The Other Mothers

I really try to get out more.

But the thing is, sometimes I can be a bit anti-social. I don’t know if it’s because I’m an Only Child or what.

I have tried playgroups because I figured my children shouldn’t be anti-social, you know? So I went to one a few times when we were in England.

And I promptly got irritated.

There was this one woman who’d say things like, “And my son is already counting to ten. Is that normal?” Her son was one. She was obviously fishing for a compliment, waiting for people to gasp, “Oh my GOD! He’s one and can count to ten? He’s so ADVANCED!”

She got the praise too. All the other mothers would flip out and go, “Your son is a little genius!”

I think she was lying. Her son ate dirt for craps sake. He tried to poke my son’s eye out. All I’m saying is that he never counted to ten in front of us.

“My son knows all of his shapes,” Bragging Mom said the next time we all met. “Is that normal?”

Dear gracious, I wanted to claw my eyes out.

And then other Moms chimed in as though they couldn’t bare the fact that their precious children weren’t geniuses. So someone else would go, “Well, my daughter can sing her ABCs..” And someone else would shout, “My son can do algebra!” or some nonsense thing like that.

I was all, “Well. My son learned how to say please. We’re pretty thrilled with that.” Because at that point Tommy wasn’t talking much and any word he’d utter was exciting. Another time I went, “My son keeps his pants on when we’re in public now. Always a good thing.”

Anyhow, I only went to that group one more time. And yes, Bragging Mom was back in full force. “You GUYS, my son knows how to ADD! Is that normal?”

“No. It’s not normal.” The words slipped out of my mouth before I could think. All eyes swiveled to me. I swallowed and went, “I mean....christ, I guess your son is…” (And Bragging Mom leaned forward, wanting the word so badly..) “..advanced,” I finished with a roll of my eyes.

Women like that drive me insane. The bragging drives me insane. Of course I think my children are smart but I know other people really don’t give two hoots. But some people love to prattle on and on about their little darlings and I just want to cover their mouths and say, “Let’s talk about something else. Please.”

I went to another playgroup when we first got here.

This one woman had a sling where she kept her baby and I just casually said that I didn’t use slings.

“Why?” the woman demanded, clearly in shock. The other two women there looked equally surprised.

Ooops. I twisted my fingers nervously and went, “Well. I prefer strollers. I don’t like my baby strapped to me. I need, you know, space.”

It was like I had just screamed the word PUBES or something. The women all looked positively aghast that I had dared to say such a thing.

I mean, oh no, I use strollers. The HORROR. Not wanting my baby strapped against me. THE HORROR.

These were obviously crunchy ladies. And there is nothing wrong with crunchy ladies. I have friends that are crunchy and they probably think I’m harming Mother Earth with the disposable diapers I use but they’re polite enough not to say a word about it.

Before I left that group, I so wanted to pause and look over my shoulder and say, “And by the way. I had the DRUGS when I gave birth.” But I didn’t want them to keel over from shock or anything.

I was tempted to give a group another try. So I signed up for e-mail alerts. Then I get an e-mail from the group leader talking about meeting for some Fitness Fun.

First of all, fitness is NEVER fun. Is the woman on crack?

Second of all, she wanted us all to meet at 9. In the morning. Granted, I’m up at 7 during the week but I’m never fully awake by 9. At 9, I’m still blinking in confusion and wishing that I could go back to bed. Do you honestly think I could force myself to a GYM for some Fitness FUN? Maybe if we could meet at, oh, one, then I’d be alert. Granted, I’d still be cranky being in a gym.

Needless to say, I’m not going.

I might just do what I have been doing and just bring Natalie to the indoor mall playground and let her run around. She meets kids that way after all. I’ll chit chat politely to the mother and if she’s a nutter, well, odds are I won’t ever have to see her again so it’s okay.

It’s a win win situation.

The Snow Won't Stop!

I had to drive in the snow yesterday.

I didn’t have a choice.

I had to go to Tommy’s Parent/Teacher conference.

I was afraid. I hate driving in the snow.

Tom was unsympathetic as he left for work.

“It’s not bad. Deal with it.”

It’s easy for him to say since he has a gigantic truck.

I just have a tiny hybrid.

I was a little nervous when I first started out. I was gripping the wheel so hard that my knuckles were white.

“Are you okay, Mommy?” Tommy asked from the backseat.

“Mommy is great!” I squeaked.

“Are we going to die?” Tommy wondered.

“No. Not at all!” I was still speaking in a high-pitched tone. The snow was coming down at full force and the roads were icy. Oh, and my car was yelling at me because I wasn’t driving in an eco manner.

“I can’t! It’s snowing!” I snapped at the display. It doesn’t really yell. The display just turns this irritating shade of blue. I’m beginning to hate the color blue because of it. It’s all happy and green when you’re driving in a “green” manner. But heaven forbid you have to push on the gas!

When I finally made it to the school my eco score was pretty low. Yup, you get scored on how well you drive. “You stupid car! It’s snowing!” I said again. I know it can’t hear me. But I was on edge.

Basically, Tommy is doing really well in school. He got an excellent report card. He got all 3s, which means that he’s proficient in all areas. He’s still a few levels down where he should be in reading but on everything else, he’s in the normal range. I breathed a sigh of relief when the teacher told me this. I’ve always worried about Tommy. Probably since he was two and we realized he was speech delayed. He was never able to sit still in preschool and in Kindergarten he had all sorts of meltdowns. But now…now he’s doing great.

“He has some of the best manners I’ve ever seen,” the teacher added. “He always tells me ‘Bless you’ if I sneeze, always says ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’”

I sat up proudly when she said that. I’ve always taught my kids manners from the beginning. It’s probably why Natalie screams, “No THANKS!” if she doesn’t want to do something.

“And Tommy doesn’t tell….inappropriate jokes at school?” I asked the teacher cautiously. At home he likes to talk abut his butt. I have no idea why.

“Not at all,” the teacher assured me.

Phew.

I guess the butt jokes are just a treat for me then. Nice.

So after that I had to drive back home in the snow.

Thankfully I made it home safely.

I had planned on going to Wal-Mart but there was no way I was driving in that weather. So I called Tom and said when he got off work that we’d all go.

“The roads aren’t bad!” Tom argued.

“Yes. For a TRUCK!” I shot back.

“Oh fine. I can pick up my pie things,” Tom agreed. (He’s obsessed with these little apple pies.)

So we went to Wal-Mart and I picked up a cake.

“What’s that for?” Tom wondered. He’s a little strange. He thinks that there always has to be a reason for cake.

“For your mother’s visit, of course!” I quickly said. I mean, why not?

I had the Wal-Mart worker write, “Welcome Grandma” on the cake.

“Oh. Is your Mom coming to visit?” the baker asked me as she scrolled out the words with frosting. Mmmmm. I wonder if I could swipe one of those frosting containers and run off with it…

“No. It’s my husband’s Mom,” I answered.

The baker looked up with a start, just as the cashier from yesterday had done. “Your mother in law?” She hissed the word as though it were naughty.

“Yes. But don’t worry, I get along with her.”

The baker raised an eyebrow. “People can get along with their mother-in-laws?”

I shrugged. “Apparently so!”

When I got the cake back, I set it in the cart and said to Tom, “That’s the second person I’ve met who’s surprised that I get along with my mother-in-law. It’s not so strange. I mean, you get along with my mother.”

Tom made a face. “Actually....” he began jokingly.

I smacked him lightly on the shoulder and he laughed.

“Okay! I do! But in the beginning I thought your mom was nuts!” He only thinks this because one time he came over for dinner and my Mom didn’t have sour cream. We were having tacos and apparently it’s his rule that you MUST have sour cream with tacos. So when Mom said, “Oh, we don’t use that,” he sort of blinked in surprise.

He later told me he wanted to yell, “NOOOOOOOO!” with his hands in the air.

He really loves his sour cream. He pays extra for it at Taco Bell even if we have some in the fridge.

Yes, this bugs me.

So anyhow, as I’ve mentioned before, my Mother-in-law comes Friday (if this snow lets up!) and I’ve been cleaning like mad. Tom has been stretched on the couch and when I shrieked, “Are you going to HELP?” he went, “Help with WHAT?” and I went, “Your mother’s VISIT!” He looked positively gobsmacked as though he’s never heard of the concept of anal cleaning when a visitor comes.

She’s here until Wednesday so if I’m not on that much, it’s because I’m entertaining.

And, you know, snacking on the delicious potato salad that she makes.

Rumor also has it that she’s going to make cookies....

I'm Not Vern

So yesterday I had to go to the grocery store.

It’s normally not busy at all.

But yesterday....it was packed. I couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t payday.

Then I got excited.

Maybe they were having a sale!

I love sales.

I got inside and looked around. There was no sale.

So…what was everyone doing there?

I pulled my list out and started walking down the aisles. There were people everywhere! One old lady crashed her cart into the back of my ankles and called me Vern. She was all, “Vern, grab some green beans,” as she stared down at her list and I just quickly walked away with throbbing feet.

Who were all these people?

I swear, I usually always go grocery shopping on Tuesday and it’s never been that bad.

Was there a celebrity signing?

I craned my neck and didn’t see anyone.

I mean, I thought I spotted Michelle Duggar but it wasn’t her after all.

At least Tom wasn’t with me. Crowded areas make him nervous. And then he’ll start going into one of his rants where he’ll say things like, “There are too many people in the world. There should be a limit of 2 kids each and that’s it!”

I’m not a fan of crowds either but I deal with it.

I got crashed into two more times. But at least I wasn’t called Vern again.

As I was throwing hot dogs into the cart, an old lady saddled up beside me and was stretching to reach some sausage on the top shelf.

“Do you need help?” I asked kindly.

I thought she’d be all, “Oh, thank you! Young people rock!”

Instead she looked me up and down and went, “You’re no taller than I am! What help will you be?”

Oh.

Well.

For the record, I could have reached the top shelf. And if I couldn’t, I throw products at the item I want until it falls down. I’ve done this before. Or I swing my purse around until the thing I want is within my reach. My purse can be used as an oversized claw, you see.

Anyhow, a guy overheard the woman and went, “I’ll help you.”

But the woman glared at him and went, “You’re not tall either! Is this base full of short people or what?”

Goodness me. The guy actually looked like he wanted to throw the sausage at her. But instead he calmly reached over, grabbed the sausage she had been reaching for and handed it over.

