Done, Done, and Done

Have you ever run into one of those people that asks if you're done Christmas shopping, and it's late August? So when you give the obvious answer of, "No, I haven't even started Christmas shopping yet," they get to say, "Oh, too bad. I finished weeks ago." It's 95 degrees outside and this person is preening because they're done. La-di-da, I say. While they were Christmas shopping, I was floating in the pool with a nice yummy cocktail getting a pretty tan.

It may not seem like much of an accomplishment to most people, but it's December 22nd, and I'm done Christmas shopping. I am perennially one of those people that is running around like a crazed person on the 24th still looking for the perfect gift for someone. Not only am I done shopping, I'm done wrapping. Not only am I done wrapping, I'm done stressing out.

So, right now, I'm sitting at my desk when I should be working, but there seems to be a small pre-holiday lull, so I thought I'd brag about my accomplishment of done, done, and done. If you're thinking I sound a little smug, you're probably right. Let's just hope I didn't forget anyone this year.

Merry Christmas to all!

I Need a Life

This statement can often be heard coming from Taggart's mouth, who is almost 14 and feeling a few growing pains, I think. He's always certain there is something going on and he is missing out on it. I'm not usually all that sympathetic, but as I sit in my chair tonight, I'm thinking, "I need a life."

It's the day after Thanksgiving. I've had leftover turkey, a glass of wine, and am feeling pretty lazy. That part I can live with. The part that makes me think I need a life is that I'm Christmas shopping online (I was too lazy to hit the stores on Black Friday), while watching Titanic for approximately the zillionth time. I plan on turning the channel before it gets sad, by the way.

That may not sound all that pathetic, so let me tell you that what really made me feel bad. The Law & Order: SVU marathon is over, and I'm actually disappointed. I was hoping it was on until bed time.

I can't seem to summon the energy to go get my sheets out of the dryer, although I know I can't go to bed until I go get them and make my bed. At the moment, this seems a little insurmountable, but since my main goal right now is to stay awake until 10:00 (at which time I find it acceptable to call it a night), I'm going to have to find the courage to face the laundry room some time in the next 2 hours.

I may have just found renewed vigor. I was running through the program guide to see what lame show I could watch next since the Titanic is starting to sink, and I see there is a new episode of the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders on in half an hour. I think that gives me time to make my bed, and find my cowboy boots, short shorts, and pom poms. I like to get into character when I watch some of these shows. Lucky for me it's not The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills night. I've loaned my private jet out for the weekend, and the pool boy quit this morning.

Maybe Kenzie and I can find a rerun of America's Next Top Model later. We haven't practiced our runway walk for a few months.......

Who needs a life?

Be Careful

I was reminded recently that you should be careful who you let in your front door. I wasn't harmed, mind you, just a little chagrined. Recently I was walking my mom out the front door of our home, and on our way out, I encountered a very polite stranger on his way in. We live in an old schoolhouse, so it's not uncommon to find people wandering around occasionally. They're not sure what they're walking into, and most are usually just a little curious. If time allows, I don't usually have a problem giving them a quick tour, and if they're tied to the school or the town, I always love hearing their story. It's a good trade.

So, the man I let in the other day is a columnist with the Des Moines Register, and he was working on a piece regarding converted schoolhouses, and just happened to notice ours as he was passing through town on his way somewhere else. I was feeling chatty, gave him the (grand) tour, told a few (charming) stories, and didn't think another thing of it. The next day, I get a call from the paper, and they sent out a photographer to take a few pictures. I still wasn't too worried at this point.

Imagine my surprise when my mom called me early Sunday morning to tell me we were on the front page of the paper. I mean, really, to quote my dad, "Judas Priest." This is totally not what I was looking for, and I would live a completely fulfilled life without ever having been in any paper.

Our kids, who were not in any pictures, found it hilarious that we were on the front page. In fact, Kenzie called me at 10:30 that night to tell me that she giggled all day, and shared our good fortune with everyone at her opera rehearsal, and Sydney tried to find the paper to take it to basketball league.

I'm not making light of the columnist or his story. It was really interesting, and we were not by any means the only people in the story. I love to hear what other people have done with old school buildings. In fact, I read that one guy is running a bar in his old school. I'm wondering how much he makes because I could really use some help with the heating bill around here during the winter.

My lovely brother called to ask me what it felt like to be famous, and I had to admit to him that I was (laughingly) recognized at the little farmer's market in our town today. I'm not sure, but I think that lady asked me for an autograph......... I told him once fame really hit, I may not be able to keep in touch, but I'd be sure that "my people" let him know where I was. Smartass.

Nude Beach

Have you ever been to a nude beach? I have, and after several years of being there, have made these observations.

1. It is impossible not to look. You can try, but it's fruitless. You just can't help yourself, I guarantee it. You can play it cool, you can be nude yourself (or not be nude), but you will look at everyone else. So if you ever get to a nude beach and erroneously believe that nobody is looking at you........you're wrong.

