Life Lesson #382 from a Desperate Working Momma

(DISCLAIMER: If you are already exhausted, you may want to hold off reading this. It may put you over the top, right into must sleep for a week territory. For reals. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.)

Sometimes we discover some of life’s most guarded secrets when all we are really trying to do is just survive, to ride out whatever wave of adversity we are facing before it comes crashing down around us, bowling us over, rolling us head over heels before throwing us to shore, all choking and sputtering and blinking salt water out of our eyes then screaming, “Damn you, adversity! Damn you to hell!” while shaking our fist at the open sea and pulling out our wedgie.

Wait. Guys? I think I just lost myself with that metaphor. Hmm.

Right, then. I’ll just move on.

When I volunteered to stay over at my girlfriend’s house Thursday night to tend her five kids (18 months to 13 years old) while she and her husband went out of town, all the while knowing that I would also be flying solo with my own three kiddos while TGIM was out of town, I had no idea that I was soon to be facing this ocean of adversity. But seriously, what on earth was I thinking? “Oh, sure, no problem, ” I said. “It’ll be fun!” I said. “Friday’s my day off!” I said. “We’ll have a big ol’ sleepover!” I said. Good lord. Why didn’t anyone STOP ME?! Huh?! Thanks for looking out for me, TGIM. Way to go.

I mean, honestly. Thursday evening was an anxiety attack just waiting to happen, that’s what it was. Oodles of neediness just gunning for me, what with Mack needing to go to soccer practice before heading off to an activity night with Katie, TD needing to go to a scout meeting, Johnny needing a diaper change, Sam needing to go a church activity, and me needing to go to Back to School Night at TD and Mack’s school (with thankfully no covert PTA meetings planned) because they had STUFF on their desks that they put there just for ME and they worked on it ALL DAY and they were SO looking forward to me GOING (see? with the guilt?! stupid Back to School Night!). Oh, and did I mention all eight of them needing something to eat before they actually starved to death?

So there I was, the keys to my friend’s trusty (::shudder::) minivan in hand, standing at the front door wondering how I could possibly get everyone where they needed to be, as eight NEEDY children hit me with a cacophony of deafening cries, such as “Feed me! Feed me! I’m huuuuuuuuuungry!” and “I need a ride!” and “Are we going to Back to School Night, are we, huh, huh?!”

And as I gazed at their upturned faces, a wide (probably crazed) smile plastered across my face (musn’t scare the children), I screamed to myself, Self?! What did you do?! WHAT! DID! YOU! DO?! You must have eaten a heaping bowl of Crazy when you agreed to this, you freak! Seriously. What about OUR needs?! When will you blog? Did you think of that?! And The Office and Grey’s Anatomy are on tonight! And Ugly Betty! Oh man! And we are totally MISSING IT! GAH! And what is really frightening is that this is how I talk to myself in my head. I know, right? Rude. I really should be nicer to me. But whatever. Fact is, I suddenly remembered my trusty TiFaux and I felt much better.

It also helped that, as luck (for my sanity) would have it, a torrential downpour– complete with uncomfortably close cracks of lightening and window-rattling booms of thunder– coupled with the serendipitous arrival of a Blockbuster DVD in the mail, gave me the perfect excuse to close the door and cry out over the clamor, “Eh, it’s nasty weather outside! Bye Bye Birdie it is, then! Now who wants pizza?!”

Of course, during the movie I was called upon to define words like “fink” and “swell,” and I had to explain what it meant to be pinned by a boy (hee… dirty), and Mack wanted to know why the girls were all wearing white gloves when they were too old for dress-up, and Alli wanted to know why the Mr. McAffee totally sounded like Templeton the Rat from Charlotte’s Web, and Tanner asked between giggles if the movie was supposed to be so funny (were we laughing with them, or at them?), and could we watch the Ed Sullivan! song again, because hilarious? and who is Ed Sullivan, anyway?, and Katie wondered how Conrad Birdie could make women faint just by wiggling his hips, which naturally led to an entirely new conversation about the whole Elvis phenomenon, complete with tales of sobbing, fainting teenage girls and a sketchy description of Graceland, culminating with the recipe for fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches, which, allow me to say… dude. Gross, Elvis. Just… GROSS.

