Suburban Warrior

I know, I know...I've been missing in action for the last few weeks!! Well, my house doesn't clean itself, hot meals don't cook themselves, the grass can't mow itself, Paul can't take care of himself, the frickin computer can't uncrash itself, Elizabeth can't drive herself to swimming and soccer lessons, and God knows no one else will pick up the dog's crap from the backyard! Well, ok, I don't do much of the above either...except for the last two.

Yes, that's right, Haley Dog is back with us and decorating the backyard with a vengeance. I sure hope her owners are enjoying the sun and the fun while I scoop up her fecal matter six times a day. But Haley loves us...why else would she stand at our bedroom door every morning at 6:00 am and whine to be with us? And Elizabeth loves her so much that she has been waking up two hours earlier than usual to be with the damn dog!! (Which reminds me of something Haley's owner complained about when she called me from Florida to check on her beloved Haley...SHE was annoyed because her kids, ON VACATION, were rising earlier than usual to get to their special VACATION cereal, Lucky Charms! Boy, did I feel sorry for HER, ON VACATION, having to deal with that!! Unless her kids ate the cereal and then crapped all over her condo floor, I think I'm putting up with much more!!). Additionally, Elizabeth won't leave Haley alone until...Elizabeth goes into a sneezing/wheezing fit for about an hour from all the dog hair that is now covering her and every piece of furniture within a two mile radius...Please be my witnesses and never let me break this vow: I WILL NEVER EVER LET ELIZABETH GET A DOG.

Anyhoo...as I said in a previous post, some of us are just givers...and as long as my friends are happy ON VACATION, then I am fulfilled as well. I just better get more than a damn tshirt as payment.

Elizabeth is playing organized soccer for the first time this spring.

Paul and I played almost all sports throughout our childhoods and teens, but soccer was never one that interested either one of us. Too much running...not enough scoring. Well, we're open minded enough to let Elizabeth pick her own activities (unless its chess, bowling or wrestling), so soccer it is.

Problem is Elizabeth is more interested in the social aspect of it. This is the conversation as we pulled up to the field today..."oh, there's Brittany, she's my best friend...oh there's Kara, she's my best friend...oh, hey Jessica...Jessica's my best friend...". (Sheesh, forget about your friends!!! Your only friend on the field is the BALL!) Even when she's in the game, on the field, in the middle of the frickin game, if one of her so called "best friends" kicks the ball, Elizabeth takes the time to jump up and down in place and scream "way to go, Jessica or Brittany or Kara". Elizabeth covers more ground vertically than she does horizontally!! I never thought we'd be the type of parents who yell from the sidelines, but we can't help ourselves...Paul and I holler from the sidelines, "GET BACK IN THE GAME ELIZABETH!!!" I have to keep reminding myself that these kids are only five years old...

Anyhoo...the mighty Cheetahs lost today, but I'm sure they'll come roarin back next week. They better, damn it.

I am actually involved in something domestic this week!!

We have lived in our current home for roughly 4 1/2 years and less than half of the walls have color on them (and those were all painted by the mister). Recently, the mister has been so very busy with his work...so if I want to get rid of our current "asylum" look, I must resort to manual labor myself and do the painting. So, Suburban Warrior is taking the bull by the horns, rolling up her sleeves, putting Elizabeth in front of the TV, and gettin to work!

First off, picking the paint. I can handle that. Well, I thought I could, but I made the fatal mistake of bringing Elizabeth with me...'nuff said...Elizabeth picked out a lovely shade of crocus for her bathroom. However, I have my doubts as to the color we actually took home, as I didn't have the utmost confidence in the paint clerk, Sameed. Sameed didn't seem to understand English very well...when I gave him my little paint sample and requested it in a semigloss, Sameed smiled broadly and said, "basketball". Hmmm...crocus...basketball...its all the same. Sameed looked like a mad scientist as he worked the paint mixer...as he squirted little bits of different colors into my half gallon jug, Sameed truly looked like he was taking his best guess as to what would magically create "crocus". But I know that Big K only hires the best to dispense its Martha Stewart paints...so I'm sure there was a method to Sameed's madness...

Anyhoo...I'm about ready to get started with my prep work (FYI: Paul insists prep work is the most important part of a good paint job!). I wish I could still fit into my 8th grade painter's pants...

In the past, I enjoyed riding in the car with my daughter...until she became a wannabe SPELLER!

This was our conversation to the store this morning:

E: "Mom, how do you spell street?"
M: "S T R E ET"

E: "Mom, how do you spell sidewalk?"
M: "S I D E W A L K"
E: "wait, spell it again..."
M: "S I D E W A L K"

E: "Mom, how do you spell house?"
M: "H O U S E"

M: "Elizabeth, stop looking out the window and listen to the radio".
E: "Mom, how do you spell radio?"
M: "R A D I O"

M: "Let's play the quiet game until we get to the store".

2 minutes later...

E: "Mom, how do you spell store?"
M: "S T O R E

E: "Mom, how do you spell Food Lion?"
M: "F O O D L I O N"

M: "Hey Elizabeth, how bout a gobstopper?"
E: "YEAH!!! Thanks Mom...how do you spell gobstopper?"

God give me strength.

As most mothers do at some point, I'm having one of those moments where I look at my daughter and I am overwhelmed with the whole concept of her being...

Now for some of you who know me, this is VERY out of character for me. And for those who don't personally know me, you can probably tell from my blog that I am not a sunshiney, feel good, glass is half full type of gal (my husband teases that my motto is "we're doomed, we're doomed..." and that I'm worse than Chicken Little). So, we'll just have to see how long this feeling lasts...

