I forgot where I was going with this….

Run. Bike. Swim. Repeat. In a veritable whirlwind of cross training, I’ve been mixin’ it up lately. Except, since I hurt my ribs, I haven’t swum and I’ve been struggling with weightlifting. Because I can’t take it easy. I don’t know how. If I’m going to work out, I only know how to go balls out. Consequently, several weight training sessions have left me unable to work out for days on end afterwards. So after five days off the weights, I did some weightlifting on Wednesday. Then, I thought, hey, I haven’t been able to swim since January, let me do that. Mmmm. Yeah. Do that. Not.

I was already limping by Wednesday evening. Turning over in bed was excrutiating. Swimming is funny because I’m always reminded of all these little muscles you never know you have unless you’re swimming. My legs, shoulders and abs were in the worst condition. I thought I would feel better by today, but no. I was breathing and grunting like Rosie O’Donnel at an all-you-can-eat buffett every time I tried to move.

I had a training session scheduled for this afternoon. I’m not allowed to cancel due to soreness. Oh no. He would make me pay dearly for that. So I went. And he laughed at the tiny screams that escaped everytime I had to do something. After about twenty minutes of sweating, screaming and grunting I decided to beg. “Can we PULEEZ do something that doesn’t hurt so much?” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “You have something that doesn’t hurt? Show me something that doesn’t hurt and we’ll work that.” So I stood there for several seconds assessing. Desperately trying to find something that didn’t hurt. Finally I grinned and held up my wrists and rotated them at him. He rolls his eyes at me and then challenges “I could make those hurt too!” Sigh. So here I sit. Pain is not my friend. I clearly must have sustained brain damage because I’ve been sitting here trying to decide whether I’m going to run, bike or swim tomorrow. Sigh.

The other day some people were milling about my front yard, as the culdesac was sharing a tree-trimmer. When they cut down my tree, I was going to get all Martha Stewarty and use the tree rounds for plant stands and seating in the kid area of our yard. Except, when I picked up the first round, it was covered in carpenter ants. And spiders. And various other hideous insects. I toed a few more of the rounds and it appeared the whole tree was infested. So I went back out front to ask the trimmers to haul it all away. My neighbor, who has two girls, was talking to our gardener, Joan, in the front yard. Joan said “Hey, I wanna see that huge bug in the tree.” It was a hideous creature. It looked like a mutant cross between a spider and a queen carpenter ant. I wasn’t sure what it was so I took a stick and whacked it in half. I said “I only know where the head is, I had to kill it. Do you want to see the head?” Joan looked at me in horror “EWWWWAH! No I don’t want to see the head! Gross!” I said “Ok fine. I’m going in the house. Let me know if you want me to show you the head.” As I shut the door I heard her say to my neighbor with the girls “THAT is why she has boys. DISGUSTING!” Whaaaat? Is it something I said?

In part two of why God thought boys would be better for me, I hear them laughing those big belly laughs this afternoon(which usually means trouble for me) and they are cheering each other on. They were supposed to be sitting at the table having a snack so I dreaded knowing what they were cheering each other on about. As I moved closer, the horror set in. They were taking turns breaking wind and then clapping and yelling “YAY!!!!!!!!!” like the cheering section at a MLB game. And I once again had one of those moments where I had to come in the room and say something I never thought I would have to say as a parent: “We DO NOT fart and then cheer and say ‘YAY’ when someone farts!!!!” And do you know what they said? “Awwwww.” Like they found a dead kitten. Yes folks, once again, THIS is why I have boys…….

Judy has honored me with the Rockin’ Girl Blogger Award. Thank you! I really enjoy being rockin’!

And now I’m supposed to award some rockin’ girls the award. So without further ado:

I met my friend, Tina, eight years ago in an iVillage infertility chatroom. We know things about each other no two humans should ever have discussed. We met in real life a few years later. Tina’s infertility journey unfortunately was much longer than mine, but ended last month when she brought home baby Isabel from an orphanage in Kyrgystan. Tina has chronicled her journey most eloquently and so I honor her with a rockin’ girl blogger award and send her huge congratulatory cyber hugs. I plan on meeting this darling baby in August. XOXOXOX Tina!

I’ve got to stop meeting people like this, but a couple of years ago I met Maryam through our blogs. Her husband is the famous blogger Robert Scoble and a former Microsoftie. My husband turned me on to Maryam’s blog when he came home one day and said “Hey there’s this blogger at Microsoft whose wife blogs about him like you blog about me. You should read it, you’ll love it.” And he was right. Maryam is now pregnant with their first child and I visit her blog daily to giggle at the surprises pregnancy brings to her.

Beth and I met way back in 1985. We went to high school together. We sat across from each other in art class. Beth is a far better artist than I and often had to bail me out of projects. Thanks Beth! Beth has all the qualities I love in a friend and blogger; a wicked sense of a humor, a side of irony, dripping with sarcasm and a potty mouth to boot! ;D Love you, Beth! Oh and although Beth would have you believe not, she has a beautiful singing voice and totally “could have made it” as a singer.

I am brand new to Candid Yammering, but she writes some riveting, yet thoughtful prose. Check out her most recent post on her mother. It gives new meaning to hellish childhood.

