I want my mommy


That’s not Evan talking, it’s me, the alleged grown-up in the house. Some days I just want to be the 4 year old. I really do. I want to say heck with all this responsibility nonsense. I want to wail and moan and have my mommy make it all better. That day was today.

If one more person throws food…

If one more person jumps in bed with me pre-dawn begging to play Scrabble (wtf?!)…

If one more person empties out every lower cabinet and drawer in the kitchen and bathroom…

If one more person acts a fool in the grocery store…

If one more person drops a full sippy cup of milk on my bare foot…

If one more person asks the same question 82 times…

…then I’ll know I still have the best job in the world. Because I answer every question and I bandage every boo-boo (even my own) and I scrape discarded food off the walls and out of Bailey’s fur and I like it. But tonight I am tired, I am bleary-eyed and a few hours past the reasonable and acceptable distance between two showers. Without a doubt, life is good and once I’ve decided that no one is being put on craigslist today, I can deal with the rest. I have two beautiful sleeping babies upstairs and the condition of my manicure is my receipt for this day, paid in full. They put me through it and I lived to tell. I came, I saw, I conquered two small children and a tub of Nutella.


Halloween Math


1 fun size Snickers = barely tasted it

1 fun size Snickers + 1 fun size M&M’s = now we’re getting somewhere

1 fun size Snickers + 1 fun size M&M’s + 1 fun size Kit Kat = I’ve already gone this far so I might as well keep going

1 fun size Snickers + 1 fun size M&M’s+ 1 fun size Kit Kat + another Snickers but with almond this time = almost a meal at this point so why stop

1 fun size Snickers + 1 fun size M&M’s + 1 fun size Kit Kat + another Snickers but with almond this time + oh snap, is that a full size Butterfinger in there? = massive stomachache

Who decided that these are “fun size” anyway? What kind of fun is that? No fun was had. When I think “fun” and “chocolate”, I want Max Brenner involved, not The Mars Corporation. I think the “Switch Witch” is coming this week to swap out the candy for new books. It’s not for Evan’s sake but for my own. I simply cannot handle the pressure of having that orange plastic jack-o-lantern bucket leering at me from the kitchen counter, overflowing with useless temptations. Get it out of here and let’s move on to pumpkin pie.

International Moms of Mystery


Last night I popped my collar and went to dinner with Tha Ladieees at Nodding Head Brewery & Restaurant in Center City. Since “going out” as a mature-like person means you actually drive yourself to and fro and not cab it or just stay over wherever you land, pre-partying at home now means having a Coca-Cola (Cherry!). Oh well. Times are a changin’. But my sweet boy Evan said I looked “snazzy” and “sharp” so I was all set to go. In my minivan.

We wore our standard going-out black (however I was a maverick this time with the chocolate brown) and had a great time eating delicious food, drinking opaque beer with a lot of adjectives, laughing too loudly, and as to be expected, eventually talking about poop. You just can’t put 4 moms in the same room without discussing poop. {sigh}

I had a a great time, loved this particular friend mix and was so thrilled to actually meet another vegetarian. We’re like unicorns, I told her, just without that annoying horn thing. After dinner we walked to Capogiro. “Gelato Artisans” indeed…¬† I had Acorn Squash and Cinnamon gelato! Delish! I would love to see my mother-in-law’s face as she reads that. She already thinks I eat weird food, so this is one that can go to the top of the list! Mmm, mmm, good!

Thanks ladies, great night!

Pardon my Progress


My life is a construction zone. I should wear yellow and black at all times to warn potential friends and acquaintances that work is being done and may or may not be completed. I generally only finish things to about 85%, and then there’s only a 50% chance of that. Problem is, I love to start new things, but finishing them doesn’t hold the same appeal, excitement and butterflies-in-my-stomach intensity. I trip over myself to get to Joann’s to buy needle nose pliers and 24 gauge silver wire, only to forget what exactly I was going to do with them. Polymer clay and jump rings? Same story. It also happens with chores around the house. A few days ago, I found myself with some unexpected free time and used it to finally start cleaning out the drawers in my room that wouldn’t shut to make room for Fall clothes. I was so delighted by my own ambition. Sure I could have watched the Real Housewives episode that was calling my name from the DVR, or I could have lost myself in Pinterest or I could have done one of my 500 projects-in-waiting. But no, I did the responsible thing and started the Big Seasonal Switch that has to happen when you live in a house with closets made for Smurf clothes. Our off-season clothes have to stay in the attic. Bringing them down at the same time as our in-season clothes makes us look like we are exceeding the occupancy limit for a single family home, so I have no choice but to first move the Summer stuff up, then bring the Fall stuff down if we want room to walk around here. IM-freaking-POSSIBLE. Because of a little something I like to call self-diagnosed ADD. My ability to stay on task is made possible only by existing in a white padded room. And even then, I would find myself examining the stitches on the padding to avoid finishing the work at hand. It’s almost like I don’t like achievement. If there were an award for most ambitions, then would I be a real winner!

