Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

"I'm not just a talking head!"

Remember when I was in the MOMS Club? And while I was in the MOMS Club I dealt with a few mothers who seemed to be 'pack leaders'. They seemed a little fussy and obsessed with motherhood and I seemed a little fussy and obsessed with dealing with them.

So you'll understand why then when I read the New York Magazine profile of a self-professed Alpha Mom, it may have gotten my hackles up a bit. I might have read it and thought of all the type-A moms in my life and in the lives of my friends who feel smugly superior about mothering.

So I read this piece at A Little Pregnant and you know, it all seemed to make sense. The opinion I'd formed fit right in and so I went with it.

I even wrote about it at the Flog, and I told myself "Well I'm not saying it, I'm just reporting on what someone else said." And that made me feel okay with myself. Until a couple of commenters called me to task on what I was sharing and also thinking.

Then, at some point, Isabel Kallman, the subject of the New York profile left a comment on one of Sarah Gilbert's posts at the Flog and suggested they get together when Sarah visited New York.

I felt a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I had been an internet troll just like all the ones I hate. I'd written whatever I wanted without remembering this was a real person and here she was reading what I'd written. I'd been one of the Supermarket people.

Then Sarah did meet her in New York and said she was so kind and that she thought her profile in the magazine was more of a business profile, not a mothering profile. I was guilt-ridden. It was not long after that I realized how I couldn't write about celebrities anymore because I couldn't stand the hatred and ugliness spewed at them. Isabel Kallman wasn't a celebrity in the Brangelina sense, but she was in the sense that people had read about her, thought they knew her and reacted to her accordingly.

I didn't know what to say to Isabel, but the issue and what I'd done clung to my insides.

Then Heather wrote a Hot Spot for her and I told Heather how awful I was feeling about the Flog and writing about her and then realizing she was actually a really nice person according to Sarah. Heather made me feel a whole lot better when she said something like, "She really is a great person. She really understands what we're doing with our sites and was really misrepresented by that magazine."

I'm being sarcastic when I tell you that Heather's words made me feel better, in reality they made me say "Bah Bah" because I was feeling rather sheepish by this point.

Then, to make me feel even more woolly (get it? Like a sheep!) Isabel asked me if I could write a Hot Spot. So I did and I psychically flogged myself for what I'd written in the past but I didn't know what to say.

We forged an email relationship and I don't remember which come-apart it was, because the trolls have really gotten to me several times, Isabel shared some of her experiences with me and I cried. So hard. Because here she was empathizing with me because I was upset someone told me I was uglier than my husband and should consider myself lucky to have him. And I had added to her own suffering months ago when people were writing nasty and mean spirited things about her, her son and her marriage.

I apologized and thankfully she accepted my words. I told her how awful I'd felt about it for months and how the whole experience had put into perspective the types of things I want to write about people because I want to put out into the world what I'd like to get back.

I tell you all of this because Isabel has been really supportive while The Flog has been eating me alive. She's understood my desperation to get away from the comments and frantic news scanning and all of it. And she helped.

And so.

On Wednesday I talked to Isabel on the phone and I didn't pass out or throw up from talking on the phone but I did say stupid things. I wrote at least one of them down because people always ask me why I hate the phone so much and when I tell them I just say stupid things and find the flow of conversation difficult to manage over the phone they don't know what I mean.

Isabel: "Wow, you have an actual voice!"
Me: "Yep....heh...I'm not just a talking head!"

WHAT
THE
HELL
????

To make it worse, Isabel thought to herself, "Did she just say something totally non-sensical? She must have said something else." So she asked me what I said and I had to repeat it because what was I supposed to say, "I didn't say anything that made sense...let's move on."?

Do you see now why I hate the phone?

Anyway, we talked on Wednesday and Thursday morning I gave my letter of resignation at the Flog because I'm going to be working on special projects with Alpha Moms and Isabel.

For now, far away from the Supermarket, which is exactly what I need to catch my breath and just write things I enjoy. Things I like to read that make me laugh.

All while still contributing to my family's financial well-being.

So I'm an Alpha Mom, only that doesn't mean what I thought it did.