“I’m tall enough,” he said, winking at her before he walked away.

I heard the old lady mutter, “You’re pretty short,” as I left.

Then came the long line. It was stretched to the back of the store.

Seriously, what was UP?

I found out my answer.

It turns out people were in a panic over the snowstorm that we’re supposed to have and they all rushed to the store for food.

I kept Natalie entertained by giving her my cell phone. One time she locked me out of it and I had no idea how to unlock it. I figured out how in the end but now I forget what I did.

When we finally made it to the register, I was relieved. And hungry. My stomach kept growling which is probably why I threw in that King Sized Butterfinger bar.

Mmmmm. Butterfinger.

The cashier recognized me and started cooing at Natalie, who promptly covered her face.

“Why does she always do that? She’s seen me plenty of times. It’s ME, darling!” the lady shouted as though this should mean something.

I wanted to say, “I don’t know, Lady. Maybe your blue hair throws her off. She doesn’t know if you’re a human being or a Smurf.”

“Looks like you’re making some good stuff,” the cashier said conversationally as she scanned my items.

I nodded. “Yup. My mother-in-law is coming to visit Friday for a few days.”

The cashier abruptly stopped and looked at me with round eyes. “Your mother-in-law? My sympathies.”

“Oh. No, it’s okay. I like my mother-in-law. We get along,” I added, because the cashier had recoiled when I had said that I liked my mother-in-law as though she had never heard such a thing.

“I don’t get along with mine,” the cashier said, resuming in scanning my things.

“That’s too bad,” I answered.

The cashier shrugged. “At least she lives in Florida. So she doesn’t come here often because heaven forbid if it were to snow. She’d flip out. Then she has this irritating yap yap dog that she refuses to leave and I’m sorry, I don’t want that thing running around the inside of my car.”

“Oh,” was all I could think of to say as I paid for the groceries with my debit card.

“Well, good luck with the visit. I know you said you guys get along but you just never know with mother-in-laws,” the cashier said, handing over my receipt.

“Everything will be great,” I assured her.

She didn’t look convinced.

But really. I’m looking forward on seeing my mother-in-law.

Did I mention that she’s a really good cook?

I imagine when Tom married me and figured out that I was an awful cook that he wanted to be like, “Erm. Can I have my Mom back?”

When I Was Sick....

I woke up on Saturday and I knew right away.

I was sick.

My mouth felt as though I had been sucking on a cotton ball all night.

My head throbbed.

My nose was all plugged up.

When I shuffled downstairs I found Tom on the couch with Natalie.

“Good morning,” Tom said, not bothering to tear his eyes away from the screen. Spongebob was on after all.

“Fkljdafklj,” I mumbled, heading for the kitchen to get some water. When I walked back out with my glass of water, Tom took a good look at me.

“GEEZ!” he said, jumping slightly.

“What?” I croaked.

“You look….you don’t look well,” Tom finally admitted.

Well duh. I already knew that my hair was standing up on end and that my eyes were bloodshot. My already pale skin looked even paler.

“I’m sick,” I complained.

Tom made a face as though he were worried that I was going to infect him. “Then go back to bed. You’re scaring Natalie!”

“I am not scaring—” I began, but then I saw Natalie cowering back against Tom and gazing at me in horror. “Fine. I’ll go.”

So I went back upstairs and passed by Tommy’s bedroom. He was building Legos and when he saw me he did a double take.

“Mommy? Are you dying?” he asked bluntly. He’s been really interested in death lately. The other day he swallowed his food wrong and started coughing and in between the coughs he wailed, “I don’t want to die now!” He’s sort of like that kid on Kindergarten Cop who is all, “Everyone dies you know.”

“I’m not dying, Tommy. I’m just sick. I’m going to lie down,” I explained.

Tommy surveyed me with a wrinkled nose. “Do you have the swine flu?” He’s learned about that through school.

“No, Tommy. I just need to rest.”

“Have you been washing your hands? You have to wash your hands, otherwise you’ll get sick,” Tom prattled on, following me.

“I washed my hands, Tommy,” I assured him as I climbed onto the bed.

“I’ll tuck you in,” Tommy said generously. His version of tucking me in was tossing the blankets over my head. “There!” He said to my covered ear. “You’ll be extra warm this way.”

That’s how Tommy sleeps. I’ll go in and check on him before I head off to bed and he’s always covered from head to toe.

“Thank you, Tommy,” I said, my voice muffled.

“You’re welcome, Mommy,” Tommy said grandly before he left the room.

I can’t sleep with covers over my head so I pushed them down under my armpits. I fell asleep soon after that. When I woke up, I found Tom in the kitchen. And he was…cooking?

“You’re not supposed to be up now. I was going to surprise you with devilled eggs,” Tom lectured, wagging his finger. (I love devilled eggs by the way. I just hate making them.)

My eyes scanned the room. The kitchen was…clean. The night before I had left the dishes from the brownies. Now they were all washed. The counters had also been scrubbed.

“You cleaned!” I said. I would have leaped in the air from excitement but I didn’t have the strength.

“And cooked,” Tom added, pointing to some eggs that were boiling on the stove.

“You cleaned,” I repeated.

“And cooked,” Tom said again.

I thanked him and then settled down on the couch. Natalie was down for her nap so I was looking forward to catching up on some DVRed shows. But then Tom all of a sudden came in and swiped the remote control.

“Want to watch Spongebob?” he asked seriously.

I was confused. None of the kids were in the room. Natalie was sleeping and Tommy was outside with his friends. Why in the world would I want to watch a child’s cartoon?

“No thanks,” I said sweetly. “I’m going to watch my recorded Grey’s Anatomy.”

Tom switched the channel to Spongebob. “Let’s watch this.”

“I don’t want to watch Spongebob!”

Tom frowned at me. “Well, I don’t want to watch Grey’s. Someone always cries in that show. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an episode where someone wasn’t crying. It’s like, hey doctors, grow some balls and deal with it.”

I glared at him. “Sometimes they cry because a patient has been through so much and they just want to HELP the patient.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Whatever. The show sucks.” He gestured to the TV with the remote. “Now Spongebob on the other hand makes sense.”

I gaped at him. “How? In this episode Spongebob and Patrick are raising a baby clam! That makes no sense!”

“It makes perfect sense! It’s hilarious!”

I groaned. “Just…watch what you want. I’ll read.”

Then later on I put some bratwurst on the Foreman Grill. I couldn’t have one. The smell made my stomach turn.

I asked Tom if he could clean the Foreman Grill so I could go rest and this is when he got a hissy fit.

“I’ve been busting my ass today. How much more do you want me to do?” Tom complained.

!!!!!!!!!!

I gave him the finger. I would have started one of my favorite passionate speeches on how hard I work on a daily basis but the room started to spin and I had to lie down on the couch. I really don’t think the speech would have gone well had I collapsed on the floor, you see.

Tom apologized soon after that. I pretended not to see him when he first walked into the living room.

“Amber,” he said, standing in front of me.

I stared in the other direction. Yes, I can behave like a child.

“Amber,” Tom tried again.

Lalala, you don’t exist.

“Amber.” Now Tom stuck his face right in front of mine. He really does have pretty blue eyes. But…I couldn’t think about that. I was mad at him. Busting his ass, indeed.

“I’m sorry. But you have to understand that I work hard during the week and—” he started.

“Do you think I don’t work hard? Tom, I take care of a household, two kids and a cat who thinks it’s funny to puke all over the place. I have a two year old who attacks me, a seven year old who continuously asks me questions about death….and I don’t even get to PEE alone!” I wailed.

Tom blinked at me. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“And I’m sick so you should want to help me. When you’re sick you act like a total baby and expect me to cater to you,” I pointed out.

Tom made a face “I don’t think I act like a baby.”

I nodded. “You do! You speak in a higher pitched voice that grates on my nerves and act as though you’ve lost a limb or something.”

Tom still looked perplexed. “I don’t recall…”

“You do. Trust me.”

Tom sighed and gathered me into his arms. “I love you. Even if you do have crazy hair and smell like sweat.”

My jaw dropped open. “I do not smell like sweat.”

Tom sniffed me. “I beg to differ.”

The good news is, the next day I woke up feeling better. And now I’m nearly 100% again save for a stuffy nose.

I may have to bake some cookies to celebrate.

The Taste of Defeat?

So it’s no secret that my husband Tom prefers Duncan Hines brownies above all others. He’s always been like this.

I even tried to trick him not too long ago. I made Betty Crocker brownies and told him that they were Duncan Hines. But he figured it out.

I decided to make brownies on Friday. They were Betty Crocker. And they had delicious chocolate chunks in them.

Tom was instantly repulsed. “What’s this?” he demanded, staring at the Betty Crocker box in horror as it sat on the counter. “What’s this?”

He was seriously disgusted. You’d have thought that I put a fart jar on the counter or something.

“Brownies. I felt like brownies tonight,” I explained simply.

Tom immediately started going through the cabinets. “Do we have Duncan Hines?” He pushed aside boxes and frowned when he couldn’t find what he was looking for.

“These are all we have. So if you want some, you’ll have to deal,” I said with a shrug. Usually I do get Duncan Hines. But this box was on sale. And plus, I’m not always in the mood to cater to Tom’s picky eating.

“You know that all I want is Duncan Hines! Didn’t you see their commercials? The commercial even says, “It’s not just—” Tom started to recite.

“I know. I know. The commercial says that it’s not just a brownie,” I finished, rubbing my temples. I had been dealing with a headache for a few hours and I couldn’t seem to shake it. Tom’s complaining wasn’t helping it any.

“So if you know that, why would you bring these,” Tom flicked the Betty Crocker box, “into the house?”

“Maybe sometimes I get tired of Duncan Hines,” I replied.

Tom placed a hand over his heart. “You’re just cruel.”

I rolled my eyes and started making the brownies. I offered Tom the extra batter and he sniffed the bowl for a few seconds. Then he timidly stuck his finger in, sniffed his finger and finally placed it in his mouth.

“It tastes funny,” he finally said. “It’s the taste of…defeat.”

I ignored him.

I thought the batter was delicious.

“And why do these brownies have chocolate chunks in them? That’s too much chocolate!” Tom continued to rant.

Too much chocolate? There is no such thing. But Tom has said the too much chocolate thing before. We went out to Chilis for the 2 for $20 deal and got that chocolate molten lava cake for dessert and Tom took one bite and went, “This is too much chocolate.”

