clickmom

klepto me too

I fought back the tears the whole 2+ hour drive to Matt's camp this morning. This past week I felt like a caged tiger just pacing the cage waiting for an opportunity to burst out an unattended door. I wanted my kids back. Waiting was rough. When I slid into the truck this morning I had the feelng that once I got my babies back I would be me again (still not exactly feeling like myself) I felt like I was about to get a crucial part of myself, of who I am back.

The missing part of me might not have taken shower since he last saw the rest of me two weeks ago at visiting day.

I fought back the tears all the way home because to be honest the part of me that came home from camp was downright pungent. My missing piece also managed to neglect his hair again, and somewhere he decided that he might as well not shave for the entire camp experience. Yummy! And to think, just 24 hours ago I wondered if my piece would let me hug him as much as I wanted to! Hahahaha, the joke is on the part of me that showers!

My missing piece hasn't stopped crying since he left camp either. Since me, the unmissing, took a thorough shower this morning before departure I knew it had to be for a different reason. I assumed it was because camp was so incredibly excellent that my missing piece was sorry to see it end. He said that was correct. Except my missing piece couldn't shake the tears, didn't want to eat (okay, he does have a little head cold) and couldn't muster the enthusiasm to think of anything he wanted to do. Hmmmm

After my missing piece showered I sat him down for another big dread lock comb out. During the comb out, when I had to give him a break so he could sob for a minute, I figured that this was more of a broken heart scenario than an "I love my camp!" break down so I asked him if he had a girlfriend at camp. He said he did. And he had this girlfriend the whole time, well except for the last week because his 17 year old (YES! 17!!) girlfriend got to go on this trip because she was not a camper but a CIT and she got caught shop lifting on a trip for CITs and then her parents took her home and wouldn't let her come back. So I asked him if aside from being a kleptomaniac if she was a nice person and he said she was. And also that she wrote to him from home.

So let's review: 15 year old Matt has a 17 year old girlfriend.

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Sorry, I passed out on the key board there.

Okay, where were we, Matt's 17 year old girlfriend shop lifts.
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Oy Vey.

But Matt she is a quality person.
Who shop lifts.
On a camp trip.

The good news is that Matt's 17 year old klepto girlfriend lives 2 hours away.
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The bad news could be that she might have a drivers license.

I am so not ready for this.

But here is a confession; When I was 16 my parents sent me on a teen tour. I hated it. The one thing that got you immediately kicked off the tour was shop lifting (and having sex but the 7 little boys on that tour with me (the virgin) were not an option). So I shop lifted my way across the United States in hopes of getting sent home. I never got caught even I slipped something into my pocket while talking to the sales lady. I must be a more talented thief than Matt's girlfriend. Hopefully she'll outgrow it too.

smothered

I was starting to feel guilty about how I am still so very numb that I wasn't feeling like I missed Matt and Evan enough while they were at camp. The truth is that I have been enjoying the simplicity of only dealing with one kid at home. Last summer, when I was chomping at the bit to send the boys off because it had been a difficult year, I turned around by day 4 of their camp adventures and felt like I couldn't breath until all my chicks were back in my own nest. This summer, well, I don't really feel anything. Except I am kind of appreciative of the fact that they are around people who are not walking around in some kind of emotional daze.

But then today we hopped into the car to visit Matt today for his visiting day and by the time we reached the sleepy little town we drive through on our way in, I was shaking I was so anxious to see him. And then I had to fight back the tears. And I wold calm myself down. And then I'd tear up again. Until finally we got to his camp and because it was raining all the kids were waiting in their bunks but the camp asked us to check in and pick up some info packet first. And I could not wait another second so I left the husband to pick up the forms and ran all the way across the campus to get to Matt's bunk.

And then I gave him the biggest hug I could. And then I hugged him again. And because Matt is pretty much used to me being an emotional wreck, and is amazingly tolerant of my never ending melodramatic roller coaster ride he hugged me back. And he looked so good to me. (With the one exception of the total rat's nest of knotted hair on the back of his head that I managed to brush out using about 1/2 a bottle of detangler and taking a good 25 solid minutes to do so. You should know that the front of his hair was somewhat presentably brushed) And he was so relaxed and sweet. We took him to the movies, and out to lunch. The shopping for some new sunglasses. Matt didn't know that you couldn't carry your sunglasses around in your pants pocket. He knows now! And at the same time, I picked up the detangler and did the deed (brush out) in the mall parking lot so as not to embarrass Matt in front of his camp friends.

Speaking of camp friends, we were sitting with Matt right before we left and heard "MAaaatt!" and a girl ran over to Matt, who was seated at the time, and wrapped her arms around the top part of him, while pressing her bosom over his face. My baby boy's face was smothered in bosom. I was ... astonished. Uh .... Yup, astonished fits. Matt tells me they hang out sometimes and are just friends. I wonder if Matt is aware of the not entirely subtle hints that girls give to guys they "hang out" with. Hmmm.

bloomfield

Grandma has been asking to go home lately. I can't bring myself to tell her she is permanently living at the nursing home now. I tell her she will go home as soon as she starts walking again even though I know she won't be walking around again. If she did somehow decide to get strong again one day I would totally send her back to the OFH. It looks better every single day. It's not that the nursing home is bad per se, it's just that some of the old people at the nursing home are kind of scary. Some of them are totally checked out and I don't like to see that for grandma or for myself. And the kids get a little freaked out seeing it too.

Mostly the care over there seems pretty good, though there is definitely a hierarchy of duties there that the people will and will not do. The lowest job on the hierarchy is assisting the bathroom. Today I walked in to see grandma being wheeled by the lunch lady over to the nurses station. The nurse doesn't do bathroom duty so she had to fetch an aide and poor grandma just sat in her chair softly saying saying "Help me, oh please won't someone help me." I was afraid to help her myself, I didn't know what to do, so I just watched. The whole wait was two minutes but it seemed forever. And witnessing grandma's pitiful cry for help didn't sit well with me.

They have some kind of laundry problem over there at the nursinghome and despite the fact that I have cleaned Sears out twice of their size 10 black polyester elastic waist pants every time I go over she is wearing someone else's clothes. Mostly she is wearing borrowed pants, but every once in a while she has on someone else's shirt, and sometimes, the shirts do not match grandma's wise with age level of sophistication. See example below:

Grandma still has her social graces about her. When she knows a picture is being taken she can smile with the best of them. It makes it a little easier to bear.

This week I face the always less than pleasant task of cleaning out grandma's apartment. Again. We are paid up on the rent until the end of the month and I have the salvation army coming on the 29th for her furniture, but I have to do another cleansing of the bric-a-brac. I figured what ever was left there was pretty much worthless since the scumcle and his witch of a wife had long ago absconded with anything of obvious monetary value. But then I was surprised to see the very same little ring holder she had on her dresser in a Waterford display at the department store. Now I wonder. I'd love to know if there are any stories behind the bowls and little statuettes. Are any of them from my great grandparents? Special anniversary gifts? Anything with a good story? I just don't know. I feel bad giving her history away. So I am going to pack it up and take it to an antique dealer and see what there is. I know the dealer won't be able to tell me the stories I imagine make these pieces worth while, but she will at least be able to tell me if the things are old and where they come from so I can guess for myself.

sharp

I am pretty bad at giving the kids chores and making them responsible for stuff around the house. Which really isn't working for me since I end up doing everything all alone and getting all resentful about it. The one chore I have been making Evan and Matt do themselves is packing their own stuff for trips. At first I gave them lists to refer to for packing thoroughness but somewhere along the line, I just gave the boys a whole lot of credit and started saying something vague like "pack for three days and two nights". How's that working for us? Yeah, uh... that's been what I have been asking myself these past couple of days.

You be the judge.

Three things Evan did pack for utopia:

1. the wood carving knife lil sis got him for hanukah
2. his swiss army knife
3. the fisherman's utility blade I found on the side of the street while walking the devil one day last April. I brought it home and gave it to Evan.

