Why We Bombed the Moon

What to Expect When You're Expecting has been on the paperback nonfiction best seller list for like 300 years. I read that book and it left me completely unprepared. Not unprepared for the baby thing, although I have admitted to letting my kid roll off the footstool once or twice. No, I was unprepared for all the stuff that comes WAY after the kid is old enough to tell you the ottoman is not a good perch for a roly poly infant or that they need to eat every few hours. Whatever, Lucky Charms comes in an easy open box for a reason.

Walking though a bookstore today, I felt underwhelmed, put-out and generally under-served by the book publishing industry (This means you Random House). I can go into a bookstore and learn how to make my own hominy (pass the lye, please) and then dry it in the sun and whack it with a rock to make my own grits. I can get a book to teach me how to raise sheep, weave my own cloth, dye it with onion peels and sew my own root vegetable clothes. I can learn how to read the Bible and speak Yiddish.

But there are no books called What to Expect When your Kid is about to turn 13. If this book existed it would need chapters like "I Hate You Means I Love You" or "Just Because I Throw Up in Your Car Doesn't Mean I Speed Ate 14 Hot Dogs at the Football Game After You Specifically Told Me Not to."

No one writes these books because what happens when you raise boys to be about 12 or 13 is supposed to happen in secret. No one wants to know how it happens at your house, they just want to see the finished product in the shiny, polite Eagle Scout. And, if someone did write this book and someone else who was considering procreation read the book, there might not be any more people. Come to think of it, I bet the CIA would come and take any manuscript away and fire it at the moon so that no one really knows what goes on in houses with 12 or 13 or 14 year olds.

And, I think I finally understand why we bombed our moon a week ago. Someone had the audacity to write a book about how to raise kids to be decent Eagle Scouts but included chapters about all the crap you have to go through to get there and the government took the book and shot it into a crater on the moon to save humanity. Good thing they did so that I can remain as clueless as ever for the next 7 years or so.

7th Grade- Then and Now

A&P start 7th grade tomorrow. I have several problems with this, not the least of which is that Peter is as tall as me. I need to get a stool and really high heels so I can still appear authoritative even though I know for darned sure I'm not.

In honor of their 7th grade inauguration, I will reflect on differences in my life from when I was in 7th grade and today. Sounds deep, doesn't it?

Then: Lots of clothes and shoes
Now: Lots of clothes and shoes (hmmmm, that's exactly the same except I am pretty sure nothing I currently own has a rainbow on it)

Then: Mean girls suck.
Now: Yes, they still suck, but I just don't care anymore. Chances are, I'm meaner.

Then: A boyfriend would be handy.
Now: A boyfriend would be handy for picking up the kids or giving me cash. However, I'm sure my husband would object. Ho-hum.

Then: Gym shorts make my butt look funny.
Now: Enough said.

Then: Lunch = Twinkies.
Now: Were I to eat Twinkies for lunch I should sooner put one in each pocket (front and back) because that's where it ends up.

That's about all I can remember. In order to protect itself, my brain has eliminated as many 7th grade memories as possible while still maintaining vital function.

Happy 7th Grade A&P!

This is your brain: Home Alone

WARNING: This is my brain. (OK, it's a replica, relax. How could I type this if that was really my brain.) Random thoughts on being left home alone. No need to call the authorities. Really.

While home alone I have:

• Organized my socks
• Worked
• Had a few martinis (or 18, whatever)
• Did my own laundry
• Had a phone conversation and was not interrupted, not even once
• Turned off the lights and they stayed off
• Listened to Yo Yo Ma and did not get harassed
• Hit my snooze button a few extra times

Sounds pretty successful? OMG, don't let this fool you. When are they coming back?

So they called last night. I had a conversation with Peter, but I thought it was Andrew. Does that count as having conversation with both of them? I felt terrible that I had mixed them up. My normal foolproof way of not messing this up is starting every conversation with "Which one are you?" I was feeling over confident, queen of my twinless domain and I blew it. This is so going to add years to their therapy. In my own defense, they sound totally alike, but for a little bit of attitude on that Peter kid.

