Those Texas Roadhouse Rolls

I love Texas Roadhouse.

I especially love their rolls.

So when we decided to dine there this week, I was excited. My mouth watered over the thought of the hot buttery rolls.

Imagine my surprise when we weren’t given any rolls after we were shown our booth.

“Where are the rolls? Are they coming? We need the rolls.” I tried not to panic as our hostess walked away. Where was she going? Was she bringing back rolls?

“Do you think the rolls are coming?” I hissed to Tom, who was calmly perusing the menu. How could he be so calm? Wasn’t he concerned about the rolls?

“Amber, the place just opened. The rolls aren’t ready yet,” Tom said patiently. He’s used to my freak outs. But he was probably right. The restaurant had just opened. We always get there at 4, right as the doors are unlocked because crowds freak Tom out. He says it’s a cop thing. He doesn’t like people behind him because he assumes they’re going to pull out a weapon. Sometimes for fun I’ll trail after him and he’ll abruptly stop and go, “Don’t do that. You know I don’t like that.”

Our waitress strolled over with a wide grin. “Hi, I’m Stacy and I’ll be your waitress today!” She chirped. Stacy had obviously been sampling the sweet tea.

“Hi Stacy, can we have some rolls?” I matched her tone and tried not to grasp the collar of her shirt while bellowing, “It was just AWFUL, Stacy. The hostess showed us to our booth and walked away WITHOUT GIVING US ANY ROLLS!”

“Of course you can get some rolls,” Stacy said. “What can I get you to drink?”

DRINK? Why wasn’t she getting the rolls first? Didn’t she see how much we needed the rolls?

I asked for a sweet tea and hoped she would return quickly with our rolls.

But then a big group settled down in Stacy’s section so she turned to greet them. Stacy, NO. Our ROLLS.

“Would you sit down?” Tom said.

Oh. I hadn’t realized I was halfway to a standing position. I plopped my butt down.

“I just....our rolls. Wait, here comes the hostess with a basket of rolls. Here they come! Here they—” But then the hostess plopped the rolls on the booth behind us for those people.

Excuse me?

What about US?

Stacy, hostess, SOMEONE!

“Calm down,” Tom said. “We’ll get some rolls.”

Stacy dropped our drinks off five minutes later. No rolls.

“What can I get for you?”

“Rolls,” I said.

Tom groaned into his palms.

Stacy’s eyes snapped open with recognition. “The rolls. I forgot. I’m so sorry.”

She took our orders and then went off to retrieve some rolls.

“Thank God. My body needs the carbs,” I said, sipping my sweet tea.

Tom made a face. “When was the last time you had some?”

“Well. Lunch. But still.”

I can’t believe there are people who don’t eat carbs. And those health nuts on the reality shows say to save calories, one should FORGO the rolls at the beginning of the meal.

FORGO the rolls?

Are they high?

The rolls are the best part.

Have these people TASTED the rolls at Texas Roadhouse? They arrive warm with cinnamon butter. I know. Cinnamon butter sounds weird. I thought so too. But then I tried it and I was in love. Now I can’t get enough cinnamon butter. I want to ask Texas Roadhouse if I can bring some home with me but Tom says that I better not ask that, and could I please stop embarrassing him?

Good news, though. Stacy came back with the rolls. Yes!

We all dove in.

Seriously. Four hands went towards the basket at once. Thankfully Texas Roadhouse gives you four rolls.

“We need more rolls,” I said, my mouth stuffed with, well, roll. I’m so glad that I’m married. I’d be an awful dater. My manners are pretty appalling.

“We’ll get some,” Tom said, shoving his roll into his mouth. His manners aren’t the greatest either. We’re a match made in filthy manners heaven.

Stacy came by a few minutes later to see if we needed anything else.

“Rolls, please,” I said.

“Wow, those went quick!” she giggled. Stacy looked as though she were the type that avoided carbs. She was rail thin. I wouldn’t mind losing a couple pounds but I think I’d be a very unhappy person indeed if I gave up my carbs.

When Stacy returned she didn’t have rolls. She just had our food. Which is a good thing, don’t get me wrong, but I was still craving rolls. There was no way I’d be able to enjoy my steak without getting a few more rolls in my system. No way in heck.

“Anything else I can get you?” Stacy wondered.

“Rolls, please.” She probably thought that was the only thing I knew how to say.

“Rolls.” Stacy snapped her fingers. “Right. You sure you want rolls since you have your dinner now?”

Um. Stacy? YES.

“Yes, please,” I said, moving Natalie’s hand away from my rice. That’s MY seasoned rice. But…crap, I’m teaching her how to share so I gave her some.

“I don’t YIKE this hot dog,” Natalie said, pushing her meal away. “I want dis rice.” And she tried to take all of my rice.

“Um, well you’re going to eat your hot dog because that’s what you said you wanted,” I said firmly, sticking her food back in front of her.

“No, hot dog is yucky. I want da rice and da potato,” she said, pointing to my baked potato.

I don’t think so.

“More rolls!” Stacy said, handing them over.

Four hands went into the basket.

Mmmm.

“Stop hogging the butter!” I said to Tom.

“I’m not,” he argued, his cheeks puffed out from the bread.

“You are. Share!” I reached over to grab it. He lifted his arm up so I couldn’t reach.

“Stop being mean. Share!”

He eventually handed it over. I was about to rub some on my bread but Natalie tried to take my potato again so I got distracted. I set the butter down in the basket and grabbed my potato back. Look, I’m all for sharing but Natalie had a perfectly good meal in front of her. As I was busy trying to get her to eat the hot dog, Stacy came by and PICKED UP THE BASKET WHICH CONTAINED MY CINNAMON BUTTER.

“Stacy!” I called out, but she didn’t hear me.

Crap.

“My cinnamon butter!”

“Jesus, just eat your steak,” Tom said.

But it just felt incomplete to not have the cinnamon butter. So when Stacy came back, I asked for more rolls.

Her eyes bugged out of her head. “More rolls?”

“We’re a carb loving family,” I explained. And plus, you took my cinnamon butter from me.

Stacy did bring us more rolls. So I got my cinnamon butter, two extra rolls, and like five extra pounds.

But still. Yum.

(And now I’m craving the rolls again.)

Julie Andrews I Am Not

Do you see this thing?



It’s a generator.

And it’s LOUD.

It makes this annoying rumbling sound. It’s especially fun to listen to at night.