I’ve been reading The Underpaid Kept Woman for quite a long time now and she never fails to make me laugh. There was a several week long series on a flying squirrel in her husband’s office awhile back that had me laughing until I was crying. Pictures were provided. lol.

Although The House of Joy has already been awarded this honor, I just wanted you to know, she is DOUBLE Rockin’! And she has mad photoshop skillz. And she cracks me up. lol.

I am running out of time (the kids are fighting and I must eventually referee this fight before someone ends up bleeding or bruised.)  So without preamble I bestow the honor of rockin’ blogger on Melissa, whom I have read through thick and thin, ups and downs. She’s back on her game and funny as hell. Tendrils’, Pretty in the City, Iced Mocha and Uniquely Moronic are all rockin’ girl bloggers too!!!!!!!

I don’t care if I was only supposed to do five. It’s my award and I’ll do what I want to. Put the badge up girls, and rock on!

Day three of summer vacation. Day three of who’s the boss. If you ever play this fabulous game with your children, you should know that they act completely stunned that when you said “No” you weren’t just saying it to hear the sound of your own voice. That it wasn’t an optional, if-you-feel-like-it no, and it wasn’t some random ghost in the house whispering no.

I wish I could have taken a picture of the surprise on son #1’s face when, right after I said no and he did it anyway, I said “Ok, now go to your room until you’re familiar with the word no.” Literal shock on his face. Could I have said such a thing? Am I really sending him to his room again to think about things? I dare say YES. You know, that word he keeps confusing with NO? Oh, the humanity! It’s day three, folks. Day three.

Ah, the first afternoon of summer vacation. And without missing a beat, son #1 has decided that listening is optional. It always happens right at the beginning of summer. He’s been in other people’s care for the last 9 months where listening is optional and no is merely a suggestion. And then summer begins. Where the only person whose care he is in DOES NOT think listening is optional and no is merely a suggestion. He was just checking, right?

He says “I’m going out to the play in the sprinkler.” I say “No you’re not, it’s 64 degrees out and you’re sick.” He says in a whiny voice “But whhhhhyyyyyyyyyy?” so I know he heard me. Five minutes later I hear the water turn on and he’s standing on the lawn, in a swimsuit, with the sprinkler on.

He’s now enjoying some leisurely time in his room so that he can remember that he’s back on Mom’s watch full time and listening is mandatory and “No” does not mean yes or go ahead and do what you feel like doing. We’re going to nip this whole not listening thing in the bud. Nothin’ says summer quite like son #1 trying to remember who is the boss…….

Jess tagged me for a meme. I know, I’ve been tagged before for other memes and I didn’t do them. Sigh. I really do try to get to these. It’s just I get all smart alecky and then the whole point gets lost and I go off on a tangent then I have to delete it. So before I get all distracted and off topic, here you go………….

What were you doing 10 years ago?

Well, I’d prefer not to re-live that point in time, but if you insist: I had just given birth to my HUGE (9 lbs. 1oz, 95th percentile head) first child. After 41 hours of labor in the hospital, countless interventions and a near- death experience for me, son #1 was born. On the way out, his giant head did nerve damage and I was sent home from the hospital on a walker. I was halluncinating from lack of sleep, I couldn’t walk, and I felt like I had been hit by a train. June 1997 was a tough time for me….

What were you doing 1 year ago?

Freezing my ass off, wondering if summer ever comes to the pacific northwest.

Five Snacks You Enjoy

1.) Hummus and pita chips

2.) Cheese and fresh baked sourdough

3.) Popcorn

4.) Fruit  and veggies

5.) Tofurky jerky

Five Songs That You Know All The Lyrics To

Only five? Ok, how about the five oddest ones…. 

1.) Stayin’ Alive

2.) Happy Tapping with Elmo- Sadly, I think I know all the words to most Sesame Street songs like Rubber Ducky and Bah, bah Bamba and all the Veggie Tales songs too. Sigh.

3.) Amazing Grace

4.) Paul Revere by Beastie Boys

5.) Jukebox Hero by Foreigner

Five Things You Would Do If You Were a Millionaire

1.) Buy a house somewhere tropical and live there during the summers

2.) Buy a boat

3.) Travel more

4.) Save some

5.) Make Steve take more time off work

Five Bad Habits

1.) F*ck is my favorite word. Any swear word will do, but the eff word is really one of my favorites.

2.) Buying sh!t I don’t need

3.) Obsessing about my weight, what I ate or how much I worked out

4.) Not being able to put a book down once I start reading

5.) Staying ONLINE TOO LONG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Five Things You Like To Do

1.) Gardening

2.) Working out

3.) Cooking

4.) Swimming

5.) Hiking

Five Things You Would Never Wear Again

1.) Remember those flashdance head bands popular in the early 80’s? Those.

2.) The flashdance ripped shirts. The whole flashdance scene spawned some REALLY bad fashion ideas…

3.) Leg warmers. I’m certain those were from flashdance too.

4.) Day-glo colors.

5.) MC Hammer pants. It always looked like you took a dump in them.

Five Favorite Toys

1.)  My phone

2.) My new bike

3.) My laptop

4.) My stun gun. Kidding! Totally kidding! Don’t think I don’t want one though.

5.) Is it wrong to love an appliance? I love my kitchenaid mixer. I couldn’t live without it.

