Bra Nazi

I’ve met her. The Bra Nazi.

Distant cousin to The Soup Nazi:



You enjoy that snippet of The Soup Nazi? Long live Jerry. Love live him, I say!!

This post, well, it’s about boobs and bras and stuff.

My boobs are fine. They’re regular, normal, I –had-three-kids-breastfed-none-of-‘em boobs. (Well, I consider myself a never-breastfed mom since I only did 11 days of breastfeeding between two of the three.)

But, this isn’t about breastfeeding. It’s about B O O B S.

Boobielicious!

So delicious!

B to the O…. O…. B, the I, the E. Ain’t no other boobies flappin’ round like me.

Go to 1:16 on the time, you'll see what I mean...Hopefully, you all know this song; otherwise the sentence above makes absolutely no sense.

So, back to the boobs. Three kids, thirty-eight years of having a chest that’s neither too large or too small, I never really felt like my boobs were anything spectacular. I never amp ‘em up, show ‘em off (well, unless you count Spring Break Daytona ’88 where for some reason I thought I was Pamela Anderson and not only entered a wet-T contest one night, but also decided I should participate in a little bit of skin showing off a balcony at around 2 the following afternoon… Hey, it’s Spring Break, what can I say? Other than Diva is never allowed to go to Florida BY HERSELF with a bunch of friends on a bus loaded with wasted college kids… MOM? DAD? What were you thinking???

So, anyway, I accept and live with what God has given me. I’m thankful that they’re healthy (SPEAKING OF HEALTHY—OCTOBER IS BREAST CANCER MONTH—Get those suckers SQUISHED Seriously! I did, and I do, and will contiue so you should too!)

Back to the Bra Nazi story. Usually, I buy a bra, hope it fits, and get on with my day.

Probably most of you do too?

I know Oprah had a big bra show a year or two ago, and some of my friends even ventured to the city to get sized and fitted for new bras (Sue!). I used to think, “Oh, I’m OK with the bras I have.” But for some reason, I had an epiphany the other day, Not the In the Shower Epiphany, another time. And I thought, I need new bras. I need bras that lift and separate, and allow my ta-ta’s to be joyous and northbound! Not east and west, and God forbid… South…

I went to the Bra Nazi. This lady owns a store where she specializes in sizing. She’s like one of the best-kept secrets in town. I go in, originally, to look for something for my reunion, which IS NEXT SATURDAY!, and then discover she is also a Bra Nazi. They make you fill out a form, like you’re signing away your first-born. The first time I went in there and thought I should get sized, I fill out this three-page form and answer such questions like, “What size are you?”, “When did you sprout your nubbies?”, “What is your relationship to your breasts?”, “Would you describe yourself as Boobielicious?” Nah, just kidding; I made some of those up.

But when I get to the bottom of this questionnaire, I see that there is a TWENTY-FIVE DOLLAR FEE JUST TO BE FELT UP!!!

I’m thinking, “I don’t even spend $25 for THREE bras, and they expect me to pay that much just to have some Bra Nazi wrap a measuring tape around me?” I bolt outta there, using the ever so popular excuse: “I have to go catch the school bus.” It’s 9:40 a.m. There is no school bus at 9:40 a.m.

So, that night, I go get my hair cut and colored, because you know, MY REUNION IS NEXT SATURDAY! And Pam, my hair-gal and I are talking boobs for some reason, and bras. I have no idea why we were talking ta-ta’s, maybe I brought it up about my search for the perfect pom-pom holder. That’s when she says, “Oh, I go to Tina’s Closet to get all my bras.”

THE BRA NAZI!!

The next day, I go back. I tell her I need to be sized. Because I have witnesses now! I can trust her.

She throws me into a room, after, of course, I sign away… (turns out, that $25 fee is waived if you buy one of her $85 bras. Kidding, they’re not really $85)… so I’m in a room, she comes in, asks me what size I “think” I am. I tell her I am probably 38-40 C. She tsk tsks, because she is the Bra Nazi so NO ONE ever knows their ‘real’ size. She straps the tape around me, and says, “Oh, your tiny up here” meaning my rib cage area, not my cup size, but still that has me in fits of obnoxious giggles because I bet she says that to ALL the girls. And of course, she sizes me below what I think I am in the rib cage area, and ABOVE in the cup-size area…

36D.

Yeah, Right. After the fact, I wish I would have thought to say, “LET ME SEE THAT TAPE MEASURE!” Because I am sure she measures, then subtracts automatically two inches, just for good measure –hee hee, like that one? “Good measure?” That’s a play on words…

She’s got to down-size everyone. I’m thinking No way in hell is a 36 gonna fit ‘round me. She grabs some samples, tosses them to me, and I begin to strap myself in. It’s tight. Like corset-tight tight. But the cups look good, front-and-center, perky and upright, and the tightness does make me stand up a bit more erectly. So, I consider this one. Then she comes in, raves about it, tells me the back should be tight, so it doesn’t ‘ride up’ which is really what it had been doing in the previous-bra-wearing existence of my life.

I ask her to bring me a 38 just so I can ‘feel’ the difference. She scowls at me. How dare a customer doubt Bra Nazi? She says, “I’m not going to let you buy a 38.”

