For my birthday two years ago, my dear friend, Matt, bought me this coat. He is a loyal Eddie Bauer employee. He recalled me mentioning that I wanted a new casual, warm coat and purchased this for me. To be honest, I liked it but I am not a huge Eddie fan. I’m not being rude, Matt knows this. They sell mom jeans! I can’t! I can’t! It’s bad enough that I get the mail in the morning while wearing my bathrobe. I cannot participate in the bathrobe and mom jeans!
Honestly, it’s the best coat ever. It’s huge; massive really. It’s like bringing an extra person. You have to have an extra chair when dining out. There’s no stuffing it on your seat next to you, no sir. I love it! I love it! I feel the need to repeat myself! I feel the need to repeat myself!
No, really, down is most definitely God’s answer to cold weather. I start salivating at the mention of cold temperatures in October because I cannot wait to put the down comforter on my bed. Bread hates this as our sleeping preferences differ. I like warm and cozy in the bed and freezing cold outside. I love to turn the heat down really low at night and turn our ceiling fan on. Bread wants a sheet with the heat cranked. I am frugal. That, my friends, is a terrible plan. Imagine the gas bill!
So, the coat is glorious. It’s like wrapping yourself up in a huge down blanket. It’s toasty and cozy. I never feel cold, even on the chilliest of Michigan days. It’s perfect for the days where the temperature is in the single digits with a vicious wind chill. I will say, because it’s so large, it’s not very practical to take it places where you have your coat and nowhere to put it while you shop, play or whatever.
Just as Bread loathes the down comforter, he loathes THE COAT. It wasn’t always this way. It happened last year around this time. We went to the mall. Bird was happy as she was allowed to play in the giant, germ-infested kid pit. Bread was happy because he could just sit and watch her. I was happy because I could shop in peace and I had someplace to leave my coat; it was cold outside so I needed to wear THE COAT that particular day.
I headed out on my way, found some items to try on and went to the dressing room with a huge pile. Of course I heard my cell beeping furiously from my bag but I wasn’t too worried about it. I was busy trying on clothes! What could be more important than me scoring a cute outfit to wear to my BFF’s rehearsal dinner? I can think of nothing.
Well, it turns out Bird crapped her pants. Bread was alone in the kid pit with her, her shit-filled pants, his coat and THE COAT. He was trying to get me to come and get THE COAT. He was pissed. I mean pissed. There was steam rapidly flowing from his entire self. He was livid.
I get that. I understand the frustration. But, I always answer my phone. Shouldn’t I get a free pass once? IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK? Once. But, no, he was mad. I, being a mom and able to master several tasks at a time while balancing a stack of books upon my head, thought this not to be a big deal. Bread, however, felt the opposite. It was very traumatizing for him to try and juggle a toddler with shitty pants and a corpse of a jacket.
I believe he spent the rest of the day pissed at me. I know for certain he complained (being polite here) the entire drive home. He spoke of it being ridiculous and huge. He told me that half the time I don’t wear it and we have to reserve a seat in the car for it. He said he wanted to light it on fire. He ruined the coat for me. I didn’t wear it for the longest time. I couldn’t. I felt like wearing THE COAT was putting us on the brink of divorce.
He got over it. He didn’t speak about it. I eventually began wearing it again. He still scowls at it. I watch him look at me when we leave the house. I know he’s saying a silent prayer for me not to choose it. I try but, well, you know. So, this year, I bought him the best Christmas present of all-I got myself a new jacket, thus, guaranteeing us martial stability! It’s half the size! Who knew the answer to matrimonial issues was only a new coat away? Wait! I still feel off! I need a new bag, some shoes and perhaps some perfume. Then, I will feel great. Merry Christmas!
Monday, December 20, 2010
Friday, December 17, 2010
Your Mom Won't Stop Calling Me
I get the the inkling to blog a lot lately. I just can’t find much time. I technically have no excuse since many people have actual jobs they go to. I do not. I have only one tot. I am here. I am still alive, although, I’m threatening to take drastic measures if I don’t get my Christmas shopping done this weekend as well as find a super-duper lotion to help my hands. Cracked and bleeding is so not a good look for me.
Christmas is creeping up; I swear it was Thanksgiving just yesterday. We haven’t really got into the spirit too much over here as we’ve been very busy painting and cleaning our basement. I don’t think normal people decide to do this two weeks prior to the holidays…Ha! We aren’t normal! This is not a revelation. It’s a fact, people. My stress level is high. I don’t like messes. I hate disorganization and I definitely do not like clutter. But, the end is near and Bread will be off from work for nearly two weeks! Vacation, all I ever wanted…
Obviously, this holiday season is sad for us because it will be the first without the Greatest Man Ever. We’re trying to carry on. He wouldn’t want us all mopey and depressed. So, we shall have a beer or two or three in honor of him. It won’t, however, be a Busch Light. Sorry, Grampy, your choice of beer makes me retch. That’s okay because I never found it offensive that you didn’t like guacamole or lasagna.
Things make me laugh on a daily basis. My child is probably on the top of that list for obvious reasons. She’s so smart, a genius perhaps. I know I am supposed to say this because she is my offspring but I’m a firm believer in telling the truth, even if it hurts. The kid is definitely the next Albert Einstein, for shizzle. Do people still say that? I am doubtful. My level of “cool” has seriously gone downhill. In fact, my friend called for fashion advice this afternoon. I laughed and then divulged I was wearing cropped Yoga pants, a miss-matched tank and t-shirt (teal and green) and a pink hoodie complete with a stain from lunch. Yes, I am a regular Kate Moss- trendsetting, beotch.
