each song as it played for our tape decks to record it? If it was a 4 minute song it took 4 minutes to record. None of this 15 second downloading nonsense. Making someone a tape was a labor of love. Especially a mixed album tape, because you couldn't just set up your record player up and come back later, you had to be there for every song. It was time consuming, and demanding, and you had to put the record needle in just the right spot between the songs. Either that or stand there with your finger on the record button while the song you didn't want to record finished and then press the button during the exact moment of silence between songs. Remember how an album would have all that static crinkle when you pulled it out of the cardboard album cover? And that great vinyl smell? Remember how you had to hold in in the big shiny black album between your palms so as not to scratch it? Back then music was a total sensory experience. Especially the making of tapes for your friends since it wasn't instant like so much of our 21st century lives. Back then if your friend made you a tape (especially a mixed album tape) you knew you had either a true friend for life, or the friend had a lot of free time to fill.

Then I realized what had happened to my tape. Right after I graduated college, I gave my disaster of a car to my little sister. We were still at home in the city and she hadn't gone back to her school yet. One day li'l sis borrowed (as in snuck from my room) some tapes from me and left them overnight in the loser car. My tapes were immediately stolen out of the car, I assume not by a lover of fine music, but by someone who needed things to sell. Some creep who most likely didn't even appreciate Rickie made off with Marjorie's love for me. I never heard that tape again. Sniff.

So last night, being a 21st century gal, I payed a visit to itunes, and tried to search for Chuck E's in Love, except I thought the name was Chuckie's or Chucky's or something else. I got some interesting matches, like Chicken In Live or Chupke in Live, but then I searched Rickie Lee Jones, and was able to hear 30 seconds of every song from every album and figure out which songs from which albums Marjorie had taped for me 25 years ago (it all took about 15 minutes from start to finish, I didn't smell the vinyl, and there was nothing to touch except the keyboard) and now I can burn my own disk, and play the songs of my youth in my car and enlighten the boys (they'll be so happy) or download the songs onto my ipod and hear them anywhere I go. If only Marjorie would read this and we could listen to these new old songs while drinking white wine and eating turkey sandwiches with tomato, lettuce and mayo, (like we did that summer) then it would all seem just right.

oh my aching quads

At the husband's gym the cure for what aches you is always the foam roll. For those of you who do not know what the foam roll is I will now explain. Everyone knows what those styrofoam swim noodles are, right? Imagine a swim noodle, about half as short and three times as thick. This would be the foam roll. When an exercise enthusiast over does it with the weights or maybe the lunges and is sore from said exertion, a cure for this soreness would be to lie on top of the short fat swim noodle/foam roll and roll back and forth over the affected part of ones musculature. This can be done (by a contortionist) on almost any part that can be overworked. The husband upon experienceing the foam roll at his gym was so enthusiastic about the virtues of the roll that he immediately hopped onto the internet and ordered a foam roll for his convenient home use. He tried and tried to enlighten me, but alas, I avoid at all costs postures in which I resemble a maimed and floundering walrus and also I happen to intensely dislike my face hovering an inch above the carpet. I mean, what else is intimate with the carpet? The bottom of my shoes, the dog's butt, and feet. Yum. Carpet is nice to look at, feels good on my feet, but as far as my face (in particular my nose) is concerned, it needs to keep it's distance. I can say I am completely uninterested in the foam roll. It wouldn't be a stretch to say that the whole notion of lying on my bedroom carpet and foam rolling kinda grosses me out. I will not foam roll.

In his testosterone driven very special Martian way the husband wants to solve all my problems. In my search for validity this Venusian only wants to feel validated. For example, I happen to have had a first session with one of the trainers at the posh gym last Wednesday. Despite my wishes to concentrate on the abdominal area or my tower of power, as I like to say (only because in pilates they call it the powerhouse and I have a mental block with that term) the trainer insisted we do several leg exercises. My legs happen to be quite shapely and not nearly as fat as the rest of me, but it was the first workout with this trainer and I went along with what he said. Earlier in the day I did a spin class, and trainer only had me do 3 leg exercises. During the workout I didn't think much of it. I did the machine where you sit with your legs in front of you and push a platform away, I did sumo squats holding a 20 pound dumbbell, and he had me marching up and down a step holding 10 pounds in each hand (in addition to the 70 pounds I already carry with me every day). I am pretty sure it was the last two exercises that did me in because within hours of my session, I began to wince in pain. Eventually the pain was so intense that I could no longer just wince and remain silent so I started to make those weird pain noises that cause mothers to gather up their children and flee when you are around. Yeah, I was so impressive sounding while walking down those stairs at the Y this morning.

