United States of Motherhood: August 2008

Sunday, August 31, 2008

How Very, Very Ugly Thou Art

I have just read that the former Democratic Convention Chairman Fowler spoke with a U.S. Rep. John Spratt (D-Scout Carolina), with laughter, that the timing of Gustav to land on the 1st day of the Republican convention showed that, "God was on their side."

Unfortunately, God might have another sense of humor because Fowler's joking about others' potential tragedy and definite physical devastation was caught on videotape:

Um...Hmmm....insensitive? Ugly? Does this equal the hope and change that the Democratic ticket purports to represent?

How about Michael Moore saying the same?

This is beyond ugly as I watch CNN experts predicting that they expect, "100 Americans to drown" in this storm.

This is funny?

This is plain ugly, un-American, and what the left accused the right of after Katrina: insensitive and uncaring.

Instead, McCain is scaling back the convention and hasn't made the decision to even cancel a couple of days. Bush and Cheney have canceled their appearances. McCain chartered a plane to get Gulf convention reps. home.

What a difference, eh?

Saturday, August 30, 2008

Evil Daughter: Forwards Are Unkind

Can I tell you how much I hate forwards? Hate 'em.

So I had a friend, another military wife, that I kept contact with over the years. She was a habitual politics forwarder which was funny because we never talked politics when we lived across the street from each other. I guess it took distance for her to send this crap....errr...I mean use her 1st amendment. Why didn't she start a blog like mine, eh? Lots of crap.

So I finally became sick of one that said so many lies and misinformation that I replied.

Ummmm, I replied to ALL.

I exposed each line with websites from official congress sites, reputable news sources, and, yes, even Snopes. The gist was the draft was imminent and it was the Republican led congress that was going to pass it any minute.

It turned out that it was a grandstanding Democrat from New York that proposed the legislation to call attention to the number of his minority constituents who had died. It was never even close to being adopted at "any minute." Everyone knew it was to get media attention. No, no draft.

So, my friend?

She was beyond livid and she was my friend no more. She was furious at being called on for passing on lies. My reply was actually very respectful and matter of fact. I really try not to get emotional when it comes to politics. I think really she was embarrassed for being called on for sending something and saying she "fact" checked it first when it was a load of shite.

Was I wrong? Ummm. Yes.

I just was so sensitive at that point and having been in the military, as has my husband, the thought of fear-mongering people into worrying about their teenage babies and thinking America would move from a volunteer army to a draft inflamed me. I wanted to stop that forwad in it's place.

Today? Only my Dad sends the crappy forwards. He didn't protect my email once and one of his ultra religious crap pot buddies started emailing me forwards too. Never met the guy. He was just grabbing other people "forwards" list. This guy lived in another state.

So I did the same thing. Replied all. This time the forward was to boycott Blockbuster because they carried the movie "Latter Day Saints" about...gasp...gay Mormon missionaries. I mentioned the 1st amendment. I mentioned his grabbing my email address was more heinous than a silly movie. I mentioned his email actually had piqued my interest in a movie I had never heard of, but by golly, I was going to go rent it today.

He shut up real quick. I might have mentioned privacy and spamming laws and harassment if he sent me any more forwards. That was probably unnecessary. His head was probably spinning on it's axis for replying to ALL his other minions.

As for my Dad, I sent him an "error message" -- official looking messages saying I had subscribed to forward blocker and he was listed as a "serial forwarder" and if he didn't "cease and desist", his email would be permanently blocked.


Yes, I did.

Umm, hehe, it looked exactly like this (*except names were changed to protect the erm innocent:

RE: Fw: Poem Found After Death
From: Scout's Honor *Evil Daughter Who Will Burn in Hell
To: *In the Wrong Dad That Sends Out 20 Forwards in 3 minutes and usually removes "FW" so you can't set up a rule to block emails with "FW" which makes evil daughter's blood boil


Forwards are unkind.

It appears you have sent an unwanted forward to

This user has subscribed to a new service that blocks abusive forwards. A second forward sent to this user will result in your emails being permanently blocked and your name being listed on the national registry.

If you feel you have received this message in error, no action is necessary. Simple direct original content email to user:
evildaughtersemail@shewillburninhell.com .

Our service compiles all unoriginal, unwanted forwards circulating the net. New forwards are added to our indices daily.

To subscribe to this service, click here.


(*Erased to protect Scout's Dad) Sent: Sunday, November 04, 2007 12:46 PM

I sent it to him 20 times in a row.

Yes, my friends, TWENTY. Just kept hitting send button while hysterically laughing while CG shook his head and mumbled something about "Honor thy 70 year old father."

My Dad? He freaked the hell out. Thought it was some sort of virus.

Truly I had asked him at least 20-30 times to stop sending me this stuff and it never worked.

This time? Heh. No forwards from my Dad.

Hi! I am Scout's Honor and I am the very incarnation of evil. Try to send me forwards. I dare you.

Friday, August 29, 2008

Scout says join Blobher-licious!

I am making a public pledge to join the Fatties Mcwanting to go to Blogher '09 Club. You too?

Okay, Blobher rolls off the tongue much better:

For those you who don't blog, Blogher is where all the cool blogging wimmens go to have cheeseburger parties, slosh drinks on $1000 shoes parties, and get NAKED in bath houses in S.F. and be taken serious about Mommy blogging and the such while acting all high school and forming cliques and raving/ranting about their experience on their blogs.

Yep, they had me at cheeseburgers and drinks. Sigh.

But I want to go looking like I don't eat cheeseburgers and drink Martinis like the one I'm drinking at 3:50 in the afternoon while waiting for classroom teachers to be announced on-line at exactly 4 PM.

This starts in like 10 days. I need to get my drinks on now!

You wanna join me? Go here.
Update: So Karly at Wiping up Snot--who co-founded this cool club with Mrs. Schmitty--just emailed me to say it's BLUB-her not BLOB-her. Heh! Heh! Dooode, I'm drunk blogging and can't stop laughing about that. You say Blubher and I say Blobher, You say tomat-toe and I say tomat-tow. Heh! Come on. You know you want to join.

You Maverick You!

Go soccer moms of the world.

I am still digesting Palin. Wow! Sarah? Not Elizabeth Dole. Not Condi? What could it mean?

I sit here and I think. and think. and think.

