Mudder's Night Out

Two nights in a row I've gotten lucky. Dear ol' Snowflake has fallen asleep on the way home from the office. I take him with me to work like a conjoined twin. I feel like these rare nights are my meager rewards. Peace. Alone. At night. I rented four movies. I felt like I was going to Mexico for Spring Break. It was Calgonesque. Martin Luther always pops into my head at these moments saying, "Free at last! Free at last! Great God Almighty free at last!"

Part of me just wants to go to bed. Another part is totally Spicoli with the bonus.

It's strange when I think about my own parents, how parentlike they were. They seemed so together. So adult. They really weren't. They had kids for the sake of having them. Like it was just what you did after you got married. I don't feel like that. I know that I am so much more of an intuitive and involved person who takes parenting as a second full time job seriously. I don't feel like a Card Carrying Adult.

Most people grow up, move away and see their parents once or twice a year. Not me. I have an old polish curse upon me and part of the umbilical cord is still attached(hanging on by a thread). Coincidentally, Snowflake is making his th's into d's lately so he sounds like a peasant from the Old Country. I love to tell him to call me Mother.

"I love you Mudder. Can I have some ice cream Mudder? Let's go over dare Mudder," he chirps. It's like having my own little Bela Lugosi. No, he doesn't say turd for third, thank goodness.

I never imagined myself like this- the single parent, living for the rare night alone so I can watch movies instead of Pee Wee's Playhouse. I have learned to appreciate these small gifts. Especially when they are combined with a nice bottle of red wine.

Deadheads

Olive

Little Miss Sunshine. Like paintings, pictures. I almost felt slighted when Olive did her dance, but when the family joined in, I laughed like I have not laughed in years. (big sigh)

Requiem

Trees are poems that earth writes upon the sky,
We fell them down and turn them into paper,
That we may record our emptiness.
~Kahlil Gibran

Big Mouth Strikes Again

A few minutes ago the air was crystal clear and still in the darkness. Cars whoosh by. The wind picks up. The Woodstock chimes which have the notes of Westminster have started to rattle on the porch, clanging in the wind and sometimes banging the wall closest to them. Looking out of the living room windows, the streetlights cast their amber glow across everything.

It's so weird to see snow whirling past the windows heading perfectly, horizontally West. That's bad. Those flakes are really Mach I-ing it outta town. We're in for 8-14" of snow through tomorrow. I can't complain though. This isn't upstate New York.

I take such great joy in my badass snowblower. It's a bitchslap to the force of nature and all of the men in the neighborhood(although I would kiss the kind person who blew me and the entire neighborhood this morning! Oh, I know the feeling). Bring it on, honey, I can handle it. Afterwards I'll drive out and explore the beauty of Mother Nature with four wheel drive, some good java and The Smiths.

Scrubbin' with Pep!

I was sitting in my car, waiting at the stoplight. It snowed last night and today it's blustery and so chilly again. I saw a highschooler in his running gear- tights, long shorts, big hoody and hat go springing across four lanes of traffic. He did a special little spritely hop over a snow bank and then bounded into the park like a baby bunny.

He had pep.

Where did my pep go? Probably somewhere with Gwen's lamb.

Five minutes later, home. Snowflake waking from his jackass car nap, crabby and jittering around the room, wailing and flailing like Joe Cocker jonesing for a popsicle. I told him he could have one after he napped, but no. Instead he works himself into a flopping fish like frenzy, culminating in peeing his pants.

Oh, the joy. Ode to joy. This is your life, Heidi. And it's time to scrub the floors. With a little pep now, please.

Boys Like Dirt

What Anna Said

Yesterday was Snowflake's Y's 30th birthday. Coincidentally, I awoke having felt extremely rested for the first time in a very long time, even though I had the freakiest dream about him.

Anna Nicole and I were talking(yes, THAT Anna... I bond with her because I once was platinum w/ cherry red lips, like Marilyn as well). She was telling me what a great guy he was and how he was in her employ. I just took it all in, very mellow. That's all I can remember. I am starting to forget all of the things I thought I would remember about him. Things that I wanted to tell Snowflake. I'm glad that I journaled throughout the process because one day I will present the two notebooks to him. One, the story of his beginning and into life, the other filled with messages to his father.

That second one, I don't know. It's filled with a lot of emotion. Part of me wants to burn it. Part of me wants to give it to my baby when he's a man. Then I think he doesn't need to know all of the gory details of my emotions. He brought light back into the world and why bother him with the mess. It is only part of the story, my side of the story. The other side? He deserves to hear 'the other side', but I can only imagine how skewed and distorted it could be.

My side is distorted, too. When you're down, you're way down low. Rereading pages I feel like I don't even know that person. How could that be me? Part of me was so stupid for believing that everything would work out with him. I left the door open even after he was born. I tried knowing that I would fail. There are words of tenderness and hate. It is a record of something.

Then I remember, Anna said to keep it so he can read it when I'm dead.

From Here to There

I hate to be the one to tell you, but your bubble's gonna break, breaking the straw that broke the camel's back. Back to back in black and stuck in the middle with you. Cattywampus. She's so catty, yet such a Chatty Cathy. Chicharones, cajones. What does it matter? She's going down. Down the tubes. Tube steak anyone? Tube socks and headbands. Let's Get Physical. And keep your Betty pretty. Pretty In Pink.

Is your Betty ready?





ps...Thanks for the inspiration, RadishKing

Unknown Dog

In the back window...


Freezing

Sundown

When Boys Stuff

In the process of stuffing,


He exclaims, "Mommy! My belly's full!"


An entire train set, plus a stapler, a tennis ball and a medium sized wooden dog =
A shocking resemblance to Gramps.

But Not Tonight

The sky was already dark. The moon balanced like a skiff floating in the sea, glowing and looking like the disguarded thumbnail snip of a giant. Right below it, a huge solitary star winked and bobbed. A warmth fills the breeze signaling the beginning of the end. Somewhere, a farmer's field has cracked wide open in the sunlight and spit out the aroma of old cows. In the wind there is dankness, the unearthing of covered rot as the snow melts. In a separate blustering gust, unspoiled earth, fresh dirt breathing, the creeping Irish Moss crawls out. I haven't felt so alive in years.

Shortcake

My she's looking swell
Sweet little girl with a strawberry smell

Winter Blues

Cabin Fever for everyone! Fruit run for two luscious mega sized packs of ruby red pesticide chocked gemstone strawberries and three big boxes of dreamy dark blueberry pearls. Just washed and ready to devour. I imagine the SB's growing in the Mexican sunlight, happy in the valley's arid atmosphere yet moist and bursting with juciness from the Manuel Family's prized and secreto poop/fertilizer. Muy bueno! I'm sure that $35 worth of these winter treats will last maybe 24 hours. Strawberry Margaritas. Guacamole. February Fiesta at fifteen degrees.

Little Feet

Old Wood

I had to get rid of it. Sooner or later it was going to hurt someone. I tried to keep it as long as I could. I was going to have it done away with when Snowflake was born but decided it was just a small fissure and a specimen of its size would be strong enough to stand a few more winters. It was old, gnarly and tall, split, cracked and dried out. I couldn't watch them do it. He called to say they'd be here around noon.

Earlier in the morning I took plenty of photographs en memoriam. It felt like the day I decided to put Annie and Gingko to sleep. They had no idea. None. I continue to live with the guilt. There is a big gaping hole in my yard and in my heart. Call me a treehugger and I'd say Yeah. Hell yeah.

MVP

Poop is such a fascinating and revolting subject. There's a lot of 'shit' to write about. Everyone's got an opinion. Sometimes there is nothing like the feeling after ridding your body of that decomposing funk. It's a great feeling when you bring your baby home from the hospital and rejoice in the fact that YES! the baby does in fact work, he pooped for the very first time! There are other times when you have to walk the dog or do the duty of the unmentionable. Then there's the whole potty training thing.

My beautiful boy is turning into an All Star Pooper. So much so that he deserves an award. MVP, perhaps. I am so thankful that we're not having any 'witholding' issues. What would hole through the nose coke head Freud would say about that? It's been rather pleasant and easy.

I've lifted a song from Clapton to accompany the event. Except it's like this:

Let it go, let it go,
Let it blossom, let it flow.
In the sun and in the snow
Pee n' poo are lovely, let it go.

Thanks, Eric!

Be Mine

Happy Valentine's Day 2007

Stinky

Asking For It

Gingivitis is an awesome She-Bitch. I admire the way she completely shows her dominance by mounting Frank and giving him a good pump or two with a rare nibble on the ear. Is there any wonder he's usually cockeyed? Her technique is like a pro linebacker, rolling off with a careless jab to his rump when she's done with that chump. That delicious striped, marbled rye is my HomeGirl.







P.S... Added after the initial post:




You can just see the sass in her eyes. Grrrrrr.

What About...

Maybe I was longing for my college salad days of thirtysomething when I got into "What About Brian" (Oh yeah HELLO, cynical girl!). Although I am somewhat embarrassed, all I can say after seeing the previews of next week's episode is what they hell were they thinking when they gave you that rediculous effed-up haircut, Brian? You little spritely, froofy, tempestuous changeling. I want to scrub my tile and bathtub with your head. Then again, your buddy Dave looks like he's wearing a freakish all black coonskin cap w/ his mega low hairline. It's like a thick shiny bearskin rug that you want to rub your naked butt on.

DIY Bumperstickers

I was cruising home yesterday when I couldn't help but catch the writing in the salty dust on a late model Suburban. Written on the split back windows was 1.) I'm a dork! and 2.) I like a cock in my ass! I admit, I sped up to see what exactly was behind the wheel. Yep. Pretty much right on. Still you can't help but feel a little pang for that unknowing moron, so blind to his immediate surroundings.

