Science Boy

He was ignoring me.

He was actually ignoring me.

No matter that I gave him life or that I let him watch the movie Cars more times than I care to remember when he was younger.

He had ducked behind a friend when he had first entered the room, had given me a quick wave and then....nothing.

“Big brother, big brother,” Natalie shouted. “Big brother, it’s me, Natalie!”

Is it wrong that I sort of wanted to shout the same thing? Only my words would have been, “Son, son, it’s me, your mother, the one who was in labor all those hours!”

We were at an awards assembly at Tommy’s school since he brought home a letter saying that he’d be receiving an award. He had handed over the letter and went, “Are you coming then?” I asked if he wanted me to come and he said, “Yes.”

So we came. And now he was ignoring us.

“Big BROTHER!” Natalie will not be ignored. She’s like that crazy chick in Fatal Attraction, only I hope she doesn’t boil any rabbits. (“I won’t be IGNORED, Tommy!”)“BIG BROTHER!”

Tommy turned around and narrowed his eyes at Natalie.

“Big brother, hello!” Natalie said, thrilled that she finally had his attention.

He quickly faced forward.

Fine. Whatever. So he wanted to pretend like he had no mother. Big deal, right? He’s eight, he’s at that age and....WHY WAS HE IGNORING ME? He’s only 8! I thought that behavior didn’t start until he was a teenager. I make him smiley face pancakes for God’s sake, all I was asking for is a tiny bit of recognition, just a tiny bit.

Oh well. At least I still had one child who liked me. I started rubbing the top of Natalie’s head and she ducked away. “Quit it,” she hissed.

Or maybe not.

The principal started the program, and the kindergarteners got their awards first.

“Mommy, I want to go to Kindergarten now,” Natalie said primly.

“Two more years,” I answered.

“But I want to go to Kindergarten nowwwwww,” she whined.

“Can’t, Veruca Salt, sorry,” I said.

My butt was really starting to hurt since it was sitting on the lunchroom benches. If we could afford private school, I bet THOSE seats had cushions on them.

Tommy’s grade was the last to go and by then my ass had fallen asleep.



Tommy got an Observant Scientist Award. I’m not surprised, because the kid loves science and is obsessed with tornados. And weather. He’ll say things like, “Look at the cumulus clouds!” and go in depth on how a tornado is formed.

The principal also asked him questions. I’m amazed that Tommy doesn’t mind talking in front of people. I hate it. I start to get all red and my tongue feels glued to the top of my mouth. I dreaded giving speeches in front of my class and would speed through it. If we were being graded on public speaking, the teacher’s notes would always say: “Slow down.” No. I cannot slow down.

But Tommy. Tommy proudly went over to the microphone and when the teacher asked how the weather was that day, Tommy went, “Warm.” And this was true, it was actually 50 degrees on Friday. Then she asked if we’d be getting snow and Tommy cocked his head to the side, thought about it for a few seconds and went, “Maybe.”



He’s a man of few words.

When the ceremony was over, the kids were able to quickly greet their parents and hand over their awards. Tommy seriously ran over, tossed the award at my face and returned to his class. It was like he hadn’t been there at all.



“Um,” I said when my mind computed what had just happened.

“Where did Tommy go?” Natalie asked, bewildered.

My sentiments exactly.

I spotted him back in line with his class. I wasn’t about to leave without a hug so I went over and Tommy’s eyes grew wide when he saw me approaching.

I couldn’t embarrass him in front of his friends. That would be mean. So instead I stuck my hand out.

“I wanted to say congrats on getting the scientist award,” I said, all businesslike.

Tommy looked relieved and shook my hand. “You’re welcome,” he replied.

“I will see you when you get home.”

“Okay. I love you,” Tommy said.

Aww! He admitted that he loved me in public. I wanted to throw my arms around his neck but I contained myself.

“I love you, too, my science boy.”

Top Ten Things That I'll Never Do

There are some things that I know I’ll never do, in no particular order. I decided to make a top ten list of what those things are. Mind you, I’m not poking fun if these are things that YOU do. I’d still most likely be friends with you. I have friends who actually DO the things on this list. Just remember, these are simply things on MY list.



1. Be on Survivor



It’s just, I like to eat. And not stuff like raw snails or bark. Plus, I’d suck at the games, especially the swimming ones. I only know how to dog paddle so there I’d be, dog paddling to the flag while my teammates screamed, “Amber! GO! NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO BE FUNNY!” and I’d yell back, “I’m not trying to be funny, THIS IS HOW I SWIM!” I’d either get kicked out for that, or my temper. I tend to get cranky when I’m hungry, cold, and have gone without my caffeine so I’d eventually start telling people to “Fu*k off, unless they could find me a Diet Coke.”



2. Consider the man the head of the house



It’s hard for me to take someone seriously when they don’t know how to put their dirty socks in the clothes hamper or are thrilled to hold a can of Booty Sweat. My marriage is completely equal although if I’m being honest, I usually get the final say because Tom says I get mean when I don’t.



3. Become a vegan



It’s great for the people who are (Natalie Portman, for one…) But I need my meat. I like a big slab of steak or a Steak Umm sandwich.



4. Wear a cardigan loosely tied around my neck



Come on. Do I LOOK like the type of woman to wear that? No offense to those that do, but because Hollywood has made people like these snobs in movies or television shows, I immediately think of that when a see a person walking around with a cardigan around their neck.


5. Only purchase organic items



I’ll take the regular stuff. I take the regular cakes like the one pictured, too. I once went to the party where the cake was this organic mess with vegetables somehow hidden in it. No. Just no. Birthdays are for frosting and real cake.


