Amy Talks About Everything

April 23, 2012

Knitting Project:  NY Yankees bloomers for a friend’s baby.

Waiting for:  The Verizon Man to call me and let me out of my cell contract due to lack of service in my house.

Wondering about:  the possibility of a buffalo chicken cheese ball.

There’s lots of wonderful things that you gain when you become a parent.

Like free slave labor.

Just kidding.

Kinda.

But one thing that I am learning about being a parent is that those little people I made are just like me.

Mini-Mes  for real.

This week, we have been slammed with sick.

7 day fevers.  Coughs that keep everyone up.  “Mommy, my neck hurts”.  2 trips to the doctor:  Diagnosed with mono.  No, no, it’s not mono, it’s something else.  Wait, it is mono.  No, it’s not, just a virus.  4 trips to the pharmacy.

Sick absolutely drains me.  I’m constantly poking someone with the thermometer, drugging everyone, and forcing everyone to eat and drink.

If you’re coughing, get a drink.  If you have a fever, you have to eat.  Simple rules of life.

When DJ is sick, it’s always high fever.  This kid has gone limp on me twice,  so we OD him on Tylenol and Motrin if he feels even slightly warm.

But without feeling him or taking his temperature, you’d never know this kid is sick.

Play, play, play…then laying on the floor and a 104 fever.

Dad and Mom offer little sympathy.  “That’s just the way you were, Amy.”

Almost like, “Ha, ha…your turn to be tortured with a sick child.”

Joey, however, is completely opposite.

At the slightest clearing of a throat, Joey is ready to go to the Emergency Room.

“Mommy!   I think my fever is 506!”

“Mommy!  My neck hurts so bad I can’t hardly even move it!”

“Mommy!  Listen to how bad my cough sounds!”

Joey has spent more time in the Nurse’s office than in his classroom.

Dad and Mom offer little sympathy.  “That’s just the way you were, Amy.”

Almost like, “Ha, ha…your turn to be embarrassed by the antics of your hypochondriac child.”

Great.

So apparently, you make these little people, and they become reincarnations of you.

The good news is, I came out okay, so I guess that means there’s hope for them, too.

February 12, 2012

Just cleaned out:  My car.  And my ears.  Gross.

Just messed up:  The dining room table with school Valentine’s box projects.

I am stressed.  To the max.

That should probably be “MAXX”…like from the 80′s.  But I’m so stressed I didn’t have time to correct it…too many other irons in the fire.

I was trying to think of all the euphemisms for stress:

“Wound up tighter than an eight-day clock.”

“Like a cat on a ceiling.”

“Ripping out hairs”

“Frazzled”

“at wit’s end”

Good grief, what do those even mean?  This is leading to even more stress…

I’ll admit, I’m a little high strung in general – but this is ridic.

Along with all the other normal symptoms of stress (like ZITS and sleeplessness), I can actually hear myself talking very loudly and animated when trying to have a conversation about the weather.

Seriously?  You’re that excited over normal temperatures for a February in Illinois?

When I was younger, my dad would always start instructing me on a project with “The worst thing you can do…”

Clipping the hedges:  “The worst thing you can do is to get your hand caught in the clippers and cut off your finger.”

First time driving the tractor to plow the field:  “The worst thing you can do is to turn to hard to the right and kill us.”

Applying for a job:  “The worst thing that can happen is they won’t call.  And how much does a stamp cost again?”

But my favorite of all of these was one saved for general problems:  “What are they going to do?  Take away your birthday??”

Daddy and I laugh at these little instructions now and really laugh at some that I make up for my 7 year-old, but honestly, this man taught me something great:  How to put situations into perspective.

So, even though I can’t get anyone in this house healthy…at least we aren’t in the hospital.

So, even though I get called into work at the last minute…at least I get paid and my coworkers are fun.

So, even though Joey has not one LICK of competitive spirit at his wrestling matches…he’s having fun and not injured.

So, even though DJ, Joey and I went to the dentist and went 2 for 3 on cavities…at least we’re not getting root canals.

So, even though Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries seem to be split for good…at least there’s a new season of “Khloe and Lamar.”