We got a note slipped in our door last week talking about the generator. Along with the irritating noise, we have to deal with power outages every day at 530 this week because the base is conducting an Energy Security Test.

I forgot about it the first time. I was in the middle of an e-mail—not a serious e-mail at least—and everything just went dead in the house.

Some choice words escaped my lips.

Then I remembered about the power outages.

Thankfully they are quick power outages but still. Annoying.

And then there’s the rumbling sound from the generator. As I was getting the kids to bed Tommy was all, “It’s a monster growling.”

“A MONSTA!” Natalie’s eyes grew big.

Oh, great. I just wanted the kids to go to bed so I could stretch out and watch Parenthood. I did not want to have to go through a freak out.

“No monster,” I promised and shot Tommy a Look.

“It could be,” Tommy said matter-of-factly.

I wanted to stick some duct tape over his mouth.

“It’s not a monster. It’s a generator,” I explained.

“MONSTA!! I don’t YIKE monstas!” Natalie told me seriously.

“There is no monster!” I insisted. But Natalie was already convinced. She ran into Tommy’s closet and refused to come out.

Great.

“Tommy,” I groaned.

“What? It sounds like a monster.” He shrugged. Then he leaned forward. “What if it is?” Now he was starting to look freaked out.

Crap. I didn’t have TIME for this. I just wanted to relax. I wanted to make myself a steaming cup of hot chocolate (with whipped cream) and curl up on the couch. I didn’t want to deal with monsters. Why couldn’t they have had a monster freak out on Monday when nothing is on?

“Look. Let’s....um....let’s all sit on the bed,” I said, tapping Tommy’s mattress.

Natalie peeked out from the closet.

“I’m going to cheer you guys up,” I said firmly. I mean, Julie Andrews always makes it look easy. On The Sound of Music she just sang a song about favorite things and wa-lah, happy children!

“Raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens,” I began, off-key. I can’t sing but oh well.

Tommy looked startled. “What are you doing?”

“Singing. Cheering you up. Ahem. Where was I? Raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens. Bright coppered kettles and warm woolen mittens.”

“What is this?” Tommy still didn’t get it.

“Favorite things,” I said, a little impatiently. None of the VonTrapp children interrupted Julie Andrews when she was singing. Where was my respect?

“None of those things are my favorite things,” Tommy said primly.

“Me either,” Natalie chimed in, climbing up on the bed.

Rude, ungrateful children. But still, Natalie was out of the closet. That was something, right?

“Brown paper packages tied up with strings. These are a few of my favorite things,” I continued.

“That’s not my favorite thing either. ” Tommy looked downright annoyed.

“Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels. Doorbells and sleighbells and schnitzel with noodles…”

“What’s a strudel?” Tommy cut in.

“PONY!” Natalie chanted, clapping her hands. “I want a pony.”

For the love of—why wouldn’t they just SIT BACK and listen to the DAMN song?

“When the dog BITES, when the bee STINGS, when I’m feeling sad. I simply remember my favorite things and then I don’t feeelllll....sooooo....bad!” I wrapped up the song early and stretched my arms out. I clocked Natalie in the head when I did it. Oops.

“You hurted me, Mommy,” Natalie said, scowling.

“So,” I said, a fake smile on my face. “How do you guys feel? Better? Did you like my song?”

Tommy picked his nail. “I didn’t get it.”

“There’s nothing TO get. It’s a happy song to make you feel better.” I mean, duh.

“It didn’t,” Tommy said bluntly.

Hmph. Kids in the 60s seemed much calmer. They sat and listened to music and APPRECIATED it. And they seemed to magically know the words to the song and would even join in. My kids just stared at me as though a lacy bra had morphed from the top of my head.

Oh well.

All the monster talk ceased so I guess my song was a success.

Although Natalie kept asking for a pony and when I handed over her fake ponies she threw them down and went, “Not DIS one. I wanna REAL pony.”

She went to sleep rather ticked off.

But not talking about monsters. So yay.

Natalie's Revenge

So.

Natalie did this. You might not be able to see it well, but it's basically a large pencil drawing. On my wall.



She was quite proud of herself, I must say.

When I cleaned off her masterpiece with the Mr. Clean Magic Eraser she screeched and called me mean.

I was looking forward to eating a donut as a delicious snack. But guess what happened while I was cleaning Natalie’s artwork?

Yes.

Natalie grabbed MY donut and destroyed it. She scraped off a lot of the best part: the sprinkles.



I’m convinced she did it on purpose because she thought I didn’t appreciate her picture. And I would have, had she done it on PAPER.

PS. Is it wrong that I ate the donut anyhow?

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. I think I’m going to do this every Tuesday now. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.

Hey, It's Okay....


To not know what’s going on with Lost even when there are only four episodes left.


To have cheered a little bit when Kate was FINALLY voted off Dancing with the Stars.


To know you will NEVER use one of those neti-pot things.


To have mocked the latest trailer for Eclipse a little bit. Fine. A lot. But only because Edward always looks incredibly sick to me so I just want to hand him some Nyquil.


To not let the kids sleep in your bed because you have enough trouble sharing it with your husband.


To curse word verification on blogs, especially when you have to type the letters in several times because you can’t quite tell what that squiggly one is.


TO LOVE PIE <--- in caps because pie rocks.


To want to say, “Bitch, please,” when another mother rambles on about how perfect her kid is.


To be a little bitter that the KARDASHIAN’S are getting a book published.


To think organic sheets are just plain ridiculous. My non-organic sheets are just fine, thanks.


To debate wearing a modest swimsuit seeing as you can’t stop eating junk food and don’t want to scare people off with your thunder thighs.

Plant Killer

“Look!” Tommy shouted as he burst through the front door Friday afternoon. In his hand he carried a plant. “Look what we got from school!”



“It’s a very....nice plant,” I said. What else could I say other than, “Please don’t drip dirt on my clean floors.” I am not a plant person. I’ve tried, I really have, but plants hate me. They tend to shrink away when they see me approaching.

“You can’t touch it because you killed my other plant,” Tommy told me, hugging his plant to his chest.

Okay....yes, that’s true. Tommy had a plant. When my Mom, his Nonna was here they bought a plant that apparently is hard to kill.

“You’ll be fine with this one,” my Mom assured me. My Mom, it should be pointed out, is fabulous with plants. She has a bunch of them in her yard and actually enjoys “pruning” them. What kind of word is that anyhow? Pruning? Plants LOVE my Mom.

