Small town livin »

What’s bugging you?

Posted by Domestic Diva at 6:14 pm Uncategorized

May 142011

Friday the 13th started as most others did. The chipper chimes of my phone’s alarm annoyed me from my slumber. I begrudgingly turned on the shower and began the start of another day. This morning, in addition to being unlucky because of the date, would prove to be another busy day between schools, shopping, yard work (we expanded my garden an extra 5×20 ft), and doing some stuff for the website. At least today there were no volunteer hours or field trips which seem to take a valuable chunk of my day right out from under me.

As I lathered my hair, I thought about yesterday’s field trip to one of Delaware’s State Parks, which truth be told was more like a swamp, with Joey’s Kindergarten class. Although it was a rather short trip, just under three hours in all, the kids managed to squeeze in a lesson on the importance of trees, a quick craft, a walk through the nature center, a walk around a pond (swamp), followed a trail into the woods and finally grabbed a picnic style lunch.

When I dressed Joey that morning I put him in long pants even though the temperatures were forecast to climb in the afternoon. I choose similar attire, and as we walked through the woods and I spied patch after patch of poison ivy, I knew I made a smart decision as far as the apparel was concerned. Although, I did forget hats. Aside from the fact that ticks (and Lyme’s Disease) are prevalent here, I would have preferred an extra barrier between my head and any other creatures. I also skipped perfume and lotion, yet still managed to come come with no less that a dozen mosquito bites. I’m hoping not to be the state’s first confirmed case of West Nile Virus because I saw some of these massive blood suckers as they began feasting on my flesh. These winged beasts looked like something out of the Jurassic Period.

Anyway, I was ready to jump out of the shower when I remembered another day warm temperatures laid ahead so I broke out my shaving cream and razor and began shaving my stubbly legs. This daily shave (above the knee even) was really the only bad thing about warmer weather that I could come up with as I went up the back of my right leg and did a half turn to reach the upper part of my thigh. Just because it’s not an easy reach I looked back to be sure I covered the massive area. last thing I need is a tuft of leg hair sticking out of the back of my shorts (although it might camouflage the cellulite at least).

Ah, I had missed a spot and as the razor took the hair and cream away I saw a tiny black spot. I brushed the spot with my finger and it was smooth and slightly raised but didn’t come off. As I contorted further to inspect this freckle perhaps, it moved…and when I say it moved, I actually mean the spot crawled.

I opened my mouth to scream but no sound escaped. I then proceeded to leap into the air, however, with my body already oddly contorted I slipped and began falling out of the shower. I grasped at the liner which stopped me from tumbling out of the tub but it did tear right through the plastic where three of the rings were. That was the furthest thing from my mind though. I needed to find the creature that was on my leg. I calmed myself as best I could and tried to re-assume my previous position. I was too panicked to hold that twisted position so I quickly sat in the tub and flipped my leg over.

It was there, through the unrelenting spray of water still coming from my shower head, that I saw the tick positioned inside a dimple just south of my right ass cheek. Oh the horror! The tick had just begun to bite, and perhaps my fatty thigh, although most likely appeared delectable to the tick, was not as easy to grab so I was able to pull him off with little effort.

Being a large child trapped inside an old Mom’s body, my eyes welled with tears as I washed the tick down the drain to his watery grave. Oh, were they all over me? Where had it come from? My afro? Not caring about the time, I rinsed my hair and repeated my earlier wash. About half way through my wash I saw another on my arm. “I’m infested!!!” I cried out to no one.

This tick was even easier to remove and unlike his friend had not bitten me as of yet. “See you in hell,” I told the blood- sucker as I sent him to the same watery grave as his friend.

Needless to say, I’ve been freaking out for more than a day. My hands are constantly feeling my scalp for any abnormalities (I know, I know. The real abnormalities are beneath my scalp). I feel buggy. I feel gross. I have a growing hatred of nature. I’m left wondering what will kill me first- the Lyme’s Disease or the West Nile Virus? Then this morning I pulled a tick off of Jake who didn’t even attend the trip. It had bitten him right on middle of his chest. I’ll be checking his chest and my ass for redness and or red rings for the foreseeable future, and if this creepy crawly feeling doesn’t go away I may end up shaving my head.

Can you imagine what would happen if a bunch of bugs got into my mustache or worse yet, penetrated my afro?! It would be like a bug party and I'd have to shave it off and just start over. I may be posting bald pictures soon.

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Challenged

Posted by Domestic Diva at 7:23 pm Uncategorized

Apr 212011

This has been one of those weeks where I’m feeling like I’m being tested daily (and not just as a parent). There’s been no shortage of bloggable material, but to be perfectly honest, I just haven’t felt like sitting down and writing about it. Aside from this week being incredible busy with a ton of running around, I’m in some sort of allergy haze as there’s been an eruption of pollen in my area. So rather than doing multiple posts, here’s the week in review:

Saturday: Went to the beach even though it was raining and took the three kids outlet shoe shopping. No further explanation needed.

