Lotus Blu Mama

10 White Lies we try to pass off as Truths

2012-02-03T22:20:00.001-06:00

As I’m sitting here suffering from my first major cold of the winter season, it suddenly dawns on me that maybe a glass of Riesling would help open my nasal passages. I’ve been swallowing cold pills and drinking hot liquids all day with no relief. Standing vertical or laying horizontal makes no difference. Steam shower only made my hair frizz. Whether wrapped in 10 layers of clothes due to the chills then stripping naked from a heat flash, this whole experience sucks. So I’m trying the whole wine theory.

But then the old marbles started rolling and got me thinking; what other silly little White Lies do we tell ourselves or our family to justify the ridiculous? Oh let me count the ways…

1. Alcohol can cure anything – Back in the ‘old days’ parents believed that a little whisky on a baby’s gums will help sooth teething pain. I know from personal experience that nothing can (temporarily) help heal heartache like a Grey Goose martini. Or three. So why couldn’t my whole wine theory work to cure the common cold?

2. Yes, I have lost weight – On the outside, people may be checking you out and complimenting your figure, asking if you’ve shed a few pounds recently. But on the inside you know it took a minimizer bra and two layers of Spanks to look this way. Just smile and nod….smile and nod.

3. Sweetheart, last night when you came into our room at 2 in the morning, daddy and I were just wrestling – ‘nuff said.

4. These heels make me feel tall – I’m only 5’2. With heels, I may be 5’3-5’4 at the most. I’m still short. So give it up bitch.

5. Facebook is not a way of life, it’s a hobby– For those work-at-home slags like myself, social media is usually our only way of interacting with the outside world. Sorta. I guess we occasionally could put on pants and leave the house to see our local FB buddies, but that rarely happens. I have friends all over the country. The whole idea of jumping in the car and driving to LA to see my friend Katie is just not going to happen. Sorry Katie! So I’m left back at square one. If I want to be a regular part of someone’s life, the Internet may be the only option.

6. It’s not you, it’s me – Oh hell yes it’s you. I’ve got my shit together, but you are a walking train wreck that drains me of all necessary energy, and whose neurosis are such a huge time suck to listen to that I usually want to bitch slap you within 10 minutes of us hugging hello. I need to cancel my subscription, I can’t handle your issues.

7. I’m never going to drink again – until next weekend.

8. Mommy, how is a baby made? – When I asked my mom that question at the ripe age of 5, she responded with “when a man and woman love each other, they get married and kiss. 9 months later, a baby is born.” What a crock of shit! When Little Woman comes to me with questions like this, I tell her the truth, to a certain extent. She doesn’t need to know of the politics and logistics of everything. I think the whole penis/vagina sex thing would completely confuse her. But she knows that the mama carries the baby in her belly for 9 months, then pushes it out of her vajayjay (or cut from her belly, like her brother was.) Either way, she knows the basics. The rest I’ll fill her in on when I can buy her a pack of smokes and a glass of wine.

9. I only spent $100 at the grocery store today honey – any well-trained husband who hears this will quickly raise his red flag. As a highly educated and thrifty woman, I try to stick within the grocery budget each month. But men forget that we, as women, are emotional shoppers. Depending on our mood, we may come home with $50 in liquor and chocolate. If we’re craving red meat that day, be prepared to eat meatloaf and hamburgers for the next week. I’m not sure exactly how the intention of only spending $100 turns into a $200 excursion, but it is what it is. Learn it ~ live it ~ love it!

10. I can still party like a rock star – Sure, I’d like to think that. But in reality, I need to realize that I do not have the metabolism nor the capacity to filter booze like I did in my 20’s. My body has been through quite a bit at this point, especially the whole ‘birthing children’ thing, so everything is moving a bit slower these days. And the greasy fast foods I use to quell my tender stomach now gives me raging heartburn. Blah! This whole getting old thing sucks.

So what are some little White Lies you’ve told in the past?

Mama’s Gone Bi-Polar

2012-01-26T21:05:00.000-06:00

As if I don’t have enough on my plate already, I’ve decided to add another hat on my head and throw in another ball to juggle. Why? Perhaps I think too highly of abilities. Perhaps because I imagine myself a rock star. Perhaps I had a weak moment while in a drunken stupor. Or perhaps I’m just completely crazy.

Meh. But that’s why you love me, right? Right?!

I was presented with an offer I couldn’t refuse. The opportunity to take my show on the road, allowing not only my readership to grow, but my abilities as a writer and blogger.

I am now an official blogger with ChicagoNow, an amazing website that features bloggers from all over the Chicagoland area. I’m so honored to be a part of such a huge pool of talent, and hope to entertain the masses with my sexy, exotic, compelling, enthralling tales as a WAHM. (Insert sarcasm here.)

I go by a different name on that site, Red & Company, but it’s the same raw, snarky, honest writing you’ve come to expect from me. And yes, I will continue to write as Lotus Blu Mama, cuz this is my heart, my first home, my first love. And I promise to continue to be everything you’ve come to love about me. 2 blogs, more potential, more of me to embrace!

Mama’s gone bi-polar….will you join me in my journey??

Leaving On A Jet Plane

2012-01-20T22:25:00.000-06:00

…..well, not really. Actually in a Ford Explorer, and really only 75 miles away, whatever. Tomato, tomaaaado. But yes, I’m actually leaving town tomorrow morning, alone. For the first time in 10 years ~ no kids, no husband, no damn dog, no responsibilities, no drama, no nothing. Just me, my thoughts, and time. Valuable time to review exactly who the hell I am and what the hell I’m doing with this life.

As a daughter, sister, mother, aunt, wife, In-law, friend and freelance employee, it’s a noble concept to be everything to everyone. But to be honest, it’s fucking exhausting. When being pulled in a million different directions at once, eventually there’s so little of 'me' left. In time, I’m spread so thin that I inevitably….snap!

I’ve officially hit the big red buzzer, broke the straw, and threw in the towel. Stick a fork in me ~ I’m done. So I have chosen to remove myself from the situation for a short period of time, leaving the kids and hubby to fend for themselves for 48 hours. And this fact scares the shit out of me more than anything.

I fear that when I return on Sunday, I will find;

*The house will be completely trashed. As in, whole house will be nothing but a carpet of toys, dirty clothes, toilet paper and trash.

*A sink full of dirty, smelly dishes left to rot. The thought alone makes me throw up in my mouth already.

*The kids dressed in the same clothes I left them in. Really?!

*Fast food bags everywhere. If I don’t cook, it doesn’t happen. So the children’s diets may consist of Hooters wings and McDonald’s happy meals. Ugh.

*The kids’ entertainment for the weekend will be a viewing of Apocalypse Now and shoving the dog’s mouth full of peanut butter. GHAAAAAA!

I’m sure my imagination is much worse than reality, but I fear. A lot. Not to say hubby is inept, he's not. He really is a great father. I'm not doubting his abilities, but we have different opinions about parenting. What he allows most times is a huge no-no in my world, and vice versa. I’m praying for the best but expecting the worst.

I see a train wreck about to occur. But whatever happens. happens, right?!

Follow-up blog to come when I return. This shit should be interesting……

Slave to the Machine

2012-01-17T21:38:00.001-06:00

It’s funny how that damn trait all us girls own called 'Hormones' tends to overtake ever aspect of our lives. Not funny “haha”, but more like funny “are you fucking kidding me?!”

It starts early in life, around 9 or 10. Then comes the boobs and the hips and the zits…next thing you know your mom is telling you to stay away from anything that has a penis and throws you a maxi pad as thick as a novel. Um….hello! What the hell is going on here?!

Eventually things start happening that are out of your control, things that are so beyond your comprehension you don’t question it, it just…happens. But now you find yourself angry, hungry, depressed, unsatisfied and homicidal, all at the same time. Your tits hurt, you’re crying every two seconds and you’re having weird dreams of Boy George and peanut butter. Again, what the hell is going on here?

In your 20’s, you have a better understanding of how all your junk works. The anticipation of what to expect each month reaches a tolerable level. Mother Nature is doing her thing and you’re just along for the ride. Stock up on some Tampax and Midol and hang on. Oh, and condoms. Lots and lots of condoms. WEEEEEEEEE!

In your early 30’s, the party is still going strong, however, there’s a slow in your roll you can’t quite explain. Suddenly the highs become more ‘high’ and the lows start to really suck; but it’s still manageable. The reality of popping kids out of your vagina is a huge distraction (won’t go into the thrill of a pregnant body, that’s a whole separate blog.) But during the procreation phase, things start to…..change.

Suddenly the inexplicable emotions become more pronounced. They take over a small portion of your month and trump everyone in the house. Crampy, irritable and bloaty; It’s the perfect storm. And yes, if you look at me the wrong way or say something stupid, there is a strong possibility of getting beat down with a sippy cup. So approach with caution.

Now that I’m 40, I’m back to basics. I’ve given up trying to figure out what the hell is going on in my now perimenopausal body. I just let it do it’s thing and accept the fact that I really have no control. My metabolism is quickly sinking, my stress levels are rising and my merlot levels are on a serious upswing. I’m just going with the flow and expressing every goddamn random emotion every moment I have them.

My family is awesome. They’ve learned to deal with me this way. I think I’m a huge source of entertainment for them. Hey, keeps them on their toes. Never a dull moment in Mama’s house!

Now if you’ll excuse me, Imma eat an entire box of chocolates then cry myself to sleep. Namaste.

When was the last time you...

2012-01-13T20:19:00.002-06:00

Dear Mama,

I know you’ve been bogged down with responsibilities of kids, home, hubby and work ~ all important things, no doubt ~ but I miss the crazy, uninhibited you. I KNOW YOU! I know who you use to be, what made you who you are today….and sometimes I worry that you have forgotten the free spirit you once were. For example:

*When was the last time you sang Karaoke style?

*When was the last time you danced at a club?

*When was the last time you did something spontaneous?

*When was the last time you spent talking to a girlfriend on the phone for endless hours?

*When was the last time you passionately kissed a boy in public without reservation?

*When was the last time you bought something because it made you feel sexy?

*When was the last time you threw caution to the wind and said ‘Fuck it!’?
*When was the last time you were confronted with something that scared the crap out of you and punched Fear in the face?!

I guess the big question is; when was the last time you did something, aside from having your kids, that filled your heart and soul with raw passion? You've been playing it too close to the chest honey, too much time on the safe sidelines instead of on the playing field.

Yea, I know you well T, my redhead minx, my rock n’ roll star. That spark in you will never die. It’s still there, just a bit…..preoccupied. So take a deep breath, shed the layers weighing you down. Get back to basics. Scream! Challenge! Dance! Love!

I’ll be here when you’re ready to come out and play.

Miss and love you,

Melancholy Mama

2012-01-10T00:34:00.000-06:00

Most days, I wake up each morning with a positive, energetic step in my spirit. My mornings are filled with sending a hubby off to work at the crack of dawn and two babies who need the hell out of me. Lunches need to be made, backpacks need to be filled with completed homework, kisses and hugs dispersed equally, sippy cups filled with milk, Curious George thrown on the TV as Dude and I slowly wake from our slumber……Oh, and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee brewing. Mama doesn’t survive off of sheer will after all. Chink in my armor.

Most days, life carries on in the usual comfortable pattern. And it’s good. Real good.

I always joke that I’ve lived several lifetimes in one. I’m like that fucking cat that just won’t die. Despite all the heartbreak and every drama I’ve been through in life, I always tend to find the good in every situation. I’ll always be a hopeless romantic. It’s in my nature, it’s who I am. And it’s gotten me hurt – a lot. Another chink in the armor. Crap!

I love Love. I love Hope. I love possibilities of the unknown. And now that I have children, I live to imagine their lives filled with the same disgusting reality of Love, Hopes and Dreams. When anything is possible, and with sheer determination, hard work, thick skin and a pure soul, anything they want is obtainable. Blahblahblah.

I know, you’re ready to punch me in the face at this point, right?!

But honestly, to continue this level of exuberance every single day can be completely exhausting; mind, body and spirit. Every once in a blue moon, life can creep up on me and smack me directly in the face - without warning, without preparation - leaving me there on the floor, with the choice to either wallow in my own feces or get up to fight the good fight.

There are moments when I’m down and out. When I can’t muster the strength to be a functional human and fall into a full blown depression. When time is needed to re-evaluate life and decide where I choose to stand amongst all the anarchy. A time when I just need to shut down and just....be.

A dreamer can’t always dream, for fear of burning out that light. A comedian can’t always tell jokes, for fear of no longer being funny.

If I ever disappear from social media sites, or from blogging in general, it’s for a good reason. It’s because Mama needs to regroup and get back to some semblance of myself. Shit happens. And over the years, I’ve learned that it’s not what happens that matters, but how we deal with it. Sometimes it takes longer to roll these ridiculous marbles around my crazy head, cry myself to sleep and lick the wounds.

Life tends to creep up and smack me in the face every once in a while, but no worries ~ I’ll eventually get up to fight the good fight. GAME ON!

A few of my favorite things ~ 2011 in review

2012-01-03T23:16:00.004-06:00

Instigram

Such a cool app filled with amazing filters that make random pics I take look like professional rock star photography.

Bloggy Boot Camp

10 hours stuck in a hotel banquet room with some of the most amazing writers I’ve been blessed to meet. An inspirational moment that forever changed me.

Apothic Red

It’s rare when a wine blows my mind. It was love at first sip. She’s now a regular, next to my bottle of Ménage a’ Trois and Barefoot Pinot Grigio. Perfection in a bottle.

Mossimo Leggings

Cheap. Comfy. An everyday staple. Need I say more?

Neon Trees

The most amazing band I’ve seen live. Ever. They hooked me as soon as they hit the stage. Their sound, their energy, their look – I’ll be a fan for life.

Moms who drink and swear

Nicole is a fellow mommy blogger and local Chicago gal. And funny as shit. She’s real, she’s honest and always makes me cry laughing. Aside from my kids, bringing a smile to my face every damn day is a huge feat. Well played Nikki, well played!

Austin Kleon

An amazing writer I happen to stumble upon on the web. He keeps things simple, and turns the most simplistic subject into pure poetry. A true inspiration.

Facebook

For the 2^nd year in a row, I have to include FB as one of the highlights of my year. As much as I despise Mark “Fuckbag” Zuckerberg and all his ridiculous shenanigans, he’s got a good thing going. I’ve not only rekindled friendships with old friends, but also made new ones in the process. I love these people more than I love my damn dog and totally look forward to our daily, insane discussions about random shit that really doesn’t mean anything. Yet it means a hell of a lot to me.

Seattle

I finally returned to her after a long absence. She’s an old friend who suits me well. Regardless of where I live or what’s going on in my life, I know I am always welcome there. Another home away from home. That’s comforting.

Go ahead and click on my little blue underlined links. Explore. Discover. Any ‘Best of 2011’ you care to share? Is there something I’ve missed? Do tell!

5 things I learned over Christmas break

2011-12-31T15:11:00.000-06:00

1. Hubby, Dude and I drove to Atlanta, Georgia to be with family over the holiday. The South is far away from Chicago. Like, really fucking far. When stuck in a Ford Explorer with a feisty 3-year-old and an irritable husband for 25 roundtrip hours, there isn't enough Vogue magazines nor prescription drugs that could kill the pain. The thought of opening the car door at 80 mph and applying the “tuck and roll” method did enter my mind a few times.

2. Apparently, redheads are a rare commodity in the south. I received more looks, gasps and comments then ever. Sightings of my kind are apparently scarce. Much like Loch Ness. Much like Sasquatch. The phrase “you must not be from here” was thrown at me a few times, with “is that natural?” quickly following. My blanket response was ‘no, I’m from Chicago and yes it’s real, stop touching me!’

3. Superficialities R’ Us ~ Southern girls are so cute and perky. And so bloody thin. There were a few I wanted to pull aside and hand-feed a cheeseburger while repeating the mantra that waist measurements and silicone size do not define you. Nor does how many tennis matches you win, yoga classes you attend or how clean your kitchen counters are. Pull back the reins, slow your roll and focus on real life. How are your kids doing in school? What beneficial amenities is your alderman fighting for in your district? Who’s the president of the PTA? What’s the license plate number of the most recent Stranger Danger scare in your neighborhood? Who’s the local crack dealer? What is the bitch 2 blocks down saying about you behind your back? What neighbor is your husband sleeping with? Focus people, FOCUS!

4. Family is great – in small doses. I love my in-laws, and respect them for whom they are and whatever they choose to offer the world. However, I’m totally convinced that we were meant to leave the nest at a young age, to prevent any homicidal tendencies that may occur. As a writer, and most important, as a person, I allow my eyes and ears to absorb my surroundings, to later allow my heart and soul to serve as a filter that will eventually mold me into the person I become. In other words; I love you, I hear you, I respect you, now leave me to my own resolutions.

5. I love my imperfect life. As small as my house may be, it’s mine. As crazy as my kids may be, they’re mine. And the ability to do any crazy shit I choose to do, in my tiny house, surrounded by my ridiculous offspring, is pure heaven! If I choose not to dust every day, if I choose not to scrub the kitchen counters bone clean every day, if I choose not to vacuum every damn piece of dust on the floor as soon as it hits…. so be it. I’d rather spend hours staring into my daughter’s beautiful blue eyes and listening to my 3-year-old son’s amazing philosophical discussions about choo-choo trains, race cars, dinosaurs, and how they could co-exist in a normal societal structure. Ahhhh, music to my ears. That's my idea of perfect crazy, what's yours?

Namaste, my dear friends.

