Airplane Adventures

Beeeeeppp Beepppp went the alarm clock at four in the morning.

I groaned as I slapped it quiet. It was way too early to be awake. And to think, some people wake up at four in the morning on purpose to work out. There is no way I could wake up at 4 in the morning to work out. Or any other time, really.

We had to wake up early to make a flight. I stumbled into the children's room and the second I rubbed Tommy's back, he bolted out of bed.

"Is it time?" he asked with way too much enthusiam for 403 in the morning.

"It's time," I confirmed.

Then I went in to get Natalie and she mumbled, "Airplane?"

"Yup, we have to drive to the airplane."

She seemed a little out of it. I brought her downstairs and she blinked at the kitchen floor for a few minutes going, "Floor? Floor?" over and over again. Poor lass, she isn't a morning person either.

Or so I thought. Five minutes later and she was racing around the living room with Tommy. Where they find the energy that early in the morning is beyond me. I sat blinking on the couch, my mouth agape as if I wasn't quite sure what was going on.

When we got to the airport I was a little more alert but in desperate need for caffeine. After I got a Diet Coke I gripped it close to me as if it were a priceless object. Then I walked Tom and the kids to their gate--yes, just their gate as they were traveling to North Carolina without me while I visited my friend Jennifer in Ohio. (I'm re-joining them on Thursday.)

After I saw them off, I headed to my own gate where I cracked open a book (Emily Giffin's newest) and relished in the silence. Of course twenty minutes in and I was missing my kids when I saw other passengers approach with theirs in tow.

But the thing is, I can't escape kids. Because guess who I sat by on the plane?

Yup. A kid. About eight years old. His mother and two siblings were sitting behind us. I was smack dab in between him and this old lady, who promptly turned the overhead air conditioner on high. I immediately got cold but what could I do? You can't mess with old ladies or else they can smack you over the head with their purse or something. And also, the old lady, who I dubbed Cold Lady since she cranked up the air, closed the window. I mean, hello? I like looking out the window to make sure the wings aren't smoking so we don't crash to our deaths. But again, I couldn't do a thing because I was stuck in the middle.

And then there was the kid. Oh, the kid.

See, I started to read my Cosmo magazine and the kid leaned into my personal bubble and looked at though he were reading it. Obviously it's not appropriate for kids so I tried to tilt away but then that meant I was in the Cold Lady's air. So there I was trying to read Cosmo with the magazine mostly shut so the kid couldn't see. I was reading all about 99 New Sex Facts and yes, in a few years the kid might appreciate what he read but still, I didn't want his Mom to lecture me about appropriate reading.

Still, the kid seemed to leer at me. Where were his video games for craps sake? Why was he bugging me? Did his Mom forget to buy him stuff to keep him entertained? It certainly wasn't my job.

"Doug, here's your book," the Mom said, as if reading my thoughts. She poked her head up and handed her kid a chapter book. Then her eyes rested on the magazine that I was reading and she frowned as though I were the one at fault. As though I were the pervert.

If she had said anything I'd have been tempted to be all, "I paid good money for this crappy seat and I'll read what I darn well please."

In the end I put the magazine away and read my book because I'm too nice. And because I didn't want the kid to say at dinner, "What a g-spot?"

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

**I'm posting this early since I'll be traveling tomorrow. I'm gone for the week so I'll post when I can!**


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 think Amanda Bynes who retired from acting at the ripe age of 24, will return to the acting world in a matter of years.


To be a pretty crappy packer. Seriously, if I visit my Mom she usually refolds everything for me.


To be excited to visit Wilmington, North Carolina because Dawson’s Creek was filmed there. I could pass a spot and be all, “That’s Joey’s wall that Pacey bought for her!”


To also be excited to visit Wilmington, North Carolina because the area reminds me of a Nicholas Sparks novel. I’ve already said Tom can pretend to be Noah from The Notebook and I’ll naturally be Allie. He says no, that his name is Tom thank you very much and he’s not about to pretend to be someone else. Rude.


To be scared of flying. I shut my eyes when the plane first takes off because the experts say the first ten minutes of takeoff is the most important—if you pass ten minutes, then you’ll probably be okay.


To avoid the airplane bathrooms. The silver toilet can be quite traumatizing.


To want to beat up that guy in the Staples commercial that shrieks, “That’s a low price!”


To have totally called the breakup between Jake and Vienna (they were on The Bachelor.) Oh, and to be nosy and wonder what happened. Rumors say Vienna cheated. Totally not surprised.


To have to remember NOT to stick a bite of food in your mouth while visiting your husband’s family since they pray before they eat.


To know that you could never be on The Amazing Race ‘cause traveling makes you a tad cranky.

Our Vacation Begins....

So here’s the thing.

We leave for our trip on Tuesday.

But I’m not going with Tom and the kids in the beginning.

I’m going to visit my best friend in Ohio. She lived across the street from me when we were stationed in England.

Granted, I’ll only get to see her for two days but I’ll take it. See, Tom’s Mom used to live in Ohio and Jennifer, that’s who I’m going to visit, only lived a few hours away. So we made plans to see each other. Then Tom’s Mom decided to go to North Carolina and we had already made plans so I wasn’t about to give them up.

So in the end, I guess it’s a better outcome for me.

Two days without kids?

Sweeettt.

A flight by myself without having to worry about giving a kid a snack or telling another kid to keep it down? Bliss.

I’m all ready to go but as I said before, I suck at packing. I packed for the kids and am trying to explain to Tom what outfits go together so he doesn’t put Natalie in pink pants and a yellow shirt like he’s done before.

“And this,” I said lifting up an adorable pair of Gymboree shorts, “go with this shirt,” I continued waving a Gymboree shirt in the air.

Tom concentrated on picking his toe cheese.

“Did you hear me? You are going to be in charge of dressing Natalie for two days, you know.” I bit my lip to keep from adding, “It’s an important undertaking.”

“I’ll just let her run around in her diaper,” Tom said, chuckling. I really don’t think he was joking.

“Um,” I said. “No. And whatever you do, don’t put her in her 4th of July outfit. I will be putting her in that on the 4th of July.”

Tom blinked at me as though I were speaking in foreign tongues.

“This is her 4th of July outfit,” I said, waving around the red, white and blue ensemble. “Do not put it on her.”

Tom scratched his cheek. “And if I do, what then? Will the world end?”

Ugh.

“Just don’t do it,” I said through gritted teeth. “And I like to coordinate her barrette with her outfit, as well as her hair ties,” I said.

“If I remember to even do her hair,” Tom answered flippantly.

Oh for the love of chocolate.

“Just....keep her alive. That’s all I ask. Just keep her alive.” I gave up. Tom obviously didn’t get it.

Did I mention that we have to wake up at FOUR in the morning on Tuesday? FOUR IN THE MORNING? Have I mentioned that I am not a morning person?

