The Mommy Show!!! (wait for wild applause to die down)
We're T-3 hours until the Mommy Show takes the stage for a two week run. The Scientist is entering his "busy season" around here and that means that this fish tank is about to get an overhaul. He'll be gone for two, home for two and then gone for four. Stop gasping- it only makes it worse.
Seriously though, I know what I'm doing by now when it comes to producing The Mommy Show. It's sort of like exam time when I was in college. There wasn't much to do other than...well, study. Survival and study. That was it. The Mommy Show is sort of like that. Just get it done while maintaining as much sanity as possible. Simple.
As usual, I am already planning what home improvements I will be doing while The Show is running. Usually, it's just a matter of rearranging furniture. This time, though, I have bigger plans. Usually, the term "bigger plans," when used by me and when used in the context of home improvement, can only end in disaster. However, I'm so optimistic this time.
My first project? Stripping the wallpaper off a bathroom wall. No clue how it's done, but I'm about to find out. Any tips? Pointers? Suggestions? Words of wisdom or caution?
Monday, July 27, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
God Bless 'im
The Fish Tank was hit this week. Strep throat for the third time this year. Bless his heart, The Scientist was a gem through it all (did I mention that I was the only one who got it?). Obviously, the ship sinks when Mommy goes down and someone else has to take command.
When I had to take to my bed for hours after unloading the dishwasher, he took the day off to help.
When it became obvious that I would be useless for child-activity-deliveries-and pick-up, he became the human taxi service.
When I needed my antibiotics picked up from the pharmacy, he raced out to get them.
When I moaned about the pain, he suggested and delivered Motrin.
He reminded me to drink lots of fluids and to rest more than I thought I had to.
He was rightfully proud of himself after all of this. He did seem to have a solution to everything. The man had it HANDLED. So much so, that on day 2 of antibiotics, when I lay listless on the bed, remarking that not much hurt anymore but that I just wanted to sleep for hours and wondered if I would ever have the energy to be normal again, he asked with all seriousness:
"Hmmm...do you want me to go out and get you an energy drink?"
I respectfully declined.
When I had to take to my bed for hours after unloading the dishwasher, he took the day off to help.
When it became obvious that I would be useless for child-activity-deliveries-and pick-up, he became the human taxi service.
When I needed my antibiotics picked up from the pharmacy, he raced out to get them.
When I moaned about the pain, he suggested and delivered Motrin.
He reminded me to drink lots of fluids and to rest more than I thought I had to.
He was rightfully proud of himself after all of this. He did seem to have a solution to everything. The man had it HANDLED. So much so, that on day 2 of antibiotics, when I lay listless on the bed, remarking that not much hurt anymore but that I just wanted to sleep for hours and wondered if I would ever have the energy to be normal again, he asked with all seriousness:
"Hmmm...do you want me to go out and get you an energy drink?"
I respectfully declined.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Mi Dojo Es Su Dojo
Conversation with The Scientist today as we drove home from the last day of Two Fish's soccer camp:
TS: You know, I'd be really happy if he never played football- just soccer.
Me: Yep.
TS: I mean...he'll probably WANT to play football to get chicks. But, he's not going have any problem getting chicks. They're going to be All Over him.
Me: Huh. Well, I sort of hope not. I hope he has to try a little bit at least.
TS: Are you kidding? He's never going to have to try at all. They're just going to come to him.
Me: You think so, huh?
TS: Oh, yeah. You know why? Because he's been raised in my dojo.... Why are you looking at me like that?
Me: [Avert eyes. Close eyes. Raise eyebrows slightly. Slowly shake head while sighing dramatically]
TS: You know, I'd be really happy if he never played football- just soccer.
Me: Yep.
TS: I mean...he'll probably WANT to play football to get chicks. But, he's not going have any problem getting chicks. They're going to be All Over him.
Me: Huh. Well, I sort of hope not. I hope he has to try a little bit at least.
TS: Are you kidding? He's never going to have to try at all. They're just going to come to him.
Me: You think so, huh?
TS: Oh, yeah. You know why? Because he's been raised in my dojo.... Why are you looking at me like that?
Me: [Avert eyes. Close eyes. Raise eyebrows slightly. Slowly shake head while sighing dramatically]
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Please Don't Call Out The Dogs
After a splendid holiday yesterday, during which I did absolutely nothing I didn't want to do and quite a number of things I DID want to do, I dozed off for a one hour nap after church today. Imagine my surprise when I awoke to an empty house. No husband. No children.
