United States of Motherhood: April 2008

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

My Worst Nightmare

I found this on Leighann's blog.

And my reaction:

Oh, fuck. fuck. fuckity-fuck. Did I mention I was deathly afraid of heights? I actually screamed twice and chanted, "oh my God," dozens of times. My husband just checked in to see if I was okay.

My friends, that is my very worst nightmare.


Hands down.

I would rather be covered in cockroaches and chewed on by rats that ever go near a place like that. I would rather a Democrat be president.

Am I using strong enough words?

My stomach was flipping like a roller coaster. I've been in movies with heights i.e. "Cliffhanger" and actually melted out of my seat and on to the floor.

Learn more about Caminito del Rey here.

Monday, April 28, 2008

You're Fat, Not "Not Phat," Get it?

At a swim meet this weekend, my friend's husband took his three year old to purchase a drink.

In line, the three year old yelled that the man in front of them was "FA-A-A-A-A-T! "

The husband was horrified. What was worse was the big man got offended and turned around all mean-like and said in a challenging voice to the father:

"Did HE just call me fat?!"

The Dad covered quickly.

"No, no. He called you bad. He calls everyone bad."

Mollified, the big man smiled.

Of course, because in this country, it's better to be evil than fat.

Kids can be so brutally honest was my immediate thought. My daughter once said loudly in a Macy's dressing room that my belly was like a bowlful of jelly.

"It jiggles."

Yes, we had been reading the "Night Before Christmas" and yes, she had also identified several white bearded, ahem, large men and asked if they were "Santa Claus." And, I say defensively, it was only a month after delivering a over 10 lb. baby.

Yet, damn, you know a 2 year old is not lying. They have no filter. They give it all to you which surprises me that the faaaaat man above took issue.

Dude, if a three year old says you're fat, you're fat. Deal! Don't get pissy. Don't confront. Look at your dinner plate. That's what I did.

And what's wrong with you that it's cool to be bad, but not fat?!

So, it comes down to you are fat, not "not phat."

Get it? Not phat = bad.

Nope, just fat!

Live with it and leave the unfiltered pre-schoolers (and their poor dads) of the world alone.

Let's Go on a Little Outing, Shall We?

I never advertise my blog to anyone I know.

My husband however, uses our real names and puts his blog in his email signature line.

And guess what, I'm on his very short blog roll.

So, I've been outed a few times by friends.

They usually come up finally and say I found your blog. After the "Oh, fuck, did I ever write about them" thoughts, I'm okay with it. My sister found my blog the same way.

It does however stifle our conversations because I'm always thinking: I blogged about this or that, so they have read it, so maybe I shouldn't say it again and bore them. Or maybe they didn't read that post? Second-guessing and awkwardness at it's best.

However, I live in physical, gut-wrenching fear that my religious, sometimes holier-than-thou sisters and my sometimes incomprehensibly insane parents will find my blog.


I only speak the truth, but sometimes it's brutal what I write about my childhood, my Dad especially and my self-esteem issues, and their Mormon faith.

It makes me absolutely sick to my stomach to think about.

At the same time, I know I could have hundreds more readers daily if people did know I write, but, then I would self-censure and you wouldn't get to hear the whacked out tales of trophy wives and dog-butt wipers in my neighborhood or how crazy, insane my Dad can be.

So, people, can you give me some peace of mind? If you know me and are reading this, can you let me know? Either a comment or an email would be just fine.

I just need to know who knows.

Sisterhood: Comments Speak Volumes

Moosh in Indy wrote a poignant photo-essay style post about sisters. It made me sniffle a bit my sisters are not close by, but more than that it made me tear up for PB. I've posted my comment:

I grew up in a family of five girls and one boy. While my brother and I tolerated each other, I loved my sisters.

They protected me. They did my hair way better than my mom. We went to movies. We shared secrets. We gossiped.

Today, we still do a lot of those things even though we are states apart.

So, what's the problem? My princess has two brothers-no sisters. She will never know that bond of sisterhood. It's likely she will have closer girlfriends because she won't have her sisters backing her. Still, no sisters.

It makes me so sad. There are days where in la-la land, I've shopped on-line adoption pages looking for a sister. I've had dreams where she is from India or Pakistan. Where I can be a hero to both girls.

Then I think, who am I kidding. My husband wanted two children. I got lucky his vasectomy failed, so we got our third miracle baby. Three is all he can handle. But then, he also said that once when we only had one child.

Dreaming of Sisters...

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Ah, Long Course Season

Yes, my friends, long course season swimming for my two older swimmers has begun. Of course, it was 70 degrees yesterday and gloriously sunny as I sat inside a humid inside pool.

Such is the life of a swim mom, eh?

The countdown has started for when we will begin our recreational, "outdoor" swim team. Three weeks, my friends. Then as luck would have it, it will rain during everyone of those outside swim meets or be so blistering hot that I will covet the humid indoor pools. Again, such is the life of a swim mom.

We had a new development this meet. I sat in the stands and BOTH of my kids sat on deck and got themselves entirely to their events. They came up occasionally for help with a cap or to say "Hi!," but, in general, they were self-sufficient. I left CG and Li'l Man home so I was alone--unencumbered--except for swim friends.

They checked in with coaches without reminders. They didn't miss an event. They stayed hydrated and remembered to nibble on snacks. I spent my time chatting, sipping coffee, and surfing online--another perk of some indoor pools--wireless!

Did I mention that each swam swimathon last weekend? My babies swam 200 lengths of 25 meters.

For those of you who don't know, that's 3.1 miles.

