Midwestern Mommy

Chris over at Serendipity Mine tagged me for a “10 Things You Don’t Know About Me” meme. There’s not a whole lot that people who read this blog DON’T know about me. So I’ll try for something new.

10 Things You Don’t Know About Me (The sex edition)

10.)I’m not a very vampy, vixen-y kinda girl. The people who know me can attest to this.

9.)I used to get speeding tickets all of the time because I’m obviously not all that great at flirting with officers. Now that I’ve got “Tired, Suburban Soccer Mom” written all over my appearance, I just drive alot slower. Its cheaper that way.

8.)I’m not good at flirting. I’d need alot of booze first. This is one of the big reasons I could never be single again.

7.)If I try to give my hubby a seductive look, he asks me what’s wrong with my eye.

6.)If I try to give him a seductive smile, he’ll ask me, “Why does it look like your mouth is full of marbles?”

5.)If I tried to do a sexy impression of Tawny whatsherface, whithering all over the hood of a car in a Whitesnake video, someone would probably call an ambulance because they thought I was having a seizure.

4.)I’m sure that if I ever saw my “O face” in the mirror, I’d probably be so mortified that I’d never be able to reach an “O” again. (Ack! I just talked about my “O” face. I’m SO glad my parents don’t have an internet connection! They can continue to believe that I’m still a virgin and have never seen a penis in all my life…)

3.)Sometimes I get a serious case of the giggles while the hubs and I are starting to “get into the grove”. It irritates the crap out of him. Apparently that’s not a good time to remember a funny quote or someone’s hysterical blog entry. Go figure.

2.)I find “smart” and “funny” to be very sexy traits. This is a huge reason why I find my honeybuns so very hott.

1.) I’ve never been in an “adult” store or even seen a “toy” in real life. How sad is that? I can’t even imagine how much I’d nervously giggle through one of those “Passion Parties“. (I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that sort of stuff at all.) I blame my strict and repressed Catholic upbringing — the kind that made Puritans look lazy, slutty and unashamed.

I’m tagging Nancy, Linlee, Livelee, and Melissa. Feel free to ignore or use for your own amusement.

Sunday marks my two-year blog anniversary. I decided to take an entry from two years ago — back when I still had no idea what a blog was and had even less of a clue where this journey would lead me.

I’ve gotten to “meet” so many wonderful people through this blog. Its been a wonderful, creative outlet. You all have made me laugh out loud and think about the posts you write. And even after all of these years, I still get a thrill when someone has commented on a post of mine. Thank you for taking time out of your days to read what I’ve written. You have no idea how much that means to me.

An Ode to Boobies (from the mind of a hungry 2-month-old and written down by his deliriously sleep-deprived mommy in the late summer of 2002.)

I am a baby
therefore I can not chew.
And that’s why boobies
I love you.

You’re warm, soft
and easy to cuddle.
I love to bury my face in your softness
and snuggle.

Boobies, boobies, boobies
you are so pretty.
And my mommy has the bestest
boobies in the city.*

Boobies, boobies, boobies
I am so happy there are two.
Because boobies, boobies, boobies. Oh sweet boobies,
Oh comfortable, wonderful boobies, I love you.

*Nope, I sure don’t have the bestest boobies. But hey, I needed something to rhyme with “pretty.”

I don’t have time for a real post — Seth and I have a busy day ahead of us.

What’s this? The dog just threw up about half her weight. My first thought was “Poor thing. She’s obviously not feeling so good.” But my next thought was “Why can’t she vomit on a surface other than cream-colored carpet?” (By the way, cream-colored carpet came with the house. So NOT my idea.)

I’m gagging just THINKING about clean-up duty. It is literally a PILE several inches high off of the ground, about six inches wide and maybe 8 inches across. Not a puddle but a pile. Now I just have to keep the boy ignorant of the pile. Because the last thing I need right now is him squatting down and poking into the pile with pens or some sort of stick thing. (Try to stifle a gag just thinking about it. Not sucessful. Sigh. Deep breaths.)

On to more pleasant topics. Did you see the button on the top right sidebar? Kristen and Julie have launched a new endeavor where companies can send their cool products to bloggers to try and review. I’m very excited and thrilled to be a part of the review pannel.

Also, Suebob has launched a new blog called True Employee Confessions. Go have a looksee or even send a few confessions yourself.

Oh yipee. My son has just found the pile and has reported to me that Abbeydog is indeed eating her own vomit. (Pausing to find a silver lining. Stifle another gag. Goes downstairs to check the dog’s “progress.”)

Looks like it IS my lucky day! There’s hardly anything left to clean. Who says procrastination doesn’t pay off? (Thinks of this. Gags some more.)