Sometimes I swear that he had to have been dropped as a baby.

When the brownies were ready, I happily dug into them.

Tom even had one.

“Aha!” I shouted, pointing at him.

Tom shrugged. “I want brownies. These will have to do.” Then he sniffed it. “They smell funny too. It’s the smell of defeat.” He nibbled on it and sighed. “Blech.” He made a face but ate it anyway.

A few minutes later he was all, “They have a weird aftertaste, don’t they?”

I sighed. “No, Tom. They don’t.”

“What am I tasting then?”

“I don’t know, Tom. The taste of defeat?” I asked in a mocking tone.

Tom made a face at me. “Actually, that probably is what it is.”

I was about to argue with him but then my stomach lurched.

“Oh no,” I moaned.

“I know! You agree with me, right? They taste weird,” Tom said.

I shook my head. “No, you idiot. It’s not the brownies. I think I’m getting sick.”

“Because of the brownies!” Tom insisted.

“NO TOM!” I practically yelled. Then my head started pounding to the point where I had to lie down on the couch.

Tom covered me with a blanket. “Next time you’ll get Duncan Hines, right?” he said sweetly, tucking the covers under my chin.

“It’s not the brownies, Tom. I’ve been feeling off all day,” I argued weakly.

“Next time, get Duncan Hines and everything will be okay,” Tom assured me.

I didn’t even bother to correct him. All I kept thinking was, “I can’t get sick. I don’t have TIME to be sick…Moms don’t get a sick day…”

A Trip to Kohls

I was beginning to lose my patience.

I had walked into the living room that I had just picked up a few minutes before to find it covered with toys again. A bowl of Cheerios was strewn all over the carpet. I threw my hands in the air and shrieked, “How am I supposed to keep this house clean?”

Then the phone rang. It was Tom letting me know that he’d be coming home soon.

“Are you okay?” he wondered, noticing my wobbly voice.

“No. I’m not okay. No one listens to me in the house. Not even the cat! Natalie got a hold of the toothpaste and squeezed it all over the bathroom. She’s refusing to eat and I swear she calls me mean names under her breath. She keeps taking off her clothes and when I attempted to put them back on her she tried to bi—aye…aye…te me,” I wailed. A few frustrated tears dripped down my cheeks.

I think Tom was sorry that he asked.

“Well,” he said cautiously. He could tell I was in one of my moods where I can twist anything he says and turn it into an insult towards me. “Maybe when I get back you should go out.”

“Are you kicking me out of the house?” I demanded. First my daughter tries to bite me and now my husband was kicking me out of the house. But then I thought about this….I could get out of the house. Alone. Without kids. I could…shop in peace. “Actually, that sounds great. Kohls is having a sale,” I sniffled.

I love Kohls. I’m even a MVC (most valued customer.)

So the second Tom walked through the door, I practically ran out of the house. I went, “Bye, love you!” over my shoulder and leaped into the car before he could change his mind.

As I walked towards the entrance of Kohls, I took a deep breath of fresh air, relishing in the fact that I was alone. Of course after I took that deep breath I sneezed and coughed because I probably inhaled dust or something. But still.

The second I strolled through the front doors a worker greeted me. I nearly grabbed a cart with a seat attached to it because I’m so used to plopping Natalie in there.

“Whoops. I won’t be needing that one. It’s just me today. It’s just me,” I said, grabbing a regular cart.

The teenaged worker appeared to be a tad startled. “Okay?” she said, backing away as though she thought I was going to swing my purse at her. She doesn’t understand now but she will when she has kids, mark my words.

I headed for the clearance racks first and found a pair of size 3 shorts for three bucks. Three bucks! And okay, I’m not exactly size 3. I’m a size 5 on a good day. But for three bucks, surely I could squeeze my ass into a size 3.

Um. Wrong.

For starters, I could barely pull the things up. I grunted to the point where I think the other people in the changing room thought that I was taking a dump. But I wasn’t going to let a pair of three dollar shorts defeat me. No sir.

“I will get you on!” I muttered, yanking determinedly at the fabric. And then, okay, I heard a little bit of a rip so I knew I’d have to buy them anyhow. I finally did get the things over my hips but then I wasn’t able to button them. I heaved in my gut and it didn’t work. So then I sat down on the bench and took a deep breath and managed to slip the button through the hole.

“I did it!” I gasped out.

I gasped because I couldn’t fully breathe properly. But breathing is overrated, right? I think the shorts may have caused permanent damage on my bladder. But who cares? Size 3!

And okay, when I had the shorts on I had a pinched expression on my face as though something was wedged up my butt—and technically, the material was wedged up my butt since there is so much of my butt these days thanks to Halloween candy…

But maybe the shorts will inspire me to lose weight. When I look at them I’ll be all, “Do I want to be able to wear these comfortably during the summer? Do I want to end up on PeopleofWalmart.com? Because I’ll end up on PeopleofWalmart.com if I were to wear these in the state that I’m in now. And I cannot end up on that site because then people will be all, “Hey! Where do I know you from?” and I’ll say hopefully, “Well, I do write a blog…” and they’ll say, “No! You were on PeopleofWalmart.com! You were the chick with her ass hanging out of a pair of shorts that were really too small for her.”

I can’t bring that humiliation to this family. I just can’t.

So when it gets closer to warm weather, I’ll have to force myself in the gym. And I’ll have to only allow myself one Reeses Peanut Butter Cup a day. Maybe two. Three at the max.

It took a few minutes to take the shorts back off. Then I went to the children’s section and found these ultra adorable panda pajamas for Natalie. Sure she may have enough pajamas but these had pandas on them and they were 60% off. I also picked up a pair of Christmas pajamas for Tommy as well as a pair of jeans. He had 8 pairs of pants at the beginning of the school year and now he’s down to 4. This is because he plays rough and the knees of the pants get all white and holey and I just can’t send him to school in pants like that even though Tom says that no one cares.

I also bought new pillows for our couch because our current ones have weird stains all over them.

When I returned home, I walked in with this gigantic bag that looked as though I had bought half the store. And I didn’t, I swear! It was just because the cashier had stuffed everything in one bag with my permission. I do try to Go Green and all. I should bring my own bags in but sometimes I forget to put on my pants so let’s be honest, I doubt I’d even remember to bring my own bags inside the store.

“How much did you buy?” Tom demanded. His eyes practically bugged out of his head.

“Don’t worry. It’s the couch pillows,” I explained, pulling them out.

“The COUCH pillows?” Tom was agog. He smacked our current stained ones. “We have couch pillows.”

“Those are stained and they smell like old cheese. These are fresh non-stained couch pillows,” I said, rubbing my palm against them.

Tom’s brows were still furrowed. “What else did you get?”

I pulled out the ultra adorable panda pajamas. “Panda pajamas!’ I cooed. Natalie rushed over and hugged them to her chest.



“I thought she had pajamas?” Tom wondered.

“Not ones with pandas on them. And plus, they were 60% off. I practically had to buy them.”

Tom didn’t look convinced.

“Thank you for letting me shop in peace,” I said kindly. I plopped down on his lap and started running my hand over his scalp. (I say scalp because he shaves his head. It feels weird massaging a scalp with no hair. I’m just saying..) This usually always makes him forget that he’s cross with me.

Tom started gazing at me lovingly. I thought he was going to say something romantic like, “Of course. You deserved it. You work so hard here keeping the house clean, folding my undies, making the beds….” But instead he leaned over and whispered, “Does this mean we’re having sex tonight?”

Oh geez.

My Dear Letters

Dear vehicles that like to cut in front of me,

Did you forget how in driver’s ed that you were taught to keep at least two car lengths in front of you for safety? Well, how am I supposed to do that if you keep getting into my two car lengths? That space is for SAFETY not for YOU!

Signed,
A Trying To Be Careful,
Amber

---------------------


Dear Tom,

Look, I’m sorry if I’m incapable of talking dirty to you during the act. I tried! Laughing hysterically when I whispered in what I thought was a sexual tone, “You want my crotch, don’t you?” was not very polite.

Signed,
A Non-Kinky,
Amber

--------------------
Dear Tommy,

Announcing that you don’t have to listen to me because you’re getting married is not going to work. You’re only seven. You can’t get married. And plus, when you ask a girl to marry you if her response is, “Fine. I guess,” then she’s probably not the one for you.

Signed,
Because-I’m-The-Momma-That’s-Why,
Amber

-------------------

Dear Natalie,

Don’t you have anything better to do than follow me into the bathroom and watch me poop? I mean honestly? What is the allure?

Signed,
A-sincerely-baffled,

--------------------

Dear People who like going to the movies,

Doesn't this movie look good?



It is a movie called Motherhood It's starting in select cities on Friday. Please go see it so it can come to Wyoming. Thanks! (For more info about the movie, go here.

Signed,
A-Really-Wants-To-See-This,
Amber

------------------


Dear pregnant woman who lives down the street,

The word is pregnant. Not prego, not preggers…but pregnant. Thank you.

Signed,
A Non Cutesy Word Using,
Amber

-------------------

Dear Writer’s Block,
Please go away so I can finish my novel. No one will want to publish a novel that has the ending of la la la la la la la la be bop boo.

Signed,
A Frustrated,
Amber

Natalie...She's Just Like Us!

So I sometimes read the US Weekly magazine and there is a section where there will be photos of celebrities doing mundane things with a caption that reads: "Stars! They're just like US...they EAT!" This always amuses me so I decided to do my own take on it..the toddler version...



Natalie! She's just like US...she gets cranky men who would never in a million years wear a witch hat to put one on!



Natalie! She's just like US....she enjoys doing the splits in the living room.



Natalie! She's just like US...she enjoys jumping off the couch.



Natalie! She's just like US...she loves getting dirty. Sand in the crotch be damned!



Natalie! She's just like US...she falls asleep on the floor even though she has a perfectly good bed.



Natalie! She's just like US....she likes matching with her Mom!



Natalie! She's just like US....she loves the UPS man and is thrilled when he drops her off a package.



Natalie! She's just like US....she enjoys dressing herself and snacking on a good bowl of snow.



Natalie! She's just like US....she cries when she realizes that she's run out of chocolate.

No More Popcorn!

*Ding Dong*

I inwardly groaned when I saw Blake, who is the Annoying Neighborhood Kid.

He was standing there holding some papers and when I came to the door, he held them up so that they were covering his face.

