I feel very self centered for not writing about hurricanes and damage and loss today. I'm not good with sad stuff, I tend to walk away from it and certainly not address it, so don't think I'm a cold hearted bitch - I mean I am, but not on this issue. I cope using avoidance, and Katrina, I'm avoiding your ass.


Instead I woke up today like I do every August 31st and think back to how I felt that fateful morning I was going to walk down the isle, and it's still the same feeling - surprise. Suprise that I feel in love, suprise that he loved me back, surprise that we've made it 9 years, surprise that I live in the suburbs with 2 kids and a dog. Me? Me who was destined to be a world leader and independent free sprited world traveler? Me who loved Mr. Right Now, but never wanted a Mr. Right?


I keep track of what my alter ego is doing, where she has gone, what cool places she's seen, yes, famous people she's fucked, and while I admire Miss Aimala's life, and have occasional pangs of jealousy, I still feel like I picked the right road. Hubby is a brave man to be married to me. I'm bossy, tempermental, bitchy and at times just down right mean. Amazingly he still sees me as cute, sassy, funny and smart. God bless those rose colored glasses and 2 percasets I slip him every morning.


Hubby thanks for 9 wonderful, amazing, fucking crazy, years. I can only imagine what the next 9 will bring us, and hope that we'll have 50 plus more to laugh about!

What is it with our hubbies and not seeing the giant to-do list in the sky? At any given time I can rattle off 10 things that need done around the house, groceries that need bought, the next 4 docotors appointments on the calendar, and what's for diner. Hubby can tell you - well the last time we had sex, and the starting line up of the California Angels. I had a friend email about her sons first day of school. It was great, but the prep to get there, not so hot. She had taken the kids for the weekend so her hubby had a guys weekend, no kids, mild debauchery, and lots of fun. Lucky Man. When she arrrived home on Sunday at 9pm nothing was ready for school for the next day. No groceries, no laundry, no backpacks, nothing. Or as she said NOOOTTTTHHHIINNNNGGGGG.


Oh yeah, she was pissed. At him for not knowing to do it, and at herself for not telling him.


The thing is, if she had told him he would have had it done, probably. If she wrote it down and put it somewhere where he was sure to see it, he would have had it done, most likely. If she called him twice to see how he was doing and casually reminded him that their son was starting Kindergarten and the following things needed to be done, he would have done them, definately.


She wrote me this morning still mad a day later and I had that, ugh I feel for ya. I know she bitched him out and he stood there and took it like a man but had the big eyed, what did you expect, you didn't call to remind me face but enough sense not to say it out loud. I totally know my hubby would have done the EXACT same thing. He just doesn't see it. If I organize it, list it, and post it, he can follow along. But connecting the dots - he school starts, hmmm, we need to get his stuff ready, ok, I'll pack the backpack and make sure clothes are clean, he could never string that out by himself.


Now, knowing the starting quarterbacks for the past 10 years of the maimi dolphins, that he has no problem remembering. Or, remembering to prep for a fantasy draft, boy the to do list that man could create would humble sports illustrated. Of course it always makes me want to throw words around like 'fucking priorities' or 'ass hat' or 'i know you're not fucking stupid but god damn you sure know how to act like it'. I'm sure similar words of hate and scorn were flung around her clans house Sunday.


I being the ever kind friend sent back the following email - if I can't solve at least I can point out what's good


Sorry you hubby was such a dufus. Remember, you didn't marry him for his organization skills, you knew well before "I do" that he did not win any awards for masterful list making. Honey you married him for that great ass, big cock, and kind heart. Thankfully those won't go for a few more years so forgive him and think of the great memory you'll have of Kindergarten to lord over him for at least the next 12 years.


PS - this is the same email she sent to me last month when I was bitching - we just send it back and forth with the grievance updated - feel free to borrow and send to friends, or remind me the next time I'm bitching.

My daughter starts a new day care on Monday and they asked us to make sure to bring her records and shot information. I called up the doctors and asked if I could stop by and pick up the information at lunch today.


ummm Mrs. Amy, the last time she was in her for a physical was March 2004.


Oh - (shit, shit, shit, shit, shit) Is she up to date on her shots?


Hold On, well it looks like she's ok with all but one.


Oh - (fuck, fuck fuck, fuck) Um can I bring her in this afternoon?


Hold On, it is sort of last minute.


Oh internet, you would be so proud of me, I knew it was my fault and I totally didn't freak out on this lady, my voice didn't raise, I didn't act like a crazy mad women demanding to be seen. Instead, I went with the tried and true pitty party. I threw myself at the mercy of the nurse, hoping against all hopes that the working mom in her would take pity on my poor pathetic soul.


You see, this is just awful, my daughters starts daycare on Monday and I feel so bad that I haven't taken care of this, but they won't take her unless I have this paper, and you see we won't have anyone to watch her, and 3 is too young to be home alone, and I've had a really hard year, did I mention our car died recently, and I just am so overwhelmed with life, and geez I'm a horrible mom and I really feel awful that I haven't been in with her but you'll see she has been in at least 8 times for various ear infection and other diseases so it's not like we're not taking her to see you guys, and do you think there is any possible way we can come see you guys, I am just so upset by this I really hope you understand, and oh did I mention that my husband is starting school on monday and we're all really nervous about that too, and we really need her to be in daycare on Monday and her brothers starting kindergarten and we did get him in this summer to see you so it's not like i'm totally incompentent and im really nervous about him starting kindergarten and i hope that little miss does ok in her new school and we're worried about how we're going to coordinate all the dropping off and picking up and..........


Um Mrs.Amy?


Yes?


Bring her in at 2


Sometimes blathering works better than begging.

