Why I Hate Christmas (Version 212)

I hate Christmas. Excpet for the lights, the cocktails, and the sweets, I hate Christmas.

I hate the shopping. I hate the traffic. I hate the 60 different versions of 12 Christmas songs that you hear over and over and over. I hate the lines at the store. I hate trying to buy gifts, usually for people who don't really need or want anything. I hate the stupid little parties. They all have a "bring an ornamnet to exchange" or "bring a gift to exchange." This means I have to spend time and money I don't really have, shop for a gift I don't really want to buy, and then exchange it for a gift I don't really want to get.

FABULOUS.

Then, once (if) you get all the "gifts" purchased (it will take months to actually pay for them all), then you have to WRAP them. In sparkly wrapping paper with shiny bows and color-coordinated gift tags.

Then there are the charitable endeavors. Don't get me wrong - I am superbly fortunate, and I am all for helping others out. But the guilt is sometimes overwhelming. Food drive? OK - cans of food. Check. Book drive? Box of books. Check. Angel Tree kids, ages 6 and 8. Check. Salvation Army bell ringers. Dump all your change. Check. (Of course the bell ringer at the next store is going to glare at you for walking past, having no way of knowing that you just dumped $40 worth of change into someone else's bucket.)

And oh yes - the Christmas Cards. You have to make a card with a cute photo. Then you have to send it out to everyone on the planet. There are always people you don't send to but that send to you, so you have to make an additional order.

And it's all supposed to be so MEANINGFUL. You have to take your kids to see Santa, becuase they obviously will be scarred for life if you don't. And the lights - you have to go drive and see the cool lights. And church - this is the time of year to definitely go to church (even though I'm not 100% sure there is a God, or at least a good one, but that is a WHOLE 'NOTHER STORY...)

Then you have to have your family in and cook a gorgeous meal, make everyone feel happy and welcome. Keep them all occupied like the happy hostess.

It just all sucks. If I didn't have kids, I would forfeit Christmas all together. Now I know you all are saying "Awww - no you wouldn't. You're just having a bad day." But if I didn't have kids, I would be on a cruise ship somewhere for 2 weeks. If you skipped Christmas, you'd have enough money to pay for it.

That's one of the main reasons why I want to buy a Time Share in Mexico. In about 4 years, the whole "S" thing will be a memory for my kids. When that happens, we will be spending every single Christmas in Mexico.

I hate Christmas too because my dad is gone. My dad didn't like Christmas much either, even though he didn't do most of the work. The fact remains that I just don't like it as much with him not here. The last Christmas I spent with him, he was really sick. He also chose Christmas Day to tell me that he was getting tired of fighting the good fight. That was also the first - and only - time he said "Love you, son." to Bart. (yipee - now I'm crying...) He died less than 2 months later. It was always me and him out in our front yard, hanging up an obscene number of ridiculously tacky lights. Bart doesn't let me do tacky, but I try to compensate with sheer volume. I almost fell over today when I saw a guy who looked a lot like him in the Toys R Us today. Jeans, Guy Harvey t-shirt, baseball cap.

My point is Christmas is never the same once a hole like that is left in your life.

I know a few people who are dealing with that right now, and then some. Any other time of the year would be miserable enough, but becuase it's "the holidays" it's so much worse. A friend who lost her sister. A Dad in the hospital. Two kids without a mommy this Christmas. The CiCi's pizza manager I work with through the PTA who has a tiny daughter just diagnosed with leukemia.

If we all stopped buying gifts and gave that money to cancer research, or medical research, or a Children's hospital...would that make any difference?

To me, Christmas has turned into a stress-filled, obligatory, merchadise-filled nightmare that I have to endure once a year. It's painful on many levels. I hate it.

I suppose I'll feel better on Christmas morning, watching my beautiful healthy kids have a ball. I like to sit out on the lanai and look at the Christmas lights reflecting off the pool. I like to go to Rawls Road and immerse myself in the ridiculously gigantic lights diplay. (www.rawlsroad.com)

But overall? I hate Christmas.

CANCER SUCKS

CANCER SUCKS. CANCER SUCKS. I HATE CANCER. WHY IN THE HELL CAN'T WE DO SOMETHING ABOUT CANCER? WHY IN THE HELL DON'T BILL GATES AND BRANGELINA GIVE SOME OF THEIR MONEY TO HELP STOP CANCER? AND OPRAH? AND THE 50 BAZILLION OTHER "CELEBRITIES"? WHY DO WE SPEND MORE MONEY ON THE SUPERBOWL THAN ON CANCER RSEARCH?

WHY CAN'T ANYBODY DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT?

More on this later. Please go make a donation to any Cancer organization. Seriously. Leukemia & Lumphoma Sociey is a good one.

Thoughts and Prayers to WonderSis's family. Especially her sister DKR and her kids, K & K.

Me and All My Free Time

Please be patient and allow me to vent. Again. On a subject that I may have vented on before.

Bart is out of town, so I was lamenting that I was going to be a single parent for 3 days. The response I got from a friend was "So? You have all that free time while the kids are in school. You have like 8 hours of free time a day!"

First - it's 6 hours, not 8. And secondly, are you freakin kidding me? "Free Time"? Here's what I did with all my "free time" yesterday:

6:40 am: wake up
6:45-7:35: get both kids out of bed, both kids fed, both kids dressed, both kid's notebooks/folders/agendas signed, get myself dressed
7:40 - leave for school to drop off kids
7:55 - 8:05: drive to Upper Tampa Bay Trail for exercise
8:15 - 9:00: walk/jog with the dog (multi-tasking at it's best)
9:15: stop at Publix to get 5 grocery items that I can't get at my "regular" store
9:30 - 10:30: yard work
10:30 - 11:30: finish grouting ceramic tile
11:30 - Noon: box up Ebay items for mailing
Noon - 1:00: eat lunch, send PTA emails, clean up grout stuff
1:00 - 1:25: drive to post office to mail Ebay packages
1:30 -2:15: grocery store for the rest of the groceries
2:20-2:30: unload groceries
2:40: pick up kids at bus stop
2:45 - 4:00: get kids doing homework, make PTA donation calls, finalize details for Girl Scout Meeting Tuesday and for Girl Scout camping trip this weekend.
4:00: take a shower and get re-dressed
4:30- 5:00: Karlin's Piano Lesson
5:00-5:30: back to house to get Chase dressed for soccer
5:30-6:30: Soccer Practice
6:45 - 7:30: Dinner
7:30 - 8:15: Baths
8:15 - 8:45: send more Girl Scout emails while kids watch 30 minutes of TV
9:00: kids bedtime
9:20-9:45: load dishwasher, clean up kitchen, pull kid's school clothes out of dryer
9:45 - 10:15 start more laundry, wash face and brush teeth
10:30 - let the free time begin!

And this was actually a SLOW day. I didn't have to go up to the school for any committee meetings, classroom volunteer time, or PTA/School Advisory Council Meetings. Or Uniform fulfillment. Generally, I am up at the school between 6 and 14hours a week. Seriously.

The kids have after-school activities 6 days a week: Piano lessons, 2 soccer practices, Science Club, Girl Scouts, Horseback Riding lessons, and soccer game.

It really, really pisses me off that this person - and a parent at that - seems to think I sit on my ass all day eating bon bons. I am "at home" less than any "stay at home mom" I know. I did all that stuff yesterday, and it didn't even scratch the surface of the stuff I needed to get done.

"Working" moms should really remember that it's "Non-working moms" that do all that fun craft stuff for your kids at school. We help the teacher teach your Kindergartners to read. We make sure your child has school uniforms. We raise money so your kid has more choices of books in the Library. We organize and volunteer at the many fun events that you attend. (We never get to just go and enjoy things with our families - we are too busy trying to make it a great experience for you and your family.) We put together the newsletter that lets you know what's going on at school. We forgo weekends with our families so that we can go to training sessions so we are qualified to take your children camping. I know you think little elves magically make all that stuff happen, but they don't. It's us. It's me.

OK - I'm done. The 20 minutes I spent typing this should have really been spent on other things. I need to run out and get more Bon Bons...

Thank GAWD For The Neighbor's Kid

The world just isn't what it used to be. As kids, we all used to leave the house on our bikes at 8 am, and not come home until dark for dinner. (We would stop at the 7-11 and eat Slim Jims and Slurpees for lunch, of course.) You knew all the kids on your street, and all their parents. And their parents knew you. The boy across the street's older sister was your babysitter. So-an-so's parents played cards with your parents. You ALL went to the same Elementary School, where your Mom was the Secretary. Your Dad would routinely pile all 17 neighborhood kids into his 1962 Chevy Camper pick-up, and take you all to the beach. No seatbelts, no car seats. So was life in Pensacola, Florida in the 1970's.

It's not like that today. We live in a neighborhood that has remained surprisingly steady over the past 5 years. There are a lot of kids in the neighborhood, and a fair number on our street. But the kids across the street choice to a different Elementary School. The kids 2 houses down go to Private School. The kids on the other side stay at the after-school program, and then have baseball/cheerleading etc. You can't let your kids ride their bikes for risk of bodily harm, because as a general rule motorists don't pay attention, and you risk your kids getting splattered all over the street. And no way can they leave the neighborhood - we have a 4-lane highway our front with no sidewalks on this side of the street. And don't even get me started on the potential kidnapper/child molester/scary bad people that probably are out there. It's enough to make you want to lock your kids inside the house and NEVER let them leave.

But that's not realisitic, is it?

The point is that although we know the kids that live near us, you never see packs of neighborhood kids running around and playing together. For the past 3 years, there has been a girl who lives across the street and 5 houses down from us. She's in the same grade as Karlin, at the same school. They were in chorus together for 2 years. They have Science Club together now. I tried to strike up a conversation with her Mom once, but was unsuccesssful. We see them occasioanlly walking their dog, but that's about it.

So imagine my surprise when the other day, the little girl turned up on my doorstep wanting to know if she could play with Karlin. This is H-U-G-E for a few reasons. First, because I don't think it's ever happened before. But second, because I am (as always) worried about my baby girl.

