That time I talked about my age and sounded dumb. Not a friday five.

This started out as a Friday five post, but then I got chatty and you know how that goes.  Friday five has turned into Friday five times five (that's twenty five for all of you math wizards.  thank you).  

I'm thinking that I would accept going backwards approximately five-ish years for a do-over.  See how much I'm not a taker? I could have accepted going back to my 20's, but I wasn't taking a mile instead of an inch.  Or whatever that saying is about an inch and a mile.

Don't know that saying?  Me neither.  Moving on.

The reason that I'd like to go back to approximately 35 is that so much has changed since then!  Like, crap.  I'm starting to kind of feel 40ish!  And I thought 40 was supposed to be the new 30!!  What happened to truth in that dumb saying anyway?!  Lately, I feel a little creaky when I get up and I'm pretty sure I have holes in my bones.  Also, my bad eye is worse and I need to hold my cell phone out far to read small text.

That's a shame.  It really is.  Like, I never really thought I cared much about being 40ish, but maybe that's when I just turned 40 and I was still basically in my 30's, except on my birthday I pretty much actually turned 40.  

Suddenly I feel like I'm not making any sense. This would typically be the time that I'd just say screw it and move on to botching another potential post, but guess what?  I'm going to keep plugging along to see if we can make something of this shitforpost.

So anyway, I got this new scale (wooHOO!), and it wirelessly syncs information to your iPhone with an app.  Like, weight information, BMI, percentages of fat and water and muscle and all of that crap hanging around in your body.  Anyway, it stores the information and stuff, for tracking purposes. So after an eternity of trying to get it to work this morning, actually standing around naked in my bathroom while messing with the freaking app because of course I could never weigh myself unless I was fully naked.  TMI?  But really, who would do such a dumb thing?  I can't even wear underpants on the scale, and I seriously contemplate removing my necklace, rings and earrings just you know, for accuracy.  It pains me to weigh myself at a doctor's office.  I suppose if I stripped and got naked there for a weigh in it might be inappropriate.  Very scary to others walking along nearby, and very inappropriate.  Yep. 

Also, I hate being naked in the bright light.  Which is exactly why I have dim bulbs in the bathroom.  And I am not talking about my kids.  I was referring to actual dim lightbulbs.  I think I look slightly less disgusting in dim light, I try to not go over 40 watts around this joint.  Trust me, it's better for all of us that way.

I got the scale because I'm supposed to be getting fit at 40 like two years ago, and it's about time I continue that plan.  Because technically I'm almost 43 now.  So now I guess I'll have to adjust and get fit at 43.  That's lame.  But whatever.  I need to get fit.  And by fit, I mean less disgusting.  I think my new scale will help a little with that, because I like gadgety things, and I'll kind of like stepping on the scale and syncing gadgety things and stuff, but I'll only like the cool scale if things start moving in the right direction.  And by "right direction," I mean down, far far down.  And when things start moving in the right direction, I'll feel less old I think.

Also, I took my blood pressure today and I am still hypertensive.  That is definitely not healthy.  And I'm sure that's why I've had a dumb headache for three days.  Probably I am dying.  Watch, I'll make this great effort to get fit, and then I'll die.  That stinks.  I won't even be able to enjoy my fitness.  Well, at least I'll get to wear a nice fit-person death outfit in my coffin!

I'm such a glass half full kinda girl.

notes from the fridge. literally.

Incidentally, doesn't it bug you when people say literally, but they don't really mean literally?  That instead they're just using it for emphasis or something?

Literally means actually - like actually doing what you're saying.  Like, if you said, "My head was literally about to explode," that would be bullshit.  Because really, whose head is really going to explode?  What circumstances would you be in that such a thing would occur?  Besides like, you know, if you were in the Walking Dead and one of the guys mashed your head in with a shovel or something.  That's probably one of the only times literally would fit with an exploding head.

So yeah, I was serious went I said "literally" about notes from the fridge.  Two of the following notes were actually inside my refrigerator.  I have an odd family.  What can I say?  More than likely it's all my fault.  Sometimes the notes I get are funny, sometimes sad, sometimes they make my heart fill.

I love my kids:

Apparently, Brooke does NOT like almond milk.  

This was on the "really good milk,"

A little poem from Brooke - she loves me, yes she boes. :)

Not from one of my kids, but too cute to not include.

I got "Boo Mom, Boo mom" and a sad face because I hurt her feelings.  
The broken hearts and sad faces kill me.

"puup" = poop.  She was just letting us know...

