Archive for September, 2006


UPDATED: Quick update

September 8th, 2006 at 2:58 pm » Comments (19)

your comments made me laugh, cry and think. And I was giggling over how many of you were somehow inspired to use a version of the word ‘piss.’ An awful lot of you.

The littlest boys got together and vowed to stage a Nap Strike, which could also be called, No Blog Time For Mom. And I’m having a bridal shower here on Sunday, but I"ll be back soon.

Mike is alive, well, and sincerely sorry. I gave away 8 flower arrangements (The Kelsey) to someone who could get them to appreciative recipients.

This Quick Update is now UPDATED:

You’re right, Mom. I have no idea why i imagined lots of use of a certain p word in the comments section from the previous post. It only appears twice, and that is not nearly as often as I expected. Perhaps lack of sleep. I don’t know.

To all the concerned men: Mike has the fanciest PDA there is, and he uses it well. He has the neurological capabilities (Ken! Really?! Dude, that was lame. The ‘would you get mad at him if he had no arms and didn’t hug you..? Oh man. Seriously. Mike has a calendar, a PDA, a personal assistant, and a CEO’s brain that is perfectly neurologically capable of allowing him to acknowledge my birthday. But OH that cracked me up, so thank you for taking the time – and creativity – to come up with that. And really? Marriage can’t be about ‘me’ on my birthday…? Hmm. Okay. It wasn’t. And that worked out really well for us the last two years. Now let’s try it my way, and make it about me that one day next year, and I bet we’ll have a happy girl!)

I think I learned one day recently not to blog when really tired. but clearly not. Hm.

You know, I bet some of you don’t think I should be quite so open and honest about some stuff. Particularly stuff that might make people close to me not look their best. Ahem, MIKE.

i’m ok with that. Wanna know why? Because if you sugarcoat everything, then there isn’t any glory when there’s a transformation. What if next year I wrote a post about how Mike remembered my birthday and gave me a card? Would it mean a thing if I’d never been honest about him forgetting it in the past? Nope. Another key point here is that i know it doesn’t detract from WHO he is that he forgot. And i mentioned that Ethan-6yr stole from the store the other day. does that make him ‘less than’ other 6 yr olds? Nope. It means that day he learned something, and I’m perfectly fine with that. in fact, i’m glad there’s a written record of it.

Life is what it is. And people are who they are. I don’t believe in hiding the ugly in me or anyone else. Yes I can be flighty and shallow and eat too much chocolate and be too sensitive and lust over nice shoes. And that’s a good picture of who i am RIGHT now, no sense in pretending otherwise. But what if we put me on some sort of Personality Makeover Show and they erase those tendencies in me? We could oooh and aahhh over how reasonable I am and how i eat sensibly and appreciate my frugal footwear (ha!), but would it matter if the Personality Makeover Show edited out the "Before" version of me and only showed what I was like once the transformation was complete? Nope. No one would care at all. Big deal.  You can’t appreciate the Afters if you sugarcoat the Befores into nonexistence.

Should there be any change in the ‘ugly parts’ (mine, Mike’s, Ethan-6yr’s or anyone else’s), then it sure is easier to appreciate that change if you clearly saw the flaws first. And flaws aren’t anything to be afraid of, after all.

They’re just potentially dramatic backdrops for future success.

So there. :D


How to Be a Moron, Birthday Edition

September 5th, 2006 at 8:48 pm » Comments (42)

The second installment of How to Be a Moron will now become the third installment, in order to make room for this Birthday Edition. Unless of course other editions spring up before I have time to post it, which could bump it back until we have 96 How to Be a Moron’s before next Tuesday, before i ever even get to that other one. Which is HIGHLY likely, now that I think about how this week is going.

I’ve said in previous posts somewhere that Mike is hit or miss when it comes to birthdays and special occasions. As in, BIG HIT, or OH, I FORGOT. Again. And wouldn’t it be great if i adapted to this and just didn’t care? But I do.

Last year I turned 30. He forgot.  I got very bent out of shape about it (just a card and a hug, really. that’s all I needed), and told him he was off the hook if he’d make it up to me. Just do something and call it ‘my birthday thing’ even if it’s 6 months late, and we’re cool. But despite a few of those conversations… he didn’t. I SO wish i didn’t care. But I do.

