My poor son (yes, he IS really mine) with those blue eyes and his fair skin, Little Man is the picture-perfect copy of his father – which, of course, means that he also tends to turn quite purple and embarrasses very easily.
“Oh, I do NOT need to be seeing these!”
Okay, so guys aren’t supposed like shopping, but you’d think the boy would be used to it. With three sisters, and all. Being dragged around the shoe department, I mean. But, in his defense, I suppose shopping for underclothes, and such, can get a little, boring – especially, when you’re 8!
“Relax, we’re almost done, why don’t you go sit down on that bench over there and please try not to look like you’re dying, too much and I promise…we will go and look at some stuff that has…um…more moving parts.”
With three sisters, the boy is doomed!
“I’m taking the boy and we’re going out to do manly things, today!”
So, Garth (not his real name) and Little Man did some stuff – the kind that the girls and I are not supposed to know about – but, this time it was his dad who nearly died and, once the kids were in bed, Garth (not his real name) couldn’t wait to tell me all about it! A pregnant woman walked into the diner… No, really – it’s not a joke – apparently, Little Man and his dad were having lunch and a pregnant woman walked into the diner.
“Wow, she’s ready to pop!”
My husband nearly choked on his Diet Coke…
“I know how she got that way, you know.”
…and nearly died of horror…
“Really, mom told me.”
…twice.
“There’s a special kind of hug that a man and a woman do.”
Phew, it seems that Garth (not his real name) is going to live through “the talk,” after all.
“And it sounds REALLY embarrassing!”
[whispers]
“I feel really bad for you, Dad.”
He looked left, right and leaned in really close.
“Yeah, because you had to be embarrassed…FOUR TIMES!”
Rest in peace, Garth – I’ve also told Little Man that it’s okay, if boys cry – you can thank me, later!
They’ve allowed me to escape into a private little world – though, quite undeservedly named and rather unpleasant to the ear – blogging has simply become a refuge from, you know, the average, every day, same old-same old.
[breaths in deep]
No need to get dressed, or put on airs with me – what you see is what you get – you don’t even need to bother brushing your teeth, if you don’t want to!
Heaven knows, I don’t and look forward to your visit, anyway.
Traveling across the country, to a strange city, sharing the bathroom with threeotherwomen and representing nothing more, than myself, in front of hundreds of other bloggers, in something other than pajamas – not so much!
As if I could do ANYTHING, in ten seconds – besides shave my legs, hide under the covers and make up flimsy excuses for the amount of dirty laundry, or dust bunnies of enormous size, of course – but, Mocha Mom has this great way of knowing just what it takes to make a person feel, you know, welcome.
So, what can I say…about myself…that sums me up in a nut shell – shuddup! – well, since I’m already late for an appointment (I know, act surprised) how about this?
Mother of 4, subhuman caretaker to 2 cats and 1 sock-eating Doofus-dog.
Lover of multi-functional gadgets and slayer of all appliances proved either slow and/or inefficient.
Wife, of nearly 17 years, to The Hubs – rarely photographed, but is said to be a cross between Dennis Miller and Garth Brooks.
Born under the sign of Gemini and a very proud twin sister to a Sgt. 1st Class – Go Army!
Daughter to a doer and a dreamer.
Loved by many; even though she’s a total DORK!
Sounds more like a epitaph – I know! – but, I haven’t flown in nearly 15 years and I do believe that the 2 1/2 hour ride just may kill me!
If anyone needs me, I’ll be cleaning, packing and white-knuckling my way through the week!
————————————————————
[Edited to add….]
Oh, and – just so you know – anyone can join in on the fun and give a 10 second interview of their own. Go ahead. It’s always nice to learn something new about the people you love. And…because I said so.
