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My husband sent me this picture – he snapped the other morning with his cell phone – of me, Thing Two and Mini-Me sleeping in triple-spooning fashion.  And I think it illustrates how tight our family’s sleeping arrangements can be, perfectly.

No one goes to sleep (or gets up) in the same bed, twice.

My husband falls asleep on the couch and wakes up (either) in a funk (or) with the dog’s snout placed somewhere it ought not to be, naturally.

My three girls share a room and go to sleep in their respective beds, but almost always are doing the triple-spooning thing by daybreak.

Like this morning.

I didn’t take a picture because…well…I was just too ding-danged tired to find the camera and can’t freakin’ find my cell phone.

Yes, I tried calling it – but, I guess it needs to be charged…or something.

But, you know what?

It’s really, really hot and - I’m really, really tired – I forget things, sometimes.

Like, when you decide (on the spur of the moment) to take a romantic midnight swim - very late on a hot summer night – make sure the children are ASLEEP!

[floating]

“Ah, man…this feels sooooo…good!” 

[practicing some underwater-spooning]

“Yeah…you should have been in here, earlier…the kids were farting and pretending they had a jacuzzi!”

GASP!

“EWWWWW…are you guys…NAKED!?!”

Talk about a shock – instant jacuzzi, man!

But, hey…the hubs and I work very hard…and we’re tired…so, a quick, relaxing dip is certainly worth the few hours they spend on some head-shrinker’s couch…yes?  

I’m also tired of getting up in the middle of the night - due to my weak bladder that never fails to remind me that I have given birth…four times – and finding someone, somewhere, they ought not to be.

And as I carefully made my way to the bathroom, I noticed the light peeking from underneath the girls’ door and the faint sound of the television…again.

I slowly (and as quietly as possible) opened the door and saw Thing Two, sitting criss-cross-applesauce on Mini-Me’s bed, watching television and playing…cards!?!

“Got any fwees?”

[reaches for clicker]

“Nuh-uh…go fish!”

[click]

“If I tell you two…one more time…NOT to turn this television on in the middle of the night…I am going to take away your computer privileges, to!”

WHOOPS!

Did I mention that my son sleeps in his sister’s room….sometimes….and especially in the summer….on the floor in a sleeping bag and doesn’t….move….a….muscle….even when I accidentally kick him in the head?!?

CHA-CHING!

I can hear ’em now, “So, tell me about your mother.”

A little more than a month from now, the kids will be going back to school and – with Mini-me starting kindergarten (don’t even get me started!) – we’ll need to be thinking about getting them back to a more “normal” bedtime (read: in bed before eleven p.m.) and consider some sort of schedule that includes time blocked off for…you know…sitting and eating…hopefully, both…at the same time.

But, not today.

This morning – or, at least…I think it’s morning – I’ve just finished cleaning up breakfast (yes, I know it’s 11:00 a.m…I think) and I’m drinking copious amounts of coffee in an attempt to stay awake, which typically isn’t a problem with four children running around and demanding most (if not all) of my attention.

But, not today.

I’m down by two – Thing One is off vacationing with her bff and Little Man is staying with my brother and my SIL for a few days – and you’d think that Thing Two and Mini-Me are savoring their chances for second helpings and enjoying the opportunity of having a bit more elbow room…than usual.

But, not today.

At exactly 3:10 a.m. - while I was contemplating my chances of ever getting to sleep – they woke up!

“What’s the matter?”

[rubbing eyes]

 “I’m done sleeping.”

Swell.

I guided Thing Two to the kitchen, gave her a drink of water and nearly peed my pants when I turned to find Mini-Me standing right behind me…and totally naked.

“So, what’s the matter with you?”

[rubbing eyes]

“I’m firsty!”

[filling glass with water]

“Okay, but…um…it’s very early in the morning, yet…and…uh…why are you naked?”

[looks down and eyes go wide]

“Ho-wee-cwap…is it mornin’ AW-WEDDY!?!”

And so it goes.

“It’s just…you know…too quiet.”

They missed Thing One’s snoring and tripping over Little Man’s sleeping bag on the way to the potty.  They missed his giggling in the middle of his sleep, their big sister’s shushing and everyone ending up in her bed for the rest of the night.

But, not today. 