Over twice the distance to swim from Alcatraz to San Francisco--even with currents. My eleven year old swam it in less than 80 minutes and included a few stops to dilly dally. My eight year old also finished with time to spare on her two hour maximum. I honestly don't think I could have swam 10 laps without having heart failure. My babies are so strong. So focused. So independent.

I started to dream a bright future where swim meets aren't such work. I could see a future for me, close to those swim parents that drop off and pick up at meets with only the occasional attendance at the big swim meets. I thought of all the time that could be spent blogging working out and cleaning my house instead sitting here as I do now.

Then I realized that with Li'l Man poised to enter the year-round swimming fray this fall that this swim mom freedom would be short-lived.

Such is the life of a swim mom, or soccer mom (I'm one of these), or little league mom, or track mom (I'm one of those too)...

However, sooner than I want to admit, they'll all be independent and trained up and then move away to college, careers, and their family, and I will miss the times when I was needed.

Such is the life of a Mom, yes?

Saturday, April 26, 2008

A Quiet Beauty

If you look really closely, you can see the woman in her emerging.

Wasn't it just yesterday that she looked like this:

My baby girl is growing so quickly. 3rd Grade today. College tomorrow.

Now That's Extreme!

PB was working on a project that required interviewing a grandparent.

She chose my mother.

My mother had some difficulty understanding the questions. She also had some humdingers of answers.

Question: "Grandma, what did you do for fun as a child?"

Her answer: "Pick apricots."

Whooo-ey. Burn down the barn, we're going to have us some fun picking froots. Did I mention she grew up on a farm? I would think milking cows or her favorite memory of licking the milk bucket in the winter and getting stuck would apply as well.

Next question: "How far did you walk to school?"

Snort! You know what's coming, right?

Her answer: "Three miles. Each way."

I am sure it was uphill both ways and in the snow. Actually being a rural community, it might be true, but I swear she mentioned a school bus to me once.

Next question: "What was the weather like Grandma?"

Her Answer: "Cold."

I now feel for the Oprah's of the world interviewing celebrities. I think these questions were meant to open up a dialogue to reminisce in a sort of "in my day, young whippersnapper" way.

Errr...Something went wrong.

Next Question: "Who was your favorite family member?"

Her Answer: "All of them."

Okay then.

Next question: "What advice do you have for me about being a child?"

Her first answer was,"Don't associate with the wicked people of the Earth."


Yes, my third grader really wants to have that on her poster of her warm, cuddly grandma.

I took over the phone. "Mom, she's not going to write that!"

My Mom revised her answer: "Okay, then be happy, smile all the time, and be friendly with everyone."

Whoa! From one spectrum to the other. Luckily, the second answer was more of which we were looking. Warm and cuddly. Easy to put on a poster and say in a speech.

But! Gah! Now you have an inkling of what atmosphere I grew up in, yes? Extremes!

Friday, April 25, 2008

Sadly, Not So Gassy Anymore...

Have you heard about gas prices?! I am trying to use my hysterical inside voice here.

I fell asleep on the couch last night with the TV on and awoke to the Today show.

They had an expert predict that we would be at $4 this summer AND $5 a gallon by next summer

Flickr Photo by cobalt123

For gas. You know. Dead dinosaurs.

I know you thought that price was for well aged wine. Or blood. Or gold juice.

Nope, we are talking about that funny smelling substance (which I secretly love to sniff) which makes the car go vroom, vroom.


Have I mentioned I drive a very large Ford SUV? That I average 13.9 miles to the gallon which is mostly highway driving?

Slippery Shitzu!

That tax windfall I mentioned on the last post? Nodding my head. Yep, we all know where that's going.

Just doing some rudimentary math (Do you smell the smoke coming from my ears and see my crossed eyes?), it takes me 4.5 gallons of gas when I take the kids daily to swim practice and go home in between.

That's approx. 60 miles total.


$22.50 each swim practice.

At six days a week, we are talking $585 a month on gas next summer just for our swim practices and that doesn't include rec swimming in the morning during summer so double that to $1170...

...or grocery shopping trips, or errands, or swim meets, or dates with CG (ha!) or ever leaving the house again. Since we live no where near those amenities, let's triple that.

And let's not forget CG has an even longer commute for classes in the evenings to get that shiny MBA.

I'm guessing $1500 a month in gas next summer if it hits $5.

We are so screwed.


This means I won't be making that drive home in between-- I will be staying put--to save us $3500 per year--unless we put those taxes toward that?!

Or maybe we'll buy us a Volkswagen bus for commuting with that $5000 bucks. Do they get good gas mileage? Can you see this Republican soccer mom driving a Scooby van?


When you have three kids with huge swim bags, gear bags, backpacks from school and the need to change in the car on the way to practice, you are limited to a larger vehicle. Yet, last I checked, those large vehicles are gas whores.

So screwed.

At least CG works from home, if we had his commute when we lived in California (up to 2 hours driving each way), we'd be bankrupt.

I feel for you people with that type of job commute.

These gas prices are going to eat us all alive.

Yeah! Taxes!

We just finished our taxes! Yeah!

What's that you say?

No, not the 2007 ones.

Yep, the 2006 filing.

Yep, pathetic.

Good News: We are getting a $5500 return.

Bad News: We have had a credit card balance that entire time. So at an average 10 percent APR and if we had done our taxes diligently and put the rebate towards our credit card balance, we would be $750 less in debt.

2nd Bad News: We bought super Turbo Tax so we could file electronically and they would aud-ja-matically put it into our account quicker. Sigh. When you procrastinate like us, you have to go old-school and send it in the...gasp...mail?

I mean, who uses the postal service anymore?

M'kay, agreed. We suck.

