Bikini Wax?

From August until the first week in November and then again from February through April is soccer season at my house. Between the two kids, we have three practices and two games a week. On Thursday nights, both my kids practice at separate locations with their start and stop times offset by a mere 15 minutes. This is affectionately known as "double soccer" night. However, on Monday's it is just my son who practices, so for an hour my daughter and I have some girl time. This usually consists of a trip through the dry cleaner's drive-thru and a stop at Kohl's department store where my daughter will model every piece of jewelry they have in stock. While in Kohl's we always make a trip to the bathroom. Its a nice bathroom with about 10 stalls and it even has soap in the dispensers and paper towels available. In short, its the kind of public restroom I'm "ok" with.

However, this past Monday night we varied from our usual girl routine to buy groceries. My husband and I (and therefore the kids) had spent the weekend volunteering at our Church's annual Pumpkin Patch. It was loads of fun, but it didn't leave any time for the weekly trip to Kroger. By the time we arrived at Kroger I only had 45 minutes until my son's practice was over, so we blew through Kroger like we were on our way to a fire. I'm just pulling my stylish and much coveted minivan out onto the road when my daughter says, "I have to go to the bathroom." I look at the clock - 7:22. I have 8 minutes and a 5 minute drive. I know from experience not to question or try to talk her out of this. If she says it, she means it and I ignore it at my own peril. So I say, "OK, I'm going to pull into 7-11 and we have EXACTLY two minutes to get in and out so we are not late. Can you go quickly?" The fact that I'm willing to utilize the bathroom in 7-11 should communicate to you that I really was under some time pressure. She says, "yes" and I pull in. We get out and both enter the bathroom that does not have stalls OR soap OR papertowels. We're talking a square room with a toilet in the corner, a sink on the wall and a drain in the floor. Now, I'm socially aware and understand that probably two-thirds of the world's population don't even have this to work with. Its just that everything is so relative and this bathroom creeps me out. She goes quickly as promised and the minute she flushes, I realize I'm going to have to go ahead and go too. As much as I would like to wait until we get home, I can't. So I proceed to also go very quickly and am just zipping my pants when it happens................

Her (watching me): "Will I have hair on my privates when I'm a teenager?"

Me (because I'm in a hurry, choosing to ignore the fact that she's not using the proper name for her 'privates' that I've taught her): "Yes."

Her (wrinkling up her nose as if she's just seen something like a squashed bug): "I guess that's why most bathrooms have stalls."

(silence)

Me: "I guess so."

The Mysteries of Life

Since reentering the workforce 4 years ago, I've really struggled in the area of stress reduction. For me stress is related to my perfectionist side. Looking back, the whole reason I gave up my career at Hewlett Packard after my son was born was because of my unresloved issues with perfectionism. After spending 3 months on maternity leave, an offensive thought dawned on me as I dressed in my work clothes for the first time since becoming a mother. Like a brick falling on my head from the sky, I realized I might have to make some (gasp!) compromises in the way that I would like my child taken care of and how my job duties would be performed. I realize how ridiculous it was for this to occur to me so late into the process, but there it was. And it was unacceptable - I must choose one and do it as perfectly as possible and make no compromises. Since you can't (and wouldn't) put the baby genie back in the bottle, my choice was made before I even left the house that morning. After two days at day care and an impassioned plea to my sister-in-law, my son spent the next 10 months with his aunt each day while I figured out how to transition our finances into a one income household and myself into a stay-at-home mom. What happened in the intervening 5 years is an entire series of blogs.

Fast forward from 1998 to 2003 - my son is in Kindergarten and my daughter is in 2/3 day church care, and I finally reenter the work force. And the stress demons are back. Making great strides with my perfectionism in the last 5 years (two children will do that to you), I attacked the stress demons head on. I read books on stress reduction, I tried nightly bubble baths with candles, I tried herbal supplements... you know the drill. Finally what helped the most, was getting up an hour earlier each day to read and pray. Some people would call it meditation, but my mind jumps from one thing to the next so quickly that there is no way you could call what I do meditation. I really rediscovered my faith during these early morning sessions. Today, 4 years later, I never miss a weekday morning doing something that helps rejuvinate my spirit. I cannot tell you how much this has helped me in parenting, in my marriage and at work.

