Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

Crafting brought to you by Prozac.

I've been in therapy for a while now trying to figure out what's wrong with me and at the end of this latest breeze through "How Do You Feel" I realized I am, in fact, chemically depressed. This is not a shock to me, what is shocking is how I believe in medication versus vitamins and positive thinking as a way to manage depression, but still, I have spent about 9 months trying to will myself to stop being depressed.

To stop giving up on my to-do list because I just can't even imagine ever completing it. To stop feeling like every tiny event in my life is a crisis which sends me careening into obsession. To stop  spending half the day counting the hours until I could go back to bed.

I told myself B12 would help. I told myself yoga would help. I told myself to snap the fuck out of it. And voila! I continued the cycle because none of those things could ever work and so I ended up angry with myself for not being able to get a hold of everything. Anger turned inward is depression. Also really annoying.

I enjoy creating things but depression doesn't really make a lot of room for things you love. When just getting out of bed and making it until 4pm is a mammoth effort, you don't really want to go to the craft store, load up on supplies, make a huge mess and create something. Mostly you just want to get through the day without feeling overwhelmed.

In my travels for The Buzz Off I come across a lot of projects I'd like to do with or without the kids even. My bookmarks folder for Holiday Crafts/Gifts is 53 items long and over half of those come from Kiddley. I didn't get to all those projects this year because, like I said, the Get Out Of Bed task took up a lot of my time. I actually only got to one.

I started medication about a month ago. It's taken some time to feel it starting to work, but I noticed a few things were changing. When the cats knocked over the Christmas tree, I felt okay with that. When I think about listing the house in February I feel mainly hopeful and calm with a sense of certainty that one way or another we're moving.

The Dream House in The Dream Neighborhood I wanted so very badly I had begun placing my furniture in it (literally I had dreams where I was moving furniture around in the house....I have a very creative imagination) sold and I felt no sadness or total come apart. I felt almost relieved, because now selling my house isn't a race to get me to the perfect house. Now the perfect house isn't out there yet and we'll find it when the time is right.

Last night when we made little pinatas for New Year's Eve, I realized my medication had given me another thing back. We're having a party tomorrow for a bunch of kids and adults and two nights before I was able to sit down with my family to make something a little special for the kids.

I told Logan before I started medication I was in maintenance mode. The only things I could do were: Get Out Of Bed, Write, Empty The Dishwasher and Paint Trim. That was all. Life is a little drab in Maintenance Mode.

A month ago I would have planned our New Year's Eve party in two days. It would have entailed a dirty house, nothing for the kids to do and a bag of chips with a jar of Pace salsa.

Instead the house is clean, I'm cooking and baking, buying supplies a full 5 days before the event. I'm excited to make things for the kids, I lovingly wrote out fortunes for each of the kids to open inside their pinata. Logan suggested, "Don't Be Such A Douche Bag In 2007."

I resisted. My friends appreciate my sense of humor but I don't think they want to explain to Caroline what a douche bag is.

If I were opening a fortune tomorrow night I think it would say something like "Maintenance Mode Is For Suckers."

2007 is going to be great.

Hackle Raiser

I wasn't a rebellious teenager. I was actually pretty tired by the time I'd reached 16 years old.

My "rebellion" involved bitching about how my brother just couldn't understand the value of washing a pot after using it. Or how no one in my family seemed to care about not sharing each other's towels, something I found so incredibly distasteful that even today when I think about it my lips curl up in disgust.

I'm trying to tell you I went through a housekeeping rebellion as a teenager.

On Saturday morning Esther emailed to let me know she'd seen something I'd want to take a look at.

The Global Language Monitor released it's list of the Top 10 Politically Incorrect terms of 2006. I browsed the list, 'Okay, no Orientals, it's Asian. Flip Chart is insulting to Fillipinos? Wait, I can't order my coffee black anymore?"

And then the list got really silly.

9. Momtini -- A Michigan mother invented the term ‘momtini’ as an act of rebellion against ‘parental correctness’. This has raised the hackles of child protection and ‘anti-alcohol’ groups.

Oh my.

After reading this I sat and stared at the computer for a few minutes, blinking wildly. I then sent an email to friends with the subject line: "I...uh....created the 9th most politically incorrect term for 2006."

One friend's response: "Anyone who can piss of child protection AND anti-alcohol groups is someone I am proud to call my friend. Awesome, Melissa!"

And, you know, I just really want to make my friends proud.

I wonder what the Politically Correct Police would think of the other drinks we've named? Like the 'Four O'Clock', if you're a mom of young children you know what a shitty time of day that is, or 'The Time Out', because sometimes even Mommies need a time out.

