Go Away - Shoe! 08/24/2009
 
Once upon I time I decided to be a kind, caring, interesting mother.

My children would embark upon new adventures every day - ones that involved eclectic people, monarch butterflies, Spanish lessons and symphonies on CD from the public library. Stray puppies? Totally optional.
In my ideal world, we did not need money to be happy - simply time, openness and patience.

Ah, patience - there's the rub.

Because I refused to beat my children into submission, and screaming like a crazy lunatic did nothing for either of us, I decided to start chucking stuff.

Let me provide you with an example which occurred moments after I took my children, in the blaring heat, to the neighbor's pool. Why? Because I was still holding onto the hope that my kids would grow up and appreciate a mother who plays with them rather than sticks them in front of the television all day long. (Cue: Evil laugh.)

Me: Stink, get upstairs and take off your clothes for your bath.

Two minutes later I find him shuffling at the bottom of the stairs.

Stnk: Mooooommmmmy, my fish slippers are not letting me walk up the stairs.

Me: Not a problem.

I take the slippers and throw them out. They have holes and are smelly from two seasons of use anyway.

Lots of screaming, crying and tantruming ensues while I sit here, smiling smugly, blogging.

Yes, I am that mean of a mother. And I don't care today. Because I'm done.

The End..
 
 
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I live in a very 1950's style suburb where they do a lot of commercial and movie shoots. It's not that our homes are so fancy (I live in a 3 bedroom, 2 bath starter) but they are very retro and easily scream, "Main Street USA." Throw up some plastic trees, some generated snow, and you've got yourself a Hollywood Hallmark Christmas.

I don't mind having to navigate through film crews every month.

I could care less if Ty Pennington is cracking jokes on my neighbor's porch in between takes for his Sear's commercials. (Hey, I even got my mom's home a gig for a Sear's commercial through that. Long crazy story but it was right after my dad died and the money came in handy. God bless cool location managers and my big mouth.)

What I doooo get irritated at, though, is how every single month location scouts come to my house and take photos.

Then they come back with the director a week later and run through our back yard. And then? Nothing.

Why?

1. Our neighbor's house is kind of run down and they don't want it in the shot.

2. The neighbor's sister's house 3 doors down is an absolute stunner. It's the case of darling mutt vs. showdog poodle - I can't blame them for using the shiny new one.

It is what it is, but like a lottery ticket, I'm convinced that every time I scratch I'm going to be a millionaire. I suppose these things are what makes life interesting - the hope, not the actual product.

But perhaps most important to remember in the "Why is my home being rejected" formula?

3. That's the biz, baby!

Happy weekend.
 
 
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Some of you might recognize Heather McDonaldas the funny sidekick on Chelsea Lately.

I know her from Catholic school and seeing her at church about once a month. Her photo is also up around town on bus benches due to a real estate gig she has with her folks.
 
We're soooo the same person.

Except she's skinnier than me.
And she has her own show.
And she used to write for the Wayan Brothers. Other than that - EXACT same lives.

You will sometimes see her on my Face Book feed where I get to read about all her fabulous stand-up gigs and show clips.

Where you won't see Heather is on my Good Housekeeping blog because, um, I've been really procrastinating on interviewing her.

But I did get my daughter her 5 year shots yesterday, so that's worth some roundtable praise.

Meanwhile, check out the blog link above for a cute piece done by the Silicon Valley Moms Club. (link to that club to come)

And dude, Heather, please forgive my tardiness on your soon to be fabulous interview. Also, please forgive my children who sit through mass about as well as I sit through my husband's Star Trek episodes.

PS: I do love that Heather is not afraid to she has long mama boobs - hence her name sake. More than a few moms on this site can relate to that.
 
 
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I missed my daughter's shot appointment this morning. She needs them to start kindergarten, as well as a boatload of paperwork. (I swear she wouldn't need this much to join the C.I.A..)

Sadly, because I belong to an HMO, it takes an act of God to get into a pediatrician at this time of year. I'm sure something will come up, but maaaaaaan, how could I forget something like this? It's called A CALENDAR. Uggg.

All these scheduling mishaps brings me back to my constant quest for balance. There's some stuff we can control - like making appointments and keeping them, planning a budget, making time for friends and family.

But then there's that stuff that you can't control, like brain farts on foggy Monday mornings after a lovely day in Big Bear with the hubby (more to come on that one) the unexpected NOT MY FAULT auto accident that blasts my carefully laid out budget to hell, and last minute illness that makes get togethers about appealing as a kindergartner getting shots.

I don't know about you, but I aim on bitch slapping my brain... ahem... focusing on seeing the positive in the unexpected, such as new friends, new experiences, funny stories for later and the ever so exciting note in my inbox promising me new work, new income, fresh excitement and more opppotunities to keep me on my toes. (That last one? Sooo hasn't happened, but it will. Right? RIGHT?)

