don't pity me, but this is my crowning achievement this month

snow day.  first call 5am.  school will have a 2 hour late start.   put on my googs; crept into the kids' rooms to unplug alarm clocks.   lay back down.   grabbed my phone and caught up on twitter for an hour.

an hour.   twitter is a vast time suck.   i'm on twitter for the comedy.  if twitter were solely made up of just @andyborowitz and @robdelaney i would be in hog heaven.    those two almost never disappoint and are prolific tweeters.   all day long, it's nutso.   they tweet a ton.   i don't really know another reason to be on twitter other than to read comedians.    but it's worth it just for that purpose.   but again, admittedly, a massive time suck.  

for the first week after i started my twitter account, i was obsessed.  kids be damned.  any spare moment which should have been spent with my kids or husband, i had my nose in my twitter.  my turn to make supper, there has to be some leftovers in the fridge.  whiz bang, it's nuked and on the table.   time to pick roni up from soccer?  oh it's so cold out, oh okay i guess i'll go and get my coat...  gallant al volunteers to do it.   twitter here i come.   i was ruthless.

i wanted to tweet funny things so badly.   i gave it my all.   for a week.   then i discovered my limitation.  it's nearly impossible for me to be clever and wry in 140 characters or less.  140 sounds like a large number but when one is bombastic, it's minuscule.   i would get inspired, but once struck with the joke to tell i was spending too much time crafting the wording to fit the stupid letter limit, and the humor was suffering.

i guess i just need a whole bloggy blog or unlimited facebook status or (GASP!) have you face to face with me to be humorous.  maybe being funny on twitter is a honed craft, but i haven't the time.  i like writing and writing and writing til my heart's content or my face hits the laptop in exhaustion.  

but i couldn't quit the twitter fight until i had one major success.  and i set my sights on @robdelaney.  while joke for joke, tweet for tweet, @andyborowitz gets top billing from me,  @robdelaney is really my guy.   while still political and relevant, his humor leans more toward sexual, gross out funny.

and i was looking for a retweet.    getting a retweet from one of these dudes would allow me to hang up my twitter tweeting hat with honors.    a retweet is a ringing endorsement that someone else thinks i'm funny.    and i was looking for some twitter validation.   then the pressure would be off and i could finally pay attention to my loved ones again.

however, no way was i stooping to the ridiculousness that i was witnessing on twitter for MY retweet needs.  morons beg-tweet crap to @alecbaldwin such as "it's my birthday, can i get a retweet?"  or "my girlfriend will say yes when i propose if i get a retweet!" to get retweeted.   i was not going to grovel or rely on trickery.   i vowed to do it the old fashioned way, by being funny.

within the hour that i decided tweeting was just too hard to be fun, @robdelaney tweeted the following and instinctively i offered up to him this reply:

rob delaney ‏ @robdelaney 

Even if you're "not into farts," you'd be pretty psyched about what I just did.

Retweeted by the greta list

the greta list ‏ @thegretalist

• Close

@robdelaney the smell, the sound, the rumble..totally unique everytime, way better than snowflakes

and within a second not only did he retweet it (score!!!) but he FAVORITED my tweet.  oh that's right!  my joke was favorited by @robdelaney.    that far exceeded my expectations and i could now retire from high pressure tweeting after one week, totally satisfied.   i immediately texted my sister ragu, since she's the only other twitter freak i know.  she ooohed and ahhhed and generously gave me the puffing up i required and that was that.   i was favorited by the best.  or second best.

write about a prideful accomplishment

oh my god! some other time i will tell you about the time that david sedaris PULLED OUT HIS POCKET SPIRAL NOTEBOOK AND WROTE DOWN MY JOKE FOR FUTURE USE.

transparency through rhyming

OFF TO TARGET

target is the place to go
for mascara, toys for cat
uninterrupted hours with khaki/reds
makes my heart go pitter pat

i have a little problem that
i feel that i can bare
it's personal and intimate
still, i've decided i will share

coughing, head ache, and fatigued
for a week i've been sick
a new symptom reared it's ugly head
came down quickly like a brick

laying down for a spell with alien
yesterday afternoon
i felt a fart bubbling up, no biggie
i'm ill, he'll swoon

so as usual i let it fly, without
a worry in the world
but wait! no no, it wasn't right
the mess that had unfurled.

it's unfair and embarrassing
how diarrhea sneak attacks
ill prepared, three pair of undies
are now in plastic sacks

it's times like these that make me spend
so little on underwear
fruit of the loom cotton 6-pack
fuels alien's and my love affair

well, i take that back, now i do remember
once at the very start
being gifted a sporty bra and boy short
that were his favorite part

i still refuse to spend big money
on fancy-dancy skivvies
maybe target has sexy boy shorts
but i make no guarantees

at any rate, diarrhea sucks
but i'm feeling much less sour
been clench-free with no surprises now
for better part of an hour



do some rhyming to boost my spirits

the mommy brain is a crock of shit

i have a plethora of post it notes all around the edges of my work computer.  reminding me of this permission note i must get returned from that parent.  reminding me to write a time card for my measly 8 hours per semester i'm allowed to get paid for the estimated 50 hours per semester of due process paperwork i actually complete on top of my regular work day treating students.   ya, a little bitter about that.

