August 21st, 2013

Oh, ok. Alright.  So I haven’t written a post in, like, forever.  So sue me.  (Don’t you love people who use defensive language and posturing to cover up overwhelming feelings of guilt and inadequacy?)

I have reasons.  I have excuses.  Most of them valid.  Really.

There was the small matter of a part-time job I started in ’09.  And the not-so-small matter of the voluminous amounts of volunteer work I dove into for Babyzilla’s school.  The volunteer work felt like a full-time job and made my part-time job seem like volunteer work.  Somehow in all of that I managed to do some good and make some money.

What is the picture like in my mad, mad whirl now?  Much the same.  Same kid, same house, same husband. Babyzilla is now eight years old and, for all intents and purposes, has shed his green skin.  He still breathes fire once in a while.  Hubby still wears glasses and still does mysterious things with power tools.  Sadly, The Laziest Dog On the Planet passed away in 2011.  (May he be resting on the fluffiest bed in the sky.)  His successor is a little Dachshund mix who’s almost as lazy but not nearly as smart.  What he lacks in intelligence, he makes up for in waggly-tailed optimism (except for when he gets that huffy, “something smells bad” look on his face).

So, now that Babyzilla is older and not nearly as incendiary, what will I write about in lieu of kvetching about parenthood?  Ok, that was a joke.  THERE’S ALWAYS ROOM FOR KVETCHING ABOUT PARENTHOOD!

I have upped my game in the cooking/baking arena the past few years, so perhaps there will be more posts with cakes and other delectables.  Maybe a few more poems?  And wine recs.  Always the wine recs!  (Nope, the boozing hasn’t changed either, except maybe with even more of a veer toward quality over quantity…. Most of the time, anyway!)

This is cool.  This is ‘Phoenix rising from the ashes’ type stuff.  Viva la Resurrection!

Honey, I shrunk the toilet.

July 5th, 2008

I am afraid. Afraid of what Hubby is doing in our bathroom.

He goes in there with tools. He makes a point of shutting the door. I hear scraping. I hear grinding. I hear banging.

He comes out grumbling, heads downstairs, and goes into the garage. More grinding. More banging.

After a few minutes, a pungent odor, like that of something on fire, wafts from the bathroom. I do what any rational person would do in this kind of situation –go downstairs, sit on the couch, and turn on the TV.

I’m ready to evacuate when necessary.

Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to marry engineers.

R-e-a-d My L-i-p-s

June 27th, 2008

I love how being a mom affords you those startling “grown up” moments, like when you realize you are behaving exactly the same way your parents did. These are the things that send you running for the liquor cabinet.

Actually, it can be pretty amusing being on the dark other side….. unless you’re not a particularly fast speller. Case in point: I enjoy the fact that my three-year-old son, Babyzilla, is still a pre-speller. I can talk about things in front of him, and as long as I spell out all the key words, I’m totally incognito! Nifty! I learned to spell at a fairly young age because this is the kind of crap my parents would pull on me. The only problem is, Hubby occasionally has a hard time keeping up. What can I say? He’s an engineer. Engineers aren’t paid to know how to spell particularly well. Or even to use correct punctuation. (Oh, the run-on sentences this man can write!)

So, a recent conversation during Babyzilla’s bath time went something like this:

Mad Me: Did you see that coupon in the e-mail?

Hubby: Huh?

Mad Me: There’s a new T-h-o-m-a-s coupon. T-o-y-s-r-u-s sent it out. It’s good for one of the T-h-o-m-a-s t-r-a-i-n-s.

Uhhh….. Oh, ok.

Mad Me: So, I figured we’d want to choose between the R-h-e-n-e-a-s e-n-g-i-n-e or the musical c-a-b-o-o-s-e. What do you think?

Hubby: R-h-……… ???

Mad Me: I’m thinking R-h-e-n-e-a-s, since you-know-who likes him. But the c-a-b-o-o-s-e sounds pretty cool.

Hubby <<grabbing for a bath crayon to work it out on the tile>>: R-h-c-b-s…..

Mad Me: Yeah. Let’s get R-h-e-n-e-a-s, ok?


Ok, so maybe ‘Rheneas’ wasn’t really a fair word to throw at him, even if Hubby is more alarmingly familiar with all the Thomas train characters than I am.  And this type of communication is a bit awkward.  Gives me the odd sensation that I’m verbally text messaging him. The nice thing was, we were able to reach an agreement about which train to get without much discussion at all.


I wonder if this would work for a pair of bitchin’ Jimmy Choos.