WWLDD?

What would Lloyd Dobler do..........

Would he help out with the kids, even if you didn't ask?

Would he offer to cook for you a lot just because you look tired?

Would he still look at you like you were the greatest wife on Earth even when you haven't managed to get a shower for two days?

Would he still enjoy coming home, even when the kids are crying & whining and you are rambling on about the color of poopy diapers, just because he loves you all so much?

Would he sell anything, buy anything or process anything as a career? And sell anything bought or processed... or buy anything sold or processed... or process anything sold, bought or processed... or repair anything sold, bought or processed as a career, and just let his favorite sport be his hobby if he felt that he needed to?

Yeah, I think he would. And I think I must have married Lloyd Dobler. After all, he gave me his love and I gave him this pen completely inexcusable oddity:

99 Dancing Hamsters on the Shelf

I was feeling a little rebellious yesterday. After all, when I took the kids with me to Walgreen's, I had announced beforehand that we were not getting a toy. We did not visit the toy aisle. I have a three year old, a pretty good one actually, but I did not want to go through the whole "don't touch, put it back, no we can't have it" routine. Problem solved.

But we parents know that's not the end of it, don't we?

At the check-out counter, there is always a toy aisle all to itself. Everything is at your kids' eye level; you know it's for their benefit! Know what? I snapped. I briefly became "one of those parents" and let him push every danged "on" button he wanted to push. He's got a built-in radar for the buttons on those suckers now. If they were put there for my kid, have at it. Go for it.



Yeah, I know, the cashier who had to endure this wasn't the culprit here. The orders to place those vermin at the checkout stand came from some high-rise corporate office somewhere. And she was probably the one that suffered.

But dayum, that was kinda fun.

And, in any case, if they really wanted me to buy one of those little creatures, well, they should have stocked this one:

Cute. I would have pushed the button myself.

My Acceptance Speech

Dear Children,

I accept this nap awarded to me on June 23rd at 12:30 p.m. with much humility and appreciation. I further accept all the love you give to me and I will continue to aspire to accomplish all that you demand of me. Without you, I wouldn't be awake for hours on end, delirious, a walking disaster. Someone that people glance awkwardly at in the grocery store, wondering if they should be making a call to Child Protective Services on your behalf. In closing, I really do just want to do things that matter, and you matter so much to me.

Thank you.

And please remember that I am so much better at showing you how much you matter when I get a nap. So, surely this award comes more than once a year?

All my love,
Mommy

Neighborhood Romancer

Signs have been appearing in my neighborhood. Not The End of Times signs, like me working out yet again today (be very afraid!), but these signs:

(Sorry about the crappy quality on a cell phone camera, just showing proof that I'm not making it up.)


This is the first one that appeared last week. As I recall, it said something close to "I would be lost without you. I love you." Followed by, "You complete me. I couldn't live without you."

Points for:
Professing his love.

Demerits for:
Unoriginality. Didn't sign his name and didn't address his girl by name. Making me think that this sign was actually for me. (I even pathetically went so far as to ask my man if he did this for me. Boo!)




A sign appeared here the same day as the first one. However, it disappeared before I could read it or snap a picture.

But today a sign appeared again. I believe it reads "I love you. I need you. You complete me."

Points for:
Professing his love. Replacing the sign.

Demerits for:
Unoriginality (Double Demerits). Didn't sign his name, and didn't address his girl by name. (Double Demerits) Furthermore, when you are going 45 mph, who could read it anyway? Plus my name is not on here, and it is not signed by my husband. Boo.




Oh, wait, on the other side of the road, another sign appeared today! I nearly missed it. Well, I couldn't have that, now could I? So, yes, on $46.79/gallon gas, I circled the block and returned to take a picture. I do remember that the sign said "I love you", with a cupid's arrow drawn underneath.

Points for:
Professing his love. Posting a new sign. Attempting artwork.

Demerits for:
Didn't sign his name and didn't address his girl by name. (Triple Demerits) Who could possibly read it on the other side of the road going 45 mph anyway? Is he trying to kill her?


