Friday, December 17, 2010

Christmas Bush

When picturing the memory making moment of picking out a Christmas tree, and taking it home to decorate I picture my family like a new aged version of the Walton’s- with 6 less children. I picture my son, and for once his hair does not have two cowlicks and is lying flat on his head. My Hubby and I are holding hands, while the unmistakable voice of Nat King Cole serenades us. The house smells of fresh baked sugar cookies and it is warm with the glow of an open fire.

In reality, Honey calls me at work- to leave me a message about the free tree that he found on the side of the road. I immediately wonder if by found he means “that I cut from some guy’s yard”. He goes on to explain via voice mail that the spirit of Christmas has nothing to do with spending $30 on a tree for the living room. Mind you, he spends $30 a day at convenience stores on junk food and Red Bulls to keep him going.

When I arrive home with our son, whose hair is sticking up so much that it actually looks like it is floating an inch above his scalp- I see the tree. It is leaning up against Honey’s truck outside and from what I can tell the found tree is better than I had imagined. I clear a spot in my cluttered, fire place-less living room, directly in front of the window so that passersby will see my new beautiful tree decorations and flashing lights. Honey drags the tree in and sets it in the stand. The bottom 2 feet of the tree is branchless and the tree is three feet taller than our living room. The obvious solution would be to cut off the branchless bottom- however, there is not one trunk...there are three. To cut anything from the bottom would unravel the entire…well bush. I have a Christmas bush.

I begin to cry a bit. Honey, scared that I may demand that he go back out and pay $30 for a real tree springs to action- telling me that this can be fixed. Our son has taken no interest in the Christmas bush and so instead of Nat King Cole’s voice serenading me I have the sound of a RC Monster truck slamming into my armoire to calm my nerves. Oh, wait and now the sound of drilling.

Honey manages to drill 6 or so holes into the bottom of the three trunks and fill them with the two feet of branches that he has sawed off from the top. My tears have subsided and Honeys enthusiasm causes me to make the best of the situation. I string the bush with lights, and bulbs. I hang the Santa and the star. And then, I shut the curtain.

Happy Holidays Readers! See you next year!

Monday, November 29, 2010


Girls Reunion weekend- in a nutshell...

1.  It is true what Cosmo says.  Women are sexier in their 30's...maybe because we now have money for both beer and eyebrow waxing.  Maybe it is because we can afford to have our hair done by someone who actually went to cosmetology school and graduated.  Maybe it is because since we were in college- SPANX have been invented and high waisted jeans- thanks to Jessica Simpson will never again be in style.

2. Some things never change.  We may all have jobs- real ones that we will not blow off for the right keg party- but all in all we are still a bunch of crazy, 20 year olds at heart.  For example- as classy as we claimed to be- we were still escorted out of the bar...kicking and screaming the whole way out.

3.  Killington Vermont- I take it upon myself to apologize for the group as a whole.  We are sorry and promise to be better next time.

4.  Prosecco+Martinis+Scorpion Bowls+bottles of wine= Man Rape on the Mountain....and a hazy explanation to a detective who showed no signs of being surprised when I told him that I had no recollection of what happened in the room that I slept in.  Maybe he was not surprised because I was wearing above the knee boots, over pink sweat pants and a flannel shirt.  Maybe the Mai Thai umbrella stuck in my hair was explanation in itself.

5.  I was almost swabbed for DNA- and not in a fun I got swabbed for DNA sort of way.  In a I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth- from what I can remember which is nothing after the last scorpion bowl sort of DNA swab.

6. I can't wait to get the girls together a few years when the wanted signs have come down and we are allowed back in the 05751 area: When it is official that any and all charges have been dropped: when high waisted jeans are back in style!!!

Friday, November 5, 2010

Bye Bye Blondie

Today is the end of an era.  The end of the blonde MorganU.  The end of ego boosting cat calls, free drinks and valid excuses for my moments of sheer brainlessness.
Tomorrow I embark on a new journey.  I venture into the often underrated world of the brunette.  I am saying goodbye to my inner Marilyn and introducing the world to my new attitude - a- la- JLo.  Why you ask, am I trading in sun kissed perfection for a more sultry look?  Why would I mess with a good thing (god she is vain), because friends, being a blonde is hard work.
Every 6 weeks I look in the mirror and realize that my blonde locks are now a shade or two greener than intended.  I have an inch of mousy brown part splitting my head in two.  I look washed out by 3 pm when my bronzer has all but vanished- tanning nothing now but the white shirt I am wearing.  I look less like Barbie and more like...well...anemic. 
So, tomorrow I will march into the salon.  I will slap the photo of JLo on the sink counter and demand to be brunette-a-fied.  I will ignore the wary glare I am sure to get as she looks me up and down and can't help herself from smirking at the thought of my looking like a Latina pop star.  She will then look at my ass as I walk to the chair and think- Actually, she may be able to pull this off.
So I say my bitter-sweet goodbyes to my blonde days.  I look forward to being taken more seriously (who is she kidding), but know I will miss the occasional rubber necker.  I look forward to not having to spend money that I don't have to satisfy my own vanity yet I will miss the stigma that comes with blond locks. 

Goodbye blond hair- I will miss you but we will keep in touch and I am sure this over processed head of mine has not seen the last of you!!!!

Friday, October 8, 2010

Janes Daughter-

On behalf of my mothers birthday I am reposting a blog I wrote last year...enjoy

Jane’s Daughter

When I was born my parents were living in a little farm house in Shrewsbury VT. Its bucolic setting, sheep in the yard and pond across the street was a far cry from the upper middle class neighborhood in Scarsdale NY that my mother grew up in. She and my father were young hippies, and moving to the country in Vermont was the hippie thing to do at that time.

By the time my mother died she hadn’t lived in Vermont for over 20 years, but she had always said that it was where her heart was.

My love for the simple life in Vermont is not the only likeness to my mother that I have. For one, I have an uncanny physical resemblance to her. I was once approached at a grocery store by a complete stranger the said to me “You must be Jane’s daughter”. The stranger had worked with my mother when my mother was in her twenties. She said that it was like she had traveled back in time and was seeing my mother. To this day, that has been the best compliment that I have ever received.

My love of wine paired with hor derves and good company is another trait that my mother passed down to me. My fondest memories of my her are sitting at the big kitchen island with a bottle of Yellow Tail Cabernet, cheese and crackers, telling funny stories that got retold every time our family got together. My mother would start crying from laughter, her mascara would run, she would whimper and then pour herself another glass of wine.

Jane was a lover. She was a true romantic and yet she never really mastered the art of Happily Ever After. I sometimes think that she wanted to love, more than she actually did…and at times she loved more than she was loved. I worry that this might have been passed down to me. I am a romantic person, and I never thought that at 28 years old that I wouldn’t have yet had my special day in white.

Mom had few careers in her time, finally settling on Real Estate Sales. She was very good at it, having such a great personality. I always felt though, that my mother was put on this planet to be a mom. It was the one thing that she put in front of everything else, and she did a stellar job of it. I remember a night gown that she had, that I loved. It was flannel and blue and worn. It smelled of her and felt so good to cuddle up to.

Flighty is a word that has been used to describe my mother (and myself). She once came out of a convenient store and got in the wrong car. She was about to put the car in reverse when she heard a clearing of the throat. The woman sitting in the passenger seat expecting her husband to get in the drivers seat was a bit startled when the 5ft 4in petite blonde woman took his place. This sort of thing happened all the time. In fact, Janie blonde moments were often the stories being served at the kitchen island along with the cabernet and brie.

At Moms funeral, the church was full and there were people standing up and spilling to the outside. We opted to leave out the hymns and instead played the soundtrack to The Big Chill along with a few songs by The Moody Blues. Pretty sure that was a first for the church. We told funny stories, laughed and of course cried. At the end of the service, my mother’s body was carried out to the song My Girl. To many of us she was our girl.

