Wii (Weeeeeeee!) Pt. 2 (of 2)

(con't)
He looked so comfortable and chic and cool, and here I was in full makeup, heels and a short black dress. I must have looked like I was on a job interview. He ordered a decaf cafe au lait and sat down. We dove into some real awkward small talk, so I decided to make a bold choice and ask him how he was doing since the divorce. It was a good move. He started talking to me like an old friend. He told me he was doing really well, he and his wife were wrong for each other, he has a new found freedom and feels centered, and he's super relieved there were no kids involved. I took that as a queue to talk about my own kids. I was worried, I never told Tyler I had kids, but I proceeded anyway. I told Tyler that kids aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, one of mine is gay and the other is fat. He thought I was joking and laughed so hard he nearly knocked over his beverage. I told him I was serious and he laughed harder. I thought for sure I had just ruined this for myself by being so honest and expressing a thought most people would deem "socially unacceptable". But you know what???!!!!! He grabbed my hand and told me that it was refreshing to hear someone say something so truthful. Between his passive aggressive ex-wife and working in advertising, he's surrounded by false truths. It was so, so great. He was looking me in the eye and holding my hand very gently, which I kind of wish he wasn't doing because my hand was hot and moist from being so nervous. But he didn’t stop. He asked me if I was married, and I told him the truth. If that was going to discourage him, he didn't show it cause that guy did not miss a beat. He went right into how he can’t believe how great I look, and that I looked younger and thinner than his ex-wife, who is a yoga teacher!! We sat there for two hours, just talking! He finally had to go back to work, but asked if we could do this again. Then he hugged me, for a long time. A long time. I can live off the memory of that hug for at least two weeks. Then I need to see him again.

I'm having an affair, right?

From Resentful Mom

Wii (Weeeeeeee!) Pt. 1 (of 2)

The Wii worked like a charm. The kids have been playing "tennis" for six hours and they show no signs of stopping. Which gives me time to write about Friday. I'm too excited about it that I can't do it all in one post (plus I want to drag it out).

Saying that my coffee date with Tyler was amazing does not do it justice. I was there first, of course, trying to figure out the most casual place to put my hands(turns out around the coffee mug is the most casual). The he walked in. I knew it was him even though his hair was a little more salt and pepper, his face slightly aged, but I tell you this, I swear to GOD this man looks better now than he did at 17. He looked like if Clive Own, Daniel Craig and Hugh Jackman had their sperm fused together and then they fertilized that super hot guy sperm with an egg from Angelina Jolie. Then that baby became a man. A man I was having coffee with in secret. The only thing that could have made it better was if "Here Comes Your Man" by the Pixies started playing (in reality Avril Lavigne's "Complicated." was on, which is still relevant, I guess, but too negative and on the nose for me).

Ok, here's what he was wearing:

7 For All Mankind jeans

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Ben Sherman striped sweater

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Cool Adidas sneakers

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God Willing

Brian made us go to church this morning. It was terrible putting on a dress and pleading with the kids to get up and put on nice clothes. Brian has only done this once before a long time ago, and after that mass he and I ended up in a long conversation at Chili's, ending with his confession to me that he started dabbling in cocaine again. He went to a $10,000 a week treatment center called Hazelden in Center City, which looks less like a hospital and more like a college campus. We were engaged at that time. The week he was gone was the last time I was happy in this relationship. From the moment I picked him up, he's never mentioned his drug problem, and I never said a word about loathing him.


Based on his demeanor lately, he’s up to something else. Certainly not cocaine cause he’s not trying to have sex with me all the time (in the butt). If I had to guess, it’s whats-her-face from work, Tracie Welkey, and it has to do with where whats-her-face is putting her face (Brian’s crotch). Brian has not talked to me about it, and I don’t know if he will. If I can get more evidence, I can call him out. And once his affair is out in the open, I get my free pass to have an affair. With Tyler. Yipeeee!!!

