I'm OKAY

nobody panic....

Thursday, July, 10, 2008

The clouds are passing. The gardening has resumed. I am alive and well. THERE. After reading over my post yesterday, I’m surprised I DIDN’T see two burly guys arrive via ambulance at my front door around lunchtime, complete with a nice fitted jacket that ties in the back, just my size. GEEZ. Needless to say, when the storm comes, it comes with a quickness. Thankfully it passes just as rapidly. Leo and I called a family meeting last night, in the middle of the living room, to address the behavioral issues that have been wreakin’ havoc in the casa. Dora wanted to start said meeting with a word of prayer. (Holy CRAP. Thanks Pentecostal gramma.) It went exactly like this:

DORA with head bowed: God is grape. God is good. Lettuce thank him for our fool. -Freddy interrupts-DORA! That’s the blessing. You don’t say that at a family meeting-UH! You say that at the table! Do you see food? We’re on the COUCH! I interrupt FREDDY , simply because I MUST hear the end, telling him that if Dora is moved to say this particular prayer before our meeting, then we’ll let her continue. Maybe she just really liked dinner.....

Dora cont: God is grape (she always starts over when interrupted) God is good. Lettuce thank him for our fool. Bow his hands we shall be fet give us now hour yummy breakfast. The end. Amen.

Whew. When the meeting finally got under way, the spawn listened intently. They took in the new rules and regulations with the zest normally reserved for replanting (for real) dead rabbits in the back yard. When we opened for questions, Freddy just wanted to make sure he was still going to get an allowance. Dora took the opportunity to tell us that she loved the family, the couches and the dog. She also said she was thankful for her quesadilla...I knew it!

A Brief Garden Report

There was MAJOR make-up gardening underway in the den of love last night. YEE HAW. I took a shower and everything. SERIOUSLY. You KNOW it’s major if there is body washing involved. I’m thinking of draping some sort of sexy see through curtainy stuff from the ceiling. Add a few candles. Remove folded laundry from the dresser and put it IN the dresser. Take out all Barbie shoes, G.I. Joe heads, balls (hummmmm), and stuffed animals. Try to turn it into more of a .......bedroom. My wheels are turning.

The sun is rising......THANK GOD!

Planting Interrupted

yes, bro, this is the funky Garden Report

Wednesday, July, 9, 2008

We threw the flag last night without saying a word. I think I mentioned in the beginning of the sexperiment that each party was allowed a "pass" night. I assumed these were for that first day/night of welcoming the friend of the month which turns me into a bitch in heels. I did not take into account those days/nights where we just didn't like each other. Keep in mind that I love Leo ALL the time, but you know the times I speak of. Those times when you would rather stick a shovel up your nostril and fall face first on broken glass than have sex. God, that sounded awful. Still true though. It doesn't help that I am in the middle of a funk. It happens from time to time, and tends to fade away within a few days, but at this moment it is still here, I am still miserable. It doesn't take much for me to throw myself into a dramatic downward spiral, imagining that I live a life of secret suffering. It makes me so incredibly tired. Take this time. I realized recently (while swimsuit shopping, which makes it even worse) lthat I can't afford a new wardrobe at the beginning of each season. I mean, I can get a few things here and there, but I don't get to fly to Paris to sit the front row at fashion shows, racking up hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of pricey, "barely there" material that tells the world, "Hey look! She must be SPECIAL!" Go figure. After that revelation, I then start thinking of every little thing in my life that isn't exactly perfect. I magnify it x 100 and there you have it, and here we are. Take that into account and you will see why last night was not sexperiment friendly. Leo was irritated with Freddy because he never wants to sleep, even when he's sleepy. He never wants to listen though we desperately want him to. He attempts to negotiate EVERYTHING including things already in his favor. It is exhausting. Leo simply wants calm. He desires to come home and be able to relax once or twice a week without a battle of wills with a 5-year-old. During daylight hours, after the storm, I get it. Last night I didn't. I tend to shift to defensive mommy stance, excusing crappy behavior with a "He/she is tired. Papa and gramma gave them WAYYY too much sugar. They're only 5/3"....catch my drift? It doesn't make for an evening of pleasant partnership when I tend to always side with the tots. So here we are. In usual form, I will think quite a bit today, sulk a while, reason with myself and basically over analyze every word that has been uttered out of Leo's mouth for the past 5 years. Why? Who knows? That's just the way I work.