Mom was cremated. The following summer the family got together and we spread some of her ashes in a lake here in Vermont, where her heart remains.

I will always be Jane’s Daughter. I hold that title proudly, as it deserves to be. To me it means that I am beautiful, warm, charming, sensitive, a great friend and that I am somebody’s everything.

Friday, September 24, 2010

Dear Oprah,

Dear Oprah,

I do not know how this happened-but somehow I missed the opportunity to compete against other Oprah fans for the opportunity of receiving my own show. Surely, you sent out a memo or sent me a letter personally, and I intend on having some serious WORDS with my postal carrier because the memo was not received. As a true fan of yours, and one that has very real intentions of subscribing to O Magazine and checking with my cable company to see how far back the O network will set me, I feel like I deserve another shot.

You are probably asking yourself “Why should I give this beautiful, talented, hilarious and persuasive woman a second chance?" Let me tell you why. Currently I am not entirely satisfied in with middle class existence. I would prefer to drink more expensive wine and trade date night at Applebee’s in for something a little more French and less chain. I would like to be able to replace my whole roof instead of deciding which rooms it is ok for it to rain in. I have tried to use a round brush on my limp (yet full of potential) hair with no success and there for can think of no other option than to have a stylist. I cannot do this on the slightly shy of $30,000 that I make yearly.

Right now I am considering a few career changes. I have thought about contacting the Bravo network to see if they need a new Top Chef Judge because I am an excellent eater. I sent a resume to Hugh Heffner because I hear he is looking for a new girlfriend and it just so happens that I have recently gone blonde and I applied for the Real World but apparently I am too old and cannot bring my family with me- something about it not being appropriate to have a 3 year old living with 7 drunken 20 year olds. Oprah, I want you to know that if any of my other job interests pan out- I would pick yours first. I actually think I could host your show during the day and judge Top Chef at night, so there is that option as well.

In conclusion, don’t feel bad about my hearing about the job after the fact. We all make mistakes. I once bounced a $2.47 check for a cup of soup. I am not angry with you and I completely understand that you are busy. Take this as an opportunity to make things right. I can start anytime and my salary requirements are negotiable.

Thank you for your time. I look forward to hearing from you.

The One and Only

Morgan Urso

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Where the F was I????

 I was watching Entertainment Tonight Monday evening in preparation of the big Dancing with the Stars premier- and there was a segment about Oprah's new show- in which contestants compete for their own television talk show on the O network.  I sprung out of "lounge" pose- straight into "where the f*** was I pose" which is sitting straight up- wine spilling onto my sheets and chin dropped revealing my stained red tongue.  How can this be?  How can there be an opportunity, so clearly put on this planet for ME and I some how missed it.
What was I doing when this announcement was made? And where were my so called friends when they heard of this opportunity?  Something was not right.  Sadly, I was probably potty training, doing dishes, or entering data when the opportunity for greatness presented by the Queen herself passed me by.
Now I am left with the "doing it all on my own" a.k.a "greatness not being handed to me on a silver platter".  I am forced to "work hard" and "start at the bottom".  And all the other crap that I am not interested in. 
So dear friends, readers and stalkers (OMG that would be so cool) please, when you hear of an opportunity like this, one in which I could be catapulted into fame and fortune, pick up the phone and call me.  You will probably get my answering machine.  Do not leave me a message- I do not know how to check them.  Try my cell- again you will get an answering machine- it will still have the last owners voice message- don't bother leaving me one as I have forgotten my pin.  Instead come by my house- knock three times and scream "Oprah" so that I know it is you and not the vacuum cleaner salesman that I made an appointment with and then changed my mind-there for I am pretending to be dead to avoid having to hurt his feelings.  Don't let me down folks...I need this.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

The Lake Monster

I just returned to the real world from a much needed vacation.  This is the time of year that Eccentric Uncle B comes to VT to escape the hustle and bustle of Brooklyn.  You may remember him from last years post "Boxers In Branches".  If not, let me re cap.  Uncle B is the strangest man on the planet.  He washes his clothes every night in the sink with a bar of soap and then decorates the house with sopping wet under shorts.  He permanently smells of moth balls and he has read  every book ever written and watched every movie ever made- most likely on VHS. 

This time I was able to witness a few more quirks that I must have shut out last year.  For example, Uncle B did not particularly care for the creamer that I bought- so instead of using milk and sugar like the rest of the civilized world would do- he decided to sweeten his coffee with Maple Walnut ice cream.  This meant that ever second sip was followed by the crunching of...yes, a walnut.  Nothing like floating nuts in your coffee to start your day off. 

Another Uncle B-ism is his constant discussions of the unknown species.  He asked every visitor that we had- if they had ever seen Big Foot or Thunder Bird.  When disappointed with their negative replies he would fish for something- a cougar? a bear? a giant prehistoric turtle?

Due to severe lack of pigmentation Uncle B makes sure to cover up in the sun.  Not only does he sit in the shade- but at one point he wore a camouflaged visor underneath a straw hat.  When questioned, he explained that the visor was for the glare and the hat was (to embarrass me) for the bald spot on the top of his pasty head.

When in Rome- Do as the Romans Do- I think this is Uncle B's motto while he is here, however apparently he thinks the people of Lake Dunmore bath in the lake - and this includes shaving.  At 9 in the morning I would sit on the screened in porch and watch my 65 year old uncle - with his perky pencil eraser nipples, shaving his face in water up to his knobby knees. 

In efforts to stay on an exercise regime while on vacation I dragged Uncle B on a hike one morning before I even allowed him to have his walnut coffee.  Apparently vigorous exercise was all he needed because instead of a heaping cup of coffee when we got off the trail at ten AM he found a glass of Merlot to be more satisfying.

I really have a thousand other quirky things I could tell you- like his love of Haitian people and disdain for "the Mexicans".  Or about how he doesn't use a pillow case when he has a perfectly good Tee shirt to stuff a pillow in.  I could tell you about his love for his cats Little Miss Audrey and Junior- or about how he has the appetite of a 17 year old Olympian....But for now I will leave you with this.  As strange as he is, he is one of a kind and I wouldn't trade him for anyone else...unless that someone were really rich and I was their only beneficiary :-)

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

A Post To Post Because I Havent Posted

Sorry that I have been out of the bloggy world for a bit.  I have been busy being bored.  Sounds like an oxymoron right?  Like, well if you are so bored...why don't you blog.  The thing is I like to give you good quality material...and I haven't had much to go on lately. 
My ever talkative child has been belting out "I Wanna Be a Billionaire so FRICKIN Bad" it makes me laugh enough to pee a little and honestly I know that I should not promote it...but seriously...its too good to let go.
Pretty Much Hubby has been working away and due to his outdoor job and French Canadian blood he is darker than my half black siblings.  I now know what men feel like when their wives dye their hair a drastic color- It really is like sleeping with a black man- and I"m not complaining.  My grandmother will not dis own me this way either.
Work is work..I am glad to have a job and I have a good one- its just that work in general I find to be extremely over rated.  I do have a vacation coming up and I am elated- it is what gets me out of bed...that and my need to pee.
The house is coming along and by coming along I mean like existing in a remodeling coma- just sort of stagnant...beckoning me to pull the plug.  I can't because homelessness is not an option and most days I do not want my child taken from me. 
So there you have it- I posted a post to post a post and I apologize for my lack of adventure and excitement.  It will come...and I will share it when it does.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

I've Got Balls!

