Stories of an Imperfect Mom

Channeling My Inner Julia Sugarbaker

2012-03-11T21:50:00.000-04:00

Dear Dude in the Pontiac Crossfire,

You sped out of nowhere, cutting me off, as I was exciting the roundabout today. Then you demonstrated a severe lack of manners and good sense, by flashing me, the one who was wronged, an obscene gesture after I almost hit you. I suppose I should be angry that you would do such a rude thing to a nice, traffic law and roundabout etiquette observing lady, like myself. However, I find the situation rather sad, and somewhat amusing. Amusing, because, hello!, you are a dude driving a “chick car”. You must be quite embarrassed, and felt the need to assert your “masculine” side somehow. I find the situation sad, because you must have something missing in your life to cause you to behave like such an arrogant, scum-sucking larvae on the pimple of a dog’s butt. Did you not have good parental role models who taught you how to behave like a decent human being? Do you compare yourself to other men and come up lacking because you don’t know how real men are supposed to act? Was your mother not involved in your life, so you never learned the concept of respecting other people? I’m sorry, that’s so sad. Perhaps you should put down your Bluetooth earpiece, buy a pickup truck, or nice sedan, and get some therapy. Someday, someone’s husband might not take kindly to the fact that you flipped off his wife. He may chase you down in your little sports car wannabe and punch your sorry nose. Not being a real man and all, you wouldn’t know how to respond to that, and would probably crawl back into Barbie’s dream machine and cry. We wouldn’t want that to happen, so take this as a friendly warning, because I care about stupid jerks like you who are crying out for love and attention.

Signed,

A Nice Lady

School Daze

2011-04-07T14:44:00.000-04:00

If you work or spend a lot of time in an elementary school (or if you can remember back that far), you'll probably agree that a grade school is a pretty unique microcosm of society, with it's own culture, rules, traditions, and so forth. I've recently come to the conclusion that if the country (world?) were run like an elementary school, I think it might be a better place, or at the very least, a more polite one.

In elementary schools across the country, you will find exuberant young children running in the hallways. For every running child, there is a teacher making the runner walk back to wherever they started their hoofing, and return, at a walking pace. Children will get around this by walking as fast as they possibly can-little arms stiffly chopping the air at their sides, as they briskly make their way down the corridor. This is generally tolerated, because after all, they are walking!

Now think back to the last time you were driving down the interstate, perhaps doing about 10 over the speed limit (you know, to keep up with the flow), when some douchebag in a Lexus starts tailgating you. If you're like me, you'll slow down at that point to annoy the crap outta the guy until he passes you in a blurr of honking and angry gestures as you smile and wave. (Just me?) Anyhow, doesn't it feel great when a couple of miles down the road, you see that this guy has been pulled over for speeding? Well, imagine if our laws were like those of an elementary school! Mr. Attitude has to drive all the freakin' way back home-at speed limit-and return before he can go on to his destination! Awesome, right? Please notice that a speed walk-or, a cushion of about 10mph over limit-is tolerated. I'll bet that SirCompensatingforSomething wouldn't be speeding anymore!

Oh, and the tailgating? Well, when school kids are pushing each other in line, the rude little culprit often has to go to the end of the line. Tailgaters would have to go to the end of the visible line of traffic. Heh.

Oh, and wouldn't it be cool to be the "Line Leader" of traffic for the day? Much like being selected for jury duty, only much more fun (minus the free state paid for food), random, well behaved citizens would be selected to be line leader for the day, and would receive a special light to place on their car. As long as that light is there, no one can pass the leader of the day. Cool right? You could totally pretend you were the pace car driver of the Indy 500!

At the school I work at, students who are observed showing some type of respectful or caring behavior, or displaying self control or responsibility, can earn a "Caught Doing My Part" card from any adult in the building. These students get to proudly take their cards to the office, where the secretaries are sure to gush over their wonderful behavior, and drop their card in a box. Cards are pulled randomly by the principal, and the lucky winners get a school T-shirt to sport proudly (eventually everyone gets a shirt). All cards are posted on a bulletin board.

So, imagine-you receive a phone call from a police officer, or a senator or somebody, who tells you how fabulous it is that you have been obeying all the laws, paying your taxes on time, donating money to charity/doing volunteer work, and basically, being a responsible member of society. Your name will be read on the evening news, and you will be receiving a check for $5,000 soon-just for doing what you are expected to do anyway. Who wouldn't like that?

I could go on forever-special treatment on your birthday, regularly scheduled, frequent restroom breaks during the workday, people made to politely take turns, lunch for everyone, whether you can afford it or not, etc. Any other ideas?

Ultimate Blog Party 2011

2011-04-02T20:21:00.000-04:00

Woohoo! It's imaginary party time again! It was so exciting last year, that I just had to do it again. Of course, I'm fashionably late once more to the pretend party scene-after all, now it's a tradition! In case you aren't familiar, 5 Minutes for Mom hosts an annual link party-it's lots of fun, and a great way to find new blogs to read. Check it out!

Imaginary parties are so much easier and less stressful to host, don't you think? After all, I don't have to spend the whole day before cleaning and scrubbing while ~~complaining loudly and often about what slobs we must be~~ whistling and singing happily. At an imaginary party, I can have fabulous, elaborate decorations, fancy, ultra trendy cupcakes with unusual flavors, and a huge spread of mouthwatering, sophisticated h'ordourves. Unlike what I do in real life, which besides the cleaning the day before, means heading to Super Target for the finest in microwaveable, premade finger foods (Taquitos and Rotel dip, anyone?), and grocery store bakery cake. I'm SO not Martha Stewart. Also, at a virtual party, I don't have to pretend to be nice when my clumsy uncle spills his soda on the freshly shampooed carpet. Again.

So, anyhow, thanks for stopping by my blog, Stories of an Imperfect Mom. My name is Bethany, and I am a mom to 2 kids-my daughter Little Bit, who is 10, and my son Tot, who is 8. Hubby and I have been married for 14 years, and we live with our kids, 2 cats, 1 dog, and a few fish ~~and several cobwebs and dustbunnies~~ in suburban Indiana. I work as a Title 1 teacher during the week, and on the weekends I generally freak out about how I'm going to get the cleaning, grocery shopping, and laundry done while taking my kids to their various softball, baseball, basketball and scouting activities. As a result, I've sort of become a bit of a blogging slacker recently, but I'm trying to get my blog mojo back.

When I do actually write (gee, this isn't sounding too promising, is it?), I write about my life, my kids, memories, gripes, or whatever pops into my head-along with a healthy dose of sarcasm and goofiness. Please check out my side bar for some "samples" of Imperfect Mom, or check out last year's Party post (when I wasn't too lazy to include actual links to my good stuff like I am now). Thanks for visiting, and I'd like to say that my posts aren't usually this lame, but I'd be lying. Please leave a comment with your blog, and I'll come visit! Have fun!

Complaint Department

2011-03-08T13:15:00.000-05:00

I know I should be more postive, I really should. I have so much to be thankful for, and all that jazz. But, the complaints pour forth from my mouth like that fizzy Coke Zero I spilled all over the end table and carpet last week. As soon as I make up my mind to be positive, something annoying happens. Like, I'm trying to get to work early, and I get stopped by a train that is just sitting on the tracks. (Hello? Train people? It's this thing called "rush hour" and people are trying to get to work! Can you move your big, dumb, slow train out of the road until you are actually ready to go?) Or, I spill my Coke all over the carpet. Or, my kids who are supposed to be doing their homework are wrestling on the floor after the fifteen hundreth time I've yelled at them to quit. They giggle and laugh until someone actually gets hurt, and then there is yelling, and stomping, and arguing. (It's always fun and games until someone gets hurt, you know...) Or, the kitchen trash is overflowing AGAIN, and dangit! Why can't anyone but me ever take it out, and pleasestoppilingstuffontopofthefullcanforPete'sfreakin'sake!! Whew! See, I'm getting myself all worked up again.

It just happens like that, though. My good intentions are always thwarted by annoying crap. Oh, sometimes I'm good. I'll try to think how grateful I am that I left for work early. I'll grit my teeth and swiftly wipe up the mess. I'll quietly count to three and then calmly give each little offender a strike on their behavior chart. I'll keep my mouth shut and take out the trash, while trying to think of the things that other people do around the house. But inside? I'm seething. I hold it in for a while, until the next minor annoyance occurs, and then, BAM! The pent up griping explodes like a Coke that has been shaken up. What good is outward nicety when the inside is bubbling away with aggravation and ugliness?

I heard an idea on the radio the other day about keeping a Complaint Jar in the house. Everytime someone complains, they have to put some money in the jar. My ears perked up briefly, thinking what a good object lesson it would be for my kids, but I quickly changed my mind after a (disturbingly satisfying) image of myself popped up. I'd be standing there, with a fistfull of dimes poised over the jar, as Clink! WHY DOES EVERYONE yada yada yada...and Ka-chink! HOW COME YOU ALWAYS blah blah blah...and Ka-ching! AND ANOTHER THING! Yeah, maybe that's not such a great object lesson for the kiddos afterall.....

Yes, I know-I need to work on my attitude more. I need to pray about it, and repeat all the Bible verses about thankfulness and such that I can think of. I need to remember those starving kids in....well, lots of places. I need to think warm, fuzzy happy thoughts about how much I love my family, and how grateful I am to have a job, and a home, and...and... you know.