Sunday: Went to a park, played mini golf, went on the beach, ate an actual bucket of boardwalk fries, and nearly slipped into a coma.

Monday: With Easter less than a week away, I decided to get the stuff for the kid’s baskets while my husband took a quick break for lunch. This was a deliberate move because the store where I was headed was the same place Jake insulted an old lady, biker, and cashier with an unknown gender all in one trip. For the first time, I grabbed a cart because the “Easter Box” with all the baskets, grass, and plastic eggs I had saved from last year was swallowed by my basement. I also had other items to purchase as well, so I hurried around, filling the pharmacy’s cart. As I approached the front of the store the cashier placed both hands over her mouth and began to giggle. She’s worked there a while so I know who she is, and I’d say she was socially awkward to say the least (that’s not an official diagnosis, and I’d rather just not go there). Anyway, as I start unloading she loudly exclaims, “Your hair is like KAAAA-POOOOOW!” I smiled and agreed, after all I walk around like this every day; I know what my hair looks like.

And yet for some reason, she kept at it. For nearly six minutes she rang up my items, and stopped after almost every item scanned to comment on my hair. “Do you know it’s out there?” and “I don’t mean to say it like that, but it’s all like WOW!” and “What’s it like in the summer?” oh, and “Can you even fit it under a hat?” There was a man, in his early forties maybe that was behind me in line. He just kept repeating quietly, “Oh, my God, stop talking.” If it wasn’t for the 10% off I get with every purchase, it might not be worth it to face the slew of insults at my local Rite Aide.

Tuesday: Spent the morning on a farm with Joey’s class, and Jake was also there with his preschool group accompanied by my husband. I’m not real into touching livestock, getting intimate with my future food, or thrilled about ecoli, but the trip was really entertaining for the kids and only a couple of hours long. We managed to get out of there with only one) goof when I told Joey to listen to a man who was speaking to the kids about various seeds (wonder why he was not paying attention)? This particular “farmer” had a pretty thick accent and Joey yelled out, “I can’t understand him, Mom! He’s speaking Spanish!” (Except he was Indian and speaking English). The gentleman shot me a look and did not seem amused. Other than that it was a good trip.

The kids were then loaded back on the bus and taken to a local park where all 106 of them respectively (with some other park goers and a few siblings) played for several hours after enjoying their lunch at picnic tables. For the most part it was fine, but all those kids climbing on the equipment at the same time, some hanging out the sides of the “rocket” jungle gym 10 ft in the air, was almost too much for me to take. I would have added some rum to my coke or tried to get my hands on some Xanax or something had I know the absolute mayhem that was about to take place. Just too many kids, too large of an area, with too few adults. Aside from some minor arguing over prime playground territory, a few kids drinking out of a dog watering bowl, a couple tumbles, and a few rain drops, the kids had a blast. There were no missing children, compound fractures or catastrophic falls, so all in all a good day.

The giant Rocket Jungle Gym that nearly gave me an anxiety attack. Please picture 100+ kids ALL on this at once. It happened.

Wednesday: Just like the last few weeks, we’ve had one day that hits 80 degrees (before it drops down to 50 again). Worked in the garden all day, husband had an allergy attack after cutting the grass and his eyes almost swelled totally shut. Ran to the store, saw FIVE people I knew, spoke to all of them, came home, looked in the mirror and was surprised they didn’t give the same reaction as the lady from Rite Aide. Dirt on my face. Dirt on my shirt. Hair was like “KAAAAA-POOOOW!”

Thursday: Spring break started a day early for Joey. He woke up with red, swollen eyes and a bad headache. I spent the day trying to rid our house of all the pollen I let in yesterday when I had every window open. Dusted and cleaned furniture, windows, walls, floors. Dust rag was a yellowish green from pollen and I sneezed most of the day. Considering wearing Depends Adult Diapers while Cecilia, the former sweet and innocent baby turned curious and destructive toddler, is awake. Took two bathroom breaks and paid for my brief moment behind a closed door. Trip one into the bathroom she spilled both of her brother’s juice cups on the kitchen table and the kitchen floor. She then proceeded to empty a container of baby wipes in order to ~~spread~~ clean the mess up. Two cups of coffee and a couple hours later, I slipped in the bathroom unnoticed…or so I thought. I heard a gentle scratching sound at the door and called out “Who’s there!” to which Cecilia squealed in delight and ran down the hall. Upon leaving the bathroom I discovered the scratching was not a sound made by her hands but rather from a red crayon that was all over the bathroom door, front door and down the hallway.

As I mentioned today is the official start of Spring Break. Pray for me, people. Pray for me.

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Curb your kid

Posted by Domestic Diva at 8:06 pm Uncategorized

Apr 142011

Monday we hit 80 degrees and the kids and I enjoyed a plethora of outdoor fun. They played in their sand box and on their swing set, rode their bikes and colored on the sidewalk while I worked in the garden and started on my fabulous farmer’s tan.

