ACME Kite Kit Not Included

Sunday evening Mr. Farklepants pipes up out of nowhere and asks, "So, do you wanna go for a walk"? And I was all, who are you and what have you done with my husband and p.s. do you do dishes? My shock is in reference to the fact that Mr. Farklepants rarely parts with his laptop. It's how he spends his downtime and I'm not complaining now - he could prefer to spend it elsewhere like golf, sporting events, poker, bars, or anything else that get's him away from the house. At least he's home. For those who prefer visual aides - Mr. Farklepants seen here with three laptops and a Starbucks Grande full of temporary energy... with whip:



So I was all, shhhhhuuuurrre, yeah! I suggest bringing Phoebe along [because, although she knows where her leash is located and knows that in order for that leash to be attached to her collar she needs to sit; walking on her leash is a whole other matter. There's much dragging of and giving in and carrying of the puppy. It's a work in progress - you understand]. And then I add: since we're just going around the neighborhood? Indeed, stated as a questionable fact.

Mr. Farklepants says, no I was thinking of going to Towsley Canyon. This would make it necessary for me to change out of my skirt and flip flops.

Mr. Farklepants and I differ in our definition of walk. If I have to strap on some shoes with traction then walk equals hike. Tomato/Toe-mah-toe? More like, Tomato/Willdabeast.

"Then we should leave Phoebe at home", I say. I didn't want to get a mile into treacherous terrain and have her lay down like, that's all the walking I'm about to do - carry me?


(Forgive me while I use the term "treacherous terrain" loosely. Exaggerate, who?)

The other reason for insisting that Phoebe stay home is that the vet specifically instructed that, since she isn't finished with her vaccinations, she should avoid any areas where other dogs congregate and, more importantly, coyotes roam. Parasite infested coyotes.

At the tail end of our hike, Mr. Farklepants goes into stealth mode and signals to me, "There's something in the grass". He takes aim with his camera and shoots:


Later seen failing at firing a bow and arrow with ACME dynamite strapped to it then painting a realistic tunnel onto the rock face only to be hit by the train that emerged. He was remarkably unscathed.

**photos of trail and coyote by Mr. Farklepants and his super badass camera

Things That Fall Under the Not Bloody Likely Category: Bending it Like Beckham

I've been a mother for coming up on twelve years now. When my marriage was in its infancy and Mr. Farklepants and I awaited our woops! first born; we traded in my sporty little coupe for a mini-van [of which I was simultaneously impressed and repulsed by its practicality and convenience] Repulsion finally prevailed, coincidentally when the three year lease was up, and the mini-van was traded in for a giant SUV [back when it was still an acceptable mode of transportation] which was eventually replaced with a more modest sized SUV. Somehow along the way, two more children appeared. Probably a result of all that sex... I hear that's the usual way.

Anyway...with kids there have been t-ball and softball games, ballet and tap classes and recitals. There are guitar lessons and also the drums. And with the boys having never shown an interest; I'd managed to escape the label: Soccer Mom.

And then Girl-Child happened:

Saturday was the first game of the season! It was kind of a disaster. Not in an act of God fire and brimstone, flooding and locusts kind of way; but in a lacking in any kind of technique or strategy. And possibly the only time disaster can be described as: awww...cute. The players were a roving mass of yellow and green with flailing limbs situated with shin guards and stylish cleats. Kind of like a giant ball of co-ed yarn with appendages. And ponytails and buzz-cuts.

Here is where I pray: Please Jesus God little girl don't kick my daughter in the face. Ohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease...aaannnd...please dear Lord, no. Wow nice calves dads...wait, what were we doing? Oh right, praying. Amen.