But, in the mean time, maybe I'll just start taking a different route to work.

Photo from: http://cfbstubbs.pbworks.com/w/page/12272262/Habit-1:-Be-Proactive

Bringin' Back the Mojo

2011-03-04T23:07:00.000-05:00

Oh, yeah! I have a blog, don't I? Maybe I ought to post something more than once a month or so, huh? The thing is, I'm just not feeling the blog writing mojo this year-hopefully I can get back into it.

I decided to participate in My Little Life's Five Question Friday to help get the mojo flowing again. (Does "mojo" flow, or does it just exist in a solid form? Gaseous vapor, perhaps? Hmmmm....) Anywho, here goes:

1. Have you ever forgotten your child in a store or at school?

You know, I honestly don't think I have. I'm not sure why that surprises me so much, either. There was once, though, when my daughter was about 3 and was throwing a screaming fit through Marshall's that I would have liked to forget her, LOL! I had recently had a baby, and I remember crying all the way home thinking, "Why, God? Why can't I ever have any time for just me?" Ah.....the good old days.....

2. Where did you go on your very first date? (Like...first first, not first with your spouse or current significant other!)

My first date was a double date at age 15. We went to the mall, walked around the food court, and then saw Pretty Woman. I was rocking some acid washed jeans, rolled up at the cuffs to show off my neon green scrunch socks. I topped my stylish ensemble with a fluorescent pink, long sleeved shirt. I was rocking a spiral perm, complete with curled bangs, and "wings" at the sides. Seriously-I used to hold my long hair straight out at the sides, douse it with some Lady Breck or Aussie Sprunch hairspray, and then shoot it with the blow dryer so that I got a good 4-5 inches of it to stick straight out. Lovely. Combined with the braces, I was one hot mama. I suppose it's a sign that I remember more about what I wore and how I looked than I remember about the actual date...

3. What's your "silly" fear? (We're not talking water and heights.)

I'm freaked out by images of those green aliens with the big, almond shaped eyes. Other than that, and sometimes being a little afraid to walk into a dark room, my other fears are less silly-to some people anyway.
4. Confrontation: do you cause it, deal with is as it comes, or run far far away?

I not only run away from confrontation, but I take a cab to the airport and fly away from it. Just the mere thought of any type of confrontation makes me nervous. However, if something needs to be said or done, I will do it-if no one else will. I'm more of a diplomat than a peacemaker at all costs. When I was a kindergarten teacher, I was often the one "chosen" to speak up about some injustice or problem, because I can generally handle situations tactfully without losing my cool. Although, the older I get, the more outspoken I become... Then there's that whole "when I get mad I cry" problem, which embarrasses me, so I get madder, and cry harder. I prefer to take the head in the sand approach as long as possible.

5. Wood floors or carpet?

Wood floors look nice, but I also like the softness and comfort of carpet. Right now, they both need to be cleaned, so I'm not happy with any of it. I've always thought that a concrete floor with a drain in the middle would be kind of awesome from a practicality standpoint-hose it down once a week, and we're good to go!

Ok, there we go. I'm not going to link up at My Little Life this time, but I encourage you to go over there and check out the other posts!

A Stylish Centennial!

2011-02-03T15:52:00.000-05:00

Friends, not only is this my 100th post, but I also have an award to accept! Melissa of Nouns and Violets, awarded me the Stylish Blogger award! Me, stylish? With my hair that is a month past due on cut and color? I'm on snow day 3, so I haven't even put on makeup in a while (except for under eye concealerr, so I don't frighten my children), although I did put on matching, clean socks today! That's semi-stylish, right? Well, I do like clothes, makeup, magazines and style blogs (speaking of style blogs-know any good ones?), so I guess I can be virtually stylish. Anyhow, thank you for the award, Melissa! Check out her blog, I think you'll like it! To accept the award, I need to list 7 things about myself and then pass the award on to others, so I'll get to that in a bit.

This is my 100th post! How should I celebrate? I used to teach Kindergarten, and we'd celebrate the 100th day of school by making paper crowns with "100" on them. (Much like the one in the picture that my daughter is wearing from her 100th day of Kindy-now she's a "big" 4th grader!) While that sort of kooky thing is right up my alley, I'd have lots of 'splaining to do if I sported one of those bad boys around the house today. Although a diamond tiara with "100" on it would go along with the whole "stylish" thing! In Kindy, we'd also paste 100 random objects to posterboard, but that sounds sort of boring. We'd also graph 100 M&M's, but I sort of already ate them all, once I rediscovered my secret stash. I could post 100 random facts about me, or 100 of my favorite websites, but frankly, I don't have that kind of an attention span. I'm also not going to post a bunch of links to some of my best (least worst?) posts-I've done that before, and I'm too lazy to do it again.

So, I'm going to need your help in celebrating! Put on your diamond 100 tiaras, and your rhinestone studded go-go boots (what? It's my party!), and help me out by listing 10 of your favorite things! They can be favorite websites, blogs, foods, movies, random things, or whatever. If ten people list ten things, then guess what? We'll have 100, kids!

My 10 Favorites (at the moment)
1. Coke Zero
2. Giant Chewy Sweet Tarts
3. Chipotle Chips and salsa
(no, my favorites aren't all food related, just most of them!)
4. sleeping late
5. soft, fuzzy blankets
6. warm, sunny summer days
7. beaches
8. flip flops
9. shopping with no children along
10. wacky reality tv shows on TLC

Ok, so now that I've told you some facts about me, I get to pass along the Stylish Blogger Award on to some other stylish ladies and great bloggers! Ladies, if you wish to accept, share at least 7 facts about yourselves, and pass the award on. Check out their blogs, they rock!

Organized Chaos
The Adventures of JAMC She just celebrated her 500th post!
Working Mom Back to School

Things I Wonder About

2011-02-02T14:00:00.000-05:00

Ok, this one really bothers me, even though it shouldn't. Why is Buffalo Wild Wings referred to as BW3's? I've devoted far more mental power to this question than I am comfortable admitting. Where does the 3 come from? There are only 2 W's in the name, and there are obviously way more than 3 locations of this restaurant. They have more than 3 sauces to choose from, and more than 3 types of things to order, so WHAT IS THE DEAL? If you can shed any light on this subject for me, I'd appreciate it. Also, if you'd like to send some of BW3's boneless wildwings with Asian Zing sauce directly to my house, that'd be great, too.

Also, have you seen the Cialas commercial with the people sitting in the bathtubs? Separate, old fashioned bathtubs? On the beach, and then under some water fall type thing? What?! If a person, or a person's spouse had trouble with...well....that....and a drug fixed the problem, then why would they be sitting in separate bathtubs in public places? And why are the bathtubs there in the first place? Who would drag old fashioned claw foot tubs onto the beach, anyhow? Wouldn't that be against zoning laws in most places? I know, I know. I'm taking this far too seriously. It's just a commercial. But the stupidity of it annoys me. Can you imagine being in the room when the advertising agents pitched the idea to the Cialas people?
"So, we've got this couple, right? They've had some issues, but now that they've taken the drug, everything is great! So, they are sitting in these bathtubs...."
"No sir, there's no water in the tubs, and don't worry, they are fully clothed and in separate tubs, so the censors won't get upset."
"Yes ma'am! We thought it was a brilliant idea, too!"

We've had an ice storm, and school has been closed for 2 days, so as you can tell, I've had plenty of time to think about these things....

Bethany's Law

2011-01-20T22:06:00.000-05:00

I'm sure we've all heard of Murphy's Law; if anything CAN go wrong, it WILL, and at the WORST possible time. Well, I'm going to write about Bethany's Law, which means.....well, basically......um.....ok, it means the same darn thing, I just wanted to personalize it more. Without further ~~rambling~~ ado (?) adeiu (?) adoo (?) (what the heck? Why don't I know how to spell that word?!) delay, here we go!

Just when you have almost successfully completed day 2 of solo lunch duty, and you've managed to get 125+ kindergarten and first graders (mostly) quiet while they put their trays up, someone will puke.

After it's snowed hard all day, you've spent 10 minutes chipping the ice of your car after work and are worried you won't be home when your kids get off the bus, your car battery will turn out to be dead.

After you've managed to make good eating choices for a few days, and have started to feel good about the way your pants are feeling looser, the above will happen, and you will stress eat 10 vanilla sugar wafers, some grasshopper cookies, leftover taco salad, a roll of Smarties and a bowl of hot and sour soup in the space of 90 minutes.

When you receive a set of gloves, hat and scarf for Christmas that do not match your coat at all, and decide that you now have a good excuse to buy a new winter coat to match, the gloves will develop big holes in them the second time you wear them.

Just when you get all the laundry done, your husband will clean out his closet, and unearth 2-3 loads of forgotten about towels, shirts, and other stuff. You will leave these "discoveries" for him to wash, which means that they are still sitting in a pile outside his closet door 3 weeks later.

Ok-that's all I've got for now, but I'm sure there will be more. What can you add?

Oh, guess what? Even though I've been such a slacker blogger for...um...months now, I won an award! Awesome! I'll post about it soon, and let you know who gave it to me, and all the details before I pass it along.

