Am I Psyched? Chuck Yes!

I may or may not be super excited that a certain television show that I love oh-so-much will once more be on my TV this evening. Maybe. Not that the Olympics weren’t AWESOME and all (you know, from what I hear), but guys? GUYS?!

CHUCK! IS! BACK!

Yes! It is absolutely true. I mean, today is March 1, so, there you go. It IS March 1, right? RIGHT?!

Right.

I don’t want to come on too geeky, but… okay, I’m psyched!

Check it.

*happy dance*

Open Letter to Metro Express Germ Guy

Hey, you there with the hacking cough. Guess what? Go on! GUESS! A newspaper is not a tissue, that’s what! Thus, your Express newspaper is spectacularly ineffective as a barrier for germs between your gross, snuffly, coughing self and me. And pretty much everyone else on the crowded Metro subway, of course, but mostly, this is about me. Your extreme grossness and how it affects me, specifically. Oh, and BTW? Said newspaper is especially ineffective when it is held several inches from your mouth as you cough. Does the word “duh” mean anything to you?! I mean, honestly. You aren’t fooling anyone with your lame, half-hearted attempt to deflect your germs from the grossed-out masses, buddy. Use a tissue! Or your elbow! A disposable face mask, even! I swear to God, if I get sick I will hunt you down and freaking kick you! Right in the shins! I am so serious. I will KICK YOU. Don’t think I won’t. Because I totally will. I’ll be all, “Kiai!” And then there will be a whole lot of shin pain going on. Truth.

In other news, your toupee looks as if it is trying to make a run for it. Let it go, man. Just… let it go.

In Which Cat Defends “We Are The World 25 For Haiti”

Yes. I’ve heard the criticisms. But to me, this is a heartfelt remake of the original USA For Africa version, and for a selfless cause, to boot! Sure, they could have written/produced a new song, but hey, there’s a reason this one’s a classic. I’m only saying. Plus, the rap portion is pretty fantastic, and Wyclef Jean singing the song as translated into Creole? Beautiful.

(Although I do have to wonder how many people were like, “DUDE. What the hell does ‘hi-uh-tee’ mean?!” Because I am sometimes prone to strange and random wonderings?)

As a side note, I will admit, the posthumous Michael Jackson tribute almost turned me off– due to the Singing Along With Video Footage Of Dead People Totally Gives Me The Wiggins factor? which is MY issue, clearly!– but I decided I liked the inclusion after I overheard TD explaining to TGIM how seamlessly they were able to incorporate MJ’s part: “Yeah, see, they had some lady dressed up to LOOK like Michael Jackson, and she sang with him.”

Poor Janet.

In any event, my kids were moved by the video, especially the footage from Haiti, so I bought the album at iTunes. I figure it’s just one more little way we can give hope to the people of Haiti, and to the world.

Think about it.

Random Dinner Conversations at the Cheesecake Factory

Random DWM family conversations overheard at the Cheesecake Factory:

TGIM: Okay, while we’re waiting for our food, let’s talk about something. How about taxes? Who can tell me a situation in which you would have to pay taxes?

Allison: Thanks for the strawberry, T! (to me) Oooh, I bet that’s what his girlfriend will call him… “T”! Because it’s a really good nickname?

Tanner: Well, she wouldn’t be my girlfriend for long.

Cat: Really? Why not, T? Huh, T? What’s the big deal, T? Huh, T? Huh? T?

Allison: I hope our drinks come soon. I’m quenched!

Hannah: Tanner with a girlfriend? Ha.

TGIM: Nobody? All right, maybe a different topic. How about the weather? We could discuss the weather. Or global warming?

Cat: Sweetie, I think you meant to say “parched.”

Allison: No, because I’m REALLY thirsty, Momma.

TGIM: Fact: There is currently snow in every state in the U.S.

Hannah: Tanner is my big, strong potato man!

(giggles from the girls)

Cat: Um, what?

Allison: It’s an inside joke. Ha ha! (off my look) Oh, don’t worry, Momma… it’s VERY funny to us!

TGIM: Except possibly Hawaii. Okay, every state in the continental U.S.

Tanner: Those stone faces on the wall are freaking me out. Are the faces on the wall freaking you out? Because they are freaking me out.

Cat: Hey! Stop drinking all my Diet Coke! Who’s drinking my Diet Coke?! Stop it right now!

Hannah: Wow! This cheesecake is GOOD! I feel happy! I love this place!

TGIM: (paying the bill) Well, guys, there goes our food budget for the week! Yep, it looks like we’ll be eating a lot of beans and rice for a while.

