"I Love Emmy"

My husband and I have been married almost 8 years. That means, that although the “Honeymoon” phase is technically over, we are still more like Ricky and Lucy;

than Fred and Ethel.

In the beginning, out of love and respect (and richer or poorer!), I used to either ask Andrew before making every little purchase or completely hide purchases leaving Andrew in the dark, and myself getting “in trouble” at the end of the month when bills were coming in. Over time, we formed a budget and pledged to stick to it. But that hasn’t stopped me from participating in the time honored tradition, passed down from mothers to daughters through the ages, of “pulling the wool” over Big Daddy’s eyes. My own mother writes “VOID” in the check book (as if she accidentally messed up a check) and then fudges “the bottom line” when she buys something she thinks my father would disapprove of (like the bazillions of fun treasures she brings everytime she visits! Yeah!) Of course neither she, nor I, nor many of the other women who fool their husbands with “creative math” would make a huge purchase (like a house, or car or computer etc.) it is helpful in avoiding a lecture at the dreaded end of the month “Budget Summit” Big Daddy insists we have.

My latest trick actually shows how honest and respectful of him I really am. Maybe I need a few more decades of marriage under my belt before I can try the “VOID” trick, because instead of pretending to void a check, I simply wrote “THING” and the amount, and then promptly forgot…until Andrew got a hold of the check book and yelled out, “EMMMMMMMMYYYY!?”

It seemed that, as usual, I had some ‘splainin to do.

“What is this charge of $92.31 under THING?!”

“Oh, um, just a little surprise.” I said, nonchalantly.

“For who?” asked Andrew

“For me!” Andrew’s eyes rolled high into his head.

A few days later (the “thing” arrived, it’s a custom made necklace I bought for myself and it’s FIERCE!) my family and I enjoyed a late supper and we all ended the evening watching television together like, well, like the 1950’s family that we are. We were all feeling lazy and relaxed and since cleaning is NEVER a priority, in the sink the dishes remained. I knew they were there, didn’t mind, and actually anticipated doing them first thing in the morning…no big deal. But when I awoke and went to check on Sparkle (our outdoor cat who stays in the garage at night) I found this:

And closer...

And closer, still...

I was tickled pink! I couldn’t stop giggling as I read his note. ‘Cause that’s how we do it in this house. It’s what keeps us “Lucy and Ricky.” I was so touched by the gesture (I NEVER expect him to the dishes), that I gave him the credit back. Also because it’s how I know we are Ying and Yang. He disapproved of my checkbook foolery, and yet knew I would appreciate this token. Though grateful as I was, I was not rehabilitated…despite Big Daddy’s goodwill, I’ll continue to buy “THINGS.” And I’m quite sure that sometime, somewhere, someday, there WILL be a show called, “I Love Emmy.”

No Shit.

Potty training a baby can be an exercise in jackassisms. When we first started potty training V, she would NOT urinate on the toilet, no matter how hard we tried or how ridiculous we sounded. We would say, “V, go tee-tee,” “Ok, go Potty,” “Please, go wee-wee…pee-pee..puddle…” NOTHING translated. Finally, exasperated (she AND us), V announced, “Mama, it’s called “TINKLE!” and then let LOOSE. So tinkle, it was. M pee-pees, and V tinkles…go figure.

For both of them, the number two proved most elusive. It wasn’t like Andrew and I could stand in the bathroom doorway shouting, “Who Does Number Two Work For! You show that turd who’s boss!” I mean, they are babies, after all! M was an easy potty trainer. Two weeks, that was it! V (surprisingly enough) took much longer. I thought girls were supposed to be easier!? I surmise that most of her difficulties stemmed from her insistence on doing everything, “herself,” and doing NOTHING the “baby way.” She NEVER used a “training potty,” never used a “potty seat.” It was the “big girl potty” or BUST. Subsequently, she pooped her pants more times than not.

After (what seemed like an eternity) rockin’ the pull ups and soilin’ the panties, V made the announcement that she didn’t want panties OR pull-ups…she only wanted “pants.” From them on, V went “commando.” My brother’s advice? “You may want to correct that before she goes to high school…and college.” Ha ha…point taken. Just hearing my brother, falsetto in full effect, mock, “I’m not wearing any panties!” was enough for me to nip this one in the bud…FAST.

