And Then I Realized That In Seven Years We're All Screwed

Yesterday Lucy had a bad day at school. I know, another post about my misbehave-y children! Can I please give you a fricking break? NO!

Anyway, her punishment for bad behavior at school is just like Sam's: no Wii and possibly no television, depending on the severity of the crime. She was pretty difficult for her teachers, so it was no screens all night, and she was not at all happy about that. Just before bed time she really thought we were going to relent, and when we didn't the shit hit the fan. She was wailing and screaming and coughing and snot and tears were flying everywhere. It was loud and sad and just plain awful for everyone involved. We put her to bed and she fell right right asleep, thank goodness. Every parent knows that if you are frustrated with your kid, all you have to do is watch them while they sleep for a minute and everything will be forgotten. Or at least forgiven.

Two hours later, and I'm the one crying and snotting all over the place. Ever since I've gotten this IUD almost two years ago, my PMS has been all over the place. Recently I've been really down during my hormonal times, and last night was the worst it's been. I was upset with myself for yelling at the kids, stressed about Fred's birthday party coming up this weekend, and just kind of frazzled. THEN I had the brilliant idea to catch up on all of those episodes of Girls on the dvr. If you don't watch it, it's about awkward, depressed girls in their twenties trying to make it in NYC. Kind of like Sex in the City but with more cringing and worse outfits. Something set me off, and all of a sudden I couldn't stop the tears from flowing.

SOB watched at me while I sobbed, looking more than a little dismayed. I explained to him that I was pretty sure it was a hormonal lady thing, and not to take it personally, but I'm sure I was still a bit much to take. I mean, I was full throttle ugly crying over the fact that the tupperware container I got out was too small for my leftovers.

He started laughing at me then, which only whipped my craze-ball of emotions into a frenzy. And then I informed him that once Lucy and Maggie hit puberty, we'd probably all be crazy hormonal beasts at the same exact time every month.

And that's the main reason we'll never own a gun, he said.

Family Matters

I've had this here blog for three years and almost four months. In that time I've had two kids, bought a new camera, moved twice, and spilled more than a lot of shit. All from the safe, mostly anonymous space behind my monitor. Sure, a few of you know my face, but judging from my site meter thingamajig most of you wouldn't know if my eyes are green or blue or brown. 

(They are a greenish hazel, BTW.) 

Recently, though, my readership population dynamic shifted a little. I've been seeing more and more little dots in the south western corner of PA, and a few dots in central Florida, and some over in the UK. 

What I mean to say is, my family is reading.

(Hi mom and dad! And Danny! And Uncle Rick!)

I never sought to hide my blogging from them, I just was never one to shout it from the rooftops. I always assumed that they would find it eventually. Because of that (and because I was raised by the 'if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all' school of thought) I try as hard as possible to never write anything here that I wouldn't want to read aloud in front of a roomful of elderly relatives. Mostly. I've always thought that, aside from a few diatribes on my father-in-law, I've been mildly successful.

But.

Now knowing that my father is clicking by every now and again, I cringe at the number of times I've written about my boobs. And my period. And did you know that I have one hundred and thirty-two entries with the tag 'mental' on it? That should make the parents proud, right?

And what about this?!? Seriously, what does this say about me as a person?

The good news? They like it. Well, at least my mother does. And my brother does too, I think. (He does, however, want to write a guest post about himself because he thinks I made him sound too much like a rock star.) My mother called last night to tell me how much she enjoys reading about my boring, mundane life. Even though she probably couldn't tell it, I was a little misty on the other end of the line. Why? Because what little girl doesn't want her mommy to like the picture she drew/song she sang/story she wrote? Just because we're all grown up doesn't mean we don't care about what our mothers think. 

(Note to self: Remember this in about twenty years.)

Thanks, mom. 

Kiss Me I'm Bloggish

Last week I was bestowed, by the fabulous des, this wonderful award:


I failed to acknowledge this in a timely manner because, as a recipient, I am supposed to send the love onto ten other bloggers! Ack! Are you kidding? Have you seen my google reader? I subscribe to at least 50 blogs, and I read all of the 'friends shards items' AND I am a prodigious reader of several hundred other blogish sites (Stroller Derby, TWOP, PBN, Philadelphia Weekly, ad nauseum). So cropping the list down to ten was keeping me up at night!