I sort of forgot to water Tommy’s plant. And so did Tommy, by the way. If it was HIS plant, he should have kept on top of it. So there. It started to wilt and Tommy was all, “My plant!” and watered it. But it was too late. The thing had croaked.

“Look what you did!” Tommy whined as I tossed it out.

“Hey, you could have watered it too,” I reminded him.

“I DID and it was already dead,” he said accusingly. “You are NOT good with plants, Mommy.”

So yeah, he definitely didn’t want me to touch his latest one.

But then he just set it down on the kitchen counter. The one that I had just cleaned.

“Er,” I said, lifting it up.

“Don’t touch, you’ll kill it!” Tommy stomped over.

“You can’t just set it here. I’m no expert but I do know you can’t just leave a plant in a bag,” I explained.

“Where should I put it then?”

Well, crap. We were having a storm outside complete with snow. The plant would not be safe out there.

Then I remembered the pot that I had found at Target for 75% off. When I had brought it home Tom had frowned and said, “What do you need that for? You kill plants.”

This family is so totally mean to me.

You kill one plant, you’re branded as a plant killer for life.

Oh fine, it’s been more like over ten plants that I’ve killed. But still. I TRY to keep them alive. I don’t viciously let them die. I just...well, they don’t have mouths. If they screamed, “I’m STARVING!” like my kids, I’d remember.

“We need to put your plant in a pot,” I said to Tommy.

Tommy still looked wary. “But you’ll kill it.”

Oh for—

“I won’t! At least I’ll try not to. Just....let’s put it in the pot, okay?”

Tommy reluctantly handed it over. “If you kill this plant, I’ll never trust you with another plant ever again.”

Woah. Thems fighting words, son.



Here is Tommy’s plant. It still seems to be thriving.

Heaven help me if I kill the thing.

Chuck E Cheese Virgin

I’m a Chuck E Cheese virgin.

At least I was until we finally went this past weekend.

I had no idea what to expect. I mean, I guess I sort of did because of the commercials. Some cartoon rat would bounce around the screen in front of games that lit up and a cacophony of children would sing, “Chuck E Cheese’s! Where a kid can be a kid!”

Tommy had been begging me to take him.

So we finally relented and said we’d go. He was ecstatic. Even Tom seemed to be a little excited. He had gone several times as a kid and bragged about how good he was at certain games.

When we first walked into Chuck E Cheese I was confused as to why this woman was stamping our hands with numbers.

“Why is she branding us?” I hissed to Tom.

“Our number matches our kids. That way someone can’t walk off with them. Because you just let your kids run and play in here,” Tom explained knowingly.

Um. Unattended children? That didn’t seem safe. But wait. The stamp number thing. I guess it made sense.

“Does that mean that random kids will be bugging us?” I wondered. And to prove my point, the second my hand was stamped a little boy ran up, stuck his tongue out, and scurried away.

“An unattended child just made a face at me!” I said to Tom indignantly. “Children should not be left unattended even with numbers. Kidnappers could probably manage to take a kid. They could—oh my God, Tom. What is that?” With a shaky finger, I pointed to a giant Chuck E. Cheese walking around. I do not like giant characters when you can’t see the face of the human that inhabits them. It’s probably why Yo Gabba Gabba terrifies me so much. “What kind of place is this?” I demanded.

Tom sighed beside me. “It’s just Chuck E. He won’t hurt you, I swear.”

But you never know what’s going on underneath the costume. That’s why I don’t like it when I can’t see the face. They could be LEERING at you or something.

“I don’t want to go near it,” I said, huddling up beside Tom. Another unattended child raced past.

“Look, we won’t go near it.” Tom rolled his eyes. “I’ll get a table, you get the pizza.”

I kept my eye on the giant rat. He was across the room, thank goodness. “Okay,” I said, and joined the line for our food. I had a coupon that I printed out and thank goodness I did because we would have paid nearly $15 more for a pizza and drinks. Plus my coupon included 40 tokens. I wasn’t sure what they were when the lady pushed the cup towards me.

“Gold?” I frowned.

“First time?” she asked. Her expression was all, “Holy crap, lady.”

I nodded.

“Those are the tokens to play the games,” she offered politely.

“Oh. Thanks.” I grabbed the tokens along with the plates and number for our pizza. Several unattended children nearly collided into me. I wanted to yell, “Where are your parents?” But then I remembered. It’s Chuck E Cheese. Kids aren’t attended here. I surveyed the room and found parents sitting at booths having adult conversations. Oh, how nice. I was beginning to understand this place. Too bad Natalie was too young to be left alone.

“Now what?” I asked Tom, dropping off the stuff.

“We play!” Tom grinned. He grabbed some tokens. “Come on, Tommy.” They started to walk off.

“Excuse me!” I called out. “What do I do?” I gestured to Natalie, who kept trying to walk away towards the blinking lights of some car game.

“Whatever you want,” Tom said unhelpfully.

Okay. I took Natalie’s hand. “What do you want to do?”

“Horsie!” Natalie said, pointing to a giant horse that looked as though it had seen better days.

But okay. Horsie it was. We got in line. It was our turn but then an unattended child cut in front of us and climbed up on the horse.

“Um,” I said. “It’s our turn.”

The kid looked to be around six, so he knew better.

“Sorry,” he said but didn’t sound it at all. And he didn’t remove his ass from the horse. I was about to remove him myself but then the GIANT CHUCK E CHEESE came up behind me.

“EEEEE!” I went, shielding myself with Natalie.

Giant Chuck E seemed amused. Or really, how would I know because I COULDN’T SEE HIS FACE. For all I knew, a chick could be under there.

Natalie liked him. “Hi!” she said and even gave the creature a hug. *Shudders*

Then Giant Chuck E held out his hand. What did he want from me? Was he trying to swipe my purse? Was he coming on to me? WHAT DID HE WANT?

Oh.

A high five.

Natalie happily gave him one. Then Giant Chuck E stuck his hand out towards my face. What, he expected ME to touch him? I gave him a half hearted high five and prayed that he’d go away.

He did. A group of unattended children surrounded him, saving me.

“I go der!” Natalie said, pointing to some plastic tunnels attached to the ceiling. It looked dangerous but what do I know? She easily climbed up and I watched as she crawled through the tunnels.

Then she refused to come down.

Tom and Tommy joined me. “Where’s Natalie?” Tom asked.

I pointed up. “She won’t come down.” I was beginning to panic. What if she refused? Would I have to climb up there? What if I got STUCK and the fire department was called to get me UNSTUCK? Oh, the humiliation. I knew I shouldn’t have eaten all those Ding Dongs.