I promise Bra Nazi, “I won’t buy it; I just want to try it on to see how it’s different.”

She very reluctantly brings me a 38, but she did, and I tried it on, and it kinda sagged a bit, didn’t feel as ‘soldier-esque’ stand-at-attention like the 36 did.

She’s right.

I buy three of them. And they weren’t overly expensive, and I wore one out last night, and I stood a little taller, looked a little prouder, felt a bit more … hmmm… how did I feel? OK, it was tight. But not unbreathably tight, and I did feel better in my shirt, so maybe the Bra Nazis got something, but I can assure you, I am not a 36.

She’s a Bra Nazi on Crack, and I just bought the goods.

"The" Talk

Ajers and I just had a S E X talk. I don’t call it THE sex talk, because I try to be there to answer his questions and make it an ongoing conversation between us. In fact, he knows that I have done it exactly three times in my life, cuz after all, he knows I have three kids. I wish I could recall the conversation word for word, but I guess it’s nice that I can’t because that means it was just such a natural conversation between the two of us. I can’t even remember what sparked the conversation, but it just came up (NO PUN) and we both giggled a little and we both talked.

I love, love, love having this kind of openness with my children. I want them to be able to come to me with questions.

He asked me: “Is it true that some stuff comes out? Like some white stuff?”

I answered truthfully. I try not to over-answer, try not to give too much information, just enough to satisfy the curiosity.

Then he was asking about medicine so you can’t have babies, and I guess he’s hearing about birth control somewhere. I told him that even though you do ‘that’ to have babies, when a man and a woman get married, there’s a closeness they want to share. And he knows I know that his you-know-what sticks up on occasion because he and Tukey laugh and joke about it sometimes when it’s happening. I mentioned to him that I know sometimes it may feel good to touch his body, and I’m a big proponent of the “AND THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT!” belief when it comes to touching oneself. Then to explain to him why people do ‘that’ because he kind of just doesn’t understand how it would feel good, I said, “Well, when you feel good, and you love someone, you both should be able to feel good together.”

BUT NOT UNTIL YOU ARE IN LOVE, and practically married, or married, yes, that’s what I meant, NOT UNTIL YOU ARE MARRIED! But he did assure me that he wouldn’t be interested in doing anything like that until he’s like around 25.

Oh my gosh, I am just thinking about what we discussed, and now feel a little freaked out about it. He’s in fourth grade—am I telling him too much? But in fifth grade, they have the big talk at school, so why shouldn’t he be a little bit more informed rather than going into that ‘program’ uninformed and coming out shell-shocked and confused.

So, regardless, he asked questions, I answered them. We giggled, we communicated. We both agreed it was a good discussion.

Just now, he was going upstairs and I heard him say thanks for something but I didn’t know what he was thanking me for so I said, “What did you say?”

As my fourth-grader went up the stairs, he said, “Thanks for the ‘Live-and-Learn’ Mom!”

Yep, live and learn. That’s all we can hope to do. And inform them the best possible way we can.

Thank you, Ajers, for the “Live and Learn” right backatcha!

Happy = Selfish?

The other morning I asked Mr. Manic: "Are you happy?"

I wasn’t asking him if he was ‘happy’ with me, with our relationship, or our marriage. I know he’s happy with that. I was asking it in the general sense. If he was happy. I think he’s too busy to be happy. He gets up, goes to work, works all day, comes home, does some sort of activity with some sort of child belonging to him, sometimes/rarely/hardly gets a decent lovingly prepared cooked meal, then we get the kids ready for bed, and he goes to bed. Rinse. Repeat.

Does this make a person happy?

I wonder.

I wonder because I think I do lots of things that make me feel happy, many times throughout every day, and then I started to think, are the things that make me happy selfish things? Do I really need to be doing these things? And I thought: Yes.

I need to do the things that make me happy so I can BE happy in order to be somewhat productive. In order to feel like I’m worth something. In order to just have a good/nice/pleasant day.

I decided to make a “Things That Make Me Happy” List, in no particular order:

Waking up feeling like I’ve slept enough.

The mornings when there is not much or any drama as the older two get ready for school.

Sending them off to school with our secret “Energy” hand-moves, and the “kiss-for-my-pocket” Diva and I exchange.

When Tukey wakes up happy. And he does his unintentional-I’m-still-tired Baby Voice. I love that.

Yoga.

Being able to walk to the nearest Starbucks.

Walking.

Walking and hearing a really great song on my iPod.

Cool, crisp fall mornings/days/afternoon.

Early Fall, my favorite season.

Spring. Mid spring.

Wearing clothes that make me feel good.

Writing. I did say writing didn’t I? That makes me really happy.

My freelance work. Because it’s there. And it makes me feel happy. It makes me feel like I’m doing something worthwhile.

Going to the movies.

Seeing/talking/being with friends I haven’t seen in a while.

Huge hugs from Mr. Manic. Those do make me really happy.

