Feel Better About Your Everything.

Look, I’m gonna keep it real. I could be one of those women that go around PRETENDING that my house is always clean, that my husband and I never fight, that the MoonPie has never misbehaved, but why? Seriously, don’t we women do enough of that? And WHO really has it all together? No one, that’s who. Which is why everyone should blog. You know that woman, the one at work who works out before coming in to the office, the one with the perfect house and the perfect husband and the kids in med school? Wouldn’t it be nice if you could read her blog and she was like, “Man, I just passed gas like a truck driver. Blamed the dog.”

Or not. Well, in case there’s some woman out there who needs to feel like they’re not the only one with a messy life- this is for you.

Our house has a lot of weeds and woods around it, and critters are always looking at my house and saying, “Dude, they have heat and endless supplies of sugar. Let’s go there!” We’ve had mice, SNAKES, and even a flying squirrel. I fully expect to see a deer clamoring up the basement steps one evening. So the other day, JD informs me that he’s seen “evidence” of a critter in the kitchen. He strategically placed a small mouse trap in the cupboard and I strategically reminded myself to avoid the kitchen until 2012.

A few hours later, MoonPie, JD and I were sitting on the couch watching TV when we heard the SNAP of the trap. And then –  “THWACK drag, THWACK drag, THWACK drag” as the Creature From HELL began to drag itself around the kitchen! JD went running and “dispatched” it outside. I’m imagining he gave it a strong lecture about boundaries and personal space, then sent it to the neighbors house.

He came back in, set another trap, and said, “If you hear it go off again, just leave it for me to deal with.”

Really? Are you sure you don’t want ME to get it?

If my husband dies on a Monday, I’ll be remarried by the weekend.

Feel better about your own kitchen

So last week I noticed an odor hovering around my sink. Have you ever been in a conversation with someone with REALLY, really bad breath? Imagine that times 12. I figured it must mean some food particles had gotten down the drain so I washed out the sinks, and I poured vinegar down the pipes, and I, well  that’s all I knew to do. And it didn’t help. Then I spotted my teapot sitting in the window sill. See, occasionally when I’m done washing a platter, a large bowl, my TEAPOT, instead of walking it over to the cabinet which is located about 3 feet way, I put it in the windowsill to dry. Only this time I skipped a step. It might not have been so bad, but it wasn’t just tea that had been in the pot, it was CHAI.

Imagine bad breath, the worst bathroom you’ve ever visited and that smell that happens when your dog rolls in something dead all mixed together. This was worse.

I really hope she is paying attention when her FATHER is in the kitchen cause she’s learning nothing good from me.

Feel better about your own brand of crazy

I may not be completely healed yet from this fear thing. On Thursday I flew to Florida. It’s been well-documented here that I have a fear of flying. Okay, fear of crashing, fear of smashing into the ocean, fear of being eaten by sharks, fear of…you get the idea. But I am trying to recognize when I’m heading down the old, fearful path. I’m sorry to say, I’m starting to see familiar signs.

Question 1: When flying, does EVERYONE leave the spare key to the car out in a prominent place so their spouse can find the vehicle at the airport in case they don’t make it back? If not, why are you so RUDE? Do you know how much a spare costs now days?

Question 2: Am I the ONLY one that writes a sweet, poignant paragraph in my journal on the day I’m leaving in case I die so the pastor will have something to read as in, “On her last day, she was only thinking of others when she wrote, “I hope I can bring joy to everyone I meet today”? In reality, I can be sure I will die on the Sunday I write, “this is a boring sermon, I’m distracted, the guy in front of me looks like Sean Cassidy, hubba hubba.” Although that would make the funeral way more interesting.

Question 3: Have you ever Googled “Can you have a stroke without realizing it”? Well, you CAN. So perhaps THAT explains something you’ve been doing. Who’s crazy now? I just diagnosed your problem!

Whatever, so I’m crazy. Deal with it. I’m not the only one. John told me on this trip who he wants to conduct his funeral. I only have TWO wishes upon my death. If I write them now, I won’t have to leave instructions every time I leave to do something dangerous and crazy like flying Jet Blue.