Raisin' Hell in Home Depot

courtesy of yours truly

I almost killed a kid in Home Depot yesterday. On purpose. There to select my wood (HA!) for the FUH-looores-UH ( I swear, you guys have the dirtiest minds.....) that we are putting in, Freddy and Dora were doing the normal kid thing that you do when you a KID in Home Depot. You know. Pretend that you live in each of the “imaginary kitchens that my kitchen will never look like because I have living, breathing, messy, dirty people in my house” displays set up for your viewing pleasure. I believe they became separated around my personal fav, the rustic Italian model. As I attempted to corral them back to Leo and myself, Freddy peeks around the corner of a stainless steel side by side fridge. It was lovely and I was just about to compliment his fabulous taste when I caught the look in his eye of a boy disturbed. Lower lip poked out, mute, eyes cast downward, he points to his crotch. It seems that my boy couldn’t make his way out of pretend kitchen land to find me, or the loo, in time. He was embarrassed and none too happy about wearing wet shorts for any period of time. I immediately kick it into “save my baby’s pride” mode, notify Leonidas that I am exiting hardwoods, and make my way to the john. Of course Dora will not allow any of this hot action to take place without her, so she comes with. As we are walking all mushed up together(because you know that people don’t see pee pee if you’re stuck to your mother) through carpets, halfway there, we are passed by two greasy faced pre-teen little shits who seem to be lost without a tube of Oxy in one hand and a video game controller supported by a bag of Doritos in the other. I hear one of the little shits say the following:

Little Shit: YO! LOOK! THAT LITTLE KID DONE PISSED ALL OVER HISSELF!! HAHAHAHAHAHAH! (The little voice reading this in your head should be really teen mean and maniacal.)

I know I could’ve kept quiet, and maybe, had he just thought it, maybe had he not said it loud enough for my little man and everyone browsing Berber to hear, I might have. But he didn’t and I have a nasty temper.

Me, Mommy the Big Ass Bitch: You should really shut your mouth or turn your volume down.

Little Shit: Who you talkin’ to, lady?

Me, MBAB: I am speaking to you. If you don’t feel the need to use manners and common sense in public, especially when you’re teasing children 5 and under, you should really make sure that their mothers are normal.

Little Shit: Yo lady. Don’t get no attitude with me. (Please note that he is saying this to his friends earlobe, not DIRECTLY to me.)

Me, MBAB: I don’t have an attitude. I am simply making sure my children know that it’s okay to not be afraid of or intimidated by little punks (I know, I know...I should’ve used a nicer word. I explained the concept of anger and losing control of one’s mouth after it was all over) like you and that sometimes they will need to help others locate their decorum. You DO understand decorum, don’t you?

Little Shit: Whatever. That is my FAVORITE non-comeback. This means that you have no idea what to say next. I have used it myself on occasion. Yesterday.

It was at this point that Freddy asked me what the kid said, probably knowing that it was about him and his pee pee pants. I told him that they were jealous that they couldn’t twirl and tap dance like Dora. Yep, I lied. I don’t feel bad about it, just in case you were wondering. I am positive that life, at some point, will inject their beautiful carefree existence with all the crap humans must deal with. By the way, Dora was THRILLED that they found her twirls to be envy-inducing.

THE GARDEN REPORT

The sexperiment continues. We were tired last night after a day spent with the in-laws. Last night WOULD have been the night, under normal conditions, when we would’ve pecked each other on the cheek, snuggled for a minute, then rolled around (NOT stuck together) until our bodies found the comfy spot on our respective sides of the bed. But it happens that I am a persistent little cuss, and forced him to participate. In the end, it was quite um....how would you say, cardio-friendly?! I’ll go with that. Cardio-friendly. Good, good times. It has been a WEEK already, as of today. Time seems to fly when you’re.....nevermind.

Taking Sexperiment to the Beach

can you plant in the sand?

Sunday, July, 6, 2008

I waited until the last minute (huge surprise) to start looking for a place to vacation this year. There were several reasons for this:

1. I procrastinate like a mutha.

2. Being married to Mr. Incredible, and he being on a superhero’s really weird and demanding schedule, I don’t always know until we are under a month till vacation time whether or not said vacation will even occur. (During summers that did not allow for away from home festivities, I have been known to turn the sandbox and accompanying backyard into a summer retreat, blindfolding the children on their way out the door in an effort to surprise them with their own stuff out back. They called me on it immediately.)