Allison: No, because it’s Friday night, and Sunday is the start of a new week, so… I think we’re good, right, Momma? I mean, we’ll just shop for good food on Sunday, right? So… you know what I’m saying?

TGIM: (standing to leave) I know, let’s talk about this new show I discovered called Mantracker…

Hannah: Is that the one with the guy with the rope?

Allison: Oh yeah! Mantracker! I was very disappointed that he didn’t rope that guy.

TGIM: Me, too.

Cat: I have no idea what you guys are talking about.

Tanner: The macaroni and cheese here is NOT good. I’m just saying.

Yep. A night out with the DWM family! Chock full of food, and fun, and non sequiturs. And quite often, just a little bit surreal.

SnOw MG! Snowmageddon in Metro DC.

Snowed in! Snowed in! STILL! It’s Snowverkill. Snowmageddon. The Snowpocalypse! (tm witty Capital Weather Gang)

Seriously. The Federal Government in DC is shut down– closed for bidness, y’all!– and you would think that I would be totally enjoying the fact that I am free– albeit stuck at home, but still, free– for who knows how long, but NO. Instead, I feel, I don’t know, well… guilty. I know, right?! About what, you may ask? I don’t even know, I might answer! It’s craziness! Sheer craziness! Honestly. What’s with all the guilt?! I mean, it isn’t MY fault the U.S. Office of Personnel Management opted to close down all Federal agencies in the Washington DC area. It’s not!

That’s it. I’m jumping aboard the happy, carefree, snow day(s) train, starting right now. Feeling good. Enjoying the blizzard. Choo-choo!

Freak. And there’s the guilt again.

In order to alleviate said guilt, I will now post something of value on DWM. A Flickr slideshow of Photos Past, if you will. Because that is PRODUCTIVE.

Anyway, photos from the past. Back when my kiddos were all cute and pre-preteen and babylike and whatnot.

And I mean this… aaaaaaw! (Thanks to TGIM for the scans. You = Awesome.)

Insomnia and Prince and Donuts, Oh MY!

Whoa. Stop the presses. (Vicki Vale, Vick-V-Vicki Vale!) How did this happen?! This NEVER happens! I fell asleep before 9:00 PM?! What the…?! Okay, I blame this anomaly on exhaustion stemming from bad bedtime choices. But let’s not point fingers, GOSH. Everyone just settle down!

(Keep bustin’.)

In any event, my bedside clock tells me it’s two in the morning and, hello? I’m wide awake. WIDE. AWAKE. Aaaaand now I can’t seem to get “Batdance” out of my head, thanks a WHOLE LOT, “Chuck” and Prince!

What now?

(This town needs an enema!)

Oooh, I say donut run! Donuts! Dunkin Donuts is open 24 hours, right? Just gotta grab my Uggs and some cash…. gotta beat the snow storm and whatnot… it’s just down the road, no one will even miss me… mmmm, cinnamon cake donuts…

(Batman!)

As it turns out, sleep deprivation? Not my friend. Clearly.

(STOP!)

The Heart Never Forgets. Thanks A LOT American Idol!

(NOTE: If you have read my blog for a while, or you know, actually KNOW me, you may—perhaps—know a little something about my forbidden relationship with a certain Secret Greek Idol Luvah. I think I love him. You have been warned.)

So TGIM’s youngest sister, Candice, and her husband are living in Manhattan for the next three months while he attends training for his new job with the devil. I meant to say Goldman Sachs. And just so we’re clear, I already asked her if she had ever read The Firm and she assured me she had indeed, and I was all, “Okay, then,” and she was like, “Okaaaaaay…” so I wash my hands of it.

Anyway, Manhattan! Home of the Broadway Theatre district! And other noteworthy stuff, of course— such as Wall Street and the United Nations, not to mention cultural landmarks like the Met, where one might stumble upon world-famous Vermeer paintings or Bernini sculptures or Gossip Girl’s Queen Bee and her entourage eating their lunch on the steps!— but mainly, Manhattan has Broadway.

And Candice lives in Manhattan, albeit temporarily. Like, right there in the Broadway Theatre district, oh, yes, a wonderful place of joy and joyness that people visit in order to attend theatrical performances such as Wicked and West Side Story and The Lion King and Mamma Mia! and the like.

Do you see where I am going with this? Do you? Do you?

If not, allow me to clarify. See, we totally miss Candice and, come to think of it, I have never even met her husband, so we absolutely must visit them in Manhattan. You know, in NYC? Where the Broadway lives?! The whole Broadway aspect being secondary to the hanging-out-with-family thing, I might add. Clearly. Because family is IMPORTANT.

