It Just Doesn't Matter

I could use this post as a way to complain about the fact that the oldest kid almost missed the bus Wednesday morning because he was busy reading the paper.

Or maybe I should be complaining that the 11-year-old started his day out by informing me that he needed a three-ring report cover for a project that is due...tomorrow.

I could also be annoyed by the fact that the friend Zoe was supposed to play with this afternoon while I was busy drinking beer at the Twins game now has a certain digestive disturbance that may require medical treatment, but I'm sure that a five-year-old doesn't get diarrhea on purpose. And fortunately I was able to find another responsible person to hang out with my daughter while I sit in the sun and imbibe.

There was also that issue with the dress that I am having altered, and the fact that I went to pick it up (in rush hour traffic) after being assured that it was completed, only to find out that they forgot to put in a zipper. Not a dart or a hem, but an entire fucking zipper.

I should be pissed because when I thought I was being super prepared by making spaghetti sauce and putting it in a crock pot so that it would be hot when I got home from Charlie's violin lesson, I was actually being an idiot because when I got home I realized that the shit in the pot doesn't get hot unless you turn the god damn pot on.

Honestly, though, none of these things matter anymore because the project is completed, the child care is covered, the kid didn't miss the bus, the sauce turned out just fine, the dress will be done in two days, and despite the fact that I didn't have a chance to talk to Doug even one time during the day, the first words out of his mouth when he walked in the door from the office were: "Are you ready to go to the bar?"

Happy St. Patrick's Day

Even though my adoption certificate says that I was shipped from South Korea and my appearance sort of supports that theory, I'm pretty sure that there was a clerical error and I actually came from Ireland. Besides the fact that I loathe kimchi and don't play "World of Warcraft," there are other traits that support my belief:

1. I like corned beef, especially in a reuben.
2. Jameson. Self-explanatory.
3. I like the sound of bagpipes.
4. I don't like snakes which, coincidentally, don't exist in Ireland.
5. I think limericks are funny.
6. Fish 'n chips, yes. Octopus stew, no.
7. I like Flogging Molly, Damien Rice, and that other band - U2
8. My parents went on a pub crawl through Ireland.
9. I have a friend with the last name "Flannery."
10. I like an author with the last name "O'Connor."
11. My husband used to have a client called "O'Donovan's."
12. There is always a box of Lucky Charms in our pantry.
13. There's a restaurant named "Claddagh" in our suburb.
14. Leprechauns, while kind of creepy, aren't as creepy as Kai Lan. (Yes, I know that technically Kai Lan is Chinese, but everyone's always telling me that we all look alike anyway.)
15. I like to drink on St. Patrick's Day.

So put on a kilt, grab a hunk of soda bread, hoist your Harp Lager into the air and let's all toast our heritage together!

My Main Motivation

Even though February is only 28 days long it is a long, freezing, crappy month when feelings of pessimism and doubt start to creep in. You begin to think that the snow will never melt and even if it does the grass underneath could have never survived such a cold, shitty winter and we're all going to be wearing clothes that say The North Face or Columbia on them forever and ever. So since the fleece and Gore-Tex will never be put away, why bother to work out? Who cares if there's a little extra insulation under the insulation?

Everyone has a different reason for working out, and this time of year it takes a lot of motivation to get the job done. While I will happily spend hours running, biking, walking, playing tennis and anything else that involves physical activity when it's nice outside, I dread spending 45 minutes indoors at a health club, running on a treadmill while staring at a muted TV with the closed captioning on. Seriously, the only thing more painful than hearing what Glenn Beck has to say is having to read it. And whoever thought that airing "Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives" at the club has a really sick sense of humor.

Since my germaphobic side tends to surface when I think about working out at the club, I usually use the elliptical trainer that we have at home. I've tried different things to make my time spent on this devil's contraption go faster and suck less: watching a movie, watching Sportscenter, watching one of the kids play a video game while I listen to music, talking on the phone (I do not recommend this one) and once I even tried to play "Guitar Hero" (again, not recommended because Doug almost passed out from laughter).

