LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER, BOSTON. OR, THE WALLS OF THE HISTORIC CHURCH DID NOT FALL DOWN–THERE IS A GOD AND HE LOVES US ALL!

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Posted on 02-05-2014 | Posted in Uncategorized

Comments: 3

To try to capture the essence of the Listen To Your Mother show is difficult.

What started as one mom’s effort to “give motherhood a microphone” in one small, midwest city a few years ago, has mushroomed to 32 cities across the US. It won’t end there.

Every mom has a story to tell. Whether they want to tell it or not? Whether they have the courage to tell it or not? Well, I guess no one really knows unless they show up to audition.

I’m so grateful I showed up to audition for the Boston show, held April 24th, at historic The Old South Church in Boston’s Copley Square.

Cool, huh? Photo credit: LTYM and Jess Severson.

Cool, huh? Photo credit: LTYM and Jess Severson.

I did have a story to share. I feel grateful to have gotten the chance to share a story from my tenure as a mom at Listen To Your Mother, live and in person. I write. I’m a writer. Countless dozens of people read what I write. But my friends, people who know me off the screen, will probably tell you I’m also a story teller. I like to talk. I like to joke around. Most often at my own expense. But my live audience is usually limited to the few poor souls I corner over a beer or six at a party or in the preschool pick up line. (I didn’t say I was any good at it!)

See, growing up the youngest of four by a lot, I had to fight to be heard sometimes— and pity the fool who missed the chance for the witty comeback at dinner. And so I just can’t help but go for the laugh. It was survival of the fittest–it’s instinctive.

I’ve come to realize though, despite who I am or what I will ever “be”, what I trained for my whole life without even knowing it, is my gig as a mom. And like many moms, I’ve doubted the job I’m doing. I’m not perfect. My kids aren’t perfect. I readily admit it. But to me, one of the biggest requirements of this job, lest you wind up in fetal position in the corner, is a sense of humor. So, would it be refreshing to hear that in the midst of everyone being awesome all the time and everyone’s kids being awesome all the time, that maybe a mom and a kid who sometimes say the wrong thing and do the wrong thing will be just fine….because in the end, they are loyal and loving, despite all their flaws? And maybe, just maybe, people would forgive them their transgressions because they make them laugh? I’m hoping so. Could it be that simple? I’m hoping so. It’s all I got, people! (*Here is the jist of what I read at Listen To Your Mother from my blog.)

I cannot articulate how gorgeous The Old South Church is.

I cannot articulate how gorgeous The Old South Church is.
PHOTO CREDIT: www.kimworld.com

So I’m not going to lie. When I stood up at the podium in the gorgeous, historic Old South Church in Boston in front of an audience that was decidedly bigger and more anonymous than the preschool pick up line or any party I’ve been to lately, it was a pretty damn good feeling to hear people laughing at my piece. Because with the exception of my hubs, my mom, and a few good friends in the audience, I knew they couldn’t have ALL been laughing just to be polite. (Right??? Shut up people who are related to me, shut up.) My voice felt strong and I wasn’t nervous….I had 14 new friends aka castmates sitting behind me and I could feel them willing me to nail my piece, as I did when it was their turn.

This is one of two photos hubs took. We are not picture people. Did we think to bring our real camera? No. I thought he was asleep at one point during the show and sure enough, he was furiously deleting stuff to make room for the awesome two photos! So here is photographic proof I was there in the green dress! Btw, does anyone else think it looks like I have slippers on my feet?  And...it's sidewards. Beautiful.

This is one of two photos hubs took. We are not picture people. Did we think to bring our real camera? No. I thought he was asleep at one point during the show and sure enough, he was furiously deleting stuff to make room for the awesome two photos! So here is photographic proof I was there in the green dress! Btw, does anyone else think it looks like I have slippers on my feet?
And…it’s sidewards. Beautiful.

