Therapy, Schmerapy

Are your children pulling you in 83 directions every day? Do you feel exhausted, churlish, snappish? Do you suspect that another stint in your SUV driving to soccer practice, dodging complaints about the lack of Capri Suns, could DO YOU IN? Do you fret that you can't afford to feed your children fresh produce, let alone pay your next Nordstrom bill?



Well, my friends, I have THE CURE FOR YOU. Grab a marvelous girlfriend, hop on a cheap flight to Dallas, Texas, and proceed to SHOP, DRINK AND EAT YOUR BRAINS OUT.

I highly recommend Northpark Mall for this therapeutic journey. It's possible you will spend 10 STRAIGHT HOURS SHOPPING the first day you get there. Fortunately, the Nordstrom at this mall is not only HUGE, it boasts a full BAR in its Bistro:
After all of this shopping, head straight to the W Victory Park Lane. While you will feel a bit like an Escaped Momvict, you will love looking at the beautiful young things and flirting with the sweet gay W employees, who seem to know that no one has plied you with compliments since 1998.



You will eat and drink whenever, whatever you want. You will not care that it is 10AM ! and you are drinking a Bloody Mary.
In fact, my friends, you will be SO RELAXED on this little junket that your brains may literally spill out onto your Heavenly Bed. Your limbs will feel more loose and noodly than al dente. You may, in fact, be unable to drink a glass of water without it cascading all over your lap. You may forget your credit card at lunch. You may EVEN LEAVE THE AIRPORT WITHOUT REMEMBERING OH! YOUR LUGGAGE. But you know? It won't matter at ALL, since you will only be responsible for your one little self, and not your many screaming, scampering progeny.

Of course, this medicinal hajj presupposes you have a husband who is more than happy to swim in the swarming kid muck for 36 hours. And will overlook the little blips on your credit cards.

Thank you, PVT.

The Phenomenom called Reverse Nesting

I am a bit freaked out about my trip, internet! Get over it, you say, right? It's ONE FREAKING NIGHT. But I am cleaning the house (why? So it will be demolished in 4.3 minutes once I'm out the door?), plying the kids with probiotics and kiddie echinacea to keep their immune systems strong for the 36 hours I'm gone, and trying to anticipate all the potential calamities that COULD POSSIBLY ensue while I'm searching for the elusive pair of perfect jeans in Dallas, drinking champagne, nibbling Godiva and having my lashes curled at Estee Lauder. SIMULTANEOUSLY.


And what a week's it been! Soccer practices! Piano lessons! Two Back to School nights! Preschool Open House! Sunday School teacher training! Book Fairs! Yes, I know, a hazard of all this breeding. I had it coming to me. Thank GAWD I am getting out of town before I do something soul-suckingly martyr-ish like sign up to be Home Room Mom or PTA Treasurer.

I don't think the offspring will even notice I'm gone.


PVT might, though.

Dallas Bound with Rainbow Hair

My trip to Dallas is fast approaching, my friends! Although we will be sweating in the furnace of Dallas in August, I am terribly excited about fingering these fall booties with baubles: And these school-girl - wink wink - suede deals:

Bliss! And my in laws were terribly generous and gave me some birthday money in advance - so not only do I get to GO, I get to spend a bit of CASH! What have I done to deserve this?

Since I wanted to look hot for my co-conspirator Karen, I thought I ought to touch up my brown roots before we left (I recently FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER got blonde highlights. I love them! Who knew I didn't have to spend my entire life with poop brown hair?). But I didn't really have the time (cripes! Please, someone, invent a Mach 5 coloring process! TWO TO THREE HOURS for foils? During which time I am either paying a babysitter, or leaving the spawn to PVT, who is cursing the gods who found him this overly FECUND wife?!) or the money to spend touching up highlights. So during my routine soul-deadening WalMart trip, I spotted some "highlight helper" or some such thing. However, it was for touching up GRAY roots. Hallelujah I am not gray yet, but I figured - eh! Covering up a root is covering up a root, right?

Ahem. Apparently Blonde + Brown + Meant for Gray = Odd Shade of Orangey Auburn. Who would have thunk? Luckily Karen will probably be drunk enough off the smell of suede and Bloody Marys to still find me hot. And I will have enough Nordstrom and Triple Sec coursing through my veins that I won't care that I look like I was under the tutelage of a hallucinogenic beauty school dropout.

Now We Just Need the Adult Version, With Cupholders

Even if and when we send our offspring to a reform school in Northern Quebec, we are going to keep these chairs:

How absolutely LOVEABLE they are, even when the spawn are NOT.

Girls Gone Wild

I am relearning a lesson I have known since I was 7 minutes old: FEMALES ARE EVIL.

