Fine Dining

It’s Friday night. I am wearing my new fancy dress (from the thrift store) my new fabulous faux diamond starfish necklace (from the same store) and my good heals. I have on my good make-up, I’ve done my hair am waiting for my girl friends to come take me out to a mysterious destination. I have had two weeks to figure out the location. At first I assumed that I was going to be taken to Day-Glo Disco bowling, Rock n’ Roll Roller skating, Dave and Busters, or some other fun place where I would most likely have a blast while making an ass out of myself. I do have a reputation to uphold. Then my friend gave me a clue. She said that she was wearing a skirt. A skirt? I have never seen this particular friend wear a dress or a skirt since she was in my wedding nine years ago. I immediately scrapped my original ideas.

Where to people need to wear a dress or skirt out here in the country? Of course you have to dress up for weddings. Maybe we were going to crash a wedding? We could do it. There were people at my wedding that I didn’t know….hey maybe those people weren’t my mother’s second cousins? That would be crazy fun a quite memorable evening. Then I got another clue. We are going out to eat. Dressing up to go out to eat around here? In our town dark jeans and a clean tee-shirt is considered semi formal and accepted in our best restaurants. We must be going on a road trip to Boston or Providence Rhode Island? That’s it! They are taking me to the big city.

Well my friends arrive and my friend isn’t wearing a skirt as advertizes. I should have known. She does look lovely and dressed up in a pants suit. My other friends are wearing skirts. They don’t take me to the city. The city comes to us. One of Boston’s fine Italian restaurants called Davios that has opened a second location at Patriot Place the fancy new shopping plaza next to Gillette stadium. We were all dolled up and ready for a real upscale evening. For five women who are used to McNuggets and mac an cheese this dinner was a momentous occasion.
We are seated in the glorious dining room ay a big white table by the window. We are approached by our handsome waiter Paoul who asks us if we would like a drink with his sexy accent. We order drinks and receive a heavenly smelling bread basket. I open presents and cards. This is my fortieth birthday celebration and I feel like a queen! Paoul brings the drinks and we toast to my 40 years and to friendship.

I feel so at home here in this fancy restaurant. I am 40 and fabulous. I can forget about potty problems and lost library books. I leave my mommy jeans at home put on a nice dress and heels and seamlessly reenter the cultured adult world. I smile at my revelation as I reach for a piece of bread knocking over my wine glass sending a tsunami of red wine onto the table cloth and into my lap. (I do not make this stuff up.) I of course burst out laughing. My friends join in and we all laugh until we cry. I guess no matter how old I am or what I wear, and where I eat I am still just me. Happy birthday to me.

Guest Blogger-Dylan

My mom thinks that beacuse she is turning 40 that she can't have a big job like being a diva. She is wrong!

Beacuse she loves opera. I wish that you were a diva. I wish that you were the most famous diva in the world!  Are you typing this down, what I am saying? Are you? MOM! Erase all of that! Mom....


For mom's birthday I am goint to give her breakfast in bed and I will clean up the play room. and mabe give her a little surprise later. AAAAAAAAAAAAH! Did  I just faint?  No? No. What? People think I am funny.


I asked Alice what she would buy mom for birthday present? She said "a floaty for the beach". That's dumb I would buy mom and electric guitar. 40 isn't too old to be a rock and roll star. But, when you are 50 then you are too old to do anything.

Do I have to write about you? Becasue yesterday I thought that my girlfriend almost dumped me. For always trying to be where she is at every time. Then I found out that it wasn't true. Mom why aren't you typing anymore of that? Yes people care! Why does everything have to be about you?

Shw Works Hard For The Money

Today I spent 9 hours at the store. 9 hours away from my kids and they are paying me! All I had to do was move a whole lot of shoes, put up some shelves, and stack a ton of diapers. I also got to scope out all of the sales and gossip with other adults. Working at the store is pure bliss. Time goes quickly and I didn’t have to deal with any crying or whining, and absolutely no bodily fluids of any kind. I got to stay there for 9 whole hours. They even gave me two 15 minute breaks and I got to eat lunch for a whole half an hour. I don’t think I have sat down and had a quiet relaxing lunch in three years. How much does it cost to spend the day in heaven? Wait for it…..they pay you!


The best part of spending the day in heaven is that Dave was home all day with the kids. He took Dylan to school and then he and Alice went to the park. That would have been enough to make him Dad of the year. But wait there’s more. My husband went grocery shopping, made apple crisp, mowed the lawn, and made dinner. My husband did this. Yes, my husband Dave. I am a lucky woman.

Sadly my career at the store will be put on the back burner as my perfect husband is going back to work next week. After 5 months of searching he has found a job. No more house husband. The job is only for 4 months, but we are both thrilled. No more 9 hours of bliss. Since my husband is so wonderful I am willing to sacrifice my full time career at the store and cutting back to nights and weekends. When you are in love you make sacrifices.

Is this your life too?

I have just made Dylan’s new favorite meal, Pizza burgers. Pizza burgers are tomato and basil Morning Star veggie burgers with provolone cheese and tomato sauce on a hamburger bun. Pizza burgers are a huge victory for team mommy they are healthy and good. The burgers are hot and the table is set. I call the kids….nothing.

I call them again no answer.

Dave tries to wrangle them into the kitchen while I serve the burgers. Dylan walks in alone and I hear Dave scream. “OH No! Alice no!” Then he runs into the kitchen and grabs the wipes and a plastic bag.

“She had an accident. A smelly accident!” Then he runs out.

