Suburban Bliss:: Birth Control Via The Written Word

Tonsillectomy Update

Back in November, after living through chronic sore throats for almost my entire life, I had my tonsils removed.

For years I've spent 2-4 days each month totally down for the count because of sore throats. For a lot of years it was just a sore throat with a mild cold like thing. The doctor prescribed an allergy nasal spray suggesting that the sore throat was from post nasal drip. That helped for a year or so and then I just accepted that I would feel sick every 4-6 weeks.

When I suggested to my doctor that maybe my tonsils needed to come out. They told me it's a very dangerous procedure for adults and really not called for since I didn't have tonsillitis or strep.

But I think I did have tonsillitis and it went undiagnosed and was called "Post Nasal Drip"

Finally, a couple of years ago I started to get strep infections. I had never had one case of strep in my entire life and suddenly Max got it, and it seemed like I never really got rid of it. So about once every 4-6 weeks I'd wake up with swollen glands and searing pain in my throat and up into my ears. I'd spend a day waiting to see the doctor, while alternately writing about how much pain I was in and whining to my family.

It was really quite fun.

Going to my happy place.

We had co-worker friends over for cards last night and some of the discussion about the economy and the situation at the office left me with heartburn so bad I caught the dining room on fire.

Ha!

Then this morning, while lounging in bed, I decided to read the paper online. Oh, what's this nice human interest story about the mailman!? Oh, he's in Royal Oak? How nice, I wonder if he's my mailman.

Then, bam....it was all terrible stories about people losing their houses, their jobs, their clothes, their furniture. It was, over all, the most depressing thing I've read all day.

So I cornified it, and I feel a lot better now.

Cats are assholes.

Logan's going to seriously contemplate divorcing me for devoting two posts in one week to a cat. His divorce papers will read, "My partner wrote an entire post describing our cat's habits and idiosyncrasies. I can't abide by this. Also she always dried my jeans all the way."

But it's the weekend, so whatever.

I know there are pet fountains you can get for your cat, because a lot of cats like moving, fresh water. But there's this part of me that's thinking, "You fucking princess, just drink the water from the bowl and stop being difficult."

The bowl we have weighs over 5 pounds. It's heavy, ceramic and about as big as my head.

We tried putting the bowl on a mat, he grabs the top edge and pulls it so hard it flips over, which probably makes him more happy than just dragging it on the concrete and making my teeth grind in annoyance does.

In the past, when we had a lighter bowl we used that grippy shelf liner stuff and he caught it with his nail and yanked it so that the bowls flipped over. He also punched me in the stomach that time.

I may try the grippy liner again because the bowl is so heavy now. Maybe we'll build a stand for the cat's dishes. Maybe we'll start using the kitchen sink as the bathroom sink so Gary can have full access to his sink napping habit. And maybe we'll just sleep on the sofa and give our bedroom to Gary, The Princess.

Gary's weight. I know, it's crazy. He'd like you to know that he's big boned. His paws really are huge.

My sister in law suggested I try just feeding them all day, keeping the kibble flowing and see if he ever got to his natural weight. As though, maybe he was so afraid the food would run out, he was eating it as fast as he could.

Didn't work.

We tried light food. Nope.

The vet suggested Mature food, because it's lighter than regular food. And we've seen no change in Gary's girth.

We feed him Science Diet because cheaper brands make him smell like...death. There's enough gas passing in this house, we don't need the cat added to the chorus.

He gets 1/4 cup of food twice a day. He also eats some of the other cat's food because she's such a baby and doesn't push her way toward the bowl.

At this point Gary is going to live out his days walking from the kitchen to the living room, laying down and taking a "breather" then making the rest of the journey up the stairs, with a brief stop on the landing.

He's going to sleep on Maddie's head, and push her out of the bed and he's more than likely going to force me to buy him his very own motion activated drinking fountain.

In the shape of a fish with a mermaid (holding a bowl of food) rising out of the back.

Either that or he's finally going to figure out how to get that heavy water bowl up the stairs and in the night he's doing to drop it on my head, killing me instantly. Over my lifeless body he'll whisper in my ear, "That's for the chicken hat."

Cats are assholes

Things besides filing a lawsuit that are annoying me: Vol. 1

Can someone explain why Gary, the morbidly obese cat, insists on dragging his water bowl all over the concrete basement floor? In our first house, we kept the water bowls upstairs in the kitchen and watched him flip the little plastic bowls upside down every day.

We thought maybe he just liked fresh water so we bought one of these things. When full of water, it's a pretty heavy item so we thought at the very least we'd have our spilling water problem solved. Gary is stronger than we thought.

My next attempt to control the spilling water dish problem was to buy him the biggest bowl I could find at the pet store. It's a bowl meant to feed a Great Dane, or perhaps a pack of wolves. It's big and very heavy, Maddie has a hard time filling and carrying it.

But Gary is secretly lifting weights in the basement and has managed to drive me totally insane by dragging that stupid bowl all over the basement.

Why? Dogs don't do annoying things like this, right?

Curious Things

We still haven't gotten our security deposit, and our landlord's "Representative" appears to be avoiding responding to our requests to schedule a walk through. This means I can't exactly talk about the debacle that was renting from that guy.

However I will say we did not shovel any snow from around this house, not even on the driveway where there was so much the day we moved in we were forced to live with a terribly icy driveway for a few weeks.

Shockingly! DRY BASEMENT.

I have a feeling we aren't being invited to do a walk-through because our old basement is (once again) full of water.

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In other news I am going to Indianapolis today at some point between when I drop the kids at school and 11:00am. Yes I realize Indy isn't exactly the Bahamas. But in these tough times we all have to live well with less. I'm a simple girl and 5 hours alone in a car with whatever music I want to listen to? Sounds pretty great. Add to that seeing great people? It's all palm trees and swim up bars as far as I'm concerned.

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Did you know that I've been without my laptop for three weeks now?

By the lack of hysterical whining and crying about it you'd think this was less difficult than it is. But no I'm hysterically whining and crying inside. I just know there's nothing to be done about this situation until we regain our financial equilibrium from the move (and, you know, pull our money from the Ex-Landlord's Cold Dead Hands). So I'm choosing not to get hysterical.

But seriously, this is awful. You know in the same way a really stingy paper cut is "awful" or finding out you left your electric juicer in that one bottom cabinet at your old place and now you've got to juice 30 limes for a party all by hand.

OHMYGODYOUGUYS THIS IS WORSE THAN I THOUGHT!!!!!!

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I glimpsed one of our new neighbors today. She looks like Gwyneth Paltrow's mom.

I'm not sure what this means.

I also drool uncontrollably if you ring a bell.

This morning I woke up almost totally on time. The nice thing about the kids having to be to school at 9am is that if you can't do it (and you only have two kids and you work at home) you really are an asshole. So I've arranged my morning routine so that I can perfectly get breakfast made, lunches ready to go and make sure the kids are dressed and brushed and washed up and then to school on time.

The only part of the getting everyone ready in the morning that's missing is me who generally doesn't like to get dressed in the morning. I like to work in our bedroom with the beautiful sun that blows into our bedroom all day, well when there is sun anyway.

So this morning, having to be out the door with the kids for my appointment threw a little kink in my plans and I was feeling a little frantic and, because I was frantic, I didn't worry very much about the "mass" in my breast.

Until I got in the car to go to the appointment and I realized I hadn't spent a lot of the weekend worrying like I planned to. I planned to worry a lot but when I looked up information on Google, usually the perfect Panic Tool, right? No, words like, "Overwhelmingly Benign" kept coming up in reference to smooth edged masses in one's breast.

Thanks a lot Dr. Google, I was trying to freak out over here.

So instead I tried to pack in as much hyperventilating and worry as I could on the drive over and while in the waiting room. A friend suggested I picture the "mass" as a spider egg, ready to explode. That was shockingly effective at raising my heartbeat and getting me in the correct mindset for a such a momentous occasion.

I was called in to get more detailed shots of my left breast and Ouchie Waa-Waa. I don't think Bea, my technician, actually has breasts of her own because she tried to pull mine off with that machine.

Maggie mentioned that when she's working out and it's difficult she may do a "crazed hyena whimper-laugh", well I think that's the noise I made while Bea tried to rip my left breast from my body with a tiny piece of plastic clamped down on a machine. Except my giggling was punctuated with "Wow! Hey....Wow!" because I couldn't believe she wanted to put my boob through this and wanted me to hold my breath while she did it.

Also Bea was wearing a chainmail ensemble. Is that normal?

Seeing the actual part they were looking at on my mammogram ramped the worry a great deal, so that was good.  I wish I could share the mammogram with you....I tried to subtly snap a picture...if I did you would see why I'm not ready to say "good bye" to my breasts. They're really lovely even with a small mass in the upper left quadrant of one.

When I finally got into the ultrasound room I couldn't seem to get over the fact that they were using the ultrasound wand on my boob. And when I looked at the screen, I kept thinking how I should be waiting to see a baby, which is absurd, because a baby in your boob? That's definitely worse than cancer.

And that got me going with the crazed hyena laugh again.

But then I could see the "mass" and I knew it was supposed to be clear...so black...and a couple of times it did not look black it looked white. For a few moments I contemplated what it would mean to go home and call Logan and tell him I had cancer. I thought about how I'd sit the kids down and tell them that cancer isn't that big a deal! It's better than a poke in the eye!

And my heart was racing and I felt the power of the Internet worrying with me and it was a beautiful crescendo of worry!

THANK GOD WE DID THAT! Because then the nurse said, "It looks like you have a small cyst and one of your lymph nodes has migrated from under your arm to your breast and they're very close together."

Bluh???

My Lymph Node Migrated? It didn't like the weather? Wanted to be closer to family? Wanted more loving attention from my husband? Needed a shorter commute?

Apparently your Lymph Node seeking out a nice vacation spot in the South of Your Boob (There must a be a great beach and amazing antiquing!) is not necessarily a problem because all parties agreed this situation is benign.

(Handy note for those of you who haven't spent the last 3 days frantically reading up on cancer: Benign = Annoying But Nothing. Malignant = A God Damn Motherfucker. )

So all is well, I go back once a year from now until I die and every year we all commit to worrying with the same amount of vigor. Deal? Ha ha....ha.......ha....

I always thought I'd feel a lump in my breast if there was one, that I didn't feel this one is probably a good thing in the long run: I'll never miss a mammogram appointment!

But generally it's shaken me a little. It's scary what can be growing in your body that you aren't aware of. I honestly thought if I felt myself up enough I'd know. Now this means I can't grope myself at the grocery store for medical reasons. And it means that you can't catch these things on your own, and I'm a little sad about that.

Luckily, I know how to worry the shit out of things.

A few people tried to explain to me how worrying, or not worrying really doesn't change reality. And all I heard was "Mwah mwahh maa maaah."

You know how dogs bark at passersby, and the mailman and the (really hot) UPS guy? And people struggle to train their dogs not to do that because it is intensely annoying and disruptive to every day life because, guess what? The mailman keeps coming and people keep walking by and the UPS guy is going somewhere on your street almost all the time.

In your dog's tiny brain, he believes his barking kept those people away. Your dog is all,
"Phew! The mailman walked up....and then he walked away when he heard me barking."
"The brown truck? Terrified of my barking!"
"That human, walking down the street, kept right on going because I barked. Hey! When's dinner?"

I realized at some point Sunday I am no different than a dog. Maybe a little different but I appear to have the same neuron paths.

You will never convince me my worrying doesn't control the universe, or at least my itty bitty universe and today just reinforced all of that.

Also if you walk by my house tonight, I'll bark until you keep right on going. And if you're a squirrel in my yard? Man you picked the wrong house buddy.

My new book, working title: The Power Of The Worry

On Monday I finally went to have my baseline mammogram done. For some reason I kept putting this off, even though the doctor has given me three different referrals for one and even though my mother had breast cancer and even though I believe with almost absolute certainty I will one day have (and survive) breast cancer.

I put it off, even in spite of those really good reasons to not put it off, because I don't like strange people handling my boobs. I also don't like to see my breasts smooshed between two pieces of plastic because....wow.

Finally I went ahead and did it because when my mother found out she had breast cancer she let the lump grow so big that it was actually uncomfortable against her bra strap. (!!!) She was lucky and went through treatment like a champ, had just a lumpectomy and missed a few days of work in the process.

Funny thing about my mother, she found out she had cancer when I had just gone off to college. She knew I was hating school and hated being away so she didn't tell me about it so I wouldn't worry.

Conversely a couple of years ago she had an accident in a parking lot while with my sister....a slow moving bump with another car. She called me and sounded so upset I thought my sister must have been killed in the "accident". But no it was just a small mash up in the parking lot. That's kind of how my mom is, big stress, she rolls right through. Smaller stresses, she totally loses her shit.

Actually, I do that too. Must be all that wacky post traumatic stress syndrome!

Anyway so I went to do the mammogram even though I didn't want some lady to handle my breasts and shove them in a machine because it always infuriated me that my mother didn't care enough about herself to go to the doctor the minute she felt a lump. When I catch myself not taking care of myself in those ways, I start to look in the mirror and see myself morphing into some sort of martyr mother with ill fitting jeans and an overgrown hair cut.

And that is so undeniably sexy.

Now here's where we're going to talk about the power.....of my mind.

If you've been reading this site you know that I have a penchant for worrying about things. I've often reprimanded myself for wasting energy on worry. My friend Jean always said to me, "I figure if something happens, I have time to worry about it then. If I'm worrying about the possibilities and none of those things happen, I just wasted all that energy on nothing."

I tried to subscribe to that newsletter.

The thing I've started to realize through the last year or two is that my worrying actually has the power to prevent things from happening!

Exhibit one: I spent a year worrying about selling our house. I laid awake wondering if it wouldn't sell or if we'd find a place to live. Then! The house sold in record time in this market and we were able to live in the neighborhood I wanted with the school I wanted the kids to go to.