I didn’t bother waking my husband on the couch, took the girls upstairs with me, dressed Mini-Me in one of my t-shirts and tucked both girls in…with me.  And – while I waited for the girls to settle down and for the dog to join us – I thought to myself, perhaps I shouldn’t worry too much about our family living in such tight quarters…or, whether or not they have enough room…or, getting enough private time…away from us.

Not today.

[takes another sip of coffee]

I’m taking it slow, today, and allowing myself to enjoy each moment as it comes…and for what it is…because, that’s what summer’s for…SILLY!

Like — Thing Two, Kate’s honey and Little Man — taking a beachy stroll on a clear and crispy hot day.

 

Like, being told by your big sister, “You can go ahead and bury me in the sand, if you’d like!”

  

Like being buried in the sand and finding out that you have a whole lot in common with your new friend, Breadcrumb.

 

Spending the day feeling warm, crunchy and welcome by new friends, who serve the “freshest” Jersey tomatoes - even though we pretty much cleaned them out of food and toilet paper – and waking up to another sun-shiney day, being surrounded by warm little limp bodies (but, missing a few) and feeling bone-tired, yet…slightly toasty, inside!

[heavy sigh]

That’s how we like to spend our summer vacation - but, not today - because, I’ve got the laundry to prove it!

I’m reading Silly Hat, yesterday, and there’s an interesting discussion on children and their “private parts,” where she raises the question, “What do you call it?”

I was inspired to re-publish a rather tense “old” This Full House post — because I’m currently fighting the crowds and exercising my babe magnetics at the beach…and can’t link to it…never having bothered to move my files from Typepad…because I am a Doofus! — for your Hump Day reading pleasure:   This Is My House and We Don’t Say The Word Penis!

————————————————————————–

“You’re a mental case…and I can’t believe I trust you to raise our four children?”

Hey now! Hold on a minute there, Bucko! Okay…I admit it….I’m quirky and may haps just a wee bit wacky, but anyone who knows me…um…knows. I’m totally and perfectly trustworthy. I swear – just go and check the bulletin board hanging in my kitchen.

Where?

You can’t see it from the dozens of notes and reminders tacked to it…can you?

Oh…and hey! How about the calendar? Look at all those dates blocked off and penciled in with notes like, “Little Man needs cupcakes,” and “Don’t forget Thing Two’s class donation,” or “Volunteer for Thing One’s class” and “Take Dad to Lab, today.”

Ask anyone…need Liz?…and I am so there!

So there!

**phone rings – answering machine picks up ‘cause I screen**

“Um…yeah…hi…uh…it’s *Psycho Soccer Mom* and I’m collecting $10 for coach *So-and-So* and I’d like to come by and pick up the $10 today. Please call me back at…”

**blank stare**

Huh? Come by and pick up the ten bucks? What’s with that? Maybe I’m being “a wee bit sensitive,” but I’ve collected donations many times, but never – ever – have I offered to “come by” or to do something “today” ever!

**rolling eyes**

“What’s the big deal?”

Feh! Husbands…what they know from a big deal!?! The big deal is who knew there was a donation police?

I didn’t call her back.

Just hold your water…you’ll get my donation there…lady.

**phone ringing the next morning**

“Hewwoo? Hoo iz diz?”

My 3 year old smiled and excitedly paced circles in front of my desk as I motioned to the heavens in mock strangulation.

“Hello…yes…oh yes. I did get your message and I’m sorry I haven’t called back. Hmmm…gift certificate sounds good…okay, but I’m in and out all day…so can I maybe drop it off while running errands…or something?”

Now I’m truly annoyed and what I truly wanted to say was, “Why don’t you just take the freakin’ money from me at the game on Saturday? Like a normal person. And quit stalking me!”

Saturday’s game is rained out.

Shit!

A day or two passes and there’s another message (no, while I was out…for real!):

“Mrs. Mental Case…this is *Psycho Soccer Mom* and I must insist that I have your $10 by tomorrow, because that is when I would like to get the gift certificate. I’ll take my chances and be stopping by your house….”

**beep**

“Hello? No, not necessary. I will definitely drop the money off to you…hmm…okay…all right…I’ll leave it between the screened door and the front door…sure…uh-huh…buh-bye.”

