Midwestern Mommy

There are some very insightful, witty, wonderful bloggers in St. Louis. And on Saturday I was lucky enough to meet up with two of them.

Stephanie, Melissa and I got together for some Chinese food. If you read both women’s blogs, you know they are engaging writers. In real life? They are both sassy, eloquent, intelligent women who are A LOT of fun.

I met Stephanie a few weeks ago. We had such a great time, we couldn’t wait to get together and meet other local bloggers. It turns out that a few other chickies couldn’t make it. While we were bummed, we were also very excited about meeting Melissa.

Melissa has got fantastic skin. And her voice! Its like the auditory equivalent to my favorite chocolate — very soothing, rich, and smooth. Her mannerisms — the way she will tilt her head at times and the look in her eyes as she’s delivering a witty remark — remind me of Marc’s sister Nicole. And I ADORE Nicole. So in the first moments of meeting Melissa I knew she’d be very entertaining and I’d love talking to her.

The three of us talked about our sons, art, and traded labor stories. Melissa works for the St. Louis Art Museum. And she’s been working on some amazing projects. (I found myself on the edge of my seat, while listening.) We talked about our blogs, neighbors, other peoples’ blogs and admired a most beautiful 8-week-old girl next to us.

We also talked about all of the things we’d like to blog about but can’t for various reasons. That was a very interesting, lively topic. Although this was my first meeting with Melissa and second with Stephanie, it felt like we’ve been friends for years. We already knew so much about each other from reading each other’s blogs. The conversation was easy, brisk, and intimate.

After four hours of “lunch” we had to get going. Again, the time flew by. But this time my back wasn’t aching. (Three cheers for this little thingee Marc bought years ago that is supposed to be used by a medical professional and NOT by people like us. Will have to blog about it later.)

We begrudgingly said our good-byes and promised to get together again soon. I had a stupid, big grin on my face the whole way home and for hours afterwards.

So thanks Stephanie and Melissa. You made my week.

And also, Jaelithe, Andrea, Allison, Linlee, Jlynn, and others? We hope to meet up with you soon.

Oh and my blog won’t post photos right now for some reason. But I’m working on fixing that.

This post is inspired by Kristen of Motherhood Uncensored. (She did a post about the things she’d never say a few weeks ago.) If you ever hear me utter any of these words you have my permission to shoot me.

10.) (Said to my mom) “Can you call the priest at your church? Because I’d really like for Seth to be baptized and become a Catholic. I’d also like him to spend several hours a week alone with a number of priests once he’s on the cusps of puberty.” (Not that I don’t like Catholics. My entire family is Catholic, plus all of my childhood friends are too. Its just that my hubby and I have a different view on the whole religion thing.)

9.) “Does my butt look big in this?” (If I don’t think I’ll like the answer to a question, I just don’t ask. This is one of those questions I NEVER ask.)

8.) “I’m here to get my clitoris pierced. You do use anesthetics, right?”

7.) “Chocolate? Ice cream? That’s got to be the two most disgusting things on this planet.” (What’s really sad is that I’d probably eat dog poo if it was dipped in chocolate and ice cream.)

6.) (Said to my honey) “I really miss how you used to work 80-hour work weeks. And remember when you were gone so much our son thought you no longer lived with us? (Laugh.) Yeah. Good times!”

5.) (Said to honey) “I got that strap-on we’ve been kidding about for years.”

4.) (Said to honey) “I met this girl today who’s really hot. She’s completely open to doing a three-some. Ah, come on. What do yah say?”

3.) (Said to son) “Now making meth is very simple. I’ll show you how in a minute, but always remember, safety first!”

2.) (Said to son in the future) “It is completely ok to have sex with any girl who’s willing. And don’t use any protection because I want to be a young grandma!”

1.) “My biggest sexual fantasy is to have an orgy with George Bush, Michael Jackson, and Michael Moore. Yummy!”

We moved into our new home in November. Among the perks was a basement that didn’t leak, a master walk-in closet the size of Seth’s old room and a larger living space with a very happy vibe.

In celebration of the move, Seth got a big kid bed. Soon after, he decided he preferred the guest bedroom where he could lounge in our old queen-sized bed. We struck a deal — if he went straight to bed without asking for a drink of water 900 times, then he could stay in the guest room. If not, then he’d have to sleep in his own room. And ever since? Bedtime battles aren’t nearly the frustrating ordeal they used to be.

What I didn’t realize was how I would benefit from this.

Over the course of the months, there have been many a night where I’ve lain in bed, staring at the ceiling. I can’t turn off the endless succession of lists, blog entry ideas, anxieties and obligations that pull at me.