Then, I realize her choice is a foil. Not for McCain, but to highlight Obama's shortcomings.

If the O/B tickets points out her inexperience, it highlights Obama's. In fact she has more "executive experience" than the entire Democratic ticket.

If they point out gender, we are reminded that Obama was a fool not to choose Hillary.

If they point out McCain's health/age and the fact Palin could easily being in charge, we see that Obama's choice of experience , by choosing Biden, has had two brain aneurysms.

If they point out her inexperience with war, we see she has the most to lose sending her son to Iraq soon. She won't make decisions lightly.

They point out her age, we see Obama is a mere two years older.

If they compare Biden's experience to Palin's, Palin's outsider status and report card of reform makes her more the agent of this "change" over choosing a 36 year senator with six consecutive terms who received less than 1 % of the primary vote over Hillary. Now who is the sexist? Now who's judgment is in question? Now who's temperament--cutting off his nose to spite his face--is in question?

Palin is integrity. She is grit. She is an outsider. She is a reformist. She once worked successful in an energy committee with Barack and received his praise. She is a mother of five--one with special needs. She is an union worker. She is the first woman on a Republican presidential ticket. She might just help blow O/B out of the water.

Wow! McCain the maverick is back! Shaking up what people thought of him. What a torpedo. He just pulled all the attention from DNC and put it on Sarah without spending one campaign dollar. Crafty!

I'm still thinking...but there's a smile on my face, my friends.

Stop Yer Grab-assing, Young Whippersnapper!

Eldest didn't move up as expected to the next swimming group on our team. He was disappointed, and with what I pay for swim fees and the time spent, I was a bit too.

At the same time, kids that were younger were moved up. Kids that were slower--12 seconds slower in some events--were moved up, so I called the coach to ask what gived.

The coach let me know it came down to immaturity and focus. Honestly, he said Eldest needed to "stop grab assing" and lead in his lane. He also mentioned what I've mentioned before that Eldest blows them away at meets, then is lazy as hell and silly at practices.

Nothing new! At the PNS champs just before an event that he final-ed in, he was chasing his good friend and sister in a rousing game of tag. As in 10 minutes before a 200 backstroke. The night before I caught him watching tv at 1:30 AM in the hotel instead of sleeping the night before this big meet. He was slated, by seed times to final in 4 events out of eight preliminary events. He only made one and seemed more interested in playing with friends and not drinking or eating.

So I completely understood. Although the helicopter parent in me asked if there was anything "I" could do. As soon a I said it, I was swearing in my head. Of course not. At age 12, it is up to him. The coach said the same. He has to prove himself. Prove that he can be focused. Prove he can be mature. They will reassess in a month.

My question: Is there such a thing as a mature 12 year old boy? People, I haven't met one yet. Sigh.

So, off I went to relay this to Eldest and CG. CG somewhat focused on the word, "grab-ass." He said, "He really said grab-ass, not horseplay, or fooling around."

"Yes, grab ass. Why?"

You see, it seemed not out of the ordinary to use that phrase. His coach was once military. I was once military, not that his coach knows that. Seemed fine to me. It didn't stand out.

CG said while "grab-assing" is what Eldest does, it seemed like a pretty inappropriate comment for a coach to say to a mom. It made him laugh and shake his head.

Hmmmm....I found it refreshing for his coach to speak plainly to me as a mom. If he's says it to a guy, why not me? I wish more people just would say what they mean.

Back to Eldest, finding out that someone else questions his work ethic is no surprise. Things came so easily, school and swimming in particular, early on that he's never had to work at anything until the last two years.

He seems befuddled that he has to work at school now --that he has to study. The same with swimming. Getting sectional times at meets only to get passed on all sides at practice simply doesn't cut it. It shows the coach that you have the potential to do so much more if you tried.

As for the actual grab-assing? (Innocent expression) Gosh! I just don't know where that comes from? I mean CG and I never do that. Nope, we are some of the most mature people I know.

Call it Joie de vivre. Call it grab-assing. It's inherited. I guess we need to teach him to tone it down a tad, yes?

*Blog Notes: Thanks for the great editorial Flikr picture, by Jeff Croft. If I had tried to stage that picture with CG he would have probably expected something crazy like sex. Pffffh!

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Eh? Eh? Only Sorta Deaf

I sit here complaining about cramps. Moaning really.

CG asks, "Do you want some Gwar?"

What? Dude, no I don't need some angst metal band from the 80's because no matter how much you like them, music won't make muscle contractions go away. My brows scowl and I start to think he's taking my pain lightly. Pissy was the word.

"Do I NEED some Gwar?" I ponder aloud about to expound on compassion to my husband...

I hear his office chair spin around and he looks at me with laughter.

"No, I said, do you need some water."

Oops. "Ummm sure."

Have I mentioned my hearing loss? Yes, I have the misfortune of having been diagnosed with hearing losses at certain frequencies that happen to correspond with vowels. So imagine hearing everything through ear muffs. I hear consonances, but no vowels. Sometime my mind gets creative with the empty spaces.

A few minutes later, CG announces that he, " Has to pee. "

Several times.

I finally ask why he keeps telling me that.

His answer was that he was hoping that I would hear, "I would like some tea," and get him some.

Yeah, make fun of the deaf girl, dude. Real cute.

Ok. I laughed. Heh! Gwar still sux though.

Obama the Chocolate Milk Peddler

Whit wrote some powerful words on his blog today. Words I don't agree with, but respect nonetheless. For those of you who don't know Whit, he's this cool, stay at home Dad in California that has dramatically different politics than me. Very different, but I would really like to think our hearts are in the same place.

These words were on presidential candidates and bleak futures.

Surprise! I wrote a windy comment right back. Yep, it's time for comments speak volumes.

Here it is:

"Those are some pretty strong words, my friend. I absolutely agree with Amelia that your comments might have been taken as arrogant. No worries. I still heart you even if you do Twitter about hitting me in the crotch for supporting McCain. Just remember real men don’t ever hit women—even if they’re Republican. (smile)

So I'm hoping a variety of perspectives are welcome here, so to your comment:

Of course people who have different views think of their children. Every day. Every minute of every day. However, I also think of those children of 9-11. I think of what might happen to the children in Iraq and Afghanistan if we pull out on “a timetable” with no reason. Will they survive the immediate in-fighting? What will happen to the daughters of Afghanistan? Their burden was so heavy before the war. It scares me that a one term senator talks so smoothly to pull out, on a lofty campaign promise, without having been on the ground before that promise. It scares the every lasting shit out of me as a mother. I guess I think beyond my children. I worry for everyone’s children.

