Category Archives: musing

December 22, 2014 · 4:17 pm

Twinkling windmills, tinkling preschooler….

Ahhh, Holiday Illumination.

My social media feeds are brimming with pics from family and friends of various things all lit up in seasonal celebration.

In the city, the botanic gardens and the zoo create magical glowing winter wonderlands that (for the price of admission,) you can wander through while enjoying a hot beverage to ward off the chill. Flowers made of super fancy lights, visiting the elephants down a walk way of red and green twinkles….

Lovely.

In the ‘burbs they string a shit-ton of twinkle lights on every surface of the mini-golf course and you go walk around in there and maybe play a few holes.

I am not even joking people.

But here’s the thing – Jr LOSES HIS TINY MIND WITH GLEE over Christmas lights. He freaks out over blow up Santas and glowy manger scenes and reindeer made of wire cages and lights that move their necks back and forth so. dang slow.  Loves it all.

In a town where some of the best-known house displays cause traffic backups that start an hour before the owners even fire the damn things up, wandering around the putt-putt with a cup Irish Coffee and a few friends while he checks out some lights up-close-and-personal sounds WAY better than inching through subdivisions in a line of minivans trying to tune the radio to the “listen to a display” station.

Why not, right?

Off we went, wandering over the Astroturf past windmills and tiki heads and volcanoes covered in endless strings of every type and size of holiday light you could ever hope to encounter, all the way to the back of the course, laughing and chatting with our friends while their daughter (older and wiser at 5, and a full-fledged “big kid school Kindergarten” attendee,) protected Jr from the features that he found too loud/fiery/big/etc.

All was well. And then I heard this: “I have to go potty. NOW!”

Jr is about 98% potty trained. He takes his “dry day” record very seriously. There was no way we could have an accident now. I shoved my glass at The Mr while he stammered about if they should all come with us or……

“I don’t care, we gotta go, we will find you!!” I yelled over my shoulder as I grabbed Jr’s hand and started snaking backwards against the flow of golfers and wandering families, apologizing with “SO SORRY – POTTY EMERGENCY!!!” as we ran though player’s putts.

Soon Jr was shouting it too – “POTTY EMERGENCY!! POTTY EMERGENCY!!!!” as his little legs reached speeds never before achieved.

At the beginning of the course we spotted the sign for the restrooms. Following the arrows we circled around by Santa’s makeshift workshop, behind the snack shack, and waaaaaaaayyyyy down a path at the exact opposite of where we had started the trek and into the brightly lit bathroom. I hoisted him up on the “giant toilet, mommy!” and he looked at me with relief “I can’t believe I actually made it all the way!” he exclaimed.

It’s a Christmas Adventure Golf Miracle, Jr.

God bless us, every one.

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December 4, 2014 · 11:44 am

Here we go again….

Ahh, the holidays…. The most wonderful time of the year.

In yet another telltale example of how I am slowly succumbing to the ways of the suburbs, I found myself longing to bust out the Christmas decor prior to Thanksgiving this year (although still not the day after Halloween, like the boldest in my hood , because Jr needs some recovery time in between giant Inflatable Frankensteins and seizure-inducing jingle-bell-rock lighting displays, yo?)

I also broke down and caved to The Mr’s requests to get a larger tree for The Casa. Even I had to admit that our medium height, thinner profile tree that worked perfectly in the tiny corner of The Treehouse looked a bit sad in our cavernous vaulted-ceiling living room.

So, a week-and-a-half before hosting my first actual traditional Thanksgiving, The Mr. dragged all of the bins of decorations up out of storage, along with the new tree (purchased at 90% off sometime around Valentine’s Day, TYVM,) and I set out to deck the halls.  That tree?  That tree was my Everest.  It is tall, it is heavy, and its directions ?  Non existent.  Also – my cute little condo tree was pre-lit, but not this bad boy – OH NO – this is 100% Keri-illuminated. (Props to my dad who did that every year on the family tree….  and how did my husband disappear SO fast when I mentioned that the lights might be a dude job?  Christmas magic or just a fast car?)

