clickmom

Dear kentucky fried me

Dear me again,

You should know better than to stand facing east for 5 hours photographing a baseball double header.

Also, when that new moisturizer pretended to have an SPF of 8 , did you really think that would make 5 hours of standing around in the sun safe? Now the south facing side (and only the south facing side) of your face is beet/superman cape red and you are going to look absolutely comical in the morning. Maybe a side part is the way to go tomorrow. Like parted deeply into the north side so that the (comb over) hair swoops down over the south facing eye and crispy forehead and half your kentucky fried south facing cheek in pure 1970's twiggy face obscuring style.

Your nose looks like it is half drunk.

Lovely.

Reluctantly yours,
Aren't you old enough to know better?
clicky

like a rolling stone

I don't normally wear nail polish, never have. When I was in high school, I went through a few nail polish stages and would wear it for a few months at a time. Back then there weren't nail salons on every corner, and most women just sat down once a week and did their own nails. What I used to do when I was in polish stage was get ready for bed, do my nails sitting up in bed and fall asleep on my back with my hands spread out on top of the blanket. When I woke up in the morning I would have ten perfect shiny painted nails.

I had a bar mitzvah to go to and thought I would like to have some fancy painted nails for the occasion. I didn't want to forgo lunch with my babes to get my nails done so I decided I would do it myself. The night before the bar mitzvah I got into bed painted my nails nice and pretty and lied down face up with my hands spread open on top of the blanket. In the morning I woke up and before I even opened my eyes I rubbed my nails to feel their fresh polish slipperiness, but to my surprise they felt more like sandpaper. All ten of them felt more like sandpaper. I guess I don't sleep on my back for long anymore.

Needless to say, if you see me shopping for a new comforter and sheets be sure to tap me on the shoulder and say "Hi."

scene from the movie of my life

setting: interior of gas guzzling environmentally disastrous SUV.
family of 5 and fuzzy dog present.

shot: SUV pulls into fast through drive thru and mother orders frozen cokes all around.
Mother pulls truck around building and middle child from third row seat speaks.

middle child: "Con..con.. why does Burger King sell condoms? What's a condom?"

SFX: FREEZE FRAME-
All motion slows/freezes except parents turning to each other.
Their eyes meet.

mother's eyes: I swear it wasn't me who said that word.
father's eyes: I'm not telling him.
mother's eyes: Hold me I'm scared.
father's eyes: I AM NOT TELLING HIM!
mother's eyes: scared... me... help

Real time resumes.

Middle child: "I mean CONDIM-ENTS, what does it mean when it says 'condiments on request?'"

cue parents: exhale/put eye balls back in head

fade to black to the sound of nervous adult laughter and the pleading voice of the middle child.

middle child: "Why are you guys laughing? What is so funny?!?"

the story that almost made me pee in the kindergarten class

It was Josh's "Back to School" night and I was sitting in a teeny tiny chair listening to the teacher say the things that teachers say, every year after year. My eyes were kind of glazing over as she covered familiar topic after familiar topic. I straightened up and paid a bit more attention when she started in on the big bad internet warning only because my kid can't spell and I began to wonder what exactly a kindergartner would be doing on the internet in the first place. Josh's teacher decided to share this cautionary tale with us....

One of the big projects that the third graders get every year is an animal report. The report comes after a series of research oriented visits to the library and a big trip to the Bronx Zoo. The kids get to do a series of drawings and they usually go all out for the covers. One year recently the school decided to be very current and very 21st century and they allowed the kids to use some internet research while preparing their reports. One little girl went home and googled the name of her animal. She googled BEAVER.

looking before I speak (thankfully)

I am sitting next to Evan on the couch. It is about 98 degrees here in paradise. We are hot we are sweaty. I know I personally am showering frequently jut for the 5 minutes of cool. I keep smelling this funk and wondering how he smells so bad. I know he is fairly clean, and then I start to wonder of he maybe swam through something gross this morning, and maybe I need to have him disinfected. He seems to be having the early sympotoms of an ear ache and I know when the devil dog had one last summer her fuzzy ear reeked. OMG! Could that smell be coming from his ear?!?!

Then I look over at him with what I am sure was a totally screwy face of terror/horror/freak show wonder and I spot the wide open funky smelling bag of barbeque potato chips on the coffee table next to Evan.

Oooooopps.

