theclumsyredhead.com

April 8, 2011

I’ve Been Gone. And Now I’m Not.

Filed under: Me — 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.

November 17, 2010

I can’t sleep

Filed under: Me — 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.

August 26, 2010

Where the hell have I been?

Filed under: kids,Me — jen @ 9:32 pm

Good question. Let me answer in threefold:

A) Trapped in freelancer hell. That’s right. After 8 months without a steady income, I suddenly received several offers for freelance “writing” jobs. Writing is in quotes because it’s not really writing so much as typing. Typing, copying, pasting and inserting pictures and URLs. I feel like I’m 20 years old again (not in a good way) working in an overly air-conditioned office building (sans the over air-conditioning) just for the ultimate goal: money. I haven’t gotten a paycheck yet for one of the jobs, but when I do, I’m headed straight to Target (I heart Target’s crap) and buying everything I fancy. I might buy stuff I don’t fancy,  just because I can. Why did I take on so much work, you ask? Because I need the money. Money is nice. It doesn’t buy you happiness, but it does buy you time. And stuff.

2) Sobbing quietly because Tess has started kindergarten. I’ve lost my buddy. I know people say “it’s the start of something awesome” but the pessimist/cynic in me knows that it means I’m on my way out as the most important person in her life. Yeah, yeah, she’ll always need her Mommy, but c’mon. Did you whisper secrets in your mom’s ear when you were in 7th grade? No, you didn’t. If you did, you were a total dork who didn’t have a lot of friends. And while that sounds great for mommies, I certainly wouldn’t want my daughter to have to deal with being a dork during her formative years. Not that popularity is the most important thing, but I just remember the “weird” kids when I was in school and I don’t want her to have to deal with douche bag kids who think they’re cool because they have a lot of douche bag friends who are just like them. That can be a lot of douche bags. And we all know about douche bags.

C) Chasing Jack around the house and screaming “NO!” and “STOP IT!” because he has officially hit “the terrible twos.”  Tess didn’t go through that. She’s a mommy/daddy pleaser, whereas Jack is a, “Screw you, Mommy and Daddy, throwing trains down the air vents and hiding food in the couch and in my nose is fun” kind of kid. I have no frame of reference for that. My lack of sleep coupled with my lack of patience means yelling is easier than patiently explaining why putting a Yogo in his nose is not the same as putting it in a bowl for later.

So there you have it. I will try to post more frequently – once a week. Lots of kindergarten stories.  Mostly kindergarten mom stories, because I can’t really be snarky about writing numbers and gluing shit together.

Summer Breeze Martini

6 parts citrus vodka
2 parts melon liqueur
1 part dry vermouth
1/4 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
Melon ball

Combine liquid ingredients in a cocktail shaker with cracked ice and shake well. Strain into a chilled cocktail glass and garnish with melon ball.

April 21, 2010

Awkward Much?

Filed under: kids,Me,Random — jen @ 6:23 pm

I guess it could have been worse. For me, that is.

So you know how you’re standing around with people you kind of know, but not really, so it’s mostly just all small talk? I’m not very good at it; I get nervous and usually say something stupid or something that doesn’t make sense.

I was standing in the hallway at Tess’s school, waiting for them to finish up for the day. I was standing between two moms, listening and nodding along. One mom is a teacher at the school, and she always comes down to say “hi” to her son who’s in the preschool class. She’s really nice and actually went to school with my husband. The other woman is one of those moms who knows everybody and is always “willing to offer” advice, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, so they were talking about joining the neighborhood pool. From what I understand, it’s a nice little pool and they have parties and things like that, but there’s a very long waiting list. It’s the first thing everyone in the neighborhood asked me when we moved in. It’s the place to be and be seen around here. Let’s be honest, I have no intention of spending several hundred dollars to chase Jack around the pool while I get burnt to a crisp (translucent skin – I’m a redhead, remember?) and make sure none of the other kids pick on Tess. I am not above shoving a snotty little girl down, people, and blaming it on my clumsiness.

