Award Season

I’m going to apologize up front for the length of this post. It’s going to be a bit wordy, but I’ve got to handle some bid’ness this morning. It seems that not one, but two fellow bloggers were delusional enough to nominate me for awards. These women are fabulous, intelligent and funny. And possibly unstable. But I love them for it.

To get in the mood for these festivities, I’m going to put on my wedding dress. I didn’t have it cleaned before I jammed it into a Space bag ten years ago and I haven’t showered today, so I look and smell a little like Courtney Love. Fabulous!

Now let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we? There is a proper etiquette for accepting a nomination. First I need to tell you a bit about my nominators.

Lazyhippiemama nominated me for a Tell Me About Yourself Award.

Now given her blog title, you might expect to find a bunch of blog posts about how much she’d really like to eat a bag of Cheetos if only she could raise herself up off the couch, but that’s not the case. I’m not saying she doesn’t like Cheetos, because, well, who doesn’t like Cheetos? What I’m saying is that her blog is part inspirational peace/love, part environmental and part motherhood with a dash of theology and humor. I like it enough to subscribe to it. And I’m not alone. Check it out!

And Kathy over at Don’t Forget To Feed The Baby nominated me for the Sunshine Award.

Pretty, huh?

There are bloggers with whom you become friendly because you like what they have to say and you also like them. Kathy is one of those bloggers for me. I read her blog because I think she’s funny and I’ve interacted with her enough to add her to my list of bloggers I intend to stalk if I ever find myself in their neck of the woods. I mean stalk in a good way–not a boil your rabbit sort of way. I hope she doesn’t move away under the cover of night. Anyway, I wholeheartedly recommend checking out her blog.

Now I’m supposed to tell you seven things about myself.

  1. I can read minds. But only in my car and only about driving related intentions. I can feel when someone next to me wants to change lanes or someone is going to sit through a light. I cannot however tell you what they ate for dinner or if they are cheating on their spouse. Unless they throw a cheap blond and a McDonald’s bag out the window.
  2. I’m deeply offended by cheap Chinese food and bad pizza. I’d rather go hungry. I apologize for my snobbishness. It’s inexplicable given my humble, prepared-food beginnings.
  3. I’m a very good parallel parker when no one else is in the car with me. It’s my secret. I think Hubs saw my superior skills once when I forgot he was in the car, but most of the time I lose my ability when another adult is present and do a serviceable impression of a ninety year old cataract patient. Then we have to take a shuttle to the curb.
  4. I’m a terrible painter. My secret? Lack of patience and proper prep work.
  5. My family is destroying the rain forest one roll of toilet paper at a time. Seriously, I’ve never met a group of people (who weren’t also drunk and in a nightclub) who use so much toilet paper. I think they shut the bathroom door and mummify themselves.
  6. I laughed and groaned my way through Titanic but I bawled through The Time Traveler’s Wife (so hard, in fact, that Hubs thought I needed medical attention.) Romances are a mixed bag for me. It takes a subtle approach to get past my cynical humor. However, you kill off one animal in a movie and I will cry. Every. Single. Time.
  7. I’ve always believed that I have super powers. When I was little I thought I could levitate and move objects with my mind. Now I think I can move like one of those kids on So You Think You Can Dance. None of these abilities have ever been proven. However my driving telepathy…now that sh!t is real. Don’t trip.

But wait, there’s more. I’ve got to answer these ten questions about myself.

The questions:

  • What is your favorite bad habit? Smoking crack in a back alley. It’s old school.
  • How old are you? That’s a carefully guarded secret. 43. Crap, I guess the guards were on break. Don’t tell anyone.
  • What is your favorite time of day? I like the morning. I’m most organized, productive and loving in the morning… unless it’s one of those mornings after nobody slept very well, in which case cancel all of the above.
  • What is your favorite time of year? Autumn–school clothes shopping, Halloween, Thanksgiving, comfort foods and pretty leaves.
  • Who is your favorite dead celebrity? Charlie Sheen. Wait, he’s not dead? That’s amazing!
  • What is your favorite Christmas movie? Christmas Vacation is awesome but I always end up watching A Christmas Story while I’m wrapping presents.
  • Who is your favorite philosopher? Again, Charlie Sheen…or the Dalai Lama. They both have a lot of interesting things to say.
  • What was your favorite vacation? College. 
  • What is your favorite physical activity? It’s a tie between eating and…well the other one always gets me pregnant, so I’m going to go with eating.
  • What is your favorite thing? Probably something having to do with my kids, because they’re awesome and they were ripped from my womb. Eating and laughing with good friends is also pretty good.

Now I need to pay this kindness forward. If you’re looking for some enjoyable blogs to read try these:

White Elephant In The Room

Fish Out Of Water

Shut Up Dad



Good Will Hunting

My mother-in-law, otherwise known as Nana, has A-list celebrity status in our house. I will spare you the long, schmaltzy list of reasons why I love her so dearly. It’s probably sufficient to tell you that I met her during a time of crisis in her family and she showed me, some random girlfriend of her son’s, uncommon grace and hospitality. It made an indelible first impression that she has consistently lived up to in the years since.  My daughter is convinced that Nana is rich because of her consistently superior style (next to a mom who frequently rocks sweat pants, it’s especially impressive) and my son adores her more than squeezy applesauce and Thomas the Train.