2. Dark sunglasses are a must. If you need an explanation, see number 1.

3. Cameras are a no-no. On the nude beach that we have been to for the last several years, there seems to be a self-appointed Nudie Camera Patrolman. We have been to this beach once a week every year for the last 5 or 6 years, and this guy is always there. Nude, of course. He minds his own business, does some yoga on top of a big rock, and patrols for gawkers with cameras. I have seen him confront people with cameras who are surreptitiously trying to take pictures of nude people, and others who are not so sneaky. He catches a lot of them. Once, I saw him repeatedly step in front of a man who was trying to take pictures of some young women who were sunbathing nude. The frustrated photographer finally gave up and probably went home with a lot of pictures of the same naked guy instead of the girls. Shame on the camera guy.

4. The same people you see freely walking up and down the beach nude, swimming nude, and playing games nude will step behind a rock to put their clothes ON. I mentioned this to a local once and they said it makes perfect sense -- being nude is being just like everyone else, but the way you get dressed is personal. Food for thought....... and I happen to understand it.

5. There will always be an exhibitionist. It never fails. There is always one guy (and yes, sorry men, but I mean a man) who just wants everyone to look at him naked. And you have to hand it to this guy because he doesn't usually don't have the best physique on the beach, but seems to truly believe that everyone wants him to walk naked really close to them or chat with him. Kudos for the self-confidence, I guess.

6. Sunblock is important. And I mean, REALLY important. I saw an unfortunate woman this year whose breasts were so red they were like beacons, and I've lost count of the number of sunburned penises I've seen. When they're sunburned, they're really noticeable...........trust me.

In closing, I must admit that I've probably focused too much on the actual nudity at the beach. There are clothed people there, too, and kids. If you want to envision freedom, watch a kid running through a tide pool on the ocean beach. It's really about acknowledging that things that might make you uncomfortable can also make you a little more self aware and accepting of others.

Just in case I got a little too introspective for a moment, did I mention the rather hefty naked man walking around (for hours) wearing a fanny pack? And yes, he wore the "fanny" part on his fanny.

Joy, Melancholy, Fear......

In case I haven't admitted it as of yet, I am a reality food tv junkie. Anything to do with cooking, and I'm in. Top Chef, The Next Food Network Star, Iron Chef America........most recently Cupcake Challenge & DC Cupcakes. Yes, I should probably be embarrassed, but I'm just not.

There is a point to this confession. Tonight, during my reality food tv watching, the real life contestants were creating dishes that portrayed emotions.....joy, melancholy, fear, jealousy, surprise....and I thought, "Holy crap. Welcome to my summer." Now if I could only express it all through food, I'd be some kind of genius and have my own tv show. For now, I'll stick to my little blog.

Joy comes into play for me with my sheer love of summer. I'm not sure if it's carry over from childhood, but I have always loved summer. My parents were both schoolteachers, so summer was special because we had all day together. We would boat every afternoon on the great little lake in our town, pack a picnic to be eaten on the water, and the day always ended with me napping in the boat while my brother, John, waterskied. My dad was a park ranger during the summer months, so evenings were spent walking or biking through his campground and meeting people that I still call friends 30 years later.

Melancholy comes into play today because I feel like summer is coming to a close, and I'm not positive, but I think I take this harder than my kids. I hate to see them head back to school. I miss them, and they get so busy. Some days I drive 50 miles one way to watch a ball game, just to catch 5 minutes of chat time with them in the bleachers after the game. I'm not complaining, it's worth the drive.

I don't live with a lot of fear or jealousy, so we'll skip those. :-) Hurray for me, right?

Surprise hits me about every stinking day. Either I'm pretty dense, or I just can't keep up with life. I look around and wonder how the hell I got to be almost 40 years old (January, in case you wondered), with kids that are now "upperclassmen" in college (thanks for pointing that out, Kenz), a couple more that are now old enough in high school that it's time to start looking at colleges (or at least time to convince them that college is a good idea, Syd), and the youngest is entering his last year of middle school. I'm not sure if life surprises me, or if I'm determined to surprise life by fighting back.

Suffice it to say, I will fight off fall as long as I can. I appreciate fall's beauty, but am destined to always resent it because it signals the end of summer. My lovely husband was kind enough to point out that it's a little early to mourn summer, since it's only August 1st, and I think it's supposed to be in the upper 80's all week. The way I see it, one must do what one must do. For me, this means racing to my mom's to take a swim tomorrow as soon as I'm off work, and to thumb my nose at the breeze when I think it carries a hint of fall.

Having thought about it for awhile, wouldn't a reality tv show with people creating cocktails for every emotion you experience be great? You could say things like, "I'll have the Cheerful cocktail with a twist of Jubilation." Or, "May I please have a Guilty beer with a shot of Agony?" "Hit me with some lust, baby." "I'd order the Sympathy, but I am too Shamed to ask."

My new favorite, "I'll have the Arousal as an appetizer, followed by the Passion-tini."

On that note, good night, folks. I think it's time to find my hubby and head to bed.

Happy Anniversary to Me

Happy anniversary to me......and Todd, or course. It's our anniversary, and it's the summer solstice - both of which put a big, fat grin on my face. I was starting to feel sorry for myself, and I'll go ahead and explain to you why. It's my anniversary...............and my husband is sick in bed with what I can best describe as the stomach flu. Yep, you heard me correctly. Not only is he throwing up while sweating and shivering at the same time, but he is doing it on my side of the bed. I've often wondered what's better about my side of the bed. Besides the obvious fact that most of the time I'm actually on that side of the bed, I don't really get it. As soon as I scoot out, he scoots in to my side. I prefer to think that he's trying to get closer to me, rather than believe that my side of the bed is actually more comfortable.

