mini-van-ity plates

It was just like those 'December to Remember' commercials where the husband pulls up the driveway with a brand new Lexus RX350 with the red satin ribbon bow-tied around the hood of the car. (Where women like myself are screaming at the television saying 'no freaking way does that really happen'.) My husband surprised me last year, sans the red bow and okay, sans the Lexus, but he did have parked in our driveway, my very own mini-van.

I know that there are mothers out there that swear that they will never own a mini-van, even though all of you mini-van haters have us mini-van mommas snickering at you because you do not know the awesomeness that is remote sliding doors, 16 variety-sized cup holders strategically placed throughout your vehicle, and the capability to hold not 2 or 3, but 4 car seats (with the added bonus of attention from the guy at the car wash saying 'wow, you've been busy'). Mini-van haters, I swear to you that I will not be a mini-van momma that goes over the top with the finishing touch of what I like to call the mini-van-ity plate. I promise to you, you will not have to curse under your breath, throwing your fists in the air because my van will never have the plates: LVMYBZS or SCRMOM. Promise.

Of course this prompted me to search vanity plates. Mine, though I swear I will never do it, would be more like this...

or like this...

or...(with a shout out for Iowa)

the email forward

We all have people in our lives that don't have email forward discipline. You know, those people that will forward anything that includes on the end 'you must forward to 10 people or you will spontaneously combust within 48 hours of reading this message' or forward on it because it's from so and so, 'you remember them, your fourth cousin on your father's side'.

I generally delete these or at least send them right over to my spam folder, (okay, really they sit in my Inbox unread that's why I have 851 messages in said Inbox) but today I got one that caught my eye.

FW: For women - in our dreams

Personally, I really don't think that this forward has any significant merit to blog about, but you know who sent me this forward, my Dad. Thanks Dad, for the porn email: For women - in our dreams.

dirty little secrets

He likes to keep things in his pockets. Lucky for the 'laundry lady' in me, it's usually not sticky things like ABC gum (remember that?) or gummy bears but common place things like pennies, Kleenex, rubber bands, wine corks...

Did I say 'wine corks'?

Oh yes, my four (and a half) year old has developed a fondness for bottles of wine, particularly the wine corks. (I guess, he's always had an unique idea of what he considers a 'toy'. When his cork goes missing, he runs around the house shouting 'where is my wine cork?' (probably in his pocket, but I digress).

Unknown to me, he decided to bring his cork to child care while I went to aerobics. Upon picking him up, he stops in his tracks and asks 'where is my wine cork?'. I tell him that we have to get going. He looks at me, shrugs his shoulders and looks at the new (as in doesn't know me or my family's quirkiness) babysitter to proudly say 'that's okay, my mom's got two more bottle in the refrigerator!'

She glances at me with a slight grin on her face and says 'so he's sharing your dirty little secrets, huh?'.

(The jokes on them though, one of them is twist off because that's the way I roll~)

his half birthday

It happened in just the last few weeks, I've added "and a 1/2" to the question 'how old is your son?'. He didn't start saying it himself, it was me, it just made sense to start saying '4 and a half'' because he really doesn't seem like just a four year old. He has earned the half, he'll be starting his 'sophomore year' of preschool (as my husband likes to call it) in September. I've casually added this just as simply as a new mother converts from her baby being xx weeks old to instead being xx months old. (I think I remember making that change with Henry about at 6 months old with Wyatt he was 'months' old from the beginning because I simply couldn't keep track of how many weeks old he was/is. I already feel sorry for our hypothetical third child as I'm afraid he will just be 'under one' from birth.) My little 4 1/2 year old, sophomore year preschooler Henry is 237 weeks old in case you are wondering.

Last year, at 3 1/2 years old, I made the mistake of telling Henry about his half birthday coming up. To a 3 year old, it doesn't matter if it's your birthday, your half birthday, or someone else's birthday, it still mean cake, presents, balloons, a party. So when I mentioned it, he expected it all; the friends and the party. As a general rule, we don't make a huge deal of birthdays in the first place, but here I was disappointing my first born child simply because he didn't understand. We softened the half birthday blow by taking him to Chuck E. Cheese for the first time (which his idea of eating out' has never been the same since).

So do not mention anything about half birthdays to your children unless you feel like heading over to McDonald's for a celebratory Happy Meal for your little ones most significant half birthday unless you are like this anti-supermom, using it as an excuse for not making dinner and a little free time for mommy while the kiddos run around in the disgusting tunnels of the play land (In fact, Wyatt's 3/8 birthday is coming up this week... and yes, I've been up in the tunnels recently with Wyatt and it's totally as bad as you imagine).

Okay, who am I kidding, I use 'Friday' as an excuse to not cook and eat lunch out with my children.

Happy 'belated' half birthday, Henry. Sorry that you have no clue.

I'm so not a granola girl

My Husband.He's a mountain bike racer. (Doesn't he look all sweaty and dirty and hot and yeah, I'm totally pimping out my husband for a post).

Said mountain bike races are well, in the mountains (okay, we live in Minnesota, so large-ish hills with trees). Who likes to be in the trees, among the mountains, taking in those deep breaths of fresh air?

People of the 'granola' kind. My husband even witnessed through the corner of his eye (or so he says) a woman biker pulling up her skirt, slipping off her biking shorts and proceeding to pull up her underwear, in front of people, in front of 100 racing people. I'd consider that pretty granola. I'm so not a granola girl.

