Tag Archives: That Man of Mine

They Coulda’ Been Great! May-June 2013

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Hi Mom, Chris, Nancy and the other 98% of my family (and a few of my best friends who aren’t on Facebook)! You know how you never check my blog anymore because I NEVER post anything anymore? And how I always say it’s because I’m so busy and that’s only 50% true because the other half of the reason is that so many of what would have once been great blog posts ended up as Facebook one-liners instead? Well this is for you. And also for me so I can still call myself a blogger.

For further explanation, click HERE.

Heeeere’s May and June!

May 1

8:20 a.m.

The twins are watching the Disney Channel and something regarding a hot air balloon race must be happening on TV…

Eleanor: That’s not true!

Me: What?

Eleanor: George said that when people go on a honeymoon they get into a balloon and float into space.

Me: Daddy and I went to Spain.

George: OR Greenland! You could go to Greenland.

Me: Well, that’s another option…

6:30 p.m.

Exactly who decided that “dinner” has to be a thing? If I could just have wine and cheese every night, I’d be so happy…

May 3

3:30 p.m.

I think I just replaced about 80% of the light bulbs in our house. It was getting very Little House on the Prairie around here… On the upside, I have now decided that I may survive an additional 3 weeks in a post apocalyptic world.

May 5

3:00 p.m.

Thankfully, it didn’t break. [Note: they were wearing helmets because they were riding bikes at the time – NOT for the horse.]

May 5

May 6

5:50 p.m.

This may be my favorite picture anyone has taken of me EVER. And yes I did notice that it’s not a close up. I’m 41 yo. Thank you Amanda!

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May 7

11:30 p.m.

I love it when a “regular guy” gets to be the hero. Just hanging out, eatin’ his McDonald’s and BAM! – suddenly he’s saving women being held captive in his neighbor’s house. LOVE IT.


May 9

7:25 a.m.

I think Eleanor has a Man Cold. Is that even possible?

5:15 p.m.

Oliver does this stuttering thing a lot, and every time he says, “because, because, because,” I want to sing, “because, BECAUSE! Because of the wonderful things he does!” But I don’t because (because, because, because, BECAUSE) none of my kids have seen The Wizard of Oz yet (scary flying monkeys) and my husband hates musicals. So no one would get it. And the dog would attack me because she can’t handle singing and dancing. YAY – life is fun! By the way, I’m drinking wine – CHEERS!

May 10

8:00 a.m.

George: Is it Mother’s Day on Sunday?

Me: YES! And Daddy is going to clean the whole house as my present!

Eleanor: [SNORT!]

I love my daughter.

May 12

11:00 a.m.

Because everyone should have a picture of her daughter on a stripper pole. HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

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12:50 p.m.

My friend Diane and I are getting Mother’s Day pedicures. Our color choices say a lot about our personalities…

pedicure with Diane

May 14

6:50 p.m.

Every night we have a variation of this conversation:

Oliver: Mom, can I have some ice cream?

Me: No honey – it’s a little early for dessert. We’ll do that in 15 minutes.

George: I’M SOOOOO HUNGRY for ice cream!

Me: There is no such thing as being “hungry” for ice cream – just “wanting” ice cream, and you can wait 15 minutes.

Eleanor: But that’s a LONG time.

George: I’m SOOOOO HUNGRY!

Oliver: Can I have some ice cream?

Me: If you are hungry, I’m happy to to whip up some vegetables. And THEN, after you eat them, you can have some ice cream. Or you can wait 15 minutes.

And every night they make the same decision.

May 18

11:35 a.m.

Apparently, there is no direction, explanation, or threat that will make Oliver understand that he may NOT point to people with gray or balding hair and say, “Look! An old man!” (or when applicable “An old woman!”)

This is a huge source of embarrassment for me lately and I have to be vigilant about who he interacts with when we are out in public.

Unfortunately, I sometimes lose him in a crowd. As we left Costco five minutes ago, I saw him chatting with someone “not young;” and when I caught up with him, he delightedly pointed and said, “Look mom! An old man!” The best part? It was an old woman.

Awesome.

May 20

3:00 p.m.

First dripping ice cream cone seems like an official start of summer.

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May 22

10:20 a.m.

If you are sitting in bumper to bumper traffic and Oh What a Night comes on the radio, do you sing along at the top of your lungs without any regard for what the other drivers think? Keep in mind that you get extra points for posting about it on FB…

11:05 a.m.

So first it was Oh What a Night. Then it was Glamorous Life and THEN it was You Are the Sun, You Are the Rain. And THAT is why I listen to the radio.

2:50 p.m.

Just drove down M street in G-town traffic ON PURPOSE so I could see what’s changed and what’s stayed the same (a lot and not much) and miss living in DC (’cause I’m a masochist like that).

5:40 p.m.

“Go get your underwear, and then we’re going home.” I just said that to one of my children. At the playground.

6:20 p.m.

I was so happy with my chin length haircut until it got humid. Now I just look like one of Marge Simpson’s sisters…

May 23

12:00 p.m.

So if you are me, and you’re in need of a totally humiliating experience, I highly recommend trying on skinny jeans. Trust me – it will NOT disappoint.

May 25

3:45 p.m.

Went shopping today and my kids BEGGED for Trix in the cereal aisle (because they’re “for kids” of course – the obsession with commercials continues…) Then at home, they BEGGED to try some since they’ve NEVER had it before. They HAD to see what that silly rabbit was going on about. Eleanor popped one in her mouth and then huffed, “they just taste like Fruit Loops.” Very disappointing moment. So young and so unimpressed. Sad to see my worldly daughter peak at the tender age of six.

May 26

7:45 p.m.

Anyone else get one of those sponsored posts about a pharmaceutical lawsuit including a drug called YAZ, and immediately think “looking from the window above, it’s like a story of love…” ?

 May 27

1:00 p.m.

70 degrees, overcast and a freezing-cold, just-opened-for-the-season pool. These two are in it to win it. George and I are conscientious objectors.

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2:50 p.m.

Me: Eleanor, you have the best eyelashes.

Eleanor: I do?

Me: Yes! They’re so long, and they actually curl.

Eleanor: Don’t all eyelashes curl?

Me: Mine don’t.

Eleanor: [looking at me] You’re right, they don’t…and they’re really short.

Me: Thanks.

Eleanor: Do you cut them?

There is such a thing as too much honesty…

eyelashes

May 29

9:30 a.m.

After catching an unwelcome glimpse upper arm skin “jiggle” a moment ago, it occurred to me that getting old is much like mountain climbing: as a general rule of thumb, it’s always best to not look down.

June 4

5:00 p.m.

I took Alice to the vet today and was informed that she is overweight. Then I ate an entire Toblerone in indignation on her behalf.

June 6

8:50 a.m.

This morning, George crawled into bed with me. We talked about this and that and suddenly, it was long past time to get up. I said to him, “okay buddy – we need to go get our day started.” So he hopped down, and in his odd little George patois, said, “that’s what what I gon’ do.” Then he purposefully walked out the door muttering, “gon’ go get my day started.” I wish I could start every day like that.

June 9

3:20 p.m.

So Justin Timberlake just came on the radio, and George says, “this is Alvin and the Chipmunks!” Did the Chipmunks do a JT cover? So out of touch with the rock scene…

June 12

9:30 a.m.

Guess we won’t be hauling that broken grill to the dump this summer…

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June 13

2:05 p.m.

Exactly when did I become the “go to” person for things people can’t find around here? They don’t even LOOK – they just ask, “where is my…?”

I swear if the dog could talk, she’d be all, “where is my bone? No, the RAWHIDE bone. No, not THAT rawhide bone – the one that’s half chewed. No, the one that’s HALF chewed – not the one that’s 3/4 chewed. I DID check my room [lie] – it isn’t there...”

Then I have to acknowledge that I did bring this upon myself by always knowing where everything is. Even the bones.

June 14

9:40 a.m.

Just found out that my 2012 Listen to Your Mother DC reading, “Stupid” was featured on Upworthy.com yesterday! This kind of thing NEVER happens to me – so I’m just a teeny tiny (!!) bit excited about that.


June 15

10:10 a.m.

So I no longer have to worry about losing Oliver at Target. Now when we get separated, he just has me paged.

4:30 p.m.

Post “pool” party

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June 16

10:25 a.m.

Father’s Day at our house means that Dad gets to sleep as long as he likes, get served breakfast in bed with presents, and then spend the day relaxing – which generally involves a nap or two. So basically, it’s like any other Sunday with breakfast in bed and presents.

2:55 p.m.