In short:
life is weird
lesson learned
I'm not kidding when I say we shouldn't talk on the phone.

I'm really happy relieved to be moving on but Karen, my co-lead, did something I didn't think possible: she made me feel a tiny bit sad about moving on. So did this person we just hired (and who you should read at the Flog because I think she'll be great).

Logan brought me these flowers Thursday to say congrats and every time I look at them I'm so grateful for the unexpected ways things get better when you think they never will.

Max and Maddie.

The other day Logan, as he often does, pointed out how I tend to favor Max.

The reason I favor Max: He loves the living hell out of me no matter how imperfect I am.

It's as simple as that.

So we talked about how much we love each of our kids and I said the most poetic (but not rhyming) things about them.

I said, I love Madison because she can see through the biggest bull shit in the world, she writes the most true-to-her-experience stories ("The children were living happily, until the adults came and said, 'Now, there are rules!'"). I love how deep an understanding she has of parents and kids. Also her eyelashes.

I went on to say, Max brought home a paper the other day that called me his V.I.P: "My Mom Is my VIP because she loves me and has soft skin." He rules.

But Logan said it better:

"I love Max because he's full of life. I love Madison because she's complex."

When he said that I realized, Logan loves his mother, sister and me because of our complexities. I wish I was just full of life.

It's not you, it's everyone else.

To call me 'incredibly irritable' would be like calling Logan a mere mortal.

There are a lot of things which happen on a daily basis which annoy the living hell out of me. These things annoy me because I expect my fellow human beings to be conscientious and mostly they are not.

My neighbor across the street with the boat stored between his house and garage where the boat looms over the house. The boat isn't the problem, it's not rude...it's just ugly as hell. The problem is this neighbor comes home everyday around 4 o'clock and plays his music. He plays the music so loudly in his very small house that even with his windows and door closed, and with my windows and doors closed I can still hear the throbbing bass through my entire house, even in the basement.

But that's not my only problem, because as I outlined last week no one in this God forsaken neighborhood has a grasp of the idea that sound travels. So at 10pm, if you want to play your piano, maybe you want to shut your windows? Or at 8am if you feel like drumming in the morning, keep it to yourself? Or if you're warming your car up while you're in your house...maybe you don't need to leave your radio blaring? Or at 11pm, if you want to blare xylophone music (what the ever loving hell?)...you should shut your doors and windows?

Other Things Which Happen All The Time and Signify Rudeness To Me But What's the Point of Getting Upset About It Since It Happens All The Time?

I don't know. But I here they are:

I hate when someone waits, just standing there watching their groceries be rung up, and then and only then, once the total is announced they start to dig through their purse to find the checkbook.

I hate people who fly past on the left when they can clearly see the left lane is closing and by doing that, rather than merging, they're making everyone else wait even longer.

Talking in the movie theatre sends me into a rage I can't even describe without considering committing myself to a mental institution.

In essence, you could say I don't like dealing with the general population. I don't like large crowds of people because people annoy me in so very many ways.

Flogging Baby has a lot of readers. Between the google search hits and the AOL links, it's like being trapped in the supermarket with people stalled in the aisles, roaming aimlessly, talking on their phones as loudly as possible and asking 50 times how much the total was again?

The other day as I did some grocery shopping, I looked at all the people in that store and I wondered to myself, 'Would I want to have a conversation with that person? What about that one?'

And, really, I saw six people in the entire market I would want to engage in any type of conversation at all, much less a parenting one.

I presume, if I were to start a conversation with the woman in the U-Scan line with the word "Sexy" written across her ass (hopefully meant in an ironic way)(and don't get me started on the God Damn U-Scan)(Too Late: The sign says, "15 item limit" not "15 point IQ limit"). Where was I?

If I started a conversation with the U-Scan woman about, say, medicating a child on a flight, it's entirely likely she would end up screaming at me about how ludicrous the whole idea is and how anyone who does this should END UP IN JAIL AND HAVE THEIR CHILD TAKEN AWAY.

Because a large portion of the general population is incapable of seeing the plural ways of doing things and that very little we all do in parenting and life is entirely wrong but a whole lot of things are not the way we would choose to do them.

