Huckabee Fuckabee

Every year there seems to be something new to fear. Bird flu, terrorism, nuclear war, heart disease.

Yes, these are all scary. But what scares me more than anything? HUCKABEE.

God, please protect and save us from Huckabee.

Another Christmas

It’s 11:34 p.m.

My children are in bed asleep and have been for hours.

My “Santa” responsibilities are taken care of.

I’ve had my relaxing hot bath and am snuggled up in my bed… alone.

This is the second Christmas since my divorce. And my second Christmas Eve alone in this bed. Yes, it’s warm, cozy, and something utterly divine. And any given night, lying here without a warm body beside me, is something I’m OK with. I’ve become accustom to it.

But in all honesty, I believed, or at least hoped, that this Christmas there would be someone to share it with.

And yet here I am, another Christmas come and, in almost 24 hours, gone. Maybe next year will be different, maybe not.

All I know is that tonight my bed feels too big without someone else in it.

Why Scissors and Kids Just Don’t Mix

This morning my darling children did something very sweet. They let me sleep in. I did get up about 7:30 to get them breakfast, and then went back in bed for a much needed almost 2 hour nap.

Sweet little angels.

Except when I woke up for the second time, I noticed something strange. Something different. One side of my daughter’s hair was sitting just below her ear, about 3 to 4 inches above where it had been earlier that morning.

“Did you cut your hair?” I asked.

“No.”, which actually sounded more like a question than an answer.

“Emma, did you cut your hair?”

“Ummm, no.”

“I know you cut your hair. Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m sorry. I forgot.” she said, while batting her lovely blue eyes at me.

“You forgot that you’re not supposed to play with the scissors and that you’re not supposed to cut your hair?”

“I’m sorry Mommy. I love you.”

Uh huh.

Truth be told, the “old” do was looking a little ragged, and she did need a hair cut. Her hair actually looks very cute, so let’s call it a blessing in disguise.

Nevertheless, I think I’ll be locking the scissors in a gun safe from now on.

BEFORE

 

AFTER

(notice, her right side is still a little shorter than the left, but it’s still darling)

Dating Tip #1

On a first date: When your date asks you to tell her something “exciting” about yourself, revealing that you’ve been diagnosed with OCD, but that you’re not crazy–you’re heavily medicated–is probably NOT the best idea. And it’s most likely not her idea of exciting.

When It’s Good, It’s Pretty Damn Good

In no particular order, some of my favorite things:

• My bed.
• Sleeping in my bed on freshly washed sheets.
• Girls nights out.
• Awesome weekends with my BFF.
• Massages.
• Back tickles.
• Laughing so hard it makes me cry.
• Sleeping under the stars on top of the houseboat at Lake Powell.
• Watching my children play together.
• Raw Cookie Dough.
• “Dance Dance Revolution” with Carlie.
• Puppy breath.
• Midnight skinny dipping in the St. George pool.
• Singing at the top of my lungs in my car.
• A “Bento Box” from The Jasmine.
• Rain when it’s hot outside.
• Kissing someone who is in love with me.
• Molten chocolate cake.
• Reading a good book in bed, with my cat curled up at my feet.
• Getting naked, soaping up, and going down the slide on the houseboat at the lake with the girls.
• My house after it’s all clean.
• When I’m home alone, turning the music up to deafening levels, and dancing like the spaz that I am.
• A Porty snuggle, followed by some intense falling asleep.
• A hot bath before I go to bed.
• Sleeping in.
• Having extra money to play with.
• Hot chocolate with whipped cream.
• Making people laugh.
• Looking at my kids when they are asleep.
• Playing Hand and Foot with my family.
• Laying out in the warm sun.
• Being kissed on that magical spot on the back of my neck.

Sometimes I forget how good I really do have it. This is to help me remember.

Newest Confirmation (#213)

Call placed at 3:13 p.m. “Hi… So, my car broke down. I was wondering if you could pick up me and the kids from the repair shop and give us a ride home after you get off work?” NOTE: He gets off around 5 p.m.

Long pause followed by the most dramatic sigh heard in history. “… thing is, I have plans for dinner with Rachel. Can’t you figure something else out? What about your parents?”

My parents who live 25 minutes away? My father who just got out of the hospital Saturday after surgery on his heart?

“Well, I guess I can take all 3 kids to the garage and then we can walk the 2 miles home. In the snow. While it’s dark. During rush hour.”

“OK.”

That’s when I hung up the phone.

Yes, my thoughtful and darling ex-husband, even though you live only 2 miles from me (and closer to where my car is being repaired than I do), don’t put yourself out. I wouldn’t want you to be late for dinner with the woman you see almost daily. Don’t worry about it.

I’ll hire a fucking babysitter so that OUR small children don’t have to walk home in 20-something degree weather through the dark 4 lane streets during rush hour. I’ll just add the child care costs to the rest of everything that I pay for. You’ve got to save your money! What is it that you pay for? Not rent, not food, not utilities, not clothing for the kids. Your mom pays for that. Oh yes, you’ve got your $35 car insurance payment each month, and gas. Yeah, you’re hurting.

When you leave me a message asking me to look up a phone number for you or when you ask for advice on your taxes, your surprise when I don’t return your call is genuinely shocking to me.

“Are you not talking to me?” you ask in a text.

Wow genius, you’re not as stupid as you look.

Girls Girls Girls!

I know of a number of women who say that they don’t really have a lot of girl friends. Yes, I get it… I understand why. I think it’s really sad and believe that these women are missing out on something AMAZING, but that is not what this post is about.

This past weekend I had one of the most fun girls ‘trips’ I have experienced.

Once a year the women in my family go somewhere and have what we call the “girls retreat”. It’s wonderful, it’s relaxing, and yes, it’s fun. But this was not one of those weekends.

This was an entirely different kind of girls trip… it was “girls weekend in Wendover”. Woo hoo! Not something that I would do with my mother or sisters.

If you’ve read my previous posts, Wendover and I had a falling out a few months ago. It was hell on earth, but I was determined to make amends and give it another shot. My goal this weekend? To hang out with the girls, completely let go of my stress and worry, and have fun!

I was a little sick earlier in the week, and worried that this would dampen my Wendover experience. Not so. I had more fun than I expected. We met some amazing people, truly kicked back and let our hair down, and I was able to ignore (or at least get rid of) the horny men and make this weekend all about the girls.

I feel I must publicly apologize to Cami’s husband. Yes, we saw the camera, denim mini-skirt, and vibrator that you packed in her bag. Sorry, it was NOT that kind of girls trip. But thanks for thinking of us 🙂

To those of you out there (specifically women) who haven’t experienced this type of quality gal pal bonding time, I highly recommend it. There is something about free flowing alcohol, being away from home, and around a bunch of drunk men that bring out the best in women. In various ways, we totally took care of each other.

Ahhh… I love my girls!