It's not that she doesn't have friends. She has a few. She functions well in a social setting (like Girl Scouts) when she has to. But given the choice, she prefers books to people. I have noticed lately when I peek into the lunchroom (I'm at the school all the time) that Karlin isn't usually talking to anyone. No friends wait on her as she packs up her lunch. The worries me to death, being the social creature that I am.

So a new little girl coming to the house to play? AWESOME! And we hung out with her Dad a bit at the neighborhood Halloween Festival, and let him know how much Karlin enjoyed her company. So the little girl asked if Karlin could come over today.

So this morning at 10:17, I watched my baby girl walk across the street and 5 houses down to her friend's house. We told her to be home by Noon, and she was dead on time. VERY responsible.

I'm just so excited for her. It seems so normal, so much more like what I grew up with. For just a few minutes I can pretend that maybe the world isn't as scary as it is.

But I'm still not letting her eat Slim Jims for lunch.

OK. I'm Better Today.

No really. I am. I still hate the diet, but I'm truckin on through. Maybe it's because I spent 4 hours today going through crap, putting crap away, throwing crap away, and giving crap away. Maybe it's because I got to doze on a giant alligator float in the pool for about an hour and a half. (Fall? What Fall? No Fall here...) Maybe it's because I got to help my daughter make a model of the hotel in "The Mouse and the Motorcycle."

(Side note here: I just LOVE school projects! I wish I could be a third grader again so I could do more school projects! Now before you all freak out, I should tell you that I don't do the work for her. I do all the cutting with the knives. I provide the materials she needs. And I give her a little guidance. It's important that she knows that she doesn't really have time to stain 150 Popsicle sticks and glue them to the bottom of the box to make wood flooring. "Hey! How 'bout we use scrapbook paper that looks like wood paneling?" For the life of me I can't remember why on Earth I didn't do MORE school projects when I was a kid. Now I'm forced to live vicariously through my kids, and occasionally decorate a classroom door or two.)

Anyway - the PMS/Dieting Demon has been shoved back into the box for the time being. My daughter doesn't have swine flu, I can see the playroom floor, the dog had a bath and doesn't smell, and husband is at a hockey game and the kids are asleep. All is nice and quiet in my world at the moment.

I would really like a nice glass of wine, though...

I Am A Prisoner In My Own Home

Let me tell you why I am a prisoner in my own home. It's the diet. The stupid, pain-in-the-ass, expensive diet that I hate. The stupid diet that my friend loves and has had so much success on. The stupid diet that I want to quit already, even though it's only been a week and a half. Is it the beer I miss? Bread? Cheese? Butter? Coffee? YES. But it's also because I feel like I can't even leave my own home. And if I stay home, the food comes here.

Have you ever thought how many social events in America revolve around food? Or have food as a major component? A friend emails you: "Lets' have lunch next week." Or your in-laws call and say "We'll pick up Chinese on the way over and we can all watch the game." Or you get "Let's have that meeting at so-and-so restaurant over dinner." It sucks. And I mean totally and completely sucks.

I can't go out to eat at a restaurant. I can't go to lunch. I have no desire to sit around and WATCH everyone else eating luscious Chinese food. I don't want to watch the game, because everyone else will be drinking ice cold beers and eating chips and queso. I go to the store, and what do I get? Hit in the face with the smell of fresh-baked break in from the bakery. I go for a walk/jog and what happens? My deep breaths inhale the scents of either the Italian Pasta place across the street, or the big fat burgers from the 5 Guys located behind my neighborhood. Go look on Facebook on a Saturday evening and see how many people are posting about FOOD. "Heading to the Seafood Festival - Yum!" "Getting food from our favorite take out!" "Grilling steaks for the game!"

This is miserable, and I mean want-to-break-into-tears-every-15-minutes miserable. The stupid shots aren't helping, and they won't give me the pills that are supposed to help because someone in the Healthcare System seems to think I'm about to have a heart attack. (But that's another story...a long one) I've lost 7.3 pounds, and most of you would probably be motivated by that. I'm not. What is 7.3 pounds to me? I don't look any different. My clothes don't fit any better. Not only do I not feel better, but I feel AWFUL. I don't have much energy to do anything. I can't even watch TV, because every commercial is about food. The doctor's office where I took my daughter today (swine flu negative, thank goodness) was next to an Outback Steakhouse. Talk about good smells.

And the bad news? It's not going to get any better. Not for months and months and months. There is quite literally no end in sight. I have more than 50 pounds to lose. 7.3 pounds is not even a dent in that. AND I still have to get through Halloween (no Resse's Peanut Butter Cups this year - my favorite), Thanksgiving (a pig-out festival if I've ever seen one), Christmas (pig-out round 2), and New Years. And think about all of the parties and events we all go to every year around Christmas time. I am never going to make it.

So where's the silver lining? There isn't one, and hubby doesn't seem to get that. Hubby who probably couldn't gain 5 pounds if I tied him to a chair and fed him Big Macs every 2 hours for a week. He says "You're healthier! You're making a major life change!" And I just want to beat him with something. None of that makes me feel better, not even a little.

Is it really worth it to "be healthier" and live longer if every stupid second you live you are miserable? And cranky? And irritated? And you start to hate your kids because they are eating ice cream and you can't have any?

I am pretty much about ready to quit. I hate this, and I don't really care if I'm fat. And who cares if I have a 12% higher chance of having a heart attack when 1 doctor thinks I already had one anyway? (back to that same long story) I can't even get drunk to escape my misery - no alcohol allowed. I can't sit on my lanai in the morning and drink a cup of coffee. I can't order pizza when I don't feel like cooking. I can't drink a beer and watch the football game. My whole life right now is a giant list of things I can't have and can't do.

And the Ice Cream Truck is cruising the neighborhood as I type this. GREAT. It's like the whole world is mocking me, I swear.

Rainy Days and Tuesdays Always Get Me Down

Rainy days and Tuesdays when I am sick, I mean. And rainy days and Tuesdays when I get sad, scary news. Rainy days and Tuesdays when I melt lipstick in an entire load of light-colored laundry. Rainy days and Tuesdays when I can't get the thingie to screw onto the thingie. Rainy days and Tuesdays when I'm sick, and I know that I am supposed to be with the girls all this weekend. Rainy days and Tuesdays when I have a F-U-L-L day tomorrow, and no time to be sick.

Then again - my "illness" is really not so bad when you look at the big picture. Not in comparison to someone who is fighting for her life - again. Not in comparison to her family who is scared with her and scared for her. Not in comparison to her kids who love and need her. I guess my stupid cold is really just that - stupid.

And I can always buy new clothes and lipstick. And life does not come to a standstill because I can't get a screw to work. And there will be other girl's weekends if I can't make this one. No matter how full tomorrow is, I can probably manage it. Especially since there's nothing on my to-do list like "chemo therapy" or "stem cell transplant."

Please everyone...or all 6 of you who read this. Keep WonderSis in your thoughts and prayers. And then take a look at your crappy day, and realize just how much crappier it could really be.

No Kids At Home - Day #2

Although I am doing a great job of filling almost all of my time with PTA stuff, not having kids around still takes some getting used to. Especially not having Chase - he's a real chatterbox, and it's weird not hearing him for more than 6 1/2 hours.

In my errand running today, I was having the following random thoughts:

* How sad is it that when I finally have 6 1/2 hours to myself, all I do is call people on my cell phone because I don't have anyone to talk to?

* Cool! Did you know they still sell "Whatchamacallit" candy bars?

* Lady: when your kids are screaming bloody murder for a half an hour and totally ruining the shopping experience for everyone else, DON'T BUY THEM STICKERS AT THE CHECKOUT!!!

* It's amazing to me how doing something that you are really good at makes you feel better about yourself.

* I did not go anywhere near the Coach store today.

* Sometimes it's really easy to open your mouth and eat your foot, even on Facebook.

* Is there some stupid reason why they can't launch the Space Shuttle at a normal hour?

* I will cheerfully beat the child that is teasing my baby on the bus.

* What's worse: getting a tatoo and then losing weight so it looks all wrinkly, or getting a tatoo and gaining weight so it looks all stretched out?

* Did you ever get the weird feeling that your old car is about to go? It's running fine, but something really subtle in the way it runs tells you that it's tired, and it's just about had enough. 111,000 miles in 8 years is a long way to go.

* I saw a TV show last night where a realtor said "all buyers want double ovens." Total bullshit. I don't want double ovens. I don't even want one oven. What I want is a phone for takeout, and paper plates.

* You ever seen that commercial where the guy finds a door in an alley, and he brings it home a sand it and paints it up real pretty? His lady friend (wife, girlfriend - who knows) walks in and says "what's this?" He says "It's a promise - that one day we'll have our own place." Bart says: "Obviously he's unemployed if he's hanging around alleys and has the time to refurbish a door in a day. Maybe they'd actually have a house if he spent that time getting a job." Then he said to me: "Do you want a door?" And I said "What's behind it - a trip to Mexico?"

* Actual conversation last night...part of Karlin's homework was to answer some questions about herself for her new teacher. One of them was "What do other people like best about you?" This really stumped her, so she came downstairs to discuss it with us. I said "I would think the thing people like most about me is how helpful I am." Karlin said "Daddy, what do you like best about Mommy?" He said "I'm sorry - I can't tell you that. It's a secret." So she turned to me and said "Mommy - what do you like best about Daddy?" Without hesitation I said "Easy - his wallett!" (which cracked him up, by the way...) It should be noted here that I did tell Karlin I was only kidding, and then gave her a legitimate answer to the question. I'm not totally irresponsible, you know.

* Some Florida State fan actually attempted to raz me about Tim Tebow & the Gators losing to Ole Miss by a point last season. Can you believe that crap? Did Florida State even play last season? Aren't they on some sort of suspension? Does the coach even know his own name anymore?

* This weekend is my 11th wedding anniversary. My husband got us a new washing machine, and then posted on Facebook "Happy Anniversary, baby - thanks for 11 years of laundry." Funny guy, eh?

* Soon I'm going to start writing down all the funny-ass stuff Chase says. He makes me laugh out loud at least once a day, but whenever I try to tell someone about what he said, I can never remember.

Later Gators! ;)

Places I've Worked That Are No More

In light of the recent sad news about The ZOO in Gulf Breeze closing, I started to think about all the places that I have worked that don't exist anymore. I can't say I'm entirely to blame, but it does seem strange that so many of these places are gone. The fact that most of them are in development-and-success stunted Northwest Florida might have something to do with it.

