Easter has arrived
Bunny’s whiskers twitch
He’s sniffing eggs from here and there
To find out which one’s which
Some are sweet
And some have color
Some twinkle like stars
None are like the other
There are six be told
That linger here
Emerald as the gemstone
They do appear
If you look with four eyes
And use two minds
Each girl will have three eggs
In their baskets to find
Two live in the room
That Dances with the Stars
And If you look quite carefully
More treats could be yours
Two more eggs abide in a place
Where Noggins collide
The last couple linger
Where sweet dreams abide
The Bunny is smart
He is old and he’s wise
Can you find his stash?
If you think you can...then you must try!
Mr. Rabbit had some damp fur for sure in his neighborhood travels this sweet rainy morning. Chocolate ears were nibbled and nails were painted while Mama slurped her java. I hope that you, too, find some magic this holiday weekend with those you love. All I can hope for is that we make it through the day without hanging ourselves from the bunk beds on our brand new Sister necklaces.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
spring fever
Well, I made it out alive, folks. Just barely. Spring has sprung and my nine day tap-dancing-fire-eating-two-shows-nightly-and-don't-forget-to-tip-your-server extravaganza is over. Our long week involved a three hour hike over crevasse, waterfall & sandstone and an overnight visit to ole Kansas City for what could have been a little heavier on the blues and BBQ for this lady but ended up more Crown Center kiddo-pool oriented. Then with a couple of ear-splitting play dates thrown on top of that...things blossomed into a regular ole Spring Breakdown. Or a future 28 day dry-out at Hazelden....however ya want to look at it.
I had to crack up at the munchkins with their hiking sticks. They walked like little Trojans over those endless slippery Ozark rocks(as I twirl said mustache)...but slept like tiny blond angels that night. Just the way me likey. My thighs were quivering jello the next morning, when I finally made it to the kitchen, but it was fun and gave us an opportunity to venture out and see the area since most of the time I am trying to hide from it. Thank you, urticaria. There was a cave the locals call the Devil's Icebox...black as pitch and three stories deep but Mama picked up the pace and avoided this claustophobe's worst nightmare. W. begged me to let her see "the center of the earth", but I said nope and promised them a Barbie flashlight and a couple of Wal-Mart parkas for next time. Yeah, right.
It wasn't an over water bungalow in Bora Bora, but it was better than nothin'. We actually had an up on high, fab view of the purdy city lights from our K.C. hotel room that got Big Daddy and I all verklempt & nostalgic for our past life. But it was nothing that a box of Corbett Canyon couldn't cure. The kids experienced an art making frenzy called Kaleidoscope at Hallmark Headquarters and a tres cute Wizard of Oz collection while we were there. Well, let's just say it was charming the first time we toured, but after my rotater cuffs were yanked down the yellow brick road and my back was balled up on the miniature Dorothy Ruby Red Slipper slide for a gazillion times...I felt like the Flying Monkies had beat the stuffing out of me.
And don't even get me going on the not one, but three birthday celebrations we had for my youngest over the course of the last two weeks. We did a kid thing for her, of course, then had to coordinate the extended fam's schedule for yet another made with love, scary as hell to look at homemade cake sugar overload. Between that and our traditional birthday Taco Night with the Mags and T. puking tomatillo on me afterwards, I think I have just about been there and done this one, folks. Yep, little Curly-Top, when she wasn't blowing chunks, was celebrating like Oprah and her big 50, for God's sakes. Awash in all things pink and princess. Just the way she likey.
The flu struck W. immediately after the school bell rang recess, so she snotted up a storm most of the time. Thank the universe for Tylenol though. That stuff's like crack for kids. One snort full and they're good to go for anything! It sure helps us old baton-twirling gals out. Of course, being the organized super-mom I am, I forgot my digital camera and ended up shooting most of the trip on my Razer. Now if I can come up with the 50 bucks it will cost me to email it to myself, I just might have some nice memories to blubber over when I'm old and gray. Oh, wait a minute..that's right. I'm already there.
