Yummy Mummy

Yummy= Jelly Bellies.
Mummy= Me.
"Her children stand and bless her." (Proverbs 31:28)
Happy Mother's Day to all the women that "mother!"
May God bless you!

Wanted: Preferably Dead

I have Good News! The Cutlery Drawer Spider has been apprehended! Yahoo for justice! I’ll do the honor of giving my loyal readers The Scoop before they read it in tomorrow’s Police Blotter.

While Super Hubs was busy sipping margaritas and tanning his backside by the Arizona pool this week, I manned the forts here at home. I was occupying myself with something domestic in the kitchen the other day, when suddenly I caught sight of the Hairy-Legged Thug scuttling across my ceiling, attempting a covert getaway. I’m certain it was the same spider; I’d recognize his evil countenance anywhere.

Normally, I leave Spider Slaying to the men in the family, as Butterfly is just as arachnophobic as I am. But the only “man” home at that time was Little Squirt, my 5-year-old. So I had no choice. In the interest of protecting my little child, I had to take action. I swallowed my repulsion; mustered up all the courage I could, and launched my attack. In an aggressive assault equal to a wartime “Shock and Awe,” I fought the spider with weapons which included a broom, a soup ladle and my shoe. The pugnacious evil insect seemed ready for my every move, darting this way and that, and then running across the kitchen table. Which is when Little Squirt came up behind me and calmly smashed it to pieces with his balloon. “It’s dead, Mommy,” he said, wiping the balloon off with his elbow, and heading back to his video game. My Hero!

So we celebrated by sterilizing all the silverware, and then headed out to our favorite Italian restaurant for dinner. Justice is served.

It's Not Fair!

Super Hubs flew to Arizona today, and so I am insanely jealous. He went for a work conference, and he did offer to take me. But, considering the fact that we have three children that need tending to (and one of them in high school with an Algebra II grade that indicates she has no business missing school for a southwestern trip), I needed to stay here.

Super Hubs told me it was just a mandatory "Work Thingie," and that he'll be stuck in a conference room all day, and that he'd actually rather stay home with us. Like I'd fall for THAT! Nice try, Baby! Here's the real story: He will get to stay at a luxury resort tucked in the foothills of the scenic Sonoran Desert, surrounded by towering Saguaro and beautiful wildflowers. He’ll have a quiet villa all to himself, decorated with authentic Southwest décor and architecture, and blah blah blah. (I read the hotel website.) He’ll get to relax by one of the luxury pools with a tropical drink and perhaps enjoy a massage at the spa. He’ll relish fabulous peaceful dining, with no Little Squirt or teenagers to dominate all the conversation. He won’t have to deal with homework. Or housework. Or carpooling. Or dog vomit.

So I sit and resent the fact that I am stuck here, where it is chilly and gray today, and I have no luxury pool to relax by. And no professional masseuse on site to exfoliate my skin with a desert honey sugar scrub. And nary a professional to teach me about Native American culture. Or tour guide to take me on a moonlight nature hike and desert jeep tour. And no chef to prepare me a fine dinner of grilled halibut and crème brulee.
I’m just sayin’.

In The Blink Of An Eye

If I ever, in the midst of a mid-life crisis or something, decide to pursue a career as a Wedding Consultant, you have permission to shoot me. I really mean it. Please shoot me first and put me out of my misery pre-emptively. I already know I would deplore a job like that because I barely survived being Personal Prom Assistant to my daughter. I am completely, thoroughly, 100% bushed after this weekend. Thankfully it was just a temporary job, and I have turned in my name badge and tiara and retired until next year.

This being my one and only daughter and her very first Prom, I had no idea the short-term career would be so taxing! The appointment-making, the consulting on hair styles and nail colors, the buying of boutonnière and garter, the offering of affirming words at Key Stress Moments, “Yes, sweetie, you will look gorgeous. No, darling, I don’t believe anyone will be wearing the same dress;” all I can muster is a big “Whew!” But mostly, I was not prepared for all the whining and fussing and gnashing of teeth (which were actually from Super Hubs as he viewed the various Prom bills.)
**Future-Parents of America: Heed my advice and only have boys. They are definitely cheaper to raise.**

But it was almost worth it as Super Hubs and I went on Friday evening to the “Red Carpet” event at Butterfly’s school. All of the Prom couples walked through a gauntlet of clapping parents and entered one of 14 decorated school buses which, like Cinderella’s pumpkin, carried them off to the ball. I would suggest that the paparazzi come to the local high schools and learn something about aggression before next year’s Oscars. The hundreds of parents pushing and shoving their way to the front to try to get a picture of their glammed-up teen is something I will never forget. Next year, I’m wearing my Chain Mail!

I cried. I admit it. Seeing Butterfly looking beautiful and happy on the arm of her Prom Date put a lump in my throat. She was a roly-poly 8 pound bundle of joy just a minute ago. Now she’s 16. However did it happen so fast?

Anatomy 101

Caution: Consider yourself warned. This post is not for the “Squeamish” or the “Easily-Offendable.” I will be using blatant anatomy verbiage. But it's okay; I am a trained professional. I am a Registered Nurse and own a 20th edition of "Gray's Anatomy." (The medical book, not the TV show. Although the show is pretty accurate in itself. And entertaining. But I digress.)

To those who appreciate the innocence of young children, or even to the “Simply Curious,” here’s a peek into a private father/son conversation that occurred last night:

Little Squirt: “Dad, do girls have penises?”
Super Hubs: “Uh, no, Son. They do not.”
Little Squirt: “Why?”
Super Hubs: “Because they have vaginas.”
Little Squirt: (With alarm) “GIANT WHATS??”

Prom '08

Jewelry And Junk Food

My new “Eating Healthy” Diet is going rather poorly. Abysmally, even. But it has not been entirely my fault. One reason is that I went out to dinner with my Fabulously Funny Drama Team the other night, and we celebrated the spring birthdays of the team members, which included Bill’s and mine. (Bill did not care for the sparkly pink bracelet that I bought for him, so I kept it and gave him English Toffee instead. Darn. I hate it when I have to keep jewelry.) I received lots of yummy treats, which I needed to eat, for it was the polite thing to do. And I am nothing if not polite. But we laughed like crazy, so I’m hoping all the endorphins canceled out any bad chemicals from the junk food. You think?

And then there’s been stress this week, what with the Cutlery Drawer Spider and Fighting Crime and some personal stuff that I will not share on my blog lest I feel completely naked. I’m not certain yet how to get through the strain without my good friends and neighbors, The Reeses and The Cheetos. They’ve always been there for me through thick and thin, and I hate to just drop them from my life without notice. Their feelings might be hurt. And I have not yet found Mr. Kiwi or Ms. Rice Cake quite as comforting.

And last night I had Heartburn in the middle of the night. I haven’t had Heartburn in years. So I attributed that to drinking orange juice right before bed. Hmmmmm.
Orange juice before bed= Heartburn.
A glass of wine before bed= Good night sleep.
Now I’m wondering if this “Eating Healthy” Diet is really going to work for me after all.