Monday, October 27, 2008

Sorry, I'm Lame

So, yeah. I'm pretty lame at blogging lately, no?

I would really love to give you a good reason, like I'm pregnant! Or like I've been in Hawaii for the last month! Or like I've been so busy volunteering at the homeless shelter that I just have been too exhausted to think about myself and my blog.

But you know me better than that. The truth is I'm not pregnant (DOCTOR'S ORDERS, remember?), I wouldn't know what a vacation was if it came and slapped me in the face, and I'm hopelessly selfish, so the homeless shelter thing? Not so much.

I've pretty much just been lazy. And tired. And maybe I'm having a few anxiety attacks.

It's normal, right? You pull up to the Wal-mart with your three kids in tow and you think, Okay, what will I do with my children if there is a serial gunman inside shooting everyone at random? My big plan so far? Go hide behind the big flat screen TV boxes. But I'm really worried about how to keep my kids quiet. How long can I keep them occupied with fruit snacks before the serial gunman discovers us and shoots us all and leaves my husband a childless widower consumed with grief and bitterness at all the beauty (me) that has been taken from him so cruelly?

Don't you think about stuff like that too? Don't get me started on my plans for if our car gets submerged underwater with three kids in car seats.

So anyway. Sorry I'm so lame. That's all I have to say about that.

Monday, October 13, 2008

Things Which Should Bear the Title Awesome

I'm not very good at making silly/funny/amusing lists. Now, stick me in my filthy house with an index card and a pen, and I will make an eternally long list of things that need to get done. And then after I've made the list, I'll go take a rest on the couch. Because the first step is identifying the problem. I see no need to rush on to any other steps.

But anyway. I'm feeling listy tonight, so here are the things that I think are awesome:

1) Our pet chickens. They have succeeded in getting a completely free ride from us. We feed them, we water them, we let them roam free in our backyard, and then they apparently go and lay eggs somewhere that cannot be found by any human being on earth. Either that, or we have a snake that eats the eggs. Either that, or they haven't started laying eggs yet. Either that, or my kids are throwing them over the fence before I go out to look for them. Anyway, my point is, you've got to admire that kind of gumption. Seriously.

2) North and South. One of my friends just gave me this movie based on the Elizabeth Gaskell novel (NOT THE SKANKY MINI-SERIES OF THE SAME NAME! Remember that one with Patrick Swayze? I had a friend who let me watch it at her house because my mother had some pretty unyielding morality standards, which did not include miniseries made about a whole family's sex life. Not to reflect badly on my friend's mother, of course!), and it (the Elizabeth Gaskell adaptation) is pretty awesome. As a general rule, I refuse to watch movies of novels that I like but I made an exception and I'm glad. It's four hours long, and even Rhett liked it. But then, Rhett watches Pride and Prejudice with me (the six hour version) just because he likes when Bingley says, "My horse! Quick, man!" He'll rewind that over and over and over. Simple pleasures, I say.

3) Mashed potatoes and gravy. Seriously, couldn't you eat that all day long?

4) Spe. I was putting him to bed tonight when I had the strongest desire to look into the future and see what kind of person he will grow up to be (hey, fingers crossed for a Chippendales dancer! If the amount of exposure he's been flashing my way is any indication, he's got it made!). I said, "Hey, are you going to be a good man when you grow up?" Because obviously, good man equals Chippendales dancer in my book. He looked at me all funny and said, "No, I gonna be SpiderMAN." Well, maybe he can work it into his routine.

5) Orange Sprinkles. I'm not kidding, I can pretty much get my kids to eat anything as long as I sprinkle orange sprinkles on it and call it "Halloween _____ (fill in the blank)". Tonight we had Halloween Pasta. The orange sprinkles made the mushrooms look like candy. If that hadn't worked, I would have called it Witches' Nails Pasta, because don't mushrooms look a little bit like nails with a bad case of fungus? And if that didn't work? Hunger is the greatest motivator of all.

What makes your awesome list?

Some Vast Eternal Plan

Do you remember that part in Fiddler on the Roof where Tevye wonders why he can't be rich. He asks, "Would it spoil some vast eternal plan if I were a wealthy man?"

I don't worry about being wealthy, but seriously, would it hurt some vast eternal plan if Spe slept in past 7:00 a.m.? Just once?

Apparently the vast eternal plan I'm talking about is the one where I'm supposed to remain tired and grumpy for the rest of my life. Meh.

Friday, October 10, 2008

My Su-cray!

Years ago, I lived with (as in the roommate "lived with" not the other "lived with") a French girl. She had a charming French accent, an outgoing personality, and three secrets that she really didn't want anyone to know.

I don't know why she told me them. I'm never good at keeping secrets, and because my life is an open book, I tend to think no one else should be ashamed of anything either. Hey, want to know my menstruation cycle? Want to hear all the ins and outs of my last buttocks massage? Want to hear all the gory details of my last ob/gyn appointment?

No? Well, I would have told you.

So, anyway. Frenchie. (Is that derogatory? Sometimes when you try to protect the innocent, you diminish them by giving them a derogatory nickname. And despite having lived in England long enough to pick up a prejudice for nearly ever other European country, I actually don't hate the French. Much.) Anyway, Frenchie. So, Frenchie tells me her secrets. The secrets that she would rather DIE than have anyone find out.

They are:

1) She has an open sore on her head because she can't stop picking at it. It has been there for four years. It's a nervous habit.

2) She has gained a little weight recently, and now wears two bras to try to keep it all up there, if you know what I mean. Oh, do I know what you mean, Frenchie.

3) She wears a girdle. See #2 above for the reason.

Seriously? These are Frenchie's worst secrets? I think I giggled after she told them to me. But then, pretty much for the rest of the time I knew her, I could get her to do whatever I wanted. Whenever we were with other people, I would take my hand and make a fast line from the top of my head to my thighs, indicating head, boobs, girdle. Immediately, Frenchie would say pitifully, "My sucrays!" and suddenly, she'd see things my way.

Because another reason you shouldn't share your secrets with me?

I've got no shame about blackmail.

Saturday, October 4, 2008


Yesterday, Rhett got me a massage, which I always love.

When I walked in, to my surprise I was booked with a man masseuse. But I'm no prude, so I didn't really care that much. He was asking me about my chronic headaches and all that stuff, like I was ready to embark on a weekly regime of massage to cure my headaches. Me? Totally ready. My pocketbook? Not so much.

Then he says, "So would you like your buttocks massaged?"

I look surprised. Of course I want my buttocks massaged. (Is this too much information? I sometimes have a problem distinguishing. Oh, dear, it probably is.) But seriously, how can it be a full-body massage without buttocks-massaging?

I say, "Yes, I do. Why do you ask? Are there people who don't?"

He says, "Well, some people just really freak out when you touch their buttocks."

I laugh a little and say, "Hey, I have a male OB/GYN. I think there are more invasive problems to worry about, don't you?"

And then I went on to have a very lovely buttocks massage.

Did I say buttocks too many times in this post? There's just something endearing about that word, don't you think?