If you are going to BlogHer, look for me – I’ll be scoring some major points over at Cool Mom Picks – take a picture with me, because I’ll be the blogger:
Using a pen and paper – take my laptop and risk losing, or breaking it…are you kidding me!?! – 10 points
You now love but who you have never read/knew before – I’m just saying! – 5 points
When my four kids started school in September – one of the happiest days, in my life – I encouraged each of them to choose at least one recreational sports program, as well as have them get involved with an after-school activity, or club.
Now that we are quickly approaching the last day of school – the other happiest day, in my life – it’s like Christmas, all over again and I seriously doubt I’m going to make it to BlogHer, in one piece!
“Stop running up and down the bleachers…stay away from the parking lot and…NO!…you may NOT invite a friend over, after the game!”
Seriously, the vibe here – in This Full House of late-night baseball games, choral arrangements, girl scout bridging(s), last-minute-projects and Hail Mary passes into the next grade level — has been extreme, at best, and I do believe that getting through the rest of the week may very well come close to killing me!
What was I thinking?
For those of you without children, I apologize – it’s not that bad, really – and if you’re a parent, then surely you’ve come to learn that (no matter where, when or how many) raising children is a challenge.
What, with all the time and effort that we each put into our families, especially when satisfaction is not immediately realized!?!
Okay, so my kids are happy, healthy and living a reasonably comfortable life – even though they don’t know it, just yet – but, do NOT think, for a minute, that my husband and I do NOT realize that we are each going nucking futs.
We are.
But, it comes in waves – there are those days that go swimmingly well, thank you – and I seem to be spending a whole lot of them just trying to keep my head above water and barely miss getting sucked into the undertow.
[throwing up the red flag]
It doesn’t help when other parents, you know, refuse to throw me a line…rope…bone, or something!
[arms waving]
Please understand that I, in no way, mean to insinuate my parenting skills are any better than, well, the persons sitting behind me at Thing Two’s spring concert, last night, for instance.
[chatter…chatter…ha-ha-ha…more chatter]
For the love of all things angelic, would it have killed you to tell your middle schoolers to, you know, keep quiet?
How did I know they had kids in middle school?
“Ha…ha…ha…look at her, up there…man, she seriously does NOT look happy…ha…ha…ha…why do they make these kids join chorus, anyway?”
Why, Mr. Asshat was even louder than Mrs. Asshat.
“They should spend money on air-conditioning…WHAT?…I…said…AIR-CONDITIONING…ha…ha…ha…I mean, do you guys have to sing in the middle school?”
Yes, the 5th graders perform, in both the winter and spring concerts, as sort of a last hoorah, before moving onto the middle school, where joining the chorus, as in any after-school activity, is optional.
“No way…man…choir is for dorks.”
Well, thank goodness it’s not for smarmy little Asshats, like yourself – because then I’d be wasting my time and wouldn’t have to be here – but, you’d fit right in; wouldn’t you, kitten?
No, I didn’t say it out loud – because, I am a mom and a dork – but, I’m a firm believer in early education and was desperately trying to set a good example for my 13-year-old daughter, sitting next to me.
“Why can’t they just watch the dumb concert?”
We looked at each other – with eyes crossed and each making a really funny face – and we both had a nice giggle, before the chorus teacher hushed the crowd for Thing Two’s and five other descant singers – which means small ensemble and I know that because, well, I asked Thing One – began to sing, like…oh, man…they sounded like little angels.
Until.
[eyes go wide]
Yep, the aforementioned little ass hats started chattering, again and giggling, along with mom and pop ass hat and what happened next, well, it wasn’t pretty.
[sounds of neck bones snapping]
Quite Linda Blair-like, if you will.
“Shhhhhhhh…look, I know you guys are just having fun…but, that’s my kid up there and could you just SHHHHHHHH!”
No, it wasn’t one of my best moments – although, I really do try not to make a habit to reprimand, you know, other people’s kids – but, it was obvious that my kid wasn’t going to get any consideration from mom and pop ass hat, either.