Then Tuesday came in like a lion with colder temperatures, wind, rain and we were forced to stay indoors. For some reason, my younger two kids think I control the weather. After such a fantastic day Monday, being stuck indoors again was the last thing they (or I wanted). I tried my best to keep them entertained, but by Wednesday morning with even colder air, windier and wetter conditions they were absolutely miserable.

The whining probably started about 9:30am Tuesday and by Wednesday at 1pm it had escalated to a point where I was ready to lose my mind. We had colored, painted, read books, played computer games, played with Play Doh, built blocks, had a tea party, played hide and seek and played some board games. Yet still the whining continued….”Moooooooom! I want to go out…I want to play….I want to go for a walk…I want it to be Spring!!!”

So I did search the internet for more fun crafts to try? Did I drive 50 miles to the closest museum to break the rainy whiney blues?

Hell, no.

I put on DVD after DVD. When they were done with DVD’s we watched a half dozen Backyardian’s episodes, ate junk food, played Wii, and then watched some more TV. We dined on a gourmet style dinner of mac & cheese and hotdogs. We finished off the evening with ice cream.

I went to bed Wednesday night vowing to not to leave that spot between my sheets until the sun made an appearance. Lucky for me, Thursday came and the sun was shining, birds were chirping and the temperatures were climbing. The kids and I moved slowly at first, almost hungover from the previous day’s bad parenting.

I felt like I was going to need to make up for the mind melting activities of yesterday afternoon and evening. To be perfectly honest, I was feeling kind of guilty about my short temper, turning my kid’s attention over to the television, and my poor nutritional choices.

So we had our fill of the gorgeous weather. We played in the sandbox, I pushed them on the swings, they “helped” me in the garden, and just cause I felt so bad, I decided to squeeze in an extra walk in the stroller.

The kids were pretty quiet now due to all the running around, and I was feel reborn as a parent. The kids would point out the occasional dog, say “hello” to the other neighbors who had the same great idea that we did, and seemed to be just happy. I heaved a heavy sigh of relief, and I smiled as Cecilia repeated the sound. What a perfect Spring day…for some.

As we came headed down the next street, now just two blocks from home, I saw an empty stroller on the curb. It sat half in the overgrown grass of the vacant (still waiting to be built on) lot, and a woman, dog and small boy were about 6ft into the tall grass and weeds. “Maybe there’s a frog or something in there,” I pondered to myself as we came closer. Although, I’d never let my kids walk in there, frog or no frog, because there are ticks and snakes and other undesirables calling these 20 or so un-built home sites, home.

The dog was pulling wildly at the leash on the woman’s wrist and she was uncensored as she released a string of curse words in the canine’s direction. The dog didn’t pause and continued to leap and now bark as we approached. I was still trying to figure out this odd scene. The boy seemed to be bent over forward in front of the woman who I assumed was his mother. She had her back to us and didn’t seem, until this moment, to have noticed us, and now half turned to see who was approaching.

The woman’s left arm jerked around and she pulled hard at the un-obedient dog. Her sunglasses held some of her hair from her face, but I could see she was visibly sweating. She too was bent over and suddenly, as she half turned, and our eyes met, I knew exactly what this poor woman was doing.

As this woman worked to restrain her dog, she also worked to balance her son who was sort of squatting, bare assed in front of her. She held in her right hand a white plastic bag that she was desperately trying to grab with her left hand as well. The bag, I’m sure was initially intended for the dog. At this moment, however, the bag was being used as a toilet for her 2-3 year old boy.

“There’s more coming out, Mom!” he yelled.

My eyes locked with this woman’s. At first neither of us said a word. She didn’t need to say anything, her eyes, filling with tears and her cheeks a scarlet red, said it all.

“How did I end up here?”

“What did I do to deserve this?”

“This is not what I expected from parenthood or life in general”

“I told this little jerk to go to the potty seven times before we left”

“I am standing in an overgrown lot up to my knees in grass, weeds, bugs, and toddler shit.”

My mouth opened and no sound came out. I wasn’t so much shocked at what I saw, but more surprised that it was happening to someone other than me. This is the life I live and yet there she was. I knew my mere presence was making her life even more unbearable at the moment, but I hoped that she saw in my eyes that I’ve been there before too (not literally in a grassy area holding human poop in a bag, but close).

I asked as kindly as I could if there was anything I could do? Hold the dog perhaps? And just as the woman was about to turn me down the boy stood up, half pulled up his underwear, and announced he was “all done.”

At this point my kids were pointing and questioning why they couldn’t go into the grass, so seeing that the situation was under control, I continued forward with a sympathetic glance. She did say thank you, and I just waved and continued home.

It was in that last block and a half that I really felt just terrible for her. Here I was feeling redeemed, feeling like a great Mom, and then I bore witness to another parent having an as-bad-as-it-gets kind of moment. Half of me just ached for her and the other half felt thankful. Thank you to the gods of parenting that wasn’t me, not today. Not after the last two days…maybe her misfortune was the universe trying to show me on those worst of the worst days, or in the most embarrassing moments of motherhood, I’m not alone…

I had never seen the woman before, but I wish I knew where she lived…I’d bring her a bottle of wine.

