clickmom

knob

My dad, because maybe he is testing the strength of my heart tonight, told me that scumcle called him and told him that when he went to see grandma she told him that she was "bored and unstimulated" at the nursing home and wanted to "break out." Scumcle is worried that she not being intellectually challenged. Dad, being the good dad that he is said something to put scumcle in his place (go dad!) but still, what a shit head scumcle right? I wish I could just forget about scumcle and never hear from him or about him again. But I would still want my statue back.

I took Josh to hang out at lil sis's today. In a uncharacteristically stupid and harmful move Josh decided to drop half filled with water plastic pail on my 9 year old nephew's head. What's that word for a big head bump? According to my thesaurus any of these will do: lump, knob, swelling , protuberance, bump and burl. And I think burl is only something you get on a tree, but I stuck it in that list because of how the word just kind of flows off my tongue like sweet dessert liquer. Buuuurl. It seems quite fitting actually. If there was a medal for speedy head buuuurl formation my nephew could have gotten the gold. Because no sooner did the sickening sound of weighted plastic colliding with skull hit my ears than did the neph call out "Oww! I have a bump!"

And he was knot kidding. (guess who is getting tired as she types tonight!)

OMG folks, I though the kid was going to go all airhead commercial on my because that thing got swollen fast. Lil sis commanded me to run for ice, which I did and thankfully it all unswelled pretty fast too. Man, I hate being the mom of the kid that did the idiotic thing. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it sucks! And Josh, who normally does not put himself in the position of needing to apologize finds it very difficult to choke those magic words out. He almost got his own little mommy special delivery protuberance because he did not cooperate in the apology part of the after party but fortunately he did eventually choke out a lame- apology along with a whisper of a "I didn't mean to hurt you." Just in the nick of time.

When the husband's visitors came last weekend one couple brought their almost 7 year old daughter. I sat Josh next to her at dinner in hopes of getting them friendly. Finally the pretty young thing turns to Josh and coyly says "I have a lot of clothes." (hair flip) Josh sees her wardrobe and shoots back with a "I have a lot of video games." Ooouch, score points for 21st century technology! So pretty young thing, not to be out consumered by a lowly prepubescent male offers up an all encompassing "I have a lot of toys." Josh, not one to beat around the bush leans forward on his elbows and stops her dead in her tracks with this come back of the week: "So, tell me, exactly where are we going with all this?"

game

Let's play a little game. The game is called "Make a list of the last things clickmom needs!" Okay.... GO!

Now, how many of you put car accident on that list?

Wow, you guys are good! So here is my day in a nut shell-

1. Wake feeling quite sure I must be thin after an industrious 24 hours of detox diet. WHoops! It's gonna take more than a day!
2. Posh Club for super hard workout. (Go me! Go (away) my fat!)
3. Blissful cranial sacral therapy for myriad of skeletal issues.
4. Happy visit with grandma where I wheeled her to an ice cream shop and got her a sundae.

Sounds good right?

5. Leave nursing home just in time to run into grocery store for missing dinner ingredient before school pick up.
6. Pull backwards out of parking space and get rear ended by some little speed demon maybe trying to
a. reach 50mph into the parking lot and
b. could have possibly (judging by the angle of his car after impact) been trying to speed past behind my truck as I pulled out of the spot.

After the jolt and the crash I was so angry I was shaking. And the guy WHO HIT ME was throwing his arms up in the air like it was my fault! So I dialed 911 and the cops were there in about 2 minutes, so I guess they weren't all ticketing unseat belted drivers today, and he took our info and a brief statement from each of us, sat in his bar lined crook containment car filling out forms, came back and told us to call the station in 5 to 8 business days for the report. And then he looked at me and asked me if I had any questions and I asked him if there was fault assigned in his report (because I will be damned if I am going to pay for this guy's damage!) and he said "I haven't decided yet." And folks, I managed to restrain myself, you would have been so proud. And I didn't tell the youngster cop, (yes I could have been his youthful mother) to stop chewing gum like a pig or people were going to start making pig jokes, or that if he keeps up the tanning he's going to look like a leather chair by the time he is my age, or even what dreamy big green eyes he had, I just said okay and got into my truck and counted to a zillion waiting for him to move his vehicle out of my way so that I could go pick up the kiddies from school.

And now I am sore. In more ways than one.

needanewname

I hate my cable company. HATE THEM!! Because they sold out and now I have to change my email address. Which totally sucks. And worse even, I can't keep the redfrog part of it either. Some email name stealing person (and I have been using redfrog since I was 10 people!) already has MY name. I could cry. And I'm gonna shoot someone at the cable company! So I can get my email moniker back! Damn it!