So, even though they told me I need two new tires on my car…at least it runs.

…and on and on.

So I just need to sit and refocus.

Breathe.

Chill pill.

Open a pack of Marlboro Lights.

Just kidding.

Kinda.

But what’s the one thing that can allow me to refocus (at least for an hour)?

New season of “The Walking Dead” starts tonight.

Winning.

February 6, 2012

Hangover from:  Overstuffing myself on Dad’s spare ribs last night.

Mixed feelings about:  Madonna’s halftime show and the entire premise of “The Voice”.

I was watching a recap of a Saturday Night Live skit this morning.  The one with Guy Fieri on Weekend Update.  Funny stuff.

And I remember that I used to have pipe dreams about being a featured player on SNL.

Of course, this was back when my SNL dreams involved being called “babe-a-licious” on Wayne’s World and portraying a sinner on Church Chat.

I’ve since gotten over that little dream, but watching that little clip made me realize that even if I wanted to, there’s no way I would make it on SNL.

And here’s a few reasons why:

1.  I am not quick-witted. It takes me a full 10 minutes to update my status.  On a good day.  Andy Samberg and Seth Meyers would have me stuttering and forgetting my place in the first 30 seconds of a sketch.  I always sucked at improv games and I still do.

2.  I need lots of rehearsal.  In college theatre, we were afforded MONTHS of rehearsals before performance.  2 hours a night.  6 nights a week.  For 3 months.  And baby, I needed every minute of that time.

3.  I couldn’t keep a straight face next to Kristin Wiig.  Enough said.

4.  I’m easily starstruck.  If I got into the same room with Fred Armisen, I would turn to ashes. And a guest host?  Puh-lease.  I would be asking for autographs or something completely naive like that.

And the number one reason why I would never make it on Saturday Night Live:

5.  I’m dead asleep by 8:30.  Every night.  Pumpkin – turned.

So, see?  Even if Lorne Michaels called today for an audition, I would have to decline.

Okay, I wouldn’t decline.

Free trip to NYC?  Duh.

January 2, 2012

Enjoying:  my new George Foreman Grill.

Not enjoying:  my $10 Eddie Bauer Duck Shoes from eBay that split after two days wear.

In the DVD player:  “The Help”…no wait, “Columbiana.”  Clearly not paying attention.

I’m knitting.

I just started.

There’s no reason why. No New Year’s epiphany.  I just saw some needles in my grandmother’s sewing box.

“Hey, that might be fun.”

Watched some YouTube, read some instructions…

Bam.  I’m knitting.

In Phases.

Phase 1:  Decide to knit.  Watch YouTube and read some instructions.  Steal grandmother’s needles and old 1985 cream-colored yarn from sewing box.  Learn knit and purl.  Make a sample piece that looks like the moths got into it.

Phase 2.  Learn from mistakes and correct.  Learn some knitters lingo and attempt to read a pattern.  Make another sample piece that begins as a headband, and finishes looking like half of a triangle bikini.

Phase 3.  Learn from mistakes and correct.  Steal more old 1985 country-blue yarn from Grandma’s sewing box.  Make a ruffled scarf .

Phase 4.  Feel pretty much like a knitting beast.  Spend 3/4 of paycheck in the craft aisle at WalMart and start a slightly-more complicated-yet-doable-for-beginner scarf.

“Potato Chip Scarf”  – I couldn’t come up with a better name for it if I tried.

And that’s where I am.  I can see where this is going…

Phase 5. Finish scarf, and decide to tackle something bigger…like an afghan or sweater.  Get through half of it, then die of boredom.

Phase 6.  I am buried with my half afghan or sweater. My tombstone says, “Here lies Amy.  Yes, you can die of boredom as proven by this half-knitted sweater.  RIP”

I’m going to try to stick with small things…like a cozy for Joey’s wrestling headgear.  Or a little manly case for Matt’s safety goggles.

Anyone have any links for good patterns for a manly glasses case?

December 19, 2011

Yet again:  I forgot to move Elf on a Shelf.