NYC vs The Burbs

it is best to know your audience

Josh accidentally called the husband "Mom" tonight and the husband teased Josh. The husband said "Mom! Does Mom have a hairy belly like this?" The husband lifts his shirt. Josh says "Nooooo." The husband says "Does Mom have hairy legs like this?" as he hokey pokeys his right foot in. Josh says "Noooo." Then the husband says "Does Mom have a hairy butt like me?" And Josh says "Yeah." Which makes me shout "Josh!" and immediately moon Josh to prove the relative hairlessness of my butt. But then I realize that Matt is sitting next to Josh and I hang my head in shame and go throw another lump of cash into Matt's future therapy jar, as I realize I have just given him the gift of more to discuss one future day while lying on the therapists couch.

i swear, i had no idea

If you've been reading for a while, you'll know that the husband sends flowers when he has done something...ummm...insensitive. Yeah, that's a good word for it. I hate the flowers he sends. They are always ugly and contain roses WHICH I DETEST and I think that flowers don't count as an apology unless you have picked them out yourself. In my strange little pin head world, apology flowers have to be picked out by and hand delivered by, complete with hanging head and sincere hand written note of apology written from the depths of remorse by the committer of the "insensitivity." Therefore in my pin head world, the husband has never actually apologized to me.

Anyways, about three flower deliveries back the delivery guy showed up with some flowers in a really gorgeous vase. I liked the vase a lot. It totally matched my glass tile backsplash, and truthfully, I am not a decorator - the vase and the backsplash were probably the only two items around here that matched! Anyways, a few days later when I successfully killed and disposed of the ugly flowers, I stashed the vase. The next time the husband did something...insensitive, he sent flowers in the identical vase. I thought, "OK, like I need two of these?" And after I killed those flowers I asked one of my kids to stash the vase for me.

The third time flowers showed up in that same looking vase, I just threw the vase away. I had killed the flowers long ago. The vase had been sitting around the kitchen, it was in the way, I was too lazy to go into the basement, which I have a secret fear of, and who needs three matching vases, right?

The other day the husband came to me to ask where the beautiful vase was. I told him that two were in the basement and that I had thrown the third one away. He shook his head "No", I put my hands on my hips and replied with attitude "Did you look in the basement?" Then he told me that there was only ever one, kind of expensive, vase and that he kept bringing it back to the florist to be refilled.

Whoooops!

what not to be scared of

Yesterday I met a few book club friends for an impromptu coffee in honor of one of the ladies birthdays. I am thrilled to be involved with this book club, and have such a good time chatting with the other ladies. We have so many laughs just gossiping and sharing, that I can't even imagine what I would be sitting here feeling like if it weren't for them. They bring so much to my life.

This is the book club in which 5 of the 8 of us did the triathlon. We triathletes don't want the ones who didn't participate to feel bad so we are trying not to rub it in their face or anything. It was such a big deal for us that we just want to talk about it all the time, still! I am not the only one who has been bitten by the exercise bug, and us triathlon doers are all so anxious to get together for swims, walks, and biking. Ofcourse, anyone can come, we love the women who sat it out. It is just that all of us tri-doers seem to be just a little over the top at this moment. It is very nice for me, who is enjoying being a born again exerciser (and you know how the converts can be!) to have others just as enthusiastic.

The Birthday Girl, who did not participate in the tri, mentioned that she was thinking of changing her Y membership to the Y that more of use. The coversation turned to exercise and who was doing what, when the Birthday Girl, in the most serious tone of voice said "Girls, I have to warn you about something." Ooooh, a warning! The hairs on my arms stood up, this looked like it was going to get juicy! BG continued in her most serious tone, "I used to hang out with a group of women who got really into exercise, I mean they exercised every day and ..." My mind began to race, would it be worn out knees? eating disorders? cheating on hubby with the tennis pro? I was on the edge of my seat... "Well," she continued "They just loved exercising so much that a year later they all..." I couldn't even guess, left their families for a more active lifestyle? died of heart attacks? got a disease???? "Well..." she hesitated, surely this was going to be good. "Well..... they all turned into these buff manly looking women." I laughed. They laughed. "No!" My friend protested. "They were really manly, they all had these 6 pack stomachs, and big broad shoulders..." We chuckled on. Obviously this was not a concern for our little group.

Then, as if my boots were extra tasty that day, I pointed to another woman and said "You are closer to buff than me are you worried?" There I go again. Yum, boots.

