Thursday, July 26, 2007 

It's 106 miles to Chicago....

...we've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses.

OK, so it's more than 106 miles, I no longer smoke and I'll be driving during the day, but I am headed to Chicago this weekend! Kirdy is off on a whirlwind adventure of a girls' weekend in Chicago. That right, Mr. Chaos and the kids are staying home.

The friends I am going to meet are some of my closest friends. I've known them for years. We've been through divorce, birth, drama and good times together. Yet I've only ever met one in person.

These friends are internet friends, and once most of my "real life" friends get past the Dateline NBC fat man fresh out of prison jokes, they grudgingly admit they wish they had friends like I did.

I know full well how lucky I am to have met these ladies, and I can't wait to squeeze each one of them in person.

Oh yeah....I'm ready to hit it.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007 

Your Tax Dollars Hard At Work....

Someone from the Federal Reserve Board hit my blog a few days ago. Their search words?

The infamous 34DDD.

I'm demanding a larger refund this year. Or maybe a lowering of the prime rate.

Thursday, July 12, 2007 

Sounds In The Car

Heard today while running errands....

LMD: Ew...who tooted?


Cman: No, Youngling, I think that was me.

Youngling: COWIE, COW-COW!

LMD: Cman, you tooted? Mom, Cman tooted...I wanna sit with you.

Youngling: Cow. Cow cow. Cowcowcowcowcow. COW!

Cman: LMD, you toot all the time and you really stink.

LMD: I do not. You know who really stinks?

Youngling: Yeah, cow.

They make me so proud.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007 

Brought To You By The Letters P and G...

and the letters 1 and 3.

Online Dating

Mingle2 - Online Dating

hurt and pain are dinging me. Imagine. I talk boob size, we have dammit posts, and I get dinged by hurt and pain. Huh.

Friday, July 06, 2007 

Curses! Tagged Again!

Honestly, I don't mind being tagged....much. It gives me something to write about on days the muse has left the building. Since she's checked out for a while, I'm taking Blog Antagonist up on her tag. Here's eight things about me, in no particular order.

1. I am deathly terrified of water and bridges that go over water. Quite a few people are, but what makes my fear unusual is that I'm a veritable fish. I learned to swim by the time I was four and was water skiing like a pro by six. Yet anytime I swim in unknown water or drive over a bridge I tense. In fact, ten years ago I was driving in the San Francisco area and made a wrong turn, taking me over this bridge. My leg was cramped in the driving position for two days.

2. I have food issues. Not the kind that send you to the bathroom after eating, or the kind that have you living on air. No, I'm much like a picky six year old. Eating has rules. The first rule is I must be able to see what I am eating. If Mr. Chaos and I go to a romantic restaurant where people dine by candlelight, I'll leave. I don't trust food I can't see.

3. I've lost 51 pounds since the birth of Youngling almost two years ago. It's been a slow process, and I still have another stubborn 14 pounds to go, but I finally think of myself as healthy again. Sometimes I live by my old "fat" rules, and think I can't wear something or do something because of my size, then I remember. I understand why people put weight back on, because it's very difficult to change your mindset. Mr. Chaos pointed out I have lost the equivalent of one Cman. That helps keep things in perspective a bit.

4. Totally stealing this one from BA, so BA, my apologies, but your Ivanhoe item reminded me of this. I read "The Old Man and the Sea" for a book report in fourth grade. My teacher didn't believe I read the book and quizzed me ad infinitum. She finally called my parents to confirm I had read it. All I remember about it is the old man catches a huge fish, struggles to keep predators from eating it, then dies. I have no idea if the fish is a metaphor for our life's struggle, or what. I think it deserves a reread now that I am older.

5. After that incident, my teacher recommended to my parents that my IQ be tested. I remember meeting with a flaky, yet funny guy at the school and taking all kinds of fun tests. One of the tests was a reading test. I had trouble with a word in the text..."Sioux." The counselor told me when I was done the word was pronounced "soo" and not "see-oox." I was utterly mortified I had gotten it wrong. He tried to tell me I just read an excerpt from a 12th grade textbook, but all I heard was I got Sioux wrong. No one will tell me my score, they will only confirm I tested at genius IQ.

6. I learned to drive a stick shift first. When I got to Driver's Ed class at school, I had no clue how to drive an automatic. I sat behind the wheel stymied and asked my teacher where the stick was. He laughed and showed me how to drive it. I'm eternally thankful I learned how to drive a manual.

7. I once broke my pinky toe putting on a pair of underwear. The explanation is nowhere near as funny as you could imagine, so I'll leave it at that.

8. Finally, I am a self-confessed shopaholic. Doesn't matter if I need it, if it's a good deal, I'm buying several. This is difficult, since I am married to an accountant. Honey, if you are reading this, I just got home from buying party supplies for LMD's party tomorrow. You may want to work over time.

Tagging: Het cause I know she loves memes, and she's about the only person I know who reads this blog with any consistency who hasn't yet been tagged.

