Finding Balance While Losing One's Mind -- OR -- Where In My Contract Is The Part About Having To Pull My Own Kids' Teeth? -- OR -- Do You Want Me To Pull This Car Over Right Now? -- OR -- Just a Minute - I'm On The Phone!

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Countdown: 5...4...3...2...1...

At the risk of appearing seriously crazed or fundamentally alienated from my children, I'm delighted to announce: SCHOOL STARTS TOMORROW!!

For some reason I fail to comprehend, my kids' school begins nearly three weeks after some other schools in the area, which means that when people ask me how school's going and how the kids like their new grades I can only promise to let them know once school has actually begun. We went to a mall yesterday after a visit to the dentist and it was a ghost town populated primarily by the wraiths of recently returned-to-the-classroom squealing teenagers, snotty middle-schoolers and whiny children, as well as a few flesh and blood mall walkers evidently relieved to have the place to themselves again after three months of crowd-dodging. The same thing happened on a visit to a grocery store.

It's not that I mind having the kids off school. I love my kids and I love being around them; furthermore we had a terrific and unusually relaxing summer once we overcame the passport catastrophe. Still, those last few days are enough already: I'm tired of fighting about TV time and computer time, I'm tired of inventing entertainments, I'm tired of seeing them eat chips for breakfast because they got out of bed before I did.

I'm not sure why our school starts so much later than others. Maybe it has something to do with our unusually long school day of 7.5 hours, or the fact that we don't take a lot of miscellaneous days off during the academic year. All I know is the only schools I'm aware of that start later than we do are all preschools.

It could be worse. Last year the parking lot was being repaved and opening day was postponed until after Labor Day.

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Monday, August 27, 2007

Why Would Anyone Go To All The Trouble Of Repairing Crocs?

Because they cost thirty dollars, that's why!

See the difference?
<<<<<<

Last year I bought the kids Airwalks on Ebay for about half the cost of Crocs, because really -- who's foolish enough to pay thirty dollars for glorified flip flops for kids? Well actually, lots of people, but nevertheless, I didn't want to be one of them because I'm oh-so-careful with my money. BWAAHAHAHAH!!! I know, I know -- sometimes I can be so darn funny!

Anyway.

Robey would have worn them to bed if I'd let him (he's impulsive that way), except that he broke off one of the straps less than a week after they arrived. He still wore them broken but their usefulness was seriously limited, especially for a significantly pigeon toed kid who wears his shoes on the tops of his feet almost as often as on the bottoms.

So this year I bought him the real thing, because he'd demonstrated his irrevocable devotion to the Crocesque Airwalks, and I figured the Crocs might be a bit sturdier, right? because EVERYONE wears them so they must be good, right?

They lasted a week.

One of the buttons popped off and I was getting dirty looks from strangers and vehement lectures that my son was in EXTREME DANGER of -- well, something, maybe tripping or something. I couldn't throw them away after only a week. If I threw away everything my kids dinged or scratched or cracked or whatevered I'd have to have a landfill on retainer. So I fixed it by sewing a black button on the outside and a brown one on the inside to anchor the black one. Proud of my fixing prowess I sent him off to Sea World Camp secure in my insistent and somewhat shrill promise that as long as nobody looked too closely they'd never notice the difference between left and right.

My repair lasted a week.

Meanwhile, the shoes were still a size too big and would've lasted him another year if I could just keep them on life support long enough.

This time I used black button thread twisted with very fine nylon thread, coated in fabric glue and anchored with a liberal application of Gorilla Glue. Robey's just going to have to get used to the brown button.

I suspect my son has a future in product testing.

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Sunday, August 26, 2007

Single Parenting, In All Seriousness

Having come across this line of discussion on SoloMother, which referred to this thread by Cathy Arnst at BusinessWeek, I've been contributing some serious input regarding an issue that's part of my everyday existence:

I'm a single mother by choice to two extraordinary children, a ten-year-old boy and a seven-year-old girl (full biological sibs), through an anonymous donor. I’d reached an age where there was nobody special in my life (having divorced the World’s Worst Person) and had a deeply ingrained, I don’t know, assumption I guess, that I WOULD have a family. I never questioned it; in fact it wasn’t really a decision but more something I had to do that was as inevitable as needing glasses or being Jewish or reading books.

