I Could Make Stalling An Artform

I learned two new things this weekend.

1) I can come up with almost any excuse to stall so as not to mop the kitchen floor.

And

2) The dog is afraid of the vacuum cleaner.

The not liking to mop is by no means a surprise to me. I have hated this task above all else for as long as I can remember. The icky linoleum in my apartment does not make we want to clean it. Ever. It's a pain in the ass. I'm working on getting the landlord to let me tile it.

Personally, I'd rather clean the bathroom and do the laundry.

Now for the dog being afraid of the vacuum...I have no idea where this came from. It's not like I haven't used the vacuum in the last 16 weeks. It would have made more sense if he was afraid of the floor steamer. Because it's quite possible I haven't used that for 16 weeks. Ok, not quite, but it's close.

Well, my apartment is not that big, so when I went looking for the dog and couldn't find him, I began mentally cataloging how many times I had opened and closed the backdoor and if he could've slipped by me. Unlikely but it could happen.

Seriously, I don't know how he managed it but he squeezed all 35 pounds of himself under our bed. And promptly got stuck.

I had to pull him out by his front legs.

No, he did not appreciate it and I still had to clean the kitchen floor damn it.

Really, I want to know where the independently wealthy line was and why I wasn't standing in it.

Cuz, then I could have someone else mop my freakin' floor while I kept the dog out from under the bed.

One Down, One on Hold...

Well, if you had tuned in for the first day of school you'd know that the Kid came home with two gripes:

1) He needs a haircut.

2) His sneakers aren't black enough.

Well, number one doesn't surprise me in the least. I told him he looked like a Muppet before he got a haircut a few weeks ago. He has this shaggy Zac Efron thing going on. It's very 70's but he refuses to believe that he's channeling his dad circa 1979. Denial is where it's at folks. I've taught my kid well.

As for the sneakers, I did warn him after this shopping trip, that although they where the coolest kicks in existence they may in fact not be suitable for school. I'm certain he stopped listening to me after he heard 'they where the coolest'. But not to fret, mom came through again and found these:

Now all we have to do is wait until next Thursday night for the haircut. That was the earliest appointment I could get. My hairdresser has the nerve to take Fridays off. Doesn't she know we're having a crisis? Apparently not.

I suppose it's not enough to have kids wear dockers and polo shirts to school, they want them to look neat and clean too. Fascists.

How I long for the college days when I wore my pajamas to class. Hmmm, I probably should not offer up that tidbit of scholastic history to the Kid, it's all I can do to get him to tuck in his shirt before school. (More evidence that I'm morphing in to my mother.)

Things are looking up though, the math teacher has stopped sweating profusely in class.

Oh, the First Day of School...

Ah, the first day of school.

Do you remember the packing and repacking of your bag, checking and rechecking your schedule to be sure you go to the right homeroom and the process of choosing the most perfect outfit?

Today was the first day of school for the Kid. I held off on posting today until after I talked to him. I just knew he'd have something perfect to write about.

Me: So, how was it?

The Kid: I need a haircut and my homeroom teacher says my sneakers aren't black enough. I'm not getting a haircut until the Principal tells me too.

Me: Um, ok. Did you like any of your teachers?

The Kid: The science teacher is my homeroom teacher, she's ok. The English teacher is Irish, whiter than sour cream and I can barely understand her. My math teacher is annoying and gross.

Me: Annoying and gross? (Wow, she must be a sight if my 13 year old, who has to be wrestled into the shower, thinks she's 'gross'.) Define gross.

The Kid: She was sweating all over all through math class. Seriously, mom, sweating.

Me: (What do you say to that?) Well, it's not like she was touching you or anything. Right?

The Kid: Damn skippy. (I just love my kid.) Cuz then I would have had to go all Monk on her and it wouldn't have been pretty. By the way, where are the handy wipes just in case?

And now we're ready for Day 2.

I Smell a Conspiracy

Someone, somewhere is getting a kick back. I just know it!

Last night I took the kid to Tarjhay (Target) to purchase his school supplies. The school so nicely provides a list of everything my 8th grader will need get through the school year.

What they don't provide is the wheel barrel he will ultimately need to carry it all to school.

Below is the list that they mailed us: (Sorry, it may be tough to read, I couldn't get it any bigger.)

There's a binder for every class, with folders and loose leaf paper, pencil, pens, colored pencils, erasers, etc.

400 index cards! Are they teaching him to play blackjack?

But my personal favorites are a damn glue stick, construction paper and student scissors?!Maybe I should get some glitter too?! Honestly, he's 13 years old, does he really need that stuff?

