If I get up early enough, say around 5:30 or so, I can get a good :30 minutes of quiet time in to check my news, read some email and have a blessedly quiet cup of coffee before chaos takes over the minute the children are fully awake and running amock in the house. The activity can easily be broken down into three rounds….
Round 1: Good Morning Sunshine!
My son gets up easily enough. He usually requires a hug before sitting down to breakfast and patiently awaits the attack that is no doubt coming from his little sister who does not share his cheery disposition in the morning. The “argument du jour” will generally start within 10 minutes of her arrival at the breakfast table and will only end after they have fully driven both their father and myself crazy. Oh, and no one will eat the same thing which means my husband and I are running around playing short order cook to two very ungrateful customers who don’t even leave a tip, just a few dishes behind, to thank us.
Round 2: Lights, Camera, Action!
By now it’s off to get dressed which presents another set of unique problems. Mr. C has hair that truly has a life of its own. Overnight, it somehow arranges itself into a style that requires industrial strength product to hold down and even then he sometimes still leaves the house looking like he has a horn sticking out of his head. Also, he is slightly color blind. If you were ever wondering how many times one child can put together a brown on brown outfit in one week, the answer is slightly over one million.
Miss G on the other hand is quite the fashionista. She can mix and match like nobody’s business. Sadly, the weather plays a big part in our mornings here because if it is freezing cold, she prefers t-shirts with spaghetti straps and shorts. However, if it is hot, nothing is going to make her feel fancier than that wool coat with the faux fur trim at the neck and wrists.
Round 3: Let’s Get This Show On The Road!
Usually at this point we are a few minutes to egress. The countdown has started to bus arrival time and The Man gives minute by minute updates on exactly how long the children have to get out the door. Right about now, two things usually happen. First, socks are lost. Sure they were in the drawer last night but now the only socks that are there are the ones that are “yucky and don’t fit right” that surely we cannot expect them to place their precious toes in. Those kids you see at school with the shoes but no socks? Yeah, one of those is usually mine.
Next up, someone will remember they had homework that didn’t get done or a form that needed to be signed and returned. The realization that they have no idea where these items are will set in a few seconds later and a search team will be deployed to find the missing papers, which have been found in locations and exotic as the fish tank and once, the freezer.
Eventually we do get them out the door and onto a day of higher education and we collapse by the door after they leave, covered in spilled coffee and chocolate milk with nothing but each other to keep us vertical. Mission accomplished!
As part of my “simplify life” motto for the year, I’m looking for ways to ease this process but I haven’t gotten there yet. Tell me about your morning routine…surely I’m not alone here. And if you are actually are that perfectly organized June Cleaver type I strive to be, let me know how you do it…any and all tips to make this routine easier are much appreciated!
This article about making mornings easier is part of the Kraft Bagel-fuls “Break up with your Breakfast Routine” sweepstakes. Visit BlissfullyDomestic.com for all the fabulous details.
A few days ago, The Man and I went to go see Shutter Island. I’d like to tell you it was because I was genuinely interested in the plot but really it was because I read somewhere that one of my fantasy boyfriends on the kitchen pass list, Leonardo DiCaprio was in EVERY SINGLE SCENE. 218 minutes of Leo sounded like bliss to me.
Boy was I wrong. Take it from me, if you must see this movie, make it a Blockbuster night and fortify yourself with copious amounts of wine….you’re gonna need it.
Wait, where was I?
Oh yes, the kitchen pass list. The list that The Man would turn a blind eye on in the unlikely event I was ever to bump into one of these beautiful men, have him fall madly in love with me for no more than a few nights and sweep me off my feet into his private jet to take in the Opera in San Francisco, all the while decorating my neck with Harry Winston jewels and allowing me to shop on his credit card on Rodeo Drive. (You say run on sentence? I say clear and concise summation of entire Pretty Woman plot line. Pfft.)
Anyway. Let’s take it from the bottom up (heh heh) shall we?
Number Five: Bradley Cooper.
Admittedly his stock was much higher right after The Hangover came out but then he started dating Renee Zellweger (Sorry people, I’m just not seeing it…). He remains on the list though because I can totally picture myself riding in a convertible with him, leaning over to slowly pull of his aviator glasses and gazing into his blue eyes as he….. Wait. This is not that kind of blog.
Number Four: Leonardo DeCaprio
Leo used to occupy the number two position but had to be punished for the above referenced 218 minutes of my life that I will never get back. Those blue eyes, that curly hair…I can tell you with absolute certainty I would go down with him. People, I’m talking about on The Titanic. Get your minds out of the gutter. Geez.
Number Three: Robert Pattinson
The only thing keeping this teenage vampire from being number one on my kitchen pass list is the fact that when he is not in “Edward” mode, he really looks like he needs a good scrubbing in the bathtub. Wait….I just had an idea.
