Month: September 2009 (page 1 of 2)


Dear Blog Readers,

I’ve missed you.

Life has been holding me hostage with a long list of demands. The bills are screaming, “PAY ME!” The kids keep wanting me to feed them and hug them and “You’re a bear! Chase me! Wheee!” Dave insists on clean clothes for work. And the house has hidden the checkbook, the scissors (the all-purpose ones, not the sewing ones that are FOR SEWING ONLY) and my favorite sandals and won’t give them to me unless I clean it. And the bills are screaming, “PAY ME!” (I know I said that already, but I have a lot of bills.)

Meanwhile, things are happening. Things that result in my belly button being named The Deep Hole of Doom, eye twitches, humiliation and uncertainty of the highest degree as well as joy, nausea, satisfaction and gigglefits. Oh, the stories I haven’t been able to tell you. But I’ll be back to my regular blogging business soon. Right now is kind of like the part in the movie Big where Tom Hanks is writing to his mom and he wants to go home so badly but he can’t because he’s big and who can understand that other than Billy Kopecki. And you know he’ll be back just as soon as he learns a meaningful lesson and finds that damn Zoltar machine.

People, Zoltar is hard to find. But I’m working on it.

I love you and I think of you every day.


P.S. Life says I can get back to blogging everyday, maybe even multiple times per day if you send $30,000 $45,000 $65,000 ONE MILLION DOLLARS. Maybe a housekeeper, too.

The Hump Day Haiku B.I.L.F. – Bent Objects

B.I.L.F. (Blog I Like To Follow)

Bent Objects

a little bent wire
and some everyday objects
posts you’d send to friends

Dusk At The County Fair

sunset at the fair

soft lights flicker on
as the sun slips out of sight
the fun can go on

My girls and me on the merry go round

Etiquette By Julia

After COMPLETELY RUINING a THREE-TIERED cake I’d been working on ALL DAY for my mom’s birthday, I stomped my feet and yelled. “Shit! SHHHIIIIITTT! SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!”

Julia turned to me and said in a very authoritative tone, “Mom, you don’t say shit on someone’s birthday.”

The Story Of A Slide

Climbing up

It’s a long climb up.
But she can do it with her
sister behind her.

Wow!  It's high!

She gets to the top!
Hesitation. It’s so high.
“You can do it, Sis!”


Finally, she slides.
Wee! It’s so fast! What a thrill!
She lands with a boom!


come in hugs from her sister.
“You did it yourself!”

You did it!

“Let’s do it again!”
They run off together both
braver than before.

WWJD? I Can Tell You What He Wouldn’t Do. And That’s Eat At McDonalds.

Dave and I don’t often eat fast food anymore because A) they won’t let me pay for it in serenades and B) we’re trying to be smaller. And fast food makes it hard to be small. I’ve tested the theory and it holds up. I thought I’d found a loophole with my Salad Chaser Diet in which you strategically eat salad with your fast food to fool your digestive system into believing the entire meal consists of salad so it just pushes it right through without absorbing all those calories. But it turns out the digestive system is rather incredulous. Or maybe I don’t really “get” the way digestion works. Either way, the verdict is the same: fast food is my antidote to smallness. Still, I love it. It’s like a bad boyfriend that puts you down and damages your self-esteem so much you begin to believe it’s the best you can get, maybe even deserve, and so you stick around and feel thankful for what you’ve got, because it’s better than nothing, right? And, okay, so you fight a lot, so much your stomach hurts and you have diarrhea every morning, but the make up sex is soooo worth it. After you’ve showered, of course. And so, when Dave and I had cause to eat fast food recently, I got a little excited.

“So, where do you wanna eat?” I asked Dave casually, trying to hide the fact that my insides were shaking.

“Anywhere. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Me either. I’ll eat anywhere you want.”

“I don’t have a preference, so you pick.”

It was just like old times. Eventually we determined that this decision was too big for either of us.

“What would Tom Cruise do?”

“Are you kidding? Tom Cruise doesn’t eat fast food.”

