Thursday, August 30, 2007
Despite my moaning last week about everyone forcing my kids into potty training, and despite me, progress has been made.
Last night they had stripped bare for their bath when Toddler J suddenly got a panicked look on his face and ran into the bathroom yelling “Mommy, I go potty!”
This is new.
So we ran in, got him settled and his brother (and twin, also nude) settled on the floor and started “reading” a book to him. I tried to be very low-key, and said I’d be nearby if they needed me.
About 10 minutes later, Toddler J yells ‘Mommy, I did it!”. I go in and find both of them, heads touching as they gazed in wonder into the toilet. He did, in fact, do it, and rather splendidly.
Lots of singing, dancing and high-fiving ensued. Brother E ran to the back door, threw it open and in all his naked glory shouted to the world (and Daddy, who was cutting the grass) “J pooped in the potty! He did it! He is a big boy!”
The rejoicing continued as we left a message for my parents. J, the pooper, very seriously said “I pooped in the potty. I big boy.” Then his brother and self-appointed cheerleader E got on and repeated his triumphant announcements about J’s success.
At least E isn’t letting the peer pressure bring him down.
I admit, I went to bed last night gloating, thinking my “low key” approach must be the way to go.
This morning, neither of them wanted a damn thing to do with the potty.
One flush forward, one flush back.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Look Left! It is an ad, for which I am expecting huge, fabulous returns so that I might retire early and spend my days watching reruns of “Rock of Love” and eating bon-bons and peeled grapes.
Actually, coffee money alone would be SU-WEET!
Yup, I dove in and joined BlogHer ads. Because I had nothing to lose and only to gain.
Unless someone is offended by the ads, in which case I strongly suggest you read me through Google Reader (ad free!) and stop commenting altogether. I miss you old commenters! (Christine I am waving at you!)
Actually, my decision, not that I have to justify it!, includes the hope that I will be inspired to write more (which is good for my psyche) and stop luking so much and comment more elsewhere, which is being a good blog neighbor. Thus possibly increasing traffic, and thusly improving the quality of my coffee. And bacon.
Here is my dilemma. I said when I joined BlogHer ads that I would not use profanity on my site. It was optional, but I need to clean up my act anyway considering the little parrots I live with. And no, that does not mean you can’t fire away in the comments with any trash talk you wish. I will not edit comments.
But what exactly constitutes profanity? I can assume that F, S , P and C are off limits. But what about jackass? Or damn? How about fake profanity like “WTF” or “$hithead”? Is that also off the table now?
If you can't comment, at least click left. My coffee mug thanks you.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
I have a job interview this Friday. It is a great opportunity to go from being a lowly contractor to a “real” full time employee with better benefits, more vacation and even (gasp!) a pension.
The problem is, I really like my current job and have settled most comfortably into this safe, cozy niche. I have been hoping for two years now that one of the “real” full time positions doing what I already do would open up, but so far no one in the job I want is budging.
The new job would be a stretch for me, but a good learning opportunity. And possibly, but not definitely, it could also mean a little more money.
Yes, I know, on paper it looks like I would be a fool to not be jumping up and down at “more vacation, better benefits, a pension (hey, with 40 staring me in the face, a girl has to think about stuff like that!)”.
But I hate change. I am great at handling change, but it is generally thrust upon me, and not something I actively seek.
I need a pep talk.
Monday, August 27, 2007
- I assisted in the capture and homicide of a bat.
- I spilled a gallon of hot, soapy water all over my kitchen floor.
- I went to Nordstrom and Sephora and didn’t buy anything, but did ask for and got free samples of several things I want to try at home but not lay out $$$ for without knowing if I will like them.
