I'm the Mama

Dammit!

This evening I was talking to my mom. Early in the day she called me on my cell phone while JP and I were stranded* at Costco in a not great (not terrible) part of town. Truthfully, I wouldn't go there at night by myself but during the day it's fine.

Apparently she told my father what I had done who informed her to tell me that he didn't want me taking the kids to "that part of town."

Let's refresh:
1. I'm the Mama
2. I spent 53 hours in labor with JP and four with SG. I have earned the right to take them anywhere I damn well choose.
3. I'm not reckless, stupid or prone to endangering the kids' welfare.
4. I'm 28-years old, own my own home, car and haven't lived with my parents for nearly seven-years. I haven't killed myself or burned the house down. I have, I admit, wrecked many cars**.
5. I'M THE MAMA!!!

I got a little huffy about the lecture and told my mother to remind my father of the above points (not all of them but the general gist) and further reminded her that JP and SG were my children, therefore his opinion on where they did or didn't go wasn't any of his business.

Now she's huffy with me, will probably tell my father about our conversation and he'll get his skivvies in a twist. Next time I see him, I'll get a lecture. In front of my kids.

It's not like this is the first time that this has happened. It happens a lot, usually over little stuff- reminding me to dress the kids warmly, not to go out because the roads are slick, put sunscreen on, etc.

Once again, I have never, ever not taken care of my children! They're always dressed weather appropriate in very cute clothes*** when we go out. They always get fed. They each ride in very safe, very expensive car seats. Child Protective Services has never come to my home (nor will they ever need to). I have never lost or injured one of my children due to negligence. I'm a good mom! Not perfect, maybe not even great but I love my kids more than anything.

I love my parents, too, and I know they mean well but I don't appreciate being second-guessed all the time.

Will I ever truly be a grown-up? Is this because I'm an only child? Worse still, will I do this to my kids when they have kids?

*I was in Mr. Tonks' car and decided to buy an outdoor storage box. It wouldn't fit in his little car so I had to have him come with my larger car so we could get the dang thing home.

**I have totaled three cars. In an 18-month period. The two big ugly accidents were not my fault (truly) and I still maintain that the last car committed suicide by drowning. All three accidents were pre, pre- JP and SG. However I have never lived any of them down.

***They usually look cute. Sometimes the dress themselves (or, in SG's case, insist on certain items) in the same sweet clothes but in more interesting ensembles.

Tonks: 1, Ice cream sandwich: 0

Ha!

I think I have mentioned before that I'd very much like to lose some weight. Between the hoopla of moving, the holidays and miscarriage I've added some extra padding in the last six-months. Ten to 15-pounds of padding. Not a lot, except I'm only 5'3" and normally weigh under 120-lbs.

I've been working out every Tuesday and Thursday for the last two months, walking occasionally and even tried yoga, but haven't been being very mindful of the crap I'm putting in my mouth. I'm a sucker for candy, cookies and all sorts of goodies that only contribute to the chubs.

I'm tired of being fluffy and ready to get back to normal. I'm throwing down the gauntlet. I've got two-months or so before swimsuit season and, dammit, I'm not going to the pool looking the way I do right now*.

This evening I got into the freezer for some ice and saw and Klondike Bar sitting there, calling to me, practically begging to be eaten. I'm a sucker for ice cream, too.

BUT, I practiced self-control and restraint and didn't eat the Klondike Bar! I stared at it as if daring it to jump out of its wrapper and into my mouth before I forced myself to read the label. For reasons I don't understand, finding out that something has trans fat causes the food to lose all appeal. Klondike Bars, by some miracle, contain trans fat.

It feels good, like I've done something stupendous. Instead of throwing away the hour-long ass kicking I had this evening I, just maybe, benefited from it. Woo-hoo!


*Here's the deal: I'm a perfectly healthy weight (as far as I can tell- I don't weigh myself) but I'm not comfortable in my own skin right now. Plus, my height and bone structure mean I don't carry excess weight well at all.

I almost killed the dog (seriously)

Zoie came dangerously close to entering that great dog house in the sky today.

We have been having some ant issues (due to the all the rain) so Mr. Tonks and I placed a couple baits outside- one behind a large, potted plant and one on the outside ledge of the kitchen window.

I let our Wonder Mutt outside this morning and after several minutes I realized she was being unusually quiet and well-behaved* so I went out to check on her. I found our tiny dog happily munching on the ant trap that had, apparently, fallen off the windowsill.

I called the vet whose receptionist called to his assistant who uttered a very discouraging, "Oh God. Oh no. She needs to get here now."

En route the necessary phone calls were made (Mr. Tonks, my parents**), prayers were uttered, truthful explanations were given to four-year old JP who knew something was up and I experienced my first nosebleed which I blame on stress and humidity.

Long story, slightly short, Zoie didn't actually get to the bait inside the trap and she lives. Hooray! My gross little dog drives me crazy. I threaten, a lot, to strangle her, ship her to A White Bear, etc. but I love her almost as much as I love my kids.

