Last week my seven year old asked if we could get an indoor pool. I tried to give him a quick throwdown in economics that roughly amounted to we’re not rich, famous, rich and famous, richly famous or famously rich. This is the same dude who lost a tooth last month and when I asked him what I thought the tooth fairy might leave him, he responded, “I hope a thousand dollars!” Kid, for a grand, I’ll pull my own tooth and dance a jig by the Cheez Doodles at Walmart. Until then, it’s $5 per tooth and a blow up pool for you, mister!

After Hooked on Econ, I had to teach three year old about hierarchy when he tried to call me out in my own family room. “Why YOU get to drink in here, MA-MAAAA?” I get to drink in here because I pay the mortgage. And I’m an adult and I won’t spill much of it. Maybe I was being more dictator. Tomato, toma-toe. Sue me for wanting to wash down an adult bev during Fresh Beat Band. It gets me in a party mood.

Today? My five year old asked me with a straight face, “Mom, when can we go to Washington D.C. to meet the President?”

Well now you’re talking! Let’s talk democracy! I pretty much told him the prez and all the pols work for us, this is true, but! But! You’d have a better chance of landing a playdate with Suri and Curious George than meeting him.

He looked at me blankly.

“We can’t just roll on up to 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. and yell for Barack Obama to come out and play!”

He didn’t seem satisfied.

Credit: Someecards

I love that kids are not cynical. That they really think they can have indoor pools and meet and greets with the President. That they have little concept of money or wealth or power. Or lack of it. That a five year old thinks we can just waltz on up to 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. and ring for Barack has to be the very definition of ignorance being bliss.

“Baraaack?? Michelle??? We’re here! Got any juice boxes??? 95 was a bitch and I’mmmmm thirsty! Some stupid motorcade was in our way. Pfft!”

I’m fairly certain the Secret Service might flatten the muffo de toppo if I hopped the fence to try to make some casual introductions. (What other fun family outings can we plan that will get us on the FBI watch list? I do like to encourage some hands on summer learnin’ so we could start with an introduction to the judicial system—screw those boring childrens’ museums!)

I do like that five year old is aiming high though, I really do. I mean, we live in New Hampshire, where future presidents mingle amongst the masses of asses during primary season, and hey, we did meet a future Senator at the town dump one day! (She looked fabulous and even the eau de dump did not overshadow her brightness. I had on no makeup and a baseball hat. I suppose I should be grateful “Lisa the crappy photographer” was not at the ready this time!)

The questions never cease around here and I try to be prepared but sometimes? I’m caught sans make up with a beat up baseball hat and nothing intelligent to offer. (Please refer to Seth Meyers post.)

So having said that, don’t you want to try your luck? Next Tuesday night, the 31st, I’m having a video book chat to talk Mommy Mixology and other fun biz on Shindig from 8 PM to 9 PM eastern standard time. You can ask me anything you want and I may or may not answer intelligently–won’t it be fun to find out! I should qualify, I will answer almost anything. I will never reveal my pant size. Seven year old knows it because he busted in on me in the bathroom one day (imagine that!) and then shouted it out because the Gap (thanks for nothing!) had to print the size on the waistband of my shorts in like 32 point font. Why God why? In case I went shorts shopping and forgot my Sherlock Holmes magnifying glass??? Bad, Gap, bad. That’s what I get for straying from my bestie Land’s End with their tiny size tags. Anyway, don’t even dream of shaking it out of seven year old. He pinky promised not to tell anyone. He might have visions of grandeur and no concept of money, but he knows a promise is a promise and he knows who keeps him in ice cream and juice.

ON SECOND THOUGHT, MAYBE I CAN'T TRUST HIM. Credit: Someecards

Here are the deets if you want to Shindig it up with me–apparently you need to sign up to join in on the adventure:

http://mommymixology.eventbrite.com/

As an added bonus, Lisa the crappy photographer will be on hand to assist me and wrestle me to the ground if I try to wear my psychadelic Seth Meyers shirt! I am already giddy with delight at how super svelte and wonderful I will look under the glow of my laptop cam! Suhhweeet!!!

