I'm BAAD!

I am practically a Super Hero! Ahem…Super Heroine. I single-handedly fought off gang-bangers with weapons today at the local park. Yes, Moi! I was all in-your-face, “Don’t mess with this Vigilante Mama!"………………Well, sort of. They might not actually have been gang-bangers, per se, but 80# middle school boys. And their “weapon” was a single wooden bat. And I wasn’t exactly alone with them........if you count the police officer….....Let me start at the beginning.

I was innocently sitting on a bench at our neighborhood playground, keeping one eye on my chic-lit book and keeping another eye on Little Squirt. Out of nowhere came four middle-school boys with longish hair and unruly attitudes. They threw a garbage can into the park, rolled it over and laughed as trash came tumbling about. One carried a bat, which he swung haphazardly around, not caring that there were pre-schoolers in his path. They parked their incorrigible selves at the top of the monkey bars and began using filthy language and hitting the equipment with the aforementioned bat.

I am a pretty patient, tolerant person under most circumstances. But this was our peaceful playground, where small innocent children such as Little Squirt hang out. And the sign at the entrance specifically states, “Children under 12 only.” One should obey the rules.

Me: “Hey guys, please pick up the garbage can and the trash.”
Unruly Hooligans: (Disrespectful laughter.)
Me: (More sternly) “Did you hear me? I said to pick up the trash, please. There are little children trying to play.”
Unruly Hooligans: (More disrespectful laughter and filthy language.)
Me: (Picking up my pink cell phone with the jeweled butterfly charm and pretending to dial.)
Unruly Hooligans: (Possibly shaking with fear. I didn’t actually notice.)
Me: (Pretending to dial more fervently.)
Unruly Hooligan #1: “She’s calling the cops.”
Unruly Hooligan #2: (Runs to pick up garbage can and trash.)
Me: “Thank you.”
Another mother: “They are frequent offenders. I am calling the police for real.”

And so the police officer arrived a few minutes later, much to the hoodlums’ surprise. And he wrote them up and gave them a harsh talking-to. Law, order and propriety prevailed, and the pleasant playground was restored to peace and harmony once again. Glory, Glory, Halleluiah.

There is no need to honor me with a parade. Reflecting on the fact that I was just doing my civic duty without any thought to my own personal safety is reward enough. And now I have a taste for the blood of justice. Dang, it was fun! I’m thinking of starting a “Vigilante Mamas” group or something. We’ll wear matching pink t-shirts, and perps will quiver when we walk by them in our ballet flats, swinging our Louis Vitton handbags. We’ll case all the parks and Toys ‘R Us stores, rounding up thugs by displaying a furrowed waxed brow and bogus cell call, tapped out by our French manicured nails.

I got a glimpse, today, of what it would have been like for my childhood fantasy to come true. I shamelessly admit that I always wanted to be a “Charlie’s Angel.”

EEEK!!

One thing I hate about the warmer weather is that spiders have decided to make their horrid presences apparent in my home. I don’t know where they go in the winter. Maybe they hide or hibernate or vacation in Hell. I don’t really care. I just don’t want them in my house. They are unwanted, uninvited, malefic detestable interlopers. And so they must die.

Now I am not interested in any negative comments on my blog from PETA. (People for the Ethical Treatment of Arachnids.) So if you are from PETA and read this post and are offended, please be aware that I have done extensive spider research: I read “Charlotte’s Web” four times as a child. And so I know that spiders kill Bad Insects. But here’s the thing: Spiders are Bad Insects. They kill House Flies by sucking their blood. That's just evil. I saw one do this once. And some spiders are poisonous, and can stop your heart by one single bite. House Flies do not try to murder you. They just sort of aviate around your food, buzz by your ear, and then keel over after you swat them.
Spiders = Bad.
Flies = Annoying.
Clearly, I’d rather have “Annoying.”

I realize that not all spiders are poisonous, but how do we distinguish? I heard that the Black Widow Spider has a bite that is ten times more venomous to the human than the bite of a rattlesnake. (Oi Vey!) Oookay...... I’m certainly not rolling over the next trespassing arachnid to check its belly with a magnifying glass. Let’s just call them all bad and be done with it.