But tonight, despite all of her funny little insistences (I have NEVER met an “older” two year old…who knows herself, and knows what she wants more than even *I*do), V threw me for a loop. Now, she still requires assistance on the potty. I have to admit…I AM a “Wipe Nazi,” there is nary an ass in this house that isn’t thoroughly inspected after a BM; I’m like Santa…I’m making a list, checkin’ it twice. V still harbors the uninhibitation of a toddler and allows me, nay, requests me in the presence of her PUP (our family word for POOP.) But today, she said something that made, even me, blush.

We have been working with rhyming a lot, mainly because it’s just a fun game the kids and I play, but (like everything in motherhood) this time it bit me in the butt. Fuh real. After V “did her bidness” in the potty this afternoon; full of pomp and pride, my sweet, feminine baby daughter announced with gusto…

“I just did a LITTLE SHITTLE!!!”

I WISH I was makin’ this stuff up…(and NO, that is NOT one of the euphemisms we use. We may tell her that bath time means it’s time to “swim like a mermaid,” and during dinner, I DO still spoon feed her like a “baby bird” or (our latest) a “little kitten” but I PROMISE you, none of our “pet phrases” include profanity!)

And oh, does this now qualify us to be “white trash?” My two year old used the “s” word in context. Just wondering.

Away From the Nest

Away From the Nest I LOVE my husband. I mean, I really *love* him. I don't think I could have found a better person to share my life with, love romantically, and be "domestic partners" with. I believe in the dedication and devotion we have made to each other and our marriage, and I feel bleesed to be avowed to him.

I left to go out of town today...which, a) I HATE travelling b) I haven' t spent more than a night away from my kids in 4 years (this time I will be spending two nights, and although it DOES provide a mini-reprieve, my heart aches without them. And c) I miss Big Daddy

Even thought he *scolded* me for purchasing a hairdryer and staightening iron since I forgot to pack mine (don't worry, I reminded him that his hair is an inch long, and mine is past my bra strap, and included threats with the words "no" and "va-jay-jay" and I think he got the hint to stop talking...), I miss him.

I also love that we have our special song. So it shouldn't have surprised me that as I drove away from his work today (we traded cars at lunch so he could have the minivan with carseats) the radio station, tuned to classic rock, played "our song." It reminds me of when we VERY FIRST starting dating, and actually heard this song live. It's a little cliche-y...but love, by definition, is cheesey, so get over it!

So Tired...Quotes About the Conference I'm Attending...

The answer to "why me?" is "why not me".

I have so many thoughts about the first night of my Conference…I am tired, emotionally drained, and I miss my family (even though it’s only been a few hours!) rather than “write,” I have compiled some quotes…

The courage to be, is the courage to accept oneself, in spite of being "unacceptable". Paul Tillich (1886 - 1965)

“[We are all], just varying shades of gray on the spectrum of interesting...” my friend GS

“What makes us different makes us beautiful.” Penelope movie

Love Conquers All – Virgil (Love overcomes all obstacles)

What looks like a loss may be the very event which is subsequently responsible for helping to produce the major achievement of your life. - Srully D. Blotnick

When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, I used everything you gave me. - Erma Louise Bombeck

Aerodynamically the bumblebee shouldn't be able to fly, but the bumblebee doesn't know that so it goes on flying anyway. Mary Kay Ash

Of all the rights of women, the greatest is to be a mother. Lin Yn-tang 1895-1976, Chinese Writer and Philologist

A mother's heart is always with her children. Proverb

A mother understands what a child does not say. Jewish Proverb Sayings of Jewish Origin

We learn geology the morning after the earthquake. Ralph Waldo Emerson 1803-1882, American Poet, Essayist

The things which hurt, instruct. Benjamin Franklin 1706-1790, American Scientist, Publisher, Diplomat

Times of great calamity and confusion have been productive for the greatest minds. The purest ore is produced from the hottest furnace. The brightest thunder-bolt is elicited from the darkest storm. Charles Caleb Colton 1780-1832, British Sportsman Writer

The wildest colts make the best horses. Plutarch 46-120 AD, Greek Essayist, Biographer

Kitty Lotto a.k.a "Sparkle the Wonder Cat"

This is what “Winning the Lottery” looks like to a cat:

What's In A Name?