Tales of a Title 1 Teacher

2011-01-14T21:37:00.000-05:00

Ok, so I just finished my first full week at the new job. I'm settling in-I can actually go through my day now without carrying my trusty schedule with it's 50 different places I need to be every 10-30 minutes on it. I do like the fact that my day is so fast paced-there's no time to get bored, and just when I've reached my annoyance limit with a particularly challenging...ummmmm...little "personality", I get to give them back to their teacher! Here are some little highlights from my week, and things I've learned.

-Boisterous second grade boys who are hyped up from being with a male teacher who sings Sponge Bob songs with them, will walk very quietly in the hallway and exhibit stellar behavior for 30 minutes with me just for the ~~bribe~~ promise of getting to eat a single Smartie candy. Not a ROLL, mind you, because have you seen what they are paying me? But a single, solitary Smartie. And Canadians, our Smarties aren't even chocolate covered like yours are.

-I'm SO old. Yes, I re-learned that this week, when reading a book about hurricanes with a group of 4th graders who have absolutely no memory of Hurricane Katrina. What?! Wasn't that pretty recent?

-First grade boys graciously extend invitations to their birthday parties to every human being they come into contact with. I've been invited to two birthday parties this week alone. I've always wanted to be popular!

-If you are ever feeling down about yourself, or are having a bad hair day, visit a first grade classroom for a few minutes. They are very generous with the heartfelt compliments. I've had positive remarks on my hair, my nails, my ID badge, my clothing, etc., etc. It's been quite lovely for my self esteem.

-Kindergarteners and first graders are cute and adorable so that we won't kill them when they are repeatedly screeching across the cafeteria in their high pitched little voices, or arguing over where to sit, or over who took who's blue crayon, or doing the chain reaction thing when one person asks to go to the bathroom, and suddenly everyone is asking, just for kicks.

-Fourth graders seem so big and so old at school, but when I get home, my own fourth grader seems so little and young. (She's average sized and mature, but it's a context thing.)

-Teachers rock. I do not want my own classroom again anytime soon. Getting 27 little people of varying levels and stages of maturity to actually listen and do what they are supposed to do all day every day is a very hard job! Especially when 5 of those people always need to use the restroom, another 5 of them always need to go sharpen a pencil, 5 more of them can't keep their hands to themselves, and 2-3 of them don't speak much English.

-This job is costing me money. Besides the books, office supplies, ~~bribes~~ behavior incentives and other materials that I've spent money on, I've felt compelled to chip in for a baby shower gift for a teacher I haven't even met yet. Plus, a coworker is really trying to get me to sign up for the Zumba class she teaches. I owe my soul to the company store.

-It's possible for a 5 year old to "accidentally" end up with his fingernails all colored with purple marker like nail polish. Really, it just happens, somehow, or at least that's what they tell me. You know, you're just going along, working in the old writing center, happily singing a little song about pee that you made up to annoy your sister, when suddenly you look down at your nails, and whoa! What's this? My fingernails are purple!

-It's hard to turn off the "teacher" when I get home. I've found myself using the words "inside voices" and "walking feet" after school hours. I also found myself asking my husband to please stop distracting Tot while he does his homework. In another couple of weeks, I'm sure I'll be expecting him to raise his hand before he can speak to me.

So, there you have it. I may not make a lot of money, but there's always something interesting happening!

I'm Soooo Tired!

2011-01-08T20:42:00.000-05:00

I'm exhausted. I started a new job on Thursday at a local elementary school. I'm a Title 1 Assistant, which means that I'm actually a Title 1 Teacher, but the district is ~~too cheap~~ unable/unwilling to pay teacher salary for this job, so they are calling it an assistant position in order to get away with paying the instuctional assistant, 29.5 hour a weeek, hourly wage instead. Yeah....I sort of found that out the hard way. I don't mind the job when I'm there-in fact, I think it will be kind of nice once ~~someone has time to train me~~ I figure out all by myself what's expected of me. I'm working with groups of kids K-4, basically moving from place to place every 15-30 minutes, back and forth throughout the building. Maybe I'll lose weight! All of that is good, I certainly don't have time to get bored, and I enjoy working with the kids, but oh my.....the planning. The. Planning. I've spent at least 4-5 hours yesterday and today working on lesson plans for next week. Unpaid hours, of course. Yes, if I were a salaried teacher, the hours of lesson planning and materials gathering is just an understood part of the job, but I'm not. So, I'm whining about it. But only at home, on Facebook, and here. Keeping the smiley, perky, "just happy to be part of the team" on at work. Anyhow, enough negativity. I'll just stop and not mention the fact that I've already spent nearly $80 on supplies. I had to buy my own stinkin' paperclips!

So, it's Saturday evening. My son had an 8 am basketball game this morning, so no sleeping in for us, I'm up to eyeballs in laundry, I've grocery shopped and done my lesson planning. I'm trying to get all of this done now, because, did I mention? I still have to work at my old job (the tutoring company) for the next two weeks on Monday and Wednesday evenings, too. I'm stressing out, and exhausted, and my husband's frustrated advice of "Just quit, then!" isn't helping.

Enter some comedic relief. My son, who had been peeling and eating a clementine at the kitchen table, comes over and grabs a freshly washed and folded washcloth off the coffee table (I tend to spread my folded laundry all over the table as I sit on the couch). After he wipes his sticky face with it, he takes it to the table to clean up his mess. He brings it back, clementine pieces hanging on to it and all, folds it neatly ( I had no idea he even COULD fold that neatly!), and sets it carefully back on the pile of clean washcloths. This is the boy who never remembers on his own to put anything away. I had to laugh-he was trying so hard to be helpful, since he could tell I was tired and stresed. I guess I could put him to work folding the clean clothes...

Really?!

2010-12-14T23:33:00.000-05:00

I feel like I'm always doing laundry-I do several loads a week. But, I always have a serious back log of excess laundry. This past weekend, I was determined to get it ALL done. Really. I started on Friday afternoon, and washed, washed, washed. When my husband got home from work on Saturday, I asked him to please get his laundry from ~~the floor of the bedroom~~ his "special" laundry hamper and sort it into piles by color with the rest of the laundry, because I wasn't sure what needed to be washed. He replied that all of it needed to be washed, and promptly fell asleep on the couch. Mmmmmkay. Guess I'll do that for ya there, honey. Anyhow, not one, but TWO loads of laundry came out of the washer with packs of gum in them. We like our laundry with a clean, minty fresh scent. I found most of it before it hit the dryer, but not all of it. Thankfully, the clothes were somehow unscathed, but Saturday evening found me peeling tiny bits of gum out of the inside of the dryer, and I ended up with gum on the bottoms of my socks and on the knees of my jeans. I know you envy the endless glamour that is my life. After lots of complaining, and many dramatic sighs, I announced to my groggy husband that he was in trouble for leaving gum in his pockets. Again. (Yes, this has happened before.) His response? I should have checked his pockets first. Really?! I just washed 100's of articles of clothing, and I'm supposed to make sure everyone's ~~only his~~ pockets are empty ~~after I pick them up off the bedroom floor myself~~? REALLY?! His next response was that he didn't ask me to do his laundry. Well, guess who will be doing his own laundry from now on?
Disclaimer-He's a pretty good guy, so I feel sort of guilty for posting this, but really?! C'mom! Be a grownup and pull the gum out of your pockets ~~before you throw your clothes on the floor~~ before you put your clothes in the hamper!

I got the kids haircuts last Thursday after school, and then Friday afternoon, I got them all dressed up, curled my daughter's hair, and took loads and loads of festive potential Christmas card pictures in front of the Christmas trees. This is pretty much an annual tradition, and one that I generally stress over-usually needlessly. The kids looked cute, behaved well, and didn't give me any "weird" smiles, like they do sometimes. Pleased with our efforts, I let them change their clothes and play, as I downloaded the pictures. Every. Single. Picture. turned out grainy and sort of blurry. Really?! I couldn't use a single one. We repeated the process on Sunday with a different camera, which worked better, but the kids were sort of over it, and the pictures didn't come out as cute as the others would have been. Bah Humbug.

I've had lots of little "really?!" moments lately. I'm trying not to get bogged down with the frustration of it all, but it's difficult to "rise above". I've risen as far as I can go! (And now I see that I need to knock the cobwebs out of those high corners again...) Sometimes it's good to vent. Speaking of "vents"...I hope there isn't any gum stuck to the dryer vent...

Ask Aunt Bethy

2010-12-03T19:37:00.000-05:00

*blowing away the cobwebs* Hi! I'm back! I'm still slacking on the posting, I know. Sorry about that. I'm sure you've all been waiting with baited breath (phew! Sheesh! How about sucking on a Mentos, or something!) for me to post again, right? (Humor me, people.) Well, as you've no doubt noticed, I'm out of writing ideas, and very much into lounging on my couch watching tv and reading other people's blogs instead.

With that said, I've decided to surf for blog material. I went to one of those "ask a question" type sites, and after being at turns horrified, stunned, interested, and tickled (old fashioned word, I know, but what else is a good verb for "thought something was funny") by the questions, I've decided upon a few, real, word for word questions to answer here, Imperfect Mom style.

Ready? Here we go.

I found my wife passed out on the kitchen floor with an empty bottle of chocolate syrup lying beside her...?

And.....sooooo..... You say this like it's an unusual thing. Everyone needs a little "Me Time" right?

