I’m Baaaaaack!!!

the shame

Wow.  Almost a month since I’ve shown up.  Have you enjoyed your break from my drivel?    I sure hope so because this bitch on heels is back after a month previously named October which is now officially recognized in our house as “Sicktember”.

It all started innocuously enough.  Mr. C had a little cough.   Not a bad one mind you.   But a cough none the less.   He wanted to go see “Footloose” and to be honest, I did too because nothing makes me happier than going back to the 80′s.    Also mentally at best I am a 12 year old boy in terms of what entertains me so my son and I do very well together.

Before the movie, I asked him repeatedly, “Are you getting sick or is this just allergies?”.     Just allergies he assured me repeatedly though I did have my suspicions.   And it would have all been fine were it not for the popcorn.

Stupid popcorn.

I just had to have some, the smell wafting my way as I joyously danced in my seat embarrassing not only my son but his nice friend that had no idea what he was getting into when he joined us.  See?

The movie was fun.   All Saturday night I recounted with much joy and improvised dance my love for all things 80′s to The Man who eventually tired of me and left me alone to dance on my back porch.   I can only hope the neighbors were asleep.    The fact that most of them are unwilling to make eye contact with me lately leads me to believe they were not…but whatever….a girls gotta bust a move when the mood strikes.

But then there was the next day.  Sunday.  A day that will live in infamy.

Somewhere around 1:00 PM, I had the specific feeling I had been hit square on the chest by a truck.  A big one.   I went to bed and didn’t get up for a very long time.

On Monday morning, Mr. C and I huddled together coughing with blankets wrapped around us.   The Man and Miss G looked upon us with great disdain while keeping a safe distance.    They escaped germ free and went about their lives.   We hated them.

Off to the doctor we went, where I managed to snap this picture of my son in agony because I am the most awesome mom in the history of ever, that’s why:

We were both diagnosed with severe bronchitis, mine bordering on walking pneumonia.   As an added bonus, I had my boss coming into town the next day for a party at an agency for 60 people.   Yes, 60.   It was an 80′s themed party (I KNOW…enough of the 80′s!!) and I pulled it together, and managed not to collapse.

The next day I had lunch with the entire American Airlines team and while the thought of that might scare the shit out of most, I’ve been friends with these people forever so I wasn’t too worried.  Also, at that point, I’d gone back to the doctor, confirmed walking pneumonia that was no longer contagious and been given some lovely cough syrup with codeine. Life at that moment was good, even if my driving was not.  I may or may not have hugged a few of the clients but I do that when I’m not stoned so if they were shocked, they at least hid it well.   I love them for this.

After I had my boss safely on a plane back home, I collapsed with my son and gave into the illness.   Actually I turned my life over to it and prayed for death.  This picture was titled “Black Lung, Day Two” on my facebook page.

Mr. C bounced back at the end of the week and went back to school.   I, on the other hand, fell farther into it all and just decided to never leave bed again…ever.

The following week, I was still sick but had to catch up.  By the end of the week, I felt almost normal.   Mr. C had been back to school, I was caught up at work, and I was really looking forward to going full speed ahead.    One week of full health under our belts, Halloween tackled, and I was excited to close this chapter.

And then?  This?

He had a relapse.   A relapse so bad his bronchial tubes had closed and he wasn’t getting air so we had to go for a breathing treatment.   No chance of him going to school for several days as we loaded him up on inhalers and steroids, I was once again stuck with a wheezing kid who needed a whole lot of love which I was happy to give.

The good news is, we are both fine now.  The bad news is, I’m back.

And now you have to listen to me again.

My apologies.

TSM

Occupy This

louboutin

The town I live in is hard to describe.   We are somewhere between the best place you’ve ever lived and a reality TV show depending on the day.   We are mostly stay at home moms but some of us have jobs outside the home.   We take care of ourselves, our families and our homes.   We love our pampering, dinners and lunches with friends and we really, really love us some sushi.

We’ve known each other for years.   We sometimes like and sometimes despise each other.   We fight for our kids (some of us go maybe just a little too far here…).     We drive our kids to school, we drive them to practice, we drive them to sporting events…and then we drive some more.   We do the grocery shopping and cooking, we sort the homework, we keep the social schedules of our children and our entire family.   In short, we all work our asses off and no one says thank you.   EVER.

So that got me thinking…

I’ve been watching Occupy Wall Street quite closely on twitter.    I’ve been amused and astounded at what people think are their due.   Spend a day in our shoes and tell me how tough you’ve got it.    You think you are fighting for the common good?    My friends and I, we are raising the future of America and it’s damn tough job.

All of this being said, if this is going to be a national movement, I’d like to start one right here in my home town.  Feel free to append this to fit your own city or neighborhood.   But most of all, feel free to add your own demands…that’s what Freedom of Speech is all about, right?

