soccer balls and conference calls

Mutha of the Year

2009-06-08T14:07:00.000-07:00

Ok, the only person noticing that I haven't written for forever is my stepmom, Rosemary~ thank you for being my one and only reader! Yea you! So, I'm feeling a little guilt for neglecting this blog that I was so gung ho about one year ago. I'm a starter, not a finisher, per se.

I can finally tell you a "working mom" type story without getting in trouble with my company due to it's extremely confidential and conservative nature. Yippee~! So, I'm sitting in a rough around the edges doctor's office waiting to go back and talk with the docs in the extremely stuffy, pathogen infested waiting room, wondering what venereal diseases are lurking on the cracked, vinyl chair beneath my big fat ass. Eww.

In walks two women with two little ones. I couldn't initially figure out the ages of the women, I had to guess maybe in their late 20's? I later learned that one was the GRANDMOTHER and the other the mother. The kids were about 2 and 3 years old. Super cuties. They sit right next to me despite the multitude of other rows and rows of vacant VD chairs. The little 3 year finds the childrens' books that the office so graciously has available offering a subliminally pro-literacy alternative to the CNN Accent on Health TV that hangs multiply bolted on the ceiling, for obvious reasons.

The little 3 year old boy asks his mommy, "Mommy will you pweese read me this book?" The mommy impatiently snaps, "NO, now go sit over there and watch TV!" I was impressed that the kid said please without any prompting.

The little one asks again, "Pweese mommy, read!" Mommy angrily looks up from intense texting and screams, "WHATEVER! GO WATCH TV AND LEAVE ME ALONE!" I audibly gasped.

Now, have I ever encouraged a little TV watching when I needed to get stuff done? But of course. I'm not judging, I'm just saying. She was just texting. And mind you, on a phone that was way scmancier than mine. This did not irritate me until she started talking to amazingly young grandma about waiting for her Welfare check to come and "When was it F-ING going to come?!" You and I are paying for that fancy phone, probably not stuff for the kids like books or food like it should be intended for. I was steamed. Thank goodness they called me back so I didn't have to witness any more ungrateful texting.

Bad Mammogram, Born Again

2009-04-24T15:46:00.000-07:00

This is a photo of us at The Price is Right: my sister, Marcy, me, Norris and Mom and baby sis Kate.

I'm a born again. Not really. I feel like one today. Or at least I think I know what it feels like to be born again, kinda.

A few Sundays ago, we had Sunday night dinner, which is a regular occurrence for us. The "us" includes my little family, Jerry, Cole and Patty, my sister, brother in law and their two boys and my parents. Usual Sunday night dinner crew. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, until an enormous bomb dropped right there in mom's kitchen, when Mom announced, very casually and somewhat bravely, that she had a "bad mammogram". The world stood very still and the words seemed hazy and unfathomable at that long moment.

They found not one, but two spots that looked suspicious. This is when the stillness was abruptly interrupted by the cancer bomb which fell through the vaulted ceiling, crashing through the granite countertops, hitting the travertine tile with a deafening thud in my heart. Fear coupled with uncertainty and wondering engulfed my seething brain.

Mom was certain that this was going to be "nothing". There is no trace of cancer whatsoever on that side of the family, so it just couldn't be. Cancer. To even think that icky word makes me reel with images of my paternal grandmother curled in the fetal position, calling out for her own mother and not recognizing who I was. My grandmother died at age 65 of breast, lung and brain cancer. This could not happen to my own young, hip mother. I would not allow it.

As you may recall, Mom had just been run over by a Range Rover less than one year ago. How could God zap her with the cancer wand? Not possible. She had two needle biopsies on Tuesday. We waited like lunatics for the life-changing results for three endless days. Three days of knowing deep down that this was "nothing" but not actually knowing. So what if?

The not knowing plays with your mind and forces you to plan. Mom already decided that if it was breast cancer, she would get them "whacked off" and a new perky pair plunked on. I started thinking of all of the physicians that I could ask for good oncology referrals. I would have no choice than to start training for the Breast Cancer Three Day Walk that I had completed a few years ago to show support, but this time it would be to fight. I would start bargaining with God hardcore. There were the plans.

By some sort of miracle, the results were benign. What a wonderful, terrific word, benign. We all breathed a heaving, heavy sigh of relief, screamed and cried and had a beer. We are truly "born again" for this second chance to enjoy life with Mom once again. And I told her to go buy a lottery ticket.

Working Girl

2009-04-03T17:25:00.000-07:00

Hi~ I've come to a startling revelation. Now, I'm certainly not the brightest bulb in the box, but it just occurred to me that I started this blog in hopes that I could help other working moms, like myself, make sense of this crazy "work-life" bullshit. (Notice the cuss word. When I was a virginal blogger, I was wary of offending potential followers who may be sensitive to such brash language, so I never cussed. Now that I realize that only family members and a few loyal, sympathetic friends are the only ones reading this, I'm over it.) Well, it is actually impossible to discuss anything work related on this lonely blog due to the extreme conservativeness of my industry. Coupled with the fact that I live in a Right To Work state, and of course the spiraling economy, ya just never know. So I guess I will just have to be cautious when citing work issues.

I will share one working mom moment that happened to me this week. I was dutifully getting my doddling, leisurely kids off to school, as I frantically do each and every scrambly morning, when my car made a choking, horrific noise and then died in the middle of the intersection about a block or so away from school. I had to get these kids to school on time and get myself to a morning meeting, followed by a lunch with customers and a full day of sales calls. Luckily, a very kind friend pulled behind my defunct car and offered to take my kiddos to school. She was a godsend. Half a dozen moms from school stopped and asked if I needed anything? Coffee? Could they take me somewhere? Do anything to help? Sweet and genuine offers. I stood on the side of the road in my heels and dress, probably looking more like a "working girl" than a working girl. The greasy tow truck came to my rescue, followed by a rancid smelling rental car. Now, two hours late, I could start my corporate day, where I was expected to perform a full day of sales calls, irregardless of the morning mishap. Instead of going 55 MPH today, I had to crank it up to 75 MPH in order to pick up my kids before sunset.

So there's a boo hoo, whiny working mom story for ya. Several jealous thoughts crept in my head like "if i was a SAHM, I could easily just carry on with my day, frustrated with the inconvenience, but knowing that thank goodness I didn't have to be anywhere pressing today." I pushed those thoughts out of my head, and forged ahead, going about my working girl day...

Three Deaths in Two Weeks

2009-02-20T15:56:00.000-08:00

Hi. I'm going to begin with my usual apology for not blogging regularly. So here it is. I. Am. Sorry. That's it. That's all I'm gonna do.

Over the past two weeks, I have been somewhat touched by three deaths. They say bad things happen in threes. I think they do. The first one was our school principal's daughter, who battled depression for years and is finally at peace at the very young age of twenty-five. She was the principal's only child. My brain cannot even begin to fathom the deep and scorching pain that must burn a hole right through your aching sole when something so earth-shattering happens. Awful.

The second death was our Uncle Albert. He wasn't exactly an Uncle, he was my stepdad's cousin, I think. Uncle Albert was like a father to my mom, very caring, kind, gentle and sweet. A good, endearing man who you longed to be around. He talked about "making memories" and the importance of the concept. He was in his late eighties and suddenly was having bizarre delusions, his hands turned black due to some apparent vascular blockage and after a few days of ups and downs he passed away. He is now with his equally lovely wife, Dorothy and their child, Marcy, who died when she was only nine years old. With this much tragedy, how could he have been so kind-hearted? I would have become a menace to society for sure.

The third death occurred today, a rep who works for my company in Tucson, in her early forties passed away. She was having GI issues for a short time, was admitted to the hospital and died during surgery. Unexpected. I just saw her a month ago at a meeting. Hard to believe.

These type of events rock my core. It makes me want to go live better, stronger, to feel alive right this very second. It makes me want to promise that... "I'm gonna..." and then I list stuff that I'm gonna do or not do, so here they are:

I'm gonna...
Not be so nice to EVERYONE~! This is a detriment to myself and I know it. Why do I need to be overly nice to the hostess at the restaurant cleaning off the crumbs stuck to the menus, the lady in front of me at the grocery store who has fifty gazillion coupons, the ultra bitchy acquaintance that doesn't give a crap about me that I smile at anyhow and say, "hi" to, not expecting anything in return but a grimace. I'm tired of being nice. It really sucks. As my mom says, "Nice guys finish last!" So screw it. No more over the top sugary sweetness from this bee-otch. I'm just gonna save it all up for the people who I love and who love me back. So take that~!