stickies, post its, and lists are my life.   paper and post it glue are the raddest inventions.   ask alien some time for the history of the two, he tells a mean 3M-post-it-note-screw-the-little-guy story.   and now, with the invention of my smartphone, i have another memory-aid device to add to my repertoire.  i have become adept at my sticky note dance; and Color Note on my smartphone never fails to work.  so i hardly ever forget a thing now.   and if i do i just blame it on alien since he probably didn't tell me about it in the first place.

but what i don't get the luxury of doing, is blaming it on the ole 'mommy brain'.    this is what i have been hearing mommies say for years --- that having a baby means their brain stops working properly, specifically that they can't remember a thing once baby is out of the womb and into their arms.   they go into the delivery room with a fully functional brain and come home with mush.   the larger theory postulates that mommies have "a head full of feeding times, soccer schedules, and nursery rhymes, at the expense of creative or challenging ideas".  (cited below)

but every person that has not pushed a baby out has a head full of something.  the businessman is busy contemplating how to play grab ass with his secretary without her calling harassment.   the grocery bagger is replaying that last COD move over and over in his head, if only i went left.   the teacher is kicking around the idea of cutting class short so she can squeeze 21 minutes for lunch rather than the contracted 18 (which is a particularly short amount of time seeing as my lean cuisine four cheese cannelloni takes 6 freaking minutes to microwave in the first place).  

so, since i haven't birthed babies, i never get to use the mommy brain excuse when one of my memory-aids fails and i forget something.   i'm just stuck being stupid for forgetting.

but not mommies, "oh no, that's today??   oh well, that's the mommy brain.  i can't remember a thing since i've had my bundle of joy!".   like it conveniently escapes them the bazillion times they've forgotten this or that for the 20-30 years before becoming a mommy.   i've heard this so many times and always said it was a cop-out for forgetfulness.  tonight i did a google search and found out i am right!    some superb author has painstakingly done the literature searches, compiled the study results, and written a book. mommy brain theory debunked.   does a theory have to bunked first, before it can be debunked?

the book is titled The Mommy Brain:  How Motherhood Makes Us Smarter.  and it's true, you mommy brain purveyors are full of shit.  brain research suggests having a baby makes you smarter and more skilled at multitasking and not necessarily more prone to forgetfulness.

 "Journalist Katherine Ellison draws on cutting-edge neuroscience research to demonstrate that, contrary to long-established wisdom that having children dumbs you down, raising children may make moms smarter."

Here's a chapter by chapter summary:

The Mommy Brain details five principle ways in which motherhood can improve women's minds:

1. Perception: A mother's sensory-rich life with her newborn actually remaps part of her brain—improving her ability to interpret new information.
2. Efficiency: Pregnancy and early motherhood enrich the brain, improving memory and setting a mother up for a lifetime of multitasking.
3. Resilience: Oxytocin, a powerful hormone abundant in mothers, so effectively combats stress, clearing the way for improved learning, that scientists are studying its, potential as an anti-depressant and even as a therapy for Alzheimer's.
4. Motivation: The fierce biological urge to defend their children, bolstered by mind-altering hormones, helps mothers become more creative and competitive.
5. Emotional Intelligence: Mothers get basic training in this important kind of smarts as they tone their brain's "empathy muscles" by instinctively imitating their babies' facial expressions.

The last chapters reveal how fathers, adoptive parents (THAT'S ME!:) and altruists share in many "Mommy Brain" benefits, and shows how motherhood in the 21st century has become a particularly brain-intensive job. 

citation:  http://themommybrain.com/index.html

So, mommies, love to break it to you, but you are just forgetting things like every other person.  every other person that doesn't spend her paycheck on post it notes and smartphone apps, that is.   it appears there's no magic mommy brain excuse.   in fact, baby mommas, you should be touting your incredible improvements in brain power to remember, multitask, combat stress, be more creative, and basically read everyone else's  face like a book.

don't even get me started on 'cravings'.  i get crazy cravings all the time!  you don't have to be pregnant to want some kind of weird food really really badly.   i've sent alien out for red vines licorice and mint chocolate chip ice cream at the 24-hour walmart in the middle of the night, and i've never been pregnant.  so there.

piss off a lot of mommies that use this cute little saying

unflattering sick picture

i'm too sexy for this housecoat

i think my drinking transgressions from saturday have really taken their toll, reducing my immune system to a beef consomme that apparently can not fight off this illness.   yesterday around 3pm i started feeling the pings of a sore throat and full ears and a weak cough.  oh no no no.  i am not getting sick.

i made the impulsive and irrational decision to still go to bootcamp last night.   if there were ever a test for my dedication to shaping my body, i passed it with an A+.  and who'da thunk it, but i felt great afterward.  i didn't feel sick anymore.  it's like the exercise boosted my immune system.  i went to bed last night thinking i licked this cold.

