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| Thursday, March 30, 2006 |
A late-afternoon fantasy ... I’ll drink to that |
I can’t remember the last time I had a drink of alcohol. No, this isn’t a confessional. I’m not a recovering alcoholic. In fact, I’ve probably had fewer drinks in my life than some people knock back in a weekend. I just never developed a taste for the stuff. I go through these phases, though, where I mull over slinging back a cocktail or a cold beer. It usually happens in the spring, and I know exactly why. It’s a fantasy, and I can see it so vividly that I sometimes feel like slapping at the imaginary mosquitoes that play a tiny role in my imaginings.
Drew and Delaney, and maybe even some of their friends, are in various stages of winding down from long hours spent in the kiddie pool. They smell like sunscreen, hair damp and clinging to their foreheads. No one is arguing. No one is throwing toys. I’m lounging on the patio, sipping a Mai Tai, feeling urban and clever. Or a glass of wine. Sophisticated and self-important. Maybe a cold glass bottle of beer. Hillbilly chic. My mother always did say I tried to live a champagne and caviar lifestyle on a beer and peanuts budget. I don’t know why a mixed drink always plays into the fantasy. It has to be something about the presentation, since I usually end up just drinking sugar-free Kool-Aid out of a wine glass. (Ah, the titillation of pretending to be something you’re not! No feeling like it in the world!) I’m sure it’s the type A part of my personality that keeps me from drinking the real stuff. I just don’t have a real interest in voluntarily imbibing something that would cause me to slur my words and stumble over chairs. I have a hard enough time walking and talking as it is. Someday, my kids are going to easily have enough ammunition to blame me for screwing them up without throwing alcohol into the mix. It’s bad enough they’re going to walk into a bar someday and order a Kool-Aid, straight up. (Lisa’s Web log also appears each Saturday on www.ncnewsonline.com. Her newspaper column runs each Tuesday.) |
"I’m lounging on the patio, sipping a Mai Tai, feeling urban and clever. Or a glass of wine. Sophisticated and self-important. Maybe a cold glass bottle of beer. Hillbilly chic."
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It’s summer, one of those oppressively hot and sticky days that we’re all too familiar with here in Pennsylvania. It’s early evening, maybe 7. Not so early that I still have to worry about cooking supper but not so late that I have to worry about getting the kids bathed and ready for bed.
| Saturday, March 25, 2006 |
Create your own 'South Park' character ... at your own risk |
Thanks to my good friends down in the editorial department, I got much less accomplished at work yesterday than I usually do. (If my boss is reading this, please read the preceding sentence as: I worked so hard today, gave 110 percent as usual, blah, blah, blah, please don’t fire me, I love my job, etc, etc.) It seems so often that life is just a pattern of work, eat, sleep ... no time for fun, nose to the grindstone.
And then it happens. Someone in editorial puts a link on the New Castle News Web site to make your own South Park characters. Suddenly your daily routine zigs where it used to zag, and you unwittingly find yourself happier than a mosquito in a nudist colony. Don’t ask me why I ended up staying up all night making cartoon characters of everyone I know. I can’t explain it. Maybe it’s stress, and my mind has finally snapped from the pressure. Maybe I’ve been crazy all along. Maybe you should try it yourself. If you dare, click on the “cool link” in the Web-Only category of our home page. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. SATURDAY’S SILLY: Where you take a sick pony? To the horsepital! |
"Don’t ask me why I ended up staying up all night making cartoon characters of everyone I know. I can’t explain it."
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| Thursday, March 23, 2006 |
Ah, it’s time to spring the kids from the coop |
I don’t care how cliché it sounds — spring has sprung, baby!!! Of course, AS USUAL, the official day comes right smack in the middle of an Arctic blast, but it still means the end is near! For those of us who have been cooped up inside with a cranky baby and an ... er, energetic 5-year-old all winter, the official start of spring is like hearing you’ve been paroled after serving three-fourths of a life sentence.
