Archive for August, 2006

My life as a cliche

I’m married. I’m a stay-at-home mom. I live in suburbia and I drive an SUV (a mini-one with a teeny-tiny engine). My son now plays soccer.

My life is officially a cliche. (Hence the http of this blog.)

Alot of people see a person like me and think, “how boring.” They may even think chicks like me have a fairly suffocating existence.

And although 10 years ago, I had a completely different kind of life in mind, I ended up here.

But I LOVE this life. Yes, children require alot of energy and attention. Sometimes certain chores can get tedious but what job doesn’t have some level of tedium? It has been so rewarding to watch my son blossom into a happy, independant person who has developed a knack for making friends. He’s growing and changing so fast. Trying to keep up is exhaustive. But not boring.

And doing the stay-at-home thing? I’ll admit I felt completely isolated and overwhelmed for the first two years. (The reasons why would make for a long post.) But over the years, I’ve been lucky enough to establish a great support system. It’s pretty sweet to arrange an impromptu picnic at a park when a beautiful day comes along. It is also quite cool to have enough time in your day to help a working mom or fellow SAHM out when you know she could use a hand.

Like most stay-at-home moms, at some point, I’ll return to the work force. But I won’t regret the years I spent at home. I have never been more happy and felt more fulfilled than what I do right now. I have never felt more comfortable in this skin.

Being a cliche? Ain’t all that bad.

Pictures of Mexico (because I have no time for a real post)

This is Seth clowning around at a restaurant at the resort. Clearly, he enjoys being the only child. (Which could be the major motivation behind his recent launching of Operation: Catch mom and dad having sex to ensure my “only child therefore golden child” status.)

This is “The Hon” and “The Bun” hanging out by the bar. The boy is only four and he’s already spent quality time at a bar! (If you had any idea of where I grew up, you’d know that this is perfectly acceptable over there.) Don’t be hatin”. At least we watered down his alcoholic drinks. What? It made him sleep better. Just kidding. It actually made him belligerent and mouthy.

This is Seth and me. He’s not so happy. Why waste time posing for a stupid photo with your lame-o mom when there’s swimming to be done and women to woo? Seth totally dug this cute 10-year-old girl named McKenzie. He was all, “Hey, wanna come back to my room. I’ll show ya my new Hotwheels cars.” (I’m totally sucking in my stomach and sticking out my butt in a quest to look thinner than what I really am.)

This was Seth’s favorite spot. He LOVED eating exotic delicacies like fish sticks and fries while watching the waves lap the shore. He even took a nap out here one day. You know, after he spent all that time at the outside pool bar macking on chicks. (Marc and I LOVED drinking Coronas out here while watching the waves lap the shore — especially when the boy napped — as stepping and fetching (for the boy) seriously impedes one’s alcohol consumption.
These photos were taken before I got sick. After that, I was a cranky wench who wanted to bitchslap everyone there. Good times!
P.S. Seth is drinking a virgin drink. He’s never ingested anything remotely alcoholic in his life.

Caught in the act… Again.

Women who have two or more children always blow my mind. I look at them in awe and constantly wonder, “How do you manage more than one child at a time by yourself? Where do you get the energy?”

But more recently there’s another point for me to ponder. My son has apparently developed a finely honed sense of when we are having sex. And then he bursts into the room.

You’ve read about his (ok Marc and my) exploit two weeks ago, right? Well, if not, scroll down. I’ll wait.

Just last night around midnight, he barged into our room yet again and caught us in a most compromising position. He was half asleep. And again, today he made no mention of it.

How do people have sex when they’ve got a child with this kind of radar? We’re not loud or anything. His bedroom is the farthest one from ours. How does he know? Does he wake up in a cold sweat and think, “I sense my parents are conspiring to give me a sibling. Must. Stop. The. Madness.”

Look at that self-satisfied smile. It says, “Hey, I’ve been playing my cards right. As you can see, no siblings mean mom and dad have money to take me to sweeeeet places like this! Dude, I just bellied up to the bar that’s IN THE POOL! I’m livin’ the good life.”