So here I sit on a beautiful summer evening. All. By. Myself. Todd is sick, and all of the kids are scattered, as is the norm. Rather than feel like a complete loser to be alone on my anniversary and the summer solstice, I am trying to make the best of it. And honestly, the longer I think about it, the worse I feel for complaining in the first place.

I'm out on the deck at our house, which is about perfect right now. The sun is behind the cottonwood tree and isn't blinding me, the temperature is perfect, and there are no bugs biting at me. I went ahead and grilled myself a ribeye, and at this very moment have finished that off and am sitting here with a beautiful bowl of berries and whipped cream, and a truly excellent glass of champagne. After careful consideration, I have decided that Iowa in the summer has as many shades of green as the ocean has shades of blue. And while I'd rather be watching waves right now, I must say I'm pretty content to be where I am.

After all, Todd won't be sick for long, the kids will come home, and at some point in the next 48 hours I'll probably be wishing for a little peace, so I'll cherish it while I have it.

Weze

I grew up very close to my cousin Louise, who I always have and always will call Weze. She's two years older than me, which obviously made her wiser and much more savvy than me growing up. I counted on her for all of the really important things a kid needs to learn. Here's a short list of what she taught me:

1. She taught me how to shop. My grandma, "Mom," everyone called her, ran a great little cafe in Mapleton, IA. Mom would give us $2.00 plus a dime for tax, and send us off uptown to buy whatever we could get for our $2.10. This was always a great adventure. The shopping district was all of a block or so long, and our favorite stops were the dime store and the soda fountain. It was always a big decision if we were going to spend all of our money in the dime store, or spend a precious amount at the soda fountain before we hit the dime store. (Speaking of soda fountains, I can't remember the last time I was anywhere that you could order a Green River.)

2. She taught me independence. I probably wasn't the most daring kid, but when Weze was with me, we'd head off to the park and the library, which were about 5 blocks away. This is a pretty darn big deal when you're 6, and someone has convinced you that all strangers are dangerous and out to get you. We'd take turns picking the route to get there, so we could drag it out for the longest amount of time. We'd swing, slide, and grab a book on the way home. Thinking back on it, I'm guessing somebody checked on us and we never knew it, but what a feeling of freedom.

3. She taught me to swear. This is not to be underrated, folks. I'm guessing I was 10 or 11, and at this point in time we'd take walks around the block just to get outside and see if there was anyone worth seeing, I guess. The day she taught me to swear took more than one trip around the block, though. I'd say it was about one trip per swear word, so by the time my swearing vocabulary was complete, we were pretty tired.

4. She let me drive her car when I was nowhere near old enough to drive, and had never driven a car before. For some reason, we decided this was best accomplished on a very hilly gravel road, pretty late at night. Come to think of it, this one may not have been our best idea, but we lived to tell the story, and I do still love to drive.

5. She got me my first illegal drink of alcohol. Does anybody else remember Sun Country wine coolers? I think for awhile they even came in a 2 liter bottle, and peach was naturally my flavor of choice. Gross, right? We lived through that night, also, but I do recall throwing up in the bathroom of some kid's house. I still can't tell you whose house it was, or why we were there. I guess I was just along for the drunken ride.

6. She taught me made up games are fun. One of our favorites that we played for several years was some kind of office game. The main idea of the game was to steal the bank counter checks from in the cafe and spend hours "paying bills." We would write piles and piles of checks to pay the imaginary bills required by our imaginary life. It was a pretty awesome game, and I think we had a filing system, too.

7. And last, but definitely not least, she taught me about sex.........while we were in church. :-)

Love you, Weze!

My Desk Drawer

In my desk drawer at work, I have this little pile of notes on scrap paper held together with a paper clip. They're little snippets of my friend Sara. Everything is dated, handwritten, and started off as a collection of nice things people said about Sara at work. It started one day (March 24, 2006, to be precise) when a particularly difficult and pain in the ass customer called Sara to thank her after a mess that happened at work. This guy called Sara and said to her, and I am quoting word for word, "You are the shining star in this menagerie of a mess." We decided that we must never forget this particular moment, so I wrote the quote on a piece of scrap paper and tossed it in my desk drawer. Another example, Feb 7, 2007, a customer says to Sara, "You are the Statue of Liberty of the transportation business." Now she asks for a torch every Christmas.

Eventually, my pile of quotes expanded to include noteworthy things Sara said in the office. Every now and then, when you least expect it, she throws out a fabulous one-liner that can leave you chuckling for years. We were trying to find vintage dresses for the prom one day, and everything from the 1980's seemed to only come in a size 4 or 6, which generally wouldn't work for us. While we were trying to figure out why this was, Sara informs us, and I quote again, "Cuz nobody was fat then." Another little gem first quoted on August 20, 2009, then again on 11/25, 2009, "Every day is a fucking crap shoot around here." This has since become our office motto.

My joke to Sara about my little pile of notes is that I am supremely prepared to give a great speech at her funeral. I realize this probably really isn't funny, but since I love her, I can say it. When we both "kick the bucket" at the ripe old age of, let's say, 129, I think I'll have enough "Sara quotes" to publish a pretty awesome little book................................which we can pass out at the funeral. :-)

Wear Your Helmet!!