* Shoe City - Eastgate Plaza on 9th Ave. in Pensacola. My first job, and I spent all my money on shoes.
* Albertson's - 9th Avenue in Pensacola. I worked at the video counter. I believe it's now a Publix, if it's still open at all.
* The Scuba Shack in downtown Pensacola. I worked there for a week and a half, mainly cutting bait out on charter fishing boats. (I quit, for the record.) I don't know if they went out of business, or if Hurricane Ivan did that for them.
* Henry Animal Clinic on Creighton Road in Pensacola. Ole Doc Henry retired and sold the practice. What an easy job - most of the time I watched TV.
* Some weirdo retail shop in Cordova Mall in Pensacola. I worked there 1 Christmas. It was open for such a short time that I can't even remember what it was called. I bought a sweet Esprit dress with my discount, though....teal polka dots (it was the 80's - cut me some slack.)
* Phar-Mor. You guys remember Phar More that used to be out on Davis Highway in Pensacola? I worked at the video counter there and occasionally at the registers while in Grad School. It's gone now too.
* The Pensacola Ice Pilots - Pensacola, FL. Fun-ass job, long-hours, and meager pay. I hear a rumor that they're coming back, but I won't believe that until I see it.
* The ZOO and Botanical Gardens, Gulf Breeze, Florida. Best, most fun job I ever had. I got to do so many cool things, and loved working there even though high school kids at McDs were making more money than I was. Still in touch with some of the people I worked with - we all feel the same way about the place.

Subway on 9th Avenue and The United Way are still there (last time I checked.) I cleaned Beach Houses for 1 weekend - my gawd was THAT awful. Since then my "grown-up" jobs have all been out of town. The Gulf Coats Exploreum is still there in Mobile, and Zoo Atlanta is still kicking. I was an elf at Chick Fil A a few years back, and it seems to have survived. The pre-school where I subbed last year is also doing well.

As for The ZOO...I seriously don't think I'll ever have as much fun as I did chasing down escaped hippos, flying birds of prey, and carrying lemurs around school classrooms. If I had that job today, I would be a rock star with my kids.

Adios ZOO - thanks for the fun times. And remember to please keep your hands and arms inside the train at all times.

It's Hard To Be A Southerner From Florida

Below is an article I wrote with the intention of sending it to "Southern Living." But I chickened out. I still think it's pretty good, though, so I thought I'd stick it up here.



Having spent all but 4 years of my life in Florida, I feel that I am a bonafide, tried-and-true southerner. I was born and raised in Pensacola – home of the Blue Angels, the Bushwacker, and some of the best beaches and fried seafood known to mankind. I lived for a time in Orlando, and after a short stint in Georgia (another southern state, I might point out…), my family has settled in Tampa.

Now, being a native Floridian is a little bit of a rarity these days, and you’d be hard pressed to find a lot of native Pensacolians. (Those of us who are native Pensacolians probably either are related or know each other, or our parents graduated high school together, or our grandmas go to the same Baptist Church.) But being a native Floridian/Pensacolian, I have always felt like a true southerner. I love fried okra. My dad used to grow tomatoes and squash as big as your head in our backyard. I could swim in the Gulf surf before I could walk. I believe that oysters - in any form - are their own food group. I can spot a frozen shrimp from a mile away. I believe canoeing down some backwoods creek may be one of the finest pleasures in life, and I started doing it when I was 5. I was raised to know that you don’t schedule a wedding, a wake, a Baptism, or ANYTHING on the same day as Florida-Florida State or Auburn-Alabama football weekends. I know that the best BBQ comes from scary little shacks on dirt roads, sweet iced tea is a life necessity, and that butter beans should never be eaten out of a can. I know that every southern holiday meal has at least 2 “entrees” (usually ham and turkey), no fewer than 15 side dishes, and at least 8 desserts. I know that sitting out in a park square in 98 degree heat, getting eaten by mosquitoes, and listening to music from the gazebo is just something you do. I say “yes maam” and “yes sir” to this day, regardless of the age of the person I am speaking to. I pull over for funerals (a practice, I might add, that has just about gotten me run over here in Tampa.) I know that beer and Tylenol are always in the shopping cart when a hurricane is coming. I have stood on the top of Stone Mountain, eaten Key Lime Pie by sunset in Mallory Square, and danced down Bourbon Street at Mardi Gras. I know what a Moon Pie is. I was in a sorority in college, and married a fraternity boy – my high school sweetheart, actually. I love the sound of the Mourning Dove, the call of the Sandhill Crane, the mystery sounds of the Mockingbird, and the sound of an Osprey on the hunt. I love “the fair” – the rides, the deep-friend everything, the pig races. I still say “ya’ll” and “fixin”. I am a Southerner.

But the rest of the Southerners don’t really agree with me. See – being from Pensacola, the “rest” of Florida considers us a part of Alabama. Southern? Yes. A Floridian from the South? No. Those os us from Northwest Florida and Pensacola know we’re not a part of Alabama, but we think the rest of Florida isn’t southern, either. Except maybe Ocala and Micanopy, but nothing south of Orlando.

So what part of Florida is southern? Miami has too many New Yorkers. Tampa has too many Latinos. Tallahassee is only the south because the Governor says it is. (The Governor with no Southern accent.) Pensacola is too far west. Jacksonville is too close to Georgia. Naples and West Palm? Forget it – you won’t find any natives around there. Key West? Too many weirdos. Orlando? All tourists.

And that’s just what Floridians think! Don’t even get me started on what Alabama, Georgia, Mississippi, and Louisiana think. And outside of that? It still makes me giggle to see features on Maryland in Southern Living. And Texas? Texas is a land in and of itself…even Texans will tell you that.

So what is a good Southern girl to do? What else can I do…I’ll teach my kids to say “ya’ll”. I’ll learn how to make the best sweet iced tea. I’ll learn to make cornbread from scratch. I’ll teach my kids about Spanish Moss and Ponce de Leon. We’ll root for the Gators and eat BBQ and at least shop for squash and tomatoes. And – bless their baby hearts – we’ll go to the fair. (My daughter won the blue ribbon for being a Champion Pig Picker at the pig races at the Strawberry Festival just last year – honest!)

Living in Florida

(This is me blogging about nothing of significance just for the sake of blogging.)

Most of you reading this either live in Florida now, or have lived in Florida at some point. In either case, you are going to know exactly what I mean with this blog.

I love living in Florida. The heat doesn't even bother me. The bugs are managebale. Bring on the tropical storms & lightning shows - love em! Beaches, seafood, Disney World, Key West, the Florida Gators - what's not to love? (OK - maybe the obnoxious New York transplants who are so rude, or the Illegal Immigrants sucking up my tax dollars, but other than that...)

One of the only things I don't like is the humidity. I went jogging last week, and when I stopped to catch my breath I couldn't. No - I wasn't having a heart attack. It was more that I felt like I was breathing underwater. Or breahing IN water. The humidity level was - seriously - 90% or something like that. I relate it to what it would probably feel like to breathe in maple syrup. Thick and wet.

Then today, I had the good sense to go jogging about 2 hours earlier. (DUH - 15 degree temerapture difference, if I could only manage to get my fat ass out of bed...) The humidity was better today, a manageable 70% or so. But if you've lived in Florida for any amount of time, you'll know the smell I encountered this morning. The smell of damp. Nightly rainstorms, partnered with high humidity and a high water table, all add up to, well, DAMP. Imagine if you put some mud and grass clippings in a garbage bag and left it in the sun for a week. Open it up, and that's what Tampa smelled like this morning. Not the rich, pungent smell of say - a wetlands, or the musty smell of a hay barn. More like a rotting, wet, decaying smell. It was not pleasant. A breeze might help, but usually there's only a breeze in August when it's blowing some rain around, so that doesn't really help at all.

On a related note...why is it that I like to sit on my lanai and drink beer and watch it rain? It must be in my genetic code or something, 'cause my Dad used to do the same thing. Only he sat on what the "regular folks" would call a "porch." (I actually hate the word lanai - it sounds so prententious.)

Only in Florida do you watch the news and see the Governor riding in an airboat through the Everglades to oversee a "Python Hunt." No - really. Apparently south Florida is being over-run by exotic snakes that some dimwits let loose in the wild. There have been at least 3 big news stories in the past few weeks involving big snakes. I mean, that's just entertainment right there.

If you have ever read any books by Dave Barry, he absolutely nails the "eccentric Florida" that I know and love. Carl Hiassen does a good job too. Florida is such a wacky place - you just gotta love it.

Just don't try to breathe in August.

Things I Didn't Do On Vacation

Lucky me - I got to go on vacation with my family to beautiful MEXICO! I have decided that Mexico is just one of my favorite places on the planet. It's pretty, it's cheap, the people rock, the food is amazing, and the tequila is everywhere. If you get a chance to go, I highly recommend the Palace Resorts. There are 7 or 8 of them along east coast of Mexico, and one in Puerto Vallarta. I did a lot on my vacation, but I think it's a lot more telling to fill you in on what I didn't do.

I didn't:
* want to take a nap
* take any Ibuprofen
* take any antacids
* bite my fingernails
* worry about how I looked in my bathing suit
* worry about the calories in the food I was eating
* think about my house
* think about the PTA
* look at my watch
* wear a watch
* shy away from trying to learn some Spanish
* hurry
* watch any TV
* listen to my Ipod
* check my email
* read anything other than a menu
* turn on my phone
* bring my phone
* send any text messages
* stress in any way, shape, or form
* look at the Weather Channel
* watch any movies
* clean anything
* cook anything
* worry about being embarrassed at the spa
* worry about being naked at the spa
* worry about my kids having a good time
* worry about my kids drowning
* worry about my kids eating the "right" foods
* worry about how many Mojitos I'd had
* worry about the Swine Flu
* worry

All vacations should be so good. Seriously.

The Glory of Being a Woman (in a dress)

Most men have NO IDEA what we go through to look good. My dear hubby got an idea this weekend when we got all dolled up to go out to a fancy-schmancy business dinner.