So TGIM was checking some online sources for tickets to, say, Wicked or perhaps The Lion King— shows we could attend as a FAMILY (which, as stated previously, is super important)—when he stumbled across a newer show which upon first glance looked somewhat promising. From the other room I heard him yell, “Hey, Cat! Ever heard of Rock of Ages?”

I had not, and told him so.

“It’s some sort of rock musical! It has classic rock songs from the 80s!”

While I was trying to think of a zingy comeback to him throwing the word “classic” all willy-nilly-like in front of “rock songs from the 80s,” TGIM must have clicked on a video clip because I heard the opening bars of “Don’t Stop Believing” blaring from the vicinity of the computer. Not the Glee version, mind you, but the old-school version. The arena-rock version. Naturally, I started boppin’ my head to the beat. Because I am cool that way, a’ight?! Shut up. I AM cool. Plus, Journey?! I DARE you not to bop to Journey! Take THAT, haters!

Anyway, the first verse began, “Just a small town girl…”

I may or may not have scared the living daylights out of my husband when I– perhaps!– came tearing in from the other room, wild-eyed and screaming, “HEY! HEEEEEEEEEY! That’s Constantine! COOOONSTANTIIINE!” Maybe that’s how it happened. It’s all fuzzy. It’s possible I stood up too quickly or something. That would account for the hyperventilating, right? I’m just saying it’s a BLUR. And TGIM lies a lot, so you totally cannot ask him.

In any event, guess who was on the computer screen? Singing and whatnot! Just guess who! Constantine Maroulis, that’s who! Yes! My Secret Greek Idol Luvah, right there on my computer, totally rocking the eyeliner and the pretty highlights and the greasy hair and acting all smoldery and shizz. YOU know. “Doing his thing”? Er, “dawg”? While singing JOURNEY! I mean, was it my BIRTHDAY?!

Honestly. It’s a wonder I didn’t faint on the spot.

(Thanks again to Mrtl for the t-shirt. You still ROCK.)

Sadly, I didn’t see Constantine bust out any of his legendary ki-YAH! kicks or awesome crouch-landings in the clip, but hey… one can dream, y’all. One can dream.

So… wow. My sweet Constantine. On Broadway. BROADfreakingWAY! Who knew, back when he graced the American Idol audience with the rocker screeches, the camera lovin’, the hair tossing, the duck-lip pouting, the cheesy grins, and the somewhat polarizing KISS tongues, that my Secret Greek Idol Luvah had the star power to make it to Broadway?! It’s madness! Who knew?!

Oh, wait. That’s right. I did. But I won’t say I told you so. Much. (I told you so!)

*sigh*

In the spirit of full disclosure, I do not see a scenario in which I could convince TGIM and the kiddos to go see this musical with me, you know, as a FAMILY, over shows such as Wicked or The Lion King. But still… good on you, Constantine! Good on you.

(Call me.)

Amazing Gertrude!

While on my way to watch Hannah perform as Gertrude in Seussical the Musical, I had some SERIOUS nervous energy going on. Nevertheless, we got there, and FRONT ROW!

5th Generation Ipod Nanos (with video capture capability) ROCK in a covert ops situation. Just so you know. They’re just so… unobtrusive! Honestly. No one even suspected a thing! At all! So, awesome covertly obtained video footage will follow. Oh, yes. It WILL follow. And they’re gooooood, yo? Because, well, Hannah simply ROCKED Gertrude!

Uh-oh, I feel the motherly pride kicking in again. Gosh… I promised myself I wouldn’t cry…

American Idol is the Devil. No, Really.

Who in the what now? Kristin Chenoweth was at the American Idol auditions in Orlando?! The ones that aired last night?! As a GUEST JUDGE?! Kristin C?! Olive Snook?! April Rhodes?! What?! Who?! WHAT?!

… must resist the urge to watch American Idol… must resist the urge to watch American Idol…

Whatever. I don’t even care. American Idol and I are still SO over. So what if I missed one of my favorite broadway slash television stars sitting in as a guest judge? Big whoop. I am certainly not going to spend the evening scouring YouTube for clips or anything lame like that, I can tell you that. Honestly. Because I don’t even care that I missed one of my favorite broadway slash television stars, Kristin Freaking Chenoweth, being all judgy and whatnot. On American Idol. Even if her appearance on the show would make for a fabulous AI recap. Because American Idol and I ARE NOT SPEAKING.