So the teacher mom says they were number 73 on the list, but actually got in. And I said something like, “Yeah, we were going to put our names on the list but I didn’t get to it this year.” She apparently heard something totally different and said, “Oh, you didn’t get in? What number were you?” Now, because I get nervous and don’t like to correct people I don’t really know (or who may play some part in shaping my children’s future), I didn’t repeat what I said. Instead, I chose: “Oh, I can’t remember, I just know we didn’t get in.” She looked at me like I was the biggest weirdo-liar she’d ever met. An extremely long, awkward pause followed.  Awesome.

The conversation between the two moms continued and I tried to kind of slink away from them, but the hallway is really narrow and Jack was holding on to my leg, so I looked more like a peg-legged pirate trying to avoid the spotlight while escaping from the prison yard. Yeah, totally nonchalant.

So, my only option now is to pretend like that never happened. But I can’t do that, because now whenever I see either of them, I’m going to be thinking that they think I’m a weirdo-liar, which means when I do see them, my face will turn bright red and I will upchuck a bunch of words on them which will further the notion that I am indeed a weirdo. Thank God there’s only a month left of school. I think putting three months between us will lessen my weirdo-liar status. Of course, when school starts in the fall, I’ll have another whole year to present my awkwardness to a new group of parents. My poor kids are so screwed.

March 18, 2010

Update

Filed under: Me — jen @ 4:21 pm

It didn't actually look this bad, but this is how it would be if we did a movie of the week about the incident.

The Wonder Car has been healed! Turns out, when my husband fixed the CV joint differential flux capacitor, he got a bum part. So, we got a new part, free of charge and the Certified Transmission people replaced it. They also topped off my transmission fluid, so my girl is good to go for another 12 years! We didn’t have to get a second mortgage on the house to pay for it, either.

Another St. Patrick’s Day miracle!

By the way, the mechanics were fabulous – very helpful and friendly. Kudos, Certified Transmission!

Also, non-Member had his mailbox up as of today. No court summons on my door this morning, so I think I’m safe.

March 16, 2010

Why Did I Wake Up on Monday?

Filed under: Me,Random — jen @ 10:01 pm

This never would have happened to Starsky or Hutch.

I’ve written about my wonder car before – the 1998 Honda Civic with the cracked windshield and missing trim, right?

As I was driving the kids to Tess’s eye appointment Monday, there was a situation. Just as I pulled out onto one of the busiest streets in the city, the car lurched forward – I heard a loud “pop” and thought I had run over a garbage can lid or something like that, although I didn’t see anything anywhere. Weird, I think to myself.

I put the car in first gear (it’s a stick shift) and step on the gas; nothing. I throw on the flashers. I put the car in reverse; nothing. The hell? Now of course, the cars are zooming by us and Tess is asking questions nonstop. I call my husband – no answer.

I realize at this point that I am the adult, so I need to figure something out quickly. And let me tell you, that was the worst part of this whole experience – realizing I am now a grownup, and not just any grownup, a grownup responsible for the lives of two small children. I kept looking around for other adults to tell me what to do next. So, I roll the car down the hill and as I’m turning onto the side street, a car appears (I almost didn’t see it). A woman, no older than me, who looks exactly like Maggie Gyllenhaal, gets out and asks if I need help. Yes! You be the adult for me, okay? Tell me what to do, please. We got the car off the busy street and I call my husband again – still no answer.

Maggie suggests that we park it in the adjacent driveway for a minute to get it out of the way. I suggest we roll it back a little farther and park on the street, between the two mailboxes along the curb. Yes, I think to myself, good adult suggestion. She is kind enough to push the car and tells me to get in and guide the car with my foot. Now, as you already know, in order for one to guide a car with one’s foot, the door needs to be open so said foot can touch pavement. Remember when I suggested we park it between the two mailboxes?

She’s pushing the car, I’m guiding it and she yells “Watch your door! Your door!” Her helpful suggestion was too late. There is now only one standing mailbox. I throw on the parking brake and as she goes to the house (where she had suggested, in a very grownup manner, we park the car anyway), I am frantically trying to yank the downed mailbox out from underneath my car door. Tess and Jack are now both crying. I tug at the mailbox while trying to calm my children without cursing. That’s tough to do. I finally get it out from underneath my door and am hurriedly shoving the poor guy’s mail back into his demolished mailbox.

