The Story of XYZ

So yesterday I got to see Confessions of a Shopaholic.

Yes, I went alone.

No, it doesn’t bother me anymore. At first I’d slink in the theater and feel like a total loser. I felt like the entire theater was staring at me and wondering what was wrong with me.

But now I've realized that no one really gives a crap. Really. So long as you don’t have big hair and block their view, the other theater patrons could care less.

I bought a small popcorn and a medium diet coke and armed with my goodies, I made my way to the theater. When I walked in, no one else was even in there. And the movie started in five minutes. I felt a little weird walking up the stairs and sliding into the middle section.

There was a picture of both Angelina Jolie and Jennifer Aniston on the screen and it was imploring me to text with a number on who looked better.

Hrm.

Angelina had on a dark slinky number with her hair pulled back neatly. I wish my hair would work like that. As it is, I’ve been blessed (cursed?) with ultra thick hair that never wants to cooperate. Unless you fork over $100 for special hair creams which I refuse to do.

Jennifer had on a silver gown with her hair cascading down her back. It must be wonderful to have hair that cascades neatly down your back. Mine puffs out and usually winds up in other people’s mouths. Tom has pulled out a good number of strands that somehow has landed on his tongue.

I decided that Jennifer Aniston looked the best but it could be because I like her better. Maybe I feel a little sorry for, too. I mean, dammit, all she wants is love. Maybe John Mayer will give her that. I don’t know. He sort of creeps me out how he speaks candidly with the paparazzi. It’s like he stops short of talking about what goes on in the bedroom.

“Yes, Jennifer and I fornicated last night. It was awesome,” I can imagine him telling the photogs. Then John will flash a thumbs up sign before disappearing into the hotel where Jennifer will be waiting.

The previews started after that and one for that Hannah Montana movie came on. I am grateful that Tommy doesn’t like her. Plus, I think the show is insulting to children. I think kids would know the difference between Hannah Montana and Miley. All she does is toss on a blonde wig. A blonde wig is not a disguise. Plus, the plot is so predictable. Hannah (Miley? Whoever the crap she is?) gets tossed on a farm and of course she hates it at first. But then, gasp, who knew? She learns to LOVE it.

Again. I’m grateful that I don’t have to shell out eight bucks and sit through it.

Thank you, Tommy, for being a boy.

There was another preview for The Rock’s new movie. You know, the wrestler? Apparently he’s helping two aliens save the planet.

Again, I’ll pass.

I do want to see the new Sandra Bullock movie. I like Sandra Bullock. Unlike a lot of celebrities, she actually eats and seems down to earth and friendly. Probably because she eats. I know I’m horribly cranky when my stomach is growling. I better get some food and stat. Otherwise I start to say words that I normally wouldn’t even use (I once called Tom a fuc*ing twat when I hadn’t eaten in over five hours and I swear, I don’t even know where that came from!)

In the middle of a preview where Matthew Perry turns into Zac Efron (I’m not kidding) a few other people wandered into the room.

Phew. I felt odd being the only one in there. But okay, for a brief second I pretended that I was rich and that I was sitting in my own personal theater room. Hello, I’m Amber and I’m rich. Please join me in my theater with the giant screen.

But then I got paranoid and was wondering if there was a murderer crouched behind a seat in the back and that he was going to attack me when the movie started. Then I’d never find out if the movie was as good as the book. Oh noes! I debated pulling out my keys and holding it like a weapon like various talk shows tell you to do. (“Ladies, protect yourselves!” Oprah once bellowed at the cameras.)

Thankfully, that was when other people came in. There were two old ladies with curly gray hair who took a seat in the row in front of me. Then there was a mother and daughter duo who took seats in the very back. And then, right when the movie started, a man walked in and took a seat by himself near the front.

I was amused by this. I mean, I suppose it must be difficult for men who actually like chick flicks. It’s not manly after all. Maybe he has a secret addiction to chick flicks? I wonder if he was married and if his wife thinks that he’s cheating on her? But no, really he’s just sitting in a darkened theater wanting to know what it’s like to be a shopaholic.

The movie was entertaining. It was different from the book but it was still enjoyable. I could relate to the main character. I admit, I like to shop. But mostly for my children. I can’t help that they make adorable miniature clothes for them, can I? I start to imagine how Tommy would look in that seersucker blazer or if Natalie’s blue eyes would pop out if she wore that sapphire colored patchwork dress.

Obviously I learned nothing from the movie. Because when it was over I went to JC Penney and bought a swimsuit. But I had a reason, I promise! I’ll need it for the summer. My suits from last year are growing shabby. Plus, the size small swimsuits are always swiped up before I get a chance to shop. Then I’m stuck with a size medium, which can still sort of work, but then it makes my butt look extra baggy and fine, I admit it, I have tiny breasts so I have all sorts of extra fabric up top, too. So it really doesn’t work.

Usually, the suits that are left are the size extra smalls (ha, not in a million years! My left butt cheek couldn’t squeeze into an extra small) or an extra large (again, no way, I’d be lost in the suit and Tom would be all, “Amber? Where did you go?”)

So, you see? I HAD to buy the suit. I managed to find a size small bottom (with a skirt because hello, my thighs are nearly as big as a small country) and a size small top (again, not because I’m skinny but because my ta-tas are basically non-existent) and I happily took my suit up to the front to pay.

The cashier was a young-ish looking guy with a shock of blond hair on the top of his head. I could picture him in a strip club stuffing bills into the panties of a stripper. I have no idea why that image came into my head. Sometimes I think there is something seriously wrong with me.

The cashier didn’t seem to notice that I set my swimsuit down on the counter. He was just peering at me with a strange expression on his face. I wondered if I had melted chocolate on my jeans. I wouldn’t be surprised. There is usually some form of food on my clothes by the end of the day.

“Uh…XYZ,” the cashier finally said.

I was baffled. What? Was this some new word that the young kids are using these days? I admit, I’m sort of out of the loop. For the longest time I thought the word emo was the name of a brand new Muppet. I’m still confused when teenagers shout, “Wow, that’s SICK!” when they think something is cool. I mean, I would not think of the word “sick” as being synonymous with finding something to be cool. Sorry. Maybe I’m getting old. But ew, when I think of sick I think of sweat and barf. And in some cases, the squirts. Not cool.

“Um…” I finally responded, not knowing what else to say. “ABC?” It was the first thing that popped in my mind to say. Maybe the guy was high?

The cashier chuckled and looked at me as though I were a complete moron. But hello, he was the one who just spouted letters at me when all I wanted to do was purchase my spiffy new suit. “No,” he said. “I’m trying to say that your fly is down.” Then he gestured and dear gracious, he was RIGHT. My fly was wide open and my red underwear was exposed.

I suppose I should be grateful that I wasn’t going commando. How embarrassing would THAT have been?

And I suppose I should be grateful that I was wearing my new red underwear that I found for 75% off at Target and not the underwear with holes that Tom absolutely hates.

(“Amber,” he told me seriously. “I’m sorry, but these are not sexy,” he said, lifting my swiss cheese looking undergarments up from the laundry basket. But sometimes a lady just wants comfort, you know? And sometimes comfort means having holes in it. Sorry.)

“Oh! Oh, my gosh, I…oh,” I said, all flustered. I turned around and quickly zipped my fly back up and cursed the jeans. Those particular jeans love pushing my fly down if I sit for too long. I have no idea why. It could be because they are a size 3 and really, I ought to be wearing a size 5 but I’m too stubborn to admit it. I don’t know.

I know my face was as red as a beet as I turned around to pay for my swimsuit. I practically hurled my debit card at the cashier, who was smirking. I imagine he would be telling all his bar buddies that some chick in his store had walked around with her fly down.

“Was she wearing cute panties?” one of his friends might ask.

“Not Victoria Secret, I can tell you that,” the cashier will respond knowingly. Because he looked like he got around. If you know what I mean.

“Thanks,” I muttered to the cashier as he handed me my card and receipt. My face was blazing hot at that point and I just wanted to GET OUT OF THERE. I grabbed my bag and stuffed my card into my purse—at least I thought I did but I missed the opening entirely because it clattered to the floor. So I had to bend over and pick it up and I realized that now my butt was poking up beside the check out counter and that the guy was probably getting another chuckle out of me.

Oh, the utter mortification. I ended up just grabbing my debit card and then practically running out of the store.

When I relayed the story to Tom, he burst out laughing.

"Who uses the phrase 'XYZ' these days anyway?" I huffed. I mean, really. "It doesn't even make sense. It stands for examine your zipper and examine starts with an E."

"Well, the X sort of--" Tom began, but when he saw my expression he shut his mouth.

Which was wise of him. I had been through enough.

On PIPs and Crock Pots with Buttons

Oops.

Some people mentioned that on my Parenting List (see previous entry) that I had forgotten to mention that you never get to use the bathroom on your own.

I have no idea why I forgot to mention that.

Maybe because I'm so used to having a child follow me into the bathroom.

Tommy doesn't do it anymore. But what he does do is stand outside the door and decide that he needs to tell me every detail of his life.

"And I don't want to wear regular underwear anymore, Mom. I'd like to wear boxers now, okay? Like Daddy?" was one of his conversations.

Maybe conversation isn't the best word as my responses are usually, "Uh huh," and, "Tommy, do you think I can have some privacy? We can talk when I'm finished."

And Tommy, who has lately been behaving like a PMSing teenager, will sometimes snap, "Nevermind then. I won't ever talk to you AGAIN!"

