Reality Really Bites

In the past year or so that I have written this blog, I have been the recipient of some interesting communication. Probably the strangest email I have gotten has come from the producers of reality television shows. Seriously. I'm not making this stuff up. Who knew these people read blogs?

Recently I was approached about a children's nutrition documentary. That one sounded interesting - something about their diets causing them to be crabby. I almost responded, but honestly I could not help but imagine the network suing me for injuries to the poor dietician who attempted to take macaroni and cheese and candy away from The Little One.

The producers of Wife Swap also contacted me. Can you imagine? I had never actually watched the show until after I received the email. After half an episode, I decided to pass. I would not wish swapping with us on any poor unsuspecting woman. Besides, which family would we be - the white trash family or the anal retentive one? Don't answer that.

I can understand finding us through the blog, but the latest communication I received came via the mail. You see we recently filed suit against a tree guy that defrauded us (you may remember the tree saga we have been enduring this past year). It seems that the Judge Joe Brown show is interested in having us appear. I would almost consider this one, as you are guaranteed to receive the money if you win a judgment along with travel expenses to Los Angeles. Honestly though, I am not holding my breath because the "esteemed gentleman" we are suing has had several judgments entered against him over the past few months. It seems he does not bother to appear in court. I am fairly positive that Judge Joe would not want to waste any folksy quips on me alone.

Here then, is the $60,000 question: Why have the producers of shows that I would be excited to appear on not contacted me? Where are the people from Mr. Mom or Brat Camp? I honestly cannot think of many things more entertaining that watching my beloved Hubby running this household for awhile. Don't get me wrong; I love the man dearly, but C. juggling everyone's schedule and the daily household grind while fueled with nothing but ramen noodles, macaroni and cheese and Coq au Vin (the only food he knows how to make) would make for good television. And Brat Camp? That is the show I'd really like to be a part of. How did I miss the casting for that one? I would have gladly sent one (or both) of these children into the wilderness for several weeks.

I am sure parents everywhere have made this first season of Brat Camp a hit. In the words of my children, "well DUH!" That can only mean one thing. They are probably casting for future seasons. Please, if you just happen to be part of the production crew for this show, feel free to contact me. I promise that my kids are photogenic, and I'm not too proud to beg.

11 More Days

It is now 11 more days until that magical moment, that Christmas for parents, that day that feels like the IRS has made an undetectable mistake and sent you a $10,000 refund. Yes my friends, the first day of school is getting close. I think I may actually make it again this year without any permanent damage. Here then, are some of the reasons I will be ecstatic on September 6th:

My hearing should return. I am fairly positive that the constant thumping I hear is generated from the bass in their stereos and not in my head. I am looking forward to no longer reading lips to figure out what people are talking about.

My voice should return. There was a time when C. thought I was trying to be sexy with the hoarse voice. It took him one day off work to realize what was really going on - I have to yell over the din. My sign language skills are totally lacking.

My electric bill will go down. The televisions, computers and stereos will be returned to their original off positions. Every light in the house, which have burned brightly for two months despite my running around like a crazed sprinter trying to turn them off, will go dark.

My grocery bill will go back down to normal. No longer will people under the age of 15 be grazing every half an hour through the pantry and refrigerator like half-starved goats eating everything in their path.

I will be able to find my cordless phone. I think it still exists. Even though it has not rested securely in its cradle for the past two months, I have occasionally seen it attached to a child's head. I am hopeful that it has not become permanently attached to said child's head, requiring an expensive operation to remove it. Time will tell.

Speaking of the phone, I will be able to actually use it. I have almost forgotten what a dial tone sounds like, but I am optimistic that I will remember it. They say it is like riding a bike. If I have problems recalling how to dial, we do have speed dial. Hopefully the kids have not changed my preset numbers. I will know for sure when I try to dial my mother and get Radio Disney instead.

