The Toxic Housewife

waitin' for the Big Man Alright, America, your consumerism and commercialism has worn me down: I took my kid to see Santa before it was even December 1st.

I have become that which I have always reviled: a Den Mother who is on the PTO and who organizes block sales and plans neighborhood parties.

Mr. C has lost so many teeth, I can't remember if he's on number 6 or number 8.  Which is odd: I don't remember even starting to lose teeth until I was in first grade; so he obviously didn't get that from me. Sadly, what he DID get from me is the size of his front teeth:

Tell it like it is, Fickle Pickle Fun It will probably come as no surprise to loyal readers that I was over-thinking (and -feeling and -worrying) about Mr. C's first days of first grade.

Mr. C starts first grade in less than a week, and I am beginning to freak out. It is suddenly hitting me that my baby is going to be a big boy who is gone at school all day.  My whole life is going to be rearranged as a result of this.

I am eating this . . . . . . and reading this . . .

Bee has been a drummer for nearly thirty years.   Our second meeting, in fact, was supposed to be at the New Year’s Eve party of one of his friends, where Bee and his current band were scheduled to play.   The party got canceled, but Bee instead invited a couple of friends and neighbors (and me) over to his house for a get-together.  

Fickle Pickle Fun Around the time I was a teenager, my mother would periodically disappear – generally on weekends my father was off on business – and “Gladys” would step in.

Wiser words were never spoken, Fickle Pickle For a long time now, Bee has worn goggles when he minces onions.   It is, of course, a brilliant solution to that pesky problem of drops whilst you chop, but it’s hard to envision the Iron Chef in such a manly getup.

Fickle Pickle Fun MR. C:   It’s so lonely around here, and the house is always messy.   I need to get married so it won’t be lonely and messy anymore.

Yesterday I reached a new low in my cooking:

Ahhh, to be young again.  Yesterday, at Kindergarten pick-up, each child who walked out of the building joined in the cry of "Mr. C lost a tooth!".  By the time the entire class had made it out the door, the chorus was deafening.  So, apparently, this was huge news.  (And it is a much better cry than the one they chorale'd a few weeks ago during pick-up: "Kathryn threw up!")

Fickle Pickle Fun Last week, Bee and I went on a double date with our friends Carmen and Allen (their names are much cooler than the lame pseudonyms I made up for them).  

after The kitchen comes along!  Below I will show some before and after photos.  Please note that I have made sure the kitchen was extremely messy for the "before" photos, and unusually clean for the "afters".  This is to unabashedly try to influence you.

etsy.com/shop/ficklepicklefun Sorry I haven't written in awhile, but we just got access to Netflix Instant Streaming.

Thanks to my wonderful Aunt Anonymous and her Burger King gift card, I am currently sitting in my local fine-dining establishment, watching Mr. C and his friend ( Stripper Mom’s son ) pretend to be monkeys while they climb around the play structure.  I think I’m becoming one of those parents Burger King must hate: bring two loud five-year-olds, buy less than $5, and spend two hours trashing their restaurant.

does eating a big bowl of green pesto satisfy today's requirements? So, as he blearily blinked himself awake this morning at 30 minutes before leave-for-school-time, Mr. C calmly asked, "Is it Saint Patrick's Day?" It has been at least 20 years since I've put any thought into this particular holiday, so I was a little unprepared.  I actually had to go get our calendar to discover that today was, indeed, March 17th.

Amy + Doug 4EVR In case you didn’t guess it, my super-sophisticated, I’m-an-adult-now Girl’s Trip last week was to Disneyland.   I won’t make excuses for it, even though the comedian Jim Gaffigan calls childless adults at Disneyland wierdos that even Batman-costumed nerds at ComicCon pity.

http://www.etsy.com/shop/ficklepicklefun Ahhhh, the wonders of the Playdate.   They used to be an opportunity for me to hang out with other moms while our kids threw blocks and bit each other.   I didn’t think anything could top these Toddler Playdates.

Fickle Pickle Fun! I have taken to waving to homeless people.   Not a big, enthusiastic wave; really just one of those quick, I-acknowledge-your-presence waves.   I do this because, although I’ve luckily never known what it’s like to beg for money, I DO know how it feels to be sitting out on display, trying to sell your product while passersby pretend to be too busy to make eye-contact.

Because we love him, Bee and I recently said, “Sayonara, Sucker!” to Mr. C, dumped him at a friend's house, and flew to San Francisco for the weekend.

Our kitchen-update has proved to indeed be the saga I feared.  Yeah, yeah: those who know me best will immediately point out that I adore a good drama . . . but this one has been a little much for my marriage.

Because I have no deep thoughts for the week (surprise, surprise):

May I just start by pointing out that Bee was FINE yesterday?  I've been battling flu-like symptoms since Christmas, but Bee was fine.

http://www.etsy.com/shop/ficklepicklefun Ahh, another auspicious New Year’s.  I am starting it off in style: once-again finding myself hanging out at the local Burger King, blogging while Mr. C approaches stranger’s children to ask them to play (with the sob-story that “My parents won’t play with me”).  (Because I’m classy, that’s my cue to call out, “Shuddup and come eat yer chicken nuggets, Junior.”)