Riddle me this

Why is it that my husband can play X Box 360 until 2 in morning but falls asleep at 9:30 while watching TV with me? I guess it's the interactive component. So does that mean I should try and kill him intermittently while we are watching our favorite show--to keep him on his toes? And how is it that the X Box 360 was Sage's birthday present but Alan got 4 games while Sage only got one?

Why is it that they made the kids go to school half way into June yet this whole week all they have done is watch movies? Why do the teachers think "Oh, standardized tests are done, I'm just a baby sitter now!" Isn't there something they could teach them this week? How about some important life skills like safety while cutting your parents lawn? or folding clothes and putting them in drawers? or killing, gutting, cleaning, and cooking a deer? or giving your mom a facial? or sewing your own damn button on your own damn pants?

And when was it that I became such a fuddy-duddy adult who thinks life should be about learning lessons and not playing games or watching Bill Nye the science guy for a week?

Who the hell says fuddy-duddy anymore?

Why is it that I think Sage being tardy yesterday is funny? I guess it's Van Halen's fault. It's just fun to dance around, point at him and sing, "Sage is tardy! Sage is tardy!" "Do you feel tardy? Because you are TA-A-A-Ardy!!" Sage did try and defend himself, "I was tardy because of you, mommy." Oh just because I made him carry a six pound bag of pretzels into class with him for the end of year party! What a whiner!

Why is it that bulk foods excite me so? I go to Costco and I just can't control myself. I want to buy like 3 months worth of food and then hole up in the house for the summer clinging to my guns and my religion. And a six pound bag of pretzels for five bucks seems like a great idea at the time until they make my 8 year old tardy.

Why is it that my cat takes about 5 minutes to heave up that hairball? I mean it's like huh-ack, huh-ack, huh-ack, huh-ack, huh-ack, huh-ack, huh-ack, huh-ack, huh-ack, huh-ack, huh-ack, huh-ack, huh-ack, huh-ack, huh-ack, huh-ack, huh-ack, huh-ack, huh-ack, huh-ack...and it disgusts me but I can't look away until he's done. And why is it that even though we have hardwood everywhere downstairs he always has to go to the rug to throw up?

And finally, why is it that I can't get that Soulja Boy song out of my head. I don't even know the words but I keep singing it anyway. Aaaaaaaaaah, Soulja boy da da da oh, wha wa ba ba wha wa rooooooolllll, wha wa crank that Soulja boy, Superman, la la la Ooooooohhhhhhhhh. And how many times will I have to watch it on You Tube to purge it from my brain forever...or to memorize it and learn the dance--whichever. Crank that thang.

Sage through the ages

How did we get from here.......................................to here?

June 9th, 2000--Sage was born. He was breech so they slit me open like a fish and pulled him into this world. Knowing Sage, I am pretty sure this was his plan all along--to make a dramatic entrance, butt first.


He was such an adorable and easy going baby, he lulled me into thinking it was going to be a piece of cake.

I should have known he was different when at 3 years old he told his preschool class that for Halloween he was going to be a Minotaur. The teacher said, "Well, Sage, can you tell us what a Minotaur is?" "Half man, half bull, " he explained. I am more of a 'buy the costume' type than 'make the costume' type, however Minotaur costumes are nonexistent so I had to figure it out. I was starting to wonder if I could keep up with this boy.




When he was 3 years and 11 months Shepard was born. I will never forget the smile on his face when he met and held him for the first time. Now Sage acts the part of the typical older brother--telling him the thunder is going to get him, telling him the dentist is going to hurt him, standing behind him and whispering "The darkness" over and over again until Shepard runs away crying. But there are times when I see him look at Shepard with that same glowing smile and I can feel the love.



Age 5 and off to school he went without a look back at Mom and Dad. That's when most of our troubles began. I have had to share him with the world and I am not happy about it. In three years we have already had to deal with bullying, unacceptable friends, forgery and his aversion to education. I tried to tell him "Education is the best gift you can ever receive." To which he replied, "NO, a motor bike is the best gift you can ever receive!" He is stubborn, moody, and likes to get a rise out of me. In a moment of unexpected honesty, he once admitted that he will say things just to see me yell. Sometimes I feel like I am always two steps behind him. The day he was born my heart became an open wound that will never heal. He'll never know how much I think about him and struggle with every decision I make. I hope I am doing right by him.

Though he is challenging at times I still love his wide open spirit. He is not afraid to show his enthusiasm, to shake what his mama gave him, to laugh and be laughed at, and to show who he is without apology. Never dull, he can always surprise me and most of the time make me smile.