there are probably studies i could google that support or dispute my anecdotal findings of the immune health benefits of exercise to stave off an illness, but i loaded up on generic nyquil about 30 minutes ago and now i am fading fast.  just had to talk out loud to try to recall the word 'generic'.  i'm going to pass out from the loving, nurturing warmth of nyquil any minute now.  i am speed typing to try to get this blog up.

i started writing immediately after chugging the fake nyquil and expected to have the full hour.   but i still had one child up wanting to chat.  kids.  we talked about the upcoming senior class weekend trip, his turning in two job applications, and then wim told me he couldn't go on the ffa trip tomorrow because he's behind in his school work and needs to complete his box project in shop tomorrow.   a very responsible decision made by wim.   bummer he'll miss a worthwhile experience like the ffa day trip to the capitol, but he has his priorities in order, long time coming.  he asked to check the school portal for his grades.  eeeek found a C.   thus the mad dash to get the box project done to get that up to a B.  a B average each quarter means we will continue paying his automobile insurance.  dip below and say hello to your new whomping monthly bill, wim.    carrots are the name of the game in our family for our kids, and are what we use to develop independence in our kids when they don't have the inner motivation for it themselves.   so we use a lot of carrots.  

while checking his portal, wim made my delay in writing totally worth it when he said "oh, i didn't do well on the tests, i am going to need to start studying".   oh happy day.  last semester of his senior year and wim and studying start clicking.   just in time for graduation.   better late than never.

bootycamp did not eliminate my illness, i realized today that a delay occurred.  my symptoms came back at 2pm today with a vengeance.   bolstered by yesterday's result, i decided to still go to kick boxing after work.  dream shattered.   needed to lay down at 6pm after supper and rest.   cold coming on like samantha jones to the ups guy.

work beckons and is busy over the next two days, so i have to buck up.   but at the moment, my bed beckons.  my housecoat is so cozy but getting horizontal is where it's at.  my top eye lashes are flitting heavily to my bottom lashes.  it's 10pm.  been a long time since i was asleep this early.  we should make it socially acceptable to drink one capful of nyquil every night.  just one capful.  but then after awhile the one capful wouldn't do the trick and i'd be downing a full bottle by summer. gateway drug and all.  

a long day in bed

holy crap!   i'm finally taking the time to sit and write again.    the past few days i've been occupied with all the tasks that i have put off since i started to blog every night.   i made it to 20 consecutive days writing.  glorious days.  alas, other things needed my attention.

for starters, i had 5 people magazines piled up unread.   never in my 10 year subscription history have i had more than two stacked waiting to be cracked.   i used my in-the-bed time yesterday to pour through those award show dress photos,  those real life hero stories (one from gillette, wyoming!), adele's triumph, demi's spiral into addiction, and whitney's life in pictures.   one of the most beautiful creatures in all of america dies an untimely death and the chosen cover photo is a black little orphan annie picture of whitney.

when i'm editor at people magazine, i'll redo this week's issue as a tribute to whitney.  this will be my chosen photo.

i went to you tube today to listen to her music, to get back that excited feeling from the 90's when i first heard whitney houston's (or nippy's, as was her pet name growing up) grooving jams.   my most treasured whitney memory, well my only one really, is her 1991 superbowl singing of the national anthem.  as i punched in the key words into you tube i had a flurry of thrill rush through me.   surprising myself.   only to be crushed when i discovered there was no volume on my laptop.  so i mourned nippy in silence, watching her rendition of the national anthem.   even without sound, her singing presence was powerful.  her wide smile breathtaking.  her sweating profuse.  her white tracksuit too large.   as soon as i diagnose and fix my volume problem, i plan to rewatch her in her glory days.  peace to her family.

i bet it sounded better than it looked even.  

i've yet to find out why heidi and seal fell apart, but 4 peoples down in one day is a new record.  i just hope seal isn't too scarred in the divorce process.

why so much time in bed yesterday you say?   because saturday night was our big rollicking dinner party date.    alien classed up with trousers and jacket, and a clean shave of his head.   i slipped my 10 pounds lighter bod into a figure hugging black number that made alien's eyes bug out.  i proudly walked around in that dress fixing my hair and tending to kids, for a half an hour.   then i covered up with a black cardigan buttoned up past my cleavage, and we were on our way.   i guess i can rock a revealing look around the house, but at the party, i wanted people looking at my face thinking about how funny i was when i hit the pun just right, not looking at my boobies.  plus, i've got plenty of pounds still to shed and i was already exhausted from sucking in my gut while curling my hair.

my arm was like a machine, up down up down, glass to mouth, swallow, swallow.  it was as if someone had whispered to me before the party that tonight was the last night to drink alcohol.  ever.  and i had to get my drunk on before the end of the world.   I HAD A BLAST.  the jokes and puns were flying out of everyone's mouths, and the conversation was top notch, and the laughs were bountiful.   had a truly fabulous night.