My real name, (this is the girliest thing I will ever say, so prepare) sucks. I hate my real name. It isn't me. Never was. My mother chose it because she thought I needed a short first name because my original (long story) last name was long and she was worried about how many letters I would have to remember when the time came for me to learn to write! And my current last name, well my husband guilted me into changing to his name and the meanest mother I ever knew had this name, so I make all the kids call me by first name instead of Mrs. Mean Lady name. Besides, together, they are an incredibly typical combination and there are many others with this name combo out there (though we seem to be a gifted bunch according to a google search anyways. Lots of white collar professionals) and surely their names and my still 17 years later protested married name are already taken too. And if I had my actual name on my email then it would be utterly not creative. feh.

Here are some email names I am mulling over.....

someonestolemyname@comcast.net
givemynameback@comcast.net
ihaditfirst@comcast.net
thereisathief@comcast.net

or on a more personal note....

ihavebadteeth@comcast.net
takemydog@comcast.net
mykidsarebetterthanyours@comcast.net
stillwhiningaboutchanging@comcast.net

or just to be funny

yousmellbad@comcast.net
mybuttitches@comcast.net
toejam@comcast.net
disco4ever@comcast.net

Suggestions needed and welcomed.
(Obviously)

ticked

The good news is that grandma was in good spirits today when I went to see her at the nursing home. The bad news is that scumcle drove up and went in himself while I was parked and chatting on the phone with lil sis. When I made my over to the entrance and had to sign in I saw his John Hancock on the line above mine. I cried "Shit!" and gave the nice young woman behind the desk quite the startle. Now they know about my potty mouth. I tell you folks, I am an open book, (yeah duh, I blog) even my potty mouth.

I had therapy with the new new undead therapist before hand and during that therapy I performed a little rant. You see, I drive by the g-d foresaken rehab almost every single day and yesterday I noticed a big banner outside declaring the week after Mother's day "Nursing Home Week" And I almost drove off the road just so I could hit that banner. Really. I was that pissed off. There may have been an obscenity or 4 rolling around my tongue there. Good thing I was cruising alone. Good thing.

Now, back to "Nursing Home Week",

WTF???? WTF-INGF??? F me!

I can't take it people. Can not take it. First of all, what the F is wrong with us as a society that we have to have a week/month/day to legitimize ourselves? Take, for example, grandparents day. Aren't these people included in Mothers/Fathers day? Mine are. Do they really need their own day? Or how about secretaries day. I don't have a personal secretary, but the husband does, and she is a doll! I love her. I really do. She knows it too. And I am hoping that the husband tells her every once in a while how lost he would be with out her. But now he has to buy a card or maybe some candy or what????????? WTF does one do to celebrate the one single special day of the person who you ask to type and file things? Shouldn't he just be nice to her all the time?

Or (do not hate me for this one) think about it, think about it..... first.. Black History Month. What about the other 11 months of the year? Does it not trivialize black history to relegate it to one month a year? Should black history not be infused with all the other histories we learn? Can't we just do it all in chronological order no matter what color or ethnicity we are? Seriously, history is confusing to learn as it is, why piece it up like that? So, we have Black History month once a year, and then we can go back to the history that what? The "real" history? The "important" history? See, having a month is so dismissive. Yuch.

How about (fill in the blank with your choice) pride day? Aren't we proud to be gay or Puerto Rican or what ever we are the other 364 days? Does wearing a costume or a flag and seeing your comrads in a parade on that one day make you more proud the rest of the year? Shouldn't pride in who we are and where we are from and what we represent be a daily thing? The kind of thing that makes you try to live a good clean life, be virtuous and contribute to society so at the end of your life, on your last breath you can look back and say "This is who I am and look what a great representative I was. I am a fine (fill in the blank). I am a good person." And then you can rest in peace. No?

Whatever you think, I will not be celebrating Nursing Home Week. ppfftttt.

And PS mother's day can stay. We should make it a whole week. (Kitten calls it Mother's Day Weekend and I have admit I stole that from her this year just so I could weasel out of doing dishes for the whole weekend) The other holidays can go.

Represent who you are with peace, love, and kindness. Week/Month/Day or not. Okay?

zzzzzz

Dear Bed,

I love you.

Seriously, I Love You. You are exactly what I need when I am tired, sick, cold, lazy, loungy, sleepy, smelly or clean, lonely, happy, sad, stressed, relaxed, whenever. You are always there for me day after day with your cushy back supporting goodness and you even come with a variety of weather appropriate blankets for all my seasonal needs.

I wish you were a man.

Ready or not here I come! Ready to dream about cats, revenge, paintball guns and cats, bb guns and cats, traps and cats, ransom notes and cats, mob style kitty toe amputations and cats, foam hair removal products and cats, poisoned tuna and cats (kidding! no jail for this momma!). Sweet dreams to you too!

