In Bloom

I have been a part of my husband's family for around 17 years now. One of my favorite people has always been Aunt D. She is the epitome of class. The "matriarch" so to speak. Always dressed to the nines, face perfectly painted on, not a hair out of place. Not snooty, though. She is always friendly and genuinely happy to see you. She has a wonderful sense of humor and a sharp tongue. She was a stay at home mom, of course. In fact, she has never had a job. Her job was to take care of Uncle B and the girls.

Now the two of them have been in assisted living for some time. Recently Uncle B got moved to the nursing home side. He is old and his body is failing him. My in-laws are awesome people - very kind and they take care of all the old relatives. They have been running Aunt D back and forth to the hospital and helping her make difficult decisions.

From the last post I wrote it's evident that I have changed in the past few years. I was ready for change. My son is a most wonderful part of my life. I know that he makes me complete.

My in-laws were here for the boy's bash this weekend. My mother-in-law told me that one day last week Aunt D said, "Stiletto has just blossomed since they brought the boy home!"

That is very high praise indeed.

The good old days....and the future

I love Fridays! I am leaving early to begin my preparation for The Boy's birthday bash. Okay, it is also an excuse for all of us adults to get together and party a little. Back in the day, before any of us had kids - oh, like 5 years ago - we partied a lot. I am sure there are folks out there that think we partied too much. We had something going on every weekend. We all have Harleys that now collect more dust than they do road miles. But as the kids get older, that will change. The Boy can now understand to hang on and sit still and we hope to get back in the saddle, so to speak. It will be good. I miss my friends. Not all of them, and I really don't miss any of the drama, but I miss my good friends. The ones that watch your back. The ones that you can say anything to about anyone and they won't repeat it.

We had a bar that we hung out at back then. It was our 'Cheers'. We stopped for a cold one every Wednesday that sometimes turned into more than one. Eventually everyone would end up there. That's when we made our plans for the weekend.

The bar closed, got sold, and eventually got torn down. We started families.

We thought we would raise our kids together. We sounded like teenagers instead of grown women. We had good intentions, it's just that life gets in the way I guess. Life is messy like that. We have different careers on different sides of town and the kids don't go to the same preschool. Our kids are friends, though, and that's a good thing. They will be there for each other just like their parents.

We had a boy. A and E had a girl. The boy is Guatemalan and the girl is half Korean. We joke about how much we would hate to be in-laws. Then we look at the two of them and all four of us agree, "they would make beautiful babies together."

Obsessions

(referencing the post below regarding being interested in celebrity's lives...)
Okay, so maybe I am obsessed with pregnant celebrities. I just can't believe the world is about to be blessed with another spawn of KFed. Good lord, Britney. How on earth will she juggle two babies on her lap and a frappacino in her hand while speeding away from the paparazzi at the coffee shop????? Woe is her.

I'm not bitter about all those beautiful people having babies. I'm bitter that it's so easy for them all. Whether adopting or producing "their own" babies - it's just too damn easy. Okay enough of that.

I've been tagged! Yes! By dd - see her on the sidebar because apparently I'm a stupid effing idiot that can run expensive computer programs all day long, but cannot figure out how to link anything. Hummph!

Six Weird Things About Me

1. I am obsessed with the whiskers that have started growing out of my chin. OBSESSED I tell you. I touch my chin all day long feeling for them. I will dig a hole in my chin with the tweezers trying to get the little suckers out of there.
2. I have to clean up the kitchen and dirty dishes immediately following a meal. I can't stand to have the dishes and food sitting around on the table and counters.
3. I hold my stomach in all the time. Constantly.
4. I have a tube of Blistex near me at all times. My lips can't be dry.
5. It ruins my day to have a run in my stockings. I always carry a spare pair.
6. I can tell you the price of everything in my cart at any store at any time.

And there you have it. I am sure MFH could contribute more to the list, but it wouldn't be in his best interest to do so.

