Mount Mitchill Scenic Overlook County Park, Atlantic Highlands, NJ
Actually, it was grayish, rainy and a bit chilly, yesterday.. PERFECT weather for some late summertime fun…here, in Jersey, anyway.
A lot of folks seem to like visiting New Jersey (on purpose) especially, our neck of the Jersey shore and I'm okay with that (mostly) I mean, if it weren't for the Bennies (i.e. people who visit here, only in the summertime) we'd probably have to pay A LOT MORE money to get on our beaches and MTV would NOT currently hold the #1 google rank it does, you know, today…DAMNIT!
My husband, Garth (not his real name) met me at the train station on Sunday and, after taking a quick look at my swollen legs, scaly arms, blistering hands and blotchy neck (you're welcome!) believing that my recent poison ivy infection had somehow morphed into leprosy (ditto) he drove me straight to the doctor's office.
I mean, really, wrangling 2,000+ registered attendees (not to mention, the 11-ty billion others already living in/visiting NYC) something's bound to go wrong (coming from someone, whose attempts at throwing a dinner party, for 6, the last 16 years, has failed, miserably, more often than not) and, well, someone's destined to get their feelings hurt (see previous parenthesis) or, break something (ditto) right?
No worries, SaveHer'10 is here (i.e. alternate title: Riding in an Ambulance with BusyMom!)
So, tonight, I'm sitting here, at the kitchen table…ALL…BY…MYSELF…and listening to absolutely nothing…except, for the sounds of my husband Garth (not his real name) making dinner.
"Stir fry sound good, for you?"
Sure, I'm a little hesitant about leaving the kids (with my parents, I mean) still, they are getting older and basically take care of themselves (my kids, I mean) especially, if there's cable and a microwave nearby (oh, I kid, sort of) and my oldest girls are really GREAT at holding down the fort, in an emergency.
"Do you mind if I head over to Kohls?"
This week, I spent 90 minutes at Dress Barn on Monday and all I got was a stinkin' scarf (cute, but it still sorta stinks that I couldn't find anything else) to show for it.
"Okay, but I have to tell you something."
Which is really code for, "This way, I don't have to look at you," in teen text.
"But, I don't want to tell you over the phone."
Aw, crap.
Long story, short (you're welcome) here's the gyst of what happened…in bullet points:
Hope (she's 9) has been asking me, every other day, to tell her about where babies came from
At that very moment, on each of those days, I've had exactly 5 minutes, to spare
Hope got tired of waiting
Hope asked her brother, Glen (he's 11) where babies came from
Aaaaand, he told her.
Because, I already had "the talk" with Glen — thanks a lot, Garth (not your real name!) — and, well, the boy was doing me a favor.
The girls punished him, anyway.
"What he say?"
Bulleted version:
The husband lays on top of the wife
He shoots this fish-like thing inside her
It buries itself into one of the wife's eggs
The egg grows inside the wife and turns into a baby
Aaaaand, he was right…mostly.
"Put him on the phone."
So, I un-punished Glen, scolded Holly and Heather (seriously, who's the mommy?) and promised to have "the talk" with Hope…aaaaaafter, I get back.
Morale of the Story: Kohls RAWKS, cell phones are NOT the devil and my husband's stir fry tastes even better…cold…pregnant…or, SO NOT!!!
In the meantime, look for me at BlogHer — I'll be the tall, dork-ish one texting her kids — trying to convince my youngest two that Headless Mom, you know, really does have a head and my oldest two that her blog name has absolutely NOTHING to do with sex!
I still remember that fateful day, when my husband Garth (not his real name) and I nervously sat down at the conference table, distracting the lawyer long enough to hand us each styrofoam cups of stale coffee and, between the 3 of us, was the only one able to hold a pen steady enough to sign the papers.
"I think I'm gonna throw up!"
