TheMommyBlog

Sunday, July 31, 2005 Me, Me, Me

It all began with coffee and smiles, and ended with Jenny spilling her wine down my back. God, I love her.

More later—off to take the kids to see Thomas the Train! Dylan is five tomorrow! Woot!

Friday, July 29, 2005 Me, Me, Me

Oh what do you do when you’ve too much to do
Too much to do
Too much to do?
Oh what do you do when you’ve too much to do
And not a motivated bone in your body?

You go out in the garden and start snapping away
Snapping away
Snapping away!
You go out in the garden and start snapping away
And try out your cool new printer!

Thursday, July 28, 2005 Me, Me, Me

From:  Mindy
Subject: ugh
Date: July 29, 2005 12:42:38 AM PDT
To:  Mindy’s Mom

Just re-read what I sent. What crap. Not only did I get the facts wrong, but it sounds like it’s being read off index cards. I’m redoing it with a bit more voice.

Thursday, July 28, 2005 Fun with IM

This was from a few days ago… and the funny thing is, I didn’t even know for sure who I was talking to in the dream.

themommyblog: just woke up from a bizarre dream
themommyblog: i was trying to IM you
themommyblog:: but the keyboard letters were all in a jumble in a box
themommyblog: and I couldn’t find them fast enough to make sense
themommyblog: and as you were waiting I was sure you would walk away thinking I wasn’t going to answer
themommyblog: so I started picking up letters at random to let you know I was still there
themommyblog: didn’t make any sense, but hey
themommyblog: and then I was reduced to scrawling letters on one of those magnetic doodle boards
themommyblog: but something about the IM technology wouldn’t read them
themommyblog: had to be an electronic signal, not shapes written in iron filament
themommyblog: doesn’t take an analyst to interpret that one
themommyblog: (though I think my friends can read a magnadoodle if pressed)

Thursday, July 28, 2005 Me, Me, Me

Don, I completely respect your comment and views on this. I admit that I often listen to her in the car. For the most part, she does hand out common sense advice, has a firm grip on how people think and react, and can project possible paths (except maybe when she suggested just last week that an open marriage arrangement might lead to an interest in children and congress with furry animals. Open Marriage: the Gateway Drug to Criminal Sexual Deviancy and Sociopathy!).

She is tough but fair with many of her callers. I want to slap most of them myself and cringe when I hear some of their questions. Having said that, she is over the top in my opinion on a few issues such as dating after divorce (not until the kids are eighteen) because she doesn’t allow any room for those who might do it responsibly, i.e., no introducing the kids to the boyfriend right away, and not AS the boyfriend until marriage is imminent, and no cohabitating without marriage. I can go with that, and in fact am. I also have issues with her stance on homosexuality, and have heard her refer callers to an organization that cures deviant sexual orientation through therapy and prayer. So, while those aren’t quotes from the book, they are two specific examples.

As for the book, I will say that I did not read more than twenty or thirty pages of it, and none of it recently, but what I remember was an exhortation to treat the husband as the man of the house and someone to be bedded, fed, respected, and cleaned for as a way of getting the love and respect you yourself want.

I may have it wrong. It may work in some marriages; my bet is that it works in those that weren’t too far gone to begin with. When you want to throw lawn tools and can’t stomach the thought of actual naked congress with your husband, it’s probably not a winning strategy.

There is a core to her message: if you want to save your marriage and if you want your husband to be glad he’s married to you, here are some things you can do instead of whining about it. You aren’t getting anywhere with your current strategy? Do this. It’s at least something to try before throwing in the towel.

Having said that, it is not a formula that can be applied to all marriages. Virtually every man with whom I’ve discussed this book says something along the lines of, “Guys are simple creatures. All we want is to be loved, cared for, respected, and bedded. Simple. If we get that, we’ll treat our wives like queens.”

Well, campers, I have experimented with that recipe, and it went entirely unnoticed. Maybe we were too far gone, maybe I didn’t execute it flawlessly (“Here’s your duck l’orange, Stupid”), maybe it wasn’t a good recipe. I don’t know.

But I DO know that this book wielded clumsily and self-righteously by indignant spouses can do more harm than good to the ol’ Goodwill Bank Account. Thanks, Don, for pointing out that we need to be more specific and to offer more substantive arguments. Those are my very favorite kind, and I welcome and make room for any dissenting opinion expressed with grace and respect and a firm grounding in the material.

