Wednesday, April 28, 2010

I am suffering from ADHD today. Could be the sugar intake....

Today I ate a Snickers with almonds. It was almost a religious experience if you get my meaning. Wink wink. Nudge nudge. I know. I have an unhealthy relationship with snack foods. Yet I will probably eat another one tomorrow. And it will be the best part of my day. And yes I am totally aware of how pathetic that sounds.

I have a new nemesis. It's the crossing guard at my kids' school. I know every morning she waits for my car to approach her little lines of safety just so she can throw her stupid red octagon up in my face as if to say "Ha ha!! I have the power!" All He-Man like. (Except I am pretty sure he didn't say the "ha ha" part. But my memory could be fuzzy.) She thinks she's all cool with her stop sign. She obviously knows I am in a hurry and finds pleasure in delaying me for a few minutes while she assists a group of the slowest children on the planet across the street. I see her. I watch how she lets everyone else by. But as soon as she sees me, her face lights up. She knows I won't plow her over. But oh, I am thinking about it.

My favorite Chinese food restaurant has closed. Let's all take a moment of silence in memory of their AMAZING crab puffs.

Today at work, our oldies radio station was playing "What's Love Got To Do With It?" I happened to mention that I was in the *cough* eighth grade *cough* when this song came out. My 20 year old coworker eyed me with pity. "You probably don't even know who Tina Turner is," I sighed at him. "I know Tina Turner," he spat at me. "She's the one who got beat up by Bobby Brown. Right?" Oh to be young and stupid again....

Today at lunch I had a phone conversation with my BFF Raia. We were talking about really personal stuff. Things you don't say out loud, even to the people you are closest to. And for a brief moment, I actually felt like a real grown up. It was an amazing moment in my life. I can't explain it, but I know I will cherish that conversation forever. I love you girl. I am so proud to have you as a friend.

I have an unexplained fascination with Rick Harrison of Pawn Stars. I know he looks a little like Uncle Fester, but there is something about him.... I need therapy. I'm aware.

I spent the entire week thinking I had bunco tomorrow night. Only to realize bunco is the first Thursday of the month and tomorrow is the last Thursday of the month. So I have basically spent the entire week being a moron.

So how is your week going?

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

A Letter to Steve Nash

(photo courtesy of english.people.com.cn)


Dear Steve Nash,

My mom was not very happy with me after my recent post about things that gave me the skeevies. She was afraid that I might have hurt your feelings. Of course I promptly told her you had far better things to do than read this here little nothing of blog. I mean Jeez, I am surprised she is even reading it, you know? But I guess it is possible you could be a giant egomaniac and spend your free time on the Google trying to find out what insignificant people are saying about you. But whatever, I am not judging.

So because my mom did not raise me to be cruel and vicious (but my 101 things, item number 33, specifically says I can be mean spirited. I mean hello! Read the disclosures) and also because even though I am a grown ass *cough* 38 *cough* year old woman, I am still completely terrified of my mother (and trust me, you would be too), I am here right now to offer you my humble and most sincere apology if I really did hurt your feelings. I realize you have no control over the fact that your eyes are too far apart. I mean it's not your fault your mother probably drank a lot while she was pregnant. But I guess the joke is on me because if I ever try to sneak up behind you, you will obviously see me coming without even turning around.

However Steve, I would like to offer you a tiny little piece of advice, if I may be so bold.
.
Cut your freaking hair. PLEASE.
.
That look may be all the rage back in Canada, but here it just makes you look lazy, unmotivated and . . . well . . . Canadian. Plus all the sweat flipping off of you as you run up and down the court, well that's just unsanitary. This is America dude. We sue people for stuff like flop sweat. I am trying to do you a favor here. Save you some legal trouble. You are welcome.
.
I hope this little bit of fun we just had does not interfere with you asking me to be your Facebook friend. I will kick your ass in a game of Lexulous, I promise you.

Sincerely,

April, Queen of everything except basketball. And other sports type event thingies.

Note to readers who are not Steve Nash: Relax. I was only kidding. Mr. Nash isn't even a real Canadian, he is originally from South Africa. And I have no proof his mother drank while she was pregnant. Mr. Nash is totally welcome to make jokes about the size of my ears, which are often confused with satellite dishes. Also, I meant no offense to real Canadians. I love all Canadians. Well, most. Especially Michael Buble, Ryan Reynolds, Michael J. Fox and that guy from Holmes on Homes. So take off, eh?

Note to readers who gave birth to me: Are you happy now? Can I have my cell phone back please?