6. Speak another language fluently



I know some French since I took it in high school and the first part of college. Though one time during a test I accidentally wrote the word for shit when I meant the word hat. Imagine my teacher’s surprise when she saw “Je voudrais merde, sil vous plait,” scribbled on my paper.



7. Give up reading



I could never give up my books. I love them too much. Even when my children try to take them away from me, I still press on.



8. Become a Twi-hard



I try not to freak out when a grown adult asks me what team I’m on. I have to bite my tongue from saying, “I’m team I’m 28 so I feel I’m past the age to even have a team.” I can understand being a fan of the series but some people take it way too disturbingly far.


9. Like mushrooms



They are fungus. They are not meant to be liked.


10. Be the serious one in the relationship



I’m too hyper. Tom just goes along with it. In this photo it’s like he’s a wax statue and I’m a tourist being totally inappropriate with it.

Cheesecake Factory Love

Why?

Why doesn’t Wyoming have a Cheesecake Factory nearby?

It would get a lot of business. They could put one in our depressing mall.

When I visit my parents, I insist on going to the Cheesecake Factory. Like we-are-going-here-no-matter-what insist.

I got to go when I was visiting them last month.

I got the white chili first. I highly recommend the white chili.

And okay, yeah the prices are a little up there. But it’s worth it. You get a lot of food so if you can’t finish it, wal-ah, it’s lunch tomorrow.

I always get dessert. Even if I’m full. It’s a sin to go to The Cheesecake Factory and not get dessert. I once got this huge chocolate cake that lasted forever.

The last time I went, I got this:



That would be the Red Velvet Cheesecake.

It was amazing.

I so wish there was a Cheesecake Factory around here so I could go in and buy a slice of cheesecake when I was craving it.

Actually, maybe it’s a GOOD thing we don’t have a Cheesecake Factory. I’d be tempted to stop in every day, the workers would know me by name, I’d gain a billion pounds so when Tom came back from Korea he’d walk right past me because he wouldn’t recognize me since I’d be standing there in a muumuu.

So no Cheesecake Factory. Fine.

It’ll just be something I look forward to having whenever I visit my parents.


**I received no compensation for this post on The Cheesecake Factory but if they’d like to pay me to go, I’d be happy to do it, mwahaha.**

**Actually, I’ll review any restaurant since I love to eat and hate to cook. FYI.**

Grammar Boy

My son is 8 and his writing is....

It’s just, the thing is....

Fine, the boy can’t spell very well.

I mean, he tries, don’t get me wrong. But lately his penmanship leaves much to be desired. Oh, I work with him, but he doesn’t take me seriously when I tell him that a woman appreciates a properly spelled letter from a man. And that she’d also like to be able to make out the words.

Look, my husband Tom…he has neat writing but his spelling is...well, let me put it this way. He once spelled ‘regroup’ as ‘regrupe.’

Tommy is now enrolled in an After School program where he gets extra help in reading and writing. He listens to his teachers more than he listens to me. I don’t want him to be one of those adults who doesn’t understand the difference between ‘their,’ ‘they’re’, and ‘there.’ Or ‘your’ and ‘you’re.’ You have no idea how hard it is for me not to say something when I see a Facebook status with these words used incorrectly. Of course, my grammar isn’t perfect, but I do understand the basics. And I want the same for Tommy.

I asked him to write something about himself the other night.

“Why?” he sighed.

“We need to practice your writing daily. We’ve been through this before. Don’t you want to be a good writer?”

“Fine.” Tommy grabbed some paper and started writing. A couple of minutes later he shoved the paper at me. “There.”

I peered down at it:



“Kanye West, this is fabulous!” I exclaimed.

Tommy frowned. “Who is Kanye West?”

“Oh, just this guy who thinks he’s the greatest at like, everything. I just like how you mentioned that you were so handsome and…you know what, never mind. This is good, but can you see your mistakes?”

Tommy shook his head. “It’s perfect.”

“Ahh Kanye, no, for starters, it’s not proper to say ‘I got blue eyes,’ you’re not on Jerry Springer. You should have written ‘I’ve got blue eyes.' I like that you clarified that you have a mouth. Handsome is spelled like this.” I scribbled down the word for him to see. “And again, you should have written ‘I’ve got a girlfriend.’ Girlfriend is spelled like this.” And I wrote that down for him too.

“Thanks,” Tommy said glumly, taking the corrections.

“I know it can get frustrating, but you’ll get it,” I vowed. “And no kissing that girlfriend of yours until you’re...”

“Twenty,” Tommy finished.

Basically, his relationship isn’t that serious. They chat for a bit at the bus stop, exchange Silly Bandz, and engage in a game of Tag.

Still, I’ve drilled it in his head that there is no kissing until the age of twenty. I hope he continues to believe this for many years.

And I hope he never acts like Kanye West.

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.

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To think that grown adults who call themselves Divas need to quit doing so. Someone needs to tell them that it’s no longer cute to refer to oneself as a Diva when you are over the age of ten. Sorry.


To really want to see the new Adam Sandler movie Just Go With It. I’ve said this before but it’s still true.


To not be sure if I like the new show Off The Map yet.


To love sweet tea. The Red Diamond sweet tea is delicious.


To have terrible posture. I’ve been told this a lot throughout my life. My bad.


To miss Dunkaroos. They were this snack that came with honey shaped graham thingies and you dipped them in frosting. I imagine they went away because the uppity mothers complained that it wasn’t a fulfilling and healthy snack. Look, they can go off and feed their kids organic carrot sticks, I’ll feed my kids Dunkaroos. If they still made them, that is.