I had to crack up at the munchkins with their hiking sticks. They walked like little Trojans over those endless slippery Ozark rocks(as I twirl said mustache)...but slept like tiny blond angels that night. Just the way me likey. My thighs were quivering jello the next morning, when I finally made it to the kitchen, but it was fun and gave us an opportunity to venture out and see the area since most of the time I am trying to hide from it. Thank you, urticaria. There was a cave the locals call the Devil's Icebox...black as pitch and three stories deep but Mama picked up the pace and avoided this claustophobe's worst nightmare. W. begged me to let her see "the center of the earth", but I said nope and promised them a Barbie flashlight and a couple of Wal-Mart parkas for next time. Yeah, right.
It wasn't an over water bungalow in Bora Bora, but it was better than nothin'. We actually had an up on high, fab view of the purdy city lights from our K.C. hotel room that got Big Daddy and I all verklempt & nostalgic for our past life. But it was nothing that a box of Corbett Canyon couldn't cure. The kids experienced an art making frenzy called Kaleidoscope at Hallmark Headquarters and a tres cute Wizard of Oz collection while we were there. Well, let's just say it was charming the first time we toured, but after my rotater cuffs were yanked down the yellow brick road and my back was balled up on the miniature Dorothy Ruby Red Slipper slide for a gazillion times...I felt like the Flying Monkies had beat the stuffing out of me.
And don't even get me going on the not one, but three birthday celebrations we had for my youngest over the course of the last two weeks. We did a kid thing for her, of course, then had to coordinate the extended fam's schedule for yet another made with love, scary as hell to look at homemade cake sugar overload. Between that and our traditional birthday Taco Night with the Mags and T. puking tomatillo on me afterwards, I think I have just about been there and done this one, folks. Yep, little Curly-Top, when she wasn't blowing chunks, was celebrating like Oprah and her big 50, for God's sakes. Awash in all things pink and princess. Just the way she likey.
The flu struck W. immediately after the school bell rang recess, so she snotted up a storm most of the time. Thank the universe for Tylenol though. That stuff's like crack for kids. One snort full and they're good to go for anything! It sure helps us old baton-twirling gals out. Of course, being the organized super-mom I am, I forgot my digital camera and ended up shooting most of the trip on my Razer. Now if I can come up with the 50 bucks it will cost me to email it to myself, I just might have some nice memories to blubber over when I'm old and gray. Oh, wait a minute..that's right. I'm already there.
Monday, March 23, 2009
hallelujah
..couldn't have said it better myself. And that's why I'm just now taking my orangs out to eat, Mr. Caff. ;-)
Thursday, March 19, 2009
have car, will travel
Help. One worn out, husband-less, over 40 mother is facing NINE full days of Spring Break hell with two blonde-tufted squealer monkeys under the age of five and no money to go anywhere or do anything. All friends who are geographically desirable please respond immediately to this desperate plea and invite said family to visit. Sleep over. Chat. Swim. Drink. Yacht. Something. Anything. 216 hours, people. 12,960 minutes of "What are we gonna do today, Mom? Where are we gonna go? Huh? Huh? Huh?" For those of my buds overseas...you might wanna send a paddle.
And Oprah, if you're reading this? I prefer to fly Air Tahiti. Non-stop.
And Oprah, if you're reading this? I prefer to fly Air Tahiti. Non-stop.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Saturday, March 7, 2009
back to biz'ness
Alrighty...got two words for ya. Flu shot. Six days and four pounds later, I have risen from the ashes like a phoenix....a disheveled, limp-winged, dirty-beaked one but a phoenix nevertheless. Note to self- ALWAYS get a flu shot from now on and really, Mama..really..get your ass back to the gym. It's called an immune system, woman. Build it up....okay???
Folks, lemme tell ya a little something about Influenza A. It hurts. It hurts like hell. I have realized that I don't think I have ever had the flu after experiencing what I did this past week. Good grief. How can one old bod have an aching chest, snotty nose, flaming migraine, burning fever, a cough that sounds like Rosey Grier, throbbing muscles, blurry vision & light sensitive peepers, no appetite, nausea and a bad-breathed white trash attitude of allowing the kids to watch T.V. like a couple of street junkies...running around, half-naked with only peanut butter spoons and Triscuits to eat, and quite possibly from the smell of it- go unbathed for what I do believe was over three full days? Yep. Give a ring out to the producers of COPS and lock me right on up. I was down for the count and couldn't give a flip about nothing..no way, no how. And you would think I'd be the size of Avril Lavigne after ingesting only udon noodles and lemon ginger tea for a week. But when ya throw in a few dozen dead-of-night spoonfuls of Haagen Daz, I guess it all evens out and the shelf that's on my backside...still there, unfortunately. Oh, well, it gives me somewhere to put my duster.