I'm relieved beyond words. The ant traps are gone. The dog is alive. All is well.

*Zoie is a total butt outside. She eats sticks, rolls in unidentifiable stuff on the ground and barks at every damn thing she sees/ hears/ or smells.

**My parents were called to come pick-up the kids because I feared Zoie was a goner and I didn't want them to see that.

5 Questions part II

See this post for info regarding 5 Questions.

From CharleyCarp
1. How did you choose your undergraduate major?
My first major was my first love: theatre. My second major, after I left theatre*, was journalism. I don't love it but I'm damn good at it.

2. You've won a month-long vacation, half with the kids, half without. Where do you go (you don't have to be in a single place for the whole time, but you only get one plane round trip)?
I'm assuming money is no object so I'm going all out. We start in Australia with the kiddos. I'd take them to Australia Zoo, the outback and the Great Barrier Reef. We'd head to New Zealand for a week or so to explore, hike and raft (again, with the kids). The time spent in Australia and New Zealand would probably take the whole portion of the kids' vacation with us. Once they were safely in the care of my parents, Mary Poppins or Super Nanny* Mr. Tonks and I would spend a blissful five-days doing nothing on a beach in Tahiti. We'd spend a couple days doing Tahitian-type activities and then we'd go to Fiji and spend a few more days basking. We'd rip ourselves away from paradise a few days early to come back to reality so we could spend a couple days at home, alone, to recover from our jet-lag.

3. You're going to visit a friend in NYC for a long weekend (sans entourage) and pick up a copy of the paper to see what entertainment is in town: what is the most pleasing surprise?
A whole weekend with A White Bear? Woo-hoo! I don't know where to begin! A terrific Broadway musical, for starters (not Grease, The Sound of Music, Bye Bye Birdie or any other show I don't like). Beyond that, I'd let AWB take the reigns and follow her lead. I'd would like it, however, if she threw one of her famous parties and made me sorbet. I love her sorbet!

4. You can go back in time to 9th grade: what do you change generally, and what specifically with regard to school sports?
I don't change a thing, generally. As far as school sports go...I didn't do sports- at least not through high school. With the activities I did do, I would prep harder for a couple auditions my freshman and sophomore years, I would've bowed out of debate* my sophomore year before the season ever started. I would've campaigned harder to be the managing editor of the school paper my senior year (I didn't get the title but I got many of the duties in addition to my own section's). I would've thumbed my nose at my parents and gotten scholarships so I could go to the school I wanted to go to.

5. You can go back in time to the 19th century, any location and time, but you have to be a member of the same social class you are in now, and have to stay a whole year. Where do you go, and what work do you do (you may switch gender for the year, if you want)?
Can I just not go? I have no desire to be a man and being a woman in the 19th century in the middle class (no matter the locale) just doesn't sound like my idea of fun.

*I loved debate and I was good at it (state ranked my freshman year). The problem was that I didn't want to devote my life to it, I wanted to spend more time in the theatre and journalism departments. This ticked my coach off to no end and she stuck me with a horrific partner and we didn't even make it to a single tourney. A miserable experience that wasn't worth the effort.

I love monkeys

The Monkey Story*

I like monkeys.

The pet store was selling them for 5¢ a piece. I thought that odd since they were normally a couple thousand each. I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. I bought 200. I like monkeys.

I took my 200 monkeys home. I have a big car. I let one drive. His name was Sigmund. He was retarded. In fact, none of them were really bright. They kept punching themselves in their genitals. I laughed. Then they punched my genitals. I stopped laughing.

I herded them into my room. They didn't adapt very well to their new environment. They would screech, hurl themselves off of the couch at high speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into its third hour.

Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive: they all died. No apparent reason. They all just sorta' dropped dead. Kinda' like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. Damn cheap monkeys.

I didn't know what to do. There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my room, on the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase. It looked like I had 200 throw rugs.

I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work. It got stuck. Then I had one dead, wet monkey and 199 dead, dry monkeys.

I tried pretending that they were just stuffed animals. That worked for a while, that is until they began to decompose. It started to smell real bad.

I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in the toilet and I didn't want to call the plumber. I was embarrassed.

I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortunately there was only enough room for two monkeys at a time so I had to change them every 30 seconds. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so it didn't all go bad.

I tried burning them. Little did I know my bed was flammable. I had to extinguish the fire.

Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in my freezer, and 197 dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed. The odor wasn't improving.

I became agitated at my inability to dispose of my monkeys and to use the bathroom. I severely beat one of my monkeys. I felt better.

I tried throwing them way but the garbage man said that the city wasn't allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him that I had a wet one. He couldn't take that one either. I didn't bother asking about the frozen ones.

I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts. My friends didn't know quite what to say. They pretended that they like them but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in the genitals.

I like monkeys.

*I came across this story my junior year of high school. I have no idea who wrote it.

If there's nothing to hide

...why so secretive?

Do you suppose Bush and Cheney can feel the noose tighten around their necks?

Hell no!

For future reference, you will never catch me here.