But.

As I mentioned before I’ll be flying to see Jennifer without kids.

This means I can…SLEEP on the plane. Like Tom does! I’m not kidding. We’ll be on the flight and he’ll just fall asleep and leave me to tend to the kids. One time I threw a Cheerio at his rude sleeping face, I was so frustrated.

So that’s why I don’t feel guilty making him fly with the kids on his own.

Have fun, Tom.

I know I will.

The Wonky Week

I did not have the best week.

For starters, some kid kept standing on his play house and would stare into our house. It’s a good thing we wore pants all this week.




Natalie rudely crushed her muffin onto the floor. Why won’t she eat?




The cinnamon buns somehow exploded when I opened the can (I ate them anyway.)




Natalie had a ‘tude and still refuses to use the potty.




And the movers came to take away Tom’s stuff that he’ll be bringing to Korea. It just made everything real. He’s leaving.



But.

Next week we’ll be going on vacation to North Carolina for a week. We’re visiting Tom’s family so he can say goodbye before he goes to Korea.

I am looking forward to that.

However.



I suck at packing.

Help.

----------

In other news, Shell asked me to write a post for her BFF Feature.



I was greatly flattered. Shell rocks!

Inside Natalie's Closet

It’s no secret that I love buying clothes for my children.

So every once in awhile I’ll be posting an entry on an outfit that they are wearing. It’ll mainly be my daughter seeing as my son does this when I ask him to pose for the camera:



I took the following photos on Father’s Day. Natalie is sporting an outfit from Gymboree’s Citrus Cutie line.



“Hey Natalie, how about we take some photos!”



Hmm. Not entirely thrilled there.

“It’ll be fun!”



Natalie doesn’t believe me. Just as most of America doesn’t believe a word BP says.

“Can’t you give me a smile?”



This is what she offered.

I started to do a silly dance and BEHOLD....



....but within a few seconds she was all, “Not funny anymore. You know what I want.”



What she wanted was for me to run into the side of the house.

Yes, I run into my home to get my kid to laugh.

But hey, it worked.





While doing it a neighborhood kid came over to see if Tommy could play.

“Tommy’s Mom,” she said, aghast. “What are you doing?”

“It makes Natalie laugh,” I offered and then BAM, side of the house against my cheek.

The kid mulled this over and then said, “My Mom just asks me to say cheese.”

Well fiddle-dee-dee.

After she was gone I had Tom come out to take photos with Natalie.

Tom doesn’t like to pose for the camera.

“Want me to run into the house for you?” I asked.

“I’ll pass,” Tom responded.



“By golly, I love my Daddy in his Chuck Norris shirt.”



Should I be insulted that she instantly smiles when Daddy is holding her? If I ask her to smile I have to smack into the house and risk getting a bruise.



She’s going to miss him when he’s in Korea…

Laramie County Courthouse FAIL

I’ve never really been impressed with the people who work at the DMV at the Laramie County Courthouse.

Never.

Everytime we’ve gone in to register our vehicles it seems like they sneer at us, as if they’re bitter that we get a military discount.

I remember last year I had to go in myself because Tom was at K9 training school in Texas. I had to register my car and I walked in armed with Tom’s LES, his orders, and the Power of Attorney he had left me. I walked over to the counter, laid out my papers and politely said that I would like to register my car.

“You can’t do it without your husband,” the worker told me sharply and then looked as though she were waving the next person in line over.

“Yes, I can,” I spoke up.

She seemed startled and stared at me like I had a giant booger popping from my nose.

“No,” she began. “You can’t.” She talked to me as though she were talking to a child.

“Yes,” I said, mimicking her tone. “I can.” I pushed the papers closer to her. “I have my husband’s LES, a copy of his orders, and a Power of Attorney.”

She sighed and tapped her fingernail against the counter. Then she reluctantly called someone over.

“This lady,” she said, motioning to me rudely, “is trying to register her car without her husband who is in the military.”

The person who she called over looked at all the paperwork and said it was okay.

I wanted to go, “Ha!” but I swallowed it back.

See, since we’re military we get a discount on re-newing the tags for our vehicles. We only pay $15 for our car and $30 for the truck. If we didn’t get the discount we’d have to fork over around $100 or so for each vehicle. I’m not totally sure the price but I do know it’ll be a significant increase from the military discount.

Anyhow, we had to go back to the DMV yesterday. Tom wanted to make sure that I could still get the military discount even though he’d be in Korea.

Tom politely told the DMV worker that he’d be in Korea for a year and that he was hoping that I could still get the military discount.

“No,” the worker said snidely. Yup, it seems everyone that we’ve ever spoken to has had an attitude. And okay, I can understand that it’s probably boring answering questions and handing over license plates and such but still.

“No?” Tom repeated.

“No,” the worker repeated. Rudely. “Since you will no longer be stationed on the military base here, you are not eligible for the military discount anymore.”

“But I’m staying here on the military base,” I said. “We’re still getting military pay.”

The worker shrugged. She obviously could care less. “I’m sorry.” But she certainly didn’t sound it. You’d think she’d have been all, “Thank you for defending our country,” or something. But no.

“He’ll still be in the military though,” I tried again.

“Yes but, he won’t be stationed here anymore,” the lady told me. And yes, she had that tone as though she were speaking to a child.

“But I will and we’ll still be getting military pay,” I said.

“Yes but, he won’t be stationed here anymore.”

Was I speaking to a robot?

“I understand,” I said firmly so she comprehended that I understood THAT MY HUSBAND WOULDN'T BE STATIONED HERE ANYMORE. “But why wouldn’t I still get a military discount even though my husband is still military?”

“Yes but, he won’t be stationed here anymore.”

UGHHH!

It was like speaking to a brick wall.

Eventually she called someone over. They always call someone over.

“This lady,” the worker said, frowning at me, “doesn’t seem to get that because her husband will no longer be stationed here, that she won’t get the military discount. She doesn’t seem to get that her husband is active duty and that he’ll be gone, therefore no discount.”

Her worker friend didn’t even look sympathetic. Hello, my husband will be gone for a year. I’ll be staying here ALONE with my two kids. You’d think that one of them would have said something like, “I understand that it must be frustrating knowing that he’ll be gone for a year...BUT....”

But no. No one offered any type of advice.

Her worker friend just repeated the same thing:

“Your husband won’t be stationed here anymore so you’ll be expected to pay full price.”

I tried not to groan. “But our legal office on base said that we should still get the discount.” It’s true. We were there not too long ago so I could get Power of Attorneys and the person said that I should still be eligible for the discount.

“That’s not true,” the worker said unkindly.

I noticed Tom’s eyes were bugging out of his head throughout all of this. He hissed, “Let’s go,” so I dropped it and walked out with him.

