The Brutal Fight to Look Like a Classy Broad

This past Sunday we had the honor of attending the wedding of our good friends.  In spite of the pouring, pounding rain that carried on relentlessly for the duration of the day, it was a beautiful wedding.  The bride looked stunning, the groom looked as handsome as ever and perhaps most incredible of all, we were on time!  

This may very well be the first wedding that we have ever been to (ours included) that we didn't come busting in frazzled and stressed just as the crowd quiets and the ceremony starts.  The ceremony was set to start at 3pm and we made it there by 3pm on the dot.  Being at least five minutes early would have been ideal, but I'll take what I can get. 

Weddings involve a great deal of thought, planning and preparation.  Weeks and even months in advance you start to think about your dress and you go on a crash diet.  Days before, you wish you had done more teeth whitening and realize it's too late to get your hair done like you wanted and there's no time for tanning.  You rethink every detail of your ensemble and inevitably forget something important the day of.  I'm not talking about the bride either...I'm talking about any female who has ever gone to any wedding ever.  You might think every wedding was our own.

I have a dress I bought recently but I'm disgusted to admit that I've grown "fluffier" since a couple months ago.  I decided it best to buy a new one rather than set myself up for the kind of heartbreak that comes with your 3 month old dress being too tight.  With the wedding on Sunday, I chose Friday afternoon at lunchtime to get my entire look put together.  Always last minute with me.  I was thrilled when I found an absolutely adorable pair of shoes.  I then did what every logical woman would do...built the whole look around a cute pair of shoes.  I got everything at one store, it was amazing.  I brought it home proud of my accomplishment.  First thing I did when I got home was put the shoes on.  Well, I put the left shoe on.  The right shoe turned out to be a no-go.  The entire outfit was now ruined.  How could the shoe not fight my right foot!!??  It has always been the more cooperative of two.  Usually if the left fit, the right surely would.  Not this time.  

Friday night now and I'm on a quest to get a new pair of shoes.  It was my only chance to get everything I needed because Saturday was completely out of the question.  We had a soccer game and not one, but two birthday parties to attend so Friday was do or die.  To my surprise, I found another absolutely adorable pair of shoes that fit both feet and were on sale!  I couldn't believe it!!  Only thing was, they didn't match my dress so I bought a new one to go with the new shoes.  I like this newer dress better anyway and the accessories I bought still match so I'm all set!  

The day of the wedding my husband and I are both trying to get ready in the same space.  My bedroom and bathroom seemed go from normal size to dollhouse size.  We were bumping into each other, trying to squeeze past to reach for things and just generally in each other's ways.  Then it was time to put on my Spanx.  Ladies, you know what I'm talking about when I say I was dreading this moment.  With Spanx in hand, I looked at my husband with a fear and desperation in my eyes and asked him to kindly leave the room so I could get dressed.  His puzzled look told me he didn't know what Spanx were or what I was about to attempt.  When he asked why he had to leave the room, I simply said "I don't want you to see what is about to go down".  He rolled his eyes and walked out to watch ESPN in the living room in just his dress shirt and underwear.

For the next ten to fifteen minutes, I endured one of the most disturbing struggles of my life.  Getting that sucker on was as physically taxing as it was emotionally damaging.  I think wrestling a live gorilla would have taken second place in my list of all time roughest physical altercations.  I'm pretty sure I'm heavily bruised, and I know I can't breath at all.  The fact that the mere act of putting it on makes you sweat is nothing but a slap in the face since the thing is essentially a baby-sized rubber wresting singlet.  I'm surprised my husband didn't check to make sure an intruder hadn't broken in from all the noise I was making.  At one point the struggle gave way to crying.  I almost fell down more than once and I cant' be certain because my ears had started ringing by then, but I might have broken a vase.