(An aside: When Lucy needs something, she cries out, “Help me!” in a way that reminds me of Ricky Bobby shouting, “Help me, Tom Cruise!” in Talladega Nights. So when she shouts, “Help me!” I can’t resist calling out, “Help me, Tom Cruise!” It’s starting to catch on. Dave and Julia are picking it up, and now and then, Lucy cuts right to the chase and gives me a “Help me, Taaa Cooooos!” So, “Help me, Tom Cruise!” It’s kind of our thing. That and “Grimmetts on three! GRIMMETTS!”)

“Well, what would Jesus do?”

Dave wrote all of our options on tiny pieces of paper, put them in a cup and said, “Okay, pick.”

I reached in and pulled out a piece of paper, but before I could open it, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of dread, so I set it aside. “No. No. That’s not the one. That one gives me a bad feeling.” And then Jesus led me to pick Hardee’s. And it was good.

“Just out of curiosity, let’s see what the first one you grabbed was,” Dave said, opening the paper.

It was McDonald’s.

A few days later, Dave rushed off to work for the weekend. He was in such a hurry, he neglected to pick up the lunch bag I’d packed with three days worth of healthy meals and snacks lovingly measured and labeled with caloric values. I worried that he was going to spend his weekend hungry and grumpy, though he assured me he’d get by. And by “get by” he meant “go to McDonald’s” which made me less worried and more angry, if I’m being honest.

Now, this is where things get freaky.

Dave went to McDonald’s to eat twice that weekend. As I was balancing our bank account today I discovered that each time, the total of his bill was $6.66.

If that isn’t a warning straight from Jesus, I don’t know what is.

P.S. I feel compelled to confess to you that I drove through Tim Horton’s for an iced cinnamon roll and a medium diet coke after I dropped Julia off at school and while Lucy was napping in her car seat. Then I stopped at the car wash to throw the evidence away before I came home so no one else would know, which is wrong and I AM SORRY. But Jesus, at least it wasn’t McDonald’s.

P.P. S. Help me, Tom Cruise!

4 a.m.

I’m not sure what’s worse:
having nothing to write or
something, but no time

A Video In Which Lucy Says Hello, Sings Her ABC’s Until She Gets Bored, Then Acts Like A Zombie

Isn’t It About Time For The Fall Television Season To Start?

I have this giant calendar in my dining room that I use to keep organized with a color-coded system. Financial things, like paydays and bill due dates are written in green; work schedules are in black; the girl’s activities are in blue; and important events like parties and appointments are in red. I also have a post-it note system, but that doesn’t matter because what I really want to tell you is MY RED PEN IS MISSING which may not seem like a big deal, but OH MY GOODNESS IT IS. Of all the pens to disapear, the red is the most important. Now, my whole system is screwed, I’ll probably overlook picture day now that it’s in blue and not red and I mostly just want to kick things.

Additionally, Julia’s black leotard is missing. And I have seven sippy cups and only three sippy cup lids. Also, all of my medium size plastic containers are gone.

This is how people go insane, my friends. I know because I accused Dave of stealing all my missing items and he was like, “You are going insane.”

“Is this because I keep stealing your work space?” I asked. Because I totally do that. Every time he finds a place to work on his laptop, I steal it.


“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” I asked. Because I’ve been watching way too much Cold Case.

Then he made a joke and I told him that this is exactly the kind of conversation they’d show at the beginning of the Cold Case episode where they figured out who killed me, because, you know, FORESHADOWING.

“I’m not going to kill you. Are you trying to talk me into it? Because you’re kind of talking me into it.”


“Because you’re insane.”

“You can’t kill people just because they’re insane! That’s exactly what the Cold Case I watched today was about. This husband murdered his wife because she was insa-”

“Maybe you’re trying to kill me.”

“Ooooh. Trying to turn the tables on me, huh? This is SO like Cold Case.”

“You’re not allowed to watch any more Cold Case.”

“Uh-oh. There’s my motive. You just gave me a motive for killing you, Controlling Husband.”

“You DO understand that this isn’t Cold Case, right?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t kill you. They’d just show this part of our conversation to mislead the audience. In the end, they’d find evidence that you stabbed me in the throat with the missing red pen.”

“I like you so much better when LOST is on.”

Packing Her Lunch

I can’t be with her
so I say I love you with
heart-shaped sandwiches

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