[blessed silence]
Although, they did look a bit surprised, at first – yes, I can be loud – many of the other parents looked pretty much, you know, satisfied with my their final performance, as I was. One that I don’t really care to repeat, again. Especially at Thing One’s concert, tonight.
[sound of neck bones cracking]
Little Man has batting practice and I’m taking Mini-Me (if I don’t wring her little neck, first…stupid bleachers) so, I think it’s best that everyone takes a moment of silence, as I try to keep my kids in tow and I remain, you know, invisible!
[silence]
Besides – I won’t be there – my husband’s going with Thing Two and he does NOT like going to these things, either!
I come from a long line of agriculturists – my father was a landscaper, my grandfather and both my great-grandfathers were master gardeners to noble families in Europe – and I often tell my children that gardening is in their blood.
“Ewww, get it out!”
My 8-year-old son has this habit of taking things literally, lately.
So, anyway, what I was trying to say is that I grew up surrounded by flower beds and falling in love with the sweet smell of wet dirt. It’s intoxicating, really. A lot of people ask me why I put some much time and effort into growing vegetables, when we are surrounded by farm markets and super-shop-and-drops, and I smile, nod and just say that it makes me happy.
[blank stare]
Okay, to make a long story short (I know, too late) our love for digging in the dirt is infectious – my husband has also developed a rather green thumb, through osmosis – so, we here at This Full House of grimy little hands and bare feet spend a lot of our summertime, outdoors.
“Are there any bees?”
My son is the only one of my four children to have ever been stung by a bee – 5 times!
“Some, but they’re not out to get you, or anything.”
I lied.
“Besides, are you going to spend the whole summer in the house?”
He’s thinking about it.
“The bees are busy out back, but – I have to weed a little, out front – why don’t you come outside and shoot a few hoops.”
Begrudgingly, he followed me out to the front of the house and, as I kicked at the last of the sticky balls that were lying about, we both stopped in front of the weeping cheery tree to admire the transplants from my MIL’s garden.
“Wow, check out your great-grandfather’s iris!”
[eyes go wide]
“Whuh…oh my gosh…WHERE!?!”
My son pulled a 360 and ran back into the house, screaming
“Oh, for the love of Pete!”
Bees can be scary – heck, I’ve been stung before and I know that it, you know, hurts! – but, I really believe that my son’s fear of bees was beginning to get out of hand and really starting to get on my nerves. Still. I’m a grown up and he is still, you know, little. So, I did what any other anxious parent would do.
I dragged his butt back, outside!
“I know you’re scared, but try and remember that everything in nature serves a purpose – after all, they are very important to our environment – maybe you could, you know, watch them and maybe you’ll learn a little bit from them, too.”
He nodded his head and started to cry, a little.
“Okay, but I think you’re being mean!”
[blank stare]
“And totally gross!”
Okay, he lost me…again.
“I mean, my family buries their eyes in the garden, that’s just weird!?!”
Now, I’m laughing.
“No, I meant the flower.”
[wiping eyes]
“Why didn’t you just say so!?!?”
I pointed out the fact that the three upright petals and three drooping sepals are symbols for faith, valor, and wisdom.
“Your grandfather always believed that, even though he didn’t speak English very well, everyone spoke flowers.”
Wait for it.
“He always said that we could learn a lot from gardening.”
Whoops, there it is.
“Well, if it supposed to make you smart, maybe you should plant some more!”
Well, shut my mouth – not only are his eyes blue, but I do believe son has inherited his grandfather’s sense of humor, too – stupid flowers!
We have a very busy weekend planned – of course, because it’s
Mother’s Day – which starts early tomorrow morning, where at precisely
8:45 a.m., I will be planting flowers at one of our neighborhood
playgrounds with Mini-Me’s girl scout troop.
Why?
Well, because my little Daisy is earning a badge, or something, I
think, or maybe not…all I know is that the notice specifically stated
– PARENTS HELP!
Guess which one?