Just heard Chris say something to Eleanor in Spanish and then explain what it means. Which is weird since he likes to speak to me in Spanish when he doesn’t want the kids to know what he’s saying – like it’s our secret code language. Which is also weird since I don’t speak Spanish…

8:00 p.m.

Patchwork pants and a Sonny Bono mustache…the quintessential ’70s man. Thinking about that Dad of mine on Father’s Day. And now thinking about that dress my Mom is wearing and questioning WHY she did not save it for me!

Kate mom and dad 2

June 17

9:00 a.m.

Me: Eleanor, do you want a doughnut?

E: No thanks.

Me: Really?

E: Yeah…I’m just not wild about doughnuts lately.

To be filed under “When 6 year old girls sound like their 41 year old mothers.”

June 18

8:30 p.m.

Today, Oliver and George commemorated the last day of school by giving each other Sharpie mustaches five minutes before we left to meet the bus. Luckily I saw this early enough to erase most of the damage with turpentine. KIDDING about the turpentine (we didn’t have any).

June 20

4:50 p.m.

What is more fun than cleaning? (I know AS IF!) Trying to clean while your dog viciously attacks the vacuum cleaner. YAY PETS!

June 21

8:20 a.m.

At the dermatologist for a weird rash on my ankle. But I really just want to talk about wrinkles.

June 22

4:40 p.m.

“I’m almost 7.” Why the rush? You certainly won’t hear, “I’m almost 42,” from me next spring…

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June 23

2:50 p.m.

Switched Oliver from adapted soccer (which he loved) 20 minutes away to adapted basketball FIVE minutes away. How does he feel about this change? “Um, Mom…I think you’re fired.”

June 25

11:00 a.m.

You know when you take your family to one of those kids’ movie showings, and there is that one little boy who is SO LOUD and won’t stop talking and yelling out the “funny” lines he really likes, and you really don’t know if you can make it to the end of the movie without screaming SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP! …?

That would be George.

And we only just finished watching the previews.

June 26

8:30 p.m.

Chris: You always hide things!

Me: You mean put things away?

This explains so much about us…

June 27

4:10 p.m.

The vet put Alice on a pretty strict diet, and the weight has been melting off. Everyone keeps telling me how slim she looks. So I can now cross “feeling envious of my dog” off the bucket list…

June 28

8:00 a.m.

Alert to my neighbors: It is 8:00 a.m. and George is dressed and ready to start knocking on doors. Told him no way due to the early hour and the fact that WE DON’T knock on doors looking for play dates. So he’s just going outside to “check the weather.” Yeah right…

UPDATE: G just came in and I asked if anyone was outside. He said, “just a daddy was outside and he was NOT late for work.” Better sprint to the car this morning – or you may get caught in George’s web of questions and important information to impart.

4:20 p.m.

Of all of my friends, only Diane would (possibly) break her foot “doing a fan kick” while choreographing a routine for a pole dancing competition.

June 29

10:20 a.m.

Just made a New Year’s resolution (what? You don’t make these in June?) to go back to putting birthdays on my calendar. I can no longer rely on Facebook to remind me about birthdays, 1. because I don’t always remember to check for birthdays, and 2. because approximately 2% of my family members are on Facebook. Now I just need to develop a system for remembering if I remembered to wish people a happy birthday when I saw it on the calendar. Birthdays are complicated. Think Jehovah’s Witnesses may have the right idea about this one…

11:40 a.m.

For me, THIS is summer. Which may greatly contribute to the 10 lbs I usually gain by fall…

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June 30

10:00 a.m.

Swim instructor told me that when she said, “Hi Handsome!” to Oliver, he countered, “I’m not Handsome, I’m Crazy Pants.” I’d say more like “Crazy Handsome,” but Crazy Pants suits him well enough.

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They Coulda’ Been Great: 2012

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8/21/13

I know… A “They Coulda’ Been Great” post for ALL of 2012. ALLOFIT. Oh – there’s not that much of it – I was a sporadic poster that year.

I’ve had so much fun looking back at the silliness evidenced in my 2013 Facebook status updates, that I decided to stroll down memory lane in 2012 (totally worth it if you post funny stories about your kids). Anyway – I dumped it all in a Word doc and decided to post the whole damn thing here.

Yes – I posted it retroactively for December 31, 2012… But I have a thing for chronological order. If this is the first time you are seeing anything about this, my first “They Coulda’ Been Great” post was for January 2013. It explains everything. The impact of social media on blogging, writing, community… Whatever – I write some funny stuff on Facebook and then I post it all on my blog. It’s my new thing. Hope you enjoy it.

Here is 2012 (yes – all of it – allofit, even)!


February 3

7:05 p.m.

Look what just arrived! Thank you to Eleanor who took the picture and suggested a little lip gloss (though she neglected to mention a much needed push up bra…) Stephanie Dulli and I are now READY for those Listen to Your Mother DC auditions. Should we wear our new shirts? Oh – I think so…

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February 4

12:00 p.m.

Eleanor just held something out for me to see, saying, “George thinks this is a tooth.” And…George is right. Half right…as it is HALF a tooth. Must be one of Oliver’s baby teeth that they all played with and LOST before it could be placed under a pillow for the Tooth Fairy. Eleanor’s reaction to this revelation: Gingerly handed it to me, and wrinkling her nose in an excellent “Mom” impersonation said, “well…I don’t think we need it anymore.”


February 16

4:55 p.m.

So….holiday binge eating lasts roughly from Thanksgiving through Valentine’s Day, right? Or is it St. Patrick’s Day? I can never remember…


March 19

1:50 p.m.

Great pictures from the St. Patrick’s Day celebration at the Reston Town Center! But this one reminds me of what a disaster Eleanor was last night… She was beside herself about her face paint washing off in the tub. Cried (SOBBED) for an hour straight. By the end, I was ready to take a permanent marker to her face and call it a day!

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April 9

5:00 p.m.

Out of all of my annoyed demands that they just smile for the camera, already!…of course, this is the kind of picture I like best.

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April 17

4:40 p.m.

First of all! That is NOT our trash can! Second of all – we NEVER play in trash cans! Life in the suburbs…


April 18

2:15 p.m.

I just spent the last hour mesmerized by the Saturday Night Fever Glee. I think I like Disco a little too much…


April 19

7:40 p.m.

I was totally congratulating myself on FINALLY having kids old enough that I don’t have to supervise them when they wake up at the crack of dawn. Then today, I noticed that Oliver has been getting into the ice cream… So much for sleeping in.


April 21

10:05 a.m.

I’m getting really excited for my 40th birthday next week since it means I will be biologically TOO OLD for teenager-like acne breakouts. Right? Right?!?!

6:50 p.m.

Eleanor lost her first tooth! This is always the most awkward shot…trying to see a gap in the BOTTOM teeth…

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April 22

8:30 a.m.

This is Eleanor’s new Barbie. She’s a “horse doctor.” Like a female James Herriott…in satin hot pants.

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April 24

10:35 a.m.

Filed under things that happen when 5-year-olds in hospital gowns have to wait over 30 minutes for their doctor.

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11:15 a.m.

And in a shocking turn of events…We discovered that somewhere in the midst of all of the twins’ sick visits to the doctor, I forgot to schedule their 2011 well check. Mother of the year! Let’s celebrate with extra inoculations all around! I’m mortified…


April 29

4:20 p.m.

I have 3 children and the oldest just turned 7. How is it possible that today is FIRST day that I ever removed a splinter for one of them? Eleanor had one in her finger. Twenty minutes of wailing and running away from me – then a two-second removal with tweezers. With all of the screaming she did, I wonder if our neighbors thought I was removing her fingernail!


April 30

8:50 a.m.

Eleanor: Mama can I have some breakfast?

Me: Sure – what do you want?

Eleanor: I don’t know – what are the offers.

Let me check today’s circulars…


May 4

1:30 a.m.

A middle of the night thought: Is it still possible to invent a new emoticon? Or has every possible combination of symbols now been used?

Related: I hate emoticons.

Also: I now use ” :) ” regularly because I worry about people thinking I’m being serious when I’m kidding and assuming that I’m mad or just really bitchy.

Either way, I always feel like a sell out.

:)


May 5

12:45 p.m.

Know what’s awesome about my mother and mother in law? They come into my disorganized house with its layers of dust and grimy surfaces, and they don’t judge or pointedly scrub counters in front of me. The downside? No free cleaning services.


May 6

11:01 p.m.

