I'd Like To Thank The Academy...

Whoa. I have just realized that I have neglected to thank some extremely important, influential people who were WAY instrumental in jump-starting this infantile blog. Please accept this recognition, extremely late, but still sincerely heartfelt. I’m just lame.

First, I would like to thank my uber-cool, hip 60-something Dad, who suggested that I write a blog. I am SOOOO uncool that didn’t even know what a blog was, so thanks dad, for being way more in the scene than I am. When I check into to Blog Rehab, I’ll blame this life-altering addiction on you.

Thank you Sheri at http://myminivanisfasterthanyours.com/. Sheri gave me terrific advice when I repeatedly and annoyingly e-mailed her for help and she kindly directed me to…

Jennifer from http://playgroupsarenoplaceforchildren.com/. Jennifer, aka Ghandi, your wonderful, step by step tutorials were my BIBLE. They were perfect for someone as remedial as myself. I appreciate your responding to all of my freshman type questions. If it hadn’t been for you and your guidance, I would not have a blog. No way. No how. Sniff…you are the wind beneath my wings…Thank you!

Thank you to both Alice from http://elegantthimble.blogspot.com/ and Sus from http://wigglerooms.blogspot.com/. You both were the first readers of my very primitive blog! I will always be eternally grateful! I look forward to your comments and I get so much inspiration from your humor and wit.

Thank you to my mom, stepmom and sister M, for religiously reading this blog and supporting me in this new habit. I so appreciate your love and patience with me. Mostly, thank you to my beloved Jerry for allowing me to sit comatose for hours on end, in front of this computer, neglecting our kids. You have once again picked up the slack and the house and I love you for understanding.

If I have forgotten to thank you, I am sorry. This is beginning to sound like an Academy Award show, and the orchestra music is starting to play, cutting me off.

Jumping Into An Empty Pool, Head First

I have just realized something. I started this blog eagerly and explosively, about things that amuse me, pain me and annoy me. But I haven’t really given an introduction to background info. It’s kinda like jumping into an empty pool, head first. I think I’m supposed to do something like that. Please excuse my ignorance and freshman-ness. So here it is.

My name is Amy, yes, it’s my real name. If I was going to make one up, it would be something super sexy and mysterious, like... Roxanne or... Monique. My husband’s real name is not Jerry. I don’t know why I chose it, and now every time I write it, I think of Tom and Jerry, chasing each other around, stepping on each other's tails and blowing each other up. Jerry and I have been married for 11 fun, happy years. He is an amazing partner and I am lucky to have him. He cleans. He cooks. He cleans some more. He...completes me. (Cornball) He always leaves me the last bite of the ice cream sundae we are sharing.

Our 11 year old coca poo is Tatum, her real name. She was our test run for babies. We thought, if we can’t kill a dog, it's possible we would be capable of parenting human babies someday. Tatum still acts like a puppy when people come over, jumping and licking them. Very annoying, but good to see she still has some spunk in her. Otherwise, she is 10 lbs overweight and stinks despite her monthly doggy spa day. We think she may be rotting inside.

Cole is not our son’s real name. He has a close friend named Cole from kindergarten, and they bonded. He named his first Webkinz Cole and his second Webkinz, Colester. Patty is not our daughter’s real name. A year ago, she announced, “Today, my name is Patty. Only call me Patty.” We introduced her as "Patty" to her teachers and she even signed herself in as "Patty". We don’t know a single Patty. Not a distant relative or a “Hi, my name is Patty, and I will be your server tonight” that we can recall. We don’t know where this bizarre alias came from, but, here it is.

I have worked as a pharmaceutical sales rep in AZ for close to 10 years, full time. I created this blog as a way to figure out how to be a better working mom.

So that's the background stuff. Whew! Now I don't feel like the girl at the party who talks your ear off and you just met her 3 seconds ago.