Today, on my lunch break I met with...get ready for new...LIFE COACH.  No, this is not going to be like my last diet, or week of sobriety- this is going to last.  We met at a trendy coffee shop- perfect location for my new age adventure.  While sipping an Italian soda and munching on a hummus sandwich I explained to my life coach why I was meeting with her in the first place.  I told her that I want to make my dreams of being a full time writer a reality.  Sip of lemon soda, swallow of hummus toast.  She seemed excited, like I was the perfect client for life coaching.  I told her that I am otherwise satisfied with the place that my life has decided to dwell.  That felt good- because it was actually true.  I am in love.  I have a beautiful (yes he is still beautiful even after I scalped him) child and the majority of my bills are paid..some not on time but that is neither here nor there. 
The only thing that my life is lacking (besides frequent vacations and pretty feet) is fulfillment.  The creative side of me- although often taken for a test driver is not yet on the open road.  I also told her that I need a secure plan in place to make this happen and that is what I need her help with.  Planning is not my strong point- just ask my life coach.  I was supposed to meet her Saturday at the bookstore and totally forgot.  I have the ideas- I just need a bit of help with the follow through. 
I really have been working hard during my few free minutes to make connections in the writing world, blog as often as possible and think positively about the future of Morgan U- World Renowned Writer. 
When going through the list of contacts I have made and people I have seeked out to help my career along my life coach said the best thing a life coach could ever tell a client: "You are going to make know why? Because you've got balls!"  So bloggy fans here's a my balls!

If you would like to check out my writing guru and now life coach- check it out

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Tuesdays Random Thoughts

A glimpse into my thought processes.

Making popcorn in an office setting should be like chewing gum in elementary school- you can only do it if you have enough to share with everyone...or at least me. 

I really need to clean out my fridge because I have gotten to the point where I have to hold my breath before opening it.  I also make a game plan before venturing in as to be in and out in the shortest amount of time possible.  For example last night I had left over spaghetti.  Before grabbing the container I made a check list of what I would need once the door was open.  Container of spaghetti a given, Parmesan cheese- check, extra sauce in case its dry- check, gigantic bottle of wine-which I will pour in a gigantic wine glass so that a) I don't have to go back for a little while to stinky fridge and b) so that I don't feel bad about skipping strength training because I only had one the time I go back to stinky fridge to pour second glass I won't care. 

If I am already doing your laundry and letting you have sex with me...on Saturday's..I think you owe me three months salary in the form of a shiny ring that I can show off to friends and family while saying...see I told you it would happen one day!

Is it Friday yet?

Monday, July 19, 2010

Man, Woman....Wild?

On an average night at our house, I can be found in my kitchen- cooking and watching crime shows or reality nonsense while Honey is in the living room watching the Discovery or History Channel. This past weekend in an effort to spend time together we found a reality show on the Discover channel- perfect compromise. The show was called Man, Woman, Wild. The premise of the show is a married couple- she a journalist, he a "survivor man". Together, they find themselves in the wild. They make shelters, hunt for food and make fires out of sticks. As always my mind starts to wander, and I picture Honey and I in the khaki outfits of our television stars.

Our show would be called Man, Woman, Why. I picture myself excited beyond reason for our survivor style bonding time. I like that Honey does not have a cell phone attached to his ear and that there is no one in the Wild that is going to distract him from spending quality time with me. Often in our real life, business calls halt our "together" time. I am not thrilled with my ensemble ,as khaki is really not a good color on me but beyond that my hopes are high.

The first step in surviving in the wild is to find shelter. In our real life- we have been remodeling our house for over three years, a project that has been a subject of many a bicker between Honey and I. Now, in my head, we are to build a shelter from scratch in the middle of the rain forest- that's right my "survivor" story is in the rain forest. I decide to take Honey's lead- he is the builder in the family after all. If we were to be in a survival situation, I would have to put the nagging aside. Our temporary shelter would not need interior trim or a deck after all- it would be right up Honey's alley.

After securing our new abode, we would need to find food. This is where the fun would begin. Honey would decide that after building a shelter that he needs to relax. I would have not eaten for three hours which is unfathomable to me and I would demand that he get off of his shelter building behind and help me find food. By helping me find food- I of course mean to go find food while I stay at the shelter and make it a little more homey..a nice twig wreath perhaps...some bamboo railings.

In an effort to keep Mama Bear happy- Honey would stomp into the rain forest muttering under his breath about me. Later he would return with whatever rain forest food that he was in the mood for. In our real lives he will volunteer to do the grocery shopping only to come home with strawberries, ice cream, cotton candy and cottage cheese...having spent $60 and an hour. He will argue with you that I do the same...he is never in the mood for the vegetables that I feel the need to purchase.

With bellies full of rain forest berries and edible bugs we would move on to fire building. I am ashamed to say that this too would be a task that would be handed to Honey. I am not doing so well in the survivor-ship contrary to my going along with the wearing of khaki. Honey grew up in a farm family- which is his reasoning behind his survivor skills. I grew up with an attorney for a father and a real estate agent mother. This has left me with great arguing skills, and expensive taste- neither of which is a skill that will help me in the rain forest.

Man, Woman, Wild is over and so is my day dream. I look around and see that I am safe in the confines of my living room- not wearing a speck of khaki- thank god. We are in our un-finished shelter, with heaping bowls of pasta. There is no fire- but the humming of our AC. I realise that we too are surviving. Maybe not the rain forest but the real world. Together we have built shelter, found food and warmth..together. And we are surviving just fine.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Expanding in the Bloggie World

Hey Bloggie fans I have some good news (for me, you may not care...but you should..)  I have started a second blog.  Actually my sister Jess and I have.  It is called Mamma Mia's and it is a foodie blog for foodie moms.  Be sure to check it out at  We will be posting recipes (my sister is a chef), and sharing stories  as if we were sitting around the dining room table together.  We have posted the first recipe for Bloody Mary Cottage Pie- I will be tryin it out this weekend- you should too! 

As always thanks for reading!!!

Friday, July 9, 2010

Oh Brother!

You know when you are growing up...and you are a bit naughty...and your parents say to you:
I can't wait until you have children!

I think I know exactly what they were talking about.  Both my self and Pretty Much Hubby were not exactly Little Angels.  You may have read my blog about being deemed an IMP in my kindergarten report card.  Well Ladies and Gentlemen- Payback is a bitch!

Here are a few things that my toddler son has said in the past few weeks.  Each time he has a moment like this I am instantly thrust into the future- where he is a teenager and I am totally grey!

1.  Last night while watching a movie, a romantic scene came on.  Man is gazing dreamily into the eyes of Woman.  Nothing happens but the sexual tension is obvious....even to Little Man.  He stares at the screen and says "Him is goin in her crib!"

2.  Last week, Little Man was crawling around the house on all fours in nothing but a diaper, meowing.  He was pretending to be a cat.  He told me to take his diaper off.  I fought with him until the commercial was over and then wanting to make him quiet so that I wouldn't miss any King of Queens, I gave in and stripped him nude.  "See Mommy" He is now on all fours pointing at his penis.  "See, I a kitty cat- see my tail?".  Even Jerry Stiller cant deliver a line like that!

3.  Getting in the face of an extremely hairy older man at the beach, Little Man points, finger almost touching Sasquatch- "Mommy, what is that?".  That's what I will never let happen to your father!

4.  We are working on getting Little Man to use the right "him" and "her".  This is happening at the same time as his curiosity about his little "package" is coming into full swing.  He had been asking me as I dress in the morning if I have a penis.  I say "no" and tell him that I am a girl and that only boys have penises.  Pretty Much Hubby's best friend whom LM calls Uncle enters the house.  "Uncle- do you have a penis"  Uncomfortably, childless Uncle says "Yes" which LM responds excitedly "Can I see it?" 

I'm doomed!!!

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Oops I Did It Again

I Morgan Solemnly swear to never touch my own head or anyone else's for the rest of my life.  I promise to love, cherish and obey (not sure how to do that) the hair on my head, my Pretty Much Husbands and our poor, innocent recently scalped child's.

I don't quote Brittany Spears very often but being that she shaved her own head and I mistakenly shaved my toddlers I found it fitting so Ill say it again...Oops I Did it Again!