3. Summer is hot. If I book a summer house, it just means I’m going to be hot, away from home, on purpose, and I’m going to PAY somebody to allow me to do this.

4. Since we’re not loaded, we do not attempt to escape the aforementioned summer heat by jetting off to the North Pole. I don’t do mountains with shade trees simply because the drive makes me feel like I would like to have my stomach pulled out through my nostrils and placed in a Styrofoam cooler until we stop going around in those damn circles. Seriously. Can’t someone just drill a big car sized hole through the middle of those bastards and be done with it?!

5. I have to put on a swimsuit. It would be different if the world was lit via black light, ‘cause for whatever reason, I’m still presentable when I’m a nice strange shade of purple. Do not ask me how I know this. However, since most people (including the spawn) prefer to go to the beach during daylight hours with the rest of the free world, it means the planet gets to see my thighs pinched tight at the top by a nice ring of spandex. Yep. I’m sure of it. I really hate it. (I’m thinking of taking up surfing so’s I can wear one of those full body things without looking like a poser.)

6. Going back to number 3, not only do you pay to sleep in someone else’s digs while on vaca, you pay a BUTT LOAD to sleep in someone else’s digs while on vaca. I consider a resort someone else’s digs. It ain’t mine, is it? The sand is free. The sun is free. The freakin’ WATER is free. The place to lay your head for the 6 hours your children don’t force you to bake in the sun? Ex-effing-pensive. Add to that the fact that no amount of Lysol, bleach, acid, etc. can totally kill “those other people that were here before us” cooties and I am sufficiently freaked out.

That being said, we leave in 6 days. I am POSITIVE it will make for some interesting blogging. Especially gardening while on vacation...... cue.....

THE GARDEN REPORT

My planting proceeds. I am finding that it seems I spent WAY more time fighting Leo in order to sometimes NOT have sex than the actual time it takes to get it on. And we take our time......

I don’t know what changes the particulars of a sex life in a relationship, which is another reason I am forcing my husband to sleep with me for the next 95 days. Is it the familiarity that breeds the “we don’t have to do it now because you’re not going anywhere, you live here” mentality? Or the children that sap every single bit of energy you have and then some that force your once nympho-like view of the world of sex and love to skew sharply south? Maybe it’s a combination of those and countless other reasons we make up to NOT be intimate with the person we share our lives with on a daily basis. Whatever the reason, I hope this sexperiment helps me to inject a little sexual healing (it IS good for headaches) into our normal existence AFTER this is over. I mean, marriage is a partnership, and the daily rigors of this partnership can sometimes leave us exhausted, especially if you’re parenting at the same time. Why not recharge together every once in a while? Naked.

Sexperiment and Fireworks

these are NOT related

So I took a day or so off from blogging because I was feeling overwhelmed. I am still working to balance all the things that make me happy: writing, keeping healthy (I don't LOVE the gym, but I do love being healthy), mommying, gardening, etc.... it seems that I have the ability to become stuck in front of my computer screen from time to time, ignoring some of the other things in my life that need food, water, hugs and kisses. Not at an abusive level, mind you, but when I get to the point of sticking my spawn in front of a television show that features dancing furry weirdo thingys that are having a dance party inside of a robot head (sorry, Gabba Gabba), it's time to step away from the keyboard for a while. I also have this innate desire to immediately respond to every comment left on my blog, then get carried away, because they turn into small literary works themselves. So if you're reading this, first of all, let me say thank you. Secondly, I LOVE that you comment and promise to do a better job at letting you know it. Moving forward, yesterday we had friends over. I'm not sure they'll be back. We hope, but two out of three of them left with firework related burns.... no, Freddy didn't aim and fire, but thanks for thinking of him. He has complete control over his explosives. I tried to ply my burn victims with wine and beer in an effort to get them partially drunk so that would forget the fire trauma. I'll let you know how it turns out. THE GARDEN REPORT YEP. I'm still planting baby. We are developing the rules for our sexperiment as we go along, though we've had no major complications as of yet. Last night Freddy wandered downstairs as foreplay... pre-gardening was beginning, in search of his plastic cobra. I found that amusing. Leo did not. He couldn't find his SNAKE...get it? I guess it's funnier when you're naked. Anyway, then we hear Dora whimpering and it was my turn to be super parent. I climbed the steps and entered her scary glowing pink (thank you Santa for the funky Sleeping Beauty I'm sure it's a fire hazard lamp) bedroom. She was in the middle of a nice no tears cryfest. Conversation went as follows:

Me: What's wrong sweetie?

