The Half Naked Truth

The always awesome Jason from The Jason Show recently posted some thoughts on nudity and asked his readers to share our favorite naked stories.  And who doesn't have one of those?  Without further ado, I humbly submit mine:


Back in the late 90s, in my late 20s, I was taking my last business trip out to California before I left my current job.  I was to meet up with our VP of Sales, Bob who had been my friend and mentor for the last seven years.  We were meeting with a series of companies headquartered in So Cal and capping it off with a sweet boondoggle Sales Meeting at a golf club in Rancho Santa Fe. 

Day one, I started off on the right foot by missing my early flight from Boston to LAX but managed to catch the next one -- with an upgrade to Business Class!  After meeting up at the Marriott,  Bob and I decided to go to Gladstone's on Sunset for dinner.  I had a glass of wine while we waited for our table and two more with dinner.  Upon our return to the hotel, we decided to hang in the cigar bar at the hotel (I mentioned it was the late 90s, right?) and ended up playing chess over another drink.

As I reached for my knight to make what I'm sure would have been a killer move,  I inadvertently took out most of the chess pieces.  Bob righted the board, suggested perhaps we should turn in, and walked me to the elevators. Apparently, all day travel + four glasses of wine + one meal in 24-hours for a 120-pound, 27-year-old woman was a bad combination.

Entering my hotel room, I took off my clothes, headed straight to the bathroom, (ahem) purged, and took a short nap.  Upon waking, I left the bathroom and walked...immediately...into...the...hotel corridor.  Naturally, the door locked behind me.   And there I stood; mostly asleep, still drunk, smelling not great, and wearing a t-shirt that barely covered the important parts - trying to formulate a plan.

- Appearing on Bob's doorstep in such a state was probably not such a good idea.
- Taking the elevator down to the lobby also held little appeal.
- Plan C?  Anyone? Bueller?

Just then, the door next to mine opened and a man appeared. Awesome. He took stock, reached the correct conclusion that I'd locked myself out, and generously offered to call Security.  He then asked if I'd like to wait in his room until they showed.  Dude, I'm drunk but not stupid.  Before I could formulate a less-rude reply, he said "correction, would you like to wait in my room with my sister and 14 month old niece?".  Oh.  Well then.  That's a horse of a different color. 

I enter his hotel room where his adorable niece is standing up in her Pack n Play clearly not ready to sleep.  I proceed to lean my make-up-smeared face over her, using my best auntie skillz while trying not to expose myself or breathe vomit/sleep breath on her.  Soon enough (probably not so for this family), Security arrived and I was let back into my hotel room to contemplate where one would find an AA meeting in the middle of the night in LA.

The next day at a breakfast meeting, God exacted His revenge by seating me next to a client who ordered sausage biscuits and gravy.

Always Say "Thank you".

Dear Mrs. M.,

As the school year draws to a close, I wanted to thank you so much for everything you’ve done this year. As we've discussed, the transition from preschool to kindergarten was a particularly rocky one for HRH (perhaps more so for his mommy). We had originally looked to St. Somewhere’s due to a misguided belief that the public schools in Manickville could not meet the needs of our son. We could not have been more wrong. In every area where St Somewhere’s failed, New School has flourished! I’m so happy to have found a community of caring, respectful, involved parents and a school ready and willing to accept my help, my opinions, and my neuroses.

Most especially, I am thankful for you. I so appreciate your hands-on, “treat them as individuals” approach to your class. From day one, you have greeted each child, looked into his eyes, and called him by name. It was obvious you wanted to get to know our children in order to teach to their needs and you have more than met that goal.

HRH enjoys school. He is genuinely happy to go every day, just as he was in preschool. One of my greatest fears was that his time at St Somewhere’s would destroy that enthusiasm. I can’t thank you enough for resurrecting it and for fostering it.

As we look to second grade – and kindergarten for Gremlin, I am optimistic. I am confident that, as with this year, my boys will be given teachers who will best meet their needs, who will show them that learning can be fun, and who will provide them with the gentle guidance you have this year.

With warmest regards,

Christine Manic

Impotent Rage

It's a balmy 17 degrees out with the wind whipping up to around 30 mph, we just returned home from picking up HRH at school and I. am. furious.

Not wanting to venture too far out in the cold and wind, Gremlin and I arrived at HRH's school 45 minutes before dismissal to get the last coveted parking spot in the drop-off/pick-up driveway. Mission accomplished, I turned onto the side street that spills out onto the main street, where the school is located. There is a crossing guard at the driveway exit and today, a police officer stationed at the main street.

As I waited in the line of traffic to make the right on to the main street, the wind blew over the construction barrel positioned at the entrance to the street. Traffic moved and I drove around the barrel, starting the right turn. The police officer raised his white-mittened hand toward the area I had just abandoned.