7 Days

Despite my amazing Friday afternoon (I’ll write more when the kids aren’t all up in my business), today officially begins the 7 day patience tester I call “Spring Break (my spirit)”. It's written in some book I’m unaware of that it’s my responsibility to pack in a week full of fun for these guys just cause their teachers need a break. I’m a smart cookie though. I convinced Brian to let me buy a Wii for the kids. It’s a great video gaming system because the kids can stay active, and therefore become tired and sleepy, and it’s a video game, so they can stay involved in something other than broken record-ing he phrase "What are we doing?". With the Wii and "Monsters vs. Aliens", "Race to Witch Mountain" (and "Tyler Perry's Madea Goes to Jail", if I really, really need it), I can maybe survive this week.

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Friday I'm in Love

In honor of today's special event,(coffee with Tyler), I've just spent two hours on my hair and makeup, more time than I've spent in total on those two things this year. I am also wearing Spanx, to give the illusion that I am super skinny, not just "skinner than America" skinny. Until Tyler sees "behind the curtain", I'll keep wearing these and add another aerobics or spinning class to my daily workout routine.

I look the best I've looked in 7 years today. It's a shame that in several hours I'll be in traffic taking it all off with a baby wipe.

Pants

Brian thinks that going Macy's to buy him new business wear is fun for me. It's not. I'm not allowed a credit card to buy myself things, to reward myself for living another day, but I can borrow his card to buy him $500 in pants. I've figured out a way to make it worth my while though. I buy him pants I know he will wear and pants I want him to "try". These "try" pants are new, hip pants that he would never, in a million trillion years, be caught dead in. When I bring them home, he tries them all on then gives me the ones he doesn't like to return. When I go back to Macy's, I don't return the pants, but simply exchange them for merchandise I've placed on hold during my first trip. Now, this merchandise, my stuff, makeup, purses, shoes, clothes, have all been carefully assembled to add up to the exact amount of the returned pants. No paper trail on the old credit card, and in a month when Brian asks me what was bought at Macy's I say "Your pants!". He never even remembers the returns! It's an insane racket! And because he is a typical guy, when he sees something new on me, I can just say it's old and he feels bad that he didn't remember it! Because why would I lie to him?

Secret Coffee

Tyler finally wrote me back! Of course I responded to him right away when he e-mailed me last week, and then I started freaking out that I scared him off with my quick turnaround. Turns out he was in Sunny LA meeting with the California Raisin Board. I hate raisins, but I love sunshine and hot guys I used to sleep with! Oh God, this is crazy right? I'm having coffee with him on Friday at a place called Janine's in the warehouse district. I asked my neighbor Kathy to watch Cody and Bekka for me, so that's taken care of. Plus, she owes me in back favors for all the bandwidth she sucked off of us. So I have at least three hours to get there, make Tyler fall in love with me, then get back before 5. I can do it. Just need to dust off the old self esteem.

Phone time

You know when the last time i had an uninterrupted phone call was? 8 years ago. Children do not like it when you are on the phone. They have a special ability to sense when you need to talk to another person and then they prevent that from happening by any means necessary. All I needed to do today was to upgrade our services so Bekka's could have a data plan on her new Sidekick. That's all I had to do. But Cody would not let that happen. He kept coming in the kitchen asking for things, apples with honey on them, grilled asparagus, San Pellegrino. It's hard to deny him these things. Number one, he's demanding and number two he's really pretty cute when he's eating pretentious food.

Baby Shower!

I needed a full day to wash away the shame of Georgie's humiliating baby shower games before I could write about it. Good thing I came prepared with my flask shaped like a cell phone. Here's a short recap of the stupid games I was subjected to.

Guess Mom's Tummy Size: Everyone cuts a string they think will be the measure of the mother-to-be's stomach. I cut mine really long, to insinuate that Georgie was huge. People did not think that was funny.

