clickmom

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