Light it Up, Beyotch!

All that means is that I'm going to attempt to put up some Christmas lights...before Christmas is over. I'm sure there will be something humorous, or sad, to write about my experience.

Parental Tip #37:

When in the course of trying to be a fun mom, if you ever find yourself saying, "Shoot me in the forehead with the Nerf gun...," stop yourself before you get hit. At close range, Nerf suction cup bullets hurt--and will most certainly leave a red mark.

Should I Be Concerned?

Colton, who is home from school sick today, comes wandering into the living room from his bedroom.

"Hey, buddy--how are you feeling?" I ask.
"Okay, I guess," he replies.
"Mom, can I have a Coke?"
"Sure." I answer.
He cracks open the Coke and goes on to tell me, "I've been watching a documentary about the prohibition--and for some reason it's making me really thirsty."

Should I be concerned?

Caprese Charisee

I just got done pulling up some old basil plants from my backyard garden box. Now, whenever I get a whiff of my hands, I can't help but thinking that I should eat them with some sliced tomatoes, mozarella, and a drizzle of olive oil.

Italian self-cannibalism--it's a good thing.

No More Apologies

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad! I'm sorry I screamed at you!" Carter screamed to his father.

Pondering the Complexities of Urine Puddles

Today I'm going to totally be on it. It's true. I've wrote out a list of everything that I'm going to do. It ranges from going to the post office to folding laundry. I've already drank two mugs of mojito mint green tea, but I feel that might not be enough for what I have planned today. Seeing as we don't have any Diet Pepsi left in the house, I might just have to make an emergency run to the Burger King down the street and get a large one. I know, the price of buying a soda at a fast food joint is enough to buy me a liter at the grocery store. Well let me tell you something--you can get off of your six pack of budgetary lectures, because I have The Husband to tell me those things.

Anywhoo, I've put in a load of laundry, loaded and run the dishwasher, made my bed, and put the Soft Scrub in the toilets for a very-near-future scrubbing. Which brings me to the question that keeps plaguing me: Why, why, why must there be little drips and dribbles of urine somewhere on each toilet? I guess I could blame it on Carter--he just barely turned four and his urinary skills are sub-par. However, my instincts tell me that there are three more older contributors to this bodily fluid phenomenon. I am not one of them. My fluids are contained-yo!

From my previous post you would know that we had a party at my house. Previous to the party, I cleaned the place up pretty good. After all the excitement, I cleaned up as well. The toilets were pee free as of last week. Sadly, I know it's time for a deep clean when the earthy scent of urine starts to mingle with the exotic aroma of my Island Paradise Air Wick. That is the perfume that greeted my nostrils this morning as I used the hall bathroom. It was the smell of a housewife called to action!

To be honest, I don't really mind a good deep clean every couple of weeks. It is time for me to turn on, tune in, and take out the trash. I think what bothers me most is the obliviousness, whether authentic or faked, to my efforts. Why wouldn't my loved ones want to make my work a little easier? Why can't the men of my home control their aim better for their dear mother, and beloved wife? If they did, the toilet would do it's awesome job and just flush the pee away leaving no trace of "eu de hobo" in the bathroom . Is it laziness? Is it a physical problem they should see a professional about? Am I being insensitive because it's so easy for me to make the excretory target?

As the Soft Scrub slowly makes its journey down the three toilet bowls of our house, the question forever remains:

Why is it that certain males just can't get all of their urine into the toilet bowl? And, if a puddle or drip does happen, how hard is it for them to just clean up after themselves so I don't have to?

Now that I got that out of my system, it's onward and upward!

[Charise holds scrub brush directly into the air as if holding the glowing flame of Lady Liberty]

Saturday Evening Post

Last Sunday Carter turned four years old. It's been really amazing as each year passes, that I, a noble faired, long-haired, leaping gnome, have been able to keep each of my three children alive and kicking. I'm pretty proud of myself for getting up each day, making sure they are fed and watered, clothed and sheltered, and for the most part, properly hygienated. Cody and Colton for fourteen years, and Carter now, for four.

