It could be worse...

A mother walked by her son's room and noticed that the room was neat, and the bed was made.  Then she saw an envelope, propped up prominently on the pillow that was addressed to 'Mom'. With the worst premonition, she opened the envelope with trembling hands and read the letter.

Dear Mom:
It is with great regret and sorrow that I'm writing you. I had to elope with my new girlfriend because I wanted to avoid a scene with Dad and you. I have been finding real passion with Stacy and she is so nice. But I knew you would not approve of her because of all her piercing's, tattoos, tight motorcycle clothes and the fact that she is much older than I am. But it's not only the passion...Mom she's pregnant.

Stacy said that we will be very happy. She owns a trailer in the woods and has a stack of firewood for the whole winter. We share a dream of having many more children.

Stacy has opened my eyes to the fact that marijuana doesn't really hurt anyone. We'll be growing it for ourselves and trading it with the other people that live nearby for cocaine and ecstasy. In the meantime, we will pray that science will find a cure for AIDS so Stacy can get better. She deserves it.

Don't worry Mom. I'm 15 and I know how to take care of myself. Someday I'm sure that we will be back to visit so that you can get to know your grandchildren.

Love,
Your Son Paul

P.S. Mom, none of the above is true.

I'm over at Dustin's house.

I just wanted to remind you that there are worse things in life than the report card that's in my center desk drawer.

I love you. Call me when it's safe to come home.

Guests and Fish (and Ducks)

Ben Franklin said, "Guests, like fish, begin to smell in three days."  This man never had ducks.  About two weeks ago, we had a couple of visitors:

It was always a male and female and they were interesting to watch, and cute.  Who doesn't like ducks?  While I was out of town last week, Robert said they came back and brought a couple of friends.  I like to think that my pool is G-Rated, but I think they may view our backyard oasis as The Grotto at the Playboy Mansion.  So, we kind of enjoyed our visitors and let them party at their leisure until I noticed that they were not picking up after themselves.  Oh, and we aren't charging them anything and never asked for a deposit. 

This is how they repay our generosity:

My pool is cleaned every Tuesday.  The poor pool guy doesn't know what he's in for this week.

Now I don't know what this duck ate for lunch, but he has a serious GI problem.

I'm thinking he should probably schedule himself for a scope because this is just not right.  If anyone has any ideas how to get rid of unwanted Grotto guests, please let me know.  Those ideas should not involve a firearm of any kind, because they are still really cute even if they are disgusting.

Guest Post

Since I was out this week and didn't have access to a computer, I wasn't able to post this earlier.  I have it now, so enjoy!  Thanks, Marsha for helping me out and sorry for the delay.  I would like to challenge all of you to be without a computer in another town for 5 days while you're not on vacation.  Go ahead, try.

 

Melissa is incommunicado and asked for a sub.  I'm sure she will regret such request...especially if Maxine is reading the blog.

Valentine's Day was exceptional but for the fact it landed on a Saturday.  Well...that for me was bitter sweet.  My husband and I spent a "married 10-years-romantic" night at home.  I cooked of course but received a sparkling gift.  Not so bad.  For the past five years, I have scheduled my "yearly" cervical invasion on Valentine's Day but this year had to schedule on the 16th.  I know that sounds...well, disturbing, but I consider it my gift to Dr. Cullan.  I figure if I've gotta suffer, then there's no reason not to make it hurt for him too.

I love the posters in the exam room showing the stages of pregnancy.  I'm 44, and as I stand "nude" changing into the extra-petite gown, and lookin' down at my physique, poochin' out my stomach; wondering what trimester I would be in if I weren't post-menopausal, I then thank God.  Why is it this stage of life has the word "pause" in it, and it doesn't mean everything is put on hold?  When can I say; so I can't get pregnant anymore, no longer have to stock-up on feminine accoutrements that I've been having to carry in a beach bag, and putting an end to those raging emotions I've been in denial about for, oh,... 30 years?  I'm just kiddin'.  Sweet, Dr. Cullan, with his sausage fingers said I would not have the pleasure of menopause for 8 years or so.  He always knows the right
things to say.   He always shakes my hand and says, Marsha, do you feel bloated?  I say, do you need new glasses, Doc?  He says, are you irritable?  I say, I'm here on Valentine's Day, aren't I?  Doc says, how are your periods?  I say, I can't wait for my next one.  He then talks about how busy he's getting and having to move some patients around and there's a new great Gyno in the building.  I say, see you next year, Doc.  Happy Valentines.  Tell, your wife hello.  Oh, and my daughter is selling Girl Scout cookies, as I whip out an order form. 

