Kanye Better Not Hijack My Acceptance Speech

Have you Found Trinity?

I have. And so should you. Go there now.

Michele has an adorable kiddo and a blog that makes me laugh out loud when I haven't even been drinking. She's also gotten me hooked on blogs written by single moms and dads.

Kind of silly, I know, since mine is only a temporary single-parent gig, but I cannot stop reading. I'm like that kid who brags about about being "on the team" when I'm really just the towel girl.

Anyway, she hath bestowed upon me the Over the Top Award which, simply put, Made. My. Day., even though I'm normally not much of a meme person (is "meme-er" a word?). This one's easy, and the rules are as follows:

1) answer the following questions with only one word answers

2) thank the blogger who gave it to you

3) pass it on to 6 of your favorite bloggers

So. Without further adieu, here are some questions you've been dying to ask and the answers that will allow you to rest easy tonight:

1. Where is your cell phone? car

2.Your hair? fried

3. Your mother? Irish

4. Your father? Chinese

5. Your favorite food? sushi

6. Your dream last night? stressful

7. Your favorite drink? coffee

8. Your dream/goal? cagedancer?

9. What room are you in? office-ish

10. Your hobby? writing

11. Your fear? heights

12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Oprah

13. Where were you last night? couchin'

14. Something you aren't? crook

15. Muffins? sure

16. Wish list item? Macbook

17. Where did you grow up? Massachusetts

18. Last thing you did? cooked

19. What are you wearing? RUDE!

20. Your TV? ancient

21. Your pets? fish

22. Your friends? bestest

23. Your life? good

24. Your mood? horny philanthropic

25. Missing someone? many

26. Vehicle? Es-KAHP-ae

27. Something you're not wearing? Armani

28. Your favorite store? Target

29. Your favorite color? red

30. When was the last time you laughed? today

31. Last time you cried? me?

32. Your best friend? many

33. One place that I go over and over? Walmart

34. One person who emails me regularly? Mom

35. Favorite place to eat? Outback

Thanks, Michele. You like me! You really, really like me! The feeling is quite mutual.

I know the rules say six, but I'm going to do one HUGE pay-it-forward to MommyGeek because she wrote this awesomely over-the-top post yesterday. She is the Queen, and I fall prostrate at her feet.

Thanks again!

Really, I DO take them outside once in while: Random Tuesday Thoughts

Recently, I was messing around with my Blogger settings and accidentally exported all of my posts to somewhere in the far-flung corners of cyberspace. For about three minutes, my blog was empty. Five years of blogging, down the toilet. I found them, imported them back and all is peachy, except HOLY HEART ATTACK, BATMAN.

And now, I somehow ended up with duplicates of every post. And to think, I used to consider myself technologically savvy. I must be getting old.

The other day, the Munchkin's teacher sent home sheet music of the songs they sung in class. When I tried to Be a Fun Mom and sing the songs, she immediately said, "No, no, no, Mommy. You can't sing that. Miss Julie sings that."

Well, did Miss Julie birth you without an epidural? Does Miss Julie wait patiently while you count your poops in the toilet? I DON'T THINK SO. I'll sing whatever I want, thankyouverymuch.

I have more fun dancing with the Munchkin to "Old MacDonald" than I ever did trying to bust a move during my college clubbing days. And as a bonus, she doesn't drip sweat in my drink or dry hump me through my sexy sweatpants.

Did anyone else know that "Noggin" has now become "Nick Jr.?" I won't lie, it freaked my freak a little bit. The kids were watching during dinner (y'know, because they only watch TV when I'm prepping dinner. I don't ever let it babysit while I take a shower and pluck my eyebrows), and all of the sudden some high-pitched voice exclaims, "Noggin is now Nick Jr.!" And I was all, DEAR GAWD, DON'T FIRE "MOOSE" AND "ZEE!"

Wait, I just realized I talked about Noggin in my last edition of RTT. Oh, dear. Perhaps I need a hobby or four.

The BassMaster has been gone for about a month, and yet whenever I hear a motorcycle coming down the street, my insides do this little flittery thing they used to do when I saw him in the halls at school. That's something. I don't know what, exactly, but it's something.

Go see The Un Mom for more delicious bites of randomness!

A Hypothetical Situation

Let's say you want to go to next year's BlogHer conference and see what all the talk is about.

Let's say that in order to avoid looking like a total loser, you want to increase your blog traffic beyond its seven loyal readers. And let's say that in order to reach your goal of, oh, TWELVE readers, you're thinking about creating a Facebook fan page for your blog and forcing inviting a hefty chunk of your FB friends to join it.