Blogging and writing is at times, a lonely proposition. My audience is largely silent and unknown. Sometimes I feel like I’m talking to a good friend. And sometimes I just feel like I’m talking to myself.  At times I’ve gotten feedback I haven’t loved–someone called me irreverent! (Which, not to split hairs, could be construed as a compliment. Pfft.) Someone told me to chill the hell out when I admitted I had corn cob rage. All I said was I wanted to beat people over the head with corn when they sit and peel back every ear of frickin’ corn–live on the edge a little! I’m not an axe murderer–jeez! Anyway, I’m good with the crickets or criticism or whatever comes or doesn’t come from my blog—if I weren’t, I wouldn’t keep coming back. It’s cathartic for me to write. To tell stories. And it’s cheaper than therapy. But to get to tell a story live—was both thrilling and terrifying at the same time. Would I freeze up like Cindy Brady on the quiz show and have nightmares…”Baton Rouge…Baton Rouge!”

"Baton Rouge, Baton Rouge!" Kidding. I swear I was having the time of my life even though I look strangely disgusted here? PHOTO CREDIT: Lollie Weeks, www.fortuitoushouswife.com

“Baton Rouge, Baton Rouge!” Kidding. I swear I was having the time of my life even though I look strangely disgusted here?
PHOTO CREDIT: Lollie Weeks, www.fortuitoushousewife.com

 

I expected to get a few laughs at the Old South Church that day. And I did.

I expected to suffocate in my Spanx. And I did. (And then wonder why I bothered because my face looks like a watermelon in every picture! Why don’t they make Spanx for chins? Is that so hard, Spanx people? Get on it for chrissakes!)

I expected to maybe sell a few books. Make some new connections. I think I did.

What I didn’t expect, was to gain 14 new friends. Oh, the production team told me at the audition, should I be chosen, I’d be bonded with my castmates. I smiled and nodded. But I didn’t know, not really. Oh, I love meeting people and I love new friends. I don’t think anyone can ever have enough friends. The big joke in my family growing up was, “Oh, give Janet a lolly pop and she’ll be your best friend.” I don’t know if it’s that simple but if you are nice to me, I will reciprocate in kind–lollypop or not! When my dad passed away a few years ago and my college roommates all flew in to be there for me, one of them joked, “We were going to see if we’d be more needed watching your kids. But we know you have friends in your town who would do that. Everyone thinks they’re your best friend.” It was and still is one of the biggest compliments of my life–and I share it because I don’t take being a friend lightly. And, while I’m grateful to have had the chance to tell my story, I’m more grateful to have had the chance to hear the stories from 14 remarkable people who now, whether they like it or not, are henceforth, mah new best friends! All aboard the crazy train!!!!!!!

Seriousl Exhibit A: watermelon head. WHY! This shot was taken on my way out of the after party with my lovely castmate, Diane Thies. Flowers and a bottle of beer, coat flung over my arm, I put the k in klassy. PHOTO CREDIT: Diane Thies. www.dollopsofdiane.com

Seriously. Exhibit A: watermelon head! WHY! This shot was taken on my way out of the after party with my lovely castmate, Diane Thies, who looks like Amy Adams. Watermelon and Amy Adams. Papperazzi, please don’t stalk us. Flowers and a bottle of beer, coat flung over my arm, I put the k in klassy.
PHOTO CREDIT: Diane Thies. www.dollopsofdiane.com

Oh look! Only one chin from far away! PHOTO CREDIT: Lollie Weeks, www.fortuitoushousewife.com

Oh look! Only one chin from far away!
PHOTO CREDIT: Lollie Weeks, www.fortuitoushousewife.com

These people, mostly moms save one brave 23 year old man whose LOVELY mom did a fine job raising him (There is hope! Wait, I forgot to ask him if he leaves his dirty socks on the floor still….). The rest of the group were moms…moms who beat back addiction and had the courage and the grace to share it for the greater good; moms strong enough to kick cancer’s ASS more than once, in the midst of parenting nine children (as in, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9….NINE…suck it Brady’s…they win!) while getting a doctorate (I can’t even manage to shower every day! Raise your hand if you’re SURE!); the moms who have suffered the loss of their own moms to death, and mental illness; who while separated by their own moms by geography, feel the bonds of love and tradition in the simplest of nightly routines; moms who have lived through the sex talk, a miscarriage, a daughter’s first thong (oh marone, I think hubs was grateful we have three sons when he heard that one!). Moms who are tireless advocates not just for their own kids, but all kids with special needs, and moms who are champions for all of us moms, regardless of how we do our “job”….that we will all be treated with the respect we deserve. Moms who remind us that to love a child is to know and receive unconditional love. And in the end, isn’t that what it’s all about? No matter what happens in the day to day, no matter how you parent or where you parent, there is no greater love than a mother for her child–it is unwavering and it is unconditional. And it is returned, 100 fold, like a gift you never thought you’d deserve to receive.