Raising Sage is like reading a great novel--I cannot put it down and look forward to turning each page because I can't wait to see what happens next.
Happy 8th Birthday, Sage!!

Be careful what you wish for--It might just spray you in the face

My son Shepard, being the 2nd child, is far more independent than his brother. One thing that he doesn't do, and seemingly has no desire to do, is wipe his own butt. About 6 months ago Alan came to me and said, "Shepard needs to learn how to wipe his own butt." To which I said, "Look, Shepard is the 2nd and last child we will ever have. He is my baby and if wants us to wipe his butt, then we should do it. If he wants us to wipe his butt until he is 21, then so be it!! He is our baby, Alan, our last sweet boy!!!" Alan said, "Um, ok" and left not intending to listen to me. I could tell by the way he walked away shaking his head and muttering "Crazy woman hormones."

The weatherman predicted hot as your brain on drugs yesterday so Shepard and I went to Chick-Fil-A for lunch and fun on the indoor play set. In the middle of his glee he abruptly stops and in a pained voice declares he has to go to the bathroom. Then he runs. By the time I caught up with him he was already in the stall with the door locked. I can see him through the crack in the stall and he is sitting--uh oh. And then, "Mommy, I'm pooping!" That is usually my cue to come and do the wiping. But this time I say, "Sorry, Bud, you locked the door and I can't get in. Can you unlock the door?" He yells, "I can't! There's poop in my butt!!" Snickers from the other bathroom occupants. I tell him, "Well, you will just have to wipe yourself this time." Shepard says, "No, I can't! You need to crawl under." "No, Shepard, I am not crawling under." He tries again and through the crack I see him pointing to show me the way, "Just crawl under there." "No Shepard, I cannot crawl under."

I see him hop off of the toilet, do the 'pants around your ankles and poop in your butt' shuffle up to the door. He unlocks and I enter the stall and lean over to see the damage. I silently apologize to Sheryl Crow 'cause I am going to need a lot more than one square for this job. So while I'm bent over wiping my son's ass the tsunami-loud automatic flushing toilet keeps going off and spraying me in the face with toilet water. Aw hell, was my mouth open?! Shepard says, "Are you done?" Toilet flushes again. Alan might be right about this one. This baby is going to Daddy's butt wiping boot camp ASAP.

I'm melting, what a world!

For the past two weeks we had family visiting from London. (Holla M&M and The British!) We had a great time but the drinking, oooohhh, all the drinking and eating. Too much eating. It had to end! I never thought I would be looking forward to going back on my diet, but I am.

So here's a diet update--It's slow but there has been progress. I have lost a good solid 8 pounds. I was hoping for more by this point but I have to face the fact that I am older and have no air brushing at my disposal. On the bright side, I am down to one chin and inches have been lost. I have not been able to drop to the lower size in pants yet; however, the size I wear is very loose on me. Let's just say that my butt crack will definitely be needing some SPF 30 soon.

I have also been exercising, Ack! I am allergic to exercise but the drinking helps me through it. I go to a ladies' gym with my mom. The weight machines are set up in a circle and we cycle through them twice and then we're done. I hate to brag but I am probably the strongest and most energetic of anyone at the gym. Of course most of the women at the gym are about 20 to 30 years older than me. But hey, I'm kicking their ass!!

So here I was feeling good about myself until yesterday.

Sage "Can we go to the pool today?"

Me "No, I'm not ready to get into a bathing suit just yet."

Sage "Because you're fat?"

Actually, I was thinking more of the body hair situation than the fat situation.

Shepard chimed in, "Why are you fat, Mommy?"

Sage "Shepard, Mommy's not fat. She's not!"

Yeah, whatever, he just wanted to go to the pool, the little liar.

Countdown...25 days until my 20th high school reunion. Will I drop a size? Will my butt crack peel? Will the ladies at my gym make it to the end of the month? Will my boys ever develop any tact? Will I throw my scale from a tall building, beat it with a bat, scream at it, spit on it and then try to weigh again? Is the suspense killing you? Stay tuned.

Saving our planet one bite at a time

I think we all need to face the fact that our planet is in trouble. I am talking about Global Warming--it's a real bitch and it's coming for you and your children. Al Gore has warned us in his movie 'An Inconvenient Truth.' I have never seen this movie and I never will but, factual inconsistencies and digitally created images aside, it brings home an important point about global warming--it's all our fault and it's up to us to fix it or we die.

