Summer '08

Stick a fork in the second and sixth grades, they're done.

Woot! The boys graduated, and our first Happy Hour was a hit. If we keep up the pace we did last night by repeating our excess weekly until Labor Day, we will all be 20 pounds heavier, have rap sheets, cirrhosis of the liver and probably a nasty sunburn. But we will be happy and know all of the local gossip, so who really cares?

Here's a before picture:



I can't send the after because all of the ladies haven't signed their release forms yet, so maybe next week. But please note those fancy cupcake cones. I made them--it's a rare example of my baking efforts.

We had a full agenda on our first official full day off with speech, art, baby yoga, hockey...but the pace slows starting tomorrow. I swear. I am tagging this summer as one of the Written Word, and I'm going to be so prolific you won't be able to stand it. I'll have participles dangling from my fingertips and I'll diagram sentences during casual speech. I'll type all of my grocery lists in MS Word and I'll correct the spelling on license plates at red lights. And hopefully, by the end of Summer '08, I'll have a completed manuscript to go with that rap sheet and extra 20 l.b's.

Happy Summer to all of you whether written, spoken or blogged.


(I started here.)

Suburban Diva and the Temple of Doom

So last night after the gym, Sean says, “Let’s go see a movie.”

I am momentarily confused by this request since I see no children with us, and this has not been our custom since 1993.

But we go, and unfortunately the movie he wants to see--Vegas--doesn’t start for another 90 minutes, so we decide on Indiana Jones. Cuz who doesn’t love him/herself some Harrison Ford?

So after 25 minutes of previews, the movie begins and I watch with excited anticipation. I have fond memories of this movie, and since it was probably the last non-animated feature I’ve seen in a theater, it was an appropriate choice.

Except for the fact that it sucked.

As I’m watching Mr. Ford deliver the same lines, do the same stunts and follow pretty much the same story, I realize that this movie was designed for an older audience.

And then I realize that that means me! I am the older audience!

I hate this. I was freaking seven when Han Solo was introduced to big screen. How does this happen? Why is this being dumbed down for my benefit? Sure, I still think Indiana is a dish. For like 68 or whatever. I mean its not like I want to sit on his lap and tell him what I want for Christmas, but we’re really not that far. And just because he’s shagging Calista Flockart--well, I still felt like I was 107 watching that movie.

Oy. I’m sticking to Kung Fu Panda or whatever the next Jack Black flick is.

TGITh

I only have to wake up at 6:30 for 2 more days....I cannot freaking wait. On Friday, we're becoming that house--the one with the curtains drawn and all of the porch lights on until after noon. You'll pass by wondering what exactly goes on all night to warrant such late morning behavior. Let the neighbors talk. We won't be able to hear them sound asleep anyway.

In honor of my anticipated morning freedom, I just loaded the back of the car to the the top with baby items for Goodwill. I figured I need to make room for more mess.

Since Thursday is officially our last day of school, it is only fitting that it is also the beginning of our new summer tradition of Thursday Happy Hour. Actually, we have an official name, but it's a little PG-13, so I'll refrain from announcing it to the entire planet. BUT, we plan on getting together every Thursday this summer at a different person's house for cocktails and appetizers and general grown-up talk. Grown-up talk while dodging the 30+ sets of little ears running around during Thursday Happy Hours that is.

So just so you are in the know, ahead of the curve, all stocked up on the latest 411--Thursdays are the new Fridays.

At least this summer for some Catholic elementary school Moms.

You heard it here first.

Memorial Day Blog Love

I cannot tell you how happy I am that a 3 day weekend is staring me in the face. If I don't sleep in within the next 15 hours, I will go absolutely mad.

I worked hard this week. I ran around like a lunatic carting kids to various lessons and activities, I filmed stuff, and I even went to the dentist--something that I HATE. I wrote a column. I cooked, cleaned, and went to Baby Yoga. I got in in every last assignment on behalf of my kids, and planned the summer for at least the first month. Yay me. I need a vacation.

So I'll probably be grilling, chilling, drinking, sleeping, drinking, swimming, writing, drinking and more drinking this weekend, so blogging somehow doesn't make it on the list. But I thought I would leave you with some blog love to read over if you have the inclination and find yourself looking for new material since this will most likely be it for me for a few days.

Okay, here's some fun folks to check out:

One of my bff's ( Backwash friend forever) BlueEyedPhoenix, just landed his first full feature in Travel+Leisure magazine. I'm insanely jealous, but happy to have known him when he was a mere caricature.

