Men's Marriage Manual: Chapter 1

This week will mark our 14th wedding anniversary, and we will have been together for 19.  One would think that with age and duration comes wisdom.  Currently I am not speaking to Hubby because he said one of the following to me this weekend.  I'm sure he's considering this lull in conversation as a little nagging vacation, but alas, I'm stewing.  In the interest of helping him survive another year without me smothering him with a pillow or poisoning his corn flakes (or both, if I really want to speed things along,) I offer 

Things You Should NOT Say If You Value Your Life, Your Sleeping Arrangements, or Your Front Teeth: 

       

      1.  Is that what you’re wearing? / Is that how you’re going to wear your hair? / Or any version thereof.  You'd think by this point one of you fellas would have written a marriage manual and this would have been Chapter 1.

2.  Do not tell me you’ll be home at 7 and then call me from the office at 6:55 to tell me you’re running a little late.  You are likely to arrive home (finally) and find the neighborhood kids roasting marshmallows in a bonfire made completely of your business suits.

3.  What’s for dinner?  Seriously.  We’ve been together almost 20 years and I have not ONCE made a meal that caused you to celebrate my skills in the kitchen.  I don’t like to cook.  I’m not good at it.  It takes longer to make it than it does to eat it.  Invest in stock in the Chef Boyardee company and leave me alone.

4.  My mom never let the clothes pile up like this.  Well then perhaps you should take your laundry to her.

5.  Didn’t you just get your nails done/ hair done/ brows waxed?  It’s called maintenance.  Don’t ask how the magic happens . . . just appreciate the end result.

6.  What do you need to get at Target?  Nothing.  Target is my happy place.  I like to go to there.

7.  You don’t need ice cream.  No one NEEDS ice cream, but the fact that you are pointing out that I, in particular, do not NEED ice cream means that I’m now considering ordering two ice creams. 

8.  What’s the over / under on when these clothes are going to be put away?  On a completely unrelated topic, please note that Jimmy Hoffa’s body has YET to be found.  Maybe he aska too many aquestions.

9.  Why is the house always such a mess when I get home?  You should have considered this question about 9 months before I delivered each of your children.

10.  When’s the last time you went to the gym?  1996.  The answer is 1996.

Skinny Girls at the Gym: An Analysis

I am continuing my quest to lose 40 lbs. by the time I turn 39+1 in September.  I have been checking out my "physique" in the aerobics room mirror, and I have decided that there are certain stereotypes perpetuated by gym members.

1.  The Fat Girl.  She (hypothetically, of course) is the red-faced girl who cringes every time the instructor says to “engage those abs.”  Um, if I (I mean SHE) could do that we wouldn’t be here in the first place, now would we?  Also, I don't do lunges because 

       a.  my knees hurt and 

       b. when I do lunges I look like an ostrich doing the Charleston

She's double-bagging the sports bras and still worries about her boobs hitting her in the eyes and knees during particularly aerobic exercises.  Picture Tyler Perry's Madea doing jumping jacks; you get the idea. 

2.  The Overachieving Pregnant Girl.  She continues working out during all 9 months of her pregnancy.  Perhaps if I had worked out instead of feasting on that 5-lb. bag of Tootsie Roll Midgets my Mother-in-Law bought me at Costco . . . man, I love that woman . . . I wouldn't have gained so much weight during pregnancy.  My advice to you, Overachieving Pregnant Girl?  If this is your first pregnancy, you’re gonna wish you’d taken a nap instead of stuffing that belly into spandex because that first week of new babyhood is the great equalizer; no amount of exercise is gonna change the fact that you’re an emotional time bomb, your teeth have 3-days-worth of gunk on them, and you haven’t washed your hair since sometime last week.  Tootsie Roll Midgets sound pretty damn good right about now, don't they?