Well, excuse me, son. I was only trying to take a crap.

Most of the time Natalie wanders in with me though. There have been a few instances where she's been distracted by a toy or yes, shame on me, the television. (I'm always thrilled when I have to poo when Yo Gabbba Gabba is on because it means I get a few precious moments of peace. So what if it's in the bathroom? At least it's quiet.)

[I just had a thought: maybe if I consume a lot of prunes when Yo Gabba Gabba comes on I can have more poops in peace (PIPS)]

I'm jealous of my husband Tom, who can wander into the bathroom at any time and have his space. Heck, when he takes a dump I hear him flipping through a magazine and I'm thinking, "That must be nice. Maybe I'd like to read my US Weekly too."

One time I flipped out and shrieked, "You know what, Tom? I'd like a PIP too!"

His response? "What is a PIP?"

"A poop in peace!" (Or it can stand for a Pee in Peace. I don't get those either.)

I can't blame Natalie for not following Tom in the bathroom though. The stuff that he makes could KILL someone that small, really. He has to seriously spray the Lysol at least one minute so we don't pass out from the stench.

So yeah. PIPs don't happen very often around here.

But anyhow, moving on from the bathroom talk because it's a little gross.

I had to say goodbye to one of my favorite things the other day.

It was just time to let go.

To move on.

I'm sorry, dear Crocky, but you've been upgraded:



Yeah. I love my Crock Pot. But then I realized that there are new versions. Versions with...buttons?

BUTTONS!

I love to push buttons.

When I go down a toy aisle, I push all sorts of buttons. This drives my husband insane.

"Do you HAVE to touch EVERYTHING?" he'll grumble as I reach out to press a Fisher-Price toy.

Yes. Yes, I do.

So when I encountered this new Crock Pot my heart began to beat with excitement.

A Crock Pot. One of my favorite things. With BUTTONS to push.

Another one of my favorite things.

I had to have it.



I immediately rushed home and ordered it from Kohls.com. Because I had a 30% off code AND a free shipping code.

Saving money rocks.



Isn't it beautiful? I wanted the red one but I thought it might turn Tom off. Not that he actually cooks. But suppose he decides to start one day and he's all, "Ew, but it's red, so I can't."

So I went with a neutral gray. To pay homage to my old abandoned Crocky.

I'm sorry, Crocky. But you don't have buttons.

Plus this new Crock Pot, which I've dubbed Crocky the Second, will automatically shut off when the food is done.

Crocky the First would keep on cooking and a lot of the meat came out burnt.

I never knew you could burn things on a Crock Pot. I assumed you could not but of course I manage to burn everything.

No, I haven't used Crocky the Second yet. But I will. I found this chicken dish that basically just calls for cream of mushroom soup and some white wine and that's it.

I can do meals with less than five ingredients. If you start to add weird things such as fresh parsley and stuff, I tend to get confused. I've never even SEEN fresh parsley before. I have some in a plastic McCormick jar I think. But I don't think that's the same thing?

Crocky, if you're wondering, is going to the Salvation Army. Perhaps he'll go to a new home and actually, will most likely be treated better. Crocky had to deal with a lot of frustration from me. I would sometimes forget an ingredient and be all, "Damn!" and quickly uncover the pot and throw the forgotten bits in. I think I stressed Crocky out most of the time.

Crocky the Second is a little worried. I imagine Crocky the First warned him about me.

She doesn't know what she's doing in the kitchen. Beware. She once used salt when the recipe called for sugar. How a person can manage that is beyond me.

So, farewell Crocky the First.

Thank you for all the delicious (albeit some burnt) dishes.

I will miss you.

Your name will live on in Crocky the Second.

Who has ultra-cool buttons to push.

Awesome.

A Parenting List

Don't me wrong, I do think kids are cute.

I admit that I've marveled at the tiny toes of newborns and laughed at the silly things that can tumble from a child's mouth.

But there is a dark side to parenting.

And I'm prepared to go through a list of some of the things that I've encountered.


1. BE PREPARED FOR INAPPROPRIATE CONVERSATIONS

The other day we were at Target. I was browsing in my favorite spot, the clearance rack, and Tommy was bouncing beside me. "Guess what?" he suddenly said excitedly. "What?" I answered as I checked the price tag for a pair of toddler pants. I assumed that he'd tell me something mundane. He's been learning about teeth at school so I figured he'd spout off on the importance of flossing. I've already been lectured by him because I rarely floss. Sue me. I made the mistake of admitting this to Tommy, who gasped and went, "But Mommy! Floss keeps your teeth healthy!" I thought that's what he'd tell me as I pushed past clothes on the rack. But no. What he said was:

"Anus is another word for butt!"

Of course he said it right when another woman strolled past. She gaped at Tommy as though he had just let loose a string of expletives.

"Tommy," I hissed. "That's not appropriate. Where did you learn that?"

Tommy grinned proudly. "Steven. He's in second grade," he said matter-of-factly.

"Well, tell Steven, who is in second grade, that it's not appropriate to talk about butts at school," I replied firmly.

"We weren't at school, we were on the bus," Tommy answered sweetly.



2. BE PREPARED FOR MISINFORMED CHILDREN

We went to the gas station last night. Not for gas, but for the cheap fountain drinks with cherry shots. We stood in line and Tommy was bouncing up and down beside me. I'm used to this. The kid barely sits still. There was an older lady behind us who was staring at Tommy with wide eyes. Finally she asked Tommy how he had so much energy.

Tommy's reply?

"I have ADHD. It means I never sit and I fart a lot."

Yeah.

I need to re-explain what ADHD means now.



3. BE PREPARED FOR HEART ATTACKS

I've lost count on how many times that I've nearly passed out from worry over my kids.

There was that one time where Natalie did a face plant right on the concrete. I was sure that something had to be broken. (Nothing was.)

And then yesterday, when Tommy didn't return home from school.

The bus stop is across the street and he's recently started walking home by himself. I think he was embarrassed to be the only one with a mother who waited patiently by the bus stop. He told me seriously one day that he was a big kid now and that there was no reason why I needed to wait for him.

"My baby!" I shrieked.

"I'm not a baby anymore," Tommy said calmly.

Fine.

I agreed. He was right. He's nearly seven (on Monday!) and I have to pull back a little bit.

The past few days he's returned home without any issues.

Yesterday, 3:30 came and went and he never showed.

I began to panic.

But I thought, okay, the bus is late.

But then 3:40 rolled around and I was practically in tears. I put Natalie on my hip and darted outside, looking around frantically for my little boy. I rushed towards the direction of the bus stop to see if he was playing in the dirt. He's easily distractable, you see.

But he wasn't there.

So then I hurried back to the house and out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a little figure at a distance beside the house playing in a mound of snow.

I zeroed in on the person and realized it was Tommy.

"TOMMY!" I screamed.

Tommy froze. He was bent over, poised to pick up some snow. But then he spotted his hysterical mother coming at him and he became immobile.

"Tommy, what are you DOING?" I shrieked.

Tommy straighened himself and slowly made his way over to me.

"You need to come HOME first before you play. I was worried SICK!" I continued.

I thought I saw a neighbor poke their face out a window before darting out of view.

Hello. Welcome to the Freak Out show.

"I was worried SICK!" I repeated.

"SICK!" Natalie parroted.

And Tommy, who has always been my sensitive child, burst into tears.

"I'm sorry, Mommy!" he said through sobs. "I just wanted to look at the snow before it melted. I'm SORRY!"

We all walked back into the house. Me, still shaking with worry and Tommy, shaking with his tears and Natalie, shaking her finger in Tommy's direction going, "Sick, sick, sick!"



4. BE PREPARED TO NEVER HAVE YOUR HOUSE FULLY CLEAN FOR A LONG LONG TIME

Seriously.

By the time I've finished cleaning the living room, another room is trashed.

So then I go clean THAT room and then the living room is a mess again.

It's a neverending cycle.



5. KNOW THAT NOTHING WILL EVER JUST BELONG TO YOU AGAIN

I'm not kidding.

My books that I read? They're immediately taken by Natalie.

My cell phone? See above.

My chocolate? See above again.

It's caused me to shriek, "Isn't anything just MINE in this house?" on more than one occasion.

Silly, silly, Amber. The answer is no.



6. UNDERSTAND THAT YOUR HOUSE WILL BECOME A GIANT EASEL





Children are sneaky creatures. The second you go to clean up another one of their messes, they're off doing something like this.

You can try hiding the crayons. But they have a Magic Crayon Finder brain and will always come across one.

Stock up on Mr. Clean Magic Erasers. They will become your best friend.

-------

The McDonalds Mistake

Over the weekend I headed to McDonalds for dinner. I admit it, we go there at least once per week. Tom usually always gets two double cheeseburgers--which used to be on the dollar menu but thanks to this economy, they've now been bumped to $1.19 a piece.

I never know what I'm going to get until I get to McDonalds. This tends to irritate Tom who demands to know what I want the second we pull into the drive thru lane. Even if there are a line of cars in front of us, he'll constantly ask what I'm going to get.

"Let me think," I'll say calmly, which causes him to toss his hands in the air with frustration.

Honestly, why do I need to know what I want the second we get to McDonalds? I have my own method: I breathe in the delicious McDonalds smell swirling around the air and then I imagine myself eating different things.

I even take air bites, which Tom thinks is extremely weird.

"Uh? What are you doing?" he asked when we were first dating and had walked into McDonalds. I had just taken a mouth full of air and was trying to determine whether I wanted the chicken nuggets or the quarter pounder with cheese.