Lost:  An hour-and-a-half of my life putting together Lego Buzz Lightyear.

Song of the Day:  “You May Be Right” –Billy Joel.

I am not a big shopping person.

I get this from my father:  Our shopping mantra is “Get in, get your s*#t, and get out.”

So, needless to say, it doesn’t take me long to pick up Christmas gifts for the boys.  I went Black Friday for the bulk of it, then finished with my mother last week.

And I have been all UP in everyone’s grill with my Christmas Shopping Done-ness.

“Finished your shopping?  No???  Awww, I’ve been done for a week – the boys knew exactly what they wanted.”

Giggle, giggle.

Then, the inevitable happened.  And it’s difficult for me to accept that I’m so dumb and didn’t see this one coming.

We went to see Santa at the bank, and this is what transpired:

DJ:  Santa!  I have to tell you something!!!

Santa:  Have you been a good boy this year?

DJ:  Yes!  Santa, I changed my mind!!!  I don’t want Skylanders, I want Flynn the Fire Engine and Cranky!!

Oh crap.  Skylanders is already hidden in Grandma’s basement.  And has been since Black Friday.

I leave the child on YouTube for all of 5 minutes and he discovers “Flynn the Fire Engine and Cranky”.

Double crap. I didn’t even know what that meant.

But then, I deserve this for being so smug.

I know that Getting What You Ask Santa for at Christmas does not equal Happiness.

But by golly, if you’re 5 and you ask Santa for something, that fat old man is supposed to bring it.

So, another trip to the store.  And this trip, my mother got into an argument with the photo center, my foot was run over by a stranger’s shopping cart, and they were out of cream cheese.

But worth it.  Because we figured out what “Flynn the Fire Engine and Cranky” meant.  And got it.

So, Christmas morning, when little Deej comes out of his bedroom with his messy hair and bad attitude for having to get up early, he will have  his name on a big package with “Flynn the Fire Engine and Cranky” inside.

“From Santa.”

And I will get at least one more year of Santa-Belief out of them.

And never fear:  Skylanders isn’t going to waste…That’s going to be Mommy’s present from Santa.

So, everybody wins.

December 8, 2011

Currently reading:  The list of free loaner books for my new Kindle.

Just finished:  Whacking the cat for pulling down yet-another ornament from the Christmas tree.

And for supper we had:  Some Uh-Mazing taco soup.

I need to tell you about my zombie week.

Yes, it’s December.  But I just had a zombie week.

On Thursday, I walked to the bakery and was greeted by a pigeon.  “Yay!  Nature!”  I thought.

Only I realized the pigeon wasn’t moving.  And it was facing the wall.

“Crap!  Dead nature!” I thought.

Actually, think I said this out loud.

Since I was loaded down with supplies, I decided I would save the dead pigeon removal for my husband.  He would be thrilled.

I went on in the bakery, put away groceries and came back out.

Now the pigeon was facing the yard.

“Double crap.  It’s INJURED nature.  Ten times worse than dead nature.”

I went to the road to meet Joey from the bus, got him settled then headed back out to the bakery.

Pigeon?  Gone.

“Oh, good!  No more pigeon worries!”  I went in and started on some brownies, then went into the house.

I came back out to check the brownies…and it was back.

It was closer to the door…and I could see it’s eyes.

It’s white eyes.

I ran into the house.  “MATTTTT!!!  There’s a dead pigeon…or maybe it’s a zombie pigeon, I don’t know, but you have to go get it!!!!”

My husband, ever chivalrous, says, “Amy, calm down.  The animals will come and carry it off.  Just leave it.”

Thanks, dude.

So the pigeon sat there.

On Friday, I’m pretty sure I saw its white eyes following me as I walked back and forth from the house to the bakery.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.

On Saturday, I thought it was talking to me.  It wanted my sugar cookie recipe.

On Sunday, I came to the conclusion that neither man (Matt) nor beast (random neighborhood cats) were going to move the zombie pigeon.  So I dug out the shovel, and launched him into the field behind our house.

Sunday night.  Dreams.

Bad dreams.

It was the Zombie Apocalypse.