I'm in McDonalds, d'you think it'd be OK if I left my laptop on the table for 2 minuets?

Sure! Everyone will be too stunned by the sight of you dancing in 3/4 time around the condiment/drink station to even think about stealing your laptop. (Unless you live in New York City-I hear they're pretty used to weird stuff there.)

Integrate the expression x^4/(e^x - 1)^2 in the limits 0 to infinity?

Ummm....well....errrrrrr..... Oh heck, we ALL know the answers to THAT, right? Heh, heh. Yeah. So...ummm...I'll just move on to another category, because this question is just too....obvious...yeah, that's it. *ahem*

What is the Parents Worst Nightmare?

You. Next!

Need to have wisdom teeth removed ASAP, how will this effect breastfeeding?

Well honey, if your child has wisdom teeth, I'd say it's time to stop nursing anyhow. (Ba-dum-bum! That's me making a rimshot noise!)

OMG !!! Why does the United States have to throw tantrums and overreact to evverrything?

OMG!!!!!!!! I don't KNOW!! It's sooo crazzzy, right? That country is, like, such a baby, or something.

Ok, I realize I'm just acting like a jerk now.

Does the proper way to do Christmas shopping involve a bottle of vodka and Amazon.com?

Sure, if the people on your gift giving list won't be upset to receive gifts like these:
http://www.amazon.com/Unknown-Toilet-Monster/dp/B000OUV5XM/ref=pd_sim_k_23

http://www.amazon.com/Accoutrements-11761-Novelty-Yodeling-Pickle/dp/B0010VS078/ref=pd_sim_sg_27

http://www.amazon.com/Accoutrements-Squirrel-Underpants/dp/B001NQE3F8/ref=pd_sim_sg_2

http://www.amazon.com/Inflatable-Toast/dp/B0016CSBS4/ref=pd_sim_t_5

Whore do some women get the idea that "men just want one thing"?

I think you just answered your own question there, Mr.Woods.

How to live and survive in such a cruel world?

I think I'll let "Sarge" answer this one.

There we go. Help me out, here. I just spent way too much time looking for questions. Do you have a burning question that needs an answer? Ask away, and I'll answer some in a future post. Just no math questions. You know, because they're too....easy. Yeah. Uh huh.

Pink Bethany

2010-11-19T19:25:00.000-05:00

Hello, hello hello. Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone at home?
Sooooooo....I've read that when blog readers hear the words "sorry it's been so long since I've blogged" at the beginning of the post, they are turned off, and often don't read further. So, how about some slightly kooky Pink Floyd lyrics, instead? Hey, it got you to read this far, right? Right? Hello? Yoooooohoooooo, where'd you go?

You've likely noticed that I've been taking a long....um....vacation? hiatus? break? from blog posting. Sorry about that. We had a big family crisis occur, and I just didn't feel like my usual, goofy self for a while. Don't worry, we're all healthy and together, and things are better.

So, what have I been doing with all my free time? (you know, when I'm not working, taking care of kids, doing laundry, or complaining about my dog and his hair/how he smells/how he's scratching up my wood floors/how I'm allergic to him/how he paces around and whines, etc? ) Well, I've apparently been watching too much TV Land, because I find myself calling my dog Lamont (because he's a big dummy) and saying "ah geez, would you stifle?!" Oh boy, if you weren't alive for part of the 70's, today's post is probably making no sense... Well, it probably doesn't make sense to the rest of you either, actually.... Is it really bad that I'm kind of glad that my dog is probably a lot older than the 2 years that the animal shelter estimated?

Why, yes I AM completely babbling in a nonsensical manner. More so than usual, even! Thanks for noticing. I'll try to pull my scattered thoughts together for a normal post in a day or two-I just wanted to let you all know that I am still here, and haven't totally abandoned the old blog. I've just been (un)comfortably numb. Heh, see what I did there?

Picture is from www.relictees.com . I think I need this one!

Confessions of an Imperfect Mom

2010-10-22T16:17:00.001-04:00

Have those Super Mom freaks got you down? Do you feel like you can never be as "good" as they are? Do all of their "must dos" and rules have you overwhelmed? Well, forget about them, and all their supposed perfection. Forget about that sanctimoniously shocked look that PTA mom might have given you when she saw your 2 year old happily cramming Chicken McNuggets down her gullet, while your 7 year old stole a big slug of your Starbucks. Forget that judgy/pitying look that other Mom in the doctor's office gave you when you pulled out a bottle to feed your baby with. They're Pharisees. Legalists. And they're probably liars, too. They (secretly) may not follow all the "rules" either. They just don't have the confidence to admit it.

Have you broken some of the Perfect Mom Rules? I have. Sure, most of those rules are actually based upon really good ideas-but some folks would have us believe that our children are doomed if we don't do every.single.thing. that the parenting books and magazines tell us to, all.the.time. (Ever notice how that advice changes every few years, anyhow? Yet, the majority of humans somehow make it beyond childhood. Imagine that....)

So, I thought I'd share some of my own Imperfect Mom Confessions. Now, if you believe differently than me, that's ok. Really. We all just need to cut each other some slack.

I didn't breastfeed my children And I don't feel guilty about it. Can you believe I just admitted that?! On a Mom blog?! For real?! I know. But it's the truth. I didn't breastfeed either of them, yet somehow, they are still capable of passing our state's standardized testing! Crazy, right? Despite what I was warned when they were infants, they are not dumb, sickly, allergic to everything, or fat. By no means am I putting down breastfeeding-I promise you I'm not!! I've read the research, there are many great reasons to breastfeed. So, if that is a mother's choice, then that's wonderful. But if her choice is to formula feed, then that's great too, because her kids will be fine. I promise. (And if they aren't, then it won't be because they drank baby formula.) I've got two healthy, honor roll kids to prove it. Hey, I was a formula baby, and not only did I make it to adulthood, but I obtained a college degree. Plus, I'm really ~~smart~~ ~~sane~~ ~~normal~~ ~~cute~~ ~~funny~~ ok.
My kids eat food from McDonald's at least once every other week. Yes, I've seen Fast Food Nation. Yes, I know that eating fast food all the time isn't healthy. Yes, I've read the reports about how McDonald's food doesn't decompose like other foods do. Actually, that sort of fascinates me-every time I find a 6 month old french fry under the seat in the minivan that still looks fresh from the fryer, from now on I'm going to wonder why McDonald's doesn't have their own line of anti-aging skin creams. Seriously, I think I'm on to something with this....
My kids were preschool age before they gave up their pacifiers. Before I had kids, I would roll my eyes (at least inwardly) when I saw a toddler with a binky. I insisted that no child of mine would have a pacifier past 6 months of age. Then, I had kids of my own. Yep. I think I could end this one here, and you'd all understand, right? My daughter gave up hers when she turned three, but my son didn't until he turned 4. Yikes-that does sound kind of bad in print. We tried the Binky Fairy, the Let's Give All the Binkies to the Poor Babies Who Don't Have Any gimmick, we tried using logic (Ha! Have you met a preschooler?) , and we tried cold turkey. That whole "Cold Turkey" thing led my brother in law, who was living with us at the time, to go to the store for a new pacifier for our three year old son in the midst of a very bad storm. He literally got hailed on walking out of the store, and there were tornadoes in the area. My son, who is terrified of storms still, had been crying inconsolably for hours. No amount of love, hugs, rocking, or reassurance would stop the wailing. But once he had his precious new "doot-doot", all was well with the world once again. We'll be telling that story at his wedding someday, for sure! Anyhow, they both gave them up eventually, and are both quite well adjusted. Plus, their dental problems have nothing to do with pacifiers-it's all genetic. Unless that horrible Similac has something to do with it...

So, there you go. I'm sure I'll have more confessions for you another time, but I think I've stirred up enough controversy already. If I could tell my Younger Mom Self one thing, it would be to relax-everything will be ok. I wonder what my Middle Aged Mom Self would say to the current me about raising teens? Scratch that, I'm afraid to find out!

Road Rage Letters

2010-10-12T19:38:00.000-04:00

Image via Wikipedia

To the Very Rude and Angry Man Who Was Waiting to Turn,

I cannot even express how sure I am that it is not my fault that YOU did not realize that my turn signal was on, and had been on, for a very appropriate length of time. I realize that you would have turned sooner if you had known that I was turning onto the road you were waiting on in your redneck mobile. However, I also realize that I gave you two very important clues regarding my intention to turn: first, I turned on my turn signal in advance, and second, I slowed down as I approached my turn. Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the purpose of turn signals. Perhaps in your neighborhood, one must throw a crumpled beer can out the window in the direction one intends upon turning. Or maybe you just yell out the window "Hey, ya'll! I'm fixin' to turn!" But here in the 'burbs, we have these flashy light thingies, and these thingies blink on the side that we are going to be turning. This eliminates the need for big neon arrows, and cuts down on car crashes.

So, since I followed the rules, I feel quite insulted that you decided to blare your horn, yell disparaging and hurtful remarks about my personal character, and raise both arms out the window in that "what the heck?" motion. I hope that the next time you do that, your arms freeze in place, shrivel and atrophy from lack of use, and then dry up and crumble away. Likewise, I hope that your foot becomes like a lead magnet on the brake pedal. Then, everyone behind you will honk and scream obscenities to you because you can't move, and you will have plenty of time to sit and think about what a sad, lonely, alienating jerk you are.

