that loud family that lives on your street

You know those neighbors on your street? The loud ones? JCK knows that you know just who she is talking about. Everyone has that family on their street. That nice family where everyone screams instead of talks. God, help you if your windows are open. Try enjoying the summer breeze waffling through your house, with those SCREAMS tearing at your very being. Over and over again. Yep, that's what JCK's talking about.

Well, JCK's street is no exception. There is a particularly LOUD family that lives on JCK's block. Let's just call them "The Screamers." You can always tell when the kids are outside, because the noise shoots down the hill like a visit from the dark side. Whether it is the fear of Darth Vader or Voldemort suddenly appearing, the echo of everyone on the street slamming their windows shut reverberates back up the hill. The screamers don't seem to care. Selfish. Selfish. Selfish!!

JCK used to think that the worst thing was being next door to a smoker, because you can't open your windows on that side of the house unless you want to snort some tobacco wind. JCK's ears are reconsidering that previous belief. Not that JCK is completely opposed to smokers. There was that one or two season fun show where JCK dated that guy who smoked and had a tattoo. Back when having a tattoo meant you were a sailor. Now tattoos are are common as runny noses on kids without Kleenex. Except tattoos last longer. But, in the spirit of time constraints, JCK must move on.

The SCREAMERS live very close to JCK. So close it is becoming unbearable. Close enough so that there is no room that JCK can go to without the sound of YELLING penetrating her delicate ears. There is an especially loud screechy GIRL. JCK believes this GIRL inherits this tendency from her father's genetic line, but JCK won't go there for fear of neighborly reprisal or uxoricide. Then there is that BOY who throws in an extra explosive YELL to keep up with the GIRL. The husband? Let's just say he has many years of stage training, and his voice carries. For miles.

Lately JCK has wondered if her life of quiet repose on days in which these children are out of the neighborhood is doomed. Because every opportunity that JCK has for a quieter day, in which she has set aside time to spend time writing, is thwarted by chain saws attacking trees next door or her husband's compressor going ON and off and ON for hours on end. JCK would like to point out that her husband's compressor is not a personal thing, but necessary to energize his tools.

As for the LOUD mom? Rumor has it her ancestry is Scots. As in warrior men with meaty calves, hair glinting in the sun, and kilts stirring on the wild highlands... JCK knows in her soul that the LOUD gene comes from that line. Especially since JCK has apparently lost her driver's license. In which case you will hear her WILD bellows and wails assailing a neighborhood near you. All the way from the DMV line...

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*sigh*...TIME, where art thou, TIME?

JCK is still waiting for her ship to come in. Her TIME SHIP. The one that will fly a large Banner stating: Congratulations, JCK! You have caught up. You have no outstanding To Do Lists. You have succeeded in passing GO! Collect your family and go to Hawaii. While there, prepare yourself for lots of TIME rolling around with your husband on the beach, avoiding volcanoes and having abundant childcare for your two darling children. You, JCK, have TIME!

JCK expects that her ship really WILL come in someday. At which point, JCK will have a heart attack and die. That elusive... Gift. Of. Time. After. She. Is. Dead.

JCK knows she is Preaching to the Choir here, but really. Really? Can't she just get some extra time?

And, speaking of Preaching ... Why IS it, that those lovely little ladies and gentleman are casing JCK's neighborhood for souls that need saving...right at the point where JCK's time crunch is at its utmost PINNACLE of PERIL?

Sad confession...JCK avoids Bible Bangers who come to her door.

JCK has no time for proselytizers. Not on religion anyway. If people want to sell her...chocolate, she might listen. Well, probably. OK, OK, fine. JCK would be an easy mark.

However, JCK feels absolutely FINE about her Faith, and does not need anyone to pump her up with JESUS. She and Jesus are doing just fine, thank you very much.

Usually, JCK can utilize her innocent children. Just when the little ladies and gentlemen are heading up her driveway, JCK's strategy is to fling open the front door and send a screaming BOY & GIRL out into the front yard. As they spin in circles and careen around the trees, people usually get the message that this is NOT A GOOD TIME. Pamphlets are flung down and quick exits are almost guaranteed.

*sigh*...TIME, where art thou, TIME? JCK feels forsaken. Indeed.

Just this past Saturday JCK was not that lucky. With both time and the Bible Bangers. JCK hates, HATES to clean. However, she loves, LOVES to entertain. Unfortunately, the latter is necessary for the former. So, JCK had a brilliant plan in place, which required a strategic use of TIME...While Wonder Husband took their children to the Y, JCK was left to her perfectly organized plan. Family gone = white tornado enacted.

Except for the small matter of...JCK's living room curtains being open, and...the Bible Bangers.

They're baaack.

OH, GOD NOOOO! could be heard echoing around JCK's dusty, dirty rooms. Then in a truly mature fashion, JCK proceeded to play a little game of Duck and Cover. Harking back to her Harriet the Spy days, JCK could be seen crawling on her belly on the floor to the front door. Putting her ear up to the door, JCK heard muffled footsteps...approaching. Barely breathing, JCK looked at her watch and bit her finger to prevent moaning ALOUD. 6 rooms to clean in 1.5 hours? TIME...dear, sweet TIME, was NOT on her side.

KNOCK! KNOCK! Silence....5 minutes...silence...mutter, mutter..a pamphlet is dropped through the mail slot smacking JCK, who is lying prone on the floor, in the face, and then the footsteps shuffle off. JCK does not use use the words "shuffle off" lightly. Indeed, no. If there is anything, any thing that JCK has noticed about People Who Come to Her House Uninvited to Proselytize JESUS, it is this...

They have all THE TIME in the world. Truly, JCK thinks they should be proselytizing Time Management, because they seem to have TIME, much more TIME than JCK...

So, what does all this mean exactly in relation to TIME? Well... the dinner party was lovely. Everyone enjoyed. Her house? Was Clean. Relatively...

However, that was THEN. This is NOW.

JCK now has 4 loads of laundry piled on the big chair in the living room. She has dinner to fix, emails sashaying across her computer screen, a school meeting to plan for this evening, and children to pick up in 1 hour -where she will whisk them away to swimming lessons.