And I was competing on “Top Chef”.

Because even in the Zombie Apocalypse, we still need reality tv competitions.

And one of my co-competitors?  Adrien Brody.  Duh.

Adrien was given a sheet with instructions for our next challenge.

“So, what are we going to be doing?”

Adrien shows me the paper.  “I have to make Bill into a Zombie right now.”

And he grabs a knife and stabs Bill.

Craziness.

Clearly, this girl needs a vacation.

October 20, 2011

Currently reading:  the fine print on my cable-phone-internet contract.

Newest Friend on Facebook:  The Cardinals’ Rally Squirrel

Recovering from:  a 4-hour power outage.

My son has a problem.  He hates to wear his coat.

This is a major problem because his mother is a coat Nazi.

We have coats for every season.  Light summer rain coats.  Triple-ply down-filled snow suits.  Fall fleece jackets.  Spring pea coats.

And for our current season:  The Not-too-cold-but-too-cold-for-no-coat Coat.

So yesterday, my son came running from the bus stop with no coat.

His mother began shrieking, “WHERE IS YOUR COAT, SON????”

“It’s in my backpack, Mommy,” Joey’s mother shrieks a lot, he doesn’t get too excited about it anymore.

He then proceeded to tell me the best news of the day:  One of his classmates got sick during snack time.

I got a  minute-by-minute playback.

Doesn’t it seem that someone got sick every day in school when you were younger?  I will never – if I live to be 100 – NEVER forget the smell of that kitty-litter-like stuff they used to put down when that happened.

Okay, let me get to the point so we can talk about something else.

I know Joey is completely paranoid about getting sick at school.  So, I decided to do what every other mother in my life would do:

I decided to make up something to scare him into wearing his coat.

This was our conversation this morning:

Me:  Joey, I’m going to tell you right now, if you don’t wear your coat home…well, do you know what’s going to happen?

Joey:  What, Mommy?  Do I get a surprise?

Me:  No, no surprise.  You don’t wear your coat home from school, you’re going to throw up in your class.

Joey:  (big eyes bigger)  I’ll get sick in class???

Me:  Yes, yes you will.

I’ll bet you $10 that kid gets off the bus in his coat.  And hat.

Why, why WHY would his mother be so evil to tell her child something like that?

Well, because she got it honest.

When I was little, my grandfather used to have 6 glass bottles of Coke on the back porch.  When I would go to their house, I would help myself to one of Pap’s Cokes.

To get me to stop, my grandmother used to tell me that hot Cokes would give me worms.

And I still say that today.

October 3, 2011

Currently Reading:  Classified Ads.

Song of the day:  “Baker Street” – Gerry Rafferty (I totally had to Google the artist.  I’m not even going to pretend like I knew that.)

Most repeated quote:  “Is it really October already?”

I was watching a documentary on James Dean a few weeks ago, and they mentioned that he was constantly looking for outlets for his creativity.  If he wasn’t acting, he was drawing, or painting, or writing poetry.  They showed examples, and naturally, he was quite good.

And right at that moment, I could relate.

I remember that.

I remember that creative burn.

At that exact moment, I really wanted to run screaming out of my house and drive to New York City and become an actor.

But of course, I didn’t do that.  That would be just crazy.

This little documentary has been haunting me for weeks and has caused me a lot of self-reflection.

I’ve cut myself away from my creative past, and am now a mommy running a business and answering 9-1-1 calls.

And I miss that creative burn.

I miss that feeling of just needing to do art.

Art burn.  Ha, ha – get it?

Well, today…I am on fire.

FIRE!

All I want to do right now is make fudge.  Fudge, fudge, fudge.

My mother returned from a trip to Mackinac Island and brought me about 5lbs of fudge.  Which is exactly what I wanted her to do.

There’s coconut fudge.  Chocolate chip fudge.  Chocolate Walnut fudge.  Yet-to-be-completely-identified fudge.  Just talking about it is making the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

And I want to make my own fudge.  I want to start a fudge empire.

Today.  Today, today.  Before DJ gets out of preschool I plan on having at least 6 flavors under my belt and packaging designed by 4pm.