While enduring fertility treatments for my first (now there's a great irony: not only did I have to do it alone, but I needed help to get it done!) I spent a lot of time trawling Internet fertility support groups for encouragement and consolation. Most correspondents were supportive and probably couldn't have cared less that I was single, wrapped up as we all were in our fertility troubles, but a few attacked my "selfishness" in inflicting a fatherless life on some poor innocent child. In addition to foaming-at-the-mouth fury at their presumptuousness and arrogance, I felt frankly baffled that anyone could accuse of selfishness someone willing to give up freedom, stain-free (okay, relatively stain-free; I admit I’m a klutz) clothes and a full night's sleep in exchange for midnight vomiting (sorry -- too graphic?), homework help, car pooling, potty training and on and on and on. In fact, I felt it was one of the least self-centered goals I’d ever pursued.

Being a parent has been my life’s greatest achievement by far, and being a single parent is one of the world’s best-kept secrets. Although I must depend on my parents, friends and siblings for continuous advice and assistance (and thank goodness they’re always prepared to step up to the plate), I believe our lives are slightly smoother than some others’ since we don’t have to factor in parenting disagreements. Of course, I come from a background that offers me a great deal of support, in addition to which I’m mature, educated and financially secure. My situation is markedly different from that of an unexpectedly pregnant fifteen-year-old high school student. For an insightful comparison check out On Our Own by Melissa Ludtke.

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Friday, August 24, 2007

Halloween Already?

Cleopatra's been mulling over this year's Halloween costume since the day after Halloween last year; she and Robey also usually begin planning their birthday parties the day after their birthdays. A few months ago she decided to be Lola from Hannah Montana ("Lola" is the alter ego of Miley's best friend Lilly, who dresses in disguise whenever Miley's disguised as Hannah). Normally Lilly's a blonde tomboy, but in full Lola regalia she wears funky mismatched clothes and a wig in purple, orange, green or red. Lilly's played by Emily Osment, the younger sister of Haley Joel Osment, the kid who sees dead people; wearing a wig she looks like her brother if he were, you know ... wearing a wig.

At first Cleo declared she was going to have her hair cut short and color it. This was a baaaad idea. Not because I like her in long hair since, frankly, Cleo won't let me fix her hair and when she does it herself it looks like she brushed it with an egg beater. No, this was a bad idea because, as much as I love seeing her pixie face peeking out from a pixie haircut, I had a sixth sense (sorry -- had to throw that in) that the moment the first handful of hair hit the floor she'd melt down and it would be ALL MY FAULT for, I don't know, letting her have her hair cut, which somehow would turn into making her have her hair cut. Consequently I pretended not to understand English when the subject came up.

Well, with Hannah Montana tickets ready and waiting Cleo became more determined to dress as Lola, so today I browsed Google and came upon a lime green wig on Amazon:
Actually, I came upon quite a number of similar wigs in a variety of colors, which I conscientiously showed to Cleo and here's the point to this whole story: my daughter, who always knows what she wants, and wants what she wants, and gets what she wants, insisted on RESEARCHING the exact color and style of wigs Lola wears in different Hannah Montana episodes, and debating the relative merits of each option. So I visited Google again and came upon a YouTube video featuring Lola in various states of wigness. After a good amount of debate Cleo fixed on the lime green, with a request that I save the video for when it's time to research the outfit.

Now I remember one Halloween when I dressed as a leopard in a yellow shirt and yellow tights with brown paper circles taped all over me; admittedly I looked goofy, but I don't think I debated the subtleties or symbolism of my costume choice. Is it really necessary to put almost as much thought into a Halloween costume as some women put into the selection of wedding gowns? Just asking.

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Thursday, August 23, 2007

My Last Vacation Of The Summer Turns Out To Be A Guilt Trip

We're getting rid of our swing set, a nine year old redwood structure with a climbing wall, teeter totter, clubhouse/fort, slide and tire swing. The kids have liked it well enough but these days Robey is just as happy shooting hoops with friends or spray painting happy faces on the porch with the blue dye he was supposed to be using on his hair (don't ask! but let me just say, 409 is a wonderful product and yes I made him clean it up) and Cleo is satisfied drawing elaborate hopscotches on the driveway. I figured I'd have to pay someone soon either to tighten all the bolts, clean and reseal it, or to haul it off.