Doesn’t he know that really “harshes the buzz” for mom and dad. We’re parents now. We now pour all of our extra money, energy and time into him. Doesn’t he realize that the only fun thing we have left is having sex? He obviously doesn’t realize that if mom and dad aren’t gettin’ lucky he’s gonna end up with some really pissy, short-tempered parents.

We REALLY need to get that door fixed.

Linky love

Everyone has a story. These people are living their lives and sharing each step of their journeys. Sometimes their posts are silly and other times, serious. I blame them for my dusty house and my ever-widening butt.

Also, if you link to me, let me know so that I can include a link to your blog.

Bloggin’ in the Midwest
State of Discontent
Little Bald Doctors
Sugared Harpy
Pickleness
Little Miss Sassy
Not So Everyday Mom
Slacker Mommy
World Wide Rolves
Serendipity Mine!
Mayberry Mom
Heidi Chronicles
Rancid Raves
Bucolic Scribblings
Yada, Yada, Yada
Blaquepen (W.O.B.L)
Mamalogues
Prologos

Meet some cool moms
Mama Tulip
Hola Isabel
White Trash Mom
Call Me Soccer Mom and Die
Motherhood Uncensored
Kirland
Jennster’s blog
The Mom Squad
Sweatpants Mom
Mrs. Fortune and her Cookie
Sunshine Scribe
Maniacal Days
Becky’s Blog
Izzy Mom
The Chaotic World of Carrcakes
Eva Las Vegas
Chicky, Chicky Baby
Mom Writes
The Kid Zoo
Mommy Off the Record
Third Times’ a Charm
Stolen Moments
Hollow Squirrel
Fire on the Poop Deck!
Poopy Digs
Hisefit
Metro Mama
Life’s Little Adventures
5 Penny Chews the Cud
Drama Queen’s Momma
Women Having It All
Baleful Regards
September 10th
Reformatting My Brain
Oh the Joys!
Pendullum (Dribblingwit)
Red Rollerskate (private)
The Cheeky Lotus
Mommy Needs a Mai Tai
My Own Life House
The Grim Reality
Shootin The Poop
Reflecting
My Momtra
The Adventures of Flybunny
Phoenix (private)
Scribbit
Voodooesque
Eau Flynn
Fenicle

Meet some superfun non-moms
Red Stapler
The Queen of Napville
Nothing Notable
Charming but Single
Jennsylvania
Virginia Belle
Poke a Badger With a Spoon

Here are some cool dudes
Rude Cactus
A Wind in the Reeds
Creative-type Dad

Assorted stchuff
Celebrity Smack
Gabsmash
D-Listed
Post Secret
True Wife Confessions
True Employee Confessions

I write for:
Midwestern Mommy
Midwestern Mommy Reviews
Seeking Desperately

Deep Thoughts by Midwestern Mommy Part 3

Tonight while Target-ing, I came across a pasty, unkept, dopey looking dude pushing a shopping cart. At his side, was a pretty little girl. It was obvious she was not his child. She asked for some sort of toy or snack. And do you know what he said to her?

“Well, if your mom loves you enough, she’ll get it for you.”

My jaw dropped. Did I HEAR that correctly?

So my deep thought is this: I wish I had a laser or some small, handheld device that I could discretely aim at people when I hear stuff like that fly out of their mouths — especially when they are around children.

The device would sterilize them upon impact. They wouldn’t even FEEL it. Course, maybe they should?

We went to Mexico and all I got was this lousy food poisoning…

I’m back from Mexico with the hon and the bun.

We went to one of those all inclusive resorts as we found a last minute deal. We figured all of the new scenery would provide an abundance of brainfood for the boy.

