April 8, 2014 · 4:32 pm

Coming Out of the Blogset

When I started blogging and tweeting earlier this year, only my husband and three dogs knew I was doing this. Frankly, I’m not sure how much they cared, as long as they got their belly rubs. But, recently, I’ve decided to come out of the blogging closet, or blogset, to use a fun portmanteau.

At first, I kept things quiet because I didn’t know how long I would keep up with it. I have a tendency to go from, “Hey! Look at this fun thing I’m doing!” to, “Well, looks like I need to do this thing,” culminating in, “Hey! Look at this NEW fun thing I’m doing!”

I am Dug, from Up. Squirrel!

Squirrel!

Squirrel!

After gaining some traction with my blog and tweets (big hugs to all of you), I started to feel like I was leading some sort of double life. People asked me what I did over the weekend and I’d reply very quickly, “Nothing! Why do you ask? What did you hear? I spent all of time with my children. Coloring. And reading the bible.”

I could have been doing those things. Or, I could have been hiding from my children drinking wine in a closet, while trying to whip up bon mots for Twitter. Either one.

One night, I thought I’d tell two of my very best friends about my great secret. Of course, with the way I am with the word putting together, they probably thought I was going to tell them I was pregnant with baby #3, even though they know better.

I started off with, “So… I have some news.” And anyone who has friends, knows that in your 20s, this means someone is announcing an engagement, in your late 20s/early 30s you’re telling everyone you’re pregnant, and in your 40s, it means you’re telling everyone either that you’re getting a divorce or you’ve found a new wine you really like. Or both.

My blogging news was met with a much better reception than if I had announced I was pregnant, because once again, my friends know me way too well. And the next day, I had one following me on twitter and the other had read my blog in its entirety.

Have I mentioned that I heart my friends?

Every up has its down. Just like every rose has its thorn. Just like… sorry. Channeling my inner Bret Michaels there.

So, I was out for a work happy hour and I mentioned to a co-worker that I blogged. And then he asked about my blog. I felt like a doofus saying, “I blog about motherhood.” Somehow, it seemed like I could have easily said, “I Instagram photos of my dogs.”

Heeeyyy... So... I blog. And I'm not weird at all.

Heeeyyy… So… I blog. And I’m not weird at all.

Instantly, my great passion seemed ridiculous.

In retrospect, I SHOULD have said, “I amusingly write about the ups and downs of motherhood.” Or something like that. Anything else would have been better.

It wasn’t until I wrote about my personal loss that I let anyone else know that I did this. Everyone was very kind, but I still feared some backlash. Not about the one particular post I shared, but… the other posts.

So… I may have referenced people I know in other blog posts. Not by name; I’m not stupid, but if they read it, they would know it was them. And… I may have to see one of those people on a semi-regular basis. Yeah. Awkward. I can only hope they are not big blog readers. Or, that I can distract them with something shiny if they get to that post.

I’m screwed, aren’t I?

All I can do is embrace my blogginess and ask everyone to love me, even if I might have tossed a little snark their way.

Who knows, I may even become more bold in what I write, because if I have already ticked off family and survived, does anything else matter? The only thing I probably won’t do is put my kids in my blog or on Twitter, but that’s mainly because I think their combination of brilliance and stunning good looks would just make other parents sad. Plus, this is all about me, obviously, so I’ll keep the attention where it is most important.

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April 2, 2014 · 11:26 am

Finding Humor in Death

“We may laugh about everything. We must laugh about everything – even death. Especially death. After all, does death show any qualm about laughing at us?” – Pierre Desproges

Last week, I decided to join my husband on a trip to Puerto Rico. I thought it would be great to get out of the snow, lay by a pool and sip tiny tropical beverages for week. And God laughed at me. Hard. Pretty sure it was the kind of laughter that ended in snorts.

Less than 12 hours before I was supposed to fly out, I found out that my brother passed away.

Insert long, heavy pause here.

Since I don’t want to bore bring anyone down with the details, I will leave it at that this was a surprise.

