Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Cougar Crossing

I got a new sign for my birthday. It is a bright yellow diamond with a silhouette of a cougar warning of crossings. Not because I’m a BYU alum. Yes, I went to Happy Valley U for a few semesters. Don’t be shocked. I did get pregnant and it was not a Virgin Mary immaculate conception, there was a penis and ejaculation involved. I also opposed every question my Book of Mormon professor ever asked. I even paid higher tuition for being a heathen. I have an entire blog entry for that part of my life for a later post.

I have a cougar crossing sign because I just turned 40! I can no longer pretend like I am a bobcat. If I even look at a boy younger than twenty-eight I have to growl. But then again, if he excites me I can purr. A cat is a cat, no matter how big or how small, or how young or how old. Right?

Honestly, I don’t mind being the big 4 0. I remember driving in my car and listening to a radio personality interview a caller. She was talking about how she was 20 and her 40 year old mother was complaining about some loud concert they went to together. Out loud I mocked the old mother and said if she was that old she shouldn’t be going to concerts. My little first grade passenger quickly did the math and asked, “Mom, won’t you be 40 when I’m 20?”

I wanted to eject her from the passenger seat! Damned that accelerated program!

This is the child that I took to a Garth Brooks concert when she was 2! With tickets that I bought from a scalper outside of the Delta Center while holding her on my hip. The same child that went to see The Backstreet Boys because I slept out for tickets in the rain. How ungrateful! But I have to admit, hearing that interview made a 40 year old mom with a 20 year old kid sound really old!

It was all relative. When I turned thirty and had an eleven year old I didn’t feel old at all. It turned into my story and my life. Age is what you make of it.

Now I am forty. My daughter threw me the best birthday party ever! A Chinese theme celebrated the fact that I always promised myself I would go to China when I turned forty. All of my friends and family helped me celebrate the new decade, including Spermy and his family. It was perfect.

I might be forty with a twenty year old bride to be, but life couldn’t be better. I can take vacations with my friends without worrying about a babysitter. My daughter can run to the grocery store, and next year, the liquor store! We both obey curfew for each other, but don’t question where we were.

People think I should be honored when others ask or think that we are sisters and not mother and daughter. I used to say I was going to start calling Kyky my sister so that I seemed younger. Then I would joke that I either had to become her sister or start lying about my age and by so admitting that I was a teenage slut. People can do math. I was 18 when I got pregnant and 19 when I delivered. There are only so many years that you can deduct before it becomes unbelievable.

Truth is, I got pregnant too young. Could I have made other decisions? Of course I could have. Did I want to? NO. I am proud to be a young mom. I think I have done a great job. I have a best friend that throws me great parties. I have a close relationship with my daughter. Could I really want more?

I lived my younger years as a mom. My older years are mine. I’m going to find adventure whether it is alone, with a friend or with a partner. It doesn’t really matter. Life has been good so far, it can only get better.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Skinny Bitches

Kyky finally decided to try on wedding dresses! I'm so excited. I've been waiting anxiously for her to decide it was time. Today is the day and just the two of us are escaping to a Vera Wang trunk show. How much more wedding can you get than Vera Wang!?

Alta Mode is an adorable little boutique in downtown Salt Lake. The kind where you walk in and are personally greeted, offered flavored water and a cookie. Plush couches flank three way mirrors. Carpeted boxes act as little pedestals for the brides to spin and primp on while their adoring fans give the thumbs up or down. The cute little bridal consultant sat down with us to take down Kyky's information: Wedding date, location, dress preferences, size.

Kyky has never been one for glitz and glam. Her prom dresses were always beautiful, but in a simple and elegant style. I expected the wedding gown to fall into the same category. As soon as she walked in she saw a Vera dress adorning a mod mannequin. Strapless, subtle but with glamorous beading adorning the empire waistband that lead to the flowing silk chiffon skirt. She was hooked.

Then the look . . . the one where the cute little bridal consultant's face changed. She tried to sugar coat it but all she could say was that the dresses came straight from the NY fashion show. You know, where the models that walk them down the runway are all size 00. Kyky is 5'12". Yes, six feet but she won't actually admit to that height. She is curvy, with the hourglass figure and ginormous boobs. Greek Goddess like, not Twiggy-ish.

She lets us know that so far today, only one bride has almost fit into the dresses. But she pulls dresses anyway.

Kyky is a good sport. She is trying on anything and everything that the consultant recommends. Well, everything but a ball gown style. No POOF allowed!

Dresses have to anchored on with Home Depot industrial style clips with bungee cords to keep them closed because they can't possibly zip. The consultant is pulling and holding and trying to explain that when it is ordered in the right size everything will lay just right and it won't be dangling five inches from the ground.

A flood wedding gown, corset and muffin top hanging out and bosoms overflowing. Really? This is not how dress shopping is supposed to go. No matter how much cute little consultant assures us that tulle and bling vomit can be changed. How are you supposed to spend $3500 on a dress that looks like it might possibly fit an anorexic 12 year old!?

This is not reality. Brides should be voluptuous. Curvy. Sexy. Not flat and walking skeletons!

Rather depressing. Mama should have been served sparkling wine, not sparking water. KyKy needed a shot of Tequila!

No worries. We went to lunch and bitched about skinny runway wedding dress model bitches. Nothing makes you feel better about yourself than bashing others!

Next week - Davids Bridal where they carry normal girl sizes, like a 10!

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Can the MOB Spank the Bride?

I have heard that brides can be temperamental but I didn’t expect it to happen so early into the planning!

Ky, Stretch and I all made it through choosing the ceremony and reception center without a harsh word. We were all on the same page. Ky’s biggest concern is that the chairs are blue. Stretch's biggest concern is that he won’t have a decorated get-away car. Both can easily be fixed. Chaircovers.com will make everything match. No one needs to know that their get-away car is only going to drive from one lodge to the next! There will still be Oreos, window paint and a few blown up condoms on the antennae. Mike gets his traditional groomsman prank and Ky gets everything matchy matchy just like she likes it. A win win!

Next milestone, I caved, let Spermy pay half of the initial down payment for Snowbird. I didn’t want to be the one to cause the first scene. No matter how badly I wanted to handle it on my own! A 50/50 start.

Save the Date photos . . . Stretch wore red!!! And changed into different outfits. He is a good sport. He toted his backpack up and down the mountain with his cowboy boots so that he would match from head to toe. No complaints. He kissed and smiled for almost two hours.

Things are going smoothly.

I suggested a desk calendar for Save the Dates, a little less trendy than a magnet and more personal than today’s email notification. But Ky liked it!

The big calendar vote:

1: Utah Scenery
2: Famous Couples
3: Movie Couples

The winner by vote was Utah scenery, but we vetoed and decided on famous couples. Weddings are not really a democracy. We all know the bride makes the final decisions no matter the outcome of a vote.

Next step, the criteria to get a month:

1: You have an anniversary in that month
2: The photo is on their wedding day in wedding dress and tux
4: and it photo must be unique

Ky is busy. She is a full time nanny and a college student trying to plan a wedding. I have free time at night; I can find the couples and pictures. It took hours of Googling to find the perfect couples with an anniversary for each month. Elvis for Ky and Johnny and June for Stretch, the musical icons. Those were must haves. Princess Di, Jackie and JFK and The Obamas filled the class category. Nostalgia met with Marilyn Monroe and Lucy. And what is a wedding calendar without Elizabeth Taylor?

