The Naughty Nurse

Why do adults ask you what you're going to be for Halloween? Are there really adults that actually dress up in costumes anymore? I'm not talking about the adult costume party, or the role-playing outfits that you may have for those rare, but intimate fun moments with your significant other. No, I'm talking about fellow parents. Standing, waiting to pick up the kidlets from school yesterday, one of the dads asked me what I was going to be for Halloween. I told him that I was going as what I do every year - mom. He then proceeded to tell me what him and his wife were dressing as. Do I really need to know that he's taking his kids trick-or-treating dressed as a pimp, complete with giant hat and white patent leather shoes? Or that his wife is dressing like Cleopatra? I think not. Sorry, no interest here.

My main concern this Halloween was how my older daughter's costume was going to turn out. No, silly fool, I didn't sew it. I ordered it like a normal busy person would do. However, her costume did not come in a child's size, so we ordered an adult's small. My daughter is tall, and does wear my t-shirts comfortably, so I thought this would work. After $20 in alterations, it does work. Nothing like putting over $80 into a costume (that includes the necessary accessories that I will have to carry while she trick-or-treats) that my daughter will wear once.

Ah yes, Halloween, the start of all the BIG holidays that we pour nothing but money into, and get nothing out of. Well, I do get all the candy that the kidlets won't eat. (And empty half the bags of candy purchased to hand out.) Welcome to Halloween week!!!

Sexy Sarcasm?

When my husband and I first started dating, besides a love of beer and bar darts, we also shared a love of sarcasm. We could people watch just about anywhere and make sarcastic comments about the guy at Jiffy Lube and whether or not he knew that his pants were too tight in the crotch area.

But after almost 13 years of marriage, the sarcasm has lost its luster. When I try to snuggle up in bed, I do not need a sarcastic diatribe on my stubbly legs. Believe me, there is no quicker mood killer than to aim your sarcasm towards your wife in bed.

Sarcasm used to be sexy. Especially when your shared sarcasm was like a secret code only you two shared. That glint in your man's eyes would send chills right to your G-Spot. But lately I'm thinking that my husband's sarcasm wasn't genetic, it's more like in-breeding gone wrong. Like your neighbor's Dalmation. He's so friggin' cute, but after a few years of watching and being party to his antics, it's now a little annoying.

So, what to do? Divorce? Nah, you still love him. Counseling? Doubtful, only because many therapists are sarcastic in-breds themselves. So that only leaves withholding sex, which is fine by you - it means you won't have to shave again until next summer.

Big Black Phallicy

I should preface this by saying that my husband drives a black car, but he is a *ahem* cautious driver. So careful is he, that whenever we have to drive somewhere, I drive so that we actually make it to our destination before I turn 40.

No, the black phallicy that I'm referring to is men who drive big ass black SUVs.



You know the type. You don't? Well, let me clue you in. You're driving five screaming second graders in your minivan, obeying every stop sign and making legal turn after legal turn (hey, you're driving someone else's kids too, you're driving on your best behavior) when Man in Big Black SUV (MiGGs for short) goes rolling through the stop sign, cutting you off. He, of course, has the right of way because you are JUST a mom in a minivan. His bluetooth is more valuable than your time.

Oh, and then MiGGs (a different one of course because there are thousands of them out there) cuts you off in the grocery store parking lot because he HAS to park in the "Bob" spot - you know, the spot reserved for him, personally. When he gets out of the oversized SUV, he then proceeds to hawk a phlem ball right in your path. (Meanwhile your five year old thinks this is really cool and tries to repeat the AWESOME feat.)

But my ALL TIME favorite MiGGs tactic is when he flips you the bird and shouts expletives out of his oversized window because GOD FORBID you turn right on a green light while he is coming from the opposite direction, turning left. Don't you KNOW that he ALWAYS has the right of way?

And in case you're wondering why I call this the "phallacy", it's because this big black SUV of his is his only phallic symbol. Only a man with no balls will try to take on a mom in a minivan with a load of second graders.

The Unexpected Nooner!

Ah yes, just as I was easing onto the couch with my mocha latte and box of bon-bons to watch another inspiring episode of All My Children, the phone rings. It's noon. Could my sex crazed husband be calling to set up a rendezvous? Are you kidding me? Which blog have you been reading? It's school - the kindergartner is complaining of a headache and she has a fever of 99.0. (Which, by the way, cannot be really considered a fever, right? I mean, her eye balls aren't frying in the sockets yet, so it's not really a fever). So I grab the keys and fire up the minivan and drive leisurely to school. I see this sad little face at the door, over sized backpack hanging off her hunched shoulders. Could I have been too quick to judge? Maybe my baby really is ill. The mini sobs on the way home throw me into a mommy guilt. I got my sick little baby onto the couch with some cookies and milk and a Suite Life of Zach & Cody marathon. Instead of bringing out the box of Keeblers, I should have gotten out the Academy award for best performance by a melodramatic five year old.

Sure as fireworks on the fourth of July, said sick one was bouncing off the walls and complaining that she couldn't go out and play. Then when it was time to pick up her sister, she had to be duct taped to her booster car seat so that she wouldn't run around like a healthy child when she was supposed to be ill.

So after I kissed little darling and sent her on her way to school today, I finally got that nooner in. Just me, my bon-bons and Zach Slater on AMC. Greenlee thinks she still has embryos left. Good for her - I should let her know that they come with mini Academy Awards.

Girl On Girl Action

Sounds rather kinky, doesn't it? OK, get your minds out of the gutter! Geesh! I'm talking about play dates. You know, those things that moms schedule sometimes years in advance, for your child and another to get together to, well, play. When we were kids, it was, "Hey mom, I'm riding my bike over to Christy's, see ya before dark." You were lucky to get a "Be Careful" as you headed out the door. Now a days, you have to have a long conversation with the other mom and ask questions such as:

- Do you keep guns in the house?
- Do you have a set of fingerprints on file with the FBI?
- How old is your house and have you tested for lead paint?
- You do not have any peanuts, gluten, whole milk or sugar in the house, do you?

Am I coming close? Oh, and let's forget about the childhood ecstasy of playing in the mud, too dirty and too sunny. How about riding bikes up to K-Mart for a Slurpee? Nope, we can't get the employees fingerprints from the FBI quick enough.

So our kids are forced to sit on the computer during play dates, playing Webkinz. They can swing on the swingset (which was not made from pre-treated lumber which is cancer causing) but only in five minute increments so that they do not catch too many rays from the sun. Yep, our kids get their Vitamin D from soy yogurt, not from the sun.

What the hell is this world coming to? Why cant kids just go and play? Why does it have to be a play "date"? I don't know about you, but my head is hurting just thinking about this, so I'm going to go get on my bike and ride up to Starbuck's.

(Come back and visit Sex and the Soccer Mom every day for more ramblings)