Grumpomatic Grumpopotamus

I got new running shoes.  I know, that's so stupid and hipster of me to be braggin about, but Good God in Heaven, I love them, and I needed them.  Seriously.  For real.

I bought them two Saturdays ago, and I was really excited and I immediately went to the Lakefront and ran 6 miles.  Six fast-ish miles.  Because I am a beast.

These are what they look like:

Only there are TWO of them.  Because I have two feet.  As usual.

Anyway, so I ran my ass off, and I ate little GU gels the whole time (not so very yummy, those), and it rocked, and I was all WHOOOOOO.  Beast.

And then, on Sunday, when I was going to Not Run, I didn't Not Run, I ran a little bit, with a friend who is thinking perhaps she would like to Run, only, that was over a week ago now, and she hasn't done so again, so perhaps she will Not Run, too.  Regardless.

And then on Monday, I had to get a cervical biopsy.  Look, I know y'all don't want to hear about my lady inside parts, and I'm certainly not going to go into any details, but I wasn't really expecting that, thought they were just planning on taking some binoculars for a closer look, and suddenly it was three little snips of tissue that hurt like a mo fo (for a second) and me feeling pretty damned bad-ass that I did that without even lidocaine.

boom.  beast.

Anyway, and that all left me feeling pretty crappy.  Like, much crappier than I expected to, and that's a shame.  All she wants to do is dance, dance (or run, run) and I really couldn't because I felt like ass.  Sort of.  Like, tired, crampy and bitchy.

Anyway, so I didn't run all week, until Friday, and I only went like a mile and a half on Friday.  Didn't run at all on Saturday.  Sucky. 

But yesterday I killed four miles.  And then, the baby, whose Very First Race Ever is on Saturday, and I ran another mile.  So five miles.  Because I am a beast.

And I still don't feel quite right.  Extra tired, grumpy... I should hear back from the pathology this week one day, and I am pretty sure I will feel better after that.  They are obviously going to tell me that everything is fine, so there you go.

Still, running OUGHT to help get me back to my self, right?

The sunshiney one?

Because I am so very much not there...

PTA Mom. As per usual.

The other night, Doodlebug had to perform at the PTA meeting.  Now let it be known, I'm not one of those terribly involved parents, despite that "records indicate that your involvment results in higher GPAs!"  Fuck the records.  They are NOT the boss of me.

That being said, I mean, I send in the crap he's supposed to bring in, I do his homework with him (most of the time), so there.  I'm a good mom and all.

And a hot one.

Aherm.  But I digress.

(seriously, though, 27 pounds since November, and I look foxy.)

Anyway, so the doodle had to sing 2 songs with his little class, and he was so cute and such a big boy.  See?  Big boy.  That's him in the yellow.

They sang 42 verses of "Skip to My Lou" (it really may have been 6 or 7 verses, but still, who knew there was more than one??) and then "Shoo Fwy, Don't Bother Me."  ("I belong to somebody."  Isn't that wrong?  Should that not be "I belong to Company B"?  Just saying.)


Anyway, preciousness.  And thus it begins, my youngest performing annually in some school nonsense that inevitably will leave me misty-eyed and wanting a snuggle.  My big one brought me to tears with some truly awful viola-ing, and a one-time-only event of him drumming along to "We Built This City."  That was a double-whammy, because it proved that my baby had good taste.

And here we go, for round two.

Good heavens, it's hard to love little people who insist on growing up!

Little High Fiver

1.  I got an iPhone.  I know, welcome to 2006, but really, good heavens, y'all.  Why didn't you tell me how much I would love it?  Because I SO DO!  And words with friends- SarSchMye.  Make it happen.

2.  I did the first segment of getting the artist formerly known as my husband's crap packed up this weekend.  I had not realized the extent of his hoarderism, but, I shit you not, there were 75 t-shirts.  75.  That does NOT count shirts with collars or sleeves.  That is fucking ridiculous.  I'm not even going to talk about the model bicycles.

Doodlebug stole one of the light-up pictures on its way to the garage, much to my chagrin.  It's currently hanging in his room.  We're going to have to have a talk about taste, he and I.

3.  I'm running again.  A pretty good bit.  To the extent that I'm going to sign up for a 1/2 marathon in October.  I know I can do it, barring any major injuries or illness.  My Garmin Watch TOTALLY rocks, and it helps with the motivation.  Unfortunately, my shoes are SHOT and need desperately to be replaced, but I ain't got no moneys.  (My friend K's daughter calls it "moneys," and it is the cutest thing ever:  "you got moneys??"  For YOU, my love, any time!)  (also, my friend K?  Freaking amazing.  Just saying.)

 She's so flipping beautiful.  I love her a lot. 

Anyway, so once I get some moneys, I'm totally getting some new shoes.  ThanksbetoJesus, it's tax season.

4.  Doodlebug is playing soccer, now.  I'm going to go ahead and own that I laugh out loud, literally, at least once per game.  He's not exactly gifted, although it is definitely too soon to tell.  Mostly, they are like a school of fish, running from one place to another.  He is occasionally sassy to the coach, who almost but not quite sets him straight.  But I think he's having fun, and that's what matters.  Love my little Soccer Player Doodlebug.

5.  Beanie is going to prom.

I KNOW.

But it's senior year, and it's time.  I just... don't know what else to say about that.  In a month, he will be a graduate of the mandatory schooling, and I...  can't believe he's going to be leaving me soon.  NOOOOO.

Enough of that maudlin nonsense.

Lebowski

The other day, I was sitting on the couch, knitting and watching television*.  Doodlebug was on the floor, Creating Important Art. 

All of the sudden, he looked up at me, and said, "Mommy, you know when people frow up?" 

"Yes," I said.

"What's that orange stuff?"

...

"I guess it's carrots," he said.

And this?  This is why I have sons, because throw up questions amuse me, and the serious nature of such questions amuse me.
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And so yesterday, we were in the car, after picking him up at after-school, and the little shit said this.  "Mommy?  The other day, I asked you something and you said you didn't know.  Only one time before that, I asked you how you knew something, and you said that you know everything, so I guess you don't."

Logic is going to kill me with this child. 
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Doodlebug went to a party on Saturday, the party of another child in his class, at the bowling lanes.  I'm going to say that, perhaps, six year olds are a bit young for bowling, but they did have fun, even if it was a matter of whirling around and discuss-throwing bowling balls as hard as possible down the lanes, resulting in a pinball like effect of bumper-bouncing down the lane.

I didn't really know any of the other mothers, and they were all super nice, but still.  I'm terribly uncomfortable in these settings.  Would have been MUCH better if a pitcher of Miller Lite or what-all had appeared, but it didn't.  Note to self:  never throw a kid party without some alcohol available for the adults.  I did find a smoker-friend, so that helped.

When they went up to get the kids' shoes, and we were all in line, and our kids were running around blowing these kazoo things, this prick comes up to us and huffily asks, "who is the parent of this party?"  We kind of point toward the mother, but he doesn't go directly to her.  Instead, he unleashes on all of us.  "We are in the middle of a tournament, here, and the noise is very distracting.  These kids need to be quiet."

For the record, the kids were actually all behaving pretty damned well, and the bowling alley is responsible for booking a birthday party at the same time as a tournament, not the mother, and, well, what an asshole.

Anyway, I didn't say anything, but I did watch the party mom get a little upset, and I could tell she felt kind of bad, and that really pissed me off, so I volunteered to go round up some balls for the little poppets.

What a douchebag.

Ultimately, it was fine, and then later the party grandma walked way out on one of the lanes to fetch a stuck ball, and I realized I like these people, they are my kind of people, but still.  I didn't know any of them, and there wasn't beer.

I completely hate children's birthday parties. 

The doodlebug had fun.

The dude abides.

"Throw me something, mister!" Shouter

L'aissez les bon temps, bitches.  It's Mardi Gras. 

What's that mean, you ask?  It means this.

1.  King Cake.

oh, sweet heaven.

To-date, I have found the goddamn baby twice.  I have already brought in one cake, so I am in arrears by one cake.  Still, I am not the only one.  At least one co-worker owes another cake, too, so I'm probably okay until next payday.  Thank God.

2.  Parades.

Every year, the kid steals my sunglasses on parade days.  He has, like, 40 pairs of sunglasses of his own, yet this is how I get the shaft.  He's cute in my Jackie-O's, though.

The first parade rolled last Sunday.  It was all right, we got some crap, but not as much as we usually do.  I have a lot of hope for this weekend, though.  There are two parades this weekend, and I know pretty much every single person in the Saturday parade.  I am going to go ahead and bring three bags for the catches.  My goal this year is to get roses, lots of roses.  Granted, any man I see will be over age 80, but they might think of me as a cute young thing.  I'll take it.

3.  Sunshine

Mama is ready for these little skinny white legs to brown up a bit.  Mardi gras parades are a good start.  As soon as the season is over, we ought to be into prime beach weather.  Take me to the beach and I'm a happy girl.  So let's have that now, shall we?

Happy Mardi Gras!

Maker of lists

Reasons why I enjoy being no-longer-married:

1. I can lie down sideways on my bed.
2. Nobody gives me any shit for my love of "Dance Moms."  Except Beanie, but the hell with him.
3. Toilet paper lives ON the roll.
4. Speaking of toilet paper, we go through like half as much as we used to go through.  I DO NOT KNOW WHY.
5. On nights when the big kid has youth group, I only have to really feed the baby, since I'm not huge on eating, anyway.  So bologna sandwiches!
6. Back to the bathroom, only girls use my bathroom.  FAR LESS WIPING DOWN OF THE TOILET.
7. Wine.
8. Seven o'clock damn well is bedtime, if I say it is.
9. 1/2 the laundry.  None of it smells like Not-House-of-Pancakes.
10. Old friends.  Some of whom may or may not be male.  All of whom really do make me smile.
11. I can hang up any god damn art where I choose.
12. My groceries now live where they ought.
13. TWO CLOSETS.
14. If I want a lighter, there is likely to be one in my pocket.  And in my purse.  And in my car.
15. Pretty undies?  Sure.  Pretty jammies?  Oh, fuck that. 
16. Girls, you want to talk on the phone, you just call me.  Some boy will want my attention, but I can prioritize differently, now.
17. Beanie knows how to use the grill, so it's all good.
18. Corn without butter.
19. No leftover clam chowder in the sink.  Ick.
20. Socks are all in the hampers.  ALL of them.

Things I can do without:

1. Killing bugs.  I can do this, but it sucks.
2. Putting gas in the car.  It sucks.
3. Paying the bills.  It sucks.
4. Fixing broken shit.  Like doorknobs.  Sucks.
5. Better not puke.  Nobody to hold my hair.

I think I'll keep working on this list.  I'll update it as I think of things. 

Reading Rainbow

Have I mentioned that I like to read?  No?  Yes.  I also like to do jigsaw puzzles and knit.  Fuck off.  You have dirty little secrets, too.

Well, so back to reading.

I just recently read, and it took me once trying and giving up, but this time I stuck it out, but anyway, so yeah.  I recently read Oil! and you know what?  I did NOT hate it.  I'm not going to say it was my favorite book ever, but it didn't dry me out like the Sahara this time, and I actually found myself caring about the characters.  A little bit.  Which is fine, because I don't think Upton Sinclair cared about them, either, he was just using them as a vessel to get his politics on the paper.  It's all good, Upton.  Why you think I blog?

Anyway, at the end of it, I was dis-settled and I wanted something neater, with a happier ending, all tied up like a bow, or so I thought.  So, I picked up an old favorite that I have, literally, read a hundred times or so.  Pride and Prejudice (without zombies, this time).  I KNOW how this book ends, and so I cruised right along.  Picked up a few things I had missed before, even.

And then, you know what?  I started to get right to the end, right where Bingley and Jane work it out, and then Darcy, and...  I put it away. 

I KNOW.

Because, you know what?  Who gives a shit if Elizabeth and Darcy both get over their damn selves and see eye to eye?  Who gives a shit if Lydia DID get engaged?  NOBODY, that's who.  Whom.

Fuck it, Austen.  You are unrealistic and quite silly to me now, and I don't want to read you, so there.  SO THERE.

Meanwhile, I had begun an audiobook, as I do, and it's a Steven King book called 11-22-63, and my expectations were low, but... it's actually perfect.  A little dark, a little creepy, a tiny bit fantastic, and mostly, just pretty good.  Not too much lovey dovey (thanks be to St. Barf-olomew) and a good bit of history, which, you know, Nerdette over here loves.

So there you go.  I have hence come to the conclusion that Steven King is the perfect read for divorcing smart girl people.

Additionally, I'm reading Dracula, because if I'm not reading a classic at all times, I feel wrong.

Books mother-effing rock.