On a lighter note, I've seen many comments from Melissa's friends that have chittlins.  All children are wonderful but let's not fool ourselves into submission.  I have five.  Not all from my loins, but all of them now mine.  Greg and I married 10 years ago.  And when we did, my daughter, Mallory, was five.  Mallory started kindergarten at a Catholic school.  The pressure of a sinner like myself having wonderful kids in Catholic school is still insurmountable... but I'm fakin' it just fine.  When Mallory was in second grade and picking her up from school of an afternoon, I caught her in the hall.  Pretty as a plumb in her little plaid jumper, with the appropriate ankle-covering socks, I threw my arm around her small shoulders.  Sister Mary Catherine appeared out of nowhere.  Proudly, I stopped and asked Sister Catherine about an upcoming project that was due.  As Sister and I discussed it, Mallory was slung against my hip.  My Angel butt-in saying; "Mom, do we have a Bible at home?"  I said, "Mallory, you know we have a Bible at home," as I tucked her behind me, pinching Mal's arm and thanking Sister for her service to God, I hustled Mallory out to the car...nagging all the way.

Mallory is a Freshwoman now and picking on more than one Nun a day.  We should all pray for God to be with the Nuns that instruct the Potter kids.

Out of Town

I'm traveling this week without my computer, so the posts will be light or nil.  If anyone would like to do a Guest Blog, let me know and I will post it.

Have a great week!!

Valentine's Day Treats

This is the sheet cake that I sent to school with Taylor and to work with Robert.  It is a really old recipe of my Grandmothers.  Let me know if you are interested in the recipe.  It will bring back memories!  The picture isn't great, but each individual piece of cake is on a doily.  After all, would Valentine's Day be complete without doilies? 

A little humor at Albertson's

Isn't it crazy how there is advertising everywhere?  The most outrageous ad placements are the pull down tray on the airplane, and the lane dividers in the mall parking lot.  Some I don't even notice.  I'm not sure how long they have been doing this, but they put ads in the grocery cart at the far end facing you.  This was what I had yesterday:

How funny is that? 

Boring

I haven't posted much lately because there is absolutely nothing going on.  Oh, I did get the job.  I start next week.  I'm reluctant to release many details because not all the paperwork is complete and I don't want to jinx it.  I will give full disclosure soon.  So, this week has been running around town Mach 5 with my hair on fire (love that saying!) trying to get everyone organized with everything they will need next week while I am away.  That includes to and from rides to football 3 days a week, weightlifting 2 days a week, and dance 6 days a week.  Really, all I am is a car service.  I have threatened to look into how much it would be just to hire a car to take these kids around.  Seems cheaper than a nanny, and they don't really need to be "babysat" anymore.  Yes, but that would require too much effort and it is my last week of freedom.

We could talk about the crazy lady who wants to look like Angelina Jolie who just had 8 kids because she needs attention.  Nah, too easy.

We could talk about how I am knee deep into all this training, and I try to keep my workouts posted on the blog so you can see that I am really working at it.  Wouldn't you think that doing all that exercise would make you lose weight.  Nope.  I've gained 5 pounds.  Just goes to show you, it's all about eating.  Or not eating.  Oh, and it's not muscle.  Muscle doesn't jiggle.

We could talk about Valentine's Day and what a stupid holiday it is.  Seriously, what is the point?  Unless I'm getting really expensive jewelry, I'm just not that into it.  Do people really need reminded to do something nice for their significant other? I have to be creative for all these other holidays (birthday, father's day, anniversary).  Frankly, it's exhausting.  I'm making a cake for Taylor's class.  Will post the photo later today.  Didn't you love/hate Valentine's Day at school?  It took so much time to pick out the right valentine for everyone, because you didn't want the smelly kid in your class to get the wrong impression.  How tragic would it have been if one said, Bee Mine, with a picture of a bee on it and he thought you wanted to go together.  Gasp.  Also, when did buying presents for your kids come into play?  I thought this was more for your sweetheart, not your children.  Everyone knows we love the children better anyway.  My friend, Lori, always said it best when talking to her husband, "These are my children.  You are just some stranger I met in a bar."  Don't you love that?