I did decide to go on vacation and, yes, I have spent roughly 1/4 of my time crying randomly around Old San Juan, convincing the locals that we mainland gringos really are crazy. But I have also brought forth great memories of my brother, which also spawned crazy crying. Here’s a sample.

1. I was born on the mean streets of LA (okay, it was the valley). Consequently, I did not see snow in person until I was 5 or 6. My parents thought I should experience the horror wonder that is snow, so we trundled up to the mountains and pulled off to the side of the road and played in a random patch of snow.

Side note… My parents sure know how to make “baby’s first snowfall” special. I will give them the benefit of the doubt and instead of assuming they are lazy for not taking us to a “proper snow patch” I’ll pretend a snow-covered turnout in the mountains was the perfect plan.

Of course initial wonderment devolved into a snowball fight. I gleefully lobbed snowballs at my brother, and in turn, he put snow down my back.

It was the best of times. It was the frostiest of times. I am lucky I didn’t end up with hypothermia. Thanks for the snow slushie, big brother.

2. When I was growing up, I LOVED Pee Wee’s Playhouse, and that show was something that gave my brother and me something to bond on. Before this, it was hard to find common ground with him. He was in high school and I was watching Snorks. I mean, seriously. What is he going to ask me? “So…how’s that finger painting coming along? Have you learned to paint within the lines yet?”

Pee Wee was a gateway drug that led him to introducing me to Pink Floyd, muscle cars, and other things that made me more well rounded, and most importantly to my teenage self, more attractive to boys. I am sure this is not what my brother had in mind, but I’ll just say it was a delightful benefit.

3. When he was a teenager, my brother bought a truck. So, of course he was expected to play chauffeur for his baby sister. One day he picked me up from school. I was younger (we will say 3rd grade because I really don’t know when it happened, only that I was little) and sitting in the front seat with him.

Let that settle in. I am in roughly 3rd grade and in the front seat of a pickup truck.  Long live the unsafe 80s.

As we are driving and chatting, I notice he has these little containers of creamer in his cupholder. I pick one up and for whatever reason known only to my childhood self, decide to open it. Pickup trucks are bumpy. Creamer tends to build up lactic acid, making it swell with air.

I think you can guess what happens next. I cover my brother’s sweet ride in coffee creamer. He was not amused. I feared for my life. I don’t remember what the outcome was, but since I am here and he is not (nothing like a little gallows humor to spice things up), I can only assume I ran to my dad who was bigger and tougher than my brother and he fixed everything.

4. Speaking of the gallows, my brother had a dark sense of humor. It’s something that runs in my family. Kind of like poop through a goose.

For a period of time, my brother received phone calls from someone asking for a person named Metahia. He was polite and explained that the caller had the wrong number. Unfortunately, the caller didn’t speak English and kept calling back, asking for Metahia.

My brother took a logical leap and decided the caller spoke Spanish (before any reader gets uppity, please remember I was living in the San Fernando Valley where everything is bilingual English/Spanish). So, he learned how to say that Metahia wasn’t there and the caller had the wrong number. When the mystery guest phoned again, my brother used his magic phrase and hung up. You’d think that would be the end of it. Nope. Not long afterward, he got another call for Metahia.

No wonder Metahia didn’t give her family the right phone number. They never give up. I’d want to avoid them too.

In a fit of frustration, my brother shouts, “Metahia esta muerto.”

There was silence on the other end and the caller hung up. You might think that is cruel, but, it did stop the phone calls. I think everyone wins in that situation.

I have so many more wonderful memories, more than four anyway, and I look forward to reminiscing with my family when we gather to say goodbye. There will be dark jokes, and playful jabs; all part of this crazy family that is mine, all mine. God help us all.

Don’t worry. Right now I am in my black crepe and wearing a jet necklace, but I promise to put on my half-mourning garb soon and spin a delightfully funny take on the other reasons I should not have taken this vacation.

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March 26, 2014 · 9:50 pm

I Should Not Shop eBay After Wine

I love wine. I love shopping. Together you’d think they would be a match made in heaven. That would be a wrong thought, my friend.