I have tried to do my part by using compact fluorescent bulbs, giving up the hair spray, and cutting back on my beer, Benadryl, and bikini wax runs. But my efforts seem trite. I've searched my soul on what else I could do to make a larger impact. What could a person like me--a wife, a mother and a nurse--do to give her life meaning? Today I am starting a campaign that I think will really make a difference in reducing the greenhouse gases in our atmosphere and I hope you will all join me in this effort.

SAVE OUR PLANET, EAT MORE STEAK

That's right, the cows must die to save us all. Do you realize that methane is more potent than CO2 in contributing to greenhouse gasses? Cattle in the U.S. alone emit 5.5 million metric tons of methane per year into the atmosphere. Cow emissions are far more dangerous than all the U.S. SUV emissions combined. I cannot stand idly by while these belching bovines of destruction are polluting our planet. I say we slaughter them and dine upon their flesh.

I am willing to make the sacrifice of eating steak every night (with some fava beans and a nice Chianti) if it means saving Mother Earth. If I have to raid the weapons cache I am amassing under the floor boards of my bed and put a bullet in each cow's brain personally, I will do it. I'll take my message to my family, friends and anyone who can hear me shout from my lawn chair in the front yard. And when I see Al Gore riding by in his limousine or flying overhead in his Lear Jet, I will raise my fists in the air and proudly shout, "We did it, Al!!! We made a difference today!"

After I have taken care of the cows, I will turn my attention to the polar bears. Whose bright idea was it to make them an endangered species?! Has anyone tested their emissions? The polar ice caps are melting at an increased rate and who are the owners of the fat, white butts sitting directly on them? Coincidence?! I don't think so. The polar bears are NOT your friends, people!!

The Key to a Happy Marriage

I admit that I am not good about keeping up with my keys. But the other day it was ridiculous. I had been searching the house--in every dusty corner, under every cushion--for half the day and I was starting to panic. I finally enlisted Alan to help me and he immediately pissed me off with the question he always asks in these situations, "So where is the last place you remember having your keys?" And I responded with the answer I always give, "If I knew that then I would know where they were, wouldn't I?!" Then he told me I need to sit down, clear my mind, and visualize my actions on the previous afternoon. I hate this shit.

Me, "OK, I arrived home with groceries in the trunk. Shepard was with me and I told him to get out of the car and run like a freak to the door because it was pouring rain. I opened the trunk and started to get the bags. Shepard was ringing the doorbell but you didn't open the door for him."

Alan, "I was in the bathroom."

Me, "I don't care. Your child was freezing in the rain."

Alan, "He wasn't freezing, it was 70 degrees."

Me, "That's not the point. You didn't let us in even though I called ahead to let you know I was coming."

Alan, "I had to go to the bathroom."

Me, "You are a grown man. You should have held it."

Alan, "It wouldn't be held. OK, I think we need to do an actual reenactment of the events."

Me, "Are you kidding me?"

Alan, "No, it will help, really. Go out to your car."

So I went out to the car and pretended to get groceries out of the trunk in the rain. I came to the front door and Alan and I reenacted our argument,

Me, "I called you to let you know we were coming! Why didn't you let us in?"

Alan, "I was in the bathroom!"

Me, "So what! Your poor child was standing in the rain and you were just sitting there!!!"

Alan, "WITCH!" Then he said, "Oh, I only thought that at the time."

Me, "ASS! I think I actually said that."

So the reenactment continues. I came in the house loaded with groceries, sniped at Alan and then I remembered something important. As I was passing him in the foyer, Alan said, "So is there anything else in the car?"

Me, "Yeah, the cat litter but I already closed the trunk. Here take my keys and open it."

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa HA!!!!! I looked at Alan and he has that 'Oh whoops' look on his face because now I know I didn't lose the keys, but he did! So he went outside to started reenacting his own actions. I just walked straight to the closet and fished my key out of his rain jacket. So as I was beating Alan about the head and neck for making me think I had lost my keys forever, he was laughing. He grabbed me, held me close and said, "You see, that's what our marriage needs--a little role play. It will spice things up. "

Mother's Day--a dish best served cold

My Mother's day was fantastic. All of the possible negatives of the weekend turned out to be positives. My fun started on Saturday. I had to work a twelve hour shift--7am to 7pm. Alan called me at work around 10am and moaned, "I'm sick--I am nauseous, I have chills, and my joints are aching." I immediately felt terrible for him and was about to express some sympathetic wishes until....