3.  The Supportive BFF.  She is your gorgeous, skinny, in-shape friend who reminds you that you’re on the right track / getting to the gym is half the battle / you’re getting healthy, etc.  And sometimes she takes you to Starbucks after you leave the gym.  We love her.  But sometimes we wish she was fat.

4.   Jane Fonda.  This is the woman who has decided that after a 20 year sabbatical, she’s gonna get back in shape.  She pulled out her spandex, her fluffy socks, and her braided headband and programmed Olivia Newton John’s “Let’s Get Physical” on her ipod.  Stand next to her; you’ll look good.

5.  The Weight Lifter.  You know how everyone else in the class has weights ranging in size from  2.5-5 lbs?  She’s got the 10 pounder, and still acts as if she’s not being challenged.  B*tch.

6.  The Regular.  She never misses a class, and sometimes she sticks around for the next class.  I’m drenched in sweat and have jello legs, but she needs another hour of physical exertion.  Apparently she doesn't have the Mt. Everest of laundry waiting for her at home.

7.  The Non-Sweater.  While I am feeling my pulse and praying that my heart doesn’t explode right in the middle of the gym floor, she’s barely breaking a sweat.  This is a blessing in disguise, however.  When I have a heart attack, I’m pretty sure she’ll have the energy to run and get the defibrillators.

8.  The Jokester.  While planking, she makes a funny about how “it’s not like you’re working with 400 lbs. of body weight!  It’s only 200 lbs.”  Hahahahaha . . . wait.  Hey!

9.  The Old Lady.  She’s 90 years old, but she’s still shaking her money-maker at the gym.  When I’m 90, I plan to be fat and surly.  (You know . . . a complete change from what I am now.)  

10. The Former Marine.  I’m doing girly push ups and silently repeating the mantra my arms will not give out causing my face to slam into the floor, and she’s going all Demi Moore G.I. Jane.  This is probably the same woman who just competed in the Tough Mudder – the race where contestants compete in a muddy obstacle course for the purpose of . . . well, I don’t know what the purpose is.  I just know that I don't like getting persweaty, so you can be damn sure I don’t like rolling around in the mud like a prized swine.  Makes me think of all the laundry I’d have to do afterwards.  And bacon.

Again with the Beer Baby . . .

I’m fat.

I get it.

It happened again.  We were at a cocktail party Friday night when someone asked me, “so which number is this for you?” and glanced down at my abs-of-steel region.

Ugh. 

“We have three, and we’re done,” I replied.  

“Not pregnant.  Just fat,” I added, which prompted her to say, “oh, you’re not fat!”

Well then why’d you just insinuate that I was pregnant?  Nobody sees Kate Moss at a cocktail party, (holding a wine glass, by the way,) and comments on her pregnancy.  Poor Hubby hates when this happens, mostly because he has to clean up the emotional mess that accompanies my death spiral of self-esteem. 

I get it.  I am fluffy.  Generally, I’m okay with it.  

An acquaintance (who happens to by gay, so I totally trust him,) told me I just need to own my plus-sizeness.  He’s right.  No one is fooled by what I wear if I try to hide my plumpness.  So I try to dress appropriately; I try to look nice and wear clothes that fit.  I don’t look frumpy (except when I’m wearing my bus-stop sweatpants and my puffy coat.  On a side note, puffy coats are NOT flattering, especially on big girls.  But damn if that coat is not warm.)  Since I carry a lot of weight in the front, I can’t rock a tight dress – I need something with an empire waist, which is more flattering, but which apparently looks like I own stock in Motherhood Maternity.

I carry my weight in my front.  (And hips.  And cheeks, and upper arms, and boobs.  But NOT in the rear.  My badonkadonk is more like just a badonk.)  Just to clarify, again:

Me pregnant:

The back side is F-L-A-T.
The front?
Not so much.

