When Ella was in first grade, every Monday she had to write in a journal about what she had done that weekend. Every other month, the teacher would then send home the journal for the parents to read. The Monday after Super Bowl in the year that the NY Giants won, my jaw dropped a little while reading her story about Adam having a party to watch the Big Game. She had started off with all the regular details – friends and family were over, everyone was wearing red, blue and white, there was a ton of food and a cake shaped like a football. It all painted a picture of a nice and vanilla Super Bowl party. The closing to her story made me cringe as I imagined what the teacher might be thinking when Ella shared the detail that when “Dad’s team won, he sprayed ‘bear’ all over the house.” Yes, this was true. Adam had acted like our home was a locker room and he was literally on the team when he shook up a bottle of beer in each hand and sprayed it around while screaming with joy over the win. I was just praying that with her spelling error mistaking bear for beer, the teacher might go so far as to think he was spraying “cheer” around the room or “bear” hugs – or something that didn’t make us seem like a bunch of drunk, nut jobs with sports fever. As I signed the bottom page of her story to show that I had read the journal entry, I thought that I probably couldn’t even imagine the things that the teacher got to read – Ella’s journal alone could give her a weekend recap full of crazy. It might have been like “Quick Strips” through the eyes of a child. Eeek! That’s scary stuff. If she starts drawing naked people with weird hands and feet on her stories, I will have to step in and start doing some damage control…..
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Our town gets a lot of snow sometimes. It’s great for the kids when they want a snow day but for me and Adam, it’s annoying because they are all over us all day and we can never get any thing done at home for work. But this one snowy day, I too woke up excited to see everything blanketed in freshly fallen flakes. Now, I hate the cold. HATE it. I won’t stand in front of a freezer for too long. But again, something about today – I wanted to go outside and play in the snow. Actually – let me say that we are such a big, lazy family – our idea of playing is the snow is lying there and eating it. Sooo….that’s what we wanted to do. Adam, the girls and me all bundled up and went outside. Feeling like a stuffed sausage in ill-fitting snow pants, I didn’t last long out there. I walked back into the house while everyone else stayed out to play. I thought I would do something Martha Stewart—y and microwave up some hot chocolate for when everyone was ready to come back in. (Ok , so sure Martha probably doesn't have a microwave. But my kids don’t know fresh made hot chocolate versus anything else, so its all the same to them and super easy for me. Perfect for all!) The phone started ringing as I seriously struggled to get out of my snow boots and clothes (I really fucking hate winter. It was such a chore to get dressed…and now to strip down. Ugggghhhh!) I grabbed it just in time. It was the school. They were asking me why the kids weren’t there today. I didn’t say anything as I looked out the window and watched my family rolling around in puffy winter gear on the snow covered front lawn and licking the snowy ground like they were dropped inside a giant tub of ice cream. The voice on the other line again said “hello”? I didn’t know if I wanted to say that we thought it was a snow day so we never sent them in to school. I would look like an idiot. I told her they were both sick and apologized for not calling. Considering we have neighbors that all have kids in the schools in town, we must have looked like a bunch of degenerates out there while those kids were heading off for their normal, state-mandated routine. As I hung up the phone, I realized that now I had to get the kids to lie to make sure they said they were “sick”. This would set Ella over the edge – she’s such a goody-goody; and this would further propel Vanessa as a my little risk –taker. Oh God. Looks like Mommy’s putting some Bailey’s in her hot chocolate.
While traveling for work, me and several others from my office, went to find a bar after a long client meeting. Being from out of town, we chose a bar near the hotel. When we walked in, it was old, dark and dingy. Shady enough that we didn’t want to call attention to ourselves by walking out. While my normal drink of choice is always Pinot G, this was the type of place where you only drink bottled beer and never order food. Maybe you even have a few shots just to forget where you are. And it’s definitely the kind of joint where you go to the bathroom in pairs and never, ever sit on the toilet seat – hover ONLY! Which I must say is hard….if you are having said beers and shots and wearing stiletto heels. So please ladies, be prepared. If, like me, you happen to fall onto the seat while trying to squat over it while a little tipsy, don’t feel bad about using hand sanitizer on your ass cheeks. Whether you bring it, ask another woman or use what the place might provide, it may be all you can do to feel a little better about having your rump touch the seat in a dump.