I'm gonna...
Make more of an effort to be a better "homemaker". I know you're snickering at the 1950's Leave It To Beaver image and the prospect of me with an apron on, whipping up a casserole in heels and perfect hair. It's kinda funny. I just really hope my kids don't only have memories of me making quesadillas in the toaster oven and pasta ev-er-y sin-gle sol-i-tar-y god bless-ed night~! I also would love it if my husband came through the door and looked amazed and excited when his nostrils filled with the unbelievably savory aroma of a fabulous home cooked dinner, at least once or twice a week, instead of the usual, "whadda you want for dinner?" which usually follows with us eating tortilla chips or an apple. I just finished ironing Jerry's old, faded jeans, so you know I must be serious about this one.

I'm gonna...
Take better care of myself. We just joined a schmancy gym that is three minutes from our house, so we'd better get our flabby asses there. My cholesterol is high and I know it is imperative that I get it under control because I want to be around for my kids to "make memories" with. In the same breath, I'm also not gonna "not live" to the fullest, today I had a Grande instead of a Tall at Starbucks and ate the rest of the king size bag of Cheetos without a single regret. I forgot how absolutely delectable Cheetos are. I even licked my orange stained fingers and held the giant bag up to my mouth and polished off every single fabulous crumb.

I'm gonna...
Love more fully. I tend to hold back at times, not intentionally, but I just do. I am not as verbal or emotionally available to tell my loved ones how deeply I love them, even though I think it. I will try to share my gratitude and love more openly, not to be confused with being too nice though.

Kinda New Year's resolutions like, eh? But they're just "I'm Gonnas" to make me appreciate how fragile and ever-changing life can be. Notice, I didn't include "I'm gonna blog more..." Cuz I can't commit to something that demanding. So there it is for now. Go forward and conquer. And make some memories.

Delusional Winter Break

2008-12-31T14:44:00.000-08:00

I could not wait for Winter Break. Two weeks I had blocked off for vacation from work, so I could stay at home with Cole and Patty and pretend I was a Stay At Home Mom. I had it all planned out, I would bake them delicious blueberry muffins for breakfast, we would giggle while playing rounds of Candyland and Monopoly. Our days would be well planned, riding bikes to the park, creating crafty projects like making castles out of toilet paper rolls and baking cookies together.

Delusional? Oh yes.

My children commented that "these blueberry muffins taste REALLY bad...they are NOT like Bubbie's...", Candyland turned into a wrestling match on top of the kitchen table and my vocal chords are spent from screaming at my darling offspring. ALL. DAY. LONG.

Threats that "...and if you don't behave, I'm cancelling Chanukkah tonight..." hung in the air. Time out after time out and taking away TV time was becoming standard. Where was the Brady Bunch Break I so yearned for?

A few playdates, driving around looking at Christmas lights and cute family movies later, things have become more peaceful and quite wonderful for all of us.

Happy Holidays to All! xo

On Becoming A Hobo and The Great Depression

2008-12-20T18:14:00.000-08:00

Happy Holidays to all, I am late in these wishes to everyone, but I guess better late than never. I have felt less than inspired to write anything once again. Excuse of the month: Holiday hub bub, lists that don’t end. It’s not that I’m so totally slammed with stuff to do, just little things here and there that stress me out.

Cole came home from school the other day stating that in Social Studies, his class was discussing the Great Depression.

“Yeah, mom, um, during like, a really long time ago, like in the old days or something, there was a really bad time and they called it the Great Depression.” Cole explains.

“And…” I prompt, wanting to be assured our tax dollars are hard at work.

“And, like, well, people were very poor because they lost their jobs and so they didn’t have any money. So then they couldn't work and so then, they couldn’t buy any food and they couldn’t live in their house any more. So they had to live on the street. It was sad. “

And the nine year old version of the Great Depression continues, "And my teacher said that history repeats itself and we’re probably going to have a Great Depression, or somthin', like that, Mom.” He looks up at the ceiling, thinking deeply, tapping a pencil in the space where his two front teeth used to be. Long pause… and then, “Why did they call it the Great Depression, it doesn’t sound like it was really that‘great’…”

“No the Great Depression was not ‘great’, Cole. And your teacher might be right. Things are tough right now, Cole. There are people losing their jobs all over the country. Luckily Daddy and I are ok right now. Our jobs are safe at this time. We are just being careful, watching every penny we spend.”

Patty, the quiet, but soaked little sponge sitting nearby, taking in all of this serious commentary, bursts into tears, announcing dramatically, “I don’t want to be a hobo, Mommy!”

Hobo. Hobo? Where did this child get this term? When we were young, a hobo was someone dressed up for Halloween with a stick resting on a shoulder with a filled, red bandanna tied to the end, black smudges painted on their cheeks and tattered clothes. Nothing gets past Patty.

So this holiday season, let’s hope that if we are headed into a Great Depression, that we can make it somewhat ‘great’?...and that Hobos will be somewhat back in style?

Thankful for Mom

2008-11-25T17:57:00.000-08:00

I am thankful for...lots of things, especially this year. Mostly for the fact that Cole is such a sweet, dear person. He had to write what he was especially thankful for this year in school.

He wrote, "I am especially thankful that my Bubbie is feeling better from her car accident."

(Bubbie is my mom) I was overwhelmed with pride, amazement and sadness that he thought enough about her ordeal to put it on paper.

In May 2008, my mom was involved in a "freak accident" as many refer to it. That day, an hour before it happened, I actually ran into her coincidentially. I was working with my manager that day. We were heading into a doctor's office to bring them lunch. My mom was just leaving her appointment in that same office. I introduced my boss to my mom, we laughed about what a small world it was. My mom was then off to get her hair colored, her once-every-three-weeks ritual to keep her grey roots from appearing.

The day went on, and because my boss was in my car, my cell phone was turned off till 5:30 p.m. Once we parted ways, I checked my phone to find about seventeen missed calls from my sister, Marcy. Something was up. My heart pounded as I spoke to her.

"Are you driving?" Marcy inquired.

"Yes, just tell me, what is it?"

"Pull over." she demanded. I was relieved she wasn't crying, so at that moment, I knew no one was dead, because I knew she would have been hysterical if it had been something totally horrific.

"No, just tell me." I stammered, still a little scared for what would come next.

"Mom was hit by a car today." she stated calmly.

"Hit by a car?" It didn't make sense since she drives everywhere.

Long story short, mom was sitting in the chair at the same beauty salon she has been loyal to for the past 25 years, processing with color on her hair, reading a book. A woman who was going to park and head in to get her nails done, allegedly confused the brake and gas and ran her Range Rover through a celing to floor glass wall, through a stuccoed 3/4 wall, hitting my mom, who was sitting on the other side and another woman, and kept driving 25 feet to the back wall of the salon. My mom and the other woman were pinned under the Range Rover, holding hands. The paramedics came and had to use airbags to lift the Range Rover up, so they could pull out my mom and the other woman.

The other woman's injuries were minor and she left the hospital and attended a baseball game that night, we heard. My mom had three fractured ribs, sixteen stitches on her shin and a severe contusion on her eyelid, which called for a very young plastic surgeon to work for three hours hours on the eye. We joked this was one way of getting an eye lift, although it wasn't cosmetic whatsoever. The driver walked away with a few scratches.

"Go home and feed your children dinner. I'm fine" she stated when I arrived at the hospital. After trying to remove the many tiny shards of glass and pieces of drywall from her hair, it was obvious that someone had to be the advocate here, and it was going to be me. As long as I could remain bossy to the doctors and the hospital staff, insisting they replace drugs that were not on their formulary with ones that were less sedating, constipating and other awful side effects, I was not upset. I knew that she would recover and that her injuries were not life threatening, and that made the whole thing less troubling for me.

Mom on morphine and other opioids was memorable. Calling the plastic surgeon, "Doogie Houser", because he looked like he was twelve years old was one classic moment. Yelling at uninvited, nosy, psychotic family members, to "GET THE FU%# OUT!" when they came to visit her out of sheer curiosity was another hysterical incident.

Her attitude throughout this whole ordeal has been, "Hey, I'm still alive." This is insanely heroic and realistic and I admire this outlook immensely. Although she is experiencing some post-trumatic stress at the six month mark here, her progress has been surprisingly accelerated.

I, like Cole am beyond thankful that my mom is still here to celebrate Thanksgiving and every other upcoming holiday and just because it's Wednesday and she is still around.

Cinderella Goes To Scottsdale Fashion Week '08

2008-11-22T10:46:00.000-08:00

Zang Toi Fashion Show from Scottsdale Fashion Week...yeah, I didn't know who he was either.

