Archive for April, 2009

A glimpse into my life as my children’s chauffeur

ADDIE:  Momma

ME:  Yes, Addie?

ADDIE:  When I turn six, will you get me a bra?

ME:  Erm, why?

ADDIE:  Because I need a bra when I’m six.

ME:  Erm, well….see, you don’t really need a bra yet.  You won’t need to wear a bra for a long time.

ADDIE:  Yes, huh!

EMMA:  Addie.   You do not need a bra!


EMMA:  No you won’t!  I’m seven and I don’t need a bra!

ADDIE:  Well Melissa has a bra! 

EMMA:  Melissa does not have a bra!


EMMA:  Does she wear it?  I don’t think she wears a bra.  Momma, do you think Melissa wears a bra?

ME:  Well I really don’t —

ADDIE:  Melissa told me at lunch she is six and she has a bra!

EMMA:  She probably meant she got a bra for when she needs it.  She doesn’t wear it now.

ADDIE:  Is that true, Momma?

ME:  Umm… 


EMMA:  ADDIE!  She does not need a bra! 

ADDIE:  You are breaking your promise!

EMMA:  Addie!  I didn’t say I promise!

ADDIE:  Yes huh!  You said you promise and you just broke your promise!

EMMA:  Momma!!  Tell Addie I didn’t break my promise!!

ME:  Sigh.

ADDIE:  You are a poo poo head.

EMMA:  I am not a poo poo head!

ADDIE:  Yes you are a poo poo head!  You’re a stinky poo poo head!

EMMA:  Momma!!

ME:  No one is a poo poo head.

ADDIE:  She is so a poo poo head!

ME:  Addie, apologize to your sister for calling her a poo poo head.

ADDIE:  (mumbles) I’m sorry.


ADDIE:  So can I get a bra when I turn six?

You totally don’t have to floss everyday to have great teeth

At least, that’s what the nice dental hygienist told me this week.  Sort of.  Mostly.


I, the model patient, had not been to see the dentist in 12 years, not counting that one time in college when my teeth were killing me and had them checked out for like, 20 seconds by a dentist wearing no shoes.  I suspect he spent his day kicking back in his office sniffing Scary Dental Gas, because he said my teeth hurt because I was stressed out.  Come on, who gets stressed out in college while taking 90 bagillion hours to catch up with your husband and have not even 10 cents in your pocket and have to scrounge under the car seats for money for Peanut Butter M&Ms and a Diet Coke and you’re a newlywed and your birth control pills make you a crazy person and your husband leaves his socks on the floor and watches football which your mom taught you was the “F” word and you got a dog at the pound and realized you had no time to take care of him and you had to give him to your father in law and your dog ran away?  Really. 


So, I decided to live life to its fullest and see my local dentist.  Who happens to attend my church.  Which seemed cool at the time but then the night before my appointment I got scared thinking about my Dentist Church Friend being grossed out by my teeth so I was madly flossing and contemplating gargling with bleach to destroy the Bad Breath that surely the Nice Dentist In Whose Home I’ve Sat In And Scrapbooked With His Wife would tell everyone about. 

I even brought along my toothbrush and toothpaste and brushed my teeth in our office bathroom, where I had to use the Mens Room because the Ladies Room was occupied by our Breastfeeding Receptionist and I had to brave the stench and touch as little as possible and use lots of papertowels and try not to look at the toilet as I brushed.  I was quick but efficient.  And I used the bathroom spray.

I worried about Bad Breath all the way in the car and I tried to breath with my mouth open, you know, to air it out and I ended up gagging a little because geez, it’s kind of gross breathing with your mouth open.  Men, how do you do it? 

Once at the Dentist’s Office, I filled out the 90 page Spanish Inquisition asking for details on my birth and did my Granddaddy from 1890 have Dental Disease, I wrote in very small writing that I hadn’t visited the dentist in 12 years.  The Nice Lady Behind the Counter asked loudly once more, “12 years?  It’s been 12 years since you’ve seen the dentist?  Are you sure it’s been 12 years?” publicly shaming me as she made mental tsk-ing sounds while rapidly typing on the computer keyboard, alerting everyone that I am, in fact, the world’s worst dental patient and to break out Scary Drills and Yucky Slimy Stuff to lather on my teeth (that’s a fluoride flashback *gag*). 

I sat down and watched CNN because I like to remain current on events. 

Actually what happened was I turned my eyeballs onto the TV screen and let them glaze over as I planned my lunch and wondered what it would be like to be on American Idol and if Stacy and Clinton are going to burst into my office this week, humiliating me in my choice of bra and make me get up on national television with my bosoms for all the world to see while a Nordstrom’s lady loudly proclaims that I, in fact, need a 49 GGG or something God-awful and expensive and what would Lance say if I came home today with red hair like Allison and should I paint my fingernails and is it tacky to want to paint them white and would that make my pasty-white skin look like raw chicken flesh and I am regretting those 19 miniature candy bars I ate yesterday before remembering I was going to the dentist the next day and-

And then my name was called and I had to walk towards the Dental Hygenist Lady who is looking at me with a bright smile but I know inwardly she is saying “12 years?  This is going to be disgusting.”

