RIGHT NOW

I've mentioned before how Ben's sense of time makes my head explode. For example, the term 'right now' can mean anything from... today in general, in an hour, last night or even tomorrow when I wake up. Unfortunately, I'm not even creative enough to figure out how to break it all down to help him understand.

Ben's preschool does this summer program where they go on multiple field trips every week. (Hooray! I get to pay an additional $35 each week on top of the $600 monthly fee!) I was getting Ben ready for today's bank-account-draining adventure, when he asked where he was going right now. I said that right now, we're going to the car to go to school & later today he was going to a farm. He then patiently explained to me that he wasn't going to a farm LATER, he was going RIGHT NOW because, look! he's wearing his turquoise field trip shirt RIGHT NOW.

So I pinched him and said, "See? I'm pinching you RIGHT NOW, but later today I'll stop." I'm kidding… maybe. I don't do explanations all that well before coffee and my skirt was riding up all unladylike as I was trying to get him dressed and out the door when he pointed to a cellulite dimple in my thigh and said, "What's this?" And then I pinched him for real.

Bye-Bye Baby

Gone are the days of stepping over cuddly toys to pick up my blue-eyed baby from his crib. Now my feet go to war with legos that pierce my bare feet like bits of shrapnel. My itty bitty bundle of joy is five years old today.

Ben's not so much itty bitty now as he is larger than life and slightly smelly. Despite my attempts at growin' him gay, he likes dirt, bugs and killer sharks and only shows fear at the mention of Barbie and the color pink.

Kindergarten starts in the Fall and Ben will be on his way to big-boyhood, which leads to freaky teenager, which leads to man-dom. He'll (hopefully) learn the skills to be independent and leave his mama behind. I feel that if I blink for too long we'll fast-forward to his high school graduation. So if you notice me walking around with my eyes like saucers, it's because I don’t want to miss anything.

At the moment, kisses spill from his lips almost as often as the words 'butt' and 'fart'. He tells me he loves me every morning and night without a request from me. And I feel that his love is absolute and unconditional - until that condition where boys stop kissing their moms good-bye and would die at the thought of showing affection in front of a friend. You know, that part where I just KNOW my heart will stop beating and I'll have to keep telling myself that he loves me in his own way? Damn, it hurts just thinking about it.

Ok - so I'll promise to limit embarrassing kisses to weekdays and weekends between the hours of 12:00 a.m. and 11:59 p.m. How's that?

Happy 5th Birthday, my big boy.

Boomophobia

As close friends and family are aware, I have a phobia of things that go boom. Even if I have a warning and the laws of cause and effect are at work, and common sense tells me that when I open this biscuit can, there's going to be a loud bang from the release of pressure. This leads to the tragedy of Ben's early life without biscuits, balloons and the most evil toy of all time - the Jack-in-the-Box.

Of course, being me, I do get a kick out of scaring my 4-year-old and being rewarded by the look of shock and horror on his little face. L-O-V-E it. And so, last night before bed, Ben was watching Wonder Pets and I was brushing my teeth, when I got the sudden urge to see a horrified preschooler face.

I crept into his room and screamed, "What's gonna work?!" (If you don't know the relevance of this question, you best be brushin' up on your Wonder Pets.) His response, had I not terrified him enough to do a somersault off his bed and onto the floor, should have been, "Teamwork!"

After regaining his composure, Ben narrowed his eyes at me and said in a low voice, "Nothing... Nothing is going to work, mom. I'm going to bed now." And then he closed his door on me, as I convulsed on the hallway floor, laughing myself to hysteria.

It's obvious that Ben has inherited Boomophobia from me. So you would think that I'd be more understanding about this affliction, and instead of scaring the shit out of him, I'd wrap him in cotton and cuddles like the loving moms in the fabric softener commercials. But our clothes are made of steel wool and we don't use fabric softener. No sissies in this house… Unless someone surprises us with a can of biscuits.

