How My Saturday Went

I’ve been having a lot of “Mondays” lately. Sophie woke up on the wrong side of the bed Saturday morning and never recovered, and I burned my lip on my coffee (it then scabbed over). I had to drag Sophie out of the house in her PJs, hair and teeth not brushed to Tae Kwan Do where she proceeded to disrupt the whole class with her pouting and crying. The teachers, bless them, tried so, so hard to get her involved, but their efforts just barely worked, and then only during the last 15 minutes of class.

Then we met my parents at Forest Park for “Arthur in the Park,” a children’s thing sponsored by our local PBS station and it was LAME. Hot and crowded and long lines and not enough entertainment, so Miss Crankpot and I went home. I too, at this point, was hot and tired and cranky and all I wanted to do was lay down. We had already watched a movie that morning, and I didn’t want Sophie watching any more TV, so I told her to play quietly. Well, wouldn’t you know it but as soon as I lay down, she needed “fresh, cold water” and then “Where’s my Polly Pocket? The one with the short brown hair?” and then the cat meowed and banged on the mirror and the dog was chewing her boney very loudly and then Sophie had to pee and she didn’t make it to the toilet. Instead, she peed her pants, all over the bathroom floor and rug. I wiped her down, changed her, threw some towels down on the floor and once again, attempted a short sleep. Then she had to go again and flushed the toilet and it overflowed and leaked into the basement, so I threw some MORE towels down and decided I would deal with it in a bit. Soph came at me with more requests and at this point, I told her “For the Love of God, I just need 20 minutes of peace and quiet.” I didn’t shout it, but it wasn’t very nice. Oh the joys of single motherhood: no relief anywhere in sight. Finally, she settled down, her toys found, and I got my 20 minutes.

Thankfully, Sunday was much better as Sophie played very nicely with her toys all morning and then we had a great afternoon at the zoo for our friend’s 5th birthday party.

The Dumbest Thing I’ve Ever Heard

Just read, in my Parenting magazine:
We Heart…Baseball.
If you live in a city with a pro team, you’re less likely to get divorced a new study suggests.
WTF??!? What study? By whom? What data did it use and how did it come to this preposterous conclusion?

My New Bumper Sticker

My team was easing into the work week this morning, as we (my boss included) were chit-chatting, asking each other about our weekends, etc. One of my co-workers, KS, asked my boss if anyone had seen the season premiere of Grey’s Anatomy. I popped up and said that yes, I watched it, even though I typically don’t, and I was reminded of why. It made me cry and I was all, “Oh love! SIGH.” I’d much, much rather watch Snapped! than sappy romantic crap. My coworker DW pipes in, “Farrell basically has a bumper sticker on her car that reads Romance is Dead.”
“Yeah, pretty much,” I confirm.
My boss looks at me sadly – not with pity but with…disappointment? Disappointment that I have no hope?
And then I think, “God, am I that obvious?”
Silly question.

Things My Daughter Says

Sophie: Mommy, will you be my mommy forever?
Me: Yes, sweetie. Forever and ever and ever—even when you’re a grown up.
Sophie: Some things never change!

Miss Particular Turns Fickle

What Sophie wanted to be for Halloween today:
5:30pm: Hannah Montana
6:03pm: Snow White
6:15pm: Pirate Girl
6:18pm: Tinkerbell
Which would mean *I* would have to be Tinkerbell as well, as I promised her we would dress together; she’s all excited about the idea. Is there such thing as a fat-ass Tinkerbell?
6:20pm: Sophie says (re: Tinkerbell), “No, the wings would bug me.”
6:23pm: A bride
Oh dear lord please anything but a bride.
6:25pm: Snow White
6:28pm: Tinkerbell
7:32pm: Snow White
Maybe she’s like her mother and when faced with *too* many choices/options, she becomes paralyzed into making any kind of decision at all.

T.M.I.

When Sophie came back from her dad’s last night, we had dinner at Grandma and Grandpa’s with my friend Jackie (JF) who is visiting, and Sophie blurts out: “Daddy’s bed broke because he and TT were jumping on it.” I almost spit out my wine.
Jumping on it my ass.
Not a pretty picture in my head, let me tell you.

Jackie hasn’t seen Jamie in almost 4 years—not since she was last here, which was just a couple of months after Sophie was born. He didn’t know she was here, and so he came to the door and saw her and was surprised and taken aback; he kind of did a double-take. Then he was all smiles and what-not. Actually, he was being weird. Like, smiling smiling the whole time. He didn’t even say Hi to her. I’ve known Jackie since I was 9; he definitely knows who she is. Then he mentions, “Oh by the way, Sophie needs dinner.” I kind of roll my eyes and sigh. “What?!” he asks. “Well you could have told me,” I say, “so I could have prepared something.” He says, “What’s the big deal? Just heat up fish sticks or something.” He neglected to tell me that he had fed Sophie cake at the Rams football party he had at his parents. Grrr…

Trying to Figure Out Why I Am the Way I Am…

This is a bit deep for a Friday – a Friday when one of my BFFs JF comes in from Cali today to spend the weekend with me. But it, like many of my deep reflections, is triggered from a book I’m currently reading. It’s called Watermelon by Marian Keyes. Heard of it? Well. Actually, my friend KE read it about 3 years ago and said it was wonderful but that I would have to wait to read it. Because it’s about a woman whose husband leaves her for another woman (duh) two hours after the birth of their baby girl. And uh, three years ago…well, I was not in a good emotional or mental state and had I read the book at that time, I might very well be in prison today.