Anyway, I was talking to Nana on the phone, as I do almost daily because she and Grandpa (also an A-lister) live on the other side of the country, and she mentioned that another family member, who shall remain nameless, had casually informed Nana of which possessions this person would want to be willed in the case of Nana’s and Grandpa’s deaths. Whaaaa? Pardon me while I stutter in disbelief. Who does that? You almost have to admire the enormous set of balls it must require to casually thrust that into conversation. With one comment you have simultaneously reminded someone of their mortality and let them know that you’re kind of looking forward to their demise as long as you can score some swag.  Nothing makes a person feel better than watching a pack of vultures circle over their head.

Just checking up on you. How're you feeling today? A little peckish?

Nana, evidently not as incensed as I was, went on to helpfully list a couple of things that might come our way should she and Grandpa attend that great cocktail hour in the sky. You know, in case I too was eagerly waiting her demise.  I don’t remember what those items were because I was distracted by my violent fantasy aimed at Nameless and also because listening to the list would have challenged my firmly rooted delusion that Nana and Grandpa are immortal. We must cling to our delusions–sometimes they’re all we have.

We're 150 years old and preserved in vinegar.

However, delusional or not, I am adult enough to understand that some things need to be hashed out prior to happening so that things don’t disintegrate into some sort of hillbilly wrestling match. You have to discuss things like wills and power of attorney. And it’s helpful to get feedback from your loved ones. So in the interest of being a team player…

Nana and Grandpa, if you’re listening, I’ve given this a great deal of thought and here a list of what I’d like you to leave me if you two decide not to live forever, though I would strongly urge you to reconsider that decision.

  • All of your unused toilet paper. As any high school student with a car, a free Saturday night and a list of addresses could tell you, there is no such thing as too much toilet paper. Unless that toilet paper is in the hands of a toddler with some unsupervised bathroom time and a boatload of curiosity, in which case, I hope you own a plunger. That said, I want whatever you’ve got that hasn’t graced your dearly departed backside.

Beer and toilet paper make for an enjoyable Saturday night and a not so enjoyable Sunday morning. (image via Stevendepolo)

  • The cats. I know they developed a nervous twitch the last time we visited, but the children would like nothing more than the opportunity to slather those cats with love 24 hours a day and I think with enough sedatives, the kitties will stop throwing up whenever they see the kids coming.

Cats love being wrapped in a blanket and pushed up and down a hallway almost as much as they love baths.

  • Your cleaning fairies. Clearly there is some sort of magic involved in how unnaturally clean you manage to keep your house. You’ve seen my house–no magic here. Whatever Hocus Pocus you use, I want it. Otherwise your grandchildren may eventually become lost in a pile of discarded shoes and dust bunnies.

I keep telling you people, I'm just a boy in his sister's Tinkerbell costume, not a magic maid!

  • Your cookie selection. I never have the breadth of selection that you two do because I feel guilty if I purchase too many sweets. However, if the cookies were willed to me I would feel obligated to cherish them for the full two minutes it would take me to cram them down my throat like a sugar-crazed lunatic. It would be a very satisfying two minutes.

In a sugar craze, I have been known to eat a whole Keebler elf. They taste like butter and sugar...and chicken.

  • Your collection of gourmet condiments. The energy and gas money you’ve dedicated to tracking down the ideal olive oils and jellies is impressive and almost beyond comprehension but I’m sure that it would add joy to my life or at least my waist line. If you have any maximum strength elastic from which I can fashion myself a girdle I’ll take that too.

I can't feel my legs but waist looks fantastic!

  • One of your many wind chimes. Although the weight of them would crush a Buick, the sound is heavenly–like sitting in the middle of a Buddhist monastery. When I close my eyes in your backyard I see the Dalai Lama dancing with elephants in a field of beautiful flowers, although this vision might be also partially due to beer consumption and heat stroke.

Is he not just as cute as a button? This guy is welcome in my hallucinations any time. (image via dreamstime)

  • The exotic liqueurs in your liquor cabinet whose names I can’t even remember. A trip through your liquor cabinet is like taking an exotic inebriated adventure through Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. I didn’t even know that half of those liqueurs existed but there they are: ‘Nilla Wafer Jubilee or Cinnamon Thermonuclear Surprise or something. I need it. In a glass.

I make all of my chocolates drunk and without pants.

These things would be nice, but not essential…well except the toilet paper, because let’s face it, life without toilet paper is unpleasant. However, aside from the t.p., the one thing on which I really have my heart set is:

  • You guys. Professionally stuffed. Like Build-a-Bear but with grandparents. That way the kids could climb all over you, snuggle with you at bed time, sit with you at the table during dinner.  Grandpa, we’ll slather you in whatever combination of coffee, cologne and cigarettes that gives you the special “Grandpa smell” that your granddaughter is so very attached to and Nana, we’ll stuff you with pearls and meat sauce and drape you with jewelry. Then we’ll add those little recorders so that when the kids squeeze your hands Grandpa says “if you say so” and Nana says “I love my gang!”

Come sit on my Nana! We had her stuffed.

Sure, people will stop coming to our house because we are the creepy people who taxidermy their relatives. They’ll stare and then whisper to each other whenever we pass by. The kids will become outcasts and sit at the lunch table alone, talking to themselves…

Okay, so that really isn’t a socially acceptable solution but surely you can understand my sentiment, because though you two have collected many nice things over the years, it is just stuff. Nice stuff, but stuff none the less. It can’t compare to the impact you make on our household, especially the household members under five feet, every single day just by being alive. And I’m not just saying that because Grandpa changes our burned out light bulbs and without him we’d live in darkness. You are worth more than the sum of your possessions to the people who love you (and also have social skills).

PS. We’ll still take the toilet paper.