Ain’t No Room to Bitch

2011-12-20T22:33:00.008-06:00

This time of year brings me to my knees in crazy. I absolutely love coming from a big family, but trying to guess what the hell they want for Christmas is enough to fry whatever sense of sanity I may have at the end of the year.

I usually have to resort to sending out nasty emails requesting everyone’s wish list. Or else you run the risk of getting whatever I choose, which may or may not include random crap that airs on late-night TV and offers free shipping, so shut the hell up.

The problem is I’m so concerned with getting each person the “Perfect Gift” that I forget to enjoy the process. And what irritates the situation further is I’m one of those people that feel no matter what I buy for each person, it’s never enough. So I scour the malls and Internet for any random “add-on” gifts I can find. Sure, grandma said she wanted the latest NY Times bestselling book and a pair of slippers, but couldn’t she also use a new Stiletto switchblade for those moments when she needs to butterfly a steak…. or a home invader? Maybe? No? Ok, I digress…

So this process follows for each and every person on my list, until I eventually become a drooling troll, shivering with fear, hiding underneath the covers and desperately trying to speak in comprenhensible English tongue. Insert visual here.

But just when I’m feeling oh-so-sorry for myself, I see this. An article about the dilemma cutie little Kate Middleton is having about what gift to get the Queen of England for the holidays. GHAAAAAAA! Could you only imagine the stress this poor woman must be under! Anything inappropriate could get this poor girl thrown out of Buckingham Palace on her skinny English ass. Forever dethroned, completely disowned and the shame of an entire country. Fuck. The tiny, jagged eggshells she must walk upon, every damn day…..wow.

I feel for the girl, I really do. I want to hold her, stroke her beautiful brown hair, feed her a cheeseburger then listen to her innermost thoughts as she cries herself to sleep.

Suddenly my trite, pheasant worries seem so…trite.

I feel as if a huge weight has been lifted, knowing that my worries pale in comparison to others in the world, and I should just shut my damn mouth. It could be worse.

And so it is, I've made my decision - Pajama Pants and Sham-Wows for everyone. Merry Christmas bitches!

4 people happy, 2 kids a-healthy and a lobotomy in a Pear tree

2011-12-14T22:04:00.001-06:00

Every year I’m asked the same question; so what ‘chu want for Christmas?!

Sure, I could fill my list with silly little material items that would soothe a temporary need, but would be forgotten within a month’s time. So the big question is: for the long run, in reality speak, what do us hard working Mamas really want for the holidays, aside from not feeling like a fried out, crispy crunchy Christmas tree?

1. Sleep ~If Mama wants to go to bed early, leave the bitch alone. And please let my tired soul sleep as late as possible, that would be a great start. I cook, cater and clean after your ass 24/7, so cut me some slack. Don’t bombard me with the usual wake-up call that includes a scream in the ear and a kick in the groin, thankyouverymuch. And if you have coffee already brewing when I wake – Gold Star! Cake will be served for breakfast. BOOM!

2. Showering ~ It’s bad enough that I have to see my post-baby(s) body completely naked on a daily basis. But when you impose the added stress having a toddler pulling back the shower curtain a million times to laugh at my saggy bits and tell me you have to take a poo-poo right now only exasperates the whole situation. In a perfect world, I would be allowed 10 minutes of daily-uninterrupted bliss where I could pamper my own ass…instead of everyone else’s.

3. Dropping a shadoobie or pissing in private ~ After kids, the joy of releasing our bowels and/or bladder in private is next to impossible. For once, I’d love wipe my own ass without the judgmental stares of 6 prying eyes (two kids/one dog - do the math.) To accomplish uninterrupted potty time from piss to wipe is a tough one, but I give it the ‘freshman try’ every. Damn. Day.

4. 2 words: Molly Maids ~ One gift guaranteed to have me crying tears of joy and bring me to my knees in thankfulness would be a gift certificate to a full-service maid company. Whether it’s for one day or one week, any amount of help would be totally appreciated. The idea of having someone else take care of the daily shit jobs I do around the house sends shivers of pure delight down my spine. Dishes? Gone. Dust? Swiffed away. Laundry? Clean and folded. Groceries? Bought and put away. Toilets? Scrubbed clean. Carpets? Vacuumed and lint-free. Random crap the kids throw all over the house? Picked up 10 seconds after it hits the floor. BOO YA!

5. Shut your mouth and open your ears ~ For once, I’d love for any of my house mates to stop me in my manic bi-polar tracks, sit me down, pour me a glass of wine and ask me how I’m doing. For reals. To ask me if there is anything they could do for me (what a concept!) and show serious concern about my physical, mental and spiritual well-being…….HA! Yea, that wish was a long shot, but hey, a mama can dream, right? And to have the ability to express every random emotion at the exact moment I’m having it without judgment would be sheer freedom. Heaven!

Short of a partial-lobotomy and a huge miracle, none of the above is ever gonna happen any time soon. And yet…..I’m ok with that.

So ladies, what is on your Christmas list? Tell Mama your secret desires, I promise not to tell others. Or hold it against you in a restraining order.

GO!

I should never be allowed to leave the house. Period.

2011-11-30T22:00:00.001-06:00

As most of you already know, I’ve been a WAHM for 2 yearsnow. I’ve mastered the art of juggling networking during naptime, writinginsightful copy while potty training, calling clients while cooking dinner andproofreading articles while making PB&J sandwiches. I am a guru in yogapants, the goddess of dirty laundry and a maven of multi-tasking.

It’s a rare occasion that I throw myself out to thecorporate world, but if I see a job that piques my interest, I’ll send out myresume, mostly for shits-n-giggles. And if I actually get a call back,BONUS! If not, then I’ll continueto live my sexy, exciting life as a freelance writer; complete with endlessdishes, a toddler that shits his pants, a moody pre-teen and an exhaustedhubby. Meh.

But last week, I got a call, for a senior copywriterposition in the city. I did the obligatory 15-minute phone interview. She likedmy answers. She asked what my salary requirement was. I was blatantly honest(taking into consideration the cost of putting 2 kids back in daycare,transportation, living expenses, etc.) She was fine with that. When could Icome in?

REALLY? Ok, whenever you need me (pleasepleaseplease letdaycare be available at a moment’s notice!) We agree on a date, which Iquickly write down in my appointment book when we hang up. Tuesday, November 29^th@ 1:30 PM. Awesome! I do a happydance and toast to this wonderful opportunity. I pass the word onto friends and family. I post this shit on every social media site available.

And then reality sets in. The rest plays out in a Facebookpost:

MY POST:

Wanna hear a funny story of how muchof a dork I really am? So I mentally prepare for my interview today, pick outthe perfect outfit, do my hair and makeup all purdy, arrange for daycare forthe kids, drive my ass all the way to the city, and guess what? Are yaready......wait for it......wait for it.......MY INTERVIEW IS TOMORROW - BOOM!

Like · · Yesterday at4:56pm near Aurora

THE RESPONSES:

LMBO!!!

Yesterday at 4:56pm via mobile · Like

well, at least you will bewell prepared! it was just a dress rehearsal

Yesterday at 4:57pm · Like

the HR girl was like,um.....why are you here? Your interview is tomorrow.......GHAAAAA!

Yesterday at 4:58pm · Like · 1

oh hell no!!! that is funny

Yesterday at 5:00pm · Like

Lol did you tell her youwant to beat the rush so you will spend the night ?

Yesterday at 5:04pm · Like · 1

AaaAa! I've done that, too!Hah!

Yesterday at 5:06pm · Like

A+ for being on time!

Yesterday at 5:07pm · Like

Better a day early than late!

Yesterday at 5:07pm · Like · 1

I know! They should justgive me the job for that...at least it shows I'm serious about it!

Yesterday at 5:08pm · Like

TOTALLY can relate tothis...so funny Tara AsherScalzo! Trying to beat that crazy traffic were you? But seriouslythey are making you come back tomorrow? They could not fit you in?

Yesterday at 5:16pm · Like

That's awesome. Lol

Yesterday at 5:18pm · Like

They have probablydetermined ur too old for the job down. Can we say senile Hahaha. Don't worry,definately sounds like something I would do!!

Yesterday at 5:19pm · Like

I don't mean to laugh, butit's kinda funny. Sorry !

Yesterday at 5:21pm · Like

I don't think I've repeatedthe phrase "you have *got* to be fucking kidding me!" more in my life:(

Yesterday at 5:23pm · Like · 1

Hahaha ... dork.

Yesterday at 5:23pm · Like · 1

Well let's look at itpositive. Ur hairs already done depending on how u sleep, u already know whatto wear and what it looks like, the route how to get there and how long it willtake so u won't be late. :)

Yesterday at 5:24pm · Like · 2

Does this I am buying lunchagain.

Yesterday at 5:31pm · Like

Hahahahaha! Well, at leastnow you've done a dry run!

Yesterday at 5:32pm · Like

Aw, snap !!!!! Sounds likesomething I'd do. At least you look "eager", cuz you were there"early"???? Just laugh about it, go in tomorrow all positive, they'restill gonna hire you, no sweat !!!

Yesterday at 5:34pm · Like

That is so ME!

Yesterday at 5:40pm · Like

I think Rick should buy youlunch again. I would hire you in an instant. I'm with Kristi, now you knowexactly what to do tomorrow. Good luck!!!

Yesterday at 7:23pm · Unlike · 2

Haven't stopped laughing!you big dork!

Yesterday at 8:27pm · Like

Still laughing!!

23 hours ago · Unlike · 1

So there ya go. A perfect example of why Ishould never be allowed out of the house. I could blame hormones, or stress, orwhat it really is – complete dumbassness on my part.

Live and learn, and laugh. A lot. Go ahead, youcan laugh with me (or at me.) Only time will tell if Mama gets the last laugh.

Namaste.

The Wife I should be…according to the Penis next to me

2011-11-21T21:09:00.001-06:00

The other night, while hubby and I were doing our bestimpression of lazy white trash – him, shirtless, farting on the couch, wearingboxers and black socks, and me in my usual monkey PJ pants, sports bra andmuffin top exposed – were channel surfing when an episode of Extreme Couponers caught our attention.

I’ve seen the show before, so it wasn’t something new. Andmuch like a car crash, it’s such an awful thing to witness, yet you can’t lookaway. The horror sucks you in andtemporarily paralyzes all of your senses. Those marketing bitches at TLC knowexactly what the hell they are doing, damn!

Despite his bitching and moaning, hubby actually sat stillto watch an entire episode. Afterwards, he turns to me and says, “you need todo this, it could save the family some money. Why aren’t you doing that?”

Um, EXCUSE ME?!

I immediately fell into defensive mode: puffed out chest,wide eyes, red hair frizzed, pointy finger and full out chicken-necking. Theinitial glances were one of those looking at a crazy person. As if this request were so easy. As if Icould perfect this ‘silly little hobby’ by the end of the week and incorporatethis into our daily lives. Easypeasylemonsquizeey, right?

Apparently the facts portrayed on the show were filtereddifferently. To my hubby, it was as simple as a small change in behavior. Tome, it was a huge change in my entire lifestyle. For example:

#1 – These bitches mean business: they spend a majority oftheir time, efforts and energy towards couponing. Most admittedly spend 40-60hours A WEEK towards this ‘silly little hobby.’ Which leaves me to ask when thehell do they have time to play with their children? Clean the house? Dolaundry? Run errands? Cook meals? Wipe their own asses? Engage in REM sleep?.....yea, didn’t think so.

#2 – Most seem to have some form of OCD. The desire to huntdown books of coupons, cut them up and organize them in a binder thicker than aphone book seems to be such an uncontrollable need in their lives. Onebroad even integrated dumpster diving into her whole methodical search for theperfect coupons. Ok, ewe. I’m all for saving a buck or two on laundrydetergent, but to swim around in someone’s discarded banana peels and dirtytampons is soooo not worth it! Even if it’s a recycling dumpster….still, it’s adumpster. Have some dignity.

#3 – It seems to be more addicting than crack. Not that I’veever done crack, but I could only imagine. The moods swings go from euphoric(receiving a handful of uncut books) to mellow (the process of cutting andorganizing) complete tears and paranoia (at the checkout counter) then finallythe come-down (admiring their stock at home and feeling a sense of purpose.) Honestly,if I went through that many emotions every day, I’d probably attempt bungeediving off my suburban ranch house roof. Without a rope.

#4 – I sometimes really wonder if they actually useeverything they stockpile. 3 years of baby formula…and their kids are grown -HUH? 5 years supply of Depend Undergarments…and the couple is in their early30’s -WHAT?! 2 years of Tic Tacs, for fresh breath all the time I suppose…butafter eating that many Tic Tacs, you won’t have any teeth left after they’vebeen ripped out from sugar-filled cavities - um, HELLO! In one episode I saw, a17 year-old boy (the youngest couponer they’ve ever had on the show) wasstockpiling Always maxi pads. He had no clue what the hell “with wings” meant.But he bought them. CRAZY!!!

#5 – I know it’s all about the thrill of the chase, the rushof saving money, the high of getting random shit for free. As the mother of 2kids and an insatiable husband, I get that. When I get that occasionalStarbucks mocha for free or find Cheetos on sale, I’m fucking flying high thatday! WOOHOO! If I could high-five myself, I would, but I’d look like a totalasshat. And believe me, there are moments in time when I’m feeling board,irritable, underappreciated and undershopped. So maybe once every 6 months, Igo out and buy myself some new make-up or a new outfit and I feel better. Thisis me, this is what I do, and I’m happy with that. Because in the long run, mykid’s necessities mean more to me than my own. The 40-plus hours a day thesewoman spend on their ‘little hobby’ is time I choose to spend with my kids.

And in the end, we can’t take it with us, right? Well, exceptfor a bottle of Goose Island beer, Portillio’s hot dog and slice of Uno’s pizzaI’ve already instructed my hubby to place in my casket, but that’s a given.Hey, I’m a Chicago gal. Go Sox!

So to the Penis sitting next to me: I love you, but shut thehell up. Let me do my thing and everything will work out fine. I may not besaving us a zillion dollars a year in groceries, but think of all the money I’msaving on psychotropic medication and family therapy.

You’re welcome.

So where do we go from here?

2011-11-10T12:00:00.002-06:00

So you just survived the most painful experience you’ve ever been through. But you weren’t alone for the ride. You had a precious little companion at your side, and her needs outweighed everything else. Decisions were made, actions were taken and doors were closed. As painful as it was, it was necessary to allow other positive doors to open. To benefit her. To benefit everyone.

“You see I’m falling down, with people standing ‘round. Before I hit the ground, is there someone out there to help me?” *

So you spend the next few days/weeks/months/year slipping into the abyss, continuing to thank Those Above that your precious companion is too young to comprehend exactly what is going on. To understand that her mama was dangling from a thread, desperately holding on to whatever sense of self she can, trying to regain proper composure. Trying to be the woman she always knew she was meant to be, except this time on solitary ground. It was such a sad sight for so very long. The process of tearing one’s flesh from bone and rebuilding structure is a long, slow process. Like a phoenix from the flame.

“Can anybody out there help me, ‘cause I can’t seem to help myself. Can anybody out there see me, ‘cause I can’t seem to see myself. There’s gotta be a Heaven, to save me from this Hell. Can anybody out there feel me, ‘cause I can’t seem to feel myself.”**

But then, one day, mama woke up. Suddenly life became whole again, priorities were realigned and a sense of strength was born.

So where do we go from here?

As a hopeless romantic with no time to crawl bars, we join an online dating website – much to our chagrin. So there you are, shaking cyber hands and answering questions in 140 characters or less, weeding out the douche bags from date-worthy. Most dates were hopeless, worthless, misleading…. pathetic. One ugly frog after another.

Until, one day….you come across a face that catches your eye.

Cute. Nice smile. All proper stats in place. Online, relatively normal, so what the hell. You “wink” at him, ‘cuz you're a forward broad like that. Reborn. Fresh thick skin attached.

We cyber talk for a month. We make sure he is fully aware of the previous situation, that he was cool with that. He said he was. Then we proceed to give him our phone number. We talked for another month. More questions, more thoughts, more fears revealed. Then we finally agree to meet him in person.

Fast forward in time. Suddenly we're professing our love on Facebook.

“I know he doesn't count this as a "real" anniversary and probably even see this post, but Imma say it anyway - Happy 6 year anniversary to my hubby Rick Scalzo. On this night, we finally set eyes on each other after flirting online for months, and I allowed you to shove petite filets and garlic mashed potatoes down my throat and get me totally drunk. Eventually you convinced me to marry you and bear you a son. Well done Mr. Scalzo, well done! I love you, you dork!”

So where do we go from here? Hopefully onward and upward. Only time will tell. But it’s a start.

“It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me. And I’m feeling good.”***

*”Falling Down”, Duran Duran, Red Carpet Massacre

**”Losing My Way”, Justin Timberlake, FutureSex/LoveSounds

***Feeling Good”, Nina Simone

Dear Dude

2011-11-02T23:24:00.000-05:00

aAs a young girl, you were always a thought in my head.

As I came of age, you were always a dream I held close to my heart.

As a grown woman, I waited for you.

Then one blessed day, you were there.

And on that day, I shed tears of joy.

As you grew inside my belly, so did my love. A prayer was answered, a prophecy fulfilled.

Family relished the process, anxious to meet you, hold you, love you.

On a warm November evening, in your own dramatic way, you arrived.

The past 3 years have been bliss. You are an angel beyond comprehension. I’ve never known such an amazing soul. Every kiss given and every hug cannot compare to the love blessed upon you.

I am thankful every single day. Mama loves you, more than you will ever know. Happy Birthday to my precious baby boy.