To have thought a lot of what Ricky Gervais said at the Golden Globes was hilarious. (Granted, making fun of appearances is rude..) I didn’t watch, but I saw some snippets online and well, if celebs don’t like to be made of, they shouldn’t do ridiculous things. It’s Ricky Gervais, what did people expect? Want someone calm, get Jennifer Garner to host.


To love shopping at Kohls. I love a deal.


To have been confused as to why Kourtney Kardashian was on the cover of my Parenting magazine. I get she’s a mom but....


To think Carrie from Sex and the City should have ended up with Aidan. Mr. Big was too rich and too magoo.

It's Tax Refund Time

What was taking him so long to get online?

Didn’t he know that his W2 came up early which meant that we could file our taxes? No, he probably didn’t have any idea, which is why he was taking forever on coming online. Or maybe he did know, but he was torturing me. He likes to do that.

I was waiting (impatiently) for my husband to come on Skype so we could file our taxes. I kept checking the computer every few minutes and eventually wrote him a message:

“Hi! W2 is up! We can file taxes and get our refund back sooner and make our banking account very happy indeed.”

I sat in front of the computer screen, drumming my fingers against the computer desk. Any DAY now, Tom. It was his day off so he wasn’t working. He was sleeping. It must be nice to sleep in until whenever you’d like. I know it’s hard for him being in Korea while his family is in the States, but at least he gets time off.

“Mom?” Tommy asked. “I’m hungry.”

“Me too,” I answered.

He rolled his eyes. “Mo-om. When is dinner?”

I checked the time. Crap. I should start making dinner. Didn’t I just make dinner last night?

“Um,” I said, standing up. I went into the cabinet, pulling out a can of frosting and a knife and handed it to Tommy. “Bon Appetit.”

He took it and frowned. “This isn’t healthy. This isn’t dinner.”

Any other kid would be THRILLED to be handed over a can of frosting. But not my kid. He has Aspergers and is really big on rules. In his head, rules state that frosting is not a proper dinner. And he’s big on what is healthy and what is not, because he wants bigger muscles. He once scowled at me as I ate a Twinkie and went, “That won’t give you muscles.” Well, no, but it will give me happiness.

(And you should see Tommy’s reaction when we’ve had ice cream for dinner. Throughout it, he looks as though he’s in pain and will mumble, “I really don’t think this is a dinner.” Don’t worry, I also supply plenty of fruits and veggies.)

“Okay, fine! I’ll make dinner. Want some eggs?” I asked. I am not a fan of cooking. I wish I liked being in the kitchen. Granted, I do love food, I just don’t like to be the one making it.

“I’ll take eggs,” Tommy said, setting the frosting down and staring at it as though it were diseased.

So I made eggs, checking to see if Tom came online.

He didn’t.

We all sat down and ate—well, Natalie smeared her eggs across her plate and licked the jelly off her toast, leaving the bread.

I cleaned up and went back to the computer, not thinking Tom was on.

And then I saw Tom’s message.

HELLO? ARE YOU THERE?

Um. It’s not like I can hear him shouting.

I called him up and he answered.

“Did you get the W2?” I wondered.

Tom nodded. “Yeah. I already did the taxes.”

My heart dropped. “We were supposed to go over the numbers together.”

He is not the best with numbers. Neither am I. But I figure the both of us working on them together is good enough.

“I got it done,” Tom said, chomping on his beloved M&Ms. I wish I could go over there and hide his M&Ms.

“But Tom, we needed to go over everything. Did you even get our account number right? What if the money goes into someone else’s account? What if the money is just GONE!?” I was beginning to panic.

“It’s not gone,” Tom said calmly. Chomp, chomp, chomp.

“But how do I know—” And then I saw Tom smirking. “You didn’t really file the taxes yet, did you?”

Tom shook his head. “Nah. It’s just funny to see you riled up.”

I’m glad I amuse him. “That wasn’t funny, you annoying M&M freak.”

Tom raised both hands in the air. “Wow. Thems fighting words.”

“Just…let’s get it done so we can get the refund and consider ourselves rich for a few weeks even though Reese Witherspoon probably makes the amount we’ll get back per minute,” I said. I pulled out last year’s tax return. “So let’s get started.”

We plugged in all the numbers and got a nice amount back. Still, it’s not like we’re going to blow it. I’d like some to go into a savings account, some needs to go to a credit card, and I’d like a new bedroom set.

“But we’re not getting a black bedroom set,” I warned Tom after the taxes had been sent to the IRS.

“Why?” Tom loves the color back. When we were dating, he had black furniture and I felt like I was walking into a funeral home. Or, you know, Batman’s cave.

“Because it’s dark and depressing. I want something light and cheerful. Like oak.”

Tom stuck his tongue out. “Oak?” he repeated. He made it seem like it was a dirty word.

“Look, when you get back from Korea we’ll go bedroom set shopping after we move to Oklahoma.”

“I want a temper pedic bed,” Tom said.

“I’m not sure if it’s in our budget, Tom, and plus, our mattress is fine.”

“I want a temper pedic bed. If you give me that, I’ll give you oak.”

“We’ll see, Tom. Mind you, we’re also getting a new computer desk, since ours is falling apart. A piece nearly landed on my head the other day,” I said. It was true. There I was typing a chapter out in my novel and KATHUNK, a piece of the computer table landed by my arm.

“Temper pedic bed!” Tom chanted. When Tom gets stuck on a subject, he doesn’t like to move on. “And you don’t go nuts when the money is in our account. I know you and Target.”

“Target and I have an understanding,” I assured him.

Tom rolled his eyes. “Just don’t go nuts.”

“You don’t go nuts.”

“What the hell am I going to buy in Korea?”