Me, pregnant and bloated with a beer baby:

My point is that I am making efforts to be more healthy.  I’m doing Weight Watchers . . . AGAIN . . . and I go to the gym.  But it’s going to take some time. I am never going to be a size 10, and I am okay with that.  I am fluffy because I prefer beer and pizza to salad and a glass of ice water.  I do not have a thyroid problem nor do I have a genetic propensity for obesity.  My body has borne three children and endured various other emotional/hormonal events, and it has not bounced back.  I OWN it.   

But for the love o’ pete, it hurts my feelings when grown-ups insinuate that I am pregnant.  I struggle with it every day and I don’t blame anyone else but myself.  I try to be a kind person, a good friend, an understanding wife, a loving mother.  I wake up every day and try to be all these things, and I know, intellectually, that these qualities are what matter most.  So when you meet me at a party, let’s talk about religion and politics, but NOT my weight, because that, my friend, is a sensitive topic.

Things I Have Learned Since Graduating From High School

I’ve had the yearbook out lately, and I have come to several conclusions.

1.  Feathered hair was a BAD idea.  I hot-rolled my loooong hair every day, except on days when I wore it in a ponytail or a French braid, but no matter what . . . I had the feathers.  Feathers with pulled-back hair looks like a girl-mullet.

Exhibit A:

Girl-mullet

2.  The nerds are taking over the world.  Years later when I became a high school teacher myself, I remember looking at my students – the jocks, the nerds, the popular kids, the kids-who-eat-on-the-floor-outside-the-cafeteria.  I had a student who was having a particularly hard time fitting in, and I remember telling her that, unfortunately, for many of the “popular” kids, this is IT for them.  These really ARE the best days of their lives.  Outside of this little pond, many of them won’t amount to much.

I taught senior English my first year out of college.  One “popular” boy worked at a shoe store in the local mall.  All cool and funny, he entered class one day and announced that he worked with a guy who knew me from high school, “and he said you were a band geek.”  Of course, the class thought this was hilarious; this cocky kid had just knocked the teacher down a few pegs.  My response?  “I went to college, got a degree, and now I’m your teacher.”  I paused for effect and to make sure my voice was as smug as humanly possible, “and he’s working with YOU at the Athlete’s Foot . . . “

Big Hair.  Feathers.
Teeth, post-braces.
Thanks, Mom and Dad!

3.  Our 20 year reunion is fast approaching, and I have several friends who are not attending for various reasons.  I know people get nervous about attending reunions, and I am the first to admit that I went on a shopping spree so I could find something “fat and sassy,” which is how I justified my purchase to my hubby.  I gotta work what I got. 

But you know what?  I’m not the head of Microsoft.  I haven’t even had a paycheck in eight years.  We have all seen varying levels of success, and we measure success differently.  What really matters is the people we’ve become.  (Is that too After-School-Special-Hallmark-Hall-of-Fame cheesy?)  I’m so glad I’m not the girl I was 20 years ago. 

4.  We have all made decisions that have led us to where we are today, and who knows who I’ll be 20 years from now. 

Yes, boys, this is what
you missed out on . . .
rolled jeans, Hard Rock
Sweatshirt, (even though
I had never actually
BEEN to Hard Rock,)
and hair that needed to
be cut about 2 years ago.

I’m glad I left for college as a single woman and that I am not currently the First Lady of Taco Bell.  I treasure my memories of my high school sweetheart, but we wanted different things out of life.  Every boy I ever dated was a step towards finding the man I married.  All those old boyfriends were Mr. Wrong for me, but I bet they’re making damn good husbands to someone else.  (As a sidenote, this is unfortunate because they are SUPPOSED to be pining away for me for the rest of their lives.  You know . . .  Kicking themselves for letting me go and fondly remembering all those mix tapes they made me.)

5.  There’s a reason I never made the cheerleading squad.  If you’ve ever attended an aerobics class with me, you know why.

6.  Wine is SO much better than wine coolers, and Boone’s Strawberry Hill will kick your @ss if you drink two bottles of it by yourself in the course of a few hours.  I have distinct memories of praying for the sweet release of death.  But that’s the only memory I have from that night.