On the counter one morning from Alex.

From Megan 

I will always need cheese in my life

Someone posed this question recently, and I have been thinking about it ever since.  Because I love food.  The question was, what 5 foods would you be devastated over if you could not ever eat them again.

Number one has to be cheese.  Cheeses in fact.  I am a cheese lover.  Goat cheese, mozzarella, swiss, blue cheese, cheddar... oh man.  Life would definitely not be the same without cheese.

Avocados.  I would eat an entire avocado every single day for the rest of my life if those thongs weren't so high in calories.

Tomatoes.  But they have to be the good, garden kind.  The kind that when you take a bite, the juice dribbles down your chin.  And yet somehow, that seems slightly sexual.

Dark chocolate.  I believe that chocolate is a food.  It must be.  And also, I read that it's actually good for you to eat a piece of chocolate a day.  Which is exactly why I eat three pieces of chocolate a day.  I like to err on the side of caution.

Bread... ah bread.  I love bread.  I try not to eat too much of it, really.  Carbs are not my BFF.  But I love toast so much, and I love dinner rolls.  And that kind of bread that you get at the Macaroni Grill with the rosemary in it that you dip in the oil... mmmmmmmmmmm

Welp, I am officially hungry now.  Better go figure out what to do about that.  What foods would you miss like crazy if you couldn't have them?

zombies and momi-vans

OMG you guys, just look what I found!!!

I will say this once, and once only.  If I ever (probably never) decided to get a momi-van sticker family - this would be the one I would get!!

I know, I know, I have strongly mentioned on more than one occasion that I openly mock (fine, not openly.  in the privacy of my car I mock.) sticker families on the momi-vans.  I can't help it.  It's just so... cheesy?  Or something?  

But seriously OMG.  That up there is a ZOMBIE sticker family.  And my new favorite show is currently The Walking Dead, which I resisted seeing for three whole seasons before finally caving.  And thank Cod I did cave, because wow.  What a great show.  I mean, I was thinking, who in the world would watch a stupid TV show about zombies?  Zombies.  Really?

And then I caught like, five minutes of an episode and I was all, well hm.  That actually does look pretty freaking good.  I couldn't look away.  So we popped on the Apple TV and pulled up season one.  And then we didn't go to bed til approximately 6 hours had passed.  Because season one had like 6 episodes in it.  And we couldn't turn it off.  It was that good.  My husband stayed up watching TV til 2 in the morning with me.  Shocking.

So when I saw the zombie sticker family, I was all "OMG Zombies!"  And I momentarily considered how cool it might be.  Then I counter considered how cheesy it still is, zombie or not.

Damn but I can't pull the trigger.

friday five

4:35 pm

I'm kind of at a loss of what to say, after seeing and hearing and reading all of the details about the latest school shooting.  

Ugh.

Yesterday, I was at the elementary school helping out in Brooke's classroom.  The kids were making gingerbread houses.  As I was walking through the halls, I happened to glance down the wing where the kindergarten classes are.  I noticed a little kindergartner that I know skipping down the hall.  Just skipping along without a care, without a worry, pigtails swaying from side to side.  And I smiled, because how could you not?  That kind of uncomplicated joy always gets me.

The thought that someone would come into a kindergarten (or any) classroom, and look at those little innocent faces... the thought that someone would consciously make the decision to destroy them, shatter families, futures, communities - I can't even begin to understand.  

I feel sick imagining what the families of those children are dealing with, right this minute - in a little town not all that far from my own.  Those parents that waited before driving away to make sure their child made it safely inside the school doors this morning, as I did.  Maybe they caught a backward glance, or a little wave or a smile, as I did from my child this morning.  Then maybe they drove off, feeling secure that the doors were closed, that their child was in a safe spot for the next six hours away from home, as I did.

What an unbelievable, tragic, unnecessary loss.  I wish I knew how to reassure my kids that they are safe, I wish I knew how to reassure myself.  

in related news, my kid high-fived a priest in church... twice.

So we're Catholic.  Probably negligent and poor excuses for Catholics, but Catholic none the less.  I suppose we are referred to as the "CEO" Catholics - mostly we attend mass at Christmas and Easter only.  I'm not proud, and I accept all blame for sure.  I don't even have a good reason for being such a slacker. I mean, growing up we went to mass every Sunday except when it was time to turn the clock back because my mom would always forget and we'd be all so excited she missed it.  I guess some of my slacking definitely relates to social anxiety issues that I've struggled with for years.  