However, one of the biggest mysteries in my life is why my faith, love, patience and all the other fruits of the spirit for that matter (including self-control) evaporate at the same time each morning. I mean, the exact moment my minivan hits the carpool line, I loose any semblance of the ususally balanced person I am. I want all you mothers to know that if you see yourself in the paragraphs below, I love and support you and pray for you and cheer for you the MINUTE you're out of the carpool line... but if you do any of these things... please for the love of Pete and everything that is right in the world, STOP.

There is NO circumstance that justifies honking and/or passing in the carpool line... carpool is NOT a normal roadway, in case you do not know this. It is driven by 99.9% women in SUV's or Minivan's with young children in their cars. This in and of itself, is very frightening. Add to this that said women are under some time pressure, haven't had their 2nd cup of coffee, and someone in their car has surely left something at home and what you've got is a very volatile situation. Forget going postal.... I'm ready to go carpool... I swear, if the same chick who passed me this morning had also been the one who honked at me, it would have, let's just say, "been addressed".

The school sends out the "Carpool Flow" map for a reason. If you're not good with maps, ask your husband or a friend who is. Its really very simple - follow the arrows. DO NOT go against the flow. This is not the time to push the envelope and be a trailblazing maverick. If the map says enter from the south and turn right - DO NOT enter from the north and try to turn left. By doing this, you're making me into someone my children should not be around.

And while we're on the subject... Hummers and carpool lines are really not compatible. Seriously, is it necessary to take your kids to school in a tank??? Environmental concerns aside, I have yet to see a child exit a Hummer in carpool without careening out if it and spilling him or herself and the entire contents of their backpacks out onto the sidewalk. If there is a school project involved, we the need to freaking National Guard to clean up the mess and get traffic moving again. I can tell you from experience that this does nothing to faciliate a smooth carpool flow or my heart health.

And another thing, carpool is NOT a valet service. A valet service is where you leisurely drive your car up to the attendant and he opens the door for you and gently helps you out. Carpool is nothing like this, so stop acting like it is. I don't see you tipping the poor teacher that has been stuck with the horrendous job of carpool duty. The goal of carpool is to unload as many children as quickly as safety will allow. This means if you stop anywhere close to the front of the line, your little prince or princess needs to get out of the car and WALK the rest of the way into the school.

I assure you Ms. Passer and Ms. Honker, these tips will help eliminate your obvious early morning stress. And mine.

Voicemail

I asked my husband last night if he had read my blog yet. He is insisting on feigning confusion about the whole blog thing. He's asking questions like... "What are you writing about?", "Why ARE you blogging?, "Is anyone reading it?", "Who knows about it?" What all of this is about is that he is afraid... very, very afraid. Afraid of what I'm going to write about one subject... him.

Anyway, I expected this and I'm really fine with it. We've been married long enough and I'm secure enough to accept that we don't always have the same interests. I admit, I barely showed any interest at all in his recently acquired Ipod (until the credit card bill came anyway).

He is occaisionally every bit as funny as I am though. Last night we're having the whole discussion about if and when he's going to check the blog out when he says:

"It just sounds like stuff you'd say to yourself. Why don't you just call and leave yourself a voicemail?"

We may be further apart on this than I thought.

Another Day

Yesterday was another day for ridiculous questions... one from each of my children. Don't get me wrong. I LOVE the fact that my children feel like they can talk to me. Having my children feel this way is very near the top of my "Things I Want to do Differently from my Mother" list. However, as with most things in life, any thing worthwhile is often a challenge. So yesterday I was challenged once in the morning while waiting in the carpool line and once last night at bathtime.

Act I - Carpool

My Daughter: "Mom, is celebrating Halloween worshiping the devil?"
Me (adjusting the rear view mirror so I can make eye contact while trying to not drive up onto the curb because I'm suddenly really irritated): "WHO told you THAT?"

(I need to know this information way more than I need to answer the question. This mother is someone I want to avoid at all costs. I never EVER want to find my two martini self at a dinner party with her. It will not go well.")

Her: "Kevin"
Me (dreading the answer to this): "Is he in your class?"

Her (to my dismay): "Yes"

(CRAP! Now I have to see this mother at class parties and open houses. Just super. Ok, now to answer the question without disclosing the age inappropriate information, that I do not believe in a personified devil, so I don't see how it could be possible that celebrating Halloween could be worshiping something that does not exist.)