The temperature outside was such that you would swear you were sitting on planet Mercury. If Mercury had suburbs, tract housing, plastic surgery chain restaurants and a Borders. And a community park perched on a parcel of land with panoramic views of sun bursts the valley below. The opposing team clearly has a better education in weather preparedness than our own. [Please note that weather preparedness can be purchased at Costco in the form of a pop-up tent. Make that two pop-up tents.] My inadequate beach umbrella was no match for the morning sun and what little shade it provided was mine all mine, mine, mine, mine and if I sat just so and curled my feet up under my chair I could avoid catching on fire. I don't think they've yet invented sunscreen that can withstand the heat of reentry.


With five minutes left in the game, Girl-Child volunteered herself for a spot under my umbrella on the bench, because she was, and I quote: "getting to sweaty". She is her mother's daughter.

And by 9pm that evening, she was running a fever of 101.5 which could be one of two things: heat stroke or kindergarten. Both valid suspects but I'm leaning heavily towards kindergarten.

**all photos brought to you by Mr. Farklepants' new girlfriend the Canon 40D. She's a total whore but I kind of like her.

When No One was Looking, Of Course

These are my free weights. There are many like them but these are mine. My free weights are my bingo arm's best friend.

Yesterday during a flickering moment of ambition I took my weights on a walk. A walk that involves many hills. When I reached the beginning of the first hill I doubted my decision to bring them along. But I soldiered through the pain radiating up my neck and nestling on the back of my head. Where nestle equals gripping. By the time I peaked the first hill my shoulders were hurling obscenities in my general direction.

When I finally crested the top of the second hill where the elementary school is located I did what any self respecting woman in her death throes would; I ditched them in the bushes and finished my walk. I reclaimed them at noon when I fetched Girl-Child. In my car.

This confirms my belief that I would have never made it out of boot camp. Alive.

Tootsie Talks ~ Some People Listen

Tootsie's weekly advice column. She's no expert, although she's not really sure what constitutes "expert". If it involves school, she attended the school of Very Strong Opinions. Questions are welcomed. Answers may borderline ridiculous.


Today I will first address the questions of those whose Google searches directed them to my blog.

Q: Indonesia, Jakarta, Jawa Barat is curious about "son suck daughter".

A: First of all, I'm terribly disturbed by a) that word combination, and b) that it brought you here. I don't know what it is that you want to know about that and furthermore I don't want to know WHY you want to know (4 knows in one sentence for the record). There is something seriously wrong with you. You are sick. Please seek professional help immediately.

Q: San Diego, CA would like to know, "how to correct a very mild turkey waddle"?

A: You correct it by preventing it in the first place. Once it's there, you have a very mild turkey waddle. Anti-aging creams and firming agents can help prevent it from becoming more pronounced, but I'm afraid anything short of cosmetic surgery (or visiting someone with the word "Doctor" preceding their surname and perhaps on your lunch hour) won't rid you of it. I'm sorry.

Q: South Africa would like to know about "important people in space".

A: The NASA website would probably be more helpful to you than a mom blog. Considering I don't recall blogging about astronauts.

Now for the reader's questions:

Q: Angie from KEEP BELIEVING would like to know: "are sick children an excuse for oversized sweats, unshowered bodies (all of us), unbrushed teeth (all of us), uncombed hair (all of us), and eating binges (some of us - not saying who). Where do we draw the line for acceptable?"

A: Well, Angie, let's just say it shouldn't last too long. At the very least throw on a cute hoodie and indulge in a stick of sugarless and I must emphasize minty fresh gum.

Q: Jennifer H from Thursday Drive would like to know: "Will you show up at my house every day and be my personal trainer, so that I can wear jeans that size?"

A: I would if I lived closer. Not that I have any training in that sort of thing but I won't let that stop me and I'll do most anything for cash. I'm not exactly a hard core exerciser, per say. I do just enough to maintain.

Q: HRH from June Cleaver Nirvana would like to know: "I was wondering if you could address a question in the future: Are sailor suits OK to dress boy babies if so, what age must the mother cease dressing her boy child as a sailor?"

A: You must never do this after the age of 18 months. If you slip and do it after this just make sure there are no photos otherwise he has the right to refuse to ever bring future girlfriends home to witness said spectacle.