Love, Clicky

dear kitty kitty

Dear Cat Owning Neighbors,

Funny thing happened around here, and that is that my back yard became quite the foul smelling stench pit of all odors vile. And I was confounded, for I have owned dogs for a couple of decades now and I had never experinced any dog related odor so obnoxious repulsive and downright nauseating. But being a responsible dog owner, I enlisted a small army of chore slaves children and we de-pooped the yard. Looked great, still rather odius.

Today when the gardener came I mentioned the fragrance funk and the gardener said he was pretty sure he knew the source of the smell. "Really?" I innocently asked. "What do you think it could be?" and the gardener asked back "Are you a cat person?" After I threw up in my mouth a little and convulsed from my head right down to my toes, I calmly said "No, I would rather live in an infested with tarantulas rotting cardboard box don't care much for cats." "Well, says the gardener, I have cats and that smell is most definitely of cat origin. I'm pretty sure the neighborhood cats are using the wood mulch in the play area as a giant litter box."

pause here for effect

keep letting that sink in

review

play area=litter box

children's play area=litter box

for neighborhood cats.

If I had a gun I am sure I would use it.

You can take that as a warning,
or a threat,
keep your cats inside,
I am not kidding you,
Clickmom

Walking with knees pressed together

Today I pulled into the dermatologist parking lot to find not one but two hard to find parking spots available. Yay, right? One spot was partially blocked by a rude mal-parked honda odyssey driver who parked over the line dividing his space from the next space. I slid into the clearly defined other spot thinking I would more than likely find an empty partial spot next to my truck when I returned if the odyssey was still there. But I was wrong. I sat in the car for a moment because I had arrived un-fashionably early when some chick pulls in right next to me and makes a mad dash for the building. I open my door and realize that not even a slender three year old could make it out of that door crack, let alone me, and I call to the lady and say "Hey, I assume you don't want me to slam my door into your car! Am I right? Cause you parked in my spot and now I can not get out!" So she dashed back, got into her car and drove away. The I went in for my appointment and crossed my fingers for either an empty space or a mini cooper .

I sat in the dermatologist's office waiting room getting more and more nervous as I watched the people all walking through the out door with their heavily bandaged noses, chins, and foreheads. Finally, a torturous (mostly because Rachael Ray was on the waiting room television and no matter where I sat in the waiting room, I could still hear her) 20 minutes later, they called me, brought me into a room, and gave me a paper mini vest to put on (opening to the rear) and a bigger flat sheet of paper to lay across my lap. Yeah, nice. Right out of the "How to completely annoy a fat chick" handbook. I took one look at the paper mini vest, which didn't even come down to my waist, stripped my nice warm real clothes off, papered myself up and put my down coat back on. It was undeniably freezing in there. And when the dermatologist came in she laughed when she saw me half papered half down coat covered and turned off the AC. (Yes, it's in the 30's today and she had the AC blowing) She said something about her last patient being in menopause. Hahaha. I don't care.

Anyways, to make a long (gruesome) story short, I should have suffered through the brazilian and will not be taking spin class this week. Dermatologist said she couldn't tell for sure, it had all the markers of a melanoma, and it was either nothing or something I caught very early. Biopsy results will be back in about 2 weeks. Ouch.

When I got to my truck I discovered an astro van, and not the hoped for mini cooper, beside my truck. The astro van, while still in my parking spot, left me slightly more room than the odyssey. I figured I could crawl over the passenger seat, but then I remembered what had happened in the dermatologist office and instead opted for chancing the astro's door (would they really notice another dent?) while I (not carefully for the van at all) but carefully not to move my nether regions any more than absolutely necessary stepped into my truck and slowly lowered myself into my seat.

Home again, home again jiggety jig.

NaBloPostingRightUnderTheWire

Last November, the first time (and I know one can have their first time once) I did NaBloPoMo I was completely hooked on the randomiser. I recall staying up late at night, clicking and clicking and laughing and bookmarking blogs that I liked and just feeling completely joyous about the whole thing. Oh yeah, also I totally grooved on the extra traffic the randomiser brought my way. (Stat whore, remember?)

This year, not so much. The randomiser has failed me, let me down, broken may heart. First of all if you haven't posted every day then I think you should remove yourself from the post fest. It's only fair. Also, "I got nuthin" does not qualify as a post. Also, why does my randomiser rotate through the same 20 or so blogs over and over (and over again)? Where are the other thousands of people? Did we do something wrong when we signed up? Tell me, I can handle it.

Every day I check my stats and no randomiser hits. Also, no change in stats. I was hoping to make some new friends on the randomiser, and now I just (a tear rolls silently down my cheek) feel so alone. sniff. Is anyone new out there?

As a matter of fact (having more spare time than I recognize) I managed to take notes during my last very completely dissatisfying randomizing session and now I have a list of reasons how the randomizer has failed me.

Ready?

