Too Much Perfection?

Unlike some parents, I look forward to my nightly routine of putting the wutz to bed. And not just because it means he’ll be going to sleep very soon! That’s just a bonus.



No, I really adore the entire process. He’s so happy and carefree as he plays with bubbles in his bathwater. I sit there with him until the point he begins to enjoy himself so much water comes spilling in rivers over the side of the tub. Game over then, unless I want my bathroom rug to float, and I really prefer it didn’t.



Once he’s dried off and dressed, teeth are brushed while I quietly sing the ABC song to him. Each time he bites down on the toothbrush, the song comes to a standstill and he giggles maniacally. The little stinker.



Finally we make it to the bed. He selects two books and then crawls up next to me as I read each one. Sometimes he’ll beg for one more and it is rewarded.



But the best part, the very best part of the night, happens once the lights are turned off. He points to the pillow beside him and commands, “Sleep sleep, momma!” I am obliged to lay down next him, while he rests so close to me our noses touch. He gently provides much appreciated Eskimo kisses and babbles quietly to me. It is sweet perfection.



Once he’s ready to sleep, he grabs his GlowWorm, much like the one I had as a child, and presses its tummy and the soft lullaby plays while his cherubic face is illuminated in a soft amber glow. Words cannot describe it, but it melts me each night as I slip out the door just before that song ends.

That’s how much horse feed I purchased and unloaded today. Two tons. Four thousand pounds of feed. Now I am tired and I hurt.

Oh, the joys of living on a farm.

I seriously worry about how we are going to be able to continue to afford to live this way. I have thirteen horses to feed. They are slowly eating me out of house and home. As gas prices rise, I become more and more aware of the daily drive to town. I used to think nothing of it. I enjoyed the drive. I enjoyed the quiet time in the car. Not anymore. I find myself staring at the MPG, wondering how I could possible get better gas mileage. But, in truth, it’s just not possible when driving a gas guzzler. *glug glug glug*

I love living in the country, though. It is the best thing. I love the quiet peacefulness of it. I adore the fact that I can wander out in my PJs (or less) to feed the horses and no one is the wiser. I enjoy having the horses grazing in my front yard. I love that I feel safe allowing the wutz to play all over the farm. I love being close to family. (Most of the time.)

But I definitely don’t love schlepping around two tons of feed. I think I shall go soak in a hot bubbly bath now!

Anyone that has even been exposed to the news for five seconds today has likely heard that the Supreme Court ruled that the D.C. ban on handguns is unconstitutional. Finally, they got something right. Kudos to them.

I firmly believe in the right to own and bear arms. I think every person should be able to protect herself. I believe each person should have the right to choose to have a firearm in his or her home. We have so little protection afforded to ourselves these days, I believe in taking every right we can manage to squeeze out of the lawmakers that have run amok.

The bad news for the day is the dude at OPEC speculated that gas will be at $7 a gallon by 2010. At the rate we’ve been traveling, I can see how that is definitely possible. But seriously, do you have to say it outloud, asshole?

I try to be tolerant. I try to be understanding. No, no, really, I do! But one human can only listen to the same children’s songs so many times before maddening thoughts begin racing through her brain. My brain. I know the tunes are meant to be lighthearted and catchy so that kids will enjoy them. The problem is, they work way too well. One song will burrow in and embed itself into my brain for days. Sometimes weeks.

It’s torture. Sheer torture.

If I have to listen to Choo-Choo Soul, featuring Genevieve, one more freaking time, I’m going to do very bad things. And don’t even get me started on Laurie Berkner. I’d like to bop her on her googlehead.

The wutz loves them though. He’s fascinated by each and every one. So, unfortunately, I think they are here to stay. At least until I teach him some Ozzy.

Mama, I’m coming home…

Don't lie. You know you've been there.

Shit

Piss

Fuck

Cunt

Cocksucker

Motherfucker

Tits









RIP George.

Migraines suck.