“I don’t know. You said you loved this Korean woman who makes delicious Korean food. Maybe you’d ask if she was for sale because after all, I’m a crappy cooker.”

“We’ve been through this Amber, you can’t buy people. Every year for your birthday you ask for John Krasinski and I’m sorry, you can’t buy a human being.”

“Well…”

“We’re not talking about prostitutes. Just…don’t go nuts. If you want to go to New York, you can’t go nuts.”

“I won’t! Geez!” If all goes well, I’ll be going to New York in May. It’s an early birthday gift. I’ve always wanted to go to New York and it looks like it will finally happen this year. I’m going with Jennifer and we’re going to be total tourists.

So yes. Taxes are filed and now we’re playing the wait for our refund game.

And I won’t go nuts, either.

I might go nuts in New York though. They have amazing shopping and food.

I’m more excited about the food.

Oh, and jumping around on the giant piano that they have set up in FAO Schwartz.

Husky Tools Rules. Putting Together Toys Does Not.

It was supposed to be easy to put together.



I mean, it’s a tiny shopping cart.

Honestly, I thought it was basically already put together and that all I’d have to do was put the wheels on.

Um.



What the HELL, Little Tikes? I love the brand but what was with all the tiny pieces in the bag?

But okay. I could manage it. I was a capable adult and it probably wasn’t as hard as I was making it out to be. I flipped through the instructions and was baffled. Why wasn’t it making any sense? I know I have problems putting things together but holy crap, why wasn’t I comprehending—oh...I was reading the Spanish side. Duh.

I focused on the English instructions and almost fell over. Why were there 23 steps for a TINY shopping cart?



I sighed and stared at the tool set that Husky Tools had graciously sent to me to review. I figured building the shopping cart would be a perfect chance to try them out. (If you want your own, check out their site here. A bunch of tools are $20 of less! And, added bonus, they are guaranteed forever! Plus the handles are really smooth, and I liked touching them. That’s probably weird, so disregard that part of the review.)

Look at all these tools:





I mean, okay, some of them I’ve never heard of before. Like, what is a Pozi? Still, all I had to do was follow the instructions and everything would be okay. Just because Tom is in Korea, it doesn’t mean that I can’t build stuff myself. True, he always did it. But screwing things together was easy enough. (Ha, screw.) Ahem. Focus, Amber.

I cleared my throat and stared at the instructions in a businesslike manner.

“So,” I began. “First I take the screwdriver and...and...screw?” I swallowed back my laugher. Who can say the word screw and not laugh? I’d like to know. “So I begin like this,” I grabbed some pieces. “And I screw them together, like so.” I grabbed a screw (HA) and then poised the screwdriver over it. I thought I was screwing it in, but when I moved away, the pieces fell into a heap. NOT SCREWED IN TOGETHER. (HAHA)

“I screwed you in! I did what the instructions told me to do!”

A sound filled the room. I thought it was my tools telling me off because who knows, maybe they were fancy tools?

Then I realized it was Skype. Tom was calling me. TOM! He could help me. He could—but wait, I wanted to do this on my own. I hate being one of those women who need the help of a man. I want to be all, “I don’t need a man, I know how the insides of my car work, I can put anything together, and I don’t need the rules of football explained to me.” But here’s the truth: the only thing I can identify in my car is the engine (on a good day), most things that I attempt to put together fall apart, and the rules of football baffle me. I base what team I want to win based on the color of their uniforms. Like I rooted for the Minnesota Vikings, because I was digging the purple they sported. I am not proud of this. I’m not one of those women who think it’s cute to act all helpless.

I clicked the button to accept Tom’s call, planning to play it cool. But when his face appeared on the screen, he found me sitting there, gripping my new Husky Tools frantically.

“Um. Is there a problem?” Tom was probably confused as to why his wife was sitting there holding a bunch of tools.

“I’m…putting together a shopping cart for Natalie.” I forced a smile, making it seem like I knew exactly what I was doing.

“How is that going?” Tom knows how I get when I try to put something together. I usually curse, scream, or kick the box across the room. Sometimes all three, if I’m particularly pissed.

“Well. It’s going well.” I gave a sharp nod.

“You’re acting weird. Why are you holding the tools in a death grip?”

“I’m not…”

“You can put them down. They won’t run away,” Tom joked. I wanted to toss a screwdriver at his head.

“This is frustrating, Tom. I’m to the point where I don’t even find the word screw funny anymore,” I sniffled.

“Gosh, then it is serious,” Tom said, tilting a bag of M&Ms in his mouth. He’s obsessed with M&Ms. It’s irritating how he just chomps and chomps on them like a cow.

“I will put it together,” I said firmly. “True, I had problems in the past but I was young then.”

Tom chewed the M&Ms before he went, “Amber, it was less than a year ago when you tried to put together that—”

“Shhhh. You just shhhh. I’m older now and wiser and…” I held the tools up. “We can do this.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “We?”

“Yes, we. Me and my new tools.”

“Good luck,” Tom said. “Come back on Skype and show me when you’re finished.”

I clicked off with Tom and walked determinedly back to the scattered toy pieces. Then I walked back to the computer and typed the toy name in. Maybe other people had good advice on ways to put it together easier.

All I found were reviews from people saying that it wasn’t difficult to put together at all, that they had it up and running in ten minutes flat.

I gave the computer screen the finger and returned to the pieces.

Then I got to screwing (ha), and hammering (yes, weirdly, the instructions called for a hammer), and more screwing and...






Well, that’s how it was supposed to look. (Natalie has turned brunette!)

This is how mine still looked.