1. Upon my death, no one is allowed in my house until my mother has had three days to clean, hide and destroy. She’ll know WHAT when she sees it.

2. Pictorial slideshows are permitted, but under no circumstances may my brother and sister be allowed to choose the photographs. I don’t want a twenty minute display of college debauchery and spring-break shenanigans for the world to see. Not that there are any photos of stuff like that. (Mom, see #1).

In a totally unrelated note, I hope my prayer group can get together this week. Some people have real issues.

Feel better about your own livingroom


What can I tell you? This has been a CRAZY week. Work/school/Valentines have undone us. If my mother loved me at all, she’d come clean this mess. And the one in the spare bedroom. And do the laundry. Why, Mom? Why don’t you love me??

Did I mention there’s a yard sale this weekend? Not that you can go, you’ll be busy cleaning, but I promise to keep a look out for anything you might like.

Feel better about your own hair.

Yesterday, I took my McSkanky self down to the post office. I don’t use the word “skanky” lightly. I’ll be honest, we’d been celebrating the MoonPie’s birth for several days and frankly, a shower was just too much to ask. But it didn’t MATTER that my hair was uncombed and thrown up into a plastic clip from the 80’s. Sure I was renewing my passport, but I was armed with two, heavily retouched photographs courtesy of my husband. Imagine my delight when they told me that the photographs would not work, and that I needed to have my picture taken right then and there! Awesome. I mean, passports are only good for TEN years. What’s the worst that can happen?

If you really want to know how you look, have your photo taken by your local postal worker. against a plain, white wall under fluorescent lighting. Cool!


Wow, look at that beautiful contrast between the top of my head and the ends. And, ummm…these are the ones JD took where I had actually FIXED my hair. The ones the post office took are much WORSE.

I called my hair-dresser, Steven, and begged him to fit me in. Actually  I told him that I was walking around telling everyone that he’s responsible for my hair, and he rushed me right over. When he looked up my color in his files, turns out that I hadn’t been in to see him in over FIVE MONTHS.

I couldn’t believe it had been so long, but the photo doesn’t lie. I swore to Steven that I’d never wait over 12 weeks again.

Then he presented me with the bill. $155.00!

So long sucker, I’ll see him in June!

Feel better about your own weight

A couple of years ago I began Weight Watchers. And while the weight didn’t drop off quickly, I did eventually get really, really skinny. So skinny in fact that my Father-in-law pulled me aside and asked me if I’d been sick. Ahhh. Good times.

Slowly but surely I began to gain back the weight. That’s when a few friends confided that they had thought all along that I’d  gotten tooooo skinny. As one friend said, “I didn’t say anything cause I knew you thought you looked great, but you didn’t.” My friends are wonderful, they can tell me I’m egotistical AND ugly in one sentence. So now, I’m here.


Wow, they were right. I look so much BETTER. At least no one is going to accuse me of being sick.

Feel better about your own Thanksgiving outfit

No matter what you wear, you look good in it – IF you are 19 and skinny.  I am neither.  I am way neither. Yet, ever the optimist, I decided to make a quick trip into the store to find something to wear to Thanksgiving dinner at the in-laws. By “store”, I mean the ever-fashionable, oh-so-economically-priced WalMart.

Surprisingly, I found my choices limited. I wasn’t looking for anything special, it only had to meet two criteria. One, it had to be LOOSE enough to hide my stomach, and Two, it had to be LONG enough to hide my butt. After much searching, I found a semi-cute number that I thought might do, all for the low, low price of $9.00.

My husband, took one look at it, and did this:


*Not my real husband. My real husband was crying much harder.

Sigh. So I looked like a tent, big deal. Okay, an OLD tent dressing in canvas way to young for her. How was I to know? It wasn’t like I bought just anything off the rack, I went with a real DESIGNER.


Maybe I should have bought the hat, too. That could have pulled the whole look together for me.