But no worries here; it was all good. Ann-Margret and Dick Van Dyke worked their crazy voodoo magic and lulled the kiddos. Lulled ‘em GOOD. It was a thing of beauty.

Bedtime was later than usual, but the late hour coupled with the fact that they were all coming down off their soda and cinnamon breadsticks high? Totally in my favor. I only heard a few half-hearted bars of “We love you Conrad, oh yes we do-oooo…” before total silence claimed the house. They crashed hard.

Now getting six kids ready for school (and two others ready to spend the day with me) is surprisingly easy when you sneak out of the house at 5:30 AM to stock up on Munchkins from the Dunkin Donuts down the street. Just so you know. See, then you can walk from room to room, all cheerful and whatnot, sing-songing, “Time to get u-u-u-up!” and when they groan and mutter, “Nooooo… ten… more… minutes…” you just say, “Okay, but those donuts downstairs ain’t gonna eat themselves, you know what I’m saying?” and then stand back as they burst from their beds, on a mission to secure a handful of glazed chocolate donut holes before they’re all gone. Because Munchkins equal good times for all! Er, except for the kiddos’ school teachers after the kids have eaten several handfuls of those bad boys along with breakfast. Perhaps.

*sigh*

Point? Oh! Sure! I totally have a point! I do! I–

Yeah, I totally forgot where I was going with this story. I hate when that happens.

Okay, kidding. I kid.

Here it is, what I learned last night (and this morning) as I not only overcame, but freaking SURFED the wave of adversity threatening to overwhelm me (see how I did that? segued? brought it all full circle? eh? eh? yep, I’m gooooood)… one of life’s most guarded, treasured secrets:

Never, under any circumstances, underestimate the power of pepperoni pizza, Munchkins, and a musical.

Let that be a lesson to us all.

Veronica Mars! My show is BACK! BOOYAH.

You can watch the entire episode of the (kickass) season 3 premiere of Veronica Mars HERE, a whole frakking week early! I know, right?! It’s like CHRISTMAS! But BETTER! Okay, not really… because Christmas? Pretty damn awesome. But STILL!

Yeah, so I’m a little jazzed. Whatever. If ain’t right to be jazzed about a sneak preview of the (kickass) season 3 premiere of Veronica Mars, then baby… I don’t want to be right! Well, okay, most of the time I DO actually want to be right, but not this time. That’s all I’m saying. In this one particular case I don’t mind if I’m wrong. But just so we’re clear, I’m usually ALWAYS right. No, really. Ask TGIM. He’ll tell you. Right, right, right! That’s me! Just right all over the place! Yeppers.

Anyhoos, just thought I’d share. You know, about the (kickass) season 3 premiere of Veronica Mars? Now shoo, y’all. What in the heck are you waiting for? GOSH!

The One Where Cat Doesn’t Get Enough Sleep

There is a part of me that wishes I felt as passionate about my day job as I do my dream of one day sitting opposite Jay Leno on The Tonight Show saying, “Oh, you… stop it!” and tapping his shoulder playfully, after delivering a sidesplittingly hilarious monologue about the trials and tribs of working mommyhood. Because clearly my natural acting chops and impeccable comedic timing are totally wasted on my co-workers who stare at me blankly when I interject into conversations about the environment comments like, “That’s whack. Pollution is whack. S’up with the whack pollution, s’up?” Um… because global warming isn’t funny yet? Believe me, I’ve tried. (Hoo! Thank you, Michael Scott!)

What? Me? Coherent thoughts? Today? After only four hours of sleep?

Yeah, I got nothing.

Public Service Announcements from Cat and Kiddos

Important information about fitting in, using correct wording, flatulance etiquette, and the importance of clean underwear.

Well, how do you like that? I’m smiling again.

This morning, after sending the children off to school, I decided to venture outside, to take a walk, to shake off the sadness, to breathe. It was one of those moments where in spite of the lingering melancholy I had been feeling for days, I felt hopeful that my mood was shifting, that my thoughts were crawling out of the vague wooliness of my mind and into focus. I hurried to the door.