And I’m highly enjoying the book because the heroine is wonderful and much funnier than me. And she has a wacky, wacky family to boot, which also adds a lot of humor. And she’s Irish, so there’s almost that Bridget Jones-like voice going on (Yeah I know Jones is British, and I like this voice even BETTER, but you know what I mean. Maybe.). And because it is a book that the author wrote with presumably the intent on selling it, it’s a lot lighter than my Text Messaging memoir blog.


And
***WARNING: SPOILER ALERTS AHEAD!!***
I wasn’t lucky enough to have a 6-ft. tall handsome man fall in love with me after my husband left like our heroine. I did get an ego boost, though, and that was nice. The first time you have sex with someone after having sex with the same person for 10 years in a row is kind of weird, you understand. And weirder still after you just gave birth (I mean not *literally* - gross, but not terribly long afterward). But it was wonderful and fabulous and not awkward and just what I needed – EXACTLY – what I needed at the time. Anyway, on to my point:
So then the asshole – I’m talking about the book here – the asshole wants his wife back. Asshole’s name happens to be—get this—“James.” As in “Jamie.” Yeah yeah common name whatever. He wants her back because it didn’t work out with the Whore and obviously he needs someone to take care of him. And what Asshole tells our heroine makes me want to throw the book out the window. He tells her it was all her fault that he had an affair and if she had just been more like this and less like that, it wouldn’t have happened and SHE should feel lucky that HE is willing to take HER back. And she believes him for a while. She thinks it sounds a bit off, but he’s made her feel guilty now, you see, and she doesn’t want her child to grow up without a father.

***END OF SPOILERS*** (Pretty Much)
What Book Asshole says and what FB has said to me 10 years ago, four years ago, 2 months ago: well, it’s very similar. And I reacted just like our heroine: “Hmmm…well that doesn’t sound quite right but maybe I really *am* that way. Maybe he has got a point. I will try harder!” And while I’m under no few self-delusions, as I recognize that I can be brash, bossy, selfish, oversensitive and melodramatic, I also know I am not a Bad Person. I am not dumb, I am not naïve, I am not ridiculous….Yet, I came to believe all those things after 10 years with Jamie. Who constantly under-minded my intelligence; constantly criticized me: what I wore, what I said, what I did…and after a while, I came to believe it. I came to believe that he WAS indeed a better person than I, and I had a lot to learn from him. That I was actually yes, in need of improvement and only HE could help me. And that I was so LUCKY that I found such a wonderful, handsome guy that was WILLING to help me; that was WILLING to work with me on improving myself. One who wanted to stick around and help me improve, instead of just running away.

Until of course, he didn’t stick around. Until, of course, he “ran away.” From me, anyway.

Perhaps I wasn’t showing enough “progress.” Actually, I know I wasn’t. Because some things I did like he wanted me to and then I started to resent them and then I rebelled. The pattern in our relationship: He was the controlling, strict father and I was the rebellious teenager.

What makes this SO interesting to me is that I am the complete opposite in my professional life, and even with friends. In fact, the friends I used to work with (with whom I’m still very good friends with, Thank God) met Jamie several times on the occasions he did join us for happy hour. He, of course, never liked ANY of my friends (except for two). Even though – did I mention? I’m still friends with them today? Do you know how many friends Jamie is still in touch with today from elementary or high school? Zero. From college? Two. Anyway, my work friends told me that “You are so different around Jamie.” And by “different” they meant “not in a way we like.” You’d have to ask them to elaborate, but I do know that their observation seemed to make sense to me. I’m sure some of my college friends would say the same.

Anyway, my point. I’m getting there.
(You: It’s hell about time, I haven’t got all day here for crying out loud).
At work, I am known for giving honest opinions as in, “If you really want to know how everybody feels about it, ask Farrell.” I don’t hold my tongue. I am assertive, even to the point of being “aggressive.” I speak my mind. As I’ve aged, I’ve improved in (though I’m still far from charming) speaking my mind in a less brash way.

So why am I able to be so easily manipulated in relationships? Relationships with men? It’s not just Jamie, though obviously that’s the prime example because I was with him the longest and he was the most manipulative. But it happened with Birthday Boy too. Like when he wanted to call Jamie “Fred,” I just kind of said, “What?!?” instead of “That’s really. fucking. Weird. I mean like, really weird.”

And when he said he was “uncomfortable” with my relationship with Ryan, my ex BIL who introduced us, I said, “okay” instead of, “Ryan’s been a good friend to me; he’s the reason why we met, and if you can’t deal, buh-bye.”