Dora: I'm sad 'cause I'm thinking about the baby bunny.

Me: I understand. I'm sorry that you're sad.

Dora: I don't want him to be in heaven. When is he gonna come back to his bones?

Me: Uhhhh. ummmmm. Hmmmm. WTF do you say!? I might have whispered "damn it" under my breath. Well sweetie, I don't think he will be coming back to his bones. He's quite happy hopping in Heaven on a carrot cloud right about now. Do you think he would really like to come back to that hole in the yard?

Dora: But he misses me mommy.

Let me interrupt myself to tell you that at this point real tears are starting to roll down her cheeks.

Dora cont.: How can I tell him that I love him when he is on the carrot cloud?

Me: When you say your prayers, tell God to give the bunny a little shout out for you. I'm sure he will be happy to tell him that you said hello.

Dora: Okay mommy, but I'm still sad. Thank you for coming to check on me.

Me: I will always check on you sweetie. Me to You: I am always humbled by my daughter thanking me for doing mommy things for her. It is simple and yet probably the greatest feeling I get on a regular basis.

THE GARDEN REPORT CONT. So, as I was saying, we are still planting. I'm stressing out already just thinking about how to keep it interesting. I know that people say sex is like ice cream, and that you don't ever get BAD ice cream, but you do know that they make Red Pepper flavored goat's milk ice cream, right? Yeah. Me neither. So toss me some ideas. Don't worry about getting too crazy. We're open, unless you are thinking of inviting farm animals or yourselves. Weirdos.

Late Night GARDENING

 ( The all caps is for you, bro. That’s me yelling so’s you know for sure that yes, I’m still doin’ it.)

Important note to in regards to gardening: In order to enjoy gardening as I should, it may be necessary to adjust hours of planting to ensure willing (and awake) partner.

 I had girl time last night with my lovely friend “Reba”(secret government name of course, the mother of Baby Reba... you followin’ me?) and had all intentions of being back in the den of love by 9-ish. Dora was staying with gramma (she finally picked up the phone after the 57th call) and Freddy is easily handled solo. Should be golden for continuation of sexperiment, wouldn’t cha think? I did. It seems I did NOT take into account the fact that it seems I have missed the sometimes adult, sometimes mature conversation that has taken a backseat to the needs of various spawn since school dismissed and separated Reba and me. Leonidas laughed when I told him I would be back at 9, obviously knowing me better than I know myself. What’s new? After the conversation and impossibly loud laughter (a.k.a. snorting) that come hand in hand with a two glass of wine dinner, I was shocked to see that it was 9:20 and I was still drinking coffee and licking the inside of my teeny tiny mini strawberry cheesecake in a shot glass dessert. In other words, I wasn’t home by 9. Another “you’re right again” point for  Leo. I have to stop here to give a shout out to our server Jessica that was rockin’ the bar at  P.F. Chang’s last night, gifting both Reba and myself  with a set of dessert shot glasses disguised as leftovers in a bag. Holla Jess! Was that wrong of her? I don’t care.

I returned home to find Leo had gone to bed, though he was still conscious. Not a bad place to start, though I think he would’ve rather had cold Mongolian Beef in a box rather than a round of gardening.I had been running late late late for my important date and the fam had to fend for themselves for dinner, but nonetheless, he welcomed me with open....um....er....arms? What a trooper.

We’re both still smiling at each other, and in our house that falls under the positive category. I DID however, skip the torture chamber gym this morning, simply because my ass (accompanied by various other parts)  is tired. I hope to rest up, yeah whatever, today and begin killing myself softly (with NO songs...did you get that?) in the stinky, sweaty, smelly, nasty, hot, I hate it gym tomorrow. But I’m not bitter....

THE GARDEN REPORT (sorry brother)

We are out of the hundreds. It happened so fast! It seems like only two days ago....wait a minute...