Then the trouble started.

I saw every Adam Sandler movie ever made because he was Ky’s favorite actor from a very early age. Happy Gilmore and Billy Madison are classics. The Wedding Singer felt like I was back in High School. Plus how can a movie with Billy Idol be bad? Then there were the real winners. Waterboy! A rere with a Cajun accent driving a lawnmower. Mr. Deeds and Little Nikki, need I say more? But Adam redeemed himself with 50 First Dates and Click. He kind of grew up. He was the guy I loved from Saturday Night Live again. He deserved and earned June! Bonus, his picture is funny.

The MTV generation needs Speidi in April! If we lived through all of their fake weddings we should get to celebrate the actual legal union. Plus her fake boobies with the bleached hair matched with his curly blond lockes and blinding pearly whites are worth looking at for thirty days.

I showed props to Prop 8, Ellen and Portia get August!

Ozzy and Sharon, music icons of today. Their picture is great; Ozzy is actually biting her, like a vamp. How Twilight of them!

I found the picture perfect couples for every month. Ran each one past Ky and got them ready to send to the designer.

I brought them home for the final bridal sign off. BIG MISTAKE!

Suddenly she started enforcing the dictatorship of a wedding. Vetoing many of my pictures and hours of hard work! The bride wanted all the couples to be classic. Meaning their original wedding photos should have been black and white without a click of a photo editing button. Adam, Ozzy, Ellen, and Speidi were all put into the recycle bin! But Will Smith survived the cut? I didn’t understand!

The first glimpse of my very own Bridezilla was showing. She insisted I start over on half of the year!

Doesn’t she understand how many hours I have worked on this?

Doesn’t she know how hard it was to find a famous couple for every month?

Then it happened. She said the words . . . THIS IS MY WEDDING. NOT YOURS.

I was arguing with the irrational two years old that wanted to run past her boundaries. With the sixth grader that wanted to wear flip flops during a blizzard. And with the Junior who thought a fellow male student could room with the girls on a High School field trip.

Would there be foot stomping? Crying? A full blown temper tantrum?

I have never spanked Ky. I grounded her once and regretted all thirty minutes of it. But today I seriously considered both. Can I throw her over my knee and inflict any pain? Can I steal her car keys and hold her hostage in the house?

No. She is bigger and stronger than me. Getting her over my knee would probably end with me in the ER. Grounding her to the house would only be punishing me. I would have to endure the wrath of the bridal bitch for hours until I finally pleaded with her to leave or vanquished myself to the basement.

How do I win this battle of the Save the Date Calendars? How else? With the wallet! It may be her wedding, but mama is paying.

In the end, we compromised. I gave a few months and so did she.

I would like to say that this was my intent on giving her a lesson on compromising to make things work. But no, it was a fight. A my idea is better than hers girl fight.

Can’t wait for dress shopping :)

Monday, November 2, 2009

I Think I was a Tricycle in a Past Life

I just got invited to go to lunch with my friend and her old boyfriend. I regretfully declined with the response that I didn’t want to be the third wheel.

Now I’m thinking about it. I’m ALWAYS the third wheel. Why would this lunch, dinner, or vacation be any different from every other relationship in my life?

For years Kyky and I vacationed with my best friend, her husband and two kids. I got along better with him anyway so I was sort of a distraction to their bad marriage. I acted as the buffer. I made things more fun for the kids. I stopped the bickering. Of course we would get the typical looks every time someone would ask where we were from. The answer of Utah would always get us a snicker. Nik and I often wanted to don long braided wigs and Gunnie Sax dresses so we could fit the poly stereotype. Instead we bought Otis a Polygamy Porter T-Shirt to wear.

One time we switched it up. It was Mickey’s Pride Days. This time Nik and I got to be the couple and we referred to Otis as donor while we waited in lines filled with same sex couples. He was very uncomfortable and retired to the House of Blues for the majority of the weekend.

Nik and Otis’s marriage finally came to an end. The years of vacationing as polygamists ended. Nik has since remarried and we have only gone on one weekend vacation with her new hubby. Don’t see that happening again. Otis became my boyfriend. Vacationing with him and the kids as the solo girl was not nearly as fun. I am a much better third wheel than girlfriend.

Even in High School I was the token third wheel. All my close friends had boyfriends. Not me. I never wanted the serious boyfriend. Instead, I would usually end up being the extra safeguard that parents liked being on their kids’ dates. In Utah extra wheels are encouraged. Group dates are the thing to do. The other extra wheels and I never felt out of place. Little did we realize we were the church’s way of implementing birth control.

After I had Kyky, I brought the third wheel. We took her everywhere. Ky gave us reason to go to the zoo and to Disney movies. No one cared that we had to have a high chair or go to early movies. They all took turns holding her or pushing the stroller.

Nowadays I hang out with my best friend Kel and her hubby JD. They nicely invite me to their private dinner dates. Time they get together is precious because of their work schedules but they never let me feel like I’m intruding, though I know I am. They include me so much they joke that I’m in their wills; whoever dies first has to leave the other complete custody of me. They even told their kids they had to move out of the basement so I could move in. That is true friendship!

Last night my friend Les and her hubby had me over for drinks and dinner. After a very long day at work I arrived to a waiting martini and the aroma of a homemade dinner was filling the house. Todd cooked and kept the glasses filled while we chatted and giggled.

I wonder if Kyky and Stretch will let me continue my tradition. They say that as soon as they can afford it, they will build a house with a mother-in-law apartment. I think it’s just because they want a cook and a dog sitter.

Maybe it will be time for me to try a two-wheeler. I’ve never been really good at two person relationships though. I guess I have a balancing problem. I have a hard time choosing where to focus my time and energy. Work? Home? Kid? Family? Partner? It always seems the partner gets put last on my list of priorities. Then again it is probably just as much a commitment problem. Like a kid trying to get rid of the training wheels – I can’t quite give up my freedom or admit I might actually want to be dependant on someone else.

I’m thinking I’m going to have to give it a try. I don’t want to be a newlywed tricycle. Awkward! No way in hell can I manage as a unicycle. I would end up a hermit on Prozac without friends and companionship of some sort. And we all know that my other room mate – the GOB – doesn’t offer much in the way of companionship. Maybe now that Ky is older and moving out on her own I’ll break my rules and have guys over to my house. Actually let them think I want them to be a part of my life. Silly how that might make a difference in giving a relationship a go!

Of course, anyone that wants a third wheel, give me a call! I make for a good threesome.

Monday, October 5, 2009

Guilty Pleasure

Twenty plus years ago I wrote a letter to my x-boyfriend. The guy I thought was the love of my life. The one I followed to a university that I would have never otherwise attended. You know the one down south that costs more for those of us that don’t believe in their strange teachings. I followed my best friend because I loved him. One semester later I was leaving a note on the windshield of his parked Yugo. It told him that I didn’t care what his thoughts were on MY pregnancy. It was our baby, but I made the final decision. I wrote the letter telling him I didn’t care what he wanted or what he thought was best for him/us. I told him I could do it myself! Yes, just like I was two and wanted to put on my own shoes. I can do it myself. I don’t need you so go to hell. Yep, that was pretty much the message I left. I’m not sure that the windshield wiper of that Yugo was sturdy enough to hold onto the folded weight of my revolt. The coveted graduation gift of a car that everyone wishes their parents can afford. However, that Yugo was about $4000 brand new. The gas gage broke after a month. The driver’s seat had to be unbolted and moved back so that Spermy could maneuver his long legs behind the wheel. They even gave one away in a drawing at the local burger joint. Kind of like winning the daily lunch drawing over winning the lottery don’t you think? I was jealous of him then, I think he is jealous of me now. Silly me, jealous over a dorm and a Yugo? Who even remembers Yugos!? Poor him, jealous over missing out on his kid’s life.