11. Manic Mommies every 6 clicks
10. People just signed up yesterday and joined NaBloPoMONTH 1/2 way through after not posting since Oct 16th.
9. signs off her posts TTFN
8. First line of post "I cannot believe that I'm 23 years old!"
7. Male blogger who doesn't think WIll Smith is sexy. Don't even go there.
6. Everyone but me is getting tagged for some meme.
5. Knitting
4. someone got NaBlo combined with NaNo and is writing part 38 of his novel.
3. I don't go to musical events in Hudson Valley
2. Aprons

and the number one reason why the Randomiser has failed me

1. No hablo espanol.

I want to know what a girl has to do around here to
randomise blogs that don't try to sell me something, convert me, preach frugality, dis Will Smith (or Matt Damon, Hello??), knit or sew (except sock zombies because they (and their maker) are funny) also, what I want (what I really really want) is blog that strikes a chord, maybe it gets me all choked up, maybe it tickles my funny bone. If you make me laugh out loud, even better.

cranky photo rant

My paper has several people that call themselves "photographers". I am the only one of those several that catually has any actual credentials. (B.S. in Photography, thank you very much) the other two "photographers" are folks who thought to themselves, "Gee willy! I love taking purty pictures! I think I'll call myself a photographer!" and they got the same low paying job I did and went to work for the paper. They bug the shit out of me. One is just weird and the other tries too hard to be my buddy. He does it nicely, as if I am as inexperienced as he is and I want to let him know that I am the pro. He is the wanna be. Their photos, to be honest, pretty much suck don't do much for me. I am a tough critic. The guy has been getting better, he's trying, but the woman... grrr...

My editor sent me this photo from a soccer game I shot last week.
That big fat dressed in black woman in the back is me. The guy just showed up- at MY assignment and shot MY game! Wait a minute! I thought I was invisible in black! OMG, do I need to cut out the carbs. This is the shot I was taking the split second after that novice's lame shot:

See?? See what I mean? These people are driving me nuts pretending to be photographers!! I mean, not only do I photograph the players and the ball close together, but I am actually able to do it under very distracting circumstances. I was able to take superb photos of that game despite being on the same side of the field as the man who is undoubtedly going be People Magazine's hottest man of the year. Not only that, I remained composed even though the guy was running back and forth in front of me time and time again. I don't know if you can imagine, but I stood steady and focused for the entire game all the while being teased and tormented by an unattainable hottie like this:

Now who is the Pro?

playing it cool

We had another meeting scheduled with Matt's guidance counselor today. It's the obligatory spring time meeting. I. Hate. Her. I can't help it, she has this power over me, every word out of her mouth makes me want to leap out of my chair, climb across the table and slap her up the side of the head. She has a bed attitude. That and she misprounces our last name every time.

Also, it is personal now. She sent me a letter a couple of weeks ago, in which she suggested that I might want to get myself some counseling to help myself cope with the "stress" I imagined Matt was feeling when she added another class to his schedule and after a few weeks I took it back out. Hahaha. You can imagine I went into this meeting with a very itchy trigger finger.

I took the guidance counselors angry/insulting letter, printed out a couple of articles on Asperger's from reputable web sites off the internet (All of which, naturally, supported everything I ever said or did) headed down to Staples and xeroxed a dozen copies of both the letter and the articles to pass out at this meeting. You know, just in case. Not that I was planning on challenging anyone ~ahem~ I just needed to go into this meeting boy scout prepared. In the meantime, the husband is bogged down at work, and really couldn't afford to take the afternoon off, but he came anyway, in order to keep me in line and make sure that the Middle School wouldn't feel the need to take out a restraining order on me. This would be a reasonable fear given my less than stellar history with conflict resolution and the adrenaline fueled condition I was experiencing going into this meeting.

Don't you know that 20 minutes into the meeting, I was telling the husband to calm down (he was threatening to call in the lawyers) while watching that angry vein throbbing on his red faced forehead. The husband settled back down, and I stepped in. I told the counselor I didn't want to have an adversarial relationship with her or anyone in the school and reminded her that we are all gathered for the same reason. Then she said something that pissed me off. She made me whip out the letter and the articles, and I did end up distributing the precollated packets.

Walking down the empty Middle School hallway after the meeting Matt (who had been invited to this meeting by the idiot counselor) leaned over and whispered in my ear "That was great Mom! When she said she wasn't angry and you said 'Oh, yes you are and I have your angry letter right here to prove it' and then you held up the letter and gave it out!! Ha! You were great!" and I realized that I was great in that meeting. I have put her in her place before, but that was always over the phone. This time I told her a thing or two in front of her peers. I saw Matt's English teacher nodding in agreement with me too.

bloggy ideas all day long

Sunday I took Matt and Josh to the movies while the husband took Evan to a Giants game. Always on the lookout for blog fodder (and feeling just a bit of extra pressure to perform thanks to NaNaNooNoo) I supposed I could make a post out of falling fast asleep for about 3/4 of this movie, (Flushed Away) and reawakening for only the last 15 minutes, just in time to force a look of recognition back onto my face and walk the aisle on the way out and be able to pretend I had been conscious for the whole thing. Then I magnanimously woke up the other comatose woman who was alone with two kids when I realized that she was completely out cold, (complete with drool) not going to wake up on her own and her 4 year old twins were assessing the situation and considering leaving her behind. I redeemed myself there. My eyes were open when the credits began to roll.