Exhibit two: We got an offer on the house and I was so happy I didn't bother to worry at all about the inspection. Inspection caused the buyers to back out.

Exhibit three: I worried for years Maddie would never touch a food that wasn't fried or sugary. Now she eats steak, salmon and even the other day ate chicken that had a sauce on it.

Exhibit four: Every snow day this year has come after a night I went to sleep not at all concerned about a snow day. Without even letting the thought of a snow day (and the resulting change of all my plans) cross my mind. When I go to bed worried about the possibility of a snow day, no snow day.

Exhibit five: We withhold our last months rent because we know our landlord will hold our security deposit as long as possible and suspect he doesn't even have the money. Logan is worried when the legal threats start rolling in, I am raging like a bull and not worried and tempted to mail a picture of my ass to the man as he attempts to pursue legal action. While I'm not worrying, legal action heats up becoming unbearable. And now our landlord is still holding our security deposit and we're waiting to go to battle on that. Who knows how this would have turned out if only I had worried a lot!

I know you're clearly seeing where I'm going. My brain obviously caused (or prevented) all of these things with worry. Seemingly pointless, sometimes hysterical, illogical worrying.

So this brings us to my mammogram on Monday. Why would I worry about a mammogram, the girls are healthy. They're my favorite thing on my body. My boobs get their fair share of attention and there have been no reports of lumps from either party involved (or the occasional medical professional).

In fact that's part of foreplay for me, "Hey....baby....does everything feel normal?"

Also undeniably sexy, you should try it.

So I didn't worry going into the appointment. I was mildly worried about my boobs transforming into silly putty in the machine. Also I was disappointed the technician had no feedback about my boobs, you'd think they could just give out compliments to make things more comfortable in there.

But I was not worried about them finding anything. At the end of the exam the technician mentioned that on a baseline the radiologist will often call back for more images, since they want good images for comparison. So, she said, "If they call it's probably not because there's a mass. They just want more images [because my God your boobs are glorious] to establish a good baseline set of images."

But I thought to myself, "Ha. They won't call me back, that went so well, my boobs were so good at getting all flat, and I didn't even breathe while they took the pictures." I saw the images on the screen and I just knew they wouldn't need me back. A+ mammogram!

BIG MISTAKE. I should have been worried. I'll never forgive myself.

Yesterday the hospital called and couldn't give me more information, but I needed to come in for an ultrasound and more pictures with the radiologist. I remained mostly calm but a little bit of worry peeked in. I kept myself calm thinking everyone says worrying is a waste of time and then there's that book that says what you give energy to brings it to you....so hey, they probably just want to admire my rack, I said to myself. The technician said sometimes they call you back even if there's no mass. I would have felt a mass. Logan would have felt a mass.

That's what I told myself and while we watched a movie I made Logan examine my breasts for three hours. (Results were inconclusive. He'd like to have another look tonight.)

Today I saw my general physician about an unrelated thing and asked if they'd gotten the report from the mammogram. And he said the fucking word I didn't want to hear, the one that sealed the deal on my hypothesis that me worrying about things makes them not happen.

There's a mass in the upper left quadrant of the left breast and now I've got to ramp up The Worry. I think I'll set it at hysterical. That'll make for a fun weekend right!?

But the good news is on Monday after I get back from the appointment and everything is totally fine? We can all have a good laugh at my ridiculous worrying. 'Oh Melissa', you'll say shaking your head. 'When will you learn worrying is a waste of energy!?'

And I'll laugh with you, but I'll know the truth.

A little magical potpourri.

So I've gone from suggesting Logan go to hell for disposing of my soda to gritting my teeth and trying not to send angry emails to the landlord. I can't wait until we're gone from this house and then, have spent six months in court fighting to get our security deposit back and then, finally, I'll get to regale the Internet with the Tale of the Landlord.

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Have you all heard of Let Me Google That For You? I was telling a friend about it and how it frustrates me when Logan will ask me a question, and I Google it for him (because his computer doesn't get Google, I assume) or when the Internet is looking for a certain post, like, say, the one about Blow Job and Steak Day (everyone forgets when it is!). I find it by typing Blow Job And Steak Day Suburbanbliss and voila!

Last night I was helping Maddie with her homework while chatting with a friend via IM. We were wondering what the word for words that sound the same, but aren't, was. Even though I was sitting there on my computer I did the annoying thing and asked "Hey, what's the name for words that sound the same but aren't?"

She sent this link back in reply.

Nice. It reminded of me of the time in college I was going on and on to a friend how much I hate when people don't use proper grammar....and she paused and said, "I have to tell you something and I don't want you to freak out. You spell grammar wrong, it's not grammer." I'd been spelling it that way, for my entire life. (And no, Internet, let's not chat about all the other grammar and spelling mistakes I make on this website. That would be about 20 times over the dumping of the soda, and I am a little on the edge right now. I have the eye twitch to prove it.)

February is going to be a lot more pleasant for the Summers.

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I have a few pictures from our New Year's Eve party. You know, the one where we let 20 kids loose in our house and see who loses an eye? No one lost an eyeball, though we had one close call. Also the cats tried to kill one small guest with their fur and her eyes. Oops! Allergies.

I only have a few pictures from the night because well I was having fun....so I didn't take a lot of pictures.

Here are Maddie and Erin. Maddie and Erin became friends in preschool when Maddie was nearly 3 and Erin was 3. Next year they will go to the same middle school and are very excited to be reunited after five years at separate elementary schools. My friend Chrissy and I are convinced that together they're going to keep playing with Littlest Pet Shop stuff and never express and interest in boys or drugs. Fingers Crossed!

A couple years ago I read about letting kids stomp on bubble wrap to ring in the new year. As exciting as confetti only less aggravating. (Kids + Juice + Adults Drinking + Confetti = Massive Mess). After a few years I've finally figured out you don't want the little bubbles, you want the big ones. This would also work for any party, at a little kids bubble themed party perhaps.

To keep the kids from freaking out and popping the bubble wrap before midnight, we blocked the entry ways with chairs. So they all spent the last 15-20 minutes of 2008 staring longingly at bubble wrap.

Later, we decided to play Guitar Hero. This is Tom, my friend Leslie's husband. Tom is Logan's Co-Den Mother of the cub scouts.

I used to be able to beat Tom at Guitar Hero. This made me feel good because he generally decimates me in political debates. But then I taught him the trick about getting the highest scores and now, he kills me. Especially after a few libations. Ahem. Here I am regretting my decision to tell him my secret.

Here's the aftermath of the party. I think it explains a lot about how Fraternity Parties end up so messy. They invite 20 kids under ten and they destroy the house.

The kitchen I'd like to blame on the kids too, but no, that wouldn't be fair.

I blame that on the cats.

About the dog thing....

Remember when we owned that soul-killing house in the soul-sucking neighborhood we lived in before we sold it by the skin of our teeth and moved here? Man that was fun. Great content...shitty living conditions.

Back when we lived in that Soul-Killing house where we brought Maddie home from the hospital, Maddie wanted a dog. She wanted a dog from the minute she was born. I'm fairly sure they had to use forceps to get her out because she was holding out for a puppy. Ironically, we dressed her in a puppy outfit to bring her home from the hospital. I guess we made our own bed.

At first we didn't want a dog because sometimes I spent a lot of days trying not to eat the two kids I had. I thought it wasn't a good idea to get a dog when I could barely make it through the day without crafting Ebay listings to sell my youngest son to the first bidder.

Then Logan had a vasectomy because it turned out two kids was probably more than I was capable of raising, so why don't we cut our losses and see if I'm better at raising bigger kids? (I am!)

Because of Maddie's unrelenting desire for a dog, along with the fact that I have to restrain myself from french kissing nearly every dog I meet, we started really thinking about getting a dog back then. But every time I tried to face the commitment of a dog, I freaked out and had flashbacks to the years of early motherhood when everything was an ordeal and difficult for me, being a delicate flower, to manage. So we got the cats to appease Maddie and buy us some time.

I told Logan that if I ever felt the desire to have another baby, I'd consider getting a dog. Considering how I handled the first four years of being a mother, this seemed about as likely as me becoming an Amish farmer or a porn star.

In the last three years parenting my kids has become a much better fit for my (neurotic) personality. I almost never feel the desire to devour them, I don't feel like I'm treading water trying to keep up with the needs of totally dependent beings. It's a good place to be.

Still, I don't want a baby but in the last year or so, I've been browsing Petfinder.com and thinking about how a dog would fit into our lives.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, our Landlord believes water in basements and tiles falling off bathroom walls is "normal" and dogs are beasts hell bent on destroying your property. (You know, more than consistent water damaging your home's foundation and soaking the drywall in your finished basement is destroying your property.)

A few months ago I told Logan that I know it's really selfish, but I've thought about this since we got married. I grew up in Michigan, went to college in Michigan and have never lived anywhere but Michigan. The best time for us to live somewhere new was before we had kids, but then Maddie came a little (a lot) sooner after our wedding than we'd planned and life started rolling along with houses and careers.

Logan was the only one making money and I gave up my career (and a lot of my sanity) to be a full time mother. I put the idea of living somewhere that is not here out of my mind. Now that things are more settled and the kids are still reasonably young, that feeling is back. I want to move somewhere entirely new. I have a few places in mind and a couple of ideas up my sleeve to make it happen....they mostly involve me obsessing as I did about selling the old house, on a larger time frame.

Maddie overheard us talking about potential places to live. Max overheard the same conversation and was all, "Huh....cool...." then walked away to play with Legos. Maddie reacted less calmly, more like her mother might react to something that makes her nervous. A-hem.

So yeah, I bribed my kid with a dog if we move to a new state.

This buys me at least a year, maybe two.

If I can resist Petfinder.com....

Will hopefully not be reduced to Primordial Matter

I am, despite my titanium liver, a very delicate flower it turns out. By nature I am an introvert, I am recharged by a few nights at home in my pajamas with all the DVR'd Law and Order I can get my mitts on. The need for the recharge nights goes up ten fold by how many social events I'm attending.

This means that, in general, I can handle three things a week.Then the other four nights of the week are filled with rejuvenating alone peace and quiet. Now, if I were to have seven straight days of alone time I'd be clawing my own eyes out and/or playing Hangman with myself. Hysterically. I need balance.

I am married to an extrovert and he needs like two hours a week to "recharge" while plugged into the wall. The more social things he does, the better he feels. This presents some issues.

I know it's December and there are a lot of fun things to do in December. In the last week I've planned dinners, went to dinners, spent days with friends and nights with other friends. Then, on Monday I spent the evening burning off my fingerprints while volunteering at the Cub Scout Holiday Meeting. On Tuesday we had date night at my friend Laura's cooking class. I'd give you more information but they laid her off with a note on her paycheck so, not doing it.

Date night at a cooking class is super fun. So was the gourmet dinner I had at my friend's Joe and Cari's Friday night. And the progressive dinner on Saturday Logan and I hosted. And the casual hang out we did with Logan's friend Kimberly on Sunday.

Now, I didn't particularly like the Cub Scout Craft Table Debacle (I think I killed at least 3 kids....no fingerprints left after the glue gun I was using....so don't worry, not going to jail), but even in my most crabby introverted way I like to volunteer a few times a year and everyone has to take a turn burning their fingers off. This is how life works.

But everything else we've been doing is pure fun. Like dinner Friday and a party Saturday at a friend's house and another party Sunday night. I love it. I wouldn't say no to these dinners or parties. I love going to them, I love throwing them and they're fun.

Yeah, I need to be in a Hyperbaric chamber until the New Year. Okay, at least until New Year's Eve since we're hosting New Year's Eve. Okay, but then we're also hosting Christmas Eve and kids tend to be fond of Christmas day. Fine, I'll just hop in the chamber in 2009, New Year's Resolutions? Done.

Until then, I'll be over here in a fetal position.

PS: Please let me know if I start getting too "Edward Jessup", we'll plan a dinner party at that point, just to kick start me out of it.

Happy Holidays!

You have a uterus? I think you'd be foolish to vote for John McCain.

I'm trying to keep my political posts to the weekends, even though for a couple of hours each day I read various political websites and watch various videos and alternately crap my pants or cry. My overall experience is anxiety. This election is worse than waiting for Christmas.

I started out with 80 some-odd pieces of flair to share with you but have broken it down to three.

First.

We've seen the videos of McCain-Palin rallies where people tell John McCain they're afraid of Barack Obama, or how they've read he's an Arab (because that's a horrible thing....?????). Then there's the booing, that leads to the "Treason!" and "Terrorist!" comments.

This pretty much sums up why I am voting for Barack Obama. This ability to shut down stupid responses to opposing viewpoints, is what this country needs going forward. To turn something negative into something everyone can get behind. "We just need to vote."

We just need to vote.

The top thing I came away from this week in politics is this "thing" "McCain" "did" "at" "the" "last" "debate".

The disdain in that set of words, usually politicians at least try to hide their disregard for the rights of women. The "health" of the "mother". An eloquent set of words meant to deceive grown women into aborting their own children when their own so called "health" is at risk. Weee! I've been waiting 24 weeks, thinking I was welcoming my baby into this world....and now my body is shutting down and I'm dying. I finally get that late term abortion I've been praying for.

What the ever loving fuck is McCain talking about?

This is as brilliant as it's going to get. And that's not brilliant. I'm stunned by his air quotes, by his total disregard for the fact that there are women. HUMAN BEINGS behind the decision to terminate wanted, prayed for babies to [finger quote] protect their health [/finger quote]. That could mean so many things. Why would we want to trust [finger quote] grown women [/finger quote] and their [finger quote] Doctors [/finger quote] to make those decisions? These people are just waiting around to kill their babies. Babies they planned for, went to great lengths to get pregnant with....

Usually politicians at least hide their disdain for women's rights.