Yep, I walked away from everything as did he. We went our own directions. I finished up the year down there in my maternity clothes. He worried about me spilling the beans and ending his turn on the Cougar volleyball hardwood floor. I passed my ecclesiastical interview being seven months pregnant and single. He turned down an opportunity to play ball at Pepperdine. He dated while I wore my great-grandmother’s wedding band on my left ring finger, keeping the faithful at bay. They assumed I was one of them -- getting an early start on my perfect little family. If they only knew the shameful truth, they probably would not have sat by me or offered me their lecture notes on the days I just couldn’t crawl out of bed and make the forty minute drive. I didn’t know what struggles he was facing and he didn’t know that I was trying to fit in doc appointments, work and finish school with passing grades. We split. Our once daily conversations during our commute were over. No one picked me up from work with a cold Diet Dr. Pepper. No one skipped Biology with me for a fall drive up Provo Canyon. No one scowled at me when I raised an objection during religion lectures. We went to class separately just like we were living our lives. We managed to avoid each other on that small campus. I fed cravings of fig newtons and chocolate covered raisins from the bookstore and he gorged at the cafeteria. I studied advertising, he focused on business. The only chance we might cross paths – on days when I was running late and couldn’t face the eight flights of stairs from the distant Y parking lot to my first class. On these days I would brave the elevator in the business building to carry me to the main level of campus. I feared we would run into each other while secretly hoping he would catch a glimpse of my growing belly. Would that make him come to his senses?

So, back to the letter . . . I can do it myself right?! I have, for over twenty years. It is strange to have him finally enter Ky’s life. He is trying to do whatever he can to help. I have to remind myself that he is making up for a lot. I am trying to let him because it makes her happy. I have to admit, the extra help is nice but I can’t help but remember what I said so long ago. I am stubborn just like I was when I wrote the letter. I needed to prove to myself, him and everyone else that I could survive and even strive as a single mom. I didn’t need him. I haven’t needed him. This makes me wonder, should I feel guilty when he hands Ky a $100 bill to help pay for books? He just told me about thousands of dollars in legal bills he has to pay. He has six kids for gods sake! Should I be angry and resentful that he wants to help pay for the wedding? If I let him help pay, does he get a say in her life? He didn’t help pay in the beginning. He didn’t get to help choose her name, what religion she followed or where she went to pre-school. Does he get to help in decisions now? Does taking his money give him a say in where she lives, if she finishes school or where she spends Thanksgiving?

NO! Ky is an adult. She makes her own decisions now. She appreciates my guidance and opinion but I am no longer the majority decision maker in her life. Nor is Spermy. Neither of us have a controlling interest no matter what we are providing her. We are both a support system now and I trust her to continue on the path that I started for her so many years ago. I didn’t choose the traditional path, it has been bumpy at times, but the hills and valleys are what have made our lives exciting.

It is all about sacrifices. I am mad at him for the fact that I had to go on WIC to pay for formula and milk. I went to county child services for Ky’s first year immunizations. What humiliations did he face? He continued life for years denying that he was even the father. Maybe he is facing those self imagined looks and snickers now. He finally told his other children about Ky. His neighbors ward members and friends know that he has another child. Did the humiliation catch up with him finally? Does life have a fair payback? I got to spend Ky’s entire life with her. Enjoy the first steps, first words, first dates. He missed that. Sure I was embarrassed to take help from WIC and get free diapers from the University. But I did it to survive. I did it to do it myself without Spermy’s help. Do I feel guilty for letting him give her money and support now? Am I guilty or angry that I am no longer doing it by myself? Screw it! I think I like him helping. I have an extra hundred dollars that I wasn’t expecting. Maybe Ky and I will go shopping for something frivolous with that money we were going to spend on books. Extra help with the wedding means open bar! Welcome back Spermy. It is a pleasure to accept your help now. Maybe I should have taken it years ago. No, I’m glad I was selfish and got Ky to myself. You deserved to wait for her, but I’m glad you’re back.

Friday, October 2, 2009

A MOBster's Got to Know How to Keep Her Mouth Shut

Ever since my bourbon induced verbal bulimic episode my friend has nicknamed me the MOBster. I’m not sure if she was referring to the scary, hairy beasts that hide under your bed and jump out of you closet. Or if she was thinking more along the lines of heat packing guys from Jersey in exquisite tailored suits hanging out at the sleazy Bada Bing. I prefer fashion over horror so I’m going with the mafia theme on this nickname. Maybe I’ll find a pin striped dress to wear to the wedding as a simple reminder to Stretch what I can become if he upsets me again. Just kidding, that would never make it past Kyky’s list of appropriate clothing for me.

Plus MOBsters are known for keeping things on the down low. I can totally lay low and act inconspicuous. Stretch knew I wasn’t holding some crazy vendetta against him. We had made up and were on the take together for this upcoming sting.

A few weeks after asking permission to snatch my daughter’s heart, Stretch showed up with the goods. The block of ice that would adorn Kyky’s hand as a symbol of commitment for life. I approved. It was big. It was worthy of her finger.

While she would sleep just feet away from us, we would plan the wedding, the engagement, the honeymoon. Would it be Vegas and the Elvis impersonator? A cruise or a sandy beach? What should the song for the first dance be? We made all sorts of plans behind her back. She never caught on.

Stretch came up with the proposal alone. He let the romantic side of him slip from the shadows for a second. The plan was set but he needed my help with the actual drop. Stretch had arranged the location for the disposal of the bling. Their love for baseball made the choice easy. The holding location was a suite at the Bees game. (Okay, so the beer patio at Fenway would be the real dream, but we live in Utah. ) My job was to get Kyky there on time and completely oblivious of the situation. Oh, and to keep the secret for six weeks. He made me promise not to tell a soul. I almost didn’t snitch. I told my two gals that wouldn’t rat me out. It was too big of a secret to keep.

The original plan of a simple kiss cam engagement got whacked by the higher ups at Franklin Covey Field. It was too simple. They wanted a show; Stretch was going to propose on the field in front of the entire crowd.

The suite was overflowing with our families. That should have been Ky’s first clue that something was up. I had my crew of girls in the bleachers -- armed with multiple cameras and camcorders to capture the moment. Stretch had his guy casing the banks of the outfield to capture the announcement on the scoreboard. Two more hints to set Ky off to the plan. Nope, she was still clueless.

Stretch was sweating bullets and drinking draft after draft to keep his nerves hidden. Big D was snapping pics. I kept Ky detained in the suite until it was time.

Eighth inning, the fix was in. Down they went to the field to compete in the dizzy bat race. It was fixed. Ky would spin faster and make it to third base before Stretch. All an elaborate plan so that while she was running, Stretch could run just enough behind her to finish second, get down on one knee and open the little velvet box as Ky will you marry me flashed on the big screen.