“You could have been arrested,” he whispered at me.

“What, how? I wasn’t yelling,” I said.

“You wouldn’t drop it. They said no and that’s that. They could have called a cop over.”

What bugs me about Tom is he doesn’t fight for things. If someone tells him no he accepts it and moves on. If someone tells me no and I know it’s wrong, I argue. I learned that from my Grandma and my Mom, who won’t hesitate to argue when they know they are in the right.

So yes, I’ve disappointed with the Laramie County Courthouse. I’ve never met a friendly worker there so it seems like the staff needs to be trained in having some manners. And it’s not just me who thinks this, many people from the military base have been insulted or spoken rudely to.

We’re going back to the Legal Office to see if there is anything that can be done.

It’s safe to say that the Laramie County Courthouse has left a bad taste in my mouth and I do NOT look forward on going back when I have to register the vehicles.

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 have pre-ordered the new iPhone 4. I mean, okay, I think it’s cool but I have Verizon so I couldn’t use it anyhow.


To get utterly cranky when it’s incredibly hot.


To not ever allow my 16-year-old to sail around the world. If they ever wanted to I’d make them watch Jaws in hopes that the prospect of sharks would change their minds.


To be sad that The Tudors is all over. Boo. Must go visit the Tower of London, Hever Castle and Hampton Court.


To not watch True Blood. Maybe I should start. My PARENTS even watch it and I hear James Frain, my former eye candy from The Tudors is on it now.


To hope that you’ll be able to try fried green tomatoes while visiting North Carolina. (And yes, I got the idea of trying them from the movie Fried Green Tomatoes. )


To love hot dogs even though people claim that it’s made up of ass and lips.


To be irritated that Bethenny Frankel looks so good ONE MONTH after having her baby. And okay, to be a little MORE irritated when she’s all, “While pregnant you shouldn’t pig out.” Really? You shouldn’t? Dammit.


To be a freaked out when grown men are excited over watching Eclipse. Because the story is just THAT enthralling? Thank goodness my own husband mocks it mercilessly.


To think it’s strange when women don’t fart in front of their men. I understand not in the beginning because it’s important to keep up the façade that women don’t poop/fart/etc but at the year mark, it’s okay to pass gas, seriously. I give you permission. If your man is cool, he’ll laugh.


To hate when celebrities say things like “no carbs, no salt, and no sugar” on why they have a smoking body. I’m sorry but I need carbs, and salt, and sugar to be happy so I guess no smoking body for me. Oh well.

Farts and Cake

“FFFFFFFTTTTTFFFFFF.”

“Amber, dammit, I’m going to take that away from you,” my husband Tom grumbled.

I laughed. I couldn’t help it.

See, I got an iPod Touch for my birthday and the first application (or app, as the cool kids call it) I downloaded was a farting one. You can time the thing to make a farting noise and when it does you can be all, “Did you just cut the cheese?”

I’ve done this joke in our house. A lot. Tom found it funny at first. But after the third time he was no longer amused.

“How old are you again?” Tom asked pointedly.

“Er....twenty eight....” I admitted. And then the iPod Touch farted again and I collaped into more giggles.

My birthday, which was on Saturday, didn’t start off that good though.

No, when I had stumbled down the stairs I expected Tom to take me in my arms and wish me a Happy Birthday. But no. I found him stretched out on the couch, fast asleep. And for my added enjoyment, as I glared down at him, he scratched his balls, let out a loud snore, and smacked his lips repeatedly.

Why wasn’t he up wishing me a happy birthday? On his birthday I always wish him a happy birthday first thing.

I was tempted to throw water on his inconsiderate sleeping face. But that wouldn’t be nice. And it could potentially put him in a foul mood. So instead I started stomping around the house. I slammed cupboards and banged on drawers. I peeked over my shoulder expecting to see Tom waking up. But no. He didn’t even budge.

Maybe he IS telling the truth when he says he doesn’t hear the kids when they wake up in the dead of night.

(Probably not, though.)

In the end I sent Natalie to wake him up. I knew he wouldn’t get upset with her. And he didn’t. I heard him go, “Woah!” and then his eyes fluttered open.

“Boo,” Natalie said, grinning down at him.

I strolled into the living room waiting for my birthday wish.

Tom just scratched his leg and looked confused.

I waited some more.

Tom sneezed and didn’t bother to cover his nose.

Gross. Remind me to sanitize that area.

Tom got up and seriously looked like he was going to leave without wishing me a happy birthday.

“Ahem,” I said sweetly. I would not get mad on my birthday.

“You have an eye booger,” Tom offered.

AN EYE BOOGER? IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY AND ALL HE COULD TELL ME WAS THAT I HAD AN EYE BOOGER?!

“Oh, and happy birthday,” Tom added almost as an afterthought.

Well. I’ll take it.

Plus Tom made me lasagna.

And there was cake.





So in the end I had an enjoyable birthday.

Filled with lots of cake.

(Seriously, I had one piece after dinner and one piece before bed. Yum.)

On Zumba and Sexy Moves

Look, I fall down and spill stuff.

A lot.

I’m uncoordinated and I admit that.

So it’s no wonder why my husband Tom looked bewildered when I told him I was going to Zumba class.

“Isn’t that like....dancing?” Tom scratched his head. I know he was probably picturing me smacking into a wall the other day and then spilling my water all over the kitchen counter.

“Yup. It’s a good workout,” I said. And Lord knows I need a good workout with the way I eat. I can’t help it though. Junk food tastes so good. I try to get just as excited over a carrot but it doesn’t work.

“Um....okay,” Tom agreed. He was still baffled. He was probably picturing me running straight into a stack of boxes in the garage. I had been talking to Tommy so I was distracted and I took a few steps and them BAM, box in face.

My friend Amanda, who I was going to Zumba with, mentioned that during one point of the class that the teacher asked everyone to do a sexy move.

“A sexy move?” I repeated. I really don’t do sexy well. I try but apparently my idea on what sexy means is different from most men. Like I flutter my eyelashes when I’m trying to be coy and sweet.....sort of like a come hither look....but most men just ask if I have something in my eye or they think I have Tic.

I decided to practice a sexy move for Tom so that I wouldn’t look like a fool in class.

I did this:



“The hell is that?” Tom demanded.

“I’m being sexy!”

“How is that sexy?”

Well. I don’t know. I was going for a sexy Egyptian look or something. And ugh, I certainly don’t LOOK sexy there as Tom insists on taking my pictures while sitting down which just makes my face look fat. Or maybe my face is just fat. But still, can’t he, I don’t know, STAND UP, and take my photo?

