Monday Panties are Always Dirty

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Ever have one of those clocks that didn't have a snooze button? It would go off, you'd slam it against the wall and then have to explain how your clock "malfunctioned". (Expressed with finger quotes as you explained to co-workers of course). How did our parents ever survive without the "big bump on the top of the clock"? I mean, they walked miles in the hail and snow, they only got paid $27 a week...but not having a snooze button? Torture at its cruelest!

Mondays are the days when we love our snooze button the most. Except for those that have to work Saturdays. Or those who have the night shift on the weekend. Ok, so maybe Mondays aren't so bad when you put it that way.

Kids look at Mondays so differently than adults do. My daughter rubbed her eyes as day broke today, sat up in bed and said, "Mommy, I love Mondays." She then proceeded to tell me how she was going to wear her "Monday panties". (You know, the ones kids have with the days of the week on them. Who thought of this insane gimmick? Whenever it's a certain day of the week, it never fails that the day you're looking for is in the dirty clothes!) Maybe I'd like Mondays better if I had a pair of Monday panties... Of course my daughter then began to cry because she couldn't find her "Monday panties". Maybe this is why people grow up not liking Mondays. The "Monday panties" could never be found. It's always the Mother's fault. Darn! Society IS right!

I think if adults could look at Mondays differently, things would be different. Of course if corporations would grant the "come into work at 11:00am" on Mondays, there might be less grumbling from the masses. Seriously...Why do Fridays get all the fun? After all, it's always "Casual Friday"... Fred, in accounting, gets to Hang 10 in his red and yellow (aka...ugly) Hawaiian shirt while reimbursing Tisha in her 80's spandex. Hopefully all takes place out of the fax room. Ever notice how "Casual Friday" is begging for a visit from Stacy London and Clinton Kelly? Just sayin...

So, snooze hitters of the world...unite! For today you have the freedom to pound and slam as you never have before. Whether you're a conservative Republican on the heels of McCain, or a "change seeker" (not pennies mind you) holding a free bumper sticker and screaming "Obama" at the top of your lungs, you have the choice. You, with that stuff that Mama called "sleep" in your eyes. You, with drool on your pillow and a left over migraine from red hot buffalo wings at the church get-to-gether. YOU have the choice! Rejoice!


*MEDICAL ADVISEMENT - After rejoicing and hitting the "modern marvel" sixteen million times, find those dirty "Monday Panties", get dressed and hurry your coffee-stained trousers to the office before you are LATE!!!!

(Welcome to another Monday.)

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The author of this blog does not take responsibility for writing and posting past the time that everyone is actually completed with the work day. Apparently her snooze button (and "Monday Panties") were no where to be found.

Who's the drip in the room?

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It's almost 11pm and low and behold, there's a "drip, drip, drip" coming from the bathroom. Assuming it's the cat playing in the toilet water, I roll my eyes and sigh. As I walk into the bathroom I notice that the cat was sitting right next to me on the sofa. "Was" as in...until I got up. Sorry Butterbutt, apparently my pumpkin (and brain) turns mush when the clock strikes 10.

Pumpkin, as in...the 4 bedroom we're living in. A saving grace..yes, despite the lack of treble reverberating the walls from the foursome next door. College. Gotta love it...ten plus years ago that is.

The "drip, drip, drip" isn't the sink faucet, nor the tub faucet. And then it hits me. Literally. I'm standing in a pool of murky water as I'm bombarded by water pellets falling from...the ceiling. I grab a dishpan, but today's modern marvel (from Tarje') has rounded corners and doesn't quite reach the drips...dropping in the corner.

As I stand there with a piece of popcorn ceiling on my nose, two tunes spring into my noggin:

- There's a hole in my Bucket...dear Liza...dear Liza. (everybody in unison now...)

And...

- The roof...the roof...

I don't know why the last one came up. Maybe it's because I know there's so much mold in that ceiling that I assume they'll have to set it on fire to kill it all. When I awake in a bubble with air tanks (like a scene from ET) I'll scream, "I told you so". I'll make sure I post a picture though. It'll be a laugh for all at least. Much obliged.

Mold. It's not a friend. Just sayin'... No really..I'm not a drip, but there IS a drip somewhere in the room. Hey, anyone got a square to spare?

