a foreign term to me. I got the guilty pleasure of having Kyky to myself 24/7 for her entire life. She was four years old before I sent her camping for a night with T. I had finals and couldn’t get away for the long weekend until Friday. T and Kyky had Friday off and were eager to get to the lake with everyone else. She packed her own little bag and was ready to load up in the bumpy truck for a night of fun and excitement, knowing that I would be there in time for lunch the following day. My parents gave me grief -- both telling me how she was probably crying herself to sleep. Talk about a guilt trip!
I drove into camp at Yuba the next day to find Kyky and T riding a wave runner and having a blast. T admitted that she had a few sniffles but he told her a story and she fell right asleep. It was a comfort to know that she loved him enough to be without me. It also made me think what life would be like if I had let Spermy in. Nah – T didn’t have legal rights. I could take her away at my discrestion. Greedy, I know. But I couldn’t imagine giving her up for more than a night every four years.
Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Easter – all mine. One year when I was dating Otis and I had to leave Kyky for a couple of hours to go to his parents’ house for Turkey dinner and it felt really lonely. Ky and I have spent her entire life together. Sure there have been a few long weekends apart. We’re not joined at the hip! The last couple of years she has shared her time with Stretch’s family over the holidays. It is nice. So far everything has worked out perfectly. Turkey morning is spent with the Stretches. No need for me to start cooking that damned bird at 4 AM! Christmas morning starts at our house. PJs all around!
So I have never had to share Kyky but now there is Fenway. Yes, Fenway, Kyky’s little Chi weenie. A tiny little wiener dog named after our beloved Fenway Franks. I bought him for her for Christmas last year. Her first dog. And don’t think I’m some mean mommy. She had bunnies and fish. Ky has just never been an animal lover!
Problem is, we both love Fen and think of him as ours! What am I going to do when she wants to move out with him! Who will make him scrambled eggs once a week to keep his coat shiny!? Who will buy him ridiculously priced clothing? Who will dip his chips? He doesn’t like tortilla or potato chips without dip! And Ky doesn’t know that he likes chunky salsa!
I guess joint custody is the answer to our dilemma. I’ve never tried this before but it works for my divorced friends. I’m figuring holidays won’t be a problem because Kyky and I spend those together. It is the rest of the year that is going to be tough. Currently I get my time when she doesn’t want him -- basically when she has a date, school or work.
Things are going to have to change though. I need a schedule. I need sleepovers. I need my time! This week has been our first test. Stretch’s parents are out of town and after the whole Grammy Dearest incident; Kyky has been living over there! She drops Fen off in the mornings when she has school. He has had two sleepovers when they have wanted to host Beer Pong tournaments. Nothing scheduled or documented though.
So I propose Sexy Time. That is what single moms call it. The time where your kids are away and you can have dates or just one night stands. It doesn’t matter. It is mom’s sexy time.
I want one night a week to spoon with Tiny. He is the best at curling up in the nook of my knees.
If I have a day of press checks, he is mine! He loves a nice drive in the car.
When I’m sick, he gets to be my nursemaid. No one else lies by my side and looks up to see if I’m ok every time I wiggle. If he could only get water and make soup he would be perfect.
Oh, and Sunday nights are a must. Those are our True Blood and red wine nights. He gets three little nips of wine and is the only one that loves vampire movies as much as I do. Well, besides Lost Boys. That one scared him under the covers.
The rest of the time will be my Sexy Time! Mama gets to be a MILF or whatever she wants time! Damn, I’m going to have to start dating. Sexy time cannot be spent on the couch!
Fen, we will work it out. Don’t worry. You won’t be hurt in this change of living situation! We all love you, just remember . . .
I know a tiny man,
He owns a weenie stand,
He sells most anything from hot dogs on down.
And in my future life,
I’ll be your tiny wife,
Fenway, we love our tiny man!
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Mama Needs a Free Hand!
We met with the first florist today -- he was great. Totally got the look and feel Kyky was going for and suggested beautiful autumn flowers that fell in her color scheme.
Then the oddest question when it came to MOB flowers. Did I want a traditional corsage? A wrist corsage? or a bouquet that I carried?
Traditional flowers pinned to my silk dress?! I would feel like a granny!
A wrist corsage? My dress would be safe from damage but I would feel like I was a prom.