But wait. Let's consider your Facebook friend population.

Let's say said population includes some who already know about the blog, but a majority who do not. The ones who do not know about it include parents, parents-in-law, and conservative Roman Catholic family members who flinch when they hear the word "crap," let alone the F-word.

Let's say it includes many MFA colleagues and former mentors, some of whom cried when they read chapters of your thesis because it was that freakin' sad. And that was fiction! You made the whole thing up! Let's say you received many flattering comments about the quality of your writing.

And here you are in cyberspace, ranting about your husband's farts and talking endlessly about your own boobs. That's how twisted you are.

Let's say you've also discussed some issues about your marriage and your husband - albeit in limited detail - that you'd rather your in-laws didn't know. Although it might make for an interesting Christmas.

That is, if they even invite me. Uh, I mean, if they even invite "you."

As far as you can tell, Blogger does not have an option to make certain posts private. So, would you just delete the sensitive material? Move it to another blog? Or let it all hang out and just make sure you have plenty of vodka for the next family gathering?

Would you even do the Facebook thing at all? I'll say one thing: now that I've thought this out with you all, it sounds like a terrible idea, actually. I can't be that desperate for traffic, can I?

(cricketchirp...cricketchirp)

Leave a comment and help me out here, folks.


PS: Now would be a great time to delurk, you lurkers. I CAN SEE YOU!

Single Mommies (Pour Tequila For 'Em)

I spent ten minutes trying to think up that oh-so-witty play on Beyonce's "Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It)." Yes that's the best I could do, what are you implying?

Anyway, I keep forgetting to mention that the BassMaster is in Connecticut for the next five months. Nothing to do with the suckitude (although I'd say we're both getting some much-needed air. Fer sher.), he just has to complete some schooling before his next sea tour, and we agreed not to uproot the kids until absolutely necessary.

As it turns out, he's been assigned to a boat out of CT, and we'll be moving up there with him at some point. Until then, the task of making sure neither kid accidentally kills herself falls to me alone.

For the first few weeks of single motherhood, I made to-do lists every morning, put reminder Post-It notes on every surface of the house, even sent emails to myself to the tune of, "Dear Lisa, mow the lawn tonight or you will hate yourself in the morning."

In short, I was freakishly organized.

Now? Things are kinda starting to go all to hell. Again. The laundry pile threatens to suffocate us all, the leftovers in the fridge are turning into science experiments, and I'm pretty sure there's pee-pee in both potties that I have yet to empty.

As I go wayward with the housework, so does my brain go wayward with its retention rate. I Cannot. Remember. Sh*t. The worst part is that I'm trying to keep busy with playdates, field trips and quality Mom-time...but I can't even remember what the hell I've committed to.

Case and point: The other day, my neighbor across the street (who, despite my initial misgivings, is very sweet and totally does not deserve to get blown off) flagged me down as I loaded the kids into the car. I crossed over for a quick chat.

"I came looking for you yesterday, " she said quietly, in a tone that indicated she came looking for me BECAUSE I TOLD HER TO.

Crap, I thought, through a pasted-on cheescake smile. Yesterday? What the hell was yesterday? Were we supposed to do something? That thing she mentioned last week, she said we should walk around the block together...did we specifically say we'd do it on Tuesday? Because, uh, I had planned to waffle on that a bit. Did I sign my name in blood? DID I MAKE A POST-IT FOR THIS?!

"Oh....um, yeah, I ended up doing a few errands after I dropped the Munchkin off at preschool," I mumbled.

Did I think to, oh, I don't know, tell the freakin' truth and say, "I'm really sorry, my brain is going in 473 different directions and I just forgot?" No, of course not. Instead I panicked and lied. I suck at life.

But I did feel so bad about it that I made her some brownies from scratch. Baked goods heal a variety of wounds, in my experience.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have tequila to pound and potties to empty. Hope your weekend is just as wild and crazy.

Wordless Wednesday: I won't tell her that this is what really happened to Bambi's mom.

Is it Bad That Imaginative Play Makes Me Sweat?

Next time the Munchkin and I play out front, I'm going to take a piece of sidewalk chalk and write, "DON'T. ASK." in the middle of the driveway.

Y'know, for any neighbors who might think I've developed multiple personalities and lost control of my motor skills. Although, those who know me might argue that both have already happened.

Shut up. No, you shut up.

The Munchkin loves to play make-believe-anything. We pantomime entire soap operas, bake scores of air cookies for Daddy, we ride horses and fight alligators and hold tea parties, all using only our hands and her wild imagination.