So we didn't go on a date last night. Whaddya want!? Geez people, we have two kids 5 and under (that sounds like a buffet sign at a ..a ...um ... buffet..... I'm on a roll this morning. Thank you ADHD.) Nor did  we want to cause my mother to avoid our house like so often happens after 2 days in a row with the spawn. Phone message from Dora to my mother sounds like this following two days of on purpose grandmother sitting: "Gramma. Hey GRAMAAAAHHH! GRAMMMMMA! Why you not answering you phone? Brudder and me want you to come over and to be the whale and we will be the doll fins and we will swim together on the carpet in the upstairs water that is the ocean. Then you can give us SHUUUUGGGGAR! Call us back at the green house!" That being said, I didn't ask my mom to babysit. WHEW, I am ALL wound up today!

We put the kids to bed in a timely manner, and met up in the den of love downstairs. After several false starts that were not our fault ("MAAHHHMMMAAA! Can you come check on me!? I think I need water. I think I need pee pee. I think I did not have the breakfast. I think I did not have dinner. What's for my dessert? Can we do fireworks?), we decided to garden on the bathroom counter, as I prefer planting in various places to keep it from becoming a boring garden. It was everything but. Go Leo, baby!

I am noticing an odd happening. We are already more playful with one another, with me not being the uptight sex Nazibeeatch ("No ass for you!") that I can sometimes be every day all the time always. There is no, "Will we or won't we? Will we fight about it? Will we discuss it for too long? Can I NOT have sex and we still be lovey? Can I hold sex itself like the winning card in a game of naked poker, taunting him because I'm the dealer?" There is none of that. We KNOW we're having sex, so we're just being cool... he immediately did all of the dishes after dinner as well. And wiped the counter. AND set the coffee. I think I might be on to something. Hee Hee....I have SUCH a dirty mind. ON to something.....

The Garden Report

secret government name for SEX

From this point on, every reference to the sexperiment will open with “The Garden Report”. This is code for “HEY brother!! HEY! I’m about to talk about sex with my husband and I know that this makes you want to vomit on your dog’s head so you can stop reading as soon as the spirit moves you.” It ain’t about flowers....

THE GARDEN REPORT

and the events leading up to “gardening”

Leonidas and I went on a date last night. That IS what you do before planned sex, right? I even showered. My mom, after being out of town with the dad for two weeks, was actually willing to babysit the spawn on purpose, without getting paid, for a few hours while we painted the town. Painting the town at this point in life means dinner and a movie, hopefully the ENTIRE movie with both parties still awake at the end. No one gets mad though if one happens to doze for a quick minute. We have an understanding ‘cause our kids suck our life juice. We had dinner at a cute little Italian restaurant where I devoured yet more lettuce and chicken, but with a kick arse dressing. It’s nice to mix the SBD (last time, South Beach Diet for all my new friends) up sometimes....dressing change ups have started to make me feel all wild and crazy! (Only those of you familiar with the SBD will have any freakin’ clue what I’m talkin’ about. The rest of you, welcome to my world. Sorry, it doesn’t get any better.) I’m rambling....

We saw WANTEDwith Angelina “my face is hot but my body looks like I’ve missed a couple of years on the food train” Jolie and the little dude from Atonement, James McAvoy. Oh, almost forgot Morgan Freeman. I normally tend to lean toward dramas and documentaries, not so much the shoot ‘em, blow things up genre. But I WAS on a date with Mr. Incredible, and did I mention that Angelina Jolie was in this? Again I digress....The reviews from this movie have been fairly decent, with a glowing report on a morning radio show being the deciding factor in our viewing pleasure choice. Keep in mind that living secret government lives, we like guns. The bigger the better, baby. This movie S.U.C.K.E.D. I do not care if you all see it and want to have WANTED’s baby, you will never convince me that it was worth my free ticket. What I’m trying to say here is that I didn’t like it. I MIGHT still be reeling from WALL-E love, and that’s all right. He’s worth it. God I love that robot. Moving on... we leave said movie (BOTH yawning) and proceed quietly to the driving home part of the date. The sexperiment has been the big fat elephant standing on my head the entire time, so I kick it in the butt and say something along the lines of “Honey, let’s just do it.” How romantic. As it usually goes with sex and the gym, once you get the “ball rolling” so to speak, it was worth the sweat. That’s all I’ll say about that for the moment, as I fear my brother may have continued reading on to the end. If you need more details, you just might need help that I can’t offer you. Yellow pages. Therapist. It’s time.

100 days to go!