Stretch pulled it off without a hitch. Ky was shocked. Not because she cheated and the crowd booed her for winning. Not because the 3rd baseman told her to look at the screen with her name in lights. But because she had no idea that Stretch was going to propose that night, in one of their favorite places, in front of all their friends and family. None of the many coincidences clued her into the surprise. They kissed in front of the entire stadium of clapping, congratulatory fans. They were happy. My sister cried, my niece cheered, and my mom yelled at me for not spilling the beans! It was a good night.

Stretch hit a home run. He gave his girl a diamond, on a diamond. It couldn’t have happened at better place for this couple. Plus, BONUS it was Thirsty Thursday, Mama got beer for half price!

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

May I See Your ID Please?

When I tell people that Ky isn’t getting married until next September their first reaction is to laugh. Is it because people in Utah don’t know how to wait that long to get married? Do they think that her hormonal urge to give up her virginity is going to move the wedding date up? That is why most engagements in Utah only last a couple of months. The poor little return missionaries return home with blue balls that need to be tended to. The normal Mormon wedding day is to get married at 7:30 in the morning. Run from the Temple to the nearest hotel, usually The Anniversary Inn, and ruin the bride’s up do. Then to show up to the reception, stand in the line, like nothing happened. Do they realize that people know her hair is different than it was earlier in the day? A little muffled? And that he is smiling more than normal? I can’t even imagine staying at The Anniversary Inn. First, because it is themed. Second, I can only imagine how many young return missionary Tarzans have swung from the vines in the jungle room to de-virginize their Jane. Or perhaps I should imagine how many Juliets have jumped from the balcony to jump their Romeo. No matter what scenario I come up with, all I can think of is how bright those mattresses must glow under black light.

My kid isn’t Mormon. I’m not saying that I know what is going on in her bedroom . . . but I know what was going on in mine when I was that age and I’m not thinking that is the reason she might move up the wedding date. I know for a fact that the earliest she would move the wedding date up would be late June. Why do I know this? She wants to party and she won’t turn 21 until June 15, 2010.

At least I thought I was safe with this reasoning until my friend got her the perfect fake ID. Ky has tried for a few years to get a coveted fake ID. But do you realize how hard it is to find another girl that is 6’0” tall and resembles you? She used to think she could get away with my little sis’s. The only problem is Colie is only 5’4”. That would never fly with a good bouncer – maybe only with one that was blind! I honestly thought I would be safe until Ky decided to cross dress as one of Kris’s smaller football players. I was hoping that her tall stature would finally work in my favor. Dammit, it owed me after all those hours of looking for prom dresses that were long enough! For finding pants that were not floods. Not to mention how I used to have to dry her cotton pants weighted down so they would stretch beyond their wanted length. Leave it to my friend Kris – the sports trainer who works with female athletes on a daily basis. Not only does she work with female athletes, she works at the University where they are all a little older than Ky. It took some time, but the perfect opportunity finally showed up on the softball team. At least Kris learned from her own experience and got the actual ID from her student rather than her birth certificate. That plan landed her in cuffs and the backseat of a cop car. She learned from her mistake and Ky benefits from her wisdom. Woo hoo!

Ky has tried out the new laminated toy a few times and it works beautifully. She, Kris and Stretch partied at the Top Gun bar in San Diego while I headed back to the hotel with the kiddos. I felt old. She drank beer at the bowling alley with Stretch – she should have felt old. Who hangs out at the bowling alley bar these days?! Worst of all, she got a beer band at the Brad Paisley concert, right after they put mine on! What is that Utah Department of Alcohol Beverage Control campaign? The one where the mom has a string attached to the beer bottle and reels her kid in like a big mouth bass? The bright yellow tags that are all over the liquor stores warning us against letting our underage kids drink? They obviously have not made an impression on me!

It’s true . . . I encourage or rather support her drinking habit. I buy her cheerleader beer, the beercicles, and all those other wine coolers of 2010. I am under the belief that if you are old enough to fight for our country and vote for our leader, you should be responsible enough to buy a beer. How can you encourage someone to vote for your future if you can’t entrust them to buy a cocktail? It is ridiculous. So yes, I buy my underage daughter booze. I let her drink at my house. I let her come to my parties. I don’t let her get out of control. I’m hoping that she is responsible and she is. The problem is I might not be!

At the concert, I was the one sneaking in the booze in my wine bra. Yes, a wine bra. The greatest flask ever invented. It is a simple booze bladder that hides inside of a regular sports bra. It has made many an airline flight, movie, and concert more enjoyable. Sometimes you need more than beer! Sometimes a movie needs something other than a $5 soda. Pirates of the Caribbean with a rum and coke – doesn’t that sound good? Sex in the City with a Cosmo? How Carrie! OK, those ice cold drinks were not the best idea! Thank you Mr. Leno for introducing me to this marvel. Plus it makes my boobs huge! I never have cleavage without a little wine rack.

Kel smuggled in a box of wine in her chair. The bag that is hidden inside of those boxes can easily be mistaken for a cath bag. Besides, who is going to question her?

The best smuggling had to be Jeffries. The tiny little hundred pound girl had not one, but two flasks shoved down her tight jeans just so she could enjoy an Appletini.

Not one of us got caught at security. We weren’t white trash. We weren’t being cheap. We just wanted our favorite drinks. OK, we were a little white trash.

Ky and her beer band got me a pale ale. It was sweet. I’m not going to lie. I liked staying on my blanket while she went on the beer run. Then suddenly the thought crossed my mind . . . she doesn’t have to wait until JUNE! How the hell am I going to pull this wedding bill off before then!?

Relax, have another beer mama. Remember, you put a deposit on Snowbird yesterday. She is stuck with September no matter how good her fake ID is.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Wait! Wait! There's Still Room on my Dance Card!

Ky read the last post and has made a special request for that dance montage. What would her young life have been without some of the crazies I dated! She rarely met any of them. I kept them hidden at their houses. Most didn't even know where I lived. I wasn't some hormonal raging slut that just snuck out to get some. I just didn't see the need of introducing her to everyone that I might go to dinner and a movie with. I was very protective of her when she was little. Now that she is old enough she has heard all the insane stories. Well, they might still be a little edited for her little ears.

Her first request was Stan the Mountain Man. I dated Stan when I was 20, he was 40 something. That drove my mother nuts to say the very least. Stan only cut his hair once a year and he never trimmed his mustache. He also believed bathing on a daily basis was not a necessity, just a waste of water. He donned tie dyed shirts, shorts and Birkenstock complete with wool socks. He really wished he had been born an Indian. He spent his weekends naked in sweat lodges with Medicine men, Indians with beautiful long hair, as well as other white wannabes. His favorite movie had to be Dances With Wolves. We had to go see it several times. Each time he would tell me the history of the Indians and the old west. I never reminded him that I did score a 5 on my American AP test and that I was thinking about majoring in History. I let him tell me about musket guns and scalping while we ate the pizza that he would smuggle in. You're thinking how classy right? It gets better! One day Stay showed up to work with a little leather pouch hanging from his neck. Yep, broke that golden rule of not sleeping where you work more than once! He was always doing strange things so it didn't really alarm me. Then at lunch he did it, he finally shocked me! Dinners on the floor drinking out of oyster shells didn't do it. Having him sweep smoke over me with an eagle feather didn't do it. Flesh hanging in a pouch around his neck did it! Over the weekend he had cleansed himself in the sweat lodge. Part of that cleansing was to remove the venom from yourself by cutting away a piece of your flesh then carrying it with you to remind you of your sins. My boyfriend had a piece of his own flesh around his neck as a piece of jewelry!