Someone asked who voted for GWB the second time? Yes, I did. I am a former army lieutenant with a husband who is a former army captain once deployed to the Middle East. I know people who have died in this war. I’ve met their children. I think of their children too.

So, do I think any politician is perfect? No. Do I want a politician to promise me the world, wax poetic, and call it "change" with no way and no plan to enact it the day after elected? Or do I want a realist who says grimly that we must sometimes finish what we started, although it’s not popular? That's what I want to teach my children. The easy way, the self-centered way, isn't always best.

My daughter ran for class rep in second grade and in her speech was that she wanted to have chocolate milk dispensed from the water fountains. Heh! Funny, but that is how I know see Obama. He makes a pretty speech, but he is a chocolate milk peddler. He cuts a good figure and eloquently presses “change,” but he is as inexperienced as my third grader thinking that the school—the world—will listen, bend to her vacuous promises, and actually make those fountain frothy with creamy goodness. These are promises that I see as genuine, but as impossible-ly na├»ve and inexperienced as my third grade daughter.

I once mentioned on my post that Obama would be better than Hillary. Yesterday, I had a freak out moment as I realize he was THE candidate of the left. I do hope McCain becomes president, but if not, it scares me what he could do and what mistakes he will make with his pendantics without substance. Hillary would have been a better choice. Yes, my friends, this is a conservative saying Hillary would have been a better choice. A safer choice. A choice that would have let me sleep at night without constantly checking heads in little beds.

Yes, the future seems bleak to me if we elect a chocolate milk peddler. I realize that your thoughts are the same about my candidate. Either way, I think our children will have bright futures knowing that their parents and their parents’ generation cared enough to really think and become impassioned about who they choose to lead. Yes, I think our kids will be safe, but what about that little girl in Afghanistan? I love America, but it’s not always about us or our kids, is it?

One last question that's been needling me, how can one campaign on change and choose a 36 year senator as one's running mate? Six consecutive terms? In October 2002, Biden voted in favor of the Authorization for Use of Military Force Against Iraq, justifying the Iraq War. Biden stated in 2002 that Saddam Hussein was a threat to national security, and that there was no option but to eliminate that threat. Which is it? Are you running against politics as usual or are you fuckbuddies with Capitol Hill?"

So, my friends, thoughts? I don't want us to always be the ugly Americans. I want us to help others that can't help themselves. I don't want us to be belly button gazers.

If you go check out Whit, be respectful. It's my favorite part of blogging to find someone who thinks differently and makes me re-think. Now, it's rare I change my opinion, but just listening is so important and such a lost art these days.

Yesterday, as I drove on the 520 highway near the Microsoft campus in Redmond, there was a car that had this caricature of Obama stuck onto his car with bumper stickers that said "Democrats are defeatist cowards." Heh! Okay, okay. I laughed as did the kids. However, that's not exactly how I would want Democrats portrayed, m'kay? Funny, but not so respectful. Seriously, he should have added some smiley faces.

*Blognotes: Thanks for the FLickr pic by jaz_foto and by Pegasez .

My Husband's Blinking Spoon Collection

Like I mentioned in my last post, espresso is my husband's crack.



Need proof?

He has a Mini Cooper (another blasted obsession of CG's) espresso cup...as well as green cups, black cups, glass cups, and Van Gogh cups. I feel like Dr. Suess writing about CG's cups because he has short cups, tall, cups, skinny cups, and polka dotted cups. Okay. I lie. No polka dotted cups. But still...

So CG wrote a post about his espresso cups collection recently:

Never too many cups

"You already know, I enjoy espresso. But you don't know, that I also like collecting demi tasses. A few weeks ago, Heather made some snarky comment about how many I had, so I figured that I would make a photo collection.

Yep, I'm like an old lady with a spoon collection, a japanese teen age girl with Hello Kitty thingys.I've got a collection of espresso cups. I try to rotate through them, but there are a few that I like a lot, like my MINI cup, my stainless ones, my red one and the stackable one (though I only have one of them).Do you have any collections, strange or otherwise?"

What CG forgot to write is what is included in my comment:

"Scout's Honor said... This is an outrageous misrepresentation of the facts, my friends. What he does NOT tell you is that has multiple, multiples of many of these cups with saucers. I am tempted to take a picture of them altogether because he's the only one that uses them and really, how many espresso cups does one mere computer geek need?! It's like an old lady's compulsive collection of spoons or cats. So wrong--even for a metrosexual. And it flares my OCD that they don't match. Gah! Eyebrow twitching. Twitch."

So my friends, how many are too many? Look at his flickr set on his cups and these don't include those multiples I mentioned.

Does your husband have a collection? How do you deal?

If this was a collection that was housed in the garage it would be one thing. However, these cups take up an entire blinkin' drawer and some portion of a cabinet alone in my kitchen.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

How Many Espresso Cups Does one Grown Metrosexual Need?

It is a little know fact that my husband hearts Williams-Sonoma over Playboy. So, no, he doesn't read playboy, but whoo-ey boy, does he get excited for the William-Sonoma catalog when it comes in the mail.

Along with this excitement for culinary tools (which, honestly, I share, but I'm a girl so it's whore-moan-ally destined), is his love for espresso.

It started one fateful holiday season when I decided to buy his ungodly expensive $1000 espresso machine.

Gasp! I know. Be assured, my friends, I hadn't totally lost my rocker. I had done the math of Starbucks costs versus machine. I also managed to get acquainted with someone with a Williams-Sonoma discount. FORTY PERCENT, people. Get hither and find yourself a William-Sonoma/Pottery Barn (they're the same thing) contact immediately because that shit is cute, but over-priced. Everybody does it.

So I purchased the machine (with CG's knowledge that it was a holiday gift) for $600. I handed cash to a friend of a friend. All good. Then suddenly he wouldn't give the receipt over for fear of "being fired." I started to think later that he might have stolen it, but chose to not know those deets.