**click**

A day later (it slipped my mind…I swear!):

**phone rings**

“Hewwoo? Hoo iz diz?”

Ugh…give it to me… give…give…me…the “Yes? Hoooooly…oh crap! I am totally, totally sorry. It’s just been crazy around here and…huh? No…um…okay…how about if I just leave it in my mailbox? Okay? Okay. Buh-bye”

So, the donation police get what they want…but it ain’t gonna come easy.

Not so mental?

Well…that’s not exactly the thing my husband was worried about.

You see…I was already tense…um…yesterday, so I took the kids to The Dollar Tree after school and…um…like…my 5 year old son had to go to the bathroom…and there isn’t any…um…you know…at The Dollar Tree…and the Home Depot was way across on the other side of the parking lot…and…um…he’s a boy and all…so…I asked my two oldest to cruise the toy aisle with the 3 year old (who was strapped into the carriage, relax!) while I took my son to the parking lot to…um…you know…let her (I mean, him) rip.

**opening driver’s side door**

“Okay, Buddy…there’s nobody around and I’ll block you with my body. Just let-er-rip!”

**zip**

Ripping.

“How’s it goin’?”

My son whips his head around to see who I’m talking to and his…you know…follows and starts hosing down the driver’s side door.

“Whoa! Little Man…watch what you’re doing!”

Now he freaks and lets go.

“Whoa Buddy! Grab it and aim for the ground!”

**shakes his hands in the air and still ripping**

“I don’t know what you want me to do!”

**me shouting now**

“Just grab your penis and aim, dammit!”

**heads begin to turn**

“WHAT’S A PENIS?!?”

I stare at my son and realize that…in our house, we don’t say penis…we say peenie.

**blush**

Not crazy, right?

**the sound of crickets**

Tell me it’s funny…dammit!

As most of you (who really know me) know, I don’t get out all that often.  Oh, I used to – and was even in charge of writing…you know…words that made sense (and under no circumstances would have done so with so many…you know…dots) – in fact, I commuted to downtown NYC (Wall Street) pregnant, even.

Now?

Trips to the grocery store wig me out!

Imagine my surprise (read: WTF WERE THEY THINKING?) when receiving an invitation to sit at a roundtable discussion with…(GULP!)…other bloggers…the likes of…(HOLY CRAP!)…Mom-101 and…(SHIVER!)…DaddyTypes and…(GOOSEBUMPS!)…PHAT Mommy and…(UGH, CAN A MOM BE ANY CUTER?)…Modern Mom and…(UH, YAH…AND YOUNGER!)…Savvy Mommy.

And then wigging out because I’d actually have to…uh, talk…to “real people” and…you know…the table was actually more rectangularish!

DUDE…I felt sooo outta place.

So, when Liz (a.k.a. Mom-101) says to me in the elevator (after she’s caught me making goo-goo eyes with her gorgeous two-year-old-daughter):

“I see you’re carrying a Minti bag…so, you must be going to the same place I am!?!”

And what do I do?

Kick the stroller to the side and latch onto her left breast…like a greedy little piglet.

“OH, hi…yeah…probably…I didn’t actually buy this bag…no…I WON IT!…actually, I was trying to win tickets to BlogHer because…you know…I have four kids…and like they eat…a whole lot…anyways…I didn’t win…but, I got runner-up…and they were going to send me a schwag…but, I said…DUDE!…just send me one of those cherry bags…and I’ll be good to go…even though I’m not going to BlogHer…but, HEY!…I’m in NEW YORK CITY…aren’t I?…and they picked me up at the train station…and like, I totally called my husband from the train station and told him…DUDE, I’M IN THE CAR!…and then text messaged him just before…saying…DUDE! I’m in the hotel and THEY’VE GOT FREE FOOD!”

Then the elevator doors opened and like…she ran…and…funny…I never got a chance to chat her up again.

“Hi, we’re so glad you could make it, Elizabeth!”

[nervously looks around and vigorously shakes hands with a key-speaker]

“OH…hi…yeah…and can you believe I got my period this morning?!?”

[blank stare]

“You know…I didn’t actually buy this bag…”

I swear to you, I told her the whole car, text-messaging, food story because I am A DORK!  And, needless to say, I was beyond nervous – I mean, these bloggers…you know…write good – and I was probably the only one in the room who did NOT have a book out, coming out or anywhere near the closet…whatsoever…but, I managed to speak…without spitting (too much)…totally crushed on Greg and pretty much am ready to have Mom-101’s next baby…because she actually posted I HAD GOOD HAIR!