It was a lovely affair. Carter chose to have and "Angry Birds" themed party. For any of you reading that don't know what I'm referring to, congratulations--you probably have a very fulfilling and active life. For those of you that do know what I'm referring to, congratulations--you know what it is like to live with addiction. I'm not judging.

In the past, birthday dates would sneak up on me and The Husband. We would postulate back and forth about whether or not we should go all the way and have a party...with balloons. Inevitably, we would succumb to our slacker-selves and decide on taking the kids out to dinner, or out of town in lieu of an actual birthday party...with people. Well, this year we made the leap. Carter told us what he wanted, we consulted with one another, and finally The Husband said, "You better just send out the invitations before planning anything, because if you don't, we will back out and not have a party...with balloons and people." So, I made up a guest list, and shot off the invites through Punchbowl. And what do you know? People RSVP'ed. Funny how that works.

Our little Angry Bird-day party went down without any major occurrences. In fact, it was downright pleasant. I made decorations, barbecued, decorated a cake and socialized with people. There were even balloons! It was a success. It was so much of a success, that no sooner had the last guest stepped out the door, before Carter started planning his next party--a Spiderman party. With a Spiderman cake.

Haha! Fat chance young lad. In the four years you have known me, haven't you figured out I don't do action figures? Only iPod apps.

Me & The Neverending Weight Obsession Extreme Ramble-Fest

Okay, you might not know it by looking at me--but I'm a little weight obsessed. I know, you would think if I cared so much about my weight I would be health conscious, fit, or have a non-dormant eating disorder. But that's just it, I care about my weight--but only enough to obsess over the thought of being chunky, not really do anything extreme about it.

Don't get me wrong, I exercise and try to eat somewhat healthy--but both of those I do inconsistently. I will go through periods of time where my eating habits are really great, or borderline anorexic, either way during those periods of time I am watching what I eat. I also go through periods of exercise. In fact, I just got done doing an hour of Just Dance. Yes, I know, there are newer version of the game out there, but I don't update my technology all that often. In fact, I am typing this blog on a Datapoint 2200.

Recently, I took a trip to my home state for a couple of weeks and during that time I, of course, fell out of any healthy semi-routines I had been doing. In fact, I acquired another bad eating habit on the trip--I started drinking sugar free Red Bull. I know, you're thinking, "Okay Ms. Edgy-Edger-Pants, drinking Red Bull is not really bad." Okay, I know it's not bad, but it's really not good for me--right? I mean, I can tell by the way it makes my heart flutter like a bird in a bread basket that it's probably not what I should be drinking. Want to know why I moved to Red Bull? Because, Starbucks coconut frappucinnos are choc-full-o-fat. Okay? I replaced a fat habit with a heart attack habit. At least I won't be contributing my hard earned money to those greedy Jewish capitalists at Starbucks anymore...like I care. Anyway, now there are empty cans of Red Bull rattling about on the floor of the back seat in the car, because at least I care enough to think about recycling. THINK about it.

By the time I had returned home from my trip, my jeans were fitting a little snugger--and to this day, they still are. In fact, last Sunday afternoon I was taking a nap and the waist of my pants was digging in to my newly blossomed gut. I thought for a moment that if I undid the button on my pants, I would feel much better, but then I realized if I unbuttoned my top button, that would be acknowledging the fact that I have mini-muffin top. Instead, I pulled my pants up higher up past my belly button. The resulting wedgie was much less painful than the muffin top torture. I slept soundly for about 37 minutes. It was great.

One of my tactics during a time of weight gain is to avoid the scale. I don't know where or why I acquired this tactic, and needless to say it doesn't help the problem at all. When I had gotten home from my trip I weighed myself and realized that I had gained almost four pounds. After avoiding the scale, I gained two more pounds. Obviously scale avoidance isn't working. On the other hand, when I am doing well with my weight management, I will weigh myself an unhealthy amount of times throughout the day. I have gotten better with this number obsession over the years, which is to say I now weigh myself less than half-a dozen times a day. I know, it's stupid, but you are wasting your day reading blogs about weight, so what does that say about you? Just kidding. You're not stupid. I love you and so does Jesus and his harem of angels.