45 Back To School Items for $18.95

I am totally mental. Or I have wayyyy too much time on my hands. How, you might ask, can a full time working mom of two and wife of one possibly have “too much time on my hands”? Upon perusing the kids’ back to school supply lists, I almost had a coronary. There were 56 items total that I needed to purchase for both kids combined. I took the two lists and made one list so my head didn’t have to ping pong back and forth between these two rambling pages. The Sunday ads from Walmart, Walgreens, Office Max and Staples were all laid out for a side by side comparison of all school supplies. I have no doubt turned into my stepdad who will drive 10 extra miles because tomatoes are on sale at that grocery store vs. the one I’m standing in right now.

At Walmart, there were 70 page spiral notebooks for .05, what a smokin’ deal! I searched high and low to no avail. NO 70 page, nickel spirals were in sight. Not one. Just as my eyes started to well up, I asked a clueless, unhelpful Walmart employee where they might be. No reply. Just then, turning the corner on two wheels, an evil, fleeing woman had her cart LOADED to the gills with FULL BOXES of 70 page spirals. Pig. She was running, escaping from anyone in DESPERATE NEED of spiral notebooks, witnessing her overzealous hoard, as she ignored my desperate cry, “WHERE DID YOU FIND THOSE?!?!”

Alone and downtrodden, I was about to give up hope, when a mysterious woman shopper overheard my plea, and with a dirty, cracked fingernail, she pointed in the direction that the coveted spiral notebooks were hidden. The golden treasure was innocently waiting on a hand cart, quietly resting in its cardboard box still, untouched. I took 3 in the colors specified on the list and hugged them to my chest. A successful shopping trip at 4 stores, purchasing 45 out of the 56 items listed for a mere $18.95 in less than 2 hours (kids not present). Go me, go me… I am waiting for the remaining 11 items to go on sale, in which I will probably visit 7 different locations. Think I need a life?

Psycho Mommy With Fangs

Since my last mushy post about Cole, I thought it was only fair to write a similar, loving post about Patty, because I know someday, she will be outraged that I didn’t compose one about her. Just as I was gearing up to write, we had a record-breaking Super Nanny type day with Patty that left me reeling.

She finally had pushed me to the limit and I reacted by transforming into psycho mommy with fangs. I threw her in time out and topped it off with threatening to “quit and get her a new mommy”, the ultimate stooping to a 5 year old level, I know, I know. She became even more hysterical and I hugged her and apologized for saying such nonsense. She then asked, “If we get a new mommy, you wouldn’t come to the wedding, then, would you?”

The next day I felt so lethargic from the heated interchange, it had exhausted my brain, coupled with intense PMS, led me to the only thing that would cheer me up, a Sunrise from Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. It’s not on the menu, but they will make it for you. It is reminiscent of an Orange Julius from the mall of yesteryear. If you are unfamiliar with this decadent treat, it’s an orange juice, vanilla slushie. Kinda like a dream cycle melted. I was in such bad shape mentally, I rebelled and got a medium.

I will write nice things about Patty, when I’m in a better frame of mind to do so. In the meantime, I need to figure out how to better deal with her “spicy” personality. What I’m doing now is just not working. Any ideas besides duct taping her to the wall until she’s 18?

A Pre-Menstrual Sappy Post: For the Love of Boys

A Pre-Menstrual Sappy Post: For the Love of Boys

Our son, Cole melts my heart. I just have to brag about him here. He listens. He fears our threats. He is sensitive and sweet to others. He is kind to animals. The kid puts on clothes and doesn’t care, unlike his temperamental little sis, Patty, whose room looks like a pink, sparkly clothing tornado hit it. He wants to please us and usually does.

Cole and his friends play quietly and without much conflict. Pokemon cards are traded fairly, they take turns while navigating through semi-violent video games. When the light saber battles begin, there are blaring sound effects from their smiling mouths, and death scenes are dramatic and hilarious. If there is some sort of disagreement, it is resolved quickly, without tears or grudges. At times, testosterone levels increase, tempers flare and fade just as quickly as they emerged. Best buddies again in the blink of an eye.

He has become fiercely competitive on the soccer and baseball fields, often talking trash with competitors, and having to sit out. “They cheated!” is a common explanation why our team lost. Good sportsmanship has been a hot new concept in our home lately.