My angel, my all, my very self.

Fat Farm for 40-year-olds

2011-10-28T00:27:00.001-05:00

After watching an episode of some random reality crap TV show that I refuse to name, my brain started spinning with epic blog ideas. I know, complete oxymoron, right? But it happened. Document this moment in time.

I began to wonder if there is a fat farm for pathetic 40-year olds. Ya know, a place where bloated, exhausted mamas can go to get rid of their muffin-tops and slowly ease their existence of sippy cups and addiction of yoga pants.

I honestly welcome the opportunity to be shouted at by a disgustingly skinny broad with guns of steel and tits that defy gravity (see Jillian Michaels.) I highly encourage a chef to cram 900 calories of food down my throat and dare me to love it (hello Curtis Stone!) I seriously want some hotel concierge Bitch from Hell to wake my ass up and dictate exactly where I need to be and at what time, or else!

I want a makeover guru (channeling Stacy London) who will reiterate the fact that jeans will not restrict all circulation and could become a comfortable, sexy companion. I’m hoping a styling guru (up top Rachel Zoe) will pop in to help me ‘work’ with my figure and make me look my best. Ba-na-nas!

While I’m there, I’d love have my brain shrunk by the best in the biz, just for good measure (is Dr. Drew booked?) After all, if my insides aren’t all good, how valuable are my outsides, right?

And for the Pièce de résistance, I’m expecting the last 2 hours of this event to be hosted by professional child psychologist to further my understanding of the immature brain so I may properly deal with my children on an everyday basis (Jo Frost...hello Jo Frost?!)

In the end, I want to emerge the most well-rested, sleekest, sexiest, knowledgeable, fashion-conscious Mama Bitch on the planet. Is that too much to ask for? Does this place really exist?

Hey, a girl can dream.

How to Piss Off & Alienate a Husband in 5 Days

2011-10-25T23:16:00.000-05:00

No, I don’t have a PH.D in human behavior, behavioral science or psychology. But after countless relationships and two marriages later, I think I know a thing or two about how men and women relate. This info may be more valuable than 4 years at friggin’ Harvard. Ladies, take notes!

Day One - Talk. All the time. They say that communication is key in a relationship. But I believe that there can be too much communication between each other, to the point where you just want to punch your spouse in the face to shut them up. Men claim they never know what is going on our mind, that they have to sometimes drag information out of us, which is true from time to time. So to remedy this and totally piss him off? Talk. All the time. About everything and anything. Talk about your period. Talk about the massive dump your kid took that day. Talk about the bitch at the grocery store that cut in front of you at the checkout. Talk about how you hate you entire wardrobe and need to go shopping. Talk about how fat your ass has gotten over the years. Insult the size of his growing belly. Talk details about your BFF’s urinary tract infection. Try to psychoanalyze why you just are never in the mood for sex. Ever. Talk about your heartbreak over JLO and Marc Anthony breaking up. JUST KEEP TALKING! He will never bitch about your lack of communication ever again, trust me.

Day Two – Forget everything. Without us lovely wives to dress, groom, feed and send them out the door with some sense of direction, our men would be helplessly wandering around the world looking like complete asshats. Sometimes it’s hard to discern whether you’re an equal life partner or a cheap personal assistant. At times, the daily 'reminder' list for each husband is enough to cause severe cranial bleeding. I say it’s time to rebel! Accidently “forget” to pick up his dry cleaning for work, so he’s forced to wear outdated Gap cords that are a size too small and an inch too short. Accidentally “Forget” he told you about boys’ night out and bitch up a storm when he’s heading out the door. Accidently “forget” to pick up his 12-pack of Coke and big bag of potato chips that he likes to gorge on while spending an evening in front of the TV, scratching his balls and ignoring you. Accidently “forget” to have sex with him. ‘Nuff said.

Day Three – Start bringing home chotchkies. Just when he thinks he knows you, scare the shit out of him by turning into his grandmother. Slowly start placing the most hideous nick-knacks all over the house, complete with doilies and strategic spotlights. Spend hours admiring each piece of junk as if it was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Start documenting serial numbers and spend endless hours searching eBay for the next big treasure. Cry when you don’t win a bid. Tell him you want to amend your will, leaving each and every useless piece to him upon your death. At this point, if he’s not questioning your mental health and investigating psychotropic medication, you’re not trying hard enough.

Day Four – Drain the tank dry. As in, the gas tank. If you’re like most couples who flip-flop cars, depending on the day of the week, why not squeeze every ounce of petrol from every vehicle each chance you get. And then “forget” to refill the tank. Opps! Nothing says ‘Happy Monday Morning!’ like a bright red flashing empty tank light in their face, at the ass-crack of dawn when they’re already running late for the train. Fun times!

Day Five – Two words: granny panties. Make the announcement, preferably in public or in front of the In-Laws, that you have decided to throw out all your sexy French thongs in place of more comfortable, practical briefs. Ya know, the kind that you can jack up to your tits no problem, and come in the most muted colors on Earth. After all, comfort is key. And nothing says comfort like a yard of cotton with an elasticized waist, gently caressing the curves of your womanhood. Right?! Victoria’s Secret is so passé at the point in the relationship, so why not gently ease him into what lies ahead during the twilight of your years together. Love me, love my panties!

Silent Sunday

2011-10-23T09:00:00.018-05:00

Duran Duran ~ 27 years of loyalty ~ One night in Heaven

My first concert ticket from 1984, the latest from 2011

Fuel for the concert. Damn!

My first time at the beautiful Chicago Theater.

Hell Yea!

My hot date for the evening.

My boys on stage. I cried like a teenager!

I owe this night to my amazing hubby. Thank you for making a silly little girls dream come true. A small moment in time, but one I will treasure forever.

The End Result

2011-10-16T20:35:00.000-05:00

After all the drama, all the crying, all the worrying, all the anxiety – I received an amazing letter that contained the 4 most beautiful words ever:

Test results are normal.

Namaste.

Much Ado About Nothing

2011-10-10T16:27:00.000-05:00

I’m an official Mammy Grad!

Today was a huge milestone for me. Not only because of what was taking place, but because what it represents. When planning out my life, there were a few things I didn’t exactly “pencil-in” on the agenda. But then reality walked up and slapped me in the face.

Yes, I am officially 40 and officially of “advanced age.” I’m sorry, but when the hell did this 'officially' fucking happen?!

Yes, I’ve paid the co-pay to more doctors and blood clinics in the past year than I wish to mention. But I already have, through the fabulous world of social media and my dumbass big mouth. So why stop now.

Yes, I actually showed up for this particular event, which I’ve been dreading for months, continually repeating the reassuring words of those who have gone before me. Much like childbirth, the horror stories could throw your fear factor into complete paralysis. But what is inevitable is…inevitable.

The inevitable occurred this morning, much to my contempt. To calm these internal fears screaming in my head, I felt the need of a grande pumpkin spice latte from Starbucks ASAP. I know, caffeine + neurosis = total train wreck. But with me, this is a lifestyle. My husband will attest.

After obtaining my 16 ounces of liquid love, I spent several moments driving around with a slightly confused GPS system, guided by a pleasant Anglo-Saxon voice, telling me to “turn left here, turn right here, continue down the road 6.2 miles to destination, make a U-Turn now (WTF?)” when in all actuality my desired location was just across the street from that particular Starbucks. Yea, still not quite sure where that GPS bitch was trying to send me to, but I had enough smarts to figure out she was soooooo wrong.

NOTE TO SELF: Write a note to Garmin stating that their product is total shit. Exclamation!

Once in the lobby, the calming environment surprised me. Fireplace in one corner, gorgeous green plants in the other, relaxing yoga music playing over the speaker system, pleasant receptionist to greet me. ‘Hummm, this must be a facade’ I initially thought. Once they get you in the back, they blindfold you, strip you naked and mercilessly gut you like a pig.

Ah-ha! I’m on to them (Insert wiggly eyebrow here.)

After filling out and signing endless paperwork that I never really thoroughly read anyway, I sat back, closed my eyes and finished the remainder of my latte. Deep breathes, in and out. Om shanti. A few minutes later, a petite, gentle looking radiologist in her 60’s (guessing) came into the lobby asking for me. Once I confirmed who I was, she shook my hand and I noticed that her glance went quickly from my eyes to my boobs.

Awkward.

I can only assume she was trying to quickly assess what she was about to work with. Regardless, it was…weird. Anyway, she showed me to the softly lit locker room, briefly explained what the procedure would entail, handed me a cape and requested I strip from the waist-up. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve sworn I was at Mario Tricoci preparing for a Swedish massage. Damn these people are good!

Once in the exam room, she showed me “The Machine.” As I’m standing, I would gently place each breast on a flat grey plate, as another clear plate came down to ‘compressed’ the tissue. “It may take your breath away at first, but it won’t last long.” she explains. Oh great, so is this her special lingo for ‘this is going to hurt, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ The cape was quickly thrown back and it was Show Time! Before you could say ‘Slap A Duck’, Mama Radiologist had my right breast in her bare hand, placing it on the examination plate and positioning it as needed, as if a piece of Play-Dough. Usually before something like this happens, I’ve been wined and dined, so this is new. Turn here, lean forward, put your right arm on this angle, put your left arm here, raise your chin, tilt to the right, shift to the left….ok, and now don’t move or breathe until I tell you to.

Are you friggin’ kidding me?! Um, ok…deep breath in…

Mama Radiologist quickly stepped behind a reinforced wall and pushed a button, dropping the above clear plate that would quickly become a vice on my chest. I let out a gasp. Rapid x-ray pulses filled that air. The pain from this contraption digging into my ribcage the worst, but before I was allowed to go to my Happy Place, it was over. The plate was magically lifted and I could breath again. Then Mama Radiologist exclaims, “Ok, now I need to get a side view.”

Fuck. There’s more?!

So once again, my (already traumatized) right boob was pushed, shoved and molded into the necessary position to ensure proper placement. Out of nowhere, she compliments my gold ballet flats. ‘Thank you, got them from Target last summer blahblahblah.” Trying to create small talk while holding my breast is really not necessary, but thanks for the complement.

Awkward.

So then Mama Radiologist runs behind her Wall of Steel and pushed her button, allowing the procedure happen once again, but from the oh-so-more-sexy side angle. Yea, this was not much better, and added a whole new level to that oh-so-uncomfortable feeling. After confirming her happiness with the results from the right breast, it’s time to invite the left breast to the party. Whoopwhoop! At this point, I’m looking over my shoulder for someone – anyone - to offer me a shot of whiskey at this point. And I don’t even drink whiskey. Do the math.

All of the above is repeated on the left side, nothing more, nothing less. Can I get my gold star and go home now?!

She had me sit while she reviewed the pictures on the big screen, which actually were quite fascinating. Suddenly, my breasts became a mountain of complex veins that honestly resembled a road map. And no matter what route you choose to go, all roads led to Nippletown. Huh. Who knew?!

After Mama gave me her seal of approval, I was released and allowed to throw on my street clothes. Once I got to my car, I sighed a deep breath of relief. I successfully popped this cherry and was ready to go home to hug my kids. This, too, has ended. Nothing more, nothing less. Worse things have happened, and I’ve survived them all. Now to await the results.

Throughout all my anxiety and bitching, I know that this procedure is for the best, for my own health and well-being. Goodness knows that I’m nowhere near completing what I’ve been put on this Earth to do. I’ve got kids to raise, a husband to torture, friends to haunt and a blogosphere to conquer. A few moments of uncomfortableness is totally worth another 40 years of life.

Namaste.

A Connoisseur of BonBons and A Voyeur of Daytime Trash

2011-09-29T16:34:00.000-05:00

The title says it all. And that’s basically what my dear hubby thinks of my daily goings-on while he’s at work in the “big city,” mercilessly slaying dragons and shedding blood, sweat and tears to supply his family with bread, milk and a roof over our heads.

Meh. Whatever dude.

Don’t get me wrong. I totally respect what my hubby goes through to provide for his family, especially since we decided it would be best for the family as a whole that I quit my full time job and become a stay-at-home mom, working freelance gigs when time allows. The man commutes 2-plus hours a day and has to deal with inner-office asshats and people on a completely different continent 40 hours a week. I can barely say “where is your toilet” in Spanish at my local Pepe’s Tacos when necessary, so I can only imagine what it’s like to speak broken Chinese every damn day.

The man has lost countless hours of sleep and several locks of hair over the years. I feel for him, I really do. Personally, I think the whole going-bald thing is kinda sexy…in a Christopher Meloni/Bruce Willis/Prince William kinda way. Meow!

But on occasion, when he comes home with that what-the-hell-did-you-do-all-day look in his eyes, I want to smack him into the nearest wall. So here’s a love note that may answer that question, starting with a cherished term of endearment:

Dear Bitch,

1. Ya know that kid we created? Well, he wakes up at the ass-crack of dawn and begins demanding, um, everything. All. Day. Long. IwantjuiceIwantchickennuggestIwantmilkIwantotplayIwanttogooutsideIwanttogopeepeeIwanttowatchamovieIwanttojumponyourexpensiveIkeafurnitureandbreakyourshit. I WANT I WANT I WANT! By lunchtime, my nerves are shot and I’m eyeing that bottle of Pinot G in the fridge. I long for the day when Dude turns to me and says, “Mama, what do you want?”

2. The dirty dishes you leave everywhere? Yea, they don’t magically grow legs and walk their way to the dishwasher. This ain’t no friggin’ Disney movie.

3. The shoes you casually toss off when you walk in the door, the ones I later trip over and tear multiple tendons in the process? Yea, it’s me who puts them in their assigned place in the bedroom. You’re welcome!

4. Ya know that carefully planned, deliciously prepared and elegantly presented meal that you just inhaled in 3.5 seconds? That was me. You’re not in the military anymore, so slow the hell down and enjoy. I’m not running a slop house.

5. The clothes you insist on tossing on the bedroom floor, with hopes that they will magically turn into new carpeting? I routinely pick them up and put them in your hamper. 4 feet away. Really?!

6. The rugs and hardwood floor you walk on a million times a day, dropping random lint, dirt and food on? You might as well send half of your paycheck directly to Mr. Dyson and ComEd for the amount of times I run the vacuum. And between you and the dog, I’m not sure who leave the most amount of hairballs. Sad, but true.

7. That sassy Tweener we’re sharing air space with, the other fruit of my loins? I generally spend each day from 3PM until bedtime up that girl’s butt to further encourage the joys of completing homework, taking a shower, cleaning up her room, playing with her brother and completing household chores. To most, I’m just a typical mom, but to her, I’m simply the Angel of Death.

8. Our fully stocked pantry, fridge and freezer? That just doesn’t happen by osmosis. I have to willingly engage myself to weekly trips at Wal Mart, where I’m subjected to the threat of interacting with whole new humanoid life-form dressed in pajama pants, thwarting off offers to split a 24-pack of Old Milwaukee’s Best in the back of a ’79 pickup parked outside while listening to Menudo, or dealing with a cranky 2-year-old that runs thru the store screaming bloody murder, drawing the attention of any available DCFS case worker within earshot while shitting his pants……yea, not my idea of a fun time. But damn, can’t beat their prices!

9. Toilet paper. GRRRR! Yes, I’m a highly educated woman, but am I the only one capable of changing the toilet paper roll? Really?! Take old roll off holder – toss old roll in the trash – replace with new roll - return to proper holder – done. HELLO!

10. Oh yea, and that whole working-thingie you ask me to do to bring in extra income? I need actual time to do this. Which usually doesn’t occur until all above-mentioned activities are completed. After painfully ushering 2 kids to their arguable bedtimes. After dark. After I’m about to fall on my face from exhaustion………..yea, I’ll get to that too.

This list is oh-so-incomplete, but I think this might make my precious hubby more aware of a fraction of what I do in a day…in between inhaling BonBon’s and sitting on my ass.

I need to learn how to say “shut the hell up and appreciate what you have” in Chinese. Then perhaps he may understand.

An everyday occurrence. An incomparable experience.

2011-09-26T00:22:00.003-05:00

A silly thing happened on my way to enlightenment.....

Call it simplistic, call it trite, but when it happens, it knocks my socks off.

There is a specific moment that occurs, every damn day. It's that moment when I look at both my children and just think......wow. It causes me to catch my breath and feel thankful for all that I’ve been blessed with. When I became a mom, it honestly opened my eyes and made me realize my true purpose for being on this ridiculous planet. Without question, without doubt. This is it.

I’m still not sure what I did to deserve this amazing gift, but my heart explodes with happiness.

Itty-bitty baby kisses. Endless hugs. The sweet sound of hearing 'I love you.' Staring into the most beautiful brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Relentless laughter filled with ridiculous joy. Getting lost within the clear blue eyes of my first-born. The incomparable experience of holding your own creation in your arms – amazing!

Yes, it is possible to fall in love again. Every. Single. Day.

To my baby girl, my sassy side-kick, my Little Woman: You epitomize everything I ever wanted in life. Because of you, I earned the title of Mom, and I will forever be grateful. My wish for you is that you grow into a strong, secure, independent woman that will rock our world. May your heart continue to be pure and your intentions sincere. Accept nothing less than the best, and stay true to you.

To my precious baby boy, my little Dude: I’ve waited my entire life for you, and I promise to be the best Mama you need to help you become the most amazing man you’re destined to become. My wish for you is to stay the sweet boy you are, take care of your big sissy, love others as passionately as you are loved now and kick ass when necessary.

At this point in my life, I am officially enlightened. Namaste.