However I will tell you that I was hellaciously pissed because I wanted the warranty that comes with W-S. Did you know that warranty covers all their stuff FOR LIFE? As in, you break tip off Henkels-Sprenjels $300 knife? Totally your fault. It's covered. Cuisinart Blender goes kaput? Just take it in. Everything with a no fault policy. Dude, if the machine broke that day of Christmas, we would be out SIX HUNDRED GREENBACKS and have no espresso?

So, how does one get this receipt when it's bought under the table? Friend of friend had disappeared with the cash. We used our little thinking caps. and come up with a game of nutshells. We returned the original without receipt with long story of poor grandma out of state and got store credit. Then we went to another store two cities away and purchased it with the credit. See! We were now owners of a machine with full price receipt.

So wrong, I know that, but again did I mention that shit was over-priced? Did I mention this was in the stupid and poor early years of our marriage? Call it creative haggling and if anyone from Williams-Sonoma is reading this, I am so totally making this up for a humorous vignette. Nothing more, m'kay? Not a shred of truth in these words.

So, five years later, said machine breaks. And guess who can't find that receipt that was so artfully ill-gotten? Me. Now we live in a different state. Now we have a mortgage that surpasses most people's monthly salary. We can't afford a new machine and CG is fixin'. Espresso is my husband's crack.

So, I call Williams-Sonoma and they say bring it in. They didn't carry the model anymore, but they could do some research and give me the last price of the machine before it was discounted. Crapsticks. I was sure it was marked down for clearance at $99 to clear shelves. Still! That was better than nothing. I guess I hadn't needed that damned receipt anyways.

It turns out last price was $950 for this base model, so without receipt or any knowledge we didn't buy this machine at a yard sale, they gave CG a credit. Better than that? They had realized their shit was expensive and the new base model was $600, so CG upgraded to the nicer stainless steel model with no cost to us.

Better yet? It seems our machine had been recalled years before because it had become a flaming fireball. It had burned houses down. Whew! Super scary. We so dodged that bullet. Satan must have a special place in his heart for us and our dodgy espresso machine acquiring ways.

Best yet? They gave us another receipt and CG sips away with pinky extended.

Before you think we will burn in hell. We regularly support W-S by buying $20 in cleaning tablets and $14 filters every 2-3 months for the machine. This doesn't include CG going to their Sunday morning cooking classes with a resulting unneeded gadget purchased or I shit you not, $30 6 ounce demi-glace base or $20 only so-so basting sauce. I guess we are more than making up for our wrong, eh?

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

The "F" Bomb

CG has a filthy f@&king mouth. What? What?!

Okay, me too. But! I am trying to stop the madness which has been him rubbing off on me. I also need to remind everyone once again I swear 1/12th as much in person as I do on my blog. Really. Really. Ask Erin.

So I called him on it. He has always maintained that a little swearing is good if it is in context. I know he's always thought it was cute when each of our kids in all their precious, early toddlerdom innocence used a four letter word -- "in context."

Whatever, it's always horrified me.

CG's swearing of late? Well, my friends it's dripped off the plate of context and turned into an ugly adjective, an adverb, and a noun.

Remember how in 8th grade you suddenly had a gutter mouth to make you sound like you were in high school? Remember sitting in front of some early teens in a movie and listening them dropping F bombs like they were candy?

You know: "Stop being a f#%k face Jenny and f^*&ing give me the f%^&ing popcorn, you f%*#!"

Yep, that's CG. A filthy-mouthed thirteen year old. Except my husband is older than Jesus! He's 34 for Christsakes fucks sakes Godsakes by Jiminey Cricket!

The F bomb is a frequent guest at our dinner table, on his work conference calls, and most often in front of the children. So much so that the kids say it or spell and think they can get away with it.

So much so that I had to remind them that the F bomb was not appropriate to use at the chi-chi French restaurant that we were meeting one of Daddy's former work colleagues/friend and his very young family.


So I called him on it the other day and he is making progress. Only 1-2 times daily has been the average.

This really is an improvement.

So much better than when he burned himself the other night and screamed "Fuuuuuck! Fucck! Fuuuuuuuuuck!" Over and over again and in such rapid succession that I came running thinking he had impaled himself on a kabob or some silly kitchen nonsense.

Nope, just hot oil on the eyelid. Okay, probably a justified use of the F Bomb once or twice. NOT 12-15 times. Loudly. Did I mentioned LOUDLY???

Soooo very farking loud that the neighborhood kids heard him. They were in front of the house playing on the street. He was soooo loud that they heard EVERY word. They mentioned it to PB, Eldest, and Li'l Man.

Nice, eh?

And if they heard it, I am sure every kid in the block heard it. And their moms. Christ! Errr crapsticks....Criminies!

So he seems a bit more restrained and chagrined about his behavior today, except he started to supplant the F Bomb with words that I am not sure are improvements.

Remember this second video? Yep, he plays it --a lot. What would be his favorite phrase from it?

Every few minutes for the last hour he has shouted loudly, as I startle,

"Turds From a Whore!"

Nice! So much more classy. I am not sure the neighborhood will agree.

*Blog notes: thanks for the fabulous Flickr pics by markuz and by ruSSeLL hiGGs and by Pig Sty Avenue so I didn't have to say that filthy word.

Puberty has hit!

Calling all parents! My eldest? Sniffle...it's beginning.

Luckily, it happened after school photos. He put some lotion on his dry skin right before school pics. We always do this with the kids. It's traditional. With freshly laundered and pressed new clothing, it makes them look like clean, shiny children instead of dirty hamsters. So there he stood proudly with clear skin and a clean, shiny face. We filled out the photo packet in line.

He asked what retouching was. His skin was so clear we laughed at the retouch box. See! Right there? Do not laugh at the retouch box. A mistake. Do not offend the zit gods. Cue evil tiki omen god from Brady Bunch Hawaii. Picture was taken, but then it went all down hill from there...

Starting on Saturday, very large red angry bumps proliferated all over his poor li'l nose. They also followed a trail along his hairline like a bunch of fire ants.

I should have know. I still suffer from adult zits more than occasionally and I've seen pictures of CG as a teenager and it was not pretty. Worse, I got the privilege of witnessing CG's sister (the one that caused the drama that resulted in me not speaking to her or my MIL in 4 years) in her spectacular oily, acne, back'ne, zit on top of zit glory. Eww! My kids, in they get CG's genes, are soooooo screwed.