The authorities have not been notified and no search party is looking.
The authorities have not been notified and no search party is looking.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Flip Out!
Very exciting day around here! After years of hard work, One Fish is finally the proud owner of a gymastics competition leotard. Although her first competition isn't until September, I think she would gladly wear this every day until then!
Running from De-Feet
It is seldom that I am forced to admit defeat. However, after six months, I am officially un-running. Six months ago, I was a beginner. Full of possibility and promise and determined to prove to myself that I could run 5K if I really, really wanted to badly enough. Now, six months later, I am confident in my ability to run 3miles if I really want to (which I still don't). And if I know I could run 3 miles, I'm darn sure I could run 5K. I can run farther than I ever have in my life. I have lost not a single pound, which doesn't really bother me because it wasn't the point to begin with, but it does seem as though loss of at least a little poundage should be a delicious by-product of all that sweat and tears, doesn't it? But, no matter.
I am somewhat horrified to admit this, but I have actually grown to enjoy running the tinsiest little bit. I can honestly say that I have never experienced a runner's high. Runner's exhaustion? Yes. Runner's pain? Yes. Runners irritation? Yes. No runner's high, though. What I have gotten out of it, is an enjoyment of being by myself with my music turned up, knowing that when I am finished, I will have done my duty to myself for the day. No little voices in my ear (not that I don't love those little voices). No dishes to wash. No phones ringing.
I even developed a purpose to running. I ran for One Fish. I even challenged her to a race one day (after I put up with a sufficient amount of trash talk and laughter from her about Mommy "running.") We determined to see who could run farther- not faster. I KILLED her little muscular gymnasts body. I was like the Energizer bunny. The tortoise to the hare. The little engine that could. It wasn't pretty and it involved lots of huffing and puffing and sweat, but I was determined to win and win big because I wanted her to remember losing an endurance race to her 36 year old mother. When she is 36 (or 26, or 16), I want her to remember that she is from a line of tough-as-nails women and that she's one too. It's not that no other mommies run. Lots and lots of the mommies I know are beating the pavements. Faster and harder and longer than I am. But, running is not something she'd seen me do before. I wanted her to know that I could. WE could. Whenever and however we wanted. I wanted her to know that I kick ARSE and I finish the job when I put my mind to something. And, I'm not about the business of raising a wimpy chick.
I have read the magazines and taken the advice of pros and seasoned runners. I run for a bit and walk for a minute to give my joints a break. I bought the really good shoes. I stopped running hills and if I happen across one, I run up it and walk down it. I run slowly and never more than 2-3 miles. I am stronger for this and am looking forward to my next physical challenge.
I have also done terrible things to my hips. For months, I have been unable to turn over in bed or rise to a standing position without hip pain. At first I thought it was just protesting muscles. But, after this much time, a consult with a doctor and a massage therapist, I am convinced it is my body's way of telling me to cut it out already. Those poor hips didn't start out with the benefit of good joint genes in the first place and have now carried babies for 27 months in utero and countless months after birth. And they're over it already.
So, while I have not yet run the 5K race I set a goal for, I am checking the box. I now know I could if I wanted to and am moving on. I will miss being able to cover as much ground in as little time. I will miss the feeling of complete exhaustion at the end of a "good" run. I will miss being able to say with confidence that I can run 2 miles. However, I will not miss the running itself. Running still sucks and it still hurts.
What's next? I'm considering a half-marathon. Would you laugh if I walked it?
I am somewhat horrified to admit this, but I have actually grown to enjoy running the tinsiest little bit. I can honestly say that I have never experienced a runner's high. Runner's exhaustion? Yes. Runner's pain? Yes. Runners irritation? Yes. No runner's high, though. What I have gotten out of it, is an enjoyment of being by myself with my music turned up, knowing that when I am finished, I will have done my duty to myself for the day. No little voices in my ear (not that I don't love those little voices). No dishes to wash. No phones ringing.
I even developed a purpose to running. I ran for One Fish. I even challenged her to a race one day (after I put up with a sufficient amount of trash talk and laughter from her about Mommy "running.") We determined to see who could run farther- not faster. I KILLED her little muscular gymnasts body. I was like the Energizer bunny. The tortoise to the hare. The little engine that could. It wasn't pretty and it involved lots of huffing and puffing and sweat, but I was determined to win and win big because I wanted her to remember losing an endurance race to her 36 year old mother. When she is 36 (or 26, or 16), I want her to remember that she is from a line of tough-as-nails women and that she's one too. It's not that no other mommies run. Lots and lots of the mommies I know are beating the pavements. Faster and harder and longer than I am. But, running is not something she'd seen me do before. I wanted her to know that I could. WE could. Whenever and however we wanted. I wanted her to know that I kick ARSE and I finish the job when I put my mind to something. And, I'm not about the business of raising a wimpy chick.