Yes, in my dizzy, glassy-eyed state at the computer board this morning, all I can say is...I am darn glad this mucous-y Freddy Krueger is slowly creeping its way on out of my lungs and I can finally get all my dishes put back in the logical place and pick up the 83 balls of tissue that have littered my bedside table. Aww, thanks hon, for trying to do my job for almost a week..I really appreciate it, but baby, you might be able to work like a trooper, bringing home that proverbial bacon to your woman but you can not do Mama's job like she can. I may be unpaid and un-401 K'd but I am still the C.E.O. and my company needs me. I am determined to get back to the office and find my Kitchen-Aid spatula tip that went MIA during this fiasco and attack the utility cart that has enough paper piled on it to compose a couple of versions of War and Peace. Yes, it is high time for this little house Frau to toss out the Ibuprophen and don her super-hero apron, whirl up the vacuum and get right on down with her big, bad domestic self. But first things first. This morning, I will drink my orange juice, shave two very scary armpits and find the scrunchy that's disappeared into the rats nest I used to call my hair.
Folks, lemme tell ya a little something about Influenza A. It hurts. It hurts like hell. I have realized that I don't think I have ever had the flu after experiencing what I did this past week. Good grief. How can one old bod have an aching chest, snotty nose, flaming migraine, burning fever, a cough that sounds like Rosey Grier, throbbing muscles, blurry vision & light sensitive peepers, no appetite, nausea and a bad-breathed white trash attitude of allowing the kids to watch T.V. like a couple of street junkies...running around, half-naked with only peanut butter spoons and Triscuits to eat, and quite possibly from the smell of it- go unbathed for what I do believe was over three full days? Yep. Give a ring out to the producers of COPS and lock me right on up. I was down for the count and couldn't give a flip about nothing..no way, no how. And you would think I'd be the size of Avril Lavigne after ingesting only udon noodles and lemon ginger tea for a week. But when ya throw in a few dozen dead-of-night spoonfuls of Haagen Daz, I guess it all evens out and the shelf that's on my backside...still there, unfortunately. Oh, well, it gives me somewhere to put my duster.
Yes, in my dizzy, glassy-eyed state at the computer board this morning, all I can say is...I am darn glad this mucous-y Freddy Krueger is slowly creeping its way on out of my lungs and I can finally get all my dishes put back in the logical place and pick up the 83 balls of tissue that have littered my bedside table. Aww, thanks hon, for trying to do my job for almost a week..I really appreciate it, but baby, you might be able to work like a trooper, bringing home that proverbial bacon to your woman but you can not do Mama's job like she can. I may be unpaid and un-401 K'd but I am still the C.E.O. and my company needs me. I am determined to get back to the office and find my Kitchen-Aid spatula tip that went MIA during this fiasco and attack the utility cart that has enough paper piled on it to compose a couple of versions of War and Peace. Yes, it is high time for this little house Frau to toss out the Ibuprophen and don her super-hero apron, whirl up the vacuum and get right on down with her big, bad domestic self. But first things first. This morning, I will drink my orange juice, shave two very scary armpits and find the scrunchy that's disappeared into the rats nest I used to call my hair.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
behind the velvet rope
Well, as I've said before...we laughed, we cried and now we need dialysis. Our golden fete was one to behold. Laughter and cheer were in abundance at our 4th Annual Oscars in the Ozarks with just a tiny speck of bitterness thrown in. Hey, a girl can't be nice all of the time. Especially when she's turning another year older this weekend. And Oscar-less, mind you. I don't feel the need to publish the number that I will be waking up to..suffice to say- it ain't pretty. I have made it clear in all of my mid-fortiness, that I would like a birthday bedside breakfast of 2 eggs scrambled, a crispy strip of turkey bacon, dry rye toast, a cold mimosa, a red rose and a shot of Botox. If I'm lucky, I may get the nosh...but the rest, who knows? You can't expect much from two dwarves under the age of five and an old, tired daddy who has a closing shift tonight.