And like I expect people to start to write their check while their groceries are rung up and how I expect there not to even be xylophone music in the world, I also expect people to be kind and respectful in their disagreements. I like to think the world is full of mostly smart people.

Perhaps I've learned to think that because my own website is full of smart people who, even when they disagree are able to either represent their way of thinking in a kind way or mostly not say anything.

Also it seems the people who read this website understand who I am a little more. They may not like who I am (and uh...they keep reading anyway...which would be like me following around the lady in the U-Scan lane being increasingly annoyed at her check writing skills and xylophone rudeness...but okay....) but mostly if you're here you get that I'm sarcastic and I joke a lot and often overstate reality for comedic effect.

But if you ran into me at the supermarket and I was blabbering on and on, you might think: "What the fuck? This woman is so aggravating/stupid/retarded!" and you might start to tell me those things because why am I going on and on about my opinion in the middle of the grocery store.

Do you see? The Flog is the supermarket of my nightmares. I'm just not cut out for it.

And yet it's helped my life so much I can't just shun it. But God, even the most benign things set the people in the Nightmare Supermarket off and the nastiness and the sheer volume I'm trying to keep up with is just. Really not going well. A few weeks ago something I'd hoped would release the pressure on me fell through and has only brought into more glaring focus how I'm unable to do all of this.

I haven't wanted to talk about it because as we all know the surest way to get yourself fired is to blog about your work. But you'll see why then, even the most kindly stated criticisms (though what's with the threats?) of my website's current condition really rile me up. I'm running as fast as I can here.

And, as my friends have learned this week, if you try to help me understand that these criticisms aren't really all that bad, so why are you so upset? I will lash out at you as well because I am upset about it and I just want to be upset about it and I don't know about you but sometimes when you're upset you just really don't want someone to explain to you why you shouldn't be upset.

Here's the 'funny' you've requested:

My inbox this morning:
"Melissa, go fuck yourself, get some therapy and stop polluting the world with your blogging."

This does not sting as being told I'm fat and ugly has in the past, nonetheless it contributes to my foul attitude.

Please don't write me to tell my blog sucks and all I am is angry and why don't I write funny things?

I'll tell you why I don't write funny things: because things just aren't all that funny to me right now.

Once you spend 4-7 hours a day scanning news feed after news feed while trying to write 5.6 posts a day, let me know how funny you feel. Because I feel funny, just not funny in a 'ha-ha' type of way. In a more "Wow, this is wearing me out" kind of way. Funny!

I don't need anyone to tell me how angry my site is and how it's fallen apart because I actually know, I'm trying to come up with ways to remedy that, but for now I'm working hard to contribute to my family's finances and things aren't funny so you'll just have to go to one of the many other funny places on the internet.

You don't even have to let me know you're gone.

Conversely, you can see our pictures from our outing to Rochester, Michigan. I grew up in a town called Birmingham, Michigan. Birmingham is about 20 minutes from Rochester. I did not know Rochester existed until my 20's when Logan sublet an apartment there.

That is the phenomenon I like to call 'The Bubble' and it is the ability of many Birminghamites to live within their town and completely forget there are other nice places outside the bubble they may like almost as much as Birmingham.

 

The Potato Savior

The other day the nice people at Chop Shop called, you remember how I feel about Chop Shop right?

I haven't gone for a while because of the financial fiasco that followed my trip to Amsterdam and then, it seemed wise to just eat a lot of baked potatoes with black beans so that we might be able to remodel the bathroom. To save money, because potatoes and black beans are very cheap eats....not because we want to remodel the bathroom with baked potatoes and black beans.

But they called to remind me about my standing mid-month appointment I'd forgotten to cancel. But! They had a surprise, a gift certificate someone left for me, a fan of the website.

Wha?

So yesterday afternoon a sitter came to stay with the kids and I went to Chop Shop for quiet meal preparation. The timing of this outing could not have been better because it's Spring Break and judge me as you will (it hasn't stopped some of you before!) but I am NOT good at parenting as an all day every day proposition.

We're all much happier when we all have some time to do our own things.