But I am not nearly eloquent enough to discuss this so I'll defer to Julie at A Little Pregnant.

"Because even if you're implacably, unconditionally opposed to abortion, a matter on which reasonable people disagree, I don't see any way a thinking person can look at those air quotes and see anything but pandering, contempt, and a dangerous willful ignorance."

And Alexa at Flotsam.

"It is my understanding that McCain believes late-term abortion should be outlawed except when it is necessary to save the life of the mother. But when do you make that determination? When does “health of the mother” turn into “life of the mother,” anyway? What organs would the infection have to spread to and shut down before I would be permitted to terminate my pregnancy? Would they wait until I was on a ventilator, or merely until my lungs were beginning to fill with fluid?"

I hope you'll read these blogs and remember these are the women Barack Obama and John McCain are talking about. A neighbor I talked to this week said he and his wife just believed there should be limits on the timing of abortions.

These women tell true stories, they are not figments of the imagination from the [finger quotes] Culture of Death [/finger quotes].

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

Finally, I think this is an interesting read for anyone (like me) who is terribly disturbed by the crazy things happening outside McCain Palin rallies. Extremism at McCain Rallies Comes Naturally. (It talks about how groups of like minded people work. It's quite true on both sides.)

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

Update: Heather and I posted the same links within a day of each other. As such there have been some concerns about plagiary.

Here is my response to the two emails and one comment I've gotten on the topic. As well as the kerfluffle at Dooce.com. As an FYI:

Sharing the same links is not plagiarism. Julie and Alexa have thousands of readers each day.

I am a reader of Julie's and found Alexa's post via a Twitter earlier in the week by Alice Bradley.

I have made a decision to post about politics on weekends only which explains the date issue.

Thank you for "looking" out for me.

Posted by: MelissaS | 2008.10.21 at 02:54 PM

 

Troubling.

On Thursday police in Detroit issued an Amber Alert for a missing two year old girl, Tangena Hussain.

Last night the Amber Alert was still flashing across the television screen and this morning I checked the paper to see if there had been a happy ending to the story. Or even an ending. I had to really dig into the website to even find a mention of the little girl and that is so troubling.

If this were a white little girl, especially one from the suburbs, her picture would be on the front page of the newspaper and eventually on the national news.

I realize this is nothing new, like pointing out that sometimes, people are.....[whisper] racist. SHOCKING!

I still can't get over how much less air time a poor, immigrant missing child story gets.

Additionally, the whole story sounds like a child abuse case more than a missing child case. She was left with her mother's boyfriend of five months while the mother went to work. The boyfriend says he stopped at a gas station to buy gum on his way to pick up the mother from work, leaving the little girl in the car.

When he came back out the little girl was gone. Instead of freaking the fuck out, he drove to pick up the girl's mother from work and then came back with her to look for the little girl.

There's a language barrier here (Police had trouble communicating with the couple) and also, maybe, a lack of knowing how things work in the United States. Still I have grave concerns that this isn't a missing child story, but a child abuse story. The burn scar reported on her face gives me even less confidence that police are looking for a living little girl.

This is Tangena if you've seen her please contact Detroit Police 313-596-1240.

Hey, thanks! Wait.

A few weeks ago someone left a comment that read;

"Thoughtful husband. Wicked woman."

I thought, "Wow, that lady thinks I'm Wicked Awesome! Like Massachusetts awesome!"

That's a nice thing to say.

But then, after a brief delay, and perusal of her website, I realized that no, she actually thinks I'm wicked in the more generally frowned upon sense of evil.

**************

A while back I posted a picture of Maddie drinking out one of the Naked Lady Glasses we have in the house. Well, now we have just one after a particularly traumatic evening when someone was awkwardly drinking out of the naked lady glass and dropped it.

Someone, who's since deleted her account, left a couple of comments on the photo about what a terrible mother I was for letting my kid drink out of a naked lady glass.

And I assumed she was being sarcastic because I didn't think it was possible to be offended by my kid drinking out of a naked lady glass. Which after this long on the internet you'd think I'd realize how pretty much everything on the internet offends someone at some time.

So I played along, taking the joke further saying maybe my kid would become a serial killer because she drank out of a naked lady glass. Ha! Ha! Right!?

But no, we weren't playing the same sarcasm game...because her next comment suggested Maddie would not become a serial killer but would likely get pregnant from drinking out of a naked lady glass. (?)(!)

Oh, okay, so we're not joking are we. Oops!

**************

I'm trying to decide if it's a good thing I assume people are being kind, even when they're not. Or if this just makes me a bigger jack ass than I originally thought.

Still there's something kind of satisfying about taking someone's insults and taking them in as kindly comments. Like when someone flips you off in traffic and you smile and wave back.

You can just hear them, in their car, "Why is she smiling! I'm furious! FURIOUS!!!! I'm flipping her off why does she keep smiling? STOP SMILING! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!"

And I'm in my car going, "How nice, he's waving to me with his middle finger. That must be a new thing all the kids are doing! Hello nice fellow! Have a lovely day!"

And then his head explodes.

Help!

Remember that time I went to New York City and chased my husband through the streets while he ran a marathon? Remember how I sat in a bar for two hours waiting for my husband to show up after the race, pondering how I was going to tell my children their father went to New York City to run a marathon and apparently just kept on running away from us.

That was a really fun time. Remember that?

I bring it up, not for the usual reason (I enjoy beating the shit out of dead horses). I bring it up because that night after the marathon we had plans to go to Union Hall in Brooklyn for drinks after the race because the very nice lady who owns it, invited us to come? (But then we couldn't because we ended up in The Meadowlands watching a Lifetime movie....good times. Good times.)

I'm bringing this up because I have lost the email address (and the name) of that nice person and I'm wondering if she still reads this website and can shoot me an email. I need to get her in touch with a friend.

Things I shouldn't even want to write about but here I go.

First my foot would like to apologize for this. Also this. It was just really needing some attention and kind of screwed things up for a little while.

Sorry.

On the bright side my foot feels almost completely back to normal. It feels so good I kind of want to take up tap dancing. That's the other part of me complaining and whining about being ill or in pain. I also like to, after the fact, sit back and talk about how much better I feel. I will never take a healthy foot for granted again. At least until next week.

It's still a little puzzling to think about how all this happened and what exactly caused it. Though Logan assures me it was not cancer or alien surveillance equipment or tabbouleh or even spanakopita lodged in my foot. Between us, I think he's just jealous that foreign foods don't grow in the ball of his foot, especially since his feet do things like carry him running 26.2 miles in a row.

But most of all I am so happy to be keenly unaware of my foot on a minute by minute basis. Feet are very useful but honestly, they're not supposed to need a ton of attention.

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

Something I've wanted to talk about but haven't because it's so stupid to even bring up but if I don't do it it's going to keep swirling around my brain begging to be shared.

Our dentist suggested we buy a Sonicare toothbrush because it's not enough my husband has sent them all to Mexico on vacation 30 to 50 times with his really irritatingly troublesome teeth. No, no, they want us to spend more.

We bought it because Madison's mouth was a disaster area. Within three weeks of her dental cleaning her teeth had collected a ridiculous amount of plaque. By the time we made it to her next scheduled cleaning it was a horror show in her mouth.

If this wasn't exactly the type of thing that will cause our children to kill us in our sleep when they reach maturity and read our websites, I'd show you a picture of her mouth before. But I can't because she's the kind of kid who would kill you in your sleep for putting a picture of her plaque ravaged teeth up on the internet. I wouldn't blame her. It was hard to believe this kid was brushing (albeit half assedly) in the morning, after lunch, after school and at bedtime.

In fact I think the dentist believed we were lying and she actually brushed her teeth with a handful of Skittles.

So even though she has no cavities and I seriously doubted the effectiveness of something claiming to be SONIC! on our teeth. You know, like the MACH 3 razors? What the hell? They're fast? What are you even trying to say?

Within two weeks all the crap on her teeth was gone without a visit to the dentist. My teeth and gums are remarkably cleaner and healthier looking. Best of all, the brush turns itself off at two minutes which prevents the kids from screaming at us every 3.6 seconds, "AM I DONE?????"

We bought this one FYI, although it's cheaper at Costco.
*Please note: we bought it. Was not given to us. I'll always tell you if something was a gift and I decide to share it with you.

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

Another of the things rattling around in my head I really shouldn't need to tell you but I really want to and I can't stop it.

I love the song More Than A Feeling by Boston.
Especially because you can clap with it.
Also because I sing it "HOOOOOKED ON A FEEEEEELING....."
This makes my Logan insane.

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

One more random thing.

The other day I was annoying Logan about something, probably his irrational disdain for mayonnaise, as I am prone to do in the morning as he races around to get to the office. It's a fun little game I play.

Finally when I brought up the pickle thing, how he hates them with the fire of a billion burning suns and that's just irrational.

He shot back, "Why don't you shut your Von Trapp."

Marital Tip: If you feel like you need to tell your spouse to shut his/her pie hole, do it with humor and you may very well get away with it.

Of course your results may vary.

I sort of want to be Barack Obama's New Bicycle.

The Use and Abuse of Black Anger

The Democratic presidential front-runner was talking candidly about the anger that festers in this nation's African-American kitchens and barbershops, a bitterness he said had fueled the most incendiary sermons penned by his former pastor, the Rev. Jeremiah Wright.

"That anger is not always productive," Obama noted. "It keeps us from squarely facing our own complicity in our condition, and prevents the African-American community from forging the alliances it needs to bring about real change.

"At times," he added, the same anger "had been exploited by politicians, to gin up votes along racial lines, or to make up for a politician's own failings."

[Brian Dickerson at Freep.com]

Wait a minute. Wait....who's done that recently. It's right on the tip of my tongue.

Oh Hai Kwame!

None of these go together, I just felt like writing them down.

Games I inexplicably enjoy playing even though I suck at them.

Euchre
Corn Hole (yes, it's a thing.)
Scrabble
Bowling
Trivial Pursuit
Wii Tennis
Whirly Ball

Things that keep happening even though I don't want them to.

Snow days.
Snow storms.
Sinus Headaches.
Winter in general.

Entry from a friend's 9th grade diary that made me laugh.

Boyfriends:
Evan: 3 months
Scott*
Sam: 6 weeks
Matt: 1 day
Andrew*

*= Did not go out, just really like a lot.

Entry from my 9th grade journal which made me want to punch someone in the head.

I realized tonight at 8pm that I hadn't talked even once all day. Literally, I didn't speak at all for the entire day.

No teachers called on me. No one said hello to me. I didn't need to say excuse me to anyone. I didn't order lunch. Everything I did required no speech.

Now that I think about it, I don't usually talk all day. It's amazing how you can be surrounded by people and really have no need to ever talk.

Next page:

Holy Crap I Am Depressing.

Where I've been.

I've been terrible about updating this website and I apologize. I don't know what my problem is exactly, I guess my problem is mainly I have nothing to say.

So I've been writing over at The Buzz Off and every day at Mighty Junior.

I'm also ridiculously enthralled with the Mayor's scandal. I could care less who the mayor of Detroit sleeps with, in fact I think there are worse ways to work off the stress of a high powered position. Like say, spending thousands of taxpayer dollars on your personal entertainment. Oh...wait....he did that too.

But really, having an extra marital affair with your Chief of Staff or whoever else doesn't make you a good person or really all that original. But really it's the least of Detroit's problems.

The introduction to a previously published piece (from 2004) in the Metro Times sums up what's been eating at me about all this.

And that gets to the core of what has always made this an important story — not allegations of philandering, but rather the actions of a mayor willing to ruin the careers of two police officers in order to protect his public image.

Luckily I leave Michigan for the San Francisco on Friday. Where the mayor is....oh wait.

I am the worst sick person you know.

*My sinuses staged a coup last night, they attempted to declare their independence from my face. During the night Nyquil appears to have worked out a peace treaty because so far today my eyes are not watering and my head is not exploding.

I'm about to go to the gym where I am going to take everything very slow. This embarrasses me, so I'm going to staple a sign to my shirt, "Delicate Peace Treaty Between Me And My Sinuses: Low Impact Workout Today. (I'm not just lazy.)"

***

*Max is having tubes put in his ears (again) and his adenoids out on Tuesday. I've been fielding a lot of questions and some I've handled better than others.

"So do they cut off the part of my ears that shows and put a tube there instead?"
"No it's just a teeny tiny tube. No one will see it, they put it right inside your ear. No cuts or anything."
(This would be effective I'm guessing, though not aesthetically pleasing.)

Him: "How do they take my adenoids out? With knives?"
(Uh oh....let's take the focus off knives and cutting!)
Me: "Oh no! No! Not with knives, they use....lasers which aren't like knives at all really."
Him (eyes huge): "You have got to be shitting me. They're putting mother fucking lasers in my mouth? You don't love me at all do you? The last 6 years have been a farce."

So I blew the pre-op pep talk. Hopefully the nice people who do the hospital tour Saturday can help us. This tour is called a Surgical Safari. When I told Max about it he asked if there were monkeys. I said, "Probably not, they might get in the way of surgery." Then he asked if he could at least swing onto the operating table on a vine like Tarzan.

I told him, "Yes".

They give him some sort of pre-anesthesia 'cocktail' that makes him loopy before going under. I'll tell him he just doesn't remember swinging into the OR.

***

*Maddie saw the orthodontist yesterday, an appointment I had long put off because I knew the outcome. $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$.

I was not wrong. She pretty much needs every single orthodontic device ever invented, plus a few I think he just made up. This news gave me a tiny feeling of pity for my parents, something I never, ever allow myself to feel.

As a seven year old, I had to tag along to the orthodontist for my brother. The orthodontist saw me and my teeth (which have been known to shoot out of my face....) and said, "Those are the shittiest teeth I've ever seen! What a mess! I think I could build a career out of those teeth!"