Martian husband told me all Wednesday evening to foam roll. I told him it wasn't an option for me and he needed to cut it out, stop it, be nice, and all those other things we say to each other instead of Shut the F**k Up. I told him that on my planet the smart people replied "You poor thing." when we cried out in pain and that if he was smart this is the only response he would make to my agonizing screams. If he was smart he would never mention the foam roll again. Well, Martians aren't so smart, because my Martian continued to say things like "You should foam roll." and "You know you would feel better if only you would foam roll." and "I know what would help you, foam roll." Eventually he left me no other choice, but to hobble over to him with a bag of bagels in one hand and hit him with the bagels. The bagels worked for about 8 hours. Then the Martian came home from work. I threatened him with a newly purchased bag of potatoes. Even the threat of a five pound bag of swinging potatoes could not stop this Martian from trying to solve my pain with the foam roll suggestion, or invoke the least bit of sympathy from him. The whole foam roll thing was really starting to wear thin. I was at the point of having fantasies about making the Martian eat the fricking foam roll.

Then while watching tv last night, the Martian, who happened to see his own trainer for the first time in a long time the day before, stretched his arms up to the sky and said "Ooohh, my arms are sore." and Matt, being sharp as a tack and quick with the wit said "I know what you should do, Dad, FOAM ROLL!" We all laughed and all was right with the universe again. Planetary harmony reestablished.

that photo I spoke of

Ok, I figured out a way to share this image with you without publishing a photo of my babes.

Here we are, there is me with the down syndrome on the left, Glory in the middle and Peanut on the right. As you can see... the hands. WTF am I doing with my hands? I am neither old enough nor manly enough to do that with my hands and it bugs me. And Peanut and Glory? I guess they aren't so sweat phobic as I am cause really, I hated all those sweaty women trying to hug me. I even hated when they high fived me, cause they had sweaty hands too. I mean, if I am going to be covered with your sweat, well, you better intend on marrying me.

the apple imitating the tree

I left him alone with Matt while I picked up Evan at school. I came home and saw this. Can't decide if he looks more like me or the husband.

Buffy

I'll bet anything you just looked at that photo and thought to yourself that this was going to be a cute and cuddly post.

They do this thing that I hate at the elementary school. Matt did it in kindergarten, Evan did it in kindergarten, and now 8 years after the first time I was initially horrified, I find myself being horrified all over again since Josh is in kindergarten at the very same school. The disgusting filthy thing they do is send a stuffed animal home with a different kid every night. Blech. Just thinking about all the nasty cooties on that thing makes me need to gag.

The class mascot, it's name is Buffy, is a stuffed rabbit. It is neither feminine nor is it masculine, and it does not have any gender specific color coding on it. Buffy has a set of girl clothes and a set of boy clothes, and each kid takes turns taking the cross dressing/transexual Buffy home. In theory each girl would dress the gender confused rabbit in her all pink clothes, and each boy would rip those off and put the scourge ridden stuffed critter in it's manly Joe Boxers shorts and Spiderman t-shirt. Except for the boys who like to play with make up and dollies, I know they are out there, and I know those boys are dressing Buffy in Mommy's costume jewelry and talking fake English accents.

It was Josh's turn to introduce the infestation known as Buffy to our home during my babes weekend and I was SO happy that I would not be here to participate in dragging the vile thing around with us, because this happens to be another one of my pet peeves. In addition to hating the polyester grimy forest critter visiting with my child several times during his kindergarten year, I hate the whole security object thing even more. None of my kids ever attached to an object (thank goodness) and when I see a kid dragging some tattered worn out thing around whose parents have developed nervous twitches trying to make sure the dirt gray beloved ragged object of their child's affection never gets lost **I drop down to my knees and say a prayer to the powers that be that attached my kids only to my very own fresh and cleaned daily breasts which were not only convenient and easily accessible, but impossible to lose. Unfortunately Josh forget to bring home the little flea infestation over the weekend of my absence, and he brought it home Tuesday. The only thing I really wanted to do with the Bunny was bring it to temple for Yom Kippur and photograph it in a yarmulke. It isn't easy being an almost lone Jew here in Stepford, and I thought that might shake up some of the bible toters around here. That photo would have most definitely been pasted into the lame ass journal that comes home with Buffy. We have to make an entry highlighting all the things we did with Buffy during his visit. What fun! snore.