The Chop Shop wouldn't tell me who sent along the gift certificate, she said this person wanted to remain anonymous. I still though suspected it was someone I knew, like my mom or a family friend who knows what happens when I take on cooking. Black beans and baked potatoes happen. I thought one of them was taking pity on my husband and family.

But no, this person is from California and said she just enjoyed my site and wanted to do something nice for me.

To that I say, you're making it very difficult to hate you Internet.

I know I shouldn't hate you because of a few people. It's just the Fucking Flog is so full of polarized people that NO MATTER WHAT I SAY it upsets someone or breaks out some controversy. Every time I turn around someone is not only disagreeing with me (which is fine) but calling me names or telling me not to push my agenda or that I'm defensive because I express an opinion which is different than your own. It's putting me in an incredibly foul mood and I'm taking it out on the Internet. Or at least I want to.

So I tell myself the Internet is just mean and I'm going to stop giving my opinion or writing anything worthwhile until I can grow a huge callous.

But then I have to admit there are all these nice people, people who have put Salmon Couscous and Coconut Cream Chicken and Honey Lime Drumettes and ONE BIG ASS HAM in my freezer. I can't hate you when you do that.

How can I hate the Internet when there are all these nice people who are part of it?

It's just the Fucking Flog.

Which reminds me, I haven't written anything for them in the last 3.2 minutes so I have to run.

(Thank you thank you thank you "Someone In California". You have no idea how touched I am and how happy my freezer looks. The potatoes of the world are also rejoicing: you are their savior.)

The Suburban Hootenanny.

I hate living here.

Have I made that clear? I have a very long post in progress about different neighborhoods I've lived in and what I hated about them. (Here's a preview: "The Heavy Walkers in 13D".)

What I hate the most about spring is the music my neighbors seem to think I've been missing all winter. They think it's appropriate, since it's spring and the windows are open, to play their music for me. I've talked about them before here.

You might think I'm a huge fan of throbbing bass.
Or flute concertos.
Or rag time piano.

But I'm not. And even if I was, I'm never a fan of being forced to listen to anyone else's musical stylings.

Today, my neighbors started with their strolling guitar garbage and then the other neighbor came home and began playing the piano.

And so I put our iPod into the window facing their homes and began blaring my favorite music. I wish I'd had this cd. Oh God I need it.

All of that I know was amusing enough for you, but it gets better.

The music I chose to play was very loud. I thought it was loud when I went outside with the kids, but once I got out there I could barely hear it. Which should give you an indication of how loud my neighbors insist on 'Rocking Out' with their clarinets/throbbing basses/flutes/drums/acoustic guitars.

I had my music so loud the flute neighbor came over, utterly shocked at how loud the music was. He could barely hear his flute.

I almost started to cry with laughter, maniacal laughter.

I replied, "Oh, I'm sorry is it bothering you? I find it so soothing." (which is what he said to me when I asked him to turn down his flute music or shut his house up at 11pm last summer. I then explained, I thought it was 'Music Sharing Time'.

I mean since I was being forced to "enjoy" his music, I thought maybe he wanted to be forced to enjoy mine? Makes sense, no?

In other news: Tonight I'm going to celebrate a friend's birthday and the timing could not be better. I need this night out. Badly. Tomorrow I have other plans in the afternoon, which one of you are responsible for and I'll talk more about that tomorrow.

Instead of being happy I feel like crying because I continue to fall behind my monthly quota at the Flog.

Anxiety is not our friend.

You be the judge:

I started to think this was unkind, to put my husband's new sunglasses up on the internet for ridicule, but then I realized: I could have a new pair of sunglasses if I shame him about these ones enough. And once you view them you will see, it's not that big a stretch.

I've learned to accept his metrosexuality but come on.

We had a nice Easter at home with the kids. We did nothing but watch Spongebob, let them fondle the computers (one from the office) and play board games. It's nice sometimes for us to stop our lives and use a holiday as an excuse to absorb our kids in a slow paced way.

Yes, I realize the reason for the holiday is Jesus dying on the cross and rising again and I appreciate that. I think, though, I believe in a God who is happy to see us use our holiday time to slow down and enjoy our children. Because the idea of God and Jesus extends well beyond the pages of a book written by mere mortals.