I'm not cheap.  And I am not a hairdresser.  So, it is still unclear to me why I felt that it was necessary to try my hand at barbering on my unarmed Little Man, but I did.  I think it clear now the level of my impulsiveness.  I may even see if I can coin the term "Obsessive Impulsive Disorder".  If we can have "Chronic Dry Eye" and "Restless Leg Syndrome" I think that "Obsessive Impulsive Disorder" or OID should seriously be looked into.  And I should be put under a microscopic lens, poked and prodded and studied carefully. 

I got it in my head....(never a good place for things to be "got") that I could give LM a buzz cut.  One time when we were both drunk and I put PMH's hair on the line in a game of pool only to have lost the game, I buzzed his.  So I guess you can say I'm experienced (?).  I called a friend who let me borrow some clippers.  And I had at it.  Words can not describe the lack of hair on my miniature white supremacist look alike so I have no choice but to display my work.  This is not a proud moment for me.

I'm going to say it again:  I Morgan Solemnly swear to never touch my own head or anyone else's for the rest of my life. I promise to love, cherish and obey (not sure how to do that) the hair on my head, my Pretty Much Husbands and our poor, innocent recently scalped child's.

Monday, June 21, 2010

On a Whim

Many of my worst moments have occurred as a result of my impulsiveness.  On a whim I have bought $80 diet pills only to have taken them once, not liked the jittery feeling and stuffed them in my desk, traded in a perfectly good affordable car for a car that I can barely afford and don't really like, and had every hair color and cut imaginable...
I have topped my dumbest moment..topped it with a topper that rivals the top of the toppers.  It all started with my looking for a personal trainer on Craigslist.  ( I have a cleaning lady and I want a personal my mind I make a lot of my mind).  Well, apparently I am the only person in the entire state of Vermont that is not okay with love handles because there are NO personal trainers in VT...not on Craigslist anyway.  But, there is a high school student that does hair extensions.  Sane people at this point would say hmmm. high school student, not a good idea.  Not me.  I was more excited than when I found out there was going to be a Sex in the City sequel.  Immediately, I emailed high school hair doer.  I told her that I had been looking for someone to do hair extensions for a long time and emailed her a picture of my flat lifeless hair.  She immediately responded and we set a time to hairify.
This Saturday I woke up at 6:30 and set off for the almost 2 hr drive north to total strangers house with visions of myself with Goldilocks hair beautiful, silky and head turning.  I arrived at a middle class development and felt relieved.  this was not a house that I could imagine a serial killer dwelling in.  I knocked on the door and an adorable, African teenager answered the door.  She barely spoke English but I managed to understand that she had a problem.  She couldn't get the hair. 
I had just driven 2 hrs...I was going back with long hair one way or another.  She said we could go to the African Market in Burlington and get the hair together.  I was game.
We loaded into my car where at first she sat there silent as could be.  I asked her the questions I am sure she has answered a gabillion (that's a lot) times.  Why did she move to VT from Senegal etc.  She was there because her father (whom I had not seen yet) had fallen in love with a tourist- I'm not kidding when I say that her stepmother was en elementary school art teacher.  She was as like an elementary school art teacher as yours and mine.  She was crafty and white and apparently in love with everything African- even the men. 
Anyway back to the hairy adventure.  African teen and I arrive at the African smelled like baby oil and fried rice.  The woman that owned the store helped us to the bin of hair where we found a close match to my own color.  Thrilled we headed back to the house.  That is when I met Dad.  Dad was a Rastafarian.  Dred locks, beanie, baggy linen pants and flip flops.  I have found many black men attractive, this one was not.  This was a face that only an art teacher could love.  With a rolled cigarette in his mouth he nodded to me.  I nodded back.
We went to the porch where I would sit for the next four hours while African Teen sewed someone elses hair into my now numb skull.  I was looking at the beautiful day before me and thinking that once I saw my beautiful new tresses it would be worth my wasting an entire day at a strangers house, 2 hrs away from my own. 
Go look in the mirror.  tell me if you like.
I rush to the bathroom where I throw on the light and look in the mirror.  Staring back at me is not the beautiful should- be celeb I was picturing.  No.  Staring back at me mocking me and now beginning to cry was John Travolta in the movie Hair Spray.  I had a lions mane- down to the middle of my back.  I looked like a washed ashore mermaid.  A strawberry blond rats nest sat atop my teary eyed face.  Then I thought of sweet little African teen, and I sucked it up.  I walked out of the bathroom and gave her a thumbs up- it was easier than coming up with words. 
You like it?
I mmmm- hmmmed.  I haded her a check- with a larger than necessary tip and said thank you, and left. 
On the way home I cried, and laughed and did everything but pay attention to the road.  God wasn't going to punish me further.
Luckily the hair has managed to fall quite a bit.  I look more like a Barbie Doll than John Travolta's stunt double.  I still don't like it, but its better.  I have decided to force myself to live with the result of my latest whim in hopes that it will be a constant reminder of what not to do.  If I ever begin talking about cheap tummy tucks in Tiawana...please STOP ME!

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Morgan U Meets Muscles

This week I met muscles in my body that previously I was completely unaware of.  I have a muscle just below the sagging crease of my bottom, somewhere below the exact spot that my saddle bags have been dwelling for as long as I can remember.  Deep, underneath the dimpled skin has been this muscle.  I tried to google the name of it and got nothing so I have named it my Bin Laden muscle for its fantastic ability to hide undetected for all these years.  this is not the only new muscle that I have met since beginning my strength training class.  There are two muscles right below Mary Kate and Ashley Boobson (my ta-tas).  I am hoping that if I pay attention to these muscles The Boobson twins may decide that there is life after nursing.
I have taken two classes so far and the results are - sore muscles, and less of a guilty feeling when I am pouring my totally deserved glass of wine at the end of the night.  I am proud of myself and have been having fun with it too.  For the 27th time this year I am vowing to you that I am turning over a new leaf.  This time the turning may take a little longer because my Oprah's ( the muscles under my arms that I was sure were wings) are a bit tender and bending over to the leaf may take a second more because I have a sharp stabbing pain in my back (that I will call Jesse James).
To leaf turning and new found friends!!!
To leaf turning and new found friends!!!
To leaf turning and new found friends!!!
To leaf turning and new found friends!!!
To leaf turning and new found friends!!!
Two more you can do it!
To leaf turning and new found friends!!!
one more- make it count!
Toooo leaf turning and                      newwwww found frienDs  !!!  Now for push ups!

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Bathing Beauties

This weekend I came to a revelation.  The majority of the bodies on the beach- In Vermont anyway- are well... lets just say not awe inspiring.  When bathing suit season rolls into town- I go into panic mode.  I stock up on green tea, Sally Hansen Air Brush legs, and clothing that promises to slim.  One year I bought an at home seaweed wrap and had to ask Honey to help Saran Wrap me from head to toe.  I didn't lose anything except maybe a little of Honeys admiration. 
Anyway back to the point of the rant.  While sitting on the beach in my sexy Marylin Monroe esq cover up, I surveyed the area.  People watching is my favorite sport and one that I am remarkably good at.  Let me paint the picture for you.
To my left was a mother of tween boys- clearly oblivious to their bratty behavior and also clearly oblivious to the fact that unless you are Jennifer Anniston- women should retire the bikini when the body starts heading south.  Behind me- skinny 16 year old blonde that was there just to taunt me.  I could feel her looking at me and saying "OMG, I am sooooo never having kids, I think I'll adopt so that I can eat what ever I want and still have an ass the size of a soft ball."
Next to Twiggy was her chubby friend in an equally small bathing suit.  Chubby was most likely there to make Twiggy feel even thinner- much like the massive amounts of leg makeup that I slathered on my entire body pre beach.
To my right, the trashy girls with their over weight children and endless supply of cigarettes which they felt okay smoking while holding obese children.  Combined all three moms age was maybe 38 and combined they had 5 children with them.  They were of proper age to be wearing bikinis but they missed the no bikinis after stretch mark memo.
Im going to hell. I know this.
In front of me was the mother that waited to have a little dorkie child until her 40s.  She was wearing Berkenstocks and a tee shirt over her bathing suit.  I almost thanked her for that.  Her child was hyper active and pale.  He was in a wetsuit because older moms are nuerotic.  He acted younger than his age because I am sure Berkenstock mother didn't believe in public education therefor her nerdy little son is most likely homeschooled.  He probably has a scheduled play date with another nerdy child once a week at the food co-op.
Not far from us was the family reunion group.  They had their fold-a-chairs in a circle- all facing eachother.  The had no beer, on Memorial day weekend...I was glad to not be in that family.
I try my hardest to make the most out of my catty-ness.  I try to learn a lesson from my endless judgement of others.  This weekend I learned that I should lose the cover up and rock the bikini- not only do I only have a few more years of acceptability but compared to the average beach goer I look like Gisele!