Josh quickly reassigned his/her gender with some masculine bunny clothes and then brought him to a soccer game I had to photograph, the ice cream hut on the side of the road that I had bribed Josh and Evan with in return for accompanying me to the soccer game, dinner, video games, bath time (Buffy has his own toothbrush) and then in the ultimate gross out disgusting move ever executed since Evan slept with the infernal creature, Josh set up Buffy in his sleeping bag next to him in the bed.

The next morning Buffy accompanied us to the gym, and went with Josh to the kids room, as if the kids room needed more contamination, where some clueless mom of some incredibly insecure 9 year old told us how great she thought stuffed animals were great for boys and that her 9 year old son still carried his around. I was like, "I know a good pediatric shrink, don't talk to my kid you freak" on the inside, but on outside I stifled my impulse to vomit and simply "yessed" her until I could make a quick get-away.

During lunch I had to make yet another bowl of carrots for Buffy, which Josh wouldn't eat because they were Buffy's carrots. And then finally I got to pack him up and send him back to school with my beloved third and final child. The sad thing is that there are 180 days of school and 20 or so kids in the class. This means that theoretically I could get the thing 4 or 5 times this year, which isn't good. The next time he comes home I am totally doing a stop motion movie with him, in which he will either play an evil character or be brutally attacked by the evil character. (And Yes, I was having scissor fantasies involving Buffy and a scissor mishap, but my ex now dead shrink always said that fantasies don't count, it is what we do that counts) Maybe I'll do a Mr. Bill type short... Hmmm.... "OH NO! Buffy got run over by the car!" I'll have to enlist Matt's help in this, but be on the look out, if I have to learn how to use You Tube, I will because this is one of those make lemons into lemonade situations, and next time the thing shows up at our doorstep he will have to have a purpose other than spreading the germs. Heh heh heh.

** I would like to clarify here that I am not talking about a child who snuggles with a lovey to get to sleep, or plays with a favorite toy over and over. I am talking about a child who drags some article of affection around all day long, where ever they go, day in and day out 24/7 and is completely unable to function or cope with their day to day routine with out the comfort of that object at any given moment.

I once sat next to a woman on an airplane who had cat tags engraved with her home address and a reward offering should anyone find the filthy old dolls her five and seven year old children carried with them everywhere. The dolls wore the tags like necklaces and they children were instructed not to remove them-ever. The woman's biggest fear in life was leaving those toys behind somewhere.

on top of a mountain with a big sleigh of toys

I run into Peanut all the time. Our kids are n the same kindergarten class and then there is the babes. She hasn't been to too many activities with us, and she didn't go on our weekend, but her presence is always there. In the past few weeks, Peanut has been rather friendly towards me. She has initiated conversation and will wave at me when we pass each other in our respective vehicles. It was a sudden transformation and it took me by surprise. I figured Peanut was thinking that enough time had passed that she could "forgive" me over what ever it was that had her panties in wad for so long. (Just to refresh your memory- I did apologize in excess at the time for something that I didn't even do) The thing is that I had finally come to this place where I had decided that so much time had gone by, and I had put up with so much direct hostility from her that if I was ever going to talk to her again she needed to apologize to me. B had cancer and managed to avoid alienating every friend. Why should Peanut be able to play the cancer card without regards to our feelings?

In the mean time Peanut was in the audience of a Martha Stewart show. She sent out a group email letting every one know, in case we wanted to watch, just to see of they would show her. The show was about breast cancer and Peanut had gotten her ticket from a new friend in her breast cancer support group. All the audience members were cancer survivors.

I normally don't watch day time tv but this show happened to air on Yom Kippur, and we happened to get home from services just as the show was beginning. I put the show on because the kids had scattered and left me alone so I began to watch. One of the day's guests was a breast cancer expert who had polled the audience about myths that the survivors wanted her to address. The first myth she spoke about was that breast cancer can't affect us because we are young. The expert made a passionate plea to women to find a doctor who takes her concerns seriously, no matter what her age. Breast cancer, she said can affect any one at any age. They panned the audience and there was Peanut, her big eyes brimming with water, and she was just fighting back those tears. Even the way she clapped at that answer put me right in her shoes. She has three kids like me. She is only a couple of years older than me. My icy heart broke just a little bit at the sight of Peanut brought to the verge of tears and suddenly I saw that despite the distant and clinical approach she took with her breast cancer free friends in dealing (or not dealing) with her illness, she is still human and in a great deal of psychic pain, and I felt for her.