Monday, April 19, 2010

Musically Inclined

Me: We've been listening to this oldies station at work.
Uberman: Yeah? That sucks.
Me: No, it's actually cool. It's not the same oldies like when we were kids. Now the oldies are Journey, Boston, Billy Joel and post-Beatles Paul McCartney.
Ubes: Wings?
Me: I don't know, I've never heard of them.
Ubes: No, Wings is the band Paul McCartney started after the Beatles.
Me: Dude, who cares, we're talking about me here. Anyway. I like it. Except today they played that Bridge Over Troubled Water song and I wanted to kill myself.
Ubes: Simon and Bullwinkle.
Me: What?
Ubes: Never mind, that was supposed to be a joke.
Me: Can we focus here? That song is terrible. And then right after that they played the Time in a Bottle song.
Ubes: Well that's not old, why would they play that?
Me: Are you kidding? That song is way old. And it sucks.
Ubes: But why would they play Christina Aguillera on an oldies station?
Me: Dude. Are you messing with me again?
Ubes: No. Isn't she the one that sings that Time in a Bottle song?
Me: Um, no. That's "Genie in a Bottle." This one is "Time in a Bottle." No mention of genies in the whole song.
Ubes: Oh.
Me: Anyhoooooo. (Takes deep breath) I am just thankful they aren't playing the same five songs over and over. Not once did I hear Nickelback, Lady Ga Ga or Justin Beiber.
Ubes: Who's Justin Beaver?

Monday, April 12, 2010

Tooth Fairytales

My Mac lost a tooth last week. When I came home from work he was sitting on the stairs with frowny face.

"What's wrong, Buddy?" I asked him.

"I lost my tooth," he said.

"Well that's good! You've been working on that one for a while," I said, giving him a hug.

"But it broke in half," he sighed. "It's probably not worth anything now. I am not sure if the Tooth Fairy will leave me any money."

"I am sure she will," I reassured him as he melted my heart with his big, sad brown eyes. "Just put it in your Tooth Fairy Pillow and see what happens."

"Okay," he said sadly.

He walked back upstairs, his shoulders drooping in despair. I turned to walk to room and kick my shoes off when I heard Junior, who had been standing at the top of the stairs listening to the whole broken tooth sob story.

"Dude," he said to Mac. "You know it's Mom who puts the money in the pillow, right?"

"Ssshhh!" Mac shushed him loudly. "What are you doing? Don't spoil it for her."

The Tooth Fairy left him $5. But she is on to him. And she wants that money back when it's time for braces.

Friday, April 9, 2010

Not the brightest crayon in the box, but we love him anyway...

Last Saturday I had to work until 1:30ish and Uberman had an appointment for a side job at 1:00, meaning the kids would be home alone for about an hour. Stop judging me people, my oldest is 12 going on 40. And they all know the basic rules:

No answering the door or the phone unless it's one of us.
Keep the alarm set.
No going outside.
No using the stove.
No using the computer.
Don't do anything you wouldn't do if mom and dad were home.

So when I left work, I called home to let them know I was on my way.

And the phone rang and rang and went to voice mail. I waited a few minutes and called again. It rang and rang, then went to voice mail. I called Junior's cell phone. Again, no answer. By this time I am a little worried. One of my pet peeves is not being able to get a hold of someone. So I wait and try again. No answer.

Now I'm pissed. And wondering why they aren't answering.

Finally on my FIFTH attempt at calling the house, Mac answers the phone.

He: Hello?
Me: Dude! Why aren't you guys answering the phone?
He: I didn't know where one was.
Me: Seriously? Did you look?
He: No, we're on level 5 of the new game. Couldn't pause it without the risk of dying.
Me: So why did you decide to answer it now?
He: I needed a drink.
Me: Dude. I have been calling for 10 minutes! I must have called a million times.
He: Oh, that was you?
Me: Mac. I don't like it when I can't get a hold of you guys. I get worried when you are home alone and not answering the phone.
He: We're home alone?
Me: Ummm, yeah? If Dad's not there and I'm not there, that means you're home alone.
He: You're not here?
Me: OHMYGAWD! What do you think? I'm calling you from my closet?
He: Where are you?
Me: On my way home from work!
He: Oh. I didn't know you weren't here.
Me: Are you kidding me? Didn't you wonder why you hadn't seen me all day?
He: No, I just thought you were busy doing stuff.
Me (sighing): Where is your brother?
He: Can you bring us home some Taco Bell?

