Three Things

A word of advice to any cheating husbands who profess to want to save their marriages: stop talking about how much you love the other woman. It doesn't help.

What's up with all that, anyway? Why does Governor Sanford insist on sharing his feelings with the press? How besotted can one guy be? Has he doodled his and his paramour's initials on his desk in the South Carolina State House yet?

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I can't tell you how disturbing it is to me to realize that every single day disgruntled parents are Googling "ungrateful grown children." How do I know that there are so many people dissatisfied with their adult offspring's behavior? Because this post comes up first. They all come here, these Ghosts of Parenting Future, not realizing that I cannot help them.

Go away - please. You're scaring me.

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Today I had to submit an invoice detailing what I had done on my new job so that I could be paid. Imagine if I could do that with my full-time job here at home:

1. Serving and clean-up of meals - 3 hours @ $10 per hour - $30
2. Wiping down 2 bathrooms - 15 minutes - $2.50
3. Reading A Baby Sister For Frances - 15 minutes plus the Frances book surcharge of $5 - $7.50
4. Wiping 2 poopy bottoms @ $10 per bottom (hey, that's what Anna tried charging me once) - $20
5. 2 loads of laundry @ $5 a load - $10
6. Showing up at the pool in a bathing suit - let's see, public humiliation goes for, oh, $30 an hour, I'd say - so I'll charge $60.
7. Settling fights and supervising chores - flat daily rate of $100 (it's a bargain!)

Let's see...that all adds up to....hey! $230! Not bad work, if you can get it. Now if I only had someone to submit this invoice to...

On Top Of Spaghetti....

Okay, appliance verses tomorrow - I've got a headache this evening, so it's too hard to do all that cutting and pasting right now.

Why is it that, the minute I sit down to write a dinner menu for the 2 (or 3, or 4) weeks ahead, I can't remember any meals in my repertoire?

Yesterday, prior to my commissary trip, I was attempting to remember what the heck I cook for dinner every night; when I asked the kids to name their favorite meals, Larry kept chiming in with "Spaghetti!"

Around about the 7th or 8th time, I tried to set him straight:

Spaghetti is not an entree. Spaghetti is one part of an entree. Stop saying spaghetti!

(Sounding hurt) I was just trying to help.

Do you really think that writing "spaghetti" on this calendar makes it a meal? Spaghetti is just white flour. You can't serve white flour for dinner.


Well, you can serve it with something else.


What?!

I don't know.

Sheesh - for a man who can make his own pizzelles, he's acting awfully clueless. I suspect it's learned helplessness, and it definitely works. I never ask him to cook dinner unless I want the kids to have hotdogs. Just hotdogs.

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I interrupt this post to inform my readers that menopausal hot flashes can make your fingers sweat.

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I've spent the day exulting over my blog makeover. When Larry came home this evening, I asked, "So! Did you notice my new look?"

Poor guy. He scanned my hair and clothes for any possible clues and, coming up empty, ventured, "It looks nice?"

You've got to hand it to him - he goes down swinging.

Ch-ch-changes...

[Welcome, Women's Colony readers! If you'd like to read more about what I've learned as the mother of a teen daughter, just check out this post, or maybe this one...or, hey! Here's another one! Of course, I like to take my mind off my teen every once in a while by writing instead about vomit, or plumbing, or....well, why don't you just make yourselves at home and look around? There's sure to be something to please everyone. Excuse the mess - we've just gone through a little remodel here.]

Ta-da! I swear, if I had that orange header one more minute, I may have had to quit blogging. You know how you can go along and go along and go along with your same old hair style; and then one day you wake up and realize that you will vomit if you see yourself looking like that one more day?

No? Oh.

Anyway, that's how I felt about my blog layout. Plus, I was hankering after a 3-column set-up and Blogger didn't have any in its free templates. Lucky for me, Dawn just happened to open her blog design shop at the same time I was hitting the wall, template-wise, as it were.

Now, I know there are some of you out there who are thinking, "3 columns? Ads? Custom layout? Is this a change of life thing, or what?" Perhaps. But I prefer to think of it as a new pair of shoes from Target - I don't need them, but they sure as heck spiff up my day a bit.

I mean, look at those polka-dots up there - don't they just scream fun?

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Although I desperately wanted a new look, this was not an easy transition for me. Let me just say that Dawn has the patience of a saint, if my sending her upwards of 30 e-mails during this blog design process is any indication. She unwisely tried to encourage my creative side by sending me to these amazing websites which feature approximately gazillion template backgrounds.