“Popcorn! I’m selling popcorn! Look here and find which one you want,” he instructed me as he pulled open the screen door.

That’s another thing: the kid totally just opens our door and walks in. He’s done this on more than one occasion. I hate that he does this because suppose I was walking around in the buff? Not that I ever PLAN to walk around in the buff but I’d really like to have that option open, you know? Yeah, I could just lock the door but still…

“Actually Blake,” I said calmly pushing him back out. “I already bought popcorn from another Boy Scout.”

It had happened a few days before. A kid came by dressed in the uniform and he had silently handed over the popcorn pamphlet.

“I’m selling popcorn,” the Boy Scout whisperer said. “Would you like to buy some?”

I had to crane my neck down in order to hear him.

“Well, what do you recommend?” I had asked nicely. I really didn’t want any popcorn but I always try to buy at least one thing when they drop by. I don’t want to be known as the Cheapo on the Block you know.

The boy looked gobsmacked as though he had never been asked the question before. “Um,” he said, color appearing at his cheeks. “Um.” He twisted his fingers nervously.

“It’s okay. I’ll find something,” I said gently. I was a shy kid too. In fact, I’m a shy adult now.

I ended up getting the $15 container of the chocolate drizzled popcorn. That was the cheapest they had. There was even a $50 barrel of popcorn and I nearly passed out when I saw the price. Hello Boy Scouts, we’re in a recession.

Anyhow, Blake didn’t seem to comprehend that I already bought some popcorn.

Because he went, “Well, try this one!” and he tried to open the door again.

I held it closed. “No thank you, Blake. As I said before, I already bought popcorn.”

“Get some more!” Blake said cheerfully.

I closed my eyes for a few seconds and counted to three. What I wanted to do was shout, “You know what, Blake? I gave you my answer already so piss off.” But you can’t talk to children like that. It’ll like, hurt their psyche or something.

“Blake,” I said slowly. “I don’t need anymore popcorn. But I’ll give you credit: you are persistent. You’d make a good salesman.”

Blake’s eyes practically bugged out of his head. “WHAT did you call me?” he demanded, looking aghast.

Uh oh. Danger, Will Robinson, danger.

“I called your persistent. It means you don’t give up easily.”

Blake didn’t look as though he believed me. “I’m telling! You called me a name! Name calling is wrong! I’m telling!” And then he darted off towards his house.

“I was complimenting you!” I shouted to his retreating back.

Oh well. I never got a phone call from his parents so I imagine they explained that I wasn’t being mean.

But hey! Note to self: if I ever want to get Blake to run away, call him persistent.

I've Been Locked Out!

The day didn’t start off bad.

No, in fact it was going quite smoothly for once. Natalie had even surprised me and had eaten more than two bites of her breakfast. She and Tommy had kept their fighting to a minimum. For once I didn’t have to spend my entire Saturday telling them to be nice, be nice, for the love of God BE NICE.

Then the doorbell rang and yes, it was one of Tommy’s irritating friends. But my nerves weren’t as frayed as they usually were so the kid didn’t bother me as much as he usually does. I went outside with Natalie at my heels to open the garage for the kids. As I was lifting it up, Natalie went, “I be right back!” and then darted into the house.

I didn’t think much of it. Maybe she was eager to get back to her creepy Yo Gabba Gabba toys that she had brought downstairs. But then I heard the slam of door.

“Tommy’s Mom? Your kid just locked the door I think,” Tommy’s friend Chase informed me.

I rushed over to the door and tried to open the screen door. But it was locked. And Natalie had closed the actual door too.

This was not good.

Still, I couldn’t panic in front of the kids. So I took a few deep breaths and went, “It’s okay. Natalie likes to pretend. She’ll open the door.”

Of course Natalie doesn’t fully know how to turn the knob on the front door. But still. Maybe she’d miraculously figure it out.

I banged on the screen door. “Natalie?”

“Yes?” came her muffled voice. She didn’t sound phased at all.

“Sweetie. You have to turn the knob and unlock the screen door,” I said calmly. I even turned and flashed a smile at the boys who were gaping at me.

I could see the knob flick a few times as though Natalie were attempting to turn it.

“Natalie?” I tried again.

“Yes?” Same sweet voice.

“You have to turn the knob.” My voice was beginning to wobble. I was starting to worry. Suppose Natalie got hurt? I pictured her being buried by all my books and slammed on the screen door again. “Natalie. YOU HAVE TO TURN THE KNOB!” I shrieked.

The knob turned briefly but then it went still.

“Bye bye, Mommy,” Natalie said.

I banged on the screen door. “Natalie! NATALIEEEEEEEE!”

“Do you want me to go and get my crow bar?” Chase said behind me. I head nearly forgotten that they were even there.

Plus it’s pretty disturbing that an eight-year-old has a crow bar.

“I’ll be fine,” I lied even though what I wanted to do was curl into a ball and cry on my porch.

“This doesn’t look good. You’re locked out, Tommy’s Mom,” Chase informed me gravely.

I had a compulsion to hurl my shoe at his head. Instead I swallowed and went, “It’ll be okay. She’ll figure out how to turn the knob. And please, call me Amber.”

I know some parents would probably flip at a kid calling an adult by their first name. But I hate when people call me ma’am. Or Miss Amber. Miss Amber reminds me of an old schoolmarm. And I’m not an old schoolmarm. I’m 27, for craps sake.

As it is, I’m usually called Tommy’s Mom 98% of the time. The other 2% I’m just called, “Hey you.”

“Natalie?” I attempted again. “It’s Mommy. Could you come back to the door?”

“Yeah?” Now Natalie sounded irritated as though I were interrupting her play or something.

“You need to TURN THE KNOB. TURN THE KNOB!” I said frantically.

“Is everything okay?” One of my neighbor’s was passing by with her kids.

I whirled around and pasted a smile on my face. “Oh, we’re great!” I squeaked. “My two year old is just being silly. Haha.”

The neighbor frowned. “Are you locked out?”

My smile got bigger. “Who me? No. I mean, yes but it’s no big deal.” I didn’t want to be known as the negligent parent on the block. I’m not! I didn’t leave her in there. She came out with me. She just raced inside and locked me out.

“Do I need to call the police?” she wondered. “I have my cell phone.”

I shook my head. “No police. I’ll be okay. But thank you.”

I waited until she had walked off before I resumed pounding on the screen door.

“It’s your MOMMY! Please TURN THE KNOB!”

But it was obvious that Natalie wasn’t going to do this.

My throat was starting to hurt from the shouting.

“Are you going to have to sleep out here tonight?” Chase asked incredulously.

I waved my hand at the boys. “Why don’t you go play?”

“Are we going to have to sleep out here tonight?” Tommy asked, looking panicked.

I shook my head. “No. Your Daddy is home. Remember?”

Yes. Tom was home. But he had just worked a night shift and was sleeping in a room with a closed door and a loud fan. So he couldn’t hear me. And I really didn’t want to disturb him since he had another night shift to work.

But I had to. What if Natalie got hurt? Or what if she got into my secret Reeses Peanut Butter Cup drawer and ATE THEM ALL?

I pounded on the door one last time. “Natalie?”

“WHAT?” Natalie screamed. Yeah. She was annoyed. As though I were inconveniencing her or something.

“Go get Daddy. Do you hear me? GO GET DADDY FOR HELP!” This is exactly how Timmy must’ve felt when he shouted at Lassie to get help. I mean, if that show were real and all.

“Okay!” Natalie said and then it was silent again.

I started ringing the doorbell like mad so Tom would hear me.

A few minutes later the front door opened and Tom stood there blinking in his boxers.

“Dude, your dad has no pants on,” Chase said to Tommy.

“What in the hell?” Tom asked. His eyes were still half shut.

“The screen door. You have to UNLOCK THE SCREEN DOOR!” Oops. I forgot that the situation was okay now so I didn’t have to yell. Sometimes I get carried away.

Tom unlocked it with his brows furrowed and I hurried in and shut the door so the neighborhood wouldn’t have a peep show of Tom’s gray boxers.

“What in the hell?” Tom repeated as I scooped up Natalie.

“Are you okay? Are you okay?” I kept saying as I checked her body over for injuries.

“What in the HELL?”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Tom. Natalie locked me out. I’m sorry she had to wake you. Did she tell you that her poor mother was stuck outside?”

In my mind Natalie had rushed up in a panic and had said to Tom, “Mommy needs help!”

But Tom was all, “No. She sat on the bed with me and didn’t even mention you until I heard the doorbell and asked what was going on. Then she said like it was no big deal ‘That’s Mommy.’ And I was all, ‘Why is your Mommy ringing the doorbell?’ and she went, ‘I don’t know,’ and tried to get under the covers.”

What?

My daughter didn’t even CARE that I was trapped outside?

I only gave birth to her. I only nursed her for two years. I only dress her in the cutest outfits ever. And this is the thanks I get?

“I’m sorry,” I said again to Tom. “I know you have to work tonight but I didn’t have any other options.”

A smile was playing on the edges of Tom’s lips. He wasn’t mad. He was amused.

“Isn’t it ironic?” he said.

I raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Isn’t it ironic that this happened to you? When I watch Natalie you always go over this long list of how I need to watch her like a hawk and it’s YOU who ends up locked out while our daughter runs rampant in the house. I just find it ironic is all..” He shrugged and looked quite pleased with himself.

I glared at him. “Do you ever want to have sex again, Tom?”

His gloaty look left his face. “You know. Now that I think about it, this could have happened to anyone..”

The Taped Door

The doorbell rang and a guy from housing maintenance stood on the other side of it.

“I’m here to replace your door,” he informed me.

He was here to replace this one:



As you may recall, we also have another broken door:



This one happened on purpose when I tried to be Jet Li and break open the knob when I couldn’t unlock it.

As you can see, that didn’t work out so well. The door wound up with a crack and I ended up with a throbbing foot and a bruise.

I had showed the housing maintenance worker that door when they had first dropped by a week before to see exactly what needed to be replaced. I didn’t bother to lie in explaining the crack.

“Yeah so my daughter had locked the door and I couldn’t get it open so I decided to use my karate moves to get it open. But it turns out I have no karate moves so…” and then I trailed off and tried to look sweet and innocent.

The worker had raised an eyebrow and was all, “KARATE moves?” in a shocked tone. Then he had scratched the side of his head as though he wasn’t quite sure what to say next. I suppose I may have been the first occupant in base housing who tried to kick a door in. “You know you’re going to have to pay for this?” he said. “Karate moves or not.” A smile was playing on the corner of his lips.