So I advertised it on Craig's List as free to anyone who'd take it away. And oh, man! within less than an hour I'd received a dozen responses; throughout the day I've received nearly thirty emails, some in triplicate, from people begging: Oh! Oh! Choose me! Choose me! (I'm dating myself here but anybody out there remember Arnold Horshack?).

Some of these responses are real tearjerkers: I have five kids; I've been out of work; I'm raising my grandson; I could never afford to buy one of these... Oy vay! I thought I'd do something nice for someone and now I feel like I should be sending these people substantial checks.

This is why I send money to the Humane Society but don't go there to get my dogs.

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Press One If You're Calling About Your Cable Television... Press Two If You're Calling About Your High-Speed Internet...

My internet went out yesterday. My laptop is a persnickety diva with Dell DNA; if I close it to put it to sleep the wireless will be disabled when I reopen it, so that even if it tells me wireless is up and running I have to reenable it every time. Yesterday the wireless didn't come up and didn't come up and I kept at it like the proverbial insane person who tries the same thing again and again hoping for a different result because, let's face it, I couldn't think of anything else to do, until it dawned on me that maybe the cable was down. So I tried the desktop in my office and sure enough, the internet was down there too. And I patted myself on the back for being so darned resourceful.

Then I called Charter Cable and pressed one for this and three for that and four for the other and prayed for a real person before the system disconnected me; eventually I reached a woman's recorded voice that assured me I could speak to a real person if she couldn't solve my problem, and then requested I let her guide me through some preliminary steps. At this point I was to stop pressing one and three and four and two and speak my responses into the phone, and we all know how fluidly that always works.

The voice walked me through disconnecting and reconnecting my cable, and each time she finished an instruction she treated me to some musical hold until I announced I was ready for the next step. By the end of the conversation my new girlfriend and I had succeeded in reestablishing the internet connection, including a test of the television connection, and everything was sunshine and rainbows.

At this point the recording asked if the problem had been solved to my satisfaction and I assured my new BFF that it had; she pleasantly bid me goodbye and we tearfully parted ways.

I immediately redialed Charter and pressed all the numbers which would bring me directly to a real person, a guy in Customer Service. In his best monotone he inquired what he could do for me and I began reciting the details of my failed internet and my recent interaction with Ms. Recording; as I spoke I could sense the increase in his level of tension. Then I said: "I just wanted to tell a real person that your company has one of the best voicemail systems I've ever encountered and you should tell whoever designed it that they did a great job." He was so excited I thought he might fall off his chair. Clearly customers rarely throw them a bone.

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So Ugly It Should Be Hidden Inside A Paper Bag

Correct me if I'm wrong but this is simply one of the ugliest bags I've ever seen. It's asymmetrical, it looks clunky and unwieldy and unbelievably heavy. I can't imagine where you'd carry it (or why) and what you'd possibly be able to tote inside it.

But guess what? It costs $52,500 (guess $53,000 was just a little over the top). It's called the "Louis Vuitton Tribute Patchwork" and it's made from pieces of 14 Vuitton bags that were cut apart and sewn together. This one has been sold to an unnamed, "very sophisticated" client (according to Vuitton) in Washington D.C.; this begs the question: sophisticated people in Washington D.C.? How could that be? Has Katharine Graham been recalled to life?

But I digress.

In any case, only 24 have been made and only 5 have been offered for sale in the United States. Beyonce Knowles owns one, but the identity of the "very sophisticated" client in D.C. hasn't been revealed (because she couldn't possibly exist, DUH!!).

I suppose I can forgive Beyonce this lapse in judgment; I myself made many many ill-advised fashion decisions at her age (I know, I know it's hard to believe when you consider the sleek, sophisticated look I cultivate now). But why anyone over the age of, well, however old Beyonce is now, would think this bag was attractive is beyond me, unless it stems from -- no! it couldn't be -- the cachet of the lavish price?

Take a look at the entire article in today's Washington Post:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/08/20/AR2007082001554.html?hpid=topnews

PS to my kids: in case you've forgotten, I do have a birthday coming up...