I would create a solution that you could rub on a coffee stain right after you spill it down the front of your shirt and it would magically disappear without ruining your pretty new silk shell.

GRRRRRRR

I am in total denial that I have a child starting elementary school in 2 weeks. Can't be. I mean I'm only 22 after all! I know they say the time flies once the kids come, but it went faster than even I was prepared for. I keep looking at him and thinking - who are you? You look like a kid who will be growing a beard in a few years, not that little thing I cuddled, and nursed and snuggled with. All the toddler is gone out of him, he's such a boy, he farts, he gets sweaty, and his vocabulary and language seems like I'm dealing with a 13 year old some times - including the attitude. It just can't be true, he's really going to be 6 AND in Kindergarten, AND before too long graduating high school!


I know I've had all summer to think about this, but I've put it out of my mind, like it wasn't really happening. Normally by this point in August, I've hit the stores for fall clothes, gotten the new pair of sneakers, checked out the pre-school class he'd be moving to so I'd know what the teacher was like. But this year, I just finally sat down and read all the school stuff last night. We got to orientation next week where he gets to tour the school, meet his teacher and bring in the 5 boxes of tissues and handwash. Will I be the only Mom crying the moment we see his classroom?


Still, I can't wait to see what sort of kid he grows into. I hope he continues to be kind, and inclusive, and funny. I hope he gets in just enough trouble to know he's having fun, but not enough that I have to worry about drugs or other stuff. I know, he won't be doing bong hits in Kindergarten, but you know what, that time is going to jump up on me, and I need to be thinking about it and prepared now. I hope he loves school as much as I did and finds joy in learning and figuring things out. I hope he continues to be a leader and challenges his teachers to be better educators. I hope I pay attention to the little things so I have really great memories once he's out of the house.


I feel like Kindergarten is the first step in the letting go process, in the mean time I plan to take every opportunity he gives me to spend time together and make sure he stays a Momma's boy, and always knows that I've got his back and will love him forever.


Jeez I'm a mess - just wait till next week, you'll have to wipe your screen because it will be soaked with my tears. *sigh*

You know what really irks me more than anything else about W is that he has the balls to take so much freakin vacation when we're at war, gas is at a record high, and the economy is not looking all that great! Your country hired you to fucking lead us, there has been some crazy shit that has gone one since you've been in office, I don't think my expectation are out of line for wanting you to bust your god damn balls day in and day out to fix this mess.   I mean really, you need time to "... be outside exercising. So I'm mindful of what goes on around me. On the other hand, I'm also mindful that I've got a life to live, and will do so." [NYT] Give me a freakin' break.  Do you know that most of us don't get 2 weeks a year because the time off we do get we usually use to take care of sick kids or all the other shit that has to get done in our lives?  And my job is not nearly as important as his, but he's off riding his bike around getting some excercise and living his life while me, I'm at work, making sure my family gets paid so we can afford 3 god damn dollars a gallon.  Or, better yet, you have a life to live, but you don't seem all the worried about the guys dying over there while you all figure out what the fuck to try next.

I love that Cindy Sheehan is ruining his vacation.  LOVE IT!   Whether you agree with the war or not, whether you think it hurts the troops moral or not, you gotta love the gumption of a pissed off mom.  That's all she is.  Pissed her kid is dead and this guy has the balls to take a vacation.  You know he is just steamed every time he drives up to that ranch and sees the people out there messing up the view.  You know he hates to be out taking one of those bullshit clear the brush hikes and hears the chants from the crowd. This is probably one of the worst vacations of his presidency.  Way to go Cindy!

Ok, so if you think I'm part of some sort of a liberal conspiracy, here's a few more facts:  This august getaway is the 49th vacation he's taken, he's been on vacation for over 339  days (and counting)  in 5 years - imagine how many days he'll have off by the time he gets to the end of the 2nd term.  339 days in 5 years for you would be the same as having every friday off.  He has the record for most vactioned president, and managed to beat Reagan who had part of his time out with a gun shot wound.  Fox news likes to point out that people used to be ok when they covered clinton's vacations - hello, in 8 years he took 152 days - thats the same as most of us. And, best of all, because Cindy's messing up the Ranch, he took a vacation from his vacation and went to Idaho to do some mountain biking.  Yep, you paid 3 grand in fuel so air force one could shlep his bike to idaho.

Today I'm going to go in and ask my boss for 5 weeks of vacation.  I'll offer to let people stop by to brief me on any hot topics that may be happening at work - no more than an hour a day, but still I'll keep in touch, and you know what, I'll be a better employee when i get back because I'll exercise and eat right and be so refereshed for the fall that it will certainly be worth the paid time off.  I figure if my boss asks me if I'm nuts, I'll just say - hey the President can do it and still keep the country running, clearly I should be able to right?

Fuck this guy pisses me off.  Keep on Keepin On Cindy, I don't necessarily agree that we can just yank ourselves out of Iraq, but I love the mother in you who decided, fuck this, I'm going to get some answers and ruin that mans vacation!

It was a year ago today when I quit my old job and finally got out of a miserable environment. I had worked at that company since basically getting out of college, risen through the ranks, and put up with more crap than any one person should. I am born and bred a midwestern, hard working, loyal employee, I'm the kind of girl that will give an employer her heart and 1000% of her effort and all I ask in return is to be treated fairly. Sadly, the company I worked for was not so great at the fair part, had a lot of top managers change on a regular basis, and for 8 of the 12 years I was miserable.


I can't tell you why it took me so long to leave, it was the hardest thing I ever have done. I loved the people I worked with, I believed in the goals of the company, I loved the work that I did, but there was a posion in that environment. It made me sad, angry and unhappy most of the time, I worked all the time, and when I wasn't working, I thought about work. Hubby hated that place and was very worried about what it was doing to me. My kids saw the effects when I would come home angry, tired and unresponsive. You think being a shitty wife and mom would have snapped me out of it, but I was so committed to staying, almost like an abused wife, honey you just don't understand, they are going to get better, they've promised me x, y, and z.