But getting back to our festivities last Sunday, dah-lings...The gold dust was strewn top to bottom all over our humble abode and we had a very nice time. An old highschool pal filled my goozle up with Goose and Mama was tucked in like a helmet-haired sausage, all cozy, in her Johnny Cash black for the evening. And this year, we movie-loving hillbillies had the great gift of welcoming a brand spanking new, shiny, j'adorable little Oscar into our midst...two month old Baby E. I could have just put him on a chain and hung him around my neck, he was so gosh darn cute.
My opinion, not that it matters-
Hugh did a decent job (just a little too metro for this girl though).
Beyonce/Baz number. Awful with a capitol A.
Sean Penn was fab and seeing him win for a beyond fine-tuned performance made me blissful (and his wife, Ms. Wright, is twice the age of all the young starlets and twice as beautiful!)
Kate looked very old movie star, from head to classy toe. Word up to her stylist. And the whistling Pappy thing...just terrific! (although in a perfect world, Ms. Leo would have carried home the golden man).
I dropped off into a Goosian slumber with T. in my arms and missed Boyle's Slumdog win. Thank goodness, for You Tube! It helps us old lushes..er, I mean, ladies out from time to time.
My Trivia answers are posted on my Oscar google page .
Th-th-that's it, folks. The golden boy has come and gone for another year and it's curtains for Oscars in the Ozarks- Four. Due to the effects of a third martini, my camera was not clicked on the proper setting, so all my indoor shots bit the gold dust, as it were. I was very bummed, but besides hiring a pro, what's a washed-up actress to do? If you are so inclined, feel free to view the hazy, golden, blurry mess below.
No, not me. The photographs.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
golden gab
Well, I'm trying not to be too bitter this evening as I slave over scrubbing my toilets while Anne Hathaway's having pecan crusted halibut. Nope, there's no time for what ifs and why nots as it has been an amazing season for Oscar this year, friends! Mama has been in heaven with all the crying and carrying on. May I just say that Melissa Leo was brilliant in Frozen River and should win? Man, oh, man. I will italicize the should part because the voters won't let her have it. Such a shame, too. Oh, well, she got to strut her stuff tonight on the Independent Spirit Awards. I love that show...tables full of artistos, booze, normal looking mugs, dirty language and for the night...small films reign as king! Some guy from Austin won with a budget of 500 grand (on his MasterCard). Ya gotta love it! Anyhoo, Sean Penn simply must pull it off tomorrow and carry the golden man away by his little bald head or the world just isn't right. He was amazing as Harvey Milk. It was my fave picture of the year, folks. I thought Slumdog Millionaire was really terrific but Milk's screenplay (written by a guy that looks about 17) was sharp, perfectly structured and as lean and mean as Rocky used to be before he got into a dead-end marriage with Adrian and turned old and chunky! Gus shot a good one all the way around. The Reader, I thought was very good. It is always a pleasure to see the incomparable Lena Olin...both beautiful as a craftsman and on the outside as well. Her scene with Mr. Fiennes was lovely and the film's story, very moving. Kate's brown contacts distracted me though and the age make-up didn't work. I have a problem with the old-age/actor thing. It is generally not very convincing; the exception being Benjamin Button though...more about that later.
I liked all the flicks this year..except I didn't get a chance to catch Frost/Nixon..but am looking forward to seeing what appears to be Langella's evil twin as the biggest creep in showbiz and politics..ole Dick! He won the Tony for it and I can see why! Oh, yeah..and how lucky does an actor (Michael Sheen) get when he not only happens to look like Tony Blair (he was fab in The Queen, great flick..btw) and David Frost? In not one but two Oscar nom'd flicks! Good grief. Some thespians have all the luck. Danny Boyle's Slumdog was really good but difficult for this mama to watch. The children were lovely and heartbreaking in it and that girl was absolutely gorgeous. My hubby and I agree that she is the only one that rivals ole Angie in the looks department.
