Stepping Outside My Box For A Minute …

Yesterday it snowed. I’m willing to bet it will be beautiful tomorrow. Because that’s been the pattern around here as of late.

It’s exasperating and makes no sense.

Mama Earth is telling us to suck it, folks.

This week’s tragic headlines have left me deeply disturbed. Because while some of these phenomena are purely unavoidable consequences of time, others are anything but.

It’s in these cases that, as far as I can tell, we have no one to blame but ourselves.

And it’s infuriating.

I grew up in a conservation-conscious family. Before my dad (Bobo) gave up corporate life and became a full-time artist, he was a landscape architect. He’s remained a steadfast voice for environmental issues his entire life. My mother ran a successful greenhouse business and is now a garden designer. Their combined love of nature and the importance they place on protecting it were were values instilled in us at an early age. Whether it was watering the lawn with “grey water” from the washing machine, putting bricks in the toilet, or collecting cans and recycling them for a few extra bucks (when I wasn’t pedaling porn), my brother and I knew it was important to take care of our planet.

Even so, front pages like the one above have a much more profound effect on me now that I’m a mother. Like all parents, I want to leave the world a better place for my child. And front pages like the one above freak me out. (Helluuu, Demi Moore? Seventh Seal?) Despite the sheer magnitude of this week’s events, I can’t shake the feeling they’re mere hiccups.

And that Mother Nature is getting ready to vomit.

Big hairy chunks. It would appear she’s had enough. I can’t say I blame her.

We’ve treated her like sh*t. And any lady with an ounce of self-respect wouldn’t take it lying down.

DJ Santa and the Funky Bunch

I mentioned a few posts ago I had a radio interview yesterday morning — my first ever. I wasn’t too worried about it considering the size of the town I live in (smallish to medium). I was fully expecting something akin to the Alec Baldwin SNL Schweddy Balls sketch.

Haven’t seen it? Oh, it’s a must. Take a minute. I’ll wait.

Classic.

So, where was I? Oh yeah … driving like a bat outta hell, MP and I made it to school with literally no time to spare. We’d gone over the familiar, “no diddle dawdling with good-byes because Mommy is really REALLY late” protocol in the car, so she was prepared for my abrupt departure. (If you haven’t gotten it by now, “Late” is a lifestyle at the Pie House.) The drop off was made in record time and I arrived at the studio by 7:30 a.m., adrenaline the only thing keeping me awake.

Because I stay up all night and BLOG. It’s unnatural.

Anyhoo, you know how you generate an image of someone in your mind before actually meeting them? I’m NEVER close. I knew my host’s name was George and that he was a larger man, so naturally, it stuck in my head that I’d be chatting with George Foreman.

After standing outside for an eternity, waiting for George to cut to commercial, I was finally buzzed in. The person on the other side of the door was in fact, NOT a large Black boxer; NOT the inventor of the AMAZING grill that bears his name; but Surly Hippie Santa Clause DJ instead.

After just a few minutes of off-air chit-chat, the headphones go on and Hippie Santa DJ introduces me to the world. I’m there to talk about a pretty big Women’s Conference my company is sponsoring next week, so naturally, I want to tout the benefits of registering, right?

I do manage to get in some key points, but I’ve been warned George likes to get tangental. (In case you’re new, I enjoy making up words.) He doesn’t disappoint.

Somehow we wind up talking about men who wear ladies shoes.

“I think they’re called … pumps? Is that right?”

“Mmm hmm. Very painful. Not good for an ALL-DAY CONFERENCE, like the one on May 21.“

“I don’t even know where someone would GET a size 12 pump …”

“Well George, I’m sure there are lots of sites on the web that cater to men interested in wearing pumps.”

I can see he’s kind of liking this pump wearing idea. At this point I’m thinking,

a. Get this guy on point.

b. Don’t forget to mention sponsors.

c. How many greasy heads have these earphones I’m wearing actually BEEN on?? Eww eww eww!”

Don Imus dropped by, made himself at home, and started popping off about women’s basketball. I think he was confused about the topic, Women in Business.

Then Howard Stern showed up and added to the confusion.

He was totally inappropriate.

And we were WAAAY off topic.

*sigh*

Pre-Photoshopped Howard Stern photo credit AP Photo.

Oh How I Love The Fruitcake Lady

Here’s a belated Mother’s Day gift for all you mamas. Sage advice from THE mother of all mothers.

Miss Puss.

BAHAHAHA!!

Mother’s Day Conversation

Earlier today, MP saw something on TV mentioning Father’s Day along with Mother’s Day.

Heeyy … there’s a FATHER’s Day too?

Mmm hmm. But we celebrate GRANDfather’s Day instead.

Oh yeah.

(big smile)

Is there a KID’s Day?

Yep. Every day.

The Difference Between Boys and Girls

After waking yesterday morning, lounging around in our PJs and doing absolutely nothing to clean up the disgusting pit our house had become over just two short days, I suddenly realized we had a birthday party to go to in two hours. And no present.

If it had been a girl’s party, I could’ve dug something out of THE BOX in the back of my closet. A tradition picked up from my mom, THE BOX contains an assortment of little things picked up here and there, put away for sick days, sad days, and just such occasions as this. THE BOX includes re-gifters too, but somehow, I didn’t think a boy turning five would appreciate that Cabbage Patch doll with the overpowering scent of baby powder that proved too much for MP’s asthma. (Uch, too much for Mommypie, even. Note to Cabbage Patch Company — BAD IDEA.)

So, after dressing MP in the very last available pair of clean pants and the second to last clean shirt in the house — completely mismatched, I might add (because I’ve been locked in the house with a sick four-year-old for two days and just haven’t had time to do laundry. That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.) — I ripped through a shower, quickly toweled off, and realized I left my makeup bag at work.