I am tagging:

If you read this far, you’re it, dude. I see you. I know who you are. I’m recording your IP. I expect your meme up by the end of the week. Let the stalking begin….

taking eight boys to the mall to go to the lego store, to the movies and to dinner for son #1’s birthday. My eye isn’t even twitching……..anymore. lol. Actually we had son #1 carefully select the children invited (I vetoed a couple of them) so as to ensure maximum good behavior. And only twice did I even have to make threats. The first time, I told one of the boys to stop doing something and he did it again. I told him if it happened again, he and I were going to hold hands and skip through the mall. He looked at me in utter horror as son #1 says “She’ll do it!” That put a stop to that. Then the boys started a pushing contest and were shoving each other into clothing racks and displays as we walked through the women’s department. I told them that if they knocked over anything, they were wearing it as I pointed to a bright pink bikini we were passing. The shoving got gentler and gentler until one child pointed to a hot pink dress and said “She’ll make us put on that?!?” and the shoving stopped.

And I only had to remind son #1 once that I was not to be referred to as “Dude” LOL. As expected, Steve fell asleep during the movie. I had to wake him up when he started snoring.

All in all, it was a successful party. I didn’t even need to wish I was a lush…..

because they are notoriously bad drivers.

TWO MORE DAYS OF SCHOOL LEFT! TWO MORE DAYS OF SCHOOL LEFT! I want it to end SO BAD. The class party for the fourth graders was Wednesday. I actually dreaded it because I still had the headache they gave me on Monday. However, we were at a park, out on a field and I was in my element. Bring it on fourth graders! You can’t break me! I could be loud to be heard above them. I was not confined to a classroom and was completely prepared to run them if I had to. They could sense it. Actually after I bellowed out the rules to a game, a parent came over to me and said “You’re gonna need some throat losenges after that.” I said “No way! I could go a few more hours this loud, you should hear me in baseball.” The kids in the outfield can hear me loud and clear.

Tomorrow morning is the kindergartner’s class party, which I’m also in charge of. Sigh. Although I think five year olds are a much more difficult crowd as a whole, I’ve coached half the kids in son #2’s class in either baseball or basketball, so they behave well for me. I do not have the same RUN! ESCAPE WHILE YOU CAN! sensation I did with the fourth graders.

I rode my new bike again today. I rode it on Monday, but the hills kicked my ass and I had to come back home after less than a half hour. As it turned out, I was riding in the wrong gear because I was able to kick ass back today. It’s so much better to be the kicker than the kickee, where asses are concerned. The new bike seat is a huge improvement. And by huge improvement, I mean that no damage was done to the discs in my back today and I could move my left leg after riding. I know. Two legs are important. I think the hooha hut might have survived intact too, but I won’t know until probably tomorrow if the beave survived without damage.

I’m afraid I have to sign off now. I have an urgent emergency. And by urgent emergency, I mean I have a chocolate emergency. And by that, I mean that I need chocolate in my mouth NOW or I may die. That is all…….

Yes, if you wanted hell on earth, people, you should have been with me in son #1’s classroom this afternoon. I do not break easily. It usually takes groups of over 50 kids, usually 100, to bring me to my knees. And yet, 27 children today almost brought me to my knees. Who am I kidding? If I were a drinker, I’d be passed out drunk in a pool of my own vomit by now. Naked.

The kids were making something for their teacher for an end of the year gift so we sent the teacher out of the room. Two other parents had planned this. I only came in at the last minute to help. OMFG. Let’s say that again, people. OMFG. I ended up as the patrol cop and I’m telling ya, I seriously needed a billy club or stun gun. I literally had to break up two kids that started fighting. I had to pull kids off desks, while they were coming across the desks at each other, they were throwing things, screaming, running, fighting, you name it. I realized about half way into this that the other two parents were working with the kids on the project and appeared unaware of the mayhem. So that left me to patrol the room and try to keep them from killing each other or me.

That’s when survival mode kicked in. First I looked for what this teacher used for a signal. Most good teachers have a bell, or some other item that makes noise and when the kids hear it, they quiet down. My search was in vain. She probably took it with her. I would. I would sleep with it trying to hold onto my sanity every night if this was my class. No, scratch that. I would have never let the mayhem start in the first place. It’s not in my nature.

So while I’m searching, I realize one of the kids is talking to me. Telling me about his tribe’s points. I gave him a tight smile, but my subconscious filed it away. I stood desperately looking for whatever she used for a signal. I did not think my old coach’s standby- bellowing HEY!- would go over in a classroom really well. In fact, no coaching survival skills I learned were going to help here. I could not run them until exhaustion and obedience kicked in. I could not simply yell OVER their voices to be heard. I could not make them sit out of our activity. I was without arsenal. Then my eyes glanced over to where the child was pointing to on the white board. There were four “groups” with hatch marks. I glaced at the tribal “heads” and it matched one person from each table group. Holy Mother of God, I hit the jackpot. There is a God after all.