… must resist the urge to watch American Idol… must resist the urge to watch American Idol…

No. I will not be taken in again– not even for Kristin Chenoweth, y’all!– because I have not forgotten how American Idol strung me along for years and years before finally revealing itself as a sham and a liar and a time-suck of epic proportions! I put my blood, sweat, and tears into that relationship and where did it get me?! Huh?! Nowhere, bucko, that’s where! And I can’t get all those late-night hours spent dialing and voting and recapping BACK, no sir! That’s all I’m saying.

… must resist the urge to watch American Idol… must resist the urge to watch American Idol…

Totally not checking YouTube and the American Idol Web site on Fox to find video clips from last night. Nope. But if somebody just sent me some random, anonymous links, and I was all, “Oooh, I wonder what THIS link opens?” and I clicked on the random, anonymous links and they happened to take me to some awesome clips from last night’s show featuring Kristin Chenoweth as a guest judge, well then, what’s a gal gonna do, you know? Sometimes things just happen like that, all random and whatnot. Understand? IT COULD HAPPEN. But I won’t be looking around for any clips. Nope.

Because American Idol is the devil.

How to Win Friends and Influence People. And Then Not So Much.

Everything was going so well.

TGIM and I, using out mad Craigslisting skills, had found a super slamming deal on a 5th generation iPod Nano—in green! as requested!—for Mack’s birthday (which, happy birthday, Hannah!), so SCORE. We established contact, set up a meet time, hopped in the Miata, and trekked to Arlington where we met up with the iPod Nano-selling guy. In a stroke of awesome luck which could only mean fortune was totally on our side, I noted our Craigslister had a Miata, too. Dude! Right?! A Miata! Like us! A common bond! Yes! That iPod was OURS, for less than the asking price, I just KNEW it.

With careful maneuvering, we cultivated the relationship. What year was his Miata? How long had he owned it? Did it have the flip-up headlights? What? The headlights have to be left flipped up in icy or snowy weather or they would stick shut? We did not know that. Our model had non-flippy-uppy headlights. Did he commute in his? Did his Miata get awesome gas mileage, like ours did?

For the most part, I let TGIM take the lead, because, you know, cars? As I listened to TGIM and the Craigslister grow closer—bond vehicularly, if you will—I mentally prepared myself to talk him down twenty dollars or so. I could do it. He loved us! We were Miata people! He felt a kinship with us! I could tell! He was putty in our hands! Mwah ha ha!

So involved were my machinations—perhaps even thirty dollars under the asking price was within my grasp!—I didn’t hear what TGIM was saying until it was too late.

“Yeah, the guys at work laugh when they see me getting in and out of the Miata,” he said.

Oh NO.

I tried to catch his eye, tried to stop him, but it was already spilling out of his mouth, the story he knew he shouldn’t share. I’d let him bond too long. He had run out of small talk and was cracking under the pressure.

With a somewhat hysterical laugh, TGIM continued. “Heh heh! They’re always like, ‘Hey! Want a little KY Jelly to help you get in and out of that thing?!’ Ha ha ha!”

Damn. Also, awkward.

Uncomfortable silence ensued, broken only by a small intake of breath as I opened my mouth to say something—anything!—to get the conversation back on track, but… I had nothing. With a sigh, I forked over the asking price for the iPod and let the guy make his escape. Which he made swiftly, and without even a backward glance, I might add.

TGIM and I climbed into the Miata in silence. He put the key in the ignition, but didn’t start the car. I could feel him staring at me, but I looked straight ahead in stony silence. Finally, “Too much?” he asked innocently.

I turned and looked him straight in the eyes. “Ya think?!”

He sighed dramatically. “Thought so.”

“Honestly, TGIM,” I said, “what have I told you about the Guys At Work stories?!” Without waiting for an answer, I continued, “Don’t tell them, that’s what! GOSH. I could have talked him down thirty dollars! Well, probably twenty… but thirty was NOT out of the question! Okay, maybe only ten dollars, but still! It could have happened!”

We sat in silence for a moment, TGIM looking contrite while I glared at him. Then, of course, I giggled.

TGIM smiled in response. “Sorry. I just… panicked.”

“You are SUCH a nerd,” I said before dissolving into outright laughter. I mean, honestly. We’d still scored a super slamming deal on a 5th generation iPod Nano, so where was the bad?

We laughed all the way home.

Yep. That’s my TGIM. Winning friends and influencing people. Then, not so much.