Check . . . dated the older man.

I'll add Stan to her dance card. I just hope he isn't on another garlic diet.

How about Bren. He was my pot smoking college boyfriend who asked me to marry him at the end of every date. We met because we were the two bored people at a New Year's Eve party. We ended up getting kicked out of the bathroom a couple of hours later. Bren was fun. He played baseball at the U so he had great forearms. Oh, and did I mention he was a pool boy? He never smoked pot in front of me or asked me join. Hanging out with him was pleasurable, a mindless few hours that I could spend away from home. No need for deep conversation, he couldn't follow it. No need to find a great restaurant for dinner, we just ate junk food to fill his munchy cravings. He left me cute little notes on my car at school that made me laugh. Like the one where he informed me that my coveted A parking sticker at the U didn't stand for Anywhere. This is the day he found my car parked on a snowbank. I was running late! Most importantly he saved me from a crazy stalker just by intimidating him with his mere size. Once I even let him meet my dad. Not sure what I was thinking that day! Luckily he had red hair that kind of distracted dad from his bloodshot eyes.

I would add Bren to the dance card but he is in prison in Alaska. They allowed him home for his Grandma's funeral with an ankle monitor, but not sure that is the look Ky wants at her wedding.

Check . . . Everyone needs a prisoner on their list of boyfriends right?

How about Dan? The tall, dark and handsome OB/GYN from Chicago that I met in Vegas. Oh the trouble that Dr. Bobs at the NYNY Piano Bar can get you into. Girls weekend in Vegas. OK, so we were really staying in Mesquite. Have you ever been to Mesquite? We survived one night only to see Kip Attaway then we had to escape the land of the retirement casinos and white hairs and drive the hundred miles to Vegas! Let's just say we made the most of it. Right off my flirty friend Nik had hooked a cute guy. A doctor and she was so proud. My other friend Les snagged his twin brother! My night was quickly plummeting. I'm not outgoing. I don't really flirt. Luckily, neither did their friend. We were a perfect match. He said hello. I said hi. He asked if I wanted to leave. I answered yes. Wow! I was an easy catch that night! I snagged a doc! I got my first taste of truffles that night and they were decadent. I got my first naughty limo ride up and down the Vegas strip. Complete with neon lights, a disco ball , zebra print carpet and a very discreet driver. When the doc found out we had to drive back to Mesquite he quickly got us a suite at the Monte Carlo but I graciously declined. I wanted to stay so badly but felt guilty taking advantage of his drunken credit card usage. Instead, I just went to his room to wait for my friends. We broke a rule. We didn't make a meeting plan before going our separate ways. Just then my phone starting vibrating with a text message. It was from Nik. "Meet us in Dan's room in 15." I looked at my doc and said, hey, we're supposed to meet my friends in Dan's room. He said great, I'm Dan! Oh, I just realized I never asked his name. The perfect one night stand.

If I only knew Dan's last name, I would add him to Ky's dance card.

Check, check, check . . . everyone needs a great, nameless one night stand.

I haven't seen Stan since he got married in a tee pee and moved to Durango. I still have a healing stone that he brought me from a hike. It reminded him of me and I was to carry it on me at all times to keep me safe. It is in my jewelry box.

I saw Bren a few years ago. He looked just the same - good. And still smelled like pot. I thank him for being so enamored with me. I needed it.

Dan, well, he is a great story to tell friends about. Luckily Nik and Les were there to prove he was real and not a liquor induced dream.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Sperm.com Didn't Have the Answer

Some parental jobs are defined by gender. Moms are supposed to soothe the owies, do their hair, cook them dinner. Dads teach them to ride bikes, enforce curfew and give them that evil eye that let's them know they are in trouble. Mothers of the Bride get to wear tacky dresses and corsages, fret over meetings with florists and close a gazillion buttons while looking for the perfect dress. Fathers of the Bride get to grant permission to marry their daughter, walk them down the aisle and have a daddy daughter dance.

So what happens in our nontraditional family? Our family where Kyky gives me both Mother's Day and Father's Day gifts because I am both to her.

I taught her how to ride a bike and I enforced curfew. I never was able to give that evil look though. I always ended up giggling which became contagious and then we would forget what naughty deed started the entire hysteria. I also bandaged the scrapes, fixed her hair and made sure she was fed.

I can guarantee I'm not going to wear a tacky dress. Let's not forget the dream of the MOB being a MILF. My dress will be sexy, well, appropriately sexy. I can't be embarrassing. It won't be red. I've already had meetings that make me fret over this entire event and I am dreading the task of finding the perfect dress all the while looking forward to doing up the gazillion buttons.

But what about that granting permission? The walk down the aisle? The daddy daughter dance?

That's where her sperm donor was supposed to come in. But Spermy has just recently made an appearance in her life. He hasn't yet earned the rights to these traditions has he?

I made it through the first task when Stretch came over that night to ask me to marry my daughter. Once I got over the initial embarrassment of what I had done to him just days before I bucked up and took on the role of the fatherly figure. I thought about what my dad had said to my brother-in-law when he came with the same question. I got as serious as I could. Asked about their future plans, talked about the importance of finishing school and not rushing into things. I think I did OK. We had a good talk and he had a plan and good answers to all my questions. I felt successful. I went to bed thinking I couldn't believe I just had that conversation! It wasn't supposed to be my job but in our little family, all the jobs are mine.

Would Spermy have been tougher on Stretch the Suitor? Asked tougher more pertinent questions? I don't think so. He didn't get to grant permission. He didn't get to answer the all important question in his daughter's life. I did and I was proud to be breaking the gender barrier.

The aisle -- I'm not walking her down it. I think that would look stupid. Some traditions need to be kept. A bride needs to be on the arm of a man. A man that loves her and has watched her grow into a woman. Not on the arm of a mom. Two dresses, two up dos, too many flowers are not a good thing. Plus is kind of lesi. It isn't the right picture. The picture is supposed to be a beautiful white dress accompanied by a dashing black tuxedo. Maybe she'll walk down alone. After all she does like to think she is independent. That seems lonely. Do you really want to make the longest and most watched walk of your life all by yourself? All eyes on just you. No one to steady your nervous steps towards the altar and your future husband? No one there to push you forward, to cue you to take Stretch's hand? The last option is to find that special man. She says Spermy hasn't earned the right to lend his elbow and give her away. Gpa is her other choice. He would be proud and the GOB (grandma of the bride, divorced from the Gpa) would be so envious. That might make the decision for Kyky right there. She loves to piss off the GOB. I know this is a tough decision for her. Ky doesn't want to offend anyone. If Spermy hadn't entered her life I think she would have already asked Gpa. A way to repay him for all the tractor rides, mac n' cheese, pool parties and trips to the dump. For her love of the Red Sox, corn and her natural ease at finding klutzy accidents! But then I think there is that part of her that wants her "dad" to walk her down the aisle. I don't think she is worried about offending Gpa or Spermy, but me. Would I be hurt if Spermy were to walk her down the aisle? I think if the wedding were soon, my answer is yes. But I have a year to get used to the idea. I don't know that he has earned the right yet, but he has time to redeem himself, to earn the right. Plus I keep reminding myself that I truly loved him and because of that love I have Ky. Maybe it is me that owes that walk to him. He gave me a great give with that sperm donation twenty years ago. Maybe this is my gift to him . . . letting him revel in the pride and love that that donation created. Obviously I'm going to have to start thinking of him as more than sperm.com. Mama will be going to the bar to get used to having him around again! Don't think he gets to answer the question of "who gives this woman in marriage?" I am answering that! Whoever the hell walks her down the damned aisle!

