The Age of Unreason

Well, I’m back after a brief trip to Camp Unspeakable. I cannot, however, tell you specifically where I was or what I was doing because the first rule of Camp Unspeakable is that we don’t talk about Camp Unspeakable.

So, you are please to be missing me, no?

I missed you, too.

Not to prattle on incessantly about that which cannot be spoken (hello ad network agreements) but I really did have a great time there. Uh uh…don’t even ask. What happens at Camp Unspeakable STAYS at Camp Unspeakable.

Suffice it to say that spending time eating, eating, oh, and eating (they fed us well) and attending a jam-packed day of weird (feed your kids Splenda!), wild (rBGH is perfectly fine!), wacky (1,4 Dioxane is harmless!) and somewhat frightening (Uterine prolapse can be fixed!) corporate edumacation with a few of mah favoritest bloggy betches was just what I needed.

Unfortunately, it’s just like when I used to go to camp every summer as a kid and then come home all deflated because what could possibly top four weeks of playing spin the bottle and slow dancing to Freebird every Friday night? Ummmmm. Nothing?

So I’m home and it seems more…noisy and chaotic. But otherwise, it’s just the same as I left it except my mostly occasionally angelic kids are now behaving like obnoxious, whiny and inexplicably loud crack monkeys. Because? It’s spring break, of course.

Did I ever mention that I loathe spring break only slightly less than having my eyeballs penetrated by an army of flying salad forks. Well, I do.

And my son, almost three, recently entered the “age of unreason”. You know, it’s the age where rational thinking and rational behavior are NONEXISTENT? The age where tantrums are thrown over Every. Little. Thing?

But since I’ve been home, he’s taken things to a whole new level. Now, when he hears something he doesn’t like, instead of just throwing himself to the floor in a kicking, screaming heap, he’s added LOTS of high-pitched whiny, squealy, screamy, brain-bleed inducing howls of protest to his repertoire. DONOTLIKE.

And the banging. What is it with little boys banging on everything?

ARRRGGGHHHH

On the upside… The devil pills? I don’t seem to need them anymore. Well, for now anyway, although I may take them anyway if this new behavior doesn’t cease and desist soon.

A peek inside the imagination of a mom on the verge:

“Here,” said Betty as she handed Joan the little brown bottle labeled Devil Pills. “I call them my Mother’s Helpers and they’re simply marvelous! Just take one whenever you feel anxious. I’ve got to run now and put a roast in the oven. Jim’s boss is coming for dinner tonight. Cocktails around three?”

“See you then. Don’t forget that gelatin salad recipe!” Joan called after her, wondering when the man would arrive to fix the Frigidaire — the thought of cocktails without ice made her shudder.

Heh. I know just how she feels.

•••

Congratulations for making it to the end. Your reward? Photos from Camp Unspeakable here and here. Try to curb your enthusiasm :)

Under the Iron Bridge, We Kissed…

Per the theme for today’s Friday Flashback, which is “how (insert band name/artist here) changed my life,” I give you a slight departure — The Music of My Youth: Boys and Boyfriends Edition

After my mother died, I had to move in with my dad, stepmom and her kids. I’d had a major growth spurt that summer. I grew about 2 inches and lost all my baby fat. I was suddenly tall and thin instead of average and pudgy.

A new girl in a new city trying to make new friends, life was about to change quite a bit for this formerly chubby duckling.

You see, it wasn’t long after 9th grade started that I found myself going out with one of the most popular boys in my high school (well, among us lowly freshmen). He plucked me from obscurity and that was that. I was his girlfriend.

He said we had to have a song.

A song?

I didn’t have much experience in the boyfriend department and I had no idea we were supposed to have “a song”. I let him decide and he picked Open Arms by Journey (which was fine with me because I looooooved Journey) and I felt like Cindefuckingrella.

Well, it turns out our song should have been Victim of Love by The Cars because after about two months, when he figured out I wasn’t going to give up ye olde virginity to him anytime soon, he dumped me for someone that would. Ahhh…young love. Ain’t it grand?

A couple years later I was into this guy that I worked with at a local grocery store. We had a big gang o’ friends and we had parties every single weekend. It was a really fun time in my life.