First, I would love to return this love to des. I feel a burning desire (no pun intended) to see her tattoos up close and in person. Plus, it's fun to live vicariously through her. She just up and moved from NYC to Detroit (home of the Stanley Cup Champions, boo.) FOR LOVE! How cool is that?

Secondly, I want to call out my Philly homegirl Lora. She's one of those ladies who is going to be a big famous blogger one day, I'm sure. Funny? Yes! Adorable spawn? Check! Read her, so I can be cool when I said I knew her when...

Amy from Chicken and Cheese. Quite possibly the front runner for 'blogger I want to meet in person the most' award. Seriously. When she announced she was pregnant and not coming to BlogHer '08, I was happy for her and then totally devastated that she wasn't going to be there. P.S. I'm totally not stalking you!

Suzanne from C.U.S.S. Any blog with the word 'snatch' in the title is a winner in my book.

(Sidebar: did I ever mention that 'Snatch' was my dad's nickname in high school? I don't care to speculate on the origins of that nickname AT ALL.)

Janet from every samurai needs a mommy. Here's to rekindling old college friendships! And cute as hell babies!

The High Heeled Mama, because ATL represents. I miss you guys! Plus it's her one year blog anniversary (I loathe the term blogiversary and refuse to use it in a sentence unless it referencing how much I hate it) so go over and wish her some happy more to come!

Catherine, because her and her lady parts need all the love they can get. Plus: new baby happiness!

Susan, over at Stuff and Nonsense. Write more, damn it. Our thursday phone dates aren't cutting it! I need the written word of Susan!

The New Girl. If you don't finish that birth story in the next few days, I will find you and force you to tell it to me in person. And I mean that in a totally fun, non-threatening way!

And finally, Miss Zoot and her whole brood. Again with the new baby deliciousness! All these bloggers having babies are really out to make me ovulate, I just know it. Plus she was the originator of the lovely pink and green template I used to use before I broke it.

So there it is. My ten. There are ten more, and ten more beyond that, but I am tired. Thanks again Miss d for your continued love and adoration of my cute-as-buttons offspring!

And I Didn't Even Stay for the Glee Club Presentation

I mentioned yesterday that I attended my first Women's Club meeting. I've been thinking long and hard on what to say about, because it most definitely needs documented, but I'm conflicted. At times it was downright hilarious. The next minute it was so touching I almost cried. And then someone said something racist. I think the best way to go about it is to just start at the beginning.

It was 11:30am. I had been at the gym and was all sorts of sweaty. I was just about to jump in the shower when I decided to check my invitation. Which was typed on a typewriter, by the way. It was a good thing I did because even though I thought the fête began at 1pm, it actually started at 11:30. As in rightnow. Actually, two minutes ago. I ran upstairs, changed clothes, neatened my ponytail and ran off.

As soon as I walked in the door, I began sweating even more. There were about 30 other women there and not a single one of them would even look at me, let alone speak to me. Several tables were set with place cards, so I began looking for my name. I had RSVP'd after all. Not finding myself anywhere, I began to get flustered. Luckily a sweet woman named Julia saw me floundering and offered me a seat next to her. While Julia was probably only in her fifties, the vast majority of the other women there were in their seventies or beyond. There were two women who appeared to be in their thirties, but they were great-great-granddaughters of a founding member of the club and therefore super-snobs. So I sat with Julia and her 91 year old mother. She was very nice and helped to fill me in on some of the goings-on of the club.