Eldest also has started swimming pre-season again, but three weeks swimming vacation without a 2 hour daily chlorine flush might just have thrown his skin for a loop.

So we wander in Target with Rudolph the Red Nose Rein-son. I was trying not to mention it. He finds a bottle of men's cleanser to "clear skin." Hmmmm. He holds it up, awkwardly, in front of sister, sister's friend, little brother, me and another friend. Ohhh! Brave, my son. So brave!

I said, "Sure," as casual as possible, grabbed the bottle, and then proceeded to rape the aisle of anything benzoil peroxide, alpha hydroxy, or salicylic acid. He now has a full compliment of acne products with which to fight the good fight.

Ask, my son, for zit medicine, and your bounty will be full.

This mom hates to look at zits. My fingers start to tingle and I fight the urge to say, "But ho, my son, let me tangle with those zits. I will squeeze their very life's blood. Verily, I will ride their zitacular rodeo. I will squeeze. I will pop until the valleys are red with fresh blood of their slayed souls. (enter primeval war howl)".

Uh....where was I?

So, products were used last night. We'll see.

'Cause I am all for not having to look on a pimple on top of a pimple ever, ever again.

(Cue multiple crossed fingers and toes and crossed legs and crossed eyes, so as not to offend the tiki zit god beginning another onslaught of volcanic puss eruption.)

**Blog Note: Thanks for the Flikr pic by Dalboz17 . Many thanks for getting close enought to the Tiki gods to take the pic. I am sure I would be covered in boils if I got that close.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Twitter Much

So, after discovering I was called a "troll "on Twitter (Really. So over it!) I decided this Twitter stuff was something I should look into.Why not?

Yes, I am always the foot dragging late adopter of the family. That's usually the case when you have a computer geek husband that is always trying to force feed one new technology. Hurl.

Anyhoo, signed up and guess who was first in the family. Hahah! CG didn't have an account. I beat him on some internet tool. But wait! Now that I think about it, I also got a myspace account way back in the day, Orkut, facebook account and my own domain before him.

Yeah me.

It's my evil plot to throw his world out of balance. Me faithful Luddite wife. He master of all that new, exciting, and geeky.

My next move? I broke the glass of my Razr this week. Stomped on it in the dark of my closet. I'm thinking getting one of these before him will slam the last nail in the proverbial coffin:

Hello, my pretty.

By the by, interested in following me at Twitter? You can find me here.

Also, it seems I am a little backward and retarded when it comes to finding my favorite bloggers on Twitter. If you Twitter, leave your username in a comment so I can follow you too.

Woefully Inadequate House Wife

June Cleaver, I'm not.

Nope. I think we've all decided that here. However, I do still try to ungodly lengths to keep a clean house...

... or at least keep a clean house for all intents and purposes to the public.

So that explains cleaning my house and flicking my whip for the kids to do chores from 6 in the morning until 6 that night when we were supposed to leave around 3 PM for our Vancouver vacation. There was no way in Hades I was leaving my house a mess when my friend Jill was watching the house and dogs.

I also might have locked bedrooms not only to keep the dog from having accidents, but to keep curious eyes out of my hell-hole of a closet.

I had another friend watch the house one year and she mentioned my tile upstairs and said as an excuse that she just wanted to make sure there were no unpleasant surprises left for us from the dogs.

Hmmmm...I know women get curious and I pegged her immediately as the type that goes through medicine cabinets in drawers in one's bathroom.

Jill's not that way, but still I slaved. Besides it's also just as important that there is a clean house to come home to after a long vacation.

So clean, we were able to throw a big BBQ for over 25 people on one's day's notice a few days later. So clean, we spent all of our time making lamb, chicken, tri-tip beef, red pepper, and fresh cut pineapple kebabs, marinated three ways instead cleaning like usual. And chicken apple sausages. And hot dogs for the kids. And homemade guacamole. And a bubbling jalapeno-artichoke cheese dip. Marinated garlic shrimp roasted with olive oil on homegrown rosemary wood skewers. And cheese trays. Huge platters of fruit. (Yes, people I got my Costco on.) And even s'mores on the patio fireplace. And breezily went to a museum for most of the day before said BBQ, assured it was all good. It was so relaxing to entertain when there wasn't heavy cleaning to do.

So clean, I gardened the day before like a mad woman. Yards were weed free. Herbs were artfully trimmed. Lawns were tripped with perfect alternating lines. Bark was refreshed. Even a inflatable 15 foot slippy slide was installed. I might have gotten a killer sunburn, but so worth it.

So, what happens after that BBQ? All that cleaning erased.

Grass and mud tracked indoors from little feet. Foreign toddlers knocked over every toy bin and shelf we had in the playroom. Same toddler also got in candy dish in living room and spread chocolate all over white carpets, furniture, and shelves. We are still finding chocolate hand prints on white woodwork in the dining room and the #$% white carpet is hopelessly stained. Good thing said toddler is related to me through blood.

The playroom, while definitely not perfect, took the kids hours to somewhat be able to walk on floors after toddler whirlwind. Let's not forget marshmallows melted on sides of our fireplace and chocolate ground into patio and thick layers of mud gracing the slippy slide. Sigh.

So, my house was a mess, but it was a fun mess. So fun, I was on an entertaining high and agreed to host another dinner party a little over a week later.

It was part of the deal that CG take the kids to a museum or something, so I could get my clean on, unencumbered by whines, on Saturday. Somehow that became interpreted as leave at 2:30 in the afternoon and bring tons of hiking/swimming gear (which would then have to be unpacked)and me help make them lunch to go to Denny Creek, only for them to come back 3 hours later.

Then, said husband made a messy meal of braised short ribs and deep fried corn fritters. Oil was splattered everywhere including most horrifically up his hand and on his eyelid. Good thing he blinked. Only the boys were spared a oil burn. In fact my typing finger and the cause of most typos on my right hand is still a little numb from a burn.

I had already decided this dinner party wasn't happening, but the oil splattered everywhere (it burned PB from across the room) was the final, last straw.

In fact, in those 3 hours to myself in say years, I actually spent the time cleaning my desk. It's amazing. I filled half of a 60 gallon recycling bin with the kids' school papers, mails, and junk that has cluttered my desk for years. I even used Clorox wipes and cleaned window sills. My half of the office is shockingly clean. So clean, I write from my desk today. Woo-hoo!