When Amanda picked me up I still had no idea what my sexy move would be. We took our spots in the back—yes, the back because the thought of someone standing behind me watching me attempt to do the dance moves made me shudder—and then the teacher walked in. And the teacher, good gracious, was in SHAPE. I mean, obviously she should be since she teaches a class. Her arms were buff, she had ABS—real abs!—and her legs were lean. Not an ounce of fat was on the chick. In other words, she could have definately beat up Tom.

“She probably doesn’t eat processed foods,” I said to Amanda. I would love a body like that but the thing is, I love processed foods.

The teacher just started the class abuptly. She just started moving and I was all, “Holy crap!” Not out loud, but in my head. I quickly tried to keep up but this chick could move. She went left, she went right, she dipped, she spun around, she did lunges…

I could feel my face grow warm. Whenever I work out my face gets bright red. It is not attractive. There were women up front who didn’t even look winded and their faces were a normal shade of color.

It was an hour long class and let me tell you, I felt like I was going to die a few times. And yes, I got lost in a lot of dance moves and almost punched the woman in front of me when I was trying to do an air punch. But in the end I enjoyed it.

And as for my sexy move?

I shook my hips and twirled my hands in front of me. You know when you sing The Wheels On The Bus? and you sing the part, “The wheels on the bus go round and round..” and twirl your hands? Yeah, I did that even though some women shook their butts—and it didn’t look ridiculous as it would have looked had I attempted it—and other woman shook their hips seductively—and I....well, I twirled my hands as though I were singing a children’s song.

Go me.

Mederma Fail!

I moved seductively over to my husband Tom.

I closed my eyes and leaned in for the kiss, expecting him to gather me into his arms.

“Why do you smell like medicine?”

My eyes flew open at Tom’s question. Why was he rambling on about medicine when we were about to share a kiss? Maybe I heard him wrong. So I closed my eyes again and leaned in again.

“Seriously, you smell like medicine.”

“What are you talking about?” I demanded. I wanted to add, “you ungrateful asshole,” but I didn’t.

“You smell weird,” Tom admitted.

Then I understood what he was talking about. See, I had started putting on this stuff:



And okay, while it doesn’t smell the greatest, I certainly would say that it smelled like medicine.

“That’s the stretch mark cream,” I explained. “I’m hoping to get rid of my stretch marks.” I really wish I could be like one of those ladies who are proud of their stretch marks but I’m not. I’m sick of my stomach looking as though someone has taken a knife to it. I used to have a tight stomach, for craps sake.

Tom should be THANKING ME for wanting to better myself.

“It smells weird,” Tom prattled on.

Seriously, could he just DROP the smell thing already?

So because I was insulted, guess who slept on the couch that night?

Well.

No one. Mainly because Tom is stubborn and no matter how upset we are with each other, he’s not about to sleep on the tiny uncomfortable couch. Me either, for that matter.

Guess who DIDN'T get lucky?

Well.

No one.

Because I’m a woman and I have needs and my husband will be in Korea in 2 months for an entire year.

So there.

Going Crazy In Gymboree

“Now, you have to promise me that you’ll sit okay?” I instructed Natalie as I helped her out of the car.

“Okay,” Natalie agreed.

Do you think she was telling the truth?

Ha.

I brought her in Gymboree and the little minx went crazy. She didn’t want to sit in front of the TV. Yes, Gymboree has a TV. But Natalie didn’t care, she just wanted to race around the store. Look, I find the store exciting—I mean, it’s filled with all sorts of adorable duds—but I don’t race around like a wild animal.

“Hi Amber,” my favorite worker said as I struggled to get Natalie to sit.

“Hello,” I answered as Natalie thrashed in my arms while screeching, “I don’t YIKE to sit right now, Mommy. I DON’T YIKE TO SIT RIGHT NOW!”

“I take it you know we’re having a sale,” the worker continued.

“Yes,” I said as Natalie tiny fist collided with my ear. Ouch. She twisted her body around to the point where I was holding her by her ankles. She laughed so I continued to shop while grasping her ankles with one hand and using the other to go through the racks.

“Hello,” I said to a woman who sidled up beside me. She did a double take when she saw my daughter hanging upside down.

The sale, by the way, was Gymboree’s Red Balloon Sale—or RBS—where they mark their older lines that didn’t sell $7.99 or less. And okay, I know I had just said a few entries back that I wasn’t going to buy anymore clothes—but this doesn’t count, these clothes are for next season, not now. So it’s okay.

“I want down,” Natalie said as I found this ultra adorable green sweater jacket. And ohhhh....another sweater jacket…

“I want down,” Natalie repeated and since I was distracted she slithered from my arms and sat right underneath the middle of the rounder.

“Heavens!” an old lady yelped as she pushed some clothes aside and came face to face with my daughter.

“Hi,” Natalie said sweetly.

“Natalie, get out of there,” I said, bending down with my goodies in my arms. “Now.”

“No.” Natalie shook her head.

I could feel my anger start to boil over. I’m working really hard on not yelling. I really don’t want my kids to have memories of me stomping around the house screaming at them TO JUST LISTEN TO ME FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!

“Natalie,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m asking you to get out.”

“No.”

Deep breaths....deep breaths....

What I wanted to shout was, “I’m the motherfu*king adult and when I say GET OUT I mean GET OUT!”

But how inappropriate would that be?

Very.

So after I had calmed myself I said, “Would you like to be my helper and hold your sweater jackets?”

I thought Natalie would be thrilled by the prospect of being my helper.

But....

“No thanks.”

Ugh.

So I did the next best thing: I grabbed her and MADE her come out. Of course this made her thrash all over again and the clothes I found fell to the floor. I swear I saw another lady eye them with interest as though she were tempted to grab them…I shot her a Look like, “I may have a crazed child but they belong to me and I have a purse filled to the brim with crap that I can use as a weapon so back off.” Thankfully she did. Back off, I mean.

I brought my items to the counter, slung Natalie over my shoulder so that her head was hanging near my butt and paid as though nothing were amiss. No, favorite store worker, I don’t have an insane three-year-old on me.

“I’ll probably be bringing more stuff out if you want to come tomorrow,” the store worker said kindly. She’s never made me feel like a bad mom.

“I’ll do that—only I’ll be leaving her with her Daddy next time,” I said.

“Mommy, I want DOWN! I don’t YIKE DIS!”

When we left the store Natalie was calm again. I’m not sure why Gymboree causes her to act like that.

This is what I found. Everything was $5 since I had a 20% off coupon. Well except for the top, which was only $3.





Natalie approves!



Of course when I showed Tommy the sweater I got for him he went, “Nice but I’m not wearing it.”

Excuse me?

“There’s nothing offending or embarrassing about this sweater,” I argued.

“I don’t like it,” Tommy said stubbornly.

“Young man, I only paid $5 for this sweater and I was proud to find it and dangit, you’ll wear it.”

“It’s funny looking.”

I’ll convince him somehow.

