theclumsyredhead.com

April 8, 2011

I’ve Been Gone. And Now I’m Not.

Filed under: Martini Recipes — jen @ 12:07 pm

6:15 a.m.: Awakened by my husband trying to be quiet while he gets ready for work. Sigh loudly enough for him to hear and put pillow over head.

6:30 a.m.: Kiss husband good-bye and get  whiff of own morning breath. Wonder if my hair matches. Wonder if husband regrets marrying disgusting blob laying in bed, but assume his eyes were closed and move on.

6:37 a.m.: Start pot of coffee, turn on news, curse  weatherman for his pack of lies about nice weather.

7 a.m.: Matt Lauer announces breaking news on Today show. Realize he says this every morning and wonder if everyone else gets duped by that announcement, or if it’s just me.

7:15 a.m. Wake up kids. First of 87,000 questions asked for the day. No response to Tessa’s, “Mama, if my arm fell off, would I still be able to wear a pink shirt?”

8: 40 a.m.: After 40 minutes of getting the kids breakfast, dressed, reviewing homework and answering 14,006 questions, drop Tess off at school. Head to coffee shop for morning latte while Jack kicks the back of my seat and sings about hating Batman while simultaneously loving Batman. Wonder if he watches too much t.v. then laugh to self, because that’s just not possible.

9:20 a.m.: Check email for job #1. Answer as many as I can before Jack decides he wants human interaction. Am able to get through 2 emails.

9:25 a.m.: Help Jack line up all 65 of his Thomas the Tank Engine trains, end-to-end. Get yelled at for placing 2 Percys next to each other. Wonder if he’s too young to be medicated for OCD. Consider knocking them all over just to mess with him, then realize that I may not be able to afford therapy for him in a couple of years, so start lining up Hot Wheels instead.

10:30 a.m.: Start first load of laundry. Unload dishwasher. Clean kitchen. Start another pot of coffee.  Wonder if I drink too much coffee. Watch Jack drag stuffed dolphin attached to dog leash down hallway while singing song about stupid pizza pie-yas. Proud of his attempt at accents, but concerned stereotypical cartoon Italian pizza man will file lawsuit against him for defamation of character.

11:15 a.m.: Build giant pile of stuffed animals in middle of living room with Jack. Hope he doesn’t break an arm as he jumps off top of couch into pile. Wish I was kid again and had no fear. Let Jack bury me in said pile and try to catch a quick nap. Get wind knocked out of me when Jack lands on stomach.

11:30 a.m.: Make dental appointments for everyone. Pay two bills. Wonder where the hell all the pens in the junk drawer go. Check email for job #2. Start lunch then do second load of laundry. Wish Alice was here to do this for me, then decide the Bradys need her more than I do. Let Jack wrap jump-rope around my leg and pull as hard as he can. Realize he’s surprisingly strong for a 2 year old. Wonder how to explain rope burns to husband.

12:20 p.m.: Beg Jack to go on the big boy potty. Watch in dismay as he gets off the tiolet and pees on the floor in front of it. Read “Yummy Yucky” for 900th time. Put Jack down for nap and find all pens from junk drawer stuffed under his blanket.

12:30 p.m. – 2:15 p.m.: Work job #1 while watching Oxygen channel. Wish I was borderline mentally challenged so I could get own reality show. Try to fix blinds that Jack pulled cord out of. Put away laundry. Vacuum rugs. Get mail from mailbox and realize this is the most exciting part of day. Die a little inside.

2:15 p.m.: Jack wanders out asking where his pens are and tells me Batman needs one. Tell him Batman carries one on his bat-utility belt so Mama put them back where they belong. Listen to him repeat question over and over. And over. Consider smacking him on back of head to fix broken record. Realize he would hit me back and decide to ignore him.  Show him “shiny rock” (fruit snack) and he stops asking the question. Love whomever invented bribery.