“Mommy? I scared!” Natalie called out.

“Then go down the slide. Do you see the slide? GO DOWN THE SLIDE!” I yelled dramatically.

Tom gave me a Look. “Calm down.”

But I couldn’t down. My child was SCARED and I was just STANDING THERE.

“Mommy will come get you if you need help. Did you hear me? MOMMY WILL COME GET YOU!”

A few other parents stared at me as though I had a neon pink bra wrapped around my head.

And then the giant rat started coming closer again.

“Tell it to go,” I said to Tom as I struggled to find Natalie in the colorful tubes.

“Um, you can’t tell it to go. This is technically his place,” Tom reminded me.

“I don’t care, I want it to go, it freaks me out. NATALIE! Can you hear Mommy? Can you—” Then I realized Natalie was climbing back down. Phew. She hurried over, I scooped her up and got as far away from the rat as I could.

Our pizza arrived soon after that. It was pretty good. Though in the middle of eating, an unattended kid came and stared at us with his mouth wide open for a few minutes.

I was about to tell it to shoo but he abruptly turned and went to gape at another family.

“This place is strange, Tom,” I said, sipping some Diet Coke.

“Nah. It’s great. Look.” Tom dug in his pocket and produced a long trail of tickets.

“How did you win that?” I was impressed. It looked like a lot of tickets and at Chuck E Cheese I knew the tickets helped the kids win a prize.

“Oh. I have skills.” Tom blew off his fingers like he had just accomplished a major feat.

After we ate it was time for more games. Or in my case, avoiding the giant rat. Why wouldn’t he leave? Didn’t he get a break? Then as Natalie hopped on another ride, a bunch of giant puppets started to sing on a stage.

“What the hell?” I said, shrinking away. It looked like there was a giant chicken up there strumming on a guitar. What was it doing? Why was it singing?

“What’s wrong?” Tom asked, coming up beside me.

I jumped. “A giant chicken is SINGING!”

Tom chuckled. “That’s what happens. Like every half hour. For the children’s amusement,” he added. I think he believed that I thought they were singing to terrify me.

A frightening place indeed.

We finally used all our tokens. I rocked at Skee Ball. I won a total of five tickets. But still. I was impressed. This kid totally tried to take one of my balls and I was all, “HEY! MINE!” I think I scared him. But unattended children need to learn some manners.

In the end we had 97 tickets and the Chuck E Cheese worker kindly let me round it up to 100. So Tommy picked out a foam rocket and all Natalie wanted was a Chuck E Cheese balloon.

“Are you sure?” I didn’t really want that smiling rat in my home.

“BALLOON!” Natalie insisted. She stomped her foot down for emphasis.

So fine. We got her a balloon.

Before we left the numbers that had been stamped on our hand were checked. I almost forgot this and when the woman tried to take a peek at my hand I thought she was coming onto me and was about to swear off Chuck E Cheese forever. I mean first the giant rat, then the unattended children and now some stranger was pushing back the cuff of my sleeve?!

Then I realized what she was doing.

And then we went home with Tommy gripping his prized foam rocket, Natalie with her balloon, Tom feeling a high because he had performed well in games, and myself, who was slightly worried that the giant rat was going to follow us home.

He didn’t, thank goodness.

Well. In a way he did because look:



Help.

Redbook to the Rescue?

It was not a good day.

I told Tom this when he woke up. He works the night shift so he sleeps until the afternoon. He seemed a little taken aback when he came down the stairs and saw me sitting in the middle of the living room with a bunch of Natalie’s toys surrounding me. Not to mention a spray of crumbs.

“Would you believe,” I said to Tom in a shaky voice, “that I had this room cleaned ten minutes ago? But just look. Look what you daughter did to it.”

Tom blinked. He wasn’t sure how to respond so he just scratched the side of his head and went, “Er.”

Very insightful man, that Tom.

“This has not been a good day,” I continued, standing up. I brushed crumbs off my knees. Natalie had been munching on some crackers and had decided to turn them into confetti. She had crumbled them into her palms and had tossed the bits into the air. “Weeee!” she had gone. “Weeee!” I had been in the kitchen doing the dishes and hadn’t known what she was doing.

“Why hasn’t it been a good day?” Tom asked, but his tone indicated that he really wasn’t interested. He probably just wanted to sit in front of the computer but he knew if he did that then I’d probably lash out and call him names. He says that I have rage issues and that I can be mean. This isn’t true. I mean, okay, maybe it’s a little true. I did call him numbnuts the other day but that was because he was just STANDING there as I was cleaning up. Who just STANDS there and watches another person clean? I mean honestly. I did apologize for the name calling, by the way.

“No one will listen to me,” I began. “This morning as I got Tommy off to school, he kept shouting even though I explained that Mommy wasn’t a morning person and that if he valued keeping his tongue, that he ought to keep it down. Then Natalie was up and she didn’t want to listen and kept bringing out every single toy she owns to the living room. I tried to get a tiny break in and read a few pages of my book but then she wanted to play tea. I said I didn’t want to play tea but she insisted, slapped her tea hat on me and forced a plastic cup in my hand. After tea time I went upstairs to clean and realized that your son had PISSED in the plastic tote that holds his cars. Who does that? Is he some kind of animal?”

Tom made a face. “Er,” he offered.

“Then your daughter won’t stop shitting. I cleaned three shits today and I think it’s because she ate an entire tray of veggies yesterday. Then I had to do the catbox and let me tell you Tom, I’m so tired of dealing with other people’s bowel movements. I’m just so tired and I just want to sit and BE for a bit but I can’t because I live with a bunch of animals!” I concluded.

“Go upstairs and rest then,” Tom suggested. Thank goodness he actually said something. If he had gone “er” I might have called him numbnuts again.

I did go upstairs. I started to go through my pile of papers that I’ve been meaning to sort through. I stumbled upon several magazine articles that I had torn out—if an article interests me, I tear it out so I can re-read it.

I found one that made me smile.



It was from Redbook and it was about 5 ways to de-stress in 20 minutes or less.

Sweet!

I definitely needed to de-stress. So I surveyed the article and decided to do the different ideas that it suggested.

Number one was to tidy up a little.

Um.

I had been tidying up all day. Didn’t the article realize I had been dealing with people’s excrements? According to the article, stress-reducing endorphins sometimes get released while cleaning.

This doesn’t happen o me.