Oh...I could just blog on and on for an ice age, people...Benjamin Button was a nice film, I thought..very Gump-ish and the special effects nowadays..Jeesh. Can ya believe it? I was stunned at how seamless it was done. As I said before, I am very picky when it comes to make-up. Don't even get me going on Pitt's 20 year old self. Listen, if I had the dough, I'd find who it was (he, she or p.c.) that can youth-ify a mug like that and I would lay down that green to strut that young me all over this town! It reminded me of what he looked like in Thelma and Louise..his break-out role way back when. But even without the tugs and computer tweeks, in his-off-the-red-carpet, daily life w/ his 12 kids...he still looks mighty good. Yep, he's Mama's age..a contemporary..but what makes the crows feet and lines look good on the mid-forty guys and not so much on the gals? Aw, hell, one of life's great ironies, I guess. Like I said, I could just ramble away about more films but I'll attempt to close my yapper and get busy putting our par-tay together for tomorrow and turning my living room into Trader Vics. (And we all know that no Oscar year would be the same if you didn't have the really scary movies. Not Friday the 13th...Last Chance Harvey. That frightens the bejesus right outta me, kids. And all I saw was the trailer! Whoever thought Emma and Dustin go together, should be fired immediately and sent back to McDonalds to scorch up some fries).
Yep, from Jenkins' introspective beauty to Heath's ferocity..well, this ole drama queen got her money's worth this year! I'm going to be blubbering like a newborn baby when Ledger's peeps go up on that stage to accept. He will win and I'll be damn happy about it. And while I'm pretending to be Siskel....he absolutely, unequivocally, should have won for Brokeback. End of story. His Ennis was a quiet storm that kept me riveted from beginning to end. The Dark Knight performance was also outstanding...giving us a new and improved Joker like never before. It is an ultimate shame to lose all these kids...so talented and with the world by the tail. I just don't get it. But after losing a brother to addiction, I know how insidious it can be. Very sad...he gifted the screen only for a short while and I thank him for that. Sometimes the demons are just too tough to wrangle. Sleep well, Heath...tonight your star will shine.
I liked all the flicks this year..except I didn't get a chance to catch Frost/Nixon..but am looking forward to seeing what appears to be Langella's evil twin as the biggest creep in showbiz and politics..ole Dick! He won the Tony for it and I can see why! Oh, yeah..and how lucky does an actor (Michael Sheen) get when he not only happens to look like Tony Blair (he was fab in The Queen, great flick..btw) and David Frost? In not one but two Oscar nom'd flicks! Good grief. Some thespians have all the luck. Danny Boyle's Slumdog was really good but difficult for this mama to watch. The children were lovely and heartbreaking in it and that girl was absolutely gorgeous. My hubby and I agree that she is the only one that rivals ole Angie in the looks department.
Oh...I could just blog on and on for an ice age, people...Benjamin Button was a nice film, I thought..very Gump-ish and the special effects nowadays..Jeesh. Can ya believe it? I was stunned at how seamless it was done. As I said before, I am very picky when it comes to make-up. Don't even get me going on Pitt's 20 year old self. Listen, if I had the dough, I'd find who it was (he, she or p.c.) that can youth-ify a mug like that and I would lay down that green to strut that young me all over this town! It reminded me of what he looked like in Thelma and Louise..his break-out role way back when. But even without the tugs and computer tweeks, in his-off-the-red-carpet, daily life w/ his 12 kids...he still looks mighty good. Yep, he's Mama's age..a contemporary..but what makes the crows feet and lines look good on the mid-forty guys and not so much on the gals? Aw, hell, one of life's great ironies, I guess. Like I said, I could just ramble away about more films but I'll attempt to close my yapper and get busy putting our par-tay together for tomorrow and turning my living room into Trader Vics. (And we all know that no Oscar year would be the same if you didn't have the really scary movies. Not Friday the 13th...Last Chance Harvey. That frightens the bejesus right outta me, kids. And all I saw was the trailer! Whoever thought Emma and Dustin go together, should be fired immediately and sent back to McDonalds to scorch up some fries).
Yep, from Jenkins' introspective beauty to Heath's ferocity..well, this ole drama queen got her money's worth this year! I'm going to be blubbering like a newborn baby when Ledger's peeps go up on that stage to accept. He will win and I'll be damn happy about it. And while I'm pretending to be Siskel....he absolutely, unequivocally, should have won for Brokeback. End of story. His Ennis was a quiet storm that kept me riveted from beginning to end. The Dark Knight performance was also outstanding...giving us a new and improved Joker like never before. It is an ultimate shame to lose all these kids...so talented and with the world by the tail. I just don't get it. But after losing a brother to addiction, I know how insidious it can be. Very sad...he gifted the screen only for a short while and I thank him for that. Sometimes the demons are just too tough to wrangle. Sleep well, Heath...tonight your star will shine.
the reader, 2008
What we feel isn't important..it's utterly unimportant. The only question is what we do. If people like you don't learn from what happened to people like me, then what the hell is the point of anything?