Well Shit

Someone suggested I change the title. But I think that's the best part. Because sometimes life just feels better when you say shit. And so - it's published unedited, because that's just the way life goes...

No matter how many eyelashes I make wishes on, life keeps hurtling forward.

We’re not original. It’s all been done before. Love has been lost, poison was taken and Romeo & Juliet ended in tragedy.

Throughout life, we will meet mean people, people who don’t mean to be mean, wonderful people, conservatives and liberals. :) But in the end, we’re all people just trying to be happy with what we’ve made of our lives.

We go through shit that turns our world upside down. We go through bouts of being the victim and the assailant; sometimes without realizing it. Life fucking sucks. And then we’re ok. We’re with someone who gets us completely, without apology, and we’re in San Diego drinking by the pool at noon, while people in Ohio are traipsing through snow drifts.

I don’t know all the answers, but I know where I’ve been.

When I was 12, I found a picture of my mom & dad with us three kids. I showed the picture, attached with a longing note, that only a romantic 12 year old could write, to my friend Mindy. I’m not all that careful, and so my mom found it. I expected anger and started crying as she read it aloud. When she was done, she told me to come to her. I dropped my head and marched to my dismal end.

She then picked me up, (my 12 year old legs having outgrown hers), and adjusted my lengthy self in her lap. She told me that everything happens for a reason. She smoothed my hair and told me that I might hurt when I don’t see my dad all the time. But as much anger as she felt for him, she was happy that he gave her…. me.

And so, in a very long, drawn out way, I guess I’m saying that while I might not believe there’s a God… I think there’s something bigger than me.

I have no control and I’m OK with that. I refuse to grow up completely. I refuse to live my life with years of routine and predictability.

Sometimes I feel sad to think I’ve grown up. And then I smile, because on the matters that matter most… I’m still me.

And so, my dear Becca, My best friend. My lovely, beautiful girl who shows her true colors without giving a damn about what people think. I love you. You’re constant and unapologetic for who you are. Your day will come. And I’ll be with you.

Bullet's Hurt Real Bad, Ma

There's this little bit of shame I feel as I sit at my desk licking the cream that oozed out of my Hostess Cupcake off my fingers. It's not only the mild self-contempt of eating something I shouldn't be, but it turns into so much more when people can see me in all of this glorious shame. It just makes me want to crawl under my desk with the city's supply of Ho-Ho's and Ding-Dong's as I mash cake into my face and hair. Yes folks, I'm back. And I'm stress eating.

You see, two Saturdays ago, I backed out of my parking lot and into another car. This wasn't really a big deal. Only a bit of paint off my bumper and insurance covered the other car's damages. I'd been driving for 16 years and never been in an accident or been at fault for any fender benders. I guess this would be considered a good record, even with the mishap of the previous Saturday.

And then yesterday happened.

On my way up to Dayton, right before "Touchdown Jesus" on 75 North, a massive piece of scrap metal flew off the back of a pickup truck. The car in front of me swerved and the metal was desperate to become a part of my car. I slammed on the brakes and ran over the damn thing. It lodged itself underneath my car and I dragged it for ¼ of a mile before I could get over. When I got out to look, I could see poor Bullet bleeding oil like it had reneged on a mafia deal.

Luckily, my mom wears a Super Mom cape and schlepped up the highway with no sleep, (she works third shift as a nurse), and AAA in tow and saved my pathetic hide. For that hour, I felt like a little girl again and I can't think what I would have done if I didn't have my mom. Doesn't that sound crazy? I'm thirty years old and all I could do was cry at my steering wheel.

It turns out that the oil pan is completely shredded and the a/c condenser was torn to bits. Which is a shame, since I have to make the 2nd claim on my insurance in a week. Progressive says it's my fault because I let the metal hit the ground first. Of course, I made the snarky comment, "So next time I should just let it hit my windshield?" I might have been dead, but on the bright side, at least it wouldn't have affected my rates!

See? My glass is half full! I'll give you one guess as to what's inside my glass.