This morning I had a lightbulb moment. It wasn’t a 100 watt bulb… more of a chandelier bulb, but a bulb all the same. When I woke up I picked up my phone and instead of checking the weather, email or my ebay auctions as usual, I went to Pinterest and checked the “Fitness” page. Why I was possessed to do that, I have no idea. Possessed is the only word to explain why that would have happened. I didn’t even know they had a Fitness page but something made me do it. Back story: As with everything, starting a workout routine has the same sparkle to it every time I pick it back up after a period of abandonment. New shoes! New sports bras! Find the yoga mat! Whee! And then I go down that roller coaster of endorphin-induced emotions and find that if I have to trudge back up the proverbial hill, I would be better off just starting a new hobby that doesn’t have any hills. There’s a “but” here, and it’s big enough to have an extra “t” in it. This time, I’ve decided it’s not just for me. It’s for my kids. And nothing makes me move my caboose more than needing to do something for my kids. I am their primary example. They spend more time face-to-face with me than anyone else and if anyone is going to show them how to live well, it has to start here. I am a huge advocate of living a healthy lifestyle, but pure exercise has not been a way of life around here, and I am ready for it to be. Evan still has the enthusiasm for the outdoors of a kid not yet affected by video games and I need to capitalize on that before it slips away. And I need to show him that my big ideas can be reality and that when you work for something, it can be done. Follow-through produces results. (Right?) If only I could convince myself first.

So here was the actual lightbulb moment: I saw a piece of jewelry on the Pinterest fitness page that was metal stamped with roman numerals and a tiny rhinestone. I checked out the picture more closely because I thought it was pretty, yet seemed to be mis-filed. It said “XXVI.II” Working through that, I read “26.2”. Since this is a fitness inspiration page¬† (lightbulb flickering here), I think that must be how long a marathon is! At Evan’s school recently, I’ve noticed several people have bumper stickers that say “26.2” and I thought it looked like a bible verse or something, which was odd because, well, you know. But now I see! Those people are runners! There are people (with kids who have to be at school at 9am just like mine) getting out of bed and putting one foot in front of the other and at the end of it, they can say they accomplished something totally insane. My own personal “total insanity” would be just moving that decimal point over a little and pushing through 2.62. A minithon we’ll say. Maybe I could do it 10 times and add them up.

So where do I start? Step 1: Log the eff off the computer. Step 2: Move your body. Step 3: Enjoy the reward. Sounds simple enough. Where are my new running shoes? In my mind (lit by a single environmentally-friendly chandelier bulb), they are starting to sparkle again.

To be continued…so pardon my progress…

What I learned from the Kardashians…


Yeah, you read that right. There is something to be learned from everyone, including the you-know-whos. So that the time spent wasted watching that fluff wasn’t a total loss, here are a few takeaways…

1- Having a wedding has nothing to do with getting married. I actually already knew this, but 4 exhausting hours of Kim’s Fairytale Wedding just reminded me of this fact. I never say never (thanks Justin Bieber) but I think I can confidently say that I will NEVER have another wedding. Thank goodness. That is a just a mess of money and drama-in-the-making. I don’t even see us renewing our vows unless they get really, really stale and if that is the case, I don’t think a party would help.

2- Disrespecting your spouse or spouse-to-be in public is such a violation of the agreement you have with one another as partners. If Kim Kardashian is producing and starring in a television special about HERSELF, why is she allowing the world to be voyeurs to her relationship problems? To make her seem more “real”? I am uncomfortable watching people argue like that. I always think that if this is what you allow people to see, what horrors are you keeping behind closed doors? They do not make this look like a good idea, but I really hope it works out. I love a good love story, but so far this doesn’t feel like one. Fingers crossed for you Kardumphries!!

3- Product placement is never seamless, regardless of the production cost of a particular show. Kris Jenner to Bruce Jenner: “Kylie, I discovered, is really, really a smart kid. There’s this new website she found because she wants to go to Hawaii on a family vacation but I told her no, it’s too expensive <<<insert me gagging. Too expensive, really? Why don’t you sell the hem of one of Kim’s 3 custom Vera dresses and you could take the whole town there. Just sayin’. >>> then she went on to this website called living social and she found everything like 50% off…and I actually found massages…like a whole massage package…twice the massages!” “That’s fabulous!” exclaims Bruce right on cue. Here comes the dramatic music and they’re back to discussing Kim’s pre-marital discord.

4- The love shown to each other by those sisters is something that should be taken as an example and a lesson. No matter how much money they have or how much of a parallel universe they live in, the way they treat each other is admirable. They truly define unconditional love. I’ve never seen anyone, sibling or friend, who is able to fight like they can but acknowledge all the way through it that it will be worked out because they love each other and family is everything. I don’t know anyone with a familial relationship like that! It is truly enviable. I have a sibling and She Who Must Not Be Named and I are the opposite of Kardashian sisters. Over the years we have been more likely to poke each other in the eye with a stick rather than hug it out. I think the Kardashian kind of relationship can’t be cultivated but it could be emulated to a degree. Is this a fake-it-till-you-make-it kind of situation? Is it ever too late? When has too much damage been done? I saw this quote on my beloved Pinterest today and it just may define my problem…

Sometimes we expect more from others because we would be willing to do that much for them.