My friend Zen--also of Backwash fame--has started a new blog on addiction here. (Disregard half of my weekend activity if you must before reading.)

My Disney Mom gal pals have been quite busy. There are like tons of contest and prizes they're giving away. For instance, wanna Wii Fit? Check out Cooper's site, Been There, for a chance to win.

And my friend Gabrielle from Design Mom as well as the site formerly known as Skirt, has just changed names and domains to Kirtsy.com. It is like digg.com for women...you have got to check it out!

More Disney Mom shout outs to Bostonmamas.com cuz Christine deserves mad blog love this week. And don't forget my girl Kris at Cleverparents--I miss her adorable cleverness. And Lori of Just Pure Lovely has some educational books to giveaway on her new educational blog Freely Educate.

I know I'm missing a lot more love, a lot more blogosphere news, so I'll catch those next week. Maybe we can establish a Friday tradition of just sharing fun from our cyber friends.

Happy looonnnngggg weekend, ya'll.

Diva on location

So I am the queen of multi-tasking (all mothers are, we get a handbook in the maternity ward) but I kind of suck at multi-focusing. I need to get through one event before shifting complete focus to the next.

I've been kind of absorbed getting through our latest filming event for Newbaby.com We're doing product reviews, which is a pretty cool gig. There's a fun market of innovative products for babies that we get to test on Jessie. Luckily it's stuff like teething rings and nap mats, and not any aeresols or drug trials.

I think we had a good camera day today. The camera man assured me he used the narrow-ass lens.

A non-partisan post

So, I've been thinking of easy ways to cut back on needless expenses during this "tight economy" or "rough patch" or whatever George is not calling a recession.

And I've come up with one cutback that I plan to stick to.

I am eliminating all contributions to candidates this election year.

In years past, I've been quite generous with my support. I'm even on a top individual donor list for my county--which explains the 10 weekly calls I get from solicitors. I have voted in every single election from President to dog catcher, and I think the only one that has counted since I moved to this state in 2000 was when I mistakenly voted for Buchanan.

But this year, please do not expect my finiancial support. As a Florida voter, I have grown quite weary of not only being disenfranchised routinely, but for that vote to then be ceremoniously pissed on by both parties. I won't be paying for that privlidge.

Oh yeah, and Republicans--don't expect a dime from me either. It was your fiscally irresponsible administration that led to the need for this decision in the first place.

I'm shopping for shoes made in Canada instead.

&^%*$# Child locks

I'm trying to figure out how to put these new child safety locks on my bathroom cabinets.

Seriously, my hair will be dry before I can get into the cabinet to get the blower.

Ot Jessie will turn 30 and I won't have to worry about it anyway.

TGI Freaking F

I give to you the column of the week, which pretty much sums up my state of mind.

I am weary this evening. I'm sitting here in front of a big steaming bowl of exhaustion ready to fall asleep face first in it.

But I did it. I made every last deadline, and hopefully after tomorrow, I'll even push ahead.

Or not.

Anyway, all I can handle at this moment is the decision to change into my bathing suit to sink into the hot tub, or go straight for my jammies...

Holy Weekend

I thought I'd share with you some photos from Matty's First Communion last weekend. I will limit my scathing commentary to a few captions.




How can you not trust this face?



It's like herding cats to get them all together and smiling in a photo



Dad and Mary Anne came up to celebrate. Check out Amy's choice in footwear.


Matty's restaurant choice was a Japanese Steakhouse. It cost $400 for him to watch the chef and eat a bowl of miso soup.



Jess thinks the dog dish is her personal bird bath.




We think this sign clearly means, "No Dancing."

There are tumbleweeds blowing across my keyboard

If I had the time, I work on my time management skills.

This is the first time I've sat down to my desk in at least 2 weeks. I've cleared a path through the Webkinz trading cards to reach the keyboard, since that's all this computer has been used for lately. To say I'm behind is such a gross understatement, that it is libelous. Seriously. I've forgotten how to write. And spell.

I must now commence on writing about the monthly meeting last night that I vowed not to blog about--1000 words on freaking driveway maintenance options--and I'm already dreading opening that hideous blank Word document to begin.

But the good news is that I have cleared the calendar today of all guests, errands, sacraments, laundry, parties, appointments and medically necessary bodily functions so that I can catch up. I have chained myself to this desk with a dictionary and a pot of coffee. I will not move until every blessed deadline is met.

I hope Jessie doesn't need a diaper change today, and if she does, it will have to be in the middle of the driveway as I do research.