I’m exhausted – and I can’t believe the show is over. Though I expect my friends will be thrilled to see my months of shameless self promotion come to an end… Anyway – I want to say thank you to our incandescent Director, Stephanie Dulli and our brave and beautiful Listen to Your Mother DC cast (listed below as “with” since even FB thinks my LTYM reign of terror needs to end and therefore refuses to let me tag more than a few people at a time…) Couldn’t include our first reader (and theme inspiration), Cindy Green since she has of yet to accept my friend request – humph! But seriously – I am in awe of these women and the stories they have to tell. It was an honor to share a stage with them.

11:40 p.m.

On last thing before I stagger off to bed, Stephanie’s husband Zach tweeted this picture of me at the podium during my reading. Is it me, or do I actually look like a giant Oscar award?

LTYM pic


May 7

2:45 p.m.

Eleanor is cracking me up! A relative gave her this paper doll fashion show thing, and after spending the morning coloring them all in, she’s now stationing the dolls around the house in their “homes.” One lives on the dining room table, one on the kitchen counter, one on a living room chair…

And now apparently, ALL the dolls are abuzz with news about a fashion show taking place in HERNDON. Every time I hear her gasp, “OH! You’re going to the fashion show in Herndon too?!” I die laughing. Then one of the dolls exclaimed, “Herndon? That’s really far for me – I’ll have to drive.” So I interjected, “really? Herndon is far for her?” To this Eleanor gave me a quizzical look and said, “well yes. She lives all the way at the refrigerator.”

Eleanor paper dolls

8:05 p.m.

Typical conversation pattern between Chris and me:

Chris: So Cathy Trocchia said she DID go to the show.

Me: Yes – she sent me a message. But I don’t know if Jamie Seifert made it.

Chris: No – Jamie didn’t go.

Me: Oh really? Why – did something come up?

Chris: [shrug – “why are you asking me insane questions” face] I don’t know.

Me: What do you mean, “I don’t know?”

Chris: [more “why the interrogation?” faces] I just don’t. WHY would I know that?

Me: Because you know that she didn’t come – which means either she or Cathy told you that she didn’t come or wasn’t going to be able to come. And women don’t just say “I’m not going” or “I didn’t go” – they give each other reasons. In my world, we tell each other “WHY” we do or don’t do things.

Chris: [“you are crazy” look]

The End

Editor’s note: This was a Mars/Venus anecdote about my incredulity over how Chris always reports “what” information and never “why.” Not about my friend Jamie who obviously had something come up yesterday. She is darling and always answers questions with WHY information, like a good female.


May 14

9:15 a.m.

So I just discovered a major perk to turning 40. I no longer agonize over what to call my mother in law’s friends in thank you notes. Paula or Mrs. Garlick? I’m freaking 40 years old – I think I can just go with Paula!

Now I’m looking forward to turning 50. Because THEN I will no longer feel required to write thank you notes.


May 17

8:00 p.m.

Typical almost-3:00 p.m. scene: I have to get to preschool pick up right now! But I can’t find my keys…where are they?…searching…searching…not in my purse…not in the kitchen…not on the bed…not in the bathroom…not in the refrigerator (yes – I’m checking everywhere)…where can they be?! Now I’m late! No more time to look…where is that spare key?…Excellent! Right where it should be. I’m not THAT late…just a few minutes. No one will even notice. Out the front door! Make sure it’s locked! Wait – what’s that? Oh. … The key.

Note to self: first place to look for my keys would be IN the front door.

Also? This happens frequently.


May 23

8:25 p.m.

I have been so much better about FB lately… But I’ve been offline for a few days due to THIS! Meet Alice – a 5 month old rescue puppy that Chris brought home while I was at Christy Wood’s wedding reception in NYC. Chris and Oliver picked her out and I have to admit – she’s perfect for our family. She doesn’t chew shoes – but keep an eye on your Hungry Hungry Hippos marbles….

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May 25

8:20 p.m.

I think I may be the dumbest person on the planet. Just today, I realized that some of the AMAZING photographers I see on Twitter and FB, are capturing those images of a crystal clear face amidst a blur of people, flowers, toys…what have you, using INSTAGRAM! Side note: I just started using Instagram!

8:28 p.m.

Also, remember when I wrote I’m Shy Every Day? WELL – today was the twins’ preschool graduation and all of the kids got up and said what they wanted to be when they grew up (George said sky diver and Eleanor said horse rider). But little miss “I’m shy every day” herself made my day/week/year when she faced the crowd and answered “Rock Star.” I almost cried – it was just that AWESOME.


May 27

7:35 p.m.

Am I a bad pet owner if I find his annoying? I am so tired… I would happily lie down on the floor if I thought I could get away with it. Now that it’s 7:30 p.m., I’m pretty sure that I missed the Sunday nap window. Yet Chris always manages to catch both (yes – there are two). And this dog…she mocks my fatigue with her spontaneous snoozing.

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June 2

5:00 p.m.

Eleanor: Mama – what should I draw?

Me: The sun.

Eleanor: And what?

Me: And….flowers growing.

Eleanor: OR! How about people sitting under mushrooms – GIANT mushrooms – because it’s so hot?

Why does she even ask me?


June 12

5:25 p.m.

Our boring, rainy day inside has just hit a new low. The twins are now taking turns whacking each other with a package of cookie dough (the old school roll kind).


July 8

10:55 a.m.

Between the kids and the puppy, I sometimes feel like my whole life smells like pee pee.

Unrelated: everything is always sticky.


July 9

8:10 p.m.

Me: Oliver – go downstairs and get your ice cream bowl.

Oliver: [coming back upstairs – without the bowl] Gross! Alice [the dog] was licking it!

Me: Are you serious? You have touched some of the most disgusting…YOU have touched AT LEAST five dead animals. Go get that bowl!

Epilogue: the dishwasher is running and the licked ice cream bowl is still downstairs.


July 13

4:45 p.m.

Favorite moment of the week: running down to the basement to get something and finding my tiny 5-year-old, George dancing his heart out to Just Dance II (which my kids call “Dance Party”). The song: It’s Raining Men.

5:00 p.m.

Actual conversation I just had with my five year old daughter:

[sound of kids playing a loud/rambunctious game involving stuffed animals.]

Eleanor: [enters the dining room looking very pouty and put out about something] Mommy, Oliver is only doing the other animals and he won’t do my hippo.

Me: [yelling into the other room] OLIVER! Do Eleanor’s hippo. Right now!

My life is weird.


July 14

11:45 a.m.

I love listening to Oliver’s chatter these days. The combination of his communication delays, fast growing vocabulary and exposure to television makes for many moments of hilarity.

Oliver: [telling me something about Cars 2] And then Professor Z told his fugs…

Me: Fugs?

Oliver: Yeah – fugs.

Me: What are fugs?

Oliver: [perplexed by my ignorance] They’re trouble making villains.


July 17

7:10 p.m.

When you open a bag of ramen noodles and little noodle shards fly everywhere.


July 18

11:10 a.m.

After watching many episodes of The Dog Whisperer, we’ve concluded that we really need to meet with a dog trainer to discuss Alice’s “issues.” So of course the kids keep referring to the guy coming on Saturday as “The Dog Whisperer.” Wonder how disappointed they’ll be when Cesar Millan doesn’t show up on our doorstep…


July 21

7:30 p.m.

Am I the only one who finds the FB default to “top stories” sort annoying? Who is deciding what is a top story? Is this some kind of Netflix-like, “based on your recent selections” thing? Just show me the most recent status updates so I’m not commenting on things that happened two days ago, okay? Or at least default to most recent because I’m FB-challenged and never remember to manually select that.

Guess I should check settings or something to see if I can change this.

Listed under “things I have in common with your parents.”


July 22

4:35 p.m.

My neighbor and I had a twinsies moment today when we both walked out wearing the same Target tank top. Same style – same color – probably the same size. Ah – suburbia… I would say it was all very Stepford wife – but you know…Target. Cathy – in our next life, let’s reenact that scene in something a bit more upmarket.


July 25

11:55 a.m.

So, fun drive to the twins’ first day of camp. Since parking would be feet away from check in, I went ahead and brought the dog. Halfway there, she jumped up next to me and I said, “PEE-YEW Alice. You smell like dog food.” Then George yelled, “Gross! Alice puked!” I looked back and sure enough – two huge piles – one on the back seat next to George and one of the floor. And then – THEN – she leaned over and puked on my leg.

Seriously. HOW do people live without pets.


August 1

2:30 p.m.

I had no idea that black and white hides wrinkles so well. I’ll never go back to color!

BW


August 9

8:45 p.m.

I see Oliver taking chalk down to the basement. And I ask “what are you doing with the chalk.” He says “I’m going to draw a picture,” as he scampers out of sight. Then I frantically yell after him, “on the chalkboard? ON THE CHALKBOARD?!”