And when he said, “Well I used to go to church every Sunday until I met YOU.” And I was puzzled but kept my mouth shut instead of saying, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” No, I wouldn’t have said that and that would have been argumentative and don’t you see Jamie was right about me all along? But I could have said, “Well I didn’t know you wanted to go to church. You can go to church anytime you’d like. If we are together on a Saturday evening to Sunday morning and you mention that you’d like to go to church, that is more than fine with me. I won’t go with you because Catholic mass doesn’t really do it for me, but of course you can go; you obviously don’t need my permission” or something like that. Actually, I’d have to talk to JF about the right wording and what not.

As a matter of fact, I would often do a “check in” with friends. Like, “Hey – I think this is kinda’ weird – is it me, or is it him?” And you know what? Sometimes it was definitely me. And you know what? I have such awesome friends that they aren’t afraid to tell me “It’s you; you’re being over-sensitive, get over it.” But they made it clear that it was just that INSTANCE and they did not make me feel how Jamie made me feel which was that I was ALWAYS irrational, over-sensitive and melodramatic. And he can’t say anything to me because it’s like walking on eggshells around here! Well actually, maybe. Yes, sometimes. But also: Maybe he really said some very hurtful things that cut me deep. (For the record: he did).

And sometimes my friends would say, “That’s really fucking weird and he has issues and stop it now before it gets out of hand.”

God I love my friends.

But I guess I’ll still have to rack up a lot of $$$ in therapy bills (I don’t go anymore nor do I want to) to try to figure out why the hell I’m assertive in my every-day life and a complete and total wimp when it comes to relationships.

Tonight I’ll mull it over while drinking a chocolate martini with one of my BFFs, who happens to be a very good therapist and doesn’t even charge me a dime!
(Her: Oh. Joy.)

Daily Dose of Soph

My mom picked up Sophie from school yesterday because I had a late meeting. Their conversation during the car ride home was first silly and then serious:
Sophie: Grandma, does Papa fart out loud?
Grandma: Um….
Sophie: Papa Jack farts so loud that Grandma Sue has to wear earplugs! [Jamie’s parents]
***
Sophie: Grandma, do you have my daily? [the sheet the teachers write on about her day]
Grandma: Yeah; it’s in the back seat, why?
Sophie: Well, I had no fits today!
Grandma: Good, Sophie! But you know, you’re getting a bit old to throw fits anyway. You need to use your words.
Sophie: But it’s just that when I want something, I want it right NOW.
Omig she is my child. I used to have a mini-poster in my teenage room that read: I want what I want when I want it. Described me to a T. FB is the same way. Perhaps that’s why we didn’t work (among 1,000 other reasons).
Grandma: Well, it’s OK to feel sad or angry or whatever, but you need to say “I’m angry” or “I’m upset” instead of throwing fits.
Sophie: Well I don’t know about that.
Grandma: Well Sophie, that is part of growing up. All of us feel angry sometimes; all of us feel sad sometimes…I mean, have you ever had a sad day?
Sophie: Me? No, never. But TT has. She’s sad a lot.

It Sure Felt Like a Monday

It started last night when Sophie declared, like the big girl that she is, “I don’t need you to lay with me tonight, Mommy.”
Oh, cool, I thought. But I also knew it was too good to be true. I’m not *that* naive.
I smoked a couple of cigarettes and drank a couple glasses (glasses, not bottles!) of wine and called some people who didn’t get back to me and talked to Becky who did get back to me and read my book and turned on Dateline and then it was 9:30 and somebody called me from above.

And she said, “I’m too hot.” So I offered to turn up her fan. I went to my bed to continue reading.
“SIGH……I’m STILL too hot.” So I went back in and said, “Well, why don’t you just use the sheet instead of the comforter?” That suggestion was dissed.
I went back to bed.
I got called in AGAIN for the same FUCKING problem and then it was 10pm and I was like fuck it, come in my bed and I put my book on the bedside table and turned out my light and we held hands and I passed out and she woke me twice because I was snoring. Again. That was at 10:30.

I called school today after lunch like I do every day and was told that she had a rough morning and well I was not surprised. When I picked her up, Sophie said, “Mommy, I threw three fits today. One when you left, one because my sweatshirt was too big* and one at lunch.”
Well, at least the kid is honest.
*It’s the same sweatshirt she’s been wearing for weeks and believe me, she hasn’t shrunk.

I had also heard at lunch that Sophie drew a family picture today and so I went to see it hanging on the wall and she had remembered everybody and I mean EVERY BODY. Including: Daddy (the biggest), Mommy, Josie (Daddy’s dog), Chloë (our dog) and Penny (our mountain lion [read: fat ass cat]) and last but not least: TT.

So yeah, that kind of bothered me even though I expected it. But what can you do? I KNOW she’s there, so…it just bugs me that the picture means that Sophie, at least in that moment, sees TT as part of her “Family” rather than “Just some trashy girl who hangs out at my Dad’s.” However, I will say that I feel I have made great progress in the past four years as four years ago I would have ripped that picture off the wall, and before I did that I would have taken a black sharpie and blotted out the offending party.

