Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

Note to myself.

Remember last year's Halloween? Here you go.

Best line:

I was relieved it went so well but also a little forlorn because well, I may have mentioned this before? But I, uh, really hate my neighborhood and am dying to move? And we have to unload the house before we can move? And we can't really afford the neighborhood I want?

Oh last year Melissa, I wish I could talk to you now. No, actually I wish the experience of being incredibly unhappy and working my ass off to get out of the situation making me unhappy would make me realize life always works out for the best.

I can not believe this year I hosted Halloween at my own house. In the neighborhood I thought I could never be in a year before.

If I could send a thank you note to myself, this is what it would look like.

Dear Last Year Melissa,
Hello?
You made what you wanted be reality.
You rule.

I love this life you made happen.
Thank you.

PS: Do you think you could do it all with less crying next time?

Happy Halloween.

This post is censored.

This is probably the first time I've ever said this to anyone, ever. Especially the Internet.

I wish I could show you my butt right now.

After the Halloween party Saturday I was perhaps a teeny tiny bit tipsy. Just ever so slightly. Just a little bit.

I thought my tipsiness was integral to this story but Sunday night Logan nearly did the same thing (so similarly I thought he was making fun of me) and tonight Max did something as ridiculous. Neither party had been drinking at this time.

Max has never had a drink, Logan has had a couple drinks in his lifetime.

Saturday night I came home from the party, went to bed and decided I was very hungry. Still in my socks, I decided to head downstairs for some leftover pizza. Once I stepped off the second step I fell.

I fell very hard.

And this is why I truly wish I could should you my butt.

The bruise is so glorious, so brilliant, it looks like a 'Censored' bar on my right cheek. (There is a similar bruise on my elbow, but it takes away from the amazing-ness of the bruise on my arse so I'm not sharing a picture of the elbow).

We've made a family decision to buy slippers for each other for Christmas. Because socks make the stairs really slippery and while the bruise on my ass is brilliant, a bruise like this on one of my children would make me want to shoot myself.

The Verdict.

While out shopping we saw this chicken hat for the cats and knew they would love it so we brought it home. They look like they're loving it don't they? Which is surprising since usually cats don't like to wear shit on their heads.

Here is Logan all wrapped up as a mummy.

It was a nice costume except it started falling off of him before we even got to the party. There's not a lot more pathetic than a mummy with a droopy ass. Poor guy.

As for me. I didn't wear a costume, I just gave up my personal grooming for a few days.

Inspired by Jim's idea to wear an eye patch and when someone asks if you're a pirate you say, "No, what the fuck?" I laughed about that all day and was going to do it but then I saw the mustache and I forgot how much I love fake mustaches.

As we left Logan said I should have worn a sign which read, 'Mustache Rides 10 Cents'. Too much work. I walked in and my friends were annoyed with my non-costume costume. I still found it incredibly hilarious, holding regular conversations with people through a very thick mustache. When people asked what I was I said, "Oh God! We were supposed to dress up?" If they pushed it I then said, 'Wow, thanks. I missed one wax session all right? God!"

Later I put the mustache over my eyes and later on my chest where I pretended to have no idea what people were looking at. However, after reviewing the pictures people were not looking at the mustache on my chest, they were wondering how I walked out of the house wearing a shirt which showed my bra. I'm sure I've made an excellent impression on all the parents at the new school who were at the party.

Nice.

Next year I'll just be a mummy so at least I'm not showing my breasts to the PTA.

Still not getting the joke.

The whole family is in the kitchen. The TV is left on in the family room.

Logan asks, "Hey Max, is someone watching TV in the family room?"

Max says, "I'll check."

We watch him go in, scan the room (keep in mind only four people live in this house), and turn off the tv.

He comes back.

Logan says, "So, was anyone watching TV?"

"Nope. So I turned it off."

Halloween Costume Challenge:

I am going to a Halloween party tonight.

You guys, I didn't come up with a costume.

Logan had a great idea, "Let's be Mummies."

I haven't bitched about my weight in quite some time because I am mostly at ease with my body (and all its flaws) at this point. However, I know wearing skin tight anything, even gauze, will not be flattering to me and my ample hips.

I do not want to be a mummy but come 7pm, without a better idea I'll be forced to wrap myself in gauze like a mummified fat sausage.

No One Wants This To Happen.

Please, please tell me your best last minute adult costumes. Easy on the cliche's though, everyone I've seen in my search has made me groan. If I wanted people to groan I would have just wrapped myself in gauze like a mummified sausage.

Advice is needed. I am officially asking.

