Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Fighting the Good Fight

In order to maintain my current weight, which if I haven't mentioned before has not gone up since I got knocked up, I have been monitoring my food intake.

By monitoring, I mean thinking to myself, "Self, perhaps you shouldn't have another bowl of chocolate ice cream." I then drown out the voice of inner reason with ecstatic yummy noises, inspired by aforementioned ice cream.

(The inner voice of reason is connected to your inner second mouth, which is not to be confused with the third eye, which is you pituitary gland and....never mind.)

Seriously, though, I have been upping by veggie intake and limiting my sugar consumption. Shut up.
This was sabotaged by my darling father, who is already on my hit list for other more serious crimes, but who further blackened his reputation by bringing me a box of my greatest temptation in life.

Dewars Chews. Oye.

I'm sure he received the box as a part of the swag he frequently collects for speaking engagements and the like, and since his mid life crisis has reached truly epic proportions he has sworn off sugar. So, give it to your grandkids, right? Great in theory, but that box will NEVER reach my children. I am snarfing this stuff up at record rates.

Never heard of Dewars? Let me enlighten you.

I Bakersfield, CA, there is a candy shop ( duh, Dewars) that makes a superior white taffy that is wrapped around peanut or almond butter. Both varieties are stupendous, but almond is my very favorite. I think there are other flavors as well, but I haven't gotten past the peanut butter or almond to try them. I can put them out of my mind when they aren't around, since they are a) hard to get and b) a little pricey. But when I'm given a box? Watch out. I nearly snarled at Mr. Clairol for trying one. Yikes.

So we'll see what the scale says at tomorrow's visit.

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Yoga and the expectant mother

Did you know that your third eye is your pituitary gland, which is connected to the baby?

Yes, I know...I was surprised too.

I'm 8 months along and in an effort to eliminate a sore and achy back, I've purchased a yoga tape. Mir would be proud. I got it second hand and only paid $2.00 for it. It's been sitting on my desk for about a month, waiting for me to actually do it after the students leave.

Today, I attempted it for the first time and I've developed some helpful rules for the pregnant and yoga minded.

Top Ten Rules for Yoga and Pregnancy

10. ALWAYS pee before yoga.

9. Laughing is not the same as chanting.

8. That's okay, because chanting is not necessary to reap the benefits of yoga. Despite what the guru says.

7. Divine is not spelled Devine. I guess if I had my eyes closed like I was supposed to, I wouldn't have noticed. But why put it on the screen if I'm supposed to have my eyes closed? Is that where the third eye comes in?

6. Jeans are not yoga wear. Even the saggy, baggy maternity kind.

5. Wear slip on shoes, because tying sneakers is akin to very (crazy) advanced yoga in your third trimester.

4. Getting up off the floor is REALLY hard, no matter how easy the women on the tape make it look. I'm starting to suspect they are simply wearing pillows under those shirts.

3. Clear a very large space. This is important.

2. Yoga teachers love the word pelvis. Seriously.

1. Always pee before yoga. Yeah, I know that was number 10. It bears repeating.

Here's another factoid. Did you know that yoga builds your electro-magnetic field, which protects you and the baby during labor? Uh huh.

Also, Smarties are very Zen candy. I've been experimenting and they are chock full of Zenny goodness.

Closing thought. I will not chant anything I'm not sure of in translation. Call me paranoid.

Love of Language

I am a word geek. I have a large vocabulary and flaunt it shamelessly. I use words like erudite and soporific in conversation. This has earned me a few "huh?" looks, but I don't care. I like having a good word for the occasion and using it. Being articulate is somewhat off-putting in my social circle, but you know what? So is groping your girlfriend at the company dinner. Which I NEVER do.

This being said, I was less than clear in an email I shot off on Friday. I was asked to pass on some information that I had gotten from our school counselor. So I typed up an email to our district special programs director and considered my work done.

Perhaps not.