Monday, May 24, 2010

Maternal Instinct

I must seek out the Higher Being whomever he/she may be and thank him/her for my maternal instincts.  Last night, I stayed at my fathers house because his wife is away and he needed some company...and someone to make him dinner.  Being that there is no TV in the guest room or the room that used to belong to me and is now referred to as Little Man's room, I usually sleep on the couch.  I like to fall asleep to the calming sounds of some murder taking place on Law and Order.  Little Man, unable to sleep on his own yet ( I know he is 2 and half, shut up, you have no idea, I don't need your advice or your input you stupid childless ass that is sure to tell me that I need to break that habit) so he curls his little body at my feet on the couch.  It was at least three times in the night that I was compelled to wake from a deep sleep and check on him- and all three times he was inches from falling head first onto the hard wood floor....mothers instinct???? I think so.

While I have your attention Higher Being, and I started with a thank you, I must ask you a few of life's tougher questions. 
1. How is it that we can have diet- pizza, soda, beer, chocolate and not have diet wine?  I don't get it?  Can you please figure this one out so that I don't have to resort to the dreaded- cutting down or god forbid working out?  Thanks.
2. Ugly People...need I say more?  Are they the product of your bad creation days?  How do you think they feel about their uneven eyes and bulbous noses?  Really, that wasn't nice of you...I'm just saying.
3.  Request- Next time you are thinking about robbing some innocent children of their wonderful mother by taking her from them before they are even grown ups- can you just think about Lindsay Lohan..and reconsider?
4.  Does it get me anywhere when I pray to you to- for instance a) help me stay between the yellow lines b) qualify for that credit card c) not let anyone notice that my love handles have taken on a mind of their own?

I feel like I should end on a good note... hmmmm...Thanks for the Tata's- they have been a life saver on numerous occasions!

Monday, May 17, 2010

Check Please

Lunch at the Lakehouse restaurant is always a favorite sunny day excursion of mine.  Yesterday while downing sipping two a Margarita, and dining on nachos two ducks swam up to our table.  Little Man was in his glory.  I told him that he could feed them- nachos, hot dogs and french fries are actually really good for ducks.  It's a proven fact. 
While contemplating actually tipping the ducks for entertaining my toddler, instead of tipping our distracted and too big for her short shorts waitress, I peaked along the water line in time to see our pepper shaker floating by.  Ummm...we'll just go ahead and pretend that the pepper shaker was upset about his break up with Salt and decided to take his own life.  It couldn't have been LM, taking opportunity of the fact that mommy was more interested in her Margarita that the rising colesteral levels of the Lake Bomoseen duck population.
Back to chatting about how the nachos would have been better if there was guacamole- I mean really, no guacamole what is this?  I didn't just allow my lunch date to buy me $16 nachos that I could have made at home for $2 did I?  Yes, I did.  Along with spring rolls and 2 top shelf margaritas thank you very much.  What?  I had every intention of pulling out my debit card and pretending that I was planning on at least contributing. 
My table is missing a fork.  My toddler is smiling.  The ducks are full and yet still find flight.  I raise my arm and motion to Too Short that we my lunch date is ready for the check.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Mr Literal

Be careful what you say to my 2 year old- he is not only Captian Obvious these days but he has married that persona with a new one: Mr. Literal.

Captain Obvious shows his colors all day.  "Mommy you driving?", "Mommy you sleeping?", "Mommy you in the living room".  If LM were not a 2 year old my instinct would be to smack him on the forehead while muttering the famously 1990's catch phrase "Duh".

Now we have a new character in the house, and school and he is Mr Literal.  Nothing sums up an introduction to this persona quite like the following story:

A few days ago Little Man's quiet, and easily blushable teacher came to me (literally) red in the face and not doing such a great job of containing her giggle fit.  She informed me that she had to tell me a story. She went on.  You see LM was wearing his new T-shirt, the one with a giraff and a totally unrelated Tag you're it slogan on it.  Teacher told me that she played the game tag with LM all morning uttering the very phrase "Tag you're it" with each gentle pass.  LM would then return the tag- in the exact same spot in which he received it.  As in, Teacher tagged his shoulder so he tagged hers.  Teacher tapped the top of his head- he patted hers right back.  Later in the afternoon while on the changing table, Teacher took it upon herself to clear up LM's tag rules confusion- "You know LM", she said "you don't have to tag me where I tag you, you can tag me wherever you want".  Now, you probably are thinking that my LM shows his love for boobies at this point in time, but that is not where this story is that would be too predictable.  Instead, LM smiled his devilish grin that shows his true colors, dimples and all.  He stretched out his miniature little arm and with a snap slapped Teacher across her shocked face.  "Tag, you it!"

Monday, May 10, 2010

Rejoining the Real World

In efforts to focus on the positivity that life brings, I have decided to unplug.  I have deactivated my Facebook account......Deep breathe.
I began to find that facebook although, it has its positives, is also a breeding ground for judgement.  I don't want people reading and twisting my words, making assumptions about me, my family and my relationship status (Pretty Much Married is not even an option).  I also don't really want to know when all 600 of my "so called" friends" are tanning, pretending to work or having a bad monday, no offense.  I understand that my blogging about this topic is a bit of a hypocritical take on surrendering the social networking, but I have said it once and I will say it again- writing is my passion, and that I am not willing to give up.

Between texting, twittering, my spacing and facebooking I feel that todays generation has lost sight of what is important, and that is human to human contact.  I can appreciate that new technology has allowed for easier, instant connection to everyone who has ever bagged your groceries or sat behind you in Home Ec, but where we have improved those connections we have decreased our personal contact. 

The bottom line for me is, I am not willing to make myself or my family vulnerable to increased critisim and speculation.  I am going to make a concerted effort to mind my own business in hopes that others may follow my lead.  And so, I am unplugging...for now. 

Thursday, May 6, 2010

City Boy Talks camping

To say that my brother is high strung is like saying that Oprah is well off.  He is wound higher and tighter than Hiedi Montags new cheeks.  When I asked my little city sib if he was interested in camping with us in June his reaction was priceless.

Brother:What is it, like, this camping thing? Like what do you do?
Me:I'm a little confused as to what it is you are asking.  You can't be telling me that you don't know what camping is, right?
Brother:  Well like details, like do we sleep in a car, the woods, a teepee? 

A Teepee? Is he serious? 

Shell shocked Sister of Clearly Disturbed Brother: This is not something new.  Have you never seen Parent Trap or any scary movie where teens venture into the woods to camp only to find out that they are camping on the very hill that a son murdered his mother on and has since never been seen?  Camping is not a foreign concept, why are you so baffled?
Clearly Disturbed Brother of Shell Shocked Sister: Im pumped, this is going to be so fun.  Are there bears there?  I'm not even gonna shower while I'm there.

Oh Boy.

