Turns Out I'm a Little More Country and a Little Less Rock and Roll

I recently bought tickets to see the Zac Brown Band in October, and I started contemplating all the concerts I have seen over the years.  I thought, based on my ipod playlists, that I had pretty eclectic tastes.  I’ve got Barry Manilow, Hank Jr., the Beastie Boys, CeeLo, Conway Twitty, Def Leppard, Elvis Costello, Gotye, Harry Chapin, Ice Cube, Willie Nelson, Jane's Addiction, Janis Joplin, Juliana Hatfield 3, David Allan Coe, Kid Rock, Ladysmith Black Mambazo, The Byrds, Metallica, Michael Buble, N’Sync, Led Zeppelin, Juice Newton, Neil Young, U2, Neil Diamond, OMD, Ozzy, Paul McCartney, Pink Floyd, Pure Prairie League, Ronnie Milsap, Johnny Cash, Salt & Pepa, Sir Mix-a-Lot, the Sundays, and Taco, to name a few.  That’s eclectic, right? 

Then I started thinking about the concerts I’ve actually attended.  Turns out I’ve got a bit of a “type.” 

Beach Boys – this was my very first concert.

Coolio – ‘member?  He had that song?  I think it was 5 bucks a ticket in college.

Indigo Girls – and this was before I even owned Birkenstocks.

Reba – I’m kinda over her now . . .

Tony Bennett – I went by myself.  Hubby bought me a single ticket (so I actually had a really good seat) because he was promoting his Duets album and he’d be singing with James Taylor.

Free Bird!

Lynyrd Skynyrd – what?  Nobody else is wearing their sterling bead necklace?  This place was like a Jorts Convention. 

Toby Keith – the man can rock a stage and I can rock some Miller Lites.

Brooks and Dunn – we took Large to this concert in the Baby Bjorn when he was about 5 weeks old.  Best.  Parents.  Ever.

Alabama – I knew they were in town when I saw their trailer parked at the HoJo’s where I lived my freshman year of college.  (Long story.)

John Denver – I have great memories of sitting on the lawn at Wolf Trap listening to John Denver and his guitar.  To hear "Rocky Mountain High" live was to be close to God.

Kenny Rogers – he still sounds great but he needs to embrace his age.  Embrace it, Kenny.  Don’t fight it.

Justin Roberts - He's a children's performer, but his stuff is so catchy.  We're total groupies and we're  kinda stalking him.

Justin Roberts.  Hot, in that nerdy sorta way . . . 

George Jones – He showed up.  George Jones fans will understand why this is a big deal.

Phil Collins – I knew the words to EVERY song.  Hello 1988!

Genesis – not as good as Phil by himself.  Totally different vibe and many more old people mumbling about Peter Gabriel.

Toad the Wet Sprocket – College roomies were really into Toad.  If you are cool, you just call them Toad.  Toad.

Barry Manilow -  very sparkly.  Loves me some Barry.

James Taylor – um, I’ve seen him once or twice.  Hehe.  James Taylor is the only concert for which I’ve spent the night outside for tickets. (And it was in the 90’s, not the 60’s!)  I’ve seen him almost every year since 1992.  I’ve gotten his autograph, had my photo taken with him, and traveled to various cities to see him perform live.  I've been to the Today show more than once when he's been a guest.  I even saw him in concert 9 days before I delivered Large, when I was HUGELY pregnant and it poured rain.  I like him.  A lot.

Hello, James.  It's me again . . . 

Ben Taylor – James’s son. 

Kate Taylor – James’s sister.

Steve Miller – I was worried it wouldn’t be a great concert because of all the instrumental “stuff” they’ve got going on, but it was flippin’ awesome.

Chicago – so very 80’s.

Carole King -  it was a package deal with James Taylor.  She made me feel like a natural woman though.

Hootie and the Blowfish - bought the tix for Hubby because I thought he'd be psyched.  Big birthday disappointment.