The air was fresh and cool when I burst outside, slightly chilly, perhaps, but not cold.  There was a clear, sharp look about the sky and the sun was beginning to cast warm bursts of light over the tops of the trees lining my street. As I crossed the road I could hear the vrooming of the steady stream of cars crawling past my house, as they did every morning. People on their way to work, fighting for a place in the turning lane, hoping to make it to the corner before the green arrow disappeared and they had to sit impatiently for another five minutes. Seeing this line of traffic reminded me that today was my day to enjoy the luxury of being homebound, of not needing to drive anywhere– anywhere at all– not if I didn’t want to, and I smiled.

As I made my way into the neighborhoods behind my street, I began to experience the most peculiar feelings. Colors, sounds, smells, all of these seemed more intense, more dazzling, than usual. When the occasional car passed me, I discovered that the car seemed noisier and the headlights more brilliant. Everything seemed so clear, so very gentle and golden.

I had a sudden urge to be a child walking to a friend’s house to climb trees or make mud-pies or build a fort ‘o fun in her backyard, with a day of playing and laughing and running in front of me– though, to be honest, at the same time I realized I wouldn’t have changed places with anyone at that moment for the world.

Because the air was crisp. The kind of crisp that you breathe in deeply, that you can feel filling your lungs almost to the point of bursting, full, like your heart at that exact moment when you first hear “I love you,” or that moment when you catch a glimpse of a hazy water meadow at the end of a grueling hike through the forest, or that exact moment when your doctor places a tiny, wrinkly, squirmy baby in your arms for the first time. The kind of crisp that calls to mind the thrill of homecoming night and cheerleading to the crowds in the frigid night air of fall, even though you haven’t been in high school since 1989. The kind of crisp that means pumpkins and trick-or-treat and children in hard-to-make, I am never sewing again and I mean NEVER costumes. The kind of crisp that means fall is coming, and with it the mysterious, dank, earthy smell of thunder-rain soaking the leaf-strewn earth on a chilly autumn evening.

Suddenly something brownish grey burst up from the ground in front of me and there was a cry and a beating of wings–  not paying attention to where I was walking I had nearly collided with a flock of birds that had been pecking around a half-eaten bag of chips someone had abandoned on the sidewalk. I stopped short as my surprised heart drummed out a staccato rhythm I seemed to be able to feel in every inch of my body. But the birds just got out of my way and flapped into the sky, leaving me with my racing heart and my thoughts. I watched them fly until they were just a speck in the golden morning sky.

And I suddenly wondered if I could write about this, if I could get the truth and the beauty of the cool, crisp morning to flow out of me as exquisitely as I had experienced it. But I knew that words are very inadequate, or my words often are, and that even if I put all my imagination into my words, it is still nothing like living it. But I decided to try, because really… what could it hurt?

As I hurried home to fire up my computer, the sadness dimmed, hazy in my mind’s eye, overcome by the full brightness of morning. And I smiled again.

And I’m smiling now.

Back to School Night in Passive-Aggressivaland

(Disclaimer: This is a longish rant– okay, it’s epic, whatever– which in no way reflects any sort of ill feelings on the part of the writer towards readers who are involved with their local PTA. Y’all can’t help it if you’re weird and put your children’s education first.)

Here’s the thing… My daughter’s elementary school is passive-aggressive. Well, not the actual school, of course, due to the whole inanimate objects can’t have human emotions thing, but the administration. Dude. So SOOOO passive-aggressive. Especially when it comes to PTA meetings. Particularly when it comes to PTA meetings.

Case in point: Back to School Night. Sounds relatively harmless, right? Show up at the classroom, eat some cookies, drink some punch, chat up the teacher, ooh and aah over my child’s artwork, make a freaking run for it, and still be home for primetime television– I mean quality family time– before bed.

