Little Bits of Pixie Dust

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, martini in the other, body thourougly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO, what a ride!!"

Thursday, November 29, 2012


Technically my first kiss was in the third grade. My friend Jessica and I played with two other boys during recess, and one day we were sitting in the little fort on top of the slide. Jessica and one of the boys slid down to the blacktop below, and I was getting myself into position when I felt a light peck on my cheek. I turned around and the other boy was bright red, pushing his glasses back up onto his nose. He whisked away down the other side of the slide and never said another word about it. I was shocked and a little indignant, and pulled Jessica into the bathroom to whisper frantically in her ear, “He KISSED me!” Jessica wrinkled her nose and said Ew. This incident was never talked about again, though Jessica and I continued to play with the boys for the rest of the year.

My first actual kiss was the summer between seventh and eighth grade. I fell in LOVE with my neighbor, Chris. We were very good friends and hung out together all the time. One day we went swimming at the lake; I can still remember that I was wearing a blue and black Speedo and Chris was wearing navy blue swim trunks. We both knew that we liked one another and flirted shamelessly. The lake smelled fishy and I didn’t like the way the sand squished between my toes. We swam far out by the ropes and treaded water silently, grinning at each other. My heart was beating so hard. Chris had the best smile, with a dimple on his left cheek and bright blue eyes. He gave me that look and pushed his face into mine, and suddenly his lips were pressed over mine and I remembered I was supposed to close my eyes. He tasted of summer and the lake and first love, and it was wonderful.

Friday, November 16, 2012


Her cool fingers could soothe any fever, her soft voice could take away any nightmares. She could chase away any bad guys, calm any fears. She kissed all hurts to make them better, from broken bones to broken hearts. She was at every game, every meet, every concert, easily picked out in the crowd because she would be the one that was cheering the loudest. She loves to laugh and loves to be surrounded by her family best of all. Her idea of the perfect day would involve food and family, in her big kitchen full of warmth. Most likely she would cook all the food and then shoo everyone out when they tried to help her clean up. She made holiday traditions special; Christmas cookie baking, trimming the tree, coloring Easter eggs and watching the fireworks sitting downtown on the curb. She never forgot to bring drinks for thirsty throats, or band-aids for those little emergencies. She always smelled like flowers and peppermint gum, like sunshine and comfort. The whole world and anything that mattered was in her sparkly brown eyes. Her skin always seemed to have a little shimmer to it, almost like she was magic. Maybe she was. She sang silly songs as well as the popular ones on the radio, and made every outing a special one. She taught compassion, loyalty, honesty, and always stood up for the underdog. Always.

I worry that I won’t ever be able to live up to her, will never be able to be as good as she was. I lose my patience, sometimes I want to be by myself, and I don’t have dinner at the table every night. I worry that he won’t think I’m as magic as I thought she was. I worry I won’t ever, ever be the mom she was. I try every day to live up to her example, but she’s a hard act to follow.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012


There are certain mornings when I shouldn’t even be expected to try and come to work; certain mornings when I have already worn myself out by the time I need to get in the car and come to do work where I get paid.

C. still wears diapers at night; he’s completely potty trained during the day but hasn’t mastered the night time stuff yet. So this morning when I picked him up to give him a good morning hug, I noticed that he was considerably damp. I took him to the other room to get him dressed and out of his wet pajamas; when I pulled his pants down and took the diaper off, he had not only gone pee, if you know what I mean. In the split second before I could open my mouth, C. had stepped right in the nastiness. Of course, this caused a meltdown of epic proportions and though I was yelling, “Don’t put your foot down, don’t put your foot down!” I’m sure you can guess that he put his foot down. Now there were little brown footprints on the carpet. I calmed C. down and plunked him in the bathtub, throwing the dirty diaper in the trash on the way. Apparently I didn’t close the bag or the lid all the way, because when I went back out into the living room to scrub the carpet I found the dog making a yummy snack out of the vile old diaper. Sigh. Now I had a naked, whiny child, dirty carpet, and a dog that I just wanted to set on fire because I just think he’s completely disgusting.

Please also keep in mind that I am NOT a morning person and this all took place before 7:00 in the morning. Foolishly, I continued on to work, where I discovered that my internet radio connection isn’t working and I went out on a limb and tried a different bagel flavor because they were free and it tasted like ass. Now the hours are dragging on and on and it’s not even lunch time yet. I should have stayed in bed.

Friday, November 09, 2012

Two Penis Stories for your Enjoyment

1. My dad is a very straight laced type of person. I’ve never seen him without a shirt tucked neatly into his pants, even if he’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt; he’s very proper. You have to know this background for this story to be even funnier. So when my son was just starting to be potty trained, he was scared to go to the bathroom in public places. One day my dad and I took him to the park, and we had been playing for a while when I reminded C. to use the bathroom. He immediately started freaking out and telling me that he didn’t WANT to go to that potty, he doesn’t LIKE that potty. I felt like I had a brilliant idea when I suggested that perhaps Grandpa would like to take him to the bathroom, and C. reluctantly agreed. So they trotted off to the public bathroom and I waited outside. The bathroom was in one of those building things they have in the park, so the wall didn’t meet up with the ceiling and you could perfectly hear what was being said in the bathroom. I heard a little bit of whining from my son, and all of a sudden, loud and clear, I heard C. begin to yell, “No, Grandpa! Don’t take my pants off! Don’t take my pants off! *unintelligible screaming* Don’t pull down my underwear Grandpa! Don’t!” A split second later my dad comes busting out of the bathroom, face bright red. “I can’t do this, D!” he sputtered. “I’m gonna get arrested!” I thought that he may keel over and die right there from embarassment, and I may have to die right along with him because I was laughing so hard at him.
2. Last night I was giving C. a bath, and I asked him to stand up so I could wash his bottom half. As I started scrubbing, C. began to yell at me, “Don’t touch my penis, Mommy! Don’t bend it, I don’t like it!” I quietly told him that I had to wash everything in order for him to be clean, and he continued to yell at me about not touching his penis. I’m sure our upstairs neighbors just loved that one. Someone’s bound to get arrested one of these days.

Thursday, November 08, 2012

DishGate 2012

My husband and I are getting along better, and I’m trying harder not to get annoyed at EVERY SINGLE THING he does. But that’s not what this post is about… I’m here to talk about DishGate 2012.

I’m usually in charge of all household chores with the exception of laundry and vacuuming; those are A*’s responsibilities and things generally work out just fine. About 3 months ago I let the dishes go for a couple days and they were really piling up (we don’t have a dishwasher). I was feeling really angry towards those dishes, so I made a deal with A* to exchange, um, certain sexual favors if he did the dishes. It was even a two parter; one part of the deal would be handled that very day upon agreement of washing the dishes, and then the other part would occur once the dishes were actually done. A* agreed, and may I just say WHOLEHEARTEDLY, to this deal, and I followed through on the first part. And the dishes continued to sit there. And sit there. Then we moved, and it was kind of sudden, and A* packed up DIRTY DISHES. I know, you guys, I know how gross this is. He put dirty dishes into big black trash bags and drug them to the new place. Where they sat. And sat. And seriously, they are still sitting there. I’m totally not joking; I REFUSE to do these dishes. Every night when it is time for dinner, I wash a plate for myself, a plate for my son, silverware for us, and any cooking instruments that I may need. I WILL NOT BUDGE!

I know this is stubborn and childish, but *said in a whiny voice* I don’t care. I’ve already held up my portion of the deal and I just will not give in. My kitchen may be disgusting and my cupboards may be bare, but the dishes will stay in the sink, dirty, until my husband does them. So there.