Then one day Buffalo girl slapped me across the face and said "i'm sick and fucking tired of hearing the same story from you year after year, you need to wake the fuck up and realize they are not going to change." I hate it when she's right. And it worked, I looked at the situation with fresh eyes, and I committed myself to an exit strategy. A year ago today I submitted my resignation and it is possibly one of the greatest feelings of my life. I felt like I'd escaped from Alcatraz. So many of the staff came up to me with that look of envy, promises of their pending escape as well, and I knew most would stay, that place sucked you in and could keep you forever.


This past year has been amazing for me, my new job is not perfect, it's not even all that challenging, it's like a transition boyfriend, not Mr. Right, but good enough for right now. People who see me keep commenting on how different I look, how happy I seem, how relaxed I am, and it's true, I really am. Hubby is thrilled because I'm not bitching about work all.the.time. The kids are glad to have their mom back, and me, I'm just glad I finally saw the light.


I know that I will never invest as much emotional energy in an employer again, they'll get my work, but not my heart. I also know that I will never stay in a situation that is broken -yes work has it's ups and downs, and it's never good all the time, but some places are worse than others, and usually it ends up being about the people. A company with good leadership will have good managers and good staff. A company with bad leadership will have fucked up situations and fucked up people - i'll consult for those companies, but I will never be an employee of theirs. As for Buffalo Girl, well she's my bestest friend in the whole wide world, and I am so damn lucky to have someone in my life who can slap some sense into me when i need it most. And Hubby,the fact that he put up with my shit for all those years - better person than I am. He's thinking blow jobs for life would be a great way to say thanks, I figure, big screen TV should do the trick.


I'm walking on sunshine (whoa oh)
I'm walking on sunshine (whoa oh)
I'm walking on sunshine (whoa oh)
And don't it feel good!

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuckity, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!


Upon reading Cursing Mama I had to click over immediately and see just how good this test was - turns out it's pretty legit because it got my word right. And, the description suits me well too. Rebellious, rude, AND sensitive - pretty much sums me up. And yes, the fact that this word is the one that makes people flinch and cringe and get just a little uncomfortable if you use it too many times in a sentence makes it just the word for me. Fuck yeah!


You'd think being a Mom, I would have had that moment where I decide to stop swearing so I can make sure I'm a good role model for my kids. Ha! There are somethings a girl just can't live without and for me it's fuck. Not fucking, that I can do without for days at a time,but not being able to say it, that amazing word, fuhgeddaboudit.


Before you call the bad mom police, I want you to know that I've already made it clear to the kids they are not allowed to say this word or any of the other big curse words plus no I hate yous. I know, it's a fucking doubld standard, but hey get used to it, life isn't fucking fair, and Mom's rules are the ONLY rules. Still, I know I can't keep a kid down, and not wanting to deny free speech and the joy of the most amazing explative ever to my proginy, I did clarify that once they turn 18 I don't care how often or to whom they say it, except for work, and the old people in the family. My 6 year old is now counting down the days until he can pepper his world with the ever classic fucking 'eh, or jesus-fucking-christ, and his Mother's personal favorite, un-fucking-believable. Now, if that isn't some fine fucking parenting, I don't know what is!


Here is the result of my Which Swear Word are You?


Your word is FUCK. You like to come across as rude
and rebellious, and often you do. You also are
intelligent and maybe surprisingly sensitive,
though God help anyone who said that in front
of your friends.

Mom what are you doing?

I'm working on some stuff for Mommy's job/

But it's night time, why can't you do it tomorrow?

Well it's due first thing tomorrow, so mommy has to do it right now.  (and she is annoyed she's working on it so stop rubbing it in)

Well what is your job anyway - Team Mascot?

That's right, Mommy is the team mascot and her name is Bitchy the Whale.


*** If you were a team mascot what would you be?*****

I have finished watching both episodes of Tommy Lee goes to college and all I can say is that I hope NBC and he team up to go to different schools all over the country.  This show is truly amazing.  Best quote of both episdoes.  "I don't even wake up this early for sex".  And that my friends is why my very tired, very crapy day ended wtih me wearing a huge smile.

Thanks Tommy

For some reason I am just tuckered out today.  It's only Tuesday but I already feel like I've climed mount evert, cured cancer, and run for president.  As soon as diner is over,  I plan to play "lets lay down together in Mommys big bed and watch TV" with the kids.  I'm hoping to make it to Tommy's show, but it's already Tivo'd so I can crash and not worry about missing it.  Right now at work I'm faking it because I'm so tired I don't want to do anything serious as it will be crap because the brain is not functioning.  I've already filed all I can file, cleaned out my inbox, sat on the toilet for a 5 minute nap, and got al the dust and crumbs out of my keyboard.  90 minutes to go.

Somedays they get more than their moneys worth out of me, today is NOT one of those days.

This weekend we received a lovely, thick envelope addressed the Mr. and Mrs. Hubby and Family.  Upon opening the beautiful wedding invitation we found a second envelope that had, in lovely script writing, Hubby, Amy, Little Man, and Princess.  Great, we're all invited to a fun wedding!  In reviewing all the pretty stuff inside the envelope and having a 10 minute conversation with hubby about why they still needed to include tissue paper when clearly this wasn't done on a printing press, we looked at the information for the reception.  "Adult Reception".  Hello, mixed message! You listed my children on the invitation, but you told me only adults?  Wouldn't it be better to say Adult only church service since really, that's where the kids don't belong.  Moreover, I just talked to you like 10 days ago and you told me all about your siblings and there kids and how my kids would have plenty of people to hang with.  Hello? What the fuck does adults only mean?  Being the smart Mom with a weekend full of oppressive heat in front of her, I put down the invitation and ignored it.