Well, maybe not in those exact words…but, I could tell she was totally into me!

[Liz who…from this full…WHAT?”]

You know…I didn’t actually buy this bag…

My husband started his vacation this week and – although he had to “pop” into work for a few hours yesterday afternoon – it’s not like we’re not going anywhere or doing anything special…stil…it’s nice to have him…you know…around.

When we first met – a blind date he agreed to only to get his SIL off his back – we felt a connection that went beyond sexual attraction (believe me, I’ve had plenty of relationships at that point to understand the difference) and I dropped alot more than my glass of red wine and two sets of utensils.

I spilled my guts!

And it was quickly apparent to me that not only did he realize and understand the fact that – by moving spillable things closer to his side of the table – I am A KLUTZ!

He got me.

I wasn’t perfect (still ain’t) I loved my family and would do anything within my power to be there for them when they needed me (still doing) and that I wanted kids.  Still - I had my doubts on whether or not I would be able to pull off  being a good mother, let alone a good wife – he hung around after that first date, we were married a year later and I’ve been wigging it…ever since.

And, let me tell you, the man is HOT!

No, I’m not talking about that kind of HOT – although, he is – that would perhaps be considered private by some and TMI to most.

What makes him HOT is the fact that he has made the kids breakfast, cleaned up the kitchen, fixed two boo-boos, complimented me twice and handed me a second cup of coffee (without me asking) and is content on sitting here, next to me, reading his newspaper while I write…because he get’s me.

[eyes rolling and the sounds of much gagging]

WAIT!!!

You mustn’t go, just yet.

Then, you’ll miss the real reason for today’s post – besides the fact that I think you’re freakin’ HOT for staying – I’m feeling the love and an urge to pass it along to a mommyblogger friend of mine.

Jenna.

Yeah, you!

She also gets me and - as a frequent comment contributor both here and at BlogHer, which makes her very HOT! – the connection I have with Jenna is more than mommyblogger-love…she’s family.

Not in the traditional sense – and she should be thanking her lucky stars for it! – but, being that TheJHatfiels are a military family…same thing.

My twin-brother and his wife live on an army base (we recently visited with them on the 4th of July) and often times open their home (as well as their hearts) to soldiers and their families who are overseas, coming home or somewhere in-between.

Jenna’s post – When the war hits home – resonates the power of blogging (mommybloggers, in particular) and moved me…in more ways than she will ever know.

I offer you, Jenna, my hand in friendship and hope that your friend Matt gets home and is feeling better…soon.

Mommybloggers may not be most-loved people in the blogosphere – but, with friends like these…and these…not to mention men like my husband…damned if we’re not f*cking HOT!

 

It’s okay if you don’t agree – just, grab a deliciously HOT pop-over baked fresh for me this morning (yes, he’s that HOT!) and go in peace.

 

 

Dressing my kids when they were babies was fun and – although it was easier to find things for the girls as opposed to the choices offered in the boys’ department - I am thankful that my girls are comfortable in their own skins and each have their own unique style.

Thing One has been into the bohemian-folksy look (before it was even in style) while Thing Two is into the t-shirt and jeans sort of casual.  And Mini-me is very girly and loves to shop for clothes…as long as it is purple and/or pink.

The boy?

Well, he’s okay with whatever he’s wearing, as long as it’s got something to do with baseball.

Though they each have their own particular tastes, there’s one thing that my four kids have one thing in common – they love watching Project Runway and then coming up with their own designs and try and think of new looks…FOR MOMMY!?!

And especially with that bitch-designer Laura’s remark…about how you would never, ever, catch her “dressed-down” because she’s a mom with five kids and doesn’t want look like other mothers…who wear sweat pants and drive minivans.

HUH!?!

And as all four of their heads simultaneously turned towards me, I couldn’t help blurt out the first thing that came to mind:

“Bitch!”

[eyes go wide]

Yah…like, okay…so, she likes to look her best…and dress up everyday…and I thought she brilliantly met the first design challenge and made an awesome coat (out of a rug and a shower curtain or something) but, I thought she was stupid for talking down to other moms like that!?!