Apparently, I used a poor turn of phrase, referring to something we would like to see happen as "our recommendation." This inspired a flurry of panicked phone calls and emails to various and assorted entities. Basically, I made it sound like my IEP team was recommending something we had no business recommending. Whoops. I've spent all day emailing and calling, assuring people that we were not grossly overstepping our legal limits. Instead, I "miscommunicated" and "used poor phrasing."

Somehow, I don't think I'll be called on by the White House or even the Governor's Mansion to handle any PR emergencies. And that's fine, 'cause the thought of being groped by Ah-nold makes me a little queasy. But, then again, that's probably the pregnancy talking.

And no, the nursery isn't ready for photos yet. Shut up.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Timing is Everything

As an SDC teacher, I teach a lot of different subjects. One of those is 7th grade science. As any Californian teacher knows, this is the year of life science, which in turn means...the reproductive cycle. Oh yeah, baby. That's right.

So we've reached the end of the book and the last chapter is all about sex and reproduction and babies and birth. I am a living, breathing, science model. The kids listened to the chapter on birth and development today and had so many questions, we used most of the period for discussion. This is what I had fantasized teaching would be like. As I was standing there, answering questions about placenta and uterine cavities, the little sailor did a monster somersault that was FULLY visible to my horrified and delighted class.

"Was that the baby?!?" one young woman wanted to know.

I simply smiled and nodded

"Oh now, that has GOT to hurt!" said a young man.

"Not really. The kicks in the ribs hurt worse than that." I replied.

They continued to pepper me with questions about delivery and water breaking and epidurals. Sailor boy, bless him, kicked and jabbed like Billy Blanks on speed. Every time my belly jumped, they would oooh and aaah. We pulled up a picture of what a 32 week old fetus looked like and one of my brighter students realized that 9 months was 36 weeks. We then talked about how pregnancy is really 10 months, not nine and how, in four weeks, I could give birth at any time.

"What if you water breaks in class?" A asked.

"I guess I would have to call the office and get a ride from class. But that's not going to happen. We're done here in about four weeks anyway and my last pregnancy was 41 weeks long."

"41!" the girls squealed.

Heh heh heh. It's excellent birth control if you ask me. Maybe I'll let Mr. Clairol tape this birth...

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Random Bits of the Here and There

Bit #1

Oh my GOD! I love being pregnant. During the first trimester, I lost a bit of weight. This is to be expected when you're throwing up everything you eat. I figured that we would be using the post weight lost figure as the base line for measuring my *dum dum dum* WEIGHT GAIN *dum dum!*

But no! We are using the pre weight loss figure as the base line! As a result, I have not gained any weight during this pregnancy. I Have Not Gained Any Weight During This, My Third Pregnancy!! My ObGyn tells me I should probably try to gain at least 10 pounds in the next couple of months. Heee hee hee. I'm still a little giddy, folks. I'm an economy sized girl, so I'm pretty sure this is the first time a doctor has told me gain weight. Dr. Lovely has recommended adding a serving of low-fat dairy to my daily intake. I think that means have a cookie.

Bit #2

I am rediscovering my love of teaching. Somewhere along the way, my bad attitude has evaporated (must be the top 10 lists) and I am rekindling my passion for the craft. This is not to say I am rethinking the SAHM track. Come on people, the worst of this years crop is sixth graders. I'd have them for another two years!!! It only means I will be a little sad in 22 days. And by the way, I haven't gained ANY weight with this pregnancy.

Bit #3

I love my mom. She is the smartest, prettiest, most talented woman on the planet and she's hanging tough through a really bad stretch of life. Men should not have the option of leaving a thirty year marriage because they aren't happy any more. Even if they've been diagnosed with a terminal illness. Because, really, is it your marriage making you unhappy? I think not.

Anyway, she's coming over Friday, during the day and we are hoping to complete the transformation of the brown fish room of doom into a lovely nautical nursery for the baby sailor. Golly, I sound like Paige Davis from Trading Spaces. Is she still on that show? Is it even still on? I haven't gained any weight with this pregnancy.

If we can get the room done, I'll try to post pictures. I hear flicker is good for that. Unfortunately, I can't post any before shots, because contrary to my best intentions, I never remember to take before shots, until the room is almost done. Trust me though. It was ATROCIOUS.

