If I Wanted To Kill You . . .

"Honey? Are you trying to kill me?" Hubs asked me as he stepped out of the shower.

I spit out my toothpaste, looked at his reflection in the vanity mirror, and replied, "Ummm.  No.  Why?"

"Well . . ." he paused, " then where is the bath mat?"  he accused.

"The bath mat?" I mocked.

"Yes."  He stated simply.  "The.bath.mat!"  He emphasized slowly to prove his point.  "I almost slipped on the wet tile floor just now because there is no bath mat."

As I wiped the toothpaste residue from my chin, I laughed. 

Loudly.

He eyed me sideways and shot me a perplexed question.

"What?"

I turned away from his confused mirror reflection and faced him fully to look him in the eye. On tiptoes, I smiled as I gave him a peck on the tip of his nose, and then I patiently explained,  "Dear, if I had wanted to kill you, I would not have stolen the bath mat.  Because truthfully, making you slip and fall would not guarantee death. You could slip, fall, and break your neck and then become disabled.  Then, I would have to take care of you."

His eyes were wide as he listened to my explanation.  I continued.

"Nope.  If I had stolen the bath mat, probability states you would no doubt survive.  No good for me if I am looking for your life insurance money.  Nope.  No good at all.  If I were to kill you, I would probably poison your morning coffee without you knowing, kind of like the secretaries did to the boss in 9 to 5, but, you know, successfully."

Finished, I smiled, kissed him again, and left the bathroom.

When Hubs was able to speak coherently, he threw after me, "Good to know Annie.  Good to know!"

Anytime babe.

Anytime.

***********************************************

If you want to read about another time that hubs thought I was trying to kill him please read . . .The Ties that Bind.

And don't forget to follow me on Twitter . . . @annieinsanity

Wishing That Time Would Stand Still Sometimes . . .

This week Mama Kat's writer's workshop prompted bloggers to write about a moment that you realized your child was growing up.  I wrote this post almost a year ago as Abbie approached her 9th birthday, and now that her 10th birthday is just days away, I am feeling these same bittersweet feelings.



Abbie getting a feather put in her hair.  Definitely a tween in the making.

 Her Days Are Numbered . . . originally posted 8/23/10

"What do you think of this?" Ab asked as she walked into my bedroom. For the last hour, she had been trying on clothes from her closet and mine. Her fashionista vibe was in full force, and she was creating some very interesting outfits to prepare for the new school year. I was more than a little worried that I would have to veto her latest creation, so I cautiously emerged from my closet to take a look.


I was not prepared for what I saw.

There was my Ab, my little girl, looking very much like a young lady. She was wearing my black and white graphic short dress, except on her, it came down to her knees. Ab combined the dress with black leggings, and in her short cropped blonde bob, she sported a white headband. She topped off her ensemble with red sandals that let her cute painted toes peak out from underneath their straps. It was a great outfit.

"Mom?" she questioned, breaking me from my daze. "Well, what do you think? " she asked as she did a giddy little twirl. I could tell that she was happy with herself and with her look. She radiated her confidence.

And it hit me.

She was so beautiful. . . and . . . she wasn't a little girl any longer.

Oh, my brain knew that she still liked to snuggle with me before bed, and that she still enjoyed playing with her Littlest Pet Shop animals for hours on end, but my heart knew that that twirl and that confidence marked a turn for Ab down the road towards being a big girl, a young lady. Abbie was growing up, right before my eyes, and apparently I was not ready for it. Not at all.

"Oh Ab," I sighed, "You look beautiful." I felt like my words were choking me, as I fought back my tears.

Ab smiled, then responded, "Mom? Are you crying?" She came over and wrapped her arm around my shoulder.

We were almost the same height.

I smiled through my tears and answered honestly, "Yes. I am. I'm your mom and I am allowed to cry. Now, if you would please go in your room and stop growing, I will stay here and stop crying."

She rolled her eyes at me, gave me a squeeze, and said, "Mom, you are so weird sometimes." And, with that, she skipped back into her bedroom.

And I watched her. Intently.

Acutely aware of how blessed I am to be a part of her growth . . .

And acutely aware of how my days of having a little girl are numbered.

The Answers I Wish I Said Out Loud

"Mom? Why are we using paper plates?"

Because I can not stand the sight of another dirty plate.



"Mom? Why are we eating the long noodles and not the twisty ones?"

Because I am an idiot and forgot about the fact that long noodles= slurping spaghetti = a hot, saucy mess.



"Mom? I think that the dog likes my black beans and rice!"

Seriously? I will spit twice and crawl under my blankie to hide if that dog gets the black bean runs.



"Mom? I helped you! I painted my own closet with the leftover paint!

Sweet Mary mother of God . . . did Jesus ever do this to you?