It’s summer! I’m ready to play!

Who wants to play?

Here’s your chance to laugh, make all the muffintopmommy readers laugh, and make me laugh. I laugh, you laugh, we all laugh. Laughity laugh laugh.

At my expense.

Even better!

I *try* (and sometimes fail –keep it to yourself homies!) to make you guys laugh every week, but now I’m turning the tables and asking you to bring the funny. Hubs took the following pic of me acting like a total spaz (please, suspend your disbelief) in a bounce house last week. Looking hawt again, yes I am not. And we thought the Seth Meyers pic was bad!

STOP WITH THE JEALOUSY NOW! IT'S JUST NOT A NICE QUALITY.

Um, I told you.

Anyway, I looked at the pic and decided it’s screaming for a funny caption. So I’m turning the tables on you, my crazy funny readers who leave me awesome comments that make me laugh (Which is my only form of payment for this labor of love–a moment of silence puhleease because clearly, I am never gettin’ a pony. Or name brand Spanx. Sigh.). Your jobby job is to write a funny caption for this photo. The caption can be as out there as you want—there are no rules. I’m tired of rules, aren’t you? “Don’t play ball in the house!” (Mrs. Brady needed a stiff drink and…never mind..) and “No loitering!” (I like to loiter! Life it short–we should loiter more! Loi-ter! Loi-ter!) and “No substitutions!” (WTH. But I want a substitution! Everyone deep down wants a substitution, because you always put onnnnne crappy app in the combo platter that noooone wants! You know it and I know it.)

So, let’s repeat.

No rules! No rules! No rules!

Whoever writes the funniest caption (as super subjectively judged by Muffintopmommy and whatever panel of super unscientific unserious peers happen to be on hand), submitted in the comment section of this post, by this Friday, June 29th, at midnight, eastern standard time, otherwise known as the time zone in which I live, wins a FREE!!! copy of my upcoming book, Mommy Mixology: A Cocktail For Every Calamity. The book will not be released until mid to late July (But! It is available for preorder online —and if you’re the type to shake your Christmas presents, you can peek inside the book on Amazon—woop! I won’t say if I myself am a shaker—I’ll only say hubs keeps my Xmas gifts off premises. He clearly has trust issues!). Sooooo, as soon as I have the actual book in my hot little hands I will ship it to THE BIG WINNAH!!!!!

(I regret to inform you I will not be able to ship a book internationally at this time. BOO! Please forgive me international muffintoppers—I love you in every language I can never hope to speak. Please don’t be mad! Please don’t look at me that way! I’ll make it up to you some day, I promise!)

Ok, ready everyone?

And……..go!

“Oh no, but I don’t dance.” I protested. “Not unless it’s with my kids in the kitchen for dance party with my ladle as mah microphone. Or, if I’ve had a few cocktails.” (Or revisiting my Solid Gold glory days when I’m alone in the house.)

I said it. I meant it. I walk through life tripping over my own feet.

I was sober. I was over 1000 miles away from my kids. On a break during the Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop. (Writers! Not dancers!)

But The Bearded Iris? She’s persuasive. I think the might have slipped something into my mystery lunch that day….because she got me to dance.

“Fine!” I relented. “Who’ll see it anyway?”

It’s on video. Which is now on her blog. And on you tube.

Probably no one thousands will see it.

We’ve talked about Bearded Iris before. She’s one of the funniest peeps I know, in writing and in person. And she made the video, which also stars members of her fam including her 5 year old son, Bucket Head, who steals the show at the end of the video (If you don’t laugh at his dancing you have no soul!) as part of a blogging dance challenge called…. #BloggersDance. I think it has something to do with bloggers dancing. I dunno.