Against all odds, I managed to get the thing on and then moved immediately on to the pantie hose.  Yes, I wore pantie hose too because since I haven't been tanning and my legs haven't seen the sun since last summer, they were Rembrandt white.  Let me give all you ladies (and cross-dressing men) a word of advice; don't attempt to put on pantie hose until your adrenaline level has gone back down.  I was still so pumped up from the fight I had with the Spanx that I didn't know my own strength.  I put one foot in the hose and then proceeded to literally rip the hose like a beast.  I'm not talking about a simple runner, what I'm saying here is that I ripped them like Hulk Hogan does his shirts.  My spirit broken and fighting tears (or perhaps now my eyes were sweating too) I searched for another pair.  Ahh, found them!!  But they are black....and my cute new shoes are gold.  I tried them on anyway and it looked just plain stupid.  I found another pair of shoes new in the box from the last dress I bought and they looked stupid too.  Three new pair of shoes and I come walking out with my black heels I've had for years.

When I came downstairs my husband looked at me and said "Ah, you look nice!".  This is why I didn't want him to see how I got that way.  No matter how long you are together, you still want to keep some things to yourself.  Your husband should never see you in the fight of your life just to look nice.  He should think it comes totally naturally.  Now I was feeling the fight was all worth while.  The sweat had subsided, the adrenaline went down and my face wasn't as red.  I felt like a lady instead of the swarthy, savage beast I was just moments ago.    Now I just have to pray that I don't have to pee for the next six hours.

How Much for a Crate of Miracle Ears?

"Huh?"  I despise that word any more.  I must hear it in my house 500 times on any given day.  It doesn't matter what I say, no one ever hears me the first time.  Ever.

Everyone in my house must just be deaf because I'm not even that soft-spoken of a person.  In work, I'm pretty sure I'm the loudest one.  Everyone must know every intimate detail of my life from my personal calls that I try to take discretely.  I don't even know I'm loud until after I've hung up.  It's only once the stark silence resumes that I realize that my inappropriate chatter of who is an asshole and why this one isn't talking to that one was dominating the airspace.

I blame my tendencies toward loudness on my father's side of the family.  I think being Italian, it's just in your blood to be loud but additionally, the last few generations have been raised in the shadow of an Iron Works factory.  It's the same story for my husband's family - Italian with the Iron Works across the street.  They all probably had to be loud just to be heard.  I can relate.  My husband's normal speaking volume is much like that of someone trying to speak near a jack hammer.  Most people on both sides of the family shout their every day conversation without realizing they are even being loud.  I don't even mind that part.  Not at all.  In fact, I sort of embrace it as a way of life and our "culture" if you will.

In contrast to my loud side, I also I have another quiet and shy side.  My very sweet and often soft-spoken Mom is the one that raised me after all.  She was raised in a much more mild-mannered environment than say, my children are.  When I was a child, I was always in conflict with myself.  At times I was extremely shy and others I was a raging lunatic. I can't begin to recall how many times my mom tried to get me to calm down and be quiet.  When she lost her patience she would throw in the "you are acting just like your father!"  (who she despised by the way). That quiet side tends to peek through at such times as speaking in meetings in work, or perhaps in company I don't know while totally sober and apparently any time I say anything to anyone in my house.

My kids, having it running on both sides, have inherited the "loud gene" so they themselves are pretty far from soft-spoken.  They really have no choice but to be loud in my house though.  It's like a survival mechanism.  If they weren't already genetically predisposed to being loud, they would have to adapt to ever be heard.  Because of every one's loud speaking voices, everything else has to be loud to compete.  The living room TV is always blasting while 2 or 3 other TVs are going in other rooms.  The radio is always on, the dishwasher is loud, the dog barks at everything and the phone seems like it's always ringing.

All this makes it difficult to be heard.  Obviously.  However, even in the times that things are not so loud, no one can ever hear me specifically.  I think the tone of my voice is just inaudible to them or something.  I can hear the kids in the den talking to each other as they play.  I can hear my husband grumbling about the game downstairs.  If I hear everyone, why can't they hear me?  They are the same distance from me as I am from them!  I can shout as loud as I can and I get nothing.  It drives me insane.

In the few instances that they do happen to hear me, they still never catch what I've said.  10 times out of 10, if I even get a response it is always "huh?".  No matter how clear or loud I say it, it's always met with the same dopey "huh?".  By that time I've already taken a sip of my drink, put in a piece of gum or taken a bite of my dinner so I can't even repeat if I want to.  Though I've recently learned to just not even answer.  My lack of response seems to trigger some sort of memory recall mechanism where they actually stop and think for a second and sometimes they can figure out what I've said.  But most of the time after the "huh" they just stare blankly at me waiting for a response that they probably still won't hear.  In my husband's case, he just gets irritated with me that I've rolled my eyes.  He can't dispute it though, no one EVER hears what I say.  It's just a fact.