’nuff said.

Since a few of you seemed to really love the idea of this salad. I thought I’d post a picture that I managed to dig up [read: steal] a Weight Watchers picture of said salad.





Take time to sneak a peek at other tasty 1974 WW recipies at: http://www.candyboots.com/wwcards/rosyperfection.html

My summer indulgence is now Swingtown. I didn’t hold much hope for the show, but I find myself rather enjoying it. Unfortunately, it co-stars the same woman from the summer flop Windfall that got cancelled two years ago. I hope that isn’t a bad omen. I like her as the sexy siren of a nextdoor neighbor.

In Thursday’s episode, Janet (the former neighbor) wrote a recipe for Rosy Perfection Salad on Susan’s dining room wall. I’d never heard of Rosy Perfection. Google corrected that for me. I was able to locate someone else’s blog that posted the recipe.

Here is the recipe from a 1974 Weight Watcher’s card:

Rosy Perfection Salad

1 Envelope Unflavored Gelatin
1-1/4 c Water
1/4 c Sugar
1/4 c Vinegar
1/2 t Salt (or to taste)
2 c Finely Shredded Red Cabbage
1 c Chopped Celery
1 jar mandarin oranges, drained and chopped

In medium saucepan, soften gelatin in 2 tablespoons of the water; let stand 1 minute. Add rest of water and, over low heat, cook until gelatin dissolves. Add sugar, vinegar and salt; stir until sugar dissolves. Chill until partially set. Fold in remaining ingredients and chill 3 hours or overnight. Note: With the single envelope of gelatin and the loads of veggies, I think Janet likely improved on this salad’s tastiness a bit but, from the image, lost the molded form (a blessing). Serve it at your next 70s or Vintage Weight Watchers party.

Recipe from: http://www.channelguidemagblog.com/index.php/2008/06/20/swingtown-longing-shame-and-that-rosy-perfection-recipe/

It is a bit overdone, yes, but thank goodness it is Friday. Truly. This week has been two weeks long. I am glad it is almost over. I’m praying for rain tomorrow and Sunday, too. Just so I have a grand excuse to keep my lazy butt on the sofa and do nothing!

In honor of the many misspent Fridays from my years prior to becoming a responsible adult…

10 Drunk Photos You Do Not Want To Be In!

I canNOT believe that my eyes stayed dilated for two days after that consultation. So much for the ‘few hours of dilation’ the girl at the desk warned me about. Unless 48 hours is her definition of a few. Good grief!

I called the eye doctor back yesterday. I was concerned about the fact that Lortab is one of the pain pills they offer after the PRK surgery. Lortab and Vicodin work great for pain, but after a surgery like that, I am going to want to sleep and narcotics have the opposite result where I am concerned. It’s like speed for me! Crazy, I know.

Anyways, the lady from the office called back and said the Dr. would just double my dose of Neurontin and not prescribe the Lortab. I’ve never heard of Neurontin, so I am a little concerned about its effectiveness. I guess I’ll have to trust them and at the same time I’ll be praying for lots of drowsiness as a side effect! Personally, I’d like to sleep for the first 48 hours after the proceedure. I’m a wuss that way.

I am quite certain that I’ll become well acquainted with Dr. Google between now and then. Hopefully I won’t freak myself out enough that I back out of the procedure.

Yesterday, after all that I suffered through, I also had a consultation for Lasik surgery. The end result was that I am not a good candidate for the procedure. Instead, I qualify for PRK Laser surgery. Apparently, the same laser is used, but the procedure is different. The recovery time is longer, the pain is moderate to severe *gasp!* and it takes longer to achieve the final results. If you are following along, I bet you agree with me: It doesn’t sound too peachy. Nevertheless, I have the surgery scheduled for July 11th. Unless I chicken the hell out. And I may yet.

I plan to use Dr. Google to research it more, so I’m sure I’ll report back with my findings. So far, they have been pretty split down the middle with the pain issues, but none regret having it. However, I did find obligatory horror story. That wasn’t terribly refreshing to read. *sigh*

Yesterday just sucked.

The morning and afternoon was wonderful. I really enjoy spending my Mondays with the wutz. He was a joy and he even blessed me with a three hour nap. But apparently, while I was having a grand ole day, DH’s day sucked. And to make matters worse for him, on the way home, he got a speeding ticket in our tiny little town. 48 in a 35. Joy. I can’t wait to find out what that’s going to cost us.

However, my great day came to an abrupt halt that evening. I got dressed in my workout clothes, I downloaded some new tunes to my iPod and I was ready to run after taking a week and a half off due to a neck injury. Before I left for the track, I decided to toss the horses a flake of hay. As I stepped out of the barn at the same instant my Golden Retriever, Chase, tossed his throw-toy under my foot. My ankle twisted severely and I reached out to grab whatever I could to stop my inevitable fall. It was too late. I toppled like a ton of bricks.

Fire radiated up from my ankle. I writhed on the ground like Nancy Kerrigan at the ‘94 Olympics.

Finally able to pick myself up, I hobbled to the house, clutching my hand that I’d suddenly realized was also hurt. I made it to the sink to wash my hand, but as I began doing that my world started to go black. I shut off the water and headed for the sofa. Apparently I didn’t make it, though. I woke up on the floor, staring at the ceiling. Damn.

That’s how my body deals with pain, I guess. It was sweet, black bliss for awhile. But the pain renewed as I got my ass up off the floor and manuevered to the couch, making a pitstop only for the bottle of Vicodin. Ahhhh… better living through chemistry.

Fast forward to today, I am sore, my hand still hurts like a mother. In my infinite wisdom, I figured I should get a tetanus shot, too. The thought terrified me, but I’m a mother now and I have to be all responsible and stuff. Right? The shot didn’t hurt like I remembered it did when I was 10, which was the last time I received the vaccine. However, I’d forgotten that the tetanus vaccine is a stealth bastard. Five minutes later, driving back to work, my arm began to feel like Mike Tyson sucker punched it. Grrreat.

I swear, I’m a walking disaster zone. I’d ask what’s next, but I don’t even wanna know.

I had an enjoyable day. My family celebrated Father’s Day at my brother’s house. He has a beautiful pool, and we rounded up some takeout BBQ and just had an enjoyable and rather peaceful day. The wutz loves his cousins, so he spent hours upon hours playing with them. They did the rounds: the pool, the hot tub, the trampoline, the swingset, and back again. It was a joy to watch.

I am so grateful for the wonderful Father’s in my life. My DH is an amazing Father. I doubt a child could ask for better. He is so thoughtful and attentive. He’d spend every waking second with the wutz if life would allow for it! My brothers are both wonderful Fathers as well. They both have beautiful families and they are a credit to them.

But my Father is definitely my first love. I have always been a Daddy’s Girl! Today I couldn’t help but recall of the nights when we lived across the street from an elementary school when I was little. My dad would work late, so it would be dark before he got home. His job was to walk the dogs after work. He would get me dressed, round up the mutts, and off we’d go across the street to the school’s playground. I loved the swingset there. I’d run to it and plop down upon the seat. Then my dad would get behind me and give me a push. He’d push me higher and higher as I laughed and enjoyed every moment. He’d push me so high in that swing that I thought my toes could tickle the stars. It was an amazingly wonderful time for me each night. I loved that time.

Someday, I hope my son can look back on the special moments with as much fondness as I have for those memories.

I stole this from a friend’s blog: One-Hip-Mom. She stole it from another blogger! But it is fun. Give it a try!

a. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
b. Using only the first page, pick an image.
c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd’s mosaic maker.