The Bat - My parent’s house is very open, with cathedral ceilings and the bat was doing his bat thing every night, flying around scaring the crap out of my folks. We don’t know how he got in, but it most definitely needed to GET OUT. My parents are generally pretty tough, but the bat had them spooked. See a few nights earlier someone had caught and released the bat for them, and now it was back. How do we know it was the same bat? We don’t, but apparently they are real creatures of habit and like to fly, eat and sleep in the same spots every night so who knows? Sp Tom and I went down there on Saturday to find and evict the bat. For whatever reason, because I am big baby about alot of other creepy, crawly things, I am not afraid of bats. We located the bat, hidden under some (fake) English ivy, on the side of a big, decorative basket my Mom had stashed on top of some bookshelves in the living room. Neither of my otherwise pretty brave and unflappable parents wanted anything to do with the bat capture so they were hiding in the kitchen with the boys, making panini’s. I shook the basket a bit to make sure the bat was really asleep, and then I held the net “just in case” while Tom grabbed it and ran outside. He threw the basket on the ground and hightailed it back in the house. I saw the bat squirm up into the basket and try to hide. I wanted him out of the basket (which was right next to the pool where I was really dying to go for a swim) when out of the blue my father comes flying out of the house, armed with a broom. He yelled ‘Where is it?” and I showed him the bat’s wings peeking out of the basket. He started wildly swinging the broom, and I flipped the basket a few times and knocked the bat out. My Dad finished him off, and then told me my panini was ready. Just to be safe, we got a bucket with a lid and put the bat in and sealed it off. Then we had panini’s.
Disclaimer – My father is also one of the gentlest people I know, so as far as the bat-icide goes, let’s call it an isolated incident under duress. And the panini's were delicious.
Gallon of Water - Tom was outside cutting the grass. I was cooped up inside with two toddlers and a skanky kitchen floor. Filled the bucket with hot sudsy water, and the boys got their kid-mops. (Of course they have their own mops, we are freaks about the floor). Fearing they would get too much water on the floor if they had full-bucket-access (HA!) I tried to lift the bucket into the sink, when it slipped out of my hands. A gallon of water is a tremendous amount of a spill. The majority of it ran under my stove and into my pantry. Where I store a boatload of stuff, including quite a bit on the floor, in baskets and crates, which are not water proof. Let’s just leave it at this – you could eat off the floor under my stove now, and my kids learned two new words, neither of which was “Fudge!” or “Sugar!”.
Samples – I don’t want to drop $22 on a new hair product, or $60 on new perfume, just to find out later that I am just not that into it. Sephora and Nordstrom are both notoriously free with the samples, but not until AFTER the purchase, which is sort of the opposite of why samples are needed, right? When I make a purchase there, I don’t think twice about asking for samples of some of their other related stuff. But yesterday was all about window shopping and visual stimulation and waiting until pay day before buying anything other than gas, food or diapers. So I waited, sheepishly, for someone to wait on me. There I was, in all of my mini-van Mom glory, with two kids in the stroller and no visible purse or shopping bags to validate me as a prospective shopper, while around me swirled chic ladies weighed down with glitzy shopping bags and platinum cards, clearly out to do their part for the August Consumer Sales Figures. Let’s just say I was not part of the target demographic yesterday. But then, because I had to pee, and because my kids were starting to growl, I got real. Why do I let these over-lip-lined tweens and 20’s make me feel like a chump just because I want to try something before I buy it? It’s not like the samples come out of their paychecks, after all. So when the next black-clad chick with a name tag tried to swoop past me, I let stopped her dead with my “Mom in a Hurry” voice, and told her I needed samples of this, and this because I wasn’t buying them until I was sure I would like them. I think my candor caught her off guard because she not only ran to get me everything, she also threw in some of this and this too. I was so stoked by my loot, I didn’t even bother with Nordstrom.
Friday, August 24, 2007
And then the world decided it was time for MY boys to be potty trained.
The world decided, not me.
I know the potty thing was coming. They will be two and a half next month. And everyone else in my blog life is potty training. We have been taking the low key approach. Talking about who else uses the potty. Checking out “Big Boy Pants”. Checking out how the potty works. Hanging out with Mommy and Daddy while they use the potty. (Well Daddy, because Mommy is a princess and doesn’t need a potty. HA!) Sitting on the potty before bath time. Just sort of browsing the potty life.
But now, the world is putting on the squeeze. People at the grocery store have started following up the “How old are they?” question with “Are they potty training?” Family members have started inquiring about it, and worst of all are their daycare ladies, who are talking to me about it every day as if I am forgetting to dress them or feed them. (I know they have a vested interest in my boys depositing their morning loads into the toilet rather than into a diaper that they have to don a hazmat suit to change. I know, OK!)
Of course I want them to be potty trained. But I am not forcing the issue. My kids have developed on or before schedule all along. They walk, talk, dance, sing, throw balls, do puzzles, color, hug and kiss just fine. They are imaginative, bright, charming and inquisitive.
So attention world – Stop asking me personal questions about my kids excrement or I will ask you about your prostate exam or your feminine itching. Don’t slip me a “Potty with Elmo” video when I am trying to pry two kids off of me so I can get to work on time. Stop sighing when you see me lugging that case of Size 5 Huggies to my car and STOP making stupid jokes about how they will be wearing Depends to college.
(They aren't going to college without me anyway, so what business is of yours?)
If you keep this potty pressure up, I am afraid my boys will end up as anal-retentive, closeted, uptight, control freaks who think they can tell everyone else what to think.
Nobody puts Matt Baby in a corner.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
(CBS/AP) Officials at an Arizona school suspended a 13-year-old boy for sketching what looked like a gun, saying the action posed a threat to his classmates. "My son is a very good boy [who] doesn't get into trouble," the boy's mother, Paula Mosteller, told CBS affiliate KPHO correspondent Mary Valenzuela. "There was nothing on the paper that would signify that it was a threat of any form." "He was just basically doodling and not thinking a lot about it." The Chandler Unified School District declined to give more details about the incident. Spokesperson Terry Locke said in a statement, "Federal privacy law forbids the school or district from discussing student discipline."
So let me get this straight. This kid was a danger to his classmates, because he drew a picture of a gun? As if his mere doodling was enough to create an actual shooting?
I wonder if this kid and his magic pencil of fate can doodle me thin, and 10 years younger, sporting a Prada bag filled with a million dollars?
I'd homeschool him myself for that.
Does it cheese anyone else off that they just ignored the existence of their oldest son Chuck after the first season?
Sometimes a girl just needs some comfort food, so here is a recipe. It takes like 10 minutes to assemble, then cooks for about an hour while you lounge about eating Ghirardelli Chocolate Squares and reading InStyle magazine while your husband and kids do the yard work.
Despite my banner, I am going to quote my Mother in Law with this great, easy, total comfort food recipe. I actually crossed the invisible anonymity line on Urban Baby yesterday when I sent this to a few people who asked for it.
(Hey, if you are one of those Urban Baby people, who found my blog via the email address, welcome, and please don’t out me on UB for being fat and middle class. Those rich, skinny moms will ban me for life, and then where will I get my inane Name Poll fix?!)
Swedish Meatballs. Ala MIL
(This feeds at least four adults, probably six. It fed four of us for two nights. I love leftovers)
1 lb ground beef
1/2 cup bread crumbs (I used 4C seasoned breadcrumbs, but whatever blows your skirt up)
1 cup half and half (I KNOW!, but the meatballs are so tender)
1 large onion, sliced thin
1 can Beef Consume (Campbells, in the soup aisle)
1 T dried parsley
1 cup water.
1/4 c. flour
350 degree oven
Mix 1st four ingredients well, then form into small meatballs (walnut size I use a little ice cream scoop I got when I pimped Pampered Chef stuff years ago) and bake in 9x13 pan for about 25 minutes.
While they are baking, mix water, beef consumme and flour in very large saucepan. Whisk over medium heat until it starts to thicken (about 10 minutes or so, you will notice) then add onions and parsley and keep at low simmer until meatballs are done in oven.
Take meatballs out of oven and put them in the sauce. Simmer for 30 minutes on medium low heat. Serve over egg noodles. Enjoy!
Note to other multi-taskers, I doubled the meatballs and only used half for Swedish meatballs. I took the other half, formed the meatballs and froze them on a tray and then put them in a plastic freezer bag. I will use them this weekend in pasta sauce.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
One of my boys has become quite taken with telling me who is “A Lady” and who is “A Man” and who is “A Baby” and who is “A Big Boy”. I will let you guess which one he thinks he is.
The older I get the more I realize that I should not judge. The whole not judging “until you have walked a mile in someone’s mocassins” thing has bit me on the ass, oh so very many times. I gag at the idea of someone else’s sweaty mocassins, therefore I am going to try for a WHOLE WEEK to not judge anyone.
No one, not even you, Mr. IP address from Great Britain who keeps coming here looking for “naked pregnant spanking pictures”. (Already this not judging thing is going to be harder than I thought you limey perv! Damn you!)
I have said before how parenting has brought me down so many notches. I wasn’t going to use pacifiers, and I was going to exclusively breastfeed, and we weren’t going to let our kids watch TV except for PBS, and I was never going to yell or swear, or have tons of plastic toys cluttering up my life. And now all I can say is ha, ha, HA! Because my kids have had to have their pacifiers confiscated and hidden in another zip code, I couldn’t breastfeed beyond 6 weeks, my kids are addicted to Playhouse Disney, I yell often, and I have considered using a (tasteful and elegant of course) dumpster for my daily gathering of small plastic crap that accumulates in the living room.
For anyone keeping score that means that the only thing I am still doing right is not swearing in front of the kids. Ahem
But aside from parenting, I was the worst “judger” about other people’s relationships. I watched how other couples worked and mentally listed all of the things I thought they did wrong, and the things I thought they did right, and over time I had a very definite mental list about what I thought was “Right” and what was “Wrong” with relationships and people in general. And then I got married, and realized how deep and thick the situation can be when there are real feelings and situations that don’t fit neatly into my tidy list.
Recently, one of my favorite bloggers, Kris at “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Wino” wrote a very thought-provoking piece on how difficult it can be to buy an anniversary card for a couple who doesn’t really fit all of the “so many wonderful years together!” mold of the average card shop stock. I really like reading Kris, she is single and smart and funny and provoking and everything I wish I was back when I was single and living in DC, so very many years ago in my previous life. The card purchase morphed into a reflection on people “settling” in a relationship. I loved reading the variety of responses in her comments, and of course had to chime in, as an old married chick. Here is what I said -
“everything you said, I used to say too, albeit not as artfully, before I got married. I waited and didn’t settle, and found my true soul mate when I was 29. Our first few months together I truly thought he had to be interrogating my best friends on the side, because he always knew JUST what to say and do to make me swoon. And now, after 10 years together and 7 years of marriage and 2 kids, he can still make me swoon, when he isn’t driving me crazy leaving his shoes in the kitchen or forgetting to get the oil changed before we leave on vacation. Marriage is a wonderful, awful arrangement. You get to have all of your partners best 24/7, but you also have to be man or woman enough to live and deal with the worst 24/7 too, and not scamper back to your sweet little apartment and cats and "space" when things get not so swoony delicious for a while. When you get married you lose alot of your ability to step back and figure things out because you are knee deep in it. I don’t have my own "corner" anymore, because I have to share it with him and the kids too. It is hard work every day to make it as wonderful as it is for my husband and me. When it is not so wonderful, I don’t wonder if I am "settling" or giving in to what is comfortable and easier, I wonder what I need to do to make it better. It's not just as easy as waiting until you think you found the perfect one who will not fail you, it’s also being willing to not fail them too, and to realize that ultimately you make your own happy life, even if you have to figure it out while you are knee deep in shoes and diapers.”
For seven years I was the worst judge of all of my marriage. I was constantly looking for what was wrong or imperfect and fighting it in some ridiculous internal cage match, always afraid that I was somehow “settling” somewhere.
I can now say that I wasted seven years.
Not on marriage (whew, had you there didn’t I?) I wasted years trying to fight what was already a very good thing, because I wanted to mold it into the pre-conceived notion I had of what my marriage and husband should be. Pre-conceived notions from years and years ago, before I had any idea of how my life would turn out. A few months ago I stopped being so hard on myself, as a mother, as a daughter, as a friend, and a wife. I stopped being my harshest critic, and that has opened me up to how great I really have it, and that has made all the difference.
Since Kris’s post, I have been thinking a lot about this whole notion of “settling” and I think the context is everything. There is a huge difference between “Settling” for less than you wanted for yourself, and “Settling in” for keeps. In sickness and health, For richer or for poorer. Yada yada yada.
(And while I do NOT underestimate the power of good yada yada yada, since my son thinks I am “A Lady’, I should probably stop there.)
Peace out, from Happy Valley.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Why is it that when things are going well, instead of coasting along on a boogie board of pink cotton candy, I instead have to turn it upside down and look for ants in the fluff?
I believe in karma and doing unto others as you would have them do unto you. I have been doing well unto others (especially husband and children) and I have been trying to spread goodwill and peace unto others as I would have them spread unto me.
"Spread unto me" sounds dirty doesn't it?
So it would stand to reason that all of the good spreading would come to a pleasing fruition, on my end, no? That was, after all, my intention.
And as the last few weeks have been ones of great joy in my kids and my marriage and my life, I should be feeling full of warmth of karmic retribution.
So why do I find myself listening for that other shoe?
Is it just a habit, this fear of giving in to the joy? Or is is a sixth sense, like the one that tells me when a certain cry from my son is a "bad" cry as opposed to just a "mad" cry, from two floors away?
How do you learn (or re-learn) to revel?
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
I don’t get money or free stuff for saying this. Just a friendly consumer to blog reader product review.*
I love coffee. It gets me out of bed in the morning and the smell of it makes me swoon with anticipatory delight. If I shall ever have the misfortune of falling into a coma, please grind and brew a pot of La Colombe coffee next to my bed and I will snap out of it and demand fresh Half and Half and a very large mug.
We go through lots of coffee makers too. I don’t know why, but we average a new coffee maker about once every 12-18 months. I have worn out my eligibility for free Gevalia pots, so it was with great delight that I responded to an offer via my Urban Baby**
daily emails for a “free” Senseo coffee pot.
I say “free” because first you had to take a survey to see if you “qualified” for the “free” offer and then you had to pay $15 shipping (which is a crock but still better than paying the $65 retail price for the coffee pot). So I “qualified” and yesterday I got the pot. It comes with a pack of 16 Douwe Egberts coffee pods. I love Douwe Egberts coffee. It’s rich and strong and meaty, the way I like my
This morning before I left the house I brewed a cup of it in my fancy new Senseo pot. As it was the first use of the pot, I initially had to fill the little water reservoir tank and run a clear cycle, which took less than 2 minutes. Then I refilled the reservoir with fresh, filtered water. The only time I am a snob about tap water is when I make coffee, otherwise our tap water is delicious. I popped in my Senseo pod and hit the button. In no time, it was done, but where was the coffee? Oh look there it is! All 1.5 inches of it, lost in the bottom of my standard size coffee MUG.
Apparently Senseo serving sizes are designed around those teeny little pretty teacups that Jane Austen liked. I am no Jane Austen.
I like my coffee in a big mug, and I like a minimum of 12 ounces. To start with. I brewed another “cup”, using another Senseo pod. From my pack of 16. So I am already two pods in and I haven’t filled my mug yet. Well, let’s taste. Oh sorry, I said “Taste”. TASTE. T A S T E !!!! Where was the taste??? OK, I know I like my coffee on the strong side, but this was only slightly darker than, and barely as flavorful as a cup of grocery store tea.
I noticed that I could use two pods if I liked a Stronger brew, so I dumped out the weak
tea coffee and tried again with two new pods, got my 1.5 inches of stronger coffee, and then to get a decent cup worth, had to run through the whole process again with another two pods. And finally, 6 pods in, I got a small, but decent cup (not mug) of coffee.
Lets do the math. The retail price of 16 pods of coffee is about $4.99. I need four pods to get a decent cup of coffee. And I need at least two cups to get me out the door in the morning. So I will go through 8 pods each morning, to the tune of about $2.49. Which is 79 cents more than I would pay for a Starbucks grande coffee, at $1.70. Isn’t brewing my own coffee supposed to SAVE me money? Right now we save money by buying our Kirkland coffee in three pound cans from Costco and it costs about $7 a can. A can lasts us about a month (I am guessing. Tom is the coffee supply manager in our house). So what I am doing now, at roughly $7 a month plus the cost of tap water, gets me really good coffee. If I want a treat, I can hit Starbucks for $1.70 for an equally good cup, or I can be a damn fool and spend $2.50 a day on just OK coffee in a sexy Senseo pot.
I think the Senseo pot will be relegated to the bottom shelf of the pantry, to be pulled out for parties where someone needs decaf or tea. But if you like your coffee weak and served in tiny teacups, a la Jane Austen, I do have some $20 off coupons to use towards the purchase of a Senseo pot. Email me at email@example.com with your address.
*I would totally do a product review for free stuff, but I don’t think I have the readership for that. But if your people want to talk to my people…
**I totally need to dish with someone about the Urban Baby message boards some time. Anyone??
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
I do read some of the “cool” super mom blogs and most of the time I don’t comment only because I usually don’t get to the party until there are already 89 comments and I just feel like anything I have to say at that point would just be “Me Too!”. But sometimes I do manage to get in early in the game and if I feel like I have something of value to add to the conversation I do, respectfully and articulately (Me Articulate? Imagine!). In the last few months I have noticed that I have made what I thought were relevant, friendly, and intelligent comments, and seen them in the comment list (because I always have to read them again to make sure I didn’t sound like a total ass), only to check in later to see what others had to say and find that my comment was gone. Vanished! Finito!
What is up with that? I could see if I was being controversial or inflammatory, but if a blogger asks for advice and I make a thoughtful, non-judgemental contribution, why am I deleted to make room for things like “Too funny! Love your blog!” and “I don’t have any assvice but I think you are awesome!”?
Are these “Cool” bloggers just looking for Commentary Validation? Am I just so uncool that they don’t even want me associated with their blog? Is it any wonder I skipped Blogher again this year with this kind of silliness bothering me?
OK, later this morning I checked and now my comment is showing, and it wasnt early this morning, but it was last Friday. I give up. I seriously doubt it was because of this whiney post.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Nothing spells career success quite like walking down the hall and running into your boss on the way to the ladies room and having him introduce you to your new male co-worker, who reaches out his hand to shake yours.
The one in which you are trying to hide a tampon. Because your skirt doesn’t have any pockets.
Another rung higher on the corporate ladder…
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Is it “an exclusive” that my hair inflates 3.25 additional inches every morning as I load the kids into the car, leaving me looking like this for the rest of the day?
That's me in the middle.
Is it a “developing story” that my bras are stuck to me like Gorilla Glue by the time I get home every night? That I rip them off and throw them as far away from as I can only to have the kids bring them back to me, damp and limp, saying “Mommy shirt back ON!” ?
Has no one else experienced the feeling of sweat rolling down the middle of your back as you change a ginormous poopy diaper, forcing you to choose between keeping your toddlers legs out of the muck, or swiping away that beetle crawling on my skin feeling?
Who hasn’t had the joy of finding, but not until FINALLY hitting that ladies room at 11am, after attending two meetings with other people who made eye contact with me, that their eyeliner melted into a rather Alice Cooper-esque design, sometime on the way into work this morning?
Am I really the only person who thinks that popsicles and corn flakes would make a fabulous dinner tonite?
This officially kicks off my annual “enough with the summer” campaign. Unless I can enjoy it on a beach chair with a cold seltzer, its all just a big A/C bill and sweaty feet to me now.
Bring on the pumpkins.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Mrs. Chicken wrote a wonderfully kind post about her recent in-flight experience with another mom and her crying child. I wrote some of this in the comments but I am still rather hot under the bra about it so I am bringing it home.
I have flown twice with my kids, and both times they were wonderful for 95% of the flight. The other 5%, I did backflips, handstands and cartwheels to keep them quiet so as not to disturb our fellow passengers. Heaven forbid.
I am tired of people bitching about kids on planes. Kids hate flying as much as all of the adults do. The planes are cramped, the in-flight amenities suck, and these days a two hour flight often includes a four hour delay and an additional hour or two just inexplicably sitting on the ground in a hot airplane. But unlike a crowded restaurant where a parent has the ability and duty to carry a screaming child out, on a plane you are trapped.
And Kids? I find the other adults far more offensive. I would much rather sit in front of a kicking child than behind the jackass who has to fully recline the aisle seat in front of me and sleep the entire flight so no one in our row can pee. Or the crude jerk I sat across from who regaled his trapped seatmates, and everyone around us four rows deep, with tales of his hooker excursions in Asia and his visit to the Mustang ranch. He had spilled gasoline all over himself in a drunken haze on his way to the airport and the verbal and olfactory abuse was stifling.
What about the adults who watch near-porn on their portable DVD players? Planes are small, people, we can see it from 10 rows back. Or the ones who blare music from their iPod’s? That tinny, static noise they emit is like nails on the chalkboard when you have to listen to it for 3000 miles.
I have seen grown men call the stewardesses bitches for not moving the cart, and seen women get so drunk they cant make it to the restroom in time. I would rather sit near a kid, who is acting like a kid, than an adult who is acting like a spoiled, under-napped brat. Please, please put me in the family section with the crying kids and away from the selfish, obnoxious adults who think that they own the air. A ticket bought is a seat owned.
Got this idea from Swistle and though it was hysterical. MY BFF Jackie and I used to create imaginary alumni updates for each others reading pleasure and this is a natural extension.
The deal is, write one paragraph like you are submitting it to your alumni newsletter and then write the next paragraph telling how it really is.
Michele and Tom are enjoying their third year of bliss in their beautiful house in a growing community. The boys turned two in March and have been an adventure in creativity and curious exploration, keeping Mom and Dad on their toes! Michele continues to enjoy her three challenging positions; full time employee of a software company, and “Top Chef” and “Head Housekeeper” at home. Tom is thrilled with his latest endeavor and looks forward to moving up the ladder quickly at this new company. The whole family looks forward to the boys starting school in 2008!
Well, it took three years but we finally got something to grow on our half acre of clay. If you look closely amid the clover and crabgrass, you can actually see a few blades of real grass. And hey, after six months sitting in the corner of the dining room, we finally managed to charge the cordless drill up and put the “real” blinds up to replace the “temporary” ones we bought when we moved in. The kids are driving us crazy with their climbing and have turned into regular Houdini’s, managing to bypass every gate, lock and barrier they find. Wednesday night Tom and I enjoyed a few minutes of peace, only to discover that the little ingrates had snuck out the back door and were throwing dirt at each others freshly bathed heads. Oh the joys! Michele’s ever expanding ass is dragging from trying to do too much both at work and home, and Tom is hoping one of the losers he works with gets arrested soon so he can push for a raise. Maybe next year when the boys start school and we are no longer spending $1000 a month on daycare, we can finally afford to buy some furniture to replace the hand-me-downs and garage sales specials currently gracing our cluttered castle. And then we will talk about having a big party and inviting all of you over, but never actually get around to doing it.