Never say "Baby": Everyone wears a demeaning yarn necklace of safety pins. Whenever someone says "baby", you call her out for breaking the one rule of "Never Say Baby" and then she has to give you one of her pins.It was the only competitive game of the afternoon and it didn't matter that I was aggressive and angry when playing it. I won.

Who Can Make The Mother-To-Be's Baby: Everyone goes through magazines and they cut and paste from different ads parts of a baby to put together a collage of what they think the baby will look like. I made my baby have a Ziplock bag for a head. Deborah laughed, no one else did.

Guess The Gerber's: Adults eat unlabeled baby food and try and guess what the food is. I don't eat carbs, so I didn't play.

Bottle Races: Grown women race to finish drinking from a baby bottle. I pointed out that bottles are just man made versions of human breasts, so in essence they are sucking on a teet. That killed the game. Hooray!

During a rousing game of "Guess Whose Baby Photo is Whose" I found solace in my safe place, the bathroom. I pretended that I didn't feel well before I excused myself. That bought me at least 30 minutes, so I took a 15 minute power nap on their shower rug, and then while I was checking out their medical goods I found herpes medicine under her sink. And guess what, I don't think Georgie is having a C-Section, which means that baby's first taste of the outside world is the taste of herpes, whatever that tastes like.

Thomas Kin-crap

Thomas Kinkade, "Painter of Light" represents everything I hate about Maple Grove. The fact that a Thomas Kinkade gallery even exists here is proof positive that this is hell. If you're not familiar with his use of idealism and sentimentality to sell paintings via mail order and franchises to dumb dumbs, consider yourself lucky. Unlike my counterparts here, I have a minor in Art History, which makes Thomas Kinkade especially excruciating to talk about. When Thomas comes up, usually because someone has a TK "painting" (a TK painting is a print where hilights have been painted on by "skilled craftsmen"), I try to change the conversation to quality impressionist painters like Manet. Which elicits the response "You mean Monet". I take that as my cue to admit that I misspoke and when my face turns red with anger I feign an allergy to whatever is being served. A lot of ladies in Maple Grove think I am allergic to smoked salmon mini cheesecakes, feta cheese tartlets, potstickers, prosciutto-wrapped asparagus,bruschetta, tiny pizzas and deviled eggs.

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Bri Time

After dinner last night the kids wanted to watch Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest. I'm always game for a little Johnny Depp action, and the kids love it, so everyone wins. Except for Brian. I think he has the ability to sense when my hormones increase, which happens every time Johnny Depp comes on screen. Johnny Depp scene = hard, one armed hugs from Brian. In addition to mathematical affection, Brian participated in a game the kids play that I call "Ask mommy to get things from the kitchen with baby voices". Cody started it with a "Mommy, mommy appie juice!", Bekka followed with a "Mommy, mommy Oreos and ice Cream and candy canes!" and Brian ended it with a "Mommy, mommy popcorn!". Then he smiles and shrugs his shoulders like "I'm adorable, right?". On a day to day basis, my hate level for Brian is at a low 4. But when he pulls shit like this, moves he thinks are cute and loving but are just plain needy, that indicator zooms to a 10 (this is a 10 point scale). It's times like this where I think about shooting myself in front of all of them, so they have to live forever with the image of what they pushed me to.

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It's the Grind!

My real level of stress comes out at night.

Hamburger Help Me

I am at the end of my rope making fresh, healthy, meals that take me an hour and half to prepare. If these people want me to cook for them every night and clean up, they're going to eat something that came from a box. Enter Hamburger Helper. According to their website, they have 45 different options, if you count Tuna Helpers and Chicken Helpers. That means for a month and a half, I can make a different dish every night that takes me less than 30 minutes. And while I am making it, I will eat my secret dinner of fresh salad and grilled fish.

Baby Crazies

Saturday is my friend Georgie's baby shower. It's her first baby and hopefully her last (or maybe she'll have a third trimester miscarriage). This woman should not have input on anything impressionable. Georgie can be summed up with this set of words: hi-lights, Escalade, appletini's, pink, bling, Irish Catholic, spray tan, cleavage, over extended.

