Things I Learned This Week

Listening to Lady Gaga with the kids is super fun until you drop the little one off at preschool one day and she belts out to her teacher: “Let’s have some fun, this beat is sick. I want to take a ride on your disco stick.”

If you are feeling beaten down by grown-up life, a super upbeat movie about the rise of an underdog teen pop star is just the ticket. Especially if you get to drink two grown-up glasses of wine beforehand. (I LOVE YOU JUSTIN BIEBER!!! EEEEeeeeeee!!!!!!!)

Taking small, temporary mental vacations throughout the parenting day is fine, but becoming so spaced out that you hit your child in the head with the car door will only escalate your problems.

March and Spring don’t necessarily have anything to do with one another.

If your child poops on the booth seat in a restaurant, you will feel obliged to leave an extra-large tip.

While juvenile, it is actually quite satisfying to correctly guess the answer to the trivia question printed on the cheese stick.* (Take what you can get—it’s the simple pleasures, you know?)

*Q: What city is the largest in the world by area? A: Greater Los Angeles

Mawwaige

“All marriages are happy. It's the living together afterward that causes all the trouble.” –Raymond Hull

“One study found that simply having a husband creates an extra seven hours of housework a week.” –Newsweek, “I Don’t: The Case Against Marriage.” June 21, 2010.

Overheard at a 50th wedding anniversary party. A guest: “How did you two make it this far?” The bride: “Well, we never wanted to get divorced at the same time.”

Overheard at a 70th wedding anniversary party. The bride: “My, those first fifty years were hard.”

“My opinion of gay marriage is exactly the same as my opinion of straight marriage: It’s impossibly difficult and sure to end in agony.” –Kate Braestrup in “Marriage and Other Acts of Charity”

"If love is blind, than marriage is a real eye-opener." --Unknown

Raise Your Hand if You're a Deviant

Remember when you thought your parents had done the dirty deed twice—once to make you and once to make your sister?

And then at some point the illusion shatters. Too bad it’s usually far before the whole concept can be, ahem, appreciated.

A friend shared this story with me last week and I have been laughing ever since.

She and her nine-year-old son were driving in her car. They passed a billboard promoting safe sex. “Mom, what’s that about?” he asked.

“It’s about birth control,” she replied, being an open and honest sort of parent. “I’ve told you about it before. It’s what you use when you are having sex so that you don’t get pregnant.”

“I know,” he replied. “Which means you are doing it just for the fun of it, which is weird.”

She said she thought she'd remind him of this story on his 21st birthday. I say--wedding toast.

What Happens When You Go To Sleep With A Fistful Of Silly Putty

In case anyone was wondering.

Central Oregon Magazine

Check out my article Shooting Stars: Central Oregonians on the Rise in Central Oregon Magazine. I love writing profiles and had a blast writing this one about some truly inspirational people.

My Favorite 2010 Holiday Memory, By Far

That's Noodle. This photo exactly summarizes her personality.

What's with the Angel sticker on the car, you ask?

For Christmas, my sister pimped her husband's ride. A 1990's era Honda Accord done up in dragon, skull/crossbone, and angel/devil motif is one hot ticket, let me tell you. The stuffed animals in the back window were priceless, the Hooters tee-shirts pulled over the seats a stroke of brilliance.
I wish she were my wife.

We laughed so hard we cried, which, maybe this is just me talking, really should happen more often during the holidays. Perhaps pimping a ride should become a Christmas tradition, far more tasty than eggnog, far more productive than getting drunk and yelling and sobbing.

Not that we've ever done that.

And we've never really liked eggnog.

Yep, that's how we roll, from now on. Keep an eye on your car on Christmas Eve, unless you have been longing for your own set of fuzzy dice....

The Unparalleled Allure of an Imaginary Brother

Chicken Noodle: Mom, we’re playing princess castle and Little won’t be the prince and I want her to be the prince.

Me: I’m sorry, baby. But she gets to be what she wants.

Noodle: If our brother were alive, he’d be the prince.

Me: Yeah, maybe.

Noodle: And there would be more of us to play when we play Crazy 8’s.

Me: Yes.

Noodle: It’s not fair.

Me: (Thinking a: big brother might actually be more inclined to make her be the slave in the dungeon in his own masochistic play than be her prince, and b: if he was alive, she would never have been born, instead I simply say…)
Nope.
(Because it isn’t, really)

----

In related news, at the Christmas dinner table…

Chicken Little to Grandpa (sadly): Our brother died.

Grandpa: I heard.

Little: He was born too late.

Grandpa (lovingly): I know, I heard.



…and here all along I’d been thinking that I was the one born too late. Am I the only child of the 70s who wished she was born in time to enjoy the freewheeling 60s?

I always wanted a big brother, too.

Anyway.

This all makes me think about how pining away for the impossible brings with it a powerful element of fantasy. You can project whatever you want onto that blank slate. Kind of like writing a novel. Hmmm….