It’s a legitimate question…


August 16

5:50 p.m.

So Alice is a total money pit… I feel like I’m at the vet with her weekly. Today’s reason: tail biting. Seriously? Here is a pic of her cone head. A dog rite of passage she’s not enjoying one little bit.

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August 22

8:00 p.m.

Eleanor REALLY doesn’t like the movie Spy Kids. Her (dramatic) review: “It’s like a kid horror movie…it’s really scary…and pretty cruel.” I remember seeing previews…and that was not my take…but I guess we’re all entitled to our opinions.


August 24

5:50 p.m.

The twins had afternoon camp this week, so Oliver had me all to himself. Since this NEVER happens (he’s always getting pushed aside with all of their grabby neediness), I thought I’d do something fun with him every day. We went to the farm, the zoo…miniature golf…a WATER PARK. But here’s the problem: I’m intrinsically not very fun. And I would never choose to do any of those things without the incentive of making my son happy. It was taxing…but boy does he look happy, right?

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August 31

9:30 a.m.

Woods walk feather

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September 5

6:55 p.m.

George: The inside of my body is very hot, right?

Me: Yes, it’s warm inside our bodies.

George: But the outside of our bodies is very COLD!

Me: No…not cold. The outside of our bodies would be cooler than the inside though.

George: OH! so only when it’s WINDY.

Me: …

[five minutes later]

George: [holds up an arm] Mom – I’m not skinny anymore!

Me: Well…you’re still pretty slim…

George: So just a little skinny.

Me: Just a little.

George: But Eleanor isn’t as skinny.

Me: She’s just a little skinny too.

George: Mom – do you know what your boobs are for?

Me: WHAT?!

George: Do you know what your…

Me: Yes – I heard you the first time. And I’m dying to know – what do YOU think they are for?

George: For breathing!

Of course.

This is George’s idea of pleasant dinner conversation. What did you discuss this evening?


September 13

3:00 p.m.

Just remembered something I meant to tell you yesterday… I was driving home from the store with the windows down since it was GORGEOUS outside. And as I’m driving 50 MPH down a fairly busy street something fell through the window and into my lap. My first thought was that it was an acorn since the local squirrels like to throw them down at people (why not cars?) But I wasn’t near any trees. So I then assumed it must have been some kind of debris blowing back off a truck that had just passed me. Either way – it had fallen right between my legs and rolled down, almost under me. I then had to reach, well…you know where, to try to retrieve this mystery object while keeping my eyes on the road. And as I brought it up in my cupped hand to take a look, I discovered that it was a GIANT BUMBLEBEE. So I screamed, threw it out the window and indulged in a moment of silent gratitude for not getting into an accident.

So how about you? How was your day?


September 19

9:05 p.m.

My son, Oliver is so weird…

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September 26

7:25 a.m.

An important reminder for my little girl who likes lunch notes and has so little confidence sometimes…

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7:50 a.m.

Are ladybugs lucky? And if so, does the luck increase with the number of spots? Let me know, because a ladybug with 20 spots is sitting on a kid-made vase on my bedside table. And I could really use some luck…

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October 7

2:55 p.m.

Group Effort

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October 24

9:15 p.m.

It’s the World Series and my poor husband is stuck watching it with ME. My level of interest is reflected by insights such as “that guy looks like Luke Wilson.” [Justin Verlander] I’ve also spotted players who remind me of Justin Timberlake and Antonio Banderas. Epilogue: I brought a book.


November 11

6:00 p.m.

Hierarchy

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November 7

10:25 a.m.

Post election morning banter at my house:

Me: George – get dressed. You have to wear pants to Kindergarten.

George: [slamming his tiny body into my legs for the 10th time in 10 seconds] I put my penis on you!

Me: Don’t put your penis on people. It’s not polite.

George: AND it’s no use.

Me: Usually.


November 13

5:20 p.m.

George: Mom – your self can control yourself, right?

Me: One would hope.


November 14

7:50 a.m.

Sometimes when I find myself battling the dog for bed space, I have to wonder how it came to this…


November 19

6:50 p.m.

Listening to Kung Fu Fighting, Car Wash, Fire, Flashlight… I have to say, that Pure Funk CD may have been my very best purchase of the ’90s


November 22

8:35 p.m.

Hand turkeys waving goodbye. See you next Thanksgiving!

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November 28

2:35 p.m.

What was life like before chocolate chips…? Leaner I think – but perhaps a bit soulless…


December 1

2:00 p.m.

Started a shopping list and had to stop when I suspected that I may currently be possessed by Buddy the Elf.

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December 2

11:50 p.m.

Is it just me – or do other people say “Pierce Brosnan” when they really mean “Bronson Pinchot”? Maybe it’s just me…


December 6

9:30 a.m.

Exciting morning! We were running late for the school bus – so I decided to drive the kids to school. George was ready first, so I told him to just get in the car. When the rest of us left the house several minutes later – he was nowhere to be found. Eleanor ran up to the bus stop to check and see if he was there (it’s happened before). Not there. Not in front of the house – not behind the house – not IN the house. Now I’m worried and drive the others (and the dog) up to the bus stop to look around there. Not there. Leave all in the locked car while I run back toward our house and call the school. They put me on hold to look for George and I continue to call his name, wondering if a neighbor could have thought he was left behind and taken him to school. Then a neighbor hears me and tells me that he GOT ON THE BUS (which must have been running late). Ran back to car to console crying siblings and drive them to school, where I stayed for a while to have a talk with Mr. George. Side note: this is about the 10th time I’ve spent more than 5 minutes running around my neighborhood calling frantically for one of my lost little boys. Epilogue: I am at Starbucks ordering coffee.


December 8

1:00 p.m.

George: Mom, remember a long, long time ago…we were demons.

Me: What?

George: No, I mean we were those guys from a long, long time ago and then we turned into Pilgrims.

Me: We did?

George: Yeah and then we turned into animals and then we turned into this place.

Me: What’s that?

George: Well, first we were in a tummy and then we got bigger and then we were two years old and then older and older and nine years old…

Me: So wait, first we were demons?

George: And you know what’s even badder than the devil?

Me: What?

George: DEMONS! Because they are huge.

I’m totally lost.


December 10

12:40 p.m.

Working on a database. Forgot how entertaining long lists of names can be. “Sarah Fawcett.” Subtle – but still cracks me up.


December 11

7:05 p.m.

I have now clocked enough hours in proximity of children’s shows on the TV that I can hear a character’s voice in an unknown cartoon and say, “hey that sounds like Quincy [Little Einsteins].” This is not the first time I’ve identified cartoon voice overs. If there was a game show for this I’d win big.


December 15

10:35 a.m.

It’s hard to not feel sad today… But I try to remind myself that everything is fine until it’s not. And when everything in your own life is fine, you have to go with it. Because when it’s not, you never really get fine back.

As much as my heart breaks for everyone who has ever lost a child, today I’m going to put all of my energy into making sure my own children who are so very HERE right now, know just how much they are loved. I’ll feel sad on my time – not theirs.


December 16

3:55 p.m.

Decided to take the dog out for a long walk. But only just now, one mile out did I remember letting Eleanor put makeup on me. Like an hour ago. And I should note that she’s not a light touch with the eye shadow…


December 17

6:05 p.m.

After a visit to the dentist…

Eleanor: Mom – look at my new toothbrush!

Me: Very nice. Why don’t you put it in the bathroom – we can get rid of your old one.

Eleanor: [back from the bathroom and showing me her old toothbrush] What should we do with it?

Me: Throw it out.

Eleanor: Gasp! Throw it out?? Why don’t we just sell it or something?

I don’t know…what do you guys think? Ebay or Craig’s List?

9:25 p.m.

By the way – if you have an Elf on the Shelf and hear the cynical observation: “he can’t be real – he has a TAG…like toys in the toy store.” Give your kids a conspiratorial look and say, “he’s in disguise. The tag is part of the whole ‘toy by day’ thing.” Makes your kids think they’re in on the subterfuge.


December 19

4:40 p.m.

Now THAT’S an old recipe!

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7:00 p.m.

George: Mom! Overblah in French means “bye!” Always fermember it!

Not sure how much of that is misunderstanding French or how much is misunderstanding English….

7:40 p.m.

Chris was explaining Hanukah to George, who is now talking about the big battle between the Cereals and the Macabeans.


December 21

3:40 p.m.

Yesterday, I discovered that my kids were wrapping random objects from our house as presents for their grandparents. As much as I know my mother would love her roll of silver wire ribbon from Michael’s…I had to shut that down before they got into the good china.