*Update: He acquiesced and I've donated my adsense check to his ongoing pursuit of the perfect glasses. Poor guy.

Television isn't evil, people are.

Logan came home from Portland feeling awfully feminine and he has the sunglasses to prove it. He swears up and down they're men's but they're only men's if Jackie O was a man.

Last night at a friend's house for dinner he was telling us about his trip to Portland. He loved Portland and for a brief and shining moment when he arrived home it seemed he might consider leaving this place. But then he came to his senses.

He told us how when he goes on these trips, press checks they're called, there is a printer's rep who's job it is to take care of Logan while he's there.

He said, with a straight face, "The only problem is, you know, it's great to go to great meal after great meal at amazing restaurants but, God after a while it's just too much. I mean I just wanted a beer and a burger and it was impossible for the printer's rep to take me to a plain brew pub. Everything had to be first class...."

Don't you just feel horrible for the guy? My eyes welled up when he told us about all those forced fancy meals. It was just, heartbreaking. All the poor man wanted was a bowl of cold cereal with milk. How he suffered.

He went to a tiki bar, twice and that's like Disneyland for Logan. He also passed by this place, and took a picture of it for you and me both because he's a thoughtful lady. Could there be a more ridiculous strip bar sign in all the land? Portland, you are one crazy bitch.

I must have done something really good in a past life to have gotten Logan as a father for my kids. This morning he let me sleep in, woke up with the kids (and Zoe who slept over last night), went to the store, made pancakes and sausage for the kids. Then he took Max, Maddie and their two friends to the hair place so the three Summers could get haircuts while I went to the gym.

He brought them all back home and fed them lunch and then took them to the zoo, which is insanely crowded because it's the first nice weekend in forever.

I'm putting out tonight.

It's funny, I don't tell you all of that so Everyone's Favorite Troll can chime in with yet another "You don't deserve your husband you fat lazy asshole" comment.

One of the perennial parenting judgement/discussions is television. Last week Dutch asserted his feelings about portable dvd players. And people freaked out, on both sides, "we must be weird, we like to actually talk to our kids," was the general theme of a few comments which irritated me.

Yes, because we turn on the tv in the car and then we don't talk to the kids anymore. Ever.

Anyway, I find it hard to believe TV is evil like Dutch does and I'll tell you why.

Logan just called me from the zoo to tell me this Max one-liner.

A zoo truck drove past them and left particularly stinky exhaust fumes. Max started to wave his hand in front of his nose and said, "Peee-uuuuu, what smells like big business?"

This is a direct quote from Spongebob and also the reason I will never believe television is purely evil.

While the cat's away

Best thing about Logan being away on business:

Non-stop Law & Order (on TNT and USA! What the hell? Who needs Tivo?) without moaning and groaning next to me on the sofa.

Worst thing about Logan being away on business:

Really crappy dinners; cooking for just The Pickerson's is unappealing. Can one live on cold cereal with milk for weeks at a time?

Halt

If you have anymore bad news for me (I'm looking squarely at you, house/Internet/Gary/checkbook) please save it for at least another week. I'm at my limit and at least two weeks from PMS and didn't the full moon just happen? Enough.

Thank you so much.

Max racing cars

You know you've got a stupid You Tube video when your title is:

Max Racing Cars

and when it insists you describe the video you have to write:

It's Max...and he's uh...racing cars.

I've been trying to figure out how to get video off my old camera and have never had luck making it small enough and the right format for quick download. Thank you, You Tube.

Now I just need to find my old battery charger and maybe we can have video from Pilates class!

For now all I have is this video from last from last winter when Max was 4 and in desperate need of a haircut. He's now 5 and again in desperate need of a haircut.

(There was another version with more cute talking, but I screwed it up with the editing so that the sound is totally off. Film editor I am not.)

And you thought I was an awkward hugger.

About six years ago Logan worked on some design and marketing materials for a Pilates studio. I remember having a conversation where I said, "Pee-lah-tees" several times ignoring Logan's cringing, because I had no clue how you pronounced it. 

Today I pronounce it, "Holy Shit This Is Killing Me".