So, it’s 6am, and I am screaming to myself, “why is it that the bus doesn’t come until 7:30???  I want everyone OUT of here!  Out, out OUT!!!”

Of course, I don’t really mean that.  Not really.

I just want the house to myself so I can create.

So, I guess that art burn doesn’t go away, it just manifests itself in different forms.

And thank God for that.

September 28, 2011

Currently Reading:  Recipes for Preacher Cake.

Song of the Day:  “Brian Wilson” – Barenaked Ladies

Trying not to think about:  DJ’s leftover birthday cake in the fridge.

I was grocery shopping today and realized something.  Maybe something not good:

I’m “That Guy”.

You know…That Guy.  The main character in the recap of your trip to the grocery store.

The one that starts with, “You wouldn’t BELIEVE that guy at the store today…”

That’s me.  “That Guy”.

I’m That Guy.  The one who ignores the flow pattern in grocery stores barrels through the aisles slamming into displays and cutting off old ladies.

I’m That Guy.  The one who forgets where she parked and wanders the parking lot pushing the car remote lock on her key chain.

I’m That Guy.  The one who talks to herself while trying to decide what kind of cheese to buy.

I’m That Guy.  The one who refuses assistance when carrying groceries out of the store, then drops a gallon of milk onto the sidewalk.

I’m That Guy.  The one who spends a full 10 minutes going through the pork shoulders, trying to decide which one she wants, then walks away with nothing.  But, That Guy comes back a few minutes later and spends another 5 minutes going through the same pork shoulders again.  You know, in case something appeared while she was gone.

I’m That Guy.  The one who holds her breath when they run her debit card.

I’m That Guy.  The one who really needs 2 shopping carts, but insists on packing everything into 1, and therefore leaves a trail of black bean cans all over the store.

I don’t really need to wear the name tag.  They see me coming.

So…next time I go grocery shopping, I’ll give everyone a full 24 hours notice of time and place.

So you can be somewhere else.

September 21, 2011

Currently Reading:  Blogs about barbecue.

Song of the Day:  “Mary, Mary (why you buggin’)” Run DMC. Did you know that’s a cover from a Monkees song?  Learn something new every day.

An overview of my daily walk:

5am:  Up and going.  Orthotics in shoes, stopwatch set on phone.

5:01:  Set off four motion lights before I even hit the driveway.  I swear someday a plane will land in our backyard.

5:02:  Cautiously walk on the super-edge of my mother’s driveway to avoid setting off her motion lights.  Clearly, my motion light fetish is genetic.

5:03:  Begin air-boxing, then decide I look ridiculous and quit.

5:06:  White dog.  Ugh, the white dog.  Barks and barks and barks and barks.  As soon as he sees me through the neighbors’ trees.

5:08:  Dodge the bank’s sprinkler system.

5:09 – 5:11:  Check out my form in the store windows:  “Eww, not a good angle” “Don’t swing your arms so much” “You look awful i those pants”.

5:12:  Say hi to all the men smoking at the coffee shop.

5:12.30:  Wave at the third shift smokers at the jail.

5:13:  Scan the headlines on today’s papers left in front of the grocery store.  Count the bags of peat moss…nope, none sold yesterday.

5:13.30:  Check out the progress on the Coming Soon Subway.  Siding is looking good, ya’ll.

5:14:  Wow, those post office people get to work EARLY.

5:14.30:  Again, the Elvis cutout at the newspaper office scares the crap out of me.

5:16:  Dodge the bank’s water sprinklers.  Again.

5:18:  White dog.  Ugh, the white dog.  Barks and barks and barks and barks.  As soon as he sees me through the neighbors’ pampas grass.

5:19:  Neighbors are sleeping through their alarm.  Geeze, didn’t they hear the white dog?

5:21:  Hugging the edge of Mom’s driveway again…well, my dad is up, so if it goes off, NBD.

5:22:  All my motion lights go off again.

5:23:  coffee, Coffee, COFFEE!!!

