Adam and I met with a relator to see what might be possible for us sometime in this lifetime. The woman was a spitfire – cool outfit, lotsa bling, trendy sunglasses, her very own billboard. (!!!!!) It is evident she has passion for what she does. During our meeting, she began telling us about common issues in the business. So common, they even happened to her and to ward off stress, she laughed about having a vodka on the rocks everyday for nearly two weeks. After she left, I mentioned to my little family how much I liked her and how even if nothing worked out, I would really want to hang out with her. Ella then said – “oh she is totally our type. Did you hear what she said about the vodka? She can party.” I didn’t know whether to agree or be mortified at that my 9-year-old knows that being a drinker is required friend criteria. Cheers to friendship!
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I was very pregnant at a birthday party where the parents had hired a clown for entertaining the kids. When the rented joker asked me what we planned to name the baby in my belly, I told her we were looking for a name that started with a “V” and a middle name that began with “L”. She quickly replied, "what about Vanessa Love” -- and I just stared at her. I then looked at Adam and said “Babe, I think a clown just named our baby,” And in fact, she did - a few months later - our Vanessa Love Marino arrived. I still can't believe an adult woman, wearing a polka-dotted onesie, a red nose and big shoes came up with the name for our child. I guess it is fitting - Vanessa is pretty much a clown herself. Although I do think we should wait until after her teen years to tell her this story ...she'll have plenty of other reasons to hate us, no need for her to hate her perfect name too.
When I was pretty well into my pregnancy Adam came with me to one of the last ultrasound appointments. It just so happened that on this day, there was a covering doctor. She walked in and Adam almost passed out. I think she may have only been wearing her short white lab coat with high-heeled boots that laced up to her knees. Her hair was cascading down her back and her voice was soft. When she dimmed the lights so we could see the monitor better, Adam asked her if she could put on soft music. What the fuck? I gave him a smack on the back of his head and knocked him back into reality. Besides, what did he think she was turning out the lights to do? Make out with me…or him? Eye roll!! I can assure you that there is nothing like feeling like a beached whale and thinking that your husband has little interest in you or his unborn child, because he is ogling over some hot – super thin - doc. Seriously though, who hired her how does she not feel bad looking that way around large pregnant women? What a bitch. Sigh.
The other day was my 14-year wedding anniversary with Adam. Unlike years past, we decided to go out as a family, instead of just a couple. We went to a nice local Italian joint for good food, good wine and a good time. Adam started the night with a beautiful toast and upon the cheers, I was feeling happy and loved. The place added to our special celebration by giving us a rose, two flutes of champagne and a cake with a candle for dessert. In between all of the loveliness and after the toast however, Adam began to suck down Guinness like he needed beer googles for the obligatory anniversary sex; Vanessa and Ella played hand games like “Rock, Paper, Scissors” at the table and got a little carried away knocking over a glass of water, sending it crashing to the floor and breaking into a million pieces. Ella began to laugh at this and accidentally farted so loud, the people at the table across the room looked over at us . Adam slurred something to her and I couldn't tell if it was a “way to go” comment (why are guys proud of gross stuff like that?) or if he was yelling at her for being rude. When we got home, Adam passed out and I put the kids to bed. I then poured a glass of wine, sat on the couch and put on a porn (some form of sex had to happen on an anniversary night!) After 3 minutes, I changed the channel to Lifetime and used my phone to shop around on Amazon for a new dress during commercials. I ate the dessert I took home from the restaurant. This was wedded bliss of a new kind. Here’s to another year of real life and real love and all the perfect imperfectness in between!
Yay! It’s Back-to-School time! And the first and probably last day that my kids will actually make the bus. From here on out, I will likely be the parent screeching through the parking lot at 60 miles an hour in order to get there before the bell rings. The scene will be awesome as I scream at the kids to unbuckle their seatbelts and get ready to get out of the car the second it stops. As they run to the doors, I will yell after them reminding them to go directly to the office without getting a late pass and to just tell the teachers that they were using the bathroom when the bell rang. I will get pissed when I see them walking towards the office. Argh! Why did I teach them to do the right thing? With the start of a new school year, I wonder if I will have to go back to bribing them to make the bus on time. Last year, it was only February when we got a letter from the principal about all of the accrued lates. We really had to start making real efforts to get the girls to school on time until the end of the year. And in keeping consistent with making some of the worst parenting decisions ever, I promised each of them $100 in cold, hard cash if they didn’t get one more late pass until June. And it worked! On the last day of school, I found myself at the bank asking the teller for 200 singles. Feeling like a stripper with a bunch of loose bills in my purse – and secretly liking it – I picked up the girls from school that day and handed them their reward. Yea, seeing it’s success I am so not above bribery. Since my girls weren't either, I should have anticipated that being at the bus stop today – the first day – it would present the perfect opportunity for my oldest to ask “So Mom, how much do we get this year for not getting any late passes?” Like finding out that the Tooth Fairy pays some kids more than others, let’s hope my girls don’t talk to your kids or we just might ourselves breaking up a juvenile ring of corruption.
