Romance—Old-Married-Couple Style

As you may have read, last week kicked my rear up one side and down the other…and then spit on me for good measure. However, I did have a bright spot or two in all the angst of work, sick heathens, sand-filled purses and mysteriously open front doors (which my husband confessed to doing by the way).

Late one night, as my husband and I settled into bed, a Taco Bell commercial came on, and I blurted out, “Man, I really want a Mexican Pizza.”

This was really out of character for me. One, I already had dinner and it was fairly big dinner at that. Two, I certainly don’t eat late at night, and I really don’t eat fast food at all anymore. I like my skinny-jeans too much to trade them for food that tastes gross more often than it tastes good. However, after a few hellish days and a bucket of tears, I had the sudden, perverse urge for that Mexican Pizza.

I guess my husband knew how badly I must have wanted it, because he jumped out of bed, slapped on his shoes and made the proverbial run for the border. Ten minutes later, he returned with three Mexican Pizzas and a bag of hot sauce. Even though it was after 10:00, we dove in and had a little Taco Bell picnic in our bed.

I know it must sound silly (and faintly nauseating as I type this at 8:00 in the morning), but I have to say that his late-night Mexican Pizza run was really romantic. After ten years of living together, romance goes beyond flowers, dates or other clichés. Romance is sometimes the little, unexpectedly thoughtful things that pop up just when you need them. While I never would have gotten out of bed at 10:00 to procure myself impulsive, diet-killing junk food, he knew that I needed something so simply indulgent in order to feel soothed, a little rebellious and back in control.

He’s a sweetheart like that.

What is Wrong With this Picture??

Alright, I am at a loss to explain this and I need some advice. Bear lost one of his front teeth this week, after it wiggled, jiggled and taunted the tooth fairy for days. Everything seemed fine, but yesterday I noticed something strange. Somehow, it appears his other front tooth has…migrated. I swear his teeth were normal before. How on earth did one tooth scoot over to the middle of his freaking mouth?

They call him Tooth…Snaggletooth, that is.

Is this normal, or do I need to call a priest?

I Need a Kick in the Pants

This has not been my week…to say the least.

On any given day, being a working mom is challenging enough. Days are spent juggling, prioritizing and feeling like something is always slipping through the cracks. However, with a good sense of humor and a little forced perspective, I usually do pretty well at rolling with the punches.

This week, I can fairly say that I’ve had enough, thank-you-very-much. Enough of things like a kid that gets sick (AGAIN!!!) the day after spring break ends…or the power company wanting to cut down all the 100 year-old trees in my yard…or an extra large helping of stress in my already high-stress job…or coming home to find my front door mysteriously wide open…or realizing my youngest was using my purse for a foot-rest and now its’ contents are full of sandy dirt…yeah…enough of all that please.

Sooooo, after a few days of being a grouchy, snarly mess, I am ready to snap out of it. It’s time to kick this funk in the pants! After all, tomorrow is Friday, and what better time for a serious attitude adjustment? The last time this bad funk happened, my husband gave me a beer, the kids’ Scout bow and arrows, and he set me up a target in the backyard. I shot that poor paper target to pieces, but I must admit, I sure did feel better afterward.

While I don’t plan on shooting up the backyard today, I’m going to get through work, dance around my kitchen while I make dinner, and tickle my kids until they are in danger of vomiting…ok, not really, but you get the idea.

How to Make the Heathens Happy in One Easy Step


I will neither confirm nor deny that I actually fed my children doughnuts for dinner.

I disavow all knowledge of these events.

Those are not, I repeat NOT, Krispy Kreme hats on their heads….

Ok, maybe they are, but it’s just their uniform…yeaaahhh, for like, work.


I’ll do better tomorrow, I promise.

The Thing About Birthdays…

My youngest heathen turned seven on Friday. Unlike years past, I was pretty adamant that we would not do the big-event birthday party with all his friends and classmates. First, the expense is of feeding and entertaining 25 seven year-olds is not high up on our priority list right now. Second, I can barely keep up with my own kids, let alone chase down a gaggle of them after their parents drop them and disappear. Finally, in all the chaos of large, elementary school birthday party, I always seem to miss out on the important moments because I am too busy playing hostess. Frankly, dropping several hundred bucks on a bucketful of messy, mind-numbing chaos was just not going to happen this year.

However, we still wanted Bear to feel that he was getting the full birthday experience, so we decided to take a day off work, and give him a full day of fun. Obviously, he wanted to open his gifts first thing that morning, so we let him have at it:


Luckily for us, his wish-list was very manageable this year, and we were able to stick to a reasonable gift budget. We then met some of our close family at his favorite restaurant (which we coincidentally had $30 worth of coupons for), and had lunch with a couple of his grandparents and aunts. Since it was a work day, we didn’t have that much of a crowd, but he still got the impression of a “big” get-together. After lunch, we let Bear select any activity he wanted, and he chose to visit a local family fun center that includes an arcade, miniature golf, go-carts and bumper boats. We burned our allotment of quarters on arcade games, amassed several hundred prize tickets and then headed outside to the miniature golf course.

All the guys played, and I….supervised.

Or heckled…


Thank goodness we did not keep score, because it was already an epic competition. Score cards are for sissies, ya know.

Finally, we headed home to have cake:

And the boys jetted off to play with all Bear’s new toys, including (insert long-suffering sigh here) yet another Nerf gun. Meanwhile, I made a margarita and hid in the bathroom.

Overall, I still had some Mom-guilt that we did not do the big, birthday she-bang. However, instead of a crazy, chaotic party, we were able to give him a full day of fun, and let him have the power of choice, which was a treat in and of itself.

I came away from this weekend realizing that the boys’ birthdays do not always have to be a gauntlet of party insanity. By playing our cards right and letting him “plan” his big day (within reason), Bear still had a wonderful, fun birthday, and his parents are not stressed, frazzled wrecks.

Not too shabby, if I do say so myself.

The Best April Fool’s Day Ever


Seven years ago today, I got a little April Fool’s Day present. He was 9 pounds, 2 ounces and 19 inches of perfection. He’s my Bear, my youngest heathen, and he is a weirdo.

 Up until 2 days before he was born, one doctor, four nurses and five ultrasounds told me that he would be a girl.

I knew better, and did not buy a single pink thing…not even a onesie. Sure enough, on my pre-surgury check-up, a radiology tech told me what I already knew…I was about to have another little boy.

Now he’s 7, and still has us wrapped around his little finger.

 If I didn’t have baby-fever before, I sure do now…