Well, one weekend when my parents decided I was mature enough to be left at home while they took my stepsibs out of town over night, I decided to prove my parents wrong and have a party at my house. And HE was there.

He found me in my garage checking on the dogs while complete madness ensued in the house. We had a “moment” out there and as the party started to wind down and people left (passed out Jack Daniels drinking fools notwithstanding) we ended up in my bedroom. Door closed.

On cassette, Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon played over and over (through the miracle of auto-reverse) while we groped and dry-humped and generally did everything you could do and still have your clothes on — on my sister’s bed.

We peeled ourselves apart when the sun came up and after I was done being grounded for throwing that party, we were all BFGF TLA for the next year and a half. To this day, I can’t listen to that album or Pink Floyd Wish You Were Here without thinking about him.

After we broke up, I became pretty close friends with this guy that I’d had a mad crush on a few years earlier. He used to ride my bus and he was gorgeous, with the most amazing blue eyes, and totally mysterious in his strangeness and differentness. He wasn’t like other guys and when I finally got to know him, I really, really liked him.

We were just friends but there was always something else, this undercurrent, between us that we didn’t ever acknowledge.

Until one summer night when I was 17 and he was 18. I’d just graduated from high school.

His parents were out of town and we were hanging out at his house and decided, probably out of boredom, to drink some vodka. But one shot of Absolut turned to two. And three. Maybe more. Obviously, intoxication ensued…

In his kitchen we sat, having a really deep conversation about something while listening to The Smiths, a band that I loved then and still do. In our drunkenness, we started singing to “Still Ill”.

Under the iron bridge..we kissed. And though I ended up with sore lips…it just wasn’t like the old days anymore…

And then we kissed. And that kiss turned into making out.

As you may have guessed, we had sex to that album and even though we were both pretty lit, it was amazing; both tender and sweet and urgent and hot. Obviously, I’ve not yet forgotten that night.

I still can’t listen to The Smith’s Hatfull of Hollow without thinking of him. I moved later that year but we still kept in touch until he, very uncharacteristically, joined the Army.

He did write me a letter when I was in college. He was stationed in Germany. I always intended to write him back but I never did. I still have his letter and often wonder how he’s doing; how his life turned out.

There’s so much more I could share with you but you’ll forgive me, I hope, for not delving into the music and boyfriends of my college years. There’s just not enough time and honestly, I think I’d rather get on MySpace and start looking up old friends and boyfriends instead ;)

*Note to self: Remember to DELETE this post before the kids start reading your blog*

You are please to be wanting more Friday Flashbacks, yes?

Then check out these fine and foxy ladies:

Sweetney
Her Bad Mother
Oh The Joys
Whoorl
Mamalogues
Mrs. Flinger
Mom-101
Girls Gone Child

For Two Days I Was a Better Mother and a Better American

You may or may not have noticed that this site was down for almost three days, as were all the other sites hosted on my account like Green Mom Finds and Moms Speak Up. I blame the butthead that had twelve MILLION files (literally) on the server.

At first I was agitated when i couldn’t get to any them. I actually didn’t know what to do with myself at night as I spend a significant amount of time each night tending to all things blog-related, like the fabulous new Green Mom Finds.

But suddenly, I found myself with plenty of time in the evenings. Time to fold laundry; time to pick up the house, time to work on other projects, time to flip through magazines and of course, watch more non-CNN-on-in-the-background-while-I-work-TV. I’m talking trashy reality TV, multiple recorded episodes of Nip/Tuck, random music videos. I even watched something completely vanilla and pedestrian during primetime. Yes, I admit it. I watched the pilot of Lipstick Jungle. And I liked it. My status as a good and obedient couch-indenting, TV-watching American is now official. *preens*

During the day, I was like Supermom! I devoted countless hours to the desires and whims of my children. Trips to procure Valentine’s junk for school, to the duck pond, to the pet store to peer at various rodentia in their aquariums, master-planned playdates lined up, extremely healthy yet tasty snacks made on demand, the reading of an untold number of books…

In short, I played more with my kids, was generally more domestic than is good for me, and I was a far more productive and attentive human being than I’ve been for the past 2.5 years. It’s kind of pathetic. And even more so because I know I could never have done all that in two days if my sites weren’t down. The lure of the computer… she is irresistible, no?