Bit #4

I haven't gained any weight with this pregnancy. Is that getting old? Too bad.

Bit #5

I never thought I'd say this, but poor Britney. My sneering disdain has curdled into reluctant pity. That's all I'm gonna say.

Bit # 6

We did the pool thing last weekend and it was spectacular. I highly recommend swimming to stretch those tired back and leg muscles, refresh your too-hot system and attain a brief feeling of weightlessness. Plus, watching your husband toss your toddler around and listening to her belly laugh is like a drug, people.

Bit # 7

Jenny Lauck has a sort of new site at Clubmom called Big Slice of Life, small slice of cheesecake. She's documenting her weight loss efforts and posting some tasty menu plans and recipes. I highly recommend this site, but not because I'm trying to lose weight. You may have heard that I haven't gained any weight with this pregnancy. Also, check out JennyontheSpot. Different Jenny and you'll hate her for marathon training with 3, count 'em, 3 kids, but very good stuff.

Bit # 8

Thank you for your patience with my verbal victory dance. I know it got tiresome, but for a plus size girl to accomplish this was a huge deal. After the baby is born, look for numerous posts about trying to lose weight that I can't call baby weight in any fairness. We'll call it my pasta weight instead.

Bit # 9
Epidurals rule! Why do Obs guesstimate the size of the baby? Don't they know that freaks us out??? Missy Hoo Haw wasn't huge, but at 8lb 2 oz, she was no light weight. Did I mention 22 inches? Now Dr. Lovely is telling me that this one is probably (definitely, she whispers!) going to be bigger. The good news? He probably won't be late, like MH was. Thank you, Lord on high! He's measuring 2 weeks ahead of due date at this posting. I'm returning a bunch of the newborn size onesies, remembering that MH only wore them for a week. heh heh heh.

Bit # 10

Look for some fun potty training posts in our near future. MH is saying "poo poo" when she has to go and squatting soon after. She also starts saying "Ucky! EWWW!" when she has gone. Me thinks it's time to invest in a potty chair. And boy, they've gotten fancy! I did a little preview shopping this weekend and oh! the bells and whistles. Literally, bells and whistles! Wow. The last time I did this, pull ups hadn't even made an appearance yet.

Speaking of Pull ups...Any opinions on these? Do they help or hinder? Share with me your mothering wisdom and don't hate me because I HAVEN'T GAINED ANY WEIGHT DURING THIS PREGNANCY! whooo whoooo!

Bit # 11

Funny thing: a spell check brought up onesies and suggested replacing it with homesick. In the words of Drama Queen, "Who, what, when, where, why?"

Yes, she says this everytime she wants you to repeat something. Adolescence is such a joy!

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

The Outsiders...Finale

Last night, I brought home a video to preview for my class. It was a filmed scene from the novel, The Outsiders, that two of my students had put together for their final project. Of course, Mr. OBH, wanted to view it with me.

He loves having a teacher for a wife. This may sound like sarcasm, but it really isn't. He wants to hear the essays I am grading, look at the math homework I am creating, discuss the history I will be teaching. I love this man.

We were sitting on our bed and preparing to view the tape, when Drama Queen sauntered in and plunked herself down.

"I might as well get a few tips. I am going to be a middle schooler next year." Please envision a head toss here.

" Okay," I said, laughing silently. Or maybe out loud.

Missy Hoo Haw was also there. It was a family viewing, if you will. Can you picture it? Mounds of clean laundry, my almost two year old snuggled in a pile with an old t-shirt of her dad's (Of course it wasn't clean! Are you joking?), my eleven year old sprawled at the foot of the bed,, Mr. Clairol (sorry, hon.) and I busily folding, the glow of the TV illuminating our faces. Norman Rockwell, eat your heart out.

The video was wonderful. It started with not one, but two introductions, artfully shot. The boys had chosen a scene from the church in Windrixville, with Johnny and Ponyboy telling Dally that they were turning themselves in. There was the requisite line fumbling, a few expository asides and then they cut to the fire at the church.