Bouquet? I can't carry a bouquet! I need a free hand at all times to hold my glass of wine. But if both hands were full I wouldn't be able to hug, only do the little pat pat.
This is going to be a tough decision.
Then the oddest question when it came to MOB flowers. Did I want a traditional corsage? A wrist corsage? or a bouquet that I carried?
Traditional flowers pinned to my silk dress?! I would feel like a granny!
A wrist corsage? My dress would be safe from damage but I would feel like I was a prom.
Bouquet? I can't carry a bouquet! I need a free hand at all times to hold my glass of wine. But if both hands were full I wouldn't be able to hug, only do the little pat pat.
This is going to be a tough decision.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Grammy Dearest
Have you read The Almost Moon? The much anticipated third novel by Alice Sebold, author of The Lovely Bones.
I remember how I anxiously awaited its arrival on the bookshelves. But it left me disappointed and unfulfilled. All my time waiting to read it and I was left with a very empty feeling . . . until today.
The novel is about a mother-daughter relationship and as I read it I thought of me and Kyky and I just couldn’t relate. I couldn’t imagine such a tumultuous relationship. That is until now. I should have been reading it with thoughts of my mother running through my head. She is the crazy mom that should be smothered, not me! I’m the murderous daughter, not Kyky! Now I’m thinking it might be one of my favorite books ever written!
Through the air vents I could hear screaming, then doors slamming, crying, more yelling. I couldn’t imagine what was going on upstairs but I knew I wanted to stay hidden in the sanctuary of my basement bear cave. You see, we all live together. Mostly, not happily, but dutifully. That is me and Kyky, not so much Gram. She thinks we are indebted to her; not the other way around. Anyway…
Straws finally broke on both ends – Kyky and Gram were at each other’s throats. Kyky locked herself in the bathroom, Gram picked the lock! Kyky ran down the stairs, Gram followed. A feud that has been brewing for weeks was finally boiling over!
Kyky can be a total bitch to Gram, but Gram usually/always deserves it. I should scold her and remind her to treat her eldress with respect. But how can you respect someone who is so self centered and never admits to being in the wrong? Someone who has to make everything about her, even this wedding?
Details about the fight are not really necessary for this story. Kyky left with her Elvis bag in tow, filled with enough clothes to be gone for days. Gram threw herself a pity party that no one else attended, no matter how many people she tried to invite. A typical end to their brawls.
So tonight I have been stuck with my pouting mother sitting on the couch by me. She keeps trying to carry on a conversation. A conversation that she always tries to bring back to how she was right and Kyky was a bitch no matter if we started talking about dinner or the weather. It always ends with Kyky in the wrong and her feelings being hurt.
I try all my normal diversion tactics to get her to retreat to her room. I made her watch the new Starzz Spartacus. A brilliant series full of blood, raunchy sex and beautiful half naked men in sandals and loin cloths – something she would hate! Way too vulgar and disgusting. But she stays. Her only comment is that the barbarians don’t dress very warm for the snowy weather they are battling in.
I play fetch with Fenway who she despises and I get him all riled up, growling and running around out of control. She grabs the damn toy and joins in!
I can’t take it!
Then I remember how Sebold's main character Helen shows up at her mother’s house and suffocates her. Wraps up her body and puts it on the porch. She cuts off her braid as a keepsake. My mother has short hair. What can I take? Damn, I wish she had bigger feet. She has a great shoe wardrobe. I would take all the ones that are too high for her. The ones she buys thinking she is still thirty-something and unable to walk in.
Ok, so Helen’s mother lost control of her bowels, mine lost control of her mouth. Lucky for me . . . I won’t have to do the sponge bath after I kill her! Helen’s mother was mentally unstable, mine is just crazy, mean and narcissistic!
Helen does have something else going for her, besides the fact that she is a nude model at age forty! OK, we don’t share that similarity. Well maybe if I were a model for a sketch class studying the classic middle-aged body, the ones with saggy boobs, tummy pooches and big, curvy, dimpled butts. Helen has an x-husband, an accomplice that helps her cover up the murder and move the body. Who could I call to help me!? Not Kyky. She would be too overjoyed jumping up and down in sheer excitement. My brother-in-law, though I am sure he would appreciate what I had done, is a lawyer and couldn’t possibly break the law. My dad would help – but he is 3000 miles away. Can a body keep till he gets here? Maybe in the cold garage? Mom thinks it is a good enough refrigerator for Thanksgiving leftovers, why wouldn’t it work for her? No, I would have to dispose of the evidence myself. Good thing I’m an Investigative Discovery junkie! All those sleepless hours of watching true crime might pay off for me.