Okay, no I wouldn’t have because Sophie would see me and that would make me feel bad. Actually, that’s why I didn’t do it today. No, it bugged me but it didn’t make me angry. I wouldn’t have actually done that four years ago because at that time my child couldn’t draw (or talk or walk or demand that the Hannah Montana song must be played at full blast over and over and over…) At least Jamie—when he visited Sophie at school one day not too long ago, but she was napping (only at school and no more than an hour)—drew her a picture of a house, a sun, her, him and Josie. At least he had enough decency to leave out you know who. Tonight Sophie hung that picture on the wall of her room.

Anyway, back to previously scheduled programming:
Tonight I made her spaghetti, left over from last night, and had some myself. She didn’t want to eat it. She wanted chicken nuggets. So I heated up the oven. That was my first mistake, I know, but we’re going to stop counting here because in the Job that is Motherhood I make a shit-load of mistakes. And that’s just for a single day. Then I told Soph her nuggets were ready and she wasn’t going to eat those either and wanted soup. People. The child only eats three or four fucking things, and the only one I haven’t yet named is pizza. I was madder than hell. It’s not as if I put a plate of sushi down in front of her (as if! I can’t even stand to look at it—let alone smell it. I know all you sushi lovers are like, “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?” No, no it does not. Karma, it’s a bitch.). I made her something I KNOW she likes. TWO things actually that she just ate last night and the night prior. Then I said, “fine, don’t eat; we’re going to the park” and she screamed bloody murder. I mean, the park! Can you imagine?! The torture I am trying to subject my child to! (It was mainly for the dog who needed to get outside in the fresh air).

Of course, when we got to the park, she was happy as can be and I made friends with middle schoolers (one had a dog) and asked them all about my town’s middle school and high school (one was actually a freshman in HS; the other in 8th grade) and they said they liked my hair and I gave them hair tips and they get up earlier than me and start school WAY earlier than I start work.

And Sophie had a grand time, of course and even slid down the curvey slide which she was too chicken to do before.

And then she asked me not less than 8million billion trillion times on the three minute drive home if she could watch a movie when we got back. I said no. She asked me 2.5 seconds later. I said, “No, final answer” (too bad she never watched that damn show so doesn’t get it but I thought it was pretty clever if I do say so myself.)
(Okay, it was dorky and I don’t even watch the damn show but my point is “NO FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SHUT UP AND DON’T ASK ME AGAIN!")
But “shut up” is a bad word so I don’t say that.

And then I didn’t answer her, not on the 2nd or eight thousandth time she asked or 8 millionth and then she yelled “WHY AREN’T YOU TALKING TO ME?” and I said, very calmly – much, much more calmly than I felt on the inside, “I will talk to you about anything else but I have already given you my answer on the movie and no matter how many times you ask me or how many ways, the answer is not going to change.” And then she asked me 500 more times and then we were home and she asked me again and said she was hungry and I made her soup (we are not counting my mistakes, REMEMBER?).

And she ate her soup and then was still hungry (duh) and asked for something else and I suggested a popsicle because I buy 100% pure fruit (for real) ones and she thinks it’s a “junky snack” and that I’m being all nice when really I’m not. So I took one out but she wanted orange and we don’t have orange, okay then how bout red so I got out a red one and as I was undoing the wrapping the top broke and she wouldn’t eat that either and wanted something else so both popsicles went in the trash. Then we sat in front of her “cubby” (cabinet) to see what other snacks were available (NO Oreos) and I was so frustrated that I told her “Next time I open something that I KNOW you like and you don’t eat it, you will have to pay me a quarter out of your piggy bank.” And she cracked up and said, “Tell my Daddy that.” I mean, really, the girl thought it was hilarious while I was completely serious. So I said (with attitude), “I will call your Daddy right now and tell him.” And so I did. And I put him on speaker and I told him and he let out a big Santa Claus laugh. And then I thought, The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? No, no it certainly does not.

Daddy laughed because he says Sophie doesn’t understand the value of money so it really wouldn’t work. I said “Well, I was just really frustrated.”

Anyway, Sophie said, “Daddy, tell TT that.” And so he turned away form the phone to relay the story and I could hear her in the background and she said, “Well, yeah. I’m sick of wasting food.” And she didn’t laugh at me.

Scary. We agreed on something.

Anyway, then Sophie told us (we’re all on speaker phone) that her teacher, Miss Amy, called her a brat today and that is something I DEFINITELY need to look into. I’m going to ask politely because I love that teacher to death and Sophie is only 4, but I’m also not going to ignore it.

And Sophie is huffing and puffing in her bed right now and I’m going to try to sneak in one last cigarette and one last glass of wine before I pass out* once again before my four-year old child.

*I mean from exhaustion, not alcohol. I don’t make *those* kind of mistakes. Well, at least not when my child is sleeping at home.

A Public Service Announcement

A 2-year old boy in Texas was strangled to death by a soccer net, which has sparked a massive recall of particular model numbers. The full story is here. Don't take a chance - if you have one, check it out.
***
Your Daily Dose of Soph:
Sophie was playing nicely by herself last night while I was working on the computer. I heard her talking to her animals:
"Let's get this party started - Whoohoo!"
Rock on, girl. Rock on.