Now for the dance. What is a wedding with dancing and no daddy daughter dance? Spermy has earned that by finally contacting Kyky. Not to mention with the cash that he is giving for this bash! Or maybe it should just be a montage of the men I have involved in her life. My dad, who helped me raise her. My first real boyfriend after Spermy, T, who helped drive carpool to Challenger School, introduced her to her love of country music, and loved her as his own. Or maybe Otis, my best friends x-husband and my x-boyfriend who has known Ky since she was one. He has been there through everything until this last chapter. Breaking up with someone can do that. He isn't aware that Spermy is back in the picture and he isn't in the loop of the wedding. But he has seen her grow into a woman and he has loved her as his "oldest" kid for a long time. We'll leave out the losers that we all want to forget!

When it comes down to it . . . the decisions are Ky's. Walk with who you want to. Steady yourself and proudly take that step towards Stretch all on your own. Or have the arm of Gpa or Spermy to guide you into your future. It is your choice. Dance with everyone who has loved you as a daughter and enjoy every beat. The night is yours and your decisions will be right.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Save the Whale

I’m shoving a Shamu balloon animal into the minuscule commuter plane’s overhead compartment. Not because it is about the cutest balloon art I have ever seen. Not because the clown that could have escaped from the pages of Water for Elephants in his cloth tattered pants and custom made Ringling Brothers shoes was pulling at my heart strings for donations. But because I have carried this damned thing for two days! Loading it into the rental van. Shoving its way into an already over crowded elevator. Protecting it from popping as my three year old niece carried it through Sea World. Pleading with the TSA agent to get it to fit through the screening. And mostly because of my niece, who is sitting in the aisle of the airplane blocking the other, irritated passengers from reaching their seats until I securely place Shamu into his ”seat” for the plane ride home.

I look back to see my daughter, calmly getting situated for the ride home. Talking to Stretch and being good. Then I look down again at Abighell, causing a scene as I latch the overhead to procure Shamu’s safety. I am thankful that my job dealing with toddlers is done. It is no longer a full time job. A duty required as a parent. It is merely something I volunteer for. Like grandparents, an aunt can return the cute little children at the end of the day, or the end of a long weekend. We had a great long weekend in San Diego. Four Shamu shows, including one in the front row of the splash zone! I’ve never done that before. Ky hated Sea World after an incident involving her lunch tray and too many seagulls. Luckily, they sell ponchos that closely resemble the famous orca. I willingly handed over my $50 bill to guarantee dryness.

I’m really hoping my prego little sister enjoyed one of her last weekends of being the mother of just two because I am ready to return them.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my nieces. My oldest, Bitzy, or Princess Tender Heart, and I are one in the same. She is me reincarnated from thirty-five years ago. Bitzy is prissy, thoughtful, a girl’s girl right down to the sparkly shoes and mini skirt. The only thing she is lacking is the Holly Hobby ruffle panties that I wouldn’t leave the house without! She is my buddy. She is my sewing partner, the fabric club President. Bitz is the one who loves the things that I love from China to New York to the perfect Halloween costume. She will follow me wherever I lead without question because she knows we are alike and kindred spirits.

Then there is Abihell – Princess Tough Nut. She can fall down a flight of stairs and pop up as if nothing happened. Bitz would have cried for days and asked for a wheel chair to survive the minor scrapes and bruises left from the fall. Abs has used Shit in context since the age of two with the perfect inflection in her voice. Her strength has caused her parents heart failure and made her Grandpa invent safety guards not yet needed by the general public. She can scale a set of cabinet drawers with the mere assist of a single knob in order to reach the snack cupboard. She is unstoppable, and so loveable. I was nothing like her until my later years, and even now it is a small glimpse of her capability. I can only pretend to imagine where her life and determination will lead her. I am envious, yet she exhausts me!

My new Little One is not here yet. She is due any day. I can’t wait to meet her and see what adventures she has in store for me.

People always ask me if I was scared to be a parent at such a young age. Of course I was. At nineteen you have no idea what you are doing and what your future holds. Do I regret it? HELL NO! Would I want to be chasing Abihell and trying to embellish Bitzy’s imagination on a daily basis? NO. I love that I have grown up with a best friend that I can call my daughter. I love that people compare us to the Gilmore Girls. I wouldn’t want to be starting over. I want to be the favorite aunt that saves Shamu for Monday’s Show n’ Tell. I want to spoil them, let them eat as much cotton candy as they can, let them stay up too late, then return them with messy hair and tired eyes to their loving parents who can endure this energy on a daily basis. I get to sleep in on the weekends, that is unless we have an early appointment to look at a possible reception site. For that I will gladly start my weekends early.

Friday, August 28, 2009

The Bride Still Needs her Mommy

I hate how addicted and tied I am to technology. I feel like my cell phone has been an extension of my body for the last 16 years. Yes . . . I had an original brick phone. I had to carry a huge purse just to accommodate its size. I’m sure I’ll end up with some sort of brain cancer that is linked to the radio waves from holding a phone so close to my ear for decades. I sleep with it. It is more intimate with me than any man . . . meaning I let it spend the night.

I hate my new phone. First it didn’t let me transfer any of my contacts from my last phone. No SIM card. Verizon couldn’t get their thingamagig to work. Unless I wanted to manually enter everything I was out of luck. I’m too lazy for that! I just turn on the old phone and use it as a rolodex. Second, the battery SUCKS!!! One little warning and five minutes later the phone is dead. No warning. No time to find your car charger. What kind of stupid phone doesn’t allow for a time crunch? What if I left my phone and wall charger at home? Am I supposed to suffer without being accessible? What if someone needs me?

Well, it happened. Tonight on my way to dinner the single beep warning with the low battery warning flashed. My car charger was in my carry on from the weekend. My wall charger, it’s in bed of course, because that is where my phone lives and revitalizes at night. It’s just a quick business dinner. What can happen in a couple of hours? Well, my sister is pregnant and due at any minute, but my fam knows I’m with Kel, they will call her phone if there is an emergency.

Dinner and wine with a creepy sales rep. I am doing a favor for Kel. She knew him twenty-five years ago. He found her on Facebook. What was I to do but agree to meet him? Plus he flew into town for the meeting.

The 911 please call me text was left unanswered.

I didn’t know I had five missed calls.

Ky was smart enough to call Kel on her cell. She knew we were together. How was she to know Kel was sitting on her phone? Cell phone etiquette, she had it set to vibrate. For most this wouldn’t be a problem. For most, sitting on a vibrating phone would be a pleasurable thing. Problem is, my best friend Kel has no feeling below her breasts! The wheelchair might have felt the multiple shakes for help, but not us.

It wasn’t until I got home and plugged in my phone that I heard the calls for help.

“Mom, please call me.”

“911, answer please!”