I will not tag anyone, since I am so stupid I don't know how to link, and I'm at work so I can't take the time to figure it out. Well, I could, but I shouldn't.

Finally, the whole neighborhood heard my shouts of glee last night when Pick Pickler was voted off American Idol. Yes, NotSoNormalMom, I know you heart her. ;) But, she cannot sing well. Sorry. It has nothing to do with me not liking her. I would like someone to win who doesn't, in PP's own words 'butcher' songs, and has more going for them than just being skinny and blond. I wish her well. Something tells me she will be fine and her career will take off in spite of being voted off of AI.

Trading Places

I rarely get television to myself in the evening. We have television access in practically every room in the house, so that isn't the problem. It's that usually I have a million other things to do at night between chores and getting quality time in with the boy and I can't sit down and watch a whole program. With the exception, of course, of American Idol. I manage to watch that during dinner. Don't scold! It's the only time we watch TV while eating. And, really, it's just listening.

The year the boy came home we threw a huge party in the spring. Mostly the purpose was to celebrate the boy's first birthday, but also to thank our friends and family for putting up with me while I waited...and waited...for the adoption to be complete. I was not the most pleasant person at times during the wait, and at the end had pretty much become a hermit. So, it was nice to see everyone again and introduce them all to the boy.

Now the party has become a tradition, and it is this Saturday. MFH is busy picking up dog poop and getting the yard ready for the party, and the boy is busy driving around in the monster truck he got for his birthday, trying to run over all the dog poop before dad picks it up. You know, spreading the joy as it were. My preparation really doesn't begin until Friday afternoon, so I had the big screen TV to myself. In the living room. Sitting in MFH's recliner. That NEVER happens. Even the hockey player is trained to get out of the recliner when MFH enters the room.

I found Sex and the City. Two episodes back to back. Ones I hadn't seen the first time around when it was only on HBO. I loved this show. Maybe it's because of Carrie's fabulous shoes. I lived my life vicariously through her as she purchased pair after pair of funky, strappy, fun shoes. $400 a pair shoes. Sigh. And the four of them, 30 something women, best friends who could say anything to each other and stay friends. Partying night after night in Manhattan. What a life.

I never had that life. I lived by myself once for only a short time. Other than that I've been in a relationship or married most of my adult life. And now I'm a mom, too.

I wouldn't trade it for all the $400 a pair shoes in the world.

Everybody's doing it!

With pop culture, pregnancy becomes 'hip'

This is an article on the front page of today's small town newspaper. Really it is about a photographer who built a business taking pictures of pregnant women to 'artistically capture her blossoming belly in all it's glory'. I think it's a lovely idea.

Remember Demi Moore on the cover of Vanity Fair? Her pregnant, nude body made a fantastic layout. It was a very ballsy move back then.

This article wouldn't be front page news if it didn't mention that this 'reinvention of the act of reproduction' is fueled by our interest in the lives of the celebrities that are having babies right now.

What an insult.

Dora the Exploder

What? It's not exploder? Well, that's what the boy calls her. The boy loves Dora and her spinoff boy pal, Diego. So much so, in fact, that I spent $75.50 today so we could see Dora live on stage on June 6. Dora's Pirate Adventure.

I'm pretty competitive. I like to win, and I get carried away with that at times. Like on ebay. I've paid more than I should have on occasion just because I like to win. And when Dora tickets went on sale online this morning at 10:00, you can be sure I was refreshing my screen like a mad woman to get good seats. My efforts prevailed, as we are sitting front row. Dora up close and personal. Woohoo!!

Sadly, I remember a time not that long ago when I was refreshing madly to get front row seats to Kid Rock and Motley Crue. Sigh.

As creepy as it was when Nikki Sixx spit fake blood all over me, I imagine a 5 1/2 foot tall Dora might just give me nightmares.

Happy Birthday, Baby!