I could just say "Screw it" and deal with the reality that comes from eating too much comfort food later, but the thought of putting a swimsuit on in (hopefully) three months with a chicken pot pie stuck to my ass is enough to keep me motivated. I also think it's important to set a good example for the kids and emphasize the importance of health and fitness. And if there's one thing I hate shopping for it's jeans, so if I want to be able to eat fries and fit into my existing jeans, I should probably burn a few calories now and then.

When I get off the elliptical, wipe the sweat off my face and walk across the room to get a drink of water, that's when honesty kicks in and I am reminded of what my real motivation is:

There's nothing quite as satisfying as knowing that I just burned a few calories so that I can replace them later, at happy hour. Besides, I hear that Spanx makes some really cute one-piece swimsuits now.

This = That

The Mean Mom's

Chart of Everyday Equivalents

3 tsp.......................................1 Tbsp

2 Tbsp.....................................1 ounce

1 ounce...................................you're kidding, right?

2 ounces..................................yes, please

4 ounces..................................five winter weekdays

16 ounces................................five summer weekdays

___ ounces...............................a weekend

1 week.....................................8 loads of laundry

2 loads of laundry......................oh yeah, I forgot about the sheets

3 kids......................................1 minivan

1 minivan.................................I'm a dork

waiting in the minivan................slice of hell

1 - 13 year old..........................25 daily eye rolls

Ten eye rolls.............................1 smack on the head

1 game of Monopoly...................a suicidal mom

shoveling the driveway................2 shots of vodka

mowing the lawn........................2 Corona Lights

sitting in a lawn chair..................4 Coronas, and 2 shots of vodka

4 tennis lessons.........................2 forgotten water bottles

3 science projects......................5 trips to JoAnn, 17 swear words

shopping at Target.....................not shopping at WalMart

happy hour with best friend.........1 visit to the psychiatrist

1-week vacation.........................25 visits to the psychiatrist

4 texts to/from kid......................15 second phone conversation

phone conversation with kid.........hahahahahaha, that's a good one

3 "shoots".................................1 "shit"

3 "shits"....................................1 "fuck"

2 "fucks"...................................1 hour at the grocery store

1 - five year old.........................7 daily debates

7 daily debates..........................7 ounces

1 clean house............................fantasy/fiction

Sunday - Friday.........................6 dinners cooked

Saturday.................................."Check, please"

A Productive Weekend

Things that were confirmed over the weekend:

1. Hyper-competitive parents get on my nerves, but it's fun to see their kids glare at them when they're not looking.
2. I don't like waiting for people.
3. Red velvet cake batter looks a lot like tomato paste.
4. Red food coloring in a white kitchen sink looks a lot like violence.
5. Bartenders never give you a straight answer as far as when happy hour starts.
6. A hungry five-year-old is not a pleasant person.
7. Old dogs don't care if it's someone's birthday, and will still shit on the floor.
8. No kid will ever turn down pancakes for dinner.
9. If you're not a fan of Roger Federer, you're often disappointed.
10. If you're a fan of Serena Williams, you may not be disappointed, but you're an idiot.
11. Think twice before eating hummus at midnight.
12. Dive bars aren't always quirky and fun. Sometimes they just suck, and are proof that natural selection has limitations.
13. A grilled sausage tastes better in January than it does in June.
14. Chlorine is a wonderful sleep-aid for children.
15. Best friends that head to Mexico for a long weekend without offering to take you along have a lot of nerve.
16. When the 13-year-old gives you a perfect "You're an idiot" look, it's kind of irritating, but it makes you kind of proud, too.
17. I'm already sick of the ads for horrendous Valentine's Day gifts.
18. Lady GaGa makes some questionable wardrobe choices.
19. Most of the time, after looking at the high-maintenance, over-priced martini menu, I will end up ordering a beer.
20. Since anger always motivates me to workout, choosing the treadmill in front of the TV that is broadcasting Fox News is a wise choice.

It's Not You, It's Your Personality

When I see someone I know at the grocery store, the amount of interaction I have with this person is determined by one thing; happy hour. Would I have a beer with this individual? If yes, then by all means, I'll stop rummaging around for the freshest bag of salad and catch up with her for a couple minutes. Would I rather dump a beer on her head and then laugh in her face? Yes? In that case, a small wave is all I can manage, and hopefully she'll get the hint and move along to the frozen food section.

My own little slice of hell occurs when I run into the Most Annoying Person in the World (some people call her Maxine). She interprets the small wave and the lack of eye contact as "sure, come take up ten minutes of my time, talking to me about you, you, you, and other stuff I don't care about."

Yesterday, after pre-burning a few cocktail calories at the club, I stopped at the store. Since I had skipped the super fun communal shower hour, I was still in my sweaty gym clothes and wanted to sprint in, buy limes and bananas, and sprint out without too many people saying "Ewww, gross." Unfortunately, Maxine was right inside the door, I was only jogging instead of sprinting, and my small wave was more of a full arm swing.

"Well hi there! How is your school year going? Is everyone off to a good start? What are you doing with all your free time? I never see you anymore." Maxine chirped, anxiously waiting for my answer so she could tell me all about herself.

"School year is good. Kids are good. Beating them helps. I've just been doing drugs in my free time." I really don't care what this woman thinks of me.

After she laughed nervously, not quite knowing what part I was kidding about, she continued with "Are the boys in any sports? Because my kids play soccer. They're all really good at soccer."

Oh hell. Here we go. "Yes. the boys play tennis a few times a week. And Zoe started about a year ago and plays once a week."

"Oh my. That's quite a bit of tennis! Do they play because they like it, or are they actually good?" Seriously, who asks this? And how am I supposed to answer this kind of question without sounding like an asshole?

"No. They're not very good. I suppose that's why Zach played varsity for the high school last year. As a seventh grader." I don't mind sounding like an asshole.

"Hmmm. That sounds interesting. Well my kids play soccer. Did you know that? My daughter plays college soccer. She plays down in bzzzzzzzzzbzzzzzzbzzzzzzbzzzzzzzz soccer bzzzzzzzbzzzzzzzzbzzz bzzzzzzzzbzzbzzbzzzzzzzzzz. Isn't that great? She's amazing."

I regained consciousness just in time to say "Wow. Yeah. You must be proud. That's really something! I gotta go pee, so I guess I better go so I don't make a mess here."

"It was great catching up with you. I'm sure your boys will catch onto that tennis thing. I'll see you later!" I wanted to grab a pomegranate off of the nearby display and throw it at her face.

By the time I was driving home, I wasn't really irritated about the conversation anymore and was looking forward to grilling burgers and having a fun Friday evening happy hour with Doug. But then it occurred to me; I forgot to buy the damn limes!

The Sacrifices We Make

Last night was a demonstration of how my husband and I are willing to step in and do the responsible thing, not be selfish, and put our own lives aside. I'm tearing up now just thinking of about it.

After Zach won his tennis match, we were going to stop somewhere on the way home for a Friday night beer and let the kids hang out with us. Then, since not everyone appreciates being at a bar with 3 kids coughing in harmony, we realized that this maybe wasn't the best idea. Nothing ruins happy hour more than getting nasty looks from a bunch of drunks and having the occasional lime wedge chucked at your head. Plus, it was time for Zoe's evening dose of antibiotic.

So then the plan changed to racing home, giving Zoe a mild sedative and putting her to bed, and leaving Zach to babysit while we went out without them. While this seemed like an easy task to pull off, we ran into a couple snags. The fact that Zoe wouldn't stop galloping around the house singing a song about "ride 'em cowboy in Texas, horses horses horses" at the top of her lungs delayed her bedtime. Also, we were both ready for a beer now, not 45 minutes from now. So, within seconds of Doug saying "We could just stay home and pursue our quest toward alcoholism" I heard the comforting sound of a beer can opening, and we started inhaling chips and salsa that didn't cost $10.95. Sure, we couldn't swear nearly as much as we wanted and the people watching wasn't as entertaining as it could have been, but sometimes sacrifices have to be made.

I eventually told Zach and Charlie that, since they were both still coughing, I wanted them to go to bed by 9:30. I got the expected response of "What? You're obviously (cough cough) insane (cough)." but they headed up anyway, at 9:40.

"Just once," I whined to Doug. "I wish they would actually take me seriously and go to bed at the time I tell them to!"

"You surprise me sometimes by being so trusting," he said. "Tell them to be in bed 20 minutes before you actually want them there. You definitely need to become more cynical."

He did have a point, and that is something I'm definitely willing to work on.