Dirty Thirty & Good-bye

My Dirty Thirty party started out at a wonderful Thai restaurant, followed by:

Sushi & curry

Nametags

Cab driver named Tony, Paul, Robert or Tom, (it was never decided)
Panic attacks at the packed J-Hall
Circle dancing at the Irish Pub
Becca's impeccable robot
The stink eye directed at 21 year olds
Cab ride home and storming Speedway for potty & food
Kinney not peeing her pants

Chandra's mustard coat

Mac & cheese - (Kinney yet again missing out)

And so now I'm officially 30 years old. I still do everything wrong, including inappropriate February attire and outlandish wine consumption. By Cincinnati's standards, I'm very much aware that I've got it all wrong.

But as I woke the next morning and scanned my trashed pad, I saw hardened cheese stuck in bowls next to strewn bodies wrapped in blankets. With my head throbbing and my heart full, I was never so happy as I cleaned lipstick marks from wine glasses.

Thank you, Becca, Mom, Tarra, Brooke, Franks & Beans, Kinney, Chandra, Karen & Jeremy, Kacey, Rachele, Yvonne, Jennifer & Ebony.

Ben will soon be old enough to be embarrassed by what his mom tells the public about his pooping habits, and so this is my last entry. Thank you for accepting me as I learn how to be a mom, friend and daughter.

I love you.

Poor Ben (for the eleventieth-gazillionth time)

I wonder how many times I've written the phrase, "poor Ben" in the past 3 ½ years of this blog's existance? Let's just tack on another "poor Ben" today.

In my eagerness to use a Speedway gift card, I went off track from my usual pre-coffee routine. No dumb UDF gas for me! I'm gettin' the good stuff!

Tank filled and car happy, I got back on 275 and headed toward the bridge. And then a little voice said from the back seat, "Mommy? Where are you taking me?"

D'OH! The kid was so atypically quiet that I forgot to take him to school. Now I'll have to pin a sign to the back of Ben's coat saying, If found, please return to…

And so, as a first act in my third decade, I forgot all about poor Ben.

Angels

The thing I love about these 2 pictures is that Ben looks so angelic in the one on the bottom right. Like he didn't just step on his cousin's head...

WOW!

Are you tired of gaining weight from your birth control? Do you sometimes forget to take your pill and make yourself psychotic at the thought of an impending pregnancy? Now there's a revolutionary, non-invasive form of birth control that's sure to keep the ol' man at bay.

Introducing… The Snuggie!


And now that you're not wasting all that time on sex, how about some light cleaning with the battery operated Go Duster! This is an absolutely fabulous doohickey that can double as anything else you might use with batteries! *wink, wink*

After all that cleaning, who has the energy to water those pesky plants? Let them water themselves with Aqua Globe! Those 3 steps from the sink to the window are now virtually eliminated from your busy life!

Don't you feel guilty when you sit your lazy butt down in front of the TV every night? Well now you can keep those hands busy with the BeDazzler! Remember - busy hands are God's happy hands! Now you can step out bedazzled AND holy!

Should you gain any weight with your new, movement-free lifestyle - not to worry! Now there's Colonix! Never work out again! Just have a bathroom nearby!

Let's hear it for imperfection!

Ben certainly isn't perfect, but he generally does as he's told, loves playing with other kids, doesn't have tantrums and hasn't pooped in his pants for years. Let's all join together in a big hooray for no poop!

And so I really love hearing from Ben's teachers that he's a "wonderful little boy but has problems paying attention." Especially when it's every single freaking day. I just feel all wrapped up in the fuzzy, warm blanket of perfect parenting.
L-o-v-e it.

I mean, I just don't understand why a four year old would act so immature? I know that if I were a FOUR year old and was tempted to act silly with twenty other FOUR year olds, the teacher would undoubtedly be the big fat loser of my attention.

And so I'm taking my boy on a tour of a new preschool tomorrow where he can remain imperfect, but with a smaller child to teacher ratio. Wish us luck!



*Pictured - Ben at the attention-consuming Nutcracker Ballet.