This is something our unfortunate neighbors get to hear me yell approximately every day. Sometimes I open the upstairs window and bellow it from inside, sometimes I march downstairs and stand on the front step to yell it, and there has been an instance or two of me chasing a motorcycle around the yard yelling it.

Taggart, my 13 year old son, rides his motorcycle through our yard at the fastest speed possible. Speed isn't the only issue -- wheelies are big (and he's pretty good at them), as is jumping anything that gives even a slight lift-off.

His biggest problem is that he really isn't fond of his helmet. As his mother, I am very fond of his helmet and tend to get pissed when he doesn't have it on. I've tried several tactics to convince him it's a good idea. I've tried yelling as mentioned above, and it hasn't been extremely effective. I've tried reasonable conversation about why it's important to wear it. I've even tried, "Just do it for me." Nothing is consistent.

Today, I was trimming bushes in front of the house and looked up as Tag flew by on his motorcycle, without a helmet. I finished filling my little garden cart with branches of the bush that I had just mutilated, and headed off across the yard to dump them. This is also the direction Tag had headed. He saw me with my cute little cart, and stopped to tell me I was pushing it wrong. As I fumed over the fact that he was helmetless, and telling me how to push a cart, I had a great idea. A new solution to the helmet problem.

I suggested to Tag that I go back inside and get his baseball bat. He was confused. "Why?" he said. I told him that I thought I'd smash him in the head with the baseball bat, and then he might get a small idea of what it felt like to wreck your motorcycle and smash your head. I then just walked away to go dump my branches.

As I got back to the front of the house, my little angel drove by again -- this time wearing his helmet. The only problem with the picture is that he gave me a double thumbs up as he drove by. I would have thought that keeping at least one hand on the handlebars was a given.....I guess I'll work on that one later.

Nothing Exciting

So, I'm on the phone with Kenzie, who is in Costa Rica on a college trip. I ask her what's on her agenda for the next day, and this is what she says to me, "Oh, we're not doing anything exciting tomorrow. Just ziplining and another volcano." Please.......give me a break. I'm telling you, the kid has been full of one-liners since she started talking.

Here's another classic Kenzie one-liner. She had been at college for a total of 3 days, and I call her up, hoping not to find her homesick and sad, and ask her how she's doing. Her response, "Mom, I'm at 95% good. I mean, can you really ask for anything more than that?" What could I say besides, "No, Kenzie. 95% is pretty damn good."

Really, if you think about it, life could be way worse than 95% to the good, and hey - if you've seen one volcano, you've seen them all?

I Believe in Ghosts

I'm sitting here chatting with Sydney, and the subject of ghosts came up. I believe in ghosts, and have met a few in my life. As it turns out, Sydney believes in them, too.

My Aunt Donna's house has a ghost. I can't remember what his name is, but I'm thinking it's George. He's a pretty creative ghost. Donna's husband, Gene, hates lights that are left on, and he would obsessively turn off lights when he left a room. George thought it was funny to turn on all the lights in the house after Gene went to bed. He would also randomly slam kitchen cupboard doors when everyone left the kitchen. There was also a certain page in the Bible that George would always open it up to. You could walk past, shut the Bible, and low and behold, a little while later --- open to the same page!

My personal introduction to George happened one weekend when I was spending the night with Aunt Donna. I had Kenzie with me, who was about 3 years old at the time. We had the "Gold Room" at Donna's house, so named because of the gold headboard, I'm guessing, and the muted gold wallpaper. I woke up at some point in the middle of the night and knew that someone was in the room with me and Kenzie. A quick look around assured me that the only thing in the room besides me and Kenzie could only be George. I was a bit stressed but tried to play it cool. Pretty soon, the headboard started swaying. I reached back and stopped it. I'm sure you can guess, it started again, and once again I stopped it. We followed this routine a couple more times, and I tried to maintain some sense of sanity. Finally, I said out load, "George, you're scaring me. Please stop." Go figure, the headboard stopped swaying and I felt George exit the room. I did thank him, out loud. Although I was relieved, I was still completely freaked out, and stayed awake the rest of the night. Have you ever actually witnessed the paper boy throwing the paper on your front stoop at 5 a.m.? This kid was a pretty good shot.

Now that I've told you about Aunt Donna's ghost, I'm reminded that I haven't talked to her for quite awhile. Since she's in California, and that makes her 2 hours behind me, I'm signing off. I think I need to call her. Good night, George.

"Drinkers"

I've thought of this story often. Tonight seemed like the right time to bring it up, since I'm sitting here with a glass of wine contemplating whether wine really makes some things more clear and others less clear, OR does it really make EVERYTHING less clear and you just don't realize it? These are the things I ponder. Back to the story......

One day a few years ago, when Sara and I were in our whiskey phase, we were sitting in the bar next to our office after a brutal (okay, maybe not so brutal) day of work. We were chatting and started talking about a lady from town that had recently been in a car accident. Sara leaned across the table and quietly said to me, "I heard she's a drinker." "Really? I thought so," I replied just as quietly, as I had my hands wrapped around a hoop glass full of Crown and 7. I looked down at my glass of whiskey, looked up at Sara, who was looking at me, and at the same time we said, "Holy Shit. Do you think people call us "drinkers?" "

For some reason, we were using the word "drinkers" as something negative. I should also point out that every time we say "drinkers" we like to make quotation marks in the air with our fingers. By telling you this, I'm hoping every time you read "drinkers" you are raising your hands in the air to make quotation marks.