FLASHBACK: about a week and a half ago I am lying in my bed, sick as crap and receiving little to no sympathy from my husband (See my April 30th post--you know, the day I became a lesbian.) In one of my feverish rantings I seem to recall screeching something at Alan to the effect of "I HOPE YOU GET JUST AS SICK AS I AM ONE DAY AND I WILL BE SURE TO TREAT YOU THE EXACT SAME WAY YOU HAVE TREATED ME!!!!"

My lips curled up in a dreamy half smile. My curse actually worked! I couldn't help but feel a bit satisfied as I said, "Oh honey, sorry you're sick. Good luck with that and I hope the kids aren't too wild. I will see you tonight at about 8pm."

We were not busy at work so it was a very peaceful day. I was able to do some reading and enjoy some girl talk with my co-workers. I also received regular progress reports from Alan--how he had to fix the boys lunch even though he felt like he was going to throw up, how he had to figure out how to keep the boys occupied inside while he took a nap, how they kept coming in his room when he was trying to sleep (saying things like 'Daddy, I'm thirsty', 'Daddy, Sage is annoying me', and 'Daddy, Shepard hit me in my wrong spot!'), how he had to search the neighborhood when Shepard ran off to a neighbor's yard, and how he had to deal with Sage who was misbehaving outside. And I'm still smiling.

So that night, I stood beside our bed looking down at a pale and sickly Alan. I am a vengeful bitch and I am not sorry, so I said it. "Alan, before I go and take over with the kids, I just want you to know that what you experienced today is exactly what I experienced for three days when I was sick and had no help or sympathy. I hope you remember this." He whimpered, "Yes, I will, I am sorry, I will do better next time." Hey, I'm not proud but I can't help it--revenge is fricking SWEET!

Sunday could not have been better. I had to work a half day but when I arrived home Sage and Shepard presented me with a Mother's day sign that they had made. I then climbed into bed wearing one of Alan's shirts and took and long nap curled up next to my poor sick man. The evening was perfect. We all ate pizza and ice cream while watching "Raiders of the Lost Ark." Did I mention I didn't wear a bra the whole night? It was like heaven--truly the best Mother's Day ever.

Happy Birthday, Shepard

Everyday for a month you have woken up and asked me, "Is today my birthday?" I can finally say, "Yes, Shepard. Today is your birthday." And now you have a new question that I will have to answer for the next month, "Am I still 4?"

On May 6th, 2004, Alan and I watched the 'Friends' finale while eating Thai food and then went to bed. I woke at 1 am in heavy labor. At 4 am, Alan asked, "Is there anything I can do for you?" and I responded, "No, I wouldn't want to interrupt your SLEEP!" And then Alan got up. At 5 am, my Dad came and got Sage and at 7 am, we called my midwife. We were at the hospital by 9 and I was 7 cm dilated when I arrived. The pushing started around 12 and after an hour the doctor suggested, "If I just cut you a little..." I said most emphatically, "Just do it!!!" And then at a little after 1 pm on May 7th, Shepard arrived. I am reminded of that moment every time I try to put a shirt on that big melon head of his.

There are so many things I love about Shepard. He is such a cool kid that in moments of weakness (like this morning) I feel like I want more kids if only they could be like him. I love his giggle. I love when he does his goofy voice. I love how he dresses himself without being asked. I love how when Sage is trying to mess with him, he does the 'Shepard smack'-- his little arms starts flying around like a windmill and Sage flees in terror. I love how anytime that isn't now or tomorrow is "last year." I love how he gets such joy from burping or saying the word 'penis.' I love how when he thinks something is cool he says, "That's sweeeeeet!" I love how he wants dessert after breakfast. I love how the moment I finish reading him a book he says, "Read it again!"I love how he cries when he has to come in from playing outside.

I love how he tells me I look pretty even when no one else notices. I love how he can take my breath away like the time we were snuggling and he looked up at me and said, "Mommy, I so love you." I love his beautiful eyes. And most of all I love his smile because when he smiles I see his Dad and I remember the love that got him here.

I don't feel tardy

Friday night I went to see Van Halen in concert. For an old dude, Dave was looking pretty good--some one's been using his Abdominizer. With his pink plaid shirt and his son, Wolfgang, playing by his side, Eddie has lost a lot of the Rock Star appeal. He looked way too Daddyish. He can still jam on that guitar though. Poor Alex was way too 'Weekend at Bernie's' for me.