We are college-educated lame-sticks that should know better not to overpay the man that much in the first place, much less let him keep it for over 2-1/2 years without paying us interest.

Okay, gotcha. Agreed. Numb skulls extraordinaire.

Now, about those 2007 taxes. Emmm...Errrr... CG? He's estimated they owe us at least another $3000 plus that family credit.


The IRS should be paying us interest. We seem to not be in any hurry to get it back.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

No Cream in MY Kids' Oatmeal, Nope!

CG asked me if I had every put whipped cream on our children's oatmeal. He saw a commercial with whipped cream on the TV.

"Ummm, no...."

Well, I didn't say no at first. First, I had to clarify the difference between whippED cream and whippING cream.

You see, as bad mothers through out the universe are wont to do, I run out of milk more than occasionally. So I let the kids use my coffee's half 'n half. Or occasionally the whipping cream if we bought some for a particular recipe.

So, it's a fact that my kids like buckets of milk on their cereal.


At least a cup.

Sooooo, when they use the whipping cream, that would be over 1 cup of heavy whipping cream which makes probably three cups of whippED cream stuff of which CG mentioned.

So, no, I answered honestly, I don't squirt a tablespoon or two of the puffy, pre-whipped cream on their cereal or oatmeal. Nope, that would be ridiculous, right?

Nope, I just give them the equivalent of hundreds of tablespoons of the stuff. You do the math. More than ridiculous.

So, this week, we happen to be flush with milk. Li'l Man, however, had some suspicious substance in his 100 percent Natural (HA!) Granola this morning.

"What's that?" I ask.

He says sheepishly,"Half 'n half."

"You know we have milk?" I ask with raised eyebrows.

"Yes. I like cream better, Mommy."

Ummm, now that I think about it, so do I. Ahem! But that's not the point. I still let him have it.

However, don't think I am totally irresponsible. He was using the FAT-FREE half 'n half.

Mmmmm. Mmmm. Good.

No fat, but lots of chemically goodness that replicates fat.


I deserve a Scurvy, Scallywag, Mom of the World award, me thinks.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Electronic Hoo-Haaas, Real Girlz, & Men's Magazines

Dana recently caught her husband red-handed with a receipt for a vibrator. I asked my husband what a man would do with such a vibrator.

He had some theories, but then he went off on a tangent about electronic hoo-haas.

I mean in real detail.

Like they are rubber tubes.

Like some feel like mouths.

Some feel like hoo-haas and others feel like, ahem, other orifices.

Like he's done research...


Can you sense my eyebrows were raised?

He saw those eyebrows and defensively said he'd only read about them in Wired magazine.

Uh-huh! Right-o!

He said that last time when we went to see "Lars and the Real Girl."

He knew ALOT about those REAL girls.

Seems he'd visited the website.

Seems he read it in a magazine first...

Seems it was probably Wired...

Funny that! I couldn't find any electronic vaginas when I searched Wired?

Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I still say hmmmph! Wired seems to be more about electronics than software nowadays, eh?

Dangerous, girls! Dangerous!

Shaking my head.

The Sun Sparkled, The Birds Tweeted...

There I was driving along the main boulevard of our neighborhood. The sweeping vistas of the snow capped Cascades left me breathless as they do every time I drive out of our neighborhood.

The rhododendrons were blooming. The cherry trees blossomed. The grass was freshly clipped.

Couples were walking, hand in hand, enjoying the spring air.

Then my gaze caught one couple...


Oh my fucking Gobstoppers!


I dry heave.

A glutton for punishment, I slowed down.

I craned my neck in classic rubberneck fashion. No way!

There was a affluent, Burberry dressed, young Asian couple, she in heels, each hunched over on either side of their white short-haired Beagle, fastidiously wiping his puckered anus. The same puckered anus which faced the road and was imprinted on my bewildered mind.

What the living hell?

It seemed as if every spec of feces was being removed with their hands in their black, neighborhood supplied poo sacks.

They wiped, then both heads leaned in closely to examine the rear end for any more contamination. I could have whacked them on the head and they would have been nose-deep. Yep, that's how closely they were inspecting.

He was a short-haired dog, for goodness sakes. It's not as if he was sporting doggy gooseberries, right?! Right?!

Affluent, Fastidious Dog Poop-Chute people, can't you do that in the privacy of your own home? Or at least off my sparkling boulevard? Can you at least turn the canine assticle away from on-lookers' gazes?

Why give everyone the view of your pup's anal volcano?

And, is wiping a dog's butt even necessary, much less milking it as you seemed to be doing? Isn't that what their tongue is for? You know as much as you wipe, they are still going to do what dogs do. Rubs their butts all over your fastidious white coach while you are at work.

Then they'll lick, lick, lick away and lick your face when you get home from work.

It's inevitable. It's natural behavior. Now, you humanoids wiping your dog's butt on a public street? Nope, not natural.

Please save us all the dry heaving by inspecting your dog's chocolate squint eye at home, m'kay?

That's all.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

My White Boy's Got Him Some Rhythm

CG videotaped Li'l Man a couple of days ago on his digital camera. It's a bit grainy, but still, I was shocked.

Li'l white boy can dance.

Yes, he can.

Check him out freestyling:

Apparently, there's a series of these that CG has videotaped. Li'l Man's got some moves.

I can honestly say he doesn't get this from any of us. CG's got the typical tight arms close to the chest jerks of a man dance and I was the morose, black clad Goth spinning around and around like Robert Smith of the Cure in high school. The older ones? Not like this.