He still cuddles with his Daddy in the morning, just as he did as a baby, except his now 8 year old body stretches close to the length of mine. Cole and I share socks. I can tell when he’s worn mine because the bottom is charcoal black and holes appear.

He still lets me hug and kiss him in public and holds my hand when we are walking into camp. I can’t help but wonder how much longer I’ll have this pleasure until it becomes “not cool”. Oy, cry me a river just thinking about it. I will now go take a Midol, watch Steel Magnolias and wait for my “friend” to come so my hormones can chill out.

Why Don't My Lunches Look Like Brady Bunch Lunch?

I loathe making lunches. Cole and Patty are currently in day camp for three more weeks. The camp has convenient lunches available to buy, but I’d have to sell one of my children to afford it for the remaining one. It’s not like they are gourmet meals either, folks. We’re talking pizza and mac and cheese. So I will gripe and gripe and gripe some more and make my own lackluster lunches. I usually procrastinate until Sunday night, when I am tired and cranky and dreadfully anticipating Monday’s chaos.

Both my kids are ultra-picky to the point of annoyance. Add that fun factor to the two food restrictions of the camp: no meat (due to religious reasons) and no peanuts or anything made with peanuts out of respect for the peanut allergic kids. This considerably narrows our window of choices close to the menu offered in prison.

Because of my somewhat anal retentive nature (hard to believe, I know), I create an assembly line of 2 rows, 5 bags in each and start dropping the food in, so it’s all packed for the whole week. My sister, a tenured preschool teacher says, “We make fun of parents like you.”

How did Mrs. Brady pack 6 lunches every day for her bunch? Oh, I forgot, they had Alice, who lovingly packed each kids’ special favorites each day. The food groups were probably all represented in each perfect lunch. Why don’t my lunches look like Brady Bunch Lunch?

Some of the delectable choices Cole and Patty agree to eat:

Main course: portable yogurt, jelly sandwiches, edemame, plain bagels and cream cheese, “not too saucy” cheese pizza.

Sides: string cheese, baby carrot bags, individual applesauce cups, Goldfish crackers “the cheddar kind, NOT the rainbow kind, they taste yucky”, Pirate’s Booty, pretzels.

Fruit: apples or grapes (cut in half for fear of choking…ok, I know, my kids are 8 and 5, they can probably handle a whole grape, but I’m paranoid).

Beverage: organic chocolate milk (I make sure you know it’s organic so I can appear somewhat health conscious), Capri Sun fruit juice, “but not Wild Cherry”, this flavor has been permanently vetoed.

As long as my kids have somewhat of a nutritionally sound caloric intake, and are growing at an acceptable rate, I’m happy. If a professional dietitian analyzed this horrific lunch menu, they would sadly inform me that in the future, I can expect lactose intolerant, fat kids. I say, we’ll smash that bridge when we come to it.

Any ideas for other edible possibilities? Please leave any thoughts, comments or scoldings for my lame lunches.

Our Wild, Dirty Saturday Night

Our passion paid off...

At first, I really wasn’t in the mood, but I knew that once things were in action, I would get sooo into it. I couldn't wait to put the kids to bed. It had been a long time, and I knew Jerry was wondering when the next time would be. I was so excited…my palms were sweaty and my heart was pounding. I was actually salivating just thinking about it. I couldn’t wait to get down and dirty…mom, shield your eyes…and…

...clean out the bathroom drawer. What did you think I was going to say? Such dirty minds!

I haven’t had the desire to clean out this drawer in years. There was a leaky toothpaste tube that was oozing all over the heaping mounds of junk in the drawer that set me over the edge. I had to service the drawer immediately.

There were extra buttons in mini zip-lock bags, the kind attached to a new shirt, incase you pop one off and need a spare. Scattered bobby pins and safety pins attached to dry cleaning paper tags. So many of Patty’s hair accessories. Abandoned barrettes and bows and elastic pony tail holders in a rainbow of colors and sizes, all of which she has rejected. I could open up my own Claire’s Accessories store in right here in my bathroom. Free trial sizes of shampoos, conditioners and lotions lurked in the back sticky corners. Seven, small, blue and white, round tins of Glide dental floss I got from the dentist as a parting gift, and vowed to be a more dedicated flosser every time. It was so exhilarating, I didn’t want to stop.

