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?"
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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.