I don’t know where this list is going, and I’ve kind of run into a wall, not that I can’t think of more things that make me happy, just that I didn’t want to write about frivolous things, or just anything. Like of course, my children make me happy. Of course, being with my family makes me happy. But I guess I was thinking more in terms of things I do for myself that make me happy, and the things that come to mind immediately are the selfish things. Things I probably couldn’t do if I had a full-time outside of the home career. Like yoga, writing, walking, going to B&N, seeing afternoon movies.

Do I deserve to have the time to do all of these things when Hubby is gone literally half of each his day working so hard to support our family, and here’s me, walking, writing, doing yoga, occasionally making a worthy meal, and folding laundry only enough so there’s clean underwear and a white t-shirt in Hubby’s drawer for him every day so he can get up, go to work, do it all over again. Rinse. Repeat?

Does Happy = Guilty?

Shower Epiphany

My good friend Christa once wrote that she gets some of her best ideas when she's in the shower. Well, I had a shower epiphany this a.m. for the book I'm working on.

It's so weird how you'll be washing your hair (finally, after like two days of no showering--it's no wonder I'm itching--I'm DIRTY!), and then suddenly, you're like WOW! THAT is how I need to start the story! Another friend, Karen, was talking about how you need to start a novel with an inciting incident rather than a 'situation' so I need to ramp it up, freak out the reader, get my clutches into the heart of the story and BAM! Hit you with my best shot!

So, now, how am I gonna find like three straight hours to write what's in my head? I don't know, but I'll do it. Because, while I still love my muse
that Swishy and I picked out together, I found another inspiration piece last night, at Hallmark of all places, and when I saw it, I knew I had to have it:



Because I believe I can, so I will. No matter how long it takes!

THere's more up over at 40 Weeks, A Novel if you've been reading, and also, below, is an excerpt on the book I had an epiphany on...

Beware. It's graphic, and NO MOM, IT'S NOT A MEMOIR!!!...

They were in her room, and she felt insecure, like a little girl, like she shouldn’t be in her bedroom with him. It wasn’t grown-up enough. There were stuffed animals, band posters tacked to the walls, books, empty wine cooler bottles, tops and shorts thrown about, magazines tossed on the floor, jewelry and hair clips and makeup piled up on the dresser. She should have cleaned her room, made things more romantic. Hell, she bought new underwear for the occasion; she should have cleaned her room. She knew this would be happening. And she hadn’t prepared.

He didn’t care. He was focused on her, not any other details. He was lying on top of her, and he was still clothed, although he had slipped off her shorts and tank. He stared so hard into her eyes that she could see her own reflection in his deep pupils.

“What?” Her shaky voice took her by surprise.

“God, you’re beautiful.”

It was just what she wanted to hear. It was the perfect thing to say, at the perfect time, and she lifted her head to his, and his mouth found hers, and he kissed her, soft, and then a bit harder, a little demanding. But it was good. It was all good. And even though she was practically naked, she felt so warm beneath him. And safe. Closer than she had ever felt with another person.

He was experienced, more than any of the others. He didn’t rush. Her parents were still at the lake, calling daily to make sure the house hadn’t burned down, and that she was behaving herself. If they only knew.

He moved down to her feet, and caressed her toes, while she tried not to giggle. He looked up at her. “This little piggy…” She was glad she and Collette had gone for pedicures earlier in the week.

Joe moved up slowly, trailing his finger over her calf, circling her knee with his thumb, then rubbing the back of her thigh up toward her butt. Marnie spontaneously arched her back. Be cool, she thought. Be cool.

As he crawled his body up hers, his lips stopped where his fingers had mapped out her skin. He slid his fingers through the hip string of her underwear – satin and purple – then he found the spot he was looking for and smiled at her reaction to his touch. He teased for a while, played with her. She closed her eyes and thought of only what he was doing to her. With her head back and her eyes closed, she felt the warmth of his determined and skilled fingers, of finding his way into her depths, reaching for her. She imagined him wanting to know all of her secrets. She would tell him everything.

There was a moan, and Marnie knew it had come from her, yet she felt like she was in another world, watching someone else do this to another person. Not to her. She focused, and felt Joe reaching deeper, and deeper, until she couldn’t help herself. She grabbed his shoulders and lifted her hips.

“You want to?” he whispered, his face near hers.

“Yes, God yes.”

“I don’t have anything.”

“I don’t care. It’s okay. I just had my period.”

He slid her underwear off and she was already so wet from his fingers. He pulled off his shorts, and Marnie saw cute plaid navy boxers. Her mind clicked over and she wondered if he had chosen special underwear too. Then she shrugged the thought away, sure that guys didn’t think like that. Like girls did.

He pulled off his boxers, and this was the first time she really got to look at him. He was completely naked, and very ready. She ran her hands along the sides of his abdomen up to his strong shoulders, his tanned chest. She looked at his belly button even, the skin smooth, and the spot where he was disconnected from his mother soft and round. A perfect belly button. She grinned, and took him in her own hand, letting him know she was okay with it. With everything – with what he was doing to her, and what he was going to do to her.

He lifted himself onto her, grabbed her wrists, and held onto them over her head with his hands. His hair fell over his eyes. She wanted to see his face, and the blue of his eyes. Wanted to watch him while he did this to her.