it has been a long time since i was so hammered that i don't remember bits of the night, but i don't remember bits of the end of the night.  drawing a blank.  thankfully only 3 pictures have surfaced on facebook, and while i look tipsy and unfocused in one of the photos and way too huge in the other picture, the third picture is just of the dessert, so i think i'm in the clear.   i strategically left my phone in my bag far away from me the whole night, in a concerted (and successful) effort to pay attention to live people all night and further neglect my children.   this left me without a camera, and i see now this was for the best.

sunday morning.   eye chee mama.  i did not get out of bed.  all day.   bert made me peanut butter toast around 2pm that i choked down and then lay perfectly still so it didn't come back up.  later, i sipped on water and listened to the liquid swishing around in my empty stomach.   i read my peoples.  i slept.  i neglected my children.  i avoided my responsibilities.  at 6pm i did get up after everyone pitched in to make taco salads for supper.  by then i was ready for a meal and scarfed it down.   although my headache sent me back to bed shortly after.

hang. overs. suck.  it's a big reminder that i'm aging.   i could do a rager like that each night of the weekend back in the day and still laugh and talk the next morning.  with my hands tied behind my back.   not anymore.   about three glasses of wine or beers is my absolute limit before i'm going to feel nasty effects the next day.   such is the life of the elderly.

the bachelor is on soon.  i need to go now to pretend i'm going to do our taxes before i let bachelor ben bore me to tears again tonight.   but really i think i'll do the grocery shopping instead.  april 15 is so far off and i'm not one to miss a chance to procrastinate.

little johnny

after the kids went to bed tonight, instead of writing my blog, i spent an hour talking with alien about one of our kids.   we figured out nothing basically, but we are invested in the process not the product.   this is code for:  what the hell is this kid going to do after graduation.     but any time spent talking together is superb and is never wasted time.   unless al's talking to me about the monetary policy in america.   i can't wait to be saved from that daily discussion.    

so, since i am too pooped to write tonight, i leave you with a sweet joke:

 Teacher: "Four crows are on the fence. The farmer shoots one. How many are left?"

Little Johnny: "None."

Teacher: "Listen carefully: Four crows are on the fence. The farmer shoots one. How many are left?"

Little Johnny: "None."

Teacher: "Can you explain that answer?"

Little Johnny: "One is shot, the others fly away. There are none left."

Teacher: "Well, that isn't the correct answer, but I like the way you think."

Little Johnny: "Teacher, can I ask a question?"

Teacher: "Sure."

Little Johnny: "There are three women in the ice cream parlor. One is licking, one is biting and one is sucking her ice cream cone. Which one is married?"

Teacher: "The one sucking the cone."

Little Johnny: "No. The one with the wedding ring on, but I like the way you think."

from prom to valentines

at my urging, we are sitting here wracking our brains to remember the last time we went out together all dressed up.   well, I am thinking really hard to remember.   alien humored me for a few minutes, threw out "new year's eve?" and a funeral we attended recently, before he stuck his nose back into his smartphone.

but al was grasping at straws with new year's eve, because we haven't.  and a funeral doesn't count.  think, think, think greta.  oh my god.  could it be?  yes, that's it.  april 2008.  i am not kidding.  the last time i wore a dress and alan a suit and we had a ton of fun together was at his best friends wedding almost 4 years ago.  although, we did have our kids with us.  so that one only half-counts.    

circa 2008

oh wait, i just thought of a few more times we did get slightly dudded up.   none of which count, all of which are pathetic to list as times we got dressed up and went out.   you'll see what i mean.   two years ago alien and i were parent chaperones at the high school prom.  al wore his fancy suit and i wore a lame dress with a sweater over it.   chaperoning a high school prom sucks donkey balls and there was no "us" having fun since we were too busy eagle eyeing and splitting up the teenagers playing tonsil hockey and touchy feely.  

the only other time i can think of is when bert graduated from high school may 2011.  al suited up and i donned a dress.  i think the same one that i wore to chap the prom a year earlier.  and we just went to the ceremony and came home after.    that's it.   we are overdue a fancy occasion together.

we've had a mess of prickly parenting to do between 2008 and now that has kept us home, stressed, and exhausted.   but look out world!   we have regrouped, the kids are alright, and we are coming on the party circuit again.   

we have been invited to a valentine dinner party.   we are in charge of bringing "good bread for dinner and one bottle of red wine".  that's exactly what the text said, good bread.   we've been out of commission so long, alien, previously the master party planner and food preparer, asked me "what is good bread?"

moist lips required

a short list of things that bother me:

• hearing the word 'irregardless'.  it is 'regardless'.   please for the love of god, stop tacking on the 'ir'. when this is said out loud that person lops off 7 points from their iq.    there are many choices- by any means, anyway, at any rate, any which way, in one way or another, nevertheless, any which way.  take your pick.
  

• hearing the phrase 'shut up'- it was a swear word in my mom's house and i was not allowed to say it.   very rarely does 'shut up' ever come out of my own mouth and it is only in cases of expressing a sentiment akin to "no way, really?"   