But, the rest of the house, meh!

So, CG called business associate and family visiting from California and suggested a nice little french bistro in Seattle instead. They haven't called back. I told him he could use our house/recovering from BBQ as an excuse. He says simply on the phone, "Our house is dirty."


So now I need to meet these people for an early dinner as a SAHM with a house dubbed as "dirty." I would have preferred wild, hard to believe hyperbole such as, "Our house is such a disaster since we are still recovering from a large bit of entertaining tsunamis last week." "Dirty," doesn't roll of the tongue.

And yet, I am happy for my clean desk.

Leslie wrote a great post that very perfectly sums up my technique. Without entertaining deadlines, playgroups, holiday dinners, my house would never get clean. Furthermore, when we entertain, we ENTERTAIN Martha Stewart style. Fresh flowers in sparkling crystal vases. Carved fruit baskets. Huge spreads of gourmet food. It was good to find a kindred spirit.

One of her rational, smart commenters mentioned it would always be a mess after the playgroup. So true, and yet, I worry moms will judge, and my OCD tendencies kick in on high. So not smart or rational and so glad I am not alone. Martha Stewarts on crack unite, my friends! No housecleaners, nannies, or gardeners here.

Friday, August 22, 2008

Ugh! I Smell Like a Boy

On Monday, after commenting on Moosh in Indy's blog on hair washing and realizing it had been 3.5 DAYS since I had washed my hair, I got my stank butt to the shower.

It wasn't until I was in there that I realized my razor was STILL packed in my toiletries bag from our trip over EIGHT days ago.

What's a grown woman to do? Get out of hot, steamy shower and drip over to the bag? OR just use my husband's razor conveniently in the shower?


Yes, I've been using that razor since we got back from Vancouver.

(Ummm...if you're reading this sweetheart and wonder why you've been getting getting all those cuts while shaving in the shower? Well now you know. He he he. Cue nervous laughter and sprinting stance as I am in now waiting for my husband to kill me.)

After dulling my husband's razor, I dry off only to realize that I ran out of girl deodorant like two days ago.

Ugh. Grimace. What's a girl to do?

Yep, she wears her husband's man smelly, wide deodorant which probably had pit hairs in it.

Nose wrinkle.

Yep, I smell like Gillette X3 Machfarking whatever. You might as well marinate me in Old Spice or Brill cream.

There were even balls in the deodorant. I know. I know. No surprise there. Men are always about their balls. But geez, I did not need blue ball exfoliant in my pits.

Although I spray girly Green Apple spray all over me, I still smell like a boy.

I can't escape the boy smell.

I guess that's what I get from using his razor, eh?

Comments Speak Volumes: Shock Collar 'R Us

Absolutely Bananas wrote a post today entitled "I'm Not Your Punching Bag" that I commented on. You can check it out here.

The gist was her little boy karate chopped her in Nordstroms.

I might have been overly sensitive in my comments. I think my words "immediate and severe consequences" were a bit misunderstood though.

Let me know what you think.

I still stick by CG's favorite words of wisdom to our sons: "Boys don't ever hit girls, not even with a flower."

Update: I guess I really got my feelings hurt that my comment was misunderstood and I was called a troll. Thanks to Bananas for dealing with the wild, drama-filled comments and letting me get my last thought down before she closed comments. Sorry fo' the drama. You rock Bananas. And, to you, my readers, thanks for your support. I kept reading and re-reading my comment saying how did it go so wrong. I think it was just Windy Douchehole strikes again moment.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Holy Crap

You know what is shocking to me?

I have a 12 year old son.

How did he grow up so fast?

Next year I will be a mother of a 13 year old. A teenager! Mother of a teenager! A lot of people start having babies around this age, right?

Life is crazy. Eldest was a surprise. We were young. He was unplanned. But never a mistake:

Happy 12th Birthday, Smarty Pants!

Now stop teasing your brother and sister or you won't make it to your 13th birthday, m'kay?

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

The Dog Couch

What? You don't have a dog couch?

This one has been reserved for dogs for the last six years. It is smelly. It is all theirs. I am especially happy because, now that they are elderly dogs, they sleep 90 percent of the day here.

And see that little one on the right? She has become incontinent. She leaves a little puddle wherever she sleeps. That's fine as long as it's on the dog couch.

It usually is because she goes where CG goes. Since he works from home in the office where the dog couch is placed, 95 percent on the time, she sleeps there. The couch is stinky, but contains the accidents.

See that big one on the left? Seb tends to lick "parts" and leave chocolate stains where he sleeps. Gross. Typical male.

Again, okay if he stays on gross dog couch.

Did I mention we went on vacation? I am finding dog butt stains all over my living room couches and dribble puddles by my dining room window. Multiple dribble puddles.

Gawd. Elderly dogs suck big donkey schlong some days.

At least I locked the bedrooms. Our last vacation we came back late at night to find our bed one big pee stain...as well as Li'l Man's bottom bunk.

Still love 'em though.

Note: Many apologies for the blurry pic. The little dribble dog? She hates having her picture taken and skulked off under CGs desk as soon as she saw the camera.

Supplying Crayons is the Death Knell of Summer: Normal or Greedy Teachers?

The Beast Mom commented on my post recently about school supplies being the death knell of summer.

She's soooo right. Buying school supplies is the harbinger of ill to long days of summer foolishness. The melancholy of knowing there are weeks left of sleeping in, slurping Popsicles, and staying up to the wee hours playing Wii.

At least for the children. Hehehe!

For us barely-holding-on with our broken fingernails moms, it is the ding-ding-ding signaling a good day of the stock market.

It is the, "gentleman or gentlewomens, start your engines" quality of knowing soon your mornings will be free of whining, balls bounced against walls, and kids sneaking up on you to scare the bejesus out of you and making you splash your coffee life's blood on the freshly mopped floors.

So, supplies are generally bought with a quiet glee on this Mom's part.

Our school offers a whole package pre-packed and shipped to the school at a cost of $40-80, depending on grade. At our old, poorer school in California they asked for a box of crayons, a folder, and a pencil box. Hmmm...