There have been many a night I’ve looked at the clock only to realize that my brain has been somewhat of an unrelenting, mental motormouth for several hours. “It’s 3 a.m.,” I think to myself. “Seth will wake up in about 4 1/2 hours.” Often, around 6 a.m., my brain finally shuts down from exhaustion. I pass out — only to awake within two hours to feed a hungry boy and get on with a new day.

But recently when I find myself wide awake at 3 a.m. I take a completely different action. I grab my pillow and favorite blanket then steal into the guest bedroom.

I jokingly call it “bedhopping”. Yup. I go from one man’s bed to another.

I sneak into the guest room and gingerly push my little bedhog over to the left side. I curl up under the covers he’s blatantly and sleepily rejected. I grasp for his hand. I feel its warmth, softness. I rub his knuckles and try to memorize how small his hand is at this point in his life. I delight in listening to his steady, quiet breathing. He has no idea I’m laying next to him.

During the day I comfort him and ease his fears. But many a night, he’s the one doing the same thing for me. Yet he has no idea his presence eases my worried mind. In the solitude and the darkness, I can see the outline of his face and a trace of those chubby little cheeks. I lean over to kiss his cheek. It fills my heart. It nourishes my soul. And I marvel at how much I need this little boy. And I think about all of the lessons he’s taught me. He has no idea. And I realize I’m getting much more out of this relationship than he is.

Often, I’m asleep within 10 minutes of snuggling my little man. And when I wake up, I am usually greeted by a giggle or a “Mommy. I think I’m hungry for a chocolate shake.”

I know I won’t be able to do this for long. Those hands are growing so fast. And someday they won’t be so soft either. I don’t know what I’ll do when I need to sleep then. But for now, I try not to think of that reality. For now, he’s my sweet little boy. In those silent, still moments is when I cherish him the most.

Throughout the years, I’ve declared many a time that on Seth’s first day of school? I would have a celebratory margarita in hand as I stood next to him waiting for that bus. I assumed I would have to restrain myself — I’d wait until he was on board the “big yellow cheesewagon” before I’d break into my little happy dance. And then I’d gleefully wonder what I’d do with that wonderful, beautiful thing called FREE TIME I’d surely acquire!

But today something happened. And I’m pretty sure the following scenario I just described? Most definitely won’t take place.

I got an introductory letter from the preschool he’s set to attend this fall. When I saw the paragraph that mentioned who his teacher is going to be, it hit me. My baby is growing up! He’s going to be in kindergarten next year. I’m NOT ready for this!

I started tearing up. I had to stop reading and go into another room. After a few minutes, I went back to read more of the letter. I didn’t even get past the info that lists who the teacher’s aide will be. I teared up and put the letter down again. It took me several trips back into the living room to compose myself before I read the entire missive.

What has really hit me is that there are so many factors I can’t control. I’ve spent most of the day alternating between fear (What if he’s a bully’s favorite target? He’s a shy, sweet soul. What if he has a hard time making friends? What if his teacher doesn’t see how wonderful he is?) and anger (”If any kid is mean to my little boy, I’m going to kick their asses AND their parents’ trashy asses! Yeah! That’s what I’ll do! I’m gonna make those people sorry they ever HAD kids!)

Really. How crazy is that?

Yes, I know kids can be mean. But he’s got alot of fun, valuable experiences ahead of him too. I just hope he’s tough enough to endure the heartaches. But I also wonder — is his sappy, overprotective momma tough enough too?

Apparently that first day of kindergarten is not only a rite of passage for kids but moms as well. (Shouldn’t we moms get a metal for that? Or at least candy or something?)

And now the only thing I’m sure of? Is that I should stock up on tissues for that first week of school. I’m going to need alot of them.

Did you notice? There are now ads on the site. There’s a good reason for this.

It is not like I need me some silly new shoes or am dying for some stupidly expensive handbag. Its that well, we’re still looking to expand our family. And after more than 18 months of trying, it still hasn’t happened yet. Remember how I talked about the hubby going to get his “soldiers” checked back in April-ish? We got the results back a few weeks later. Despite making a few lifestyle changes, it still hasn’t led to me getting knocked up.

So it looks like there will need to be more tests. But we’ve already decided that we definitely won’t do IVF. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with IVF or any sort of fertility treatment. Its just that we’ve gotten to have the whole pregnancy/tiny baby experience so if we can’t do it again, that’s ok. In fact, I’d prefer to adopt.

I’ve already done alot of homework on adoption in general. We’ve decided the international adoptions would be best for us. But that’s a $30,000-35,000 ordeal. Which, gah!