What follows is a list of my demands for the bubble I live in and they are non-negotiable:

HOUSEHOLD DEMANDS:

  • I demand quality time without repercussions.  I don’t want to hear about the hour I spent on myself doing something….selfish.   I earned it.   OWS gets to hang out and sleep in the park?   I get to spend an hour on a mani/pedi and THEN another hour on a massage.
  • I demand you pick up your own crap.  I am not your maid.   Your clothes on the floor?   Those toys?   Whatever that cheesy mess is embedded in my carpet?   Is pissing me off.   This isn’t Zucotti Park and in this house?   I am the 1%.
  • I demand you not touch your sibling.  Ever again.  Not even at his/her wedding.   Because I’m sick and fucking tired of hearing “He/She touched me!!!”   And I swear to God, if you break out in a fight at a wedding I paid for for either of you?   I’ll beat you over the head with the bridal bouquet just for grins.    I like to think of this as my not so peaceful protest.
  • Bathing is not optional and should not require nagging.   Have you seen what some of those protesters look like after three weeks?   Well, I have and let me tell you, it’s only going to go downhill from here for their skin.

DEMANDS FOR THE PUBLIC, ALSO KNOWN AS “BITCHING OF THE COMMONERS”:

  • I demand low or no calorie dressing at all restaurants.    I have birthed two children and my metabolism is shit at this point.   I don’t need some fancy pants waiter telling me something is healthy and then finding out it was 3,000 calories….FROM VEGETABLES!!!
  • I demand that the guy at the car wash stop flirting with me while trying to up-sell me on “the best wash”.   I’m forty something, you’re twenty something.   I’m no cougar and I’m pretty sure you have better taste.   Really.   It’s not going to work, not now, not ever.  We both know this.
  • I demand that all clothes be labeled a size two regardless of what size I, or any of my friends, are.   If OWS can demand equal pay across the board, I can demand equal sizing.
  • I demand a personal trainer, and preferably a hot one, come to my house at the hour of my choosing free of charge.   Again, if you guys can ask for free college, I have a right to a free hot bod.   I would also take free liposuction…but again, the doctor must be hot.
  • And last of all…I demand a $10,000 stipend for shoes for ALL WOMEN because if we are going to be chasing you kids around, we at least deserve to do it in something that looks like this:

Which reminds me….throw a bottle of champagne into the mix as well dammit.

Yours in solidarity,

TSM

PS:  Have a demand of your own?   Add it below…more is more after all….

It Was Bound To Happen Eventually…

The other night, I was talking to an old friend of mine when the thing I have always known would happen, happened.    Get ready for it…

I turned into my mother.

I’ve seen her parenting style creep out every once in a while with my kids and I’ve even been known to throw out some of her Jerry’isms.   Here’s a fave:  “If if’s and but’s were candies and nuts, we’d all have a Merry Christmas.” Does that make sense to you?   Me either but it doesn’t stop me from saying it.

The sayings were cute enough and only slightly annoying.    The really annoying stuff happened when she’d misuse a word.   As an example, one time I had a zit the size of Pluto (when it was still a planet) going on.   Back in her day, they called them “hickies”.   You can imagine my shock and dismay to hear her lighting up the phones with her friends, who BTW were the Moms of my friends, proclaiming, “Oh Dear Lord, you should see the size of the hickey on The Stiletto Teen today!!!” And then I’d go to school and everyone would stare at my neck, and most especially my boyfriend who had heard through the grapevine about this monsterous hickey that he didn’t give me, and I’d just be all “Awesome, Mom…thanks for this.”

Then there was the period when my Dad was ill.   Not an easy time and many unsuspecting people would check in with her to see how he was doing.   “How’s Hugh?” they’d ask which seems like an easy enough question to answer because no one really wants to know, they just want you to say “fine”.   My Mother would have them pinned against a wall until their eyes glazed recounting date by date how his condition was deteriorating.    And  then she’d list her own ailments just to round it out.  And then their eyes would roll back in their heads and they would mouth a silent “help!” as they slid to the floor while my Mother continued to talk.

Knowing all that you do now after suffering through this much of my post, I’m sure you can imagine my horror when I found myself doing the same thing.

My transformation started with an eqally innocent question, “How are you?” during a conversation with said old friend the other day.    That single question caused me to morph seamlessly into my mother…I phased really…almost like Jacob in Twilight but a whole lot less sexy.   And I kept my top on.   Thank God.

TSM:   “Well I’m good, all things being considered.   I went to the doctor for my physical the other day and found out I”m statin resistant.   I take Trilipix to control my cholesterol, had I told you that before?  No? Well, I do.    Anyway, it worked the first three months, my levels went down to 206 but then this visit, poof!   They were up to 411 again even though I’ve been taking my medicine.    It’s so bad I have to go to an internist now, have you ever been to an internist?   No? Well apparently this guy is the best according to my doctor and since both my parents died of heart related diseases I’m a little worried.   He says I’m genetically screwed.   Did I tell you both my parents died of heart related diseases before?   No? Well, they did.    Anyway, I’m sure it will be just fine…I’ll probably have to give up red meat which I love but it’s a small price to pay to not to have it get any worse.   Also, my knees have been giving me a positive fit lately.  I may need to go to an orthopedic surgeon to check that out since I’m sure the internist is going to insist that I take up running a few times a week to help with my statin resistant cholesterol.   ::sigh:: Anyway, how are you?”

