CH-CH-CH-CH-Changes.

Hello all! Hope your June has started off well and you are groovin' to your summer playlists. I have personally been listening to my Black Keys playlist quite a bit, and one I call Kickin' Chicks that has Paramore and Florence and the Machine and the Ting Tings on it.  Good gardening music, but I get caught shaking my moneymaker while planting and Oldest Daughter gets upset.  "Keep it in the back yard!" she stage whispers out of the windows.

I'm a big ideas girl, but can occasionally be a little low on action.  I've been meaning to write a book since 1999, but I've been having a problem stopping partying like it's 1999 and party time cuts into book time.  But now?  I've got a lion in my pocket, and baby he's ready to roar.  See?

SO.  If I go public with my commitment, it means that I will be shamed if I don't fulfill it, no?  Here are the ch-ch-ch-ch-changes coming around Wiferville this summer:

1.  I'm moving my blog to Wordpress by next weekend.  I'll make an announcement on Facebook and here when I'm ready to roll, and this page will be here but it will direct people to go to http://www.adayinthewife.com/, minus the "blogspot" in the name, and it will now carry you to the Word Press site.  I'm told Word Press is easier to use and easier to leave comments, so now all of you who e-mail and tell me you can't comment because Blogger is an asshole can party with the tribe.  Like it's 1999.

2.  I'm getting in my Little Red Corvette, and taking two classes at the Iowa Summer Writing Festival, held at the U of Iowa at their Writer's Workshop facilities.  I've taken classes off and on there over the past 5 years, and it's very motivational and gets you in your writer head.  Hopefully I use the time to write and not to drink with the other well-intentioned writers there.

3.  I'm having a Todd "Hot Nuts" Epstein Squirrel Blog-Up Party in Minneapolis, possibly the weekend before the 4th of July.  Getting deets together.  I will be making Todd t-shirts to pre-order.  I'm not sure how this factors into me writing a book, but I tell Current Husband that the dead squirrel is a marketing tool, so I need to occasionally trot him out so Todd doesn't end up in a garage sale against my will.  Alongside a Raspberry Beret.  The kind you find in a secondhand store. (Did you realize the actress Kristin Thomas is the girl in that video?)

4.  I'm going to ACTUALLY WRITE.  It's weird, but most publishers don't really let you call yourself an author until you have authored.  What a bunch of dicks they are.  They are what it sounds like, When Doves Cry.

SO.  I've said it.  OUT LOUD. (Hey Twi-hards, did you read that and hear Robert Pattinson saying it in your head?  Only 5 months until BD2!)  Now it's time to come through.  I guess as long as I'm shaming myself, I'll throw in another:

5.  Lose 10 pounds through exercise and diet and not through Benadyl and Merlot.

If any of you would like to Declare Yourselves and make some goals, I will have a Comment Coming Out Party when the Word Press blog is launched, and let's make a Summer of Success Partner Commitment Coming Out Party!  Yeah, that's right. 

I'm going to marry all of you.
It's legal in Iowa.

Last One in Single Digits

WARNING:  Anyone who lives in the Quad Cities and sees me coming should politely find something to do in the opposite direction.  I am scheduling a nervous breakdown for next week.   Unless you have a lovely chardonnay or some Xanax or a minivan with a full tank of gas and you're dying to drive kids around, and then I beg you to run toward me.  RUN, FORREST, RUN!  Run into the light!

"Oh Julie," you say.  "Quit yer whinin'!"