It's a rebellion served one cocktail at a time.

The best news I got all year.

I arrived for my appointment at 12:55pm and as we went back to the operating room the doctor struck me as a little like Doogie Howser in that he was about 4'10" tall and I loomed over him in an unsettling way.

I had my iPod ready to go, they had the nitrous oxide ready to go and the nurse put a couple of blankets over me and I waited.

He looked at my xrays and then in my mouth. He noted I had a "very big mouth" so that would "make things easier". He asked me if my teeth have been giving me trouble. I said, no but the dentist had been nagging me to get them removed for the last 5 years. He seemed surprised and that's when the discussion started.

The teeth are under my bones and a nerve is wrapped around one of them. So that it was about 50% certain I would end up with nerve damage on my jaw, tongue and cheek which could last for as little as six months or as long as the rest of my life. He said there would certainly be bruising and swelling. He said the difficulty of my procedure would be a 9 on a scale of 10 (10 being the most difficult).

When he finished this whole explanation he assured me we could still take them out, I mean, he'd be thrilled to sever my bones and leave me battered and bruised. But considering I am 33 and the teeth aren't giving me any problems at this point it's a reasonable expectation that the teeth will stay beneath the bone and not cause any trouble.

If they do he'll be happy to saw through my bones and sever my facial nerves at that point.

Oh boy!

I was going to walk out of the office with gauze in my mouth and tell Logan I'd actually had my teeth pulled just to get a few days of sitting on my ass eating slurpees. But the joy in my face gave me away.

The only drag is that I was hoping the pain would put me on another unintentional diet to make up for that indulging I've been doing in the last few weeks. Maybe I'll have to use "self control" or something....enh.

I have no planning skills.

I am not good at planning things. I planned a therapy session for the same day as my anniversary (and that didn't go well) and then another for my birthday (which didn't go very well either).

Logan took the week between Christmas and New Year's off and on Sunday, in three days, we're hosting 3 families for New Year's Eve. Since I'm mostly done with therapy (for now), I decided to keep the fun going and I scheduled a surgical wisdom tooth extraction for today at 1pm.

I rule at planning.

Please God, don't let it be hellish.

A Christmas Lesson

On Christmas night, after we'd spent the day drinking mimosas (adults) and orange juice (kids) in our pajamas while playing an endless stream of board games, we sat around the bar in the kitchen answering questions from this gift Santa brought for the family.

The questions are interesting and it's a good way to hear what your kids think about things (and an easy way to slip in your own indoctrinations if you wish). Of course, Max's answers are usually incredibly simple: "Monster Trucks" are the answer to just about anything he needs to think about. Madison's answers make her sound a little like a Miss America pageant contestant.

"If I could be any animal for a day, I would be a dog because dogs are cute and do great tricks."

It was still fun and we kept playing over our Christmas dinner and "What do you wish you could erase from your past?"

There's a big fat Matzo ball on the table. There's something to be said for being up front with your kids but then there's also something to be said for giving kids information they can handle when they can handle it. Like maybe an 8 year old doesn't need to hear that her mother wishes she could erase pretty much her entire childhood.

A-hem.

So I said I wished I could erase my tattoo, which is unfortunately (and unintentionally on my part) the fucking Procter and Gamble corporate logo. I love Pampers as much as the next guy but not enough to carry around their parent company's logo on my ankle for the rest of my life. Live and learn I guess.

It came around to Madison then and her answer was so emotionally revealing and honest and very, very sad, if someone in the Table Topics board room had come up with this idea for a commercial during a brainstorming session, everyone would have rolled their eyes and said, "That's totally unbelievable. No family is that schmaltzy."

But The Summers are that melodramatic!

"I wish I could erase this one day in second grade. I'm kind of embarassed to talk about this....I had a substitute again [she had a LOT of substitutes in second grade and it was really hard for her] and when you dropped me off in the morning I followed you out the door to the car because I didn't want to stay. And you had to bring me back in and the substitute had to hold onto me so I didn't run back to you. I'm sorry I did that."

And she started to cry and I felt about 2 inches tall because I remember that day. I remember how frustrated I was with the morning drop off routine. And how little patience I'd had for the crying after 3 years of it. How every time she cried when I dropped her off I questioned my decision to send her to school as a young 5 (her birthday is 3 weeks before the cut off). I questioned her sense of attachment to me and what I'd done wrong that made her think she couldn't be away from me for a few hours.

The crying at drop off brought out all my fears that I'd failed her as a mother.

And her fear of going to school made her feel like she'd failed me as my child.