Kenny Chesney – before he got big . . . I think he was opening for Toby Keith?

Simon & Garfunkel – Saw the Old Friends tour.  They are geniuses, and it’s a great memory because I saw them with my friend “Mary” who passed a few years later.

Bon Jovi – saw them in Vegas when we were on our Babymoon, and I’m pretty sure I got high from second-hand smoke.  It’s all good, man, but puff-puff-pass.

Don Henley -  he was at a charity gala, which is cool if you’re a big fan, which I am not.

Eddie from Ohio – used to see them in local bars.  Now I listen to Robbie Schaeffer on Kids Place Live.  My, how times have changed.

Keith Urban – I’m gonna say it . . . not a HUGE fan. 

Sugarland -  I group them in the Reba category.  A little too twangy and forced for my taste.  I’m more of an acoustic type of gal, and I always feel like I want to give her a lozenge.

GooGoo Dolls – in Seattle when Hubby was on a business trip.  Wore ear plugs.  I like them, but I’m in my 30’s for goodness sake.

Clearly I was born in the wrong generation.  I know all the words to "White Rabbit," but I can't tell you the difference between the GooGoo Dolls and Green Day, and don't get me started on the new boy bands.  I'm still trying to figure out how Justin Timberlake evolved from that curly-headed adolescent geek into the man who brought sexy back.

I Went to the County Fair and All I Won Was This Knife

I’ve often said that I was cut out to be a Boy Mommy.  If I had had a girl or two, I’m sure I would have risen to the challenge, but I think the Big Man knows what he’s doing when he blesses us with our children.  The thought of having to sit through a Barbie movie or a Tinkerbell marathon makes me cringe.  Sitting through the new Spiderman movie on a rainy day, however . . . not a bad way to spend an afternoon.

Boy Mommies, since I am busy perpetuating stereotypes, get to do things like visit the County Fair and the Demolition Derby.

My boys had never been to a Demolition Derby.  Because I grew up in a neighboring county, I am well versed in activities of the Demolition Derby / Tractor Pull / Pig Wrestling variety.  I tried to explain that a Demolition Derby is kinda like bumper cars, except with real cars and real people and engines gunnin’ and mud and bald tires and . . .

Well kids, we’re gonna watch them tear some sh*t up.

Generally I avoid rides at venues such as these.  I’m a tad concerned about putting my babies on a ride that was in pieces on a flatbed the day before and which was assembled by someone who has maybe a 7^th grade education.  My anxiety level goes through the roof as I contemplate the lack of quality control and I visually inspect every nut and bolt on a machine that is spinning my first-born around at warp speeds. 

I’m sure they check the mechanics on those things every day, right?  Right?!  With all the mud and the cords on the ground, it’s obvious that safety is paramount.  

This totally reminds me of the
nuggets we just got at the
McDonald's drive-thru . . .
Next we can go to the Beef Barn
to see where burgers come from.

It costs the equivalent of $4 to ride these death traps, although I’m not convinced the vendors realize we’re on to their scheme.  You see, I have a college education.  When I purchase 40 tickets for $40 and it then costs me 4 tickets to ride, that’s $4. 

I’ve got good smarts.

Unfortunately, because it costs 4-friggin-dollars to ride and I have 3 children plus the neighbor kid who want to ride, MY children will not be going to college.  We just blew their tuition on the Ferris Wheel.  Sorry kids . . . hope it was all you thought it would be.

Because the Fair is a family environment and your safety is their primary concern, your 10-year-old can win a pocket knife if he wins one of the various games.  Giant Styrofoam-stuffed teddy bear?  No thanks, I’ll take the buck knife. 

Exhibit A:

Pay no attention to his wonky eye.  Surgery is scheduled for August 10, and if it’s not successful, I’m sure he can find a job in the carnival arts.

In Search of Preppy Clothes for the "Fluffy" Woman

First, I apologize for being away so long.  It’s these damn kids.  They need parenting, like, EVERY day.  It’s exhausting.