Step 1: Buy a dress. Sounds simple enough, but...no. Not really. I personally did my own little version of "27 Dresses", since I tried on at least that many. Did you know that - if you have large breasts - you practically have to be a contortionist in order to try on a dress with a side zipper? Imagine me, all alone, twisting the damned dress(es) around trying to hold down my boobs while pulling the zipper taut with one hand and yanking on the zipper with the other hand. Yes - it was really like that. After dress #16, I decided that I was no longer trying on any dresses with side zippers. FINALLY I found a dress. Cute and summery, fairly flattering, and 50% off. Sweeeeeeeeet. But then there's the problem of the bra.

Step 2: Buy a bra. The particular dress that I purchased was a type that sorta wraps over the boobs. It was not particularly low-cut or risque, but most of my mammoth support bras showed in the front because they didn't plunge enough. But that's OK, right? They have these nifty cool things called convertible bras! It took me 3 stores and 8 bras, but I finally found a Vera Wang bra that had a low profile in the front, and those nifty clear straps that could go over the shoulders, or cross in the back. Done. It may be worth noting here that most of those really cool bras come in A,B, or C cup sizes. Occasionally, you may stumble upon a D size (which I did.) But that's not much comfort (and I mean that literally) when you could probably use one just a little bigger than that. This bra was also the same price as the dress.

Step 3: Get Dressed. Once I was putting on the dress, I realized that when I walked around, the straps were too loose. The sitter was arriving in 20 minutes, so there was no time to sew or pin or anything. The dress has straps that button in the back, and had 2 button holes so you could adjust the strap lengths. Still a tad too long. And with the dress sliding around, the bra was showing. The last thing I needed was to have a Janet Jackson moment in the middle of the appetizer. So I get Bart to help me. First, we crossed the convertible bra straps and hooked them into place. (Ow.) Then, I had him cross the dress straps. This succeeded in making everything stay put, but man o man was I strapped in. Boobs weren't popping out, but I did look a bit like a breast-feeding mom. And in order to get the boobs to stay put, the dress was tighter, making the skin between the boobs and the shoulder kind of spooge out. UGH. Thank God for the wrap my sister-in-law loaned me. I played all night like I was chilly, and kept the wrap on. Oh - and I almost forgot what I lovingly call the sucky-innie pants. These are nude-colored bicycle type shorts that cover from just under your boobs to your thighs. They suck everything in. They are horribly uncomfortable, and getting them on is a little like putting on a wetsuit.

So I went to dinner, in my too-small convertible bra, with my boobs packed in tight, with a wrap to hide the spoogy arm flesh , and sucky-innie pants to make everything smooth. I am fairly certain I would have been more comfortable in a space suit. But I looked pretty good, and I guess that's what counts.

Step 4: Get undressed. First off - the sucky-innie pants didn't make it the whole night. After dinner, I went to the restroom and pulled them off, and stuck them in my purse. (Dear God don't let anyone ask me for anything that might be in my purse.) Wow - MUCH better, though. I have never been so glad to get clothes off in my life, with maybe the one exception of my wedding day, when I ran through 96 degree heat while people pelted me with birdseed, which then got stuck in the sweat between my body and another infamous support-and-structure type garment. Anyway, once home, I took off the dress and the bra. I had indentations in my skin from both for about 3 hours. Ouch.

All in all, though dinner went well. Nothing of mine popped out (not the boobs, not the sucky-innie pants from my purse), and the evening was a success.

It still surprises me what we go through to look good. And in re-reading this, it surprises me that we invent vocabulary when we look good. I'm pretty certain I've never seen "sucky-inny" pants marketed anywhere, and "spoogy" is not in the Dictionary.

Maybe it should be - most women understand 100% what "spoogy" skin is. Maybe I'll write "The Women's' Beauty Dictionary". Words like "spoogy" and "sucky-innie" could become a part of the world's everyday vocabulary! Then again...maybe I should spend that time doing something to make the spoogy stuff a little less spoogy, and decreasing the necessity of sucky-innie pants.

My Wii Active should be here today.

I could tell you about...

I could tell you about how getting the kids their passports was every BIT the living hell I suspected it would be. Worse, actually. We showed up at 10:00 am - with kids in tow. We had our forms all filled out, we had our pictures in hand. Good - to - GO. We pulled a number - Number 76. Looked up. Thye were currently on Number 41. Ohhhhhh-Kaaayyy. So we wait. A Half hour later, they are on #46. Half Hour later - about the same. Overall, there were more than 40 people (most with small children)crammed in this 35x30 room. Two Passport agents. Then one LEAVES. Goes to lunch or whatever. WTF??? Most of the people don't have their shit together. Most have to have their pictures taken right there (which means a wait for processing.) All in all they were clearing about 11 people an hour. At that pace, we were estimating a wait of between 2 1/2 and 4 hours in addition to the hour and 15 we had already been waiting. THANK GOD Bart called the Passport office at the Pinellas County Courthouse in Clearwater. She said they had no wait. So we hop in the car, drive the 25 minutes to Clearwater, and go in. We waited 20 minutes, and then the actualy process took another 25 minutes. I still in total took us over 3 hours. And it cost us almost $400. Don't even ask me what poor people have to do if they need to leave the country or something.

Or....I could tell you about how I found myself sitting alone at a picnic table at Joe's Crab Shack in Orlando Florida. Sitting alone, on the verge of tears, with a beer and a giant cake & ice cream sundae. Sitting alone, while my bratty mean kids played blisfully on the adjoining playground. Sitting alone, pondering the whole parenting thing, and thinking about how I'm not very good at it. So many of my other friends are so much more patient, so much more supportive, so much more creative. I'm just so....well, Not.

Or...I could tell you about how - in yet another stellar example of my sub-par parenting abilities, I drove all the way back to the hotel from the Joe's Crab Shack with Jimmy Buffett blaring as loud as I could get it in order to drown out the sounds of the bickering whining children in the backseat.

Today really exemplifies the title of this blog:

"How did I get here, and where's my Margarita?"

WHY

WHY does the US Government make it so damned difficult to get your children passports? Say a wonderful event happens in your life - something along the lines of your in-laws calling and saying "Surprise! We're taking your whole family to Mexico to stay at a ritzy all-inclusive resort! And we're paying for the whole thing! For 5 days! And we're leaving on July 5th!" YIPEE, right? Then you go on line and see that even children need passports to go to Mexico. They take 4-6 weeks. Crap. Then you see that - hey! - they can be "expedited." For a fee, of course. So you figure that you'll suck up the fee, since it means you get to go on a free vacation. But then you see that both parents have to be present at the actual getting of the passports. Which is a problem since parent #2 (he's #2 because I'm older than he is) is in Atlanta for the week. So we lose 4 days right there. But wait! There's a form that allows parent #2 to give consent for parent #1 to get the passports. Whew! Except that THAT from has to be Notarized, and most Notaries are supposed to Notarize in the presence of the person signing the form. Which is impossible, since parent #2 is in Atlanta. So I find a friend who a) is a Notary, and b) will notarize the form without Bart being present, and c) will even do it for free. Yay! Then you find out that BOTH children actually have to be present at the getting of the passports. OK - fine. So you look up where you have to drag both children to to get the passports (there are about 15 post offices closer to your house, but - conveniently - they aren't authorized Passport offices.) I can imagine that this trip will be a little like dragging 2 children to the DMV. Maybe worse. The closest Passport office is a good 30 minutes away. OK. So you pick the Passport office that is the closest to you, and then realize they only have passport hours from 8-3. So you have to bring your children to the Passport office, but the only Passport hours are the same as school hours? WTF? WHY is it so difficult to get permission for my children to accompany me to a resort vacation in Mexico for 5 days, but hundreds of MEXICANS waltz right in to the US without permission every stinking day? UGH.

WHY am I the way that I am? When I try a new yummy treat - say, the new little 90 calorie snack bags of flavored rice cake snacks (really tasty, by the way - peanut butter, mint chocolate, caramel, etc...) - why can't I just enjoy the yummy snack? Instead of savoring the yummy 90 calories, I automatically start thinking "Hey - at only 90 calories, how many bags could I eat at once and still be OK?" WHY do I DO that?

WHY is it so damned difficult to find pajamas? All I want is a set with boxer shorts and a cotton tank top. I don't want shorty shorts or boy shorts. I don't want lace or silk or satin. (This is mainly because a) I want to be comfortable, and b) my kids are getting old enough to ask questions about stuff..) I just want something somewhat presentable that I can sleep in. WHY is this too much to ask?

WHY did the sales lady feel the need to tell me her life story today? Did I really need to know that she is s substitute teacher, and last week some kid knocked over a trash can, and when she asked him to clean it up, some parent bitched her out? I guess she was making an effort to be friendly, but lady - I just finished an unsuccessful bout of clothes shopping. Nothing fit, and I am hungry because I am starving myself in an effort to make things fit. So I'm not exactly in a chipper mood, you know? WHY can't she just be polite and cut the chit chat?

WHY did that lady in the gold Pontiac give me the finger when I rightfully and legally changed lanes? Oh wait - I know this one. Because she's a stupid bitch. That's WHY.

WHY can't we shoot whichever marketing guru decided to put freakin candy at children's eye level in the checkout lines? They wouldn't leave it there if it wasn't selling. So hey slacker Moms: WHY don't you consider not bribing your little brat with candy at the checkout?

WHY indeed.

Parenting, and Mermaids With Garden Hoses

Ha! Betcha THAT title made you look, eh? But seriously - I AM writing a blog about Parenting and about, well, Mermaids with Garden Hoses.

Let's start off with the parenting. A story broke last week in Tampa about a 16 year-old girl who didn't wear panties to school on picture day. She ended up sitting in the front row, in a skirt, on the bleachers for a club picture. You can see where this is heading. That's right - her privates ended up on display in the yearbook. Apparently the yearbook staff didn't catch it. The yearbook publisher didn't catch it. No one noticed it until some of the yearbooks went home.

There are just sooooooooooooooo many things wrong with this. Pantyless-girl's Mom is - of course - mortified that her little girl's vajayjay is now recorded for posterity in 2000 yearbooks. (Won't THAT be a blast at the 20 year reunion?!?) Yes - the yearbook staff should have caught it. Yes - the publisher should have caught it. No - the school probably should not have distributed the yearbooks. (Word is that not all of them were out yet when all this exploded, but the school decided the damage was already done, and handed out the rest.)