I thought I felt like a shitty mother because she was afraid of school but wow, I found a new level of feeling like a shitty mother when my daughter told me she was sorry she was afraid.

Indulgence.

Our Christmas in food.

***

Me: "....and we're having brussel sprouts...."
Max: "Dad, do you like brussel sprouts?"
Logan: "[convincing barf sound]"
Max: "I'm not eating them."
Me: "Way to go babe. Way. To. Go."

***

"You're doing what to the cauliflower?"
(Only I ate it. And loved it.)

***

"Wait, I thought all-purpose flour was for all purposes?"
"Well yeah, all purposes except when the recipe says self-rising flour."
"Damn it."
[Flat bisquits follow.]

***

Me: "Wait, don't cut it! I need a picture."
Him: "Why?"
Me: "I just can't believe I made something that looks so good. Plus, once my brother sees it he'll never work Christmas at the firehouse again leaving me to entertain our mother all alone."

***

Him: "Jesus! What the hell is that bowl of sugar for?"
Me: "The bread pudding."
Him: "Could you just use like half that or something?"
Me: "No."

[2 minutes later as I add the milk and cream.]

Him: "Holy SHIT! How much cream goes in there?"
Me: "A lot. That's why we have this once a year."
Him: "Couldn't you cut it by half or something?"
Me: "No."

[5 minutes later making the sauce for the bread pudding.]

Him: "What's the bourbon for?"
Me: "The whiskey sauce for the bread pudding."
Him: "Maybe you should put more in?"
Me: "All right."

I hope your Christmas was lovely.

Happy Holidays!

(Easiest viewed large.)

After all my talk of holiday card options, Logan made these, heavily inspired by these.

I have bought all the gifts we need in the last 2 days. I'm still not technically done but the nice thing about depression induced procrastination is in the end whatever you get done is what gets done.

Now it's time to relax, cook and enjoy my family.

I hope you're doing the same.

Merry Christmas.

It's a playground, not a swingers convention.

People often tell you to be careful on the internet, because you never know who's reading and some unnamed very bad things will happen to you if anyone knows who you or your children are. I'm finding this attitude especially ironic this week as I am being pursued by freak-ish parents from Max's school.

It's a very long story that's not really all that entertaining. What is entertaining was earlier this week when I was standing on the playground watching the kids play and Mildly Odd Mom walks up and begins chatting with me. It was fine and I felt a little bad about not wanting to pursue a friendship with them because they creep me out so very much.

I really only thought I felt bad then, but I felt a lot worse when the Freak Dad, but let's call him Mr. Odd Name Said With Dramatic Flourish (because he does) walked up to me, his wife walked away and Mr. Odd Name Said With Dramatic Flourish put his arm around my shoulder in a side hug. I don't like hugs. I don't like hugs from people who call my home 14 times in two days. I don't like hugs from people who follow me home from school. I don't like hugs from people with excessive nose hair, long greasy hair and an odd name which is said with dramatic flourish.

I thought I was feeling pretty bad about the half-hug but then Mr. Odd Name Said With Dramatic Flourish took it one step further. "I wanted to ask you the other day but you ran away so fast [BECAUSE I AM FUCKING AFRAID OF YOU] I didn't have time. We were wondering if you'd ever want to come over by yourself. You know, no kids, no husband, so we can get to know each other. Would you like to do that? Are you interested in that? Do you think you'd want to do that?"

I tried to sound non-commital but still polite and instead sounded like I was choking. On a sentence. "I....I uh...well I'm not sure...I...we''ll...have...to.....see....or.....something."

Then the teacher opened the door, the kids went inside and I ran away.

Since that day I've decided, for this and other reasons, that this man is not picking up subtlety. His ear hair is blocking his sensor which tells him when he's scaring the shit out of people. So instead I've taken the blatantly rude approach for dealing with him. It sounds harsh, but I think I was just asked if I want to swing. While I waited for the kindergarten teacher to call my kid into class.

....

....

My girlfriends in the dream neighborhood, were invited to a cookie exchange with the women from their school this week. I, on the other hand, was invited to swing with a man with excessive nose hair and poor personal hygiene.

Gee, why did I want to move again?

Look I don't care if you're a swinger. Swing away. You're going to have to find your partner somewhere else. It's what the internet is for, not kindergarten drop off.

This is part one of Drama: Elementary School Edition because I even have a little irony for you in our next installment.

PS: I'm not the only mom on the playground he's been weird to.

PSS: The words "You have such an artistic neck" were used.

PSSS: WTF?

My addiction is revealed.

Dinner's cookin'
Originally uploaded by loganbs.

Logan having a Flickr account is, uh, dangerous.