Sure enough, ol eagle eyed Mom is  emailing me this morning frantic over the phrase and wondering where we were going to ditch the kids, if I was going to ask the bride to clarify, and just WHAT THE HECK WE WERE GOING TO DO.  So now I'm irritated.  I'm driving 8 fucking hours in a car with 2 young children and paying for 2 nights of hotel and taking a day off of work because I really want to see this lovely couple (who is also family) get married.  I'm thrilled they think enough of us to put our whole family on the invitation, but now I'm confused as to how to handle it.  My first and probably most likely choice is to bring the kids to everything lie to my mother and tell her I asked them if it was ok and tell her they said yes when I did not ask, be ok if I annoy them for the kids being there, and just have fun kids and all with the relatives.

Simply my worry list is done filled up and this does not warrant kicking a more importnat worry (like the fact that hubbies piece of shit car died this weekend and we are likely going to have to buy a new one) off the list.  Still, it irks me because I now have 58 days of my mother irriating me like she did when I was 16 because I'm handling something different than the way she wanted me to.

If you've ever needed a reason to figure out your Tivo, next Tuesday night is it, get the season pass ready to go for the greatest show of the summer, Tommy Lee goes to College. Now if you don't know who Tommy Lee is well then you're a troubled person and we will never be friends. If you've given up on him because of the whole wacky bad boy thing, well then, you just don't understand rockers. And if you were ever in band and loved those drummers, will then this show is for you!

My husband, the high school jock, always checks out at this point in our conversation about band, band being cool, and drummers being bad ass. They carried a drum, not a football he'll say. I, not wanting to give away too much of my scandolous past usually just keep quiet at that point, but let me tell you, a boy who can march and play a snare and symbol at the same time can also bang the heck out of you in the back fo a car bedroom.

So the premise of this show is that Tommy Lee goes to the university of Nebraska (ok, not a big 10 school but better than an ACC one) and takes classes, lives in the dorms, and tries out and makes the marching band. That's right, the boy is in the drumline and I can NOT WAIT to see this show! It is reality TV, Tommy Lee, and drumline fused into one 1988 flashback for me.

I went poking around on N*C's website to make sure I got the day and time right (tues. 10pm), read show details, etc. when I stumbled across some photos, and there it was, the one that every drummer has to take, the infamous drumline photo - every guy or girl whose ever been in a drumline or knows a drummer knows of this pose. It's the "I'm a bad motherfucker" face while the body is turned so you can also see the drumline jacket. I have many fantasies memories of boys posed like this.



Last night I was determined to bring hubby along to my way of thinking. He loved the Crue, he thinks Tommy is cool, so I thought now is my chance. I started talking about the show, him taking classes, living in the dorms, and I could see hubby was buying into the premise, and then I dropped the bomb - you know he joins the band and is in the drumline? He made a face and I pulled out the photo - look honey, it's just like the stuff I showed you, how can you say this is still not cool? It's fucking Tommy Lee and he's not signed up for the football team, he's signed up for the drumline. Silence. And so I went in for the kill.

Honey, I have one final point to make and it's this. You have never seen Pam date a football player or other jock for that matter. She is drawn to Tommy because drummers have this magnetism about them, she knows he's the love of her life even if he's bad, she also knows he's the best fuck of her life. Why, because it is cool, otherwise Tommy wouldn't have done it. And that my dear is why band is a better activity than football for our son. Ok so I pushd it by throwing the son in there because I think I had him until that point. Still this show is it for me, it reminds me all the reasons I loved my late teens and early twenties, it reminds me of why I love hairbands and rockers, and most of all, it reminds me of just how fucking hot those drummers are.

An interesting phenomenon occured while I was with my family this past weekend.  All of my aunts and uncles, and even my parents became comfortable talking about their sexuality.  In a word eeewwwwww.  I come from a very uptight german midwest family.  Sex was never mentioned, there was no alcohol at family functions, and while we all had a great sense of humor, it was definately an uptight crowd.

Now, all the cousins are grown, we're all starting families of our own, and it seems our parents have decided to "come out" and show us just what fun swinging people they are. In other words those same uptight relatives who never drank, cussed, or did anything remotely scandolous are now doing shots of jack, swearing like sailors, and explaining to me that the secret to a great marriage is lots of sex.  Um excuse me Aunt C?  That's right Amy, you need to go up and take care of your hubby right now, or wait till the kids fall alseep later and just be really quiet when you do it. You know Aunt C, I've always appreciated your advice over the years, but I have to tell you, sex advice from you is definately a first.  To which she laughed and said, well how do you think your uncle and I survived all these years?  I actually started looking for the hidden cameras because I knew this must be some f*d up version of Punk'd.  Nope, just my family finally deciding to prove to us that all our horniness was no fluke, it's genetic!

I'm no prude, and I certainly don't mind sharing a few sex stories, advice, etc. but NOT with my family!!!! Especially not with my parents or aunts and uncles. The funniest and most disturbing part of this weekend happened when I was sitting across from my parents at the rehersal diner and just happen to look up at my Mom as she turns to Dad and says, "honey, these margaritas are strong, i don't know if I'm going to be able to have sex tonight, I think i'll be too drunk".  And then she made eye contact with me and realized that I've heard all of this and just started to laugh.  Dad catches on and says, "come on Amy, you kids are grown, and I love hotel sex!".  Gee Dad, that's good know.

