I hate thinking up titles, so this post doesn't get one.

It's normal to buy wine at 9 a.m., right?

In my own defense, I got on the wrong highway. I was on my way to Wild Oats to buy some very expensive food for my children's special diets (dairy-free, gluten-free, egg-free, dye-free, preservative-free, oh-my-God-shoot-me-now-free), and I turned onto the highway heading north instead of south. So, seeing as I only have 150 minutes from the second I drop Jason off at preschool until I have to pick him up, I was freaking out and cursing like a sailor because I was WASTING PRECIOUS CHILD-FREE TIME. Ever the economizer, I think to myself, "Well, let's see if there's something I can accomplish in the North today, because obviously there is no time for running errands in the South." Aaaaand...BINGO! This is the way to the liquor store! The one that has the cheapest prices for some of my favorite brands of wine! (Ah, what the hell, here's another one.)

I walk into the store, looking Absolut-ly (HA HA!) smashing as I always do at 9 a.m. after dropping off the kids at school. Baggy tee-shirt, yoga pants (I don't do yoga, but I'm all about the stretchy pants of the same name), and hair perfectly finger-combed. (Don't judge me. My kids looked sharp as a whistle this morning, and that always means that I, in turn, look like a homeless person. I cannot make us all look pretty in 1.5 hours. If I look good, they look bad, and it makes me look bad if my kids look bad. So, one of my many sacrifices as a mother has been to accept that I look like crapola in the early morning hours.) (However, I look very much like a S.U.P.E.R.M.O.D.E.L. by the time Paul gets home from work. Go on, ask him, People From Paul's Office. Go! And let me know what he says, so I can beat him over the head with one of these inexpensive bottles of wine that I bought this morning, if necessary.)

Anyway.

Take two: I walk into the store and figure I'll just see what's on sale, seeing as it's the weekend and all and I fully intend to sit back and swill me some vino tonight while re-watching the Lost season finale with my guy, who missed it in June because, um, someone deleted it from Tivo accidentally. DAMN that person!

So.

Take three (follow along, people!): I find some inexpensive-yet-decent wine and get in line at the cash register, and at this point I feel much better about leaving a store carrying alcohol in a brown paper bag at 9 a.m. because the guy in front of me is purchasing a super-size bottle of what looks like generic vodka. You know, the kind that comes with the handy-dandy handle so you can heave it onto your shoulder and balance it there precariously as you huff and puff your way back to your car? Happy Friday, sir!

After giving the cashier the evil eye for not asking me for my I.D. (it is entirely possible for a bedraggled woman with bags under her eyes to be under 21, you discriminatory BITCH), I come home with my unplanned, yet much loved, purchase.

And there you have it. That's all I've got. Colleen has Friday Feast on her blog, and all I offer on mine is...Feeble Fodder Friday. (Tune in next week for more of the same!)

Now you can all go slap yourselves in the head for wasting your time here. Go do something worthwhile, ya buncha bozos.

I'm in McLove

Analyze this dream: I'm sitting in my living room. "Paul" (and I use that name loosely) is sitting on the coffee table (of all places) and he looks JUST LIKE Patrick Dempsey. And he's giving me that same look that Derrick gives Meredith on Grey's Anatomy. (For those who watch, you know The Look. Sigh.) And I get that overwhelming feeling of love...you know, the butterflies that make your stomach flip over and your breath catch?

Disturbing.

So I confess this to Paul to get his take on it, and because I think it's kind of funny. Bad move. I've been harrassed about it ever since. "Oh, okay. It was ME, but I looked like DR. MCDREAMY. Seriously??" I'm all like, "It was YOU, though!" And then, grasping at straws, "He had your SOUL." *Paul bursts into laughter.*

I don't know how I knew it was Paul, but I just did. It was New and Improved Paul! It was "McPaul." And hey, I refuse to feel guilty about the dream for the simple reason that Paul knows the name of every supermodel who ever lived. Every time I say, for instance, "Who's Molly Sims? An actress?" He sits right up, puts his trough of ice cream down, LOWERS THE VOLUME ON THE T.V., and says, "She's a [deeeeep breath] supermodel."

Anyway, so, yeah. I'm in McLove. And when Derrick told Meredith he was in love with her: "I've been in love with you...forever," I got all McTingly (stop!). I am so deliriously happy that Grey's Anatomy is back on again that I think I might need McTherapy (just...stop.)

Oh, don't even get me started on The Office. That's another big one. (That's what she said.)

Movie Quote Monday

"You can forget it! You're out!"

"Don't you do it! Don't! You... I got nowhere else to go! I got nowhere else to g... I got nothin' else."