If only beer had no calories.

A few weeks ago at my therapist's office I cried and worked through all this anxiety I have about our housing situation. After I was all done he asked, "How are things on the weight and body image front?"

I replied, "How badly do I wish my stupid body was the biggest thing for me to worry about right now?"

He said, "So, we should note: if you're worried about your body, then life is going pretty well."

I've had a change in my attitude and I think it's worth telling you about. We all know I whine and bitch and moan about so many things, when I find myself on the other side of an issue, I think it's good to tell you that too. It may take me longer to get to a better place than it would take you, but I think we all get where we need to be in our own time.

Weight has been a common theme in my writing. I've been unhappy with my weight and body for almost all my life. The one and only time I wore a two piece bathing suit was in the brief window of 23 and 25 (stupid me), even though I'd been thin all my life.

You can find all my ravings about weight and body image here, here and here.

In the last month I realized, I feel most at peace with my body as long as I'm working out at the level I'm willing to (for me that's three times a week for 30 minutes) and if I'm not indulging myself all the time (for me that means cutting my indulgences in half).

This was eye opening for me a week ago when I hadn't gone to the gym for a week and a half. I felt bloated and ashamed of myself. I hadn't gained a pound, I'd actually lost 4 pounds, but I've never been one for the scale. I like to feel good in my clothes and in my own skin.

I feel okay in my skin if I do what I'm willing to do physically and I make reasonable choices with my diet. I still have the things I love, but I realized if you have the things you love every day you love them less.

Remembering the comments on my posts before, I hope we can all get to a place where we feel okay with what our bodies look like as they are. It's true no one should physically neglect their bodies and eat and drink whatever they want whenever they want.

But what I've realized in the last 6 months is it's okay to reach a place where you know what you are willing to 'give' to your body. And if what you're willing to give is not enough to make you a 110 (or 140)(or 180) pound woman, that's really not the point. Knowing you're doing what you're willing and able to do at any given point can only make you a happier person.

I know from experience that berating myself for my shortcomings has never given me the results I want.

Ironically, the Buzz Off this week is about diets!

"I'm not a fan of dieting in general but my ears perked up when I saw the Martini Diet, I like martinis and losing weight. Of course the nutritionist sort of set me straight on that. "This plan aims to create dieters who are completely self-absorbed and spend their time shopping instead of eating..."

When tired, post photos.

The best part of having the bathroom (nearly) done, is spending time together doing fun things again.

Saturday we decided to go to Greenfield Village because it was unseasonably warm and also sunny.

Remember a year ago when I talked about spending the day in Ann Arbor with the kids? I said how it was "...one of those days which made me embrace my uterus with passion and lust. I watched my family at lunch and as we walked around downtown Ann Arbor and I wondered to myself how I could ever feel ambivalent about this life."

I do whine and bitch about my babies, but they really are fun to be around. Hanging out with Dutch and Wood has reminded me how fun it really is to have kids.

Here are some pictures....almost none of the kids but, listen, I do love them and we did have fun.

I like this shot because you can see the cobwebs in the window and it looks like a black and white but it's not.

I'm adding this to my Detroit set.

Logan took this picture. You can see all of Logan's pictures at his Flickr account.

But before you look at Logan's pictures, you should see this picture of Logan. Isn't he just adorable?

PS: Greenfield Village is really fun. If you're ever in Michigan, I highly recommend it.

I'm sure it was Gary's massive girth which knocked it down.

Since we got the cats three years ago, I've had a fleeting thought each time we put up the Christmas tree.

"Maybe we should wire the tree to the wall so it doesn't get knocked over by a cat."

Well, gee that seems like a lot of trouble.

After this happened, while we were gone today, Logan drilled a small eye hook into the wall, wired the tree to it and the process took a total of 5 minutes.

Picking up the 20 or so broken ornaments, the fallen tree and attempting to rearrange the paper garland and lights took about 45 minutes.

So you can clearly see why we didn't just wire the stupid tree to the wall to begin with.

Everyone's looking for the toilet paper.

You thought I was kidding when I said we would entertain in our bathroom.

We weren't.

UrbanTiki, Sweet Juniper, MaineGal.

What say we just skip Christmas and go right to New Year's Eve?

Yes, so I've procrastinated and haven't done ANY shopping. Gasp! Not anything. Not one gift has been purchased. (Thank you, Plumbing!)

So instead of shopping, like you might expect, I spent a lot of today browsing for New Year's Eve party gear because, if it weren't for the kids, I'd sort of just want to skip Christmas this year and go right to our New Year's Eve with my best pals.