Matt had gone his own way in the movie multiplex and had enjoyed the new Borat movie while I was snoozing beside Josh in animation hell. Sometimes Matt understands everything and amazes me with his adult grip on the world, but not today. He had trouble separating reality from the movie and didn't understand right away that only the Borat character was pretending and that all the other people really did feel the things they said. I suppose it is good that he had no idea that people could be so hateful. We are not hateful people. I felt like a bad Mom for letting him go alone, and now I have to go back with him so we can pick the movie apart together.

Then I thought that the post of the day could be about the family of three who sat in the next booth at Matt's favorite after movie spot Chilli's. The Dad did not utter a single word because he was playing his game boy the whole time, the mom talked on her wireless bluetooth headphones the whole time. The single 8 year old child colored the whole kids menu with out saying a word. When the mom finally got off the phone (just as they were paying) the first and only thing she said to the girl was "What video are you going to watch on the way home?" I am fuming now. OK, You know those public service announcements where they tell you your kids will be smarter if you eat with them? Uh, huh, well you have to acknowledge them too. And you know what people at the next booth? You can actually talk to each other in a restaurant as well as in a vehicle. Who knew? I know, I know. But yes, it is true. You can take off your headsets and turn off your electronics and not only can you speak to each other but you can look at each other. Try it sometime. Amazing, I know, you will be astounded at the great things that happen when you communicate. Like this, the kid might tell you something about herself, and you might even enjoy it. You'll never know until you try.

Then we got into the car to come home, and there was an Eddie Money song on the radio and Matt said "Eddie MONEY??? Is that like in the old days when they named you for your job like Johnny Appleseed??" And I started to laugh. And laugh. And tears were streaming down my face, and I actually had to pull over when I thought "How can I blog this?" because I was laughing so hard I couldn't see anymore. It was definitely the raisin effect. Then I wondered how I was going to explain to a cop why I was pulled over in a place you wouldn't normally pull over and I started to howl some more. Finally I had to think about Flushed Away so I could get that sleepy sad not funny at all feeling back and continue driving home. It worked too.

Now I am writing incredibly long blog posts because the other thing I have to do is work on my novel and my heroine seems very much like that pathetic and clueless self centered 14 year old we all discover we used to be when we read our old diaries, and she is starting to annoy me.

treat treat treat

When we took Devil Dog to the local dog training school, the philosophy was clear. Give the dog a treat, treat, treat every time they do what you ask them to do. Later on we were suposed to be able to wean the dogs off of the treat, treat, treat. Sometimes, after a long and difficult evening with the Devil Dog I have a little PTSD and can actually swear I hear the instructor saying "Good Dog, treat, treat, treat." in her animated goo goo baby dog voice. shudder. I pretty knew from the get go that this approach wasn't going to work for Devil Dog. Pretty much she was only going to do something if she wanted to do it and there would be no fooling her with a treat, treat, treat. Eventually the night before dog school became steak night in this house because if I brought a bag of chopped up steak and cheese to dog training school I had a slim chance of making the Devil Dog perform. I hated dog school.

Fast forward a year and a half and sure enough Devil Dog, who has the whole family wrapped around her dew claws, still expects a treat, treat, treat for doing all the routine things in life that we were supposed to be able to wean her off the treats for doing. Every night when we crate her we toss a treat in as we happily chirp "Crate time" because if we just say "Crate time" and have no treat action she will approach the crate, sniff the air for treat residue and give us the look which says "Not a chance I am going in there without my treat you big treat dispensers". So, we toss.

One of Devil Dogs other endearing traits is her unwillingness to enter the house without being bribed with a treat. When she didn't automatically come when we called her in from the yard, a well meaning friend with a well behaved dog suggested we say "Devil Dog want a treat?" and that way she would come. It worked like magic. Now the Devil Dog is old enough to ask, beg, scratch, and bark to go in or out by herself, and when she decides she wants to come back into the house she will bark or scratch and then stand at the open door until we offer up the treat, even though we haven't called her in and coming in is her own idea. Eventually she'll just relax into a sit or a lie and calmly wait us out. When she has the munchies she likes to go in and out a lot. It gets kind of old after a while so sometimes I leave the door open and try to ignore her for as long as possible. This would be fine if we lived in a temperate bug free climate, but we don't. Sometimes the icy air flowing over my naked toes is all I can take before I go berserk. Soon, we'll be trying to defend ourselves from all the mosquitoes. This is what the Devil Dog looks like as she settles down and waits for her treat treat treat.