The girl claims that she went commando "because she didn't want pantylines."

A) There are undergarments out there that handle pantylines. B) What on earth is she wearing TO SCHOOL that's so tight she has to even worry about pantylines? C) Why would she - knowing she had on no panties - SIT DOWN ON THE FRONT ROW OF THE BLEACHERS? A teacher friend of mine also told me that the High School in question has stairs that you can see through as you go up. The girl has been going to school there for 2 years - she KNOWS this.

So face it Mom: little Britney-to-be just ain't that innocent. That girl did that on purpose. Was it to get attention? Was it so she could have a quickie in the bathroom? Who knows. She maybe didn't realize all that would be visible in a yearbook pic, but come on.

This is where the parenting comes in. Mom is now blaming everyone - the school, the yearbook staff, the photographer, the publisher - everyone for the existence of the picture. The only person she doesn't seem to be blaming is THE GIRL WHO CHOSE NOT TO WEAR PANTIES TO SCHOOL. She has pulled her daughter out of school. She wants her little baby - who was so victimized - to be able to have a make-up date for her exams. The school said "No." Rumor has it that Mom is threatening to SUE THE SCHOOL for not letting little Miss Commando have a separate make-up date.

Where exactly is the personal responsibility in this picture? (ha - funny pun - didn't catch that until I was editing...)This is just a tiny example of what's wrong with society today. No one makes the person at fault take responsibility for their own actions. Bart and I had a lengthy discussion about this, and here's what we think we would do in this situation...

IF she survived coming home after not wearing panties (meaning if Bart didn't kill her), we'd definitely pull her from school for a few days. We would definitely try to get the yearbooks recalled. But you know what? We would make her go to school and face the embarrassment of what she did. She would take her exams at school, or get a ZERO and have to repeat the grade. But she would so be going back to school to finish the year. And you bet your sweet patootie (pun intended) that she'd lose her car, cell phone, DS, etc. for the entire summer. Or longer.

C-O-N-S-E-Q-U-E-N-C-E-S.

On a totally different note...I went to the World Famous Weeki Watchee Springs on Saturday to see the Mermaids. ("World Famous since 1947") When I got back, Bart asked "Hey - did you get to see Mermaids breathing out of garden hoses?" And I said "Yeah - actually we did!" I'm a big fan of campy little backroad Florida places. Sadly, there aren't many of them left. This one probably looks a lot like it did 40 years ago. It is every bit as cheesy as you'd expect. They have added a "water park" called Buccaneer Bay. It consists of exactly 4 waterslides, one of which was closed for renovations. If you ever lived up around Pensacola, you may remember "Styx River Water World". This was a lot like that, but not as fun. The spring was pretty, when you could get a glimpse of it through the swarm of humanity swimming in it. The little "lazy river" was fun (sit on tube, float 200 yards, haul tube out, walk back to beginning. Repeat.) The Mermaid show was pure 100% cheese. There were skinny little girls with big boobs dressed up like Mermaids and taking breaths through garden hoses. (Note: if you have a little girl and you take her here, warn her that at Weeki Watchee, Ariel is a blond, and Flounder is a turtle named Chester.)

It was fun, though. Always good to check something off the "I've-lived-in-Florida-all-but-4-years-of-my-entire-life-and-been-in-Tampa-for-almost-5-years-but-haven't-seen-it" list. We did Gasparilla this year - check. We visited the miniature railroad up in Pasco County - check. I saw Jimmy Buffett in concert - check. I went camping at Fort DeSoto park - check. Hopefully in about 4 weeks we'll add "seen a Shuttle Launch" to it.

Hard to top Mermaids with garden hoses, though. I wonder if they were wearing their panties???

Redemption & WTF?

OK. So last time I went on and on about how I am "the.worst.wife.ever." I have managed to redeem myself somewhat. Last week, I secured a babysitter and bought tickets to the opening show of "Star Trek" without Bart knowing. This - it should be noted - was really hard for me, as I am terrible at 1) lying, and 2) keeping secrets. I had his sister call claiming a broken-down car, and ask for his assistance. Then I met him where she was supposed to be. SURPRISE! He had no idea. He's a huge Star Trek fan, and he was almost literally smiling ear-to-ear the whole movie. So to my husband: "Happy Two-Weeks-After-St.-George's-Day-Day!"

The movie, by the way, was stellar (excuse the pun.) I am a lightweight Star Trek fan. I think the original TV series was hokey, but liked some of the movies. Loved the "Next Generation" TV series, and liked the "Enterprise" one with Scott Bakula too. I know enough to not be totally lost. This movie was fun, had great action, good jokes, and spectacular casting. Karl Urban, in particular, in the role of Dr. "Bones" McCoy, was dead-on. I really liked it. I liked it so much, I would go see it again (if it didn't cost is $60 to go to the movies thanks to the whole babysitter thing.)

Now onto a little rant I'm calling "WTF?" Last week was Teacher Appreciation Week. Teachers work really, really hard, and take a lot of abuse for not a lot of pay on a regular basis. Most of them are really good teachers, too. I'm all for appreciating them. But you have got to be kidding me sometimes. At my daughter's school, the principal has said that "collections" are not allowed. We cannot ask for donations of any kind and then go use that money to buy a good gift card. I am a real fan of donations. Every family gives what they can, and the teacher gets something she can actually use and enjoy. No one has to know that family A gave $40,but family B could only give $5. Instead, we get a list of things we are supposed to send in each day. One day was a hand-made card from the student. One day was a book fro the class library. One day was a cut flower. This is the day that got me. The instructions VERY CLEARLY stated a "cut flower." It could be from a store, or from your backyard - didn't matter. So - as instructed - I cut a few little plumbago flowers and a vinca, tied them together into a tiny little bouquet, and sent it in with Karlin. (This "bouquet" was hardly that - it was so small it fit in my petite 7-year old's hand.) I went in to the classroom later that day to volunteer, and what it all over the teacher's desk? Bouquets. Roses. Carnations. There were also 3 potted plants too. Great. That's just great. Way to make my daughter look crappy and make me look like a cheapy just because we did what I was supposed to do. The one-upmanship in our part of Tampa is unreal. I heard that at one area school (not ours) last Christmas, they asked each family to provide a gift card of at least a certain amount, and then they tied the little cards to a tree. The teacher walked off with something like $400 in gift cards. Are you kidding me? Not that they don't deserve it or earn it, but holy crap. What happened to making Christmas ornaments? Or giving a potted Christmas Cactus? And then there's the sheer volume of things you have to do for Christmas, Teacher Appreciation Week, and End-Of-The-Year. You have the main teacher. In pre-K, you have an assistant teacher. You have the gifted teacher. The music teacher. The art teacher. The PE Coach. The piano instructor. The riding instructor. And then you're supposed to do something nice for the admin staff too - the Principal & Asst. Principal, the Preschool Directors (there are 3 of them), the secretaries. Last week I got a note asking for a donation for the janitorial staff. So - let's say hypothetically speaking, I either donated $5 for each of those people, or I purchased something that cost $5 for each of those people. That would - with both kids at both schools - add up to a total of $85. That is a lot to fork out. And let's be realistic: you can't really buy much for $5. And most of the donation requests ask for $10 or $20. I did appreciate that this year, there seemed to be a bit more emphasis on hand-made gifts instead of hugely expensive ones. But still.

So my Teacher Appreciation gift was sub-par. WTF indeed.

Why I Am THE: Worst. Wife. Ever.

So...I could brag to you all about how brilliant I am for successfully smuggling booze onto the cruise ship. (Not so much really. I'm actually the dummy because I was the only person who even bothered to hide it - everyone else just put it in their suitcases.) I could tell you the fun story about how some poor, pathetic, newlywed bridezilla was so bitter that she felt the need to bitch me - me of the I've-just-had-40-beers fame - out for saying something about Gator football games to her dad. WTF? I could tell you how I really wanted to go outside this evening and bludgeon the teen that was riding the jacked up motor scooter around and around and around and around the block. Sounded like a two-seater plane buzzing my house every 2 minutes. I could tell you about the job I impulsively applied for, and how I am scared that I did it. I'm scared if I don't get it. I'm even more scared that I will get it. I could tell you all about how I am getting really, really worried about how I seem to be forgetting stuff lately. A LOT of stuff. Stuff that happens one a week like soccer practice. Stuff that happens every year.

But instead, I'm going to tell you why I am the worst wife ever. My husband is the best. Best father in the world. Handsome and in great shape. Utterly patient with me. Doesn't make me get a job. Doesn't seem to mind too much that I'm overweight. Lets me go on cruises - or pretty much wherever I want - whenever I want. Is sweet and fun and smart and noble. I honestly could not ask for anything more - he is the total package.

So here's how I thank him: I forget St. George's Day. (I can't get the damned link to insert, so you'll have to copy and paste the old fashioned way: http://www.ctspanish.com/festivals/stgeorge.htm) This is a little tradition he started years and years ago, while he was in Grad School. He had a classmate from Spain that told him about St. George's Day. Since Valentine's Day is Bart's birthday, he always felt I was getting a little cheated. So he started St. George's Day. Obviously, that first one 13 or 14 years ago, I didn't participate in from a giving standpoint. But every single year since then, we have surprised each other with little gifts. Usually there's a book (in the St. George's Day tradition), and sometimes more. We never, ever discuss St. George's Day. It's just always our little special thing that we do to surprise each other every year. Every year since 1996.

And I forgot.

It's in my calendar - April 23rd, in red ink. Not that I should even need a calendar - I know this date. So imagine what a complete heel I felt like when he walked in - after a 14 hour business trip, no less - and presented me with my St. George's day gift. A book. And a Vampire book at that.

I am literally crying as I type this - that's how awful and shitty I feel. He's so awesome and I suck. He does everything for me, and I can't even remember to appreciate him enough to get him a little something on our one special day.

He's probably read this and tell me how silly I am and how it doesn't really matter. But I know it does. I know it would to me if I was on the other end. So all I can say is "I'm sorry. You deserve much better. I love the book, and you too."