Her Father’s Daughter

Last night, at Grandma and Grandpa’s, Sophie turns on the TV in the kitchen while Grandma and I are making dinner. I showed Sophie how to change channels. She starts flipping through.
Sophie: Where’s the baseball game? I want to watch the baseball game. [Jamie played baseball in college. Loves the sport.]
Then a commercial comes on.
Sophie: What happened to the game?
Me: It’s a commercial.
Sophie: Fast forward!
Me: We don’t have that here.
So she starts flipping channels again until she happens upon the golf channel.
Sophie: Oh, good. Golf.
A guy hits the ball.
Sophie: Go go go go go!
He gets near the hole, but not in.
Sophie: Oh man.

You Couldn’t Pay Me Enough for that Job

Is there anyone else but me who thinks it’s CRAZY that the TV anchors are standing in the middle of a fucking hurricane basically saying how people who have stayed and refused evacuation orders are in big, big trouble, yet there they are, drenched in rain, shouting into the microphone as winds almost topple them over??

Please Tell Me It’s Just a Phase…

We’ve been through these issues before, but for some reason this week, Sophie is not sleeping. Tuesday night, I lay with her until about 9:30 then I couldn’t stand it anymore and told her to read books or something. I myself went to my bed to read my book. At 10:30, she’s sighing and huffing and puffing and I finally brought her into my bed and she was out.

Wednesday she went to her Dad’s so who knows how that went.

LAST night was worse; same scenario, only this time she was stalling, stalling… “my tummy hurts…my eye itches…” I warmed up the heating pad; I gave her medicine for her tummy (a teeny tiny bit of…I forget what it’s called but she thinks it makes it all better and it won’t hurt her…it’s for gas or whatever; I used to give it to her when she was a baby)…then I got fed up and went to my bed. Only THIS time it was ELEVEN PM and she got up and said “I need you to read to me” and I was like, “just come in bed” and then we held hands and I passed out and she woke me up twice because “Mommy, you’re snoring.” So it was like 11:30 before she actually fell asleep. This morning at 6:45 she was like, “Is it time to get up yet?” And I was like “No” (Hell no). But maybe I should make her get up. Maybe it will all catch up to her and she’ll be in bed by 7 tonight.

Yeah, right.

***UPDATE: While dropping Sophie off at school, I discovered she had a two-hour nap yesterday. That’s at least part of the problem. Both the old teacher and I neglected to tell the new teachers that Sophie CANNOT sleep for more than an hour, because obviously it throws off her whole schedule.

*Happy First Birthday Bella and Addison!

“Caught”

Last night:
Sophie: Mommy, why do you have a beer in your hand?
Me: It’s my dessert.
Sophie: Beer is not for dessert!
Me: It is for Mommy.
Sophie: And for Daddy too?
Me: He can have beer for dessert if he wants to, yes.

This Song Reminds Me of Someone

Rihanna's "Take a Bow"
Click here for video.
Lyrics:
Ohh, how about a round of applause
Yeah, standing ovation
Oooh ohh yeah, yeah yeah yeah yeah

You look so dumb right now
Standing outside my house
Trying to apologize
You’re so ugly when you cry
Please, just cut it out

An’ don’t tell me you’re sorry ‘cause you’re not
Baby when I know you’re only sorry you got caught

But you put on quite a show
Really had me going
But now it’s time to go
Curtain’s finally closing
That was quite a show
Very entertaining
But it’s over now (but it’s over now)
Go on and take a bow

Grab your clothes and get gone (get gone)
You better hurry up before the sprinklers come on
Talkin’ about, girl, I love you, you’re the one
This just looks like a re-run
Please, what else is on (ohh)

And don’t tell me you’re sorry ‘cause you’re not
Baby when I know you’re only sorry you got caught

But you put on quite a show
Really had me going
But now it’s time to go
Curtain’s finally closing
That was quite a show
Very entertaining
But it’s over now (but it’s over now)
Go on and take a bow

Ohh, and the award for best liar goes to you
For making me believe that you could be faithful to me
Let’s hear your speech out

How about a round of applause
A standing ovation

But you put on quite a show
Really had me going
Now it’s time to go
Curtain’s finally closing
That was quite a show
Very entertaining
But it’s over now (but it’s over now)
Go on and take a bow

But it’s over now

How I Know It’s Monday

• My power went out this morning. I had to leave for work and didn’t have time to wait and see if/when it comes back on. I’m hoping it won’t be too long as I have a fridge and freezer full of food and did not budget for an extra $300 for all new groceries, condiments, staples, etc.
• Sophie threw a tantrum because I wouldn’t give her two Oreo cookies for breakfast, even though her Daddy does (YEAH RIGHT!).
• My cell phone’s LCD screen went out so I can’t see who is calling me. It was fine this morning when I put it in my car, and when I shoved it in my pocket on the way into my office, I noticed the screen was smashed.
• I took a lunch to go all the way to the AT&T store in the mall only to find out that they couldn’t help me; I have to call the insurance line.
• They gave me the wrong number.
• I dropped my car keys in the toilet. AFTER I peed.