So he told my mother he would do my orthodontic work free of charge provided I could be a case study. So once a month I went in and had my picture taken to show the improvement. I wore about 40 different retainers over the next four years, each one bigger than the last. I think I wore everything on this page at one point.

In fifth grade I threw out my retainer, (the obnoxiously huge Frankel) with my lunch about four times. Twice I found it by digging through the trash cans after lunch. Pleasant! Another time my parents had to pay to replace it. Finally the last time my parents said they weren't buying me another one.

And so, now I have these annoying teeth and a hefty bill for the next two years. The orthodontist said this process should take two years and Maddie keeps saying, "The next two years are going to be pretty hard." I don't have the heart to tell her that my brother's work took all the way through high school graduation. And I wasn't even close to the final step of braces when I threw out my retainer one final time four years into the process.

I'll just leave that part of the story to myself I suppose.

Thoughts after a long drive home.

I always start out a journey in the city thinking how I could live in a city! I could be happy in a city! Then, after a couple days among the crowds I remember how much I hate people. Especially slow moving people. I start out only thinking, "MOVE IT!" and I end up actually saying often audibly, "MOVE IT!" Which means I'd fit right in in New York, but my midwest/catholic-ish upbringing would make me feel like an incredible ass hole every day of my life.

Over this trip Max reminded me why the years 2-4 were so incredibly difficult with him. His overtired-ness mimicked with incredible accuracy his entire toddler hood. Wild mood swings and an inability to move past disappointment. Thankfully he was not constipated like he was as a toddler.

I've always had a thing for men in uniform. I was shocked to learn this (entirely harmless) attraction extended to the gun toting, handcuff bearing security guard at The Rock and Roll McDonald's we stopped at on our way out of town this morning. No one is more stunned and horrified than me. Well, maybe Logan.

Logan has to go to the bathroom a lot. I've always liked to tease him about it, sometimes I've even been annoyed by the many hours the kids and I have waited for him while he makes one, three, eight trips to the bathroom on our outings. Of course when we came home tonight I checked in with Dr Google and was confronted with a great many things this particular symptom can relate to.

I've decided Logan's dying.

Which has now become my New Year's Resolution:

"Make sure Logan doesn't die."

I am only half joking.

She's a yankee doodle dandy.

My third grade teacher wore red, white and blue every single day. I don't know if she was incredibly patriotic or just very practical with her wardrobe.

However, I realized this week I think she is to blame for my very practical and very boring wardrobe.

Which isn't fair since sometimes this teacher would wear a neckerchief or a beret and I have never worn a neckerchief. I wore a beret once in 1985.

I will probably never wear a neckerchief.

Probably.

If only it worked this way a lot of people's problems would be solved.

My friend is telling her six-year-old daughter about the Duggers and how they just welcomed their 17th gift from God.

"That's a lot of babies. I guess she forgot to turn on her period."

This is really long and ends with Rebecca Eckler's lawsuit.

I am currently drowning in tissue paper flowers. At this point I have plenty to decorate the house for our party Saturday and still, I can't stop making them. I want to keep making them. Right now as I type I'm thinking about how I could get more tissue paper to make more flowers. Big ones to hang from the trees outside and in the windows and from the chandelier and I'm going to stick one on the toilet seat too.

Some of them have pointed ends and others are rounded and WOW. I need Logan to be here so I can blabber into his ear all this stupidity.

***

Tonight Logan called from his trip and sounded so happy I thought, "Wow, he must have just sold our house!" But he hadn't. He was about to go into a tiki bar in Florida. A tiki bar he's been talking about going to for the last 7 years since we made a road trip to Kahiki in Columbus, Ohio. Yes, we took a road trip with devoted friends to see a tiki bar.

Before we left, I took a pregnancy test because we'd been trying to get pregnant with Max. Which means we were having TONS OF SEX. It was negative and I was for the second month convinced I'd never get pregnant, because in case you haven't noticed I am fatalistic and also insane.

At Kahiki a lot of things happened. Two friends who are now married with a child spent time together for the first time, a friend said as we sat at our table with a faux "island storm" booming around us, "I think I am, just now, actualized." and I could not drink because every sip tasted similar to esophagus burning acid. The night we got home I took another pregnancy test and then Max came around a little later.

Today Logan called as he walked into this fabled Tiki bar he's waited 7 years to go to. I bitch all the time about my husband getting to do something I don't. Or about how I spent the day at our local recycling center surrounded by garbage and he was going to realize a long held dream without me. But when I heard Logan on the phone telling me he was about to go into this place I felt like I was talking to a 10 year old version of my husband and I wanted to pinch his cheeks and give him a hug. Because I was just happy for him.

Maybe I'm growing up. Nope, still bitching about the house not selling even though it's been on the market for just 9 weeks in a 24 week (average) market.

***

Max has transformed himself into someone's retired 60-something grandfather.

A few months ago we were trapped at the market during a pretty heavy rain/hail storm. We waited a while to leave, but it started to seem like the rain would never stop and I thought, "It's just rain.....we'll make it to the car."

But the rain was a little heavier on the hail side than the rain side. We ran to the car and Max's small brain split in two and he spent the 3 minute drive home screaming hysterically. He was so terrified of the fact that we'd just run through a (pea-size) hail storm for 20 feet.

He's not been the same since.

When I wake up in the morning I find Max sitting in front of The Weather Channel with a furrow in his brow. If the weather report says it will not be raining today he is happy and brightly tells me all about it. If it might rain, Max is upset for the entire day waiting for the rain.

I realize this is a phase but how do you teach a child not to be afraid of the weather? I'd lie to him about the weather, except he knows The Weather Channel is 62.

He also told me not to tell anyone he's freaked out by the rain and I just did it and someday he will sue me for it.

***

Rebecca Eckler is suing Universal Studios because of similarities between her book Knocked Up: Confessions of a Hip Mom To Be and the Judd Apatow movie Knocked Up.

I've gotten several emails about the small part of Eckler's evidence of copyright infringement involving a binky with a martini glass. You can read more about that here (though, I warn you this person is a trainwreck style blogger....read at your own karmic risk).

On Tuesday night my friend Andrea asked if I wanted to go out because she'd been in Ireland and I'd been in San Antonio and we hadn't seen each other in many weeks. Plus she's an awesome friend who knew when I responded to her email inquiry: "How are you?" with "I WANT TO BURN MY HOUSE DOWN AND LEAVE." I needed a break from the house.

As we went out I saw the first email referring to this Eckler Martini issue and I told Logan about it as I walked out, and before seeing what we were talking about I said, "Perfect, we'll sell the rights for [The Exact Price Of Our Home Which Is Not Very Much At All.]" Judd? Call me, I promise I'll answer.

Since reading more, the thing I find ironic about Eckler's claim that this story about an unexpected pregnancy is so very uniquely hers is that she claims the part which convinced her this movie was stolen from her book is the binky around the stem of a martini glass on the cover of the original screenplay (an image which is not being used for the film.....damn because I'd sell the trademark for MY HOUSE.).

I don't have a trademark on all binkies involving a martini glass. I am not the only person who put the 'Chick Lit' martini glass book cover together with a binky which fits my drunken lifestyle. I happen to have a trademark on my specific version and the Momtini name, but otherwise you're all welcome to be influenced by my common idea.

Eckler does not have a trademark or even a copyright on all stories of unexpected pregnancies. Guess what? I took several pregnancy tests before I accepted I was unexpectedly pregnant with Maddie. I think we conceived her after a very inebriated night at the Old Shillelagh. I stole her story too! Well we were married when we conceived her so I'm off.

I guess there is a gray area where influence and copying overlap. I wonder if, since I have been able to procure a US trademark for the momtini logo without issue, perhaps someone at Eckler's publishing house was inspired to put a martini glass with a binky around the stem because of my logo.

It remains I don't own the rights to all pacifier and martini glass imagery.

And it seems to follow Eckler doesn't own all the rights to all unexpected pregnancy stories involving Jewish fathers and women in media.

But maybe I'm wrong and I can sue everyone who ever photographs or illustrates a martini glass with a binky in any form and make enough to get into the house of my dreams. Suddenly I'm all for Rebecca Eckler's plight.

I have eaten my weight in freshly made tortilla chips.

i should know by now that vacationing with children does not resemble what you'd hope a vacation would resemble. I say this in the sense that I've been in 3 museums, a cavern 180 feet in the ground and very nearly killed by zebras who would like to eat the animal feed you have but also your brains, in a drive through safari ranch. I've done all this in the last two days and day two is only now coming to an end.

Right now the children are swimming with Logan and I am sitting down to write but it's awfully difficult to slow my brain down while I'm not at home. Home where I am easily able to slow my brain down because all I'm thinking about is selling my house. Which I AM NOT THINKING ABOUT RIGHT NOW. AT ALL. I was going to just load up a few pictures because I have some nice ones, including a few in the "This Is Melissa Crabby At [Fill In Attraction]" series.

I swear I'm not crabby but Logan waits until I press my lips together to spread my lipstick and I look sort of grumpy. Or he waits until we've spent 10 minutes trying to get a random man on the street to take our picture in front of the Alamo and he keeps hitting the 'self timer' button rather than the shutter button so that we're standing there squinting in the sun thinking this is a lot more trouble than it's worth. There are no pictures I like less than pictures of people in front of the place they are. These pictures tell me absolutely nothing about the vacation other than we stood. in. front. of. the. alamo. Then he says, "Okay just one more!" I look grumpy then.

Fine, maybe I've been a little grumpy a couple of times. If a zebra slobbered on your hand, you might feel a little grumpy too.

I would share those pictures but it appears my connection to the internet is a fickle little pain in the ass and isn't going to let me.

Today as we went to the Children's Museum in San Antonio after a life-saving stop at Rosario's for chips, salsa and sangria. This stop saved us from familial homicide, four ways. I ran into Walgreen's to get a bandaid for my blister. As I stopped  outside to put it on, a homeless woman asked me for some change. I politely declined and continued fiddling with my phone. She asked if she could use my phone and I said, "We're from out of town so the roaming charges are exorbitant."

Which is the polite way to say, "Look lady, I'm crabby not stupid."

Maddie watched this interaction and was visibly concerned I did not help this woman out. I explained that we help homeless people by giving a donation at Christmas to our local shelter and that I would let someone borrow my phone if they were in distress but not just so they can have a chat with Jesus or whomever else they think they've got on speed dial.

We stood waiting for the crosswalk to change and I noticed homeless lady saunter up next to Maddie who was to the right of me. She reached out and *squeezed* my daughter's head and shook it saying something either in another language or in her own created language. Something which did not sound menacing but did sound purposeful.

What has stuck with me about that moment is how unprepared I was for some stranger to put a hand on one of my kids. And how I responded internally with a fiery ball of adrenaline which made me want to scratch this woman's eyes out but I responded outwardly by saying:

"Oh no no no....now let's not do that please."

Like God Damn Mary Fucking Poppins.

*Updated to add: Here are the first of (probably) many Pictures Of Melissa: Crabby On Vacation. Wow, that woman is crabby. (Only I swear I'm not!)

Pep Talk

At the coffee shop between a customer and the very hyper mildly aspergers-y cashier.

"Hello sir how are you?"
"Not so good but this too shall pass."
"I'm uh...sorry. What's wrong?"
"Oh, work."
"Well caffeine will make it better."
"Right."
"At least for a few hours until you have a caffeine induced headache and are all worn out and can't focus. What can I get for you?"

Pie Thursday Has Kicked My Ass.

I arrived at the airport at 8:20pm on Monday, which was much better than my original arrival of 11:45pm. It turns out Northwest Airlines will change your flight time a day before your departure and oh, your actual airline as well. They also changed my flight home but made that a direct flight rather than a flight requiring a 6 hour layover. I told someone this weekend I have a hard time holding a grudge. I guess I am a liar because I have only recently forgiven Canada and now Northwest is feeling the pain. Although I have another Northwest flight set up in two weeks, so enh.

I am running a day behind schedule because when I arrived back at my house Monday night at 10:30, it felt like it should be Sunday. So I've been running as though everything is a day behind. I dropped Maddie off at school late on Monday and then, at 12:30 in the afternoon I still hadn't gotten it together and dropped Max off late. Also I forgot Maddie's lunch and felt like a pretty awesome elementary school mother.

I don't travel well.

I had such a wonderful time in California. I needed a weekend away. I needed to be surrounded by women who make me laugh. I needed to be with the woman who knows how to force me to try on clothes and then purchase said clothes. I needed to be around women who inspire me and fill me up with good things. Like bacon and good ideas.

There are a lot of stories I could tell but the best story is the one where I was walking down the street after an alcohol free breakfast and fell flat on my face. My shoe and ankle gave out and on the hills of San Francisco I tumbled, so hard. I have brilliant bruises on both my knees. The ladies thought I had passed out and I wish I had because I love those guys but holy shit that was embarassing; laying on my stomach on the ground covered in a variety of bags I'd been carrying.

I laid there for a minute and the first thought I had was, "I just threw myself on the ground in front of Dooce."

I'm so behind on just about everything in my life. I have so many ideas and projects going and the time management skills of a toddler. I'm going to get it together in the next week and then! We're going on another trip the week after that so I can be frazzled and insane again. Woo!

The house has not sold. We dropped our price to the point where we're dangerously close to not breaking even. I'm pushing the limits of this market expecting a sale this quick, however as we are all painfully aware, I've been waiting a long ass time for this to happen. Also, THE house I want is now a reasonable possibility. I refuse to lose this house because it is perfect for us in the perfect location and now it's at the perfect price.

Hear me universe!

Logan made my new banner last night and it makes me laugh everytime I look at it. It's from this picture from a night out for my friend Andrea's birthday. It was an unseasonably warm night and everyone in southeastern lower Michigan decided to go to the same restaurant with an outside deck and there was one waitress. One waitress who served all my friends drinks and I was left to sit in a corner and beg with my eyes for just one beer. After an hour she came back to let me know they were out of my favorite beer. That's when we took that picture.

