dar liomsa (in my opinion)

A recent mini van vacuuming session revealed more than crumbs and sticky things.

It made me realize what a poor car keeper I am.

I suppose it's because I rarely invite anyone into my van.

Granted, I do provide the occasional ride to an extra kid to and from school and sports. But kids don't care.

It's only when I am obliged to transport another adult that I consider the cleanliness inside my vehicle.

Apparently I can look past the filth each day as I run circles around this town.

Looking closer with a more critical eye, I see the dust, dirt, snack remnants, and broken kids meal toys for what they are. Filth.

I would never let my home reach this level of filth but for some reason I allow it in my car.

Had I ever let my living room carpet pile up with hairy M&M's and kernels of popcorn mixed with baseball cleat stench, I probably would have had my children removed from my custody years ago.

Don't judge me by my car's interior becasue it is not a true picture.

And while you're at it don't judge me on my  physical appearance either.

When you see me in the supermarket in my favorite sweatpants, know that it's because I have been cleaning my house all day ( my car not so much), but regardless of how I may appear, I am a clean person.

Really.

What did your husband think about that blog post you wrote about him?

Are you kidding me? My husband doesn't read my blog.

I don't think he  really believes I have a blog.

He thinks that when I am pounding away on my laptop,  I am discretely looking up photos of old boyfriends on facebook.

Really?

Really.

He has no idea what I write about him on my blog, even though it's always good stuff.

Of course.

He doesn't realize every night, while everyone sleeps, I sit alone with my thoughts and try to compile a meaningful blog.

Sometimes my focus is the news, sometimes overheard conversations, and often times the goings-on in this house.

He has no idea what I do.

And, those old boyfriends on facebook?

 Let me tell you.

Time has not been their friend.

 

Thank goodness the tanorexic NJ mom brought light to a growing epidemic.

I'm not sure why we couldn't see the dangers before, but her story brought awareness, apparently.

Her shoe polish skin, against her bleached, white hair has people talking.

A recent news story announced she is now banned from tanning salons.

It hs also been rumored that she is banned from hair salons and the bleach aisle in Shop Rite.

Okay, that last part I totally made up. But, really where will it end?

Will 7 eleven clerks now be forced to turn away anyone with a smoker's cough?

Will beer distributors deny a red nosed, hiccuping customer?

Who are we to judge?

(Well, I am a blogger, it's my job to judge.)

But who are businesses to judge  their customers?

When their customers can't get enough of what they are selling, to then deny them?

It doesn't seem fair.

Let her tan, let her bleach.

Do not stop this train wreck!

 

A recent changeover to my Spring handbag revealed something about me.

First being, I only use the word 'handbag' in word form, it somehow looks better than 'purse'. If  I were speaking to you, I would never say 'handbag', but in blog form, 'handbag' is the way to go.

The handbag cleanout  revealed something I never realized about myself.

I am the Queen of the shortlist.

In my handbag, I found copious amounts of lists (copious being another word only used in blog).

Tiny notes that all follow the same theme. Bread, milk, juice being the leaders of most lists.

The things that have me running to the store between huge shopping trips.

The quick trips (everyday) that make the cashier scratch her head and wonder, does that woman ever make a list?

In fact, I do.

I have short lists and long lists.

I fear I would never survive out in the country. In a place where people purchase food once a month and they better get everything they need. Okay, maybe I'm thinking Little House on the Prarie days.

There are days when I decide I want to bake a cake and I lack certain ingredients.

I try to include everything on my weekly shopping list, but things happen. some things never make it to the list.

The children in this house  devour a gallon of milk in no time, and of course the next day expect to have something in their  cereal.

Hence, the short list.

Hence, the daily trips to the supermarket.

And, hence? another word that looks better written than spoken.

 

 

 

Often when I am struggling with a blog topic, the 11-year old in me, begs to write about other people. You know pajama clad,  dentally challenged people I meet in my daily travels.

I know it's not nice, but it is so easy.

It's my go- to topic that never seems to fail.

It's much better than owning up to whatever challenges I may be facing in my own life.  It's the spoke and mirror trick I like to use to distract from what's really happening.

My daily rants about laundry, dishes, and dinner can grow tiresome.

Complaining about having and caring for three children is trite. I wouldn't trade those three little blog topic inspirations for the world. Sometimes I jokingly complain about the torture they put their father and I through, but it is all in jest. I can't imagine a day without them, also it would make my title of stay-at-home -mom sound rather silly.

I hate when I hear other moms complain about their kids who will soon be home all summer, and where can I find a sleep away camp for them so I don't have to deal. I smile as if I agree, then quietly judge them. Are you for real? You would really ship your kids off for the summer if you had the chance? Soon enough they will be gone for summer and fall and spring and only returning with dirty laundry.

For now, I plane to cherish these summers with my children, with day trips to the beach, the park and anywhere else I can take them.

I may compalin here and there, but only for the sake of this  blog, of course.

 

I did something really terrible yesterday.