Three things Evan did not pack for utopia:

1. pajamas
2. socks
3. underwear

I'm thinking I might have to revert back to the detailed list method here.

meat

We took the kids to Chilis the other day. Eating out is a DRAG when you are an adult with food allergies (I actually cried one day at the diner when the waiter brought my carefully ordered gluten free meal with toast lying on it and I had to send it back) but if you are a kid and your choices are pretty restricted then it REALLY SUCKS. I get that.

One thing I can order at Chilis are the lettuce wraps. The sauces bother me, but if I totally minimize them I am okay. When we opened our menus Evan shot me a nasty "I am more than on my way to being a teenager and everything that makes me unhappy is your fault" look. Trying not to let his testosterone rush bother me, I cheerfully recommended the lettuce wraps to him. He lowered the menu, visibly suppressed a snarl, took a deep breath feigning some kind of parental patience and said "Well, you're...... (pause for special kind of intelligent looking facial expression)...... (breathe in) okay......(pause to look like a deep thinker).....I'm going to point out both our gender difference and our age difference here...."

He ordered a steak.

poke

Last spring my nephew accidentally poked himself in the forehead with a pen. He got a little purple bruise there. He has been wearing his hair longer for the past year, so no one was really thinking about it. Until this week when my nephew got his summer hair cut. And that little purple bruise was still there a whole year later. Nephew just happened to have his yearly check up scheduled this week so lil sis mentioned the ever lasting bruise to the doctor. The doc asked nephew exactly how he got the bruise and announced with doctor like authority "It's not a bruise. It's a tattoo!" It seems that when my nephew poked himself in the forehead with his pen he gave himself a little dot purple tattoo. At first, upon hearing the doctor's declaration nephew's eyes opened wide in horror and then a slow smile spread across his face as it sunk in. My nine year old nephew has a prison tattoo. Lil sis quickly informed him that he should enjoy it since it would be his one and only.

I'm trying to conjure up some sort of bad taste father/son joke here, but since I just end up crying when I think about my poor brother in law in prison, it's not coming to me.

tease

The best thing about it not being fuh(reakin)reezing out is I am back with my BBQ. I love the BBQ, mostly because there is less clean up involved, but truly because of Steven Raichlen. He is my fantasy man. Well, only if he does the dishes after too. Seriously, if you want to be impressive on the BBQ get his books! The one I live by is How To Grill and I live with it tucked under one arm all summer. It will not disappoint! That being said, the reason I do not grill in the winter is because it's cold outside and that screws up the warmth factor of the grill and it's cold outside. So every spring, I have to get reacquainted with my grill and sometimes it takes me a meal or two (aka: disaster or two) to get my timing right. Here is the proof:
And in case you are wondering, I made them eat it. The insides were still good! (Twice!)

I managed to slip away to utopia for the night last night. I had to meet with the landscaper this morning. Here is more proof:

Somehow slipping away for the night just made the insufferable handful of weeks until the end of school seem longer. My kids don't believe me when I tell them I want school to be over more than they do, but you know it's true, don't you internet?

not paint

I first figured out that Matt had a milk allergy when he was about 20 months old. After taking him completely off of milk we had a blissful excema free year of sleeping through the night. Then I broke down from societal pressure and let him have milk again. And he still still slept through the night. So I kept letting him have milk until he ate milk all the time and was 9 years old and covered with excema and an emotional wreck and something inside of me thought that maybe I should get him off the milk again and when I did not only did the excema clear right up, but his emotions settled into a nice normal range. And that was the end of Matt's milk eating days. Today he is 15 so it has been a long run without.

This morning I was toasting bagels for Matt and the husband and the husband said he wanted cream cheese on his. Matt was trying to be helpful, so he at first put his margarine on the husband's bagel. But he realized quickly that this was not what the husband wanted, so he asked. And the husband said "cream cheese" and Matt did not hear me when I said he should take care of his own and I would handle the rest. And Matt, he who has no experience with all things dairy, took out the sour cream and attempted to spread it on the husband's bagel. Matt said "Oh wait, I think this is sour cream" and I jumped up to do some bagel scraping (and maybe snapped at Matt just a little bit). But I had to admit, that it was kind of amusing that the dairy free kid hadn't the foggiest of clues how to handle a request for cream cheese. Kind of like how my house cleaners sometimes appear to be from another planet when they do things like put the cordless phone into a bowl of fruit or toss the kids way ward socks into the toy bin.

Speaking of socks, Don't you hate it when you go on a laundry washing binge (because it's only been forever since your last load) and you are standing at the dryewr waiting for it to finish, but you don't have the patience to wait for the energy wasting anyway cool down to be over, so you try to reach in and grab all the hot dry clothes and you burn yourself on a metal jeans waistband button? Me too.

Also, someone needs to help me explain to the kids that there is a difference between "I need clean underwear" and "I want clean underwear because I am not flexible enough to go without for a day or four". My kids, as perfect as they are, can be so demanding sometimes.

And for my grand finale tonight..... also, to fulfill my "voices" NaBlaBla quota for the day I present to you me and Matt chatting in the car.

me: I see you had art today.
Matt: No
me: Are you sure?
Matt: Yup, no art today.
me: Then ..... why is there paint on your jeans?
Matt: Paint? That's not paint.
me: Looks like paint to me.
Matt: ........
me: (gulp)What is on your jeans?
Matt: Oh, that, yeah, ah that... yeah.... that's not paint. That's a funny story if you think about it. You see, I bought lunch in school today and I got some mustard up here (points to small stain near crotch) so I figured "Well, that might bring some unwanted attention to the wrong area of me." So I took some more mustard and some ketchup and I rubbed all over myself over here. Then he smiles, looking quite pleased at his keen 15 year old reasoning.
me: u...aa......m.... What?!?

two fer one

Part one:
Lil sis said to me this morning "sometimes you have to be the jerk to get results" and just have a looky at what ended up in my inbox today:

Clickmom,
As promised, I went through records at my country home and I have the following: Soc. Sec. Card, Medicare Card, Passports 1977 and 1987, Drivers license exp 2/3/93, certificate of marriage registration, certificate of executrix for grandpa.

Remember, it was your dad and not I, who applied for Medicaid in NY. Apparently NY accepted copies and did not require originals of these papers.

I'll call with this list, but thought you might want a written list.

Scumcle

P.S. I also have some NY apartment management apartment security papers at my country home.

Nice try there, scumcle, trying to blame the loss of grandma's records on my dad. But the passport is what I needed (proof of citizenship) and you have that. Hopefully you'll give it up.

unrelated Part two:

Dear Universe,

When the good wonderful doctor said he wanted to redo the part of my blood test that said I was deficient in all trace minerals because it couldn't possibly be right and he suspected an error at the lab I said sure, go ahead. Well, it seems like giving up dairy (laaaatteeeeee!) as fun as it was (cheeeeeese!) didn't do anything to help the trace mineral situation. So much for my severe dairy allergy causing absorbtion issues.

I didn't know that the good doc was also redoing the heavy metals part of the test. I'd cut and paste the results for you if I knew how, but since you are the universe I am sure you already know that I am now testing in the toxic range for Aluminum, Arsenic, Cadmium, and Mercury.

Universe.... Why?

Or should I throw my hands up over my head and ask "What?" Or maybe "WHAT??" Am I somehow self producing these heavy metals? It just does not seem possible to be that toxic. Also, how am I standing here if I am that toxic? How am I not in a hospital bed covered in sores and babbling nonsense and bald and blind and deformed? Huh? How can I appear normal and be so off balance? Maybe I only think I am normal. Wait, I saw pictures yesterday. They were normal, large but in a normal kind of way. Normally large. Wait.... I must be tougher than I realize. Wait..... No wonder my memory is shot. If this heavy metal thing is true it's amazing I can even think. At least I think I am thinking. Maybe I am already crazy and all this daily posting is just a hallucination brought on by the toxic levels of everything I seem to be carting around. Hello? Knock knock! Are you there? More importantly, am I here?

