I don’t spend enough time around normal adults. No, I’m sorry neither of you count as normal. The day before yesterday we ran into our neighbors, they were walking their dog and we were coming back from running some errands. The four of us ended up chatting for a while and it was a blast.

Until…

I might have mentioned that perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if something horrible were to befall Kate’s sixth grade teacher. I might have even mentioned that it would be funny to have it on video and rewind and watch… rewind and watch… YouTube it… make t-shirts, etc.

Then I might have mentioned the near run-in with Ethan’s cross-country coach. Mike joked about my temper and I made fun of him for only worrying about not having bail money.

And, I might… MIGHT… have encouraged a pregnant woman to drink. My neighbor is pregnant, she said she really REALLY missed margaritas. I sympathized with her because while pregnant with Maggie I really missed wine and even started craving beer. Anyway, her slightly, overprotective (in a cute way), first-time daddy, husband looked at me suspiciously. It was COMPLETELY unintentional. REALLY!!! I don’t think that… you know, subjecting fetal people to alcohol or drugs or something is a good thing. Her husband is probably convinced I am going to sneak her over a bottle of Shiraz when he isn’t looking.

Mike said that I looked “really excited” to be talking to other adults.

Not that he is Mr.Perfect or anything. He was dumb enough to say, “I thought I read that a glass of wine once in a while is ok for pregnant women?”

And, now the neighbors are pretty sure what the deal with Maggie is.

They’d be wrong of course. Maggie’s only problem is an unfortunate mix of DNA. Believe me, I am thankful I didn’t drink much while I was pregnant with her.

Heh… hmm. So, uh, yeah, I guess Britt’s lack of a filter is finally rubbing off on me and now the only people I could possibly be around in person live like 2,000+ miles away and I just cannot move to Florida.

Oh look! A pretty picture:

Someday… Maggie is probably not going to be very fond of me.

When that day comes… I’ll be sure to show her prom date this video and dozens of other pictures.

That’s what I was asked after I complimented Maggie on how nice her hair smelled. I have no idea where she gets these ideas.

See? She looks like an angel. Hard to imagine that she just told me she doesn’t like her brother anymore… “because he sucks!”

As mad as I was when I stomped down the stairs I caught him through the window out of the corner of my eye. He had stopped to finish a conversation on his cell phone before getting into his truck. He was facing the house with his new sunglasses on leaning on the bed of the truck.

And as mad as I was… he still got to me. I choked up a bit and then got even more mad at him for getting to me on top of being a jerk.

Later when I thought about it I flashed back to that “accidental” meeting at the mall many, many years ago. He had the sexiest blond highlights (completely natural of course), a twinkle in his icy blue eyes, and the most sexy, mischievous grin.

Sometimes it’s easy to go through the day to day activities and forget little things. Like the way he runs his fingers through his hair, or the way he smells after a shower, or the way he laughs this wicked little chuckle that reminds me of my grandpa.

And, sometimes it’s pretty cool when you remember those good things at just the right moment. Like, for example while you are working up a list of ingredients to go in his dinner that night.

Those sunglasses probably saved his entire digestive tract.

Carb.

As in, “low carb!”

Yes, yes, I’ve lost 13 pounds, but that does not mean that late at night I don’t hear pancakes, chocolate chip cookies, cheesecake, etc. etc. calling to me. On top of trying to adhere to my diet I now have discovered something… a deep secret that my family has kept from me.

Someone in this house has been buying M&Ms…

No, I’m NOT joking.

How did I come to find this out?

It was a cold and blustery night. I just couldn’t sleep… what with the television blaring a Chris Rock stand up special. I decided to have some (low*fucking*carb) ice cream to settle my nerves. As I arrived in the kitchen something occurred to me… “Oh my! (I said to myself) I don’t eat bread and yet, suddenly, I am VERY worried that we might not have any…” and I proceeded to ease my worries by searching the bread cabinet and just “happening” to find a bag of peanut M&M’s.

And, it is NOT my fault if tomorrow someone (hypothetically) finds an open bag of M&Ms with a bright pink post-it note that reads, “Ha ha, Fuckers! I ate most of your M&Ms!”