When I first started looking into adoption, I do so within the states. Many of the kids available here for adoption here are eight years and older. They need a whole different level of parenting than what we can provide at this point in our lives… And many have anger/behavior issues and problems bonding. They usually have siblings that need homes too. Honestly, we don’t feel equipped for that sort of thing. Plus many older children have been in physically/sexually abusive homes. And we definitely don’t feel we could deal with that. We have a 4-year-old son. We need to look out for his safety/well being first. If we had a child in his late teens and almost out of the house, we’d think differently. We’d have some experience dealing with an older child. Plus, many seem to need to be the only children in the house because of the problems they’ve had.

So the purpose of these ads is to raise a few bucks in hopes of offsetting adoption fees if we do go that route.

If I get knocked up soon, the money generated would go to an ALS research foundation. I have a good friend who has ALS. (Amy, Nelson, andFletcher — I think of you guys every day! Keep fighting Amy!)

So if you find something of interest, click on the ad. I don’t expect this will make us alot of money. Hell, I’d be happy if we made $5 a month! But I figure, it can’t hurt. And it would mean alot to the people in our household.

The highlight of this past weekend was getting a Dyson Animal. ( http://www.dyson.com/range/feature_frame.asp?model=DC07-ANIMAL)

Normally I would be vehemently opposed to spending about $530-ish on a vacuum cleaner. I don’t care how cute and purple-y it is — that’s alot of money! Moolah that could buy more important things — like almost 90 hours of babysitting services. Or 45 meals at our favorite Chinese restaurant. Or enough booze to keep the ‘hood “liquored-up” for an entire weekend.

Our cheap vacuum cleaner was broken yet again. The sucker who takes it upon himself (or herself) to fix the “crappy vaccy” usually ends up muttering a string of creative profanities and is ultimately gifted with scraped and bloodied knuckles in the process. Plus? It quickly loses suction and the on/off switch doesn’t work. So if a string gets caught in the beater brush? By the time you realize it, run to the outlet and unplug, half the house smells like burning rubber.

So Saturday, we looked into a Dyson — just for grins. We bought one after a salesperson said the magic words, “this machine has got the strongest suction in the industry. Its called “The Animal” because it can remove the most stubborn pet hair. You know, the stuff you normally can’t get out.” Plus, no other accessories, bags, belts or junk to buy!

It was like the clouds parted and a ray of sunshine fell upon us. A choir of angels started sweetly singing, “Ahhhhhhh mennnn.”

Suddenly, we envisioned a house where dog hair didn’t roll across the hardwood floor like tumbleweed. We fantasized about not having to apologize profusely to passengers who drive in our vehicles. Our guests’ clothing wouldn’t be covered in dog hair once sitting on our couches. Seth’s and my allergies may even be somewhat alleviated. It was indeed a beautiful moment.

As soon as we got home, we unwrapped the Dyson, put it together and tried it out. It was awesome. It picked up the most pesky pet hair embedded in the crevices of the steps and everywhere else. Our carpets looked beautiful! I think I had an orgasm.

When I finished, I had collected enough dog hair to make six more dogs. When I realized that, I cursed the dog and gagged a little.

I gave my hubby a “heads-up”. I’m writing to Mr. Dyson to propose marriage. I will also ask to have at least 10 of his children. Because, being brilliant enough to create a vacuum cleaner this amazing? Clearly means this remarkable man’s DNA must carry on for the greater good of society. That and I find very smart, nerdy types to be terribly attractive.

Marc said, “Wow. You like this vacuum cleaner THAT much?”

“Let’s put it this way, ” I said. “If he were standing on a stage, I’d probably be throwing my underwear to him.”

Me and about a gazillion other women.

Edited to add: Some people have remarked on the name of the place I talk about here. Yes, indeed, the place is called Woody’s Cafe. It was named after a man who had been very active in the church — named Woody. I’m guessing though that the church didn’t think about the other connotations the name carries. And I do giggle every time I blurt out “Oh Seth LOVES Woody’s!” Oh and also, this woman had the “landing strip.” Is that a part of the Brazilian wax family? I’m obviously not up-to-date on the waxing styles and names. And I promise you I didn’t not spend alot of time staring at her crotch. Ok. I probably did stare alittle. But I was more than a bit shocked and freaked. Not something I see everyday. Thankfully!

Dear Woman In White Capris,

The other day my son and I were at Woody’s in Sunset Hills. Now as you know, this is a fun little kids’ place (sort of like a McDonald’s playplace only much bigger, cleaner and without the general riff-raff) housed in a wing of a ginormous Christian Church.

