Gone Bananas

As if my life were not as crazy and hectic as it is, I decided it would be a great idea to add a family member to our unfinished house. No, Thank the Lord above, I am not pregnant, I got a cat.
Last week on my way home from work, in an attempt to do something exciting with my son, I thought we would stop by the Humane Society and play with the animals. Little Man loves animals and he has just mastered both the words "cat" and "dog". What he hasn't done is figured out that little, ankle biting, long haired dogs are in fact "dogs" and not "cats" but the kid isn't even 2 so I am far from worrying about this (I shouldn't worry right?, some dogs look like cats, easy mistake).
Any way, I should have known that it was not going to be that simple. I should have known that LM would walk in there, and recognise the opportunity to torture something smaller than he. And so he did.
"LM, we have to be gentle to the kitties", LM drops the calico that he is holding up by the tail and smooshes his face in it's long fur, planting a nice wet kiss on this poor stray. You see, as Catholics can confess and wipe away their sins, my child can kiss and wipe away his. This goes on for minutes, one helpless, furry, victim at a time. The friendly workers are looking through the glass nervously as my toddler abuses their babies, and then makes out with them.
Why, you ask at this point did I think it a good idea to say "We'll take that one"?, I am not sure. I pointed to the teenager cat, with long, buff hair. He was resting quietly, with no knowledge that Tiny terror was going to be his new keeper. I promised them that my toddler was in need of a nap, and that her really isn't violent.
And that is how we came to have Banana. Banana, is the name of Little Man's feline brother. We named him this because LM says the word banana by jutting his tongue in and out of his mouth while humming...so entertaining, that I make sure to always have bananas in the house so that when guests come over we can have our son perform party tricks...what? Is that wrong?
Banana is fittting in well. He seems to be taking a liking to LM's heavy petting and sloppy kisses. He sleeps with us every night, because I really needed to add to the amount of bodies in our bed. Together, the four of us are a family: Daddy, Mommy, Little Man and Banana

Closer to the Couch

Firstly, I apologize for not having blogged lately..but I have a really good excuse. You see, I have been working on co writing a book with my sister...and thanks to this very blog, I have a friend at a publishing company who is quite interested in this book. Are you choking on your morning coffee, like I was when publishing friend contacted me? All of a sudden I am spun into a world of "I need an outline by monday" and "blah blah blah...present to the editors blah, blah, blah". Is this really happening? Could we be the next big thing in the literary world?

I try not to get to excited, but c'mon, how can I not already be planning how I will balance motherhood, partnership and a book tour? Is it jumping the gun a bit to start looking at real estate on the lake, and dream vacations? Is it too soon to quit my job and spend my days with a mug of hot coffee, my ideas, and my (new) laptop?

Is there a chance that I will no longer just be viewed as the funny one in the family? The one that will keep everyone laughing with all of her mishaps, but never really be taken seriously...

A friend of mine said to me "If you make money from this, what will you have to write about?"
Hmmm.....I agree that bouncing checks, and having grahm crackers thrown at my head while driving does make for good material, but I think that spending your life doing something that you love, while being supported by a wonderful Pretty Much Hubby and being able to provide for my beautiful baby boy will give me plenty of inspiration as well.

So forgive me if the blogging gets a bit more sporadic, hopefully when I do take time to fill you all in on what is happening, that something is REALLY happening.

The Perfect World Club

Occassionally, for reasons unknown, the female species will gather in groups will the sole purpose of tearing other members of their species apart....one love handle, squeeky voice, and inappropriate outfit at a time. This unusual gathering can happen at anytime however, most frequently this ritual occurs between the hours of 5-7pm a time often referred to as Happy Hour.



In my circle of female friends and family we refer to this gathering as a meeting of The Perfect World Club. Let me just tell you that no one is safe. Many times the words and phrases ridiculous, give me a break, and who does she think she is can be heard from the mouths of the members. We discuss brown nosing co workers, nosy neighbors, slutty sorta friends, miserable marriages and bratty kids. We forget all of our own imperfections for the length of the meeting and focus on everyone elses.



