embracing the inevitable can still

embracing the inevitable

can still be edgy
a hip, cool super mama
and drive a Volvo

This weekend we bought a car. It’s a used Volvo station wagon – only a few years old – and very peppy if I do say so myself. Of course, it’s not as peppy as the convertible I had right out of college. But it’s a helluva a lot more peppy than some dratted minivan we could have gotten.

So we own a Volvo now. It’s nice. And very safe. And it has a sunroof.

I feel a little like I’m giving in to the suburban demons, but not really. If I listen to Powerman 5000 in my Volvo everything will be right with the world.

I heart Jamie Oliver why

I heart Jamie Oliver


why do I love him?
not just because he says "mate"
or cause he’s chubby

The real reason why I love Jamie Oliver is because when he covers a chicken with aluminum foil he pronounces it "ah-loo-min-ee-um" with the emphasis on the "min" part.



love. it.

Holy crap whole new universe

Holy crap

whole new universe
began in my house last night
that’s how big bang was

So at 3:30 AM this morning everyone was asleep. Even the wee one was asleep – in his own bed! All of a sudden there’s a flash and a wall-shaking


Though, it was really more of a crashing, clashing, ear-splitting sound.

The power goes out. Off goes the fan, off goes the clock, the computer back-up system starts to beep. Then it was totally silent and scary.

I startle awake and literally clamor onto my husband, clawing at him to protect me from whatever it was that was surely about to kill us all. He politely reminds me that we have a son who is probably more frightened than me, so I leap out of bed and run down the hall to the wee one’s room.

When I get there it’s pitch black. His night light is out, his fan is off, and I hear a whimper come from his bed. I can’t see anything, but I distinctly hear a whimper. Then I hear the really scary thing. Somehow, the electrical surge from the lightning activated one of the wee one’s battery-operated toys – his Baby Tad alphabet stuffed animal creature. So, across the room, on the bookshelf, in the pitch black, Baby Tad is singing, "And here’s a song to sing to you…"


I grab the wee one out of his bed, practically throw him over my shoulder and we book it out of his room helter skelter. I plop him into my bed, next to my hubby and I climb in, and all the while Baby Tad is serenading us from down the hall.


Then Baby Tad finally shuts up and the entire house is silent except for the beeping of the computer back-up, a few small thunderings, and the wee one saying over and over, "That was a loud bang. That was a loud bang. That was a loud bang."

Eventually I realized that the power wasn’t out, the lightning had tripped the circuit breaker. So my poor hubby had to shlep outside in the evil night and flip all the little switches. But it worked, power was restored, and we eventually all went back to sleep. I don’t know what to do about that Baby Tad, though. That shit is scary.

one of these things the

one of these things

the friggin suburbs
good for fast food and shopping
good for soul-sucking

Lately, when I take the wee one out and about I hear this little song in my head. It’s the one that says, "One of these things is not like the other, one of these things just doesn’t belong…"

Whether we’re duking it out with the surly moms and the sweater-vested kids at the indoor play area at the mall (visiting that horrorshow of an ebola-invested swamp of kids will never happen again), or laughing it up over the wee one’s shoes being on the wrong feet at the grocery store (while jog-suited moms look on in disgust) I can’t help but feel that everything that happened to me in high school is happening again.

I guess it’s dumb to think that people grow out of their stupid shit – I mean, I haven’t, why should I expect that other people have? Then again, you also think that the bond you might share with other mothers would outweigh what the fuck brand name jeans your kid is wearing at the Streptococcal Fun Park in the mall.

This is such a tired subject, I know. All moms whine about this. All grown-ups whine about this. From office politics to neighborhood association power-hungry playahs to playground snobs… everyone complains about this crap, but then we all fall neatly back into our place in the social evolutionary scale. I should be used to being on the outside. I like being on the outside. And in fact, I don’t mind that there’s a pied piper social ecosytem. Fine. Whatever makes people happy. But I’m getting way too old to dye my hair blue and buy reactionary t-shirts just to piss off the bitches at the mall.

starving crazed desperation as conversation


crazed desperation
as conversation ebbs, flows
with sighs of relief

If you took a starving person and brought her to the all-you-can-eat buffet at the Sizzler she would go crazy. If you brought a guy out of the desert and gave him a big gulp full of lemonade, he would feel like he won the lottery. Similarly, if you put two stay-at-home moms in a room together long enough for the conversation to move beyond eating habits, sleeping habits and foot growth… well… those mamas can and will talk for hours. Let the kids chase each other around and collapse in an exhausted heap. Cause when you get two starving mamas together who start talking about their college theses (among other things), it’s like those starving people at the Sizzler. So the food is terrible. So you’re a little rusty talking about about Kasimir Malevich and Solzhenitsyn. It doesn’t matter now, because it’s just what you need.

it’s time why don’t we

it’s time

why don’t we get them?
with J. Lo, Jon Stewart, Cher
cool, branded band-aids

my cuts don’t need Bob
or Dora, or Boots, Spongebob
they are grown-up cuts

my cuts need X-Files
maybe some Alias, Lost
Locke could kiss boo-boos

David Letterman
would make a kick ass band-aid
with a tiny Paul

I guess Muck will do
keep me from bleeding on self
impress playground kids