"I'm picturing myself eating the nuggets or the quarter pounder and determining which one excites my stomach more," I answered matter-of-factly. I took another bite for good measure.

I know. Sometimes I wonder how I managed to get married too. Most men would have turned and walked away quickly. They would have met up with their friends and been all, "Dude. She was like, eating AIR."

When I went to McDonalds over the weekend I was by myself. I had been set to make spaghetti for dinner but Tom had wandered in the kitchen as I pulled out the hamburger meat and went, "I'm actually not in the mood for spaghetti."

"It's what we're having," I replied in a no-nonsense voice.

But Tom knows how to play me and he said coyly, "How about McDonalds? You can go alone. I'll watch the--"

I was gone before he finished.

The spaghetti noodles in their box thunked to the ground as I headed out the door.

I don't get out by myself very often. So when I'm offered the chance, I always take advantage.

I slid in my beautiful PT Cruiser and backed out of the driveway. I saw Natalie rush over to the window. Her nose was pressed up on the glass and I saw her mouth move a few times.

I imagine she was shouting, "Mom? Mom?"

My heart ached briefly--and, I almost feel bad admitting this--but it really was only briefly because then my heart bubbled with excitement.

You're alone! You get to enjoy a car ride without kids screeching in the background. You can even sing without your son clamping his palms over his ears and proclaiming that your voice is "very very bad." When you get to McDonalds, you won't have to worry about your husband demanding to know what you want to eat.

Is it sad that I was thrilled over the prospect over a ride that would take no more than a half hour?

I started singing to myself as I drove towards the golden arches.

"You're hot and you're cold, you're yes and you're no, yah yah yah, we kiss and make up and fight and break up!" I sung/half wailed. Because yes, I admit it, my voice sounds like a cross between a "bah-ing" goat and an irritated cat. I've made my peace with the fact that I'll never win a grammy or be a star on American Idol. Well, maybe I could be one of those William Hung stars if I didn't mind humiliating myself in front of millions of views. But I do mind.

When I got to McDonalds I headed for the drive thru lane. There was only one car in front of me and I glanced at the menu to see what looked better.

Nuggets with honey?

Or a quarter pounder with cheese?

Or did I want to branch out and go with a Big Mac. Mmmm, the picture looked tasty. But then I remembered that they stuff the burger with lettuce and while I enjoy ruffage, I'd rather have more meat, you know?

I did my famous air bite and my stomach seemed to respond more to the quarter pounder with cheese.

So I went with that.

Plus I got Tom's double cheeseburgers, a hamburger Happy Meal for Tommy and a chicken nugget Happy Meal for Natalie. With the apple fries because she seems to prefer those to actual fries. I really don't know where she came from. I mean apple fries to real fries? Huh? I made sure to specify that one toy was for a boy and the other was for a girl. Because they had mini video games for boys and jewelry stuff for girls and heaven forbid if Tommy got a princess watch.

It happened before and he was so insulted.

"But I'm a BOY!" he screeched, holding the offending girl toy between his thumb and forefinger as though it were a mouse.

Natalie could care less at this point. Heck, she's intrigued by the quarter pounder with cheese box to be honest. I could give her that and she'd entertain herself for at least five minutes, opening and closing the thing and telling me seriously, "He sleep," after sticking one of her mini My Little Pony's in there.

My total came to twelve something so I pulled out a twenty as I stopped in front of the payment window.

"That'll be two fifty-eight," the worker told me and stretched her hand out for the money.

Huh?

Now, I WISH all that food would come to two fifty-eight. But it's 2009 and that sort of thing will never happen.

And because I believe in Karma (and, you know, being a good and honest person) and knew Karma would totally pop my tire on the way home if I didn't speak up, I explained that my total was supposed to be twelve something.

The worker recoiled her hand back and typed on her computer.

"Oh," she said. "You're right."

As I gave her the proper amount I thought about that show What Would You Do? which airs on ABC on Tuesday nights. The show basically has a bunch of different segments--one was where a woman left her baby in the backseat of a car while she went to shop and it basically shows the reaction of people who walk by. (Don't worry, the baby was a doll and the woman was an actress.)

Some people do nothing.

Others speak up.

They have segments like the one I had just experienced too. Once at a grocery store the cashier purposely gave $20 more back in change and the cameras waited to see who would return the money.

Most people did not.

Then when the cameras popped out and they were asked why they didn't return the money some people were all, "Well, it was the store's mistake!"

Some pretended not to have noticed even though the camera clearly caught them staring at the extra money and inwardly debating what to do about it.

So, okay, I admit it, I was wondering if the show had set up in Cheyenne, Wyoming and was checking to see how honest its citizen were.

I wasn't about to look like an ass on national television. I didn't want John Quinones (the host of the show) to leap out of the bushes with a microphone in hand and demand to know why I didn't pay the proper amount.

Then I pulled up to get my food. And they had an extra quarter pounder with cheese in my bag. And instead of a kid's size HI-C orange they gave me a medium.

Okay John Quinones. The jig is up. I know you're here.

"Excuse me," I told a worker who practically hurled my bag at me and was retreating her upper body back inside. She looked irritated and leaned back out.

"What?" she barked.

Sheesh.

You're on national television. You COULD be a little more cheerful. That could be another segment: How Would YOU react if a McDonalds worker behaved as though she had a Big Mac stuck up her arse?

"Um, I only ordered one quarter pounder with cheese and this HI-C orange should be a Kid Size," I explained.

She blinked at me for a few seconds as though she couldn't comprehend what I was saying. Then it seemed to register because she shrugged and went, "Oh, keep it. I'll just have to throw them out anyhow since I already handed them over."

Why?

It's not like I spit in them or anything. Plus, my car is clean. I can understand them being wary about people with cigarette butts and litter sprinkled around their car. But I pride myself in keeping my car clean. Well, sort of clean. It's not PERFECT but at least people aren't sitting on trash or anything.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

She gave a long sigh. "Positive," she replied sarcatically and then disappeared behind the swinging windows.

Geez lady. John Quinones might have to ask you what bug flew up your nostril.

I pulled away and nearly expected to find cameras suddenly appear. And John Quinones strolling out from behind a bush.

"You did the right thing," he'd praise. "Why?"

"Because my parents raised me properly," I imagined myself answering. "And it's the right thing to do." Then I'd flash a wide smile.

But no cameras morphed into my vision.

There was no John Quinones.

It was just McDonalds making mistakes.

Oh well.

Only At Wal-Mart...

So a few people mentioned that I ought to tell Tom that I'm pregnant in order to scare him. (See previous entry if you have no idea what I'm talking about.)

I've already tried that.

I casually mentioned that my period was late and that I might be pregnant awhile back.

Tom's reply?

"Great!"

Of course it was followed by, "This means we get a bigger house!"

Tom has said that he wouldn't mind if we had another baby. But of course he'd say that. He doesn't have to get fat or walk on swollen ankles or push a human being from his privates. He doesn't have to deal with sore nipples or sleep deprivation. Sure, he was a help with Natalie but he would conveniently not hear the baby when she woke up screaming at three in the morning.

So yeah, if I didn't have to do any of that, having another baby might seem like a great idea to me as well.

I'm still working on an idea to scare him. I'll get him at some point.

But anyhow, today I went to Wal-Mart because I decided that I needed to get some bikini wax cream so I could clean up.

Down there.

It’s been awhile since I’ve tended to that area. I figure that my legs get top priority and by the time I’m finished with them I start to panic and think that Natalie must be hanging from the ceiling fan so I don’t go any further. Actually, to be honest, Natalie is usually in the bathroom with me while I shave. She finds it amusing to stand on top of the toilet and make faces in the mirror.

So I usually end up forgoing that area because A) I don’t want to traumatize my daughter and B) I don’t have the time. I’ve asked Tom what he would prefer to be taken care of, my legs or my he haw and he opts for the legs.

I decided that tonight I would surprise Tom and, erm, groom. This meant I had to go to Wal-Mart and get the Bikini Zone stuff that I used before. It makes sure you’re not left with those unsightly red bumps. I didn’t realize that I had used the last of it when we went to the beach in August. When I was digging through my drawer of stuff I found the near empty bottle and realized that there was no way a little squirt was going to take care of...well, all of that.

So off to Wal-Mart I went. And I realized I couldn’t find the Bikini Zone stuff. I was going down aisle after aisle and it was driving me insane. Natalie was growing impatient and she started to stand up in her cart seat.

“You have to sit,” I told her in my best Mom voice.

“I play,” she replied and draped a leg over the cart handle and attempted to get down.

“No, we’re not playing. We’re looking for something. You have to SIT,” I said firmly.

Natalie was not having it. Her patience was gone. So I had to hoist her on my hip and push the cart with one hand. Which is not easy in Wal-Mart because there are people everywhere. I nearly ran into the following:

--An old lady checking out a Preparation H box (which made me think of Austin Powers. "I will call it...Preperation H." "You might as well call it Operation Ass Cream." "What?")

--A little boy who seriously morphed out of no where and nearly became forever embedded into the ground

---A display of diet pills (the experts say they don't work.)

--A woman yakking on her cell phone and not bothering to pay attention to where she was going. She was seriously involved in a conversation about someone name Jose because she was all, "Jose said that...but Jose wants to...Jose wanted hot dogs but there are like fifty brands of hot dogs here..."