December 27

4:40 p.m.

PSA for future parents: As you are considering the number of children you hope to have in your family, figure in the number of shoes and coats you would like to have strewn across your floor at any given time. (Note to the ladies: include your husband’s coat and shoes in your calculations.)

Six Pack

9 Replies

Hi! My name is Alice and I’m (supposedly) five months old. I’m a rescue dog but I’m (mostly) house broken and only puke once a day. I can’t tell you why I puke every day, but man is it fun to see my owner, Kate freak out over it. Apparently this puke thing is gross. But I have no barometer for gross since I chew on pig ears (yes ACTUAL dried pig ears that are sold at Target in the pet section – isn’t that AWESOME?) I don’t chew shoes, but I strongly suggest that you hide your Hungry Hungry Hippos marbles when I’m around. When I’m not attacking my leash, I enjoy long walks in the woods, stalking the neighbors’ cat and whining at the door for no apparent reason.

So yeah – we have a dog. And up until a few months ago, I would never have expected that this would happen. Our house is not very big, we have three small children, my oldest son has numerous therapy appointments each week and I feel like I spend half my life in the car… But here we are. And it’s okay. Alice is actually a VERY good dog.

I took the twins to a wedding in NYC over the weekend and came home to this new family member. I received the following pictures on my drive home along with the announcement that we are now dog owners.

Chris and Oliver had plans to “look” at dogs, but immediate adoption was not something we discussed. In fact, we were talking about doing this in July when everyone was out of school and the noisiest day of the year (July 4th) was over. But Chris said that he knew Alice was the perfect dog for us. And I guess we couldn’t just put her on a two month hold.

Like everything else in my life, things didn’t happen exactly as I had planned. And as usual, it’s fine – maybe even better this way.

I haven’t owned a dog since the ’80s; and even then, we were terrible pet owners with inconsistent rules and training (hey – sounds a lot like my parenting!) So I’ve been relying heavily on Chris to tell me what I’m supposed to be doing with this animal. And I’m not that bad at it. I can make her sit and stay (most of the time), and when Chris isn’t around, she definitely knows I’m the boss in our house.

With Chris at work and Oliver at school most of the week, the twins and I have been with Alice the most. And they are just as clueless as I am. This is all new to them and I’ve discovered that they think ANYTHING is possible with dogs.

The other day in the car, I said “Alice is the PERFECT dog for our family.” And George agreed, “yes! We should buy her AGAIN!” I’m still not sure how he thinks that would work…

Then later in the day, when I was talking about the various treats that Chris has been putting in her food bowl, I told them “Alice ate an egg last night.” And Eleanor gasped, “Alice LAID AN EGG last night?!”

So they’re pretty much ready for anything.

I am too. And I’m taking it day by day. But mainly I’m happy. I love seeing Oliver playing with Alice. He’s the only one of kids brave enough to let her tackle him and gnaw on him with her giant puppy teeth. And Chris has never seemed so relaxed and content. Whether he’s wrestling with Alice or lying on the floor next to her – I swear, she just drains the stress and intensity right out of him.

Also, my house looks great since my mild OCD tendencies make it impossible for me to abide BOTH a dog and a dirty floor. And of course, I’m constantly scrubbing tables and counters to discourage Alice from jumping up to lick them. So that alone helps with my own stress and anxiety.

While the kids already more or less destroyed any sense of perfectionism that I may have harbored in the past, Alice is systematically locating all remaining shreds and grinding them into dust. Even those long walks on the wooded trails behind our house that should be fun for EVERYONE have included numerous bouts of complaining, crying and whining (OH the whining) – with Eleanor in the lead for most annoying participant (which is saying a lot since Alice starts tug of war battles for leash dominance every time I stop for more than two seconds).

Things truly peaked on Wednesday when Eleanor cried and refused to walk any further because her legs hurt. After several minutes of good parenting discussions about behavior and consequences, I gave in and told her to climb on my back. The minute her muddy shoes started staining my khaki pants, Alice lost her mind and lunged at us in an attempt to climb on top of me as well. As we turned the corner in a staggering whirlwind of wailing, yelling, barking, lunging and muddy shoes and paws, we narrowly missed tripping over a turtle that was almost as big as Alice. Perhaps you heard my scream? It was loud. It also stopped the madness and everyone WALKED home without further incident.

And what about Alice? How does she feel about her new home and family?

She seems happy. But I do wonder what she thinks about us – particularly from her own pack animal perspective. Here is my best guess:

Chris: Alpha who likes to play.

Kate: Alpha alternate who likes to take away all smells with spray bottles.

Oliver: Beta #1 who likes to play.

Eleanor: Beta #2 who DOES NOT like to play [Eleanor prefers Alice when she’s calm and not so “bitey”].

George: Beta #3 who likes to think he is Alpha.

So that’s our pack now. A family of five plus one. A pack of six. And as I sit here writing in my blog for the first time in weeks, with Oliver at school, Chris as work, the twins playing quietly and Alice snoozing next to my feet, I think that’s pretty perfect.

But feel free to get my opinion on this later when I’m picking up her poop in a plastic bag.

On Farting and Aging…

13 Replies

I think I’ve mentioned before that we don’t even bother with the cuter, less crude terms for passing gas in my house. Since I, personally never brought it up, my children first learned what this bodily function was called from my husband. And no amount of “call it ‘tooting’ please” admonishing has any effect on this state of affairs.

So I’d like to wish Chris a happy 38th birthday today by reporting two conversations I had with the twins in the car earlier on the subjects of farting and aging.

Discussion #1

Eleanor: I farted. Hee-hee.

Me: Sweetie say, “excuse me” or keep it to yourself.

Eleanor: Mommy, you don’t fart. Daddy says you never do.

Me: Everyone does. Some of us just keep it to ourselves.

Eleanor: I like farting.

Me: Yes, I’m aware of this.

George: I don’t like farting. It’s gross. [point of interest: this is a lie – he just likes to disagree with his sister]

Eleanor: Well I do. I don’t think it’s gross. I think it’s fun.

Me: Sorry honey, I’m with George. I think it’s gross. We can stop talking about it now…

Eleanor: You know Mommy, you’re not always right about everything.

Me: No – I’m not. I’m usually right about things. But in this situation there isn’t a right or wrong. Some people like it and some people don’t. It’s just a matter of preference. “Agree to disagree” and all that.

Eleanor: You and George don’t like it.

Me: Right. But you can like whatever you want. Don’t let other people tell you what you can and can’t like.

Eleanor: Okay. I like farting. And Daddy likes it. And so does Mr. Mike.

Me: That’s great honey. Looks like you’ve found your tribe.

Discussion #2 (transpiring immediately after Discussion #1)

Eleanor: How old is Daddy going to be?

Me: His birthday is today. He’s thirty-eight.

Eleanor: But what is he going to be?

Me: Well, he just turned thirty-eight, so a year from today, he’ll turn thirty-nine.

Eleanor: And what are you going to be.

Me: My birthday is next month, and I’m going to be thirty-nine.

Eleanor: So you’re thirty-nine?

Me: No, I’m thirty-eight now, and in a month I’ll be thirty-nine. Then a whole year from then, I’ll turn…

Eleanor: Thirty-eight!

Me: Exactly.

So now that we have all of that ironed out…

Happy birthday to my wonderful husband who is thirty-eight and still likes farting. Stay gold Ponyboy…stay gold….

Sorry Pixar – You Can’t Make this Cute.

17 Replies

It was a beautiful early autumn day in our suburban corner of the Northern Virginia woods. And instead of spending the afternoon at the playground with my children, I sat on our back deck sterilizing vacuum cleaners.

Now, I’ve always made an effort to keep my vacuum cleaners in good condition since I finally figured out that they don’t work if the hoses are clogged with debris. But I’ve never pulled out actual cleaning products for the task before.

This time? It was necessary.

Maybe I should back up a bit. Because there’s a string of events that brought me this state of affairs.

When I said that we live in the Northern Virginia woods, I wasn’t kidding. Our particular suburb was built with a mid-century aesthetic for merging community and nature. Before the ’80s bulldozers started clearing hundreds of thousands of acres to build shiny new developments dotted with far more conveniently placed saplings, tree hugging builders planned our neighborhoods with their miles of walking trails through towering trees.

Having grown up in the city, I never really cultivated an appreciation for the great outdoors. But my financially driven exile to the burbs has forced me to admit that I live in a super pretty place.

It takes me minutes to drive to great shopping and fine dining, but it only takes seconds to step into sun dappled paths under canopies of green or – depending on the season – gold. I walked off all of my baby weight after the twins were born, pushing our double stroller up and down the hills of those paths. And as I breathed in the fresh air of my early morning jaunts, I knew that I had taken just one more step away from being “a city person.”