My mind is just racing. Must keep filling my glass. Must buy bigger wine glasses to save my energy.
Finally, she has fallen asleep on the couch. Still in my space, but at least the constant nagging and lecturing has stopped. There is a pillow, a possible murder weapon.
I waited too long. My window of opportunity has escaped me. She raises her head and notices that Conan starts in ten minutes. She can’t miss his last show! Conan saved her.
Besides, my bottle of wine is gone. And she has already bought her dress for the wedding. I guess I’ll have to let her live.
Oh, God! Her dress for the wedding, that’s the next episode.
I remember how I anxiously awaited its arrival on the bookshelves. But it left me disappointed and unfulfilled. All my time waiting to read it and I was left with a very empty feeling . . . until today.
The novel is about a mother-daughter relationship and as I read it I thought of me and Kyky and I just couldn’t relate. I couldn’t imagine such a tumultuous relationship. That is until now. I should have been reading it with thoughts of my mother running through my head. She is the crazy mom that should be smothered, not me! I’m the murderous daughter, not Kyky! Now I’m thinking it might be one of my favorite books ever written!
Through the air vents I could hear screaming, then doors slamming, crying, more yelling. I couldn’t imagine what was going on upstairs but I knew I wanted to stay hidden in the sanctuary of my basement bear cave. You see, we all live together. Mostly, not happily, but dutifully. That is me and Kyky, not so much Gram. She thinks we are indebted to her; not the other way around. Anyway…
Straws finally broke on both ends – Kyky and Gram were at each other’s throats. Kyky locked herself in the bathroom, Gram picked the lock! Kyky ran down the stairs, Gram followed. A feud that has been brewing for weeks was finally boiling over!
Kyky can be a total bitch to Gram, but Gram usually/always deserves it. I should scold her and remind her to treat her eldress with respect. But how can you respect someone who is so self centered and never admits to being in the wrong? Someone who has to make everything about her, even this wedding?
Details about the fight are not really necessary for this story. Kyky left with her Elvis bag in tow, filled with enough clothes to be gone for days. Gram threw herself a pity party that no one else attended, no matter how many people she tried to invite. A typical end to their brawls.
So tonight I have been stuck with my pouting mother sitting on the couch by me. She keeps trying to carry on a conversation. A conversation that she always tries to bring back to how she was right and Kyky was a bitch no matter if we started talking about dinner or the weather. It always ends with Kyky in the wrong and her feelings being hurt.
I try all my normal diversion tactics to get her to retreat to her room. I made her watch the new Starzz Spartacus. A brilliant series full of blood, raunchy sex and beautiful half naked men in sandals and loin cloths – something she would hate! Way too vulgar and disgusting. But she stays. Her only comment is that the barbarians don’t dress very warm for the snowy weather they are battling in.
I play fetch with Fenway who she despises and I get him all riled up, growling and running around out of control. She grabs the damn toy and joins in!
I can’t take it!
Then I remember how Sebold's main character Helen shows up at her mother’s house and suffocates her. Wraps up her body and puts it on the porch. She cuts off her braid as a keepsake. My mother has short hair. What can I take? Damn, I wish she had bigger feet. She has a great shoe wardrobe. I would take all the ones that are too high for her. The ones she buys thinking she is still thirty-something and unable to walk in.
Ok, so Helen’s mother lost control of her bowels, mine lost control of her mouth. Lucky for me . . . I won’t have to do the sponge bath after I kill her! Helen’s mother was mentally unstable, mine is just crazy, mean and narcissistic!