Her breasts rose up and her nipples were hard. He leaned down to suck on her neck, then to tease at each nipple. She could feel how hard he was, beside her, naked, and how close he was to her, and her mind was reeling, and she wanted to yell at him to do it. Do it now! Do it now!

She wanted him inside of her.

He pushed her legs further apart with his own knees, and let one of her wrists free, while he clasped her other hand into his own. She reached up to push his hair away from his eyes. He smiled at her and she felt like she might cry.

With his free hand, he led himself into her, and it was easy, and it fit so completely, because she had been wanting this, had been waiting, and the teasing had been going on for so long, and the sharpness took her breath away when he found himself inside her and heat enclosed all of her, like the oxygen had all but been depleted, and she wanted to breathe, but couldn’t, and she wanted to suck in all the air inside of him so she could breathe, so she lifted her head and her lips met his and they found one another and while he was moving in and out of her, purposeful, she was eating at his mouth, tasting all of him, trying to devour him up so she would not forget any of this.

Book Whore

I’ve been a Book Whore lately. Or a Book Pimp. I'm not sure. And I don't want to make Manic Mom's Mental Myriads into Manic Mom's Book Reviews, but when one comes up that I need to share, well, it's my blog, so I'll do the sharing 'round here (Just made me think of Counting Crows)...

Anywhooo...

I bring you, The Bright Side of Disaster by debut author Katherine Center...

OK, we’ve figured it out that I love books, right? Well, here’s one I just drowned myself in, and finished it in a 24-hour timeframe, while still doing the other daily crap a SAHM of three kids does – taking kids to the movies, to the park, out to lunch, doing laundry, dishes, freelancing, blogging, and yes, I read this book and slammed myself into the world of the characters!

The Bright Side of Disaster is classified as Chick Lit and it is, but without the goofy I-Need-A-New-Pair-Of-Shoes context (no offense to you Manallanno-Ding-Dong-Choo-wearing gals out there!)

Dean and Jenny are engaged and living together but then Dean kind of freaks out and deserts Jenny and her nine-month pregnant self THE DAY BEFORE SHE HAS THE BABY!

Jenny is a Goddess! She figures out that life without a man is better than life with a bad man, and she rises to the challenge of single motherhood, all baby-in-one-hand-a-handful-of-grapes-in-the-other! (Sidenote: I wish I knew about THAT diet when I had my kids!)

Along the way of her journey, because when you think about it, isn’t every book about the main character’s journey, Jenny discovers she’s more amazing than she ever thought possible. She’s given life to another human being, she’s “made eye lashes!” She offers care, and comfort, and love to another person who wholly depends on her 24/7, 365. I look at the character of Jenny and wished I could have been a mother like that!

Enter cute pajama-clad neighbor. And ooh, in my book, Gardner is a HOTTIE! He’s hot, he’s handy, he’s handsome, he’s a helluva neighbor, great with babies and single mothers! Fortunately he’s got his eye on one single mother in particular: Jenny.

Of course, the jerk comes back (for those of you not paying attention here, it’s Dean), and for some unknown freaky reason Jenny starts having sex with him again!

(I think because as writers we are supposed to give our characters grief, and what better way to give Jenny grief than to make her sleep with Dean again!) But can you really blame her? She’s lonely, she wants to be comforted, he sneaks into her bed and kisses her neck… how can you NOT want sex? OK, so I don’t blame Jenny. And the two of them having sex did cause the anxiety a reader WANTS in a book.

So, Dean is back. Gardner has disappeared because he has discovered the bad boyfriend has returned. But then Jenny smartens up and kicks the jerko out, because come on, he can’t even manage a ten-minute walk around the block with his adorable little girl WHO HE HASN’T EVEN MET TILL SHE’S SEVEN MONTHS OLD!

The Bastard!

Can you tell I’m a little connected to these characters?

Anyway, of course, I can’t tell you the ending, even though I’d really, really, really like to. Just put it this way, when I finished the book, I thought to myself, “Awwwww!”

Kajeet!!

You know how when a kid is old enough to form a sentence, the first thing they ask for is a puppy?

Well, the second thing kids ask for is a cell phone.

I’m never getting my kids a puppy.

The cell phone, however, kind of just landed into my lap. I had the opportunity to try out a cell phone for the kids, and of course, I jumped on it.

KAJEET!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~



This is a new cell phone geared toward kids; it’s got fun gadgets, and a camera, and you can download games on it, and… and…it’s just way cool.

Let me first just say I truly love this phone. Love it! It works with a pay-as-you-go plan, so there are no monthly charges; you put some money into your account, like say, twenty bucks, and then the kids use the phone as necessary. Ten cents a minute is all, no matter where they’re dialing.

So, I love this phone.

But, I do have to say, my kids having a phone is like that old commercial with the frying pan and the egg. “This is your brain, this is your brain on drugs.”

This is your phone, this is your phone and all three of you are going to kill each other over it.

They don’t really need a cell phone, because I am a cruel mother and never let them out of my sight. They don’t venture too far from me yet, but I know someday, they’re gonna fly this coop, so I need to be prepared. I need to know they’re at the movies, or with a pal, not hanging out in some alley sharing needles or huffing some old paint. So, this is why they will need a cell phone eventually.