I really enjoyed it. I don't go to many concerts anymore but when I do I realize how much I love to go to concerts. It is so incredibly energizing. It also brings back some good memories.

Since this post was so entirely lame and in honor of one of my favorite Van Halen songs, I have decided to give an encore to one of my favorite posts of all time.

I hope you lick it!! I'm a screamer for ice cream

Today I became a lesbian

As I lay in my bed last evening, curled in a ball and silently crying I began thinking about what is missing in my life. Since Sunday evening I have been sick as fuck--fevers, congestion, headaches, and severe back and body aches--and in terrible need of some TLC. But when God was handing out compassion, the men in my life must have been in the line to get their black, black hearts. Is there anyone to mother the mother? I have found that there is not as I lay suffering in this house of testosterone and tears. So today I decided that what I am missing is a good woman. A woman who loves me and will take care of me. My mom used to take good care of me but ever since I had kids of my own she hasn't been as sympathetic. Also she is a germaphobe. When I am sick it's never, "Oh poor baby" now it is "Don't give it to me!" Damn, old people are selfish! So I find that to get what I really need I will have to go gay.


REALITY--I lay in my dark room for hours with no one coming to check on me. I muster up the energy to yell out for help, again and again, but no one comes. I finally have to use my cell phone to call Alan, who is downstairs, to come check on me and bring me a drink.

FANTASY--My dream woman would be checking on me frequently and anticipating my every need--food, medicine, a cold beverage or my pillow turned so it's always on the cool side.

REALITY--Me, "I am so cold, I am shivering. Do we have any warm blankets." Alan, "No, we don't" and walks away.

FANTASY--Dream woman enters the room, feels my head and says,"Oh, you have a fever you poor thing. Let me get you some warm blankets and tuck them right around you. Later I will draw you a warm bath."

REALITY--My mom comes over to drive me to the doctor while my dad watches the kids. The doctor is an ass and tells me I have an unresolved sinus infection with probable asthma. I think I have the flu but he won't test me. Also I never had asthma until I started seeing you, Dr. Prick with Nice Hair. When I come home both kids are running wild outside and my dad is mad at Sage for not minding and Sage says it's because Papa called his bike a "midget bike." And Sage and Shepard cry as I ground them and send them both to their room. I'm not really that mad at them but I ground them just so I can get some rest.

FANTASY--Dream woman goes to the pharmacy and fills my prescription. She gets me back in bed and puts the kids to work cleaning their room as she sings a happy tune to make it fun for them.

REALITY--The kids are fighting and not letting me rest. I think I snapped because next thing I know I am shrieking like a hell beast on the phone with Alan. I am pretty sure I threatened his life and the life of his boss if he doesn't work from home tomorrow. And I might have said something about shoving things up their assess or down their throats--I can't remember. Alan does agree to come home but then he says, "What are we doing for dinner?" I hear the shrieking again and realize it is coming from me as I reach through the phone and tear him a new one. That's what got me to the curled up in ball, crying stage.

FANTASY--Dream woman arranges child care so I can rest. She makes me a lovely bowl of soup and gives me medicine that tastes like rum punch.

So you can see why I really need me a good woman. Now you men don't get all worked up because the one thing I will not need her for is sex. And there are two reasons for that:
Number 1: That would be gross.
Number 2: I am a woman and I don't need sex that often. Like a camel storing water I can store up one sexual encounter in my hump (my lovely lady lump) and live off of that for weeks, nay months if I have to. And that's not a threat. It's not even a promise. That's a fact, Jack!

A Marked Man

Shepard happily ran up to me and said, "Look, Sage drew on me!!" Along with a yellow star on his forehead, red dots on his eyelids, and various stick figures on his arms, I found that Sage had marked his back too. Shepard seemed so proud and Sage was so pleased with his work. So let's see the close up of that...

The Joan Crawford Motherhood Award goes to...

I locked Shepard in the car yesterday. I blame healthy eating. Here's how it happened.

I pull into my driveway with Shepard asleep in his car seat. I'm on the way to pick Sage up at school and then drop the boys at my parents house before I have to dash off to work and arrive by 3 pm. I had stopped at the house to run in and grab my healthy dinner from the fridge. Since Shepard was asleep I leave him in the air conditioned car with the motor running. However, it wasn't until I shut my car door and hear the click of doom that I remember my car doors automatically lock when the car is running.