Universe, Can I get a break please? Or at least some medicinal marijuana? I mean if I am not going to think straight, I might at least as well laugh about it, right?

And make it soon.

I am fairly certain I am teetering on the edge here.

Thanks for listening,
Clickmom

lifted letter

Got home too late to see grandma last night so I went over to the OFH to see her this morning after serving up a belated birthday breakfast for Evan. (On Evan's real birthday, up in utopia where I wasn't cooking at all, I picked all the crunch berries out of a bowl of Cap'n Crunch for Evan because he can't eat the food dye and they didn't have the plain cap'n crunch at the utopian market, but even though I made that special effort it just wasn't the same as an actual home cooked breakfast like I do at home.)

When I got the OFH it was about 11:30 which is lunch time there and grandma was in the dining room waiting for her food but she looked terrible. She kind of looked like a really old homeless lady. I was angry that the aide had dressed her so carelessly. Grandma has a lot of clothes to choose from and it isn't hard to find the stuff that matches. And grandma's face has lost it's sparkle. She looked dull and saggy and puffy. Then grandma didn't really recognize me. And she asked me about three times who I was. She said I looked familiar, but she says that often, it is one of her memory loss covering techniques. I have seen her do it again and again. So I am not sure. I think after about 20 minutes she did know something because she started asking me the same loop of questions she always asks, which is how the boys are and where they are and what they are doing and what day it is. I showed her some pictures off of my iphone to hopefully spark her memory. Then I realized that the aide who dressed her in such a crazy fashion fastened her bra around her chest above her breasts which were flattened beneath the bra and smooshed against her stomach, you know , pointing straight down. So, I felt pushed over the edge just a bit and I went into the nursing office to tear someone a new one. And I let the nurse in charge have it.

Grandma just wanted to go to bed, so after I saw to it that she ate, I took her upstairs and tucked her in.

On my way out of the OFH, I started to cry. And I know grandma is going to have to go to a nursing home now. And the most convenient is the rehab she just got out of , but obviously I can't send her back there because of the horrible care and also because oh yeah, I kind of called Health and Senior services and filed that complaint, cough cough. So, I have to search for a better place this week.

And all the relaxing goodness of my week in utopia was instantly washed away and suddenly my neck hurts again, and my back felt tight and my heart was just clenched up in my chest. So I called lil sis and I told her how incredibly sad I was and how frustrated I am with my parents and the scumcle because someone has grandma's paper work history and I need it to get her some financial help and no one has found it for me, despite numerous pleas on my part, and lil sis got all riled up and said she would make some phone calls to the family on my behalf and I said she didn't have to , because every one knows you do not mess with lil sis, but it was too late and she hung up with me and made those calls. Actually she left messages on answering machines because no one was home, but the scumcle got his answering machine message and replied via email to lil sis (coward) and so, my letter(s) (haha on you nablopomo, I didn't forget!) for the day is the exchange between lil sis and the scumcle.

Dear Lil Sis,

Let me tell you something that you are not going to do again. That is, speak to me like that. Perhaps your sister, your parents, your husband, your in-laws and your friends will accept this from you. Your uncle will not.

Scum

and then lil sis didn't like that email and she emailed the scumcle back

Scumcle,

Obviously I have struck a chord - and I can't say I am sorry for that. I have watched my sister break her back caring for our grandmother - YOUR mother.

I have watched my brother in-law pay an incredible amount of money to make sure our grandmother - YOUR mother has the care she so desperately needed and continues to need.

I stand by my earlier statement that this is very unfair that she has had to ask/beg repeatedly for the proper papers (birth certificate, passport, etc) in order to get our grandmother, YOUR mother the care she now needs - care that is way to expensive for them to afford. Truthfully, I feel that this should never have been their burden to begin with at least not alone.

Our grandmother, YOUR mother is an insanely lucky woman that she has clickmom - she is there to love her, hold her hand, talk to her, help her, bring her to doctors, bring her candy, bring her anything she needs or wants EVERYDAY!! She does all of this while still taking care of her three children and making sure that they are not even the slightest neglected.

There are days that our grandmother, YOUR mother doesn't know who anyone is - except for clickmom because she can feel her love - it is apparent EVERYDAY that she is there to hold her hand. Clickmom is not retired or constantly traveling she is there - there for our grandmother, YOUR mother.

You think for one minute this is easy for Clickmom? She cries everyday watching our grandmother, YOUR mother slowly drifting away from us and reality. And she is doing this mostly alone - except for a few sporadic visits from other family members, myself included.

Clickmom and our grandmother, YOUR mother share an incredible bond - and the one thing that Clickmom was promised from our grandmother, YOUR mother - the ONE thing - you couldn't bear to let her have... why? You have practically all of her treasures - why couldn't you find it in your heart to let the woman who is taking such amazing care of YOUR mother have it? That was the cruelest thing I have seen in a long time.

So dear Uncle - I don't need you to tell me how I can or can not talk to anyone - I am a grown woman and if what I am saying is something you can't bear to hear maybe you should look deeper into that.....

Signed your niece,
Lil Sis

This is why I often lean in and whisper this tid bit of sage advice to my kids "Don't f*ck with Aunt Lil Sis" I wonder if the scumcle will have the balls to respond back.

mow mow mow my lawn

Dear guys who have been my lawn guys for about 5 years now,

Remember us? Doesn't appear you do.

I rounded the corner onto my block after being away for merely a week, and from as far away as I could actually see my own lawn I was able to determine that your company had not yet seen fit to attend to our lawn this season. I am pretty sure it is the corn that needs to be knee high at some point in the summer and not the grass in the spring.

I was able, with the help of the husband's still sharper than my own memory, to recall from last year that your company did lack in initiative regarding the spring clean up area and instead of taking the bull by the horns and showing up to claim your stake, preferred to receive a call, or seven, begging for your seasonal workers to once again grace our property for a weekly trim and blow, before actually adding our property to your list.

So, since I do not know of anyone who might have a goat or cow which might be able to graze my lawn back down below knee high height each week, I am officially requesting your firm's services for another summer season of lawn maintenance, excessive leaf blower noise pollution, and supporting the economy of at least 3 different spanish speaking countries. The check is in the mail.

Hoping to see you weekly,
Clickmom

trashy

Dear Garbage Men,

Seriously?

I mean really and truly SERIOUSLY?? Did we actually some how offend your trash collecting sensibilities with our garbage and to show us how your delicate feelings were ever so slightly dented (much like my rubber plastic cans have managed to become at your hand) you felt it was necessary to leave my trash can in the exact center of the driveway making it not possible for me to pass after coming home from an exhausting day of visitng my depressed grandmother in the rehab, straightening out grandma's bank records, dealing with Natasha about getting grandma back to the OFH, finding and paying for an aide to sit in grandma's room while she sleeps once back at the OFH just in case she gets up in the middle of the night to pee because Natasha said that was a prerequisite for grandma's return and also fighting the crowds in Whole Foods because when I did my shopping yesterday and thought I was coming home prepared for today's nourishment requiremnts since I bought the pickles, onions, tomatoes, and lettuce for the burgers I planned on serving up tonight and I forget the meat? And I was only coming home for a quick and purposeful 20 minutes to throw a load of grandma's laundry into the washer and put the meat in the fridge before I had to pick up the kids from school. So you can imagine the light and airy mood (Who me? Stress?) I was in when I drove up and saw the can blocking my entry.

Because I am the scientifically minded kind of gal that I am I took a glance up and down the block and (survey says!) all of my neighbors trash cans stood conveniently by the side of each drive way not blocking each respective homeowners from driving all the way to their own overcrowded garages. WTF trashman?