I mentioned our 10th anniversary sucked. and I’m ok with that. But today it was my 31st. And he forgot. And then tried to pretend he didn’t (which…? makes! it! WORSE!) So, I spent today with the exterminator, the carpet cleaners, and listening to Mike’s venting as he was particularly call-ish today, and called a dozen times throughout the day to gripe. About other people. Not me. That came later.  Also, he thought it would be good if we all went grocery shopping together. I don’t know WHY he thought that, but he did. So I meet him at the store and, seeing that he’s there, take the 3 boys in. THE THREE BOYS. IN. TO. THE. STORE.

And Mike doesn’t come in. So we start without him, w hich involves Ethan-6yr repeatedly smashing into me with Caden-2yr’s stroller. I had brought it in since there were supposed to be TWO adults. Seth-10mth is in the cart, and I have been stroller-rammed 4 times before Mike gets into the store. He’d been in the car on the phone. Un. Clench. Jaw. now.

We get through it, but it isn’t pretty. Ethan-6yr decides today is a great day to pop a chocolate covered almond into his mouth from the plastic bin thing. He thinks I don’t see him, but I do. So then we have a  THAT"S STEALING lesson, complete with crying apology from him to store manager. Gah.

I leave with no kids, but the groceries, so I’m obligated to go home. SInce some will melt or go bad if i don’t, but that’s the only reason I do. Mike has the three boys and I surprisingly make it home before he does. I see my chance. I unload the groceries and leave.

Mike pulls me over. What? You think your husband can’t PULL you OVER? Oh, but he can. A spat is had, roadside, for good white trash measure. (I looked bad enough to be on COPS, too.) He says I have to come home because there will be birthday deliveries. Uh huh. Translation: No, you may not go off for a few hours of what might actually be nice You Time, you must come home where there will be stress and chaos and wait for my Guilt Delivery to arrive and then thank me. Um, NO. Good for you for ‘remembering’ at 5 o clock, but I’ve already had it! Whine. Snivvle. Gah. Y’all, my kid STOLE today, too. What is up with THAT?

What took him so long to get home, allowing me the pleasure of putting all the groceries away by myself…? Arranging THAT. The deliveries. At 5. With 3 boys.

And here is where you can be like me and Be a Moron. Because isn’t it true that you shouldn’t really care about your own birthday past the age of like, 22? if you still care this much, aren’t you a whiney moron? It seems like it to me, anyway, and I probably have more experience with this phenomenon than most of you – I hope.

And another thing? Shouldn’t I just drop hints and put it on his calendar if I really cared…?

I won’t. I refuse.

See how moronic of me??

The man juggles an amazing number of appointments for business and they all get taken care of. Why, then, do the personal ones always seem to fall through the cracks?  Clearly, he CAN manage the stuff that’s important.

I wish I didn’t care. I do, though.

I pulled into the driveway at the same time as the "Bring me ALL your flowers because I’m in DEEP trouble" delivery arrived.

That’s a new FTD special, called "The Kelsey" if you’re interested. It’s very expensive,  and will likely never, ever be appreciated because it was never supposed to be about ‘stuff’ in the first place.

I’m taking the dog for a loooong walk now.


Jeana LIVE!

September 4th, 2006 at 10:52 pm » Comments (15)

Mike and I both have had Internet Crushes, so to speak. (Oh, calm down, I use the term loosely.)

The subject of Mike’s crush? A chocolate labrador – trained for hunting to point and retrieve. In one sweet weekend, we got to come face to face with both of our crushes.

The subject of my online adoration…? Jeana. (No secret, I know)

Jeana and I, and enough teeth to convey that Yes. We are happy. (And this is after one of my kids SHOT HER IN THE EYEBALL WITH A DART GUN. I cannot write about it without clenching my teeth at the very horror, so I won’t. Am moving on.

Target_2

Ok, i’m not. Scott was very nice about it, though, and noted that ‘it seemed to make you pretty tense, huh?’ Can’t you just tell how nice and wonderful he is just by that one observation? (GREAT dad. Really.)

I don’t remember what I said, but I don’t think it was "YEAH! My kid SHOT your WIFE in the EYEBALL! UH HUH. TENSE." I think I tried to play it a little more laid back than that. And the kid who shot Jeana in the eyeball should totally be thanking and praising God above for that. (And who are we kidding here, we all know it was Ethan-6yr and GAH, Ethan-6yr!) 

Jeana and Scott and every single one of their children are so lovely. Really. Like, you’d expect that from reading her, but Jeana is even funnier in person and her kids are even cuter (and hello? SOooOO well behaved) than I’d thought possible. For example? No one shot me in my right eyeball. Not once!

