Best Mom Tip #163: Give in to a rant now and then

I have been grumpy and distracted for the last few weeks. Therefore, I will now complain about random things.

First of all, I think that October's Breast Cancer Awareness has gone too far. Not everything in pink needs to remind us of boobs. There's a plumber with a pink van near my house and every time I see it I think, "why is that giant breast cancer van here?"

The NFL and MLB have both made parts of players' uniforms pink. This is ridiculous. Why should I have to try to explain to my children the reasoning behind pink towels hanging down by sweaty men's crotches that are there to remind women to do breast self exams? Why is the NFL involved, anyway? Because men who watch Monday Night Football also like breasts? Are they hoping that some guy named Bert will yell out, "honey, can you bring me a beer? And, don't forget to feel yourself up in the shower!" I'm not sure that this is on point with the message.

I know that this sounds shallow, but I'm just kind of tired by the entire color and month being taken over by one disease that isn't even America's number one killer of women. Before you decide that I'm completely evil, I would like to say that I lost my beloved Aunt Charlotte to breast cancer and had she been more diligent about her yearly exams it could have made a difference. But you know what, she would never have watched a sport on television and she hated pink.

Secondly, I had the following exchange with Jay yesterday.

Me: I just want to warn you that I started watching a movie you're not going to like. It's that It's Complicated one about the divorced people having an affair. I know how old people sex freaks you out.

Jay: Eh...less and less.

What the hell does he mean by that? I am totally offended, but I'm not sure exactly why. I mean, ultimately I want him to be into me even when we're old, but are we there already? Or can he just see it from here? I don't know, but I certainly feel older and I blame him. I also blame the smug 20-something people who have recently told me (with great pride) that they've never died their hair. Well, good for you. You've also never spent all night with a baby gnawing on your boobs or hours in the mirror trying to figure out why your stomach skin seems to now be a separate body part. Let's just wait and see if your hair virgin status stands when the grays show up. Because I will NOT be flabby, droopy, AND gray while in my 30s. Or 40s. Or 80s. I cannot control the first two, but I can control gray. For $7.99.

Finally, here are two things that annoy me about my kids' schools. Why is the car line to pick up or drop off kids called a carpool? It is not a carpool. I'm not picking up a bunch of kids to drive to a parking lot closer to their houses. We are not saving resources or limiting pollution. We are sitting in our cars with the engines running for 30 minutes in a line of cars. Not a carpool. Also, why are there so many parent volunteer "opportunities" in elementary school? Every single week, you can volunteer for parent reader, parent math help, classroom volunteer, music, art, and morning computer time. You can also show up for lunch, classroom parties, and donuts for dads/muffins for moms. I spent 10 years teaching high school and I never had any parent volunteers. I just feel guilty for not wanting to go--there are only 22 kids in a class and there are 6 slots a week. Ugh. Can't we just let them go to school and see them when they get home? Maybe I am evil.

Anyway, that's it for right now. Maybe I can become a grumpy old woman and take Andy Rooney's job now that it's open.

Best Mom Tip #161: Give up bodily functions

I cannot go to the bathroom in peace. I feel that this is going to cause some sort of serious digestive problem for me in the future. I try to time it so that I only go when Harry is asleep and the other two are at school, but Griffin only goes to school 3 days a week so that is quite a challenge on the other 4 days.

Jay does not understand. It has taken me years to get him to remember that if he walks in the door from work and goes to the bathroom, I will freak out. I don't think he understands why, exactly, but he respects the fact that my head will spin around and I will shoot flames out of my ears if, in the first 30 minutes he is home, he has to pee. Poor man. He probably thinks I'm crazy.

But I know what the restrooms are like in his office and I cannot understand why he would wait to go here. At work, there are three stalls. It is quiet in there. There is not enough space under the door for people to stick their fingers. He does not have to stock the soap, toilet paper, or paper towels. For those few minutes, he is alone with his thoughts. Whatever they may be because every time I ask what he is thinking, he says "nothing."

The real problem is that nothing good happens while I'm in the bathroom. I hear things like, "don't worry, Mommy, Harry's o.k." and "we're waving to the man in the yard!" and "Mommy, where are your scissors--oh, never mind!"

I've also heard, "Mommy, I made a cross on the window!" I replied, "that's great, honey."

Then I thought about it. "Wait, with what?" "Just spit." How lovely.

They cannot even seem to watch TV without me if I go to the bathroom. Someone will manage to change the channel or switch the TV input or delete the recording they're watching and then the herd of elephants comes to the door to plead their case for why it wasn't their fault.

