Classic Ella.

On Saturday, I was in my chair reading.  Also, I was annoyed that I turned on a “show” (read: Maggie and the Ferocious Beast which I loathe and Mimi loves), lost the remote and was too lazy to get out of my chair and turn off the tv.  The littles had retreated to Mimi’s room as soon as the opening theme rolled.

Figures.

So I’m in my chair and Ella comes to me with a doll.  Her Bitty Baby, that has languished in Amelia’s orphanage for dirty and misplaced dolls for years, is wearing only a diaper.  She hands me the doll and a doll swimsuit made for a doll several inches smaller than this one.

“Can you put this on her?  We are taking the kids swimming.”

Sure.  Do you need this diaper on?  I’m not sure the swimsuit will fit.

“It’s a swim diaper.”

Right.

“She has two diapers on actually.” (This is a true statement) 

Oh.  Yeah you can’t be too careful.  Wouldn’t want the pool to get poop in it.

“Well, she has butt-itis.  The pool water could make it worse.”

Right.

“It’s very itchy.  But it’s something she was born with so she’ll have it her whole life.  She may never have a normal butt.  That’s okay.  That’s just how God made her.”

She walked away with her kid crammed into a too small swimsuit and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.  I’m pretty sure a little of both were involved.

It’s very cool when your kids get it.  “It” being the kindness and understanding that so many older kids and adults seem to have never learned.  Or, they forgot.

I hope she never forgets.

Excuses and A-holes.

This morning was AFC (Advanced Fat Camp).  I don’t know how well I’m going to like the morning class.  Sure, it works better with my schedule but I feel like I need the late afternoon to stave off the crazy angries.  And the stress eating.  Which, it turns out, is about all I eat.  I resolve to work on it.

Today was slated for our 30 minute treadmill test.  Get on the treadmill.  Go for 30 minutes.  Record distance.  The speed is ultimately up to the individual.  This is the 7th such test I have done.  My best is 2.04 miles.  My worst was 1.64.  Today was 1.84.  I’m nothing if not consistent.  And not awful considering I’ve had about 2 months off. 

We also weighed in and got measured.  Waist is the same.  Hips the same.  Didn’t check thighs but it’s probably the same.  Weight is up 3 pounds.  Figures.

As she is measuring my waist, I say This ought to be interesting.  I’m totally bloated.

(Please don’t make me say why.)

Molly says “That’s an excuse.  Excuses are like assholes.  Know why?”

Everybody has one?

“Nobody wants to hear about it.”

Cracked me up.  Seriously.  Big slobbery girl-crush kisses to my trainer.  This?  Is why I keep going back.  She knows me well.

The thing is that I’m full of excuses.  I can rationalize myself into (or out of) anything.  I can do it to you too.  I am the great enabler. 

I’ve been dealt a shitty life so I don’t have to be nice.

My kids are both sick so I shouldn’t have to go and volunteer.

I’ve had a tough day and cookies would make be feel better.

I worked hard.  I deserve that new outfit/gadget/smelly lotion.

See?  This one knows me.  Or maybe she was just frustrated by the extra whining that comes during the first week of any new class.

Also, in the Land of the Blogs, one’s asshole is not off-limits.  It is on this blog but not on others.  So somebody wants to hear about it.

Absolut Valentine.

Oh, eharmony, how you vex me.  My brain is feverish trying to outwit you.  All I want is a sign of life.  Some form of personality that is sure to exist.  Is anyone out there?

I tried to change my profile picture but you rejected it:

I figured I could get a response that I would not get if I used the tried and true profile picture.  Lack of mascara and all.  But, no, eharmony.  You had to be an asshole, didn’t you?  Why do you hate on creativity? 

So I changed my responses from tame to…unusual?  I’m considering pretending to be a man just to see what kind of things women are posing.  Posting.  Whatever.  Think like a man.  I know they are visual and since I can’t possibly pretend to be the hot chick, I have go with booze and food. 

Question 1: What are you most passionate about?

My new answer:  The perfect fried cheese, books that keep me up late at night, making sure my daughters do not grow up to be tramps and the owners of trucks with a bumper sticker that says “Save a horse, ride a cowboy.”

Question #2: What are THREE things for which you are most thankful?

My new answer:  Clean laundry, laughing until I pee, Miller Lite

Question #6:  What is the most important quality you are looking for in another person?

My new answer:  I am looking for a grown up.  I don’t mean an old fart, set in their ways, eats dinner before the news kind of grown up.  I mean somebody looking for a real person.  Oh, and a sense of humor is always nice.

Question #9:  How do you typically spend your leisure time?