This kid of ours?! Maybe a little too much MTV watching in utero and listening to his Daddy's music. Maybe it was the six months of dance class (mainly ballet) when he was eighteen months old because I was his Mommy and I could. I need to find some video tape of that. The only boy in a bevy of pink tutu clad girls.

All I can say about this impromtu dance session is, where the hell did he learn to spin around and break dance?! And do cat eyes?

Yep, my white kid's got him some rhythm. He's a premium dancer.

Oh, and ignore the messy office filled with wrapping paper, laundry hampers, weight benches, etc. in the background. Dude, I'm a paid blogger. No time to clean house.

I am working on paying for another round of burritos in the next six months. A girl's got to have some dreams, eh?

Dirty Jokes Are Not For Mothers

My eleven year old came home with a dirty joke from swim practice.

So, obviously, he feels comfortable that he can tell us anything, and he decided to share his joke with us. You can read all the details on CG's blog.

In short, I don't think he got it. He knew it was funny, but didn't get that the punchline:

"That wasn't my belly button," and "Well, that wasn't my finger, " referred to body parts.

I think he must have laughed along in the locker room--clue-less! I'm sure lots of the boys laughed along clueless because men, no matter the age, are lemmings.

I found myself explaining that the finger might refer to another body part, similarly shaped.

Suddenly, his face was like an open book. Realization dawned. His face was bright red. "Ohhh!"

He's so naive at times. It's cute.

But! We need to work on him NOT telling dirty, locker rooms to his mother, yes?

It's just not right. Right?

Food Irrationality

Flickr Photo by Daniel Greene
Remember how I mentioned I can be irrational yesterday? Pa-shah! That's nothing compared to my eating issues.

I hate Americanized Indian food.

Ick! Phoo-ey!

Give me crap green curry and I will give you the stink eye.

Serve me Tikki Masala all fatty and glue-y? There goes your tip, you stupid whore.

Give me gummy, sticky Basmati rice and I will leave you a bad review and talk shit about your restaurant endlessly to CG to anyone who will listen.

Luckily, the Eastside has good, authentic Indian--especially in Redmond near Microsoft. When you are the only white person in the restaurant, you know you are at the right place.


I loves me some Americanized Chinese. Authentic? Bah! I miss my California Chinese.

I love Chinese, but Seattle doesn't do it for me. They suck at Chinese food. Bleck!

Sniffle. Why can't you make good chicken almond chow mien here in Seattle? You do so-so Dim Sum (I like that authentic, but can only find it in Vancouver, Canada or San Francisco).

I'm looking for a restaurant that has a wondrous combination of Asian husband and white wife or vice versa that blends the two cultures food into that glorious food of my childhood.

You know the restaurant with darkened interiors, maybe a few cockroaches, definitely greasy spoons, and lots of elderly people eating there. Lots of greasy sweet and sour pork, Mongolian Beef, General Tsao's Chicken. You get the deal.

Yeah, I told you I was irrational this week.

Is that so wrong?!

Monday, April 21, 2008

Infected Agent

There's something you should know about me.

I'm an infected human agent of the worst form of Herpes Simplex.

Yes, my friends I get cold sores. Monstrous one. Ones that start in my middle of my lips and leave trailing pain down my chin.

They suck.

So, another fact you should know is that my feelings get easily hurt. Ask my mother-in-law I haven't talked to in four years. Yep, I'm grudgy too. And irrational at times.

So, I'm feeling all grudgy, irrational, hurt, and in pain today.

Why, you ask?

For the last twelve years, I've taught my husband CG not to kiss me when I have cold sores. He's been resistant, but I have stubbornly clung to the fact that miraculously, he does not have this pestilence, and I don't want to be the one that gives him the gift that keeps on giving.

So, after eleven years of marriage, I have a disgusting, weeping, painful cold sore today and he had the nerve to kiss me repeatedly...on the forehead.

What the hell! What am I chopped liver? Am I repugnant to you? Asshole.

Have I mentioned I get irrational when I am PMSing too?

Yes, my friends: cold sores and PMS. The perfect storm. Just wait for the maelstrom that will be brewing all week.

CG can do no right.

Sunday, April 20, 2008

Comments Speak Volumes Pt.#4

So, you know the schpeal:

Yes, my friends.

I entice you to stalk me as I make my windy comments across the country.

Come meet my favorite blogs. Read what I read. Then read my reaction.

Today, I will stand on the premise that comments speak volumes.

Are you guys still here?

Okay, in come some more comments I've made. Whew! I keep reading and commenting. Reading and commenting. People have been writing some good stuff.

I think these will be the last comments of the night so I decided I should do some shoutouts to some Seattle locals:

Let the Dog In on Flowering Attitude and my comment: " My husband did a Mini rally there with the kids last spring during the festival–but we can only fit four of us in a Mini–and there are five. Sigh. I stayed home...Driving around in circles in a Mini isn’t my idea of fun anyway..."

I Forgot Where I Was Going With This on http://imhelendt.wordpress.com/2008/04/18/holy/ and my comment: "Try having the kids swim in the snow the week after we took off the bubble and then take team pictures while still in wet swimming suits? Lots of crankiness and shivering..."

So stalk away, my friends. Stalk awaaaaaay....

Comments Speak Volumes Pt. #3

Yes, my friends.

I entice you to stalk me as I make my windy comments across the country.

Come meet my favorite blogs. Read what I read. Then read my reaction.

Today, I will stand on the premise that comments speak volumes.

Flickr Photo by massdistraction

More posts that I've commented on today:

Amid Life's Crises on Sunday Secret and my comment: " Someone is going to be really, really embarrassed when they get said Rocket Pocket Plus+ vibrator for their birffday...Now, if it is true he bought it for a co-worker, everyone of my paranoid, jealous hackles would be on full alert ... really, really hope it's gift wrapped on your pillow tonight..."