Since our camping convo my brother has called a dozen times to confirm details.  He has decided how the tents should be set up around the fire.  He has studied the DICKS catalogue like it will somehow turn him into the Park Ranger of his dreams.  He has most likely told all of his friends and spent a fortune on outfits fit for camping.  My guess is he has purchased a pocket knife, a compass, a lantern and a weeks worth of Astronaut Ice Cream.  If there is one thing that I can say about my city slicker brother is that he will be prepared.  He will also probably leave the woods of Vermont a little dissappointed that he did not get to Macgyver his way out of a sticky situation, save his family from a rabid bear or even have to rub 2 sticks together to make a fire.  But it will be fun, and you bet your ass I'll have a few more stories to tell so stay tuned!

Friday, April 30, 2010

Tank You Wary Much

I figured I would give the Thai restaurant in town the benefit of the doubt. Maybe, the reason that there are NEVER any cars in the parking lot is that this is VT. Vermonters consider Taco Bell a perfectly acceptable restaurant when craving food of a foreign land. Thai food does not appeal to many of the meat and potato people that populate the whitest state in the United States. I on the other, classy hand (huh hmmm) love to tantalize my taste buds with flavors of a foreign decent. Thai Star- here I come.

My lunch date and I arrive and optimistically proclaim that we were in the mood to have our own restaurant today anyway...right?

When handed menus by the little prepubescent Asian (not sure if Thai) girl, my lunch partner, whom I will refer to as Harley asked what the specials were.

Um...Thai Teen looks down at the teal carpet and shrugs...I don't know. She walks away.

Harley and I are left to look at menus that say Lunch Special with no idea what the particular special is. We debate whether or not she is going to the kitchen to ask or whether she is hoping that we are content guessing. When she comes back carrying what appears to be 2 Orange Creamsicles with straws poked in them (our Thai sweet tea) and then stares blankly at us we decide the latter of the guesses was correct.

Harley, looking for a bit more input from Thai Teen asks what the soup is, that comes with the "Your Guess Is As Good As Mine" Special.

Um...eyes instinctively to the teal carpet a second time. No, I don't sink because it is warm.

Knowing that I should not make eye contact with Harley, I resort to staring at the teal carpet myself, only unlike Thai Teen I am shaking uncontrollably in an over the top, completely inappropriate fit of laughter. We order what we hope will be in fact a special lunch. I do so while rudely laughing in her pimply little face. I just can't help it.

At this point Harley and I are unsure if we are getting soup at all- did she mean it is too warm outside for soup? Did she realize that it was about 40 degrees inside the empty restaurant? Would I even eat the soup at this point, because if she had been in the US long enough to know that you spit in the food of rude customers, I was sure to get a loogey in mine.

We didn't get any soup. I got a delicious green shrimp curry and Harley said his sweet and sour pork was lovely. I’m glad that I gave Thai Star a chance; I got a great meal with a dear friend and a blog all in about 30 minutes!

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Mother Nature...It's Time To Talk

Dear Mother Nature,

Although I have been complaining that my body is no where near the condition that it should be in for the Skimpier clothes that spring demands, I did not want you to bring winter back. I do appreciate being able to wear the bulky sweater today which allows me the freedom of not sucking in, however I had vowed to myself that this year would be the last year that I hang on to my youth by wearing UGG boots. I had completely planned on retiring them, along with my twenties and yet you spring snow on me the last week of April. Mother Nature, I am not impressed. My faux glow that I have been slathering on religiously since the snow melted now looks a little absurd with the turtle neck sweater. I look like "Malibu Barbie in the Arctic". Here's the thing, Winter makes me depressed...Depression makes me drink...Drinking makes me pack on the pounds...packing on the pounds makes me depressed...which makes me drink…It's an endless cycle and it is all your fault. No offense.

Here's what I am going to need you to do. Get rid of the white shit that makes me fat. Replace it with weather that reminds me that summer is coming. When I know that summer is coming I am more likely to exercise, which will make me thin, which will make me happy, which I will celebrate with…a drink.

Any Questions?

Monday, April 19, 2010

Hair Band Hero

The thing with bangs is that they are just not a good idea for people like me. You know people that give themselves 30 minutes in the morning to get themselves and their toddler dressed, and in the car headed to work/daycare. People like me who regularly can’t find their hairbrush- or the last one that they had, being that the first two have already disappeared somewhere in the house where all the socks, hair elastics and the cordless phone are. People whose hair dryer quit performing after the Pretty Much Hubby used it to dry his track pants. People like me do not need bangs.

I’m spending the day looking like the Lead Singer of White Snake because the bangs that I decided on a whim that I had to have are un-brushed, un blow dried and untamed. I can’t get too near anyone because I didn’t brush my teeth today, because the toothpaste had its last effective squeeze yesterday. I wasn’t too concerned with my appearance, or smell for that matter. At least I showed up to work in real shoes and not the slippers that I showed up in last week. But wouldn’t you know it, that I get invited to see people after work, people whom unlike my coworkers I care what they think of me. People that will no doubt take one look at me in my whacked out hair glory and feel pity for the young disheveled mother that I have become. Had I shown up dressed to the nines today, having spent an extra bit of time to fake tan and well, geez, floss, I wouldn’t have been invited to do a thing. Pretty Much Hubby would call and say he was running late and by the time he would arrive home I would have been in my evening uniform of yoga pants, leopard print bathrobe and giant goblet of wine. My time and effort to look like a modern woman in her prime would have been wasted on my co workers who could care less if I show up dressed like Dr Quinn Medicine Woman. And so I go, out into the world where excuses of tiredness and laziness will not fly…looking like David Coverdale.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Popcorns and Pine Cream Cones

Day one of my staycation- and Little Man is home sick. There goes my sleeping in, coffee in bed, Regis and Kelly and day to pop out a few chapters in the novel I have decided to write.  Luckily, after a night of sickening symptoms that I won't make you suffer through- Little Man seems his chipper self today.  After lazily fromping our way through the morning, I decided to swing into gear and enjoy the day with my minnie me.  I figured a hike was in order. Now don't get the wrong impression of me, I don't do this often- I don't own hiking books and I didn't bring a backpack full of organic snacks nor a can to carry home critters.  Actually I went for a walk and veered a bit off course- ending up ditching the stroller and playing pretend jungle with my very imaginitive two year old on the VAST trail. 

Mommy is this a popcorns?
No LM, thats an acorn.

Mommy, look at the bing (big) Pine Cream Cone he proudly says as he holds the trophy size Pine Cone in the air.

I tell him that that is the biggest Pine Cream Cone that I have ever seen, and feeling content with my response he throws it in the woods and moves on.  I am not sure how far we walked, could have been half a mile could have been 2.  LM jumped off of every big rock he saw and tripped over every rock bigger than a pebble that bravely stood in his path.  He kicked leaves, and ate dirt.  He broke a stick in half while making a face like a weight lifters.  Did I mention that he tripped?
I may have been a bit disappointed that my day was not going to  be spent in solitaire at first, but its managed to be quite a great afternoon... not to mention the hour on Magic Mountain has put Little Man in a wonderfully deep nap- so I write.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Resurrections and Bunnies?

Quick question for you- how did we get a bunny that lays chocolate eggs and jelly beans (do bunnies even lay eggs, arent they mammals?) out of the resurrection of Christ (Jesus is Christ right, or is that God?)?  And which came first the cavity creating rabbit or Jesus?  And why did the Chicken cross the road?  I am so confused.  As if things in this world didnt confuse me enough- you have to go ahead and mix Religion and Hallmark together.  What am I going to do when my son asks me about holidays? 

Mommy why do we have Easter? 

Well Little Man you see, Easter is so that Mommy can drink champagne with her breakfast, and you can have skittles with yours.

But why? (Because this stage is next, I can just feel it)
Because, honey, if I didn't have a reason for it, then they would have to put me in a you want Mommy to go to a clinic?

Okay, then.  Eat you skittles.

Hope eveyone had a happy Easter.  I know we did...well, that's what I was told anyway.