Once when they were little, Tim and the boys picked me up at the airport in Detroit. I had been gone for about 5 days on a business trip. I opened the side door of the minivan to find two very similar faces staring at me from their car seats. I HAD NO IDEA WHICH ONE WAS WHICH. So you say "Hey Boys!"

What a loser. Even people at the grocery store or school say things like: "Hey since you're their mom you probably never mess them up." But I do, all the time. I must be lacking some sort of identical twin Mom never messes up the kids ever or they'll be in therapy for years gene. Yep, they really drew the short straw when they ended up with me.

Wow. Where exactly did I put that drink???

Home Alone

(Cue creepy ghost town music. A tumbleweed blows down the driveway. The lights are on, but no body's home....)



Yes, we're home alone. I vacillate between my thirteen year old (Omigosh I've been left home alone self) and my older (doesn't matter how much older, but it's nowhere near 40, ahem) more responsible self.



13year old me: Whoo Hoo! I am inviting over my friends and watching whatever I want on TV while simultaneously bouncing on the couch, talking to someone on the phone, drinking pop in the room with the white carpet, and wearing red lipstick. Awesome!

Regular me: Huh?

So here we are, sitting around in our underwear, blowing off our friends, watching basketball and drinking gin & tonics. Where are they, you ask? Where are the lovelies? Did you send them to the military school down the road? Guam? A detention center?

ON VACATION WITH THEIR GRANDPARENTS FOR A WEEK!

(Cue Beastie Boys "Fight for your right to Party", dance like a wacko in the kitchen and eat the sushi that you don't have to share with anyone but the spouse.)

I won't bounce on my furniture since I know what I paid for it but I might:

• Eat all the raisin toast and Lucky Charms without being accosted.
• Forget how to do laundry, except for my own which is kind of overdue.
• Read a book
• Research my book "52 weeks, 52 Martinis: Essays on Twin Parenting"
• Do my Snoopy happy dance
• Wait for the phone to ring- why haven't they called all day?
• Sleep with their stuffed animals

Those last two were pathetic.

My 13 year old self is telling me to paint my toe nails bright blue and make some nachos. Talk at ya later!

Career Calamities Part 1

Career Mismanagement is my theme for this week.

After my weekend adventures, I thought I might have to resign from my position. Alas, I'll probably survive but this calamity got me to thinking about all the dumb things that I've ever said or done while at work or while performing my various duties. Let's just say that I could write a book. I have some flaws, er, gifts:

• I have a big mouth.
• I swear.
• I occasionally take prisoners.
• I eat all the office candy, usually before 9am.
• I run into things and trip on the stairs.
• I tell lots of Knock Knock jokes.
• I wear high heels to intimidate my foes until I trip and fall.

To protect my employer, my co-workers and any other innocent parties, let's pretend I work for a not for profit "pet food manufacturer". This organization has taken me in and taught me everything there is to know about pet food. I'm not allowed around pets because I'm allergic and I might do the wrong thing- like step on someones tail. Instead, I get to do all the pet food sales negotiations.

This fabulous victuals purveyor had a fund raising event this past weekend. Many of my cohorts were in attendance including but not limited to the CEO and others from that particular wing of the building so it's time to pull out the best behavior and supportive undergarments. Me and the spouse got all dressed up and headed for the festivities. I had a nice new dress with a modest neck line. (This is an important feature.)

All in all, I was very well behaved. I didn't drink too much. I didn't fall out of my shoes. I didn't say anything off-color about pets or pet food or pet food purveyors.

Everything was proceeding swimmingly. Peachy, in fact, until I spotted my boss. She is fabulous. She's beautiful and smart and always wears very nice shoes. We have had many a conversation about shoes instead of pet food. I saddled on up to her and had a nice chat about shoes.

How nice and innocent- A chat about shoes at a nice pet food fundraising event. Until the CEO approached us to say hello. In the background the music was blasting and a few folks were bouncing around on the dance floor. (NOTE: I cannot dance. I am a pale skinned Protestant from Wisconsin. )

CEO: Hello!

CFO: Hey! You know Jennifer, right!?

CEO: Sure! Hello!

CFO: Hey! You two should dance!

CEO: Good idea! C'mon, let's go!

Me inside my head: NOOOOOOOOOOOO! This is very, very, very bad.