Thank you Jess Severson, Cheryl Pollock Stober, and Phyllis Myung, for choosing me to be in this special group.

As much as I loved this experience, as much as it changed me and made me realize I could do something I wasn’t sure I could do, I’m most grateful for the friendship of 14 remarkable people. One of my favorite sayings, that I’ve repeated mostly to my oldest son, 9, as he has navigated elementary school friendships, a saying he will surely tire of soon, is “Show me your friends and I’ll show you who you are.”

Amen.

Mah peeps and me!  PHOTO CREDIT: Lollie Weeks, www.fortuitioushousewife.com

Mah peeps and me!
PHOTO CREDIT: Lollie Weeks, www.fortuitioushousewife.com

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Do you have a story to tell? Would you like to see a Listen to Your Mother show? What are you waiting for! For more information, please visit the website Listen To Your Mother or feel free to reach out to moi.

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Thank you to our generous sponsors, including Chevy, Improv Boston, Fivefork Farms, GreenHow, DGVE law, and To Cook Is To Love.

PAINTED KITCHEN CABINETS—WHY NOT?!

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Posted on 23-04-2014 | Posted in MUFFINTOP DIY, Uncategorized

Comments: 16

I know the title of this blog post probably gives some people the sweats. Because who would paint perfectly good kitchen cabinets?

ME! (And by me, I mean, a professional painter.)

You know I loves me some paint. I will paint almost anything. I will try, and admittedly sometimes fail, to DIY anything. And honestly, we contemplated painting them ourselves, but I knew deep down this would be the focal point of the room–and not just any room but THE most utilized room in the house— and if I messed it up it, well, I’d be rhymes with moooooed because I ain’t got the dinero for new cabs right now. (My side biz pole dancing has been slow. What can I say?) Also, you KNOW Larry, Curly, and Moe aka my three sons would be bathing in primer when I turned my back for an undoubtedly well deserved beer break.

THIS WAS A JOB FOR A PRO, DUDE! *AVATAR BY DAVID VISNICK

THIS WAS A JOB FOR A PRO, DUDE! *AVATAR BY DAVID VISNICK

After much research (I asked the paint guy!) I bought Sherwin Williams Duration interior latex paint for it’s durability and washability and chose Downy for the color. I wanted white but not clinical white but… not cream with any yellow undertones. The color Downy fit the bill. We could not be happier with the finished product–it’s been about a month and so far so good with wiping up splatter from all my gourmet burning and microwaving.

I have no affiliation with Sherwin-Williams (feel free to call me SW!) but I’ve been really happy with their paints and they run frequent sales for 30-40% off. You cannot beat the quality for the price. Two gallons of paint cost me around $80 bucks and the oil based primer was around $20–the painter bought the primer at Home Depot. (The oil based primer is totally migraine stinky, and you need to wait 24 hours to paint after applying it, but it is supposedly more durable so worth it IMO.) I picked up new hardware at Lowe’s off da rack for around $3 a pop in oil rubbed bronze–another good deal which helped keep costs in check while giving us a whole new look.

Everyone who sets foot in the kitchen, without fail, says it looks like a completely new kitchen, and comments about how much brighter and lighter it is. And that’s exactly what we were going for–score! You’ll see the cabinets were totally fine—they were a nice color, not too dark. But three years ago, we added granite, tile backsplash, and hardwood floors, and once we added the hardwoods, it felt like I was in a sea of orangey wood—there was no contrast between the floors and the cabs. And the truth is, for better or worse, I FOR REAL, spend the majority of my life in this room right now–scary, but true. And so I am telling you, this was worth every penny to me. I could not love this space any more. Everything stands out more now, from the floors to the backsplash to the fresh looking cabinets–and no one is competing for our kitchenly affections! I feel like it is such a cheery, bright space and it truly puts a spring in my step. (I know you’re ragging on me right now. Bring it!)