7.  It is an absolute blessing that none of us were killed while driving recklessly on Lake Jackson Drive.  

8.  I DID know gay people in high school.  I just didn’t know it yet.  How 'bout that.

9.  Men look better as they age.  When I look at photos of Hubby when he was in high school, I still see the man I married, but he’s so much more handsome and distinguished now than he was then.  Meanwhile, I’m kicking myself for making my color appointment for the week after our reunion knowing that everyone is going to see my Cruella DeVille grey streaks.

10.  Speaking of hair . . . if we, collectively, as a senior class, could have donated all that big hair to Locks of Love, can you imagine how many wigs that would have made?

11.  Just as I suspected, I couldn’t tell you ONE thing I learned from reading The Federalist Papers.

More Gym Misadventures, for Your Reading Pleasure

The misadventures continue . . .

My observations at the gym this morning.:

Dude, work on your triceps!

1. The wall of mirrors in the class studio is like a giant funhouse mirror.  Surely my batwings are not that floppy.  (Didn't know there was a name for that underarm floppiness, did ya?)  Why does my reflection look so much larger than everyone else’s?  When I stand directly in front of the instructor, I’m quite sure the patron immediately behind me cannot see her at all. 

2. The easiest part of yoga this morning was when the instructor asked us to bend into a seated position so that our chests were touching our thighs.   Hehe.  NO problemo.  Take that skinny b*tches with your perky B cups. 

3. Every mother holds her breath when the attendant from the nursery quietly sneaks into the back of the room and scans for her target.  Today it was my turn.   Small apparently does not realize how much will power it takes for me to get to the gym in the first place. 

4. My weight loss strategy apparently entails purchasing double-dipped chocolate covered peanuts at the grocery store immediately following my workout.  And also opening them in the car on the way home.  (I needed sustenance for the 3 mile drive.)  I got chocolate on my workout shirt . . . the irony of this is not lost on me.

5.  College girls home for the summer annoy me to no end.

·      Me:  

a)  sweating like a whore in church, 

b)  trying to prevent my pants from catching fire lest my thighs rubbing together cause a spark, 

c)  learning all I ever need to know about Pink on E! because heaven forbid the gym make NBC available, 

d)  feeling constricted by my too-small sports bra, which I purchased because if I wear my actual size then I’m liable to get a black eye or bruised knees from all the boob-floppin’, 

e)  and working the elliptical next to a mouth-breather.  Lucky me.

·      College girls: 

a)  carrying cell phone at all times, 

b)  sporting brightly colored sports bra vaguely covered by off-the-shoulder Flashdance sweatshirt, 

c)  wearing Nike running shorts that show off tanned, athletic legs, 

d)  and somehow not sweating.  Perhaps because there's no actual working out taking place.

This bothers me because when I was a college girl home for the summer I hated working out.  Riding the bike to nowhere for 10 minutes made me feel like I was going . . . um, nowhere and I was morbidly afraid of falling off the back of the treadmill.

6.  I went to the gym in the evening recently; usually I go in the morning.  The gym has a foul odor at night.  It smells like an aromatic cocktail of adolescent sweat, frito breath, and feet.

7.  My girlfriend told me the other day that she couldn’t believe how strong I am.  She’s on crack.  Also, she wasn’t paying close enough attention and she missed the part where I switched to the 2.5 lb. weight.

8.  I am thankful that I know the difference between a swimsuit and a workout tank, unlike one of my fellow yogis this morning.  I had to refrain from touching her lightly on the arm while shaking my head and saying, “oh, honey, no.”

9.  You know I have a thing about toes.  (Read about my strict flip-flop policy.)  If you don’t take care of your toes, please don’t be flashing those puppies around.  I’m not saying they have to be perfectly painted at all times, but if you’ve picked at your big toe so much that your toenail looks like it’s about to be swallowed up by the toe around it, please, for the love o’ pete, wear socks. 

10.  If one more person reminds me that it’s almost bathing suit season I am going to lose my sh*t.  According to my calendar  I now have approximately 1 day in which to lose 50 lbs.  I don’t think it’s gonna happen.

Well, peeps, I hope this blog entry has made you feel a little better about yourself.  It has certainly made me feel worse about my chocolate-covered peanuts, which I will be thinking about as I sit pool-side tomorrow.  

The Zen of the Nugget.

Here’s a little nugget (pun intended) about my recent experience at yoga class.

It seems I have made a new BFF at the gym, because I know A LOT more about one of my fellow yogis than I ever wanted to know.

It all started very innocently.  I was a tad late to yoga class; it happens.  So I had to grab an open spot towards the back, and that spot just happened to be situated behind a man.  I’m sure he is a lovely individual, although I might suggest he spend some time looking for appropriate yoga-wear.  

The class worked through various poses like downward-facing dog and warrior and cobra. 

But then came the bow pose.

Are you familiar with the bow pose? 

Bow pose involves lying on your stomach, bending your knees, and then gently grabbing both your ankles with your hands so that you look like a bow and arrow, hence the name.  See how that works? 

I look JUST like this when I do it . . . .
hehe.

we were all very relaxed . . . sloooowly bend your knees . . . then geeeeently grasp your ankles with your hands . . . . feeeeeel the stretch . . . releeeeeease the tension in your body . . . .just leeeeeet it goooooo . . . now bring your gaze forward . . .

My eyes!  MY EYES!!!!!

You see, the lovely gentleman in front of me was wearing loose-fitting gym shorts, and there to the left (in case you were wondering “how’s it hangin’”) were his, um, nether-regions.  BOTH of his nether-regions.  Just layin’ there. 

HOW am I supposed to harness my chi when this guy’s hunk o’ junk is peeking at me out of his little red gym-shorts?  I could no longer hear the yoga instructor because in my head I was hearing that Mrs. Doubtfire "well, helloooooo!" voice.

It was like a train wreck . . . I REALLY wanted to look away, but my mind kept trying to tell me that surely that’s not what I’m seeing, right?  Is it?  No.  No!  Okay, maybe . . . Oh. My. Gah. 

Now I’m suffering some PTSD flashbacks, complete with squinty eyes, a mild headache, and the shakes.  It was my own personal VietNamaste.  

Facebook Posts That Sum Up My Life.

. . . is wondering why Medium isn’t wearing any pants.  Again.  (5.20.08)

. . . is wondering why nobody ever buys my crap on ebay.  (5.30.08)

. .  .is wondering if anyone else thinks the duck on Word World sounds dangerously like Dr. Phil.  Or am I just losin’ it?  (6.2.08)

. . . thinks the First  Aid station at Yankee Stadium is the size of a closet.  Don’t ask me how I know this.  (7.18.08)

. . . snuck a 6-pack into the Stepbrothers movie last night – it really does make it funnier!  (8.5.08)

. . . is trying to make it ‘til Tuesday without sticking my head in the oven.  (8.28.08)

. . . is cooking dinner.  And by cooking I mean heating fish sticks and waffle fries.  (9.8.08)

. . . went to Pilates yesterday.  Now it hurts when I sneeze.  (9.11.08)

. . . is continuing to hold.  My call is very important to them.  The next available representative will be with me shortly.  (9.22.08)

. . . is ready for Hubby to be home from Chicago.  And I’m off to PTA.  (next step?  . . . apparently, vice presidential running mate.)  (9.24.08)

. . . almost lost my side mirror to a NJ Transit bus in the Lincoln Tunnel.  (10.2.08)

. . . wishes the PTA would serve frosty beverages at tonight’s Halloween party.  Mommy needs a glass of wine.  (10.30.08)

“Charlie Bit My Finger” makes me laugh every time I see it.  And it makes me want to speak with a British accent.  All the time.  (11.13.08)