POP! That is the sound of me smacking you sort of hard and then saying I was kidding.  Trust me, I KNOW I'm whining.  I've always maintained that I was built to handle the responsibilites of a 27-year-old, maximum.  Right now I'm juggling some priceless Wedgewood china, previously owned by George Washington, all coated in the Ebola Virus, and I know one or more pieces is going to hit the ground and shatter into a million little priceless irretreivable shards and kill all of mankind, and I don't know which one yet, so keep juggling, keep juggling, keep juggling...There are FOUR STRESS POINTS right now in my little life, and I think a number of you mom-types are going through similar scenarios:

1.  THE DRIVING SCHEDULE

Here was our schedule Monday night: 
4:45   Get home from work
5:15   Leave with The Son, his bass, and Oldest Daughter's cello in van.
5:30   Drop Son at string lessons, drive to high school to get
         Oldest Daughter from musical practice.
6:00   OD in cello lesson, Son comes out.  Current Husband meets me in parking lot
         with Youngest Daughter.  YD gets in my car, Son gets in CH car to be driven
         to baseball practice.
6:30   OD leaves cello lesson, drive back to high school to drop her at musical practice.
7:00   Arrive home.  Carry instruments in.  Feed YD.  Let George the Superpet out.
7:15   Let GTS in, put YD and piano bags in car, leave for piano lessons.
7:30   Drop YD at piano, go shop for YD birthday gifts.
8:00   CH takes Son to piano from baseball practice.  Picks up OD from musical practice.
8:30   I pick up The Son and YD from piano, go home.
8:45   Start homework, showers, etc.
10:45  Think "What The Hell Just Happened?"  Assess what can change. 
           Determine nothing can.  Count days until musical is over.  Throw up a little in my 
          mouth.  Take a Prilosec and eat Tums.  Sleep fitfully, dream of dogs on skis.

So because of the high school musical, coupled with the fact that no children drive, our lives have been a little chaotic lately.  Plus, we have three children in three levels of school - elementary, middle, and high school - and this is the time of year when all the shit goes down.  Conferences. Scheduling classes. Solo festivals and concerts to determine what chair you get next year. End of year picnics/festivals/fundraisers/volunteer opportunities.  Sign up for the camps you need to do during the summer. Bleh.  It makes me want to eat Lucky Charms on my mom's green and gold velvet couch and read a Nancy Drew book and imagine what it will be like to get my period someday.

2.  FOREGOING DIET COKE

What in the name of Baby Jesus was I thinking?  This is not the time of year to go on the wagon.  But in the wrestling match between my now-insecure colon and Diet Coke, the colon won.  I am now nearly 72 hours soda-free, and I've never wanted a beer and a smoke more.

3.  TODAY IS YOUNGEST DAUGHTER'S BIRTHDAY

Nine years ago I was 4 days overdue with my third baby.  We lived in a small town, and I owed a gift shop, so everyone knew I was overdue.  I would waddle down the street and people would yell things at me like, "Eat Eggplant Parmegiana!" or "Watch the movie Chicago!" or "Drink Raspberry Tea!" or "Try Nipple Stimulation!".  I'm not kidding.  So on April 11, 2003, I was sitting on the couch eating Eggplant Parmegiana with Raspberry Tea watching the movie Chicago and giving myself purple nurples when my water finally broke.  Then CH and I were almost hit by a drunk driver going the wrong way on a one-way street into Iowa City en route to the hospital, because the bars were closing.  And then I got my first epidural, thank you God.  Little MuMu Kowski was born the next morning, April 12, bright and early and on her own terms.  Seeing this sweet little muffin turn nine, and knowing it's my last year with a child in a single-digit age, is hitting me kind of hard today.  I took an hour off work and took her into school with her butt-ass-ugly "brownie kites" she wanted me to make, and CH and I took her to lunch at Wendy's today (no Diet Coke!  AAAAHH!), and tonight she wants spaghetti and meatballs and she'll open some Lalaloopsy stuff, and I know this is all so fleeting.  What a cutie patootie.  I already miss her and she's still around for another 10 years.  Do you ever stare at your kids and think, "I HAVE to remember this moment!" like I want to remember their voices and the feel of their little hands holding yours or the smell of their hair...  Jesus, I'm going to cry.  WHERE IS MY DIET COKE!?!?