I was a few weeks pregnant with our first daughter (commuting, while under the influence of gestation, sucks wet poodle, btw!) and, well, WE WERE BUYING OUR FIRST HOUSE!
"You're young, yet, there's still time."
The lawyer, who seemed very well-versed in the matter, insisted that investing in a starter home was the way to go and that our timing could NOT have been better.
"As long as you move before the kid starts kindergarten!"
17 years, 4 kids, 3 cats, 2 refinances and 1 doofus-dawg, later (give or take a couple of goldfish) both my husband and I have FINALLY accepted the fact that we are, you know, totally screwed.
"Wow, it's a lot bigger than I thought!"
If I had a dollar for each time a repairman has said that to me, well, I'd be able to park my car in the garage, by now.
"We get that, a lot."
Not to mention, folks who are surprised to find that our house, you know, looks A LOT different…on the inside.
"Doing some work, I see."
It's not like we have this thing for
dry wall (although, after a while, you DO sorta get used it) but, after
17 years, 4 kids, 3 cats, etc., etc., other stuff has taken priority
(like, you know, food) and, well, there's ALWAYS something, right?
"How long have you been renovating?"
This particular repairman, however, seemed to be genuinely interested.
"Let's see, um, about 17 years."
The poor guy stopped laughing as soon as he realized that I was, you know, serious.
"Uh-huh, so, okay, I'm done here, buh-bye."
Granted, it's not the smallest house on the block (my 103 year-old next door neighbor has owned that title for, well, over 100 years, now) and, with a few of gallons of paint (give or take a couple of barrels) or, a VERY LARGE construction crew, looking for some pro bono work, who knows?
"Um, did you back-flush the pool, today?"
Because, you see, these days, I am the Queen of Denial AND Supreme Back-flusher!
"Why?"
Then, I remembered….that I forgot…to turn the shut-off valve, you know, back on.
"You burned up the motor!"
Long story, short (you're welcome!) that same day, we also ended up taking my car into the shop (it was either that, or never be able to make a left turn, ever again!) and that little bit of money I just got paid (because, you know, I do work, sometimes) uh-huh, I'm sending one of the Pep Boys on a lovely vacation…this summer.
"You owe your father a cup of coffee."
Apparently, my dad made a big stink about paying for the new pump in the pool store and, well, I owed the man a piece of cake AND dinner for the next 2 weeks, too.
"Why are you ALL wet?"
Apparently, the pump is a whole LOT stronger than our old one, the pressure split the out-take hose and being doused with chlorinated water, while under the influence of coffee (and cake) makes you do this:
What? Melisa thought it was funny when I told her this same EXACT story on Monday (STILL don't have my car, sucks donkey balls, btw!) or, maybe she was just humoring me, either way.
[snort]
Still, it's OUR home, the kids seem to like it and I wouldn't trade this house, or the love I felt for my husband, at that particular moment, for all the philanthropically-inclined contractors in the world.
[wipes eyes]
Okay, maybe Ty Pennington (relax, my husband already knows and he's okay with it) or one of the HGTV Dream Homes (I've been trying to win, since 2001, DAMMIT!) but, let's not open that OLD wound, okay?
When ALL else #fails (i.e., car in shop, pool filter seizes, refrigerator burns up, or ALL of the above, just sayin') break out the hose and just fuhgehtaboutit!!!
Only 14 more sleeps until BlogHer '10 and, since this IS my 4th year attending this particular blogging conference (read: proved myself to be a dork, 3 times, for REAL, already!) I feel it safe say, "WHOOT!" and admit that I am sooooooo happy I do NOT HAVE TO worry about flying, you know, in an airplane, or eleventy.
Heeeeeeello, NJTransit…it's been a while…how've ya' been, dawg?
Still, it can get sorta weird, stepping out from behind one's blog and leaving your delete button, behind (mine is broken, go figure) and, well, it's kind of hard to pass myself off as the ageless, yet brilliantly insightful and entertaining blogging ingenue….
