What did those kids do to that nice lady?

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Party Hardy...

It’s no secret that once you become a parent, the social life you enjoyed Pre-Offspring is Long Gone.  It’s not that you never go out, it’s just that you have moderation in mind when doing so.  Because when a two year old with poop in her diaper is your wake up call at 5:23 in the morning, you tend to behave...differently than you would if your wake up call is, well, nothing at all.  
But...not always.  
No, no, no...while many Saturday nights out are spent simply with friends and an extra glass or two of wine and home in bed by 11, some Saturday nights still need to be spent with your balls to the wall.  Some Saturday nights you need to remind yourself that YOU STILL GOT IT.   
Husband recently blew off moderation when we hit up Offspring’s Preschool Fundraising Party.  Yeah.  I said preschool in that sentence.  And party.  And while I was dancing in uncomfortable but oh so cute shoes, I looked around and thought to myself, damn.  These parents know how to PAR-TAY.  And so, I present:
Ain’t no party like a preschool party and here’s why:
1: There is a theme which may require costumes and all the women get to dress slutty.  I mean, sexy.  We’re over 30 now.  
2: You can talk about your kids and not feel that you are like, totally boring.  These people understand you, man.
3: It starts at a reasonable hour so the babysitter gets to put your kids to bed.  HOLLA!
4: There is booze and fried things.
5: Put a bunch of parents of small children in a room with a stocked bar and an 80’s cover band and see what happens.  It’s awesome.  
6: Possible hangover the next day does not need to be reminder of bad choices made the night before-only as reminder that you helped improve your child’s education.  Vodka/Soda=new book in classroom.  
7: Don’t worry; you’re not the only parent at pick up the next day keeping a low profile because you weren’t the only parent dancing on tables.
So, maybe we’re not as skinny as we once were; perhaps we talk about poop a little too frequently and some of us don’t have as much hair as we wished...but, damn it, we STILL GOT IT.  There is still fun to be had after kids... and it might just be the time of your life.  Let’s face it, it could be months before you think again that last call at 2 A.M. is like, SO LAME, so take advantage.  Also, how often do you get to eat pizza at 2:30 in the morning and not feel bad about it?  (If the babysitter knows what’s good for her...there will be pizza leftover.)   
Predictably, you will have a T-Ball game to attend the next day at an unusually early time for sporting, but such is life.  At least you had your balls to the wall the night before.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

A little love...

For those of you who may know Husband personally and question Him while he is out and about with the common-Dude, how can you let her write that about you?-you need to know a few things about Husband; first, he knows who he married and she has been making him squirm with sometimes inappropriate laughter for almost 9 years.  Also, Husband is a pretty confident man and a few jokes about his inability to close closet doors isn’t really going to shake him up too much.
But most importantly, what you may not know about Husband is that HE LIKES THE ABUSE.  He admitted as much to me the other day when he said my blog is funnier when I am making fun of him.
To which I immediately replied...No problemo!  And also...um...honey...you know if you give me an inch, I take 10 miles, right?  
But, it’s Valentine’s Day, and although Husband and I aren’t all mushy-gushy about such holidays, I suppose I don’t need to devote a post to Him about how sometimes I’m not sure if I’m living with a teenager or a grown man on a day that is supposed to be devoted to Love. 
So instead, I will devote this post to all the wonderful things about Husband, because he’s more wonderful than anything else.  So...dear Husband...on this Hallmark Holiday (don’t forget to get me a card!) I think you need to know the following:  It’s been almost nine years since that day you tripped over my bike and I made fun of you and you left without my number and then came back and “bumped” into me after work to make sure you got my number and then a couple of weeks later we ate fish tacos and you “tried” to let me beat you at darts at Summers in El Porto and what I remember the most is how much fun we had together and how much we laughed.  What my parents remember is the fact that the first time they met you, you tried to outsmart them and buy dinner and although they didn’t let you, my mother would have sold me to you if I was for sale because you were Very Impressive. (And cute.)  And over the last nine years, we got married, went on some pretty great trips, had a couple beautiful geniuses, and I still can’t stop making fun of you and you still love me and I still love you.  What you may not know, Husband, is that the very best gift you give me each day is the fact that you let me be me.  I know I can be selfish and petty and stubborn and I really don’t like to admit to any sort of fault whatsoever, but you are my rock and without you...I don’t know where I’d be or what I’d be doing and I love you.  
Oh, and one more thing.  Can you please rinse out the sink after you dump the old coffee and coffee grinds out?  I know it’s hard to see the black coffee against the white sink, but if you could maybe take a second and do that, I would love you even more.
And, also, feel free to come home with flowers.  Roses are overrated and please no carnations.  I prefer lilacs, because the smell takes me back to being a kid in Iowa where I played Barbies in our lilac bush for hours at a time, but seeing as you probably can’t come home with a lilac bush, or Barbies, hydrangeas and lilies are a fine substitute.    
Happy Valentine’s Day to my Valentine....and to all of you.  