Relax. They used an RC car and action figures to simulate the boys driving to a paper church that had smoke bombs inside. With a little aerosol, they ignited the church and tossed the action figures in. The figure representing Johnny fell out (I have no clue how they arranged that...) and D screamed, "MY BACK...Oh God, MY BAAAAACK!"


Mr. Clairol and I laughed so hard, we cried. DQ laughed because she thought the boys were really cute and maybe she does want to go to RHMS next year instead of WCMS. (Not a chance, sweetheart) She also wanted to borrow a copy of The Outsiders to read. (Again I say, No Way.) MH laughed because everyone else was. We watched it again and giggled some more, then put the girls to bed.

Later, Mr. Clairol asked if I wasn't going to miss teaching just a bit. And I guess I will.


10. 12 weeks paid vacation.

9. Getting visits from past students.

8. Decorating a classroom.

7. Grading exceptional work.

6. Having a student ask an insightful question.

5. Assigning a book and watching them discover they actually like what they are reading.

4. Class discussions where students are actually involved.

3. Teaching the Life Skills math budgeting and hearing students say, "I thought I was making a lot of money, but it goes so quickly!"

2. Hearing a parent say, "My kid really likes your classes."

1. Watching the 8th graders graduate and move on to a brave, new world. And crying.

Monday, May 22, 2006

Squirrel Central, Can I Help You?

I don't what the heck was in the water at my place this weekend, but I'd like some more please.

Saturday morning, Missy HooHaw slept until 8:00 am...8:oo A.M.!!!!! Ahhhh, the bliss. When she did wake up, she was just as silly and happy as a girl could be, babbling and laughing hysterically at jokes only she got. She crawled over us in bed and when Daddy fell asleep and began snoring again, she laid her head down by his, shut her eyes and started to pretend snore. SO FREAKIN' CUTE! Then she started pointing out his facial features, yanking on his ears and touching her nose to his while yelling "WAKE UP!" Since I was awake, I naturally found this hilarious.

We dressed and ran some errands, while Drama Queen chirped about her friends new "secret club" and cast us dirty looks when we said the "H" word. What is the "H" word, you ask? Well pull up a chair and let me tell you!

DQ got her school pictures back on Friday and apparently, A told C to tell F that J said, "DQ looks totally hot in the class picture." Bwaaaahahahahahaha. DQ is mortified by this and will not even hear the "H" word. She brought a sample photo home, so we could make an informed choice about the package purchase. When Mr. Clairol saw this photo, he muttered, "Oh, sh**," opened a beer and sat on the couch. Every time he passed the fridge this weekend, he would glance at the picture, shake his head and sigh. Poor boy. Too be fair, she does look pretty hot in the picture. It's not the standard headshot. Oh no. DQ is reclining over a set of white stairs, looooong legs stretched out, head titled just so, with a sweet smile and a sweep of long brown hair. She's wearing a very modest sweater set and jeans, so it's not a cheesecake shot. It is however, a sobering glimpse of what is coming. Break out the shot gun.

While we ran errands (I love me some Lowe's!), we chatted about my garden and at the mention of tomatoes, MH launches into a torrent of speech. The words I understood? Grandma, 'mato, bite, yummmmm, not cheese, and cuppy. MH was introduced to grape tomatoes at her grandma's house recently and has developed a passion for tomatoes that rivals her love of cheese. Last night, she stealthily picked tomato bits out of my salad while I wasn't looking. I would look at her and she would smile a big, seedy smile and say, "Um!" hmmmm.

It went like that all weekend. There was a bit of sadness, when my dad came by to take DQ to the movies. They saw Akeelah and the Bee, then went to ice cream, where he told her about his diagnosis of ALS. She doesn't quite get it, me thinks. Her reaction? "Can we turn on the radio again?" Oh-kaaaay. When I attempted to talk to her, she simply asked if she could wear a red bracelet too. Double Oh-kaaaay.

So continues life in Casa de Ahnberg.

Top 10 things about this weekend.