So, I’ll just pretend it’s just another school day – ignore the fact
that it is really a Saturday, with no baseball, soccer, volleyball, or
anything – and, you know, drag my kids out of the house, kicking and
screaming.
Why me?
Well, Daddy won’t be home – because somebody’s gotta work, right? –
and I’ve grown accustomed to running a pretty tight ship, have never
been one to admit that I needed help and probably wouldn’t know what to
do with myself, if I really did choose to take advantage of free time,
if I had any.
What?
Having spent most of the week outside cutting grass – in between
those times I was, you know, pretending to work – it’s hard to ignore
the fact that the poop decks need a swabbing and the crow’s nest is
starting to smell, well, sort of like wet Doofus-dog.
Given the choice, I’d rather be planting.
So, I won’t get to sleep in tomorrow morning – big whoop! – or,
probably not on Sunday, either, because both my husband and I have
mommies to visit and, either way, I can’t think of a better way to
celebrate Mother’s Day than perhaps petitioning the holiday-gods that A
DAY OFF ON A SATURDAY, for my man and me, would be nice.
Because there’s no school on Sunday and – just like the Bangles said – it’s our I don’t have to run day!
And the closest I want to get to having to attend a sporting
event is watching it from the comfort of my own couch, in my pajamas,
with a cold beverage and plenty of snacks, because, as far as I’m
concerned, there is no such thing as too much down-time and absolutely
NO dieting on weekends.
I’ve often said to, well, anyone who is silly enough to hang around
long enough to listen is that I would make one mother of a husband!
[hocks a goober and hogs remote]
"Can I get you anything?"
[scratches]
"Naw, I’m good and heading out to hammer up a couple of loose boards on the house."
[lip quivers]
"What’d I say?"
[starts to turn and walks out]
"I like to feel needed, too, you know."
Oh, I know and – though, he really doesn’t sound (or, isn’t) that
needy – my husband knows that I couldn’t do half the stuff that I
do…um…do, if it weren’t for his calm, cool, collected and accepting
nature.
Total opposites really do attract.
So, this Mother’s Day I would like to acknowledge my husband.
Because the man can (and has) stepped into Mommy’s shoes at a
moment’s notice and is still able to keep his manhood intact.
So, Happy Mother’s Day, Hon ’cause your one Mother of a
hubby…and don’t worry about your wallet…that you forgot on your
dresser – because, I know that you were very distracted with making the
kids’ lunches this morning and running late – I’m headed out now to
bring them to you and will even buy you lunch.
Just hold on a minute – put the clicker down – I’ll be with you in a moment.
Phew.
My 11-year-old daughter snapped this picture of me because, well, nothing says sexy like a stay-at-home mom cleaning her house in heels, yes? Because, I am all that and a box of Fruity Cheerios. Just look at me work that Swiffer…woo-hoo…I bet ya’ll are jealous, now aren’t ya’!
[snicker]
Ah, just another day in the rockstar life of a stay-at-home mom.
[smiles and nearly loses balance]
Actually, I don’t really do my chores in strappy sling-backs — not on a weekday, anyway — it’s just that the hubs and I are going away and attending the wedding of a dear family friend.
[sniff]
Oh, man – but, weddings make me cry – and strutting around in heels is so not on my list of approved mommywear.
Ever the multi-tasker, I thought I’d break in my new sandals and finish the housecleaning, because…well, Grandma and Grandpa are staying to babysit our four rugrats and – since, they are doing us the biggest favor – it would be nice if the house smelled, you know, nice.
[inhales deeply]
Lord love a duck, but the house smells sooooo good and I’ve finished the last of the arrangements for school drop-offs and pickups, Thing Two’s 5th Grade Party and my son’s baseball game, tomorrow night! All of our plans are going pretty smoothly, really.
Unlike, last time.
[shiver]
I don’t know about other folks, but – when it comes to getting away for some MUCH needed private time – the hubs and I don’t have the best of luck.