Right. Moving on.

Also, I got to meet Jan and Wick. Oh, yes I did! Wick is as funny as Jeana says and looks very much like a guy who just ran for mayor in my city, and Jan is so, so nice. I even got a goodbye kiss. (from Jan, not Wick – was that unclear?) She held and cooed over Seth-10mth, and he loved it. Then, being a little thirsty, he tried to reach around in her shirt just to see exactly how accomodating she’d be. (And this is where Seth-10mth learned where true Southern hospitality stops. And a lesson well worth learning , I might add.)

So we took our 3 boys over to meet Jeana, and Ethan-6yr shot Jeana and Seth-10mth copped a feel with Jeana’s mom. But seriously, it went waaaay better than it’s sounding. Really.

Well, then there was the time that Wick wanted to know what I thought about Jeana, and I said "Not as tawdry as I expected." He understood perfectly, because he and i both knew we were talking about a different Jeana (YES, we really were). Jeana thought we were talking about her, actually, but didn’t mind my saying that since she didn’t remember what tawdry meant, and it was probably a compliment. Which is good, because I was not sitting in her home, telling her dad that his daughter was surprisingly not trashy, NO I WAS NOT. And then we laughed at it all until my cheeks ached.

Hmm. It seems that the more I write, the worse it sounds, and yet that’s just not it! We got there at 10 in the morning on Saturday, and I was so nervous I just couldn’t stand it. But it went so well, despite everything written above, that we didn’t leave until 2. Good thing they don’t live closer, because I’d just be over there all the time.

I know, I know. You’re jealous, right? Do you wanna meet Jeana? Leave the dart guns at home, and click here

I have no idea why I look like a pyramid in that photo, but I am NEVER tying a cardie around my waist again. Geez.


How to Be a Moron, Part I

September 1st, 2006 at 10:49 am » Comments (29)

Or my new motto:

"I can make a bigger butt of myself by 10 am, than most of the rest of you can in a full day.."

Step 1:
Forget you’re not like Most Women, and cannot stand the idea of a pedicure or manicure.  Then, book a manicure, pedicure, and eyebrow wax. (no, didn’t happen before we left town last week, although Mike said it was fine.)

Step 2:
Pick a weird place. The salon had a mural of the Hollywood hills on the wall. (I live in West Texas) In the corner of the salon sat a big screen tv showing JAG. The woman who did my nails had an unnerving talent for doing her job well, without ever taking her eyes off Commander Rabb.

Step 3:
Forget you’re ticklish and hate strangers touching you. When the lady touches your feet, giggle, squeal, gasp, or otherwise have a Royal Freak Out. Every. Single. Time. She. Touches. Your. Feet. And yes, the people in the salon were amused, horrified, embarrassed FOR me, annoyed, etc. A wide array of reactions to my Royal Freak Outages were present. And it did not matter one whit because I could not control it at all. Making a moron of myself is not something I set out to do, it just happens so EASILY. If I could help it, y’all, I would. Really.

Step 4:
Forget you’ve been trying to avoid stress due to TMJ, and try to have Royal Freak Outages without grinding teeth together or clenching jaw, because that will make TMJ worse. Instead, carefully hold tongue between teeth to keep them from touching in an excruciating manner.

Step 5:
When the lady who cannot take her eyes from the handsome Commander Rabb puts the toe separator (or Torture Device in Green Foam) in between your toes, have the Mother of All Royal Freak Outs, because holy crap that tickles, and! FOOT! CRAMP!  OW. Jump out of chair, bite tongue until blood spurts out of mouth, and try to ‘walk it off’ without slipping because your feet are wet, you’re spurting blood, trying not to clench your teeth or cause anyone else in the room more amusement/embarrassment/annoyance than you already have. In short, make a big, big, bloody, hopping, fool of yourself.

Step 6:
Sit down and try to regain composure throughout the manicure and eyebrow waxing portions ahead.

Step 7:
Fail. 

I love a good simple, painful eyebrow wax. But this ticklish manicure/pedicure crap is awful. And hands are ticklish too.

Step 8:
Get out of there as soon as possible, leave big tip, and vow to never ever repeat these steps again.

Stay tuned for Part II of How to Be a Moron.

Yes. There is a Part II. It happened yesterday, and involved Random Boob Flashing. I’d tell you about it now, but my jaw is tensing up at the thought of it. Gah.