Pssst…Laura…tailored skirts, high heels on a baseball/soccer field…they don’t match, honey!

I’d stick out like a sore thumb and, quite frankly, feel as if I were sending out all the wrong messages – especially to my kids!

It’s not the clothes that make the mom and – especially in this designer’s case – it’s the mom who makes the clothes…and she shoulda known better than to be dissing a rather large share of the clothing market!

[takes a deep breath and continues to fold laundry]

So, the girls felt the need to glam mom up and – because I loaned my sewing machine to my SIL – decided to make, package and distribute their own line of lip gloss…for moms.

These ar the colors currently available:  Gimme Green, Sea Blue, Palooza Blue, Black-eyed Blue, Blastoff Black, Lookin’ Good Lavender, Ravenous Rose.

And my personal favorite:  Lime-a-lot

I think they’re onto something (not to mention an easy sell being so gosh-darned CUTE!) and like the fact that they were being creative in coming up with a way to make mommy’s feel more…prettiful…and texted my husband, saying so!

Until my husband responded by text-messaging:

“Why is it on your nose?”

[taking a closer look]

Yep - I didn’t notice the glare on my nose – that’s me all right (one big ‘ole green mess) good thing I’m not going anywhere…but, like the grocery store…and then perhaps cut the grass in the front, later…in my mommy-civies of shorts and a t-shirt, no less!

And I text-messaged him the first thing that came into my head:

“Bitch!”

“Do you mind…um, since I’m taking it for lunch…if we don’t have this for dinner?”

[blank stare]

Oh, I know it sounds terribly “Ozzie and Harriet” on the surface, I thought my husband was trying to be very diplomatic about having to eat leftovers, again.  Hence – rather than taking my coffee mug (because cups are for wussies) and bashing him upside his head, while pulling on his necktie until his face turned blue - the blank stare into domestic oblivion.

Not for nothing, but – I’m no Rachel Ray – no matter how many different ways you dress it up…it’s still CHICKEN!

And at the rate my kids have been eating the last few days, he should be happy there’s anything left “reasonably edible” to eat!

Take for example, yesterday.

By the time Man of the House got home (7:00 p.m.) I had already run the dish washer three times and taken out the garbage, twice!

Let me tell you, anyone who prepares and/or serves home-cooked meals for their family (I mean, married w/children) EVERY DAY…should STOP IT.

Just kidding.

Truth be told, I am insanely jealous of you and am terribly lacking in the time management and organizational skills – not to mention the energy - it takes to serve a hot and nutritious meal, everyday!

And with an abundance of cute hand gestures and enthusiasm, no less.

I happen to love Rachel Ray – and suffer from the same “talks with hands” disease – and though many don’t consider her a “chef” in the classic sense (read: if it ain’t french, f*ck it) I happen to think the woman is an absolute genius when it comes to whipping up easy and sensible meals…in the time it takes me to open every blessed cabinet, scratch my head and ultimately reach for the phone or a package of frozen hot dogs.

Nope, I don’t cook like I used to and serving chicken (one of the few meats my kids will actually eat…in most any form) can seem awfully old, sometimes.

But, I can sure as hell make it FUN!

Meet Mrs. Humpty Dumpty:

She’s a saucy little wench (pictured here pumping up breakfast and wearing a hot-looking polka dot bathing suit) who enjoys slow, sexy mornings and being dipped by anything French (or toasted) and – upon hearing of her dear husband’s demise – was quoted as saying, “He was always a bit cracked in the head and quite easily pushed, really!”

Moral of today’s story:

If it ain’t broke, don’t ask me to cook it!

For the love of Humpty Dumpty - it is Hump Day, is it not? – the next time you’re sitting down to a nice hot meal, say a quick prayer and don’t forget your peas and cues…because this mommy (waves hands wildly and grabs breasts) needs a hug and we’re ordering out, DAMMIT!

It’s been a year since my parents bought their house in a community about an hour away from us – spending most of their weekends last summer enjoying the “active adult community” life, semi-permanently.

They’ve since sold the house I grew up in and have been living “full-time” in “the village of high fiber and everything bran” since October of last year.

And I have to say, it’s been the best thing that’s happened to my family since Costco and Whole Grain Wonder Bread!