Stress-CAUSING endorphins get released when I clean. Because I start to think, “Why am I picking up a GROWN MAN’S socks? Why is there PISS in this plastic bin? How many turds is this child going to produce?”

So yeah. I moved onto the next suggestion.

That one said that I ought to stare out the window because nature scenes can help a person de-stress.

Okay. I could give it a try.

I gazed out the window.

La-la-la, waiting for the de-stress to wash over me.

A few cars drove by. Boring.

Then I noticed my neighbor in her yard planting something. She was staring up at me in confusion.

Great. My neighbor probably thought that I was either A) spying on her or B) checking her out.

“It’s okay,” I wanted to say, waving the article around. “I’m just trying to de-stress!”

Ugh.

So that bombed.

I checked the article again. Number three said I should sniff some coffee. Problem? We don’t drink coffee in this house. Maybe I could run to Starbucks? The article said that the smell of coffee beans helped relax sleep-deprived rats after all.

Wait a minute.

RATS?

Was the article comparing me to a RAT?

Moving on to suggestion number four.

Ohhh. It was telling me to get my game on. Apparently games are distracting from your problems. Well, duh. The thing is, I don’t play a lot of computer games. Not anymore. I used to play a game called EverQuest before I had kids but now I don’t have time for it. I do play the Wii but usually when the kids are in bed because if I try to do it when Natalie is up, she stands directly in my way and tries to take the Wii-mote from me. Then I get irritated and she cries and shouts that I’m not SHARING and I wind up turning the game off.

I checked out the last suggestion.

Score a yoga buzz just by breathing.

You mean all I had to do was BREATHE to relax?

I decided to try it out. I was told that I should sit quietly and close my eyes. Then I needed to let my muscles completely relax and release tension. I had to shrug my shoulders, and roll my head and neck. I did this and felt like I was Linda Blair. I breathed in and out, in and out. Ooo, maybe it was working. I did feel relaxed. I did—

“Where are the diapers? Natalie took a dump!” Tom’s voice rudely cut into my thoughts.

I kept my eyes closed. “You know where they are,” I yelled back. Why doesn’t he check first? Does he think I wake up and go, “I think I’ll change where I store the diapers.”

“It really SMELLS!” Tom boomed.

“Welcome to my world!” I answered.

Silence.

Ahh, I could relax again.

I was drifting away into another world, one filled with cosmopolitans, lifetime chocolate supplies and an explanation of what in the world is going on with Lost. I was—

“What are you doing?” The bedroom door was thrown open and Tom stood there with Natalie beside him.

“De-stressing,” I said. My eyes were still shut.

“You look like you’re about to fall asleep sitting up,” Tom the genius observed.

“I’m not. I’m trying to—oofff!” The ooof was because Natalie hurled her body into me and I fell back. My eyes snapped open and Natalie’s face was inches from mine.

“Horsie!” she said and sat on my face. Ugh. Thank goodness Tom had changed her diaper. Otherwise I’d have probably passed out.

“Get off Mommy,” Tom said, lifting her off. He stared down at me. “Are you better now?” That was his way of saying, “Are you going to be nice and not call me names?”

I sighed and stood up. “I guess.”

“I know a way to cheer you up,” Tom said and I thought he was going to suggest something sexual. But no, he said that he’d take me out for some ice cream.

“Remember Dairy Queen has that deal where you can buy a blizzard and get another one for twenty five cents,” Tom added, knowing it would make me happy that we’d save some money in the process.

So in the end, the article didn’t really help me de-stress.

It was my delicious Butterfinger blizzard that did.

In Which I Stink At Bowling

We went bowling over the weekend.



It looks like someone needs to teach Tommy about good sportsmanship.

He was ticked because he didn’t get a strike like Tom did. I said, “Kid, look, you knocked all but one pin down. That’s good!”

He was all, “It’s not good enough,” and pouted in his chair.

Gee, I wonder where he gets that behavior from?

(TOM!)

Have I mentioned that Tom owns his own bowling ball and shoes? Well, he does. He used to be really into bowling. I find it amusing that he even has a special cloth to wipe down his ball after each use. He also has these shoe cover things to cover the bottom of his shoes.

I mocked him for that, too.

He was all, “What, the covers are so gross stuff don’t get on the bottom of them. Stuff can throw my balance off and I won’t be able to throw the ball well.”

Um. Okay. Psycho.

Kidding, kidding.

I use the bowling alley shoes and the bowling alley balls. I found a pretty pink one and thought that she and I would make a good team.

We didn’t.

Make a good team, that is.

Because during my first two turns I got NOTHING. My ball kept rolling in the gutter.

“Do I need to put the bumpers up for you?” Smart Ass Tom called out.

I’d have given him the finger if the children hadn’t been around.

Natalie seemed to like bowling.





It was her first time so she didn’t really get the concept at first. When she rolled the ball down she was all, “Where da ball going?”



She soon got into the game and started to do a happy dance after each turn.

And Tom?

Well, he takes his game seriously. He’d march up there all determined and put on his special bowling gloves.

Yes. He also has bowling gloves.



Then he’d do this fancy move and hurl the ball down the lane.

When he’d finish with his turn he’d polish his ball down and put on his shoe covers. This is why there aren’t any photos of me. I asked him to take a photo of me but he was too busy messing with his ball (ha!) or his shoes.

Towards the end I debated hiding his shoe covers to see if he’d flip out.

I didn’t though.

Because I fear he would have flipped out. Heaven forbid something gets on the bottom of his bowling shoes.

In the end, we all had fun. Tommy did have a small meltdown because he didn’t understand why I got to have an extra turn. See, I got a spare on my last frame which meant I got to go again. I always forget this so I sat back down and Tom was all, “Go!” and I was all, “WTF, it’s not my turn, Tom. Duh.” And then he explained the rules to me.

Oops.

So yeah, Tommy was all, “Why do you get to go again, that’s not fair,” and had an Asperger flare up. I calmly explained what happened and he took a few deep breaths and was able to calm himself down.

Until Natalie got a strike and got to go again.

Then he was all, “SHE gets to go again too?” So I was praying that he’d get a spare and get to go again.

He didn’t.

So of course he pouted all over again so I had Tom explain the rules and Tom did and added, “Toughen up, okay?” Naturally this made me irritated with Tom because I had to re-explain Aspergers to him. I feel like I have to explain Tommy’s behavior on a weekly basis to Tom. He just doesn’t get it.