This is how I reacted when I realized that the toy wasn’t coming together as I’d hoped:



Yes. I stuck a screwdriver in the box.

Look, I’ll put it together. One day. Or I’ll stuff all the pieces back in the box, walk over to the neighbor and be like, “Hello. I once loaned you some milk and an egg. I believe if you put this together for me that we’ll be on equal footing. And don’t mind the screwdriver that I’ve stuck in the box, I have anger issues. I’m working on it.”

Or maybe one day I’ll wake up and just understand how to put things together.

It could happen. If a movie like From Justin to Kelly can get made, anything is possible.



**The kind folks at Husky Tools gave me a complimentary set to review. I received no other compensation for this post and the tools were in no way the ones that made it impossible to put together the shopping cart. That was me. The tools, however, did feel really good going into the box that continued to mock me with the finished product all nicely put together.**

Inside Natalie's Closet

It’s no secret that I love to buy my children clothes. So occasionally I’ll do a post where I’ll show pictures of them in their latest outfit. This one is by (guess?) Gymboree from the Merry and Bright line.

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Hey Natalie, want to take some pictures?



Okay, do you want to smile for me?





Can you stop sticking your tongue out?



That’s her innocent I’m-not-doing-anything look. Tom thinks it’s adorable, I think that usually when she’s made that face that I’m about to find some sort of catastrophe. One time she had squeezed chocolate syrup over the kitchen floor and claimed that she was “cleaning” it.



This was Natalie’s reaction when I told her that one day Charlie Sheen could give up booze.

Then she told me that she was going to run into the side of the house.



“Natalie, what do you think about the fact that Justin Beiber has a movie coming out about his life next month in 3D?"



(My reaction too.)

I ran into the side of the house and made inappropriate noises which in turn made her smile for me.












Some people ask if I’d consider getting Natalie into modeling. Sure. So long as the photographer was willing to run into the wall.

Conversations on Skype

The following conversation happened online a couple hours after I had called Tom on Skype...



TOM: I don’t know how you manage to give me the cold shoulder when we are half a world apart but you do.

TOM: Come on, I know you’re there.

TOM: I’m going to keep messaging you until you respond. I already said I was sorry. I still don’t see what the big deal is.

AMBER: The big deal is you didn’t tell me someone was in the room with you as I rambled on about an embarrassing subject and sat in my Happy Bunny pajamas with hair that was not brushed.

TOM: Ha! I knew you were there. I knew you couldn’t stay silent for too long.

AMBER: Oh stop being a baby, I just ignored you for two hours. With good reason.

TOM: A dumb reason.

AMBER: Tom, the first time I “meet” the people you hang out with in Korea, I want to be dressed in regular clothes with brushed hair. You let me ramble on in my Happy Bunny pajamas, not telling me that your friend was in the corner, listening to everything I was saying, able to see me.

TOM: It was fine. He probably wasn’t even paying much attention, he was flipping through a magazine.

AMBER: It was not fine. I was talking about how I thought that waxing in between your butt would hurt, Tom. That’s not exactly what I want to be talking about when I “meet” one of your friends for the first time. You could have said, “Hey, I have a buddy in the room with me, go easy on the anal speak.”

TOM: Did it really matter? So what, he heard you talking about waxing.

AMBER: WAXING BUTT HAIR!

TOM: He thought it was funny.

AMBER: I was in my PAJAMAS!

TOM: I’m sure he likes Happy Bunny.

AMBER: Tom, I know that men talk and now he’s going to go back to your co-workers and be like, “I “met” Tom’s wife. She sat in pajamas, had unkempt hair and talked about waxing ass hair.”

TOM: So what?

AMBER: Suppose I had stripped for you? What then?

TOM: Please, you did that once and you didn’t get all the way naked because you lost your balance and smacked into the bookcase.

AMBER: You saw boobage! What if your friend had seen my boobs?

TOM: He’d have been grateful, there are a lot of sexually frustrated men here.

AMBER: TOM!

TOM: It wasn’t as bad as you thought. You were the one who had a fit when you heard him cough and demanded to know who he was. It was like you thought he was a chick.

AMBER: He coughs like a girl, it sounded feminine so excuse me for going, “What the f*ck is going on?”

TOM: I would just think that *that* would be what you were embarrassed about when you met him for the first time, not talking about butt hair. Cursing out someone upon meeting them for the first time is not a good impression.

AMBER: After I saw he had a penis, I said hello.

TOM: Then you said that you had to go and made up some excuse that you had to stop Natalie from sticking Qtips down her pants.

AMBER: That, sadly, was not an excuse. She was sticking Qtips down her pants.

TOM: Then after you logged off Skype you sent me a mean message saying that you were appalled that I didn’t tell you that someone was in the room and how could I let you ramble on about waxing butt hair like that?

AMBER: I was pissed. Next time, tell me if you aren’t alone and I’ll talk about normal things like carpet and waffles.

TOM: Carpet and waffles?

AMBER: They were the first things that came to my mind that were normal. Pardon me.

TOM: So you’re done being mad at me?

AMBER: Yes. If you promise to let me know when someone is in the room with you.

TOM: Will you log on Skype?

AMBER: I don’t know. Are you alone?

TOM: Yes.

AMBER: Fine. But you won’t be getting any boobage tonight.

TOM: You’re mean.


(And I know I’ll be asked about this: NO I have not had my butt waxed. I had watched a show where someone had done it which is why I was talking about the subject. I talk about the oddest things. I’m known for that. I’m known as The Girl Who Talks About Subjects That Aren’t Exactly Proper. Hello. Nice to meet you.)

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.

----------------------

To not wear skinny jeans.