Q: Colleen from Wine Please (and who I also see is getting interesting visitors via Google) would like to know: "what would be a good OTC self-tanner that won't make me look an oompa-loompa and won't make me stink for days?" and she also laments [based on last weeks advice for shadow colors for blue eyes]: "yeah, I can't quite pull off the gold and/or yellow-based browns since I have freakishly pink skin."

A: Self tanners are the hardest thing to get just right. After seven hundred sixty twelvey different products, I'm moderately satisfied with Dove Energy Glow Daily Moisturizer with Subtle Self-Tanners (yes, that is quite a mouthful I agree). It's large in quantity and a little goes a long way. I didn't turn orange and the scent is pleasing enough. I emphasize enough because it smells the least like perfume scented burning flesh out of all the brands I've tried over the years. And the scent isn't heavy and overwhelming. I also have pinkish skin (although I wouldn't say it is freakishly so) and use makeup with blue undertones (pinks, taupes, mauves, plumbs; stay away from peach and reds).

And Allie doesn't have a question but she does state that I make her happy but not in any sort of gay way. Thank you, Allie. That makes me happy in a slightly gay way. I hope that doesn't make you uncomfortable.

Excuses...Excuses...

Most women that I run across who admit that they don't workout use one of two excuses; they either "don't have time" or "hate working out". Well heck, I'm not crazy about working out either but I do "work" it into my schedule and to avoid the "hate it" pitfall, I make something that I enjoy part of my routine. Three times a week I attend dance classes. We start the first half hour with stretching, push ups, sit ups, lunges, some pilates, and throw in some good ol' fashioned Jane Fonda "stuff". The second half hour is non-stop dance! We learn a new hip-hop/jazz routine every Monday and by Friday we can do it in our sleep. I'm a dripping, sweaty mess by the time I leave; and if I'm feeling particularly energized and motivated, I'll walk to the class and back home again. Of course, this always sounds better on the way there than it does on the way home!

If you "don't have the time", trust me, some kind of exercise can be worked into an hour of your day. If you don't have time to leave the house (or can't because of daycare and such), pop in a workout DVD when the kids are in bed, or early in the morning (whatever your schedule allows) for your cardio and then add using some free weights into your nightly "getting ready for bed" ritual. Just think, "wash face, brush teeth, tone arms"...it doesn't take long to see results from those little hand weights if you are consistent.

Now stop making excuses!!! Get out there and get fabulous!

xoxo

Muffin Top is a Big "Not"

Remember in your teens and twenties you could just about eat anything you wanted combined with some lazy exercise, if at all, and you looked fantastic? Okay, me neither. But I didn't have to exert anywhere near the amount of thought and energy that went into my diet/exercise regime then that I must do now. Now your thirties have rolled around and suddenly there's this little "bloop" rolling over the tops of your pants; even the stretchy ones. Not necessarily a big "bloop", but a "bloop" nonetheless. This "bloop", more commonly known as "muffin top" is a bitch to get rid of...along the same lines of eradicating cellulite.

I watch my diet pretty carefully and my snail paced metabolism has forced me to keep up a moderate exercise program and still this little bastard sits at the top of my hips. Or at least it did. How did I rid myself of this barnacle? I eliminated as much refined sugar from my diet as possible. The major culprit of said sugar? Regular soda pop. That's all that can is...a heaping dose of sugar; multiplied by 3 because that's about how many I was drinking in a day. By switching to diet soft drinks (yes, I know, diet isn't good for you either but neither of them are) I shed 5 pounds in less than 3 weeks and have got my "bloop" under control. Also take the time to read the nutrition labels on the packages of food you purchase. Yogurt (even the low fat) is a huge offender! I was shocked! Good ol' fashioned milk is another.

Read and purchase wisely; oh, and you still have to exercise, and you won't have to hide the tops of your jeans with baggy, loose fitting tops. I know those are "in" right now but eventually they won't be, and every once in a while a girl likes to wear a snug top which is always in fashion.