Anyway, since they were old enough, our kids have attended religion classes, been baptized, received the First Holy Communion and been confirmed.  Brooke is currently in the grade to receive First Holy Communion, and she's learning the things she needs to learn before getting communion.  

One of the steps is that she has to go to confession.  She goes to the church and says a prayer then confesses a few sins to the priest.  I'm not sure how sinful a seven year old can be, but mostly she 'fessed up about hiding something under her bed instead of picking up, tattling on her sister, sneaking candy - you know, very sinful stuff.

Brooke's class had practiced confession prior to the actual ceremony with our regular priest, but during the actual event at the church, she ended up going to the helper priest guy, this really old priest from a different church in the next town.  Each kid does this individually - like, the parent doesn't go up with them to help or anything.  At the end of the confession, the old guy priest put his hand up over her head, like, I guess in the movement of saying a prayer over her or something.  It was definitely different than the way our regular priest does it.  She looked confused for a moment, then suddenly popped up out of her seat and smacked that old priest five.  Right there on the alter, in the middle of the ceremony.  She was all proud that she figured it out - thinking he was high fiving her for a job well done.

So, OMG.  Yep.  My kid had just proudly high-fived a man of the cloth on the alter.  So the priest looks all flustered, and is like, "No, no, no..." and puts his hand up to do it again, a little higher, out of her reach.  So she promptly stands up, jumps up (to reach his higher hand of course), and smacks him five again.  Like she was going for a jump shot in basketball.

It was awful -- it's not like we could go up and correct her.  Eventually she grasped the fact that he wasn't looking for some skin, her cheeks were so red you could see how mortified she was from the back of the church.  She is so easily embarrassed.

I wish I had a camera.  I probably shouldn't have laughed hysterically.  You know that shoulder-shaking kind of laugh, where you have to put your head down and sort of adjust your hair in front of your face so it looks like maybe, possibly you're crying?  That laugh that you cannot, for the life of you, control?  Unfortunately, I am famous for those particular types of fits in church settings. I seriously have an inappropriate laughter problem.

I'd like to think that God has a sense of humor.  But maybe I need to go to confession.  You know, just in case he doesn't. 

can being a part of flash mobs be an occupation?

When I'm by myself and deep in thought, chances are I am either daydreaming about impossible things, or pondering what I want to be when I grow up.  Never mind that I am pushing 43.  OMG.  I just realized that I really am turning 43 in like, two months!  Where did 42 go?!  Shit!

Moving on.

I just want to be in a flash mob.  It's actually in my official bucket list.

What kind of job can someone get that is related to flash mobbery?  Sadly, I'm not a very good dancer.  I really have no rhythm and I definitely don't believe that I could pull off like, anything too involved, like Michael Jackson dance moves.  Or the electric slide.  I can stand there and bob my head, basically.  I do have a few signature moves, but they somewhat resemble Elaine from Seinfeld's infamous moves.

But probably more like Fat Monica on Friends.  Without the donut.  Because that could really pose a choking hazard.



I may even have that outfit.  Did I just day that out loud?

Anyway, I think being in random flash mobs would be an awesome occupation.  I am a great organizer!  I could organize the flash mob and then stand there and watch it like a superstar.  Like a superstar spectator.  That would probably be more up my alley.  Organizing, standing, and spectating while head bobbing.  At the same time.

It's not very fair that my mother never put me in dance classes growing up.  I blame her for my lack of rhythm.  Because of that, I'll more than likely never make it into the flash mob business. 

Damn it.

friday five - things not to say to your wife

It's Friday, about 5:45.  Not the best day ever, but I'm hoping it'll look up at some point.  I'm not banking on it though, there just aren't enough hours left in this day to really turn it around.

I was thinking maybe I'd post something upbeat.  I was thinking I could grab some post that I'd written before, on another day, and tweak it enough so it was post-able.  I did make an effort.  I weeded through some unposted posts, started tweaking... I guess I'm just not feeling it.

There's no real rule, that I have to post something substantial today.  I'm the boss of me, here.  So since I'm just not in the mood, I'll post something funny, that made me chuckle a little when I needed something to smile about.  Check it out:

the last word, v8

People Magazine has this feature thing on the last page of their magazine.  On the last page, they have a feature called the last word (so clever!) where a celebrity answers a few questions on the last things they've done.  So even though I'm not a celebrity or anything (wait. what?!), I'm going to go ahead and answer the questions.  Because, why not?


The last thing I do before I go sleep at night besides taking a swig of water and putting on lip balm would probably be closing my eyes and imagining moments that I don't want to forget.  Imagining moments that I want to dream about when I'm finally asleep.  