4.  I'M TURNING 43 NEXT WEEK

and my face is melting off and my middle is getting thicker and my varicose veins are really putting down some roots and I have acid reflux and apparently some up-and-coming digestive issues and I can't just drink and eat whatever I want to anymore and my hips hurt in the middle of the night and I'm forgetting shit all the time and I'm tired but I can't sleep, and I'm constantly bitching in my head (and on my blog, you're welcome!) about how busy I am, and I feel like I'm running faster and faster on a treadmill and even though I run faster I'm not going anywhere, and I know these kids are going to be out of the house before I know it (three years, it begins....) and I'm going to miss them so much it makes my gut hurt (or that's the Diet Coke) but I can't wrap my head around it because I'm just DRIVING EVERYWHERE ALL THE TIME!!!!  And I've stopped drinking Diet Coke!  And my colon is occasionally exploding!

In sum?  Happy Birthday YD, I need a Diet Coke, and for my birthday?  Baby you can drive my car.

And baby I love you.

You're Old. That'll be 400 Dollars.

I think I've mentioned that my family made me believe I was going deaf last year.  They walk around muttering and low talking around me, and I'm forever saying, "What? Huh?" and then they talk very slowly and loudly, over-enunciating and then mocking me.  Which was super funny until I served them the trichonosis ham at Christmas.  It was an accident, of course.  OR WAS IT?

So, on the whole hearing thing (HUH!?), I ended up so freaked out by it that I made an appointment at an ENT office and had a hearing test.  I had to go to a room with little tiny preschool chairs, and put on little pink Minnie Mouse headphones, and stare at a Disney mural while they administered the hearing test.  When I walked out, the tech said, "Um, yeah, so not only is your hearing good, it's actually above normal.  So....you're fine."  I paid the $300, which was not covered by insurance, and went home to my low-talkers who were all making  me think I was crazy. (I SAID MADE ME THINK I WAS CRAZY!)

So in the past year, I've had to start using reading glasses.  I seem to really have trouble seeing, so I picked out a 2.0 strength pair.  Lately, those seem to be blurring my words as well.  It was time to upgrade from my Walgreens readers to some real glasses.  Hopefully bifocals, because they'll go with my Depends. (Do those Kegels, girls.  Ready...and HOLD...and...release.)  I asked friends for an eye doctor recommendation, and went with the one who has the same name as CH and my masseuse, because I'm intent on building a stable of men with the same name who are here to serve me.

Today, I go to the eye doctor's office.  While waiting for my name to be called, I checked out some eyeglasses...ooh, there are some cool Lacoste ones.  Will I look like Tina Fey in THESE:

Being old might not be so bad if I can look bookishly hip.  Maybe rock a Naughty Librarian look.  Okay, I can do this.  "Julie?"  I take my first step toward my revamped image as I walk into the exam room.

My oompah-loompishly tanned tech was very nice, but kept looking at my chart with furrowed brow.  "What is it you are being seen for?  How blurry are the words?"   I started getting worried - was this some kind of ocular malfeseance, the likes of which had never been seen before by this office?  The doctor walked in with the same name as my husband and gave me a speech not unlike one I would hear from CH:

"Your vision is 20/20.  You're just getting old."

Um, do I pick up those Lacoste lenses on the way out as a parting gift, Doc?  Because you just harshed my buzz.  I went from Tina Fey to Estelle Getty in 60 seconds.  It turns out that when you are OLD, your lens in your eye quits being bendy - "Much like your knees, Julie" is what he said, just before I accidentally punched my bad knee into his scrotal sac - and won't move as quickly, hence your blurry words.  Also?  My readers are too strong - I need closer to a 1.0, the 2.0 strength is making me hold my book closer to my face.  I can't even get my readers right!  What is my name?  Where am I?  Jesus, is that you?

I don't need glasses.  I need burial insurance.

So in the past six months, I've had my hearing checked and it is above average, and I've had my vision checked and it's 20/20, and yet, I CAN'T SEE OR HEAR A DAMN THING.