STONES update

OK, so the "Meet the ROLLING STONES" party was last night. This is how boring my husband is. He got there at 9 when it started. He said that he himself was the most famous person in the room. At 10:45 Mick Jagger came in surrounded by security and seated himself in the corner of the room surrounded by security. No one got near him, at least no one got near him in the 15 minutes the husband was there for because he had already called a cab for 11, then promptly at 11 he left. Folks, he didn't even care.

He left without even seeing if he could get close to Mick, and god forbid have a photo taken, that I could hold over his head for every "You don't love me" argument we have from now until eternity. Jeez. The nerve. So, I figured I would doctor up a photo of some other office geek with Mick, but the husband didn't think any one brought a camera. He emailed one of his co-workers who replied that she thought one of her clients took some shots with a cell phone and got in trouble for doing so. What the hell kind of party was this? No cameras? Damn. I am getting no fun out of this.

Still mad he didn't ask me.

I am not meeting the rolling stones

Last week the husband informed me that because of a client he would be able to attend a party with THE ROLLING STONES. OMG! My sil interrupted with "Are spouses invited?" To which he answered, "No." hmmph. We never get to enjoy the meaningful perks. ~sob~

Well, the husband actually brought the party up because he was told that he had to dress in "STONES casual". This is really funny if you know the husband. He fought hard against casual Fridays and until recently owned only white shirts to wear with his dark gray suits. Crazy and adventurous dressing for him is a bright and bold tie. I told him he should get a black shirt and just wear it with any pants he wants. Black is good. This is not as simple as it seems, since the husband requires a big and tall store, he is of the tall, and, well the pickins is slim. First of all there are no B&T stores located near his office, second is that you never know what is in style at the B&T store, they have a style all their own.

Well, the husband didn't buy anything new to wear and this morning he asked me what I thought of the blue shirt he planned on wearing with his dark gray suit. Was it STONES casual? So, I did what any person would do, I told him he would look like a geek. Normally this is fine with me, since I go for the geeky type, but when meeting THE ROLLING STONES, one must try to transcend their geekiness, for just an evening. He said the other guys from the office were bound to dress like geeks too. I replied with doubt, and then, (Are you listening? Cause this is where it gets real bad-real fast) he said he knew there would be at least one other geek there cause he had an extra ticket and invited his friend Roy to join the party. Yes, my husband, the father of my 3 children invited Roy, his pal, To MEET THE ROLLING STONES, instead of ME, the one who has been faithfully married to him for 14 1/2 years.

Dear readers, what could I do? I was not on his short list of people he would like to invite to meet THE ROLLING STONES. I did the only thing I could do, I cried. Yes, the water works came, and I have been crying on and off all day. I feel like shit. My feelings are so hurt.

He tried to explain away his thoughtless actions with "It's at 9 oclock at night!" I said he was right and that I would much rather hang out with THE ROLLING STONES at 1 o'clock in the afternoon. BUT THAT'S NOT GONNA HAPPEN IS IT??

When he "apologizes" it is one of those fake apologies that do not actually take responsibility for the offending action. "I am sorry you are hurt." I'll sorry that hurt right up your big butt buddy. That doesn't count as an apology!!

He sent flowers, and you know what? All I want to do is run over them with the car....about 50 times. Why in the world would I want to look at a big ugly bouquet of flowers that I hate? Cause I think calling the florist and telling them to send flowers is not a sincere gift, cause he doesn't even know what kind of flowers I like, cause the smell of roses makes me want to puke and you know there are roses in there, cause every time he does something like this he sends flowers and comes home and says "That's what they sent? That's not attractive.", cause he calls the same exact florist to send the same exact unattractive rose bearing bouquet every time, AND MOSTLY cause I don't want to be reminded that the man I am obligated to spend the best years of my life with didn't even think to ask if I wanted to meet THE ROLLING STONES.

the mumbler

If there is one thing I hate it is mumblers. I am not talking about the kind of people who talk so low that they can not be heard. I am talking about the kind of people who say mean things under their breath and I always end up hearing them. In my experience mumblers only say mean things. I have yet to over hear any one ever mumbling anything like "She's fantastic." or "Great meal, how does she do it?"

Now, to be fair, I come from a long line of mumblers, my grandmother and mother both share that trait, and I am not among the most secure of gals, so when I encounter a new mumbler, I bring a fair amount of baggage with me in response to their insensitive remarks.

Enter Susan, the husband invited a work friend and his family to spend the day with us. They arrived at lunch time so I had prepared a feast for our two families to share. We ate out at the dock, so I used paper plates, but real cutlery. We all ate well, sat around chatting, and at the end of the meal decided to go for a boat ride. I said I had to clear the picnic table, so being guests with good manners, they all grabbed something and helped me move everything back into the house. While I reloaded the food stuff into the fridge, I heard Susan say "So wasteful, it's so wasteful." under her breath.