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Tuesday, August 21, 2007

Wherefore...

Why is it that, with so many breathtakingly delicious fruits in season we can't even decide which to buy, my kids want to open a can of peaches?

Why is it that, even though I've made thick hamburgers from scratch, the kids would rather go to McDonald's? (okay, I don't give them toys just for eating, but still...).

Why is it that, with all the enticing toys and bones I've scattered around the house, Miss Puppy still wants to eat the furniture?

Why is it that, even though she has a closet full of really cute clothes that I'd borrow if I thought they'd fit, Cleopatra-Queen-of-the-Nile wants to wear the same "Little Miss Sunshine" shirt over and over and over and over...?

Why is it that every time I try to make my bed I bang my instep on the bed frame?

Why is it that whenever I go to a restaurant I end up seated at the table leg?

Why is it that I vividly remember every single embarrassment I've ever inflicted on myself (and there have been M*A*N*Y), but I can't remember what I had for breakfast?

Why is it that the "v" key on my laptop keeps falling off and I hae to reisit eerything I write to make corrections?

Why is it that, just when I'm completely exhausted and ready to go to bed, I get some brainstorm for a blog post I absolutely MUST write so I won't forget it tomorrow?

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No Sign of Hannah Montana, But Still Trying

I'm still on the prowl for tickets to this sold out show. Nothing's turned up yet, although I did receive a bcc of the following email my father sent to someone who handles his banking:

Dear Person-at-the-Bank:

Something tells me that you and the bank could win the undying gratitude of a young client with 2 tickets to see the Hannah Montana show... Price is not the issue, but availability is. If you have any access to tickets that are already sold out or you know where they could be acquired, [Cleopatra] would love you forever.

Who knows -- once in a while it works for the baseball playoffs. Of course, the playoffs come in bunches and Hannah Montana comes only once.

I feel especially guilty because, silly me, I promised Cleo we'd get great seats and it turns out we couldn't get any seats at all. She's been magnanimous but I feel terrible. Chances are some of her friends managed to snag tickets and when she returns to school and hears who's going she'll be crushed. And we know how those seven year old girls are -- they won't be able to keep their mouths shut.

Curse those scalpers!!

POSTSCRIPT: Thank goodness for grandparents! They achieved success within one day, for which I'm deeply grateful. My kids were extremely savvy in their choice of grandparents, and I spend a good amount of time reminding them that not everyone is as fortunate as they are.

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Monday, August 20, 2007

Hannah Montana, Where Are You?

There's no joy in Ishkabibbleville tonight, as so far we've been unable to get our hands on even one ticket for Hannah Montana's concert in October.

I'd asked my mother, whose motto is and always has been: "anything for a grandchild" to talk to a friend of hers who has presented just about every concert and special event here for the past, oh I don't know, ninety-nine years, about front row seats so Cleopatra and a friend could try their luck at shaking Hannah's hand during the concert. I've always turned down her offers to approach her friend because I figured we'd get only one special favor out of him and since the Beatles had made it clear they weren't getting back together nothing ever seemed important enough, but now the happiness (okay -- temporary happiness, but still...) of my seven-year-old girl with the huge, hypnotic hazel eyes was at stake. Since Mawmaw would never fail one of the "World's Most Perfect Grandchildren" I was certain we'd be there in October.

It turned out that Mawmaw's friend is not presenting this concert. The instant she informed me I was online scrambling for the Ticketmaster web site, and finding that there were "no tickets available" for this performance. Unsure exactly what this meant (it's a 20,000 seat venue, after all) I googled Hannah Montana and the name of our city and discovered that the concert sold out eight minutes after the tickets went on sale. Sure enough, I also found armloads of tickets going for astronomical prices on Ebay and other sites.

I can just imagine dozens of scalpers simultaneously working dozens of computers the very moment ticket sales began. They're all going to make boatloads of money to the dismay of hundreds of little girls who can't shell out more than $500 per ticket (yes, that's right, and some of them are selling for way more). I hope some of them read this and feel even a small twinge of guilt for making it all about money instead of little kids. Shame!!