I let them try it out. I let Diva take it with her to the next street over which is a cul-de-sac.

“Don’t call me. I’ll call YOU when it’s time to come home,” I instructed her.

“OK! Thanks Mom! Bye Mom! I love you Mom!” (Yeah, she loves me cuz she’s got a cell phone in her pocket!)

“Love you too! Don’t call me!”

Two minutes later…

Briiiiinnnnnng Briiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnngggg!

“Hello?”

“Hi Mom, I’m here.”

“Yes, I know Diva. I can see you from the kitchen window.”

“OK! Bye!”

“Bye honey. Don’t call again.”

“Love you!”

“Love you too, do not call me again!”

Thirty seconds later…

Briiiiinnnnnng Briiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnngggg!
Briiiinnnnnnnnnnngggg!

“What?”

“Hi Mommy, I’m sorry I’m calling, but I knew I should ask your permission. Can I take a picture of my friends on my cell phone?”

“OK, but don’t call again.”

“OK, love you!”

“Me too.”

Hang up…

You guessed it. Again she calls, for another stupid reason, and I tell her if she calls again, I am not going to let her use the phone any longer.

“But Mom, I just miss you, and wanted to tell you how much I love you!”

“I love you too.” Pause. “Do not call again.”

She does. Call again. And I can still see her from the kitchen window, but you know what? I guess I don’t care that she has called me like seven times in a matter of four minutes. She wants me to know where she is and that she is being responsible and not getting into any trouble…

She wants to stay connected.

And that’s the best thing about this Kajeet cell phone. We’re connected. Still. It’s almost as if her father never actually cut that cord eight years ago, and if a cell phone makes me feel this way, then it’s all good!

Anyway, this KAJEET phone is a great way to keep your kids connected. There are all sorts of ways to block calls, allow only certain people to call, limit their time on the phone. It’s definitely on the cutting edge of kid-cell phones, and my kids cannot get enough of it.

And I love it because I will always know where they are, even if they are not really old enough to venture away from me further than the cul-de-sac at the street over. And I also love it because it doesn’t bark or pee or hump my leg like a puppy would.

Yay Kajeet! Go out and get yourself one. For your family. For your sanity! INSTEAD OF A PUPPY!*

*A special note to M—I know you love puppies, and I do love doggies too, just not one in my own home! Winka winka!

Tukey's Tooth

Well, it’s a sad day for Manic. But happy also, in a strange mom kind of way.

Something happened today that I will never, ever, ever get to experience in my entire life again. And I have to remember this day forever.

Today is the last time I will ever have a child lose his first tooth, the last time I will ever place a ‘first’ baby tooth under one of my children’s pillows, sharing the story of how the tooth fairy will come get the shiny little chicklet and use it to build her tooth castle.

I’m sad.

As you know, Tukey’s been complaining about his first loose tooth. We went to McDonald’s playland today where he ran around with about six of his classmates. They were playing, having a great time. We moms were sucking back Iced Vanilla coffees, which can offer a nice quick caffeine buzz for those who have not tried the McDonald iced coffees yet.

Then it was time for lunch. I got Tukey his double cheeseburger, ketchup only and he sat with his pals to eat. Next thing you know, he’s jumping up and down in front of me trying to get my attention as I’m gabbing away about whatever, and I see his mouth is full.

“Tukey! You can’t put that much food in your mouth! Here, spit it out!” and I put a napkin up to his mouth and he spits a wad of smushed cheeseburger into the napkin and I toss it out, sit him back down, tell him to slow down on the eating, and retreat back to my girlfriends and coffee.

A minute later: “Mom! My tooth!”

The gaping hole is there! My baby’s tooth is out! My baby’s… Oh Dear God! Did he swallow it? What happened to it? Oh Crap! I threw it in the garbage can!

Damn straight if any of you know me, you know exactly what I did. I face-planted myself into that garbage can and dug in a fury to find that wadded up napkin because I WANTED THAT TOOTH! I NEED THAT TOOTH! I couldn’t wait for that little sucker to come out cuz it was just so dang cute and I had to have it!

I dug, and I dug, and my feet were flailing in the air the deeper I got into that stinky garbage can, and…

And…

I FOUND IT!

Yay me!

Then, I had to rummage through the chewed-up food, and it was like I was doing a CSI episode, searching for clues and DNA, and I FOUND THE SUCKER!

I proudly showed it off to all the moms and they all oohed and ahhed, and I went to the bathroom then to wash it off. I felt like I had retrieved a diamond in the rough! A needle in a haystack! My baby’s tooth!

When I got back to the table, I again settled down to my coffee, my smile spread wide across my face. The tooth fairy was coming! She’d be here tonight, and I had a bright little tooth to offer her!

Then, one of the moms tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see Tukey sitting with a look of shock on his face, and vomit everywhere.

E V E R Y W H E R E!

One mom was in my way so I pretty much did a football move and tackled her so I could get to my baby. I had to move fast! I know him. I knew he would not be through puking. So I hurl the other mom out of the way and shove Tukey’s face into the garbage can I had just gotten the tooth out of, and he continued to puke.