The good thing here is that my friend is also falling apart  because I got the full run down on a compressed disc and some really nasty headaches he’s been suffering.     Keep in mind here that both of us are in our forties, can you imagine us in our fifties?   Well, I mean if my statin resitant cholesterol doesn’t kill me by then and he’s not paralyzed.   So we have that to look forward to.

Anyway, HOW ARE YOU?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An Open Letter To The Emmy’s: REALLY????

michael bolton emmy appearance

Dear Emmy’s;

Every year I have watched you.   I have enjoyed seeing some of my favorite shows and actors win awards.   I endured the bad music and the long acceptance speeches.   It wasn’t always easy, but I stayed with you…if for no other reason than out of habit.

But tonight Emmy’s?   Oh dear Lord did you cross a line.    That pirate number with Michael Bolton almost sent this good ‘ol Catholic girl right around the bend.

It wasn’t just that the singing was awful.  And it was awful.   I even tried to look the other way at his crooked moustache.    I did.   It wasn’t that freaky guy standing next to him dressed up like a wave….making waves with his ummm, nether regions.   I even almost made it past the crotch thrusting in front of Bill Macy….almost.   No, it was the line that kept getting repeated over and over again while my 12 year old son watched “It’s not gay if it’s a Thr** W*y” (and for those of you wondering about the odd spelling, you don’t even want to know the type of google hits I’d get if I spelled it out all the way, that’s why.)

Here’s the thing Emmy’s.    I’m pretty open with my son about sex.   I was the one who had to have “the talk” with him.   I”m the one that has to answer questions that quite frankly make me want to spork my eyes out and stick them in my ears because I am so not ready for this.    I do this because my own Catholic  Mom’s answer to my questions about sex was a pat answer, “You’ll burn in hell if you ever do that before you get married” just doesn’t seem right, but God bless her, it’s all she could say before she ran off to do eleventy million rosaries on my behalf.    I’ve taught him to be open and accepting of all types of people, especially gay people, because it’s not his job or mine to sit in judgement of how two people love eachother.

What I did not teach him about, nor did I ever intend to was a thr** w*y.

So you can imagine, Dear Emmy’s, when your tawdry little skit came on at around 8 fucking o’clock when both my kids were still up that it might have caused a little bit of havoc in my normally quiet, yet slightly crazy, home.   Really?   I mean REALLY???   Because most kids in the central time zone aren’t asleep by then, let alone west coast.

I’d really like to thank you for the line of questioning that came next.   Let me give you some insight here:

TSM:   Did you see that?   Do I need to bleach your eyes and ears dear?

Mr. C:   Yeah I did, but didn’t you tell me something about this once?

TSM:  No sir, I most certainly did not.

Mr. C:  But they said “It’s not gay if it’s a thr** w*y and you always said gay was okay?

TSM:   Yes I did, but I never spoke to you about a thr** w*y nor do I ever intend to.

Mr. C:  ::scratches head, wanders off::

TSM: ::flies through house to locate computers before a disasterous google search can be completed, hoping he will forget before the morning::

So yeah, Emmy’s….thanks for that.    Some families watch your show because they expect it to be at least slightly acceptable and entertaining.

Not mine anymore.

PS:  I’m sending you the bill from my shrink that I will no doubt incur as I try to struggle through explaining this to my son who will likely figure it out on his own and then ask me about it forever just to watch me squirm.    You guys are all sorts of awesome this year.

A Perfect 10…Miss G Hits A Milestone!

baby

Ten years ago today, this tiny little person entered my world…

Amidst a world filled with fear and uncertainty during those days following 9/11, Miss G arrived to give everyone around her a sense of the future, a little bit of hope, and a whole bunch of smiles.    The timing of her birth gave our family something to look forward to when the entire country was dark and sad.   She changed things.   She was a light.   She represented the future at a time when it was hard to imagine it.

I think the timing of her birth also signifies something.   She’s a little fighter because she came to us when the world was in chaos.   She’s joy in that she arrived when our family and friends were  sad because of the events that preceded her birth.    She’s the future because she was proof of all the goodness that the world has to offer.

I’m so proud of my little 10 year old daughter…to this day she brings light, humor and love to all that have the chance to know her.   And maybe just a little (a lot, let’s be honest here) of mischief…but that?   Is what makes her special.

I love you my baby, stay sweet, always be yourself, and be proud of who you are….because you are really amazing.

Love and thousands of kisses,

Mama