I really hope this day gets better and not worse.

Blowing Rocks

This is the third (and a half) fake gaycation update. #1 is here; #2 here.

So on Sunday, our last day, we went to this really cool place called “Blowing Rocks.” It was a perfect day for it because it was windy (due to the hurricane coming) and the ocean was rough (but still no waves. I mean, not by California standards. Yeah, I’m a snob. WHATEVER!). And it’s this place where the rocks jet out in all kinds of directions and you can walk on them and listen to the ocean (I recorded it) and it was pretty fucking cool. Look:



Mandy was being a silly girl and had on a flow-y dress (her bathing suit on underneath—get your mind out of the gutter) and I “made” her pose like Marilyn Monroe. (err, kind of):AND we saw fish JUMPING OUT OF THE WATER and you can tell because a strip of water gets dark and the birds come and swarm overhead and then land and you can literally see the fish jumping and I have never seen that before ever in my life it was so cool. Actually, that happened when we were relaxing on the beach Friday and the lifeguards made us all get out of the water and I was like, “Why? Doesn’t the ocean NORMALLY have fish? Don’t we normally swim with the fish ANYWAY?” and then a local on the towel next to me said, “Well, it’s shark bait.” Way to go, Blondie.
So yeah, we THOUGHT we saw a shark. Maybe. A fin. That looked like it could have been a shark. At Blowing Rocks. And we tried to follow it; it wasn’t just us – but then the fishies went bye-bye and that was that.

*More vaca pics on flickr; see sidebar

Boys, or Lack Thereof

This is the second fake gaycation update (I know you’ve been on the edge of your seats!); the first one is here.

So basically: No boys in West Palm. Or…the only boys that DID talk to us were ones that we didn’t want to talk to us. Example:
Mandy and I kept joking that we needed to find boys with boats. We went to “The Rum Bar” on Saturday night, early, to grab a bite and it wasn’t very crowded. However, the place was super fucking cool because (1) it was right on the water (2) it had bonfire pits surrounded by chairs (3) it had a tiki hut (4) and big screen tvs. Basically, it was just adorable and all beach-y. Unfortunately for us, it had started raining that evening and the skies looked as if more was coming; therefore, it’s not surprising that not a lot of people wanted to sit outside. So we were at the tiki bar/kitchen and ordered some chicken eggrolls (“excellent choice, ladies—our most popular item on the menu!” – and he was right!) and this drunkard came up to us with a BUCKET of some mixed alcohol drink. “Taste this, girls,” he said, holding up the drink and slurring. Um, how ‘bout “no.” How ‘bout we don’t know what the fuck is in that drink and you’re too drunk to tell us and we don’t know if you pissed in it or barfed in it or drugged it. He was obnoxious, WASTED and rather annoying. But we tolerated him because well, we had no choice for the moment. He brought over his friends.

His one friend, a short (I’m talking 5’7”) guy with a buzz cut was actually not all that bad looking and was actually coherent enough to form sentences. That made sense. He was the one with the boat. And then his other friend came over: pretty good looking, shaved head (I love it!), forming complete and coherent sentences without slurring (clearly our standards had been lowered) EXCEPT he wore a stylish white button-down shirt, with the shirt UNbuttoned most of the way as to show off his gold chain. Am I back in Philly I wondered? Anyway, those guys invited us on their boat. Which they had been on all day long (clearly!). “We’ll have you back in time for your flight tomorrow, ladies – no problem!” Uh, yeah right. OR, our parents could receive a phone call about how parts of our bodies were found floating in the Atlantic because we agreed to go on a boat with 10 drunk guys we didn’t know. So, yeah—I’m still here, right? We passed.

But we’re talking to the guys, and another WASTED friend who looks WAY too old to be doing this frat buddy stuff comes over and asks us our names 5x and orders us drinks 3x (the bartenders saw what was going on. We each received ONE drink, which was plenty to get through, given the company. But heh – we’re not idiots either). And the guy who ordered us drinks—the old one that could barely stand—literally handed me his money clip to pay for them because he couldn’t see straight enough to do it himself. Afterward, Mandy was all, “You totally should have swiped a couple of 20s; he wouldn’t have noticed.” Of course, she was joking (half) and we didn’t. Boo.

Oh YEAH, and while we were talking to the FIRST drunkard, a lady comes up. She is errr…late 30s? Bleached blond hair, fake boobs…errr, pushing 40 but trying to look as if she’s only 33? She comes up to us and goes “[Drunkard whatever his name was], introduce me to your girlfriends.” And she was all jealous and shit! And they walked over to the other side of the tiki hut (thank God) but she was still shooting us daggers all night. Ha! Well you know what sweetie pie? YOU can have him. He won’t be able to get it up tonight, but that’s your problem; not ours. Also: THANK YOU FOR SAVING US.