There is no real explination as to why we feel better at the end of the session, but we always do. Maybe it is that we like to imagine others lives more chaotic, and disfunctional than ours. Maybe the fight we had with our hubby over dishes seems miniscule in comparison to the husband caught at an orgy (actually happened!). For some reason we feel better about the family that seems so perfect when we hear that their teenager is gay or that they haven't had sex in 6 months. Hey, I am not saying that I am proud of feeling comfort in others misfortunes...Im just owning up to it.



Whatever the reason I have to point out that at the end of the day, no one is harmed. Members of the club feel revived and stress free. We feel as if we really are living in The Perfect World....compared to the crazies we are surrounded by anyway! In reality, none of our lives are perfect, and if they were life would be boring and breeze by. So please, forgive the female human species for their natural tendencies to gab and gossip. It could be worse, we could eat our own young or bite the heads off our mates after we are through with them.

Some People Disgust Me

I find jokes about penises hilarious, I laugh uncontrollably when someone farts unexpectedly, and I find humor at others expense. I can bait my own hook and play in the dirt with my son. Wha am getting at is that i am not easily disgusted. Recently, however, I was utterly and undeniably stomach turning disgusted and I wasn't even watching The Biggest Loser. No, I was watching a middle aged married woman sitting at a bar across from the very man that she had had an affair with in the bathroom of said bar. It is not the blow job in the mens room that has me holding back the vomit, it is the fact that this revolting woman is sitting with the mans unsuspecting wife. Not only is she sitting with her, she is chatting to her like old friends. She is sharing her pizza for F's sake.

They are chatting about their kids and how school is starting soon and how summer went by to fast. They even at one point discussed the fact that the Cheating Man and his Unsuspecting Wife are high school sweet hearts...isn't that touching.

I couldn't believe it. Who does this want to be Cougar think she is? It is of no shock to anyone in our small town that this Woman and her husband cheat on eachother more often than Brittney Spears has a melt down, but come on. She could have at least decided when Unus Wife and cheating Hub walked in to leave. She could have stayed, and not beckoned UW to come and sit with her. She could have not made a mockery out of this poor woman, who good wife or bad wife does not deserve to be humiliated by the actions of her unfaithful husband and his pathetically unhappy harlot.

It is none of my business what goes on in peoples marriages. I am not naive to the fact that many marriages don't work, many peope have affairs, and many unsuspecting wives sit next to their husbands drunken hook up in a bar and carry on conversations about kids, and seasons.

When this sort of thing goes on out in public, it becomes everyones business...small town or not. I know what happened, and now I am forced to look at Usus Wife sitting with Town Bicycle and I am suppose to just carry on as if i dont know that weeks earlier Town Bicycle was giving Unsus Wfes Unfaithful husband a rim job mere feet away.

I am pretty sure that Town Bicycle was aware of my disgust as I shookmy head at her any time she looked in my direction, she didn't tip me ( I am the bartender). Well, she did'nt tip me monetarily but she did give me a tip, when an unhappily married middle aged woman is akwardly friendly to you antd offers you a slice of her pizza slap the bitch and call a divorce attorney.

The Real Me

The whole point of a vacation is to really not accomplish anything for at least 4 days, and I can say with gusto that I aced vacation. Technically, I probably only got a B+ because unbeknownst to me, while lounging on the beach without a care in the world, I actually did accomplish something. I began to daydream about the life that I wish I had, the woman that I want to be...The Real Morgan U. The real me is not a glorified secretary who goes to work because the mortgage payment needs to be paid. No, that is not me at all.

The real me, that I invented and spent endless hours dreaming of wakes up every morning to the smell of fresh brewed coffee (the real me is organised enough to set the coffee maker each evening). I wrap my self in a plush hotel like bathrobe, pour myself a cup of coffee and open my laptop to check for letters from my editor and publicist, and to answer some fan mail. I wake up my child and get him ready for the day. I drop him at daycare and take my beloved laptop (which I do not own), and head for the coffee shop.
For some reason in this ideal world of mine it is always fall, and I am dressed effortlessly elegant in skinny jeans, knee high boots and a chunky cardigan and scarf. My hair is held in a sexy bun by a pencil (never happen), and I have a glow to me because I spend my days doing what I love, therefor the dark circles that have made themselves a lovely home under my eyes are gone.
I spend my days either at the coffee shop, the library, the lake or the comfort of my own home...writing. I write a column in a well known magazine while working on my novel and keeping everyone up to date through my blog, because after all if it weren't for the blog I wouldn't have realised that the real me is a writer.
I pick up my son from daycare, and head home to make a fabulous dinner for myself, my son and my husband (the real me gets proposed to) while listening to Billy Holiday and sipping red wine.
Besides the sexy hair that stays put with a pencil, all of this is possible....I have the wonderful son, the hopes that my pretty much husband will pop the question and make it official, I have a cozy home....I just need to find a way to ditch the dead end job that is slowly sucking my spirit and make a career out of writing. Any thoughts?