I was finally able to get their attention and told them that when the teacher came back, I would be making recommendations on who should receive points (I took a gamble that they were earning points- I wasn’t listening too closely to that child) and then suddenly about half the children starting trying to get the other half to behave. So it left me to only have to focus on about 8 kids that had truly horrendous behavior. You could actually hear showdown music between me and the two most difficult ones. Holy Misbehaving Kids, Batman. I have incredible sympathy for these two kids’ mothers. For however much I complain about how difficult MY son is, I know that he would never behave like these two to another adult. He would act like that at home, but NEVER to another adult. One of these kids was so disrespectful, I almost marched him down to the principal’s. Instead I said “That’s completely disprespectful and you will not talk to me like that.” Amazingly that put an end to him talking to me like that. I gave him one of those mom glares that you only learn after you have kids and we were done with disrespect. His behavior was still pretty bad, but I was able for the most part, to keep him in check with the “I WILL NOT PUT UP WITH THAT” glare.

For the other child, I saved my very best working-with-ADHD-kids technique and was finally able to get him in line too. But I was aggravated. In fact I wanted to start screaming and not stop. People ask me why I don’t coach or teach anymore (as a paid job). This is why. I find this kind of thing so soul draining, that I don’t have enough left for my own kids. And I’ve got a child who needs my full, undivided attention. Because if he senses weakness, he will become so unruly, he will take over the house and possibly the world. I have to say though, he was pretty well behaved today. I think I only had to tell him to sit down twice, which in the midst of all those kids doing so many worse things, my son came out wearing a halo. I’ll never know if I wasn’t there if he still would have behaved as well, but I’d like to think that sometimes this kid might actually mind his manners and behave. I have to think that. Or I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night….

Teachers aren’t paid nearly enough. Good teachers should be paid like fortune 100 CEOs. Because they are few and far between. And they have to put up with more than you can possibly imagine. Be sure to thank your child’s teacher. ESPECIALLY if they’re any good. These people are very special.

A hundred years from now
it will not matter what my bank account was,
the sort of house I lived in,
or the kind of car I drove.
But the world may be different,
because I was important in the life of a child.

Source: Forest Witcraft, “Within My Power”, Scouting, October 1950, p. 2

I am what some people would refer to as a crunchy, tree-hugging, granola-eater. I’m a vegetarian (although I did not become one to save animals or the environment), I buy everything I can find organic, I use only natural and toxin-free cleaners in my house, I have more than twice as much recycled garbage as regular garbage, I dabble in aromatherapy, and for the most part, live my life as “natural” as possible. I live more naturally and green than your average Joe or Josephine. I’m telling you this because I’m about to seriously make fun of things natural, crunchy and tree huggy.

I’m sure you will not find it shocking that in March, I attended Vegfest 2007. At the festival, they were giving away the Natural Choice Directory of Puget Sound, The Healthy Yellow Pages. It’s a directory of green resources, health services, natural food, remedies and products, feature articles and mind and spirit. Not that I’m really sure what a directory of mind and spirit is, but it’s on the cover so I thought I’d tell you about. So I know I said this thing was in March, but I’m just getting around to reading it. Let’s just say it was relegated to bathroom reading.

So there I am, dropping a duece, when I nearly fall off the toilet with laughter. I happen to glance at one of the ads and actually read the copy and I tell ya’, I nearly died laughing. Wondering if there were more like that, I started flipping through looking for ads and I hit the motherlode. The majority of the ads were clearly done by the Idiot’s Guide to Advertising. Except they didn’t read the guide. They’re just idiots. So here I lay out for you the most comprehensive guide of idiots, quackery and charlatans.

Ok, here’s one of my favorites. A woman was offering Full Body Analysis- A simple way to spot serious problems- THROUGH YOUR IRIS. Dude, did you know that you can see your colon through your eyeball?!?! She has TWENTY SEVEN YEARS EXPERIENCE. That’s right, and she’s not only the doctor of iridology, she can also train you to be one too. She offers ONE DAY, FIVE DAY, OR SIX MONTH CURRICULUMS!!!!!!! Steve wants to know if the diplomas are different colors. In case you were wondering, you can also see many other parts of your body through the eyeball. She can examine your brain, bladder, gall bladder, heart, hands and feet (you wouldn’t want to look at those directly, it could burn out your iris or something), spastic bowel, your male/female organs, your ph level and much more. I know, you want me to run out and get certified tomorrow so I can offer free spleen examinations. I wonder if it takes the whole day to get certified or if you get lunch breaks and stuff? And I’m assuming there’s no test because she should just be able to look you in the eye and tell if the material sunk in or not. I’m going to put it next to my liver.

The one that started me laughing was a woman advertising her mad skillz with animals. She specializes in communicating with animals. She offers certified craniosacral therapy on both large and small animals. The thought of someone coming over to massage Simba’s head and comminicate with him had me laughing until I was crying. She claims to have insight into problem behaviors. Let me put it to you in terms you can understand, lady. My dog is retarded. You’re welcome to try to communicate with him. He’s a great barker. Really. And if you stare into his vacant eyes for long enough, you can hear what he’s saying. It’s “I like cake. I like cake. I like cake. I like cake. I like cake. I like cake. Hey, what was that? I like cake. I like cake……what was I saying? Did you know I like cake? I like cake. I like cake…..” Her main competition comes from “Nature’s Translator” who offers interspecies communication. She does all species. I’m calling her tomorrow. It’s very upsetting to me that the rabbit and Simba are NOT communicating properly. She also helps inter-species communications where there’s health concerns between species. I totally heard the rabbit telling Simba that he was extremely concerned about his ADHD and profound stupidity. We need the Rabbit Whisperer to get these two together and facilitate some touching conversation.