Hmmmm, thanks to that last demerit, I've decided that these signs aren't for me from my beloved. It's from a sick man who has taken out a substantial life policy on his wife.

Then again......excuse me, I have to call our agent to make sure he hasn't heard from my man in a while about policies 'n such.

Sign of the Times

The end is coming!
The end is coming!
The end is coming!

It's time for prophetic people in white togas to March downtown with big billboard signs strapped on them with this message. Because strange and unusual things happen to signal The End of Times, I'm told. And there is definitely something unusual and extraordinary going on now.....

I have exercised 4 times in the last 2 days. F-O-U-R, four! That's like a 200% increase! I have gone from wannabee completely lazy sloth to wannahave a cute butt. Have aliens abducted me? Is this really me? Is the sky falling?

There is something out of whack with the world right now. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Mother's Little Helper

No, not the kind that Mick Jagger sang about. Although some days, a little yellow pill sounds enticing.

My little helper is the little boy who tells me "don't forget to wipe your bottom" when I go to the bathroom. And seriously, good thing he's here, because I just might forget. I'm too busy wiping the boys' bottoms to think about mine. Besides, who cares about mine, I've been wiping it for....many years. And after the boys are grown and gone, caring for their own bottoms, I'll still be wiping mine.

I'm just so proud to have a son who cares so much about my hygiene.

By the way Mick Jagger, shame on you for ragging on Moms who just need a little mental health break once in a while. I could be wrong, but I'm thinking that you're not that innocent. Something about a pot and a kettle......

"You Had Me at Hello"

I made a video-photo montage today for Father's Day. I warned my hubby, the sweet softie, that he might cry.

But hey, he's tough & firm also. He had to come home and "have a conversation" with our 3 year old in his room tonight. The night that he cooked for us on Father's Day. Pretty tough, eh? Well, he can be much tougher, but I'm talking about his soft side right now.

Anyway, I warned him before he saw this montage of photos with music to have some kleenex ready. He was kind of worn-out from working today. (Yeah, on Father's Day. Which makes him even more of a great father.) And from being worn out, he kind of guffawed at me.

The title of the picture montage emerged.

The tune started.

The pictures started.

One, Two, Three.

He already surrendered. He said, "You had me at the third picture", as the tears started pouring.

I love that man.

The Good, The Bad, & The Ugly

The Good:
My three year old offspring had the dentist gig today,
"Look ma, no cavities!" is what he now can say.
For these lovely teeth, I wholly take the credit
'Cuz I brushed them twice a day, myself, there y'go, I admit it.
So for those I've come across who pegged me "Anal Annie",
Well you can pucker up and kiss my white, smug fanny!




The Bad:
Six month old "Scooter-Baby" disappeared while folding laundry.
I was panicked and dumb-founded, in a major quandary.
Instant sweat poured from my underarms, I felt close to nearly dying.
I thought he was gone for sure 'cuz I couldn't hear him crying. (The. Baby. Can. Cry.)
Then under the bed I found him, and, ok, it was kinda funny.
Mr. Onery had scooted under there, probably after a dust bunny.

Men.

Dude, it was a dust bunny.

He's got a lot to learn.

The Ugly:
My Pile of laundry. See "The Bad". Perfect example of why it's never quite caught-up. I suppose I could be doing it now. But that would be really, really ugly. And I'm a Mom of two. I don't have time to post further about really, really ugly.

Random Advice

Advice:
Husband. Dear Husband. Please do not bring your personal trainer into the office after your workout while I am drinking a beer and surfing the net. Embarrassing. There you are all sweaty and getting buff and I am, well, I don't want to elaborate about how I feel.


More Advice:
Don't eat this after a guest accidentally leaves it behind at your house. Tastes like dirt. Or perhaps a dirt-worm's rear-end. Perhaps the English translation is "WormTailer".