Being a host with good manners, I didn't spin around and start screaming at her, but really, give me a freaking break! I so totally wanted to hurt her. I wanted to ram her head into the floor repeatedly while screaming "Get the freak over yourself, Miss High and Mighty!" She looked pretty weak, I thought I could definitely take her. (Baggage remember?) I assumed she was talking about the use of paper products, since I was saving all the food, but truthfully don't know.

Back to hurting her, HOW DARE SHE? Rude, rude, rude. Even if that slut ho was thinking it, why not just keep it to her skanky self? Am I right? I mean, I didn't hear her say "No" to the special veggie burgers I purchased just for her? They were served on paper plates. She never once asked for a glass instead of paper while sucking up all of the husbands diet coke. (Which incidentally, came in a wasteful plastic two liter bottle)

Notice to any good friends and close family members: If I become a mumbler in my advanced age, just grab the rifle and take me down, it is just not who I want to be.

road rage

There is a good reason I do not own a gun. I do not own a gun because I would use a gun if I owned a gun. A perfect example of someone I would like to use a gun on is the A**hole, who just had to cut in front of me yesterday on the Bruckner expressway. He couldn't cut in behind me, or in front of the vehicle in front of me, the one I was following, he had to cut in between me and the vehicle I was following. Did he use his signals? No. He just started to wander sideways towards my vehicle, so I gave him a little "Hey, hey, my vehicle is already in this spot" honk. Then he kept coming, so I gave him the "I am not getting out of your way buddy." honk. He turned around and gave me a sneer that I am sure makes him a total psychopath, and he jerked his wheel towards my lane, forcing his crappy tin box against my massive truck, scraping the side of his beat up old Acura with Delaware plates (Yes, I have them written down) with the corner of my brand new front fender! Yes, Sylvia has been battered again. She has been mine for a short month and has withstood not one but two assualts.

Well, this A**hole just drives on and on as if he didn't do anything, and I continue to drive on and on behind him seething with a venom that is beyond description, fantasing about what I'd like to do with him, yet knowing he is a sick and dangerous man, and I can't do anything crazy because not only do I have my 3 children in the car who are blissfully unaware of what is going on, but my 6 year old nephew is in there with us too. They are all thankfully plugged in to the DVD system watching Pee Wee's Big Adventure (after wordlessly watching the whole movie they would declare it the worst movie ever) and haven't experienced the horrid new car metal scraping noise or my incessant curing that followed.

And that is why I do not own a gun. I would have totally blew this guys brains out on the spot. That being said, if you own a gun, are willing to defend my honor and happen to recognize him in your journeys....(kidding!)

my sad, angry, disappointed day

I am having a day where if I talk I cry. I am just so sad today. The four major reasons are:

1. First I find out that Evan’s teacher isn’t being rehired for next year because a couple of mothers have been complaining about her. I know one of them is, diplomatically speaking, crackers. The woman is total bat-shit, and her kid is looney tunes. Evan comes home every day with a list of all the inappropriate things this child has said and done. He hates kids that can’t behave, and I’m going to put myself out there and say that “inclusion” is not always the best choice. Evan’s teacher is a real doll, and a great teacher. The issue is with the kid, and the principal will surely see that next year, when he is with another teacher, and Mrs. Bat-shit- crackers-for-brains comes in with the same complaints. So, this makes me sad, cause Evan’s teacher was crying, and I was crying, and I even went and wrote a letter to the principal letting him know how I feel. She was really a good teacher.

2. This morning I had to photograph a funeral for a local guy, who was too young to die (in his 60’s), a life long resident, and politically active, very well loved. As if that was not bad enough the “photographer” (I am totally being nice by calling her that) from the paper that competes with my paper was there and she kept following me around practically taking photos over my shoulder. GRRRRR.... She knows I am a better photographer than her, and always teases me about working for the NY Times, and one day I am totally going to elbow her if she doesn’t quit trying to get the same shot as me!!

3. Then, I get a letter from the kids pediatrician saying that he is moving to a remote part of Hawaii so that he can participate more in his kids lives. (Just can’t make this shit up!) While this is a great thing for his kids, it totally sucks for me, because I have ISSUES with doctors and can not imagine trusting anyone as much as I trust him, I mean, I would totally do what ever he said because he is as WEIRD and smart at the same time as I am, and people like me just don’t come around very often, and now I may have to untangle this web of deceit I have spun for myself, brave a new frontier, and take the road less traveled, even though I can’t imagine loving or trusting any other doctor as much as I do him. Boo Hoo.

4. I have to photograph HS graduation tonight, and the kids favorite baby sitter is graduating and going away to college and that means , no more baby sitting. I could be more enthusiastic about going to this graduation.