Marc and I were very much looking forward to the flowing alcoholic drinks, tennis, pool time and some free childcare provided by the resort. What they didn’t bother to mention is that the childcare is for kids five to 12 years of age. What they also didn’t tell you is that 1.) most every activity they boasted of providing on their website — that they insinuate to be free — actually cost extra, 2.) that once you check in, people will try to pressure you into buying the extra trips and whatnot, 3.) you will usually have to ask for something at least three times before you actually get it, and 4.) the supposedly fabulous internet connection sucked moneyballs.

Apparently there were only two free things available at the hotel other than the (meh) food/(warm) booze. One was the ant infestation to our room. We had to ask repeatedly for them to spray the room. Someone finally came with a can of Raid and sprayed a small surface in the bathroom. But even after this, it was not uncommon to find ants in a toothbrush that was left out overnight or ants swarming all over the shower and scrambling over the bed. The other was the bout of food poisoning I got soon after getting there. So I spent two days drinking and playing with Seth in the pool and the rest of that time in the bathroom or curled up in a ball in the bed. And I now have it on great authority — nothing is less fun than going through the whole customs, flying the friendly skies and waiting for your connection-business when you’ve STILL got a bit of that food poisoning left. Combine it with a migraine since I hadn’t really slept in a few days due to the virus. Oh what fun. I almost cried with relief when we got into our car to go home.

But Seth had a blast. We spent most of our time at the pool. The boy was dipped in a vat on spf 35 twice a day at least and STILL came home with a slight burn and lots of freckles. Marc also had a blast. He drank beer, beer, and more beer.

I’d damn well better at least lost some weight. Grrr. But am dying to know what ya’ll have been up to. Hope to catch up soon.

Why working locks are neccessary in the master bedroom

Once upon a time in a land called St. Louis there lived a mommy, daddy, boy and dog.

One night the daddy was feeling a bit randy. The mom? Not so much being that it was 2 a.m. But she struck a deal with the daddy.

“I’m game but only if you wake up with the boy in the morning,” she said.

He readily agreed. As they got down to business, the door swung open. A bleary-eyed moppet appeared. He was looking for his Cookie Monster stuffed animal.

The mommy freaked out and did some rapid maneuvering in hopes of concealing not only certain body parts but also where they were in relation to each other.

The daddy remained stoic saying, “Go back to bed and we’ll find your Cookie Monster.”

The boy stood still in his sleep-induced fog. He did not understand what he walked in on. But at this point he didn’t care. He just wanted his beloved bedtime buddy.

“Go back to bed,” his daddy repeated.

Without a response or reaction, the boy went back to bed.

The mom quickly dressed then retrieved and delivered Cookie Monster to the boy. Within seconds he was asleep.

The mom re-entered the master bedroom. The dad, still laying in bed, had a smirk on his face. Despite the intrusion, he remained undaunted and ready for action. The mom was ok with this, as by now it was 2:35 a.m. The boy was again sleeping, at least for now. And the idea of sleeping in held even greater appeal.

The mom and dad agreed that the minute they get back from their vacation, they would re-hang the master bedroom door, as that is the reason the door won’t lock.

The next morning, the boy spoke not a word of the incident. Nor did the parents. The mommy and daddy figure the image is probably buried deep within the boy’s memory files. And that one day when the boy is an adult, that particular memory will probably resurface at the most inopportune time — like in the middle of a very important meeting, job interview or sales pitch. But by then he’ll be living on his own and will be able to pay for his own therapy sessions.

So the parents alternated between living happily ever after and wondering whether or not they’ve emotionally scarred their child for life.

The END

Barnyard fun and Cow-101

Dear Steve Oedekerk,

Tonight the hubs and I took our son to see a movie you wrote and produced. You know that one called “The Barnyard.”

Don’t get me wrong. I’m no cow expert. But I did grow up in a farming community. I’ve made many a trip to my uncle Dan’s farm. I could never resist an opportunity to stroll through the barns and check out his Holstein cows and calves. Actually, I still love to go to his barns when he hosts a family gathering. And as my high school sweetheart was a farm-hand, I spent quite a few hours hanging out in the milking parlor sporting rubbery work boots. (Aka “shit stompers”.)
Anyways… there are a few things that have poisoned my opinion of the movie. This is where I give you a little “Cow-101″.