Today we celebrate your fourth birthday! On April 23, 2002, thousands of miles away from us, you were born. I remember the first time I held you. I had tears streaming down my face, and I told your Gramma and Grammy, "I knew that I would love him, but I didn't know that it would feel like this."

On most days I think of the woman that gave birth to you. I think of her in a special way on this day. I wonder if she is thinking of you and wondering what kind of life you have and if you are happy, or if she did the right thing in making an adoption plan for you. I am grateful to her. She is the reason I could become a mother. She is the reason we are a family - you, me and dad. She is the reason that I love someone so fiercely that I would give my life for them. She is the reason I know how that feels.

Yesterday you were running out to play and I said, "Hey little one, would you stop growing so fast?" and you turned to me and said, "I can't mommy!" Time is going so quickly, baby. I still call you baby and you still let me. You still let me rock you at night before sleep. You tell me that when you get 'big big' I won't be able to hold you anymore. But for now you raise your arms to me and say, "Hold me please, mommy!" And I do, because someday soon you won't want me to, and that breaks my heart. I still tiptoe into your room at night and look at your sweet face. Sometimes I lay with you, and sometimes I just brush the hair from your forehead and kiss your cheek. Sometimes you open your eyes when I whisper "I love you" and you whisper "love you too."

I wish a lot of things for you, little one. For you, the sky is not the limit.

Happy birthday, baby.

Plumbing

My body is changing.

My periods are closer together than they used to be. And worse than they used to be. The last few months I have been bleeding like a stuck pig. Nice analogy, huh? I told MFH husband last night, "I had practically a whole box of tampons and light days pads in the closet, so I didn't buy more. I need more." He offered to go to the store for me because he is just so fabulous. But I didn't have him go.

And the cramps. Holy shit. This week I have had cramps everyday - not just the first one or two days like it used to be. Five days. Monday through Friday. Yep. That's five.

I am cranky, too. I've never been one to blame my bitchiness on PMS, but I am starting to see a connection. I feel sorry for my family because even I can't stand me right now.

Here's the thing. I've been having my period for 35 years. That's a long ass time. I am tired of it. I can't get pregnant. Can we just remove the plumbing? I no longer need it.

Nature is so cruel.

Express Yourself

When you're driving down main street and you see a girl walking on the sidewalk with pink and blue hair, it's hard not to notice. Hell, it's hard not to stare, but that causes accidents and I'm nothing if not a conscientious driver.

(MFH wondered aloud last night where I might have lost the fog lamp from the right side of my Yukon. Huh?)

Anyway, pink and blue hair girl was with pasty white face black black hair goth girl. They were trudging along like boys.

I am all for expressing your individuality.

I just hope that if I ever get to parent a girl child, it's en vogue to try to be attractive.

Irony

Does anybody else appreciate the irony of Brooke Shields and TomKat having their baby girls on the same day?????

When Katie Holmes was a little girl, she dreamed of marrying Tom Cruise!

Um, Katie? When you were 9, Tom was hot.

Now? Not so much.

What's a girl to do?

Somedays I hate work.

About a year ago, the chauvinistic owner decided to use a payroll service instead of processing payroll in house. Nevermind that our expensive accounting software does this in just a matter of minutes, really. Nevermind that payroll and human resources is one aspect of my job that I truly enjoy.

In that year, there have been just a handful of times that payroll services provider has not in some way fucked up our biweekly payroll.

I'll gladly fix my own fuck ups. I don't even really mind fixing the fuck ups of the people I work with when it comes to our accounting and point of sale software, because that is my one area of expertise. But to constantly fix the fuck ups of this hotsy totsy payroll service provider? Hmmm.

Last week I faxed two payroll status changes to said service. Raises. People like raises and they like to be paid what they were told they would be paid. Yesterday, from home, I submitted the payroll online. Those two people did not have raises in the system, but I put the raises on there. It let me change that. All is well. Today I get a call saying the status form got "buried" and the pay changes weren't processed. I said yes I noticed that but I changed it myself online when I saw that it hadn't been done. Oh, you can change it, but the changes don't process through to the checks. Huh? Okay. It has to be retroactive on next payday. I inform general manager and chavinist owner.