I'm not really silently plotting my escape though. I'm loudly plotting. (SELL HOUSE!)

Question

If you say "fuck" while trying to bury your St. Joseph in the yard, does this negate it's power?

TIA!

Melissa

PS: Thank you Emily for the cute new necklace. It's perfect and definitely full of good luck.

PPS: Logan and I used to go to a bar in Detroit, right near the state fair grounds where throughout the night the bartender would yell out, "Free Blue Shit!" I can't believe I consumed the free blue shit. Whenever I find freebies I feel compelled to scream out, "Free Blue Shit!" Mother's Day Giveaways at the buzz off.

Another Lesson.

So we had three showings last week. The first one came while I was writing that last post and that is why it's untitled. Not for some mysterious and insightful reason, 'It is untitled...because my feelings can not have labels'.

No it's untitled because the real estate company called and said, "An agent and her client are in front of your house, can they come in?"

Thankfully I've gotten into the habit of making all the beds and showering first thing in the morning instead of writing all morning in my pajamas showering just to take Max to school. Though about half the time I throw on workout clothes so that I look like I'm always ".....on the go....." I'm on the go if 'on the go' means sitting in my basement painting all the fucking time.

We got out of the house with all our breakfast dishes and also a cocktail shaker from the night before. And a chef's knife I hadn't washed yet. I wish we'd been in an accident because all these items would have been of great concern to rescue workers.

The agent let my agent know that the house is beautiful and her client was excited until he got to the basement. You recall the Bend Over Bar? I've done a lot of work in the basement since that time and it is actually much nicer with organized storage and even a gift wrapping cabinet....yes. But it's still a space with less than average head room, and this client was 6'5". I started to tell the realtor about the Bend Over Bar, maybe her client is gay? But then let it go.

****

Speaking of school. I've said over and over to always write as if the person you don't want to read it will read it. When I wrote this post, I'm not sure why I wanted the people I was referring to to know they'd hurt my feelings when it was so clearly a tiny blip in the universe and also so clearly a direct result of the fear in my head that the world knew I was from a whole lot of crazy.

It's true, sometimes I use my blog to explain things to people I am not entirely fond of. Sometimes I use it to express my true disdain for them. It's true this behavior makes me far from 'nice' but it's also based on some very real and intense hurts from the past and so I don't feel all that badly about that type of thing. Most of the time when I write about someone in unflattering terms I try to leave out identifying details so that I'm not spreading gossip, just sharing my part of the story. Except for the Creepy Long Haired Swinger and I want him to read this site because then maybe he'll leave me alone (actually, in fairness he has been leaving me alone).

I didn't think through the fact that when writing from the viewpoint I had as a 20 year old girl and revealing the identities of the people I was talking about, I was spreading gossip (something I hate more than painting my kitchen cabinets) and also leaving people with an unfair view of these two girls.

Which would have been fine if no one they know were reading my site but it turns out there are a few mothers from the school who read this site. And someone put together my bitchily rhymed names for these girls I had trouble with 13 years ago with a mom from our kid's class and let her know she should read my blog.

And she did and on Thursday night she emailed me to let me know and I explained and apologized and told her how stupid I was. That I could have easily told that exact story without being a bitch and leaving in identifying details. She said she did not remember that incident and also had no idea what had happened to my father and how I'd flailed about in high school. We talked further and she felt kicked in the gut and also a little silly having the mothers from the class corner her to tell her about this. And I'll bet she also felt a little ridiculous having all these women reading a story so clearly about her when she had no idea.

We've talked and she's been incredibly gracious and more kind than she needs to be. She said, "Let's just move on. Don't apologize anymore. You don't need to apologize."

Which I'm trying to do because that's the most gracious anyone's ever been to me in the face of my bitchiness. Well except my friend Andrea and also Logan. And maybe my sister.

But all weekend I worked in the basement painting cabinet doors. It's funny how your kitchen can have so little storage but SO MANY FUCKING DOORS. As I painted I kept churning the whole situation around in my head. I often do this while I scrub the kitchen floor but the house is already so clean I didn't bother.

The fact that these girls had no idea what I'd been through during high school and yet I felt it was so obvious to everyone. I believed everyone knew and had labeled me 'weird'. I thought about how I make myself feel like the star of my own show and believe everyone is constantly watching and judging me. Like when I almost hurled myself off a sailboat and was then so incredibly embarassed and my friend Jean said, "No one thought a thing about it."

The truth is, when you peel back all the layers of popularity and wealth and all of that stuff that is always a part of high school. The truth is I had no friends not because my father killed himself and I was actually happy about that. I had no friends because I was shy and more awkward than I am now. (I know! Not possible! But it is.) I had no friends because I was afraid people would see I wasn't like them.

I had no friends because I was really deeply sad.

The way I felt about that argument that summer at day camp was so much less about what anyone said or did. It was all about how I was seeing it because I believed everyone knew I wasn't like them.

Something else made my stomach churn all weekend. Why would I be such a bitch? Why did I even want these two girls to see what I wrote. I even said it in my original post, "I'm rhyming their names so they won't find it Googling their names. But if they come across it they'll know it was them."

I read it again after hearing from the mom from school and was stunned. Why did I do that?

As I painted yesterday all day and into the night I practiced saying this to myself.

"Sometimes you are a bitch."

That is a really hard thing for me to say because I don't want to be a bitch. I want to be honest with myself. I want to be up front with the people I dislike or who are offensive to me. I want to learn from my past mistakes and remove myself from relationships or situations which make me bitchy.

And still, sometimes I am still just a bitch.

Photo Booth, don't you stop being you.

Photo Booth saved my Spring Break.

I hate school breaks. I understand Winter Break and I understand Spring Break but I still call bull shit on "Mid Winter Break". I use quotes because Mid Winter Break is a sham. A farce. A big pile of crap.

I can accept Spring Break, everyone needs time off and spring is lovely time to get away from Michigan. Michigan in spring is a tease. One day it's 70 degrees and sunny. No bugs, no humidity....life affirmingly perfect. The next seven days you pay for that one glorious day with 6 days of 30 degrees, gray and potential for snow. I understand people need a break from this.

Mid Winter break has no excuse for being.

During Spring Break, though I accept it's purpose, I realize how close we are to summer vacation and so, it angers me. In just a few more weeks I'll be burning daylight with the Bickerson's for 3 months. I dread it. If they made ProzacSummer®, I would take it.

But this Spring Break, the kids found Photo Booth and life was good. Hours of daylight were burned without intervention from me.

Max!

Sleepover with Erin and Chase.

This is Madison inhaling all the oxygen from the room as she often does when she starts talking.

This is our son BlockHead. Please don't stare.

God Bless Technology. And God Bless The Public School System.

Why I hate buying clothes.

This is the suit I bought (in black, with underwire).

Before I had Max I used to browse the Lands End catalog and think to myself, "Wow that stuff is awfully matronly."

Then I had Max and 6 months later made plans to meet friends in Philadelphia to go to Sesame Place. If you think Chuck E Cheese feels like dying, imagine being at Chuck E Cheese in a bathing suit just 6 months after giving birth. That's dying.

Whenever Madison pulls out the "You like Max better." I remind her of the fact that I exposed thousands of  innocent people from the east coast to my thighs in a bathing suit ALL FOR HER.

I looked at those same Lands End catalogs and thought to myself, "Wow, Lands End has really changed! They're so much more stylish and fresh. I think I'll buy a tankini! How hip!"

But the truth is Lands End didn't really become less Mom-ish, I became more Mom-ish.

The really important part of this story is that I had an anxiety attack as I entered my credit card. I had to talk myself into going through each step of the ordering process. I hate buying things for myself. In part because I have this innate sense that I should not have nice things because I am overweight and also just a mom at home all day.

But then I'm also afraid to shop because I'm afraid I'll like it so much that I'll go back to my old ways. The old ways when the UPS man and I had coffee every morning while he unloaded his truck of packages just for me. The days where I found so many 'bargains' sometimes the bargains would just sit in the basement until I sold them at an embarassing yard sale.

But then I reminded myself of my hair cut and the necklace and how they haven't started me on a wild spending spree but have given me a measure of confidence when I'm out running errands and seeing friends or out with my husband and all the pretty pretty 13 year olds he works with.

Then, I did something really crazy. I bought....a pair.....of shorts.

I haven't worn shorts since 2002, except for one moment of weakness in 2004 when I ran a 5K. I vowed I'd never wear shorts again. I made this vow after seeing a picture of me wearing a pair of shorts at a parade. It was one of those moments where you don't recognize your body and you think, "Did Logan photoshop this picture with my head on someone else's body...as like, a joke?"

But then you realize that is your body with your own head and you look at the Lands End catalog and those cropped pants you thought were so matronly last year, all the sudden look so fresh and hip.

Lands End didn't change. Your ass did.

I actually wore jeans to the beach last summer.

I bought a bathing suit today. A bathing suit I intend to wear in public.

I don't think I need to explain the significance of this.

Horror Vacation.

This week is making my eyeballs fall out of my head. My kids have gotten increasingly bizarre as they spend days and days together. Max has developed an elaborate story of being born to kangaroos in the state of Australia and riding naked on the backs of koala bears.

If you say, "Actually no, you were born in a hospital about 2 miles from our house, in Royal Oak." He vehemently denies this and becomes furious with you. So for now I've adopted my son from kangaroos in Australia. It's funny though because I do have this scar and I could have sworn he came out of it almost six years ago. Perhaps he's confusing being born by c section with being birthed from a kangaroo's pouch.

Midwinter break is the stupidest break ever. I hate it for existing.

On Thursday I took the kids to the African American History Museum. They'd been begging to go for a while and I thought it would be interesting. It really was but Max has a phobia about talking mannequins. Which, I can't say I blame him. We made it past all the talking mannequins and past the replica of the slave holding cells with mannequins chained in a dark scary cell and onto the replica slave ship which carried all those people to America (and other countries) in hellish conditions. We read about it and heard a recording of a man wailing as he was branded.

And then we heard the story of a woman who was hung upside down for three hours and beaten because she refused to dance naked for the captain and crew of the ship. She died during this attack and when the captain was tried for the crime, he was found 'not guilty', despite alarming evidence otherwise.

And wow, we've talked about the lady who wouldn't dance naked a lot this week. And the branding soundtrack. Sometimes we talk about it late at night while we cry. Wooo!

So after being on the deck of the ship replica, I decided it might be a good idea to, move on, because my kids were having a difficult time taking in all of this information. So was I, but my brain is just slightly bigger and at least a little more able to comprehend the monstrous things human beings can do to one another.

So we went down the stairs, the only way out of the exhibit, under the deck where the slaves were stored like cattle. Worse than cattle. It was dark in the room and on nothing but shelves, bodies were lined up heads out toward the passageway. The sound of the man on deck being branded seemed to be piped into the small chamber. The minute I saw the bodies I knew all hell was about to break loose on my kids. Maddie started to cry, Max covered his eyes and put his coat hood up.

I tried to explain that this was just a replica, this really happened and can you imagine how awful it must have been for those poor people? But these are just mannequins, they're just here to show us how awful it was. But I have to admit, in the dark it felt like we were really looking at bodies piled into a ship. I worried one would be animated like some of the other mannequins in the exhibit and my children would die on the spot.

Pretty much I took my children to a horror show. Which I guess I should have realized it would be because it's a pretty horrific slice of history. But then, as we have established, I'm not always the brightest bulb (please see: "The sink is dirty? We must get a new one!").

We finally made it to the civil rights movement, which was less scary since they know about Martin Luther King Jr. and the march on Washington and Rosa Parks and Ruby Bridges. Of course then we saw video footage of the city of Detroit burning in the riots. Then footage of soldiers in tanks driving along in the street as children watched. And Maddie watched with her mouth hanging open as she realized war actually can come to our country and Wow! I picked a really fun outing for an 8 year old. It got even better when she got to hear about the little girls in Alabama.

It's not that I believe in sugar coating reality for my kids, but I do believe in giving them information as they are able to process it. I'm not convinced the kids were able to process this kind of suffering and violence at 8 and 5 years old.

We survived the "And Still We Rise" exhibit and went into a gallery. Art! I thought. Art won't be so scary! And the kids were ready for some relief and it looked bright and colorful in that gallery so we went in. Oh! This is the "Unmasked! Stereotypes in American Material Culture" exhibit. Okay. How will this go?

We see a notepad attached to a frame made in the shape of a heavy black woman with a mop and a head scarf. Madison looks at it and says, "Oh! That's a cute idea!"

And I am thinking, as other families mill about the exhibit, "Oh. My. God. Explain this! How do I explain this????"

So I explain that the problem with these items is that they make people think that all people with black skin are like this. Are like slaves. Have wide noses and are always looking kind of happy to serve others. I said, "I kind of think a lot of these things were a way for white people to feel okay about treating black people badly."

Maddie looks at me and at the stuff in the glass display and says, "Well if it was a white person instead I think it's a cute idea to have a notepad on top of a person like that."

Well, okay.

There's a whole section devoted to watermelon and African Americans and in explaining to my children why this is offensive I ended up telling them about a stereotype they were previously entirely unaware of.

Madison: "So is it mean to eat watermelon?"
Me: "No. But it's bad to assume someone likes watermelon just because their skin is a certain color."

[To Myself: "Wooo! Good answer! Please let the rest be this easy to explain."]

Next we see a black lawn jockey. Maddie looks and, still trying to understand what the problem is, says, "I think that would be so cute if it was a little white kid you could stick on your lawn for a decoration....like maybe with one of those stone dogs next to him."

Now I've terrified my children with the story of slavery and the often demonic acts of many white Americans and I've given them some stereotypes they never would have come up with on their own to mull over.

Midwinter break is kicking my ass.