Each week I gather with my friends at Chrissy's house for an ass-kicking/pilates session. We do this because we like abuse and also because Chrissy's neighbor teaches Pilates and needs the extra sessions for her training. Also she likes to torture people.

If I were you, Internet, I'd be really upset. I'd be upset because I obviously don't care about you at all because if I cared about your enjoyment I would show you pictures from pilates class.

I wish I could, but I really like my friends and if I did that they wouldn't be my friends anymore.

Sometimes, though, when I'm standing on my hands, or when I'm doing a back bend across the back of the instructor, I think to myself, "God damn it, if this isn't content I don't know what is."

There was one day while I did some sort of ass kicking move, the instructor looked at my face and said, horrified, "Please, relax your face."

I like to imagine what the hell my face looked like when she said that, I picture Ernest Borgnine. I make that face a lot and I can't help it. You try to keep your legs up at a 90 degree angle while squeezing a large ball between your ankles and at the same time doing 100 tiny crunches and not look like Ernest Borgnine.

It's physically impossible.

It's difficult for me to do things like, oh I don't know put my legs up in a V while reaching between my legs to hold hands with my friend who is in a similar v-shaped position, without laughing. Our pilates teacher isn't all that interested in laughing during pilates.

I think she doesn't understand what's so funny about looking at your girlfriend as you perform some bastardized lamaze move.

I think she might be dead inside. Healthy and strong in body, but dead.

I seem to talk a lot while doing pilates. Things besides, "Holy Shit this is killing me."

Our teacher says things like, "No, you absolutely can do this totally impossible thing most human beings can't do, you just don't think you can."

So I find myself saying things like, "I can lift that exercise ball with my brain power...I just don't think I can."

Because that is funny and I never get tired of that joke.

I think my pilates teacher adores me.

One of the things I say a lot during pilates is, "Gee, and I thought hugs were awkward."

Hugs aren't really awkward when compared to propelling yourself through the air to perform a handstand while your girlfriends watch you being pummeled about the face by your own breasts which are not used to this direction of gravity.

Unless you give someone a hug while you do that. That's an awkward hug.

Going Forward

Before we all (read = before I) go crazy: The plumber said other things which will make us all feel better. (Guys, paypal was for last year, this year we can take on these things with a tiny bit of grace.)

The plumber told us that to bypass the broken spot underneath our addition, it would cost $6,000.00. After that we'd see if there were more broken spots in our pipes. At that point, it would cost $12,000. Oh sweet Jesus.

But he also said, "I don't know when the broken pipe will actually collapse. Could be tomorrow, could be 10 years from now."

He suggested we have the $80 drain snake each year. The problem is, if we want to sell this house we have to tell the new potential owners about this problem. Which, in essence, means we're never leaving this shit hole.

Remind me to tell you what exactly I don't like about living here.

Also Logan leaves for Portland, Oregon tomorrow. If you are in possession of Man Saving Panties I suggest you don them in preparation for his arrival.

May God be with you Panty Wearing Women Of Portland.

Wow. Just Wow.

A pipe under the addition appears to be the problem.

$6,000 - $12,000

My life is so fucking awesome.

The only thing that could make this better is if I found out our house has anal glands in need of expression.

Fecal Friday

You know nothing says Friday like a Rectal Smear and an Anal Gland expression.

I called Logan after leaving the vet to say those exact words and as they came out of my mouth I thought, "I should really wait until we're at dinner to spring this on him." Only because that would make it funnier.

He asked the price and I said, "One billion dollars."

He replied, "That seems exactly right and absolutely worth it. You tipped didn't you?"

I didn't even know cats had anal glands and I am now horrified to know this.

I would pay two billion dollars to not have this information rattling around in my brain.

And now, you have this information rattling around in your brain and I'm sorry. Sort of sorry, sort of happy to share it because then it's not so scary.

I already asked JenB what to do about this (wipe Gary down with a washcloth to rid him of the vet smells) but I thought I'd mention it here too. When we walked in the door the skinny one (Socks) started sniffing Gary and hissing. Then she sniffs a little more and hisses again.

This is much the reaction I have to Old Spice.