Today I managed to use the facilities in peace, but when I came out I discovered opened drawers in my bedroom. Including the one on the nightstand next to the bed that houses....personal items. The older kids were watching PBS, but Harry was wandering freely and he really has no fear of invading my privacy.

I spent the rest of the Curious George episode trying to surreptitiously search the playroom for foil packets before I find my 6-year-old trying to sound out the word "Trojan" later on in the week. I'm terrified that I will find a shiny new addition to Buzz Lightyear's spaceship or the Little People doll house that will cause me to burst into flames. It's going to be a long few years.

Best Mom Tip #139: Repeat what SHE said

Have you ever seen The Office? Of course you have. You don't live under a rock, for heaven's sake. Then you've also seen Michael Scott say, "that's what she said." It's an adolescent sexual innuendo joke that Jay and I use. A lot. I mean a lot, a lot. Here are some examples:

Me: (talking about potty training) It's disgusting and it's so hard.

Jay: That's what she said.

Me: (after a kid threw a towel on me) Why is there a towel on my head?

Jay: That's what she said.

Me: Wait, what? Why would she say that?

Jay: (talking about work) I'm just so tired of this every day.

Me: That's what she said.

Me: (searching through our unfolded laundry) I can't find any underwear!

Jay: That's what she said.

Jay: (commenting on how long it takes to leave the house with all of our kids) It just takes forever.

Me: That's what she said.

Jay: (trying to organize the garage) I can't figure out where to put everything.

Me: That's what she said.

Me: (washing dishes with our broken faucet that sprays water at my stomach) Why do I keep getting wet?!

Jay: That's what she said.

In our world SHE has a pretty bumbling sex life that is confused, chaotic, and possibly involves bondage (what with that towel on her head and all).

But it makes us laugh and giggle and puts our minds in the gutter instead of on our tree-lined suburban street (complete with HOA covenants and reminders to cut our grass).

Throwing in a naughty joke or two draws out the playful side of our relationship in the midst of the nagging problems of parenthood and home ownership. It all comes down to this: Do whatever it takes to make it last...

That's what she said.

Best Mom Tip #121: Look at the world around you

Last week while I was driving with my two year old we had the following conversation:

Griffin: My see cwouds. Yots uh cwouds. (I see clouds. Lots of clouds.)

Me: You see clouds? They're pretty aren't they?

Griffin: My wan' tuss dem. (I want to touch them).

Me: You can't touch them, they're too high.

Griffin: My can' weech. Weeeeeeeeeech. (I can't reach. Reeeeeeeaaaaaach.)

He tried very hard to reach his little hand out the rolled up car window to touch the clouds and I thought about how I NEVER try to touch clouds any more. I now know that it is impossible, of course, but why not try? At the very least I would get in a good stretch. At the very most, I might become inspired to metaphorically reach for the clouds and figure out what I'm supposed to be doing with my life. That might be asking a bit much out of the clouds.

Since that little drive I've been trying to listen and look at the world around me more. The trees are still beautiful even without their leaves. The frogs that create a giant chorus in the marsh behind my house are comforting. The coming rain smells clean and fresh even while my knee aches because the barometer has dropped.

Granted, really looking at the world can backfire some. At a scenic overlook over the weekend I saw two men wearing work boots sharing an amorous embrace behind what they thought was a solid row of bushes. That was a bit more scenery than I was bargaining for.

However, even that sight reminded me that there is more to this life than I often see. Look around, people. It's an interesting world out there.

Best Mom Tip #119: Moisturize your feet

Please enjoy an excerpt from my new romance novel, The Throbbing Heart....

I lay in the center of the big bed enjoying the cocoon-like feel of the plush bedding. Jay entered the room and began shedding his clothing as he walked to the bed. He slid under the covers, curving around my back and wrapping his arms around my waist.

"Mmmmmm, you're warm," he said.

Normally I was ice-cold so my warmth both pleased and surprised him.

"I know. That's what happens when I get to bed before you," I teased, knowing he could hear the smile in my voice.

"No, you're really warm. Even your feet." He slid his foot up my leg from my toes to my calf and back down again.

"Well," I smiled again,"I do have on socks."

"Huh." He sounded surprised. I wondered at that for a moment and then it hit me.

"Couldn't you tell I had on socks when you rubbed my feet?"

"Well, you have really scratchy feet. I mean..." He realized his mistake and began to backpedal. "My feet aren't really very sensitive and I was just confused for a minute..."

"You think my feet are so scratchy they feel like I'm wearing socks?!!! You sure blew your chance at getting lucky tonight on that one, buddy."

"Dammit."

Stay tuned for more exciting moments of domestic pleasure in future installments of The Throbbing Heart. Also, head to Bath and Body Works for some foot scrub.