Now who wants to throw me an intervention?

Where Did I Go Right?

Yesterday, after way too many days in a row at home, I decided the kids and I needed to get out of the house without the huz. Having all four family members up in each other’s grills since before Christmas was giving everyone a bad case of cabin fever.So newly acquired toys and other shiny new distractions be damned, I gathered up the kids and off we went to the library. After accruing $12 in overdue fines last time, I’d learned my lesson and was intent on getting everything back by the due date. I mean TWELVE BUCKS! Do you know what I could have bought with twelve dollars? Okay. Not much. But still…you feel really stupid when you have to write the freaking library a twelve dollar check.

When we arrived at the library and exited the car, I noted a big plastic KFC bag filled with assorted fast food garbage spilling out of it and some other stray garbage from McDonalds littering the empty parking space next to us.

As I was getting P out of his carseat, I remarked to my daughter something along the lines of “God…people can be such pigs. Why can’t they just throw their junk in a trash can somewhere?”

I proceeded to get my books out of the car when my daughter said something that floored me:

“Mommy, I know this isn’t my stuff but I’m going to pick it all up and throw it away”

Holyshizzle!!!! I was so proud of her I could have cried. I mean this is a child who completely grosses out when I have her empty the bathroom trash can. She is repulsed by anything like that and yet she opts to pick up this nasty, disgusting fast food garbage that some douche left in a parking lot.

So we both pick pick up the trash which, I might add, is covered with ants. Both of her hands are full I’ve got trash in one hand and I’m holding P’s hand with the other while carrying about 10 lbs of books in bag on my shoulder. We gingerly carry it all to the trash can by the entrance to the library and dispose of it. Then we make a mad dash for the bathroom and wash our hands with LOTS of soap.

I know it doesn’t sound like a big deal but to me? This is evidence that I’ve done something right. Yay me! Yay her!

And TQ, darling? Just so you know how proud you’ve made me with your good deed — I’ve almost completely forgotten that you fibbed to me again the other day or that you had to have a time out at the park for being a turd to your friends. Love you, baby. Rock on with your good bad self :)

The Day I Killed My Cool

First let me confess that I sometimes listen to Radio Disney. I know, I know. I can feel your disdain from way over here.

But see I have a really, really good excuse for having Radio Disney programmed into the car stereo (well, actually my husband’s car stereo since I DON’T HAVE A CAR ANYMORE).

My daughter. She’s seven. She likes a couple Hannah Montana songs and well, they play the holy hell out of them on that station so she will usually ask me to put it on because there’s a 97.4% chance that she will hear one or both of those songs in the 7 minutes it takes us to get home from school.

Sometimes when she’s not in the car I forget to change the station and uh…I just listen to it. Yeah. And sometimes I even hear songs I like a little. Oh okay fine — a lot. There are a few songs I like a lot and if I’m alone in the car, I’ll turn them up really loud and dork out hard.

So the other day I have to stop and get gas and I’m listening to this song that I really like and I turn up the stereo so I can hear it while I’m filling up.

While I’m pumping my gas, the place starts blowing up and suddenly there are people all around me also getting gas but you know, it’s all good. I’m bobbing my head to the music, having a swell time.

And then the song ends. *insert loud needle scratch sound effect here*

Immediately I hear, as does everyone else at the gas station, the DJ saying “You’re listening to RADIOOOOOO DISNEYYYYYYYY!

Trust me, there’s NO way the all the yuppie hipsters around me didn’t catch that I, a grown woman, was ROCKING OUT to Radio Effing Disney.

I know it probably doesn’t compare to the time you walked through a nice restaurant with your skirt tucked into your hose but still… Really embarrassing. I could literally FEEL whatever shred of coolness I may have possessed shrivel up and die right there on the spot.

If there’s a lesson to be learned here, I guess it’s to hurry and pump your gas before the song ends. Or use an iPod.

Here it is… The song that I killed my cool over. I can’t help myself. It’s just so catchy. *hangs head in shame*