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Mommy Poppins

Posted by Domestic Diva at 9:00 pm Uncategorized

Apr 062011

Today was “Kite Day” with Joey’s Kindergarten class. Kite Day, in case you didn’t know, involves every child bringing in a kite and all of them running around in an open field flying them at the same time (or at least trying to). Kite Day, my friends, is even more fun than you’re imagining it is.

Today’s festivities were rescheduled from last week due to wind/rain/snow, and although it was a bit chilly the sun was shining, and there was a steady kite flying breeze. Thankfully, all of the kites had been assembled by the “Wednesday Mom” this morning, so all the kids had to do was get them in the air. Sounds simple enough.

Joey has an awesome kite. It was purchased from “The Kite Store” where the name says it all. This kite puts all other kites to shame. It is comprised of some aerodynamic fabric and developed by NASA. The color combination and design will leave you breathless as it soars through the air. That kite is in my parent’s garage at the beach house.

Today Joey’s kite, from family Dollar, cost all of $2.50 and was made of trash bag type plastic, two skinny wooden sticks, and a string roll on a cheap plastic handle. I thought it was going to take Jesus Christ himself to appear and make this piece of shit fly.

Kite flying, as you may or may not know, is all about location. Location, location, location. So as I surveyed the available space, did a quick assessment of the wind’s speed and direction, and saw where most of the children were clustered, I took the kite and my son over on a hill by the far end of the field. I was not hopeful as I position my son and the crappy kite, and I was completely shocked as the kite took flight with ease. Joey wanted to watch me fly the kite, and I was so excited that ours was one of the first in the air. This caused me to get a little cocky and let that p.o.s. soar higher and higher.

“Mom!!! It’s gonna go to Mars! It’s too high! You’re making me nervous!” Joey whined.

“Are you kidding me, Joey? Look around, you’re supposed to fly your kite as high as you can. Welcome to Kite Day, son.” I half scolded.

I made Joey hold the kite a few times, but he preferred to backseat kite fly and critique my technique.

“Joey, relax. Have fun. Isn’t this fun? Watch, I’m going to make it go higher!” I squealed.

And so it was for twenty minutes. Yes, for twenty minutes my Joey’s kite soared higher and higher. This kite flew longer than any other kite I had ever flown, and I was pretty pleased with myself. I hummed the “Let’s Go Fly a Kite” song from Mary Poppins and thought those musical Londoners had nothing me. Joey, although nervous, began to see my mad kite flying skillz for what they were, and I took the time to prep him on what he should say to my husband when we got home. He was never going to believe this. I was rocking this kite flying business and after twenty minutes I had that kite flying 50 feet in the air.

The thing with a kite being 50 feet in the air is that if the kite loses the wind and spirals back to the earth it has the potential to fall 50 feet in any direction. I’m sure many of you are thinking I crashed the kite into a group of five year olds, into the teacher, or smack on top of the principals head. I didn’t, thank you very much.

But when this Family Dollar airborne miracle lost the wind beneath it’s wings and came crashing down, I watched helplessly as it spiraled out of my control right into a line of 35-40ft pine trees. Fudge…only I didn’t say fudge.

Joey cried out and my brief moment as an ace kite flyer was over. “It’s in the tree, Mom! I told you it was too high! It’s Kite Day and my kite is in the tree!” Captain Obvious wailed.

And there, atop the might pine, my pride and joy was wedged. I struggled for a moment and the kite fell down a few feet. A swift breeze spun it round a branch and as I tugged I knew it was a lost cause. “It’s over, Joey. I should have listened; we (I) flew it too high.”

Joey has no poker face. He sulked and slumped over and I tried to keep him with me and help some of the other kids whose parents didn’t come for the fun. Joey helped me help his friends and he also made sure to point out the kite in the pine to anyone who would listen. I laughed it off, seemed typical enough for me, just the ending I’d expect, until Joey walked over to observe another boy’s kite high in the air, down in the field below. Joey congratulated him on flying his kite so high and then quickly pointed his finger at me and called me out to yet another parent, “Yeah, my Mom flew my kite right into a tree. My Mom broke Kite Day.” I apologized again to Joey, but the other boy’s father said he’d go take a look.

I tried to explain it was 35 feet in the air and there was no way it was coming down. The boy’s father continued over towards the trees and pushed away some branches at the bottom. As he looked up at the tree I could not believe it as I saw him place his feet on a branch and he began a precarious ascent up the sappy pine. “Oh my God!” I exclaimed, “That is so unnecessary! The kite cost $2.50 and we flew it for awhile, it’s not worth you breaking your leg(s) or neck!”

The boy’s father ignored me and continued up the tree. The branches crackled and made snapping noises as he made his way all the way up to the top of a tree. Perhaps he was a bear in a previous life, maybe a squirrel, or maybe they teach police officers these things at the academy now (he’s a state trooper). Either way, after what felt like a lifetime he reached the kite and made what felt like an even slower decent. I kept thinking of what I’d say to his child when he fell 35 feet from the tree, and how I’d pay for his inevitable medical bills. Could I somehow have this covered under my homeowners insurance? Doubtful.

