What I want for Mother's Day - a reasonable list

I've thought a lot about what I want for Mother's Day this year.  A LOT.  I really have some very basic requests, nothing too out of the box I don't think.  I know that my husband reads this blog too.  I think he checks to make sure I don't say anything nasty about him.  I never would, on the blog anyway.  Nah, I save that up for when I'm with my girlfriends and have too much red wine.  I say things like "can you believe how supportive Mark is?"  "Why does he put up with me anyway?"  "Mark is such a rock star!"  Honestly.  I do.  Ask my friends.  I dare you.

But back to the list.  I mean business this year.  No more of this breakfast in bed stuff, no way.  I want THINGS.  Big.  Important.  Super-meaningful things.  See below:

1.  I want for my house to magically clean and organize itself.
2.  I want for my newly clean and organized house to stay that way.  For longer than the normal 10 minutes.  Maybe 24 hours?  I dont' want to push it, though.
3.  I want my boobs to go back to my pre-weight loss size.
4.  I want for my body to stay post-weight loss size while my boobs go back to normal.  That would be totally hot.
5.  I want my closet to magically transform itself and become filled with classically tailored styles for all seasons, categorized by color with matching shoes and accessories, all perfectly sized.  I know, this one seems a little over the top, but a girl can dream, can't she?
6.  I want the Nike fuel band that Mark won in a raffle to become mine.  AND for it to suddenly contain a heart rate monitor, mp3 player with speakers pre-loaded with all my favorite dirty club music for running, and a GPS thingy.  (Nike, are you listening?  BIG seller right there....just sayin')
7.  I want the arthritic big toe on my left foot to stop freaking hurting every time the weather thinks about changing.
8.  I want a pair of orthotics that don't make that terrifying spine tingling squeak squeak that reminds me of that devil woman of a fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Bloom, whose shoes made the same sound and also used Noxema skin cream for hand lotion.  Honestly, who does that?  Oh and she wore these stupid blue ked shoes with elastic denim pants and an untucked chambray shirt and to this day the thought of rhinestone horn-rimmed glasses makes me throw up a little in fear.  So, yeah, anyone know a good therapist?  Holy hell I've got some issues to work through!
9.  I want my memory of  Mrs. Bloom to disappear.  And a good therapist.
10.  I want my 2009 Kia Optima to be transformed overnight into a brand new metallic blue big ass gas guzzling you'll-never-find-a-parking-spot-in-Portland Ford Expedition.  With leather.  And a sunroof.  And heated seats.  You know, generally speaking.

But truly, if there's one thing I want more than anything else in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD, it would be that my Dad could come over, give me one of his famous big bear hugs and say "Happy Mother's Day, honey."  But I'll settle for some sweet memories of him, and lots of lovin' from my kids and hubs.  And the Expedition.

Things people at my gym might want to tell me....

 I have to be fair.......

 

1.  From the guy at the front desk:  It's 5:30am lady, if you want eye contact and a smile, go to freaking Starbucks.  Otherwise, get your ass in there and get your sweat on, this ain't a spa.

2.  From the really really really skinny personal trainer whose make up looks like she's been up since 4am getting ready:  I'm not trying to make you look bad, it's easy to do.  Try a little lip gloss to match your rose-y sweaty little out of shape cheeks honey.

3.  From the guy who comes in about halfway through my workout and does his arm exercises five feet from me:  You're welcome.  And, uh......uncomfortable silence.....yeah, have a nice day?  or something.

4.  From the dude who smells like a barn every day:  You're one to talk lady, I know all about your treadmill crop dusting shenanigans.  Those who live in glass houses....or whatever.

5.  From the really intense weight lifter people, I think they're husband and wife:  your Katy Perry music is too loud and we hate it.  Your headphones are for you to listen to, so turn it down and don't make the rest of the gym suffer listening to your peppy annoying music.

6.  From the two ladies who faithfully ride the recumbant bikes:  We're not really sure you're complimenting us, but thanks if you are.  If not, you know where you can go.  BOOT CAMP.

7.  From the folks in the boot camp class:   If you'd ever use more than 7.5 lbs for a workout you might be able to curl more than a soup can, noodle arms.  Give it a shot.

8.  From the girl who runs the treadmill and covers up the data screen with a magazine she doesn't even read: Relax you psycho OCD crazy woman.  Shouldn't you be running for the pure joy of it?  Quit worrying about every little step, you might hurt yourself!  Oh and I DO read it, like 20 times!

9.  From the lecherous old guy in the corner who curls a few weights but checks out every female within his line of sight: I'm not looking at you stick-woman.  Maybe if you had some boobs.  Get over yourself.

10.  From the men who stop and stare at the TV at regular intervals: It is in our genetics to watch TV when there's a hot chick or sports on.  Just like it's in yours to make fun of us for it.  So we're good.

Things I'd like to tell certain people at my gym....

1.  To the guy at the front desk:  Under normal circumstances I'd find your lack of enthusiasm, or general acknowledgement of my existence, appalling.  Since it's 5:30am and it appears that neither one of us is capable of much more than an unintelligble grunt, I appreciate you.

2.  To the really really really skinny personal trainer whose make up looks like she's been up since 4am getting ready:  You suck.  I can barely remember to brush my teeth, let alone shower and paint my face at 5am.  You make the rest of us look bad.  And I don't like you.

3.  To the guy who comes in about halfway through my workout and does his arm exercises five feet from me:  Thank you.  And: how you doin'?

4.  To the dude who smells like a barn every day:  personal hygeine is often thrown out the window before working out but for those of us that have to smell you, please just slap on some deodorant.  We sure would appreciate it.  I can almost see a green cloud following you around.  Seriously.