Yeah, don't let all that auburn adorableness fool you. My daughter is coming into her own as a terrible whirling piece of red headed dervish. She makes her three older brothers look as quiet and saintly as a group of Trappist monks. Lately she likes to steal, say, a Thomas train from Will, and run as fast as her legs will carry her, shrieking with sheer wicked delight. She didn't want the train, mind you. She just likes to TORMENT people.

And she has been just doing a lot of shrieking in general. And clinging to my legs so I can't move. She isn't sick as far as I can tell; maybe her teeth? I don't KNOW. For cripes' sake, Colette. Here's a shot of whiskey. Get OVER IT.

So...maybe mama needs a break. And guess what? I am taking one! PVT encouraged me to join my friend and soul mate friend Kappa Kappa Karen on a 24 hour shopping binge in Dallas, Texas. WOO HOO! We will be paying homage here:

And staying here:

And drinking many of these:

Crazy mommy fun, my friends! I have never left all four of the spawn alone with PVT. And have never left Colette overnight. So...if most of the children are alive when I return, I may go visit Neiman Molly later this fall. Or I may take a job as a flight attendant on Air France, swoop into town for the occasional good night kiss, and jet off again.

Of course, there are no direct flights from Tulsa to ANYWHERE except Dallas. And Houston. And maybe a town in Kansas. Ah, well. I guess having a pied-a-terre in Nice will have to wait until my NEXT life.

Pottery Barn Kids: NO KIDS ALLOWED

Internet, the oddest thing happened this morning: I am not sure if I have been extra nice to PVT lately, or if the soul of a deceased metrosexual briefly possessed his body, but do you know what he said about 9 am? "Let's go down to Utica Square and hit Pottery Barn Kids!"

HUH? PVT wants to schlep all the way across town to the chi chi mall and go to a pricey kiddie store? This. Has. NEVER. HAPPENED. I am still not sure WHY he was thus inspired, but we do actually need seating in our game room, having just junked a thrice-or-more peed-on couch. Kiddie chairs seemed appropriate, and I have had a long crush on the Pottery Barn version. Personalized, of course. IRRESISTIBLE.

So we got dressed and went to the MALL, the whole lot of us! NIRVANA!

An oddity, though, when we arrived: our brood was screeching with delight at the Star Wars bedding, trying out said chairs, playing with the kiddie kitchens, and just being their generally rambunctious selves. Not behaving BADLY, mind you. They were just NOTICEABLE, since...they were THE ONLY KIDS THERE! There were several other couples prowling about; where were their kids? With the nanny? Whilst Mama and Dada prowled about this pristine kiddie utopia, fingering the beautiful linens and cheekily retro toys?

Kids in the abstract are SO much more loveable, I agree. But I was glad my obnoxious, loud, REAL monsters were there with us, just the same.

And then we all strolled over to the Nordstrom, hand in hand...ha! Ha! It was a dreamy morning, but not THAT dreamy.

What Happens When I Title This Post "I Wish My Penis Were Bigger!"

Some of you have asked about the Google "ads" on the side of my little bloggie. Well, Blogger has a button you can click called "monetize." Monetize? So money leaps out of my screen into my waiting hands? FABULOUS!


Alas, all it means is that Google somehow "senses" the content of my blog and pulls ads out of its magic Googlesphere and posts them. But Google CANNOT figure out my content! Sometimes it's spot on, like when there was a lovely picture of a model in Diane von Furstenberg dress. But the last post prompted several ads in German, "Save on Dracula ATX Case," (HUH?) and "7ATX Motherboard Socket." Cripes! Apparently I can earn a minuscule commission if someone actually clicks through and buys something, but unless I have a huge readership of Transylvanian electricians with a Mastercard and a bit of time on their hands, I don't think I can earn a living off my blog anytime soon.

SIGH.


And just to totally confuse Google, here are a few photos of the latest overly kid-centric happenings that have been transpiring here at the VT Compound:

Will's third birthday! Yes, he is sans pants; I am so lazy he is only potty trained when completely AU NATUREL.


Colette in a drawer!



Keane's first day of second grade!

And....RORY's first day of Kindergarten:





I was ready when Keane went to kindergarten; he was almost six. But this one? Just turned 5...I literally dragged him on the bus this morning. He cried, I cried. And life goes on chez VT.

If We Were Daytime TV, We Would SUCK

I was going to post last night, my friends, except PVT and I were having a FIGHT. A bottle of Pinot Noir, intended for a head, was shattered against the wall, the red liquid slinking and dripping and staining the paint. Glass everywhere. Yelling, screeching - the kids, me, PVT. Accusations of infidelity. The neighbors, hearing the ruckus, called the cops. Such made-for-Lifetime DRAMA that is my life!