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 love getting the Zeppoli dessert that’s served at Olive Garden. Usually I’m stuffed by the end but I don’t care. I am getting the Zeppoli. (For those who don’t know, they’re like beignets. And for those who don’t know what those are, that’s what Google is for :)


To think it’s disgusting when people spit while they are walking. Stop it.


To have been confused to see Snooki on Jay Leno. Aren’t there worthier people? (Like that dude who played Culpepper on The Tudors?? )


To love the movie Amadeus. Especially Amadeus’s laugh.


To not let your kids mess with your iPod Touch. I’m sorry, but it’s mine.


To think bees are evil. Yes, I know they do a lot of good things for us but they seriously have it out for me. Plus, don’t you remember what the bees did to poor Thomas J?


To think it’s weird when adults talk about going to a Justin Bieber concert minus any kids with them. Um....because his music is THAT good? (Doesn’t he just stand there singing “baby, baby, baby,” over and over again?)


To be excited over shopping Gymboree’s RBS sale today (for those who don’t know, Gymboree puts out a bunch of clothing from their older lines that didn't sell and marks them down...I believe the price points are $7.99 and below and yes, you may use a coupon on top of it. There’s a current coupon in the latest Family Fun and Parenting magazines.)


To look forward to the prospect of cake on your birthday (I turn 28 on Saturday. And I love cake.)


To be upset that the last episode of The Tudors airs on Sunday. I want more, dangit. I’m not ready for it to be over.


To be a little afraid of this consultant on Say Yes To The Dress. Are those eyebrows…drawn on?

The Camping Experience

Camping.

It’s the time where people can sit around a campfire as they make s’mores.

It’s the time when people can swim in the nearby lake....the time when fireflies are chased, the time when people bundle comfortably in sleeping bags.

I didn’t experience any of this.

Well, the bundling in the sleeping bag thing, maybe. Since it was raining and all.

There was no open fire to make s’mores. That’s because open fires were not allowed where we were at. And even if they were, I’m not sure my friend Amanda and I would have known how to start it. I know I can start a fire with a flint because that’s how people start fires on Survivor.

There was no lake nearby to swim in. I mean, there were puddles all around thanks to the rain so if we had wanted to, we could have sat in the middle of one.

Fireflies don’t live in Wyoming. Antelope do though. They roam around the base and I was a little worried that one would run into our tent. They’re not the brightest animals in the world. They’ll stroll out in the middle of the street and just stare at you while you sit in the car, cursing them.

Amanda and I had decided to camp a few weeks ago. We assumed the weather would be nice because hello, it’s June. But we forgot that we were in Wyoming, the land of 80 degree weather one day and 40 degree weather the next. Wyoming decided to give us 40 degree weather when we decided to camp. We debated postponing the camping trip but then realized that we were in the mood to camp dammit, so camp we would.

Ours was the only tent set up on the camp ground. We were the only crazies who dared to camp in 40 degree weather while it rained.

And yes, the area where we were camping was haunted. This is what it says online:

"Later research discovered that in the 1920s, a young Indian woman was brutally raped and murdered by cavalry men at White Crow Creek, Warren's present day FamCamp. "

And it’s that poor Indian woman who can be heard screaming at times, and rightfully so.

Still, I hoped she wouldn’t scream while we were there.

Everything was going smoothly until we both had to use the bathroom. And good news, there were actual bathrooms there. I had first asked, “We don’t have to squat and pee, do we?” I am awful at squatting and peeing.

When we stepped out of the tent it was raining. And when I looked into the darkness I thought I saw a bright eye staring back out at us. Okay, that doesn’t make sense because why would a bright eye be staring at us? But I don’t know how ghosts work so I was all, “Is that an eye?” and I managed to freak out Amanda. It turned out it was just a light from the RV area but still. It COULD have been an eye.

Then when we crawled into our sleeping bags the tent lit up as though there were a vehicle with their headlights on right in front of it.

“Um, what’s that?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Amanda replied.

“I swear, if Tom is trying to scare us I’m going to be pissed,” I fumed. I wouldn’t put it past Tom. He loves freaking me out. (“You just look so funny when you’re scared,” he once told me.)

“We should peek out and see,” Amanda said.

“Yes,” I agreed.

But none of us moved. What if it were an axe murderer? Or a ghost? Or an ALIEN? I’ve seen some horror films, whoever is dumb enough to CHECK IT OUT is usually the one dead.

It turned out it was just a spotlight that came on. But we didn’t know that. The worker at the campsite should have warned us. He could have said, “Don’t be alarmed when the spotlight comes on.” But no, all he said was, “Good luck with the ghost,” when Amanda had checked in earlier.

Who says that?

Good luck with the ghost?

There is NO LUCK to be had with a ghost.

Amanda and I eventually drifted off to sleep. I woke up a few times thanks to the trains that go rumbling past. It was especially fun when they blared their horns. I wanted to shout, “Hello, people in tents sleeping here, thanks!”

But we survived.

We didn’t encounter a ghost.

We may have encountered wetness but that’s okay. Because in the end we got something that we really needed: an adult conversation without any interruptions.

I’d go back in a heartbeat.

Camping with Ghosts

“So let me get this straight,” Tom said as he eyed my sleeping bag. “You’re going...CAMPING?”

Why was it so difficult for him to comprehend? Yes, I was camping. Big deal. So why was Tom staring at me like I had one of those goblins from Labyrinth on my head?

“I love to camp,” I said, stuffing a bag full of camping stuff. You know, things like a lantern, games, caffeine, my iPod Touch...(what? This is modern day camping. Kudos to the people who can set up in a mountain and turn off technology and can live off the land. I am not one of those people.)

“You just...don’t look like a camping person to me,” Tom admitted. “Your idea of roughing it is going without hot water.”

Hey. I can camp! I can totally be a camper. I’m down with sleeping on the floor.

“Plus, you freaked out over a moth the other day. There will be lots of moths when you camp,” Tom reminded me.

Okay, I did freak out over a moth but it was HUGE. And it kept fixing its beady eyes at me as though it had a sinister plan. I think everyone would have been wary of a moth like that. And if I encounter one while camping, well, isn’t that what bug spray is for? And if all else fails, can’t I shout for a fellow camper to come get it for me?

“There also could be bees,” Tom rambled on.

Ew. I do not like bees. I’ve been known to streak across our yard screaming, “BEEEEE!! BEEEEEEEE!” Look, I’ve been stung before and it wasn’t fun. So when a bee approaches, my natural reaction is to run. I can’t help it. They love to torment me.

“Everything will be great,” I told Tom. I mean, how hard could camping be? My friend Amanda and I decided to go to the camping spot on the base on Saturday. Mainly so we can get some peace and quiet. It’s sad that we have to camp to get that but oh well. We plan on playing games all night. Oh, and eat. My bag is stuffed with all sorts of snacks. Chips, cookies, cream soda....