There’s a woman who massages for world peace. No shit. She can come over and give me world peace massages any time she feels everyone is getting all fighty and stuff. I think Kim Jong Il needs a lomi lomi. I have no effin idea what lomi lomi is but while she’s rubbing some world peace around, Kim could probably use some lomi lomi. He looks like he hasn’t gotten any in a LONG time. I’m sure it’s not because he looks like my grandmother or anything. Who told him that helmet hair on a dude was a good idea?

 We already know how I feel about Rolfing. I’m sure it will come as no shock to you that the directory was FULL of Rolfing ads. They also offered some Equine with the Rolfing. Personally, I’m not into bestiality and shit. The Rolfers seem to have stiff competition from Hellerworkers though. I am not lying. I did not make that word up. Because you really want to advertise that the work you do is from Hell. This woman offers to help you “Feel Better in YOUR Body” because feeling youself up in someone else’s body is just gross. And I never feel better when I’m in Steve’s body. The coin purse gets in the way when I walk.

I like the chiropractor who specializes in “helping women to balance their hormones naturally through the use of saliva testing.” I tested this theory last night when I was feeling all PMSy. I kept licking Steve and he kept slapping me. I DID NOT feel any more balanced. In fact, I felt a little wobbly from all the hitting.

The TUMMY TEMPLE offers “the largest colon hydrotherapy practice in the Pacific Northwest. We make bellies happy.” Yes, just stare wide eyed at that for awhile like I did. That guy should have that engraved on his tombstone. We all want to be as well known for our work in poop. Did you know that you too could become a colon therapist? What a great ice breaker at a party. “Hi, I’m a colon therapist. You might not wanna shake my hand though, I was up to my elbows in shit all day long.” Also, some colon therapists work with FDA approved equipment. You really want to avoid the places that use the garden hoses non-FDA approved equipment. Some places offer both open and closed systems. Oh closed, please please please, everyone close your systems.

There is one lady I GOTTA see tomorrow. First of all she’s a Reverend. Because Jesus loves him some flower essence practionering. I hear the poppy therapy is the most requested. She offers past life regressions and restores soul issues. The thing I hate about going back to my past lives is that I always die. It’s really depressing. And the last time someone tried to wrestle the devil for my soul, they lost theirs too. So when all else fails, she does a tarot reading. Cuz Jesus always used to do those. If you look carefully at the Last Supper painting, you can totally see the Tarot cards on the table. Jesus had him a death card…. “Damn, Nine of Cups… Judas, you’re a total asshole!”

I know you think I’m making all this up. Which is why I’ve been reluctant to bring up the Shamans. Yes shamans. It’s just those drums are so noisy and the smoke is all chokey. And the kids tend to get all upset when they start sacrificing animals on the lawn and throwing chicken blood on the door.

There’s also the people offering color therapy. It’s like what the matadors do, except these people wave rainbow flags in front you and ask if it makes you feel happy. Personally, it makes me feel gay. But I think it’s a subliminal message.

There’s a gal offering raven therapy. She will train you to receive channeled messages from ravens and learn new tools for your journey. I talk to them all the time (stop eating the seeds I just planted, biotch!) and they NEVER listen. And when they talk back it’s always “squak! squak! squak!” Blah blah blah. Messages, my ass. Nevermore!

On the inside back cover is an ad for the American Metabolic Institute. For those of you diagnosed with cancer. Except it’s in Mexico. And they will cure your cancer, leukemia, parasites, and yeast infections with colonics, dark or bright field microbiology, herbs and their famous digestive enzymes program. Where can I sign up? I’m just having trouble deciding between the dark and bright fields. When all else fails, he practices iridology too. I hope to God he went with the 6 month curriculum. 

I just want you to know what a very difficult task this was, introducing all you ignorant folk out there to the wonders of a health conscious and environmentally sustainable lifestyle. It’s work, people. It’s a hell of a lot of work! I’m connecting those aware with those who care….. I didn’t write that. Just in case you were wondering. It’s the tagline for this outstanding directory of wholly useful resources. Now I gotta go figure out what services I’m ordering and who my peeps are gonna be. Peace, Love and Granola…..

You people are always saying I give Steve such a hard time. For the record, he dishes it out just as much as I do. When you’ve been married 14 years, known each other for almost 2 decades and were good friends long before you became lovers, you tend to have a different sort of relationship. We’re also both oldest children. While our relationship does have many of the elements of long-time married folk, there is also an element that is hard to articulate. I see many couples whose relationship feels like it has this air of formality. Like there are things they wouldn’t do or say in front of their spouse. But we let it all hang out here at Casa Teixeira. There’s nothin’ we won’t say or do. We roll like that.