I shouldn't be surprised. When he started middle school I asked one of his teachers at Parent's Night if the teachers did, in fact, use all of this stuff.

Her: No, we do up that list for children who are unorganized.

Me: Well, what do you give to the kids who are organized?

Her: Oh, the same list. We just thought it would be easier for them to have individual items for each class.

Me: Ok, so let me get this straight. You provide a list that has 52 hundred items on it and you expect that a kid, like mine I might add, who is chronically disorganized to sort through it all and manage to keep everything together?

Her: Well, it's color coded. (The list was color coded that year but apparently they've abandoned that fruitless venture.)

Uh-huh.

We'll be shopping for our wheel barrel tomorrow night.

Do Not Even Think About Touching My Armrest!

I missed Tova's Totally Awkward Tuesday this week but her airplane ride story brought back a Totally Gross Air Plane Moment that I can share with all of you.

Years ago when I was still married we took a trip to San Diego to visit my 'Ex's' family. When we booked our tickets we couldn't get 5 seats together. We had to choose one odd seat by itself.

This odd seat ended up being the window seat in the very last row on the plane. Our other seats were a few rows up on the opposite side.

Now if you have three kids and have ever been trapped with them in a small confined space for a long period of time, you will understand the bitter game of rock/paper/scissors the 'Ex' and I played in the airport for who would get the coveted 'Seat of 6 Hours of Uninterrupted Peace.'

I won. Or so I thought at the time.

We get on the plane and I trudge aaaaallllll the way to the back of the plane to claim my prize get in my seat. Because this is the last row there are only two seats, a window and an isle. I HATE sitting next to the window, I feel like I'm trapped. Some people love it. Not me, I have no desire to gaze out the window, I would rather gaze down the open isle so I can flag the flight attendant if I need a cocktail.

I sit down and secretly hope that the person who has reserved the isle seat doesn't show up. No such luck. A woman who looks like a throw back from the Woodstock Era carrying a carpet bag, seriously, approaches the empty seat. I silently pray that she's just going to the bathroom.

Oh, did I mention that to my immediate right is the bathroom? Yeah, great.

The Woodstock lady, who smells like cats, sits down in the empty isle seat. Before the plane even takes off she takes an orange out of her Mary Poppins bag and begins to peel it.

No big deal right? Only she's stuffing the orange peel into the pocket of the seat in front of her.

Ick.

Fast forward. We're in the air and the constant parade of people to the bathroom leaves the back of the plane smelling like that blue disinfectant they put in the toilet bowl.

It wouldn't have been so bad but the door to the bathroom will not stay shut when it was unoccupied and the woman in the seat next to me held her hand on the door to keep it shut.

At one point she let go of the bathroom door so that she could eat a yogurt.

WITH. HER. FINGERS! Yeah, I wanted to throw up too.

At this point I was gazing out the window like I had never seen clouds before. Needless to say I could not wait to get off the plane.

When we all managed to disembark the plane (no she did not pick up the orange peel) the 'Ex' asks me why I look so green.

I retell my story, the kids think it's hilarious, and he says...

'Well, it was quiet wasn't it?'

Open Your Eyes and Read!!

This past weekend my very best friend came to visit from Buffalo, she arrived Friday night.

In celebration of her driving 6 long, boring highway hours to come see me, the BF and I immediately suggested to her that we should take an hour and a half car ride to the beach on Sunday.

She laughed and hopped in the car.

There is a great tidal beach near where we were staying. It has a long boardwalk out over the marsh that connects the parking lot to the dunes above the beach.

We got to the coast around noon time and the tide was out. This was perfect.

We could walk out on the boardwalk to the beach and check out the tide pools.

There are streams in amongst the marsh grass that are large enough to sail a kayak through when the water is higher. Also, dotted amongst the marsh grass are tall poles with yellow signs on them. All of these signs were too far away from the boardwalk to read.

Since you are allowed to walk in the marsh I can only imagine that the signs are for clamming.

So, we trek out to the beach (it's 85 and blisteringly hot) and putter around in the water.

Because we are 10 year-olds at heart we stand in a huddle, heads pressed together, water up to our knees, with a couple of 5 year-olds so we can stare at a crab and a starfish we found in the water. We had a serious discussion about whether or not the starfish was alive, as it would not move and no one would volunteer to touch it.

Our little group broke up when the crab decided it was done with our gawking and moved on.

So the BFF and I have been waddling around in the water for about 20 minutes when she says...

BFF: Is this salt water?

Me: I think so. (This part is important: sticks finger in the water and tastes it.) Yeah, I'm pretty sure it is.

