Showing posts from May, 2009

Breakin' the law, breakin' the law (with apologies to Judas Priest)

I did the unthinkable yesterday. In fact, I'm not even sure it's legal. I bought white pants. More specifically, white denim capris (what? they were on sale!). After I got them home, I realized they were perhaps a bit too reminiscent of "Dirty Dancing" for comfort. I've been avoiding white pants my entire life, mostly because of a girl named Honelore. I remember her last name, too, but I'll keep it to myself. And yes, that was her real first name, though I might be off on the spelling. In junior high, Honelore got her period one day. While wearing white pants. And apparently, she failed to notice for quite a while. The whole school knew about it before lunchtime and her name went down in infamy. I tucked that little lesson away in my brain. White pants = bad. The other problem with white pants is, of course, the fact that they are not slimming. At all. So why did I purposely buy an optical ass enlarger? That, my friends, is the question.

Paging: The Worst Mother Ever

I took the kid with me on Saturday morning to run some errands. We sat through a Weight Watchers meeting, then had breakfast with my friend Nancy, then bought some annuals and grass seed at the garden shop, and finally hit Barnes & Noble. I was in need of a new book to read and figured I'd pick one up for A as well. The children's section is in the back of the expansive store. It features one of those tabletop train sets, and the kid loves it. I tried to head her off by letting her know that she would be given ample opportunity to play with the train if she would just agree to wait patiently while I selected a book to read. I figured I'd choose some offbeat paperback and then sit in the children's section and read while she played. Her patience, however, ran out after .0003 seconds, and she began edging closer to the train. Finally, I gave up and escorted her back there. An older boy was already there playing with the wooden trains. I knelt down and whispered to my


Twelve years ago today, I walked down the aisle at Cameron United Methodist Church in Alexandria, Virginia. It was a beautiful day, everyone was where they were supposed to be, and the groomsmen were not hung over (as far as I could tell). I was thinner than I'll ever be at any point in my life again, though I think a lengthy stomach flu could get me into the ballpark one of these days. My proud stad was at my left side, supporting my arm in the crook of his. He was wearing a white shirt under his tuxedo, even though I had told him approximately 782 times that my dress was ivory and that his tuxedo shirt should match. To men, the difference between white and ivory is tantamount to "splitting hairs." At the alter stood my intended, smiling widely. He had a ding on his forehead. The day before, he had slammed his skull into an overhang at my sister's house. Then he informed me that it was actually my fault that he had injured himself, because I had called him from the o

4 going on 24

Have you ever had one of those moments when you look at your young child and, just for a fleeting moment, you catch a fast-forward glimpse of the adult version of her? Not the chubby-cheeked Dora-watching incarnation, but the calls-you-from-college-to-request-money-for- beer- books version? Last night, I gave in to the latest request for Play-Doh play time. In those heady post-Christmas days, I was allowing Play-Doh to be ground into my carpet about once a week. Now we're down to a once-monthly sort of thing. I keep the mushy gunk and its related accessories in a bin at the top of her bedroom closet, so that Miss Tenth Percentile is only reminded of its existence if she looks way, way up. She has a better memory than you'd think, though. So, I set up everything in her room and then put up the baby gate so that the dogs couldn't come in and eat the Play-Doh (for whatever reason, the dogs are drawn to it like zombies are drawn to the living). My daughter remains obsessed with

Weekend Wrap-Up

The simulator ride at Chuck E Cheese Here's a brief report on the weekend's events. Yes, I know the following week is half over but as my daughter would say, "you get what you get and you don't frow a fit." My sister and her family were in town for the past few days. I had a "stomach thing" (that's the technical term) for the last two days of their visit, which put a damper on some of the festivities. But, looking on the bright side, I'm likely to have a kick-ass weigh-in at Weight Watchers this week. I'm trying on this new "glass is half full" attitude for size. My sister did complete the marathon, and in fine form I might add! The marathon was extremely well organized. Each time she passed over a timing mat, a microchip in her shoe caused a text message to be sent to my phone. Her boyfriend and I were able to round up the kids (my niece and nephew plus my youngster) and head to several points along the way to assemble a cheering s

Very Strange, Aye

She runs - on purpose! I'll be offline for a few days (sorry to disappoint my reader!), as my middle sister and her family are flying in for a visit. My sister is planning to run a marathon while she is here, which really puts a crimp in our weekend social plans but to each her own, right? Seriously, though, I am extremely proud of her. I was never much of a distance runner myself. My sister and I have the same parents and yet only one of us is tall, thin, tan, and beautiful. But I did get bigger boobs than she did! And a slightly better nose. On a completely unrelated topic . . . I took a look at my blog's stats this morning and I never cease to be amazed at some of the Google searches that people do which link them back to my blog. Here is a random sampling: kevin blitzer --> This is the name of my friend who died recently (lots of variations of his name came up). I should thank him for generating some traffic for me. The irony there is that he used to make fun of my blo