I gotta go get some Kleenex now - the front of my shirt is all wet.

Subterfuge

This is my new favorite word - "subterfuge." I like it because a) it applies to my activities at the current time, and b) I spelled it correctly without having to look it up (a big accomplishment for a mush-headed mommy...), and c) I knew what it meant, even though I probably haven't heard the word in forever.

It is likely only a temporary replacement for my other two favorite words: "chipotle" (which Bart says isn't technically an English word, and therefore doesn't count), and "maelstrom", which not only looks and sounds cool, but is actually a cool thing.

Anyway, back to the subterfuge...

I am leaving on a cruise tomorrow - 3 nights and 4 days to the Bahamas. 8 girls, no husbands, no kids. It should be interesting. It could be dangerous. What clothing to bring has been a primary concern of mine. My other primary concern - and this will be no surprise whatsoever to anyone who knows me well - is how to sneak alcohol on board the ship. It's not that I can't afford the drinks on board. It's that I don't want to pay for them. And there's the whole thrill of the can-I-get-away-with-it aspect. So the research has been underway.

I actually got the best idea from someone at my hairdresser's place. So now, here's what I have:

A still-sealed-in-the-plastic-shrink-wrap package of 4 bottles of orange Vitamin Water. What's actually in the Vitamin Water bottles: 2 have straight up Mango Margarita mix, and the other two are half Mango Margarita mix, and half tequila. (The chick told me how she did it with water bottles and vodka. You carefully stretch the plastic shrink-wrap out a bit, and slide the bottle carefully out. Replace the water with vodka, then close the bottle back up, and slide it back into the wrap. The wrap looks a tiny bit stretched, but it's not anything that wouldn't occur under normal shipping and stocking circumstances.) I also have an entire bottle of Cuervo Gold split up into 2 zip-lock bags, which are in bigger zip lock bags, which are in bigger zip lock bags. Those are layered within a folded beach towel. I'm considering taping $5 bills to each alcohol item, in the event someone actually opens them up to look at them.

So, I'm going in with the assumption that they will confiscate my alcohol. If they do, I'll mooch some off my friends (there are 8 of us, and we're all sneaking booze. They aren't going to bust ALL of us!), or I'll just buy it. That's why God created credit cards.(insert sound of husband falliong out of chair here.) If they don't, then WOO HOO! Free drinks and I can post a soon-to-be-famous video on booze smuggling on YouTube!

I gotta go make sure my zip-lock bags aren't leaking tequila all over my clothes. Wish me luck and Bon Voyage. I'll see ya on the other side!

The Library?

What is with the Library these days? or rather, what is with the kids at the Library these days?!?

I loved the Library as a kid. I could spend hours reading books, looking at books, and listening to books being read. I even remember where both of the branches near my house were. Now that I'm a pseudo-adult, I still love the Library. One reason is that I still love books. Another reason is that although I still love books, I'm too cheap to actually buy those books unless I really, really, really love them. Seriously, though. How cool is it in this day and age that there is a place that will let you take home books for free on basically what is the honor system? You check it out, you read it. If you love it, you renew it and read it again. If you really, really love it, you return it and then go buy it. It's like test driving cars - you get to see if you like it first before you commit to a purchase.

It's always been my hope that my kids would love the Library too. Things look good with Karlin, seeing as we practically have to pry books out of her hands just to get her to eat or take a bath. Chase is intrigued too, and reads more than he thinks I know about.

My normal routine is to seek out the books I want on-line, and put a hold on them. When they are ready, I go check them out. The guilt seeps in, though, when I remember all my trips to the Library as a child. So I wait until after school, and take both kids to the Library. I pick up the 5 books I have on hold for Karlin while Chase hangs in the kid's library, and Karlin checks out the Juvie section. I run back and pick out two travel books on the Grand Canyon (in preparation for my 40th Birthday hike-to-the-bottom-of-hell-and-back-out-the-other-side-trip) and two dog training books (yet another effort to find some way to control the drooling smelly animal that is ruining my backyard.) When I get back to the Kid's Library, where do I find both kids? AT THE DAMNED COMPUTERS. Chase is playing some retarded-looking Barney alphabet game, and Karlin is playing on the Webkinz site. I was pissed. We have a computer at home, for crying out loud. Why do they even need them in the Kid's Library? In this day and age of PS3s and Webkinz and Ipods, do kids really need anymore reasons to NOT find books interesting?

So I tried to let them finish their stupid games while I perused my Grand Canyon book. But I couldn't concentrate because there was this lady in there with a wailing 3 month old. And I mean screaming at the top of her little baby lungs. For more than 15 minutes. I couldn't believe mom wouldn't, oh, I don't know, step outside or something until she could get that baby asleep. The doors to the Kid's Library were wide open, so it could easily be heard throughout the entire Library. (The branch right near our house is only 2 years old, and they put an interior Children's Library inside of it with sound-proof glass walls and doors. Great idea, right? Kids can be seen, but not heard! Unfortunately, the Library staff has some freakish aversion to closing the doors. I even asked them to once, since the doors to the Children's room is right next to the exit door, and the exit door is a motion door that leads right out to the parking lot. Chase used to dash and I thought it would be, oh, I dunno, safer if the kids didn't have immediate access to traffic? They wouldn't close it. Said something ridiculous like "it disrupts the air flow.")

So after 15 minutes, I checked out all of our books (I did force Chase off the computer and told him to go choose at least 4 books - he went to the 1st shelf and pulled off 4 books, then went back to Barney) and made my kids get off the computers. Insert pathetic whines here.

I tried to explain to them in my very best Mommy voice that the Library is for books, NOT for computer games. If they want computer time at home, they can ask for it, but we don't go to the Library to play on the ($#&^!*) computers!!!

Under normal circumstances, I could say that I spend too much time on the computer as well, I'm exempt from that lately, though, since I am now in my 4th reading of the entire Twilight Saga. I just cannot get enough of that crap! No audio books, though - I'm reading the real deal.

In the end I am disappointed. Disappointed that my kids don't "big puffy heart" the Library. Disappointed that they think of the Library as a game arcade. And disappointed that I've done such a poor job convincing them otherwise.

Guess I'll have to work on that one a bit. At least until my Sookie Stackhouse books become available.

Followers

Ooo! I have "Followers"! I didn't even know what that was, so I added the "gadget" and voila! "Followers" appear! I feel so powerful. Like Jesus. OK, maybe not Jesus. Who is that crazy motivational speaker guy? Tony Robbins? Maybe I feel like Tony Robbins. Or maybe Billy Graham. People follow me. I have "followers."

Don't worry. I won't let it go to my head. All I have to do is go try on bathing suits and I'll crash right back down to earth. I'm not even that sure that I look better than Tony Robbins or Billy Graham in a bathing suit.

Maybe you guys shouldn't follow too close...

Postscript: I initially had the name "Tony Little" in there, but as my 1 comment shows, Tony Little is the exercise infomercial guy. Tony ROBBINS is the motivational speaker guy. Hope no one stops following me.

Things I Learned While Shopping Today...

In no particular order:

* They don't actually make bathing suits for normal people. You have two choices: the bikini you maybe would have fit in 20 years ago, and the old-lady swimdress. I refuse to surrender to a skirted bathing suit.

* If you happen to find a bathing suit that is even somewhat appropriate, you'll never find one with underwire. Meaning if you have breasts at all, and you have to chase after your kids or your dog or whatever on the beach, you'll most likely give yourself a black eye. That's if those bad boys can even get up that high.

* The same issues that effect your bathing suit choices can also impact the availability of button-down shirts. Unless industrial-strength steel reinforced thread is used, there's no way those buttons are gonna hold.

* They actually sell "Minimizer Bras" (which Bart says are a crime in and of themselves.) Unfortunately, they don't help with the bathing suit/button-down shirt dilemma.

* Girls with a little - or a lot - of back (that means a big butt, as in "Oh. My. God, Becky. Look at her butt. It is so big.")should not wear patterned shorts. This includes the latest cute trend of plaid bermuda & madras shorts. It's just a horrible mistake.

* Girls with short legs cannot wear bermuda shorts. Even to Bermuda.

* Cost does not necessarily correct the bathing suit situation. You will likely look just as shitty in that $109 Land's End Suit as you do the $29.99 one at Marshall's.

* Invariably, when you actually have money to spend, you will not be able to find anything to buy. And when you are flat broke, the world is filled with cute stuff. On sale. Clearance.

* No matter how much you might wish, you cannot actually clothe yourself in purses.

* Sears - of all places - has cute purses. Take a left at the dishwashers, and go past the tools.

* It is possible to go into the dressing room with 15 or more items, and have not even one of them fit. At all.

* In 2009, apparently belts are back in. Someone should inform the fashion industry that I have not worn a belt in 8 years. Even some of the bathing suits had belts - as if I wasn't having trouble enough!

* "Tunic" is code word for "will make you look pregnant if you weigh more than 105 pounds."

* "BoHo" is code word for "tunic that will make you look pregnant if you weigh more than 105 pounds."

* If you are short but weigh more than 105 pounds, you are totally screwed. You weigh too much for "petite" clothes, and noraml clothes - such as polo shirts - fit you like a dress.

* New Orleans has it right. All Malls should be equipped with margarita and daquiri bars on each level. This may help with the bathing suit shopping.

* It's hard to find really cheap shoes these days. Who really wants to spend $30 on a pair of flip flops?

I should have bought a t-shirt that said something along the lines of "I went shopping for 4 hours, and all I got was this purse, 2 too-long polo shirts, and a pair of shorts."

I'm going to get a beer and read "Twilight" again. No one has to wear bathing suits in Forks.

Appliances With Pliers

As of Sunday evening, I had multiple appliance problems. The thermostat blinks and freaks out every time you try to adjust the temperature (although I'm not 100% convinced that Bart didn't rig that up somehow to keep me from turning the AC down.) The microwave is making some really weird rattling/buzzing sounds. The dryer knob broke off (that would be set o' pliers #1). And Bart broke the kitchen sink faucet. Again. (That would be set o' pliers #2.) I don't exactly know when he broke the faucet, but it wasn't fixed by the time I returned from 24 hours of Girl Scout Camping. I was dirty. I was exhausted. And I was pissed about the kitchen sink.

