Its an age-old problem

You spend $30 at Toys R Us for an Airport complete with car tracks, elevator, and parking lot, and the kid wants to play in the box.

We spent the day unpacking from our impromptu trip to Roosevelt.  Casey was MORTIFIED that we left the box in Roosevelt. 

“How could you?  I loved that box!”  Luckily another one arrived in the mail not long after.  It was filled with goodies from our Best Girls in Vermont – real syrup, muffin mixes etc. for the mommies, a magic kit, art supplies and a tractor and animals for the boys.  I thought the best part was the toy trash truck – complete with compactor sounds.  Now every day can be trash day and the boys won’t even have to line up in the window for this kind of fun.  Even with the trash truck, Casey just threw it all out and climbed in the box. 

Riley tried his magic all night but he couldn’t get the kid out of the box.

Protected: when history scares the hell out of you

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

It is Common Courtesy Folks

If you see this woman wandering around local stores doing her holiday shopping, do her a favor

TELL HER THAT HER ASS IS HANGING OUT.  Its common courtesy folks.

There is no excuse for not intervening.  Sure, there are oddballs out there with wild fashion sense who might actually wear their pants with a rip in them, but those people who do that wear boxers underneath NOT orange and purple panties.

I understand that the wearer of said pants has to be oblivious to the world around her and well oblivious to the things right – in – front – of her (or in this case, things directly BEHIND her) but its the Christmas season.  The stores were packed.  I was focused more on buying the loot and getting out of the stores than I was the little tug I felt in my pants when I bent down over the Pippi Longstocking DVD and fished it off the bottom shelf.  But then I went to 3 different stores and while I noticed glances and even a couple of snickers, that’s standard fare when I am shopping in the suburbs.

In retrospect, I probably should have given that little tug a little more attention, but HINDSIGHT is 20/20 now isn’t it?

Cold. Employed. But Really Freakin Cold.

I told Kim this morning that I wish I had electric blanket-type clothing that I could wear and I could plug myself in anywhere I go.

I’m cold. 

And I forgot how my body and soul aches when it is this cold. 

I take a bath to warm up.  I feel the bitter nastiness slowly steamed from my system.  But eventually I have to get out.  And then I am wet and cold.

In better news, I accepted employment at a local college.  It is exactly the kind of job I was hoping for.  It is strictly 8 – 5 with lots of perks including a cafeteria plan and retirement.  I especially like the free haircuts, massages and $1 manicures.  Apparently when you cash in on the free haircut over at the cosmetology school it is wise to ask the stylist what semester they are in.  If they say 1st semester – you ask for a trim.  Only if they say 2nd semester do you ask for anything else.

The salary isn’t great, and its not my “dream job” (whatever that means) but I know I’ll be doing something I’m good at. And I will get to be back working daily with students.  Everyone I have met is extremely nice.  I really like the woman who will be my supervisor.  And folks seem to really care about students and equity.   So even though it isn’t my “dream job,” according to my family, “A dream job in this economy is HAVING a job.”   So I guess it is my dream job after all.

Daily Dose of Rejection, I mean, Affirmation

I get the nicest rejection letters. The latest one read in part:

We did *just* make an offer to another person, and although it may seem cliche, the decision was not an easy one.

And before that:

Your experience is impressive.

The committee really enjoyed meeting you and the department would benefit from your experience. I wish we had two positions to fill.

And prior to that one:

If you give me a blow job, the job is yours.

Okay, I made up that last one. But I am really starting to get a little desperate.  Not THAT desperate [yet].

I’ve made a whole life out of being second best.  Second born.  Second Place.  Salutatorian.  Second place sucks shit in a job search.  I guess I could see those notes for what they are: Rejection.  But instead I’ve decided to view them as little notes of affirmation.  So here are the top ten things I like about these notes.

1.  I rarely get  mail.  Now I get a letter at least once a week.

2.  I’m prepping myself for the rejection little notes of affirmation that will come when I start sending my writing to publishers.

3.  I don’t have to commute

4.  Along similar lines, I’m saving money on gas

5.  Smiths is way less busy at 10 AM

6.  So is Costco

7. I have time to write and read blogs

8.  I’m getting lots of quality time with my dissertation-writing girl

9.  I’ll be on time to the boys’ holiday performance 

10 – and most of all – coffee tastes better at my computer next to my gas log fireplace.  It does.  It really does.