When I have a few glasses of wine, I tend to grab my phone, skim the interwebs, play a few games, and shop on eBay. My husband introduced me to eBay and I am hooked. It’s like shopping without buying anything. I can watch auctions go by and live vicariously through someone else’s purchase of a beautiful Hermes scarf, or I can scope out bargains for my favorite designers.

To date, I have placed bids on Christian Louboutin high heels, and Zara dresses; purchased a Yuengling poster with dogs drinking beer… and… sheer underwear for my husband.

Let me explain before the judging begins.

When I do the laundry, and for the most part, I am the only one who does the laundry, I throw out anything with holes or yellow armpits. This bugs my husband to no end because most of his underwear has holes in it and most of his shirts have yellow pits. Consequently, there are occasions when he is shirtless and going commando. I find this hot, but his co-workers would probably not be as enthused.

Take this knowledge with you to my couch, and sit on it with a fishbowl of white wine. With frozen peaches floating in it. This makes the wine more nutritious because there’s a snack at the end. The vitamin C keeps scurvy away. So, you’re roughly halfway through the box of wine, I mean glass, and your husband mentions the fact that he’s running low on underwear and shooting you a dirty look.

What do you do if you’re me and you tend to shop while drinking wine? You get on eBay and solve this problem with underwear! At this point, my mind gets a little fuzzy. I know I looked at a wide variety of underclothes and put a few on watch. And that’s where I thought it ended. But, nay, nay. Nay, I say.

I woke up the next morning and checked my email. There was one from eBay that proclaimed, “Congratulations! You have won the fabulous piece of crap upon which you bid!” No surprise, I’m paraphrasing here.

My hand to God, I was baffled. What the hell did I buy? Maybe I didn’t buy anything. Maybe I was hacked! I opened the email, and it all came back to me. I had purchased some trunks for my husband. They are like boxer briefs, but a little shorter. AND THEY WERE SHEER!

In my state, I had no clue they were sheer. I just thought they were regular old black underwear. And they weren’t Hanes. They were some random ass brand from China. Yes, China.

Now, here’s another fun fact for you. Did you know that you can get things from China, dirt cheap? Yes! It takes six weeks, but these fabulous goods from another land will wing their way to you in a plain brown envelope. Here is what I received just a few weeks later:

underwear

Did you catch the brand name? Wangjang. Yeah.

The hubs was not pleased, even though the stripper gear did only cost pennies. A few hundred pennies, but pennies none the less.

Then to add insult to injury, he refused to wear them! At least try these bad boys on. It could be funny, it could be sexy. You don’t know until you try it. At least, that’s what I tell the kids about lima beans.

My husband has banned me from eBay, either with or without wine. I don’t blame him. Although, he might forgive me if I get him that 2$ watch from Shanghai.

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March 18, 2014 · 10:57 pm

I Carry Way Too Much Crap in My Bag

Over the weekend, I discovered the Tuesday Ten, a blog link up hosted by The Liebers and The Golden Spoons. This week’s topic encouraged people to expose the very marrow of their being to the world. I mean, you were supposed to dump out your purse and make a list of 10 things inside.

Image

This is my purse and its contents. It carries most everything that’s important to me. Like…