So, um, I live a very un-exciting, yet happy existence filled with blissful homebodyness with my cute hubby, Jerry, Cole's never-ending soccer practices and games, birthday parties, work, meetings, procrastinating cleaning, starting projects I cannot finish. ZZZZ...asleep yet?

So, when my very exciting, fun friend, Fern called me as I was leaving yet another soccer game, inviting me to accompany her to Scottsdale's Fashion Week that night, I felt like Cinderella did when her fairy godmother appeared to spruce her up for the ball! She scored some VIP passes from her friend, R, to attend three fashion shows: Nordstrom, Rolf's Hair Salon and NY couture designer, Zang Toi. Not only did we attend these three FRIGGIN' FABULOUS fashion shows, but WE SAT IN THE FRONT ROW!!! THE FRONT ROW!!! For a broad that's used to sitting in the nose-bleeds for any concert, sporting event, etc. throughout the course of my somewhat mundane life, hence, THIS WAS HUGE.

Did I feel like Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City, attending all the schmancy NY fashion shows? YEP! Although, I am oceans away from Carrie's overtly sophisticated fashion concoctions. So, back to the Cinderella reference, if you will.

So you might be wondering, "Whatdja wear to the ball, ole Cindy-relle?" Since I work full time, my closet is filled with fairly conservative, safe dresses. Work dresses. Not fashion show dresses. I have my one standby LBD, aka Little Black Dress, which works for cocktail parties (haven't been to one in years), funerals or in my case, it works for going to work. I'm sure amongst the stately, high brow crowd a la couture, clad in the latest, sleekest, beyond my vanilla ice cream fashion level comprehension, I looked like a gal who had just come from work. "One of these things is not like the other..." Yeah, sing it sister. I really didn't care. It was a people watching opportunity fo sho.

As the broomstick-like, starving models floated by us, legs as long as my entire 60" body, adorned with ensembles that were artistic and mind-boggling, little Cindy-relle here, looked down at my own fashion statement. It was then that I realized, my Little Black Dress was from Target, one of my favorite stores. My eyes continued down to my painful, patent leather, peep-toe pumps...hmmm, also from Target. My black clutch, resting in my lap...you guessed it, from Target too. I was head to toe Target Couture amongst a sea of legit coutoury couture folk.

The clock struck midnight and I knew my Tar'ge' boutique threads would soon turn into...well, maybe Walmart garb. Oy. Time to go. My Prince Charming was snoring loudly when I returned back to the castle, and the two little mice were tucked sweetly into their beds. I would dream of the amazing creations that glided down the runway that night, knowing that being the unfashionista was fashionably ok for me.

Patty and I Walked in the JDRF 5K!

2008-11-15T13:46:00.000-08:00

Patty taking a break at the JDRF walk...

Patty and I at the JDRF walk!

Hey everyone! I hope all is well with you all. It seems like November is slipping by way too quickly. I have been meaning to post this monumentally important one, but of course, it seems that there are often so many superfluous obstacles that get in the way like, well, work obligations and my continued obsession with HGTV that prevent me from posting. The usual excuses, right? I should be ashamed of myself.

It’s not that I haven’t been bragging about my daughter, Patty to everyone with human ears over the last few weeks. I have. OH, I have. Quite annoyingly, some might say. So, now I can officially brag to the world: On November 1st, Patty and I awoke VERY early after a LONG and exhausting trick or treating excursion the night before and walked in the JDRF (Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation) 5K in support of her friend, Jack.

When Jack’s mom, Heidi sent the first e-mail about the walk, I had both Cole and Patty watch the quite moving and inspirational video that was attached. The video depicted the everyday life of Jack, who lives with juvenile diabetes and how he and his parents cope. I urge you to watch this raw, emotional video to gain a better understanding of how this disease effects the whole family. Patty and Cole now understand (as much as their 9 and 5 year old minds can process) the general disease state of diabetes. When the video ended, Patty stated simply that she wanted to walk in support of her friend, Jack.

We walked the 5K with approximately 187 supporters of Jack, or Jack’s Pack, as our quite esteemed group was called. It was an uplifting and wonderful day. Despite the intense heat, Patty forged on, taking many, many, many snack breaks, and water dumping over her head sessions to offset the challenging distance or approx 3 miles. She even had assistance from her coach/mommy, who could barely carry her, but did, several times throughout the walk. (I know, I’m a sucker.) She will undergo a rigorous training program beginning immediately, to prepare for next year’s event~ consuming raw eggs, rising at the crack of dawn to walk and walk and walk, building stamina.

Although her little, wobbly legs were weary that night, (and my back was aching from carrying her) Patty feels proud of this great accomplishment. And I am a proud mama. Please take a moment to watch this important and beautiful video that my friend, Heidi created. Thank you muchos!

Halloween Memories of Diarrhea and Fun!

2008-11-01T21:07:00.000-07:00

Cole (Indiana Jones) Patty (Sharpay from High School Musical)

Happy Halloween!!! I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE Halloween! Not like wear knee highs with pumpkins and witches on them LOVE, just LOVE in the way that kids get dressed up in their new, sought after costumes, bursting with excitement to collect enough candy to open their own convenience store type of LOVE.

I have such vivid, joyous memories of Halloween, more than any other holiday possibly because there was never disappointment. What could be better than being with a gaggle of friends, gallivanting around at NIGHT, running from door to door, gathering delicious goodies! Seriously, think about it, as a kid, how fun was...

Thanksgiving:

Having to wear stiff, itchy clothing, usually new, not comfy.

Sitting at the more formal than usual table with THE WHOLE FAMILY and people you didn't really know, like 'em or not.

Threats that "...you'd better have your BEST behavior...OR ELSE..."

Being forced to EAT ALL YOUR DINNER!!! Don't want to hurt anyone's feelings if you didn't try the darned green bean casserole they made, ya know.

Hanukkah/Christmas/Kwanzaa (Did I get them all?)

Pressure of finding the perfect gift has sent everyone into an insane frenzy.

Wanting the EZ Bake Oven SOOOOO badly and knowing that I would NEVER get it because it's a "fire hazard"...What.Ever.

Wanting just to play with friends, but they were busy with family obligations too.

SO, this is why I feel Halloween REALLY ROCKS THE CASABA!!! My favorite memory of Halloween was when I let my younger sister, Marcy, borrow my all time FAVE dance recital costume. It was a white, satin leotard with a white, soft, tulle skirt with little silver embellishments on the bottom. Gorgeous. Elegant. I danced to Swan Lake, I think, in that costume. Marcy asked to PLEASE, PLEASE, PRETTY PLEASE WITH SUGAR ON TOP borrow it for Halloween. Ok. I agreed quite reluctantly.

As we were getting ready to Trick or Treat, Marcy didn't feel so well. As soon as those last famous words hung in the air, a rush of explosive, horrific diarrhea blasted all over the once pristine costume. But I forgave her...because it was Halloween.

Sorry Marcy I know you must be mortified, but I just had to share that story...it's funny now, right? Right...?

Anyhow, last night, Cole and Patty had a grand ol' time with their cousins trick or treating...so did Jerry and I reminiscing about our glory days of Halloween!

A Day on the Farm

2008-10-28T17:50:00.000-07:00

Hi Everyone~!
Today, Patty and her kindergarten class (along with four other kindergarten classes at her school and three other schools besides ours) went to visit a farm~ it was a stinky, dusty, fun adventure! I took the day off to attend this fabulous field trip. There were turkeys a gobblin, big and beautiful with mauvy-purple and bright bubblegum pink faces, feathers patterned with copper and black stripes! I never realized how gorgeous (and delicious) these animals are. Patty asked if these were the same turkeys we ate on Thanksgiving. I told her reluctantly yes, and she thought about it a long time and finally uttered, "Ewww." I may have a vegetarian on my hands as a result.

We saw goats leaping over fences, running wild! The next time you can't sleep, maybe count some goats. Of course there were lots o horses complete with an amazingly putrid stench and flies a buzzin' everywhere! The aroma in this animal area was sending the adults into hard core nausea attacks. The "petting zoo" area, where the kids could hold a tween size chick, not the cute, fuzzy, bright yellow ones, but a more skinny, unfluffy, brownish questionable disease-carrying chick type were passed amongst our kids' previously clean hands. Much to my delight, Patty did not want a thing to do with holding the tween chick. Yea!