Well, no. NOT REALLY. I made that whole bit up. That was much more entertaining than our REAL fights. Which are the most BORING thing in the world. No one, in fact, even knows they are going ON except PVT and me. I am a passive-aggressive SULKER and try to pretend PVT doesn't exist, unless, you know, I need assistance changing a blow out. So maybe, neighbors, go ahead and call the cops if it's unusually QUIET over this way.

What was the non-fight about? My stupid, I-know-you're-sick-of-reading-about-it, boring, ongoing JOB drama. I finally got this firm to hire me for a mere 18 hours a week! I was so proud of myself! I could earn some money with minimal interruption to the machinations of the family. And finally I could justify a bit of shopping, my occasional housekeeper, and my Margarita Fridays without all the raging GUILT. PVT, however, thinks I should just forget the whole thing for a few more years. In the meantime, we can "cut back." (That sound was me crying into my generic Wal Mart enriched spaghetti noodles! NO OLIVE BAR for YEARS!). Cutting back - so sensible. So DEPRESSING. But besides living under a gray cloud of generics-buying and coupon-cutting, I'll admit a wee part of me likes the idea of earning my own money, and knowing that I am still worth SOMETHING in the American job market.

But that darn PVT, being a lawyer and all, pointed out to me that they would want me to work Saturdays into May and throughout the fall (when various tax deadlines fall). And then take on quite a bit more work next year. So...at least 6 months of the year working Saturdays? I would miss a lot of soccer games. And just family STUFF. CRIPES! Where is this job I need: working about 5 hours a week for about $458 per hour? PLEASE LET ME KNOW, my friends.

So I think I will continue to work as FULL TIME CRUMB DETAILER AND BUTT WIPER. But PVT and I are friends again...and we carefully licked up all that spilled Pinot as carefully as possible. Because a good Pinot is a terrible thing to waste.

Financial Planning, Jill Style

I swear. If I see any more articles on how expensive it is to raise a child, I am going to impale myself on a pair of old stilettos. $221,000? Times...FOUR? So PVT and I are supposed to come up with...ALMOST A MILLION DOLLARS in between now and when they hopefully leave our home permanently as semi-functioning adults?

Yes, kids are very expensive! From the necessities - diapers, Capri Suns, McNuggets, clothing, schooling, to the discretionary stuff - Webkinz! Wii! Piano lessons! Soccer teams! GYMBOREE!

BUT! I have yet to see an article on all the money you SAVE once you have at least one spawn, but probably two or three. Think of all those four-hour-eight-cocktail dinners you used to have with your spouse before you had kids at $175 a pop. Well, do you EVER do that now, if you have more than two kids? PVT and I do it maybe twice a year - getting the sitter, calming the egos regarding said sitter, and forking over the cash to said sitter is TOO. FREAKING. EXHAUSTING.

And trips! Vacations! We only go to Seattle now, where we can freeload at my Hotel My Parents for a couple of weeks. No more all-inclusives or Hawaiian junkets or hops to Cabo San Lucas...because taking a vacation with kids is really WORKING OVERTIME.

And shopping? How many times do I think I really need something, and do the mental calculations of loading the four of them up, having to stop for a snack and a drink on the way, schlepping them all in, keeping track of them all, making two potty runs, and leaving the store in the middle of a tantrum? And decide I don't need ANYTHING that badly, and stay home without having spent a dime?

No more nice work lunches - 75% of my caloric intake is kids' crumbs! We don't buy art, or nice furniture - why bother until they're out of the house?

And we hardly pay any taxes - procreating like rabbits and having a huge mortgage on one income is a real tax haven for insane people.

So, what have we saved there? At least $49 K a year...right?

I'll just tell myself that. Until my next overpowering Nordstrom urge where I wipe half of that savings out in one online session.

Earning Her Keep

One of my lottery fantasies (do you have similar illicit thoughts? Even though you're muddling through financially, do you love to imagine the house you'd live in? The clothing you'd buy? The help you'd hire? OH? NO?! That's just ME? Great. I really am as shallow as I fear!) is thinking about hiring my monthly housekeeper a wee bit more often. Simply because trying to clean a toilet and monitor 83 moving limbs at the same time is a bit stressful. Not stressful as in Rwanda-Black-Hawk-Down stressful, but. You KNOW.


PVT really doesn't care too much about housekeeping. I mean, he DOES, but he wouldn't be heartbroken if he never (double negative) saw a check going through again for my dear monthly (that is MONTHLY! Not weekly, or anything decadent like that!) housekeeper.


But I must have done something good lately, because he's agreed to let me hire someone on a more permanent basis.



Yes, she'll require a bit of training, and she does have this crazy funky Bozo hair, but we're going to give her a try.

I'm really hoping she works out, because she's my only defense against this sea of men.

I'll let you know how she works out. If you want to hire her, I'll pimp her out for small fee.

Getting a Smidge Desperate

Don't worry my dears!

Summer 2009 is almost DONE!