  1. My wallet – It is a bulging mess. It’s full of change (never cash), receipts, gift cards that I never get to use because I can’t go anywhere nice because I have children, rewards card for places like Orange Leaf because that’s the nicest place I can go because I have kids.
  2. Sunglasses – I have a slight obsession with eBay. I blame my husband for this. He discovered that you can order things directly from China at a fraction of the price. He has used it for good, and purchased LED lights for our home. I have used it to buy cheap things like sunglasses (just 2$!) and jewelry (seriously – earrings for .50$). I am probably on a House Un-American list somewhere.
  3. Ghost eraser – This is a random nugget from my kids. I tend to pick things up and put them in my purse using it as a vehicle to carry things upstairs. I must have thought the eraser belonged upstairs, so I put it in my purse to carry it there and then I forgot all about it. I will most likely put it back in there after I write this and forget it’s there. I’m a lot like Dory from Finding Nemo.
  4. The girl’s sock – My daughter hates to wear socks. Once we get into the car, she rips off her shoes and her socks. I usually don’t care, unless it’s winter and I have an irrational fear that frostbite will take her little piggies. I pick up her pig covers and hope that I can wrestle them on her when she’s not looking. I almost always fail.
  5. Hand lotion – My hands are desert dry in the winter, and I carry hand lotion. I also have dogs that like to get into my purse and wreak havoc on what they can find. I try to put my purse where they can’t get to it, but they can either fly or are able to push chairs around to get to it. That’s why the end of the hand lotion is gnawed off. They usually go for the gum, but somehow, I guess I got lucky.
  6. Makeup bag – I never have time to do anything in the morning and, consequently, I end up taking care of me while I drive into work. I always have an empty bowl under my seat from breakfast and I end up putting on my face while driving. I know. I know. But, if I don’t, I’ll end up looking like I have been dragged through a bush backwards. And no one needs to be subjected to that.
  7. Ear phones – I discovered Hoopla, an app that lets me access the digital assets of my local library. I listen to A LOT of books while I work. Check out the Divergent series. Books one and two are great; three is a bit of a letdown.
  8. A to-do list in the form of random papers – I have way too much on my plate, like most moms. I remind myself of all the things I need to follow up on by leaving papers in my purse. The visual cues keep me on track. This week’s papers say that I need to sell mulch for my son’s Cub Scout pack and I need to RSVP for yet another birthday party. Anyone looking to mulch this Spring?
  9. Hair tie – When my son was born, I thought I’d outsmart his hair grabbing skills by cutting off mine. It didn’t work and he ended up ripping it out by the fistfuls. Finally, I decided to grow it out and it ends up in my eyes. A lot. The hair tie helps me keep my sanity in the meantime.
  10. Hand sanitizer – I have kids. I also hate germs. I think it’s from all the pinkeye my son contracted when he was a toddler. I carry Sweet Pea scented sanitizer and lube up my children regularly.

Now you’ve had a glimpse into my soul. Hang out, roll around a bit, but don’t get too comfy. It will all change once I decide that I need a new purse.

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March 17, 2014 · 11:27 pm

Why My Dog Is Wearing a Dress

My dog is the most stylish in all of Ohio, and it’s the only reason she’s alive today.

This weekend, my daughter was supposed to be cleaning her room. I let the smallest canine in our home, Tiny, help her clean. That means, I used the dog as a carrot so she would actually clean her room as long as Tiny was there.

Tiny, model dog

Tiny, in her rockstar dress

She emerged with a short time later with a very full backpack, and straining under the weight, she started to make her way downstairs. Realizing Tiny was not with her, I started toward her room to release the pup from her dungeon. She has a tendency to lock Tiny in whatever room she plans on returning to so she always has Tiny with her. It’s sweet, really. Well, mostly.

I have found Tiny placed high upon a shelf, with pillow and blanket. There was no way for her to jump down unless she wanted to break her leg. My daughter honestly thought Tiny would enjoy this bed she made with her, and she did actually seem content. She snuggled up on her pillow and fell asleep.

Another time, she was in the closet, locked in before my daughter headed off to school. I could only imagine what would happen if Tiny were locked in the closet all day. Ariel shoes would be chewed, pullups would be soiled, and dresses would be used for blankets. It would have caused tears and chaos for everyone involved.

Sometimes, I do wonder about the size of this pup’s brain. She puts up with so much. When I adopted Tiny, I was told that she was “the runt of the litter.” I didn’t think that meant anything more than she was a little smaller than her siblings. I also adopted Tiny’s sister, now named Twilight. In the year since I adopted the girls, they have grown and flourished. Twilight has also grown to be two times the size of Tiny.