So Unpopular

Someone just unsubscribed from my blog?! What the…?! Honestly. I just received an email that was all, “Hey, you suck. So someone has just totally unsubscribed from your blog. Yeah. That’s right, loser. Just so you know.” Except not in those exact words. Mostly, just in words like, “Unsubscribe notice: [insert email address here] has unsubscribed from Desperate Working Momma. Loser.” For real! Except for the “loser” part. But whatever, I understand the subtle nuance of the unsubscribe notice. I’m no fool. Truth.

Honestly. Unbelievable. Such a shock! I mean, truth be told, I had no idea anyone was still SUBSCRIBED to my blog.

Imagine my surprise, yo?

Sunshine Day!

You know those days? You know… the awesome days? The sunshiney days Greg, Marsha, and the rest of the Brady gang memorialized in song? The days in which everything seems to go your way? Like, you wake up early enough to eat breakfast before leaving for work, so you start the day with a healthy meal and absolutely NOT vending machine Pop Tarts and a Diet Coke? Because, ew? And people are super pleasant on the train and don’t glare at you and get all huffy when you—totally by accident!—poke them with your extra long knitting needles which perhaps you aren’t entirely comfortable with yet and may be wielding a bit haphazardly? PERHAPS? And you remember to clip on your PIV card and your many building swipe cards and security badges before you head to a different floor to hand-deliver a report? And you don’t get all stuck and panicky in the stairwell until you remember that if you run all the way down to the lobby you may be able to catch the elevator back to your floor with someone who did NOT forget said security cards and whatnot? And you can get back to your desk any time you want, and do not find yourself outside the office door knocking on the glass until someone—who all the while is obviously judging you for being so careless—comes by to let you in? And you absolutely can’t wait to see what else such an awesome day will bring you, and you DON’T want to crawl into a hole with your Diet Coke and Pop Tarts until the angry, entirely NOT awesome day just goes AWAY? You know? Those days?

Today is so not one of those days.

Stupid Encyclopedia of Immaturity

Hannah: “Momma, if you say ‘gullible’ reeeeaally slowly it sounds like ‘green beans’!”

Cat: “Guuuuull-iiiii… crap.”

Honestly. Damn that wild hair that compelled me to give my daughter the stupid Klutz Encyclopedia of Immaturity for Christmas. Damn it to hell!

Also, heh.

Booty Shaking and Hair Tossing

Hannah, whilst singing most enthusiastically along with Metro Station’s “Shake it” which was blaring from the car radio:

“‘Shake shake, shake shake, shake your BOOTAY! Shake shake…” (turned to Alli, who was also belting out the tune) “C’mon Alli, WORK those curls!”

Okay. She may have taken some liberties with with Metro Station’s lyrics– but honestly, “shake it” IS somewhat vague, truth– but you have to admire her energy!

Yep. That’s my girl. Shaking her booty and working those curls.

*proud*

Knee-Jerk Pop Culture

You know that thing that happens when an innocent comment from someone triggers some sort of finely honed pop culture reflex and you respond by spitting out some obscure quote from a movie or television show? And sometimes people laugh? Because it is super funny? And sometimes people just smile and scoot slowly away and secretly think you are kind of weird because you never make any sense? Because they are obviously not serious about their street cred with the pop culture demo? You know how that happens?

Well, sometimes, thankfully, that innocent comment comes via email. Because when someone at work sends you an email that says, “Thanks. I think I got it in there,” and the completely reflexive “Did I say that out LOUD?!” response happens to be, “That’s what SHE said!”… well, it’s good to have a filter. I’m only saying.

In other news, I am a bad, bad person.

Crouching Tiger, Metro-Style

Ah, yes.

This afternoon I got very out of control and played chicken with the Metro car’s sliding doors (which, incidentally are NOT like elevators doors, in that if you happen to get caught in them, they do NOT bounce back open, don’t ask me how I know, I just DO) because I was super tired and hungry and grumpy and a little stressed about the four mile run I still had to do– on an empty stomach, no lie! in the COLDNESS– and I totally HAD to get home, GOSH. So the warning chimes were ding-dinging and the recorded voice was all, “Doors closing,” but I was like, “Aw, hell to the no!”

Honestly. Only my mad ninja skills prevented me from a near crushing between absurdly quick-closing subway doors.

Take THAT, Metro railway car!

Fooyah.

“So you had a good day.”

Ah, good day. I ran 5K with Paige and then we spent the rest of the evening knitting super cool wristers (yes, SUPER COOL), eating Hershey’s kisses, and watching old episodes of “Lie to Me.”