We have since spent the last several years trying to distinguish if, in fact, we are "drinkers." The next obvious question is, does it really matter if we're "drinkers?" After we answer those two questions, we move on to, do we really care if anybody thinks we're "drinkers?" So far, we have decided we do not care. That was the easiest question to answer. Once we have the rest of it figured out, we'll get back to you. (Did you remember to make the quotation marks in the air?)

Falling Out of Love

Falling out of love is hard........really hard. People do it every day, but I don't think it makes it any easier. I'm falling out of love.

With Korbel.

This is a very sad moment. Korbel and I have had a long and very satisfying relationship. I say to Korbel, "It's me, not you. I've changed. You're still really great." Korbel looks unconvinced.

The beginning of our relationship was spectacular -- that first bloom of love, the giddiness upon seeing each other, that almost effervescent feeling that bubbles up from your chest. Ahh, memories really hurt. Bittersweet.

The next few years of our relationship went pretty smoothly, too. We fell into a nice complacency, but still love abounded. It wasn't always perfect, but we could always count on it. There was a steady presence that was reassuring.

Alas, the honeymoon was over. I think I outgrew Korbel. Could it be because somebody introduced me to Vueve Clicquot and Mumm? Possibly. People change, we move on. It's natural, right? I don't need to feel guilty. I still love the idea of Korbel, and am looking for a suitable (meaning in the same price range) replacement companion, so if you have anyone to introduce me to, bring them on. I'm open to new relationships.

And, you never know, maybe Korbel and I can rekindle our romance. In fact, I think Korbel is waiting for me right now. I'll give it a quick romp and let you know how it goes.......

Prom

I may have previously mentioned that we have a grown-up prom at our house every year. Well, every year for five or six years, anyway. My friend Sara & I decided a prom would be a blast one day while we were drinking wine and trying to think of places it would be appropriate to wear our tiaras. If you can't wear your tiara to prom, where the hell can you wear it?

The very first prom we had was pretty monumental. We gathered up a few close friends who we felt safe enough to look ridiculous in front of, and pitched the idea. They were in. Our theme was anything tacky and cheap, especially if we could relate it to the 80's. Our only requirement for attendance was that you come "in the spirit of prom." That was enough. We dressed in whatever "special" dresses we could find that fit us, danced all night long, drank too much, and I, for one, had way more fun than I had at any prom I went to in high school. I do believe there were special dance moves made up that had to do with sprinklers, lawnmowers, and golfing. These dance moves tend to make a comeback every year at prom.

What would any prom be without a little bad behavior? We usually have a few misguided souls that are caught "smoking in the boy's room," and some slut always goes home with the dj (fyi - Todd is the dj, I am the slut). This year I'll be sporting a vintage fuchsia dress with the bodice completely covered in sequins. I hate to brag, but it's really quite stunning, especially with the silver sneakers I picked up for $1 at our local thrift store.

So, think of us on Saturday night, and if you happen to be in the Auburn area, stop in at the old school house and join us at the prom. The theme is "Footloose" and we only ask that you come in the spirit of the prom. P.S. I hear that guy Ren got us permission to dance this year.

Crap. I Forgot My Little Sister's Birthday

This is a big deal. It was 3 days ago, and I forgot to call her, send a card, email, anything. I thought about it the week before, but then it apparently flew out of my head. I'm feeling like a bad sister right now -- not a good feeling. Hmmm, what to do?

The way I see it, I have a few options:

1. Never mention it. (This one will not work.)

2. Call her up, throw myself at her mercy, beg for her forgiveness, and pretend I already have her gift.

3. Send her a birthday e-card (I like the immediate delivery), and act like everything is fine.

4. Blog about it, and ask her if she's checked out my blog lately. This one is looking like a winner, folks.

I forgot my best friend's birthday once, too, and still feel guilty about that and it was about 8 years ago. I haven't forgotten it since, either. But forgetting Renee's (my sister's) birthday leads me to a bit of introspection. Am I a little too self-centered that I forget these important things in my family & friend's life? Or am I simply a bit of a scatterbrain? I have a long history of scatterbrain moments, and I'm hoping this is the case.

So, Happy (belated) Birthday, Renee! I love you, and promise I won't forget ever again.

Today I Realized I'm a Baby

This may be something that doesn't surprise the "people" around me (Todd), but it sure startled me. Todd and I are en route to a little workvacation - which I've decided can be one word. Do a little work, get a little vaca. Capiche? As of this very second, we are delayed in the Denver airport. I hate it here. Our layover was 4 hours to start with, but I was okay with that because we got a great deal on the tickets. However, when you head to the gate after your 4 hour layover and find out you're delayed another 2 hours, this puts a little spin on the attitude, if you know what I mean. This is when I admitted I'm a baby.