And a Wal-Mart worker who looked like she was marking things down. I stopped about a centimeter away from her and asked if she knew where I could find bikini wax cream. Yes, I was a little embarrassed asking. Because I was basically admitting that hey, I’m a mess down there and I need help.

But the worker didn’t even pause from gathering a bunch of shampoos and dumping them in an empty cart beside her. She just went, “Crotch creams are down thataway,” and gestured with her thumb.

Huh?

Crotch creams?

I swear, no one in Target would ever use the words “crotch” and “creams” in the same sentence. Sometimes walking into Wal-Mart is like walking into a whole different world. I imagine that the workers there are used to customers saying things like, "I've got the shits. Where is the medicine for that?"

“No,” I said, finding my voice after being appalled for a few seconds. “I need bikini wax cream.”

Once again, the lady didn’t even pause in what she was doing.

“Lubricants are down that aisle,” she said, pointing in another direction.

Was she even HEARING me? I imagine if I had said something like, "Look, lady, I just want to surprise my husband so it doesn't look like I have a squished kitten between my legs," that she would comprehend.

But obviously I wasn't going to say THAT.

“No, I already have some of that stuff,” I said, before thinking. Then I felt my face grow warm. Ew, now she was going to think of me as some sex fiend or something.

But this caught her attention. She actually paused in marking down a shampoo bottle and actually looked at me as though she were shocked at what I had to say.

Please lady, you used the words crotch and cream.

“What is it that you need?” the lady finally asked impatiently. She leaned against the cart and gave a long sigh.

“Bikini wax cream,” I repeated for what seemed like the millionth time. “You know, for when you wax, um...your bikini area.” And then I added to making a fool of myself by actually making a shaving motion. Right by my, um, area.

I was sure that my face resembled a cherry at that point.

But my bizarre charade seemed to make the lady’s mind click because she was all, “Go down the deodorant aisle. That stuff should be down there.”

Then she turned around and went back to her task.

“Thanks,” I said to her back and then headed for the proper aisle.

And then there it was, my Bikini Zone stuff. I had gone down that aisle, for the record, but I must’ve missed it. Maybe because there was only one bottle left. I’m not sure. Apparently a lot of people are at work keeping their he haws neat.

Then I went to check out and I managed to spend $90 when I had only come in for the Bikini Zone stuff.

How does that happen?

I suppose I really didn't need the new couch pillows. But the ones we have now are stained and disgusting. I hate when things get stained. I'd like to say the pillows are messy due to the children. But no, that would be my husband, who likes to gobble down snacks on the couch and said snacks drop on my pillows and apparently it's too much of a chore to get up and grab a paper towel.

I guess I really didn't need the chocolate cake. But it practically had my name on the package. Mmmm chocolate fudge cake. Amber, buy me. I promise not to expand your thighs and I won't tell your WiiFit.

Maybe I didn't really need the fruit platter. But I felt guilty over buying the chocolate cake and figured the fruit would balance out the chocolate. Yeah, it would have been cheaper to just buy the fruit and cut it myself. But I hate cutting things. To be honest, I usually end up cutting myself. So in order to keep my digits, I try to buy things that are already sliced.

Natalie INSISTED on the Toodee shirt. It was on clearance for $3 and she practically danced out of her seat when she saw it.

"TOOOOODEEEEE!" she yelped, pointing wildly. "TOOODEEE!"

This lady who was looking at clothes beside me glanced up and went, "How sweet. She's letting you know she went doodie."

Uh.

"Actually, it's a character off this creepy show called Yo Gabba Gabba," I explained.

I didn't say that when Natalie takes a dump, she stomps over to me, hurls a diaper in my direction and says gruffly, "I poops." Then she lays down and looks at me expectantly. Well, come on then. Don't dilly daddle. Clean me!

I HAD to get Tom's energy drinks. Those are $6 for a four pack. He says he needs them to stay alert at work.

Okay fine, I DIDN'T need the pink jelly beans. But I made the mistake of going down the Easter aisle and they had Easter goodies sorted into colors. There was yellow, green, orange, blue and pink.

Buy In Color! a sign boasted.

Neat.

Natalie begged for a bright pink lollipop that was nearly as big as her head. It was $1, so I obliged. I figured it would make for a cute photo prop. While she's going to town with the oversized treat, I'll snap away.

Basically, I needed everything I bought.

I swear it!

The Adventures of (Trying To) Scare Tom

I scare easily.

People who have met me in real life know this. The slightest noise can make me jump. It doesn’t bother me though. Usually if a stranger causes me to yelp, they apologize profusely and I have to assure them that I’m okay, that I’m used to it.

I have no idea why I’m like this. I just am. Tom finds this hilarious. He likes to make sudden noises and jump out of closets. Then he’ll collapse into loud guffaws and gasp out that he’s sorry but that he’s never seen anything like it before.

“You’d think after being married for seven years that it would get old. It doesn’t,” Tom said, clutching his stomach while he laughed. He had just leaped out of the closet and had caused me to screech at the top of my lungs and rush out of the room with my arms straight up in the air.

It’s hard to imagine that he was so careful not to startle me when we were first dating. I remember he approached me at my locker one day after we had been going out for a week. I had been grabbing the dreaded Algebra book and then I slammed the locker door—and he was standing right there.

“EEEEE!” I went and nearly hurled the textbook at his face.

Tom looked horrified as he shielded his face in case I did let go of the Algebra book. “I’m so sorry,” he stammered. “I tried to be quiet. The last time I came up behind you, you did the same thing.”

He soon learned that I’d startle no matter what he did. And when he realized that being wired like a frenzied Chihuahua didn’t bother me, he didn’t take as much care when he approached me.

We should probably record my antics. I imagine we could win some money on America’s Funniest Home Videos. I’m always laughing at the ones where people shriek and rush out of the room. Then I feel better because I do the same thing. Of course, in their case, there is usually a person shoved into a cupboard wearing a mask. So when the other person opens it they’re met with a gruesome face staring back out at them. I think I’d practically go into convulsions if someone tried to do that to me.

Anyhow, I got it in my mind that I needed to scare Tom. I suddenly craved to see him startle and to possibly emit a yelp. I decided that I’d bounce up from my hiding spot beside the bed when Tom walked out of the bathroom after showering. I crotched down when I heard the shower switch off and covered my mouth to keep from giggling. The anticipation was bubbling in my stomach and I couldn’t wait to see Tom jump back in surprise.

Tom opened the bathroom door and steam wafted around him as he strolled out with the towel wrapped around his waist.

“BOO!” I screamed, throwing my hands out and curling my fingers as though they were claws.

Tom didn’t even flinch. He behaved as though he expected me to be there. “Hi Amber,” he said casually, opening the drawer to pull out some boxers.

Then, and I’m almost embarrassed to admit this, I ended up scaring myself.

How?

Well, when I had bounced up from my hiding spot I must’ve knocked off one of the frames that were hanging on the wall. Because a few seconds after I tried to scare Tom, the picture went clattering to the ground.

Which made ME jump.

I mean, seriously? I go and try to scare someone else and I end up scaring MYSELF?

This could only happen to me.

I was not giving up though.

I tried to startle Tom later that night. When he was digging through the fridge I rushed in behind him and made an eerie “bwa-ha-ha” noise.

“Are you sick?” came Tom’s reply.

He didn’t even flinch. He just pulled out a Fanta and popped it open while looking at me with an expression that clearly showed that he thought of me as a certifiable nut.

“Why won’t you jump?” I shrieked. “Why can’t I scare you?”

Tom shrugged. “I don’t scare easily.”

It was probably because he was trained to expect the unexpected. As a military cop, he’s gone through class after class where he’s learned battle tactics. He’s probably just become immune to being startled.

I’ve tried to scare him in other ways too. I figure if I can’t get him to yelp, then I can at least alarm him.

So I casually said something like, “Michael Phelps came by and professed his love for me. We’re running off together.”

Tom’s reply? “While you’re out, could you pick up some Little Debbie snack cakes? We’re out.”

I just assumed he didn’t take me seriously because hello, I probably won’t ever meet Michael Phelps and he’s aware of this. If I ever did meet him, my tongue would become twisted in my mouth and I’d probably say something stupid like,

“So, I see you have big feet. You know what they say about men with big feet…” and then I’d turn a shade of scarlet and be kicking myself for saying such a thing. I mean honestly, who SAYS things like that? Me, that’s who. I mean, when Tom and I were first dating and he played football, I stupidly asked if he had to wear those crotch things in his uniform.

“Jock straps?” Tom wondered, raising his eyebrows in confusion.

“Er...yes?” I answered, wishing that the ground would swallow me up and put me out of my misery.

Because seriously. WHO ASKS THINGS LIKE THAT?

But anyhow, Michael Phelps, if he wasn’t totally disgusted, might smirk and be all, “No. What DO they say about people with big feet?” and enjoy watching me squirm and turn purple.

“Umm..that they’re smart of course. Um. Yeah. Oh, my cell phone is ringing,” I’d lie, digging into my purse.

Michael will look confused. “I didn’t hear—”

But by then, I’d have slinked away with the phone pressed to my ear even though no one had called in the first place.

Then Michael would Twitter something like, “Met weird fan. She asked about my feet.”

And in future interviews when he’s asked about the weirdest person he’s ever met, he’d be all, “Well, there was this girl who said something like, ‘you know what they say about people with big feet.’ I never realized people actually spoke like that.”

But anyhow, since Tom didn’t take Michael Phelps seriously I decided to use a real person.

“Tom, I’ve decided to run off to Hawaii with my ex-boyfriend!”