Today I was behind a little red station wagon with a Bush '04 sticker on it. Written in the dust was "Idiot". Well said.

Right now is the perfect time to express the way you feel in a non-permanent way in northern Wisconsin. Bad Karma anyone?

Instant Gratification

(or Girls Who Don't Get Laid Know How to Shop)

Sumptuous Chocolate Brown Knee Length Belted Cashmere Sweater(6 Ply)
RRP: $250 TJMaxx Price:$149.99
TJMaxx Clearance Price:$80 Extra 25% Off: $60

Kate Spade Furry Harlequin Patch Boots Made in Italy
RRP:$360 TJMaxx Price: $179.99(Eeeeeeew! Ugly!)
TJMaxx Clearance Price: $60 Extra 25% Off: $45(Adorable!)

Unreal Green Handbag W/ Chrome Hoop Handles By Roberta Gandolfi
RRP: $350 TJMaxx Price: $149.99
TJMaxx Clearance Price: $80 Extra 25% Off: $60

Obviously, I've spent. It's lonely at the top. But I'm one classy beotch.

Kicking Ass

"I don't like honorary anything. I want to earn the damn thing." -Peter O'Toole on being offered an honorary Oscar, now nominated for the eighth time for an Academy Award for "Venus".

Hermitage

I am single tonight. I have friends that are going out at 10pm and I'm invited. I just don't think I can start my evening so late. I said I'd call later and maybe meet up with them. I know I won't call. I am the Duchess of Flake.

I think I would rather lounge on my sofa and watch one of the two channels I get whilst quaffing a tazo of vino. Part of me feels a bit lonely for my cherubic devil already. Luckily, I escaped the Irish-Scottish-Welsh genetic predisposition for worrying, but I still have visions of my blonde mother getting in some freaky accident in her ballsy car, Snowflake in tow, every time she careens off with him.

I started 'time-outs' today and that met with a very, very septic response. You would have thought I was skinning live rabbits, or boiling a gross of lobsters in my giant witches cauldron.

I felt like the guardian of the gulag, the Bad Cop, the Dominatrix of the Diaper Set(almost). The screaming has got to stop. It is so primal and full of raw meaning. I finally wore the little warbler down with a low voice and repeatedly placing him back on his pincushion stool for the allotted time. Now he's gone for the night.

Maybe I am getting old because I think I'd rather enjoy the silence than socialize.

Pieces (Resting In)

I just walked into the house and I could hear my cell phone ringing. I could tell it was my mom by the ring tone(Sophisitcat). She told me that Anna Nicole was found dead in her hotel room. I felt sad for her troubled life. I felt sad because she lost a son and was a new mother all in a matter of days.

My hands are burning as I type this, rosy red from the frigid death chill of winter. I was enduring the cold and doing the duty of picking up what seemed to be a million stiff dog turds in the fading sunlight. There is a definite art to the method as they get bonded to the snow beneath them like Super Glue.

You must have one of those mini rake type of implements and hold it with the tines up, facing the sky. In a chipping like motion, one must hack just under the turd, right below the bond and it breaks free in a neat complete piece. Miss and everything shatters into a zillion tiny pieces.

Life is so fragile and people are so fragile. Yes, as fragile as frozen turds on the tundra. R.I.P. Anna

Redemption

My brother and I share the same birthday because our parents were faithful to having sex on their anniversary. Tonight we went out for dinner and Snowflake was so loud and teradactyl-like I actually started to cry because some butchy moo-cows gave me a dirty look. I told him he would have none of the Coldstone. NONE.

We came home.

"Mom! Mom! I have to poop," he exclaims.

I send him upstairs and he summons me after a few seconds telling me he pooped and peed.

"That is awesome, Trueby, awesome," I say.

Afterwards he jumps into my arms and says,

"I'm a good pooper! I'm a hoppin' turd! Woof! Woof!"

He's eating cake right now.

38 Special

Happy Birthday To Me

Ugh. My birthday. I think part of my Debbie Downer Syndrome stems from the fact that today is my 38th birthday. About a month ago, I joined Weight Watchers to shed some of the, shall I say, "Snowflake Weight". Right. So I lost almost 10lbs, but gained almost a pound back last week. I'm sure this weeks weigh-in will be stunning.

Stunning because I've been celebrating ever since. It's been so friggin' hot here and I've been eating ice cream, lots and lots of ice cream. Not just any ice cream, rather Ben & Jerry's Half Baked with a dash of Peanut Butter Cup thrown in for good measure. This afternoon I'm picking up a little cake from Coldstone. Oh yeah, and my co-worker just walked in with my favorite pizza for lunch.

I did get the mink coat and a few shots of Botox because I'm impulsive like that.

Go Me!

The Fountain of Purple Rain

Prince is my James Brown, my Love Sexy, my HOLYSHIT! not a day over Purple Rain. Share your secret oh my Super Bowl XLI God of Eternal Youth.

My Trainer