So I do like it here. I’m not saying that I’d never move back into DC… But for now, this suits us. And the lovely surroundings play a significant role in that for me.

Unfortunately – living in the super pretty woods has its price. And that would be bugs.

When we lived in the city, we battled cockroaches and ants. But out here in the wild west of DC area insects, there are far more “critters” with which to contend. The mosquitoes are fierce, all breeds of beetles and water bugs find their way into our homes, and the ants are literally unstoppable. Even with all the exterminators, traps and sprays, they still make their seasonal appearance like clockwork (“Thank you ladies and gentlemen! We’ll be here all summer.”)

Bugs are old hat to me now. I kill them when I can and ignore them when I can’t. And I leave the spiders alone since I like to think they help my cause (which is making the flying things disappear).

As a quick aside, I have to admit that for all of my aversion to things that “skitter,” the garden variety house spider doesn’t bother me. I think this has something to do with Charlotte’s Web. Not that I expect them to call out a cheery “Salutations!” to me or to spin self affirming messages through webs or anything… But for me, the beloved children’s book character has given an otherwise scary little creature the semblance of gentle benevolence.

But back to the nasty bugs that plague my very existence…they’re driving me nuts. I know it’s just a warm weather thing, and that the cooling temperatures then further encourage them to emigrate from their outdoor homes into our better insulated ones. But nonetheless, it’s annoying.

This year has been different though. A new player has entered the scene. For the past week or two, I’ve noticed little gnat-like bugs that seem to appear whenever food and drink are present. There aren’t many of them, but even the few that flit about make me swat and swear at them like the mosquitoes that previously held their place of loathing in my heart.

I really hate them. They surprise me when I turn on the lights in the kitchen – sometimes in a creepy way that all too often makes me I feel like I’m wandering through a scene from True Blood or The Believers. Like if I decided to climb up into our crawl space I’d find a candle lit alter of chicken bones and human hair.

I told Chris that I didn’t think these little fruit fly-like things were normal, even for our woodsy location. But he seemed to find my rantings about feeling like I’m living in a third world village to be extreme – which made any stray ideas about exorcists or voodoo witch doctors seem a bit over the top.

He didn’t even think that an exterminator was necessary. Something about pouring bleach down the drains first…I don’t know. He said he thought we could fix it. Because, you know – we’re SO handy around the house.

So I let it go. And I battled the bugs on my own time in my own flailing way. But then I found the source.

That happened today. It was quite possibly one of the most horrifying things I’ve ever witnessed in my own home. And I once had three children potty training at the same time, so that’s saying a lot.

When Oliver arrived home from school today, the twins were still napping and I thought, GREAT – a rare opportunity to give my undivided attention to the oldest and currently “easiest” child. When his siblings are awake and whining, he often wanders off to do his own thing and there will be long stretches of time where I’m not entirely sure where he is. Sometimes he’s in another room destroying something or unrolling every roll of toilet paper in the house…but usually, he’s being a lamb and quietly playing with Thomas trains. So of course I was happy to have a little time to focus on him.

But when we sat down on the basement rug, I noticed some crumbs from someone’s granola bar and a number of ants surrounding them (nothing unusual – I did mention the ants didn’t I?) So I said, “ew, gross -let’s clean this up. I’ll get the vacuum.”

I actually have two vacuums, but one was in a storage space on that floor, so that’s the one I grabbed. Up until a few days before, that same vacuum had been sitting in the room adjacent to our kitchen on the first floor. I used it daily to clean the area around the kids’ table, but at some point I must have moved it downstairs.

Just like any other day, I unlocked the hose so I could snap on the brush attachment. But unlike any other day, the end of the hose was not the only thing to emerge. I stood there in open mouthed horror as I watched tiny bugs crawl, fly…SWARM out of my vacuum cleaner.

This is where my talent for dissociation comes in very handy. I’m awesome in emergency situations – I literally shut down all emotions. Sure, on the fringes I’m screaming and tearing my hair out in clumps, but you’d never know it. I stay calm, assess the situation and take practical measures to problem solve. In short, I psychologically flee, leaving my intellect to clean up the mess.

In this case, I was so repulsed that I did spit out a mantra of “ohmygodohmygodohmygod” as I dragged the vacuum cleaner outside. Because it was just that bad. If I thought the few mini flies buzzing around at all times flashed shades of bayou voodoo, the writhing infestation that had been hatching in my vacuum cleaner, IN MY HOUSE for who knows how long was like something straight out of The Omen.

Luckily, the bugs were small, so Oliver, distracted by TV couldn’t see what I was freaking out about outside the window. He only caught glimpses of me running in and out of the house with bottles of ammonia. He heard my shuddering gasps while I power sprayed the bag-less vacuum parts with the garden hose and saw all of the eggs clinging to the cylinder walls. There may have been tears – but I hid them from my unsuspecting boy.

Just to be on the safe side, I also disassembled the second vacuum and fumigated that one as well.

You may be wondering why I didn’t just throw away the first vacuum (which we will hereafter refer to as “the host“). And ten years ago, I absolutely would! But I’m older and poorer now, and I’ve tinkered enough with the damn machine to feel fairly confident in my total hive annihilation.

Where do we go from here? Chris thinks we should give it a few days and look into some over the counter (or whatever you call the non-professional stuff) products.

Where did they come from to begin with? I have NO idea. Maybe something flew in from outside and decided to nest in my vacuum cleaner. Maybe I vacuumed up something that was the source. Or maybe it was something completely unrelated to the beautiful nature in our backyard.

Sometimes you’re practical and drag your vacuum cleaner outside with a bottle of ammonia. And sometimes you look for far more sinister agents in the world. Sometimes you think that you have a freak infestation of indigenous bugs. And sometimes you know it’s something less random – something tied up with karma, fate, revenge…

In the end, my practicality wins out and I assume it’s just another “living in the woods” thing. But my years of TV and movie viewing has instilled just a little suspension of disbelief. In the light of day, I think I need to do a better job monitoring the tiny creatures that wander into my house. But now and again, a small superstitious part of me wonders if we just “got da bad juju…”

Ten Years Ago Today…

29 Replies

…I was getting my hair done and obsessing over clouds.

I was trying not to let a smudged nail ruin my day and wondering whether it was really necessary to eat one of the sandwiches that people kept pushing at me.

I was assuming that Chris’ father would make sure that he did not show up with the outrageous amount of hair product that he unwittingly applied to his head the night prior.

I was talking to friends, family, photographers, florists, banquet staff, people, people, peoplepeoplepeople who kept dropping by my suite to check in, say hello, hug, kiss, request, inform, instruct – all about details that left my memory minutes after they occurred.

I was putting on a white dress and feeling like a bit of a princess – in that make believe-is-this-really-happening? kind of way.

I was trying to summon vast quantities of bubbly enthusiasm that I had never managed to hold onto for more than two minutes in my entire life.

I was walking down a terrace aisle (under an only slightly cloudy sky) smiling at people who had known and loved me anywhere from a few years to my whole life.

And I was marrying the man with whom I would spend the next ten years.

Before getting married, we made many plans. Some happened and some didn’t. We talked about having children – just not so late and so many and all at once. We knew what kind of life we wanted and what kind of parents we wanted to be. And all in all, I think we’ve done pretty well.

People tell you marriage is hard work. But you never know exactly what that means until you’ve done it. And it’s only when you’ve made a dent (like ten years?) that you can look back and realize that life is hard and having someone to help you though it is what marriage is really about. Not beautiful wedding albums and vacuum sealed white gowns. Not vague memories of an event – but solid experience in learning how to share your life.

Lately, I’ve often found myself saying “I just want to be happy – I want a peaceful life.” How boring this would have sounded to me ten years ago. But at some point, you realize that you never have to worry about life being interesting. Sometimes it can be just a little too interesting… Having someone to help suffer through the bad and appreciate the good gives you a constant – a safe port. It can save you over and over again.

I consider myself to be very lucky to have that. To have someone like Chris to share my life. And we’ve now been together ten years.

Ten years, and I still love him. And I still ask myself questions like…

Why so many razors??


That’s the other thing that marriage is about – maintaining a good sense of humor and seizing every opportunity to use it at your partner’s expense. (For more of that kind of thing, click HERE.)

The Buzz Around the Baby Pool

12 Replies

This summer, I’ve been going to the community pool quite a bit during the week. And as I toss, swing and ferry small children who seem determined to pants me with kicking feet, I look around and experience this strange wave of everything in my life coming full circle.