Tom just flipped through his magazine. “Could you pick up a souvenir if you go to Pearl Harbor? I’ve always want to go.”

UGH.

Just UGH.

“TOM!” I shouted. “Does ANYTHING scare you?”

He set his magazine down. “Not really. Why? Does that bother you?”

“YES!” I practically screamed.

Tom shrugged. “I just don’t get scared easily.”

“But it didn’t even bother you when I said that I was leaving with another man,” I pointed out.

“I want you to be happy. If that means going off with someone else then I’m not going to stop you,” Tom answered.

Huh?

“But that’s not what being in love MEANS!” I wailed passionately. “You fight for the person.” When I said the word fight, I put my hand in a fist and punched the air for emphasis.

Tom shrugged again. “Why? Life is short and you should be happy. If you found someone else, sure I’d be sad, but I’d be fine.”

No girl wants to hear that. They want to hear that their former mate will be miserable and rolling around in bed in their own filth because they’re so distraught they can’t bring themselves to shower.

“I’d fight for you,” I pointed out gruffly. At this point I had plopped on the couch beside him and had angrily crossed my arms over my chest. In short, I was pouting.

“You won’t ever have to fight for me. I’m not going anywhere,” Tom said matter-of-factly.

“But just in case some hot soldier comes onto you and—” I started.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Tom repeated. He reached out and tried to take my hand. I sat back into the couch so that I was out of reach. I mean, my plans to frighten Tom had failed miserably and I was told that there would be no sword fights for my honor if another man tried to move in.

Okay, fine, I didn’t really expect sword fights. I probably thought about that because I was watching a few episodes of The Tudors and that’s just how things were done back then. These days I imagine fights are done via text messages or something.

“BCK OFF MY GRL.”

“Y? SHE’S HPY WTH ME.”

“I do love you very much,” Tom’s voice cut through my thoughts. He had scooted closer to me and had tossed an arm over my shoulders.

“Nothing REALLY scares you?” I asked meekly. It really was driving me insane.

Tom cocked his head to the side and thought for a few seconds. “Actually,” he replied. “Something does.”

My eyes lit up. “What?” I demanded. I wondered if he was going to admit to a fear of hobbits or something.

“I’m scared that Natalie will be upset with me for leaving,” Tom admitted. I could see his expression was slightly troubled. He even pretended to pick off an imaginary piece of lint from his pants. “I’ll be gone for two months. What if she hates me for it?”

My heart melted a little bit. Aw! He loves his little girl! Everyone loves a man who adores his daughter.

See, Tom will be gone for two months come April for dog training school. I can understand why Tom would be worried. After all, Natalie sometimes grows annoyed when he’s been at work all day. She’ll march over to him and tell him off in her baby language and then flounce away in a huff.

She forgives him fairly quickly though. All he has to mention is the h-word (horsie) and everything is fine again.

“Don’t worry. She’ll forgive you,” I told Tom firmly. I grabbed one of his hands. “I’ll just explain that you’re working. And when you call, you can talk to her.”

Tom pulled a face. “She’ll probably hang up on me.”

Well, maybe. I wouldn’t put it past Natalie.

“I’ll keep reminding her that we’ll be seeing you when you graduate in June. I’ll make it fun, an adventure,” I promised.

Tom gave a long sigh. “I just hope she forgives me.”

I gave him a side hug. “She will. She adores you.”

There was a silence. I was resting my head on Tom’s chest and listening to him breathe softly.

“One day, Tom,” I vowed as he held me. “I’m going to scare you. I’ll figure something out.”

Tom chuckled. “Sure. You might as well give up. I told you, I don’t scare easily.”

“I’ll figure something out,” I repeated sternly.

And I will.

Someday.

The Evil WiiFit

I have a love/hate relationship with my WiiFit.

Mostly hate.

It tells me on a daily basis that I'm unbalanced.

It asks me if I fall down when I walk.

It chastises me if I skip a day of working out.



See?

Okay, so I skipped THREE days.

But I was busy.

Seriously.

This house doesn't clean itself. Even though my husband seems to think it does. I believe he imagines that tiny faeries fold and put away his laundry.

Then the WiiFit told me bluntly that I had gained weight and asked me this:



I was tempted to simply switch off the WiiFit and walk away. I don't have to put up with abuse from a freakin' video game!

But curiousity got the better of me so I pushed A:



The WiiFit didn't have "Because I nearly ate an entire cookie cake" as a selection.

So I picked Night Snacking. Even though I rarely night snack. Okay fine, I occasionally do. Mostly on Fridays. Because, hello, it's FRIDAY. TGIF? I'm celebrating the end of the week.



I got a lecture on Night Snacking. I told the WiiFit "Duh." I tend to speak to it as though it's a live being.



Then it mentioned cocoa and I got excited. Cocoa=chocolate which equals Reeses!

Right?

Okay, I know that's not what EvilFit meant.

But a girl can dream, okay?

Attack of the Cherubs

So I went to Target yesterday to pick up cheap chocolate.

Chocolate that is half off is exciting to me, you see.

It’s apparently not as thrilling to Tommy. A few minutes into browsing the clearance aisle, he started to trudge behind me and moan dramatically,

“This...is....taking...FOR..EVERRRR.”

Honestly, it was like shopping with a miniature version of his father.

“Tommy! It’s chocolate! For fifty percent off! Look, here’s one with Darth Vader on it,” I said, my voice laced with enthusiasm.

Tommy was not impressed. He just glared at the chocolate that I was waving in his face and gave a long sigh.

“I don’t LIKE Darth Vader. I LIKE Optimus Prime,” he fumed.

What?

He used to LOVE Darth Vader. I have pictures to prove it. One day he would only respond to Darth Vader and if you dared call him something like, I don’t know, his real NAME, he’d give an irritated sigh and go, “It’s Darth Vader!”

“Well. I don’t see chocolates with Optimus Prime on it,” I said with a shrug and put the offending Darth Vader box back.

“I don’t care,” Tommy grumbled.

Oh. Okay.

The teenage years are going to be incredible, really.

Since I was in Target, I had to go down the other aisles. It’s like the law or something. You never know what deals you’re going to find.

I found a trash can shaped like a duck for the kid’s bathroom for 75% off. This excited me. I waved it around Tommy’s face and he just asked if I was almost done.

“Why? You have a hot date or something?” I joked, placing the duck in the cart.

Tommy tossed me a Look.

I ignored his grumpiness and continued searching for deals. I found a bed in a bag set that was 75% off and I was tempted to purchase it. It was blue, so that meant that it wouldn’t offend Tom. He wouldn’t be able to say that it was too girly. But then I realized that there were CHERUBS on the comforter.

So the awesome deal went back on the shelf.

Because I knew Tom would not be able to sleep with cherubs. I could already picture his response:

“Amber? I can’t sleep. The cherubs are looking at me.”

“Amber! We can’t have sex! The cherubs are watching!”

“Er, Amber? You can’t touch that, the cherubs will SEE and tell their cherub friends!”

So, as you can see, it was just easier NOT to buy the cherub bedding. Even though I’m growing sick of staring at our manly-looking set that we own now. It’s starting to fade and quite frankly, I’d like a set that is bright and cheerful.

“Bright and cheerful sounds girly,” Tom said when I told him this awhile back.

This is why I wish we could have our own bedrooms. Then he could decorate his room like a typical man cave, complete with socks and underwear littering the floor.

And my room can be bright and cheery with dirty clothes actually in a white wicker laundry basket.

Anyhow, after Target, we went to Wal-Mart to check out their deals.

To sedate Tommy, I promised him that we could check out the toy aisle.

“Can I buy something?” he asked hopefully.

“No. Your birthday is approaching. You’ll get toys then,” I answered.

He gave a long sigh and muttered something like, “I never get ANYTHING.” Seriously kid? Your room looks like an entire section of Toys R Us. You have plenty.

As we walked into Wal-Mart, some workers were marking down the Valentine’s Day cookies.

Score!

I’m not above buying pink iced cookies that are marked half off.

I also bought these:



They were nearly impossibly to open though. You’d think you could easily pierce that plastic, right? But no. It was like indestructible plastic. It was almost like my WiiFit was blocking my access to the truffles. I got it open by poking a knife through the plastic. “I WILL eat you,” I said as the knife pierced through.

And, okay, I had to get this:



Tom took one look at it and knew why I bought it.

“Because it was sparkly?”

I clapped my hands. “You know me well.”

It’s awesome, too. I’ve never had Rice Krispy treats with buttercream icing. I highly recommend it. It's one of my new Favorite Things to eat.

The Torture Device

So, okay, I may have gained a few pounds.

My WiiFit never fails to point this out.

I decided that I ought to go to the gym. Yes, I totally cheated on my WiiFit. But I've started to get bored of the exercises that it offers.

So today I headed to the gym.

The gym on base is a nice one. It has rows and rows of elliptical machines and treadmills.

I imagine there is even weight room. But I don't venture back there as I'm a weakling and watching men pump iron tends to make me giggle. Because they start to grunt and it sounds like they're trying to expel a giant poo or something.

There is a room in front of the ellipticals where you can leave your children. This is where I led Natalie and she began to look wary as we entered the room. It was filled with colorful toys and a TV was blaring Noggin.

"You can stay and play in here," I said. "Mommy will be right there." I jabbed my finger in the direction of the ellipticals.

"No," Natalie instantly said and latched herself onto my leg.

I unclasped her hands and bent down to her level.