I'm thinking over spring break we'll head to the Holocaust Memorial Center for more big fun!

PS: Mississippi? 1995? Really? You didn't feel comfortable formally abolishing slavery until 1995? Could you do me a favor and give it to the US Archivist and make it official? You've had a long time to think it over and it might be a nice gesture. Don't look smug Kentucky, 1972 isn't much better.

I know I know I know I know

I know I said I was done....but you can blame Meredith (not Viera) and Elenor (thanks!) for tipping me off to this video of Meredith Viera, the little tart, on The Daily Show.

First joke: "I wake up at 3 in the morning....have my first drink by 3:15...."

Oh you little weasel Meredith Viera.

Is the reason Meredith is so hesitant to say mothers can function as responsible parents after one or two drinks because she has a drinking problem?

(Disclaimer: I am joking. Unless Meredith Viera wasn't joking and actually does have a 'refresher' to get up in the morning. In which case she is possibly a bad mother and also a raging alcoholic. Otherwise my speculation should be ignored. Oh Meredith, you and I are going to BFF by the time I'm done with this topic.)

Yesterday Isabel from AlphaMom emailed me this link to the Huffington Post. Debra Condren, PhD and author of amBITCHous, relays her experience with an evening news program splicing her long interview into something which did not encompass her book's message or her personal beliefs at all.

My mouth gaped open and I once again praised the lord above that I was not pretaped for that segment because my mouth goes and goes and goes and could easily be spliced together to make it appear that I am in fact advocating motherly drunken orgies.

Which I am clearly advocating, but I didn't want to say that on national television.

There were some striking similarities, right down the follow up email from the producer of the segment.

Condren's post though, points out an even more global issue I tried to get to but ended up frothing at the mouth about my specific issue.

This part really jumped out at me. But maybe that was because I'm drunk!

"Instead, we saw yet another socially sanctioned misogynistic cultural split: nice, lovely, successful woman vs. mean, bitchy, unattractive women. One or the other, with no continuum, no spectrum, nothing in between. Not unlike the Madonna/whore split, or pitting working moms against stay-at-home moms. How very stereotypical--but that's sensationalistic, dumbed down t.v., designed to appeal to the lowest common denominator. Are we viewers really incapable of intelligent, critical thinking? Is it too much to ask for serious, sophisticated programming that educates rather than sends us slumming?"

Apparently, it is. We have to make it easy for America to know what is good or bad in their eyes by simplifying every issue into a black and a white. And then, they can hurl their anger/judgment/blame at the opposite side, because that is incredibly useful.

I promise this is the last time. Unless someone else sends me a video of Meredith wearing a baby in a Baby Bjorn, cigarette in hand while doing a beer bong. Better yet? Dr. Janet Taylor in a similar situation. If someone sends me that I won't just write about it, I'll come and make out with you.

What's that godfather line....the 'pulling me back in' one?

I know I said that was my last post about all this. But the Today Show did it again and as we all know I have a pathological need to have the last word. Some day I'll give you the psychoanalytic reason for this but today we need to discuss this one last time. I hope this is the last time.

Best line from this morning's Today Show revisit of the stupid Drink at Playgroup topic [link when available][It's up now.]:

Email question: "My husband and I split a beer at dinner in front of our children....."

Stefanie Wilder-Taylor: "....that's not responsible drinking, both those people need their own beer."

Perfect. Hilarious. Loved It.

My friend elaborated: "Yes, if you can only have half a beer, please work on your tolerance for crying out loud."

She's irish just like me.

Also I loved how Stefani knew not to fall asleep during her appearance. So media savvy that one. I thought you were supposed to close your eyes on tv. I'm from the midwest.

The other thing I thoroughly enjoyed was the part where, during the lead in, Matt Lauer asked Meredith Viera what her opinion about cocktail playdates is. Remember when I said Meredith choked on a turd when I joked about selling my son on Ebay? I think she choked on another when asked for her opinion and actually said, "Well, you're putting me on the spot."

I think I had an orgasm at that point.

I am trying to remain positive about today's revisit of the topic. It was much more a sane and reasonable discussion than the one I had a couple weeks ago. Actual questions were asked of Dr. Janet Taylor, so, you know, that was a welcome and refreshing change.

When asked to defend her opinion that mothers should never drink, even one drink, when they are primary caregivers (which is actually all the time), she realized there were a few holes in her position so maybe she should actually stop being a robot and speak like a human being.

That maybe instead of assuming women are so stupid they don't know how to control themselves, maybe we should do things like "Be aware....." drinking to relieve stress or to self medicate can be a problem.

Yes! Absolutely! Hey! I wanted to have this discussion a couple weeks ago!

According to the producer Dr Janet Taylor did not change her opinion. Which is a lot like saying my appearance would not be a 'debate'. It's like a whole other reality for The Today Show. In The Today Show world I am 110 pounds and 6 feet tall, even though I am not either of those things in The Regular World. I love it there. I wish I could live there. 

I would only like to add this:

When Dr.Janet Taylor was asked why this is such a hot button issue. I disagree that it's entirely a situation where women are very afraid of being called a bad parent.

I think it's a hot button issue because a lot of women are tired of being told the lie. The lie that they are not capable

As Alice said: "We need to be watched. We need to be told what to do. We must be monitored, judged, and corrected."

Main stream media is invested in this message for a variety of reasons someone else could probably dissect more intelligently than I can.

Dr. Janet Taylor's message was meant to be so extreme the first time so that it fanned the flames of the ongoing war between mommies. I suspect, due to her ongoing relationship with The Today Show, she was actually told to be polarizing, and I also suspect today she was told to be a little more reasonable. Today, instead of assuming women can not have a drink and also "be aware" of the signs of problem drinking, she realized it seems, that women are not babies. We can actually "be aware" and not be told that we 'underestimate the effects' of just one drink.

I think there are people who will always think drinking is wrong. There will always be people who can't differentiate between having a few drinks and being drunk and out of control. I think there will always people who associate social drinking with violent alcoholism they may have grown up with. I think there will always be people who believe the best way to teach minors to abstain is to abstain yourself. Those people are wonderful mothers and imperfect people.

I don't think drinking is wrong. I think there is a huge difference between a few drinks and being drunk and out of control. I see a huge difference between social drinking and violent alcoholism. I think modeling responsible drinking is a way to teach your children to be responsible social drinkers when they are of legal age. I am a good mother and an imperfect person as well.

I am tired of The Lie and I know a lot of other people who are as well.

PS: Hey! Meredith would like your jokes. I asked for your jokes a few weeks ago. First they use something remarkably similar to my trademarked logo, now this. Maybe Meredith really wants to be my friend. We'll be like sisters!

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.

Pizza is bad for you too when you really think about it.

Last night at family pizza night with beer and pizza and children all at once. We ate the pizza away from the children because we didn't want them to see us consuming so much cheese at one sitting.

Me: "I thought it was good. She talked pretty fairly about what's good about it and what the risks can be."

Her: "Yeah. Plus she never mentioned the beer bong and body shots. Phew."

This is a good place to apologize to people who use AOL, because after my time at Blogging Baby I started to think that AOLers were a little light-brained. Mostly because every time there was a Britney story on the site and AOL picked it up the comments would be along the lines of "BRITNEY IS A HORE!!!!!" or "Stop picking on Britney ur all stopid!!"

From that sampling, I thought AOLers weren't the smartest bulbs in the pack. Or maybe they were smart, but just didn't like to think beyond the caps key.

Given that assumption of mine, you can imagine how I cringed when the kids and I got back home yesterday afternoon and there were 32 emails from AOL users in my inbox. I started reading and the reaction was overwhelmingly positive and even the ones writing to tell me how very wrong I am were gentle enough and well thought out that, although I still disagree with their basic premise, they gave me pause to consider why I dismiss their basic premise.

I had an epiphany while reading all the email I've been getting. Someone wrote me about how she just couldn't set a good example for her teenaged son if she drank at all and she warned me it would be the same for me.

So I replied, "Thanks for sharing your story. I'm glad you found what works for you and your family. Good luck!"

And that's really all that needs to be said.

The hair is the best, that's all that matters. Right?

First of all: Here's what happens when you think Cocktail Playgroups are a good idea.

Oh My God you Guys I would totally write this now but I'm totally SHIT FACED!!!!! And the kids are staring at me while I do it! Look at this example I'm setting for them! I had three beers in three hours and now? I'm SO WASTED!!

Woops! Sorry honey, mommy just fell down! Can you help mommy up!? Where's my drinks honey? What do you mean this is the toy fridge? Madison, be a dear and fix mommy another Momtini?

Zzzz....no...nooo...honey Mommy's just resting her eyes.

Yes the New York Times revealed today that sometimes 'Mommies' are also 'Grown Ups' and they may share an adult beverage or two. Sometimes RIGHT IN FRONT OF CHILDREN!!! But please don't worry, they only drink beer, wine or cocktails after they shoot up in front of the children because we need the children's help to keep the needle steady.

No no no. I think Stacy Lu handled the topic with balance. She shared the risks of drinking, drinking in general has the same risks actually and also shared the idea that perhaps mothers having a cocktail together is just another example of mothers just being people.

No my comments are in response to the first round of comments at Blogging Baby, where I have a history with the Righteous Indignation of middle America.

The last comment I read was actually a decently provocative one, where someone suggested that drinking wasn't the problem but teaching kids that alcohol is a way to relax might be. I take that to heart and so I'm having a masseuse come to my house every day before I crack open any alcohol.

No, but really I do take that comment to heart because I think that's something to be mindful of as a parent. (This was not sarcasm.) (No really.) (See everytime I say it's not sarcasm you think, 'See? She's being sarcastic!') (But I am not being sarcastic. I think there is the risk that you send your kids the message that drinking = relaxing no matter if you drink with other moms or with your husband each night. It's something I think about.)

This as opposed to Tina before that comment, who said, [I added caps so I can imagine Tina SCREAMING AT HER COMPUTER]

"HAVE YOU PEOPLE LOST YOUR MINDS? WAKE UP! KIDS DO WHAT THEY SEE. THEY LEARN BY EXAMPLE. KEEP DRINKING DURING PLAYDATES...THEN MAYBE YOU CAN ALL GET TOGETHER IN THE ER A FEW YEARS FROM NOW WHEN ONE OF THEM WRAPS THEIR CAR AROUND A TREE IN A DRUNKEN STUPOR....LIKE THEIR MOM TAUGHT THEM TO DO."

I'm always teaching my kids to wrap their cars around trees in a drunken stupor because everyone knows having a drink or two as an adult of legal drinking age in moderation means we're all totally shit-faced and then driving our cars around trees.

When our kids do that we'll have to look at each other and say, "Wow, we taught our kids to do that. We should be very very proud of us....Want to have a drink?"

But imagine this? I'm not sure I mind if my kids model my behavior. When they're adults, if they would like to enjoy a drink with friends, I hope they model my behavior and do just that. I hope they don't drink to the point of being drunk and I hope they're responsible drinkers when they're old enough to partake. That's what we're modelling really. We're modelling that with less wrapping of cars around trees and trips to the ER.

Right after I was interviewed for that piece, I asked my girlfriends if they wanted to be photographed for the piece at a cocktail playgroup. One of my friends brought up her concerns that the public would judge us (check out Flogging Baby for that) and that maybe the Times wouldn't portray us the way we'd like. At first I bristled with irritation ('Screw everyone!' I thought) but then, when I had to promise everyone, "It won't happen that way." I found I couldn't really promise that.

We all remember the Mommyblogging piece? The one Alice called "Vaguely damning". The thought of putting my friends in a picture where the Flogging Baby people could judge them left me uneasy and the thought of a picture of one of my friend's kids peering at an ominous wine glass in a national paper makes me want to throw up so I told Sandra we weren't interested. I almost changed my mind a couple of times but really? I just couldn't do that to them, I didn't want that over my head.

Not long after that interview, Logan and I went up to the Clarkston Union for Oktoberfest. While there we saw a crowd of mostly parents having a beer or two while their kids jumped in the moonwalk, or danced to the band or waited for face painting.

(Funny aside, the band that day was  Strum Diggity who does not have a website. It's a kid's band led by a very nice lady who recognized Logan from this site and introduced herself after she was done singing. And then? It turns out she was the college roomate of Xiobahn. The world is very small unless you want to floss all the teeth in the world.)

And I wondered, what the hell is the difference here? Parents, responsibly imbibing. No one is stumbling or vomiting. We're just being people at a little festival...and we have kids.

Given that we're talking about drinking in moderation, like real right grown ups. Let's say we're talking about the generally accepted guideline of about one drink an hour. I'm just not sure it's something worth getting worked up about.

I love that site I just linked and how it points out all the hip slang for being drunk!

"Other words for being intoxicated include getting pissed, loaded, smashed, hammered, buzzed, sloshed, wasted, wrecked, ripped and just plain drunk"

I predict a night before the end of the year where I end up saying to Logan, "You know what!? I am Jush Plain Drunk." (Never fear! I will not be 'Pissed' in front of the children. Imagine what would happen then.)

I think what I'm realizing is how when discussing mothers sharing a few drinks, people's personal beliefs and experiences with alcohol come into play.

If you believe a drink = being shit faced. Then yes, you're going to have a huge problem with moms having drinks. If you grew up with a rageful alcoholic, you might tie alcohol to those behaviors and so all drinking might be 'bad' to you. Keeping those things in mind as I face the judgements of the internet kind of helps.

So much of what the internet thinks about you is how they perceive you through the filters of their own experiences.

Now that we've gotten the alcohol aspect out of the way, I also want to talk about another thing I said during that interview (which was ON THE PHONE! New readers: I don't like the phone. Or hugs.).

"It might just be a way of weeding out the mothers who are righteously indignant about what other people do. I know I don’t need more mothering guilt or mothering judgment in my life.”