BOYS are called Bulls. (One typically has a ring through its nose. There is a reason for the ring but I forget.) Castrated BOYS are called Steers. (If you want me to tell you HOW they are castrated, I can. But I’ll save that for another day.) The GIRLS are called cows.

Also, only females have udders — which nourish the mama’s calf. Cows are like human females — they don’t produce milk until they become mothers. Also? A woman’s breasts will continue to produce milk as long as the milk is expressed. A cow will continue to produce milk as long as it is milked. (Ever hear of the phrase, “Milking it for all its worth?” There you go!)

So why did your steers have udders? Why did the males refer to themselves throughout the movie as “cows?” And why did the full grown steers drink milk when they went for a joyride? Cows, steers and bulls don’t drink milk. Think about it. Would an adult drink breast milk? (If you want to know what they eat and drink, I can tell you but, again, some other time.)

Also, the character “Ben” supposedly protects the other barnyard animals from the coyotes. Steers are typically not aggressive. Shouldn’t the animal with actual male hormones coursing through its veins — the most naturally aggressive animal — get the job?

Oh and when a cow or steer or bull dies? The farmer usually calls a rendering plant to haul the carcass away. (If you need me to tell you what it is they do and why, I can but maybe that’s better left for another day too. Cause that kind of info might make you a little queasy.)

Frankly, after sitting through this movie, I have to wonder. Have you ever SEEN a cow? I’m not talking about a side of beef draped over your plate at a restaurant. Did ANYONE who had anything to do with this movie ever get within 20 feet of a real cow, steer, or bull? They aren’t complicated animals or anything. But I just have to wonder.

I did like the part where the barnyard animals had a wild party. And the butt-kicking scene at the end had most of the kids watching all riled up. But other than that, I just couldn’t get past the feeling that you showed up for the test without ever cracking open the book. You tried to “wing it.” Sometimes that works. But often times? Not so much.

Next time you write a story about an animal, you might want to consult someone who has a fairly decent understanding of that animal. And if you ever do another movie about farm life, you might want to consult, oh I dunno. A farmer? I don’t know if you know of any but the ones I know are really cool. Knowledgeable even! Or if you don’t want to go through the trouble of actual research, you can consult my preschooler. Even he could have told you that steers and bulls don’t have udders and why.

Signed,
MM

P.S. Dude? Farmers ROCK!

Wild boys

He’s wearing his shirt backwards and his shoes are on the wrong feet. His jean shorts hang off his hips making it obvious he’s decided to go “commando.” He has sand in his hair and at some point today he shoved a thick, green marker up his nose. Every time he sneezes he expels vibrant green snot.

When I remark on his appearance, his retort is a sassy “But that’s how I YIKE it, mommy!”

One minute he’s stomping about the house thrilled that his actions are sending the dog into barking fits. Then 60 seconds later, he’s spinning while running through the house.

“Look at me mommy. I’m a tor-ma-do!”

He’s talking nonstop. And then he sings a question to me.

“Mommy, why are fish filled with crap?”

He’s very excited because he found out he’s been invited to a friend’s pool party tomorrow. He can’t wait.

His exuberance is exhausting to me. But he’s happy and excited about what tomorrow brings. I admire his enthusiasm yet wonder, “Did someone give my child some crack while I was in the bathroom?

I gently remind him that “crap” is a vulgar word and not one that’s appropriate for children to say.

I remember being his age and getting hyped up when I was excited about something. And now I perfectly understand why my parents would scream at us to “Settle down!” I wanted to shout the same thing today.

As tempted as I was, I didn’t. I didn’t want to take away from his jubilation. For now, his tomorrow is bright, joyful and full of potential. He’ll have plenty of people that will come into his life only to “pee on his parade.” I don’t want to be one of those people.