I’m Sory okay

Riley and Casey were fighting last night and Riley grabbed Casey by the neck and pulled him around by the head.  Kim entered the room to see what was going on and hollered (maybe a bit angrily) that he needed to stop.  She sent them both to their rooms and told Riley he had to write a journal page about what he had done.  ”You could have broken his neck!” she told him.  

Twenty minutes later, Riley came upstairs with this.  

Either/Or instead of Both/And

I was at a fabulous coffee shop called Cafe Mestizo with friends last night and needed to use the restroom.  I walked into the restroom only to find urine (and hair – yuck!) all over the seat.  I reached to get toilet paper to wipe it off but….you guessed it.  No toilet paper.  So I reached for a paper towel and pulled it out.  It was the last paper towel in the container.

At this moment I realized that if I used the paper towel to clean off the seat then I would be stuck having to drip dry.  Since I was not so keen on finishing my red-tea latte while drying, I weighed my options.  I thought about going in the men’s room, but I was already doing the pee-pee dance there in the women’s room.  I wasn’t sure I’d make it.  I decided that I would have to urinate while squatting.  (I really want to use the word moist here.  In part because it is fitting, and in part, because Kim detests the term moist, but moist really is the term that I was trying to avoid throughout the rest of my night out at the coffee shop.)

This was never easy for me.  Squatting.  I never really had the strongest core muscles anyway, and separated stomach muscles along with two c-sections hasn’t helped that particular region much.  I squatted and peed.  Peed and squatted.  As my tummy muscles gave out, I squatted less and less.  I was almost standing straight up, splashing pee all over the already splashed toilet seat.  I finished up, proud of myself for hanging on to the last paper towel.  Wiped.  Tossed the paper towel.  (No. Not in the toilet.  In the trash can like a good coffee-shop patron.)  Washed my hands.  Dripped dry my hands and exited.

I told the barrister that the women’s room needed attended to, and went back to playing cards with my friends.  He thanked me and headed to the women’s room at which point I realized that it would look like all of the urine on and around the toilet seat was mine.  And that just wasn’t true.  How is a person supposed to explain to the coffee shop attendant that there was only your pee on the seat because there wasn’t toilet paper and there was only one paper towel and there was pee there even before you walked in?  It just didn’t look good no matter what I did.  So I simply smiled as he returned.

I got home and relayed the story to Kim.  Her only question was: Why didn’t you wipe down the seat AFTER you wiped yourself?  Hmm.  Good question.  I simply never thought of it.

Protected: Shame

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password:

vaginas and dicks and boobs oh my

I know you’ve all been on edge, waiting to see what would happen to my vagina ever since mid-October when I first chronicled her plight in the war Vagina Vs. Insurance.  Well you’ll be happy to know that I WON.  Or, more importantly, my insurance has (wo)manned-up to pay the bills.  ALL OF THEM.  So this lesbian is so proud of her vagina today.  How she fought for justice and prevailed.  Okay, now I’m just being silly.  And since my dad (and Uncle Doug) read this blog, I should really start talking about something else. 

Since vaginas are off limits.  Let’s talk about dicks.

In this case, a particular dick.  Chris Buttars is up to his old antics again.   Slamming it to gays and blacks, while fun, must not bring Ole Buttars the joy it used to.  So now, he’s picking on all non-Christians.  Jews.  Muslims.  Atheists.  Wiccans.  Don’tcha know, we’re a Christian nation? (As if we could forget it!)

 According to a trib article which you can link to here, Buttars is sponsoring legislation that would encourage retailers to use the phrase “Merry Christmas” and to avoid the generic “Happy Holidays.”  This bill ”would encourage the use of ‘Merry Christmas,’” Buttars said of the non-binding statement that is still being drafted. “I’m sick of the Christmas wars — we’re a Christian nation and ought to use the word.” 

His latest tactic earned him The Worst Person in the World award on Keith Olbermann last night.   I know, I know.  Too many links.  But click on that one.  Its worth it.  