Even this fabulous photo of another patriotic butt cannot get me to smile tonight, but I thought I’d share it with you anyway.

sometimes I can't speak

I have a different parenting style from my SIL. I held and loved my kids every minute of the day. She believes hers should be independent. Today she told me HER 8 MONTH OLD WAS MANIPULATIVE. I said I didn't think an 8 month old could be maipulative. She said her daughter WAILS when she leaves the room and then stops when she reenters the room. She interprets this as manipulative. My heart just dropped for that poor baby. I thought about explaining to my SIL about object permanence and how her baby thinks she no longer exists when she can't see her, but I knew there was no use. My SIL won't ask me for advice and already thinks I am judgemental of her. She thinks she has all the answers, just like I think I have all the answers. I just swallowed my words, shed a tear for my niece and wondered whatever was so bad in my SIL's life that she refuses to allow her own kids to need her.

Now I am pissed.

I love to check my stats. I love to see who searched what on ggogle to get to my site, and then I look at their site, and people are putting MY PHOTOS on their sites, without ever asking for my permission!!!!!!! That pisses me off more than the perverts who keep logging on after googling "naked girls basketball". Go away LOSERS!

I'll take the quaalude card.

In the elementary school here they give the kids Gold Cards as a reward for good behavior. Poor behavior is supposed to get a gray card on the first warning and dastardly behavior gets a red card, which means the parents have to come meet with the principal. I think this system just sucks. It goes against everything I try to teach my kids which is in a nut shell- WE TAKE THE HIGH ROAD, DO THE RIGHT THING BECAUSE IT IS THE RIGHT AND MORAL THING TO DO, WE ARE GOOD PEOPLE WHO DO GOOD THINGS. No reward involved. After all the reverse is true as well. We don’t want our kids to abstain from murdering folks just to stay out of jail. We want them to grow up and not become homicidal.

Evan, who is naturally helpful and sweet, never gets recognized, and I try to make him believe that it is because he is so wonderful that teachers take his good behavior for granted. Yet, day after day he comes home with tales of helpfulness that would make an Eagle Scout look like a slacker, all in an attempt to get the teachers attention and earn the elusive Gold Card. I know he is helpful other times because parents approach me to tell me tales of kind gestures that they have witnessed or heard of, and girls parents often tell me that he is the only boy that their daughters think is nice.

Lately Evan has been saying that each child in the class has to earn one Gold Card by the end of the month and now that someone is paying attention to him, he has taken home two in the past week. I said “Good Job! Way To Go! High Five!” But what I meant was, “Oh I want to get up and dance a jig, they finally noticed you.” (Can yo sense the sarcasm in there?)

So, I have come up with some cards to motivate the teachers with.

Slime Card- for the teacher who is slow as a snail and dismisses the kids 5 minutes late EVERY DAY.

Caffeine Card- for the teacher with so little personality the kids fall asleep in class.

Quaalude Card -for the teacher who throws desks. (every school has one if you don’t think yours does just ask around)

Rose Colored Glasses Card -for the burnt out teacher who either hates boys or girls, but has a rep for being a good teacher for the preferred gender only.

Retirement Card- for the one who needs to go.

Reality Card- for the unmarried, childless teacher who is adversarial towards parents and think she has all the answers, we hate her!

Paycheck Card- for teachers who can teach, leave kids emotionally intact, and keep parents in their good graces.
Have an idea for a good Card? Suggestions welcome.

kitchen cabinet

I hate the “window” we have to give delivery or repair people. It is ridiculous and unprofessional. I used to go to an eye doctor that made me wait at least an hour every time, I found a new one. We are often at their mercy since they either have a monopoly over our areas service (ie: phone and cable) or have the goods we have paid for, or at least have made a hefty deposit on.

It is 11:22, and I sit here waiting for the kitchen cabinet that was scheduled for delivery between 9 and 11. Shall I list all the things I am able to accomplish in 2 1/2 hours? On a slow day I could have picked up a birthday gift, dashed into the post office, stopped by the office to say “Hi” to my editor, taken the dog to the vet and shopped for food. This is what I could have done this morning if I had not been sitting here waiting, waiting, waiting. ..

They tell me at the store that he is stuck in traffic on the highway. Why no one thought to call and let me know, I wonder. I have given them my cell phone number, I have things to do (see above), they can wait for me now.

My child is not a dog.

Yesterday I woke up in a bad mood. It was a "Don't Test My Limits Today" mood, which as any mother of any amount of kids will tell you, means, you are going to have a difficult day. Not testing limits just isn't an option. Matt really managed to push my buttons, so I felt the need to vent to husband before bed. I was rattling on and on doing some imitations of Matt's over the top responses as well as re-enactments of myself pulling my hair out and waving my arms in disbelief when he said........ "IT'S LIKE WITH THE DOG, YOU HAVE TO LEASH HIM UP AND GIVE HIM A CORRECTION."

3..2..1...Blast Off!