The Mosaic:








The Questions:
1. What is your first name? Tara
2. What is your favorite food? Lasagna
3. What high school did you go to? TCCHS
4. What is your favorite color? Royal blue
5. Who is your celebrity crush? Eric Dane
6. Favorite drink? Coke
7. Dream vacation? Ireland
8. Favorite dessert? Blonde Brownies
9. What you want to be when you grow up? Rich and All Powerful
10. What do you love most in life? My child and my husband.
11. One Word to describe you. Sarcastic
12. Your screen name. BossMare

Photo Credits:

1. Zarko Drincic - Tara’s white dress, 2. Skillet Lasagna, 3. On Public Education in America, 4. Royal Blue Flow, 5. eric dane, 6. I’m a Mexican Coke, 7. A TRIBUTE TO A DEAR FRIEND. (KILKENNY, IRELAND), 8. blonde brownie, 9. queen mary, 10. Dbl Trouble!, 11. career change, 12. Still the boss

1. Today my mother committed a cardinal sin. She allowed the wutz to fall asleep in the car! There are no words to effectively convey what a massive and complete no-no this is. My child, my dear sweet child, is a marathon napper. I mean, I am the envy of mothers worldwide. However, naps are instantly negated if he closes his eyes in the car. I mean, even if he has a delayed blink, forget it, naps are out! So, imagine my dismay as I circle around to the backseat of the vehicle to find him slumped over with ZZZZzzz’s floating over his drooped noggin. Urgh.

2. Cats are gross. I’ve heard people talk about dogs and dog slobber, and cleaning up after them, but nothing compares to a cat. Just like they turn tail and walk away from you, they are quite capable of doing the same to each and every mess they make. If I have to clean up one more pile of cat yak, I am going to snap. Oh, and don’t even get me started on the litter boxes. For some reason, one of my regal felines chooses NOT to use the box. Instead she goes approximately two inches from it. What in the hell is that about? And cleaning the litter boxes? *gags* To make matters worse, DH won’t can’t do it, because he’s still suffering from the hernia surgery he had in October!

3. I hate plastic containers. You know the GladWare stuff. I loathe them. I despise the fact that every time I open a kitchen cabinet, I get ambushed by 6,789 blue plastic lids. Then when I want to use them, I either cannot find the appropriate container or lid. The never ever match up. Ever.

4. Vacuum cleaner belts. Why in heaven’s name do they always break when I am 3/4 the way through vacuuming my house????



But, one little gold nugget for the day: Kudos to Kucinich. ‘Nuff said.

1. Today my mother committed a cardinal sin. She allowed the wutz to fall asleep in the car! There are no words to effectively convey what a massive and complete no-no this is. My child, my dear sweet child, is a marathon napper. I mean, I am the envy of mothers worldwide. However, naps are instantly negated if he closes his eyes in the car. I mean, even if he has a delayed blink, forget it, naps are out! So, imagine my dismay as I circle around to the backseat of the vehicle to find him slumped over with ZZZZzzz’s floating over his drooped noggin. Urgh.

2. Cats are gross. I’ve heard people talk about dogs and dog slobber, and cleaning up after them, but nothing compares to a cat. Just like they turn tail and walk away from you, they are quite capable of doing the same to each and every mess they make. If I have to clean up one more pile of cat yak, I am going to snap. Oh, and don’t even get me started on the litter boxes. For some reason, one of my regal felines chooses NOT to use the box. Instead she goes approximately two inches from it. What in the hell is that about? And cleaning the litter boxes? *gags* To make matters worse, DH won’t can’t do it, because he’s still suffering from the hernia surgery he had in October!

3. I hate plastic containers. You know the GladWare stuff. I loathe them. I despise the fact that every time I open a kitchen cabinet, I get ambushed by 6,789 blue plastic lids. Then when I want to use them, I either cannot find the appropriate container or lid. The never ever match up. Ever.

4. Vacuum cleaner belts. Why in heaven’s name do they always break when I am 3/4 the way through vacuuming my house????



But, one little gold nugget for the day: Kudos to Kucinich. ‘Nuff said.