Anywhooooooooo, just thought I would get this weight thing off of my chest, butt, and thighs for a moment. Like I said, I played Just Dance for an hour, and I'm going jogging this evening, so as for exercise I'm on the right track. However, I did eat chicken enchiladas with sour cream, a few salt water taffys, a white chocolate macadamia Cliff bar, and a peach...so far. Time to moderate the eating too, I guess.

I was telling one of my friends the other day that I needed to hit the gym because I was pudging up. She was so nice to tell me that she hadn't noticed, and that it was probably water weight. See, that's what really good friends do--they tell you it's water weight. Even though it's obviously coconut frappucinno ass.

Love,
Charise

For Suzy and Smelly Socks

(Disclaimer: I am not a poet, and I know it)


Let me tell you a tale of stench

of crusty foot coverings

and smells that gut-wrench


A tome purely written

solely for soles

small toes peeking out

from worn cotton holes


It all begins in a young lady’s lair;

a lass very sassy

and incredibly fair



At first glance we see

her abode looks swell

But take a second glance,

and not all seems so well



Perfumes, clothing, and books

all shelved neatly away,

or hanging on hooks

New Wave CDs

snuggled up in their cases

toiletries and make-up

all in their places



But upon a deep whiff

rancid foot scent will tell

that under the bed

festers levels of hell


It smells of gym lockers

and wet vinyl seats

Fat lady crotch sweat

and food nobody eats


there are high notes of blue cheese

and puffy plastic pants

there are undertones of dishrags

and stuff that attracts ants


So one day the lass

could stomache no more

she looked under the bed

to find the fish-smelly core


Ho! Ho! Hey! Hey!

What should there be?

Huge hoards of smelly stockings

of all variety


socks with yellow smileys

and brown polka-dots

socks that were knee-high

and some that were not


socks with aliens

and funny colored flowers

socks that had lady bugs

and clocks with cool powers


They were all of high quality

no one could deny

but the problem with these socks

is their stench was sky-high!



Dirty socks under the bed

are tomfoolery for kids--

not for nice ladies

that wear fancy lids!



So off to the laundry

those crusty socks went

into the washer

to freshen their scent


Then out of the dryer those fluffy socks came

and the moldy smell of death

no longer remained



So socks on the floor

hiding under the bed

will no longer be

how this life will be led



When socks become dirty

into the hamper they go

No longer seeking refuge

to the laundry they'll flow!


A lesson was learned by that lass so fair--

the girl with the beautiful, silky blond hair

shall no longer toss footwear

under the bed anymore

and soiled socks on her floor,

there shall be

nevermore.



A Poem Written Just for Me

A Fine Wheel of Cheese



The Newest Threat

For kicks lately, Cody and Colton have started telling Carter that they are going to "bite his head open". This, of course, terrifies Carter and he will either scream bloody murder or cry, or alternately do both. In response to this, my blood pressure rises, boils, and probably thins...a little. This pisses me off. So, I calmly tell the boys to leave Carter alone, 99 percent of the time they don't listen and keep tormenting Carter. This pisses me off even more. So, then I yell at them to, "knock it off!" If they don't stop after this, I scream some more incoherent rants and take an Ativan. Then, everything is okay.

The End.

Brotherly Letter to the Editor

I secretly submitted my brother's note on some up-and-coming Utah legislation to the Salt Lake City Weekly, and they published it in their editorial section. Kewl!

Observations of a Teenager

Last weekend I travelled south to the La Jolla Festival of the Arts with some family I had in town. I love art festivals, but somehow the love of creative overkill, lesbians in Crocs, and very expensive outdoor food vendors did not get genetically passed on to Cody and Colton. Because of this, Cody decided to stay back home, passing his time playing video games with the occasional interlude of "Carter torture". Colton on the other hand, out of sheer love and guilt (mostly guilt), decided to come along for the festivities. Obviously, this was a poor choice on his part. Not even half-way in to our drive, Colton was already wilting from regret in the back seat. But it was too late for him to change his mind--we were well on our way.