My answer for this problem?  Hearing aides.  For as frequently as I say it, it never gets any less irritating to my husband.  It's my "I give up" line - "This year for Christmas, you're all getting hearing aides!"  THAT they always seem to hear loud and clear though!

Jerk Parents, Jerk Kids

The other day was my four year old son's first soccer practice.  We have all been so excited!  My son has been "playing soccer" for years.  Sure, it hasn't been in the conventional way, but he's shown his interest by running around the house kicking things and celebrating his "goals".  He also does his own commentary in his version of Italian (or Spanish) depending on what channel the soccer game was on in the background.  It's really quite entertaining.

I wanted to get him started last fall because this boy needs an outlet of some sort for his excessive energy level, but he was too young.  He was so disappointed when I told him he had to wait.  Once or twice a week since this time we have discussed his soccer debut with great excitement.  Last weekend we went to pick up all of  his gear.  He was thrilled to pick out his shoes, shin guards and ball.  He was even running around the store pretending to play.  To add to the excitement, we even were able to get his cousin to be on the same team!

This Wednesday was the big day.  Daddy got him all dressed in his gear and headed to the field.  I left work and hoped to get there on time to at least wish him good luck before it started.  I couldn't walk to the car fast enough!  I struggled to find my keys in that abyss I call a purse.  The excitement had me fumbling around like a fool!  Since walking out of work my husband has already called me three times to find out how far off I am and what's taking me so long.  This is starting to make me feel a little anxious now.  I pull out of work expecting to rush straight to the field, but instead I'm met with an unusual amount of traffic.  Just my luck.

As I creep along two towns away from practice, my excitement to anxiety ratio is shifting.  My husband calls again.  "Where are you now?  How much longer until you get here?  Well hurry up!"  As if up until being told I should hurry, I was taking my sweet old time.  Now that I've been told to hurry, I can just drive right over top of all this traffic and get there.  Good thing he told me, thanks babe.  My husband tells me that in the short ride to the field, both kids have fallen asleep in his car.  He's sitting in the parking lot at the school waiting for me to get there so he can get my son over with the other kids.

I finally reach practice a few minutes past start time.  As I pull up, I see my husband is taking the kids out of the car.   I jump from my car and before I say a word, I start trying to take a few pictures of the boys in their uniforms.  I go for the perfect picture and my damn phone was set to camcorder.  Instead of the beautiful shot it should have been, it's one second of perfection plus 3 more seconds of confusion, my husband yelling at me that we have to go and me saying "what is wrong with this phone!!"  In the next few attempts, the boys take turns looking away for every single shot.  It's just going to have to do at this point.

We hurry to the field where the other kids have already gathered.  I pick up on the fact that my son seems to be pretty cranky already and I grow worried.  I know how this kid gets when he's cranky and it ain't pretty. I try to remain optimistic as I see the dynamic between my son and my husband.  My husband is already stressed out that I got there late and that the kids are cranky.  He "knows" already that it's going to be a disaster and is aggravated in preparation for this.  I keep thinking that cool heads should prevail because it's the only option.  I stand on the sideline and watch my son's resistance and my husbands stress level continue to grow.

Three...two...one....and there's the wailing.  My son has resorted to full-blown melt down mode already.  After two minutes my husband comes back and has already given up trying.  Now it's my turn to make the attempt.  Crying has given way to screaming as I walk across the field, dragging him with me.  I stop every two or three steps to try to console him, but he can't hear me speaking because of the volume of his own screams.  This is becoming really embarrassing.  I try to remind myself that all parents go through this so I should just not acknowledge the fact that I'm in the middle of a field with lots of people watching me fail miserably at parenting.