3:30 p.m.: Pick up Tess from school. Try to avoid Crazy Mom who has no regard for personal space or appropriate small talk. Turn to take Jack’s hand and find Crazy Mom standing half inch from my face. Try not to look like I want to jam pencil in her ear as she tells me her parents’ house is pink and that she doesn’t know the difference between a tornado watch and a tornado warning. Wonder if “what is wrong with you?” is an appropriate response to that. Realize she has probably miscalculated how many pills she’s taken today, smile, shrug shoulders and walk away.

3:45 p.m. – 5:30 p.m.: Answer 19,006 of my children’s questions while cleaning house and making dinner. Think housewives from the 60s had the right idea about popping pills all day long. Listen to kids scream at each over variety of topics. Close eyes and try to find happy place but see that it’s been burned to the ground by hoodlums. Die a little more inside.

6 p.m.: Continue working on job #2. Think working from home is awesome, but wish it was only 1 job.

8 p.m.: Repeat “brush your teeth” 17 times to kids. Threaten to throw away “Big Time Rush” CD if they don’t. Clean globs of toothpaste off back of door. Tell kids teeth will fall out if they don’t brush teeth. Tess tells me new ones will grow in so it doesn’t really matter.  Mentally applaud her comeback. Answer 45,309 questions ranging from farm animals to molecular biology. Realize stall tactics apparently work on me.

8:30 p.m.: Kids in bed arguing and yelling for us to come back in. Use Supernanny technique of ignoring them. Go back to work at job #2.

9 p.m.: Finally get to talk to husband. Realize there’s not a lot to say and sit in silent defeat. Kiss him good night and go back to work on job #1.

12:40 a.m.: Finally finish working. Realize I haven’t washed hair in 4 days. Decide to let it go another day and lay on couch instead.

1:15 a.m.: Argue with self about going to bed. Realize we both lose since we’re now too exhausted to sleep and have to get up in about 5 hours. Consider solitary life of pot pies, scratch tickets and chain-smoking. Remember trailer parks aren’t safe during tornado season. Fall asleep and dream about work.

6:15 a.m.: See above.

That’s where I’ve been.

February 21, 2011

“President’s’” Day Sale!!!!!! Redux

Filed under: Random,Writing — jen @ 3:47 pm

That’s right, it’s Presidents’ Day today, and in honor of those great men and my most popular ranting post, I’ve got a new batch for ya.

“It’s like de ja vu all over again!” So, what you’re telling me, Yogi Berra, is that you’re experiencing something all over again, all over again? It’s just de ja vu. If you aren’t truly bilingual, then don’t use this French term. Just don’t. Chances are, you’re hallucinating anyway and what you’re experiencing is merely drug-induced-you should probably just stop talking to avoid a situation where a 5150 is necessary for your safety.

It’s not pronounced “heighTH” it’s height. While it’s close to its counterpart “width” it doesn’t need to rhyme. They’re not twins a crazy soccer mom dresses identically too far into puberty. One measures something vertically (heighT) while the other measures horizontally (widTH).

Exscape. It’s pronounced “es -cape.” Ex- is in fact a prefix meaning “out of” so that part’s correct. However, unless you at one time were made of velvet and were tied around a magician’s neck but gave it up to follow your dreams of being the manager of a strip club, you’re just an idiot who doesn’t know how to pronounce this word. You probably don’t visit the libary much, do you?

And finally, you can’t go acrossed the lake, nor did someone drowned in said lake. You can, however, go across that lake and there is a possibility that someone did in fact drown there, so just be careful, okay?

Have a great day off and mind your Ps and Qs!

January 16, 2011

NYPD Redhead

Filed under: Martini Recipes — jen @ 9:33 pm

If you’re like me, and chances are, you’re lucky enough NOT to be, you watched way too much t.v. as a kid, so you have a warped way at looking at the world. I can make references to just about any t.v. show ever made. See that blog title up there? I’ve never seen one episode, but I know what it’s about. Okay, so it’s not that difficult to figure out, but still.

