the wiener mom scores a point!

Go Wiener Mom! She scores a point or a run or something. Whatever it was it increased the score of the "Asholes" Adult Kickball team by one.

C next door invited me out to play kickball with her work team (apparently the dnr dept of forestry very young and into group sports: I was the only one there with children and C and I tied for the oldest team members (on either team)).

I'm not sure why I went. Maybe because I like C so much and I'm desperate for time away from Wiener World. The last time I participated in an organized team game of any kind was.... let me think here... never. Yeah, that's it.

My memories of organized team sports include P.E.,getting picked last, embarassing myself and that's pretty much it. In middle school I was in "high" gym. Of course that's not what it was called, but everyone was on an organized athletic team of some kind, except me. I think I was considered so remedial that they thought I might be inspired by the adolescent athletes that surrounded me. Not so. I did learn to laugh at myself though. You'd laugh too.

I got kicked in the face with a soccer ball, and that was just in a "circle-type" warm up thing.

My strapless bra fell down in basketball (why was I wearing a strapless bra in gym? because I could, damn it. Or at least I thought I could, but seeing as it fell down, not so much.)

I was too short to jump over the hurdles and not brave enough to take a flying leap and hope for the best, so my method was this: run up to hurdle, climb over, run up to hurdle, and so on. Go ahead take a moment and laugh...

Done?

Not yet?

Now?

Too bad, I'm going on.

During the badminton unit in high school, I ran away when the birdie (or "shuttlecock" if we're being precise) would come towards my face.

I wore gloves during handball because hitting the ball hurt my hand.
Aside: why play a sport that hurts? Volleyball, I'm talking to you.

High gym was taught by a hard ass (for middle school) coach type guy. When I broke my little toe by walking into a wall...
break for laughter again?
He famously said, "Here's a quarter, go call someone who cares."

So... why am I suddenly playing kickball, with C (an ATHLETE)and a group of twenty-somethings without babyfat and who still have time to go to the gym every day if they want, because they have NOTHIING else to do?
C promised me that it wouldn't be competitive. She promised me that there would be beer-drinking and that no one there would care if we won or lost.

She was right, there was a lot of beer, especially in the outfield and actually on the bases too, and the pitcher's mound. I didn't kick the ball like an a-hole, but probably like a girl. I ran my not-so-little butt off to get around those bases and like I said before I scored a point or a run, or whatever.
Am I going back? Don't know, still waiting for the cramp in my glute to fade away.

the wiener mom has a sudden bout of melancholy

So, I'm driving home after an exciting round of errands involving the tax man, the bank, raw chicken and Mickey Mouse underwear (not mine) when I see a group of maybe 10-12 year old boys waiting to cross the street and I slow down, stop so they can cross. They are very polite and wave to say thanks. I wave back and continue on my merry way, jamming to Dar Williams and slugging down the Diet Dr. Pepper. It was a very brief moment, almost nonexistent, certainly to them no more than an immediately forgotten blip of an interaction with a stranger.

For some reason though it reminded me of something I read in the "Parent of Wieners Must Own Tome" Boys Should be Boys. The author talks about what makes the relationship between a mother and her son unique. Basically it comes down to this sad fact:
As a mother is raising a son she is preparing to let him go.

A mother knows inately that some day he will no longer be hers. He will belong to someone else and that's okay, she wants that. It's not like we want our wieners at home forever, the only woman they've ever loved their mother. We don't want that. But, that doesn't change the fact that at some point I will lose my wieners. Not in the physical sense, they will always be my wieners, my babies, but the relationship will change. It better change or there's gonna be some pissed off daughter-in-laws.