Sometimes you have to live it to really understand.

Madison is a very good reader. She loves to read and often reads several books at a time. Which, according to Logan, is the sign of genius. To me it's a sign that she's inherited Logan's Cluttered Nightstand Syndrome. But anyway. Reading is her best thing.

Math is not her best thing. Math is more her gnashing of the teeth thing. She hates it and it's very difficult for her and so, she tries her hardest to not think about it more than is absolutely required. For the last couple of years though I've watched her fall behind in math, she had trouble memorizing her multiplication facts in second grade, which put her a little behind in third grade. Now in fourth grade it's all very difficult. Except geometry and place value, which is interesting because geometry was the only math class I ever got A's in.

Last year there were several evenings and mornings where I'd try to help her with her homework and we'd end up in screaming matches. I would sit down, intending to be a reasonable person and I'd end up gouging my eyeballs out with a pencil. Which doesn't make one very reasonable.

She would say the most aggravating things like, "THE TEACHER DOESN'T CARE IF WE GET THE RIGHT ANSWER!!!!!!"

?

And another favorite, "Oh, well I did that. That thing you're telling me. I did that. Yeah, right see, 7 + 4 is 12. Right it's 12. 12. It's 12. THE TEACHER DOESN'T CARE IF WE GET THE RIGHT ANSWER."

At which point we'd begin screaming at each other and a pencil would end up lodged in my eyeball.

Logan said he would help her with her homework, because he is less likely to lodge pencils in his eyeball. But Logan has about 6.3 minutes of 'Help With Homework' time in his day, unless he stops breathing, he'd get about 12.6 minutes then. So the bulk of homework help has fallen on me and it is a source of constant stress in this house.

I've been suggesting a tutor for a while but neither one of us has really taken the bull by the horns and done it.

Last night Logan had a rare night at home, don't worry after the kids went to bed he worked on Boy Scout things and the school newsletter a bit....we wouldn't want him to just sit around. Maddie showed him her work from the day and she got several problems wrong on their daily math worksheet. Things we thought she knew how to do, so Logan asked her to correct it.

Or maybe he asked Madison to saw off her fingers with a butter knife, I don't know. He couldn't possibly have asked her to simply correct a math problem based on the reaction Maddie had.

I tried to warn him. To tell him how he was about to ruin his only night at home this week. But he thought he would handle her better than I can.

Oh, it's a little sad to see that brave front wiped away. Only not really at all because sometimes it's nice to see The Robot crack.

Here's the conversation:

"Okay so that's why you're getting it wrong. You have to multiply across this way."

"No we don't. That's not what the teacher says. You're wrong."

"Maddie, here is the answer to this question. If you work it that way, you can't get it right."

"That's not the answer then."

"It is the answer. It's a calculator."

"Not in my class that's not the answer. You're wrong. My teacher wants us to do it this way."

"Your teacher wants you to have the wrong answer?"

"It's only wrong to you."

To his credit he remained calm for about 15 minutes of this, as he patiently tried to show her how you work the problem. At some point though her eye rolling and pouting lip which was dragging across the floor got to be too much.

He mimed strangling her behind her back and stuck his tongue out at her. I stick pencils in my eye and scream, he turns into a five-year-old. At that point he suggested she take a 5 minute break in her room and they'd come back to it.

When she left he said, staring at the paper, "Is it possible the teacher is teaching them a new way to do this type of problem?"

My daughter is making my husband doubt his ability to solve this problem: $458.70 x 45

She came back down, they tried to tackle the problem again. Her lip touched the ground, she hunched her shoulders so roundly she became a ball and suddenly 5x0 was most definitely 5. And THAT IS THE WAY HER TEACHER TELLS THEM TO DO IT!!!!!!

The teacher wants them to do it wrong.

At that point Logan stood up, walked out the side door and came back 10 minutes later announcing a tutor would be coming every Tuesday and Thursday starting next week.

(Reason #842 to love this house. A tutor lives right next door!)

In the end, we all win.

Max often leaves his bedroom light on when he's done upstairs. Our way of reminding him to go turn it off is to say, "Hey Max, is someone in your room?"

Every time he says, "I don't know, I'll go check."

Runs up the stairs, checks, turns off the light and reports back. "Nope, there's no one in my room so I turned off the light.

This morning we're all upstairs getting dressed. Max is standing in the bathroom showing me his new shoes.

I interrupt the gushing, "Hey, is someone in your room?"

He says, without checking, "No. So why did I leave the light on? There's never anyone in there except me."