While I am at it trash guy why can't you lift a trashcan? Aren't you supposed to be all strong and manly and be able to pick up a can so that the few discarded drink containers that had been removed from my vehicle and are now at the bottom of our drag to the curb trash can, the one you are supposed to empty (empty being the operative word in that sentence) so said beverage containers can rot within the confines of your stinky truck instead of in the bottom of my trashcan alongside my pristine manicured (by "professionals" who just happen to winter below the equator) lawn, and stink up an otherwise picture postcard side yard. Why do you lift each kitchen trash bag individually and oh so gingerly one at a time and toss those light weights into your truck? Wouldn't it be easier to lift the whole can up and do it all in one thorough dump? That's how they do it on TV. (When they aren't discovering murder victims, babies, and a whole plethora of case solving evidence)

I hope that when you close your eyes and fall asleep tonight you dream about the can you left in the middle of the driveway and somehow your conscience tells you that while you were being mean and vindictive, for what reason I do not know, I was helping grandma out of her wheelchair and into her rehab bed while wondering how in the world we are going to pay for all the additional charges they are sticking us with at the old folks home. But probably not, because I am sure that in reality you are more likely to be thinking "Wow, only two quarts of cheap whiskey and the room is spinning" or "Hello righty, looking good tonight." or even "I don't smell! I told my wife I didn't need a shower after work. She's just hassling me again!"

Also, I wouldn't put it past me to take time out of my busy schedule to wrap up a few cinder blocks in some spare bubble wrap and hide them in some industrial strength contractor bags with the rest of the household trash. Also, maybe some broken glass and rotten eggs. Just saying. Call it a truce man.

Don't tempt me.

Mrs. C.Mom

Dear Twitches

Dear Twitches,

You have got to go. It isn't you, I mean you guys, really, you are good company, reliable and steadfast, it's me. It's all me. I am more of a loner, even in these times of incredible stress and possible low grade depression. It is just that I would rather do it on my own. I know, at first you made me smile and laugh how every time I could just say the word "scumcle" (oh look.... you . are . doing . it . now) and my eye lid would start fluttering away. Or how when I had to see Natasha for the first time in a month and my lip developed this very Elvis kind of twitchy beat to it and I showed it to the desk lady at the posh club. And then the two of us laughed that "Eeew gross Hahaha What is up with your face?" laugh. Except I was really crying on the inside and she just might have disinfected the desk when I walked away. And the other day, when I was thinking of every trouble all at once and my neck and my cheek both started to twitch at the same time... well, that may have been kind of on the over board side. And now I am officially over you.

So, you aren't funny or cute anymore. As a matter of fact, the very same things that were kind of endearing and charming for about a minute and a half are now the same things that make me want to stuff you in a plastic bag and dump you into a fast moving river. So, just leave before it gets ugly. Ok? Saying goodbye is never easy, so let's just say "Shake you later!" and go our own ways. Really, it's the grown up way to do it. We are adult here, no? No need for scenes, or botox (sorry, didn't mean to sound threatening there...), or other nerve paralyzing procedures. Right? Cause you are just going to pack your bags and slip out the back Jack. Make all the plans you want Stan, as long as they don't include me.

So, listen stress related twitches, or even possibly a hemifacial spasm (oh yes, I have done my internet research), just go away.

Please.

This isn't fun anymore.

In despair,
Click

Dear Boops

Dear Boops,

Remember how yesterday I said the husband got pulled over with your kids in the car and I was telling you because I thought you should hear it from me and not your kids? Well, as usual, having a kid in the car with a photographic memory came in handy. During dinner tonight Matt suddenly began to giggle and then he went on to relay this little exchange for me. It isn't quite how I heard it from the husband. Here it is. This is the husband/cop conversation in it's true and raw form which Matt thoughtfully transcribed for me. The car registration was in my purse that day. I had taken it out of the car to photocopy it for the insurance company, whose card we can't find either. So the glove box was pretty much empty. That is what all the rummaging Matt speaks of was about. I am assuming Matt's version is 100% accurate since the husband sat there just listening without saying during a word in his defense. He is usually more tactful with authority and a better influence on the kids. I plan on putting him in a very long time out.

What Matt Heard:
Dad sees Cop pulling him over
Dad: What? He's pulling me over? Really? Come on! (pulls over)
Cop: Sir, do you know why I pulled you over?
Dad: No, not really. I was going 75...
Cop: Actually you were going 78, but that isn't why I pulled you over. Are you sure you have no idea why I pulled you over?
Dad: Yeah, I mean, what did I do?
Cop: The left side and right side of your car have been in different lanes at the same time twice, now, uh, is there something distracting you? Maybe paying a little too much attention to the guys in the back seat?
Dad: No, no...
Cop: Were you out late partying last night?
Dad: (sarcastically) oh yeah, I'm a big party-er (seriously) no, no I didn't
Cop: Sir, do you find this funny?
Dad: (laughing) no
Cop: Don't laugh
Dad: (laughing) okay
Cop: Can I see your license and registration?
Dad: Sure, let me see... (rummages thru stuff for 20 minutes)
Cop: I'm just gonna go back to my car and write up some papers
(Dad keeps rummaging for things for a really long time until cop comes back)
Cop: So, did you find it?
Dad: No, {excuse}.
Cop: Alright, normally this would be a 1800 dollar fine, but I'm going to write you off with a warning.
Dad: Alright
(Dad and the cop finish up and we drive away)
Me: Seriously, I thought you had him in the palm of your hand with the jokes.

Hanging my head in shame (or maybe just trying to hide the giggles),
I mean, "Oh yeah, I'm a big party-er?"
Clickmom

Dear Clickmom,

This is hysterical because it's almost verbatim (though of course not as literally verbatim) as what my kids recounted. I waved them away, saying, I'm sure click's husband didn't say he'd been partying (even though I heard the context of how he said it), and I'm sure click's husband didn't talk back in any way—all the while cautioning the kids to never talk back to a cop even when they're obviously wrong...

They've been acting it out over and over again. They were thrilled, because they'd never been in a car that was pulled over. I had Evan's pal read Matt's transcript and he pronounced it almost to the word perfect. I asked him if he was scared at any time, and he thought for a minute. Then he said, No, I wasn't scared. But since I've never been a car that got stopped by the cops, I didn't know what to expect.

Matt's pal told me that when the cop told your huband he had him shifting lanes on film, my kid whispered to the other kids: I wonder if we'll be on Cops....

With Reservation,
Maybe the kids should play at my house from now on,
Boops

Dear Boops,

Upon questioning, Matt has informed me that he was only giving me "The Reader's Digest version". He also says that your kid said to the husband "You should get out of the car and run away so we could be on cops!"

Hold me, I'm scared.
But still laughing on the inside,
Click

letters to the gym

Dear Spin Instructor,

First, let me tell you that you are an inspiration. Second, I can barely walk tonight. Maybe it is because I spent too much time on the elliptical machine yesterday and didn't fully recover or maybe it because when you get that gleam in your eye and say "Turn it up!" I can not defy you. Maybe it is because you are so funny and entertaining and have such great music blasting out (Oh, I really loved the America song today- lots of fun memories in that one for me) that I don't actually feel the pain until class is over, unless we are doing jumps and then I am acutely aware of the pain, but since I can not deny you, as previously stated, I try so hard to keep my less than coordinated self bopping up and down to the beat just like you do. And also, when you say we have to smile when we spin I want to make you happy. I know I was hiding in the back in the shadows but did you see me smiling? I was smiling just for you. Cause you are so adorable, and I mean that in the most mature and grown up and totally inspiring way. And maybe because somehow the smile on my face was going to make my noodles for legs keep moving when I thought I could possibly fall off the bike, but I would never because you are so great and I totally enjoyed your class and want to take your class forever and you are my absolute favorite spin teacher and if anyone ever does something that makes you want to quit tell me and I will have them eliminated because spinning with you is about as awesome as aerobic exercise can be.