Twenty minutes in and I'm losing my cool as he refuses to stop screaming those shrill screams that cut right through you.  His screams are so loud that he is completely drowning out the coach's voice.  It's now disrupting practice as the kids are growing more interested in the struggle on the field than the coach's instructions.  He's since added in "but I'm tired!!!  I'm tired mommy I'm tired!!!!"  I'm forced to chose between allowing him to just give up or being sympathetic to the fact that he might really be tired.  I ask myself "What would a good parent do?"

My decision was made for me when it just kept getting worse.  Aside from his embarrassing display, I realized we were further embarrassing ourselves by not being able to contain our own frustration.  When you are at your breaking point, you sure don't mean say "why are MY kids always the assholes!?" loud enough for the other parents to hear, but somehow they always do hear it.  (Probably because we say it in a sarcastic whipser-yell).  I couldn't disrupt practice any further.  We tried our best and so I finally said "Let's just go!"

I'm humiliated and stressed out as can be at this point and so is my husband.  As soon as he got the go ahead, he went.  I was left standing there with the double stroller, the screaming kid, a water bottle too big to fit in the cup holder and my purse.  I struggled to push the big stroller through the grass with all the holes and bumps.  It didn't help that I was in my work clothes and heels.  I was turning my ankle with every other step and the boy was pulling away trying to take off.  The water bottle was dropping and the stroller was out of control.  As I approached a big mound of dirt, before I had time to change my route, my purse flipped off the seat and landed upside down into the dirt.  All of my personal belongings were now laid out on display.  My son continued his melt down and my husband continued walking ahead oblivious to all that was going on behind him.  Fighting tears I brushed the dirt off my wallet, cell phone, tampons, you name it so I could put it back in my bag.

A cluster of grandparents watched sympathetically along with the rest of the parents.  It was quite the display, and I have to admit I would have been watching too.  Only difference is I would probably have been laughing uncontrollably at this poor soul.  Since I was the poor soul in this situation, I found no humor in it whatsoever.  Kindly, an older woman said "Oh well, maybe next week".  Thinking back, I now appreciate her support.  I wish I could have controlled my temper when she said it though.  Instead, I responded with "yea well it better be because signing him up wasn't cheap!".  My God I'm an asshole.  Surely at this point they realize my kid's behavior is a direct result of his parents being jerks.  I feel so horrible.  Lady, if you are reading this I am so sorry!

Fed up and humiliated, I load the kids into the car.  I yelled at my son from the time we got in until the moment we got home.  Then he was sent to his room with "No TV, no nothing!!".  If he's "so tired" like he claimed, then he should just go to bed.  We called him down for dinner and sent him right back up when he was done.  The crying never stopped from when it first started at the field.  After his crying and my temper finally had a chance to cool down, I went to check on him and have a calm discussion about what he did wrong.  That's when I discovered he had a fever.  I'm such a jerk.  The kid really was tired.  Oh well, I guess we do have to wait for next week.  Wish us luck!

The Blur is My Daughter, the Smear is My Son..

FACT:  Some of the most beautiful and magical moments in life happen mere seconds before a photo is taken.

In trying to back up my phone the other day (that's another issue in itself) I realized that I now have nearly five thousand pictures uploaded.  Literally.  I've taken way more pictures in the last year than I have in the entire span of time from the early 80s right up to the big Y2K.  With technological advances such as the unification of the cell phone and the digital camera, most of us have our camera readily available if not already in our hands when those rare moments bloom from the normal monotony.  Today it's easier than ever to capture those "Kodak moments".  Well, let me rephrase, it's easier than ever to attempt to capture those Kodak moments.

I would say of nearly five thousand photos, only about 150-200 of them are worthy of framing.  And that is a very optimistic estimate.  Anyone who has taken pictures of children or animals surely can relate to this situation.  Unless you have a professional camera that can snap the picture a split-second before your mind registers that it's gonna be a good one, then you too have suffered this same fate.  As much as I love the convenience of having my camera built right in to my phone, the delay from when I press that red dot to when the photo is actually snapped is maddening.  I could have stopped for a sandwich and got my eyebrows waxed in the time it takes for the darn thing to actually snap the picture.