Jason. For the Love of God on Tipping Point and my comment: " ...don't get that panic. Nope, just guilt. All encompassing guilt.I feel guilty when I don't blog and read other's blogs, so then I avoid the source of my guilt which results in making me not blog for another day and then I get more guilty and on and on...It's a very bi-polar blogging syndrome which I am sure other people have."

My Grimm Reality on Making It Home and Recovering and my comment: "I can honestly say we never had an incident of jealousy, anger, or harm when a new baby came into our family....honeymoon never ended until they reached about 4-5... I have friends where the sibling rivalry is insane and I just shake my head. My kids are raised fairly and know that they are loved equally.I know it sounds vain, but I want to attribute their dispositions to how we raised them....It becomes a self-perpetuating philosophy..."

Keep up the good stalking, my friends. Follow me!

Snowing Again in Seattle

It snowed all week-end. In April. In the Seattle Area.

What the hell, batman? My tulips can't take much more. It's melted and snowed and melted in the space of six hours just today.

The kids had to swim yesterday and get team pictures, all wet, in betwixt hail, slush, and freezing rain on Mercer Island. There were dumbass Seattle drivers driving 30 MPH because it was hailing--in all four lanes including the carpool lane.


Arrrggh. And the little demon children are working my last nerve. Snow days on a week-end when there is homework to get done and swim practice is not, I repeat, is not good.

So, I laughed with and commiserated at Carrie's post. She is also is the snow-y Seattle area. She blames it on the testosterone. In the spirit of Comments Speak Volumes, my comment to her:

"I don't think this bickering is just reserved for the male

In our little unit of joyous (cough, cough) harmony
that I call our family, it's the two closest in age--mainly
my 8-1/2 year old daughter and 11 year old son which
are the problem.

I usually resort to guilt. You know, the kind your
Mom got you with all the time.

"Guys, (fake sniffle), what if Mommy and Daddy die?
She is the only sister you have and he is the only big
brother you will ever, ever have. You must take care
of each other ... when your Dad and I die tragically
of diphtheria or tuberculosis or the grippe. Yeah, yeah."
I sigh heavily, put hand to brow, and wander unstably
around as if a lost soul.

Their eyes get teary. They gulp. They look contrite.
And there is silence for a blessed five minutes. Ahhh, peace.

I walk around the corner and bust up laughing and
call them something much stronger than "stinkers."

Ah, parenting. It's war. You've got to use the tools
at your disposal, my friend."

Yep, I fight dirty.

Nutcracking, Guns, Religion, Chocolate Covered Beef Burritos, & Of Course, Politics

Avitable has a cool contest for one of these:

Cool, eh? I know you want one. Actually, as Democratic nominees go, I'm warming on her. I've said in the past that, "I would rather cut off my pinkies with dull kitchen shears and eat raw chicken than vote for her. "

Now with Obama's bullshit comment on guns and religion, I think he's too much of an asshole to ever hold office. I left a comment on the Seattle PI's Strange Bedfellows Blog that sums it all up:

"ohhhh, whatever. Did you see the nasty comments at the
Democratic debate the other night? McCain doesn't need to sink in their mud.
They are so busy slinging mud, innuendo, and lies at each other, they are
letting the election slip through their grasp.

I used to respect Obama, but his guns and religion comment was
elitest and showed a complete lack of sensitivity, reason, and judgment. Yes,
they all are elitest, but he has the poor judgment to make that drivel come out
of his mouth in public. Furthermore, he was right that Hillary also has had
verbal diarrhea with her stand by my man/making cookies ridiculousness in the

Yes, it's been said McCain has a temper, but at least he
has the reason to let his enemies kill themselves slowly with soundbites as his
percentages continue to rise.

It comes down to who do you think can run the country? Who do
you trust with this war? I don't think the guns and religions crap will go over
to well in the Middle East either. Nor will a crybaby, teary eyed

McCain's my man.

Scout's Honor
Blogging on the Sammamish Plateau Since 2006"

So now maybe it's "I'd rather cut off my pinkies with SHARP kitchen shears and eat slightly pink chicken than vote for her."

However, for a nutcracker like that, I might do more...just saying if a cool dude named Avitable little birdy that likes chocolate-syrup covered microwaved beef and cheese burritos had an extra lying about, this Republican would be ever so grateful.

I suck at contests that don't involve tying cherry stems into knots or playing dominatrix with one's marital unit. Contests remind me of college finals and 11 years later, I still have nightmares.

Comments Speak Volumes Pt. #2

More comments, peeps. I'm a prolific little commenter, I am, I am.

Chicken and Cheese on Is It Time Yet? and my comment: "...You know how it is. Each child gets less and less attention. Sadly. Ah my mother guilt...Nope, just looks of dissappointment and incomprehension and betrayal that break your heart. "

Miss Britt on Why I Hate My Children and my comment: "...as soon as it looks as if I might live, they bring their disgruntlments, bickering, and whines full force on me. A weeks worth of problems needing to be resolved right there...just made me moan, want to slit my wrists, and hope for an illness so bad they wouldn’t dare bring me their squabbles about who drank my chocolate milk or who went into who’s room or who called dibs on that exact spot on the couch..."

Woman with Kids on I'm a Quiter and my comment: " Hey, me too. I'm such a quitter...I think I made more money when I sold Pampered Chef. Now that my friend is saying something.Now, my kids went around our street yesterday for their swimathon and made $280 in one hour..."