This past Thursday my son offhandedly mentioned he had proposed marriage to a little girl named Taylor at preschool that morning.

According to him, not only did she accept, but they put on their wedding clothes, and Seth’s friend Owen married them. Owen did double duty as the “picture taker” too.

I asked Seth if he and Taylor were going on a honeymoon. He said, “No we can’t right now. Cause we have to get home to the babies.”

“I’m a grandma?” I asked.

“Yup,” he answered in his very serious little boy way. “We have three boys and two girls.”

“Wow. You move fast,” I said. “Where are the babies now?”

“They’re with Taylor at her mom and dad’s house,” he replied.

Seth and I made a deal at that moment. I told him that he is allowed to grow up and get married — but only if he lives right next door to me. He told me that he’d like to live with us. He plans to buy the house next to us and tear it down so that he could have some land to farm. I’m not quite sure how he’ll raise cattle as well as grow corn and beans on a .25 acre lot. And I have no clue where he intends to situate his tractors but he’s pretty confident he can do it.

That night at bedtime, per usual, he asked me to lay by him for a few minutes…

“But Seth. You’re a married man,” I told him. “You’re officially too big to have your mommy lay by you.”

This resulted in some crying and the proclamation that he’d always be my little boy and that he NEEDED me to lay by him.

Of course I caved. It won’t be too long before some girl catches his eye and steals his heart. And I have a strong feeling that in a few short years, his plans of living next door to his momma will change.

I need a t-shirt that says “I’m not homeless. And I don’t have a drug problem. I just look this way because I have a MONSTER migraine.”

Better yet, I need three. Just in case I get a monster migraine and the two other shirts are dirty.

Maybe that will alleviate some of the strange looks I get when I drop off/pick up my son at his preschool program. Its sad a day when the thought of getting struck by a garbage truck feels like a much more pleasant option.

As the hubby is on a 9-day biz trip, (KILL ME NOW!) the boy and I went out last night for a fine dining experience (at Long John Silvers). Afterwards we took a short walk to Best Buy.

When it comes to television entertainment, the hubby and I like to expose our boy to the pop culture “classics”. While he’s loving Looney Tunes, Speed Racer, and The Muppets, he’s become a rabid fan of Little Rascals shorts too. (Yeah, that’s kicking it old school, huh?)

Which is why we were in Best Buy. I figured if anyone would have the most recent Little Rascals movie, (from 1990-something…) it would be them. And yes, we weren’t disappointed.

So in line at the checkout, Seth sees “The Geek Squad” center.

Seth: “Mooommmm. What does g-e-e-k say?”
Me: “It says, ‘Geek’.”
Seth: (looks confused) “What’s a geek.”
Me: “It is someone who’s very smart and good with computers but dresses badly.”
Seth: (thinks for a moment and smiles) “Like daddy?”
Me: (look at the employee ringing up our stuff who’s smirking) “Yeah. Like daddy.”
Seth: “Daddy has boobie hair.”
Me: (Get an uneasy feeling cause I don’t know where this is going…)”Uh, yeah.”
Seth: “Do YOU have boobie hair?”
Me: “Nope.”
Seth: (Sly smile crossing his face.) “Yyyyessss you do!”
Me: (Oh dear God!) “No I don’t Seth.”
Seth: “Uh huh. Yes you do.”
Me: “I don’t have a hairy chest. If I did, I would know.”
Seth: “Yes you DO!”
Me: (Can’t even look at the pre-pubescent employee who by this time has FINALLY finished the transaction.) Sigh… Because now this kid is wondering if I really DO have booby hair.

For the record? I don’t have a hairy chest! Really.

I can’t wait until he’s in that “I’m humiliated just standing next to you, mom” phase. If there’s one life lesson he’ll be learning then, its this one: Payback’s a bitch, son!

I’m going to make this short and blunt. ALS? You’ve been screwing with my dear childhood friend Amy for awhile now. And Cancer? You have gone several rounds with Sharon, a bunko babe from my ‘hood. I’ve also found out, Cancer, that you’re a greedy asshole — you’ve recently come after my cousin Kris FOR THE THIRD TIME. Plus? You’ve decided to pay a “visit” to Marc’s cousin Amanda. Isn’t it bad enough that in the past you’ve also gone after my aunt Theresa and Marc’s cousin Myrtle? (And you’ve taken my Grandpa years ago too?)

Well. FUCK YOU! Just so you both know? These are beautiful, smart, feisty, tough chickies who are going to KICK YOUR ASSES. And there are tons of people who love them all very much who are cheering them on to victory. No one likes either one of you. No one is on your side. You both might THINK you are winning the battle but THESE WOMEN will win the war. Trust me there. I wouldn’t say if I didn’t have complete faith in them.