These kids are giving me gray hairs and wrinkles. I want my money back.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Globophobia

Yesterday, my customer Cutie Dry Cleaner (CDC), told me a story about one of his customers. This woman called him from her car, while sitting in front of his store, and asked if he could please bring her clothes out to her. She wouldn't get out of her car because there was a balloon on the ground in front of the bike shop next door.

A balloon. She was deathly afraid of balloons.

Apparenty this is a real fear called globophobia. Unless you are only afraid of the balloon popping, and then it's called ligyrophobia. Oh yeah baby, CDC said "woman afraid of a balloon" and I went straight to The Google. After I stopped laughing uncontrollably, of course. I mean come on! A balloon? I would totally get it if there was a clown standing there holding the balloon, that would freak me the flip out, too and I wouldn't get out of my car either. But a balloon just laying on the ground? That is FUNNY!

But then I thought who the hell am I to laugh at this woman. I have some fears. There's the usual fear of flying. And snakes and pretty much all reptiles/amphibians and anything that jumps. Oooh it gives me the willies just thinking about them. Not a huge fan of small, confined spaces like packed elevators and those nasty play areas in fast food restaurants (I still haven't forgiven Junior for the time I had to climb up and retrieve him because he was to afraid to go down the slide. I realize he was two but I was like 7 months pregnant with Mac and that was just inconsiderate of him, you know?).

But I also have other fears that are probably silly and unreasonable to the average person.

Like my fear of Jello. Oh. My. Gawd. Jello freaks me out. I can't stand the sight of it. I mean what is it? It's not a liquid, yet not quite a solid. It's just so wrong. Anything that defies the laws of physics is just not normal. I can't be in the same room with someone eating it. Oh sure, I will make amazing Jello shots for parties (you are welcome, Flint), but I am not happy about it. I don't want to touch it, see it, hear it, smell it, and there is no way in HAY-ELL I am tasting it. Blech!

And I really hate those cans of pressurized biscuits. The anticipation of peeling the label and the stupid thing popping open in your hand. No thank you. Oh, I just got the chills.

And what about Ubes' obesession with putting gas in the car while the car is still running?? I try to make up an excuse to get out of the car like "I could really go for a refreshing carbonated beverage." or "I have to pee (even though I really don't like the idea of gas station bathrooms)." I just know one day he is going to blow us up.

And I know for a fact as soon as I see a scary demon/devil/evil movie like The Exorcist or Paranormal Activity I will immediately become possessed and start vomitting pea soup all over everyone. It could totally happen. And I know because I have heard all about it in Sunday school.

And I won't consume milk from anywhere but my own home because I know I can check the expiration date. And I am telling you people, at midnight on the day that milk expires, it is BAD. It has an internal sensor that sours it at the exact moment the clock strikes 12:00. True story.

And if I can't open a freestanding US Mail Box to make sure my letter (Netflix) is not trapped between the swinging door and the upper part of the inside of the mailbox?? Well, I feel anxiety for days.

And Steve Nash. I don't know what it is about this guy. His extra wide set eyes? His nasty, sweaty hair flopping back and forth while he runs up and down the court? It doesn't matter. I see him on TV, a magazine or even unluckily once at Scottsdale Fashion Square, and I know I will have nightmares. Holy Haysoooos. Something about this guy just completely creeps me out.

And OMG what if, just what if, Revlon stops making my Pearl Plum Super Luscious lip gloss? The very thought of it keeps me awake at night.

And I'm a firm believer that little kids with dirty hands and/or boogery noses have cooties.

And I hate birds. (Hmmm... Partially explains my Steve Nash aversion considering his eyes are so far apart.)

So maybe a lady afraid of balloons is not so weird.... What about you? What silly things are you afraid of?

Saturday, April 3, 2010

Gold Pumps

(Updated! Thank you Mom for emailing me the picture!)

When I was growing up, I loved staying with my Grandma. She lived on a farm in a small town at the base of the Great Salt Lake. We spent a lot of time in the kitchen baking, canning, cooking. If we weren't in the kitchen we were out in the fields picking and planting, or we were feeding the animals or gathering eggs or cleaning the pens.

I spent a lot of time climbing trees and riding on a tractor and picking caterpillars off of plants. But Grandma always made me wear a hat outside because it was important to protect my skin from the sun, especially because I was fair and prone to freckling. She taught me how to moisturize. She told me that it was okay to play outside and get dirty, it was important to be adventurous and tough, but at the end of the day I was still a little girl who would someday be a lady.