Well, I have to go pull myself up the stairs like a trained seal with no rear fins right now. Then I'll soak my lower half in an epsom salt bath and pray that somehow I will be able to exit the tub with out a crane's assistance but I just wanted you to know how great I thought your class was. See you soon!

Love, Thrilled to be Waddling

Dear Odd Woman from the Gym,

Remember today when you said loud enough for everyone to hear "I had the most vivid shopping dream last night!" and your hunky male trainer's eyes kind of glazed over before they rolled back into his head and you kept talking even though he was obviously trying to hang himself on the lat pull down machine? And remember how you told him all about the handbags you were sifting through on a side walk table from a street vendor until you found the two most exquisite bags you had ever seen and couldn't decide which bag to buy and your instructor was studying the glute machine in the slim chance that maybe if he positioned himself just right he could perform some kind of auto-decapitation with the foot platform? No?! Of course you didn't because you didn't stop with the vivid shopping dream long enough to see that half of good decent people in the weight room were trying to stuff their ear holes with fitness bands.

But lady, when you said you figured that the vendor had to have been in china town because you were on Wang Street, we all covered our mouths and ran for the stairwell. And we weren't nauseous, we were trying to control the laughter. Next time save it for the locker room.

Love, clickmom

send asphalt

Is it me or does everyone now think that every blogger out there with a Bogher Ad Network ad looks like Jennifer Weiner? (At least I think it was Jennifer, honestly, if her first name would have made me snicker in second grade like her last name did I would have remembered it better). For a while I thought all the bloggers were Asian women with lots of black bangles on their raised arms. If you guys think the same thing then I am wondering how effective those blogger ads must be because I can tell you what the chicks looked like but I can't tell you what they wanted me to buy. Also, to the people who make the hyper moving ads, if I can't change the size of my screen to eliminate your annoying moving ad then I will not read the website. That can't be good for business either. I am just saying.

One sure sign that spring has arrived in the garden state has nothing to do with all the green bulb leaves poking up from the ground, or the cardinals and the robins I have spotted flying through on their way back from somewhere, or even the warmer than recent temperatures. Nope, the real sign that spring is finally here are the axle bending pot holes on all of our local roads. Seriously, since this is a yearly occurrence and not some kind of an omen like everything else is, then it must be a signal. And what I suspect is that if you were say, on the moon looking down and admiring the garden state, just the opposite of me being in the garden state looking up admiring the moon, and the sun was at the right angle you could see all the pot holes (craters) and they might spell out something, not S.O.S., but maybe SEND ASPHALT or ROAD CREWS NEEDED HERE with a big arrow pointing right to my neighborhood.

I am a bit disappointed that I never got back to the great outdoors to do some more partially frozen photography this winter. I know it was grandma being in the hospital or rehab since February 17th. This has been a looooong 5 weeks. On Friday when I saw her last she walked the entire length of the rehab. She is actually in better shape than she was when she went into the hospital, because back then she was in so much pain from the bone infection that she couldn't even stand up straight. But keeping in mind that she went to the hospital because she fell and the lying SOB head nurse said she couldn't move one of her legs, then I want grandma to be as fall proof as she can be for her age before going back to the OFH. So I figure another week of therapy won't do her any harm. Tomorrow I am going to chat with the social worker at the rehab about bringing grandma back to the OFH. Also, I'd like to see if they can send a physical therapist to the OFH for a while. I know grandma will hate that, but it can only help in the long run. I can't believe we made it out of this one intact. Well, minus a little toe, but essentially the same grandma and me only a bit more stressed for the experience of it.

Tomorrow will be 4 weeks absolutely dairy free and some freaky things are going on with me. The two most annoying are this incredible swelling of my belly and a pain in my lower back. The pain in my back is like no other lower back pain I have ever felt, so I am wondering if it is my kidneys complaining about the yeast die off that I suspect I am going through. I was in much pain this morning and felt a little better after downing four or so glasses of water. Interesting enough, I pretty much had to run (slowly limp) to the bathroom after each glass of water, which leads me to believe that the water is not taking the long way out and instead running right through me with out doing much kidney cleansing. I'll have to call both the actual MD and my snake oil dispensing voo doo chiro tomorrow. Also, I have been seriously jonesing for and indulging in the sugar lately but tomorrow I am going cold turkey on that too. I am pretty sure I have eaten last trace of anything I can eat in the house (with the exception of the bagged sugar for baking which I have been known on occasion to eat by the spoonful- and YES this is embarrassing to admit) , so it shouldn't be all that hard as long as I can stay determined and focused. My big topic for the therapist this week is going to be the amount of internal whining I do and why I just can't suck it up and get on with my gluten/dairy/sugar/corn/tomato free life. I mean, I know there are worse things than needing to eat carefully.

I'm skipping the weekly winners again this week because once again inspration was hard to come by. I thought I might do something creative at that egg hunt but it was a bad atmosphere, and I barely shot my assignment let alone anything creative or extra. I took some crappy stuff on the iphone, but nothing really worth publishing, so I am skipping.

Now I am off to practice guitar before bed. If I do it for too long my fingers still hurt. And I am saving the content of my practice for it's very own post, but to be truthful with you, even I am starting to embarrass myself with the lightness of my light music taste. I figure it's just another day or two before I partake in liver spots and bifocals.

over easy

Not being a celebrator of easter, I know nothing of easter egg hunts. I have never been to one. Once, on the day after easter, I came across a very pretty hand dyed egg that someone must have hidden for someone else in prospect park. But it was an actual hard boiled egg and not a plastic candy filled egg, so after I embraced it's simple beauty I tossed it in the trash figuring it was already on it's way to spoiling. Also, one day after we had made the move to the burbs, I walked past someone's yard on easter sunday where her three dressed for church little angelic angel children were laughing and giggling and prancing around their own back yard finding their little easter egg treats. And it was all so nice and charming.

Today I showed up at a town library easter egg hunt to photograph for the paper (For the first time in weeks! It felt great!). I brought Josh along with me figuring he might enjoy it. Except we don't have easter baskets, so I gave him an organically grown cotton eco-conscientious bag that I use to tote my groceries in. I walked around trying to grab a few shots before the hunt began. As the moment approached the library lawn was simply pulsating with people. When the organizer gave the shout out to begin parents dropped to their knees, dragging their toddlers behind them, grabbing eggs, hot in the pursuit of more eggs than any one toddler needs, scurrying for eggs, filling their kid's baskets with sometimes maybe 25 or 30 eggs. It was a big blur to me. I had no idea where Josh was. It was all over in about 12 seconds, because damn! the parents of those bewildered kids sure were fast. And in the end, there was poor big 'ol Josh crying his eyes out because he didn't realize it was time to get the eggs until after all the parents snatched up every single one of the eggs. I looked around and every kid there had baskets brimming with parent snagged eggs.