• hearing the word 'hate'- a worse swear word could not be heard according to my mother.   to this day, when i hear someone say they hate someone or something it makes my skin crawl, like fingernails on a chalkboard.   but now we have SMART boards in classrooms.  you can no longer find a chalkboard.  and dragging fingernails across a SMART board has no ill effects on anyone's skin.  so let's see.   when i hear the word 'hate' i have a sting of worry.   i am concerned for the person the said it.  i am worried their hate is ticking off precious years from their life.   it's the most powerfully negative word to my system.  thanks mom.    

• anything in my pantaloons pockets besides lint.   i am horrified when a dude pulls a thick wallet out of his pocket.  this is doubled when it's lifted from a rear pocket.  how can men sit unevenly raised up with a fatty wallet on one cheek?   don't they constantly feel lopsided?   i can tolerate one thing in my pocket.  a very small, halvsy plastic contact case with a dollop of chappy in it.   and the chappy has to be at the tippy top inside corner of the pocket.   no money.   no coins.   coins!   there are people in this world that pay for a pack of gum by digging into their pants pocket and pulling out a palmful of coins.  then they count out the correct change for the purchase and stuff the remainder back into their pocket.   those are the people that confuse me the most. 

• having no chappy nearby.  i have an addiction to moistening (no, moisten doesn't bother me at all, but i think everyone knows someone that experiences a severe disturbance when they hear the word moist.   moist moist moist, i have no reaction.) my lips with aquaphor.  it's generally used for fixing up a rash on baby butts i believe.    it's an overpowering addiction that has only been tested by time infrequently.   i have chappy in pretty much every corner of my life to avoid the withdrawal symptoms.     because it is sold in larger tubs which gives me thousands of uses, i have a side business searching for perfect small containers and converting them into chappy containers.  i am my only customer.   aquaphor is now sold in chapstick sized containers, but i am disappointed to discover that there is something added to these, it is not true and good chappy.   i seem to need to use even more of it, more often.   so i'm treading lightly (only nod to the bachelor in this post) using these newfangled angle-edged chappies.     i do know exactly what happens if i am without chappy for 1.5 to 2 hours.  this happened at the movies twice.  oh my god i don't have any chappy.   i quickly calculated that last time i applied it.  then vowed to not eat or drink anything; no rubbing the chappy off.   also concentrated really hard about not licking my lips.  but as the chappy wore off, licking was inevitable.  i perseverated on my drying lips, started to lick them, and had a mild freak-out.   was barely able to realize the movie was on in front of me.  it's a bit of a crisis to be without chappy.

• walking to work and seeing a gross piece of garbage on the road.  i try to keep walking.   i don't want to touch it, yuck.   but inevitably i go back the few steps (i don't get very far past it before my conscience forces me to turn around) and pick it up because i don't want bad karma.   bad karma is the worst.  

how many crunches for a sleeve of thin mints?

i don't know where this is all going to end.  will i take up body building?  will my double D boobs shrink to B (welcomed) and then to A (eh let's stop at B) and then a deep ravine will grow between them?   is this look in my future?

yowza

i just don't know.  since january 1, i have painstakingly but healthfully reduced my daily caloric intake and been a slave to intense exercise 5 days per week.   in 6 weeks i have dropped one inch and 10 pounds off of every jiggly bit on my body.  alien measured my parts yesterday.  

that was fun.  brassiere and undies.  standing for a long time.  tape around each section, recording the numbers.  i recall being mortified the first time, and was just uncomfortable this time.  that says a lot.  i'm moving in the right direction.

took the 'quarter of the way through' photo.  the whole time i was thinking, i KNOW you held that tape tighter the first time, pull it taught!  but i succumbed to the truth and honest al said i'm going down down down, i'm going down down down.  

i could tell in the mirror, i can tell in my jeans.  this hard work better pay off.   right now, i'm a little leery of plateau.   so i have a plan to buy a heart rate monitor to make sure i'm getting an accurate count on my calories burned.  heart rate monitor.     this is serious.   i don't even really know what it is, but i must have one.  jill, the buff, tall, lean trainer at my body reform class wears one.  she grunts and heaves a bit when she's working out.  i want an hrm like hers, but not her sexy time noises. 

she looks like she's fumbling.  this is my future.  

today, alien got treats for the kids for v-d and brought me some andes mints.  a whole package of them.   i haven't had one since that delightful andes birthday cake.  one of my all time favorite candies. 