The “fuckers” part - I’ll blame on Atkins Rage or something like that.

Yes, yes it was.

Jackass.

UPDATE

Jen mentioned that Mike looks like Larry The Cable Guy - which is kinda funny especially when you read this post.

But, really, you guys have to stop saying that or he is going to start living in shirts with the sleeves cut off! EEEEEEK!!!!!

As a mom I really, really try to just let things go by. I pick my battles, I try not to make a “2″ a “10″ on the parental Richter scale. But, I have to tell you that lately I can go from semi-ok Mom to MommyDragon in about 2.3 seconds. To put it lightly, I’ve had it.

I realized this when Maggie started to do something and I stopped her with complete gibberish. Moms will totally get this, you know, that “uh uh! Mmm, mmm” as you shake your head to the point of whiplash? I took it a step further with something like, “Uh, buh buh buh, bah! Bah!!!! Ba!!!!” You have to do it kind of quick getting just a tiny bit louder with each “b” to get the right effect. It worked with Maggs, it’s just too bad it won’t work on the other two.

The teenager with his newfound love of driving has me at my wit’s end.

“Hey, how about a twenty minute drive?”

“Think we can go for a drive when Dad gets back?”

“Let’s go for a drive later!”

“Come on, Mom! I LOVE driving with you! Please? PLEASE?”

He’s now moved up to spending about 10 to 15 minutes leaning casually on my desk while saying things like, “Yeah, you were right. That is a perfect hair cut.” or “Gee, Mom, your hair looks really good.” He hasn’t pulled the, “Are you losing weight?” card yet, either because he isn’t that desperate or because he knows that one is too obvious.

I’m waiting for him to hear someone mention that they might go somewhere only to find him waiting, instantly, at the door with keys, wallet/purse, sunglasses, etc. in hand. Much like the dog who hears the word “bye-bye” and waits at the door with his leash.

Then there is the soon-to-be teenager who at 12 can throw a hormonally charged pissy fit with the best of them. A polite request for her to finish up chores that she has conveniently “forgotten” to finish can elicit a response from heavy sighs, huffs, and stomping to an icy silent treatment that lasts for bare minimum of an hour.

Ah, yes. Chores. I did chores growing up, almost all of my friends did as well and yet, somehow, my children believe that they are being horribly abused and taken advantage of. They act as if cleaning up after themselves is somehow doing US (the parents, it’s a THEM and US situation now) a favor.

Sure, sure. All of you people with grown kids go ahead and laugh at me. Be amused at my expense. Ahhh, yes, another parent attempting to navigate the treacherous waters of the teenage years. On one hand a 16 year old with a lead foot on the other a girl with boobs, a brain, AND a mouth. Funny shit. Funny, funny.

Are you done chuckling now? Because here is where I have you. NOT only do I have to put up with two teenagers I am also hung up in a sick form of parental limbo between teenagers and a preschooler. God help me, that’s a schizophrenic combination I wouldn’t wish on my….

Wait. Yes I would. Yes, yes I would. I would totally wish that on my worst enemy. Absolutely.

Just the other day I did an awesome job of picking my battles. I chose not to battle with a 4 year old. How did I manage that? Careful negotiation. I’ve come to realize that a 4 year old while an incredible pain in the ass is always willing to help and is usually eager to please. No, really. Stop snickering. I mean it. So, I appealed to her more helpful nature:

“Maggie, honey, come here. Now listen, this is VERY, VERY important. Mommy needs your help for a minute or so. Ok, listen, Mommy needs you to shut up please. Ok, can you do that for Mommy? Ok then, thank you, Sweetie.”

Which actually worked for about 3 minutes. A record if I do say so myself. I think it might have been the slightly crazy gleam in my eyes that convinced her something terrible might befall her should she continue to tempt the ever simmering pot of hormones that she calls, Mom.

When I ask her to do something she now responds with, “Yes sir, Mom!”

Not that I require it. But, it does help in those moments when I am considering stringing them all up by the ankles and beating them like pinatas. I’m low carbing I don’t care if they are full of candy or not.