I’ll be waiting here with my coffee and a smile on my face for that person.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005 Me, Me, Me

Mom with the therapy, and Dad with the funny. My parents, godluvem.

The husband had just finished reading the book, ‘MAN OF THE HOUSE’. He stormed into the kitchen and walked directly up to his wife.

Pointing a finger in her face, he said, “From now on, I want you to know that I am the man of this house, and my word is law! I want you to prepare me a gourmet meal tonight, and when I’m finished eating my meal, I expect a sumptuous dessert afterward. Then, after dinner, you are going to draw me my bath so I can relax. And when I’m finished with my bath, guess who’s going to dress me and comb my hair?”

His wife replied, “The f———funeral director would be my guess!”

Which reminds me, I found a Dr. Laura book my ex left behind. Any takers?

Tuesday, July 26, 2005 Me, Me, Me

*Moves new printer box off kitchen chair in front of laptop*

*Decides that children are creating an acceptable level of mayhem—twirling each other in the swings is ok; smacking each other in the head with each turn is not*

*Turns off “Daddy Day Care,” the DVD chosen by all three kids as the Tuesday night TV dinner and movie feature*

*Clears TV dinner trays off table and picked up soda cans and other debris*

*Puts away table and chairs (why does it always look like a bar fight after they leave the table?)*

*Finds wine glass, notices it is empty, too tired to get up again*

*Waits for peed-on sheets to wash and dry before making up huge, CA king bed all by my lonesome*

*Checks on state of street and curbside where degenerate in glass-packed car threw a quart-sized beer bottle on the street in front of my house—remembers being out there in my boxers and tank at ten, sweeping up all the big pieces and hoping I got most of the small—in the hopes of staving off any trips to the ER with foolishly barefoot children*

Simply put, I just can’t do this on my own. I’m wiped. What was I thinking?

Monday, July 25, 2005 Family

Me: “So, Logan, what did you do at camp today?”
Logan: “Um, I made a bridge in Science… I made a tower in Science… I made science in Science…”
Me: “OK, smart boy, I get it. Hey, I thought you said you were going to write your name on a grain of rice this week.”
Logan: ‘Yeah, they said we were going to do that today, but now I don’t know when.”
Me: “Do you think maybe they were pulling your leg?”
Logan: “No, Mom, we’re really going to do it.”
Me: “I can’t imagine what you would use to do it. I didn’t see a microscope and scrimshaw tools there.”
Logan: “We could do it with a pen. S’easy.”
Me: “A pen.”
Logan: “Yes.”
Me: “Just any old pen.”
Logan: “Of course.”
Me: “Any pen you use will have a tip bigger than the grain of rice. You can’t really use a regular pen for this.”
Logan: “Come on, Mom. Be scientific. You just write really small.”
Me: “I bet you come home on Friday with a piece of paper that says,‘My name on a grain of rice.’ That’s how I’d do it.”

After a moment there was a lot of laughing from the back seat. I think I just served up a perfect cut-up routine for the teacher.

Monday, July 25, 2005 Me, Me, Me

Hi everyone! I keep forgetting that not all of you have been hanging out here for two years and may not be familiar the Blue Mommy skin! (That’s the one that comes up as default if you have not set your cookies to one of the others.)

Joelle at Blog Moxie created that design for me two years ago, back in the Stone Age, and I still love it—I wear glasses just like hers. Before that I made my own templates, and, well, let’s just say that I write better than I code. Since then, the Moxie girls have created the fabulous Santa and Martini skins as well.

Ok, need a little help here. I have been planning to launch a new site, one that will be better organized and have more content and can expand as my writing/reviewing/shilling empire expands. The idea was to come up with a whole new look and brand, but so many of you have written to say they like/are surprised by the “new” design that I’ve decided to put the question to YOU: Do I stick with the mommy with the fingers in her ears (to help her go potty, according to Coffe Diva’s daugher)? Or do I go for some new, retro, motherhood-with-a-side-of-mayhem theme?

Sunday, July 24, 2005 Family

Man. Toys are a bitch to keep up. And not exactly worth it, judging from the amount of quality time each child spends with each toy.

I announced today that we were going to go through all of the (now-famous) toy baskets and sort everything into its proper place, AND we were going to put things we no longer played with in a box for other boys and girls who might like to have them.