But not at my daughter’s school. Oh, no, no, NO. At my daughter’s school the administration are the damn RULERS of Passive-Aggressivaland! See, they have a difficult time getting parents out to the PTA meetings– and quite honestly, with this TV season’s fall lineup, good luck with that, you know what I’m saying?– so what do they do to remedy the situation? Um, offer door prizes? Hire a caterer? Install a disco ball? Hire a DJ and have open mike night? Karoake?! No, no, and NO! None of these! They trick us into attending. Trick us, I say! They bribe us with talk of tasty treats and cozy chats with teachers, and guilt us with “super special very important papers” the kids leave on the desks for us, and then WHAMMO. They pull the old switcheroo.

Here’s how it all went down last year (to the best of my recollection): First, they herded us like cattle into the gymnasium– with the poking and the prodding and the yapping at our heels: “No parents are allowed in the classrooms yet! Please join us in the gym! Join us! I see you walking down that hall, Mrs. L! Get to the GYM!”

Then– “We’d like to welcome you all to back to school night!”

Half-hearted clapping.

I looked around. “Where are the cookies?” I asked, nudging TGIM. Because I was hungry? And my motto is “if we don’t eat, we don’t meet”?

He shrugged and did that thing where he acts as if he is totally paying attention to me or what is going on around him but he’s really just thinking about college football, or wondering how many code violations the school is breaking by crowding us all into the gym, or trying to decide if he should get wax with his next car wash, or picturing me naked. Or something. Whatever. But most certainly NOT paying attention.

“Welcome! Oh, hey, say… while you’re heeeerrreee, why not have the PTA go ahead and have their first little PTA meeting? Before you meet with the teachers. I mean, since we’re all here together anyway… Isn’t that convenient?! Ha ha!– and then– THEN, AND ONLY THEN– you will be released to your children’s classrooms. Isn’t that a great idea? Isn’t this wonderful? Heh heh?”

Crickets chirping.

(They used this same strategy at my son’s orchestra performance later in the year. That PTA meeting lasted longer than the actual concert. Hand to God.)

“No, seriously. Where are the cookies?” I asked, nudging the lady next to me.

She shrugged and did that thing where she acts as if she is totally listening to me but she is really just thinking “Why the HELL is this person asking me about cookies when there are important meetings afoot? PTA RULES! I should have been PTA President! Me me ME! Wicked, tricksey, false! We hates them…”, or wondering how much artwork and assorted Back to School Night paraphernalia she is going to have to cart out to her car at the end of the evening, or daydreaming about McDreamy, or picturing me naked. Or something. Whatever. But most certainly not in any way knowledgeable about the whereabouts of the FREAKING COOKIES!

“Thank you so much, Principal blah blah blah…”

At this point I gave up on cookies because I finally realized I had been tricked into attending quite possibly the most boring PTA meeting in the entire history of boring PTA meetings. I spent the next FORTY-FIVE MINUTES planning sweet revenge.

When we were finally released to the classrooms, all the parents stampeded toward the ONE EXIT– some people got stuck, some got trampled, I won’t lie to you, it was an ugly business– and when we finally squeezed through the doors, we all made a break for it, knocking each other down in a mad dash for the classrooms…

… where we got to listen as one mother monopolized the attention of the first-year teacher– “So where does my son sit? Right here? Couldn’t he be closer to the board? He should be closer to the board. Does he wear his glasses in class? Have you noticed him squinting? You’ll have to pay attention and let me know. We don’t want him squinting. How’s his behavior in class? Well, he is a little rambunctious, you just need to show him who’s boss. What about his grades? Is he getting all A’s? I need to know if he is getting all A’s because we want him making all A’s. Can you send home a detailed grade summary on a daily basis? Okay, then, weekly? Monthly? And can you–” until I finally broke and danced perilously close to the Line of Socially Acceptable Behavior.

“cough Scheduleateacher’sconferencedoofus cough!”

Class clown? Me? What?

When it was finally my turn to visit with the teacher, I was so fired up about Ms. Chatterbox McRudesby, tricksey PTA meetings, and the entirely unacceptable absence of any sort of tasty sustenance– still no cookies and punch! the HELL you say!– that I just grabbed my child’s papers and artwork and grunted a “HellonicetomeetyouI’llemailyoubuhbyenow!” on my way out the door.

Man. Good times.

This year, Back to School Night falls on Thursday night. THIS Thursday night. Season premiere of My Name is Earl, The Office, and Grey’s Anatomy Thursday night. THAT Thursday night.

Gosh. What to do, what to do…

Yep. Looks like I’ll be paying a little after-school visit to my daughter’s teacher this Thursday, whereby I will be able to chat her up, grab my daughter’s “super special very important papers” from her desk, ooh and aah over any and all artwork, and still be home for primetime– er, quality family time. (I know, I know… I am SUCH a good mother.)

And THAT, ladies and gentlemen? Is how we do Back to School Night in Passive-Aggressivaland.

Booyah.

I gots me the BLAHS, y’all.

You know how sometimes you just feel, I don’t know… sad? For no discernable reason whatsoever?

Yeah.

Well, maybe not NO discernable reason. I mean, it could have something to do with the Grey’s Anatomy Marathon I hosted this weekend. That’s right, I watched the entire second season of Grey’s Anatomy over the weekend, okay? Party of one. Just me and my McDreamy. Um, and those other characters? Whatever. It’s all about Patrick Dempsey and the Hair and the Prettiness that is he. McRAWR. What? Stop looking at me like that. Ahem. So, this melancholy could simply be a result of the emotional rollercoaster that is Season 2 of Grey’s Anatomy. Residual grief, so to speak. Because c’mon… poor Slutty Mer! Poor Pole-Skewered Bonnie! Poor Pink Mist of Way Cute Bomb Squad Guy! Poor Wednesday Addams! Poor Sexy Surgeon Burke! And shut up, George! Oh, and poor Iz! Because Denny?! OH, DENNNNNNEEEEEEEE! Why, God?! WHY?!

Shut up, I am not even crying. Not sniffling, either. My left nostril is just a little clogged is all…

SHUT. IT.

I just need a tissue, okay?!

Or perhaps this melancholy stems from a slight case of S.A.D.. You know, Season-premiere Affective Disorder? A mood disorder associated with depression, related to a wide variety of season premieres and not enough room on the TiFaux to record everything? Or time in the day to watch them all even if I could record everything? S.A.D.. Man. I got it bad, guys. Bad. What with brand new shows like Ugly Betty and Heroes and Six Degrees and 30 Rock– not to mention returning favorites Gilmore Girls and House and Grey’s Anatomy AND The Office… and Veronica FREAKING Mars!– trotting out brand new episodes, all new and pretty, what is a gal with S.A.D. to do? Huh? What? The hell you say? SEASONAL Affective Disorder? No, I’m pretty sure it’s Season-premiere. Honestly, sunlight affecting your mood? Well that’s just silly. Anyway, I have a life, what with the kids and TGIM and all. And darned if they don’t expect me to interact with them and feed them and take them places and love them, so how do I choose what to watch and what to let go? For the CHILDREN? Wow. This S.A.D. is a bitch, yo?

Or perhaps I am sad because that punk-ass Ryan Seacrest didn’t choose me for the E! Emmy thing so I didn’t get to meet celebrities and buy a sweet evening gown of sweet Mcsweetness and possibly undergo some sort of magical makeover that would stop John Krasinski in his TRACKS so he’d be all “WOW!” and I’d have to say, “Oh, John! Stop! I’m married!… Okay, just ONE kiss, geez…” and meet celebrities and walk the red carpet and MEET CELEBRITIES. Then again, it was like a hundred gazillion degrees that day, and I was feeling totally bloated that weekend anyway, so maybe I dodged a bullet on that one. But whatever. I am so over it.

Or, ooooh! I bet it’s low blood sugar. Of course! It’s totally hypoglycemia, right? Except I ate a big breakfast (I loves me some cinnamon raisin bagels and cream cheese… and banana oatmeal… and almonds…), so never mind.

Or perhaps there really IS no discernable reason for this achy sadness that has taken residence ’round my heart– none whatsoever– and all I need to do is buy myself a Snickers bar, hunker down, dig in, and wait for the sadness to pass.

Okay, I’m going with the Snickers theory. Because honestly, nothing says, “Hug out the sadness with a sugar rush, bizzyotch!” like a Snickers bar, am I right?

Darn tootin’.

Veronica Mars! October 3rd! The CW! 9 PM!

Two Veronica Mars fans with some mad editing skillz put this extraordinary, completely unofficial Veronica Mars Promo for Season 3 on YouTube. Dude! Kicks ass!

Well done, frank823 and madseason_20! Well done.

Go and watch it. You’ll see. Do it. You know you want to. Click. Do it. Do it. DO IT.

Do it.

This one by zimshan is also quite good. Just so you know.

Random Encounters and Nice Suits

So there I was, just minding my own business while browsing the gum aisle next to the checkout line at the employee cafeteria in my building, and I saw this guy standing there, all random and whatnot, just an everyday Joe kind of guy, buying some coffee. I thought to myself, Hey, nice suit!– because dude was all pimped out with the classic three-button wool suit and power tie (red)– and then I thought, But he should get those sleeves tailored, yo?– because his sleeves were just a smidge too long and could thereby tarnish his apparent near-perfect street cred with the suit-wearing government employee demo. (Hey, I just call it like I see it. Don’t shoot the messenger.)

Suddenly, WHAMMO! One of those Wait-OMG-I-Totally-Know-That-Person! moments hit me like a truckload of Krispie Kreme donuts (I’m hungry, so sue me): I graduated from high school with this guy, like, seventeen– I mean several– years ago! Back in Arizona! Which is SO far away from here! Like all-the-way-across-the-COUNTRY far away from here! So faaaaaaar from where I live and work now!

There he stood. Right there. A piece of my past, just buying coffee and shizz. Craziness. What the…? Did I wake up in Bizarro Land?

Okay, here’s where things got a bit tricky. I admit, I wasn’t one hundred percent positive that this guy in the nice suit with the unfashionably long sleeves was BS (I swear those are his initials, so work with me), a cute, funny guy who used to hang with the Cowboy Crew, then went away to college and turned skater dude (random?). A PHS alumnus from those halcyon days of my yesteryear, if you will. So I did what any other sane person would do in my situation.

I totally stalked him.

In my defense, it all began with a simple double-take slash Wait Just A Cotton-Picking-Second look, but quickly escalated into a wide-eyed, full-on stare. Oh dear. Did I ever stare. But whatever. You have to admit there was a bit of a surprise factor there. I mean, I hadn’t seen this guy since high school and suddenly he’s standing in line buying coffee at MY place of employment, and I’m not supposed to stare? Just a little? The sheer surprise factor alone… I think Miss Manners would give me a little leeway here. I think the Manners Police would only issue me a warning. I think — okay, fine, I’ll stop with the metaphors. But I have more. Don’t think I don’t. Because I do.

Unfortunately BS (hoo!) caught me staring, so I cunningly deflected suspicion by grabbing two packs of gum and a box of Tic-Tacs… which in retrospect was maybe not the coolest of moves because he was probably all, “Oh… crazy lady’s got breath-freshening issues…” which, first of all, RUDE!, and secondly, I certainly DON’T, so shut up Mr. My Sleeves Are Unfashionably Long! Geesh. Judgmental, much? Some people.

Anyhoos, you know how in that one episode of Gilmore Girls when Lorelei was angry at Dean (Jared Padalecki– mmm…) for breaking up with her daughter Rory, and there was that scene where we could see Dean stocking shelves at the supermarket (he was the bag-boy, keep up, people!) and in the background Lorelei was staring at him through the supermarket window? And she did that funny bit where she spotted Dean, hesitated, walked away, then suddenly reappeared, walked past the window a few times while throwing quick, hilariously conspicuous glances inside, until she finally stopped, steeled herself, and went in? Well that’s what–

–wait, what? Really? You don’t know that scene? Huh. Okay, how about that scene in Grey’s Anatomy when George wanted the Chief– who was recovering from brain surgery– to sign a grant form so Joe the Bartender wouldn’t go bankrupt and lose his bar just because he needed that super expensive surgery where they basically killed him and brought him back to life? Which was totally cool? The killing and bringing back to life thing, that is? And George kept loitering by the Chief’s hospital room, hovering, peeking around the doorframe, trying to be inconspicuous but failing miserably? And it was funny? That one? Remember?

No? Okay, whatever, you get my point. And I apparently spend way too much time watching and thinking about television (and thinking about watching television), but that is neither here nor there so we will move on.

See, I was Lorelei and George all rolled into one– with the unintentionally conspicuous staring and the reconnoitering and the peeking around corners– and I am pretty sure I scared the ever-loving bejeebies out of BS (hee… BS… I kill me), truth be told. Because as I skirted the wall separating me from BS and the rest of the cafeteria, I misjudged the travel time from the cash register to the exit– a rookie mistake! damn!– and I rounded the corner too soon, coming this close to barreling into him. Of course this forced me to break out the classic Stop, Stare… Run Away! Run Away! manoeuver, which is a tricky business, I don’t mind telling you.

I shall never forget the hunted look in his eyes as he bolted for the door…

But whatever. I rushed back to my cube and looked him up at Classmates.com (I could NOT remember his last name, and hello? OCD?), then Googled him, and lo and behold, we work for the same agency. He apparently works out of our Colorado office, which would explain why I haven’t seen him around, but still! How coincidental is that?! So, SO coincidental, that’s how much!

I totally emailed him.

What?

[time lapse]

Well, that’s a relief. I just got off the phone with none other than Mr. BS (HA!) himself, who called me after receiving my email. And considering the sheer volume of exclamation marks and OMG!’s peppered throughout said email, it was jolly good of him.

Turns out he recognized me also, so I apparently only THOUGHT his Wait-OMG-I-Totally-Know-That-Person! look was a Dear God Please Don’t Let Her Be Kathy Bates-In-Misery Crazy Stalker Lady look. Which, honest mistake, right? And to be frank, BS (it seriously never gets old!) needs to work on his “looks” because the resemblance of the former to the latter? Uncanny. That’s all I’m saying.

And… I just realized I never told him I liked his suit. It’s a shame, really. I could have warned him about The Sleeves.

FYI

I have uploaded all my podcasts to a subdomain of this site: http://catcast.desperateworkingmomma.com.  I’ve also bookmarked it in the top navigation tabs, under… yep, DWM Catcast!

I know, right? I brainstormed for, like, tens of minutes over that catchy name. Phew! Exhausting!

Anyhoos, just click and you are THERE. Neat, huh? I know, I know… I’m wonderful.

*blushes*

Oh, stop.

How to CRACK. ME. RIGHT. UP.

Cozy your sweet, seven-year-old self up next to me while I am watching an episode of Gilmore Girls, nuzzle your warm little body into my side, loudly pepper me with questions like “What’cha watching?” and “Is it scary?” and “Who’s that? Oh… Well, who’s THAT? Oh…” until I finally shush you, quietly listen to Kirk explain to Lorelei that he likes silence before a movie starts to cleanse his “mental palate and achieve calm before watching the motion picture,” then quickly turn to me with owly, bespectacled eyes and ask, “Mom, is he MENTAL?!”

My world is PRETTY.

The strangest thing just happened. I was typing the word “clever” in an e-mail when suddenly– rrrrrrreee!– I was stopped in my tracks, absolutely certain I had typed the word incorrectly. The letters C-L-E-V-E-R suddenly looked foreign to me, like a word in a tongue heretofore undiscovered by modern civilization. Clever? It couldn’t be right. It felt so wrong. My mind tumbled into turmoil. Clever? Root word cleve? Is cleve a root word? Wait, do I even need to worry about the root word? Is clever the root word? Cleverer? Cleverish? Cleave is a word. Cleaver? No, that’s a big old butcher knife. And that other Beaver’s last name. Cleave it to Beaver! Hahaha! Is clever even a word AT ALL? Oh! Confusion! Setting in! Look it up! Quick! For God’s sake, woman, LOOK! IT! UP! GAH!

Yup. My mind is a strange, scary place to be sometimes.