If you're planning to celebrate your New Year without taking out a second mortgage to pay a sitter, you might want to check out my post at the Buzz Off.

*The title relates to my uncanny ability to slip away at parties '.....hold on just one minute....' and an hour later everyone's like, "Hey...did Melissa go to sleep?" Usually the answer is 'Yes I did'.

They also make great rockets.

I have an illness.

When I first started dating Logan, when I was 13, I would often stay the night as his parents place after our dates (we lived 45 miles apart and Logan was living with his parents for 6 months paying off debt).

On one of those weekend overnights, we were with his youngest sister, I told him, "I need to stop at the market. I need supplies."

Supplies as a term for feminine products might be the longest held 'inside joke' of our relationship.

We've progressed from that point, to here, where I can call Logan on his way home and say, "Listen can you pick up milk and supplies on your way home?"

And he knows exactly what I need. 1/2% and Orange (if you know what I mean).

I don't know if I'd put that in a personal ad, "Needs to be unembarassed to pick up feminine products at the store." But it's a nice thing to have in a marriage, maybe put it on your B-List.

Anyway, no, my illness has nothing to do with Logan buying my feminine products. Though, you would think that because the majority of this post involves that subject.

You are clearly not a blogger because I am a blogger and thus verbose and I don't get to my point very quickly. (Wait, you mean some people blog with half the words and twice the entertainment? What? Wha? WHA?)

No, my illness has to do with the fact that tonight I put tampons in a wicker basket because that blue box looked horrible in the closet of my new bathroom. How could I live with that?

I couldn't. I put my tampons in a reasonably aesthetically appealing wicker basket. From Ikea.

I am ill.

Don't give these gifts: unless you like wasting your money.

I decided for this week's Buzz Off to share 4 gifts I gave but regretted, in most cases almost immediately. Read, learn, avoid and then share yours because I still have all my shopping to do. I know, I know, I know.

Fucking plumbing.

"Yasmin drinks from her special soda bottle to start the action. She hiccups, giggles and blows real bubbles." Uh....does this sound like a date rape scenario to anyone else?"

"Does Santa have to call the plumber really Mom?"

Madison is 8 years old now and she's also very smart.

"Don't you think it's weird that Santa Claus has the same handwriting as the Tooth Fairy?"

"Really? I never noticed that. Maybe they're both lefties."

"Yeah. It's kind of weird that Santa and the Tooth Fairy have the same handwriting as you and Daddy."

"uh.....yeah, that's super weird. But I'm a lefty too, so maybe that's why?"

"Mom, is Santa real?"

And I know this exact feeling because I remember being at Meijer two days before Christmas with my mom and she said, "I have to get some deodorant for your brother's stocking."

Yes, that's the kind of Santa Claus my mother was.

I remember walking down the deodorant aisle with my mother, fighting back tears, saying, "But....I thought Santa filled the stockings?"

I was 13 years old and I still wanted to believe in Santa.

Madison is smart and cynical, she doesn't allow herself the freedom of not thinking so hard. I know eventually I'll have to tell her Santa isn't real. But I also know she still wants to believe in Santa Claus, even if he has the same handwriting as her parents and the Santa at the mall isn't the 'real' Santa.

So when she asked, "Mom, is Santa real?"

I said, "I think  sometimes you have to believe in things you can't see. Doesn't Santa make you feel happy?"

She accepted that answer for now and I hope she's picking up on the fact that I'm not so much lying to her as I am allowing her to extend the fantasy of childhood a little further.

Also I'm just praying she doesn't realize that other people's Santa's don't have plumbing problems which seriously diminish their Christmas wishes.

Just don't buy the toilet paper at Walmart.

Remember a few weeks ago when I apologized to AOL users for thinking, after my stint at Blogging Baby, that AOL users weren't very bright? But then, I'd gotten hundreds of well thought out emails from AOL users and they were all well reasoned and well within the normal range of exclamation point usage.

Then yesterday I sat down to do a little work, saw the comments on this and in one hour I'd wasted valuable minutes of my life and also had my faith in mankind completely dissolved. I didn't know there was a Team Walmart, but Holy Shit there is and Team Walmart is pissed.

Moving on.

All through the month of November, every time I complained about something stupid, something very bad would happen to my friend Chrissy's family. Chrissy's husband has heart surgery, I'm whining about the bathroom. I complain about my plumbing, her husband ends up hospitalized for a couple of days with what turns out to be kidney stones. I am horrified by canned salmon and am not sure I can recover from the experience and her brother has a stroke (he is recovering). I get strep throat and think I'm dying, her brother is in a horrible motorcycle wreck (he is recovering).