Now I feel like the Grinch standing on top of the mountain and hearing all the presentless Who's singing.

coming around again

When I was a little kid my mother used to have a separate closet just stuffed with nasty old clothes that she said was her "good stuff". She always said that everything comes back into style (yeah, ma like polyester and moo moos) and she was saving her good stuff for when it was in style the next time around. Every once in a while she would whip something out of the closet to show it to me, and declare her cleverness for having saved these returned to fashion items. I remember thinking that her old stuff looked like the retarded cousin of the in-style new stuff, and would never wear any of it, no matter how convincing she tried to be.

That being said, I am now old enough to hear myself saying things like "Oh my god, that is in style again? I wore it in high school!" I think it may mean the end of the world, or at least civilization because not only are folks breaking out the leggings again but they brought camoflage back too, and I discovered on my shoe shopping expedition the other day, that someone thinks ballerina flats need a revival as well. As if ballerina flats in themselves alone weren't enough to make me run for the hills, they went and made them all Tall Gals on me and now I am having some scary shoe shopping flashbacks. Here is the proof:

home from babes weekend II

I was so excited to be up in Utopia again, and there with my babes, that I immediately sent them a fridge message.
Then the three of us who were there in the first car up went up to our special little babes spot and enjoyed the sunset from a place other than the closet with the window I stood in all summer.

Once the other babes arrived we had some urgent business to attend to. Wildmom instructed us on making the perfect cosmo.

Also note the massage paraphanalia as well as the soon to be lit candles.

Then it was time to greet our very special guests for dinner. We invited Tom, Dick and Harry. Naturally being the first class guys they are, they arrived and promptly showered for dinner.

After dinner there was gambling. Some of us had all the luck.

The next morning we pigged out on Boop's fritatta and went for a walk. We saw something that looked like raspberries and were chicken to try them. Then we saw this and wondered if any of you know what it is.

Along the way I convinced a lake resident that I am not some creepy house stalker and he let me into his house which is built right over the edge of the water to see the view I have been wondering about for two summers. Not too shabby...

ALl it needs a little windex and WOW!
Then we hopped into Sylvia and sped off for the fancy town down the road. We ate some good food...

The babes tried on some really over priced clothes, and we some amazingly expensive antiques. These ancient early 20th century African dance shields cost a piddly $22,000. I think I'll buy a few sets and give them out to the help at the holidays.

I couldn't wait to get back to Utopia and have the steak dinner I had planned. During dinner I tried to use my princess powers to get the others to wait on me hand and foot, but they weren't buying it. It was either the blinking lights on my tiara or the candy compartment that gave me away.

My babes did come through with a blazing fire for me.

Since it was a slow year, and cute young men from around the lake were not coming out of the wood work to greet, offer rides and entertain us, it was good thing B brought Boyfriend. What a conversationalist!!

You should have seen his eyes light up every time he looked at B.
In the morning I started to get a bit weepy thinking about all the things I was going to miss about the old moldy house. I fixed a lot of it up, and that means something to me. Remember how the one bathroom had the never vacuumed for 50 years carpet in it, and I tore it out and put in some vinyl tile?

Did I ever tell you about the eery ghost poop a bird left for us on the guest bathroom?

In addition to the guilt I have over taking down the old house, I also feel bad that we have to remove some trees and even this huge boulder that has been there forever.

About the only thing I won't feel meloncholy for this winter is the taxidermist shop near our favorite breakfast place.

There is nothing like a window full of these pin riddled furry woodland creatures to whet your appetite.

As I wait for these photos to download I realize that the next Utopia photos I will be able to post are likely to be piles of rubble or maybe cement hardening for the new foundation.

It makes me sad. So, my babes weekend was tinged with sadness for me, because I knew it was the last weekend in the house, but good because soon I'll have a house that is fresh and clean that we can visit 4 seasons a year. We'll all be so much happier in a new house.