Random Conversations

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(photo by momwithapen)

Sometimes my family makes me laugh. Most often than not, it's about something random. Like this afternoon, while I was talking to my Mom on the phone...

MOM: I am so tired.

ME: Well, that's understandable. You just finished class. (She works with kids with autism.)

MOM: I heard something that reminded me of you today. You know cows pass bad gas?

ME: *silence* (trying to understand what this has to do with me.)

MOM: It seems that their gas is bad for the environment. Kangaroo's have good gas though.

ME: Kangaroos? (Are the cows or the kangaroos like me...)

MOM: So they are trying to study the bacteria in cows and kangaroos so they can make cows have good gas.


I'm still not quite sure what this has to do with me...

I Googled the story my Mom gave me this evening. Well, what do you know...it's TRUE! Unfortunately for Mom, it's old news though.

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Ok, and then there was this conversation with Madison today:

*listening to They Might Be Giants (for Kids) in the car*

ME: Come on Madison, clap...clap..clap.

MADISON: No. (When does "no" stop being their favorite word?)

ME: Come on, you're being a stick in the mud.

MADISON: No Mommy. There no mud in here.

ME: Oh come on, clap!

MADISON: No.

ME: Stick in the mud...stick in the mud... *chanting*

MADISON: Don't worry Mommy, I take da stick out.


And that folks is a family...

(Please note that there wasn't any random conversations with the hubby today. It's all good. Tomorrow's another random day!)

Owing it to the Eggplant

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My Mom is Italian. My Grandmother was Italian. My Great-Grandmother was Italian. You get the point. What's the problem you ask? Besides the fact that I am not Italian? (Come on! You see the picture!) Well...I have no eggs. Any Italian will tell you that cooking without eggs is virtually impossible. That is, unless you're using boxed Barilla; but then that leads to the question, "Are you truly an Italian"?

Yesterday, during my 3-hour excursion to the grocery store (how many times can a three-year-old go potty at the opposite end of the store), I became awestruck. The entire store was covered in banners and signs that read, "10 for $1". And, as I continued to be dazzled by sale items left and right (as any SAHM would be), my eyes cast upon a lovely sight - a beautiful plump purple eggplant with a lovely green stem. Had I ever made eggplant before? No. But it was $1!

So tonight I belted out a couple of "paaaarmagiana regiaaaaana" and "meatballaaa" phrases to help me feel a little closer knit to my...ahem...heritage, and started peeling the eggplant as the internet recipe directed. Madison even joined in on the foreign language experiment. We were a couple of fools...and because the weather has been nice, our windows were wide open. Yes, my next door neighbors (who are also Italian, and no I don't live in Little Italy) are going to send cousin Gino and cousin Georgio to get me because of my lack of funds for Rosetta Stone software.

After slicing, salting and pressing moisture out of my beloved Barney-colored sale special; I was ready to dredge and bake. Crap. No eggs. And that's how the story ended folks. Seriously. Because I am not cramming the kid in the car at 6:00pm so that we can have a midnight snack and omelets tomorrow. *Gazing at the eggplant slices sitting in the colander and wondering if I could use them for a pseudo "Spa Night", like cucumbers with a hot towel wrap. Nope...didn't think so. Darn!*

You know, there's something nice about being adopted and non-Italian. Rice, rice...baby. Of course, then there's always Campbell's. Reap me over the coals and brand me, "Bad Mommy" because tonight folks I smell chunky chicken noodle soup...or well something like it anyways. Ever since pregnancy it's all fowl to me. I know...that was bad. *sigh*

Aha! *plotting* Maybe if I play my cards right (and hubby is hungry enough) I can escape to the grocery store while Daddy puts Madison to bed. Of course, how sad is that. OOOOOoooo the big evening excursion to "get out on my own" and "have time to myself" plot. Eggs. And to think, I owe it all to the eggplant.

Charmin Czar

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There are few things in life that I treasure; one of those is good toilet paper. Regardless of the fact we are cutting back, the good toilet paper stays. I know, in essence we're flushing good money down the drain...

There was no problem with our uses of toilet paper until recently. The other day I heard a scuffle and decided to follow the mysterious sound. There Madison was, squatting and furiously wiping the floor with an entire unwound roll of my beloved Charmin Ultra.