Well, terrible in a funny way.

I had to visit my daughter's middle school to pick up paperwork

As I entered the building, I spotted my daughter at lunch with her friends.

I paused and waved, assuming my daughter would be just as excited to see me unexpectedly as I was to see her.

The wave she replied with said other wise.

It was a wave that screamed, "really mom, you are here and you are waving to me? excuse me while I hide under this table."

I guess I forgot ,for a moment, how uncool it is to actually have parents when you are in the 8th grade.

I too, had this issue as a young girl. I used to plead to my Dad to drop me off a few hundred yards before the school door, and please if you must escort me in, do it without the plaid blazer.

I'm not sure exactly what age it becomes uncool to have parents, but it hangs around for a while.

And sometimes I forget and wave to my chidlren when they are busy trying to be cool and parent-less with their friends.

My bad.

There have been recent rumblings in the stay- at -home mom arena.

Politicians throwing accusations and others responding.

At the same time there was a separate word war among lululemon- yoga- pants -wearing- moms.

With all this controversy and name calling, I felt it necessary to chime in.

Apparently, working moms with an axe to grind, have taken fire at stay -at- home -moms who spend their days in lululemon yoga pants.  The attack is not new ground, women have been judging one another for years. With one group blatantly misinterpreting the other. It's and age old debate. After reading a recent blog post, via a twitter link, I felt the need to reply, but only after first googling said lululemon yoga pants. This lululemon war is based on the  assumption that stay- at- home moms who spend their days prancing around town in these $98 a pair yoga pants, live a life of leisure. Their days filled with yoga class, pilates, and Starbucks breaks,  while their children are in school and their husbands are at work.

That is no one's business but their own.  Quite frankly, it's a schedule I would gladly take, if I could afford it.

The problem I have with this war, is that I had no idea these expensive yoga pants even existed. The only yoga pants I have ever owned came from the maternity section in Target, which I wore when I may or may not have been pregnant, whatever. Those yoga pants never once experienced a 'downward dog' or the utterance of a Namaste, as I have never actually taken yoga. I wore them because they were the most comfortable pair of pants I ever owned. They were sweat pants, without really being sweat pants.

The point is, regardless of the clothes one wears, what other women do all day long while their chidlren are in school is their business. And if a working mom is jealous of a stay- at- home mom simply becasue she spends her days in yoga pants, then that mom needs to look within. Change yourself. Petition to change the dress code at work, to include your beloved yoga pants. Or switch careers and become a stay- at- home mom (they're always hiring). Whatever you are disliking about any stuation, let the change begin with you.

Do I make assumptions based on other people's clothing? Absolutely. That's my favorite game to play! The mom I sat next to at my kids' last  dentist appointment, dressed in a tennis skirt and ponytail, glued to her iphone, complaininig that her daughter's braids ( she got in Jamaica) were coming out? I totally wrote her story in my head.  The moms I see  in the school drop off, donning  pajama bottoms and be  dhead, I may or may not be judging them. The busy looking moms in leggings, running sneakers and Vera Bradley diaper bags I rub elbows with in the clearance aisle at  Target? I could tell you how not so leisurely they spend their days, as their carts are filled with more chidlren than products.

But what would people say about me?

The mom strolling through the supermarket on a quiet afternoon, with no kids hanging off the shopping cart, begging for cereal. I would hope they would say, 'that right there is a veteran'.  She put in her time and now that her kids are in school all day, she gets to food shop in peace, it's a small reward, but  worth it. And those pants she's wearing? I think she snagged them off the $3 rack at JC Penney last week.

I lik e to think if myself as a fighter.

One who does not back down from a challenge.

But there is one thing that renders me helpless.

There is one fight I never feel prepared for.

And that would be stain fighting.

I do what I can to pre -treat, wash, dry, and fold.

I do it daily, and I do it well.

So , I thought.

But every once in a while, clothing emerges from the dryer, still stained.

I throw up my hands in defeat.

The stain wins.

I believe karma is, rolling your eyes when a weepy mother calls her grown child her baby, one minute, and the next minute you yourself are a weepy mother doing the same.

Because until you are a mother you don't fully understand 'mother vision', causing a mother to eternally view her child as an innocent three year old.

Once you become a mother you fully uinderstand the impact of "mother vision", until of course your own mother tries to baby you. Then, you find yourself aggravated and ranting and reminding your mother that you are a grown woman and does she know how old you are?"

To which she may be tempted to reply, yes, honey you're three.

My mortgage for a movie?

I placed a call to my mortgage broker this weekend.

She was surprised to hear from me, it being the weekend and all.

Also, she just scored us a really good rate this time last year.

So she was a bit confused as to what I might need so urgently on a Sunday morning.

Well, the kids are dying to see The Hunger Games, I explained.

Uh-huh.

And you can't watch a movie without the movie theater popcorn and candy.

Yes?....

And well, have you been to the movies lately? We have five people in our family.

And?....

Well, we're going to need to re-mortgage the house (again).