When I was pregnant with the wutz, I purchased all of the baby books I could get my hands on. You probably know the ones: Baby Whisperer, What to Expect When You are Expecting. Ect, etc. Anyways, I devoured them. It felt good to have some sense of control in a situation that I knew I could not control. It calmed me, even as my parents others rolled their eyes and warned I couldn’t learn about childbirth from a book.

Fast forward to two years later, I have found myself in the midst of the terrible twos. I’ve heard from a friend that it is called that not because it occurs in two year olds, but because it lasts from age 2 and ends somewhere at age 4. That wasn’t very helpful.

So today I marched myself down to the local library. I hadn’t darkened those doors since college. It had been so long, I actually had to sheepishly fill out a request for a new library card. Once the card was in hand, I marched myself over to the computer and pretended to know what in the hell I was doing. After a few tries, I managed to find the parenting section in the aisles. Unfortunately, the book suggested to me, 1-2-3 Magic, was already checked out, but I did manage to find The Happiest Toddler on the Block and some other random parenting book that looked mildly helpful. I checked them out and headed on my merry way.

I feel better now. I feel like I have something productive I can do that might possibly improve my parenting skills. I know that many might snicker behind their hands, but parenting a two-year-old tornado is no easy task. I am hoping to find a way to make it as painless as possible. For both of us.

Armed with the new literature, it is my goal to establish a routine and expectations that will allow the wutz and I to better understand each other when we are in a situation where verbal communication fails us.

Speaking of communication, it is late and I am quite certain this rambling is incoherent. I’m going to leave this till tomorrow…

G’night!

While I grew up loving Garfield, the one thing that he and I totally disagree with is Mondays. He hates them. I love them.

Seriously. I love Mondays. Each and every Monday.

Normal people look forward to Saturday, or maybe even Sunday. But I love my Mondays.

You see, I only work four days a week: Tuesday through Friday. In the BC (Before Child) era of my life, Monday was my day home all alone. A day of peace and quiet. It was a day of relaxation. It was a day of pure bliss.

Now, after child, my Monday has a slightly different focus. It is the day where the wutz and I are home alone, together. It is our time to share and play and just have fun. I cherish the bonding moments that these not-as-peaceful Mondays provide.

Today was all about rolling on the floor, chasing after a crumb snatcher, and pushing tractors all over the house. Years ago, it would have been the last thing I’d have imagined doing on a Monday.

But you know what? It, too, was bliss.

…it’s what’s for dinner.

Actually, I don’t know what’s for dinner. I procrastinated, yet again, and never pulled any meat out of the freezer. Naturally, that narrows choices down to delectable fare such as hot dogs, velveeta mac-n-cheese, or PB&J. Decisions, decisions!

Procrastinating is what I do. Just like in my first blog post, if anyone took a moment to read that boring drivel, you know that I promised a Project 365 photo blog. Yet, have I posted any pictures? Nah. I did take some, but they are still nestled snugly inside the memory card in my new camera.

I’d make some believable comment about doing a literary Project 365 instead, but I think I’d rather not set myself up for failure. Because, really, that’s what my procrastination is all about.

If I don’t start something, I can’t fail at it.

Alas, I’ve started this blogging, so let’s hope it doesn’t completely tank!

I woke up at 5am with a terribly stiff neck. By the time I finally hauled my sorry ass out of bed, it was so stiff I was completely incapable of moving my head more than 2 inches in any and all directions. I have no idea what I did to it. Two days ago I ran 5k for the first time, but yesterday I felt great. Absolutely no soreness. Perhaps it is a delayed reaction. I dunno.

But what I do know is that I prescribe wholey and completely to the belief of better living through chemistry. So, one vicodin and one flexeril later, I am still hurting, but I care a whole lot less.

I hate drunk people and I hate sober people and I hate all the people today. And I hate short people and I hate tall people and I hate all the people today.