Obeying the usual traffic rules of the road, I completed the turn then came to a stop behind other (stopped) traffic. The officer approached and I lowered my window. He immediately bellowed into my face "When I say stop, you stop!" I responded with a dispassionate, "I apologize."

Is it done? Apparently not. He continues screaming "You see the hand? When it goes up, you stop!" He may have yelled something more, I can't remember what. It's so hard to see through the red haze of anger. Eventually, he went back to the job he is being paid to perform.

How dare he? I am not some juvie driving a stolen car, drunk or stoned, past curfew. I am a 41-year-old stay at home mother driving a crossover SUV with my two young boys in the car, at a school.

I am sorry you drew the short straw and got a traffic detail. I'm sorry it's cold as a gravedigger's ass. Maybe I'm even sorry that I misinterpreted your motion and didn't stop right away. But how dare you, HOW DARE YOU speak to me that way in front of my children?

I'm not going to pursue it any further. I'll keep my driving record the way it is. Instead, I had to explain the bad behavior of one whose job it is 'to protect and to serve' to the boys. And that the police - even this neanderthal - are still our friends.

Wordless Wednesday - Girl, You Won't be a Woman Soon

Sentenced to two weeks in the Cone (of silence) for a radical hysterectomy she neither requested nor knew was coming.

Welcome to responsible pet ownership, baby girl.

It's My First Pandemic. Should I Panic Now?

Gremlin is home from school today. He had a pretty good hacking cough for most of the night and was really cranky/sleepy/not himself this morning. Thankfully, no fever. We've already had one (known) case of H1N1 at his preschool but not in his class. This weekend alone, the children of two Facebook friends and the sister of a Bloggy friend were diagnosed with it. My mommy radar was humming LOUD.

Of course there is no vaccine available and we are gratefully un-high risk, so it doesn't look like we'll be getting vaccinated any time soon. So we sit. And wait. And wash our hands. And cough into our elbows.

The thing is that Gremlin is a notorious cougher. If he's going to have the slightest hint of a cold, it will manifest itself as a dry, hacking cough that occurs between the hours of 7:30 pm and 6:30 am. Sometimes it gets pretty croupy (not this time - yet) but come morning, he's usually in reasonably good shape. This is his second year of preschool, his fifth year of exposure to preschool-y germs thanks to his big brother, so I know the drill. I don't panic about sending him to school with a slight cough or runny nose and I don't panic when another kid in his class has the same. If I did, they'd never have gone to school.

This year the rules have changed. I feel like we're all extras in On The Beach. Hanging out, living our lives, knowing the inevitable is coming. We'll continue to be cautious with our own health and of those around us. We'll take our vitamins. We'll hope those who have contracted the illness brave it well. We'll hope for enough vaccine to arrive before we catch it.

Today, our day includes sitting on the couch under a blanket watching Star Wars and enjoying a little one-on-one time. As my friend put it, it's not like he's missing SAT prep. All in all, not a bad way to spend the day.

It's Going So Well!

Right now, the boys are happily tired, enjoying a reasonably healthy after-school snack of tortilla chips with salsa (HRH) and hummus (Gremlin) while watching Tom and Jerry. We just got home after spending over an hour in the school playground after school where the boys played baseball, tag, and climbed all over the structure. There were no tears and no yelling. And here's the best part; it's been like this most days for nearly a month!

HRH has adjusted so beautifully to public school first grade! He's one of just 18 kids in his class. His teacher is friendly, open, and informative. Each morning, she personally greets each member of her class by name with a smile and eye contact before ushering them into the building. Each afternoon, she ensures a grown up is truly present before allowing the children to run. In between, it seems that she keeps them engaged and entertained as she goes about their lessons. At the end of our first week of school, a simple little note came home letting the parents know that the kids were adjusting well and finding their way. You know what a whore I am for information and communication.

Getting information from HRH continues to be like drawing blood from a stone, but thanks to some good advice and a lot of pestering on my part, I know who sits at his table, that he plays Star Wars at recess with Aidan and Sean, and that a different teacher pulled him out of class on Day 2 to assess his reading skills.

Gremlin has adjusted remarkably well to five-day preschool. He is in a class with just eight kids, four of whom were with him last year. The teacher (whom I did not know previously) is friendly and warm - and finds my child delightful. In just the few weeks since the start of school, we're spending more time talking about letters and numbers. He's writing his name on everything and eager to do "homework" alongside his big brother.

Mornings continue to be chaotic but there is never a complaint about actually going to school. It's more the mundane tasks (brushing their teeth, brushing their hair, changing their clothes) that continue to create the usual dissent.

I'll take it any day. As Andy recently said, I've never been so happy to be wrong.

Quick Takes Friday

1. The new boiler was installed last week! Woo hoo! In the process of removing the old boiler, they came across about a zillion sugar ants living in a nest under the boiler. I was actually embarrassed for a minute. Like not cleaning under the boiler made me a bad homemaker. Proof that I can be neurotic about anything.