Getting the star on top? Short girl, big ass tree – this shit pretty much actually happened to me:

GIFSoup

Except not even that cool, because I tipped off a stepladder, flopped forward clinging to the tree (still determined to just get the dang star on,) and took it down, becoming hopelessly tangled  in a heap of faux-branches and precariously strung twinkle lights that took a good 10 minutes to extract myself from, at about 11:30 at night.  No one woke up, and I considered just sleeping there until The Mr came downstairs to assist.  But that is NOT the kind of “holiday family story” I want my 3 yr old telling at school.  (He already told his entire class that he was “VERY thankful for Bacon” during their Thanksgiving discussion.)

So, the ginormous tree eventually got the star up on top, and Jr assisted in the decorating of it it by doing all the things that I remember used to piss my mom off when we did them:  hanging 20 ornaments in a 10 inch square section of tree,  hanging ornaments on the afore-mentioned lighting cords instead of the branches (maybe DON’T stab that metal wire hook INTO the cord there, sparky,)  grabbing uber-delicate old ornaments with his “Hulk-smash” preschooler grasp, attempting to eat the ancient foodstuffs from the old-school DIY ornaments of my youth, and on and on until I was frazzled as heck and he was squealing with 3-year-old Christmas glee.  (Cute and understandable, but an untamable force of nature, to be sure.)

The pull of super-sizing the decor hasn’t been contained to the inside of our abode either – Where once I swore I would always be strictly a “tasteful wreath on the door ONLY” kind of gal, I have been sticking silver bows and greenery everywhere on the front of our house.  There are even two spiral, clear light trees staked into our lawn.  (FYI – setting those things up is like stretching a really big spring well beyond where you should be – I let go too soon on the first one and it shot like a rocket half way across the street.  You’ve been warned.)

If we get all True Confessions about it , I would actually like to see a single strand of clear/white lights tracing our roof line.  But I don’t see The Mr heeding the call of his inner Clark Griswold, and Keri draws the line at anything involving a ladder.

Maybe.  But all the neighbors’ lights look so pretty….

Another holiday season in the subdivision is off and running – we also survived another round of the holiday party last night.  This year The Mr made an appearance, I secured seating to eat right away and parked him in it,  and all that ended up coming home in my purse was a goody bag from santa.

Let it never be said that Keri doesn’t learn from experience.  (And next year – The Mr is putting that damn star up on the tree.)

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November 13, 2014 · 4:17 pm

The Universe mocks me in the morning.

Can I just preface this with a confession – I ABHOR lateness.

If we agree on 5 pm for a glass of wine and chat some place, I am the girl who is there at 4:55.

That being said – I suck at mornings. I SUPER SUCK at mornings.

I do everything right the night before: clothes for Jr and myself selected and ready, lunches packed, bags together… I am on top of it.

And then sometime in the middle of the night, shit must just go off the rails. Because come dawn’s early light, getting out the door seems suddenly as difficult as climbing a 14er in a too tight pencil skirt and stilettos.  I can’t get out the damn door in anything even brushing up against the definition of a timely fashion in the mornings.

 

Stuff just happens.

 

This morning we have managed to get coats, hats, gloves, etc on and secured, and I am loading bags out the door and into the car, SO CLOSE to departure that if this was a plane the flight attendants would be in their seats, and Jr declares “MY CAR SNACKS!!”

So I run back though the house to the kitchen to grab his go-cup of Cherrios, just in time to hear the unmistakable sound of Binky-the-wonder-dog starting to throw up… somewhere… off in the distance.

I track down the barf and start cleaning it up, bags still hanging off of every arm – determined to push through and get on the road.

Standing over me, watching this display and snacking down his cereal, Jr inquires “Mom, everyone throws up, right?”

“Yep that is true buddy, everyone is sick sometimes, even doggies.”

“Just like everybody poops? “   Errr…. Ok…. “I’m pooping right now,” he says, standing over me, 4 feet away from the bathroom door.