Helen does have something else going for her, besides the fact that she is a nude model at age forty! OK, we don’t share that similarity. Well maybe if I were a model for a sketch class studying the classic middle-aged body, the ones with saggy boobs, tummy pooches and big, curvy, dimpled butts. Helen has an x-husband, an accomplice that helps her cover up the murder and move the body. Who could I call to help me!? Not Kyky. She would be too overjoyed jumping up and down in sheer excitement. My brother-in-law, though I am sure he would appreciate what I had done, is a lawyer and couldn’t possibly break the law. My dad would help – but he is 3000 miles away. Can a body keep till he gets here? Maybe in the cold garage? Mom thinks it is a good enough refrigerator for Thanksgiving leftovers, why wouldn’t it work for her? No, I would have to dispose of the evidence myself. Good thing I’m an Investigative Discovery junkie! All those sleepless hours of watching true crime might pay off for me.
My mind is just racing. Must keep filling my glass. Must buy bigger wine glasses to save my energy.
Finally, she has fallen asleep on the couch. Still in my space, but at least the constant nagging and lecturing has stopped. There is a pillow, a possible murder weapon.
I waited too long. My window of opportunity has escaped me. She raises her head and notices that Conan starts in ten minutes. She can’t miss his last show! Conan saved her.
Besides, my bottle of wine is gone. And she has already bought her dress for the wedding. I guess I’ll have to let her live.
Oh, God! Her dress for the wedding, that’s the next episode.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Mama’s at Laguna Beach Peck, I mean Park.
A long day of meetings in LA was welcomed by an evening of beautiful beach volleyball players on Laguna Beach accompanied by a bottle of Chardonnay. Half dressed boys with beautiful bods.
I’m talking buff, tan, glistening 20 something year olds. In their full glory of low riding surf pants with sun bleached hair. Not the frosted fake stuff we see in Utah. One was even so dashing as to do a back flip off the boardwalk for my cute bombshell blonde of a friend . . . Mama Mia. Then he looked back and flashed a wide white glistening smile. It made her day. Happy New Year to her!
Yes, our hotel room is within walking distance of the public beach. You know the one where Karch Kiraly used to play a game of pick up in the sand with Lagunatics. Are you too young to know who Karch is? Google him! He is the god of USA volleyball.
We are looking forward to four days at this glorious retreat.
Wake up call . . .
Did I mention I’m standing at the beach with my big black boyfriend Tadaki and he just pooped in the sand? Don’t Google him, he is just Kel’s dog. Not the god of dogs, but our dog god none the less. I’m the fairy dogmother that takes him poop and pee at all hours of the day while Kel lays in bed. Even poop bags in Laguna are awesome! The cool rich artsy fartsy people want to pet my dog.
Wake up call number 2! . . .
Mama needs a wallet. Or a sugar daddy.
First Kel’s card was declined at the hotel. Mama Mia rescued that one. Next, my card was declined buying wine at World Market! Is this our omen that we shouldn’t be traveling AGAIN!? Or that we should have waited until Friday – Payday – to fly out? No worries, we have five bottles of wine, snacks and an ocean view room. Things always work out for the mamas.
Did I mention our meeting on Saturday with 80 Firemen? Outdoors where it will be hot and they will probably just have to wear their boots, helmets, bibs and suspenders. Shirts would be too hot. That is the dream vision of firemen right?
Regardless of what has happened. I just got back from “hurrying” Tadaki on the beach. He isn’t opposed to going on sand. My luck, we walked by starlight and listened to the waves crashing. There is nothing like a romantic walk on the beach with a big black man.
I’m talking buff, tan, glistening 20 something year olds. In their full glory of low riding surf pants with sun bleached hair. Not the frosted fake stuff we see in Utah. One was even so dashing as to do a back flip off the boardwalk for my cute bombshell blonde of a friend . . . Mama Mia. Then he looked back and flashed a wide white glistening smile. It made her day. Happy New Year to her!
Yes, our hotel room is within walking distance of the public beach. You know the one where Karch Kiraly used to play a game of pick up in the sand with Lagunatics. Are you too young to know who Karch is? Google him! He is the god of USA volleyball.
We are looking forward to four days at this glorious retreat.
Wake up call . . .
Did I mention I’m standing at the beach with my big black boyfriend Tadaki and he just pooped in the sand? Don’t Google him, he is just Kel’s dog. Not the god of dogs, but our dog god none the less. I’m the fairy dogmother that takes him poop and pee at all hours of the day while Kel lays in bed. Even poop bags in Laguna are awesome! The cool rich artsy fartsy people want to pet my dog.
Wake up call number 2! . . .
Mama needs a wallet. Or a sugar daddy.