I started to think I should really stop complaining about stuff to save Chrissy, but then I remembered that's all I do. I complain about things.

Through all these things happening to Chrissy my friends and I sent around frantic emails trying to think of what we could do for our friend. We had such a hard time coming up with anything to do because all we wanted to do was stop all the bad things from happening.

Then I remembered last February when we had a serious blow to our financial ship and Chrissy gave me a big package of toilet paper. Because that was what she had to give me to help us through. The toilet paper didn't fix my problem, it was one less thing to worry about and everytime that toilet paper roll ran out and I pulled another roll from that mammoth package, it made me feel cared for.

No one could fix my problem but they could be standing by, offering me another square, while I went through what I had to and that was comforting.

I made baked macaroni and cheese for Chrissy even though it didn't feel like enough. I offered to have her kids over and I offered to go to the grocery store and I brought extra cupcakes over when I had them and I kept wishing I could just make all of it stop. There's a whole slew of problems which can actually be solved with baked macaroni and cheese. Unfortunately, life handing you several heaping piles of crap isn't one of those things.

But sometimes that's all you can give and if the toilet paper said, "I'm here for you", I'd like to think that baked macaroni and cheese said something along those lines.

Things I could have written this week but I didn't. Sorry.

Remember when I wrote about Max's hyper class? And I mentioned how some of the kids who have the full-day program are a little hyper? And some people thought I was saying kids with working parents are shit heads? (I wasn't.)

Yesterday while we waited for the teacher to open the door to school, Max played with another little boy (the son of the Pizza Coupon Mom). This little boy enjoys wrestling and doesn't watch the clues that maybe the kid he's holding onto by the neck isn't actually having fun. His intent never seems entirely mean spirited, he's just sort of not able to tone it down once he gets going with the physical stuff.

Max has tried telling him, "I don't like it when you do that. Please stop!" (I gave him that tactic. He hates me now, because duh, the kid doesn't listen.) Max has screamed at him before in frustration. I have talked to him before, getting down on his level and telling him, "A---, Max really likes playing with you, but he doesn't like it when you grab him like this. You need to stop or he won't play with you anymore."

Yesterday, they were playing again and I looked over to see A--- grabbing Max by the coat and shoving him into the fence. Max hit his head on the metal fence as he was shoved over and over and I've never seen Max get so angry. He just started pounding on the other little boy with his mittened hands screaming, "I TOLD YOU I DON"T LIKE THIS!!!!!"

I was at once horrified and thrilled.

A--- had the nerve to start to cry because "Max hit me."

Thankfully his mother saw the head ramming part of the altercation so there was no awkward, "Well, I'm sorry my son pummelled your son, but it's been a long time coming" conversation.

All this to tell you I think it's clear now. A---'s mother is a stay at home mother, so obviously, all kids with stay at home parents are shit heads.

In other school related news, I can't go into this minute because I'm late, I've been forced to be social at kindergarten drop off to protect me from The Stalker Couple (who are both apparently stay at home parents....all stay at home parents are freaks). I am afraid of Stalker Couple (who have called me 9 times in the last 4 days and went so far as to follow me home one day after drop off.) (FOLLOWED ME HOME.) so I am being very chatty with all the women I'd felt quite lukewarm about before. I'm still relatively lukewarm but there is safety in numbers.

Last thing. On Friday night we invited ourselves to the Juniper home, you think I'm kidding but I seriously did.

Over the course of the night Logan got a little verbose and in an effort to show Dutch and Wood that even though he doesn't have a blog like the rest of us, he has Opinions! And Thoughts! And he does, but sometimes, when one has a few glasses of Jameson, those thoughts aren't all that well thought out.

By the end of the night the conversation looked like this:

Logan: "Did you see they're screening movies at the Vatican!? What the fuck?"

Us: "Yeah. Well it's a religious movie right?"

Logan: "I know but WHAT THE FUCK???"

Us: "Yeah."

Logan: "I have to go to the bathroom."

Us: Moving along to other topics.

Logan (back from bathroom): "Seriously! What the fuck is with the Vatican showing movies!?"

(I'm not kidding he came back from the bathroom and started right back up.)

Us: Wow.

The next day I emailed Dutch and Wood thanking them for having us over and told them how Logan was planning to start a blog called "What the Fuck!"

Dutch wrote back with this.

Bloggers as friends = Awesome.

Hungry Hungry Hippos is a four drink minimum game.

New post about games up at the Buzz Off.

"Like, for example, that one time we played 'Trouble' for 9 hours because it wouldn't end and I finally impaled myself on the "PopoMatic die-rolling bubble" just to make it stop. You don't think it's possible to impale oneself on a rounded object, but it is, if one is desperate enough."