I signed up to be a Daisy troop leader when I was told that no other moms volunteered to lead the First grade. It was a reluctant decision, I am not super great with kids and well, Girl Scouts just seems so moral. And I am not really good with that either. But I caved since Vanessa was soooo looking forward to being a Daisy. Upon getting my troop roster, I felt I needed to warn all the troop moms in my introduction email that I was not the typical leader and not the “Girl Scout” type. I think I proved my point in just the first two meetings…
First meeting: As I opened a plastic bag full of hundreds of little beads for craft project , the bag broke and beads went spilling all over the floor. Naturally I yelled “oh shit!” really loud, much to the amusement of the girls. (Oops!) Second meeting: We go to Zumba so that the girls can earn their fitness Fun Badge. One of my girls is doing what she calls the “coffee grinder”. A few minutes later the instructor asks me - “what was that move called again?” I say with pride “the corkscrew!" The girl’s mom standing next to me laughs while correcting me saying “it was the coffee grinder – I am not sure she knows what a cork screw is.” (Eeek!) OMG – so how many petals do this kids have to earn? This is like the total opposite of Girl Scouts – curse words and alcohol references? And it’s only the second meeting. If I make it – if they all make it! – they should get a badge just for dealing with me! (Yikes!) We have had many guests over for holiday celebrations and with each gathering, I have lit several seasonal candles. I love the smells from Bath & Body Works the best! The other day the kids were out with Adam at the grocery store while I was cleaning the house in preparation for our little party. As they walked into the kitchen with their hands full of evil, yet wonderful, things for us to serve – Ella says “Mom, it smells like ‘Fireball’ in here.” Adam started laughing but I was a little freaked out that my young daughter knew the familiar smell of the latest cinnamon shot craze. Ok – so maybe we are having too many parties?! If my baby, Vanessa says anything about ‘Rum Chata’ – 2015 should be a dry year for this house. Between us….thank God she didn’t say anything! Saying we’d stop drinking is like saying we’d start working out in the New Year. Yea -that ain’t going to happen….this year or ever.
During the holiday break, with the kids up our asses constantly, Adam and I needed a little adult time and went out to a restaurant in town for a date night. Seeing as we both can drink without issue, we thought to go to a BYOB right around the corner to keep the bill down and be frugal for like, a second. We brought what we call a “double bottle” of red – which means it isn't one of those skinny little things but a bottle that would pour anywhere from 8 to 10 glasses. When we walked into the local Italian place, it was fairly slow and they sat us in the back near another couple from town who were also having dinner. Between the four of us, we were kid-less and they too had a nice bottle of wine – but theirs was a much smaller bottle. Some might even say, a "normal" size for two people. We traded hellos and went about our separate romantic evenings. They got up to leave and said goodbye to us. Adam looked over my shoulder and then looked at me and said “Ha – look at that, they didn’t even finish that little bottle of wine.” I looked over at it, then at Adam and with a gleam in my eye, I said “should we take it and finish it?” I felt like a jerk asking but I loved that Adam was apparently a jerk as well because he said "hell, yea we should take it. And we aren't leaving until we finish both – theirs and ours!” I looked around to make sure the coast was clear of waitstaff and reached over to quickly grab the bottle; Adam texted the babysitter to say we’d be a little later than planned. And look! All the money we saved racking up the drinks at dinner, we could now give to the sitter to stay longer. Everyone wins! Pass the vino - either bottle will do!