I was feeling wild, so I went down... below the sink. Ohhh, it was so bad, it was good! There was a pack of horrible, old, cardboard tampons, a crusted calamine lotion bottle, hairspray canisters that were shellacked to the shelf. Rancid cotton balls that missed the trash basket. A dino curling iron with brush attachments. Ahhh, now this is just what I needed to relieve all the tension I have been feeling lately.

Lastly, I climbed up on top and mounted... the sink. I forged into the medicine cabinet. It was sooo neglected and needed my love. I pulled out expired Benadryl, Imodium and Triaminic cough syrup. I even found an ancient mercury thermometer I used when Cole was a newborn. I discovered a murky bottle of 15 year old perfume that Jerry bought me when we were dating. We discovered things that hadn't been touched in years!

What wild and dirty Saturday night! I felt like a new woman. I decided that we need to make a habit out of this. Jerry was thrilled that I finished and was overwhelmingly satisfied with the job.

Thelma and Louise, Minus Louise and Brad Pitt

The furthest point in my sales territory is a 3 hour drive from home. When I initially learned of this far, far away podunk town that I was required to visit once a month, I was quite concerned about the enormous distance away from my kids. I envisioned every far-fetched, horrific, disastrous event that could possibly happen to Cole and Patty and I would be a lengthy 3 hours away . Once I came to grips with the fact that Jerry would be capable of handling the catastrophic situation, I thought this destination might evolve into somewhat of a mini “get-away”.


Podunkville has turned into a “Thelma and Louise” type chick empowerment adventure, minus Louise and Brad Pitt. It does suck leaving the house before the sun comes up, however, I have the luxury of getting ready ALONE, with no little mouths requesting the impossible, no refereeing wrestling matches or meltdowns about wanting to wear a bikini top with a miniskirt.

I drive without neon bouncy balls flying into the front seat, no rotater cuff twists reaching towards the backseat, collecting unwanted gum. I am my own DJ of the fabulous Sirius radio. I am not forced to listen to Hannah Montana or the Jonas Brothers, or Jerry’s fave, the weather station. I pumped up The Clash’s classic: Should I Stay Or Should I Go? on the 80’s station, and there was some serious head-banging going on in my ride. Besides the stellar music, I can catch up with abandoned friends on the cell , without being interrupted constantly that “she hit me!” ,“NO, he hit me first!”

With the exception of a few 18 wheelers, the road is empty. The town I am journeying to is no thriving metropolis, folks. There is open, roasted desert on either side of the desolate freeway, flanked by majestic mountains in the distance, oh, and how perfect, a landfill that you can faintly smell…mmmm. Heaven.


Podunkville is the type of place that you would stop in to pee as a very last resort because you couldn't hold it anymore and your bladder was on the verge of exploding. It’s mostly an impoverished community, dilapidated stores and a few old time gas stations line the crumbling streets. There is a donut shop in a trailer. Yes, a trailer. Popular front yard landscaping trends are ancient, rusted cars up on blocks. There is a nearby casino and grocery store, which are the two major employers in the town. One local exclaimed, “We got a Subway sandwich shop now, woo wee!!!” I remember feeling that way when we first got Nordstrom’s a few years ago. The same thing? Sure it is.

I visit 6 doctors there, who are welcoming and glad to see a rep, which makes the 3 hour trek well worth the haul. It is such a tiny community, when I enter an office, they know instantly that I’m not "from 'round here." Today, a Podunkville citizen affectionately called me, “city slicker.” When he grinned, he resembled a old, leathered jack-o’-lantern, missing a few essential teeth here and there. His wife chuckled at her clever hubby, revealing a matching smile. I guess dental plans are tough to come by ‘round here'.

As I leave Podunkville, I revel in the feeling that I am a strong, independent woman, like Thelma and Louise, out on the open road, living on the edge, well, kinda, after all, I am there to do my job. For just a short time, I get to be just a chick driving with old school music rockin’ in my four door sedan with two booster seats in the back.