Targeted Advice to Humongous SUV Driver:
I park "out in the boondocks" for several reasons, which I won't bother to number. For starters, I can't drive worth a plug nickel and I don't want to have to back-out wedged next to another vehicle. Not good for me or you. And, I have to load a kid into both sides of my car. One is still in that carrier that I'm too weak to carry. (Because I surf the internet instead of working my biceps with afore-mentioned personal trainer.) This is hard to do wedged next to the biggest vehicle in the parking lot on the side into which I'm trying to load the carrier. Still more, I'm afraid that you're trying to kidnap me, so I keep looking over my shoulder, keys ready to jab your eyes out. Therefore, I just might ding your car with my door in the process. Speaking of which, this is the exercise I don't mind, walking 13,000 feet to the store, because I don't want to park next to someone who will ding my beloved 1998 (yet beautifully paid-off) recently hail-damaged car that I worship. Furthermore, if you do, I can't mutter "asshole" because my 3 year old will repeat it. Find your own space 13,356 feet away.

Advice No-One Ever Bothered to Give Me. You're Welcome:
Don't buy this for your newborn unless it has batteries. A wind-up version does not go long enough for you to pee while reading a popular gossip magazine article. A really important one.

That was quite cathartic. In a cathartic kind of way. Cathartic.

Oblivious Maven Mandrell

I was quirky
When quirky wasn't cool
I was quirky
From my hair to my frumpy shoes.

I still act and write the same
What you read ain't nothin' new.
I was quirky
When quirky wasn't cool.

ME:

I've been perusing blogs this week.......lots of quirky out there. It seems that quirky is suddenly cool. (The writing I mean, not the shoes. I can't see the shoes.)

Number 10, I'mAGonnaGetcha!

Around 3-5 years ago, I saw an article in our newspaper regarding the ten guidelines/indicators for personal financial success. I clipped the article and had it on my fridge for a while. It really hit home with me, mainly because of #10. The other nine were cool, for self-affirming reasons, because we've done a good job here at the Maven house.

I've wasted 2 hours trying to find this article online. Grrrrrrr. Can't find it. I really wanted to link to it all fancy-like, but I'll just do the politician thing and make it up, sounding really convincing.....

Ten Signs That You Have Achieved Personal Financial Success

1. You are saving blah-blah-blah at a rate of wonk-wonk.
2. You are investing blah-blah-blah at a rate of wonk-wonk.
3. You are spending blah-blah, utilizing no wonks.
4. You have purchased a house at blah-blah, at a much less than average percentage of your blah-wonkity-blah.
5. You maintain your house and your vehicles in a blah-wonk fashion.
6. You are making sure that your blahs will be carried on to your wah-wah-wahs with wonks.
7. You tax-minus-blah the things you don't need/donate.
8. You have paid off all blahs.
9. Your wonk report is impeccable.
10. You realize that you can't have it all.

What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What? What?

What did #10 say? Damn you to hell, #10. You suck. You suck, suck, suckety suck. If you invited me to a party, it would be a total "Suckfest". If you were an item on the menu at McDonald's, you would be "McSuck". If you were.......

Damn you, #10. I don't know where you hide in cyberspace, but I will find you. And I have some fava beans and a nice chianti...........

Harry Has It Right, I'm the Worst

In the movie When Harry Met Sally, Harry says to Sally, "There are two kinds of women: high maintenance and low maintenance. You're the worst kind. You're high maintenance, but you think you're low maintenance ". You've seen it. You know why.

Well, I've always bragged that I was Low Maintenance/Low Maintenance when it comes to gifts. I don't expect gifts, even if it's my birthday. I make deals so that Mr. Maven won't feel the need to procure something nice, yet unnecessary for me at society-delegated intervals. Poor guy, haunted by the echoes of other females who say they don't want anything on special occasions, but really do. It's taken me years to deprogram him. Years.

I notoriously grumble, grumble at set dates requiring a gift to another. What is that? Meaningless. To me, it means "have to", or "met obligation", or "Why I can't afford drapes because I'm busy buying gifts for people who will immediately give them to the Goodwill". Phooey.