Excuses, excuses

1st Communion.

Column.

Real life intrigue and drama.

Deadlines.

More house guests.

Weekend away to celebrate various events that warrant celebrating.

Baby yoga.

Temps nearing 90.


In other words, no time to blog.

Until Monday...

My dog is starting to look like me

So you know I'm a helpless spaz, right? Don't worry, you're not offending me, I am quite aware of this character flaw. If there was a 12-step program for spazoids, I'd be in it. Enrolled, but I'm such a spaz that I'd only make to step 3 before some domestic diaster would befall me and I would become distracted by something shiny in a size 8, and then I would forget to go to all of the meetings.

But there is one thing this spaz can't handle--and that's Jingle escaping.

This happens on a weekly basis. Never my kids, but some unsuspecting person leaves 2 centimeters between their body and the door, or takes more than .0007 seconds to walk in the house. The canine Houdini can escape any holding cell.

So today, the guy installing a new screen door in the back lanai leaves the gate open. I hate the guy installing the new screen door on the back lanai. I want to smash him with the new screen door and then go make him explain to my kids why their dog only has three legs now. Who leaves a freaking gate open at someone's house with a dog barking at the window?

Anyway, the 26 mile marathon begins. Even though I swear every time that I will not chase that dog--she is faster than um, well..a dog that's just been let out from the idiot guy installing the new screen door on the back lanai. We can't catch her.

But after 4 hours of fruitless pursuit through ponds, backyards, the Siberian steppes, we decide to give up. One last pass with the car, and then we'll have to go home and print up posters that read: "Lost Cheetah. No Reward."

But lo and behold, 2 neighborhoods over, some nice woman is holding the idiot dog by the collar in her driveway.

It's the Mayor's wife.

The First Lady of Safety Harbor has my stinking, filthy, dripping beast. Sheepishly, I take Jingle into my car, apologizing profusely for having such a spaz for a dog.

Irony is cruel. And exhausting.

And smells like a retention pond.


So I am preparing for Matty's First Communion amongst other things this week.

Art-Pilates-Hockey-Etiquette Class

I can't possibly catch up on all of the happenings over the last few days without sounding like a terribly boring, obligatory Christmas newsletter, but there are some highlights that I must share.

Fabulous idea I should have explored sooner: Baby yoga. Amy has moved up to the next level in her art class--her gluing pom-poms on construction paper is truly a sign of giftedness--but it's a solo gig. Meaning I'm not supposed to stay in there with her for 45 minutes. So they suggest for $300 more, I could take Baby Yoga at the same time in the room next door.

I did not know if I wanted to become the type of mother who looks for her baby's center while in the Lotus position, but hell, I'm up for anything at this stage of the game.

So Friday was our first class, and let me tell you, there is little baby in baby yoga. Basically, she crawls around the mats screaming in delight that no sibling is taking a toy from her, and I get twisted into a pretzel so my abs can scream "Namaste! Namaste!" I loved it. Zen is balancing on two Cheerios before Jessie can stuff them into her mouth.

The in-laws are here so I get the treat of watching Stevie's hockey sans little ones. I will tell you that this is a different experience than one might expect. I was not at the snack bar every 2 minutes buying ring pops and then extracting said candy from Jessie's hair. No, in the balmy 2 degrees of the rink, I actually got to watch his game, and all of the bad behavior by the parents in the stands. Unbelievable.

I didn't believe Sean when he told me the day before that there was a Mom fight complete with shoving and repeated use of a particularly bad word for the female anatomy.

Yes, that word. The one that even without combining its four singularly innocuous letters in that alarming, most offensive combination in writing, makes you all wince in collective shame and makes you want to take a shower and then wash that mother's mouth out with the soap.

Ladies, (and I use that term with all of the sad irony I can muster) please. If you find yourself throwing that word around in public at a 12 year old's hockey game, you need some professional help.

Might I suggest the Baby Yoga class at 12:45 on Fridays?

Alternative Titles for this Post

*Seriously?

*It’s only half of a tank.

*I can’t afford to vote Republican this November.

*Turns out, you can’t live in your car after foreclosure.

*Seriously?

*Shell Posts Record Profits This Quarter--Thanks to Me

*Did I mention this isn’t even a full tank?

*I remember back in ‘aught 7 when gas was $2.50 a gallon and I drove you to school.

*It’s probably safe for Walgreen’s to put the Sudafed back on the shelves, but they may want to lock up the Petroleum Jelly and Oil of Olay.

*Seriously…