BFF does the same water taste scenario and concurs that this is in fact salt water.

At this point we decide that we're going to head back into town as we are melting. We find our way to the shore where I manage to get my flip flop stuck in the mud and then proceed to get mud all over the back of me while I'm wrestling it free. She finds this hilarious (wench).

After freeing my flip flop I walk back to the water to rinse it off, and as I'm turning around to go meet her, I see one of those marsh poles about 5 feet away.

I walk over to read the yellow sign because now I'm really curious as to what they say. The posting is bright yellow and the size of regular paper (8 x 11).

The sign basically says NO CLAMMING - Water is Contaminated with Bacteria.

Huh?

But that's not the best part. As my brain is processing contaminated clams I now see a sign directly underneath the yellow one, only this sign is, HUGE, about 3 feet wide and 4 feet tall.

This sign has a picture of this on it:
with the words. NO SWIMMING WATER IS CONTAMINATED WITH BACTERIA.

GAH!!!! There are 50 families on this beach.

Freakin' perfect. My hair is probably going to fall out because I didn't read the sign first and I just put contaminated water in my mouth.

(My mother just read this and is clutching her chest and breathing into a paperbag as she mentally calculates the amount of germs I've just been exposed to.)

Hell Hath Frozen Over

My kid has been away at camp this past week and although I know he's having fun, I totally miss him.

So this morning when my cell phone rang at 9:15 am and from the Caller ID I can tell that it's The Kid, a number of thoughts flash through my head, some of them involving blood and/or the police...

Me: Hi, bud.

Kid: Hi, mom.

Me: You're not in trouble are you? (Why do we always jump to this conclusion?)

Kid: (laugh) No.

Me: Is everything ok?

Kid: Yeah. (silence)

Me: Did you call because you miss me?

Kid: Yeah.

Oh my god, I'm seriously going to cry right now. My 13 year old misses me. Sniff.

I Can't Zip My Pants!!

No. I did not gain back the 15 lbs. that I lost.

I did, however, slice open the pad of my right thumb on the dog's teeth.

Mental Note:

When fishing yet another stick out of the dog's mouth so he doesn't choke to death.

Use. Both. Hands.

One to hold his mouth open and the other the grab the stick.

Do Not assume that you can grab it with one hand because you have cat like reflexes and the dog does not. You will cut yourself and bleed all over you and him.

This lame thumb will lead to the fact that the following morning when your are trying to get ready for work, you will be unable to

- open the toothpaste
- put on eyeliner and mascara
- open a bottle of water

and most importantly

- button your pants.

Awkward College Moment

Once again it time for Tova's Totally Awkward Tuesday so I've pulled one from the college vault.

My freshman year of college I lived on campus in a dorm. I was fortunate enough to have only one roommate, as I knew people that had 2 or 3.

When I filled out my resident application I know for a fact that I put down non-smoker, does not stay up to all hours of the night, studious....basically someone like me. Duh.

Since she was from Florida, and had arrived early, our parents arranged for us to meet the week before we were supposed to move into the dorms. Our meeting was awkward in and of itself because we had met 3 minutes ago, but it went ok, she was nice, her dad was your average dad, just like mine but that's where the normal stopped.

She was goth before there was such a thing. I don't know why the school bothers to have you state your preferences in a roommate because the only thing that she didn't do was smoke. And I'm fairly certain she started to before Christmas.

Moving day comes and here I am, parents in tow to help me move in, with my crates of new school crap. We get to my assigned room and Karen is already there, no surprise, I knew she had arrived the week before. And everything on her half of the room is black. Seriously, everything.

Sheets, towels, phone, computer, clothes, books, posters, nail polish...everything.

My mother is struck dumb.

Oh and did I mention for some unknown reason she wanted everyone to call her Dean? Um, ok, if you say so, but your name is Karen right? Cuz, I'm pretty sure that's what your dad called you.

So, we unpack my stuff, and now my side of the room looks like it jumped out of a J. Crew catalogue but I'm ok with that.

We couldn't have been more opposite.

About two weeks into the first semester I have the following conversation in the bathroom with one of the girls down the hall...

Bathroom Girl: So how do you like living with Dean?

Me: She's ok. We don't have much in common but she's nice enough. Why?

Bathroom Girl: Well, all the other girls on the floor were curious if you're a lesbian too.

Me: Excuse me?

Bathroom Girl: You do know that she's gay right?

Me: (Now it's my turn to be struck dumb.)

So, now as I'm going back to my room, I'm thinking, yeah it's none of my business but she could have said something since obviously everyone on our floor knows.

I get back to the room and she's there. She can tell by the look on my face that I know.