My kids have made me play this video 763 times since they first saw it. I’m not kidding. They have been literally crying laughing while watching it every day since Bearded Iris first posted it on her blog last week.

So I’m sharing it. Mainly because I think we all need a laugh I need a fashion intervention please note my subtle cry for help.

Will ya please get a load of my choice of shirt—after last weeks shirt, you can see this is a legit fashion emergency, yes? Seems like the hubs is off the hook for letting me out in my psychadelic frock to meet Seth Meyers last week. The truth is out: I can’t dress myself. Look what I wore in the video? (Even my white undershirt/camisole/whatever it’s called is hanging below my shirt! Because it wasn’t disaster enough on its own!) I’m the one *cries inside* who looks like a realtor from Boca. (“Hi Bitsy, it’s Mitsy. Oh my Gawd, I have a fabbbbulous 3/2 right by the beach. It’s to DIE fowwwah! Cawl me!” )Or a cruise ship passenger from  small town East Asshat, Nowhereville, lettin’ it all hang out somewhere in the Caribbean, thinking, “Wahooie! No one knows me HERE!” after drowning in generic umbrella drinks.

Where are Stacey and Clinton and why haven’t they answered my desperate pleas? I’ve blogged about this here!!! We need a campaign: Dress me up, Muffin Top. I should not be allowed to shop alone or dress myself. The only good news is The Bearded Iris thinks I can seriously make some dough making faces for a living. I’ll see what you guys think about that. I’m thinking the face making biz isn’t too great after about the third grade, but maybe you know a guy who know’s a guy? I’m still waiting to hear from Lorne Michaels after my last blog post about Seth Meyers. I know he’ll reach out any minute now when muffin tops fly.

Also? A round of applause for the other dancers, including the star of the vid, Bearded Iris. And, my blogging sister from another Mister, Dawn from Lighten Up! Dawn and I both love domestic beer in a can (She’s the Miller to my Bud…hey, no one’s perfect. The Laverne to my Shirley. And the Faded Glory to my Merona. If you understand a word of this, you know we get along alllll right. She took the pic of me with the Bombecks and I actually had my eyes open!) You need to check out her hilarious blog. And tell her you’re sorry my fig bat head blocked her cute blonde self out of a lot of the video. Then there’s Suniverse. She is one sassy, saucy, sarcastic mama. She is ALL the best s words rolled into one and she let’s it rip on her blog, Suniverse. You won’t see her face because she’s sooo ripping it up s style that she blogs anonymously. I seriously don’t know her real name. If someone takes me in a dark room and threatens me with bodily harm threatens to take away all my beer forever I swear I.don’t.know.her.name. I just know she’s a howl and you can visit her blog here.

You know something? The Bearded Iris was right though. Dancing does make you feel good—because if you dance like me, you laugh so hard you really do cry.  And no smarty pants doctor can prescribe anything better than that!

(Because I’m remedial techno tornado, no clue how to get the you tube video to show up in a box. Just click the text link below and it will take you there and not to your Nigerian lottery winnings, I swear!)

watch?v=b9XgYnZbEL4&feature=plcp

1. Make sure you bathe that day. (I did!) Add 1 point.

2. Wear shoes that you’ve mastered walking in. (I did!) Avoid wedges that may cause you to tumble head first into said celeb. (Shockingly, I did not! Tumbling face first into traffic in New Haven, CT  really teaches a middle aged hausfrau a lesson! Stop, drop, and roll kids!) Add 2 points.

3. Scramble through your mom-drobe full of khaki shorts and solid color tee shirts, with at least one child hanging on you screeching for a juice box, and pluck the loudest, flowy-est, trippi-est, guaranteed to make those around you feel like they toked it upp-ist when they look at you–shirt you can find in your closet. (I did!) Minus 537 points.