So, the first few hours are pretty cool. I'm hungry, we eat. I'm thirsty, we have some wine. Everything is happy, I'm feeling okay, and starting to forget why I was so crabby before we left home. The amount of guilt and anguish I impose upon myself before even leaving the house on a workvacation is, well, let's just leave it at stupid. I always feel bad for leaving the kids at home, although by the time I walk out the door I'm pretty sure they're cheering that I've finally left and loving the fact that I cannot bitch at them in person for another 6 days. I can't really blame them. For some reason (Mom), I think the house needs to be completely cleaned before I leave, so everything is vacuumed/mopped/dusted --- but by the time I get home, I won't care.

So, here I sit, with free wireless internet (can you all say hooray!) and thought I'd complain via blog. I must admit, though, that since I've started typing, my attitude has improved about 80%. And since I was only about 85% negative, I think things are looking up.

My final realization, if you will, is that I allow myself to be a baby when I'm traveling alone with Todd, but if I was stuck in an airport for 2 extra hours with our kids, I'd be the biggest cheerleader they had, and they'd all hate me for it. I can't even start to explain the mess we had last summer trying to get home from vacation. If you know Sydney, ask her to explain "We got Delta Screwed" to you. It'll be worth it just to watch her tell it, even if you don't hear a word she says. Trust me on this one.

So, if you're reading this, thank you for following my attitude adjustment. I think you just watched me grow up.

P.S. Do you think this means Todd will take me for another glass of wine??? :-)

Downward Dog

You know, a girl can start to feel pretty good about herself sometimes. Really, it happens. I run, lift a few weights, do some yoga, eat my burger on a "skinny" bun sometimes, occasionally skip dessert (but never wine), and sometimes think to myself, "Man, I'm doing good. I feel good, I look pretty good. Life is good." (Too many "goods?" probably.)

Then I happen to catch a glimpse of my inner thighs while in the downward dog yoga position. For those of you unfamiliar, it's kind of an upside down letter V. All of a sudden, life kinda bites. I hate it when that happens. I mean, here I am, upside down trying to do something to make my life better, and this happens. Perhaps it is not the best choice to do downward dog in short shorts? I guess this is proof that what might look decent enough while you're standing in front of the mirror in the closet doesn't necessarily look decent from other angles. Although, now that I'm thinking of it, how many people really see my inner thighs from upside down? Let's just leave it at, not that many. Okay?

From now on I think I'll stick to long yoga pants, which seem to be much more flattering from upside down and many other angles, so I can continue to believe that I'm doing all kinds of good things to enlighten my life. After all, I'm really only joking when I say to Todd, "You know, it takes a lot of work to maintain this delightful chubbiness." I like for him to argue with me, which he does, and which I truly appreciate. I suppose the point of this is that maybe feeling good about myself and my life doesn't really have anything to do with my inner thighs, but probably has plenty to do with the people who love me, and who I love.

But to wrap things up, I have to admit that I'll be working on the inner thighs. I'll let you know how it goes. What can I say? Every now and then I get to be shallow. The fact that I own a tiara and enjoy wearing it does lend itself to an air of vanity. I'm willing to live with that.

P......M......S......

I hate to talk about the expected, but it was bound to come up, don't you think? PMS runs my life, and I have to admit to being completely jealous of women who say something like, "Oh, geez, I wasn't expecting my little friend today and it showed up." Seriously, quit your bragging, ladies.

I spend two weeks of every month with inflated boobs, a pooched-out tummy, and so exhausted that I barely manage to hit the pillow before I fall asleep. I am not exaggerating. Ask my kids, they usually catch the brunt of my loveliness. Unfortunately, the result of all this loveliness is some crabby creature that overtakes my body while all of this is going on. Sometimes she isn't all that nice. But let me just point out, she always feels bad afterwards. Consequently, I spend the other two weeks of the month trying to make up for all of the nastiness this other creature creates. It really is exhausting to be me.

I knew things were out of hand when my son (who was 11 at the time) looked at me and said, "PMS again?" At my growling response, he just quietly and carefully headed to the other side of the room to wait things out.

As of this very moment, everyone is the house is avoiding me. Do you really think I can be that bad? I'm thinking they're all a bunch of chickens. Just agree with me. It won't do you any good to argue with me right now, anyway. I'm bound to win.

She Calls Me Crazy Bitch and I Kinda Like It

I have a friend, her name is Ruth. Talk about a nut. I could dedicate an entirely separate blog to her, so I'll start with one or two small anecdotes to get you a little "taste of Ruth." She'll like that, by the way -- "Taste of Ruth."

I work with Ruth and this is how I got to know her. We spent the beginning of our relationship in the polite, I'm-nice-to-everyone stage that you always try out with new friends. One of my favorite Ruth stories is about her watering her flowers in the morning. Let me share it with you....

We (Sara and I) had been working with Ruth for a month or so, and she would tell us about all of the things she did in the morning. Apparently, she was and still is, a morning person. I am not. She exercised, did laundry, cleaned, and watered her flowers........naked......... all before coming to work. Now, the exercise (treadmill), laundry, cleaning -- I can maybe see her doing these things naked. But watering your flowers?? This I'm not so sure about. So one day I finally ask her, having never been to her house, "Where exactly do you live?" Turns out, she lives in the country, "so far off the highway that nobody could ever see her naked." Okay, I think. No problem. I like to be naked, good for her.