[heavy sigh]
But, the wedding sounds fabulous – our friends are getting married on the beach on Cinco De Mayo – the weather is supposed to be gorgeous – knocking on wood until my knuckles bleed – and we’re actually cuttingout early (tomorrow) and have extended our stay through Sunday.
Guess what?
The hubs has us booked for a massage and made another appointment (for me) for a pedicure as an early birthday/anniversary present, because he wants me to be all relaxed and my toesies to look all prettiful for the wedding! [big grin]
Yes, I know – and really do appreciate exactly how lucky I am – but, I hope you understand when I tell you that we both so deserve this weekend, together, alone, to disconnect from our lives and reconnect with each other. It may not be the cheapest therapy, but we are worth it.
The heels?
[massages lower back]
I’ll have to get back to you on that one – darned sciatica – have a great weekend, everyone and fell free to let me know if, you know, you like my shoes and I’ll be more than happy to share a toast in wishing you good health and have a mojito, in your honor!
Latte Man tagged me (AGAIN!) and this time he says it’s because I make him think:
"Thank goodness I am NOT married to THAT lunatic!"
Okay, he didn’t say it quite like that (not out loud, anyways) and –
although, I am honored to have been named a "thinking blogger" – I also
believe that this is a very difficult meme to participate in and not only because I am NOT very good at following rules, either:
1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think.
2. Link to "this post" so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme.
3. Optional: proudly display the "Thinking Blogger Award" with a link to the post that you wrote.
So, I’m going to bend them (a little) and attempt to post a link to the blogs on my Full House Blogroll, along with 5 words that immediately come to mind, for each:
Phew, some meme’s can really make a person’s eyes bleed, huh!?!
[rubs eyes and reaches for the Midol]
If you see your name or you’ve been tagged already – do NOT panic – just passing along some linky love.
[shoots evil glare at Latte Man]
Be content in knowing that I think that all of you guys are simply…you know…awesome…and think some of you should be at least, thankful…you do NOT have to live with me!
My husband thoughtfully emailed me this picture, today – though, I didn’t ask him to and he most likely did not read my blog – because, he lives with me and knows, you know, just how crazy our house can get.
“I don’t have to read your blog – I live it!”
It can’t get anymore real than an unsolicited testimonial to the wonderfulness of me – straight from the husband’s mouth and coming from someone who should know – but, here’s the thing, if only he knew how much this blog makes our life sound, look, feel and probably even taste a whole lot better, too.
I can say things here, that I would perhaps never think about admitting to in the real world, because – not only am I probably too tired, running very late or often times rendered speechless by a situation and unable to respond – I am NOT that quick!
What I wouldn’t give for a verbal delete button – like today.
“I hate this house!”
Seriously, it’s pouring rain out and I’m stuck inside with a smell that I haven’t been able to identify in days and a pile of laundry large enough to lose a small child – okay, an adult of average size would do just fine living in such downy softness – so, why do I act surprised when people wonder what is it I do all day!?!
Clearly, it’s NOT spent folding clothes – heaven forbid, I disturb the cat!
“If I had a dollar for each time I cleaned up someone else’s mess and picked up a towel off the floor, well, I still wouldn’t be getting paid enough to live here!”
Perhaps an industrial strength eraser would be in order, because I don’t believe that even Mr. Clean could have handled the verbal diarrhea I was flinging.
“What’s wrong with you?”
GAH – oh, nothing a cook, dry cleaner, maid, priest, secretary, therapist, week in the tropics, witch doctor and perhaps a bulldozer couldn’t handle – I’m sure!
“I DON’T KNOW!”
Good. Excellent. In fact, a brilliant example of what it’s like living with a woman in need of an exorcism, if there ever was one, I tell you!