10. Making more progress on the nursery. Pictures will be forthcoming, if I can figure out how.

9. Watching Missy Hoo Haw and Drama Queen dance to "Groove is in the Heart" by Delite.

8. Planting tomatoes in my brand new garden!

7. Listening to MH sing the theme song to Jack's Big Music Show.

6. The dirty looks in response to the H word.

5. Going to Lowe's and Michaels on the SAME weekend.

4. Mr. Clairol telling the stranger in the grocery check out line that no we weren't having another girl...this one was a BOY! (insert victory dance here. Oh yes, he did.)

3. Mr. Clairol telling me that I should change his blog name to Oily Bohunk...OBH for short. Go rent Sixteen Candles.

2. Swimming in our pool for the first time this summer.

1. Reading with both my girls snuggled into me and my baby boy somersaulting.

Life is SO good.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

What the HECK Have I Gotten Us Into???

The nursery is on the way to being complete. I've bought the first round of baby clothes and am shopping for bedding. The name is picked out and I am FREAKING OUT, people.

I"m not sure I can raise a boy. I've done all right with girls. I'm a girly-girl myself and and I love the whole twirly dress, ballet slipper, tea party gig. Love it. Now, Missy HooHaw is tough stuff and loves to rough house and play with cars and balls. But she also loves to brush hair and cuddle her baby dolls. She gets a charge out of watching me cook and playing with tupperware. Drama Queen is ALL GIRL. She's painting her nails and shopping for clothes, sampling the joys of lip gloss and pleading for "just a little glitter!"

But a boy? Urgh. See, I played soccer as kid, sort of. More like I put on the uniform and stood on the field, picking dandelions and twirling to the music in my head as the ball whizzed by. That's my sports experience in total. I never played with trucks or GI Joes. When my poor little brother wanted to play with me, we played Barbies.

I know all the wonderful books for girls to read. Eight Cousins, Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, Ballet Shoes, and on and on. I don't know any great books for boys to read. What if he hates to read???? Even MH will sit for a half hour, looking at her board books, babbling in that curious toddler patois. What will I do with a child who turns up his nose at The Very Hungry Catepillar?

Am I worrying for nothing? I think not. I watch my friends raise their sons and think to myself, "That's not what I'm doing. Are boys really so different?" Apparently, they are. Pray for me. Daily. Without Ceasing. For I am great with child and fearful.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Sunny Side Up

I have discovered that contrary to my perception of myself as a fairly optimistic person, I have a negative outlook on life. Several things happened yesterday that brought this home.

I was talking to a colleague yesterday and all of a sudden, really heard myself. I realized how negative I sounded and was a little appalled. I started to pay attention to wha I was saying and to what others were saying and got even more appalled. Mostly I like saying appalled. Anyway.

I didn't like how I sounded. My husband and I talked about it last night, and he just assumed I was miserable from being pregnant in the heat. Yikes. Then, I spoke briefly with my ex's current girlfriend and she asked how my pregnancy was. I started to give my standard, smart ass answer, then stopped and said, "Great."

I've been thinking about it for a while now. It's weighing on me. I don't like negativity. And I really don't want to model that for Drama Queen and Missy Hoohaw. Yeah, it's hot and I'm not the most comfortable I've ever been. But this is the LAST time I'll be pregnant. There is so much to love about this time and I've wasted most of it complaining. I don't want to do that anymore.


Top 10 Things I love about Pregnancy!

10. Seeing my OB/GYN once a month. Seriously...I really like her and it's nice to chat briefly.

9. My friend Andrea and I are pregnant at the same time...AGAIN!

8. My husband rubs my feet voluntarily!

7. The sweet smile I get from total strangers when they see my belly.

6. Conversations with total strangers, while standing in line. I used to hate this, but you know, it passes the time!

5. Hearing the heartbeat.

4. The way Missy HooHaw lays her head on my belly and pats it.

3. People jump to get me things...even Drama Queen. (except chicken and bread...)

2. Having a totally taut belly. Sure, it's convex and not concave, but it's still tight as a drum, baby!

1. Feeling him squirm and wriggle. What a miracle.

I thought this would be a hard list to put together, but it was actually pretty easy. I even left some things off, like the anticipation of seeing his face and holding his tiny hands. Decorating the nursery. The pride my husband feels in passing on his family name and naming his son after his father. Counting the kicks and wriggles.