So I took Josh to the coordinator because she told me she had put eggs aside in case their were any late comers. And the very same coordinator who told me she had put eggs aside told Josh she did not have any eggs. But a little girl standing nearby overheard Josh's story and she gave Josh two of her basket of eggs. And Josh being Josh, he was so happy to get those two eggs, that some lady standing nearby who did not have any kids with her, kneeled down and retrieved one of the many (over a dozen) eggs that she had for some reason stuffed into her own now bulging purse. She dropped it into Josh's reusable grocery bag. So in the end Josh ended up with three charity eggs. And he was excited. Leaving the library, hand in hand with my sweet little bad at egg snatching baby, I saw a mom and her two kids running with their colorful baskets towards the lawn where the eggs had been. I couldn't bring myself to warn them.

stump

Not enough brain cells for Haiku again. This is the story I was going to try to tell you in 5-7-5. I was driving down the street with Evan and out of the corner of my eye I saw two squirrels chasing each other around on someone's lawn. Evan sees them too. I might have said "Aaaww, how cute" because seriously, you could just imagine them giggling as they frolicked about they were so cute. I think "Oh, how sweet they are playing tag like children" when suddenly the squirrels head right for the street and right in front of my truck. I scream (like the squirrels might hear me or something), Evan practically jumps out of his seat arms extended in the "halt" signal screaming too, and as I take my foot off the gas to slam on the brake I notice a car right up my ass in the rear view mirror so I can't slow down even and I brace myself for the worst. Only the two of us are screaming so loud I am not sure if even feel that sickening kind of hit a woodland creature homicidal thump. But as soon as we get past the spot Evan glares at me and says "You killed them." and I say back "How do you know? I'm not sure I felt anything and I could not see anything behind us with that car all up my tail" and Evan glares at me some more and says that in the least worst case scenario I probably ran over one of their tails and now the squirrel is limping from the road leaving a trail of tail stump blood behind him. I ask Evan if he wants me to turn around so we can drive back and look. He says he does. We drive the other way past the spot and there are amazingly no squirrel guts smeared all over the road. I turn around and we re-drive the potential crime scene and there is absolutely no trace of even stump blood on the street. I say "See I didn't hit them!" and Evan says "Yeah, I bet their bloodied bodies are clinging to the wheel wells right now." (Did he want me to hit them or what?) So, naturally, I cautiously slowly pulled into our driveway, peered around in the wheel wells and vindicated myself once again. Whew! Never let it be said that I am not a friend to creatures big and small. (Unless of course they are tasty when pan seared.

no winners this week

I am skipping weekly winners this week. I couldn't find the energy or inspiration. It was one of the longer weeks of the past year.

Here's what happened with the hat last night. Kitten called me up and asked me to meet her early so she could ask my opinion (she gives me too much credit, but all right...) on some house decorating matter. I met Kitten early. I donned the too small for my head hat before leaving my house (damn mom has a small head) and laughed all the way over to where we were meeting. Then Kitten shows up with her husband and I was all thrilled because maybe he might say something too, since the hat is totally ridiculous, so I took a deep breath, stopped laughing and hopped out of my car like there was nothing stupid looking and sequined on my head. We greeted, chatted, opined and Kitten's husband left, and Kitten and I drove all the way to the movie theater, hat perched ever so juantily on my head, slowly squeezing the oxygen out of my brain, and Kitten never batted an eyelash. Just as we pulled into a parking spot at the theater I decided I couldn't take the hat pain anymore and I turned to Kitten and said "Kitten! Aren't you going to say something about my hat?" and she got the deer in the headlights look, and she stuttered a little and I confessed "It's a joke! You're supposed to say something!" Therefore I totally blew it and Kitten was not able to give me an honest repulsed (as this is an answer I expected) answer. She tried to be diplomatic even after I told her the hat was a total joke. And then she wouldn't text message her husband "So, what did you think of the hat?" like I wanted her to. Then I left the hat in the car. So that hat experiment was a total failure. Next time I might wear mom's other hat. It's a turban. Or maybe her wig.

matt wants a beard

Matt thought that this over manipulated Andy Warhol inspired shot of himself might help me to finally see just how handsome he would look with the thick and lush beard of his dreams that he desires so intensely if only I did not make him with my cruel authoritarian motherly ways shave those 23 scraggly chin hairs he actually has growing down there every three weeks or so.

Once you stop rolling on the floor laughing, check out Matt's twisted version of his beloved little brothers.

My Allergic Things

Download my_song.aif

I should tell you that technically I am not allergic (in the life and death kind of allergic) to all the foods mentioned. For the test that I just took with the good doc my allergic response was rated on a scale of 1 to 5. I got a 5 for casein and a 4 for milk and the rest of the allergic reactions merely rated a 1 or 2 which are both considered a mild allergy. Good doc said I didn't even have to pay attention to those low numbers and that everyone gets a bunch of 1s. Some of the other foods from the song I have an intolerance to, which is more of a digestion issue than an allergy. But it's not a short song, so I took creative liberties witht he words. I just sang the song straight out and then Matt enhanced it on garage band with the beat and echo before posting for me. This means that 1. I don't in reality have to ability to echo my voice 2. there were no back up instruments during the initiial recording of this song and 3.since Matt did all the work I still don't know how to post a song.

grateful

Yesterday I ran into an old mom friend. This woman is the mother of a kid Evan used to hang out with in preschool. Her son, the oldest of three, was very intense even at age four. His needs were mostly eclipsed by the kid in the class he called Mean Evan (my Evan was Nice Evan) and then he went to public school the next year things really began to fall apart for him. I haven't seen this mom in probably over 5 years. She asked me first "How is everything?" and I answered "My kids are great... however..." and I gave her the reader's digest version of all the horrible things that are happening to my family and me right now. When I asked her back she told me this tale where all three of her kids are facing some serious to profound learning difficulties and behavior disorders. She had just spent the price of a decent used car on lawyer fees to not have one of her kids labeled "emotionally disturbed" by the school and she also had a miscarriage the week before.

We talked for a while and then we parted ways and I thought to myself that I wouldn't trade my problems for hers. I can handle mine.

And I did feel like my mountain was not the biggest mountain.

Then I woke up today and I was not in the fetal position with my hand between my legs. I was flat on my stomach straight. As in with both legs straight. As in with THE SPOT all stretched out straight. And when I sat up from the bed I did it without wincing. And I did not need to consciously limit my stride on my way to the bathroom and I stood up tall too. So today promised to be a good day because as we all know, everything is an omen to me, and what better omen than to wake up not in pain for the first time in three days.

So, with a lump in my throat, because I was scared to do this, I went to see grandma. I was pretty freaked out yesterday when grandma was not really communicative and would barely look at me, and would shout out things that didn't make sense to people that weren't there. Today I found grandma more herself and less in some other world. Only it seemed like she couldn't hear a thing. So she wasn't answering me or anyone. She could hear me enough, because I know how to shout deep and slow and make sure she can see my lips at the same time for lip reading, but understanding the nurses was not going to happen. Grandma just looked up and gave them all a big dumb smile. She was so cute about it that they just smiled back and walked right out happy. At least she wasn't being "combative" like it was noted in her charts.

After I left the hospital the scumcle arrived for his own visit. I am not going to go on and on about how annoying he is when he pretends to know to know what is going on, but to make a long story funny, while he was there grandma started to pant, which she does when she gets a pain. She has always done this and has been doing it a lot lately, you can imagine. The scumcle, who does not know the ways of the grandma due to lack of exposure, thinks she is hyperventilating and having a heart attack so he makes the nurse get a doctor by telling the nurse grandma has chest pains. By the time the young resident doctor comes grandma is resting peacefully. The young resident doctor asks her "Where is the pain?" grandma just shrugs. The doctor leans in and shouts "Don't you have chest pain?" and grandma gets all wide eyed and offended and says "Sex with YOU? No!!"

cruisin' in the lame lane

It's sweet Josh's birthday today and I am too emotionally depleted to write about such a ray of light as my Joshie right now. I want to tell his birth story because I want to get it down in words but I also want to be alert while writing it. So I am taking a rain check on it. Look for it here soon.

No news on the fate of grandma/sybil's bone infected toe, the infectious disease specialist has to conference with the vascular expert and then they will get back to me on their reccommendation. It's hard to tell if the super strength intravenous antibiotics are working since grandma/sybil doesn't even know her foot has been hurting for more than today. Growing old is scary people! Eat more bacon!

Speaking of grandma/sybil, she didn't want to wake up this morning when I chose to visit and when I tried to wake her up by telling her that the one who loved her was present her head did a 180, she spewed green liquid and screamed "You're a f**king liar! You are all f**king liars!" When she woke up on her own and for real and said in her normal sweet little old lady voice "What are you doing here?" (Despite the two hours of abuse I had just with stood trying to wake her up every half hour) I told her what she said to me when I tried to wake her and she laughed herself silly over it. Hahaha. Hilarious sybil.

