good clean fun

I know a lot of families have "family game night", where I imagine them sitting around the table having a grand old time, snacking on carrots and celery, playing Monopoly, Clue or Yahtzee. My kids think a better game, (best played in the middle of the night), is Musical Vomiting. You only need two players, one adult and one sick child. However, it's just as enjoyable when another child is added to the mix. To play, the child vomits in his/her bed, and calls the adult player(s). The goal is to vomit on as many parts of the bed as possible: pillow, blanket, sheets, headboard and surrounding walls. Bonus points are awarded for stuffed animal friends. When the parent transfers the child to his/her own bed to clean up the vomit, that child should vomit in the parents' bed. As the parent is cleaning his newly soiled bed,the child can vomit in his freshly cleaned bed,and so on. The game ends when all the sheets, towels and rags have been used and the washing machine floods.
Nobody wins.

to whom it may concern

I am the queen of cleaning the guck out of of the drain cover in the kitchen sink. I am chief of scraping pink, hardened, horrid tasting toothpaste off the bathroom mirror. I am the CEO of laundry. But don't ask me to take the garbage to the curb. It's not my job. The fact that you are out of town is, in my opinion, a poor excuse. It can wait a week. And telling me that last time I left it for a week you found a rat in the garbage shed - that's no way to motivate me. Nice try though.

almost famous

If you haven't washed your hair or had your eyebrows groomed in a while, I highly recommend driving down to the epicenter of an international film festival in the passenger seat of your friend's black Cadillac Escalade as I did last night. Being in the car of choice of the who's who of Hollywood, the paparazzi and star gazers had a neat treat when they peered in and saw me, dirty hair pulled up into a makeshift bun, too tight white t-shirt, a bit sweaty from having spent two hours and 200 dollars on "brand names for less".
I hope I don't make the tabloids.

big girls might cry

I'm not ashamed to admit that I really like that new Fergie song. When I run with it blasting in my ear buds, I actually think I am Fergie and I have to fight very hard to suppress the urge to belt it out. That might frighten families out for an evening stroll, or worse, wake their sleeping babies in the stroller. Don't get me wrong - I am quite the singer - I reckon I'd make it to the top 20 on Idol. But others would not have the benefit of the background singers and music. That really makes the quality suffer and would likely have me sounding downright amateurish. Can't have that. Could be worse, I guess. Last week I thought I was Justin Timberlake.

crunchy

I just ate an entire box of cheese flavoured rice crackers. I even ate the cheese powder from the bottom of the bag with my moistened fingers. I suppose I could have stopped after one or two, but that's just not me. I used to have a roommate who would buy a chocolate bar, break off a square or two, fold it up and then put the rest in her purse. Baffling. I've never folded a chocolate bar back into its wrapper. I'm not even sure I'd know how to do it, I mean, do you just fold it over haphazardly? Would one need a Ziploc to seal the deal? Sometimes Sarah (her real name) would even forget about the chocolate, only to discover it when cleaning out her purse weeks later. Who does that? Too bad she's not my roommate anymore. I could really use something sweet to counter the saltiness.

Crazy

I'm neurotic. I'm more neurotic than your most neurotic friend.
As soon as she could talk,when my daughter would step into a public bathroom, she would say "DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING !" When I go to the park , I am sure they are going to break bones, or run into the street. Watching my eyes dart around would make anyone dizzy. When they start to jump off of furniture, I picture blood and missing front teeth .
"Daddy lets us do this," is the response to many of my vetoes. Sometimes I doubt the accuracy of that response though, like the time they told me :"Daddy lets us pee in the bath and drink the water." Please, let that not be true.
As my wise friend once said- Mommy is the Ferris wheel. Daddy is the roller coaster. Oh gosh- I would never let them on a roller coaster.

Bits and Pieces

I love my paper shredder. I shred everything - the usual stuff, like unwanted junk mail, old envelopes, etc. But sometimes I find it really exciting to shred the stuff I'm not supposed to shred. Things like: bills I'd rather not pay, kids' artwork I don't feel like saving (especially anything from a princess colouring book), important papers I don't feel like filing and sometimes even mail I have yet to open. Maybe it's the thrill of getting caught - by a child or my husband. I'm not sure. But I sure like my shredder. I wonder if it works on Parmesan cheese?

slice of life

Don't ever feel guilty about ordering pizza for dinner.