I didn't panic because just recently Shepard has learned to unhook himself from the car seat. So I decide to get my dinner and then wake Shepard up so he can unlock the car door for me. I stroll out of the house with my Darth Vadar lunch box tucked under my arm, confidently walk up to the car window and start knocking and calling Shepard's name. The boy doesn't budge.

Knocking louder now, starting to yell, "Shepard, wake up, honey!"

Nothing, not even a twitch.

Screaming now, kicking the door, pounding on the window, "SHEPARD, wake up right now! Mommy wants you to WAKE UP! ICE CREAM--do you want some yummy ice cream? Mmmmmm, I'm going to eat your ice cream! SHEEEEEEPAAAAARD!"

This boy is Rip Van Winkle. I am now in full panic. I call Alan for help--he has a key to my car. He has to explain what happened to his boss and leave work. Then he calls the school to tell them why I will be late picking up Sage. I call work and tell them I will be late because I locked my child in the car--"You locked your WHAT in the car?" Finally, I call my Mother and explain why the boys will be late arriving to her house.

My Mom, "Oh my God, do you think he will asphyxiate?!"

Me, "No Mother, don't be ridiculous, he won't asphyxiate! I've got to go, bye."

Thinking "OH MY GOD, HE'S GOING TO ASPHYXIATE!!" I start frantically banging on the car door again. Some neighborhood kids see my insane plight and come over to help. The four of us start pounding on the window together and calling his name until he finally wakes up. After a minute of groggy fumbling, he unhooks himself and unlocks the car. And the people rejoice.

So here we have another terrible side effect of lean meats and green veggies. In other news, this past weekend I cleaned out my closet and threw away all wire hangers. So that cancels out locking my child in the car, right?

My lap is on FIRE!!

I am driving along today in my ultra cool Oldsmobile station wagon, when I happen to notice wisps of smoke in front of my face. At first I dismissed it as a trick of my mind or maybe another thing that happens when you get old, you know--dry eyes, floating spots in my peripheral vision, and now I am seeing wisps of smoke. But it kept happening more frequently so I decided that either my crotch was on fire or I had some kind of electrical short in my steering column. Now I admit that my crotch is smoking hot--especially since the self-waxing job has grown out--but I am pretty sure it is coming from the car.

I called Alan who called our mechanic, Harvey. Alan then called me back and said that yes, it was probably an electrical short and it is probably fine to drive until tomorrow when they can get to it. However, Alan continues, if flames start shooting out of the steering column, I should pull over and stop driving the car. I am so thankful that I have men to give me such good advice, but they need not worry. If I am going to burn up in a car it is not going to be in an Oldsmobile station wagon going a law-abiding 45 mph, listening to talk radio while I am dropping my son off at art class. If I burn up in a car it will be while I am going 110 mph in a black and silver Lamborghini wearing a thong bikini, listening to Slayer and running from the police. Just saying.

I pity the April Fool!!

I was thinking about my most embarrassing moments today and I realized that all of them have been brought about by my sons. I think it is so funny how people (most who don't have kids) will judge your ability as a parent by how your kids act. You can drill manners and good behaviour into their little pea brains 24/7 but they are still going to act how they want to act. I have always said that having kids is like having Tourette's syndrome. My kids are like an extension of my own body but I have no control over what they do or what they scream out. It's very disconcerting.

Only two incidents come to mind with Shepard. When he was potty training he had a habit of wanting to visit every bathroom in every place we went to, even if he didn't have to go. So one night we were at a restaurant, about to order and Shepard tells me " I have to go potty, Mommy." I told him "Shepard, I will take you as soon as we order our food." So he stands up in the booth, grabs his crotch and starts repeatedly yelling, "OOOOOooooooooo, MY PENIS, MY PENIS!" He did manage to win himself a quick trip to the bathroom.

We were at the pharmacy counter waiting on the pharmacy tech to get our medicine. The man had a Mohawk hairdo, long sideburns, a beard that framed his chin, and an earring or two. Shepard looks up at him and says to me (loud enough for him and the lady behind me to hear), "Mama, he's crazy?" I was stunned for a moment but the guy was standing right in front of me so all I could do is say, "No, honey, he's not crazy." Fortunately, the tech had a very good sense of humor about it and even made a little face and booga-boogad Shepard as we were leaving. Whew!

Now Sage is older and has had over seven years to embarrass his mommy. He started as early as 14 months. He was happily sitting in the cart as I was paying for my purchase at Target. As I finished paying I turned toward the cart to go and found him chewing on a tampon he had pulled from my purse.