Oh! I’m a bit off topic. Was there a topic? Is there a point to this nonsense, you ask? Of course, er, I suppose…No! No! I remember! Bird is funny. Yes! That’s it. So, why is she funny? Well, somewhere, once upon a drunken evening or two (not only am I fashionable, I’m also an alcoholic-stellar role model), the friends and I started in with mom jokes. It started as your mom called. It has progressed for months now with random phone calls, texts and jokes back and forth about mom calling. Sometimes she just calls. Other times she calls for a reason-to say it’s cold and to wear a sweater, to tell someone congrats on a getting a high-paid job, to mention the need for more beer. Mom is a smart lady, amongst friends she’s “calling” a lot. The joke has yet to get old. One night, for whatever reason, one adult amongst us did not understand this joke. Joe, a friend of a friend’s husband, couldn’t fathom why his mom was calling me. Sometimes people just don’t get it.
Bird has picked up on the whole mom-calling shenanigan. One day last week, she picked up my cell, handed it to me and said, “Mumma, your mom called.” That was it. I was alone with her and, of course, burst out laughing. A couple days later over dinner, she looked Bread in the eyes, smiled and said, “Daddy, your mom called and she wants some roast beast,” (as in roast beast from The Grinch Stole Christmas if you are not familiar). Again, mass laughter ensued. Later that week, while riding in the car, I looked in my rear view mirror and informed her that her mom had, indeed, rung. She replied with, “No she didn’t. She just hung up.”
I was telling my friend, Claire, this story and she politely, and rather brilliantly, informed me that my tot, was indeed a genius because, “she got it and Joe, twenty-something didn’t.” Yes! Yes! You’re right! She gets it. Merry Christmas! My three-year-old is smarter than your husband, asshole. I’m having a bumper sticker printed.
Christmas is creeping up; I swear it was Thanksgiving just yesterday. We haven’t really got into the spirit too much over here as we’ve been very busy painting and cleaning our basement. I don’t think normal people decide to do this two weeks prior to the holidays…Ha! We aren’t normal! This is not a revelation. It’s a fact, people. My stress level is high. I don’t like messes. I hate disorganization and I definitely do not like clutter. But, the end is near and Bread will be off from work for nearly two weeks! Vacation, all I ever wanted…
Obviously, this holiday season is sad for us because it will be the first without the Greatest Man Ever. We’re trying to carry on. He wouldn’t want us all mopey and depressed. So, we shall have a beer or two or three in honor of him. It won’t, however, be a Busch Light. Sorry, Grampy, your choice of beer makes me retch. That’s okay because I never found it offensive that you didn’t like guacamole or lasagna.
Things make me laugh on a daily basis. My child is probably on the top of that list for obvious reasons. She’s so smart, a genius perhaps. I know I am supposed to say this because she is my offspring but I’m a firm believer in telling the truth, even if it hurts. The kid is definitely the next Albert Einstein, for shizzle. Do people still say that? I am doubtful. My level of “cool” has seriously gone downhill. In fact, my friend called for fashion advice this afternoon. I laughed and then divulged I was wearing cropped Yoga pants, a miss-matched tank and t-shirt (teal and green) and a pink hoodie complete with a stain from lunch. Yes, I am a regular Kate Moss- trendsetting, beotch.
Oh! I’m a bit off topic. Was there a topic? Is there a point to this nonsense, you ask? Of course, er, I suppose…No! No! I remember! Bird is funny. Yes! That’s it. So, why is she funny? Well, somewhere, once upon a drunken evening or two (not only am I fashionable, I’m also an alcoholic-stellar role model), the friends and I started in with mom jokes. It started as your mom called. It has progressed for months now with random phone calls, texts and jokes back and forth about mom calling. Sometimes she just calls. Other times she calls for a reason-to say it’s cold and to wear a sweater, to tell someone congrats on a getting a high-paid job, to mention the need for more beer. Mom is a smart lady, amongst friends she’s “calling” a lot. The joke has yet to get old. One night, for whatever reason, one adult amongst us did not understand this joke. Joe, a friend of a friend’s husband, couldn’t fathom why his mom was calling me. Sometimes people just don’t get it.
Bird has picked up on the whole mom-calling shenanigan. One day last week, she picked up my cell, handed it to me and said, “Mumma, your mom called.” That was it. I was alone with her and, of course, burst out laughing. A couple days later over dinner, she looked Bread in the eyes, smiled and said, “Daddy, your mom called and she wants some roast beast,” (as in roast beast from The Grinch Stole Christmas if you are not familiar). Again, mass laughter ensued. Later that week, while riding in the car, I looked in my rear view mirror and informed her that her mom had, indeed, rung. She replied with, “No she didn’t. She just hung up.”
I was telling my friend, Claire, this story and she politely, and rather brilliantly, informed me that my tot, was indeed a genius because, “she got it and Joe, twenty-something didn’t.” Yes! Yes! You’re right! She gets it. Merry Christmas! My three-year-old is smarter than your husband, asshole. I’m having a bumper sticker printed.
Monday, December 6, 2010
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