"Damn you! Goddam you! Nobody D.O.R's after eleven weeks! Nobody!"

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For more MQM fun, see:
The Colleen Scene
No Diet Coke for Mommy

In Utero

Jason, snuggling with me in my bed: "Mommy, did you know I used to be in your belly?"

Me: "Yes, I know. What was it like in there?"

Jason: "It was cool and wet, and there were lots of bones!"

Me, obviously concerned at the thought of my child being cold: "You were COLD?!"

Jason: "Well, I was swimming so I stayed warm."

Me: "There was enough room to swim in my belly?"

Jason: "Yes! I swimmed and swimmed and it was so much fun!"

This explains a lot of the discomfort I felt in the third trimester.

Me: "What else did you do in my belly?"

Jason: "I played. With a train."

Me: "Where did you find a train in there?"

Jason: "I brought it with me."

Me: "..."

Jason: "I ate some food, too."

Me: "What kind of food?"

Jason: "Corn on the cob."

And there you have it. You always wondered, and now you know.

Movie Quote Monday

"You know what your problem is? You are so goddamn bored, you have to invent things to bitch about. You don't have a single thing to do on this earth except for your hair. ... You just needed something to fill up your useless, nail polishing, toe polishing, rich bitch, sun tanning days."

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For more MQM fun, see:
The Colleen Scene
No Diet Coke for Mommy

My teeth are clean, and so is my bathroom

Paul wanted one of those electric toothbrushes for his birthday, and lucky me, it came in a two-pack! I just tried mine for the first time today. I'm thinking I should've looked at the directions first ("directions? for brushing your teeth? HA!" said I). Apparently there must be some mention of when exactly to press the button, and I'm thinking it's not until after you've already brushed a bit pre-buzz and gooshed the toothpaste around so it's not just, say, balancing on the bristles when the action begins. Why do I think this? Because I applied the toothpaste to the brush, pressed the button, and off flew the toothpaste with amazing propeller-like speed. It circled around my head a few times and finally landed on the toilet seat. Oops.

So, still refusing to look at the directions (I mean, give me a BREAK), I reapply the toothpaste and do the heretofore assumed preliminary brushing and THEN turn the thing on, and I immediately begin to dry heave violently from the unbearable tickling sensation. Eyes tearing and gag reflex in full swing, I open my mouth to get my back teeth and commence to spray the ENTIRE BATHROOM AND MYSELF with toothpaste spit. It was EV. REE. WHERE. Lovely. (It's worth noting that toothpaste in the eyes? Burns. BADLY.)

So, although I did have to spend 20 minutes afterwards cleaning the spittle off of absolutely everything, my teeth feel awesomely clean (see? I didn't need DIRECTIONS!)! I think this toothbrush is going to be gathering dust in the back of the vanity fantastic! Life-changing! JUST. SWELL.

New digs and old digs

First, I have to give credit to Kelly of Nello Design for my great new look. Love it! My only complaint is that I specifically asked her to fix my picture so that I look like Eva Longoria, but she COMPLETELY ignored my request. Nice.

If anyone checks out Kelly's site, you'll notice she's taking a break (literally) from posting. She broke her foot and is currently going through the hell that is dealing with chronic pain and incapacitation. So let's talk about that a little bit, shall we?

I'm quite familiar with the whole chronic pain thing. Just about two years ago, after months of working out hard at the gym, I reaggravated an old condition in my knees. And also? Acquired NEW injuries in my legs! I went straight from the fittest I've ever been in my life to a complete and utter couch potato. I literally sat just about all day, every day, with my legs up. Not a doctor around could figure out why my legs felt so completely horrible that I could barely walk. And I saw quite a few doctors, let me tell you. It just went on and on and on. In fact, I'm still not completely normal, two years later. At the current rate of healing, I don't think I'll be completely in the clear for at least another year. Depression, anyone?

Anyway. The hardest part of dealing with all of this has been trying to take care of two small children and run a household while in constant pain. I swear Paul must be a saint to have gotten through the past couple of years with me. And my kids...the poor things. I think for a full year there wasn't one nice thing that I said to them. Everything was said with gritted teeth and a growl. "Go wash your hands!" "Eat your lunch!" "Here's your damn Christmas present! Hurry up and open it!"