4. When your husband arrives home from a long, arduous workday on the links, ask him if he likes your loud, flowy, trippy shirt. When he remarks, “I love it!” in between waxing poetic about his (Birdie? Pars? Whatever, Phil Mickelson.), do.not.believe.him. He’s not a chick. He’s not listening–he’s on a golf glow. He wants to get laid sometime again in this lifetime. He clearly can’t be trusted. How dumb am I? Rookie mistake. (Minus 47 points.) (P.S. to the hubs: Guess what book I’m ordering? 50 Shades of Nuthin‘!)

5. Make sure you consume a solid dinner of 1.5 potato skins and ?? glasses of chardonnay, take a two hour break, then drink two draft beers at a Mexican restaurant that probably hasn’t cleaned their taps since Christ was a child (chardonnay and draft beer–two great tastes that taste great together nooooo) so you’ll be at your most clever and bright stunningly rambly later in the night! (Eh, minus 5 points. Even celebs do that. I’m not ready for Promises to Keep just yet.)

6. Have the picture taken under the glow of a screaming neon light (photographers should totally use neon lights more) so as best to enhance your worn off makeup/bright red “I’ve had a few drinks/Irish potato skin” face. Have your friend take it with your kick ass Target camera that’s probably out of focus and has been dropped 52 times by the pint sized terrorists you live with–the same ones indirectly responsible for your hasty shirt choice. (Minus 10 points.) (Lisa Wallace, you are not responsible for the catastrophe that is moi!)

7. Close your eyes during the picture so you can show the world that you are so excited to meet the celeb you fell asleep mid sentence! (Add 5 points)

8. Make sure you cock your head to the side, with your eyes closed, at such an angle that it both enhances and highlights all four of your chins and makes it appear you’re trying to snuggle on the celeb’s shoulder. (Minus 5 billion points.)

9. When you open your mouth to speak, don’t. Just don’t. Have your friend carry duct tape just in case you can’t be trusted to mutter a generic, “So lovely to meet you! I’m a big fan of your work!” Especially….if you’re at risk of speaking in one loud, run on sentence about writing, your blog, your book, and are prone to make recommendations to the celebrity about trading in his matching towels for a kid, then both nonsensically yet enthusiastically remark, “Tell the prez I said hi!” Just stfu and keep on moving. Even if your eyes are closed and your shoes are wrong, and you might walk off a cliff. (You might be doing the world a favor!)  (I might have done some all of this. *Hangs head in shame.* Minus higher than English major can count, points.) Instead, pretend you’re on one of those moving airport sidewalk thingys…smile, wave, shake hands, stop for one second, and keep on keeping on…back away slowly, while smiling brightly with your eyes wide open!

10. If you don’t think you can be trusted to adhere to steps 1-9, and are possibly not fit for human interaction, just stay home in your favorite pink snowman pj’s. (Zero points. Come onnnn, don’t hate the playah, just hate the game. You gotta try! Celebs are just people, too. They trip over their own feet too sometimes. I just know it. Probably most do. Everyone but Seth Meyers. He’s a smooth criminal and his mama raised him right.)

SORRY SETH MEYERS! IT'S ALL CHARDONNAY/THE LIGHTING/MY INABILITY TO SPEAK IN CONCISE SENTENCES/THE HUB'S FAULT.

Soooooooooo. Yeah. I went a little cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. I tried to explain to the hubs that me meeting a famous writer who’s living the dream is like a high school hockey player meeting Tim Thomas. Or a suburban golfer meeting Tiger Woods (if Tiger Woods were worth meeting..the piggy wiggy!) But, I have to tell you, my tens of readers, all kidding aside? Seth Meyers is a mensch. Yes, he is. His mama really did raise him right. Not only was he gracious in listening to me ramble and posing for a picture (Sorry! Sorry! Sorry to the lovely, Kelly, who set the pic up for me! Sorry! I hope Seth is still speaking to you!) , more importantly, he was in my town (his hometown) to perform a show at our high school to benefit our education foundation not to be stalked by a muffin top. His mom, known affectionately around town by her students as “Madame Meyers”, retired after 28 years of teaching French in our school system. 28 years, people! With shorties in middle school (Also known as the most sucktasticly difficult age group ever–oh come, on..we all know it! Think about how YOU were then!). 28 years! I wouldn’t last 28 minutes.