The ringing in my ears should cease. In addition to the booming of the stereo bass, I have heard this constant ringing. I believe that is the telephone. It occurs religiously throughout the day. Perhaps after school starts it will actually be for me.

The part of referee will no longer be played by yours truly. No longer will I need to scream, "Knock it off!" every few minutes (and one wonders where my voice goes). I will also not be required to throw my body in between what amounts to wild animals in full attack mode. I will not miss the drama.

Yes my friends, 11 more days. I am optimistic that I can hang on.

Wish me luck.

Just a Note

I just wanted to say THANK YOU to all the kind comments to the last post. I was going to respond to them all individually, but I'm lazy. It's true that we've had a pretty crappy year, BUT we've had a good year, too. We are truly blessed as a family.

The diabetes thing isn't too bad. I only "failed" 2 of the 4 numbers. I'm on a "meal plan" that actually has forced me to take the time to eat and thus I am eating more than I was before the moratorium on Ben & Jerry. The only bummer about it is that I have to test my blood 4 times a day. Some of you may remember that I am a wimp, but it's not that bad - no medication, insulin shots, etc. In fact, my numbers have been on the low side (despite my afternoon "snack" today of 7 peanut butter cookies - shhhhhhh!). C. thinks that maybe I should just stay away from the test glucose cola crap that they make you take for the tests, since they seem to be what drive my blood sugar numbers up. I can live with that - that cola crap is NASTY! Actually my meal plan allows for ice cream occasionally. I just have to indulge "in moderation." Something tells me an entire pint of Ben & Jerry's is not exactly "in moderation" so I will try to adjust accordingly.

We'll be back to our normal silliness and inane babble here shortly. I'm working on a post, but I was so touched by all of your kind comments that I wanted to just give you an update on the real situation. I definitely think having a sense of humor is important - as I always say, I laugh to keep from crying! Again, thanks a bunch for your uplifting responses! You made my day and you guys are the BEST!

With much affection,

Catt

The Party's Over

When you look up the definition of Murphy's Law, you will most likely see a picture of our family. Skeptical? Here are some examples from the past year, some of these will be familiar to regular readers:

A child who can do soccer moves that would make your head spin will inevitably fall down the stairs causing a major injury requiring her to sit out most of the spring season (that you have already paid for). That same injury will cost you several hundreds of dollars in insurance co-pays for an extended period.

When you finally save enough for new windows that the house desperately needs, a huge tree will fall, barely missing your neighbor's house and will require an expensive removal.

When you again finally save enough for new windows that the house desperately needs, it will begin to rain in the living room signaling a more desperate need for a new roof. That new roof will not be cheap.

When you finally pay off a car, that car will require extensive repairs to remain on the road.

Conversely, when you find out the other vehicle is in need of extensive repairs, you will learn that you have exactly 29 days left on the warranty. As you are rejoicing over the perfect timing, you will learn that this is the ONE drive-train problem NOT covered by your warranty.

When you celebrate the pregnancy of friends in their late 30s, secretly thanking your lucky stars that it is not you (and perhaps snickering a bit), you will become pregnant within the month.

When you proudly announce to the entire Internet that you have only gained 7 pounds during your pregnancy, you will then gain 4 pounds the following week.

And finally:

After professing your intense love affair with Ben & Jerry's ice cream, exactly four days later you will be diagnosed with borderline gestational diabetes.

The party's over.

Ben and Jerry are Evil

Ben and Jerry, of ice cream fame, are evil incarnate. I am not talking about the cute "Aw she threw a glass of ice water on her brother to wake him up" kind of evil. I'm talking mean and sadistic evil. Why else would they insist on packing my beloved "Half Baked"** ice cream in those tiny pint containers? What exactly is wrong with a half a gallon? I would buy it. Sure, it would cost a small fortune, but those stupid pints aren't cheap as it is. They are eating up a significant portion of my grocery budget. Do the evil Ben and Jerry not realize that I lust for this stuff? Because this has become a pregnancy craving, it is obviously medically necessary. I think I am going to try to talk my doctor into writing a prescription for "Half Baked." I wonder if my insurance company will cover it.