The Chaz Situation

2011-09-20T21:56:00.001-05:00

I usually don’t comment or blog about amazingly brainless shows like Dancing With The Stars, or any other crappy fluff the networks and media deem as “quality television", but the controversy regarding a member of this season’s line-up has me in such a tizzy that I feel compelled to speak my mind.

Yea, you know I’m talking about Chaz Bono.

Don’t get me wrong; I loves me some trash TV. LOVE IT! Anyone who follows me on Facebook or Twitter knows that I faithfully follow shows like The Kardashians, Kimora, Kendra and Rachel Zoe, amongst others. For me it’s eye-candy. Brain trash. An escape from my sometimes monotonous reality, and it satisfies for entertainment purposes, as it was originally intended.

But now that we have a transgender on national TV, people are getting their itty-bitty cheap Made-in-China panties in a bunch. Really?!

In the grand scheme of things, there are more mind-blowing events happening on the Earth we should be concerned with. The unemployment rate is at an all time high. People are struggling every day to feed and house their families. The obesity rate is through the roof and hundreds of people are being diagnosed with cancer every day. Teen pregnancy seems to be the “cool” thing to do, and because of this economy, alcoholism and drug use is commonplace. People close to me are still on foreign soil, fighting a war we’re still not sure we’ll win.

We live in world where we’ve become so desensitized. And that is a sad, sad thing.

So to focus all our attention and precious media airtime towards a woman-who-felt-trapped-in-the-body-of-a-man-so-she-ultimately-became-a-man is a complete waste of energy. Religious groups have thrown up their flags in protest. Fans of DWTS have venomously threatened to never watch the show again. According to some, the family structure is completely falling apart and the world is going to Hell at an expedited rate. Meh.

The grass is green. The sky is blue. Leave shit alone.

Dear Chaz: I praise you for having the balls to become who you wanted to be. I envy you for sticking to your guns to achieve happiness, and I applaud you for showing your true fabulousness in front of a captivated audience. I would graciously welcome you into my house to split a bottle (or 3) of wine as I pick your brain as to what true euphoric freedom feels like. So dance away my friend. In my world, you are the true definition of a rock star!

“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind.”

― Dr. Seuss

Boobie Squeeze

2011-09-13T00:04:00.006-05:00

For me, the Fall season represents so many amazing events: Little Woman is back to school, gorgeous colors filling the canvas, crock pot cooking, refreshing cooler weather, and life returns to normal (whatever that means.) However, this year, a new challenge added to the mix is potty training a toddler. My life suddenly revolves around a loaded penis and Lightning McQueen big-boy underpants; a reality I’m still trying to comprehend.

Yet amidst the chaos, a certain sense of composure takes place that allows me to finally pay attention to my own needs, as apposed to the needs of others, and to really focus on what is going on within my own body. If goldfish crackers and chicken nuggets were an official food group, I’d be built like a rock star right now.

But they’re not. So I digress. Physically. Literally.

Last week, I went to see my primary doctor, just to get an overall physical. She took the necessary vitals, than asked all the necessary questions: Do you exercise? Do you take a multivitamin? Do you smoke? Do you do drugs? Have you had a mammogram?

Um, no, yes, no, no and no.

That last ‘no’ caused her to raise an eyebrow. She gently

informed me that now I'm of "that age”, I should schedule a mammogram as soon as possible.

I already knew this, yet to hear these words actually spoken hit a whole new nerve I never knew existed. And only one thought went through my head: When the fuck did I get this old?!

A week later, I’m sitting at another health care facility, wearing a really cheap blue cotton gown that barely covered The Girls and a flimsy piece of paper covering my naughty bits. My OB/GYN is an amazing woman that actually listened to my concerns and answered any questions I had. I enthralled her throughout the breast exam. I made her laugh out-loud while examining my vagina. Hey, if 2 broads can’t bond now, then when?!

After another round of questions, I was then given a referral to a facility that would happily perform the inevitable. So now the ball’s in my court. I know it’s in my best interest to just get it done, I just...fear.

You would think after every thing I’ve been through in life, fear would be a comfortable companion. But it’s not. Never will be.

So guess I just need to take a deep breath and…….jump!

A Day in the Life

2011-08-31T23:10:00.000-05:00

I loves me some Facebook, I really do. I’m on it almost every waking moment of the day, for business and pleasure. But on a rare occasion, there are posts that start out all innocent and within minutes, end up on a completely different planet. Today was a perfect example. In the end, all I could do is laugh and thank the heavens above for having such amazing (sick, psychotic, hysterical) cyber friends. And it all started with a damn grilled cheese sandwich!

Names have been deleted to protect the innocent, regardless of how friggin’ guilty they really are. (And yes, some of these comments were from yours truly.)

My original post: I just burnt grilled cheese. I fail as a mom :(

hahahahaha that's funny???? are you drinking wine with that grilled cheese???? Yummy, Merlot? or Chardonnay??? :)

4 hours ago · Like

now that is funny!

4 hours ago · Like

Like pizza grill cheese is great burnt

4 hours ago · Like

mmmm, yummy....Burnt Pizza with my Merlot!!!! Ima comin ova!!!! LOL

4 hours ago · Like

it was for the kids. I tried to scrape the burnt parts off. I know, sad huh?! Oh, and I'm enjoying a nice Pinot Grigio :))))

i know it's for the kids...I was just kidding....but i sure could go for some Bordeaux NOW!!!!! With a burnt steak!!!! :)

4 hours ago · Like

Really I like everything burnt

4 hours ago · Like

me tooo :) i love my steak well done...

4 hours ago · Like

Riesling for me please

4 hours ago · Like

anything at this point.....ladies,,,ima officially single and moving out FRIDAY!!!! One girl party coming up soon!!!!! OH YA!!!!! :)

4 hours ago · Like

Let me know when.

4 hours ago · Like

WHOOOOHOOOOOO! Party!

4 hours ago · Like

im thinking a "TOY" party LMAO,,,,no,,,,seriously!!!

!!! :)

4 hours ago · Like

That was just the "test" one. The next two will be better. I like to use pan spray in conjunction with buttering the bread. The combination of the two different oils raises the specific temperature that butter burns at.

3 hours ago · Like

I've got a great "Toy" girl

3 hours ago · Like

HAHAHA heehee I bet!!!!! well us single ladies need some...ya know...LMAO

3 hours ago · Like

as do us married women. MEOW!

3 hours ago · Like

RAWLLLL!!!!

3 hours ago · Like

You know ladies, the Denmark bookstore is open 24/7/365 and has a wide variety of toys and other accoutrement ~

3 hours ago · Like

Aaaaaaaaaaand how would you know??

what's that???? WHERE??? Let's go ladies!!!! Bring some wine...Ill supply the Vodka!!!! :)

3 hours ago · Like

Denmark is on the SS of Aurora, in Oswego.....not that I would know.......

3 hours ago · Like

hahahah what about flirty kitty???? anybody want to go there with me?????

3 hours ago · Like

YES!

3 hours ago · Like

lets plan a time in september and go!!!! Im serious need to get there before You know who visits!!!!! RAWL!!!!

3 hours ago · Like

I use to work there. Now THERE's a book to be written!!

3 hours ago · Like

that reminds me, I need to read your work!

3 hours ago · Like

LOL. I had thought you'd looked at it because my counter showed fourteen hits, but it was my other friend Carrie who went and read my blog

3 hours ago · Like

not yet, sorry, but I will!

3 hours ago · Like

No hurries, no worries. It

3 hours ago · Like

s all good. Dang, I hate when I accidently hit the enter key!

3 hours ago · Like

can u do a Saturday???

3 hours ago · Like

how about the 10th???

3 hours ago · Like

The 10th should be good. What time?

3 hours ago · Like

BTW, I can't believe a post about burnt grilled cheese would turn into a trip to a sex toy shop......WTF??? I LOVE it!

3 hours ago · Like

Pay It Forward….With a Glass of Wine!

2011-08-29T22:38:00.004-05:00

I’ve been a professional writer for, like, ever. As most of you know, I’ve only been blogging for a year-and-a –half.

I'm a newbie.

I originally started this blog as a dumping ground for all my silly little feelings, thoughts, ramblings and daily challenges I experience as a work-at-home mom. But holy crap, what a ride it’s been! To know that y’all actually connect with my writing is a huge thrill, and I appreciate the fact that you keep coming back for more!

What started out as a personal project has turned into so much more. Through my blogs, I have met so many other fellow bloggers that tickled my britches. Made me pee my pants. Made me laugh so hard I spit coffee out of my nose. It ain’t pretty, but that, in itself, is a huge feat!

So here’s my chance Pay It Forward. If you can read this, then you already know I love the hell out of your work. I’d love to pass your blog along to others that follow my blog, facebook, twitter page...and so on and so on and so on.

So leave your blog address in the comments and I promise to brag the hell out of you.

I raise my glass to you, my amazing women. Cheers!

Ready…..set……GO!

Bloggy Boot Camp – In Real Words

2011-08-26T23:57:00.002-05:00

So it’s been a week since I attended my first-ever blogger convention, and one thing is for sure: despite my insecurities, I’m glad I went. I spent 10 hours with the most amazing writers I’ve ever met. And I was happy to find that most of them were newbie’s like me. Regardless of how long they’ve been blogging or their following, they were scared shitless. Weeehawwww!

Please understand, most of us bloggers live a very sheltered life. We write from a tiny desk in some random corner of the house. Our most captive audience tends to be the family dog. The refrigerator 20 feet away tends to be our biggest enemy. The children continually circling our IKEA office chair tends to be the biggest time suck.

It’s not a glamorous life. There is nothing sexy about it. But it’s real life. And that’s all I promise to write about. I refuse to sugarcoat crap, ‘cause then all ya got is glittery poop that looks pretty but smells like hell.

You get the picture.

But who resonated with me the most was the first guest speaker, Amy-Bradley Hole, who talked about Branding – “Creating an Identity.” Basically we were asked a few questions about who the hell we think we are.

1. What characteristics and personality traits set me apart?

2. What guiding principals and values do I have?

3. What is my role on the web?

4. What is my promise?

5. What is my story?

Amy was very informative and entertaining, bless her precious southern heart.

1A. I’m honest, uninhibited and realistic. I hope to humor and educate at the same time. As the oldest of 6 girls, it’s my lot in life. And I accept this challenge with open arms. If I happen to affect others, #winning! Oh, and I have a total lack of filter, another ‘personality trait’ that has earned me the nickname “Trucker.” I need to get that on a t-shirt.

2A. See above. I know nothing but to be honest and true. In real life, this is not exactly a good trait to possess because it’s gotten me hurt. A lot. But that’s all I know. And so it is.

3A. My role on the web? Hell if I know. Again, I’m just here to share my silly life stores and crazy WAHM experiences. The fact that others have connected with my writing is an added bonus.

4A. See 1A above. I promise to be all of the above. And love me, love my potty mouth. I’m a Chicago southsider; I know no better. Go Sox!

5A. My story is already like a suspense novel. With my heart on my sleeve, I’ve given readers a very graphic taste of what I’ve been through, yet there are more chapters to come. ‘Cuz I ain’t dead yet!

Of course there were other speakers, who were amazing as well, including the beautiful Q. As in Laquishe Wright, who, on a silly whim, began blogging about a particular celebrity she had a crush on. Little did she know that Said Celebrity would later contact her, asking her if she would host his official web site. UM, HELLO! This rarely happens in real life, but it happened to her. Jealous!

But you want to know what I loved the most? Being in a room with 150 fellow writers. Sharing coffee cups, business cards and sincere conversation. Amazing women who were in the same scary bloggy boat as me. Women who shared a part of who they were with me. Women who made me truly feel that I’m not alone in this silly journey called life. And as we scattered Rock Star dust all over the room, a sense of camaraderie chased away any fear. That in itself was worth the ticket price.

Namaste bitches.

Bloggy Boot Camp: The Teaser

2011-08-22T23:27:00.000-05:00

So I did it. I survived my first ever blogger conference. What I thought would be a day of self doubt and unrequited attention turned into quite the opposite. I went in nervous and came out smiling. I officially popped my cherry, and what an amazing experience it was!

There is no way, even 48 hours after, that I can share with you everything I learned at BBCCHI this past Saturday. My head is still spinning with information, and I need more time to dissect it before I share it with others. But one thing is for sure; I was blessed to be able to sit in a room filled with such amazing women whom I learned so much from. The entire 9 hours I was there, my pen was a-blazing, writing down everything I felt I needed to remember, which was, uh, everything! Even as a seasoned professional, there is so much I need to learn. I embrace every opportunity to do so. And so is life.

Now Mama needs time, aside from her mama duties, to soak in all the juicy goodness that was Bloggy Boot Camp.

More to come……

Popping My Cherry

2011-08-19T21:06:00.000-05:00

HA! The title drew you in, didn’t it? No, this is not the complex story of one hot summer night so long ago when 2 years of repressed sexual energy finally exploded into a lot of awkward fumbling, hopefully reassurance and complete amazement at what was happening. In my childhood bedroom, while my parents were out of town. On my waterbed.

Ever have sex on a waterbed? It should be considered an Olympic sport. Everything must move in slow motion waves or else one or both partners could be thrown from the bed when the surf brakes. Timing and rhythm are everything. Nothing kills sexy like tits and ass flying through the air. Ugh.

But I digress.

Tomorrow, I’m about to embark on a whole different journey. I’m attending my first ever blogger convention in downtown Chicago, Bloogy Boot Camp. First, I’m excited to just get out of the damn house and away from my beloved children for 9 straight hours (as you can tell, this doesn’t happen very often.) Yeah me! But most of all, I’m excited because I get to meet so many fellow bloggers that share my passion for writing. A lot of the women there will be amazingly brilliant bloggers whose work I read and admire. Communicating through cyberspace is great, but to actually meet them in person will be a whole separate thrill of its own. I’m sure that I will walk away with a wealth of knowledge from these radiant women that will not only help enhance my own personal blog, but ones I do for my clients as well.

I also hope to walk away with a bit of camaraderie and empowerment. As any work-at-home mom will tell you, it can be a frustrating existence when you are blessed to be able to do what you love in the comfort of your own home yet cut off from all adult human contact at the same time. And I don’t consider the ramblings of a toddler to be thought-provoking conversation. If I had a dime every time I say the phrase “did you just poop your pants?” on a daily basis, I’d be a friggin’ millionaire.

Try that with your co-workers at the coffee machine on Monday morning.

But underlying my excitement is sheer terror. Self-doubt and second thoughts are suffocating me at this point. I think I’m a good writer, but am I worthy enough to be in a room filled with such talent? Am I smart enough? Am I cutting-edge enough? Do I have the ability to soak in all the knowledge I will acquire in such a short time span? When I open my mouth, will I sound fluid and intelligent enough, or will my usual snarky personality cause waves? Will I properly represent what my blog is about and who I really am? And most importantly – will I look thin and cute?

I know I’m over thinking things right now, and I’m silly to be in such a state of panic. Overall, I’m a very confident person. But every now and then, the painfully shy, self-doubting little girl I once was will pop up, exposing the chink in my armor.

Tomorrow morning, as I’m getting ready, I will start a mantra I promise to repeat throughout the day: I am a rock star. I am a rock star. I AM A ROCK STAR!

Same Shit, Different Year

2011-08-16T08:00:00.001-05:00

In honor of the new school year starting tomorrow, I decided to repost a blog from last august that is still HORRIFYINGLY RELEVANT this year. enjoy my pain!

MONDAY, AUGUST 9, 2010

And So the Craziness Begins...

There is something about the month of August that makes me gasp with fear, frazzles my nerves and kicks my maternal preparation mode into high gear, for a couple of reasons.

FIRST: The start of the new school season is so close, I can almost taste the chalk. Right about now I am bombarded with letters from our local friendly school district about all the ‘necessities’ my daughter will need to enter the coveted facility us tax payers pay oh-so-diligently for. Shot records. Check! Dental records. Check! Residence confirmation. Check! School supply list….well, gonna work on that within the next week. A trip to Office Depot for an 8 year old is like a trip to Macy’s for Mama. “Pick out what ‘cha want baby, sky’s the limit!”. As the cart fills up with everything a 3^rdgrader needs, I can see the excitement build up in my daughter’s eyes…and dollar signs adding up in my mental calculator.

20 sticks of glue. Really?! Are they going to be gnawing on that crap during recess? 10 folders of very specific colors. As if they really care what color folder they bring home, covered in doodle drawings, random stains, and stickers? 100 index cards. So they can organize their thoughts according to the Dewey Decimal system? Forty-eight #2 pencils. Is there a lead deficiently I’m not aware of? I thought lead was a toxic element for our kids. My bad! Multiple boxes of Kleenex. Because our children will be crying buckets when they learn how much homework is actually involved?

Ugh, the list goes on and on. And this doesn’t even count the amount of time I’ll be spending picking out a backpack and matching lunchbox adorned with my daughter’s ‘teen heartthrob of the moment’, only to be told half way through the school year that he/she is soooooo stupid that I need to buy another backpack/lunchbox set post haste.

GRRRRRRRR!

SECOND: to add to the drama, I have to start thinking about my son’s birthday celebration in November. Yea, it’s 3 months away, but I need to start brainstorming now if I’m going to stay ahead of the game. That includes drafting the guest list, deciding on a theme, booking the caterer, designing the invites and reserving the cake. That’s just for starters. I’m already exhausted thinking of the million more details that are going to be micromanaged between now and then. I would love to have Martha Stewart on speed dial.

My only reprisal is my son is too young to have an opinion at this point. Eventually the request of our local Hooters restaurant will pop up in conversation.