I love my spawnlings! It’s just that by the time March rolls around, I begin to wonder how well it would work out if we tried a long-distance relationship for a change. By long distance, I mean at least one wall between us. Once the weather does decide to warm up, then it’s muddy for about a month. Makes no difference to me. I don’t care if I have to take a garden hose to them before I Iet them back in the house. As soon as the temperature is above 48 degrees, my little leg-grabbers are gonna learn to appreciate the great outdoors. Wanna make mud pies? Here, take my cake pans. Wanna wash the dog? I’m sure the neighbor won’t mind if you borrow his. Bugs? Why, yes ... they’re delicious. Help your sister find some, too. JUST DON’T COME IN THE HOUSE UNTIL SUNDOWN!!!! Have I mentioned that I love my spawnlings? (Lisa’s Web log also appears each Saturday on www.ncnewsonline.com. Her newspaper column runs each Tuesday.) |
"Wanna make mud pies? Here, take my cake pans. Wanna wash the dog? I’m sure the neighbor won’t mind if you borrow his."
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| Saturday, March 18, 2006 |
Believe me, not entering the water suits me just fine |
Everyone knows that a woman who has given birth will never again hear the “B” word without cringing. I don’t mean Birth, honey. I mean Bathing suit. I didn’t have a beach-worthy body pre-motherhood, but the arrival of my first little bundle of joy gifted me with more than a 10- pound bouncing baby boy. I instantly became the proud owner of a second stomach, a set of stretch marks rivaling the subway system in Manhattan, cellulite on par with a nightmarishly large vat of cottage cheese, and a varicose vein that will no doubt resemble a bag of unruly grapes within the next 10 years or so.
The cruel irony of the post-motherhood body is the fact that you will, at some point, need to ensure that your baby is water-safe, preferably before they begin collecting Social Security. Drew’s 5 now, and even though I dared to stuff myself into a bathing suit and dash into the pool at the YMCA on several occasions, my little sprite has yet to sprout his water wings. I decided this time to leave it up to the professionals. Drew had his first “not with Mommy” swimming lesson last Saturday morning. Despite the fact that I had to clench the bleachers to keep from pacing the poolside and gasp for air like a guppy to keep from passing out, I let my little boy enter a body of water without me. I survived. Oh, yeah, so did he. Despite my acute hyperventilation, I got to sit on the bleachers, fully clothed, and look suave. No children ran screaming for their mothers or tried to use me as shade. (I dare say some guy was even checking me out.) The best part of the experience? (No, Drew didn’t learn how to swim yet. It was only his first lesson, after all.) This otherwise ricotta-cheese-stuffed-into-a-spandex-tube mom got to leave it to the professionals for a change. It was a good thing for everyone. SATURDAY’S SILLY: Why did the chicken cross the playground? To get to the other slide! |
"Despite the fact that I had to clench the bleachers to keep from pacing the poolside and gasp for air like a guppy to keep from passing out, I let my little boy enter a body of water without me."
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| Thursday, March 16, 2006 |
There’s a funny new ... aw, you don’t have time to watch it |
I had to make it a point to watch the premiere episodes of “The New Adventures of Old Christine” on Monday evening. The premise of the show caught my attention enough for me to break my “get involved in no new TV shows” rule. I fancy myself a recovering TV addict and figure if I avoid all the premieres, eventually there won't be any shows left that I have an emotional investment in.
I’m just not sure if this show’s gonna make it. I hope it does, because I enjoyed both half-hour segments enough that I laughed out loud quite a few times. As with my blog, I worry that the audience it’s aimed at is the one group of people who will rarely have time to catch it. It’s worth checking out. You can always fold laundry while you’re watching. And if it doesn’t make it, that's OK, too, because who knows if you’d ever have time to keep up with it anyway.
(Lisa’s Web log also appears each Saturday on www.ncnewsonline.com. Her newspaper column runs each Tuesday.) |
"I fancy myself a recovering TV addict and figure if I avoid all the premieres, eventually there won't be any shows left that I have an emotional investment in."
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Buuuutttttt ... because this one seemed to lean toward the plight of the modern mom, I told myself I owed it to my readers use this new sitcom as “research.” It had nothing to do with the fact that I wanted to see if Julia Louis-Dreyfus (above) could break out of her Elaine typecast, or if the Seinfeld curse could finally be broken. This was strictly business.
| Saturday, March 11, 2006 |
Gimme chocolate ... gimme chocolate ... gimme THAT!! |
As you can see from my photo, this diet I’m on is really starting to get to me. I beat up a Girl Scout and stole her cookies. Don’t judge me. You don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve had chocolate. (WRITER’S NOTE: No actual Girl Scouts were harmed during the making of this blog. At least that’s what the police officer said.) SATURDAY’S SILLY: Why do birds fly South? Because it’s too far to walk! |
"No actual Girl Scouts were harmed during the making of this blog."