Speaking of unexpected, Jen at Sprites Keeper won the table top theatre for her little one at my Giveaway section. There were 8 entries (one person entered her name twice so I counted her two names as 1 only, assigning her #4). I put #8 into Random.org and it automatically picked for me. Thanks!
 
 
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You know those friends who are so great at capturing those perfect moments of their kids?
 
And then you know those even better ones who not only capture their own children, but are kind and considerate enough to capture yours?

I have one of those. And I am so grateful.

Thank you, Daria.

PS: Head on over to my Giveaway section if you want a chance to win a toy from an amazing chidlren's comany. I owe some of you fish dinners, too. I haven't forgotten. I am just, um, slow.
 
 
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During my daily walk yesterday I came across a huge pile of rubble. Upon further inspection, I saw it was compressed kitchen cabinets circa 1985.

I quickly banished this thought from my mind: "I could drag those home, repaint them, and replace the 1950's units in my kitchen." I replaced it instead with some new revelations .

As I looked at the big boxy squares, replete with clunky handles and dents, I pondered how so many of us walk through life with chips and scars.

I then started thinking how we can really see different personalities based on kitchens. Some of us have modern shelving, many of our favorite pieces tucked safely out of view from the public. We don't feel connected to our wares, but we put on a show for what we think others might like.

Some of us have talents, like fancy drawers on hinges, that we pull out on a daily basis for our families, friends and ourselves. Some leave it hidden from view.

Others of us have counters cluttered with scrap we don't use nor need, yet we ruthlessly defend its place on our counters.

As for me, I am a fan of open cabinets where loving hands can touch what is inside.

I'm tired of hiding behind neatly tucked exteriors, with an interior pushed to capacity with junk.

Let me put it out there - chips, dust and all.. Let me see what comes from exposing my goods to people who are unafraid of enjoying savory, adventurous and satisfying dishes.

And at the end of the day, let my husband be there to help me clean when I'm tired. Let my family, friends, and anyone new in my life  sit down at the table with me and take me for who I am - whether it's an elaborate feast or heated up take-out.

And please, most important of all, let my kids (like my ideal cabinets) be open to life, people, love, warmth, laughter and of course... a good meal.

Happy Saturday all.

Photo from here.
 
 
Stink is this really creative soul.
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He is also this charmer who rarely meets a girl who doesn't dig him.
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With his creativity and charm, comes an iron will. And a stubborn streak. Which lands him more than a few time-outs for reaons such as the one below.
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And yes, Grandma Nancy and Grandma Stella, it can be quite amusing.

Until you're at the Renaissance Fair and you think he's riding a wooden merry go round like all the other kids, but you notice he's stealing tips from the hourly workers (dollar bills pasted to the side of the merry go round)
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And when you call him on it, he gives you this, "What'd I do?" song and dance.
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And then he gets ticked when you tell him to fork over the cash NOW.
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And what you really want to do to him is this.
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But you take a deep breath, follow through with appropriate consequences, say a few prayers, and love the hell out of him - little turd that he is.
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My son had the choice of any summer activity he wanted this summer. "Football? Basketball? Soccer? Karate?"

Stink: "I'd like to do Tap Ballet Combo."

Um... OKAY!
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Gossip Girl 08/03/2009
 
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I have the tendency to "bitch" to my best friends. Sure, I can be funny - that's part of my problem. But I'm starting to realize, through my Christian journey (Oh, God, I'm sounding like one of those women now) that nasty quips only serve to make me feel better about my ugliness.

* I am crediting Stacey for drilling this point into my thick skull, so blame her for my enlightenment. Wait... is that gossiping? Moving on.

Sometimes I want to scream about relatives, rude parents in play yards or that lazy butt in the checking line today that thought I was living to wait for her to apply make-up to her botoxed fish lips, "No! I was wronged! I'm not gossiping! I'm simply venting! How can I gossip about people I'm not even naming by name!"
 
But the truth is, it's still not a great habit and only serves the purpose of making me feel better about all my short comings. (Not that there's that many. (Shush, Rex.)
 
The question that begs to be answered, then, is, “How does one get it out without ‘venting’?” For some, that's where prayer comes in. For others, meditation. For others, a work-out or a favorite snack.

What about you? Do you put a nice spin on "gossip" and call it "venting" like I'm wont to do? Or are you just a perfect angel in which case I don't care if it's against my new found faith I HATE YOU.

* PS: Photo of my best friend, Topanga T, with my daugher. It was taken a few months ago at Disneyland.

* PSS: I'll be honest with you, the sippy cups were not for the kids. She and I,  um...  we have this tradition where we fill them with red wine and sip them over the course of a few hours, making it truly the Happiest Place on Earth. (Just one cup, people. I'm no lush. And don't ya'll be talking about me behind my back, cause that's gossiping. So there.)