Fast forward another month or so, and Sara and I receive a (drunken??) invitation to come to Ruth's Barn for drinks after work. We all hop into the car and head to Ruth's house. As we draw close, I get pretty excited. It's always fun to finally get an inside look at someone's personal life when you spend 9 hours a day with them. Twenty minutes into the trip we turn into a driveway, and I think, "Where are we? This cannot possibly be Ruth's house." Why do I think this? BECAUSE IT IS COMPLETELY VISIBLE FROM THE HIGHWAY! I'm thinking, this is why Ruth has noticed an increase in morning traffic on her road -- everybody within a 10 mile radius is driving by Ruth's house every morning because they can see her naked watering her flowers. Completely crazy broad.

We spend the next 5 or 6 years harassing Ruth about her nakedness, and thus nicknames are born. Ruth, of course, is Naked Bitch. What else could she possibly be? No brainer, right? For reasons unbeknownst to me, Ruth and Sara have decided I am Crazy Bitch. I don't see it, but I'm willing to go with it (insert Cheshire grin). Sara, now it has taken us awhile, and a few misleads, but we have finally decided to call her Bipolar Bitch. Please, take no offense. She is totally hilarious one minute, and the next minute she's completely pissed off. We find it funny. We also always make sure to point it out to her. What are friends for, after all?

So, good evening from Crazy Bitch, Naked Bitch, and Bipolar Bitch. May you all find your inner bitch. Best of luck.

Everyday Champagne

Everyday champagne is, I've decided, a way of life. I'm a simple girl......really......I am. Ask anybody, except for that stranger that told me I'm wrong. I coined the phrase of "Everyday Champagne" out of necessity, basically. After all, I love champagne and one has to have an excuse to drink something considered extravagant on a regular basis.

My love of champagne began about 7 or 8 years ago. Todd and I were on a work/mini-vacation trip to San Francisco and spent a couple of days in the Napa and Sonoma area. We happened upon the happiest place on Earth -- the Mumm Vineyard. I'm most definitely a neophyte where wine is concerned, but the bubbles in their wine were so charming, I have never looked back. I soon discovered that Mumm champagne (actually, sparkling wine) is what I have to consider a bit of an extravagance, therefore not to be consumed on a daily basis. Thus began my search for an affordable "Everyday Champagne."

This search has led me on a very happy and effervescent journey. A couple of years ago, we were again on vacation, on the other side of the country, and we were sitting around a table with a group of people. I was drinking champagne and one of the men remarked on it. I tried to explain to him my theory of Everyday Champagne while still maintaining my status as a simple woman. It went something like this. I said, "I'm a simple woman. I love sprinkles on my doughnuts and bubbles in my wine." His response, "Sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but that does not make you a simple woman." Hmmmmm..........food for thought, I guess.

So, I've spent the last couple of years and many bottles of champagne trying to determine my status in life (simple or not?), while reconciling it with my love of bubbles. The best, and only, path to take, as far as I can figure, is to continue eating doughnuts with sprinkles, drinking wine with bubbles, and to be sure I'm wearing my tiara while I ponder this latest dilemma. Sara.......where are you?? I might need some help with this one. :-)

Happy. Sad. Happy. Sad. Repeat.

Just to set things straight - this is not an entry about bipolar disorder. It's just life, okay? Our two oldest children are sophomores in college, and this is what started the happy, sad, happy, sad.......repeat. It's Spring Break week, and one came home and one took off on a cross country road trip. (just between you and me, we're still crossing our fingers for a safe return). Now, you get used to them being gone, and that usually takes awhile. On the flip side, I'm constantly amazed at how quickly you get used to having them around again, if only for a few days.

I thought I was fine, I was cool, I was Uber-Mom. My kid comes home from college, we hang out, we shop, we laugh, we watch bad tv, and eat too much red meat. Then......she leaves, and I think to myself that this is not a problem. This is life. She loves school. She's happy there. She has friends. And then she sends you a text message that says, "I made it back to school. Just so you know, I miss you." Seriously, what's a mom to do? Cry, of course. Uh, duh. So there I sat in the living room with my 16 year old daughter who assures me that the college kids are "OK." (Thanks, Syd.) I know she's right, I guess sometimes you just need someone to point it out.

A wise person once told me, and I have no recollection who (but I'm thinking it's my husband, Todd) that "love grows towards separation." I'm not sure if this is his "out" in case he decides I'm not the saucy dish he originally thought I was, but color me happy, he's still around.

So here I sit, computer in my lap, completely trashy reality tv in the background, and decide Todd is right. Love grows towards separation. I can find solace in the fact that this is usually a very slow process. After all, it generally takes the little buggers at least 18 years to get out of the house. The real question is, "How long do they keep coming back?" In this case, I hope a very long time. After all, I need them to carry on my tiara tradition, and have I mentioned my "Everyday Champagne" theory? No? Well, that gives us a topic for next time.

I Drive Around and Watch People Do Shit

This is what I do. Would you like a little more info, or is it pretty self-explanatory? Since this is a blog, I'll elaborate. I drive around (in my car) and watch people (mainly my kids) do shit. I realize it's a rather crass way to say it, but this is what I do. I come by it naturally. I played many a game and concert in my day, and I don't think my parents ever missed one, and my grandma & grandpa were almost always there, too.