"Mom?  I just watched the dog poop on the floor!"

Really?  You watched him?  Why didn't you STOP him?



"Mom?  I don't think that I have taken a bath in a week."

Oh lord . . . I hope no one has called children services because my kid smells.



"Mom? Why is the bathroom door locked?"

Because I am trying to believe that Calgon can really truly take me away.



"Mom?  I love you."

"Me too kid.  Me too."



This time I answer loud and clear.

Deep Thoughts Inspired By What Not To Wear

Although it is sweltering outside, the inside of my house is cool and quiet.  The kids are at the pool with hubs, and I am indulging in a favorite guilty pleasure, watching What Not To Wear.

Except today is different.

Today, Clinton and Stacy are helping a mommy blogger.  Specifically, they are helping Amanda of Parenting By Dummies.  She is a busy mommy of 3, like me, and she is one funny lady.  Amanda, in real life, is much like she is on her blog.  Endearing, real, and quick to point out her own inadequacies for a laugh.

Just a doll.

So, why did she need Clinton and Stacy? 

Amanda needed the What Not to Wear team because her confident, blogging voice, her Amanda-ness, did not shine through to the people that she knew in real life.  Heck.  Amanda's confident blog persona did not even come through to herself.  Her outside appearance did not match her inside self.

Clearly, she had a disconnect.

And that made me wonder.

Am I who I appear to be on this blog?

Sure.  Many of you that follow me read my silly stories about being a mom and wife.  You hear about my embarrassments like shaving my armpit in the CVS parking lot or even flashing my panties at the local Target.  You even share my losses like when a former student passed away.  You know those parts of me.

But if I met you at a party, would I be as engaging, as confident, as interesting?

The sad truth is . . . probably not.

Because the the truth is that behind this computer screen, I feel safe.  If you don't like me, so what?  If I don't meet your expectations,  no biggie.  If you don't agree with me, I don't care.  This screen is like an invisible armor around the real me.

But in real life,  if you don't like me, your eyes can't lie, and I can feel that disapproval burn into my skin.

In real life, if I don't meet your expectations, I will feel the crushing disappointment of falling short of pleasing you.

In real life, if you don't agree with me, I will probably take it personally even if your opinion has absolutely nothing to do with me.

Like Amanda, I have a disconnect.

And, if I want to be a successful writer, I have to find a way to make my everyday Annie feel just as strong and empowered as the blogger Annie.  I need to find a way to wear my invisible armor in my everday life.

And I think that just by hitting the publish button . . . I may have taken the first step.


*****************linking to Shell and PYHO****************************

I'm the Kind of Girl . . .

I'm the kind of girl  . . .
that will give you the extra .79 cents you are short to purchase your grocery order
but
will also glare at you if you dare poke in front of me in the never ending deli line.

I'm the kind of girl. . .
that will that will give you great recommendations for a babysitter
but
will also curse you up and down if you dare to steal that babysitter from me.

I'm the kind of girl. . .
that will order a salad and sensible grilled chicken for dinner
only
to ruin that goodness by then ordering a chocolate lava mountain for dessert.

I'm the kind of girl . . .
that will share said chocolate lava mountain with no problems
only if
you promise to take only one or two bites.

I'm the kind of girl . . .
that will gladly get in the pool
only if
the pool water temperature resembles warm bath water.

I'm the kind of girl . . .
that will run around her home for 42 minutes looking for her car keys
only
to find them still in the car's ignition from the night before.

I'm the kind of girl . . .
that will send out all of her bills on time
but
inadvertently pay Lowe's twice instead of Lowe's once and Home Depot once.

I'm the kind of girl . . .
that will wear a hat
if
it means that I can sleep 5 more minutes and not do my hair.

I'm that kind of girl.

What kind of girl (guy) are you?

*********Join me on twitter . . . @annieinsanity   *******************

Happiness is . . .

I am pretty easy when it comes to making me happy.

Give me my family, some playtime, and maybe something chocolate, and I am good to go.



My kiddies. . . this is what they normally look like.  Dare me to send this as a Christmas card pic?



So this past week, I was tickled to be spend oodles of time with my family on vacation.

We played on the beach.

We played in the pool.

We played at the amusement park.

We played with the gator at dinner. 

Yes . . . he is real!

Obviously the theme was . . .

We do it well.  Just watch!

What do you think?  Should I send it in to America's Funniest Home Videos?

********Linking to Mama Kat's this week!*************

If you tweet . . . join me on twitter!  @Annieinsanity

When Duct Tape Would Have Come in Handy . . .

As we dressed to get ready for the beach, Ellerie made one of her classic 3 year old observations. She pointed at her grandfather and remarked, "Pap Pap?  You have hair on your belly!"