Today I was thinking that my comment could have easily been misconstrued. I did not mean to insinuate that my pal was in any way shape or form a manly looking chick, only that the the thought of a six pack on me was still many work outs and a good surgeon away, while on her it was an actual possibility. So, I know she reads my blog and I just wanted her to know it meant nothing. Love me still?

uncomfortable question

Matt was sitting in the den with the husband and me tonight when he asked "Are virgins people from Virginia?"
---------------------------------------------------------------

Lord help me.

Debbie wants to know..."What were your answers?" Well, first the husband and I gave each other the deer in the headlights look, then he piped up with "A virgin is what you are until you get married." (What a prude!) So I punched the husband and said "Don't listen to Daddy, a virgin is what you are until the first time you have sex." I mean, he's my kid, I don't want him to be last to know, and if it comes from my mouth at least I know that he knows what he's talking about.

To be or not to be....cool

Day 19 of HHH weather.

After the ground shaking thunderstorm passed today, my friend P and her 3 kids along with my own, got back into the water and then decided to take the speed boat for a turn around the lake with the kids riding behind in the tube. I prayed that the boat goblins would allow me to actually start the boat, and they did! On the first try! Yesterday it took about 15 tries. I was just so pumped, whooping and celebrating. We let the boat warm up and off we went. At first I thought I'd do each pair of kids around the lake twice, but then I realized that we were a little low on gas, so I did once around. First we took the older boys, who are similar in desire for thrill, that worked out perfectly. Then we popped the middle children in and continued to cruise around the lake. I felt so "cool" "macho" "tough" and "carefree" and "peaceful" standing tall behind the wheel of a zooming boat, the wind against my face, my hair flying out behind me. It was a very Thelma and Louise in the desert feeling. I felt like I didn't have a care in the world, like the breeze just took it all away.

As we appraoched the dock on our final turn I slowed down and noticed that the fuel gage was below empty. With a big cocky confident smile on my face I turned to my friend and said "I can't believe we are still going on no fuel."

And that was the end of that. The roar of the engine-cut out. Right there 50 feet from the dock- it all ended. There was not even a gas fume left.

We got out the paddles, and slowly paddled our way in to the dock.

Not so cool.

no mickey here

I am pretty tough when it comes gross things. I can handle vomit, poop, spiders, ants, tics, even roaches (ex-city dweller) with grace. However, when it comes to rodents, I don't do well. When we lived on 75th street and got mice every fall, my friend and savior Bob woud come over to dispose of the glue traps. When we lived in Brooklyn and I had a babby crawling around, I got more aggressive with steel wool and poison. ( Extremely well hidden and placed out only before our week long pilgrimage to Fla to visit the grandparents) There would be no mice in my home upon my return.

Well, we came back to the island (yes, it is still nameless) and I did peek in the pantry to see if there were any mouse indicators, and there weren't. Phew. I picked up some groceries, hung out, and then my sister came over later that day. She told me she saw an indicator in one of the bedrooms. I was disgusted. Ewwwww..

That evening I snuck down to the kitchen to eat some real armenian string cheese (yummy) I had picked up at the grocery store- still no indicators in the kitchen. However, when I went down 30 minutes later to make dinner, there were what appeared to be indicators all over the kitchen counter. Omigod, the counter?!? A wave of nausea swept over me. How would I prepare food for family for the next two months in a mouse infested kitchen? The counter! I couldn't even think of what to clean up with. The counter! I didn't want to contaminate the kitchen sponge, there were no paper towels in sight, I thought about using the bag the cheese had come in, but as I reached out to grab it I saw more indicators in the bag. Tears welled up in my eyes, and then relief. It wasn't indicators, it was caraway seeds from the string cheese. Whew.

why I was meant to mother boys

Scene: cozy suburban den, family of 5 sitting on various couches and chairs, watching television, playing game boys.

husband: Is that a watch you are wearing Josh?

josh: Yes, it is my Sponge Bob watch from Burger King. (Turns to brother, who is shifting in his seat) Matt, What time is it?

matt: Uh...(letting loose some major wind)

husband: Matt that is disgusting!

matt: Well, Josh asked what time it is.

clickmom: IT'S.... FART'IN TIME!

husband: That's not funny! Go to the bathroom! I'm disgusted! That sounded wet!

clickmom: (trembling while trying to conceal hysterical laughter) He...he..he's... okay....

husband: It's not okay! That was gross! That is bad manners! Matt GO TO the bathroom!