‘Cuz I’m havin a bad day.havin a bad day. Get out of my way. cuz im havin a bad day.

Blue Flannel hit the nail on the head when they wrote that song. It totally described my mood right as I stood in my kitchen and begged God to give me one small break today. Then I sat down to eat rerun pizza and the piping hot cheese promptly slid off the slice and dropped gracelessly onto my bare lap.

It has been a rotten day.

What’s worse, Thursday pretty much tanked, too. I won’t even go into that, though.

I did learn a great lesson today. Never wear a string bikini to a public pool while accompanying a rambunctious toddler. Seriously. Just. Don’t. Do. It.

The wutz was a wild man today. A total and complete hellion. He’s always a bit hyper but today was a whole new level for my little dude. I thought taking him to the public pool this evening would be a wonderful experience. For sure, he’d be so grateful for my kindness and generosity at letting him enjoy the amazing kiddie pools and play with all those children, that certainly he’d be a grateful little angel. Wrong. Oh so wrong.

We arrived and mosied into the locker room to change clothes. He was wiggling with excitement as I tugged up his Winnie the Pooh swim trunks. That was my first mistake. I never should have dressed him before I dressed myself. He was full throttle to the pool, and there I was as naked as the day I was born, trying to catch him and simultaneously keep my dignity intact. Yeah. Right.

Once he was wrangled, I had to forcibly pin him to the bench with my knee, while I teetered on the other foot and attempted to tug on my string bikini. Here you’ll find mistake number two, which I’ve already touched on.

Finally dressed we barreled toward the pool. He was wide-eyed and amazed. Until I tried to guide him into the shallow pool. Apparently I wasn’t notified that it wasn’t water in the pool. It was acid. Or at least that’s how he acted. Full out, shame-your-parent, tugging and clinging to anything and everything you can grab meltdown right there. So, being the loving mother that I am, I cradled him in my arms and proceeded on a straight path into the water until we were both submerged to our shoulders. I can tell you, he appreciated that. Eventually he realized that he could touch the bottom. That gave the oh-so-amused pool patrons about ten minutes sans temper tantrums. But only ten minutes. Because then he saw the slide. Oooooh. A slide! A very very big slide. It really was a pity that he had to be four feet ride that ride. Now that, he most certainly did NOT appreciate. Nosirree. Not one bit.

It was an effort to distract him, but a shiny pink ball that a little girl had was enough to do the trick. “Ball Momma! Momma ball!” Cue next meltdown.

That wrapped it up for me. We were done. I was done. We proceeded, quickly, to the locker room, to repeat the previous changing room experience, only in reverse this time.

I cannot tell you how glad I was to get out of there. And every single person there agreed wholeheartedly.

So yeah… I’m havin’ a bad day.

I hope no one expects too much perfection, because you aren’t gonna get it! I have no idea what I am going to share with the masses, though I doubt it will matter much since it’ll likely be just little ole me rereading my ranting and raving. A sane person wouldn’t even attempt to travel down the rabbit holes of my mind. I can only imagine what trying to read it could be like. For that, I am very very sorry.

However, my first plan of action is going to be Project 365. Yes, me. The forgetful and ever-horrid photographer is going to attempt to break out the brand new XTi and snap at least one photo per day. Then I shall post the horrors here.

Anyone that has even been exposed to the news for five seconds today has likely heard that the Supreme Court ruled that the D.C. ban on handguns is unconstitutional. Finally, they got something right. Kudos to them.

I firmly believe in the right to own and bear arms. I think every person should be able to protect herself. I believe each person should have the right to choose to have a firearm in his or her home. We have so little protection afforded to ourselves these days, I believe in taking every right we can manage to squeeze out of the lawmakers that have run amok.

The bad news for the day is the dude at OPEC speculated that gas will be at $7 a gallon by 2010. At the rate we’ve been traveling, I can see how that is definitely possible. But seriously, do you have to say it outloud, asshole?