Oh! But… not a 5K RACE! No indeed! That would have involved registration fees and fancy new running clothes and other craziness. Just… you, know, 5 kilometers. Or translated to metric-hatin’ American distance, 3.1 miles. Of course, truth be told, I actually ran 3.75 miles, but 5K was way easier to say, albeit a bit on the braggy, pretentious, metric-lovin’ side. Just a smidge. Perhaps.

Well, it was easier to say until I felt compelled to clarify, of course, at which time I realized I should have just said 3.75 miles in the first place. Total fail.

Still… good day. Yep.

(The wrister in all its glory. Behold, the awesomeness.)

I’m right… once in a blue moon.

Happiness is spending the better part of an evening arguing with TGIM about whether 2010 is REALLY the start of a new decade, or if it begins NEXT year.

I maintain that 2010 does indeed usher in the start of a new decade and that TGIM and Wikipedia can suck it.

(Hey. We don’t have cable, so we have to make our own fun.)

Looking Ahead While Looking Back

When I wrote the title “Looking Ahead While Looking Back,” I could totally hear a deep newscaster’s voice in my head which was all “Good evening. Tonight we will be looking AHEAD… (wait for it… wait for it…) while looking BACK.”

Which, weird?

In any event, I made our annual 2010 calendar gift. It will be shipping soon to a store near you! Okay. Not really. That was just the newscaster in my head talking again.

Click here to view these pictures larger

Wondering

Sometimes I wonder weird things.

Like, why do morning commuters who ate curry for breakfast gravitate towards ME on the train? Or, how can Uggs be so very VERY comfy—like foot pillows! fluffy foot clouds of pillowy… ness!—yet so very VERY ugly? You know, at the same time? Or why can’t knitters and crocheters get along? Honestly. I’m like, hey, what’s with all the hate? Why not try both skills? Be bicraftual! Or throw in quilting or weaving or something and go polycraftual. Just saying.

And lately, I’ve been wondering about the origins of silly children’s games. Like “Heads up, seven up.” Oh! And “Red Rover.” This particular wonder probably stems from an experience I had driving with TGIM the other day. There we were, driving along—well, TGIM was driving; I was trying not to side-seat drive because it is ANNOYING, apparently—when suddenly, a flock of waterfowl decided they needed to run—no, waddle—across the road right then—on foot! or web-foot! whatever!—directly in front of our oncoming vehicle.

Several things occurred to me at once. One, birds are stupid. Because, WINGS? Two, it is SUPER difficult to refrain from side-seat driving. And three, I need to get over my compulsive need to correct myself. It inevitably makes me appear foolish, not to even mention that it makes text-messaging somewhat tedious. Which sort of defeats the whole purpose of texting, I am told.

Whatever. I digress.

With extraordinary willpower I refrained from throwing my arms out to brace for impact while shrieking girlishly. Instead, I helpfully pointed out the front window at the birds and shouted to TGIM, “Duck!… Duck!… GOOSE!”

Because it occurred to me as we were about to hit the stupid waterfowl and maybe crash and/or die, or at the very least, be stuck scrubbing feathers and blood and goo off the grill of our car, that hey, those weren’t ducks at all! Gosh, no! Those were geese! Duh!

TGIM slowed quickly and laid on the horn, at which point the geese apparently remembered that they did indeed have wings. And could fly. OVER the oncoming cars. So no splat, which I’d put down under “Good.”

I sat silently, hoping that in the heat of the moment, perhaps TGIM didn’t notice. Please, please, please…

Yeah, right.

“Duck, duck, goose?” he asked, throwing an amused sideways glance my way.

“Well, they weren’t ducks,” I started defensively, “they were clearly geese, so…” but it was no use. TGIM snorted, then chuckled, and then we both dissolved into laughter.

Of course, while I was laughing at the funny coincidence (not to mention the sudden onset of nostalgia for a favorite childhood game) brought about by my compulsive correcting, TGIM was totally laughing at ME, which, how rude, right?

AND now I’m wondering why I didn’t sock TGIM in the nose when he decided to share the story, ad nauseam, with everyone we know.

Fantastic. Now I’m going to be stuck with serious thoughts all day.

Stupid geese.

My Foot and a Stupid Heavy Bag

Oh no I D’INT.

Except I totally did.

I just now– the evening before the half-marathon for which I’ve been training with my BFF Paige, mind you– JUST NOW dropped Mack’s HEAVY bag on my foot! Just freaking dropped it! ON. MY. FOOT! The foot on which I had surgery a few months ago! The one with the bunion! Which is embarrassing, so forget I said “bunion”! And now I have PAIN! PAIN, I tell you! And have to run a LONG WAYS! Which I paid cash money to DO!