Probably the most infamous embarrassment for me was last spring when I was shopping for some pants. First a little background. I am not fond of underwear. It's just never fit me right and goes straight up my butt causing constant pickage. So, a few years back I gave it up and now I am a commando chick, except when I go to work or am shopping for new clothes.

In this instant I was trying to find a pair of pants and had to bring Sage with me in the filled to capacity dressing room. I gave him some books, put him in the corner of my area and started to try on pants. All of a sudden Sage pipes up and exclaims, in an incredulous voice, "Mommy, your wearing underwear?!!" "Yes, Sage" I said in my whisper through my teeth voice which is meant to convey that I want him to be quiet. Yet he proceeds, "I didn't know you HAD any!" My cheeks were burning even though the other shoppers couldn't see me. I quickly made my exit with my head down.

So stay tuned, they are still young, I am sure there will be many more to come.

Why does God hate me?

Why did God make me so undertall? If I were taller then my weight would be fine. But I am a short, and I must suffer. Who said losing weight would make you feel better? I feel like shit--I have a constant headache from caffeine deprivation, my stomach is rumbling one hour after I eat, and I am peeing constanly from all this fucking water!!

Why does everything healthy taste like complete crap. I have to choke down my lovely salad with fat-free dressing and my chicken breast with no condiments. Dammit!! And why do all fat-free dressings taste like I am drinking the blood of a three-toed sloth?!

And my family doesn't help either. The kids are driving me crazy with their constant whining--"Mommy, we want breakfast. We want lunch. Are you going to feed us, Mommy?" Why can't they just give it a rest?! And naturally Alan has to piss me off too saying things like, "Honey, I know it's hard, but you'll get through it. You can do it." Instead of being so damn supportive, what would really help me is if he would get his bitch ass in the kitchen and make me a very large fricking cheeseburger. OK?! Do you understand? I am suffering here.

In fact all of you out there eating whatever you want, with your chewing and swallowing, you can all kiss my ass. And do not let me see any skinny ass size 2 bitches today or I will sit on them and break them straight in two. What have I done to deserve this, God?!

Diet day one complete.

The South Park Diet

Well, I got the letter last week. My 20th high school reunion is coming up at the end of June. So that means I only have about 3 months to lose weight. I need to lose 30 pounds but I will settle for 20. My friend said "Oh, don't worry, everyone will be in the same boat as you. Most of them will look just like you." I told her that I want to look better than they do. I want them to think I am more fabulous than I used to be.

I have a great life and I want my body to reflect that too. I know it's unfair but people do judge you on how you look. Even though I have a great husband, wonderful kids, a supportive family, a house and neighborhood I love, and a job I love, I know people will still look at me and think, 'Too bad she's so fat and looks horrible in her clothes and even worse in pictures.'

So now that all of the Girl Scout cookies are gone and I have had my farewell meal at McDonalds, it is time to get started. I really don't care how I lose it, I just want the weight gone. I have considered many diet options--herion, smoking, anorexia, bulimia--anything as long as I don't have to exercise. There are some people that are born loving exercise and I am not one of them.

Well, after careful consideration I have decided on The South Park Diet. Everytime I want to eat something I shouldn't I will think to myself, as they say on South Park, "G#@ DAMN, THAT'S A BIG FAT ASS!!" Hopefully that will motivate me to shut the pie hole! I have also decided that if I don't lose at least 20 pounds by the deadline, that I will post a bathing suit picture on this blog. A healthier me just doesn't cut it, I need the threat of public humiliation to get me going. I will let you know how it goes. And for your sake and mine, let's hope I lose that 20!

Survival Skills

When a girl sees this video, she will squint her eyes, flap her hands around squealing "Eeeeeeeewwwwww!!" and run away. Leave it to my boy Sage to try and think of a way to work this into a life skill. Sage is very proud of the fact that if he were in some extreme survival situation, he could drink his own pee.





Boys are definitely a different breed!

Chemo Kitty

In the interest of saving money I tried to do a little self-service this past weekend. I attempted to wax my own special purpose. I usually go to the spa and shell out 60 or 70 buck for a good Brazilian. I love the results but I didn't think it lasted long enough to justify spending that much. However, I have managed to prove myself wrong.

I went to the drugstore and picked up some wax made with natural products. I was very proud of myself--saving money and going 'green.' How good of me. So I took it home, stared at it for 3 days and then decided to go for it. My hoo-ha wasn't going to wax itself, now was it?