So….what do YOU think? Here is the before:

OH AND P.S. YOU CAN CLICK ON ANY OF THESE PICS TO SUPERSIZE THEM.

SORRY FOR THE IPHONE PICS. I REALLY THINK LARRY, MOE, AND CURLY ATE THE DOWNLOAD CORD TO MY REAL CAMERA.

SORRY FOR THE IPHONE PICS. I REALLY THINK LARRY, MOE, AND CURLY ATE THE DOWNLOAD CORD TO MY REAL CAMERA.

 

 

YOU ARE PROBABLY WONDERING HOW WE MANAGE TO EAT SIDEWARDS IN THIS FUN HOUSE???

YOU ARE PROBABLY WONDERING HOW WE MANAGE TO EAT SIDEWARDS IN THIS FUN HOUSE???

 

OH MAH WORD, ALL I CAN FOCUS ON IS THAT CLUTTERY CORNER...GOOD THING IT'S FREAKING SIDWARDS TO THROW YOU OFF!!!

OH MAH WORD, ALL I CAN FOCUS ON IS THAT CLUTTERY CORNER…GOOD THING IT’S FREAKING SIDWARDS TO THROW YOU OFF!!!

You get the idea…nothing against orange tones, but we felt like we were drowning in orange. Since we’ve lived here eight years now, and the house is ten years old, we thought it was acceptable to paint the cabs guilt free because they are definitely not “new”. They are builder grade cabinets and we are hoping they last until we get sick of the white!

And now…..the after:

AND WE DON'T HAVE TO EAT SIDEWARDS ANYMORE!

AND WE DON’T HAVE TO EAT SIDEWARDS ANYMORE!

 

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MY “NEW” BRIGHT KITCHEN MAKES ME HAPPY!! CUE UP MY BOYFRIEND, PHARELL!

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AND WE’RE SIDEWARDS AGAIN…LIFE IS SO HARD HERE!!!

 

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HERE’S A FULL SHOT…..

I HAD THE PAINTER ADD SOME BEADBOARD TO THE BREAKFAST BAR AND THE BOTTOM CABINET SIDES....ANOTHER HUGE TRANSFORMATION FOR SMALL $$!

I HAD THE PAINTER ADD SOME BEADBOARD TO THE BREAKFAST BAR AND THE BOTTOM CABINET SIDES….ANOTHER HUGE TRANSFORMATION FOR SMALL $$!

 

I BOUGHT THIS DECORATIVE WOOD PIECE AT HOME DEPOT FOR AROUND $8 AND HAD THE PAINTER GLUE IT UNDER THE WINE RACK AND PAINT IT. I LOVE THE ADDED DETAIL IT MAKES FOR NEXT TO NOTHING!

I BOUGHT THIS DECORATIVE WOOD PIECE AT HOME DEPOT FOR AROUND $8 AND HAD THE PAINTER GLUE IT UNDER THE WINE RACK AND PAINT IT. I LOVE THE ADDED DETAIL IT MAKES FOR NEXT TO NOTHING!

 

HERE'S A NICE CLOSE UP OF THE COLOR AND THE HARDWARE...AND OF MY CLEAN SINK...WHICH LASTED ALL OF 5 MINUTES!

HERE’S A NICE CLOSE UP OF THE COLOR AND THE HARDWARE…AND OF MY CLEAN SINK…WHICH LASTED ALL OF 5 MINUTES!

So….what do you think? Are you ready to rumble with some paint or do you think we are dummies??? I will anxiously await your thoughts while I drink my beer in a can sidewards……in my “new” bright kitchen!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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BOSTON STRONG: I LOVE THAT DIRTY WATER

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Posted on 15-04-2014 | Posted in Random Rage

Comments: 2

This is the post I wrote last year a day after the horrific bombing at the Boston Marathon. In this past year, I have been in awe of the strength and courage the victims have shown. The outpouring of love and support from Boston and beyond has been tremendous, yet not surprising. Boston was shown unspeakable hate a year ago, and responded with something far more powerful: love. The message is clear. You don’t mess with Boston. I’m keeping the victims of that day in my heart, especially little Martin Richard, whose big, toothy grin, reminds me so much of my oldest son. God bless this town, and all who keep it safe.