Add another item to the “to be cleaned up “ list.

 

I sigh and put all of the bags down.

One dumps its contents all over the floor.

Yep.

 

Getting out the door is nothing short of an epic trudge every damn day. You can pack the lunches the night before, but you can’t plan for the poop, people.

Poop happens. And barf. And horrific coffee spills. And “NOT THAT SHIRT, I WANT THE RED SHIRT” wardrobe meltdowns. (Sometimes even from Jr. HA!)

I inevitably end up in the parking lot of Jr’s school taking my first conference call of the day while picking the remnants of a cheerio explosion out of my messy top-knot (sure, we can call that “intentional” messiness. You betcha.)

I have tried getting up earlier. I have tried getting Jr up earlier.

You know what I determined about getting up earlier?   There is just more time for shit to hit the fan and slow you down.

Screw it – I’m sleeping in. Maybe I can get out the door before the universe notices we are even up one of these days.

 

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October 12, 2014 · 8:24 am

The Many Ways You Piss Me Off While Driving

So Jr is 3-and-a-half, which means he repeats the EVERYTHING.

In an effort to prevent him from repeating a string-of-cuss overly colorful recounting of the trip to preschool to his teachers and classmates each day, I have been biting tongue until it bleeds to keep from narrating the transgressions coming against us as we motor those few miles each day.

It is a total bitch.

(One of the MANY words I REALLY like to say that I can’t say anymore, because he has outgrown the portion of toddlerhood where he buys the “oh mommy said witch… you know like Room on the  Broom?” bait-and-switch to a lame G rated word.)

I have a A LOT of pent up pet-peeve in me right now, and if this plan is going to work out long-term, Suburbia, Im’ma need you to PLEASE work with me here and STOP doing the following things:

–Using real plates/glasses/UTENSILS etc, in the car.  Why do you have your ceramic “World’s Greatest Mom” coffee mug in the car?  Why is your kid drinking OJ out of a glass with no top that is made OUT OF GLASS?  WTF people – get a damn travel mug. That is going to spill.  Or break.  Or both.

–Eating full-on meals in the car. This kind of goes with the last one, but I am BEYOND confused by it. When I look over at a stop light and see a dude using his knife and fork to cut  piece of smothered breakfast burrito on the family Corelle, I feel uncomfortably like I am at his breakfast table. Andplusalso, ” hands at 10 and 2 “(or 9 and 3, depending on when you took Drivers Ed,) NOT “hands on knife and fork.”  If you have to eat (and I get, better than most, the urge to eat while doing all the things,) then try a McMuffin like a normal person.  I hear Taco Bell wraps up all that stuff you have on your plate in a tortilla and smashes it shut with a sammie press.  Try that, yo?

-Having special time with the family pet. I love my dog to an extreme degree.  I have covered that already.  But cuddling your Great Dane on your lap with his head out your driver’s side window while navigating the main drag across town is kind of a recipe for distracted driving.  And Fido needs a doggie harness, too.  Love = strapping ’em in, pet owners.

-Practicing personal hygine. I am not in your kitchen, and I am not in your freaking bathroom either.  I didn’t see very much of this on my drive to work when we lived in the city, but it is rampant out here.  Is it because people have farther to go, so you just leave earlier and take the entire contents of your bathroom cabinet with you in your Honda? It isn’t just the over-played bit about women doing mascara in the rearview (although that does happen,)
it is toothbrushing, and hair geling, and face shaving, and curler removal, and full on foundation application.  At 45 MPH. RIGHT behind me as you roll up to a red light.   Just stop it.

*special snowflake – when I say “you” I really mean “them” as in “those bastard offenders.”  Unless them is you. In which case, I MEAN YOU.