I nodded knowingly. “Right. I figured. I just wanted to report it.”

Then I had showed the guy the other broken door.

I swear, I had nothing to do with this one.

The kids were playing and I all of a sudden heard a thump. Then Natalie walked out with this piece:



She told me quite seriously, “Door broken.”

“Did you try and karate chop this one too?” the worker asked warily when I had showed him the hole.

I shook my head. “No sir!”

He peered at the door piece that I had handed over. “Is that…tape on the end? Did you try to tape it back on the door?”

My cheeks felt warm. “Well. I might have.”



I didn’t know what else to do! Tape was the first thing that came to mind! As it is, the tape did nothing and the piece just came right off again.

“Tape?” the worker repeated as though he couldn’t believe it. He was probably thinking, “Okay, first she karate kicks a door and then she tries to tape a piece back on. She’s clearly a nutter.”

I am NOT a nutter. I just…well, sometimes my imagination gets the better of me and I start to believe that I CAN be a karate master if I just put my mind to it. Or that tape will surely hold a piece together.

Thank goodness it was a different worker who came to replace the door. (And he only came to replace the door with the hole. They can’t replace the one upstairs because they were worried about damaging our stuff when they removed it.)

Of course when the worker came inside, Tom was emerging from the bathroom. He had been able to come home from lunch and as he walked out he didn’t see the worker. So he said (loudly), “Wow, that was my third crap of the day. I can’t believe it.” Then he noticed me standing there with the guy beside me who had a bewildered look on his face.

“Er Tom?” I said in an embarrassed squeak. “The guy from housing maintenance is here to replace the door.” I gestured towards the worker who had pinched in cheeks like he was trying hard not to laugh.

Tom coughed and went, “Oh. Hi there,” and quickly scurried into the kitchen. I imagine he was appalled.

I mean, I was appalled. I put myself in the worker’s position: suppose I had walked into a home and the owner had been discussing his number twos? This is why I’ve told Tom time and time again that I could care less about what goes on in the bathroom. But he doesn’t seem to comprehend this. Maybe now he will.

"So, um, I'll show you the broken door," I said, trying to pretend like Tom had never spoken at all.

The guy frowned when he saw the hole. "What happened here? And is that tape on the end of that piece?"

Okay, is it SO shocking that I tried to tape it back?

Note to self: never use tape to fix a piece of the door.

The Orange Spray Adventure

Tsssssss. Tsssssss.

I heard the hissing sound as I scrubbed off the refrigerator. It always seems to get covered with crayon or some mysterious residue that’s a cross between mud and yogurt. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. I don’t know. All I know is that it always seems to wind up on the handle and that I have to scrub it off each night.

Tsssssss. Tssssss. Tsssssss.

What in the world?

Was that---

Could Tom have---

“Tom! That’s disgusting. Say excuse me!” I shouted to him. He was busy playing his airplane game on the computer which means he didn’t have his headphones on for once.

Tom paused his game and whirled around. “Why should I say excuse me?”

Tssssss. Tssssss.

“Because of that! How gross.” I immediately pinched my nose because if you don’t, you’ll die.

“I’m not farting! That’s not me!” Tom shouted indignantly.

I just gave him a Look and went back to washing the fridge. Then I heard it again:

Tssssss. Tssssss.

“Tom, honestly. If you’re going to fart, own it,” I said sharply.

Tom paused his game again. “I’m telling you! It’s not me.” Then he cocked his head to the side. “How do I know it’s not YOU?” He shot me an accusing stare.

I was aghast. “Why would I accuse you of farting if it were really me?” I demanded.

Tom shrugged. “Who knows? Girls are weird!”

Tsssss. Tssssss.

Tom and I both glared at each other.

“So if it’s not you...and it’s not me...who is it?” I wondered.

Tom scanned the room. “Wait a minute. Natalie isn’t here…”

Crap!

It’s never a good thing when your two-year-old wanders off and is QUIET.

So I immediately shoved aside the Lysol and headed for the stairs.

This is where I found my daughter. Playing with this:



Basically she was spraying herself with Citrus Breeze. And when you spray the thing, it makes a hissing noise.

“Natalie Elizabeth! No!” I admonished.

She grinned at me and pressed the spray button. “I smell pretty,” she informed me as she danced in the droplets of Citrus Breeze.

I scooped her up and nearly passed out from the stench. I hope she doesn’t turn into one of those women who practically bathes in perfume and think that they actually smell NICE.

I carried her downstairs. “Your daughter was getting into the sprayer thing,” I told Tom.

Tom took one look at Natalie and burst out laughing.

“It’s not funny! It’s wasteful. She’s going to smell like oranges for a week!” I said. I ran my fingers through her damp hair. “Suppose her hair starts to fall out?”

Tom waved a hand dismissively in the air. “It won’t. She’s fine.”

I glared down at Natalie. “You owe me $3.99 for the spray stuff,” I informed her.

Natalie fluttered her eyelashes at me. “I smell pretty.”

“You smell like you've been bathing in orange juice for hours,” I said.

“I yike oranges,” Natalie answered sweetly.

“Well, that’s great. Because you’ll probably be smelling like them for awhile.”

A Photoshoot with Natalie

"Hey Natalie? Do you want to take some pictures in your new Gymboree outfits?"



"Oh, don't give me that look. Remember you get to watch Yo Gabba Gabba afterward."



"No, I don't think we'll be watching Snow White afterward. Mommy is a little tired of that movie. Stop giving me that look."



"You can say Princess and Castle all you want. Let's take a break from Snow White today, okay?"



"Okay, now can you smile for the camera?"



*Singing a Yo Gabba Gabba song*



"You want another song? And you want me to jump around like a fool? Oh, fine."



"Okay Natalie. Now picture women actually wanting to have sex with David Letterman!"



"Let's try on your other outfit. Okay?"



"Show everyone the Panda!"



"Yes I know. It's just like on Ni-Hao, Kai-Lan. No, we're not watching it right now. Stop giving me that look."



"Shoot! Run and hide, Natalie. There's the thirty-something-year-old woman who loves to talk about Twilight. She doesn't seem to comprehend that I could care less that New Moon is coming out next month.



"Natalie, I see her. Stop pointing at her or she might come over here!



"Phew, she didn't stop here. Maybe my frightened expression scared her off. Now smile for Mommy!"



"What's that? You're not giving me a real smile until I jump around like a fool again? Ugh, fine."



"Mommy is going to make some chili tonight. Wait, why are you laughing at me? It's going to be edible, I swear.."



"Okay, darling, remember this shirt is white which makes me a little nervous. So you aren't planning on getting it dirty, are you? Why do you look like you're thinking it over?"



"Alright Natalie, last frame! I mean, last picture. Sorry, Mommy may have been watching America's Next Top Model..."

Columbus Day Rants

I’m writing this Monday night.

And I’m annoyed.

Tom was off today thanks to Christopher Columbus. Tommy was off today thanks to Christopher Columbus. Natalie was....well, Natalie was here seeing as she’s only two.

But still. At the moment I can’t help but be a tad irritated at Mr. Columbus.

My husband Tom was stretched out on the couch watching Hi Hao, Kai-Lan with Natalie earlier. He felt the need to answer the television. For instance, Kai-Lan just asked if we wanted to learn a Chinese word. Tom went, “No thanks. No. Not at all.”

Then Kai-Lan asked us why we thought Tolee was upset. Or was in Rintoo? I don’t know. One of the animals on the show was seriously pitching a fit.

“Duh! He’s upset because he can’t roller skate!” Tom shouted. “Amber, is this show serious?”

I had to remind him that the show is intended for children.

Kai-Lan asked what we could do to make Tolee happy.

“Take the skates away and tell the little sh—” Tom began.

“TOM!” I admonished. “You can’t curse in front of the c-h-i-l-d-r-e-n.”

“Children! Why did you spell children?” Tommy wondered.

It really is so much fun now that he’s learning to spell.

Tom frowned. “What I meant to say is…just take the skates away from him! Not everyone can skate. It’s okay, really.”

But obviously the show was about the importance of practicing to get better so Tolee had to keep trying.

Tom was about to open his mouth to say something else but I went, “Look. If you say one more thing about the show I’m switching it to Yo Gabba Gabba.”

That shut him right up because Yo Gabba Gabba frightens him. In fact, at first he thought I was yanking his leg when I put on the program.

“This is on Comedy Central, right? Making fun of extreme children’s programming?” Tom asked as he walked in the room and saw the creatures singing about a party in their tummies.

“No Tom. It’s a real children’s show,” I had said.

Tom stared at me in disbelief. “No it’s not! It’s on Comedy Central! A children’s show wouldn’t have a diseased dildo as a character,” he said, pointing out Muno who I’m sorry, does sort of resemble the male genitalia.

He eventually realized that Yo Gabba Gabba was a real show. And I forced him to watch it before.

And now he’s still traumatized.

So when I threatened to put on Yo Gabba Gabba, he shut his mouth.

Then later Tommy didn’t want to do his homework. Technically, it’s not homework. It’s just some classwork that he didn’t get to finish because he’s pulled out of his regular classroom to the resource room for reading and math. Still, I tell him that he needs to finish his classwork and he was not pleased with this.

“My teacher said I didn’t have to bring it back!” he kept whining.

I rubbed my temples. My head was starting to throb. At that point after being in the house with no breathing space I was beginning to lose my patience.

“Just finish the work, Tommy. It’s important to finish what you start,” I said through clenched teeth.

He did it, but when he was done he looked me in the eye and went, “I’m not your son anymore,” before stomping up to his room.

I put my head in my hands and groaned. Then Natalie came up and tapped me on the arm. “Mommy? I pooped,” she said sweetly. I lifted up my head and peered at her. “Go ask Daddy to take care of it.”

“Okay,” Natalie said and rushed off to Tom. “Daddy! I pooped!”

And then I heard HIM say, “Go tell Mommy.”

Are you KIDDING me?

What I wanted to do was scream, “I just need five minutes to myself. JUST FIVE MINUTES!” But I didn’t. I changed the diaper. I shot Tom dirty looks while doing it. Then I went to unload the dishwasher. And while I was bending down to retrieve the silverware, Tom was suddenly behind me, humping my back.

