Lick the Bowl

So, I understand that when you go to an ATM, the mirror above the keypad serves as a safety feature.   After all, you need to see who may be behind you…I get that.   However, I am not sure why they have the same type of mirror above the refrigerated produce in the supermarket.   Seriously, what is the point of that?   Should I be afraid that someone is going to rip off my red peppers?   Do creepy and disturbing people have an affinity for fresh produce as opposed to the cheese or frozen waffles, which don’t have any mirrors in their sections?   I just don’t get it.   Should I surreptitiously be looking up to see who’s behind me while I bag my broccoli?   Probably not, but I admit that my produce paranoia did get the best of me as I stole a glance while bagging some cucumbers.   I didn’t see any vegetable molesters, though I’m surprised that the produce police didn’t issue a warrant for my threatening looking hair, which frankly was looking rather scary that day. Let’s just say that 95

My kids are happily exhausted by the long fun filled and activity laden days of camp.   Seriously, last night my 10 year old went to bed at 8:20 without so much as a complaint or a whine.   The bedtime antics of the six-year old in which we had to set up a behavior chart   to restore the sanctity of bedtime isn’t even needed anymore, as he practically begs me to go to bed.   I have very fond memories of summer camp and I too remember the delicious tiredness of a day well spent playing hard in the sun.   It’s funny how we change as adults because the thought of playing on a hot field, slathering on sunscreen, not to mention having to get into a tight bathing suit, is so unappealing to me at this moment in my life.   So, I have come up with my own brand of “Mommy Camp” and have filled it with lots of activities that I would find appealing.   In fact, I have created an entire schedule filled with various plenaries so that you too can enjoy the dog days of summer and hone some new skil

Apparently, a purple plum tree only has a life expectancy of 20 years or so.   I never realized that some trees have life expectancies, like humans. Unlike us, I always assumed that trees would live forever.   I mean, isn’t that the point of planting a tree anyway?   So that after we are long gone, the tree is still there like a pillar of strength continuing to emit life to all those who look at it? The tree that has been loyally standing in front of our house for 22 years (we have lived here for 14 years) only slightly defied these statistics, though, the ominous crack down the middle and the straggly blooms fearfully indicated that its demise was imminent.   After all, I didn’t want it to come crashing down on the house, or, more importantly, on one of the kids playing in the driveway.   No, the practical side of me prevailed on the side of safety, the emotional side…well, that was a completely different ballgame.   In the end, I decided it was for the best; my husband and I pick

I’m zealously cleaning, It’s out of control, The kids started camp And now I’m on a roll. In the younger one’s room, The closet came first, Five bags for donation All ready to burst. I’m purging, spelunking, and filling a basket, So much to throw out that I’m blowing a gasket. Train parts, and car wheels, there’s blink toys and bits, Stuffed in a drawer and none of it fits. Yo-yos, kazoos and buttons look rusty, Webkinz, stuffed doggies and pillow pets are dusty. I’m sneezing and coughing, my eyes are all red, And that’s just the closet, not under the bed. When I check under there, I find stray toys and notes; Pencils, pajamas, a doo dad that floats. A dirty old sock, a card game of sorts, A piece to a puzzle, a red pair of shorts. I know that his bedroom Looks that of a hoarder, It’s nothing compared to the room of my daughter! Sometimes I’ll sigh, or just shoot her a glare, Won’t tell her to clean it, no, that I don’t dare, ‘Cause, nagging and begging just isn’t the answer And some

Ah…the last day of school.   I thought I would be happier about this.   After all, I am tired, tired, tired. I am so done with carpools, rehearsals, homework battles, teacher issues,   strep throat, viruses, permission slips, projects, reports, extracurriculars,whining, lunches, lost and found,   calls from the nurse, shelling out money for various causes, projects, trips and gifts, sibling rivalry, lost books, sleepy , uncooperative children, girl drama and other assorted meltdowns… and this is all on a good day!   Yet, I find myself feeling restless and completely out of sorts.   Moreover, I sense it in the kids.   In fact, over these last two weeks, I have noticed explosive behavior in the form of tantrums, compounded by sleeping trouble, followed by increased whining and clinginess.   At first, I ignored it; I guess I just didn’t want to see the signs.   Instead, my frustration level only increased with each bedtime battle or morning meltdown a la Unit 2… a.k.a the six-year old

A Bloggy Moment As you all know, Father’s Day is just around the corner and I am going to take a bloggy moment to revere and laud my wonderful husband, a public statement of my gratitude and love if you will.   My husband is a keeper.   However, if it hadn’t been cemented after 14 years of marriage, this past weekend proved that there is always something new to learn about your spouse. The Blade My husband…who for this entry I have entitled as… The Blade (read on) is not a big outdoorsman.   His definition of “roughing” it is flying coach and forgetting his toothbrush at the Hilton.   Actually, lodging at the Hilton is probably “slumming” because he is a loyal Marriott patron. He is not big into pets (bad for the kids who desperately want a dog), and doesn’t really love sports (great for me).   Our second date occurred on Superbowl Sunday; we were the only ones in the restaurant and still couldn’t get good service.    He’s not big into skiiing, gardening, planting, nature, or he

My daughter and I were looking at a photo album the other day when she said, “Wow, Mom, you look so young here.”   I just frowned at her and replied…”Sweetie, we took this picture last fall.   I don’t look that much younger.”   Then, she did the little head bobble thing, as if to imply that I was delusional.     I heard my husband sighing in another room, which only meant that he keenly sensed the annoyed inflection in my voice and knew to use his ejector seat button on his escape hatch.   Later that evening, I began to examine the different angles of my face. Sure, there were a few crows-feet but they were nothing to get injections over.   I also had the patent laugh lines, which I hated, but again, not really a candidate for Restalyne yet, and I had a few railroad tracks on my forehead…nothing bangs couldn’t hide.   Moreover, I didn’t have any jowls, or even a turkey neck, so, what did my daughter see that I didn’t?   Perhaps, she sensed the overall marking of time by the natu

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If you have surmised anything about me, you could assume that my beauty regimen mirrors my “slightly” neurotic, change resistant persona, and you would be correct.   I rarely get manicures, my hair is super long because I only cut it every 8 months, and if my stylist cuts more than 2 inches off the bottom, I plunge into a deep depression and mourn its loss.    I have suits and other assorted outfits in my closet that are older than my marriage, which I keep in a vain attempt to fit into them again (the clothes that is…not the marriage).   Clearly, I like to play it safe.   Recently, I made my anticipated summer pilgrimage to the local salon to get my pedicure.   When it comes to nail polish colors, I usually stick with the understated neutrals…the light pinks, maybe a brownish mauve every now and then, and I usually do not waiver on this.   In fact, when reviewing some baby pictures from each of my children’s births, (they are four years apart) I noticed that I was sporting the same