It's hot, it's tasty, it's got grains and dairy. The kids are happy. Add some wine, and the grown-ups are happy. There are no pots to scrub. What could be better?

After dinner , take full advantage of the carb effect and let the kids fall asleep in front of the TV. Transfer them into bed (don't wake them up). Then go downstairs, eat the last piece standing up at the sink, finish your wine and pat yourself on the back for another job well done.

pretty

It’s 9:30 am. I’m in line for my second coffee of the day, behind her. She’s got on some trendy, black yoga gear from head to toe. She’s wearing mascara and lip gloss. Her hair is shiny and it smells good.

I’m in flab squeezing jeans that make my upper body look like a muffin top. I’m wearing mascara too, but it’s from yesterday. It’s under my eyes now, deepening the dark circle effect. I haven’t washed my hair and I feel the urge to scratch my scalp, but maybe it’s because I’m thinking about my daughter’s play date last week. (“It’s so nice to finally be lice free,” chirped mom, upon pick-up). I’m not sure if I’ve got on a bra.

Some days, I want to be that mom. You know the one - good hair, great clothes, and a nice bag. But some days I’m happy, even smug, that I’m not. After all, I spend most of my day with people who would never notice that I am in need of an eyebrow wax. (I’m referring to my kids, but I’m pretty sure my husband would never notice either.)

When I do clean up though, my lip gloss, earrings and clean shirt evoke the same question. “Mommy, why do you look pretty? Are you going to a meeting?” Sadly, they’re often right.

Without fail, anytime I leave the house looking really awful, I regret it. There was the time I ran into an old boyfriend after throwing a coat over my pyjamas to pick up bagels with my daughter. It seemed like a great idea at the time – an early morning adventure. She had unbrushed hair, mismatched socks and a nightgown, topped off with a sparkly tiara and rubber boots. Adorable. I had run a brush through my curly, fully dry hair and my face was splotchy from a drugstore facial. I was also 4 months pregnant. Not a good look.

So I try to get it together, not just because I may run into an ex, but so I can hold my head high at such exciting venues as the grocery store, the library and the gas station. I do feel better with brushed teeth and clean hair and perhaps those around me appreciate it too. I’ve even been known to wear stretchy yoga gear on occasion. After all, there are reflective surfaces everywhere, and I’d like to walk by them without startling myself.

filthy

We all have dirty little secrets. Mine’s filthy – inside and out, but mostly inside. It’s my car.
It’s bad. Sometimes it smells. Even my daughter, who has been known to paint her arms and face with ketchup from her plate, struggles to manoeuvre herself over shoes, socks, artwork, toys, sippy cups and muffin tops, to get to her seat. Sometimes she’ll even say:

“Mommy, maybe we should clean the car today.”

And we do. It’s not that I don’t try. We use those industrial strength vacuum cleaners, where you insert a coin for serious suction. That thing could suck my son’s sock right off of his foot, but it is powerless when faced with the indestructible crumbs and dirt that inhabit my car. The squalor comes in many forms:

• Dry stuff- These include the seemingly innocent crackers or cookies, which, when stepped on with wet boots, become embedded. I’d also include any type of candy in this category, as long as it’s not been heated up by the sun or an adorable yet hot little hand. (see “smeared stuff” below)
  
• Moist stuff– A muffin may be a moist and delicious snack, but it makes for nasty crumbs that take on a life of their own and become lodged in the car’s various crevices. Ditto for berries.
  
• Smeared stuff- When kids eat cream cheese, chocolate, yogurt tubes, and the like, there will be smears. Once dried, they become a permanent part of the car.
  
• Liquids – Water’s ok, but I learned that there really is a reason to cry over spilled milk in the car. When it starts to sour, no amount of air freshener will cover the stench.
  

Luckily, most of the food consumed by the kids in the car does not end up on the floor. It goes into the black hole, whose contents can only be unearthed when the car seats are removed and shaken. Hey, on the bright side, if we were ever stranded in the car, we’d be able to subsist for at least a week.

Thankfully, we don’t live in our car. We can always leave the mess behind and head indoors where it’s nice and … never mind. My house is another story. Let’s not go there.