The last celebrity crush I had, hm.  I am not much for having crushes, but the last celebrity guy that I sat there and said, man he is freaking adorable about was probably Ian Somerhalder.  Seriously. Adorable.  And oh, Jesse Williams.  His eyes are killer.

The last car I purchased was for my husband I guess.  Kind of a nice, low key Mercedes, it's pretty fun to drive.  I can't exactly say I purchased it all by my big self, but I think both of our names are on the loan and we picked it out together.  

The last time I was domestic would have to be about 45 seconds ago when I straightened up the family room.  Because that's what I do.  I am a domestic champion.

The last home I purchased was the home I live in now, which we built in 2004.  We're currently in the process of buying a little lake house, but my lawyer seems to be taking his sweet time getting everything in order.

The last time I splurged would have to be a little run to San Francisco, if I am talking about a splurge on myself.  Other than that, I splurged on Christmas presents for my kids, for sure.  It's ridiculous.

The last thing I ate would have to be a large handful or two of some Christmas looking Mike & Ike's last night.  They were really tasty.  I guess I should eat something...

The last thing I posted on the fridge was Brooke's expander schedule for her braces.  I can't really post anything on my fridge because it's stainless steel, but I snuck it on the side.  Not that I can see it there or anything.  It just seemed like a fridge post kind of thing.

The last time I cried, oh sheesh.  Yesterday?  I'm sure yesterday.  Driving in my car alone, listening to tunes gets me thinking and tearing up.  Not like a sob or anything, more like a tear or two that never falls.  But man, I'm a fucking wimpy crybaby these days apparently.  When did that happen??

The last gift I gave would have to be to my kids when I got back from San Francisco in October.  I like bringing them home little things from my trips, and it's a good way to get them to let me go without too much of a hard time.

te amo

Te Amo

...Tell me where you come from darling
Tell me where you run to honey
I am only here to listen
And I am only here to fear

Tell me everything about you
Tell me about all the hearts you steal
Fire is burning round me, are you gonna burn with me too
Cause I don't really want this life
All I really want is you

Are you gonna take me up there
Are you gonna help me see
Are you gonna lift this madness 
or are you going to bury me

So shall I run
Or shall I fall, shall I fall for you
I'll burn it down, I'll sell it all 
sell it all for you

...Living my life in shadows
I don't know what this all means 
But I am a seeker 
and I'm seeking you to rescue me
                                      --trevor hall

MILFs are freaks of nature.

I was reading this blog the other day written by this lady who has six kids, and it was a great blog - funny mom-blogs tend to be my favorite.  I am typically drawn to those.  But so like, in the process of reading back a bit, because I had just sort of stumbled across this blog, I saw a bunch of pictures that she had posted while she and her family were hanging at the beach.

This is not a picture from the mom-blog, just a random six-pack from google.  

At first I was like, aw, the poor mom has a hot nanny.  Hopefully her husband isn't a jackass.  And what dumb mom would hire a hot nanny anyway?  But then, then you guys, I realized that the "nanny" with the six pack was actually the mom.  The mom of six kids - and one of those kids was a baby!!  

Like, really??!  Where are the non-perky boobs?  The floppy arms?  Where is the triple double chin?!  Where are the fucking stretch marks that look suspiciously like a road map to Florida is covering her belly?!!  It's not fair.

I remember this girl I went to school with who had a baby kind of young - the year before I did, and she completely led me to believe that I could be cute while pregnant.  She wore a bikini, like 8 or 9 months pregnant, and no joke, totally rocked it.  So of course I was all like, I'll be cute and pregnant!  Yay!

And then I learned first hand that not all pregnant people are created equal.  If I wore a bikini when I was pregnant with any of my four kids, somebody may have reported me to whatever agency out there that would haul my ass home and cover that shit up.  The fashion police?  The pregnancy fashion police!  Trust me, I did not wear anything even remotely resembling a bikini for 9 months times four kids.

If I'm being honest, even when I was cute and young and trim, I rarely wore a bikini.  Actually, it was even hard for me to wear a one-piece without a t-shirt on top.  I was always going out of my way to fade in to the background and not get looked at, and bikinis aren't exactly the way to go with that.

So anyway, it's not fair.  Why can't we all just be MILFs?  Actually, I don't exactly aspire to be a MILF, I just want to look acceptable in public.  I don't think that's too much to ask for.  However, a six-pack would be really nice, but who am I kidding?  I'd settle for a two pack.