Number Two: Hugh Grant
This is a tricky one. Not only because my adorable Scottish friend Ally from The Reluctant Subrubanite is real life friends with him, but also because it’s possible that I might have been “over served” at the Ritz Carlton Reynold’s Plantation outside Atlanta while in a rather small bar area with him. It’s also entirely possible that I might have, maybe loudly , slurred something rather insulting at him. Possibly. Or not. Still, he has great hair and blue eyes and that accent? OH.YES.
Number One: Harry Connick, Jr.
Not only does he have the requisite wavy, thick hair and blue eyes, I already have photographic proof that he is my new boyfriend. I mean sure, I stood there for about one minute but still…Kismet I tell you. Nevermind that security had to drag me off and he is actually married to a Victoria’s Secret supermodel. Details, details. The main thing is that I get to use this picture as many times as possible in my blog. Because I can.
So tell me dear readers, who is on your kitchen pass list? I want juicy details and reminders of anyone I’ve left out.
I’m counting on you for some good comment reading so bring it on!
I travel a lot. You already know this though, right? In fact, this blog post is being written from 32,000 feet in the sky as I sit surrounded by people who have very bothersome coughs.
(Is it too much to ask for you to hack into your sleeve as the CDC has indicated? Pfft.)
Anyway.
I’ve realized over the course of two years, the better part of which were spent up in the air (sadly not with George Clooney) that I have developed a certain level of phobia about my trips. It all started with not wearing my engagement ring when I fly, you know, in case the plane crashes…it would be a shame to waste such a pretty bauble. The one time I did wear it? Emergency landing because of an indication of smoke (read FIRE) in the cargo area complete with military helicopters surrounding us, and a descent from 30,000 feet to the ground in 8 minutes flat where we were greeted by fire trucks, ambulances and scary little men in hazmat suits. I kid you not. Also, most of the senior management of my company at the time was on the plane along with Tommy Lee (the Tommy Lee of Pamela Anderson fame) which apparently is not a good combination for safe travels.
But I digress.
Every since then, I’ve adhered to not wearing my ring but have also added frequently to the things that must happen in order for me to get home safely. In short order, here they are:
• You must never change your seat, even if it’s the middle one on a long flight, for a window or an aisle upgrade. If first class comes along? That’s a different story. God would never ruin my fun in first class with a stupid thing like engine failure.
• The children must each give me one stuffed animal to take along with me for the journey. These sweet little animals would look really bad on a news reel should anything unfortunate happen, also, they make lovely hotel room decorations.
• I must call my husband as soon as I am seated to let him know I was responsible enough to get myself on the plane and not miss boarding by doing something stupid like having one glass of wine too many at the bar one gate down. I mean, not that that has ever happened.
• I must also tell my husband what flight I am on and then give a chipper little shout out of “Track me!” because God would never let something happen to the plane as he sits for hours watching it make it’s way across the map on his tiny computer screen because I’m totally sure that’s what he does for hours while I fly, right honey?
• I will not speak to you unless you look very young or very nervous, or a combination of the two. If you are the latter, I will feel it’s my duty to make sure you don’t get nervous and freak out on me…because if I keep you safe and calm, we can all avoid the hassel of those pesky security guards boarding the plane to take you off and delaying me getting to my destination.
• I rarely use my iPod even though said husband has carefully loaded it with movies I love. Why? Because someone on this plane has to be listening for suspicious knocks or keeping an eye on anyone shady looking, that’s why. I am all about protecting my fellow travelers.
• And here’s the main one. The minute the plane touches down wherever it is I’m going, I have to say to myself “Halfway Home”. I honestly have no idea where this one came from but the one time I said it out loud, the person sitting next to me refused to make eye contact with me as we taxied to the gate. I didn’t blame him.
One of my other rules has always been to not blog about my superstitions about flying on a airplane for fear of creating a “situation” for myself. As I type this, we have just hit a ridiculous amount of turbulence and the captain has ordered everyone back to their seats for the duration of the flight.
Because it was two days that ended in Y, this weekend I spent all of my time at a cheerleading competition. This wasn’t just any competition, it was the biggest one of the year where some of the best teams from across the nation gathered to compete.
It also draws some of the craziest cheer parents which, honestly, should be a sport in and of itself. There were Moms wearing blinky hats with green tinsel for hair, some Moms chose to wear feathered wigs and matching make up in support of their teams. There were loud shouts of support, hugs of encouragement and tears for the girls when they fell.
In my case, there was the dubious honor of getting cussed out by a Grandma.
It all started innocently enough. A group of parents from another team were sitting behind us on the bleachers. They stood and they cheered, as they should, when their girls took the stage. Our group of Moms clapped politely for them when they were finished even though they were competing with us in the same bracket.
You would think when the time came for us to cheer our girls on, the favor would be repaid.
Oh honey no.
We stood up immediately as our girls came out, cheering for them, hoping they could hear us since we were so far back. Immediately the parents from the competing team behind us started screaming at us to sit down because they couldn’t see even though they had stood in front of others just moments before.