Anyhoo...in the last few weeks, I've watched my daughter engage in some new activities...activities that she successfully conquered without a tear being shed (and if you knew my daughter, you would share in my enthusiasm for her success). For example, a few days ago we went to our local Dicks Sporting Goods Store and Elizabeth begged to try the huge rock climbing wall they have (she's been begging since she was two years old). Previously she had never made the height requirement, but this time she just squeaked by...Well, in my usual "we're doomed" head, I was thinking, "this has disaster written all over it". Elizabeth got her gear on, was strapped into her harness and had an audience of customers cheering her on!! Great, more witnesses to the frustration fit that is sure to follow when lil Miss Perfection can't do it. Well, my little monkey maneuvered, took her time and was actually PATIENT in trying to figure out her next move on the wall!! By God, she was growing up!! When my husband would try and give her direction, she would calmly say, "yeah, ok, I know Daaaaddd". And when the time limit was up and she still hadn't reached the top to ring the bell, how did she respond??? Elizabeth simply came down!!! The old Elizabeth might have gone after the clerk and strangled him with the harness. I'm joking, she was never that bad...really...just a tad tempermental...but with a firm voice and a stun gun you could always get her back under control. Elizabeth was disappointed she didn't conquer the wall (she made it more than half way up the wall), but she made us proud not only of her agility, but also her maturity.

I think I'll keep her.

I only bring this rather crude question up because I experience the following situation at least 3 times a week.

Let me give you the scenario: I am in a public place when I feel the need to use the facilities (Dames room). Since I have absolutely no sense of direction, I usually have to walk completely AROUND the entire store 2 times before I even locate the bathroom. Once at my destination, I open a stall door...only to find...how can I put this delicately...a big bowl of turd. I quickly move to the next stall and find another toilet someone forgot to flush, then the next stall has a toilet seat with some pee pee remnants...lovely. Well, other women are now entering the bathroom and going through the same drill I just finished...opening stall doors, only to mutter "eww" after finding the turd, unflushed toilet, pee pee seat, etc. These baffled women are beginning to bunch up near the sinks...glancing at each other and silently all wondering "what should we do??". There is only one stall left at the end of the row so I grab it! When I'm finished, I exit my stall and see there is a line 7 women deep waiting for my stall...the first three stalls remain unoccupied...they are taboo.

My question is, why do we women not just enter one of those stalls and FLUSH THE DAMN TOILET?? What are we afraid of? Someone needs to be brave, step forward, enter the stall and flush the damn thing so we can all get on with our lives!

So, the next time you come across a "treasure" in a stall, be the bigger person and step up to the plate and FLUSH...that way I don't have to do the dirty work.

A reader named Antonio inquired about the whereabouts of Puss n Boots and it brought back memories...

One Halloween, when I was in first grade, I was to be in my first Halloween parade at my new school. If you remember, what one chose for his or her Halloween costume said alot about oneself. You could make or break your social status by the costume you wore. Back in the early seventies I don't remember many children sporting store bought costumes...most of the costumes were homemade. This one family, the Linscotts, thrilled the spectators every year with their elaborate homemade costumes...the Linscott children dominated the various grade level awards, which was really annoying because there were about 25 Linscott children (it was a Catholic school). Well, I was determined not to be beaten by a Linscott my first time out!!

As I took my time deciding what to wear, my older sister quickly reported that she was going to be a witch. "You'll never beat the Linscotts with that original idea", I laughed. Oh, but she had something up her sleeve that would make her witch stand out she said!! My sister's bright idea was to smear cold cream all over her face to make her witch look "scarier and more sinister!". How 'bout just weird...

Anyhoo...I guess I took too long deciding what I was going to be because one night at dinner my mother announced she had decided I was to be "Puss n Boots". Who? What? None of my sisters or me had even heard of this puss in boots!?!? But my mother was determined I was to be Puss n Boots, so it was to be. Now it would have been ok if my mother had any skill in the sewing or creativity departments, but she had zilch. Do you know what that woman made me wear to the big Halloween parade??? I swear to God, this is what I wore the night of my humiliation: a plain gymnastics suit, black snow boots, and one of my dad's dress socks stuffed and pinned to my ass! No whiskers, no cat ears, NOTHING!! That would have been "thinking outside of the box" for my mother!! Even at 7 years old, I knew this costume wasn't a good idea...but off I went to dethrone the Linscotts!

Well, of course, I was the talk of my class as we waited in line to parade into the gym with the rest of the school. By that time, my tail had been ripped off me and I felt like a fool, but the show had to go on...I bravely walked into the gym and marched 3 laps around the gym so the judges could get a good look and decide the winners. I frantically searched for the Linscott twins. I spotted them and couldn't believe my eyes. They were wearing gigantic papier-mache'd (show offs!) heads of Bert and Ernie with correlating outfits!! A huge cheer erupted from the crowd as they entered! The rest of us should have just packed it up at that point...but wait!! Maybe my sister in her night cream had a chance...

Think again...I saw my sister being dragged off to the bathroom by her teachers...vomit all down the front of her. She was obviously sick...she was white as a ghost...oh, no...that was her cold cream. I remember thinking, "NOW she looks scary!!"

I have hated Puss n Boots ever since that night.

It has come to my attention that some readers did not understand the proper use of the word "puss" in my last post.

Let me clarify. When referring to Aunt Sis' puss, I meant her face (as in "sour puss", or "get that frown off your puss" or "Harry John has the fugliest puss I've ever seen"). This is a wholesome blog (for God's sake, my mother-in-law reads this!). Being a christian woman, I would never use that term in the way that some interpreted my writing...honestly, what's wrong with some of you?? Why in the name of God would I refer to my great aunt's privates? Go directly to your kitchen cabinet, pull out a big frying pan and hit yourself over the head with it.

I have to go watch my "Sex and the City" dvd now...