The night had been drizzling, then raining for a few minutes here and there. We left the drunk boating wanna be frat boys and went to the Yard House; had one drink – Mandy hated it and it had stopped raining so we drove BACK to the Rum Bar and wouldn’t you know it? The SECOND we pull into the parking lot, the skies open up and it POURS on us. We were all FUCK THIS. So we went somewhere else (Rooney’s – an Irish-like pub of Steelers fans). And then we went home. Eh.

On Death & Dying

Sophie: If you put water on your toothbrush, will your toothpaste melt or die?
Me: Only living things die.
Sophie [pointing to self]: Are we living?
Me: Yes.
Sophie: Are we going to die?
Me: One day…
Sophie: [look of concern]
Me: But not for a long time! A long, long, long time.
Sophie: Is Daddy going to die before me?
Me: All parents should die before their children, yes.
Sophie: [look of concern]
Me: But we don’t need to worry about any of that right now! Because that won’t happen for a long time. Like WAY WAY WAY after you’re all done growing up.
Sophie: But when we die, do we get to come back home? Because I will miss home…
Me: We get to be in Heaven with God.
Sophie [Even more concerned]: But…but I want to come back home…
Me: We don’t have to worry about any of this anytime soon. Let’s go read some stories.

She brought it up, but then the conversation turned serious. And while I think it’s important for children—yes, even this young—to have a concept about life and death, I clearly do not need to add THIS conversation to Sophie’s already mounting future therapy bills.

“Yes, ‘Can’t’ is a Bad Word and so is ‘Whatever’”

I was getting really frustrated at times with Sophie earlier this weekend as I get sick of asking questions and not getting a response. I mean, if this is happening now at not even 4, what is going to happen at 14? We are going to live our lives in silence unless SHE has something to say? I don’t think so. Basically, she ignores me when she well, feels like it, but especially when she’s watching TV or when she’s involved in play, etc. So I need a “Pause” button (God, wouldn’t that be awesome?)…anyway, she continued with her 14-year old behavior this evening when we sat down to dinner and I asked her what she would like to drink.
And she didn’t answer me so I asked again.
When I asked a third time, she said, “Whatever.” NOT “Whatever you bring me Mother Dearest would be fabulous” but “WHAT EVER!” in the tween/teen attitude way.
I was like, “EXCUSE ME? We don’t say that in our house.” And we had a little conversation where she told me “What? It means ‘I don’t care.’” And I said, “Yes, but it’s a very RUDE way of saying that.”
We then established that “Whatever” is indeed a bad word IN THIS HOUSE AND MY HOUSE RULES SO THERE!

Then of course my mother – don’t even get me started - was like, “She did say ‘I don’t care’ at first.” Thank you for under-minding me and BTW, NO SHE DIDN’T! That’s what my mother would always do with FB when I told her something obnoxious that he said to me (and it was often): she would always take his side. But WHATEVER, I can’t get mad at her because she gladly spent $200 of her own money buying Sophie an entirely new fall/winter wardrobe from Children’s Place. (Thank God for Grandmas!) (Sophie is up to 4T! Can you believe it? Yeah, I know: you’re all, “So what, she’s almost 4, right?” and I’m all, “Yeah, but she’s tiny and still only weighs 30 pounds and only eats 5 things but this just proves that she is growing and I should quit worrying about her lack of food variety as I’ve promised myself I would do 10,000 times now).

Other Things She Said:
While helping me make my bed:
Sophie: I can’t do it. [trying to get the sheet on.] Is ‘can’t’ a bad word?
Me: It is to Papa.
Sophie: When you were a little girl and you said ‘can’t,’ did you get in trouble?
Me: In front of Papa, yes.
Sophie: Why?
Me: Because Papa believes in the power of positive thinking. And he believes if you think you can, you can. And if you think you can’t, you can’t.
Sophie: [confused look on face]
Me: Like, if you’re at Tae Kwan Do and you think, “I can do this! I can do that!” then you do. But if you think “I can’t do this,” then you will just stand there like this [demonstrate limp/lazy body].

Speaking of, it’s a wonder with all the positive-ness going on in my house growing up why I never quite “got” it. For example, there are some things I really wish I could do but know that I cannot: sing, math, and crafty things. I also can’t you know, perform surgery on a human or animal. But THAT I am okay with. Because while I think it’s super cool and amazing, I also faint if someone tries to tell me how blood gets pumped through the veins and arteries to our heart and…
….
Whew. See? I almost did faint just then, thinking about it.

I CAN, however, play the piano. Or at least I used to be able to. Also, I’m a pretty good speller (when I want to be). And I can type pretty fast. Sure, those talents won’t get me on the Oprah show or anything, but…at least they’re something.

Speaking of…play along with me, okay? Name 1-3 things you absolutely cannot do but really wish you could; 1-3 things you think would be cool to do but you’re pretty much over it (And that means…well, I said “perform surgery” but we’re not going to get all logistical about it and talk about how I don’t actually have a medical degree and couldn’t even pass the standardized test (another thing I can’t do!) to get INTO medical school, let alone survive it…we’re in semi-fantasy land here); and 1-3 things you CAN do and are semi to pretty proud of. (For real – comment away!)