Friday, February 20, 2009
a retrospective
Thanks, local pals, for making my golden day so much fun through the years. It wouldn't have been the same without ya! Here's clinking a glass to our 4Th Annual Oscars in the Ozarks coming up this Sunday!
Thursday, February 19, 2009
balderdash blockbusters
Now that Joachin's gone off the deep end and Ryan Seacrest may very well be taking over the world..Hollywood is becoming a scary place, ladies and germs! Maybe it's time we little people take the reins. Mama is definately not a sports fan but this..now this is something I can play!
Fantasy Oscar!
Fantasy Oscar!
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
origin of the feces
Well, Valentines Day was heating up to be a fine one. Not in the sex dept. as my husband works all holidays, but when it came to sugar and scandal. it was fab. On my right side were a hot cup of joe and a box of Ferrero Rocher. On my left- the highly anticipated annual February Hollywood edition, Oscar loving Vanity Fair, of course. Hey, when you're a mom in the Ozarks and can't zip your jeans, it's the little things in life that can make you absolutely blissful. And blissful, I was...all cushed up in my soft, fluffy robe, elastic free jammie bottoms, size XL. Yep, I was headed toward a delicious morning. Then noon came, the fantasy ended, hubby took off to work and the kids began bouncing off the walls. I had to think of something quick. So one hour later, we were poolside..indoor poolside, of course. I thought it advantageous for the girls to have some time in the water. in keeping up with their swimming skills for all of the summer hell..er, I mean summer fun that we'll be having before too long. Besides, rug rats have a right to enjoy Heart Day, too, ya know. They completely possess my ole ticker, so it was only fitting the rest of the day would belong to them.
Everything was going pretty good as I kicked back in the chair watching them perform their splashy games and....oh, yeah, Mama is NOT about to get in a swimsuit. No way, Jose. I simply can not go there. I figure that Hillary Duff will most likely win an Academy Award before I ever have the guts to let any of it hang out again. Sadly, I think those days are over. Unless, Big Daddy's bonus check next month can cover about ten grand worth of body sculpting. Yes, even though this was a retirement community pool with no one under the age of 70, a gal's gotta have a little self respect...so I chose to stay fully engulfed in my sweats, cap and henley. As you're reading this, I am sure it is becoming quite apparent that although I've written and complained on this blog about the extra pounds I've been toting around for four months now....the sidewalks and barbells are still calling Mama's name...but she's letting it go straight to voicemail. I hope, eventually, that I'm inspired to do something as my Levi's are very close to stopping mid-thigh on the big tug...much less getting around to the zipping part of the nightmare.
I absolutely do not know what it is about my youngest, but for some odd reason when she gets in the water, her colon kicks into high gear. It's weird. Of course, coupled with her fascination of using every bathroom in town (much to my germ obsessed dismay) we found ourselves, like always, going through the whole spiel of shoes back on, toys put off to the side, towels around shoulders..etc. No sooner had we got back into the pool just minutes later, my little T. hollers from her flaming pink noodle, "Mom-mom, I have to poop again". Before I could swear under my breath and begin the whole song and dance one more time..all the while making a futile attempt to explain to W. why she can not stay alone in the pool while I busy myself with her sissy....T. was standing on the side, having pulled herself up from the ladder, both hands over her rump, grimacing. I quickly gathered the flip-flops, readying all to visit the john a second time when...wham. Or should I say splat. Actually, splat times three. Yep, my wee one couldn't hold back and there ya have it. Not one but three piles of it. Right there. Poolside. With approximately..I dunno..about 25 peeps watching it all unfold. Yes, I was having my Slumdog moment. Except minus the Oscar. Oy triple vey. I announced to the swimmers, that "We have a bio-hazard here, folks"...and then ran like a bat outta hell with the girls to the potty to suds, rinse and raid the joint of all cleaning supplies. I'm sure they probably thought I was going to get in my car and put the pedal to the metal (don't think it didn't occur to me)...but return, we did, in about five minutes or so, to three steaming piles of third-world glop and a stranger who looked a little like Bea Arthur, holding a jumbo can of spray disinfectant in her hand. "Accidents happen", I say. "Yes, they do", she said, shoving the can and about 28 paper towels in my arms.