The pressure that comes with Valentine's Day is stifling.  The pressure to come up with a good gift.  The pressure of the women in the office that get flowers, and trying to persuade everyone in the office through clenched teeth that your relationship is fine even though the louse didn't send flowers.  Not that you really want them anyway because it is a waste of money, but it's all about the show.  What about the pressure if you're single?  Do you know that Valentine's Day has a very high suicide rate? 

I say we revolt.  I do have to make the stupid cake, and I will probably get the kids a candy heart, and buy my husband a card, and probably make a chocolate soufflé, and some huge dinner, but nothing else.  After all, I'm not celebrating.

In honor of Valentine's Day

Check out this website www.whyhimwhyher.com.  You can take an on-line quiz to find out your type.  I'm going to make Robert do it, although I can probably guess what he is.  I am a Negotiator/Explorer.  It is pretty accurate.  When you go to the website, you get the results immediately.  They are not emailed to you, so if you feel a bit weird about giving them personal information, I'm just saying they aren't checking for accuracy.  Let me know how you go with this.

You know it's time to go back to work when:

• Nothing in your laundry needs to be folded, ironed, or even hung up because it consists of sweats, workout wear, bike shorts, etc.  EVERYTHING in the laundry. 
• You know more intimate details about the mailman, next door neighbor, guard, and meat guy at Albertsons then you ever wanted to know. 
• Somedays you go a full 12 hours without adult conversation.
• Your dry cleaners quits sending you birthday cards.
• Neiman Marcus, Saks, and Nordstrom don't call anymore to tell of an upcoming sale.
• It actually hurts to wear any other shoe other than running shoes or Uggs.
• Your car doesn't automatically go to the mall.
• Your car is dirty (I used to get my car washed at the airport when I traveled).
• You haven't been to the Hampton Inn Manager's reception in 6 months.
• You don't know the menu at Applebee's anymore.
• You lose your Premier Executive status on the airline and have to board in Group 3 like all the other Plebians.
• You pack too much to go on a trip because you have lost your packing prowess.
• You haven't actually done anything to your hair other than put it in a ponytail in months.
• You're tired of being the house bitch.  Doing everything by yourself because your are not "working."
• You're really tired of cooking dinner every night and never going out (remind me of this later when I'm going out to eat for the 6th day in a row entertaining clients).
• Your bank account is so low, when you go to check your balance online, moths fly across your screen.

Hopefully, I will have something soon to share on the subject of my employment.  For now, I am going on a bike ride at 10:00 am on a Thursday BECAUSE I CAN.

Cooking Prowess

I was the last child.  The 5th girl.  My mother was 41 when she had me, and to say she was more than done having children would have been an understatement.  After all, she had been having them for over 20 years.  When my father died when I was 9, the woman saw that as a green light to slow down on cooking.  I don't blame her.  A couple of my sisters were really picky eaters.  You know, I find that behavior completely obnoxious.  The picky eater.  Just shut up and eat it.  I never can believe when random kids come over and I have cooked dinner and they say they don't like it.  Um, so?  Cereal box is over there, dude.  I don't make anything crazy weird when other kids are here.  Sometimes we are talking about scrambled eggs.  Of course they aren't delicious.  Shut up and just eat them. 

To say that I was fed well in my growing up years would be a stretch.  When it was just me and my mother, she hardly ever cooked but did know how to stock a pantry.  Everyone always wanted to come to my house late night because we had every snack cake known to man.  I lived on those snack cakes.  Twinkies, Little Debbie's, Cupcakes, Moon pies, Zingers, etc.  I also had a crapload of Rice-A-Roni and hot dogs.  Those were things I could cook.  Do you know I never ate broccoli or cauliflower until I moved out?  I guess after you've been trying to shove that down people's throats for 20 years, you just give up.  After all, surely there is some nutritional value in Twinkies.  The woman didn't have great eating habits herself.  For breakfast, she would have coffee.  For lunch, she would have a Coke, and it was when they were in those little bottles.  For dinner, she would just have a few bites of something because she always said she wasn't hungry after fixing the food.  It's no wonder she weighed 112 pounds her entire life until she quit smoking, then look out Mama, the woman got really fat.  I guess what I'm saying is that I didn't have much training in the kitchen.  So, where did I get my cooking chops?

