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.

From Resentful Mom

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.

From Resentful Mom