Call Me Momomo

Envelope from Mother's Day Card I'd like to think it’s pronounced with the accent on the first syllable, sort of like Kokomo. Needless to say, I will be saving this card and envelope (AKA “embelope”) for the rest of my days. When she’s 13 and has started calling me a whole new set of names, I’ll pull out this pink envelope and clutch it to my chest, remembering those all-too-brief days when a little girl called me Mama and watched Blue’s Clues in my bed. On Mother’s Day, I think not just of my mom and my own role as a mother, but also of the person whose unfathomable sacrifice gave me that title in the first place. I think of A’s birthmom every single day. After my daughter was born, I struggled to find the words to say ‘thank you’ to her. And I did my best, in spoken word and in written letters. Eventually I concluded that the language, despite its power and beauty, does not provide words adequate for this lofty purpose. You cannot simply thank someone for a life. Instead, I t

Hey Kevin

I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. Remember how you used to tease me about my preference for dating military guys back when I was in college? I hit almost every branch of the service (even the Coast Guard!) but never could find a Navy sailor who fit the bill. You used to say, “Claudia’s entertained more troops than Bob Hope!” That was one of your better one-liners. (For the benefit of my reader, I married a Marine 12 years ago and am entertaining only him – and not nearly as often as he’d like, either.) The other day I thought of another funny episode. We were at my friend Jackie’s house (this was years ago) and an acquaintance of hers was also there. The guy was a bit of an ass and got into a debate with you (about some nonsensical topic that I can't recall). You were having a lot of fun verbally sparring with him. Convinced he had the upper hand, he leapt to his feet and loudly asked, “Do you capitulate?” And you yelled, “Capitulate?! I’m not even breathing heavy!” Some o

Shorty Had a Party

The kid and her cousin Well, after talking about the event ad nauseum for 364 days prior, the kid finally had her birthday party on Saturday. The party was held at the Little Gym. We had a total of eight kids, which turned out to be a good number. They played games in the gym, climbed on the equipment, and beat each other about the head and neck with styrofoam tubes. Then they retired to the party room where they ate cake and then cheered on the birthday girl while she opened her gifts. My friend Jennifer (well, A says that Jennifer is HER BEST FRIEND) brought the kid some Bendaroos . This was her favorite gift - she even prefers the Bendaroos over the bicycle P and I bought for her (and the bike has streamers! and a ringy-dingy bell!). At the end of the party one of the Little Gym employees told the kids that the birthday girl was going to give each of her friends a gift. She was referring to the goodie bags I had filled the night before, but A misunderstood and thought she had to giv

Happy Birthday, Beautiful Girl

"I gotta get the mail!" you told me excitedly as you hopped out of the van. You ran towards the curb, your curls bouncing against your shoulders. I followed you down the driveway, ready to bark a mom-warning if you got too close to the street. You cannot reach the mailbox, but you are obsessed with grabbing the mail each day. I lifted you up so that you could open the white mailbox. You pulled out several envelopes, mostly junk mail. You frowned, irritated to find there was nothing for you. I took the mail and handed you a postcard offering a fantastic deal on carpet cleaning. "I think this one's for you," I said, closing the hatch. You grabbed the neon green card in your hand and started to run back up the driveway. "I'm gonna win!" you called over your shoulder. Everything is a competition lately. I walked slowly into the garage, intending to let you get to the door first. You stopped mid-stride and spun around, your new spring dress fluttering a

What I don't need

One. More. Savings. Card. My newish wallet is splitting at the seams because I'm forcing it to tote around a stack of plastic savings cards thicker than my wrist. I've got one for my local grocery store - this was my firstborn. And many more: Best Buy, a local cafe that is going to give me a free cup of coffee as soon as I have enough points (I do not drink coffee), the Children's Place, a gardening center, Build-a-Bear, Borders, Qdoba, Petsmart . . . the list goes on and on. I've been working on getting a free pretzel from Auntie Anne's for the better part of three years. I was at Toys R Us (or "Toys Sure R Expensive" as Dave Barry used to call it) yesterday and the dour-faced employee (working at Toys R Us isn't as fun and festive as one might think, apparently) offered me a savings card. I hesitated. Then she said, "Oh, it's not a credit card. It's free." I didn't hesitate because I thought it was a credit card, but because I a