I thought he was fine. You’ve read some Tukey Pukey stories here. They’re not major deals. I figured he’d sit back down, finish his double cheeseburger and I’d get him to the bus and he could tell his teacher and all his friends that he lost his tooth.

One of the moms said, “You’re not going to send him to school are you?”

Damn. I planned on it! Plus, I had a lunch date! I had already showered. I did my freaking hair! I have mascara, eyeliner, EYE-FREAKING-SHADOW on!!! And lipstick! And now I was not going to be doing lunch because my Tukey needed me at home. I was defeated.

I didn’t send him to school.

He’s F I N E now, practically jumping off the walls, asking about the tooth fairy, telling me he’s going to stay up all night to see the tooth fairy, and here I am missing out on my lunchdate.

Good thing I had the foresight to snag his half-cheeseburger to bring home. Lunch is served!

So, that’s my story, but I thought it would be interesting to get it from the perspective of the one who lost the little darling tooth, so, without further adieu, I bring to you... drumroll, please!...

TUKEY’S FIRST-EVER-LOST-TOOTH YOUTUBE DEBUT:

The Good and the Bad of Today:

Bad: Woke around 3 AM, wrote this post.

Bad: Took more Benedryl at 3 AM because I am still itchy.

Good: Fell asleep.

Bad: Slept right through the alarm and didn’t wake until my neighbor was calling at 7:20. The bus comes at 7:45.

Good: I kissed and hugged Ajers and Diva before they got on the bus.

Bad: When I got back in, Tukey was awake and crying and upset because HIS loose tooth hurts him.

Good: Tukey and I snuggled on the couch; I marveled at his long eyelashes, his fuzzy little earlobes, and his cute smiling face.

Bad: Tukey then threw a fit because he insisted the socks I gave him were Ajers. They were not.

Bad: I then threw a fit because we were going to be late for yoga.

Bad: I was late for yoga.

Good: Doing yoga.

Good: Weighing myself after yoga, exactly a week from when I last weighed myself on the same scale. The number today was 4.5 pounds less than last Tuesday.

Good: Coffee with friends.

Bad: Getting a parking ticket when I parked illegally with my hazards on for like 10 minutes, while my friend was waiting in her car nearby, but she didn’t see the cop writing me a ticket because she was busy on the phone.

Good: Knowing it was just a ticket and not something drastic in my life.

Bad: After getting Tukey onto the bus, feeling sad about 9-11 and crying as I read some of the accounts of what happened that day, to regular people, and how the events have forever shaped each one of us.

Good: Worked a little on my new novel.

Good: Went for a quick power walk with my neighbor before the bus came.

Good: Seeing my beautiful three children getting off the bus, and knowing they were happy to see me, and knowing they were safe.

Bad: Feeling for real like I was having a panic attack at the grocery store, yelling to my kids to stay close to me, for I didn’t want them out of my sight. Was scared walking through the aisles, had feelings of discontent and anxiety, afraid of the things that may happen.

Good: Getting into the car and feeling safe again.

Good: Knowing each day is a little better than the day before.

Bad: Thinking of those people who were directly affected by the attacks on 9-11.

Good: Having my family all at home with me, safe, having tucked them all in and telling each how much they are loved by me.

Let's Not Forget

Let’s remember

Today

Hug your babies
Just a little tighter

Yell
At your spouse
A little less

Smile,
Just a little
more

Phone
Someone you don’t usually
Call

Tell them you love them.

Tell them all you love them.

Thank
God, that we are safe.

If only for today,
Let’s remember.

Love

Trust

Hope

There can be joy again.

And thank those
Who keep us safe.

Amen.

I Don't Know What I'm Sayin'

Well, let’s see. I think I am turning into a Type A personality type and I don’t think I like that. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m weaning from my anti-Ds (my new term for anti-depressants), or because I am now taking that other medication.

But, last night, I found myself scrubbing the faucets in the house with that CLR stuff to get rid of mung. At like 8 p.m. on a Saturday night. It was just something I felt like I HAD to do, some OCD type of thing, and that I couldn’t calm down until all the faucets in the house were done.

And I had a complete “two-year-old-toddler-esque” meltdown Saturday. First, I woke up all great and happy (BUT AT 6 AM!)… that’s another story. I am waking up at 6:00 and actually BEING up for the day. It happened yesterday and again this morning I woke up earlier than my normal weekend-9:45-wake-up!

So, Saturday, I went for a power walk, it was beautiful outside, I was in such a GREAT mood, then I got home and BAM!! I can’t even tell you what happened other than there has got to be some little switch in my head that has got a glitch in it, like a wire or something, and right now, as I’m trying to explain this to you, the GD ice cream man’s music is BLARING and kids are screaming, and I can’t figure out the word to use when there’s something wrong with a wire and it sparks or trips or something and just thinking of this is making me almost ready to have a meltdown and SHUTTHE-EFF-UP YOU STUPID ICE CREAM MAN TRUCK!

Phew. He’s gone.

See, that’s the kind of stuff that’s happening to me. It can’t be normal. And then I wonder, “OK is this the ‘new’ me, or is this the ‘old’ me coming back since the old me has been medicated for so long, and do I want me to be new or old, and which way is better, and why am I acting like this?"