Okay, now I'm all bummed that this is the last one. Dang it! This positive thinking stuff is tricky.

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

I chose middle school because I didn't want to deal with young children. No, I'm not an ogre. I love small ones. I am enjoying the toddler years, for the most part. But 20 of them at a time? I'd prefer to have my feet burned off. I wipe noses, tie shoes and rub tummies at home. I don't want to do it at work.

However, the middle schooler is not bullet proof. Yesterday, I found this out the hard way.

My students filed in for homeroom looking healthy and somewhat awake. As is our routine, they took out a book and began the 15 minutes silent reading that starts everyday but Monday.

Seven minutes into the period, "A" came and asked if he could go to the bathroom. I said yes and he left. Two minutes later, he staggered back in, his face the livid green of a healing bruise. "Mrs. ****, I don't feel so good." He then proceeded to sink slowly to the floor. YIKES!

Of course, my intrepid aide was down in the office, making copies. I am in a rather isolated building at the outer edge of our large campus. I calmly called the office, explained I had a sick student that needed help getting to the office and could they send the golf cart up? The student was coming to and I helped him into a chair, guiding his head between his knees. I shooed the other students back to their seats, discreetly slid a wastebasket nearer to A and prayed he didn't toss his cookies. In short, I was great in the crisis.

After I got Alex sent off to the office, I called his mom, so she had time to leave work and get here. I called the secretary to let her know what was up and knew exactly when Alex came in the office. She gasped and whispered, "He's so white, he's green!" Yep...that had been my impression.

I figured A was going to be down for a while, but who should saunter in this morning, looking chipper and fit?
He reports a trip to the emergency room, but no diagnosis. The medical community had no clue what the problem was. He seems fine today. I'm still minorly traumatized, but hey, I'll deal. Still beats kindergarten.

Monday, May 08, 2006

The Joys of Being "Spouse"

This weekend was my husband's annual employee appreciation dinner. Hoo Boy.

Now, I'm not one to bitch and moan about a free dinner and an open bar, even if I do have to wear a nametag that reads, "Spouse." It's a pretty sweet deal. There's cocktail hour and the catered dinner is surprisingly good. Plus, it's a huge company with 13 car dealerships and the employees move alot between dealerships. We get to see people we haven't seen in a while. My husband still gets a charge out of escorting me around and introducing his wife. He honestly believes I am the most gorgeous woman in the room. (He's a better judge of engines than women, apparently.) It's pretty fun.

Except when you're sober.

This year, I was pregnant, so no open bar or wine with dinner. That's not to say I wasn't asked to go get drinks for a couple of the guys who had been cut off. Yeah, I'm serious. And yeah, I refused. I sat at the table and realized for the first time, that my husband and I have some seriously obnoxious friends.

Our table was loud. LOUD. The president of the company had to stop talking twice because the noise from our group was distracting. This is a ballroom with over 600 people in it. These guys and their wives were yukking it up, heckling the people being introduced, whistling and get the picture. I have to say, this is kind of the president's fault. He gives a long speech. His father, who started the company, gives a short speech. Then there is a 3 minute video for every person getting a 5, 10, 15, etc. year service pin for all 13 dealerships. And to ask a bunch of drunk mechanics to be quiet for all that? Not fair. Even I wasn't paying attention, but there were a lot of distractions at our table.

The couple next to us started dating a couple of months ago. He had both hands up her skirt and was kissing her cleavage. NO, I am not exaggerating. I am serious. Thankfully, they disappeared for an hour after desert. The couple across the table was hiding the centerpiece, a HUGE silver vase, packed full of pink and white carnations, under the table so they could take it with them. The couple on the other side of us were so drunk, they were staring around with silly grins, saying the F word loudly, while the table next to us was shushing them.