Hubby, God bless ‘im, bought me a preppy little polo dress at Vineyard Vines.  He was all excited when he got home because he had seen this dress and knew it was my style.  I have several from Lands’ End, and I love the fit because it’s, um, generous through the mid-section . . .  a nice coincidence since I, too, am generous through the mid-section. 

I tried it on, but it was too snug for my taste. 

“It’s cute,” Hubby exclaimed. 

“It’s too tight through here,” I replied, sensuously and seductively grabbing my gut.

“That’s whatcha got . . . you gotta work it,” he said. 

So while I am flattered that Hubby loves me just the way I am and sees no reason why I should cover myself up, I knew I simply would not feel comfortable in the dress.  I decided to return it and look for something else.

I love the style of Vineyard Vines, and I was so excited when they opened an outlet store near our home.  The last time I had been to a Vineyard Vines was when we vacationed on Martha’s Vineyard.  (Or simply The Vineyard, as a true prepster would call it.)  However, they need to extend their women’s sizes.  They have clothing for larger men, but not for larger women.  Worry not, though: I have already emailed Shep and Ian, the founders, and expressed my concern that “fat girls want preppy clothes too.”

They haven’t written me back yet.

So I went to the outlet to return the dress, but they have a strict return policy.  Technically, customers cannot make returns.  I approached the two twenty-something saleswomen behind the counter, who were both adorably clad in Vineyard Vines attire,  and explained my situation. 

We had an awkward conversation in which I presented the XL dress that was too small, and we went through the whole I’m-sorry-it’s-our-policy-well-can-I-speak-to-a-manager routine.  They politely asked me to browse while they called the manager at home.

I could hear their hushed conversation:

“This lady has this dress and she has the receipt.  The dress is too small . . .  We don’t have any larger sizes than XL. . . . I feel so bad . . . I know, but it’s too small . . . “

Finally, they convinced the manager to let me return the dress and exchange it for something that would fit.  (Something from our Men’s section, perhaps?)

I mean, their logo is a whale, for goodness sake.
You'd think they'd have some large clothes.

So here’s my question, Shep and Ian:  WHY don’t you have fashions for the fluffy woman?  Is it because it requires SO much extra material to make clothing for a woman with a little meat on her bones?  Is it because you don’t want to picture a woman stuffing a Big Mac down her craw while looking preppy in one of your skirts and a string of pearls?  Is it because the men on Martha’s Vineyard are allowed to carry a little extra weight but the women are not?

My request is simple.  Instead of me putting forth the time and effort (which I am doing, btw, but it takes a looooong time) to lose weight, I want your corporation to extend your entire clothing line in order to accommodate my beer baby.

That is all.  Good day to you, sirs.

What's in YOUR Bag?

Last night after dinner I decided I wanted to go to a local department store to look at tote bags.  I already own several thousand tote bags, but not THE PERFECT tote bag, hence my search.  Plus, I figured tote bag shopping would provide some much-needed alone time.

No such luck.

For some reason, Large decided he wanted to come with me.  Below is a sampling of our conversations while shopping for THE PERFECT tote bag.

LARGE:  Mom, these jeans look very large.

ME: Well, they’re a size smaller than what I usually wear.

LARGE: Wait, stand still.  Let me hold them up to you.  Um, where’s your waist?  Is it here? . . . Here? 

LARGE: (holding up a tiger-print, one-shouldered blouse) Look at THIS, Mommy!

ME:  Have you EVER seen me wear something like that?

LARGE:  No.  How come you never wear stuff like this?

ME:  I’m what they call a Plain Jane.

LARGE:  What’s a Plain Jane?

ME:  It’s someone who wears simple clothing – nothing flashy or animally.

LARGE: You mean like how you always wear a white shirt?

ME: Exactly.

LARGE: ooooh . . . look at THIS bag!  Is this fake zebra skin?