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

True To Myself

When I was 16 my grandmother told me my ass was so big she could play poker on it.  I cried, and then I got over it.  My grandmother is a tell it like it is kind of woman, and if you don't like it, don't listen.  Im a bit like my grandmother.  I started this blog almost a year ago..with no idea where it would go or who would read it if anyone.  I wasn't sure if it would be like my latest diet and fitness plan lasting three days and ending with a tear filled binge fest.  But here it is almost a year later, 87 entries, almost 3000 hits a month, its own fan page with over 350 fans...and has even helped land me a real newspaper column.  This blog is my sanity, my savior, in a sense my best friend..and I feel like I have let it down. 
Due to various reasons, none of which I regret, I have written three posts, posted them, and then deleted them.  The first one, I was afraid would offend someone, someone I really didn't want to offend.  The second one, was when I was going through a rough patch in my relationship and I blogged about it, my situation changed and I erased the blog...almost as if it never happened.  The third one was yesterday, I blogged about an experience in church- and without meaning to it hurt a very dear friends feelings.  I erased the post, her friendship means more to me than that post for sure.
What I am getting at though, is that from now on I am not going to erase any of my posts.  I am going to be careful as to not hurt anyones feelings, because that is never an intention of mine.  I am not a malicious person.  I am an honest person though and unfortunately for those people that are in my life..I am also a writer.  People may not realise what this blog mean to me.  It is not just something silly to me.  It is not just another form of social networking.  Writing is the only thing that I have found that I am good at, that I feel that I can contribute, that I feel I was put here to do.
Thanks for reading...and if you are my family, or friends...unfortunately for are fair game :-)

Monday, March 22, 2010


Over tired- weekend way too short

Need a shoot MORONS

Don't talk to's monday, and you're a MORON

A.M. came way to early

Yelling might make me feel better- especially if yelling at MORONS

Monday, March 15, 2010

Lions and Tigers and Dinosaurs...Oh My!

I love my son. This weekend while visiting a goat farm (this is Vermont you know) Little Man walked right up to the big momma goat and said “Hi dinosaur”, then casually strolled away. This cracked me up. Not only did the ugly goat-ette look an awful lot like a prehistoric creature, but the nonchalant-ness of the statement was priceless. Its as if Little Man lives in a world where seeing dinosaurs is a regular occurrence. Lately, he has been pretending a lot- something that I can watch him do for endless amounts of time. “Mommy”, he will say while pointing at his chest “I a tiger”.

“Oh no”, is my expected response, “A tiger! Don’t eat me”. Taking my statement seriously he will change creatures. “Mommy, I a baby”. At this point I must pick him up and rock him, as he says “goo goo, gaga” and squints his eyes. For some reason when LM is in pretend mode he has to have his eyes squinted. Just this last week he has been a tiger, a baby, his best friend, a bed, Elmo and now a goat. He even pretends to be a doll- which is my favorite because he just sits there…squinting, for a good length of time.

Maybe there are dinosaurs roaming around in his world. Maybe, in Toddler town squinting means that you can change into anything that you want. Maybe ill ask him if he wants to pretend to be potty trained…

Friday, March 12, 2010

Not again...

I’m not sure yet, if my morning mishaps have become cumbersome and overdone- however, my blondest moments happen to occur prior to my first sip of coffee…what I am getting at is that this is another blog about well…my morning.

I will tell this story a little differently- just to switch it up a bit. Ill start with the result of my AM goof- I think I have a brain tumor- it’s the only explanation, I am not even a real blonde for crying out loud.

Now, onto the events as they happened: This morning was a bit out of the ordinary (my excuse). You see Little Mans daycare is closed for the afternoon due to staff training. This means that PMH is staying home with Little Man so that I can go to work (gee thanks). Because I did not have to get LM up, dressed and brushed this morning I allowed my self an extra 4 minutes to sleep in- 7:30..not 7:26- blissful. Because of such decision, however, I would not have time to make coffee at home- therefore a stop at the gas station becomes inevitable.

I get my coffee, chat with the attendant about the happiness that Fridays bring and make my way to my rig. On my way out of the parking lot I see an old friend hanging out of his company vehicle motioning me to stop and chat…I glance at the clock and see that I am actually going to be on time if I don’t chat- but then again I am never on time so I pull to the right. Window down old friend pops his head into my passenger side and we perform the humanistic ritual of shooting the shit. I want you to know that I have not sipped my coffee yet because it will take another 8 miles for it to cool enough to where if and when I spill it on me while driving I will only walk away with a first degree burn and a stained shirt.

Realizing that I have not seen this friend in AGES I say “have you even met my son?” as I tick my neck in the direction of Little Mans car seat…Little Mans empty car seat. Friend looks puzzled and as I turn to tell Little Man to say hi to mommy’s friend, I realize my faux pas. I giggle…a lot…and then try and explain.

“Oh wait”, I mutter, “I don’t have him”.

Long lost friend furrows his brow and says nervously, “Should you?”

I am seriously considering a cat scan.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

My Morning

I can tell by the way my son wakes up, what kind of a day it is going to be.  Some days he wakes up, rubs the sleep out of his eyes, gazes dreamily into my own and says "Hi Mommy".  Those are the good days.  The days that he willingly puts on his coat and boots while blabbing to me about what he is going to do at "school".  Then there are the days that I burn myself on the forehead with the straightening iron because I am startled by the blood curdling scream of "MOMMY" coming from the bedroom.  When I go into the bedroom rubbing my scalded forehead, I proceed with caution.  I am calm and I speak softly as to transfer my demeanor into the likes of my two year old. 
"Hi Little Man, did you sleep well?"
"No, sleep...I want back to bed"
"I know LM, but we have to get up and go to school today, to play with your friends....won't that be fun?"
At this point he is twisting like an alligator that has been lassod.  He is thrusting his hips and shaking his head and I know that it is not going to be one of the jolly mornings.
Once I wrestle the beast out of his damp pajamas he slithers away and gets to the side of the bed that is up against the wall.  The side of the bed that is hard to reach when I am half dressed with a towel on my head.  He sits there naked- challenging me, mocking me, making me sweat.
I remove myself from the situation- I retreat to the bathroom where I finish putting myself together- both physically and mentally.
By the time I get the Little Man into the carseat, I have come close to leaving him all together, or burying my own head back under the pillows.
As I  I strap him in I am feeling exhausted, frusterated and near tears.  I look at the clock and realize  I am running late- now I am stressed. 
Late or not, I need coffee if I am going to make it through the rest of this wonderful Tuesday.  I pull into the store that I frequent in the morning and as I am getting out of my rig, I glance to the left and am slapped in the face with a large, hairy butt crack that is smiling at me as its owner fills his low (because of the size of said butt) tires with air...there is not enough coffee in Columbia to get me through this day.

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Mommy Pees...?!?!

We have reached the crucial time in every toddler’s life, that the Mommy and the Daddy have had enough of diapers and wet sheets….the time when the push for using the potty is more important than…well anything really. I am pretty sure that I would sacrifice a cute and cuddly animal or a distant relative if it meant that diapers were a thing of our families past, even a far memory or a lapse in memory all together.

I must warn you that this post is going to contain entirely TMI…but whatever, you know more about me than initially intended anyway, why stop now.

Our bathroom (Oh no this is a bathroom blog) has 2 potties in it. One that looks just like the one in your bathroom, and one that is a smaller version that sings songs and dispenses stickers when splashing occurs. We have tried all sorts of methods for tempting the toddler to the toilet. We have sworn that Mickey Mouse, Thomas the Train and Special Agent Oso all use the potty. We have thrown parties that rival actual birthday celebrations any time he even attempts the feat. And we lead by example, as in the bathroom door in our house is always open while we demonstrate our own, grown up potty skills.