And Al Gore came down from the heavens and bestowed many blessings of energy conservation on my son. I was happy he realized leaving lights on is wasting energy and I was also happy he'd be helping Al save some energy for the earth.

But mostly I was happy he finally got the joke.

The Really Big Announcement

Last week I mentioned a super secret project I was busy working on. I also said I couldn't wait to tell you all about it.

I'm guessing some of you were hoping my new project was a banner which doesn't suck. But no, we're still training for the marathon so all extra design projects are delayed. Well, except the newsletter project I took on for the school. The one where after I said I'd do it I realized I don't actually know how to design a newsletter. Which is great because Logan had like twenty minutes of free time that were just sitting there being wasted on digesting food or something.

Anyway, no! My big secret project has nothing to do with Logan. It has everything to do with me and my friend Maggie Mason.

Mighty Goods is Maggie's shopping site where she celebrates stuff every day. After a lot of planning (not mine) and a lot of designing (not mine), Mighty Goods is getting a sister site.

Mighty Junior is a shopping site just for kids and the grown ups who love them. I am thrilled Maggie asked me to work with her on this project because I have always admired Mighty Goods, I love Maggie and also love stuff. I am incredibly flattered Maggie asked me to help her on this project.

I hope you'll go check it out. Here are a few of my favorite picks so far.

French Bingo

Colour Memory Game

Penguin Backpack

"Hooray For Stuff" indeed!

Time for a new banking institution

Dear Bank,

The other day, I was thinking of you Bank. Remember a few months ago when you cashed a check on my account only it wasn't our check and the numbers didn't match up or the names? Your teller had transposed a couple numbers and made an honest mistake? Remember how you made us wait 3 days to 'clear it all up' and in the mean time we were short $500?

I understand, mistakes happen. God knows I've goofed up our checking account a few times since we started our relationship. The thing I was thinking about though was how when I mess up, you make me pay you hundreds of dollars in fees and such. Isn't that funny?

My husband has a freelance client who really likes making his checks out to the name of his freelance business and not to him personally. It's true, we really should have a business account but I should also floss my teeth every day and not just the day before I visit the dentist.

Half the time, Bank, you don't even notice who the check is made out to. The other half of the time you refuse to deposit the money into our account. At least until I pull out of your branch and drive a quarter mile to another. Then they'll take the check without any questions.

The thing that bothers me about this issue is not just the lack of consistency in your actions but also the fact that I am only depositing the money. I am not taking cash back and you are holding the funds until the check clears. Which it will, just like it always does.

Yesterday I came by to deposit a check for a whopping $40. I was not getting any cash, I just wanted to put that whole $40 into my bank account, so I could buy a newspaper or something.

My signature is sort of messy. I used to write my whole name out but then I started signing my name like all the adults in my life. A big M with a scribble and a big S with a scribble, sometimes I just write M S-scribble because....Bank? Does it strike you as a little odd I have to explain all this to you?

Yesterday I tried to deposit forty whole dollars into my account and while waiting for my deposit slip you called over the intercom that I would need to sign my whole name on the back of my check because that is the legal name I gave you for my account. Also? Could I add that W initial I have on the account?

Bank? It's A FORTY DOLLAR CHECK. Just put it in my account for christ sakes.

I was stunned when you really did send my check back for a new signature. But guess what Bank? I signed it almost exactly the same but I squiggled my pen after the M just for you. I did not put the W though because Bank, I think you're just being a bitch now.

All this inconsistency and weird added road blocks aren't the thing that's making me want to grab my money and run from you Bank.

What I'm trying to say Bank is that if anyone wants to put money into my bank account? I'm cool with you letting them. Just place a hold on the check and if for some reason it doesn't clear, hey! we'll just pretend it never happened. Okay?

Sincerely, your 19 year customer,
M S-scribble

========================================================

New posts: I'm starting a book club for kids and reintroducing Did They Eat It? at a new venue. Did they? There's only one way to find out.....

Also I've been working on a secret new project and it's going to launch very soon and I can hardly wait for you to see it. More next week....

Hot Gnome On Gnome Action.

The computer is back, it was the thingie where the thingie gets plugged into the whole thing. They had to replace it and then they gave me $130! Well, they gave me $130 when they realized my battery was not actually faulty and didn't require a replacement.

I've been keeping busy working on Logan's computer this week. I posted more at Ordering Disorder on my Deceptively Delicious experiment and I seriously thought I'd love this book and I hated the early chatter about Jessica Seinfeld getting a book just because her husband is Jerry Seinfeld. But I don't know her recipes seem to suck huge amounts of ass, I'm going to end up using my leftover recipe purees in my regular recipes when appropriate and see how that goes. You should read about it there.