As I dumped out twenty thousand bits and pieces and lined up the baskets (cleverly labeled: dinosaurs, balls, blocks, big legos, small legos, two for animals—this time I overruled dividing them into land creatures and sea creatures because Logan keeps asking me to rule on such things as, “What if they are amphibious land dwellers?” or “What if they lay eggs in the sand but swim the rest of the time?”—food, music, cars & action figures, Daphne’s special stuff, and dolls.

And—you are TOTALLY not going to believe this—they were IN LOVE with each and every toy we handled. “I would play with this if it were in the tub!” “I would have been playing with this if I could find it.” “But that might be useful!” “How?” “I dunno.” Right. *toss*

Anyway, the toy baskets are all orderly and clean. There is just one basket of things we don’t know what to do with. Next project: the stuffed animal horde.

P.S. If you didn’t know me, you’d think I’d murdered my children and that they had chocolate for blood.

Sunday, July 24, 2005 Me, Me, Me

That is the title of today’s Pittsburgh Post-Gazette’s Opinion column, in which some of my favorite blogger pals and I are featured!

Consumed by the minutiae of child-raising, young parents can suffer from isolation. Cooper Munroe, mother of four kids, prescribes frequent Web logging.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I didn’t get enough sleep and the kids are murdering each other, but hey, how bad can it get? I mean, after it passes 100 degrees?

Saturday, July 23, 2005 Family

Dylan is hidden beneath the slipcover of my desk chair right now, muttering, “Oh, this is going to be classic… mega-cool classic.”

Friday, July 22, 2005 Family

We had special plans to watch Dragon World tonight, so special that we swung by dad’s house to get the DVD. Can anyone guess where the DVD is now? Anyone? Anyone? Neither can we.

We turned the house upside down looking for it, which gave me oodles of opportunities to make such declarations as, “This is a perfect reason to put things in one place when you get home.” “I’ll bet you ten cookies that if your toys weren’t all over the place, you’d find that thing in five seconds.” “Gah! Look at this! What am I? Your maid?” (“Your not just our maid…”) “You are going to have to start pulling your own weight around here if you expect to receive an allowance, buster.” “Have you looked in your backpack?”

That last one got Logan’s attention. He returned with a beanie bear that looked like it had been dragged through a sewer. “Let me clean that, drop it in the sink, thank you.” He went back to looking, and I heard him call from his room, “Mom, why would there be play dough in my backpack?” I called back, “I don’t know, why wouldn’t there be? Why is that unusual?”

He brought me the play dough and handed it to me with a quizzical look. “Aaugh! That is NOT play dough! Go wash your hands! And give me that backpack! No! Don’t! I’ll get it!” “What, Mom? What is it?”

“My guess is that it’s a peach your dad packed for you about a month ago.”

Friday, July 22, 2005 Me, Me, Me

I was just sitting here, eating delivery pizza and pondering whether I wanted to pick up the toys first or strip Dylan’s bed, when the doorbell rang. (I’m wearing my pj boxers and a tank top. So what. That’s what you get when you knock on my door after six.)

It was the fire chief’s daughter from down the street, the children’s FAVORITE babysitter, holding a foil-wrapped plate. “I made some cookies because I was bored, and thought you might like some. They’re chocolate chip and snicker doodles, but I’m not sure if that’s what you like.” “Are you kidding?” I gushed, “They’re everyone’s favorites!” (And I forgive you for not returning my calls the last two times I offered a lucrative gig.)

*sigh*

Friday, July 22, 2005 Family

Whatever.

W

.

I am in a funky mood today, even though the sun is shining, my kids have been really good, and the house is clean and totally ant free at the moment.

I think I’m just missing a layer of skin. Little things that shouldn’t bother me do. For a moment, anyway. But it’s still irrational.

Plus? There’s no FUNNY. How does anyone get through the day without the FUNNY?

Daphne has the funny, though. She was just admiring the sunflowers Mr. X brought earlier (after I scared him with my irrational alter ego), and asked where he got them. I said I didn’t know because it was a surprise. She asked, “Did he come up and scare you and you went GASP??” Her hands flew to her mouth, eyes wide open. “And then he gave them to you?” Heee. So that made me laugh.

Well, that and Logan deadpanning in the car this morning, “I just had this great idea for a Rube Goldberg machine.”