Other than that, it was an enjoyable evening.



I sucked, as you can tell (I'm A):



Tom’s score is covered but he got a 114. He was all, “That’s not good enough.”

Dude. I’d be thrilled with anything over 100.

But I guess he’s used to scores near the 200s or something.

Well, la-di-dah, Tom.

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. I think I’m going to do this every Tuesday now. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.

Hey, It's Okay....



To hate when people go, “How are WE this morning?” I always want to respond, “I’m okay, not sure about you though.”


To know that you’ll never be able to do the Silent Sex that is suggested in Redbook because you are too darn chatty.


To know what episode of Friends it is after only seeing a few seconds of it.


To throw up a little when couples constantly say that they are each other’s best friends.


To wish you could afford to go to The Melting Pot every week. Hello, chocolate fondue!


To still jump when people have music on their blogs thanks to the fact that your husband blasts the speakers and forgets to turn them off when he’s done with his game.


To hope that one day an agent will surprise you and be all, “I love your book, I’d love to help you get it published.”


To wonder if Henry VIII gets a kick out of the whole Tiger Woods debacle from Heaven seeing as he was quite lusty in the sack as well (but never got punished because hello, he was King.)


To seriously wonder why people don’t use their turn signals. Is it so difficult to flick your wrist?


To be a little nervous listing stuff on eBay because you worry about encountering an eBay nutter who complains about every.little.thing.


To know that you will never give up Little Debbie snacks no matter how often people go on about hydrogenated oils.

The Melting Pot Files

Have I mentioned how much I love The Melting Pot?

No?

Well, I love The Melting Pot.

I especially love when I can go to The Melting Pot without my children present. It means I can relax and not have to admonish a child for staring at another patron. It means I can eat my food AS SOON AS IT ARRIVES and not have to worry about tending to someone else’s.

I got to go to The Melting Pot without children on Friday. I went with my friend Amanda. We left our kids with the husbands and took off.

Seriously. I took off. When it came time for Amanda to pick me up, I kissed my children goodbye and rushed on out of there. Natalie didn’t want to let me go at first. She gripped onto my leg and told me to stay. I was briefly touched (aww, she likes me, she really likes me!) but then I got irritated when she wouldn’t let go. I mean, she was behaving like I went out all the time. She made me feel like that scary ass mom in The Nanny Diaries.

“Er Tom?” I called out, because he was sitting in front of the computer playing his game.

“Tom?” I said again.

Nothing.

“TOM!”

He jumped and turned. “What?” He had the nerve to look irritated with me.

I pointed to Natalie, who was glued to my knee. “Your daughter. I need to go.”

Tom came over and picked Natalie up.

“I want Mommy,” Natalie said and reached her arms out to me.

Oh for—

Look, I’m not THAT entertaining.

She just totally wanted to get her way.

But she wasn’t going to get her way. Because I gave her a kiss and hightailed it out of there. I love her to bits, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes I feel like a caged animal who has finally been let free.

I highly recommend The Melting Pot. I do not recommend bringing little children there seeing as a burner is in the middle of your table. Granted, I have seen little children being brought in but I imagine that these are Good Children Who Know Not To Touch. I have curious children who would probably put their palms smack down on the burner just to see if it was as hot as I told them it was.

So yes. No kids when I go.



The first course is the cheese fondue. It’s amazing. I am a huge fan of cheese. The waiter or waitress prepares it all in front of you. This means that they have to be chatty because it would be awkward if they just stood there in silence stirring cheese. Amanda and I had a waiter who I wanted to call Hans even though I believe he said his name was Scott. He looked like a Hans though.



I wanted to hug Hans when he said that we both looked too young to have two children. Because lately I’ve been feeling old and gross and holy crap is that a new WRINKLE near my eye? And here comes Hans saying that I looked young. Granted, I bet Hans just wanted a nice tip so he figures calling women young does the trick. Oh well.



After the cheese course comes a delicious salad. Then the meat. You’re given a bunch of raw meat and you cook it in these scrumptious broth. I tried not to laugh when Hans laid down a large silver spoon and said that it was for floaters that escaped our pokers.

Yes, I wanted to giggle when he said floaters.

No, I didn’t because I’m twenty seven and shouldn’t be laughing at things like that anymore.

Okay, I did laugh after Hans left.

I couldn’t help it.

I’m only human.

The last bit is my favorite.

Want to guess what it is?

Yup.

The CHOCOLATE fondue.

If you sign up for The Melting Pot’s mailing list, you get a coupon for free chocolate fondue if you buy all the other courses we did.

By the time the chocolate fondue came around, I was full. But I’m never too full for chocolate.

I mean, how could you turn THIS down?



You get angel food cake, brownies, strawberries, bananas, cheesecake, and rice krispy treats to dip in it.

Plus if you get the chocolate fondue we got, the Yin and Yang, you could lie and tell yourself that it’s actually quite healthy since it includes dark chocolate and that you’re only helping your heart by ordering it.

At least that’s what I do.

Yes, The Melting Pot can be expensive. With the coupon, it came to $70. But if you split the costs, it’s not so bad.

And trust me when I say that it’s WORTH IT.

And....It Lives.

The phone rang at 7:20 in the morning yesterday.

I was already up since I had to get Tommy off to school.

It was the guy from Dell calling about our sick computer. As soon as he told me who he was I wanted to start launching into my sordid tale over how I was so worried that I lost my pictures and my novels but Tom had told me that I shouldn’t do that, so I didn’t scare the poor guy off.

I contained myself.

“I’m waiting for your parts to get in. I’m not sure if they’ll make it in today,” he told me.

NOOOOOOOOO!

“If they do I’ll give you a call,” he promised.

It was on the tip of my tongue to launch into my tale. I wanted to say something like, “Sir, please. My pictures. My novels! I haven’t had the best couple of days. Last week I found a pair of PANTIES that weren’t mine in our yard. I just want my computer! That’s all I want. I just want my computer back!” But I didn’t. Suppose I did wind up scaring him off? I calmly said thank you and crossed my fingers that the parts would get in.

Please oh please.

I was in such a panic that I decided to bring Natalie to the mall playground to take my mind off of it all.

I sat down on the bench while Natalie played. I kept thinking about my computer. Would it be okay? Would my pictures be okay? Would the parts come in? What if they didn’t come in? What if there was a DELAY and my computer didn’t work until next week? I couldn’t wait until next week. There was no way I could—

“Hello.”

A voice cut into my thoughts.