It’s come to the point where Mike and I are spending time creating strategies:

* We play “Good Cop / Bad Cop” and when the moment calls for it, “Bad Cop / Bad Cop” - that last bit is the most fun. It basically amounts to one of us screaming while the other one throws things or sharpens knives. We can get a few good days without too much hassle after a good session of “Bad Cop / Bad Cop”.

* Then there is the “Come To Jesus” meeting. That is when we call a “family meeting” but it usually ends up with just Mike and I talking. A lot.

* We also employ other forms of parental procrastination. For example, when one of the kids wanted to upgrade his/her cell phone. I told them to research it and to look up reviews of the phone and then get back to me with a decision. This eliminated me from the equation of “teenage angst and indecision.”

As I try to type this post Kate is packing her backpack for the morning and Maggie is snatching books out of the backpack and running off with them yelling, “I WIN!!! I WIN!!!! HAHAHAHAHA CATCH ME!!!!”

And, Ethan is pouting because, once again, his plans for a late night drive before bed have been thwarted.

Me? Somehow, I have come to the conclusion that I wouldn’t change any of this if I could. Why should I? They provide some decent blog fodder, general amusement around here, half-ass do some chores and the rest of it is nothing I can’t fix with some duct tape and a few bicycle locks.

I found this article at MSN and it got me thinking about some things.

YBOR CITY, Fla. - A southwest Florida church issued a challenge for its married members this past Sunday: Hanky-panky every day. Relevant Church head pastor Paul Wirth says the 50 percent divorce rate was the catalyst for The 30-Day Sex Challenge.

“And that’s no different for people who attend church,” Wirth said. “Sometimes life gets in the way. Our jobs get in the way.”

Oh, and the flip side of the challenge? No rolling in the sheets for the unwed.

Now I am all for people having faith, belonging to a certain religion, church, etc. I have no beef with that. Where I start to have a problem, a BIG problem, is when those people, groups, organizations, etc. involve themselves in people’s nether regions. That’s what it comes down to, your crotch, my crotch, his crotch, her crotch, their crotches and what they might be doing together, and God help us all if those crotches doing something together have the same equipment.

Like this little program in the article. “If you are married… have sex every day for 30 days” because nothing says “eternity, fidelity, and stability” like an orgasm a day. God knows how many divorces could have been avoided by having more sex. BUT!!! If you aren’t married - then you are supposed to abstain from sex for 30 days because THIS is going to teach you more about each other.

Really?

See, I’ve been in relationships where it didn’t matter how much sex I was (or wasn’t) having, married, committed or otherwise - it was just a bad relationship and no amount of abstaining or “doing it” was going to fix that.

This is part of what is wrong with the world today. Too much involvement in people’s bedrooms. What goes on between two consenting adults is nobody’s fucking business. Can I get an amen, please?

I don’t want a side of religion in my politics either. There is a separation of church and state for a damn reason. I want my candidate, elected official, president, etc. to get up every day and just do his/her fucking job. That job has NOTHING to do with mine (or anyone else’s) crotch, m’kay? I want to know that they are going to get up and just DO the JOB to the best of their ability. And, so help me, I don’t want to hear that they get up every morning, pray, and THEN do what they THINK God has told them to do.

Guess what? I don’t give a shit what you THINK God has told you to do - I want you to get off your lazy ass, grow a spine and fucking DO something WORTHWHILE, like… the job people elected YOU to do, not God.

Homosexuals shouldn’t get married or adopt kids.

You shouldn’t have an abortion. And if you do or have you are going to hell anyway.

Sex is dirty unless you are married and then it is beautiful! (oh give me a fucking break, I’ve had some pretty gorgeous perfectly unmarried sex and it was AWESOME!) What a great way to send mixed messages and we wonder why today’s youth is so confused.

Guess what? I don’t give a shit if Bill Clinton got a hummer in the oval office. As long as he was getting the job he was elected to do done - then I don’t care if he had two topless waitresses from hooters providing earmuffs while he sat at the presidential desk.

And what about him not being faithful to his wife? Uh, well, that is Hilary’s problem not the entire fucking country’s.

Yes, yes, old news… straying from my point, of course.

Look, in my opinion, churches and religion could do a lot more GOOD if they stayed out of people’s crotches. Their job should be to inspire goodwill, tolerance, love, peace and harmony. No matter WHO you are, what you worship, or who you decide to screw on your on or off time.