So it was there I scrubbed. For roughly twenty minutes..on my hands and knees.. while jerking my head up and down like a turkey trying to keep an eye on my two mermaids while also performing an intricate nauseating tango with the swimming mats. They had recently replaced the squarely interwoven, easy to clean kind, with these super tiny slitted ones. A Q-tip and a jet-fueled, high powered spray blower would have been nice but I had to do it the old fashioned way- with elbow grease and utter humiliation. The good news was that everyone was more than happy to accommodate me by using the other ladder on the far side of the pool. T. begged me to go into the hot tub at the end of our Jaws nightmare, but 'uh-uh, no way', I said. 'Let's not bring any heat onto the subject'. Needless to say, I used a water glass for my wine that night after tucking my little love bugs into bed.
Yes, many say Valentines Day is just a commercialized tool for retailers. I say it is definitely all about love...no ifs, ands or butts about it.
Everything was going pretty good as I kicked back in the chair watching them perform their splashy games and....oh, yeah, Mama is NOT about to get in a swimsuit. No way, Jose. I simply can not go there. I figure that Hillary Duff will most likely win an Academy Award before I ever have the guts to let any of it hang out again. Sadly, I think those days are over. Unless, Big Daddy's bonus check next month can cover about ten grand worth of body sculpting. Yes, even though this was a retirement community pool with no one under the age of 70, a gal's gotta have a little self respect...so I chose to stay fully engulfed in my sweats, cap and henley. As you're reading this, I am sure it is becoming quite apparent that although I've written and complained on this blog about the extra pounds I've been toting around for four months now....the sidewalks and barbells are still calling Mama's name...but she's letting it go straight to voicemail. I hope, eventually, that I'm inspired to do something as my Levi's are very close to stopping mid-thigh on the big tug...much less getting around to the zipping part of the nightmare.
I absolutely do not know what it is about my youngest, but for some odd reason when she gets in the water, her colon kicks into high gear. It's weird. Of course, coupled with her fascination of using every bathroom in town (much to my germ obsessed dismay) we found ourselves, like always, going through the whole spiel of shoes back on, toys put off to the side, towels around shoulders..etc. No sooner had we got back into the pool just minutes later, my little T. hollers from her flaming pink noodle, "Mom-mom, I have to poop again". Before I could swear under my breath and begin the whole song and dance one more time..all the while making a futile attempt to explain to W. why she can not stay alone in the pool while I busy myself with her sissy....T. was standing on the side, having pulled herself up from the ladder, both hands over her rump, grimacing. I quickly gathered the flip-flops, readying all to visit the john a second time when...wham. Or should I say splat. Actually, splat times three. Yep, my wee one couldn't hold back and there ya have it. Not one but three piles of it. Right there. Poolside. With approximately..I dunno..about 25 peeps watching it all unfold. Yes, I was having my Slumdog moment. Except minus the Oscar. Oy triple vey. I announced to the swimmers, that "We have a bio-hazard here, folks"...and then ran like a bat outta hell with the girls to the potty to suds, rinse and raid the joint of all cleaning supplies. I'm sure they probably thought I was going to get in my car and put the pedal to the metal (don't think it didn't occur to me)...but return, we did, in about five minutes or so, to three steaming piles of third-world glop and a stranger who looked a little like Bea Arthur, holding a jumbo can of spray disinfectant in her hand. "Accidents happen", I say. "Yes, they do", she said, shoving the can and about 28 paper towels in my arms.
So it was there I scrubbed. For roughly twenty minutes..on my hands and knees.. while jerking my head up and down like a turkey trying to keep an eye on my two mermaids while also performing an intricate nauseating tango with the swimming mats. They had recently replaced the squarely interwoven, easy to clean kind, with these super tiny slitted ones. A Q-tip and a jet-fueled, high powered spray blower would have been nice but I had to do it the old fashioned way- with elbow grease and utter humiliation. The good news was that everyone was more than happy to accommodate me by using the other ladder on the far side of the pool. T. begged me to go into the hot tub at the end of our Jaws nightmare, but 'uh-uh, no way', I said. 'Let's not bring any heat onto the subject'. Needless to say, I used a water glass for my wine that night after tucking my little love bugs into bed.
Yes, many say Valentines Day is just a commercialized tool for retailers. I say it is definitely all about love...no ifs, ands or butts about it.
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