I have read the magazines and taken the advice of pros and seasoned runners. I run for a bit and walk for a minute to give my joints a break. I bought the really good shoes. I stopped running hills and if I happen across one, I run up it and walk down it. I run slowly and never more than 2-3 miles. I am stronger for this and am looking forward to my next physical challenge.
I have also done terrible things to my hips. For months, I have been unable to turn over in bed or rise to a standing position without hip pain. At first I thought it was just protesting muscles. But, after this much time, a consult with a doctor and a massage therapist, I am convinced it is my body's way of telling me to cut it out already. Those poor hips didn't start out with the benefit of good joint genes in the first place and have now carried babies for 27 months in utero and countless months after birth. And they're over it already.
So, while I have not yet run the 5K race I set a goal for, I am checking the box. I now know I could if I wanted to and am moving on. I will miss being able to cover as much ground in as little time. I will miss the feeling of complete exhaustion at the end of a "good" run. I will miss being able to say with confidence that I can run 2 miles. However, I will not miss the running itself. Running still sucks and it still hurts.
What's next? I'm considering a half-marathon. Would you laugh if I walked it?
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Rules To Live By
Note to Governor Sanford of the great state of South Carolina:
Dear Mark,
It seems that you must have missed a class that the rest of us all managed to fit into our Course Schedule For Life. So, I thought I'd give you my abridged notes from the class. They may be helpful in the future.
* Don't be a cheater. This seems to be pretty cut and dry with no detail needed.
* If you do cheat, immediate groveling is required. To avoid further humiliation, said cheating must be ceased immediately after telling one's spouse about the infraction.
* Referring to one's mistress as one's SOULMATE should never be done on television. It's creepy. And weird. And smarmy. And probably grounds for your spouse pulling a Bobbit on your stupid self.
* If a worldwide icon should happen to die while you are embroiled in a scandal, for goodness sake, take advantage of it and go underground. Way, way underground. Do not hold anymore press conferences.
* There is no TRY. Either love your spouse or don't. If you disregarded all previous life rules, then you obviously DON'T. Cut your losses, move on and spare everyone around you further pain and humiliation. You should have thought about her family money you'd be leaving behind before you found another "soulmate."
* Don't cry in public. Especially if you should happen to be an elected official. No one will think you're sensitive. They'll only think you're more of a scumbag than the topic of your press conference has already shown you to be.
* Leave your cell phone on. Pay for an international plan if you have to. But, leave the phone on.
* No matter how much your mistress seems to love you, she will undoubtedly be less enamored with you after you are no longer governor, are poor and have child support to pay for all those boys.
I'm sure my readers can think of more?
Dear Mark,
It seems that you must have missed a class that the rest of us all managed to fit into our Course Schedule For Life. So, I thought I'd give you my abridged notes from the class. They may be helpful in the future.
* Don't be a cheater. This seems to be pretty cut and dry with no detail needed.
* If you do cheat, immediate groveling is required. To avoid further humiliation, said cheating must be ceased immediately after telling one's spouse about the infraction.
* Referring to one's mistress as one's SOULMATE should never be done on television. It's creepy. And weird. And smarmy. And probably grounds for your spouse pulling a Bobbit on your stupid self.
* If a worldwide icon should happen to die while you are embroiled in a scandal, for goodness sake, take advantage of it and go underground. Way, way underground. Do not hold anymore press conferences.
* There is no TRY. Either love your spouse or don't. If you disregarded all previous life rules, then you obviously DON'T. Cut your losses, move on and spare everyone around you further pain and humiliation. You should have thought about her family money you'd be leaving behind before you found another "soulmate."
* Don't cry in public. Especially if you should happen to be an elected official. No one will think you're sensitive. They'll only think you're more of a scumbag than the topic of your press conference has already shown you to be.
* Leave your cell phone on. Pay for an international plan if you have to. But, leave the phone on.
* No matter how much your mistress seems to love you, she will undoubtedly be less enamored with you after you are no longer governor, are poor and have child support to pay for all those boys.
I'm sure my readers can think of more?
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