Monday, July 02, 2007 

Days Of Wine and Roses

The night Mr. Chaos proposed, I not only celebrated our pending nuptials, I celebrated the end of a life I was relieved to leave behind. I no longer was a single gal stumbling through the dating scene. I knew who I would be kissing on New Year's Eve for the next sixty years, and I loved it. I always wished I could handle the dating scene with the aplomb Carrie Bradshaw does, but alas, I was more of a Charlotte, desperate to find Mr. Right. When I snagged him, I was thrilled.

I never imagined I'd begin dating again 8 years later at 35.

Now don't worry, fair readers, Mr. Chaos and I are doing just fine. I'm not cheating on him in any way. You see, now that we are fully settled here, I've embarked on a new type of dating scene....playdating.

Honestly, in retrospect, I had no idea how great I had it. Men don't pay attention to what you are wearing, unless it's cut low enough to give them a great fantasy, and then they don't give a fig what you say. They don't interpret subtle nuances in how you say thank you. Not to mention those dating rules were fairly simple and straightforward. I knew how to play *that* dating game.

These days, I just feel lost. Getting ready for a playdate with someone for the first time is a nerve-wracking process. Here's how things transpired for one last week.

Kirdy (in bathroom): "Are you trying to look like a whore? Tone it down on the eyeliner. You aren't going clubbing, you're going to the sandbox, ferchrissake. Are you INSANE? Lipstick in the middle of the day? Are you trying to scare her away? Gloss, use gloss. And in the name of all that is holy, don't use anything other than light pink."

In Closet: "Those jeans are too tight. Yes, they make your ass look fabulous, but let's tone it down a bit for the park, shall we? Do you have a khaki skort? Nothing says soccer mom like a khaki skort. Just a T-shirt today. No, not that one, it's too tight. No, that's the wrong color. Don't you have anything suitable in here?"

I won't even get into how much I obsessed with the kids' outfits. Suffice it to say it took us four hours to get ready to go. Play. In the park. Where everyone would get dirty anyway.

The good news is our first play date was a success. But now I am left wondering what the rules of etiquette are. Who calls to schedule the next playdate? How many days should that person wait to call without seeming needy *or* disinterested?

Better yet, how many days until my children are old enough to orchestrate their own social calendars?

In the meantime, what does one give as a token in the play dating scene? If romance in the real dating world is wine and roses, what would the equivalent be in the sandbox circuit?

Handiwipes and PB&J?

Editor's note: Today is LMD's fourth birthday. I would just like to give a quick shout-out to the Diva who makes so many of these posts possible. No, no, no....I love you. And oh yeah, you win. Happy birthday, honey!

Sunday, July 01, 2007 

Phoning It In

Kirdy is currently frantically preparing for LMD's 4th birthday tomorrow. As a result, she is reprising her very first post on this blog, dedicated to LMD. She promises she won't take as long a hiatus as she did last year. Enjoy.

At risk of being judged, branded and labelled....

allow me a moment to discuss potty training.

My middle child had a NASTY poo a few weeks ago. This poo came with it's own set of bragging rights, as far as I am concerned. Women sitting around a table regaling one another with birth stories will fall to awed hushes when my daughter walks in and says, "That's nothing. I passed a poo at the age of two that was as big around as a tennis ball, and I did it WITHOUT MEDICATION." Literally. Lest you think I am exaggerating, I pulled on one end while she pushed on the other. Yes, that is now #38 on the list of "Things I Never Knew I Would Do As A Parent."

So, anyway. This poo came with it's own set of issues. At the tender age of two my child was now afraid of the potty. Not a problem, right? So she regresses a bit, she goes in her pants a while, life goes on.

So I thought. She would scream, rend clothing, channel demons and generally be pissy for the full hour leading up to an event. Then, a quiet would settle on the house as she took to the task of taking off her clothes and dumping poo. I would go into the bathroom, totally exasperated with her, only to see her bravely trying to clean up with tears in her eyes. She knew it was wrong, but she just couldn't bring herself to tackle that porcelain hurdle.

I let this go on for three weeks. I was convinced if I didn't make an issue of it, then she would eventually make in the potty. Until last week. That day it became truly ugly. She cried, carried on, and reached a whole new level. I think I can safely define the phrase "shit fit" because what I saw that day definitely qualified. She raised pissiness and divadom to a whole new level. And this went on for a full. 24. hours. straight.

I finally took my child firmly by the hand and did something I swore I would NEVER do as a parent. I held her. Forcibly. On the potty. I used every encouraging word, face and tone known to mankind. I was sure I was scarring her for life. I was evil. Cruel. A heartless wench destining her daughter to a life of therapy. Her hair flew in a crazed nimbus around her reddened, tear stained face and was done. And to her amazement, it didn't hurt.

The next day, she fought me even harder, but after 5 minutes, she sighed, stroked my hair and whispered, "I love you much" as she went. The rest of the day progressed peacefully. Which left me wondering........

Was all of this a desperate act on her part to retain the place of the baby in the family? I have no doubt initially she hurt and was frightened, but after 3 weeks I think this morphed into a classic baby/big girl power struggle. My heart broke and widened for her all at once when I heard her whisper "I love you much." Yet another thing I never knew as a can be sad and proud all at once. I am proud of her for facing her demons and "working them through", yet sorry she had to give up her babydom.

Sweetie........I love you much. Enigma that you are.