I’m in my late thirties, and sometimes I still can’t believe it. I don’t think that my age is “old,” but it’s definitely older than I feel. And the increasingly laugh-lined face that looks back at me in the mirror each morning jars me with this obvious discrepancy. Only yesterday, I was looking at smooth teenage skin and lamenting imaginary cellulite on my thighs. I valued a tan over a clean bill of health from the dermatologist. Unwanted facial hair was for aging crones – not the likes of pink cheeked me.

I thought people over thirty were grownups…middle aged…parents, uncles, aunts…a far off future where so many things shouldn’t matter anymore. Because, they’re too old for that. Gross.

And now I’m here, in the heartland of not old, but not young anymore. In general, I really like my age and the humor, confidence and better priorities that I’ve picked up along the way. But getting older doesn’t necessarily translate into getting wiser, and anyone my age is susceptible to their fair share of heartbreak, disappointment and selfishness.

Within the past month I have sat by the pool and talked to two different friends about their husbands cheating on them – even leaving them for other women. What once shocked and disgusted me as a young girl has now become a possible reality for my contemporaries. Something people gossip about. What must the young lifeguards think when they overhear bits and pieces of these conversations… Him? Her? Eeew. Too old.

When you’re seventeen, you don’t want to think about older people that way. I very clearly remember being horrified by the idea of affairs – of people leaving their husband or wife for someone else. About the scandal of it all. From my perspective they really were too old for that kind of thing. They should have been more responsible, and their aging bodies just made the behavior seem all the more sordid and repulsive.

I spent the summers of my high school years lounging around pools where my friends were lifeguards. I never actually worked at a pool myself as I’m a mediocre swimmer at best, but I took full advantage of the visitation rights we all assumed. And during that time, I saw a lot of “old” people embarrassing themselves.

When you’re thirty eight, a nice thirty three year old unmarried man with all of his hair and a good job is a catch! When you’re seventeen, he’s just some old guy trying to flirt with you. Again – gross.

My husband has often remarked on his reluctance to hold overly long conversations with the long legged beauties who lifeguard at our pool. Even if it’s about swim lessons for our kids or their own college plans, there is something about this half-dressed contact with them that makes him feel like a dirty old man. Like he has no business even peripherally glancing in their direction, lest he actually notice how attractive they are. He has a daughter now and automatically thinks of her. What if it was a teenage Eleanor on display for the middle aged men at the pool. Someday it will be…

We’ve even had conversations about whether we think the lifeguards are aware of their varying effects on the pool parents or if they’re totally oblivious. Based on my own experience, I would guess that the girls know, and can tell the difference between friendly dads and leering lechers. But we both agree that the boys are probably clueless.

Chris swam competitively through college and did his fair share of lifeguarding. Looking back, he can remember a few incidents of what may have been slightly too friendly attentions from a mom or two, but not much beyond that. Maybe it wasn’t common. Or maybe it just didn’t register.

From what I’ve observed, the mommies around the baby pool are far less likely to notice the lifeguards. We’re too busy changing swim diapers and organizing snacks during breaks. And of course, teenage boys are so obviously “too young.” We may not be able to tell whether they’re seniors in high school or freshmen in college – but it’s all the same. Many (if not all) of us are old enough to have been of legal drinking age when they were born. And the much younger man relationship is far less typical and acceptable in current society than the much younger woman variety. For most of us, any physical attraction associated with these guys is a cringe worthy concept.

Well… With one exception. Because any woman from my neighborhood who read this would be thinking the same thing: um – what about Scott? [A pseudonym of course.] This young man has the community pool moms abuzz. Because yes – he is just that good looking.

It started with a few tentative remarks: “so did you see THAT guy?” But it’s escalated to joking comments about his days off: “Yeah – so disappointing news…Scott’s not here today. I mean really, what’s the point of even coming…”

I know – I know… It sounds silly. But he really is nostalgia inducing. He’s that super cute guy you knew in school who was also really nice. He has that same effortless confidence (and tattoos!). He’s tall with broad shoulders. He has black, shaggy surfer hair and a perfect tan. He’s what your grandma may have once called “a tall drink of water”, and what the cougars refer to as “almost legal.” It’s impossible not to notice him. And maybe even giggle a little at the ridiculously immature (and largely universal) reaction to his impromptu games of water Frisbee.

It really does make me laugh just thinking about it. And the first time I saw him, I couldn’t contain my guffaw of amusement. I was watching an actual cliche dive into our boring, suburban pool. The hot lifeguard indeed.

But just so you know, Scott is also a very nice boy who is great with my kids. From afar, “the hot lifeguard” is a two dimensional reminder of our own often forgotten youth. But up close in conversation, he’s just a good looking high school boy. Just as goofy. Just as ordinary. And yes – I think just as oblivious to the effect he has on the old(ER!) ladies. Or at least oblivious to the extent of it.

My husband, Chris finds the whole thing endlessly entertaining. It also holds a little nostalgia for him since he claims that he was once on the other side of the whistle. Of course that’s what he says. Even the other men in the neighborhood have noticed Scott, and when Chris casually commented, “that was once me,” my neighbor, Rich dryly retorted, “THAT was never you.”

Seriously! Grown people are having these conversations. This summer’s hot lifeguard is quickly gaining legendary status…we may be talking about him for years.

Because we’re all very affected by the young people around us. They remind us of who we were. And who we weren’t. In fact, I think those missed opportunities in life often hold more power over us than the accomplishments do. When you’re young, there is all of this time ahead. All of this possibility. Even if we’re not the best, brightest or prettiest – things could always change. Then we’re not young anymore and that ship has sailed.

At this point, I doubt many of us have serious regrets about not being the most popular person in our class or dating the super good looking, nice guy that Scott seems to be. But we might regret thinking we didn’t deserve it. Looking back, would I say that the most popular people were also the best looking people? Nope. Really, it all comes down to confidence. And I think we all have some regrets for not exhibiting more of it when we really should have.

When the subject of Scott first came up, my friends talked about how he reminded them of old boyfriends. Me? Not so much. I never dated anyone like that. Nor did I try. I “didn’t really care about looks” when I was a teenager. Which probably stemmed more from insecurity than well placed priorities. I’m sure that on some level I just assumed “that guy” was out of my league. Now I realize that this was far from true. When you’re in high school, a little confidence (and a loose moral or two) can go a long way.

So when we see the carefree lifeguards spending their summer in the sun without any plans past that evening’s keg party, we do feel a twinge of nostalgia for a time when anything was possible – even if we didn’t realize it.

Life isn’t so carefree anymore. Every day you hear another rumor circulating through your friends and acquaintances. This one lost his job. That one left her husband. Those two have been secret alcoholics for years… Ironically enough, it’s these stories that have endless possibilities.

It all makes me look back with bittersweet fondness for the girl that I used to be and the simple life I led. I really don’t have many regrets. Ultimately, those unnecessary insecurities allowed me a little more time to be innocent.

And I don’t regret the loss of that time in my life either. I’m ready to be older. To be a mother…a wife…a friend who listens and understands. Youth doesn’t corner the market on everything lovely. There really is beauty in aging gracefully – even if we do stumble now and again.

But it would be nice to send a little wisdom back in time. A message in a bottle to the shiny, new people we were once becoming. Mine would say:

Dear teenage Kate,

You have the rest of your life to not care about looks. Go flirt with the hot lifeguard.

Fondly,
Your older and slightly more jaded self

Youth really is wasted on the young…

Some Pictures From Our Getting To Be Not-So-Recent Vacation

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I always do that… Say I’m going to post pictures from a vacation and then forget. Well – I don’t forget, but time gets away from me. So a month later…

Here are some highlights of our trip to California and Arizona (new and improved with super-long air travel hell!)


























It was a good time – and I can’t complain too much about the travel part. My kids were pretty good (with the exception of one sleep deprived three year old’s melt down and a meanie up front using the F-word about it).

And now…a much shorter child-free weekend in NYC! I certainly have the life this summer. (Do you doubt it? Next photo installment: the ridiculously good looking lifeguard at our pool. It’s not a heat wave that’s making the suburban moms in my ‘hood swoon…)

Until I’ve Walked a Mile in His Shoe…

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My husband, Chris is finally coming to the realization that he’s not as handy around the house as he once made himself out to be. Every time something would go wrong with a small appliance or if a minor repair job materialized, he would scoff, “Oh I can do that – that’s simple to fix.”

But funny enough – those simple things never got fixed. Or more accurately, they stayed broken a long time until he finally admitted that he wasn’t going to get around to it and I should just call the plumber/repair man/contractor.