Before I knew it, this rhythmically challenged dork from Wisconsin is being dragged to the dance floor by the CEO to dance to "Boogie Shoes." Miraculously, it is over in 2 minutes or less and I have not fallen out of my dress or off of my shoes. I have not stepped on him nor have I performed any Jr High dance moves that I learned from MTV. Heavens to Mercitroid, I'm saved...

CEO: Hey! That was short, let's dance another one!

Me inside my head: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! This is very, very, very bad!

Mortified, I smile my biggest toothy grin and flutter my eyelashes as the music changes to (horrors) "Love Shack" by the B52's.

I was stranded with the CEO on the nearly empty dance floor in front of a room with 500 people in it, dancing to "Love Shack."

CEO: Hey! You're a little stiff! Loosen Up!

Unbeknownst to me, all of the executives saw this foot challenged, odd presentation.

On Monday morning, I was doing my best to hide under my desk and plan my exit when two of my male colleagues stormed my office singing "I've got me a car! It's as big as a Whale and it's about to set sail!"

Today it continued at our management meeting. I got a variety of high fives, notes passed to me about having the next dance and folks whispering in my ear "Love Shack Baby!"

The CEO walked by once and I dove into a rubbish receptacle.

Next Calamity???

Random Happy Hour Pairings

I love Happy Hour. And, I love sugary snacks. My dentist adores me. Here are some favorite drinks and snacks for any occasion (I am so like Martha Stewart but with a bottle.)

1. Feeling blue? Make a gin and tonic with Bombay Gin in the blue bottle. Grab a handful of blueberry jelly beans.

2. Angry? Have a Bloody Mary with extra Tabasco and some fireballs.

3. Happy? Cosmos and marshmallow Peeps. Need I say more?

4. Sun Shining? Dirty Martini with blue cheese olives. The olives do double duty as your dinner.

5. Vernal Equinox? Make a gin and tonic with Tanqueray in the green bottle. Grab a handful of apple jelly beans.

6. Summer Solstice? Chilled Sauvignon Blanc and carrots.

7. Sad? Chocolate martini and a Godiva chocolate bunny. Mmmmm, bunny. (Think Homer Simpson and donuts.)

8. Insecure? Cosmos and cheese, no, carrots, no pretzels. Whatever.

9. Celebratory? Cosmo topped with champagne, box of Godiva chocolate.

10. Saturday Afternoon? Cosmo and cold pizza.

Don't you wish you lived next door? I'll be right over to borrow a cup of vodka- I'm almost out.

I Want Candy

I love candy. Once when I was a little kid, I ate the lavender sachet, smelly things in my dresser drawers because I was so desperate for candy.

Unfortunately, not much has changed. I have, however, curtailed the eating of toxic substances.

I know that candy will make me fat and rot my teeth. I know that it does weird things to my blood sugar after I speed eat an entire bag of conversation hearts. Alas, I have little control except to stock up on carrots and celery and walk right on by the candy display at the grocery store even though the peach rings and gummy worms are screaming "BUY ME! EAT ME!"

Gummy bears are a particular favorite- especially when I fly. It gets me through take off without screaming "Are you sure we're not crashing???" and clinging to my seat mate.

As further evidence of my addiction here is the conversation with myself every afternoon at work...

Me as Candy Hound: Hey, it's 3:00 and this project is driving me crazy. There's candy in my assistant's office. There's candy in the vending machine.

Normal Me: No, don't do this. Your teeth will rot and you can't have dessert at dinner if you eat this now. Just send one more email and yell at one more person and this will pass. Your pants won't fit if you keep doing this.

Me as Candy Hound: You can't stop me. I'm getting up and walking out the door, down the hall and I'm going right to that vending machine and I'm buying M&M's. I'm going to eat half of them on the way back. (Insert maniacal laughter here)

Normal Me: HA! No, you won't! You left all your change in the car to stop yourself from doing this in the middle of the afternoon. And, there isn't any more sweet stuff in your assistant's office because you ate it all at 8:30 this morning, you weakling!

Me as Candy Hound: You Witch! You Harpy! (grabs purse and dumps it upside down looking for change) ARGH! (Digging through desk) There must be a lint encrusted DumDum in here somewhere!

*Phone rings*

You probably don't want to be the one calling me at 3:05.