That's right touch those beautiful melons of yours.  Give a squeeze, push around really explore.  Lift you arm up above your head so the saggy, they've nursed two kids look, goes away and they pop up to remind you of your 18 year old self.  Go ahead, touch 'em.  Tell your breasts hi and get aquainted for a while.

Despite the blip with Little Miss, the wedding that I was at this weekend was amazing, the bride was be-u-ti-ful, the day was joyous, and we knew the couple was headed toward a future of  happily ever after.  There were plenty of tears and most of them happy, but mixed in between those ones that come with a smile were a few tears of loss, of saddness because the bride's mother couldn't be there with us.  She died of breast cancer 3 years go and while the pain is not as raw, there are certain days when a girl needs her Mom, and a wedding is one of them.  Having a stand in Aunt is good, but it almost makes it more obvious that Mom isn't there.  And, that whole "here with us in sprit" shit didn't make us feel much better - although I do swear she played a few pranks; still, a  wedding should be bliss, not bliss with a painful reminder your mother is gone, and it just really was hard because that girl was cheated and we all really wanted her mother there.

So feel yourself up regularly, make sure you look for the lumps and if you're over 35 you should be thinking about a mamogram.  If you're nervous or afriad or not sure what will happen, fuck that, buck up, and get going on touchin.  And if you're still not sure just look at someone you love and imagine how sucky they'd feel if you were gone.  Her mom did check, and fought that fucker off once, but couldn't ultimately outlast it.  And if I made you feel guilty and sad because of this post well then good, because I really don't want to lose one more person to this awful fucking disease, and if this post convinces you to touch those beautiful cans of yours every month, well then I'll gladly write some more shit about how we all had that moment where we just couldn't hold back the tears because we missed her, and our hearts hurt because we knew that girl deserved to have her Mom there and the fact that she didn't, well it was just damn sad.

So what the fuck are you waiting for - get felt up!

I asked my husband to add a shelf to our closet.  there is one up high, there is one down low, and because we have so much fold and shelve clothing, I wanted one in the middle.  You would think I've asked this man to build me a fucking hover craft.  After several days of nagging and whining he finally dragged his ass to Hom$ Dep*t.  This of course is after hours of measuring, and analyzing and planning.

Right now he is going BACK to HD because the shelf he bought isn't right.  And, oh by the way, anything he does buy will likely result in some desconctruction, shelf cutting, and may be hard to get exactly what i want?  WHAAAA?  It's a fucking shelf.  You know the metal wire kind with a few support brackets.  I explained that he had a choice of either getting it right tonight or I would do it my damn self.  After a lovely screaming match with me explaining how I would do it verrrryyyyy ssssllooooowwwwllyyyy.  He says "oh, well that's not what I thought you wanted"  Fuckin' eh.  I wanted a god damn shelf.

And then it hit me. that's why NASA has so many problems with the space program.  too many fucking men.  Of course the titles fell of - have you ever had your hubby tile something - if our bathroom had to go to space, tiles would definitely fall off.  And you know all those space guys over fucking analyze everything.  Tell ya what nasa.  I extend to you an open invitation.  Hire 10 moms, agree to take care of all the shit we currently manage in our day to day lives, and give us 6 months of training on the basics of rocket making and I guarantee you we will not only get your asses to that space station, we'll fly you to fucking mars, AND make sure the fucking toilets on board are clean when you return.  I'm serious, I don't need to know all the jet propulsion shit, I just need to be the work wife of some of those science guys you got there.  Case in point - why did the shuttle get back safely - a women was running the show!

In the mean time, I'll continue to sit here stewing until hubby shows up with a shelf and 10 other things he didn't need from HD and then I will drop kick his ass to the moon.

Nope, it's just her Dad carrying her kicking and screaming out of a church.  Is she ok?  Oh, wait, he's a suit and she - well she looks like the flower girl. 

It all started so well, Little Miss was primed to be princess, she loved her dress, loved her shoes and has never missed an opportunity to be the center of attention.  During the rehersal she did great, walked down the isle so nicely, came and sat with us when she was supposed to, and besides some general fumbling around looked prime for the show.  Since I've already told you the ending, I'll let you decide how bad it was.

The day of the wedding we learned that we need to be there 2 hours early to take pictures.  This means that we had to start her nap earlier - or try since finally fell asleep at her regular time which, of course meant, we had to wake her up to get her over to the church, which of course meant she is grumpy.  After much standing around and me stepping in to boss the hired help. "um, excuse me, aren't we supposed to be doing pictures, let's get crackin".  We get the photos underway.  Little Miss does a good job of standing and basically looking where she's supposed to for the photographer.  Every now and then we have to move her out of the way or keep her from running around, but overall photos are going well.  I'm breathing my first deep breath but know we've got a long way to go.  The photographers wanted to captures everything, so we did inside shots, we did balcony shots, we did stairway shots, we did outside shots, we take a break to clean off the brides dress since it got dirty during the outside shots (god was she pissed) and every once and a while we'd look over at our son to make sure he hadn't wandered off or set fire to anything.

By the time photos were done, it was time to get ready for the big walk down the isle. Hubby and I devised a divide and conquer strategy so one of us stayed with her in the wings and one was toward the front of the church so we could direct her nicely down the isle and hopefully prevent any running, skipping or other outlandish behavior.  It went great.  She came down holding her flower ball and making sure her and the ring bearer kept pace.  She waved at the people she knew which illiceted the ahhhs and smiles, and walked right to the front where she needed to be.  I was in the front of the church beaming and thinking, almost out of the woods, and yes people, she is my child and it's ok to praise hubby and I for such great parenting skills.