As he handed me back the kite Joey and several other children erupted into cheers. I knew the real miracle of Kite Day was not my long and glorious flight, but rather it was that this every day hero didn’t break his neck rescuing my kid’s crappy $2.50 kite….cause that is also my kind of luck.

: Nice flying, Mom.

With 2.50 for paper and strings
You can have your own set of wings
With your feet on the ground
You’re a bird in a flight
With your fist holding tight
To the string of your kite

Oh, oh, oh!
Let’s go fly a kite
Up to the highest height!
Let’s go fly a kite and send it soaring
Up through the atmosphere
Up where the air is clear
Oh, let’s go fly a kite!

When you send it flyin’ up there
All at once you’re lighter than air
You can dance on the breeze
Over ‘Kindergartners and into trees
With your first ‘olding tight
To the string of your kite

Oh, oh, oh!
Let’s go fly a kite
Up to the highest height!
Let’s go fly a kite and send it soaring
Up through the atmosphere
Up where the air is clear
Let’s go fly a kite!

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Murgled

Posted by Domestic Diva at 12:34 pm Uncategorized

Apr 042011

Looks unassuming enough, right?

I pulled into the empty gas station early Saturday morning and quickly filled up my tank. Relieved that the adjacent ATM enclosure was also empty, I made my way to get some cash. I parked my car in front of what I call the ATM hut and went inside. Just as I put my card into the machine I heard a loud vehicle come to a stop just outside.

I turned around to see an old white windowless cargo van parked just outside the door. I immediately felt uneasy as I looked around the still vacant parking lot through the glass enclosure which was the only thing separating me from this suspicious vehicle parked not in a space, but just outside the doors. The sound of the ATM beeping impatiently brought me back to the task at hand and tried to keep my mind focused as the questions kept popping up on the screen:

CHECKING OR SAVINGS

Why is that van sitting there nearly blocking the exit?

SELECT A DOLLAR AMOUNT

Okay, there’s at least two men in the front. Why are they just sitting in the van? What are they doing…or rather what are they plotting??

THERE IS A RIDICULOUS FEE TO BE MURGLED (MURDERED AND BURGLED) IN THIS ATM HUT. DO YOU ACCEPT?

So this is really happening. I don’t even have any pepper spray on me. I only carried my keys and debit card in here. At least I have my shit kicking heels on; they can try to murgle me in here but I’m gonna take out some eye balls and testicles when I go.

IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE YOU NEED?

Other than a cop, or some brass knuckles? No, that’s it. Here I go.

GOOD LUCK- YOU NEED IT.

Okay, the ATM didn’t say that last part.

I stood a moment longer facing the ATM, placing the cash and receipt in my back pocket. I positioned my car keys between my index and middle finger, ready to stab at whichever would-be-murlger approached first. I put on my “I’m-fucking-crazy-and-you-don’t-want-any-of-this-face” and headed towards the door. My plan as I opened the door was to walk past the back of the van so they couldn’t pull me into the front. I wondered if I should start screaming as I walked out into the parking lot, or with no one around, if my energy would be be conserved for kicking someone in the balls.

Armed with my keys and crazy face I took my first step out of the ATM hut and had my crazed eyes fixed on the man staring out the passenger side window. Whatever these bastards were up to, I knew after the last three minutes, wasn’t gonna be good. I went to take my second step, the one I knew would be the most precarious, the one that would take me right past the windowless sliding back door of the serial killer van.

Just as my foot, secure in my fabulous leather black boots, hit the pavement the back door of the van was thrown open with a loud and thunderous crash. Although fully prepared for my impending attempted murgle, I yelled out, leaping backwards into a half crouched ninja like stance.

It was then the van exploded with laughter from three men who appeared to be ~~total assholes~~ painters.

This band of morons obviously sensed my apprehension and thought it would be funny to scare the shit out of me first thing on a Saturday morning.

I paused, flipped off the gang of morons, and got into my car.

Once seated in my car with the doors securely locked I breathed a sigh of relief. Although now I was totally pissed, I appreciated that I would live to write this post. As I sat there a moment composing myself, I resolved to A) not drink as much coffee in the morning B) Start watching less 48 Hours Mystery, 20/20 and Dateline (some lady is always getting murgled on those damn shows) and C) always carry my pepper spray with me to the ATM. It really does no good in my car when I’m being murgled in the local ATM Hut. Plus, it would have totally foiled that van of morons “funny joke.”

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Anyone can be an azul

Posted by Domestic Diva at 9:04 pm Uncategorized

Feb 012011

Maybe it’s the constant onslaught of winter weather, but I’m feeling a wee bit bitchy lately. I feel like I’m going to look back at my posts in a few months and diagnosis myself with chronic PMS or something.

As I sit here now, listening to freezing drizzle hit the window, I’m not lulled or calmed by the melody of the sound, I’m annoyed. This, in part, is because we seem to get a winter storm the same time every week, and it keeps falling on my grocery shopping day.

I walked into the store yesterday, already irritated, at lunch time behind an elderly woman with a cane, a team of shopping friends (wth?), and a family. This I never understand either- why are both parents out with three kids? If you have two available parents, one of you should keep your infant, young baby and toddler at home…and the other does the grocery shopping (don’t forget the birth control!). Anyway, I was on a time crunch and had just 40 minutes before my husband’s lunch hour was up. Normally, this would be a tight time constraint for my weekly trip anyway, but with the store packed with snow-a-phobics, I knew I was in trouble.

As I weaved my way down one aisle after the next, I felt like I could be a champion on the old show, “Supermarket Sweep.” I checked off one item after another, maneuvering between shoppers, carts, stray children, stock boys and the like marveling at the speed and good time I was making. It’s times like this I do feel like I’m domestically gifted, and just as I was making my way down one of the final aisles, I encountered one of the sixty or so seniors doing their shopping too.

The woman smiled kindly at me, and I watched as her 90-something year old arm trembled as she attempted to reach something on a shelf that was just out of her arm’s reach. “Here,” I said, “let me help you. What can I get for you?” I smiled as I pulled the box of dark brown hair dye down from the shelf, and tried not to giggle as I saw wisps of her white and brown hair peeking beneath her scarf. “Good for you, Grandma,” I thought silently as I handed her the box. She studied it for a minute, and I was then instructed to remove two or three more boxes searching for the right shade of brown. Just as I thought we finally found it, I heard a loud commotion just behind me and a string of curse words.

Coming to a stop was an older man on a motorized scooter. My cart was stopped next to the old woman’s, blocking the man’s path. I quickly apologized and went to move the cart when the man said, “People are so damn inconsiderate!” I stopped behind my cart, turned, and asked the man to repeat himself. “You’re blocking the whole damn aisle.”

I stood there for a moment and considered hitting him in his fat, wrinkly head with a bottle of shampoo, and then had a quick daydream about kicking him off his store-borrowed rascal scooter (he didn’t look incapable of walking, he looked lazy). Instead, I just said, “I’m terribly sorry to have slowed you down and caused you such a terrible inconvenience as I helped this woman reach a product off a high shelf. To help you make up for lost time, let me just give you a heads up, the tampons and Midol are located in aisle 12 now.” He just glared at me, and to my delight, the old woman began to chuckle. We both had a hearty laugh as the lazy old man motored past us.

“What an asshole that old guy was!” I complained to my husband as I brought my bags inside. “I mean, I know we’ve had this conversation before, but I don’t care if you’re 4 years old or 70-something like this guy, just cause you’re old and maybe even disabled doesn’t mean you’re excused from acting like an asshole!”

Jake, overhearing the conversation, chimes in with “I learned that azz-hules on Dora are blue.”

I immediately stopped what I was doing and tried to process what he was saying. He then questions, “So some azz-hules are old and some of them are blue too?”

Then it clicked. “First, Jake, please don’t repeat my bad words. Don’t say asshole or ‘azz-hule‘ as you said. Secondly, it’s azul, and azul means the color blue.”

Jake, clearly irritated with me, just said, “well, people can be azul.”

“Yes, yes they can, Jake. People can be azuls…it’s a good life lesson. Oh, and why don’t you ask your brother about blue people.”

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Hi, Pat!

Posted by Domestic Diva at 4:57 pm Uncategorized

Jan 122011

I buy my diapers and wipes in bulk at Sam’s Club, so please tell me how I ran out without realizing it yesterday just hours before a snow storm. Having no desire to fight the snow-a-phobics, who stock up like they won’t be able to get out of the house until Spring, I decided I was not going to fight the crowds at Sam’s Club today. Instead, while the baby napped and my husband worked from home, I’d take Jake with me to the pharmacy to pick up a small pack of diapers to get me through the rest of the week.

I hurried Jake into the store as the first snow flakes began to fall silently from the sky, and we slowly and painstakingly made our way to the back of the store where the diapers were located. Jake stopped and asked me if we needed every other product he saw. “Can we buy this Mom? Why not, Mom?” he loudly asked again and again.

By the time we made it to the diapers, he was already holding a new ice scraper, a container of Elmer’s glue, a new tube of Chapstick and an 8-pack of crayons. I practically shoved him past the tampon aisle, not wanting a repeat of anything close to what happened on Super-Missile Saturday, and quickly began looking for any brand of diaper in a size 4. As I searched for the one item I actually came into the store to buy, Jake began to wander and peek around the corner towards the pharmacy area.

An old woman waved and he took that as an invitation to talk to her about the upcoming snow storm. She smiled, made some small talk, and asked him how old he was…he responded that he would be “four year old on the summer time.” He then proceeded to ask her how old she was, and I quickly tried to shush him. She laughed and said it was okay and that she was 74 years young (I would have suspected more like 112). Jake just replied, “Wooow!”

Realizing he was in a social mood, and what that could mean for me, I quickly pulled him closer as I went back to trying to find the right size diapers. The shelf looked like it had been stocked by one of my children, with brands and sizes clustered together, no one brand or size in any discernible order. Jake, at this point, was still visible in my peripheral vision, and only out of arm’s reach when I began feeling a familiar mother-type foreboding. I struggled as fast as I could through the packages and boxes of diapers. Where the hell were all the size 4 diapers?

A bead of sweat began to roll slowly down the side of my face, as I turned just in time to see Jake, now just at the end of the aisle, yell down to me at the other end, “Mommy, why does that big man have hair like a girl?”

For a minute I considered grabbing his hand and asking him if he was lost and see if he would let me help him find his mother. Fearing what kind of loud retort that might bring, I swept him up and gave a quick glance down the aisle at the 300lb “Biker” frowning in my direction. Upon locking eyes, he must have seen the sheer defeat I felt, perhaps he himself had children, or maybe he once saw the same look from his own mother, because he then gave me half a smile as I retreated back down the aisle.

At this point I was not even considering going to another store for the damn diapers in the right size, so I grabbed a pack of size 5′s and hoped they wouldn’t be too big (and I wouldn’t be scrubbing leaking poop from my daughter’s clothing for the rest of the week). I assisted Jake with his multiple products to the front of the store to pay (and finally exit), while I silently prayed that the rather large and long haired gentleman would be detained in the pharmacy area until after we left the store.

My preoccupation with keeping Jake in one place and the whereabouts of the recently insulted biker had me unaware of much else. As the couple in front of us grabbed their bags and moved out of the way, I placed our items up by the cashier, and was again overcome with a mother of a bad feeling (I mean a mother’s bad feeling).

Jake, silent for the first time in his life since he began to speak, placed his glue up on the counter and just stared at the person across from him. The cashier asked him if he liked to color and glue, and still he stared silently. I felt a knot growing in the pit of my stomach because I now knew exactly what my offspring was thinking. I laughed as I handed the cashier my member’s card and said it was for some indoor activities after we play in the snow. ”Please, God, let this be quick. I’m running out of time!” I prayed as I tried, rather unsuccessfully, to hurry through the barrage of questions that follow swiping your debit card.

Enter your pin number please….

Jake was still quiet…..

Cash back?…

Jake glances up at me….

Verify the dollar amount…..

I ignore his questioning glance….

Now press enter….

Holy shit this couldn’t possibly take any longer….

Then, because insulting an old lady and biker wasn’t bad enough, Jake dropped the real bomb….

Mommy? Does that person have a penis or a vagina?

I closed my eyes for a second, felt my recently flushed face lose color, felt the blood rush from my head, and then my stomach dropped (like when you’re on a roller coaster). The earth stood still for a moment as I looked at my son’s innocent little face just trying to figure out who or what was ringing up our items.

Without making eye contact with Pat (you remember that skit from Saturday night live, right? What’s that? Oh, that’s Pat! Was Pat a man or a woman, who really knows?), I grabbed the bagged items, receipt, my loud and inquisitive child and made a break for the door hoping for the nine hundredth time, that the earth would open up and swallow me whole.

Just behind us, as we walked out the door, was the biker with the womanly locks (actually they were quite lovely)…”Bet the fun never ends with this one,” he chuckled. “You should write this shit down. Give it to him later when he has kids of his own.”

I laughed, apologized, and wondered if I’ll make it through their adolescence let alone their adulthood…

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Hot Pursuit

Posted by Domestic Diva at 1:26 pm Uncategorized

Oct 202010

My heart beat faster in my chest than it has in a long time. My lungs burned as I breathed in and out, faster and faster, the cold midnight air. My legs felt like they were made of cement, and with every step, I felt like I had to physically command them to move. Faster and faster my heart beat. Faster and faster my legs moved. I had no choice; I was losing him.

My body, so abused by three pregnancies over the last five years, is in no shape for a marathon, but my legs did as I commanded and pushed forward. Forward through people’s front and side lawns, forward through the empty lots. My anger was the only thing propelling me forward. With every soggy step, through the knee high grass on the empty lots that anger grew and boiled. What was I going to do when I caught up to him? Or what wouldn’t I do?

“You better stop!!” I manged to yell between gulps of air. “I…swear…I…will not stop ….chasing ….you….you…little asshole!!!” I screamed hoping a neighbor would hear and help me. The bandit slowed a bit and peeked a glance in my direction. I saw fear in his eyes even from 30 feet away, and I knew that he knew I meant business. With not nearly enough breath left to yell anything else, I just raised my arm and pointed right at him. Without missing a beat he dropped it in the tall grass, just before the next neighborhood and disappeared over the man-made hill.