I would give Gary the wipe down but he's currently shuddering in the basement from the humiliation of the, you know, other stuff I mentioned earlier.

Update: I gave Gary the wipe down, three times, and Socks is having none of it. She hates this foul beast we brought into her home. And that's really fine but if the little cat starts urinating around here I am going to lose my ability to find humor in any of this.

As an added note: Remember the Plumber. Between 1 and 3 people. Remember the Plumber.

It's Time.

Each year as spring arrives, I watch the buds on the trees burst to life and I realize how in order for those buds to grow, the roots of the trees must have a whole lot of water in them. If the roots of the trees are holding a lot of water, the roots are swelling. When the roots swell, all my hopes and dreams back up in the laundry tub and it smells a lot like raw sewage.

Two weeks ago there was a plumbing fiasco across the street and I watched with anxiety and heartburn because every year I watch the plumbing trucks make their way around our neighborhood. Snaking drains, or worse, digging long and expensive trenches so that root filled pipes can be replaced.

I knew I shouldn't have mentioned our hopes and plans for the bathroom because it is against the laws of humanity to let me have money in the bank. Money in the bank = everything breaks, including the cat who has pooped around the house one time too many and is going to the vet. I just can't wait to see how much that costs us.

The poop is costing us a new rug as well because yesterday when I walked into the dining room and found another present marked:

To: You
From: Gary

I started to clean it up and then, in a moment of sheer fury I decided it was worth another cheap Ikea rug in order to not clean up crap on the old one. It was incredibly liberating, rolling up the old rug, poop and all, and just throwing it in the garbage can. No scooping, no gagging, no soaking in vinegar and lemon, no constantly wondering if I'm smelling poop and didn't get it all. Be gone foul rug.

(Two Suggestions I've Gotten For The Cat:
1) Put a bag on it's behind, like a diaper. This won't work, but perhaps a bag on it's face would.
2) "Accidentally" leave the door open. I would do that but he would never, ever leave. He'd just lay right outside the backdoor and I'd have to convince the kids, 'Oh no, that's not Gary, it's a stray. A stray who's a huge and lazy as Gary and is trying to get in the house....don't let it in.')

I knew the plumbing was coming, it's been looming in my mind since last year. I've been watching the trucks moving down the street, coming toward me. When the trucks were across the street for two entire days, 2-3 trucks at a time, I knew my number was up.

But we'd just caught our breath and were living within our budget and things were coming together and boom! Even better? We don't even have enough in the bank to take care of all the things going wrong so we remain behind! It's a way of life really. A wonderful way of life.

I'll give you that things are still far better than they were last year, nonetheless, I'd really like to catch my fucking breath without the pipes spewing shit at me. Literally.

Pray for us. They come with a camera tomorrow. The best case scenario is a $2000 repair. The worst case is a $10,000 one. And the even worse worst case scenario? We have no line at all to the sewer and this entire house has been rigged up like the bathroom. This is not an unlikely scenario according to the last plumbers who were here for 4.5 hours and who couldn't figure out why we have no drainage in the basement floor.

They spent a couple of hours trying to snake through our bizarre main drain and then walking around the house shaking their heads wondering where the hell the line leads. It's, in a word, totally fucking great.

Also, Logan leaves town on Sunday for a week and I'm all out of man saving panties.

Logan is going to kill me for showing you these pictures.

We bought our house in May of 1998, I was newly pregnant and we thought it was our 'starter home'. How cute we were. Almost eight years later we're still staring at the same set of walls and it's starting to make me crazy. It's making me so crazy, I thought I saw a pheasant outside on the driveway tonight. Wait, I did see a pheasant on my driveway tonight.

When we bought this house we made a list of all the things we wanted to change in the house. I threw the list away about five years ago when I began to realize that one income families don't always put new siding on their houses and revamp porches and put up privacy fences and lay sod and build garages and finish attics (with a dormer and master suite!) and gut bathrooms and kitchens and...

You get the point.

One income families often find themselves struggling to stay afloat, at least this one income family has found that to be true.

But this post isn't about all that, all our dashed home improvement plans...our shattered hopes and dreams. No, no, this post is about our bathroom.