Since Adam and I both work full-time, we put our girls in summer camp each year. I had left him the camp forms to sign and then mail – way before the deadline to reserve said spots for our girls. Of course, it was a week past the due date that Adam got around to signing the forms. At this point, I told him to hand deliver them to the school board office so that we didn’t waste any more time – I was panicked we wouldn’t get in. What the hell would we do then? He didn’t seem to stress but seeing how freaked I was, Adam stopped at the office the next morning on his way to drop Vanessa off to one of her last days of Pre-K. He was told by the secretary that we missed the deadline. Flash forward: Hours later at dinner, I asked Adam if he had dropped off the forms and if everything was set. He said that it was. Vanessa then chimed in saying that the woman who helped him was now “Daddy’s other wife”. I looked over at Adam with a “what the fuck” expression on my face. He explained that he had to beg her to let us have two spots for the summer camp and claimed that if he didn’t get them, I would divorce him. When she caved somehow, he told her that she was going to be his second wife. Seriously, she could take him now - maybe she could take the kids too. Kid and husband free weekends here and there!?! Sounds dreamy! Hmmmm, I might have a plan for next year’s nuptial split. I have a rep among friends and family for being a failure in the kitchen. And without hesitation, I will pretty much agree to this. I can admit that I once Googled how long to cook an egg so that it was hard boiled and to confirm what color sauteed garlic should be before it is considered burnt. Looking up other things like "how many cups equal a quart" and other metric conversions, goes without saying (like. what the hell is a "pinch" really and how can anyone rely on "add to taste"!?). And after learning the hard way that mayo is not a substitute for eggs when making cake, I now take to the internet before trying to figure out substitutions on the fly. Even with all my cooking lows, there were always some things that I could handle with confidence and ease and freezing water was one of them. But when the fridge at the beach house was so fancy that I couldn't figure out the ice maker from the ice box thing to the ice trays, I wound up having to ask a room full of the family that had already know my limits, the lowest culinary question - "so, um, how do I make ice?" My cousin and I thought we were showing off some mad skills in a tube in the ocean. We sat on either side of the plastic circle and like a buoy we bobbled over the waves with ease. We were laughing and having fun until a huge wave crashed on us and we were sent rolling toward the shore. Stuck in the tube together, even after the ocean kicked our asses, we flopped onto the sand with our arms and legs intertwined in the hole of the tube like a doughnut oozing humans. I can assure you that there is nothing more attractive then two clumsy, pale people rolling around on top of each other trying to get up while stuck inside a cumbersome inflatable tube. Bathing suits askew, lots of unflattering white flesh showing, hair in our eyes. Her tit was practically in my mouth, my hand placement questionable on her and of course, tons of sand where sand should never be. Like a turtle flipped on his back on the beach and struggling to get up, we were a spectacle for a good five minutes. Sadly, our family just watched us from their beach chairs and didn’t even help us. I cant say I blame ‘em…we were pretty embarrassing. But I was still pissed at Adam for not coming to my rescue. I yelled across the beach to him and told him to have our drinks ready for when we got out of this mess. The only way I was drowning today would be in my Mai Tai. Our family went to Great Adventure recently and naturally, there was drama for us. When Adam and my youngest, Vanessa rode the 15 story high Ferris Wheel, I stood firmly planted on the ground with Ella. We are both very scared of heights and didn’t want to join the other half of our family on the ride. But after an hour and going on a few other rides, Ella wanted to give the Ferris Wheel a shot. For some ungodly reason, I said I would go as well. I think I was trying to be brave for her. The minute I got on - I wanted to die. I was in a complete state of panic – heart pounding, hands sweating, lips twitching. I kept my eyes closed and yelled at everyone to keep still so that the torture chamber we were sitting in wouldn’t rock back and forth. Just as my shallow breathing paced and we were circling around to the top again, a bug flew into our cart. Ella noticed the moth on her leg and flipped her shit. She moved around wildly, Vanessa was yelling at her to sit still, Adam was waving his arms around trying to kill the offending insect and I was screaming with my eyes shut tight for everyone to stop moving. I imagined from the ground park guests could witness the complete chaos - the cart swinging in the breeze, people yelling like lunatics, someone sobbing loudly (me!). How did that fucking moth even fly so high up to reach us? With all efforts to try and set an example of bravery or bond as a family on a mellow ride or have any fun - this was by far an EPIC FAIL to say the least. |
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