Her: Someone told you didn't they?

Me: Um, yeah - you could've said something. I really don't care but everyone else seems to know.

Her: I didn't want you to think I was weird.

In my head: YOU DIDN'T WANT ME TO THINK THAT YOU'RE WEIRD???!!! Uh-huh, cuz with the all black, you never sleep, guitar obsession, and your new name I would never think that you were weird.

Aaawwwkkkwwaarrrddd.

(P.S.: We were great friends from then on and were roommates our sophomore year as well. Junior year if she hadn't transferred to a school in FL we probably would have lived together then too.)

I've Hit the Big 4-0!!

I've hit the big 4-0!! (insert happy dance here)

Or at least I did on Friday but now, by Monday, I've moved onto the big 4-2.

Hey, that's my number of super awesome followers!! Not my age! Geez.

Thank you super awesome readers.

Now onto the weekend:

We had an awesome time this weekend! The BF and I took our collective kids and the pooch to the beach. There were some decent waves on Saturday for boogie boarding, so the boys set off for the water under a litany of:

- stay together...

- don't go out too far...

- pay attention...

- keep your mouth closed...

- DO. NOT. GO. OUT. TOO. FAR!

- did you put on sunscreen?! No? Get back here...

- oh, yeah...have ffffuuuunnnn...

I should probably point out the the BF had watched 5 days of Shark Week before we left for the beach so I was horrified by thoughts that one of them would be eaten by a fish roughly the size of my car.

But that only happens in the movies, right? Right?! Gahhh, I can't even think about it.

Anyhoo, everyone came back with all of the limbs we came with so I'd chalk the weekend up as a success.

On a crazy side note...the weirdest thing I saw this weekend?

A women riding a bike with a child seat on it. Only instead of a child in the seat, there was a Chihuahua. I swear, the kids were witnesses.

And we thought we were weird? Heh! Not any more.

Google Reader I Have An Issue

Google Reader I have a bone to pick with you.

My Reader regularly morphs into the 2 and 3 hundred range on a regular basis. I've come to accept this and plan accordingly. As in, I swap whether I start reading from the top of the list to reading from the bottom.

I'm lame, I know.

Anyhoo, lately I've had the weirdest sense of deja vu. I'll read, comment, move on to the next blog, etc. And then the next day I'll be reading the same damn thing. Heh?

I've finally figured out what's going on.

If I read from home, this doesn't translate to when I read the next day from work.

What the heck Reader? Can't you remember that I've already marked all as read scoured through everything and commented even though I'm using two different computers? I'm still logging in as the same person, so what gives?

Does anyone else have this problem?

Going to Camp

Sleep away camp. It's a parents dream and nightmare.

Dream: The Kid shall enjoy five days of fun filled activities that teach camaraderie and independence. All while being polite, neat and clean.

Nightmare: The Kid shall not practice any of the carefully instilled hygiene and manner lessons drilled into him for the past 13 years (and other adults will notice and think you raised him in a cave).

The Kid left Monday for two weeks of sleep away camp. He's been going to the same summer camp since he was five but this is the first year he is old enough to sleep over.

Sunday night we packed his bag: clothes, flip flops, towels, toiletries, sleeping bag, pillow. As we packed the bag all I could think of was, 'I should just pack six bags of Ranch Doritos, a tube of Slim Jims and a case of Mountain Dew.'

All parents pack clean clothes for everyday, toothbrushes and shampoo, but what we don't want to admit is most boys will probably only change their clothes twice this week and they won't brush their teeth until it feels like fur is growing on them.

Maybe there will be girls there and he'll at least take a shower?

You're shaking your heads aren't you.

I Only Have Three Inches!

"Three inches! I only have three inches, and you're trying to take that away too!"

Huh? What?

This is what I hear coming from the bathroom at 7am Sunday morning.

The medicine cabinet in our bathroom can only be described as vintage. Seriously, this thing saw Nixon ushered in. Metal trim, two mirrors that slide side to side, and glass shelves. When was the last time you saw glass shelves?

These three shelves are filled with two round metal brushes (different sizes), one regular brush, hairspray, flat iron goop, makeup bag, container with makeup brushes, toothpaste, face lotion. Basically, all my stuff.

The BF has 3 inches of the top right hand shelf, where he keeps his contacts, his contact liquid stuff, and his toothbrush top for the electric toothbrush.

That's it. That's the extent of his medicine cabinet use or I should say that's his cabinet allowance.

Apparently while I was fishing around in the cabinet for some of my crap, probably a brush, I encroached on his three holy inches of shelf space.

Gawd, men can be so pushy.