When we bought this house the bathroom was hideous, a golf themed shower curtain, golf themed wallpaper border with mirrored tile along one entire wall and a drop acoustic tile ceiling. I would tell you about the shower but that's just going too far. I just can't...I just won't put you through that.

The shower is so horrifying you must never look directly at the shower, you must avert your eyes from it's evil. In fact, I shower with my eyes closed tightly to protect my corneas. It really is that bad.

But now it's a lot better, now we have a new shower curtain.

On the bright side, I now know about all the big golf courses of the world. I don't golf, but I often sit on the toilet, looking at the wallpaper border and think to myself, "That would be a great place for a wedding." Or, "I wonder if they have a pool and a golf course."

Oh it's lovely, if you like poorly executed stop gap measures in your remodeling efforts. Which we don't, but if you do why don't you consider buying our house.

Although you may think, from this post and everything I've ever said about my hellish neighborhood, that I actually want to be living here in another eight years. But you would be wrong. We would like to move in the next two years, but in order to move there are a few long put off projects and upgrades we must make to get the house in sale-able condition in the current market.

The bathroom is number one on the list and unfortunately it's a complete tear out. The floors to the joists, the walls to the studs, the ceiling, the tub and surround: everything. God save us all from what we find behind all these walls. It's not going to be good. Sometimes when I try to wash the shower walls, I hear things crumbling behind it. I hear things falling off the walls.

This weekend we priced everything at Home Depot and we have such plans, such totally unrelated to golf plans. There will be beadboard and drywall and hex tiles and shower walls with real tile and a bathtub in a normal size. Do you have a cigarette? Because I need a cigarette after talking about the tile and the beadboard.

But now we're stuck with two issues, raising the cash up front to pay for all our supplies and enough extra to cover the unexpected things which I am absolutely certain will come up.

Then we need to do it fast, because this house has one bathroom and therefore one toilet. I have a titanium bladder and I can hold it a long time but I can't hold it for as long as it takes to exorcise the golf and mirrored tile demons from a bathroom.

But if it means I get a new bathroom, I'll hold it until the whites of my eyes are yellow.

Wookit...

I finally got to do an interview with Ms. Peah.

This is very good news because I know I said I'd drop my bad attitude but now I'm on the verge of vomiting so that's kind of messing up that plan.

Enjoy.

Happy April Fools

I would never say drinking and parenting don't mix. I can't think of anything that mixes better, other than pineapple juice.

I was trying to come up with something just ludicrous enough for people who read this site to know it was a joke but not so ludicrous everyone would know right away I couldn't possibly be serious. "....but really it's a great big glass of irresponsible parenting." (Paging The Colbert Report!)

I could have really gotten everyone going by changing my logo to a big glass of (sugar free) lemonade with a binky in it. (Caffeine free soda? No alcohol? God help us all.)

I considered writing about how I'd changed my mind and was going to homeschool from now on. But I realized pretty quickly I'd insult homeschooling parents because I don't have a problem with homeschooling. However, there's a whole bunch of problems with me personally homeschooling.

A few people certainly got indignant over at the Flog, my favorite comments were the ones on Stefania's 'healthy snacks' post. Especially Amy's. "I guess most people see those things and see convenience and some nutrition, while I see over-processing, over-packaging, and a lack of natural ingredients." Amy, come now, do you really think most of America thinks Pork Rinds are a healthy snack for kids? Really? Come now. Hilarious.

Logan did the "Oh hey, did I tell you Liss is pregnant?" one on the phone a couple of times. And I realized, our friends must hate me because they all said, "Oh wow! Congrats!"

Not, "Oh my God! What the hell are you doing to your wife! Leave the woman alone!!!!"

As for not being hearty enough for the internet: True. What does that mean? Nothing really. I just need to accept it. Just like I need to accept that my fatness makes me less attractive. Oops, there I go again.

Monday I'm going to take a deep breath and dive back in again and I'm going to dump the shitty attitude. I promise.

I've been doing a lot of thinking.

I've made a lot of realizations over the last week.

First, I realized I'm not built for the internet.

Second, I realized alcohol and parenting just don't mix.