Scorpion Slayer

We live in the desert. We are invading their home, they are not invading ours.

These tree-hugging statements are ringing in my ears when I complain about the creepy scorpions lurking in our home. I say B.S. I pay the mortgage. Last I looked, scorpions are freeloaders and terrorists.

They resemble minuscule, evil lobsters. We often hear, they are good, they eat the bugs. Bring on any bug you like, I would rather live with any, well…except maybe the cockroach. Or… big, hairy wolf spiders. Or tarantulas. Ok, I just hate all buggy insecty things.

Scorpions sting with their long, prong-ended tail. They do not die after they sting, like a bee’s ultimate fate. They continue living after they have stung, you could call them the OJ of the insect kingdom. (Disclaimer: I know, I know, the word “allegedly” should follow, wink, wink.) They usually sting more than once, if the opportunity is still there.

We live in a deserty area right against the mountain, so we knew when we bought our home, that scorpions would be a part of our life. We had our house professionally sealed, which is where they caulk the foundation around the perimeter of your house to keep the little bastards out. Like The Pill, it is not 100% effective. In the past 2 weeks, we have had 3 INSIDE, where my innocent kids frolic barefooted. Two were dead, one, very much alive and creeping across our bathroom floor. This is how I usually handle it:

1. I begin to curse loudly at the vile creature. Like this will deter the thing. “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE YOU MOTHER $#@%ER!!! GET THE F OUT!!!”

(P.S. this is the closest to cursing I have done thus far on my blog. I figure I need to work up to it. I’m trying not to offend the 2 readers that visit this blog, other than my parents, BTW, thanks for your support!)

2. Scream for Jerry. When he doesn’t respond, I get a shoe (This is a monumental decision that must be made swiftly. I cannot corrupt a new, cute pair, so I grab an old, last season’s pair) and violently squish the putrid guts out of the horrendous bastard so there is no sign of life whatsoever. I hope the mo fo suffered.

3. Become totally wigged out, Terminator-like, searching the tainted room with a flashlight, looking for friends and distant cousins of the horrid creature. Sometimes I leave the dead ones as a warning to other fellow scorpions: This could be you!

For I am the Scorpion Slayer, fear my last year’s sling-back and prepare to DIE, MO FO! DIE! I'm sure there is a better way to handle this. Any thoughts on how to improve my bug killing strategy?

4th of July, Sponsored by Macy's

When I picture 4th of July, I envision an All-American BBQ, with crisp, red and white checkerboard tablecloths, lemonade, watermelon and kids dressed in red, white and blue, right out of a Land’s End catalog. When it gets dark, everyone snuggles together on a blanket and has a stellar view of the multitude of colorful fireworks. “Ohhh, ahhh” can be heard all around. It’s kinda like New Years Eve WHEN WE WERE SINGLE…we had such high hopes for the PERFECT magical evening, to be attending an amazing party with TONS of successful, interesting guys that would be swooning over us, right at midnight…

My perfect 4th of July has never happened yet. Maybe next year. We had a low key BBQ with my mom and then went for a much needed swim. Here in AZ, it is not just hot, it’s FHOT. On the news, they periodically show a zany newscaster frying an egg on the sidewalk, to everyone’s delight. I think it’s been over 110 degrees for 4 weeks now, just to give you an idea. Once in the pool, we looked to the south, to see gigantic, hovering black clouds, getting closer and closer. Our kids, native Arizonans, have had limited experience with precipitation. They immediately notice the cluster of clouds and start to WIG OUT. HARD.

“MOMMY,….THERE’S A TORNADO COMING!!!! HURRY!!! LET’S GET INSIIIIIDDDDEEE NNNOOOOOWWWWW!!!! NNNOOOOWWWW!!!"

Full panic has set in. They were reacting like the folks in a scene from Twister. Cole and Patty were scrambling to get their soaking wet, little bodies out of the bathwater temperature pool, scurrying into the house, shrieking, hysterically. They insisted we get away from the windows, that they would smash in at any moment!