“I’m in the ER”

Panic hit. Who is in the ER? Is my sis having Little L? Has The GOB passed out? Is Stretch getting yet another set of stitches? What is going on?

I called and got a quiet yet sad little voice. Kyky said she gashed her leg open but they were getting ready to stitch her up.

My baby’s first stitches. Twenty years and I have never taken her to the ER. My phone was dead! I am the worst mom ever.

“Don’t come, Stretch is with me. I’m OK.”

F*u!@ THAT I’m on my way!!!!

I’m not sure who was happier to see me. The fiancĂ©’ who was tired and not sure what the hell he was supposed to be doing. Or my baby who was sheltering her face from the sewing of her flesh from behind her token hoodie. Either way, they both needed me and it felt morbidly wrong. I didn’t care that they needed the $100 co-pay, the insurance papers filled out or the hands held. I was there and they needed me.

We all survived the stitches. Stretch escaped in the parking lot. I got to drive her home. Stop to get her dinner. Bring her drugs, elevate her leg and assure her that it didn’t look that bad. I reminded her that she thought Tea length dresses were dorky and that they were the only ones that would show the scar. I was needed.

She finished her burger and I reassured her that Maderma would erase the night, and then she asked me to wash the blood off her foot. I ran to the bathroom to ready a warm cloth. As she sat on the dining room chair eating curly fries, I washed the blood from her leg and in between her toes. I asked, “Do you feel like Jesus?” She gave me a look like WTF are you talking about? I was thinking about my little niece getting her feet washed by her Catholic School teacher on Ash Wednesday. Suddenly I remembered the lesson and laughed. Oh yeah, Jesus washed the feet. That means I’m Jesus!

We both went to bed happy, sore and sad that technology failed us, but happy that the night ended together. OMG, I am the Mother of the Bride, and she still needs me!

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

"Your Mama Don't Dance and Your Daddy Don't Rock n' Roll"

It was all I could do tonight to drag myself out of the house to the Def Leppard concert. A month ago I was excited to relive my life in the eighties. I wanted to poof my hair into rats and dawn tight levis and a torn t-shirt but tonight all I wanted to do was curl up in bed. I have been suffering from a horrible cold and I had really been looking forward to a night of a codeine enduced coma.

It is an outdoor concert. No lawn chairs allowed though so I can't crash in my super deluxe $100 beach chair that I bought for the last concert. Blankets are ok . . . does that mean I can bring a pillow? I can totally survive Cheap Tricks if I have a pillow and an extra blanket.

Wake up! How old am I!? I can do this. Buck up. I'm the cool mom. The young mom that all Ky's friends wish was their mom. I can't let them down and be the party pooper. Put on your tightest jeans and I have a zebra print T - close enough to the 80's. Take some drugs and plan to buy a lot of beers and I can make it through this. I'm just really thankful that we didn't have to get here hours in advance to get good seats. The older you get, the less you care about being front and center.

Driving into the parking lot I am feeling a little odd. I'm dressed way too conservative for this crowd. The people that are my age have obviously saved their clothes from high school and attempted to pour themselves in to old mini skirts and the hand torn concert t's. You know the ones where you made precision cuts to form an intricut design down the sides or the center of your back. One woman was wearing a zebra print unitard, complete with her g's underneath showing proud. Not a good look!

Then there was the new generation of fans pulling up on their Harley's, all tattooed and wearing bandanas. The girls were in skin tight jeans with spike heels. Totally appropriate to be tromping through the grass of the outdoor venue.

I found the wristband line so I can get beer. I will survive, they even have microbrews so I can be a beer snob!

Whew - the crowd sat through Cheap Tricks. That gave me time for the cold meds to settle in and the sniffles to stop. You can't be cool blowing your nose while giving the rock on hand gesture.

Poison is up. Mama can't and has never been able to dance so things are ok. Pretty sure Daddy never rock n' rolled either. Can't be sure what he is doing now but I will find out at a later date. CC DeVille is rockin' and I think I'm enjoying it. Their bass player is sick so Bon Jovi's is filling. Gotta love Bon Jovi. And bless the guy for learning the songs twenty minutes before show time. I'm feeling like I owe them some standing time. I'm not swaying anymore, only mildly swinging to the rythym. No head banding yet.

Bless the long intermissions. My friend has to potty a lot and I thank my bladder control as I curl up on the blanket in between acts.

Finally, 3 hours later and Def Leppard is finally on stage. Cold medicine is in full strength and I am actually enjoying myself. I'm not feeling bad that I couldn't bring a pillow. Not that they weren't allowed because some loser girl behind me has one. But if I had brought one I too would be a loser girl! I'm acutally bouncing, drinking my beer(s) and having a good time. Do I feel like I did in the 80's when I loved this music? NO! In the 80's mama would have been in the mosh pit coming home with broken toes and ripped pants. Tonight I'm just hoping to beat the traffic rush out of here!

Love my hair bands! Not saying that Poison or Def Leppard have to be on the dance play list at the reception. Bon Jovi is a must though!

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Future Mother-In-Law from HELL

I did something every parent has wanted to do but knew they shouldn’t . . . I told my daughter’s boyfriend exactly what I thought of him. Yes, mama had been to the bar and it was not a good thing. I crossed the line that parents are supposed to respect. I didn't stay on my side of the line drawn in the imaginarey sand and I would never be able to erase the footprints I left that night. Actually I had spent the evening with my girlfriends drinking wine, quilting and bitching about life in general. We got on the subject of Stretch, AKA, the daughter’s boyfriend. Truly I like the guy but every mom can find those things that just are not good enough for her little one to be stuck with. My list is petty and really quite shallow when I think back on it.

Well, with the bitch session fresh on my mildly inebriated brain I headed home to find a small gathering of Kyky’s friends in my living room. They were having their own little party and invited me to join. I am the cool mom after all. Well, I opened myself a bottle of wine because I have outgrown the shots of tequila and cheap beer that they were partaking of. Classless, I drank it straight from the bottle. Bad idea! First of all, that little time that it takes for one to refill their wine glass also gives you the time to rethink if you really need one more drink. Drinking straight from the bottle gives you no time to consider the amount you are letting in. Plus how tacky! Shame on me!

Music was going, kids were laughing and reminiscing, it was a great time. But where was Stretch? Oh, he was the long blob lying on the floor sleeping. Was it really that hard for him to try to mingle and carry on a drunken conversation with Kyky’s friends? Like a drunken conversation is all that deep and hard to participate in? No, he was tired and decided to crawl up and take a nap, leaving Kyky to entertain their guests alone.

This really irritated me! Kyky does tons of stuff with his friends and I know that she would never take a nap during a party. I have taught her to be better than that. Well, my brilliant solution to this was to draw smiley faces on his knees with self tanning cream. For days he would have to look at those smiling knees and think that he was the sleeping ass that got drawn on at the party. Not the drunken kid that gets Sharpied, but the loser who doesn’t like to socialize and gets taken on by the drunken mother of his girlfriend. Sure am glad I’m too mature for tequila and cheap beer.

All the laughing finally got Stretch to open his eyes. He grumbled a bit then smiled and agreed that he should join in the fun. Soon I found myself having a nice little chat with the guy.