Last night I’m sitting in my chair, minding my own business and Steve walks in the room and says “I wrote a title for your next blog entry. I put it in WordPress for you already.” By his smirk, I knew it wasn’t going to be a title I’d probably use. And this is what I found on my screen: “I was a 30-something crapweasel”

Son #2 comes into the kitchen and says “Mom, what are we having for dinner?” I reply “Corn, spinach, cous cous and chicken fried tofu.” He stares at me for several seconds. “Chicken fried?” I know no other name for this style of cooking. It’s how you’d make a pan-fried chicken fried steak. Then his eyes get really wide. “MOMMMMM” he says in horror “You’re eating MEAT?” I had to laugh. “No son, you know how fried chicken has the crust on it? The tofu has a crust on it. It’s just tofu.” “Ooooohhhhh” he says and walks away looking very relieved. And before you say it, I know no one in Louisiana even knows how to pronounce cous cous, much less what it is. It’s my west coast version of comfort food…

Who invented the bicycle seat?! I demand to know! I finally bought a bike and Steve and I went out riding yesterday and OMFG. The hooha hut feels like it’s black and blue. It probably is. I’m afraid to look. I keep bending over or sitting down and it feels like someone kicked me square in the crotch. So I scream. I don’t even try to stifle the scream. Holy God. I even bought the gel seat because I always have a hell of a time riding horses and bikes. And yet it still feels like I sat on a pogo stick and jumped around for a few hours. Seriously! I demand to know why a bicycle seat can not be invented that doesn’t damage the goods! Also, I wanted to buy a handle bar basket with plastic flowers, a bell, and the handle bar tassels. But Steve thought I was kidding. He realized later I was serious. Now if I could just get a banana seat put on, I’d be good. And I’m going back to get my basket, bell and tassels.

I have these pair of boots that I LOVE. I am no Imedla Marcos, but sometimes I get a thing for boots. Anyway, the boots are pretty simple but have 4 inch heels. I’m pretty short (5′ 4.75″) so the boots boost me up to a more normal height. Especially when I’m standing next to the towering 6′ 5″ giant I am married to. Since I hurt my knee, I haven’t worn my boots. Unfortunately I can’t stand the pain and decide it isn’t worth the price. But the boots? The boots are hot. The day I bought them I called Steve at work and told him I’d bought a pair of eff me boots. He said “Are you wearing them to bed?” Lol.

Anyway, son #2 was playing at the bottom of my closet the other day and came across the boots. He picked one up and loving caressed it. “Mom, these boots are BEAUTIFUL. These boots are Jessica Rabbit boots.” You could call them that.

I’ve taken the whoring to a new level. Thanks to Beth, I found out that they still make Gee your hair smells terrific in some far corner of the world. My beloved shampoo came last night and I could hardly wait to shower with it. I kept just opening the bottle and smelling it. OMG. So this morning when I got out the shower, I hurried over to Steve and said “Smell my hair!” He leans over and takes a big whiff and then says “Yeah. Smell mine.” I wondered why he was so unenthusiastic. So I leaned over and smelled his. “You BITCH!” I shouted “You used my shampoo?!?!” And without a trace of shame he says “I had to see what all the fuss was about.” Likely story, STEVE, if that is your real name. You’re just a common soap whore too.

I can’t decide whether or not you’ll be surprised that I was originally an art major in college. I really don’t play the part of a brooding artist. I’ve never dyed my hair and I’ve never worn all black. The only thing that’s pierced on me are my ears. So it’s probably fairly obvious to you that I didn’t fit in so well with the art crowd. I was far too normal….. I heard that! Shut up. I can be normal. But with every class I took, I felt more and more out of sync with the other students. My minor was in Spanish, and I definitely fit in with those guys better.

During my junior year, I had to take an elective so I took an advertising class and I fell in love. These were my people and advertising combined art and business! And hey, I could probably make some money doing this, because “starving artist” didn’t quite appeal to me. So I filled out my paperwork, marched over to the Journalism and Mass Communications  department and changed my major. I had already accumulated enough credits to have a minor in art, so that’s what I ended up with. I have a BS in Advertising and minors in Spanish and Art.

I had been brainwashed into believing I’d never use an art degree. This is truly the greatest regret of my life and I tend to live regret-free. I love art. I love all things art. Only a person who truly loves art could spend an entire semester on color and absolutely love it. And the actual field of advertising I ended up hating. It turned out that the only thing I loved about it had been the art part. I would have been better off with a degree in Journalism. Or so said one of my professors who had been a reporter for CNN for 20 years. I was grilling him over a project we had to do and exasperated he said “You should really think about changing your major to journalism! You’d make one hell of a reporter.” Lol. But alas, it wasn’t in the cards.

I guess you can say that the hobbies I pick up are creative/ art type hobbies. And I do teach art (volunteer) at my children’s school, but it still doesn’t quite satisfy the itch. I’m toying with the idea of going back to school and getting a master’s degree in art. Both kids will finally be in school all day in the fall and I’ll have so much time to myself I won’t know what to do with myself! I guess I’ll see how it all plays out. My plan right now is to just start taking some classes and see where it leads me. Unfortunately, I’m not 20 miles from one of the West Coast’s top art colleges anymore.

I have to say though that I’m 15 or so years out of college and I never use anything I learned in advertising anymore. However, the art stuff really comes in handy sometimes. Like when we were moving and wanted to touch up the paint in our house and found out they didn’t make the paint color we needed anymore? I told Steve I would mix some paint by hand and touch up. He was frustrated and irritated and snapped “We don’t have time for you to spend three days and countless hours trying to match the paint! It will look like hell!” I got it right on the second try. And it was flawless. You couldn’t even tell. Hey, I didn’t spend a semester on color for nothin’!