The kids found their way through a towering corn maze that was fun, except I kept thinking of The Shining, where Jack Nicholson is chasing Shelley Duvall through a maze at night~ RED-RUM! RED RUM! Oy! The nightmares I had from that unbelievable movie~

The little farmers picked enormous zucchini, cucumber, pumpkins and teensy beensy radishes. It was a wonderful harvest feeling day, even though it was 94 degrees out and we were all sweltering in the still intense heat. The kids didn't even notice. It made me think that the novelty of a farm is something that only lasts a short time when kids are small and open to adventure and new things. Seeing the wonder through their eyes made it all worth the dusty, sweaty, horse crap smelling day!

Honoring Special Women Loved and Lost to Breast Cancer

2008-10-22T19:20:00.000-07:00

I completed the 3-Day Breast Cancer Walk in '05...it was awesome!

Greetings and salutations! Hope this finds you well! Since October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, I feel compelled to write about very special people who have lost their lives to breast cancer. Ya might need to grab a hankie for this one.

First and foremost, my paternal grandmother, Janice S. died at the age of 65. Her cancer started as breast cancer, then spread to her lungs and brain. Although she was a long time smoker, she also had a family history of breast cancer. She was ultra-creative, a writer for most of her successful career, writing copy for advertisers, and songs for my sisters and cousins. She was the ultimate devoted grandmother, she lived wherever we did, cooked amazing meals and had a cool dress up drawer filled with gaudy jewellery, clunky heels and wild wigs. My sister, Marcy and I donned the super-cool garb and transformed ourselves into "Rosemary and Tequila", two women of the world. (Not really sure where we got the name "Tequila" from at age 7 and 4...hmmm?)

My mom's very close friend, Cathy Smith, also died in her early 60's (I think), had breast cancer to start, then spread to other areas of her body. She was probably one of the most down to earth, fun people I have ever known. She was "Green Peace" before it was trendy.

My friend, Chelsea, lost her friend Alicia to breast cancer in her 20's. Yes, her 20's. Although I didn't know her personally, I saw the loss through Chelsea's eyes, and it was devastating that a girl in her 20's should be robbed of the vast experiences yet to come.

I was also touched by breast cancer a few years ago, by a girl who I had about 2 brief conversations with, named Sherrie. First conversation was in the cafeteria during lunch with Cole, when he was in kindergarten. If you have ever had lunch recently in a cafeteria with 150 kindergartners, the noise level is equivalent to a Bon Jovi, circa 1985, concert. (Sing with me: "We've gotta hold on to what we got, it doesn't make a difference if we make it or not, we got each other, and that's a lot for love...WE'LL GIVE IT A SHOT!...")

Anyhow, my eardrums throbbing, Sherrie was one of the sainthood moms working in the cafeteria to help control the mounting chaos. I was having lunch with Cole, back when he would let me sit next to him in front of his friends. I was wearing my mahjong tile bracelet that my mother in law gave me (I play mahj on Tuesday nights sometimes, when I can get out of the house) and she asked me if I played. We were really screaming to try to be heard. I screamed to her yes, I play, she yelled that she knows how to play, so I gave her my card and told her to call me if she wanted to join in on a game sometime. She checked out my business card and realized I was in pharmaceutical sales, sharing with me that she was a pharmacist, but now stayed at home to be with her two daughters who, I think were in 5th grade and middle school. The lunch hour ended and I scurried back to work.

The second conversation I had with Sherrie was on a field trip. I took the day off to go with Cole and his class to the fire station. Sherrie was there helping out. She said hello and that she was getting ready to go have some surgery. She didn't elaborate on what kind, but it didn't seem very serious. She was smiley, upbeat and carefree and we were trying to control the kids assigned to our group, so the conversation was short and scattered.

Months later, I heard she was diagnosed with breast cancer. I didn't see her around school again. I often thought of her and wondered how she was doing. I eventually heard that she was very sick and not coming back to volunteer at school.

Time passed, life was busy and hectic and running around all the time, working and taking care of the kids. One day, I was working, visiting doctors' offices as I normally do. I was walking quickly into a medical building, hoping to get in and see one last doctor before they closed for lunch, breezing past a man helping a very weak, sick woman walk. He had his arm around her shoulders, taking baby steps, carefully and lovingly.

I entered the office and was told to sit in the waiting room for a few minutes. Ten minutes passed. I was getting anxious waiting. Suddenly, the door slowly opened and the couple who I zipped by ten minutes ago, inching along, came in. It was Sherrie and her husband. She had lost all of her hair and looked pale and weak. She appeared to be in immense pain. They sat in the chairs across from me. He held her in his arms, while I sat there with my big obnoxious sales bag by my feet. Her eyes were closed and she was quietly moaning. I didn't know if I should say hi to her, would she want anyone to see her in such a fragile state? No. Should I say hi to the husband, sharing that I knew Sherrie from school? I couldn't. Nothing seemed appropriate. There were no words. After all, we had just had 2 conversations, but I thought of her so often and wondered how she was doing. And now I knew just how she was doing. I said nothing. I was empty. My heart hurt.

The nurse opened the door to the completely silent, heavy waiting room, and I came flying through the door, safe from my uncertainty and horrific sadness.

I saw her obituary in the paper several months later. I read it feeling like even though I merely had 2 brief, scattered, casual conversations with this woman, that I lost a friend. I thought of her husband and her daughters and wondered how they were coping. The other day, while I drove through Parent Drop off, I noticed the school dedicated this area to her memory. I feel that I met Sherrie for a reason. Some people come into your life even for a moment and they can touch your heart. I know Sherrie has touched mine.

Ch ch ch changes...

2008-10-16T21:44:00.000-07:00

I hate change. I try to avoid it at all costs. But change is inevitable. And sometimes, change ultimately causes evolutions of good things.

When I started my new job, everything was foreign, strange, confusing, and I was stumbling in the unfamilarness that was tripping me constantly. My first sales call was nerve wracking, meeting my first, new customer, introducing myself to all the associated staff within that account after driving in circles trying to find the blasted building. I nervously walked in, all faux confident, shiny, overly eager to make a decent impression.

I was greeted by two monstrous-sized, curt, awful gatekeepers, who made it crystal clear that they didn't care who I was, or what I wanted. Picture Ursula's two pet sea eels in The Little Mermaid. They knew why I was there, and gave me a slight head jerk to indicate "come on in" in their sub primate language. I was instructed to "sit here" and wait. I felt like I had just entered a women's prison. No one glanced in my direction nor acknowledged my presence. I was invisible. Talk about a place "...where everybody knows your name..."NOT!

Suddenly, I hear jubilant sorority screams and giggles. It was difficult to imagine the two sea eels emitting these sounds of happiness from their evil souls. It was another female, very pregnant rep, coming for a visit~ enter the flawless, surreal rock star of a girl. The urchins were hanging on the prego rocker's every word, grinning from ear to ear, one of them revealing a mouthful of rotted choppers.

They were exchanging stories about pregnancy, delivery, babies, kids...all subjects I LOVE to gab about~ I wanted to join in, but it was not my time or my place. Prego rocker was in the spotlight, I was just an outsider. I was shrouded with uncertainty and being new, so I sat there. Alone and quiet, looking at my shoes. Pathetic? Yes.

One year later, I have shed the newness, and opened myself up to get to know these STRANGErs, embracing the changes. As I entered this same account last week, rotted chopper urchin, greeted me with a HUGE, unexpected hug and called me "hun". Hun? We've come a long way, baby.

Windows Slammed Shut

2008-10-11T19:19:00.000-07:00

It seems I keep having life revelations at Peter Piper Pizza. Maybe it’s because we spend so much time at this very fine eating establishment these days. We recently dined there, and the meanie mommy rule that I have there is that you eat first, then you can run around the kiddy interpretation of a casino, playing the rip off games, or climbing on the ultra-pathogen infested indoor playground equipment. But only after you have quasi-eaten to my satisfaction.

My kids wolfed down their synthetic cheese pizza to my delight, and were salivating at the awaiting golden tokens they would gamble away, all in the hopes of winning a crappy, plastic toy that would be added to the mountains of useless junk in our overflowing playroom.

Patty quickly blew through her tokens, and went to climb up the jungle gym which lead to a curly-q slide. She stood next to a posted, plastic sign that said, “You must be less than 42 inches to play.” The tippy top of her golden, baby fine hair touched the cutoff line on the sign for playing on the germy equipment. Too big. Too big? It was just yesterday that she was too scared to go up the climbing apparatus at all. I blinked and she finally got enough nerve to go up, but panicked at the top, too frightened to slide down, so I had to haul my way out of shape butt up the tiny, back-wrenching climbing thing and rescue her. And now, in just a blink, she was almost too big for it. It seems like our window for these kid things are closing too quickly for words.