“It’s supposed to rain,” Tom said. Ugh, he was starting to kill my camping buzz. He was probably trying to talk me out of it so he wasn’t stuck with the children.

“That’s what tents are for,” I sang, checking out my sleeping bag. It was still in it’s package, never opened. I had bought it thinking that one day I’d totally camp. Of course that was a couple years ago but still.

“Do you know how to set up the tent?” Tom asked.

Er. Okay look, putting things together is not my forte. I try to put together toys for the kids and usually wind up in tears. Like once Tommy asked me to transform his Transformer back into the car and I couldn’t do it. I followed the instructions but when I was finished, two pieces had broken off and the Transformer looked like a plastic blob.

“Amanda knows how,” I said. It was her tent we were camping in.

“You know they say it’s haunted down there. Sometimes while on post we get calls about a girl screaming and no one finds a thing,” Tom explained.

A GHOST? I’d be sleeping with a SCREAMING GHOST?

“Everything will be great,” I said again, but my voice faltered a bit. A screaming GHOST? What if she screamed in my ear and woke me up? I don’t take kindly to people waking me up, alive or not.

“Good luck then,” Tom said, shrugging.

“Thank you. Everything will be great,” I repeated, with a sharp nod of my head.

Right?

Sometimes.....

.......it’s not worth the battle.







I totally let Natalie out like this while we ran errands.

May You Stay Forever Young

We went to Texas Roadhouse the other day to celebrate Tommy successfully finishing second grade. Texas Roadhouse, I should add, is Tommy’s favorite restaurant. He takes after his mother and loves the rolls.

When we all got our drinks (sweet tea for me), I proposed a toast.

“Congratulations, Tommy,” I said. “And to quote a fantastic song from the great Bob Dylan, ‘May you grow up to be righteous, may you grow up to be true, may you always know the truth, and see the lights surrounding you. May you always be courageous, stand upright and be strong, may you stay forever young.’”

I expected the table to be moved. I mean, hello, great song.

But they just blinked at me as though I were speaking Swahili.

“You listen to weird music,” Tom said, sipping the cherry limeade that he ordered. The glass was huge, almost as big as my arm.

“You listen to weird music,” I retorted. Seriously. He listens to music where the singer screams at you and sometimes calls you a pussy. I don’t want my music insulting me, thanks.

Since Tommy is finished with school, he brought home tons of classwork that he had done throughout the year.

For example, he wrote a story about our cat Max:







Yes, our cat pukes a lot. I was amused that Tommy would write about it. Tommy said they could write about whatever they wanted and Tommy chose to write about cat vomit. Lovely.

And also, he made this:



For those who don’t speak Tommy, in the top corner is his family. (Aw!)

Then there is Wal-Mart. (Ha)

Beside that is McDonalds. (Yes, we love it there. It didn’t faze us to learn that a Happy Meal found a year later looked basically the same as when it was bought. We love the fries.)

Underneath that is Target.

And beside that is Colorado, which we drive to so we can get to MORE shopping and food.

I’m amused that these things are the map of his heart.

I’m raising him well.

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 get irritated when a car cuts you off and then doesn’t go the speed limit. Hello?


To wish that commercials would show more men in the kitchen cooking and cleaning. It drives me insane that a woman is in the kitchen 97% of the time. Hello, advertisers? It’s 2010. Not 1956. Thanks.


To wish you had the patience to grow a pretty garden.


To hate when magazines say something like, “Britney Spears dropped $100,000 for her son’s birthday gift.” Where did she drop it? Can I get some?


To occasionally wish you could act like Gordon Ramsay and throw things while calling people a donkey and screaming at them to “get the fu*k out!”


To know that you’d cry if Gordon Ramsay ever called you a donkey and screamed to “get the fu*k out.”


To have enjoyed Sex and the City 2 but wished that Carrie would have run off with Aidan.


To wish Kate Gosselin would just go away. The children can stay though. They’re cute.


To love your son completely but wish that he were still in school. Look, sorry, I am not a short order cook. It’s CORNDOGS for lunch. I don’t care if you got two choices in school. Do I LOOK like the lunch lady? Wait, don’t answer that…


To have never had a sex tape. It never seems to go well when people have one. Kendra Wilkinson, former girlfriend to Hugh Hefner just had one released. Don’t worry, it’s not with Hugh.


To have had impure thoughts over the guy who played Thomas Culpepper (his name is Torrance Coombs) in The Tudors. Normally I don’t go for the pretty boys. I think it’s because he wore tights and a doublet in the show. Really to get to my heart all a guy has to do is dress up in a doublet occasionally and play Henry VIII with me. Really, is that so hard of a request?

The Secret Dress

I opened our mailbox and peered in.

A package stared back out at me.

Yes! Yes! The ultra adorable dress that I won on eBay for Natalie had arrived. I got a fantastic deal and it would have been a crime to pass it up. Really.

But crap.

Tom was home. He was stretched out on the couch. He’d definitely see the package when I walked in with it. And just the other day I promised that I wouldn’t buy anymore clothes for the kids. It’s just...that was before I found the amazing deal. Maybe I should have added, “Unless I find an amazing deal.”

Tom feels that the kids have enough clothes for the summer. He peeked in their closets and went pale. Then he went through their drawers and pawed through the folded up clothes.

“So I think they have enough,” he said, staring at me pointedly.

And I found myself agreeing. But mainly because I wanted to get back to my television show. If I had said that no, actually the kids needed a few more outfits Tom would have lectured me. He’d have said things like, “And really, I don’t think Natalie needs more than five dresses,” and I’d have nodded along even though I’d be thinking, “Unless a really cute dress comes out.”

Tom isn’t innocent either. His vice is buying food. Even if I send him to work with a meal he sometimes detours somewhere and buys something. He’ll be all, “Oh, right before work I got a craving for a Snickers bar.” Or, “Yeah, I could smell Burger King in the air and HAD to have a Whopper. You know how it goes.”

So see? He was just as guilty.

I had a problem though. Where was I going to stick the package? I had to figure out something quickly, Tom would start to wonder what was taking me so long.

I decided to stick the package up my shirt. Then I’d rush into the house, toss the package somewhere and Tom would be none the wiser. Yes! Yes!

“Hi Tommy’s Mom.”

Shit.

Neighborhood kid alert. I repeat, neighborhood kid alert.

It was a little girl that Tommy plays with. She seemed to be frowning at my stomach. Probably because she could see the package outline. Or crap, she probably saw me sticking it up my shirt and was baffled.

“I know this looks weird,” I began. “But I’m just, er, keeping the package secret. It’s a…surprise.” This was sort of the truth. I was keeping it a surprise from Tom...indefinitely. He never remembers Natalie’s current clothes. She could walk out in a paper bag and he’d think she had it for years. It’s times like these when I appreciate man’s inability to notice pesky details like clothes.