Upon arrival to the festival, Colton quickly observed that he was the only kid his age wandering amongst a maze of various mediums. It was true, the place was packed with middle-aged men and women ready to get their wine buzz on, and make some art purchase they would most likely regret later. Although I could tell Colton was experiencing his own personal hell, he was doing his best to soldier through. To help ease his suffering, I purchased a four-dollar lemonade, and a five-dollar Hebrew National dog from one of the festival's food scalpers.

With his food in hand, Colton took a seat at a table near the outdoor stage. While he noshed, a band of Hair-Club-for-Men-forty-somethings played covers songs from the 70's and 80's. A lone couple danced at the foot of the stage, obviously a little tipsy from their Magners Irish Cider. It was at this point Colton made a very pointed, very accurate observation:

"Mom," he said, "this whole festival looks like one big Cialis commerical."

I looked around for a moment, and realized he was absolutely correct. Liver spots, silvery hair, and dentured smiles canvassed the scene. The smell of Avon Skin So Soft mingled in the air with the smoke of barbecued pulled pork. And something that happened earlier; something I tried to forget, quickly surfaced to my conscious again--when I used the bathroom...there was a puddle of liquid on the floor at the base of the toilet. I told myself at the time it was a spilt cup of Zinfandel, but more than likely it was a living testament of some poor woman's need for VESIcare.

I wondered for a moment, how did my attendance to this event reflect on me? Were my artistic wanderings putting me on the fast track to Depends? The possibility of this frightened me. It was at that very moment I decided, next year, I'll skip the arts festival and do something more youthful. It was at that moment I decided, next year, I will spend my summer's sitting at home, playing video games, drinking Red Bull, moisturizing my elbows, and exfoliating my skin. That should keep me out of the living Cialis commericals--at least for another decade or so.

Right? Right?

Efficiency

I take three pills every morning: birth control (to keep me from getting pregnant), Wellbutrin (to keep me from going crazy), and Hydroxycut (to keep me from getting fat). One would think the first one would handle all three problems.

The End.

Jazz and Middle School Finality

This morning I dropped the boys off at school for their last day of the 8th grade. Their last and final day of middle school. Before we got to school, at their request I took them through the McDonald's drive through to get a pre-last-day-of-school bite to eat. A "last breakfast" if you will. They munched contentedly while we drove our way to school, KJazz soundtracking the morning on the radio.

It's cloudy out right now, like it was this morning, but the rain has stopped. Sometimes the rain here isn't what you expect when you think of "rain". This morning the Pacific rain was just a mist; a mere suggestion of weather from an indifferent storm system. It made the sidewalks and air smell lovely, and the moisture provided a balmy cover up for my bare arms.

As I got closer to the school, I thought about how far I have come with my boys. From a bumbling, foolish teenage mother of tiny preemies to the matured mother of two tall, confident young men. I am amazed by them each day--the strong personalities they have developed, the inquisitive minds they have grown. I want to take credit for who they are right now, but I would feel like a thief. As their mother, the most credit I can take is one of stewardship. I've shown them the ropes of this wacky thing called life, they're the ones who have each taken the world into their hands and will make it into what they want it to be. My reward is watching them journey down their own individual roads. I get to be a spectator of their passions, dreams, and development. I get to cheer them on as they reach various destinations.

We pulled up to their middle school, McDonald's fully consumed, and my boys ready to finish off what they started three years ago. The rain was still drizzling on the windshield as I watched them walk in to school together. Endings, beginnings, sons, brothers. I took the long way home, past the beach. I cried while Bill Evans played on the radio. Words will never describe how amazing it is to be a mother, but sometimes jazz comes close.

An Afternoon Dialogue

[Upon giving Carter a root beer float]

Carter, you have to sit at the table with your root beer float.

Why come I have to sit at the table?

Because the computer is on the counter, and if you sit on the bar stools you could spill your root beer float on the computer.

What happens if I spill on the computer?

Well, it would break the computer.

And it would get electrocuted?

Yes, you could get electrocuted.

What happens if I get electrocuted?

Well, you could get burned really bad.

How come electrocuted burns you?

Because it's dangerous.

Does electrocuted make you die?

Yes, if it's bad it could make you die.

Why come electrocuted makes you die?

Because when you're electrocuted your heart stops.

Oh. When somebody electrocute you do you have to go in somebody else's room?

Ummm, I guess it would be safer if you went in somebody else's room.

But, Mom, electrocuted would happen too fast.

[slurps root beer]

Mom, I don't like this show. (Fairly Odd Parents)

Okay, I'll change it.

Mom, what's the name of Scooby Doo?

Scooby Doo.

Mom, do you like the straw show?

Straw show? I don't even know what that is?

You know what it is. It called the Straw Show. Like when all the straws walk.

[My brain spills out my ears]

TECH SUPPORT! TECH SUPPORT!



FIN

Things I Thought About Googling Today...But Didn't.

• If I ate a bunch of sand, what would it do to my digestive track?
• What percentage of the national budget goes to farm subsidies?
• Sen. Weiner's chat transcripts
• How to make funeral casserole
• City of Torrance Public Works office
• What plants go with sea grasses?

Oh, the things I could have learned today...but didn't.

I Want a Raze

Am I the only woman out there that, upon purchasing a new razor, feels like shaving off ALL my body hair (with the exception of eyebrows, eyelashes, and head hair)?

There's just something about a sharp razor, and a smooth shave. Can I get an amen? Okay then, can I get a high-five at least for not having razor burn?

It's the little things in life...

Afternoon Intermission Brought to You by Tori Amos...and Moby

Right now I am at home alone. Anthony took Carter to an Angels game, and the boys are at school. I've got Tori Amos on right now, the iTunes is delivering "Tear In Your Hand"...

Normally I don't listen to Tori Amos, at least not much since 1994, but for some reason I put her on. Tear In Your Hand is a sad song, and for some reason I feel like crying even though everything is pretty much wonderful in my life. I guess that's what good music does. Listening to it takes me back to junior high crushes and high school heartaches. Not this song in particular...just Tori Amos, and a time in my life when she was on the local radio station rotation.

I don't long for the days of obsessing over boys, and the adolescent mood swings. I don't miss homework and unpredictable hormones. I don't miss the awkwardness of it all. I do, however, miss the everyday possibility of getting lit up over silly little things--like somebody smiling at me in the hall, or getting punched in the arm by the crush of the week. The smell of cologne on a sofa pillow after an unexpected visit. I miss the high from getting A's on tests. Blowing my small paycheck from Around the Clock Answering Service at the mall. I miss having days and days of unscheduled summers with sun-baked adventure being the only plan.

I still get lit. It's just different things light me up now. Things I would have never imagined bringing me joy as a teenager, are now the source of my pride. The other day Cody came home from school and told me, "Mom, all the kids at school say you make the best grilled cheese." I walked on effing clouds the rest of that afternoon. Last week I dug up a patch of lawn so Carter and I could plant some seeds. We planted carrots, tomatoes, beans, basil, cantaloupe, columbine, and sunflowers. It's a hodge-podge of a garden, but I smile everytime I water those little dirt mounds. I check every day in anticipation for small shoots of green. I can't wait to see Carter's face when the seeds finally decide to sprout. Before I started to write this post, I repaired the toilet handle in the master bathroom. I felt like a freaking magician! A toilet that would once not flush, was now flushing again, whisking waste away like a magical little whirlpool. Is there anything now I cannot conquer, I doubt it.

Anyway, another rambling post from yours truly. I've got to keep these fingers nimble, if not for writing blogs--for the next broken toilet, future grilled cheese sandwiches, and invasive weeds that are sure to attempt a sneak attack on my cantaloupe.

Teary Tori is not longer playing. Moby and his hardcore disco is pumping away, and I must rush off to get some cardio before I pick up the boys from school. Now that Tori's gone, I don't feel like crying anymore. I do feel like snapping a couple of glo sticks, chugging a Rock Star, and dancing like an animal all over the front room. Unfortunately, there's no time for that now...

FYI:

"A shark on whiskey is mighty risky; a shark on beer is a beer engineer." --SGC2C

The Coast is Clear--For Now

The teens are at school. The husband is serving jury duty. The kid is in his bedroom playing with a million marbles, a pot, a large metal bowl, and a bamboo spoon. I am actually on the computer...typing.

I don't know how long this will last. I should get in all the words I can get in before something happens and I am pulled away from this world of clickity-clackity-plastic keys. I want to inform everyone of things in my brain...

...the kid just abandoned his million marbles, pot, large metal bowl, and bamboo spoon. He is now all up in my face harassing me with a repetative, "Let's go jump on the trampoline. Let's go jump on the trampoline. Let's...go...jump...on...the...tram...po...line!"

Well, it was worth a shot. At least I know my fingers still work on this clickity-clackity word writing device.

Off to the trampoline!

Before April Escapes

There really is no excuse for me not to post here at least once a month. For shame, Charise! For shame!

So, here I am--before April closes shop and makes way for May, here's what when on this month in this life of mine:

• Bought a house
• Moved
• Colton had appendix removed
• Carter started potty-talking
• Cody got a mild concussion playing baseball
• I hit my knuckle hard on the frame of our doorway (wah! wah!)
• Anthony remained uninjured for this season

I must say I am loving this whole home-ownership thing. Although we lived close to the beach in our apartment, it was getting a little too dark in that place for me. I was starting to feel like I was living everyday in a British television drama, er, something like that. Now I have two good-sized, west-facing windows that get deliciously dreamy afternoon sunlight and I feel like a human being again instead of a lichen. I don't even know if that makes sense, but any of you that know me know what I mean. When the sun starts heading west, it streams in through the back door and windows leaving warm patches on our living room floor. I remember as a kid we had a sliding door that faced west, and when the sun would come through it I would lay in the patch of light like a cat, just soaking it in. I've had the urge to do that several times here, at my new place. I love it.

Life is pretty good right now. I can't complain and I feel very lucky to be where I am in so many ways. Well, I can always complain--but I won't.

On to May...

For Sale or Rent

One set of sturdy bunk beds. I think they're made of oak, but I'm not sure--they're definitely not particle board because if they were, Cody and Colton would have turned them into a dry pile of sawdust by now. Compliments of Carter, there is some abstract artwork in several areas done in various shades of marker. Might come out; I haven't tried. Compliments of Cody and Colton the beds had been bedazzled with stickers from numerous skate shops, taco shops, shoe stores, and political rallies (ex: Mitt '08). I was able to remove most of them, although they left behind their shape creating a lighter ghost sticker imprint. There are several deep scratches in the wood, probably from a knife (or possibly shiv) fight.

Also, there is a penis carved into the bed somewhere. I haven't seen it, but the boys tell me it's there. They didn't do it--one of their friends did.

For purchase information contact: KLondike-5-4385.

This Just In...

[While I am sitting at the computer searching for locksmiths]

Carter: Mom, you need to vacuum.

Me: Why do I need to vacuum? (I just vacuumed yesterday.)

Carter: Because I put jello on the couch.


FIN

It's In the Contract Beyotch!

Whilst searching for some valuable account information stored on my computer's hard drive, I came across this contract I created for Anthony prior to the 2006 volleyball season:

Charise M______

Redondo Beach, CA

June 10, 2006

Anthony M______

Husband

M______ & Co.

Redondo Beach, CA

Dear Anthony:

It has been brought to my attention that you, Anthony (aka: Husband), would like to volunteer coach for Carolyn’s hot chick volleyball players this fall. I understand that this is a fulfilling position for you, as well as a nice break from the boys for me. However, in order to permit you to fulfill the role of volunteer coach, you need to fulfill some husbandly and fatherly conditions as well. Below you will find the terms and conditions that will free you to volunteer coach for Carolyn’s hot chick volleyball players. Please keep a copy of these conditions for your records and return a signed copy to me.

1. Dates of games and tournaments must be presented to me, the Wife, within a *reasonable time frame. *Reasonable= Let me know at least five (5) days ahead of actual game/tournament date, or print me a damn schedule from the internet. Schedule notification conditions are mandatory every year that Husband desires to volunteer coach for Carolyn’s hot chick volleyball team.