As we waited for Patty to finish sliding down, Cole and I were talking about school lunches. “Who did you sit with at lunch today?” I asked him. “Do you have enough time to eat?” I was curious, since last year, that was a common complaint. He named off a few buddies that he often eats with, and explained, that yes, he has time to eat, but out of nowhere solicited firmly and matter of factly, Cole zinged me with: “Mom, you don’t need to come eat lunch with me anymore. No one does that in 3rd grade. No parents come eat with their kids.” Wham! The window of eating lunch with my first born, at school, was gone forever. Slammed shut.

These windows that continue to close so quickly and unexpectedly have taught me that I guess I need to look at each chance to spend time with our kids as a short term opportunity and a privilege. The one thing that is constant in life is change, but the precious times are so fleeting, I wish I could just freeze time, just for a minute or two.

Transitions

2008-09-24T21:29:00.001-07:00

HI~ I write this 90 minutes after coming home from being gone for 3 days. Like, OMG, what a totally dedicated blogger! I was in Colorado for a training session, which was quite interesting, I must say. I believe I am a training junkie. I love learning the new concepts and seeing old colleagues and meeting new ones and having a break from my usual routine. Work, kids, sleep, lather, rinse, repeat. It is good for my sanity to have a change of scenery, climate, people for just a short time. I feel invigorated and refreshed, ready to take on the world! A little brainwashing is healthy! I drank the Kool-Aid, I tell ya!

Miss Mary Sunshine mentality, still coursing through my brain cells, I hopped off the uneventful, ninety minute flight, grabbed my bag, which was one of the first off the chute, went outside to catch the shuttle bus to take me to the airport parking garage, which waited for me to cross in the cross walk and get on. My shuttle stop was the very first stop in the route, I gleefully hopped off and found my car immediately. I was humming "Zippity Doo Dah" as I climbed in my car, zipped home in 25 minutes. Home sweet home.

I couldn't wait to see the kids, of course, but I had a few things I couldn't wait to do when I walked in the door. I was really needing to remove my contacts that were like little slivers of glass, stuck to my now weary eyes from the recirculated airplane air and I had to go to the bathroom and ensure I did not get toxic shock. Food would have been high up on my list of wants vs needs at that moment as well.

But those needs on my immediate to do list were fleeting. The two seconds in the door were greeted with Cole bursting with happiness and pure joy to see me and show me everything that I had missed in 3 days. It was a giant, excited run on sentence of what his homework was and kickball stories and a presentation of a little apology note he had written to me because he had accidentally broken my little crystal snowflake on my desk. Oh, and his book report project is due Friday and we need to do it now. Right. Now. Like, let's do it this very second. Mom.

So, with my suitcase in the door barely, I was promptly gluing and cutting with my contacts blurring and the toxic shock risk rising and the tummy growling loudly. Game on. Back to mommyhood with no visible transition whatsoever. My training brainwashing fresh in my mind, it was a do-able transition this time, and a welcome one.

Fingerprint Necklace~ I LOVE IT!!!

2008-09-20T09:58:00.000-07:00

Hi! How are you? I know there are crickets chirping as I write this, but I feel I at least owe those few insects out there who might have hopped around accidentally and landed on this blog, an explanation of why I haven't blogged in weeks. I really don't have an legit excuse once again. Laziness. Apathy. Not motivated to write anything. Busyness. Life just getting in the way. Work stuff. Ok, enough? Good.

Well thanks to Facebook, that my sister, Marcy made me, kind of forced me to join, I have reconnected with lots of friends from grade school, high school and college. It has been insane how people just pop up out of the nowhere. I know you might be thinking I'm too old to be on there, and I'll defend myself in a separate post next time, maybe.

Anyhow, I was fortunate enough to be contacted by my dorm pal, Tina Steinberg. I came to find out that she designs jewelery, really cool jewelery on her site: www. tinasteinberg.com. She takes vintage pieces and turns them into really amazing and unique creations. Each piece is made by her own two creative hands. I just got my fingerprint necklace a few days ago and I LOVE IT!!! She took impressions of my kids' fingerprints and made their little prints into a necklace. Check out her website to see what I mean. I am going to order more stuff from her soon. I just wanted to give her a sincere shout out, since I truly love, love, love her work! Please take a look-see, you'll be impressed!

Working Mom Girl

2008-09-04T20:31:00.000-07:00

Flashback to the 80’s, when Madonna was more meaty, and less religious, with no sign of a faux English accent. She donned the hot pink satin strapless gown and matching long gloves with oodles of sparkling diamonds, in her Material Girl video, a Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend takeoff. Got that image in your head? So, please sing along to the tune of Material Girl:

We are living in a stay at home mom world, and I am a working mom girl
You know that we are living in a stay at home mom world, and I am a working mom girl!
Ow, Ow, Ow!

These made up lyrics I sing (to myself of course) mostly every day. There is some small happening each day that reminds me that I am odd man out, or in this case, odd mom out.

Every morning, I drop off Cole and Patty at school, before I head to work. It is extremely hectic to get out the door in the morning, as most households with small children all across the globe are. Backpacks zipped. Water bottles filled. Snack packed. Lunch in backpack. Blue ice in lunch. Library books packed. Shoes tied. Teeth brushed. Hair brushed. Homework in folder, in backpack that is zipped. Name on homework.

Dishes on table from breakfast, washed. Flat iron unplugged. Lights off. Tatum’s bowl filled. Lap top. Cell phone. Headset. Bottled water. Mascara? No time.

We arrive at school and are greeted by various kids, moms, teachers. I walk each kid to their classrooms. Big smothering, wet, clingy kisses and hugs from Patty. Kind of a high five, but not too much contact from Cole.

The bell rings. The kids scurry. The moms are left. Moms begin to congregate to chat it up. I love this time since I get to feel like a “real mom”. The difference is the chatting time is limited for yours truly, because I need to get my butt to work. The stay at home moms get to stay and leisurely talk. For however long they want. One mom holds a coffee mug from home, not a travel mug with lid, but an open topped, porcelain, kitchen mug . As if this is a casual, easy morning ritual. Looking like the girl who overdressed for the party, I stand out amongst the casually, comfortably clad moms, the only one dressed to go to work.

How I long to stay and talk about the kids, school stuff, share funny stories, be leisurely. I want to be in this stay at home mom world, and I cannot. I do not live there. Cuz we are living in a stay at home mom world, and I am a working mom girl…

Stuff the Stuffed Animals

2008-09-01T11:16:00.000-07:00

My purging tirade is still at its peak, and I can't blame pregnancy or PMS on this obsession. I have been cleaning out overflowing drawers and closets during the past few months, and I must say, I find it quite enjoyable, yet clearly understand that this translates into having no life whatsoever. I have accepted and embraced its connotations.

This time I targeted a collection of seemingly cute and cuddly stuffed animals, taking over Patty's bed. This child has been sleeping in the fetal position in order to accommodate her army of soft, synthetic, useless friends. Does she play with them during daylight hours? No. Does she cuddle with any of them while she slumbers? No. She does sleep with one mini-teddy bear, which fits snugly in the palm of her five year old hand, which she has named Hannah. I wonder what over-sensationalized tween pop-star she got that name from? Hannah can stay because she is teeny and won't cause Patty to have sciatica in her future.

I took a gander at the heaps of dust collectors just festering their airborne filth into my sweet daughter's pure lungs and knew I had to eliminate a majority of the little bastards. How did they trickle into our home? When did they accumulate to such a large number, a fleet numerous enough to defend a small country if given weapons? Baby gifts, birthday presents, souvenirs from business trips, winnings from the grimy, sleazy state fair.

When Patty was playing elsewhere, I quickly gathered up about half of the evil animals, and shoved them heartlessly into a suffocating garbage bag to donate them another home, where another overwhelmed mother will one day get sick of looking at their phony smiles, and quasi-puppy-dog eyes and stuff them into yet another garbage bag to pass them along once again. Break the cycle. Limit these useless stuffed animals. There. That's my Green message for the week.

And The Envelope, Please...

2008-08-28T20:05:00.000-07:00

OMG~ I...sniff, sniff, cannot believe..sniff, sniff...that I actually won...AN AWARD!!!!! OMG!!!! YOU LIKE ME, YOU REALLY LIKE ME!!!

Seriously, this has made my day, my week, ok, ok, my year! Just when I was convinced that the only people really reading this blog at all was my mom, Rosemary and my sister, Marcy (Hi Mom! Hi Rosemary! Hi Marcy!) and of course, my only two regular visitors that comment, Sus from http://wigglerooms.blogspot.com/ as well as Alice from http://elegantthimble.blogspot.com/ I think that very well may still be the case, but none the less, I feel special.