Little Man is very proud of us both. He insists on coming into the bathroom with anyone that experiences the urge while visiting our home. He follows me, PMH, and any of our friends into the bathroom and claps for us, and celebrates every time we …well, you know. I am even told “Good Boy, Mommy!” when I use the potty.

Last night, was the topper though. Little Man agreed that while I was using the big potty, he would humor me and sit his naked little bottom on the sticker dispensing potty. I am convinced that he did this for my benefit, to help me be a big girl. Shockingly (said with severe sarcasm), Pretty Much Hubby used the last of the toilet paper and didn’t replace it. Being that the door was conveniently open while the LM and I sat in company of each other on our matching commodes, I yelled to PMH “Honey, can you bring me some toilet paper?”

“Mommy, what you say?” says the naked baby.

“I said that Daddy needs to bring me toilet paper”

“Mommy pees?”

“Yes, Bubba, Mommy peed”

“MOMMY PEES” he screams.

“Yes, MOMMY PEES, did Little Man pee?”


So we may not have the potty thing down but, at least we are polite…..

“Sorry baby, you are right…Daddy, can you PEES bring me some toilet paper?”

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Okay- so I had 2 glasses of red last night- but I have excuses and I feel that they are legit .
           1. I made stoganoff and it has red wine in it- which meant that I had to buy some, open it and I couldn't get the cork back in (you'll never know if that is the truth).
           2. I had a friend come over and I am not rude..had to offer her a glass, which she kindly accepted- and again not wanting to be rude, I could not let her drink alone. Okay, she only had one glass and I had two but I wanted her to feel like she could have 2 if she wanted...which she didn't...but I did!

I am not going to let this deter me.  I didn't have any glasses of wine on Monday night- which is a feat in itself.  Two on tuesday, averages out to be one a night which is much more acceptable (except in my group of friends and family) than a bottle a night which is where I was averaging until two days ago.  I am not going to have any tonight or tomorrow and then it is Friday.  Friday is fair game.  And two and a half days away....and I will be fine. me is like a bad know the one that you love, but isn't that good for you.  The one that you think about indulging in when you are stressed, bored, or just in the mood.  The bad guy that is actually good for you in moderation but whom you should never get addicted to or settle down with.  I have always had a thing for bad guys...and wine!

Monday, January 25, 2010

Grounding Oneself

In an effort to slip on my skinny jeans while simultaneously saving my liver I have decided, after lengthy consideration to...are you sitting down?..cut down on the wine drinking.  I came to this conclusion when PMH arrived home Friday night with a bottle of wine.  Instead of being cheery and thankful, I was annoyed that he didn't get 2 bottles- it was Friday afterall.  Later Pretty Much Hubby returned to the store and got bottle number two that only lasted an hour tops.  This my friends, is a bit of a problem.  There is no reason what so ever that a bottle of wine should not be enough for two of us on a totally average Friday night.  It was not Christmas, New Years or even National Thank Your Secretary Day and yet I felt the need to over indulge..yet again. 
I have decided to cut out the wine during the week.  No convincing myself that I need a reward after my stressful Monday.  No more tipsy Tuesdays, wine on Wednesdays or Thursdays after work while cleaning the bar Cosmo.  I will cut back on calories, save money and make my liver think it has been transplanted to another body- and I will not complain..Okay, that is a lie I am sure I will complain alot, but this is important to me.  I need to show myself that I don't need wine.  I need to explore different ways of de-stressing and I need my son to stop calling my wine glass- Mommy's Milk. 
I will not however give up completely- I am not a quitter.  I will save my Sauvignon Blanc sipping for the weekends, a beer with lunch on Saturdays and start Sundays with a Mimosa.  I enjoy drinking and I think that there is nothing wrong with it, as long as you have control...something that seems to dissipate with bottle number two. 
To Saving the Liver and Thy Self...... Wish me luck and have one for me would ya!

Friday, January 15, 2010

Just give me 24 hrs

I have a long awaited chick night tonight- complete with fruity and delicious flavored martinis, food that is not one of the following five meals that I am allowed to make/serve Pretty Much Hubby 1)spaghetti 2)beef stew 3)shepards pie 4)Shrimp Scampi or 5)Steak and rice.  I am going to wear heels that hurt and a shirt that will show off my assetts (big old boobies) and drape loosly over the Spanx line that divides me in two.  I will self tan and sprits with perfume- all for the enjoyment of my own and my dearest friend K.  I will gossip, giggle and pick on the couple next to us.  At some point during the evening K will beg me to stop making her laugh and this will give me more reason to break out my best material.

The best part of the night will be that for a few hours I will not be needed.  No one will need me to wipe their nose, run their errand or rub their back.  There will not be dishes in the sink whispering to me "clean me or I will make your house smell like McDonalds".  No cat pouncing at my ankles as I walk by, begging for a belly scratch and a treat.  I will not be wrestling a slimy, naked baby into feetie pajamas, or arguing with anyone about what to watch on TV.  The wine will not run out after the store is closed.  The waitress will not tell me it is my turn to get my second glass of wine- nor will she ask me to get her one.

I will not worry that Little Man is missing me too much- as he will be allowed to eat ice cream for dinner, won't be forced to bathe and will be allowed to stay up late with daddy.  Pretty Much hubby most likely will miss me- but as he leaves his dish in the sink he will be glad that I am not hovering behind him ready to fly off my furry slipper.  He will also not miss me when he is watching Discovery Channell with out the annoying whining in the backround "I already took history class, can't we watch Jersey Shore"...he might miss me however when LM will not let him sit for one second, or talk on the phone, or do anything but read the monkey book 17 times in a row.

Hopefully, I will get whistled at or something as I stumble my way to K's car and I will feel like "this momma still got it".  Hopefully I will not flash my boobs- something that I did quite frequently in my pre momma days.  I will end up calling PMH from the restaurant as I shush K- I will explain that I have had too much to drink and that I am staying at K's.  We will go back to her house- pour the wine that we certainly don't need and will regret in the morning and we will stay up late laughing at our drunken clumsy selves.  In the morning I will bounce back into responsibility mode-after I down 3 glasses of OJ, take 4 Ibuproffen and wipe the mascara off of my chin.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010


Yoga- by definition (mine) is a relaxing form of stretching in which one becomes aware of the connection between mind, body and spirit (?). 
It is a new year and like many of you I am turning over a new, fit leaf.  For three (long) days now I have been doing yoga and just like I swore to you that I loved Weight Watchers I will swear to you that I love yoga! I feel like I am standing taller, my muscles feel massaged and I am already envisioning myself with a Jennifer Anniston-esq physique.  I am envisioning myself with her hair too, but that is neither here nor there.
I have been doing yoga in the comfort of my own living room both before and after work ( I know I will burn out).  In the morning I am at peace and I find that a few seconds in downward dog revives me as much as the red bull of my past.  I listen to the soft voice on the tape that tells me to close my eyes and be at peace in my body.  Little Man and Pretty Much Hubby are sleeping so I am able to capture the essence of the quiet morning.
Yoga in the PM...another story.  I thought it might be fun to ask Little Man to excersize with Mommy.  Cheerfully he accepted my invitation and attempted the first pose.  I was exstatic as I felt I had bannished the "no time to excersize" excuse.  For a minute I even pretended that I was the mother that fed her yoga doing toddler all organic foods instead of frozen pizza.  I closed my eyes and began to breathe like I was being instructed to do...And then, I was hit in the head with a book.
The remainder of my 20 miute yoga session actually took 32 minutes, as I had to pause the video three times.  Once to put Toddler With No Ears in his crib for not listening.  Once to remove him from my back while I was in a position called something, something cat and another time to set up a movie for Little Man far from my yoga mat.
By the time my session was coming to an end, and I was supposed to be meditating- I was angry, my head hurt from the hurling of the hard cover and my ears were ringing from the constant screaming.  I was not relaxed, I was not feeling like a cool, collected celebrity.  I was however, never more ready for my evening glass (or four) of wine!