GM - "Stiletto, what would it take to get an advance to these two people that were expecting raises?"

S - "Um, it would take nothing at all if I were still doing payroll."

Touche'!

Home again, home again, jiggety jig

MFH has started taking the boy to preschool in the morning. I've been taking him and picking him up for three years, but that's when his school was near my work so it made perfect sense. Now it's close to our home and dad is taking part in this whole process. Today the boy wanted to take his blankie to school. Dad said no. Boy cried all the way to school and then some. Teachers call and the end result is the boy has a headache and is lethargic and needs to come home. So here we are. He is fine. I don't doubt he has a headache from all the crying, but he is fine otherwise.

Sometimes he needs this security blanket, other times not. I don't know, nor does anyone else for that matter, what these adopted kids remember from their previous lives or what impact it has to be taken from their homeland and forced into a new situation. The boy is very well adjusted and always has been. He is happy. He is a normal toddler. This blankie is all he has of Guatemala. He is attached to it. I don't have a problem with that, but I have been accused of being a softie. ;) When it comes to the boy I don't doubt that I am.

On April 1 we went to a 40th birthday party. Four of us women ended up in the kitchen visiting. The other three are all stay at home moms. Mom 1 is mid 30's with two teenaged kids from a lousy previous marriage and toddler twins from this one. Mom 2 is early 30's with three kids, 2 in school and the third starting this fall. Mom 3 is late 20's with two kids, one 4 and one 18 months. Mom 4 (me) is mid 40's with one almost 4 year old and a full time job outside the home. On that night I learned that I was the only woman in that room that is not on anti-depressants.

Please don't misunderstand me. I am not dissing anyone who medicates for any reason. Parenting is hard work, as is running a household. I am just wondering if it would help for these ladies to get jobs and get out of the house more, or would that be worse? I guess I'm wondering if I'm missing the boat here. Any comments?

This Sucks

The weather. The boy's preschool is closed today in observance of Easter. I wish I could be a stay at home mom, but I just don't have the desire to do so everyday. Once in awhile it's okay though. This is one of those days. I was looking forward to hanging out with him today. Until we woke up to rain and then snow. And it's a whopping 34 degrees. So we're stuck in the house like we have been all damn winter. My mom brought the boy a trampoline yesterday, and we were looking forward to jumping on it today.

This computer. It's so S-L-O-W. Painful even.

Dog farts. My faithful 12.5 year old lab that is a frisbee maniac still, is laying at my feet farting. I guess a meal of deviled eggs, potato salad, baked beans and Easter ham has taken it's toll on his old body.

The title to my last two posts? "This Sucks Dicks" Heh.

Dicks

I work in a company of good old boys. They aren't old really, any of them. It's just that the owner is chauvinistic, and so it is a learned behavior that spreads like wildfire amongst the rest of them.

All of the people of "position" here are men. It's like a secret club. You never really know what any of them are doing. The rest of us go around, much like mothers, picking up after them and fixing whatever it is they screwed up or didn't finish that day.

Until I worked here I really didn't know how special it is to have a dick.

I just returned from the mall across the street. It is full of students on break for the Easter holiday. I noticed one very tall young man strutting the mall in his low slung, baggy pants and he kept touching himself. Down there. Checking on it, I guess.

Do dicks fall off?

Cause that would certainly explain the variety of them I have seen in those adult (ahem) bookstores.

Daytime Television

I used to teach elementary school. I had summers off back then, and my days were split between laying in the sun reading and watching daytime television. I had a few soaps that I loved, but I became addicted to daytime talk shows.

Does anyone remember Rikki? I loved her! Go Rikki, go Rikki.....