2. The other night, I was walking back from the bathroom in my sleeping t-shirt and caught a glimpse of my physique in the mirror at the end of the hallway. At what I would have thought was the low point, a big chunk small crumb of Pop Tart fell off my shirt. And I started digging...

3. This week, I taken a kick boxing class and a my regular Friday yoga class. As God is my witness, I will never again allow myself to fall this badly out of shape again!

4. Andy recently compared K-Fed to Jabba the Hutt; he's fat, he's rich, and he's got Princess Leah in a metal bikini on a leash. In his heart he can't hate him. He has far exceeded any expectations anyone would have set for his life. And yes, he's joining Celebrity Fit Club.

5. If you link over to the www.kevinfederline.com, there's just a picture placeholder showing him diving into an empty pool and says "official site coming soon".

6. We attended our good friends' wedding this past weekend in Vermont. Completely sober and engaged in polite conversation with the bride's uncle, whom I had never met before, I shifted my weight from one foot to another on a grassy area and collapsed like one of the Twin Towers. Flat on my ass.

7. Last week, while we were waiting for HRH in his school yard playground, Gremlin took it upon himself to leave the school yard, cross the busy street, and wait for us at the car. Even as I ran, I was strangely calm, knowing in my heart that he had gone back to the car. He and the crossing guard, Mary, are now on a first name basis.


Thanks to Conversion Diary for providing an easy re-entry idea for my neglected blog.

What Would You Do With $6,500.00?

I could buy this Rolex for Andy:
I could buy this diamond ring for me:
Apparently, I could buy a Civil War musket from this guy:
(God love the Google search)

I could rent this place in Cabo San Lucas for a week:
Excuse me, I meant a night. Yeah, that deserves a second photo:
Or this place in the South of France for a week:
(but not in June, July, or August)

I could buy this original Star Trek artwork:(and no shit, there's a ton of other Star Trek paraphernalia that I couldn't buy with $6,500.00!


I could buy this Corvette:
I could buy the boys 1,200 Wii Games:

Or we could buy a new boiler. Guess which one we're doing?

What would you do?

What I Want For You

Dear Six Year Old Boy:

I want to gather up you everything you'll ever want and hand it to you on a silver plate. But because I love you, I won't.


I want you to be happy.

I want you to see the humor in people and events and yourself.

I want you to find pleasure in life's small moments. I want you to build sandcastles and create wonderful worlds and stories for them.

I want you to know that you are safe.

I want you to have adventures.

I want you to be carefree.

I want you to have the friendship and loyalty of your brother. No one will ever have your back in quite the same way he will.

I want you to make mistakes and I want you to learn from them.

I want you to be kind to yourself when you make those mistakes.

I want you to know what you want from your life and how to attain it.

I want you to have a back up plan.

I want you to find someone who will love you almost as much as I do. Someone who will laugh with you and at you. Someone who will hold your hand and be your partner and your friend.

I want you to remember not to take yourself too seriously.

I want you to remember where you come from and be proud of it.

I want you to be proud of yourself.

I want you to understand the importance of helping others.

I want you to love learning and continue the journey throughout your life.

I want you to know learning exists in places other than books and classrooms.

I want you to always, always know that we are your family and that we are here.

I want you to feel how very much you are loved by your mommy and daddy. No matter what.


Happy Birthday, my wonderful, special, brilliant, sensitive angel. Thank you for making me a mommy. I love you, up to the sky.

Always,

Mommy

Random Act of Kindness - A Mother's Pride

Just this year, the boys' school inaugurated new, extended hours corresponding with a normal, full kindergarten day. Not many kids beyond the kindergartners stay until the end of the day. RC gets out of school two hours earlier than HRH.

Today, we were returning to school just a few minutes into Barack Obama's first press conference and I may have dawdled for just a minute in the car. I entered the building as two or three other mommies and children were exiting. HRH was one of two remaining students.

As we, ourselves left the building, HRH stopped and asked me to wait, while turning and heading back into the building. Just inside the door waited the remaining child. HRH handed the boy a drawing he had made that day and said to the boy, 'I want you to have this because my mom is here and yours isn't here yet.' HRH returned to me and said that he gave the boy the drawing because he wanted to make him feel better.

I don't have to tell you how proud this makes me.

Do You Recognize This Face?

Dear Boys:

Do you know who this is?

It's Mommy. No, really. It is Mommy.

This weekend, while you were making gingerbread men and reading "Gingerbread Friends" with Gram, Daddy and I found our smiles.

We went to a special place in the sky called The Mount Washington Hotel. Just Mom and Dad. No, just Christine and Andy.