I looked over and a woman was settling down beside me. She had a little boy who looked to be around three or four with her.

“Go play, Sawyer,” she said and he rushed off.

I never know if I should start talking to a complete stranger. There are some people who can just start chatting to anyone. I am not one of those people.

“Ah-u-deh-may!” Natalie’s called out. “Ah-u-deh-may!” She was shouting the Spanish word for help even though it looked like she was perfectly fine. She was standing up on a fake tree trunk. Still, I didn’t want the woman to think I was negligent so I said, “Are you okay?”

“Yup,” Natalie said and hopped down.

But seriously, what if my computer wasn’t fixed until next week? Then what? My old laptop that I was using was making funny noises and would freeze at certain sites. I couldn’t LIVE like that. I—

“Your daughter speaks Spanish?” the woman beside me wondered. She looked impressed.

“Sort of?” I replied.

“Is there a Spanish speaking person in your house?” she inquired.

I shook my head. Did Nick Jr count?

“Who is her teacher then? I’ve been looking to get a language teacher for Sawyer. I read that it’s good for children to speak other languages. Plus, they can pick it up so quickly as children,” the woman prattled on. She was actually excited about this.

It was then when I realized she was one of those moms. You know, the kind who can make a doll out of a bunch of sticks and who probably enjoys cooking? She also had a cardigan tied loosely around her neck. I didn’t think people actually wore cardigans like that in real life. I thought they were just used on television to portray rich stuck up people.

“Dora and Diego are her teachers,” I said jokingly. I expected her to giggle with me.

She didn’t.

She just blinked at me.

“You know, from Nick Jr?” I felt the need to offer. She seriously looked confused.

“Oh, we don’t watch a lot of TV,” she said kindly. But her expression clearly said, “I bet she’s one of those Moms who use the TV as a babysitter.” And I totally do. How else am I supposed to clean? She’s probably the type of Mom who allows her kids to help.

A silence fell.

I felt that I ought to say something so I said, “I like your son’s name. Sawyer. He’s a really good character on the show Lost. ”

Again, Cardigan Lady looked perplexed. “Huh?”

“You know, the TV show Lost? ” Good God was this woman living under a rock?

Cardigan Lady gave me a tight smile. “As I said before, we don’t watch a lot of TV.”

I had an impulse to rip off her cardigan and throw it across the hall.

We didn’t exchange another word after that. I think the last straw was when I gave Natalie some fruit snacks that weren’t organic.

As Natalie and I were leaving I spotted Sawyer behind a toy picking his nose. This gave me a sense of satisfaction, to be honest.

And then guess what?

The Dell guy called soon after that. He had good news. He had the parts! He could come in about a half hour. Would that work for me?

“YES!” I yelled. My computer was coming back! Oh please let it come back without any problems.

I rushed upstairs to tell Tom. He had just gotten off the night shift and was sleeping but he told me to wake him when the Dell guy was coming so he could meet him at the gate and make sure he wasn’t out to murder us all and steal our things.

Tom was not pleased on being woken up. I can’t blame him. I hate being disturbed when I’m sleeping. I think I scare my children even MORE than their bad dreams that they have at night. Because when they call for me at two in the morning and I stumble in there all cranky with crazy hair, they tell me to go back to bed and never mind; they didn’t have a bad dream after all.

“The Dell guy is coming,” I said to Tom.

“Pillows are fun,” he responded. His eyes were still shut.

“No Tom, not pillows. The DELL guy is coming. You told me to wake you in case the guy turned out to be a murderer?”

“Eating!” Tom bellowed.

What?

“The DELL GUY IS COMING!” I shouted.

Tom’s eyes cracked open. “Huh?”

“The Dell guy is COMING!”

Tom rubbed his eyes. “Tomorrow?”

*Sighs*

“Today, Tom.”

“And?” Tom’s eyes shut again.

“You told me to wake you in case he turned out to be a murderer,” I said, exasperated.

Ten minutes later he finally comprehended it all. He stumbled down the stairs. “You owe me,” he grumbled.

“Sexually or do you want me to make you something?” I wondered.

“Sexually. Your food gives me heartburn,” Tom said, shoving his feet into his shoes.

Rude.

A half hour later the Dell guy was in our home.

He opened our tower and pulled stuff out of it. This made me nervous. I kept wanting to say, “Sir, be gentle, BE GENTLE!” So I just sat down on the couch and refused to watch anymore.

When he finished with that he turned it back on and…

IT WORKED!

Windows came up as it was supposed to.

I wanted to hug the complete stranger but I didn’t.

“There you go,” the Dell guy said after checking everything.

Yay! My computer was back. My novels! My pictures!

“Thank you!” I gushed. I wanted to add, “Bless you, sir,” but that would have been a bit much.

Bottom line? I’m impressed with Dell.

I want to have Dell’s babies.

If Dell were a person, that is.

And if I weren’t already married.

Inside Natalie's Closet--Gymbuck Edition

Well, I spent my Gymbucks over at Gymboree.com to get some outfits for Natalie.

Thankfully I uploaded these pictures before my computer got sick.

But good news on that! Dell has already called me. Bad news? The guy said he didn't think my computer parts will make it today. *Insert wails here* Maybe tomorrow? Please?

For now, I have a fashion show of Natalie in her new duds.



This is what Natalie does when you ask her to smile. If you're lucky.



This is what Natalie does when you ask her to smile and she doesn't want to. She tries to bonk you.



And she whines and says, "I don't YIKE this!"



Then a gust of wind blew and suddenly Natalie liked taking pictures again. Thanks crazy wind of Wyoming.



I started to sing some creepy Yo Gabba Gabba songs.



Natalie is all, "You'll have to do better than that, love."



So I ran into the side of the house. She liked this.



Maybe she liked this TOO much?





I'm so glad I can amuse her. Really.

**OUTFIT CHANGE**



She's going to wear this when we go to the Denver zoo. I like to put her in outfits that go with where we are headed if possible. Tom says this is odd. We're going to an aquarium over the summer and I already have an aquarium outfit.



She's all, "Um. Why aren't you running into the house?"



Guess who just ran into the house?





And...the crazy wind blew again.

**OUTFIT CHANGE**



She found a bug. She was NOT impressed.



Getting her to hold still isn't always easy. She took off and started climbing over a pipe.



I started snorting like a pig. Yes, my neighbors already think I've lost it so they're sort of used to me making bizarre sounds.



Natalie is all, "Mommy is nutso but she makes me smile."