Anyhoo, so here’s my story: Jack has recently discovered how to lock a door. He does not, however, know how to unlock a door. You can see where this is going, right? So, last week we were in his room, playing with cars when my coffee kicked in. I sauntered across the hall into the bathroom, leaving Jack in his bedroom to throw his cars from one side of the room to the other (“They go faster that way, Mama!”) and take care of my business. I had turned the doorknob around on his bedroom door so he could  no longer lock himself in, so I had no qualms about leaving him for two minutes.

I heard him close the door to his room (he has a thing about open doors) and run down the hall to my bedroom and slam the door. I finished as quickly as I could and walked down the hall only to discover – that’s right – he had locked the door. Now, not really a big deal, except that we have a spiral staircase with an open loft in our bedroom (very retro, no?) and since my children have been known to fall down from a standing position, I was a bit worried.

“Jack,” I said in a very sing-songy voice. “Jaaa-aack, open the door.” Because he’s somehow learned how to do that in the last 30 seconds, I guess. No response. “Jackie, please open the door for Mama.” Nothing.

“JACK, OPEN THE DOOR,” this was through clenched teeth, not yelling. And then, a sickening thump. The first thing that popped into my mind is that scene from “Almost Famous.” I pictured Jack at the top of the railing on the loft, declaring that he is in fact a golden god and diving onto our lower-end carpet (came with the house) instead of a full swimming pool. Jack can’t swim, so either way, it’s a bad scene. “JACK!” Now, I yelled. No response.

I don’t know how to pick a lock, and even if I did, I don’ think I would have had the presence of mind to go and find something to fit in that stupid little hole and pop it open. I immediately kicked the door open to find, lying in a pool of its own literature, a dictionary. Jack, hands behind his back, glasses low on his nose, was standing up in the loft, looking down at the book he had assaulted.

I didn’t yell at him. I hugged him. I told him I loved him and that if he ever locked a door again, I would take every door in the house off of its hinges, which would be really awkward for him when he hits his teenage years. And then I reflected on how AWESOME it was that I kicked in a door, just like hundreds of t.v. cops have done in almost every cop show ever made. One freaking kick and it was open.

I need help.

November 30, 2010

Limited Edition?

Filed under: pop culture,Random — jen @ 9:34 pm

I love this time of year. Everyone capitalizes on the season. For instance:

Febreeze has a “Limited Edition” collection. Really? Your job is to cover up stink. That’s it. It makes no difference if my bathroom smells like “Winter Evening” or “Winterberry” or “Original.” I just don’t want it to smell like wet towels and dirty socks. I’m not going to buy your stupid new scent in the hope that 25 years from now, I can sell it on ebay for $200 because it was a limited edition. Unless it’s signed by Mr. Febreeze and there were only 100 cans made, don’t call it a limited edition.

Coffee Mate: Peppermint Mocha. I heart you, I really do. Eggnog? Nope. You can’t mix Eggnog with coffee. Again, just because Christmas is coming up doesn’t mean you need to cram Christmasy-themed flavors into CREAMER. Salami and cheese trays are big around Christmas time too, maybe that could be your next flavor. Or glazed ham. Simmer down, coffeemates.

Coca Cola: Limited edition Coke cans. You put Santa on your can. I see where you’re going with it, but I think you need to expand on that. Maybe the Hanukkah Armadillo (Friends? Anyone?). It doesn’t matter, because I’m going to jam it into my recycling bin anyway. I’m not going to put it in an air-tight container and display it next to my Grandma’s Hummel figurines.

Ritz crackers: see above. 

Please, stop calling your overpriced goods “Limited Editions.” If I can’t cash you in to pay for my daughter’s college tuition, you’re just another non-perishable item I will donate in the spring to her school’s food drive.

November 17, 2010

I can’t sleep

Filed under: Martini Recipes — jen @ 10:12 am

IhavetosendthatemailtoDrSmythdidIturnonthedishwasher?