She sent out her registry list and I've spent the last hour trying to find a gift under $100. If I can't, I am not afraid to show up empty handed and site the economic depression, and I bet you I won't be the only person. Which means Georgie will cry and take it as a sign that we don't love her (which is kind of the truth). I don't care. She cries a lot. It's the typical MO of a woman who wears heels to wash a car. Here's some of the pretentious and tacky baby crap she hopes we will buy her:

A pink studded pacifier $120:

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You can only buy this thing on a website called Aristabra.com. This will be one businesses I hope gets taken down by the economic slow down.



Cashmere baby blankets $190:

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People who make this know babies throw up, right? Available on another pretentiously named website ElegantRoots.com. The copy on this photo is hilarious.



Juicy Diaper Bag $298:

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This will shock you. Available only at Neiman Marcus.



Gucci baby carrier $895:

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If you can afford this why would you even carry your baby?

Blast from the Past

I'm in shock. My high school boyfriend e-mailed me. I can't believe what it said:

Hey Rachel,

It's Tyler Cerdus. Your high school prom date. Do you remember me? I was thinking about you last week. My wife and I divorced six months ago and well, it took a while for me to unpack. Saturday I was unpacking a box of photos and out fell a prom picture of us. We look so young and happy! Not as happy as prom night. That was way more fun ;) You we're so beautiful and between you and me, of all the girls I've been with, no one has anything on your perfect ass. I'm surprised to see you are married with kids. I thought for sure you'd be a famous artist living in New York City. I'm an ad exec at Tad Ware & Co. Want to get coffee?


Tyler

I have always dated hot guys, at the expense of the companionship of an intellectual equal (including Brian). But Tyler, oh Tyler, he was perfect. Smart, confident, and super super super super hot. I broke up with him three weeks before graduation because I didn't want to be tied down in college. Hilarious right, for a woman who is now imprisoned by a lifestyle created by her own unwillingness to object to the events confining her.
Yeah, I am totally having coffee with him.

Good Eats

My new plan for Bekka, post birthday, is to ween her off the junk food. Not so she'll get healthy, I am just curious as to if she's naturally fat or fat from eating. If she's not lost weight in 6 weeks, I know for sure her weight problems are out of my hands and I will let her eat whatever she wants. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited about the possibility of watching her destroy herself with food.

Birthday #2

My enemies change form day to day. The mailman, who leaves important mail sticking out of the box to get wet while somehow shoving circulars into the dryer areas. The Schwan's Man who, after delivering our month’s supply of turkey pot pies, exits while saying “Better put some meat on those bones or you might blow away in the wind”. He says it like being skinny is a bad thing (it's not!). Or the CenterPoint meter reader who not only never closes the gate, may have taken a poop in my backyard. But today I faced my biggest adversary - other moms.

Mom's treat birthday parties as an open season for unsolicited advice. I'd rather have nuclear weapons tested on me than listen to a group of women criticize how I put birthday candles on a cake. Theresa Fendlik, mother of booger eating Stacie, told me I should of had cupcakes instead of a sheet cake - it's less messy & everyone gets the flavor they want. Suzan Funk, mother of neurotic Jacqueline, told me I spent too much money on Dora the Explorer decorations at Party City when they're 10% cheaper at Party America. Gladys Rockerfeller, who is not an 85 year old trustee as her name might imply, is the mother of Stella Rockerfeller, a small child suffering from pica, a medical condition where, in her case, she eats garbage and paint. Gladys said nothing to me, she was too busy keeping Stella away from the trash. However, she did manage to nod her head and utter an “uh huh” when she agreed with one of the other mothers. After 4 hours of 7 year old chaos and 30-35 year old lady hating, I sat back on the couch, exhausted, staring at the gaggle of ladies and I prayed that God would force my claw foot iron tub through the ceiling, crushing the waste-of-space bitches sitting at my dining room table. He did not. Next time God, you better kill someone when I ask you to. Or I am done with you.