Me: "Well, what do you think?"
Her: "Welllll, I don't know."

(To my Son's credit, he is doing his best eye roll in the seat beside her. Thank you God, that he already gets this.)

Me: "Well, do you have fun on Halloween spending time with your family and your friends?"
Her: "Yes"

Me: "Do we do anything bad on Halloween? Do we hurt people's feelings or say bad things or do any of the things you know God doesn't want us to do?"
Her: "No"

Me: "Do you think God likes for us to have fun and enjoy ourselves?"
Her: "Yes"

Me: "Well, then I don't see anyway possible that celebrating Halloween could be worshiping the devil."
Her: "Good. I like Halloween."

Me: "Me too. Let's REALLY decorate our yard a lot this year so ALL your friends from school can see it!!!!!"

Act II - Bathtime

So last night we had TWO 6PM soccer games at fields on the opposite ends of town. Not a doubt in my mind that Kevin's mom somehow has control of my children's soccer schedule. I mean, for the love of Pete, how is a working mom with a 45 minute commute supposed to get two kids anywhere by 5:45 PM? Much less, dressed in soccer uniforms complete with the ridiculously difficult shin guards and cleats. Oh, and don't forget they each also need their soccer balls and water bottles. The only thing that could have made it any better would have been if it had been my night for snacks. Anyway, we all survive this drama... each of them get where they need to be on time, thank you very much to my son's friend's mother who got my son to his game, my boss for saying "ok" to me leaving at 4:15, and my husband who also left work early. We get home, get some food and get the kids in the bath. My daughter - downstairs in my bathroom so she can use the jetted tub and bath pillow I've yet to use - My son upstairs in the bathroom that connects his and his sister's bedrooms. Then this:

Me (walking into where my son is taking his bath to make sure he is washing his hair and not just playing with the 12 action figures that are lined up for battle all around the tub): "You need to stop playing and wash your hair. If you need help getting all the shampoo out, just let me know."

Him: "Mom, is it true that if you only have one ball in your ball sack that you can't get married?"

(Father in Heaven, please let me get through this with a straight face.)

Me: "WHO told you THAT?"

Him: "Michael"

Me: "Why????"

Him: "Because he thinks its true."

(Ok, at this point I'm going to let this line of questioning go. I really do not want or need to know if Michael or someone in his family has experience with a uniball. It does not help my straight face that my mind keeps picturing Michael's dad, who looks a little like Lyle Lovett, naked with only one ball.)

Me: "No, its not true."

Him: "How do you know?"

Me: "I'm married and I don't have any balls OR a ball sack."

(Ok, I know this was a stupid thing to say, but honestly, what you have done in my shoes?)

Him: "That's different. You're a girl."

Me: "Ok, that's fair. I do not BELIEVE there is any reason that a boy only having one ball couldn't get married."

Him: "Can you confirm that with Dad?"

Me: "Ok."

I cruise downstairs and pose this question to my husband, who is blissfully car shopping on the internet. He won't read my blog but can spend hours looking at the same 3 cars. Well, he couldn't confirm or deny for laughing his butt off, so I took that as confirmation, climbed back up the stairs and found my son getting dressed for bed. I say, "Dad agrees with me. Besides, you have two balls, aren't getting married anytime soon and don't need to worry about this anymore tonight. I love you. Good night."

Two Kinds of People

Now, I like to think myself complex... you know more than meets the eye. I like to think I have a wide view of the world. The biggest insult anyone could ever give me would be to say that I was narrow minded or ignorant. However, there are some things that people either ARE or ARE NOT. Most of the world's issues are a shade of grey, but these things fit into a nice neat little box.

You Either Are A:

Wadder or Folder... this applies to just about any type of paper. Toilet, towels, Kleenex, notebook. I'm a wadder, husband's a folder.

Liberal or Conservative... I don't buy this moderate bullshit... anytime I hear someone say they are a moderate, they either don't know what they are or are a Republican trying to act like they have a clue... that is to say a Democrat. I'm a liberal, husband is still in the closet.

Worker or Slacker... there is nothing that irritates a worker more than a slacker and nothing that is more of a buzz kill to a slacker than a worker. Both the husband and I are workers... that is to say we could use a little more fun in our lives. This is why God gave us children... we're busy trying to take the slack out of them.