My dad laughed and explained, "Well, when you get old and grow up, you grow hair in weird places sometimes."

Ellerie thought about this for a moment, and then her eyes lit up. Clearly, something had registered, and she proceeded to share, "Yep!  When my mom grew up, she got hair on her pee pee!"


Nice.


I just know that her preschool teacher is going to love Ellerie and her observations this fall.

To Meet or Not To Meet . . .

Dear Abs,

I love you.

You are such an awesome kid.

I love that you will spend an afternoon designing and sewing a pillow pet for your sister.

I love that you have finished 10 chapter books this summer already.

I love that you are developing quite a snarky sense of humor.  You raise your eyebrow like no other.

I love that you love to swim.  You do 20 laps without realizing how hard it is to do twenty laps.  You glide through the water like a Cullen glides through the forest, eerily arriving at your destination without effort or undue exertion.

You are amazing, my girl. 

Amazing!

So, please keep all of these wonderful qualities close to your heart when I tell you that  . . .

I do not love your swim meets. 

They are torture my girl.

Torture.

They are 20 seconds of excitement followed by hours of sheer boredom, in 90 degree heat, with other stinky, sweaty and tired parents.

They are volunteering to corral 100 kids that are not mine and that can not understand why they can not be in the pool until their race.

They are listening to little Suzy's mom explain how little Suzy is swimming in the winter so that she can bump up her scholarship opportunities.  Scholarship opportunities, mind you, that will not be available for at least another 7-8 years since little Suzy is 10 years old.

They are being available to be the mosquito buffet for the evening.

Swim meets suck, plain and simple.

So, christen me the summer time Grinch, but I can find no good quality in a swim meet.

No good quality except for the wide smile you give me when you finish your race.

For that, I'd endure anything.

With love,

Mom

PS To recap . . . Love you!  . . . the swim meets? Not. so. much.

*****************Linking with Shell's PYO*****************************

________________________________________________________________________________
Also . . . join me on twitter.  My handle is @annieinsanity !!!!!

Sam's I Am . . . An Idiot

"Uhhhh ma'am?" the teenage clerk would not meet my gaze. "There ummm seems to be a problem ummmm with your card?"

My heart sank.

"Well, " I glanced toward the growing line of 4th of July shoppers behind me. "What's the problem? It's a membership card after all, not a credit card,"  I joked.

The clerk did not laugh.  He just replied, "Ma'am, I do not know why your membership card won't work," his emphasis on the word membership did not go unnoticed.  "I just know that you will have to go to the service desk to figure it out."  He handed me back the card, and silently pointed to the customer service desk.

Great.

I watched as he reloaded all of my groceries back into the cart as I wrangled the kiddies over to the service desk.  I didn't get it.  What could possibly be wrong with my Sam's membership card?  It still had my name on it.  It still had my picture on it.  For what possible reason would my card not work?

I sheepishly handed over my card to the customer service "expert" that appeared to be no more than 17 years old and watched helplessly as she first scanned my card and then typed aimlessly at her terminal's kiosk. 

"Oh, Mrs. S, I see what is wrong!" she exclaimed.

"Well... what is it?"

"It looks like this card is invalid.  It looks like you reported this card as lost and then we issued another membership card in its place invalidating this one."  She smiled.

I groaned.

Instantly, I remembered the whole situation. I had lost my Sam's card, and  I did get it replaced.  But recently I found the lost Sam's card in the laundry room.  When I put it in my Sam's file, the next time I went to use the card, there were 2 cards there. So, I promptly pulled out one card, cut it up ceremoniously, and placed the other card in my wallet.

Problem is  . . . I had cut up the good card.

Yep.

Fail.

******Don't leave me hanging!  Leave your shopping "fails" in the comments!*****************

Inspired by Frannie at Frannie Fires Back (You should definitely check her out!), I have set up my twitter account.

I am an official tweeter.

Yay me!

My twitter name is Annieinsanity.

Now, go follow me.

Go on!

Go!

When the Horse of Different Color is Not a Horse...

Dear Puppy,

Is it possible that when you poop in my pantry, and then give me the look . . .

(Don't act like you don't know which one!)

. . . is it possible that you are aware that you have gotten me wrapped around your little paw?

Wrapped, I tell you. 

Wrapped.

I am finding it stinking impossible to be mad at you, dog.

And, consequently, I think I may be developing into a dog person. 

I know. 

I know.

I never thought that it could happen. (No comments are necessary here mom.)

So puppy, I ask you, please refrain from giving me the impossibly cute doggie face after you eat the crayola green washable marker,  because otherwise, you remind me too much of this guy from the Wizard of Oz. . .

from movies and other things blog, originally from wizard of oz movie

and you, of course, are the dog of a different color.

Smooches,

Annie