The man was nicer than I expected after I murdered his mailbox. He must have seen the two crying children in the back of my car. An older gentleman had come out with him, wearing his Member’s Only jacket (awesome) and smoking a cigarette. “What’s the problem?” the Member asks, and I tell him my car died and so did his mailbox. I apologize to both of them profusely and the homeowner (non-Member) tells me  not to worry about it. “I’ll pay for it,” I say. He replies, “It’s just a post, it’s no big deal. Are you okay? Do you need to call someone?” Seriously, there are nice people in the world.

I try to call my husband for the seventh time and non-Member tells me he’ll give me a ride home, since it’s only three blocks away. Maggie also offers us a ride and stays with me because, like any paranoid woman, she doesn’t want a strange man (in the sense that I don’t know him “strange”) to drive us anywhere. I finally get ahold of my husband, who leaves one of his high-powered executive meetings to rescue us.

Tess is crying again as non-Member pulls up next to us and I thank him again and let him know that my husband is on his way. He tells me not to worry about the mailbox and goes inside. As Maggie and I are standing around, I explain that I’m a really good driver and it’s my car, not me that screwed up. She spies the giant scrape across the back bumper and again, I explain, really, I’m a good driver – I was attacked by a retaining wall. She laughs and points to her driver side mirror and says she was attacked by her garage.

Maggie offers her (real) name and number in case non-Member tries to come after me for the mailbox. “So you can tell the insurance company that you told me to watch out for his mailbox right before I smashed it?” I ask. She laughs and says she hadn’t thought of that. I thank her again and asked her why she stopped. “Because I have a little boy and I would have wanted someone to help me if that had happened to me.” Nice people exist. Amazing.

She drives off as my wonderful husband pulls up. We get the kids in his car, he drives us home and goes back to take a look at the old Civic. I check our auto insurance, thinking I have towing and rental car on both cars. Turns out, it’s just on his newer car – because that makes more sense. Have that on the more reliable car and not the 12 year- old-break-down-waiting-to-happen car.

We assume it’s the transmission and have it towed to a shop that specializes in that. When they finally called my husband back, they tell him they’re still “diagnosing” it, but they think it’s something really simple, or something really expensive (could be cancer, could be heartburn, still running tests). Meanwhile, my husband is bumming a ride to work and I get to drive the kids around in his car until we hear back from the specialists.

I stayed calm. I soothed my children, and we made it out alive. This grownup stuff is hard work. I don’t know that I care for it all that much.

By the way, I left $20 in non-Member’s door with a note thanking him for his help and apologizing for destroying his mailbox. See? More grownup stuff. I didn’t leave my number or name – I might be a grownup, but I’m not stupid.

March 9, 2010

Swimsational

Filed under: kids,Me,Random — jen @ 7:55 pm

Don't be fooled - there could be a puddle hiding in that field.

Fun fact: you can drown in two inches of water.

Okay, so you’d either have to fall in the shower, knocking yourself unconscious with no one around to hear the thump, or trip and fall, knock yourself unconscious and land face down in a puddle of water with no one around to roll you over. These are two very real possibilities for me. 

That’s right. I’m afraid of water. Always have been. That’s why I put my daughter in swimming lessons when she turned three. Jack will start at that age too. I don’t want my kids to be petrified of water like me. And also, should I be sucked in to a large body of water, or trip and fall into a puddle, one of my kids will (hopefully) save me. See how that works out? Circle of life, my friends. Not really, but you know what I mean.

Tess goes to a place that is pretty pricey for a half  hour session, but at least I can watch her and I know she’s in good hands. All the moms who take their kids there are stay-at-home and obviously very wealthy (except me). They all drive big, clean SUVs that could crush my 12 year-old Civic like a bug. I love parking in that lot; I have a huge crack across my windshield, the trim is missing on the bottom driver side and even though it’s been recently replaced, my exhaust sounds like an elephant fart. I feel like the Leather Tuscadero of the place or you know, the equivalent of the badass who does her own thing or whatever. I’m actually just lazy.