Clean Automobiler or Minivanner... This is not to say that someone who is a clean automobiler cannot have a minivan or a minivanner has to drive a van. A minivanner is someone who uses their car to LIVE - which includes having enough goldfish, old french fries, chicken nuggets and partially drank bottles of water on the floor of their car to survive if they become stuck in a blizzard. A clean automobiler is some who who carries baby wipes in their glove box and expects you to "touch up" before exiting the vehicle. I'm a minivanner, husband's a clean automobiler.

Emailer or Caveman... Some of you may not know this, because if you actually read blogs you are probably an emailer... but there are people who do not like to communicate via email. I know, SHOCKING. What's worse, when they do email you they do not understand the subtle act of having an email personality and continually offend you. My boss will send me one word emails that say, "print", "ok", "forward" or "calendar". I mean, would a "please" or "thank you" or a minor explanation kill him? It's not like I'm expecting an emoticon or anything. I am, as you have guessed, an emailer. Husband is a Caveman whose favorite past time is responding to my very information and helpful emails with "What?"

Reader or Watcher... Seriously, the other day I saw a study (which I READ) that said 54% of Americans don't read books because they would rather watch tv or movies. Well, that explains a hell of lot. I'm a reader... Husband's a watcher, although in his defense he does try to read, he just does it really slow or sticks with magazines. And he does know WAY more about music than I do - so actually, maybe he's a listener... just not to me.

Things I Hope to Teach My Children

1) Pokemon Trainer is not a real profession

2) There is no profession I will approve of that includes a pole

3) Tithing is a gift you give yourself

4) Sometimes the only way out of something is through it

5) Life isn't fair, but you've gotten a better start than 99% of the world's population

6) Money will not make you happy, but it can make your life a whole lot easier (so work hard)

7) If you're not getting what you want, trying giving someone else what they want

8) Sarcasm is encouraged

9) Gratitude is required

10) Your life will not turn out how you planned

11) #10 is a good thing

12) Be thankful for your tragedies, they teach you more than anything else ever could (Thank you Cameron for teaching me this)

13) God has a sense of humor and expects you to have one too

14) While honesty is the best policy, knowing when to shut up is just as critical

15) Be kind to waitstaff, they have hard jobs and they have control over the food you are going to put in your mouth

16) Faith is a choice - choose wisely

17) Alcohol, a piece of plywood, a flight of stairs and a fire extinguisher should never be used at the same time

18) Tatoos are permanent, piercings are not

19) What happens in Mexico does not ALWAYS stay in Mexico

20) Vote

Life Is Better

There are certain things in my life that don't quite make the cut onto the Things I Love list. However, the following things I really, really like and they make my life SO much better than it otherwise would be.

Big Girl Panties - Seriously, my friends are just lying out of their asses when they try to convince me that having a piece of dental floss stuck in their crack all day is more comfortable than NORMAL panties. If you are that against panty lines, just go commando. It's not like your thong is doing anything anyway, wedged as it is between your labia majora and labia minora.

My Minivan - You have NOT lived until you've pulled up to the car pool drop off spot and pushed a button that ejects your children and then closes the door again without the threat of someone's hand being lobbed off. I do not need that drama at 7:45 AM. Furthermore, when picking up said children I do not have to Houdini myself into the backseat to open the door... no one wants to see my ass stuck in the windshield while trying to open the back door for my kids.

A perfectly toasted egg bagel with real vegtable cream cheese made at the REAL Jewish Deli that is on my way to work.

Dancing with the Stars - I know.... I can't explain it.

Cowboys Football

My flat iron - I cannot believe I spent all that money in the 80's perming my naturally straight hair... NOW I spend my time straighting my wavy hair that is really grey under the hair color. That timing really could have been better.

Underwire bras - we've already established my need for this product.

Technology - my digital camera, the internet, email, my cell phone, cable, Gameboys and Game Cubes (what did our parents do when we got on their nerves?) DVD's and the DVD player in my MINIVAN.

Tim McGraw - yum

Bare Minerals Makeup

Glide Dental Floss - I cannot imagine how grumpy I would be if I had to go around my who life with crap stuck between my teeth.

Joyce Meyer - who tells it like it is

The remote control

My maid - not because she cleans my house but because she makes life bearable for my husband who is the Felix of our odd couple.

My Schwan's Man - Dusty, you keep my family fed and I'm CONFIDENT I do my part in keeping yours fed.