Some days it feels like I got five children for the price of one. Today is one of them. Yup. I definitely got more kid for the money.

My mom will be happy to hear this story. Her wish came true. Now that I’m a parent, I got a child who behaves just like I did when I was little.

An open letter to those who read Midwestern Mommy

Dear wonderful people who read the previous entry,

Clearly your mothers have raised you right. You all employed the “if you can’t say something nice, don’t say it at all” line of thought. And thank you to all of the lovely people who made comments about how the pizza guy was lucky to see what he saw. You made me laugh. Out loud even!

But seriously, ya’ll have never seen me blog. That night I looked like the love child of a wet rat and an albino hunchback. (My posture while blogging is atrocious.) Trust me. NOT pretty. But thanks. You guys all get brownie points for saying something nice.

I have been scanning the Suburban Journal and Post Dispatch ever since. I assume that if the pizza guy would have gone blind, it would have made the papers. But there is no news on that front. So I guess he didn’t go blind. But I still wonder if I should track him down and offer to pay for a few therapy sessions. Or maybe I should spare other pizza delivery dudes the suffering by NEVER ordering from that particular pizza joint ever again.

Anyways… Have fun today. And may your pizza delivery always arrive when you are fully clothed.

Sincerely,

Lisa B

Why our pizza guy needs hazard pay

Last Sunday evening, after jumping out of the shower, I decided to jot down some quick thoughts for an upcoming post. I was in my office doing a little nakey blogging. Its the latest craze, ya know. Ok. Maybe not. Honestly, I was too lazy to put on some clothes. (Sorry if those of you who know me have now gone momentarily blind from that mental picture. As for those who have never seen me in real life, pretend I have the body of a Playboy centerfold.)

The door to my office was open. (The office is situated upstairs next to the staircase. You can see the staircase as you walk through our front door. So from my office? I can look beyond the staircase out the front door to the porch. (The top half of the door is made of glass, hence the good visibility.)

The pizza guy was supposed to show up at 8:45 p.m. He ended up being 25 minutes early. In the 500 times we’ve had pizza delivered to our new place, the pizza guy has always been late. You know where this is going, don’t you….

So thinking I have at least 20 minutes, I’m typing away and Ding Dong…. Oh crap.

I haven’t moved that fast in a long time. Since my office has double doors, I hid behind the closed one.

Lisa, is that a sunburn on your body? Nope, that’s just the shade of intense humiliation. Yup. Its STILL there!

And I’m pretty sure the poor pizza guy saw me — as it was dark outside and the only light on in the front part of the house was my office light.

I hope Marc gave the poor man a good tip. He will need it to pay for the short term blindness.

Abbey (the part Labby) goes to the vet.

A few days ago I took Abbeydog to the vet for her annual checkup.

She happily stepped on the scale. When her weight was announced, she — like most women– demonstrated her dislike of the number. But instead of a sigh or huff or offering an excuse of “I’m a little bloated today” she peed a little on the scale.

I can’t blame her — I almost peed a little too. She has gained 8 pounds — in ONE year. She’s always been in the low 40’s but these extra pounds constitute a 20 percent gain in body mass for her.

She’s definitely not overweight. The vet said she looks good. I think so too. You can’t see her ribs anymore. But you can feel they are there.

I’ve experienced a plethora of emotions. On one hand, I’m alarmed — how could she gain that kind of weight in only one year. But I’m also curious — how could she gain that kind of weight by NOT eating chocolate, ice cream or baked goods? And I have to admit I’m envious. Because how many women can gain 20% of their body mass and still look skinny?

The vet said she thought it best I change Abbey’s dog food. In dog years, she’s in her 50’s now. She needs added nutrition but not all of the calories. Then I realized — my dog can qualify for a membership to the AARP. In a few short years, we’ll be running a nursing home for our little old lady dog.

I can’t help but admire her. I hope I age the same way she has. She may have a little gray around the face but she’s still one hot bitch. And she knows it.

Next Page »