Has anyone else noticed that the more choices you have, the pickier you get?

It was hopeless. I ended up just naming my colors and Dawn sent me 3 choices. After she designed an entire layout for the background I chose, I decided that I had picked the wrong one. At that point she should have refunded me my money and asked me to please go away. But she hung in there. That's dedication.

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We'll return to our previously scheduled appliance verse tomorrow. Also, I have a new Larry story. Y'all come back now, you hear?

For Better Or For Verse

Larry and Theo returned last night in time for dinner; and Larry made a point of grabbing me and giving me a kiss when he came in. Sweet?

I think not. The man came home with some mystery virus that kept him feverish and asleep on the couch all evening. He claims he didn't realize he was sick until halfway through dinner. I think he was trying to exact revenge for being made to sleep on a schoolroom floor for a week with a bunch of teenagers while I reveled in the comforts of home.

But that's all right - I'm no slouch at revenge myself (18 years of marriage will do that to you). I forgot to put Susie's diaper on last night, which negligence resulted in her peeing all over him at 5 this morning.

Larry changed and relocated (grumpily) to the couch while I dealt with changing Susie and stripping the bed. As I was contemplating what to do about the wet mattress, Susie (who was standing next to me) provided her assessment of the situation. "We have a problem here," she said.

Um, yes, we do, sweetie. As in, you should have peed in your own bed.

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I'm impressed with the creativity in Friday's comments (and, uh, did anyone "get" my post title that day? Just wondering...). The appliance poetry ranges from ee cummings to Shakespeare. You really should check it out and send in your own.

If I'm feeling really ambitious, I'll post the entries tomorrow and set up a poll so people can vote for the best one. I should have plenty of time to figure that all out, as I'm still not talking to Larry.

Oh, and Mom On The Verge shared this website. It features appliance-repair haikus. The internet is a strange and wonderful place indeed.

Because I Would Not Shop In Debt...

Another comment from Cheri@BlogThisMom (and why don't I just hand this whole blog over to her, while I'm at it?):

Why stop now? I challenge your other readers to do some blender Browning, oven Plath, microwave Cummings, and perhaps even some BBQ Frost. This could be fun.

"oven Plath"? Is Cheri one sick puppy or what? I love it.

Elizabeth suggested "Stopping By My Freezer on a Snowy Evening." How about the rest of you? Send in your submissions (hopefully more than a title, maybe a first verse?) for our all-new appliance poetry slam; prizes not guaranteed, as I am the most unreliable blogger ever.

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Larry and Theo are away all week, working on other people's houses (have I mentioned that already? Do I sound bitter, or what?); I took advantage of Larry's absence to hold another Pampered Chef fundraiser at my house. I figured, so long as he was gone, he couldn't possibly sabotage my efforts like last time.

[Again, newbies, click on that link. It's classic Larry...]

I'll tell you, it was a pleasure having a kitchen floor to walk on this time. It was way too hot to bother to clean my oven, but that's okay. I think more than once every 2 years would be a bit excessive, don't you?

Anyway, when Larry called yesterday evening, I casually mentioned the day's activities. Folks, I never knew one can feel panic and apprehension coming over the phone wire. I could almost hear him wondering if he could get in touch with the credit card company pronto and stop all payments.

(Nice try, sweetie - but I paid cash.)

You'd think I had a history of spending all his hard-earned money on Pampered Chef products. Please. Last time (more than a year and a half ago), I spent less than 50 dollars. This time around? I bought a replacement cutting board - my wooden one is so old and warped it curves upward in the middle. A cutting board, mind you, that I use at least once a day. Also? I got a grater. Because the Tupperware grater that I picked up 10 years ago at a thrift shop has gone missing.

My point being, Larry doesn't know how lucky he is.

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I'm trying not to babble on about Michael Jackson, about how his music formed the soundtrack of my 20's and I can't hear any of those songs without getting incredibly nostalgic and gosh where has the time gone and wow how did he dance like that and please don't remind me of that weird pedophilia business, okay?

But it's all I can think about. Me and the rest of the world, it seems. Who cares about that incipient revolution in Iran? Or those nukes headed our way from North Korea? Let's listen again to "Billy Jean" and try to convince ourselves that he's not saying, "The chair is not my son."




(Watch this video - it's not all Michael. It's funny.)


As for Farrah Fawcett, I would like to point out that my entire 7th-grade year was ruined by the fact that I couldn't get my hair to feather on the sides like hers did. I know it's petty, but I never really forgave her for that. Vanity of vanities! All is vanity.