My grandma was always working, so she was always wearing work clothes. Pants and shirt, sometimes an apron or smock covered in food or dirt, depending on what she was doing at the time. I watched her dig and plant with her hands, I watched her kill and pluck chickens and shovel manure and chop wood. I saw her grimy and sweaty, and watched her clean dirt from under her long fingernails.

She wasn't glamorous. She was practical, hard working and smart. She didn't need a lot of "things." She was happy with what she had and how she was. But when we went to town, she always put on lipstick.

I liked that about her. And I liked that way deep in the back of her closet, there was a pair of gold pumps. I used to try them on and walk around, laughing at the thought of Grandma out in the fields or canning jelly in high heels. I could never in a million years imagine her ever wearing such impractical footwear. I mean come on, not only were they pumps but they were GOLD for crying out loud. She had obviously worn them a very long time ago, probably before giving birth to her nine children. And I always imagined that she kept them to remind her of a time when she didn't have to be so practical.

God I miss her. She passed away a month before my daughter was born. After she died, my aunt gave me some old pictures she had found in Grandma's things. One of them was a black and white photo of my grandma standing on a porch. She was wearing a sleeveless shirt dress, belted at the waist. I had never seen my grandma wear a dress in my whole life. Her hair was long and wavy, tucked back behind her ears. Her head was tilted to the side and her hands were on her hips (as they usually were), like she was pretending to be irritated with the person taking her picture. She looked so young and sassy. Almost flirty. I loved this picture so much. Everything about it captured the essence of who she was.

Yesterday was my Mac's tenth birthday, and last night I had a dream about Grandma.

We were at a family function, there was a bunch of people everywhere, which is not unusual for large families like ours. I think we were at my aunt's house, but it didn't really look like her house, you know how dreams are. I walked into the kitchen and there was my Grandma, sitting on the floor, wearing that belted shirt dress from the picture, her legs neatly tucked to the side. She was eating a piece of birthday cake, a corner piece. I was so happy to see her.

"Grandma!" I said. "You're here!"
"Well of course I am, honey," she replied in her southern drawl. "I'm always here." And she smiled and winked.
I sat down next to her and whispered. "But you're . . ."
She shook her head and finished her mouthful of cake. "Don't you worry about that. I am always here."
"Funny," I said as I looked at her dress. "That dress is blue. I always thought it was pink."
"Well how could you tell from a black and white?" she asked.
"I don't know," I laughed. "For some reason I just assumed it was pink."
"What did I always tell you about making assumptions?" she asked, squeezing my hand. I could feel her soft skin against mine. I stared into her pretty round face and blinked back my tears.
"Stop," she told me stearnly. "We need to talk."
"Okay," I nodded. I felt so happy to see her. To sit next to her. I could smell her faint, soapy scent.
"That was good cake," she told me. "I can't believe he is ten."
"I know," I sighed. "Two kids in double digits, Grandma. I feel old."

She looked into my face thoughtfully and smiled.

"You are a good mother, April Dawn. You need to stop doubting yourself. These kids are happy, healthy and loved. They are smart and well behaved. But your expectations are too high. You are too hard on yourself and sometimes you are too hard on them. You forget they are kids. You can't expect them to think like adults. To act like adults. To reason like adults. Because they aren't. Lower your expectations. Let them learn on their own. Let go a little bit every day. How can you expect them to be confident when you are not confident in yourself? Enjoy. Have fun. Don't always be so practical. You will blink and it will all be gone."

I woke up crying. I could still feel her hand in mine. I could still smell her clean sweetness. I could still hear her voice.

It was just a dream, but I felt so comforted, so reassured. I felt like I had really sat and visited with her. I felt like she was really there.

And who knows. Maybe she really was.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Plan B

Boo: Mommy, do you ever get coupons for shoes?
Me: Ummmm... I get coupons for stores sometimes. I could use them on shoes. Why?
Boo: Because my friend Hannah got some new shoes and they're Skechers and they're called Twinkle Toes because the toe is all sparkly and some of them light up and they are so pretty and now I want some too. And Hannah said they were forty four dollars which is a super lot of money but her mommy used a coupon so they didn't really cost forty four dollars, they were less but she wasn't sure how much because she couldn't remember and there was this thing called tax and stuff.
Me: (blinking)
She: So?
Me: So?
She (exasperated): So can I get some Twinkle Toes?
Me: We'll see.
She: What does "we'll see" mean?
Me: It means maybe.
She: Oh.... Hmmm..... (reaches for the phone) Does Granny's number start with a six or an eight?
Me: An eight. Why?
She: Because you said we'll see. So I'm thinking I need a plan B.