"Natalie, I don't think you understand. Your Mommy is gaining weight. Mommy needs to work out. So I just need you to play in here for twenty minutes. Just twenty minutes. Look, there's another little girl," I said, gesturing to a raven-haired child who looked to be around two. And okay, I'm not making fun, but she had a total unibrow going on which reminded me of that evil baby on The Simpsons. She looked like the type of child who had a name like Gert.

"Don't look at me!" Raven-haired-unibrow-maybe Gert suddenly shouted at me.

Oh.

Um.

"Okay," I said quickly. "Maybe stay away from that one. How about...er...him?" I pointed to a little boy in the corner of the room who was gripping his blanket and rocking back and forth muttering, "Mom? Mom? Mom?"

Hrm.

Slim pickings.

In the end, Natalie became distracted by the television. Dora the Explorer came on and she got excited and started jumping up and down.

"Dora! Dora!" she shrieked.

"Dora smells," Unibrow child said knowingly.

Does she? I wouldn't know. As she's a cartoon.

But I just forced a smile, kissed Natalie on her head and rushed out to the elliptical machine.

I was a little nervous as I got onto it. It's been awhile. I think the last time I've been on one was in England, when I used to work out with Jennifer.

This one had a lot of buttons.

I pushed one and it started beeping at me.

Oh crap. Oh crap!

I pushed another button and the beeping stopped.

Phew.

Then I found another button that asked me what type of workout I wanted.

"Easy," I muttered. But I pushed medium. Because I need to push myself.

Then I started moving.

And one minute into it, I was gasping for air.

Why the HELL did you choose medium? EASY you always go with EASY! You can't do MEDIUM. Are you INSANE!?

I felt like I was going to to keel over three minutes into the workout.

I didn't even hear my daughter's voice at first.

But then I came to and realized she was standing in the doorway shouting, "Mom? MOM?"

She looked horrified. She probably thought I was being tortured. Which, in fact, I was.

Natalie's voice rang through the entire room and I instantly worried that she was disturbing the other patrons working out.

There was one chick who had to be on the hard setting because she was BOOKING IT on the elliptical and wasn't even breaking a sweat. Damn.

"MOM?" Natalie said again.

I wished that she had a sweeter voice when she called for me. Instead it's an annoying like Janice-from-Friends voice.

I climbed off the elliptical and waddled over to Natalie. Yes, I waddled because my legs felt like jelly and I was worried that I was going to go face first into the floor.

"What is it?" I asked softly, knowing full well that I looked ridiculous wobbling in front of Natalie. I was sort of bent over and I imagine sweat was dropping from my brow.

"All done," Natalie informed me. Then, to prove her point, she started marching towards the exit.

"Not all done," I said, limping after her. I scooped her up and brought her back into the room.

Unibrow was glaring at us and the little boy continued to clutch at his blanket.

"I just need ten more minutes," I told Natalie. I rummaged through the pile of toys and found an Elmo guitar. "Look. It's Elmo. You LOVE Elmo."

Natalie pressed one button and then dropped it.

Hrm.

Okay then.

I tried to get her interested in a book.

She refused to even look at it.

So I had to give her the emergency toy.

AKA my cell phone.

I dug it out of my purse and handed it over.

"Do not let anyone else mess with this," I said seriously.

Natalie was already happily pressing the buttons. "And don't, you know, call China or anything," I added, before darting out of the room.

Back onto the elliptical I went.

Six minutes in, I longed for Natalie to come out and call me again. I needed a break! Come on kid, come out and call for MOM. Mom needs to rest.

Eight minutes in I was all, Natalie, Natalie, come out, please. Mommy can't BREATHE and would like an excuse off this thing.

When it hit ten minutes, I called it a day. I was gasping for air and I imagine my face was bright red.

I passed by the woman who was on the hard setting. She was happily going about her business and when I glanced at her machine, I saw she was FORTY FIVE minutes into it.

FORTY FIVE MINUTES?

On hard?

Was she real? Was she part alien?

Forty five minutes? ON HARD.

I'd die.

I limped into the room to retrieve my kid.

"Natalie," I gasped out.

She was in front of the TV, watching Dora.

And I realized she was NOT holding my cell phone.

Oh crap.

"Natalie? Where is the phone?" I asked her through heavy breaths. So it came out as..."Nat-a-leeeee....where.....is.....the...ph---one?"

But she wouldn't answer. Of course. Now that we were leaving, she was finally enamored with the TV.

Then I heard the familiar beeping of the numbers of my phone being pushed.

And I saw that Unibrow had it.

Great.

So I headed for her and she immediately cowered back. "GET AWAY!" she bellowed and then darted back to where the frightened boy sat.

"MY BLANKIE!" the boy suddenly screamed when Unibrow got too close. "MY BLANKIE!"

Unibrow was squatting down and continued messing with my phone.

"Sweetheart," I said in my best I'm-like-freakin'-Mary-Poppins-you-can-trust-me voice. "I need my phone back. I'm ready to go home." I gave her a wide smile and held my hand out.

She stared at me for a few seconds and I thought she was contemplating handing it over.

But no.

Instead she yelled, "NO!" and rushed over to the front of the room.

Good gracious kid. Can you not see that I'm in PAIN? Must you move so fast?

I slowly headed over to Unibrow. I felt a drop of sweat run down my cheek. Gross.

"I really need my phone back," I tried again. "I--"

"MOM-MEEEEEE!" Unibrow let loose with all her might.

And a few seconds later, guess who showed up?

Yup, that lady who was on HARD and wasn't even breaking a sweat!

She walked into the room looking as though she had just finished flipping through a magazine. Her HAIR wasn't even out of place.

"What's wrong, Ashley?" the woman sing-songed. She wasn't even GASPING for breath.

The hell?

Unibrow--er, I mean ASHLEY--shot me a death look and uttered one word: "Mean."

Mean?

What?

I just wanted what was MINE back.

That's not mean.

That's, you know, repossession.

I figured that this non-sweating mother could totally beat me up. She looked the type who did Taebo and what not. So I gave a sweet smile and explained the situation.

"Ashley, you need to give the phone back," Alien Mother said in a non-authorative voice.

So of course Ashley didn't take her seriously.

"NOOOO!" Ashley bellowed and rushed off to the back of the room.

Oh for the love of--

I didn't think I had the STRENGTH to move. So I sort of stood there stupidly and then Alien Mother realized that she ought to follow her kid. So, and I'm not kidding, in three easy strides she was beside her daughter and was saying something about making homemade zucchini bread when they got home and I guess she threatened that Ashley couldn't have any because a few minutes later, Ashley dropped the phone.

I tried not to show my distaste as Alien Mom handed my phone back. (I mean ZUCCHINI bread? What about, I don't know, chocolate CHIP bread? Who wants bread with vegetables in it?)

"Sorry," she said in a honey-laced voice and handed my phone over.

"Oh, that's okay," I lied even though I had wanted to take Ashley by her ankles and swing her around my head until she dropped my danged phone.

But, let's be honest, I wouldn't have had the strength for that anyway.

Movie Day for Me

Yesterday I got to see He's Just Not That Into You.

I read the book when it came out and thanked the Lord that I was no longer in the dating scene. I'd be so lost. One of the rules state that if a guy wants to call you, then he will. But suppose he's shy and takes a few days to muster up the courage?

Tom watched the kids. Awhile back he went to see Gran Torino because Clint Eastwood is one of his heroes. I lost count of the number of times that he's subjected me to Heartbreak Ridge which has a younger Clint Eastwood in it cursing left and right. The movie is over two hours long. It's like, hello Tom, I've learned not to put on The Notebook in your presence. Can't you be equally kind and not put in movies that put me to sleep?

I've given up over trying to get him to enjoy The Notebook. I thought I could make him squeeze my hand and say in a loving voice, "You know, they remind me of us," while gesturing to Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams kissing frantically in the rain.

Want to know what I got instead?

Tom blowing raspberries at the screen and going, "Oh PUH-LEASE," every three seconds.

Oh well.

Because he got to see Gran Torino , I was able to pick out a movie. I decided on He's Just Not That Into You because I remembered the book and quite frankly, I wonder about what the rules are these days. I don't recall there being rules when Tom and I started dating. Of course, we were in high school. The only rules that existed then were the rules made by our parents.

Natalie was not amused over the fact that I was leaving. She saw me putting on my jacket and rushed to grab hers.

"I comes?" she asked hopefully.

"You're staying with your Daddy," I responded.

She tossed her jacket angrily on the floor and jumped up and down in horror. The Terrible Twos are going to be so much fun. Really.

"Tom," I called out as I put on my jacket. "Remember to cut up her burger and give her this fork to eat with. I don't know why, but she won't eat with any other fork. I'm leaving it on the counter. Make sure Tommy finishes his homework. You'll have to watch him while he does it because otherwise he starts drawing pictures all over it and you have to remind him to stay on task. Also--"

I hadn't even realized that Tom was in front of me. I was so focused on rambling out my requests that I was shocked when his palm went over my mouth.

"Amber. I'm their father. I know how to take care of my children," Tom reminded me gently. He removed his hand and kissed the top of my head. "Go. I've got this."

Oh.

Right.

Sometimes I forget that he's a grown adult. I suppose this slips my mind because I see that he can't be bothered with putting his laundry in the basket even though the basket is a few feet away from where he likes to dump his clothes. I have it in my mind that if he can't do something as simple as that, how is he going to be able to keep two human beings alive?

I left a few seconds later. I heard Natalie's angry shouts and Tom telling her not to cry, that they could play horsie.