To further complicate the matter, my kids are very uncooperative the moment they realize I'm trying to take a picture.  I will admit that at times I can be addicted to my phone, so I don't even know how they know that my game of "Draw Something" has stopped to capture a precious moment.  But time after time they sabotage any attempt of mine to capture a beautiful image of their childhood.  No matter how engulfed they are in whatever it is they are doing, the moment I decide I would like to take a picture, the entire scene changes.  My son will immediately start making faces and flailing around like a fool.  (even more so than normal).  My daughter will intentionally stop doing whatever she was doing and refuse to even look at me.  She also throws in the head-whip.  Of the nearly 5,000 pictures, I would estimate that close to a thousand of those are of the blurred back of her head.  As stealthy as I try to be, she always whips herself around at that crucial moment.

Now on the contrary, any time anyone snaps a photo of me, it's always exactly the perfect moment.  It's exactly when I've just gone in for a bite of cake.  It's always just when I was laughing with my head pushed back and a vein popping out of my head.  It's always in the absolute most UN-flattering position.  If I had as much luck capturing photos of my kids the way the camera captures my every embarrassing move, I could easily retire on my earnings as the World's most talented photographer.

The fact remains though, that I do not have good luck capturing photos.  Instead, I have numerous pictures of cats dashing through the pose.  I have tons of pictures of babies in a semi-tipped over positions.  I have countless pictures of hair being pulled, someone crying, eyes being poked, puke being spewed, dogs showing teeth, punches being thrown, sneezes and the snot to go with it, someone half-fallen off a chair, millions of turned heads and someone picking their ass in the background.  Most people would have deleted these right away, but take my word for it and keep them.  When you look back at them later, you will find that they are pretty funny. Bonus: if you take enough shots in a close enough succession, often times they will make a pictorial story when you review them in order.

I guess it's my fault for trying to create this false image of how sweet and tranquil everything was in their childhood.  Sure, they have their precious moments that stop me in my tracks, but just as much - if not more often - they have these crazy scenes and situations and that is just real life.  I'm thankful to have caught those.  Looking back at them, I completely forget the frustration of trying to get a great moment and instead just laugh.  It swells my heart with pride to know I've passed on the "ridiculous gene" to my children.  It can be a curse at times, but for the most part it's a blessing to have a life that provides for it's own hilarious entertainment without even trying.

Just an Average Day

In the last 24 hours all this happened:

• Discovered cat urine all over my comforter in the laundry room.
• Sent my son to his room screaming at least 8 times.
• Had a glass pot lid literally explode on impact when my daughter dropped it.  
• Discovered (while driving) that when I wear my contacts, it now gives the feeling that my eyes are crossed.
• Almost got bit by a dog
• Re-injured my knee by doing something goofy to make the kids laugh...and continued doing it because the laughter was too much to resist, but now I can't do stairs again.
• Clogged and unclogged the kitchen sink
• Chipped a coffee mug
• Tripped over my husbands shoes literally 4 times in an hour.  I thought I kicked them "out of the way" after each incident, yet I still managed to keep tripping over them.
• Found my daughter imitating a fountain with the cup of water I gave her
• Remembered the inspector is coming today so I had to move sheet rock, a ladder, tools, etc to make the water heater accessible.
• Carbon Monoxide detector went off.
• Mom shows up to watch the kids and thinks she has a stomach virus. 
• Remembered that my son has a Dr. appointment at noon and I can't find the referral.
• Found my past due car registration form while trying to find the referral.
• Didn't get out the door for work until 9:17am and I have to leave before noon for the appointment.
• Mom tells me at 9:16 that I'm out of milk (none left for the baby today)
• Got on the highway at 9:18, hit crawling traffic at 9:19.
• Almost got sandwiched by a tanker that just noticed the traffic jam.
• Forgot my jacket and walked into work as an ice pop.
• Got into work and discovered the fishie's pump broke in his tank over the weekend = I have to clean and change a fish tank in my new blouse.

Yup, just an average day.

Oh Now THAT'S Not Good

I'm a big animal lover.  I've always had at least one dog.  At one time I had 3 dogs, two cats, a rabbit and a hamster but in my defense, some of those were not mine.  My open-door policy for those in need tends to allow not only family members, but all their pets too.  The good news is that that situation was only temporary.  But I grew up with a dog and I feel incomplete without one.  That is why when I got my own place, even though it admittedly was a bad idea, I hurried up and got a puppy.