When I moved out of the house, I was armed with my Betty Crocker cookbook and was ready to go.  I did ok.  No one starved.  Sometimes, we would even get a little creative, such as chicken roll up contests.  It was a different person's turn every week and we moved from house to house trying new chicken roll up recipes.  That consisted of pounding out chicken and coming up with interesting fillings and sauces.  Then, I met my friend Marsha who grew up in a huge family that did nothing but cook.  She first impressed me with ham gravy.  Who knew such a thing existed, and WHY HAVE I NOT HEARD OF THIS BEFORE?  Two of my favorite things, Ham and Gravy.  She also taught me a thing or two about Velveeta.  The kids' baby daddy's mom and aunt were pretty savvy in the kitchen and some of my favorite recipes come from them.  Oh, and Southern Living Magazine had something to do with my cooking.  I would try something new out of there every month.  I still try something new at least once a week from Bon Appetit, or Epicurious. 

Lori once gave me a shirt that said, "It's a Good Thing," because my friends called me Martha Stewart.  I used to throw a pretty lavish dinner parties.  My Easter gatherings are legendary.  I thought I was doing pretty well in the kitchen department.  Then, I met Robert, who was all too excited to tell me I was doing it all wrong.  I didn't have the proper tools.  So, he outfitted me with good German knives, All-Clad pots and pans, and all the necessary tools you never knew you needed.  You know, kitchen toys.  It actually did help.  I also found the Martha Stewart Channel on Sirius 112 and it has also changed my cooking life.  I made a pie this year.  With homemade crust.  It was awesome.  Thanks, Martha!

I guess I'm saying that I have had to learn cooking on my own, with lots of help from people along the way.  How did you learn to cook?  Was your Mom awesome in the kitchen and you made cookies on a chair next to her from the time you were 5?  Was it your Aunt?  Maybe a family friend.  Was it out of necessity so you didn't live on Rice-A-Roni and hot dogs? 

Deadly Sins at the Gym

I went to the gym this morning to take a spin class.  ALL I wanted was to go back to sleep.  I was having a rather odd dream about Brad Pitt.  Seems he wanted me to help him take care of all his children.  Doesn't that say so much about me?  Can't I just have a sex dream involving Brad Pitt without having to babysit?  Anyway, I dragged out to go kill my quads and pierce my eardrums with all the techno music.  When I leave there, I'm never sure if my ears are ringing because I need to eat something or if the music was just too loud.  OMG I hate getting old.  Since I'm training, I've been spending more time at the gym.  You won't believe what happens in these places. I have listed some of the more interesting things I've seen of late:

• I don't know if it is appropriate to wear your white sports bra in public.  I have no opinion, I just don't know.  What I do know is that it's not ok to wear a size 32B when clearly you are a 32DD during spin class.  This woman spent the whole class making sure her nips didn't spill out, but they did.  All during class.  Yes, we were ALL watching, which I assume was the point.
• It is NEVER ok to slough your feet with your pumice stone at the gym in the locker room.  Little bits of your nasty feet flying all over the room.  Ew.  I guess you could use the Pedi Egg so your chunks would be caught in the device, but I still don't think so.  Certain things should be done at home. 
• Picking at your scabs on your shoulders and back while you are on the treadmill, stair stepper, etc.  Ew.  I just stared at this woman the entire time.  Thankfully, I was far away.  Can you imagine the biohazard she was creating?  Ditto with the feet thing.
• Chatting with me while you are naked.  Yup, I don't know you and here you are striking up a conversation with me while you are buck naked.  Oh, and it's never the beautiful people who do this.  Note: When you are naked, jump up and down and if anything moves, it's not ok to chat up other people in that state.  I can hear you just as well with your back turned to me.
• Hogging the mirror.  You are beautiful.  You are looking tight.  Get over yourself and let me see if I'm lifting correctly.  Jeez.
• Eating in the sauna.  Yes, you heard me correctly.  I think it was a turkey wrap.  Oh, and someone else in the sauna was naked.  So, there I am with naked fat woman, and turkey wrap woman who has no problem slamming down her food while staring at naked fat woman and sweating.  I just threw up in my mouth thinking about it again.

I'm sure you have interesting experiences as well.  I would love to hear them.  For now, I will keep reporting the injustices of the world, one neighborhood gym at a time.