On another note (see, I think I’m becoming ADD now too because I can’t keep a single thought in place), it was a weekend full of sports, and I think I’m becoming a soccer mom! Tukey had his first games, and you all know I am not the bragging mom type when it comes to my kids (really, I don’t think I am, but maybe I am. If you’re a bragging mom, do you know you’re a bragging mom, or not?)… but Tukey is an awesome little soccer dude, and he scored one goal yesterday, and was goalie and he STOPPED one goal too. Then TODAY, he made TWO goals. I usually don’t feel my heart swell over my kids, but it really did swell. With pride. Or maybe it’s this new medication that’s making my heart swell! (KIDDING MOM! Don’t worry, I won’t have a heart attack!)

So, the new med seems OK. I don’t think I’m having as many cravings, except for the fact that I want to work out. And get more sleep. But I’m itching lately, like my fingers in the middle of the night for no reason, and I even googled Itch Mites since there was a breakout here just recently, but I don’t have any…

OK, Mr. Manic is singing: Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. I love my wifey, she’s so good to me while he is heating up his leftovers from his birthday celebration dinner last night. I think he’s thinking that if I hear him singing so cute that I might just give him another little birthday present later.

But who knows? With the way my mind is working, I might freak out at a minute’s notice and pull a

Lorena Bobbit on him. That would not make a happy birthday present, now would it?

OK, add to the fact that the damn link is NOT working and I have no idea why it's not working and I COULD JUST FREAKING SCREAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

P.S... OK I found one that works: Lorena Bobbit so now I don't have to go all crazy on anyone. And honey doesn't deserve the old Lorena Bobbit treatment anyway; I love him too much.

Weekend Mumbo Jumbo Stuff

Totally random mish-mash of stuff because there's just so much I wanna share!

ACTUAL CONVERSATION THIS WEEK BETWEEN MR. AND MRS. MANIC
Or the Alternate Title:
THIS IS HOW IT WORKS IN THE MANIC HOUSE

You know how sometimes you’re out of cash and you need some, and instead of going to the ATM, you just go into your husband’s wallet because it’s easier, and well, because it’s there for the takin’?

Well, I needed some cashola the other night, and being the considerate spouse I am, I left hubby a loving note in his wallet that said:

I LOVE YOU! I TOOK $50.

That night, at dinner, I said:

“Did you get the note that I took $50?”

Mr. Manic: “Yes.”

Me: “Hope that was OK.”

Mr. Manic: “Sure.” Pause. “Did you get my note?”

Me: “Your note? What note?”

Mr. Manic: “The one I put in your wallet?”

Visions of a note professing his undying love and gratitude ensue.

Me: “No. What did it say?”

Mr. Manic: “It said, I LOVE YOU! I TOOK $40.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

ANOTHER INSTALLMENT OF TUKEY TALK

And that says TUKEY, not TURKEY.

How many of you read TURKEY?...

Tukey, heading to the bathroom:
"This is gonna be my second time peeing with my loose tooth!"

Me:
"Oh, cool."

I hear him piddling away in there, and hope he's aiming neatly, and then he says, "Oh. I mean my third."

And later, when he's done peeing (for the second, third, or maybe even the fourth time since he discovered he has a loose tooth--which for the record, DIVA'S TOOTH--STILL INTACT.)... we have this discussion--

"Mom, which is better? Chocolate or cookies?"

Duh!!!!!

My reply: "Cookies. Cuz you can dunk them in milk."

Agree? Disagree? Discuss!

Here's another thing I'm really curious about:
Sponge or rag?

I think people are either a sponge user or a rag user, but not both, when it comes to washing dishes. I am a fond sponge user; HATE, HATE dingy, grimy, mungy, mildewy, washclothy rags for washing dishes. You need the scouring side of the sponge, yes?

This should give you all plenty of stuff to think about over the weekend, and the bus is here now anyway, so I've gotta run!

And coming up next week, a Manic Mania Mommy Promotion to blow all blog promotions out of the water!

And of course, if you didn't have a chance yet, stop over at my other blog and read the first chapter of 40 Weeks, A Novel. Let me know over there if you want more.

Peace UP, and enjoy your life, cuz if you don't then what's the point?

I'm Scared...

But I'm putting it out there, and my agent said it was OK to do, so here it is:

The first chapter of 40 Weeks, A Novel can be found here.

Please be kind.

And check back with Manic Mommy because there's going to be a big blowout promotion/contest/whamma-lamma-ding-dong coming at ya next week!

With real prizes.

As always, thanks for reading!

Peace UP!

Doctor’s Visit / Grocery Store

I started my day off with a visit to my doctor to discuss the ‘weaning’ process of my anti-depressant. I am now on the lowest possible dose, alternating ½ pill with a full pill. It seems to be working, except when I was having a fit the other day and told myself to chill. So I went into my bedroom and did the “legs-up-the-wall” deep-breathing yoga pose. It worked, until I got up and felt dizzy. You have to get up slowly. I know that now.