So thank you muchos to Sus from http://wigglerooms.blogspot.com/ who chose little 'ol me and four other lucky mo fos to pass this award to! I can't tell you how touched and very surprised I was to be considered in her recipient list. WOW~ Sus is both totally hilarious and deeply touching in her writing style. Her photos are very photo journalistic and have inspired me to get out my lame point and shoot camera and try to capture the moment a little more often. Sus, I know that if you lived in AZ, we'd be amigos for sure.

I am such a lame-o blogger that I am not even sure I cut and pasted the aforementioned blog sites correctly. Will someone please click on those links and make sure they work? Mom? Marcy? Are you sure you don't want to revoke this award? I'M NOT WORTHY! Gulp, I'm really not. But I'll take it!!! Can I put this on my resume?

But alas, my three minutes of fame are merely three minutes. I will now crown the next award recipients, to those bloggers who inspire me, make me laugh and make me cry sometimes, depending on how much PMS I have coursing through my veins. Although I don't have much time to blog or to read others' blogs, there are a few that I try to visit whenever I can. There are many "famous" bloggers that I would like to pass this to, but I know they have already received this award several times, so I'm trying to pick the folks who may not have won this award yet, but are oh so deserving. Fair?

This award comes with rules. (Enter bald, spec wearing, Arthur Anderson guy in a tux)

They are:
You have to pick 5 blogs that you consider deserve this award for their creativity, design, interesting material, and also for contributing to the blogging community, no matter what language.
Each award has to have the name of the author and also a link to his or her blog to be visited by everyone.
Each award winner has to show the award and put the name and link to the blog that has given her or him the award itself.
Award-winner and the one who has given the prize have to show the link of Arte y Pico blog, so everyone will know the origin of this award.

And the envelope please... drum roll in the distance...

1. Sheri from:
http://myminivanisfasterthanyours.com/

Sheri, a friend of my sister, Marcy, was the lucky blogger I initially pestered to learn how to start up this blog thing. She was extremely helpful and kind to such a pain in the ass type, like myself. Sheri, you are a fabulously funny writer. Your clever style is amazing and I always look forward to reading your blog entries. Thank you for your guidance. I owe you a beer.

2. Lauri from:

http://introducingyalltoarizonians.blogspot.com/

Lauri, you rock sista! You are such an amazing person and friend. Your pictures are priceless and you have such spirit about you! Keep on keeping on! Don't give up! There are many more Arizonans who need some "ya'll" in their vocab.

3. Feener from:

http://mommyvents.blogspot.com/

Seriously LOL funny. She can totally relate to my PMS type outbursts. I love your raw, emotional style. Your blog makes us all feel like we are all in this together (Break into a chorus of, "We're All In This Together..." a High School Musical 1 reference, in case you haven't heard that song like fifty thousand times already in your life)

4. Melissa from:

http://takingwhatisleft.blogspot.com/

Melissa cracks me up! She must carry a camera in her purse at all times to capture the great, hilarious shots that she does! I love the big, fun polka dot background in your blog.

5. Kate from:

http://kateinthewild.blogspot.com/

This is my baby sister, Kate's blog. Can we give this award to family members? I think so. This chick is serving in the Peace Corps in Tanzania for the next 2 years. You are the strongest person I know. We can all learn a thing or two from your tenacity and dedication. You made it through a rodent-ridden bed incident, and now, I am confident you can make it through just about anything! Rock on sista! Please visit Kate's blog and give her good vibes! She deserves it!

Thanks again to Sus for this great honor!

Nighty Night, Sleep Tight, Don't Let the Rabid Rats Bite

2008-08-25T13:53:00.000-07:00

I haven't blogged in like over 10 days or so, I'm not sure. Did you even notice I was absent? No? That's ok. I had nothing to really blog about. School is in full swing, which includes lots of daily homework, nightly reading and flashcards. Oy.

I cannot complain. I have no right, no privilege to utter a single complaint after I share with you what my baby sister (she's 22), Kate, went through on Saturday. She is serving in the Peace Corps in Tanzania, Africa (I had to learn how to spell Tanzania once she got her assignment) for over 2 years. She will be educating the locals in her small village how to live healthier, prevent the spread of AIDS and other deadly diseases.

She was initially stationed in a family's home, a Mama and Dada (sister), aged 18. The dad (I don't know the Swahili word for dad) is a teacher who lives in the town that he teaches in, and returns home periodically. She was fortunate enough to have a wonderful, caring family, who killed all the cockroaches and spiders on her walls before she went to sleep. There was no running water or electricity in her quite humble, humble abode. She went to school during the day, learning Swahili at a local school with her Peace Corps counterparts.

Once this portion of the assignment is complete, Peace Corps moved her out to a remote village BY HERSELF. Her hut was a simple 2 room set up, a bedroom and living room, completely empty, again, no running water and no electricity. The door doesn't come to the top or bottom of the threshold. You're thinking I must have forgot to mention a kitchen or better yet, a bathroom. Nope. Neither. The potty is a hole in the ground, outside in a courtyard type place. They cook outside on stones with used corn cobs that are lit. The food is boiled in a kettle of some sort over the fire. She managed to find a mattress and a mosquito net. And that's it for home furnishings. No food, no pots or pans, she's got to go get all of that, somewhere. And it's not like there is a local Walmart nearby. She will have to get herself by foot or bike to the nearest town to purchase that kind of stuff.

So, her first night in her new place, she was slumbering as best as possible on the mattress on the concrete floor, when she heard a scuffle. She opened her languid eyes to see a RAT, who had climbed up to the top of her mosquito net, above her head. She screamed bloody murder and the RAT fell INTO BED WITH HER!!!!! INTO BED WITH HER~!!! Oh. My. God. I'm having the heeby jeebys just recounting the story! BLICK!!! She screamed louder as the rat landed in her bed.

So, she spent her first night, terrified and cold in her "living room", sobbing and hysterical. First she called my mom who didn't answer her cell phone because she probably didn't hear it ring inside her purse. Then she called me, and of course, I'm no help.

"Get a broom and..." I begin.

"I DON'T HAVE A BROOM!" she screams.

"Ok, can you throw a shoe at it?" I lamely offer.

"I'M NOT GOING BACK IN THERE! ARE YOU CRAZY?!"

"Ok, in the morning, can you get some towels and duct tape them to the top and bottom of the door, so nothing can come in through those spaces." I advise.

"AMY, THERE IS NO DUCT TAPE! ARE YOU KIDDING?! THERE ARE NO TOWELS!" she is beside herself.

"Ok, how about newspaper or rags..."

"Will you just tell mom to call me as soon as she can?" she gives up on me, since I am offering little or just plain sucky advice.

My last attempt went something like this:

"It's going to be ok. This is the absolute worst thing that could happen to you. This is rock bottom. Everything from here on out will be better. Tomorrow morning, go find some villagers who will help you. Call the Peace Corps people and have them help you. They will. It will be ok."

I seemed to have talked her away from the ledge because she seemed to be chilling out a little.

"Ok", she sniffed. The she added, "I think I'll be getting a cat."

So, the ending to the story is she borrowed a local villager's cat, who ate the rat~ gulp. But, there was...are you ready for this...another rat, but the cat was too full to get that one down, so Kate's neighbors helped get it out of her house and patch the door, and other holes in the roof. So, for now, no rodents...

Please visit her blog. Although she doesn't get to an Internet cafe but once every few weeks because it is so far away, any comment you could leave would be welcomed. Her blog is
on my blogroll listed as: Can I Wear Stilettos In The Peace Corps? And she really asked that question.

Mall Phases In My Life

2008-08-16T15:29:00.000-07:00

Today, I was able to go to the mall... ALONE, a far off, somewhat mystical place that is OUT OF THE QUESTION to visit with whiny, needy children nipping at my sides. It was purely euphoric, even though it was certainly not leisurely, I was just there to return a skirt that Patty rejected.

I had several flashbacks while inhaling the purely intoxicating retail-laden air. There are several Mall Phases in my life that came crashing back as I passed the perfume squirter ladies.

Cruising the Mall

Early Mall Phase with my best friend, Amy. Our somewhat neglectful parents dropped us off at the mall door with $10. We strolled our giggly little pre-teen selves all over the mall, ALL. DAY .LONG. This was recreational shopping at its finest. We followed boys we thought were cute. We ran into our friends at the food court. At the end of the day, our Jelly-clad feet found the nearest filthy pay phone and called our parents to pick us up. We never got sick of the mall.