Speaking of Oprah: I was telling my parents about the “child prodigy” show of hers I watched Friday afternoon when I was supposed to be working from home (cough cough shhhh!) and there was a barely three year old girl who could point to any country you name on the world map. Oprah “tested” her and it was true. And after she pointed, the little girl would turn to the audience and clap. Cutest thing ever! Also: WOW! That wasn’t really my next point though. I was telling my parents of ANOTHER Oprah “child prodigy” show I watched not too long ago (which I RECORDED of course, because I would NEVER take advantage of working from home) where there was like a 9-year old opera singer. And I said, “And she blew me away.”
Sophie: Not for real, Mommy, right?
Me: Huh?
Sophie: She didn’t really blow you away…
Me: Oh! No. It’s an expression. It means I was really impressed.

Speaking of expressions, I said to Sophie, “You crack me up!” And she asked, “What does that mean?” And I said, “Oh, it means you make me laugh. In a good way! It means I think you’re funny.”

That’s it; that’s all I got.

Oh, wait! One more thing:
Sophie was talking about how she was a good mommy to her baby dolls and she couldn’t wait to be a REAL mommy and I said, “Well, you can’t be a mommy until after you get married.”
Sophie: Married?! Ew, yucky!
Me [prompting]: And how old do you have to be before you get married?
Sophie: 30.
Her Dad taught her at least one thing well.
Me: That’s right.
Sophie: I never want to get married!
You and me both, kid.

Things My Daughter Says

Sophie’s BFF at school, K, moved to another classroom in August when she turned 4. We’re going to start calling her KA, and you’ll see why in a minute. KA is half black and half white; she has an absent African-American father and an involved white mother. You’ll see why I’m mentioning this in a moment. Sophie’s new BFF in her current classroom is KN, who is African-American. This is the conversation I had with Sophie yesterday as we got ready to brush our teeth:
Sophie: Mommy, I am different than everybody else.
Me: What do you mean, hon?
Sophie: Well…I am different than KA and KN. They have black skin and my skin is yellow.
Me: Well that’s how God made you, and that’s how God made them.
Sophie: Yeah, but…I wish I could have black skin like them.
Me: …
I can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, the world would be a better place if we each thought of ourselves as different, instead of thinking everybody else is different.

Fake Gaycation Update #1 ½

The place

This is where we stayed:No, not really. THIS is where we stayed:Okay, THAT was the house Mandy and I WISHED we had bought.

This is Jane’s house for real:

It is nice.

Not enormous.But big enough.
And decorated as if it came from a magazine.

This is Jane, with Mandy:Jane is awesome. She is old and drives old but smokes (Marlboro Reds!), drinks and cusses. She let us use her convertible BMW the entire time and only told us, “Just be back by 4 girls because I have Happy Hour tonight.”
She also said, “You brats filled up the gas tank. I’m going to kill you.” and “yelled” at us because we wouldn’t let her make us bacon and eggs for breakfast.
She has a flaming gay friend who helps her on her house and condo. He is hilarious. He walked in wearing short-shorts and a tie-tied t-shirt.
We took her out to eat and sent her flowers and a nice note as a thank you. I’m not sure that’s enough…
More later…I’m sleepy. Oh, I know: the anticipation is KILLING you. Well, not to get your hopes up, here’s a preview:

• I said FAKE gaycation


• No boy stories; only drunkards and dumb asses. In other words: LIFE: the only boys who actually talked to us were the ones we didn’t want to…


• It was fun, but not wild.


• It was relaxing.


• Mandy wanted to run out of the airport, attach herself to a palm tree, and never come back, as evidenced below:

Things My Daughter Says

Solving the World’s Mysteries:
Sophie: Mom, did you know that the only time you get to see God and Jesus is when you get to Heaven?
Me: I did know that!
Sophie: And when you get to Heaven, you meet them, and you say “hi,” and then…and then you watch a movie.
***
Sophie: Mom, I’m FROZEN.
Me: …
Sophie: When you’re cold, you say “I’m frozen.”
Only if you’re a drama queen.
***
Best Conversation Ever
On the phone, while I was in Florida:
Sophie: Mommy, I miss you.
Me: I miss you too, baby.
Sophie: Are you still on your trip?
Me: Yeah…but I’ll get to see you tomorrow!!
***
Sophie: Mommy, did you know that I watched Ghostbusters with Daddy and TT and well, it was a little bit scary, but then it was okay.
That’s because your Dad is an idiot and doesn’t realize that movie is totally inappropriate for a 3 year old. God, I remember how that Marshmallow man scared me half to death when I was a kid. Am I wrong?
***
Today, after picking Sophie up from school:
Sophie: Mommy, I haven’t seen you in a long time.
Me: I know, baby. I missed you too.

"I'm Totally Posting this on the Internet, You Know"

There was a frog! In the bathroom! The video says it all:

Froggie from Farrell on Vimeo.
...more updates from my fake gaycation to come...stay tuned...