They weren't the only ones. I started counting the F bombs early in the night, but lost count after 187. Again, not exaggerating. I hang out with a classy bunch. And I didn't even count the MF bombs. I put that in a different category of cursing.

Then there was the entertainment. Last year, it was a troop of musical theater actors doing numbers from Broadway musicals. You know, Phantom, Cats, etc. They were fine, but it was plain why they were singing for a car dealership and not Stephen Sondheim. This year was Fabulous Fifties and the same group, doing golden oldies. They were actually worse this year. My group left the room and congregated in the bar, probably because there wasn't anything to throw.

We came back for the raffle, in which 15 $200 mall certificated were given away. The woman beside me was counting how many times people from the same dealership won. Curious? Sure you are. Audi won 6 times, Acura won 4 times, Land Rover won twice. Lexus: 3, but hey...they came all the way from Concorde! No one from the VW store won, which caused a loud chorus of boos and "Fix!" from my table. I think they were drunk enough to slur their words, so probably, no one could understand anyway.

My favorite moment was when I went to the bathroom and two older ladies were at the mirror. They got very quiet when I walked in and I recognized them from one of the tables surrounding ours. I'm sure the dirty looks were the give-away. I smiled and very nicely apologized for my table. They just shook their heads and left. Hey, they were lucky it wasn't the aquaintance I'll dub "Miss Mai Tai." She actually invited a 60 year old woman outside at Outback one year. Yessiree. Classy.

We went home shortly after. It was a 4 and a 1/2 hour evening that seemed about 12 hours long. Thank heavens most of them had rooms at the hotel that night. And thank you, sweet Jesus, that they did away with the Christmas party.

Next year, I'm getting hammered.

Thursday, May 04, 2006

Treading Water...sort of

I'm back from my off track time and I wish I could say that it was just what I needed to get some perspective. Unfortunately, that would be a lie.

I won't complain. I won't whine. I'm looking on the sunny side. Really.

So today, I'll blog as a mom. That's feeling like a pretty great job right now.

I was driving home Tuesday with Missy HooHaw and Drama Queen, when I realized I had forgotten to pick up a rotisserie chicken on my way to get MH. No big deal, right? WRONG!

1) nothing was thawed for an alternate dinner
2)pizza night was Monday
3) I had cleaned out the fridge and given leftovers to Angus, the canine garbage disposal.

So go into the store and get the chicken, you say. HAHAAHAHAHAHA. You, dear reader, have forgotten what it is to wrestle a 32 pound toddler into her car seat in the 7th month of pregnancy. Missy Hoo Haw HATES her car seat and is not above fighting dirty to avoid sitting in it. What to do?

I pulled into the parking lot of our hideously overpriced, but familiar neighborhood supermarket and turned to (11 year old, almost 12) Drama Queen. "How would you like to run an errand?"

"Sure," she said, "what do you want me to do?"

I handed her ten dollars and said, "Go in and buy a cooked chicken and a loaf of bread."

Obviously, in teen speak, this means "Run around naked, screaming the Star Spangled Banner at the top of your voice." She was horrified.

"I can't do that!" she exclaimed.

"Why not?"

"People are going to see some kid buying chicken and bread and think I'm an orphan or something!!! What if they call the cops?" I'll insert here that she wasn't joking...she really believed this was a possibility. The nick name making more sense? I thought so.

"Honey, no one is going to think you're an orphan. And as long as you PAY for the food, they won't call the cops. You can even get a candy bar with the change."

"Oh great!!! A kid buying chicken, bread and a CANDY BAR??????" They'll really think I"m an orphan! What parent lets their kid buy CANDY?!?!?!?!?"

No, I didn't laugh, gentle reader. I didn't strangle her. I bowed to her logic and called Mr. Clairol, who picked up the chicken and bread (and a candy bar, soda, chips and lunchmeat) on his way home. That night, I thought of all the times Jenny P and I rode our bikes to the Superway and bought candy with our allowances, never suspecting that all the people we passed were feeling sorry for those poor orphans.

Ah, Parenthood.