Come add your suggestions, save yourselves from death by Popomatic.

Buying the cards is the easy part.

A new post is up at The Buzz Off.

"Papered Together does not offer photo cards, which is good news if you have ugly children you don't want to show to the world."

PS: I don't think you have ugly children.

The Robot Speaks.

Logan decided he wanted to write something, so he did.

When he finished this post he sent it to me from the other room and prefaced it by saying, "You don't have to post this if you don't think it's good enough."

Ha.

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Our bathroom is, at once, the best and worst part of our over 8 years here. It was inconceivable that we'd live with that room we bought for as long as we did. Mirror tiles! Golf courses of the world! Cheap linoleum tiles on the floor! But live with it we did -- for 8 years. And our vanity took a beating... So did my spirit.

Remember your first home and the joy and expectation and hope of it? I've looked at the fickr set of photos of our bathroom project at least once a day over the past few weeks. To make the transformation real, I think. Because we lived with our crappy bathroom for so long -- putting the improvement of it off for so long to do things like modest vacations up north, and lazy weekends, and soccer games, and Friday-night-out recovery time. It started to seem inevitable that we'd live with that bathroom until we left this house.

It's a fine line to draw between doing what you want to do and what you "need" to do -- in terms of the pay-off of it. Our bathroom has been "in-progress" for over 3 months. A month into the project, Madison asked me if I'd ever spend any time with her doing fun stuff again. That question broke my heart. Living with our crappy bathroom for so long also broke my heart. And started to break my will to rise above it.

There's a phenomenon in our neighborhood that Liss and I have observed over and over. A young, eager couple or family moves in full of life and energy and the excitement of a new home in a new place. And soon enough, things like that old folding chair leaned up against the garage wall get overlooked. Not because it doesn't drive them crazy to see it there every time they come back home after being away -- but because nobody else in the neighborhood seems to mind the folding chair leaned up against their garage wall. And living amidst good folks who don't seem to mind such things day after day after month after year -- it can kill your will to remember how you want to be living. It's tried to kill our will to remember the satisfaction of living up to our dreams. And it's tough, because when it's been a matter of spending time with each other or our kids or spending time making our home what we've always imagined it to be, it's been easy to put the home improvements off.

When we first moved into our house, we spent countless hours, days, months improving -- new paint, new rugs, new furniture, freshly painted trim. And we were very satisfied with ourselves. And then we became satisfied with ourselves for raising children who, even through the worst tantrums and sleepless nights made us very proud to be parents.

There's a saying I repeat to Liss each time she gives me shit for my running habit. I say, with tongue-in-cheek, that good health is its own reward (don't tell Liss, but I do believe it)[Ed Note: Gag.]. Living up to the standards you want can also be its own reward. Whether it's the standard of how you want your kids to grow and learn, or the standards of the environment you want to be living in. Putting off your dreams, no matter how large or small, can kill your spirit. I've felt it for a while now...

I'll be proud to show off our fresh new bathroom to all who enter it. But more than the vanity-depletion-recovery I'm enjoying is the renewal of a sense of urgency I'm feeling to keep the ball rolling. It's hard to keep the ball rolling sometimes, and a remodeled bathroom may not be the best example of a renewed spirit, but I've started to feel the energy of starting a long tough job that's been a long time coming, and getting to the end of it and having it resemble very closely the picture in mind when starting -- and feeling the happiness of overcoming all the setbacks encountered.

And my spirit is soaring...

Maybe I should have married "Always Leaves The Seat Up"

Last night on the way to see friends, Logan is driving and telling me about this commercial.

You should go watch it. Go ahead.

As he's telling me about the commercial he turns left to get on the freeway where there are about 8 signs saying things like, "Your wife always tells you not to go this way and you do it anyway."

So, once again I say, "You know, you're not allowed to get on the freeway from here."

And he ignores me, continuing to tell me about the commercial and the customer named, "Never Listens To Women Ever".

Oh we laughed!

I said, "That could be your name! Or at least your nickname! See how you just turned there and I suggested for the 1000th time not doing that since it's illegal! And you ignored me all those times!"

"I know! Isn't that funny?" he said, shaking his head. "Wait, why is that police man staring at us? Why is he turning around? Why is he getting behind us? Why is he turning on his lights?"

It's all so very "funny". Except not at all funny because this is the month with that big holiday at the end? And we already got hosed by the plumber! And another unexpected expense! I love money so much.

Three subjects sort of related.