And then she inspected bugs.

**OUTFIT CHANGE**



The dress made me think of my mom since she loves horses. Natalie seems to love horses too so I had to get this.



She was sort of done taking pictures and kept running off. "I being a ballerina!" she yelled at me when I asked her to come back.



She came back! And that's her bee from the dollar spot at Target. I'm not above bribery if it means I get to shop in peace.



Big smiles when I told her we could have some chocolate later.



Natalie doesn't understand why Kate Gosselin is still on Dancing with the Stars either.



Natalie also doesn't understand why people scream for Rob Pattinson when his hair looks as though a creature is living in it.



Natalie DOES think that Yo Gabba Gabba rocks.



Guess who ran into the side of the house again?



See ya, blog people!

My Dell Computer Is Sick

HELP!

My computer is SICK!

Sorry.

I’m still in shock over what happened last night.

Would you like to know what happened last night?

Well, Windows Update popped on saying that I had to download stuff. Fine. I trust Windows Update. Why shouldn’t I trust Windows Update? Plus I have McAfee. I PAY for McAfee even though I know there is a plethora of free anti-virus sites. I PAY for McAfee to catch viruses.

Anyhow, Windows Update downloaded their stuff. I don’t even know what they download half the time. I trust Windows Update. I need to learn how to speak computer, I know. Because most of the time I’m sort of sitting there nodding, thinking that I know exactly what is going on with the computer but in reality I’m all, “Motherboard what?”

I restarted the computer because Windows Update said that I had to. I listened to Windows Update.

But then.

THEN the computer wouldn’t turn back on.

It kept making this horrible whirling sound.

“Oh no,” I wailed. “Oh NO!” Then I ran upstairs and threw open our bedroom door. Tom had just gone to bed and wasn’t pleased when I went, “Tom, I need HELP, the computer is SICK and I don’t know what to dooooo!” I was whining. I admit that now. But you have to understand, the computer is like…a part of me. Without it, I’m empty. The people who go without electronics are like modern days heroes in my eyes.

“What?” Tom grumbled, not budging. Did he not understand THAT THE COMPUTER WAS NOT WORKING?

“The computer won’t turn on!” I shouted. I was close to tears. Mainly because I had a bunch of pictures that I hadn’t saved. And a completed novel that I HADN’T SAVED! I mean, okay, I had saved it but it was the rough draft. I hadn’t saved all those revisions I had done. Stupid, I know. I mean, I have a portable hard drive to SAVE crap. And I didn’t.

“Calm down,” Tom said. He sounded annoyed as he pushed the covers off of him. He was not acting comforting at all. He stomped past me down the stairs and marched to the computer.

“Do you hear that horrible whirling sound? What is it? Is the computer dead? I am not having a good night, Tom. I have no idea what in the HELL is going on with Lost and now this. I swear I didn’t do anything wrong I just downloaded Windows Update and I—”

“Shhh,” Tom cut me off, holding up a hand.

Normally I’d be insulted that he was shushing me. I mean, hello, rude. But now I kept quiet as he peered at the computer. I did not like the expression on his face as he unplugged and replugged it in. The same whirling sound came on each time.

“What did you do?” he mumbled. Then he looked at me. “What did you do?”

“NOTHING!” I screeched.

I had to call Dell. It was our only hope.

A man named Nadiste/Nads/Nadistoo picked up on Dell’s end.

“How can I help you?” he wondered pleasantly.

I may have been overdramatic when I went, “My computer is SICK and I don’t know what to DO!”

Nadiste/Nads/Nadistoo tried his best to help me.

But the computer refused to work.

In the end it was found out that it was our motherboard/video card that appears to be dead. Nadiste/Nads/Nadistoo said that the Windows Updates might have been incompatible with the video card seeing as the video card is from 2007. This means I’m upset with Windows Update because they should WARN people about that.

Someone is supposed to call us to set up an appointment for a technician to come out. I’m told that everything will be okay but I’m still on edge. What if it’s not? MY PICTURES! MY NOVEL! MY MUSIC FROM ITUNES!

I’m on our old laptop now. And by old I mean OLD. It could die any second. It reminds me of that old laptop that Chandler Bing pulled out during an episode of Friends. You know, the episode where he’s chatting with Janice? I do have Pepto, my trusty tiny pink laptop but it tends to get pissy when I go to certain sites. And Tom has his brand new TWO THOUSAND DOLLAR laptop but he's rudely not sharing.

So forgive me if I don’t comment a lot. This thing runs pretty slow. I’m hoping (HOPING) that our computer is up and running next week. If I have to call Dell and burst into tears then so be it.

Please, for the love of chocolate PLEASE.

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. I think I’m going to do this every Tuesday now. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.

Hey, It's Okay....


To want to throw certain toys out the window. (I’m talking to you loud xylophone that the kids love to drag out as soon as MY program is on. Remind me to start playing it when THEIR show is on.)


To love carbs even if they don’t love you back.


To not like cuddling for more than ten minutes because you start to feel stifled.


To think Miley Cyrus kind of talks like a dude.


To be a little bummed that Jim Carrey and Jenny McCarthy split up.


To want to see the new Sex and the City movie even if it looks a little cheesy (Aidan just happens to be in the desert too? Does this mean John Krasinski is just going to happen to be there when we go to North Carolina during the summer?)


To only know how to dog paddle which is one reason why you’re putting the kids in swim lessons because if they start to drown, they’re shit out of luck ‘cause odds are their dog paddling mom isn’t going to make it in time.


To have thought for the longest time that the lyrics were “Pissin’ the night away” in that Tubthumping song by Chumbawamba. <--oh apparently those ARE the lyrics. Someone had told me that it was KISSIN' the night away and I was all ???

Cry. Whine. Repeat.

Hi, how was your weekend?

Mine went something like this:



It got to the point where I wanted to ask her what flew up her ass.

But that’s not proper parenting. I think most experts would frown over using the word “ass” in front of children.



I get the distinct impression that this is her way of giving me the finger.

She wouldn’t stop crying.

And whining.

And crying.



She took off her pants and whined some more.

I was about ready to run down the street flinging my arms in the air while screaming, “It’s too hard, IT’S TOO HARD!”

Then Tommy started to cop an attitude.



And I wanted to ask him what flew up HIS ass.

Then when I went to start dinner this happened:

That would be cornstarch.



ALL OVER THE PLACE!

It somehow tipped off the shelf and exploded all over the counter.

Can I have a weekend do-over?