I’m usually wearing jeans and a shirt that I bought on clearance about five years ago, and my favorite pair of Puma sneakers. The other moms are dressed as though they will be attending the prom following swim class. My hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail; theirs looks like it was done by Jonathon Anton. They have their Blackberries out and Bluetooths stuck in their ears; I have my cell phone that plays “Kung Fu Fighting” when it rings. Hi, I’m Square Peg, nice to meet you.

Strangely, most of the women have either just had a baby or are about to. Of the four moms there whose children swim with Tess, two have recently had babies. And they all talk about it and compare births. I find this odd. They talk about breast feeding and their nipples and how much weight they gained and their issues with constipation. While I applaud their dedication to pregnancy, I really don’t care that one woman could only eat hard boiled eggs her entire pregnancy, thus having horrible gas for nine months.

Oh, I could jump in and share some really good stories, but yeah, it’s swim class and I don’t know any of you. So, I ply Jack with cookies and watch my daughter as she practices her “Robot-Chicken-Soldier” technique (I still don’t know what that is but the teacher tells me she’s doing great at it) or dumps water on the other kids’ heads. And I eavesdrop. I always hope to hear something really juicy, but mostly it’s them planning trips to Vegas sans kids (“I so need to get away for the weekend.” Really? Did Nanny call in sick one day this week? That’s not me being bitter, half of them do have nannies) or talking about Pilates class.

I’m very proud of Tess: she can swim the width of the pool without taking a breath, turn onto her back without stopping and her backstroke is beautiful. I don’t think the other moms even look in their kid’s direction in the 30 minutes we’re all together sitting on outdoor patio furniture inside. That’s what this is about. My baby learning something I don’t know how to do while I beam with pride. 

I guess I could feel inferior to these women and I’m sure I would if it were 10 years ago. I would have felt bad that I wasn’t wearing a $200 shirt and driving a fancy Lexus or Hyundai. But I can say, with complete honesty, I don’t care. I’m pretty cool with my broken-in sneakers and product-free hair. My old car is rad - she’s gotten me though some pretty difficult terrain (i.e.: the missing trim on the bottom of the car). And as I watch their children throw tantrums and beg to go to Applebee’s (Really? My kids like McDonald’s) for lunch, I just smile at my kids – my daughter dressing herself (the other four year-olds are being dressed by their moms) and chattering excitedly about how much she loves swimming, while Jack is busy flushing toilets and yelling “YAY!”

I might be out of place at over-priced swim school, and my polite children may be too, but at least my kids will be able to save me should I be sucker punched by a puddle and I won’t have to worry about getting my Louis Vuitton ruined in the attack.

January 30, 2010

About the Redhead

Filed under: Me — Tags: , , , — jen @ 12:49 pm

My first typewriter, circa 1978

My name is Jen and I’m a thirty-ish year old writer without a writing job. I live in Omaha, Nebraska; people say this is the Heartland, but I’m not really sure anybody knows what that means – I don’t. I know people think we’re all hicks out here, but let me state for the record: I’ve never driven or ridden a tractor, milked a cow or made out with a relative. However, I didn’t see an ocean until I was 27 years old (so I am a bit of a hick, I guess).

I have two beautiful kids (more on them later), a dashing husband (you don’t hear that word a lot and it makes me a little sad), a dog (not the brightest of his species) and a mortgage (refinance: 1). I’m a work-from-home mom who is on the verge of trying something new (again, more on that later). And yes, I am clumsy. I fall up stairs almost daily, I fall off chairs, out of bed and once I even fell off of a curb and broke my foot. A curb. Not a mountain or a horse. A bright yellow, 4” high piece of cement.

I used to think my life was boring, but I’ve realized boring might be a good thing. I think most people have boring lives, so maybe we can all relate better to each other if we quit pretending that we’re all so fabulously interesting. We’re not. Unless you really are, then you should consider an autobiography and hire me as your ghostwriter.

I studied writing in college; I even received an official looking piece of paper that says I know how to write creatively. That little piece of paper with the fancy gold foil sticker has not helped me much in real life (sorry mom & dad). The writing was put on hold so I could get a non-writing job to pay the bills. But now I’ve decided to give it another go, because that’s what I feel like I need to do.

You’ll find on here some pictures and videos I think are cool, funny or stupid and just random things I like. And of course, what it’s like to be a clumsy idiot.

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