Mom had surgery today to enable herself to be on dialysis from now on. (Bad kidneys!!) She came through fine and the good news is that even though the surgery is a two part process they decided to do the whole thing in one step. They are thinking that maybe mom can have her first dialysis on Friday and I am hoping that makes her feel much better.

They called from the dermatologist's to confirm my genital mutilation surgery for Monday. I bought some nice soft sweatpants, some boy shorts underwear for a non irritating post surgery undergarment experience and have been binging for about 5 days now in the sheer terror anticipation of the big day. I wonder who I can bribe to actually give me a general. Or at least some really good drugs to take 30 minutes before and for 30 days afterwards. I am scared shitless about being awake for this people. I think I might really make a call for some kind of pill. Except the truth is that I am so anti-pill that I wouldn't even know what to ask for.

Today I am wondering this: What do my kids think (Do my kids even think?) when I laugh at all the pot jokes we hear on the stand up comedy channel?

2 questions

Evan, inorder to complete his homework, had to call a (friend-type) classmate for the spelling words the other night. While they were on the phone, Evan asked the boy if he would like to come over Friday for a play date. The mom, with whom I have had some very nice pleasant chats and am interested in getting to know better, called me back an hour or so later to tell me that the son could not come to our house he had a scouts related activity that day. And then she said, with some kind of uncomfortable that I just couldn't place in her voice, "Can I ask you a couple of questions?" And my heart kind of twisted into a knot (because Oh No What Did Evan Say/Do? What kind of Freak Family does this woman think I am part of now?Oh! Evan!) and then I, despite the fright stomping on my chest, (deep breath) casually said "Sure!"

She hesitates.

Then finally.

"Were you .... bit by a shark?"

"Yes I was!" (relief!) Whew, I'm sure that seems unbelievable to the average suburban garden state house wife. Okay, that was easy, chit chat a little, share a little, is there something (gulp) else?

pause

more pause

I begin to sweat.

tick tick tick

"Were... Were.....Were you a Hooters waitress .... and did you wear a studded dog collar?"

??????????????????

WTF??

Thinking.....

Still thinking .......

Wheels turning....hmmm that does sound familiar.....

"Oh No! That wasn't me! That was Evan's Aunt, my little sister! Yes! But not at the same time! Hahahaha!"

say what?

Here is a question for you to ponder if you happen to find yourself lying in bed awake and unable to sleep at some point tonight: How many times can clickmom possibly rub her eyes in the 40 minutes after she chops up a nice strong jalapeno pepper?*

Speaking of lying in bed. For a few nights now I have been having more than my typical unusually vivid dreams and also (much to my utter frustration) waking up about 5-7 times a night recalling the dreams only to forget all but the last dream come morning. (I am living in some other than my real life house with my kid, except it isn't one of my real life kids because the dream kid is teeny tiny and my dream kid insists that we put leopard wallpaper up in it's bedroom. I am resisting because WTF? Leopard wallpaper? But end up giving in and the room turns out to look wonderful and I tell myself I have to 1. trust my kids and 2. learn to take more chances)

So, I ask Matt if I can borrow his little digital recorder and he shows me how to use it and I put it next to my bed. I wake up only three times that night and try twice to record my dreams. In the morning I grab the recorder, virtually drooling with the anticipation of it all, only to discover that in my very unsexy half asleep voice I have left two absolutely incoherent messages to myself. Matt thinks they are hilarious. The next night, I put the recorder back next to my bed and sleep through the night (or rather I sleep until Josh appears at the foot of my bed at 6am and declares himself "lonely") Tonight I am going to try again because what I really want to do is wake up and discover something so freaky, so bizarre and so hilarious that I feel I must join utterz and let the world listen in too.

* the answer is three. Yes people, three times tonight I rubbed jalapeno juice from my own contaminated finger tips into my own eyes. (the third time wasn't actually that bad, I must have been still numb from rub #2)

old utopian photo mask

I understand the need for companies, wether they are ours or theirs, to have translators that are not only fluent in the target market's language but also with their slang and lingo, so they know which slang expression to avoid. We got some (legal in utopia) fireworks last summer and since I was only in the presence of minors I could not fully enjoy the awkwardness of their label.
Speaking of utopia, it can be a bit of a time warp-culture shock up there sometimes, and seeing this totally took me back, like all the way to second grade! Remember him? Remember practicing to get the nose perfect and the fingers just right? And experimenting with eyes that looked straight and sideways and were full circles or half circles or even had eyebrows? Wow, life before cable and internet sure was good!

Speaking of utopia and creativity, the guys who worked on our house up there were quite the creative bunch too. ALl the supporting structures were doodled and scribbled on and it makes me so warm and cozy knowing that if we ever have to pull a wall off for some reason we can find happy joyful fun loving construction guy stuff like this underneath:

And in case you are wondering, this little attempt to blog while diverting current up to date reality is brought to you by the once again wounded me who was pretty much told by her dying of cancer mother yesterday that my feelings would have to take a back seat (story of my entire life) yet again (shocking it is not) because right now she needed her brother, scumcle. You remember scumcle, the one who has been lifting any and everything of monetary and sentimental value out of grandma's apartment for the last 38 years, the one who has had virtually no relationship with my immediate family for, oh, the last 30 years or so years? The one who stole my sculpture? The one who did not come to grandma's 95th birthday party? The one who thought mother's day dinner was no longer convenient for him since his tennis game that morning was cancelled? The one who my mother didn't even tell she had cancer to for a few months because she just didn't want to have to actually talk to him? Yeah, that bastard. Ever since he found out his little sister is dying he's been calling her every day. I figure either he thinks her cancer is familial and he is trying to pump her for information or he has a secret life insurance policy out on her and he is the sole beneficiary. Probably the latter. I can just picture him rubbing his greedy little hands together and laughing maniacally while making his way through the piles and piles of stuff that he has absconded with over the years.

I am angry and bitter and I don't feel like swallowing my feelings for once. So there.

ugneakers

I have been trolling around the internet looking for inspiration for tonight's post and I gotta tell you, I think I got nothing.

Okay maybe I got almost nothing so I'll just embarrass myself.

Today I purchased probably the most ridiculous purchase I have ever made since that one and only bout of insomnia inspired Richard Simmons' exercise videos. (And if I am going to be completely honest, there may have been a previously purchased Thigh Master too.) But today, oh today, (exactly where did my senses go today?) today I purchased Masai Barefoot Technology sneakers. Otherwise known as some freaking ugly weird looking (are you into moon boots) shoes, but the company is trying out a snazzy new logo and they want you to think of them as MBT shoes. Whatever you call them they are still fugly funeakers or maybe they are ugneakers.

The theory (according to my 20 second glance at the propaganda display) is that with the rounded bottoms of these ugneakers being an unstable surface you change your gait or something and get a workout with virtually every step you take. As one of the assless people in this world I have been trying very hard to do all sorts of ass firming exercise in order to create anything that even resembles an ass beneath my back and above my legs. All my hard work is paying off. When I look at my sideways view in the mirror there is now a bump where my asslessness used to be. I'm so excited! And naturally the propaganda in the shoe store had a drawing of a lady wearing ugneakers with all the exercised muscle groups painted red and don't you know that not only was the drawing lady's well defined ass painted red but so was her abdominal region. And I am all about maintaining the imaginary 8 pack I tell myself is hiding under the jelly rolls.

The one downside of these ugneakers besides their orthopedic/michelin man appearance is that they also purport to work the calves. If my calves get any bigger they'll out measure my thighs, but it's a risk I am willing to take for the butt/abs combo. If by chance these ugneakers do happen to work my target areas and I think they are the greatest thing in the world you'll be relived to know that I won't have to suffer in closed in hot sweaty ugneakers once summer rolls back around. As if the ugneakers weren't so awful on their own they also make ugandals too.

curious

I made Matt snap this through the car one window while parked at a red light one day. It leaves me pretty speechless (as in: If you don't have anything nice to say...) and it did not belong to a drag queen as I suspected it might. Upon further inspection (I rolled my truck perilously close to the car in front of me because I just had to know) it was a daring part of an otherwise ordinary looking get up. I'm hoping it doesn't catch on.

mystery history

We bought this house, the one we live in, in 1997. The older couple we bought from seemed nice enough. They were cute in a cheap "everything we did to the house came from Sears in 1977" kind of way. Like any new home owner there were some odd "things" that we sometimes wondered about before and after we had purchased the house.