No rest for the weary

Last night marked night one of Cody's reoccurring night terrors. They happen every two months or so and drag on for 4-5 days, wreaking so much havoc on my sleep schedule it takes me another week to get back on track. After waking him up from a terror at 3AM and singing him back to sleep with a lackluster rendition of "Eidel Vise", I couldn't fall back asleep. So I hit up the all knowing Internet on the subject. Wikipedia told me that night terrors can be genetic, and if they are, I know I am to blame. Every night, right before I fall deep asleep, my neurotic brain shifts from 1st to 5th gear. It starts listing things I need to do, things I forgot, mistakes I made during the day, during the week, during my life. It takes me a half hour and 4 Tylenol PM's to get back to sleep. Cody is not old enough for a drug problem. So I am buying him this night light. I hope it helps (me).

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Birthday Girl

Today is Bekka's 7th birthday. Even though I've already spent $200 on the Saturday party, Brian insisted we go out for a family dinner. Bekka's restaurant choice, The Olive Garden, was regrettable. Their slogan "When You're Here, You're Family" is faulty advertising, unless you come from a passive aggressive, lazy family. Not only did our apathetic waitress, Caren (worst way to spell Karen) not look any of us in the eye, I question whether or not she had bathed in the past week. She smelled of dirty carpet and menthol cigarettes. That was the least of my problems. Even though I knew they microwave their food, it was still upsetting to bite into a half frozen tortellini. And then, the waiter at the table next to us was trying to up-sell them to a Kendall-Jackson, the low hanging fruit of wine makers, which made me grimace. The fact that Bekka thinks this is the best food on Earth makes me feel like a failure, not as a parent, I've already accepted that I am indeed that, but as a human being. No one, on this planet, should hold that restaurant in such high regard. Not even a 7 year old.

And Brian gave her her present - a TMobile Sidekick. Still a better phone than my 2 year old Razr.

Totes!

What's worse than having your kids with you at the grocery store? Not much. It's a nightmare situation for the most patient of people. Two little car salesmen bargaining with you to accept one of their propositions. One of them comes to me with Fruit Loops. I say no. After a shake of the head, he or she puts it back on the shelf, but always returns with another proposed food I will reject. It's a constant rotation of offers and denials. In last ditch attempts, they'll grasp at register impulse buys like Toblerone or Listerine strips, thinking that I'm worn down. That I'll give in. But I stay strong. So on the rare occasion that I get to go to the store by myself, I milk that treat as long as I can, reading every single panel of nutrition information, thinking hard about which peach is the ripest, paying in change. So the last thing I want is a grocery tote reminding me of my tormentors.

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Aliens!

It's my first video blog. Did it last night. Don't worry, I won't always have on a face mask. Could be something else (I love facial care products!).

Flirt Alert!

Last night Brian's co-worker Tracie Welkey and her husband Stuart joined us for dinner. Brian is the CEO of product development at Hormel and Tracie does something. Tracie is a slim blonde with a tiny haircut and laughs like she's gasping for air. Her husband has skinny fat guy disease (you know, where you have a belly but really skinny arms and legs and neck) and is always sucking through his teeth, I assume because his mouth makes too much saliva. For dinner I made a terrible salmon dish. Everyone lied to my face and said it was good, which made me so mad that I quietly took all the fish of their plates, tossed it in the garbage and ordered P.F. Chang's. Stuart said he'd never seen a woman be so honest about her cooking, and I thought about the several sharp things I'd like to shove in his chauvinist eye sockets. After four bottles of Robert Mondavi Pinot Noir, the food finally arrived. P.F. Chang's does it oh so right! When I wasn't loosing myself in my three orders of lettuce wraps (I love those things!), I noticed some flirting happening between Brian and Tracie. It was actually hard to miss. Brian told a story about how he almost drowned fly fishing in the Colorado River when he was 8. Tracie was so moved she blurted out a baby talk "Poor Baby" then caressed his cheek - right in front of me. How bold! The only thing I could do in this situation was to open up another bottle of wine. If this affair is going to happen, I need to nudge it forward in any way I can. As soon as I'm sure Brian is having an affair, I can start planning one of my own. I may not be able to get out of this marriage, but if there's a crack in the foundation, I'm certainly going to exploit it.