You don't need to have a cocktail to do that, in my group of girlfriends it just cut through a lot of bull shit. If you think women who have a beer in front of their kids are irresponsible asses, you and I aren't going to be able to be friends. (FYI: If you're a baby eating Presbyterian, we're not going to be friends either.)

Not because I need you to love beer (or wine or cocktails) but because if a beer freaks you out then you're probably not going to like the fact that I am depressed and am on and off medication. You're also not going to like the fact that sometimes? I don't like my kids and I think they're being whiney brats and I want to put them to bed at 3pm or sell them on Ebay.

Last year we were standing outside the preschool and a woman was standing with my group of friends. We were talking about our weekend, the weekend where Logan as a shriner (in fairness to the anti-drinkers...that was a night it was actually good there were no children around. Whoa.) had gotten his fair share of Halloween. He left the first party we were at to go to a second party with one of my friends, I went home because I can't go that long. At parties. 

My friend mentioned the ugly hangover she'd had the next day and the ride home they'd had to get from the party's (sober) hostess. We laughed about it, because in our world, everyone cuts loose sometimes.

The look of disgust on the other mother's face was so distinct I wondered if someone hadn't farted.

She didn't even attempt to hide her feelings saying, "You went to a party with her husband?"

Because going to a party together means you are having an affair. That's all it can mean.

And then, after she was done judging us for our open marriage, she said, "Wow, drinking? I guess you just kind of outgrow that kind of partying at some point. I mean, I just don't see the point."

It's true, I don't drink like I used to. We don't party like we used to. But we do drink and we do go to parties. And in that one brief conversation I knew this woman and I would never, ever be friends. Not because she chooses not to drink or go to parties anymore now that she's married with children.

We kind of couldn't be friends because it seemed, from her incredulous comments, that she didn't understand how people could incorporate versions of their former selves into their current life as mothers and wives.

Her life included tea and cookies at playgroups and quiet nights at home with her husband marvelling at the fruit of their loins and anything outside of that? Is Not. Normal. As I said, I've got enough guilt and angst in regards to my life as a wife and mother, I don't need help adding to it.

I don't want people like that in my life and if serving cocktails gets rid of those people faster? I'm happier because of it.

Let's have a cocktail.

Also? I got my hair cut and I just can't say enough nice things about it. I am in awe of what a razor can do to eliminate the mushroom. As my new hairdresser cut my hair, he said, wiping a drip of sweat from his brow (with the effort of it all), "Wow, has anyone ever told that for fine hair you sure have a lot of it."

I replied, "No...no one's ever told me that but...I think I love you."

Alex of Alex Emilio salon (new website: now) on Main street south of Fourth cuts the hair of many mothers I know. If you live in the Royal Oak area, I'm going to strongly urge you to call him.

Today while he cut my hair he asked what I do for a living. I said, "Well I write for a couple of websites. You've heard of blogs?"

And he replied, "Wow. That's great."

So he wasn't listening to me and still I don't care because this cut is amazing.

.....

I think the world just needs to shut up for the most part because while I don't actually want to keep my head buried in the sand like a moron, I also can't keep idly thinking about what makes men hurt little girls (and boys) over and over and over because I just can not take it. The issues which have brought us to a time when men break into schools (twice in a couple of weeks) to kill young girls, are far too huge for me, with my very small brain, to really comprehend or theorize about or even understand.

I don't want to believe that the issue goes beyond a few very disturbed individuals with very disturbed upbringings. But it gets harder and harder for me to believe that, since not only are there a number of random attacks there's also a much more horrifying number of bad things happening to children who know, love and trust their abusers. And still, I take in all this information and all these theories and none of it really matters in a day to day sense.

I don't understand what's happened or how we've ended up here.

I realize how little control I have, I've realized a long time ago how I can't protect my children from bad things happening. I can follow my gut and I can teach them about being safe and owning their bodies and I can listen to them and protect them at all costs when I know they're being hurt and I can make them secure in the truth of the protection I will give them at all costs. I can't make bad things not happen, but I can make them strong and sure of themselves and make them certain of my willingness and ability to speak for them when they can not.

That's the only control I really have. That's the only thing I know for sure.

And still it bothers me because sometimes I feel like it's inevitable that something bad will happen to my children. Probably not a milk man who storms into their amish schoolhouse, since I'm not amish and have no plans to become amish, but there will be other people who could hurt them.

That really nice coach or the really personable dad of a friend everyone loves, are probably the worries I would serve myself better with. I'm not complacent but among my close group of 5 friends, 2 of us made it into adulthood unscathed by someone else's sexuality but then 3 of us were abused in some way by men we looked up to/trusted/loved as little girls. And, it's important to note: none of us told anyone. Then, when you look at my extended group of Internet Peers, we're looking at even larger numbers.

I don't know how else to take in this newest information. As a mother, I can't think very much about the reason men use girls for their sexual satisfaction, because my brain explodes with the societal implications of that.

I will not take my children to the park at the end of my street and spend the hour we're there fearing the predators who might cast their eyes on my children's incredible beauty and be compelled to snatch and abuse them. I won't stop putting their pictures on the internet because someone may view their beautiful cheeks and want to do horrible things to them. I still believe those types of attacks on children are the exception and not the rule.

People have always done horrible things. There have always been murders and rapes and molestations. Sometimes though, I worry that something has blurred the line in how we look at girls. My brain is not capable of making sense of it all, I'm only able to cry about all of this. It's complex and no one knows how to fix it and maybe there isn't a way to fix it.

I want to simplify that statement with all kinds of societal blame but I can't because it's not simple. And that scares the shit out of a lot of people. Including me.

[Warning: spoilers! If you live under a rock!]

Sunday night I did something crazy. I sat on the sofa and watched a movie and only watched a movie. I did just one thing, my laptop wasn't open. I wasn't searching for stories. I wasn't writing entries. I wasn't folding laundry or knitting or browsing a magazine.

I just watched a movie and Logan, even though he knew I was watching the movie, had to stop himself from telling me what just happened immediately after it happened. Because that's what he's used to doing while we <fingers>watch</fingers> a movie <fingers>together</fingers>.

Sunday night we happened to watch Brokeback Mountain, so Logan attempting to narrate the film to me was amusing.

Did you know? These two seemingly heterosexuals, loved each other and had sex and Heath Ledger had a clenched jaw because he was closed up emotionally. Logan made sure I knew it even though I was actually watching the movie this time. "See, they love each other....they're about to make love. Oh man....the rancher knows.....oh GOD! His wife saw them kissing."

You can't blame him, normally I'd catch the cowboys kissing out of the corner of my eye, "HEY HEY HEY! What the hell!? Wah?"

But now life is different. I can actually watch movies about men in love but still conflicted, like a normal person without thinking to myself: "Gee...I wonder if any celebrities have had babies in the last five minutes."

Instead I watch a movie alternately questioning my feelings about homosexuality and giggling like a school girl as naked men jump off cliffs together.

I don't know when I decided being gay was not a big deal. I grew up with incredibly homophobic parents and no one told me being gay was okay. But somehow by the time I'd reached 18 I didn't think that much about homosexuality. I think I watched that movie An Early Frost in the mid-80's with Aidan Quinn, who'd won me over in Desperately Seeking Susan. That was really my only experience with a gay man. Except for 'Miles' in middle and high school who was not gay in middle or high school but I would bet my house is actually gay today.

I didn't think being gay was all that different from being straight but I was still jarred when seeing men or women holding hands or kissing in public. I never thought, "That's a SIN." Thank you catholic schooling which left my father completely disillusioned with organized religion. I had a similar reaction when seeing a mother breastfeeding a child many years ago. I was more surprised to see these things, I never thought they were wrong. Much like I reacted to this hat. God, what a provincial asshole I can be.

However, I always knew it was my issue to deal with. I always knew I was shocked or uncomfortable with homosexual PDAs and that was just one step further than I was willing to go at the time. Brokeback Mountain pushed a few buttons of mine, but overall it told the story it set out to tell and it came at a time I was open to questioning my views on homosexuality a little deeper.

It's a love story. A story of people in love who choose to remain apart because of other obligations. Logan pointed out last night, "It's like The Bridges of Madison County...only with two guys."

Yes, yes we watched The Bridges of Madison County 10 years ago and I'd be lying if I didn't tell you we both cried like little babies afterwards. We felt depressed after watching it and not just because we'd watched the sappiest movie ever filmed. The kind of movie my mother would declare 'Phenomenal'. Hold on there Mr Eastwood, my mother saw John Tesh Live and declared it 'Phenomenal' so put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Though that's all depressing on it's own, no, we felt depressed because people who loved each other were not able to be together.

After watching Brokeback Mountain...we have two kids, careers and life to worry about so we aren't going to feel depressed for days like we did after watching Clint Eastwood look forlorn in his shabby but chic classic pickup truck. However, we did think about the movie all day.

I believe people love regardless of what makes other people comfortable. Other people's love is as worthwhile as mine. In fact, the love Logan and I share makes certain people uncomfortable and we very rarely engage in anal sex. So it just goes to show you: we're not all that different than homosexuals. Who we choose to love can make other people cringe and can make other people question God and All That Is Holy.

And still we love each other in spite of all that, no matter how uncomfortable it makes other people.

*Hey, can you remind me to bring limes to playgroup tomorrow? Thanks.

Not Chicago.

Logan was supposed to be shooting a car catalog this weekend. He's gone to fabulous places to do this in the past. Places like Utah and Lake Tahoe. He's also gone to places which aren't so much fabulous as they are warm when it's terribly cold here like Arizona.

I don't complain as much about his trips anymore because whenever I do I get this answer. Plus, in the past when I complained about his trips, like the New York City trip where he ended up front row at The Producers, I was mostly just jealous because I never got to go anywhere. At this point our frequent flier accounts are growing at a pretty similar pace so I just don't have as much to complain about.

Logan's trip to Chicago for the photo shoot was canceled and this happened because on Tuesday I told the kids we'd be meeting dad in Chicago so we could go to the aquarium and a few museums with the plus of a free hotel room to crash in.

The trip was canceled promptly on Wednesday which means I spent the rest of the week explaining to Max that I was wrong and we're not going to Chicago this weekend. Which meant no dinosaur bones or dolphins. This is the equivalent of telling a teenaged child there will be no phone privileges for the next 3 months. Devastating blow.

On the bright side, since we weren't traveling to Chicago we invited friends over for a little Cinco De Mayo celebration which involved Logan fiddling with tequila cocktails. If you're ever invited to a party at my house I suggest you pace yourself with the drinks and also stockpile vats of Gatorade to consume before you go to sleep.

I've begun capping off all our gatherings with vats of Gatorade and no hangover, just a painfully full bladder off and on throughout the night.

Coming soon, but not right now because my turn out of the house is nearly over: Another chance at Chicago! Also let's shop together because of Chicago and also Blogher! I have a head start but let's talk more tomorrow.

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?

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.

Hooray! My favorite topic....being fat!

Well Jesus, this has gotten into my bones. (For this post, which is being frantically written before playgroup, to make sense you have to read this.)

I've talked about my weight before and it continues to be an issue. I'm working out and trying to make some subtle changes but the thought of obsessing over my body is just, not working for me. Instead I"m obsessing over how disgusted I am with myself, so that's incredibly productive.

So I read the piece at Morphing into Mama and I went and read this piece as well. Logan and I have had several of these types of 'Don't you love me enough to be your best physically?' conversations and I hate them.

It's sort of ironic because Logan's weight loss and obsession with his appearance and also his obsession with mine has made me less attracted to him frankly. So we're in the same boat I guess. Was it false advertising that he wasn't metrosexual when we met and now is? That he wasn't so superficial then but is now?

I've lost my ability to be cohesive, it's this that's sucked me dry.

I didn't weigh 110 pounds on my wedding day because I was trying to lure a man in. I dated a total of 3 people before Logan, I wasn't exactly luring anyone in. I was an insecure girl, recovering from an eating disorder, who honestly wasn't all that hungry most of the time.

I worked about as hard at being 110 pounds as I do at being the massive weight I am now. I didn't give it a whole lot of thought by the time I met Logan. Yes, I worried in the back of my head what would happen as I got older. But I didn't count calories and I didn't spend hours at the gym and I ate McDonald's in my car every day on my 50 mile commute.

I know why I've gained this weight and it's not because I disrespect myself. For all the self loathing I'm filled with, I like myself a whole lot more than I did at 20.

I gained all this weight because I care about working out and limiting my eating (and more importantly drinking) habits about as much as I did when I weighed 110 pounds. Which is: not all that much.

What's changed? Not my desire to be attractive. In fact nothing has changed except my time is no longer my own, my metabolism has changed over time and I have not changed all that much to compensate for those things.

I was lazy then and I'm lazy now. My body was able to compensate for that laziness when I was young, now I'm older and my body grew fat cells while I was pregnant it's just more than happy to refill.

I just wanted to be then and I just want to be now. Only now just being means being unhappy with my appearance. It has nothing at all to do with what I was willing to give my husband before and what I'm willing to give him now.

The weight is hard enough for me to process alone, much less with the guilt factor heaped on top of it. Yes my husband married me when I was 110 pounds. He also married me before I had kids and before I was 30 and before a lot of other things happened to both of us. What's especially amusing is if you asked my husband if he'd want me to be the same person I was at 110 pounds I have no doubt he would say no. He loves the person I am now far more. Because I know who I am more, I have less insecurities (which I know is impossible for you to believe Internet...I know!) and I am more sure of who I am and where I fit in this world. I wish I could have it all but I'm finding it hard to believe I could be that thin (and do all the work being that thin would now require of me) and who I am now.

I have more to say about this but I can't right now I have to go.

[It's important to note: at the end of this post I acknowledged that Logan had apologized and admitted that his issue with my weight was more his than mine. I didn't bring it up because of Logan (who has said next to nothing about my weight since that September debacle.]