September 15, 2011

Currently Reading:  Basics of Design:  Layout and Typography for beginners by Lisa Graham

Song of the Day:  “Rockabye” by Shawn Mullins

In the oven:  A birthday cake for Michelle

My brushes with famous people:

1.  Bruce Willis.  I was in Atlanta doing summer theatre in 1994. It was during the Olympics, and my roommate and I were trying to lose our hangovers and mowing through pizza at California Pizza Kitchen at the Lenox Square mall.  All of a sudden, we were surrounded by a gaggle of high school girls who were giggling about Bruce Willis being there.  At that moment, I looked up…and he was looking right at me.  I waved, he smiled.  I’m certain he remembers this encounter as vividly as I do.

2.  Kim Gordon.  Memphis is a big music city, and my friend Randy worked at a radio station and had the “in” on information like people in town recording, private concerts…fun stuff like that.  He told us Sonic Youth would be playing a private jam session downtown.  Of course, we all piled our drunk selves into the car and went.  Two hours later, my roommate and I are headed to the car, and he realized that Kim Gordon is standing right beside us in an alley  He walked up and poked her in the arm, while I stood there talking about how short she is.  Ed says, “I just wanted to see if you were real”  She looked at us like we were high and we took off running down the alley.

3.  Trent Reznor.  Okay, I didn’t really meet Trent Reznor.  But a friend of ours met him on the streets of New Orleans.  I missed it because I was trying to steal my 5 hurricane glasses from Pat O’Brien’s.

September 14, 2011

Currently Reading:  The Girl Who Played with Fire by Steig Larsson (and almost done)

Song of the Day:  “Drunker Than Me”  – Trent Tomlinson (AKA My husband’s theme song during our courtship)

In the Oven:  Pigs in a Blanket

I went through the boys’ clothes today – the switch from summer clothes to winter clothes.  And it should be noted that this is my least favorite job.

Next to opening cream cheese packages.

This switch was particularly bad, because I’m noticing that I might have hoarding tendencies.

When Joey was small, I had a dinosaur fit – everything I bought him had a T-Rex or Stegosaurus on it.  Everything.  Underwear.  Shirts.  Jammies.  Hats and Gloves…all of it.  I loved Dinosaurs.  Not Joey…Me.  I loved the dinosaurs.

These got passed to  Deej.  And now he’s officially into size 7s…and I can’t part with the dinosaur collection.

Even though they will undoubtedly be donned on my nephew.

Even though I have bazillions of pictures of them wearing the dinosaur collection.

“Oh!  I’ll make two quilt from these.  And give them to the boys when they each have a baby!”

I even said that out loud.

I need to remember that Joey and DJ couldn’t care LESS about the dinosaur clothes.  They want Power Rangers…or Batman…Or  Mario Brothers on their clothes. I like the dinosaurs clothes.

Therefore, I will be on the hunt for a dinosaur TShirt for MYSELF, and give the dinosaur collection to my sweet nephew. Who will be excited.

And I will be his favorite aunt.

September 13, 2011

Currently Reading:  The Girl Who Played with Fire by Steig Larsson

Song of the Day:  “Let it Be” – The Beatles

There’s lots on my brain besides food.  I’m going to put it here for now.

As a former teacher, nothing annoys me more than misspellings.  Or typos.

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a horrible typist.  And I have little patience for editing or proofreading.

However, in this day and age – technology has almost made it impossible to misspell something on an electronic device.

Spell check.   Word completion.  Auto Correct.   To name a few.  Or, I guess to name three.

Here’s a few that make me insane:

1.  LABTOP.  Umm…what’s that?  The shirt you wear to Biology class?  It’s LAPTOP.  If you can’t spell it, you shouldn’t have one.

2.  DESERT.  Yes, correctly spelled.  But not when printed in a restaurant menu.  Single “S” = hot and sandy.  Double “S” = sweet and satisfying.  And really?  You can open a restaurant and NOT know the difference between the Sahara and apple pie?

And of course:

3.  YOUR/YOU’RE/YORE and THERE/THEIR/THEY’RE.  Come on, YOU’RE smart.  THEY’RE not that hard for YOUR brain to figure out THEIR usage.