Take It Off, It Looks Terrible

AKA: Shopping with Mom. This was general shopping for back to school clothes, or just change of season needs. This was hard core, shop till you drop with Mom, stamping her approval or stating, "Take it off, it looks terrible." This was only done a few times a year, so it was for all the marbles, Olympic-style, marathon, balls to the wall shopping.

We're On A Mission For The Perfect Outfit:

This would be specific shopping for special occasions. Mom was convinced that the perfect outfit was lurking somewhere between the now defunct Diamond's or The Broadway. These occasions included weddings, Bar and Bat Mitzvahs, school dances, sorority rush and the last one I can recall: my wedding dress.

Shopping With A Baby

Shopping with a new, little, precious baby, peacefully slumbering in a stroller, getting some out of the house time and still being able to accomplish leisurely shopping and returns of duplicate or hideous baby gifts. Ahhh. The best kind. Too bad it didn't last long.

Shopping With Kids

Lasts 10 minutes because Cole is running into the toy store BEGGING for various toys and Patty is pulling clothes off racks and CRYING and WHINING that she really, really, really, really, really, really, really wants the glittery slutty miniskirt. I can feel my blood pressure exploding, so we promptly leave. Mission Unaccomplished.

I'm sure shopping with teenagers is no better than scratching your eyes out with a fork. That will most likely be the next phase since I am not going to the mall until then, I swear it.

School Rules RULE!!!

2008-08-14T21:42:00.000-07:00

As you may recall from previous blogs, when I was a much more gung ho blogger a few short weeks ago, Patty defying the morning routine has been the cause of my now gray and silver strands of hair I am finding throughout my head as I sit at red lights in traffic peering into the vanity and I mean vanity with a capital V mirror. She was explosively opinionated and agitated with outfit choices and limitations, screaming and sobbing and flailing on the floor like a fish out of water for extra drama and effect, all for the love of Brittney Spears type outfits~ no, I wouldn't buy my 5 year old belly shirts, don't start tsking and shaking your head with worry, she was jones-ing for her bikini top with a skirt and flip flops combo. Strike a pose.

Before school started, we laid down the gigantic steel hammer with the School Rules:

1. No shoulders showing.

I lied a little on this one, but she can't read yet, so I'm safe for now. Really, it says "No spaghetti straps. Straps must be 3 fingers wide. " The no shoulders thing covers the complete tank top family just in case my fingers are smaller than the average fingers, and I just don't want to take any chances. This child digs tank tops.

2. No high heels, flip flops or sandals.

The high heels part is easy. Patty knows the plastic princess hooker heels, you know, the ones with the little fuzzy material on the toe, do not leave the house.

The flip flop part I thought would be a COMPLETE NIGHTMARE. Patty wore flip flops almost every day to preschool, even though, technically, it was against the rules. I was weak. Sue me. It was freakin' preschool, for crying out loud. Now we are in the "real world".

So we began the quest for shoes that hide her pink sparkly toenails that she is so proud of. Thank goodness, my mom and stepdad braved the storm or should I say braved the TSUNAMI and took her shopping to let her pick out some cool sneakers. Mission accomplished. She has happily put them on each day. For four measly days.

Then there were the socks. The child has hardly ever worn socks. The few times they were mandated, we were greeted with stomping, kicking feet in the face, screaming, "They have bumps!!!! BUMPS!!! WAAAA!!!!! So we have purchased a plethora of acceptable socks. Yahoo! They are bump free somehow. It's a miracle.

I had dinner with a mom of a fashion diva and she advised me on the choosing outfits drama:

Sunday night lay 10 outfit choices on the floor

Let her pick 5 outfit combos for the week.

Lay out the 5 choices THAT SHE PICKED on the dresser to sit there all week.

HERE'S THE IMPORTANT PART:

Hide the rest of the clothes in her ENTIRE closet~ put them in your closet, in a storage box, wherever...out of sight. Out of reach. Out of negotiation.

She can mix and match the 5 outfits in any way, but whatever is left for Friday is left and that's it.

I bow down to this BRILLIANT mom: I'M NOT WORTHY, I'M NOT WORTHY! We have had a blissful 4 days. Too early to do the victory dance yet, but it's a start for sure! And I'm getting my grey colored on Saturday. Bottom line is that School Rules Rule.

No More Preschool

2008-08-10T15:19:00.000-07:00

I am gearing up for Patty's FIRST DAY OF KINDERGARTEN and Cole's first day of 3rd grade TOMORROW. As in, less than 12 hours...

The 3rd grade thing makes me a little heartache-ish. It was JUST Cole's first day of Kindergarten. Where did the time go? Now, he's in the BIG LEAGUES.

"BIG LEAGUES??? WHAT???? NOOOO!!!", you parents of older kids who are entering the first day of middle school or the first day of high school are thinking, mocking my over-dramatic sentimentality. I am quite aware that I can't compare a non-milestone grade like 3rd grade to these larger points in scholastic development, but I can't help myself. I have heard this is when the molly-coddling ends. In 3rd grade.

I know I will get at least a TEENY BIT of sympathy for Patty, MY BABY starting Kindergarten though. Right? Second kid, so what's the big deal, we've been through this before, when Cole started, so we know how it goes. That's the thing, we know how it goes.

All of the post-toddlers will shuffle their little bodies into the large, colorful, decorated foreign classroom hanging their brand new still cutesy character backpacks on the hooks in their cubbies. They will sit at their big kid desks, looking so innocent and small wearing their newly bought, special back-to-school outfits. Some kids will cry for their mommies, some will be so excited and wave goodbye easily. Cameras will flash, so we can forever remember this day. From our parental eyes, they seem too young to be at this BIG establishment. But here they are.

It's not like my kids haven't been in pre-school since they were 8 months old. It's not like I haven't been dropping them off EVERY DAY, YEAR ROUND TO preschool or camp! I just can't believe I now have 2 kids in ELEMENTARY SCHOOL! No more preschool. No more babies. Waaa. I am the baby here.

The school is offering coffee and danishes and Kleenex in the cafeteria immediately after drop-off. When I first heard this, I thought, "Oh, please!" Now, I think I'll be dropping by for some caffeine and some ugly crying.

The Buxton Organizer

2008-08-06T22:16:00.000-07:00

They say kids are like sponges, soaking up all that surrounds them, good or bad. This is such a cliche, but cliches are cliches for a reason, right? Right! Because they are true and they just work. I experienced this sponge brain cliche this evening.

It was around 104 degrees at 6 pm when we left the very gourmet, shi-shi Peter Piper Pizza we were dining at. We met another family there for the fabulous pizza and early gambling opportunities. Why not start 'em now? That place is like Vegas and crack for kids.

As we were leaving in the sweltering, hot, blistering heat, we approached the car, and I realized I couldn't find my keys. Meanwhile, I was balancing AND attempting to hold on to the leftover pizza, so I won't have to make camp lunches tomorrow, a half-empty soda cup, Cole's green plastic slinky he won which will be permanently tangled on our 5 minute drive home, a pink, plastic necklace and matching bracelet that Patty scored from the pushover Peter Piper Pizza teen employee, who was a sucker for a begging, desperate, cute, mushy faced, big-eyed 5 year old girl.

NO. FREAKING. KEYS. I finally plunked my over-sized, bag lady, Mary Kate and Ashley type purse down on the steaming pavement to dig through the bottomless pit. My kids begin to whine expertly as we melted in the heat. I was like a madwoman throwing my wallet, coupons, old receipts on the ground. Where are those DAMNED keys?

Finally, Patty suggests:

"Mom. You should maybe get the Buxton Organizer.

Then you could find your keys so easy, Mom.

You could even put an umbrella AND... TWO water bottles inside of it!"

I swear the kid quoted that damn infomercial VER BATUM. Scary that such a little spongey brain was targeted SOOOOO SUCCESSFULLY. Scary that I discarded any shred of fashion snottiness I had and started wondering what colors they come in.

Three Bitch Slaps

2008-08-04T19:10:00.000-07:00

After a VERY stressful week at work, I have rollercoasted thru a series of emotions: exhaustion, weepiness, apathy and just plain overall bitchiness. I think I really need to enroll in the fantasy Mommy Camp.

A few times a year, I get a liiittttttle… irked that I have to work. Key words here are: HAVE TO. HAVE TO means there is no choice. Jerry feels overwhelmingly guilty that this is how it is. I insist that he should not feel guilty, it is NOT his fault that I multitask while complaining. I have witnessed many working moms that seamlessly and effortlessly can juggle ignited knives with a sincere smile all the while.