                                               

my eyes bugged out with thrill.    i turned the package over and read the nutrition facts.  i shrieked '8 pieces for 200 calories.  i can have 4 for 100, that's 50 less than my 4 caramels for 150! yah!'   and right then i knew i had my blog topic for tonight.  

before january i rarely looked at a price tag in the grocery store much less looked at nutrition labels.   now i don't even look at the front of packages any more.  i didn't get excited about the actual multiple andes mints that can melt in my mouth at once,  but rather how i can fit 4 over an hour into my allotted calorie amount on special occasions.  

i am in uncharted waters.  i've never cared about what i put in my mouth before.  within reason.   but now i think of food in terms of calories and how much exercise i have to do to be able to eat that.    i'm not concerned with my behavior yet, but it could be a slippery slope.  one day i might be an 89 pound stick, or a 170 pound muscled set of mammary glands.   or maybe i will slim down, tone up, be reasonable about my fitness lifestyle, not let it run my life, and look fucking hot at 40.  that's my goal.  

i don't want to go off the deep end taking steroids.  and i don't want to puke in the toilet.   let's find a happy medium.   there are worse things in the world to be doing than getting fit.  like having facebook or twitter or porn addictions.  now that would suck.   

v-d - it won't hurt a bit.

how alien and i might celebrate v-day:

• he will let me squeeze a zit on his face

• i will let him watch while i coax a pimple on my chin

(future topic, our deeper than ever shared love of all face bumps that pop)

• he will take my measurements with the bendy tape measure

(so i know where i'm at with this 1300 calorie per day hell i'm in)

• clink our beers together

(alien currently has coors in the fridge.  on our honeymoon he called boddington's 'delicious' and orders summit epa most often.  but has no real beer brand loyalty.  once he went on a buying binge of gluek beer when he discovered it for $9.99 case (24 cans!).    i'm partial to corona 2 limes, or a fat 8 ounces of cabernet if i have an extra 32 calories to spare)

• poke fun of how sappy couples celebrate valentine's day with flowers and candy and jewelry

(our cats eat flowers so our house is devoid of plants and flowers at all times, and i'm counting my calories so am pooh-poohing candy at the moment, although alien would never give me an expected v-day gift anyway)

• discuss how the day is stupid and commercial and not a holiday, while holding hands

(although we do get the kids a little something, alien draws them a valentine picture that always has some punch, give them some treat they wouldn't normally get like their favorite drink: pink lemonade for roni, arizona tea for wim, muscle milk or protein shake for bert)

• alien will laugh heartily when i fart and gas it up so terribly under the covers.  the stink will be so bad, but he'll pretend it's as cute as he used to think it was when we first met.  i will love every second of this gift and hope it extends to day-after-valentines-day and beyond.    

• neither of us have ever bought the other a card in our 15 years together.  i have a love box filled to the brim of pictures alien's drawn me, homemade cards, and love notes written in his beautiful all caps printing.  

maybe we'll make silly hats for each other to wear.  maybe he'll buy me a hair cut so i can lop off that straggly mess.

one year for my birthday alien baked me an andes mint birthday cake - that kicks ass over the deliciousness of boddingtons beer.   but the true icing on that birthday was the snow sculpture cake i found in our front yard!

• love will be in the air.  it just won't be purchased.  

is your hair on fire??!

the bathroom is where i meet up with alien to have a string of kid-less minutes.  

while huddled in the bathroom with the fan motored on and npr turned up to drown our conversation from eavesdroppers... we review our parenting plan, regroup after chaos ensued, look at each other in disbelief and whisper what the fuck were we thinking.    we confer about big decisions such as should bert be able to date roni's best friend (no way jose) or medium sized decisions like do we impose consequences on wim for blowing a red light and getting a citation (yes, he'll pay the balance on the raise in his insurance rate, along with his fine).   this is where we make the most important rock-paper-scissors decisions to determine who has to stay with the kids so the other one can take a breather from the madness for an hour.

to keep up the charade of being a good mom, i had to absolutely demand my bathroom privacy.    i noticed that alien was rarely knocked on, rarely called, rarely bothered .  he seemed to enjoy unfettered access to bathroom privacy.   envious, i took action.   i realized i could not possibly resist the intense urge to impulsively scream back at my teen, "i'm ruining YOUR life?? the feeling's mutual!!",  if i had no where to run to, no where to hide to calm down.   (or as wim would say "the feeling's neutral", i'll work on a post listing the wim-isms, they are aplenty.)  

so, the bathroom is the one place in the house that is off limits when the door is closed.  if you knock on that door or call 'mom' while i am behind the closed bathroom door, you better be bleeding profusely or your hair up in flames.  after one too many feverish knocks from pitiful paper cuts and small gashes ... i went over, in graphic detail, what 'bleeding profusely' looks like.  and finally, i achieved... uninterrupted bathroom time.   

of course, i take care of other business in the bathroom as well.  in fact, this is my preferred resting spot to catch up on all my words with friends games.   good thing i got the kids all trained in on the no-knock off-limits rule before the smartphone was invented.    

smears of poop only a mother's eyes can see

i'm home alone tonight, which is unusual and most welcome.

after a brief walk through the house, here is a list of invisible things.  

invisible to everyone in our house but me (non exhaustive).

KITCHEN

1. cupboard drawer left open a half inch
2. cupboard door swung wide open
3. large pat of butter melting on the counter top next to the butter dish
4. 2 apple stems, 1 apple seed on the counter top

i love butter.  this is where butter belongs.