Her cries abruptly stopped because horsie is all the rage in this household these days.

I headed to the cinema and it was eerily quiet.

There was no one around.

I went up to the booth to order my ticket and I didn't see anyone in there.

But then the woman popped out of nowhere and nearly gave me a heart attack.

"I'm sorry," she gushed. "I didn't mean to scare you!"

"It's okay," I replied. "I scare easily."

I ordered my ticket and she handed it over. Then she asked if I was getting popcorn.

"Yes," I answered.

"Great," she chirped. "I'm working the concession stand too!"

Only in Wyoming, I guess.

She rushed over and put on a concession stand hat. I had to swallow a giggle back because she reminded me of Kirk, the character in Gilmore Girls , who had more jobs than I could keep count of.

I ordered a small popcorn ("with lots of butter please") and a medium diet coke.

I had SnoCaps tucked away in my purse.

I know.

For shame.

But I'm not about to fork over three dollars for something that I can find for one.

Then I headed for the theater and realized there was only one other woman in there.

I didn't feel like a total loser at least. I mean, she was alone too.

Or so I thought.

A few minutes later a guy joined her.

Hrm.

Then another guy walked in and sat in the back. I didn't see anyone join him.

I wonder if he was watching the movie for tips?

Or I bet he had a crush on Scarlett Johannsen. A lot of men do. Something about her lips?

Trivia questions were appearing across the screen. From that, I learned that we blink our eyes an average of 6.2 million times in a lifetime.

That's a whole lotta blinking.

Then the previews started. While those were blaring across the screen, I dumped my SnoCaps in the popcorn.

Mmm, a salty and sweet treat.

Seriously, it rocks.

There were eight previews in all.

There was one for DC Comics or something like that. I'm sorry, but it's hard for me to take a man seriously when he's wearing a cape. Oh, and colorful spandex.

Then the movie started. Jennifer Connolly was in it. Some people may know her from A Beautiful Mind. Me? I know her as Sarah from Labyrinth which was one of my favorite movies as a child.

I nearly expected her to be all, "For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom is as great...you have no POWER over me!"

But that would have made no sense in this particular movie.

The film was enjoyable. And I realized that I was developing a crush on Justin Long. Though I read that he hooked up with Tila Tequilla. I mean, really? Tila TEQUILLA? Didn't she make her potential suitors eat pig's vagina? I remember The Soup making fun of the show and Tila chirped out, "You'll all be eating PIG'S VAGINA!" as though it were the most exciting thing ever.

It probably was. For her.

I admit, I get a kick out of watching people eat disgusting dishes.

After the movie, I headed to Chick-fil-a to pick up my beloved sweet tea.

Oh sweet tea, how I love thee.

Then, back to the house I went.

I'm never sure how the house will look after I've returned. Sometimes it resembles the aftermath of a tornado. So when I walked through the front door, I was surprised when the house was clean.

And that Tom had vacuumed.

"You cleaned," I said in a shocked voice. I walked over to Tom, who was stretched out on the couch watching Spongebob with Natalie on his lap. "You're GROWING UP," I added dramatically. It was probably because of the movie that I was behaving like that. In the movie, some characters grew up. Others...well...they didn't.

"Um?" Tom said, looking confused. "I cleaned because the house was a mess."

"You're growing up," I repeated, kissing his cheek.

"Uh? I guess?" Tom decided to just go along with my nonsense. He's learned it's easier that way.

Then I went into the kitchen and saw that Tommy's homework was done.

"And you had Tommy do his homework!" I shrieked.

Tom followed me in and looked perplexed. "You asked me to," he reminded me.

I threw my arms around him. "I know! And you LISTENED!"

Tom patted my back politely a few times. "Are you okay?"

I kissed his lips. "Thank you for not playing games with me while we were dating."

"Huh?"

"You never played games with me while we were dating. You called when you said you'd call. You told me flat out how you felt about me. I'm just saying that I appreciate it," I said with a nod.

Tom's eyebrows knitted together. "Are you feeling okay? Seriously?"

"I'm fine!" I said lightly and scooped Natalie up. She had marched over and was starting to tell me off in her baby language. "I just wanted to say that I appreciate you."

Tom still looked shocked. He stood for a few seconds and scratched his head. Then he shrugged and went, "Well...thanks..." and gave me another bewildered expression before heading for the computer.

I do appreciate him.

Now, if only he could replace the toilet paper roll when he uses the last of it.

Then I could appreciate him even more.

The Bookshelf Adventure

So here was the scenario:

I was surrounded by multiple pieces of wood. Nails were scattered all over the place and I was flipping frantically through the directions. I had it in my mind that maybe, just maybe, a magical elf would leap out and offer to put the bookcase together for me.

I mean, Rumpelstiltskin turned the straw into gold, did he not?

Of course, that's make believe.

But still. I was hoping for some sort of miracle. Or for the directions to make sense.

I grabbed Piece A as the directions told me to do. Then I grabbed piece P.

Which made me wonder, why couldn't it be piece B? Why go all the way to piece P?

Then I told myself to FOCUS, to not think of mundane things.

Tom popped his head in as I was balancing Piece A in my lap. I had to screw in piece P to piece A and Piece A was being a bitch and tilting left and right.

"How is it going?" Tom asked, a smile playing on the corner of his lips.

I wanted to hurl piece P at him. He looked so haughty, as though he knew all along that this would happen.

"Fantastic. Couldn't be better," I lied. I gave him a fake grin and pretended I knew exactly how to get the nail in the hole. I switched on my drill and moved closer to the screw.

"Uh. I think you have it backwards," Tom pointed out. He gestured to the directions that were spread out on the floor. "It's showing this piece facing the other way." Then he peered closer at the directions. "Um. Did you draw an angry face on one of the drawings?"

I had.

Out of frustration, I had grabbed a pen and gave one of the diagrams a pissed off expression.

Because that's how I felt.

"I can do this Tom," I snapped at him. "Just keep watching the kids."

Tom was keeping an eye on Natalie, who thought it was hilarious to walk over to me and grab a nail.

"Candies," she had said seriously and nearly put one in her mouth.

"NOT candy!" I said and took it from her. Which immediately insulted her and made her give one of her famous ear-piercing screeches.

Which made me shout for Tom to TAKE CARE OF HIS DAUGHTER because I was in the middle of BUILDING something.

Which made me feel all high and mighty because hey, I was BUILDING something.

"Just switch that piece around," Tom added before he left.

I waited until he was out of sight before doing so. Because I didn't want to give him any satisfaction.

Then I went back to screwing.

(Haha. Screwing!)

Ahem.

But then I got flustered again. Because then it started talking about taking piece G2 and putting it with piece H.

What happened to piece C? And D?

The directions started to get blurry and I realized it was because tears were beginning to well in my eyes.

Don't cry, Amber. You don't cry when you're building something!

I tried to blink the wetness back.

But it was too late. Once my tears start to form, they usually always fall.

And sure enough, a few seconds later, a few splattered against the directions.

That's when Tom came back in.

For those who have Twitter, this was my message about it:

"After finding me crying and surrounded by nails and things I can’t even identify, Tom took over and built the bookcase."

I was embarrassed as I handed over the drill and the pieces that Made No Sense.

"Don't cry," Tom said and brushed my tears away. "Really. You did..." He peered at the one piece that I had put together and swallowed. "You did...great.." He didn't say this in a convincing tone but offered me a genuine smile.

So Tom put the bookshelf together.

Though, I did get a some satisfaction over the fact that some pieces were difficult to put together.

This was evident from the choice words that filtered out into the living room.

And the fact that Tom called one piece a stupid sonofabitch.

But then a half hour later, he called me back into the dining room. And the beautiful bookshelf stared back at me.

"There you go," Tom said gruffly.

I threw my arms around him. "My hero!"

I helped him push the bookcase against the wall. And then we realized that the room looked funny with just one.

So Tom gave a long sigh and went, "We need another one. The room looks unbalanced now."

Back to Lowes we went.

This time, I didn't even bother trying to put together the bookcase. I had learned my lesson.

Plus, we realized that the bookcase company was Sauder, which is one of our mortal enemies.

Sauder is the maker of our computer desk and you wouldn't BELIEVE how many pieces that contained.

Tom only swore a handful of times when he put together the bookcase.

When he put together the computer desk he swore...well, to be honest, I lost count after swear word number ten. I helped Tom with that and every few minutes he seemed to snap at me.

"NOT that piece! Piece F, Amber. Why are you handing me piece B?"

"It looked like an F. The pieces are labeled very lightly. Don't YELL at me!" I shouted back.

Or I wasn't holding pieces properly so that Tom could drill them together.

"TIGHTER Amber, honestly. How am I supposed to drill when the pieces aren't even TOGETHER?"

"STOP YELLING AT ME OR I'M GOING TO THROW PIECE H AT YOUR HEAD!"

Needless to say, we both vowed to NEVER get Sauder again.

And we had no idea that the bookcase was made by Sauder. It didn't say the name in big letters. It was right in the lower corner.

"Curse it! No wonder why I couldn't put it together. It's SAUDER!" I shouted and then crossed my index fingers over one another and made a hissing sound in the direction of the Sauder name.

So THAT'S why I couldn't put it together.

Because it was a Sauder.

That's my excuse and quite frankly, I'm sticking to it.

Here are the finished bookshelves. You can see why we needed two. And I'm proud to say that Tom put together the other one and only shouted one profanity.