Hope This Helps,

Bethany

Was that a little too harsh?

What Would You Stitch on a Pillow?

2010-10-10T15:43:00.001-04:00

You know those decorative pillows that southern belles, debutantes, and beauty contestant types supposedly have on their big, fluffy, canopied beds? The ones with inspirational statements on them? Well, I've decided that I ought to make some of my own! I could even sell them on etsy or in craft fairs! You know, if I had the attention span and talent to sew and embroider and cross stitch, that is. Well, I may never have an adorable, trendy etsy shop with handmade in demand stuff, but I do have this blog, so I'll share some of my favorite inspirational, words to live by, quoted directly from Yours Truly. (Some directly swiped from my Twitter feed-Komedy Gold, I tell you!)

Fall is Overrated
If It's Too Cold For Flipflops, It's Too Cold
A Well Made Gravy Goes With Everything
If This is the Start of My Midlife Crisis, Then Where is My Sports Car?
Everything in Life Can Be Related to an Episode of Friends or Seinfeld
Cheese Makes Everything Better
The One Time You Have Family Over and Run Out of Toilet Paper, Grandma Will Complain and Harp on it For the Next Five Years (not that that actually happened, or anything....)

What would you stitch on a pillow?
(picture used is from SundayGift.com)

By the way-I'd appreciate it if a few of you could do me a favor. I'm working on possibly getting a temporary teaching job, and have applied a few places. I received an automated email back from one district asking me if I had a home page, because they like to see what potential employees can do with technology. So, not knowing what else to do, I started an education related blog. I have zero followers, so it'd probably look better if I had a few, ;-) If you wouldn't mind following me here, I'd appreciate it! It probably won't be terribly exciting, so don't feel compelled to read it if you want. If you have suggestions-I'm open to hearing them, but please be kind! Thanks!

Dieting Advice I Don't Want to Hear Anymore

2010-10-02T15:46:00.001-04:00

Well, it's that time again. I need to lose some weight. I've gained 8 frickin' pounds (on top of the 30+ I already need to lose), and I'm down to 2 pairs of pants that fit comfortably. Gee, I miss the days of eating what I wanted and not having to worry about it-that was wonderful! Then, I turned 30, and my metabolism came to a screeching halt. Really! At 29, it was still chugging away, maybe not running quite as smoothly as it did at say, 23, but it was still getting the job done. Then, the day I turned 30, it just quit. Not a cough, or a sputter, just...nothing. The warranty must have run out. Isn't that how it goes with everything else? When it's under warranty, it's great, but as soon as the warranty expires-BAM! A $567 repair bill.

Anyhow, I go through this often, and after I finally build up the motivation to start exercising and counting calories, I watch the pounds hang on like preschoolers who won't leave their mommies on the first day of school. Finally, one or two will be ripped away screaming "Noooooo!!! You can't do this to me! I'll be back, and next time, I'll bring friends! Bwahahaha!" Eventually, I get tired of counting calories, and even more sick of exercising, and I quit. I have a short attention span-I just don't have the patience to stick with it. So, here I go again. In order to build up my motivation, I've been searching around on the internet, looking to see if there are any new, life-changing diet tips that will turn me into a motivated person who is addicted to exercise, and no longer dreams of all the foods I shouldn't eat much of. No such luck-it's just the same old stuff-that I'm tired of hearing. For example:

It's not a diet, it's a lifestyle change. This is supposed to help me feel better, how! So in a nutshell, not only do I have to limit my portions and favorite foods while I'm trying to fit my boo-tay back in my jeans, but I have to do it forever?! If I can't even manage to do that for a few measly weeks before getting bored, how am I ever going to have the motivation to do that for the rest of my life? Sure, I like some healthy foods, but I also love cheesey, saucy, yummy comfort foods.

You can still enjoy going out to eat, just look for grilled or broiled chicken or fish with no sauces, and eat a salad with dressing on the side. Going out to dinner is something I really enjoy. I like food! (except fish!) So after weeks of watching what I eat at home, I'm supposed to have the willpower and desire to go to a restaurant and actually choose to forgo the yummy stuff in favor of chocking down a piece of flavorless chicken and a dry salad while everyone else eats food with taste? Seriously? I'd rather stay home. And possibly cry....

If you drink lots of water before meals, you won't eat as much. Well, that's because I'll be sitting in the bathroom all day! Seriously, I've tried this, and I just get hungry again sooner.

You must eat breakfast! It's the most important meal of the day! The sky will fall if you don't eat breakfast every, single, solitary fricken day! I hate this one. The only time of day that I'm usually not thinking too much about food, is when I first get up. Just give me my Coke Zero, and everything will be good. The truth is, my stomach is always growling for lunch within 2-3 hours-regardless of whether I've eaten breakfast, or not! Sometimes, eating breakfast makes me even more hungry! Oh sure, if I've eaten a big breakfast of carb and fat laden foods, then I'm fine, but that sort of defeats the purpose. I'd rather save those calories for later. So, get off my back you breakfast militants!

Search for an activity you like! There's something for everyone, and soon, you'll enjoy it so much that you'll look forward to doing it! This is great advice for a lot of people-particularly those with athletic ability, and plenty of money and time. Not so much for me. I've tried lots of things over the years. Some I can tolerate, so I do those until I get so sick of them I quit. I suppose it would help if I ever experience those "feel good endorphins" that the fitness police swear everyone gets after some good, sweaty, breathless, jiggly cardio.

Ok, I realize this is a pretty negative post, but dangit! I'm hungry!! You wouldn't like me when I'm hungry... Plus, pretending to be positive when I'm really not feeling it, makes me giddy with sarcasm, and we wouldn't want that to happen! What is your least favorite diet advice?

If I Wrote a Parenting Magazine-Issue 2

2010-09-24T19:03:00.000-04:00

I used to be a frequent parenting magazine reader. You know, back when I was still sort of new to the whole parenting thing. I'm by no means a parenting expert, but I've found the advice given in most of these mags to be pretty predictable. While some of the articles are helpful, and filled with reasonable suggestions, many of the tips given are either too idealistic, too time intensive for busy people, or are annoyingly "trendy." Just because something is cool or popular, doesn't necessarily make it a good idea.

Also, now that my kids are older, these magazines have little to no relevant info for me. How about a magazine that would give advice on how I can get my 10 year old to wear her pre-orthodontic-mouth-stretching-appliance-dealy that we are paying a bazillion dollars for? Or how to convince her to wear something other than t-shirts and shorts? Or something that would help me teach my organizational impaired 7 year old how to put things away in the right place? (and one for husbands, too) I've tried the brightly colored and labeled bins, and my daughter and I are the only ones who can actually grasp the complexities of how these devices function. (Perhaps its because we have uteruses...) Hey, how about a handy article on how I can convince Tot that cereal is tasty, and not a substance to be feared and avoided? We've had this issue for about 7 years. (Just us?) Every kid should have a love of Crunchberries, no?

Anywho, all of this curmudgenery (nice word, huh?) led me to create my first If I Wrote a Parenting Magazine, and now I think it's time for another! The gimmick is that I take actual headlines from a parenting magazine website, and give them the Imperfect Mom spin. Here we go.

The Right Way to Space Siblings (for you)
Well, when my kids are fighting, I send them to separate rooms. If we are out somewhere, say at a church without Sunday School, I will pick up the smallest one, with that "don't you dare embarrass me!" Mom look, and put them on my other side, away from the other offender (who is going to get an earful on the ride home, by the way). Oh wait, I guess they mean "space" in terms of when to give birth to them. Never mind.

How Can I Tell if My Baby is Teething if I Don't See Any Teeth
Is your baby drooling like a Biggest Loser contestant judging an episode of Cupcake Wars? Are you in danger of running out of your preschooler's Junior Tylenol because you've been taking it yourself ever since finishing the adult stuff in a futile effort to make the headache from all of the screaming and crying go away? Do you have dark circles under your eyes from staying up to the wee hours of the morning doing websearches for teething remedies? Have you ever sucked on a frozen washcloth just to see what it felt like and gotten it stuck to your tongue? Does your baby gnaw furiously on everything it finds-including the dog's misplaced Milk Bone? If you answered yes to any of these questions, then your baby may be teething. Or, it could just be, oh, you know, a normal baby. Break out the Infant Motrin. Orajel doesn't work-trust me.

Do You Know When You are Fertile?
If your ankles are swollen, you have a whole new view of your belly button, but can't see your feet, crave bacon with sour cream and sweet tea, and people in scrubs are urging you to "push" or to "breathe", then there is a strong possibility that you are fertile. Don't be shocked like Peggy Oleson in Mad Men if a baby is squeezing it's way out of your nether regions.

The Real Difference Between Boys and Girls
Girls come equipped with ROFS, "Random Object Finding Sonar" , while the male arrives with the uncanny ability to screen out any stimuli within eye view or ear shot when sleeping, watching football, or viewing A Few Good Men for the 876th time. Girls can actually pick up their dirty socks off the floor and put them in the hamper when asked, whereas a boy will spin around in a slow circle, saying "what sock?" until he becomes distracted by Sponge Bob on the television, or a Lego guy on the coffee table. Girls acquire the ability to roll their eyes sarcastically while still in the womb, and boys instinctually know that kissing Mommy's hand and saying "You're so pretty, Mama!" results in cookies and getting to stay up late. If you still don't understand the difference, then you may want to grab your significant other, a flashlight and a hand mirror...