So remember that 6 week long project son #1 has been working on? Well last night he was in a rush to finish it and he blew it. Totally screwed up hours and hours of work. He cried and cried and I was finally able to help him salvage it. He just had a few things left to do tonight and he tried to rush through it again and it went FUBAR. I mean, I had tears in my eyes because I thought there was no way we’d be able to recover this. And it’s due tomorrow so there wasn’t time to redo it. And I was ticked at him. I had repeatedly warned him to slow down, use pencil and be careful, and he just completely ignored me. So while he threw himself on his bed and cried his eyes out, I wore a hole in the carpet walking circles around the project and thinking about how this could be fixed. I finally decided I was going to have to mix up some paint to match the color of the poster board and carefully paint over the lines he had drawn in sharpie marker. About 20 minutes later he came downstairs and saw what I was doing. “Oh thank GOD!” He sagged with relief. “Oh thank God, thank God, thank GOD you have an art degree. NO ONE but you could have ever figured out how to fix this, Mom. Oh thank God, thank God.” He did a lot of God thanking. lol. And in the end, you can’t tell his project was a total wreck. It even looks like he decorated it on purpose that way. And they said I’d never use an art degree……

You know, there are some  people who seem to inherit the ability to feel the rhythm, to be able to move easily to music, and I suspect that if some people would just give in to the beat, more white men may be able to dance. But I could be wrong.

It was never a problem in my family. My brothers can dance. And I may be old, but I can still dance. In fact, I was watching my oldest dance in the kitchen last week and was mortified. He gave new meaning to the phrase “white men can’t dance.” I said “Uh son, you’re going to need to work with Uncle Phil on this. BEFORE Uncle G’s wedding.” Steve said “Look son, this is how you do it.” and I screeched “NO! NO! NOT LIKE THAT!” I am not disparaging my dear darling husband’s ability to dance. Just saying…  he’s white. Son #1 says “Mom, you show me.” So I tried to show him how to do the running man. Unsuccessfully I might add. “We better leave this to Uncle Phil, son.” Because I was about to weep that my child did not inherit ANY ability to move to the beat. Maybe Phil can help him. Because I get too emotional about it….

There is nothing sexier to me than a man that can dance. If he can sing too? Sweet Jesus, help me because I go weak in the knees. That’s why this is my version of p0rn: (said dancing starts at 2:43)

Oh yes, Will Smith is #1 on my laminated list. Brutha has got the moves…..

Yesterday I came across this video from one of my favorite TV shows, Scrubs. In it, Donald Faison (yowza!) stars in another p0rn video for me. Yes, I’ve watched it like 50 times already. I may not leave the house today. And I called son #1 over and said “Son, THIS (white guy) is how you don’t dance, and the next one is how you dance….”

Son #1 says “Hey mom! That’s what you were trying to show me!” Sigh. Yes, Son, that was what I was trying to show you….

Since Steve just had eye surgery, he’s supposed to wear eye protection to engage in sports. He was supposed to play in a basketball game last night but as of noon had not gotten the goggles. And for those of you that know Steve, you of course know that unless someone makes him, he won’t do it. So I started stalking him. Calling him like every half hour. Because if I didn’t, he would sneak off to the game without goggles, undoubtedly get poked in the eye and be blinded for life. His excuse would be either “I forgot” or “I didn’t have time.” Those are his two favorites anyway. At 4:58pm I got him on the phone again.

Me: Did you get the goggles?
Steve: YESSSSS. (said with all the annoyance of a nagged husband) And I look like a turbo geek.
Me: It’s not the goggles……tee hee…..heee heeeee………BWAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA…….
Steve: (pouting) Shut up.

Today I found out from son #1’s teacher that he hasn’t done homework in a month. Course, I sent her an email a month ago asking why there wasn’t homework, but she hadn’t gotten back to me. I’m in the kitchen cooking and son #1 wanders in:

Son: Mom if I put my nose to the grindstone, I could finish this project.
Me: Then why are you in here instead of working on your project?
Son: I’m going…..Are you crying?
Me: Yes.
Son: Why are you crying?
Me: (sensing opportunity) Because you won’t do your homework…. (then I figure I’m in for a penny, in for a pound)….and you don’t listen….
Son: (shocked) You’re crying over that?
Me: Yes.
Son: (can’t fathom that I can be broken that easily) Really?
Me: Yes.
Son: (still trying to wrap his mind around it)………Oh. You’re chopping onions. Nice try, Mom.

You remember the rabbit, right? The one eating my entire garden? The one I keep chasing away? Well, he and I have taken things to a new level. That’s right. The rabbit and I are at war. This is an all out war. Balls out. Well his balls, anyway. He’s become not only bold, but is flaunting his ability to eat every blossom while I sleep. He is a furry terrorist.

I’m trying new tactics. I was absolutely delighted with myself when I bought a six foot snake. Sure he was a blow-up snake. But a snake nonetheless. FER SURE that would chase him away. The snake had successfully guarded the garden for several days, being moved constantly to fake out the furry terrorist, when I awoke to Steve screeching with laughter. He calls upstairs “Uh, honey? The rabbit is having lunch with the snake! I got a great picture of it!”

