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Thursday, April 28, 2011

I think I'm a...man?

Recently, I found myself sitting in a Plastic Surgeon's office. Now, I know what you're thinking...but it's not like that. I found myself discussing the most bizarre of topics: boobs. [in case you were not aware, soon I will be the long-awaited recipient of a reduction]

"What size would you like to be?"
[sliding a book of real photos across the table to me]
"This size? Or this one here look appealing?"
I look around the room for a moment and think - how ludacrous, I'm about to order my new bosoms from a catalog. Completely surreal. "I'll take hers...they're perkier." Who says that? Ok, well - who says that out-loud to someone other than their girlfriend while strolling through the mall?

We continue on, and he asks me about my knowledge about gram equivalents. I'm sitting perplexed when one of the greatest and most awkward experiences of my adult life transpires. He rummages around in his drawer and hands me...Oh, you guessed it: A 500 gram implant! [SIDEBAR: for those yet unaware, don't bother googling. It is a 1.1 lb. 2 cup size boosting clear blob of jello.]

Immediately, and to my shock I am spellbound. I am appalled that I am so enraptured. He's talking. He sounds like Ms. Donovan (Charlie Brown's teacher for those of you who didn't grow up in the '80s). The room blurs slightly, and all I can see is this "fun bag" of wonderment in my hands. I squeeze it. I jiggle it. I pinch it. I twist, turn, bounce and smoosh it. At this point, I've darted into the make believe world of my happy place. This thing is incredibly like a water snake. I can't stop myself.

I push the wobbly mass away and snap back to reality long enough to notice: he's still talking, and I have no idea what he's going to do to me when I go under...[once more off to my happy place, imagining my surgeon with Julia Childs' voice] "And here we have the breast. And we will take and cut it, and place it neatly onto the platter, taking care to be sure that presentation is not sacrificed." Jesus.

I look back to my right. There it is, beckoning to me. I lean over and smack it. I bounce my hand on it. In my head, I've even named the thing...Lois. Oh yes. Precisely that moment, I look up and realize that I'm a man. I'm fascinated with the damned thing. I'm going to need a support group. I need intervention. He's going to have to wrestle it out of my hands when I leave the office if he thinks he's getting it back. Now, I imagine this altercation.

I walked out of my appointment with no clue what I was going to do...except obsess for the next few hours about boobs. I might have it even worse than I thought...I can't be a man...I'm a pubescent boy. Help.

The Death of "No!"

Let's ponder a moment shall we - a TV show of the lowest order. A TV show I've come to abhor...Supernanny. You might wonder, "Why? She's helping parents take back their families!" Precisely. For a parent to have lost their family, means they gave it up at some point. A mom failed to say, "NO!"

Now, typically, I don't criticize differing parenting tactics - hey, what works for you will not work for me, our kids aren't the same. But, I've come to think...I AM the parent. I'm not their friend. It's my job to raise morally responsible and physically respectable little human beings, even though some days I think they're more like a pack of wild dogs. And my first inclination that this whole parenting business was going to pot was when CA stated they were going to try and pass a law against spanking. My response was immediate. I wiped my hands on my kitchen hand towel, brandished my wooden spoon and shouted loudly, "I'd like to see you get in the front door, b/c I'll end up spanking your ass too!" [Now, don't confuse this with that I only spank...no, no, I sometimes prefer exponential retribution or possibly lording my extreme size advantage over them.]

Now, my kids have issues, whose don't? But they're unique. And they're witty and hilarious and brave and intelligent AND respectful. They didn't get that way b/c I gave them a second dinner when the first I prepared wasn't to their liking. They didn't get that way from making their own bed times. They got that way b/c my husband and I are boss. They got that way b/c I was not afraid to tell them, "NO!".

There has been show downs. Ooooh, have there been show downs. My 6-going-on-35-year-old daughter has looked at me and said, "Make me!" My response? "Do you really want to see if I can? I mean if that is your ultimate intention, I can save you the hassle and tell you right now I have about a 1000% weight advantage on you. Would you like to rethink your proclamation? And when you come to your conclusion, it should be epilogued with an 'I'm sorry'." Needless to say, I didn't ever have to get up AND I received an apology.

That day she learned some valuable lessons. One: I'm in charge. Two: When you've done something wrong, apologize. Three: More than half the time it's not worth the fight...whatever it is. Four: Words can solve things faster than hands & feet...get a vocabulary. And Five: Supernanny isn't coming to save your ass.

Monday, April 11, 2011

The Aisle of Box

I do the grocery shopping for my family of five. Every other week, on payday, I scoot out either late Friday night or early on Saturday morning to beat the droves of casual shoppers that can be found during normal business hours. It's become an art that I believe that I have perfected. I can acquire about $250 worth of groceries (for two weeks - minus repeat visits for milk and fresh fruit & veggies) in about an hour flat. Bing. Bang. Boom.

This most recent visit took longer though. You see...I got lost in the "Aisle of Box." [Now, I pride myself on the fact that my family gets home cooked meals. And by home cooked, I mean; I open a cookbook, ensure I have all ingredients and then make the meal from scratch. I use real butter. I use real cheeses AND...I even use milk that has fat in it. Cookies, cakes and frostings are also homemade up in this joint.]

So, back to the Aisle of Box...

I had found some recipe that called for - minute rice or some junk that I didn't have because, shockingly, I use the real stuff. And I had to venture into uncharted territory. Do you realize how much sh!t is in the Aisle of Box? There's hamburger, tuna and chicken helpers...I would even venture to say that there is helper for your helper. There are oodles and oodles of outrageously salty noodles. Sauces, creams, powders and various other sundry things made of every potential chemical known to man.

I stood, mouth agape. I might even have drooled, so deep was my stupor. I'm not sure how long I stood there, wondering: How long could a person eat from this aisle without ever eating the same thing twice? I looked at a picture on the front of a box..."Hey, I make that stuff." I look at the ingredients. Baffled, I put it back b/c I don't have a PhD in AstroPhysics and cannot even begin to pronounce half of the items contained therein. I look at the calorie content. JESUS H! That is insane and out of control...and I use real butter!

Suddenly, my wits returned about me, and I ran. Well, I went as fast as I could pushing an entire cart filled with about $250 worth of groceries...I left so quickly, I even forgot my minute rice. Part of me wonders if this is a contributing part of the "Obesity epidemic" that is plaguing our nation...or, if maybe it is Nabisco's experiment on life extension - If we can get them to eat this garbage, it will petrified & pickle their insides...thus allowing them to live forever!

In either case, I think that due to the sheer size & volume of that aisle, I'm in a minority here. I eat sitting down, at the same time every day, with my entire family, and while we don't say grace - we don't start eating until everyone is sitting. We all stay at the table until everyone is finished too. We have a main course with a side and a helping of vegetables with milk to drink. We all have napkins set at our places, even the baby uses one. We all share things about our days. And I feel terrified at the idea of the Aisle of Box, and the thought that it could destroy my nightly piece of heaven.

Don't let the Aisle of Box happen to you. Take time to eat the fat laden cheeses and brown in real butter. And please, please...for the love of God, don't eat cake that comes from a box.