To think all the award shows that celebrities get are ridiculous. There shouldn’t be more than 2. Yes, talent should be celebrated but celebs seem to need their egos stroked. A lot.


To have NOT watched the Golden Globes even though Ricky Gervais is hilarious.


To have finally watched Sense and Sensibility and while I liked it, holy crap, the movie kept going and going…just get to the part where Hugh Grant and Emma Thompson get together for craps sake.


To have been craving Kentucky Fried Chicken for the past month.


To cringe when someone walks around with a popped up collar. I have to force myself not to reach over and put the collar back down while explaining that a popped collar makes the person look like a fool.


To occasionally have ice cream for dinner.


To never be able to mother like that Chinese woman who doesn’t allow her kids to have sleepovers and demands all As from them.


To not hide veggies in dinners I prepare. I personally wouldn’t want a hidden zucchini in my meat loaf.


To think Charlie Sheen should be fired and properly punished for his behavior. He’s never going to take anything seriously if people are all, “Oh, it’s fine, act like a drunken ass, show up late for work, and oh, here’s millions of dollars for doing it.”

The Magical Place

I pushed open the door and...

...there it was. The new book and coffee smell.

I love it.

I had arrived in Barnes and Noble, one of my favorite places. And I was alone. No kids. No husband nagging me to hurry and pick out a book because he’s bored.

It was just me, alone, with all these fabulous books.

But the adventure didn’t start with the books. No, it had started at Target, another one of my favorite places. Well, technically it started when I dropped Natalie off at preschool. Then I went to Target, because rumor had it that a bunch of toys had been marked 75% off.

It was true.

I grabbed a cart, went back to the toy section and there were the glorious 75% off signs.

Plus two other women who had carts filled with toys.

HEY!

At least Old Lady Hog wasn’t there. She’s an older woman who loads up carts and carts filled with the toys. And she’s not doing it for a good deed either, she’s re-selling. Not that there is anything wrong with re-selling—times are tough, a person needs to make money how they see fit—but taking all the deals isn’t right. I love a deal and I always leave stuff behind to share in the deal excitement.

One of the ladies had already gone through both of the lanes since her cart was filled, but she kept going back and taking other stuff. So I figured if I wanted something, I better hurry.

I managed to find the following:





And no, everything is not for my kids. I donate some, and every year I give to Toys for Tots.

Then it was time for Barnes and Noble. I walked slowly down the aisles, my fingers bumping against the spines of all the books. I’d pull a few out and read the back, and then flip through a few pages.

The quiet was bliss. I live in a house where quiet doesn’t always happen.

I ended up just buying a Writer’s Digest magazine and then I wandered into the café area. I wish I liked coffee. I mean, the smell of it is amazing. But the taste? Not so much. So instead of a coffee drink, I got a hot chocolate and a Godiva double chocolate slice of cheesecake to go.

I settled down at a table and just savored the peacefulness. I could spend all day in a Barnes and Noble.

As I sat there, hands around my hot chocolate cup, a guy sitting nearby glanced up. We locked eyes and I said something like, “Isn’t this great?”

He blinked at me. “Is what great?”

“This place.” I bit my tongue to keep from adding, “Duh.”

He just shrugged. “I guess,” he answered and went back to the magazine he was reading.

He probably doesn’t appreciate it because he can come to Barnes and Noble whenever he wants. But when you have young (loud) kids, you don’t always get the luxury.

I had to leave an hour later so I could pick up Natalie.

But I’ll be back next month.

I still have $18 left on a gift card that is just itching to be spent.

And I could go for another slice of cheesecake.

The Evil Doll

I knew it.

I KNEW it would happen.

But Natalie had to have the giant Rapunzel. She begged for the giant Rapunzel.

I got her the giant Rapunzel.

And now....

NOW...

I’m freaked out by the giant Rapunzel.

It started off okay. It truly did.

Natalie got her beloved giant Rapunzel and she was so happy.





She even got a matching dress.





But then Natalie would leave the doll downstairs at night. And I’d be minding my own business, enjoying the quiet because the kids were finally asleep. I’d settle down on the couch, all stretched out and then I’d see her from the corner of my eye.

I’d jump, of course.

Because the doll looks like a real person at first.

And dolls freak me out ever since I watched those Chucky movies when I was younger. Then there was another movie about an evil GIRL doll. I can’t even remember what that one was called. But the point is, that doll was also EVIL. Like I’m going to murder you while laughing maniacally, evil.

So when I see that Rapunzel doll at night I think:



I try to make sure the doll is upstairs by the evening. Or, you know, covered by a blanket and put in another room.

But sometimes I forget.

And when I do, I’m always spooked and I think:

My Dear Letters

It’s fun to write letters. The following are letters that I wish I could send.

---------------------------

Dear Tommy,

No, I’m sorry, we aren’t getting another pet. Do you know why we aren’t getting another pet? Because I’d most likely get stuck taking care of it. You might want fish, but then I’d have to scrub out the tank. You might beg for a hamster, but cleaning out the cage will gross you out. So, I’m sorry. For now, we’re sticking with Max the Cat.

Signed,
An-I’m-Not-Cleaning-After-Another-Living-Thing,
Amber

------------------------------

Dear Kirsten Dunst,

It’s been said that you uttered these words at a New Year’s Eve party: “I’m Kirsten Dunst! I can’t believe I’m begging to get into a Las Vegas party!” Honey, who CARES if you are Kirsten Dunst. In fact, who cares if a person is a celebrity to begin with? They shouldn’t have rights over us “regular” people. The people who SHOULD have rights? Soldiers. You know, the ones that risk their lives for their country? THEY are the ones who should be celebrated. Kirsten, get a lesson from Adam Sandler, who seems to get this. He always thanks a soldier and openly says that the award shows make him feel ridiculous when there are people out there dying.