Life is Short Partake in Happy Hour on Munchkin's First Haircut and my comment: " ... never had the guts to take my screaming boys with their fast-growing locks to a professional. ... got me an electric hair razor...much easier for a mama to be sitting on them or putting them into a headlock than a professional with an airplane chair, right?.... Everyone thought he had cancer. All for a cool 'doo."

Mmmm'kay, back to commenting.

Comments Speak Volumes

Okay, so I have a list of things to blog. And I have a gazillion of my favorite blogs to comment on. So what does one do?

Today, I will stand on the premise that comments speak volumes. so follow me throughout the day as I comment and see where I visit.

Already today, I've commented on:

Böh-logging on They didn't mention snow and my comment: "You know any other coach, but one who attended the Northern Warfare course and lived in Alaska and Colorado..."

Jason. For The Love of God... on Light the corners of my mind... and my comment:" ...Yep, I wish I started my blog in 1996, but I was too busy graduating college, having a baby, moving across the country, loosing all my weight and passing a Physical fitness test for the army, and planning and executing a wedding--all in a 2 month time period."

My Mommy's Place on Just Some Advice and my comment: "...Li’l Man was big too at 10 lbs. 1 ounce (no epidural thank you very much asshole anthesiologist prick) and had blond hair just like that. Little Dude needed a haircut minutes out of utero. People were alway guessing he was 4 months old..."

Pessimists Need Love Too on Let me tell you about Cirque! and my comment: "Damn it, you will enjoy the show with those eyeballs open or it's the wirehanger...Can you believe the bi-otches didn't even make eye contact or say thank you?..."

People, you know me, I'm windy.

These are mere snippets. So go visit my favorite blogs.

I will post more through out the day. I have a mere 158 blogs more to read. Sigh.

Friday, April 18, 2008

Holly Hobby Much?

Does anyone else see PB's striking resemblance to Holly Hobby:

PB's third grade curriculum includes simulating a pioneer school house including dressing up in authentic pioneer garb. We were given the option of purchasing a bonnet from a teacher's Mom who makes them as a hobby.

Bah! I said two months ago.

In the spirit up Mommy one-upmomship and visions of bonding while stitching with my daughter, I planned an ambitious project. Nope, church dresses and bonnets wouldn't cut it.

I purchased the pattern and the fabric for a pioneer dress and two different pinafores and bonnets. I held back buying fabric for a second dress.

Then that fabric sat and sat.

PB begged to get it started, but I procrastinated through out all spring break knowing it was needed the Monday after spring break.

So guess who was up until 3:45 AM that Monday morning sewing?

Yep, I started the actual sewing on Sunday afternoon. PB got to do some cutting and some sewing, but I soon realized the pattern was not the usual easy Halloween pattern. She didn't get much more opportunities after that. I could barely keep up.

Did I mention I learned to sew at 25? And that I'm not all that when it comes to sewing? And reading a pattern is worse than assembling furniture? It literally makes me cross-eyed and very cranky of attitude.

So, at 1:30 AM there I sat watching a Youtube video on how to make a button-hole with really terrible elevator music in the background. Yep, I bought buttons, but never thought to figure out until the day the dress was needed on how to make those damn button holes.

Funny, I'm always harping on the kids to get projects done very early. As in the first week-end assigned. Not optional. Get it done.

So ironic that I was the procrastinator on my Mommy homework I made for myself.

Eldest actually seemed shocked that the dress was due the next day and said such wise words full of censure at the same time, "Ummmm...Mom, don't you think you should have started this project much sooner?"

Umm, you think? Duh!

So, the dress was finished and we had a bonnet. No pinafores on Monday, but we found an apron that worked.

And today, TODAY, I finally finished one pinafore:

Only 1 week to go of her "Apple Valley Pioneer School" and one pinafore and two bonnets to go.

CG keeps saying give it up. No need to stress about it.

Nope, even if it's the last day of school, I will finish this project.


Why I do this I don't know.

Maybe for a smile like this:

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Dot Com Snob-bloganista

Exciting news, my friends. Let me do a jiggy dance. Bop. Bop. Bop. Taaa-Dum......

Little ol' me has her own domain.

Now, instead of typing http://unitedstatesofmotherhood.BLOGSPOT.com ...

You only need type http://unitedstatesofmotherhood.com . Wow, huh? Exciting news. Aren't you pumped? EIGHT, count 'em, EIGHT key strokes saved!!!

Other than saving you eight keystrokes, I'm not sure what this means.

I do know CG (aka my computer geek husband) thinks it rocks.


So, it seems that Blogger sells domain names and transfers your blog to the new url seamlessly. They will continue to send people from the old url to the new url. They still host for free. And all for the bargain price of $10 per annum.

So, other than it seems cool to be simply a dot com, what other benefits are there? Errr... I dunno. I guess I get some gadgets and tools. I get another email account. Emmm... It sounds cool?

Now, I just need to revamp my site design. It's so blah. It shouts blogspot, and now I'm a domain owning, dot com snob-bloganista, baby!

By the way, the old url and feed will still continue to work if you feel your digits need the exercise. Masochists!

Sunday, April 13, 2008

Wii Immunity

Okay, I lied a little, bitty bit. I'm not entirely immune to Wii. Actually I'm not entirely immune to Guitar Hero on Wii.

No,no,no. I don't play it. It does however grate on my subconscious.

For instance, I was watching American Idol with the kids the other day. Suddenly, a song comes on that I recognize:

"Hey," I say. "That's that Guitar Hero song."

Yep, that was the first thing that came to mind.

Not that it's Heart.

Not that whoa Nelly, those Heart chicks look way different.

Not that that's Fergie with 'em.