I don’t get it. Whenever I bend over he’s always there humping my back. Does he sense when I’ve bent over? Is it like a Spidey sense? Like, do men suddenly get an alarm in their brain that goes, “Alert! Alert! Ass in the air. I repeat: ASS IN THE AIR!”

“Tom. Please,” I said, pushing his gyrating hips away. “Not in the mood.”

“What else is new?” Tom grumbled.

EXCUSE ME?

I can’t help that I’m tired. And at that point I was moody because I just needed a little bit of quiet time. I barely get it now since Natalie has been refusing her naps. I used to get two hours of peace. But not anymore.

“Just turn the TV on for her if you want quiet,” is Tom’s suggestion.

But I don’t like to just shove my kids in front of the television. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I am not anti-television. No way. Without television I don’t think I’d get a thing done. The kids usually get to watch at least two hours a day and even then I imagine the American Association of Pediatrics would like to pound on my door, reminding me that kids should only get ONE HOUR of television per day and shame on me.

Anyhow, now everyone is in bed and I’m enjoying my quiet time.

I get to watch television without being interrupted!

I can check my e-mail without someone hanging over my shoulder.

I get to—

Crap.

Natalie is crying.

Nevermind.

Four Wheel Drive

Over the weekend, we were dumped with snow.





Most people would stay indoors.

But not us.

No. Tom was all, “Do you want to go to Target? I need to get new headphones since you vacuumed up my other ones.”

Okay, first of all, I didn’t vacuum up his headphones. Just the cord. And it wasn’t totally MY fault. If he had picked up his cord instead of leaving it on the floor, then I wouldn’t have sucked it up now would I?

“Tom. It’s icy outside. I don’t think it’s safe,” I reminded him, peering out the window.

“You forget that we have the power of...FOUR WHEEL DRIVE!” Tom boomed, punching the air as he shouted the words FOUR WHEEL DRIVE.

He startled me, actually. You don’t start speaking normally and then suddenly shout. It’s just poor taste.

“I mean...I guess,” I agreed.

So we all trooped out to the truck. I slipped as I stepped up on the foot rail to get into my seat. There was some ice there so I went face first into the seat. And it’s leather so it smacked me in the forehead.

“Stupid truck,” I muttered as I settled down.

Tom’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Excuse me?” He’s seriously in love with his truck. Sometimes I want to say, “Why don’t I just leave the two of you alone?”

There was a small mound of snow at the edge of our driveway. I wasn’t sure if we’d even be able to get out.

“That looks rather high,” I commented.

“Ahhh. To other cars, it would be too high. But not when you have FOUR WHEEL DRIVE!” Tom yelled, gripping the wheel excitedly.

I jumped again and massaged my ear. “Could you not scream like that?”

We burst right through the snow. We didn’t even skid once.

When we got to Target I started doing my normal Target rounds. For those who don’t know, this means I look everywhere because you never know where you’ll find things for 75% off. Tom found me wandering the towel area.

“I’m confused. Why are we here?”

He always asks me why I’m in a certain section even though I’ve told him a billion times that when I’m in Target, I have to look everywhere.

“Some of the college stuff is 75% off. Look at this comforter! Only nine bucks! Too bad that it’s twin sized,” I mused.

Tom made a face. “We don’t need any comforters. Even if they are 75% off. We have a perfectly good comforter.”

I patted his head lovingly. Poor deranged Tom.

He started to get impatient when I went down another aisle. “Amber. I’m ready to go home. I found what I needed. I had to shovel snow for nearly an hour and I’m tired and cranky and I just want to go home! ”

Geez.

Target buzz kill.

I told him I’d give up looking down the kitchenware aisles even though it pained me to do so. One time I found a new saucepan for only eight dollars! And it was the Cephalon expensive kind too. But does Tom appreciate that? No, he doesn’t.

On the drive home some of the roads looked a little frightening.

“Be careful,” I warned Tom.

“Don’t worry,” he said seriously. “We won’t skid. Because we have the power of FOUR WHEEL DRIVE! Hey. Why are you covering your ears?”

“So I won’t go deaf,” I answered.

Oh, and one more thing. Tom wants me to remind everyone that you must make sure all the snow is removed from your back window and your license plate before you drive. Tom says that if he were a state trooper that he’d pull over all those people with the covered plates. Apparently he counted over ten people who had their license plate covered with snow and this bothered him.

“I’d pull you over. And I’ll pull you over. Oh, and I’ll pull you over too,” Tom pointed to cars as we drove along. “How hard is it for people to take care of their vehicles? How hard is it for people to care about other people’s safety?”

I think Tom has been married to me too long. He was starting a passionate speech. The same ones that I make when I’m trying to explain why I bought a dozen donuts AND Little Debbie snack cakes or where the bag of Gymboree clothes came from.

As we were nearly home, there was another mound of snow blocking our way. I could see Tom gearing up, prepared to say the words.

“I know, Tom, I know,” I said, cutting him off. “We’ll be okay. Because we have,” and I raised my voice at this, “FOUR WHEEL DRIVE!”

The Brownie Trick

The plan?

To trick Tom.

How?

To pretend that I was making his beloved Duncan Hines brownies when in reality I’d be making the Betty Crocker ones.

You see, Tom insists that Duncan Hines are the best brownies on earth. He refuses to eat any other because he claims that all the others are gross.

I don’t agree.

I’ll eat any brownie.

Tom will not.

Once I made the Betty Crocker brownies and he took a small nibble and said that it was awful.

So this is what I did:



I bought both boxes.

And I told Tom I’d make brownies. He saw the Duncan Hines box. But then when he was out in the living room, I switched and used the Betty Crocker mix.

When I slid the brownies into the oven, I brought the bowl out to Tom to lick up the batter.

You know I like you when I let you lick the batter. Usually the batter belongs to me. Salmonella be damned.

“Thanks!” Tom said brightly, taking the spoon I handed over. He took a bit of leftover batter and stuck it in his mouth. He didn’t have any strange reaction so I started to think, “See? He didn’t notice the difference!”

But then Tom made a face and stared hard at the bowl. “This tastes weird. Did you forget to add the eggs?”

He wasn’t being rude. I seriously forget to add things when I cook. Once I made chocolate chip cookies and forgot the chocolate chips. I do not know how it happened.

“I put everything in,” I assured him. Dammit! He figured it out! He--

Tom shrugged. “Hmm. Okay. It’s still good. It’s just…different.”

AHA. It’s STILL GOOD!

When the brownies came out I let them cool and then brought one out to Tom.

“Thanks!” he said again and took a big bite.

This time, there was no reaction.

I practically clicked my heels when I went back into the kitchen.

You see, Tom! You can eat Betty Crocker brownies and be just fine! I was already working out my Ha Ha I Fooled You Speech.

“Amber? I’m not trying to be rude here but this brownie tastes…off,” Tom said, coming into the kitchen.

CRAP!

I froze like a deer in the headlights.

“Um…” I stuttered. Sometimes I can be an awful liar. My face will turn bright red and my tongue freezes to the top of my mouth.

Tom narrowed his eyes at me. “What did you do?” He peered at the last bit of brownie in his hand and sniffed it. “What did you do?” Then his eyes swiveled to the trash can where I had stupidity tossed the Betty Crocker box. Tom and I raced for it at the same time. I stood in front of it, trying to block his view.

“I did nothing!” I shrieked.

“Yes you did!” Tom shouted, reaching his oversized hand around me. It’s not fair that men have longer limbs!

He managed to see the box that I had tried to hide under a paper plate.

“I KNEW it!” he said, pointing at me. “I KNEW it!”

I shook my head. “It’s not what it seems!” I shouted.

“It seems like you pretended to make Duncan Hines brownies when in reality you made Betty Crocker brownies!” Tom yelled, tapping the trash can.

Oh. Well then I guess it’s exactly what it seems.

“Amber. How many times do I have to tell you? Duncin Hines brownies are the best. Their commercial even says that ‘it’s not just a brownie.’ Because it’s not,” Tom lectured.

“If it’s not just a brownie, then what else is it?” I teased.

Tom looked momentarily confused. “Well. I don’t know. But what I do know is that Duncan Hines brownies rule.” He frowned at the Betty Crocker brownies. “And I don’t know what those are. But they aren’t brownies.” And then he stalked out of the kitchen.

I didn’t mind though.

Not really.

Because hey!

It means more brownies for me.

Currently I'm....

Currently....I’m trying not to freak out over the fact that a bee is in the house. It keeps trying to dive bomb me and I’m protecting myself with a broom—hold on, while I was writing this, the damn thing tried to attack me again. I’m all, “Shoo shoo!” while swinging my broom and the bee seems to be AMUSED by this…



Currently....I’m not amused that we’ve already had some snow fall. Didn’t summer just end? And how are bees still alive?



Currently....I’m a little embarrassed on having to fib to the cashier at Wal-Mart. She noticed all the food I was buying and was all, “Oh, are you going to a party?” and before I could think, I blurted, “No, a wedding actually.” It’s because I have the Pam and Jim wedding (from The Office) in my head. I can’t wait to watch it tonight. I mean, I guess technically I’m going to a wedding…sort of…but anyhow, the cashier believed me and went, “How wonderful!” and I went, “Yes! It is!” Here’s some of what I bought...and I wish I could say I bought those Monster Cakes purely for the kids but I got excited over the blue icing…and those apple pies are Tom's "pie things" that he's obsessed with. Whenever I go to Wal-Mart I MUST pick up his pie things.



Currently...I’m thinking that Natalie will never potty train. I’m trying, I really am. But the little minx refuses to go in the toilet. Oh, but the second she goes in her diaper she wants the thing off. So I say, “If this bothers you, just use the potty!” and she’s all, “No thanks.” Of course the other day she teased me and said she had to pee and went to the potty…and I thought, “Here it comes! Her first pee!” but then all she did was fart at it and run off.

Currently....wondering where all my Reeses Peanut Cups have gone. Oh right, my stomach..

Currently....wishing I could finish my book. It’s the sequel to The Deep End of the Ocean. It’s called No Time To Wave Goodbye. Very good so far.

Currently....I really want to take away the toy piano from Natalie. It’s giving me a headache. I keep having fantasies about hurling it out the window. I know music is supposed to mold a child's brain and all that jazz but holy crap, can't music be QUIETER?