So - in an effort to spur my loving husband into action next time, I proceeded to drive to Lowe's Monday morning and buy not only a brand new faucet, but a new sink too. $273 of new stainless steel sink and faucet, to be exact. So there. In all fairness, we really did need a new sink too. Lord only knows what the people who lived here before us did to it. The enamel on the sink was rubbing off when we got here, and that was 4 1/2 years ago. So you can imagine how bad it looks now. Plus, in my endless hours of studying HGTV shows, I noticed that a new kitchen trend is the "single-basin sink." This is a big-ole bad boy sink, with no middle partition. I have wanted one for awhile. I mean, the 2-basin sink was designed to wash dishes on one side, and then rinse on the other. No one does that anymore. You either rinse on either side, and then put in the dishwasher, or you throw the paper plates in the garbage, and use the faucet to add water to your scotch.

I love my sink. I've seriously considered calling it "my precious." It's shiny and beautiful and mine all mine.

I obviously have gone completely bat shit.

When did my life get so very sad and pathetic that a NEW KITCHEN SINK would be the highlight of my year so far? And I have been known to drool over those huge LG washing machines and dryers - the ones that do an entire load of clothes in 36 minutes? And then there the oven that can boil water in 18 seconds. Whoa.

I try to maintain some level of hip. Facebook says I'm a "Pretty Hip Mom." (I didn't publish that on Facebook, of course, as we all know that using the word "hip" is a clear indicator that you are not hip at all...) I have read all 4 Twilight Saga books. (Team Edward!) I am going to see Jimmy Buffett next month. I'm hoping to go see No Doubt and Paramore in June. I know more than half the words to Lady GaGa's "Pokerface." (A song I initially hated, but it has now taken root in my head and won't go away.) I can name about half of the characters from the new Battlestar Galactica. (New as in newer than the old one, since the new one has been on for 4 seasons, and just ended.) I have an Ipod. I text message frequently. I still go out - without kids - with my friends and/or husband at least once a month. Usually more. When I'm alone on my car, I still crank up the tunes. Which probably looks ridiculous - me driving around in my family truckster blaring American Idiot or Decode.

But then there's the simple hard truth of the whole age thing. I can't seem to get around it. I freaked out when I heard Flo Rida's re-make of the old Dead or Alive song "You Spin Me Right Round." Have you heard it? It's talking about BJs, for Christ sakes! Right on the radio in the middle of the day!!! I suppose many of the kids don't even realize what they are talking about. I didn't know what the Cyndi Lauper song "Shebop" was about until I was in my 20's. I refuse to dress my daughter in the slutty clothing they put out there for 7 year olds these days. Thank God for school uniforms. Lately, I seem to want to spend time in restaurants and bars where I can actually hear another person speaking to me. I am so old.

Remember how sad it was at the end of St. Elmo's Fire, when they all decided to skip the bar because they had to work/job hunt the next day? And decided to go to brunch that weekend instead. That's me now. Except that the kids in St. Elmo's Fire were only like 24 when they decided that. (Proof of fiction in films. I was passed out at Seville Square or Flounders when I was 24...)

The only thing that makes me feel better? That end-of-St.Elmo's-Fire person? That's you too! That makes me feel better. That - and my beautiful new sink. My precious.

Top 10 Movie Quotes

So, if you're on Facebook, then you might have seen the little Top 10 Movie quotes thingie going around. You post your favorite 10 movie quotes, and people try to guess what they are. I have spent the better part of 2 days narrowing down and perfecting my list. It's really hard to come up with ONLY 10, and I DO NOT need IMDB to get my quotes.

Unfortunately, Facebook decided to get a "new look", and the Movie Quotes thingie has vanished. Bastards.

So, since I put soooooooo much time and thought and effort into them, here they are. (I'll put the movie at the bottom, in case you can't guess.) In no particular order:

* "Fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go though life, son."

* "It's da shooze."

* "Oh great! You've killed the invisible swordsman!"

* "You can always trust the dishonest ones to be dishonest. It's the honest ones you have to worry about."

* "Rabbit is wise. Rabbit is good."

* "You. Shall. Not. Pass!"

* "I'm your Huckelberry."

* "Give me the big knife." "I won't do it Johnny!"

* "Boomchacalacalaca. Boomchacalacalaca...why did the chicken cross the road? To get from the left to the right!"

* "My name's not f*$#*ng Warren!"

And, the answers are:

"Fat, drunk, and stupid is no way to go though life, son." - Deam Wormer, Animal House
* "It's da shooze." Agador Sparticus, The Bird Cage
* "Oh great! You've killed the invisible swordsman!" Dusty Bottoms, The Three Amigos
* "You can always trust the dishonest ones to be dishonest. It's the honest ones you have to worry about." Captain Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Caribbean - Curse of The Black Pearl
* "Rabbit is wise. Rabbit is good." Rabbit, Twister
* "You. Shall. Not. Pass!" Ganfalf, LOTR Fellowship of the Ring
* "I'm your Huckelberry." Doc, Tombstone
* "Give me the big knife." "I won't do it Johnny!" Ronny & co-worker, Moonstruck
* "Boomchacalacalaca. Boomchacalacalaca...why did the chicken cross the road? To get from the left to the right!" The entire company, Stripes
* "My name's not f*$#*ng Warren!" Warren, Empire Records

These are some of my all-time, absolute favorite movies. If you haven't seen them, check them out. I'd be hard-pressed to pick my favorite one or two. (Notice - no sappy romances or freakin' Oscar movies- Moonstruck excepted. No "English Patient" here. Hmmmm....a reflection of my personality and character? Very likely...)

Rose Colored Glasses

This blog is about my pathetic level of self esteem. Sort of.

I have a pretty good life and marriage. But you know, after giving birth to two children, and living contentedly in married life for more than 10 years, well, I've put on a little weight. OK, a lot of weight. God bless the rose colored glasses that Bart wears when he looks at me. I don't know where he got them or how they work, but I hope they never fall off by accident. He often says "none of us look like we did in college", which is true. (For those of you out there that hit your "awkward" stage in college and look better NOW, hats off to you. But you're in the vast minority, so you don't count in this discussion.) Most everyone I know is at least a little heavier than they were in college. Some have gray hair. Some have less hair. We all pretty much have wrinkles.

But here's the thing: if Bart and I had never met, and we were at the same restaurant with friends, and I walked by, I am 99.9% sure he would not even look at me. Or if he did, he would glance at me and think "lazy and non-athletic." Being a former college diver, Bart is still pretty fit. He runs and works out and plays hockey. If he walked by me in a restaurant, I am 99.9% sure I would look at him and think "hmmm - good looking guy. Wonder if he's married?"

The real unfairness of this assessment is that although I LOOK lazy and non-athletic, I'm actually not. I am fairly athletic. I would guess I am probably more fit than most of America. I can run 3 miles without stopping. Granted, it's not a blistering pace, but I can clear 11-12 minute miles without too much difficulty. I can hop on my bike and ride 12 - 14 miles. I can swim 1200-1500 yards non-stop (or stopping only to take a sip of water.) I have had exactly 2 friends try to go swim laps with me. Neither of them has ever gone with me again. One friend said "damn, girl, how do you DO that?" My point here is that I am fitter than I appear. (or put another way - objects in this mirror, or any mirror actually, appear larger than they are...)

Lucky me, I get to live in the fit capital of the world too. I love Tampa, but when we first moved here, I thought "Great. I am the fattest mom in Tampa." Granted, Chase was only 5 months old then, so at least I had an excuse. But seriously - Tampa has some of the fittest moms I have ever seen. They're all tan and fit in their running shoes and tennis skirts. I can get tan, but I don't know about the rest.

So I do battle every day. I force myself to exercise and I try to watch what I eat. It doesn't seem to do much good, but the battle rages on. Every once in a while Bart drives me so nutty that I want to smack him upside the head. But I can't.

I might knock those pretty colored glasses off his head.

What Do You Want To be When You Grown Up?

A couple of things have prompted this blog. My "baby" is entering Kindergarten this fall. Meaning both of my kids will now be in school full-time. As much as I have enjoyed my 5 years of naps and bon bons, it looks like it may be time for me to - dare I say it? - go back to work.

I don't really want to go back to work. And luckily for me, the current economic climate isn't exactly the best for job hunting. (yipee!) Then there's the challenge of finding something that is flexible enough for your family responsibilities, but still pays you enough to be worth your while.

And really...what DO I want to be when I grow up? I don't know. Do you remember that scene in "The Jungle Book" (the original one - not the sucky sequal with John Goodman as Baloo...) The part where the vultures are on the branches having a discussion. "Whatcha wanna do?" "I dunno, whatYOU wanna do?" Well, it's a little like that. I don't know. The one job I really loved required nights, weekends, and holidays, and really wouldn't even pay for my gas to get there and back.

You may be thinking to yourself "Ummm - newsflash sweetie, but you ARE grown up!" I guess I don't think of myself that way. Bart has a few of his friend's parents as Friends on his Facebook. I don't accept parents. Why? "Because I don't want any grown-ups on my Facebook account!" (Congratulations. All of you who read this and are friends on my Facebook account - you've just been demoted from "grown up" to "over-aged juvenile.")

Maybe that's why I like Disney World so much. You're not allowed to do anything but have fun there. Maybe that's why I'm recently obsessed with a quartet of books intended for college kids. Maybe that's why I have been known - in my adult life, even - to drink like a fish.

I am obviously going to have a REALLY hard time turning 40, which is in about 1 year and 2 months. UGH. So what AM I going to do?

Anyone? Bueller? Bueller? (Ah - yet another indicator of my advancing years - the Ferris Beuller joke...)

I Done Good

OK. This has been a crazy week. Make that month. My 7 year old daughter is losing teeth faster than I can page the tooth fairy to get her butt over here. My "baby" boy turned 5 this week. F-I-V-E. I turned down a job. I - potentially - lined up an opportunity for another one. I threw a birthday party that included a large group of 5 and 6 year old boys beating each other with Lightsabers. Crazy month.

But I done good. (Please note the sarcasm is that statement - I know it's not grammatically correct...) Those of you who know me well know that, well, I'm a little bit of a control freak. And I don't handle stress well. And I'm a disaster zone in the kitchen. So a birthday party where I have to keep kids occupied, execute games, and provide food, all while trying to keep anyone from bleeding or having to go to the hospital...well, that's enough to put me right over the edge.