Why Kids Lie
So they don't get in trouble. Next!

How to Handle Preschool Bullies
Smack them on the nose with a newspaper, give a Cesar-like "shhhht", and send them to their crate.

On that note, I think I've dispensed enough advice for one issue. If you'd like to play along, feel free! Just mention this post in your blog posting, and comment here with your URL.

Anonymous Shaving

2010-09-23T18:38:00.000-04:00

Hi, remember me? I blog here from time to time. I guess it's sort of been a while, huh? Sorry about that. Not much going on around here. At least not much with entertainment value, anyhow.

My kids are growing so fast. So fast, in fact, that my son will probably be shaving before I know it. Oh, wait-he already is. (Yes, he's still only 7.) Let me explain. Tot came down the stairs the other day after his bedtime shower. I knew something was up, when he started stuttering.

"Uh, uh, M-mom? I, uh, uh, s-saw Dad's razor in the shower, and I, uh, d-decided to shave. I, uh, ummmm....cut myself here, and got this," he said, pointing at the small, bloody cut on his chin, with his big blue eyes staring at the floor.

I noticed another cut on his forehead (I posted about this on Facebook, and one of my friends said "What does he think he is, Wolf Man?), and mustered up a serious expression all as I tried not to giggle.

"Hmmm. It probably wasn't a good idea to do that was it? I thought you were old enough now not to play with razors," I said in a calm, quiet voice.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You can shave when you are much older, but don't try it again until you're almost grown up and have something to shave," I said as I led him to the bathroom to clean him up and apply ointment to the cuts.

Later that night, as I tucked him in, I let him in on the fact that men actually don't need to shave their foreheads.

"Really?!"

I love that kid.

Switching gears, Amy and Mary Bailey both asked me why my family doesn't know that I blog. I figured I'd address it here, since I guess it is kind of strange that almost no one in my "real life" knows that I blog. My husband, sweet guy that he is, is a very private person. He doesn't feel the need to tell people (other than me, of course) things, and he wouldn't understand why I want to tell random things to people I don't really know. I guess when I spell it out like that, it does sound sort of strange, come to think of it... Also, I think he would constantly be asking "why did you write about that?" . Not that he would try to stop me, really, but I'd just rather keep it to myself than constantly be trying to explain, which would make me feel like I had to be on the defense all the time. Also, I like the anonymity that it provides. If I feel the need to write a story or vent about, say my mother or my grandmother, then I don't have to worry about hurting someone's feelings, or getting a writing critique (hello, Grandma!). Plus, I'd have to have the whole "What is a blog" conversation, which could prove exasperating, considering that my Mom can't even figure out how to open up an email attachment. You should have heard the MANY phone conversations where I tried to teach her how to use a mouse! You move the cursor thingie where you want it and click. Mom, you push the button on the mouse. No, don't hold it down, just push it and let go. No, the other button. I don't know what that button is for. Don't worry about it, you aren't going to blow up the computer by pressing the wrong button. No, really. Ok, now scroll down-spin the wheel thingie. No, the wheel on top of the mouse, spin it, slowly!

So anyhow, there ya go.

Trailer Park Gourmet

2010-09-11T23:18:00.000-04:00

We tend to like food in our family that is...ummm...less than classy. Basically, if it has cream of something soup, and/or Rotel, and/or chips of some kind, the recipe will be in my cookbook. Don't get me wrong-I enjoy lots of food, but our family favorites tend to be of the Trailer Park Gourmet variety. Comfort foods to the extreme! So, I'm going to start a new feature here at Imperfect Mom, where I share recipes (yeah, real ones unlike this one!) that we enjoy around here.

Disclaimer-I do not live in a trailer park, but I have nothing personal against them, or people who live in them. My Grandma lived in a trailer park for part of my childhood, and many happy days were spent hanging out with friends, exploring empty lots for treasures, and playing in the ~~drainage ditch~~ creek.

I don't have pictures, because my family doesn't know I blog, and it would be really hard to explain why I was taking pictures of soup cans and casseroles. Besides, sometimes the best food isn't always the prettiest.

This is what we had tonight-it's my husband's favorite. Seriously, I've made him his very own casserole dish of it before.

Chicken Tortilla Casserole (the name sounds much classier than it actually is, but it is really yummy!)

Ingredients:
2 cans of Cream of Mushroom Soup
1 can of Rotel tomatoes
1/4 cup of sour cream
1 package of precooked chicken strips
sliced mushrooms (I use about half a small can)
shredded cheddar
tortilla chips
(with these ingredients, how can this NOT be good?)

Preheat your oven to 325. If your oven needs to be cleaned as badly as mine does, open a window. Spray a big, old casserole dish with cooking spray. In a mixing bowl (if you can find one that the kids haven't carried off to the sandbox yet, or your husband hasn't fed the dog in), mix together the soup, the Rotel, the sour cream (I always add a little extra), the mushrooms (if you use fresh sliced mushrooms, saute them in some butter first), and the chicken. This works with either the frozen precooked chicken, or the refrigerated kind. I prefer the refrigerated kind, though, because I like to chop it into smaller pieces. I suppose you could cook your own chicken to use, but I can't understand why you would want to, because that kind of defeats the purpose of this being a quick, easy meal, but suit yourself.

Crush some tortilla chips onto the bottom of the dish to make a thin "crust". This might be good with Fritos, but wouldn't be nearly as chic. Layer the soup mixture, shredded cheese, and chips. I usually try to get 3 layers out of it, ending with a thin layer of chips.

Bake for 40 minutes, or until the chips on top have browned. Let it sit for a few minutes, then spoon out portions for yourself and the kids, and then hand your husband the casserole dish and the serving spoon. What? That's how it works around here!

Pairs well with cherry or grape Kool Aid, or Coke Zero served in the can. (Not served in the bathroom or in jail, unless that's how you roll, but in the actually aluminum can)

Nutritional Facts:
Servings: For us, 4. For sane people, probably 6-8.
Calories: 8,999,001 per serving
Fat Grams: 678,345
Sodium: 334, 563, 567, 001 grams
Vitamin C: eh...

The Imperfect Mom is not responsible for ruined diets, casserole induced high blood pressure, or tongues cut because you thought it would be a good idea to lick the lid of the mushroom soup can.

Those Aren't Bidets

2010-09-02T18:42:00.002-04:00

Several years ago, I don't even remember how long ago, I was shopping at JcPenney. Now, that in itself isn't remarkable-I've been there several times since then, but I always avoid the restrooms there. My husband and I were shopping, we may have had our daughter with us, I don't recall, but I needed to take a quick trip to the ladies room.

I quickly walked into the restroom, which was very quiet and peaceful. I went into the stall, and..well.. you know, took care of business. While I was there, I noticed how quiet it was-there were no little children asking their Moms if they needed to "go potty too", and no friends chatting about the bargains they had acquired. I could tell that I wasn't alone in the room, yet there were no sounds of "shopping busy-ness" like one usually hears in the ladies room of a department store.

Having taken care of business, I left the stall and went to the sinks to wash. This place was so clean, and white! I washed my hands with that institutional, pink soap with the distinct, "I just washed with institutional hand soap" smell, and reached into my purse for my lipstick.

This lipstick was awesome, by the way-I really need to look for some more. It was green "mood" lipstick that turned to the perfect shade of pinkish red on my lips. I know, it doesn't sound very classy, but this stuff was great!

Anyhow, as I puckered up and began to apply, I happened to catch a glimpse of something to my left in the reflection of the mirror. "Oh, crap! What are those things? Those aren't urinals, are they? Oh, no. But I looked at the sign on the door..." Cold, horror crept up my spine, up to my cheeks, where it burned like fire. My head began to buzz with that "This is wrong! Error! Error! Does not compute! Error!" warning sound. Deciding to play it cool, (maybe they were just bidets. Sure, bidets at Penney's, why not? Clean, rich people like sales, too!) I finished applying my lipstick, which turned to an unusually vibrant red.

Glancing in the mirror, I looked at the stalls behind me. I saw a pair of white tennis shoes under one door-those looked fairly unisex, a little dowdy for a woman, but you never know. I relaxed a tiny bit as I turned to leave. As I got halfway to the door, I heard a flush, and came face to face with a very surprised........middle aged.....man! I scurried out the door as fast as I could, feeling the man's eyes burning into my back as I left.

Horrified, shaking and blushing like a teenager at the Ob/Gyn for the first time, I hurried out to my husband and explained that we needed to leave. Now. Before I get thrown out and banned from Jc Penney's for life.
Since I'm never ready to leave a store before he is, I had to explain why I needed to leave. Of course he thought it was hilarious, and I still get teased about it to this day.

I now double and triple check the signs on restroom doors before entering, sometimes even going back out and looking again. I do still shop at Penney's, but my pace picks up considerably when I pass the restrooms, even though we now shop at another location. I still blush when I think about this, even years later (judging by the mood lipstick, it must've been in the nineties.)

But ladies, if you want to....relieve yourself...in a peaceful environment, choose the men's room. Just don't try to use the bidets.