Imagine my glee (and MFH's dismay) when I discovered that The Maury Show is on Fox at 10:00 p.m. Yippee! I sneak off to watch it while MFH is watching the news, or better yet, sleeping in his recliner...in which case I get to see the whole hour!!!

Maury seems to be in a bit of a rut, though. Most of his shows are about proving that you are the daddy of my baby, or cheating spouses. And he always asks stupid questions, like "How did you feel when you caught your husband in bed with your best friend?"

One night a woman on the show was back for the EIGHTH time trying to prove who was the father of her baby. Um, chickie, if you had to have eight men tested for DNA, your problem is way bigger than finding the father of your child. WTF???

After Maury? The Jerry Springer Show. Who doesn't love a good brawl?

Senses

I discovered last night, during American Idol, that men are not able to use two senses at the same time.

Sorry, MFH. Naturally, this statement does not apply to you.

Set the stage: All the songs are from the rock group "Queen". Pick Pickler sings Bohemian Rhapsody. I thought she was awful. I mean, how could she possibly pull that off with a twang? And, she was completely and obviously out of her element. I could already hear the comments from the judges in my mind.
Randy Jackson: It was pitchy. I don't know, Dawg. For me is was just awright.
Paula Abdul: Whatever Randy just said.
Simon Cowell: I found the whole performance a little ridiculous.

Here's the snag. Pick Pickler looked HOT. HOT in all caps.

And the judges approved.

While Freddie Mercury was turning in his grave.

Link me up, Scotty

I am so not a Star Trek fan, but I just crack myself up when I come up with a clever blog title. Yeah, clever is a perceived notion.

I have all of the blogs I love to read bookmarked on my computer at work. I want to link them in my blog so I can read them on weekends at home. I can't seem to get it to work by using the instructions in Blogger. I was hoping someone out there could hook me up with some 'simple how to link' instructions?

Please?

Pretty please?????

Goodbye Camaro - Viva Las Vegas!

In response to comments on the last entry in which I talked about selling my car...

We have so many vehicles at our house. We have a two car garage and a three car shop, and we still don't have enough room.

Yes, I loved my car. Over the years it has been for sale on two other occasions. The first time I was sobbing and MFH told the prospective buyer no deal. That was about 10 years ago. Now, though, I was ready. My son loves "vroom vrooms" (his term for really cool cars/trucks), but has never shown any particular interest in my Camaro. MFH is currently restoring an early 70's GMC truck that the boy considers very cool, as well as the early 80's Chevy shortbox that is his everyday driver. The car he gets really excited over, however, is the not yet restored '57 Chevy two door. The boy has good taste.

I am okay with my decision to sell. And today I booked a trip for our 15th anniversary in July, and paid for it with some of the money from the sale of that fabulous car. To Vegas. I have never been there.

I just bet they have some FABULOUS shoe stores!!!!!

I Lost a Little Piece of Me

For as long as I can remember, I've been around men and their cars. My brothers had nice cars and they spent countless hours on summer days washing and waxing them. But that was back in the days when nice cars were not Honda Accords or Toyota Camrys. Nice cars were '69 Firebirds and '68 Camaros and '67 Chevelles. Ah, those were the days. When I was in high school in the mid to late '70s, it was very popular to buy these old cars and fix them up. Or buy them already cherried out. Whatever. It was just cool to have those old cars.

In the spring of 1981 I was getting ready to graduate from college when I bought my '81 Camaro. It was the end of the second generation Camaros. They would quit assembling that body style in June. I ordered one and was lucky to get it, picking it up in March. MFH says this was a Wednesday afternoon car - not built on Monday when everyone didn't want to be back at work, and not built on Friday when everyone wanted to get started on the weekend. She was a peach. Now, my '81 Camaro is one of those "old cars". I LOVED to drive her.

I sold her today. She is still a nice car, runs well and looks nice. MFH took good care of her. I had her for 25 years - a quarter of a century. A young man bought her that will take care of her and, hopefully, appreciate her as much as I did over the years. It's silly to get all misty eyed and sentimental about selling a car. But she wasn't just any car. She was a part of me.