ME:  I don’t think that’s really my style.

LARGE:  Well, what are you looking for?

ME:  I’d really like something shiny like this one (pointing to an orange patent leather tote) that has a zipper up  top and pockets inside.

LARGE:  Well, what’s wrong with this zebra one?

ME:  I just don’t think I’d use that one.

LARGE: (sarcastically.  I don’t know where he gets it.)  Oh, like you’d use a shiny orange one.

LARGE: How come all these shoes are so high?

ME: Some women like to wear high heals because they look pretty.

LARGE: Look!  These almost fit me!  (Athletic socks and all . . . )

ME:  Super.  Daddy will be very proud.

LARGE: . . . But they’re hard to walk in.

LARGE:  (holding up a pair of driving mocassins.)  These shoes look like cleats.  But not football cleats.  Baseball cleats.  They should make these baseball cleats.

ME: Awesome.  You’d be the most fashionable kid on the ball field.

We were not successful in our quest for THE PERFECT tote bag, so I am still carrying my monogrammed Lands’ End tote.  It’s the only thing that fits all my crap.

Just for kicks . . .

1. An Inventory, from left to right:
2. Diapers and Wipes in handy clutch
3. Orioles baseball cap
4. Card from Edible Arrangements I received on our anniversary
5. Hair ribbon
6. 1 Kellogg’s Frosted Mini Wheat
7. coupons, expired
8. race car, red
9. umbrella
10. game schedules
•  Baltimore Orioles
• Richmond Flying Squirrels
11. Nail files from my last manicure, weeks ago
12. Clutch with emergency paraphernalia
• Epi-Pen
• Benadryl
• Advil
• Sea Bands since Large gets car sick
• Inhaler
• Band-Aids and Neosporin
• 2 tampons
• Off FamilyCare insect repellent towelettes
• Dramamine
• Tums
• Burts Bees
• May Kay Nourishine Lip Gloss in Bronze Bliss
13.  Clutch of emergency lollipops and Craisins
14. Wallet
15. Pens of various sizes, colors, and permanency
16. Binder clip
17.  Sunscreen
18. Empty bottle of party bubbles
19. Bakugan ("borrowed" from cousin)
20. Nasal spray
21. Diet Coke
22. sunglasses
23. mints
24. 2 trains, Thomas and Percy
25. 2 cars
26. athletic supporter
27. appointment cards for doctor appointments
28. Dental Floss
29. Small’s sunglass tether, no longer tethered to said sunglasses
30. Ticket to Strawberry Hill horse races which occurred on June 2
31. Loudoun 8U Aces Lineup
32. JoAnn’s Coupons
33. Barrettes
34. Score book from Minor League ball game

Just thinking of all the sh*t MacGyver could make out of all this stuff makes my head hurt.  Perhaps I’ll take one of these three unidentifiable pills I found among the sand and pretzel salt in the bottom of the bag . . . 

So let's hear it, mommies.  What's in YOUR bag?

Lucky 13 - Our Anniversary

I used to consider myself a hopeless romantic.  I believed in true love, soul mates, everlasting devotion, kissing in the rain . . .  the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sontag are self-indulgent, overrated crap . . . oh, wait.  That was from Bull Durham.  

Moving on . . .  


Now that Hubby and I have been married 13 years, I realize that all those things exist, but not without a lot of effort on the part of Husband and Wife.  (Or Husband and Husband, or Wife and Wife, or wherever your life leads you.)  Hubby and I are not overly demonstrative in our devotion to one another, and my not-so-secret plan to smother him in his sleep when he p*sses me off has been well-documented.  (Mostly this means that I'm going to have to come up with another plan . . . )  My point?  True love is tough to maintain.


The following poem is not gushy, mushy, sappy romantic, but I have always loved it.  Anyone who has read Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day knows that this woman knows of what she speaks.  