My new answer:  Planning the next nap.  Barring that, I bake.  I bake cookies and bread and snacks and dinners.

Question #7:  Other than appearance, what do people typically notice about you?

My new answer:  I’m usually the funny looking friend of the hot girl.  Because of that, I’m not noticed until much later.

Question#11:   Describe the last book that you read and enjoyed. What was it about? What did you like most about it?

My new answer:  I devour books like most people devour a taco.  I would have to update this every day or so and that would just get annoying.

Question #12:  Describe one thing about yourself that only your best friends know.

My new answer:  I laugh at things that twelve year old boys find funny.

Seriously?  Does anyone actually read profiles anyway?  I didn’t get a single match today.  (Oh eharmony, are you on to me?  Will you honestly take my money for a fourth month and not even get me a little over the sweater action?)  If I had more ambition, I might call the better business bureau and have them come after Dr. Quack and his ultimate compatibility formula. 

Still, the experience is not nearly as bad as Weight Watchers.  Who knows?  Maybe somebody out there will share my love of Nutty Bars.

La vie boheme.

I know, I know. 

I’ve been busy.  It’s an 80 hour work week and mama isn’t used to this.  Apparently, I’m older than I was last year. 

I will be able to write more later about how I left my littles with MIL and not-my-stepfamily and how the matron of the step family is on her death bed for the 18th time this year and keeps getting better.  And maybe how my children can be bought off by bright pink shoes that (gasp) light up.  Or quite possibly about the union brothers and their love of homoerotic humor.

But I leave you with this little gem:

What does a stagehand smell like after sex?    Mace.

Pulled over.

For 17 years, I have been operating a motor vehicle.  Legally.  In 17 years, I have been pulled over for any number of reasons most of which have been mechanical.  I usually have a small heart attack every single time.  The first time I was pulled over, I was a newly minted 16 year old out of town without permission.  Try explaining that one.  And the $55 ticket that went with it.

So today, Amelia and I were in the van heading out to pick up Ella from school.  We were right on time.  We live on the edge of town but heading into town the speed limit drops quickly from 35 to 25.  Almost without warning (except for the sign…dur).  Just on the other side of the speed limit sign is a S curve and an underpass.  See where this is going?

I saw the cop too late, just past the sign.  I saw the car get into gear and it had to follow me for about 20 feet.  I knew what I had done.  About 41 in a 25.  Got popped for nearly $125.  “Drive safely today, ma’am” she says to me. 

Figures.

It was my time.  It’s been 17 years.  And I was spacing off.  As I have a tendency to do right around lunch.  It’s not my best time of the day.  But that’s like 2 weeks worth of groceries around here. 

Just figures.

Here’s the funny part.  My little parrot was in the vehicle with me.  Know what she’s been saying all day?  “Oh crap.”  Over and over.  Could have been worse but I learned my lesson there.  She was saying it while the cop was explaining the ticket.  I’m pretty sure she was amused.  Not amused enough to let me off with a warning of course but I get the feeling that she understood what Amelia was saying.  And why.

There’s a hole.

Scene:  the bathtub

My 2 littles are spashing their way to a cleaner tomorrow.  I am walking around the house picking up random pieces of clothing to fill the washer with kids’ clothes because Ella got ketchup all over her much loved, much worn Hanna playdress.  Heard from the bathroom:

“Stand up, Melia.  I’m the doctor now.”

Uh-oh.  This is new.  Whatcha doin’, Ella?  I peek around the corner and she’s got her nose *this close* to Amelia’s crack.

“I think she has a problem with her butt.”

Her butt is fine.  Amelia, sit down in the tub.

“No, there’s a hole in her butt.  It needs a butt plug.”  She holds the plug for the tub drain against her sister’s butt cheeks.

I swear to you, those are words never uttered around my children.  My answer?

Oh, well, carry on then.

And then I wet myself laughing.

Brownies.

I’m not sure that this bears repeating but for those of you who have recently read Such a Pretty Fat (and you know who you are), you will enjoy this. 

My IRL friend had a baby 3 months ago.  And had one 13 months before that one.  And had one 20 months before that one.  Thusly, she feels a little out of shape.  Having had moderate success with Weight Watchers in the past, she has decided to begin again.  The first meeting for her is tonight. 

So I’m on the phone with her and she’s in the grocery store and I hear her say “Brownies!  Yum!  Oh, and they have ones with sprinkles for the top!” 

My response being “Hey, aren’t you going to Weight Watchers soon?” 

And she says “Yeah but not until tonight and I had better eat them now because I’m pretty sure they will get taken away.”

Is that like having one last beer before checking into Betty Ford?