Our new school has us supply 20 glue sticks per child in 1st grade and a new set of oil pastels at $12 a box every year and at every grade. Even though they rarely use them and then, with a few thoughtful teachers exceptions, are never returned. Kleenex and gallon Ziploc bags a plenty. Bacterial gel and Clorox wipes to cover a third world country.

Let's not forget the exacting number of crayons and specific name brands specified. I spent weeks last year searching for the elusive TEN pack of Crayola crayons. Eight? yes. 24 for 10 cents on sale? yes. Ten? Not found anywhere.

The elementary school list is a excel worksheet. It goes on and on...

As a child of the 70's, I don't remember supplying anything for elementary school. Do you? Scissors, crayons, paper, and pencils were covered. I didn't even need a backpack because homework was never assigned. Just a trusty lunch box.

So, I always buy up our own and try to get to the supply sales. Besides, my kids prefer cooler folders and nicer pencil boxes than what are supplied in the package. Hannah Montana and cute puppies, anyone?

Alas, those 10 count crayons and 7 inch Pfiskars persist.

This year I thought I was triumphant.

Surprisingly, we even had supplies returned from PB's last class that we were able to recycle. Li'l Man, ont he other hand, received a box of crayons back through a class auction which I thought was weird since we the parents bought them. It was a $1 per lottery ticket to win those used crayons back. What was done with 20 pairs of blunt tipped scissors, pastels, etc.? Who knows!

I let it go and bought more with a sigh.

So, I was so finished, right?

Unfortunately, I continued to think of my daughter as a 3rd grader and bought for 3rd grade.


Turns out there's this little know fact that when you finish the 3rd grade, they move you to 4th grade.

Shocking, I know.

So we had to do it all over again and 3rd grade & 4th grade was a world of difference. No antibacterial wipes or gel, but lots of Ziploc products, binders, and damn if they moved to college-rule when I snapped up those wide rule notebooks for 10 cents. Arrrrgh!

So, I think we are okay.

PB and Li'l Man are covered until, what ho, a newsletter comes from middle school...with a list.

It seems in 6th grade, they used "Uniball-type" pens in black. In seventh grade, only "Roller-writer" in black AND blue will do.

We also need personal carrying cases for USB drives, the Washington State Road map (7th graders only), and a "pink" only eraser, as well as all the other standard supplies that cover an entire page in 10 point font, single space.

Just when you think it's safe to go out into the water, right?

So, my friends, is this a product of our lavish school district that thinks because it is an affluent neighborhood, they can choose their dream supplies? Or is this typical around the country?

I know all school districts are crunched, but is 20 glue sticks each at 22 kids, equaling 440 glue sticks a bit excessive?! 60 Costco sized Clorox wipe tubs for a year? Doesn't the janitor clean for god-sakes?

The tipper is I go to business days for my middle child. Yep, the one I need to go hither and buy supplies for when I thought I was done.

This came with the supplies list:

Lab Fee $5

Planner $7

Math Graph Book $2

PE Shirt $6

PE Shorts $9

ASB membership/Yearbook/Planner Package $50

Sports Fee $30

Intramural Sports Fee $15

PTSA Membership $20

Emergency Preparedness Kit $5 (Uhhh, what happened to last years?)

Pass The Hat Fundraiser $75 (HIGHLY RECOMMENDED AMOUNT)

School District Foundation $25-100

People that adds up to $249 if I go cheap on the foundation (not including those pesky supplies) for public school fees for one child and we haven't even gotten to the school pics station, PTSA magazines sales, and books required to buy once classes start.

Who knows how much elementary school fees will be, eh? Last year, it averaged $100 a kid and then there were the walkathons, gift wrap sales, etc. that helped pay for teacher/classroom grants of $600 a classroom.

...who knows how many field trip fees there will be like last year's $26 for a field trip to the local pumpkin patch.

Is this just me or are you getting frustrated at how much you pay in property taxes and school levies, just to whip out your checkbook again for all these fees that add up?

I just shake my head, whipped, because I have no time to spare.

There are still backpacks and school clothes to buy. Li'l Man has one pair of Crocs that fit. Eldest is beginning to hit puberty and I need to strategically buy pants that will fit his waist that will withstand growth spurts. He has a cousin who was 6'3" at age 13.

Ugh and we need new PE shoes.

Did I mention Eldest just turned 12?!

Panic, my friends. Sheer panic.

Kids and public school are expensive. I would expect paying $400 for two textbooks in the MBA program. Not for public school, right?

NFW: So You Had a Bad Day

CG sent me this Youtube video the other day. He said he thought it might be too racy for my blog. Ha! That was almost a challenge.

Anyway, I found great humor in it, being a teenager of the 90's and REM fan.

As I watched it, I decided it was a perfect Mommy with kids on summer vacation at the end of August anthem of what is going on in their head, but they dare not say it in front of the children. Either that or what the American Idols that were voted off were thinking instead of this sappy video:

So, you use your judgement and decide which you think is more appropriate for your bad days. Without further ado, here's the other video:

BTW: CG said I should label this NFW which is NOT FOR WORK, so anybody who is a wage slave who is reading blogs at work (tsk! tsk!) doesn't get fired for Cube pollution.

Hmmm... That would make for a bad day.

Mushy Bits

There have been many a times in my life when I've had baby lust. I enjoyed being pregnant mostly.

I admit I was not sad at all when Li'l Man came unexpectedly after CG's first vasectomy.

And I might have been a little sad when CG had his second. Briefly.

But my friends, with three kids, one going into full-day elementary school, I am cured.

Nope, wouldn't want anymore babies.

Babies are cute, but I no longer gush over them. I don't long for the smell of fresh baby neck.

And truly, I never want to experience the sensation of my womanly parts turning into a hot, mushy, mess for that last month of my pregnancy. No more vah-jay-jay stews for me.

And toddlers? BLeck! The mess. The emotional stress.

I do admit to something else though. I have mentioned before my struggle with my daughter not having sisters like I have. She won't have that support system. That womanly camaraderie of growing up in the same home.

So a couple weeks ago CG caught me looking at a million different windows open with adoption sites from India and from the Washington state foster page. I brushed it off casually as "just looking."

CG thought that it was messed up that I was window shopping for a little girl that would match the one we have. Looking for pretty olive skin, Hispanic, or bi-racial girls that were 5-8 years old.

I'm not sure if it was because I was looking over girls like American Girl dolls trying to get matchy-matchy fits with PB.