Some things are “universal,” meaning interchangeable or applicable in any and all situations. We have universal remote controls for use on all electronics. There are universal cell phone chargers, screw drivers; universal “wish lists,” adapter plugs…there is even a philosophy of “universal ethics,” a code we are all supposed to abide by.

When my friend B came to visit me with her 3-year-old son D, we all got a kick out of the fact that he started calling my husband, “Daddy.” We surmised that D heard my kids, (Fifi LaWooWoo and May-May) call him, “Daddy,” and was like, “Oh, hey, I know someone named Daddy, too! What a coincidence!” And so, “Daddy” Andrew became. To Everyone. It probably doesn’t help that I have a VERY bad habit of calling Andrew, “Daddy,” myself. Before we had kids, we promised each other that we would NEVER call each other “Mommy and Daddy,” (or as we joke with West Virginia flair…”Maw-Mee and Deddy.”) Oh how we used to LAUGH and make fun of those lame-o’s who called each other “Mom and Dad.” But, like so many other things we SWORE up and down we’d never do, that went right out the window with M’s first breath of life. B’s son D never meant any disrespect to his own Daddy, and eventually we convinced D to call Andrew “BIG Daddy,” the way I myself, lovingly refer to him. It was SO freakin’ cute…Andrew would get home from work, my kids would be like, “Daddy’s home, Yeah!” and D would yell, “Yeah, Big Daddy’s home!” It’s the way things should be between great friends…like family.

But D isn’t the only toddler ever to call Andrew, “Daddy.” My friend E’s daughter M (two months younger than V…so a few months shy of 3-years-old) started calling Andrew “Daddy” around Halloween. Now, ordinarily that would melt Andrew’s heart, just as it did when D called him “Daddy,” but E is a single mom, and M doesn’t remember her own Daddy, and that just SLAYS Andrew. E’s husband left her after she had M, and after 7 years of marriage and E has been raising M alone, ever since. In addition, M is so totally adorable…big chubby cheeks, steely grey eyes and jet black hair. I think E was uncomfortable and embarrassed the first time M called Andrew “Daddy.” We played it off really well and that was that. But tonight when they came over for dinner, there was no denying the fact that M was calling Andrew “Daddy”…repeatedly. E laughed awkwardly and said, “Uh…she hasn’t met a lot of ‘Daddys.’” But tonight, we just embraced it. I was like, “So what? So she calls Andrew “Daddy! The only person NOT calling him “Daddy” here is you! So let her call him that, we don’t care, if you don’t!”

So “Daddy” it was!

When they left, M went around the room asking for a hug AND kiss from each person. I complied, V (reluctantly) complied (she was tired and in between tantrums), M planted a big ‘ol kiss on the top of her head and hugged her like a bear. Andrew was trying to slink away, unsure of the appropriateness of hugging and kissing a two year old who isn’t his daughter. But little M persisted after him.

“Give that baby a hug-n-kiss!” I ordered Big Daddy.

Andrew bent down and gave M a one-armed-hug, as if one of his co-workers was requesting a hug or two teammates congratulating each other after a good game. M wasn’t satisfied.

“Kiss, Daddy?” She asked.

Andrew leaned down and gave her a little kiss on the head, and she scampered away like “Boo” from “Monsters Inc.”

So call him Ward Cleaver. Call him Howard Cunningham. Call him Darren Stephens or even Heathcliff Huxtable. I think of him as Ricky Ricardo, because I always have “Splanin’ to do.” Andrew has the “universal dad” quality that appeals to and disarms the little kid in all of us. It’s the reason he’s the ONLY person (besides my own father) who can tell me what to do (and I actually listen.) I’m sure when V is sixteen and starts calling us by our first names as an act of defiance, we’ll have to quote one of my all time favorite movies, “Some Kind of Wonderful,” She’s Mom, I’m Dad and you’re nuts! (And not just to our own kids, but apparently everyone else, as well!)

I call him, "Big Daddy," but this is how Andrew sees himself..."Andrew Hefner."