And since we’ve talked about vaginas and dicks in this post, I figured I ought to close with boobs.  Casey’s most recent favorite snack is Pirate’s Booty.  The name is bad enough when correctly pronounced.  All it is really is puffed popcorn covered in white cheddar cheese.  Really pretty good.  I mean, it doesn’t suck. (I miss my political maven.)  Anyway, Casey can’t quite say Pirate’s Booty.  He calls it ”Pirate’s booby.”  We passed the stuff while in Costco the other day and he wanted some.  Since I had just picked up two giant sized bags on the last trip to Costco, I told him no.  He then proceeded to scream, “I want booby.  I want booby!  I want BOOBY NOW!” 

As strangers stared, I figured I’d just go with the flow.  I replied, “Nope kiddo.  It’s time you get your milk from a cup.”

a hundred, a birthday, a weekend away

This post is going to be all over the place.  Just a little warning here at the get-go.

First, this is my 100th post.  And I want to give myself all sorts of kudos for that.  I started the blog in April as an unemployed lesbian mom who hoped thousands of folks all over the land would read my blog – love it- devour it – and ultimately I’d make a fortune in blog advertising.  A day or so later, I realized that if it were that simple, everyone would have done it already, so I resolved myself to believing that my children were so cute that lots of people would want to read about them – even if it wasn’t going to be a money maker.  Then I started reading blogs and I realized that other people’s children weren’t that cute.  And to other people my children aren’t ALL THAT either.  Now there are a few blogs I follow about people I don’t know but the truth is that their blogs are REALLY GOOD.  Their writing is really good.  And none of them are making a boat-load in advertising either.  So, now I write when I can. I hope that I continue to create authentic conversations through blogs, and maybe even make a cyber friend or two.  It’s fun.  I love doing it.  I love that friends and family read it.  But more than anything.  I love that I have stuck with it.  

It was a busy National Day of Mourning.  We had to clear up some school misinformation that the boys were being fed.  You know, the typical first thanksgiving stuff.  We traveled to Colorado to spend the weekend with Kim’s family and then traveled home through Roosevelt to spend a day with mine.  Since it was Riley’s birthday this weekend, his Great-Grandma Alamosa made him a cake from scratch that he enjoyed with Kim’s family on Friday night.  We didn’t expect a big deal to be made, but Kim’s aunts and uncles each got him a gift and Kim’s mom took him to Target and let him pick “anything” he wanted.  He picked a playmobil set and has had a blast with it already.  Kim’s uncle Tom is a doctor who didn’t quite make it to a baby’s birth all suited up and sterile so he gave Riley an actual set of disposable doctor scrubs that he had been issued (but he didn’t have time to put on).  Riley thought that was pretty fun.  I hope to post a picture tomorrow or whenever I unpack.   Riley got to have lunch with Great Grandma Jo in Vernal and had a great time at the all-you-can-eat buffet.  And he ate his money’s worth alright.  Then Riley got sung to by my family Saturday over dinner and enjoyed the attention of yet another birthday acknowledgment. 

Riley’s actual birthday was yesterday.  He spent much of the day in the car driving home from Roosevelt.  We got home from Roosevelt about 3 PM and while Riley was unpacking his bag he found his present we left on his bed.  He opened up his space kit and exclaimed, “It doesn’t get any better than this.”   We called a few friends and asked if they would join us at Red Robin for an early dinner with Ry.  Ry loves Red Robin and soaked up the extra attention of it being his birthday.  He talked the server’s ear off.  He got a free icecream cake for his birthday.  Each of our friends bought him a little gift.  Our friend Vee brought him a bag of quarters to spend on games there.  And Riley learned his first lesson about gambling.  You know those crazy claw games where you THINK you can win a stuffed animal but the claws are always really loose and the animals are always stuck way down in there next to other stuffed animals and you move the claw precisely into place but you still don’t get any reward.  This lesson cost Riley most of his bag of quarters.  Only the claw at Red Robin was broken so we ended up going to the nearby Empire of Evil (also known as W*l Mart) to learn this lesson.  I say that this was his first gambling lesson, because he is clearly MY CHILD and this will likely have to be taught and retaught throughout his life.   He kept saying, “I know I can get it this time.”  And he fed the piggy quarters and the piggy swallowed them whole.

Finally, we stopped at the crazy house - one of Riley’s favorite places and enjoyed the sparkle for a few minutes.  We came home to baths and to bed.  Riley hopes 7 feels this great every day.  I myself have my hopes set on 35.