Thinking they surely must not understand these are our girls, I turned around and said, “But our team is on the stage…” and resumed being loud and obnoxious. But just when i thought I had the market cornered on being loud and obnoxious they started yelling “SIT DOWN! SIT DOWN!! SIT DOWN!!!” at the top of their lungs. I’d had just about enough of their complaining by this point and decided to end this once and for all. I turned back around again and said very firmly, “You stood up for YOUR girls, now We are standing for OURS. HMMPH!!!!.”
That pretty much shut up the entire group except for one woman who appeared to be someone’s Grandmother. She seated two rows directly behind me and proceeded to yell, “SHUUUUUUT UUUUUUP!!!!” at the top of her lungs. That’s when seven year old Mini-Stiletto made an appearance and I turned around and yelled back, “NO, YOU SHUT UP!” back at her. It was at this point that Grandma decided to up her hood rat game with me. She pulled out the Mac Daddy of cuss words, the be all end all, the one that got that Ralphie’s mouth washed out with lye soap in the movie A Christmas Story….she threw out THE EFF BOMB.
Can I stop here and remind you this was a cheer competition? Full of cheerleaders? Who are young girls? And let’s not forget their siblings…..one of which was a sweet little seven year old boy standing right next to me.
My friend Jenny (mother of said sweet seven year old boy and Zen Master) had to hold me back from pulling off my exquisite high heeled boot and nailing her with it. With a death grip on my arm, she said something in a soothing voice to me about karma and since I like her and didn’t want to go to jail for nailing a grandma with my heel, I acquiesced.
Grandma wasn’t done with me though. As we left the bleachers to go collect our daughters, she fired up at me again. “Nice to meet you SWEETHEART!!!” she said as she waved a certain finger in my direction. I stood there for a good five seconds with my mouth hanging open while deciding if prison time was really in my future and remembering that I do, in fact, look stunning in orange jumpsuits . However much to my chagrin, I decided to take the high road. Putting on my biggest smile and flashing the thumbs up, I returned, “Thanks for bringing your classy A game out today! It was a real pleasure to meet you!!”
I was a full ten feet away thinking that was the end of it, when I heard her shout her final words, “Effing bitch”.
Oh yes. She did.
Which made me wonder, do you suppose she reads my blog?
Jenny was right though, karma does come back to haunt as we finished well above Grandma’s team and I got a great blog post out of it. See? Everybody wins when a bitch like me has a very public outlet and high heels to defend herself just in case.
PS: I’ll be off most of this week while I’m in San Francisco training for my new job. Be good out there…and if you can’t be good? Well, just stay a safe distance away from any finger waving Grandmas.
One of the least enjoyable things about starting a new job is the paperwork. Mountains and mountains of paperwork. Do you want insurance? If so, how much? Would you like to participate in the 401K? Tell us know how much to zap your check each pay period.
Oh…and the best…are you REALLY a US Citizen? If you are, be sure to prove it by showing us your drivers license and social security card. Great, can do….except….I haven’t seen my social security card in quite a while. Also, it still has my maiden name (because I’ve been too busy for 16 years to change it, that’s why) and my signature from when I was 13, complete with a daisy on the end for effect. Tell me that combined with the artwork I’ve already shared with them wouldn’t be over the top impressive….go on…..
Luckily for me, they also accepted a certified copy of my birth certificate to prove citizenship. I work in a remote office, so there is no one to show the actual document to, I just have to get the form notarized by someone who has seen it.
Easy enough.
So off I went to my local bank where Ian, a Jeff Spicoli like bank employee, offered to help me. (Trust me when I tell you that you need to read the part of Ian with your best Fast Times at Ridgemont High accent…because that is what he sounded like.)
Ian: May I help you m’aam?
TSM: Yes, I need to get my I-9 form notarized.
Ian: Can do m’aam, step right in!
TSM: So, here is my drivers license, and here is my birth certificate.
Ian: WHOA!!!!!!!
TSM: That certainly isn’t the reaction I was expecting…
Ian: Doooode, what is all that black stuff?
TSM: Well Ian, back in the day we had something called mimeographs before copy machines were made. We used to power them with dinosaur poop.
Ian: Not really.
TSM: No, Ian, not really.
Ian: That’s so funny you said that because the other day? We had to print out some blank money orders? Bcause the machine we usually use to make them broke? Someone brought out a typewriter and none of us knew how to use it so we had to ask this old lady to help us.
TSM: Old?
Ian: I mean, like she was WAY over forty.
TSM: You didn’t look very closely at that birth certificate did you Ian?
Ian: ::looks at birth certificate:: ::blinks rapidly:: ::blushes::
Ian: Oh, sorry about that m’aam.
I’ll leave you with this thought dear readers, young Ian here is actually employed by the bank to help people manage their money. You think the financial crisis is bad now?
This article about making mornings easier is part of the Kraft Bagel-fuls “Break up with your Breakfast Routine” sweepstakes. Visit BlissfullyDomestic.com for all the fabulous details.