Just thought I’d share.

Offensive Driving

So I totally had one of those crazy TV moments again yesterday. It was so silly, really. I mean, no one ASKED TGIM to jump behind my little Miata to pound his fist on the trunk and screech like– well, I’ll just say it– a freaking INSANE person about the lawn and how I was sort of maybe tearing up one teensy tiny SUPER little spot or some nonsense… but I suppose I should back up.

Heh. Back up. Heh heh. Hee.

Ahem.

See, we have this long, steep and windy, ridiculous driveway. So there you go. Oh, you need more? Well, only one car fits in the carport, so we have to park single file. SINGLE FILE. I know, in this day and age! So sometimes– at the buttcrack o’ dawn, mind you– I need to back one car down the driveway so TGIM can take the other car to work. Aaaaand now I’m thinking “Back it up like a dump truck, baby!”, thanks a lot, GLEE! Damn Quinn Fabray and her Power Motto!

But I digress.

So, I have to back a car down the driveway. It takes half a mo, and is thusly absolutely no big deal. Me backing the car down, that is. Except sometimes it is because I am BUSY. Doing morning stuff. But whatever, because I am an awesome driver. And it’s usually just my cute little Miata, which I am super stellar at driving, thanks to all the mad maneuvering skillz I learned during those four years of navigating the Capital Beltway. So, I’m an awesome driver, that’s all I’m saying. A little aggressive sometimes, sure, but that’s called offensive driving! No, that can’t be right. I’m not a defensive driver, so… whatever the opposite is, that’s what I am. Not that TGIM would ever admit it. Because he is a guy and I am not and only men can be awesome aggressive drivers because it’s a GUY thing and I am simply reckless, apparently. Which is a LIE.

Are we clear?

So whatever. I may have a little bit of a chip on my shoulder when it comes to driving around TGIM. So, yesterday morning, when he had to leave and I was all, “I am BUSY! Doing morning stuff!” he went out, jumped in the Miata, and instead of backing all the way down the driveway, he backed just a short distance and a little off to the side, onto our grass. His big plan was to maneuver past the Miata in the Sequoia, then pull the Miata back into the carport for me.

Naturally, as I watched him doing this, I had guilt. Because maybe I wasn’t all that busy, okay? But I mentioned it was morning, right? Buttcrack o’ dawn, and whatnot? Don’t judge.

So I ran out to the still-running Miata, put ‘er in gear, let out the clutch, and… nothing. I mentioned the steep and windy ridiculousness of the driveway, didn’t I? So I wasn’t TOO worried that I seemed to be spinning my wheels but going no where. Which is redundant. I see that now. See, as I already mentioned, TGIM had parked half the car on the lawn, which happened to be covered with morning dew. But, as also previously mentioned, I am AWESOME. At the driving thing! And since my daddy taught me how to pull out of a dead stop on gravel hills in a manual transmission with minimal rollage, I was NOT going to let a small thing like wet grass under my rear wheel stop me from showing TGIM– who was watching from the other car– that I could DO THIS, thank you very much.

So, steep hill plus wet grass plus Cat with chip on shoulder apparently equals Bad. Because as I eased off the clutch– and nothing!– I may have instinctively gunned it a little, you know, to rip up the grass a bit and find some purchase underneath it. Which was a super good plan and was totally WORKING– vrOOOm… vrOOM!– until I heard yelling and felt someone pounding on the trunk of my car.

What the…?!

I ask you: What person, in his or her right mind, would run up behind ME, whilst I am totally busy rocking the clutch and showing the neighborhood how to get ‘er done?! VROOOM!

Well, TGIM will. Yup.

I stopped the car, pulled the emergency brake, opened my door to see what the HELL was going on, and THAT is when I totally had one of those TV moments. (Hoo boy! I bet you thought I’d never get here, eh? Is anyone still reading? Hello?) There stood TGIM, arms spread wide in an Oh-No-You-DI’NT gesture, looking alternately from me to his suit, which was plastered in wet grass, sod, a little mud, and other lawn bits. It was classic slapstick comedy– you know, something you see on TV or in a movie and laugh at but think could never ACTUALLY happen– but with very real, and no doubt costly, dry-cleaning repercussions.

I was horrified! So, naturally I started to giggle.

Then, “What are you DOING?!” TGIM asked. Not nicely either, which RUDE.

“What are YOU doing?!” was my obvious reply.

“You were tearing up the LAWN!”