The kids and I try and visit with them at least once per week during the school year and nearly every weekend in the summer – they have two pools that alternate “kid-friendly times” and since there is fishing, boating and dozens of hiking trails located throughout their community (and one right out their back door) my kids feel as if they’re going to camp.

Yesterday, my husband joined us in a late afternoon visit and I convinced him to go along for a quick ride to the lake (even though he really didn’t want to go) where he was able to cool his jets – just a bit, mind you - and take the kids rowing.

Mini-Me was too young, so she and I waded in the water looking for turtle eggs and other “pretties” and happily waved to her sisters and brother – only after having promised Mini-me that we would go and play shuffleboard, after.

“Shuffleboard?”

[nodding and smiling]

“Yeah…believe it or not the kids love it…you’ll see!”

The kids and I slept over a couple of weeks ago, when we were introduced to, “the joys of shuffle board!?!”

I know it sounds weird and all, but I swear to you there’s something about the damned game that gets under your skin and becomes very…I don’t know…addictive.

Once you start, you just can’t stop!

My husband wasn’t quite as convinced as I, that playing shuffle board would be fun.

“I’ll make you a bet.”

[suspiciously raises one eyebrow]

“Um…okay?”

[reaches for shuffle-thingy]

“If I win, then you have to…”

[censored]

“Oh, so, your manhood feeling a little threatened…so we’re playing for sexual favors…now…are we?

[leans forward and whispers in ear]

“And if you win, I…”

[holy crap!]

“You’re on!”

And we had at it, while the kids cheered us on and Mini-me kept score.

“Momma has zee-woe points and Daddy has…um…how do you white the numbuh forty-teen-and-nine, Momma?”

Losing aside - and guaranteed to wake up with a sore back (and neck) – the kids and I had a blast and my husband is looking forward to visiting my parents…MORE OFTEN…while I consider “indecent proposals” from my parents’ widowed-neighbors…as my husband proudly relates his mastering the art of shuffleboard…according to “our new rules!”

Just goes to show you…you’re never “too old”…”too young”…or, “too sexy”…to play shuffleboard…unless you’re doing it wearing black socks and sandals!

[gag me with a thingy]

And…EW!

Yep – 15 days into summer vacation and it’s finally happened – the spit has hit the fan as my children have officially gotten on each other’s nerves!

Words most often heard from my mouth this week:

“Knock it off!”

“Chill out!”

“Because it’s a bad word and mommy’s a grown-up, that’s why!”

“Keep your hands to yourself!”

“For the love of God!”

“Stop with the screaming, already!”

“Your brother is NOT your slave – GO GET IT, YOUR OWNSELF!”

And finally: 

“No, we CANNOT go swimming, today!”

Friggin’ rain.

I can’t blame the kids – feeling a bit closed-in, myself – it’s just that our house (though warm…**cough**…and inviting) can quickly get a bit cramped, which isn’t very conducive to four energetic little souls dying to get out into their big backyard…which is a bit squishy, at the moment.

As a matter of fact - what, with the historical sites, state parks, beaches (to name a few of our favorite haunts) shutdown this week - all of New Jersey is perhaps feeling a bit closed-in…at the moment, too.

Glad that’s over – friggin’ politicians!

‘Nuf said…as the sun shines once more, and our clan hits one of our favorite parks…you know…the one with the cutest little spray park.

Where Thing Two and Mini-me were able to finally cool their jets…and be friends…again.

And then get totally soaked, along with Little Man.

While Mini-me proves (once again) that…YES!…she can be very cute…and usually does get away with ALMOST anything.

And Thing One…though insisting she’s too old for such things…is caught by her mom enjoying a quick swing and… SMILING!?!?…egads, but preteen is a tough age…and herein lies a blackmail pic, if I ever saw one.

Then again, my kids are pretty easy-going about such things, and all it really takes for them (and me) is a bit of sunshine…to go along with their wet…and enjoy the summer home, with mom.

Me?

Well, if it wasn’t for my SIL – who was lovely enough to make an appointment to get ourselves in on a little girly-time – I wouldn’t have thought to take the time and do…you know…something for me.