5.  To the really intense weight lifter people, I think they're husband and wife, grunting doesn't help a whole lot and you're interrupting my Katy Perry tunes.  Stop it.

6.  To the two ladies who faithfully ride the recumbant bikes:  git-er-dun.  You're an inspiration.  And I totally love the fact that you both have the same level of caring for personal appearance that I do.  You don't make me look bad and I love you for that.

7.  To the folks in the boot camp class: stop stealing the freaking free weights you assholes.  That's why you're in boot camp and I'm not.  Leave a girl something to work with, would you?  SHEESH.  I cannot curl 120lbs, have you seen my noodle arms? 

8.  To the girl who runs the treadmill and covers up the data screen with a magazine she doesn't even read: how do you do it?  I have to know every step, every calorie, every second and every lap throughout the entire workout.  I salute you.  You are my hero.

9.  To the lecherous old guy in the corner who curls a few weights but checks out every female within his line of sight: hope you enjoy the view.  That's all you're gonna get.

10.  To the men who stop and stare at the TV at regular intervals: I totally know when either sports or a Carl's Junior commercial comes on because you all freeze in place, mouths wide open, a little drool coming out of your mouth.  I can hear the collective mental "Ooooohhhhh pretty lady" in your thoughts.   But keep doing it, you entertain me.

Repeat, repeat, repeat

Do you ever feel like you need your own personal 007 spy style mini-voice recorder?  Like installed in my eye glasses or something.  Hell, I've got bifocals now, what's another gizmo added to them going to matter?

Mostly I need this kind of gadget because clearly I need to just have certain things recorded and ready to play at any given time.  I want one that you can program to play certain things at certain times, like "Go brush your teeth."  You could pre-record everything, set the timer and then save your voice.

This is how our morning goes, does it sound familiar to you too?  Five minutes of "brush your teeth!" followed by another five minutes of "go brush them again" because they still have that same hair-curling-ice-melting-did-a-cat-crap-in-your-mouth morning breath after their cursory 30 second swab of their gum tissue.  Note that at least 10 minutes were spent in front of the mirror HOLDING the toothbrush, but 9.5 of them were spent making faces at themselves.

Then another fun five minutes of "put on your shoes, coat and backpack" followed by about two panicked minutes of "hurry and put your shoes, coat and backpack because it's time to go" followed by one simple "I'm leaving now" as you jump in the car, back down the driveway and watch your kids come unhinged thinking you're actually leaving them at home.  Alone.  Again.

After school time is equally awesome with several verses of "get your homework out", followed by the "I'll help you with your math but I'm not going to do it for you" refrain, and not to be forgotten the "put your homework in your homework folder" crescendo.

But not to be outdone, our nighttime routine includes a gentle reprise of the brush your teeth melody from the morning, with a splash of "put your dirty clothes in the hamper" phrasing for fun.  I really think there is money to be made on some type of device like this.  Imagine, sipping your coffee in peace while your wrist watch yells at the kids for you.  Relax with that nice glass of red wine while your eyeglasses do all the work.

Honestly, it feels like groundhog day.  EVERY day.  I know we have the technology, we just need someone to put it together.  There's got to be an app for that, right?  RIGHT?!

This year we opted to send our kids to private school for a variety of reasons.  One of them being the fact that I work in public education, I know the odds are stacked against my beautiful blonde easily distracted by shiny things girl.  Also, we thought that we could provide them with a good Christian foundation, because clearly based on the contents of my blog this is something I'm not capable of on my own.

We also thought the uniform was a cool idea, until I discovered that the school serves chocolate milk to Kindergartners who wear a white polo shirt every day.  But that is a whole different blog post entirely.

We also needed to be sure we had an all day Kindergarten placement for Brady due to my workschedule, and again because of the wonders of public education and their fantastic funding structre our local elementary school could not guarantee he could have a spot in the all day class.  Again, this is another post for another time.

I was very aware that the kids would be learning Spanish, in the school they attend they have the sweetest young lady teaching the kids conversational Spanish.  I giggle when they yell "Hola!" and I smile when they say "Gracias!".  I ask them what new words they've learned and it's always fun to hear.  Except when it appears there's a teacher's helper in the second grade class who speaks three languages fluently, luckily enough one of them is good old Espanol.

So far most things this little helper has taught the kids, likely during recess, have been fairly mild.  My personal favorite to date was Kaylee learning how to say BOOBS in spanish.  Granted, I'm sure it was slang, but nonetheless her accent was impeccable.

A couple of days ago, however, I almost totally wet myself.  I just love our little Spanish sessions, they are almost always on the way home from school.  Often times they relate to the topic at hand, something conversational, or on the rare occasion as referenced above, something that should never be repeated.

Kaylee says to me "Hey Mama!  I know what Ay Carumba means in Spanish!"  Naively I say "what does it mean?" and my sweet little innocent (yes, she is/was) blue eyed girl says "It means fuck."  My brain immediately thinks "ay carumba" and as I'm saying to her that she should never ever ever in the history of the earth ever ever ever utter that four letter word again or she'll get time out soap in the mouth and hung by her toenails Brady yells out "did she say FLUCK?"  Yes Brady, fluck.  O.    M.     G.

After running triage for awhile and once I felt I had sufficiently scared the shit out of the kids enough that they won't even THINK about saying the word I asked her where she learned it.  "Oh my friend "Betsy" (name changed to protect the girl, but innocent she's not) taught me today at recess."

Oh my flucking God.  That's just FLUCKING awesome.  Flucking unbelieveable.