Turns out clever IS a word, according to Merriam-Webster and Oxford (AND Wikipedia, where interestingly enough I also learned that the CLEVER is a type of three-wheeled car being developed in the UK, which… hey! clever!). And now? Yep. The word looks absolutely correct, completely obvious and familiar, and I am left wondering exactly what kind of freaky mental brouhaha just occurred in my unconscious cognitive process that led to my agonizing over the spelling of a simple word like clever. I mean, honestly. Kind of makes the frantic, mildly (you heard me, mildly!) obsessive-compulsive online dictionary quest seem a bit senseless now. Silly even.

Good LORD, people. Me? With the clever?

Apparently not so much.

Cat’s Kidcast: Labor Day at the Smithsonian National Zoo

*UPDATED* (for higher quality picture– feel free to download the most recent version)

The end of summer vacation is depressing enough in and of itself, am I right? Couple that with gloomy weather, two parents who simply cannot miss anymore work, and three children suffering from severe cases of End-of-Summer Letdown Syndrome– or ESLS, if you will– and you’ve got a weekend mini-break waiting to happen.

Thus, the DWM family embarked on a trip to the Smithsonian National Zoo on Labor Day… because the zoo is not only local and somewhat educational, it’s FREE. Didn’t cost us a dime! No money changed hands whatsoever! Totally free! Freeness.

And… well.. we’re cheap, yo?

The ensuing footage showcases my children in their very first DWM Catcast (or Kidcast, in this case) appearance. In this video my kiddos will try their darnedest to impart to all viewers the valuable knowledge they gained while visiting the zoo.

They are just givers that way.

(And NO, smarty pants, I do NOT always wear that shirt! I just like to have it on in podcasts! To show my Veronica Mars LUV! OKAY?! Gosh!)

Five Things About Me That Might (Okay, Probably Won’t) Surprise You

I have always wanted to meet Ellen DeGeneres because then I could say, “OMG. When I was hanging out with Ellen last month, she said the most hilarious thing… and then we had a dance- off!” Because while I imagine she is super funny in real life, I could totally take her in a dance-off. And honestly, how awesome would that be, right?

I’ve never seen an entire episode of Lost. Not one. Ditto Desperate Housewives. I feel just awful about this. Okay, I don’t.

When I eat M&M’s, I never just throw a handful in my mouth. Because… ew? No, no, no. With M&M’s I am a strict non-touchatarian. Segregation is key. I mean, obviously all M&M’s are equal, but some M&M’s are more equal than others. That’s all I’m saying. So what I do is I sort them by color, see? Then I eat all the M&M’s I consider unattractive, you know, just to get them out of the way. Brown? Orange? WHY? Candy should be pretty. Then I eat the remaining M&M’s in ascending order of attractiveness– the yellows go, then the blues– culminating in a satisfyingly green handful of chocolatey goodness. A veritable cornucopia o’ green plenty, if you will. Sometimes– if I’m feeling a bit crazy– I’ll mix the yellows and blues together and eat them… at the same time. Because hello? Color wheel? Primary colors? Everybody knows yellow and blue makes green anyway. Duh.

I find toes a bit off-putting. Toes are funky. I’m just saying.

I enjoy throwing random literary quotes into everyday conversation. I do this with my favorite television and movie quotes, too. I find that when I do this, people either find me extraordinarily witty (clearly unearned), wicked quick with the random cognitive recall skillz (it’s genetic), or sadly lacking in original thought (I prefer quirky). But more often than not, people simply have no idea what the hell I am talking about. Which is amusing to me (hello? dork?). Thus the enjoyment.

Crikey!

I have no fear of losing my life - if I have to save a koala or a crocodile or a kangaroo or a snake, mate, I will save it. – Steve Irwin

First, a moment of silence for television personality and conservationist, Steve Irwin. He was once quoted as saying “If something ever happens to me, people are gonna be like ‘we knew a croc would get him!’” Well, you showed them, mate. Rest in peace, Mr. Croc Hunter. We’re going to miss you.

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In other news… Giant pandas! Cheetah cubs! Sumatran tigers! Black-footed ferrets and naked molerats! Gorillas! Kandula, the Asian elephant! Oh my!

Guess who’s going to the zoo? We are, that’s who! There will be pictures. And video. It’s a whole big thing.