I couldn’t figure out to whom I should originally credit that quote. I didn’t make it up myself, but I will certainly be thinking of it as I work through my feelings about this situation. I am not her and she is not me and we can’t write scripts for each other so that we always say the right thing. That would be cool, right?! To stop expecting so much from someone is to say that I accept the other person as being unable to provide it, and to not lose my dignity in the process says that I am bigger and more mature than I thought possible. I know I am not there yet, but with the help of my therapist and my Pinterest, maybe I’ll get there. I think the phrase “love you like a sister” is right up there with “sleeping like a baby”. Babies don’t really sleep all that well, and if a friend told me they loved me like a sister I’d have to ask for clarification on exactly what kind of a sister. “A Kardashian sister? Cool, thanks! I’m sort of a Khloe, so you can be Kim!”

Can’t wait for the day when I am able to say (and hear) “love you like a sister”, sister.

“Pass the tsimmes…do you watch porn?”


Can you match that phrase to the person who said it to me at the Rosh Hashanah dinner table last night?

A) teenage nephew

B) 88-year-old great aunt

C) smarmy uncle

If you picked “B”, you are correct! Thank you great aunt H for the best laugh of the day. We were enjoying a lovely Rosh Hashanah dinner at my mother-in-law’s house and exchanging otherwise normal conversation about the type of television shows we like when she dropped that bomb in the brisket. She had shared with us that she and her husband used to watch Sex and the City, but nothing could have prepared me for the follow up question! That laugh took us right up through the Honey Cake and fortunately there were no further interrogations!
My great-grandmother (whom I was lucky enough to have in my life until I was 28 and she was 94!) used to be completely offended by, yet somewhat obsessed with sex. What a hilarious dichotomy to find in an older person. She watched soaps (as does everyone in my family) and I almost think it was for the sex. She used to say “Look at that! They’re just eatin’ each other up! Shooooot. It’s disgustin’. They ought be ‘shamed.” But did she keep watching? You bet your daytime drama she did.
So why did Aunt H feel the need to ask about our personal viewing habits? We never got back around to why, but it was a great moment and I didn’t mind. Well, at least until the inevitable happens in a day or so…. “Moooommm, what’s porn?”



Last night I did the funnest thing I have done since the last really fun thing I did. I dressed up my mom-self in leftover-from-my-twenties cosmetic glitter (I saw no expiration date) and went with a new friend to see SYTYCD! For all of you with a life beyond reality TV, that’s “So You Think You Can Dance”. The live tour was in town so off we went. We had a fantastic time! Hubs used his lightning-fast Ticketmaster skills to snag us some really great seats. We were eye level with the dancers which really gives you the full effect that you don’t get watching it on television. Demonstrating superhuman feats of flexibility and strength, these incredible young people seemed to float on stage and land as lightly as butterflies. As someone who once broke her foot just walking through the house, this seems like an amazing trick to me but they do it over and over again with seemingly no effort. I am in awe of these beautiful dancers!

Since the label “dancer” can be applied loosely and by anyone, I’ll delight you with a photo of me when I “…thought I could dance, dance, dance, dance.”

This was an early clogging recital. Does anyone outside of Stone Mountain, Georgia know what clogging is? I’m not sure if this is a national thing or not because I haven’t heard of anyone, anywhere doing it since the early 80’s. For most people, clogging is what happens to your tub drain when you wash your hair. For me, it was a toe-tapping good time.

Moving on a few years,… ta da! Doing more posing than actual dancing, here I am on the hood of my sweet ride in high school, as a proud and sexy member of the Redan High School Drill Team. I had big hair halfway down my back and spent most of my time untangling it from my sequined costume and adjusting my cinnamon toast tights and Keds. Those tights were so unnatural! Seen them before? There is only one other group of ladies wearing those exact tights with their spandex and fat white socks. I’m not saying where they are, but it rhymes with “schmooters”.

Our dance team did a wicked “windmill” move, tore it up to the cowbell, had some fierce booty shaking going on and performed for throngs of fans. Well, those are lies. Although we had confidence for days, looking back we wouldn’t have qualified for Mary’s Hot Tamale Train. As Team Captain, though, you can see I took my (starring) role very seriously. That’s me parked right in the middle. I was good at the Pretty March, and I loved that Starter track suit. So cute, I thought!

And now we come to the “do your own thing” portion of the song. I think it was Poison Clan. Time to show if you Think You Can Dance. Clearly, I thought so! Unfortunately these pictures are from the days before digital (and apparently zoom and focus as well), but there is no mistaking me for an obvious reason.

So, back to the future… last night I thoroughly enjoyed my time with my new friend Kendra. The best part was learning that we have the most random, hilarious thing in common. I don’t think I should broadcast exactly what it is, but… thanks for sharing, Kendra!! Yeah, we are the best wives eh-vah for this.

I love So You Think You Can Dance, I love that my husband supported me going as long as he didn’t have to, I love smiling all night, and I even love really don’t mind a little glitter in my eye.

Jazz hands!