I should have known better than to breath a sigh of releif, we still had a ceremony to conduct, and she was no longer going to be the center of attention, all bets were off.  Did ok through the standing up front and only bothered one bridesmaid.  Then it came time to sit down and she had had enough.  Mommy, I want some water.  Shhhhh.  Mommy, look, there's the bride. Shhhhh.  Mommy, I want some water now.  The problem with this scenario was that it wasn't a wedding with lots of kids rustling around, it was a big church with big echo and all adults except flower gril and ring bearer.  So when she said Mommy, there's the bride, it sounded like MOMMMY THERE'S THE BRIDE.  and me being in a oh my gosh my family is judging me panic heard AMY CAN'T CONTROL HER KID.  I handed her starbursts hoping the chewing would keep her mouth shut.  Nope.  I gave her her pacifier hoping it would keep her mouth shut.  Nope.  After what seemed like forever, I finally turned to hubby and said in my most fierce whisper "get her out of here".  He took her hand and walked her to the back of the church and just as the doors closed I heard "NOOOOOOOOooooooooooooo" 

Thank good hubby has some sense and realized that there were good odds if he stayed in the buidling she would still be heard.  So he went outside where apparently they stopped traffic with her carrying on.  Later that night people told me they thought she looked so adorable and did such a great job.  I would smile and say thanks, and then wait for the follow up.  It's a good thing you took her out when you did, that was very smart on your husbands part".  Yep, the backhanded compliment.

Really, it was ok, I just like it better when my kids are perfect, I was raised that way and plan to impose the same unrealistic expectations on my own kids.  Someday my daugher will demand the same of hers.  That night when she went up to give the bride a kiss, she looked solmenly in her eyes and said "I'm in trouble"  The bride laughed and said 'that's ok Little Miss, you did great, and I know I was just like you when I was a little girl'.  And she was. So I relaxed. The one person's opinon of Little Misses performance I actually cared about was the one who acted just like her when she was three, and they both knew it was fine just the way it happned.

We are back from the wedding where little miss stared as the flower girl.  I, being the ever dedicated employee am back in the office, barely awake, hoping the hours go by fast enough for me to get out of here before I do a face plant on the keyboard.  All in all a great trip, but not at all relaxing, and not kid friendly.  Still they did well despite having hours of be-good around the adults activites.  I figure I only threatened tossing the game boy twice and holding barbie out the window to be claimed by the mountains three times. 

Hubby deserves to be sainted for the amount of time he had to take care of the kids by himself, deal with my wacky mom, and still make sure that we were on time to everywhere we needed to be.  I've already been told that "no" is not in the amour vocabulary this week. Still, I think I'll have to buy him something cool - putting up with wacky MIL for 5 days deserves more than some regular sex. 

This is the second of a guest post by Buffalo Girl.  Don't worry, I'll be back soon enough to share wedding horror stories with you.  This story of the nursing home box came from an email she sent to me recently.  The box has been a source of jokes ('put it in the box' and the every popular 'is it box worthy') for many years now.  And yes, our hubbies, when we get together, are terrified, it's kind of like Ghost Busters "Don't Cross the Streams"  - put us in the same room and you're just never sure the shit we'll cook up.  You can thank your lucky stars we don't live closer because we would so totally have taken over the world by now.  Nursing Home Box II......

The letters from DS.. they are just too good. [Amy:none of us understood why she was with him - i purposely changed his initials to DS - short for dip shit].  I just love looking back on them, all those notes from HS all folded into those corny shapes, professing his undying love... compared to my world-weary, raunchy personality now, they seem positively sweet, like something out of the Victorian era.  He was so clever and creative, and wrote me original poems... like I said, very sweet.  The letters dwindled while I was overseas, and then I have nothing from him after that.  I remember there was a time when I was refusing his letters, writing "return to sender" on them and putting them back in the mail. Kind of a cold and heartless thing to do, now that I look back on it! (And of course, I don't have those letters which is a bummer.) Actually, when I really look back on it honestly, I treated most of the men in my life back then like complete garbage.  I can see it in the words they wrote to me, I can feel their emotions coming forth on the paper. 

While e-mail is great and I would never want to be without it, when compared to a letter, it's somehow void of feeling.  I don't know why that is... it's the same words, just in a different format.  I guess it's the impersonal feeling of typing vs. writing, of feeling the carefully folded paper beneath your hands, knowing the writer held that same paper in his hands, methodically and carefully putting his thoughts down to share with me.   He then tucked it into an envelope, found a stamp, copied my address down, put it in the mailbox, and thought about me for days afterwards, wondering when I would get it and what I would think when I read it.  Then he would wait for a reply to come, usually weeks later.  Like I said, a truly lost art!

I will never part with any of those letters as long as I live, and if my house burned down tomorrow, they are the first thing I would run for.
They are a record of some of the most formative years of my life, a window through which I can see myself becoming the person I am today,
and they are completely irreplaceable.

Of course, the second thing I would go for would be my computer, which has all of the archives of my current life on it in this impersonal,
electronic format.  Imperfect as it is, it is still recording my evolution, albeit in a different, but no less important manner.

[Amy:  Barf!  I am so not sentimental compared to her, but i am jealous that she saved all this crap.  I tried once and then after needing to move, tossed it all.  Plus, I find it is much easier to shape my memories into how I wanted them to be rather than what really happened.  For instance, I remember being super cool in highschool, Bufallo Girl has letters of me waxing poetic about band - which memory would you chose?]

This is a guest post by Buffalo Girl - she is funny and smart, and
secretly I worry that you'll like her more than me. Because I've had a
chance to play editor, I also took the liberty to change the names (not
to protect the innocent, to protect us silly) and have added a few of my
own comments. Welcome to a glimpse of our lives.  Enjoy.

I just wanted to let you know that if you don't have a Nursing Home Box
started, you'd better get your ass in gear because it is just too much
fun to take those periodic trips down memory lane.  After the Great
Basement Flood of 2005, I realized I'd better buy some plastic totes at
Wal-Mart and transfer my
stupidly-housed-in-cardboard-boxes-priceless-letters to them. (Amy:  she
has admitted that if anything were to happen to her house, she would
save the boxes first. Hubby and pets be damned, just got those
boxes!) Just so you know, I have 5 boxes of letters... Family, Old
Boyfriends, Best Friends (better be me), Pre-1992 misc, random HS and
college friends, and then post-1992 misc. I also have 3 big boxes of
"stuff" 2 from the job and 1 huge one from HS that we are going to get
drunk and go through one day and crack up like hyenas, but I
digress. (Amy:  yes she really is that organized; I am too, so this, in
a former life I helped create the taxonomy for all creatures great and
small, applied to her sentimental crap makes me smile]

Anyway, on a whim, I decided to pull out some letters from the Old
Boyfriends box while engaging in the transfer of materials, and let me
tell you, they are fucking EXCELLENT!  Those letters from CS (he of the
World's Smallest Penis) just cracked. me. up.  And I had forgotten that
there was a period of time when M's younger brother N enlisted in the
Air Force and I was writing to him (they made it into the Boyfriend Box
by association)... those letters were very sweet.  (I didn't pull out
M's letters because I've been through them so many times but let the
record show that he was BY FAR the most romantic, eloquent writer of
Boyfriend Letters EVER)  Anyway, in N's letters he was just so happy to
get mail, and for a moment, I felt sad that letter-writing is such a
lost art now.

(Amy:  She used to kick my ass up and down the town for not writing her
enough, thank god email came along and I could just type my merry heart
away. And, let me tell you, knowing someone has proof of shit you did
and said 20 years ago is a might scarry.  I am determined never to let
my hubby near the nursing home boxes, there are some things hubbies just
don't need to know!)

I leave in 4 hours for a wedding.  I know, I know,  why am I up? Because I'm taking a break from packing, organizing cleaning, etc. that seems to still need to be done. I need to share my misery with someone, hubby has already taken several beatings and is running scared.  get your ass off the couch and help me pack - oh, sorry, didn't see you were folding socks - fold faster! Good news - have enough panty liners for me!  I was feeling like I was keeping up with my todo list right up till I left work today, but then the 30 minutes to here, and 30 minutes to there took 3x longer than it should have, and I tried to get done more than I needed to, and I just should have taken the whole damn day off so I was ready.  I already have a list of stuff that I need to buy once I arrive there.  Having said that, the most important thing is packed - Little Miss's flower girl dress.  And if your thinking about a 3 year old girl in a flower dress aka mini wedding dress and want to say "aaaahhhh"  don't.  I know my girl, and good or bad, she is definitely going to make a scene.

I promise to regal you with stories next week on how Little Miss does on the big day  It's going to be a long weekend and lots of traveling, but I'm hoping I get a few moments of down time to relax and enjoy the scenery. 

*Crack*

that's the whip - back to work I go.  And if you're flying tomorrow and you see a women sleeping on the flight while a 3 year old careens up the  isle and the mom doesn't even open her eye one little crack, and acts like she doesn't seem to care - it's me, feel free to come over and say hi.

It's true, I have accidents.  Almost every day.  It's terribly embarrassing.  A-choo! Oops.  That's right folks, I wet myself, and you know what, I know you do too!  That is if you've had 2 kids OR are over the age of 75.  Turns out this is one of those "women never talk about it but we all have it things".  You know like how your boobs like after nursing 2 kids?  Don't talk about it because that would mean that it really is happening.

Mine started innocently enough, I was out with friends after my second daughter was born and got to laughing real hard - whoah, what's that we feeling?  I figured I'd just make the mistake of not going to the bathroom after several beers.  Of course I rushed to the bathroom to check the damage and what felt like a faucet was really only a little drop.  Still, imagine spending the rest of the night sitting there trying to be cool knowing you had pee-pee in your panties. 

Fast forward three years later and I've come to realize that this problem is not going away and I need to manage it the best I can which means going to the bathroom at regular intervals, and making sure that water consumption is managed well. Still, from time to time I slip and then bad things happen.  Recently at work I had an "incident".  I recently had taken to getting a large water bottle and filling it up so I can work at my desk and keep the water flowing.  Normally I get up every hour or so to use the ladies room, but this day I was focused, cranking out work and rolling through a todo list.  Whether you work at home or in an office, you know when you're having one of those days where you can feel yourself crawling out from being behind, and it's euphoria, it's great, you're getting it all done!  So I didn't want to stop, it would break the magic, and frankly, I was so focused that I wasn't even aware of the increased pressure in my bladder.

Well someone came in the office to talk to me and they made me laugh.  The kind that just pops out unexpectedly, like a bark.  Well this bark had some bite. Namely 2 hours worth of water with no break.  I was mort-i-fied.  I kept smiling but was starting to do triage.  How bad could it be?  Oh my gosh, what if my seat is wet?  Do I smell like grandma?  How fast can I get this person out of here?  What if it starts again and doesn't stop? All the while trying to act like I'm interested in what the person says.  Time was moving in two parallel universes.  The one was me acting interested in a conversation and trying to remember salient points because there were somethings I needed to keep track of.  The second universe, pee-pee land was one where I was assessing the damage, and trying me damnedest to keep my whoo-ha squeezed shut so no further leakage occurred.

After what seemed like hours, I was finally able to break free and head to the ladies room.  No I didn't even look at my chair because I was afraid of what I might find.  I pushed it under my desk in case the office mate happened to glance over.  Then I rushed to the john, undoing my pants as I'm walking in the door (thank god no one was in there) and proceeded to start going again while I was pulling my drawers down.  AUGH.  What is happening to me!  I am 35 not 75!  Fuck! 