But, JCK REFUSES to go into the MOMMY OVERWHELM ZONE. Nope. Instead, JCK has a plan. Answer 1/2 the emails. Leftovers for dinner. Stuff all the laundry into a large yard sized leaf bag, and use it as a bean bag chair. Snuggle with her children. Make it to the meeting.

Then she'll come home, throw some sand on the floor and roll around in it with her husband. Tonight she'll dream of her TIME SHIP docking.

But, tomorrow, she'll keep the curtains closed just in case. Make it look like she is not at home. Her belly is sore from crawling across the floor...

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Nuts like any other...

Mom, do you know what NUTS are?

...........................pause, pause

Yes, I do. Nuts are peanuts, almonds, walnuts...

No, no, Mom. Not THAT kind of nuts. BOY looks penetratingly at JCK. He is not fooled by her..."attempt" at vagueness.

What do YOU think nuts are, BOY?

Your penis.

Umm.....no. There ensued a discussion that involved serious medical terminology by JCK to her son ..."you know those things that are like little balls?"

BOY left the kitchen immediately. OK, I'm ready to go watch Eloise (DVD) now.

Apparently...TMI. BOY was ready to move on.



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Image from Google Images.

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Russian women, beautiful Russian women just "waiting" to meet JCK?

JCK is amazed at the abundant panoply of magnificent and stupendous emails that veer off into her junk mail folder. Some of them are fabulous opportunities...to meet people. New friends! From Russia!

However, JCK is a bit confused. Did she sign up for some kind of...foreign exchange program? JCK likes to think of herself as friendly. Let's face it, JCK can be a bit...chatty. Even with people she has just met. So, perhaps the friendly vibe that JCK seems to emit...flies clear over to Russia. (It is to be noted that JCK does not live in Alaska where you can see Russia from your kitchen window, like a certain brunette with glasses, so the power of JCK's friendly vibe is impressive.)

Hark! Here's another one. Just dropped in. Double the pleasure. There are two. Squeal! Who is this email from? Anastasia. Anastaaaashaaa... Delicious. JCK has always LOVED that name. Mysterious. Think...Woman. Misunderstood. What does she have to say, this...Anastaaaashaaa.

Meet beautiful, adoring Russian Women today

Beautiful Russian Women are Waiting to Meet You.

*Sigh* JCK just LOVES beautiful women. She knows many. However, she doesn't have heaps of women friends who are just "waiting." In fact, JCK doesn't know innumerable women who have time to "wait" these days. JCK, herself, is quite busy. Purchasing men's midway briefs for her husband's birthday. No small task. Or, cleaning her office. Or, sending out a bazillion emails to Kindergarten parents as Parent Liaison to GIRL's class. Truthfully? JCK barely has time to breathe.

Could it be in Russia that women have time to "wait?" Perhaps they don't get all the "thrilling opportunity" emails that we get here in America? Why, we have... grocery games, discounts on ink, generic Viagra, online auctions we can trust, if we're lonely we have an app for that, or a hook up tonight, and JCK's personal favorites...emails from Big Daddy, someone named Ben, and Sgt. Irvin Brown.

Russian women, beautiful Russian women just waiting to meet JCK. OK. Truthfully? This excites JCK just a bit. Who wouldn't be excited about Russian women, beautiful Russian women, wanting to meet them?

JCK hates to hurt Anastaaaashaaa's feelings, but...JCK's life is full-up, just FULL-UP HONEY, with beautiful women. And, since JCK can still understand a smattering of French, and is bilingual in WHINE EASE spoken by small children, JCK just doesn't have time to learn Russian. Much as she would like to... Even though these Russian women are a click away, just "waiting" for JCK...



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This post is dedicated to E. Happy Birthday, E!

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JCK will never give up chocolate & whiskey for Lent...again

Having given up alcohol for Lent, JCK was cautious in accepting a glistening, salt rimmed margarita on Easter Sunday. Why not? Lent was over. Someone made it for her. It looked refreshing, seemingly weak. She had 2.

Yet, the headache that assaulted JCK the next day was so severe... you'd think she was back in the 80s, having survived another night of tequila shots and dancing on the bar at Wilson's restaurant on the upper west side.

It's not fair this aging business. Not fair, and painful to boot.

To add insult to injury, while valiantly giving up chocolate & whiskey for Lent, JCK inhaled so many carbohydrates that she believes her legs and arms have become their very own risotto.

JCK will never give up chocolate & whiskey for Lent...again. Not if she know what's good for her... Small things like Jack and chocolate caramels make her blood sing.

So, what's next for JCK?

Ushering in JackO'Clock to celebrate Daylight Savings? Yes... But, there's more! JCK's plan includes: Low starch. Moderate chocolate. Minor alcohol. After all, JCK believes in balancing all the food groups...


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Photo courtesy of Google Images.

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How to get the WAND in 30 minutes or less... a tutorial

What is the WAND?
A hint...there is nothing twinkly about this wand. It doesn't light up or glow with happiest place on earth cheer. Although it might be made in China... Still unsure? Bibbity-Bobbity-Boo? No. How about ... I'll get you my pretty, and your Big Girl Va Jay Jay, too!

If you are still clueless about the WAND, JCK would like to educate you. Having left WAND virginity long ago, in a land far, far away, JCK has been WANDED more times than the average gal.

The WAND is a tool. A long, unbending object that aims to go where you would rather it didn't. Lest one be wary of contracting an anti-social disease, a condom is used. There is nothing life-like about this WAND. It is made of hard, solid, plastic, and is attached to a machine by a dangling wire. Can JCK hear an...**ooohhh****ooohhh?

Why would one get the wand?
Aside from "just for kicks," the WAND can be used during infertility treatments to gauge the growth and size of follicles (containing eggs) that occur after a rather large amount of hormones. This use of the WAND would be in the category of hope and excitement. As JCK knows well, if a miracle baby is at the other end, it is worth the WANDING. However, the WAND can also be used for other purposes. Say....for detecting fibroids or cysts. Fun stuff like that.

JCK believes in spreading the good news. So, JCK will take you through her experience. It is a story that is up close and personal. Otherwise known as getting the WAND.