Mystery Machine

My cousin Veronica sent Cody Scooby Doo DVD's for Christmas 2008, and that kid can't get enough of them! He watches them over and over and over again, and has his favorite episodes memorized so well, he recited the lines in time with the show. Today, he took his obsession to a whole new level. He asked me for an orange scarf. I didn't know he'd been watching Scooby Doo, so I was confused, but when he explained he wanted to look like Fred, I understood all too well. He aspired to be more like a 70's free spirited, possibly bi-sexual mystery solver. It's a mature choice, a bold choice, but a choice that seemed fun and possibly risque none-the-less. I may be a resentful mom, but I am sure up for shaking up the system. When I told him that scarf is called an ascot, his eyes just lit up at the sound of the word. He negotiated extra chores in exchange for an orange ascot and a white sweater (he informed me he already figured out the jeans and blue shirt he had in mind to complete the outfit). The only downside of all this, other than ridicule, is Cody, because of his blonde hair, may look too much like Fred. So I made him a deal, for his own protection - he can wear his Fred outfit at home or at family functions only. Now to find a white v-neck sweater and a tiny ascot for a 3 year old.

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Upgrade

I was reading the story about the woman in Louisiana who traded her two kids for a bird, and it got me thinking. What would I trade my kids for? Here are some possible scenarios:

1. A South American man wants to buy my children for slavery at $10K a piece. I negotiate $25K for both, move to the Netherlands and marry an architect named Kareltje who goes down on me without provocation. We live in the grote steden of Groningen in a home that comes as close as it can to embodying all the ideals of the De Stijl movement. The lack of clutter makes me happy, and I live a life of never stepping on shit lying around the house again.

2. A woman of 48, who has never been able to conceive, offers me a Mercedes, a condo in downtown Miami, and an untethered life of sexual based relationships. I concede, and wish my children "Good luck". Living with a woman who has experienced a good 28 years of sterility will be tough, but it's not my problem. I'll be living it up in the sun, taking it from all angles from young boys there on Spring Break.

And as for Brian. Well, let's be honest, without the kids I am free from any real obligations to him. Marriage is just a piece of paper. Kids are the Saran wrap that preserves the union, forever, the unnatural seal keeping you in constant distress and crushing any hope of escape.

All Alone With the Memory

I was going through some boxes in my preliminary spring cleaning, and I found a stash of old baby pictures of Cody and Bekka. There's a reason they're stuffed in a box - my kids were monstrous looking babies. I had almost completely erased the images from my head until I was faced with the hard evidence of how they used to look. It was bad enough when they were young, people lying to my face about how adorable they were. Liars, all of them. I know the truth. It would have been easier if they said "Sorry about your baby" rather than patronizing me with their empty, forced compliments. Jerks just spewing disingenuousness. I've got to burn these photos so I don't have to relive this nightmare again.

Starving Artists

There has been a landslide of arts and crafts coming home from school these days. Bekka has brought home one gaudy hand made/painted object every day this week, and I'll tell you, there are no signs of it stopping. I have a mental rule, one that I keep to myself, and that is to only display one crappy piece of kid art at a time. In order to do this, I've developed a complicated process of getting rid of the superfluous art garbage. Here are the steps:

1 - Make a big deal about the piece. Talk specifically about the things you like (great color, neat shape, interesting finger marks, etc.).

2 - Display the piece, show dad and brother, have them each say something nice about it.

3 - Put the piece in the garbage while your child is sleeping.

4 - If it's brought up the next day, quickly change the subject.

Remember, if you are having a hard time throwing their piece away, it took them less than an hour to make and children are amazingly resilient when it comes to loss.