2. Previous to any game or tournament (or at least twice a month), the Wife must be taken out on a date that lasts at least one hour. Date must consist of an activity outside of the house, and costing more than $5.00. After date sex is not mandatory, but is encouraged. Date night conditions are mandatory every year that Husband desires to volunteer coach for Carolyn’s hot chick volleyball team.

3. Previous to start of volleyball season, you must take *The Family on a family vacation. Family vacation must consist of at least two nights out of town, preferably somewhere with a pool. Family vacation excludes staying at any relatives homes and also excludes funerals. Family vacation is mandatory every year that Husband desires to volunteer coach for Carolyn’s hot chick volleyball team. *The Family = You, Wife, Cody and Colton.

4. Husband is to understand if Wife does not want to watch all volleyball games/tournaments. It’s not that Wife doesn’t like Carolyn and her hot chick volleyball players; it’s just that sometimes Wife needs time to watch Sex and the City and not be disturbed.

5. In relation to Condition #4 above, Husband is to take Cody and Colton to as many games and tournaments as possible. If this condition is restricted by Coach Carolyn, then so be it. But, when permitted, Cody and Colton will join Husband on coaching ventures.

6. If Coach Carolyn comes across any size 6 shoes, she is to save them and present them to me, the contract writer (aka: Wife). This condition is not mandatory, but is encouraged.

7. If Wife unexpectedly becomes pregnant, the above terms and conditions may change drastically. Husband agrees to be understanding and not resentful.

8. In addition to above listed conditions, Wife would like a new book case for the front room. The book case is mandatory and not at all negotiable.

If any of the above listed conditions are not met, contract is null and void and Husband risks forfeiting his position as volunteer coach for Carolyn’s hot chick volleyball team. He also risks getting kicked in his goodies.

Sincerely,

Charise M______

Wife

ACCEPTED AND AGREED:

By: Date ________________________________________________________________

WITNESS:

By: Date _

I thought this was pretty clever of me. I should reintroduce contracts into our marriage decisions. Binding contracts with material stipulations. Yes, I am incredibly intelligent.
 

Carter's Collection

Today, after his preschool, Carter and I walked down to the beach. It was brisk, but not too cold and the sun was shining bright in a clear blue sky. One of Carter's favorite things to do at the beach is walk along the shore looking for rocks and shells to add to his "collection". His collection consists of dozens of rocks, shells, and the odd pine cone, housed in a blue, faded plastic beach pail. This afternoon was an exceptional day for collecting. The tide was low and came in gently, shying away slowly after wetting the sand with its lingering kiss. As a parting gift, the tide left treasures of tiny little shells and smooth, shiny rocks. Yes, this was a perfect collecting day.

The shell beds were littered with an innumerable amount of miniature muscles. These little shells are common at Redondo Beach, so adults tend not to notice them. To children, these little shells represent a bounteous treasure. When Carter sees all these little shells strewn over the sand, it's like he's hit the mollusk jackpot! He runs up to a pile, crouches down, grabs a little handful, and hands them to me to put in my jacket pocket. I have to be conscious of what pocket I'm putting them in, lest tiny grains of sand violate my cell phone and car keys.

Wet rocks are also a prized beach find for that guy. Shiny black stones, smoothed over by the continuous caress of a salty mistress find their way into Carter's little paw. He grabs one excitedly and runs over saying, "Mom! Look at this interesting rock!" Then, he places it in my hand, and off he goes to the next one. When my hand is spilling over with slippery stones, I tell Carter that I've got enough and it's time to throw them. He loves throwing them into the waves, then watching them splash and disappear. Anthony has even shown him the proper way to throw--stepping forward with his left foot, and throwing with his right arm. He's got quite a rock throwing arm, for a three-year-old.

By the time we were ready to go home, my hands were nearly numb from plucking icy wet rocks and shells from their seashore garden. It was mostly a catch-and-release harvest today. However, I did come home with a few "interesting" rocks and several dainty little shells. As soon as we got home, I emptied our loot into the faded beach pail, and smiled. Carter's collection is not only shells, rocks, and the odd pine cone--it's a bucket full of blissful moments no material treasure could ever match.