Oh but wait, there’s more! Just a short 2 months later, I will be celebrating my daughter’s birthday in January. And the hits just keep on coming! I suddenly am ensconced in the “curse of the winter babies”. My entire family was born in the coldest months of the year. Father, sisters, mother, husband AND children. Oh, and me too. In the dead of February. Shortest, darkest, coldest month in the midwest. Meh.

Either everyone in my family has deemed the spring months as official mating season, or the cosmos have a sick sense of humor. Whatever the cause, my appointment book will be completely full starting now through, oh, the end of March. Then maybe I'll have the chance to breathe.

See you on the other side!

I Live for the Day I…

2011-08-13T08:00:00.002-05:00

~Can wake from a full night sleep feeling completely refreshed.

~Can eat carbs without them absorbing directly to my hips.

~Can sing along to my favorite song and actually sound better than the original artist.

~Can sit at the computer and watch in awe as my fingers effortlessly type a groundbreaking novel.

~Hear the words “Mama, I want to pee in the toilet.” And he actually does!

~Remember that inspiration is all around me. I just need to slow the hell down and witness it as it happens.

~Get recognized on the street one day. "Hey, aren’t you the crazy redhead that writes that silly blog?!”

~Actually didn’t burn the quinoa I’ve prepared for dinner. For once.

~Have a 12-hour rock star hair day that makes me feel like a million bucks!

~Can finally forgive and let go of the remaining source of anger that eats at my soul every day.

~Could sail through a 24-hour day continually pushing an ‘Easy’ button.

~Walk into a boardroom, slap down an unparalleled marketing plan, swear at them in explicit French as to why thy need to hire me, then walk out as jaws drop.

~Can spend the day in bed, no kids clawing at me, wrapped in a down-comforter, watching nothing but trash TV and surrounded with donuts and raspberry mochas. And pizza. And Portillio's hot dogs. And wine. All while facebooking until my fingers fall off. Yea…….mmmmm, that’s nice.

~Finally see my name in print at your local Barnes and Noble.

~Can poop and pee without an audience. Dog included.

~Will meet a person that actually envies my post-baby belly.

~Will eventually meet the amazing adults my children are currently becoming.

These are just a few things I wish for. Some may come true, some may not. But in these dreams there is hope. That’s all I can ask for.

So what the hell do you live for? Share your thoughts, I promise not to laugh!

Wordless Wednesday: A week of life in the Northwoods

2011-08-10T08:00:00.001-05:00

Dude's first pony ride. Already a natural.

Dude and daddy prepare to race!

My redneck hubby drinking a Hamm's beer. Oy vey!

Applying lip gloss while on a moving horse is not as easy as it sounds.

Jet ski dudes!

My little mermaid.

Peek-a-boo!

Two broads on the road.

Planking in Wisconsin.

Hanging at the sand bar.

A Small Moment in Time

2011-08-08T08:00:00.001-05:00

So after a successful trial run while on the pullout bed during last week’s vacation, hubby and I made the final epic decision; it was time for Dude to graduate to a big boy bed.

Hubby dismantled the crib, turning it into a toddler bed. I went shopping and bought Lightning McQueen bed sheets and a brand new pillow. Nothing less than the best for my Baby Boo.

After a good washing and proper preparation, Dude’s bed was all set to go. As he literally jumped for joy, I sighed a heavy sigh and shed a few tears.

Why?

Because my baby was no longer a baby.

Because this precious creature I gave birth to was becoming his own person.

Because this marks an end of an era. My baby days are officially over.

And so it is...

With both my babies, my pledge to them remains the same: Mama will always love you. I promise to give you the best of me. I promise to give you everything you need in your formative years. I will give you everything within my power to help you make the best choices, steer you in the proper direction and become the most amazing person you can be. And if you fall, I promise to pick you up. Unconditionally, without hesitation.

But for now, let’s work on the whole big boy bed thing, huh?! One step at a time.

Moments You Never Imagined Would Happen: A Love Story

2011-07-26T20:39:00.003-05:00

You never imagine the moment when ~ you make the final decision to anesthetize a marriage that, in the beginning, was filled with sheer hope and joyful promise. Until one day, all hope was lost and all that joy had turned into pure abhorrence. An especially toxic environment when a toddler is involved. The laughter had stopped.

And yet, somehow, love surrounds you.

You never imagine the moment when ~ you have to pack your car with whatever would fit, including beloved toddler, and drive away from a life that took a decade to build. If heartbreak could make a sound, it was deafening at that particular moment.

And yet, love surrounds you.

You never imagine the moment when ~ you are standing on your parents porch, completely broken, asking for a place to crash while you clear your head and try to make sense of complete anarchy. Suddenly, their couch in the living room becomes your whole world and you’re 17 all over again. But baby is safe and happy in her pack-n-play, so all is good. May she drool in peace.

And yet, love surrounds you.

You never imagine the moment when ~ you sign the rental agreement on the only tiny one-bedroom apartment you can afford at the moment. As a stay-at-home mom with no income, this was a huge feat. But it becomes a place of your own to inhabit while you try to make sense of your reality and attempt to re-build a normal existence for both yourself and baby girl. I’m sure having teeth pulled and a full frontal lobotomy would be more enjoyable at this point.

And yet, love surrounds you.

You never imagine the moment when ~ you receive the divorce papers in the mail. If heartbreak could make a sound, it could knock down a forest at this point. Ouch. So in quiet agony, you pick up the pieces with bleeding hands and carry on. Because you should. Because baby girl needs you to.

Love continues to unconditionally surround you.

You never imagine the moment when ~ you are sitting in a government building, applying for state assistance to help you survive. Gently clutching your paperwork while sitting patiently in an overcrowded, overheated room filled with screaming kids, bad body odor and desperateness. Once you are finally ushered into a room filled with puke-green walls and a pathetic pressboard desk, the feeling isn't much better. As a state employee quickly reviews your paperwork while throwing judgmental glances your way, you slowly sink in their cheap plastic chair and beg for mercy. “I’m a single, unemployed mom.....blahblahblah.....going thru a divorce….blahblahblah….anything you can do would be appreciated.” A few weeks later, the state of Illinois graced me with a WIC card that allowed me to buy a specific dollar amount of groceries a month. I had officially become a statistic. I had officially become someone I no longer recognized. As a well bred, college educated woman, this was the lowest of the low.

Pain and humiliation aside, I did it all out of love for my baby girl. She gave me a reason to drag my pathetic bones out of bed every morning. She forced me to stay focused on what really mattered in life. She gave me purpose. She gave me strength.

Yet through the whole ordeal, despite the heartache, gory details and endless sobbing, our love story was growing even stronger. And together, we began to build all new memories of amazing moments we would never forget. The laughter had finally returned.

It All Begins With A Dream….

2011-07-19T19:39:00.000-05:00

I have a dream. It’s a small dream, compared to the plight of world peace, global warming, rising gas prices and finding a new husband for Jennifer Lopez. But for a work-at-home mom, who is attempting to raise 2 children and run a business without going completely insane and committing a first-class felony offense, it’s huge. And yet so simple. So obtainable. So do-able. I just need to throw a bunch of engineers into a small room, liquor them up and start crackin’ skulls, because this could work!

I want a play area of epic proportions. I want a play yard where I can set the kids free to run for hours until their little lungs explode and their legs drop out, while Mama is being pampered at the same time.

Imagine this:

*Valet service to greet you and help you unload the kids and all the crap that follows them.

*A play yard as big as the lower level of Macy’s. Close enough for comfort, yet far enough to allow some breathing room. The whole ‘I can see you but can’t hear you’ thing is the desired effect.

*A surrounding 10-foot wall of chain-link to prevent any escapees who may attempt to run for the boarders. GITMO ain’t got nothing on this fence! When they are contained, then they are controllable.

*Enough tunnels, mazes, bridges and climby-thingies to confuse and entertain them for hours. Physical exhaustion is the key objective here.

*An open Snack and Juice Box bar that they can run to whenever the desire hits, allowing some poor random bartender to endure the endless rants of ‘iwantiwantiwant!’ for a change.

*Leather massage chairs. Anything to kneed, knuckle, pulse or punch my worries away, one vertebrae at a time.

*Since I’m in that fabulous massage chair, why not indulge in a mani/pedi! Nothing revives the soul like freshly scraped piggies and beautifully painted fingertips. As any hard working mama will tell you, we tend to neglect our own needs. So pamper away bitches!

*As we’re getting pampered, nothing says love like being served a glass (or 3) of your favorite wine or alcoholic beverage while firmly planted in said-leather chair. Preferably by a handsome, shirtless Robert Downey Jr. look-a-like, who’s utmost concern is your complete satisfaction (insert huge smile here).

*Free Wi-Fi. Complimentary issues of Vogue. Charging stations for your iPhone. Concierge service to book a reservation at the nearest Rainforest Café….I could go on.

So as you can see, I’m not asking for much. Just a small piece of heaven where everyone can co-exist in blessed harmony for just a few hours a week. Where kids can be kids and mamas can be treated like the Goddesses that we are.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to hunt down a few qualified engineers who will work for beer.

Summer Necessities for the Seasonally Challenged

2011-07-13T21:58:00.000-05:00

I have to admit – summer is my least favorite season. Seeing the sun every morning is a wonderful thing, but the damn heat gets to me. Blah! As a pale Irish gal, I always have to take huge precautions before I step outside the house. Much like the ever-rare Albino. Much like a friggin’ vampire.

Meh.

So over the last, oh, 40 years, I’ve slowly acquired a list of ‘Must-Haves’ during the summer season, not only to save my precious skin, but to save my sanity as well. And for this blog, I’ve asked my fellow facebook friends to share their summer savers. Cuz I’m cool like that.

#1 – Sunscreen: If you don’t find me under a tree or large patio umbrella, then it’s guaranteed that I will be slathered in anything labeled SPF 1,0000 or more. The feel is so slimy-sexy, the smell is oh-so-erotic. And the color only adds to my already paleness, giving it a slight shimmer of…death. Yea, that’s it. But it’s so much better than suffering from 2^nd degree burns to the point where you can’t wear normal shoes or clothes for 5 days in a row and your skin feels like it’s on fire to the point where you want to rip it off your bones (I so need to blog about that Vegas trip….)

ONE OF MY FAVS – Clinique Superdefense SPF 25. This bitch will moisturize and protect my old skin like nothing I’ve tried before. Amen!

FACEBOOK FAVS - “Coppertone. Definitely. Oh, and chlorine. Coppertone and chlorine (can you tell I spend a lot of time at the pool?)”– Julie S.

“Urban decay all nighter finishing spray! Keeps your makeup on all day even in the heat!” – Nicole B.

“NIA24 sunscreen. Awesome!” – Carla P.

#2 – Capri’s or Yoga Pants: I don’t do shorts. Period. When it gets humid, everything sticks to everything else and you are feeling your most disgusting, sweaty self, the last thing you want to do is reach down and continually pull out your shorts from your Who-Ha. Ladies, y’all know what I’m talking about. As you walk, that shit rides up. And that’s neither attractive nor fun. So to avoid this endless train wreck, I wear anything that hits the below-knee range, mostly Capri’s or yoga pants. Sure, it’s not as ‘breathable’ as shorts, but avoiding public humiliation and a full-blown yeast infection makes it oh-so-worthy.

ONE OF MY FAVS – Any pants with the word “spandex” on the label. God bless that amazing fabric!

#3 – Water: As a Pisces, I am naturally drawn to water. Be it ocean, lake, stream, pond or spit, I’ll be there. And I’ve found that the babies I have given birth to have followed suit; when they are near water, they are intrigued, entranced and eventually consumed by this amazing earthly gift. So if there is a promise of a lake, pond or pool, guaranteed you will get our attention. Right now, a cheap sprinkler from Home Depot is a huge treat. Anything from that would be an upgrade. My parents have a huge pool in their backyard. So according to my kids, needless to say, Grandma and Papa are the most amazing people on Earth.

ONE OF MY FAVS - My $5 Home Depot Sprinkler. I’ve never seen more inexperienced joy expressed on my babies’ faces. Buddha bless their silly naive hearts. And Buddha bless Gma and Gpa for their amazing pool of chlorinated hose water. Om shanti.

FAVEBOOK FAVS – “We love the water squirter tube-things from Dollar Tree. Nothing like a huge water fight on a hot afternoon!” – Amy H.

“Give the kids each a squirt bottle and send them outside…no need for a pool or fancy water gun.” – Anne O.

#4 – Flip-Flops: Easy on, easy off, especially when my feet swell to twice their size, due to heat and humidity….and liquor intake (see #5 below). As long as I get my twice-monthly pedicures, I promise to show off my beautifully pampered piggies without hesitation. And they make for easy-access when you need to throw them off in a huff to chase your belligerent toddler when he chooses to run for freedom across county boarders. GRRRR!

ONE OF MY FAVS – Cheap. Anywhere I can find them cheap. I don’t care the brand or color. Since I’m paying for so-little material, I want to pay an oh-so-little price.

FACEBOOK FAVS – “Old Navy ones, even Wal-Mart ones. The cheaper the better, I live in ‘em. And they have every damn color under the sun, that is my favorite part I think.” – Lori C.

#5 – Booze: Nothing says summer like a chilled bottle of Pinot Grigio…or Sangria on ice…or an ice cold Corona…or….well, you get the picture. During hot summer days, when life slows down a bit, when the kids can run around the backyard like a bunch of naked banshees and your butt is permanently planted in a deck chair, nothing enhances the moment and mellows the nerves like booze. Preferably when you’re sharing it with others who think drinking at noon is completely acceptable!

ONE OF MY FAVS – Anything by Barefoot, Ménage a Trios or Lucky Duck wineries. Beautiful, smooth, and cheap (key word here.) I’m not a beer gal, but the Coronas in the fridge get sucked down quickly. And Captain Morgan is known to stop by quite often.

FACEBOOK FAVS - “Summer Shandy. Best summer beer ever! Also if you want a sweet drink, there’s these things called Daily’s in packets that you throw in your freezer.” – Kelly D.

“Old Style – it’s the original session beer and it Kraeusened to boot! Whatever that means ;-./” – Patrick S.

“Summer Shandy baby!” – Traci L.

“Skinny girl margaritas!” – Vicki N.

“A cold fat burning Chocolate-Raspberry latte!” – Roberta T. (side note: add some vodka, then ya got a party!)

RANDOMS THAT WERE THROW IN: “Lawn Jarts!” – Kathy G.

“Baby powder. The best thing ever after a full day at the beach. It takes sand off your body before getting into the car so easily. BEST. THING. EVER!” – Ginger M.

“I love a good (green) POPCYCLE, on the patio with the kids. Dad always gets green.” – Mike T. (BTW – I had to correct him on the spelling, joking that a popcycle must be the new bike that you can ride than eat…LOL!)

“Try a Reese peanut butter cup instead of Hershey’s when making smores!” – Colleen B. (side note: Colleen is my new goddess – she's a friggin' genius!)

“My mini speaker things (from the checkout aisle at Best Buy, 9.99) and an iPhone loaded with the Pandora app. This + wine and a summer fire = bliss ) – Karen S.

So amongst this plethora of amazingly useless knowledge, I’m sure that I’ve forgotten to add something to this list….care to share?! What are some of your Summer Savers?

Things that make you go WTF???

2011-07-02T22:47:00.000-05:00

When I have too much time on my hands (which isn’t often) I tend to think about random crap for absolutely no reason. Things fly into my head with no warning and really tickle my brain for a bit. Much like the Pyramids, Loch Ness, the Arc of the Covenant, Area 51 and the Mind of a Human Man, these mysteries of the world really don’t make much sense, but they tend to make me pause and ponder. For example:

*Why is it when I get less than 6 hours of sleep, I tend to feel better than when I get 8 or more?

*How many times can a baby poop in one day? I mean, really? Once and I’m done, but my son is continuing poop machine. Where is it all coming from????

*Why is it whenever I vacuum and steam mop the hardwood floor does the dog chooses to crap all over it afterwards?

*I sit down to pee in the middle of the night, only to find we have no toilet paper. Or the similar scenario of stumbling to the kitchen in the morning and find we’re out of coffee. GHAAAA!

*You’re all set for a sexy snugglydate at home with the hubby and he falls asleep 10 minutes into the movie you’re watching. Really?

*Why is it on days when you haven’t showered, hair up, glasses, no make-up, crappy t-shirt, wearing yoga pants that could practically walk by themselves do you then run into your old high school boyfriend? Fuck.

*The one time – one time – you chose to leave the diaper bag at home for a quick run to the store does the baby have a blowout of epic proportions?

*You get so drunk at a family party and tell your cousin, in graphic detail, how you lost your virginity in your parents house. With your dad standing right behind you. Oops!

*Why is it that now, after birthing 2 children, every time I sneeze really hard I tinkle in my britches a bit?

*Why is it that now that I’m officially 40, I can’t drink or dance as long and hard as in my 20’s? My head throbs and my joins ache for the next 3 days. So unfair!

Ahhh, so many more mysteries of the world, yet little time to think. So someone please chime in here and let me know that I’m not the only crazy mama out there whose head is filled with ridiculous thoughts. Please? Anyone…..anyone?!

A Week in the Life ~ A Pictorial

2011-06-26T22:06:00.000-05:00

Dude's first bike ride with Dad :)

Anniversary Dinner. 3 years and I haven't killed him yet!

A $6 Frapp for free! WHOOPWOOP!

The Garden from Hell. I have yet to plant anything, yet something is growing...

The genius with his iPad. Zuckerberg can suck it!

Little Woman has returned. All is right with the world.

Testing out the new make-up for my hot date.

Hello Lover!

Tickle Monster time!

The left is for my nerves, the right is for my nose.