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Saturday, August 18, 2007

I Couldn't Make This Stuff Up

The second round of the Inane Question Olympics:*

What's worse, paper cut or stubbing your toe?
I suppose stubbing your toe on a piece of paper would be excruciating

How can get my 6 week old Guinea pigs to enjoy floor time more?
They probably get a little depressed when you putt them like golf balls. Dressing up like a clown might help distract them.

Would a good pizza qualify as a spiritual experience?
Anything I don't have to prepare or clean up is a spiritual experience

If u r told not to speak for 24 hours, can u do it?
ummm... no

Can I sue myself?
Why go to all that trouble? I'll sue you

Do u find people who answer questions and say dunno annoying?
Gee -- I dunno

HELP! Pretty please with a cherry on top and extra sprinkles and stuff? HELP, HELP, HELP! Will ya? Pleeeease?
Think this woman needs some help?

I have a republican girlfriend and I'm a liberal? HELP (I don't really like her)?
Do you wish she were more likable or more liberal?

Are 1.99 flip flops sexier than 200 dollar shoes?
Not to women

Are there real-life jobs or careers that resemble a Secret Agent -- Such as James Bond or Jason Bourne?
Why yes, I happen to be a secret agent myself

And this week's winner is:

I make lots of money, are you jealous of me?
No -- your extreme stupidity makes up for your excessive wealth


*And again, my apologies if you recognize yourself

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Sunday, August 12, 2007

These Days It Seems We Never Stay Home

The American Idol concert was much more enjoyable than I anticipated. Those guys and girls are GOOD -- I couldn't sing that well even in my imagination.

My kids and I are in San Diego for a week. Robespierre is attending sleepover Sea World camp with a couple of friends.

That's right -- sleepover camp at Sea World.

They have dorms with bunk beds. They get to go backstage and see how the animals are cared for. They get to dress in wet suits and slosh around in the bat ray pools. They get to go on a boogie boarding field trip at the beach. If camp had been like that when I was a kid I probably would have enjoyed it.

Not really.

Meanwhile, Cleopatra is at camp in the mornings and we pal around the rest of the time with our friends and each other. The first afternoon we had a girlie day -- lunch at Neiman Marcus, followed by a pedicure for her and a manicure for me, a chocolate freeze from Godiva, and a Hannah Montana shirt from Macy's (for her, not me). We've been to the beach twice, and last night we had fondue. The weather is way better than where we live; right now it's brain damage weather at home -- about 102 degrees and 98% humidity. Good grief!

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Thursday, August 9, 2007

I'm Hyperventilating Because...

Miley Cyrus, aka Hannah Montana, is coming to town!

For all the uninitiated, ie parents of toddlers, or parents of boys, or, well, parents of anything other than seven-year-old girls, Miley Cyrus (Billy Ray Cyrus's 14-year-old daughter -- remember Billy Ray? he of the Achy Breaky Heart?), plays Hannah Montana on the Disney Channel. Hannah Montana is a "Teen Pop Sensation," who's really klutzy teenager "Miley Stewart" in disguise, as she's determined to maintain her friendships and typical, average Malibu-beach-house lifestyle. By day she attends middle school, battles the mean girls, salivates over the local teen movie star, and fights with her older brother.

But by night -- she dons an elaborate disguise consisting of a blond wig and, well, that's it actually, to become:

Hannah Montana
Teen Pop Sensation


Now, as I may have mentioned, I am the parent of a seven-year-old girl, who will become possessed and ballistic when she learns that Hannah Montana is coming here in the fall. Therefore, in self defense, and also because I think Miley Cyrus is adorable and really can sing (acting, not so much), I will come very close to selling my soul for good seats to this concert. This, in turn, will ensure my elevation to Best Mom in the World status, at least until the glow from the concert has worn off, which by my calculations should happen approximately one week post-concert.

I'll take what I can get. Besides, it's better than a poke in the eye, or Disney Princesses on Ice.

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Wednesday, August 8, 2007

I Lost Everything in the Crash of 2007

That sickening feeling when you press every button and the computer taunts you with a feeble beep. It's the realization of that unspeakable dream about taking a final exam for which you haven't studied and furthermore you thought you'd withdrawn from the class long before the deadline, yet there you are -- hanging out to dry, twisting in the wind.