"I went pee-pee on the floor" she said. Then to make it all better she decided she'd better add, "I went little bit in potty." Then she grinned at me. It didn't really make everything better, but it helped.

Last week she attempted to feed the commode half a roll of toilet paper. The story goes as follows: While in the other room I heard, "Uh oh." Knowing that the phrase, "uh oh" was not something good, I ran to see what happened. The evidence, an empty cardboard tube, lay on the tile floor while my daughter stood looking over the toilet - pants down, teetering from top of her red and purple Dora stool. The story ended well; although once again, I had to climb upstairs (remember I'm still mothering a broken toe) to steal from our wholesale stash of 2-ply.

It seems like attempts to control Madison's fascination with massive amounts of toilet paper are futile. We've tried the Cottonelle special Kids paper (with the paw prints and puppies) but that seems to excite her moreso. And really, what kid needs 6 squares of toilet paper? Come on Cottonelle!

So two days ago, in my last attempt to save trees (and my only sustained luxury as a SAHM), I've started rationing squares. Yes, raise your hand up high to me - the Toilet Paper Nazi. Hail to me and make me a chair of Charmin. For now, upon the empty toilet paper holder I place 4 (count them, 1-2-3-4) sheets of TP; no more, no less. Every time Madison proudly mounts her Dora potty seat (yes, it matches perfectly with her stool), she reaches out with eager hands, rejoicing at her beloved 4 squares just prior to dismounting and doing the "pee pee dance". Mary Lou Retton would be proud.

So far, so good...right?

Well, last night Madison must have gotten up in the middle of the night to pee, because no sooner than a sliver of light broke through the blinds this morning I heard a voice from downstairs calling, "I finished! I finished! I fiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiished!" She was relentless. I stumbled downstairs (toe in tact) to commence my appointment as the Charmin Czar. All hail... *yawn* What was I saying?

Four years ago I was making major design and construction decisions on new residential projects; today I am weighing my options - contemplating whether sleep or my 2-ply is ultimately more important. And by the way...Yes, as Charmin Czar I WILL take that executive office with the view of the park and a competitive benefits package. Yes, thank you very much.

Decisions

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Last weekend, while visiting Grandma, we visited the pumpkin patch. It was Grandma's idea, and to-date she is still talking about the ordeal...

After a long day of shoe shopping and clearance rack hunting, we finally made it to the pumpkin patch. Madison's eyes were big and bright, and she could barely contain herself as we pulled into the lot. As I unbuckled the bucking bronco from her car seat I smiled at her excitement and asked, "Are you going to get a big pumpkin or a small one?"

"BIG!" Then she giggled.

I had visions of her carrying out a 26 pounder, and her black and white in the local newspaper - "Kid Scores Huge. Dad grasps wallet!". So I casually said, "Big is good, but small pumpkins are nice too."

Now if you don't know kids, they take things pretty literally. Madison is no exception. In fact, not only did she attempt to show me EVERY small pumpkin that her little hands could grasp, but because of my brilliant pumpkin comment she couldn't decide on the actual specimen she wanted to adopt.

First she ran to one side of the tent (yeah...in Florida we don't have true "patches") to show us a rather large bumpy (I'm still unsure if it was contagious) pumpkin, then she turned as ran down to the other end of the tent to fling a miniscual yellow squash like the nerf football it should have been...down to the other end to sit on the "pig pumpkin" and giggle whilst riding...then once more to contemplate the existence of gourds. (Is it just me or do those things look like ducks?...ok, just me...sorry.) The whole experience was as fast, and as furious, as a match at the U.S. Open.

Fast as in...she sure ran fast, but time seemed to stand still on the picking the "perfect pumpkin pal". Yes, Madison continued her pumpkin patch relay for 45-minutes. When the sky darkened and she spotted another child getting stickers as they checked out, only then did the thought pop into her head that she needed to make a final decision.

Needless to say, we took home 3 pumpkins that evening.

Grandma said that if she would have known the decision-making abilities of her grandaughter before-hand; she would have taken three pumpkins, put them in the backyard, thrown a stuck a sign in the ground and collected a dollar for the purchase.

I'm pretty sure if Daddy knew that was an option, he might have even set up a florida tent for the occasion.