And when she called to make sure I wasn’t going to…you know…blow her off…I told her that I would meet her at the…um…the place where people go to get their nails done…but, I wanted to clean up a bit first…and could hear the whole place roaring in the background as she yelled into the phone:

“You don’t have to clip and clean your toe nails…YOU BIG DOOFUS!…wtf do you think a pedicure is, anyways?”

Yah…but, she’s going to be touching my…um…and I don’t want her to think…

OH, NEVERMIND.

 

See, how prettiful my DOOFUS toes look…for once.

And I gots matching DOOFUS hands, too!

The color?

Well, suffice it say – after the manicurist stopped laughing at my clean toenails and I told her that “…um, something neutral, perhaps…” gave me the once over and said “Oh, honey…do you really want to be that BORING!” – I picked the hottest color I could find:

My Chihuahau Bites!

Hah – take that, you smarmy little polish-whore – boring my ass!  Just go ahead and ask me about the tatoo I’m getting, next week…go ahead…I dare you!

[picturing being poked with a needle (in THAT general area) and nearly puking on my chihuahuas]

Yep – perhaps they’re right – I am a DOOFUS.

But, surfs up…again!…and my kids like me (today at least) because I’m taking them on another roadtrip (read: getting out of this full house of all things…squishy) this afternoon…and they seem to think I’m pretty…you know…prettiful!

Have a great weekend and mind my DOOFUS dog – who already misses Aunt P. as much as I do and is keeping watch at the front door since I dropped her off at the airport early this morning –  he doesn’t bite…but, will lick you up and down like a cheap pornstar!

You may (or may not know) that I write a monthly column for The Imperfect Parent (I know, they are being extremely generous!) and my topic for this month’s article is the fact that my brother and I spoke another language before learning English in school, even though I was born here in America.

And it was not as uncommon, as you would perhaps believe, now as it was in the seventies.

In fact, there are a lot of things that are done differently today – especially when it comes to raising children – perhaps, as it should be.

Unfortunately, as most parents already know…somethings never change…and the best we can hope for is that our children accept the fact that we (especially parents) are not perfect and (more importantly) pray that they learn from their mistakes, as well as ours.

For example, it took me a very long time to understand (let alone, admit) the fact that my parents’ happiness has always – and I mean ALWAYS – depended upon the happiness of their children.

A huge burden for my brother and me, quite frankly.

Sounds awful, I know – how could I ever question such an honest, loving and unselfish way of being?!?

Well, suffice it to say that my brother and I have made our share of sacrifices, as well.

And as adults – though, there is no end to the love we feel for our parents – their dependency on our big happy family can be very trying on my relationship with my brother, as well as our relationship with our spouses…to be sure.

Here’s the thing.

My brother invited us (and my parents) to his house for the 4th of July and my gut reaction was to….screen his call.

With that said – and as awful as it still sounds - I was surprised to hear my husband – who absolutely adores my brother, btw – say, “WTF…is your problem?”

And I didn’t speak to him the rest of the morning.

What is my problem?

I didn’t think I had one.

Until, we got to my brother’s house and I quickly realized one thing – I am my worst enemy and that I was not happy, unless there was something that needed to be fixed.

Okay, maybe that’s two things – but, what’s up with that?

To make a long story short, we had a great time – DUH! – and my brother is probably one of the most happy, laid-back, un-troubled, no-nonsense people I know.

Being around him – and spending the whole day, together – was like a breath of fresh air.

And then my father started to cry.

“OMG…what’s the matter?”

My father just shook his head.

“No, really…Apu…what’s bothering you?”

He wiped his eyes and slowly looked around the room.

“Nothing…seeing you and your brother together…I’m just happy…and that’s all I ever want!”

It took a while for his words to sink in – and then the goosebumps hit – along with the realization that my parents weren’t as dependent as I thought they are and were merely exercising their right to enjoy a little happiness.  And what better way to do it, than through their children’s eyes…on Independence Day!?!

So - as the fireworks burst and the warm wind wreaked havoc with my bangs - I allowed the spirit of freedom and the joy of being in the company of some of the most important people in my life to live…as one…and hopefully be able to finally make peace with my sometimes obsessive-compulsive personality – as will my children – knock on wood.

[conking on head]

Because…according to my husband…it’s pretty crowded in here, already.

But – as Mini-Me is quickly willing to prove my point – there’s always room for bubble wrap!