Yes folks, the rabbit had lunch with the snake. My fury knows no bounds…… Game on, Rabbit.

Son #1 gets off the bus today and says “We saw that movie today in school.” “Oh.” I replied. We’ve had the squirm-inducing birds and bees talk already. Not a conversation I’d espcially wish to have again. But then he says “Can I ask you a question?” And dread builds up in my heart. I make no eye contact. What in the hell was in that movie and why wasn’t whatever this is covered? “How do you know if you’ve had a wet dream?” And there it is. And before I realize it, I exclaimed “Ohhhhhhhhh” with the exact inflection and intonation as if I had stepped in dog shit while barefoot. Which I have. And that’s what I said. Being the award winning parent that I am, I decide to pass the buck. “I don’t know. I don’t have those parts. Ask Daddy.” Squirm averted.

I’ve seen a lot at the gym. The horrors of the locker room continue to haunt me. I’ve grown up in locker rooms. Being a swimmer, they’re just completely unavoidable. Until today, I thought I’d seen it all. People never cease to amaze me in the disgusting things they will do in a locker room. It never occurs to them that they are not in the privacy of their own bathrooms. I have seen zits popped, noses picked, unspeakable naked activities, heard noises that no other human being should have to endure, seen shaving that should ONLY be done in the privacy of one’s own home, and seen vafros that should never have seen the light of day.

I should have paid more attention when I got the first omen. I ran into the senile pachanga lady again today. I should have just run screaming at that point. But did I? No, of course not. Being the anal retentive germ freak that I am, I had to wash my hands before I left the gym. And that’s where it happened. I don’t ever want to speak of it again after I tell you this. It will haunt me until my dying days.

I was washing my hands at the sink, when someone near me turned on a hairdryer. And I was going about my business, when my subconscious said “Hey, something’s not right over there. Better take a look.” Curse my subconscious! And so being as stupid as I am, my gaze shifts to the woman with the hairdryer. Except she is not drying the hair on her head. That’s right, she’s drying the carpet, not the drapes. Now I want you to know, I’ve seen this before. I’ve seen people drying the drapes, and then giving the carpet a shot too while they’re at it. But this was different. Not only did she only go over to the dryer to dry the carpet, she had it so far up the coochie that I thought the motor might blow. It was literally lost between her thighs. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and do believe I said to myself out loud “Are you f*cking kiddin’ me?!?!” I have never seen such a thing. And she continued to shamelessly stand there, hairdryer shoved deep into the hooha and blow it dry. I gagged at the thought that I may have touched those hairdryers before. Dear God, I may have used them before. Rest assured, I fled the premises immediately. And I will never touch a public hairdryer again. EVER.

“I can see!” said the blind…uh, woman. That’s right folks, I am sitting in my chair, leaned againt the back, and I can read the screen! Now I know that might not be a novel concept for you all, but damn, it is for me. I picked up my new reading glasses yesterday and am wondering WHY it took me so long to do it. Vanity is so not worth it!!!! I can’t even remember the last time things had crisp edges! And do you know that for the first time in probably almost a decade I can read the lettering on the inside of my wedding ring? Again, probably neither orgasm-inducing or novel for you, but it’s a marvel for me!

Baseball season has finally ended. I’m relieved and sad all at the same time. I’d forgotten how much I missed coaching. But the time commitment? WHEW. And my first year as a manager worked out for me. Everyone wants to be on my team again next year. On other teams we’ve played, the parents and coaches have come up to me at the end of the game and asked how they can get on my team next year. Lol! That’s a far cry from the beginning of the season where I was getting emails saying “I’ve never heard of a woman coaching boy’s baseball before.” You’ll be happy to know that Dad sent me an email last week asking if his son could play for me again next year and if he could coach with me again. Let’s say it together “Awwwwwww.” Maybe my reputation will preceed me next year and NO ONE will give me grief about having boobs and a hooha and coaching baseball. I can hope, right? And the team parents were sending around an email talking about me and one of the parents gave me some of the those emails. I almost cried. This is what they said behind my back:

Cracked ribs, son in a wheelchair and still running the team to above expectations, what a great coach!

After seeing the other managers and how they ran things, we clearly had the league’s best manager!!

Not only that, but we are coming away with a 6 year old that loves baseball A LOT and knows the fundamentals enough to practice with his older brother’s <2 levels up> team. Now that says a lot about the coach!

Say it again with me: “AWWWWWW!” I know, seriously, makes you want to cry, huh? It makes all the effort and time totally worth it.

Today Steve and I are rewarding ourselves with a day of rest. I don’t even remember what it was like to not think about baseball. I don’t remember life before baseball, and I don’t remember being able to see before. My life’s a blur no longer……..

Dog: Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip!
Steve: Damn him!
Dog: Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! YIP!!
Steve: GAH!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’ve either got to feed him or kill him!
Dog: Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip! Yip!
Steve: GAH! <sigh> Feeding him is less work…….
Me: <flipping through a magazine without looking up> Yeah. Cuz then you’d be all tired and bloody and have to take a shower………but killing him has it’s advantages too. Make sure you give him some Benedryl or I’M going to have to go out there and get all bloody…..