I stopped, hands on knees, praying God would let me live long enough to retrieve the stolen item. As I stood there with cold sweat pouring down my face, lungs on fire, and legs wobbling, and I heard my husband calling my name. I waved and manged to tell him they dropped it. His face indicated he had no clue what I was talking about. As I slowly made my way through the last of the empty lots, I continued to pray. First, a prayer of thanks that I made it out the door before my husband who might have killed the thief had he caught up to him. Second, a prayer that there were no critters or creepy crawly things like the snakes (that I know are there) between me and my nearly stolen treasure somewhere just ahead in the tall grass.

Finally! I reached down and examined the face. The pumpkin, slightly bruised and missing two teeth, smiled up at me. I found the top of the Jack-o-lantern another two feet away and sloshed my way home. When I reached my street corner my husband met me and took the now one-toothed pumpkin from my arms and said “what the hell just happened?”

As he shut the front door and I removed my muddy ballet slippers and pj pants, I told him I had woken up 30 minutes earlier with a headache. I’m battling a sinus infection and my motrin had worn off. I came down stairs to pop a couple more and sat down at the computer to check my email before returning to bed. I saw shadows move past the window, and at first thought it was my over-active imagination scaring me again. As I peeked through the curtain I saw two hooded teens right outside my front door each going for a pumpkin. Infuriated, I quickly turned off the alarm, called up to my husband and threw open the front door. The smarter of the two kids took off without a pumpkin, and the dumber took off with a pumpkin in the other direction. The chase ensued. My husband scolded me, yes literally scolded me, for not waiting for him, but how could I? There was no time, I just reacted.

I went to two stores on Saturday looking for suitable pumpkins. I spent another two hours that evening helping the boys carve just one of those pumpkins because they wanted to clean it and carve it themselves. I, of course, assisted with the carving, but we had a few practice drawings of the mouth and some debates on what type of face we wanted the pumpkin to have…so after all that was I about to let some punk teenager just walk off with my time, money and most importantly family bonding? Hell no!

Let that be a lesson to any punk kids in my neighborhood. I’m willing to die of a near coronary to save even something seemingly as worthless as a pumpkin. My kids would have cried and then inevitably whined until we spent another two hours carving another one. I also would have had to take them to pick out another one at the store which was a painfully long process the first time. So next time, pick a different house…or face a crazy, sleep deprived, suburban Mama.

Who wouldn't try to save such a masterpiece?

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No strangers in a small town

Posted by Domestic Diva at 9:20 pm Uncategorized

Oct 132010

I moved slower than normal through the pharmacy, not eager to go back out into the near Nor’easter conditions brewing outside. I thought how it was typical to be running errands on a day like today as I nonchalantly tried to fix my hair in a mirror above some cosmetics. Unable to postpone paying for my items without raising suspicions of shoplifting or something, I headed to the counter to wrap up my pharmacy errand.

As I made my way towards the door, I could see a torrent of rain and wind awaiting me outside. In an effort to get into the car as quickly as possible, I began the fumbling for my keys just inside the door. I was elbow deep in my purse, searching for my keys when I was startled by a cold burst of air that blew in when the automatic doors opened…and that’s when I saw him.

He walked through the door and casually shook the rain off his coat, and then he began to walk past me but stopped. Our eyes locked and in an instant I was overcome with a flood of memories. It seemed like only yesterday that we met, and yet our time together seemed so fleeting, as if it was over in an instant. Although brief, our time spent together was filled with emotion, and as I stood there I remembered what his hands felt like on my skin. In that moment, my face flushed, and I remembered how it ended…when I lied.

He smiled kindly and in a manner which suggested he knew why I was blushing. I thought about just running out into the rain, but my feet were planted firmly to the floor. “Some weather, huh?” he asked.

The weather? That was what we were going to talk about? The damn weather? I thought for a moment I should be thankful. There were a lot of things he could say to me now that would embarrass the hell out of me, so thank God for the weather, I supposed.

After a moment, I relaxed and began to respond with an equally inane response to his question about the weather, but before I could he laughed and said, “Have you had any more problems with crickets??”

Yes, folks. It was him. Him as in the hero from the Acme parking lot. The hero who saved me from stripping in the parking lot. The man who feared no bug, neither living nor dead.

God damn small town livin’.

(Read here if you missed it…I promise it’s worth it.)

I felt my face get hot and my cheeks must have been as red as an apple. “Uh, no. Thankfully, no. Knock on wood… that was the first and only time that has happened to me. I’ve been cricket free since I saw you last.” I half-jokingly replied, feeling utterly humiliated.

My cell phone rang. Thank God, saved by the…ringtone. “Well, nice to see you…and thanks again…uh, for everything.” I said as I answered the phone, never so happy to hear my husband’s voice. My hero laughed and waved, as I ran out into the storm.

I sat in the car for a minute, defeated by life again, telling my husband we needed to move to a larger town so I could avoid these kinds of situations. My husband responded that there might not be a town big enough for me to avoid situations like this….and he’s probably right.

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Anyone can be an azul

Hi, Pat!

Mommy? Does that person have a penis or a vagina?

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Hot Pursuit

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No strangers in a small town

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