IneedtowashTess’snewshirtmydogislayingonmylegsheweighs90poundsmywristhurts

shouldIbuy2twelvepoundturkeysfor11people?Ineedtocheckmybalanceonmycheckingaccountmydogisnoring

IhavetogetmyhaircutsodoesJackdoIhaveenoughservingbowlsforThanksgiving

didTessdoherhomeworkIhavetomakecookiesforherschoolbyThursday

howcanIgetJacktokeeponhisglassesthesesheetsIboughtarereallysoft

where’sthatreceiptIneedtoreturnsomethingtoTarget

didIsendthatpieceonpostpartumdepressionforpublication?

IhavethreeloadsoflaundrytodowhatshouldImakefordinnertomorrownight?IwishIwonthelotterymycarisonitslastleg

IhearJackcryingshouldIcheckonhim?isitgoingtosnowagainsoon?Ihavetogetupin3hours

ThatstupidBigTimeRushsongstuckinmyheaddancehardlaughmoredamnyouNickelodean

Icouldjustgetupnowandgetsomestuffdoneonmylaptopbutit’sintheotherroom

mydogisstillsnoringnowhe’sdreamingthathe’srunninghowfunnymylegsareasleepnow

I’lltakeanaptomorrow

November 4, 2010

Cap’n Crunch and Other Monsters

Filed under: Me,Random — jen @ 9:49 am

1.

Remember when you were a kid and your mom would buy (like once a year) the good cereal? Not Cheerios or Rice Chex, but Cookie Crisp or Fruity Pebbles? Man, that was the best day. You’d poor that first bowl and it was like a junkie getting a fix. You hunched over that bowl, elbows out, ready to tag anyone who got too close, shoving spoonful after spoonful of cereal into your  mouth so quickly you didn’t even notice the fact that the Cap’n Crunch WAS TEARING THE SHIT OUT OF THE ROOF OF YOUR  MOUTH. No, you only noticed that after your third bowl, when your mouth looked and felt like the inside of a jack-o-lantern – ragged pieces of your skin hanging from the roof of your mouth like little spiderwebs. I miss that.

2.

Dear Guy at Target who clearly spends too much  money on hair products and not enough time working out at the gym who let the door shut on me as I was struggling on a windy day to corral my son who was trying to break free from my grasp to go pick up the giant red cement ball along the sidewalk outside the store and get him inside,

You’re a dick. Get some manners.

October 19, 2010

I’m Not Ascared

Filed under: pop culture,Random — jen @ 9:24 am

Fall is here! It’s my favorite time of year – the smell, the changing leaves, signs that all the good holidays are approaching (not that Flag Day isn’t a great holiday, but there’s no special food or gift getting involved).  

First up, Halloween. Now, I went to a Catholic school, so we could call it Halloween and we could dress up. Some schools around here call it ”Autumn Festival” or some stupid PC name and the kiddies aren’t allowed to dress up anymore. Because Spiderman and Cinderella are offensive and apparently, they were also characters in the Bible, so those atheists want NOTHING to do with St. Spiderman and his web of lies.  

My brother wore this one. Yours probably did, too.

But I digress. I was either a clown or hobo every year, because it was better to make your own costume than pay for a crappy plastic mask that scratched the hell out of your face and had no breathing holes and an elastic string that would inevitably break by the second house you visited. I was a “punk rocker” once in the 80s, which was just basically an excuse to spray paint an old t-shirt and wear two socks that didn’t match. I had no idea what punk rock was back then, but I very often found myself wearing mismatched socks anyway, so at least I had an excuse for it one day of the year.  

Wilford has not changed since Cocoon! Well, except now he has diabetes, I guess.

So all the channels are playing every horror movie they can find. And, I must say, those edited for t.v. versions of Friday the 13th are actually frightening when you see the scene fade and then Gus Witherspoon is telling you about his diabetes. I was never a fan of horror movies, and it’s not because I was too scared to watch them, it just didn’t make sense to be scared of slow moving monster-people. I was scared of talking to real people, so I didn’t have time to even think about monster-people.   