Signed,
A-Tired-Of-“Celebrity”-Nonsense,
Amber

PS—Josh Duhamel, you also need a lesson. I hear you like to throw fits in airports and was pissy when the flight attendant asked you to turn off your cell phone when the plane was about to take off. You may look like you stepped out of a GQ magazine, but you should be ashamed of yourself.

---------------------

Dear Natalie,

Why must you be playing nicely until the phone rings? Then you’re up in my face, scrambling to add your voice into the conversation and I’m sorry, it’s annoying. Play with your toys! You know what, when you’re a teen and the phone is glued to your ear, remind me to lean against you, adding MY opinion to the conversation. Payback is a bitch, sweetheart.

PS—I also plan on snatching the book that you’ll be reading and running down the hall, as you like to do with MY books. Let’s see how funny you think it is in ten years, sweets.

Signed,
A-Would-Love-A-Quiet-Phone-Convo,
Amber

-------------------------

Dear Toddlers and Tiaras,

You’re a freaky show. I’m sorry, but it’s not right to get a two-year-old tanned. A five-year-old does NOT need to get waxed. I’m all for the natural pageants because yes, they can give a kid confidence. But makeup on a toddler and seductive dance moves? No. Not appropriate.

Signed,
A-Feels-Sorry-For-The-Orange-Sprayed-Kids
Amber

-----------------------

Dear Lost,

I still miss you. I still have not found a show as good as you were. The Tudors came pretty close, but that’s also finished. Come JJ Abrams....you created Lost, please come up with another entertaining show.

Signed,
A-Missing-My-Hurley
Amber

----------------------

Dear The Today Show,

I’ve lost a little respect for you since you put Snooki on your show. Seriously, she represents almost everything wrong with Americans right now. She drinks too much, she sexes random men, she’s rude, and she’s not that bright. It’s probably all the hairspray. But really, why must we glorify people like this? I know it’s because Snooki makes the network money and gives the program higher ratings...but it would be a breath of fresh air if one day a network was like, “You know what? Screw the money and ratings we might get. This chick doesn’t deserve the attention.”

Signed,
I’d-Switch-To-The-Early-Show-But-I-Have-A-Feeling-Snooki-Was-There-Too
Amber

----------------------------

Dear Target,

Rumor has it that you’ll be marking toys 75% off today. I plan on going to check it out. I cannot pass up a good deal.

Signed,
A-Needs-To-Get-To-The-Deals-Before-Old-Lady-Hog-Takes-Them-All
Amber

Toning my Tush

I’m trying to tone my ass.

And not just my ass. Everything.

It’s just, Tom has been working out a lot in Korea. I don’t want to be the flabby one in the relationship.

So it’s a good thing I got these shoes from my parents for Christmas:



They are supposed to help me tone my ass.

Their quote even says, “Make your bottom part your better part.” Thanks, Sketchers, I’d love to do this.

Now when I’m shopping I’m all, “Lalala, as I shop, I’m toning my ass.”

I’m not sure if there is much of a change. Back there, I mean. I asked Tom if he noticed a firmer tush and he was all, “I could tell you for sure if you took off your pants.”

I checked my backside out in the mirror and it’s hard to tell. I’m not about to ask my children, that could traumatize them. Then when they are adults, they could be with a psychologist going, “I remember distinctly when my life changed forever. My Mom asked me if her butt looked firmer.”

I’ll just have to hope these shoes are doing their job.

But.

I don’t always eat the greatest, and I’m not sure the shoes will help if I don’t limit my chocolate intake.

It doesn’t help when a nice reader named Katelin sent me all this:



That’s a box full of chocolate.

She works for a company called Chocolate Chocolate and I highly recommend it. I mean, if you love chocolate, you’ll love the site.

This made me laugh.





Mmm, an IRS form never tasted so good.

A giant chocolate bar, almost as big as my head!



A variety of chocolate bars. These were my favorite ones:



So thank you, Katelin. These chocolates will not be wasted. They will be enjoyed, and loved, and...well, might make my ass expand.

But isn’t that why I got the shoes?

Hey, It's Okay Tuesday!

I got this idea from Glamour magazine. They have a section called Hey, It’s Okay and will list a bunch of things to be okay about. You're welcome to join in and do something like this on your diary. Doesn't have to be on a Tuesday either.

----------------------

To be baffled as to why Kristen Stewart won best actress in the People’s Choice Awards. And Eclipse won best movie and best drama movie? Hello? I’m embarrassed for America.


To think it’s cool that Ted Williams, the homeless man with the radio voice has a job.


To also think if I hear about Ted Williams, the homeless man with the radio voice one more time that I may scream.


To know that I’ll never be able to use a family cloth. Some families use cloth as toilet paper to save money and be, you know, GREEN and they’ll just re-wash the cloth and such...which is awesome, and I am no way poking fun. It’s just, I like my Charmin. So no. No family cloth. Ever.


To have been a little stunned when Justin Long’s ass came into the picture while watching Going the Distance. I was equally surprised to see Mark Ruffalo’s ass in The Kids Are All Right. I’m not a prude or anything; it was just shocking to watch a movie and be like, “Ahh! Ass!”


To think that the fact that Justin Beiber has a movie coming out about his life next month is ridiculous.


To have finally shoved stuff aside so my car can fit into the garage. I can’t use the door to the garage because of all the crap but hey, car fits in it again. Yay. (Note to self: clean garage when it gets warmer. It resembles a room from Hoarders. Minus the feces and dead animals, thank goodness.)