I have made a decision: when the answer to “is it dirty?” is “I wiped a booger on it,” the answer is YES.  (12.2.08)

Sittin’ poolside in Orlando.  (. . . OK, it’s the baby pool, but still.)  (12.8.08)

Just skidded and left my a$$ print on a snowy NYC sidewalk.  So graceful.  (12.19.08)

. . . is wondering of Stepbrothers will get an Oscar nod.  (1.2.09)

My 3-year-old just said, “Daddy’s a nice boy.  YOU’RE like a stepmom.”  NO more fairytales!  (1.8.09)

. . .watched Cops last night.  Watching shirtless men with mullets try to elude police always makes me feel better.  (3.2.09)

I am feeling better; thanks for asking.  Not 100% by any means, but I am no longer praying for the sweet release of death, so that’s a plus.  (3.18.09)

A Kindergartener complimented my mad art skillz.  It’s gonna be a good day!  (3.24.09)

Just kicked my husband out of the house for the ‘Heels game.  I can’t take the yelling and it scares the daylights out of the dog.  So, you see, he HAD to go.  (4.6.09)

Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs are a gift from God.  (4.7.09)

My goal in life is to squeeze Tim McGraw’s biceps before I die.  (5.13.09)

. . . is watching a woman try to pluck her stiletto out of the rubber flooring at the playground.  Perhaps heels aren’t the best option for the playground?  (5.20.09)

Medium just told me, “no shows, no snacks, no tattoos, no nuffin!  I am NOT happy!”  and stomped his foot.  Alrighty then.  (5.28.09)

. . . is hoping we don’t have a repeat of the “naked temper tantrum” in public again today.  I was worried there’d be footage on the 11 o’clock news of me, disheveled and frustrated, trying to hail a cab on York Ave. while holding a screaming, kicking, wet, naked child.  (6.16.09)

. . . is celebrating a decade of marriage.  I’d get married all over again!  (Maybe even to my husband.)  (6.26.09)

. . . was sitting poolside and wondering . . . why can’t I look cute, sexy, and sassy while eating potato chips straight out of the Utz Big Bag like the 2 bikini-clad twentysomethings across the patio?  Sigh.  (7.6.09)

My darling husband hacked my facebook account and went Farmville-crazy . . . apparently because he wanted a free cow.  (7.31.09)

Just kicked Large’s a$$ at Wii Frisbee Dog.  Take that, 6-year-old!!!  (8.5.09)

Medium:  “Mommy, can you fix this?”  Me:  “Sure; what’s wrong with it?”  Medium: “I accidentally peed on it.”  (8.9.09)

A conversation between the boys – Medium: “Large!  WHAT has gotten into you?”  Large: “YOU don’t talk to me that way!”  Hmmmmm . . . .   (8.13.09)

It’s sad when Medium starts the day by saying, “if we go to Target today . . . “  (9.11.09)

Hubby came home from work in the middle of the day and caught me doing . . . housework.  I hate that.  I like his expectations to be LOW.  (9.18.09)

According to Large, “coffee is for ten-year-olds.”  (9.22.09)

. . . only has one fully-functioning nostril and a killer sinus headache.  Feel sorry for me.  (10.1.09)

Had fun in Old Town for L’s bachelorette party. Nothing says “we’re here to party” like a pregnant bridesmaid!  (10.4.09)

I think God invented the drive-thru Starbucks because He really wants me to be happy.  (10.21.09)

According to my husband, watching a pregnant woman with hot rollers in her hair apply deodorant while hiking up her dress and revealing maternity pantyhose is NOT sexy.  Who knew?  (11.7.09)

First Time-Out of the day at 7:03 AM.  It’s gonna be a long one . . . (11.11.09)

Just shaved a few years off my life by accidentally seeing a photo in US Weekly of John Gosselin doing yoga.  My eyes!  My EYES!!!  (11.16.09)