I also wrote a little about taking better Halloween photos at the Buzz Off. It's too bad I couldn't find any tips about photographing your kid's crappy $25 polyester costumes so they look reasonably creative or interesting. I did the best I could anyway.

My sister in law sent along some pictures from the big event last weekend, I put them in an album because I didn't take any photos from the night because I was too busy trying to hold onto my gallon jug sized solo cup of beer.

Sometimes, when I look at pictures of my siblings and I, I think I was adopted.

My sister in law came up with a great ice breaker for the party. On your name tag you were to write who you are to the guest of honor. Some were funnier.....than mine which sucked. Again, I couldn't think because I was trying to dock my jet ski in my beer. Here is George's tag, please note my brother is the union president.

This is proof my sister in law really loves my brother even though he wears garish pants to parties and attempts to lick her in public and then drinks his face off at his birthday. She bought him authentic German fornicating gnomes.

It plays You Are My Sunshine.

I only hope we all find that kind of love someday.

Horrifying.

I am stuck on Logan's computer. My computer is being gently nursed back to health by Steve Jobs (wearing a sexy nurse's outfit).

This is unfortunate since he has to actually use his computer which means I can not use his computer in the evenings.

I might have to actually read a book or something. I may also have to 'manage my time' more effectively so I don't fall behind on work.

shudder.

Freedom

Logan's computer is stunningly fast. This could have something to do with the fact that my computer is a few years old and currently has about 300 megabytes of space left on it, down from some reasonable amount of gigabytes when I first got it. My computer probably has a little indigestion and can't really get Photoshop started in a reasonable amount of time because he's bloated, all right? Leave him alone and maybe pull some of these pictures off your hard drive once in a while.

My computer has begun doing this really fun thing where, while I'm typing it just *BOOM* shuts off! On the bright side I've become quite adept at saving often, on the dark side I continue to lose data at least once a day.

Most of the time, if I ask nicely, the machine will turn back on immediately after this fun game of "Shut Down!" But with increasing frequency the stupid thing will turn off for hours on end and then, for no apparent reason, it will power back on.

This has been happening for a while now and you may be asking yourself, "Gee, why wouldn't you just take it in to get it fixed? And for God's sake lady, back up your photos!"

The only possible answer is I like this churning feeling in my gut as I ponder all the data I've lost.

My computer was kind enough to allow me to complete both my pieces at The Buzz Off and Ordering Disorder. At The Buzz Off I'm sharing a new (to me) Halloween tradition one can do in a neighborhood where you don't mostly wish a pox upon your neighbors with the boat as big as their house.

At Ordering Disorder I'm cooking from the new Jessica Seinfeld cookbook, Deceptively Delicious with mixed results.

Logan and I have not gone away, without kids, in three years. The last time we left them for the weekend was when Logan ran the Chicago marathon. This was big fun since he had to eat a lot of pasta, couldn't drink at all, had to attend a running expo, went to bed at 9pm both nights and then ran for an ungodly amount of time. Don't worry the night after the run we went out to dinner, or rather we hobbled out for dinner. When Logan saw our table was on the second floor of the restaurant, he threw his body down in the lobby and cried for his mommy. Big big fun!

Tonight after work Logan is running 20 miles as part of his current marathon training. He's doing this because he doesn't want to squeeze it in over the weekend. Because this weekend we will have exactly zero children with us because we're going to celebrate my brother's 40th birthday in Indianapolis.

There are a few things you don't do when you have a rare weekend away without the kids. You don't bite your tongue as you deal with your daughter's rampant anxiety. You don't cut up anyone else's food. You don't wake up at 7 am and you sure as hell don't run 20 miles.

I don't think I've ever been this excited to go to Indy.

A window into her mind.

Maddie has been keeping a blog for a few months now. I kept this from you because most of the time the Internet is like a big bear hug but sometimes the Internet is like a sloppy grope in the dark and it makes you angry.

But Internet, I know if I show you my nearly 9-year-old daughter's blog you'll be cool.

Months ago she wrote this post. She was expounding on her very sweet relationship with my brother and sister-in-law's rescue dog Molly. The one who would only quiver in fear while in my presence.

Hello you may have or know a scared dog well here are some things I do when I see one if you want to pet it then maybe you should let it sniff your fist instead of your hand and if it starts to bark just walk away do not look at them later try again but push(not really push go up and pet it) a little because at some point your going to need to feel and pet it just remember you have to remember that every one gets scared some times.