To Sleep, Perchance To Dream-Ay, There's The Rub

I suppose that the winter is getting to me. We are being teased by semi-warm temperatures and have been spending more and more time outside playing. But it’s not really warm and the fact that there is no foliage on the trees and plants in the “jungle” (my kids’ slang for the woods our house backs up to) and it still gets dark early is playing tricks with my mind. I have to be honest with myself, too…any adult with even half a brain cell has to admit that there is only so much tea party/matchbox cars/tag you can take before you need to just sit and watch the news on CNN…just to feel like an adult again.

Sure, I’ve got stuff to do like my one day a week farm job and two new volunteer jobs, but sometimes I just want to throw the laundry out the window and tell Andrew it’s “lost” so that I don’t have to fold and put away another shirt. The repetitive nature of “house work” can be mind numbing.

That’s why I think my subconscious is trying to tell me something. I have been having a reoccurring dream. I used to have reoccurring dreams about tornados. The thing is, they were never bad or scary, the way you’d assume a dream about destructive weather systems would be. Rather, the tornado dreams were actually kind of cool. Sometimes I still have them. But now I am having a new reoccurring dream, and I’m trying to figure out what it means.

My newest reoccurring dream is…that I am one of “The Girls Next Door.” Like, it’s Holly, Kendra, Bridget…and Me. My subconscious must think very highly of myself! In my dream, I just kind of live in the Playboy Mansion and hang out with the other girls. Maybe it’s because I’ve just lost a ton of weight and I’m feeling better about myself. But I don’t think that’s it. Maybe it’s because they all have their own room filled with pretty pink accessories and tons of pets. No, that’s not it…that’s what my room looks like now (except for the whole “own room” thing, I share mine!) Maybe it’s all the fun costumes they get to dress up in…I already have my Halloween Costume picked out for next year…I’m going to be “Sexy Heidi” (you know, like a Goat Herd) and V is going to be a little goat. But I don’t think that would be enough to actually waste brain waves during sleep. In my dream, there isn’t really a plot or a problem and I think THAT’S it! Those girls don’t have to do jack squat other than work out and look cute. I don’t even think they really have to sleep with Hef. Maybe Holly, but I don’t think the other ones have to do anything other than give him those little “closed-mouth-peck-like-I’m-kissing-my-creepy-Great-Uncle-Hugh” kisses. Those girls could lie in bed with their cats and lap tops, order room service from the in-house chef and watch B grade scary movies all day. Sounds like a dream come true, to me! It’s just hilarious to me that somehow, in my dream, I;m just in the Mansion like, “Oh, Hey Bridget, whadduya wanna do today?”

But I bet lying in bed all day would get old. I bet the lack of purpose would be boring, I mean, was it REALLY a stretch for Holly to get hired as the West Coast Playboy editor? Probably not. She’s boning the boss. And those girls don’t know the joy (yet) of hearing little foot steps coming down the stairs, making a bee line for my bedroom, so that they can climb in to my bed for a pre-breakfast snuggle. The girls don’t get “sqeezey hugs” from V or build Lego helicopters with M. Their hearts don’t melt when their kids call them “Mama” (Oh, I LOVE the South!), and they don’t know the sweet smell of V’s breath after a nap. Or giggle when Fifi says, “Happy Birthday, Mama” as a compliment, or to mean, “I Love You.” They don’t have their walls decorated with preschool art projects, beaming with pride because, although rudimentary and cave-art-like, they made them themselves. I got my very first 100% homemade Valentine this year from M, and despite his fine motor difficulties, his teacher made sure that every scissor cut, every embellishment, was by M, himself. It even says, “Happy Valentime’s Day.” I. Love. It. Those hot chicks up in the Mansion don’t have laundry to fold or dishes to do, and they don’t run on the treadmill watching “Franklin” so the kids we be still long enough to squeeze in 3 miles. They don’t rescue ducks or milk goats, have a wonderful husband (who literally just brought me pancakes in bed! He IS "Iron Chef Pancakes," don't mess with him! His cooking has an actual FAN CLUB!) I’m not saying it wouldn’t be fun as hell to live in the Playboy Mansion, but only in my dreams.