I followed the directions perfectly, really I did. So how could it have gone so horribly wrong? I started with the left side, applied the wax in the direction of the hair, place the strip on, held the skin taut and pulled in the opposite direction of the hair growth. I screamed in pain for a while. I wasn't lying there in front of Claudia, the Brazilian waxer, so I didn't have to be brave and suffer in silence. When the screaming stopped I looked down at the strip only to find a ton of wax but only about 5 hairs there. Well, I'm not a quitter so I kept trying. Apply, rip, scream, apply, rip, scream and whimper, etc.

The hair seemed to be coming out one at a time--I might as well have been using tweezers. I decided to lie down on the bathroom floor and try it. But that was no more successful than standing. I was so afraid my screams would bring the kids running. I kept imagining being caught lying on the floor with both my legs in the air, wax everywhere and only waxing strips to cover my goods--not a memory I want burned in their brains. With visions of therepist bills dancing in my head, I decided it was time to give up. I am sorry to say my results were not good. There was redness, bumps, some bald spots, and some patchy spots. My crotch looked like a chemo patient.

So this was the scene as we were in the bathroom preparing for bed that night...

Alan, "What is this sticky stuff I just stepped in?"

Me, "Oh, that's just snatch wax. Don't worry, It's organic."

Alan, "You waxed? OK, let's see it."

So I lifted up my nightgown for him to take a peek. First he burst out laughing, then when he saw my glare said, "Oh, poor thing."

Me, "So what do you think? Do you want to do it?"

Alan, "Ummm, sure. Can we turn the lights out?"

I called the spa, I have an appointment next month.

The Fairy Exposed

Alan calls me into our room last night saying, "Come in here, Sage has made a discovery!" So I happily walk toward my room thinking that Sage has done something great--he's found a lost item or made an exciting intellectual breakthrough. I walk into the room to find Alan with a blank stare and Sage holding the small gray ring box that I use to save his teeth after 'The Tooth Fairy' spirits them away. With a sly smile and a sing song voice Sage says, "Mommy, I know your secret!"

Thoughts are flying through my head--How could I have been so stupid? Why didn't I hide them better? Wait a minute, they were under a false bottom of a gray ring box that was hidden under tons of junk in the bottom drawer of my bedside table. How did he find that? He's been riffling through my personal stuff, the little terrorist! Crap, how am I going to explain this, should I deny any knowledge of the box or should I tell him the truth? Hell To the NO! I am not going to outsmarted by a little 7 year old snooper. This Fairy will not be outed until I am damn well ready to be outed! This is WAR!!!!

So after going from shocked and speechless to angry, locked and loaded in 3 point 2 seconds, I tell him, "Those are not your teeth. They were my teeth when I was little that I saved." He counters, "But Mommy, there are 5 teeth in here and I have lost 5 teeth." Here's my brilliant comeback...wait for it, wait for it...."SO?!"

"Look Sage, I don't care how many teeth you've lost, those are my teeth. You can ask Grandma if you want and she will tell you that I saved some of my teeth in a gray box when I was little." (Note to self: Call my mom and get her on board with Operation Enduring Fairy.) Giving me a suspicious and reluctant stare, he turns starts walking away and muttering "I can't wait to tell my friends." Oh no he didn't! I was forced to pull out my last weapon and I called after him, "You know, boys who don't believe in The Tooth Fairy don't get any more money!"

Naturally my fury turns toward Alan. "Thanks for the blindside and how could you have let him go through my stuff?!" Alan sputters, "I didn't know what to do! I was in the closet I didn't know he was going through your drawers!" I say, "I guess we better watch where we hide stuff from now on." And I see the color drain from his face when he thinks about the contents of his bedside table, or more specifically 'The Naughty Drawer.' I can imagine the scene he is thinking---Daddy, what's this thing?...ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. I suggest to him that maybe he should get a Naughty safe or bury the stuff in the back yard.

I know one thing, Santa and The Easter Bunny better watch their backs. Sage will be gunning for them. Alan and I have had our wake up call. We need better communication, better planning, and most importantly, better hiding places. From now on we must think 2 steps ahead of him at all times. This is serious. We have a clear and present danger, people--He's going to be 8 soon!

Parenting is so rewarding!

Sage had a homework assignment in which he had to pick an adjective and illustrate it. Here is what he came up with...



Isn't it cute how he put me in UVA colors? How thoughtful. I also love how my eyes are huge black holes like they are the pits of hell. I seem to have the biggest and most menacing pitchfork. I kind of like that part.