First Kel’s card was declined at the hotel. Mama Mia rescued that one. Next, my card was declined buying wine at World Market! Is this our omen that we shouldn’t be traveling AGAIN!? Or that we should have waited until Friday – Payday – to fly out? No worries, we have five bottles of wine, snacks and an ocean view room. Things always work out for the mamas.
Did I mention our meeting on Saturday with 80 Firemen? Outdoors where it will be hot and they will probably just have to wear their boots, helmets, bibs and suspenders. Shirts would be too hot. That is the dream vision of firemen right?
Regardless of what has happened. I just got back from “hurrying” Tadaki on the beach. He isn’t opposed to going on sand. My luck, we walked by starlight and listened to the waves crashing. There is nothing like a romantic walk on the beach with a big black man.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Happy New Year
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld land syne!
For auld land syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
I’m Scottish, and this is a Scottish song about love and friendship in times past. The lyrics relate to a drink shared by men and women to symbolize friendship. Is this song telling me something on this night of a new decade? Should I welcome 2010 and old friends with open arms as the Waterford crystal ball drops in Times Square? Should auld acquaintance of twenty years ago be forgotten and left in the 80s? Can I really forget the past and welcome my old friend back into my life as if nothing ever happened?
Can I really drink a cup o’ kindness? Well, maybe if it is accompanied by a sidecar.
So I need a little encouragement to face the future. Leave me alone. At least I'm willing to face and accept it/him.
I have been really proud of myself so far. Mind you, I have only seen Spermy in person three times since his resurrection. The first time we both talked on our phones to avoid personal conversation while he bought Kyky’s first b-day present. Afterwards we spent over thirty minutes on the phone. The second time, I surrounded myself by thirty other people while he met Kyky’s family and I met his for the first time! The last time, my 40th birthday, we actually hugged. I have to admit that touching him after twenty years was weird. I know, a bad adjective to describe such a milestone, but it is really the only one that works for me.
It just turned midnight. A new decade. The ball dropped. Dick Clark slurred his new year wishes and should have embraced retirement no matter how much of an icon he is in this yearly tradition. A new text wishing me a Happy New Year. Ryan Seacrest with his bleached smile. JLo in her nuddy bodysuit. Where was Bon Jovi? My kid left after she attempted to open her first bottle of champagne.
I like having my friend back, even if it means I’m the dirty little secret.
Happy New Year to everyone. I hope that your dreams become reality, no matter how absurd they are. Remember sometimes dreams come true in ways we never expect . . . and if not, . . sometimes they are still AWESOME to enjoy.
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld land syne!
For auld land syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
I’m Scottish, and this is a Scottish song about love and friendship in times past. The lyrics relate to a drink shared by men and women to symbolize friendship. Is this song telling me something on this night of a new decade? Should I welcome 2010 and old friends with open arms as the Waterford crystal ball drops in Times Square? Should auld acquaintance of twenty years ago be forgotten and left in the 80s? Can I really forget the past and welcome my old friend back into my life as if nothing ever happened?
Can I really drink a cup o’ kindness? Well, maybe if it is accompanied by a sidecar.
So I need a little encouragement to face the future. Leave me alone. At least I'm willing to face and accept it/him.
I have been really proud of myself so far. Mind you, I have only seen Spermy in person three times since his resurrection. The first time we both talked on our phones to avoid personal conversation while he bought Kyky’s first b-day present. Afterwards we spent over thirty minutes on the phone. The second time, I surrounded myself by thirty other people while he met Kyky’s family and I met his for the first time! The last time, my 40th birthday, we actually hugged. I have to admit that touching him after twenty years was weird. I know, a bad adjective to describe such a milestone, but it is really the only one that works for me.
It just turned midnight. A new decade. The ball dropped. Dick Clark slurred his new year wishes and should have embraced retirement no matter how much of an icon he is in this yearly tradition. A new text wishing me a Happy New Year. Ryan Seacrest with his bleached smile. JLo in her nuddy bodysuit. Where was Bon Jovi? My kid left after she attempted to open her first bottle of champagne.
I like having my friend back, even if it means I’m the dirty little secret.
Happy New Year to everyone. I hope that your dreams become reality, no matter how absurd they are. Remember sometimes dreams come true in ways we never expect . . . and if not, . . sometimes they are still AWESOME to enjoy.
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