This explanation of how I spend a large amount of my time came about one day as I was getting ready for a day of driving and watching. I invited my oldest daughter, Kenzie, to come with me for the day since she was home from college. She said, "Well, what are we going to do?" My response, "Drive around and watch people do shit. It's what I do." Since I'm fabulously funny, she laughed. Our day started off with a three hour drive (that's the time one way) to my sister's house to help her pack up her house & move to another state. We stayed long enough to watch them get the whole trailer packed up and backed out of the driveway. Hooray, Renee!

On the way back, two hours into the drive, we arrived at my son & nephew's middle school basketball game, which we watched. This game ended and allowed us just enough time to drive the rest of the way home, change clothes, drive 20 miles to a "home" high school basketball game, and watch our other two daughters hoop it up. This event ended my day of driving and watching.

I realize that the way I phrase what I do might make it sound like I'd rather be doing something else, but I can honestly say that I drive around and watch people do shit because it's what makes me happy. Where else would I be? Right, Mom?

I Have a Metaphorical Tent

It's in my head, or more accurately, my heart. I've had this tent for years, and used it quite wisely, I believe. Here's how the tent works: people who I want or need to be a positive part of my life are "in the tent." I believe it's obvious then who is not in the tent -- people who make my life more difficult, who aren't nice to my kids, who possess negative energy, or are nay-sayers. After all, who needs 'em? There is a small and transient group of people I call "The Hoverers." These people have a chance at being in the tent, but are on the fence, so to speak. Sometimes Hoverers are people that you just can't shake, carry around some negativity, but basically do no harm. I like to give them a chance to be in the tent. After all, who doesn't benefit from a little dose of "happy," right?

Just so it's clear, my tent is large and flexible, and there is no limit on the capacity. I am a believer. I think there is good to be found in everyone. In other words, you have to be pretty rotten to be out of my tent. And quite honestly, I even think the rotten people probably have some good qualities.........somewhere. They're just hidden pretty deep sometimes.

I kept this tent in my head for years, and one day had a slip of the tongue, and said something to the tune of, "She is so out of the tent," in the kitchen, within earshot of my whole family. They probably don't remember, but I do. Try explaining a metaphorical tent to your five kids (my husband was well aware of my tent already), while not making yourself out to be: 1. clinically insane 2. stupid 3. a bubblehead or 4. a bitch. I think I pulled it off.

As for right now, it's been a pretty good day. I think I'm going to put on my tiara, have a glass of wine..........and finish the laundry. Apparently, there are washing machines in the tent.

Says Who???

Today, I had quite a revelation. Okay, maybe not a revelation as in a true life-changing moment, but a revelation on a smaller scale. I was talking to Sara today, and she said to me, "Okay, when are we having wine this week?" Then she proceeded to follow that up with the thought that it's possibly inappropriate for us to plan our week around wine. My response was, "Says who?"

So, while I grocery shopped, worked out, and sat a high school basketball banquet, I thought, really........says who? I'm not sure about you, but I've just about given up worrying about what people think is appropriate. I've always said, and my husband, Todd, can attest to this, that at the end of the day, when you lay down in bed and close your eyes, the only person left to be accountable to is yourself. You may be laying next to someone else, and there may be five kids down the hall, but once your eyes are closed -- you're by yourself. We'll call it my deal breaker, my "am I a good mom" barometer, my "shit, maybe I shouldn't have said that" moment.

I guess the conclusion to my day of thought is this. Says who? I say, that's who.

So, my friend Sara and I.........

This is how stories about some of the best parts of my life start. So, my friend Sara and I...........are wearing our tiaras while contemplating the theme for our next "grown-up prom" (yes, I'm serious)........are sneaking out of the office for a long lunch..........are righting all wrongs in a spare hour between work and picking up kids. Honestly, I believe that with our tiaras and a bottle of wine, we make the world a better place. Luckily for us, our tiaras are portable and beautiful, and wine is plentiful.

Let me give you a brief hint of one of my favorite stories of "us." The date arrived for my 20th high school reunion, and it just so happened the party was at my house, and my husband had a prior commitment to be out of town that weekend. Who else can you count on, if not your best friend? She showed up, she was charming, funny, got to know more people than I did, and was still awake at 4:00 a.m. when some maniac (I take no responsibility) decided to bring out the bootleg whiskey. Is it even necessary to say yummy? Needless to say, the sun rose, we were still up, champagne was open by then, and life was pretty good. Let's just say I got to know a whole new side of classmates I barely knew in high school........all because of my friend Sara.

Sara and I managed to steal a couple of hours away from the office today for a relatively quick lunch. On the way home, we happened to come quickly upon a slow moving vehicle, road construction, and there may have been a renegade red truck in the mix (can you say wait your turn?). I mentioned, in an offhand manner, that wouldn't this be an exciting moment if we were on a Real Housewives episode, and then it hit us. Seriously, why has nobody come calling to put us on a reality tv show? I hate to brag, but we are hilarious, intelligent, and about as entertaining as things get around here. In fact, it's kind of our thing to say, "We are funny." Make no mistake, we may be laughing , but we are seriously funny. Stick around and come along for the occasionally bumpy ride. And by the way, it wouldn't hurt you to invest in a tiara. Even if modest, a little sparkle never hurt anybody. Wear it crooked, we like it that way.