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Month: November 2004

So where was I?

So where was I?

Internet, sweet internet, how do I love thee?  Let me count the ways.

1.  You forgive me for taking off for over a week without writing or calling or even letting you know I was leaving town.*

2.  You come back to me even when I have done you wrong by neglecting you.  AND you stay for longer than the minimum 30 seconds that

Blog Explosion requires.  (You are staying longer, aren’t you?)

3.  You have forgiven me for my brief, albeit torrid, fling with Sergei.

4.  When I showed you pictures of my new hair color, your replies were neither “Why in the world did you do that to your hair?  Is it permanent?” (Thank you oh so much sister-in-law) or “Uhhhh…ummmmm…well, that sure is…uhhh…interesting.” (Thanks, Daddy.)

5.  None of you have preached to me about the whole caffeine isn’t good for you or that it may contribute to my sleeplessness.  (That doesn’t mean you can start now, my friends. )

6.  Finally, you conveniently forget that more than once I have promised you that I would get better with updating everyday and then disappear for long stretches without writing.  This time it is different.  No, really, it is.  For you, I will update more. 

Thanks for coming back again after I have been gone so long.  You’re the bestest ever!

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Outted again?!

Outted again?!

Last night was the school dance at the boys’ school.  And, yes, I did go.  Claws fully retracted.  Okay, maybe not fully retracted, but they were not out for all to see.  (Unless you know me well and provoked me to reveal a glimpse of them.) But really, I SO behaved.  (I’ll wait while you oooh and aaahhhh over that.)

While sitting there talking, my blog was outed again.  (More and more people in Stepford are learning about it.  Of course, none of the true Stepfords have found it.  That I know of.) So as I hear the words, “She has a blog.” come out of my friend’s mouth, I ponder whether or not I can spin it.  You know, say it is all about promoting awareness of the PTA.  Or perhaps reviewing The Stepford wives.  Something that makes it sound a bit less, oh how shall I say, bitchy. 

“So, what is your website?” I hear.

I thought about saying Dooce but I was pretty sure that I would be found out fast.  First, I am not of Those Who Grew Up In The Mormom Church and secondly, I am pretty sure they would figure out that I don’t have a young daughter named Leta.  So, I thought better of giving that answer.

Next thing I know, MommyNeedsCoffee is coming out of MY mouth.  Oh dear lord did I really out myself.  To a *gasp* real PTA’er?  What’s next?  Signing up to bring juice to the next Big Event.  Heaven Forbid!

Then, the woman who outted me said, “Hey, but now that you know we read it, you can’t talk about us.  At least not by name.”

Yes, I laughed too.  Go ahead.  But to respect their privacy, I certainly will not mention the names Rhonda or Tim from this conversation.  That would be so wrong.

And did I mention that this Rhonda is the one who put MY NAME on a list to help with a big PTA project at the end of the year??  I TOLD HER that I would help “under the table”.  That means WITHOUT ANYONE KNOWING IT.  And now?  My name is on a PTA LIST.

That does it.  I am going to be officially booted from the Volunteer Protection Program Damn you, Rhonda

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Almost gnawed my arm off to get out of this trap

Almost gnawed my arm off to get out of this trap

So, I had to go to the school today.  I can usuallly time this so that I have MPTAC (Minimal PTA Contact.  Not because I harbor bitterness against them or anything.  (Shuddup.  I can say that and you should not argue.) It has more to do with the fact that I have been silent long enough that some of them feel that perhaps I am ready to jump back into the whole sorted mess again.  (Not so much.)

While standing in the hall talking to one of my favorite teachers, up walks one of the Stepfords.  Frantically I look around for an exit.  Surely there must be an escape.  I reach to grab for the teacher to beg for amnesty.  But she has vanished from the hallway.  I look back to The Stepford. 

“So I was wondering if….”

At that point I screeched and began flailing my arms about wildly.  Then I proceeded to throw myself to the ground and fake my own death.

It didn’t work She nudged me with her Prada boot and haughtily said, “You are not dead.  I saw you breathe.  Besides, you tried that last year and it didn’t work.”

Damn I thought to myself as I got to my feet. 

” So, as I was saying, in our last meeting your name came up in regards to…”

This time I took the high road.  The mature route.  I jammed my fingers into my ears and began sing-songing very loudly, “LA LA LA LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU LA LA LA LA”

She forcefully grabbed my hands and yanked my fingers from my ears.  “Really now.  IS that completely necessary?” she huffed.

Resigned to having to listen to her, I slumped my shoulders and began to give in to it when brilliance struck.