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| Thursday, March 9, 2006 |
‘Me Time?’ Aw, that’s too much free time |
The miracle of all miracles occurred in my home Tuesday night. Three solid hours of “Me Time.” What’s most amazing is that I managed to take the kids to a birthday party, get them home, gave them baths, played with them for a half an hour, and had them both — BOTH!!! — in bed (THEIR OWN BEDS!!!) by eight o’clock. Not only that, but I had bottles washed and filled, formula made, clothes set out for the next day, lunches packed, and backpack and diaper bag in order. Don’t ask me how it happened. It just did. I took a 15-minute shower. I even shaved my legs in preparation for the upcoming two nice days the weatherman is promising for later this week and used some of my special chocolate scented body wash and lotion. At 8:15, I’m standing in my jammies, smelling very nicely, I might add. Now, what to do with the rest of my time? I creep upstairs to check on the kids. Still asleep. Good. At 8:20, I flip through the TV channels. Nothing good on. Dang. I refuse to do any housework. At 8:35, I straighten up the living room and contemplate hanging some wallpaper. Nah. Go upstairs to check on the kids. Still asleep. Huh. At nine o’clock, I eat some leftover chicken salad, read some e-mail, and flip through the channels one more time just in case I’ve missed something. I’m lonely. The house is too quiet. I check on the kids. Still asleep. Darn. 9:20 — To heck with “Me Time.” I’m going to bed. (Lisa’s Web log also appears each Saturday on www.ncnewsonline.com. Her newspaper column runs each Tuesday.) |
" At 8:15, I’m standing in my jammies, smelling very nicely, I might add. Now, what to do with the rest of my time?"
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| Saturday, March 4, 2006 |
You’re who? And who, exactly, do you write for? |
I can hardly stand the fame being a writer has brought me. I just made a phone call to West Penn Printing, which house the New Castle News printing press, to make a correction on a page I’d faxed over there earlier in the day. A lady working there answered the phone, asked who was calling, and I heard her say, “Jerry, it’s for you. Lisa somebody.” Not that I expected her to scream, drop the phone, and then beg for my autograph, but geez! I jest, of course. I didn’t know who she was either, so I guess turnabout’s fair play. I’m not a fame-seeker, it’s just that one would hope that eventually a few people would recognize your name, especially if they work for the newspaper your columns appear in. I’ll try not to let it go to my head. SATURDAY’S SILLY: Why did the golfer wear two pair of pants? In case he got a hole in one! |
"I’m not a fame-seeker, it’s just that one would hope that eventually a few people would recognize your name."
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| Thursday, March 2, 2006 |
How do I spell vacation? W-O-R-K, that’s how |
The powers that be ... OK, The Boss, started passing around the vacation request schedule at work today. I’m faced with the same agonizing question I have to ask myself every year at this time before I decide which week to take off. What neglected home project will I be doing on my week “off” and when would be the best time to do it? I cleaned out my garage last summer on my maternity leave, so that’s off the list. I suppose I could finish hanging the wallpaper in the kids’ playroom, but since I hold the world’s record for the longest-standing half-finished wallpaper project, I’d hate to break my winning streak. The thought of actually planning a vacation is exhausting enough to send me straight to the couch for a rest. I’d never be able to decide where to go anyhow. When you’re a mom, it’s not so much about where you’ll be as where you won’t be. You won’t be where wet towels mysteriously grow into mountains over the course of 24 hours. You won’t be where you have to prepare four different meals for four different people. You won’t be where you have to have one child at karate by 5:30 and another at gymnastics by 5:45 (only to discover, of course, that your son’s gi and your daughter’s leotard have mysteriously disappeared somewhere under that mountain of towels.) Come to think of it, a real vacation is sounding better and better by the minute. I wonder if the boss would let me start now. (Lisa's Web blog also appears each Saturday on www.ncnewsonline.com. Her newspaper column runs each Tuesday.) |
"When you’re a mom, it’s not so much about where you’ll be as where you won’t be."
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