what am I?

Despite running into doorways with my enormously wide rubber chicken, it was a good time at Bunko last night. I'm in the middle...next to Elin, Tiger Woods ex, and a martini glass, complete with olive.

Can you guess what I am? (I pulled off the Most Creative award...)

CHICKEN CORDON BLEU!

Unfortunately, Greg's extension cord is still uncoiled in my backseat.

why even ask?

Store clerk: Hi, can I help you?

Me: Yes, do you sell aprons?

Store clerk: Uhhh, which kind?

Me: Oh, it doesn't matter. Either kind. The long, barbeque-type, or the shorter style that wraps around your waist.

Store clerk: No, we don't sell aprons.

hiatus shmatus

Ohmigosh.

Hard to believe its been so long since I've written. Certainly strayed from my usual goal of writing a post a day.

Been busy with life and living it.

Just needed to tend to things that demanded my attention. The usual necessities, like getting suckered in to bringing McDonalds to my 5-year-old for school lunch, listening to my husband repeatedly ask me to get a carwash, and replacing that roll of toilet paper I kept forgetting. All equally important. Over the past three weeks, I've discovered a few things. And they are:

Your stomach feels flatter when you don't eat after 7 pm.

The tooth fairy still visits even though a child ends up sleeping in his Mom and Dad's bed.

Holding hands with your husband in downtown Chicago can cause your 5-year-old to say in repetition, 'You're embarrassing me!'

A husband who says his wife's purse could double as a gym bag will, oddly enough, ask her to hold all of his crap.

Boys don't like to shop unless the store has an escalator.

Those dividers between a taxi cab's seats would be nice in the family car. Road trip, anyone?

It is possible to overcook asparagus.

And finally, get a carwash before your spouse asks if you can swing it before Christmas.

take five for toby

Toby Keith visited with the show this week! Here's the skinny:

Toby has never, not even once, seen the likes of American Idol, Survivor or Dancing with the Stars. But, he's not interested in putting on his dancing shoes.

Toby carries an average of $400-500 bucks in his wallet on any given day. And he's a fan of plastic.

Toby was letting his beard grow out, and refused to trim it until his wife stopped nagging at him to shave. When she stopped, he grabbed the razor. This went on for over a month.

Toby coaches his son's football team 3 days a week, in his 'free' time.

That same son wears a size 13 shoe, and can often be found swiping Toby's cool shoes from his closet. Yes, they share.

And that's cinco.

conversation with a 5-year-old

Him: Mom, when we were at Target, what did that girl have on her lip?

Me: Her lip?

Him: Yeah. She had this circle-thing hooked on her lip.

Me: Oh, that. It was...well...like an earring.

Him: Why would she wear an earring on her lip?

Me: Some people just do. But, I think it looks painful.

Him: Me, too. I'm soooooo not ever doing that.

he skipped some options

5-year-old: Hey, Mom...how long have you been a wife?

Me: Umm...11 years. Why?

5-year-old: Just wondered. I'm never gettin' married.

9-year-old: Oh Hayden. I'm gonna marry one day.

Me: Well, you don't have to. It's your choice.

9-year-old: True. You can also be a hobo.

every coin has a flip side

Tired.

Tired of running.

Tired of being pulled in a trazillion different directions. Who hasn't been there?

Each day my alarm screams at me to get out of bed at 2:30 in the morning, and each day I'm convinced I've aged 6 months since putting my head on the pillow. I know you can relate. What happened to the days of 8th grade when I had 'real' problems, like that poetry scrapbook I put together in a bathroom stall at school and if spaghetti was being served for lunch? Or whether or not I should wear blue eyeshadow AND the lace Madonna glove, or just the glove, solo.

You know, pressing issues. About things that mattered.

Back then, I daydreamed about being an adult, people whose only worries were to remember to check their answering machine or so I thought. Now I'm 38, and checking voicemail barely makes the To Do list. I didn't realize as a junior high student with my Izod collar flipped up that one day I would be blessed with migraines, bills, gray hair and more things to do in the day than there are minutes on the clock.

It only proves that life isn't always what it may seem. Girls with straight hair want curly, debonair homes are sometimes vacant of furniture inside, and that skinny girl at the mall may secretly wish she was curvy.

I love my life.

Just need a breather. Nothing some disco-blue eye shadow and a lace glove can't fix.