Which, on any other weekend, would be no big deal, however, early Monday morning I’m being interviewed on local radio.

I am aware that sounds completely ridiculous … helluuu - radio? I do understand listeners will not actually be able to HEAR my lack of makeup. But it irritated me just the same. (This might sound all rock star, btw, but trust me, it’s anything but. Just work stuff.)

The two of us ran out the door — me with my Clinique sampler face (thank you Jesus for Bonus Days at Macy’s), and MP looking like an impoverished flower child, whining that she didn’t like wearing jeans, because they had a BUTTON –and headed to WalMart.

Christmas has nothin’ on Mother’s Day. The place was packed.

This was our first time choosing a gift for a boy over the age of two, and it was … weird. After the obligatory browse through the “girl” aisle, we finally settled on this.

It was a hit.

Who knew?

Moms with boys, that’s who.

Looking back on our clothes and makeup drama-filled morning, the difference between the sexes couldn’t have been illustrated more clearly.

Five, Not Six, Things About Me

I was tagged last week … yikes, maybe it was two weeks ago … by The Queen Chimes In to do a Six Things About Me meme. I did a Confessional meme awhile back, which I suspect is the same one making it’s way across the blogosphere, but I’m game for another round if you are … I am after all, chock full of, er … things. (This one is a bit less scandalous than the previous.)

1. I spent a year and a half in the 90s working graveyard shift (no joke) in the Organ Donation industry, triaging potential donors across the country over the phone. I LOVE this very worthy cause.

Mkay, so, right here, I went on and on and on, got a little too zealous and long-winded, thought better of it and deleted. Instead, I’ll narrow it down to the two most important things everyone should know.

a. Doctor’s will NEVER let you die simply for your organs. This is an absolute urban myth. There’s a whole battery of tests the patient must go through to declare brain death.

b. Most importantly: Convey your wishes, whatever they are, to your loved ones. Just talk about it. Because in the event of your death, they will be the ones to make the call. Even if your license is marked “Donor,” they can negate it. Or vice versa. It happens.

2. I worked my way through college as a bartender. I had the closing shift five nights a week. With those hours, it took me six years to make it through school, so there was plenty of time to hone valuable Bottle Spinning, Show-Offing skills.

I gave away a lot of drinks. Hence, I had a lot of friends. More than anything I loved listening to everyone’s stories. It’s true what they say — people DO really tell bartenders everything.

Oooh, the tales I could tell. Some even involve celebrities. One involves a certain male celeb with the initials RL, and a little pregnancy test. (NO, not mine, PEOPLE.) And another even involves the Couch-Jumping Lunatic himself. Must remember to post about this.

3. I am a terrible cook. We had pancakes and sausage for dinner last night. And the night before. Biiigg fans of breakfast for dinner at the Pie House. We’ve been on a roll.

What?

4. I always enter the Publisher’s Clearing House Sweeps. Hey, someone has to win.

5. I had an ulcer at age eight. I was scared of the dark. I was scared of spooks. And burglars. And the Night Stalker. I was a child who worried. A LOT.

So there you go … more fascinating Mommypie factoids.

And I changed it to FIVE things, btw. I’m so not a fan of the number six. OCD thing.

(But I suppose THAT right there could count as six …)

You’re Simply The Best

Front Row: The Domestic Goddess, The MCMommy Chronicles, Matter of Fact Mommy
Middle Row: We Are THAT Family, Ms Single Mama, OK Where Was I?, We Make Three, Mommy’s Martini, Foolery
Top Row: Pajama Momma, Mommy Pie, San Diego Momma

Thank you all my Doogs! (Sick of it yet? I swear I’m getting it in the Urban Dictionary, if it’s the last thing I do.)

In addition to the group photo of my most frequent and steadfast commenters (not only did I run out of bodies to put heads on, there are a few of you who don’t have photos on your sites!), I fully intended to thank everyone who’s ever left a comment. Sadly, I now realize I was a little overly ambitious at this late hour.

I’m a lucky girl to have made so many friends in such a short period of time, and I wanted to take a minute to let you all know how much I truly appreciate each and every comment. (Even you Lurkers — I appreciate you too!) I love getting to know you all through your blogs — you’re an inspiring and diverse bunch.

Here’s wishing you an absolutely, positively wonderful Mother’s Day weekend!

Love,

Improvisation

noun A skill practiced by single mothers confined with a sick child and no toilet paper.

Paging Marilyn Manson

The other night, in bed, MP decided to do a little drawing with a black marker. More specifically, she decided to draw on a Dora Valentine she received from Bobo.

At 9 p.m., she walked out of her room, and with an odd look on her face, handed me the card.

“Oh, look … you … colored Dora …”

“Yeah,” she said, her eyes now brimming with tears. “I was trying to make her look pretty.”

“Oh …

“But now it looks scary.”

*sob*

“Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t want it. Can you take it?”

YIKES.

Help Me Doogs!

I have some exciting news I’ve been dying to share — the folks over at Capessa have invited me to join the team as their single mom blogger!

In case you haven’t heard of it yet, Capessa is a new women’s social network owned by Procter and Gamble Productions. (The guys responsible for The People’s Choice Awards. And Guiding Light. Cool, huh?) Specifically, they have asked me to blog about “maintaining my sanity and social life while cherishing single parenthood.”

More blogging??!? Yippee!! (Sleep, shmeep.)

Of course, I had to make sure I would be allowed to jack up perfectly good photos. (They said yes.)

Here’s where I need your help, doogs. I have to come up with a catchy name for the blog. And fairly quickly. It should probably have something about being a single parent in it. Of course, my creativity chooses NOW to go on strike.

I figure you all are the most creative, witty folks I know, and a bunch ‘o heads are better than one.

Seriously.

HELP!!!!