So you can imagine how surprised I was to see you in some very TIGHT white capris made of very thin, thin fabric. Now this really isn’t the problem. I don’t generally care what people wear. The problem? Was that you weren’t wearing any underwear. And I honestly DID NOT NEED TO KNOW that the “curtains match the drapes.” Those pants were so tight and thin I now have a pretty good idea that you seem to prefer some sort of Brazilian wax-type of care for your privates. It was difficult NOT to notice.

You must be awfully proud of your hoo-hoo as you didn’t stop parading back and forth, back and forth in front of the play area. I hate to be all snarky and judgmental. I typically seek to understand. But the only reasons I can come up with for this sort of attire are the following:

1.) You are a prostitute who specializes in men with “mommy” fetishes. You’ve decided to try to drum up some new business at this particular establishment because you won’t have any other competition and the chances of getting busted by the cops there are nil.
2.) You got dressed in the dark and before you left, you did a final look-see in front of a mirror in a pitch-black room. And you didn’t think there would be so many fluorescent lights at Woody’s.
3.) You were formerly a man who has recently gotten his final sex-change operation. Now that you’ve got a hoo-hoo, you can’t wait to show it off as if to “prove” you really are indeed a woman.
4.) You are a stripper for a new “Naked! Live! Mommy bodies only!” club in Centreville, Il. And you are looking to recruit/drum up some business.

My guess is on the getting dressed in the dark thing. But if that was the case, how could you not notice this faux paus if you spent even a millisecond looking down at your shoes or shirt? And although we all hate panty lines — maybe they aren’t such a bad thing? Especially when you are in a room filled with kids under the age of 10?

On the upside, at least you have a nicely-shaped butt. Still, if you want to show it off, I suggest a different color choice in capris. Maybe some white or nude thong underwear too.

Signed,

MM
(A woman who hasn’t worn white pants or shorts since the summer before her 8th grade year… Because, duh!)

These are the top 10 things I’m pretty sure someone will NEVER say to me!

10.) “Hi. I’m from Juggs magazine. I’d like you to be our next cover model.”

9.) “Awww. You look so cute when you’re angry.”

8.) “This is Nasa. And we just wanted to let you know… You’d make a fabulous candidate for the space program.”

7.) “Hi, This is the (insert professional football cheerleading squad here). And you’ve been selected to be a part of the squad! You can pick up your skimpy uniform this week. Oh and after we’ve taken a look at your figure, we’ve determined you’ll easily fit into a size 0 uniform!”

6.) “The fact that you flunked algebra, chemistry (by a 10th of a point no less) and geometry in high school is SOOOO sexy!” (And yes, I really did. How pathetic am I?)

5.) “Baby. You were built for speed.”

4.) “Lisa, I think you should apply to Harvard School of Business. With your business know-how, I’m pretty sure they’ll accept you.”

3.) “Oh mom, how will I ever repay you for all of the times you’ve had to put up with my whining, cleaning up my puke, or comforting me for two hours after I had a bad dream? Here’s an island for all of your years of care and devotion, mom. It is staffed by buff young men willing to cater to your every whim. But know that its a small gesture of how much I love you and respect you.”

2.) “Lisa. You’ve always been our favorite child.”

1.) “Honey. Remember how we argued the other day? I’ve been thinking… You WERE right.”

Why oh why isn’t it legal to shoot children with tranquilizer guns? I assume it is not. But maybe it should be? Stay with me now…

Think of all of those times when your child has been bouncing like a cracked-out monkey on your last nerve. When that would happen, instead of “losing it” and screaming at your child, you could break the glass box the gun is sitting in (like a fire extinguisher), reach in and send a little dart their way… Plus? Your child would get a good nap out of the deal too. (And maybe you would too!)

P.S. If this would have been legal when I was a child, I probably wouldn’t have been awake for most of my childhood. “The General” (aka my very high strung, nervous mother) would have had at least one of these guns and six darts in each room of the house and two in each car as well as some in her purse for emergencies.

I would like to affix a large, bendable rod to the driver’s side of my car. Why? Because on the end of that rod would be a ginormous boot. And when I’d be driving behind someone going frustratingly slow, I could pull a lever, extend the rod and kick the driver in front of me in the back end with the boot. Sort of like a vehicular kick in the ass to get them moving alittle faster.

The only thing that stops me from actually constructing said boot is that I highly doubt it is legal. So I just fantasize… for now.

A feisty and very funny women (who has run over more than one pedestrian — I’m not lying, read her blog!) has tagged me for a meme.

I try to keep my blog positive and funny. But this makes my hubby laugh because he knows the real me. The whiney, bitchy me. So here’s a glimpse into the “me” that makes him roll his eyes and give me that “Woman, can’t you contain your rantings to maybe 3 or 4 a day” look.