As a tribute to her, he put on one hell of a hilarious show and raised over $40,000 to fund special programs for teachers. And, established a $25,000 endowment for language arts in his mom’s name. I know!

I’m the mom of three boys and my mom taught second grade for a number of years. So naturally I have a soft spot for sons who honor their mamas and for the too often thankless job teachers do. A few months ago, there was a huge vote in our town about teacher raises. I wrote a letter to the editor of the local paper imploring people to vote and in it I said, “Our teachers spend well over thirty hours per week with our kids. They educate our kids. They nurture our kids in our absence. And yes, they inspire our kids to challenge themselves and help instill confidence in them. We can have the most wonderful facilities, books, and technology available, but without our teachers those buildings are just a pile of bricks and mortar. The teachers make all the difference. I would challenge everyone to think back to a teacher who made a difference in their lives–and I’d be surprised if you only thought of one or even two.”

It’s true. Teachers really help shape who we are and what we become. I hope Seth Meyers reminded people of that the other night. And while most of us won’t grow up to be a Seth Meyers or come close to enjoying his success or influence, we should all be grateful to the teachers who’ve made a difference in our lives and do what we can do, however small, to help support them as they support our kids–our biggest investments.

(Side bar? And please with the “Wah, wah, teachers get their summers off!” Hell yeah, and they need them…to recuperate from the kids and crizazy parents who stalk them—now on email and in person. Do you want me to go into detail about the parent who cornered my mama by the frozen peas and made me late for the season finale of Miami Vice? Sorry Tubbs! Would you corner your accountant in the bakery and start showing him your receipts? I dare you. I really do.) Seriously. I chaperoned a field trip a few weeks ago and you know what happened…I got a migraine and was forced to drink beers in front of some nuns.  It’s not pretty what these teachers go through. (Don’t get me started about the lesson planning, paper grading, after “They get out at 3!” on nights and weekends, and buying all kinds of shizzy with their own money due to cheaptastic budgets.)

So yeah, I admire Seth Meyers for being a talented writing force, enough to stalk him like a crazed, tripped out muffin top, but what I love more is that he hasn’t forgotten where he came from—and that he recognizes the foundation for his success started at home, here in this place.

Soooo, in light of all that, no hard feelings that Seth did not answer my tweet from earlier in the day where I invited him to tailgate under the bleachers before the show. I told him I had a 12 pack and I wasn’t afraid to share it. Perhaps he thought I needed it more. Maybe he was hanging out with his awesome teacher mama. Or my shirt scared him off. Either way, I totally understand.

Thank you, Seth Meyers, and merci (that’s all I got!), Madame Meyers, for your generosity to this town–the town my hubs and I love, where we’ve chosen to raise and educate our kids. You both have had such an important role to play here. To teach, to remind, to make people laugh? Is truly divine, isn’t it?

One more thing? (See? I told you concise sentences…not my thing! Now you know why I talked too long to Seth!)

I HIGHLY RECOMMEND GETTING YOUR PICTURE TAKEN SOBER, WITH FRESH MAKEUP, IN A SOLID COLOR, WITH PROPER LIGHTING, TAKEN WITH A FANCY CAMERA BY A PROFESSIONAL! THANK YOU DEBBIE ELLIS PHOTOGRAPHY!

I wonder if I could photo shop Seth into that picture? Hmm….My apologies if you had to bleach your eyes from that last photo. Btw, this photo will be in MAH book, Mommy Mixology: A Cocktail for Every Calamity! Now available on Amazon.com and barnesandnoble.com for pre-order. MEEP!! (If you forget the title, just ask *cough* Seth.) Okay, I’m backing away slowly now…..I really am. No, I am.