[sound of crickets chirping]
….AM SO!…in my mind, anyway…still, BlogHer is one of the very few chances I get (if any) to hang out with some of my favorite people in the blogging community.
Because, in some weird-ish way…we HAVE become friends…who happen to agree…to disagree and like each other, anyway.
In fact, it was Melisa's post (more specifically, the above picture of us…at BlogHer 2009 in Chicago…together) that inspired me to write this one and say to ALL of you going to BlogHer, this year…HOLY CRAP!…I do NOT look like that, anymore.
In fact, looking back, I've had a completely different hairstyle, or color…every year.
That's Aimee and me at BlogHer 2008 in San Franscisco with my short (very, very short) dark-ish, HOLY CRAP, but California is a LOOOOONG way from New Jersey, look.
That's Lisa, Amber, Dana, Shannon and me at BlogHer 2007 in Chicago with my long-ish, gold-ish THANK GAWD these people don't seem to mind hanging with a dork, look.
Aaaaand, what's the look gonna be…this year?
[snicker]
Well, only 14 more sleeps and you'll find out…soon enough…besides, I wouldn't want to ruin your image of me, anymore than I have, already, maybe.
[sound of crickets chirping]
Oh…look…over there…is that something shiny?
Oh, alright…this is me at a recent family barbecue…IS TOO…just, look for me at the BlogHer 5K Fun Run/Walk…I'll be wearing the same color tutu (for Tanner) so, how do I look?
This is my paternal great-grandmother, Maria, in Hungary. My father spent many childhood summers, giving up his "city boy ways," living the "simple country life," with Maria (his mother had him late in life and, apparently, he was a handful!) and, according to my father, it was anything and everything…but, simple!
Still, as tough as Maria's life was, my father insists that she was the sweetest, kindest, most gentlest person on earth.
Unlike, her great-granddaughter (that would be me!) who is about ready to snare her some Bambi!
Exhibit A: Deer tracks (post-sprinkler) this morning.
No, I don't want to hurt Bambi (much) but, gardening is HARD work and, all of a sudden, after 17 years of fighting with aphids, hornworms and garden slugs (oh my!) NOW it seems like we've got deer!
Exhibit B: Hopey's prized-cabbage (she was growing to win a $1000 scholarship) beheaded!
Not just any deer (mind you) but, ravenous-militant-vegetable-swiping-giant-moose-of-an-animal that carries away an entire head of cabbage!?!?
Exhibit C: Tops of tomato plants chewed!
I went out to pick some tomatoes a few weekends ago and…OMG…where have ALL of my tomatoes gone?
Exhibit D: What was my parsley!
I know…so, we've got deer…no BIG deal, right?
Exhibit E: WTH is it?
All I kept thinking was…this is MY garden (DAGNABIT!) and WWMD (what would Maria do?) no question about it — I HAVE TO DEFEND IT! So, Garth (not his real name) installed this sweet little motion detector smack dab in the middle of my Concord grape vine!
Just like Maria's (see picture at top of post) minus the motion detector, I mean.
Exhibit F: New growth!!!
Yes, Maria is probably ROIHGL (rolling over in her grave laughing) bless her squishy little heart!
Exhibit G: Aaaand, we have tomato flowers!
But, when in Jersey…you know…and, combined with my new bontanically-based insecticidal soap (email me and I'll let you know which) it seems to be working.
Exhibit H: The vegetable bed that lived
Oh, and no, we are NOT crucifying anyone – that's just the clothes line that Garth (not his real name) rigged up by the pool, so that the kids can hang up their wet towels, which, unfortunately, they do NOT use…DAGNABIT!
Found this picture buried deep in our old desktop's files and, well, ignoring the fact that my laptop is STILL broken is not such a bad thing, after all. Buuuuut, now my face hurts, as I'm seriously considering climbing into the h…e…double hockey sticks of a crawl space over our garage and dusting off the crib…too.