This post has been part of Mama Kat's weekly Writer's Workshop. I couldn't get the button to work, so please click on this link to visit her blog and play along.

I'll Bring the Awkward or The Imperfect Mom Gets a Pedicure

2010-08-30T00:50:00.000-04:00

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I've come to the realization that I can turn any possible situation awkward in a manner of seconds. Even something as normal and supposedly relaxing and enjoyable as a pedicure. Most women love pedicures as much as I love sleeping in on the weekends, but I'm not one of them. I also don't enjoy getting my hair done-I hate sitting still doing nothing, and I really hate the forced socialization. My beautician is very sweet, but I have a hard time making on going small talk with a 23 year old whom I have nothing in common with.

Anyhow-back to the subject at hand. (or should I say "foot"? Har, har!) I usually do my own pedicures-being a lover of all things flip flop, it's a necessary evil. Before today, I've had one other actual pedicure, in a salon, that is. I have what may be the world's most ticklish and sensitive feet, so I just remember alternatively cringing in pain, and trying not to laugh. Combine that with the fact that the manicurist didn't speak English, so we had to communicate with each other by smiling and pointing shyly.

Today I found myself all alone. All alone with some raggedy looking feet that I just couldn't bring myself to deal with. (Seriously, I think hooves may have been starting to form on the soles of my feet) So, I put on my big girl ~~panties~~ flip flops and headed to the nail shop.

I grabbed a Vogue magazine from the table, because it was the thickest magazine there, although I think Vogue is kind of snooty and boring (a combo which sends my inner snarky thoughts into overdrive). This was part of my strategy-I'd be entertained, and I'd also look engrossed in my magazine, so I wouldn't have to attempt to make small talk. Rude, I know, but I need all of the Awkward Management Tools I can get.

The awkwardness began when a kindly older gentleman showed me to my chair, and I couldn't quite figure out how to climb into it, or what I should do with my big, old purse in the process. The man, who apparently did more nodding, gesturing and smiling than speaking English, just stood by with a patient grin. Finally, I flung my purse up on the tall, throne-like beast, and climbed aboard clumsily, much like a little kid scrambling up on Santa's lap. (Have I ever mentioned that I'm short and unweildy?)

So, the nice fellow starts up the water bath below (ahhhhh!!!!) and.....and....THEN....my big, beastly chair starts punching me in the back with vicious force, and.....and.... squeezing my butt!! Wha??!! I don't remember this happening before! I'm actually not offended by the butt squeezes, surprisingly enough, but the jarring back massagers felt like I was being repeatedly poked by the steel end of a tire iron. I couldn't put my head back against the headrest, because every time I tried, the tire iron massagers would change position, and technique, pushing me off the seat back. Alarmed, I looked around at the other women nearby. They all seemed quite relaxed, heads back, reading books, chatting, or texting. None of them were squirming, or jerking around in their seats as the violent massage pulsated against their backs, as I was. I fiddled with the remote control, which only seemed to make it worse, as the technician came over.

I tried to look casual, flipping through my magazine, pretending to look really interested in fushia eyeshadows and spiked, 5 inch heeled open toed booties. (Booties!! A term I hate almost as much as "jeggings"! And open toed, booties?! Dumb, dumb, dumb.) The back beating moved from my lower back to my upper back, which actually felt tolerable, as the Korean tech greeted me, and gestured at my feet (with what looked like a smirk on her face), and said "You cut nails yourself?" I looked down at my toenails, which really, I didn't think looked too bad myself, and nodded.

As she began cutting my nails and trimming my cuticles, which thankfully didn't hurt (a feather touch, this lady had!), I wondered what could possibly be wrong with how I trimmed my nails. I mean, I think I do a pretty good job doing it, although it was obviously time for a trim. I was jarred out of my thoughtfulness, as the massaging, iron fists, now on my middle back, switched to "agitate mode". My body was jiggling like jello, and if I'd had on a pair of pasties with tassels.....well, let's just say I could have earned some tips of my own. You, know, if there had been any men there (besides the smiling older dude), and if I were thinner and younger, and all that. It would have been a good day to wear that heavy duty, underwire Cross My Heart Playtex number. As the agitation continued, my wet foot slipped out of the tech's hand, and she looked at me with a surprised glare, as the metal cuticle stick stabbed her palm. Oops.

"Sorry!", I whispered, contritely. Apparently satisfied with my apology, she went back to work, and the chair went back to the "Punch and Squeeze" mode. Working on my cuticles, I think I heard her say my toes were "nasty". But I'm not sure, since I could barley understand her-so I tried not to get too offended. Nasty? Yes, my feet were badly in need of a pedicure, but they were clean! Should I have done a pre-pedi treatment before coming? Nahhh....my feet couldn't be that bad, she must have said something else. Right?

Finally, she turned off the brutal beast, which stilled the water. Ahhhh, that's better. "I'm handling this pretty well so far", I thought to myself, "it hasn't hurt, or tickled hardly at all".

Then she started scrubbing my heels and soles with a scrubby pad. I really tried to play it cool by flipping through my Vogue again, past pictures of too-thin models with haughty expressions, wearing skin tight leggings and red-soled stilettos, as I tried to ignore the tickly feeling. I nearly peed my pants trying to suppress the urge to yank my foot out of her hand. Finally, my relexes took over, and my foot jerked forward, causing the tech to scrape her hand hard with the scrubby thingie. She looked at me again with the same, but slightly more annoyed, surprised glare. Oops.

"Sorry, I have very ticklish feet", I said with an apologetic half smile. By way forgiveness, she smiled, and tried to start up some small talk. The conversation quickly came to an awkward end, as I was having a heck of a time understanding her quiet accent. I always feel guilty when I can't understand someone, I don't know why, but I do. I feel bad.

She asked me something about nail polish, and I pointed to the bottle I had picked out. She asked me a few more questions after that, but I had no idea what she was asking, so I just nodded and said "yes" or "no" whenever I though it might be appropriate. I was really afraid that she was only going to paint my big toes for a while (Oh no! Is that what she was asking me? Is that a style?), but then she moved on to the others. (Oh, good. She's going to paint them all. Breathe.) I then started to worry that I was going to end up with some wacky nail art or something, but everything turned out well.

After she finished, I had to figure out how to climb out of the chair-mountain with my toes still in those squishy, spready thingies. I hobbled over to the dryer, and she started it up and took my payment. The dryer causes more awkwardness for me-I had my fingernails done once in this salon, and really, you get no direction once you get to the dryers. After watching other people, it seems like you stay as long as you want, and then get up and leave. Long bored with my magazine, after about five minutes, I was getting really antsy, so I bent over and gently peeled off the squishy things.

Appearing out of nowhere, the nail tech reappeared, flapping her arms and gently scolding, "No! No! You not dry! Do you need to go now? Stay for while, you not dry yet!"

Chagrined, I sat back down and put my feet back under the drying table. I waited another 5 minutes, then looked around, and........ snuck out. (Remember, I paid already!) Whew.

That wasn't so bad. On the Awkward But Sort of Necessary Scale, it ranked above getting my hair done and getting my teeth cleaned, but ranked slightly below going to the ob/gyn. I could do this again, you know, now that I know what to expect, and all. (I'll wear a super thick sweater to dull the punches) But, I think it's pretty safe to say that I won't be getting a Brazilian anytime soon, if I can barely handle the intimacy of a pedicure.

Love/Hate

2010-08-27T18:08:00.001-04:00

I love that rolled up jeans are back in style. I've been waiting anxiously for this since 1994. Short women of the world, rejoice!

I hate that "jeggings" has become a word. It completely irritates me, and I spend far too much time thinking about it. Yes! I really do think about these things. If you are unfamiliar with jeggings, they are the "sporks" of the pant world-leggings that look like jeans. Apparently, cheap looking polyester/lycra blends are chic again. I also hate that jeggings are being marketed to the kids who shop at the tweenie bopper store my daughter loves, AS WELL AS to women in their 30's, like me. I could have worn jeggings when I was 20, but 15-16 years, 2 children and 30 pounds later? Well, I suppose I COULD wear them if I had some waist to ankle Spanx, but really? I think they are tacky, and not even my spell check likes "Jeggings".

I love the smell of my husband's clean T-shirts.

I hate the smell of the dirty ones.

I love that our new dog walks so nicely by my side on a leash.

I hate when my children act like buffoons on the walk-tripping each other, trying to carry each other, laughingly trying to shove each other of the sidewalk, etc. Basically doing everything they can to annoy me and make the dog nervous.

I love that I found a pair of Justice sweatpants for my daughter at TJ Maxx today for $12.99! These are usually at least $30 in the stores.

I hate paying full price for cheaply made trendy junk at Justice.

I love that when the guy at Chick Fil A asked me if I needed a condiment today, I almost said, "No thank you. I'm Catholic." Even though I'm actually not Catholic, and he would have not gotten the joke anyway and would have thought I was crazy-kind of like you are doing right about now. It made sense inside my head...

I hate how cheery the people at Chick Fil A are in the mornings. Maybe it's just the ones around here, but honestly, they are just so over the top happy and friendly, and want to chat and smile at me and stuff. I can't deal with that kind of treatment until at least 11 am. Just say thank you, maybe wish me a nice day, and hand over the breakfast burrito and Large Coke Zero (no ice, please). It's kind of like when the dog is all happy to see me when I wake up, and he follows me back and forth throughout the house hopefully wagging his tail all morning. Really, it's sweet and all, but just go lay down somewhere and be happy from afar! I can't even muster up the civility to say "good morning" to anyone until I've been up for at least 30 minutes-it's not pretty.