Matt: (trembling while trying to conceal hystrical laughter) Dad, I am so sorry...I am not laughing....I am disappointed in myself...hahahahahaha

clickmom: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA......Woooo..... woooooo...HAHAAAAHAAAAHAHAHA

husband: Rises angrily, snarling at clickmom and Matt, storms out of the room.

clickmom: (laughing so hard she rolls off of the edge of the couch)

END SCENE 1.

in the garden with Bob

My dear friend Bob, moved to L.A. almost two years ago and I miss him very much. I can not visit him in L.A. because of my pathological fear of being in an earthquake prone area. Bob isn't exactly raking in the big bucks, and has only been back to visit once. He finally got an email account and sent me this photo. ...along with one of him at work where he is not smiling. So after I called the kids over to show them the photos of our good friend I emailed Bob back mentioning how much happier he looked in the garden than he did in the office. Hahaha. Am I not surprised? Who wouldn't be totally happier being surrounded by plants than being surrounded by paper work and whining clients? Well, I guess to prove to me just how happy he is in his garden he sent me another photo, except my mind is so deep in the trash can that I won't be sharing this one with the kids.

sticking my foot in my mouth, again

Yesterday morning, when I returned home after dropping off Ev and Josh from school, I told a friend about my fondness for reading web logs. Actually, it has become somewhat of an addiction, but I didn’t want to sound as fanatical as I have become. I foolishly told my friend that one aspect of what I enjoy is reading all the poop, vomit and other bodily functions stories that the new moms post, since I am beyond that, and can laugh knowing my past experiences, I have the perspective of one who is past all that. You know I was just setting myself up, right? I mean a girl CANNOT get that smug with out a big slap in the face wake up call, can she? Well, this girl can’t.

So, my day begins. Matt has breakfast, and we do some required learning for the day. Then I tell him that since he has been so cooperative and helpful the past two days while I attended to all sorts of PTA matters that he could ask to do anything reasonable. He made a list. Nothing on his list was unreasonable, it was just all of his little ordinary favorite things rolled up into one day. The list went like this after the mandatory- learn something.

1. Starbucks for a soy latte
2. Blockbuster for some fresh dvd rentals
3. pick up Josh
4. lunch at sandwich shop
5. go to comics/gaming store
6. pick up Ev
7. have friend over
8. breakfast for dinner (pancakes)
9. watch movie

(You have probably already guessed that I added the two pick up the brother entries) We went off to begin the list and everything started off smooth as can be. Hahaha, just the thing to catch me off guard. On our way to the sandwich shop Matt had the great idea of getting the food from the sandwich shop “to go” and having a picnic for lunch. Luckily there is a nice little picnic area across the street from the gaming store that happens to be conveniently located in the same building as my newspaper office. I love to multitask, and on the way over I phoned my editor to ask her if she would like to join us on our picnic. She said she would stop by.

Josh had requested only chocolate milk, from the sanwich shop, since he had just eaten pizza at a last day of preschool party. I was not as concerned as I would normally be at his lack of appetite, due to the pizza factor. We set up our picnic, and Josh quickly drank the entire and somewhat large chocolate milk. My editor showed up and we were chatting, when Josh began to choke on a potato chip. He coughed and coughed until, you guessed it, 16 ounces of fairly fresh chocolate milk came spewing from his mouth. Fortunately he looked down at the time, and managed to only spew on his own right sandal and foot. Being the optimist I am, I looked up during the process and declared “At least it’s fresh!” Yeah....

I sent Matt into the gaming store by himself, not wanting to chance another vomiting episode on the gaming store carpet.

I carried all 60 pounds of Josh and the milky shoe back to Sylvia (the truck), and on the way managed to somehow rub the scab off a previously blistered bug bite. The blood was just dripping down his arm, I settled him in his car seat and with my editor minding him I ran into the office to find the first aid kit. It was not our best picnic.

We headed home, briefly stopping at the drug store to stock up on band aids, a spring time ritual in my house that I had not yet completed this spring. I also grabbed a Chewbaca pez dispenser to help Josh along with the healing process.

We got Evan from school, got bacon to go with the pancakes from Whole Foods, Matt’s friend arrived and all seemed like it was perhaps on the right track. We had breakfast for dinner, and then after pancakes the kids went back outside to play. Evan suddenly ran through the house to the bathroom. Hmmm.... He was in there for a while, when the odor hit Rich and he let me know that Evan just might be in a spot of trouble. Oh, did I say spot? As in little spots of poo that fell out Evan's shorts as he ran from the door to the bathroom. Eventually we heard Evan trying to use the plunger, another sure disaster, so I asked him to go up stairs to take a shower and let me handle the toilet.