Last night’s dream:  The Jonas Brothers were on trial for some sort of hunting infraction, and they were in the front row in court, dressed in full camouflage regalia.  Only two were on trial though – the third was just there for moral support.  (11.24.09)

Mommy:  “Whatcha doing?”  Medium: “Nuffin, Just makin’ a card for Jesus, since it’s almost his birfday.  I need to draw girl hair, cuz Jesus looks like he has girl hair.”  (11.30.09)

Medium just walked into the living room with a Power Rangers mask and a pool noodle.  Hmmmm . . .  (12.7.09)

. . . is a little concerned that my four-year-old is reciting, word for word, the Touch and Brush commercial.  (1.5.10)

You squeeze!  You roll!  You press!
Now your bathroom looks a mess!
There's GOT to be a better way . . . 

My four-year-old is wearing only a t-shirt, underwear, and socks, and is singing “Rockin’ the Beer Gut.”  I pray he’s not doing the same thing in 20 years.  (1.11.01)

Both my children vomited during dinner.  And you wonder why I don’t cook.  (1.25.10)

Medium:  “I can’t stop smilin’. My cheeks are freezed.”  (1.30.10)

Medium:  “Mommy, why is your belly round?”  Mommy:  “Because I have a baby in there.”  Medium:  “When the baby comes out it will be regular?”  Theoretically son . . . theoretically.  Sigh.  (2.1.10)

Medium just rode his laundry basket down the stairs.  Those of you who know Medium will not be surprised . . . (4.13.10)

Nothing good comes out of “Mommy, I had a booger but I didn’t use a tissue . . . “  (4.27.10)

. . . is a little disturbed that we live in a world where Ashton Kutcher is considered one of TIME Magazine’s 100 Most Influential People in the World.  (5.17.10)

Medium has a playdate this morning, so I reminded him to mind his manners and be on his best behavior.  He responded, “Forget about it, Mom.  I’ve got it covered.”  Sigh . . . that child!  (6.2.10)

Just received notice that my Starbucks reward card has been promoted to Gold Level!  Somehow I think Hubby will not be quite as impressed as I am with my latest accomplishment.  (I also got a Thank You card from the Gap today.  They love me!)  (6.2.10)

It was seven years ago today that I told Hubby I thought I was in labor, to which he replied, “Do I have time to order Chinese?  I didn’t get a chance to eat lunch.”  (6.27.09)

Hey, Lady at Dutch Wonderland Amusement Park, I asked if you could move your chair, not donate a kidney.  Pipe down.  (7.9.10)

A rainy day at home, baby vomit on my arm, race track on my family room floor, iCarly on two different Tvs, whites done and darks in the dryer.  Just another ay in Paradise!  (8.18.10)

Only 7 shopping days until my birthday. Hubby’s going to buy me Starbucks so caffeinated it will disable my blinking reflex, everyone's potty-time aim will be perfect, & the dog will poop OUTside. Boogers will go in kleenexes - not on my couch and no bodily functions and/or secretions shall take place on/near me. Someone please notify my family that this is the plan!  8.27.10)

I’m getting flak from the 7-year-old because he needs the computer for homework, and “I REALLY need to learn, Mom!”  (9.20.10)

Hubby’s in a cab from LGA to Montvale, NJ with a cabbie who has no GPS and “thinks” he knows where he’s going.  He texted me (Hubby, not the cabbie,) that they’ve stopped for gas.  I’m thinking the cabbie’s inside asking where’s a good place to hide a body . . . (10.4.10)

Gonna get my GTL on, except without the G or the T.  (That’s Gym-Tan-Laundry, for those of you not versed in the Jersey Shore lingo.)  (10.8.10)

I might shower today.  Haven’t decided.  (11.10.10)

You know what happens when you send an unaccompanied 5-year-old with $10 to the Scholastic Book Fair?  You become the proud owners of a Justin Bieber book.  (12.8.10)

Doing Pilates today.  (But according to an automatically corrected text I sent yesterday, I’m doing pilots.)  (1.4.11)