Chased by Children

The Bombed Squad

Last night my friend Cher took me out to dinner.  In fact, she had a date but after talking to me in the afternoon she GAVE UP HER DATE in order to take me out to dinner.   Apparently I am a gifted friend maker, because I think we can agree that I do have some awesome friends.  I digress....

We went to an eatery that was absolutely packed so we sat at the bar.  And we happened to be sitting next to three women who happened to be wearing t-shirts with the slogan "The Bombed Squad".  The tees also sported a picture of a martini glass which looked like it had been be-dazzled.  Are you wondering if I asked about it? 

The lovely women identified themselves as a group of friends (their entire number is 7 women strong) who've known each other since they were 4 years old.  They've been through thick and thin (child rearing, divorces, cancers etc....).  The tees were actually from the year they formed the club.  And every year they put a new gem on it.  

They had great stories (and they ended up being a lot older than they looked).  They clearly had fun together, and they called one another sister. 

When Cher and I left for the night we felt like we'd made some friends.

And we both put in applications to become members of The Bombed Squad.

You mean, it's not all about me?

One of the things I've noticed about DIVORCED people is that they all LOVE to tell their story.

Myself included (ahem).

As soon as you tell someone you're divorcing (and if they have been through it themselves) you get their story.  Usually it starts with one line about why their ex was the WORST.  Here are some recent examples:

She slept with our neighbor the plastic surgeon who did her boob job.

He left me for one of our daughter's friends.

She never cooked.

He liked to sleep in his car.

I caught him sneaking cookies while I had him on the Zone diet.

He was mean to the cat.

She left me with a can opener and one can of beef stew, nothing else.

And then they launch into the stories.  These stories are gut wrenching and occasionally terrifying.  The battlefield of marriage is laid bare once the couple files their papers.  And on some level it does make me feel better about me and my ex.  I have quickly discovered that we were by no means the most disfunctional twosome out there.  Who knew?  Not me.

It leaves me wondering about the human suffering that doesn't make headlines.  The quiet battles out there for autonomy and control.  Nobody does a telethon for women who can't get out of bed because they feel they've disappeared in their marriage.  You don't see planes full of people rushing to the aid of middle-aged men who have realized that this is all there is ever going to be... 

And MiMi writes her first Joke....

Mom, What is brown and rides a motorcycle?

What

A Really Cool Camel.

You are going to remember this when she's head writer on Harry Letterman's Late Night Show.

Little Moments of Desperation

I know I've tried to keep my attitude in a positive place during this time of trial but there are moments....little moments....where the dark possibilities in my life all come crashing down on my brain at once. 

Usually when I'm driving past Target...not driving in because I can't afford to fill up a cart on a whim.

Or when I'm looking at my bedless bedroom where I've placed my little air mattress on which I huddle most nights and try to sleep.

Or when I look at the bedless bedrooms of my daughters, when they stay overnight with me they have to huddle on the floor next to the air mattress.

But the moments usually pass quickly, usually after a nap huddled on the air mattress in the middle of the day (one of life's great pleasures).

What do you do to snap out of it?  I could use fresh new ideas.

The Tooth Fairy

I have developed a crush on Dwayne Johnson.  I liked him enough when he was the "Rock" (the Wasband loved pro-wrestling).  But these family films put me over the edge....   The Game Plan, Escape to Witch Mountain and now The Tooth Fairy.  It might be love.

Look at him:

And his report (albeit onscreen) with young children is delicious.  Irresistable!  And he makes me laugh.

And he doesn't want to get serious.

And he's not demanding.

And he doesn't criticize the way I do anything.

He's the perfect man.

Do any of you have his number?

Disney on Ice Ice Baby

One of the perks of my job (which I no longer have) is that occasionally the marketing department would get free tickets to stuff.  When I still had my job (that I've since lost) I received tickets to Disney on Ice.  And tonight we went.  Wahoo!

Can I just say, these Disney people have marketing down to a science.  We bought Cotton candy, ice-es, pictures, and a stuffed Gus Gus (do NOT pretend that you are too cool to know who Gus Gus is...I will cut you).  I spent roughly the national debt, without breaking a sweat.

It was fun.  Very entertaining.  I highly recommend it for those of you who have it coming to your area. 

Eating Hobos

What kind of title is that?  Well, it's what passes for a joke in these parts.

You see it all began innocently enough.  The princesses and I  were playing the game where one of us would say three words to start a story.  Then the next one of us says the next three words and so on and so forth until we are laughing so hard something snaps.  LuLu recently started the story with "The Hobo was...."  and somewhere along the line this story took a very, very dark turn.  Eventually the Hobo was eaten along with ketchup and corn (and a nice Chianti and Fa-va beans.....). 

Sick?  yes.

Funny?  You bet.

The problem (besides the cost of therapy these children will need later) is that now we can instantly crack our whole little team up if we just mention a Hobo...and ketchup and corn.  And if one of us yells "Hobo" on the streets of Chicago the other three of us become incapacitated with laughter (sooooo inappropriate).  At some point one of these "hobos" is going to hear us and we will all be impaled on a shopping cart (it will make the news people).

As the mother of these hooligans it's disturbing that they find the term "hobo" so entertaining.  And that they are further entertained by the thought of eating one of these "hobos" (is that the plural of hobo?  or is it hobai?) is the funniest thing they've ever heard.

Advice?

A Little Poem

Laundry is for the birds

Birds who have an addiction to boredom

Or tedium

Or overwhelmingness

Or the smell of Bounce

(That's a fabric softener)

Laudry is for Birds with Strange Addictions

There's a Hole in My Bucket, dear Liza

Okay.  I didn't post on the 16th. 

Sue me.

Sure, sure I started the year great guns with this post every day thing.....but times are tough and cleverness is in short supply.  So I let one day slip by without a post.   Frankly, I'm glad the pressure is off.

Now I can get back to posting in my general hap-hazard style.  I'm still going to try and post every day (if you don't mind) but if I don't.....well, no harm no foul.

Who loves ya baby?  It's me.

AL

My AL is My "Aunt Linda" as I may have mentioned to you, many times, she is not actually related to me.  She's my mother's best friend and one of my favorite people on the planet.  At some point I started calling her AL and her husband Doug, UD.  She is part of our family and has hung with us through thick and thin.  She is this quiet supportive voice in my life who always manages to make me feel loved and supported no matter what crazy thing I'm doing.  AND SHE'S SEEN ME DO CRAZY.

What was my point again?  Oh, right. 

Anyway, during birthday season she produced some rather spectacular birthday cards for me and the princesses.  Not only were they witty and beautiful she'd filled them with pictures of us (one unflattering, ahem).  However, these cards never made their way to us due to circumstances beyond my control (the Wasband had a thing for hording mail).  So she produced them AGAIN and sent them to me here at the Townhouse. 

The girls were all delighted (as was I) but I was especially moved by MiMi's response.  She said, " this is so beautiful Mommy.  I love AL so much.  I'm going to keep it for ever right here,"  and she touched a pocket on her shirt and I said, "In your pocket?"  and she giggled and said, "No, Mom.  In my heart."