First we got a glimpse of Evan as headed up to the shower. His legs were covered with poo. More spots on the carpet on the way to the shower. Then, gasp, I went into the bathroom. Between the sight and the odor I almost went down. There was poo everywhere. The murky paper/poo water was a millimeter from the top of the bowl. Evan had splashed it all over the wall trying to plunge the toilet himself. I had to bail out the toilet before I could even try to plunge, and then my normally effective plunging technique was useless against the massive amount of Charmin in there, so Rich came in and used a different style of pushing, he used a series of short quick plunges as opposed to my big single one at a time push, and all I wanted to do was crack sex jokes, but the stench had not yet abated and I didn’t want to associate sex with stench, so I watched in silence until finally the bowl began to drain. Thanks Rich! Then I had to wipe it all clean. Wall, toilet, floor, enough said. When I questioned Ev, I found out that he had been holding it in since lunch recess 7 hours earlier. I am hoping he learned his lesson.

I got to run out to photograph an art exhibit, (whew) dragging Mat with me, and having a very nice time with him playing the “I can do that” game with the assorted pieces of art on display. It is a great way to get Matt to look at the art long enough to maybe deconstruct it just a little bit. I came home thinking I was done with digestive processes, Rich had put Josh and Ev to bed, and could finally relax. We sat down to watch one of the dvds we had gotten earlier in the day.

Wrong again. It turns out that Matt was a bit gassy. He couldn’t blame the dog because she was so offended that she chose to lie down far away from him in the hallway. Rich and I convinced him to at least dash over to the doorway in the direction of the bathroom before cutting loose.

Lesson learned, I will never say never again.

It is just like Super Nanny

I love boys. I was rhapsodizing over them to a fellow mother of boys last week. I assumed I was speaking to a comrade. We were watching our kids playing on the playground after school. It was one of those nice days we got in between the torrential rain days. She and I were gasping and giggling over the parade of kids who were wiping out in the mud, and she called a warning to her son a few times when he got to close to the slippery spot. I should have stopped talking when this mom said something about boys being wild, but I foolishly said, “Oh, no my boys are really mild mannered....” and kept right on talking about how easy and great it is to mother boys.

It got me thinking about when my adoration of boys began. The seed was planted in my teens when I used to baby sit for Joshua and Noah. Two very huggable, adorable boys in my apartment building. It was a sad day for me when I learned these two cuddle bunnies were moving back to California. Then for 2 summers during college I was a camp counselor and had the 4 and then 5 year old boys group. We had so much fun with these kids, while the girls always seemed to be crying over a misplaced cabbage patch kid.

I kept raving about boys to the other mom when her son ran dangerously close to the mud spot. “Mark, don’t...”she managed to get out before Mark hits the ground and slides about 3 feet before squishing to a stop. He was drenched. He needed a new shirt as well pants, and once he was upright he marched over to his mom and demanded some. When she explained that she did not have a change of clothes in the car he began to swing at her! I stood there with my mouth agape. He demanded to see the nurse, who keeps extra clothes in her office, but school was long over. Mark’s mother tried to explain to him that his brother would be there shortly and they could then go straight home for him to change but he would not be soothed. He kept swinging and then began kicking, while his mom threatened to take away all sorts of privileges and electronics, but he would not let up. I began to inch away from them not wanting to stare, especially in lieu of my ramblings, and made my way up the hill, to my sweet children, who would never kick or hit anyone.

P.S. I told Matt I was going to blog this story and he said “Wow, Mom it is just like Super Nanny.”. Now I know where the desperate families in Super Nanny come from. They live right next door! (Oooo -that show bothers me!!) I gotta learn to stop talking, or at least know my audience before I open my big mouth. Ever put your foot in your mouth? I'd love to hear.

Great for baseball, sucks for eggs.

I needed to crack a couple of eggs during dinner preparation tonight. I was distracted at the time, deep in thought over what part of my day might make good weblog fodder. I cracked the first egg, let it drop into the garbage disposal and plopped the shell into the bowl. The sound of shell hitting bowl brought me back to reality. Egg number two I cracked and regained consciousness just in time to realize I was about to repeat the same procedure, and in the nick of time made it into the bowl. Egg three I fumbled on and did a brief comedic juggle with before it the floor. So far I was 1 for 3. Eventually I managed the fourth egg, and satisfied my egg requirement for the day. My batting average, and astounding, 500. Great for baseball, sucks for eggs.