I guess it just wasn't enough for me that I was a single mother working hard to put food on the table.  It wasn't enough that I already had a cat that I wasn't all that fond of and it just wasn't enough that I had to pay extra in rent for pets.  I just had to have a dog.  You might think in a small house with a small child and a young cat, I might get a small little dog.  Nope!  Not me!  I just had to have a German Shepherd puppy.  

You see, I have always loved German Shepherds, ever since I was a little kid.  They were always my favorite dog and I could never wait to have one of my own.  When I went to pick him out I fell in love instantly.  He was beautiful and so full of spunk.  All the other puppies seemed so sleepy and uninterested, I just knew I needed to get the little bastard that was harassing everyone.  I brought him home and dreamed about how wonderful life would be with him!  I pictured us running in slow motion through fields at sunset.  I imagined him standing tall to protect my son and licking his face and sleeping in his bed.  A boy needs a dog like this I thought.  It was going to be great.

[insert sound of record scratching here]

I could not have been more wrong about this dog.  Yes he was protective and yes he was beautiful and yes he was LARGE, but most of all he was a raging jerk. Just the same I loved him and vowed to stick it out until he outgrew his puppy phase and then he would be great. (which never happened by the way)

Of course I had to pick the puppy with the problems.  His first issues were of the digestive nature.  I will leave that to the imagination but let me just tell you this much, you never want to have to deal with that.  Additionally, he would not gain weight.  He always looked like he was starving so after the Vet cleared him medically, he suggested a different food - but of course this food is more expensive.  The new food only worsened the first problem, so after a few tweaks to the diet we finally got him to keep it down, but it still didn't make him look any less bony.  I thought maybe after he finishes growing so quickly, he can carry more weight.  Then I would have to pay tons more money because he had an ....eh hem...undesc- well, let's just say only one of the twins wanted to hang out.  Through all of the expensive medical problems, I also came to discover that this dog was not playing with a full deck.

I read up as much as I could about raising and training a Shepherd.  They are not your average dog, and if you don't know what you are doing it can be a real disaster.  Good thing for me, I knew what I was doing.  Crate training was a necessity.  They say they won't "mess" where they sleep.  Well let me tell you folks right here and right now that THAT is a big fat lie.  He had no issue whatsoever leaving a nice steamer and then trampling through and later napping in it.  I had to keep removing the tray in the bottom to clean it and since he couldn't be trusted roaming free in the house while I was doing this, I had to leave him in his crate with no tray on the bottom.  Not a good idea.  I came back to find that he has dug through the linoleum floor clear down to the sub-floor - and this place is a rental.

I decided enough was enough so I signed him up for this Puppy Kindergarten Class ...which he flunked out of.  Well, I guess WE flunked out.  First off, he would get car sick every time we went and cleaning up puke out of the car once a week was not fun.  Secondly, he was already huge but I was still my same small self.  It was downright embarrassing the way he acted.  He flipped around on his leash the way a balloon flips around in a windstorm - complete with smashing me in the face and head repeatedly.  He was a distraction to the other dogs and wasn't attentive enough to even know I was talking, let alone hear the commands!  The trainers' scathing looks told me to never bring this beast back to their store and so I didn't.  On the drive home I cried as he puked, and then I cried some more.  

After the digging through the floor incident, and him partially eating the tray to his crate I was forced to leave him out of the crate while I was at work - just this once until I bought a new crate.  I blocked him into the kitchen and figured he couldn't do THAT much damage in just one room.  Since he was big, strong and smart, a baby gate would not do the trick.  I pushed the sofa up against the doorway and above it I put the baby gate so the entire doorway from floor to top was blocked.  That ought to hold him until lunchtime at least, and then I'll stop home to check on him.