So on the occasion of our 13th Wedding Anniversary, (which was 2 days ago,) I am dedicating my favorite love poem to the man who calls me 15 times a day to ask me to get his dry cleaning, remind me when the contractor will be arriving, make sure I call the insurance company, ask me to run by the bank, announce that he needs razors, tell me he loves me.






TRUE LOVE
- Judith Viorst


It is true love because
I put on eyeliner and a concerto and make pungent observations about the great issues of the day
Even when there's no one here but him,
And because
I do not resent watching the Green Bay Packers
Even though I am philosophically opposed to football,
And because
When he is late for dinner and I know he must be either having an affair or lying dead in the middle of the street,
I always hope he's dead.

It's true love because
If he said quit drinking martinis but I kept drinking them and the next morning I couldn't get out of bed,
He wouldn't tell me he told me,
And because
He is willing to wear unironed undershorts
Out of respect for the fact that I am philosophically opposed to ironing,
And because
If his mother was drowning and I was drowning and he had to choose one of us to save,
He says he'd save me.

It's true love because
When he went to San Francisco on business while I had to stay home with the painters and the exterminator and the baby who was getting the chicken pox,
He understood why I hated him,
And because
When I said that playing the stock market was juvenile and irresponsible and then the stock I wouldn't let him buy went up twenty-six points,
I understood why he hated me,
And because
Despite cigarette cough, tooth decay, acid indigestion, dandruff, and other features of married life that tend to dampen the fires of passion,
We still feel something
We can call
True love. 

Glitter is Mommy Anthrax II: I Doubt Martha Has These Problems

The thing about Motherhood is that it provides me with a never-ending supply of anecdotes so that you, my readers, can laugh at my pain.  I choose to laugh right along with you because otherwise I would be locked in a rubber room in a stunning ensemble that doesn’t have armholes. 

It’s been a while since I’ve been on Pinterest.  It is such a time suck and I feel inferior to all the other women out there who have the time/creativity/army of employees to sew their own clothing, pack organic lunches, and concoct their own fabric softener.  

(Let’s pause here for a moment, shall we?  WHY would one make one’s own fabric softener, or any household cleaner for that matter, when these items can be easily purchased for minimal money?  That’s the beauty of progress . . . it’s 2012 and we can purchase these products already made!  It’s called Evolution, folks.  Aren’t we just regressing if we eschew progress instead of embracing the industrialization that eventually culminates in a trip to Target?) 

Okay.  Pinterest.

I was perusing the other day and got a bug up my *ss to make a Fourth of July wreath.  I made my necessary purchases last night during a particularly eventful (screeching, lollipop-throwing, "I wan git out") trip to the craft store, and today Medium and I got to work.  He cut out felt stars for me in red, white, and blue, and we decided to add glitter to the edges to make them spaaaakly.  We used a plate to catch wayward glitter and began decorating.  This is not my first time at the rodeo, you see, and I didn't want to make a mess.

In the interest of being frugal and teaching Medium a lesson in resourcefulness, I folded a sheet of paper in half and fashioned a little funnel so that I could pour the excess glitter back into the tube.  Wouldn’t want to waste any perfectly good glitter. 

I was on the last set of stars.  I worked at the counter, and Medium was sitting on the counter with his feet in the sink and playing with the faucet.  Yes, I know he’s 7; he’s easily entertained.  He extended the hose and was checking out the mechanics of the nozzle.  As I tapped the side of the glitter tube to make sure it settled, Medium turned the water on while it was facing me.   

Chaos ensued.

1.  It's a Beer Baby
2.  It's water and glitter, you sickos.
I'm not Monica Lewinsky

I jumped, startled, and glitter flew ev-ery-where.  It was caked onto my arm, but unfortunately I did not get a photo because I was too busy middle-naming him and experimenting with a new octave.