Out of wine, I poured a velvety smooth shot of Bourbon for Stretch and myself. After all his is a whisky boy and I thought I would introduce him to a bit of Kentucky culture. I love a nightcap of good Bourbon, however, not after a night of wine. Bourbon is something that should be sipped and enjoyed, not shot and guzzled.

Suddenly I lost all control of my vocal functions! Things started blurting out of my mouth before my brain could tell me STOP!!!! I switched from thanking him for battling my bamboo to attacking his every move. Everything bad that I had ever thought about Stretch started to string together into this horrible lecture of how he wasn’t good enough for my little girl. I told him he chews his fingernails, wears hats to dinner, never says thank you, and is holding her back! It never ended. I went so far as to say I wished she was sleeping with her best friend Eric. And the worst thing was Eric was standing right there! It was Eric that finally got me under control, but the damage had been done. Stretch’s eyes were watery. I had hurt him and I couldn’t take it back. What had I done?

How embarrassing for poor Kyky. Here I am telling the love of her life that he isn’t good enough for her. Not nicely, but in a drunken state of chaos. I’m sure the harsh words were slurred and made little sense, but that didn’t hide the viciousness.

Forced to the basement, I went to bed. In the middle of the night I awoke to the horror of what I had done. I couldn’t take it back. How could I fix it? I couldn’t. All I could do was send a text apologizing and how pathetic and cowardly was that? I called my best friend to tell her what I had done and all she could say was oh no, you didn’t!

Somehow, Stretch courageously attended Mother’s Day Brunch that Sunday. I don’t know how he could look at me and I barely made eye contact. Knowing I wouldn’t have the balls to say everything I needed to I wrote him a note.

I don’t even know how to begin to apologize for my horrible behavior the other night. You truly did not deserve one bit of that. I know there is no reason on earth why I should have had you be the recipient of my built up anger for a lot of things. I feel so bad for what I did to you and Ky and I’m not sure how I’m going to ever begin to set things straight.
I really do love you. You are a great guy and do so much for me and my family and would do anything for Ky. We would be lost without you. I don’t have any real issues with you and Ky and I fully expect that you will be a part of our lives for the long haul and I’m happy with that.
Of course there will always be little things that bug me but that’s what mothers do. It’s in our nature to be over protective but not beastly!
There is no way I would choose Eric over you and I can’t believe I said that. You are a much better person.
I don’t blame you for anything Ky is doing in her life other than I wish you would go do more together. You make her a better person in a lot of ways.
Ky loves you and I know you love her. That is all that I want for both of you.
Please let me try to redeem myself. I owe a lot of apologies but none more than to you and Ky.

He, being the bigger person confronted me. We made up, but didn’t hug.

Two nights later Stretch showed up on my doorstep. Ky wasn’t home so I was a bit baffled. I invited him in for a beer, NO BOURBON! Not quite knowing what to do, I turned on American Idol. How weird of me! He sat and we watched for about an hour. Finally, a timid voice said, “I’m not quite sure how to say this . . . “

I stopped him! Saying, “ please let’s just forget the other night ever happened. I’m so embarrassed and I just want us to move on and be friends.”

His reply . . . “it’s not about that, I want to marry your daughter.”

My heart sank. The other night when I was belittling him and saying he wasn’t good enough, he already had the beautiful one carat diamond at home locked in his safe.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Can a MOB be a MILF?

I've always loved the idea of being a MILF. I want to be Stickler's mom. So does that mean I need to get a reception center with a pool table? My daughter didn't go to band camp, but I definitely had trampoline camp happening outside my bedroom window. Being only 19 years older than Kyky's friends it has been kind of easy. The idea of doing it with a Cougar is trendy and I'm an easy target. Actually, I'm not a Cougar yet, I consider myself a little Bobcat because my elbows haven't started to dimple and I'm not 40. The fact that I sell sex toys males me a little more intriguing.

I don't have a date, so is it inappropriate to start choosing the line based on age and sexuality, or sexual preference? I'm not allowed to play with Kyky's friends because the hottest one hit on me once... or twice.

I have this not-so-understated apron that I wear with some special black and white stilettos that I sometimes think might be a fun MILF outfit. Kyky would die to know that the apron we made at "quilt night" might be one of my fancy "outfits" for a date with her schoolmates. I'd let him wear his Letterman's jacket. Is this wrong? Oh, I so lied right there, but that's what fantasies are all about, right?

Don't deny it. . . all of you have thought of those inappropriate thoughts of your child's cute high school buddies. Of course I'm talking about once they hit the golden, legal age of 18. I live in Utah so I just have to wait til they are 16. However, I like a boy who can buy me booze, so I prefer to wait til they are 21, because we all know, Mama needs a bar!

I was at my girlfriend's son's wedding... she's the MOG (Mama of of the Groom) recently, and her son's friend, Little Danny asked her where she was going after the wedding. She politely replied, "There's a shuttle." That's why why we need on-site rooms.

One vote for Snowbird! Because my reply would have been, here's my room key.

Does that make me an easy Cougar? Or just a Bobcat on a moratorium waiting to be sprung from the vault?



Sunday, August 16, 2009

From Receiving Blankets to Reception Centers

It was just over 20 years ago that I was a scared 18 year old trying to decide my future. What I thought was luck had finally ran out. The 4th pregnancy test came back positive. I was over four months along with only days to decide what to do.

After a lot of tears, writing and rewriting pros and cons lists until they tipped the scale to the side where I wanted them, fights with boyfriend, parents and friends, I started buying blankets. And binkys. And cute little clothes in unisex colors.

The luck I thought I was having in getting negative test results was luck indeed. Though at the time, the thought of being a single teenage mom scared the shit out of me, it is the best thing that ever happened. I know, how cliche', but unless you have lived through it, you can't mock me. Sure things were tough. I had to live with my mom in order to support my daughter the way I wanted. I preferred trips to Disneyland over my own mortgage. And I drove a beater car for years so that I could afford Challenger School and Nordstrom red cowboy boots for my two year old. My priorities were right for us.

So where has this lead me to 20 years later . . . to planning the biggest day in her life. Again, I am scared to death. My baby is growing up. She is planning her future and it doesn't include living with me. Is this selfish? Have I had enough time with her? She doesn't know how to cook! She should wait just for cooking lessons. Can he live on buttered noodles, cereal and tacos? Should I talk them out of it? Tell them they are too young? They need stable jobs and college degrees before signing a marriage certificate!

I remind myself . . . this is my daughter. She is the one who has been the mature one in our relationship. She is the one who knows what she is doing. She has been handling matters herself since she was 3 and someone tried to steal her stick horse during pre-school western days. Horrified, I watched through the one sided mirror as she lifted the boy by his bandana and regained custody of the pinto. I remind myself that she is stronger than I have ever been and that if he tries to steal her dreams she will deal with him in the same manner that she showed that little bully. Maybe not with a bandana, but I'm sure the effect will be the same.

I find myself thinking back to days of easier decisions. In 1989 you didn't know if you should buy pink or blue jammies so things were still generic for the unknown. There was some mystery and surprise left in life. Now I wish for an easy decision! Not so much when it comes to wedding plans. I know find my days filled with thoughts of reception centers. It is the first major decision to be made. Well after choosing the groom. She wants a mountain setting because she loves the fall and the colors of autumn. It needs to have indoor and outdoor locations. A beautiful aisle for her to walk down. And let's not forget the liquor license. Yes . . . mama needs a bar!

Wish me luck,