The Dress Code:
Oh, golly, gee...what to wear? Of course it is up to you, but JCK prefers jeans over dresses for this type of experience. By the time you leave, you'll have had enough of a Wow Nelly! breeze across your buttocks, and won't feel like being free and easy below the waist. Running shoes are best for a quick exit when done.

The Prep:
You will be given instructions. Undress from the waist down, and put the "robe" on with the opening in the front. Open. In. The. Front. They do not exaggerate. The robe in question is still open in the front, after you tie the strings. In fact, it cannot attract more wind gusts than if your robe were... a sail. Indeed.
And, inevitably there is always that friendly sailor just outside the dressing room, so smile.

The Wanding:
You will be ushered into an understated room in shades of gray and pale gray. You will be asked to climb up on a cot with wheels, otherwise known as a stretcher. After the technician places a small sheet across your upright knees for modesty, otherwise known as WHY BOTHER?, you will be asked to lift your fanny to the sky so that she can place a rolled towel underneath your hips. This enables your nether regions to better salute the ceiling.

The Incorrect Way:
It is after you are in this comfortable position that you must pay attention, for the wand descends between your legs and halts at the entrance. It is most important to note that the WAND be at the correct entry point, for a lubricated WAND can go into a myriad of dark, happy homes. Yes. It. Can.

Excuse Me! You are entering my bottom!.... is a possible scenario.

Er...OOPs... So sorry... says the technician with 10 years of work experience wielding the WAND.

Hahahaha...Nervous laughter ensues.

Hark! Do not miss this opportunity for a mutual chuckle over the wandering, wayward WAND.

The Correct Way:
Once the WAND has the correct entrée, your technician will say, "Now, you will feel a little pressure.

It's not too bad, you convince yourself.

The word RAMROD comes to mind.

It is good to keep breathing. Perhaps you can reflect on what an amazing thing the vaginal canal is... So accommodating to a variety of ...WANDS.

Then, if you are lucky, the technician brings you back by saying, O.K. we're done. You will feel a little pressure as I take this out.

Again with the pressure! Oy!

Always ready to help, you will show off all of your hard work practicing your Kegel exercises. Finally they have a purpose! So, you help eject the WAND by the force of your own vagina.

The After:
All is well. It is over! You can shuffle to the bathroom, where you will discover that the WAND's lubricant has been applied with, perhaps...a spatula? Indeed, you wonder how much lubricant was utilized. You contribute to the downfall of the planet, by believing more is better when it comes to toilet tissue. Twenty minutes later you emerge. Somewhat drier.

You collect your clothes from the locker. You dress, throwing your clothes back on with careless abandon. You walk out through the waiting room, hoping it is just you who hears a SQUOOSH, SQUOOSH sound every time your legs separate to take a step. You make it to the elevator, sharing a ride with a variety of characters. All of whom do not look happy. Perhaps not a good time to shout:

How can they call it a WAND?!! Where's the magic? The glitter dust?

It is not a shared moment. Vacant stares. A quick exit to the street.

Aftercare Instructions:
You will go home and put a sign around your waist for your husband's benefit.

All openings have been filled. No WANDS need apply.



JCK hopes that this tutorial has been helpful.






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It is to be noted that JCK is fine. There are no burgeoning eggs, nor things to worry about. All is well.

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Buh-Bye!

Apparently I say this. This...this... Buh-Bye, thing.

Every time I hang up on the telephone. I hear this...

Mommy, you said it... again.

I did?

Yes! It is bye-bye. Not Buh-Bye!

And so it goes... It appears that I cannot break this habit of Le Buh-Bye.

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And then there was the recent discussion of the weight limit on the bunk beds in Boy's & Girl's room.

GIRL: We can go on the top bunk. But, Mommy is over the weight limit for the top bunk.

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BOY is reading. Everywhere. Anything. It is very exciting. Yesterday, we were backing out of a parking lot and he suddenly said...

B**** S****!

BOY, that is a BAD WORD!

Mommy, I was just reading that license plate.

JCK: What!?

BOY: That license plate. Over there.

JCK: Oh...BOB SMITH. I thought you said something else...

GIRL: What, Mommy!? WHAT did you think BOY said? What was the BAD WORD?

JCK: Never mind....

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Exhaustion...

I am so exhausted, it is like slogging through thick water. It is all I can do not to crawl into bed with my children when I tuck them in at night. But, I can't. Much as the image delights. I have too much left on the plate. It is these big parenting decisions that drain me. I sail valiantly, managing to navigate through during the day, but come evening my energy is long gone.

So, here I sit to write and I am just too bloody tired to do it. Those lovely little phrases that fly through my brain during the day...those fleeting gems? Go to sleep at night.

Much as I can be the Drama Queen, sometimes I yearn for just an ordinary time. What is that like? A time where some crisis isn't occuring. When life is just...humming along, rather than the shriek of tires on asphalt signifying another jolting change. That must be made. I know I bought a ticket on this Parenting Train, but I didn't quite understand the extent of what a one way ticket really means.

My berth is calling. And...to save my sanity...so shall I retire to the sleeping car...

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Notes on Traveling Solo

While traveling this past weekend, I noted a few things...

At the airport, there is a reason that a very well known coffee chain has the largest line. Best not to go to the competitor next door, because of the appearance of a shorter line. Especially when you see the lady who would have been in front of you in line, at the well known coffee chain, walk away with her beverage and treat. While you still wait in line...empty handed.

En route to Chicago I suddenly realized that I was traveling by myself. I had 4 hours to go, and no book to read. Caught unprepared, so used to traveling on long flights with children, I just sat there ...boggled. Then I watched a movie. I cannot even remember what it was, but there was no interruption. And no one attempted to climb into my lap.

Turbulence sucks. Most especially when you have to be a big girl, and don't have the reassurance of grasping for your husband's large, warm fingers.

The service on flights is not what it used to be. How about waiting an hour and a half, before being offered a beverage?

After everyone had sucked down their beverages, a long line formed for the bathroom.

Steward: I've never seen a line this long before.

JCK: Did you slip a diuretic in our beverages?

Steward: I don't know what happened.

Perhaps if they had served beverages earlier into the flight, people would have not felt inclined to down them so fast -enabling everyone to make a run for the loo, at the same time...

For years, the airlines have been complaining about passengers taking huge carry-on bags on board. Some now charge a $20 fee to check one bag. So, they want to discourage people from bringing carry-on baggage, yet charge you for 1 checked bag. This brilliant idea encourages people to carry even more baggage on board...making the problem worse.

Chicago is a fantastic city. The transit system is incredibly well organized, and you can take the metro train from the airport into the city. Having a bag with wheels is essential. Yet, maneuvering a wheeled bag up and down escalators and staircases, across intersections, and under bridges is far more appealing say...in your 20s.

When trying to fly home, and your flight is delayed for 2 hours, it is actually possible to sit next to a person who is on their cell phone chit chatting about nothing. Loudly. It is also possible to read an entire novel over a 2 hour delay and a 4 hour flight. It is also possible..., once on the plane, to breathe in and out only through one's nose, when surrounded by a group of traveling teenagers with unwashed bodies.

You can finally acknowledge how tired you are while standing outside baggage claim without your bag, as it was put on another flight, waiting for your husband to circle around for the 10th time...bless him. When he is suddenly there with a hug and an open door, there is no lovelier sight than your two children asleep in their pajamas in the back seat.

No matter what annoyances or hassles modern flight travel might entail, it is all worth it to spend a weekend with special childhood friends. Always, always...without a doubt.

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Bathing Suit. Season. Such a cruel word. Season.

JCK is suddenly aware that bathing suit season is upon us. Bathing Suit. Season. Such a cruel word. Season. As if one just frolics about ...unencumbered by bathing suit FEARS.

Now... All should be well because JCK is pretty relaxed about the bathing suit body issues. *AHEM* Or so she said last year. But, that was SO LAST YEAR. Instead, she finds that she is muttering to herself....WTF?! Often. Basically she has spent too much of the last year semi-vertical in a chair or on a bed. But, walking or moving her body, or bending into the divine of yoga? Not so much. And then there's the little issue of metabolism. Yes, there's that. You see, JCK has been COMPLETELY spoiled up until about ...oh, the last couple of months. She had this really groovy genetic thing going where she could eat pretty much what she wanted, within reason. (Reason being heavy on the chocolate.) But, as is true with most good things. They come to an end. And unfortunately the end has manifested in a lushER silhouette. JCK has determined that she would have been a perfect candidate for living in another time. Because lush is delightful when one wears long, flowing feminine garb or ...is NEKID. But, lush in a bathing suit in 2009. Well, it just doesn't have that je ne sais quois element that it did in her 20s when everything gelled together a little bit nicer.

However, the reality is that JCK doesn't want to put all this self defeating crap upon herself or for her daughter to pick up on that self-defeating crap. JCK wants to be the kind of mom who is right there in the pool with her kids. Not the mom who lies on the chaise draped in a sarong...dreading the take off. That moment when one ever so casually tosses the sarong over one's chair and then decides to lay back down again. The mom who lets the dad do all the pool play. Nope. JCK doesn't want to be that mom.

So, what is JCK to do? Apparently she needs to just GET OVER IT. Life is short. She's lost friends this year. They're gone forever. Do you think they would give up one moment of jumping into the pool with their children, because their thighs are fleshy? No. So, JCK is GOING to get over it. And she's also going to start taking better care of herself. Because the truth is...she wants to be around for a long time. Having fun. And not always muttering WTF right before Memorial Day weekend...

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And then the Doctor reels backwards toward JCK's open chart and double-checks JCK's age.

JCK has been getting kicked in the GUT lately. As in...Major Gut Kicking. Kick her to the curb, down the drain...kicking. It all started a little over a week ago at the Urgent Care facility down the road. JCK had ventured there in a state of pain, accompanied by her stalwart companion, her husband, E. JCK had been feeling like crapola. You see, the flu had begun to set in and there was such a strong pressure upon her chest that if she didn't know better...she would have thought her breasts were being flattened by an elephant. She was at the Urgent Care facility to rule out pneumonia. As it turned out, the chest x-ray revealed a clean chest cavity, void of any bacteria or other such matters. But, we're getting ahead of the story...

Apparently, chest compression pain is taken seriously. JCK was ushered back to a room quite quickly, after the initial questioning by the nurse. JCK then waited some...time before the doctor knocked on the door and came into the examining room. He asked the usual questions, listened to JCK's heart, looked in her eyes, ears and throat, etc., etc.

Doctor: When did the chest pressure begin?

JCK: Last night. Yesterday afternoon I started having a cough and then the pressure feeling began in my chest. Now my back hurts when I cough. My 4 year old daughter woke up yesterday with a high fever.

Upon JCK's revelation of having a 4 year old daughter, the doctor's eyebrows lurch up past his hairline. And then the Doctor reels backwards toward JCK's open chart and double-checks JCK's age.

STARTED LATE, DIDN'T YOU?!

JCK manages a weak smile. JCK knows she looks a little grayer than usual. She was feeling so badly that she didn't even bother to throw on a little blusher or lipstick. She is....a bit drab. The grey turtleneck doesn't help. It only appears to heighten the washed out look she is sporting. Almost like ...cloud cover.

But, JESUS! Isn't this L.A? Older parents abound here. It is almost de riguer, for God's sakes. Well, apparently not according to Doctor Ageism. It is almost as if he has uttered TSK TSK.

Doctor: You are still getting your periods?

JCK: Yes. I'm FUCKING FERTILE FRIEDA, baby! (Note: JCK did not say this, but she likes to think she did.)

Doctor: Is there any possibility that you could be pregnant?

JCK: No. None whatsoever.

Doctor: Tubes tied? Birth control pills? Knife taken to your husband's privates? (Note: The good doctor did not say this, but JCK likes to think that he did.)

JCK shakes her head...NO.

Doctor: Well, I don't like to take any chances. I'm going to have you do a urine test before you have the chest x-ray.

JCK: Oh, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! (Note: JCK also did not say this, but she likes to think she did.)

Conclusion: JCK was not suffering from pneumonia or pregnancy, but apparently is fucking old.

Because....

Today, JCK went to the park with her children and some friends. JCK was sitting on a bench for a moment to watch her children frolic in the California sun.

Little Girl: Whose grandmother are you? Whose children are your grandchildren?

OH, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!!

On most days JCK feels very good about her silvery mane. Her mantle. Her au naturale coiffure. It suits her. It is ...freeing. She will probably never go back to dyeing it again. It is a pretty color and she gets compliments on it frequently. By women. Not, apparently, from men and children. However, there are moments like these in which JCK has serious DOUBTS about her ability to ward off this commentary on her AGE. And the wisdom in choosing the silver streak lifestyle. Luckily the moments usually pass. It's just that...this time...it's taking her longer to get her groove back.

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That her son is freebasing...the Christmas season.

If JCK didn't know better, she'd be convinced. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. That her son is freebasing...the Christmas season. Snorting it whole. SUCH bouncing and shrieking and mind blowing chatter has come to rain down on JCK's abode, that indeed she is truly going mad. And this frenzy is only exacerbated by the BOY's stuffed animal dog, Puppy, who has...as of several days prior started barking. While barking alone can make THE BEST of women weary, this high pitched YIP YIPPING is surely going to send JCK over the edge...

Hyper was not even invented before BOY came along. JCK knows this in her marrow. And if they all survive the Christmas holiday, which appears doubtful unless great gulps of whiskey and chocolate are imbibed simultaneously by JCK more frequently than is prudent, it is surmised that BOY will be VICTORIOUS! With his little sister, GIRL, stoically by his side. Their parents...what's left of them... will be mere shadows of themselves. Well, except for possible bloating from whiskey & chocolate.

And if ye believe that the GIRL is innocent, let JCK assure you...she is not! What BOY delivers in shrieks and mad pinball body bouncing, GIRL carries herself forward with WHINING. Such as to render her mother...almost dead, sadly not deaf, if she has to hear it once more.

And then the sucker punch...for despite these volatile eruptions and mind numbing energetic outbursts...they are terribly, utterly, adorable. And for THAT JCK is the biggest mush head in the world. Albeit a mush head with occasional migraines...

GIRL: Well, you see, Mom...you see, we're the sneak team.

JCK: The SNEAK team?

BOY: Yes.

JCK: What's the SNEAK team?

GIRL: That's when we go into the kitchen like...when you are IN THE SHOWER and SNEAK STUFF, like...MILK!

BOY: Yes, we are VERY, VERY SNEAKY.

JCK says trying to look stern: I see.

BOY: You want to be on THE SNEAK TEAM, mom?

JCK: Can I?

BOY: Oh, yes. But, YOU have to get up in THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT! And sneak into the kitchen.

JCK: Oh. I already do that.


*****Photo of Sneaky Robotic BOY and Witchy GIRL practicing the art of disguise. Halloween 2008.

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It was then that JCK saw that the ship was going down...

Things were not going too well for JCK. BOY & GIRL had decided that they wanted a variety of jack-o-lanterns: 1 sad, 1 happy and 1 scary. Yet, BOY was quite content to watch JCK flex her muscles and hack away at the pumpkin. GIRL was not content to watch. She MUST participate. And so she did. She helped JCK greatly by scraping large spoonfuls of interior pumpkin goo, and with artfully fine motor skills sent pumpkin seeds shooting hither and yon. JCK believes in her soul that they will be scraping dried pumpkin off walls and furniture for years to come. Not to be brought down by pumpkin innards, JCK, BOY & GIRL produced 1 Sad Jack-o-lantern with tears coming down his face, and a Happy Jack-o-lantern. By this time JCK's back muscles and arms were burning, and she was wondering what the fuck was so quality timeISH about pumpkin carving anyway. The 3rd pumpkin would have to wait until tomorrow. Candles were found and placed strategically inside, and the jack-o-lanterns were perched on chairs looking out the living room window.

It was then, that JCK, BOY & GIRL decided to get some fresh air. Within a few minutes, an older neighbor stopped by and things were looking rather Norman RockwellISH. JCK felt herself puff up a bit when the neighbor expressed her appreciation that they had real jack-o-lanterns. And... that JCK had done them herself. And... that they were not artificial ones with light bulbs. All were content to chat and play innocently in the front yard.

Suddenly GIRL's friend from across the street called out, "Miss J! Miss J! Can I come over!!?" JCK was delighted to walk across the street and accompany the Young Miss safely back to Martha Stewart's JCK's house. Whilst crossing the street, JCK noticed that BOY appeared to be perched on the roof of the minivan. Upon closer inspection, it proved to be true.

I CAN SEE THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD! - BOY shouted.

Apparently he was channeling Leonardo.

GIRL was quick to SHRIEK: I WANT TO SEE THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD!

Apparently she was channeling Kate.

It was then that JCK saw that the ship was going down...

Once JCK succeeded in getting BOY down from the roof of the minivan, she walked with GIRL a few yards to the front door where they could show Young Miss the brilliance of Sad Jack and Happy Jack. Whilst there, BOY managed to mount the minivan and scramble up to the top yet again...

After getting BOY down to earth once more, JCK ordered BOY inside the house to wash his hands that were now blackened with minivan that never gets washed residue.

At this point, Young Miss's mom, JCK's friend, walked across the street with young Baby Sir snuggled in sling. Before the conversation betwixt two mothers desperate for adult conversation could begin, Young Miss walked up to show her mother & JCK her newest wound. It was evident that she would need a band aid or ... life would just not be the same.

JCK offered to go inside and obtain the band aid. As JCK approached the bathroom she heard the sound of what appeared to be... and was, RUNNING WATER. Apparently whilst BOY was inside washing his hands, he had decided to dam up the sink with the stopper, add soap, turn the faucets on full throttle and leave the premises. At the moment in which JCK walked into the bathroom, the sink was overflowing at such a rate as to envision Niagara Falls - a sight JCK had never witnessed before this day either in nature or nurture.

You may think at this point that JCK would now commence Jack'OClock, yet...she must be a good host and return to the front yard with what she had gone to get..a band aid. So, JCK quickly mopped the area with a large towel, said: FUCK IT! to herself, sucked it up and walked briskly outside.

Upon reaching the front door, it was apparent that GIRL had already obtained a band aid for Young Miss in another location, and they had moved on. Such is life.

Suddenly there were SHRIEKS of: NO, BOY, NOOOO! issuing forth from GIRL. As JCK rounded the house, GIRL was seen struggling with BOY as he tried to get his muscle trike out of the backyard gate and drive it into the front yard. Not to be deterred, BOY opened the gate and flew out. And just what GIRL had tried to prevent then happened...the dog, the still frisky one, bolted OUT. As still frisky one flew by in doggy track team style, the other dog, the frisky-less one, ambled out into the front yard and walked over to the cat, who shot back into the house looking as if Halloween had begun.

JCK did feel blessed that her friend, the mother of Young Miss, looked at her in recognition and uttered "This is the life of a stay-at-home mom, utter chaos." Yes, it was a version of Stay-at-home Mom HELL and JCK had a witness.

Perfectly timed, it was at this moment that JCK's husband E drove up the street. And the homey homecoming in which JCK envisioned her husband would partake in...just didn't happen. There was no calmness about the house, dinner cooking on the stove, jack-o-lanterns aglow and children waiting whilst JCK freshened up her lipstick. Noooooo... there was not to be the scene in which E walks in the door and thanks his lucky stars that he has such a domestic goddess for a wife and cherubic children.

No, he arrived to a scene of so much ....abundance that it would have been quite...unBELIEVABLE, if not witnessed first hand. E managed to navigate himself into the kitchen and prepare a snack, whilst JCK corralled the still frisky dog, bid adieu to her friend and Young Miss, and rounded up her own two children.

Having no choice other than insanity, JCK sent BOY and GIRL into the living room to watch something on Noggin. Then staggering into the kitchen, JCK decided it was damn well past time for JackO'Clock and poured herself a stiff one - treating herself to Gentleman Jack. Yes...JCK believes Gentleman Jack puts the "W" in whiissskkky. E had received this handsome bottle from a friend last month. JCK has been receiving it ever since. JCK likes her some gentleman like this. They have a relationship...this gentleman and she. An understanding. There is an acknowledgement between this gentleman and lady JCK.

And, it is this...

On some days...there is nothing better than stating the obvious....bottoms up!

It's JackO'Clock!!

***Gentleman Jack image courtesy of Google

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THAT hamster wheel

I'm not sure what is going on this morning. The sun hasn't come up yet and I'm finding myself teary and at a loss of what to say. Not something that happens all that often. I think...I KNOW that I've been hopping on that hamster wheel of no return...mom-wife-errand runner-must pack for weekend trip-another 3 loads of laundry- and now I have to fold it!-haven't yet-still more errands to run-make sandwiches-leave pet instructions-get the oil changed in the car-and I can't get off the ride because I'm in charge-bring GIRL to school for 1 hour so she won't miss her first show-and-tell at the new school-before we leave for our 6 hour drive to my mom's-where it will be fantastic to see everyone-but, because I've worn myself out-I came down with a bloody cold last night-... THAT hamster wheel. DEEP BREATH. Yep, that about sums it up. And does anyone have a kleenex?

Of course all of this could be explained by the current state of our country which appears to be going to hell in a handbasket. Whether it is being told that we're now responsible for a deficit that has more zeros than I can possibly add up myself, or that someone running for office can play tiddly winks with Russia by looking out her kitchen window from Alaska...honestly, I'm not sure that I'm really awake. Am I? Unfortunately, I think I am. And guess what? We're all in this hot tub together. So, move over honey and let go of your germ phobia.

I'm going up north for a couple of days to celebrate the birthday of a wonderful man, whom I am lucky enough to call my step-father. While I'm gone make yourself at home here.

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I believe my Mound of Venus has been RIPPED OFF

I have just confirmed two things. That I am not into S&M. And… if you are going to experience pain, tis’ best to take that shot of JD beforehand. Yes. Have that shot or two of self-medication. Skip the cola. That little bit of sugar won’t do anything to prevent the onslaught of FIRE that occurs when you choose to have hair ripped out of your nether region. Hair. RIPPED OUT.

You see, I went to get my usual done. My upper leg wax that I get every 6-8 weeks. It's a bit painful, but bearable for the result. Dreamy smooth skin. I hadn’t had a bikini wax in years and thought ..why not treat myself? Treat. Yeah…I DID just say that. So, I go to my usual gal and say that I want a little bit more taken off this time. Note my use of those three words… A. Little. Bit. I pointed to the area. She nodded. We communicated. Or, so I thought. Apparently, a little bit means something very different to me than it does to my anesthesiologist. Oh yeah, I mean aesthetician. I SO could have used an anesthesiologist, though... Oh, my…YES. I could have. It would have been so lovely to sleep through THE PAIN.

Is there not something additionally horrific about a nice woman talking in a quiet voice, the two of you sharing stories of your lives, and every mmmm... 30 seconds or so she causes you PAIN? There you are chatting nicely back and forth. She lays the warm wax on your skin, which feels kind of soothing…lulling you into a false state of relaxation and then…RIPPPPPP. Silent Scream. Pain. PAIN. That was PAIN. And then she does it again and AGAIN- yet checking in with me every once in a while to make sure I'm O.K.?

O.K.?

Yeah…sure. But, what THE HELL just happened? I believe my Mound of Venus has been RIPPED OFF. And maybe my Vagina, too. Is it still there? I look. I think it is. Still there. Gulp. Gulp. Trying not to cry… I smile back at her through clenched teeth. Can she tell I’m faking the smile? Would another woman NOT EXPECTING this much PAIN have BITCH SLAPPED her? But, I can’t do that.... Damn! I'm a nice middle-aged suburban woman. I’m a mother for God’s sake! I stay SILENT. We talk of other things. Anything. Best NOT to focus on the PAIN. Or… to look down. I flip over onto my stomach. Dear God. Let my ass be hairless. It seems the worst is over. Phwwwooooo...We finish. Amazingly my panties still seem to be on. I thought they had been shredded. No blood? No evidence of the carnage? I'm shocked.

I thank her. I get dressed. I pay her. I feel lighter. So MUCH lighter. I walk out. Am I taller? I believe I AM taller. Did my body unravel into a stretching yoga pose whilst I was on the madwoman's table? Oh, no…it is just that I’m walking higher. My feet aren’t really touching the ground because my entire VA JAY JAY is on FIRE. And I’m...well, I'm ...hop walking. Kind of like a cowboy who has been in the saddle all day with burrs in his britches. Except not.

I get home and drop trou. Panties next. And what greets my eyes? Oh…NOOOO. Oh, no, no, nooooo. My VA JAY JAY looks like it is a VA HEY HEY for air traffic controllers. The hair (what’s left of it) resembles a…a… a landing strip. Yes. A. Landing. Strip. IT IS HIDEOUS. Hideous, I tell you. Some fucking feminist I am.

There IS a silver lining in all this. Isn't there? There is! Tonight, once I can walk again, I’ll have a new signal system for my husband. No more WINK WINK NOD NOD.

Hey, honey! Lookie lookie! Just in case you didn’t know where to put the engine down, here’s your very own landing strip!

..................................Now, you know sweetie…staring is RUDE.
................Come on DOWN...BIG BOY!

What would Mae West say?

Are ya gonna be a LOOKIE LOO or a WINNAH, Big Boy?

On second thought…I think I’ll have the lights out and have him fumble around for the goodies. But, that's later. Right now? I’m going to lie down and put ice on my mons pubis. And in my next life…I’m going to come back as a hairless Norwegian.

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Leather. Furniture. Instant. Inflamed. Reaction. In. Men.

So, what IS IT exactly about men and leather? Apparently, it’s some kind of Pavlovian response. A couple of weeks ago my husband E mentioned that a client was getting rid of a “great looking leather sofa and armchair” and… had offered it to E, if he wanted it. For free. Now, E is not someone who hops all over free deals. Free stuff doesn’t scream INSTANT ORGASM, like it does to me. My heritage is Scottish, what can I say. However…you smack leather around furniture and the answer is…I’m easy.

This is not anything new. Ever since we’ve been married, when he’s flipping through a catalogue and comes across a leather chair, I hear…LOOK AT THIS!!! I look at it, it’s OK. It’s nice. NOT the reaction he’s going for. He wants …NIIICE. Personally, I just don’t see the appeal. Maybe it’s because I wear dresses and shorts upon occasion and don’t like my skin sticking to what feels like human skin, but isn’t. I tend to run hot in the summer. OK, I glow. I like to get up from furniture without taking it with me.

Lest you think I’m rigid, let me assure you, I’m not a “leather hater”. If we’re talking about leather clothing or accessories… that’s different. Purses. YEAH! Leather jackets. Mmmm..hmmm... You KNOW it, baby! But, putting your ass on leather just doesn’t get me going. An ass in leather pants…now, we’re talking. THAT can even be a party game. Really, IT can. Several years ago we were at a friend’s house indulging in cocktails and ummm…let’s just keep it at cocktails. Our friend used to be a punk rock star and at some point in the evening he decided to pull out his leather pants that he used to wear on tour. Well, we ALL had to try them on and do a little intoxicated modeling. Needless to say, I will never look at leather pants in quite the same way.

But, I digress. Let’s get back to the main issue at hand. Leather. Furniture. Instant. Inflamed. Reaction. In. Men. Especially in married men, because those are the only men I encounter these days. Perhaps for them, it harkens back to those glorious days of yesteryear…the single days…the black leather couch, the babe stretched out, the evening unencumbered by children or discussion of mundane household issues. I dated a man once who had a living room full of leather furniture and Patrick Nagel prints all over his walls. I was rather voluptuous at the time and sitting on the leather couch whilst looking up at anorexic women with oversized, unnatural boobs just didn’t DO IT for me. I believe the relationship lasted one weekend.

My husband E is not a fan of Nagel artwork. Sorry, Patrick. He likes women with rounded curves and strong legs. One of the reasons I fell in love with him. That and on our first date his willingness to sit in preschool chairs outside on a sidewalk devouring ice cream cones. Plastic chairs, mind you. But, you put leather furniture in front of him and his turn-on radar goes BA DA BOOM BOOM. And he’s not alone. Oh, NO, NO, NOOO….my anecdotal evidence goes much further.

Whilst I was in San Francisco for the BlogHer conference, a decision was made, a U-Haul trailer was rented, and the leather couch & armchair were brought to our home. Our home with a 3 year old and a 4 year old. Crayons. Scissors. Hot Wheels cars that scratch. To be fair, E asked me where in the house I’d like the furniture to reside. Sort of. He indicated that it would be best for it to go in our sunroom, which is our playroom. Play. Room. Just sayin… He called a neighbor over to help him move the monstrous furniture pieces into our home.

Male Neighbor: Wow, MAN…this furniture is NIIIICE! You got THIS for FREE?!

After an hour of manipulation and room arrangement, the furniture makes it to the sunroom. 1/2 of the toys are now in the living room. The leather couch and armchair are rather large. Husband is happy. I, try to make the best of it with minimal snarky ass comments.

A couple of days later…

Another MALE Friend comes over and says to me: Can you BELIEVE how NIIIICE this stuff is? And it was for FREE!!

Me: Mmmm…yes, I just CAN’T believe it. [I don’t think he picked up on my sarcastic tone.]

Yet another day passes in what I now call Our HOUSE OF LEATHER...

A different Male Friend comes over and does a DOUBLE-TAKE upon looking in the former playroom.

He says: You got some NEW furniture! NIIIIICE.

If you had any doubts about my Married Men Inflamed by Leather Furniture case study, I am quite sure that you now see that my evidence is rock solid. Leather clad.

CAUSE: Leather furniture = EFFECT: Instant TURN-On for males, including married ones.

Anecdotal case closed. As for the leather furniture? Well…my husband has been beaten down is appearing to reconsider the INSTANT TURN-ON couch & armchair. Was it BOY racing his cars on it? GIRL using the couch as a crafts table? Who knew? There appears to be a downside. It could be time for SELLING LEATHER FURNITURE ON CRAIG’S LIST!!! I will delight in the high bids. I predict an instant sale to a single man harboring fantasies of how leather furniture is going to be an INSTANT TURN-ON to his many future dates. Should I tell him? Naaaa…men need to have a chance to dream. Before the leather is taken away….



****Patrick Nagel Print courtesy of Google Images

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Questions, questions...the never ending questions...

GIRL:

Mommy, how does the tooth fairy KNOW when we lose a tooth?

Mommy, how does a baby get IN your tummy?

Questions, questions...the never ending questions...

Mommy, we have money because Daddy works and earns money, right?

That's right, GIRL. Daddy works very hard to earn money and take care of us.

YOU don't have any money.

Well, GIRL, I work hard, too. My job is to take care of you and BOY and that is a very important job. I just don't earn a salary for it.

**************
GIRL is not yet 4 years old. And THAT is what I'm up against...


NOTE: Thank you all for your comments over my car accident last night. I'm feeling fine. Stay tuned for an upcoming post on meeting 3 hot mommas...The Philosopher Mom, Jenn from Juggling Life and Cheri from Blog this Mom!



We've had QUITE the weekend. Today my husband & I, BOY & GIRL were traveling on the freeway and a front tire blew out then disintegrated. We were in the fast lane, so E had to navigate our car across the freeway to the shoulder. He then proceeded to change the tire, (front driver's side tire on the traffic side), while I wildly waved my arms to oncoming traffic that was entering the freeway just behind us in an effort to keep the cars from getting too close. So, I found myself AGAIN on a freeway with maniacal drivers flying by. Didn't I just do this last night? Delightful.


........JCK? JCK? I believe JCK married JackO'Clock.

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So, the next time Sitemeter & Internet Explorer have a rendezvous...

Hi Blogger...

Yes, tis' I, the wench. The wench who wrongly accused you of being, well basically, a loser. On this Friday past. When I was frantically trying to get to my own little blogspot in the sky. Imagine a cat trying to scale a tiled wall. And I couldn't get in. I panicked. I threw out accusations. And they landed mistakenly on you. Please forgive me. I guess it was that feeling of vulnerability. That torture of finding out...no, of solidifying the fact, that I am dependent on you. Yes. I. Am. I write upon your blank post pages almost every day. I search for the delicious little bon mots and then use your spellcheck. I occasionally add a photo or two. I list my favorite reads. And love how I can add new ones every day and then their most recent post title pops up on my sidebar. Blogger, you've got it going on.

Oh, friends have tried to lure me away ...to have my own DOT.COM or Wordpress or other more cutting edge hosting vehicle. Yet...I have lingered here with you, because basically I am somewhat of a traditional gal. I mean, look at me. Whiskey. Fishnets. Caffeine loaded. You can't get much more traditional than that.

But, I've rambled...as I'm known to do. You shouldn't let me do that Blogger. Ooohhh...don't let me. Don't let me.... But, you do. Because you do that automatic draft thing every few seconds. It is SO reassuring. I am a loose lipped wench. I was wrong. It was Sitemeter after all. And Internet Exploder. My friend calls it that. Catchy, isn't it? So, next time Sitemeter and IE have a rendezvous and the sparks fly, they better GET A ROOM. A room very far away from me. Because cats who try to scale tile walls get cranky. Especially when it rips their fishnets. Image is everything...

Yours,

JCK the wench


*** Photo courtesy of: I SO WISH IT WAS ME! ...Google Images

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That's what whining children will do to you

I don't know what happened, but suddenly it sounds like we have sheep in the house. In the car. And pretty much wherever we go. The sheep appear to be following us.

Maaaaaammmm. I doooon't waaaant thaaaat. I'm tiiiiiiired. I'm huuuuuungry. Maaaaam.

We are in WHINER hell. Today, coming back from swimming lessons I finally just snapped.

GIRL, you sound like a SHEEP!

Noooooo. I doooon't. Maaaaaam.

Listen to yourself! You ARE a sheep. Baaaaaaa. Baaaaa. Waaaa. Waaaa.

Yes. THAT was me. I've resorted to bleating like a sheep. And mocking my child. That's what whining children will do to you. Send you over the edge? Sure. Incite you to scream?Yeah. Bleat? But, of course...

Added CORRECTION: JCK is an Ignorant Hussy. It was Sitemeter's fault. JCK is now busy kissing Blogger's ass.

Note: If you couldn't get on my blog last night, BLOGGER apologizes. It appears they had a major issue with thousands of blogs. Apparently, every blogspot blog that I read. OH, by the way...the spell check for "blogspot" gives you a bloodsport option. This may be a possibility if this happens again. A courtesy email would have been nice, too. Dear Blogger clients, unfortunately we are experiencing a major problem on blogspot. We hope to have it cleared up quickly. Thank you.

Ya think? Let's hope the problem is fixed. If not, we can unite and harass BLOGGER: BLOGGGGGGGEEEEER, WHAAAAT THE FUUUUUCK?

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JCK was a good little blogger and always very curious

This is JCK. She lives in a house that has an ambitious office project. JCK was a good little blogger and always very curious. All bloggers are curious, but no bloggers are as curious as JCK.

JCK was especially curious as to whether she could do it all...

She wondered how it was that it was already 5am on Friday morning and her project: Office Annihilation & Creative Reconfiguration was not nearly ready for tomorrow's plan to empty the office of all objects so that the man with the yellow hat could paint. The plan also calls for disconnecting the computer...GASP, SHUDDER, SHAKE. So, she will be offline for a couple of days. And she has several posts to write in advance, as well as living her life. Perhaps the painting should be reconsidered? Hang Tough, JCK! Be STRONG.

JCK knows that living her life with two children aged 3 and 4 and her husband, doing the office project, leaving on Thursday of next week for the BlogHer conference, and possibly going through perimenopause are all possible. JCK just doesn't know if they are possible in 1 week.

All JCK knows is that hopefully when she is back and functioning again, this will happen...

I am so happy to have you back, JCK, said her loyal readers.

I was scared. And you must have been scared, too.

I know you will not want to do Project: Office Annihilation & Creative Reconfiguration, leave for a BlogHer conference, possibly be going through perimenopause, and disconnect your one computer all in one week again for a long, long time.

You must give your common sense back to your self.

Especially when your daughter is currently terrorized in her own mind by Pinocchio, your husband feels he never sees you, and your son is sure to create his own search and destroy project when you are not looking.

Perhaps all of this was not wise, Curious JCK.


**JCK would like to acknowledge much admiration for H.A. Rey, the Creator of Curious George.

***Superhero Mom Picture courtesy of Google Images

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