Why don’t you just do yourselves a favor and get lost? Really. Save yourselves the embarrassment of defeat.

To reiterate, GO AWAY. (And while you’re at it, go fuck yourself.)

Sincerely hating you,

Lisa (aka MM)

THEY: Are up each moring before 6 a.m. They’ve always been early risers.
ME: Typically arise abit before son does — about 8 a.m. ish. (So NOT a morning person!)

THEY: Go to bed between 9:00 and 10:00 p.m.
ME: Am usually up until 12 or 1 a.m.

THEY: Have no desire to ever leave the rural farming community where our ancestors established roots.
ME: Couldn’t wait to get out.

THEY: Are staunch, life-long Catholics.
ME: My beliefs fall more along the lines of Judaism. (I think I gave my dad a small stroke when I recently told him I don’t consider myself a Catholic nor a Christian.)

THEY: Are conservative pro-lifers. (But would never adopt.)
ME: Liberal, pro-choice and would like to adopt.

THEY: Rarely travel. None have ever been on a commercial airplane.
ME: LOVE to travel. Did someone say “vacation?” In another country? SCORE!

THEY: Buy used vehicles and sell every few years. And they keep them immaculate.
WE: Buy a vehicle new, drive it forever and basically? Its a big garbage dump on wheels.

THEY: Don’t like spicy food.
ME: The spicier the better.

THEY: Typically don’t keep candy/snacks in the house.
ME: We usually have at least one baked good, some ice cream, and several kinds of candy in the house.

THEY: Know exactly what they are going to be doing at 5:45 p.m. four Saturdays from now.
ME: I have no idea what I’ll be doing 15 minutes from now.

THEY: Are very structured, disciplined people. My parents could time their own bowel movements.
ME: Fly by the seat of my trackpants.

THEY: Very neat and tidy. Homes are very clean.
ME: Dirty dishes, clutter and dust? All a part of life. The beds rarely get made. (But on the whole the place is usually picked up.)

THEY: LOVE Wal-Mart.
ME: Despise Wal-Mart. (But I sure do love me some Target!)

THEY: Love country music.
ME: Keep the station at 101.1 The River (Thanks Melissa for the head’s up.)

THEY: Are my parents and siblings.
ME: Well, duh.

I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with the way my parents and siblings live their lives. They are very practical, disciplined people. I admire that. Course I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the way I live my life either. (Even though my parents would disagree.) But I ask you… HOW can a child be so different from his or her family? If I didn’t look like my parents and siblings, I would bet everything I was adopted.

Do you need a source of birth control that can concurrently manage your weight? If so, have I got the procedure for YOU!

Three days before Christmas I had a wisdom tooth surgically extracted. By Christmas Eve day, I had a raging case of dry socket. In hindsight this was poor planning. (I know. Duh!)

Do you really want to eat when you have dry socket? No. Not really. Not even the tastiest treats and meats can tempt a girl who’s entire face is constantly aching. And the bonus? It gives you heinous breath — breath that will turn even the horniest dudes into instant track stars.

“Run Forest, Run!”

Once the Christmas holiday was fin, I went back to the oral surgeon. They took a small strip of antiseptic-soaked material and used a huge tweezer-like tool to pack it in the small hole that’s in my lower left gum — you know where the bone and nerves are all exposed. (I almost jumped out of my skin!) The antiseptic tastes bad. Very bad. But by the time I got home from the doctor’s office, I didn’t even care. I was pain free for the first time almost a week! Yeay!

I kissed the hubby when I got home. He promptly recoiled in horror and spat out, “Your mouth. It tastes as bad as a dentist office smells!”

Did I mention he’s got a serious dental phobia? Whenever he smells my breath his heart rate quickens and his “fight or flight” instinct kicks in.

The constant antiseptic in one’s mouth makes foods taste a bit “off.” This isn’t so bad because it definitely keeps a girl from reaching for that third piece of chocolate. And chewy, tempting foods like carmels? No way.

I’ve had to go to the oral surgeon’s office several times since December 27. The lovely staff now know me by first name. Today I was so excited. I was supposed to get the dressing out. No more dentist office breath! The hubby would want to kiss me again! But alas. The dressing hasn’t been out even 12 hours and my jaw is back to achy-breaky ouchiness. I’m pretty sure more “dentist office breath” is in store for the early portion of 2007.

Luckily for the honey he’ll be working tons of hours on a project — several states away. Unlucky for me? This whole dry socket thing happened while I was ovulating. And there was no “puttin’ out” at that time. So at this point, if I do conceive? It will be a miracle. And if that’s the case I’m changing my blog name to “The Most Holy (and confused) Virgin Lisa.”