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There is likely nothing I can say about the horror show at the Boston Marathon yesterday that hasn’t been said already.

I was born in Boston. I grew up not twenty miles outside Boston. Raised by two Bostonians, one of whom was a Boston police detective, who was the son of a Boston Police Captain. I lived in the city as an adult. And so it has been for my family, and for me, our home for generations, even though I have since moved some fifty miles north.

Like so many, I have dear friends who ran the race yesterday. Who worked tirelessly to train for what was supposed to be a joyous event. And who are thankfully alive and well, as are their families.

Like so many, I have children of my own.

And so somehow, this all feels very personal. As it should. We should all take it personally, that someone would assault and terrorize our friends, families, fellow citizens, beloved guests from America and abroad, in our city, state, and country.

I don’t know what will happen in a minute, an hour, a day, a week, a month, a year, two years, five years, fifty years. And yes, that scares the hell out of me. But I do know this. You do not mess with a city like Boston. Boston is Paul Revere and a midnight ride. It’s six generations Brahmin. Four generation Irish. One generation Cape Verdean. And everything in between and back again. It’s Regina and Santarps– the best pizza in the world. (Sorry, New York.) It is cold tea in Chinatown at 2 AM. It’s college transplants who come, fall in love, and never leave. It’s doctors, cops, bartenders. It’s bad accents we love to hate and hate to love. And Dunkin’ Donuts. On ever corner. (Really.) It’s Filene’s Basement (RIP) and the Pru. Triple deckers and brownstones. Universities and hospitals. Boston is wicked smaht. Just asked Donnie Wahlberg.

Boston doesn’t bow to queens. Or crazies. And definitely not to terrorists.

Boston is grit and determination. Boston is courage. Boston is PRIDE.

Boston is the Marathon. It’s Uta Pippig. Bobby Orr. Larry Bird. Doug Flutie. “Manny Ortiz”. Ted Williams. Boston is The Garden. Fenway. The Red Sox.

It’s the ghosts of yesterday and the promise of today.

Boston was cursed once. It won’t be cursed twice.

That is one thing I do know.

I love that dirty water, don’t you?

 

PHOTO CREDIT: www.kimworld.com

 

LET’S CONNECT ON LINKEDIN… RANDOM MAN WHOSE CONDO I RENTED IN HILTON HEAD!

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Posted on 27-03-2014 | Posted in Awesomeness, OH &^%$!!, Uncategorized

Comments: 17

I knew I should have just stuck to shiny! pretty! sparkly! Pinterest. But I tried to play with the big kids and now, 600 people who have ever been linked even tangentially to me or my email account, have been invited by moi to “connect” on LinkedIn. One errant click of a button is all it took and now I am connected to law students, nurse managers, and police officers from here to Chicago and back! Every time I open my email I cringe, wondering which virtual stranger is my new LinkedIn bestie.

Within minutes, I received a polite email from the gentleman whose condo we are renting this summer in Hilton Head….”I’m sorry Janet, but I can’t connect with you on LinkedIn. I retired in 2010 and I’m not sure why LinkedIn hasn’t deleted my account.”

OHMAHGAWD. I hope the key code to get into the joint works once we haul ass all the way to South Carolina from New Hampshire! Don’t worry, sir, I won’t be hosting any soirees for strangers in your retirement nest egg with Dawn from Chicago and Bill from Ohio. You know how LinkedIn people bring THE PARTY. I wants my security deposit back!

Just got this email from the room mother from my middle’s class, “Hey Janet! I don’t do linked in but my hubby does. I’ll make sure he sees this. Thanks!”

No–cries inside–thank you for being so nice and not realizing what a cuckoo I am!!! I’m dying. DYING. And now I’m wondering if all the parents in oldest’s class are getting requests because I am the room mom! You send in that donation for the Family Fun Night or you WILL get more LinkedIn requests, people, okay? (I think this is an abuse of power! I am totally getting kicked out of the PTA!)

Frankly, I AM a little pissed HGTV rejected my request to connect. Ditto for you, Lumber Liquidators. Where’s the loyalty?