While in my vile, brooding funk this Monday morning, visiting various doctors’ offices, I was humbled, BIG TIME! I had 3 GIANT Bitch Slaps of “Get over it” that I desperately needed.

Bitch Slap #1
I saw a man in his 40’s, who was a dwarf, or I think the PC term is “little person”. He was in an electric wheelchair. His mother was waiting for him in the waiting room. She held the door open for him and asked, “You ready, Honey?” Honey. She still calls him “honey”. I then watched her lift his cumbersome electric wheelchair, which I am sure weighed a ton, into the back of her pickup.

Bitch Slap #2
Walking through a parking lot, I saw two men in their early 30’s, one was hooked up to an oxygen tank, very pale and emaciated. He had to be helped to take his slow, baby steps. They both briefly looked at me and halfway smiled.

Bitch Slap #3
Entering a waiting room, I glanced over at a weary looking mother, who was gripping onto her son’s arm, trying to keep him from fleeing the office. He had Down’s Syndrome and looked to be about 15 years old.

At that moment, I turned on my heel and threw myself back outside.
I actually said aloud, : GET THE F$#* OVER IT!!!
You HAVE TO work to help support your family… SO THE F#@^ WHAT?!?!?!
Your kids are healthy and happy (most of the time) and you just need to GET A GRIP!!! THAT’S IT!!!
You are DONE bitching and complaining!!!
Your life could be oceans worse, SO STOP IT!!!” (Yeah, you could be a crazy woman giving herself an obnoxiously loud pep talk in the middle of a courtyard)

So until the next episode of, “Waaa, boo hoo, I HAVE TO work, pity me!” I will be positive and grateful for all that I have thanks to the 3 much needed Bitch Slaps.

Mommy Camp

2008-08-01T03:33:00.000-07:00

I have not posted all week due to major, heavy work commitments which led to lack of brain function as a result. I am fried. I need a break from everything. Can I sign up for Mommy Camp for a week?

My kids have been at day camp ALL summer, ALL day long. Now that they are a little older and have a reference of time, lately they have been asking, “Mommy, can we have a ‘stay home day’”? Nope, sorry kids, mommy’s gotta go to work. I think this is also the point in the summer where they are getting major camp burnout.

Send ME to camp! Sign me up! What a life! Campers swim once and sometimes twice a day, so that would cover my lack of exercise spanning over the last 10 years or so. You get to indulge a leisurely lunch with your friends. I look forward to the rare days that I can schedule a lunch with my girlfriends, so this would solve that overdue catching up.

Campers unleash their creative side in arts and crafts. How great would it be to get out the glue and pipe cleaners and go to town! Archery! Drama! Color Wars! They sing songs without care of becoming the next American Idol. Each stress-free day ends with a popcycle. I could ditch the heels and play in t-shirts and sneakers all the livelong day!

Sad that I am fanaticizing about going to day camp. Pathetic that it sounds so appealing. It’s the next best thing to a spa weekend, I suppose. I have a feeling that if there was a real Mommy Camp, other necessary elements would include some sort of alcohol availability, spa treatments and a no cell phone rule.

I'd Like To Thank The Academy...

2008-07-28T20:47:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-26T11:44:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-23T21:45:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-22T15:21:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-17T21:39:00.000-07:00

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?

2008-07-16T18:20:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-14T14:33:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-10T21:44:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-08T21:10:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-07T16:38:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-02T18:23:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-01T16:51:00.000-07:00

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.

Meeting Fred Goldman

2008-06-29T21:44:00.000-07:00

My husband, Jerry and I met Fred Goldman last night, sort of. I know I'm a very wet behind the ears blogger, but even with my very limited experience, I am fairly certain that I should be keeping to the theme of “working mom” type stuff, however, we had an experience last night that shook me to my inner core and I felt compelled to write about it instead. I can hear the feverish clicking of unsubscribing all over the land…

Last night, we had our sitter~ YEE HAW! Our ticket to freedom for just a few hours. She arrived about 5 pm and we went to a great dinner, and of course, the restaurant was practically empty because, really, who eats this early except senior citizens having the early bird special. So, after a quick dinner, we ponder, what are we going to do now…so we went to a place that we haven’t been in ages, the mall.

That too, was vacant. We were the only losers shopping on a Saturday night. We went into a large department store, where Jerry looked for shirts in the men’s section. “Can I help you find anything?” a voice asks. We look up to find Fred Goldman. For all you young’uns, he was of course, the father of Ronald Goldman, who if you remember, was Nicole Simpson’s friend who was brutally attacked and killed, when he brought her the sunglasses she left behind on the table at the restaurant where he worked.

This double murder happened on June 12, 1994. At that time, I was a 25 year old single girl, getting ready to go out barhopping with friends. We were on the phone gabbing about what bar we should start at and what we were wearing, oh and by the way, did you hear about OJ? When Nicole Simpson was murdered, her children were 8 and 5, the exact ages of my children now.

We recognized Fred Goldman immediately but we did not acknowledge this recognition, because his fame was associated with an enormous travesty, it seemed inappropriate to mention. It was sort of an unspoken we know who you are because of what happened to your son and he knew that we knew who he was for the same reason. I was so tempted to reach out and hug him and tell him how deeply sorry I was for the loss of his son and how completely unfair it all was. But I knew that I would sob my guts out in the middle of the store. So I didn’t.

We had a pleasant conversation for about 30 minutes, talking about everything. He was just Fred in the men’s section, not a person who was tragically affected by one of the most high profile murder cases in history. I was awestruck at how completely pleasant and kind he was after everything he has been through in his life. He lives every day knowing that the man who brutally murdered his son is alive, free and writing books. I can assure you I would be unfit to live in society.

When we got home, I kissed both of my slumbering kids on the cheeks and stared at them for longer than usual, thinking of Fred.

First Time

2008-06-28T01:13:00.001-07:00

Hi! My name is Amy and this is my first time in the blogging universe, so please be gentle. I didn't even know exactly what a blog was until just a few months ago. I live under a rock. Seriously, it just took me 3 hours of blood, sweat and tears to set up this Blogger page, and I still need to make obvious changes. I must be extra remedial, huh?

My husband, Jerry and I have been married for 11 years and have 2 amazing kids: Cole, age 8 and Patty, age 5. We live in Scottsdale, AZ. I work full time as a pharmaceutical sales rep.

I decided to write this blog primarily to help make sense of my role of a working mom. This is a role I have always struggled with. It will be short in length due to the fact that if you are a mom, you have little, if any time to read leisurely. The content will be simple to understand, since my current reading comprehension ability is about a 4th grade reading level. So, here we go...

Today was a monumental day for our family. Patty, our "spirited" child, decided she wanted to spend the night at the camp sleepover. She had been solicited and brainwashed by the multitude of targeted marketing the camp aimed at these little people that this would be THE night of all nights, complete with:

*gourmet dinner: cafeteria style pasta, salad and fruit
*entertaining camp "talent" show"
*critically acclaimed classic movie: "Alvin and the Chipmunks"
and the finale...
*getting to sleep at the camp (on the filthy social hall floor where they eat lunch daily) with a few hundred sweaty, cranky, tired campers, who would be giggling, talking and NOT sleeping...

But wait,...there's more!

In the morning, there was a field trip to... THE CIRCUS!!! So the whole thing was a circus within a Circus.

Who planned these back to back action-packed series of events? Obviously not a parent.

Please keep in mind, this child is only 5 years old. She has never had a sleepover. And she was so out-of-her-mind-excited to attend this life-changing event, she had been on her very, very best behavior for the entire week, which we had not witnessed for about 2 YEARS. What a sublime week of "yes, mommy!" and no fighting with her older brother, Cole all glorious week. Patty has been prime Super Nanny material, if that gives you a picture. The deal was, if she had a "good" behavior week, she could go to the sleepover. Mission accomplished. She was perfect. Who was this child? So, she got to attend.

I picked her up this afternoon, and she was standing upright, comatose. She looked right through me with her dark, droopy eyes, sucking on a chocolate lollipop. Good, I thought, she's zonked. She'll go home and crash. Six seconds in the door and she had reverted back to the Old Patty, having a complete meltdown, totally naked with chocolate surrounding her mouth, stabbing her plastic piggy bank with a fork, trying to get her money out because her brother spent his allowance on a $9.49 Lego set while she was at the sleepover, so why couldn't she go spend her money "RIGHT NOW?!?!" What a picture. And just like that, the good behavior streak was over until another worthy bribe comes along. She was in bed, snoring at 7:15 p.m.