BATHROOM

1. black shaved stubs of whisker on the sink
2. smear of poop in the toilet bowl
3. used tissue laying next to garbage can

it's not QUITE this bad.   but even one stub of stubble grosses me out.

DINING ROOM

1. laundry basket containing one black clean sock
2. unopened aerosol can of 'santa snow' specially formulated for decorating trees and wreaths
3. small stack of folded four folded tshirts
4. wadded up used napkin on top of inkjet printer

this was not used this winter.  and won't be.  

LIVING ROOM

1. baseball sized dust bunny on the hardwood 
2. 35 lb box of cat litter-empty-by the front door
3. small stack of one bath towel and several kitchen cloths
4. small pile of fancy shirts longing for hangers

alright, it's time to plop my ass on the couch and see what i have tivoed.  ahhh so quiet here.   

write blog quickly tonight

cleanliness is next to freakishness

i DO use soap and water now!

i'm not a huge fan of cleanliness.   although nowadays i do regularly wash my hands, admittedly this is a fairly new habit of mine.   but i rarely got sick even when i was a handwashing poo-pooer.   always been healthy as a horse.  

i know plenty of fanatical hand-washers that carry PocketBac antibacterial gel in their purse or (gasp) in their pocket, that get sick quite frequently.  so, even while inundated with handwashing propaganda, i haven't jumped onto the handwashing as the leading defense against illness bandwagon.

who actually follows this procedure besides surgeons?   and why bother when they are going to put gloves on anyway?



do it or you will die!



are there actual studies reporting good health for horses?   we have that idiom denoting a strong connection between the two.   sure, horses generally do what you want them to do most of the time and appear healthy, but how are they really feeling?  i'll have to send a query to robert redford. 



a few years back one of my best friends, olive, threatened a boycott against me if i didn't become a regular hand-washer.   she used to lecture me about germs.   her friendship meant more to me than saving water or a minute in the bathroom, so i obliged.   i've never regretted my decision. 



olive is a freak about cleanliness, germs, and stray hairs.  although she'd have to be strong-armed into admitting it, she really does love me.   i know this is true because i always have stray strands resting on my shoulders, clinging to the sweater on my back, lingering all over.   right now i'm looking over my shoulder and all around on my sweater and have spotted 4 of them.   i would take the time to pick them all off, but they multiply in minutes, so it's just a waste of time. 

and if i'm around olive, she'd rather my loose tresses just stay put on my sweater than be anywhere near her skin.  i hesitate in mentioning this next nugget due to jinxing laws, but... i have never had head lice.  have never had any head infection, or problems with diseased hair.    and like i mentioned in my previous blog, my hair is usually shampooed clean in the shower every day or at least every other day.  so there isn't any logical reason why olive is creeped by my hairs.  but she is.   and she's also not yet convinced i'm as avid a handwasher as she requires in a friendship.

case in point.  the other day, olive asked me to help her edit a letter she'd composed.   after sitting impatiently next to her for a few minutes while she hunt-and-pecked my editing suggestions into her letter, i finally told her to just let me do the typing.   she balked.   just move over olive!   she didn't budge.   fine, whatever, you like to type?  surprising, since you only type about seven words per minute and look up and down and up and down from mouse to screen before you can move the cursor to a different sentence. 

and still, she put the cursor in the wrong spot.  so i tapped her computer screen to show olive the spot for the capital letter.   she shuddered a tiny and said 'are you touching my screen?".  oh my god, she didn't want me touching her screen or her keyboard!  

so i plucked a piece of hair from my shoulder, threw it at her.   hair doesn't sail, so it landed on her carpet.   olive picked it up with a kleenex and put it in the trash can. 

engineer it so i'm never expected to bring a home cooked potluck item again



cheaters never prosper, but they are well rested

my oldest son bert was in an auto accident 3 and 1/2 years ago when he had just turned 16.  the result for bert was a severe traumatic brain injury.  he was in a deep coma for about 35 days and then in a vegetative state (yes that's the gross medical terminology used to me by the doctor) for a month or two.  he SLOWLY came out of his coma and through herculean efforts has regained many of his life functions.  all of his functions are impaired still to some degree, and bert works his ass off every single day to get back to being an independent person.  he's a cocky wise-acre with a zinger at every turn.  

tonight i blogged on his caringbridge site and am now spent in terms of writing.   i'm in need of getting horizontal pronto, so i'm cutting and pasting my caringbridge journal entry here.  cheating i know.  but i'm completely exhausted.   bert just arrived home from atlanta georgia with his dad.  they were gone for three months to take part in a treatment for healing brains using a new therapy called gyrostim.   more on the ins and outs of gyrostim therapy on a night when i am not propping my eyelids open with toothpicks.  kill two birds with one stone

_________________________________________________________________________________

bert's initial conclusions from gyrostim therapy:  my balance is much better.  i'm more sure on my feet. 