Working in my outside office. It's a hard life, but I manage :)

It's Never Enough...

2011-06-21T12:00:00.002-05:00

In honor of my 3-year wedding anniversary today, I've decided to re-post a previous blog that I still think perfectly sums up my crazy relationship with my hubby.

Wow. I recently admitted to a friend on facebook (where else) that I talk to my hubby approximately a million times a day.

No joke.

We either email, text, IM or call each other multiple times a day. At minimum. Whether it’s a silly thought that we felt the immediate need to talk about, or something more important to discuss, we share. Even when we fight, it’s done through modern technology. Because sometimes it’s easier to text your feelings than share them in person, where you may be cut off, ridiculed and quickly dismissed before all the dirty laundry is aired. At least with texting or voicemail, everything ends with a period or a hang-up.

Until you get the response. Ugh!

But silly arguments are only 1/10^th of why we communicate. Usually, it’s just to say hey, what’s up. For entertainment purposes. For shits-n-giggles. Needless to say, there is a lot of nothing to say going on. Just some weird reason to connect. As if being married and sleeping next to each other every single solitary night isn’t enough.

Perhaps it’s the fact that I actually like the person whom I decided to spend the rest of my life with, which shocks the hell out of me. Because most of the time, I feel like throwing him into a nearby wall. No, not out of total hatred, but out of love. He challenges me and makes me think. And nothing turns me on and pisses me off more than a true challenge.

Maybe there really is a method to the madness we’ve created. And a lot of nothing that means everything to both of us.

Perhaps I should not question what is going on and just enjoy it.

Dear Poopy Britches, I love you!

Sincerely, Stinky Drawers.

Not Really What I Planned, But…

2011-06-17T22:52:00.003-05:00

Little Woman has been gone for a week, and I’m about to go totally insane with her absence.

She’s spending a couple weeks with her dad; two states and several hours away, but it’s all good. She loves her dad and needs to spend quality time with him. And he really is a good dad (his husbandry skills were for shit ~ hence the divorce ~ but that’s another blog.) BLAH!

AAAAAAANYHOO……..

I really didn’t imagine this lifestyle for my daughter. As a product of divorced parents myself, I’m very familiar with the crazy, surrealistic lifestyle that is handed to you, whether you’re ready or not. My parents divorced when I was 3, so I spent most of my childhood being tossed between 2 homes, 2 separate families, and 2 total sets of a Bi-Polar reality.

It sucked. It hurt. Yet there was nothing I could do but ‘Deal’.

So imagine the heartbreak as I’m signing the divorce papers to my daughter’s father.

I was fully aware of the consequences. Yet it had to be done; to save my sanity and to protect my daughter from witnessing a marriage that produced unacceptable conditions.

Not really what I planned, but se la vie.

7 years later, all I can do is gently guide her into a world of reassurance, understanding, compassion and love.

And pray each night, as she lays her head down upon her pillow, that a sense of peace and happiness will follow her, for now and always.

Namaste, my baby girl. Mama loves you more than you will ever know.

The Things That Mama Tells Ya

2011-06-14T21:14:00.001-05:00

Tonight’s blog is sponsored by the letter B.

As in “I’m a Bad Mama, because my kid ate food off the floor. Booooo!”

But let me explain!

As I was washing off a handful of seedless green grapes to put into a child-friendly BPH-free-Gerber approved-kid-friendly bowl, I dropped one on the floor. Snap!

So Dude proceeds to bend down, pick it up, and before I could get the word NOOOOOOOOOOO out of my mouth, it was in his.

Fuck.

He ate the grape. No blood. No bones. I wasn’t gonna worry. 10-second rule, right?

So this made me think of all those silly little ‘rules’ we grew up with as kids, but really don’t hold any value nowadays……as in:

*Don’t cross your eyes, they’ll stay that way: Um, no they don’t. I did that shit a ton as a kid. Aside from astigmatism, my eyes are perfectly normal.

*If your friend jumped off a bridge, would you do it too?: Well, not a literal bridge, because that would be stupid. But if they were experimenting with something devious, for sure I was interested. However, nothing really stuck. In hindsight, that’s a good thing…..

*If you kiss a boy, you’ll get pregnant: um, yep. In my experience, that’s how the whole thing gets started. I now have two kids…..Crap, sorry, meant to delete this fact….LOL!

*Stupid is as stupid does: as a child, it’s endearing. But as an adult, it get’s old. And tedious, repulsive and just plain…ugggg…..frustrating! Grow the fuck up!

*If you keep doing that, you’ll go blind: I have yet to meet a blind, impotent, grown man due to said fact. Or woman. Just sayin’.

*Wait until your father gets home: Ha, for me that was a fruitless threat, because once my dad did get home and was told in graphic detail of my mischievous wrong-doing, he would usually just chuckle and give me a high-five, depending on my level of creativity. That use to burn my mother’s britches!

*Don’t eat yellow snow: ah, yes, another good one that actually is great advice. Ignoring this gem would just be, ugh, gross. Then you’d have to run home and wash your mouth out with soap (see how I tied that together?)

And finally, one that use to really hit home with me:

*Boys don’t date girls with freckles and glasses: the biggest lie of all that was told to me! Actually, I’ve found that quite the opposite was true. My freckles gained lots of attention, were called ‘cute’ and ‘adorable’, usually followed with many propositions to play a naughty game of Connect The Dots. And the whole glasses-thing turns into a total fantasy of Sexy Librarian or Sexy Schoolgirl. Need I say more?

So are there any silly childhood ‘rules’ you’d like to share? I dare ya!

To Be So Humbled and Forever Grateful

2011-06-08T22:25:00.000-05:00

First of all, I’d like to give a HUGE shout-out to Rachel @ Lala Musings for giving me The Versatile Blogger award! I am honored and flattered by this monumental occasion.

So here is how it works:

1. Thank the person who gave you the award by linking back to them in your post.

2. Tell us 7 things about yourself.

3. Award 15 recently discovered bloggers.

4. Contact those bloggers and let them in on the exciting news!

Seven things about myself:

1. I’m an Army brat ~ I was born on an Army base; Fort Polk, Louisiana (just outside of New Orleans.) My dad was stationed there while serving in Vietnam when my mom flew down from Chicago to be with him for my birth. Back in 1971 they didn’t allow the dads to enter the delivery room, so my poor daddy sat alone in the waiting room, gnawing his knuckles as my mom pushed me into the world. I arrived, kicking and screaming, on the exact day the doctor predicted. I’ve been irritatingly punctual, fiesty and uninhibited ever since.

2. Love is rare ~ I’ve only been in love 3 times in my 40 years. The first time was in college. He was smart, creative, stole my virginity and treated me like a queen. Until he broke my heart. The second occurred on the beach. I was young, he made me laugh, I gave him my hand in marriage, and together we created a daughter. And then he broke my heart. The third and final love was handsome, amazingly intelligent, got me drunk on the first date and stole my heart. Together we created a son, and the amazing life we currently live.

3. I’ve lived in 5 different states – I’m a proud Chicagoan, always will be! You can take the gal out of Chicago….blahblahblah, you know how the rest goes. I’ve survived Los Angeles, Portland, Columbus and New Jersey…and then back to Chicago. What comes around goes around, and I’m positive that I’m where I belong.

4. 3 things that excite the hell out of me yet cause involuntary pissing at the same time ~ #1 – Snakes. Gross, unpredictable, slithery, dangerous. Ugh! ~ #2 – Guns. For decades now, I’ve had a re-occurring dream that I’m going to get shot and bleed to death. As people walk over my body, I’ll slowly be bleeding out life on the sidewalk until everything goes black. In the past few years, I’ve been begging family members to teach me how to properly use a gun. Perhaps a silly attempt to look that fear in the face? ~ #3 – Sharks. I’m convinced that while at the local YMCA, as I’m jumping mid-air off the diving board, that a Great White will appear from the filter at the bottom of the deep end, open his mouth and swallow me whole. Damn you Steven Spielberg! Yet each time Shark Week is on the Discovery Channel, I can’t help but watch every. Single. Episode. WTH?!

5. I have addictions ~ No, it’s not drugs, booze or porn – it’s far worse. I’ll just ramble in no particular order: Coffee, books, bad reality TV, cooking, writing, magazines, tattoos (6 & counting) facebook, wine, New York Super Chunk Fudge, red meat, 80's movies & music, the clearance rack @ Target, my children, sleep, make-up and really cute purses. No need for an intervention, ‘cause it won’t stick.

6. I’m a fiercely loyal friend ~ Almost everyone I phone/text/facebook or write to every day, I’ve known for over 30 years. No joke. If I make a connection with someone, then I’ll be your friend for life, without hesitation and always without expectation.

7. It’s not all about the Benjamins ~ I’m a professional writer, but I don’t write for the money. I write for the art. The fact that I can make some money while fulfilling my passion is a bonus. And I realize how lucky I am to say that. I know too many people who work at miserable jobs that they completely hate and know will eventually kill them. UM, HELLO! I don’t understand that thought process! Yes, I have kids/mortgage/bills/groceries/car payments/insurance - the works. I totally understand the concept of having to work, but to do so to the extent of ulcers, broken relationships and hair loss is just….wrong. If you do what you love, the money will follow. ‘Nuff said.

So here’s my chance to list a few of my fellow bloggers that I adore. These bitches (term of endearment) are some of the most insightful, honest, funny, inspirational writers I follow. I’m sure you’ll enjoy their work just the same.

www.scarymommy.com

www.mypajamadays.com

www.practicalkatie.com

www.momswhodrinkandswear.com

http://my.opera.com/jbaird/blog/

http://www.catladyland.net/

http://moxiemomma.com/

http://thingofitis-thingofitis.blogspot.com/

http://beckersmith.typepad.com/my_weblog/

http://alli-n-son.com/

http://babyblackwellmakes3.blogspot.com/

http://adventuresatgreenacre.blogspot.com/

http://1epicmom.com/

http://www.mominrome.com/

http://sairforcespouse.com/

End of the School Year, End of my Sanity!

2011-05-25T22:12:00.001-05:00

That dreaded time of year is almost here – the end of the school year! GHAAAAAAA!

For a SAHM like me, it’s almost bittersweet. It’s great because the hustle and bustle of the school year is over! Between a school supply list that is not only never-ending but expensive as well, hours of complicated homework, endless PTA meetings, countless PB&J lunches thrown together, carpool schedules that make you feel like you’re driving from one end of the Earth to the other and crazy notes from the teacher about your kid’s daily shenanigans, it’s enough to make any sane parent’s head explode! It’s also the beginning of a very exciting season of sleeping in every day of the week, awesome vacations, lazy sun soaked days and slowing life down for a bit.

However, with all those great things come a few not-so-great aspects. Like, the fact that the kids are home. All day, every day. Under my feet, from sun-up to sundown. Meh. Suddenly, I’ve gone from ‘Mom’ to ‘Julie’, your full-time cruise director on the Love Boat . My children bat their eyelashes at me each morning and give me a look that says ‘ok woman, entertain us!’ Needless to say, I have to fill every waking moment with activities to keep them amused…and to keep my sense of sanity. For three exhausting months. Three long, excruciatingly everlasting months.

So my requirements for a successful summer? There a just a few but oh-so-necessary needs:

1.    Water – whether it be from a sprinkler, pool, balloons, slip n’ slide or a goddamn bucket, it’s all good. Hell, even spit is acceptable (well, to a certain extent). It seems that if the kids are running around half-nekked and wet, they are happy. And out of my hair.
2.    A fully packed Day Planner – from sun-up to sundown, I’ve got 14-16 hours to fill with stimulating activities or else my kids will climb the walls. And resume residing in my hair. So needless to say, I’ve been combing all local recreational hot spots, scrolling thru schedules for downtown museums and hitting up all my mommy friends to set up play dates. I’m great at professionally planning other people’s lives, so entertaining 2 kids under 10 should be a cakewalk, right? Right?!?!
3.    Food – once the kids are home – ALL DAY – it’s amazing how quickly the stock in my fridge, freezer and pantry dissipate. When I do my weekly jaunts to the grocery store, it feels as if I purchase enough to feed the Jolie-Pitt crew. But apparently not. It’s gone before I can say “what the hell...??” And goodness knows I don’t pull *quite* the income that friggin’ Brangelina pull. So there I am, putting on my Big Girl panties each week and directing the car to the local Jewel. Ugh.
4.    A summer vaca destination – it seems that when you get all the crazies out of the house (including myself) the moral significantly improves. As soon as we cross state lines, everyone seems to breathe a sigh of relief. New locals and unrealized stimulations seem to work wonders, fueling inspiration and pure exhaustion. Almost like a fat broad at a buffet, we tend to over-extend ourselves every given moment, because in these economically challenging times, ya never know when this event might every happen again! So gorge away my babies, gorge away.
5.    Booze (for Mama) – I’m a woman of few needs. A bit of your time, an open ear, burgers on the grill, happy kids playing in the yard, silly banter, and wine. Lots of wine. It’s a simple request, so easily obtainable, and amongst my fellow parents, completely expected. Sure, rum and vodka are accepted as well; whatever helps soften the blow. I’m shocked how parents of the 70’s and 80’s, when I was growing up, survived without a small sense of alcoholic neurosis.

Or did they?......

So what are your secrets of surviving the summer season?

Man-Codes

2011-05-16T11:35:00.000-05:00

I’m a woman (duh) and as a strong-willed, independent woman, I say what I mean and mean what I say. A few years ago I reached a point in my life where I refuse to sugarcoat what I really think and am sometimes so blunt I could cut paper with my words.

I’ve been called harsh. I’ve been called crude. My approach tends to be raw. My friends endearingly call me ‘Trucker’ because of my usual-foul language. But one thing’s for sure; you will never have to guess where you stand with me because I will always be honest.

Now the men in my life? Well, that’s another story. They talk in tongues, often speaking in such contradictory terms that I’m left to decipher the true meaning of everything they say. But after 40 years, countless relationships and 2 marriages later, I think I’m beginning to understand. For example:

1. Honey, I’ll cook dinner tonight. Translation: I’ll pick up the phone and order. Pizza or Chinese?

2. Let’s watch a movie tonight. Translation: I’ll be fully prepped and ready to go with popcorn and Pepsi in hand. But after 30 minutes, I’ll be snoring like a drunken sailor. I promised a date, I never said I’d stay awake for it.

3. Let’s go cuddle in bed. Translation: I want sex.

4. I bet you’re going to Facebook this, aren’t you? Translation: You seem to want to document every douchy thing I do just to get a laugh, right?

5. You’re texting is out of control. Translation: I’m just jealous you have more friends than me.

6. Why can’t you do my laundry too, you’re home all day! Translation: You do nothing all day but watch soap operas and eat bon-bons, so why can’t you wash my stinky drawers too?!

7. I like those pants on you, they accentuate your figure. Translation: Take them off, I want sex.

8. Happy anniversary! I didn’t have time to get a card. Translation: I’m a dork, I forgot.

9. Honey, dinner tonight was…interesting. Translation: It sucked. Please don’t cook that again.

10. I’m willing to cooperate with the housework. Translation: I make the mess, you clean it up. Cooperation!

11. I was just thinking of you and got you these roses. Translation: I know I fucked up and am hoping these flowers will heal all wounds so I can get laid later tonight.

12. I heard you the first time! Translation: I know you’re right, but I refuse to acknowledge the fact I’m completely wrong.

13. That blouse looks great on you. Translation: your tits look awesome! Can we have sex?

14. Hey honey, the game is almost over, what are you doing? Translation: Once the game is over, I expect to be served food, so get started.

15. Are you really gonna wear that? Translation: You look too hot, and men are going to hit on you, so please change.

16. Are you really gonna wear that? Translation: What you’re wearing is a bit ‘matronly’, so please change into something sexier because I want to show you off.

17. I love you so much, you are so beautiful. Translation: I love you, can we have sex now?

18. Do you need some help in the kitchen? Translation: Why isn’t dinner ready yet?

19. Are you still on Facebook? Translation: Please get off the computer and pay attention to meeeeeeeeee!

20. Honey, I’ll love you no matter what size you are. Translation: Sure, after 2 kids, your body isn’t as tight and thin as when I met you, but you’re the only woman on the planet that will put up with my shit, so I’ll stick with you.

A Glimpse of Childhood

2011-05-13T16:58:00.001-05:00

This evening, Little Woman came up to me and asked me a question – if she could draw me a picture, what would it be? My mind immediately visualized a scene of me, on a horse, cantering through a field, with my hair blowing in the wind.

Ok, stop laughing!

So here was the result.

Yes, a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I was a silly little girl that spent summers on a horse ranch. During those summers, I discovered a true passion and developed an appreciation for this amazing breed of animal. I also discovered the raw feeling of uninhibited freedom and pure adrenaline, as I cantered down an open field; a field free of parental expectations, childhood pressures, society’s rules and self-doubt.

When Little Woman gave me this picture, a rush of emotion came over me and I cried. I had become so consumed with the heavy responsibilities of being a wife and mother, just an adult in general, that I forget the beauty of being a simple little girl. And I’m thankful for having my own amazing baby girl to remind me of the brave little girl I once was.

She may be older, more experienced and a bit more weary, but she’s still in there. I think it's time to get back in the saddle once again.

Martha Stewart Can Suck It!

2011-05-09T23:18:00.001-05:00

As most of you already know, I’m a self-admitted magazine whore. It’s not something I boast about, nor something I hide from plain site, it just…..is. So nothing tickles my funny bone and cracks me up than these articles I read in these magazines about how I can clean my whole house in ‘just minutes a day!’

