It's a little something we call patience

Our son, Jack, is the light of our lives.
He is funny, kind, inquisitive and silly.
He is soft when I need him to let me rest my head on his overlong curls.

No, I am not cutting his hair anytime soon.
I like it.
I am waiting for the humidity to see what these curls really look like.
What?
He's mine. It's not like I tattoo'd him or something.



Oh, how cute would that be?


Tangent...


We've been told countless times he is the perfect combo of us.
In looks.

For personality, it's about 90 percent me.

Mostly my worst things.

Noisy. Not so much for the patience. Back-talky.

Example.

Begged me to rent Super Mario Brothers for Wii.
He is neither sufficiently mature or Wii-ified to handle this game.
But, it was raining and I passed the desicion to his father.

I thought Lucio knew the party line.
He told me he'd have time to read my mind again after finals.

Suffice to say, fucking Luigi was back in my living room yesterday.

Darling child calls to me from the living room in his sweetest voice, "Mommy, will you come play with me? Daddy doesn't know how to get to Bowser."

I chime back, "Coming, buddy. Give me a few minutes."

I am folding fitted sheets. I had to watch a video on the internet and still I need to take out my Martha Stewart Housekeeping book for a ready reference.

"How long,Mommy?"

"Three minutes, " I relay. I am almost caught up on "Real Housewives of NYC".

I just know that bitch Jill wants to make nice nice with Bethany so she can be a bridesmaid.

A bit dejected, but otherwise on board, Jack trills, "Okay, Mommy."

He is patient. Maybe I am adequate parent who can balance work and family.

Sheets finish and put away.
Closing line, "Only by Bravo."

Team Bethany.
Jill is a classless twazoo.
And don't even get me started on the pot-stirring countess.
Class? Try steerage.


14 seconds later, "Mommy, I don't like to be kept waiting."

I turn around, remote control in my hand and see the image of me, hands on hips, taping is foot at me.

Really? Really.

Let's see how he likes a standoff.

Pure Romance

On a warm spring evening in quiet midwestern town, 16 women got together for an evening of giggles, wine, and cheese.

Most knew the hostess from Junior League.

Well dressed. Well spoken. Well educated.

Fine women.
Good, all american women.
Salt of the earth.

As the wine poured and the nibbles were passed around, these women appeared unphased by the appearance of a 9 inch long purple dildo stuck to the windsill of the hostesses living room window.

The x-scream cream raised nary an eyebrow when it was promised to stimulated both partners at the same time.

Whips with delicate pink feathers protruded from the purses of these fine citizens.

Our hostess, who hails from the land of the loud and the pushy was stunned to learn her friends, colleagues, neighbors, and fellow volunteers had spent more that $1,450 on sex toys that evening.

It's possible I've been misjudging Illinois.

Just when I think I have this state completely figured out, it throws me curve.

Women were marching out of our 5 year old son's ocean themed room laden down with handbags they could no longer carry.

The best part?

The hostess orders last, getting 10 percent of the take off her order. Schwing!
And free stuff.
I love free stuff.
Platimum Pete will be all mine by the end of the week.

Oh, yeah, that's right. These same midwestern women bought out most of the supply of absolutely everything.

By 10:55 pm there wasn't a whip to be had, a cream to be smelled or licked, or a on switch in the vicinity.

They came.
They saw.
They shopped.

And then the came again.

Just some things to think about

April 7th

Dearest self,

Though I find you nothing but funny, charming and an all around crowd pleaser, it's possible this sentiment is not shared by all.

I know.
I was shocked too.
Breathe. I said possible.

Things to consider...

You're the loudest person many people know. I point this out because a few of the people who have told you that you are the loudest person they know (gentle reminder here that you asked them this question directly) genuinely love you.

Maybe not every second of everyday.
Maybe not in the confined space of a hotel room.
But in general, these are the people that love you.
So, maybe you are a touch too loud. Dial it down just a smoosh.

Just putting it out there.

And another nugget to consider..respectfully, you are fairly quick to judge. I assume you know this one already, given the name of your blog and all. Still, I would feel remiss had I not mentioned it.

You've said it before - you idle at challenging. So, maybe a touch more patience would do wonders.

Maybe pointing out the cultural failings of your neighbors and colleagues, especially those who might be genuinely fearful of, I don't know, people from New Jersey, speaks as much to who you are as to who they are.

I remind you. You cannot change them. Or their hair. You can only change you.

And Lucio and Jack. I know I know.

Again, just roll around with it. See if you like how it moves.

Finally, I suggest you consider the reckless abandon with which your body releases sounds.

I'm talking about the gas, lovely.
The gas in your ass.
And elsewhere.

We're not 12 anymore, and we're not boys. You need to invest in both some Bean-o and scented candles. Maybe cut out the soda. I'm not saying this is what will cause friendships to collapse, but really, it's not helping.

See, how hard was that?
You still have way healthy hair without spending a fortune (XOXO Suave), a biting sense of humor that the really smart people in your life both appreciate and welcome and, let's be honest, the best friends on Earth.

And you have cutest new pair if Wedges coming from Zappos.com

Extra Exta love,
Me