Sometimes he would attempt to fix something but lose steam after a trip to Home Depot to buy the necessary materials. My favorite example of this is “the rock.” A couple of years ago, he decided that we needed to fill the gaping hole that was starting to develop under our cement front steps. It began as somewhat of a crack that was there when we first bought the house in 2006, but after two years, it was getting noticeably wider. Apparently, this fell under the DIY label for Chris, and he said he would take care of it himself.

Knowing nothing about this kind of thing, I gave him my usual, “okay,” and promptly forgot about it altogether. A week or so later though, he came home with a big bag of cement claiming that he would get started on the project that very weekend. Unfortunately, it was rainy, so the bag of cement stayed out on our back deck. (You can see where I’m going with this…) And within a few short days it solidified into a completely unusable rock.

And of course, time passed and other priorities got in the way, and the bag of cement was largely ignored. But in Chris’ defense, it had become invisible as most of his unfinished projects (and dirty clothes on the floor and piles of papers on every surface and crumbs all over the kitchen counter…) are wont to do. So we lived with the solid bag of cement on our deck for a while.

One day I stubbed my toe on it though and went storming into the house to ask my husband what he planned to do with the boulder wrapped in paper that we had been pretending not to see for a year. He promised that he would remove it by the next trash day, but then the excuses started. It was really heavy and he’d need to borrow a dolly to transport it…he wasn’t sure if he could actually put it out with the trash since it was so heavy…he needed to find a dumpster where he could deposit it.

But after a while, I just couldn’t take it any longer (as I am wont to do) and decided that I would at the very least, get it off of my deck.

The first thing I did was try to drag it. But when I grabbed the end of the paper sack, it ripped right off. A fiber once strong enough to hold the amount of dry cement necessary to replace a significant portion of our front steps was now so degraded by the elements, that it hung as weightless as tissue paper in my outstretched hands.

For some reason this enraged me – the indisputable proof of the amount of time that bag sat around without anyone thinking to do something about it. And I became even more committed to my mission. I would get that rock off my property if it killed me.

Luckily, I didn’t have to die on principle. Instead I decided that the rectangular slab could probably be lifted end over end and slowly pseudo-rolled out the back gate. This process took some time, but I did it. And the rock was finally out of my life. Or at least, it was out of my line of sight. It now gathers moss in the grass outside our back fence.

This is just one tale in the epic story Chris’ attempts to be handy around the house. Some are minor, many are comical but few are ever seen through to completion. Which is why he has finally admitted that he is worthless when it comes to home projects. Whether it’s an issue of him not having the skill or not having the attention span – it’s just not worth it for him to bother trying. He’s always meant well, and they say that it’s the thought that counts…but after 10 years of unfinished projects, I beg to differ.

Which is why Chris recently enlisted the help of friend who moonlights as a contractor to replace our rotting back deck. And he had no problem acknowledging that he would be nothing more than a manual labor assistant performing simple tasks as instructed.

Unfortunately, in the process of one of the MOST simple tasks, unloading the lumber, Chris was injured. We’re not sure whether the wood was loaded incorrectly or if it just shifted during transport, but when they opened the back gate of the truck, it all came sliding out and landed directly on Chris’ foot.

Several hours, one ambulance ride, a few x-rays and 11 stitches later, we left the hospital and picked up a much needed prescription for pain killers. Chris would have to be on crutches for at least two weeks and while his foot wasn’t broken, it would take a long time for it to recover from that trauma.

OF COURSE, this all happened two weeks before a large annual conference that he personally runs. And when it came time to pack his bag, I found a great opportunity to crucify him for YEARS of DIY hubris. It occurred to me that he really didn’t need to bring any of his left shoes since his foot was far too swollen for anything sturdier than a tube sock. And I had a good long laugh about how he could pack twice as much footwear, conjured up images of a hopping Lowly Worm from the Richard Scarry books and made up shoe-related conversations we could have about his suitcase:

Kate: Are you sure your bag isn’t too heavy? Your shoes will add a lot of weight…

Chris: No – it should be fine. I’m going to wear my cowboy boot on the plane.

Now I realize that there are plenty of people out there without one of their feet who don’t wear a prosthesis and only require one shoe… But if I was going to be all PC about it, then I wouldn’t have the fun of rolling around on the floor laughing at his expense. And I’m kidding about rolling around on the floor of course. It was on the bed, as I don’t vacuum as often as I should.

I know I sound somewhat mean spirited, but you have to realize that I have rarely given him a hard time about anything like this. In fact, when we were in the emergency room, the doctor stitching up his foot alluded to the many times he “got in trouble” for attempting home projects instead of hiring someone who knew what they were doing. And it was like a lightning bolt hit me. I never even realized that was an option. I could actually be annoyed with him for being stupid. Amazing!

So if a little derision over his one shoe status is all he has had to put up with from me…well I think that’s fair enough. And I couldn’t seriously be mad about his refusal to give it up already all these years. Being the “man of the house,” is an iconic role that runs deep in the male half of the species. There is a good amount of pride tied up in protecting and providing for your family. And even if it ultimately mystifies me – I have to respect his daily struggle to live up to his own overly high expectations. I’ve always tried to see things from the other person’s point of view – so why would I deny that courtesy to my own husband? I figure it’s only fair to put myself in his shoe (omission of the “s” absolutely intentional) on this one.

The good news is that I don’t think we’ll be seeing many do it yourself construction projects in our future. We try to be glass half full people. To look for the silver lining and to learn from our mistakes. And as far as I’m concerned, the lesson here was loud and clear: people who wear flip flops while unloading lumber should hire professionals.

Studies Show that Excessive Viewing of My Little Pony Videos Can Cause Brain Bleeds in Overindulgent Parents

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Remember when people used to joke about getting stoned and watching the Teletubbies? Well, I’ve never actually seen the Teletubbies since they were a bit before my time – but I think that people who are drunk should check out some My Little Pony episodes.


Because anyone who attempts this while sober may lose their mind and require immediate hospitalization. And heavy doses of anti-hallucinogenic drugs.

My Little Pony screenings should really be included in accepted U.S. torture techniques. I would take five days of sensory deprivation over five hours of the ponies. (Okay – so that’s not really true, but you get my point.)

You may not be familiar with My Little Pony due to a lack of daughters or the great fortune of giving birth to them prior to this particularly odious phenomenon. If that is the case, I would ask you to imagine everything that has ever been annoying about girls. Then add a purple and pink color scheme, cloying lesson-based story arcs, squealing, giggling, slumber parties, dance contests, fashion shows, make overs and a dash of glitter. All with tinkling chimes for every scene change. Oh yeah – and ponies.

I was first introduced to My Little Pony movies when my daughter, Eleanor received one of the ponies for Christmas last year (not from me) and it came with a little “Meet the Ponies” DVD. It’s been almost a year, and we only JUST started watching this thing.

You see, unfortunately for Eleanor, our house is outfitted for boys. She’s simply outnumbered – Thomas Trains and Matchbox Cars prevail.

Sure we have plenty of the gender neutral Disney and Nick Jr. DVDs – but if we ever err on the side of “boy” or “girl” toys, Barbie eats G.I. Joe’s dust.

Until the ponies… Eleanore LOVES those damn ponies.

The first time she watched a My Little Pony episode, it was late at night and she was up with some kind of ailment (I think it was the night she burned one of her hands). In attempt to distract her from her discomfort, Chris looked for something girly for her to watch – something that she typically misses out on in this house of boys.

So he turned on My Little Pony. And she didn’t blink for the entire 45 minutes. She was rapt. It was like the mother ship was calling her home.

And now we live in fear of those dreaded words: “I want ponies.” Because she’s brainwashed her twin brother into thinking that he likes it too. George asks for ponies almost as much as Eleanor does. As you can imagine this thrills Chris to no end.

But back to getting drunk and watching My Little Pony… I have to admit – it is kind of hilarious.

The very first one I ever saw had me in total hysterics (and I wasn’t even drunk). That particular episode opened with a pony rock concert. Complete with screaming groupies and a hunky front man. It was quite possibly the most bizarre thing I’ve ever encountered. I couldn’t stop laughing. Eleanor was very serious about her pony enjoyment and gave me sidelong looks of disdain.

Lucky you! I found the clip:

Really my biggest question here is “who set up the mics?” The absence of opposable thumbs presents far too much suspension of disbelief for my liking…

Then the other day, we caught this little gem. A pony love story with bad advice from both the girl ponies and the boy ponies (very Summer Lovin’ in spirit):

But if you can’t stomach the undiluted syrupy sweetness, here is a version that anyone can enjoy:

Hey – even Pink likes ponies…