Conclusion?  You're old.  That'll be $400.  Come back in two years so we can ridicule you some more.

Where IS Everything?

Merry Christmas Wifers!

I know, I'm an ass and haven't posted, but I think of the blog often.  And then I say, "Meh.  I'm drinking right now."  (NOTE TO MY MOTHER:  No Mom, I'm not drinking all the time.  I don't have a problem.  And perhaps I'm drinking Diet Coke?  I never said it was booze.  Who has the problem NOW?  Take a look at yourself.  What's in your hand?  That's what I thought.)

Really, I've meant to post, and I have a few great things to share, but I can't find my cord to download photos off of my Blackberry.  And then I can't find my charger.  And then I can't find my phone.  In the past week I've lost keys, gifts, eyeliner, a Starbucks gift card, $1400 in credit card receipts for a hooker convention, a red sweater, and my favorite jeans.  Just now, I helped Youngest Daughter through a lost DS emergency, and then I couldn't find my Mike's Hard Lemonade.  I can't find the receipt for the custom door we ordered for Current Husband's office now that we need to pick it up, and I'm losing my mind!  WTF, Universe?  I know there are people in the world battling cancer and depression and oppression and erosion, so I know I need a perspective check, but seriously, WHERE THE HELL IS MY BLACKBERRY CORD?

We had a great Christmas here in Wiferville.  It was all awesomeness and unicorns and ponies.  The kids were great, we had a wonderful bunker-down weekend, Christmas Eve Mass was uncharacteristically short, we sat behind a cute baby, the weather was great and we didn't run out of Gruet or cheesy potato casserole and no major appliances broke or malfunctioned in any way. 

Downside?  I may have undercooked portions of the ham and therefore my family may or may not have trichinosis.  Also?  I got my period four days early and had to go to Walgreens on Christmas Day to buy 60 Super Plus tampons and 48 Super tampons and 48 super maxi pads and a box of Dots and Aleve and a handgun, because honestly it was a Ten Year Period and it's a miracle I didn't need a transfusion or Depends.  The checkout girl said, "How is your Christmas going?" and I looked down at my 108 tampons that were getting me through the next 48 hours and said, "Yeah.  It's shaping up really well right now" and she looked at me in a pityingly way and said, "But you have the Dots!" and then I felt bad because at least I was hemorrhaging to death at home and in flannel sock monkey pajamas and not doing it at Walgreens on duty.  So I said, "It's great, I'm so glad you were open, thanks for working on Christmas!" and she smiled and probably thought, "Yeah, thanks for rubbing it in.  Go eat some more of that Death Ham, bitch."

I have to find that cord because I have a photo on my phone of one of my best Christmas presents EVER.  I'll get right on it.  Side note - super big scare tonight with George the Superpet - my kids called me at work at 4:10, yelling that I need to come home RIGHT NOW because George wasn't using his back leg, was walking like he was drunk, and threw up yellow stuff and then laid down on the floor.  I walked out of the office, freaking out, and on the way home called and told the kids to call the vet that I was bringing him in and I thought, "Dear God, Do NOT let me come home to a dead dog."  I screeched up to the house, threw open the back of the swagga wagon, and tried to figure out how I was going to get a catatonic stroking-out 107 lb poodle in the back by myself, and when I opened the door he came trotting around the corner smiling and wagging and miraculously all better.

BUT STILL.

As an FYI, when I lose George the Superpet, I will NOT. COPE. WELL.  He is only 5, so this kind of behavior is ridonkulous and I won't stand for it.  We've been watching him all night and he is acting perfectly normal, but of course I'm hearing the Voice of Unreason in the back of my head.  I can lose Blackberry cords and eyeliner and Starbucks cards, but the one non-human thing I can't lose right now is my dog.  CH, you have been demoted.  George gets the bed tonight.  Poor little poochie-pie.