The only thing that has helped me is acupuncture. My acupuncturist is like God to me. How serious am I? If I see a needle, or even just a sharp object of any kind, I drop to my knees and cry in relief. Just from the mere sight. Okay, I don't really drop to my knees because that would hurt. But my acupuncturist is the only person who figured out what exactly was/is going on in my legs and was able to treat the problem. She is straight from China and used to be a doctor there at an orthopedic hospital that deals only in Traditional Chinese Medicine. If not for her, I'd still be a miserable, bitchy...witch. Snapping at everyone in my house and lying on the couch crying all day. I still have some days like that occasionally *cough yesterday cough*, but it's only when I've done way too much. Thankfully, I've gotten to the point where I can handle more and more activity, but the process has been excruciatingly sllllloooooowwwwwww. At least I have the comfort of knowing that when I feel a little setback, I can run to the phone, dial a number, and say, "PLEASE. HURT. ME." The person on the other end says, "I have opening at 6 p.m. I put needles. It hurt very bad for day or two. Then you feel relief." And it's not even an obscene phone call. Awesome!

However, the point (ha ha) I'm trying to make but am taking forever to spit out is that when you are in chronic pain, no one cares. NO. ONE. Seriously. Way back in Paragraph 3 when I said "I'm quite familiar with the whole chronic pain thi-...," right about THERE is when the sound of outclicks was absolutely deafening. I doubt there's even anyone still reading this. I'm probably talking to myself now.

As if that's ever stopped me.

Chronic pain is right up there with mental illness. No one wants to listen to you when you're in pain. It's so boring! When people can't see the problem, they therefore think it's "all in your head." And after awhile you start hearing the digs. "What would happen if you had a full-time job? What would you have to do, quit?" Um, YES. Or? I'm pretty sure that's what the terms "short-term disability" and "long-term disability" are used for in the World of the Working. When you can barely shower, dress yourself, or stand long enough to open a can of soup, you are somewhat DISABLED.

For the past two years, I've repeatedly told people (in ever so few words so as not to KILL them with BOREDOM) that I can't do this or that because, well, I can't walk around like a normal person without keeling over in agony. And it's not like I offer up this information for no particular reason. It's usually in response to someone asking me things like, "Hey, did you take the kids to see the fireworks on the 4th?" or "Did you notice that new store in the mall?" or "Any plans for vacation this year?" Answers: "I'm pretty sure that would involve a certain amount of walking, which is something that's hard to do when you can't walk" and "I don't even remember where the mall IS" and "Only if we can find a place with Lazy Boy recliners on the beach and scooter rentals." And I'm usually greeted with a blank and/or disgusted look. Because I certainly don't LOOK like there is anything wrong with me, so therefore I must be insane. Maybe if I cut my legs off and bled profusely on the floor I might see an ounce of understanding and concern. Then again, maybe people would just be disgusted by the mess I was making. So, the way I handle it is, I don't even bother answering people truthfully anymore. I just answer "No" to all their questions and that seems to cover everything. Kind of like when someone says, "How are you?" and they expect you to say fine even if you have been given three months to live. No one wants the details unless they're happy ones.

Don't get me wrong, though. I don't hold it against anyone for reacting like this. Honestly, I don't. It seems to be human nature for people not to understand what they can't see. I'm sure I've been guilty of the same sort of thing before. In fact, I'm positive I have. The only good thing about having chronic pain is that it turns you into a more caring, empathetic person. I mean, now, I see someone with crutches, or even just limping, and I well up with tears and my heart aches for them. I want to carry their purse, help them into their car, fix them lunch. I feel for them.

So, hang in there, Kelly. You'll get better. It just takes time. If worse comes to worse, at least you know that you can turn to God. I'm seeing her tonight at 5 p.m. I'm sure there must be One in your area. Oh, and if you didn't live a gazillion miles away? I'd fix you lunch. And then I'd tell you to stop your whining and get your damn foot off my coffee table.

It's a good thing I'm so organized

Today was Jason's first day of preschool. The "day" began with Jason awakening at 1:32 a.m., clutching his blue blankie and standing next to my side of the bed snuffling and sighing and finally "AHEM!"ing loudly until Paul and I finally responded with a deeply concerned, "WHY ARE YOU OUT OF BED??" Jason: "I saw something at my door and I was scared!" Paul, ever the comforting father: "It was probably a shadow. Just go back to bed." Jason, in a shaky voice: "I don't want to! I saw something!" Me, ever the comforting mother: "GO BACK TO BED." (In my own defense, I had been in a deep sleep and was only half awake. Otherwise, I would've said, "PLEASE GO BACK TO BED"..."HONEY"..."OKAY?")

I lie completely still and hold my breath. Paul lies completely still and holds his breath. Paul finally caves and hauls himself out of bed, throwing me a look of utter disgust (I can see this from behind my eyelids). "Come on," he says to Jay. "I'll show you there's nothing to be afraid of." That's the last thing I remember, so I'm assuming it went well.