Runt is not an exaggeration. Tiny is roughly the size of a chihuahua and Twilight is more like a rat terrier or small Labrador. When I look at Tiny’s skull, it doesn’t look like it could hold more than a walnut. But she also has the biggest heart. She is a sucker for belly rubs and snuggles. A pure soul if there ever was one.

Now, back to the past weekend. My daughter very eagerly stopped me before I could get to her room. Given the history with my daughter and putting Tiny in compromising positions, I immediately asked, “What is in the backpack?” I took it from her, and felt its great weight. Unzipping it,  Tiny’s head popped out, probably grateful for the fresh air. She was wearing a dress, one of my daughter’s Cinderella dresses.

This is another thing about my daughter. She LOVES dress up. She loves to dress herself, me, and anyone else who comes across her path. Obviously, it would include Tiny. While Tiny does make a smashing Cinderella, she does not fit well into one of my daughter’s dresses.

My daughter explained that she stuffed Tiny into her backpack so she couldn’t escape and shake off the dress. In order to protect my sweet little dog from being stuffed into another backpack, or any other bag, I very impulsively promised my daughter that we could buy Tiny a dress that was just her size.

That afternoon we headed off to PetSmart and found the perfect dress for her; a grey tulle number designed by Bret Michaels. Yes, that Bret Michaels. I don’t know how it happened either, but whatever. Tiny looks good. She rocks that dress all over the place. She’s probably just happy to be alive.

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March 13, 2014 · 4:05 pm

According to Art, Motherhood Stinks

I have been combing over possible blog topics in my mind, and none really spark with me. I have considered discussing how I make friends as an adult (or, don’t, in truth), postpartum depression (I thought that would be a comedy fest), or, even, an ode to the never-ending story of laundry.

Clearly, my well is running dry.

I did discover the Wikimedia Commons, which has a treasure trove of images that I can use without fear of the copyright police chasing me. It does haunt my dreams and leads me to draw things on my own.

I started by searching for ‘illustrations of mothers.’ Not what I expected. I found:

Wake up woman, and torture your son-in-law!Jesus healing a mother-in-law: Clearly he never had one. Sometimes it’s just best to let them go. Not that it’s a commentary on my own mother-in-law or how my husband feels about my mom. (I do believe my butt is completely covered now)

A man gathering parts of his mother’s body and sewing them together:
So….. someone dismembers your mother and tosses them into the river. And, you gather that stuff up and sew it together? What is this? Frankenstein? That didn’t end well, and neither will this sick story. I think I am going to put it in my will that if I am dismembered and scattered in a river, I should be left there. I’ll be just like the Little Mermaid.

A woman fishing her dead son out of a river: Seriously? What’s with the death and rivers, artists? Can’t we use a river for frolicking? Or peeing in? Like normal people?

Way too many kids, not enough wine.

Way too many kids, not enough wine.

A mother with her 8 children, who all look to be 8 and under: So, it’s not the eight kids I have an issue with; it’s the fact that the mother looks so young and well rested, despite the fact that she’s surrounded by infants and toddlers. And that one kid holding a finger to his lips Dr. Evil-style is totally plotting something. I would have lost my crackers if I had 8 kids under 8, one of whom was most likely going to become an evil genius and create sharks with laser beams on their heads.

Mother and daughter in corsets: Now, there’s a way to bond with your daughter; strap her into a garment that will cut off her circulation and squash her intestines. Mother of the year. Hmm… I may need to save this one and pull it out when my daughter refuses to wear jeans. I can hoist it high and declare, “Well, I could put you in a corset instead.” I’m sure it will work. Either that, or its my corset that’s too tight, causing me to be delusional.

Moral of the story here, folks… as a mother, you will be expected to torture your body to look beautiful, and then be drained of energy by the delivery and rearing of many, many children. At the end of your years, you will become a reviled mother-in-law, more than likely meeting your end in a dirty river, unless you happen to come across Jesus, who will bring you back to life with your son-in-law screaming, “Wait! She was fine the way she was!”

And that concludes today’s lesson on what it means to be a mother, as depicted in art. Now go and enjoy your edification. And avoid all rivers!

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