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Playing favorites...

Have you ever wondered if your parents had a favorite child and if so...was it you?  I was the youngest, so clearly I believed that I was the favorite even though I got picked on the most and my brother farted on my head.  My sister was the oldest and I’m pretty sure she thinks she got gypped because she had to be Responsible and Babysit Us On Her Summer Vacation.  Also, she was the guinea pig of the bunch...I mean...the oldest has to be, right? My brother...well, he was the middle and the only boy, so, you know, he was the Handsome Hero.  Who farted on my head.  (Did I mention that?)  Then there was yours truly, who will forever be remembered for sitting on a banana in the car while on Pike’s Peak in Colorado and also the fact that I once ate a handful of birdseed while waiting in line at a store.  CAN WE STOP TALKING ABOUT THESE THINGS EVERY HOLIDAY DINNER PLEASE?  But as a kid, I don’t remember thinking that my parents had a favorite.  (But if they did, I would totally get extra points for being so entertaining.)
I was so naive.
Of course they had a favorite.  Just not the same one all the time.  
I know this because this morning when Daughter threw her sneaker at my head, protesting the very idea that sneakers might be a better choice for a rainy day than her $10 leopard ballet flats from Target, and then escaped my grasp and slammed the door in my face, she was sooooo not my favorite.  My favorite at that moment was Son, who was trying to lure Daughter into wearing her sneakers by showing her an “awesome trick.”  
But last night at dinner, Daughter was totally my favorite when she ate vegetables.  Willingly and without effort on my part.  She’s so awesome when she does that.  She is also equally awesome in the fact that she never protests bedtime...just lays her head and goes to sleep.  Amazing.
But then, Son is clearly the favorite anytime he poops because one-he does it in the toilet and two-he wipes his own ass.  Daughter struggles with both these things; also, I cannot convince her that her...lady parts...are not called a butt.  I’ve given up on that one.  Yes.  It’s your butt.  Sorry to suggest otherwise.
Son also takes the cake when it comes to running errands.  Although Daughter does tend to be more “entertaining” by running down the aisle taking her shirt off and hiding in the clothing racks, Son has a much more peaceful approach that usually includes just walking beside me, with only the occasional need to shoot heat vision at nice, unsuspecting strangers.  (I have to admit...Daughter is kind of my favorite when she yells GRANDPA at, shall we say, distinguished, gray-haired gentlemen waiting in line to pay.)  
Obviously, I love them both equally and endlessly, but what’s the harm in letting them know that once in awhile, one of them is on the shit list and the other one gets ice cream?  (Just kidding...I could never deny them the pleasure that is ice cream.  Unlimited ice cream consumption is a basic right of anyone under 10.)  Whenever I look at photos of my childhood and come across yet another one where my back is turned to the camera while the rest of my family is happily smiling with arms around each other...I’m pretty sure I was on the shit list at that moment.  
So I guess maybe my sister was the favorite, especially all those times when she stood up for her brother and sister, taking her rightful place as Protector.  But then again, my brother was obviously the favorite because he was so thoughtful and there is just something about a little boy that melts your heart. But don’t count me out as favorite because I was always good for a bit of humor on the side...and my mom probably felt sorry for me because my brother farted on my head.  
So don’t worry, dear Daughter.  Although you left this morning not being the favorite, you could, at any moment, become it.  Hint: try taking a nap.  That one gets you straight to the top of the list every time.