Okay Diet Nazis, Here is Your Update

Seriously, you blog readers are doing a great job of checking in on my diet..thanks alot (typed with obvious underlay of sarcasm). Couldn't you have just ignored that I haven't reported massive weightloss and extreme sexual harrassment...Noooo, you say "enough about your messy house and naughty child, I want to hear more about you love handles and double chin".
So here you go diet Nazi's....
Today is day 5 of Operation Envious Body. Monday I jogged, tuesday I did pilates and wednesday, thursday and friday I did jack shit.
I have been really good about eating small meals of obviously healthy foods though (audience applause).
Cutting down on the vino....not so good.
I am not quitting. I promise to do pilates tomorrow and go for a long walk on Sunday. That will still be working out 4 days this week...not too shabby (or flabby). I will continue to make smarter choices about what i (devour) eat and drink, (red wine with fresca and lime...low cal and fabulous!).
So my journey to emaciation is just going to take a little longer than initially intended, which will give you all the more time to check in on my progress (die Nazi's die!), and all the more time for me to update you.
Inner thought: When I reach fame and fortune and am interviewed by Oprah, I will say these words, and they will one day be carved on my (very narrow) coffin; "If Psychic Sylvia Brown, told me that I would have the body that all others would kill for, by doing one thing- cutting out wine, I would pour myself a glass of Sauvignon Blanc and toast to being chubby."

Better Material

So, I know that you are expecting this entry to be about my diet- but I have better material today than my malnourishment and sore muscles (really, it's going well).
I am sitting in my 95 Degree kitchen right now- waiting for potatoes to boil (not for me you diet nazi!)- and I just need to vent.
It's unfair really, that after a night of barely sleeping due to cranky child that both cranky child and now cranky parents are forced to coexist. It's also not fair that my crasnky son is anything but cranky at daycare, but the minute, literally the minute that I am left alone with him he turns into Chucky.
Chucky doesn't want to hold my hand across the busy street. Chucky thrusts his hips in the air (similar to a yoga pose that I tackled this morning) as I am trying to get him into his car seat all while screaming at the tippity top of his lungs. To the unsuspecting population walking and driving by I must look like I am abducting this innocent little boy...As if I would at this point! infact, if it weren't for the tell tale signs of motherhood that I so eagerly possess- like the bags under my eyes, the unkept hair and the few extra pounds around my middle I am sure that someone would call the police.
we have one stop on the way home- the grocery store. Most often my adorable little child who is everyday a bit closer to the terrific twos enjoys the sights and sounds of the market. He usually lasts about 10 minutes without bribery and another 10 with unpaid for crackers being shoved i his face. Mothers, you know that shopping for 3 weeks of food in 20 minutes is doable and has become the Price Chopper Ritual with Me and Little man.
But not today....Today I dont even get Chucky in to the cart.I am livid that I don't get to purchase my shitty diet food, mortified that strangers are witnessing my son so rudely acting his age in public and am embarrased that these Perfect Little Childless Grocery Getters are feeling sorry for me...and they don't even know that I am dieting!
After a repeat of the car seat submission I try again at the much more expensive Mom and Pop shop on the way home. A little more successful- in that a brat is not the only thing that I leave the store with...i manage to get dinner and a cookie to lure my child who refuses to sit in the cart out of the store....Always reward bad behavior.
Now, as I my anger and exhaustion by putting pen to paper, I have parked my son infront of the TV- chocalate chip cookie remnants covering his face like zit cream. and sorry, diet this mommy is having a cocktail!