However, gifts that are unexpected are wonderful. Touching. They make me feel truly appreciated and special. Because they are from the heart. Because they were given with true meaning. Meaningful.

Aaaah. The unexpected gift.

Like this charming southwest style lapis bracelet.

(Some images are darker blue than they appear.)

So here's the math. Not my strong point, so s'cuse my errors.

365 days/year, right?. Minus Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, Wedding Anniversary, Birthday, Christmas.....probably more. So perhaps only 10 days/year I'm not expecting a gift.

That leaves approximately 355 days of opportunity to surprise me with a gift, on a day that I would truly enjoy it. A day that would make me feel like the greatest Mom / Wife / Hostess / WhateverTheSurpriseExcuseThatSomeoneCouldGiftMeFor.

Harry would definitely turn to me and say "You're the worst kind".

p.s.
This post was inspired by the unexpected gift I received today from a relative. Ms. Sneaky even asked me for my favorite color first. Namely blue, darker blue.

Status: In Need Of a Few Things

Check it.



Doesn't drink. Doesn't do drugs. Has practiced this over many years. Has lots of sex. No plastic surgery that I can tell.

Born: 1948

Looking good, Ted!








Doesn't drink. Doesn't do drugs. Has practiced this over many years. Has lots of sex. No plastic surgery that I can tell.

Born: 1949

Looking good, Gene!






Doesn't do drugs.

Born: A lady never tells.

Looks like you need some botox, a nap, and a date night there, Oblivious Maven!

Batman Behaves

First there was Batman.
Then there was Batman Returns.
Then there was Batman Forever.
Then there was Batman & Robin.
There there was Batman Begins.

Introducing Batman Behaves.

This is what happens when you let your 3 year old wear his Batman costume to town. He gets a lot of attention. Oh, boy, does he! Everyone says "Hi, Batman"! All the townspeople love a Superhero. Superheroes keep their hands off of stuff......better. Superheroes stay with Mommy because they're kind of spooked at all of the Superhero adulation. Superheroes ask for toys less because they are distracted.

Batman, once again, saves the day.

Batman, you are my hero.

C'mere, Batman. It's been 10 minutes since I've given you some sugar. Yeah, you can keep the mask on.

The Little Things

Don't sweat the small stuff. Stop and smell the roses. Enjoy the little things. Blah, blah, blah.


Ok, so I am inspired. Today, I will enjoy the little things.........


Little boogies I get to pick myself. Because just picking mine isn't quite as fun.

Drool. Baby drool is so sticky and cute.

Strong, robust plants that I am tough enough to kill by myself without even trying.

Art that speaks to me, connects with me, reaches within me, and reveals to me what I really am.

The black hole that things magically disappear into.

Ketchup shampoo.

And gifts from Grandma.

Wonk, Wonk-Wonk, Wonk-Wonk, Wonk, Wonk

Charles M. Schulz of Peanuts fame was a genius.

"the garbled voice of a teacher or parent occasionally resonated in the background"

Yup.

That's because our kids don't hear us. All they hear is, "wonk, wonk, wonk". What the heck does that mean? That's why we must repeat ourselves 2,543 times/day until we drive the real meaning home. That's why I get used to repeating myself. That's why you probably get used to repeating yourself too, if you have kids. That's why I get used to repeating myself. That's why you get used to repeating yourself, probably, I mean if you have kids, y'know? I think I must repeat myself a lot. I mean, I think that someone has alluded to it. A lot. About repeating myself.

I Wouldn't Smooch the Hooch

I don't get it. I have no lesbo thoughts about Angelina Jolie. And if I did have have lesbo thoughts, well, she just wouldn't be my choice of lesbo. No offense.

Furthermore, I don't want Hoochie Mama Lips. Maybe she was born with them, but I don't get the desire to go out and hooch up your lips. I don't want to look like I've just visited the letters J and B and not in that order. (Errrr, not that I would know what that does to your embouchement.)