I was all, “Um, yeah, but what were you thinking?! I’m driving here! I totally HAD this! You don’t just run up behind someone’s car while they are DRIVING and pound on the trunk! Because of a tiny strip of grass! GRASS! That’s craziness! You’re crazy!”

“But… you were tearing up the LAWN!” At my blank look, he added, “Why didn’t you just let the car roll a foot or two so the back wheel would be back on the pavement?”

I glanced back at our steep and windy ridiculous driveway, then back at TGIM. “Oh,” I replied. “That could work.”

And it did.

As we walked toward the house, me to finish getting ready and TGIM to change and rinse the lawn from his face, I had a sudden thought. “Hey… Maybe those crazy TV show moments really ARE set in reality.”

We were both laughing as we walked into the house.

Tricks and Treats

Cat and Paige… We are SO awesome.

Trunk or Treat! (Yes, this was a reenactment, why do you ask?)

Hippies and a Cowgirl! (That’s Kate; she and Tanner have been buds since 3rd grade.)

Aaaaand my girls.

The Crew, heading out for candy-begging. Woooooo! (I am NOT the witch. Just FYI.)

I LOVE this one of my honey. Grr! Argh!

The Shower Dream

We now join a phone conversation between TGIM and Cat, already in progress…

TGIM:  Hey, Cat, I just remembered! I had this dream last night of you taking a shower in our bathroom…

Cat (coyly):  Hmm, do tell…

TGIM:  Yeah, I dreamed you moved all my tools out of the shower and hopped in and I was like, “What are you DOING?! I haven’t finished grouting the tile yet!”

Cat:  …

TGIM:  Cat?

Cat:  Okay, I did not see that twist coming…

TGIM:  I know, right?!

Y’all? The romance, she is a’fading.

Previously on DWM: “Momma, can I read to you?”

Originally posted February 7, 2008. (Hey, I’m feeling nostalgic. So sue me.)

Alli stood at my left shoulder, resting her chin on the back of my chair to peek at whatever it was on my computer screen that held my attention. I could feel her there, fidgety and anxious, waiting as patiently as she knew how until I finished typing. Her warm breath tickled my neck, and I smiled to myself. I turned away from the computer (these days it is always the computer) to give her a smile, and that is when it happened. That is when I saw her.

Really saw her.

Of course you saw her, dipstick, you think to yourself. You were looking right at her. And you’d be right, of course, except for the “dipstick” part, because that is just plain rude. I looked at her. Of course I looked at her. But it was what I saw that startled me.

I’m not going to spout any hackneyed verbiage about seeing her “with new eyes” or “for the first time.” Nor will I wax allegorical about seeing beyond the outward appearance of those around us. Nope. It was simpler than that. I wasn’t seeing her anew; I was just… seeing her. Her sea green eyes, one magnified by a coke bottle lens, but both shining up at me, full of depth and warmth. The freckle on her chin. The wisps of unruly hair that danced around her hairline, escaped from the confines of her ponytail. The sweet little nose. The determined tilt of her chin, seemingly at odds with the amiable set of her lips. The almost palpable energy radiating from her body as her excitement and vitality threatened to spill over, to overwhelm me with, just… her, all of her, even as she struggled for composure.

She was so beautiful in that moment. Ethereal, yet so very real. I literally ached with the beauty of her. All of her. In that moment, she wasn’t just a spunky little mini-me with glasses and a propensity for chattering simply for chattering’s sake. I don’t know how else to say it. She was just… herself.

And it was breathtaking.

Alli shook my shoulder. “Mom? Momma?” She peered into my eyes, and a shadow of concern crossed her face.
Just a moment had gone by–seconds, really–but I felt both physically and emotionally exhausted, absolutely spent, as if I’d been traveling for weeks in some far off place and I was finally returning home. Trying to get my bearings.

I blinked a few times, fast, winking away any tears that dared to escape. I showed my tear ducts who’s boss, so to speak. “Yes, sweetie?” I finally answered.

“I love you.”

Now, I know for a fact that she had been about to ask me, “Can I read to you?” Because that is what she always asks when her homework is finished and she needs to read for twenty minutes for her reading log. But she changed the program.

“I love you, too,” I replied, then pulled her into my arms for a hug.

“I know,” she said simply. Then, “Momma?” she asked as she gently disentangled herself from my arms, arms which may or may not have been holding her a teensy bit too tightly.

“Hmm…?”

“Can I read to you?”

After a momentary glitch, we were back to our regularly scheduled program. All was well in the world.
But now, as I think back to that moment, I can’t help but wonder if Alli veered off-script because at that moment, that exact moment when she looked into my eyes… she saw me, too.

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