Wherein I Am Dissed Bigtime

Must I be expected to remember everything that happens to me? People, if I can't rely on my children to fill in the blanks when I occasionally forget the minutia of an event, who can I rely on?

The following is an email I received from my daughter, TG, in response to my extraordinarily reasonable request for a memory filler so I could make a Wee Wisdom post about Miss America's reaction to seeing me greet my date at the front door. Certainly, when you've read it, you'll understand why I am utterly appalled!

TG: "Geez, Mom, this is your story. You're killin' me here. (I might have already been told this story a coupla times.) It went like this:

• Miss America ran up to say hello.
• You gave your date a hug and kiss.
• Miss America hung back to wait until y'all were done.
• She said hello.
• She came to me and said y'all were kissin'.
• I asked, if she asked, if y'all were gonna get married, cuz that is the rule. You kiss a boy, you marry that boy.
• She said, 'No, I didn't want to interrupt their lovin'.'
• We all laugh.
• Mom writes a ridiculously over-complicated version of the story for her blog."

Ridiculous? Over-complicated? Hmph! People, my daughter doesn't know me AT ALL!

Next time, TG, see if I fix your punctuation!

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I Have a New Baby

By "I", I mean my daughter TG, but that's not important. I was there, and I helped. Of course, TG did all of the hard work, which included six hours of induced labor, masked by the "tell me when it's over" miracle that is an epidural. Please. People, I had four kids myself, au naturale, which included concentrated breathing techniques and ridiculously contrived panting while aiming projectile obscenities at the rat bastard who'd knocked me up in the first place.

And pushing . . . There's a gift from on high. God, or whoever invented us, had a twisted sense of humor. Let's give women a hole the size of a kumquat and see if they can push a pumpkin through it, shall we? While my sperm filter had allowed gratuitous stuff into the inbox without so much as a cautionary flag, nothing was getting through the outbox. I prayed for C-sections that never came.

So what gives? Our new baby, the Princess Shaboobka, came out in two—count 'em, 2—pushes. Says the doc after push #1: "Oh, I think this one's going to be easy." After push #2: "Oops."

So, bloggy world, here is our precious new Shaboobka at three days old. She's a keeper, isn't she?

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09/09/09

Happy birthday to my firstborn, TG, Miss America's mom, who turned 31 today!

Did you know this is an incredibly unique and crazy day? I mean, besides popping out almost seven pounds of baby girl 31 years ago, as of 7:20 this morning. (OMG, squeezing a watermelon out a hole the size of a kiwi . . . still makes me feel like passing out. I remember saying to the doc, "Uh-uh, I'm going home now"). So, back to unique and crazy. Apparently any grade-schooler can tell you that the number 9 has extraordinarily magical and brain-numbing properties, like this:

The sum of the two digits resulting from 9, multiplied by any other single digit number will equal nine.

What? Oh, yes. It's true. If you're having trouble making friends, you might want to try this because you will be like a god and people will reward you with statues. Like Pythagorus (don't try to say that too fast if you have a speech impediment -- I about bit my tongue off). No really, people will flock to you. Or is that birds? Anyway, let's find a random example. Oh, here's one. Today's date: 09/09/09. Translated to the math continuum or the consortium or the conundrum (is one of those close?), that's 9 + 9 + 9 which equals 27, right? Now add the answer, one digit at a time. Here, I'll help you: 2 + 7 = 9.

I know! Right? Wait now. Hold that excitement for the big guns. 'kay? Let's look at something else totally sort of random like 9 x 62. That equals 558 (Someone told me the answer; she was 5.) I don't have a chalkboard, so you're on the honor system. You're doing this with me, right? Break it down to the lowest number possible, a little dancey kind of jig that goes like this: 558, or 5 + 5 + 8 = 18. No, that's not 9. You people are so impatient. If you keep going down, adding the single digits together, you get this: 18, or 1 + 8 = 9.

OMFG! It's freakin' 9 again. How'd they do that? Not quite as exhilarating as 99 bottles of beer on the wall (unless you've tried that in a single night -- no, I don't have pictures), but certainly just as thought provoking, wouldn't you say? I have a brand new and fascinating appreciation of numbers now. Well, the 9 anyway. I can take or leave the rest.

And now I'll leave you with one last, incredible tidbit -- yes, that was an oxymoron for all you oxymoronics (that's oxy drug of choice + moron = your name here). Ready? September 9 happens to be the 252nd day of the year. So guess what? 2 + 5 + 2 = __. Don't make me tell you!

I wonder what happens when you turn 999 upside down? Of course, I could be getting into geometry with that one or some kind of spiritual PLANE. Am I getting smarter by the second, or what?

I have to go lay down now. I must reserve some energy for cake.

Happy birthday, TG! I love you more!
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Cuz We're Family

When I'm without my cell phone, I am without one leg. I feel like I have to email everyone, "Hey, I don't have my phone. If you miss me or need to tell me something -- anything -- here's how." And so it goes with the alternative: text messages via email. Following is this afternoon's exchanges between me, my two daughters, Scoots and TG, and TG's husband George. I'm always amused at how fast things can disintegrate. Cuz we're family.

Me: If you guys need me, you’ll have to call me at the office. I keep forgetting the damn phone.

TG: We should get you a fanny pack.

Scoots: Doodle would think you are the coolest! (Eleven-y.o. Doodle is enamored with fanny packs and doesn't care about the cool factor or lack thereof. The boy just wants what he wants.)

TG: While we are at it, we may as well get you one of those medical alert watches too... In case you fall and can't get up (again).

Scoots: Wait! I need one of those too.

George: Yeah, but for a different reason . . .


Scoots (this pic looks exactly like her, but it's not): HAHAHAHA!!!

TG: Yes, and it lights up too. So she can see it in the dark. :)

Scoots: She will need digital!

TG: The watches are way fancier than the old medical necklaces... They were too clunky. She would never wear the necklace.

Scoots: I guess Mom does not want to play along with our antics.

Me: All right already. So, I take it I'm getting a medical alert bracelet for my birthday? BTW, I have a “drinks date” on Friday after work.

Scoots: YEAH!!! Hot or not?

Me: He’s older than me. How hot can he be?

TG: Definitely a fanny pack. PS, Mom, you don't "drink"....

Scoots: I have seen some hot old men.

Me: Where?

Scoots: TV

George: I am amazed how entertained you all can keep your selves. lol

Scoots: We are simple girls!

George: I think I will push this button now . . .

TG: Dang... I missed out on a lot. I don't even know where to start. First, MOM, that guy is cute, and seems very nice. If you're not interested don't go out with him! Scoots, thought you were SOOOOOOO busy... :) George, I know what you mean. Cleaning, and came back to 15 emails... Yay, I feel important again!!!

Me: I do want to go. You know what? That guy IS pretty hot. He’s in AWESOME shape. TG, did I show you his pics?

Scoots: I want to see!

George: I have one of him...

Me: Those sharpeis are symbolic of what we CAN’T see. Ew.

Me (along with pics of my upcoming Friday "date"): Cute, huh?

Scoots: And the bald head isn’t bad. That will be George soon. :)

George:
Crickets chirping . . .

Me: So, I'm getting the fanny pack then?
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