my initial noticings:  while walking with bert his steps were more fluid.  he took steps by himself with no cane to the sink tonight and that was about 4 steps.   his memory is sharper, tenfold.   he is quickly remembering some things that he would have required clues for previous to this trip.   bert's speech is faster and more clear.   he is using more rising and falling intonation.  he says things like:  i'm just going to practice using my big boom voice now, so no one be alarmed.   and then he shouts something just to see how loud he can get and his voice is strong throughout.  

in a shocking and necessary turn of events, bert is very satisfied though using his wheelchair so he can do what he wants when he wants, and he has no need to wait for anyone to walk with him and spot him for balance.  bert is free and independent.  

a big change- he takes all his own supplements- opening up each pill bottle and getting that all done on his own now.  genius accomplishments for someone with a still-shaky left tremor hand.  just needs a reminder to do it in the first place.   but bert will get into a routine here and then he'll be remembering on his own.   alien says bert was into a good routine in georgia and needed no help with pills.  so he'll get there.

bert arrived home on monday eve.  he bought a rifle for hunting while in atlanta, which is now locked with no ammo, but first things first, he needed to buy a locking gun case.  on monday night, we stressed that this is a priority for tuesday, and not negotiable.  he was totally in agreement.   this item i put on the board schedule under his name.  he asked me to go to snap with him at 4pm, so i also put that on the board. 

  then ON HIS OWN bert decided to make a list of the items that he also should complete on tuesday and he wrote his list of 4 to-dos and pinned it to the board. 

1.  eyeglasses (get them tightened)

2.  pick up contacts

3.  sort dirty laundry into hamper, ask dad to wash

4.  call mrs. mandy to discuss work schedule

alien and i had a long discussion about how much help and reminders we would give to bert about getting HIS list done.  we decided that none of the 4 things were essential to be done on tuesday, so we would leave it up to bert to complete or not complete the tasks.  according to alien this was still a needy area for brett in georgia- staying on task when not reminded.  but we wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt before stepping in.  

wellllllll, alien did not help bert a lick with a single reminder or anything yesterday and bert got every single item done!!!   he did ask alien for a ride to his meeting with mrs. mandy, but that's all the help his dad did.  alien went to snap to lift weights while bert met with mrs. mandy to coordinate his work and academic schedule.   SO UTTERLY AWESOME BerT!!!   we were so incredibly proud!!!!

it's been a really fun and great couple days all together again.  

bert's weekly schedule follows, starting monday.  

has 2 paid jobs at minimum wage -- 

1.  dietary aid at good sam's.   same job as before he went to atlanta.  prepping in the kitchen and the dining room for the nursing home residents.   cleaning and busing the tables in the dining room.   

2.  snap fitness.   oh my god he's very excited to get to delve into snap fitness even if it is to clean and sanitize the equipment.    for someone who's dream is to one day be a personal trainer, getting your foot in the door at the local gym is golden!!!

bert has two jobs for experience and resume filler --

1.   good sam's as an activity assistant.  bert will guide the nursing home residents in their physical fitness activities!!!!    i cannot imagine a more exciting job for bert at this point in his life!!    he is a charming hoot and he loves physical activity.   i think these old folks will be putty in his hands. :)   i am thrilled at the possibility of bert brightening people's days, people that don't get to see their grandchildren often enough.  

2.   worker at the recycling center.    recycling things, saving the planet one plastic bottle at a time.  

bert will also have training to improve his executive function skills called cogmed (continuation from the fall) and focused work with mrs. mandy to bolster his academic skills of writing essays, making computations, and such.  

over, on monday through friday, he'll be a busy dude with this schedule:

815-930   cogmed mon-fri

10-1130   good sams kitchen m/w,   good sams exercise class t/th,

 recycling center friday

11301215    lunch

1215-130     good sams busing tables, cleaning up lunchtime  mon-thu,   recycling center friday

2-250     academics with mrs mandy m/w/f,    snap fitness t/th

home by 3pm

so, since bert is going back to work on monday... he's decided to live it up on a break the next few days.  today he slept in til noon.  we went to snap after supper and bert killed it on the leg press (yesterday he destroyed his pecs and arms) and then burned off 200 calories on the stationary bike.  

tomorrow bert has big plans to sleep til noon again, he actually set his alarm for noon.  ahhhh the life!!!!  he has showering on his agenda.  and then he is going ice fishing at 3pm with his brother and a friend.  

on friday, bert again hopes to snooze long time.  then he, june, and wim have planned a night out, i think they are going to the casino and i don't know what else, and that's just how bert has engineered it.   at one point he let it slip that there was a hotel room maybe????   i am  staying out of it and hoping to get a date in with my one and only.  

on saturday, bert is going food shopping for work lunches since he doesn't want to get fat eating at mcdonald's every day while working.  i think this may be a solo shopping trip, we'll see :)   not sure how he'd carry everything while using his wheelchair.  a bag on the sides perhaps.

then he needs to maybe get some khakis and polos for his required work duds.  not sure, he's going to go through his clothes to see what he has already, and what he needs to purchase.  

for sunday, bert told me tonight, 'i'm booked'. 

then his nose is back to the grindstone on monday!