6:00 a.m.: "GOOD MORNING, MOMMY!" There he is again, next to my bed, like a permanent fixture. Fine. We go downstairs. Where it's so early, I figure I have plenty of time to laze around and drink coffee for awhile. Surely a full hour will be adequate time to get both kids ready for school, even if I need extra time to take pictures of Jason in his going-back-to-school outfit before we leave.

As usual, however, there is the slow buildup of chaos as we approach 8:20, which is when we should be leaving the house.

7:20: I decided, well, I probably should start getting us organized. I promptly realize I don't know where Jason's backpack is.

7:30: Found it. Open it to reveal information papers that really should've been filled out and sent to school with him today. Oh, well. It can wait until tomorrow.

7:35: Scrub dirt spots off backpack. Totally forgot that it was dirty from summer camp. Lovely.

7:40: Realize I don't have a new lunchbox for Jason. I have to use the old, ripped one from last year. How embarrassing! Oh, well. I'll look for one on eBay today.

7:45: Begin packing lunchboxes and backpacks.

7:55: Declare backpacks complete and set them by the door.

8:00: Realize I need to send an extra set of clothes and underwear for Jason. Empty and repack his backpack with new items.

8:05: Give the boys breakfast. They kept saying they weren't hungry before, so I almost forgot to feed them. It's their fault, not mine.

8:10: Find homework(!)in Drew's backpack that needs to be done in, oh, the next ten minutes.

8:12-8:14: Drew does homework.

8:15: Get them both dressed in between reminding them to hurry up and eat.

8:20 (which is when we should be leaving): Realize Drew's fingernails need to be cut. I CANNOT send him to school with icky fingernails. I quickly cut them.

8:23: Drew announces he has to go to the bathroom. Fantastic.

8:25: Grab camera and have Jason pose at front door. He smiles. I press button. Nothing. "Low battery." The story of my life. Run down the basement to get spare batteries.

8:28: Take picture and am thrilled that I get a couple of really cute shots...but then immediately want to kill someone when I realize that the shots are blurry. Some sort of setting is off on the damn camera. Resolve to kill whoever messed with it. Too late to figure out what's wrong, so the pictures will have to do.

8:32: Realize I'm, um, not dressed. And I haven't brushed my teeth. How did I miss this?

8:35: Dressed in sweats and armed with a headband and breath mints, I am ready to roll.

8:36: Guide the sloth-like children out the front door ("Come on! Hell-Ooooo!!! While we're young, please!") Slam door with flourish. I should know by now that the Flourished Door Slam is always immediately followed by the exclamation, "SHIT, I forgot my keys! Now we're really going to be late!" This is exactly why we keep a spare key hidden outside...in a tree. Or something. (As if I'd tell you all where it's really hidden. What do you think, I'm an idiot? Clearly this post proves that I am NOT.)

8:40: We're finally on our way, just barely avoiding the dreaded Walk of Shame to the office to sign Drew in late. Whew.

8:50: Jason arrives at school, on time. See? I KNEW I could pull it off in an hour. I always amaze myself at how I work well under pressure.

9:02: Arrive home. Vomit. Fling myself into a chair. Sob quietly in relief. You know, the usual.

But I think I do get extra points for Best Dressed Preschool Boy Ever.

I could've eaten him right up this morning, including those cute little Buster Brown shoes. I might suck at life in general, but damn I'm good at dressing my kids.

Movie Quote Monday

"Once you have a man with no legs, you never go back, baby!"

"We can make it, baby! Me and you! ...BITCH!!!"

"Is there a problem, officers?"

"When I was growing up, if we wanted a Jacuzzi, we had to fart in the tub."

"It ain't cool being no jive turkey so close to Thanksgiving."

_________________

Feel free to join MQM! Leave your link in the comments so we can come by and take a guess at your quote, too.

More MQM fun:
The Colleen Scene
No Diet Coke for Mommy

Optimism and Pessimism

[For the SNL fans, you can add your own Debbie-Downer "bwaah-bwaaaaaaahhh..." sound after the "Me" responses.]

Him: "We should go to the beach next weekend with the kids."
Me: "It's probably going to rain. It always rains on the weekend when we want to go somewhere. Why bother?"

Him: "Did you notice how well the flowers that I planted filled in?"
Me: "Yeah. But now they look like they're covering a casket."
(Okay. But they do. I mean...come on. Doesn't that picture reek of cemetary?)

Him: "It's such a nice day. We should eat dinner out on the deck tonight. What do you think?"
Me: "Have you ever heard of Triple E? Call me crazy, but I'd rather reduce my risk of death by 100% and eat at the dining room table."

