Scorpion Slayer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4th of July, Sponsored by Macy's

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

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

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

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

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

Crabby Patty

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm A Soccer Mom In Heels

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

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

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

Meeting Fred Goldman

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

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.