I don't know what it was about seeing those boys cross the street that brought all this deep thinking on, maybe it was the fact that they were polite. I've had numerous encounters with other mother's wieners that have been far from polite (see the post entitled "the wiener mom walks the dog").
I can do everything that I can to mold them into polite young wieners, but in the end I let go and hope for the best. I'm not letting go yet, but I'm already hoping.

the wiener mom is, among other things, conflicted

I'm in a bit of a philosophical, personal pickle of sorts. That last 10 pounds of baby weight is weighing me down, both literally and figuratively and Weight Watchers is calling my name (again). It's not that it's really that hard (in theory): you go online, it figures out all the point values of all the things you eat. It gives you recipe ideas and "helpful tips". It's really all very simple; except for the fact that YOU'RE HUNGRY! I should learn to eat less, and more fruits and vegetables (I'm like a child, I really am). We don't eat a lot of fatty things here in wiener world. I cook everything, we don't go out much, I'm a big fan of Cooking LIght. But... I love food. I love to cook for people; delicious things (I make a mean penne with vodka sauce and the best homemade brownies in the world...mmmm... I digress).

I was on Weight Watchers for two weeks a month ago, and I lost 4 pounds, but it was hard. At first it was all very exciting; I'm a stickler for rules, so the points thing is really fun for me (for awhile). But, then it gets old and I give it up. It comes down to the question: do I really want it bad enough?
Hmmm...
1. Would love to wear much of my wardrobe again.
2. see cute young things in leggings and am VERY jealous.
3. Should be eating healthier.
4. It's only 10 pounds.
5. done it before and wasn't that bad.
But...
1. done it before and it wasn't that much fun.
2. It's only 10 pounds.
3. am eating pretty healthy already (mostly)
4. daddy wiener thinks I'm sexy just the way I am.
5. will have to work to keep it off for the rest of my life.
6. am super exercising machine (4 days a week).
And then there's this...
A therapist I once saw said this about body image crap:
Our bodies are like furniture. Would you rather collapse into a soft, cushy sofa, or a hard wooden bench? All our children are looking for in the end is a soft place to land. I don't know if that's the wisest advice, but I couldn't help but think of it yesterday. Middle wiener had a big couple days with a train trip to Chicago and was very tired. He never naps anymore, but he fell asleep next to me on the porch swing. I scooped him up and cuddled him on my lap and he rested his head on my (plentiful) bosom. It was indeed a soft place to land and it felt good to provide it.

So in the end, I like my life the way it is, but at the same time I hate seeing that flab in the mirror and squeezing into those jeans from my old (pre-little wiener) life. I love cooking and baking for the people I love (and me too!), but I'm tired of being a blob. I would love to have faith that it will come off in it's own sweet time, but how long can I wait? See- conflicted.

the wiener mom can take criticism, really she can

So, being the ever-hopeful optimist with unending confidence in my abilities and talents (guffaw) I entered this years Amazon Breakthrough Novel Contest, fully expecting to, you know, win and stuff. Guess what? I didn't win; actually no surprise. They accept the first 5000 entries and there's a mad rush to be one of those 5000. In my heart of hearts, I knew that I wouldn't win, or apparently even advance past the pool of 5000. In my heart of heart of hearts though, I hoped I would.

Part of the draw for entering this contest, besides the possibility of becoming a published author with an award winning best sellling novel to your name, is that you get several "reviews" from "reviewers" on the first 50 pages of your novel. Each and every contestant gets 2 reviews, so that's 10000 reviews, so you can imagine that they may not be that long, nor really that helpful.

The first I like to believe was written by a woman, who although she may not have children, she does understand them and has an inkling of an idea of what it takes to raise them. We're not even talking specifically about wieners here, just the smaller, younger humans that we call "children". She said my novel excerpt was endearing and appealing and though not her type of book, she thought it would be successful.

Ah... love and flowers.

Now, the second review I feel deep in my soul was written by a man. A man who has possibly never met nor been a child and certainly has no idea the level of care that is required to prevent one from perishing from poisining, trauma to the head, or impacted bowels while under your care. He described it as agnst driven. He said it would take patience to get through. He said that the complaining of the "HOUSEWIVES" was repetitious and monotonous. HOUSEWIVES? Anyone who has any knowledge of the requirments of child rearing would NOT refer to a mother as a "housewife"
Side note: Desperate Housewives seems to have made it acceptable to use the term, but I would not describe the women on that show as housewives, most of them work outside the home OR even stay at home mothers. I haven't watched it in awhile, but I'm not sure that Eva Longoria's character qualifies as a dedicated stay at home mom. But, I digress.