Or that I was scrolling through pages like the Christmas Sears dream catalog when I was a young girl, treating them like they were acquisitions and not flesh and blood.

I think neither was a case.

No, I read every girl's history carefully and all I could think was we have so much to give any one of these girls. My emotions were running high. I was looking for a girl that would fit into our family and no one would know she might not have been meant to be ours all along.

Yes, I was dreaming because I don't think CG wants more. Yes, I blew it off casually because I thought he would mock this dream.

But something keeps bringing back the thought that we have so much to give and there is a little girl out there that would be perfect for us and a perfect sister for PB. Not perfect. Just perfect for us.

I just have this feeling that someone is waiting for us.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

My Next Wife

CG kindly asked if I wanted a glass of water the other day. He suggested a "twist of lemon or lime or cucumber water or Torani syrup?" Yep, metrosexual. See my last post.

"What? What's that you say?" I called wickedly. "You want to get me a glass of Bailey's Irish Cream on ice? Yes, please."

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Yes, I'm sure his next wife won't be an alki:

To my credit, it was a hot summer night in this pic and CG's the one that made me a triple lemon drop so big I had to slurp it from the counter.

And, yes, he had an ulterior motive and was trying to get lucky.

And, no, he didn't succeed because a triple Lemon Drop was one shot too many and I fell asleep soon after dinner.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Who Knew!

"Aren't you proud of me today? I went to Williams-Sonoma and I didn't buy anything," he says triumphantly this last Sunday.


Anyone else out there have a metrosexual husband? He is proud of the fact he bought no new culinary implements, but lets his wife paint the outside of the house, power wash the patio, trim the trees and shrubs, and only mows the lawn once every blue moon. Guess who mows every week between those blue moons?

Yep, me.

He makes jokes that his next wife will have her wisdom teeth out already and no school loans to pay off. Well, sweetheart, my next husband will do yard work and be handy around the house instead of collect kitchen tools and do laundry because I yearn for traditional roles about now with my broken nails, sunburned back, and rough, dirt encrusted palms.

Who knew an Eagle Scout and Army Captain wouldn't do dirty work?!


Anyone else have fantasy of Mike Rowe?

Yeah. Me too. For now, I just look like Mike Rowe.


You Know You Have a Problem When...

Today was supposed to be the first day of pre-season swimming. I was not sad at all when I got the email it was cancelled for pool troubles. Yee ha! More time to catch up on Google Reader.

People I started out at 1000+ posts and I am down to 28. 28! I am a farking blog reading olympian. Give my butt a gold medal, beotch.

And that's not to say there weren't injuries on the way. Did you watch the olympic gymnastics where the girls would ice down after their events were over? What about softball and volleyball with those huge ice packs taped to their shoulders?

Yep, that was me. The burns from my overheated laptop were killing me as I scrolled and neglected my kids commented hour after hour. Yesterday, I shit you not, I put two re-usable gel ice packs on my thighs underneath my overheating laptop.

Geez! The pain we go through being bloggers. There's nothing I won't do for my sport.

You Know It's The End of Summer When...

You know it's the end of summer when your six year old comes running in the house from playing with the kids in the cul de sac. Dripping wet from the neighborhood "Water Wars," he has blood gushing from his knee to his ankle.

And my first reaction? After looking up from my laptop, I yelled for him to clean up the water he dripped on my clean hardwood floors from the front door to the kitchen.

What? What?

Heartless, I know.

Yep, proud moment. But hey, what's another scratched knee, stubbed toe, road-rashed elbow when it comes to summer fun playing on the street? Really. Plus, he wasn't crying. He was matter of fact.

So matter of fact he was that I told him to wipe up the floor with a paper towel and then wipe his knee up. My kids are nothing if not independent.

So independent that CG and I discovered this later:

He said, "Mommy, I was too lazy to get my own band aid so I used a paper towel and tape." Yes, I vaguely remember hearing tape being used.


More like lazy mommy. Yes, my friends, it's time for another Pin Up Mommy of the Year Award.

"My six year uses scotch tape to dress his own boo-boos."

On the bright side, he has a bright future in the medical profession, eh? Hastily improvised self-medicining just makes a mother proud.


Apathy, thy name is Motherhood at the end of summer vacation...

Sunday, August 17, 2008

I'm Blogging This!

Dearest husband,

These words above are tantamount to "I'm telling on you!" So, my friends, I am so telling on my husband!

So, after being very needy with making salmon on smoking planks tonight, and asking countless questions and needing me to check it for doneness, we sit down to eat.

This was dinner:

I mean the entirety of dinner. He was serving burnt salmon and iced water. No vegetables. No sides. Nothing. Not one other serving dish was on the table. If I hadn't reminded him, all he would have put on the fish was salt.

Then, when we call him on it, what does he do? He lies and says he had planned a "berry course" from the leftover berries I washed the other night from a BBQ we had.

Ummm.... Nice cover, except the berries were still in the frig.

Why can't he just once be honest?

Dude, you planned salmon only for dinner. The kids were thrilled:

Just fess up around and stop the lies. They suck more than just having salmon for dinner.

To add insult to injury he just cooked one fillet for five people--three of which are healthy eaters because of competitive swimming. What the ever living fuck?!

He comes by it honestly. His mother used to serve plain white rice and plain potstickers as a dinner. No veggies. White, beige, and bland. She once served 15-20 people an after graduation dinner of one pot of white rice and one bag of Costco potstickers. One scoop of rice and two potstickers each. Again, no veggies.

So CG? Chip off the old block. He's done this too many times before to count and every time he lies. Why?

It bothers me the most because I am a former vegetarian who grew up with a minimum of 2-3 different vegetable dishes at each meal. So no veggies? Ridiculous.

And one fillet?! It seemed like a scene from Mickey and the Magic Beanstalk where they slice up one bean into super thin slices to the starving roommates. The kids were starved. Li'l Man eyes my salmon because he had gulped down his salmon (the ENTIRETY of the meal) in less than 2 minutes.

So pissed. Just admit, sweetheart. Admit you need help. You had a million choices in the frig. You had salad bags pre-washed and made. You had rolls in the pantry. Just admit you planned nothing, but salmon and you think that's okay.

It's not! But I would prefer your honesty.


Your ever suffering wife Scouty

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