-Oh, and this garbage

-And this

-And also this and this because winter is coming so begin planning now

-PWP- Parenting While Piloting.  You know who you are.  I am not talking about telling Billy to stop smacking his sister, or handing Jane a tissue behind you.  You are the one who is somehow miraculously behind the wheel AND in the back seat physically breaking up that fight or Nose Friedaing that toddler while driving NOT AT ALL in your lane right beside me. That shit can wait. Use your “Swagger Wagon” DVD player to stifle the brood until you get to school and drive.

-Picture taking.  I don’t care if it is the most beautiful sunrise ever in the history of time.  Or if the aforementioned Great Dane is “wearing” your infinity scarf (hashtag, HILARIOUS!) Put your damn iPhone down before iScream or youCrash.

Seriously…  whatever it is that you have to do with your hands, just don’t do it in the car. 
Sing along with the radio.  Watch the guy next to you pick his nose at the stop light instead of checking your phone.

And above all else, pay attention to where I am, on the road, with my kid, who is WAY more important than your stupid lipstick…. Because if you thump us with that minivan or sedan or whatever, I will NOT be biting my tongue to protect my rep around Jr’s school.  I have MONTHS of pent up cuss…

I. Will. End. You.

Safe Travels, now.

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September 25, 2014 · 6:30 am

10 years.

10 years ago today, I became The Mr’s Mrs.
Outside of a perfect little farmhouse, just down a little back road from my hometown.  It really was perfect, and I had a feeling we would choose it, although I looked EVERYWHERE in the city for a venue that I felt a connection with.
Oh Lordy how I did not want to have our wedding a-way out here in nowheresville.

Except there was this place.  This place where we held the prom I helped plan my Junior year in high school.  This place with a real connection and history in the state I love so dearly.  It had big trees to shade our special day on beautiful grounds that would welcome our guests with views of the mountains so close they could see the tree-tops running up the hillsides (the Texan contingent eats that up, yo.)

Nothing I could find in the city topped it. I stopped hiding it and showed The (future) Mr, and he loved it too.

Done and done.  The place was the only thing I was picky about….  caterer and photog and music and dress.. it all fell into place after we found the venue.

So 10 years ago today (after a spectacular amount wee little bit of wine at the rehearsal dinner outside of Boulder, ) I got up at the crack of dawn to let the hairdresser and my BFF into my parents’ house, giggled as said BFF got an eyefull of my favorite cousin scratching his rump as he stretched off last night’s wine (my partner in crime, ) and loaded into my Daddy’s Tahoe for the 5 minute drive to the site.
I was nervous.  I mean, good nervous, but nervous.

But in we went.  My girls gathered round, getting me in my dress, taping my sleeves on (I even covered up most of my tattoos for that day- you’re welcome, honey,) and freshening my mimosa.
In the shadow of my hometown watertower, down the steps I used to enter and exit my prom, I clung to my Daddy’s arm and manuvered down onto the pavers and across the lawn on a beautiful sunny Fall morning, toward forever.

-The Rent-a-Reverand said the wrong name,(as in “do you Name of my oldest guy friend who had just done a reading, NOT The Mr’s name, take Keri to be your. .. what? OH SORRY ABOUT THAT! …”

-The buffet was subject to major bottlenecking due to where it was set up (for what it’s worth, the bar was not. Priorities. )

-It was the first (and last) time we danced together (Mistifies Me by Son Volt) and it probably looked like it.

-I can’t 2 step in a white ball gown (sorry, brother in law.)

-as we drove off waving, our driver admited she couldn’t get the champagne open, so The Mr jumped out, 100 feet from our “big send off” and wrenched the top off.

– I am sure other crazy stuff happened, but the whole day seemed to go by in about 3 minutes and then we were in the bridal suite and I was screeching and making my new spouse rip my industrial strength fashion taped sleeves off my arms “QUICK LIKE A BANDAID! NOW!”

It was perfect.

And here we are. 10 years later.
He makes me laugh. He makes me crazy. He leaves me dumbfounded
  He makes me proud.

“No one mystifies me like you do.”

The next ten years should be one hell of a ride, if the first 10 are any indication. 

Happy anniversary, honey.

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