And I sat down in the weird lounge chair/dentist bed thingy and exchanged witty banter.

Actually, I apologized up front for the banana I ate for breakfast and assured her I had done everything I could to eradicate The Stench. 

After Xrays, Dentist Friend Guy came in and peeked in my mouth and for a few terrifying moments where I realized this could be it, my reputation as a Fine Upstanding Citizen could all be undone with this man with his fingers in my mouth and possible Bad Breath Germs floating towards his nostrils and I tried to say sorry but it came out as “swrhtoyyy froooor ddaaaa bbbbfdddddaf bbrrrtththhh” to which he just laughed and said it was par for the course.  

It turns out, after these 12 years, I only have one tiny minuscule barely there cavity and otherwise excellent teeth.  There was very little pickage of the plaque and tartar and the hygienist told me she couldn’t believe what great shape my mouth is in. 

And I don’t even care that she nicked my gums with her pick thingy because not only did she compliment the color of my teeth (I’m thinking yellow is the new white) and how large my mouth is and but she remembered my children from a couple of months ago and said what nice manners they had. 

She’s my new BFF.

Take On Me, the literal version

I was an MTV child.  I grew up watching music videos most of my childhood.  One of my all time favorites was Take On Me by a-ha.  Extremely cool video for a one hit wonder. 

Mostly videos don’t match the lyrics.   But what if they did? 

Here is Take On Me, the literal version:

What did he say? Is that English?

I fear all my years of listening to Bass in the back of cars sitting next to giant speakers has finally taken it’s toll on my ears. 

Friday, in my Keyboard Confessions, I stated that it is impossible to be in a bad mood listening to Come On, Eileen by Dexy’s Midnight Runners.  For real.  Find the song and listen to it and I am not kidding- it is impossible to have bad feelings.  It’s better than Prozac.  Maybe.

However, if you are like me, you are scratching your head because you can’t understand more than a handful of words. “Toora loora toora looray aye…” What the heck?


I am not alone in this.  I found this video on youtube from a guy with the same problem. 


And if you’re a lyrics junkie like me, here are the real lyrics for Come On, Eileen.  Not that they really help.

Keyboard Confessions

1.  This last time I went to get my hair cut, I got a wild hair (hahaha pun) and busted out with “Go ahead and give me some bangs!”  What I was really trying to say was “Please make it so my hair is in my face all my waking hours!”

2.  I should have read the hair dresser’s expression when she said “Really?”  Because I think she was really saying “Dude, you’re going to regret it in about 3 days.”

3.  I am wondering if anyone else out there is plagued with boogers like I am.

4.  Also, is that a dirty thing?  To say I have lots of boogers?  Is that kind of like telling everyone I have halitosis?

5.  It is possible to burn yourself out on One Hit Wonders.  I know this because I’ve been listening to my newly burned CD for the last week filled with One Hit Wonders.

6.  However, it is completely impossible to be in a bad mood listening to Come On, Eileen by Dexy’s Midnight Runners.

7.  I’m pretty sure this song isn’t sung in English.  I can’t understand a durn word.

8.  Every day, I come into my office and put on a little sweater.  I feel very much like Mr. Rogers.

9.  Every day, a crazy black man comes into the office and steals magazines, pens and candy.

10.  None of us know what to do so we just let him to what he’s going to do.

11.  Also, he’s a shouter.  He’s convinced he played football with my boss.

12.  I really hope I’m not a crazy person when I get old.

13.  I also worry about what I would be shouting. 

14.  But mostly I’m just concerned I keep my underwear on and dry.

15.  Erm, this list has taken a strange turn.

16.  I decided to grow my eyebrows out.

17.  This pretty much makes me the most hideous creature alive to look at.

18.  After they are all grown out and supa manly looking, I’m going to get them waxed.

19.  It’s sad, isn’t it, that this is the only form of adventure my life has in store for me.


(Editor’s note: Yes, I realize this list looks incomplete.  But how do I follow up with eyebrow waxing as the only adventure waiting for me in the near future, I ask you?)


Happy Friday.

Remember this? *We are the World installment*

Remember watching MTV when MTV still had music videos? I miss Kurt Loder. And Martha Quinn. But not Down Town Julie Brown.

This was a music video with just about everyone popular in the year 1985. If you’ve never seen it, you must have been living under a rock. Or growing up with my husband in The Void of Culture.


Or if you are a lover of all things British, here is the video done by our pals over there.

Spammers, you tease me so

On this here blog, WordPress lets me know when they have detected a Spam masquerading as a comment.  I get about 10 a week.  It’s like blog junk mail.  And I don’t even have the option of winning a trip to Aruba, all expenses paid.

Sometimes these spam comments they are something like, !@#%@#@!^&#y^&u&&&^$## and so you know they are spam, or else someone stuck writing with the number buttons only.

But sometimes, these spam comments are sneaky.  Like “You have a nice blog, I can tell you put a lot of time into it, I will tell my friends.” But the sender is some bizarre person like  And that is just heartbreaking.  Also, I just made up that email address.  Please don’t try to click it and contact SpamGenerator2000. 

Also, my hopes for good blogs this week are dwindling.