HA! Really?! Obviously these bitches haven’t been to my house. I currently live with a hairy Italian husband that sheds more than a rabbit-hair sweater, a pre-teen daughter that changes clothes 6 times a day and thinks toothpaste is bathroom accessory, and a 2-year-old son that craps his pants multiple times a day and thinks dirt is a food group.

So let’s compare Martha’s List vs. Real Life.

STEP ONE: “Disinfect your sink once a week, then you only have to do minor clean-ups that take minutes a day."

Really? In my house, dishes are used more than toilet paper and a daily swipe of the house could turn up random forks and plates found in the most inappropriate places, including sippy cups that went on the MIA list a week ago, now filled with coagulated milk, producing a smell that would disgust a dog. Throw an armful of those in the sink every day and see how ‘sparkling’ your sink would be Martha!

STEP TWO: “Insert a toilet cleaner disk in each bathroom that automatically cleans with each flush. Follow with a purifying scrub once a week.”

Really? I live in a house with people that truly follow the mantra ‘If it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down.’ So imagine all that ‘yellow’ sitting in a porcelain bowl for hours-on-end, and then imagine the amazing colors that acidic urine turns said bowls. Yea, yummy! Then imagine my even more colorful mumblings as I scrub that (non-literal) crap down the tank, where it should’ve gone in the first place. No toilet disk could handle that amount of piss Martha!

STEP THREE: “Spritz the bed sheets with Fabreeze once a week for a just-laundered smell.”

Really? Unless Martha’s family doesn’t sweat, fart, cough bodily fluids nor shed skin cells and hair like most humans, then, uh, that theory won’t work in this house. Fabreeze is nothing than a band-aid on a sore that just keeps oozing. Hungry now Martha?! Excuse me, I’ve got a load to throw in the wash. Again.

STEP FOUR: “Have a designated spot for shoes so they are easy to find. Easy on, easy off, and less mess for the house.”

Really? I went out and bought 3 rugs for that specific purpose. One for the front door, one for back door and one by the garage door - the three points-of-entrance in the house. Easy-peasy, right? Somehow, an amazing feat of gravity and purpose occurs where the shoes end up everywhere but those damn mats; as well as all the dirt, snow, salt, grass clippings, and gravel from the outside that they were originally intended for. So I want Martha to come to my house every day, strap on her big-girl-clear-platform-stripper heels and vacuum my hardwood and carpets every day like I do. Work that Dyson, bitch. Work it!

STEP FIVE: “Arrange your refrigerator according to category: meats, dairy, beverages and produce.”

Really? With 4 separate sets of hands in the fridge at all hours of the day, organization is that last thing that touches it. On major shopping days, when I have control of what-goes-where, it does nothing but confuse people. So needless to say, 3 days later, the onions mate with the tomatoes, the Pepsi cans create a (literal) dent in the lunchmeat and the salad dressing is keeping company with the milk? And on occasion, I find the surprise Matchbox car buried within the Parmesan cheese. GHAAAAA! I’ve given up. So Martha, if you want to come and stand guard of the Beloved Refrigerator, then bless your precious little heart. Oh, BTW, the 2-year-old’s habits of entering the fridge have gotten so bad that we’ve recently installed a child lock, and he has no concept of the word No. Good luck with that!

So I’m thinking of publishing a new magazine called “Welcome To The Real World” that highlights feature stories of how the rest of us live, along with attractive, realistically repulsive photos for added appeal. Wanna subscribe?

A Simple Request

2011-05-06T13:34:00.000-05:00

I love my kids, I really do. But there are days when nerves are shot, patience has flown out the window and I’m running on empty. Those are the days I want to run screaming from the house, jump into my car and point it towards the least-known destination to man.

I'm sure I'm not the only exhausted mama out there that has entertained these crazy thoughts...

So with the holiday coming up on Sunday, I've been asked what I want as a gift for Mother’s Day. And honestly, my answer has shocked people. So simplistic in nature and easily accomplishable, I’m at a loss as to why this request is followed by confused looks and questionable glances.

Personally, all I ask for is time. Period. A few hours alone to relax. Think. Breathe.

The most perfect definition I’ve ever heard was this: “Time is priceless yet it costs us nothing. You can do anything you want with it but you can’t own it. You can spend it but you can’t keep it. And once you have lost it there is no getting it back.”

So if I were to partake in the Gift of Time, here’s my unofficial 8-hour schedule:

*Awake from an uninterrupted sleep whenever my body is ready, instead of being bum-rushed by a 35 pound toddler and a 75 pound pre-teen. Ouch.

*Indulge in a long, hot shower, fulfilling any hygiene needs that tend to get overlooked during the week. It's impossible to focus on shaving your legs when you have a 2-year-old staring at you, loudly pointing out parts of your anatomy. Ugh.

*Ample time to skillfully apply my make-up and style my hair, as apposed to the pale, messy bed-head look I normally sport.

*The ability to pick out a cute outfit without the children literally clinging to my less-than-perfect thighs.

*After kissing the kiddies and hubby good-bye, throwing myself into the car and cranking the 80’s tunes to the maximum. Suddenly it's 1985 again, when things were way-more simple.

*Destination Starbucks. Give me a grande-anything please. Extra whip!

*MANI-PEDI. Need I say more?!

*Me. A Mac. My thoughts. And more coffee. Heaven!

*Quiet time to peruse my favorite stores. Finding a cool item on clearance? Bonus!

*Undisturbed time to sit in the middle of every major categorical aisle of Barnes & Noble, collecting as much free data as possible before they call the local authorities for looting.

*Fulfilling a gift certificate for the local spa. I'm willing to get naked if you’re willing to rub my achy-bits. Yes please, thank you!

*After the massage, more coffee please. Or perhaps a glass of wine as I reflect into my journal.

*Undisturbed time to try on clothes without feeling like you're on an episode of Beat The Clock, praying the kids don't have a complete mental breakdown in the fitting room.

*If time allows, perhaps take in a movie, where distilled sounds of crunching M&M’s and the slurping of Dr. Pepper would be kept on the down-low (cuz I don’t do that crap at home.)

After a few hours alone to re-charge the batteries, feeling refreshed and regaining some sense of my normal self, I return home. And nothing – NOTHING – can compare to the hugs and kisses I receive when I arrive. As if they haven’t seen me in days. Weeks. Years. Only then do I realize that I am where I truly should be.

To my fellow mama’s out there: We are strong. We are survivors. We are rock stars. And nothing can take that away from us!

Happy Mother’s Day

Everybody Wants To Rule The World

2011-05-02T21:39:00.002-05:00

My beautiful 9-year-old daughter, who claims go be a genius (in her own mind) has expressed her opinion – multiple times – how life in her world would be very different if she were in charge. Ha, really?!

Of course, these rants are usually after we go head-to-head during an argument when eye-rolling is at an all-time high, and clucking of the tongue with heavy sighs are followed my murmurs something to the effect of being a ‘mean mom’ and her ‘life sucks’ and how her ‘friend’s moms don’t make them do chores’….blahblahblah!

So if Little Woman were allowed to run around town like a wild banshee and set her own rules, here’s what we could expect:

1. Chicken Nuggets would be the required meal. Breakfast, lunch and dinner.

2. Parents should be seen and not heard. And to fulfill all chauffeuring needs whenever demanded, no questions asked.

3. Heavy manual labor (like dishes, taking out garbage, feeding the dog, ect.) would be outlawed.

4. Allowance would be a guaranteed $20 per week, regardless of effort put forth by each child.

5. Homework would be optional. If a good episode of ‘iCarly’ or a Johnny Depp movie-marathon were on, than an automatic pass would be issued.

6. Cell phones for all kids! WHOOPWHOOP! (Parents love to pay for that crap.)

7. Facebook would be the primary source of communication. Or better yet, classes would be taught through live webcam on Facebook. Never have to leave your room again!

8. Sleepovers would be allowed any day of the week, with minimal interaction with annoying parents (see rule #2.)

9. Bedtime? What’s a bedtime?!

10. The terms ‘you need to do this, don’t do that, because I said so’ would no longer be valid. Any parental advice must be written on paper and submitted for review. Please allow 4-6 weeks for response.

11. If all above rules fail miserably, just please hug and kiss us while continuing to promise your eternal love. We like that!

Artsy, Meet Geeky. Geeky, Meet Artsy.

2011-04-24T12:00:00.004-05:00

The title says it all. I’m attracted to dorks.

You know, those men who know everything about computers, are technologically 10 steps ahead of Steve Jobs and can rattle HTML codes in their sleep? Yep, I’m disturbingly attracted their brains. The fact that they can tell you everything about your computer within a 60-second glance blows my mind. And when they fix whatever issues you have within 30-seconds makes my knees go weak.

I don’t know what planet you come from, but wow! You amaze me.

The first love of my life gently introduced me to CD’s and Laser Disk Players. My interest was piqued.

The second love of my life introduced me to the world of Macintosh. I was hooked.

The final love of my life finally engulfed me into the world of Apple to the point of no return. I am now certain that if my life didn’t include the daily use of my iPhone, I would quickly die a slow, painful death.

So imagine when my hubby calls me one day and tells me we must buy our 2-year-old son an iPad. My initial knee-jerk reaction was ‘um, yea, nooooo. He’s too young!’ He quickly poo-pooed my input by insisting I see some video on YouTube of a toddler working an iPad. And what I witnessed on that video made my jaw drop!

3 weeks later, our son had an iPad. A tech geek was born. And this artsy mama couldn’t be more proud.

To my precious baby boy; I don’t understand your inherited technological genius, but I love you more than words can say.

A Method To The Madness

2011-04-22T21:38:00.001-05:00

As a writer, you would think I'd have all my 'brilliant' ideas written in one journal. But noooo, I'm the dork that writes these ideas on 10 million pieces of paper that are thrown all over my office. Great system, eh?!

And those offers that come in the mail for a year’s worth of magazines for dirt-cheap? Yea, I can’t seem to say no to a good deal. Or actually, 8 good deals (at the moment.) Don’t judge!

I’ve cut that number way down in the past couple years, after dirty looks from my hubby and death threats from the mailman. They just don’t appreciate the glory of a 1,500-page Vogue Fall Fashion issue. Meh. Their loss.

And of course, to fuel this indescribable anarchy is coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. An addiction so bad that I’ve actually traveled 1,737 miles this past February to the original Starbucks in Seattle to buy this one-of-a-kind travel mug. To continually fill with….more coffee.

Quirky? Sure. Cute? Maybe. A red flag for OCD? Yea, probably.

But it works. And I don’t ask why.

Dear Mama: A Love Note from Dude

2011-04-13T20:45:00.002-05:00

I know that every day we spend together is filled with kisses, laughter, amazing food, endless sippy cups and an overall tolerance of each other.

We watch movies together. We cuddle. We play tickle monster. You allow me to experience amazing social events like McDonald's Playland and pushing the kiddie cart while shopping at Trader Joe’s (that lady I nailed in the shins today was epic, I saw you laughing!)

Sure, you’ve got a weird sense of humor and I tend to fart at the most inopportune time, but we get each other. We gel. We mix so well together; like peanut butter and jelly, like hummus and pita bread, like vodka and orange juice (or so you tell me.) But every once in a while, I’ve got to crack the whip, reinstate the pecking order and put you in your place by gently reminding you who really is the boss.

And today was that day.

Imma start the day off all nice and smooth, like any other day. As you inhale your usual zillion cups of coffee, I’ll partake in some SpongeBob SquarePants while filling my diaper to maximum capacity. Ah, that’s better.

So after a good BM, it’s game on woman!

I know how much you love to pick up after me and vacuum the house, I can tell from your colorful mumblings and distorted facial expressions. So while you’re busying yourself with household chores, I’ll entertain myself by coloring my bedroom wall a lovely shade of green. Picasso ain’t got nothin’ on me!

THEN… after you scream in terror and frantically start wiping the walls with something called a ‘Magic Eraser’ sponge-thingy, I’ll casually stroll to the kitchen and turn the entire bag of Dog Chow upside down, admiring the intricate pattern while it scatters across the dining room floor.

THEN… after you enter the dining room and scream (again) and proceed to drop to your hands and knees to pick up the kibbles, I’ll proceed to the couch, where I then notice the half-full cup of coffee you left on the shelf behind the couch. Ohhhhhhh! I love liquid, especially the pretty pattern it makes as it drips down the leather couch.

THEN… after you see my liquid “work of love” in the living room and scream – again – I’ll toddle over to the kitchen while you’re distracted and open the fridge, pulling out every single condiment in my reach. One by one. And once they are lined up like staunch military front men, I will knock them down and watch them roll across the floor……WEEEEEEEEE! Bend and stretch Mama, bend and stretch….feel the burn.

Sure, at this point I think I deserve the threats of naptime. But naptime is for sissies! I’ve cancelled my subscription, I’m not going!

Ready for Round 2?!

Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil

2011-04-03T22:44:00.000-05:00

My children are the most amazing people on the planet. Well, to me. But of course I’m biased. I chose to create them, carry them and squeezed them into this crazy world. For that I will be forever thankful. The first baby I welcomed into the world is now 9 years old, so I’m dealing with a whole new level of issues I never expected to happen so quickly. I just wish that someone would’ve warned me how fast the time goes between diapers through training bras. WOW!

In the past few months, I’ve come to realize that my 2-year-old precious baby boy is going through some changes of his own. He has become a human sponge. Everything he hears, sees, tastes, touches and smells are immediately processed, compiled and expelled out of that beautiful mouth of his. And everything is followed by a question or exclamation to confirm his understanding.

“Mama, plane?”

“Mama, chocolate??”

“Mama, puppy dog???”

“Mama, poopoo in my doopah?!?!”

....and so on, and so on, and so on.

Then one glorious day, as Dude and I were driving around town, I accidently missed my turn. The words “oh shit!” unconsciously came out of my mouth. A few seconds later, the words “oh shit” were regurgitated from the back seat. I had to pull the car over to reaffirm what I thought I just heard. “What did you just say?” I asked Dude. He giggled and said “oh shit!”

I threw my head into my hands. At that moment I knew nothing I said would be sacred.

I quickly learned, for the second time in my life, I would have to monitor my notoriously spicy language at all times. Not only were little ears listening, they were repeating as well. And nothing is more embarrassing than your own kid throwing an “oh shit” or a “bite me” all over your local grocery store.

I preach and practice the right to expressionism. But during the formative years, I need to learn to apply a filter when appropriate.

Live and learn. And at times, just shut my damn mouth!

Will It Ever End?!?!

2011-04-01T12:00:00.002-05:00

Every time I patronize my local Wal-Mart or Target (so many times every month that the damn cashiers know my name) I end up throwing a box of these in my cart. Every time! GRRRR!

I’ve reached the point where I am DONE with buying, organizing, applying and throwing out diapers. If I really spend the time to calculate how many years of my life I’ve had to deal with dirty diapers, I might hurl. But it’s really amazing when you see the stats.

I spent 18 months of my life pregnant. A total of 24 hours in labor. 2 years of throwing money at Abbott Labs (formula) and now a running total of 5.5 years ‘investing’ in Huggies or Pampers so my kids don’t crap on the carpet.

Meh.

I am praying to Buddha that my son will be potty trained by the end of summer. I’m actually excited about the day that I can fill his drawer with Iron Man and Toy Story underwear.

In the meantime, I will continue the potty training process with high hopes, unparalleled enthusiasm and many glasses of red wine until that glorious day happens!

A word about Drama...by guest blogger Ellen Petty

2011-03-31T14:12:00.000-05:00

So many people say they hate drama, but it doesn't show in the way they choose to live their lives.

Living a drama-free life is very difficult, but not impossible.

You have to be willing to distance yourself from people who invite drama into their lives by gossiping about others, trying to force their own values and beliefs on others, paying more attention to what others are doing than what is going on in their own lives, and making themselves feel better by running others down. You have to be willing to distance yourself from people who allow themselves to be swept away by life's little problems until they no longer know how to cope. You have to REFUSE to allow people to suck you into the drama that exists in their own lives.

It sounds pretty simple, but it's NOT! Sometimes these are people you care about, or are even related to! It's a hard decision when it comes down to distancing yourself from a loved one because you feel like your relationship with them brings more drama into your life than you're willing to deal with.

It's easy to get sucked into arguments you never wanted to have. It's easy to jump in and defend yourself and others against accusations which you feel are unjust. But what good does that do? Especially when these arguments happen over and over and over. No one ever wins. Feelings get hurt. Sides get taken. Nothing gets solved. Everyone just gets all wrapped up in nonsense and there's just no point. Once things are resolved, they're never really gone...they're just lurking beneath the surface, waiting to be brought up next time to cause more drama. After time, it becomes a way of life and you forget there's another way to be.

What's the point? Isn't it easier to just make up your mind, based upon your own values, how you would like to live your life and go about living it that way? You choose your friends based upon who makes you feel good when you spend time with them. You avoid the people who make you uncomfortable and who don't fit in with how you live each day and who disrupt the peaceful flow you've worked so hard at establishing in your life. No one's saying who is RIGHT in how they live...we're all just different. Some of us mix well with certain folks, and some of us mix well with different people. Different, but equal. Just because someone doesn't live their life in a way that I'm comfortable with does not make them a threat to me or make them my enemy...it just makes them different...and we don't have to be friends...and that's okay. No hard feelings.