Because of the new bookshelves, we have a bunch of extra room for new books.

Amazon.com, here I come!

A Trip to Lowes (Help!)

Our tax refund was deposited into our account on Friday.

Tom and I decided that we wanted to buy things to organize the Bog of Eternal Mess.

Also known as the garage.

Admittedly, it's a disaster. Boxes balancing precariously on top of other boxes, totes, totes, and, oh look at that, more totes. Multiple tools that my husband rarely uses, yet insisted that he "needed". Exercise equipment that Chuck Norris endorses that Tom promised that he'd use, but has only touched a handful of times when he realized it wasn't as easy to use as Chuck Norris made it out to be.

"I'm still going to use it," Tom insisted as he folded up the weight bench.

"Yeah. And I'm going to start wearing panties without holes in them," I answered.

Bottom line? The garage was basically an accident waiting to happen. In fact, Tommy was once toppled with a few boxes and told me seriously that he nearly died. I coddled him and went along with the pretense that he had just survived a harrowing experience. Even though the boxes that had fallen on him contained had blankets and pillows and at best, weighed about two pounds.

On Saturday we went out to Lowes to find things to make our garage safe. Lowes is one of Tom's favorite places in the world. He normally hates to shop--I have to force him into Target and hear him moan when I go down aisle after aisle--yet, while in Lowes, he'll happily take his time and marvel that there are fifty different types of nails.

"I've never SEEN a nail like this? Have you?" he once asked me, sticking one under my nose.

"Can we go home?" was my response. Birds were flying around overhead and I was paranoid that one would poop on me.

When we walked into Lowes on Saturday, Tom immediately strolled over to the grills and practically drooled on top of them. He stroked one like a cat and tossed me a look that reminded me of our six-year-old's expression when he wants a toy.

"No," I said sternly.

He looked crushed and continued to move his palm along the top of a Char-Broil Commercial series grill with quantum infrared grates. I remembered the name because it reminded me of that show Quantum Leap. Plus, it also reminded me of a robot name.

"Say goodbye to the grill, Tom," I said firmly and pulled him along. He shuffled beside me and did the pouting thing for a few minutes. But then he perked up when we walked past the power drills.

"You have a power drill, Tom," I reminded him as he rushed over.

"But not THIS one," Tom answered and nearly put me to sleep as he launched into a speech about lithium ion drills and how cool they were and blah blah blah...

I think bath bombs are cool but I know enough not to gush to Tom about them. ("And this bath bomb has actual ROSE petals in it, and this one smells like lavender...")

"Tom. We're here for totes. Remember?" I asked through clenched teeth. At that point I was losing my patience because Natalie decided that she was too good for the shopping cart and wanted out. Tommy had gone over beside Tom and was poking at a drill, wondering when he could have one.

"When I'm ten?" he begged hopefully.

"Um. No," I replied and gestured wildly for Tom to walk beside me. Natalie was now standing up in her seat and had her arms grasped around my neck so that not only couldn't I see, but I also couldn't breathe.

"Please....let....go....of....Mommy," I gasped and managed to unclasp her hands. I ended up balancing her on my hip as we walked to the tote area.

Our plan was to take all our stuff out of boxes and put them in massive size bigger-than-us totes.

We picked up four of those and then out of the corner of my eye, I spotted bookshelves.

We currenly have two. But I love to read so they are both stuffed with books. Books are on top of books. Basically, my bookshelves nearly resemble the garage.

"Oooo...can we get one of these?" I begged Tom.

He pretended not to hear me.

I grabbed his arm. "Tom. Look, a bookshelf."

He sniffed. Then he blinked dramatically. "Oh. I'm sorry. Did you SAY something? Because weren't you the same person who refused to let me get a grill?"

Oh.

Right.

But a grill is a GRILL. A bookshelf is a beautiful thing. A grill just...well...grills.

I can get steak at Texas Roadhouse. Who needs a grill in 2009?

Plus, my bookshelf was $69.

Tom's grill was like FIVE hundred dollars. I'm not kidding.

"I'll put it together myself," I added firmly. I marched over to the bookshelf, which was in a large rectangular box. I bent down to pick it up and...

Nothing.

The box wasn't lifting.

Because it was heavier than I expected. So there I was grunting and puffing and I think Tom was embarrassed by my appearance.

No folks, she's not taking a crap. She's just trying to lift up that box. Move along, move along...

"Oh. Let me," Tom said, pushing me aside.

He had the box in the cart in less than thirty seconds.

Note to self: work on my arms. Obviously they have no muscle.

Soon after that, we had a brief arguement over trash bags. I had tossed the Flex ones in the cart and Tom had insisted that no, they really wouldn't flex with the crap we had in the garage and that we needed something called Contractor trash bags. I thought he was making it up and just being difficult until he lifted up a box and proved me wrong.

Then he had to look down another aisle that had nothing to do with organizing the garage.

So to entertain myself, I made fun of Lug Nuts, which were hanging across from me.

"Hey Tom? Do you have lug nuts?" I called out, and then burst into loud guffaws.

Tom looked horrified. His eyes flicked over to the older man beside him, who looked as though he were trying not to laugh.

"Do you have to make a comment on everything?" Tom snapped, coming up beside me.

"Hey," I replied with a shrug. "It's better than that time where I placed a screw in your hand and asked if you WANTED to screw."

A strange sound came out of the older man who was a few feet away from us. It may have been a laugh. When he passed us, he threw Tom a sympathetic look.

Dude. I've been there. It's best to leave the womenfolk at home...

We left soon after that. I think Tom was paranoid that I'd come up with another way to humiliate him in his beloved store.

When we got home, Tom carried the bookshelf box in for me and set it on the floor.

"Have at it," he said and then walked off.

I stared at the box and rubbed my palms together. "Okay," I said, taking a deep breath. I was armed with my pink drill and ready to go. "I can do this."

I tore open the box and tried not to panic when various pieces tumbled out.

Oh no.

What's that?

And THAT?

I found the directions and opened them.

Oh no.

Oh NO.

I couldn't even COMPREHEND what it was telling me to do.

But then I realized I was looking at the Spanish section.

Whew.

I flipped to the American section and didn't feel much better after I scanned them.

They read like a scary Algebra problem.

Where was piece G2?

And what in the world was THAT kind of screw called?

Oh no.

It's Time for Random Photos

Guess what?

It's Random Photo Day! (RPD!)

--------



Do you know who this is? I gave a hint by painting the chair red. Still confused? A-hem. "Here's the mail it never fails it makes me wanna wag my tail..when it comes I wanna yell MAILLLLL!" Yes folks, that is Steve from Blue's Clues. He's not dead. Apparently there was a rumor that he's died. No, apparently he's gone off and tried to become a model. I'm sorry, I cannot take Steve as a model seriously. I just picture him talking to Tickety Tock and asking where his Handy Dandy notebook is.




Tom loves the movie Tropic Thunder. In the movie, one of the characters promotes this drink. Tom found the drink at Spencer's Gifts and HAD to have it. (I'm not kidding.) He even shouted in the store, "It's BOOTY SWEAT!"




Natalie picked these Valentines out. I was looking down the Valentines aisle because hello, chocolates galore! While I was admiring this huge heart box of chocolates, Natalie practically went into convulsions. "Bow-bee! Toodee!" She was gesturing wildly and I realized she found some Yo Gabba Gabba valentines. I checked the price ($1.99) and agreed that she could have them. Hey, $1.99 allowed me to shop in peace. She stared at the box the entire time. I'm not above forking out $2 for quiet.




A lot of people were curious over the beef in the box that I mentioned last week. Here it is. It rocks. Stick it in the microwave and wah-lah! A main dish! I usually make it with rice and corn. Perfect for those who can't cook.




Tom found that freaky toy (excuse me, collectable figurine) online. For $60. I'm not kidding. But he got excited when he found a site that actually had it in stock. I don't like the way the dog is looking at me. I usually turn it around and then Tom wakes up and is all, "Who is messing with my figurine?"




Look! Tom made dinner the other night. Granted, it was one of those Chef Boyardee pizza kits. But hey, I'll take it! Tom was all, "Did you take my picture?"




I imagine that most of you have heard that Christian Bale went off into a tirade while at work. I found this icon and it shows part of what he said. It amuses me. "A da da da!" But seriously, we need to stop putting celebrities on a pedestal. Last I checked, if someone behaved like that at work, they'd be FIRED.




I've had a lot of people send me the link of the Michael Phelps article where he was caught doing pot. A lot of people asked if I still liked him because they know that I'm anti-drugs. The answer? Of course! Have you SEEN his pecks? I joke. In all seriousness, yup I'm still a fan. I hope he learns from this. I mean, I made a lot of mistakes in my life. Getting knocked up at 19 wasn't the smartest idea. (Of course I'm thankful for Tommy.) But I learned that condoms are evil and that I'm extremely fertile and if I REALLY want to prevent pregnancy, I need the birth control pills.

I read another article where Michael says that people have been screaming at his apartment window at seven in the morning because he smoked the pot. I mean, seriously? As I told a friend, if someone was shouting outside of my window at seven in the morning, I'd be pulling a Christian Bale on them.




Want to pretend that you're a giant? Then pick up these mini Twinkies. Because seriously. They ARE mini. You'll totally feel like chanting "Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum!" when you eat these. But beware! One second they're there, and the next they're gone because they're so danged tiny that you don't even realize you've eaten them all.


And finally...I know this isn't a picture but this video basically sums up why I cannot and will not ever take soap operas seriously.