Uh, Ms. President? Where were you born?

Every morning at the Tyrant’s preschool, the kids have a question to answer as they walk in the room, like What do you want to be when you grow up? (mermaid) or What’s your favorite food? (Velveeta). This morning’s question: Would you like to be president? And the Tyrant’s all UH, NO-OH! DUH! BORING! But I felt my heart sink a bit. I said quietly to the teacher, “You know she can never be president, right?” She thought I was joking because myRead more

The State of the Household: Reasonable.

It has become difficult to be a good conversationalist with people who read my blog. Inevitably I’m interrupted with, “Yeah, I read that on your blog,” which makes me feel all narcissistic and lame, like I only have one thing to say and I’ve already said it, so I should just shut the flux up. Oprah hasn’t called me, which is weird, because surely she’s heard of me by now, what with me shamelessly dropping her name every few columns,Read more

The New (home) Order, and how my afternoons screw it up.

It has been nearly three weeks since my mother’s visit, and I’m happy to report that, in accordance with her rules, I have maintained order in my house. Amount of piled-up laundry? NONE. Number of cluttered countertops? ZERO. Number of teaspoons? ZERO. Wait. That’s another story. And get this: I LOVE DOING MY CHORES EVERY MORNING, possibly because, since I do them every day, there is an end to them, at least until the children get home and strew theirRead more

Children, death and fecal contamination.

The My Left Hook family regrets to announce the death of Bluey the Betta Fish, who may have suffocated to death in his own fecespassed away sometime over the past week or so this morning after a hellaciously dismal existence marked by dirty water, food shortages, the threat of foreign objects and occasional evaporation. long peaceful life. Bluey’s birth occurred who knows when at a fish farm two years ago at the local PetCo and was purchased for $1.35 adoptedRead more

My kids as frogs. No warts, though.

When the Diva was a toddler, she invented alter egos for the two of us as children’s librarians, modeled after our actual local librarians. She was Miss Lisa, the cool one with the nose ring. I was Miss Marcia, the mousy blonde who wore khakis. At first, we played library games. Then I became Miss Marcia all the time. Like, when she called me in the middle of the night, she cried out, “MISS MARCIA! MISS MARCIA! I NEED YOU!”Read more

My jaw hurts, and NOT from eating doodleberries.

My jaw started hurting last week, like I was waking up with earaches and complaining to Hot Firefighter Husband about 10 times a day. He was all, I know I have two broken ribs, remember? and I was all, okay, enough about the ribs already. Seriously, he can cut the grass, drink tequila, grill steak and jump out of the chair when the Patriots score a touchdown, which is every other damn minute because Tom Brady isn’t particularly human. SoRead more

Happy Birthday, Hot Firefighter Husband. You don’t even need to make my bed.

When my grandfather died after a massive brain aneurysm, I drove my grandmother home from the hospital in her little blue Taurus. “It’s for the best,” she said. Silence. “He wouldn’t want to be hooked up to machines.” Silence. “The only thing is.” Silence. “I don’t know who’s going to change my sheets now.” She dissolved into big shaking sobs, with fat tears inking powdery streaks down her wrinkly caramel face. I started crying, too. I reached my hand toRead more

Me and my body fat and mayonnaise, which I love.

For awhile now there has been a new scale at the gym that measures body fat. I successfully avoided it for several weeks, partly because I was scared and partly because I was excited, like, I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE HOW LEAN AND MEAN I AM! An ideal body fat number for women is between 22 and 28 percent. A totally ripped athlete might be down in the teens. The AVERAGE number for American women, though, is higher – betweenRead more

Say Cheez-It!

Suddenly our computer takes its sweet brainiac time to do anything more complicated than flicker to life, and I think it’s the children’s fault. The Pterodactyl dominates the computer when he’s home to print out pictures of Pokemon, the Tyrant watches inappropriate videos on YouTube, and the Diva organizes video production parties featuring herself as, you know, a diva. But all three of them have become adept at using the Mac Photo Booth to photograph themselves and make mini-movies usingRead more

Random Occurrences and Facts, or avoiding saying CHRIST! at Christmas

1. Some people don’t think it’s funny that a 4-year-old would stuff a balloon under her nightgown to pretend she had a baby in her belly. But people who are always bitching about the lack of Christ in Christmas should encourage this type of Virgin Mary emulation, even if said emulation includes inappropriate booty-dancing to Ke$ha music. That’s just the Nativity story with a modern twist. 2. My father would like to state for the record that he was notRead more