For example, the previous owners were very concerned about their safety. They had the house burglar alarmed. We had that (not at all) lovely silver foil tape on all the windows. Also, the previous owners installed a little tiny red light next to the front door that looked like an alarm, except it was a fake and had nothing to do with the real alarm system and the little red light never went off. There were panic buttons in most of the rooms, including right over the head board of the master bed. All the fire/smoke alarms were not just inside each bedroom doorway like you have to have if you are being inspected by the town but instead installed just inside each bedroom window. (Molatov cocktail anyone?)

The previous owners had pushed out the back of the house because it was important for them to seat 30 for dinners. They had the longest dining room table I have ever seen. They let us know they entertained like this often. Our initial dining room (before we remodeled it) was 24 feet long and had crazy looking and oh so slippery Portugese tile for a floor. There was (and still is) a bank safe in the basement. It weighs about a ton and will most likely be in the basement until someone tears this place down and removes it with an excavator. Guess who lost the combination for it! And finally when the previous home owner was giving me one last tour of the house to show me how things worked he showed me where to hide all my cash. Huh?

Needless to say I have decided (about twelve seconds after we closed on the house) that the previous owners were actually mobsters. Cute adorable mobsters, but mobsters none the less. We (I) often joke about them and the potential bodies buried in the concrete basement floor. Or other mobster type jokes. And here is something I have never told anyone, before we renovated the house I was sure I could hear ghost voices in the kitchen.

Imagine my shock the other day when I retrieved my phone messages and there was a message from Mrs. previous owner asking me to call her. She didn't say what she wanted. Gulp. I was worried. I started to sweat. I was sure they had to come back for something. I wondered what (or who!) they could have possibly left here that they needed to come back for. I imagined them bringing in their people to dig up the basement, search the cash hiding place for stolen jewels, revealing all the laundered money they had been storing beneath the floor boards, or even setting up shop in our now purified non-crime-family-related domicile. I imagined having to shield my kids from all the illegal activity they were going to bring into my home. It is my home now dammit, I wasn't going to let them corrupt it! Let what ever it is stay buried. But I had to know what it was she wanted. I just had to cal her back.

So, I took a deep breath and called her back and she said (here it comes) she had been going through her address book and wondered how we were. I had sent her a holiday card the first few years after we moved here and it seems she really liked getting them. She asked about the kids and then she. told. me. everything. I know how cold it is in her part of Florida, how she had to take her orange tree down a few years ago because there was a fungus problem in their area but now it should be time for them to be able to plant new ones and she really does love having fresh oranges. Honeybells are in season right now. Also Mr. previous owner hasn't had the best health, he had a triple bypass surgery but just won't watch his diet. Their daughter gave them two grandkids but their son is still enjoying the swinging bachelor life... isn't it a shame how men don't feel like they need to settle down these days? Their big house seems so empty now that their kids have their own homes but Mr. previous just doesn't want to give it up. And much much more.

I'm going to send her our holiday card. I'll include a nice note.

Maybe I'll never know what happened in this house before we moved in. Me and my imagination like it better that way.

he's killin me

Matt and I were in the city (home!) for the afternoon and we decided to go out to dinner before coming back to the garden state. We selected a nice little casual yet trendy upper east side place just in time to beat the regular folks who work crowd and were seated in a cute and cozy window seat. I was very happy. We could watch the traffic on the avenue and if we were lucky we might even get to see a taxi induced accident! (home!)

Our waitress was a slender graceful cheerful young lady of maybe 20ish. Since the place was still pretty empty I did spot her doing a little dance move as she stood thoughtfully far enough away from us to give us dining privacy yet close enough that we could flag her down should we have a need for her excellent waiting service. I pegged her as a dancer. If you are 20ish and waitressing in NYC then chances are you are not a career waitress but someone who has to pay the bills between auditions or art classes or voice lessons. She was definitely a dancer.

Anyway, when Matt got up to use the bathroom and I was alone at our table for a second she came over to ask if I needed anything. Then she said "I just love his hair! His hair is so great!" And I thought in this order:
1. Danelle is going to hate this! I can't wait to post!
2. Stay away from my boy, you hussy! and
3. Wow, she is so pretty and has excellent taste in men too!

Then I told her that he wants to let it get long enough to make a big braid down the middle of his back.

When Matt got from the bathroom I told him what the waitress had said about his hair and he gave me his "So? Like I care?" look and I thought "Well, maybe he isn't ready for girl attention yet" but the next question out of Matt's mouth was "Are we busy Friday night?". I said we were not busy Friday night and asked why he wanted to know and Matt said he'd like to go to the movies which I naively thought meant he wanted to go with a big group of friends like he did last month, but noooooo Matt wanted to go with a single friend. "Who?" I asked and naturally Matt replied with the name of the girl who lives around the corner who every day wears all black with her flat bottomed sneakers and skateboards for hours a day. So I, the naturally curious one, asked Matt if it was a friend or a date movie and Matt said DATE! And I came home and told the husband I wasn't sure if the skateboarding girl was into boys and the husband said at least we didn't have to worry about Matt's safety. If anyone tried anything with him on their date the skateboarding girl would take the guy down. And so begins another chapter in the saga of clickmom's "I can't believe my kid is growing up."

lotioning

The other day in the locker room at the posh club I happened to (stare right at in a possibly creepy kid of way) noticed a lady applying lotion after her shower. This lady applied lotion to every single skin cell not considered a mucous membrane on her entire body. And I thought "Hmm, I only apply lotion to the areas of skin that are typically not covered my very matronly bathing suits. Maybe I have missed something (yet again) in the "How to be a girl" handbook." So I went home and investigated the need for moisturizer on my tushy.

To be honest with you folks, my bottom did not appear (no snake skin like on my legs) and did not feel (yup, it was already nice and soft despite the lack of body lotion) to need any additional hydration, but after my shower the next morning I went ahead and lotioned it right up just to see what I have been missing out on all these years of creaming neglect. Well, to say that I was less than impressed is an understatement. Maybe it is because all my creams are serious heavy duty kind of creams, or maybe it is because I am some kind of freak who doesn't like yanking my granny panties up over a moist/tacky/lotioned up butt all morning, but what ever the reason, after that experiment I figured I was done with creaming my bottom for ever.

Then I happened to buy (don't hate me!) an O magazine. Usually if I am going to read something that far below my reading level it is going to have some really good celebrity gossip in it (and pictures of those scandalous celebs too!), but O lured me in with a promise of higher energy (4 hidden causes of fatigue) and I tossed it up there right on top of my kale (leafy greens=fountain of youth) and brought it home. Well, according to someone who was interviewed for O magazine, there is such a thing as LOTION THERAPY and in lotion therapy you have to lotion up every inch of yourself every day so that your previously fat self can reconnect with the newly trimmer self you have become. And I thought "Oh No! Now I will be psychologically fat forever!" But I thought it was interesting in a sponsored by vaseline intensive care kind of way. I'm still not lotioning my butt again.

In the mean time all 4 of those hidden causes require a trip to the doctor and some tests to diagnose but the one I am seriously thinking just might be a cause for me is the thyroid one. In a surprise move which shocked even myself, yesterday , instead of basking in the new coolness that is my folks aren't here to run the electric fireplace 13 hours a day, I turned the thermostat up. And worse, I didn't notice it had gotten a bit um... hot in the house. Then the husband came home and nearly fainted before h