I went to open up a champagne bottle and the cork was being really stubborn. As I struggled, I moved the bottle closer to my chest so that I could get a stronger pull. Within a minute the cork came loose and with a loud pop - it smashed me in the face. I felt like an alcoholic and a blonde when I had to explain my bruise to anyone who asked what happened. Ugh - who wants to admit they got into it with a champagne bottle and that the cork won?! However, I could brag that I was clearly the victor since I drained the bottle of it's bubbly (to help with the pain, of course) and then smashed it into the recycling can. I am going to be so bad-ass this year!
(Oh and um - I was too scared to smash the bottle at all really and screamed like a little bitch as I threw it into the most responsible receptacle. OK, so maybe I am just going to be an ass this year....not so much on the bad part....) Something I worry about:
Getting in a car accident, going to the hospital via ambulance and winding up there in a comatose state. With a tampon in. And no one checks. And, if it's winter, under my tall boots, I have on mismatched socks. Now I am known as the patient with the fashion faux-paux. Something I fear: Same situation but now I am in a coma for weeks. No one grooms me. My bush looks like Bob Marley's afro and I have random chest, neck and chin hairs that sprout up miraculously. And they are black. Over time, this could get horrible and now I am the hairy female patient. Ack! Why won’t anyone help me out here?! I seriously wonder about these things. I have already admitted that I am the worst driver. What if I really do get in an accident and wind up in a coma!? I might have Adam sign a contract to promise to check my vag for the cotton mouse and always visit me with a razor. I can't be all vegetating looking like a Sasquatch with a rip cord. Yikes! Every year, Ella and Vanessa’s elementary school sets up a holiday shop where the kids can go and buy their very own holiday gifts. This year, as in the past, each of them were sent home with an envelope that allowed me to write the names of the people they should buy for and how much to spend for each respective gift. I filled out all of the information on the card for those of us who are at our house on Christmas morning – Adam, my mom, my dad and our dog. I allotted $10 for each person on the list and put $50 in each of the envelopes for my girls. When Adam saw the envelope and money, he turned to me with surprise. “Are you really sending the kids to school with $50 in cash? Each! For school Christmas shopping? What do you think they are selling?” Of course, I told him that I didn’t want them to not have enough money in case they saw something great. He walked away knowing he'd lose this battle. After shopping at school, the girls came home that afternoon with lots of wrapped gifts and put them under the tree. A few days later, I was picking up the kids from school and saw a fellow mom friend in the hall. I knew she often worked the holiday store. Curious I asked her what other kids would bring in to shop. She told me between $5 and $10. Total. I asked in an embarrassed tone, “so it looks like my kids bring the most?” She simply responded “Every year.” Well, how would I know if no one ever told me and my kids don’t come home with much change? What the hell are the doing with the balance? And OK, so maybe I should have questioned how a pen with a rose on it and a #1 Mom key-chain could cost so much.... but who can honestly shop with only $10 anyway? Even I spend at least $50 in the dollar store!
‘Tis the season when Adam and I have several holiday parties to attend and the kids aren’t always included on the guest list. His work, my work. His college buds, my college gals. Our friends, our neighbors. Finding a babysitter for all of these events is sometimes a challenge and it is then that I need to rely on my mom. The other night as my kids were leaving to head to grandma’s for an overnight stay, I was having a pre-dinner drink while waiting for Adam to finish getting all of the gifts in the car for a party (again, no kids invited! Gotta love that kinda event!). Maybe it was the drink in my hand that reminded Ella of something my mom had said to her or maybe she was just pissed she had a sitter again – because she turned to me and practically gloated when she said - “Gram thinks you need to grow up with all these parties. And that you don’t dress your age and that you are an idiot.” And she turned to walk out the door. If you knew my mother, you’d know that is exactly what she would say. Yea well, I agree that I don’t act or dress my age….the idiot statement is fairly generic but that too is pretty much true. I guess I have a few things to work on in 2015….or not. Cheers!!
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