I love that my daughter cares so much about animals, and has such a big heart for them.

I hate that she and the neighbor kids decided all on their own to walk down the street soliciting money from neighbors for the ASPCA without telling anyone. The made it through several houses before my husband found them. We made them return the money. It was hard to explain that even though your heart is in the right place, you can't just go soliciting money from people in the name of a charity-especially without telling your parents. They really did have every intention of giving the money to the ASPCA, but still... It reminds me of when she and a friend decided to ask the neighbors if they wanted their nails painted (for a nominal fee, of course)-I wrote about that here .

I love that my son is already pouring over a catalog of Halloween costumes. He can't decide whether to be a special forces guy, a Star Wars guy, Indiana Jones, or Mario. I always loved dressing up for Halloween, and I'm glad that my kids enjoy it, too.

I hate that Halloween decorations are already in the stores, however.

I love that it's Friday, even though my kids came home today with those dreaded fundraiser packets.

I hate trying to hawk those stupid $30 coupon books that nearly every other school child in the state is selling at the same time. I hate that I feel guilty for not wanting to spend $60 so each of my kids will have made at least one sale. I hate the thought of asking my cash strapped friends and relatives to buy these expenvie things no one really wants. I hate that they get the kids all hyped up with the "Fantastic!" prizes (listed on the info sheet in BIG letters, and eye catching fonts) they'll earn for ~~conning people into buying~~ selling these. Then they come home all excited, and I have to dash their hopes. $60 for coupons that I can never remember to use? Not a good deal. Why can't my kids sell Yankee Candles like the parochial school kids? I'd be ALL over that one! I've always thought about just writing a yearly check to the PTO and calling it good. Honestly, I pay my taxes, I volunteer in the classroom, I donate extra supplies for the classroom, I pay our book rental fees-so why can't I pass up this one dumb fundraiser without feeling like a deadbeat?

Yikes! My laptop battery is about drained, so even though I don't love to do it, I'm going to have to wrap this one up fast!

I hate that the power cord never gets put in the same place twice...

I Don't Wanna Do It!

2010-08-26T17:37:00.000-04:00

Have you ever felt change in the air? I don't mean how the (beautiful and hot) long summer days slowly get shorter and cooler, and you start to feel the "crispness" in the air as the days turn shorter and autumn sneaks up on you. (bleck!! pa-tooie!! Fall means the death of everything green and lovely!) I'm talking about life changes (not to be confused with "change of life", I'm only 35, kids!). I'm generally not a very "deep" person, at least I pretend not to be, so I usually don't get these "feelings", but I think that God has been trying to prepare my change resistant mind for something. I'm generally pretty dense and literal when it comes to "signs from God" and all that, so I usually have to be practically hit over the head with it before I notice what's going on. But I've felt it for a few weeks now....at first just hints, with a little restlessness inside, but now it's built up to a fever pitch in my head. My comfortable, familiar, secure little routine is going to change in some way, and I don't like it. At all.

Have I ever mentioned how resistant to change I am? While the undiagnosed mildly ADD part of me gets bored with routine, the shy, nervous, insecure part of me clings to familiarity like Linus clings to his security blanket. I remember crying for 2 hours as a 10 year old kid just because I found out that I was getting a new bus driver. Same school, same bus stop, same kids, just a different bus and driver. I'm obviously better than that now, but it still stresses me out.

What's changing? Well, I'm not sure entirely, but there have been some little changes around here. The kids have gone back to school, so that routine is different, and they are attending a different school this year due to redistricting. We are lucky to live in an area with great schools, so it has been a nearly seamless transition. The kids are happy and comfortable there. Their new teachers seem wonderful, and the school itself is very much like their old school, which we loved, so that's all good. Also, I'm actually enjoying the peace during the day while the kids are gone, so the whole "back to school" change has gone well for all of us.

Another change occurred on the first day of school-we adopted a dog. If you read my recent Doggone Guilt post, then you know how badly I did not want a dog, but how badly my daughter did. Well, I gave in to the Mommy Guilt, and we are now the owners of a big, furry, sweet mutt. He's a good dog, with none of the issues that our old dog had-he doesn't chew, doesn't pee in the house, he's perfectly happy laying around the house all day, and he doesn't even bark. Basically, he's a big cat. He's been taught some basic commands at some point, so he's well behaved, and walks on a leash like a dream. But, he's still one more thing to take care of, and it seems that the kids and I are a little allergic to him. Most frustrating for me, is that the cats, particularly my favorite cat (my baby!), is afraid of him, so he's been spending most of his time outside. This particular cat is a very social animal, and loves to be where ever we are, so it makes me sad. I feel guilty in a weird way, like we replaced him, or something. Ugh. Anyhow, we aren't giving away another animal, so we are stuck. (Don't get me wrong, the rest of the family is thrilled with him.)

Ok, I know, those are sort of "weenie changes", not a big deal at all, right? True, that. But there's more coming, I just know it. First of all, my hours at work have been cut even more. For those of you who don't know, I work part time as the Assistant Director of Education at a tutoring company franchise. Basically, I have a fancy title and my own office, but crappy pay with no benefits or anything. I like my job a lot, and I love the people I work with though, and I've been there for 7 years. This is our slow time of year, plus the business has been hit hard by the economy, so in order to make payroll, everyone who is not salary is getting hours cut dramatically. I'm down to 14 pathetic hours a week, which combined with my sad little wage, is not good. Things will pick up eventually, but this is no time to ask for a raise.

My husband talked me into applying for a teaching assistant position in our district. The pay and hours would be much better than what I have now, but I don't want to do it! I don't want to leave my current job, but I really would like to make more money, and it kind of "feels" like this might be the right thing for me right now. I have my teaching degree, but my certification is expired, and I'm just not ready to have my own classroom again. I want/need a job that I can leave at work at the end of the day, and teaching just isn't that way. I don't have the energy or desire to take on that kind of commitment at this point, so a teaching
assistant position might be my best option.

I don't know. My heart is screaming "No! Don't do it! Stay! Who cares if you make an insulting wage! You like what you do, you like having an office, business cards, and the ability to apply your college degree! You like working with friends! You like being able to get lunch from Chipotle and Panera like a grownup instead of having to ask permission to leave the building or eat in the cafeteria!"

But the bills are screaming "Pay me!" and the pretty fall clothes are calling "Hey you! Wouldn't you like to buy me?" And the tuition fees at the amazing, private Christian high school we'd like to be able to send our kids to someday are saying "Yeah, right! Do you think you'll ever be able to afford this?" So, it looks like some type of job change may be in order. Bah. I'm much too old to run to my Mom's house, and lay on the couch crying and screaming and kicking my feet like I did when I was ten, but that's kind of what I feel like doing... I know, I know...I'm a wimp. My issues are really no big deal in the grand scheme of life, but...but...but....I'm scared.

Anyhow, I'm sorry for the long winded, boring post, but I haven't posted in a while, and wanted to let you all know what's going on in my world. I'll be back tomorrow with something more fun!

7 and 10

2010-08-15T23:15:00.000-04:00

When you are a 10 year old girl, you can be running around outside in a fuzzy cheetah vest and a lion mask meant for 3 year olds one moment, and lamenting that you are too mature to wear the pretty ruffled dress to church the next.

When you are a 7 year old boy, you can actually "forget" to use toothpaste when you brush your teeth, even though you were just reminded to do so

When you are 10 or 7, you can get up from the supper table and dance around or wrestle with your sibling. Then, when being told you are behaving like a 2 year old, you can just giggle happily (after sitting down in order to avoid the Wrath of Mom, of course).

When you are 7 or 10, you believe that any parental question should be answered with a "meow", until a human answer is demanded.

When you are 7, you think that having a stomach ache entitles you to be able to lay on the back of the couch-cat style.

When you are a 10 year old girl, you can say that Tyler Lautner is your celebrity boyfriend in front of your parents without being too embarrassed.

When you are 7, it will ruin your entire evening if you can't find your Nintendo DS to take along on a trip to the store.

When you are 7 (or even 10) you tune your parents out when they tell you for the umpteenth time that when they were kids there weren't any Nintendo DS's, and they survived car trips just fine, by looking out the window. Then you think about how boring life must have been way back then.

When you are 10, you can sing off tune at the top of your lungs in front of a crowd, and believe that you sound amazing.

When you are 10 or 7, you are able to become invisible when sneaking huge spoonfuls of Nutella or peanut butter unknown times each day. The only evidence you were ever there is the gooey spoon stuck to the sink, and the empty jar (recently purchased), Mom finds in the pantry the next time she tries to make you a sandwich.

When you are 7, you can happily entertain yourself for hours with your Legos, action figures, or just about anything, if only your sister would quit trying to make you play school or act in her imaginary plays all the time.

When you are a 10 year old girl, if it's bright, has glitter, some type of animal print, and has colors that clash with each other-you think it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

When you are 7 and 10, you are caught somewhere between "big" and "little". Sometimes you want to act grown up and sophisticated, other times, you just want to crawl around and pretend to be a dog.