Oh, and thanks to Dora the Explorer, we also save a lot of Princesses in High Towers.

God, I love her. The Munchkin, I mean. Dora, not so much.

Even though she makes me look like a complete moron.

This evening, I found myself standing underneath a tree with legs braced, knees bent, arms reaching toward the heavens. Every few seconds, I'd flinch and yelp, sending the Munchkin into hysterics.

What was I doing? Saving a princess, of course. She drove up the tree on her bicycle and got stuck. Like, duh.

"Catch her, mommy!" she cried.

"I'll try!" I said. "But she's reaaaally reaaallly high up there!"

"I know! Let's throw her a rope!" she said. She squatted down and scooped an imaginary rope coil in her arms.

It turned into quite the drama. I mean, we threw her the rope multiple times but then "Oh, no! The wope is stuck in the twee!" so "Mommy, you hafta climb and get her", but before I could get to her "she's falling! Falling down, Mommy! You hafta catch her!"

This make-believe thing is a freakin' workout, man.

And I love it.

I cannot think of a better way to end a day than running back and forth over the grass in bare feet, listening to her laugh, knowing she's convinced that I see what she sees in her imaginary world and that whatever it is, I totally get it.

Oh, how I love her.

Not a Good Day to be Tardy

8:00 AM: Survey clean house, dressed children and sitter checklist on counter, typed in fun curlicue font ('cause I was feeling snazzy). Congratulate self for creating a convincing illusion that I have my sh*t together.

8:01 AM: Jot down discussion points for today's therapy session. Reassure The Inner Crazy that she only has to wait 29 more minutes before she can hang out all over the place.

8:05 AM: Sitter curiously still not present. Suppress nervous twitch.

8:07 AM: Still no sitter. Call sitter's cell phone. Receive message that "wireless customer you have dialed cannot receive calls at this time." Respond aloud, "why the f**k not?!" because sometimes it just feels good to yell at a recording.

8:11 AM: Send sitter a seething-beneath-the-niceties email, telling her that I hope I did not "miscommunicate" the start time for today's gig. Hope you are not lying in a ditch somewhere, blah blah blah. Want to add something like, WILL MAKE SURE YOU NEVER WORK IN THIS TOWN AGAIN.

8:12 AM: Realize this might constitute a slight overreaction.

8:16 AM: Run next door to neighbor, The Slightly Excitable Stay-At-Home-Dad. Say, "My sitter is standing me up, can I drop the kids off with you?" Note look of sheer terror that darkens his face and modify with, "How about just one? One kid okay?"

8:20 AM: Dump toddler next door. Pack baby in car, pray she doesn't scream or puke on therapist's furniture.

8:21 AM: Drive 1/4 mile and PASS SITTER COMING IN OPPOSITE DIRECTION. Goddammit.

8:23 AM: Pull a U-turn, follow sitter back to house. Listen to sob story about traffic, retrieve toddler from panicked neighbor's house. Speed away with sitter and children standing on front lawn.

8:25 AM: Entertain idea that vodka might prove just as effective and far cheaper than the therapy gig.

Begin, again.

Hi.

*waves*

I've dragged you into such a horrible abusive relationship here, readers. I butter you up for a few weeks, post semi-frequently, buy you shiny things, then pow! Off the face of the earth I go.

Then I apologize, promise I'll never do it again, things are peachy for a while. Then I have one bad day where I'm convinced I have nothing to say, ever and...pow! Gone again.

Yet you keep taking me back. Why do you keep taking me back? You deserve better, don't you know that?

Anyway, I'm still here. It's been a bizarre few weeks. Our visit to the great white north was fraught with stress and heartache for many reasons, including but not limited to: marital suckitude, two sick kids, one sick mommy, one sick baby who couldn't sleep, more marital suckitude, fighting and tears, mothers, ER visits, missed naps and endless drama over equal visitation rights between our two families.

Oh. And cancer.

Our brother-in-law? The one whose wedding I primped for last year? He has lymphoma.

He's twenty-six, has a seven-month-old daughter. He's doing better now and has a decent prognosis last I checked. But for a while there, it didn't look so good.

Why, hello there, huge flaming pile of perspective! I find it almost impossible to whine about my/our problems when someone else out there can say, "Aww, things are rough? Well, at LEAST YA DON'T HAVE CANCER, DUMBASS."

Almost. I mean, it is my blog, after all.

So if you still care to read, I will keep writing and trying unsuccessfully to keep my overshare reflex in check. Are you excited? I bet you're excited.

Pow!

(Just kidding.)