So, my first reaction to Mr. Negative reviewer man was shock. "How dare he tell me MY life is repetitious, monontonous or agnst driven!"
Side note: my novel is a story of 5 stay at home mothers and their quests for happiness. So it is actually about my life, very thinly (if at all) veiled.
I was a little upset. Tried to shake it off. Then I tried to be rational and think about each one of his "helpful" critiques.
Agnst driven: Hmmmmm... yes, sometimes my life is angst driven. Okay, it might happen more frequently than I'd like to admit.
Requires Patience: yup. Got that one too.
Repetitious and Monotonous: Okay, Okay. I think we got that one covered too. After reading the same Elmo book for the 17th time (in a day) or pretending to be Bob the Builder's sidekick again (curse you Wendy!) I defenitely have the feeling that I've been here before. Oh, because I have.

So.... Mr. Negative Reviewer has actually accurately summed up the state of my life. Now, I'm depressed. I think the wiener mom has some serious thinking to do. Serious thinking and burning of an effigy of Mr. Negative Reviewer.

the wiener mom has a bit of practical advice

When looking for a sitter...
If she shows up at your door wearing a t-shirt that says "Bucky did your mom" and has a jewel encrusted cell phone stuck to the side of her head, there is a preeeetty good chance that your children WILL escape from a McDonald's playland under her care. Just sayin'.

the wiener mom and an update on the whole fish thing

Yea... so a couple weeks ago I was venting about the incredible stress that has been brought on by Santa's fish tank. I reread the post and saw that at the end of it I was jubilant: we had only lost 6 fish out of 23.

Umm... yea... so we've had a rough couple of weeks. Turns out the diseased fish that we bought unknowingly from some huge guy named Lou (Oh, why didn't I wait for the return of Pat the fish man?!) gave many of the other fish that same disease and somehow some other fish disease that causes your fins to fall off (if you have them: no wieners have thus far lost any limbs).

We were suddenly finding fish swimming around with no tail fin and we came to know that meant the end was near. My stress level has decreased slightly as I have gotten over my ridiculous sensitivity to flushing fish. I just want those diseased M.F's out of there before Mustache catches something; that would be truly tragic.

So we also lost Catfish Stevens to this whole mess: he just seemed to have given up and gone stiff. A song was written in his memory (to the tune of Blackbird)
Catfish Stevens in the dead of night
Take this broken fish and swim away
All your life, you were only waiting for a quiet place to hide.
Quiet place to hide.
Into the dark and lonely night.

Oh, and Mrs. Platy had her babies and they were promptly eaten; a community feast ensued. She had her babies and just days later she looked fat again. I googled it of course and found out that Mrs Platy has the unique ability to store Mr Platy's sperm inside her body for a rainy day, so she could be pregnant again even though it hasn't been 6 weeks. SUPER!

Final status of 23 total fish owned: 11 currently alive, but Austin is acting kind of weird.

the wiener mom and the unfortunate blemish

What is this? Effing middle school? I wake up with a large and very crimson zit right on the tip of my nose. A zit marring the otherwise young and glowing complexion of the wiener mom. I remember a similar event taking place many moons ago when I was 13. I remember studying my Rudolphesque reflection in a mirror for what could have been hours, wondering how my life would go on. It did, obviously.

Not 13 anymore, hello skin! What's this all about? A revolt against the excessively consumed cookie dough? A protest in support of the frequently forgotten nightly beauty regimen? I choose to blame the wieners.
big, ugly, flaming zit = stress
stress = wieners
how much simpler could it be.

I've gotta go spend hours examining my nose now; probably with the aid of some wieners asking one of two questions:
"Mommy, why do you look like Rudolph?"
"Mommy, how did you get chicken pox on your nose?"
just shut up all of you.