Sick Memories

Some of my favorite childhood memories are of being sick. That might sound strange at first, but being the sixth child out of seven, sometimes being sick was one of the best ways to garner my frenzied mother's attention. That, and, I got to miss school. There were also some other benefits that came with being sick in our house. If you had a sore throat, you got twin pops (lime, banana, or root beer). If you were running a fever, you laid on the couch with a cool wet rag on your forehead chewing baby aspirin, tiny little pills that I thought tasted like orange creamsicles. For a bad cold, my mom would rub Vick's on my tight chest, then put a warm kitchen towel on top of the Vick's. To soothe a croupy cough, hot lemonade with honey was her secret elixir. There was also Campbell's chicken noodle soup, cold Sprite, and Luden's Cough Drops.

In addition to all the edible goodies that came with being sick, you got to sit in the big red Lazy-Boy and watch television most of the day. In our house, especially if you were sick on a school day, there really wasn't a big selection of shows to watch. Most of this had to do with the fact that we didn't have cable television. But because everyone else was in school, the sick-o got free reign on what five channels to watch. In the morning, if I were the sick one, I would catch some Sesame Street or Mr. Roger's Neighborhood before vomiting up the Sprite and saltines my mom gave me for breakfast. After the vomiting was over, I would crash while Mr. Slim Goodbody pranced gaily about in his latex suit of nerves, vessels, muscles, and organs.  Upon waking, if I were lucky, I could sometimes catch PBS's Masterpiece Theatre. The theatre du jour varied from illness to illness. One that has always stood out in my memory is The Yellow Wallpaper. The Yellow Wallpaper is about a neurotic woman named Charlotte who goes to the country side to get "well", but ends up losing her marbles over the patterned wallpaper in her bedroom; yellow wallpaper, of course. There was just something about watching a woman "creep" her way to insanity as I drifted in and out of fever dreams, that will forever make me associate horrible flues to PBS theatre. Not necessarily a bad thing, in my world.

My mom also had a thick, dark fuchsia, fleece robe that she would let us wear when we were sick. It was called "the fuzzy robe". Having that soft robe wrapped around me magically took the edge off of horrible body aches and incapacitating nausea. It was the best substitute for actually being held in my mother's arms all day long.

Now that I'm an adult, when I get sick I long for the days of the fuzzy robe, the red Lazy-Boy, Campbell's chicken noodle soup, icy Sprite, warm chest towels, and Masterpiece Theatre. Maybe it's not necessarily all the things that went along with being sick, it was having a mother around to provide all those things to me. Now...well, now I'm pretty much on my own. Although, I must give credit to my husband; he brings Jamba Juice and 7UP with him on his way home from work. It's just, he's not my mom.

Even when we're all grown up, I believe most of us long for our mothers when we're ill.

That's all.

Love,
Charise

One (or more) On Wednesday

1. Cody came back. Of course, I'm not going to go in to details as to what exactly happened; we'll just say it wasn't pretty. Although it was ugly, I am ecstatic to have him back. I figured his old man wouldn't come through, but I am amazed at how quickly he blew this priceless opportunity. Loser.

2. Carter has started preschool again. I spend the time he's there sweating my face off at the gym. I don't really know if I'm really reaping any physical results as of yet, but after an hour of cardio I always feel like I could join the revolution. Too bad there isn't one.

3. During one of the show-and-tells last preschool session, Carter was asked to guess what it was that one of the little girls brought to show the class. Carter asked, "Is it a phone jack?" This, of course, got a lot of surprised laughs from the other adults who were there at the time. Because of this response, Carter's guess for every show-and-tell now is "phone jack". I still laugh, but I think his teacher is getting a little tired of his answer. We'll have to think of something else original, maybe "tire iron" or "door knob"?

4. I have started reading Ayn Rand's "We the Living". I've realized that although I really love the moral content of her books, the characters, and the overall romanticism of her writing, her books always remind me of icy cold Utah winters. I can't decide if that is a good thing or not yet. I guess I'll just make sure when I read her books I'm sitting somewhere sunny or wearing fuzzy socks.

5. I have a fecal mass of laundry in the front room just dying for me to fondle, er, fold. Damn it all to hell.

Love,
Charise