To be appalled how that guy opened fire in Arizona and injured and killed innocent people. Including a nine-year-old little girl. My heart goes out to Arizona.

Tell Her No

A sound came from the computer.

“Your Daddy is calling,” I said to the kids, accepting the phone call from Skype.

“I’ve been calling for like ten minutes,” Tom’s face came onto the screen. “What were you doing?”

Um. Taking care of two children. Two loud children. And…

“We were dancing to Wedding Bell Blues by The Fifth Dimension,” I admitted.

Tom frowned. “What?” He doesn’t get the music I listen to. He listens to rap or music where the singer screams at you. I don’t want to listen to music where people scream at me. I get that enough from my children.

“You know.” I swallowed, cleared my throat, and started to sing. “BILL! I love you soooo, I always will...”

“Who is Bill?” Tom wanted to know.

I shrugged. “Not sure. I just like the song.”

“It sounds awful,” Tom, ever the tactful male, said.

“It’s better than what you listen to,” I argued. “But anyhow, I’m glad you’re here. You need to talk to Natalie. She’s been naughty the past few days.”

“Tell her no,” Tom answered as though it were that easy. I hate when I tell him that the kids aren’t listening because he immediately goes, ‘Tell them no.’ Well, duh, I’ve tried that.

“Tell her no,” I repeated. “What a wonderful idea, Tom. I did not think of that.”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic. Here, I’ll talk to her,” Tom volunteered.

I plopped Natalie in the computer chair. She was dressed in her Rapunzel dress and she waved at Tom. “Hi, Daddy!”

“Daddy has something to talk to you about,” I explained and then left the room. It hit me that I had space! I had real, actual space. I didn’t have a kid attached to my ankle. I didn’t have a kid asking me for something. I was free! Freee! I mean, only for a few minutes, but still. I almost didn’t know what to do with myself. Maybe I could read a few pages of my book. Yes! I can’t do that during the day. I settled down on the living room chair and opened my book. I could hear Tom’s muffled voice.

Ahhh…it was so nice having another parent in the house again.

Sort of.

I began to read and then...

“Amber!”

Tom. Ugh, what? Was he already done?

I shut my book reluctantly and then went back to the computer.

“She told me that she loved me,” Tom said, looking panicked. “I tried to be stern with her and she told me she loved me.”

“And?” I’m used to Natalie doing that. If I’m chastising her, she’ll go, “But I love you. Very much,” and I’m all, “If you love me very much, show it. Plopping down in the middle of the store and refusing to get up does not show love.”

“It’s just…I don’t want her mad at me when I’m halfway across the world. She said she’d be good though. Surely she couldn’t have been too bad,” Tom said.

“Oh, she was bad. I took her to the mall and she screamed at the top of her lungs because she wanted to play in the mall playground. I told her no, she freaked out some more to the point where people were leaning out of the stores, wanting to know what was going on. They probably thought someone was dying. It was mortifying, Tom. I tried everything, I told her to stop it, I even tried Supernanny’s ‘this is unacceptable behavior’ line, complete with a British accent, but that just confused her. She’s just extra stubborn these days so taking her out can be a nightmare,” I rambled.

Seriously, that mall trip was awful. I had to carry her out kicking and screaming and one store worker had the nerve to go, “She has lungs, doesn’t she?” I was tempted to reply, “Really? I have no clue, do you want a daughter? I so wanted a daughter because I thought they were quiet and dainty but the one I got won’t shut up.”

“Did you get upset at the mall, sweetie?” Tom asked Natalie.

Sweetie? SWEETIE?

“Tell her not to do that, Tom. She’ll take it better from you, she doesn’t like disappointing you. Me, she could care less,” I urged.

“Listen to your mother,” Tom said blandly. It was as though he were saying something like, “Isn’t the weather lovely today?” and “Kumquat is a funny word to say.”

“I will, Daddy,” Natalie said sweetly. “I love you, Daddy. Look, I’m a Princess.” She stood up in the chair, swooshing her dress back and forth.

“You’re beautiful,” Tom replied.

“And loud. Don’t forget that she’s loud. Not all the time but a good portion of the time,” I cut in. He hasn’t really seen a meltdown from Natalie. Sure, she got upset when he was around, but nothing like she has been doing. He never saw her stomp one of her feet down and go, “I won’t!” He never had to witness her settling down in the middle of the store, arranging her skirt neatly around her and announcing, “I’m staying here.”

I guess I’m on my own for now.

Until Tom comes back and sees that his daughter isn’t as angelic as he thinks.

Of course, with my luck, Natalie will only ever be on her best behavior around him and then leave the tantrums for me.

Aren’t I lucky?

Pictures That Make Me Smile

Smiling rocks.

And the following pictures have made me smile.




The dessert we had on Christmas Day. That cake is a triple chocolate cake from HEB. I love the bakery in HEB. If I lived in Texas, I’d try every dessert.




Tommy gets so excited when he does different science experiments. In this one, he was creating tornados.





Real Mexican food always thrills me. This was taken at a restaurant on the Riverwalk in San Antonio. I can’t even remember what I ordered, but they were delicious.





We went to the San Antonio Zoo and Natalie wanted to keep this goat. She named it Goaty and kept saying, “You can come home with me, Goaty.”





My Mom loves (and I mean loves) horses. She brought us to the place where she volunteers and this horse definitely loved the camera.





Natalie decided to wear her jacket like pants. I’m not entirely sure why. She takes after her mother. Sometimes we do things that don’t exactly make much sense.





This candy bar caught my eye because of its name. It’s fun to say. And it turns out that it’s delicious. Anything with peanut butter is usually a win in my eyes.