Dylan is sitting and staring at his burger. The second I sit down Dylan asks “Mom what is this?” pointing to the burger as if it is monkey brains.

“Sweety it’s a pizza burger.” I say

“Why does it look like a cheese burger?”

“Because there is cheese on it.”

“I hate cheese. Is there another one?” I get up and get him a new burger without cheese drizzle it with sauce put it in a bun and hand it back to him. The second I sit down he asks.

“Mom can I have a drink?”

“Sure honey.” I get up and get him a glass of apple juice. I hand him the drink and the second I sit down he asks.

“where is the ketchup?”

“Honey you don’t need ketchup I already put on sauce.”

“Can I put on more sauce?” I get up and get the sauce. He insists on putting the sauce on the burger himself. I sit down and say.

“Honey don’t put on too much.”

“I won’t” He says as he dumps half of the jar of tomato sauce over his poor burger.

“Dylan that’s too much.

“No I like it that way.” He says as he grabs the burger and gets tomato sauce all over his hands. “Mom can I have a napkin.” I get up and hand him a stack of napkins. He wipes his hands and tries to take another bite. The second I sit down he says.

“You’re right I put on too much sauce. Can I have a new bun?” I get up and get him a new bun wipe off the burger and place it in. I sit down just as Alice and Daddy come in and sit down.

“Momma I want juicy?” Alice asks and it all begins again. Maybe I should save time and eat standing up. Isn't that what the moms did in the 1950s.

Love Is Blind

My son has a girlfriend. Dylan my six-year-old son. My first born. My baby. Obviously I am not ready for my sweet boy to be interested in girls none the less have a “girlfriend.” I thought I had at least another decade to prepare.


Ready or not here we are. He has been telling my about this “girlfriend” since the day school began. She is in his class and he “loves” her. He is pretty sure that he wants to marry her. I on the other hand am hoping that he can wait until he is out of his night time pull-ups before he makes any lifelong decisions.



The “girlfriend’s” mom and I are friends and now joke about our darling little couple. She refers to Dylan as her son-in-law. I bumped into my friend and the “girlfriend” at our annual Harvest Festival over the weekend. I was volunteering at the New Comers booth handing out cookies. Free cookies! Of course I was involved. I see my friend and the “girlfriend” they say hi and we chit chat. My friend asks about the kids and I point to where Dylan is playing carnival games with his sister. We say goodbye and they continue to the next booth. About twenty minutes later Dylan comes running over to the booth with his sister in tow.

“Mom! She is here.” He says with great excitement.

“Who?” I ask.

“My girlfriend!” He says like I should already know. He is pointing over to where she and my friend are doing the football toss game.

“That’s great. Why don’t you go say hello?” The boy blushes and looks at me like I have suggested that he eat his own nose. “What?”

“Come with me.” He asks and I agree. He firmly takes my left hand and I grab Alice’s hand with my right and the three of us go over to say hello to the “girlfriend”. I am thankful for the encounter because I am planning to use it as a teachable moment. I want to see how he greets her. I am assuming he will hug her, hold hands, or even try and kiss her on the cheek. Leaving a perfect opportunity for me to explain why they are only allowed to shake hands and that’s it.



As we approach them I watch my extroverted larger than life son wither into a shrinking violet. We are standing there and neither of the kids is talking. I whisper to him. “Honey. Don’t you want to say hi?” He shakes his head no. Then he whispers. “Mom can you?”



I smile and say to her. “Hi sweety. Dylan wanted to come over and say hi.”

She says a quick “Hi” as if he is a total stranger and turns and walks away. Dylan drags me away and I drag Alice. Once we are a safe distance away I ask Dylan if he was sure that we said hi to the right girl? He nods yes.

“Does she say hi to you at school?”

“Sometimes”

“Do you guys play at school?”

“Not really.”

“Do you guys ever sit together at lunch?”

“No”

“Let me get this straight. She is your girlfriend but you never talk or interact with her in any way?”

“Correct.” He says and I start laughing.

“Mom. What’s so funny?”

“I am just happy. I am so glad that I met your girlfriend.”

Older Than Dirt

Fall is my favorite season. This Fall in particular holds special meaning because it marks the passing of my thirties. Yes, this Fall I turn the big 4-0. I know that age is just a number, but I prefer numbers that begin with threes. My kids are also obsessed with numbers. My son Dylan enjoys informing his little sister that he is six-years-old and since she is three he is twice as old. He seems to believe that being twice as old also means that he is twice as smart. Or so he was telling her in the car the other day. I try to let the kids work out their own issues, however being the youngest sibling growing up in my own family I do tend to stick up for Alice. Especially when Dylan starts explaining to her why he should get twice as many snacks and therefore eat the rest of her pretzels. I can’t keep quiet.


“Dylan. Would Jesus try and talk his sister out of her pretzels?” I ask looking at him in the rearview mirror.

“Jesus didn’t have a sister.” He says with a smirk.

“Momma Jesus no talk! He a baby.” Alice says and starts laughing.

“Jesus wasn’t a baby he was like 29.” Dylan corrects.

“Actually sweety Jesus was 33 when he was on the cross.” I say.

“He was 33? Oh my gosh he was so old.” Dylan says.

“Honey, 33 isn’t old. I am 39.” I explain.

“Mom you’re like so old! You’re even older then Jesus!”

“Momma no old man!” Alice says. My heart swells. I may be turning 40 in a few days but at least my baby doesn’t think I am as old as dirt.

“Momma old lady.”