It started with the Lightsaber Pretzel Sticks. I went online (mistake #1) to find ideas for the party. One idea seemed cool, and simple enough: you dip large pretzel sticks on white chocolate (tinted green or blue), and make "lightsabers." You wrap a little bit of aluminum foil around the handle and - voila! Edible lightsabers! So I bought all the supplies and went to work. Batch #1 was melted in the microwave, per the instructions of the box of white chocolate. It sort-of melted, but was really clumpy. The lightsabers looked more like green caveman clubs. Batch #1 was done double-boiler style. (I had had success with this making buckeyes at Christmas.) You get a pot of boiling water, and put another pot on top. The top pot holds the chocolate. This batch never melted at all - just clumped up, and then burned. Batch #3 was done straight-up in a single pot, low temperature. on the oven. Burned, burned, burned.

NORMALLY this would send me into fits. But yesterday? I said "OK, we're just going to have plain pretzel sticks." And then I cleaned up the mess. I'm fairly certain Bart thought I was running a high fever or something.

Then - during the party - it was time for a game. But the kids all said "We don't wanna game! We want to lightsaber fight some more!" Is that mutiny in the ranks? What about my SCHEDULE??? Again, normally I would have freaked out. But I didn't. I let them play for a bit, and then suggested we do a "Jedi Test" (also known as a "game".) Smoooooooooooth sailing.

The pizza arrived 45 minuted early. Did I freak? No way Jose - I just put the boxes in the oven. (The oven was turned off, in order to avoid a repeat of an ill-fated moving day way back in 1999.)

We didn't even get to the final game, and we didn't get to open the presents. Hysterics? Nope. We just opened the presents later (which I prefer anyway), and now we have a fun little space-like water bottle filled with candy. (I'll probably bring this up to the school or something.)

I never remembered to put out the fruit that I had my sister bring with her. 4 kids didn't show. I didn't get a chance to put balloons on the lamp posts in the neighborhood. The glow necklaces didn't work 100% perfectly. I didn't get a chance to blow dry my hair out all pretty - had to go with a ponytail instead. I forgot to put out the glow straws when we handed out drinks. I ordered too much pizza. I wanted to touch up the paint in the foyer. I didn't get around to really cleaning up the backyard.

So I just let it go. Let. It. Go. Those of of you who know me well KNOW what a huge, gigantic, enormous step this was for me. I put on a party - at my house - and didn't lose it a single time during the day. Not once.

And you know what? CHASE HAD A GREAT TIME. I think all the kids had a great time. So we'll be eating pizza for 3 days - we like pizza. The glow necklaces worked good enough. I put the glow straws in the goodie bags. Everyone found the house without balloons on the lamp posts. We had plenty of kids in attendance. No one looked at my hair. The foyer and the yard were non-issues.

I let it go - it wasn't perfect, but it was good. So I won't be the talk of the class for throwing the "Best Birthday Party Ever". And newsflash: my house is NOT a showroom. And I like to wear ponytails. I won't even see most for these people ever again after Pre-school anyway. Perfection is over-rated anyway, right?

I think as Moms, we get so wrapped up in doing it all "perfectly." Like our kid will be scarred for life if Darth Vader himself doesn't show up at the party. How much do you remember from your 5th birthday? If anything, you're probably like me - you remember cake and friends. Don't remember where it was, do you? Or what you did? Or even who was there? Me neither. I guess I'm trying to make a point in here somewhere, something other than "I didn't lose my mind yesterday." Let. It. Go. It's not perfect, but it's good enough. Most everything is.

My son can look back, look at the 65 pictures I took, and say "Hey Mom, you remember when we had that cool Star Wars party for my birthday?" And I will.

(And thank God - no more birthday parties until June!)

Hey Al Gore....

Hey Al Gore: It was 27 degrees here in Tampa last night. Where in the hell is your "Global Warming?"

Wow. What A Crappy Week.

OK, so the week started out with a Mom Drama that I won't even go into. Let's just say my Mom is creating unnecessary drama about something that no one (but her) remembers. When I didn't jump through the hoops like a good little doggy, she wielded my dead father like a weapon and insulted the hell out of me. Needless to say, we are no longer on speaking terms. Which sucks, because Chase's birthday is in a little over 3 weeks. How exactly am I supposed to explain that Granny is a nutcase, and that proving her point comes first with her?

And when you have a relative that is generally destructive in her relationships, how do you explain that to your kids? How do you shield them from it? I wish so much that my Mom would realize that the kids come first, but she just doesn't get it. She would rather lose her only grand kids than let whatever it is she's so upset at slide. How do I explain that to the kids?

Then, the next in the crapfest. I am doing the Iron Distance Challenge for the 3rd year in a row. (You have 31 days - January - to bike 112 miles, run/walk 26.2 miles, and swim 2.4 miles.) So I'm working out like a fiend, and doing weight watchers too. Guess how much weight I lost this week? .2 pounds. No - not "two" pounds..."two-tenths" of a pound. That's about a dixie cup of water, right? How is that possible? How is it that you do everything right (and then some), but don't get any progress? And it's not like it was just a bad week. I've only lost 2.6 pounds THE WHOLE ENTIRE MONTH. Ironically, the week of my biggest loss (1.6 pounds), I went and pigged out on Outback. Cheese fries, beer, steak - you get the idea. It's really, really, really discouraging. Even that book by Jen Lancaster -"Such A Pretty Fat" - doesn't get it. It's so much easier to suffer - through the dieting, through the workouts, whatever - if you get results. But what about when you get nothing? And everyone else at the stupid meeting is losing like 3,4,5 pounds a week? This is why I was sitting in the Weight Watcher parking lot, crying and eating my free sample of "Whole Grain Crispies". (Which, by the way, taste exactly like lightly salted dirt.)

So you thought CrapFest 2009 was over? No way! Then comes the Horseback Riding. Karlin loves horses. No - Karlin LOVES horses. Always has. She had been doing some very lightweight, introductory riding with Ms. Sue for about 2 1/2 years. Then Ms. Sue let me know that Karlin had learned about all she could learn from her - it was time for proper riding lessons. OK. So we checked it out, and found a great place (Ms. Sue recommended it), and signed her up. $40 a lesson. Bart balked. I justified it by saying that we've tried everything, and this is the only thing she really loves. Gymnastics? She hated it (but loved to wear the leotards.) Dance? Hated that too. Soccer? Ditto. (Although it was always cute to see her daydreaming in the middle of a field full of frenzied 5 and 6 year olds...) So OK - Bart said yes, and we were off to the races (excuse the horse pun...) We bought her her first "real" riding helmet for her birthday. Then she needed boots (which I practically stole off of Ebay brand new.) Then she needed riding pants (Consignment) and gloves (Consignment.) So far so good. She's been riding for 5 months and is doing great. Each lesson lasts for about an hour and a half. She spends about 20 minutes helping to groom and tack the horse. Then she gets a 40 minute lesson. Then she spends another 20 minutes or so untacking and grooming and watering the horse. She's been loving it, although I do think it's been more physical exertion than she was betting on.

So a few weeks back I find out that there's going to be a Horse Show at the Barn where she takes her lessons. Her instructor said that she's ready for one of the beginner classes - "Lead Line Walk/Trot." OK - cool. Karlin wants to do it. Great. Then I find out that there's a specific uniform requirement for shows. You can't wear riding pants - they have to be Jodphurs. With straps that go under the boot. And she has to have a white shirt, but it can't be a regular white shirt. It is a tailored long-sleeved white shirt with tailored, fitted arms. Then she has to have a vest - black with colors on the front. And then a tie (usually to match the vest.) Most people buy helmet covers too, to coordinate with the vest. Their hair has to be in a bun, secured by a barrette (usually a barrette that coordinates with the vest.) The hair is held under the helmet with hair nets. Oh - and they're supposed to wear make-up too. Now, anyone who knows Bart could probably hear the tires screeching at the words "make-up." But that is the least of our problems. The "standard" riding outfit runs about $325, with custom riding suits (3 shirts, 3 pants, 2 vests, 1 jacket, etc.) around $2,000. Yep - that's TWO GRAND. So while I am nodding politely and trying not to hyperventilate, she starts telling me the cost of the show. I had seen the flier, and it said clearly "$20 per class." I can handle $20. But then she pointed out that the $20 fee was for riders with their own horses. If you used one of the barn's horses, it was $250. Karlin's class is a small one, and she would - literally - be on the horse for about 10 minutes. And then you have to tip the Grooms too. If she were to compete in two classes (which she's not ready for yet), then it's only $275. So I get home, Bart is in the kitchen, and I go straight to the fridge for a beer. I drink most of it before I say "You are going to kill me."

The thing is...I kind of got Karlin into all this. I mean, I knew it was expensive, but I didn't think it was THIS expensive. Bart and I are pretty comfortable - we live in a pretty nice house and have a pool and drive OK cars and take decent vacations. But we're a one income family. Who ARE these people who can afford to spend upwards of $500 a pop for their 7 year olds to sit on a horse for 10 minutes? Not us, that's for damned sure.

So we decided that Karlin needs to sit this one out. She's never actually even seen a show (none of us has)...she just wants to do the show because her instructor says she should do the show. We really want to support her in what she loves, but we want her to first gather enough information to know what she loves. I mean, she's 7 years old. We want her to watch one first, and train awhile longer. That gives us time to do a little research, to get the outfit together, and maybe have her compete in more than one class. It made sense to us, and after we conferred with Ms. Sue, she agreed. (She even offered to loan us a horse down the road, to help with the costs. Ms. Sue is the best.)

Of course, when Bart told Karlin she wasn't going to be in the show, she freakin' LOST IT. She's so disappointed and so upset. I know that we are making the right choice for now, but still. I got her into all this, and now I can't deliver. And she's held up all of her ends of the bargain too - making perfect grades, excelling at her piano lessons, doing great in Girl Scouts. So now I feel even worse.

So basically, this Fat Lady is in a big fight with her mother, and is simultaneously breaking her own daughter's heart.

Shit. What a Crappy Week.