Anyway, here are my before and after shots thanks to an online site I found where you upload your photo for virtual enhancements. This would be me with collagen injections.

Before:

After:

I would totally get arrested for prostitution if I did that to myself.

They Conspire Against Me, I Swear It

Pssssssst.

Please don't tell CPS. Authorities of any kind. I'm not insane. Not totally anyway. Y'see................

They're plotting against me.

They work together, they get a daily break. A little down time. But me? Noooooooo! I never get a break. Nerp, nada, nope. It's so not fair. I never get to recharge my Radio Shack batteries and they are on super-charged Duracell batteries. They are breaking me down slowly.

It's like this.............

First, these little urchins communicate with one another.






The smaller one falls asleep. The bigger one taunts me by saying he's ready for a nap also. Wooooooo, I'm on my way, I think!


Nerp.


The bigger one needs help getting this contraption on:











Ok, contraption on.










Now, perhaps Spiderman will play Nick Jr. while I am resting.


Nerp.


The FlashPlayer/Shockwave/WhateEverTheHell, IT AIN'T WORKING!!! warning-from-hell displays, inciting an incredibly loud "Mommmmeeeeeeeee" as I lay at his feet with a pillow and a baby monitor.

I fix it. I grab my pillow, my monitor, this time a blankie, too. Inspecting the inside of my eyelids is nice. Nice.



Suddenly, this bitch is nudging me. She wants out. I weigh the pros/cons of letting her out or cleaning up her pet stain later.




(Really, bitch = female dog. Just building my vocabulary there, honest.)





Anyhoo, how pathetic and desperate is that train of thought? Ech. I hate pet stains. I let the bitch out.



I lay back in my digs on the cold floor. I'm about to snooze.



-- IMAGE FAILED OF COCKATIEL BIRD WITH SILLY SMILEY FACE/TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES!! --




Chirp, chirp, chirp, chirrup, churrup, chirp, chirp, chirrup, churrup, chirp, chirp, chirrup, churrup, chirp, chirp, chirrup, churrup, chirp, chirp, chirrup, churrup, chirp, chirp, chirrup, churrup, chirp, chirp, chirrup, churrup, chirp, chirp, chirrup, churrup, chirp, chirp, chirrup, churrup, chirp, chirp, chirrup, churrup, chirp, chirp, chirrup, churrup, chirp, chirp, chirrup, churrup, chirp, chirp, chirrup, churrup.

I get up, and place a clean towel on the the cage to cover the racket. I'll have to wash that towel again. Grumble, grumble.

I lay back in my digs on the cold floor. I practice deep breathing, I slightly forgive the bird. I'm about to snooze............



"Erf, erf, erf, erf."


It'll go away. It'll go away. It. Will. Go. Away.


(See? See? I'm capable of positive thinking!!!!)



"Erf, erf, erf, erf."


I let the bitch in.



Click, click, click, Dora's Annoying Voice, SAYMAP!!!I'MTHEMAPI'MTHEMAPI'MTHEMAP click, click, click.

I turn the damned computer speakers down.



Aaaaah. Dog is in. Bird is covered. Boy is occupied, yet supervised as I'm at his feet. Baby is in bed.


Aaaaaaah.




-- IMAGE FAILED OF AWAKE INFANT SMILING RIDICULOUSLY WITH SILLY SMILEY FACE/TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES! --





Look who's ready to play!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

With his timing, he should be a comedian. The next friggin' Johnny Carson.

I'm so amused.

Especially now that Spiderman went into his room and crawled into bed, the dog is snoring, the bird has her head tucked under her wing, and the baby looks ready to go, go, go!

It's a vast conspiracy. I think I'll turn myself in to the men in white jackets. A nice, quiet rubber room sounds nice this time of year.

This is My Brain

THIS IS MY BRAIN.
(Imagine a few synapses firing when necessary to breathe, eat, sleep, and toot. And that's about it.)

THIS IS MY BRAIN ON PARENTING.
(Unmistakable Deep Void.)

ANY QUESTIONS?