THE WORST PART IS I DID THIS STONE COLD SOBER. I SWEAR! I SWEAR ON MY LINKEDIN ACCOUNT!

THE WORST PART IS I DID THIS STONE COLD SOBER. I SWEAR! I SWEAR ON MY LINKEDIN ACCOUNT!

No really, the worst part? Is the people I sort of know like the room mommy. Little league coaches? A friend’s husband from town who I’ve met like 1.5 times? OHGODOHNO did my kids’ principal get one???? The parish priest?  The town hooker? (Ok, there is no town hooker, but if there was—oh yeah, I would have totally requested her!) Now I’m left to wonder—who is going to see me in frozen foods and think, “Why did you contact my husband/wife/great Aunt/stepcousin on LinkedIn, ya freakshow!?!”

My friend texted me about something right after LinkedInGate2014 so I had to fill her in and she texts back, “So funny—Adam just said to me, why does Janet want to be friends on LinkedIn—he wants to know did this go out to all your email friends or just him!” I replied, “Just him. #winkwink But wait, does he want to go shoe shopping tomorrow?”

She replies, “Ha ha ha! I love you!” and I’m like, “Yeah, so do 600 people on LinkedIn!”

When hubs got home from work, I felt compelled to confess my blunder–fully expecting him to be all, “What’s LinkedIn?” and shrug his shoulders. Instead he says a little too loudly for MY liking, “Oh, I know! I got like 5 requests from you–so annoying! You know, people make mistakes like that and get FIRED from their jobs!”

WHAT!

OH shit, husband, I am going to lose my huge ass job here at Casa de Muffin Top. Who will be in charge of arse wiping now? Please don’t report me to HR.

I might send him five more requests today. You will connect with me, husband! YOU WILL!!!

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MY LOSING ERMA BOMBECK ESSAY! OR, HOW A BEEFCAKE MIGHT KILL MY ARSE.

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Posted on 16-03-2014 | Posted in Uncategorized

Comments: 9

I’m officially 0 for 3 in the Erma Bombeck Humor Writers Essay contest. The contest takes place every other year. And every other year, I lose! No fame, no fortune, no moula!!! Just $45 smackers down the tubes that I could have used to save the children or buy two 30 packs and a bag of popcorn. Really. When will I learn???????? Now that we’re at a balmy 30 in mid-March, I really need to start DIY’ing again sniffing paint. I do think it’s a better use of my time. Until then? Enjoy (??) my loser entry!

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LET'S GET PHYSICAL. I'LL FALL OFF THE TREADMILL WHILE YOU CALL FOR A HOT PARAMEDIC. AND.....GO!

LET’S GET PHYSICAL. I’LL FALL OFF THE TREADMILL WHILE YOU CALL FOR A HOT PARAMEDIC. AND…..GO!

I gained 8500 pounds over Christmas, so I had to do something. Even my “yoga” pants were cutting off my circulation, and I figured it would humiliate my kids if I showed up to carpool in pajama jeans. Again.

I’d done the gym thing before. I was in no mood to put myself on display in front of buff twenty somethings or worse—dads I knew from town—huffing and puffing in my extra grande pants. No way. And have you ever tried to extricate yourself from a gym membership? It would be easier to face down Don Corleone. Forget about it. There’s no way out. No, this time I was doing it at home with the blinds shut—no little league coach or chipmunk was gonna see me sweat.  Two clicks is all it took—the reviews on Amazon from chubby strangers seemed promising and I could receive my workout DVD’s in only two days!

I felt smug with my game plan once I got past the instructor with the bulging biceps, shellacked hair, and blinding teeth—he reminded me of a stalker on a bad Lifetime movie, shouting, “Hurt me..ow, ow!” and “Oh yeah, that’s nice!”

You know what’s nice, stalker? Breathing. And restraining orders.

I gotta be honest, though. My goal at first was simply not to die. Not to leave my kids motherless. But, if the worst did occur, I hoped and prayed my husband would marry again. To a loving woman less attractive and fatter than I, with no sense of humor. As I considered which tight pants to slap on for my first workout, my mind wandered—I could almost hear my peers whispering at a PTA coffee:

“Oh that second wife is nice, but she’s no hilarious/cute/pleasantly plump gal like the first wife. It’s a shame that Lifetime beefcake killed her!”