The nurse greets me and I never have met this particular one, but she’s funky and fun and I liked her immediately. I started telling her that I want to get off my meds and get on some sort of weight loss med and the only reason I’m ever depressed is because I need to drop some baggage. Weight baggage. Emotionally, I think I’m fine. Happy marriage. Good kids. A nice freelance work-from-home gig. School’s back in session. I am just not good with the back fat and having to wear black t-shirts.

So, I tell the nurse all of this and she tells me she was in the EXACT same place, but she weighed over 200 lbs and she knew she had to fix her head before she could fix her bod, and I’m like, “Yes! Exactly!” And then I tell her about the bag of chips I ate the other day without even breathing, and how just the act of crunching was calming me down, and that when I looked down and discovered all the chips were gone, I immediately felt an “Ahhhh” feeling, followed by the feeling of, “Why the hell did I just devour all of those?”

Like when you eat McDonald French fries. You know that feeling? You chow down on ‘em, and then reach into the bag and you’re like WTF? What happened to my fries??? Where is the salty goodness of my fries! I need more fries!”

That feeling.

So, the nurse was all about my decision of getting of the anti-depressants and getting on the appetite suppressants and I’m all psyched and my blood pressure is good and my pulse is good, and my neighbor brought me over a venti mocha this a.m. out of the blue, so I was feeling pretty darn good. Oh, and I had showered and put on makeup. That helps.

Then my doctor comes in. I love my doctor. Really do. But when she came in, the first thing she says to me is: “You sure you want to go off Effexor?”

Which totally makes me second-guess my decision! Yikes! She just reminded me of how depressed I was last winter. Then I reminded her that it wasn’t LAST winter, but the winter previously and I’ve rectified that depression and will just go to the tanning bed a couple times during the blah season of winter. So she was OK with that. Long story short, we discussed my weaning process, what to expect, and she prescribed me a weight loss drug.

I’m happy. I’m thinking it’s going to give me the jumpstart I need. And yes, I have done Weight Watchers and I totally know it works, and I do love the program, but I need a quick fix to get me motivated. I want some fast results, and I feel this is the way to get it. Oh, I did explain to my doctor that I do exercise 3-6 times a week (will be more now that school’s back in session), and that I’m happy with every aspect of my life except for my weight.

I take my prescription to the grocery store, do a little shopping and go back to the pharmacy in the store to pick up my new get-thin-quick-start-being-happy pills.

“I didn’t fill that one prescription -- that medication isn’t covered by your insurance,” my pharmacist tells me. “It costs $125.”

“WHAT!? Good God!” I yell. In the store. Loudly.

“It’s considered cosmetic,” she tells me.

I look at it this way. It’s emotional, I’m giving up the Effexor to try something new to combat my depression. And I know it totally sounds superficial, and I hope you don’t think I am, but I’m just putting it out there. If I can lose a little weight, I will be happier. Bottom line. And it’s not like I’m not trying to eat better or that I’m not exercising. I AM! But I need a jolt.

So she tells me again that it’s not covered and I ask how can I get it covered, and she doesn’t really have an answer for me, and that it’ll cost $125 if I want it.

“I might as well go get gastric bypass! It’s cheaper than this drug!” I yell.

(Sidenote: I am shaking my head as I write this, fully aware that I’m sounding like a complete idiot. Whatever.)

So, I go home and try to call the insurance company to tell them that it’s not COSMETIC! It’s emotional well-being and for my health! I get nowhere.

Anyway, enough of that story. I’m tired of it. I think I’ll go have some of Tukey’s chocolate chip cookie cake (yes, my baby has turned SIX!) that’s drenched in blue icing… which I purchased at ANOTHER grocery store. And when I went to the other grocery store, I got some helium balloons for Tukey, and as I was waiting for someone to come blow them up, the hottest general manager of a grocery store I’ve EVER seen walked by, gave me a look, and said, “Can I help you?”

Can you help me? HELLOOOOO, CAN YOU HELP ME! Yum! Where do I start! I was thinking all these dirty thoughts in my head, and even considered that I might want to start frequenting THIS grocery store more often if the general manager is THIS hot! Sadly, pathetically, some other dude came to blow my balloons, and I ended up checking every aisle later on in the hopes of getting another glimpse of this supermarket hottie.

And THEN, some woman banging on a watermelon was looking at me, and she’s like, “Hi! How are you!?” Like she totally knew me. I remember everyone I meet. I remember their names, I remember what we talked about, what we ate when we met, how many appletinis we had together. I didn’t KNOW this woman.

And I’m not one for letting a mystery slide by, so I go, “I’m fine, how are you?” And then I paused and said, “How do we know each other??!?”

“Steeple Run.” (Which is a neighboring school.)

“My kids don’t go to Steeple Run.”

“Oh! Well, then you have a twin!”

And the bakery lady says, “Everyone has a twin out there!”

And I’m like, “Wow! I want to see this twin of mine!”

And then I tell the girl, “Well, you look like someone I would want to be friends with!”

WHAT? Am I a freaking idiot? What kind of things come out of my mouth? Sometimes, I just amaze myself with the weirdness that I possess.

Whew.

Wanna Fall In Love?

Listen to this: