My husband . . . gay?

The evidence:

Sunday night, 5:30 p.m.
I fit in a quick workout before dinner with friends. It's Leslie Sansone's "Power Walk and Jog", possibly one of the girliest workout videos ever. My husband has never done a workout video with me before but--who's that next to me struggling (mightily) to keep the beat? Kevin. Evidence to the contrary: He was wearing Carhartts and work boots and, yes, drinking a beer, throughout. We traded off on holding the baby.

Monday night, approximately 8 p.m.
After a soul-refreshing trip to Target to stock up on diapers, Marky Christmas presents (welcome, Mr. Potato Head!), and Aveeno Positively Radiant spf 15 moisturizer, I find myself with a box of impulsively purchased Biore pore strips. After the humiliating experience of having my husband laugh at me for sounding off on an unfair portrayal of organic farmers in BusinessWeek because he couldn't see past the pore strip on my nose, I peeled off said pore strip and showed him the gory evidence of my now superclean and tingly pores. His response? "I've always wanted to try one of those."

So he did. And his pores are clean. There is no contrary evidence on this one, except for the implication that that was his first--and last--pore strip experience.

So what's a girl to do? Is it only a matter of time before I catch him in my slip with lipstick smeared across his Positively Radiant face?

Disclaimer: Come on, people. You know me better than that.

"Kids say the craziest shit!"

Yesterday Stevie asked, out of the blue,

"You know how I kinda like fish and violence?"

Um . . . yeah?

Turns out he was drawing a sea monster of some sort (probably one with many eyeballs--Stevie is in his "Eyeball Period" right now). And sea monsters combine fish . . . and violence.

OK!

By the way, I chose to not be concerned about the whole "I like violence" thing. We watched Disney's horrifically sad "Eight Below" about the stranded sled dogs and several of those dogs DIE and Stevie was a wreck. I'm pretty sure he doesn't like violence as much as he thinks he does.

Life Lesson #1,246

When you take a family drama public, even in a very anonymous way, be prepared to respond.

Since none of you reading this that weren't directly involved know the story, I will spare you the grisly details. Suffice it to say that my mom and stepdad got into a fight with my brother and sister-in-law over a babysitting snafu. And it got ugly. And it was a first.

When the hired babysitter cancelled (for good reason), mother covered the duty, allowing brother to continue with wedding weekend (again, I ask, when did weddings extend to weekends instead of a day?). Brother didn't like the terms of coverage, nor how the kids were covered (or lack thereof). Mother wasn't exactly thrilled to cover, and had an exhausting, stressful day. So the fermenting problem began to bubble over when brother decided to tell mother how to do it in the future/attack her as completely incompetent (depending on whom you talk to). Brewery exploded when charges amounting to "you ruined our wedding!"/request to "get on your knees and kiss my feet!" were thrown into the mix (again, depending on whom you talk to).

How did all of this affect my psyche and personal growth? I know you're all dying to know. I judged--I really did. I heard from mother first, a cord was hit, and I took a side. I actually thought that there was nothing brother could say that would make what he said acceptable. So I wrote Life Lesson #1,245 as an anonymous (to those outside the fray) and slightly-humorous-but-still-biting response to one aspect of what I had heard. I figured if brother read it (and I know he reads this sometimes) it would let him know how I felt and perhaps open a dialogue about just what the hell happened. And blogging? It's what I do. Honestly, I didn't know quite what to do. I was pretty disgusted and unwilling to call and ask for his side. My mistake was being convinced that he didn't have one. Everyone has a side--even my evil ex-sister-in-law (probably).

So how would I have handled this situation? I can only speculate, but here's what I came up with: If I had been in mother's shoes, I would have stayed at brother's and watched the kids there. Would I have been thrilled at the prospect? No--not after being there since Friday evening. I like my weekends and should not have to justify my reasons--and their importance--for wanting to be home. If I had heard something along the lines of a sarcastic "SO SORRY to force you to spend time with your nephews--I know it's SO HARD" I would have been rightly pissed. But still, I would have stayed and let Nephew #2 be mad that he missed his soccer game. And if you think that I wouldn't expect cooperation in returning the favor someday, you're living in fairyland.

If I had been in brother's shoes, I would have given up my plans (or cut them short) and come home, knowing that I could do lunch another weekend. Sure, it wouldn't be my "wedding weekend", but 1. I was already married, 2. weddings aren't nearly as important as what comes after them, and 3. mother had never cared for two of my four children, they hardly knew her, and some instruction on how to deal with their sometimes difficult behavior (as well as their nutritional needs, which--come on--I'm not that strict about. Hello? PopTarts?) should be given beforehand.

So that's where I stand. In the middle. Not firmly. Somewhat buffeted. I'm holding onto a tender reed of hope that my impartial-as-possible commentary will shake something up and hopefully that something will land, together, on the living room floor at Christmastime, because I already have everyone's presents, damnit!

Perhaps Life Lesson #1,247 will be "don't comment on a fight between people that you love". But what the hell. Life Lesson #1 is all about not living your life in fear. #2? Forgiveness.

Life Lesson #1,245

When you have children, and you ask a non-paid family member (such as your parents) to look after those children so that you can go out and do whatever, don't diss those family members (esp. if they are your parents) for not looking after those children in the exact same way that you do. Unless there are egregrious fouls posing imminent danger to your children, when you pick up the children say "THANK YOU!!!" 57 times and head out the door smiling and feeling lucky that you have a place to leave your children when you want to have some mommy-daddy time, and be EXTRA thankful that that place is a place your children actually want to go.

Too much sugar? Who gives a shit! Your children are not going to develop Type II diabetes from 4 Dove bars and hot-dogs-on-a-stick. Are they wearing snowpants and a sequined tube top outside in late fall? Get over it! They have. They are probably thrilled to have this shake-up in their normal routine of spit-shined shoes and hospital corners.

Everyone knows that grandparents get a very healthy pass. Don't have children until you really understand this. Or, at least, don't ask anyone else to watch them.

Where To Go?

One of the perks of having to travel for work is getting to keep my plane miles and hotel points. If I had been smarter, I would have had a free ticket and a free night's stay by now, but I chose corporate thrift over personal gain and have a few miles on many airlines and points split between Hilton and Marriott.

But I'm getting wise. With a mere 8 months to go, I can concentrate on flying American (or Southwest--it's close) and staying in Marriott (the overwhelming point leader) and come out of here with enough miles/points to score a close-to-free vacation.

So where will I go? Whenever I travel for work, I fantasize about how much more fun it would be if I could take my husband and kids. It's all lost of Mark, but Stevie and all little kids have the ability to make the best of travel, esp. airports--like the one in Detroit with the overhead, indoor train, or Atlanta with its miles-high escalators, or Boston with its Star Wars transport-like Lego trams that drive straight into buildings for loading and unloading.

Last night I booked an overnight trip to fabulous Cleveland . . . in late November. Why in the hell would I do that, you ask. Because my 7th wedding anniversary is November 26 and Kevin and I are (finally!) going to go to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and we're going to stay in a nice Marriott, have a great dinner, . . . and take a breather from the kids. The hotel, parking, free breakfast, and two tix to the rock hall are $189.00. Not bad! AND I get Marriott points.

After receiving my confirmation email from Marriott, I found out that I had 17,000+ Marriott points. That's enough to stay for 2 nights at a low-level Marriott hotel brand in Omaha, but what do I need to stay in a really nice Marriott somewhere good? More. I'll get some points for Cleveland, for my overnight this week in Oklahoma City, and for several days in Washington D.C. later in November. That will probably get me enough for 1, maybe 2 nights at a real Marriott in the downtown of a real city. But which city?

I've been to San Diego several times and am starting to understand why people live there, despite the cost and traffic. It's gorgeous, and there are boats and amusement parks and a zoo and the ocean. Seattle is wonderful, too, but we already have a free place to stay. Perhaps on our next trip there we can spend a night or two downtown and not have to drive to the sites? San Francisco might be cool--Kevin likes it, there's plenty for kids to see, and it's a short drive to the Redwoods. Hmmm . . . that's sounding pretty good.

There are no Marriotts of any kind in Moab, our March destination. And, usually, we'd stay someplace cheap--like a tent in a state park--during our few vacations. We also have a free beach house at our disposal on Topsail Island, NC. So if I'm going to treat my family to a few nights in a posh pad and free (or really cheap) flights, where do we go? I'd say New Zealand, but I'm sure a domestic stay is all that we can afford. Back to San Diego, or someplace with warmer seas like Ft. Myers? I'd like to go to New York, but that's a lot of walking for a kid and it's not really Kevin's dream. The U.P.? Maine? Boulder? The aforementioned jumping off mecca of San Francisco?

I need a goal. Suggestions?

Tiny Little Rashes in a Faraway Place

I filled out the deposit slip at home, while waiting for Stevie's bus. I had the deposit slip, the endorsed check, and my driver's license beside me in the car as I commuted. I pull up to the bank, drive all the way around, and line up behind just one other car. There are two cars in the other line beside me. And I sat, wondering why the two "first" cars were blocking everything, why they were taking so long. The pod comes down the pipeline for the first car in the lane beside me. Surely, it won't be long until the person in the car in front of me gets her own pod back. And then I see it. After another 20-30 seconds (an eternity!) she puts her own slips, checks, ID in the pod. She has been sitting there the whole goddamn time filling out her fucking slip. When are people going to learn, understand, and practice the social grace that is filling out your slip before you pull into the drivethrough bank line so as to not keep innocent others waiting, not make others late for work, not drive others into a hopelessly irritated state? The second car beside me now becomes first. He immediately puts his info in the pod and presses the button that starts the sucking action. Idiot girl in front of me (A college student? She had a college sticker, drove a Jetta, looked young, obviously not in any kind of hurry as she doesn't yet know what it's like to really work, have kids to feed, etc.) gets her crap. I move into first position. Put my ready-made stuff into the pod. There are no tellers in the window. Correction: There are two, but they are obviously not helping the car people. One is drinking something out of a cup (as opposed to a rolled-up $20). Can't she put down her precious, precious coffee and jump into the game? Guy in very large truck beside me, although quick on the uptake, apparently has put through the most complicated transaction the teller(s?) has ever seen, if there is, indeed, a teller. FINALLY a teller appears, stuffs some papers in his pod, and vacuums them back to him. As she's opening my simple, simple transaction (ONE check to deposit--no cash back), he returns his pod and calls to her: "Bwah, wap, wah, dowa wip wap?" She takes her hands off my stuff (!!!), grabs his pod, and walks away! I shoot asstrucker a dirty look, but his truck is so big to make up for his tiny penis that there is no direct line from my car to his teller-hoggin' assface. The teller comes back, shoots him his pod. While doing this, she acknowledges my presence (Hello! I'm a customer. Ever heard of one of those?!) and says, "We can't deposit this check because it's dated for the 6th. Come back after 5." I say, uncharacteristically, (believe it or not) "I've already wasted enough time." and pull away, pretty fast, and half-attempt to squeal out (and now, I must laugh at myself. My high-tech auto won't allow my tires to slide around like that, and I'm not a professional on a closed-course. Silly!) The half-beast in the truck is still there as I drive away. What the fuck is he doing? If you have that much business, go infuckinside. And why the hell can't the bank just hold onto my precious $399.30 check until 5 and then put it in the system? Or withhold the funds until the precious 5 o'clock hour, when fairies dart about in the gold dust of the Chase branch in north Directionville? Gosh!