I hate it when that happens – I think of what I should have said, after – and what I meant to say is…
“I had a really great time on vacation. It was only two days. But, I don’t think I’ve ever laughed, or enjoyed nearly each and every moment, as much as I did in that brief period of, you know, spent just loving being around you. You are a good husband, a great friend, a wonderful dad and the kids and I are lucky…no, wait…well, I can’t think of the word, right now. Although, I can be a total dork and there are times when you act like a total ass, I know that my life would NOT have been the the same, without you. I wish you didn’t have to work so much and I certainly don’t want spend my time, alone, doing laundry!”
That’s it.
Now that I think on it some more, he probably already knows – being it’s Picture Perfect Thursday – he did send me that email, so, I guess he misses us and…um…still likes me, sort of.
[sniff]
Thanks for the sweet reminder, honey!
Oh, and by the way, if you do happen to find your way here and managed to get through this post without feeling all sticky, I love you!
Excuse the mess and step away from the pots, because the ceiling is leaking and I don’t really give a fiddler’s fart!
Who am I to pass up a chance to celebrate, just a little!?!?
The kind and very generous people over at Mother’s Day Central put together their first list of Top 100 Mom Blogs and – all you’d have to do is take a good look around, here – imagine my surprise to come home from a looooong two day road trip)and find This Full House of rotting apples and stinky luggage to be in such fine bloggity company, including some of my most favorite…women…in…the…entire…blogosphere, most of who are just about ready to pop a kid, and are still blogging!?!
I know what you’re thinking – these people be trippin’! – but, it’s so nice to know that a itty-bitty blog (like mine) can inspire at least one person to, you know, send a broken-out-and-severely-premenstrual-old-momma (like me) some pretty flowers, not to mention a few kind words, even.
“We Think Mom Bloggers Deserve a Little Recognition…Hey we all know that moms work hard. But mom bloggers work hard, and run blogs. We think that deserves a little extra recognition. After all, mom bloggers are also helping other moms.”
My sentiments, exactly!
Though, they did admit to having trouble “categorizing” some blogs (like mine) and – never one to conform totally to any truly rational explanation, trust me – I can’t blame them and trust folks understand that I really don’t expect anything more than the warm, fuzzy feeling I’m having inside, right now.
For that, I am truly thankful – did I mention it’s cold, here in Jersey!?!?
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, raising children is hard. Blogging is even harder. There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by – especially, since the nearly four years I’ve been blogging – when I don’t question myself or wonder whether or not I’m doing the right thing.
To most folks, probably not.
But, my blog is one of only a few places, where I can go and actually hear myself think and meet other mommy (and daddy) bloggers, who – though, it can seem an ugly sort of word, sometimes – don’t always agree, but at least …you know…they listen!
Don’t let my feeble attempts at appearing humble and smart, fool you – compared to anyone of these BlogHers, I am a bumbling idiot – I take great pride in knowing that my blog has made such a list and that, at the end of the day, I can close my laptop and look forward to getting through another day of surprising the living crap out of those around me, including myself!
For that, alone – thank you just doesn’t seem to cut it – well, it’s enough of a reason to celebrate and acknowledge the fact that my children should perhaps be eternally grateful, too!
As many of you may already know – especially, those of you who know me in real life, but like me…um…anyway – I am NOT the best traveler in the blogosphere.
No, I don’t mean surfing your blogs – that would fall under the category of "things mommy actually LIKES to do" – and I don’t mean in real life, either.
Put me in a car, strap the kids down with a few snacks, turn on the radio, pop in a piece of bubble gum (sugarless, of course) and I’m good to go.
Planes and trains – not so much.
"Um…okay, if I have to be in the city by 11:00 a.m….and the train leaves the station at 9:30 a.m….and arrives at 10:30 a.m…wait…uh…if the train leaves the station…"
No, I don’t have a problem with doing the math – as long as it’s simple and doesn’t go above a fifth grade level, maybe – in fact, over-thinking a simple trip, by myself (yes, I said traveling without the kids) less than a few hours away, to the point of total loss of intelligibility, is one of the things I do best.