As I pull into the driveway on my lunch break, I get my first glance at my house and you could just about hear the sound of a gong.  "Oh now THAT"S not good" I thought as I noticed the curtain rod is now running diagonally across the front window.  As I approach, I see that the curtains are not only down on one side, but they are also ripped.  Obviously, my door blockage didn't work.  Hopefully that's the worst of it.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when I opened that front door.  Nothing.  I turned the key and slowly pushed the door open.  There was a bit of a resistance to the door and I realized it was because I was spreading a nice big pile of poop across the entry way.  In fact, there was poop everywhere...and puke too.  And partially digested bits of the things that used to adorn my home.  

There is no real way to fully understand what happened, but my investigation suggests the following:

He got bored and panicked before I even got out of the driveway.  He then jumped up and took down the coffee pot from the coffee maker and proceeded to eat much of the glass that he broke on the floor.  All that was left of the coffee pot was the handle and the metal ring around the top.  After this time, he relieved himself of 80 gallons of urine.  At some point during his time spent in the kitchen, he disemboweled his favorite toy and left stuffing marinating in the urine on the kitchen floor.  When he exhausted his resources in the kitchen, he took a running leap and crashed right through the wooden baby gate suspended over the couch.  All that was left of it was some plastic netting and some mangled, splintered wood.  At some point he used it's remnants as a snack as made evident by the poop.  

After he broke free, he went to the living room and decided he would really enjoy munching on some candles so he jumped up to get them out of the window sill and ripped down the curtain rod and tore the curtains in the process.  He ate almost all of the candle sticks and most of a pillar candle.  Now this next part is the part that I can't quite explain.  He also ate the mop and left it in the living room.  I can't decide if he brought it with him on his initial escape or if he went back for it later, perhaps in an effort to quickly clean up before I got home?  Whatever the case, the mop was irresistible - soaked with Mr. Clean and all - because he ate that too.  As you might imagine, this would give someone quite a tummy ache so everything came back out on both ends.  Not sure if it was simultaneous, but I would like to think it was, just to have taught him a lesson.  

When I finally got back to work, I must have looked a mess.  I was stressed, had been crying and after that clean up job, I probably stunk something fierce.  When my boss looked at me, acknowledging my lateness I now know I should have just lied and said I was robbed at gunpoint.  It was probably way more believable than the real truth.  

Girlfriends

A close friend of mine sent me an email recently that really stuck in my mind.  I read it several times and I think I'll save it.  In a nutshell it said something about a college professor telling his class that "one of the best things a man could do for his health is to be married to a woman" and "one of the best things she could do for her health was to nurture her relationships with her girlfriends".

I can't emphasize how much I agree with this.  No matter how stressful life can get (and you know I have some rough days) I always feel totally invigorated after a "girls night".  I feel like my whole outlook on life is brighter, almost as if my soul has been cleansed and my pent up stress has been purged from my body.  Of course this could always be blamed on a lingering influence of alcohol, but whatever the case I like my "girls nights".  If it's true that this is good for your health, we will live to be 200.  I won't get anyone in trouble by divulging detailed information but let me just say we know our way around a good time.  We could have a blast at a place that has pony rides - oh wait, that's because we DID have a blast at a place that has pony rides!  We left as six classy broads (plus our token boy) and a few hours later returned so shockingly transformed that my husband's only reaction was "What the hell is going on here!??"  We didn't come back ugly but we came back as a scene for sure and the hubby just shakes his head and loves me anyway.

Since I did my part in keeping my husband healthy by marrying him, he does his part by allowing me to partake in my girl's nights.  He's very generous in this way.  I sheepishly ask if he minds (thinking I'm going to owe him big-time) and he says yes like the saint he is.  Truth be told he probably loves it when I go out.  I mean think about it: he doesn't have to hear me bitching about anything, he does't have to watch The Real Housewives of anywhere, he can burp and fart as much as he likes with no objections and for whatever reason, the kids tend to fall asleep unusually early.  I suspect that the reason they fall asleep early is probably because HE falls asleep regardless of whether they are sleeping or not so they doze off out of sheer boredom, but don't tell him I said this.  Although there was this one time when I rolled up at 2am and my son was in the Living Room window waving to me.  My husband didn't even notice him climbing on him to see out the window.

If our past girls nights have been any indication, tonight should be a great time.  We always bring some form of mayhem and hysteria but what else would you expect from me in my life?  Anything short of totally ridiculous is just plain boring to me!