The little girl blinked at me.

She clearly didn’t believe me.

“So yeah, I’m just keeping it a surprise,” I tried again. “Surprises are fun.” Could she just stop STARING at me for craps sake? Can’t a gal stick her mail up her shirt in peace?

“I just wanted to know if Tommy could play,” the little girl said.

Oh. So I probably didn’t have to go on and on about the package. All she was concerned with was playing.

Anyhow, I managed to sneak the dress in.

I ran inside and threw it in the hall closet. Of course I accidentally slammed the hall closet because apparently being discreet is not my forte and then Tom was all, “What was that?”

“A bug,” was the first thing that came to my mind.

“A bug?” Tom came into the room, frowning.

Okay, so that made no sense. Hurry, hurry, think of something else.

“So, you look good,” I said coyly, trying to look sexy. Mind you, it’s hard for me to look sexy because when I try to look sexy I’m usually asked if something is in my eye because for some reason to me being sexy is fluttering your eyelashes. Even though I’ve discovered that no, opening and shutting ones eyes rapidly is NOT considered sexy I still do it. I can’t help it.

“Um?” Tom was still baffled, probably because I was doing the eye thing. But in the end I managed to distract him. And really, I think the dress was worth it. I got it for only NINE dollars shipped and it’s a brand new dress. A bargain, really. So see? I HAD to buy it. And from now on, I will honor Tom’s wish and not buy anymore clothes.



Well, until the fall season, that is.

(And unless I find another fab deal…)

(What? I TRY to be good at least.)

Boobs, Kids, and Michael Phelps?

“You’re coming,” Tom said firmly.

“Do I have to?” I groaned. He had just informed me that he had a work BBQ and right when he said it I thought, “Ugh, I don’t want to go.” The thing is, I’m not the greatest at small talk. Plus Tom sometimes will start a conversation with someone and leave me to tend to the kids. Suddenly he seems to forget we exist as he jabbers on. I could probably paint I AM NOT HAPPY on the wall and he wouldn’t notice.

“You’re coming,” Tom repeated. “You’ve skipped a lot of work stuff and some people don’t believe you exist.”

Isn’t that what Facebook is for?

“I’m not making anything,” I said stubbornly. It drives me crazy when men say they have a work function and then stare at their wives expectantly. It’s THEIR work function. Why should WE have to make crap for it?

“I’m just picking stuff up at Wal-Mart,” Tom admitted. Actually, if he had insisted that I make something I’d have done the same. I’d have set a package of cupcakes in front of him and said, “There. I made these.”

So yes, I went to the work BBQ. We settled down on a bench and right away a little girl came up to me.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” I answered.

She kept watching me. What did she want? Where were her parents?

“Have a great day,” I said, which was my polite way of telling her to sod off.

She didn’t leave. In fact, it got worse. Another little girl joined her and they just stood there in front of me. What, did I have Spongebob dancing on my forehead?

Tom was talking to someone of course so he didn’t notice.

“Tom,” I said as one of the girls took a step closer to me. “TOM!”

“What’s in your purse?” one girl asked.

Huh?

“Um, my wallet. Where are you parents?”

“Around. Do you have lotion in your purse?” the girl continued.

“No.”

“Chapstick?”

Okay, purse girl needed to go away. I tugged on Tom’s arm. He had the nerve to look irritated with me. I mean, he had dragged me here in the first place and left me to be accosted by strange children obsessed with my purse.

“Talk to me so the kids will go away,” I said quietly. I eyed the room. “You didn’t tell me that Michael Phelps worked on your flight.” Seriously, some guy bringing in some food looked almost like Michael Phelps.

Tom frowned. “Huh? He doesn’t.”

The girls thankfully rushed off. Phew.

“Which girl was it that texted her boobs to the married man?” I’m not joking. Some girl on Tom’s flight texted her boobs to a married man.

Tom’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Shhhh.”

Shhh. What was this shh business? I didn’t care if Boob Texter overheard. She should be ashamed of herself. She’s lucky she didn’t text her boobs to my husband. I’d have posted the picture on my blog along with her phone number.

I drummed my fingers on top of the table. I wish I was bold enough to march up to someone and start talking. But I’m not. So I just sat there until it was time to eat. I did laugh when a young Airman strolled in and dropped off a package of 20 piece nuggets on the food table. Everyone had to bring something and his choice was nuggets from McDonalds.

“She’s there,” Tom whispered in my ear as I stood in line for food.

He meant the Boob Texter. I turned and looked expecting to see someone like Megan Fox. Instead I found a Roseanne Barr. Okay, not that bad. But still. She was nothing spectacular. I don’t think she has kids so she probably has a nice, never been chewed on rack. I’ll give her that.

I had a compulsion to shout, “BOOB TEXTER!” when I saw her.

But I swallowed it down.

Tom and I settled down to eat and guess who sat across from us? Boob texter. Tom shot me a Look.

Boob texter, boob texter, boob texter…

“Is this your wife?” Boob Texter asked.

BOOOOOB TEXTERRRRR!

“Yup. This is Amber. And this is…” Tom gave Boob Texter’s real name but I didn’t care. She’ll always be Boob Texter to me.

“Hello,” I said politely. I wanted to add, “Don’t be texting body parts to my husband.”

I tried to eat neatly. I didn’t want people to tease Tom for having a messy eater as a wife. But, well, I had ribs. And it’s hard to eat ribs neatly. I ended up with sauce on my nose. I had an entire conversation with one of Tom’s work friends with sauce on my nose. Neither he OR Tom mentioned it. They just let me carry on with SAUCE ON MY NOSE. When the guy walked away Tom went, “You have sauce on your nose.” Oh. NOW he tells me.

“Are you going to try one of my cupcakes?” Boob Texter asked Tom. Um, that better not have been a sexual innuendo. The only cupcake he wants to try is mine, thanks.

It turns out she meant REAL cupcakes.

And they were gross.

I’m not being rude. The bottoms were burnt and the frosting looked weird. Maybe if she weren’t so busy texting her boobs to a married man she’d have made them properly.

In the middle of the room some people started to set up Beer Pong, which I thought was a tad strange seeing as children were running around. Plus, getting drunk was not a good idea for me because I’d totally call Boob Texter Boob Texter to her face.

I think Tom pictured the same thing because he was all, “Ready to go?”

Purse Girl started to approach me. Ack! I did not want to answer any more questions about my purse. And what if she asked me about the Beer Pong? Do I tell her about beer? Some parents are really weird about telling their kids about alcohol.

“Let’s go,” I said, jumping to my feet. I practically pulled him out the door.

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Tom said cheerfully on the drive home.

I suppose not. I got to see Michael Phelps, dodge a strange little girl’s questions and meet the chick who texted her boobs to a married man.