Nope, Guitar Hero.

Okay, my second thought was whoa that Fergie is very bend-y and acrobatic. I knew for once CG would be willing to watch a segment of American Idol. Usually he abhors it.

Yep, I was right. He was really into her bend-y moves.

No big surprise there, eh?

The Hunt for The Elusive Suburban Flamingo Husband

If you want to do something like watch movies during spring break, don't ever let your son purchase Super Smash Brothers for Wii.

First off, you will see your first born turn into a drooling, zombie like creature who is unresponsive to calls of nature--you know hunger, thirst, one's bladder.

This same creature, you know the one who daily swims 3000-4000 meters in a pool as well as running hills for 30 minutes, will suddenly complain loudly the next day at swim practice of the pain of stiff forearms, kinked fingers, aching wrists. Yes, all Wii-indicative injuries.


What's worst is your baby will become a Wii-sighted changeling. As in his eyes are so glued, so magnetized to the screen that all other orifices malfunction. Ears become clogged. Mouth becomes mute. Even smells that illicit drools become moot in his immune nose. He has become a Wii-pod.

But worse yet, one's supposed adult husband suddenly starts referring to himself as in the know about gaming circles. He reverts to being a pimply faced, slack jawed, pursed lipped,greasy haired video gamer. And he takes this pose for hour upon hour without so much as a twitch:

Yes, my friends, the elusive suburban husband flamingo lives.

Luckily, myself and my young daughter are immune to the wii-itis effects. Nope, she read her book in disdain and I just bitched in my head.

I might have to get a Nerf gun and put down those flamingoes, zombies, and changelings so I can watch Top Chef on Tivo.

Damn you, Wii. Damn you, Nintendo.

Saturday, April 12, 2008

Windy Douchehole Strikes Again

So, Carrie from Third Times a Charm just wrote a post about snacks and Mommy one-up-mom-ship. As usual, it resonated and I became windy.

As in I wrote easily a 10 paragraph comment. Most would just take that comment and turn it into a post for their own blog and say so as their comment.

Nope, not me. I posted that sucker.

Worse, I was the transgressor because I am guilty of that one up-mom-ship about which she's talking. Someone brings Donuts for basketball snack, I bring homemade brownies drizzled with three types of chocolate and iced chocolate milk boxes. I can't help myself.

My class parties are school renowned. So much that another party mom complained to our classes' teacher that it wasn't fair how elaborate our class parties are...that it made other kids feel bad seeing how decorated the classroom was, the gift bags, the games, and the party munchies.

Whatever. Rolling my eyes.

What she really meant was she felt bad because she was a suck-ass-ho at being a party mom. I have spies and one of them in her classroom said she sucked. Terrible. I know. I know.

I guess I do it because this is one thing I know I am good at--sad, eh?

Okay, so back to my comment. Windy, windy, windy.

I just can't bring myself to write "good post" or "LOL" or "I hear ya, sista." Nope, I write a thesis. Sorry Carrie. I hope you don't mind.

Good post.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Feeling Guilty As Usual


I just looked at my blog reader last night for the first time in four days. It had over 180 posts to read.

BUT I've been on vacation! I don't want to miss anything, but reading that many blogs takes time.


I stayed up until 3:45 in the AM last night reading. I started again at 9 AM today.

You see I never delete unread posts. Never. I read everything you guys write.

BUT then it becomes a momentous task. Homework if you will.

Must. Catch. UP.

So, I streamline by starring every post I want to comment on.

So, I had whittled unread blogs to 100 last night. Only to wake up this morning back at 130.


Can't you guys wait for me to catch up. Can't we have a TIVO pause button? I mean I am still on vacation here, but feel this tremendous guilt.

And now, I have over 60 starred posts I want to comment on. Which I will probably have to re-read again to refresh my memory on what I wanted to comment on.

Let's not even get into all the wonderful comments I've received on my blog in the last few weeks of which I have yet to respond. I do read those since they come to my email account. They make me smile. Thank you guys. You rock.

It's 10 AM.


And I'm still in my nightgown.

And I'm exhausted.

This feels like a job.

And we have things to do today.

But your comments rock as do your blogs and I have this compelling need to find out what is going on the bloggysphere.

Must persevere.

Does anyone else out there feel this mix of guilt, compulsion, magnetism, addiction and enjoyment that is being a blogger? How do you keep yourself organized and in the loop?

I'm telling you I could be on my laptop for 8-12 hours a day (and have!), but I don't think it's healthy.

How do you keep on top of comments both going in and out? How much time to you spend blogging? Reading blogs? Do you keep yourself on a time limit?

I just want to achieve a happy balance.

What To Do in Seattle on Spring Break For Less Than $40 in One Day: A Word-y Photo Essay

Yes, my friends, the photo essay below is what one does in Seattle with three kids when you never get around to planning your husband's vacation hours and your checkbook into that cool Hawaiian vacation you talked about in December.

Ah, well, with our luck, I would have booked it on ATA or Aloha Air and then we would have been screwed.

Besides, our swim team took spring break last week, so we would have missed two weeks straight of swimming. We did that last year when we went to Florida at this time and you would think my kids had forgotten how to swim.

Can I tell you: It's such a bummer to literally spend 18-20 hrs a week in commuting and practice and other 15-20 hours every other week at meets, for them to regress into doggy paddles. Seriously! Ack!

So due to these reasons and a million more, I've planned a bunch of day trips and activities to keep our kids busy while staying local. Fortunately, they don't have any homework this break, so we are free and clear to get out and about.

Unfortunately for CG, there was a break down in marital communications in regards to our plans, so he did not ask for time off and is working in our quiet, empty house, while we are out having fun on our day trips followed by swim practice.

At least he will finally get his Mini back today with it's stripes. Now, just a month after the accident, he needs to get an alignment, fix the hood position (too much road noise), and get the engine checked out. We are already at $3000 plus for that accident on the bridge. Thank God for insurance and $500 deductibles.

The worst, though, is we really haven't used the rental option, so we have been with one car all these weeks. Not too bad because CG works from home, BUT that means if we go out, he's stranded. And it means when he goes to his MBA classes, we are in for the night.

Also, unfortunate was that Eldest, unbeknownst to him, had also tied us down by needing to take care of a friend's dog. We didn't find out until said family was flying out that they thought he had committed.


It seems if you don't go somewhere during break, it's a given you'll be taking care of someone's home, mail, dog, whatever. I don't usually mind, but this was a complete surprise to me and somewhat changed our vacation plans. Sigh.

Errr... I did say photo essay, yes? So a long-winded intro later(people don't call me Windy douchehole for nothing), let's get back to the photo essay.

After going all Martha Stewart yesterday and making three types of scones, and forgetting to put the all important ingredient, butter, in one batch, we had a some yummy, flaky goodness with milk and OJ.

We left some for CG and took the rest over to a friend's so she could enjoy the benefit of all that butter and sugar and carb yumminess.

Hey! They were cranberry and cherry-apricot. Fruit! See! Practically good for you! I bet you were thinking I was turning into one of those food pushers I bitched about last year, eh?!

After dropping off PB's sleepover friend home and picking up Eldest from his sleepover, we went off to Seattle.

The weather was so-so. SO, we went to our favorite museum (we're members so it was FREE!). Parking was great. $6 later, we spent a fun two hours exploring water explorations:

And snakes:

And hands on tide pool exhibits:

Much to my six year olds' delight, we learned that the hole in the middle of the anemone is not just it's mouth, but it's "butt." He fell instantly in love with Science center intern for enlightening him to this very fact and saying butt:

And blowing massive bubbles:

And sculpture:

And butterfly exhibits:

And seeing how much one's children weigh on Jupiter, Saturn, and yes, even poor Pluto:

And visual displays and some actual science:

Then, we went to the bastion of Seattle tourism, Ivars. Yum! Fresh sourdough bread bowls filled with salmon or clam chowder, fish and chips, and seagulls.

Bonus: I had a coupon in my Entertainment book. Ha! After paying $31 bucks instead of $36 (score $5 saved), you can't leave without feeding the seagulls. Cheap entertainment people!

I usually hate seagulls and pigeons, but these birds, my friend, have honed their tourist trade for years. They'll gulp french fries from your hand.

They will circle two feet above your head waiting for you to pitch them a piece of sourdough. And yes, they'll do serious dives and acrobatics to get the bread before it hits the water thirty feet below when your pitch is bad--where even more birds await a easy treat.

They prefer the french fries, the picky bastards, but Eldest ate 'em all, so they suffered on bread:

Some couple even offered up their bread bowl to the kids! Unfortunately, those fowls were super fast so I only got wind-ups.

We didn't suffer though from the awesome views of the ferries leaving and boats going out to tour the Puget Sound:

Even the flowers on the piers were beautiferous:

We window shopped for a while waiting to use up every minute of our $2 parking meter. Then, we were off again. We tried to make a trip to the awesomest library on the west coast, but no parking was to be found. It's okay, we'd been there before.

Instead, we headed back to the eastside. I made the traditional wrong turn onto Highway 5, so as usual, we got a wonderful tour going north before we turned around to go south.

Look, I even got a self-portrait out of it as I blazed 70 mph in my loop. If you look really closely, you'll see the Space Needle on the right:

After our "tour" of highway 5, we went to a beautiful park in downtown Bellevue and soaked up the rare Northwest sun:

And took flying leaps off of swings. Ah! To be an eleven year old daredevil again:

And saw water fountains:

And tulip trees abloom:

Then, if was back to Mercer Island for practice. While the older kids languished in a pool in a bubble practiced hard, Li'l Man and I took a stroll down to the club's private beach. Ah, Lake Washington:

We watched birds. The regular ducks, Canadian geese, and assorted waterfowl were all present. You know--the usuals. We were however lucky to see the bald eagles up in their nest like last spring. Although I am unlucky in that I got no pics fore I don't have a zoom lens--yet--but that would make a fab Mother's Day gift in anyone needed ideas.

Then Li'l Man scrambled on some rocks:

And wrote in the sand:

And admired the clouds as only a Northwesterner can:

And I was given that gift that always melts a mother's heart, the wildflower bouquet given with soft, still slightly pudgy fingers:

Then, it was back to home base to eat dinner with CG. He was only a little lonely. The meatloaf muffins and leftover whipped potatoes from the night before had kept him company for lunch. He had had a rough day at work.

Now, he had us and two lovely fresh steel head fillet basted in a miso, soy sauce, and sweet teriyaki sauce. Add some coconut rice and steamed broccoli, and all was forgiven.

Who knew that staying and eating local could create so many memories? All on $39 and 1/4 tank of gas? Pretty thrifty, eh? Seattle for a family of four (Sorry again CG!) for less than $40!

Today, we've puttered at home. We've picked up the Mini.

We've finally installed Eldest's flat screen monitor he got at CHRISTMAS.

The two younger ones are neatening the playroom.

We've fed the friend's dog after a minor crisis when the garage door opener didn't work.

We have swim practice, as always, this afternoon.

All's quiet on the home front. Gearing up for tomorrow.

Who knows what adventures we might find in our own backyard for less than $40.

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