I could easily do 20 things I hate on a number of topics. So today’s list is a smorgasbord and its only 15 things as this post, I realized halfway through, is far too long. (And apparently I don’t like people, as many of them start off with, “People who do…” or “People who don’t….”)

15 Things I Hate

15.) People misuse the words “anxious” and “eager”. You are not eager to put your beloved dog to sleep. And you definitely aren’t anxious about meeting up with your best friend for a night of ice cream and gossip. Anxious = anxiety. Anxious is BAD. Eager is GOOD. You are eager to start your upcoming vacation. You are anxious about going to the dentist. (Course maybe if your dentist is hot and flirtatious, maybe you ARE eager to go, I dunno.)

14.) How my hubby will oftentime tune out what I’m saying. And later on he’s all, “What? You didn’t tell me that!” And I’m all, “Yuh-huh. Did so.”

13.) My asymmetrical boobs. Thanks Seth, for preferring to breastfeed on the right side. Because now one is about a half a cup bigger. And bras, which were never comfortable to begin with, are even more ill-fitting. (Sorry about the TMI Linlee. Tell Brinnon to skip over this one.)

12.) The fact that I seem to need more sleep than my child. Almost daily, I wish I could shoot him with a tranquilizer gun. And I would — if it was legal.

11.) Competitive moms. Mom-101 talked of this recently.

10.) People who will tell me I am wrong to be pro-choice. In some instances, upon further questioning, I have found out that although the person is pro-life, he or she would NEVER consider adoption or being a foster parent. And they sure as hell don’t want their tax dollars to go toward helping these children/mothers. If you are pro-life, that’s fine. But until you have a solution or want to be a part of the solution, don’t tell me I’m a horrible person because of my opinions. And for the record, being “pro-choice” doesn’t mean “pro-abortion”. I don’t like abortion either.

9.) People that feel the need to push their religious preferences on me. I can respect your beliefs but when you try to shove it down my throat and act like an asshole “in the name of God” you ain’t exactly doing you or your religion any favors. I have volumes of respect for the people who live by example. The others? Just make me angry.

8.) The fact that the Catholic church hasn’t done much (in my opinion) about all of the priests who have been molesting boys for decades. They also won’t let women become priests. I grew up in a very Catholic area. Out of 7 parishes, 6 had priests removed. The only good thing about this was at least then I didn’t have to listen to the current parish child molester tell me how morally live my life.

7.) People who drive in the left-hand lane of a four-lane highway going a few mph under the speed limit. GET OUT OF MY WAY!

6.) When you love what you do but hate where you work. I once had a job I loved but I would cry on my way there because I knew my boss would be a jackass. And I’d cry on my way home because of course, he was mean and jack-assy. While in journalism school, I worked as a part-time reporter at a small newspaper. The boss often told me my stories “stinked like shit.” I’d turn in the same story to my teachers (who had worked at papers like “The Chicago Tribune” and “The LA Times”) who would praise my work and give me “A’s”. I even got scholarships based on my work, so go figure.

5.) Hypocrites. ’nuff said there.

4.) People who have tons of money and flaunt it in front of others who they know scrape by. I once had a boss (completely different) who ran her mom’s business into the ground. She spent most of her time shopping on-line for expensive shoes and purses. Then she’d open up her packages in front of the people she was paying $6 an hour and ask them what they thought of her new Coach bag or LV shoes.

3.) People who knowingly and willingly screw their friends and family just to make a quick dollar. The boss I was just telling you about? Liked to invite family and friends to her house where she sold them faux designer clothes, purses and shoes for designer prices. She claimed the goods were authentic. She also advertised her knock-offs as the real thing on E-bay so beware of what you buy…

2.) People who get a dog thinking, “it will be fun.” And then find out dogs cost money and take alot of time and attention. Then they dump the untrained, poorly behaved dog off on the Humane Society. There aren’t many bad dogs — just crappy owners.

1.) Those people who submitted false claims during Hurricane Katrina and bilked the government out of $1 billion. Hey lowlife pieces of shit, you didn’t screw the government. You screwed those of us who pay taxes. You screwed people who really needed that money. You screwed people who need programs that money could have funded. I hope karma makes you its bitch.

So there’s my rant. Sorry for the foaming at the mouth there… I’m tagging Little Miss Sassy, Mommy off the Record, Little Bald Doctors, Third times a charm? and My life in the Kidzoo. If any of you wrote a meme on this already, I apologize. I probably ended up reading and commenting on the post but I have a horrible short-term memory.