Maybe I didn’t get it. Teens making out in the woods, okay, eventually I got that. Some 10 year-old boy drowns, his mom decides to kill a bunch of teenagers who had nothing to do with her son’s death and all of a sudden, the dead kid is in his thirties with a receding hairline with no ambition to actually chase people down, but plod quietly behind them with a really heavy tool and wait for one of them to fall down. That isn’t scary to me. That just seems lazy.  

Bugs out trick-or-treating by himself seemed so cool to me.

I preferred the special Halloween episodes of my favorite t.v. shows (I still do, actually). Remember The Facts of Life episode where the gals get killed off one by one, and Tootie is left on her own to face the killer? Or how about the M*A*S*H episode where Fr. Mulcahy brings that “dead” soldier back to life?  And why do I remember Judd Hirsch dressed up as Dracula talking to the wolfman? But my favorite was when they’d show the Bugs Bunny Halloween special – it all revolved around “Witch Hazel” – the one who lost bobby pins whenever she took off from the room. Maybe that’s why Halloween really isn’t scary to me. I was desensitized by cartoons and fictional t.v. characters. Don’t get me wrong – dark, quiet streets and creaking floors give me the chills every now and then, but it’s not like it’s scarier because it’s Halloween. Plus, I kinda have to keep it together on account of the kiddos.

I don’t know, maybe I’m getting cranky in my old age, but I miss the 20th century. They knew how to Halloween it up back then. Happy Autumn Festival everyone!

 

 
 

October 5, 2010

Quickie

Filed under: kids,Random — jen @ 8:57 pm

It's very hard to find a picture of someone sweeping up popcorn.

Don’t be nasty. I just meant a short post. I’ve been crazy-busy these past few weeks (is it “past” or “passed”? I always get confused on that one) with work, and occasionally taking care of my kids. But I had to share this one-I almost fell out of my chair I laughed so hard.

Tess was having trouble falling asleep, so Max suggested she lay back and play a movie in her head. That’s what we do when we’re trying to appear as though we’re listening to someone, usually each other. Always the quick-thinker, Tess shot back: “I can’t. The man’s in my head sweeping up the popcorn because the movie’s over.”

She’s 5. I’m not that clever and I’ve got 30 years on her.

September 9, 2010

Lucky is Not Cookie and It’s Certainly Not Sassy

Filed under: pop culture,Random — jen @ 10:27 pm

I got my first magazine subscription when I was about 6 or 7. It was to Highlights. I remember reading the “Goofus & Gallant” section and thinking, even at that young age, that Goofus was a total douche. If you’re not familiar with it, it went a little something like this: Goofus would do something you are obviously not supposed to do, like hold the door shut on a wheelchair-bound person and make faces at them through the glass. Then, they’d show Gallant in the same situation, only he was carrying the person on his back, up the stairs and through the door and then performing some kind of miraculous surgery that allowed the paraplegic to walk. THAT is what you’re supposed to do – not be a Goofus. Life lessons, shown through crudely drawn black and white illustrations.

 

Best. Magazine. Ever.

That’s when my love affair with magazines began. From Highlights I moved on to “Sassy” magazine, and if you’re a woman my age, you totally know what I’m talking about. It was the quintessential teen magazine. It had amazing articles that talked about real issues, like how to wash your face properly (a big deal, believe me), how to dress and where to shop, it talked about boys and all the stuff a 13 year old girl cared about. But it was different from the other teen magazines – it was beautifully photographed and written in a way that you didn’t feel like you were inadequate because of your age or how you looked. It also had great interviews - I remember one with Robert Downey Jr.- he was my crush back then. I kept every issue and reread them constantly. And then it went bye-bye. 