Currently....I’m aching to go on this cruise. (It’s a Titanic cruise if clicking on a link is not your thing.) But it’s expensive. Like $4000 per person expensive. Maybe even more because when I checked the site, all the “cheap” rooms are already sold out. However, I’ve always been interested in the Titanic. Even before Leonardo DiCaprio shouted that he was king of the world. I have to go on this cruise. Maybe they’d let me sleep in the closet? I crunched the numbers and I went, “Tom! I figured out how we can go on the cruise!” and he went, “How?” and I said, “We just won’t be able to eat for a year…” and he gave me a Look. Then I went, “Why can’t your uncle be George Clooney?” and he replied, “EXCUSE me?” and I explained, “If your uncle were George Clooney, he’d probably buy us tickets as a Christmas present. This stinks.” Then I was all, “Maybe I could be a maid on the ship and some rich guy will save me and sweep me in his arms---” and Tom cut in with, “You do realize that you’re married, right?” Right. I know. I was just, you know, fantasizing. But yeah. I really need to go on this cruise. I even told Tom that he didn’t have to come, therefore it would only be my fare and he was all, “Um, I’m not about to let my wife wander alone on a cruise ship that sank in 1912.” Then Tom went, “Wait, on the site it says that it’s an English cruise with English food.” And he made a face because when we were in England for three years, we weren’t quite impressed with the food. The Yorkshire Pudding really freaked Tom out. But who cares about EATING, this could totally be our delayed honeymoon! We never got one.

And...it's not until April 2012 and you can pay off a portion every year. So maybe...maybe? (Would still be easier if Tom's uncle were George Clooney though.)

The Broken Headphones

So there I was, minding my own business as I vacuumed. I may have even been singing. Off key, naturally, but at least no one else could hear thanks to the roar of the vacuum.

I started cleaning around the computer desk and made a face when I came across one of Tom’s toenails. I’m sorry, but that’s disgusting. You don’t pick your nails and then toss it on the ground. I also sucked up various crumbs—those didn’t just belong to Tom. I admit, I’m not the neatest eater so some of those crumbs—mmm, one came from a Swiss Cake Roll—were mine.

And then it happened. The vacuum got too close to the cords that Tom leaves out on the floor and sucked one up. I heard the sickening snapping sound and knew that it was probably a goner.

“NOOOOO!” I shouted, dramatically dropping to my knees. I knew exactly what the cord was from: the headphones that Tom uses to play his online game. And these aren’t just regular earphones: these are microphone earphones so he can converse with other players. If they were regular earphones then it wouldn’t have been a problem: I have a set that I found for Target for 75% off waiting in the closet. But these were his special earphones.

Crap.

I thought maybe, just maybe, that the cord would be okay.

I started pulling the cord out gently and then saw that oops, it had totally broken apart.

See:





For a brief second I went, “Maybe I could TAPE it back together,” but I quickly realized that was a silly idea.

I knew I had to call Tom. I knew waiting until he saw the headphones on his own was a bad idea.

Maybe I could blame it on Natalie! And when Tom discovers the broken headphones I can be all, ‘That silly girl!’”

Of course then Natalie would be a mini Hercules if she could yank apart the cord. And then suppose Tom thinks she’s super strong and enters her in a Strong Baby contest and is baffled when Natalie can’t pull apart the string. He’ll be all, “But she ripped my cord with her bare hands!” and I’ll have to admit what I’ve done…

So I knew I had to tell him. I pulled out my cell phone and sent him a text message since he was still at work:

I broke ur headphones...I love u!

Five minutes later the phone rang.

It was Tom.

“Well hi there, handsome!” I said cheerfully.

“Did you break my headphones?” Tom demanded.

“Me? I didn’t break them per say. The vacuum did. That darn Dyson with all its massive vacuum strength,” I babbled.

“Are my headphones broken?” Tom tried again.

I sucked in my breath. “Well....” I stared at the shriveled cord. “Yes..”

Tom sighed. “I have a game planned tonight. I need those.”

I swallowed. “Well…”

“You owe me,” Tom fumed.

What does THAT mean? Sex, probably.

“Of course, of course,” I agreed. “Look, I’m going to the store tomorrow, I can pick you up another set.”

“Do you know what set I need?” Tom wondered.

Well. “Headphones. With a microphone!” I said happily.

Tom groaned. “You can’t just get any headphones with a microphone,” he told me.

You can’t?

“You can’t?” I asked.

“No. You can’t. You don’t know which ones I need. The ones that I had probably aren’t even made anymore. You don’t know what to look for,” Tom complained.

“So tell me! Let me find a piece of paper and a pen and you can tell me,” I said and then looked around for some paper and a pen. I really need to clean our kitchen counters. It’s piled with old mail and coupons and…what in the world? Is that an Andes Mint? Mmmm, Andes Mints…

“Look, we’ll just go to the store when I get home from work. I need the headphones tonight,” Tom said. “And you owe me,” he said again before he hang up.

So we went to the store when he came home and he couldn’t find what he needed. I found a pair of headphones and went, “Here you go!” and he looked them over and said, “Not what I need, Amber…”

“But..it has a microphone and it says it’s for gaming,” I said, pointing to the box.

“These aren’t right,” Tom argued.

He’s probably going to order a set online. When we got home he messaged his friends and said he wouldn’t be on his game for awhile. (I imagine he typed: “Wife Broke Headphone. Wife Owes Me. Wink Wink”)

And then he came and sat on the couch and stared at me because he needed to be entertained.

“Isn’t this a good show?” I asked, gesturing to the TV, hoping that he’d stop staring. And then when he wasn’t staring he’d be pacing the room as though he were searching for something. He’d pad into the kitchen, come back out into the living room, circle the living room, go back into the kitchen, head down the hall, come back into the kitchen and into the living room and back to the couch....where he’d sit and stare for a bit and then he’d get up and do the pacing thing all over again.

“What IS this show?” Tom wondered, making a face.

I was watching 18 Kids and Counting and was wondering how Michelle’s uterus hasn’t fallen out yet.

“You know. It’s about that family with all the kids.”

Tom looked horrified. “I’d lose my mind if I had all those kids.”

And then he got up and started to pace again.

We need those headphones.

Now.

Fact Vs Opinion

“What’s up, buddy? You look upset,” I said to my son Tommy the other night. He had a homework page in front of him and he was thumping his pencil against it angrily.

“I don’t understand this,” he whined, pushing the paper away.

I went over to look at the page and saw it was about Fact and Opinion. On the top part you had to circle if the statement was fact or opinion. And then you had to write your own fact and opinion.

“So you don’t know the difference?” I wondered as my husband Tom walked in and peered down at the paper.

“Oh, that’s easy! For your fact, write “My Mom buys too many clothes for me!” Tom said cheerfully as he took a big bite from an apple.

I was not amused.

“Excuse me? I don’t think the kids have too much. That would be an opinion,” I said, folding my arms over my chest.

“It’s a fact. I can prove it. Come on,” Tom said and started heading up the stairs.

Tommy and I exchanged a glance but then followed him. Tom was standing in front of Tommy’s closet and he threw it open and gestured with his free hand. “Wa-lah! Too much!”

Tommy’s brows furrowed.

I waved a hand in the air. “I disagree. That’s an opinion. This is probably nothing compared to rich people. They probably have walk in closets for their kids. This closet is tiny.” I stared at Tommy. “So this would be an opinion.”

Tommy’s nose wrinkled.

“But…here’s a fact for you: You can write ‘My Daddy is a slob,’” I added with a sharp nod.

Now it was Tom’s turn to make a face. “Excuse me? I just did the dishes last night,” he argued.

“Come with me, Tommy,” I said and headed for our bedroom.

Both boys followed at my heels. I pointed to a pair of Tom’s underwear and socks that were thrown right BESIDE the laundry basket. I’ve never understood this. Why can’t he take the extra time and throw them IN the laundry basket? Why are things always BESIDE the laundry basket?

“So you can write, ‘My Daddy is a slob,’ because this is proof,” I said, shoving Tom’s disgusting sock with my toe.

“I disagree! This is an opinion. All wives aren’t anal like you are and wouldn’t mind scooping their husband’s clothes up after he’s had a long day at work,” Tom said, sticking his tongue out at me. There were apple bits on it. Gross.

“Tommy, you can also write, “My Daddy has bad manners,’” I suggested.

Tommy looked at Tom, then at me, and then back to Tom. “I’m confused,” he admitted.

“Write, ‘My Mommy goes shopping too much!’” Tom shouted right as I yelled, “Write ‘My Daddy is a slob!’”

Tom and I were so busy bickering that we didn’t even realize that Tommy had left.

“Where did he go?” I asked Tom.

He shrugged and finished up his apple. “I don’t know.”

We headed downstairs and found Tommy at the table.

“I’m going to write, ‘My Mommy and Daddy confuse me,’” he told us.

Oh.

What Package?

I heard the rumble of the truck and immediately tensed up.

Oh no. Not now. Please not now…

I peeked out the window and there it was, sitting at the end of my driveway.

Oh no…why did it have to come when my husband was home for lunch? Why?

“Tom! I’m going outside. I need to…check my car. There’s a bird on it!” I yelled and grabbed my jacket. I darted outside before Tom had a chance to argue. I imagine that he looked up with a start as he ate his lunch and was probably thinking, “Huh? Amber isn’t anal about birds on her vehicle like I am…” See, if Tom sees birds hovering around his truck, he rushes outside with a broom and shouts, “Shoo! Shoo! You won’t be pooping on MY truck, you assholes!” I know. I sometimes think Tom loves his truck too much too.

The UPS guy was sliding out of his truck with my Gymboree package in his hands. He was looking down at an electrical device and was probably typing in that my package was delivered. This was why he didn’t realize that a housewife was rushing at him at top speed, clad in sweats, a mismatched t-shirt, slippers on her feet and hair that was sticking up all over on the top of her head.

“Sir! Excuse me! Sir! I can take that!” I said, gasping for breath. I definitely am out of shape if I only run a few feet and I’m out of breath. I held my arms out for the box and the guy looked up at me in surprise, taking me in. I think he was wondering if I was the actual occupant of the house and not some crazed neighbor out to steal everyone’s stuff.

“I’m Amber,” I tried again. I even tapped my chest as though I were an ape. “That’s my box.” I nodded towards the package where it had my name listed.

He blinked at me for a few seconds before reluctantly handing it over. I think he wanted to get away from me.

“Thank you!” I said brightly.