“Shut up! He really was a stalker?”

“No! She dropped dead doing Pilates!”

Later, this seemed more plausible as I stood with my hands pressed to the floor, face down, arms shaking, screaming inside, promising that I would never touch a glass of wine again as I’m certain I felt my brain pressed against my skull.

Suddenly, I found myself surrounded—by an aggressive, pint sized wolf pack. Attacked from within!

“Mom! You’re doing it wrong!”

“Leg up, mom! Your arm is supposed to be over there!”

Just then, I felt a tug on my airborne ankle—and boom—I’m sacked by a five year old Vince Wilfork wannabe. But! My chub saved me from certain injury!

Oh, you had your chance, kids. I’m ordering more pajama jeans. In every, single color.

A VALENTINE’S DAY TRADITION—AN ODE TO THE HUBS!

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Posted on 14-02-2014 | Posted in Uncategorized

Comments: 4

Happy Valentine’s Day, Muffintoppers! It’s getting to be tradition here—time for my annual ode to the hubs. Cheers!
NO, NO, NO, NO, NOOOOOO. Just, NO!!!!!!

 

Roses are red.
Violets are not.
Bringing me flowers on V Day
Just ain’t that hot.
Lemme sleep in,
Take the kids at witching hour.
Bring me some gin.
But keep yo damn flower!
A sweater, a scarf, even a purse I can do.
Of course, you know me likie shoes, too.
And don’t spend 8 grand on some huge sappy card,
Just say I love you–don’t make it that hard.
Save your cashola to feed the muffin top.
Some seafood or steak?
But please , no lamb chops. (BAA!)
If you show with even one stinking rose,
I swear to God I’m gonna break your nose.
Oy, do you know the mark up on V Day?
And seriously, could it be any more cliche?
If you really want me to swoon?
                     
Bring me a 12 pack some random day in June!
The only “Buds” I wanna see from my man?
Come in a lovely glass bottle or can.
Oh, don’t be afraid–I’m not starting a fight.
You always *mostly* get it just right.
And if you can’t find that perfect gift for me?
I know of one that is perfectly free!
You can *for once* just replace the TP!                                                 
It’s already bought and wrapped in clear plastic!
It’s so super soft and perfectly round.
Under the sink is where it is found.
And when you need it, it sure is fantastic.
What? I’m not even being sarcastic!
I love you, dear.
I love you so much.
You’ve nothing to fear.
Your gifts, always clutch.
If my demands seem mean or even nasty,
You knew when we married
I’d be bringing some sassy!
I must confesss now, I don’t care what you do          
As long as you read this and still love me, too!
 
 
Well, ladies? What say you?
 

 

10 THINGS FOR MOM TO DO ON A SNOW DAY

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Posted on 13-02-2014 | Posted in Uncategorized

Comments: 6

1. Google hypothyroidism and hope you have it. I feel tired! I’ve gained weight! My face IS puffy! 

2. Shop online for swimsuits that you know will fit better once you get your thyroid in check and the three thousand feet of snow melts!

3. Open the hall closet and vow today will be the day you finally organize it. Walk away.

4. Go back to closet and hide with coffee and Oreos while a melee ensues in family room during Wii u.

5. Twist ankle in closet on weights you would be using if you didn’t have an obvious thyroid condition.

6. Limp to unload dishwasher and realize you forgot to run it last night. See! My hypothyroidism is making me forgetful! Or was it the vino? Wait.

7. Text your friends to see if they want to come over for a playdate happy hour.

8. Answer the door, invite your friends in, don’t hang their coats in the closet because it’s a mess covered in Oreo crumbs and coffee splatter, and explain to them over a random assortment of party snacks you had in the house that you have a thyroid problem.

9. Google hypothyroidism and show them your awesome WebMD’ing.

10. Drink more wine and call endocrinologist to see if they offer group discounts. Indignantly shout, “NO! This isn’t a joke!” when they challenge you, and tell them,  ”Then we’re happy to book with the place I saw on Groupon that comes with a free trip to Mexico!”

JUAREZ HERE WE COME!

JUAREZ HERE WE COME!