Before I had kids, I read all the fancy fashion magazines, even though I could never afford any of the fashion they wrote about, nor would I ever look like any of those women, and eventually found myself not really enjoying magazines all that much. There was no substance; I was just doing it because I could afford the $5 magazines and also I wanted to appear as though I knew what was hip and cool. And then I shopped at The Gap and felt bad about myself again.

 

Mother May I Sleep With Cookie Magazine?

And then the babies came. I had no time for frivolity. Or so I thought. I don’t remember where I found it, but I came across the greatest magazine for mommies. It was called “Cookie” and it was glorious. I immediately sent my check and waited for what seemed like years for my first issue. When it finally came, I tossed the kids a bag of sugar, told my husband where they were and locked myself in my bedroom. I devoured that magazine – read it cover to cover. It had great articles on where to shop for your kids, yourself and strangers if you wanted to. Articles on what it’s like to be a real mom – not a super rich or super hero mom, just stories about every day women and the amazing things we can do. It also had ideas for family vacations, both affordable and fantasy. It had super fancy and expensive stuff and stuff that I could actually buy.  But it also had articles that weren’t mommy-centric. It was just a magazine about women who also happened to have kids. It wasn’t pretentious. It was real. It was Sassy for grownups!

As I waited for my December issue, which was about a month late, I became concerned. Where could it be? I paid for a whole year. I couldn’t take it anymore. I called the customer service number, fully prepared with my “I paid for this magazine, where the hell’s my latest issue?” speech, but there was no need for it. I was informed that the magazine was no more. I was also told I should’ve gotten notice in the mail (I got it 3 days later) and that they had planned on sending another magazine in its place and I would receive that first issue in April. April? It was freakin’ November! And, the magazine would be “Lucky.” Because that’s the equivalent of Cookie? A twenty-something shopper’s bible is the same as a true to life mommy magazine? And so it goes.

I flip through my Lucky magazine begrudgingly now. Cursing at the fancy fashion I can’t afford. Wondering why the hell I need to know about super mini pendant necklaces (they’re hot this season!) when I can’t wear them because Jack will just try to rip it off my neck and shove it up his nose or down his pants. Why do I need to look super chic for the weekend, when my big getaway is to the grocery store 2 blocks away? Whatever. Up yours Lucky. You’re no Sassy.

September 2, 2010

Extremely Ugly & Very Poor

Filed under: Martini Recipes,Random — jen @ 9:50 pm

Deee-liii-laaaaa. That's her jingle, by the way.So I listen to “Delilah” at night when I’m in the shower, because it’s mindless and it’s nice to hear an adult’s voice occasionally. (Don’t get all creepy; I know how that might read.) If you’re not familiar with her, she’s got a very  soothing voice and all these very sad people call in or write to her to complain about their sad lives or celebrate their latest marriage to “the one.”  They request songs that fit their situation or ask her to pick one for them. She usually plays “Wind Beneath My Wings” or some Bon Jovi song from the 90s.

Anyhoo, so I’m shampooing my hair, and she’s reading a letter from a guy and I swear to you, he starts off with, “I’m a single dad and I’m extremely unattractive and very poor. . . I want to meet a woman so my daughter doesn’t think I’m a loser. . . “.  It got even more pathetic, but I was laughing so hard, I almost fell & hit my head.

So, here’s to you, extremely unattractive and very poor dad, just listen to Janis Ian’s “At Seventeen” a couple hundred times and keep buying those lottery tickets. But your daughter will probably always think you’re a loser, so here’s a martini recipe just for you (non alcoholic, you don’t need a drinking problem on top of everything else):

Ugly Bug

1 shot prune juice

1 shot grapefruit juice

1 shot pineapple juice

1 shot orange juice

Mix together in a jug, chill well in refrigerator & serve in a wine glass, to make yourself feel elegant.

P.S.: Congrats to my friend Michelle over at The Giblogger on the arrival of little Gia. What a kick ass birthday – 90210! I heart you Donna Martin!

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