And now I look like I hate God or religion or church or whatever.

I don’t. I just see where ALL of it has been absolutely corrupted by power hungry individuals who whack their monkeys at the thought of a large group of people listening to them and doing what they say.

I just think that if these groups spent MORE time providing comfort, teaching tolerance, and supporting having faith in something greater than little old us - that they would do MORE good and of course, people like me might be able to actually listen to what they have to say without rolling my eyes to the point of wanting to just black out.

Lewis Black was right. And, he said it far better. We are in a WAR, people are DYING, our educational system SUCKS, and what was our President (who in the past has said that he prays every day and follows what God tells him to do) obsessed with?

Fucking with the Constitution so two people of the same sex could be prevented from marrying.

Oh yes, alllllll of our problems will be fixed as long as the gays can’t marry.

See what I mean? It all comes back to the crotch. My crotch, your crotch, his crotch, her crotch…

Crotches are referred to as “private parts” for a reason. Why is that SO hard to understand? PRIVATE. No one’s place to tell me when, where, how, or WHY to do something with mine, or yours, or yours…

You know what all this really means, don’t you? All of these self-righteous pricks who think they have the right to calibrate everyone’s moral compass?

They are all just crotch obsessed perverts who cover up their naughty obsession by acting like they need to get in and control what goes on in our bedroom - when what they really, really want is for you to just send a video in of the naughty stuff you do in your bedroom. That way they can lock themselves in a closet with their kid’s portable DVD player, toss the Veggie Tale dvd in the corner and whack themselves silly.

I love a three day weekend. Banks are closed, post office is closed, and since banks are a major portion of our business - our office was, essentially, closed as well.

There is just something awesome about sitting around Sunday evening and coming to the realization that it’s actually just another Saturday night. The sweet bliss of that moment was only improved upon by the fact that we just got a new keg, Lengthwise Harvest Moon Wheat Ale. I have to say that I’m not especially fond of it. There is just something about that hint of banana that the yeast brings to the flavor that I’m not all that keen about. It’s ok, but I think I prefer Pyramid Hef. The Harvest Moon doesn’t even begin to compare to Lengthwise’s Centennial, which is just freaking awesome. Great, great flavor, crisp, and very clean.

The only thing to slightly mar this awesome weekend was Ethan constantly nagging to drive somewhere. I remember, I understand his excitement and I know that eventually the newness will wear off. Unfortunately, when Ethan gets an idea in his head he is virtually obsessed with it for a good long while. He has a tremendous attention span.

Yesterday I finally got some time to mess with my new camera. It’s a Canon PowerShot SD1000 (in case anyone cares) and I think this is my favorite shot of the many I took yesterday:

Click for bigger image.

More pics here.

about your very first drive with your son behind the wheel of the car?

I’m still alive.

He didn’t kill anything.

He didn’t hit anything.

BUT! Most importantly…

He didn’t break ANY laws.

ANY laws.

Not even the laws that are sort of considered to be “white lie” laws. You know, like making a turn and ending in the exact lane you started in (no, I am not referring to making a lane change in the intersection!), or using turn signals… for every turn, even if there isn’t another car on the roads within a 10 block radius, or hand over handing every turn (is that even a law?), or keeping both hands on the wheel, or coming to a slow stop several feet before the stop sign so that you can slowly coast up to it.

See what I mean?

You know how he talked me into taking him for a drive? He said it would make a great video post. He suckered me right in. Just when things started getting interesting my battery died.

So you missed me nervously saying things like:

“Uh, UH, take that turn a little tighter!”

“Umm, you need to get on the right side of the road. RIGHT…”

“No, no, see that? Someone could come whipping around the corner, you take turns like that a little wider…”

I gripped the door handle and smiled while I assured him that I was not nervous while he drove. He in turn said very reassuring things like, “I haven’t done THIS yet! Wow, I think I like driving at night better!”

He didn’t do that bad. He was every bit the overly cautious, beginning driver. Mike even said he didn’t do too bad. Ethan can’t take his behind the wheel test until August. As far as I am concerned, August can take as long as it likes getting here.