Driving while Feeding

I just heard about this woman who was given a ticket for being on the phone and breast feeding while driving. Oh man, what a terrible thing to do. Breast feeding that is. I'm an Similac lady myself. No manic, newborn, hungry babies have ever graced the surface of my nipple. I even go so far as to put St. Ives Mineral Therapy lotion on them every night to keep them young looking and soft. Uh oh. I just realized that I didn't give the kids a bath last night. They won't die. Right?

Ring Ring!

Bekka wants a cell phone for her birthday. My gut tells me the other parents finally gave in, and the school is now flooded with 6 year olds with phones (they actually have the perfect finger size for QWERTY keyboards). Since Bekka already has a little trouble fitting in due to her weight issues, I decided to look into it. After getting sidetracked on a Christian Bale video montage of sexy pictures of him set to Right Said Fred's "I'm Too Sexy" (Indeed he is!)I found the Migo. Instead of a number pad, this phone has 4 programmable buttons and a button for 911 (which also happens to be the biggest and most alluring button - unfortunately). It also has GPS tracking, which is a great feature, but what I wish it could do is tell me when Bekka's taken down a whole bag of Aged White Cheddar Pirate's Booty. So I presented her with this phone, and she scoffed. Told me she wanted a Blackberry Curve. I wanted to say "You don't run a hedge fund! You need a Blackberry Curve to call your friend and ask her what color her dog is?". After I counted to 10, I calmly said that this is the offer, and if she treats this phone well we would think about upgrading her next year. She declined. I better talk to Brian before she gets to him first. The battle is on. Mom vs. Bekka, logic and good parenting vs. cute chubby daughter appeal and high pitched neediness, and Brian is the decider. There's a chance my daughter may get a better phone than me. God help us.

Bon Appetite!

Brian's sister and her boyfriend came to dinner tonight. Clarissa and Ron both live in Houston. Carrissa is a hanger on and Ron's a doctor. A doctor who speaks with a slow Southern drawl, so regardless of what he says, I always picture a guy in a pickup truck holding a Natural Light in a koozie that reads "Think Tank" and has a picture of an outhouse on it. He's in town for a endocrinology convention at the Hyatt Regency and they were kind enough to rent a car so we didn't have to come downtown. That's one of the few perks of having kids, you can get out of stuff like that. Mid dinner they sprung the news on us that they are getting married. In Houston. In 6 months. I was very congratulatory at the table, but inside I was raging. Do you know how hard it is to plan a trip with two children on such short notice? I can understand they want to be speedy for whatever reason (probably a pregnancy), but give me a break. Also, having a wedding in Houston in August is about the dumbest thing I've ever heard of. Not only is it hot, the humidity is close to 100%. There's a reason I love Minnesota - my hair always looks great. I am dreading this - the kids are going to be slippery from the moisture and hot and whiny and uncomfortable and uncontrollable and there's no way out of it. Kids can't get you out of a family wedding. Unless one of them is sick. Which I can work on.

Other Mother

Cody and I went to see Coraline 3D this afternoon. Bekka thought it looked too scary so she and Brian stayed home and watched Shrek 2 for the millionth time. This was Cody's first 3D movie, and he was really into it. But when the Other Mother and Other Father were introduced, the reaction he had shocked me. As other kids were crying and asking to leave because they were so scared, Cody started laughing. Every time the button eyed alternative parents were on screen, he would point and laugh and scream "Buttons!". When the Other Parents revealed they wanted Coraline to stay, and to do so she would need to sew buttons on as eyes, Cody laughed harder and even started chanting "Do it! Do it!". It got so bad that an usher came over and asked us to leave, so I lied and told him Cody was autistic and not only did he let us stay, he apologized to me. It's not fair that Cody should have to leave, I mean he was clearly enjoying the movie, just not in the way it was meant to be enjoyed. And I was loving being the person in charge of the person who was ruining the movie for everyone. I've never loved that kid so much.

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