Because you just don’t know what could happen!
Unless, you’ve gone anywhere with me – right, Kate! – well, then you perhaps don’t really know how truly spazzed-out a misadventure can be.
"Ticket please."
[snapping gum]
"Oh…hi…okay…here…um…this train goes straight to the city…right?"
[click]
"Yes."
[snap]
"I mean, no stops?"
[click]
"No."
[snap]
"No changing trains."
[click]
"No."
[snap]
"Any chance you may be on the wrong train?"
[click]
"Nope."
[snap]
"Um…okay…so far, so good."
[places ticket into holder thingy]
"First time traveling into the city?"
[stops chewing]
"No…why?"
I meant to ask the nice conductor one more question, but…well, you know…he did have other passengers to take care of.
Actually – as crowded and, you know, stinky as trains can get – what I thought could be the worst part of the trip turned out to be very relaxing. We passed the station near the house where I was born, another where I grew up, where my husband kissed me for the first time and the one near the exit running beside our first apartment.
Hey, I live in Jersey…remember?
"Pssst…hey lady…um…your hand?"
Oh my Dog!
"I’m so sorry…I was just thinking…you know…my kids…um…my, you’ve got very soft hands…uh…for a guy."
Shit.
Two minutes into the city, by myself, and I’m already being accused of making an indecent proposal
No matter, he got off…THAT IS…I meant to say…we DISEMBARKED without further incident and I found my way to the exit, where they told me to go, because I had it written down, once on paper, and on the palm of my right hand, and only then did I realize…holy crap…I forgot my gloves!
Did I mention it was 10 degrees – that’s almost single digits, people!
No matter, they said a car would be waiting…brrrr…just around…holy crap, is friggin’ freezing…around the corner…nope…not mine…nuh-uh…not that one…hey, mister…put a friggin’ name tag up…oh…you’re not waiting for anyone…um…anyway…holy crap!
After fifteen minutes – about the time Bill Evans says my hands would freeze and, you know, fall off – I finally figured out that there was no car waiting for my frozen ass, clearly ready to fall off.
"Um…hi…it’s Liz…oh…uh, you know…we spoke, yesterday…oh, yes…well, that’s because my face is frozen and I can’t feel my lips…anyway, the cars not here…no, I’m waiting outside the station…it’s really, really cold out…oh…okay, I’ll go inside…thanks."
[click]
Who knew there was, like, a big difference in distance, between 7th and 8th Avenue?
[knock-knock]
"Bi…by bame biz, Biz…I bink boo bar bare bore be?"
That’s Tella-frozen-Tubby talk for open up, dude…it’s frickin’ freezing out here!
"I’m sorry, Ma’am…but, I’m waiting for a customer."
I could move my scarf away from my face – if it weren’t already frozen to my lip gloss – and it would have probably helped to have, you know, the confirmation, still sitting on my kitchen table.
"Bat’s bee…bore bating, bore beeeee!"
[rolls up window]
Phone rings, his eyes go wide, he opens door and I dived into the backseat of his car!
"Oh…I am soooo sorry."
[shaking head]
"No…by bault!"
The poor guy couldn’t stop saying how sorry he was and asked if there was anything he could do to help make me feel better.
"Beat me up, baby!"
Silence.
I meant heat…heat me up…like, put the heater on full blast…but, you know…I was so cold…and my lips were still a little…oh, forget it.
At least, I made it on time and he was nice enough to talk to me the whole ride, because…well, he had to, considering all the construction and the huge traffic jam that seemed to have caused other people to be late.
Having read about my latest misadventure, now you know.
My husband was very glad to be able to stay home and take care of the kids and a little proud of the fact that he did NOT have to, you know, sit next to me and hold my hand, unlike some Daddy-types, who did – sit next to me, I mean.
Because, I am a magnet for misfortune – hear me hummmmmmm!