  

Trying to clean up glitter is like trying to get It’s a Small World out of your head.  You can try and try and try to get rid of it, but it’s still gonna be there.  (You’re welcome.)  Once glitter is on your hands, it magically ends up in your hair, in your eyebrows, in your ears . . . in every nook and cranny you have.  Since the glitter landed on the kitchen floor, it ended up on our feet, so we can look forward to soon seeing it in every room of the house.  I’ll consider it free decorating.  Every room can use a little bling.

For months I will be finding glitter in unexpected places.  That's what I get for liking the spaaaklies.

This is what was left AFTER I washed and scrubbed.

Yes.  That's gonna be there forever.

 It bears repeating:  Glitter is Mommy Anthrax.  That's correct . . . this NOT the first time glitter has proven to be my nemesis.  Read about yet another Glitter Fiasco here.  Apparently it's a lesson best learned the hard way.

Father's Day: an Homage to my Hubby

In honor of Father’s Day, (even though, as one of my friends put it, I'M the reason he's a father in the first place,) the top ten reasons I love my Baby Daddy.

Ahem.

1.     Over the past year, he’s only knocked out one of my children’s teeth.  It was an accident, but that doesn’t preclude the fact that Medium lost a tooth.

2.     He doesn’t go to bed angry.  Nope - he doesn’t let marital strife interfere with his sleep.  While I’m tossing and turning and contemplating smothering him with his pillow or preparing his morning coffee with a little arsenic sweetener, he’s snoozing away.

3.     He loves me just the way I am.  A man who would allow THIS to remain on the kitchen counter since last Friday obviously does not care whether or not his bride loses weight.

4.     He believes in me, and he is confident that I can do anything.  Why else would he leave a to-do list that includes going to the bank, dropping off dry-cleaning, delivering a package, and waiting for the HVAC guy, while making sure my kitchen is stocked with milk and bread, and of course, raising our children to be upstanding citizens.

5.     He makes an effort to include me in his hobbies.  Just last week he asked me to meet him at the end-of-the-season baseball party.  I had already decorated 12 baseballs, purchased baseball card packs, packed him a bag of clothes and cleats, filled the cooler, loaded the bag with baseball bats, grabbed the giant bucket of baseballs, and buckled all three of my little All-Stars into the Swagger Wagon ( . . . so thanks for the invite!)  This particular baseball team is not to be confused with the team for which I purchase, set up, and man the concession stand, for which I held an open house thirty-one/scentsy/stella & dot party last fall, and for which I registered and solicited donations for a recent tournament.   That’s a different team.

6.     He is supportive of my writing and he is proud of me.  He gushes away when colleagues or their wives tell him how funny I am or ask him about various situations in which I may have thrown him under the proverbial bus.  He is a willing participant in my storytelling and is always glad to be the *ss in my jokes.  I mean the butt of my jokes. 

7.     He helps with the laundry. . . usually with an audible sigh and a muffled comment about not having any clean underwear or socks.  He simply shrugs off my unwillingness inability to match socks as one of my more endearing quirks.

8.     He cherishes the fact that we are different.  Our strengths lie in different areas, and after the first ten years of our marriage, he finally accepted, graciously, that my lack of cooperation with the checkbook is all part of my charm.  I know this because I said to him, “why can’t you just accept that my lack of cooperation with the checkbook is all part of my charm?” at which point I think he threw his hat on the ground while I looked at him all doe-eyed and smirky.

9.     He appreciates my sense of humor.  When he texts to say he’ll be home by 10 and I text back that I’ll be sure to have my boyfriend out of the house by then, I know he’s laughing.  It’s probably deep down inside, but he’s laughing.

10.  He doesn’t complain that I don’t like to cook.  In fact, he didn’t have any comment at all when I suggested that if Chef Boyardee is not a sufficient dinner then perhaps he should eat his BIG meal at lunch time. 

My Hubby is an excellent daddy.  While this post may be a tad sarcastic, (just like I’m a tad sarcastic,) he loves his boys and I couldn’t ask for much more.