And today I lost a little piece of me when I watched him drive her away.

46

For the lovely dd, who bothers to read me and comment, there you have it. My age.

On this topic of age, I am curious about something. In the past few years I've noticed that the age group of men that would show interest in me with a look or a comment is changing. They are getting older. Sometimes much older. Maybe it's because I'm hanging out at WalMart more and the bars less, but still.

If men should be able to date younger women, what makes them think we wouldn't rather date younger men?

I'm just sayin'.

On Aging

Okay, so after that last post on my doctor visit you are probably all (both of you who actually read me) wondering, "Sheesh, how old is this chick!" Yeah, the poop test freaked me out, too. Upon further investigation I find that it is a colon test of some sort. I am still not going to do it because, well, it's just gross.

Age has never really bothered me. Except for the year I turned 30 - that was a very dark year for me - I haven't thought about it much. Maybe it's because MFH is 8 years younger than me or because I have a three year old son. That'll keep you young! Maybe it's because most of my good friends are younger than me, or because I really don't look my age. I see the aging but people are surprised when I tell them my age. Maybe it's because I am at a good place in my life, and I wouldn't really change anything about it. It could even be because I'm fairly fit and healthy. I do NOT like the crow's feet, but that's nothing a little plastic surgery won't fix. Don't get all high and mighty about that on me, either. I am not a huge advocate of cosmetic surgery, but hey - we live in a century where the little things like that are easy to fix and I find it silly not to take advantage of it. I have never had eyelids so I have never been able to wear much eye makeup, and I intend to change that.

Maybe it's because my baby brother died - that's a topic for another day - that aging isn't a huge deal to me. I'm thrilled to get another year older, because he never will.

You know you're getting older when...

you go to the doctor for your annual exam and she mentions that in a few short years you really should have a colonoscopy

and then sends you away with the "home poop testing kit",

and talks to you about the symptoms of menopause

all before 9:30 in the morning.

WooHoo!

*edited to add*
I am unable to explain this home poop testing kit, because I have yet to remove it from the paper bag to see what you do with it. What's more, I don't plan to. But I fear you have to take a stool sample and mail it in to the lab. As if!

Guilt

Sometimes I am not a good mom.

Sometimes I am not a good wife, either. Since MFH is an adult, though, I guess I don't let that bother me as much as it should.

But the boy.....man. The guilt eats away at me when I don't do right by him. Most likely I have one shot at parenthood. It's important to me to do it well. We waited a long time for this chance, and it's always at the top of my mind to treasure every second that I have with him. But, parenting even this most-of-the-time-good boy presents it's challenges. I never wanted to be a yeller, and sometimes I yell. I thought that since I used to be a teacher, and since I am an older mom, I would be more patient with my son. And, for the most part I am. But there are times, like yesterday when he was dragging himself slowly up the stairs, me behind him with a heaping basket of laundry, and him saying "I have to poop"....while crawling slowly up the stairs...UGH. I was not patient. And I still feel shitty about it today. Heh. I said he had to poop and I feel shitty - even under the weight of all this guilt, that made me smile.

I guess one reason it's so hard on me is this - what will he remember from his childhood?

I remember very few bad things about my childhood. I remember being in the hospital when I was three having my tonsils removed. Somebody there gave me a clown puppet. I HATE clowns to this day. That's my earliest memory, and really one of the few I have from that early age. I'm sure my mom yelled at me - I know she did when I was a teenager, so she must have yelled at some point in my childhood, but I don't remember it. I'm sure she must have been impatient with me, too. I don't remember that either. As a stay at home mom with 4 kids, her patience must have worn thin on many days. But, ah, the good stuff. There is lots of good stuff to remember.

I know the boy has lots of good stuff in his life. I suppose that's really all we can hope for our children. That the good will always outweigh the bad.