** (Editor's Note: Do not bother commenting about how appropriate it is that my favorite flavor is called "Half Baked." My beloved family has more than exhausted those jokes. Apparently they think they are comedians.)

Pregnancy Primer

My Husband and children have not quite gotten the hang of living with a pregnant woman. You would think they would have figured it out by now. In their honor, I give you this pregnancy primer.

If I Am Sleeping, Under NO Circumstances Are You To Wake Me Up.
This kid is sucking all the energy out of me. Since you know that I am not usually a "nap person," it's a safe bet to believe that I REALLY must need the sleep. Do not wake me to ask me how I am feeling. Do not wake me to tell me that NaNa is on the phone and wants to know if I am getting enough rest. Do not wake me to ask me to check to see if your room is clean enough so that you can watch television. If, however, the house is on fire, then by all means please wake me.

Under NO Circumstances are you to eat the VERY last piece of whatever happens to be my craving du'jour. Is that HoHo, last scoop of my favorite ice cream (when you have a full tub of YOUR favorite), last granny smith apple or the last creamy yogurt with the fruit on the bottom that I love so much REALLY worth the wrath of hormones that you are setting yourself up for? Use your head and think about it.

Under NO Circumstances are you to loudly tell our friends that I am wearing my "Stretchy shorts" so my belly will fit, and then proceed to pull up my strategically placed shirt to reveal the pregnancy panel. Remember I know where you live, and I have far more experience and ammunition to embarrass you.

If you value your life, do not wait for me to step out of the shower and announce, "WOW! You are getting BIG! Maybe you need a bigger bathrobe." It is not ME getting big, it is the parasite I am carrying. I am very proud of the fact that I have only gained 7 pounds so far. Don't make me exercise further by chasing you down and killing you.

When I am settled in on the couch to read, watch a movie, or catch a little rest, under NO circumstances should you come in and poke me in the belly to "wake the baby up to play." He doesn't know when to quit and neither do you. I may poke you back rather unexpectedly and it won't be pretty.

You have been warned.

My Advice to Single Men

Here is some advice for you single men out there: If a ten-year-old child can see through your pick-up lines, it is time to rethink your approach.

We recently went out to dinner at our favorite local English Pub. It's owned by a good friend of ours and we like the food. C., The Little One and myself were seated in our usual booth enjoying an appetizer of fried pickles (yummy!) when two men in their twenties were seated behind us. This incident occurred on a Friday night. It was rather early, only about 8pm, however it was pretty obvious that the two characters in question did not have dates. Let us call them "Clueless" and "Legend in His Own Mind" (Legend). The conversation that we overheard went like this:

The server came up to take their drink order.
Legend: Wow! Your hair is gorgeous tonight!
Server: What? You mean the "I was late for work and threw my wet hair in a pony-tail" look? (Then she rolled her eyes) Uh...thanks. What can I get you to drink.

The server got their drink order then went to fill it.
Clueless: Man, you are the master! Chicks just love you! (See why I call him Clueless?)
Legend: Well, dealing with chicks is simple. There are two kinds of dudes, Direct or Smooth. I'm the Smooth kind.
Clueless: What do you mean?
Legend: Well, say you are in a club and you see a chick with great tits. The Direct dude will walk up to her and say "Hey, great tits!" But me, I'm smoother than that. I would walk up and say, "Hey, that's a great shirt! I really like it!" See, while you really like her tits, she thinks you're complimenting her shirt.

At that point The Little One rolled her eyes and said, "Mom, did you hear that? What a MORON. Girls are smart enough to see through that. Every girl knows he's really looking at her boobs. No wonder he's sitting there with the fat guy instead of on a date."

Out of the mouths of babes.