Needless to say, I feel like I don't fit in well with all of the granola girls who some happen to also be mountain biking mommas. I sit side-by-side these mommas as I tide my boys over with their favorite over-processed, pre-packaged, high fructose snacks as they sit cheering on their racing Dad. My favorite new snack to bring along...

because they look like this

which looks very similar to this

Gotta love a snack with shock value. If I pack them up in a clear little baggie and hand them individually to my children to woof down, imagine the look on those granola girls' faces.

And you crazies at Keebler - you know you wanted to call them Scooby Snacks, you know America is going to, why didn't you just go for it? A big Rut -Ro for you. (By the way, I love using my horrible Scooby voice when asking my boys if they want a scooby snack?)

Hooters for Neuters

Once in a while something catches your eye, makes you stop in your tracks, makes you turn all your attention to this one important, pressing subject. This morning, I had the television on, listening to CNN in the background of my breakfast fiasco clean-up when I heard that one of the most popular searches this week was Hooters for Neuters.

It appears as though the term 'neutered' makes men cross their legs, cup their hands and clear their throats (what a surprise!) Men fear that neutering their best friend may take away from his owner's virility. Apparently, jiggling young women, clad in short shorts and tight t-shirts bearing platters of wings is helping encourage those men to in fact, neuter/spay their pet.


Thank you, Hooters girls for your job well done. It's great that your continuing to 'encourage' our men and dwelling into serious issues (which, I don't want any haters, I know that it's serious, I just couldn't pass up the chance to blog about the great slogan: Hooters for Neuters.)



Oh, and did you know that Hooters has clothing for children. Get your Christmas shopping done early! (I'm so getting this for Wyatt)

duct tape and desire

Nothing makes me feel better about my deep, dark desire to duct tape my children's mouths shut on certain days than looking for a new job on Craigslist, where I could then leave my grouchy, fussy children in the hands of some other poor soul while I pursue new endeavors.

Perhaps I should look into something to advance my career, below they are looking for someone 'mature'. Plus, who doesn't like a free clothing job benefit...

Female Models $20.00 an hour plus free clothes (western suburbs)

Reply to: job-776472581@craigslist.org

Date: 2008-07-30, 3:38PM CDT

Looking for a mature model girl next door is a plus

Maxim meets playboy style shoot

No experience required

Must be fun and take direction well

outdoor and studio shoots available

Great way to start a portfolio!

Or perhaps a job that interests the 'high end', sophisticated side of myself...

So You Wanna Be a Model?

Reply to: job-768367788@craigslist.org

Date: 2008-07-24, 1:42PM CDT

Looking for females and couples ages 18-35 for a high end fetish video and photo shoot. Head and body shots a plus. Experience isn't a must, we will train if necessary. Up to $75 an hour if experienced and a good fit, possibility of long term work with points. Contact James

Compensation: Up to $75/hr based on experience

(and yes, I could totally use $75 an hour, that would be a huge pay increase. Bonus, they are 'willing to train'. I am curious what a 'good fit' means and 'long term work with points', hmmm)



or perhaps I should forget a new job and just have my investments start working for me...

Locations needed for "America's Next Felon"

Reply to: frznstate@aol.com

Date: 2008-07-21, 1:59PM CDT

We're looking for an abandoned warehouse, or an empty warehouse that looks rough or could be dressed down. Even an empty or closed restaurant, bar, gas station. Something a dirty cop and an ex-con would hold a reality show so it wouldn't draw attention. Budget is very low so we'll talk about compensation. The owner of the location will get film credit, copies of the project, invite to the wrap party and to the premiere, and t-shirts when they arrive.

This is going to going to be a fun project so get on board.

I think my house would be perfect for a dirty cop and/or ex-con show. I'd get to wear a t-shirt that says something along the lines of "America's Next Felon" was filmed at my house and all I got was this lousy t-shirt. (Aren't those shirts the best!)

It's so great that life is full of opportunities. (I'll make sure to tell my children this when their mouths are taped shut so they can be sure to hear me.) You can thank me too, I've left all links to Reply to:

renewal

A renewed respect, I wrote that I have a renewed respect for single parenting as I 'vacationed' alone with my children. It's renewed because I've always respected single parenting. At seventeen years old, I watched as my nineteen year old sister came home with this little baby, snuggled in her arms always, that was all hers. The father walked out after the pregnancy became too real and 'real life' became just too much.

I watched her bath this baby, feed this little being, cloth this tiny little boy all by herself. Though I was seventeen and wrapped up in my own world like only a seventeen year old could do, I took some notice. I could see that she loved it, she loved being a mother, it was written not only on her face, but her entire body oozed of new motherhood.

But she did it all alone. There was no one really to hand off her baby to when she desperately needed a break. No one to turn to in the middle of the night and whisper 'your turn' to when the baby woke in the wee hours of the morning. There is also no one that understands quite like your partner, your husband in sharing that little smile between the two of you as you recap the moments of the day that made you laugh out loud or in fact, scream out loud.

I've been thinking about this, as well as those moms that have husbands that work all of the time or husbands who travel for business often. I'm so lucky, I don't have that. I spent several night of this vacation wiping tears away from my four year old's eyes, getting ready for bed, as he again begged for Dad to be able to be there. Bedtime is their time, he and Dad reading books, folded into each other absorbing each other in that moment of that night. I love that he cherishes his father in a way that I can never replicate.

I'm lucky that I don't have to be a father, ever. I'm a mother. I may not be good at it some days, I may very much be this anti-supermom on those days when I give up trying to do it all but knowing that I do not have to 'do it all' all by myself renews love of my husband, my partner.