I worked in Max's class yesterday afternoon. I enjoy watching Max do his thing at school and I like the reassurance that I made the correct decision to drop out of the early childhood education department. Most of the kids in his class are good kids, but he's in the afternoon session where a lot of the kids have working parents, so by the time they get to class to 'learn' they've already used up a lot of their 'good energy' in latch key.

Sometimes when I'm in that class and kids are running wild and the teacher can't seem to keep them quiet enough to concentrate. When she gave them 'free time' yesterday, I could not believe the chaos that took over. Like a room full of puppies on speed reenacting a scene from Lord Of The Flies. The teacher said to me as the children ran around like maniacs, "I just think they need more downtime than we give them. Do we really need to shove the curriculum down their throats all the time? I think we need kindergarten to build a love of learning." Then a child hurled himself onto the floor screaming "WOOOO!"

I agree with the principle she's attempting to run her classroom by actually. I appreciate her sense of fun and the silliness she often uses to engage the kids. It's just that preschool was a lot of fun for Max and there was no screaming, no overwhelming sense of mayhem and chaos whenever there was 'free play'.

I'm not a teacher, so I don't know if it's even possible to keep control of a room full of 5 year olds (some of them overtired I suspect). I'm only going by what I observed in my daughter's kindergarten class and their preschool classes. The kids sure could talk, but kids weren't shrieking or hurling themselves through space.

When thinking about this, I have to put my therapist in my head to remind me that one year of school doesn't make or break a kid. So he has an insane classroom this year and maybe he's not capitalizing on his reading skills, it will all even out.

Wow and all of this was only to show you the paperwork I cut out yesterday while volunteering. There were a bunch of pictures each having a different beginning sound. So, in one pile there was a 'cat', a 'can', a 'cord' and so on. In the F pile there were 'Families'. (Pardon the shitty pictures, I used my spy camera.)

First a nice, straight family.

Then I saw this and had to look at it three times.

I live in Michigan. I know Michigan isn't Utah or Kentucky but it certainly isn't California.

Everyone gets one card from each letter so I quickly created the sets before anyone noticed.

I'm kind of hoping one child in particular gets the 'Two Dads' card in his set, because his mother is a little vocally high strung (I'm internally high strung you see)(less irritating unless you're Logan or you read my website). At the beginning of the month she came to school with a pizza coupon (a reward for the kids turning in a reading log) in her hand, walked up to me incredulously, like I would be a partner in her outrage.

"Did you see this pizza coupon?"

"Uh. Yes?"

"Well....take a look!" [Points to expiration date on coupon.] "This expired six months ago."

"Oh, well I'll bet they'll still honor it since it's for the reading program."

"Well I'll be talking to the teacher about it. I mean! I couldn't believe it when I looked it over and saw this. Why are they giving out expired coupons?"

On the one hand I wanted to punch her in the face because that's a really annoying thing to be irritated about. It's a $2 coupon, so let's just say Pizza Hut didn't honor it, if $2 makes or breaks your pizza purchase, I'd like to think you've got bigger things to worry about than the pizza coupon, like the fact that you're homeless.

On the other hand I wanted to punch her in the face because I'm jealous. I'm jealous that's the biggest thing she has to tie her stomach in knots over. Not that what I tie my stomach in knots over is so much more important or worthwhile but damn if I could spend an evening thinking about a pizza coupon expiration date rather than say the fact that my house is never going to sell. I'd still be annoying, but probably a lot less upset.

So I want her to get the Two Dads Family card sent home with her little boy so I can watch her come to school the next day frothing at the mouth with the card in hand. "Did you see this!?"

If the pizza coupon gave her the head shakes, imagine what a non-traditional family will do. This should be good.

*HOT BUTTON TOPIC EDIT: I clarified in the comments below but my inbox has filled with incredulous people angry that I've implied that kids from working families are less well behaved than those whose parents do not work.

The non academic morning session is made up of kids who's parents happen to work (all 11 of the kids have working parents) and need the extra 4 hours of kindergarten as childcare, so I've inadvertantly implied they are somehow 'difficult kids' because their parents work. However, it's not the fact that their parents work that make them a little hyper when they arrive at their class.

It's the fact that the program is not set up ideally, so that when the children arrive at kindergarten, they've already had to follow the rules for 4 hours. At that point they're tired of sitting still and paying attention and being quiet and doing work. I theorize that's part of the problem in the classroom because when my daughter was in kindergarten the extra non-academic session was after the academic portion and the class was never that crazy.

If Max had to sit still, listen and pay attention for an additional 4 hours, I'm sure he'd have a much more difficult time sitting still and listening at kindergarten. That's hard for any 5-6 year old, working parents or not.