And you experience the five stages of grief:

  1. No! No, this can't be happening! Where's all my stuff?!
  2. Pleaseohpleasephplease make this fix itself and I vow promise swear I'll back up every fifteen minutes for the rest of my life
  3. I hate you, you stupid computer! Hate you hate you hate you!!! Bam bam bam!!
  4. Oy. I can't take this. I have to go to bed for a week. All my financial records have spontaneously combusted so I'm going to Leavenworth.
  5. Maybe there's still something hiding in the hard drive.
So thank goodness for the Geek Squad, who in less than a week managed to retrieve all my lost information and return it to me unharmed, albeit hungry, dirty and frightened, in a nifty external hard drive: my belt. They also recommended I pick up suspenders: a tiny thumb drive about the size of my, uh, thumb.

But then the Geeks strongly insisted -- I mean suggested -- in their inimitable geeky way, that I also back up online because, well you never know if the Midwestern version of Katrina will come along and wipe everything out and then where would I be.

So I signed up with IBackup for a five gigabyte backup, which I hope will be enough, and I executed my first backup last night, and guess how long it took?

An hour? No -- more
Two hours? -- nope
Five hours? -- uh uh

Well, you can stop guessing because I can't even answer the question, since it's been backing up for, let's see now, 21 hours and 39 minutes and it still has 11% to go.

This seems to be the Energizer Bunny of online backups.


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Have You Tried This?

Cake batter ice cream from Coldstone. My son, who with his sister cultivates an annoying habit of choosing ice cream, smoothie and snow cone flavors he thinks I'll hate so he won't have to share with me (usually anything not involving chocolate), tried it yesterday and man! It was G*O*O*D. I come from a family that fights over who gets to lick the bowl containing remnants of any dough or batter, including pancake batter (my brother-in-law once inquired if possibly we'd grown up without a stove since we liked so many things raw), so this was a singular thrill. I've been fantasizing about it all day but next time I'll have to get my own, since I think Robespierre was afraid I might bite him if he didn't continue to share.

Besides, next time I'm pretty sure he'll return to bubble gum or cotton candy.

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Monday, August 6, 2007

It's SOO Hot...

...that some of us find ourselves at a loss for topics of bloggersation, so it's time to check in at the Yahoo! Answer Desk for some remarkably inane questions (and if anyone sees himself or herself here, I'm sorry):

"What football position is best for a small boy?"

How about Spectator?

"Why is phonetics spelt with a ph and not f?"

I love this one!!

"Why not use the X in Xmas for Christ in Christian, XIAN.?"

Well, why the heck not?

"How To become a famous actor?"

Climb up a tree and act like a nut.. no, wait, that's how to attract a squirrel

"When the telephone company gives out numbers do they go in order?"

What, like order of importance?

"Why doesn't water have a flavor?"

It does -- it tastes like chicken

"What are the tiny lumps at the back of my tongue?"

I don't know but I have those too. If you find out, drop me a line.

"I have just found my lost pet hamster in the freezer, it has gone hard and may be dead, what do i do?"

Oh my goodness

"Shud i get this hoodie? its $101.00?"

ummmm -- sure

"Why does Victoria Beckham think she is god when really she is just plain ugly and needs to eat a hamburger?"

hear, hear!

"Did anyone get one of them sony cameras that can see through clothing?"

Okay, that one just scares me

"Is Rory Sabbatini the ugliest man in golf?"

Does that make a difference?

"Why do banks charge a fee on "insufficient funds" when they know there is not enough?"

For the same reason you can only get a loan if you don't really need one

"Date a mermaid?"

ummmm

"Does anyone think that Britney Spears latest action is realy an indication of her having a mental problem?"

As opposed to all of her previously rational behavior?

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Sunday, August 5, 2007

Fun Mom Points

I'm resigned to my reputation as the unfunnest person in the western hemisphere aside from Dick Cheney. Spontaneity assuredly is not my middle name (I used to aspire for "sartorial splendor" as a middle name, but that didn't work out either. What do you think of "better late than never"? Or perhaps simply "klutz".) Still, I try to be a cool mom, but there's always an ulterior motive: I aspire to accrue sufficient "Fun Mom" points to offset my general aura of stick-in-the-mudness.