We figured fireworks were cancelled, with the upcoming storm heading our way. The storm lasted 30 minutes. Glad to say we all survived. We watched fireworks on TV, sponsored by Macy’s. How All-American.

Crabby Patty

It's been a week since Patty's camp sleepover. Despite a coming down from a night of giggling and no sleep, we had the expected meltdown from Patty, however, that's been it. I keep waiting. Where is it? Usually we spend the morning screaming and ranting so obscenely loud, I'm sure our neighbors down the road wonder if they'll see us on the 6:00 news. Here's how our mornings usually go:

Patty wakes up, a Crabby Patty, and crawls in bed with us, grunting.
If I am already up, getting dressed, there is pure hell to pay, I am supposed to cuddle with her for approx 15 minutes or so.
She demands that I get back in bed and put my pj's back on to cuddle with her. It's like cuddling with Satan at that point.

Next, she refuses to eat breakfast, get dressed or brush her teeth and hair.
Jerry sees it's time to head off to work, so he leaves, heeding safety. (Disclaimer: Jerry has attempted to help cage this tornado, but she will not let him within 3 feet of her.)

She changes about 23 times into shiny, princess dress-up costumes, taffeta flower girl dresses, bikini tops with mini skirts, all to my disapproval. I have gotten over the blind man pattern clashes these days, I am just plain desperate for her to put on something at least weather appropriate.

You' re probably wondering, ...what about that other kid she has? She hardly mentions him...Yes, our older one, Cole, is really an easy, obedient kid. He gets up, gets dressed, eats, follows instructions, is sweet and smiley. There are hardly ever any issues in the morning with him. He is my ray of sunshine during a these recent "storms" with Patty.

When Patty refuses to brush teeth and hair, this is when I officially lose it. We have to get out the door on time, I can hear the clock loudly ticking in my ear. Psychomommy mode kicks in, and I find myself shrieking and counting, "ONE...TWO...I'm almost at three...Ok, last chance...THREE!!!!" The veins are bulging out of my head which is beginning to spin around! I brush her teeth for her, while she is screaming and sobbing, not a pretty sight. I am wondering how the film crew from Supernanny will film this scene when they come to our house.

Last and certainly not least, there is the sunblock showdown. Here in AZ, it is commonplace for sunblock to be a part of the morning routine with temperatures consistently over 110 degrees for 8 weeks straight. Of course, Patty despises sunblock. Of course, we have to do it. I have purchased spray, stick, pink, you name it, we have tried it. Pinning a slippery, wailing child down to apply the sunblock, all while wearing a suit and heels, is a scene fit for America's Funniest Videos. But it's not funny.

So, for the past week, we have been absent of the Crabby Patty. I know it's only a week, but it's been joyous. There has been a new child living in her room. I don't know who she is, but I wanna keep her. Maybe all those pennies in the fountain and stray eyelash wishes really do work.

I'm A Soccer Mom In Heels

Ok, so hence the name, Soccer Balls and Conference Calls, today will be the first theme related post. Yippee! I am exploding on where to even begin when I ponder upon the array of experiences that I have encountered as a working mom.

Throughout my 8 years of mom-hood, I have been working. Working full-time. I still don’t seem to have a handle on it. There are soccer balls rolling around in my back seat amongst the files and pens and maps. Inside my sales bag, I there are Pokemon cards, a few Lego pieces and a silver Barbie shoe at the bottom, along with photos of my kids, which I whip out throughout the day, to catch a glimpse of those precious smushy faces. These odd combinations of elements often pull me in several different directions both emotionally and physically.

As most moms, I am always rushing. Rushing to get the kids to school in the morning. Rushing to get to work. Rushing to pick up both kids from 2 different schools, attempting to get to soccer practice on time without forgetting the cleats, shin guards, a full menu of snacks, books, crayons, paper and a pink plastic Dora cell phone for Patty’s entertainment. I am standing on a soccer field with heels on. The other moms are comfy in flip flops. I am a fish out of water. Where are all the working moms? Could I be the only one working? No, not possible. I just need to find them. This will validate my insanity. Hopefully.