The other evening, as I was chopping vegetables for my Cheeseburger Paradise Soup, I noticed a shadow by my left eyeball. It was a spider, casually shimmying down the ceiling on its filament, less than an inch from my hair. So I did what any normal red-blooded American woman would do. I panicked. I screamed and began wildly slashing with my butcher knife. Then I grabbed a nearby bottle of Windex and sprayed madly. After I washed the Windex out of my eye, I saw the evil arachnid drop onto my counter, and scuttle away on its gross hairy legs into my cutlery drawer. I slammed the drawer shut and screamed for Rock Star, who searched the cutlery drawer with a glance and declared the Spider “Gone.” Gone? Gone where?? Oh Dear God, WHERE DID IT GO???

I have not been near my cutlery drawer since, in case the spider is a Black Widow and hiding under the sugar spoon, wickedly planning my demise when I venture near its lair. So we are eating with plastic until Super Hubs agrees to either bring in an exterminator or presents me with the Cutlery Drawer Spider’s corpse on a platter.
(Big sigh.) It’s all been extremely stressful.

My Spider Blogging has given me itchy skin and a rampant case of the Heebie-Jeebies, so I must run now and take a shower with a potent germicide. Peace out. And beware. They are out there. Watching you.

A Little "Bob Dylan"

Didn’t you deplore the times when you were a child and your parents, without your blessing or consent, would sign you up for something you didn’t want to do, and then declare it “Good For You”?? Super Hubs and I channeled our parents last night when we announced to Rock Star that he would play his guitar at an “Open Mic” coffee bar. Our friends’ son had been performing there regularly and enjoyed it, and we believe Rock Star would, too. And any opportunity to have Rock Star be exposed to acoustic guitar music of genres that didn’t include his preferred Heavy Metal (whose cords grate on my last baby nerve so much they make me want to shoot myself) is a Very Good Thing.

Rock Star: “I won’t go. I hate playing acoustic!”
Us: “It’ll be good for you.”
Rock Star: “I only like playing Heavy Metal on my electric. I’m not going!”
Us: “It’ll be good for you.”

So he went under deep protest. My usual complacent, laid back teen was a snarling, hissing mass of anger as we drove him over in the car. The venomous dark cloud he was enveloped in was so thick you could’a cut it with a butter knife. But we knew it would be good for him.

And it was! The trendy coffee bar housed a group of several men and teens that sat in a circle with their acoustic guitars, and played music together to entertain the patrons. Super Hubs and I spent our Date Night drinking wine at a corner table (The place even had a liquor license, God bless its hospitable soul!) and wondering if our son would ever speak to us again. But we watched him relax, be encouraged by the other musicians, and (could it be??) veritably enjoy himself. He actually seemed to be glowing with pleasure!

He later admitted what a great time he’d had, and asked if he could go again next week. Huh. What do you know? We were right. I do believe it had been good for him!

Wheat Grass Smoothie, Anyone?

In the wake of my recent birthday, I have some exciting news to share. I have begun a new diet! Perhaps you’ve heard of it? It’s called “Eating Healthy.” It’s all about….well, eating healthy, such as including at least 5 fruits or vegetables a day into your diet, as well as whole grains, protein, and other things that sound grotesque but are supposedly nutritious. It encourages cutting out sugar and white flour and caffeine, and increasing lots of fresh water. This “Eating Healthy” Diet is supposed to give you more energy, ward off illness, make you look younger and live longer. It sounds brilliant, does it not?? “Well, duh!” you say. But I must confess that I am addicted to junk food. My name is Kelly and I am a Junk-Food-Aholic. All: “Hi Kelly!” But it’s been so much fun! Such frivolity! A pleasurable, yummy ride on the Roller Coaster of Crapola Dining! But now, sadly, it must come to an end. Good-bye, Shameless Gorge-Festing! I shall miss you loads. (Sniff.)

I have inherited both a fast metabolism and waif-like figure from my mother, which are a blessing and a curse. A curse because I get lazy. I assume I can eat whatever I want whenever I want. But last week’s birthday reminded me that I am getting a bit older, and I realize that if I continue on my Salt-Sugar-Caffeine Diet, I will wake up one day and be rather large. Or rather diabetic. Or rather dead. Hence the new “Eating Healthy” Diet.

So I cleaned out my pantry and fridge, tossing out most of the salty snacks and pop tarts and fudgsicles and horseradish. (The latter because we had 4 bottles of horseradish, and the fresh-ist one expired in November of ’04. We only use horseradish on the rare occasion, in which I forget that I have some and buy another bottle. But I digress.) And I have begun to add only nutritious, wholesome foods. Go me! No more cheetos and Dr. Pepper for breakfast. Adios to hiding Hostess Cupcakes from my kids so I can eat them surreptitiously. If I have a salty craving, now I grab a handful of nuts. If I have a yen for sugar, I currently eat a piece of grapefruit……with sugar on it. (But it’s better than jelly-bellies, so don’t judge me! I said I was “Eating Healthy," I did not say I was going all "Buddhist Monk!") I still allow myself one can of soda a day. And an alcoholic beverage on occasion. And 4 Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups from Target today. But that was only because I had been shopping for a while and my blood sugar was dropping…….never mind.

I’ll let you know how it goes. I’ll admit it ain’t easy. But if the pay off is looking better and feeling better, it might be worth it. As long as I can have the occasional Snickers or mojito without guilt, I’m all for longevity. And more of me over your lifespan is always a good thing! Here’s to my health!

How They've Flown!

19 years ago today, I stood at the back of the Catholic church of my youth. I was wearing a vintage ivory gown, worn by my grandmother on her wedding to my grandfather in 1938. I held lilies. I was feeling anxious because the flowers had arrived late, some of my relatives were still in route, and the service was about to begin. My Maid of Honor, not oblivious to my tension, grabbed me by the shoulders and said, “Just focus on your groom. Let everything else go, and just keep your eyes on him.” I took a deep breath and the arm of my father, and headed down the aisle to Pachelbel’s Cannon, keeping my eyes on my husband-to-be.

Almost two decades have passed. I still keep my eyes on him; marveling every day that I ended up with such an amazing man.

Happy 19th Anniversary, Baby!
"...I found the one my heart loves..." (Song of Solomon 3:4)

Insomnia

Very Early Monday Morning:
1:00a.m. Unidentified sound rouses me from sleep. Try without success to identify noise.
1:00-1:03a.m. Use facilities. Wash hands. Climb back into bed.
1:03-1:30a.m. Close eyes-relax mind-watch clock. Close eyes-relax mind-watch clock. Check on sleeping children. Close eyes-relax mind-watch clock.
1:30-2:15a.m. Freak about being unable to fall asleep. Worry about the economy. Mentally replay the day’s conversations. Tell husband to stop snoring. Wonder when library books are due.
2:15-2:58a.m. Worry about my health. Freak about being unable to fall asleep.
2:58-3:10a.m. Resent everyone who is sleeping. Think about avenging the wrongs of my enemies. Crave jelly-bellies.
3:10-3:27a.m. Consider getting up for the day. Scold a rambunctious cat. Close eyes- relax mind-watch clock.
3:27-3:43a.m. Plan redecoration of Master Bathroom. Consider future vacation options.
3:43-4:06a.m. Drift off to sleep.
5:50a.m. Alarm blares. Drag my exhausted self out of bed and straight to coffee maker.
Insomnia stinks.

Shaken But Alive

I’m guessing you were terribly worried about me, considering that I was in an earthquake and all. And not posting yesterday probably made you fear the worst. Was I buried alive under a pile of rubble? Or perhaps, having been knocked over the head by a dangling billboard, was I in a coma; my family keeping vigil by my bedside? No and no, thankfully. I am happy to report that we are alive and well. All five of us. And our pets. And neighbors. And all of Chicago area, actually.

One of the nice things about living in Chicagoland is that we have few natural disasters to fear. Wildfires? Not likely. Hurricanes? Never. Tsunamis? Impossible. Tornadoes? Possibly, although I’ve never been near one in almost 40 years of living here. They usually only hit trailer parks, and we don’t live in one. So who would have guessed IL would have an earthquake?? Harrowing as it was, I’ll share my story for all interested parties so they can take notes. I’ve heard it’s healing to do that. So here goes.

Early Friday, at about 4:30amish, Super Hubs and I woke up to hear what sounded like a rumbling from our closet. We assumed it was one of the cats making the noise, and then we fell back to sleep. And that was it. We didn’t realize it was a tremor from an earthquake in central IL that measured 5.2 on the Richter scale until we listened to the news the next morning. My kids slept through the terrifying danger and had no idea.

It was kind of disappointing, actually. No broken china. No running for cover under a doorway. No press interviews. No book deals or “move-of-the-week” contracts. Just a slight rumble that we blamed on a cat. At least it’ll make a breath-taking story to share with our grandchildren someday. (If we extremely exaggerate.)

But it was stressful, nonetheless, considering what might have happened. So we went out to dinner that night with my BFFs and their spouses, where we shared Thai food and conversation, and then headed to a club. The women sat at one table and drank margaritas and Red Apple sangria and talked about their feelings and menstrual cycles. The men sat at another table, drank beer and looked at their watches. Typical.