Soon we were joined by several other women. While they were all polite to me, only a small few were actually nice to me. The rest talked among themselves about the following topics in order:

Lipstick
People with accents, and how much they hate them
Lunch, and how the portions were too large
The Jewish people who have "invaded" the neighborhood
Cadillacs
Cake
Nursing homes

During the portion of the conversation about 'the foreigners with their accents' many of the ladies were lamenting that their hearing loss made it even more difficult to understand 'those people.' All of a sudden it was quiet. I looked up from my croissant sandwich to see several of them looking at me, waiting for a response. I mentally freaked the fuck out. I didn't want to say anything disparaging about people with accents, but I got the feeling they were trying to see where I fell on certain, erm, issues. At a loss, I blurted out, 'I know! I have hearing problems as well, and I can barely hear anyone at all!' They all looked at me like I had lobsters crawling out of my ears. I said it was genetic (even though it isn't) and they all shook their head and said something to effect of, 'so sad, so young.'

After the interminable lunch portion of the program, the meeting was called to order. This was when we said the Pledge of Allegiance. And also a prayer. In a I'm-not-quite-sure-if-it's-funny-moment, the leader of the meeting had recently undergone cataract surgery and could barely read the prayer. Instead of asking someone else to read it (because that would be against the by-laws) she just took forever and kept messing up.

Finally, once the praying and pledging was over we had the ceremony to pass the torch from the old board members to the new, younger (read: in their sixties) board members. This part was actually somewhat entertaining, as the woman in charge was a real firecracker. No matter how old these broads were, they were dressed to the nines, with recent hair dos, smart suits and pearls. With some of them, you could really see the younger woman they used to be based on their outfits and accessories. It was enlightening, to say the least.

The most poignant moment of the afternoon came when they inducted the new treasurer, who was a man. It seems his wife passed away unexpectedly during her term as treasurer, and he carried out her duties for the duration. He must have done an excellent job because they decided to make him permanent treasurer, despite his obvious maleness in an all female club.

As the new board members were being introduced, the ladies who had formerly held the positions pinned corsages onto their blouses. Some of these women were in their eighties and could barely hold their water glasses, but this ceremony was important to them. It must have taken a great deal of strength but all of the retiring board members, every last one of them, pinned those carnations on with pride.

Finally, with the meeting adjourned, the glee club started setting up for their performance. Almost two hours had gone by since then, and since the youngest member of the glee club couldn't have been less than 65 I decided to leave, citing the kids as a reason. Call me skeptical, but I just wasn't sure I'd be gleeful once the performance was finished.

Luckily, I had someone at home to bring some glee into my life!


I had to show him a few times, but Sam figured out how to blow the 'santa clauses' from dandelions. Talk about fun!

A:

Janet asks: who was your first pre-teen celebrity crush? Kirk Cameron, hands down.

Mrs. Chicken wants to know: why "Cheese Party" and what's with the obsession with putting your head in a hole and taking pictures? First, the title. It was, honestly, a random association of two things I love. Initially this blog had a horrible name, so after my second or third post I decided to change things up. 'Cheese' and 'Party' seemed to fit my odd-ball personality and my penchant for soirées.

And the head holes? Are a riot. Sam and Lucy will be forced into these types of photographs for their entire minor-hood.

Chrissie queries: My question is ... when is the next hot hands tournament? Tell your husband to BRING IT ON! I'm not playing, though. Can't risk injuring my delicate hands. I'll just document!

Lora inquires: (I'm going to take this one point by point since she's asked several)

-My question is-Do you feel older? Not really. I feel fatter, but I'm working on that.
-How old do you feel? Maybe a little younger than I am. But then I remind myself that I'm a member of the Woman's Club and then I feel older.
-How old do you think you look? I'm not sure. You tell me! I won't be offended. I swear!

I'm the one in the middle, holding the adorable baby

-How old do you think other people think you look? See my answer to the last question. And click on the picture to make it big so you can really see all the details.
-Did you think you'd have kids by now? Yes. My mom was 19, so before I really knew any better, I thought that's when I'd have my first kid, too.
-Did you want to have kids by now? Yes. I knew I was getting hitched to SOB at 17, and we started talking about babies before we were 20. We knew we were too young and too poor to actually have any, but the idea was in the pipeline.
-What did you want to have accomplished by 29 that you did? My main goal as a youth was to move far away from home. I only made it 300 miles, but they're a long 300. Pittsburgh and Philly are about as different as they come, so I feel much farther away. Oh, and being happily married to someone I love more than pizza. Lots of other things, too, but I'm too tired to catalog them.
-That you didn't? I always had very lofty (and somewhat strange) goals as a young woman. I wanted to save the leopard population through a series of genetically specific mate parings. I wanted to win a Tony award. Just to name a few.
-Does 30 freak you out? Not at all. I've never been an ageist. As long as I can keep up with my kids I'll be forced feel young. Although I did get an AARP card in the mail last week.
-What do you consider "old"? 78. Really. Up until then it's dependent upon the individual. My two grandmothers are almost the same age, but one seems 20 years younger than the other. Once you're late in the septuagenarian years, though, you're old.
-Has it changed in the last few years? Nope.

HBM questions: what's your view on birthdays in general? Do they get better or worse? I've always loved my birthday, and hopefully always will. The presents get worse for a little while and then they get better again. Between those odd teen years where no one knows what to get you and then the early adult years where no one can afford to get you anything they kind of suck. Not that I'm materialistic or anything. I just like presents. And you don't?

Susan ponders: What is the one thing that you do that you would lie, lie, lie about if anyone ever caught you doing it? Picking my nose. We all do it, but none of us (including me) want to admit it! Incidentally, what do you think would happen if you never picked your nose? Would you get a giant booger obstructing your nasal passages?

And finally, Anonymous wonders: How do you see you life, your family, all around you, in 5 years? Perhaps we'll be in the same neighborhood, but maybe in a bigger house (maybe because we'll have another baby, but don't tell SOB I said that!) Sam will be in 2nd grade and Lucy in 1st, so we'll be busy, I'm sure. Hopefully I'll be at least a little thinner. Lucy and her new BFF Liliana will make each other friendship bracelets. SOB and I will go on vacation for our 10th anniversary, sans children. Sam will win the class spelling bee. All will be right with the world, just like it is now.

Members Only

Back in December there was a knock on my door on a random Saturday afternoon. It was a man inviting me to a local Christmas party up the street at The Woman's Club of Town-Where-I-Live. It was a charitable event, so they were collecting toys for the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia. I figured why not make an appearance? I could meet some neighbors and maybe a sick tot would enjoy a brand new MagnaDoodle. Plus the Women's Club is literally within walking distance of my house.

SOB was working but my parents were in town so they stayed with Sam and Lucy while I checked out the soirée. The first thing I realized was that I was under dressed big time. Everyone was in suits and fancy dresses. I was in jeans (my nice ones) and a cool shirt. Since I hadn't received an invitation, I hadn't been informed of the dress code, and random door knocker made it sound like a casual affair. Since I hadn't planned to stay long, I wasn't too upset.

At least, not yet.

Soon the man who invited me came over to say hello and introduce me to a few other attendees. After some pleasantries, he asked about why we moved to the neighborhood. I mentioned that I had gone to college at the nearby large Catholic university, and both men I was speaking with noticeably brightened. They were both alumni of the same university, which was nice.
It was then that things got ugly.

They confided that they invited me because they assumed we were Christian, since we had such a lovely lights display. Then they started asking about my neighbors. Namely, they wanted to know if they were Jewish. These men firmly believed that the 'Jewish element' was ruining the neighborhood because they were not, on the whole, a civic-minded people.

I didn't know what to say. On one side our neighbors are orthodox, and on the other side the husband is an atheist and the wife is Jewish. And we like them both. A lot. Have I mentioned the bakery lately?

After they finished quizzing me on the religious affiliations of everyone on our block, they implored me to join the Woman's Club. All of the members are in their 70's, and the club is likely going to die with them unless some younger people join. At first I balked at the idea of joining a club with such a heinous agenda.

But after thinking about things for a few weeks, I had a change of heart. If it's true that the ladies of the club are knocking on death's door, then maybe by joining now I can start rebuilding the organization with more tolerant women. We plan on staying in this neighborhood for a good long while and so it behooves me to try and improve it as much as possible. So maybe the best thing I can do is get inside and work from there.

Which is why today I mailed off my application. Wish me luck!