It was sort of like an episode of Maury.

And...It's Almost Over...

Tomorrow is the last day of school for my son.

I’m not going to lie, I’m scared.

I’ve seen some bloggers not understand why parents dread having their kids home over the summer. Well, maybe those bloggers have good kids. I don’t know.

I’m kidding. My son is a good kid. He’s just....hyper. And sensitive.

Oh, and he totally flips out if someone knocks over his Legos.

I’ve done this before. I was putting away laundry, backed up and BAM, his police tower came tumbling down.

“HOW COULD YOU?” Tommy bellowed at me. (See? Sensitive.)

His sister likes to mess with his Legos just to upset him. So this means throughout the summer I constantly have to keep her away.

Sometimes they fight just because.

Like once I found them whining in the living room and when I asked what was wrong they both just blinked at me.

So yes. I dread having him home over the summer. Don’t get me wrong, I love the kid to bits. He’s just so loud. And picky. Sometimes for lunch Natalie and I just have cereal. If I stick cereal in front of him he’ll turn his nose up and be all, “This isn’t lunch.” See, he has Aspergers so he has set rules in his mind. You can tell him until you are blue in the face that cereal is an appropriate lunch but he’ll just stare at you like you have a feather popping from your ear.

With summer also comes neighborhood kids coming to the door. Some kids haven’t been taught manners and they ring the bell at eight in the morning. They also like to destroy toys and question authority. I once told a kid to put the Raid away and he was all, “Why?” Um, so I don’t get SUED if you spray someone’s eye out, you brat.

It’s gonna be a lonnnnggg summer.

But after tomorrow I will officially have a third grader.





An official HYPER third grader.

Heads Will Roll

“Tom, what’s happening? TOM?”

I had my hands over my eyes. I could hear someone screaming in agony.

“Tom?”

What was he doing? Did he forget that he was supposed to tell me when the gruesome scenes were over?

We were watching an episode of The Tudors and he promised to let me know when the gross part was over.

And there were a lot of gross parts in that episode.

Fingernails were pulled off in one scene.

Heads were chopped off in another.

Guts were taken out of a person still alive.

Poop was smeared on the wall by an insane person.

I couldn’t watch the fingernail removal scene. That was the scene that was going on. I could hear the actor yelping in pain.

“Is it almost over, Tom?”

WHY WASN’T HE RESPONDING TO ME? Should I be concerned that he was so engrossed over someone losing their nails? I mean, ew.

“It’s done. That was nothing,” Tom said.

Of course he would say that. He watches war movies were guts and blood are thrown all over the place. I’m still traumatized over watching Saving Private Ryan with him. He didn’t WARN me about the guy laying on the beach with his guts hanging out of his stomach as he shouted for his mother. I still have nightmares over that one.

When it came to the beheading part of The Tudors I covered my eyes again.

“What’s happening?”

“Jesus, just watch. They’re just giving a speech. Oh wait, there they go.”

I could hear the sound of the axe coming down and chopping the head off.

EW.

“Did they show the head?” I wondered.

“Not really, they just showed it in the basket quickly.”

EWW!

“So what happens to Henry’s wife?” Tom asked.

In that episode, Katherine Howard, his fifth wife, is sent to the Tower of London because it’s been discovered that she’s been doing the nasty with another man.

“She dies,” I explained morosely.

Tom is shocked over how many people died in the show. Like he missed out on the entire season three so as he watched this season he was all, “What happened to that dude? Cromwell?”

“He died,” I said.

Or he’ll be all, “What happened to his third wife? The one that gave him the son?”

“She died.”

“Jesus, who DOESN’T die in this show?”

I made the mistake of looking when Katherine sees the head of her lover on a spike. I so did NOT need to see that.

“Oh, that looks so fake,” Tom said. “That’s nothing.”

It was real enough for me.

And plus, they got it wrong. Katherine saw the head of her lover on the London Bridge in real life. Not in the Tower of London.

But still.

Sad either way.

At the end of the show there were two final beheadings.

The chick that went crazy and smeared her poop on the wall was one. But she had it coming. George Boleyn, Anne Boleyn’s brother was married to her and she totally lied and said George and Anne got it on.

So I wasn’t sad to see her go.

I covered my eyes though.

“What’s happening?”

“She’s putting her head on the block.”

The axe came down again. People watching the execution cheered. Mind you, they had no TV then so watching people lose their heads was prime entertainment.

Finally, Katherine Howard came up and gave her speech. She said she was dying as the wife of Culpepper, the man she did the nasty with while married to Henry. This caused the crowd to gasp. Shame on you, wench, they were probably thinking. In real life she probably didn’t really say that. It’s just a legend. Most people thanked the King right before they were beheaded because they were worried if they called him an “asshole fu*ker for having my head removed” they were worried that God, who they believed chose Henry as king in the first place would be pissed and send them to the pits of Hell.

Thankfully they didn’t show Katherine’s head being chopped off. It just ended with her resting her head on the block, now covered with blood from the insane poop lady. (In real life Katherine was beheaded first though.)

“So…who does he marry now?” Tom asked when the show was over.

“Katherine Parr.”

“Don’t tell me. She dies.”

“No, actually. I mean, she came close, Henry had an arrest warrant written for her but then he changed his mind. She outlived him,” I said.

Have I mentioned that I love The Tudors? I’m bummed this is the last season.

One day I’m totally taking a Henry VIII tour in England.

Anyone wanna come?

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 at first think that (: is a frown face and be all, “Why are you frowning at me?” And then be all, “Oh, never mind it’s a smile face. Carry on.”


To be looking forward to the reality show Big Brother.


To hate going to your husband’s work functions, especially when he goes off talking to his work friends and leaves you to tend to the kids.


To make a face when magazines remind you to “not forget about your man’s balls” during foreplay. I’m sorry, I WILL forget my man’s balls during foreplay. They do not look appealing. No offense.


To like going to Toys R Us as much as your kids do.


To have once eaten a bunch of the brownie batter just ‘cause you could. Being an adult rocks. Salmonella be damned.


To still be searching for the Snapple flavors created by Bret Michaels and Holly Robinson on The Celebrity Apprentice. I know they exist! It says so on the Snapple website.


To be looking forward to seeing Sex and the City 2 on Thursday despite the bad reviews. Hey, it’s two hours of kid free time complete with buttery popcorn. I’ll take it.


To be upset that ABC cancelled FlashForward. The ironic thing is, Ghost Whisperer will probably replace the time slot and I had been upset that CBS cancelled Ghost Whisperer earlier. ABC decided to take it on and I’m going to laugh if the show takes FlashForward’s slot. CBS? Wanna take FlashForward then? Please? Lifetime? FX? SyFy? SOMEONE!?


To love when your husband leaves you notes like this: