Midwestern Mommy

Little Bun’s “pretty daddy” has earned “hubby of the year” status.

During any given hour of this past Sunday and Monday, the hubby could be found in our backyard sweating his balls off, cursing at lumber and skillfully using his manly-man collection of drills and saws.

Right now as I type? He’s sporting a lovely, crimson-colored sunburn. Sawdust and general grime are embedded in the hair on his arms and legs. And when I go outside to replenish his ice water and offer help, I can smell the dude from at least 20 feet away.

But I am SO NOT complaining — he’s installing one of those playset kits. (Complete with swings, slide, a clubhouse and sandbox even!) You know, the kind that give you all of the dimensions, instructions and hardware. And then you supply the lumber, elbowgrease, surly demeanor and (later) the Corona. The kind of kits that CLAIM the project can be built in eight hours but in REALITY, it takes eight days of working 24 hours nonstop with a team of 23 experienced carpenters.

The boy better spend the next 10 years of his life on that playset. Because I’m gonna have to spend the next 10 years of mine performing certain (ahem) “wifely” acts to demonstrate my gratitude for him being out in his nasty heat when his butt could have been planted on the couch in front of our ginormous, fancy TV.

P.S. You can pay Lowe’s to build the playset for about $800. Course due to the uneven terrain of our backyard the plan would have to be customized and that would raise the price. But still, I would have been more than happy to fork over the cash. Hell, my hubby could have chosen this option and sat inside playing online Party Poker while occasionally supervising the work by scooting his chair two inches to the right and slightly tilting his head to look out of the window. But apparently this sort of work makes him feel all manly and stuff. But you know, watching him out there handling wood and sweating… does make me feel all tingly. So maybe he’s on to something there?

Tonight as my hubby was putting our little man to bed, I overheard my little guy say, “You’re the prettiest daddy I ever had.”

I’m pretty sure my husband’s never gotten a compliment like that before.

Today at Target, while walking past the CD section, I caught a gander at something that made me freeze in my tracks.

It was some sort of “Dancing to the 80’s” or “Clubbing to the 80’s” or “Bubble Gum 80’s” kind of CD display.

I am such a dork. I totally spaz out whenever I see these. Of course I HAD to look at the different compilation CD’s and check out which had what songs. I have about 5 or 6 of these CD’s. They actually make great workout music — especially when you need to put in some serious quality time on a treadmill or elliptical trainer because you, oh I don’t know, ate a ginormous DQ Blizzard for lunch.

So I picked up a CD and immediately noticed a song that catapulted me back to 1986.

One sunny day, on our way to the orthodontist, I begged “The General” (aka my mother who was the most nervous, easily excitable person on the planet) to let me listen to MY music. She relented. A minor miracle! I knew hard rock would be out of the question so I chose a soft rock station — Y98. A great tune was playing. The sun was shining. And I was smiling my stupid smile of disbelief/good fortune. “Hey”, I thought. “Maybe my mom is just a wee bit cool afterall.”

And all of a sudden, a certain song came on that went a little like this:

“Not a word. From your lips. You just took for granted that I’d like to skinny dip. I quick hit. That’s your game. But I’m not a piece of meat. Stimulate my brain….”

The refrain? “We don’t have to take our clothes off. To have a good time. Oh No. We could dance and party. All night. And drink some cherry wine. Uh huh.”

My mom lost all sense of reasoning and composure. She couldn’t turn the radio off fast enough. The woman was angry, flustered, and bewildered — sort of like a cat would be if after cuddling it for an hour, you grabbed it by the neck and dipped it into a vat of tar. (I like cats and would never do this. I’m just hypothesizing here.)

Her reply? “Humph. That is JUST horrible! I can’t believe what they play on the radio these days. Stupid crap!”

This was as close to a “sex talk” as my mom had ever had with me.

I knew trying to reason with her was of no use. Even if I would have said what I was thinking which was, “Mom, I’m 13. Although I wish some boy thought I was pretty, I’m still kinda scared of them. Do you really think I’m so lamebrained that this song is going to make me want to get drunk and have sex?” I slunk back into the seat while she put HER music back on — country music of the 80’s era.

So today when that memory flooded over me, I had to laugh. I dumped the CD into my cart. Once I got into the car, I tore off the wrapper, played the song, and laughed about my mom some more.

I’m so happy to be a grown up.

Mom-101 posted this photo along with an extremely funny message on the blackboard a few weeks ago. So I went to the website’s address (located in the lower right end of this pic) and used my own lines. Go ahead. It’s fun!

An article by Bjorn Carey (that may or may not be found at http://msnbc.msn.com/id/12836649/) states that between six and seven million years ago…”The earliest known ancestors of modern humans might have reproduced with early chimpanzees to create a hybrid species, a new genetic analysis suggests.”

This is based on some fossils found in Chad.

Say it with me now. EEEEWWWW!

I was telling the hubs this story. His reaction? “Wow those cavemen must have been wearing some serious beer goggles!”

The rest of the conversation went a little like this:

Me: Yeah, I figured it was the human men mating with the female chimps too. Wow. Some guys really WILL have sex with anything that moves.

Hubs: I’m betting the sex wasn’t entirely consensual.

Me: Yeah, I thought the same thing when I read that.

Hubs: Well, I guess if you’ve been away from the camp far too long…. And a certain girlie chimp you’ve had your eye on gives you “the look”…

Me: (laughs) Apparently the hybrids died out because there was either some sort of chromosome problems or they think that both species found the hybrid too unattractive. The hybrid was a bi-ped but looked basically like a monkey. It was very hairy. The photo was kinda creepy looking. Can you imagine though? You’re a hybrid and you want a little lovin’ so you look to the humans and they say, “Nope. Too ugly.” Then you look to the monkeys and they say, “Nope. Too ugly.” What if you look to a fellow hybrid, and it says, “Nope too ugly.” You are out of luck! No lovin’ for you!

Hubs: Can you imagine taking your hybrid child to a restaurant? Now Billy, we do NOT fling our feces at other people!”

Me: Well, it’s a good thing the hybrids died out. Can you imagine if they would have succeeded? We could possibly being sitting at the dinner table some night trying to explain to Bunny, “Just because Susie is a hybrid doesn’t mean she doesn’t have feelings. I want you to apologize to her tomorrow for telling her she smells like a monkey.”

If the hybrids had succeeded I wonder what the politically correct word for them would be?

You know what I really, really hate?

Every week a certain person sends me at least three religious chain letters. These really, really piss me off. I highly doubt that St. Theresa will take a heaping karmic poop on me if I break the chain. And no, I’m not going to send this letter to 50 people to show I love me some Jesus.

(Look! I’m sending you an e-mail about Jesus! That makes me a good, moral person, right? RIGHT? )

(I believe the correct answer to this question is “NO!” And if you keep sending me this tripe when I’ve politely asked you several times not to, you are going to “meet your maker” sooner than you anticipated!)

You know (pausing to think and eat some candy)… Typically when I see religious e-mails from this person, I just roll my eyes and delete. Maybe… Just maybe…. I need Aunt Flo to pack her shit up and LEAVE! Maybe its just that I’m tired of being bloated. And even more tired of being tired. My new elliptical trainer has been kicking my butt lately. But yet, nothing fits me due to the bloat! Do you KNOW how much chocolate and ice cream I’ve eaten in the last 48 hours? Do you KNOW how much time I’m going to have to spend on that damn piece of equipment in repentance?

Gawd. I can’t WAIT for menopause.

My son is completely obsessed with poop. He always has been.

Is this just a “boy thing”, “kid thing” or purely a “bunny thing”? I don’t know.

Last fall we went into the visitor’s center of a local nature preserve. While in the kid’s section, I had the most difficult time pulling him away from some sort of exhibit I can no longer recall. But all I had to do was say, “Look Bun, its deer poop!” (They had an exhibit that contained boxes of labeled petrified deer, rabbit, mice, opossum, and owl poop. There might have even been beaver and fox poop come to think of it.)

The child dropped what he was doing and ran straight over to me. So of course then we had to talk about what animals poop (most of them), who poops (”Yes. Even Granny and Pop-pop poop sweetie!) and why. And of course we had to talk about the differences in the poop and what animal had the biggest/smallest poops.

If you ask him about that trip — even to this day — he won’t talk about the trails we visited, the flowers we saw or the bridges we traversed. He doesn’t even remember the small fish pond or watching the snapping turtles. Nope. He’s all about the poop.

I wanted to blog about this on Friday. But… I wanted to ask my hubby for permission first. This is, to me, a very personal topic. This is also a very ADULT topic. So if there are any young’uns reading this (hey you never know.) I think its time to go to some gaming site. Or something.

Linlee, Brinnon and any other person who knows us in real life? You might want to back away from this entry. There is some SERIOUS TMI.

As some of you know, we’ve been trying to expand our brood. Don’t get me wrong — with a dog, three fish, and a froggy — we have a nice number of animals in our family. We are looking to expand the number of HUMAN critters within our household. So far my uterus is still vacant. A few weeks ago, I talked to my general doctor about our next step.

He gave me paper work to get the hubby’s “soldiers” tested. After much procrastinating, I told Marc I wasn’t going to “put out” until he got the test already.

His reply? “So my wife is FORCING me to have sex with a cup?”
My retort, “Well, May IS masturbation month!” (Izzy said so!)

So he finally “made his deposit.” There are only one or two of these testing facilities in the area. I made him call me afterwards.

When he called he simply said, “Well. The deed is done.”

I said, “Wow. That didn’t take you long.”

He joked, “You know me baby. I like to get right to work and git ‘er done!”

I ventured, “Didn’t you feel embarrassed. I mean they KNOW what you are DOING in there!”

He retorted: “Nope. They just gave me a cup and said, ‘The bathroom is down the hall.’ “

I oh-so-helpfully added,”Ahh. If that was me, I wouldn’t even be able to look the guy in the eye. I’d be looking at the floor while saying that. And THEN when he gave me the cup, I’d cart it off wearing at least 6 gloves. I’d only hold the cup at the tip using two fingers. Ick!”

At this part, Marc lost interested in what I was saying. He was all, “Uh, yeah. Ok whatever. Gotta go. Bye.” Maybe he was just worn out from all of that “work”?

I forgot to ask him if there were magazines in the room…

I often reflect upon my mother’s child-rearing journey. Especially on Mother’s Day.

If you’ve been reading this blog for even a month, you’ve already noticed that I refer to my mom as “The General.” She may be small but she’s mighty. She’s quick, energetic and has a work ethic that makes the Quakers look like complete slackers. Although I’ve often joked that she’s like a human version of a Border Collie on crack, I secretly admire this about her.

Growing up, my mom and I had a complicated relationship. We usually didn’t see eye-to-eye. (On some things, we STILL don’t but at least we’ve agreed to disagree. heehee.) I told myself often that when I was a mom, I’d do EVERYTHING differently.

But as I became a wife and mother, I understood my mother’s plight alot more. It was tough living in her skin. She had alot of struggles throughout her life. And I’ve learned so much from this brave, strong soul.

My maternal grandma had Alzheimer’s. My most vivid memory of this woman is of her peeing on our coffee table and my mom having to clean it up. She once tried to eat plastic grapes. My mom took them out of her mouth saying, ‘Oh no Grandma. Those aren’t for eating.”

My mother spent alot of time taking care of grandma as well as cleaning and cooking for her parents. When my Grandma entered the nursing home, my mom not only visited grandma each Monday, she’d brush her teeth, take her to the bathroom, and ask the nurse about Grandma’s well-being.

The nursing home reeked of urine. Old people in wheel chairs wandered the halls. Grandma was usually tied to a wheelchair or regular chair to prevent a shuffling escape. My siblings and I hated going there. Looking back I’m sure these visits broke my mom’s heart. But she remained strong. These visits taught my siblings and I strength, courage, and the importance of family loyalty.

My parents lived in a very small town. There weren’t alot of decent opportunities for a man of no skillset or education. But mom MADE my dad’s paycheck stretch. There was no money for silly little luxuries like a magazine or candybar. But from her, I learned the value of an education and how to stretch a dollar when I need to. I also learned the importance of saving money for those bumpy rainy days.

At one point, my dad worked his job during the day and attended junior college at night. Mom was often home alone with three obnoxious children who are very close in age. She had no time for friends. This experience taught me the value of making time to maintain my close friendships. I’ve learned the value of a thriving support system and how to reach out and ask for emotional support when I need it.

My mother’s father thought women were put on earth to have babies and serve man. When he was in his 80’s, he spent his last years in the same nursing home with my grandma. By then, my mom had been back in the workforce for a number of years. Between her job, her family and home, she didn’t have much free time. But she continued to visit her ailing parents weekly and to often take a piece of angelfood cake to Grandpa.

In high school, I once got into a screaming match with my mom. I said, “Why do you make us visit that man when he’s been so mean to you? Why do waste your time like that?” She stopped what she was doing and began to cry. She simply said, ‘Because he’s my dad. And I love him.”

Looking back, I want to kick myself for saying that. From her I learned the art of forgiveness. If she could forgive him, then I should do. He was too proud to apologize all of those years of hurt. But she choose to accept him for what he was, open her heart, and love him regardless. She chooses to remember the good in Grandpa. She understands that Grandpa’s ways were the product of his childhood. Grandpa’s father was a violent and abusive drunk with a gambling problem.

Every week we went to church. I often complained about my mother’s insistence on getting to mass 15 minutes early. Looking back I realize that this quiet time before mass was the only 15 minutes of peace she got all week! And I’ve learned that I need/enjoy my quiet time too.

Since becoming a mom, I’ve wished I could go back in time. I would befriend my mom. I would show up during her kids’ nap time with a smile and an Almond Joy (her favorite candy bar). I’d offer to watch her “little monsters” while she took a walk. I’d make her laugh when she was pissed at her husband. I’d send her birthday cards or run to the store for medicine when her children were sick. I’d hug her when she was happy or sad. I’d listen to her. I’d let her know she’s an incredible, beautiful woman.

My mom has learned alot from her experiences. She’s the fabulous, fun grandma that she’s wanted for her children. She’s the active, supportive, loving mom she’s wanted for herself. She’s an inspiration and a class act.

That’s my mom. And someday when I grow up — if I grow up — I hope to be just like her.

Have you ever heard of Yankee Candles? If not, let me give you the 411.

You can find them all over the place here in the Missouri/Illinois area. They offer tons of different fragrances to “stink up your house real purty”. I LOVE them.

Last night I made BLT’s for dinner. The entire house smelled like bacon. So Marc and I got to talkin’….

If Yankee Candle Company catered to the ordinary, average modern-day caveman, what kinds of scents would they manufacture? We guessed:

*Bacon (Named: “Beggin’ for Bacon Strips.”)
*Chili (Named: “Red Hot Chili Papa.”)
*Steak (Named: “Cow-a-bunga!” )
*Beer (Named: “Been beer, done that.”)
*Hard Liquor: (Named: “Liquor in the front…”)
*Pork chops: (Named: “Piggy went to market… And didn’t come home.”)
*Brauts with kraut: (Named: “Sausage Party.”)

Scents that are a bit of a gamble:

*Skanky ho: (Named: “Horny ho not fo sho”)
*Drunk girl looking to hook up as the bar is closing in 10 minutes: (Named: “Drunk-n-Desperate in dis dress.”)

When you’re on the computer upstairs and you hear a loud “thunk” downstairs. Then you hear your (almost) four-year-old child screaming and wailing. After a few minutes of on-going moaning and sobbing you hear hubby say, “Ok Seth. I need you to calm down. I need to check to see if anything’s broken….”

Oh SHIT!

Fortunately, nothing was broken. But gah!

Here’s a quick Q&A with Jennifer Margulis, author of “Todder” (Real Life Stories Of Those Fickle, Irrational, Urgent, Tiny People We Love So Much) as well as her newest book, “Why Babies Do That” (Baffling Baby Behavior Explained).

*What was your inspiration behind “Why Babies Do That“ ?

The publisher actually invited me to write this book. They have a series (Why Dogs Do That, Why Cats Do That, etc.) and they wanted to branch out into baby books. The editor was actually expecting her first child and I think that was one of their motivations. But the idea behind the book is to inspire and inform parents, especially new parents, about baby behavior. Babies are bizarre little creatures, they do a lot of weird stuff, and this book helps explain why. So it’s meant to be both informative and reassuring (and fun to read).

*How in the world are you able to write your column, be a mom and write a book? Do you not sleep? Where do you get all of this energy?

It’s not easy and if you could see my house right now (it looks like a train crashed in the living room–the kids decided to make a fort with the couch and… well, I’ll spare you the details) you wouldn’t be so impressed. Seriously, housework is the first thing to go. In order to be a productive writer (and this is the way my husband and I support our family of five) and an attentive mom, I really have to prioritize. I don’t get enough sleep and my house is often a disaster (which is honestly hard for me. I used to look forward to cleaning my apartment on Saturday mornings when I was in my 20s!). But I’ve manage to produce three books: a classroom edition of an 18th-century play which I finished while pregnant with my daughter, “Toddler: Real-Life Stories of Those Fickle, Irrational, Urgent, Tiny People We Love,” which I compiled and co-authored while I had a newborn and a 19-month-old baby (and that was the motivation behind it. I was going insane and really needed to hear other people’s stories about their lives with challenging, I mean, spirited, toddlers), and “Why Babies Do That.”I also write magazine articles, my weekly column in the Ashland Daily Tidings called “Tales From the Crib,” and a monthly travel article. And I consult with other writers to help them get published. Writing is my job. If I don’t do it we don’t eat. I think that’s the secret. Also, I have a very supportive husband who also works from home and we switch off with the kids as much as possible to give each other time to write. I really care about being a good mom though, which is why I am often sleep-deprived. Even if I have a pressing deadline, I wait until the kids go to sleep before I finish any work leftover from the morning (morning is my time to write, afternoon is my husband’s). My other secret is dried mango. I swear it makes you smarter and more focused and I eat dollar-depleting quantities of it when I’m on deadline.

*What’s next for you?

Many ideas! Some which will soon be books (I hope). But our biggest news is that I just got a teaching/research Fulbright fellowship and we will be relocating to West Africa for a year, starting in the fall. I’ll be working on a book there and teaching literature and journalism classes at the university.

The book “Why Babies Do That” is currently out and can be found at major bookstores.