We didn't bring the 20-minute conference calls that morph into 2 1/2 hours, or the possibly-totaled Trailblazer, or even the kindergarten transition anxiety (Mommy's, not yours, HRH). We even left the wifi, the Vice Presidential debate, and the $700 billion bail out package at home. We knew it would all be here when we got home -- and it was.

Rather, we slept, and read, and ate, and drank, and talked, and lived.

Mom and Dad LOVE being your parents. There is nothing more important to us than doing that well. But we have been neglecting Andy and Christine lately. And it's shown. In the way we behave toward each other and the two of you. And certainly in the way we treat ourselves. This weekend, while we were here, we remembered to be kind to ourselves. And we remembered our smiles.

I hope we'll be seeing them a lot more.

Existential Crisis Averted

(or at least postponed)

I've been home now for one year and five months, give or take a few days. Since before we even had kids, Andy and I talked about getting to this point as "the ideal." As in, "ideally, you'll be working and I'll be home with the kids."

The reality is far from ideal. I remember a friend who works as an Autism advocate saying she loved her job so much she'd do it for free. I've never felt like that about any job. I was good at my job, liked doing it well enough, liked the people there, problem-solving, and all that stuff. I had jobs but never a vocation.

At home, I've been looking to find that missing piece. I hate housework, although I like a clean house. I like playing and doing projects with the kids but I like sitting and reading a book as well. I like to eat but I don't like to cook. I bristle at the idea of others defining me by these actions. Maybe this stay-at-home-mom thing isn't for me. And then I actually had an epiphany; it doesn't matter.

I'll never find myself washing my floors. I'll never be fulfilled because all the toys are neatly stacked and organized. The satisfaction must come from the big picture - without and within.

There are some SAHMs (God bless 'em) who do find fulfillment in these tasks. If I'm truthful, I find their worlds to be somewhat small. There are some working mothers who can only be fulfilled by working outside the home. I understand these women a little more; to raise happy, contented children, it is best that you, yourself are somewhat happy and content. I'm not even going to touch upon the money aspect because for a great many mothers there simply is no option.

So I sit here with just enough rope to hang myself. And I look at the big picture.

I am facilitating the ideal for my boys. I raise them. Sure, some days, it's going to Target and folding clothes. But I just got home from playgroup with RC. And 99% of the time, it's me picking HRH up from school. Almost every day it's not pouring or below zero, we're out in the playground at school. I know his friends' parents and they know me. When the boys are sick, there's none of that old "are-you-going-to-take-a-day-or-am-I?" panic. I'm here. I'm able to schedule doctor's and dentist's appointments, playdates, gymnastics, tee-ball, and birthday parties. There is strong continuity in the boys' life.

Maybe I'll never find my vocation. But I like my job well enough to do it for free. I'm facilitating the ideal for my family. And that fulfills me.

They'd Better Put This Much Thought Into My Nursing Home

Here's what I remember about kindergarten:

1. We had a teacher named Miss Merry, who was quite large and when she sneezed, we'd all mimic her "ah...ah...ah...choooie!!" Big laughs.

2. On picture day, I wore a long dress (shut up, it was the 70s!) and John Aceto stuck his head under my dress while I was sitting in circle. I was horrified (enough that I remember his name 34 years later).

HRH will be attending kindergarten in the fall so it's time to register. We - and every parent of a five year old I know - are in the throws of some major decision-making. So when did choosing the right kindergarten become as crucial as choosing the right college?

Do we go public? Do we go private (insert second mortgage here)? Do we go Catholic? What are our values and which school will best instill those?

Thoughts on Public:
We live in a nice neighborhood of a city outside Boston. A few years ago, they closed down all the neighborhood schools and built a few brand new, beautiful warehouses schools that house literally thousands of children. Our designated public school currently has FIVE kindergartens with about 25+ kids apiece. I can't imagine my boys thriving in that environment.

Thoughts on Private:
Andy attended smaller private schools and jokes that he was the token Irish-Catholic. At these schools, competition wasn't 'who did better on the math quiz', it was 'my daddy makes more money than yours'. Is that really what I want to teach my kids? Plus, let's be realistic, we can't shell out anywhere from $12 -25K per kid, per year!

Thoughts on Catholic:

I attended a small Catholic school since first grade and graduated high school with just 68 other kids, many of whom were classmates from that very first grade. Because of its size, our school lacked many extra curriculars that would have provided a more fully-rounded education.

I'm very much an ala carte Catholic (I agree with this, I believe in that, that's a metaphor, God doesn't really care if I eat meat on Fridays in Lent, and so forth) but I do believe in God and I do want my children to have faith in their lives. So Catholic it is! Erm. Right?

So. Right. Catholic school. I mean, Catholic School! Woo-Hoo! Now. Which one? There are three under consideration at the moment, one being my alma mater (see? Catholic school education = Latin!). All with open houses toward the end of the month.

And not one with a team in the NCAA.