Pre Trip thoughts.

Has anyone else pondered how ridiculous it is to send me to a foreign country considering I can't even make a phone call without intensive psychotherapy afterwards?

Have I mentioned how I've had two business calls and one conference call in the last two weeks? Of course I didn't, I've been in recovery since then.

I have so much advice from lovely Internet people about what to do while I'm there. I have the advice in an email folder.

Everytime I'm about to visit a city I'm unfamiliar with my head explodes because I can't even wrap my brain around a city where things are happening all over the place. I just can't even behold it. A place? Where things are happening? And the zoo isn't under threat of being closed because of some stupid city council people?

I just can't imagine it. Is this Disney World?

The advice I've gotten is so good. Not just the places to see but also the foods to eat. I loved the advice to look into the canal houses without shame. Also someone (thanks Amy!) suggested looking at the Hema store which is like Target because she likes to check out everyday life in the places she visits. She said this like it was a 'weird' thing.

(How awesome would it be if I could bring home a cake from Hema for Max. The robot one, no wait, the elephant! perfect.)(I just realized this is like Ikea....only target-ish. I died. I'm dead.) (Don't let me go to this place.)(Then again maybe I have to go to report for the Flog.)(I don't even know what this is but I need it.)(Never mind, don't let me in this place. Seriously.)

I do the same thing except that I end up missing a lot of cool thing while I try to 'fit in' in a city I can never quite get a grasp of. I won't make that mistake in Amsterdam but I have in other cities I've visited.

Sometimes the only way to 'see' a city you're not going to get back to for a very long time is to do the tourist thing. Which is why I am so pleased Alice is bringing her dad on this trip. He's got itineraries and a grasp on what order to do things, whereas I've looked at all the books from the library right before I fall asleep each night for the last two weeks. Then I dream I forgot my camera, which is remarkably upsetting.

There is something very stressful about this trip for me. When I get to do something Logan doesn't, like go to Vegas with friends, and I spend family money to do it I feel such intense pressure to have as much fun as possible. To make this trip worth every single penny: both the pennies from the Holland Board of Tourism and the pennies from our always shrinking savings account.

So here's to me not squandering our family's money and seeing and doing as much as I can in Amsterdam. Also here's to me not smoking pot while I'm with Alice because Alice is very, very funny.

I have smoked pot, maybe two handfuls of times. The one time it really hit me I could not stop laughing until I thought I'd lost my mind and had to go to bed to stop the laughing.

I fear the combination of pot and Alice would actually send me into a manic psychosis and I don't think I want to visit an Amsterdam mental hospital. I mean, ideally, I don't. Soaking in the locals way of life is one thing. Hanging out with the mentally ill: not all that appealing.

James Frey and his 999,998 pieces of things you can believe in.

I would like it stated that, although I have read about the lyrics of My Hump, or is it My Humps? See, look how uninterested I am. I would like it noted that I have no idea how one would hum that song. I have no idea what the words are. I have heard it twice and each time I have been able to shut it out of my mind. It does not make it's way into my psyche.

The only explanation for this is: I am a Jedi Knight, because there is no way to resist the "unfiltered evil as we are likely to see in this world" that is My Humps. The Force is strong with me.

The James Frey thing has also been on my mind lately. Last week we had a Girls Night In (as we often do when a spouse is out of town)(Thank Fucking God), and we watched James on Larry King all together because we were all interested and/or touched by the book.

Two of us hadn't read the book but were interested. Two more of us had read the book and were interested because the story touched us. Then there was me, who was interested because the story touched me but also because I couldn't help thinking, "Wow, this was published and Oprah picked it?" because a lot of the writing struck me as something a whole lot of bloggers could write.

He wrote like I write when I'm trying to convey how things feel.

After listening to Mr Frey on Larry King and doing some reading about the issue, we all seemed to come to the same conclusion: the story was still compelling in it's own rite, even without the extra, what? 20 pages which are now up for debate.

I left after our night in believing that. But something still didn't sit right with me. So I kept reading because on the one hand, does reading other people's opinions create your opinion? Or, does reading lots of opinions give you the information you need? I'm not sure.

However, I read one piece on Slate, about James Frey and "Why his fakery matters".

After I read this piece I realized how sad I was for James. The idea that James Frey couldn't admit to himself he was a victim, a victim who was not so tough. He was a child of a western Michigan town who could not find his way in spite of a relatively good upbringing. He was a victim of nothing but himself. He was not the hard core drug addict who punched policemen. He was the polite boy who was arrested for drunk driving, and who could not control his addiction.

Why did he go so much further than what you'd expect from a boy from a good small town family?

That's the story I would have liked to hear. That's the story I'm not sure publisher's were willing to tell. What upsets me about this story is that I really don't believe the story would have changed that much without the "lies" James Frey told to make the story more interesting. Would that story have been published though?

I've joked often, I wish I had a past drug problem. Like a woman I know through the internet got an agent and actually had a story to tell in book form (Imagine that! A book!) did.

If I were to write a book it would be a memoir, and that memoir would be about my life. I'd like to say I wouldn't embellish the unpleasant things which happened to me, but I also know how much I would like to have a book published with my name on the cover. I can understand the desperation which might come with spending all that fucking time writing a fiction book, and being told it can't be sold. But if it was a memoir. A memoir to fill the bottomless bucket which is the public's need for 'reality'.

Never mind that Reality TV is anything but reality, it's a story which is told to fit into what people can relate to. I'm not even knocking that but let's call it what it is. It's a story which is told to fit into a model of dramatic television we've always been exposed to. Life doesn't generally work that way. Life isn't linear.

A few years ago I spent some time in a hospital on the mental health ward, I haven't talked about it but that's because it's awkward for people who love me to talk about. I had a book on my nightstand before I ended up in the hospital, it was called 'The Liar's Club' by Mary Karr. I do not remember how that book ended up in my hands but the irony could not be more dramatic if I was James Frey trying to create drama from real life.

So today I read a piece in the Christian Science Monitor about this whole issue, I was especially happy to hear Mary Karr check in on the topic.

But first, because Logan said as I was writing this post, "Maybe you need to see it from both sides."

I think I do. I know that if I one day write a book thing will be mostly true. I will write about the events of my life as honestly as I am capable of. Will it sell? I'm not sure and that's why I haven't written about the bad things that happened in that house I grew up in. 

I will write about the events as I experienced them. I do not think I will create things that never happened. I do not believe I will tell untruths to sell my story, but frankly I may tell things as Melissa and not as a journalist or biographer. I will tell my stories from the point of view of a 6, 8, 15 year old Melissa who lived those stories. Will my 'Essential Truth' come into question as I write my experiences? I don't know.

In that Christian Science Monitor article Lili Wright wrote, "You're taking the highlights of your life. It's a work of art, it's selective, it's subject to memory. A memoir is art, it's literature. It's not journalism, it's not a documentary."

However, with all my empathy and belief in James Frey's 'Essential Truth', the quote from Mary Karr speaks to me most clearly.

"My experience is there's no way you can manufacture events and find the truth," Ms. Karr says. "Great memoirs don't take bizarre experiences and make them more bizarre and outrageous. They take bizarre experiences and make them familiar. That's the power."

I hope to one day take the bizarre experiences of my life and make them familiar. I love that people relate to me and what I write here. I think even the ugly things I haven't talked about here, I think I can make those things relate to a lot of people.

Mittens.

Max's preschool is at a church and the church has a nice tradition of decorating a very large Christmas tree with mittens, hats and scarves to donate to a local homeless shelter. Each year I struggle to purchase mittens for the tree because as I browse the hats and mittens I think:

"Those are cute but homeless people don't need 'cute', they need warm. They don't need mittens either. They need a warm house and a job and a way to kick an addiction or a mental illness. They need mittens that can do all of that, and I'm not seeing that brand here."

Suddenly my $10 spent on gloves seems so futile. So insignificant. I have to force myself to buy the gloves and to drop my fifty cents into the Salvation Army bucket and to send half my Blogging Baby earnings to New Orleans. When you get too wrapped up in the big picture you can easily throw your hands up and say, "Do mittens matter?"

Logan's office participates in a 'Giving Tree' project and when I read what the kids want for Christmas it makes me want to send my consumer crazed children to see how these kids live each day. One child we picked off the tree wants a coat. Another would like a pair of SpongeBob SquarePants pajama pants. I can easily buy these things for them but if this is all they're asking for, don't they need so much more? More than I can give them. I buy the things on their wish lists, but I feel guilty.

But the mittens do matter. The small indulgences do matter. They matter more than turning away from the problem entirely. The mittens mean I am at least giving something back, even if it's not as significant as what I wish I could give. It is mittens. Mittens keep your hands warm. They ease at least some of the pain of being homeless. More importantly they teach my son about doing small things that help in the smallest of ways.

Sometimes I think I'll just not buy the mittens. I can't make a significant dent in the plight of the homeless in my city so why do something as silly as buy mittens? I keep telling myself that all the little things I can contribute will add up to something very valuable to someone else.

I hope that's true because mittens is all I can give.

Go team go!

I don't really like football. So you can imagine I am feeling a little guilty that we've been invited to a big game this weekend in Ann Arbor. On the other hand, I love a party and this will be a party. Score a goal! Go team go!

Also on my mind:

*Maddie's birthday party was tonight. It was a faux sleepover, which means, essentially that the kids acted like hyper lunatics and then they went home and refused to sleep. Their parents then cursed me for feeding them sugar on a Friday night.

*For my birthday in September, Logan bought me a gift certificate for a bra fitting. Remember how I was so concerned about the twins falling down? I still haven't made it over to the store (for the locals, it's Bra-Vo in Royal Oak) to make a purchase. Why am I being so weird about this stupid thing?

I think a large part of the issue is dreading the actual fitting. If you thought my hugs were awkward you should see what happens when a stranger comes near my breasts.

Hopefully sometime next week I'll make it over there to let a woman fondle me and then my breasts will be new and improved! Life will then be good.

I would eat my brain...but it's fermenting

The thing about this blog is that I like to write about personal things. It's different from flogging the babies since that's mainly finding stories and products and other items of interest to parents. I will share a story here and there but this is where I try to be myself and think about things.

The only problem is that after a while you start to feel like you're eating your own head (which I think Mrs Kennedy said but I am not looking for it right now). That's how I'm feeling, like I'm eating my own head.

Logan admits he sometimes counts on me to entertain him when he fires up his computer at the office early in the morning. After Tuesday's post he's taken to yawning at me and asking me to write "something funny" or "emotional". What odd is that I had that burst of adrenaline which is what panic feels like to me when he said that.

I've become a horrible writer lately. I just can't seem to sit down and organize my thoughts in any intelligent manner. I'm racing through because there's a lot of stuff to get done. For me to really make any sense on any topic I'm going to have to slow down a little to make any sense at all.

Which is very hard lately. I'm starting to doubt my ability to do it at all. Someone told me a while back I was maybe going through a creative pregnancy. I feel like I'm on bedrest or past due or something. Which reminds me of Madison...since my due date with her was November 9, 1998 and she was not violently forced from the womb until November 16.

So maybe there's that to talk about.

Yesterday we went to see Madison's teacher for a conference. Here is where I do my Logan imitation and I say, in the car after the appointment, "I told you she's brilliant! I told you and you didn't believe me! You said, 'She's smart, but probably average.' But no! She's a genius!"

Fatherly pride is a lovely but sometimes annoying thing to behold.

The teacher said things which made my cynical side disappear and beam. She told us our 6 year old (seven next week) is reading at a fourth grade level! She's in the top reading group, which really only means something to me since she's so young and I started her early anyway. Also because as a first and second grader I thought I was a really good reader, yet I could never break out of that God Damned middle reading group.

Damn you Mrs Reynolds!

She said she's a fast and hard worker and has a real sense that school is her job. She writes funny stories (so far there have been none about me naked and screaming) and gets along with everyone. She said if she had a room full of Maddie's, they'd get so much done everyone would be ready to graduate at the end of the year.

Which I doubt because if she had a room full of Maddie's, she'd also have a very anxious group of kids. And they'd all be very small college students. Oh and we'd have no money to pay for college anyway!

I worry a lot about Madison. I feel like, and I'm turning comments off because I'm writing about this again and don't want to be accused of seeking the ass kissing, I've let her down in so many ways.

Not because I have a few too many drinks on occasion with my friends as a concerned commenter suggested (or rather projected from her own troubled childhood).

But because I come from a long line of mentally ill people. I struggle with my depression all the time. I don't love motherhood. I don't think I've given her the kind of worry free childhood I hoped I would. It's been free of the kinds of struggles I've been through. But I've made my own set of mistakes and I see it reflected in her need for order out of chaos and her fears of the unknown.

I found a sealed letter up in the attic which I wrote to myself in high school. I opened it and it said, among other things, "If you aren't able to handle life by the time you're 30 you will get therapy. AND, if you can't pull yourself together you will NOT have kids."

Oops....

I worry about the very real possibility that she will struggle with depression as a teen and adult. I worry about her 'being' is what I'm trying to say.

I want to be away from my kids because I am not good at this job. Good enough? Yes. Good? No. But then they get some distance from me, going to a huge elementary school, surrounded by so many people and I worry about her. Worry about the job I did to get her ready for the world.

I worry about how I've let her down I think.

So I guess I feel like a dried up sponge when it comes to compliments about my little girl. So when the teacher told me she loves Madison and identifies with her and that she's such a great student...I soak all that up because I am so full of doubts about myself as a mother. I need that kind of validation much more than I realized until I started to write this post.

I don't really know why this is on my mind so much lately. Logan's pointed out a few times I was incredibly short with Maddie but then two minutes later equally as patient and loving with Max. I don't understand why that would be, but I'm afraid I notice it too.

Is she too much like me? Is there a difference between the way sons and mothers interact?

Is it any wonder I require heavy medication?