After assessing the damage - a little wet spot in the pants, not to odoriferous, but some mighty damn undies, I decided there was only real choice - commando.  So I got naked at work - or at least it felt like that, get redressed without undies and then hid the undies in some towels and shoved them down in the trash.  Thankfully my seat was also dry and my pants stayed dry for the rest of the day.

I was always afraid to talk about this, and it's something I plan to discuss with the doctor at the next annual, but I decided to come clean because lets face it, we all are struggling with this to varying degrees.  One of my very good friends admitted it to me recently - her commando story - she went jogging at work and whild running down the street she started to drip.drip.drip down her leg.  After laughing so hard I was crying, and leaking, I realized that we all must be going through this and we need to speak up so the docs will fix us.

I'll keep you posted on possible treatments.  And for those of you who say do some keigels - honey I've done so many I have the vagina of an 18 year old - but I still wet my pants.  Getting old is a bitch.

LM: Mom, can I please go over to X's house today. 
Me: I don't know Little Man, we'll see.

LM:  But Mom, you need to say Yes, No, or Maybe!
Me:  I don't want to answer because if I say yes and we can't you'll get mad, if I say No you'll get mad now, and if I say maybe, you'll think it means yes. I just don't know, we have a lot to do today.

LM:  (with heavy 5 year old sarcasm) Mom, I know that maybe means yes ooorrrrr no!
Me:  (with snippy usually only hubby gets this tone of voice) Oh really? So if I say maybe, and then later if we're too busy and you can't go over, are you going to throw a fit because even though I said maybe you secretly took it to mean yes, and then you're disappointed because the answer is no?

LM:  (quietly)  Maybe.
Me:  (with large sigh) Ex-actly.

One of the girl who works for me came in today with her 3 month old baby.  She's getting ready to start back to work and coming in to get her self re-aclimated to the office. I remember that feeling so vividly, excited to be back in your working life, terrified of leaving the baby and figuring out how to balance it all.  I held him while we had lunch and he napped on my chest for about an hour, I know what it's like to always eat a meal late because you're taking care of the baby; I was happy to oblige her, I can eat any ol time.

Whenever I see a baby it reminds me of just how much I want another one.  I miss the fine little hairs that tickle your chin.  I miss the smell.  I miss the funny way they look at you and then suddenly break into a big toothless smile.  I miss being pregnant, I miss nursing, I miss it all.  I'm not ready to stop having little ones underfoot.

20 months and counting.  Maybe once I get the whole breathing at night thing figured out I'll be blessed with a third.  I feel like an ingrate because I already have two, why be greedy and want more, maybe two is all I'm supposed to have.  But if that's the case, how come the urge is still there?  I think I've made all the deals with God I can make, I've got to decide in the next few months how much I'm going to pursue this with doctors and procedures and such.  I'm pissed that after two  this is something I've got to consider. 

I am thrilled for this new mother, I know she's going to have some ups and downs as she gets back to life/work/family coordination but fundamentally she's good people.  I feel guilty for resenting her but I just can't help it.  I don't keep score with my kids vs. anyone elses, but i do keep score with pregnancy stuff.  How come she can and I can't?  I hate you for being pregnant.  Unless you've struggled, worried, or had some difficulty, I don't want to be happy for you because I'm too busy being upset for myself.

This question falls onto the list of things I plan to ask God some day.  Simply why?

Hubby and I met in a bar - actually more of a dance club; I loved going there - the drinks were cheap, the music was great and I would dance for hours.  This club was not a place to meet a husband (i'll save that story for another day) but we did.  We used go there after work, hang out with friends, and then hit the floor.  It was the kind of place where people were pressed in tight, the music was loud, you could lose yourself on the dance floor, and it got to the point where the floor was moving as one thing - all of us crammed in, pressed up against each other, it was hot!  If you've seen Matrix Reloaded when they're dancing in Zion, that's what it felt like to me.

Hubby and I both loved to bust-a-move so we would alternate hanging out at the bar, and going out to dance. There were certain songs that we had to dance to, we loved the beat, and would stop what we were doing to squeeze into the crowd and dance.  One of those songs became "our song".   Whenever it was played, we danced.  we were pressed up tight against each other, we got hot and heavy and most importantly did lots of inappropriate touching so by the time the song was done, we were ready to leave for the night and head for home for some more inappropriate touching. This song became so much of who were are, that whenever we heard it,  we would knowingly look at each other.  Like Pavlov's dogs, we heard this song and immediately started thinking about sex.

This weekend we saw the movie Madagascar (hey, I don't pay $20 to chase little miss up and down the isles).  It's a great movie and lots of funny scenes.  It also features hubby and I's fuck song.  This is a terrible turn of events.  THE song that that would send us into the horizontal mambo is now in a kids movie; and, MY KIDS WON'T STOP SINGING IT.  All weekend they are running around the house "i like to move it, move it"  Damnation Little boy you are turning your Momma on!  Oh sure it started out funny, the song starts in the movie and hubby and i are laughing, crying we're laughing so hard.  The kids are dancing around on their seat and totally into the song, the scene in the movie really funny, it was all good.  Then on the way home they keep singing it, and singing it, and singing it.  Sure, it's a catchy tune, but I liked it better when it meant time to go home and have sex - not look at the cute animals dancing.

So we've lost our song to the kids. The magic is gone because frankly, it's just to creepy to hear you child singing it and think about rubbing up against hubby.  All I can say to all you Hollywood types, you better NOT think about using any Nine Inch Nails "fuck you like an animal" in any of those movies you've got coming out this Christmas, it's all I've got left!