Him: "I'm looking forward to Christmas this year! Aren't you?"
Me: "I don't know how we're going to pay for all the presents. We'll probably have to take out a loan this year."

Him: "I can't believe how grown up Drew is starting to look!"
Me: "I know. His whole babyhood was a blur. I miss him being a baby. He was such a cute baby, but he doesn't look like a baby at all anymore. Even Jason doesn't look like a baby anymore. It gives me this sick feeling in my stomach whenever I think about not having anymore babies. Can we talk about something else?"

*Paul begins to play pretend Russian roulette with his thumb and forefinger*

Him: "It's starting to feel like fall. I love the crisp air, walking in the crunchy leaves, going apple-picking. I think it's my favorite season of the year!"
Me: "Shit it's getting cold. I hate wearing jackets."

Him: "Wow, you look fantastic tonight!"
Me: "Really? Because I feel fat. Do I look fat in this? Maybe I should change. I hope you'd tell me if you think what I'm wearing is unflattering. You would, right?"
Him: "..."
Me: "I look terrible, I know. I can see it on your face. I'll go find something else to wear."

*Paul shoots self with real gun this time*

*I can't hear gunshot because I'm busy slamming dresser drawers upstairs, whining, "I NEVER have ANYTHING to WEAR! I'm so SICK of this!!!"*

Mars and Venus

Scenario I

I'm grouchy: This usually is because I'm worried about finances or family issues. Or maybe it's because I haven't left the house for five days straight and Paul's working 92 hours a week at his job as a sjdokradsjk and I can't get a break from the kids. Or it's PMS. Or I've cut too far back on the carbs. (It's a scary thing when all of these things happen on the same day. Trust me.)

How I handle it: Snap at everyone in the house. Or I don't talk to anyone at all. I put on The Face and give everyone The Look. If you touch me, I will cut you.

He's grouchy: This usually means he's feeling neglected or rejected (see above). Or the baseball game was preempted by a State of the Union Address. Or there are no cookies in the house.

How he handles it: Ice cream. Playstation.

Scenario II

My pants feel tight: This means, obviously, I have put on a few pounds.

How I handle it: Cut carbs. Exercise. Smaller portions. Wear Fat Pants until Normal Pants fit comfortably again.

His pants feel tight: "These pants shrunk in the dryer!" he exclaims, full of wonder and amazement at this curious phenomenon. When I point out that he's had the pants for over five years and they've been washed a gazillion times already, he presents with a look I can only describe as: The Fly-Catcher. He has absolutely NO clue what I'm talking about.

How he handles it: Shrugs. Puts on bigger different pants. Eats a trough of ice cream after dinner. Gets himself a Snickers when sent to the store to buy toilet paper. Waits it out because the smaller shrunken pants always stretch back out again for some unknown reason in, oh, a week or two. (I. HATE. MEN.)

Scenario III

I'm feeling affectionate: Everything is right in my world. (And all the planets have aligned and hell is getting a little chilly.) Or I've lost a few pounds because my Normal Pants fit. Comfortably!

How I handle it: Hug and slobber over the kids. Hug and slobber over Paul. Hug and slobber over the laptop. No one is spared. This condition usually lasts about 15 minutes. Unless the Normal Pants are actually LOOSE (the mere idea makes me want to french kiss my computer screen), in which case the condition lasts for at least 20-25 minutes or until I gain five pounds, whichever comes first.

He's feeling affectionate: I just cooked a meal that he's enjoyed very much. Or he just got a call from a friend who has free tickets to a game of some sort. Or it's Nip/Tuck night. (It's a scary thing when all of these things happen on the same day. Trust me.)

How he handles it: Playfully groping and grabbing me every time he walks by. No hugging. That would be boring. Pays no attention to The Face or The Look. (Which prompts me to move on to the Slamming of the Cabinets and Drawers.)

Do you see a pattern here? Follow along, people! No wonder men aren't as moody as women! If we didn't worry so much about what we eat, we would all be more pleasant, more affectionate people who believe in the Dryer Fairy! Wouldn't that be sad nice? Women clearly need to ingest more carbs, more fat, and more calories so they can be happier people! *she says as she shoots a Look at her husband on the way to the freezer for a lowfat, reduced calorie, no-sugar-added fudgicle*

My life is complete.

It's finally happened, at long last. I had been awake most nights, waiting and worrying. I was wondering what exactly was going on and how long I was going to be kept on the edge of my seat. Where is she? Is she even real?

Why, yes, she is! I have seen Suri Cruise! You can take a peek at some pictures at The Green Straw, along with a lot of other interesting pictures of celebs. Enjoy!