I love this: "you have to remember that every one gets scared some times." She knows animals get scared as well as anyone.

On Saturday Maddie had some trouble with Logan and I going to a wedding. She cried and begged us not to go, just like she did as a three year old. We felt frustrated and frankly, annoyed, with her inability (again) to just roll with life.

While we were at the wedding, she went with my friend Andrea to a couple of soccer games and then a neighborhood party (we had to miss and it hurt....oh it hurt). When she called crying about how she missed us and just wanted to be home we tried to be patient and empathetic but really our annoyment may have come through our gritted teeth as we said, "WeWillBeTogetherAllDayTomorrowJustLikeEveryOtherDay....PLEASE LET US HAVE FUN WITH OUR FRIENDS."

She wrote a post early Sunday morning which seems awfully transparent considering all of this.

Let's re-title this post: Kids Are Kids!

Today I will share some thing every dog owner should know......................DOGS [Kids] ARE DOGS [Kids] ......I mean if your dog trashes things [kid has trouble going with the flow] and no matter how hard you try you can not get him [her] to stop you tried your hardest but that will be the way he'll [she'll] stay like my cat Gary he will always be hungry but I can not make him never be hungry again (even though it would save us a lot of cat food).So love your dog [daughter] even though it [she] has it's [her] moments.Remember DOGS RULE,CATS DROOL! [Loose Translation: Daughters Rule, Sons Drool]

If only she were a dog, we could just swat her with a newspaper.

Today is a half day of school.

Half days are against my religion. Whole days off are against all the laws of nature.

And yet, the school doesn't care about this, they still expect me to participate in this horrible activity which is against all my beliefs.

Thankfully it's a beautiful day, my work is done, the zoo is open and there's a trampoline in my backyard.

I'm complaining about getting the house clean with as little personal effort as possible at Ordering Disorder.

I'm being a Buzz Kill at The Buzz Off. My friend's mammogram came back clear but there's still another hurdle to rule out. This is an important post to read. Actually my post isn't all that important but it leads you to important things. The bottom line is: Your boobs should not perform wacky circus tricks, if they look weird GET TO THE DOCTOR.

Somehow this all relates.

From Maggie's Book. No one cares what you had for lunch.

#42 Make Your Timeline

Age under 1: I have febrile seizures and am raced to the hospital wrapped in frozen vegetables. It's Roseola.

Age 2: I go with my brother's Cub Scout den to Pembroke Park for a picnic. All the big boys are having fun going down the Big Slide. I decide to go down the Big Slide. When I get to the top I can't go down and all the Cub Scouts scream at me to GO DOWN in a way quite unbecoming for a future Boy Scout. My brother saves me by climbing up the slide and going down with me.

Age 3: The babysitter calls my mother telling her I'm "Melancholy". My mother doesn't know what that word is, thinks it means feverish and races home.

Age 4: I am attending Bo Jangles Preschool and am in love with a boy named Bo. His mother has crocheted his little rug we sit on in circle time with his name "BO" in the middle.

Age 5: On the first day of Kindergarten the class goes back inside after recess only I don't notice. I'm on the playground with another boy from my block. We walk four blocks home because I don't know what else to do.

Age 8: My mother crafts a pilgrim costume out of an old pair of sheets for a class play. No one else wears their costume for the dress rehearsal, I am mortified and then stuck in the outfit at the end of the day when I can't undo the knot in my apron. I appear to believe if I miss the bus, I will die on the spot. Fortunately, I did not die or miss the bus. Unfortunately, the teacher now realizes I am a giant ball of nerves.

Age 10: I design a patch for a state-wide Girl Scout camp event. The entire state's division votes on the best one from the 50 or so shown. Mine, with it's girl-centric rainbow and clouds theme, wins. I decide I'm an artist.

Age 15: A popular boy with a used car salesman name tells me during science class, "You would be really pretty if you wore make up." I am sort of flattered by this comment. My girlfriend tells me what an asshole-ish thing that was to say.

Age 23: I attend Richard Washington's 2D design class at Eastern Michigan University and pretty quickly realize I am not an artist but rather an astute observer of the things other people are doing. Mr. Washington confirms this nearly every day during class.

Age 30: I start a blog.

hmmmmm......

Busily buzzing else where.

It's Breast Cancer Awareness month so I decided to write about it over at The Buzz Off.

I'm also coming to terms with the fact that my whole family will never be happy with something I make for them to eat at the same time at Ordering Disorder.