For example:

Why does any beverage, even water, seem to taste better when sipped through a straw? And what do I care if they use four straws a day?

What's so darned attractive about food coloring? We've had green eggs, purple milk, pink mashed potatoes...

Did you know you really can fry an egg on the sidewalk if it's hot enough? Takes more than three minutes but there's no hurry because you're not going to eat it anyway.

What's so darned cool about paint? When the kids were small enough to shower together I'd give them paintbrushes and bottles of mushy, goopy paint of indeterminate colors, let them paint each other (in the bathroom of course) and then have them wash it all off in the shower.

More than once we put on raincoats and boots and sloshed every puddle in the street.

The lawn guy has a standing order not to plow our rather steep driveway; after all, when else would we be able to use all-wheel drive?

Fascinated by the plastic one-piece chopsticks we'd found at the children's museum, Robey and Cleo insisted on using them that night to eat their dinner, which happened to be pot pie. To this day pot pie requires chopsticks.

I sure hope they're paying attention.

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If Only...

Wish Miss Puppy were this compliant:

www.idodogtricks.com/index_flash.html

Saturday, August 4, 2007

Barry Bonds ...

...ties Hank Aaron's record, hitting his 755th career home run during a game in San Diego. According to Tim Brown, writing for Yahoo! Sports: "[h]e is one home run from owning the record outright, a mark many consider the most sacred in sports, one that Aaron held alone since surpassing Babe Ruth in 1974." Read article here

Hmmmm. "The most sacred [record] in sports..."

I thought that was Ruth's/Maris's season homerun record...

or Gehrig's/Ripken's record for most consecutive games...

or DiMaggio's hitting streak...

Gotta love those sportswriters: masters of subtlety.

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I Couldn't Decide Whether to Laugh or Cry

I'm Going to the American Idol Concert!

And I've never seen American Idol in my life!!

Nor have I ever been the least bit interested!

So why am I going? you might ask (or you might not, for all I know).

Well.

I have a friend (J) who has a friend (L) (are you following this?) who's a lawyer at a prominent local law firm. L requested the firm's box seats for the concert and dutifully (but reluctantly) invited some clients, who were unable to attend. J and L were both dying to go, but L would've looked very bad to the partners if she'd just brought a friend who has no prospect of ever becoming the firm's client. So they put on their thinking caps to try to find someone to invite who might at least give the appearance of being a potential client, and my name came up.

I'm somewhat older than both of them, and I own a house and a not-yet-profitable business. My only duty, apparently, is to raise my eyebrows knowingly to imply that I possibly might someday abandon the law firm I've used for years, and practiced law with before that, in favor of this quite large and venerable firm, mainly due to their generosity in affording me the chance to spend two hours watching the singing equivalent of the Campbell's Soup or Discover Stars on Ice, or whoever sponsers semi-famous figure skaters these days.

Maybe it won't be excruciating. It might even be fun, and since I don't get out much it'll certainly be different.

Let's see... big purse, paperback book, teeny tiny flashlight...

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Wednesday, August 1, 2007

Can You Keep a Secret?

Last Saturday some lady called for "Photogiftmarketing," the legal name of my business. I almost hung up on her -- what chutzpah: a sales call on Saturday! I asked suspiciously what I could do for her and she said a charge had shown up on her credit card but she'd never heard of us and was wondering if someone (ie us) had lifted her credit information. With increasing dread and dismay I took her address and phone number while praying for some colossal and humorous mistake not involving blame; meanwhile I searched her name in my sales records. Strangely, her teenage daughter's name showed up; she'd placed an order for a personalized porcelain plate decorated with a wedding photograph and the caption "Happy Anniversary."

Both tickled and relieved, we agreed she'd act surprised.

It reminded me of the time we conspired with our father to plant a magnolia tree in our back yard as a Mother's Day gift; as we (pampered daughters and less-than-handy dad) struggled to dig a hole our mother came outside to empty the trash for what might have been the first time ever and caught us in the act. I also remembered when my sister threw a surprise party for her husband and arranged for his friends to kidnap him for breakfast so she could get him out of the house and he'd think that was the reason for all the whispering; as his friends brought him home he noticed the catering truck at the back of the house around the corner.


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