He just backed up and quickly scuttled back into his truck. I think I scared him. It’s not everyday that he’s rushed by a crazed housewife after all.

The reason why I had to grab the package before Tom saw was because I had just made a passionate speech a few days before saying that I wouldn’t buy anymore clothes for the children if Tom could go a week without eating out. See, Tom loves to eat out and he buys food when he’s at work even though we have stuff to eat at home. Of course I don’t mind eating out a couple times per week—but Tom seems to love eating out all the time. When I checked out bank account I balked when I saw the amount that Tom had been spending.

And Tom said, “Well hey, it’s about the same as what you spend on the kids when you add it all up…”

So I said, “Then I won’t buy clothes for the kids anymore! Not for an entire month!” And I slammed my first into my palm so he could see I was serious.

But then I forgot that it was Gymbuck Redemption. Big oops. And Gymbuck Redemption means that you only pay for half of what you buy. So I couldn’t exactly NOT shop it, you know? That’s probably like, illegal or something.

So I ordered some clothes.

And I thought the package would be delivered while Tom was at work so he’d never know.

He barely ever checks our bank account.

He doesn’t know how much stuff the kids truly have.

So he’d never ever know that I had gone back on my word.

At least, this is what I thought.

Until the UPS truck pulled up in front of my house when Tom was home for lunch.

My plan was to hide the package. I could run it around and set it against the back door. Then when Tom wasn’t paying attention, I could retrieve it.

Simple, yes?

I was all set to walk into the backyard when Tom CAME OUTSIDE.

EEEEK!

I hurled the box towards the pine tree. See, I was hoping the trunk would hide it. But I can’t throw so the box just bounced off the branches and clunked to the ground. Tom would surely see it! Oh no!

I ran over to Tom and threw my arms around him.

“I just love you so so much!” I said into his shoulder. I was hoping to distract him so he wouldn’t look over to his left. He’d surely spot the box then.

“Um. I love you too? What’s going on?” Tom was instantly suspicious.

“Nothing? Nothing is going on!” I assured him, trying to lead him back inside the house.

“Is your car okay? Why are you acting weird?” Tom demanded, refusing to budge. He craned his neck to check out my car.

Why is he going on about my car? Oh. Right. I said I was chasing away birds..

“I thought I heard the UPS truck,” Tom said, watching as the truck rumbled away.

I shook my head. “Nope. The neighbors got something. Silly neighbors, shopping all the time,” I said, dragging him back inside. I was worried about my package. What if someone took it? What if it started to rain and the clothes inside got ruined? I had to go save it. As Tom wandered into the kitchen to get a soda, I shouted, “Those stupid birds are back!” Then I darted back outside. I ran over to my box and scooped it up. Then I started racing into the direction of the backyard when…

“Amber? What’s going on?”

Shit!

Can’t Tom just piss off?

“And the next time you come back, it won’t be pretty!” I shrieked to the sky, pretending that I was arguing with the birds that didn’t really exist. I stuck the box up my jacket and hoped that Tom wouldn’t notice. It was at the moment when my neighbor stepped outside. He did a double take when he saw me shouting at the sky with a box shoved up my jacket.

“You’re acting really weird,” Tom observed with a frown.

I crossed my arms over my chest, hoping to shield the square of the box. It worked at first. Until Tom peered closer and went, “What are you hiding?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m not hiding a thing. What? Are you calling me…fat?” I puffed out my lower lip and tried to jog into the house. But Tom pulled my arm and tapped the box.

And then his face lit up because he knew what I had done.

“You went shopping, didn’t you?” He wasn’t upset. He looked downright pleased. He could probably taste the Big Mac that he would surely buy for lunch tomorrow.

I shook my head sharply. “Of course not. This is my Spanx,” I fibbed. I tried to walk away again but Tom refused to let me go.

“Your Spanx? Amber, I’ve known you for ten years. I can tell when you’re lying to me,” Tom said.

I sighed and pulled the box out. “So I went shopping. But I had to! It was Gymbuck Redemption! Would you have had me not use them and let them go to waste?”

Tom grinned. “Oh not at all. I just find it amusing that you went shopping after you told me that you weren’t going to buy clothes for the kids all month long.” He even slapped his fist to his palm like I had done during my passionate speech. He was totally mocking me.

“And do you want to know something ironic?” Tom continued as we stepped inside. “If you hadn’t insisted that I came home to eat lunch, I would have never known about this package…”

Oh. Crap.

He was right.

Pictures of what I bought will come sometime this week. I asked Natalie if she wanted to try on her new things today and she went, “No thanks,” and then shut her bedroom door on me.

Maybe I can take some pictures tomorrow.

Or...when I promise that she can watch Yo Gabba Gabba if she tries on some clothes. I just have to prepare myself for the show because it’s so utterly frightening.

Toilet Musings

How did I get here?

I was sitting in the toilet with my legs tilted at an uncomfortable angle in front of me. Actually, sitting would be the wrong word to use. I suppose “stuck” would be more appropriate. I had stumbled into the bathroom in the dead of night and hadn’t realized that my husband forgot to put the toilet seat down.

So there I was, my ass dangling precariously close to the toilet water, my legs straight up—I was not amused. And to be honest, I was a little confused. In my half asleep mind I was all, “What just happened? Is my knee supposed to be in front of my face? I don’t recall this being the way I pee.”

It hadn’t been the greatest day.

First, I had decided to try a new recipe because a person can only eat spaghetti and sloppy joes for so long. I hate cooking by the way. It makes me feel cranky and each time I’m in the kitchen, I long for a cook to do it for me. But a cook is just too expensive and thus, I’m stuck preparing the meals. I found a recipe for a whole chicken in the crock pot—which I’m in love with, by the way. The crock pot, not the chicken. Anyhow, the recipe called for rosemary, and I had no idea what it looked like. I mean, I knew what it was—a spice, yes? But where would I find it?

I started pacing up and down aisles at the grocery store for the stuff. I suppose I was looking for a gigantic sign that read: “GET YER ROSEMARY HERE!” But of course I didn’t see such a sign. I stopped in front of all the spices and just stared and stared while my two year old attempted to climb out of the cart. She gets mortally offended if you stand still too long.

“I get out, Mommy,” she said.

“Okay,” I replied distractedly. Rosemary…where is the Rosemary…wasn’t Rosemary the name of Gwenyth Paltrow’s character in that Jack Black movie?

My eyes scanned the various spices. Where was the rosemary? And what does tarragon taste like?

“Bye Mommy,” Natalie called out.

“Bye,” I answered. WHERE WAS THE ROSEMARY??! And shit, there goes my two year old! I scooped up Natalie right when she was about to turn the corner.

“MOMMY! I WALK!” Natalie screeched, trying to kick her way free.

“You can’t. You have to say by me. I have to find the rosemary!” I explained frantically. Thankfully a woman overheard me.

“Are you looking for the rosemary? It’s right here.” She handed over a bottle of green pellets.

I thanked her and gawked at the bottle. “It looks like pine needles,” I blurted out and she laughed.

“I assure you, it doesn’t taste as such,” she told me.

I hope not.

Then I came home and it smelled like a giant cat box because apparently I’m the only one who remembers to change the cat litter. It’s just not fair. Why do I get to deal with all the feces in this house? I mean, okay, I don’t deal with TOM’S FECES—or maybe I do, because when he’s finished making a number two, I find I have to spray a bunch of freshener so our home doesn’t smell like the bog of eternal stench.

Later, as I was cooking dinner, Tommy was practicing his spelling words for the week. I could hear him out in the living room:

“Okay, which is spelled W-H-I—”

“T!” Natalie cut in cheerfully.

“No Natalie! There is no T!” Tommy yelled impatiently. “W-H-I-C—”

“T!” Natalie said again.

“THERE IS NO T! Mommy, I’m not feeling very pleasant right now,” Tommy fumed, stomping into the kitchen.

Pleasant is his latest word. He uses it all the time. For instance, having cereal in the morning is pleasant but stubbing a toe is not. He feels pleasant when he’s taking a bath but he doesn’t find it pleasant when he has to do a bunch of homework. It’s pleasant this and pleasant that. Pleasant, pleasant, pleasant.

“I’m sorry,” I said, stirring the vegetables that were starting to burn. How does a person burn vegetables? Well, I might have started to flip through the latest US Weekly (Jessica Simpson’s dog was eaten by a coyote—some deep stuff in there..) and I totally forgot I was cooking.

“I want to feel pleasant but I can’t because of Natalie,” Tommy whined.

“Natalie! Stop bugging your brother!” I shouted.

“Okay Mommy,” she replied, lying through her baby teeth.

When we settled down around the table, Natalie sniffed her plate, picked up one pea between her thumb and forefinger, stared at it for a few seconds, popped it in her mouth, rolled it around her tongue, swallowed and went, “All done!”

All done?

“Darling, you have to take a few more bites,” I said gently. You have to speak to her softly about food, otherwise she gets offended that you’re trying to get her to eat.

“No thanks,” Natalie said, sliding off her chair.

I never know what to do in this situation. Do I let her starve? Or do I try to make her eat? All the experts say you’re never supposed to force a kid to eat because then they’ll be obese or something like that.

Oh, I forgot to mention that in between all of this, I also went to find the YMCA where Tommy’s swim lessons will be held. I knew it was downtown but I had no idea where. So I sort of traveled around, searching, and then I spotted it but didn’t know how to get to it and I nearly died when I almost turned down a one way road.

One way roads are the bane of my existence. I hate them. HATE THEM.

So by the time we parked and made our way inside to inquire about the swim lessons, I was shaking slightly and the woman behind the counter gave me a startled look because I probably was pale from fear. I mean, I’m pale to begin with but I imagine I was extra EXTRA pale at that moment.

“We nearly died!” Tommy said cheerfully.

Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “Oh my!”

I waved a hand dismissively in the air. “Not really. We just….man, there are a lot of one way roads downtown.”

The woman looked sympathetic. And then she told me that I couldn’t even register Tommy until October 20th for the swim lessons so Tommy went, “What? I don’t feel pleasant about this!”

So yes. It had been a long day. And now I was in stuck in the middle of the toilet that had been cleaned last week so God knows how much bacteria was now floating around on my backside. Yuck. I managed to work my way free and then I washed my hands and went back into bed—but then I realized I never got to pee, because I was attacked by the toilet—so I had to get back out of bed.

And as I sat there doing my business, I thought longingly, I need a vacation.

Or a stiff drink.