“Oh my goodness,” I shrieked.  “Look!  Heading towards the office.  It’s a new parent holding a Volunteer Interest form.”

Her eyes lit up with glee as she turned to look.

I leapt at the chance for escape while her back was turned and hauled ass out of there.

I still don’t know what she wanted, but you better believe my phone will be off the hook for a good week.  As for going to the school?  Just ignore that woman in the big hat, dark sunglasses and cheesy wig.  It isn’t me.  I swear.

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The Tale of the Scroti

The Tale of the Scroti

Sometimes in a family of 5, you need to sit the kids down and have a Very Serious Talk about attitude.  (This week on a very special episode of Family of Five, the family pulls together for a Very Serious Talk about attitude.  A must see episode for the entire family.) Of course for the children it is best if you can do this as a group.  You are more likely to not be the only one taking the heat.  We as parents know this.  Which is why we did it one on one.  Or rather two against one.  (Seriously, did my parents derive this much giddiness from watching The Squirm that the kid on the hot seat does?  Sick bastards we are!)

So we call in the oldest and start talking.  We have this rule when we have these talks.  You can say anything.  As long as you are being constructive and not just trying to get some digs in and being ugly.  If you are mad, let us know.  If you feel like it is unfair, let us know.  Say Anything.  (Speaking of Say Anything, did you see that movie?  At that time John Cusack rocked my world.  He can hold up a boombox in my driveway and I’d Do Anything.  He’s no Matthew, but who is.  Ahhh, Matthew.  My Matthew.) Ahem.  Where was I?

So anyway, it can get tense when you have these talks.  Especially when you are feeling like you are on the hot seat and getting the lecture.  I am not one to do well with super tense scenes.  My sarcasm and dry wit tend to overcome me before I am even aware of it happening.  So I look at my son and say with a perfectly straight face, “So, would you like to talk about sex now?  I know the word penis and I’m not afraid to use it.”

*Cue shocked and appalled look from my son.  He replies to me in a very preteen, angsty way, “Mooommmmmm!”

Seeing that I have pushed a button, demon mom kicks in.

“Seriously.  Shall we talk scrotum?  Which, by the way, is the plural of scrotum scrotums?  Scrotumeses? Scroti?…..”

*Shocked look from my son who is actually looking for something sharp to jam into his eardrums, but realizes he is stuck with nothing but his own fingernails that were trimmed that morning and would never work.*

“…I am sure it is probably scrotums.  But don’t you think that scroti sounds more scientific?  For example, ‘In our family we have a ratio or 3 boys to 2 girls.  Therefore, we have a plethora of scroti in our home.‘ See?  It just sounds more official and scientific.”

At this point my son is writhing in agony on the couch praying for death or a psychologically freaked out induced coma to get out of this situation and never have to hear his mother say the word scrotum again.

Then I get The Stare.  A glazed over look was behind The Stare.  But nevertheless I know that the stares means, “Mom.  You’ve gone too far.  You can no longer shock me.  Give it your best shot.”

If you know me, you know that I just do not have the ability to walk away from such a challenge. Especially from one of my children.  I stared back.  Then, in my most perplexed and inquisitive manner, I looked at my son and asked, in all seriousness, “Speaking of this, I was wondering, since you are Mr Science, do flies have scrotum?  I mean seriously.  I guess that depends on whether they have a penis or not.  Do you know?”

At that my son gets up, rolls his eyes and says, “I think this talk is over now, Mom. I mean really!” He walks out of the room.  Only to hear his father scream from the living room, “Son, are you looking it up. Fly. Scrotum.  Google it.”

Yeah, I am pretty sure we are going to parental hell for this one.  But damn it was funny!

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What IS that smell?

What IS that smell?

Things overheard in my kitchen that strike fear into the heart of my husband. (Although, truth be told, they really are not that uncommon to hear if I am cooking.)

“Ohmigod come here quick!…..Wait nevermind….it was a tiny fire and it is out now.”

“COOL!  I didn’t know that would melt (can also be replaced with ’catch on fire‘ or ‘explode’).”

“Mommy, are there going to be anymore fires tonight or is dinner almost ready?”

“I swear to you it is something on the burner that smells that way!  I haven’t even begun to cook yet.”

Now, if you really want to be afraid I will confess something.  And as Bill Gates is my witness (because we all know he sees everything we do on the internet, right?), all of those things were overheard at my house. 

Tonight.

While I fixed dinner.

(Is it any wonder why he does almost all of the cooking in our house?)

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