That's why we have different levels of friends. There are people you don't want anything to do with and avoid at all costs. There are people you are friendly to when you see them out in public, but you don't go out of your way to spend time with them otherwise. There are people you love to spend time with because you have a blast whenever you're together, even if it's not really often. There are people you feel like you need to be with every day because they are just that special. It's not the QUANTITY of time you spend together that determines the closeness of the relationship, however. It's the QUALITY of time. If you spend time with a friend and you feel GREAT at the end of that time, all is good, and you want to spend more time together whenever you can. But what about when you spend time with a friend and it feels like work and you just feel tired and ready to get away when your time together has ended? You just want to avoid that person in the future, right? Who chooses to spend time with people who make them feel bad?

That's a lot more difficult to say and do when that person is a family member, and/or someone you love. You want to spend time with them and have them as a part of your life, but when you're with them, you feel uncomfortable. You don't feel like you can be yourself because you don't fit in with their "ideal" of what you should be in their world. You get tired of hearing repeated stories about other people and what they do wrong and how they're a disappointment in some way. Your conversations are never fun and positive and full of laughter, but consist of mainly complaining about everything under the sun. You try to change the subject and it always works around back to the negativity. You try to point things out from ther other person's side to help them see a different perspective, and then YOU are the enemy and are taking sides. That time together that you looked forward to has now become awkward and difficult and unpleasant. How do you deal with it? You don't want to hurt this person because you care about them. But you also want to just escape the drama and go back to feeling happy and relaxed again. Rejoin the peaceful flow.

I've always pretty much been an open book. Here I am - love me or hate me, but you always know what you're getting. I've found that not everyone can handle that kind of honesty. Some people have certain expectations of you and they can't handle it when you are more or less than they expect. Rather than trying to adjust their expectations to be more in line with reality, they judge you, and you are found lacking, and you are expected to change. Well, we all know that's futile. People CAN change, but only if THEY WANT TO. Here's the rub: If I'm happy with who I am and how I live my life...I DON'T WANT TO CHANGE! Guess what that means? It means that we don't fit well together because you can't accept me unless I change and I refuse to change because I like things the way they are. It doesn't make either of us wrong or bad...it just makes us different. But people who are so different from one another don't usually choose to spend a lot of time together. That includes people you share DNA with. It would be great if families could all be close and loving and accepting of one another...but that is rare. The minute someone doesn't live up to someone else's expectations, DRAMA rears its ugly head. The only thing that can ensure a close and loving family is complete acceptance of all its members by all its members. How often does that happen?

I have spent a LOT of years judging others and expecting them to change to meet my expectations. I know how this works from both sides of the equation.. (It doesn't.) I know the frustration and even anger that it causes. I LIVE for CONTROL...or at least I used to. It pissed me plumb off when I couldn't control a situation. I have always believed that control is good and necessary. I suppose in some circumstances, it is. But 100% control over everything, all the time, is NOT good or necessary. It's not even healthy. And it's sure as hell not FUN!

Over the past few years, I've actually learned a few things. I've learned to relax and not take life so seriously. I've learned that it's okay to make mistakes as long as you're willing to learn from them. I've learned that you GROW from taking chances and stepping outside of your comfort zone. I've learned that if you stop forcing your expectations onto other people, they won't disappoint you nearly as often. I've learned that if you expect the worst of others, they'll usually deliver exactly what you expect of them. I've learned that if you just accept someone for who and what they are, it's a lot more enjoyable for everyone involved. Also, life is a lot more fun and enjoyable when you think less about what other people are doing with their lives and more about what you're doing with your own.

It's okay to form a judgment or opinion about someone else based upon your own values. We do it every day, and we should! It's just NOT OKAY, or healthy, or effective to judge them and 's just NOT OKAY, or healthy, or effective to judge them and then expect them to conform with YOUR opinion about how they SHOULD be. If they're not the kind of person you choose to associate with, then don't associate with them. Don't run them down to other people. Don't argue with them. Don't point out their (perceived) flaws. Don't offer to help them meet your standards. Don't consider them bad or defective or lacking in some way. They're just different. If that makes you uncomfortable, then don't associate with them. Remove yourself from their influence. YOU can control yourself, but you can't and shouldn't expect to be able to control ANYONE else. So don't even try.

CHOOSE to live a drama-free life. REFUSE to participate in the madness! Take a deep breath. Spend time with people who make you smile and laugh. Avoid the people who make you feel bad. Look at all of the positive things and people you have in your life and be THANKFUL for them every day. Do something to make someone in your life feel appreciated each day. If you can change the negative things in your life, then DO, and don't wait until the problems are so big you can't handle them. If it's not in your power to change some of those things, then think about them as little as possible. Seek out and spend time with other people who live a drama-free life! When someone makes a negative comment, smile and look the other way and ignore it...walk away and leave the room if you have to.

Life should be more fun than work...and the older I get, the more convinced of that I become. Drama is too much work. I'd rather have a glass of wine and relax and laugh with my friends...the fun ones.

40 Years of Lessons in 30 Days: Day 18

2011-03-24T21:07:00.002-05:00

Lesson #18 - They Think They Know Everything

By ‘they', I mean our parents. And yea, they really do know everything after all. It took me 40 years to actually admit it, but they really do.

Like most children, I spent the first half of my life ignoring their advise, only to spend the second half of my life begging them for it. I can remember years of eye rolling and ‘don’t tell me what to do’ arguments I would have with them, as I gently forced my way into adulthood. Doors were slammed, expletives were exchanged and the dirty looks were thrown around that could cut thick air.

The pure definition of teen-age rebelliousness and adult stead heartiness.

But then one day, I left the roost to fend for my own. And slowly, I began to heed those words of wisdom. For example:

1. If they jumped off a bridge, would you do it too? – As in influential child, people will try to talk you into every inch of craziness possible. And being a child that knows no better, you tend to go with the flow and join along. Little do you know that you actually have a say in the matter. Sure, beating little Jimmy with sticks at the bus stop sounds like a good idea initially, but in hindsight, ignoring those huge red flags was probably not a good idea. Trust your instincts. If it feels wrong, it usually is. And karma is a bitch, she will bite back. As may Jimmy.

2. Don’t eat yellow snow – ‘nuff said.

3. Don’t drink. – Well, see, there ya go. A perfect example of a taboo that was continually condemned until the point of insatiable curiosity. If it is such a much hated vice, then there must be a reason. And I slowly discovered why. The feeling of getting a buzz is amazing; I’m not going to sugarcoat it. For a moment in time, you are allowed to remove yourself from reality and express yourself, as you never had. However, it’s freedom that will cost you in the morning. In addition to possible projectile vomiting (very sexy) and a raging hangover, be prepared for any nasty phone calls or texts the next morning regarding the shitty things you did or said the night before. With random people whose names you can’t remember. Meh. Is it really worth it?

4. Stay away from redheads – this little nugget of knowledge was instilled in my husband while growing up, which he adamantly practiced. Until he married one. When I asked him about his experience, he said: “That they are fiery, aggressive (in all the right ways I know now) risk takers, like it hot, will get you to experiment with all the things a good boy doesn't do. Stay away from redheads. Old school. I will tell Dude to find one and hang on. His life will be that much more exciting.”

5. It’s not what you know, but who you know – Ain’t that the truth! I spent my elementary, middle, high school and college years believing that a good education will get you everywhere. And it does help, I’m not downplaying that fact. But once I began working in the profession of my choice (the film industry), no one seemed to care if I had a BA, MFA, PH.D or ADHD. Sure, initially I had to know what the hell I was doing, but it was the people that I met that furthered my career. A great attitude and die-hard work ethic got my name thrown around quicker than I imagined. I became friends with so-and-so, who was friends with another so-and-so, who happened to be looking for someone of my credentials. And the cycle continued, as it still does.

This list could go on and on and on, especially after all my friends chimed in on the subject with advice their parents gave them, resulting in a blog longer than a 500 page novel. So I’ll hang on to these additional words of wisdom and share in the future. Perhaps I need to write a Lesson #18-B.

Anything you care to contribute to the next edition? I’d love to hear from you!

Happy Birthday Mama!

2011-03-15T00:23:00.001-05:00

“Kid, you’ll move mountains! Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting. So…get on your way!” – Dr. Seuss

I can’t believe that one year ago this month, I started this blog. And what a crazy, wild year it’s been!

When I started out, I was a complete dork about this whole blogging thing. But after some amazing inspiration and gentle nudging from friends and family, I decided to create Lotus Blu Notes (now Lotus Blu Mama). My first post was titled “Jumping The Corporate Ship”, in which I wrote about when and why I chose to walk away from my corporate job in advertising to be a full time mom and resume my freelance writing career.

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” -Mark Twain

To be honest, I haven’t looked at that particular blog since I posted it. But after reviewing, it’s actually not a bad first attempt. Now this is in no way, shape or form me patting myself on the back, because I know that I’ve written less-than-stellar posts in the past 12 months. As a professional writer, I am my own worst critic. I could look back at everything I’ve written in my career and see several flaws off the bat; things I would’ve worded different, things I should’ve taken out, weird structure, things I should’ve added, uneven dialogue, etc. Every day, I sit at my damn computer and proofread, proofread and proofread again until my eyes are about to bust out of my damn head! Eventually I have to send it to my boss/editor/client before I rip every piece of hair out of my head. And then once it’s printed for the mass population to consume, I STILL see so many ways I could’ve done things differently…….GRRRRR!

One. Big. Vicious. Circle.

I’m never happy, am I? I sometimes wonder if I ever will be. I’m sure that when I die and my kids prepare to throw me into the ground, I’ll be editing my own obituary from the heavens above.

“You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing which you think you cannot do.” - Eleanor Roosevelt

I originally started this blog as a place to air my silly little thoughts about whatever moves me at the moment, whether it dealt with the world around me, my kids, my career, my marriage, everyday observations or life long experiences. Basically, one big dumping ground for whatever is going on in my crazy head. There were times when I found my fingers typing specific blogs that were so profound and personal, I couldn’t help but release tears in the process. There were times when I had to ask myself if what I was drafting hit a bit too close to home. And whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

See, there I go! Second-guessing every fucking thing I put in print.

One. Big. Vicious. Circle.

“Invention, my dear friends, is 93% perspiration, 6% electricity, 4% evaporation, and 2% butterscotch ripple.” – Willy Wonka

I wasn’t expecting anyone to take interest, much less follow as a regular reader. So the attention I have gotten has been more than flattering and I thank those responsible.

Yea, I’m talkin’ to YOU!

I admit, when I started this whole endeavor, I had no clue what the hell I was doing. My writing skills were finely tuned, but my computer skills were for shit (please remember that I went to college when we actually wrote crap on PAPER. Remember paper?!)

“Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world.” - Harriet Tubman

Even a year later, I know that I’ve come along way, as a writer and as a tech geek. But I still have soooooo much to learn about this whole blogging thing. So if you bear with me for the next year, I promise to evolve my skills that will allow me to become a more entertaining writer and alluring tech geek as humanly possible. From day one, I’ve always been honest, raw, uninhibited. And I promise nothing less. Because that is who I am. Quarks and all. I hope you will continue to join me on my ongoing journey.

“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you have imagined.” - Henry David Thoreau

40 Years of Lessons in 30 Days: Day 17

2011-03-09T22:21:00.000-06:00

Lesson # 17 – One Moment In Time, A Lifetime Of Memories

It’s funny how on occasion, when you spend time with someone, whether it be an hour, a day, a few weeks or a few years, they become a part of you.

Of course you don’t realize it while it’s happening. For you, it’s just another day in your silly little life. But the after effects are ever lasting.

When I was 8, I moved to a new town on the south side of Pleasantville. Being the new kid in town, I was thrilled when this energetic brunette showed up at my door one day and asked if I’d like to come to her house to play with her and her sister, who lived just kiddy-corner from me. I quickly said ‘yes’, happy to make a new friend.

Once there, she introduced me to her mom, who greeted me with a kind hello and beautiful smile.

From that day on, I pretty much lived at that house. Every moment I had, I would run across the street to play with L and T, whether it was an imaginary game of Charlie’s Angels (I always got stuck being Sabrina. Ugh!) or throwing on the latest Go-Go’s album and air-guitaring our way through the house, we had such an awesome time. My friend’s mom would take the time to talk with me, cook me a snack and kindly wish me good-bye when I left every day. I would casually call her ‘Mom’ and laugh, but deep down, I meant that as a term of endearment.

At the time, I didn’t think much of those random moments, or how they would become a part of who I am now.

Fast-forward a few years. At 17 I moved out of Pleasantville to attend college elsewhere and didn’t see ‘Mom’ much after that. As the years went on, as did my life, I would never see her again. But specific memories I had would pop into my head every now and then, however fleeting, yet would always bring a smile to my face.

After all this time, her kind words, pleasant face and loving nature would continue to resonate.

Just over week ago, as I was preparing for my 40^th birthday, I received word that she had died. Childhood memories came flooding back, tears were shed and a bit of my heart broke. A few days later, I attended her wake to pay my respects. As I hugged my childhood friends L and T, I expressed how thankful I was to have nothing but wonderful memories of an amazing woman who was so kind to me.

It was just a small moment in time, but a moment that I will carry with me forever.

40 Years of Lessons in 30 Days: Day 16

2011-03-03T21:41:00.000-06:00

Lesson #16: It’s Not As Easy As It Seems

I set out to do a simple thing: write one blog a day sharing a personal story of the things I’ve learned in my almost-40 years of life (now official as of 4 days ago).

Well, the 30 days have come and gone and I’m only on Day 16. Ugh! I wasn’t fully prepared for the huge task I set out for myself, and completely unaware of the amount of time and dedication it would take. The other demands in my life would sometimes take priority, leaving me neither the time nor energy to sit at the computer to fulfill my duties as a blogger.

In other words, I suck. Epic fail!

I am a dork. I am a simpleton. I am a bleeding heart to everyone around me. And I always try to spread more of me than is possible and I *always * push my limits.

But if you allow me, I will continue with my rants, even if it takes me more that 30 consecutive days to get thru this.

Namaste.

40 Years of Lessons in 30 Days: Day 15

2011-02-23T12:00:00.002-06:00

Lesson # 15 – Moments That Take Your Breath Away

~ The first time you fall in love ~

~The first time you have sex ~

~The first time your heart is broken ~

~ When blood, sweat and tears are handed to you on a diploma ~

~ When you say ‘I Do’ ~

~ When you are handed the keys to your first Private Idaho ~

~ The first time you give birth ~

~When the divorce papers arrive in the mail~

~ The first time you lose a loved one and realize that nothing is forever ~

~ The first time when you re-discover love ~

~ When you give your hand in marriage. Again ~

~ When after countless beat-downs, you're still ready for Round 2. DING! ~

~ The second time you give birth. This time on a slab, cut open to the world ~

~ The moment when you realize who you are and why you’re here ~

~ The amount of physical, emotional and spiritual strength it takes to wake from your bed each day ~

~ But nothing can top the moment when your children look you square in the eyes and says “I Love You” ~

Namaste.

40 Years of Lessons in 30 Days: Day 14

2011-02-22T18:49:00.000-06:00

Lesson #14 – It’s Better Than You Expect

When I was a kid, I couldn’t wait to be an adult. It seemed they could go anywhere they wanted, stay up late, fall in love, work easy jobs instead of going to sucky school, have beautiful babies, see rated-R movies, party like a rock star, drink coffee, travel the world and buy lots of cool shit.

If only it were that glamorous, eh? I’ve come to realize that being an adult is not exactly what I thought it would be.

It’s better. But with a slight sting involved.

The first time I fell in love, it was sweeter than apple pie, more glorious than a sunrise, euphoria by definition. It happened so effortlessly and became something so raw and pure. It was great to actually find that special someone who was the first to know me, the first to love me and the first to need me. But when it ended, it completely broke my heart and devastated me for a long time. Why is it we only hurt the ones we love? As a grown adult, I still can't figure that one out. But regardless of what happened, I’ll carry that sweet torment around with me for the rest of my life, and remain thankful for the experience.

The job-thing? Meh. The whole ‘be here when-do this-don’t do that-go home when we tell you’ thing really starts to suck. But if/when you need to work for The Man, make the most of the situation. Pick the hell of your choice and be diligent. Work hard, be on time and have a great attitude. But most of all, be thankful that someone would actually pay your dumb ass to be there. And a couple of decades later, I can now say that I’m in a wonderful place in my career. I’m back to working for myself and it’s a huge relief. When you set your own hours and your own expectations, it’s impossible to disappoint anyone….except yourself. Sure, I beat myself silly more than any ‘real' boss could, but I do it on my own terms. And it. Feels. Awesome. But when you work for yourself, your income isn’t exactly guaranteed. At all. So be prepared to starve when necessary.

I’ve moved all over this amazing country of ours, experiencing different people, cultures, foods, lifestyles and ambience. It was amazing while it lasted and I’ll treasure every moment. I took a bit of what I’ve learned and integrated it into who I am now. And I’ve become a much better person because of those experiences. The downside of living in temporary status was temp housing, temp jobs and temp friends. However, I knew I’d eventually end up home again. Not by fate, but by choice. I know that this is where I belong.

The coffee is sweeter than expected, the wine more potent. Just be prepared to pay $5 per cup and suffer a raging hangover. Another downside is no one told me how both can make you fat when taken in excess. Oh, and the whole metabolism slowing down after you turn 30? When everything you put in your pie hole sticks to your ass and sets up residency? Yea, that’s not so cool. Travel is great if you can afford it, and then there’s the whole terrorist thing to think about. And the ability to do anything I wanted, which are shortly followed by…the bills. I grew up thinking everything in life was free. Delusions of grandeur sure don’t pay the mortgage, cable, credit cards, electricity, grocery bill, car payment, health insurance, this-n-that, blahblahblah.

So what is the one thing as an adult that turned out better than you expected…followed by the enviable sting?